c v lv\ja. W CAPITAL NOVELS UJrirORM WITH THIS YOLUMS And by the same Author. I. "RUTLEDGE," $1 50. II." THE SUTHERLANDS, " 1 60. III. "FRANK WARRINGTON," 1 50. IV. "LOUIE'S LAST TERM," 1 26. LOUIE'S LAST TERM ST. MARY'S. BT THE AUTHOR OF 'RUTLEDGK," "THE SUTHEBLANDS," "FBANK WABBINOTON," ITO. NEW YORK: Carle fon, Publisher, 413 Broadway. ERWRBD according to Act of Congress, In the ,rer I860, ty DERBY & JACKSON, (a the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. W. H. TOUCH, Storeotypn. Gio. Runxu. & Co., PrioUn. A Sfftcttonate TRIBUTE TO THB MEMORY OP THB LATE *T. REV. GEORGE WASHINGTON DOANE. 2034570 of PKEFACE. THE author trusts that it is unnecessary to say, this little story is not intended to affect in any manner the character of the very excellent school where the scene is laid. As regards the narrative itself, it is purely imaginary ; the characters, however, have been drawn from life, and it is hoped, are correct and faithful. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. *> BEGINNING WRONG, 7 CHAPTER II. THE STUDY, 19 CHAPTER in, CLOUDY, 80 CHAPTER IV. THE SUN COMES OUT, 66 CHAPTER V. COULEUR DE ROSE, 72 CHAPTER VI. ASHES OF ROBES, . .93 CHAPTER VII. LOUIE'S LATINITY, 105 CHAPTER VIII. THE SKY is RED AND LOWERING, 118 CHAPTER IX. THE BISHOP, 147 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER X. PAOB THE CHAPEL, . . . . 160 CHAPTER XI. COERUPTION AND BRIBERY, 164 CHAPTER XII. TAG, 181 CHAPTER XIII. FRANCKS, 196 CHAPTER XIV. jfATHERING GLOOM, 207 CHAPTER XV. THE EASTERN DAWN, 227 CHAPTER XVI. Is PEACE BENEATH THE PEACEFUL SKIES, .... 286 LOUIE'S LAST TERM AT ST. MARY'S. CHAPTER I. BEGINNING WRONG. Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should Dawn with the day ; there are set awful hours 'Twixt heaven and us ; the manna was not good After sunrising : far day sullies flowers ; Eise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. VAUQHAN. THE chapel bell had stopped ringing almost five minutes, when Louie Atterbury, running down the long corridor, buttoning her sleeves as she went, paused, frightened, at the door before she dared open it and enter. Louie was the last ; the long rows of seats were full of girls, the organ had ceased, Mr. Rogers, in his surplice, was beginning the ser- vice, and Louie slipped in through the smallest pos- 8 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. sible crack in the door, and hurried nervously down the aisle, looking up very red and awkward, as she caught the wondering eyes turned upon her. It was not often that any one was late. These summer mornings the bell rang at five, and startled open simultaneously a hundred and sixty pairs of eyes that had been shut in the very sweetest sort of sleep during the long hours of darkness, and roused into murmur the young hive that would not settle down into perfect quiet again until the return of night and darkness. It was impossible to sleep through the ringing of that chapel bell ; and even if the first peal had not waked the girls in Louie's dormitory, a suggestive shake from Miss Barlow's not very gentle hand, would have accomplished it ; and having three-quarters of an hour for dressing, there seemed not much excuse for any one to be behindhand when the bell rang again. A quarter of an hour, while the bell was tolling, for their pri- vate devotions, and then the girls in troops passed down the stairs and into the chapel. Plainly there was not much chance for any one to be late ; how did it come, then, that Louie Atterbury was late again ? She slipped into her seat, stealing a guilty look at Miss Barlow as she passed in, and confusedly picked up her Prayer-book and hunted for the BEGINNING WEONG. 9 places, doubly embarrassed while she felt her very uncomfortable eyes upon her. She tried, I believe, to attend to the service, and keep from thinking of the reprimand that was awaiting her, but the effort made her knit her brow and look frowning and un- amiable ; and it was not altogether ill-temper that made her press her lips so tight together, and bend her little Player-book almost double in her nervous hands as she rose from her knees. Poor Louie ! It was the feeling of " everything going wrong," it was the certainty of another mis- begun day, another service unattended to, that was darkening her face so. Everything, indeed, had gone wrong this term. Whether or no the delights of a too happy vacation had spoiled her for the re- straints of school discipline, or whether things were really altered there, she did not know ; but certain it was, she seemed to be growing worse instead of better every day, to be getting into more mischief than ever, more out of favor with her teachers, more quarrelsome and unamiable with her com- panions. " Every one's hand is against me," she thought, bitterly, as she walked out of chapel, " and I can't help it if mine is against every one. Oh ! how I hate it all!" She was too brave a girl to do what she could not 1* 10 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. help thinking of for the first minute, which was, to hurry out into the grounds, or somewhere out of sight, so as to escape Miss JBarlow for the present. Whatever faults Louie had, and they were many, there was nothing of the " sneak " about her, all the girls acknowledged. So, leaning back against the door that opened into the grounds, she stood reso- lutely facing the hall, and in the way that Miss Barlow must come from the chapel. Groups of girls hurried past her into the play-grounds, where, in the pleasant sunshine of the June morning, they sauntered in pairs among the trees, or ran wild races along the broad walks. A few of the more studious had gone direct to the school-room to snatch five minutes of study before breakfast ; some lazy ones hung about the steps ; the hall was quite deserted, but still Louie did not move. " Why, how dismal Her Serene Highness looks this morning !" called out Adelaide McFarlane from the bottom of the steps, where she sat idly twisting the heads off the daisies within her reach, and throwing them on Alice Aulay's book, a little girl who had just seated herself there, and who was vainly trying to conquer an alarming array of " map questions," with Julia Alison's help. " How dismal she is ! I wonder what made her so late for BEGINNING WKONG. 11 chapel again this morning ? Barlow looked sweet at you, Miss Lou, as you came down the aisle ! I suppose you don't mind it, however. You're used to it by this time ; and you don't mind going to the Study, either. How many times were you sent there last month, do you happen to remember ? I'd like to know, 'just for the sake of science,' how often a girl can be sent up and not be expelled." A very red flush dawned on Louie's face. " If I didn't mind trying your mean ways of get- ting out of scrapes, perhaps I shouldn't go so often. Everybody knows Addy McFarlane will keep clear as long as there's any virtue in fibbing, and any other shoulders to .put the blame on." " Tout doucement /" cried Addy, with a shrug and a little laugh ; " I shan't think of getting out of temper with you, my dear ; for nobody minds what a girl says when she's as mad as you are, and as much scared, too. Why, Louie, honestly, do you think you'll be sent to the Bishop ? Mr. .Rogers has lectured you so often, he must be about dis- couraged." "If I told you honestly what I thought, you wouldn't understand me, I'm afraid. Honesty isn't your native language, you know." " Listen, Julia Alison, hear how sharp she's get- ting ! Next time I want to write a spicy cooiposi- 13 LOUIE'S LAST TEBM. tion, I'll do something vicious and get sent to the Study, in hope of being brightened up by the fright as she is." " I'm afraid it wouldn't have much effect upon you, Addy," said Julia, quietly. " I never saw you much frightened by anything yet, nor much bene- fited, for that matter. One would think you might know better than to hector a girl in that way, when she's in disgrace." " Wait till I'm in it 1" cried Louie, too angry to know who were friends and who were foes. " You're all talking as if I were sent to Mr. Rogers ; I am no worse off than the others just now. And because you are one of the ' good girls,' Julia, you mustn't think that gives you license to preach. I, for one, won't stand it." " Hear ! hear 1" exclaimed Addy, delighted. " Ju- lia, you see she's fierce this morning. I wouldn't trust myself within six feet of her. If I saw Mr. Rogers, I think I'd recommend a muzzle." " Oh, dear !" sighed little Alice ; " they wont let me study, Julia." " No ; I see they won't, Ally," said Julia, rising; " come into the school-room ; perhaps we can be quiet there." She passed Louie without saying another word or raising her eyes ; but there was something in her BEGINNING WRONG. 13 averted head and the low tone in which she had spoken, that made Louie turn away with almost a groan. That was her last friend alienated. Of all the school, Julia's opinion was of the most value to her, and though of late they had been less together than formerly, still there had been no open quarrel, nothing to justify such an unkind speech as this last one of Louie's. " I know she'll never forget it," thought Louie, miserably. " I would give anything in the world if I had never said it." Louie was right ; it would be a long time before Julia would forget the insult. She was proud, prouder, if possible, than Louie ; and between two such friends a hopeless wall of coldness and separa- tion is soon built up, from no broader a foundation than this which Louie, in her recklessness and an- ger, had just laid. Julia was the oldest by a year ; the steadiest and the cleverest ; and the only won- der was, why she had ever chosen the reckless, self- willed, harum-scarum Louie for her friend. It was not difficult to.see why Julia had so attracted Louie, however. Beauty has generally a good deal to do with school penchants, and Julia was very pretty, rather small, straight, with a firm, easy step, and a sort of native dignity of manner that " told " vastly among ^er companions, and attracted while it in- 14 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. sensibly awed them. She was too reserved to have many intimate friends, and could not be called popular, but she was universally admired, and as universally looked up to. At once diffident and proud, she only influenced by her example. This morning's rebuke to Addy was the nearest approach to " preaching" that Julia had ever made, and the cruel taunt it had brought upon her, confirmed her in her silence and reserve. What gave this taunt its sting, was the fact that within the last few weeks, Julia had taken the step that in the eyes of the more thoughtless of her com- panions placed her above and separated her from them, but in her own, made her ten times more fearful and humble, and ten times more sensitive to reproach. She felt most keenly her own unworthi- ness to be ranked among " the good ;" in her own heart she was struggling hard to conquer her temp- tations, and dreaded most of all bringing disgrace upon the religion she was trying to live by : but this struggle and this humility only made her out- wardly colder and quieter ; and her companions, Louie among the rest, were very quick to set it down to a feeling of superiority and an aversion to their society. This it was that insensibly had estranged them. Louie at heart was longing to ask forgiveness for her constant unkindnesses, and to BEGINNING WRONG. 15 beg for advice and help, and to be told whether it would ever be possible for her to get into the right path : and Julia, hurt at her coldness and fright- ened by her growing recklessness and self-will, was yet fonder of her than ever, and yearned to lead her right and to win her to the only means of self-con- trol and happiness ; but both waited for the other to speak first, both were too proud to make a sin- gle advance. Addy McFarlane laughed spitefully as she saw the expression of pain that contracted Louie's fore- head. " What a pity," looking slily up at her face, " what a pity that Julia is giving you up ! She's such a model, she might have done you no end of good, and kept you straight, for a while, at least." " You'd better say, what a pity I have given her up," said Louie, quickly. " I hate sanctified supe- riority, and Julia knows it, and knows that I will not endure her patronizing ways. I can see," she went on, " by the way your eye? glisten, that you mean to tell her every word. You're welcome to ; and xcept that I know she won't believe anything you say, I would tell you what else I think of her, and let you carry that too." " You'd better take care ; you'll be sorry for one or two things you've said this morning," returned 16 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. Adelaide, in a tone a shade less trifling than ordi- nary ; but at this momeut, Miss Barlow, leaving the group of teachers with whom she had been talking at the chapel door, approached them and paused before Louie. Of all the moments that could have been chosen to reprimand her, at least for the purpose of bene- fiting her, this was the very worst, and perhaps a more judicious teacher would have perceived it. But Miss Barlow was too much irritated and too much prejudiced to see this. She meant to humble and discipline a refractory pupil ; she did not reflect how far the desire to do it proceeded from a wish to gratify her own pique, rather than from a desire to do her duty faithfully toward one of the children committed to her care. At that moment, any one familiar with Louie's face could have seen that she was suffering cruelly from wounded pride, from mortification and remorse; that there were evil passions enough roused in her soul already, without summoning any more to the field, without exaspe- rating her to the obstinacy and insubordination and disrespect that were certain to follow a reprimand de- livered at such a time. Besides, Adelaide McFarlane was her acknowledged enemy and tormentor, and sat by now, with greedy eyes, watching the encoun- ter, and her presence, of course, was an irritation. BEGINNING WBOSG. 17 I do not mean to make any excuses for Louie ; there is no need for me to hold up her faults for execration ; they punished themselves every step she took ; no one could fail to see how miserable she was, and there is no danger of her having any followers, merely for the pleasure her career pro- mised. What I wish to do is to be just ; to show how many influences were at work to lead her so far astray. I do not wish wholly to blame Miss Barlow ; she meant well, and in the main did her duty as a teacher; but toward this girl she had allowed herself to be too easily prejudiced, and had not taken the pains to sift her feelings and inquire into their justice. . Miss Barlow had not brought her own temper under entire control, so it is not to be wondered at that she failed to control her pupil ; and when she paused in front of her, there was an angry gleam from her black eye, and an excited tremor in her voice, that certainly were not calculated to soothe a ruffled temper, or to insure complete submission. " How do you explain your tardiness again this morning, Louisa?" There was a moment's pause; Louie tried to answer, but the words choked her. She was literally too much worked up to command her voice. " Do yon mean to answer me 2" demanded the teacher in a sharper tone. 18 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. Louie caught a glance of Adelaide's eager eye ; she gave a sort of gasp and said quickly : " I have no explanation to give." " Think again before you make that decisive ; it will be worse for you than you imagine if you con- tinue to rebel." " It can't be worse for me than it has been for the last month," muttered Louie under her breath. " Once for all," said Miss Barlow in a tone of suppressed anger, and looking steadily at her, " do you mean to explain to me the circumstance of your tardiness this morning ?" " I do not." There was the deadest silence ; Adelaide held her breath with excitement, the teacher with anger; Louie alone was composed enough now. All the wavering and timidity was gone, she had not a thought that was not hatred and rebellion. " Go to the Study at once," was all that Miss Barlow could find voice to say, as she motioned her away. Louie bowed slightly as she left her, and with a very firm step walked across the hall, and entered the Study door. CHAPTEE 1L THE STUDY. " Anger's a hurricane inbred ; Meekness, a calm in heart and head ; Revenge, of war runs all the ills ; Forgiveness, sweets of peace instills." BISHOP KEN. THE precise nature of the punishment implied in the sentence of banishment to the Study, may pos- sibly need explanation to those whose misfortune it has been not to have been educated at St. Mary's Hall. When I confess that its terrors were more imaginary than substantial, it will be understood that I look back at it from some distance of time, and with the disenchantment of several years be- tween it and me. During the entire period of my school career, however, I stood in a very salutary awe of its thunders, and regarded the sentence with all the dread that it was meant to inspire. In plain fact, the Study was a very large and commodious room, somewhat dark, perhaps, and not altogether cheerful, filled with bookcases and 19 20 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. books, and having a very learned look withal, pre- sided over by the Chaplain of the Hall, in my time a most humane and kind gentleman, and one against whom an act of severity or injustice had never been recorded. He was very ready to ex- cuse youthful faults, and decreed for all ordinary offences, very mild and bearable punishments, re- ferring the extremest cases to the Bishop's decision. The result of being sent to the Study, in fine, was, generally, fifteen minutes' interview with this gentleman, a good deal of good advice, a little kind expostulation on the impropriety of the fault for which the offender was arraigned, a recommenda- tion to the mercy of the Principal, and a "good morning." Notwithstanding this known result, being sent to the Study was always a horrible and disgraceful thing ; the stoutest hearts quaked a little at it ; it threw the timid ones into" an agony of alarm and apprehension, and all agreed to look with some pity and much contempt upon the unhappy subjects of the decree. Thus it was, that as Louie Atterbury walked across the hall toward the Study door, she heard with some concern the ringing of the break- fast-bell, and the rush of feet that followed it in- stantly. She was too proud to hurry ; the foremost ones caught sight of her, and too proud to shut the THE STUDY. 21 Study door after her, so the bolder ones, hearing the rumor of her disgrace, stole on tip-toe half across the hall and peeped in at her. She had seated herself on a chair by the window, and when she saw the prying faces of her tormentors, she bit her lip ; but, forcing back the tears, gave them a careless nod and smile. Mr. Eogers, passing that moment on his way to breakfast, looked in upon her ; he saw the nod and' smile, and his face darkened. No one in authority, however kind, can endure to see his authority mocked at and derided. " You may wait here till I come back," he said, coldly. Louie listened to the tramp of feet down the din- ing-room stairs; how long before it ceased! then the pause while grace was said ; then the sudden noise of the adjustment and occupation of all that multitude of chairs, and soon the subdued sounds of knife and fork as the besieging army of hungry girls applied themselves to their repast. Louie thought of the inquiring eyes that would be turned toward her empty place. " There isn't a soul in school that won't know I'm sent to the Study, before ten minutes are over," she thought, dismally, " and, moreover, that it's the second time this month. A pretty sort of name 22 LOUIE'S LAST TEKM. Fm getting! Well, I can't help it; I don't care." And she pressed her lips tighter together, and, leaning back in her chair, beat uneasily with her foot upon the carpet, and muttered again with a darkened brow, " I don't care." Poor Louie! If she hadn't cared, she would never have worn such a face as she wore then ; she wouldn't have bit her pale lips so, nor have beaten that nervous tatto upon the carpet. She did care, and bitterly, too, about the bad name she was get- ting ; but she did not care in the right sort of a way, nor try the right sort of means to prevent it. Pride and self-will had brought it upon her, and by pride and self-will she was trying (as far as she tried at all) to get rid of it. Alice Aulay, eight years old, could have told her that that was not the way ; any girl in the school could have told her that two wrongs didn't make a right ; her own heart, if she had listened to it, could have told her that humility and self-denial were the opposites of pride and self- will ; and that only by renouncing these and assuming those, could she attain to the favor of God and man. But she didn't listen to it. She' went blindly, blunderingly, obstinately on, listening to the tumult of evil thoughts that beset her to the evil sugges- tions of her companions and the evil suggestions of THE STUDY. 23 the devil, and the faint voice of conscience was stifled before it reached her ear. Sometimes, in the hush of the Chapel service, or when she saw her young companions kneel around the altar that she hardly dared look upon, there would come a memory of her baptismal blessings a thought of what she had been made, and what she ought even now to be ; but a bitter sigh would blot it all out. " I need not try to be good. I have tried and failed so often. I cannot go with Julia and the others. I am growing worse instead of better. I must be, oh, how different before I am fit for the Communion ! It will be long, if ever, before I am good enough to go ; but it is not my fault. I can- not help it if I am wicked ; I cannot help it if I am worse than they are." And so, trying to satisfy herself that it was not her fault, she went on in the wrong ways that had been thickening round her of late, unsatisfied and very miserable, but very unrepentant. When Mr. Eogers, accompanied by Miss Bar- low, entered the Study half an hour later, they found as unhopeful a subject in it as they had left. If Mr. Rogers had been alone, Louie had made up her mind to be submissive, and apologize and tell him all he desired to know ; but when the door opened and his grave face appeared, preceded by 24: LOUIE'S LAST TERM. the face that was associated in her mind with all the stormy scenes she had gone through in the last year, the good resolution, founded as it was in only another form of self-will, faded quickly, and a stub- born rebellion took possession of her. All Mr. Rogers' kindness was forgotten in the recollection of Miss Barlow's injustice; she could see nothing but tyranny, feel nothing but defiance. I think Miss Barlow comprehended this at a glance, for her thin lip curled slightly, and her sharp eye emitted an angry light. " I fear you will have to resort to harsher measures, Mr. Rogers," she said in a low tone. " Harsh measures are very disagreeable to me," he answered aloud, "and I shall not willingly have recourse to them ; but I suppose there is no girl in this school so ignorant of right and justice as to suppose that rebellion to lawful authority will be tolerated in it Kindness and indulgence must have a limit, or they are abused." " Yes, sir," said Louie, quickly, " and prejudice and persecution must have a limit, or they are abused." The blood started to Miss Barlow's cheek, and she looked from Louie to the clergyman as if to say, " You see, sir, it is as I said." Mr. Rogers did not regard the glance, but con- THE STUDY. 25 tinned to look sternly at the girl, sternly but thoughtfully. " You cannot doubt but that I am as ready to put down persecution and oppression, as to punish disrespect and insubordination. You have been accused more than once of the last, and you know it forms the present charge against you. Let us settle that matter first, and then whatever com- plaints you have to make of injustice and persecu- tion, I am ready to hear and to endeavor to redress. Now for the question in hand. " You are aware, Louisa, that this is by no means the first time that I have had complaints brought me of you. I have always treated you with the greatest consideration and kindness when I have been obliged to reprimand you, hoping by that means to win you to a wiser course. Those mea- sures, I see, have entirely failed, and I must try another method with you. Now, I wish you dis- distinctly to understand, before we go any further, that I mean to establish Miss Barlow's authority, and that obedience to her is to be all that will save you from severity. She tells me that you have re- fused to answer her questions in regard to a breach of rules this morning. The fewer words we waste now the better : I ask you, therefore, do you con- tinue to refuse an explanation to her ?" 2 26 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. Louie glanced an instant at Miss Barlow, and her resolution was fixed. "I will explain it to you, sir. I will not explain it to Miss Barlow." There was a pair of very angry, and a pair of very stern eyes bent on the girl for several minutes after she said this, but she did not tremble nor falter, though she heard in a sort of bewildered dream the words that followed. She hardly under- stood their import, though she mechanically obeyed them, leaving the room and going up to her dormi- tory where she was to stay through the day. Mr. Kogers' last sentence as she left the study, sounded in her ears : " I give you till to-morrow morning to think it over. By that time I trust you will have concluded to obey me, and to submit to the authority of your teacher." " I will die first!" muttered Louie between her teeth as she shut the dormitory door firmly, and walked through the long empty room to her own bed which stood beside the window at the extreme end. " I will die before I submit to her ! Let them expel me, if they please. I don't care much what they do to me, nor what becomes of me. As well be expelled as stay here, where nobody respects me, and nobody thinks of loving me !" THE STUDY. 27 She leaned against the window and looked out. The light fell flickeringly on the grassy bank through the waving branches of the great trees be- fore the house, and the river gleamed bright and blue in the sunshine. The soft June wind, sweet with neighboring flowers, blew in at the open win- dow, and stirred the leaves of Louie's little Bible lying on the sill. She glanced down at it a mo- ment, and her eye fell on the words written on the blank leaf, fluttering now in the wind, " LOUIE ATTEKBURY, FROM HER MOTHER." A blinding mist of tears came between her and the words. " What would mother say if she knew of this ! and little Larry, who thinks I am so good. !" And choking with sobs, she threw herself upon the bed and buried her face in the pillow. But there was no danger that her mother would know of her disgrace; no danger and no hope either. Thousands of miles of ocean rolled between her and her child, and Louie's trial would be many weeks old before her mother could hear of it, would have settled her in sin or brought her to repentance be- fore her mother could, by counsel or entreaty, help her to see the right. She was beyond the reach of anything but her mother's prayers now, poor girl, but she had sore need of them. 28 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. It had been, indeed, almost like death, the part- ing a year before between Louie and her mother. A child more petted and indulged, more necessary to a parent, more companionable and devoted, had never lived. Cruel as the separation was to Louie, no doubt it came harder to the mother, for besides the pain of living without her, there were heavy fears for the effect it might have upon her child. These were the most dangerous years of her life, and Louie was a child to love with a pain at your heart, a love compounded of foreboding and yearn- ing and tenderness was the love that she inspired. The very qualities that made you love her, created a dread as well. But a stronger duty than her child's guidance, even, called the mother away. Captain Atterbury had been ordered to the coast of the Mediterranean, and there was no question about her duty in follow- ing him. She had taken Larry, her little son, with her, leaving Louie at the school in which she had the most confidence, with many pangs to be sure, but with an entire faith that, as she had done as nearly right as she knew, all would go on right. But for several months Louie had taken it dreadfully to heart. She had been, par excellence " the home- sick girl" of the school, had moped and pined till those who had the care of her had really feared for THE STUDY. 29 her health. At last, however, her natural spirits and the kindness and consideration of those around her, won her back to her ordinary lightheartedness and vivacity; and the direful homesickness and depression of the first separation only occasionally returned sometimes, when the long-looked-for let- ters revived it for the moment by their tenderness, or when the harshness of any of those about her, or some fit of self-reproach, brought to her mind too vividly the care and companionship she had lost. " Oh ! if I could be with mother I should not be so bad, I know ! I know I should be good !" she sobbed, as she lay face downward on the bed. The tears did her good ; they carried away half the stubbornness in her heart. I don't know how long she laid there, sobbing as she thought of her mother's goodness and her own wickedness, resolv- ing and re-resolving that indeed she would be bet- ter ; before, exhausted with excitement and faint for want of food, she yielded to the sleep that came over her, and dreamed sweet dreams of mother and Larry, and forgot school and trouble as much as if she had indeed been with them in their pleasant Italian home. lEer sleep was long and heavy, even the Chapel bell at noon did not wake her, nor the opening of the 30 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. door just after, and the cautious entrance of Ade- laide McFarlane into the room. Her bed was next but one to Louie's, and she stole quietly along to it, looking with wonder and a sort of malice at the quiet sleeper. Addy's eyes were very light blue, and they ordinarily had but a faint expression of anything in them ; but on this occasion they gleamed with some very decided feeling. Hatred, I think, was the sentiment they conveyed just then, deter- mined hatred, and a shade of disappointment and chagrin. She had fancied Louie had been kept in the Study all the morning or had been sent to the Bishop, and here she found her sleeping quietly in the dormitory, with her head on her hand, and a happy smile on her lips. " I'll pay you yet, miss, for what you said this morning," she whispered, as she leaned on the foot of the bed and gazed at her. " Some way 'ill turn up ; I'll make you sorry for it yet." A way turned up very soon ; the devil isn't slow in giving work to those who are waiting for it After Addy had gazed her fill at her unconscious enemy, she turned away and applied herself to what had brought her up to the dormitory at this unusual time of day. She opened her trunk cautiously, took out a book, and shutting it again, went over and seated herself by the window, and, THE BTTTDY. 31 secreting the book in her apron very dexterously, and leaning her head on her hand, she was soon lost in the perusal of it. The fact was, novels were contre les regies at St. Mary's Hall that is, indiscriminate and second-rate novels were. The Waverleys and some other standard works of fiction were in the Hall library, to which the girls had always access. But the reading of the promiscuous yellow-covered literature with which the country is flooded, was most strictly and most righteously forbidden, and in the decree all the right-minded girls in the school acquiesced. There were some, however, who still clung fondly to the "Lost Heiress," the "Deserted Bride," a " Heart Unmasked," and others of the same stamp. Adelaide was among their warmest advocates, and had come back this term well supplied with this contraband literature, which she had quietly circulated among intimate and appreciative friends. Several volumes had been discovered in their hands and confiscated, but, of course, they were too " honorable " to betray the real owner, and Ade- laide had entirely escaped suspicion. Indeed, she had a peculiar talent for escaping perhaps we may call it her only talent, her only shining one, at least ; but it did her good service helped her to maintain a fair standing in the school to keep 32 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. " in " with her teachers, and with the girls, on amic- able terms, if not in actual friendship. " It's my opinion," cried one of her wretched ac- complices in a down town expedition, who had been detected and brought to justice, " that if the whole world should burn up, Addy McFarlane would stand without a hair singed !" That was a little extravagant, perhaps, but really it did seem to describe the case pretty well. She seemed to bear a charmed life to be invulnerable to justice unattainable by malice; she slipped through the teachers' fingers, worked her way silently out of scrapes, did an immense deal of mis- chief in the school, and was very comfortable and complacent as she went along. The bell rang. " There, I must go," she thought, regretfully, as she rose slowly, and, reading as she went, walked toward her trunk. Half-way across the room she stopped, too much absorbed to give up the book. The heroine was eloping; she was stealing down past her cruel parents' door to her faithful Everard's arms ; a travelling carriage stood behind a clump of trees, not five minutes' walk from the house ; the night was black and starless ; oh 1 would she get down safe ! When Adelaide gave a violent start the handle of the door turned, not the door of the THE STUDY. 33 heroine's parents' room, but, which concerned her much more nearly, her own proper, particular dor- mitory-door; and quick as a flash she threw the book on the bed nearest which she stood ; it was Louie's ; she gave it a push that sent it within three inches of her hand, sprung across to her own bed, and before Miss Barlow was fairly in the room, was kneeling tranquilly before her trunk, with half its contents spread on the floor beside her, busily engaged in arranging and assorting a pile of under- clothes. " Why, Adelaide ! Is that you ? I did not see you. "What are you doing up here at this hour? The bell has rung." " I know it, ina'am, and I am hurrying as fast as I can. I came up for a clean handkerchief, and I found my trunk in such disorder that I couldn't help stopping to fix it a little. I put it in order last Saturday; I don't see how I've managed to tumble it so." The teacher gave her neatness an approving smile; none of the others thought of arranging theirs oftener than once a week, and only then by compulsion. It was really quite delightful to see a girl who cared at all about the order her things were in, and Miss Barlow said as much. Addy took the praise demurely, and looked much grati- 2* 34 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. fied, hurrying through the undertaking, neverthe- less, with all convenient speed. Before she had accomplished it, however, and reached the door, Miss Barlow had accomplished what she considered the detection of the unlucky Louie's guilt. Miss Barlow's expression on seeing the quiet, easy sleep of the culprit, was not as entirely unlike Adelaide's, when she first witnessed the same phenomenon, as Miss Barlow's admirers could have wished. It did not seem to gratify her at all ; in- deed, I may say, she looked as if she was very much exasperated, and as if she thought it sheer impertinence in Louie to forget her troubles in sleep, and a shameful perversion of the ends of justice. It is also unpleasant to acknowledge, but there was something very like a gleam of triumph in her eyes as they lit on the book which had ap- parently but just slipped from the sleeper's hand. You know it is so pleasant to find we have not been mistaken. Such an occurrence as this seems a direct compliment to our sagacity a confirmation of our best opinion of our own penetration. We must not blame Miss Barlow too much for her complacency in this matter. " I thought as much," she murmured, as she read the title. "I have seen for some time past the working of this poisonous stuff in her mind. This THE STUDY. 35 explains all. Adelaide," she continued, aloud, "do you know how Louie came by this book ?" holding it up. Adelaide shook her head. " I have seen it lying around for some time, ma'am, but 1 couldn't say precisely where it came from. Louie brought some books back with her, I know." " Others of this description, do you mean ?" Adelaide looked down. " I am not much with Louie, ma'am. I do not know a great deal about her reading or anything she does. I can't say pre- cisely anything about her books." " I see how it is ; you are unwilling to expose her. I respect the feeling you have, and shall not press the matter now, but if I am obliged to call you up about it, I shall expect you to tell me the whole truth. However unpleasant it may be, you must remember it will be your duty." Adelaide bowed and hurried out. This idea was exactly the one she had meant to convey to Miss Barlow, and she entered the schoolroom with quite a radiant expression; it was wonderful how well things had worked. Meantime, Miss Barlow had placed the book under lock and key, and after lingering a moment by the sleeping girl as if she longed to bring her back to reality again, she turned and left the room ; and Louie slept quietly on. CHAPTER ILL CLOUDY. "Oh! 'tis easy ' To beget great deeds ; but in the rearing of them The threading in cool blood each mean detail, And furze-brake of half pertinent circumstance There lies the self-denial." KTNGSLEY. THE Study again, if you please, but this time with more august occupants. Teachers' meeting was just over ; the Bishop, patient and attentive, had for the last two hours listened to the reports, suggestions and complaints of some twenty-five teachers, male and female ; had entered calmly, and thoughtfully into the merits of each case, advised, arranged, revised, with clearness and precision ; had bent his mind as entirely to the settling of the slightest of the many slight difficulties that arose, as if his mind had had no other cares or plans upon it ; as if this school, and the government of it, were the sole duties of his life, instead of being, as was the truth, about the fiftieth part of that which came upon him daily. CLOUDY. 37 There was a little weariness in the gesture, per- haps, as leaning back in his chair as the last one left the room, he passed his hand across his fore- head and closed his eyes for a moment. Only a moment, however, for looking up, he said to Mr. Kogers, who had remained : " I want to speak to you a moment before I go, about one of the children whose expression I have noticed lately. I do not like it, it is very unhappy and haggard for one of her age. Do you know anything about her Louisa Atterbury ?" "It was of her I wished to speak to you. She has not been brought particularly under my notice till lately. Last term, which was her first, she was an average good girl, did very well in her studies, and always had a tolerable, though never very high mark for conduct. But this summer, the com- plaints of her bad temper and unruliness, have been uncomfortably frequent, and she has fallen off too, in attention to her studies. The teacher who has charge of the dormitory she is in, indeed, has been to me several times with complaints, about the jus- tice of which, I think, there can be no doubt." " And none about their judiciousness? She is in Miss Barlow's dormitory, if I remember right, and I have sometimes feared that Miss Barlow had not quite the self-control and discretion that hef office 38 needs. However, perhaps there has been no want of them in this case. I cannot judge. You say the girl has been self-willed and rebellious ?" Mr. Rogers briefly related the occurrence of the morning, and added, that he rather feared for the result of the reprieve ; he thought that she could not be brought to apologize and explain to Miss Barlow ; he thought he saw that much in her eyes when she left the room. And in case of her con- tinued refusal, of course, there was nothing for him to do but to send her officially to him, the Bishop, for judgment and reproof. " I would desire you to avoid that, if possible," said the Bishop, thoughtfully. " It will be very much of a disgrace, and may do her more injury than too much laxity would. She does not look, to me, like a viciously stubborn child ; I should trust very much to her good feelings, if they can be worked upon ; gentleness and consideration may do much for her." " They have been tried, sir." " I do not doubt it, but try them once again. I should advise you seeing her alone to-morrow morn- ing, without the aggravation of her teacher's presence. Let her feel that it is a desire for her good and not a stubborn love of authority, that actuates those to whom she is bound to submit ; and once convinced of that, I am very much mistaken in my reading of her face, if she does not yield." " I trust you are right sir, but if she does not ?" " If she does not, of course you must send her to me ; but avoid it, if possible." It was in accordance with this advice that Mr. Rogers, entering the Study next morning after Chapel, said to Miss Barlow, who, with her pupil, was awaiting him : " I would like to have a few minutes' conversa- tion with Louisa alone, Miss Barlow. May I ask you to leave her with me ?" This was as unwelcome as it was unexpected to the teacher, but there was nothing to be said) and nothing to be done, but to obey. " Sit down a moment, Louisa," said Mr. Kogers, in a kind tone ; " I have a note to answer, it will not detain me long." Mr. Eogers sat down to his writing, Louie to her thoughts. And they were gentler thoughts than hers had been lately. There was nothing of stern- ness or anger in the thoughtful face of her judge, no haste or irritation in his movements ; perhaps he meant her kindly : and as she had just come from Chapel, perhaps the better resolutions of yesterday had been renewed there as she knelt; and there was no one at hand to rouse the newly conquered 40 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. obstinacy. At all events, when Mr. Rogers raised his eyes from his note, he saw Louie's were full of tears, though she turned her head quickly away, and he rose and approached her kindly. " I hope," he said, " that the time you have had to think about our conversation yesterday, has re- sulted in a determination to do as you know I desire you to do. I am not apt to be unreasonable, am I? And I think you must have seen, if you have thought about it, that this is not unreasonable. How is it?" Louie hung her head. " No, sir, perhaps it isn't unreasonable." " But you think it is hard, Louie ! Duty gene- erally is, my child, and self-abasement is the hard- est duty I know ; but you do not require to be told what its reward is, what blessed promise is to him *who humbleth himself.' And rebellion and pride, Louie, never profited any one yet. Fretting and struggling only make the yoke more galling (for a yoke of some kind there must be), whereas, submission and patience make it endurable and easy." Louie knew all that, and a great deal else that Mr. Rogers said to her before, but it came with new force from his lips now, and she answered in a changed and humbled voice : CLOUDY. 4:1 " I will try, sir, to do as you require. I will ask Miss Barlow's pardon but is it asking too much may I write to her instead of speaking to her about it ? If you would allow me " Mr. Rogers looked thoughtfully at her. "Why, Louie?" She colored as she answered, and bit her lip. "I am afraid to trust myself, sir. I know it's very wrong, but when I'm with Miss Barlow, I can't do as I meant to before ; I always get angry and impertinent." "I am willing," said Mr. Rogers, after a mo- ment's pause. " You may write your apology, if you choose." He handed her a sheet of paper and a pen. Just then the bell rang for breakfast. " Will you come down to the table or write your note first?" " I'd rather write the note first, if you please." " Yery well ; some breakfast shall be saved for you. When your note is finished, leave it on the table. I will see that Miss Barlow receives it." The note, short as it was, cost Louie much time and thought, and it was only just completed when the girls came up from breakfast. This is a " true copy " of it : 42 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. "Miss BAELOW: " Mr. Rogers has given me permission to write to you and make the explanation you asked me for yesterday. The reason I was late in Chapel was that I had a book down in my desk that I wanted to read in. I was dressed some time before the others, and ran down to the school-room before the bell began to ring. I didn't notice when it stopped ; they had all gone into Chapel before I thought any- thing about it. " I have also to apologize for my conduct in re- fusing an explanation. I now see it was improper, and am sorry for it. . "L. K. ATTEEBTJKY." This note, folded and directed, but unsealed, she left on the Study table, and went out with a very much lighter heart than she had known what it was to have for some days. The Matron, with whom she was something of a favorite, had ordered her breakfast saved, and she ate it alone in the huge dining-room with considerable appetite and much comfort. Oh, the difference between an easy conscience and a burdened one! Louie went upstairs two steps at a time ; she ran through the hall humming "Brightest Eyes;" at the schoolroom door she CLOUDY. 43 brushed against Alice Aulay, who, with her arma fall of books, was* hurrying out ; and, as a natural consequence of the collision, half the books went flying over the floor. "Oh, Ally! don't scold," cried Louie, stooping to pick them up. " I think you might look a little where you go, though," said Alice, regarding, very much troubled, the debris on the floor. "I think I might, too," returned Louie, good- humoredly, " only I never do, somehow. Why, child, you've got more than you can carry ; your little arms will break. Where are you taking them to?" " I'm taking 'em to Julia Alison and Laura Bout- well. They are in Miss Stanton's room." " Here ; I'll help you. I'll take these." When they reached the door of Miss Stanton's room, Louie paused for a moment. Laura Bout- well and Julia were writing busily at the table. Julia looked up for an instant, but seeing Louie, dropped her eyes and went on with her work. Louie walked up to the table and said, laying the books down : "These come consigned to you, I think, Laura. There was a collision at the schoolroom door, at- tended with great damage to the cargo of the 1 Alice,' but I acted with much gallantry and pre- sence of mind on the occasion, and was able to res- cue something from the wreck." " Many thanks," said Laura, looking up with a smile, " I suppose we ought to make you a neat speech and vote you a service of plate ; that's what humane people generally get ; don't they ?" " According to the newspapers," answered Louie, lingering a moment and looking at Julia, who never raised her eyes nor smiled, but wrote on per- sistently. With a little sigh, she turned and left the room. " That was unkind," she thought, as she walked slowly back to the schoolroom. It was the first damp her new spirits had received. Addy McFarlane, at the time of " the collision," had been engaged in a little privateering enterprise in the schoolroom. Her desk was next to Louie's, and as she happened to know that Louie had her theme written out, she naturally thought it would save her a good deal of trouble, if she could find it, to copy it off entire, for Louie's were generally the best exercises in the class. She was just engaged in rummaging through the wilderness of her desk in pursuit of it, when Alice's exclamation and Louie's voice made her start up and drop the desk- lid. She seized the nearest book and devoted her- self to it till the two withdrew from the scene; CLOUDY. 45 then she returned to the charge. But on lifting the lid of the desk, it was with some chagrin that she discovered the unfortunate results of her pre- cipitate retreat. A bottle of ink had been upset, and had damaged considerably an adjacent pile of copy-books, but the chief sufferer was a prettily bound little volume which had lain beside it. " Unlucky !" thought Adelaide ; " very unlucky !" She mopped up the current ink with her hand- kerchief and a piece of paper, shoved the injured copy-books into the background, put the stopper in the ink-bottle, pulled a slate over the daubed bottom of the desk, and ejaculated complacently: "There, nobody'd guess anything had happened. It's as good as ever only this tiresome book what shall I do with it?" She gave a furtive glance around; the room was nearly empty. The two girls at the other end, toward the door, were sitting with their backs to her. Concealing her handkerchief and book under her apron, she hurried up to a closet at the upper end of the room that was seldom or never used the bottom part of it, at least. She flung them in and shut the door, reflecting as she regained her seat : " Nobody'll ever be the wiser." The bell rung, and the schoolroom filled rapidly. Louie, hurrying in, took her seat, and whispering, 46 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. " Oh, Adelaide ! have you found the * Word for the Day ?' " pushed up the lid of her desk and began a rapid search for the Bible. " Yes yes," returned Adelaide, very officiously, " here it is ; look over and learn it with me." For the ink wasn't dry yet, she thought with alarm. Louie took hold of the proffered Bible, and the two heads bent over it very earnestly for several minutes, and when Mr. Rogers entered and the whole school rose to say the " "Word for the Day," Addy repeated it as glibly and correctly as any one else did. Louie stumbled a little in reciting it, but it rung in her ears all day. " Before destruction the heart of man is haughty ; and before honor is humility." Louie almost thought Mr. Rogers' eyes were on her all the while that he explained it ; that may have been fancy, but his thoughts certainly were. Though painfully exemplifying Louie's want of neatness in the arrangement of her desk, truth com- pels me to state that she did not perceive the recent invasion of it. Her visits to it were hurried (Louie generally was in a hurry), and it presented such a distracting maze of confusion, that she was glad to drop the lid and forget it the instant she had found the book she wanted. CLOUDT. 47 The only time that she came near discovering the mishap, was in the French class, the last recitation before school closed. She chanced to be seated between Addy and Julia ; it was a chance she would have avoided if she could, for they were, for very dif- ferent reasons, the two girls whose neighborhood was least pleasant to her. Addy she always shunned for very obvious reasons, and Julia, whenever they had met during the day, had shown so unmistaka- ble a coldness that all Louie's pride was roused, and nothing could have been more vexatious than the discovery that she made after her hurried entrance and appropriation of the nearest vacant seat, that it was bounded on the east by Adelaide McFarlane's grey foulard, and on the west by Julia Alison's pale blue muslin. She bit her lip in vexation, said "bother!" under her breath, glanced around to see if it were possible to change, but finding it was not, arranged her books and submitted to her fate. Miss Marbais, a brisk little Frenchwoman, who never allowed the loss of a minute in her class, be- gan the lesson promptly. She plunged them into " dictee," without a thought of mercy and with a cruel rapidity, and all wits had a hard race to fol- low in her wake. Louie did not mind it very much ; " she took to French," the girls said, " as ducks take to water ;" it never was the least trouble for her to 48 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. prepare the lessons that gave some of her com- panions such extreme perplexity, and as for dicta- tion, it was as easy to her as so much English would have been. Julia, also, was a good scholar, probably a more thorough one than Louie; but Addy McFarlane found the half hour devoted to dictee the time that tried her soul most unbearably. Miss Marbais was very wide awake, nothing ever seemed to escape her, and Adelaide being a very indifferent French scholar, had much ado to shuffle along respectably among her more advanced com- panions. We have seen how she managed the theme business; translation was something of a bugbear, but by dint of studying over the passage that was coming to her, and managing dexterously about getting a seat near some person not prin- cipled against prompting, she escaped open dis- grace in that part of the hour's exercises, but at dictation she was hopelessly routed. More than once, her horribly incorrect rendering of Miss Marbais' rapid French had been held up to public derision. The silence that reigned during the les- son was too entire to admit of prompting, and indeed every girl was too busy on her own account to give any help to a bewildered neighbor. On this particular occasion she had twisted her- self into rather an ungraceful attitude, but one CLOUDY. 49 which enabled her to glance over Louie's slate, and she was availing herself greedily of the opportunity, till Louie, perceiving the advantage her adversary was taking of her labors, rather pettishly turned away and put her slate beyond the reach of Ade- laide's anxious eyes. But Adelaide followed, and in a few minutes was again copying rapidly from her slate. Louie perceived it, and mentally ex- claiming : " She's the meanest girl I ever knew 1 If she will do such things, she shall pay for them." And with a rapid pencil she wrote on, in the most absurd French she could think of, and ingeni- ously introduced as many laughable mistakes as the subject admitted of. She knew she could correct her own slate before Miss Marbais asked for it, and her familiarity with the language made it quite easy for her to play off this very questionable trick upon her ancient foe. The subject which Miss Mar- bais had chosen, was Mary Queen of Scots' adieu to France, and the vehement little Frenchwoman, no doubt, looked upon the horrible mangling and mutilation of these pretty verses as a sacrilegious thing, for as her eye glanced over Adelaide's slate, her face underwent many rapid changes from grave to gay, from lively to severe, and many broken 50 exclamations in alternate French and English, burst from her lips. At last, while Adelaide with sus- pended breath watched her apprehensively and Louie smothered her laughter, she tapped on the desk, and holding up the slate, exclaimed : " O malheureuse princesse ! Ecoutez, mesdemoi- selles." * And with much gesticulation and cruel emphasis, she read off the absurd jumble of nonsense to the eagerly attentive girls. The result of course, was an unequivocal burst of laughter, and curious whis- pers of "Whose is it whose is it?" " C'est a Mademoiselle McFcvrlane" responded Miss Marbais without note or comment, as she laid it down. " Justly celebrated for her early proficiency in the language," laughed Louie very low. It would, indeed, have made poor Marie Stuart's hair stand on end, I am afraid ; her " listening spirit" wouldn't altogether have "rejoiced" in this rendering of her adieu; the girls said as much as this, in stage asides, and a good deal more to the same effect, and it was some time before they could be quieted to study again. In the meanwhile, Addy's face, which had not turned red, but rather white, had shown no discomposure, but had been bent eagerly toward the teacher, awaiting the CLOUDY. 51 moment when ehe should read Louie's, verses, thinking, " I'll have good company in my disgrace when she gets to them" But when Miss Marbais did get to them, and reading them quietly over, returned them to Louie with a " Tres lien fait" the whole truth flashed upon her. The glare of malice that filled her eyes no one saw; they lit on Louie for an instant, who was now intent on her theme, then they dropped upon her book. "You 'shall pay dearly for this, cherie" she murmured inaudibly. In a few moments, Miss Marbais, who had begun, correcting the exercises, put out her hand for Louie's, going on with her work of looking over another's, and not raising her eyes. Meanwhile the luckless Louie had opened her exercise-book, and had discovered its fair pages miserably defaced with huge daubs of ink, indeed, so much defaced that the theme for that day was almost unintelligible. "How could I have done it!" she ejaculated in consternation. A faint hope of repairing the dam- age by dint of scratching out some blots and re- writing some lines inspired her to long for a few minutes' delay, and she glanced anxiously toward her neighbors to see whose exercise might be sub- stituted for hers, pro tern. Adelaide held hers, 52 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. neatly written in her band, ready to give to Miss Marbais when demanded. Of her, of course, she could not now ask a favor; she turned to Julia, who sat with her pretty white hands folded before her, her lime de theme lying on her knee. If Louie had not been so miserably cornered, she never would have been driven into doing what she did at that moment. Nothing but the dread of laying that horrible theme before Miss Marbais would have betrayed her into asking a favor of Julia. Forget- ting everything but Miss Marbais, she leant down and whispered eagerly : " Give her yours. I want to fix mine before she sees it." Miss Marbais' hand was still extended : she moved it a little impatiently, still with her eyes on the book before her, and said : " Mademoiselle, votre theme, vite." Louie gave a despairing glance toward Julia. Her quietly folded hands never stirred a hair's breadth ; a slight glow of color on her half-averted face alone showed that she had heard Louie speak. The very angriest feelings that had ever filled Louie's heart rushed into it then, as she sprung up and handed Miss Marbais her exercise, open at the worst page. " Now, Julia and I are done with each other for- CLOTIDY. 53 ever ; if I live a hundred years, I can never forget that never 1" If she could have seen into Julia's heart at that moment, she would have repented of her hasty judgment ; of the two, perhaps, she suffered most in this new estrangement, and only saw her error when too late, her pride told her, to remedy it. When Louie hurriedly asked her for her exercise, she imagined that it was to give her time to make some corrections she had discovered necessary since coming to class, from looking over some book that Miss Marbais had corrected. Surprise and shame at Louie's want of honor, and a conscientiousness about being a party to any such deceptions, had kept her silent during the brief instant that Louie had turned to her for help. Only when Miss Marbais took up the book and, turning to its proprietor, demanded the cause of the state she found it in, did she see her error. " I don't know how it happened, ma'am," said Louie, speaking hurriedly ; " I didn't see it till I came to class." " That's odd," said Miss Marbais, rather sharply. " It's really surprising how many things happen to you that you cannot possibly account for. It strikes me / should know it if I had spilt a bottle of ink over one of my books ; perhaps it will help 54 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. you to remember it another time, to rewrite this before you have any dinner. You may try it, at all events." Louie's cheeks burned as she took back the book. Miss Marbais had always been perfectly just and kind to her before, and this certainly was just. She did not say a word, but she bit her lip as she thought: "Whether I try or not, it's all one. Everything goes wrong." They had about ten minutes in the schoolroom before school was dismissed ; Louie had seized her grammar and cahier and was trying to make up for the error, and make the most of the ten minutes, but never had her work been so hard ; she was ex- cited and nervous, and could not put her mind on what she was about, and Adelaide McFarlane's eyes danced as she watched her angrily tear the third page out of her copy-book, blotted and incor- rect. Adelaide could not forbear a little curiosity about the matter, and watched narrowly, and won- dered much that Louie did not avail herself of three corrected exercises that lay within reach of her hand, their owners absent, too. "What a stupid girl, to miss such a chance ! About three minutes before the bell rung for the dismissal of school, a servant entered the room, and, with a card in her hand, walked down to the desk CLOUDY. 55 of the teacher in charge, and said, " there was a lady and gentleman m the parlor to see Miss Atter bury." Louie's quick ears caught her name ; she waited, trembling with excitement (for visitors to Miss Atterbury were angelic in their infrequency few and far between) till the teacher called her up, and delivering the card to her, said graciously : "You may go to the parlor without waiting for the dismissing of school." Louie read the name and gave an ecstatic " Hur- rah !" under her breath, and danced down the schoolroom, forgetful of proprieties. The teacher smiled a little ; she had been young herself perhaps at no very distant date. She said to Adelaide : " You may put away Louie's books that she has left about. She will not want them again this after- noon." "She hasn't finished her exercise," answered Adelaide, quickly. " Miss Marbais sent her up to write it over before she can come to dinner." " Ah !" said the teacher, looking serious. " How- ever, you may put them away for the present." And Adelaide shuffled them into the desk with no very tender hand. CHAPTER IV. THE SUN COMES OUT. " Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; Anfl the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache." LOWELL. AT the parlor-door, Louie paused a moment in a great flutter of excitement ; but a small boy, who had been keeping watch for her approach, darted out and dragged her in. " Oh, you wretched Tom !" she cried, as she flew into the arms of a lady standing just within the door. " Why didn't you give me time to compose my nerves before I came in ?" " Tour hair needs it more, dear," said the urchin. " Oh, my hair !" she exclaimed, holding up the heavy braids with one hand while she gave the other to the tall gentleman who stood looking down at her with a smile. " Not cured of your carelessness yet, eh, Louie ?' he said. H THE SUN COMES OUT. 57 " No, sir ; I begin to think it has become chronic," she answered, with a laugh that eventu- ated in a low, uneasy sigh. "But I am BO sur- prised to see you !" "And so glad?" "Ah, sir!" "Why, of course, Uncle Eawdon, she's glad," Tom interposed. " That is, I would have been, sir, if you'd left Tom at home." " Louie, my dear girl," said Tom, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and putting great expression in his little, old, odd face, " we had hoped to find that boarding-school had taken some of the sauci- ness out of you, whereas it is but too clear, at even the first glance, that you are as bad as ever." " Ingrate ! never ask me to hem another set of sails for you." " I shan't, you may be sure, for those you did in the spring ripped out the first time I tried 'em." " Oh ! oh !" "Tom, will you be quiet and let us talk to Louie?" exclaimed his mother, drawing the girl affectionately toward her as they sat down on the sofa. " Never mind the hair, Louie, we've seen it BO before, you know. But you're not looking well, child. I am sure, now your face is quiet that you 3* 58 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. look paler than when you left us. Don't you think so, Rawdon?" " A little, perhaps," said the gentleman, looking at her thoughtfully. " Have you been studying too hard, Louie ?" " Anything but that," she returned, hastily, col- oring a little. " I am very well, though, I assure you, only so surprised at seeing you I can hardly speak. It is so nice how did you happen to think about coming here ? I thought you were on your way to Canada before this time." " "We are en route for the Lakes now," explained the lady, " and as we shall be away all summer, we could not go without running down here for a night to see you and say good bye. Tom gave me no peace either ; saucy as he is, now he's with you." " Mamma, don't flatter Louie. I wanted to see you, my dear, to tell you that your letters are get- ting very blue and tiresome, and if you can't write anything more spicy and jolly, I think you had better discontinue altogether. Uncle Kawdon thinks so too, I know." " Louie knows better than that," said Col. Ruth- ven. " Louie knows that her letters are always welcome, even if they are homesick and ' blue ' as Tom says they are getting to be. I hope he is mis- THE SUN COMES OUT. 59 taken, though, about it ; surely you are not home- sick?" Col. Ruthven saw in a moment that he had touched an aching chord ; so, before Louie could get out her hesitating answer, he tried to divert the conversation into another channel, and succeeded so well that in a few moments Louie herself had forgotten that there was such a word as homesick in general use, or such a sentiment in circulation'; and, in recalling the delights of last spring, the adventures, the jokes, the entertainments of that happy time, the present dullness and recent wretch- edness of school life, were quite obliterated. She only remembered them, when Col. Ruthven, in his quick way, said she must go and ask for a holiday ; they would not insist upon her having longer leave than till the next day at noon ; but Mr. Rogers would not refuse that, he was sure. " Yes, go quick, there's not a minute to lose," urged Tom. " We're going to do lots of things, and Uncle Rawdon has ordered dinner at the hotel at half-past three, and we shall have to make good time to get back for it. Oh what makes you so slow? One would think you were afraid of Mr. Rogers." " No, I'm not afraid," said Louie falteringly, as she moved toward the door. " I'm not afraid, only 60 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. I don't know whether I can go Mr. Kogers may think I don't know " " But you can ask him," said Col. Euthven, with a kind smile as he opened the door for her. " Tell him who has come for you, and promise to study extra well for the next week, and I think he won't refuse you I couldn't, I know," he added in a low tone as he closed the door and turned to the win- dow. The young ne'er-do-weel, in the moment that intervened between the closing of the parlor door and the opening of the study door, did not feel the same confidence ; she trembled and faltered as she stood before Mr. Eogers, who was busy at his writ- ing, and who had hardly noticed her first faint knock. He looked up. " Ah, Louie ; what is it ?" She could hardly get the words out ; it was so absurd for her to be coming to this room, to ask a favor of Mr. Eogers, a special indulgence, when she had so lately left it in disgrace. > " I came to ask you, sir, if I might go and dine and stay till to-morrow with some friends who have just arrived. I am sorry, sir I know I ought not to ask but I don't go out very often I haven't many chances and if you could be so good this time" THE SUN COMES OUT. 61 Mr. Rogers laid down his pen and looked at her attentively. " Who has come for you ?" " My godmother, Mrs. Appleton, with whom I spent my vacation in the spring, and her brother, Col. Ruthven. They're the only people who ever come to see me, you know, sir, and they're going away to Canada to be gone all summer I shan't see them again in ever so long. They only want me to stay till noon to-morrow." " "Well, Louie, I don't mean to seem harsh, but think a moment. Does a holiday seem to come well on the top of such a week as this has been ? Could you blame me if I said I could not reward such conduct as yours has been lately ?" "No oh no, sir," said Louie, with a quivering lip. "I didn't think you'd let me go I know it's all right," and she turned away. " Stay a moment, Louie. If I thought this indul- gence would do you no harm if you would only see in it my desire to do you good and make you happy, perhaps I might allow it this time. "Would you really try to make yourself worthy of the con- fidence, if I made the experiment ?" " I think you would never see any cause to be sorry, sir ; I meant to do better before, and this will only make me try the harder to please you." 62 " Very well, then, you have my consent." " Oh, thank you, sir !" and Louie with a very glowing face was turning away, when a sudden extinction of the smiles, and a gradual paling of the excited flush on her cheek, indicated that she had thought of something that might change Mr. Rog- ers' decree. That something was the miserable theme now lying uncommenced on her desk. With a sigh she thought, " That settles it!" and then turn- ing again to the clergyman, she said : " I had forgotten, sir ; I ought to tell you, I have not done my French exercise. Miss Marbais said I must do it before dinner for a punishment." " Then that alters it entirely. I cannot interfere again between you and your teacher. You must see I cannot excuse you again. If you have been inattentive to-day you must take the consequences of it. I am sorry for you I wish it were other- wise, but I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to indulge you to-day." Mr. Rogers spoke quickly ; he did not want to have his resolution shaken by another look at the girl's imploring eyes; so he put considerable de- cision into his tones, and without looking at her again, resumed his writing, and said she might go- She did go, hurriedly enough, shutting the door THE SUN COMES OUT. 63 very quickly, and only stopping when half-way across to the parlor. What should she say to them what would they think of her ? Oh ! it was too cruel disgracing her before the people that she cared more for than all the rest of the world put to- gether except mother denying her the only holi- day she would have all summer long. How could she go into the parlor, her face all red with crying, and tell them how it was, and why she was refused what any other girl would have been allowed ? The summer wind swept through the wide hall ; oh! how sweet it looked outside! Not a soul was jiuiii ; it was as quiet as if there were not a busy multitude within a hundred yards of where she stood. But all were collected in the schoolroom now ; she felt safe as she heard the distant buzz of voices there, and turning back irresolutely, she ap- proached the staircase, and, sitting down on the lowest step, buried her face in her hands. She had meant to quiet herself and gain com- posure by this respite, but " thinking it over " only made it worse; before she could think, she was sobbing hopelessly. " Oh ! what shall I do !" as the sobs came thicker and faster. " I shall never get over it enough to go in ; I never can stop when once I get crying. 64 LOTTIE'S LAST TERM. I wouldn't have them see me for the woild. Oh, it is too miserable !" But through it all, Louie's honest heart told her it was all right there was no injustice here ; no injustice, only, as she thought, her unhappy, pur- suing fate. She wished she could die and be rid of all the wretchedness of her life ; she was sick of being always wrong and always ashamed of her wrongdoings. "Was there no remedy for this would there be no end to it? A hand was laid gently on her head ; she started up and took her hands from before her face for a moment, then pressed them back with double shame ; it was the Bishop. " Child, what is it ? You are not afraid to tell me?" No, Louie was not afraid ; the strong, clear voice that she had hardly ever heard before out of church or chapel, addressing all the others, warning, advis- ing, directing all at once, now speaking to her alone, was so low, so gentle, she hardly knew it for the same. It cast out all fear from her heart ; she could have told him all, and tried, only the words would not come and the sobs would. She raised her head and made a strong effort to speak ; said some- thing unintelligible about Mr. Rogers, then broke down altogether, and hid her face in her hands. THE SUN COMES OUT. 65 "You have just come from the Study? Then come back there with me, and Mr. Rogers shall tell me about it." He took her hand and led her to the Study door ; Mr. Eogers' " Come in " was not so awful this time ; indeed, there was nothing awful in the world now, since what had been to her the embodiment of awe and terror, held her by the hand as if she were in- deed his child, and soothed her in a voice that had an echo of the tenderness to which she had so long been unused. It was all extremely dreamy, and Louie could never distinctly recall it afterward; Mr. Rogers' explanation the Bishop's intercession for her the sudden reversal of her sentence were things too deliriously delightM to be distinct. In five minutes she was flying up the stairs, not looking like the cousin sixteen times removed to the girl who had just been sitting at the foot of them, sob- bing in such a broken-hearted fashion. She burst into the dormitory, now filled with girls washing off the day's ink and dust before dinner, and spring- ing over trunks and beds, pulled open her ward- robe and flung out upon the bed her pink muslin, white mantilla and straw hat. " Heigho !" cried Addy, the soap slipping from her hands, as in concert with the rest of the room, 66 LOUIE'8 LAST TERM. she stared in amazement at the rapid movements of the new-comer. "What are you going to do with your best clothes at this time of day ?" "Put them on, if you've no objection," returned Louie, unlacing her boots with such vigor that the tag went click-click through the holes with the pre- cision and rapidity of an eight-day clock ticking with all its might "How about Miss Marbais? Does she know you're going out without writing the exercise she gave you to do before dinner?" demanded Ade- laide, in a voice purposely raised so as to be audible to Miss Barlow, who sat at her window at the other end of the room. " I haven't told her ; I knew you'd enjoy running down and mentioning it so much ; do go !" " Thank you, I've better business ; only I bet Mr. Eogers didn't know of it when he gave you leave." Louie was too secure and too happy to care for this; indeed she rather enjoyed Adelaide's spite and vexation ; so she only shrugged her shoulders and looked very mischievous, and begged her of all things not to tell 1 And she sprung up and made a hurried assault upon the basin and pitcher ; but the pitcher was very full, and the reckless way in which she poured the water into the basin, of course THE SUN COMES OUT. 67 resulted in dispensing three-quarters of it around the adjacent washstands. Alice Aulay's was the greatest sufferer, and the little girl herself received a good dash of it on her clean white apron, and Julia, who was curling her hair for her, made an involuntary exclamation of dismay, perhaps re- proach. Alice had been pretty near a cry for the last half hour, owing to a want of success in her geography lesson, and an accumulation of distresses resulting from her failure in those " map questions " which had for the last week made her life a burden to her ; and now this little contretemps was all that was needed to send her into an ecstasy of weeping. She hid her face in Julia's dress and screamed as only very small and very unreasonable children can scream ; and amid passionate laments for her wet apron, she mingled incoherent reproaches of Louie Atterbury as " the hatefullest girl in school " the cause of all her troubles, and " too mean for any- thing." Julia tried to soothe her, and ventured to say, she had not meant to do it. "She did mean to do it!" cried the child. " She's always doing things, and she always means to do 'em! She knocked down my books this morning. She's hateful she's always teasing me !" 68 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. " I know she's careless, Ally ; but you mustn't be cross." Louie turned sharply round at this, and said, angrily : " You have had the greatest hand in spoiling that child. I blame you more than her that she is the torment of the dormitory. Alice, if you don't stop, I'll report you ; be quiet now its enough to drive one wild to hear that howling be quiet ; do you hear?" Of course, as might have been expected, this had the effect of redoubling Alice's screams ; and Julia, quite roused at Louie's injustice and unkindness, kept her arms around her little protegee, and spoke in a low, fondling tone to her, that was quite exas- perating to the originator of the uproar. Addy McFarlane, sitting on the foot of her bed, laughed in a very provoking way, and begged everybody's pardon, but, it struck her, good-temper had of late been at a premium in the dormitory; and Miss Barlow, hurrying down the room, asked, in a sharp, high key, what all the noise was about. None seemed to consider themselves exactly quali- fied to answer this question. Alice subdued her yobs a little, Julia turned away as if it were not her business to explain, the others all stood spectator fashion, looking at Louie. THE SUN COMES OUT. 69 " I suppose it's all about me, ma'am," that young person answered, in default of anybody else, going on, however, with the business of washing her hands. " I was unlucky enough to spatter some water on small Miss Aulay's pinafore, and she has been entertaining us since the occurrence with some very energetic squalling. I didn't enjoy it as much as Julia seemed to, and so threatened to report her, if she didn't stop, which only produced renewed excitement. I am sorry if it disturbed you, ma'am." " It did disturb me, and I shall take pains to pre- vent its recurrence. Alice, whenever Louie annoys you, come to' me immediately, and I will see that you have justice done you. Such disturbances in my dormitory are a disgrace to me. You may come to me after dinner, Louisa, about this little matter ; we will settle it at leisure." " I shall not be here after dinner, ma'am. I am going out to dinner." " Who gave you permission to go ? " Mr. Rogers, ma'am." " Did he know of your French exercise 2" " Not till I told him of it." "Do yon mean to say, Mr. Kogers made it no objection to your having a holiday that you were under punishment for the second time to-day ?" 70 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. "He did make it an objection, ma'am, and said at first I could not go." "And what induced him to change his mind, " Why, ma'am, the Bishop asked him to excuse me." It is impossible to convey the tone of subdued triumph in which this "settler" was brought out ; the effect upon the audience was strong and instantaneous, and Miss Barlow changed color angrily, but attempted no reply. The bell fortu- nately rang for dinner at that moment, and a sud- den change of feeling occurred. Unfinished toilettes were hurriedly dispatched, and "all hands" started for the door within as few seconds as practi- cable. Julia hastily bathed little Alice's swollen and red eyes, and brushed down her rumpled hair ; then without a look in the glass on her own ac- count, took the only half-soothed child by the hand and followed the crowd downstairs, without a second glance at Louie. Miss Barlow had taken advantage of the sum- mons to dinner to leave the scene of defeat; for defeated she had been, having sacrificed her dignity to her temper, and being got the better of by her luckier and cooler pupil ; and soon the room was left to her alone, Addy McFarlane being the last to THE SUN COMES OUT. 71 go down. She lingered as long as possible, longing to say something that would mar the pleasure of her antagonist's holiday, something that would prick and fret her through all the excitement and amusement that was in store for her. But for once the failed ; the shafts of her malice fell off harm- lessly from the elastic good humor, that even the episode of splash and squall had not permanently deranged ; and she had to swallow her chagrin as best she might, when, ten minutes later, she saw a flutter of pink muslin pass the dining-room win- dows, and knew that Louie was safely and happily off on the most delightful of all possible larks, with not a thought of " the girls she left behind her ;" nor with any thought, in point of fact, that was not colored by the hope and tenderness and affection that lor the time surrounded her. CHAPTER V. OOULBTJE DE ROSE. " Oh, to what uses shall we put The wild weed-flower that simply blows ? And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose ? " But any man that walks the mead In bud or bloom or blade may find, According as his humors lead, A meaning suited to his mind." TSNNYSON. HOLIDAYS! Schoolgirls, make the most of them : there's nothing in after years that bears any analogy to them, nothing that answers to them in freshness of enjoyment and intensity of excitement. The feel of one's best clothes on a common " worky day, " the thought that flashes through to make all brighter by comparison, " what I was doing this time yesterday ;" the meeting with people unasso- ciated with marks and misconduct; the seeing articles of furniture in no way allied in design or application to desks or blackboards ; the doing what OOULEUK DE ROSE. 73 none of the rest are doing, a happiness in itself; the liberty of speech and action, sudden and intoxicat- ing; the entire freedom from care and responsibi- lity, the utter license anticipation has, the wild strides imagination takes ; all these things you have enjoyed and are enjoying now, perhaps, but they will cease when the dull routine of your school life ceases, they will have an end as soon as your daily discipline has an end. You earn, in a sort of way, those bright little gaps in your existence ; only those who work know the luxury of rest ; you work now, whether against your will or with it, and so you are allowed to feel the sweets of relaxation. But too many of you will feel those sweets for the last time when you turn your back on school ; too many of you mean and hope to have done with work when you have done with school, to make it all one long holiday, all relaxation and delight. Ah, pauvrettes ! That cannot be ; things are fixed inevitably to thwart you there. It is only work that can win the reward of rest ; duty done, that can be crowned with peace; pleasures renounced, that will come back to you real pleasures. " There may be a cloud without a rainbow, but there cannot be a rainbow without a cloud." There may be work without reward, but there is not often reward with- out work. 4 It was the loveliest possible June afternoon, and everything, in Louie's eyes, from the sky ovejhead to the grass under foot, looked holiday-fashion, and ten times brighter than they had ever looked before, or ever would again for her, perhaps, poor little beginner in a world of trouble. "Louie, walk, don't fly," called out Tom, in distress. " I never saw anything like the pace at which you and Uncle Kawdon are going." In-fact, it was a very difficult thing for Louie to walk moderately, or talk moderately, or do anything reasonably; and Col. Ruthven, always watching her changeable face, to please her without letting her know his object, had said as they descended the Hall steps : " Let Tom and his mother saunter along at their usual pace; we will hurry on and order dinner. Tom's legs are too short to take him over the ground very fast, you see." At this Tom was very irate, and challenged Louie to a race without further preliminaries ; but the colonel said it was unconstitutional, gave his arm to Louie, and left Tom to his fate and his mamma ; and the result was, they were in the little parlor at the hotel before the latter hove in sight around the corner of Main street. " Take off your bonnet, Louie," said Col. Kuth- COULEUR DE KOBE. 75 ven, ringing for dinner, " and do not look so in- tensely excited. I shall be afraid to come for you again if you don't learn to take holidays more philosophically. Why, child, how your cheeks burn. Tell me, are you quite well ?" "Quite oh, yes!" she answered, moving rest- lessly about the room, looking out of the windows and into the plaster vases on the mantelpiece, and turning over the leaves of the books on the table. " I'm well now. I've had a headache for ever so long, but it's all gone since you came for me. In- deed, sir, I'll be as philosophical as you wish, only don't say I shan't have any more holidays. They're the only things I look forward to with the smallest pleasure. All the rest is hateful." " That's not as it ought to be, Louie ; I hoped to have found you contented and happy, but I knew you were the reverse from the moment I saw you. What is it \ Can you not tell me ?" But at this moment, the noisy advent of Tom threw the party into some confusion, and excited many remonstrances from all ; then dinner was brought up such a nice, hot little dinner, with an immense preponderance of dessert, great varieties of tarts, and cakes, and puddings, and a pyramid of ice-cream, all, of course, out of compliment to school-girl taste, for Mrs. Appleton was a dyspeptic, 76 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. and never touched any after-dinner vanities, and the colonel seemed to have no very great apprecia- tion of them ; so there was a vast amount of work to be done by the juveniles. Tom certainly did not shirk his duty, but Louie, though she fancied she wanted everything, and was in an ecstasy at every new delicacy, was far too much excited to eat " Alas I that eyes like thine Should sparkle at an apple-pie !" cried Tom, in a brief, unemployed interval before his plate came back. " Alas ! that they should ' take it out in spark- ling,' " said the colonel. " Louie, you're a little hypocrite. You have eaten nothing." " Oh, sir, did you mean me to 2 For you've kept me so busy laughing, there hasn't been any time to do it in." " He'd have given an intermission if you'd asked him. Five minutes between each joke ; wouldn't you, UncleRawdou?" " I should have needed fifteen after the Scotch gentleman at the cafe. Oh, I shall make great capital of that when I go back to school ; I'll make the girls shout over it some night before Miss Bar- low comes upstairs. Miss Barlow hates to hear us COTTLEUR DE KOSE. 77 iaugh; she thinks she 'smells a mice' if anybody titters." "She's not far wrong, ordinarily, I'm afraid," said the colonel, laughing. " If school-girls are at all analogous to school-boys, there is good cause for apprehension to an unenlightened party when a titter occurs." " Oh ! I assure you, we don't dare to poke fun at Miss Barlow. She's far too sharp for that. Though everybody in the dormitory hates her, they all mind, after a fashion, and she keeps sublime order." 11 Ah, Louie," said Mrs. Appleton, "I'm afraid you are growing a little rebellious. I hope you are not getting to think with too many school-children, that your teachers are your natural enemies. That's a too common mistake, and makes the rela- tion doubly hard to both." "No, indeed," cried Louie, warmly. "Dear Mrs. Appleton, I hope you don't think that of me. I don't hate all my teachers by any means. I love Miss Stanton dearly, and the Matron is as good as she can be, and Mr. Rogers, and Miss Emily, and Miss Wells, I like extremely ; even Miss Marbais, though she's strict and sharp, is just and sensible, and don't do anything for spite, and I don't have any trouble in getting along with her ; but Miss Barlow is so mean and so ugly, that I can't help it, 78 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. but I do detest the very sight of her. Don't look BO, 'dear Mrs. Appleton! I know its wicked, but" " ' It is your nature ' to," put in Tom, very much afraid of the conversation taking a moral turn, in which event he was sure of getting many bruises. " By the way, how's your friend, the McFarlane ?" " Finely, thank you ; a degree fonder of me than ever. But, oh ! let me tell you how beautifully I used her up in French class to day." " Do," said Tom with great interest. And Louie, with much naivete, but considerable cleverness and spirit, proceeded to recount the little stratagem al- ready mentioned, by which she had appropriately rewarded Adelaide McFarlane's " meanness ;" and her audience, sorely against their consciences, laughed an involuntary applause. Sweet Mrs. Appleton thought it was dreadfully naughty, and put her cambric handkerchief before her face, hop- ing that nobody would see how much it diverted her, while the colonel, after a short, amused laugh, looked down at the young sinner with a grave shake of the head but a droll sparkle of the eye. Louie had a secret but comfortable conviction that, no matter what enormities she might have been en- gaged in, Col. Ruthven was and would be her friend through them all. Tom was vociferous in COULEUR DE ROSE. 79 his applause ; he had to go away from the table, and throw himself on the sofa, rolling over and over in a state of uncontrollable entertainment. He was only roused from it when the subject of the afternoon's amusement was brought up for dis- cussion ; the question, shall we send for a carriage and take a drive, or go for a boat and take a row, had considerable interest for him. He knew if the latter plan prevailed, his uncle would insist upon his taking an oar, and Tom by nature was averse to exertion ; so he pricked up his ears, and said cutely as soon as the suggestions were made : "Louie hates boating; I think she'd enjoy a drive more. "Wouldn't you, Louie ?" " Oh, I've no preferences," said Louie, mischiev- ously. " If it will be any disappointment to you to give up rowing, I think we'd better go, by all means." "I have no doubt you would each enjoy going the way you didn't want to, to spite the other, but I shall not indulge you this time. Madame shall have the casting vote ; voyons, shall we drive or sail?" Mrs. Appleton, who had a secret terror of the water, of course inclined to the drive, so in twenty minutes a carriage was at the door, and the whole party were disposing of themselves in it. It was a 80 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. phaeton, and Col. Kuthven proposed driving, and suggested to Louie to take the seat by him in front. Tom was quite jealous and chagrined, he had aspired to that honor himself ; and after they were started, Louie said, low, to Col. Euthven, " Per- haps I'd better give the seat to Tom, I think he's disappointed." " Nonsense, Tom rides beside me every day, he may very well afford to sit on the back seat like a gentleman, once in a while. Besides, I should be disappointed if you changed your place, so you'd have to be distressed either way." "Well then, sir, I think I'll let Tom be dis- appointed. He gets over it, I know, for I've often seen him, but I don't know how it might affect you I never saw you disappointed." " I hope you never may, Louie." " Oh, Tom !" cried Louie, looking back. " Isn't this splendid ! Ar'nt we going fast !" " Fast !" responded that blase lad, contemptuously. " I am astonished at you, Louisa. A girl who has ridden time and again behind my uncle Eawdon's bays, to say such a thing as that, is perfectly dis- heartening, perfectly ! Why, my dear child, we are crawling, positively, nothing more. Those old beasts couldn't get off a walk if they tried." "That's all spite and envy because you're not COULEUE DE KOSE. 81 driving yourself. Tom, I blush for you. "We are passing everything on the road, if we ar'nt off a walk." " Yes, all the fences and trees. Oh, Uncle Raw- don, do drive round by the Hall ! I want to get a glimpse at the McFarlane ; Louie says this is the hour the girls are all on the bank, and it's a good chance. Besides, she and I agreed it would be so nice to dash past the house, and make all the girls die of envy." " Now, Tom !" cried Louie in an agony of blush- ing, " you ought to be ashamed to say so." That some such confidence had passed between them however was pretty clear, since an entirely unfounded charge could hardly have produced such an excessive embarrassment ; but Louie begged Col. Ruthven so earnestly to drive the other way, that he could not but comply. She soon forgot all about her embarrassment, however, and the folly of excit- ing envy, and the vanity of triumph, when they reached the open fields and the rich June-crowned woods of the neighboring country. It was so sweet, so fresh, so peaceful, the erring, willful, discontented, child was for the moment soothed into quiet reve- rence and gratitude. " Oh, if such evenings as this would always last," she exclaimed involuntarily, as they drove home- 4* 82 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. ward, the rosy sunset slowly fading out of the sky, " it wouldn't be so hard to be good." " ' But patience ; there may come a time,' " said the low voice of her godmother. " Is it wrong to wish for it, I wonder ?" but Louie said it in so low a tone none but her companion caught the words. " Wish for what, child ?" " For the end of trouble, and trying, and vexation and sin." " My child, God will send the end when He sees we are perfected." Col. Ruthven looked for a moment earnestly and anxiously at his young companion ; her tone had been so strange, low as it was, that it startled him ; her lips were compressed, and her dark eyes had a momentary look of suffering that he had never seen in them before. But it was only momentary; before he could put his solicitude into words, the cloud was gone, and with more zest than ever, she was laughing with Tom, the color again in her face and the animation in her eye. Only once again that evening he noticed the same look. Mrs. Appleton had gone to her room immedi- ately after tea, ill with a headache, and while his uncle had gone down to smoke, Tom had under- taken to entertain the young guest. He had repre- COULEUK DE EOSE. 83 Bented to her the attractiveness of the balcony, and as Louie was, according to him, eminently a girl always ready to do what you asked her, of course she acceded to his proposal to sit there. It was very attractive, certainly ; the moon was full, and the night serene, and through a gap in the trees there was a glimpse of the river, with the moon making a path of glory along it. But though it was an attractive, it was anything but a prudent situation for the two children, heated with a series of waltzes that had succeeded the tea, and with no other covering to Louie's bare shoulders than her white muslin mantilla, and with that damp breeze coining across the river. It was very imprudent, but Louie never thought of that, and she sat leaning against the iron railing, with Tom sit- ting at her feet on the sill of the French window, chatting harmlessly and childlishly for a long, long while. But this had been a day of great length and some exertion to Tom, and this was an unusual hour for him to be still out of bed, and by and by Louie was not surprised to find that his active tongue flagged, and a sort of incoherency and debility crept into his usually terse, nervous style of lan- guage, and his brisk sentences degenerated into dis- jointed and unmeaning attempts to prove he was 84 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. perfectly wide awake, and finally ceased altogether, and he slept. When Col. Euthven, half an hour later, came up- stairs, he found his little nephew asleep with his head on the sill of the window, and Louie, unmoved from her first attitude, leaning against the iron rail- ing with her chin on her clasped hands, looking intently across the shining river. He was startled again as he saw that almost fierce look in her eyes ; she was pale, and her white drapery and the white moonlight made him wonder almost if this were the same child he had left an hour ago, so rosy and happy and careless. " Louie !" he exclaimed, almost angrily, " what are you doing ? You have not surely been sitting out there since I left you? I could not have believed you could have been so imprudent." After he had roused Tom, however, and brought them in, he was surer than ever that she had done an imprudent thing ; her lips were purple, and cold shivering chills crept over her, making her teeth chatter in a tell-tale way. He brought her a warm shawl and wrapped her in it, and rang for his sis- ter's maid to take her to her room, parting with her with many injunctions to go immediately to bed. and to see that she had plenty of blankets to keep her warm. COULEUE DE BOSE. 85 Letty, the maid, was not a very experienced per- son, and her offers of assistance were not particu- larly urgent, so Louie soon dismissed her, preferring to undress herself. Letty reappeared, however, after a few minutes, with a glass of something very hot and sweet and strong, that the colonel had sent her to take. She thanked Letty and desired her to thank the colonel, bolted the door after her, put her lips to the glass, turned up her nose very disgustedly and set the glass on the mantelpiece in an entirely undiminished state, where it stayed till the cham- bermaid took it away in the morning. That night was a very wretched one to Louie. Whatever had been her troubles before, she had al- ways been able to get rid of them at night, and though she might have cried herself to sleep, slept none the less soundly for it. But now she crept shivering and cold to bed, and for a long while lay awake, shaking with chills. Then she fell into a sort of uneasy doze, from which she waked soon, burning hot, smothering with the blankets, stifling for want of air; and from that time till morning, tossed from side to side of the wide bed, uncomfortable every way, more restless and wretched than she had ever been before. "Would morning never come? would those cold stars never go away, shining so fixedly at her through 86 the small panes of the window below the bed? would there never be any stir in the house again? it was so dismally still! such a headache, and such miserable homesick thoughts as came with it ; and such a dull aching in all her limbs ! But the long- est night must have an end, and even this one ter- minated at last, and a cold grey dawn succeeded it, during which she found a short repose, from which Letty unfeelingly aroused her about seven o'clock. "When Louie came into the breakfast-room, no one would have guessed the sort of night she had spent ; she had such a bright color, and her lips were so red, that the heaviness of her eyes and the un- steadiness of her hand passed unnoticed. She rather evaded the breakfast question, playing with her knife and fork a good deal more than she used them ; but then that was nothing very unusual with her ; ex- citement invariably took all her appetite away. Tom, indeed, seemed much the greater sufferer from the evening's folly, having an unmistakable attack of the "snuffles," and looking very stupid and forlorn. They were never to be trusted again, the colonel said. Tom should have a nurse to look after him, and Louie must never again be out of Miss Barlow's sight. "I don't know which would be the most to be COULEUB DE KOBE. 87 pitied in that case. Miss Barlow or me," said Louie, laughing. "I know," cried Tom, maliciously, "Miss Barlow would be the worst off by great odds." " Oh, she would, would she? Then we can't even speculate upon the wretched state of the nurse Col. Ruthven promises you. I'm sure, Tom, I pity her from my heart, if you're always as cross when you're waked as you were last night." "But I'm not; you're not always by, you know, and in the absence of any provoking cause, I am good-natured, everybody allows. Now, that's enough for once, Louisa ; please to hand me a muffin." "A buffin," repeated the young lady, handing him the plate. "Uncle Rawdon, speak to her, it interferes with my digestion to be annoyed at meal-time." Small Tom was such a parrot, and used so ludi- crously the phrases and mannerisms of his elders, that no one could help smiling at his impertinences. He was clever and sensible, too, with all his spoiled- child ways, and though he had never known any- thing in his life but indulgence, and was shrewd enough to see that he was the most important mem- ber of the family circle, and could in ordinary cases carry everything before him, he did not abuse his power very much, but contented himself with hav- 88 LOTTIE'S LAST TEEM. ing his own way quietly, and enjoying moderately what would have been the ruin of almost any other boy. He was far too clever not to see that his mother had no other object in life than his advance- ment and advantage, and that he was his uncle Kawdon's pride and darling; that he had more money now than any other boy he knew, and would have, when he was a man, more than most men have ; but to save him* from being spoiled by all this, he had been blessed with a more than ordinary share of sterling good sense and sobriety ; he was one of those children who seem born with good principles, self-reliant and steady from their baby- hood, and who never go very far wrong in the out- ward conduct of their lives, at least. The temptations of such are very subtile, and lie so far below the surface, that they are often harder to combat than the volatile passions of more impul- sive natures. Self-reliance may grow into self-con- fidence ; steady aims are not always high aims : hardihood and resolution, if they are not Christian- ized, may prove snares and impediments in the way of life, may harden and stunt the character and stop its healthy growth. It is very difficult for a man who finds by experience that he is wiser and discreeter than his neighbors, to preserve that humility that is necessary to make his goodness acceptable with COULETIB DE EO8E. 89 God. It is very difficult, and nothing but the grace of that God can keep him from the most hopeless of all states, the state of a hard, cold, self-satisfied man of the world, irreproachably moral, hopelessly irreligious. But it isn't best to go into mourning^ for poor little Tom yet; he is but a tiny lad, and though he has, in that sharp, shrewd, sensible brain and unen- thusiastic temperament the germs of such a fate, they may not ripen into evil; God's grace, won by his mother's prayers, and fostered by her love and daily teaching, may overshadow and overcome them. Besides, he has before him in his uncle, an example that may well stir his admiration, and being as far as it is possible for him to be, impressed with a desire to copy it, perhaps he may succeed. He is a child of few admirations, few friendships, but he loves mamma, admires Uncle Rawdon, and and is absolutely fond of Louie ; and as they are all safe and proper objects of affection, possibly they may do much toward making him the sort of boy they'd like to see him. " I'm jealous of you, Lou," he said, sauntering up to the sofa where that young lady sat bending over a sketch-book of Col. Ruthven's, while its owner, standing beside the window, smoked a fragrant Havana, or leaning forward pointed out to her the 90 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. charms of different views, and explained the odd sounding long foreign names below them. " I verily believe Uncle Rawdon cares as much for you as he does for me." "As much!" cried Louie, throwing up her eyes. "I shouldn't be contented if I didn't think he liked me twice as well. Don't you now, sir? Please say Col. Ruthven looked down, at her; though she was very arch and laughing and looked prettier than usual, the question did not seem to please him, however the face might : after a moment's scrutiny of it, too frank and childish not to be read through at a glance, he averted his own with something be- tween a sigh and a gesture of impatience, and said carelessly as he moved away. " What do such children as you know of degrees of liking? Tops and kites will keep Tom's heart, and sugar-plums will win Louie's for a good many years yet. That's the affection you have to give, But they did not have time or opportunity to resent the suggestion ; the door closed behind the speaker and they were left alone. Tom took some time to digest the idea, while Louie thoughtfully turned the leaves of the sketch-book. "That was mean of Uncle Rawdon," said the COULEUK DE KOBE. 91 youth at length, with considerable energy. "I don't like him for his tops and kites. I'd put all he ever gave me in the fire, if I thought he was in earnest. I never liked anybody yet for what they gave me. Uncle Bichard gives me as many things as Uncle Rawdon, and I don't care that for him, and don't pretend to, either. I say, Louie, you don't think he meant it ?" " ]STo, oh no ! he couldn't, something must have vexed him or he meant to tease us. Perhaps he didn't like my asking him that ; perhaps it sounded saucy I'm very sorry." " He oughtn't to complain of our being saucy, while he spoils us so. Why he pets you to death, and lets you say and do just as you choose, always, and likes of all things to have you droll and pert. No it couldn't have been that Hang ! I hate to have him out with me. I think I care more for him than for anybody else. He's such a brick, Louie ! He's such a sort of a man that it makes you feel mean to have him think you're mean, even for a minute. What wouldn't I give to be like him when I'm grown up ! To make people afraid of me without any fuss and bluster, and to be so manly and so clever and so quiet. Do you know, I think he's the finest gentleman I ever saw ?" " Except the Bishop," said Louie, thoughtfully. 92 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. ""Well, yes, except the Bishop, I suppose. Uncle Rawdon says himself the Bishop is the most elegant man he knows, and I'm sure he ought to know. It must be very fine to be that sort of a gentleman, a gentleman all the way through no pretence, no make believe, no grand airs ; the very carmen in the streets could tell the difference between a gentleman that wanted to be thought a gentleman, and a gentleman that never thought anything about it, but was just himself, just involun- tary, just outside as he was in his own heart." " Children ! are you ready to take a walk with me?" called out Mrs. Appleton from the other room. Louie said, " Yes ma'am," rising slowly, and Tom put away the sketch-book for her with more consi- derateness than usual. It was such a sweet summer morning that the walk, though rather listlessly begun, soon proved a pleasure. There was just animation enough in the streets of the quiet old town to amuse the child- ren, while Mrs. Appleton stopped for the replen- ishment of Louie's very hardly used and unendur- ing wardrobe, and the hours slipped quickly away. There were but two more left of Louie's holiday, her heart told her, with a pang, as the clock struck eleven but two hours more of pleasure left. CHAPTER VX ASHES OF E08ES. " Nae treasures, nor pleasures, Can make us happy lang ; The heart aye's the part aye, That makes us right or wrang." BPBHS. can Uncle Rawdon be all this time ?" said Tom discontentedly, as they came out of the shoemaker's on the corner. " It's taken him a monstrous while to smoke that cigar. Ah ! there he comes up the street. He's motioning us to stop ; wait a minute, mamma," as Mrs. Appleton was turning down a cross street on the way to the dress- maker's. "Where are you going?" asked Col. Euthven, joining them on the corner. " Why, Louie tells me she has no dress nice enough to wear to the Bishop's on the Fourth, and I've just being getting her a white muslin, and we are on our way to the dressmaker's to have it fitted. We've not much time to spare either, I fear." 94: LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. " It's just eleven," said the gentleman looking at his watch. " If your artist does not keep you long, we may have time for a drive before lunch. "Would you like it, Louie ?" " Yes, sir, thank you," she returned timidly and with some confusion, not quite certain whether she was restored to the favor she had so innocently and inadvertently lost an hour before. He saw her embarrassment and looking down kindly at her, said with a smile : "It's hardly matter for gratitude, I think, at least as yet." He gave his arm to his sister, and Louie and Tom followed at a little distance. The dressmaker lived in a little square box of a white house, with vividly green blinds and a little square green yard in front of it ; Tom said it hurt his eyes, the green and the white were so extremely bright, and he rather grumbled at having to wait and walk up and down outside with his uncle. However, Col. Euthven treated him to a little longer walk, having no faith in the dressmaker's ten minutes, and they made the tour of Main street and the bank, pausing at more than one shop by the way, and had several minutes to spare waiting by the gate, before the door opened and the ladies were released. " Well, is she going to make you very fine ?" 95 asked Tom, opening the gate. "I should think she'd been trying on forty dresses, instead of one wretched white muslin, from the time she took." " I'm sure we haven't been long." " Of course not ; ladies never think they're long when they are pow-wow-ing over a fashion plate with a dressmaker. I always ' settle my brains for a long winter's nap,' when mamma leaves me in the carriage while she just runs into Koumier's, to give an order about the sleeve trimming of a morn- ing dress or some such vanity." " Tom, I fear you embellish." " Louie, I don't. Mamma will tell you so her- self, it is the way all ladies do, but I'm sorry to find you're getting so young-ladyfied as to do it too. Last year you wouldn't : a whole half hour under the dressmaker's hands ! I wouldn't have been the dressmaker ! But now you're beginning to think about fine clothes and looking pretty, and I don't think you're worth as much by a third as you used to be. Uncle Kawdon, don't you think it's tire- some in Louie to grow so much older ? I don't think she's half as nice this term." " Oh, Tom !" cried Louie, half vexed, "how silly you are. I'm sure no girl of my age ever put oil less young lady airs; and if I am tiresome, I can't help it. You'd be tiresome, too, if if " 96 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. " If what, my little girl 3" asked Col. Ruthven, kindly. " If he were as far away from his mother, as I am from mine, and if he had just the sort of a time at school as I have, no pleasures and no holi- days and everything so hateful." " Oh, nonsense, Louie ! you know I didn't mean it." " Louie, child," said Mrs. Appleton, laying her hand affectionately on the girl's, " I am afraid all's not quite right in your own heart, when everything is hateful. School is a little world, and is pretty cold and hard, sometimes, just like the great world ; but to us ourselves, it is very much as we make it. If we choose to be misanthropical, why, we shall see only what is cold and hard and hateful in the people in it ; but if we have a real love for good- ness and holiness in our hearts, we shall be pretty sure to find out something answering to those feel- ings in others. And people will treat us according to our treatment of them ; we can make an atmos- phere of gentleness and charity around us that will affect every one who comes near us ; or we can be so perverse and unlovable, that even our best friends will catch the contagion and will be repul- sive in their turn. Don't think I mean to lecture you, my little god-daughter; I wouldn't for the ASHES OF KO8E8. 97 world, seem unkind ; but you know I am too fond of you to bear to see you out of the way of being happy, and your dear mother left you, in a sort of way, to my protection. "What should I say to her, if she should come back and find her little Louie, whom she left so docile and aifectionate, a discon- tented, imperious, impatient girl? How could I excuse myself for not having run the risk of doing a little disagreeable ' lecturing ?' " There are not many girls who can understand what it was that made Louie start so nervously and repulse the affection that she was longing to receive, so shortly ; there are not many, perhaps, but there are some who can understand the rush of feeling that her mother's name brought, the agony of unhappiness and tenderness, and yet the keen shame of betraying her emotion, the dread of crying before Col. Kuth- ven, and of making Tom laugh at her, as laugh he surely would ; in a moment more she would have done it catching her breath and looking away, she said quickly, and with an unnaturally cold laugh : " Oh, mother won't blame you ; she knows I'm very bad, she knows lectures don't do me any good." " I wish lectures could be abolished by act of Congress," cried Tom. "They're pernicious in 5 98 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. their tendencies; they've done me an immense amount of harm." Mrs. Appleton sighed low and humbly, while the others laughed ; it was strange, how cold and per- verse the two children, whom she loved most, were. She hardly knew how to reach them ; Louie, cer- tainly, she failed to comprehend ; at once affection- ate and repulsing affection, warm-hearted, yet per- verse and trifling. Five minutes alone with her would have solved it ; Louie would have given anything for them ; they would have been an un- speakable relief to Mrs. Appleton, but they never came. , " The tender grace of a day that was dead," Eternity could alone make up to them. "Ah!" cried Tom, "good bye to our drive! There's company in the parlor. Why witt people come when they're not wanted !" " That's a question that has puzzled older heads than yours," said the colonel, sotto voce. He did not' seem any more pleased than his nephew, to find their little parlor invaded by visitors, and to have to spend the last hour of his young favorite's holiday, in saying polite commonplaces to people he did not care at all for, and had not seen for months, and did not wish to see for months to come. For he did care for Louie, it was ASHES OF KO8ES. VV not hard to see, and would rather have watched her changeable face, and listened to her naive chat, than have talked to a roomful of the most intellec- tual ladies and gentlemen our country has yet pro- duced. It was very odd and inexplicable, but the wisest people sometimes take odd and inexplicable fancies, arid it was with a look of much relief and pleasure, that he returned from putting the ladies in their carriage, to the parlor, where the children by the window, and Mrs. Appleton on the sofa, rested after the fatigues of the morning. " Uncle, I've rung for lunch," Master Tom said. "We are hungry as savages, and Louie'll have barely time to eat it and get back to the Hall, before time for the train to start." " Well, urchin, I know that." Lunch was by no means the gayest of the four meals they had taken in that pleasant little parlor. Tom's spirits, indeed, were unabated, but Mrs. Appleton had a headache, and could not stay it half out, returning to lie on the sofa, while the colonel, though he talked enough, was none too gay, and Louie could only feel as if a weight of lead were lying at her heart, growing heavier and harder every minute. Long before Tom had thought of being through his role, however, Col. Kuthven, looking at his watch, said : 100 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. " I am afraid, Louie, it is time for you to put your bonnet on." " Yes, sir," she said, getting up from the table, with a very miserable, homesick realization of having " come to the end of her rope." How dif- ferently she felt as she tied the pink bonnet strings under her chin, from yesterday afternoon as she tied them. They should have been ashes of roses in color to-day, instead of roses, to have matched her feelings. " Tom, you can't leave your lunch to walk back with us, I suppose. Well, good bye, then. Am 1 to kiss you I" " I think you may. You're a good fellow, Louie, if you are a girl. You may write to me, too, next week. Uncle Rawdon will give you the address." " Yes, Louie dear, you must write often," said Mrs. Appleton, raising herself from the sofa. " We shall want to hear from you constantly." "I am sorry to hurry you, my dear Louie, but we must be off. One more kiss and your god- mamma must let you go. Carry, you will be ready by the time I return from the Hall ? There will be no more than time to get to the depot." "Yes, Letty has packed the valises; I have nothing but to put my bonnet on good bye, my darling." 101 What Tom's last six sentences were, or what her own responses pretended to be, Louie would have found it difficult to have told ; they were some dis- tance on their way before she found voice to an- swer any of her companion's questions, or compo- sure to think quietly and reasonably about any- thing. * Col. Kuthven was too kind to need any excuse for her silence, and left her quiet for a little while, then said in a low tone as he took her hand, " Why what a silly child this is ! You surely have forgotten how soon the summer will pass, and how soon that glorious October vacation will be here 1" Louie shook her head as she struggled to keep back the tears. " It will be soon enough no doubt, sir, to you all, but to me it will be ages and ages " "Now, Louie, my sensible little girl! I am ashamed of you. I thought you were wiser. Last spring when you came back you promised not to be homesick ; you told me you had outgrown such fol- lies." "I know but it was different then. I didn't mind things half so much. Oh, I wish you'd write to papa and ask him if I need stay any longer: Papa does everything you want always won't you, dear Col. Kuthven ?" 102 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. "Why, what should I tell him, little one ? That you had changed your mind and concluded not to like school any more ? That the McFarlane teased you, or the Barlow wouldn't let you laugh ? No no, my dear little girl, I know your own good heart will tell you something much better than that. It will tell you to be happy where it is your duty to be, and to be patient and strong under your little trials. They are not little ? Oh ! yes, petite, they are. Wait till you have tasted real ones ; you will see how slight they are, what summer breezes they are compared with the tempests that life will bring you. Bear them bravely, look at them honestly and sensibly, and you will soon master yourself and them. I know you well enough to know that you will soon be happier and wiser. I trust to your own good sense to recover you from your present dis- content; it's very natural, my dear Louie, very natural, but nevertheless, very unsafe. Indiffer- ence to present duties, and repining for forbidden pleasures, though they are temptations that we can never quite shake off, are particularly dangerous to one whose character is just forming, and at a time when every emotion tells upon its formation, through life perhaps. And you must promise me, Louie, that you will try to get the better of them promise me that you will try to be happy and patient." 103 " I'll try to be patient I can't promise to be happy." "If you are one, the other will come;I am not afraid ah ! here we are at the Hall ! I have so much more to say, I am sorry our walk is at an end. Forgive the lecture, Louie. You have had so much lecturing I am afraid it has spoiled your holiday." "Ah no ! I don't mind such lectures I wish I could have them every day." " Write to us very often, Louie, once a week at the very longest." " Yes, sir." Louie sighed as they ascended the steps ; Col. Ruthven paused a moment at the door, and putting a little package in her hand, said, " There are some ribbons, Louie, for that white dress ; think of this pleasant holiday and me when you wear them, and don't disgrace them or the memory, by a want of smiles. Just fancy I'm looking over your shoulder every time you put them on before the glass, and am looking very stern whenever the face I see there is pale and dismal when it is a face at all, in fact, like the one I see now." " I can't always help my face," said Louie, strug- gling to get up a smile, " but you're so kind, I'll try to get my heart better. Don't think, sir, I'm not grateful." 104: LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. " For what, my little friend ? Good bye I " " Good bye, sir," faltered Louie. " God bless you !" He hurried down the steps ; Louie watched him out of sight, and then with a weary sigh, shut the door upon her ended holiday, reality and work and discipline in the very atmosphere of the place as she entered it. CHAPTEK YIL LOTTIE'S LATINITT. " A girl, who has so many willful ways She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him ; Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise, Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, A little better she would surely make him." CERTAINLY, holidays are unprofitable things, mis- erable, unsettling, unsatisfactory things ; and Louie thought, as she sat down on the side of her bed, slowly taking off her holiday clothes, she almost wished she had not had one. It was hardly worth the pain of coming back to every-day life again, and finding it so wretchedly insipid after the exhilarat- ing draught ; it was almost worse than no pleasure at all, this dead pleasure. What good did it do her that she had been so happy yesterday ? ]STo good ; only made to-day darker by comparison ; only made present duties doubly irksome. Her toilette took far more time than it had taken yesterday; though it was only a calico frock to be hooked on, and a linen collar to be pinned with 5* 105 106 LOTTIE 8 LAST TEEM. the little coral pin Col. Ruthven sent at Christmas, it was a long time in being accomplished. There was a languor and indifference about her movements that contrasted strongly with the spirit of yesterday's dressing. And when it was all done, the pink mus- lin, with a heartfelt sigh, restored to its peg in the wardrobe, the little straw hat shut into its box, the white mantilla folded and laid on its shalf, she felt much more like lying down on the bed and having a good cry, than going downstairs to work and study among all those busy, careless girls, who knew so lit- tle how she felt, and cared so little for her feelings. She was on her knees before her trunk, putting away the dear little package of ribbon, and won- dering whether she should ever have the heart to wear it, when the door suddenly opened, and Alice Aulay put her head in the room. " Mr. Yan Buren says come right down to your Latin." " How did Mr. Yan Buren know I'd come back, pray ?" asked Louie, sharply. " Addy McFarlane told him you had, when the class went down to him ; she was practising in the dining-room and saw you go up the steps. You'd better hurry." " I haven't the least intention of hurrying," re- turned Louie, slowly closing and locking her trunk. LOUIE'S LA-moTY. 107 Now, Alice, though in the main a well-disposed little girl, had yet some love of mischief-making and perverseness in her ; the quarrel of yesterday still rankled in her mind ; besides, she had been sent upstairs with the message much against her will, and felt a grudge against Louie as the cause ; so she very naturally and very naughtily went back to Mr. Yan Buren's class, and said, opening the door wide enough to get her yellow curls in : " I told Louie to come, sir, and that you said she must hurry, but she said she wouldn't hurry, and she was mad because I came." Mr. Yan Buren, who was a nervous little old man, started and looked very much as if he wanted to box somebody's ears, and demanded wrathfully, " if Miss Atterbury had sent him word she wouldn't hurry ?" " Why, I don't know, sir," said the child, begin- ning to get frightened, " whether she sent word or no; she said she wouldn't, though she said she hadn't any intention of hurrying." "That's another part of speech," returned the professor, cooling down somewhat. " How came you, little girl, to return to me as. if you had been sent \v '.th that message ? I don't like it ; I don't think it looks honest. I think you deserve a punishment." Mice, who knew very little of professors, and 108 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. stood in great awe of them, turned very pale at this, and looked ready to cry, and stood twisting the handle of the door very nervously, uncertain whether to go or stay whether Mr. Van Buren had done scolding her, or whether he had just begun when Louie, with a lagging step and very listless air, made her appearance. " Well, Miss Atterbury " began the old gentle- man, with whom Louie had always been rather a favorite, and who was in consequence doubly irri- tated at her misdemeanor "well, Miss Atter- bury, I am glad to find you have not altogether renounced my class. I shall be under the neces- sity of renouncing you as a member of it, if I ever receive such an answer to my summons from you again." " I don't understand what you mean, sir," she re- turned, surprised and angry. "I mean, when I desire you to hurry, you are never to send me word again, you have no inten- tion of hurrying." " I did not send you any such word, sir." " At any rate, you said as much, whether you sent any such word or not. I shall remember it, young lady, in my future estimation of you. I shall remember that you can be at once disrespect- ful and indolent." LOUIE'S LATINITT. 109 Alice, who, during this parley, had been shaking with terror, had crept for protection to the side of her friend, Julia, who sat at the end of the bench nearest to the door, and, clinging to her dress, turned her face away, and did not raise her guilty blue eyes from the floor. Though Julia was ex- tremely vexed at her pet's delinquency, and in- tended to show her her very great disapprobation of it when they were by themselves, she had not the heart to turn against her now, nor deny the shaking little culprit the asylum she had sought. How Louie's dark eyes blazed as they swept the group ! Julia half pushed Alice away as she met them ; then, ashamed of the momentary cowardice, put her arm around her and drew her back. Louie's lips moved, but she did not speak. Mr. Van Buren motioned her to take her seat; then, turning to the little girl, said : "You may go, little miss. I shall not punish you any further for your dishonesty of purpose and love of mischief; you are too young, perhaps, to understand how wrong your conduct has been, but you are not too young to know that if it is re- peated it will gain a punishment for you. You have exposed another's faults at the expense of committing one yourself. Go now. Young ladies, we will proceed with our lesson, too long delayed 110 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. already by Miss Atterbury's impertinence and Miss Aulay's misrepresentation." The general respect for Louie's Latinity, it is to be feared, suffered some diminution during this re- citation. She had not prepared the lesson, of course, but if she had, it is very doubtful whether, in the tumult of bitter feelings that filled her mind, she could have commanded any recollection of it. Indeed, she failed not only in the prescribed lesson, but in the review which Mr. Van Buren, principally for her benefit, subjected them to. He had always been proud of her proficiency, and secretly looked upon her as the highest trump in his hand, and his chagrin and irritation at her blunders on this occa- sion were in exact ratio to the hopes he had enter- tained of making her a first-rate scholar. Before the hour of recitation was over, all the others had dropped into the background, and the luckless Louie alone was paraded before the audience, too excited and angry to do anything but disgrace her- self, and making Mr. Yan Buren, of course, more excited and angry at every fresh blunder. But he Jiad determined she should construe a passage for him that he was certain she was as familiar with as he was himself, and as much for her own credit with the class as for his own satisfaction, he peremptorily insisted on its accomplishment, till LOTTIE'S LATINnT. Ill he very nearly lost his own temper in the trial. Now, though Louie was angry with Mr. Yan Buren, angry with Alice, unspeakably angry with Julia, she was not rebellious enough to have refused to do what was required of her, if it had been in her power to do it ; but the truth was, her head ached to a bewildering degree such a degree that the more she tried to think the more she couldn't the more she tried to grasp a thought or a word the further it seemed to slip away from her, till it was lost in the bewildering maze of other lost thoughts and words ; and exactly as Mr. Yan Buren's vehe- mence and determination increased, her self-pos- session and intelligence decreased, till the scene was wound up by a burst of tears on her part, and a most unqualified reprimand on the part of her teacher. " I give you five minutes," he concluded, looking at his watch, " to construe that passage for me ; at the end of that time, if you cannot or will not do it, you may let Mr. Rogers hear your attempts. I shall be glad to show him what progress you have made." Of course, at the end of five minutes, Louie was no further ahead than she had been before, indeed, only twice as much confused and hopeless, and, of 112 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. course, Mr. Yan Buren must be as good as his word, and send her to the Study. There was a smothered titter, originating in Addy McFarlane's end of the class, when Louie, with her Yirgil in her hand, walked out of the room with burning cheeks and wet eyes, but Mr. Yan Buren silenced it angrily. " You are laughing at a girl," he said, " who till to-day has shown herself so much your superior that I have been unreasonably harsh with her for showing herself for once, on a par with you in stu- pidity." The bell rang, and as the class went out, Addy whispered " who was that meant for 8" unpleasantly conscious that it was a compliment which she had a perfect right to appropriate. As for Julia, she had as little heart in the lessons that followed that, as poor Louie had had in her Latin. She could only think of the gesture with which Louie had hidden her face from the stare of her companions, and the burst of tears that had proved the genuineness of her misery; she had never once looked at Julia after that quick glance, the reproach of which Julia tried in vain to get rid of she had not looked at any one, or seemed to hope for pity from any one. I would give worlds to tell her how sorry I am, thought her friend LOTTIE'S LATINITY. 113 but there was a mountain of coldness and resent- ment and suspicion between them ; what could ever melt it? The time passed slowly till three o'clock, Louie did not return from the Study. Julia watched the door nervously, expecting her entrance every time it opened. Neither when the bell rang, and all assembled in the schoolroom, did she make her appearance. What could it mean? There was trouble coming, and when Alice ran up to Julia in the entry on their way upstairs, and hid her face in her dress whispering, " You ar'nt angry with me, Julia dear 2" Julia could only turn away, and say earnestly, " Yes Alice, more angry than I ever have been with you before. You have made me very unhappy. I can't tell you how unhappy." Alice began to cry ; Julia had never been so unkind before, and much more affected probably by a fear of her displeasure, than by real repen- tance for her fault, she showed such inconsolable sorrow that at last Julia had to consent to forgive her unconditionally and restore her to favor. " "Where's Lou Atterbury all this while, I won- der ?" said Adelaide, as they were preparing for din- ner. Julia winced ; she dreaded the introduction of that topic almost as much as if it had been her 114: LOUIE'S LAST TEBM. own disgrace, and turning away busied herself in arranging Alice's curls. "Poor Louie! I wonder indeed," said Laura Boutwell, with a sigh. " She's perpetually in trouble now-a-days. Isn't she in your class, Julia ? What happened about her Latin ? I heard something of it from Eva Leonard." " I don't know I can't tell you exactly." " Oh, I can," cried Adelaide, officiously ; and the episode of Mr. Van Buren succeeded. Laura Bout- well was in senior B. and the oldest girl in the dor- mitory, quite the queen of it, in fact, and quite worthy of the position, so that Julia felt doubly vexed that she should hear the story of Louie's dis- grace from so prejudiced a witness as Adelaide. "It is too bad," said Laura, thoughtfully. "I don't see what is the matter with Louie or yes, I do see," she added in a lower tone. " I wish I could help her." " I wish you could," Julia said in the same voice. " Won't you try to get a chance to talk with her ?" "Yes I'll try." And Laura's quiet assurance was as good as a dozen promises from anybody else. Exactly as the dinner bell rang, and while the others were hurrying toward the door, and Julia was twisting hastily the last of the ringlets she had LOUIE'S LATINITY. 115 the charge of, round her finger, Louie entered the dormitory. There was something about her face that made a silence for the instant among the chat- tering girls ; they let her pass without a question or reproach. Julia's heart beat fast ; she would have given anything to have said a single word to her in lieu of doing it, she grasped Alice's hand and hurried out of the room. At dinner, Eva Leonard, a chatty, clever south- erner, Louie's nearest neighbor, for once found her- self at a loss for subjects of pleasantry. Though she would have scouted the idea of being afraid of saying anything she chose to any one, still it was undeniably the fact that she dropped the sentence half finished in which she had begun to rally Louie on her ill-luck, and sank soon into an unusual state of quiet and thoughtfulness. The utter misery of her companion's face, hard as she struggled to con- ceal it, insensibly shocked and subdued her, and though, as soon as they were released from the table, she could run out among the others, and whisper curiously about it, she was quiet enough while under its influence. Laura Boutwell had been watching it too, and after dinner, stationing herself at the door through which Louie must pass, waited till she came along. "I've been waiting for you," she said kindly, 116 LOTTIE'S LAST TEBM. joining her. " Will you walk on the bank with me this afternoon ?" "I can't, thank you," returned Louie in a smothered sort of voice, " I'm not going out to- day," and hurried away. " Well ?" said Julia, anxiously, as Laura came into the hall alone. Laura shook her head. " She will not come with me. I am afraid she's very unhappy, and that there's something worse than the Latin in agitation now." The pleasant afternoon, and the attractions of the bank, did not tempt Julia out that day. She wandered restlessly about the schoolroom and entries, tried first to read, then to study, but failed in doing either ; then went to her hour of practis- ing, glad to have something to do about which she had no choice. At tea, Louie came down late, after grace was said ; Julia glanced up nervously at her, but the glance did not add much to her composure, judging from the untasted meal she left, and the anxious way in which she followed her with her eyes as they left the dining-room. Study hour had begun ; the gas was lit, and the long schoolroom was full of girls, the usual quiet of the hour reigning. Every one studied or pre- tended to study, the scratch of a rapid pen, or the cautious and smothered closing of a desk, alone LOUIE'S LATrnmr. 117 shocked the silence. Louie was in her seat ; since the hour began, she had been sitting with her face shaded by her hand bending over a book that lay before her, but Adelaide's observant eyes had not failed to note, she had not turned a leaf. The same detective also noted that when the door opened, and some one came down the room to the desk of the teacher in charge, Louie gave a start but did not look up ; and when, crossing to where she sat, the teaeher touched her on the shoulder and whispered a few words in her ear, and she bowed an assent, it was with a face white as ashes and a hand that shook visibly, that she put up her book and walked out of the room. " It's coming now !" thought Adelaide, as the door closed after her. CHAPTER ym. THE SKY 18 BED AND LOWERING. u The stubborn knees with holy trembling smite, Which bow not at Thine awful name. Pour from Thine altar Thine own glorious light, Winning the world-enamored sight To turn and see which way the healing radiance came." LYRA INNOCENTTOJC. WHEN Louie left the class that afternoon and walked up to the Study door, it would have been a difficult matter to have decided what feelings were strongest in her mind. It seems a severe thing to say of one so childish, so young in evil, but her mobile face expressed two emotions that no face can long express with safety to the soul it interprets reckless defiance and stubborn hatred. Defiance of the laws that bound her, the restraints that thwarted her, hatred of the injustice that sent her to disgrace, and of the friendship that looked coldly on. But hers was a nature that, as they say, rnuat be either greatly good or greatly evil ; strong feel- ings, that, according to the government they have, THE SKY IS BED AND LOWEEING. 119 are either a blessing or a curse ; quick sensibilities, that lead as readily to death as iife ; a will and a courage that are terrible weapons in the hand of the tempter, if once he gains- possession that are noble and lead to heroism, heavenly, and such as win the martry's crown, if God and good angela have the guidance. Poor child ! Had they the guidance now? Had they had, for many weary months ? Months during which she had fretted andlrebelled and gone on sin- ning as persistently as if there were no end to God's patience with those who break His laws ; months of carelessness about her soul, disregard of the ordi- nances of His church, rejection of Confirmation vows, neglect of his Dying Command. Was it strange that the path grew wild and tangled, that daikness and fear were closing her in ? It was a path of her own choosing, with guides of her own choosing ; no wonder she had gone so far astray. The look with which Mr. Kogers met her was grave and stern ; in any other mood she would have been frightened by its unusual severity, but she was too angry and defiant to be frightened by any- thing. She received her reproof for the Latin les- son, and its consequent punishment, in sullen silence ; rising as Mr. Rogers concluded, she said, " May I go, sir ?" 120 IX)TJIE'S LAST TERM. " No," said Mr. Kogers, in a tone of strong dis- pleasure. " No, you may not go. You have paid far too many visits to this room of late, without any manifest improvement to yourself, or satisfac- tion to me. I shall try to make this one of a nature that will impress itself on your volatile mind, if such impression is possible ; I shall hope to make it the last. Louisa, when yesterday morning, you asked permission to write to Miss Barlow instead of speaking to her, you led me to suppose it was because you wished to be respectful and submissive, but doubted your own resolution if obliged to ask pardon in person. I was willing to give you every help in my power, and granted your rather singu lar request. I now see how much reliance is to be placed on your representations ; I have discovered the motive that prompted you to avoid an inter- view with Miss Barlow. It would have been incon- venient to have explained to her the cause of your long tarry in the school-room; she might have asked what book it was you found so interesting." " Sir !" said Louie, startled and uncertain. " I do not understand." " You do not ? I am sorry ; perhaps I can help you. To begin at the root of the matter, I will ask you what the name of the book was which you went into the school-room to read, and if you THE SKY IS BED AKD LOWERING. 121 answer me .honestly, we shall soon see our way- through it." The color in her cheeks paled a little, and her eyes fell beneath Mr. Eogers' stern scrutiny ; but the quivering of her mouth, and the uncertain softening of her eyes were all gone, when, at that moment, a low tap at the door made her look up, and when Miss Barlow's small trim figure appeared as it opened. She begged pardon for intruding, but Mr. Kogers requested her to stay and gave her a chair. " I will repeat," he said, " a question I had just put to Louisa as you entered. What was the book you were reading the other morning when you were late at Chapel ?" Louie's lips moved, she tried to speak, but only grew very pale and turned away. " I thought it would be a useless question," said Miss Barlow, in a low voice. " Some minds seem incapable of straightforwardness." The color flashed back into the girl's face and the fire into her eyes. " You have no right to say that. I never told you a lie in my life, you know I never did, you cannot say I ever did. You have tried your best to frighten me into it, you have never let me alone since I came into your dormitory, and it's 122 LOUIE'S LABT TEEM. just because I won't lie to you or bend to you or get out of your way, that you hate me so and tantalize me so. I don't care what you do to me I don't care what happens to me I won't endure it any longer I won't submit .to your authority you make me ten times worse every time I see you you make me so ugly I don't know myself. There is no use trying to make me mind you. You need not ask me any questions, for I will not answer them ; you may spare yourself the trouble of scold- ing me for I shall not care. You may tell the Bishop you may expel me from the school it does not matter to me in the very least what becomes of me." In the pause that followed these words, you may well suppose Louie's heart almost stopped beating. While she had been speaking, the intensity of her excitement and anger had made her oblivious of every other consideration ; but now, in the startling silence that ensued, there came a rush of fear, shame, terror, that made her turn faint and giddy ; the room swam before her ; the words she had said, the words Mr. Rogers began to say, all tangled and twisted themselves together, and the bewildering throbbing of her head blotted and blurred them till they were all one mass of confusion. Mr. Rogers was speaking oh ! how severely Miss THE SKY 18 KED AND LOWEBING. 123 Barlow's low but sharp voice mingled with it ; what were they talking about what did it all mean they seemed to think she understood it all, and to threaten vaguely, punishment for what was worse than vague to her. There was something about a book, and Mr. Rogers took one from his desk, and asked her if she had ever seen it before ? " I don't know," she faltered, as half blind with excitement she bent down to look at it " not that I remember no I don't think I ever have." A low exclamation of horror fell from Miss Barlow's lips, and Mr. Rogers in a stern voice bade her beware ; such cowardly falsehoods could avail her nothing a simple avowal of her fault was her only chance. " If I only knew what they meant !" thought the wretched child, pressing her hand involuntarily to her aching temple. But it soon became evident what they meant, even to her bewildered brain. They meant that, in addition to her other wrong doings, she was ac- cused of breaking the rule that forbade novel read- ing, of being, in fact, the prime cause of all the trouble that had lately existed on account of this same fault among the other girls, of circulating improper books among them, of reading such books as were forbidden at forbidden hours, and of having 12-i LOUIK'8 LAST TEEM. been found, when sent to her room for a punish- ment, occupied with the novel now in Mr. Bogers' hands. When at last the whole drift of this became clear to her, she exclaimed indignantly and vehe- mently : " It is not so I did not read that book I don't know anything about it I never saw " " Stop !" Mr. Rogers exclaimed, justly shocked at what seemed to him the amazing hardihood of her falsehood. " I cannot listen to such protestations ; they make me shudder. Do not add any more sins to those you are already involved in." " Let me ask one question," said Miss Barlow, eagerly. " Can you deny that that is the book you were reading before Chapel, on Tuesday morning ?" " Miss Barlow, I do not wish this conversation prolonged " "Yes," cried Louie, "I do deny it Mr. Bogers I did not read that book then, or any other time I was reading " " What ?" A strange faltering and hesitancy came into her manner, as she attempted an answer and failed in it. " Go and get me the book you were reading then," he said ; and she started forward and hur- ried eagerly out of the room. Several minutes elapsed without her return; so THE SKY 18 EED AND LOWERING. 125 many, indeed, that Mr. Rogers, to whose kind heart this scene was a severe trial, walked nervously up and down the room, and thought them intermina- bly long; while Miss Barlow, who had a vague apprehension that Louie would attempt an escape, and might even now be flying down town, bonnet- less and wild, to catch the train just due at the depot, suggested at last, had she not better go and look for her ? " No !" said Mr. Rogers, very simply and em- phatically. At length, however, the door opened; Mr. Rogers stood still, and Miss Barlow glanced up quickly as Louie entered. But the flushed and angry face was altered altogether now, they saw, as they regarded it inquiringly. A look of stolid determination had settled on it, a white cold look of hopelessness and wretchedness. She stood still for a moment, after she had shut the door, then as if it cost her a great effort, she raised her eyes and said, in a husky, hurried voice : " I know perfectly well what you will think I cannot help it the book is gone I cannot find it." " Ah !" escaped Miss Barlow's lips, so low, and yet so hateful. " Very well ; if you know what I think, you will not need the judgment of your conduct that it 126 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. would pain me extremely to give you. I have done with you for the present. Take your books and go into one of the recitation rooms. Miss Emily's is unoccupied for the rest of the day, you may go there, and stay by yourself, with the exception of meal-time and study hour. You may prepare your- self to meet the Bishop this evening. That is all. You may go." The heavy hours of solitude that succeeded, seemed ages of misery to Louie. When she first shut herself into the room she had been condemned to, she had been almost beside herself with passion, she had walked the floor and clenched her hands, till a violent burst of crying had relieved and sub- dued her ; then tired out with her emotions, she had sunk into a sort of dull despair, nothing like repent- ance in her heart, only a rankling sense of injustice and a bitter resentment. Her head ached madly ; if she only had some cold water to bathe her fore- head with, a bandage to tie round her bursting temples ; but to face all those girls in going upstairs for either, was worse than the worst headache that ever ached ; and turning her back to the cruel sunlight that streamed in at the window, she laid her head on her folded arms, and never moved till startled by the great bell for dinner. At the sound, she started up, and walking impa- THE SKY IS BED AND LOWEBING. 127 tiently and agita.tedly up and down the room, thought, " It will kill me to face them all. I cannot will not go." But then reason told her, it would be far more noticeable if she did not go : she would be sent for brought down after all the rest were seated any way, every orie would soon know about it they would soon know she was to be expelled this time to-morrow, perhaps, it would be publicly given out before them all, she might as well get used to it. She would go down she hated them all hated them what difference did it make to her what they thought ? Did her face look so horribly, she wondered, would they guess how she felt ? ISTo, they shouldn't she would be as uncon- cerned as any one she was as unconcerned as any one, she repeated to herself, smoothing down her hair and hurrying up the stairs, and through the now empty halls. But ah ! poor child, or poor man, or poor woman, who has learned to dread meeting any eyes, cold or kind, of friend or foe, who shrinks with shame and pain from even a careless glance, who knows Try heart the terrible lesson of disgrace. Perhaps there are harder things to bear, but this is very cruel. Sins that are only against Heaven and in Its sight, can be repented of and atoned for without that indescriba 128 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. ble humiliation, that bitter sickening shame that is added when our fellows have been witnesses. God is so much gentler than men, " we feel it when we sorrow most," when we are lowest in His sight and in our own, and when we have done most to provoke Him to deny us: we would rather fall into His hands who can destroy both soul and body in hell, than into the hands of men as weak as we and only less contemptible. No one can wonder at the double misery of the hour Louie spent under the eye of her schoolmates, nor at the eagerness with which she hurried out of their sight into solitude again, and began the long afternoon of that long day. It seemed a lifetime since morning. Tom and Col. Kuthven and her god- mother seemed to have been separated from her by months instead of hours. Everything was so strange and out of joint so dreamy, and yet so staring and unalterable ; there was but one tangible reality, her wretched, aching head such pain as she never felt before, one moment a hot flash that seemed to go through every vein, and the next, a sick, faint feeling that made her lean down her head on the desk and wonder whether she would ever raise it up again. She tried not to think of what she had done, nor of what was coming ; the hateful minutes that were so slow in going were yet too fast when she THE SKY IS BED AND LOWEBING. 129 thought of what this evening had in store for her. The half of what she had said to Miss Barlow was enough to make her dismissal from the school inevit- able, she was sure. What had she said to her ? She could not recall it distinctly the very indis- tinctness of the recollection made it alarming per- haps she had been even more unpardonable than she remembered they had looked, indeed, struck dumb with astonishment. Even Miss Barlow had never expected anything so bad of her. Expelled from the school ! It is not easy to con- vey the shame and terror that the words inspired her with. Ifever in her time had such a thing hap- pened to any one, but about two years before, a girl had been expelled for some grave fault ; and the legend of her disgrace was whispered over to this day told to every new-comer, and kept fresh in the minds of all. The mantle of contempt had fallen on her little sister, a pale, shy child, who had remained after her. She was avoided by her com- panions instinctively, had no chum whatever, and lived in a strange sort of isolation among them all. If she had been a merry, careless child, no doubt, she would have made her way in the school, and have cleared herself of the disgrace that now hung around her; but she was sensitive and reserved, and morbidly alive to the shame of her sister's punish- 6* 130 LOUIE'S LIST TEEM. ment, that had happened when she was too young to estimate it rightly, and that was unjustly punish- ing her far more severely than it had ever done the other; yet doing her more good, perhaps; for though little Frances Chenilworth was growing up under its shadow a timid, humble, lonely child, the very shadow, no doubt, was keeping down the faults for which her sister suffered, and which might have marred her character as well, if the sun- shine of praise and prosperity had fostered them. Louie, proud and sensitive herself, had often looked with wonder and pity at the neglected little girl, not, of course, thinking of noticing or associat- ing with her, for she gave no one a chance to think of that; but Louie pondered: "If I were in her place, I know I couldn't stand it. I couldn't live without being liked or noticed by somebody. It would just kill me to be so neglected and despised." But it did not kill Frances ; she went on in her quiet, sad way, too inoffensive to be more than neglected, too humble to be disliked, doing her duty very simply, saying her prayers very faith- fully, and living perhaps more entirely in the fear and favor of God than any girl in the great school, little as they guessed it. Louie did not see or think of her very often or, rather, if she saw her often, she thought of her very THE SKY IS RED AND LOWEBING. 131 seldom; her colorless, quiet face and slight figure forever stooping over her books, were the sort of things that do not make much mark upon one's mind ; they were too unobtrusive and too habitual to be striking. But somehow, to-day, since Louie had been alone down in Miss Emily's room, she had thought a great many times of Frances ; more than of any other of her schoolmates. Perhaps she had begun to feel what that burden might be that she had borne so long, and possibly she wondered more that she could have been so patient. At any rate, the thought of her gave her a shadow of comfort ; there was one among her companions whose sympathy she had a right to who would not scorn her and yet it was bitter to feel she had come to that! Come to be glad of the kindness of the most in- significant girl in school almost glad of her pity. Louie groaned aloud as she hid her face on the desk. Oh ! if she could only hide it forever from every one's sight! It was a shame to meet any eyes now, even her mother's ; that was perhaps the worst thought of all. She hated and de- spised herself so she felt such a tempest of rage and resentment in her heart she knew herself to be so disgraced and marked that she dared not think of her mother's sweet, sad eyes, and put the thought out of her mind whenever it recurred to her. 132 She did not hear the door open, sitting stone still with her head bowed down on her arms on the desk; and Frances Chenilworth, entering noise- lessly, did not see her till she was half-way into the room. When she did perceive her, she gave a start and turned back ; but as she reached the door, she glanced toward her again, and something in her atti- tude struck her with surprise and pity. She with- drew her hand from the knob of the door and timidly took a step back into the room. Her face expressed a great many shifting feelings, wonder at the unusual sight of Louie crying, pity for her, fear of rebuff, longing to give comfort, habitual shyness and reserve struggling with an affectionate and tender impulse. It was several minutes before, standing beside her, she found courage to lay her hand lightly on her arm, and whisper : " Is there anything the matter with you ?" Louie gave a violent start and raised her head ; but, somehow, it did not seem to surprise her exactly to see that it was Frances standing by her ; it was only the continuation of her long revery ; she only shook her head, and half-turned it away with- out saying anything. But Frances had not ceased to be sorry for her since she had seen her face, and not taking her silence for a rebuff, she went on timidly after a minute : THE SKY IS KED AND LOWERING. 133 " I hope nobody has been unkind to you ; but you mustn't mind if they have. Perhaps they didn't mean it; very often people don't, when it seems very hard; they only don't think how it would feel themselves they never put themselves in anybody else's place." " Ah !" thought Louie, " how well you know all that!" But aloud she said : "Yes! everybody has been unkind to me everybody and I don't care that, Frances. I don't care for anybody." Frances looked troubled. " I'm glad if you don't care in the right sort of a way, but" " Oh, I don't care in the way people don't care when they pull the trigger of a pistol within two inches of their brains that's the way I don't care. I'm not your way; I'm not meek; I don't want you to suppose I am. You'd be afraid of me if you knew how I felt; I'm sometimes half afraid of myself." " I wish you wouldn't talk so," said Frances, un- easily. "I know you're not in earnest, but it sounds dreadfully. You won't like to remember it in Chapel this evening." " I don't know that I shall be allowed to go into Chapel. 1 am sentenced to be kept by myself, Frances. I am too bad to go near the girls. Mr. 134 LOTTIE'S LAST TEEM. Eogers, maybe, won't let me go into Chapel ; per- haps he'd scold you for talking to me ; you'd bet- ter take care." " I think not. I don't feel afraid." " Did you know I was here ?" "No." "What did you come down here for? To study?" " No," returned Frances, while a very faint glow of red came over her face, " I've studied all my lessons for to-morrow." "Well?" "I don't know I don't think I came down here to read by myself for a little while." " Well, need you go because I am here ? I don't think it makes any difference ; I wish you'd stay. I have a headache and it's so lonesome down here alone. Kead aloud to me in whatever book you've got." " You might not like my book I'm afraid it wouldn't interest you though I'd like very much to stay." " Oh, it doesn't make the least matter what it is," said Louie, wearily, laying her head down on the desk again. " Just read ; I like reading aloud." The fact was, she did not want to think, and THE SKY IS EED AND LOWERING. 135 dreaded to be left alone now that she Lad felt the soothing quiet of Frances' sweet voice and gentle sympathy. No other companion would have suited her as this one did. She would have resented pity from almost any one else, and would have rejected any one else's sympathy ; but Frances knew all about it so well, and was so humble and so dif- ferent from all the others. She told the truth when she said she did not care what she read about ; she did not look at the book Frances had in her hand, nor listen to anything but the low sweet voice in which she read. She hardly noticed that it trembled at first, but that in a little while it steadied itself and grew firm and earnest ; she only knew that there was in it some answer to the hungry craving she felt for sympa- thy, something that lulled the storm in her heart. It was not the words that did her any good she did not hear them ; it was only the quieting tones of the reader; even the headache abated itself under their influence ; she drew her handkerchief across her eyes and apathetically and listlessly sat as Frances had found her. But at last, something in the words seemed to arouse her to a sense that they were words con- veying ideas, and not merely sounds ; she moved a little, then raised her head and fixed her eyes 136 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. uneasily on Frances, who, now engrossed witl the subject, sat stooping over the book in her 13 ,ual fashion, forgetful almost that she had an auditor. There was a reverent tone in her voice that showed she had to do with sacred subjects, and a simplicity and earnestness about her that showed they were the subjects nearest her heart. The words that first struck Louie's ear were these : "Therefore you must take especial care, lest there be any person with whom you are not at peace ; whom you cannot forgive and pray for, and do him all the good that can in reason be expected from you : That you be disposed to make satisfaction to any person that has been injured by you, or who may have taken just offence at your words or actions, this being a duty which Jesus Christ Himself hath commanded. And that you be ready to forgive every person who may have injured you as you expect forgiveness of God, remembering the dreadful sentence ' Thou wicked servant, I for- gave thee all thy debt; shouldst not thou have had compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as I had pity on thee?' And the Lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormenters. " And believe it for a certain truth, that a chari- table and forgiving temper is not near so beneficial to anybody as to him that hath it, it being more THE SKY 18 BED AND LOWERING. 137 blessed to give than to receive, and to forgive than to insist upon satisfaction for injuries and wrongs done to us." " Frances," said Louie, catching her breath and speaking fast, " what did you pick that out to read to me to-day for ? You might have known " "I didn't pick it out," she returned, looking up startled from her book. "I didn't know you were listening, it was what came in my regular reading for to-day. I hope you are not angry, for I didn't mean it, I was not thinking about you, I was only thinking about myself when I came to that." " Do you read every day in that book ?" " Yes, every day the week before Communion." " I had forgotten you were confirmed at Easter with Julia and the others. I wonder Frances, tell me sincerely, how do you ever dare to go ?" " I should not dare to stay away." " What do you mean 1" Frances bent her head and held the book very tight in her clasped hands ; perhaps it was the first time she had ever been required to explain her faith and give a reason for it it was easier to live by, than to tell of it was as clear and beautiful as the blue sky itself, and yet no child standing under the vast and steadfast vault of heaven could have hesitated more, or wanted words more utterly to 138 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. what it was she saw and lived under and looked at hourly and depended upon for the plea- sure of her life. " What do you mean why wouldn't you dare to stay away ? Suppose you were not fit ?" " Nobody is fit really." " Not perfect, Frances, but better than other peo- ple, different from other people. I don't under- stand how any girl can go till she is really good, and knows she can keep so." " Nobody can know that ; and if a person waited when once she had been told, that would be a sin in itself, a dreadful sin." " How can it be a sin, if you know you are not fit?" " It must be a sin," said Frances, speaking quickly, " to live in neglect of any command that God has taken the trouble to give us, and to dis- obey ITis last request ; to say we are not ready to receive Him when He is ready to come ; to acknow- ledge by doing it that we have no life in us and are not concerned that we have not ; to refuse to do the one thing He asked of us that last night before the awful Friday. Oh, Louie ! don't you see how dreadful it is ? Don't it make you tremble to see the people go out of church ?" "It's all dreadful," she said, with a shudder. THE SKY 18 RED AND LOWERING. 139 " It's dreadful to disobey but it's ten times worse to be unworthy and to live as some people do, just as bad as they were before, not a bit as if they were Christians, not a bit as if there were any difference between them and the world." " We must not think about that, we don't know their hearts." "But, Frances," said Louie, abruptly, as she paused, " I wish you'd tell me don't that chapter in Corinthians frighten you ? It keeps running in my head all the time, and when I see the others going to the altar, I can't think of anything else I can't help thinking how they dare. That awful, awful verse ! It haunts me so !" " Do you mean l He that eateth and drinketh unworthily ?' " "Yes." " It always frightened me, too, till that sermon Mr. Eogers preached in Chapel, one stormy Sunday, when we couldn't go to church it was two months ago. Don't you remember it ?" " It must have been before I came back. I don't recollect anything about it. What did he say ?" " He said I can't remember exactly what he said only it made it very different. I believe he said that it was a letter written to the Corinthians, who were in such different circumstances from us, 14:0 LOUIE'S LAST TEEM. that we could not take it all to ourselves. They had been growing very loose and irreverent in their celebration of the Lord's Supper, preceding it by their ' Agapae,' or feasts of charity, at which the rich were careless and intemperate, and the poor were neglected. And so St. Paul wrote to warn them of their danger and set them right about it's being a spiritual feast, and one that should be celebrated with reverence and great solemnity, and in no way profaned or partaken of thoughtlessly. And it is in this sense, he said, we were to take it ; and that word, too, that sounds so awful, ' damnation,' meant only 'judgment' or 'condemnation,' and was often translated so in other parts of the Bible, indeed, in another part of this very chapter. So you can very well see how the Corinthians might indeed bring a judgment upon themselves by the way they had got in of slighting the Holy Commu- nion, and treating it as any other feast ; and I'm sure it's a comfort to know it is not all meant for us. Though, oh, there's enough required of us to make us fearful; but how can we expect to get help if we disobey? He has told us to do it, and we must do it, or be living in open rebellion against Him. He said you know what it was ' he that cometh to Me ' and if we come, no matter how miserable and young and ignorant, and even THE BKT IS BED AND LO WEEING. 141 wicked, we are, we shall not cannot be cast out but helped and comforted and made better, led from ' strength to strength,' slowly perhaps, and sadly, but surely, for there can be no doubt about His promise. If we only believe and try if we only say, ' I do believe it is the only thing that will help me, I will do as God has told me to do, though I don't see the way to make myself fit I will just mind Him and do the best I can, and hope and trust He will accept my good and sincere wish to do as I believe He wishes.' That is all He requires of us for a beginning Oh, dear Louie, if I could only tell you if I could ouly make you understand what a sure help it is ; how much better than anything else in the world. It may not come right away, it may be ever so long before the doubts and fears go away, but you know there can't be any uncertainty about the promise ; in time, it must come good to you only, only try." " Oh !" murmured Louie, " you don't know half how bad I am, how angry, and envious and unfor- giving you wouldn't tell me to think about Com- munion, if you knew my heart." * " It will never be any better till you do. God won't hear your prayer till you consent to do that one thing He requires of you. No matter how hard you plead, if you don't consent to obey, He won't 142 have anything to do with you. Don't fancy you can get at holiness your own way you can't. You must take His way, whether it seems wise to you or not ; you must just mind Him, and then He will not fail to help and govern you, and bring you up in His steadfast fear and love. And forgive you; oh ! with all His heart, and be so merciful ! How can you how can anybody refuse such kindness, and choose such awful, awful sin and danger ?" " Don't say such things, you frighten me," mur- mured Louie. " I don't frighten you any more than you frighten me," said the girl, in a smothered voice, her grey eyes dilating and darkening as she spoke, and her white fingers clasping each other tightly over the book she held. "It frightens me it almost kills me, when I think of all the girls going on in such sin ; when I think of their danger, I am almost sick with fear. I cannot tell you I never told anybody I never talked to any- body before I can't ask them, I can't say a word to them ; but it makes me so wretched ! Long hours at night, when they are all asleep so quietly, it seems to me sometimes I shall go wild with thinking of their souls their souls that they are throwing away. No life in them do you know that ? Careless and quiet and easy, and yet before THE SKY 18 BED AND LOWERING. 143 the night is over they may be required of them. Oh, God knows I pray ! God knows I would give anything to turn them " " Don't don't talk so !" cried Louie, raising her head. " It makes me miserable. You have always been good you don't know how it feels to be full of wicked, stubborn thoughts to feel as if you hated people, as if there was nothing but wicked- ness in you to feel as if you had no right to think of going " " I do know, I know better than you do. You have friends and have something to keep you from uncharitableness, but everybody turns away from me, and I have had to forgive them all. I used to think I never could. I used to think, before I was confirmed, I never could get used to it ; but I have, I don't think anything about it now,- 1 am perfectly certain it's all right." "Frances, you must forgive my part; I never knew anything about it ; I never thought " "There is nothing to forgive," said Frances, leaning back, with a low sigh, the strange look passing out of her eyes, as she regained her usual manner ; "I have no claim on anybody ; I am very useless and don't do any one any good ; I ought not to expect any love." " If my love is worth anything, you will always 144 LOUIE'S LAST TERM. have mine. Oh, Frances, won't yon be my friend I I need yon more than you need me." " I never had a friend ; I don't know how to be of any good to any one," said the girl, with a momentary clond of pain passing over her sensitive face. "Oh, help me!" cried Lonie, catching her hand. " Tell me how yon ever grew to be so good. I am so wretched ; I can't tell you half how desperate. It's all tangled and miserable. I am almost tired of longing to be better I am so tired, I sometimes wish I could die. Yes, die ; don't look so troubled. It is wicked, but it's no wickeder than half my other thoughts ; I don't think I am afraid to die, not half as much afraid as" I am to go on living this wretched life, doing wrong all the time, and with a gnawing pain at my heart forever." "Don't you see, then, that God wants you to be better that He cannot give you up, though you go on disobeying and denying Him? That pain will grow worse and worse if you won't listen to it till it kills your soul " "IJush! you must not say such things," cried Louie, hiding her face and shuddering. " Don't be so cruel ; only tell me what to do only teach me how to be better fit to live, if I am not fit to die.