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 BERTRAJfD 
 BOOK 
 
 140 PACIFIC -4V 
 T.OTfG BRACH. CALlt.
 
 AUNT SERENA.
 
 AUNT SERENA 
 
 BY 
 
 BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "ONE SUMMER" 
 
 PEL 
 
 istrono, lite ftappp, anb lobe" 
 
 BOSTON 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 
 1881
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1881, 
 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 FRANKLIN PRESS : 
 
 Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, <& Co. 
 BOSTON.
 
 " Not through arrogant pride 
 Or over-boldness fail they who strive 
 To tell what they have heard, 
 With voice too weak for such high message." 
 
 2046430
 
 SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' And the spring was in my life, 
 And I was glad." 
 
 WILLIAM MOKEIS. 
 
 " Her somewhat narrow forehead braided tight, 
 As if for taming accidental thoughts 
 From possible pulses." 
 
 MRS. 
 
 THE only chair in Miss Weathers tone's little 
 sewing-room was at this moment occupied by 
 Miss Weatherstone herself. This was a palpable 
 disadvantage for Rose, who, in consequence, was 
 compelled to stand before her accuser and judge like 
 a naughty child, a delinquent housemaid, or a culprit 
 of some other description. 
 
 How well she knew the little room. " The Den " 
 was the short and significant name which she and 
 Harold had given it in those far-off delicious days, 
 when their first plunges into literature had revealed 
 to them giant, witch, and dragon, and they had peo 
 pled the homely orchard, the bird-house on its slen 
 der pole, the dusky branches of the stalwart oaks, 
 
 5
 
 6 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 even the unsuspecting phlegmatic duck-pond, with 
 fabulous beings of earth, air, and sea. But not the 
 most thrilling vision of a child-devouring, flanie- 
 snorting monster could ever produce, in the hearts 
 of these loving, lawless comrades, such agonies of 
 horror and despair as the thought of a certain pale, 
 still, remorseless woman, stitching in her low chair 
 by the sunny window of the Den. 
 
 During the seventeen years of Rose's existence, 
 she had been summoned with lamentable frequency 
 before this dread tribunal, and had listened to repri 
 mand, exhortation, and warning, all of a somewhat 
 scathing nature, in precisely the position in which 
 she found herself to-day. She had indeed accepted 
 these oft-recurring scenes more or less as a matter 
 of course, like thunder-storms and wintry winds and 
 other natural phenomena which could temporarily 
 interfere with her childish pleasures, but which were, 
 upon the whole, not fatal. 
 
 To-day there was a change. The same clock 
 ticked in the impressive silence which always pre 
 ceded Miss Weatherstone's orations ; the same por 
 trait of grandmamma Weatherstone, in severest 
 profile, hung on the wall. But still, there was a 
 change, Eose thought. She did not seek to define 
 it. She felt it simply. She was older. The early 
 summer had come full of beauty and promise un 
 speakable, and in her warm young heart found full 
 response. 
 
 She had galloped down the long grass-grown lane, 
 jumped the chattering, slender brook, then come
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 7 
 
 slowly through the wood, listening to the birds, talk 
 ing deliriously caressing nonsense to her horse, re 
 joicing with a keen delight in the wood-soents and 
 wood-sounds, the trembling lights and shades, the 
 rosy twin-flowers along the way, herself as full of the 
 glow and stir of nature as any blossom of them all. 
 The fair, vague hopefulness of June was in the 
 child's heart. Like June, she was glad in her yot.th 
 and strength, and full of eager wonder at the beauti 
 ful life about her. Her sensitive soul quivered like 
 the tender leaves of the young alders she lightly 
 touched with her whip as she passed. Her sweet, 
 tumultuous thoughts soared as high as the wood- 
 bird's flight, and, like it, lost themselves in far-off 
 clouds. 
 
 And now here was the Den, and aunt Weather- 
 stone preparing the heads of her discourse. Rose, 
 feeling the need of exterior aid to enable her to meet 
 the enemy on equal ground, glanced about, seeking a 
 place whereon to rest a nonchalant elbow. But no 
 mantlepiece or high chair-back was there to support 
 her in the coming ordeal. The little room was 
 devoid of superfluous furniture. Only Miss Weath- 
 erstone in her low chair by the open sunny window, 
 and on the floor a great prosaic basket of unfinished 
 work. All was as it had been through the years. 
 Yet never before had the sober old orchard over 
 flowed with such a wonderful foamy sea of blossoms, 
 never had the bobolink in his cage sung so daring 
 and triumphant a note. Even the familiar well- 
 sweep wore an audacious expression, pointing up
 
 8 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 suggestively to the free blue sky ; while the silent 
 woman in the corner looked colder, harder, nore 
 pinched, mere exasperating than ever. She finished 
 her seam, and smoothed it, slowly drawing her 
 thumb-nail with a rasping sound the whole length of 
 the linen. Rose felt a certain sympathy with it. 
 It must be uncomfortable. Any thing must suffer 
 under aunt Harriet's thumb. The girl flushed, and 
 tapped her foot impatiently with her riding- whip. 
 How long was she to be summoned to this chamber 
 of torture ? When was a girl ' ' grown up " if not 
 at seventeen? Rank rebellion entered her soul ; and, 
 committing what Miss Weatherstone considered an 
 unpardonable sin, she opened fire. 
 
 " What did you wish to say to me, aunt Har 
 riet?" she asked quietly. " You sent forme, and 
 I came at once." 
 
 Miss Weatherstone slowly raised her eyes, and 
 looked at Rose from head to foot. Miss Weather- 
 stone's glance was not usually considered genial and 
 reassuring. A woman, meeting it, would often 
 involuntarily raise her hand to adjust perfectly 
 orderly hair-pins, or brush imaginary dust from her 
 sleeve. Brave men, well-seasoned men of the world, 
 had been known to feel extremely ill at ease in 
 her presence ; while shy ones were apt to drop 
 their hats, stumble over footstools, and tangle the 
 threads of their conversation in inextricable con 
 fusion before the steady gaze of this small, quiet 
 woman. 
 
 To-day her dreaded glance had without doubt
 
 AUNT SERENA. 9 
 
 enough to prey upon. Eose was flushed from her 
 ride, and the wayward morning breezes and the sun 
 shine, while indignation lent a still deeper glow to 
 her warm young cheeks. A mutinous lock strayed 
 over her left shoulder. A green twig had taken up 
 its lawless abode on the rolling rim of her hat. A 
 rent of noble dimensions displayed itself freely in 
 the front of her riding-skirt. She had dismounted 
 in the woods, and easily regained the saddle by 
 means of a gnarled stump ; but something caught, 
 and there was an ominous sound of tearing. It was 
 of no consequence, she thought ; but how curious 
 that something always did catch on the way to aunt 
 Harriet's, when more than at any other time one 
 needed to look irreproachable. And now tradition 
 and force of habit were too strong for her. In spite 
 of her courage, she felt conscious of that rent as if 
 it were a sin upon her soul. Already the bobolink's 
 note had grown languid ; the sea of orchard-blos 
 soms, no longer rising and falling in rosy waves, 
 was a pale, motionless mass. But she rallied. Why 
 should she be discomfited by a frozen glance ? "Was 
 she to be put in a dark closet to meditate upon 
 her misdemeanors, as if it were ten years ago? 
 Again she charged gallantly. 
 
 " What do you wish to say to me, aunt Har 
 riot?" she went on recklessly. "If it's nothing, 
 after all, I think I'll run away again. Aloha is im 
 patient. The flies trouble him." 
 
 "Rosamond," remarked Miss Weatherstone dryly, 
 " I am at a loss to know where you get your strange
 
 10 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 infatuation for horses . Certainly not from our family. 
 Grandmamma "VVeatherstone always did so dislike a 
 horsey girl." 
 
 "Infatuation, not for horses, but for a horse," 
 laughed Rose. " I am true to Aloha. Your grand 
 mamma TVeatherstone might have liked him, too, if 
 she could have ridden him ; but he probably would 
 have thrown her. He is very unexpected in his 
 ways now and then," she added in a matter-of-fact 
 tone. 
 
 This irreverent picture of the pride of the family 
 kissing the dust was distasteful in the extreme to 
 her descendant, who was said to strongly resemble 
 her. Indeed, in an uudeviating severity of judg 
 ment, which she was wont to call uprightness, 
 in a preternaturally sharp perception of the mote in 
 her sister's eye, in an utter inability to comprehend 
 the great, sweet gladness of youth, and its lovely, 
 faint echoes in later years, in a certain frosty con 
 descension she was apt to extend to those who per 
 mitted themselves to be patronized, and what wo 
 man of this description was ever without her little 
 court ? and in the delicate aquiline curve of the 
 handsome nose, she was the counterpart of her de 
 ceased grandmother, whose manners and maxims 
 she quoted upon ah 1 occasions. " Grandmamma was 
 a Beaconswold of Boston, you know," she would 
 say to her satellites, in her dry, monotonous voice. 
 " The Peter Beaconswold family, not the James. I 
 am said to have the Beaconswold nose," raising her 
 handkerchief, and lightly dusting it off with a defer-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 11 
 
 ence delightful to observe. No devotee ever ap 
 proached a sacred relic more reverently than Miss 
 Weatherstone her aristocratic Beaconswold feature. 
 There were two other points of resemblance between 
 these two daughters of one race. Although one had 
 been the mother of a large family, and the other at 
 the ripe age of sixty was still a spinster, both were 
 born old maids ; and though, according to the im 
 mutable decree of nature, they were undoubtedly 
 once infants, it is no less true that neither of them 
 was ever young. 
 
 " There are various things I want to say to you, 
 Rosamond," Miss Weatherstone went on with her 
 oppressive air of infallibility. " If Serena Lennox 
 doesn't know what is fitting for you, happily I do." 
 
 " I wish you would please leave aunt Serena out 
 of the conversation," said Rose quickly. 
 
 " That I shall not do, as I consider her chiefly 
 responsible for your undignified waj^s. For a wo 
 man of her years, her conduct towards you is amaz 
 ingly weak, I may well say culpable." 
 
 " What has she ever done except love me dearly, 
 and be an angel to me ever since mamma died ? ' ' 
 said Rose hotly. 
 
 " It is to what she has not done that I object," 
 Miss Weatherstone dryly remarked. " Among other 
 things, she has not taught you to control your 
 temper." 
 
 Rose looked down gravely, then smiled. " She 
 does not know I have one to control. I don't think 
 I have ever had any at home, at least, since I was
 
 12 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 ten years old, and John drowned my kittens. Then 
 I was furious. But I always do seem to discover it 
 here," she added wickedly. Then, repenting, she 
 said with childlike grace, "I beg your pardou, 
 aunt Harriet. I suppose I am a great disappoint 
 ment to you. If you will tell me what I have done 
 that is bad, and not say any thing about dear aunt 
 Serena, I will be very good, and listen quietly." 
 
 "You have, as I said, undignified wa}*s, Rosa 
 mond," went on the inflexible judge, unmoved by 
 the tender youth of her victim, or the sweet, appeal 
 ing voice. "You are uncurbed. One feels like 
 reading the Riot Act over you, and ordering you to 
 disperse." 
 
 Rose opened wondering eyes. "Am I like a 
 great, turbulent mob?" she thought. 
 
 " You are conspicuous. To be conspicuous is to 
 be unladylike. You are different from other girls. 
 People look at you. When you enter a room, peo 
 ple know it. You never pass unperceived, as others 
 do. The fault lies in you. A girl of your age 
 should be unobtrusive, unseen." 
 
 At this catalogue of her iniquities, Rose felt puz 
 zled. "That is what I am, it seems," she said; 
 " but what do I do that is wrong? " 
 
 "It is your whole bearing, your air, yourself. I 
 have been watching you closely. You are continu 
 ally doing objectionable things. You were seen talk 
 ing and laughing with a stranger yesterday. What 
 have you to say to that? " 
 
 " Aunt Harriet! He merely asked me if Judge
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 13 
 
 Eclmond's place was on the river-road, or not. He 
 was obliged to ask somebody, and I was the nearest 
 person. I stood by the schoolhouse-door. All the 
 little Kindergarten children came tumbling out. 
 Aunt Serena was speaking with old Miss Simpson. 
 He probably thought me an overgrown child, and 
 he was really quite old," she added triumphantly. 
 " His hair was not exactly gray, but gray 
 ish." 
 
 " I do not say that you should not have answered 
 him," remarked Miss Weatherstone in a judicial 
 manner. " But why did you laugh? Why could 
 you not have answered with dignity? " 
 
 " I simply said he must go by the river-road ; and 
 then Pet Edmonds rushed forward, and seized his 
 hand, and said she would take him to her papa's ; 
 and Jack grew red in the face, and said he was the 
 boy, and he ought to : the gentleman walked off 
 with both of them quarrelling about him. He was 
 quite grave, but his eyes twinkled. Jack was eating 
 taffy, and his hand looked brown and sticky ; but he 
 insisted upon clasping the gentleman's glove never 
 theless. I laughed because the children were so 
 comical. What is a strange man to me? " she said 
 with great simplicity and quiet. 
 
 " You need not have laughed. Your manner was 
 undignified. You have no repose. There was never 
 a Beaconswold without repose." 
 
 Miss Weatherstone's voice sounded as if she were 
 reading maxims from a book, with rigid observance 
 of the marks of punctuation. She kept her voice up
 
 14 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 at her commas, and stopped long enough to count 
 four at her periods. 
 
 Rose, ill at ease, conscious of injustice somewhere, 
 yet generous enough to feel she must be more or less 
 at fault, or such things could not be said to her, 
 made a poor attempt at conciliation. 
 
 ' ' But I am not even an insignificant fraction of a 
 Beaconswold, aunt Harriet," she said gently. 
 
 " More's the pity," returned Miss Weatherstone. 
 " Beaconswold and lady are synonymous." 
 
 "I don't like to have you say that. I cannot 
 believe it is so bad as that ! " Rose irrelevantly ex 
 claimed with a vague distress on her face. 
 
 " I say what I think," said Miss Weatherstone 
 coldly. " It is plainly my duty to tell you that you 
 lack restraint, repression. May I inquire what 
 you have done in the last six months but scour the 
 country on that crazy horse of yours ? And usually, 
 I regret to say, alone, without even John." 
 
 " Why, I've read hours and hours every day ! " 
 
 " Yes, novels and poetry," sneered her aunt. 
 
 " But such novels and such poetry ! " cried Rose, 
 warming with her subject. " George Eliot and 
 William Morris and ' ' 
 
 " I am not interested in your list, Rosamond. Do 
 not trouble yourself to repeat it." 
 
 "But I've finished four volumes of Macaulay, 
 too," announced the young girl with much satisfac 
 tion. "And as to my riding alone, }'ou know^ aunt 
 Harriet, that poor old John would break his neck if 
 he should try to follow me. He is so much happier
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 15 
 
 pottering in the garden. And why should I not 
 ride alono in this little drowsy place, where indeed, 
 wherever I go, I am usually on your land or aunt 
 Serena's, and everybodj r knows me? " 
 
 " Because it's improper. All that you do is dis 
 tinctively improper. Grandmamma Weatherstone 
 would have been simply appalled at the way Serena 
 Lennox has brought you up." 
 
 This was too much. The girl's eyes flashed, and 
 she said hastily, 
 
 "Aunt Weatherstone, I have always wanted to 
 tell you that I think your grandmamma Beaconswold- 
 Weatherstone must have been an extremely disa 
 greeable old woman ; and I don't believe dear aunt 
 Serena would have minded in the least any thing 
 such a person might have said or thought." 
 
 Miss Weatherstone folded her work, and laid it in 
 the basket, folded her slender hands, and laid them 
 in her lap. This meant war to the knife. 
 
 Rose went on passionately, "And I don't think I 
 do any thing papa and mamma would have disap 
 proved of. Aunt Serena says I do not. You 
 always make me so uncomfortable and conscious. 
 Do you call it well bred to be conscious ? What is 
 the real matter with me? What don't you like? I 
 know what it all means, aunt Harriet. You don't 
 like me," she said squarely. 
 
 " I cannot say that I find your nature congenial, 
 Rosamond," remarked the older woman in her meas 
 ured accents. 
 
 " But I am my nature ! " returned the girl impetu-
 
 16 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 ously. "And why have I not the right to be my 
 self ? See ! ' ' and she pointed out the window with 
 a little impassioned gesture, " it all makes me glad, 
 wild with joy. A morning like this, and my feet 
 scarcely touch the ground. But it is that which you 
 don't like," she said, with unconscious acuteness. 
 " Is it wrong to be so glad as I, when the world is 
 so beautiful so beautiful ? ' ' she repeated dreamily ; 
 and the well-sweep pointed significantly towards dis 
 tant hazy heights. 
 
 Miss Weatherstone looked at her with singular 
 disapproval. 
 
 ' ' What on earth has ah 1 this to do with the sub 
 ject? I merely make a well-timed suggestion as to 
 your manners, and you find it necessary to put in a 
 plea for your existence, in your exaggerated dra 
 matic fashion. Really, Rosam.ond', you are most un 
 pleasantly demonstrative. You grow more like youi 
 mother every day." 
 
 "Ah!" cried Rose, with a low, intense note of 
 pain and expostulation, the color and eagerness fad 
 ing from her face. Then she said solemnly, "I 
 would rather be like mamma than like any one else 
 who ever lived." 
 
 There was silence in the little room. Did Miss 
 Weatherstone feel that she had gone too far? She 
 quietly took up her work again, and after some 
 moments said, as she deliberately threaded her 
 needle, 
 
 "After this exhibition I presume it is useless to 
 tell you my especial reason for sending for you to-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 17 
 
 day. But I will still give you the chance. I wish 
 to be just. As you are aware, I have always looked 
 upon you and Harold as joint heirs of the Weather- 
 stone estate ; but, as you also know, the matter lies 
 wholly in my hands." 
 
 Rose's manner had repose enough now. She was 
 looking at her aunt gravely and somewhat absently. 
 
 "Nothing has been kept secret from you. You 
 know, too, very well, my wish in regard to yourself 
 and Harold." 
 
 Rose gave a little start, and was about to speak, 
 but checked herself. 
 
 "And you have always known, that, while your 
 father, for sentimental reasons of his own, wished 
 Serena Lennox to have the direction of you as a 
 child, you would be allowed when older to choose be 
 tween us. I therefore. now propose, since I strongly 
 disapprove of your present training, or rather total 
 absence of training, that you place yourself under 
 my guidance, and give me the opportunity of at 
 least attempting to make you what } r ou ought to be, 
 to enter upon the duties that would devolve upon 
 you with this property. I should not object to your 
 seeing your aunt Serena at proper intervals, but " 
 
 " I leave her, and come here to live with you ! " 
 exclaimed the astonished girl, with unflattering em 
 phasis. 
 
 " That is what I said. Otherwise the property " 
 
 "The property" had no more meaning for Rose 
 than any word in an unknown tongue, except that 
 she had found the early May-flowers in the prop-
 
 18 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 erty's woods, climbed the property's trees, waded 
 in the property's brooks, and otherwise enjoyed the 
 property's advantages all her life. The one thing 
 that touched her was the absurdity of talking about 
 seeing aunt Serena at proper intervals. 
 
 "I could not live anywhere without her," she 
 said simply. " You must know that I could not." 
 
 A moment's silence. Miss Weatherstone cut her 
 thread with a curious snap, like a grim old fate. 
 
 " Then there is nothing more to say, except that 
 you need not come here any more, Rosamond." 
 
 ' ' Do you mean I am not to come here at all ? " 
 asked Rose in wide-eyed wonder. 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Weatherstone, rising. She 
 stood beside her niece, and the two looked directly 
 at each other. The older woman was the shorter. 
 The girl turned grieved eyes full of questioning 
 upon the impassive face before her, then, 
 
 "I am soriy," she faltered, and without another 
 word left the room. 
 
 Harriet Weatherstone heard her call her horse, 
 "Aloha ! come, Aloha ! " and in a moment saw her 
 riding slowly down the avenue. What was this 
 curious sensation ? An impulse to call that retreat 
 ing figure back? Impossible. Miss Weatherstone 
 never experienced any thing so uugenteel as an Im 
 pulse, and she had done her duty to Rosamond. 
 The girl was hot-tempered, ungrateful, and obsti 
 nate. Still, she watched the lightly swaying figure 
 out of sight. How slowly she was riding away. 
 Aloha ! Idiotic name for a horse.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 19 
 
 The Beaconswold feature looked a trifle more 
 pinched that day, the lips beneath it thinner thaii 
 ever, and Solomon's virtuous woman could by no 
 means have watched her handmaids so narrowly. 
 
 " How fast Miss Harriet do age, to be sure," re 
 marked the cook of twenty years' standing, to the 
 gardener. " And she's just that particklar like ! " 
 
 Miss Weatherstone was not an imaginative person ; 
 yet many times that day she seemed to see a figure 
 vanishing beneath the drooping elms, and more than 
 once she heard the fresh, young call, " Aloha ! 
 Aloha ! ' ' clear as a bird-note echoing through the 
 still air : and the day grew cloudy and dull. 
 
 Something had gone out of her life. She remem 
 bered that Rose had looked at the last singularly 
 like her father. She shivered. " These evenings 
 are cool for the season," she said, drawing a prim 
 little three-cornered gray shawl over her shoulders.
 
 20 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 ,,9Jletn fiotjeS Ulofj, mem treue 9lofj, 
 SDir flage idj all tnein Cetb." 
 
 " Blessing she is; God made her so: 
 And deeds of week-day holiness 
 Fall from her noiseless as the snow; 
 Nor hath she ever chanced to know 
 That aught were easier than to hless." 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 ROSE rode slowly through the woods, listless, 
 drooping, and grieved to the heart. She gave 
 Aloha loose rein ; and he, indulging in no playful 
 pranks as was his wont, walked along in a subdued 
 and sympathetic manner highly commendable in an 
 animal of his exuberant spirit. "We must consider 
 this matter thoughtfully," was the language of his 
 sagacious eyes. Rose stopped in a favorite nook, 
 where a monarch of the forest lay low across the 
 path, and a tiny brook, half hidden by tall ferns, 
 ceaselessly sang his requiem. There was quiet here. 
 the stillness that can best soothe a restless heart 
 She sprang lightly down, and then, because she was 
 a child, and hurt, wept her childish, passionate tears ; 
 and because a child clings to something it loves, for 
 the mere comfort of the clinging, she flung her slen 
 der arms round Aloha's glossy neck, and sobbed
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 21 
 
 aloud, and O shade of grandmamma Beacons- 
 wold- Wcathcrstone ! actuall}' kissed his satin skin, 
 murmuring many fond and foolish names. 
 
 Aloha pricked up his ears. Some one was ap 
 proaching. Rose, absorbed in her griefs, her cheek 
 pressed close against her horse, saw no vigilant ears, 
 heard no footstep on the other side of the brook. A 
 grave face looked through the trees towards the 
 slight, sobbing figure in its attitude of unrestrained 
 grief. 
 
 " She too ! " thought the stranger. " The happy 
 little girl I saw yesterday, sobbing her very heart 
 away in the solitude of the woods. Poor child ! 
 Why do you weep so bitterly? Have you, too, 
 found out that your doll is stuffed with sawdust?" 
 
 He was strongly moved to part the dense under 
 growth where he was standing, step across the 
 thread-like brooklet, put a fatherly hand on her 
 shoulder, and ask gently," 
 
 " What is the matter, little girl? Don't cry so. 
 It's really not worth while." 
 
 " She would not thank me. I should only startle 
 and displease her." 
 
 Yet he lingered long enough to mark the slight, 
 supple figure in its abandonment, the delicate profile 
 against the bowed neck of the powerful black horse, 
 the fallen lock of reddish chestnut hair lying on her 
 shoulder and glistening like bronze in the sunshine, 
 even the rent in her simple blue habit, while flicker 
 ing lights played lovingly over her, and a bird above 
 called his mate in one long, thrilling note.
 
 22 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " Child ! Young fresh heart ! Sob out your grief 
 and be comforted. If we world- worn souls could do 
 the same, the dull, weary pain might not last so 
 long." And smiling half kindly, half bitterly, he 
 went on ; and only Aloha knew that some one had 
 passed. 
 
 His ears relaxed. He drooped his head, with pro 
 tection and indulgence in his mien. 
 
 "We must have this out, and then we'll feel 
 better," said the soul that looked out of his deep, 
 wise eyes. 
 
 "You blessed Aloha, you love, you dear! " said 
 the girl softly. " They do not try to make you pre 
 tend that you are a lap-dog or a cat, or any thing 
 nature never meant you to be." 
 
 "I should think not," said the proud arch of 
 Aloha's neck. " Lap-dog, indeed ! " 
 
 "They don't blame you because you are not a 
 plodding cart-horse. They leave you free, hero that 
 you are. And you need only associate with me, the 
 person you love best. Now, suppose they should 
 try to make you sing like a nightingale, or crawl like 
 a lizard, or run up a tree like a monkey, you'd hate 
 it, and be wretched, would you not? " She smiled 
 through her tears, pleased with her reasoning., 
 
 Aloha responded by a look of imperturbable dig 
 nity. 
 
 " No ? You'd not be wretched ? ' ' The tears still 
 trembling on her lashes, she stepped back for a better 
 view of her comrade. 
 
 "Would you be above caring for them? You
 
 AUNT SERENA. 23 
 
 would make concessions, yes. Even now you let 
 little me curb your strength and restrain your flying 
 feet ; but if they should wish to make you a fright 
 ened, foolish thing, instead of your bold, brave self, 
 what then, my beauty? " 
 
 Was it only a fish leaping in the brook, was it 
 a rustling in the willows on the other bank, or a 
 squirrel in the branches above, or why did Aloha, at 
 this instant, interrupt his young mistress's eloquence 
 by giving a mighty plunge ? and why did he then 
 stand with ears erect, eyes on the alert, proud 
 nostrils dilated, slender forelegs firm and motion 
 less as marble, and poised, as if the suspicion of a 
 bond would send him bounding through space ? 
 
 To the eager soul awaiting auguries, auguries 
 always come. Will one go to the East? Then all 
 the tall reeds and rushes bend eastwards ; and the 
 many voices of the night-breeze murmur only, " To 
 the East, to the East! " Will one hasten to the 
 South? Then the birds and the clouds and the 
 butterflies and the thistle-down float southwards ; 
 and every wave sighs, " The South ! " as it breaks 
 on the sands at one's feet. 
 
 The girl's face flushed. He means he would fly 
 away, far, far away. What else told me the same 
 story to-day? Why, the old well-sweep. It can 
 not go itself; so it points and points, with its long 
 arm. But, Aloha, I can go ! I will go ! 
 
 " Aloha ! " The horse turned, and came soberly 
 back to her, repenting of his momentary excitement. 
 
 "You would run away from them, but not from
 
 24 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 me," she said, gravely. " I know you only did ii 
 to show me, my dear ; but one mustn't even seem to 
 turn from one's friends." 
 
 She scrambled into her saddle as best she could. 
 She did not spring lightly from the ground to a 
 height equal to her own, after the approved fashion 
 of the heroines of novels when obliged to mount 
 without assistance, and would no doubt have found 
 this gymnastic feat difficult, if not impossible, as 
 would most girls not specially trained for the acro 
 batic profession. 
 
 Then, with resolve and hope shining out of her 
 sweet young face, she rode brightly away. 
 
 " I will have a good trot on the river-road, that I 
 may not take home foolish red eyelids to distress 
 aunt Serena. And I will mature my plans. Con 
 spirators always mature their plans. Come, Aloha ! 
 Like a bird, now, my beauty ! " 
 
 On she went, following the widening brook, till 
 Aloha's hoofs sounded on the little bridge that 
 crossed it lower down. Some one stood there, idly 
 watching the water. He turned, and took off his 
 hat as she rode swiftly by. Absorbed in her 
 thoughts, she was not conscious of his greeting until 
 it was too late to acknowledge it ; and the fleeting 
 remembrance that he was the person who had been 
 the subject of the Edmonds children's contention, 
 yielded to the more important matters occupying her 
 mind. 
 
 "Ah, my pretty little maid-in-a-mist ! Does 
 your sun shine so soon?"
 
 AUNT SERENA. 25 
 
 He watched her, with a somewhat amused smile, 
 till she turned off on another road and disappeared. 
 
 " A lovely child, and a spirited rider. I must ask 
 Edmonds who she is." 
 
 But as he and Judge Edmonds chatted over the.r 
 wine that evening, and then gradually advanced to 
 business and law-papers, the little episode of the 
 morning passed from his memory ; and dry docu 
 ments shut out the tender vision of a girl's wet, 
 wistful eyes. 
 
 Meanwhile Eosamond had her trot, and came home 
 radiant, but with a certain restlessness quivering 
 about her lips. Would aunt Serena, or would she 
 not? That was the question. 
 
 " Where is Miss Lennox? " she asked, as she rode 
 past what was once a porter's lodge, but was now 
 occupied by the gardener, porter, and groom, ah 1 in 
 one, John, the ancient servitor, who dropped his 
 hoe to take Aloha's bridle, as she quickly dis 
 mounted. 
 
 " If she ain't a-doin' the sweet pease, she's at 
 the glories, Miss Rosamond," remarked John, with 
 dignity; "an' if she ain't at the glories, she's 
 a-takin' of a promenade in the garding some- 
 whercs." 
 
 Rose glanced hastily in the low, wide-open win 
 dows as she passed the irregular, pretty, roomy cot 
 tage, almost stooping under its heavy mantle of 
 woodbine, and looking, with its curious wings added 
 here and there in whimsical, irrelevant fashion, aa 
 if the house itself had developed a vine-like propen-
 
 26 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 sity for straggling over the ground, rather than that 
 its owners had been responsible for such unaccount 
 able wanderings. 
 
 In the broad, middle walk, between her sweet pease 
 and morning glories, aunt Serena was walking up 
 and down with her gentle, deliberate step. She 
 turned as she heard Rose's rapid footfall, giving her 
 a loving smile, and at the same time the quick, keen 
 glance with which she habitually met her darling. 
 "Is it well with thee ? ' ' asked the faithful eyes 
 after every absence. " Fairy god-mother," Rose 
 often called her aunt ; and there was indeed a quaint, 
 rare charm in the small, slightly bowed figure, the 
 softly waving white hair, the large, brown eyes so 
 tenderly humorous, so sad and so wise. Even her 
 frail hands had a dainty grace of their own ; and her 
 whole presence diffused the benign and subtle influ 
 ences of old-time courtesy, the repose of a beautiful 
 spirit, and the freshness of feeling and innocence of 
 instinct commonly attributed only to youth. 
 
 The tall girl put her two arms around her aunt. 
 
 " Fairy god-mother, do you love me? " 
 
 " You have something to tell me, and something 
 to ask me, have you not, my dear? " 
 
 "O wisest of women, I have. Auntie, you are 
 as wise as the three Nornes together ; for you know 
 the past, present, and future all at once.''" 
 
 "But you always have something to tell and ^o 
 ask, child." 
 
 ' ' Then let j'our magic reveal what it is at this 
 moment. Oh ! there are strange things in the air,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 27 
 
 muvmurings and whisperings and beckonings, and 
 even dumb things have spoken." 
 
 " They often speak," said Miss Lennox, smiling. 
 ' ' But I need no special incantation to divine at least 
 a part of your marvellous morning. Aunt Weather- 
 stone was tiying, and my Rose showed her thorns." 
 
 Rose kissed her aunt's hands in grave acknowl 
 edgment, then retorted gayly, 
 
 " But I really do not know the exact amount of 
 deference due to unpleasant relatives, particularly 
 when they are only one's father's half-sister, and 
 have aggravating Beacons wold features." 
 
 " Dear child, does it help matters to be " 
 
 "Flippant? Yes, for if I make. silly jokes they 
 may keep silly tears out of my eyes. I don't wish 
 to accuse her unjustly when she isn't here to defend 
 herself; but there you know what she is your 
 self ! " exclaimed Rose, with a desperate struggle 
 between her wish to please one aunt, and an unholy 
 inclination to give the other one her deserts. 
 
 "Yes, I know, certainly," answered Miss Len 
 nox very gravely. " Who better? " 
 
 "And indeed I tried not to be bad this morning, 
 but nothing was right. First Aloha received her 
 condemnation, then my uncouth wa}'s, and then you, 
 a& responsible for all my misdemeanors." 
 
 "Ah?" and Miss Lennox smiled, with no shade 
 of resentment on her quiet face. 
 
 " I was not a very pleasing object, as you see ; " 
 and Rose ruefully lifted her skirt, and smoothed the 
 gaping rent with solicitude ; then, letting the heavy
 
 28 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 folds fall as they would, she went on rapidly, " But 
 I came in full of the morning, and she was so quiet 
 and cold and still, it was torture to be in her pres 
 ence. She has that di'eadful way of never believing 
 in you, and never making any allowance for acci 
 dents. She looked at me as if I had pulled down 
 my hair and torn my habit out of pure disrespect to 
 her. Oh, she does make me bad ! I should grow 
 to be a criminal of the deepest dye if I should live 
 with her ! I should be a Lucretia Borgia a Mes- 
 salina a ' ' 
 
 "And then, my dear? " asked Miss Lennox, reach 
 ing up and taking off Rose's hat, relieving it of its 
 twigs, gently patting it into shape. Her hand, as it 
 passed, lingered on the girl's cheek : its light, tender 
 touch quieted her. 
 
 "And then? " she repeated. " Not much to tell. 
 I hardly know. I looked out into the free world, 
 and loved it. I looked at her, and could not love 
 her. The very way her hair grows on her temples 
 irritates me. She said I was too much like mamma 
 She said something about Harold, the old story, 
 you know ; then at last she said she wished me to 
 come to her, see you at proper intervals, proper 
 intervals, do you hear, auntie? be guided by her, 
 and learn how to be a lady ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' Was that all ? " inquired Miss Lennox pla 
 cidly. 
 
 "I believe she said something about the estate, 
 but I was too angry to listen. I lost my temper, 
 and caught it, like a ball in the ah-, all the time
 
 AUNT SERENA. 29 
 
 she was speaking. I did have one satisfaction. I 
 told her grandmamma Weatherstone must have been 
 an uncommonly disagreeable old woman ; and when 
 I said it, the fetters of years seemed to drop from 
 my soul. It rose, and stretched its wings." 
 
 " Oh, child, child ! " remonstrated Miss Lennox, 
 with a perceptible twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 " And aunt Serena," Rose hesitated, played with 
 her whip, gathered up her riding-skirt and let it fall 
 again, turned, pulled a sweet pea and closely exam 
 ined its tiny crimson veins " the end of it all is, 
 she has forbidden me the house." 
 
 Miss Lennox gave a slight start, and looked off 
 towards the belt of sentinel-like oaks which encir 
 cled the little estate. Gazing up into the tree-tops, 
 she saw them not. She was looking back into the 
 days of her youth, seeing faces long since vanished, 
 hearing voices forever hushed. 
 
 "So bitter! Is she still so bitter?" she mur 
 mured, then turned to Rose. Lovely and warm as 
 the sunshine, sensitive, full of response, variable on 
 the surface because of her many girlish moods, but 
 brave and steadfast at heart, aud still looking with 
 such large, wondering child-eyes at life, how could 
 one of her own kin be cruel to her ! ' ' 
 
 " My dear," was all the little old lady said, but 
 with a world of tenderness. 
 
 Quick, hot tears filled the girl's eyes. She went 
 on rapidly, 
 
 "I don't know why it hurt me so. I certainly 
 don't love aunt Harriet enough to care whether I
 
 30 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 ever see her again, or the old house either ; but still, 
 it seemed to take a part of my life away from me. 
 And to be ordered out of her sight, out of papa's 
 old home, was like a curse. She is a cruel, 3ruel 
 woman ! " 
 
 Miss Lennox sat down in a rustic garden-chair, 
 leaned her head against its high back, and turned 
 her pale, pained face away from Rose. 
 
 Then she began slowly, 
 
 " It was not a curse, Rosamond. It was only 
 disappointment. You can well afford to forgive her 
 for her harshness, because life is beautiful to you, 
 and hers is dreary and desolate. You do not even 
 need to be generous to forgive her. I cannot say 
 that I have not found her unlovely. But she has 
 been a disappointed woman all her days ; and no one 
 has ever loved her, although she has ruled many by 
 force of her strong, imperious nature. There is 
 much I could tell }'ou, but you are too young. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, tell me!" pleaded Rose, kneeling at her 
 aunt's feet, resting her suddenly laughing face on 
 her arms like a Raphael cherub. " You can't mean 
 there was ever such a thing as a romance in aunt 
 Harriet's life? Was she ever in love ? " asked the 
 girl, amused and incredulous. " Did she, aunt Har 
 riet Weatherstone, ever actually want any one to 
 love her, man, woman, or child? " 
 
 " Dear, every one wants to be loved. At least it 
 seems so to me ; though I don't always feel sure of 
 my own theories, I have made so many mistakes," 
 Miss Lennox replied in her thoughtful way.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 31 
 
 " You don't set yourself up on the cross-roads of 
 life, like a great, human sign-post, to tell eveiybody 
 where to go ; but you are always right nevertheless," 
 cried loyal little Rose. 
 
 Her aunt smiled, and continued mildly expounding 
 her theories. " I think we all crave love, whether 
 we know it or not, and whatever perverse method 
 we adopt to wound it, to drive it away, to tread it 
 under our feet, to bar and bolt the strong doors of 
 our hearts against its pleading face and outstretched 
 hands." 
 
 " Even aunt Harriet ? " asked Rose demurely. 
 
 " Even aunt Harriet. Why, my dear, once I 
 knew an elderly woman, reared in the straitest sect 
 of New-England Puritanism. In her family no child 
 received a good-night kiss, no bright, gracious ways 
 illumined the colorless routine of daily life. And 
 suddenly a strange chance sent to her care a little 
 child, of her name and race it is true, yet farther 
 from her in the sweet, sunny influences of its birth 
 than the distant clime where it was born. It was 
 an enchanting, spirited little being, who had known 
 only the incense and adoration offered at the baby's 
 altar in every bapp} 7 home. The little four-year-old 
 waif was brought in late at night, after a long jour 
 ney, and placed on the knee of this woman, whom 
 even her undemonstrative family thought austere. 
 "Was the child's instinct duller, or keener, than it 
 seemed? She blinked at the lights, stared at the 
 strange people and the strange room, then, with the 
 divine smile of a cherub, so sure was she of love,
 
 32 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 turned her back upon it all as if to shut out the 
 strangeness, threw her soft arms round the neck of 
 her new guardian, nestled close to the prim breast, 
 leaving her queer little open-mouthed, baby kisses 
 wherever her dewy lips touched the old, unlovely 
 throat, and, with a drowsy coo, murmured, ' Milly's 
 sleepy. Poo' Milly ! Put Hilly to bed.' " 
 
 " And what did old Miss Prim do? " asked Rose. 
 " Aunt Harriet would have said, in her most didactic 
 manner, ' Children should never be sleepy until they 
 are told to be,' and frightened the poor little dear 
 into convulsions." 
 
 " She said nothing, and showed nothing of what 
 she felt. She merely rose mechanically ; and her 
 hands, unused to such tender work, laid the little 
 thing in its bed. She did not melt much outwardly, 
 that night or afterwards. It is chiefly in books and 
 on the stage that people reform perceptibly on ac 
 count of so slight a thing as the touch of a child's 
 hand. After sixty years of crustiness, however 
 sound people's feelings are at the root, they don't 
 begin to blossom like the rose. But the child won, 
 and love won. Many a time I have seen her, in later 
 years, pat her cousin's shoulder affectionately, throw 
 her arm round the angular figure, and give it a little 
 girlish hug ; and though she never received any 
 actual response other than ' Don't be foolish, Mil 
 dred,' often indeed an awkward, half shy look, as 
 the only answer to a caress, still, the. girl won. Her 
 loving, laughing, dauntless ways ruled the silent 
 house. When her fearless hand smoothed that with-
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 33 
 
 ered cheek, a suffused look in the faded eyes tJbove 
 it was the equivalent of a flush of joy in a youthful 
 face. And don't you suppose the older woman 
 sorrowed silently that she had been trained in too 
 stern a school to be able to learn, so late, love's 
 gracious, kindly ways? I am sure she did. Ah ! if 
 we only knew how to batter down the fortifications 
 round seemingly hard old hearts, we should not 
 always find them enemies." 
 
 " I don't believe any amount of battering would 
 help matters much with aunt Harriet," remarked 
 Rose wickedly. " Now, wasn't I an enchanting 
 child, and wasn't I sleepy often enough, and hungry 
 too ? But I never moved her ossified sensibilities . ' ' 
 
 "Rose, dear, }'ou were a loving, daring child. 
 You ought to have won. You would have won, if I 
 had not been there. You see, I have always been 
 an annoyance to her ; and her life has been one con 
 tinual disappointment. She was reared in a hard, 
 rigid fashion ; then, the man for whom she cared, 
 who perhaps might have made her life sweeter and 
 richer, happened to care for some one else." There 
 was an almost imperceptible tremor in the gentle 
 voice, then a pause. "After that, her young brother, 
 to whom, in her way, she was attached, fell in love 
 with my little sister, and married her. This was 
 the worst of all ; since, as you know, the Weath- 
 erstones and the Lennoxes have alwa^ys been the 
 Montagues and Capulets of Northbrooke," and on 
 the little lady's lips played her fine, humorous smile : 
 ' ' but for my part it seems to me too absurd for two
 
 34 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 old maids, in two more or less stu bby old houses, 
 to try to perpetuate the foolish quarrels of a couple 
 of hot-headed men nearly a century ago. Old Miss 
 Capulet is, I confess, a mean-spirited person, and 
 has frequently asked old Miss Montague to tea ; but 
 Miss Montague has proper pride, and wishes to pre 
 serve the ancient traditions." 
 
 " Dear, blessed, little Miss Serena Capulet," said 
 Rose softly. 
 
 "And, finally, you are like your mamma; and 
 then, you love me. Every thing has gone against her 
 will, and her will is adamant ; so for years she Las 
 been" 
 
 " Petrifying ! " put in Rose with emphasis. 
 
 " How can she help it? " said Miss Lennox med 
 itatively. "I fear I am less orthodox than Mr. 
 Lathrop might wish, but can she soften? I am 
 sorry for her. But can Maitland's cliff transform 
 itself into rich meadow-land ? Perhaps, ' ' she mused, 
 " in the long, mysterious processes of nature " 
 
 " Oh, but we cannot wait for them : life is not long 
 enough ! " exclaimed Rose impetuously. "And why 
 need we live under the shadow of the cliff ? This 
 is what I wanted to beg of you. Take me away 
 from here and from her, far, far away ! ' ' she en 
 treated, still kneeling, her head thrown back, her 
 eager eyes full of pleading. 
 
 "Where do you want to go, Rosamond?" asked 
 Miss Lennox slowly, not without a certain pained 
 surprise in her voice. She had reached an age 
 when change of any kind is unwelcome, and she
 
 AUNT SERENA. 35 
 
 loved her home. " Where? " She looked 
 
 at her soft lawns, her cottage, and her old oaks 
 
 Already they seemed fading from her view. 
 
 "As far from here as I can go," said Eose with 
 the unconscious cruelty of youth. Springing to her 
 feet, and standing straight and lithe as a young 
 Indian, she exclaimed, "Across the sea, wherever 
 papa and mamma went when they were so young 
 and happy, like two children wandering hand in 
 hand through pleasant places, as you have so often 
 said. I always wanted to go, but there seemed to 
 be no reason ; and I know you love it here. But to 
 day ever} 7 " thing bids me go. Every thing points 
 far away into the great world beyond these quiet 
 hills." 
 
 "Your mother used to talk so years ago," said 
 Miss Lennox thoughtfully. "It is strange to hear 
 you now. I was always a bird that loved the nest ; 
 but Winifred was bold and brave like you, dear, 
 and longed to soar away : ' ' she looked wistfully at 
 the eager child. 
 
 " I will never soar away from you, dear little 
 fairy godmother," cried the girl warmly ; "and if 
 3 T ou would be unhappy " she hesitated. 
 
 ; ' I shall not be unhappy," returned Miss Len 
 nox, quietly accepting the journey, and already see 
 ing the silent house standing with closed shutters in 
 the midst of winter's snows, already wondering how 
 John would manage without her, already choking 
 down her first homesickness. 
 
 When did a young heart ever understand an old
 
 36 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 one? Rose's glad eyes met her aunt's serene, ten 
 der gaze ; yet these two near arid dear ones were 
 wide apart at the moment. One saw snowy sum 
 mits, and famed rivers winding down to distant 
 southern seas, cathedrals and castles, dusky ruins 
 and gliding gondolas, and heard the music of for 
 eign tongues. The other saw a pale, sweet face, 
 with great, mouruful eyes, and heard, "I am not 
 afraid, Serena ; but how can I leave my poor Mttle 
 baby-girl?" She was always a child herself, little 
 Winifred ; and Rosamond was so like her. How fast 
 the years had flown since the little sister died, and 
 Rosamond was seventeen j'esterday ! Well, she 
 should have her flight, her prancings, and caracol- 
 ings. Why not? Every spirited young thing loves 
 action. As for Harriet Weathers tone, what she has 
 said, she has said. Perhaps it would be really the 
 wisest thing to take Rose out of her sight for a time. 
 
 "If only I may guard you aright," she said, 
 "my bonny bird that wants to fly. The world is 
 so large, and I am only a frail old woman." She 
 sighed as she looked into the girl's fearless, tender 
 eyes ; and her own grew moist with memories and 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Come, child, let us go in now, let us go in," she 
 said, a little wearily.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 37 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 " Let us strike hands as hearty friends, 
 
 No more, no less: and friendship's good; 
 Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, 
 And points not tmderstood, 
 
 In open treaty. Kise above 
 
 Quibbles and shuffling off and on. 
 Here's friendship for you, if you like; but love 
 
 No, thank you, John." 
 
 CHRISTINA KOSSETTI. 
 
 EVERYBODY in Northbrooke soon knew that 
 Serena Lennox and Rosamond Wellesley were 
 going to Europe. Miss Lennox was amiable enough 
 to announce her intention at once, being aware that 
 nothing was so irritating to Northbrooke as a secret. 
 Northbrooke did not like to be surprised. It claimed 
 as its inalienable right a fair amount of leisure in 
 which to discuss everybody's plans before they were 
 put in execution. Out of regard, then, for the idio 
 syncrasies of her neighbors, Miss Lennox made no 
 secret of her intentions. Why, indeed, should she 
 be reticent in this respect? In the old days there 
 had been nothing surprising in a Wellesley or a 
 Lennox passing a winter in Paris or Rome, but of 
 late they had all grown rusty. That comes of being 
 an old woman and living alone, thought aunt Serena, 
 Cheering herself on to this step which, look at it as
 
 38 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 she would, always assumed gigantic proportions. 
 There was positively no reason why Rosamond 
 should vegetate in Northbrooke. If a dull old 
 woman like herself enjoyed vegetating, wh} T , that 
 was pure indolence. Rosamond should be happy, 
 God bless her! and with an inward shudder Miss 
 Lennox wrote to engage their passage, and began 
 active preparations for departure. 
 
 There were several old pensioners to be provided 
 for, various business arrangements to make ; and 
 John, who regarded the matter with mournful and 
 undisguised disapproval, reported each day some 
 newly discovered necessity of repairs on the house, 
 all of which would occupy some weeks. 
 
 Miss Lennox wrote a civil note acquainting Miss 
 Weatherstone with the new plans, and hoping that 
 they would meet with her approval. To this there 
 was no answer. One day between Northbrooke and 
 the city, where Miss Lennox and Rosamond had 
 been making farewell visits, they met the Weather- 
 stone carriage, and in it Miss Weatherstone herself, 
 sitting aggressively erect. She passed them and 
 their modest phaeton as if they and it were thin air, 
 not turning her head, but simply looking at them 
 with eyes that saw not. 
 
 Rose flushed with vexation. " Ridiculous old 
 creature ! ' ' said she. But Miss Lennox's soft ' ' Poor, 
 lonely soul, hard to others, harder to herself! " fol 
 lowed quickby. "I would go again to see her. 
 Don't ride Aloha. Go quietly on foot or drive. 
 Yes, dear, I wish it," she went on, as Rose looked
 
 AUNT SERENA. 3S 
 
 rebellious. " Perhaps she will receive you. It will 
 only cost you the sacrifice of a little unworthy pride. 
 The happy owe something to the unhappy in this 
 world; and she is unhappy, God knows." And 
 Rose did not dream that the gentle soul had suffered, 
 in her far-off girlhood, a grievous wrong at the hands 
 of this woman, of whom she always spoke with 
 tender compassion. 
 
 The days flew softly by. The roses still lingered ; 
 and long lines of lilies were now shining out in their 
 white stateliness, filling the air with fragrance. Miss 
 Lennox lingered lovingly over her flowers, flitting 
 about in her dainty fashion, and ministering to 
 their needs as if they were human friends. The 
 old place seemed very dear to Rose, too, as the 
 time for leaving it approached ; yet the jo} r of the 
 unknown had taken possession of her waking or 
 dreaming. One would have thought it was a new 
 and glorious world which the girl was going forth 
 to conquer, or that she had found the gateway to 
 Paradise, she had such a radiant, glowing face, and 
 such a happy light in her eyes that seemed to see 
 more beaut} 7 than was revealed to others. 
 
 Now this, if charming in itself, was not necessarily 
 agreeable to everybody ; and perhaps next to old 
 John, the person who disliked the "flitting" most 
 heartil}' was Harold Thornton. Like John, he re 
 garded it with aversion and resentment, entertaining 
 the secret conviction that there was a great and 
 special injustice to him in the obnoxious proceeding. 
 However pretty Rose might be, gazing into bound-
 
 40 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 less space with a rapt look in her large eyes, it did 
 not give him the slightest satisfaction. He much 
 preferred that she should confine her attention to a 
 not uncomely youth near at hand. One morning he 
 ventured to express his views to this effect, and 
 indeed made a few other remarks of a more or less 
 personal and important nature. To one of which 
 he received this cheerful reply : 
 
 "Five, at least, cousin Harold. I do not at 
 present see the necessity of having any at all. But 
 if I take one, I must certainly take five." 
 
 Harold listened with the sombre dignity of a 
 youth of nineteen, who imagines himself madly in 
 love, and who finds the object of his affections in 
 clined to be frivolous instead of responsive. He 
 slashed savagely at bush, weed, and wild-flower with 
 his riding-whip. 
 
 Rose was sitting at the top of a rather crazy 
 flight of stone steps leading down the steep, high 
 bank overgrown with tangled shrubbery and wild- 
 cherry trees. Harold stood a little below her, his 
 back turned to the pretty cove. But the girl looked 
 past him, her smiling eyes watching the familiar 
 scene. The waves creeping softly up among the 
 tall reeds and coarse sea-grasses, the little village 
 on the hillside at the left, the bold lighthouse tower 
 far to the right, and the shores curving to meet the 
 long bridge which seemed to draw them nearer. A 
 heavy train of cars was lumbering over it, throwing 
 loose pennons of smoke to the morning breeze. A 
 few birds were skimming idly about. How quiet 
 and monotonous it was ; but she liked it.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 41 
 
 She was an aggravating picture in her morning 
 freshness, as she turned her cool, undrooping gaze 
 from the lake-like water to the somewhat flushed 
 young person before her. 
 
 " Don't be cross, Harold," she said sweetly. " I 
 prefer having no such encumbrance, you understand. 
 But if it were an inevitable evil, five would be more 
 agreeable to me than one." 
 
 "1 must be uncommonly obtuse," he remarked 
 grimly ; ' ' but I confess I fail to appreciate the 
 joke." 
 
 "It's not a joke, you dear boy. It is my most 
 serious conclusion, after listening to you with the 
 utmost attention. For instance, one like aunt Se 
 rena's banker, urbane and gray-haired, to whom 
 I would casually mention from time to time that I 
 wanted gloves and chocolate. One fond of society, 
 concerts, the opera, and dancing ; one for rainy 
 days at home, instructive, but not pedantic, learned, 
 amiable, and witty ; one to tease and be very fond 
 of. You'd do for that one, Harold, if you would 
 not quarrel with the other four. ' ' Harold muttered 
 something inaudible and improper. ' ' And one to 
 revere and quite adore. He is my favorite. You 
 find him in a great many books. He has suffered. 
 I am not his first love, you know. He had loved 
 before we met. There are moments when he is 
 unconscious of my presence. He is lost in reveries 
 of scenes of long ago. That must be delightful. 
 He can be dark or fair ; but his eyes must be deep 
 set, and his smile melancholy and rare."
 
 42 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "I think 1 will go," Harold said abruptly. He 
 had stopped decapitating flowers, and was looking 
 Rose full in the face, not sullenly, as before, but 
 with a curiousl}- observant expression. 
 
 " Are you angry? " said she gently. 
 
 " I don't know what I am. A fool, perhaps. 
 But I think I'll go all the same." 
 
 She rose ; and they walked slowly up the long 
 garden-path towards the pleasant, old-fashioned 
 house resting peacefully among its orchards, lanes, 
 and gardens, with its shad}* entrance-drive, and its 
 double belt of giant oaks completely encircling the 
 little domain. Like a line of stalwart sentinels 
 guarding the sweet old homestead, the little girl 
 who grew up there used to think. No intruder 
 would dare molest the first violets and anemones 
 in the knoll where they grew so beautiful in the long, 
 damp grass ; no one could approach her duck-pond 
 with malign intent while that stately guard stood 
 there. What the oaks would actually do in case 
 of nocturnal attack, did not occur to her. Her 
 faith in them was inspired by the proud way they 
 had of holding their branches out against the sky. 
 
 They walked silently up the broad old garden 
 on its sunny slope towards the bank. Then Hose 
 suddenly stopped, and looked back along the path. 
 Through the gap in the overgrown rough hedge, 
 where they had been at the top of the steps, she 
 could see the glistening water and the lighthouse 
 rind a bit of the bridge. She could not see enough 
 that morning of what she had seen all her life ; yet
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 43 
 
 her glance was keen and clear, not softly lingering. 
 At length she turned the same direct, intense gaze 
 upon her companion, and observed, that, while her 
 home smiled back at her as it had ever done in sum 
 mer sunshine, the boy at her side gave no smile, no 
 wcrd or look indeed, but with a certain haughtiness 
 of mien, and a quietly resolute face, silently accom 
 panied her. 
 
 " You are not really angry, Harold? And we go 
 so soon." 
 
 "I am not angry, but I have had a revelation. 
 You are less good than I thought." 
 
 She flushed slightly, but smiled. " I have always 
 told you that. Curious that you believe it now for 
 the first time." 
 
 "Because to-day for the first time I have cause. 
 You are not even kind to-day." 
 
 " What do you mean? " she asked rather coldly. 
 
 "You do not treat me fairly," he continued in 
 the same quiet voice. " You have always been fair 
 and brave before. Even when you were little you 
 never whimpered, and begged for mercy in any 
 game, like the other girls. You were as plucky and 
 downright as we fellows. I always knew what you 
 meant, and where to find you ; and now I do not. 
 I do not think you are playing with me, though the} 7 
 say all girls like that well enough but ' ' here 
 the boy Hushed deep all over his honest face. 
 
 " Harold ! " exclaimed Rose indignantly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. You know I do not mean 
 that, but you hurt me. "Why do you laugh, and
 
 44 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 giye me only nonsense in return, when I offer yen, 
 if not much indeed, }'et at least all I have, all I am, 
 and all I hope to be r " 
 
 Rose hesitated, looking at him gravely, then 
 pointed, with a slow gesture, to a large and singu 
 larly-grown tree in the corner of the garden. 
 
 "Cousin Harold, it was not three years ago, 
 hardly more than two, that I climbed that tree to 
 the very top! " and her triumphant, laughing face 
 looked into his, as if this at least was unanswer 
 able. 
 
 He smiled in spite of himself, but said stoutly, 
 
 " You can climb it at twenty-five, for all of me." 
 Then, with a certain shyness, " I should like you to 
 always do what you like, Rosamond." 
 
 The girl grew grave. Twenty-five? Yes, she 
 would be twenty-five sometime. One could not al 
 ways remain a little girl, " with all her happy world 
 so near the ground," let one try ever so hard. 
 Perhaps girls ought not to joke about such things. 
 In books they did not joke. But then, in books it 
 wasn't Harold. That surely made a great difference. 
 She looked at him questioningly. The gloom on his 
 bright, young face was painful to her. She had 
 never seen him like this. Perhaps she ought to be 
 solemn too. Perhaps, at seventeen she ought 
 but dear, dear, what an inconvenient, what a con 
 tradictory age it was ! She was not old enough to 
 escape aunt Weatherstone's reprimands. She was 
 not young enough to be free from Harold's annoying 
 attentions. She stopped suddenly among the lilies.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 45 
 
 Her merry, kobold mood had passed. She felt 
 depressed. She was conscious of a little selfish re 
 gret that Harold had disturbed her. Why need he ? 
 she thought with impatience, and a certain sense 
 of helplessness. It was all so pleasant. Why 
 need he change it? But the boy's earnest eyes 
 met hers squarely ; and he waited, masterful even 
 in his disappointment, determined to compel her 
 to accord him a more satisfying and tangible re 
 sponse. 
 
 Her womanliness conquered. She gave a little 
 trembling sigh, and, with it, left the fair fields of 
 childhood, where she would fain have lingered still. 
 With timid and reluctant step she set out upon 
 unknown ground. The path might lead to an en 
 chanted land, to a larger life ; but she knew she was 
 turning away forever from something very pure and 
 sweet, and her heart was full as she spoke, 
 
 "Harold," stretching both hands towards him in 
 her impetuous fashion, " forgive me. I am selfish. 
 I did not wish to wound you. I only wanted to 
 keep what has been. I want no change between us ; 
 and when you speak as you have spoken this morn 
 ing, it puts you so far away." 
 
 " If I only knew how to make it bring me near 
 er !" exclaimed the boy. "I know we're young 
 and all that ; but you are going off, and when I think 
 of all the other fellows you'll see over there " 
 and he scowled as if he longed to massacre the 
 whole male population of Europe, and as if he saw 
 it kneeling in distracted rows before a simple little
 
 46 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 girl in a morning-gown and a garden-hat. " Tell 
 me one thing, Rose ; and you won't be vexed that I 
 ask, will you? Were you thinking of anybody in 
 particular when you were chaffing about that felloe 
 with the rare and melancholy smile? confound 
 him ! ' ' He began shyly with a steady crescendo to 
 his fina 1 vigorous imprecation. 
 
 No child of six could have looked up with more 
 innocent, wondering eyes than Rose at this moment, 
 
 " Well, I can't help it," said Harold in a shame 
 faced way. " I liked him well enough, you know. 
 I can't say I did not. I must admit he's a very 
 good fellow; " and his natural honesty forced him 
 to give the stranger his due. " I can't say he tries 
 to do Lara or Werther, or any other of that disgust 
 ing tribe that's always enjoying the luxury of woe. 
 He tells a good story, and makes a good joke, and 
 eats his dinner like a man ; but still, you know, his 
 eyes are deep-set, and he doesn't smile much, and 
 he's just the sort of man a romantic girl might " 
 
 " I'm not a romantic girl," exclaimed Rose with 
 spirit; " but I really think you are trying to make 
 one of me. I don't know in the least what you 
 mean. It is really too much, Harold. I never wish 
 to see your Lara- Werther man, or indeed any man 
 at all. I am going to beg aunt Serena to take me 
 where there are no men, not even school-boys," 
 she added maliciously. 
 
 " Then, you'll have to go to a place like that col 
 lege in Tennyson's ' Princess,' " remarked Harold 
 with his most mature air, growing good-humored as
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 47 
 
 Rose grew vexed ; " only it didn't seem to ttrn out 
 exactly after the original intention, did it? But I 
 really thought you might have met Mr. Bruce. He 
 was out here at Judge Edmonds's." 
 
 " I believe I did see him," said Rose carelessly. 
 " It is possible. If he is the person I imagine, this 
 is the second time I am indebted to him for r3- 
 proaches from my near relatives." She was veiy 
 thoughtful now, her broad, white eyelids drooping 
 over somewhat troubled eyes. Of what was she 
 thinking ? 
 
 " I am still waiting for my answer, Rose," Harold 
 said gently. 
 
 " And I will give it, since you force me to speak 
 of things I have never thought of in connection 
 with myself." She was pale and grave and stead 
 fast. Why was she suddenly so white? She was 
 like the tall, slender lily just behind her, thought 
 the boy. How pretty her throat was ! Did girls 
 always have such fan* throats? She was hanging 
 her head now quite like the lily. Now she lifted it 
 high and looked at him. 
 
 "Forgive me if I do not say it right. These 
 things are too strange for me to try to explain them. 
 I'm sure it is all a great mistake, Harold. You 
 are sorry I am going. That makes you think you 
 love me. And neither you nor I know what love is. 
 But it must be something very grand and sweet and 
 sad" and the quick, shy color swept over her 
 face, up to the blue vein in her temple, upon which 
 Harold's eyes were fixed. " Some day you'll come
 
 48 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 to me and say, ' I have found my love and my wife,' 
 and then you will be older and calmer and 
 stronger. To-day we are so like the little boy and 
 girl who have climbed the gnarled apple-trees in 
 the orchard, and fed the ducks, and ridden the 
 shaggy pony bareback, and jumped on the hay. "We 
 are a little longer than we were then," and she 
 smiled up at the well-built boy, " but not much 
 wiser I think. College has not really changed you 
 much, and I have had nothing to change me. I 
 know we are ' grown up,' " she said regretfully. " It 
 is such a pity. But if aunt Serena should call this 
 moment, ' Come, children. I have spread your bread 
 and butter with marmalade,' it would seem more 
 natural to me than for you and me to be talking 
 about these strange, deep things. Aunt Harriet 
 spoke to me the other day about you, and " 
 
 "Old beast!" exclaimed Harold. "You know 
 I would never insult you by mentioning her name 
 in the matter. As if a worthless bit of pasture- 
 land need be continually harped upon. I'd thank 
 her to allow me to manage my own affairs. It is, 
 perhaps, my misfortune that I have such an ally " 
 
 " My dear," said Rose gently, " there is no mis 
 fortune for you or for me. We are only wandering 
 be}~ond our depth, using words whose meaning we 
 do not know. But we are good old friends, and 
 dare to be honest with each other ; so we shall soon 
 find firm ground under our feet. Listen, Harold. 
 We are going away from the old place, out into the 
 great world, and I am eager to go : but I love the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 49 
 
 old life and arn coming back to it ; and I want to 
 find it unchanged, my oaks and my waves and my 
 lilies and my birds, and most of all my brave boy. 
 O Harold, let us not even try to bring any thing 
 new into our lives. We are so young, and indeed 
 we are not ready. Let us remain little children 
 towards each other, trusty, loving little hearts as of 
 old. You frighten me when you say wife. Take 
 the word back. Please say you do not mean it," 
 she implored. 
 
 " How strange you are, Rosamond. How do you 
 know all this? " and Harold saw her soft, wet eyes, 
 and clasped, eloquent hands, and wondered at the 
 pleading voice. 
 
 " I know so little, but I feel so much ; and I can 
 not bear any thing unreal to disturb us. You have 
 learned it out of books or college talk, that you 
 want me to be your wife ; and I feel it is not true. 
 Take it back, and let me go from my home 
 with my heart at rest, the happy child you have 
 always known. We are not ready. Love is divine. 
 We must not take its sacred name in vain." 
 
 ' ' You lovely little girl, you know I will do any 
 thing in the world you ask of me. There is no 
 one like you, Rose, no one; and it's a mighty 
 poor business, your going. Just try it yourself, 
 and see how it is. You don't know what it is to be 
 a fellow like me, and come galloping through the 
 grove, and see a little white figure, with a long, 
 bright mane, standing on the lawn, and waiting 
 for you, as I've seen you all these years. And as
 
 50 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 for getting it out of books, that's rubbish, and you 
 know it. I suppose I'm a good deal of a cub, but 
 I'm man enough for this : to love you well enough 
 not to want to pain you. So I'll eat my words, and 
 He down in the path, and let you walk over me, if 
 you say so." 
 
 " And you take it back? " said Rose, with gentle 
 insistence. 
 
 " Yes, for to-day, if that is your fancy. But I 
 have not promised not to say it again as many times 
 as I wish, and " 
 
 " That you take it back is all I wish to know." 
 
 " And if you expect me to stay here for you to 
 find when you come back, like your oaks and your 
 waves and your lilies, you are very much mistaken," 
 remarked Harold, in his imperious, boyish way. 
 " I don't intend to become a feature in this land 
 scape by any means, and if you stay too long I shall 
 come after you. As soon as I am through college 
 nothing will prevent me." 
 
 "Why, come then, you funny boy," said Rose, 
 laughing. " Aunt Serena and I would like nothing 
 better. Let us go in now to her." 
 
 Side by side they went up the steps to the broad 
 piazza, and passed through the open, vine-wreathed 
 window into the room where aunt Serena's sweet, 
 wise eyes looked at the two and unde rstood ; but she 
 only said, 
 
 " Children, I've been waiting for you ; " and her 
 diminutive figure stood before Harold, and the big, 
 strong boy looked down upon the tender, humorous
 
 AUNT SERENA. 51 
 
 face, and the gentle hand holding out a small silver 
 salver, on which was a tiny old-fashioned glass of 
 her favorite Greek wine, with a bit of cake of mar- 
 rellous richness, such as is produced in old New- 
 England families from mysterious and well- guarded 
 recipes handed down like heirlooms from one genera 
 tion to another. 
 
 " Before your ride home, dear boy," she said, 
 kindly proffering her nectar. 
 
 " Only the wine, then, thank you," said Harold ; 
 " and though I need no inward fortifying for that 
 small journey, I drink to } r our safe return. You 
 think I'm that stone old boy beneath whose round 
 about was an appetite that never slumbered or slept, 
 don't you, aunt Serena? You forget we are all 
 grown now, and are less hungry and less happy ; " 
 and the disappointed boy tried to smile, and bear 
 himself right manfully. 
 
 " You are alwa}*s my dear boy, Harold, whom I 
 love next to this child here, and to whom I shall 
 bring cakes and good things many a long year, and 
 see him eat them too," said the old lady cheerily. 
 "It is the imperial cake, Harold," she added 
 significantly. 
 
 But Harold's wound was not to be healed, even 
 with imperial cake. He only said, 
 
 "I must say good- by, the real good-by, here in 
 the eld house, aunt Serena ; though I shall, of 
 course, be at the station to-morrow. And then he 
 tried to thank her for her loveliness to him, but 
 choked and trembled, and, in spite of his nineteen
 
 52 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 years, made but a sorry speech. Aunt Serena kissed 
 him and blessed him ; and Eose said good-bj* with a 
 sweet, moved face. 
 
 He gulped down a mighty sob, and rushed out 
 of the house ; and his horse's hoofs in a moment 
 more were clattering down the shady drive. His 
 mother's guests at dinner that evening found him a 
 morose and uninteresting young person. Before 
 his eyes were two women. One with a fair young 
 face, and one with a fair old face. One was tall and 
 strong and supple, the other frail and bowed : both 
 looked kindly at him, and bade him a long farewell. 
 " I will follow them soon," he resolved. 
 
 As he rode down the grove, "Poor boy! " said 
 the old lady : "he has a warm heart, but it could 
 not be. I am sorry it came between you." 
 
 " Nothing has come between us," said Rose with 
 composure. " At least, he took it all back." 
 
 " Took it back ! " exclaimed aunt Serena. 
 
 " Yes," said the girl simply. I begged him to, 
 and he did," as if making an offer of marriage 
 and retracting it all in one morning were a thing 
 of daily occurrence. " It's quite the same now as 
 if he had never said it. Dear old boy. I shall 
 miss him. He is such a dear when he isn't senti 
 mental." 
 
 Aunt Serena smiled, and shook her head, think 
 ing, " She is only a child with all her cleverness, 
 only a child still ; but when her turn comes, then wo 
 shall see something different."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " "Where shall we land you, sweet? 
 On fields of strange men's feet, 
 
 Or fields near home ? 
 Or where the fire-flowers blow, 
 Or where the flowers of snow, 
 Or flowers of foam ? " 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 
 IN August our pilgrims sailed for Germany. Curi 
 ously enough Rose had no longing for England. 
 She said one day, as they were lazily discussing 
 their route, " We must go there of course, after 
 wards. England is beautiful, but one half knows 
 it all. Now, I want to go where I shall understand 
 neither the language nor the ways, and where things 
 will be entirely strange. I am sure England will be 
 too homelike and respectable. Ah ! if we could only 
 begin with Eg3'pt ! ' ' 
 
 " Or South Africa," sighed Miss Lennox, " where 
 there would be still greater possibilities of strange 
 ness." But she heroically abandoned her lingering 
 hope that Rose might enjoy a quiet, comfortable stay 
 in the revered land of her forefathers ; and while she 
 could not force herself to feel the wild thirst for 
 novelty and adventure which seemed to be consum 
 ing her niece, at least the girl's extravagancies met 
 with indulgence if not with encouragement. " It is
 
 54 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Rose's own journey, Rose's flight out into the 
 world," she reasoned. "She shall go where she 
 will, and she shall not find me a weight on her 
 neck." 
 
 England having been promptly vetoed, France 
 was proposed with enthusiasm by Rosamond. Now, 
 Miss Lennox had a simple, old-fashioned notion that 
 France was "wicked." She could not have told 
 why, but she looked aghast when this fair land was 
 mentioned as the very gateway to their foreign wan 
 derings ; and they finally compromised the matter by 
 cordially agreeing upon Germany. 
 
 "I am sure I shall like Germany," said Miss 
 Lennox cheerfully, but with extremely vague ideas 
 of what they two were going to do over there. 
 
 "Like it? I shall adore it!" exclaimed Rose. 
 " I am glad that I never studied a word of German. 
 We shall have so many more experiences." 
 
 The conversations which took place previous to 
 their departure, in the shady porch of the old cottage, 
 would have excited pit} 7 , if not contempt, in the 
 mind of the practical tourist. There was no study 
 ing of maps, no apportioning of time, no delirious 
 cramming of geographical and historical facts. In 
 spite of Miss Lennox's inherent distrust of any kind 
 of nomadic life, and although Rose was over-charged 
 Mith eagerness to her very finger-tips, there was still 
 a great restfulness in their wa,y of contemplating the 
 journey. It may have been somewhat " American ; " 
 it may have been peculiar to themselves that two 
 women, inexperienced travellers, without even the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 55 
 
 feeble protection of a maid, should have embarked 
 upon the " Aspasia," knowing nothing of their 
 course except the name of the city to which she was 
 bound, and should have felt themselves prepared, 
 with perfect tranquillity of mind, to spend an indefi 
 nite time in unknown places. Yet their beautiful 
 confidence in the goodness of their fellow-creatures 
 met with no betrayal. At least, wherever the two 
 came in all their journeyings, civility and kindness 
 smoothed their path. If a man's eye lingered on 
 the fresh face of the girl, creamy and pure as the 
 heart of a tea-rose, it never seemed to Miss Lennox 
 that it was with impertinence ; and indeed it would 
 have been strange if even coarseness had not hung 
 its head abashed before the gentle dignity of those 
 watchful eyes, looking out beneath the coronet of 
 soft, white hair. Miss Lennox was a better guard 
 ian than she knew. Since force rouses force, even 
 a strong man might in some instances have fared 
 worse than she. But goodness wedded with grace 
 being strong, silent powers in the woman, at least 
 when, as in this instance, she who has them is too 
 old to arouse envy, rough places were everywhere 
 made smooth for aunt Serena ; and she would often 
 say gratefully, " How kind people are! How easy 
 gravelling is, after all ! " not realizing that they who 
 are ready to fight with a wild beast will shelter a 
 wandering dove. And Rose, happy Rose, unre- 
 proached for being tall and conspicuous, no longer 
 in disgrace for the changing glow of her young cheek 
 or the varying tones of Lcr rich voice, never knew
 
 56 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 that her fresh, beautiful girlhood was a delight to 
 many as she passed, that others paid her the uncon 
 scious tribute of envious criticism ; and so she went 
 on her innocent way rejoicing. 
 
 They passed through the perils of the deep with 
 the experiences which usually attend a first voyage. 
 The facetious j'oung man was on the "Aspasia." 
 Also the girl who sings. The person who, when 
 seasick, begs piteously to be thrown overboard, was 
 there, as well as the jovial gentleman who has 
 never felt the faintest symptom of seasickness, and 
 who walks up and down the deck, slapping his 
 broad breast, all ignorant of qualms and misery, and 
 in an insultingly robust manner proclaims his views 
 before the pale ghosts of their former selves, lying 
 about in steamer-chairs. "It is all a matter of 
 will, a simple matter of will, don't you know ? " 
 he would say, with conviction in his tone ; but he 
 never convinced the silent, nerveless phantoms. 
 
 Once fairly on the other side, Miss Lennox and 
 Rose were simple, whole-souled travellers. They 
 did not belong to the weakly, demonstrative order 
 of tourists, nor yet were they characterized by that 
 paucity of approval which many regard as the 
 strongest evidence of extremely refined taste. It 
 was perhaps a matter of temperament with them 
 that they could not become weary of what they had 
 not yet known. And as they formed their opinions 
 honestly for themselves, there was at least one 
 worthy element in their modes* art-criticisms, and 
 one rare .in the madding crowd of sight-seers,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 57 
 
 truth. They would even have preferred to nobly 
 admire the wrong thing, rather than to meanly 
 admire the right ; but then, in apology for this 
 eccentricity, it must be remembered that they were 
 as unsophisticated as they were independent, and 
 that the}' came from Northbrooke, Me. 
 
 In an old cathedral, monument of art and history, 
 epitome of ages of toil and endeavor, they stood 
 silent, watching the kneeling, foreign throng, yet 
 knew themselves akin to it. With tender reverence 
 they heard, soaring above the anthem of to-day, the 
 innumerable pleading voices of the past, the mur 
 mur of the mighty human tide that had surged and 
 broken there, and felt the one great heart-throb 
 of the yearning, loving, suffering mass of mortals, 
 whose prayers still floated through the lofty vaults, 
 whose spirits still haunted the dim aisles. 
 
 It did not occur to aunt Serena and Rosamond 
 to regard the structure with condescension. They 
 were so simple as to lose themselves in its actual 
 and suggested vastness. Their minds never as 
 sumed attitudes of cold caution and stern reserve. 
 Their critical powers did not saunter idly about, 
 awarding supercilious approval to a perfect arch, 
 faint praise to a massive shaft, and viewing with 
 languid tolerance the flaming glories of old stained 
 glass. Nor did they ascend to an impossible intel 
 lectual height, and look down with commiseration 
 on the loftiest spire. Happily we do not all reach 
 this height, for its summit is giddy and its base 
 insecure.
 
 58 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 They liked castles, too, castles in veritable ruins, 
 and even castles in good repair, with new frescos 
 telling old tales, and with apparently well-oiled 
 automatic guides, warranted to go in three lan 
 guages, destroying every possibility of idly dream 
 ing within those ancient walls. 
 
 Their devious course would be no model route for 
 a guide-book. The}' were unlimited as to time, and 
 led only bj" their own, or rather Rose's own, pleas 
 ure ; and her chief desire was to go wherever her 
 father and mother had gone twenty years before. 
 They loitered a few da}'s in sedate Holland, and 
 liked the ships and the barges, the sleepy canals, 
 the stately trees, the queer, leaning houses, the 
 thrift, the pictures, and the people. 
 
 They observed much not mentioned in guide 
 books, and failed to see much recommended by 
 those necessary evils. There was no one to re 
 proach them, to hurry them, to thrust objects of 
 interest upon their notice. Better still, they met 
 no one who asked, "You, of course, saw such a 
 thing at such a place? No? Really, what a pity ! " 
 in a tone of commiseration that implied their whole 
 misguided wanderings, their trip across the Atlan 
 tic, their very lives indeed, had been in vain. 
 They saw many pictures, and carried away in their 
 hearts the dear remembrance of a few. One wild, 
 dark night they stood on the beach at Scheviningen, 
 and listened to the chattering, noisy crowd sitting 
 at little tables eating and drinking, and gentry 
 stepped aside to avoid the rows of bold, curiously
 
 AUNT SERENA. 59 
 
 clad fisherwomen striding up and down with noisy 
 laughter and coarse jest. They heard the thunder 
 of the giant breakers upon the shore, and watched 
 the sea-gulls flying low over the gleaming white 
 caps, and thought, "It is the same sea that softly 
 washes the tangled banks of our Nest. How small 
 the world is, after all!" They wandered about 
 drowsy Ghent, and heard the carillon at Bruges, 
 and dreamed many hours away in the beautiful 
 churches of Antwerp ; and so, without haste, came 
 on to Cologne, to rest a while in the shadow of its 
 cathedral. 
 
 They sailed slowly up the Rhine, stopping here 
 and there as the whim seized them, wandering 
 among the vineyards in the pleasant September 
 sunshine, finding it good to be alive and gaze upon 
 such fairness. They looked upon all things with 
 happy, grateful eyes, not feeling too strongly the 
 necessity of committing every thing to memory. 
 The proud husband, who boasted that his wife had 
 been in a hundred and fifty hotels in Italy, and 
 could remember their names and those of most of 
 their owners, would have had small respect for our 
 indolent friends. It was a mild, long autumn, so 
 warm, indeed, that Swiss hotel-keepers were rejoi 
 cing iii what they called a " second season ; " and 
 the world lingered, loath to leave its pleasure- 
 ground, which seemed to gain loveliness each day 
 in the tender autumn hazes. 
 
 "I like every thing better with a haze, people 
 as well as mountains," remarked aunt Serena, as
 
 60 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 they were sailing in one evening toward the towers 
 of Lucerne. "That is, with a few exceptions. I 
 have known, it is true, one or two beings who did 
 not need the softening illusory veil." 
 
 "I would rather the haze would lift once in a 
 while," said Rosamond with decision. " Fancy see 
 ing it always before one's eyes, and never knowing 
 what lies beneath." 
 
 "But if ugly sights lie beneath, scarred rocks, 
 gloomy chasms? " said Miss Lennox. 
 
 " Still, I should want to see them once as they 
 are," persisted the young girl: "then your pretty 
 mists and hazes might roll in, and beautify as much 
 as they like. But the naked truth I must have, or 
 be miserable ; ' ' and she nodded her spirited head 
 conclusively, as if the truth were something always 
 to be found if courage and energy go in pursuit. 
 
 Aunt Serena shook her head doubtfully . "You 
 are very young, my dear," she said. The two grew 
 silent, and gazed off over waves tinged deep with 
 the sunset glow. They saw sleeping forests, golden 
 and violet lights trembling and fleeing at the ap 
 proach of the strong, dark night, remote white, shin 
 ing peaks, and all the. lofty loveliness of the moun 
 tains. Rose grew dreamy and wondering before 
 the vastness of the eternal hills, and the unknown 
 future stretching out beyond her ; while the swec t 
 old eyes looked gentty back upon the heights and 
 depths, the sunshine and the snows, of more than 
 sixty years. 
 
 So they went on in their uneventful course, in the
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 61 
 
 travelling world, yet not of it ; and after a few days 
 on the lake of Geneva, where they went only because 
 simple Rose had actually expressed a desire to see 
 the castle of Chillon, being uninstructed by late 
 authorities, and not knowing that she would be 
 doing that venerable old pile a favor by visiting it, 
 they turned their faces toward South Germany ; and 
 the last of October found them established in a 
 family pension of unquestionable standing, to which 
 unsuspecting Miss Lennox had been led by the let- 
 teis and recommendations of friends.
 
 62 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 'Forty thousand weathercocks, 
 Each well minded to keep his place, 
 Turning about in the great and small ways I 
 
 I cannot tell how it may strike you; 
 
 But it strikes me now, for the first and last time, 
 That there may be better things to do 
 
 Than watching the weathercocks for pastime." 
 
 OWEN MEIJEDITH. 
 
 T I iHE pension proved to be, upon the whole, the 
 -L most extraordinary feature of Miss Lennox's 
 European experience. In after years she was never 
 able to allude to it without an expression of mild 
 surprise creeping over her face. The leaning tower 
 of Pisa, the dimensions of St. Peter's, the loftiness 
 of the most impressive mountain, the curious cus 
 toms of the most curious folk, never filled her with 
 the profound amazement to which the idiosyncrasies 
 of the pension gave birth in her gentle soul. And no 
 two mortals from the sunn} r over- world, suddenly find 
 ing themselves among the restless shades of Hades, 
 could have been more at variance with their surround 
 ings than were she and Rosamond amid the motley 
 assembly, the gossip, the more or less successful 
 social struggles, the petty jealousies and bickerings 
 of this caravansary. They were, it is to be hoped,
 
 AUNT SEE EN A. 63 
 
 not all bad at heart, these twelve or fifteen fellow- 
 boarders. Collectively, they sometimes seemed 
 positively iniquitous. The dwellers in Wynburg 
 pensions were, for the most part, only people who 
 had little to do, who wished to be amused, and had 
 for some years belonged to the floating population 
 of English and American colonies in various foreign 
 cities. Elderly matrons who do not care for books, 
 who find their tongues too stiff for foreign vowels, 
 and their memories treacherous for foreign verbs, 
 whose young daughters are busy with governesses 
 and music-masters, must, it is evident, occupy them 
 selves in some way. At home they were, no doubt, 
 model housekeepers, expending a vast amount of 
 energy in a legitimate direction, and being, for the 
 most part, harmless members of dull and respectable 
 social circles in provincial towns. There, away from 
 their ancient landmarks, deprived of the duties of 
 their order, without occupation of their own, they 
 busied themselves with other people. Their inno 
 cent, elderly heads were turned by the titles about 
 them, yet beyond their reach, since impecunious 
 counts seek wealth to build up their fallen fortunes ; 
 and the little Matildas studying music at the Con 
 servatory, daughters of this class of women, have 
 usually more merit than money. These misguided 
 souls constituted themselves a kind of inquisitorial 
 committee to ferret out the origin, social position, 
 important facts in the past history, and future inten 
 tions of new-comers from America. It is a curious 
 psychological problem, this effect of a sojourn in a
 
 64 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Continental city upon mature, prosaic women, this 
 demoralization, so to speak, of the worthy mothers 
 in Israel. 
 
 At home they may have had few or no social 
 ambitions ; but idleness, under these rapidly varying 
 influences, begets snobbishness, snobbishness begets 
 envy, malice, and cruelty, until the utterance of be 
 littling personalities becomes a passion : and, if a 
 pure archangel had descended before their eyes, his 
 robe would not have been white enough for them, 
 his flaming sword not bright enough ; and they 
 would have raised their eyebrows questioningly 
 over his social position unless they could have been 
 assured that Mrs. Van Rensalaer had invited him to 
 dine. 
 
 This class made the rank and file. The leaders 
 were sometimes women with more or less claim to 
 position, it may be people of actual social distinc 
 tion. When prominent actors in this daily comedy 
 had known each other at home, it was an inestima 
 ble advantage. " Poor dear Mrs. A ! " says Mrs. 
 B. " How well I remember her in New York, when 
 she was t^ing desperately for years to catch young 
 Goldfish ; and how often I have seen her brother 
 lifted drunk from his carriage ! " " Poor dear Mrs. 
 B ! " says Mrs. A. " How well I remember her in 
 New York, though I never did believe quite all the 
 dreadful things they said about her ! The world is 
 so harsh in its judgments, you know. Her people 
 were nobodies. Hardware, I believe. My dear 
 brother came home one day and said he had just
 
 AUNT SERENA. 65 
 
 ent her brother fifty cents in a horso-ear." And 
 when the ladies meet, they kiss, and greet each 
 other with graceful and solicitous effusion. 
 
 Viewed simply as gossip, standing quite on its 
 own merits, there was never any gossip superior to 
 the gossip of the English-speaking colony of Wyn 
 burg. The ingenuous tittle-tattle of a rural town, 
 the systematic, well-organized gossip of a church 
 sewing-society, sewing for the poor of the par- 
 ish, the gossip of the most acidulated and ven 
 omous old -maids, even the gossip of gossippy old 
 men, if the truth were known, this is one of the 
 most virulent forms of the disease, are all only as 
 moonlight unto sunlight and as water unto wine, 
 compared with the gossip of Wynburg. This had 
 a freshness, an elasticity, a vigor, a creative power, 
 all its own. Meet a false story boldly, fight with 
 it, crush it to earth, Antaeus-like it gained strength, 
 and rose to confront you at every turn. It is possi 
 ble elsewhere that time may soften harsh facts in 
 your life's story, that people may forget. Never 
 here. In some places one may escape comment by 
 living a secluded life. In Wynburg, gossip angrily 
 defied you to dwell apart, and, if you persisted, 
 proclaimed your nefarious secret schemes in the 
 market-place. English and American old residents 
 preserved the traditions intact. Women living in 
 pensions brought new material, combined and dis 
 seminated. 
 
 Even the little English church was made an in 
 strument in the work of propagation. This was
 
 66 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 surely not the Mother Church, offering her warn and 
 loving shelter to poor, oppressed, and weary wan 
 derers. Homesick souls who hoped to find the pro 
 tection and comfort that had never failed them 
 within the walls of the sanctuary, felt lonely and 
 lost amid the restless, pushing woiidliness of this 
 ante-room to society, where eager aspirants thronged 
 to pass preliminary examination, and more favored 
 ones competed for possible promotion. 
 
 Dearest enemies met here, and called themselves 
 with truth lost sheep Sunday after Sunday, and, after 
 the peace of God of the benediction, watched greed 
 ily at the porch for a bow from Lady Manners, anx 
 ious to observe if she had or had not noticed the 
 pretty widow who had appeared only two days be 
 fore, and whom the experts found difficulty in clas 
 sifying. 
 
 The little temple had a strait gate and a nar 
 row way ; but whither it led, the saintliest charity 
 must have discerned. Many salaams and genuflec 
 tions were made within its walls to powers of this 
 world ; and the people who had been rending one 
 another all the week met to take account of stock, 
 and see that no one had been forgotten in the inven 
 tory. The sermon droned out by the English curate, 
 the choir, consisting chiefly of voluntary offerings of 
 voices that could not sing, were to Vanity Fair not 
 specially attractive formalities. Yet the little 
 church was always full. You saw everybody there, 
 for one thing. Then there was a certain pleasure 
 in admitting, in a safe, general way tha' you had
 
 AUNT SERENA. 67 
 
 been erring and straying, when Mrs. Van Eensa- 
 laer on the left, and Lady Manners on the right, 
 were condescending so much as to publicly sta^e 
 that they had been erring and straying too. 
 
 The many thriving pensions worked, then, like so 
 many mills, and, together with the beneficent influ 
 ence of the aristocratic little brown church, kept the 
 American and English colony of Wynburg in a 
 delightfully wide-awake condition ; and the well-fed 
 current of sprightly personal discussion swept vig 
 orously along. Happily, our innocent travellers 
 were not aware of the peculiar piquant joys in store 
 for them ; and the evening of their arrival, dusty, 
 travel-stained, and weary, they viewed their haven 
 of rest with indescribable content. 
 
 The house was well built and modern, with the 
 advantage of somewhat aesthetic surroundings in the 
 shape of old mottled red roofs rising in every direc 
 tion. It stood on slightly elevated ground. Op 
 posite its entrance was one of those small and 
 distinctively German parks where every winding 
 and would-be-sequestered way is lighted by a glar 
 ing gas-lamp ; and every preposterously uncomfort 
 able bench, seen in the distance, looks beguiling, 
 while approached, and viewed beneath the prying 
 stare of the lamp, suggests the chronic objection of 
 the German municipal authorities to love's young 
 dream. 
 
 This first night the pension did not show its cloven 
 hoof. Its expression was mild and welcoming. Its 
 conditions were as smooth as its highly polished
 
 68 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 parquet-floors, and Frau Rudolph beamed upon 
 them with the cordial smile which she had practised 
 for twenty years with admirable results. She was a 
 bit of a diplomate iu her way, this stout and excel 
 lent person. 
 
 " They come and they go," she would say mean 
 ingly to her own people. " They come and they 
 go ! What is the use of liking people who come 
 and go?" But she was kind and watchful and 
 wise and scrupulously honest, and the people who 
 "come and go" always fared well with her. She 
 smiled when she understood her guests, smiled 
 equally when she understood nothing, looked after 
 their temporal comforts in a motherly fashion, never 
 took sides in their quarrels, or indeed recognized 
 the existence of any unpleasantness beneath her 
 roof, however much complaint was poured into her 
 ears, and however many days her two leading ladies 
 were plainly not on speaking-terms at dinner. And 
 while on the other hand, since nature must have an 
 outlet, she indulged in a spirited set-to each day 
 with her brace of elephantine Suabian maid-servants, 
 using language so loud and vehement it would seem 
 almost impossible for them to forget it, either in this 
 world or in the world to come, in realit} T the bitter 
 ness of her invective did not detract from the kindly 
 relationship of mistress and maid, but was all vox 
 et praeterea nihil, resembling abuse only as the 
 loud crack of a whip in the ears of a toiling cart 
 horse resembles the cruel lash on his patient flank. 
 A long residence in Germany is apt to teach us of a
 
 AUNT SERENA. 69 
 
 moi'e thin-skinned and irritable race ; that violent 
 quarrels often go for nothing ; that railings and 
 revilings are only a kind of sanitary measure, like 
 a locomotive letting off steam ; that the good f< >lk 
 may be warmest friends in spite of these little eccen 
 tricities of intercourse ; and woe be to the stranger 
 who, from philanthropic or other motives, interferes. 
 
 Smiling Fran Rudolph, then, with rosy cheeks, 
 smooth brown hair, and small shrewd eyes, meets 
 Miss Lennox and Rosamond at the door, and with 
 cheery bustle directs the arrangement of their trunks, 
 all the time taking their measure. " They will not 
 like the colonel or clumsy Mrs. Lancaster, and they 
 will not at first understand Mrs. Vivien ; but later, 
 ah, later!" and her 03*68 twinkled maliciously. 
 Then aloud to the men, "So, straight across until 
 they are unpacked." To the ladies, in her careful 
 English, " Like you it not so, madame? So it will 
 be besser?" Seizing a large bag, and continuing 
 her mental processes, " They have soft ways. The 
 little old one is a good one. She will be good to 
 Fraulein Gertrude. We shall see. We shall see. 
 But they will not stay." " So, my ladies," she 
 remarks, "command you tea? command you meat? 
 No? Then, I leave you now to sweet repose. What 
 you wish, you ring. I hope you be awfully happy 
 by me." 
 
 Having made her little speech with smiling de 
 liberation, Frau Rudolph briskly withdraws. 
 
 " What a comfortable, nice sort of person, and 
 what delicious English ! " laughed Rose.
 
 70 AUNT SERENA, 
 
 " Slang seems the easiest part of a language," 
 remarked Miss Lennox meditatively, " for a for 
 eigner to learn. Now, there was that nice-looking 
 clerk in the shop in Geneva, where we were looking 
 at watches, who was a miracle of courtes} in French, 
 and who, finding we spoke English, was so eager to 
 air his own, and so innocently amusing with his 
 abrupt " Now, then, old lady. Look alive ! It's all 
 right, you bet!" 
 
 " Wretched little man ! " exclaimed Rose, " I do 
 wish somebod} 7 would say such a thing to aunt 
 Harriet, she would be so infuriated ; and it's quite 
 lost on you, you dear! " and she carefully removed 
 Miss Lennox's hat and travelling- cape from that 
 very weary little lady, who was reclining in a great 
 chair as if glad to find something at last with a 
 stationary back. " Nothing aifects your dignity, 
 because yours is the right kind." 
 
 " Of course I could not blame the poor young 
 man, who was doing his very best for me, and look 
 ing at me with the most deferential and affable ex 
 pression in the world ; but I did regret that he had 
 learned his English in so curious a school," said 
 Miss Lennox placidly. 
 
 Rose looked at the gentle, weary face, still smiling 
 in indulgent remembrance of the luckless salesman's 
 English, and glancing with somewhat humorous ob 
 servation at the rooms which were to be their winter 
 quarters. A sudden compunction seized the girl. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! do you think you will be happy here ? ' ' she 
 exclaimed. "You are so angel-good to me, and I
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 71 
 
 have dragged you so far from home, and I know 
 you are more tired than you ever say. Shall you 
 like it? Can we make it seem home-y to you? " and 
 Rose looked anxious!}' about, then knelt, and pressed 
 her warm cheek against aunt Serena's, and caressed 
 the delicate hands that lay listless and fatigued on 
 the carved oak arms of Frau Rudolph's sainted 
 grandmother's best chair. 
 
 "You spoil me, dearest child. The absurdity of 
 spoiling an old woman like me ! ' ' said aunt Serena 
 cheerfully ; but she closed her eyes, and gently 
 threw back her head, with an air of breathing in 
 with every breath a positive and blessed rest. " Yes, 
 dear, I shall like it. I do like it. In fact, I regard 
 the journey as a distinguished success. It is true, I 
 have been somewhat addicted to starting off the 
 train at every station, nervously insisting that we 
 had arrived at our destination, and no doubt being a 
 great annoyance to the good-natured guards " 
 
 ' ' Who were always kindly but unceremoniously 
 pushing us back in our places, as if we were ani 
 mated travelling-bags," laughed Rose. 
 
 " But people have been very good to us, even if 
 we were stupid, and could not understand their 
 words : happily one needs no encyclopaedia to inter 
 pret kindness. And now, my rosebud, I confess I 
 am glad to rest, indefinitely rest ; and, if you are 
 happy, I shall be," she concluded emphatically. 
 Opening her eyes, and looking about with mild 
 scrutiny, "We will put some rugs down on this 
 glassy floor, I think, my dearie ; because old bones
 
 72 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 are brittle, and I never learned to skate when I was 
 young. A few touches here and there, some books 
 and pictures, will make the rooms delightful. Now 
 draw up those jalousies, Rose, and open all the 
 casements, that we may see to what shores we have 
 drifted." 
 
 A flood of western sunlight poured through several 
 large windows into the room. Beyond the broad 
 street rose high, irregular, red roofs, upon which 
 little dormer windows blossomed out in a rich and 
 surprising growth, and threw long, sharp shadows 
 over mossy, mottled red, golden-brown, and green 
 ish-gray patches. In the highest little window of 
 the highest roof was a pot of crimson pinks, a great 
 white cat, with his tail stiffly erect, and a babj^'s 
 shirt hanging to dry, all making a subtle sugges 
 tion of home-happiness under the ridgepole. Over 
 the way, in the small park, were a couple of sleepy 
 nurses in attendance on some staid, solemn babies, 
 and a group of laughing children. One of those 
 daint}', languid, melted-into-his-uniform, blond lieu 
 tenants, who can be so recklessly, magnificently brave 
 in action, sauntered by to the music of his own sabre 
 and spurs. The air was cool, yet soft with the haze 
 of late October. As they stood, silent and content, 
 from the old, gra} r , stone tower off at the left a cho 
 ral, a harvest-soug of thanksgiving, sounded through 
 the still air. They did not know what it was, but 
 its effect was unspeakably sweet and solemn. Be 
 yond the church-tower and the roofs rose the gently 
 undulating hills, encircling the whole city like loving,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 73 
 
 clasping arms, and to-day, seen through the autumn 
 mists, as darkly blue as the bloom of the grapes that 
 ripen on their sunny slopes. 
 
 Rose drew a deep breath. "It is lovely," she 
 said. "And the strangest thing is, that we are in it. 
 When other people are in such things, it never 
 seems strange ; but to feel ourselves in it ! Are you 
 sure you like it? " she asked again anxiously. 
 
 " If this is what you call 'it,' I am sure I do, 
 very sure," said Miss Lennox softly. " Let your 
 heart be quite at rest about me, my sweet child ; " 
 and they stood together at the casement, while the 
 music from the high tower floated over the city, and 
 the hill-tops shone out in the sunlight above the 
 purple mists.
 
 74 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Ot TO: awex&eiv, aXka avwfr&eiv ityuv. 
 
 " Thay say. Quhat say thay ? Thay haf said. Lat them 
 say." 
 
 " OALT ! " commanded the colonel in a stentorian 
 lO voice, as if at the head of his regiment. Miss 
 Lennox started nervously, not accustomed to so 
 much basso prof undo at dinner. Rose repressed a 
 smile, and the salt meekly marched up to the head 
 of the table. As no one seemed surprised, she 
 justly concluded that this was the colonel's habitual 
 manner. "Will he now say, 'Present spoons'?" 
 she wondered. Glancing about with considerable 
 amusement, she met the direct gaze of a pale, fair- 
 haired girl, who had come in late, and, with a 
 haughty, almost imperceptible greeting, directed to 
 no one in particular, had quietly taken her place, 
 and devoted her exclusive attention to a plate of 
 very cold soup. Past Mrs. Lancaster who was 
 a widow indeed and her little daughters ; past 
 the voluble, graceful, smooth-tongued Mrs. Vivien, 
 who was what may be called an American 
 widow, having been for five years regretting that 
 Mr. Vivien's business kept him in New York ; 
 past two shy students, a Norwegian and a South-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 75 
 
 American, who understood little English, Rose 
 met the keen inquiry of the strange girl's eyes ; 
 and then, the kindly smile vanishing as it appeared 
 on the rather sarcastic lips, and she knew that her 
 objections to the colonel were shared by one of the 
 company at least. "How pretty and clever she 
 looks ! I wish I could speak to her. Why does 
 she talk with nobody ? and why does nobody intro 
 duce her to us? Every body else was introduced." 
 Bosc's speculations were interrupted b} T the colonel, 
 who, with both elbows on the table, was remarking 
 encouragingly, 
 
 "Now, I say, you Americans on the Continent, 
 you could learn considerable from us English, if 
 you'd only take the trouble." And his wife and 
 four children gazed at him with inexpressible pride 
 and admiration. " This gigantic idea could only 
 have emanated from papa," was depicted upon their 
 rapt faces. 
 
 "We can all learn from' one another in this 
 world," remarked Mrs. Lancaster in a heavy, un 
 compromising manner, from the opposite end of the 
 table. She did not like the colonel, did not intend 
 to be put down by him, and never forgot that the 
 lute Mr. Lancaster had been member of Congress. 
 
 " Now, colonel, don't you think I make the most 
 of my advantages?" inquired little Mrs. Vivien, 
 smiling, and shaking her bangles. 
 
 "I do," solemnly answers the colonel, who was 
 not insensible to Mrs. Vivien's purring attractions. 
 She was so childlike, so deprecating with men, they
 
 76 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 all liked her. She seemed to be hanging anxiously 
 upon the colonel's words. "I do," he repeats. 
 " You might have been a very different woman if 
 you'd always lived in America." 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's silent commentary was, *I 
 should say as much, and it's a pity she has not , " 
 but, as she and Mrs. Vivien were useful to each 
 other, her countenance was discreetly impassive. 
 
 The pale girl, however, smiled peculiarly, which 
 did not escape Mrs. Vivien's glance, innocently 
 roving in search, it would appear, of sympathy in 
 her work of self-improvement, and encouragement 
 to renewed efforts. 
 
 "Little minx! I owe her another one," she re 
 corded on the strong tablets of her memory. " Miss 
 Peyton," she said very gently, and slightly drooping 
 her eyelids, "are you not looking pale to-day? I 
 hope you are not working too hard. You should 
 really take more exercise. If you are too occupied 
 daj's, why not a little stroll evenings ? You could 
 prevail upon Frau Rudolph, or some other nice, 
 responsible person, to take you out, I am sure, dear 
 Miss Peyton." 
 
 " Thanks, Mrs. Vivien. I am often out evenings, 
 as you know. I saw you watching in your window 
 as I came in last night at ten," said Miss Pe3'ton in 
 a rich, contralto voice, and with perfect composure. 
 
 Her voice was so beautiful, Miss Lennox and Rose 
 glanced at her with evident interest. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Vivien sweetly. " I was watch 
 ing the stars. I am so fond of Sirius ! " she added
 
 AUNT SERENA. 11 
 
 dreamily. "But you give the first watch of the 
 night to Mars, to the red planet Mars, do you not, 
 Miss Peyton?" 
 
 " I never studied astronomy, and I am not poeti 
 cal," said Miss Peyton in her cool, sweet tones. 
 " But if you mean to say you saw me walking with 
 Lieut, von Falkenstein, your eyes did not deceive 
 you." 
 
 A rustle of horror agitated the assembly. Mrs. 
 Vivien looked around with appealing eyes which 
 seemed to sa}-, " I call the gods to witness that I 
 have not invoked this catastrophe." The wife of the 
 colonel seemed about to gather her chickens under 
 her wing ; and Mrs. Lancaster's twins, not bad- 
 looking girls of fifteen, looked at their mamma and 
 giggled, then looked at each other and giggled again, 
 tried to appear shocked and important like their 
 mamma, yet were so overjoyed to even hear a lieu 
 tenant's name mentioned, their mouths broke out 
 into involuntary smiles, and their eyes danced with 
 delight. 
 
 Miss Lennox was looking at Gertrude Peyton 
 with gentle directness. " Why is this pretty young 
 girl so cold and defiant? She has an honest, sensi 
 tive face. I fear she is unhappy. They may not 
 understand her. I will say something to her." 
 fiui before Miss Lennox could speak, Rose, who had 
 been silent, oppressed by the strange and unsympa 
 thetic atmosphere, quite forgot it in a chivalrous 
 desire to enroll herself under the banner of the 
 attacked, and began, with a little constraint, since
 
 78 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Gertrude's haughty face gave her, in itself, no en 
 couragement, " I am glad you like walking, Miss 
 Peyton. Perhaps you will let me go with you some 
 times. I'm always eager for exercise, and my poor 
 aunt makes a martyr of herself for me." 
 
 AVithout speaking, Gertrude Peyton looked with 
 grave expectance at Miss Lennox. " Will this little 
 fine old lady, with the silvery hair and luminous 
 eyes, turn from me like all the world? Will she 
 hush into silence this cordial voice, the only one that 
 has been raised for me in three long years ? ' ' she 
 thought bitterly. Yet her glance betrayed no anx 
 iety, no bitterness. With composure it rested on 
 the face of the aunt, instead of on that of the young 
 girl who had spoken. Mrs. Vivien smiling, and 
 gently smoothing the lace at her wrists, was also 
 waiting. They had not long to wait. 
 
 " I should be grateful to you, my dear," Miss 
 Lennox said, " if you would care to show my niece 
 the pretty ways about these hills : at home in the 
 country she goes alone very often, but I believe it is 
 not customary here ; ' ' and she looked about with 
 gentle inquiry. 
 
 ' ' It would not be proper for Miss Rosamond 
 Wellesley," remarked Mrs. Lancaster, with the air 
 of & mistress of ceremonies at the Spanish court. 
 It was already whispered in the pension that Miss 
 Lennox was one of the Northbrooke Lennoxes, and 
 that the young girl was more or less connected with 
 the Beacons wolds of Boston, also that they had a 
 letter of introduction to the Raymonds, all of which
 
 AUNT SERENA. 79 
 
 naturally opened the way to the Van Rensalaers, if 
 not to Lady Manners. 
 
 u It was only by accident that I found it out,'' 
 Mrs. Vivien had whispered that morning to Mrs. 
 Lancaster. " She acts as if she were not going to 
 make much of it, looked quite blankly at me when I 
 asked her if she had left her card at the Raj'mouds, 
 then smiled rather curiously, and said she had hardly 
 yet recovered her breath from her journey." " Oh, 
 she's guarded, she's guarded ! That cooing-dove 
 kind of woman always is," Mrs. Lancaster had re 
 plied, with her ponderous infallibility. She goes 
 on, " It would be highly undesirable for Miss Rosa 
 mond Wellesley," which clearly implied that it was 
 a matter of utter indifference to her and to people 
 in general what Miss Gertrude Peyton did or did 
 not do. 
 
 " Why, this is positive cruelty to animals," 
 thought aunt Serena pityingly ; and Rose turned 
 straight to her, and laid her hand appealtngly on 
 her aunt's knee under the table. 
 
 " And, my dear," aunt Serena continued, as if 
 unmindful of all except the pale girl whose quiet 
 face was regarding only her," if you can have 
 patience with an old woman who is not a very val 
 iant climber, I wish you }~oung people would take 
 me with you occasionally. There is a tower I 
 saw ' ' 
 
 A great wave of color swept over Gertrude Pey 
 ton's white face, and in her eyes was a shining, 
 suffused look. She knew how to bear stabs without
 
 80 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 flinching, but this benign protecting arm reaching 
 out as if to bless her weary young head ! She sim 
 ply could not speak ; and Rosamond broke in with a 
 little nervous laugh, " O auntie, you could never, 
 never walk so far as that tower ! It is miles away, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " Four English miles from here by the foot-path, 
 which is steep, five by the winding carriage-road," 
 stated the colonel. He had been paying little atten 
 tion to the conversation. He did not like woman's 
 talk, and he did like his dinner ; but if the} r wanted 
 to know any thing sensible, distances, statistics, 
 that was another thing. 
 
 His burly, self-important, yet not unkind voice 
 seemed to relieve the over-charged atmosphere. 
 Gertrude rapidly recovered her usual reticent man 
 ner; and the conversation, growing general, strayed 
 innocently enough through shady lanes, by-wai s ; 
 and woodlands, counting miles and noting views 
 about Wynburg. Some one spoke of a little Gothic 
 church in a village near by, and the colonel in high 
 good-humor gave the height of the steeple. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Lancaster, who was a person to 
 whom, as she herself admitted, all churches looked 
 alike, inside and outside, hills were an aggravation 
 and woods a bore, in short, to whom a yellow prim 
 rose was a yellow primrose, turns squarely upon 
 Rose with, 
 
 ' ' What do 3 r ou intend to pursue, Miss AVellesley ? ' ' 
 
 Rose felt a strong inclination to laugh. A vivid 
 picture of a rapid chase, a wild hunt, a fleet, illu-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 81 
 
 sive object in advance, herself breathlessly following, 
 was suggested by Mrs. Lancaster's curiously em 
 phatic " pursue." 
 
 " I do not quite understand } T OU," Rose answered 
 civilly. 
 
 "I mean what branches? What branches are, 
 you going to pursue? Molly and Daisy pursue 
 nine," said the complacent mother. " But perhaps 
 you are finished." 
 
 "I hope not," exclaimed Rose heartily. " I 
 should be very sorry if that were the case ; " and 
 she laughed, and looked at her aunt, who said, " I 
 have not made many plans as yet, not even about 
 Rosamond's studies. We have simply come, that 
 is all." 
 
 "Ah, indeed!" returned Mrs. Lancaster rather 
 stiffly. She disapproved on principle of people who 
 did not make plans. " People who come here usu 
 ally have an object." 
 
 "We are all diligent here, especially Miss Pey 
 ton. She is so very diligent," sighed Mrs. Vivien 
 with a voice like spun glass. 
 
 " I fear we have no plans, at least none that 
 deserve to be mentioned," Miss Lennox continued 
 pleasantly. " We hope to enjoy ourselves. I think 
 we shall," she added, looking cheerfully around the 
 taTle, and letting her kind glance rest on Gertrude 
 Pej'ton. 
 
 Gertrude drew a long, deep sigh of relief. Actu 
 ally two beings, like lilies of the field, that neither 
 toil nor spin, like fair angels from the skies above,
 
 82 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 had appeared, with no plans, no object, no designs 
 upon the Conservatory, no feverish dream of taking 
 an express-train up the hill of science, no spasmodic 
 attempt at art- culture. 
 
 "I am glad," she said. There was a rich, warm 
 gladness in her voice that surprised herself. 
 
 ' ' Glad that we are indolent ? ' ' asked Rose with 
 her happy smile. 
 
 "Yes, it is so very restful." Gertrude rose, 
 and after her queer little obeisance to the world at 
 large, as it were, which seemed to Rose so pretty 
 and foreign, came round to Miss Lennox, and put 
 out her hand with a soft, unwonted, clinging grace. 
 Mrs. Lancaster sniffed, the colonel's wife stared, 
 and Mrs. Vivien smiled her gleaming smile ; but 
 Gertrude, unmoved, without a word closed her fin 
 gers firmty over aunt Serena's, then, with the same 
 seriousness, took Rose's hand in hers, and quickly 
 left the room. They little knew she had never done 
 so much before, that the poor child had never, in 
 deed, had occasion. Already she felt a passionate 
 gratitude to these two strangers. " The world may 
 knock me about as it will," thought the girl proudly, 
 "but ' the hand of Douglas is his own.' When I 
 give my hand in that way, I give my faith. They 
 will see." 
 
 No sooner had the door closed than Mrs. Viv 
 ien, addressing the whole dinner-company in her 
 sweetly confiding way, lamented Miss Peyton's ec 
 centricity. " Such an interesting girl, but really so 
 eccentric," she murmured. "To think now that
 
 AUNT SERENA. 83 
 
 she could so misunderstand me, and I meant it so 
 kindly." 
 
 " She has a temper," thundered the colonel, " a 
 temper ! " and Miss Lennox started again suddenly. 
 "No. woman has any right to have a temper. 
 That's what I'm always telling my wife ; " and the 
 choleric colonel glared at the meek-.faced partner of 
 his joys and sorrows, who blushed uneasily, as if 
 somewhere in her down-trodden remembrance a lit 
 tle puny ghost of a temper had started up to tor 
 ment her. " A woman ought to be smooth-spoken, 
 amiable, amiable," he repeated, and looked with 
 undisguised approval at pretty Mrs. Vivien, who 
 modestly cast down ter eyes. They were bright, 
 clever eyes ; and no one had ever told her that they 
 were too near together. 
 
 ' ' No girl is an interesting girl who walks out 
 evenings with a lieutenant," Mrs. Lancaster, the 
 oracle, announced. " Why, if my Molly and my 
 Daisy" here she paused, unable through excess 
 of maternal solicitude to complete her sentence ; and 
 the twins looked at each other in a sort of shudder 
 ing rapture. It could never be. They, too, were 
 proud of their mamma's eternal vigilance. They 
 had the supreme consciousness that no twins in the 
 world were better chaperoned than they, Molly and 
 Daisy Lancaster ; and yet to walk out evenings 
 with a lieutenant!" there was bliss in the mere 
 shadowy suggestion. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien nodded regretfully, as if justice com 
 pelled her to support her friend Mrs. Lancaster's
 
 84 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 pronunciamento, even though the foolish promptings 
 of a too kind heart would seek to protect the mis 
 guided girl. 
 
 ' ' Let us throw the mantle of charity over the 
 lieutenant," she suggested sweetly. 
 
 " It would have to be a very large mantle, if he's 
 that enormous young man I saw on the stairs yes 
 terday," said Rose in a. quick undertone to her 
 aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien, whom nothing escaped, noticed the 
 girl's merry manner, though she did not hear the 
 words. "And yet I am sure some girls would and 
 could not be so sadly indiscreet as poor dear Miss 
 Peyton. Now, you, for instance, Miss Wellesley, 
 could any thing induce you to take an evening stroll 
 with a lieutenant ? Could }'ou imagine it ? ' ' 
 
 "Why not?" said Rose simply and quite un 
 abashed, "if he were very nice." 
 
 " What a very wonderful _young lady," thought 
 Molly and Daisy Lancaster, opening their blue eyes 
 very wide, " to dare sa,y such a thing ! " 
 
 Aunt Serena looked amused. Rose's training, 
 like that of most well-bred American girls, had led 
 her to have no instinctive fear or even consciousness 
 in the presence of men. She neither regarded them 
 each and all as wolves nor as possible lovers ; and 
 while her youth and secluded life had thrown her 
 perhaps unusually little into men's society, her 
 frank, half boyish comradeship with her cousin Har 
 old, and her aid to her aunt in dispensing the hospi 
 tality of the Nest, whenever old friends appeared to
 
 AUNT SERENA. 85 
 
 claim it, above all her veiy slight knowledge of flip 
 pant, vulgar chatter, and her constant intercourse 
 with a woman of rare dignity, and nobleness of 
 thought, had united to render her perfectly simple 
 and natural to men as to women. She had been 
 always guarded, but the necessity of the guard had 
 never been made apparent or even mentioned to her. 
 She was even capable of being utterly unconscious 
 of the astounding fact of a tete-a-tete with a man. 
 As no one had ever implied to her that there was 
 any thing dangerous or sinful in being alone with 
 any one whatever, she would look straight into the 
 face of the person with whom she was talking, with 
 her calm, wide, child-like eyes that could so quickly 
 grow eager or mirthful with a suggestive word or a 
 passing thought. Perhaps the day woulcl come when 
 the clear, steady eyes would droop and the brave 
 mouth would tremble in the presence of a man ; but 
 surely not for every man must she lose her sweet 
 freedom and fearlessness. Not for every man must 
 she falter and flutter. Not before every man must 
 her high, pure spirit do obeisance. What will the 
 true king have when he comes to his throne, if his 
 golden tribute has been wasted on every passer-by ? 
 And when will the dull world learn that truth may 
 look out of the heart of a maiden through loyal, 
 fearless eyes, while false coquetry often droops the 
 lid, and sends the shy, conscious flush to the check? 
 
 But naturally Miss Lennox was amused. 
 
 "Here is my Rose," she thought, "my fresh 
 wild-rose, actually discussing a question of etiquette
 
 86 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 publicly. Good. She may be rash : she will 
 be ignoble." 
 
 "I ani sure you are playful, Miss "Wellesley," 
 returned Mrs. Vivien in a caressing tone. " She is 
 very playful, is she not, Miss Lennox? " 
 
 " I think not at this moment." 
 
 " You see, my dear Miss Wellesley, you are very 
 young ; but you have your estimable aunt always 
 near you. I am sure you would be incapable of the 
 slightest indiscretion." 
 
 " But a girl can make mistakes," said Rose reso- 
 luteby, "and people may have different ideas and 
 still do nothing wrong," with a vivid remembrance 
 of Miss Weatherstone ; "and" disconnectedly 
 " I think it was very nice of Miss Peyton to take 
 little walks with that lieutenant." 
 
 Again an ecstatic shudder seized Molly's and 
 Daisy's souls. 
 
 "Ah!" sighed Mrs. Vivien softly, "Miss Pey 
 ton, that's quite another thing." 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Lennox cheerily ; "because 
 she is alone, she would more naturally be led to seek 
 young, bright companionship." 
 
 " She seeks it, or it seeks her, whichever it may 
 be, every two or three days about eight in the even 
 ing; " and Mrs. Vivien showed her claws, and for 
 once forgot to purr. 
 
 "But" Rose checked herself. She had the 
 habit of deference to older women. This Mrs. Vivien 
 irritated her, and she was afraid of saying too 
 much.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 87 
 
 " I like Miss Peyton," said Miss Lennox slowly. 
 " I hope to see much of her." 
 
 " Of course, dear Miss Lennox, if you choose to 
 take such a girl up, a mere nobody," murmured 
 Mrs. Vivien with suave incoherence. " A person in 
 your position, and a person studying music " 
 
 " Still, I think it is our duty to tell you," and 
 Mrs. Lancaster solemnly advanced to the charge, 
 ' ' that she is studying music professional!}", as it 
 were, not as a mere graceful accomplishment like 
 Molly's and Daisy's." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Miss Lennox, with unfeigned inter 
 est. 
 
 "And I have even heard," Mrs. Lancaster con 
 tinued with her most lofty Mother-of-the-Gracchi 
 expression, ''that she may go on the stage. Con 
 sequently, while nothing would induce me to harm 
 any one's reputation, or dictate to other people, I 
 choose to protect Molly and Daisy." 
 
 Miss Lennox looked puzzled. "What possible 
 danger threatened the twins?" Frau Rudolph, as 
 was her custom, had now come in with the coffee, 
 and expressed the formal wish to her guests that 
 the meal might be blessed to them. Having per 
 formed this ceremony, which she herself valued 
 highly, she withdrew, after saying cheerily to Miss 
 Lennox as the latest comer, " You find itpeas-ible b}' 
 me? Friendly and peas-ible ? That joys me much. 
 Good-day, my ladies." Frau Rudolph was so wise 
 as to leave her guests to themselves at table, and 
 insure the proper serving of the dinner by her per-
 
 88 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 sonal superintendence and aid. But her dignity as 
 mistress of the house she nevertheless scrupulously 
 maintained, and she would have considered it in 
 jeopardy had she omitted this brief but effective 
 rite. With kindly, unsuspicious mien she turned 
 her rosy face kitchenwards. " They are serving up 
 Fraulein Gertrude with the Devil's owu sauce. May 
 he fly away with that cat Mrs. Vivien ! " was, how 
 ever, her mental soliloquy-. " The Vivien can never 
 let the child alone ; but the little old one is a good 
 one, and the pretty Rose girl is a hero. There she 
 was curling and quivering her lips at them, and 
 flashing her great eyes, and still looking fresh and 
 sweet as a flower at dawn. I would like those two, 
 the old one and the little Rose ; but they will not 
 stay. I would like the little Gertrude too. But," 
 shaking her wise head, "it doesn't pay. They all 
 go. Well, well, let it work. It always works when 
 new people come." And with a contented smile, 
 philosophic Frau Rudolph sipped her coffee, black 
 and strong, in her own corner among her shining 
 pans, threw bread-crumbs down to the doves in the 
 court, and put the yeast-like elements of her house 
 hold completely out of her mind. 
 
 In the dining-room "it," whatever it may have 
 been, was unquestionably working. 
 
 Miss Lennox had said, "Rose, dear, if you do 
 not care for coffee, you might wait for me in jur 
 rooms." Rose quickly and thankfully' disappeared. 
 
 "Curious!" commented watchful Mrs. Vivien. 
 " She leaves the girl free to have opinions, yet
 
 AUNT SERENA. 89 
 
 sends her, literally sends her, from the table like a 
 child." 
 
 The colonel, satisfied that he had once more 
 helped on the benevolent work of regenerating 
 Americans on the Continent, had already withdrawn 
 with his fond family, which was at least, whatever 
 spiritual graces it left to be desired, neither mali 
 cious nor curious. The three ladies are left sipping 
 their coffee, while Molly and Daisy almost put up 
 their ears like young rabbits in their eagerness to 
 know what is coming. 
 
 " Your niece is a beautiful girl, Miss Lennox," 
 begins Mrs. Vivien, " a most charming girl." 
 
 " Rose is a good child," says aunt Serena sim- 
 
 piy. 
 
 ' ' You will have to be very careful of her over 
 here," warns Mrs. Lancaster. 
 
 " Thanks. Her health is perfect. She does not 
 take cold easily," Miss Lennox responds pleasantly ; 
 and even Mrs. Vivien cannot tell whether this ex 
 traordinary obtuseuess is real or feigned. 
 
 "I do not refer to her health," says the Cassan 
 dra of the pension. "I refer to her conduct, her 
 associations, her companions." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! and that suggests a little matter I would 
 like to ask you," aunt Serena goes on in her placid 
 fashion ; " but " here she looks with kind inquiry 
 at the twins and their mamma. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't mind Molly and Daisy. I 
 always discuss every thing before them. They 
 know my principles. I intend that they shall have
 
 90 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 principles. What can be better for my girlb than 
 the constant companionship of their own mamma ? ' ' 
 
 Whether this profound question is unanswerable 
 or net, at least aunt Serena does not try to answer 
 it. "They are happily very young, poor dears: 
 perhaps they ma}' not understand," she thinks. 
 
 She accepts the situation, and, ignoring the twins, 
 says, 
 
 " Of course I would not wish to attach undue im 
 portance to careless table-talk. Still, as Miss Pey 
 ton interests me, I hope it is not out of place if I 
 ask you for a little more definite information about 
 her." 
 
 " Definite ! " exclaims Mrs. Lancaster, bridling. 
 
 " Yes," aunt Serena continues with her courteous 
 air. " Something a little more definite. You have, 
 that is if I have not misunderstood you, plainly 
 warned me against Miss Peyton." 
 
 " Advised, merely advised, dear Miss Lennox," 
 is Mrs. Vivien's gentle amendment. 
 
 " I warn ! " says Mrs. Lancaster stoutly. 
 
 " Then I have not misunderstood. What is there 
 against this sweet-looking young girl's character? " 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster puts down her coffee-cup, and 
 (stares. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien's eyes look out keenly from half- 
 closed lids. 
 
 "And isn't it against her character that she 
 walks out with a lieutenant?" demands Mrs. Lan 
 caster. 
 
 Miss Lennox laughs her low, kindly laugh. " Not
 
 AUNT SERENA. 91 
 
 necessarily, I should say. It might be. It might 
 not be. It would depend upon man}' things. The 
 kind of girl she is. The kind of lieutenant he is." 
 And a quizzical smile plays on her lips. 
 
 ' ' And what do you call her being alone here in 
 Wynburg, without friends, without the sign of a 
 chaperone, going to and from the Conservatory at 
 all hours, going alone, Heaven knows where? " 
 
 "An accident, a misfortune," answers aunt 
 Serena gravely. 
 
 " And what do 3-011 call her not being received by 
 any family of position? She does not know Mrs. 
 Raymond, for instance." 
 
 "Again a misfortune, perhaps this time to Mrs. 
 Raymond ;" and aunt Serena smiles brightly, and 
 thinks, " But that may be an easy matter to 
 remedy." 
 
 Mrs. Vivien almost reads the thought. "Miss 
 Pert is going to be taken up in good earnest, it 
 seems." 
 
 "Dear Miss Lennox, you are going to be rash. 
 You are going to make a mistake," she says, with 
 an air of amiable solicitude. 
 
 Aunt Serena turns her soft, steady gaze full njron 
 this prel ty tnd much-adorned little person. 
 
 "Mrs. Vivien, I am an old woman. I must be 
 more than thirty years older than you." This was 
 an agreeable hypothesis to Mrs. Vivien, whose years 
 were like a box of sewing-silks, " assorted colors, 
 to suit all needs." " But I have never yet hesitated 
 to do what really seemed best for fear of making a
 
 92 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 mistake. "What if one does make a mistake? Why 
 not acknowledge it to be a mistake, and, if neces 
 sary, withdraw from it?" 
 
 "Ah, you are very heroic," chirps Mrs. Vivien 
 admiringly. 
 
 There is a pause. Presently Mrs. Lancaster, 
 whose heav} T battalions of principles have met with 
 a shock, rallies. 
 
 " May I ask you to tell me, then, what things you 
 do consider against a girl's character? " 
 
 Aunt Serena, astonished, hesitates, then replies 
 very gently and solemnly, " Sim pi}' an}* thing 
 which would actually detract from her truth and 
 honor, which would stain the white soul within 
 her." 
 
 She had a way of talking above the heads of her 
 hearers, and never knowing it, the dear, simple heart.* 
 What had these women to do with the consideration 
 of abstract truth and honor? The}* lived among 
 things. 
 
 " I have had no exact sj'stem with my niece 
 Rosamond," she went on thoughtfully. " Perhaps 
 1 have erred in this. But I should be grieved to 
 see her losing her unconsciousness and fearlessness. 
 She has never learned to be afraid. I should be 
 pained if she should begin to think much about evil, 
 even for the purpose of avoiding it. I have always 
 had the idea, that, although I myself, as a girl, was 
 far from a headstrong, impetuous, brilliant charac 
 ter," she laughed softly, " had any one said to 
 me, ' Young girl, here is a pleasant garden, where
 
 AUNT SERENA. 93 
 
 you may play ; and here is a great, mysterious wall, 
 with something highly interesting beyond, Tvhich 
 you must not see or think about, making daisy- 
 chains would have palled upon me at last ; and, 
 though I might not have actually ventured on the 
 forbidden ground, I am very sure I should at least 
 have found a ladder, climbed up, and peeped over 
 the wall to my heart's content." 
 
 "Ah, yes, we are all Eves," concedes Mrs. 
 Vivien gracefully, pleased to be, for once, an Eve 
 in such good company. 
 
 " Extraordinary ! " exclaims Mrs. Lancaster. 
 
 "And so my Rosamond has never heard very 
 much of the things she' ought not to do, she has 
 been so very much occupied with the things I have 
 chosen for her to do," continued Miss Lennox 
 placidly. " Different natures, it is true, require 
 different treatment ; and I am sure, Mrs. Lancaster, 
 that you do what is wise for your dear little girls." 
 Molly and Daisy gave this beautiful old lady, with 
 hair as soft as a white dove's wing, a grateful 
 glance. They had heard much about etiquette and 
 propriety, but they had never before been called 
 dear little girls. 
 
 " But, Miss Lennox," saj's Mrs. Lancaster, routed 
 in English, and therefore resorting to her meagre 
 supply of French, " are you not forgetting les con 
 venances?" 
 
 " I hope not," replies Miss Lennox, with the dig 
 nity of the whole Lennox race in her mien. 
 
 " And they notice every thing, and they talk so
 
 94 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 much," put 'in the little Vivien. "One must be 
 careful." 
 
 "Who is they?" inquires Miss Lennox, on 
 heights beyond grammar. Then, suddenly, 
 
 " Mrs. Lancaster, 3-011 will not think me rude and 
 presuming," with a look that would have disarmed 
 a demon ; " but this lonely Peyton child touches my 
 heart. She is thrown upon a hard world. My 
 Rosamond is tenderly guarded ; yet she might have 
 been the waif, and Gertrude the pet lamb. Tell 
 me, Mrs. Lancaster," and a faint, rose-leaf flush 
 tinged the delicate old cheek, " you are an American 
 woman. Did you never, when you were young, 
 walk with any man except your husband? " 
 
 A vision of flooding sunset-light, a river-road in 
 spring-time, youth, hope, freshness, the cool, earthy 
 scent of wild violets, the slow sound of sweeping 
 oars, the innocent, happy, boyish, boastful talk of 
 her first love, rose before Mrs. Lancaster's prosaic 
 soul. She was sixteen then, and he went away to 
 seek his fortune : and she married Mr. Lancaster, 
 who had been rich, and kind to her ; and she had 
 never regretted it. Still, in the strange, far-off 
 picture there was no harm. no harm indeed. But 
 what a strange old lady. 
 
 " But, Miss Lennox, we are in Europe, 5 ' she 
 falters. 
 
 Aunt Serena looks at her thoughtfully. Then, 
 with her winning yet stately grace, the little old 
 lady rises. 
 
 "I quarrel with no system. Systems are things
 
 AUNT SERENA. 95 
 
 for statesmen. Even etiquette for young girls be 
 longs in a way to political econoury ; and I am a 
 simple old woman, and do not understand that. 
 Yet the ideal of maidenhood, goodness, puiity, 
 a loving, unselfish heart, that must must be the 
 same among all civilized people, Avhatever may be 
 the superficial differences of training, and the mis 
 conceptions. We women are inclined to give small 
 things too much importance, and to under-estimate 
 great things, perhaps ; so we may make it hard and 
 confusing for }*oung girls sometimes : and words are 
 two-edged, we all know." 
 
 " But a lieutenant is a lieutenant ! " 
 "I should never presume to dispute that, Mrs. 
 Lancaster;" and aunt Serena smiles her wise and 
 harmless smile, and holds out her hand to the two 
 ladies. 
 
 " I fear I have been very prosy, " she says. " I 
 thank you for your great patience. Good-by, my 
 dears," with -her hand on Molly's and Daisy's little 
 smooth heads. " Good-by until evening."
 
 96 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Not by appointment do we meet Delight and Joy: 
 They heed not our expectancy ; 
 But, round some corner in the streets of life, 
 They, on a sudden, clasp us with a smile." 
 
 GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 " T71LORENCE," said Sydney Bruce, laying down 
 -L a volume of Tyndall, and holding his cigar 
 lightly between two fingers, "I have met my ideal 
 woman." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond nearly dropped the delicate china 
 cup upon which, with rapid, sketchy strokes, she 
 was painting a daisy and two fern-leaves. " I can 
 not spend much time on these cups," she was think 
 ing. " The dinner-service is so elaborate with the 
 fine gold arabesques and the dark fond and the 
 monogram ; and it needs so much time : but these 
 will be pretty for afternoon-tea, and I can turn them 
 off rapidly mornings. Fortunately this is the 
 eleventh." She held it up to the light, and looked 
 through it. Into her innocent porcelain-reveries 
 walks her brother's ideal woman with crushing 
 eflect. 
 
 " Sydney," she gasped, "is it true? " 
 "Quite true," he responded gravely. "I saw 
 her at the flower-market this morning."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 97 
 
 Mrs. Raymond looked relieved. At lea^t, it 
 could not be either of those insupportable Arthui 
 girls or Kitty Van Rensalaer. They were never 
 known to be out at eight o'clock in the morning, or 
 indeed visible until after the hairdresser's solemn 
 rites at twelve. Her supreme wish was to have her 
 brother marry ; but she lived in deadly terror lest he 
 should be entangled in the snares of some avari 
 cious, mean-souled blond beauty. 
 
 " Really, Henry," she would say to her husband, 
 "you clever men are such idiots sometimes. You 
 all think a fresh complexion means purity of soul. 
 Often it means only a good digestion." 
 
 "Also an excellent thing in woman," Mr. Ray 
 mond would calmly respond. 
 
 " Now, Sydney causes me more anxiety than my 
 three children together. There is nobody like Syd 
 ney ; but he'll certainly throw himself away on some 
 stupid, selfish woman, who can never appreciate so 
 much as his instep ! And after his experience 
 too." 
 
 " Don't be uneasy, my dear," her husband would 
 say consolingly. " Sydney is nobody's fool." 
 
 But she was uneasy, nevertheless. She never 
 failed to know if Sydney's grave glance fell twice 
 on a new face, never failed to take heart again when 
 she observed one face was as another to him after 
 all. She was a power in society. Graceful, fluent, 
 admired, and courted. " Mrs. Raymond lilies soft 
 things," the world said. " She has always had 
 soft things," and always said it with a shade of
 
 98 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 reproach if not of malice, as if in some mysterious! 
 way Mrs. Raymond was at fault for having and 
 liking soft things. Certainly she was unselfish iu 
 her desire to have Sydney take to himself a wife ; 
 for that wife, she knew, would necessarily monopo 
 lize the daily companionship and attention of tho 
 most devoted brother in the world. She did not 
 even desire, after the fashion of women, to choose 
 his wife for him. She only wished him to choose 
 wisely. However, he manifested no matrimonial 
 intentions whatever, and was the abiding despair 
 of many mammas. 
 
 " Thirty-two years old, Sj'dney," she had said to 
 him warningly, only the day before. 
 
 "And nothing done for immortality," was his 
 indifferent, unsatisfying reply. 
 
 Now she simply sits still, and devours him with 
 hungry eyes. 
 
 " Are you joking? Please do not joke, Sydney." 
 Mrs. Raymond was as matter of fact as a perfectly 
 graceful woman can well be. The teasing she en 
 dured yesterday from her husband and brother 
 never enlightened her in the faintest degree as to 
 the teasing of to-day. 
 
 " I am not joking, Folly. I have seen the love 
 liest woman in the world," he answered heartily. 
 
 " O Sydney, I really believe you mean it this 
 time. Do I know her? Is she dark, or light? Is 
 she as tall as I? "What is her name? " with fever 
 ish eagerness. 
 
 " I do not think you know her. She is if you
 
 AUNT SERENA. 99 
 
 refer to her hair light, extremely light. I Cer 
 tainly never saw lighter hair on any child," he went 
 on slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond clasped her hands tightly, and 
 leaned forward. She was so impatient. " Why wili 
 Sydney persist in being so slow?" she thought. 
 "And I do not know her name," he added be 
 tween his whiffs. 
 
 "How does she look? How did you see her? 
 "Who was with her? " 
 
 " She had a suite with her, as befits my queen." 
 " O Sydney, dear, if you would only not be tire 
 some! " 
 
 " I am prepared to tell you the whole story if" 
 Mrs. Raymond instantly leaned back in her chair, 
 silent, and outwardly resigned. 
 
 He continued in a reflective manner, 
 "Do you know, I am not sure that the flower- 
 market in Florence is, after all, much more attrac 
 tive than this one? This has not overhead, it is 
 true, Italian skies ; it has not the stately palaces 
 near by, and romantic associations everywhere 
 around, the precious Lucca della Robbia relief, the 
 famed little pulpit in the corner, the gleaming eyes 
 of the women, and the melody of the soft Tuscan 
 tongue : but then, here is the strong old castle, the 
 sturdy gray church-tower, with ' the people, ah., the 
 people, they that dwell up in the steeple' " (Mrs. 
 Raymond sighed) ; " and here are the rows of hide 
 ously ugly peasant women, who after all, in the 
 mass, have a strong element of the picturesque ; and
 
 100 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 the sunlight made charmingly mellow effects this 
 morning, even if we are not in Tuscany ; and hero 
 I saw my ideal." 
 
 " Sydney, I always skip descriptions. I wish 
 you would. And if you would not mind telling me 
 with whom she was, Sydne} T ?" Mrs. Raymond re 
 marked, with an heroic effort at self-control. 
 
 "She was accompanied b}* six persons, two 
 beautiful young girls ; two little school-girls exactly 
 of a size, with long flaxen tails hanging down their 
 backs, and excited, happy faces, as if they were 
 doing something delightfully new and strange ; 
 then, a comely German woman, with shrewd all- 
 seeing eyes ; and a stout maid with a market-basket. 
 The procession stopped to buy flowers of my par 
 ticular old woman, you know which one, and I 
 had the honor of handing to my lovely unknown a 
 rosebud which she had let fall." 
 
 " How old is she? " asked Mrs. Raymond breath 
 lessly. " Are you going to marry her? " 
 
 "As to that," Sydney said with extreme gravity, 
 " there might be objections on the part of the lady ; 
 which possibility you, as a too indulgent sister, are 
 always apt to ignore. She might discover some 
 thing inharmonious, some discrepancy, in me." 
 
 "Nonsense!" returned his sister confidently. 
 "But her age, Sydney? " 
 
 " I should say, although I am never a fair judge 
 of that question, and I imagine she looks old for 
 her years, about sixty three or four," he replied 
 calmly.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 101 
 
 Mrs. Raymond shrieked. 
 
 Sydney lighted another cigar. 
 
 " I never saw a woman like that. I never saw a 
 smile like hers. Hair like drifted snow in the moon 
 light. Eyes like stars, yes, soft brown stars," he 
 repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond laughed. " If it's no worse ftan 
 that " and she scrutinized her daisy. 
 
 Her brother read on steadily for a half an hour, 
 then rising, and laying down his book, remarked, 
 " Florence, you might find out who these people are. 
 They belong to a very different world from that of 
 most of your friends here." 
 
 "Wtry, of course I can find out any thing and 
 every thing you wish, Sydney. You don't like Mrs. 
 Vivien, but you must admit that she is a very useful 
 person." 
 
 ' ' As an agent of the secret police she would be 
 invaluable : otherwise I fail to perceive her useful 
 ness. The ferret is not my favorite animal." 
 
 " But she is clever, my dear." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Far cleverer than you imagine. Now, I shall 
 simply say to her, ' Who was the lady to whom my 
 brother handed a rose which she had dropped at the 
 flower-market this morning?' And Mrs. Vivien, 
 without one moment's hesitation, will tell me the 
 names of the lady and all her companions, their 
 claims on Wynburg society, their toilets, their ages, 
 even the color of the rose." 
 
 ' ' I beg you will not resort to such extreme meas-
 
 102 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 nres on my account," he returned dryly. "I dc 
 not like the Vivien, as you say ; and these ladies 
 you will undoubtedly meet without her unpleasant 
 interposition." 
 
 " But through the Vivien I can reach them quick 
 est. I don't like her either, for that matter. Why 
 not use her, if I can please you? " 
 
 Sydney smiled. " Little Jesuit, the end does not 
 always justify the means. How do you pay your 
 detective ? ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Raymond colored, and looked almost vexed. 
 Sydney really had such strange notions. Then she 
 said brightl}', " Oh, I ask her here when 1 have 
 what I call my 'menagerie party,' an unpleasant 
 but inevitable gathering of all the Americans once 
 a year ; and I am a grain more cordial to her than 
 to her fiiend Mrs. Lancaster when I meet them at 
 that stupid Dramatic Club or in a shop. She is 
 then quite satisfied, especially as she entertains the 
 sweet hope that I shall some day invite her to a 
 small dinner with Mrs. Van Rensalaer and Lady 
 Manners." 
 
 At length he said thoughtfully, " What an excel 
 lent title for a novel ' Door-mats of Power ' would 
 be!" 
 
 " I think so too," remarked Mrs. Raymond amia 
 bly. Why do you not write one? Now, Sydney 
 dear, don't be superior. You call it worldly ; but it's 
 life, you know. Can I alter it? Let us take things 
 as they are ; and, first of all, let us find your nice 
 people. I would use Mrs. Vivien exactly as I
 
 AUNT SERENA. 103 
 
 would use my maid, sending her on any errand 
 whatever. ' ' 
 
 "Do not employ her on mine, if you please, 
 Florence," he said with a slight coldness. He loved 
 his sister tenderly, but he was apt to feel a vague 
 dissatisfaction now and then after a chat with her. 
 He felt this now. " How unscrupulous good women 
 seem sometimes ! " he thought. He looked at her 
 light, graceful figure, clear, smiling eyes, and all 
 her dainty and elegant appointments, then went 
 towards her, and laid his hand affectionately on her 
 shoulder. " Don't use the Vivien woman in this 
 matter, Folly," he repeated in his gentle yet mas 
 terful way. She laid her cheek against his hand 
 with a pretty, caressing movement, then looked up, 
 smiling and undisturbed. 
 
 "As you please, my dear." 
 
 She was still so like the slight little being in short, 
 diaphanous draperies and a huge, rose-colored sash, 
 whom he, as a school-boy, had swung up to his strong 
 shoulder, proud of his burden and himself. She was 
 still as clear-eyed and happy, as gracious and amia 
 ble, as simple and downright, in her relations with 
 the few she cared for, as then ; still as elusive when 
 called upon to display any feeling stronger than 9 
 gentle, affectionate regard. Yet she was loya" to 
 the core of her heart, and this her brother knew : 
 and kindly and agreeable, and this the world knew. 
 
 "I am hard and exacting," he thought, blaming 
 himself as usual. " Why demand of you what you 
 have not to give, you dear and gracious being f
 
 104 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 You simply did not understand ; for you could 
 not, sweet." 
 
 "Good little sister!" he said kindly, and went 
 out. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond placidly painted on. 
 
 "Dear Sydney!" she thought, "he will always 
 be fanciful. Now, why should I not ask a plain 
 question of Mrs. Vivien? However,'' and she 
 smiled with her little shrewd air of worldly wisdom, 
 "it is immaterial. She will tell me, undoubtedly, 
 all she knows without asking. She always unbur 
 dens her mind freely. I will not ask a question ; 
 but she shall help me find Sydney's people, never 
 theless." 
 
 At this moment a servant entered with a card. 
 
 "Who is it, Elise?" Mrs. Raymond said care 
 lessly. 
 
 " Mrs. Vivien, madame." 
 
 "Ah! Have her shown into the salon, and 
 wait, Elise. Did Mr. Sydney go out? " 
 
 " No, madame : he is in the library." 
 
 " Say to him that Mrs. Vivien is with me ; " and 
 Mrs. Raymond, with a perfectly adjusted smile of 
 welcome, went in to greet her guest.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 105 
 
 CHAPTER ViII. 
 
 '' Au acquaintance grilled, scored, devilled, and served with 
 mustard and cayenne pepper, excites the appetite; whereas a 
 slice of cold friend with currant jelly is but a sickly, unrelish- 
 ing meat." THACKERAY. 
 
 IN the large salon where Mrs. Raymond received 
 only her most formal visitors, Mrs. Vivien's 
 ingratiating purr, encouraged from time to time by 
 an affable comment from her hostess, recounted 
 the news of the day in Wynburg up to eleven A.M. 
 With marvellous skill, obtained by strong natural 
 ability increased by years of practice, Mrs. Vivien 
 lightly touched upon topics which she hoped would 
 interest her listener. Bird-like she darted to and 
 fro, airily whirling and fluttering away from her 
 position the instant she detected a shade of dis 
 approval on the calm face opposite. Peculiar sub 
 jects, which she broadly expounded to Mrs. Lancas 
 ter with satisfaction to herself and her hearer, were, 
 in Mrs. Raymond's refined presence, toned down to 
 decency, playfully waived, or wholly ignored. Mrs. 
 Vivien, communing with her own soul, was wont to 
 gnash her teeth in impotent rage because she never 
 fairly reached this favored child of fortune. Amia 
 ble, unruffled, gracious, Mrs. Raymond deigned to 
 be amused, rarely committed herself by giving a
 
 106 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 decided opinion, grew perceptibly colder if the con 
 versation as c umed a color too vivid for her taste, 
 was gently obtuse to Mrs. Vivien's persistent 
 efforts towards intimacy, and, after an acquaintance 
 of two years, remained neither more nor less ap 
 proachable than she had been the day they met. 
 Mrs. Vivien perfectly appreciated this, and awaited 
 her hour of reckoning. 
 
 " I'll find the weak spot in her armor yet," and 
 she closed her thin lips firmly over her small milk- 
 white teeth. She rarely did this in public. It was 
 a comfort reserved for her dressing-room, like her 
 peignoir and old slippers. She knew that slightly 
 parted lips look innocent and 3*oung, and that com 
 pressing them draws hard lines far too early, de 
 stroying the witchery of dimple and curve, and 
 making a woman age sadly. 
 
 She had Albani Cupids and Correggio's floating 
 angel-heads painted on the walls of her pretty 
 boudoir, and no doubt her studies of such artless- 
 ness were not without effect in producing her dewy, 
 infantine smiles. There was much that she knew, 
 this wise and foolish woman. She made use of 
 many subtle arts and attenuated theories in the 
 process of beautifying her not unpleasing person. 
 But nevertheless, some simple and useful facts 
 escaped her. She did not know, for instance, that 
 a young heart holds the essence of youth in a 
 woman's face in defiance of wrinkles and gray hair. 
 She did not know that the world's imprint on her 
 own spirit dry and barren and common as a pub-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 107 
 
 lie thoroughfare in midsummer must sooner or 
 later work itself out into her face, despite her cher 
 ubic studies. 
 
 In some lights indeed, to some ej 7 es, this process 
 had already taken place. Sydney Bruce, for one, 
 found no charm in her practised smile, was never 
 flattered by her gentle, appealing air, and invariably 
 detected a malignant and sordid element in what to 
 most people was the innocuous prattle of a pretty 
 woman. Moreover, he had once seen in her face 
 a fleeting resemblance to a person whom he had 
 known, and upon whom he never wished to look 
 again. This trifling discovery did not increase Mrs. 
 Vivien's fascinations in his estimation. 
 
 To-day her prattle, harmless or otherwise, ran 
 on in its happiest vein. She began with the court- 
 bulletin, announcing the exact condition of the pale, 
 stately queen's health. She reported that the king 
 is about to pass a few days in a favorite villa. She 
 alluded delicately to an impending engagement be 
 tween two young people belonging to distinguished 
 German families, in which Mrs. Raymond had the 
 entree, and she had not, and in regard to which 
 Mrs. Raymond, who gave no hint of previous in 
 formation, was far better informed than she. She 
 rolled the sweet morsel of a church quarrel and scan 
 dal under her tongue. She regretted with voluble 
 charit}" that three little American girls were guilty 
 of laughing in their loge at the theatre last evening. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond, up to this point merely interpos 
 ing conventional ahs and indeeds, here remarked,
 
 108 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 " Why, I thought everybody laughed at the thea 
 tre. I always do. That's why I go. I do not v ko 
 tragedies." 
 
 "You can do any thing you please, dear Mrs. 
 Raymond," was the suave answer ; " and I wish I 
 could tell 3 7 ou that it's all owing to your money," 
 was the spiteful mental comment. " But you know 
 the Germans do not like it." 
 
 " Oh, the poor Germans," laughed Mrs. Raymond. 
 " How we foreigners accuse them of all manner of 
 unrighteousness ! For my part, I am sure that if we 
 are not too severe upon peccadilloes in our ranks, 
 they will not be. I have always found them well- 
 disposed and kindly. Indeed, I am inclined to be 
 grateful to them for putting up with a deal of non 
 sense from us intruders. And surely, Mrs. Vivien, 
 we do not need to depend upon them when we wish 
 to be enlivened by a racy bit of gossip." 
 
 "You are always so vivacious," returned Mrs. 
 Vivien blandly. " How I wish I had your life and 
 spirit ! But as to these little Norrises ' ' 
 
 " They are very nice girls," said Mrs. Raymond 
 with decision. "Pretty, well-bred, always good 
 tone." 
 
 ' ' But it has been most unpleasantly commented 
 upon, their laughing so much. I feel so sorry for 
 their mother.' ' 
 
 " Quarter to children ! " exclaimed Mrs. Raymond 
 good-humoredly. " Let us tear to tatters the repu 
 tations of our peers, but not slaughter the innocents. 
 And do not pity Mrs. Norris, I beg," she added with
 
 AUNT SERENA. 109 
 
 a peculiar smile. " She is not easily affected by 
 trifles. And if her happy-hearted girls found some 
 thing amusing in the play or even in the audience 
 last night, I am sure they did not laugh loud. I am 
 sure they disturbed no one. They are always fine, 
 the littik Norrisos." 
 
 "I quite agree with you," chimed in her visitor's 
 dulcet tones. "I said at once, when I was told of 
 it, that nothing is more pleasing to me than the light- 
 heartedness of extreme youth. But the world is so 
 censorious. Every thing is so easily misunderstood. 
 Even a little innocent laughter people like to call 
 coquetry and boldness. I am so glad, however, that 
 you think there was nothing in it. I was sure you 
 would look at the matter as I do," coos the gentle 
 voice. "And how is Mr. Bruce?" she inquired 
 sweetly. "We see so little of him. He is really 
 quite a recluse." 
 
 " My brother is fond of pottering among his 
 books," returned Mrs. Raymond indifferently. 
 "And then he came only to be with us. He cares 
 little for society in general." 
 
 "I presume he will make a long visit." Mrs. 
 Vivien is aware this is an impolitic remark, but ven 
 tures it notwithstanding. In her abstruse calcula 
 tions the length of Sydney Bruce's stay in Wyiiburg 
 is an important factor. . 
 
 His sister stared slightly, and said coldly, "I 
 really do not know. I rarely question him as to his 
 plans." Then, more genially, " Of course we shall 
 keep him as long as possible. It is a pure delight
 
 110 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 to Mr. Raymond and me to have him here, and the 
 children adore him. He has half promised a friend 
 in England to go over foi some shooting, but I 
 think he will come back." 
 
 "She's welcome to that bit of information," 
 thought the bland hostess. "It's the first crumb of 
 comfort she has been able to gather up." 
 
 " Ah, how delightful for you ! Mr. Bruce, I must 
 confess, is quite a hero to many of us;" and for 
 once she spoke the truth. If there was a being for 
 whom she entertained a feeling akin to genuine admi 
 ration, it was a rich young man. She was also not 
 unsusceptible to graces of person and manner, and 
 a strong social position was to her a crowning grace. 
 Sydney Bruce was the careless but indisputable pos 
 sessor of so many of these blessings, that she added 
 to them the debatable boon of her deep interest. 
 
 " I was told they used to call him the Cid years 
 ago at college, he was such a hero." Mrs. Ray 
 mond looked at her oddly. ' ' How did you ever 
 know that, I wonder? Do you happen to know 
 when he cut his first tooth?" she was thinking ; and 
 Mrs. Vivien's instinct warned her to drop this in 
 teresting theme. 
 
 " Speaking of heroes reminds me of Miss Gray 
 clever person pity she is so plain. They say she 
 is writing three novels at once, and does not mind in 
 the least how many people and how much noise and 
 confusion there are in her study." 
 
 "That is clever," and Mrs. Raymond laughed 
 heartilj*. " But, pray, has any one read her MSS.?
 
 AUNT SERENA. Ill 
 
 Or does the feat consist simply in writing under 
 such circumstances without reference to finding a 
 publisher? How does she keep her heroes from 
 walking into the wrong book and making love to 
 the wrong heroine? " 
 
 " But that would be very true to nature," remarked 
 Mrs. Vivien demurely. "Men so often make love 
 to the wrong heroine. By the way, we are watching 
 a romance at Frau Rudolph's just now. You know 
 Lieut, von Falkenstein ? He and Miss Peyton are 
 having quite an affair, I am sorry to say." 
 
 "Miss Peyton? She's the pale, pretty girl with 
 the exquisite voice, is she not? I heard her sing 
 at Lady Manners's charity concert. I thought her 
 charming." 
 
 " Yes, so she is, most charming," enthusiastically. 
 " That is why we are especially sorry to see her 
 going on in this way. Flowers, and evening ram 
 bles, and heaven knows what." 
 
 "I think I'll ask Miss Peyton here," said Mrs. 
 Raymond, fixing her eyes with a gentle, abstracted 
 air upon the long trumpet of the Fra Angelico angel 
 in the corner of her room. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien's lips closed, almost with a snap. 
 Recovering herself, 
 
 "I have always liked her. I real!}- never know 
 why most people do not. She is more to be pitied 
 than blamed," she adds, with inconceivable malice 
 and her meekest voice. 
 
 "I shall certainly ask Miss Peyton here," said 
 Mrs. Raymond, even more gently than before, still
 
 112 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 looking upward to the calm eyes of the angel, "next 
 Wednesday with Lady Manners to dine." 
 
 Baffled and venomous, Mrs. Vivien summoned all 
 her art to make a gallant retreat. The dewy, cherub 
 smile hovers over her lips as she murmurs, "That 
 is really quite too sweet of you, dear Mrs. Raymond. 
 Alwaj's so benevolent ! The poor girl ought to be 
 grateful, indeed, and just at this time too ! I do 
 so envy you your charming home. It gives you 
 such freedom in the matter of entertaining. Now, 
 it is very different in a pension, believe me. There 
 it doesn't do to be original, eccentric shall I say? 
 I often write to Mr. Vivien that he realty must come 
 over and take a house here. The climate agrees so 
 well with m}- poor chest," she explained, with a look 
 of pious gratitude for Heaven's mercy in leading her 
 to this salubrious spot, " but he never feels as if he 
 could leave his business. Perhaps he will some 
 time," she concludes, with a bright hopefulness 
 delightful to observe. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond honestly admired her. " This is 
 really well played. Extraordinary vivacity and 
 grace," she thought, "since Mr. Vivien and Mrs. 
 Vivien's weak chest are generally conceded myths, 
 companion myths, one never appearing in her 
 conversation without the other." 
 
 Taking refuge in a harmless generality she re 
 sponded, "Our business men ought to allow them 
 selves more rest. Americans are apt to be slaves 
 to their work, and wear themselves out." 
 
 "That's what I am always telling Mr. Vivien,"
 
 AUNT SERENA. 113 
 
 purrs the aitless voice. ""When he comes he Wifl. 
 want a home. He is veiy fond of his home." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " was Mrs. Raymond's inward 
 ejaculation. " What effrontery ! " 
 
 ' ' He would never put up with the inconveniences 
 of pension-life, though to be sure we are veiy com 
 fortable at Frau Rudolph's. We have some new 
 people, by the way ; but perhaps you knew it? ' 
 
 " I know very little of strangers, except what 
 you are kind enough to tell me," was the equivocal 
 answer. 
 
 " I merely thought you might know them, because 
 they know friends of } 7 ours. It's a Miss Lennox 
 and her niece. They have very good connections, 
 it seems. Sedate old Northbrooke families, 
 Weatherstone Wellesley Lennox, you know. 
 The niece is engaged to her cousin, young Thornton 
 of Fairport. Family arrangement, they say. Miss 
 Lennox is rather peculiar. Nice person, no doubt, 
 but free in her ideas, I should say. It always fright 
 ens poor little me when women begin to advance 
 theories : I tremble lest they should go too far, and 
 become unwomanly. Mr. Vivien has a horror of the 
 least approach to emancipation. He thinks it so 
 coarse. She is extremely enterprising for her years, 
 I must admit. She goes everywhere with her niece. 
 They actually started off to market this morning." 
 
 ' ' Ah ? It will be pleasant for you to have such 
 agreeable people at Frau Rudolph's," Mrs. Ray 
 mond responded with extreme urbanity. 
 
 " Delightful. Especially as I know who they are.
 
 114 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 One cannot be too careful over here, so many re 
 fined-looking women are mere adventuresses. But 
 these are of our own kind." She furtively watched 
 the effect of this audacious master-stroke, but her 
 hostess remained civilly imperturbable. " My 
 cousin Eleanor has written all about them," she 
 added softly. 
 
 " Eleanor ! " There was a startled expression in 
 Mrs. Raymond's eyes. 
 
 " Check ! " thought the smiling little woman before 
 her. " You have given me several thrusts this 
 morning, my gracious lady. Take this now : there 
 is more to come." 
 
 " Eleanor who? What Eleanor? " trembled on 
 Florence Raj'mond's tongue, but this at least she 
 would not inquire of Mrs. Vivien. " The name may 
 be a mere coincidence. Yet her trainante voice and 
 drooping lids have always seemed faintly familiar. 
 Cousins, are they? Well, it can do no harm, only 
 be disagreeable. I am foolish to attach any impor 
 tance to it. But the very name disturbs me. As if 
 my strong brother could be reached again by that 
 false creature. And yet men are unaccountable." 
 
 All this flashed through her mind. With scarcely 
 a perceptible pause, she replied in her most charm 
 ing manner, 
 
 " I shall be pleased to know them." 
 
 "I am sure you will," purred the pretty cat. 
 " But, dear Mrs. Raymond, I must realty run away, 
 I have stolen such an unconscionable amount of your 
 time ! Indeed, I always forget how the moments are
 
 AUNT SERENA. 115 
 
 flying, when I sit here with you. But, as I often say 
 to dear Lady Manners, ' What would life be, with 
 out a friendly chat now and then ? ' Good-morning, 
 dear Mrs. Raymond. I have enjoyed you so very 
 much," and she glided softly away.
 
 116 AUNT SEE EN A. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Love, we are told, comes like the wind, from heaven, 
 Not at our bidding, but its own free will." 
 
 BULWER. 
 
 TTTHILE Mrs. Vivien was displaying her motley 
 V V hautes nouveautes of gossip, across the hall 
 in the dim, rich, silent library, Sj'dney Bruce sat in 
 a profound reverie. He scarcely lifted his eyes from 
 the Persian rug at his feet when Elise, with the 
 noiseless tread of a perfect servant, brought him his 
 sister's warning. As the name of the visitor was 
 announced, an almost imperceptible look of aversion 
 crept into his quiet e} T es, then vanished. It was as 
 if an ugly snake had glided into a dream of paradise 
 and disappeared, leaving no trace or remembrance. 
 The door softly closed. He was again alone with 
 his thoughts. Strange thoughts they were, wild and 
 ardent as any bo}*'s, behind the grave composure of 
 his face and his steady eyes. 
 
 " She would sit near me in the old library at home, 
 close to me," and his heart gave a mighty bound 
 of gladness ; ' ' her hand on my shoulder, she has 
 such dainty bands ; her pure cheek against mine ; 
 and I should turn, and see my book no more, but 
 only her sweet, primrose face, and the happy light 
 in her eyes. And I would kiss them, the great
 
 AUNT SERENA. 117 
 
 innocent eyes! Thank God there are still such 
 eyes in the world and such women ! And some 
 times she would be in the high carved chair by the 
 window, her head thrown back, her hands softly 
 folded. And the crimson and violet lights from IJie 
 painted panes would fall so lovingly upon her, that 
 I should be jealous of even old Chaucer and Shakes 
 peare for daring to send down tlibir glories to gleam 
 in her hair, lie on her breast, and tremble over her 
 lovely throat. My child ! My little love ! How ' 
 she came along towards me this morning in the full 
 sunlight, proud and pure and radiant ; and I knew 
 her and loved her. And then she turned and spoke, 
 and smiled in the face of the white-haired old lady, 
 and laid her hands gently on the other's wrists with 
 an exquisite deference, the unconscious grace of a 
 child, and a great, sweet trust shining in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Will she ever come to me with the trust in her 
 eyes, and lay her hands in mine? Loving, loj'al, 
 strong heart ! Proud, fearless, true heart ! I have 
 been blind enough in my life, am blind still no 
 doubt, but not so blind that I fail to recognize you, 
 coming towards me in the sunlight, coming on, 
 straight into my life, never again to leave it ! For 
 should I never see you again, or should you not 
 listen to me, still I know you, dear. I know you 
 for what you are. Whether I gain or lose you, 
 you are still the one woman in the world for me. 
 You are she for whom I have always been seeking 
 ever since my boyish heart felt its first strange
 
 118 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 yearning for something higher and better than it 
 had known, for a woman's love. 
 
 " I have known so many women, but not one like 
 you. I have grown old before my time ; but the 
 sight of you shuts out all the dull years, and fills 
 me with the hopes of strong, sweet youth. I have 
 wasted so much on others. Can you forgive me, 
 sweet? I should have known you were coming. 1 
 should have waited. I was blind. Yet not to one of 
 them have I offered what I la}' before the shrine of 
 your white soul ; and if there has been foil}", weak 
 ness, madness, in my past, there has been no dis 
 honor. At least, I can meet }'our calm eyes. And 
 I can love you with a man's strong love, and only 
 you, until I die. To-day I see you in the glory of 
 your girlhood. "With closed eyes, I see you, too, 
 fifty years from now. You will not think it a 
 wrong to your beauty and your youth that this pic 
 ture comes stealing into my heart? A little, quaint 
 old lady, frail and bowed, and with a white cap 
 round the gentle face. The flower-like head has 
 lost its loftiness, the wealth of hair its radiance, the 
 warm lips their soft, quivering charm. But still, 
 in the dimmed eyes are the lovelight and the truth ; 
 and still I love you, dear. Let the change come, 
 since come it must. I do not fear it with you near 
 me. I shall love you, not with this fast-beating 
 heart and intensity of longing, since these, too, must 
 suffer a change, like your fairness, yet with the 
 same reverence as now, with the honor and high 
 thoughts which your pure presence inspires, and
 
 AUNT SERENA. 119 
 
 with the tenderness that deepens and strengthens 
 with years. I promise this. 
 
 ' ' Ah ! I thought the last of this race of women 
 died when my mother died, the grand, sweet 
 women, lofty in life and love, yet with the unsullied 
 child-soul always looking out through their beauti 
 ful eyes. And now I have found you, my child, 
 my love, my wife ; and I will never let you go again 
 through all the years to come. 
 
 " To think I did not know you quite ! The grace, 
 the morning freshness, yes ; but where I had met 
 you, I could not tell. When I saw you, and it was 
 only in June, I did not know you were so tall and 
 stately, dear. I thought you a little girl," and he 
 smiled gentry. " And to-day you turned your head, 
 and it drooped low over the flowers ; and I suddenly 
 saw your profile, clear-cut as a cameo, with the 
 green leaves behind you. And all at once you 
 seemed to be sobbing, and clinging to your horse in 
 the heart of the old New-England wood again. I 
 wanted to take you in my arms and comfort you 
 then. I want to comfort you in the future for every 
 sorrow that may bow your dear head. I will, if I 
 may. I will yet, if I may ; " and a flood of rever 
 ence and protecting tenderness swept through his 
 heart like a torrent. 
 
 " I love you," said this grave man with the se f- 
 contained face, and the wild, delicious fancies run 
 ning riot through his brain. "Am I too old for 
 you?" The thought was keen pain to him. 
 " Ah, I cannot lose you, now that I know you ! J
 
 120 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 love all your little ways. How eloquent they are ! 
 and your hands, }'our light, impulsive movements, 
 your face with its tremulous, sensitive changes. 
 Was ever a face before playful and demure, loving, 
 wistful, flashing with merriment, eager, calm as a 
 statue, all in one fleeting moment? 
 
 "And you did not know me, did not see me? 
 Not you, my pure, proud lily ! What matters it to 
 you what stranger watches when you pass by in 
 your girlish state ! Little do you care for admiration 
 in men's eyes. You hardly know that men have 
 eyes ! " and a great triumph shone in his own. 
 
 At last. At last. He did not ask himself how 
 he knew, how he was so sure of this simple litt'e 
 girl, this stranger. His faith in her, his instinctive 
 comprehension of her, occasioned him no self-exami 
 nation. 
 
 " She is untainted by the world. She scon/s a 
 lie, as an honest man does, and as few women I 
 have known do, if they can sugar-coat it sufficiently 
 to render it palatable to what they call their con 
 sciences. She is too fearless ever to be false. Rhe 
 cannot use mean tools to accomplish her purposes. 
 She is upright, downright. She is all graciousness, 
 with a quaint, old-fashioned dignity she has caught 
 from that most charming gentlewoman with net. 
 In her clear eyes no love-thought has ever dwelt ; 
 but one day her strong, sweet, ardent spirit will 
 give itself wholly and to me to me ! " his heart 
 cried passionately. " I must win her for my wife 
 mine this girl with the eyes of a child and the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 121 
 
 heart of a woman, this brave, beautiful, tender 
 soul." 
 
 It is evident that Mr. Sydney Bruce was in love, 
 veiy much in love. 
 
 To him the old market had suddenly grown as 
 dazzling as the golden streets of the New Jerusa 
 lem. The little procession, winding its way in and 
 out among butter- women, baskets of eggs, mounds 
 of vegetables, the late roses and the noisy chatter 
 of the peasant-throng, was as glorious in his eyes 
 as a vision of sweets-singing seraphs, sweeping 
 over shining mountain-tops. Even Babele, the 
 portly maid, harmonious and etherialized, walked 
 on in the universal glamour, carrying a sublimated 
 market-basket. The staid, high-gabled houses near 
 by were gradually transforming themselves into 
 structures more beautiful than Greek temples, the 
 chestnut-trees by the old castle, chilled as they 
 already were by the night-frosts of late October, 
 were putting forth rosy blossom and leaf as in the 
 merry month of May, when Mrs. Raymond, uncon 
 scious of these phenomena, hurried into the room. 
 
 " She is gone, Sydney." 
 
 " So I presume, since I have the pleasure of seeing 
 you. She was considerate enough not to stay 
 long." 
 
 " Why, I thought she would never go. She was 
 here nearly an hour," said Mrs. Raymond, surprised. 
 " What are you reading that makes the time pass 
 so quickly' Tyndall still? Ah! here is Grotiua' 
 ' Law of Nations.' " She looked at her brother ID
 
 122 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 fond admiration, her eyes saying, " How clever you 
 are to lose 3*ourself in such dry tomes ! ' ' 
 
 Sydney smiled. 
 
 " The law can be very engrossing," he said sober 
 ly. " But I have had other things to consider." 
 
 u Profitable things, no doubt," she replied kindly. 
 " As for me, I have simply wasted a precious hour. 
 You are right about Mrs. Vivien, Sydney : she's a 
 perfect trail-of-the-serpent. I will never listen to 
 her again." 
 
 " Until you see her again," he thought. 
 
 She went on, "I know who your old lady is. 
 Indeed, I did not ask," she added hastily. 
 
 "I am sure you did not," was the hearty re 
 sponse. 
 
 "Her name is Lennox, and she has letters of 
 introduction to me. I presume she will call." 
 
 Her brother watched her as she closed a portfolio 
 on the writing-table, and put some scattered pens in 
 their places. He then gently suggested, 
 
 "Perhaps, as she's an elderty lady, you might 
 make an exception, and call first upon her." 
 
 "I have not the least objection in the world," 
 she said carelessly. Then, laughing, " Shall I take 
 you along to pay your respects to your white-haired 
 lady-love ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly, if you like." 
 
 "Now, that's really kind!" she exclaimed, de 
 lighted whenever she could induce her usually 
 reluctant In-other to pay a visit. " Shall we go 
 to-morrow, or Saturday?"
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 123 
 
 "I am engaged to-morrow and Saturday," said 
 Sydney with deliberation. 
 
 " Next week, then? " 
 
 " I am engaged next week." 
 
 " But can you go to-day? " 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 " Very well, just after lunch." 
 
 She left the room. Moved by a sudden thought, 
 she came swiftly back, and, standing on the thresh 
 old, said, 
 
 " Sydney, there's a niece." 
 
 "Ah!*" 
 
 " Yes : Mrs. Vivien said so. Did you happen to 
 see the niece at the market this morning, Sydney? " 
 
 " I may have seen her," looking at his sister with 
 candid, indifferent eyes. "I told you that I saw 
 two young girls and two children. Do you know if 
 the niece wears a long braided flaxen tail hanging 
 down her back ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps it's the other young girl," thought 
 Mrs. Raymond, somewhat puzzled. "It is some 
 body, I am sure. No one ever heard of a man's 
 falling in love with un old woman unless she were a 
 Ninon de 1'Enclos or some such person. And yet I 
 do not know that any thing could surprise me much 
 in Sydney."
 
 124 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " One of the golden half-hours which are flying about all 
 over the world had come to them. They had done nothing 
 to deserve it, hut it was there." Miss THACKERAY. 
 
 IGHT days under Frau Rudolph's roof had 
 - ^ been sufficient to give aunt Serena a tolerably 
 clear idea of the condition of things, and to fill her 
 gentle soul with wonder, often with weariness. " It 
 is not the atmosphere I would have chosen for Rosa 
 mond," she said to herself; "but I do not think it 
 will harm the child to catch a glimpse of a kind of 
 life different from that which she has known. I 
 should certainly never wish her to feel sufficiently 
 acclimated to be at home in it ; and there is no 
 danger of that," smiling, and remembering Rose's 
 high scorn of what she called ' ' their stabs in the 
 dark," her habitual difficulty in keeping her temper 
 in Mrs. Vivien's presence, her keen temptation to 
 regale that lady wLh a free expression of opinion. 
 " No, it will not hurt the child ; and she will grow 
 calmer and stronger. She will learn to disregard 
 it. It seems to me desirable for a young girl to 
 learn as soon as possible to disregard common chat 
 ter," mused the peaceful old lady, unconscious that 
 ,his sentiment would be regarded by many excellent 
 persons as little less than revolutionary. " We will
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 125 
 
 stay here for the present. The rooms are pleasant. 
 Rose will be interested in her German and music 
 and Gertrude. In the spring we will make some 
 change. A little friction from the outside world 
 will do my Rose no harm. I am a dull old being, 
 who makes things too soft for her. Let them irri 
 tate her. She will learn how to meet them." So 
 they decided to remain through the winter at Frau 
 Rudolph's ; and every day Rose flushed, and felt ill 
 at ease, and inclined to do battle for each name that 
 was slightingly mentioned in her presence, whether 
 she knew the rights and wrongs of the case or not. 
 She was often on the point of gallantly defend 
 ing the most notorious reprobates in Wynburg. If 
 Mrs. Lancaster's ponderous principles were arrayed 
 against a fellow-mortal, if gentle Mrs. Vivien smeared 
 him with honeyed poison, Rosamond was eager to 
 throw down her clean little gauntlet for him, and 
 challenge the whole world ; yet she restrained her 
 self bravely. She knew her aunt's disapproval of 
 scenes, and, recognizing with considerable reluc 
 tance the impropriety of rebuking her elders, main 
 tained an uneasy silence. Yet, since the strong flash 
 of young eyes, and the indignant flush on a pure 
 cheek, are more eloquent than words, her heroic 
 reticence served by no means as a disguise for her 
 thoughts, and gained for her, at least from Mrs. 
 Vivien, little good-will. Aunt Serena herself was 
 not an enormous restraint. She had no vocation 
 for public preaching or active missionary work. 
 There were some things, to be sure, one could not
 
 126 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 say to her, because she either did not know, 01 
 seemed not to know, what they meant. But, upon 
 the whole, the table-talk ran on in a somewhat tur 
 bid current after, as before, her advent. She con 
 tented herself with dexterously leading it now and 
 then into a new channel without apparently oppos 
 ing it ; and often a humorous observation from her 
 would have a happy effect in causing a burst of 
 light laughter, which would clear the heavy, lurid 
 atmosphere. She never seemed to listen with the 
 slightest interest to a gossipy story ; and her little 
 air of civility was so evidently for the speaker, and 
 not for his theme, that this also was sometimes 
 mildly repressive. She talked with Rose cheerily 
 upon subjects that interested her, drawing Gertrude 
 Peyton, the shy students, and even the twins, into 
 the conversation, so that the new element at the 
 table was at least perceptible. Still, as she herself 
 very accurately reasoned, these were nearly all thor 
 oughly seasoned souls ; at all events, too old to be 
 easily trained in new directions. She, therefore, 
 was kind to all, and harmless and wise, and did not 
 try to make the crooked straight, but only to keep 
 the straight from becoming crooked. 
 
 " God save me from living in so small a world ! " 
 cried Rose passionately, as they came in from 
 dinner one day, after an unusually brilliant and 
 varied dissertation from Mrs. Vivien. It was the 
 Thursday she had been to see Mrs. Raymond, and 
 having had the benefit of a rehearsal, played her 
 part marvellously well. All her stories gained
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 127 
 
 flavor with repetition, and Mrs. Raymond 3 elegant 
 repose of manner would have been for once sadly 
 shaken had she known how she figured in the 
 sparkling recital. There had been so very much 
 of it, even Miss Lennox looked weary and pained ; 
 and Rose's impetuous spirit had long since flung out 
 its crimson banners of protest and defiance, when 
 aunt and niece withdrew. 
 
 " God save me from living in so small a world ! " 
 exclaimed Rose, holding herself erect, and throwing 
 up her head as if to draw a freer breath. 
 
 "Amen!" said the old lady softly, making no 
 further comment. 
 
 Rose paced the room, at first swiftly, gradually 
 with less vehemence, then suddenly stopped, with a 
 little apologetic laugh. 
 
 ' ' Of course I know I am too foolish to be so 
 excited about things that do not concern me," 
 she remarked. 
 
 " It would seem so, dear." 
 
 " But that woman, I have never known any thing 
 like her. She makes my head feel like a kaleido 
 scope. Aunt Harriet is bad enough, but even she 
 is not mean." 
 
 "That is true," said Miss Lennox cordially. 
 " She has never been fond of petty gossip. She is 
 too strong for that." 
 
 Some one knocked ; and Gertrude came rapidly in, 
 more joyous than her wont, and with a faint color 
 .n her cheeks. She carried a large music-roll. 
 
 Rosamond sprang eagerly to welcome her.
 
 128 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " I am so glad ! We missed you at dinner. 
 Where were you? We had roast chicken and 
 vivisection." 
 
 " I was at the Conservatory rehearsal. I had to 
 play my concerto and sing : you know the concert is 
 next week. They praised me ; and I have come 
 back ' puffed up with majestick pride,' like Walter 
 Scott's ' Maidie.' And I have been spared the vivi 
 section. I suppose you mean the Vivien woman's," 
 she said contemptuously. 
 
 "Have you had any thing to eat, my dear?" 
 was aunt Serena's pertinent inquiry. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; " and Gertrude smiled gratefully. It 
 was delicious to feel that anybody cared whether she 
 was hungry or not. " Frau Rudolph gave me a 
 princely lunch at twelve. She is a good old soul." 
 The girl's face looked younger and softer than when 
 they first saw her. 
 
 ' ' Frau Rudolph is a beautiful product of a high 
 civilization," said Rose, taking Gertrude's hands 
 affectionately. " But I am a savage of the Western 
 wilds. Perhaps if you would sing to me it would 
 have a humanizing effect." 
 
 And Gertrude sang. As her strong, sweet con 
 tralto voice filled the room, peace descended upon it. 
 They forgot the small and ignoble. They ceased to 
 hear the jarring world-noises. "It is like the Song 
 of Life of the young Sun-god," thought Rose. She 
 was half kneeling on cushions at her aunt's feet in 
 the recessed window. She looked up at the steep 
 red roofs. The sun streamed down warmly upon
 
 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 them. The sky looked far off, cloudless, and calm. 
 " It is not worth while to care about the other 
 things," she thought. " They are not real. These 
 are the real things, love and faith and nobleness. 
 These are life." Her eyes grew moist : she laid 
 her head on aunt Serena's knee. Gertrude sang on. 
 There was an exultant ring in her voice to-day, a 
 paean of victory. 
 
 She paused, struck a few fitful chords, and began 
 in a different strain. 
 
 ,,err, fdjufee ntidj bor iljm," 
 
 she sang, in a low, passionate voice. Masini's 
 love-song, more than two centuries old, came welling 
 up from the depths of her heart ; and little, untried, 
 innocent Rose trembled, responsive to its power 
 and pathos. 
 
 " For his eyes haunt me, his sweet voice stirs my 
 soul," moans the woman's wounded heart. " I can 
 not resist him, yet I dare not listen to him. Lord, 
 do thou save me from him, that he may never love 
 
 me." 
 
 ,,err, fcfjii^e mid) &or iljm, 
 2)afj er mid) nur nid)t Uebt." 
 
 and the prayer rang out in a wild abandonment of 
 love and pain. 
 
 "Thou alone seest my tears when his eye smiles 
 upon me, when but his light breath touches me. 
 Thou knowest my rapture and my woe." 
 
 No wonder then that they heard no knock. Frau 
 Rudolph bustled in, in her usual cheery fashion,
 
 130 AUNT 8EEENA. 
 
 bringing cards and ushering in visitors simultane 
 ously. "Mrs. Raymond and Mr. Sydney Bruce," 
 she announced. 
 
 Miss Lennox, in whose delicate cheeks the music 
 had brought a sweet flush, went quickly forward to 
 greet her guests ; and Rose followed with a rapt soft 
 ness on her face, the passionate prayer of the old 
 love-song still echoing in her ears. 
 
 " She is lovelier so," thought Sydney, as the 
 grave ceremonies of presentation took place. " She 
 is adorable." Gertrude rose, but remained behind 
 the piano, stiff, and coldly on guard, until aunt 
 Serena's gentle voice called, 
 
 "Miss Peyton! Mrs. Raymond, let me intro 
 duce our friend Miss Peyton, our first friend in 
 Wyubnrg," she added sweetly. Rose had solemnly 
 resolved at dinner never to like this much-talked-of 
 Mrs. Raymond. Any person to whom Mrs. Vivien 
 constantly and familiarly alluded as an intimate 
 friend, was, in Rose's opinion, irreparably compro 
 mised. But the grace and unaffected cordiality with 
 which Mrs. Raymond extended her hand to Miss 
 Peyton, remembering distinctly where they had met 
 and the pleasure her beautiful voice had given, com 
 pletely disarmed Gertrude's gallant champion. 
 
 Her sudden look of delight did not escape Syd 
 ney, whose observant eyes saw, without seeming to 
 see, every change of color, every shade of feeling, on 
 her lovely, varying face. 
 
 The conversation began naturally with the morn 
 ing meeting at the market, then, on the part of the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 131 
 
 two older ladies, wandered off from Wynburg to 
 people and things at home ; while Mr. Bruce, turn 
 ing to Miss Pej'ton, talked of her music with a sym 
 pathetic knowledge of the subject and a deference to 
 her opinions which made Rosamond ecstatic. She 
 was so used to feeling indignant on Gertrude's ac 
 count that this perfect courtesy seemed an enchant 
 ing thing to her. She was more than content to 
 sit quietly near, and see Gertrude appreciated. At 
 every bright, pertinent remark made by Miss Pey 
 ton, Rosamond would look Mr. Bruce full in the 
 face, to be sure that it was not lost upon him. " Is 
 she not charming ? ' ' her unconscious eyes were con 
 tinually asking ; and his manner, with its grave and 
 kind response, expressed such approval of her 
 friend, that Rose began to feel that this Mr. Sydney 
 Bruce was a person of extraordinary discernment. 
 She had instinctive confidence in him. It seemed as 
 if she had always known him. There was something 
 natural in listening to him and Gertrude. It was as 
 if she had been doing only that for ages. She felt 
 very gentle and calm and at rest, and was quite un 
 aware that she was telegraphing every emotion to 
 him. How pretty and dainty Gertrude was, and 
 how cleverly she was talking. What a strong, fine 
 head Mr. Bruce had. She scrutinized it with un 
 disguised interest. What picture was it like ? She 
 held her own pretty little head on one side as she 
 attentively studied his. Her face was as soft, fresh, 
 innocent, and untroubled as a happy child's. He 
 turned, and met her eyes. " You are wondering if 
 we have met before to-day, Miss Wellesley? "
 
 132 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " No," she said simpty. " I remember you per* 
 fectly. I saw you at Northbrooke once." 
 
 " I saw you at Northbrooke more than once." 
 
 " I did not know that," she said brightly. 
 
 " Once by the school. Once you were riding. 
 And still another time I saw you." He spoke gen 
 tly and gravely. 
 
 "Ah," sighed Rose, "then you must have seen 
 my beautiful Aloha." 
 
 "Yes, I saw him." 
 
 " Is that your horse? " asked Gertrude. " What 
 an odd, pretty name." 
 
 " It means ' Love to you,' " explained Rose seri 
 ously, looking first at Gertrude, then at Sydney. 
 " Aloha Love to you," she repeated, lingering a 
 little on the soft words, and looking him innocently 
 in the face. There was a sudden gleam in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "It is Hawaiian," she went on. " It is the 
 greeting in the Sandwich Islands. Is it not sweeter 
 than all other greetings in the world? Alolia is the 
 common daiby greeting, you know. It is used care 
 lessly, a gentleman from the islands told me, like 
 our good-morning or good-by ; but the word ex 
 presses affection and kindness, not with precision, 
 but vaguely deliriously. It is like the fragrance 
 of a flower, not the flower itself. The peasant may 
 say it to the king, and the king to the peasant. 
 Then, there is Alolia nui. That is a little nearer 
 and dearer. And Alolia nui loa means all that can 
 be expressed of kve, reverence, intimacy, and devo-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 133 
 
 tion. Aloha's real name is Aloha Nui Loa," she 
 added soberly. " But I only call him that on very 
 solemn occasions." 
 
 " When you bade him farewell, I presume," said 
 Mr. Bruce. 
 
 "Yes," she said quickly. "But how could you 
 know? I cried," she confessed in her child- like 
 way. "I went out to his stable the morning we 
 left. I put my arms round his neck, and cried, and 
 talked to him, and kissed him good-by. It was 
 my one grief in coming away. I knew he under 
 stood. I am sure he misses me," and she looked 
 to Sydney for confirmation. 
 
 " Unquestionably," he responded with strong em 
 phasis. "But, Miss Wellesley, your farewell to 
 Aloha reminds me of a German legend in which 
 there is also a maiden who loved her beautiful horse, 
 and stole into his stall before dawn to tell him her 
 troubles." 
 
 "Did he help her?" Rose asked in good faith. 
 " Aloha has often given me good advice." 
 
 ' ' He did more than that ; and her griefs were 
 greater than yours, I think," he said soberly. 
 " Shall I tell you about it? " 
 
 ' Why, this is idyllic," though! Mrs. Raymond, 
 amused, hearing the last remarks. "My reticent 
 brother telling fairy-tales to youth." 
 
 "According to the poem, the maiden steals into 
 Ms stall before dawn, like you, Miss Wellesley," 
 Mr. Bruce related. " Her horse has a silver bridle. 
 He is shod with pure gold, and his girth is edged 
 with pearls."
 
 134 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " Aloha is a philosopher. He would not care for 
 finery," Rose commented with dignitj-. 
 
 " She combs his mane with a golden comb, and 
 braids it with pearls," Sydney went on. " She 
 makes a cup of her little white hand, and he drinks 
 rich Burgundy wine from it." 
 
 " Miss "Wellesley's hand would make a tantalizing 
 cup for an animal consumed with thirst," laughed 
 Gertrude. 
 
 Rose wrinkled up her soft palm with an air of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " It's a very good cup," she said. Sydney scru 
 tinized it as if he were merely considering its prac 
 tical utility . " If she holds it out a moment longer 
 I shall kiss it," he thought ; and the queer little flash 
 came in his eyes again. 
 
 "A man does not look like that for nothing," 
 mused wise Gertrude. " But if I had not seen it 
 twice, I should think I was dreaming, he is so 
 strong and calm." 
 
 " I will try the Burgundy," said the unconscious 
 Rose. "I hope Aloha will like it, it sounds so 
 poetical. He is very partial to sugar, and, I fear it 
 is a plebeian taste, to carrots." 
 
 " This horse drinks rich, red Burgundy wine from 
 Hs mistress's hand," the faithful chronicler con 
 tinued. " Then she throws her arm round his neck, 
 lays her cheek against him ; and her warm tears flow 
 fast." 
 
 " That is like me," nodded Rosamond. 
 
 " His head droops lovingly."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 135 
 
 " Like Aloha," she said softly. 
 
 " And she whispers to him all her griefs." 
 
 ,,9TJeiu ftoljcS 3toJ3, ntcin tvcucS $ofj, 
 Sir flage id) all mein Setb." 
 
 " ' I tell thee all my woes,' she says. ' They 
 will force me to marry the false and hated man. 
 My fleet, strong steed, my noble steed, save me this 
 day or never.' And the horse, in his wrath, breaks 
 asunder his golden halter, then bends his slender 
 knee before his mistress, looks long at her with im 
 ploring eyes full of undreamed-of meaning, and lays 
 his head at her feet. She kisses him, murmuring, 
 * O save me, my faithful one ! ' and springs into the 
 saddle." 
 
 " That is all like Aloha," cried Eose with tender 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Sydney smiled kindly. 
 
 The two other ladies were now listening with much 
 amusement. 
 
 "Then, through the gray morning twilight they 
 fled. They leave behind them," says the poem, 
 ' ' the swallow in his swiftest flight ; and the angry 
 s'.orm, riding above on the clouds, is powerless to 
 overtake them. The marvellous horse never relaxes 
 his speed. They reach the dark elfin-wood. They 
 reach the diamond elfin-castle. In the court the 
 horse bends his knee, and waits motionless for his 
 mistress to dismount. As she throws her arms 
 round him once more, to thank him and bless him 
 for saving her, she finds herself clasping the beauti 
 ful prince of the elves, who makes her his bride.
 
 136 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Rose, with real disappointment 
 in her voice, " but she lost her horse." 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 " You think a fairy prince a poor exchange, Miss 
 Wellesley," remarked Mrs. Raymond. 
 
 " Yes, for such a horse as that or Aloha," Rose 
 answered quite earnestly. 
 
 "Perhaps we might make a compromise," sug 
 gested Mrs. Raymond. " His elfin highness in gra 
 cious mood may transform himself now and then 
 into the form in which he so long served his lady 
 love." 
 
 " But then she would lose her prince," said Rose. 
 
 "You are really very difficult, Miss Wellesley," 
 remarked Sydney. " Pray, how would you like the 
 story to end? " 
 
 Rose laughed. " I would have the maiden keep 
 her horse and find her prince." 
 
 "That is less poetical," persisted Mr. Bruce; 
 " but it may be possible to arrange it." 
 
 " Please try," said Rose gayly. " You have said 
 enough already to make me feel very shy towards 
 Aloha. I am sure I shall approach him with trepi 
 dation, until he convinces me there is nothing super 
 natural about him." 
 
 " I will answer for Aloha's pedigree, my dear," 
 remarked her aunt. " He comes of staid, respecta 
 ble English stock, with a racer or two among his 
 distinguished sires, but no elves. His family would 
 feel horrified and insulted at so wild a sugges 
 tion."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 137 
 
 " "We must arrange some rides," said Mrs. Ray 
 mond affably. " My Pearl is not your Aloha, Miss 
 Wellesley ; but she is a ver} 7 good animal. ' ' Rose 
 thanked her with unfeigned delight. ' ' And you 
 ride too, Miss Peyton? " 
 
 Gertrude colored. " I have ridden years ago," 
 she said " at home, but never here." 
 
 " Then it is quite time you should begin again," 
 returned Mrs. Raymond with friendly tyranny. 
 " Mephisto will do," she added, as Gertrude smiled. 
 Oh, do not think he snorts fire and brimstone. He 
 is far less fiery than Pearl, to tell the truth. But 
 that's one of the inconsistencies of life. Things 
 and people so rarely have appropriate names," she 
 said lightly, rising to go. 
 
 " Oh, do not say no ! " she begged, as Gertrude 
 was about to speak. " I have set my heart on some 
 riding parties. There are delightful roads about 
 here, and sometimes we can ride till Christmas. 
 This fall promises well, it is so mild. But we will 
 arrange every thing later. Mind you do not disap 
 point me, Miss Peyton." 
 
 " I beg you will not disappoint my sister or me, 
 Miss Peyton," said Sydney in his kind, grave way. 
 "She has not mentioned me. She takes me for 
 granted. But it is only fair to tell you that she 
 means me to go." 
 
 " I thank you -both. I will consider it," said 
 Gertrude, hesitating and troubled. Then, " I will 
 talk with Miss Lennox about it," she added with 
 more decision, " and I shall be glad to do what sh) 
 thinks best."
 
 138 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Aunt Serena, with an air of ownership, drew the 
 young girl's hand within her arm. 
 
 Rosamond's quick glance at Sydney said, ' ( See 
 how things trouble this poor, dear Gertrude." 
 
 "I know it all," was his silent, sympathetic re- 
 eponse. 
 
 " Lovely beings," said Rose, as the door closed. 
 " I bask in their sunshine." 
 
 "Mrs. Vivien cannot reach you now," said Ger 
 trude. 
 
 " My dear," replied Rose, " you are going to 
 ride Mephisto, and I am going to ride Pearl. I am 
 scarcely aware that Mrs. Vivien exists." 
 
 Gertrude smiled a little sadly. 
 
 " I have promised Mrs. Raymond," remarked 
 aunt Serena, watching her narrowly, " to return her 
 visit immediately, this very week, and to bring you 
 both. You can come with us Saturday, can you 
 not? She is a most charming woman, and you seem 
 to have quite won her heart : " she patted Gertrude's 
 hand affectionately. 
 
 " You are all angels," exclaimed the girl, and 
 abruptly left the room.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go ? " 
 Midsummer-Night's Dream. 
 
 " Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake 
 Came as through bubbling honey." 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 AUNT SERENA with quietly folded hands sat 
 waiting for Rose and coffee. Miss Lennox 
 was an early riser. She liked a still half-hour with 
 herself before the day seized her, and gave her to 
 other people. Some of the long casements were 
 flung wide open. The room had too many windows : 
 it was audaciously opposed to architectural rules. 
 But, like certain music full of forbidden consecutive 
 fifths, like a pretty woman with flagrantly irregular 
 features, it nevertheless succeeded in being charm 
 ing. The sunshine streamed in boldly on the table 
 laid for breakfast, gave an added lustre to Frau 
 Rudolph's stout little silver cream-pitcher, and tried 
 the effect of an aureole round aunt Serena's saint 
 like head. In the freshness of the morning there 
 was no chill. 
 
 " If this is our bleak November translated into 
 German, I like it," she mused. " I suppose the 
 wind has already begun its fall symphony in my 
 high-crested oaks. How I love all the sweet, mel-
 
 140 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 ancholy voices of the Nest ! Yet it is well that we 
 came here: it is well." She looked up with an 
 ineffably sweet smile, as if communing with unseen 
 angels. She often wore this look in her still half- 
 hours. She was thinking of Rosamond in all her 
 rich fulness of life. She was with her own dead, 
 beautiful past. 
 
 " My dear ones, my dear lost ones, I would have 
 your approval of my guidance of our child. That 
 is my aspiration. That has ever been my aim. 
 You, my sister, you, my brother, and you, my 
 noblest and strongest, whom I lost when we were 
 3 7 oung, dim ages ago. Ah, I thought the great 
 world was dead, because one poor stricken heart 
 staggered under its burden. Yet the world slowly 
 grew alive again, as it always does if one waits. 
 First I heard without pain the rippling joy in my 
 sister's voice, and next I found, myself watching the 
 opening leaves ; and I knew my world was not dead, 
 only cold and torpid. Then, after years, my little 
 Rose breathed upon it with her balmy, baby breath, 
 and filled it with warmth and fragrance ; and with 
 her growing life, my life became beautiful. She has 
 grown in freedom, that her spirit might develop as 
 nature willed. She has been aided, never forced or 
 stunted. She is strong and upright. She is loving 
 and pitiful, and ah, so sweet a sight to my old 
 eyes ! But it is a solemn thing to guide a young 
 soul. Dear ones, without you all, I could not have 
 done it. I have kept you near. I have thought 
 your thoughts. You have lived on in my life.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 141 
 
 You live on in our child's. I have been only 
 your steward. I have cared for your priceless 
 treasure. 
 
 "And now I am looking back on her happy year? 
 of girlhood, and almost bidding them farewell for 
 her, tho bright, glad years. A larger life is dawning 
 before her, though she does not know. Her young 
 eyes do not discern the rosy signs of promise. But 
 I have seen. The fairy tale has begun. The old 
 godmother sees the true prince. The prince sees 
 the maiden. The maiden is a happy, simple thing, 
 and sees only the cowslips in her path. Who knows 
 if she will look up ? Yet such a wooer rarely woos 
 in vain. He talked with Gertrude, but he watched 
 my Rose. There she is, my bonny little cowslip 
 girl!" 
 
 Rose came lightly in, her bright face all aglow, 
 and bent her pretty head for her morning kiss. 
 Presently buxom Biibele appeared with the coffee 
 and some letters. 
 
 "Two for you, -and an elephantine one for me 
 from Harold. I wonder what he has to say for him 
 self; " and Rose, taking her place at the little table 
 opposite her aunt, opened her large, thick letter with 
 no frantic signs of haste. 
 
 But her interest evidently increased with the read 
 ing, and her face changed constantly. She puckered 
 up her mouth like a bewildered child, smiled, dim 
 pled, frowned, and finally exclaimed, 
 
 " Aunt Serena, that boy is actually coming ! " 
 
 Miss Lennox glanced up composedly from a
 
 142 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 mournful letter from her trusty John, whose views, 
 alwa}*s sufficiently pessimistic, were now, owing to 
 her absence, tinged with black despair. The only 
 gleam of cheerfulness which enlivened his atrabi 1 - 
 ious production was apparent in his account of a 
 certain widow Tompkins's dissatisfaction with the 
 flannels provided for her winter- wear by "Miss Len 
 nox. "You tell her," says she, and John with 
 punctilious exactness delivers the woman's ungra 
 cious message to her benefactor, "You tell her 
 I don't say them flannels ain't better'n nothin', 
 but I do say they ain't what I kalkerlated they was 
 a-goin' to be." Taught by long experience with 
 indigent fellow-creatures, Miss Lennox knew grati 
 tude to be rather an attribute of the well-born soul 
 than of the chronic pauper, and never counted in the 
 least upon it in her many benevolent schemes. 
 " Why should they be grateful? " she thought : " I 
 do not believe I should be in their circumstances." 
 She also reasoned that widow Tompkins, when a 
 flannel-less person, had idealized- the coveted good. 
 Attaining it after a life-time of longing, possession 
 had cooled her ardor. "The main thing is, that 
 they keep her rheumatic old bones warm," reflected 
 sensible aunt Serena, finding nothing unnatural in 
 the widow's sentiments. "But," raising her ej T e- 
 brows doubtfully, " why my old John should fairly 
 gloat over her discontent, and luxuriate in the wrath 
 with which she regards me and my humble offerings, 
 I cannot imagine ; ' ' and meditating with puzzled 
 amusement upon this intricacy of human nature, she
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 143 
 
 had about concluded that it was quite btyond the 
 reach of her innocent philosophic probings, when 
 Rose spoke. 
 
 " He is not coming yet, of course," Miss Lennox 
 answered with calm conviction, her mind still dwell- 
 irg on the involved Tompkins problem. 
 
 "But he is, aunt Serena;" and Rose laughed, 
 yet looked a little indignant. "He is coming im 
 mediately. That is the extraordinary part of it. 
 It is the craziest possible letter. Do read it." 
 
 Aunt Serena put on her spectacles, and read. 
 
 The letter bubbled over with animal spirits, and 
 was an extravagant recital of what the writer seemed 
 to consider a three-months' campaign, and final 
 glorious victory, the strictby historical narrative 
 being frequently interpolated with little bursts of 
 eager boyish affection for Rose. 
 
 Harold began by solemnly expressing the hope 
 that Rose might at last be convinced of the earnest 
 ness and depth of his feelings, since, when the letter 
 reached her, he would already be on his way to 
 Wynburg. Life away from her was worthless. He 
 thought of her days and dreamed of her nights, in 
 short, could not exist without her. Then, abruptly 
 ceasing his amorous plaint, with suppressed exulta 
 tion he begged her and dear, kind aunt Serena not to 
 be horrified to learn that he was " suspended." He 
 had to do it himself, he ingenuously assured them, 
 because he could not manage the thing in any other 
 way. He was determined to come to Rose, and 
 his mother absolutely refused to let him go before
 
 144 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 commencement. "When he had left college, he 
 could travel; not before." Here Rose figured as 
 his guiding-star, and there was a short paragraph 
 of fine writing. Resuming his direct narrative, he 
 related his arguments with his mother, and then- 
 futility . His faculties, he had modestly promised 
 her, would ripen to such a degree, if she would 
 permit him to " cut this half," as he called it, that 
 he would graduate the following year with all the 
 honors, to the everlasting glory of the name of 
 Thornton. He quoted many learned authorities 
 against finishing one's university course too young, 
 and assured her of his conviction that his was the 
 kind of brain that matures slowly. This last fact 
 she generously admitted, but remained otherwise 
 unconvinced. Women are not logical, he reflected. 
 It is useless to appeal to them in this purely intel 
 lectual manner. They should be influenced through 
 their affections, their kind hearts. Acting upon 
 this idea, he then had dyspepsia in a most aggra 
 vated form. He heroically subsisted upon dry toast 
 and tea at home, his young viking frame being 
 sustained by oyster suppers elsewhere. His only 
 books were medical works ; his only conversation 
 depressed and hypochondriac in the extreme. He 
 deplored the increasing prevalence of dyspepsia 
 among overworked men of genius, and stated that 
 complete change of air, diversion, and moderate 
 exercise were known to have beneficial effects if the 
 patient were still young, and the disease had not 
 become chronic. He had suffered assiduously about
 
 AUNT SERENA. 145 
 
 three weeks ; when one day his mother laughed 
 heartily in his face, and told him he was really too 
 insolently brown and ruddy to attempt that role. 
 
 Remembering with satisfaction that he had seen 
 robust-looking men preyed upon by dangerous bron 
 chial troubles, he now took a violent cold. He 
 entertained strong hopes of success by means of his 
 new malady, because his mother had a nervous 
 dread of consumption. He set an alarm-clock to 
 wake him at three, mornings, and, wrapped in his 
 dressing-gown, crawled in a feeble and shattered 
 condition to his mother's room, piteousty begging 
 for something to stop his cough. Whether the 
 wicked schemer's heart was touched by her anxiety, 
 or whether the appearance of the family doctor in 
 the little comedy prevented further histrionic suc 
 cesses, the bronchial difficulty, like the dyspepsia, 
 was of brief duration. Mrs. Thornton having de 
 sired an examination of her dear boy's chest, " old 
 Fleming and I," Harold related with huge enjoy 
 ment of the discreditable episode, "went through 
 the performance with profound gravity ; but his very 
 stethoscope was bursting with suppressed laughter." 
 
 The bad boy confessed that he had then shaken 
 hands with the medical man, and said, with a pa 
 thetic tremor in his voice, 
 
 " Whatever you may have discovered, doctor, I 
 beg that you will not needlessly alarm my mother ; " 
 to which the doctor dryly replied, " On the con 
 trary, my dear Thornton, I shall endeavor to re 
 assure her." But the good doctor, it seems, had a
 
 {46 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 certain weak liking for the young sinner ; for, while 
 he dispelled Mrs. Thornton's fears, he did not 
 inform her that her son coughed, " not wisely but 
 too well," from the most superbly vigorous lungs 
 that ever won a boat-race. 
 
 The mother had her suspicions now and then, he 
 related ; but she evidently reproached herself for 
 doubting him. She was apt to watch him curiously 
 when his cough's hollow reverberation pained her 
 ear. He admitted he still kept it up, although it 
 was a great bore now that his last great scheme had 
 succeeded. " But I don't like to be a rascal on all 
 points," he explained, " so I continue to have occa 
 sional coughing paroxysms as a proof of integrity." 
 
 Here he sought to accentuate his sublime motive ; 
 and Rose, much to her disgust, became a loadstone 
 about which was wreathed a profusion of flowery 
 rhetoric. 
 
 Relapsing into his every-day style, "Anybody 
 but } T OU, Rose," he complained, " would be touched 
 by such faithfulness ; but I suppose you will only 
 laugh. After all, genius consists in being master 
 of your own situation, not of some other fellow's. 
 Even a Greek hero could not do more than meet the 
 Greek heroic perils in his Greek heroic path. If I 
 had been Jacob, I might have distinguished myself 
 in a georgic atmosphere, serving seven years among 
 wells and fields, flocks and herds. As a mediaeval 
 knight, I would have rescued my lady-love from the 
 tyrant's dungeon-keep. My life-conditions, being 
 modern and prosaic, have demanded of me modern
 
 AUNT SERENA. 147 
 
 and prosaic action. But you should not on that 
 account undervalue me, Rose ; for you alone have 
 been my inspiiation. I have surmounted all obsta 
 cles, and am coming straight to you." 
 
 The main chronicle continued with the proud 
 statement that the strategic feat which had gained 
 the victory was worthy of a Moltke. It was simple, 
 like all that is truly great. Harold had absented 
 himself continually from recitation. He had disre 
 garded admonition and complaint. He conspicu 
 ously walked' about with two most adventurous 
 sophomores, and was even seen with them the night 
 that they stole a worthy farmer's turkeys. He was 
 proved innocent of the evil deed ; yet was repri 
 manded for conduct unbecoming a senior abd a 
 gentleman, and received the rebuke with a stolidity 
 which could proceed only from a hardened and 
 depraved nature. The professors, who knew him 
 well, began to be puzzled. They feared his moral 
 plilegma was a S3'mptom of brain-disease. Several 
 of them tried to influence him, but still he per 
 sistently neglected his duties. One evening Profes 
 sor Ross " a very good fellow," Harold deigned 
 to call him came solemnly to his room, and held a 
 long dissertation. He lamented his young friend's 
 downward course, and appealed feelingly to his 
 self-respect, ambition, and honor. Harold listened 
 with heavy indifference as long as possible, then 
 was seized with uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 "Why, my honor's all right," he stammered; 
 "but don't you see? I want to go to Europe."
 
 148 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Professor Ross stared. A light broke over his 
 face. He was young himself. The two sat and 
 looked at each other. " Don't say any more, Thorn 
 ton. For Heaven's sake don't confide in me, my 
 dear boy," he said solemnly. After a pause, "Arc 
 you going to graduate tolerably well next year, 
 Thornton?" 
 
 " With a wreath round my neck, the pet lamb of 
 the faculty. This year I am going to Europe," was 
 the dogged answer. 
 
 Ross laughed. "I believe you," he said, shook 
 hands cordially with Harold, and went out. The 
 next week he received the reward of his labors. 
 He was suspended for six months. 
 
 " Ross is the very best fellow I ever saw," coolly 
 commented the unprincipled youth. "He is as 
 humane as if he were not professor of mathematics 
 and one's natural enemy. 
 
 The closing pages seemed to shout and leap for 
 joy. A person more thoroughly satisfied with his 
 imperfect self than Harold Thornton it would be 
 difficult to imagine. How his mother was inconsol 
 able, and how cleverly he reasoned with her ; how 
 he reminded her she had said he might travel when 
 he had left college, and had made no conditions as 
 to the manner of leaving ; and how she then posi 
 tively declared it was certainly not her intention to 
 reward his disgraceful conduct by giving him money 
 enough for a European trip, were all painted in 
 vivid miniature. Then the idea which illumined 
 his being like an electric light, " ' I will smite the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 149 
 
 rock. I will appeal to aunt Harriet,' was the stu 
 pendous thought that saved me." 
 
 He rode at full speed to Northbrooke. He told 
 his aunt the unvarnished tale of his misdeeds. Ho 
 sought to extenuate neither his nefarious consump 
 tive and dyspeptic designs, nor his villanous course 
 at the university. He boldly asked her to lend him 
 the money, and did not blush to name a large 
 amount. 
 
 "And what do you think? " he continued raptur 
 ously. "The old lady came down with it like a 
 trump. I observed several grim, shadowy smiles 
 during my ingenuous recital, and once a gurgle in her 
 throat suggested a laugh ; but she sternly choked it 
 into a cough, and it did not dare make itself heard 
 again. She is a shadow herself, gray as a wraith in 
 the twilight, and hard as flint. But she has done 
 the handsome thing this time. Whether she enjoj's 
 outwitting the others, my lady-mother included, 
 whether she has somewhere in her rugged breast a 
 sneaking fondness for me, or whether she has a 
 sympathetic comprehension of my desire to see you, 
 I do not know ; possibly all three. But I am sure 
 she is hungering for you. She never once men 
 tioned your name. When I spoke of you, she 
 looked with a cold, fixed gaze out of the window. 
 Of course I found her in the Den. I was so bold as 
 to ask her if she saw your ghost under the elms : to 
 which she made this supremely irrelevant answer, 
 
 " ' Serena Lennox is a fool ; ' and may dear aunt 
 Serena forgive me for repeating \his blasphemy.
 
 150 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Aunt Harriet has aged rapidly since you saw her. 
 She stitches more, and grows more taciturn each 
 day. What a ghastly array of dreary thoughts she 
 lias stitched into those interminable seams ! I was 
 astonished to find myself watching her with a sensa 
 tion of pity." 
 
 Finding he had gained this powerful ally, his 
 mother, he said, had made no further resistance. 
 " 'It is useless to oppose fate,' she exclaimed with 
 a kind of classic Greek-chorus piety. ' I propose 
 Harriet disposes.' ' So she kissed ard forgave her 
 invincible hero, who hazarded the opinion that she 
 was in reality glad enough to let him go, " only she 
 doesn't think it respectable to be suspended ; and, 
 making due allowance for a mother's sensitiveness, 
 I don't suppose it is ! " 
 
 Then came a specimen of his finest writing, in 
 which Rose in rapid alternation was his oasis, his 
 haven of rest, and his heart's flower. After which 
 the letter concluded solemnly with, 
 
 "Will you have a little welcome for me, Rose? 
 Mine is indeed no boyish fancy, as you have some 
 times thought. You must at last concede that it is 
 not. But if you still refuse to believe in me, I will 
 try to be patient. The years that shall make me 
 mor3 of a man shall prove the strength and faithful 
 ness of iny devotion, and shall help me win 
 you." 
 
 Miss ^ennox attentively studied this highly colored 
 and variegated production from beginning to end. 
 Some passages she read twice. Then, folding it
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 151 
 
 carefully, and laying it upon John's dolorous epistle, 
 she quietly remarked, 
 
 " I call this a most entertaining mail." 
 
 "To go to such extremes," began Rose, "to 
 play such jokes on aunt Lucy, to leave college his 
 very last year, and then to declare it is all on my 
 account. I am thoroughly displeased with him. 
 How dares he call me such names ! ' ' She stared 
 helplessly at her aunt. 
 
 "He is very much attached to 3 r ou, my dear." 
 Miss Lennox looked amused. 
 
 "Of coui'se he is. But I have no patience when 
 he is loverish. Perhaps I have a hard heart, aunt 
 Serena," the girl said with much seriousness ; " but 
 I am simply incensed when he writes such rhap 
 sodies about me. It doesn't sound real, and it's 
 ridiculous ; ' ' and Rose helped herself to bread and 
 butter. 
 
 Miss Lennox smiled. 
 
 " After all, it's only Harold," Rose went on. She 
 took up the condemned missive, and re-read parts of 
 it. Her amusement swept away her resentment. 
 She forgot the obnoxious tenderness, and her own 
 heavy responsibility as guiding-star, loadstone, and 
 oasis, haven of rest and heart's flower to this erratic 
 young man, and began to take immense delight in 
 his roguery. 
 
 " How he must have enjoyed it! " she exclaimed 
 in great glee, full of comprehension and sympathy 
 for her life-long comrade. "He is always making 
 some sort of excitement. I suppose it is his nature.
 
 152 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 He has been very absurd, but I shall be delighted to 
 see him," and she stirred her coffee with a contented 
 air. "I will show that letter to Gertrude. She 
 will appreciate it. Oh," she exclaimed, " how vex 
 atious ! I cannot, can I, aunt Serena ? I had for 
 gotten the silly part. Do you think I could read it 
 to her and skip the lovering ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps it would be wiser not to try. Letters* 
 rarely speak to a stranger with the writer's true 
 voice. They frequently have a rather mischievous 
 ventriloquism in them. We know Harold, and his 
 letter does not deceive us. But it would not repre 
 sent him fairly to Gertrude." 
 
 "No," acquiesced Rose. " She would think him 
 hopelessly deranged, and the dear boy really does 
 have lucid intervals. And then there's aunt Harriet. 
 She is a great tribulation. But then," laughing, 
 "she is our tribulation. She ought not to be re 
 vealed to the world." 
 
 " She would never criticise you, or even me, out 
 of her own family ; " and aunt Serena spoke her in 
 dulgent word for the adversary. " She is an unusual 
 woman. She has a strong character. She reminds 
 me of several famous historical figures." 
 
 " So she does me," laughed Rose. " But it would 
 be very disrespectful if I should mention which ones. 
 Of course it does not occur to me to speak freely of 
 either aunt Harriet or Harold, except to Gertrude. 
 But I confess I am inclined to chatter in the freest 
 way to her. There is something very sweet in Ger 
 trude's way of listening. She gives one that long,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 163 
 
 grave look, then suddenly smiles all over her face. 
 Did you not notice her pretty manner with Mr. 
 Bruce? I know he liked her ; " and the young girl 
 smiled with generous delight. 
 
 " I think they both did. Gertrude is very attrac 
 tive. She has a fine simplicity. She may come 
 to-day to talk with me, I think. Perhaps that 's 
 she, dear," Miss Lennox added as she heard a 
 knock. Rose sprang up eagerly, with outstretched 
 hands, and met Mrs. Vivien. 
 
 " Good-morning, dear Miss Wellesley. You're 
 looking sunny as the sunshine this beautiful day," 
 said the little lady sweetly. " Good-morning, dear 
 Miss Lennox. You did not expect so early a visit, 
 now, did you ? But I do like to flit freely in and out 
 of my friends' homes and hearts. You'll very soon 
 see through poor little me, I fear. I'm not very 
 profound, do you know? I'm only a harmless little 
 thing, not deep, like clever Miss Peyton." And 
 she threw up her eyes as if language could not por 
 tray the depths of Miss Peyton's dark and inscruta 
 ble nature. " I'm content to be simply affectionate. 
 Mr. Vivien says deep women are dangerous women. 
 Give him an affectionate woman. But I suppose 
 you'll think that is only a fond husband's weak 
 ness." And she laughed a little, pleased, conscious 
 laugh. 
 
 "It is not very early, Mrs. Vivien," aunt Serena 
 answered with her courteous intonation that made 
 even an unwelcome guest feel well cared for. ' ' Ro 
 samond and I are indolent. ' ' A slightly puzzled
 
 154 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 look appeared in her brown eyes, a very brilliant 
 flash in Rosamond's ; and the girl slipped noise 
 lessly out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien had, as she spoke, drawn a low chair 
 near Miss Lennox, and seated herself with a gently 
 familiar air. The little woman was as tender and 
 youthful as a pale rose-colored cashmere morning 
 toilet could make her. 
 
 " I have come to sit a while with you," she said. 
 "I have brought my work." And she produced 
 some knitting-needles and a half-finished coarse 
 gray stocking. It properly belonged to her supply 
 of ammunition for men. At a critical moment this 
 unaesthetic object had often wielded a potent charm. 
 " She must be sincere if she knits stockings for the 
 poor," concluded the victim who had survived the 
 beguiling smiles and winning voice, and half sus 
 pected the treachery of the dark eyes, to be slain at 
 last by the fatal sophistry of the stocking. This 
 one was now eight years old. She had never yet 
 completed one, but occasionally, when travelling, 
 had left one by accident in a hotel, and then was 
 obliged to prepare another. She was never without 
 one. She rarely resorted to her knitting in the pre 
 sence of women ; they had a way of smiling disa 
 greeably : but this Miss Lennox, she reasoned, was 
 not like other women, and might be as trusting as 
 a great, stupid, dear man. In this Mrs. Vivien 
 erred. 
 
 " You are industrious," remarked aunt Serena. 
 
 "It is for the poor," said her guest, looking up
 
 AUNT SERENA. 155 
 
 artlessly. " I used to embroider constantly when I 
 was a girl. But Mr. Vivien likes this homely virtue, 
 and then I really prefer to feel of a little use in this 
 great busy world. There is not much I can do," 
 she added with cheerful resignation, " because of 
 my poor chest." 
 
 Aunt Serena heard her mention Mr. Vivien and 
 her chest with some surprise. They were, with the 
 stocking, Mrs. Vivien's best weapons. But aunt 
 Serena was, after all, a woman ; and they could not 
 be expected to have their full effect upon her. 
 " She is not as trusting as a man," quickly decided 
 the astute knitter, and began to speak of othei 
 matters. 
 
 " There is something I do so want to say to you, 
 Miss Lennox," she began timidly. 
 
 " I am quite at your service, Mrs. Vivien." 
 
 " But you must not misunderstand. It hurts me 
 to be misunderstood." She laid down her knitting, 
 and clasped her hands. 
 
 "I will try not to misunderstand," said aunt 
 Serena gravely. 
 
 " It is about Miss Peyton." 
 
 "Of course you know that I like and respect 
 Miss Peyton." And aunt Serena looked steadily at 
 her visitor. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mrs. Vivien fervently, "I know 
 that well, and am so glad for her ! I wanted to 
 confess to you that I have been instrumental in 
 gaining a little pleasure for her, and it ma}' be an 
 influential friend. ' '
 
 156 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 "You, Mrs. Vivien?" said aunt Serena thought 
 fully. 
 
 '-Yes, I, the giddy little butterfly." And Mrs. 
 Vivien laughed pleasantly. " I know you think me 
 giddy, and no wonder : I am so impulsive. But, 
 indeed, I haven't a bad heart. It was really noth 
 ing to do," she added modestly; "for I had the 
 opportunity, and Mrs. Raymond and I are most 
 intimate. I merely spoke of Miss Peyton to her in 
 such a way yesterday, that she began to take quite 
 an interest in the young girl." 
 
 In the calm depths of aunt Serena's most charita 
 ble soul had reposed a passive disapproval of Mrs. 
 Vivien. But the kind old lady's opinion of so much 
 flippant malice, aifectation, and other obnoxious 
 qualities, had never sought expression, or, indeed, 
 crystallized itself within her consciousness. Now 
 she was filled with generous self-reproach. "I have 
 been unjust," she thought, her past indistinct, float 
 ing impressions assuming weight and stability in 
 contrast to so much positive goodness as she now 
 recognized in her guest. 
 
 "That was kind," she hastened to say with tender 
 emphasis and a gracious warmth she had not before 
 bestowed upon Mrs. Vivien. "Allow me to say 
 that I am personally grateful to you, since I have a 
 special regard for Miss Peyton. I noticed 3'esterday 
 that Mrs. Raymond was pointedly cordial to her. 
 I take great pleasure ' ' and aunt Serena spoke 
 with gentle formality, her conscience demanding an 
 explicit recognition of the virtuous deed "in
 
 AUNT SERENA. 157 
 
 thanking you for it." She was smiling with her 
 fine, honest lips, and with her eyes, that seemed to 
 grow larger and browner with their clear look of 
 approval ; and she extended her hand, the fair, 
 frail hand of an aged gentlewoman. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien took it ; and, what is more, she took it 
 without compunction. Had she been the villain in 
 a model story, she would have been touched, either 
 by aunt Serena's generous confidence, or by her 
 gray hair. But Mrs. Vivien was not that kind of a 
 villain. She merely obeyed the instincts of her 
 nature, in which was reverence for nothing what 
 ever, and with a pretty, deprecating air, replied, 
 
 " Indeed, it was nothing. I did not say very 
 much, I assure you. Mrs. Raymond only needed to 
 have her attention turned properly in the right di 
 rection. She is a woman of the world, you know, 
 and" 
 
 "But not a worldly woman, I think," was Miss 
 Lennox's mild interruption. 
 
 "Oh, by no means!" returned the pretty little 
 knitter. " I was merely going to say she had heard 
 these unfortunate stories about Miss Peyton ; and, 
 while holding herself neutral enough, she would 
 naturally not go out of her way to refute them, 
 unless solicited." 
 
 " Of course not," aunt Serena admitted cheerily. 
 "That I understand, and so it was kind of you to 
 speak a friendly word for Gertrude. Not that I 
 consider Miss Peyton a person who is in want of 
 much support. She is a strong, self-reliant char-
 
 158 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 acter, and could take care of all of us. But she is 
 very young, and a hard worker, and needs enlivening 
 influences. A little society would be an excellent 
 thing for her ; and Mrs. Raymond is a charming 
 woman, capable of appreciating Miss Peyton, whom 
 I consider a very remarkable girl for her age.' ' 
 
 Mrs. Vivien dropped a stitch. She often dropped 
 stitches in her best work, just as it was approaching 
 completion. 
 
 It was a weakness in this adroit tactician that 
 she was apt to be confused when she heard the 
 enemy praised. A cloud of jealous resentment 
 would suddenly obscure her faculties, and lead her 
 from the path which she had chosen in the clear, 
 hard light of her brilliant malice. She had come 
 this morning with weU-digested schemes, and de 
 sired to lead up slowly, feeling her ground, to a 
 position which she hoped would command the whole 
 field. Now she made her approach with indiscreet 
 haste. 
 
 " What I have done has been with the best inten 
 tions ; and Mrs. Raymond, a married woman, in her 
 secure position is, of course, invulnerable ; so my 
 conscience is at rest on that point : but I am, I con 
 fess, a little uneasy on Miss Wellesley's account." 
 
 Aunt Serena looked intently at her. The brig lit 
 needles in the little lady's white hands flashed above 
 the rosy gown. . Her eyelids were meekly cast down. 
 The ball of gray yarn had rolled far off on the pol 
 ished floor. 
 
 " I trust that it is not any doubt of the security
 
 AUNT SERENA. 159 
 
 of Miss "Wellesley 's position that causes your uneasi 
 ness," remarked aunt Serena slowly with gentle 
 stateliness. It was her habit to speak of Rose as 
 "my niece Rosamond," often simply as "Rosa 
 mond." Her " Miss "Wellesley " was eloquent. 
 
 "You misunderstand, Miss Lennox." In the 
 tone was a saintly patience. 
 
 " I am sure I must have misunderstood. I beg 
 your pardon ; " and aunt Serena's kind smile sought 
 to rectify the error. 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 "It is strange," reflected the busy brain behind 
 the meek white eyelids, " that one goes thus far and 
 no farther with this dull old woman." 
 
 " Miss Lennox, you misunderstand, because I 
 am actuated solely by a desire to protect Miss 
 Wellesley from what can hardly be a desirable influ 
 ence. You see for yourself. I feel most kindly 
 towards Miss Peyton. I have done for her what lay 
 in my power. But that does not imply that I ap 
 prove of all that she does, or that I should be silent 
 when I feel that I ought to speak, does it? " 
 
 Aunt Serena thought of Gertrude's simple, 
 straightforward manner and brave young eyes, and 
 listened quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien was encouraged by her silence. 
 
 " You once used an apt and beautiful expression, 
 dear Miss Lennox, which has lingered in uy memory. 
 ' Any thing that could really stain the white soul 
 within her,' }*ou said the day we had that most In 
 structive conversation."
 
 160 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Aunt Serena bowed gravely. 
 
 u Now, do you think it would stain the white soul 
 within a girl," and Mrs. Vivien's voice sank to its 
 most caressing cadence, " to have a rendezvous 
 with a man, after midnight, on a stairwa}- in utter 
 darkness? and if I can solemnly affirm this to be 
 true of Miss Peyton, ought I to conceal it from you, 
 and allow, even tacitly approve of, her intimacy with 
 your niece ? ' ' 
 
 In all the sweet j r ears of aunt Serena's life she 
 had never before looked a woman in the face and 
 doubted her word. 
 
 "Mrs. Vivien," she began slowly, with an in 
 scrutable look on her fine old face, 
 
 In the corridor sang a clear voice, 
 
 " God's in his heaven 
 All's right with the world!" 
 
 " Pippa passes at the right moment," thought 
 aunt Serena. 
 
 " Mrs. Vivien," she began again, both ladies 
 had risen, "I am at a loss " 
 
 (" May Sindbad the Sailor come in? " asked Ger 
 trude at the door. The girl took one step forward, 
 and stood motionless.) 
 
 "to understand," continued Miss Lennox, 
 walking toward Gertrude, and kissing her on both 
 cheeks, " why you should care to take so much 
 trouble." 
 
 Mrs. Vivien stooped, picked up her ball of gray 
 yarn, and went out.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 " And he set at all the brazen doors 
 A doubled guard. 
 
 Yet who shall shut ou: Fate ? " 
 EDWIN ARNOLD. 
 
 
 
 " Great gifts can be given by little hands, 
 Since of all gifts love is still the best." 
 
 ADELAIDE PKOCTEE. 
 
 DEER-UNKEL-CID 
 
 I - AM - GOOD -AND- QUYIT -. PLEAS - TAK - THE- 
 KARS - AND - TAK - THE - BOTE - AND - KUM - OVER- 
 AND -PLAY- WITH -ME -THIS -IS- MAM MAS -PRITTY- 
 GOLD -PEN. 
 
 FROM - YOUR- AFFEKSHUNITE- NEES 
 
 EDITH - BRUCE- RAYMOND- 
 
 DEER - UNKEL-CID- AN-THAY-WER" 
 YEER-AN-A-DAY. VlT'^ 
 
 KUM-OVER-AN-I-WIL-TEL-YOU-A B 
 FROM -YORE-AFEKSHUNIT- NEES- Q^^ 
 
 MARJOR1E-BRUCE- 
 
 These imperfect but candid and characteristic 
 effusions were strong links in the chain of events 
 which had led Sydney Bruce to Wynburg. There 
 were, in fact, two chains. Or was it one long,
 
 162 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 solemn one, beginning with the beginning of all 
 things? Not to strain our myopic vision by peer 
 ing into dim vistas of the past, let us content 
 ourselves with a glance at the two distinct short 
 chains, one of which began in Wynburg in the 
 pleasant month of June. Did it begin with Mrs. 
 Raymond's faithful Elise? Or with the summer 
 journey? Or did Edith's superfluous energy create 
 the point of departure? Or was it the gold pen? 
 Or little Marjorie's sweet spirit, lost in fairy lore, 
 and sending its dazed, loving greeting from the 
 enchanted land of its wanderings? 
 
 These are the facts. The day before the Ray 
 mond family was to start for Ostende, Elise had a 
 blinding headache. Now, Elise was a superior per 
 son, who had never before been known to allow a 
 paltry physical limitation to restrict the admirable 
 execution of her duties ; and she always packed her 
 mistress's trunks with a system approaching perfec 
 tion. It was perfection, the family thought: but 
 with a touch of the unconscious superstition which 
 prevails among rude, and is rarely quite absent 
 from fine, folk, Mrs. Raymond never dared say how 
 perfectly perfect her Elise was. dreading the jealous 
 wrath of the immortals ; or, in more rational and 
 (ess pagan language, as the lady herself would have 
 expressed it, for fear that something would happen. 
 Years of Elise had rendered Mrs. Raymond more 
 helpless than she otherwise would have been before 
 yawning leather caverns, mountain -ranges of linen, 
 unexplored tracts of little boots aud toys, and rich
 
 AUNT SERENA. 163 
 
 acres of French toilettes. Elise he;:self was in 
 despair. She could not be induced to retire from 
 the scene of action, but clung to a sofa in her mis 
 tress's dressing-room, and, with tears of shame and 
 contrition, confessed to the upper housemaid, upon 
 whom her duties had fallen, that she could scarcely 
 distinguish the difference between Mr. Raymond's 
 shirts and baby Percy's socks, that the sight of aL 
 the many-colored stockings was enough to craze 
 her, and really the children seemed to have more 
 legs than usual to-day, and as to folding a ribbon, 
 she was as helpless as a fly, she sobbed. But she 
 nobly remained at her post ; and a word, feeble in 
 utterance, yet mighty with genius, would often at 
 a critical moment avert a catastrophe in the gigan 
 tic complications of the work of distribution. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond was sorry for her maid and sorry 
 for herself. She was also somewhat appalled at 
 the situation, but she had the praiseworthy habit 
 of never losing her equanimity. 
 
 "Bring every thing in, Anna," she said, "and 
 begin with the children's ordinary clothes for the 
 beach. I will come directly, as soon as I have 
 finished this letter." 
 
 In the mean time, Edith and Marjorie, who usu 
 ally delighted to "help pack," were banished, that 
 they might not intensify the chaotic element which 
 they loved, or increase Elise's miseiy. Dreamy 
 Marjorie sat on the floor, and read " The Sleeping 
 Beauty in the Wood." Life had at this moment 
 nothing more to offer her. But Edith was of a
 
 164 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 different temperament. It cost her an effort to be 
 still while mamma wrote. Her toys were up staira 
 where she must not go. She could not read the 
 same thing a hundred times like Marjorie, she 
 thought with some impatience. She threw down 
 her book, and looked out of the window. It was a 
 quiet street, and nobody was passing. She watched 
 her pretty mamma, and the rings flashing on the 
 white hand flying over the paper. She came slowly 
 to the table and stood still. 
 
 " Mamma, when may I have a gold pen? " 
 
 " I will give you one as soon as you learn to 
 write," said Mrs. Raymond, smiling. 
 
 " Will it go as fast as yours? " 
 
 "Yes, dear, sometime. When you know how to 
 use it." 
 
 A pause. Then, 
 
 " Mamma, when may I have a monogram? " 
 
 "Edith, dear, don't talk to mamma now. Take 
 your book, like Marjorie." 
 
 The little girl obeyed. Presently she came steal 
 ing up to her mother. 
 
 " Mamma, I don't like it, you know, because it 
 isn't true. If Snow White lay there so long with 
 the little dwarfs watching, she must have been 
 hungry ; and a little, wee, tiny bit of a small piece 
 of apple couldn't have made her all dead and then 
 all alive again. Besides, I know it beforehand, 
 because I read it when I was little, no bigger 
 than Marjorie." 
 
 ' ' O Edith ! ' ' cried a reproachful voice from the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 165 
 
 floor, "it could have killed her, in fairy-land; 
 and its true, in fairy -land." 
 
 " Marjorie," said Edith with dignity, " you are a 
 very little girl." Marjorie happened to be sixteen 
 months younger than her sister. " Mamma, are 
 you telling uncle Cid that I am going to make sand- 
 pies all day long at Ostende ? ' ' 
 
 " I will try to remember it, dear." 
 
 " Mamma, will uncle Cid come soon? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, if you are very good and quiet until 
 mamma finishes her letter," answered Mrs. Ray 
 mond somewhat absently, and with the peculiar logic 
 which busy mothers are apt to instil into the brains 
 of loquacious children. 
 
 At this moment she was given to understand that 
 her presence up stairs would be a priceless boon, and 
 quickly left the room. 
 
 Edith promptly took her mamma's chair, and 
 grasped her mamma's pen, to which Mrs. Ray 
 mond's attachment resembled idolatry. " Burn 
 my India shawl, drop indelible ink on my finest 
 lace, shatter my best china, and sit on my last Paris 
 hat, if you will," she had once remarked to her 
 husband, " but, Henry, an' you love me, never 
 touch my pen ! ' ' 
 
 "How nice every thing is up here," thought 
 Edith, complacently dangling her short legs. " Mar 
 jorie," she called blithely, " see me write a grown-up 
 letter." And, beginning where Mrs. Raymond's 
 elegant handwriting had ended in the middle of a 
 felicitous expression, the child pursed up her mouth,
 
 166 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 and proudly formed her hieroglyphics. The Ray 
 mond children's education, not as yet forced, had 
 made them quite competent to print their original 
 phonetic spelling equally well in English, French, 
 and German. 
 
 After a while she said, with an important air, 
 " Marjorie, I have invited uncle Cid to make us a 
 visit. I think it would be polite if jx>u should put 
 down that silly fairy-book, and write him a letter 
 too. You needn't write much, because you are 
 little. And then, you might hurt mamma's pretty 
 gold pen." 
 
 The adored pen had already its right point well 
 tipped up. It was now about to undergo a similar 
 deforming process on its left one. 
 
 Thus grandly invoked, Marjorie, nothing loath, 
 also climbs to the seat of honor. She loved her 
 uncle Cid, and was his special pet among his sister's 
 children. According to her baby inspiration, she, 
 too, wrote. 
 
 Edith looked critically at the result. 
 
 "It is very crooked," commented the lofty older 
 sister, " and it is not sense ; and they spell affec 
 tionate with two f 's, as I did, Marjorie. But never 
 mind, uncle Cid will excuse it." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond returned several hours later, to 
 hurriedly close her letter with, 
 
 "More next week, from Ostende, dear Sydney. 
 The children have, as you see, spoiled my sheet, 
 and, as I see, nearly annihilated my precious pen : 
 but I have no time to re-write any thing ; so take,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 167 
 
 with dearest love from all, the combined efforts of 
 the family." 
 
 When the letter reached uncle Cid, however, he 
 neither regarded it as spoiled, nor did he find 
 Marjorie's missive open in the faintest degree to 
 criticism. It seemed to him, then, a delectable 
 epistle. And all his after-life he blessed the 
 chubby, dimpled hand that had reached out from 
 fairy-land to draw him in. 
 
 The chain of circumstances on his side of the 
 Atlantic was also formed of apparently trivial 
 incidents. If Sydney Bruce's friend Carroll's 
 yacht, " West Wind," had not needed to lie by 
 for repairs of her machinery, Bruce would have 
 been off on a six weeks' cruise at the tune of the 
 arrival of the Wynburg letter ; and, in the jocund 
 mood caused by the sea and good company, it is 
 possible that even Marjorie would not have touched 
 his heart. But the " West Wind " broke her shaft, 
 and Mr. Carroll was obliged to implore his friends 
 to have patience. While indefinitely waiting, Bruce 
 went up to Maine to see an old friend, and settle 
 some business affairs of long standing. Returning 
 to the city, it seemed hot and dull. He had caught 
 glimpses, as one sometimes does on what one begins 
 as an arid and a prosaic journey, of much that 
 seemed to him cool and fresh and beautiful in re 
 membrance. He was a city man, and liked city 
 life. "I hate the city," he began inconsequently 
 to say to himself. "I wish I were a wild creature 
 of the woods. From May till November the city is
 
 168 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 an abomination." The fatal "West Wind" still 
 delayed. Bruce went down to his office mornings, 
 and mechanically attended to a little business. 
 "Whj- did I, being a sane man, ever choose the 
 law?" he thought. "Why am I not a sheep- 
 farmer, a hunter, a trapper-guide?" 
 
 One day his senior partner, a jovial gentleman, 
 who had also been Sydney's father's senior partner, 
 and was still hale and robust as the patriarchs of 
 old, stared, not unkindly, at the young man, and 
 said, 
 
 " Bruce, why are you not off somewhere? " 
 
 " I know no place where I really wish to be," 
 Sydney answered. 
 
 " I thought you were going yachting." 
 
 " The ' West Wind ' has broken her shaft." 
 
 " Try some other boat." 
 
 " I prefer Carroll's party." 
 
 " Please yourself, my dear boy, but don't forget 
 that you are still a young man, though the most 
 pose man of your age I know," he went on quizzi 
 cally. " Have you no longings? Don't 3*011 want to 
 run down to the beach, and have a flirtation or two ? ' ' 
 
 "No," replied Sydney, with a positiveness that 
 made the older gentleman smile. 
 
 "It is true, your experience has been compre 
 hensive, and it maybe sufficient," continued Mr. 
 Lawrence, looking at him with a reflective air. 
 " Bruce, you don't mind any thing I say, of course. 
 I speak as your father might have spoken. Why 
 don't you marry? "
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 169 
 
 Bruce smiled. If I answer you as I should most 
 men, I should say, because I do not choose. If 
 without reserve, because I am not in love." 
 
 "That's a pretty way to tell an old friend It's 
 none of his business," chuckled the old gentleman. 
 
 "As to that, Lawrence, it's your business fairly 
 enough, provided you care to interest yourself in so 
 vague and unimportant a topic," Bruce rejoined 
 indifferently. 
 
 Late that night he sat alone in his own house. 
 It was incredibly dreary. Even the servants as 
 they moved about seemed oppressed with preter 
 natural gloom. 
 
 "It is the city in July that gives everybody the 
 blues," he reflected. "I might have staid a few 
 days in Northbrooke. It was green and cool and 
 shady up there. Stretched at full length on his 
 back in the woods, a man forgets to ask, Is life 
 worth living? And if he is such a fool as to ask, 
 Nature's answer is conclusive. Yet the lovely little 
 girl cried. Sorrow pursued her, even in that Ar 
 cadia. I wonder now what was the matter with 
 her. If I knew the A and the Z of the little maid's 
 distress, I should find it dull enough, no doubt. 
 But as something isolated, fragmentary, enigmat 
 ical, she has roused speculation in my languid and 
 selfish soul ; and I have thought of her at least three 
 times in one week, which honor, small as it is, is 
 one which no other woman can claim at present. 
 To be sure, there was novelty in the incident. I 
 never before happened to see a girl with both arms
 
 170 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 round a horse's neck;" and he smiled, as if the 
 recollection was not upon the whole displeas 
 ing. 
 
 "Lawrence is right. I am old, older than a 
 man has any right to be," he thought with a certain 
 fierce disgust, and glared cynically at the pursuing 
 eyes of a portrait on the wall. It was he himself, 
 ten years old, in a sailor suit and a crimson neck 
 tie with gayly floating ends ; a little lad with stead 
 fast eyes, bold and brave in mien, the small, 
 haughty head thrown back. "Man," asked the 
 grave eyes of the child, " what hast thou done with 
 the years? They are mine as thine." And Syd 
 ney's spirit humbly made response, "Little good; 
 little good, if little evil." 
 
 By his own small self was his sister Florence, 
 dainty and smiling, all in happy blue, a loose, long 
 garland of honeysuckle in her soft hands, one end 
 trailing on the ground. He smiled. The picture 
 had proved prophetic. " Little Florence ! She has 
 always had. her garlands, and known how to wear 
 them ; and at her life-banquet is the exquisite honey 
 of Hymettus." He remembered his father's pride 
 in the portraits, and how he had them hung in the 
 library where they would be near him. "That is 
 right, Syd," he had said heartily. " That is the way 
 a brave lad looks, straight in the great world's 
 face. While you are on guard, little Folh acre 
 may play with her posies in security." Folly had 
 had her posies, and he had been on guard ; but he 
 had scarcely done much else. At least, so it seemed
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 171 
 
 to him this evening. As he had said, it was the 
 city in July. 
 
 A servant brought in the late mail. The letters 
 lay several minutes on the table beside him un 
 heeded. He was in that mood when a man would 
 neglect a sacred duty for the engrossing pleasure 
 of analyzing and condemning himself. Yet what 
 we call the ' ' destinies ' ' of many souls lay in that 
 patient little white heap ; and it was so instinct 
 with the ardent life-spirit of its writers, it was a 
 wonder that it retained its position, one envelope 
 soberly placed upon the other, the largest from 
 Wynburg underneath, instead of resolving into 
 its elements, and flying madly about his handsome, 
 indifferent head. 
 
 Every man has one curious, inveterate habit. 
 Sj'dney Bruce 's was to read letters exactly as they 
 came, without studying superscriptions, seeking the 
 sweet, or shunning the bitter. 
 
 He opened the first letter. It was a jocose scrawl 
 from Carroll, reporting progress on the "West 
 Wind." That gentleman was obviously determined 
 to keep his friends within reach, and himself a re 
 membrance, that the feast of the gods might still be 
 celebrated. " Fickle, coy ' West Wind,' to keep so 
 many eager souls in suspense," thought Sydne} 7 , 
 and read his next letter, which was a cordial invi 
 tation to Newport. "You shall be free as air," 
 wrote the lady an old family friend from her 
 cottage. "Jack says he will not even presume to 
 suggest that you smoke a cigar with him. Only
 
 172 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 come, and make us all happy." " She is kind, and 
 she means it ; but, nevertheless, I should not be 
 free. I am too selfish to go." He glanced at the 
 next epistle coldly. It was also an invitation, this 
 tune to Long Branch, from a fashionable woman 
 who liked to fill her house with agreeable guests. 
 The fatuity with which vulgar people, who wish to 
 appear intimate with one, rush upon ground where 
 angels and familiar friends fear to tread, caused her 
 to put in her list of attractions, "Eleanor Vaughn 
 is here, as beautiful as ever." Whatever further 
 revelations the letter contained he spared himself 
 by dropping it unread into his waste-basket. Then 
 came two stout envelopes full of unmitigated busi 
 ness. He read them with a sense of relief. The 
 sixth he took up carelessly, then gazed at it as if 
 it were the head of Medusa instead of an elegant, 
 jasmine-scented missive, artistic as to its monogram 
 and subtle as to its suggestions. 
 
 " This was needed to-night," he muttered grimly. 
 It was a torrid letter ; but he turned the closely writ 
 ten pages with impenetrable coldness, and read only 
 the last line, 
 
 " Be pitiful, Sydney, be pitiful, and let me ex 
 plain." 
 
 ' ' Let you explain ! Ye gods ! She wishes to 
 explain ! " and he laughed aloud in the silent house, 
 until Bates hurried in with a startled face. 
 
 " Did you wish any thing, sir? " 
 
 "Nothing, Bates. Nothing whatever. I was 
 merely laughing at a most excellent joke."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 173 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Bates stolidly, and with 
 drew. 
 
 Sydney devoted a few moments to the somewhat 
 sardonic consideration of the infinite faith a, faithless 
 woman expects to find in the heart of a man. 
 
 He opened his sister's epistle with kindly interest. 
 Mrs. Raymond wrote a delightful letter, healthy, 
 clear, never self-conscious, never too long, dainty 
 in garb, and vivacious in expression. She told her 
 brother their plans for the summer, and as usual 
 affectionately begged him to join them, without, how 
 ever, the least expectation that he would come. 
 Nor had he as he read. Then the children's master 
 pieces met his eye. He received Edith's invitation 
 with an indulgent smile. " She is like her mamma. 
 She knows about trains and steamships." But when 
 he saw poor little Marjorie's greeting, his face grew 
 strangely moved and tender. "Blessed infant! I 
 can see her coming from her fairy tangles, rubbing 
 her sweet eyes as if but half awake, to do this 
 righteous deed for me, a sinner." And the queer, 
 awkward scrawl that said so little and so much, 
 seemed as harmonious to him as any other beautiful 
 song without words, and as loving as the touch of 
 Marjorie's shy, rose-leaf palm on his brow. 
 
 ' ' And was ever anybody happy a year and a day ? 
 And w:ll you tell me about it, sweetheart? And 
 you spell it liaappy, with two a's, you dear, delicious 
 inite. That must be a broad, strong current of 
 happiness where you sail. I will come over, Mar- 
 jorie, and sit at your feet. I am as old as Ihe hills,
 
 174 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 wise little Marjorie. You shall lead me to the foun 
 tain of youth." 
 
 Then he wrote a kind letter to his friend at New 
 port, saying he was about to join Mrs. Raymond at 
 Ostende, sent a cool, civil regret to Long Branch, 
 and pacified Carroll as best he could. The next 
 morning he said to Mr. Lawrence, 
 
 "I'm going to take your advice. I'm going 
 away." 
 
 " Excellent. You are going to run down to the 
 beach?" 
 
 " To a beach ; yes . To Ostende . ' ' 
 
 "Ah! Well, why not? But stay over there, 
 Bruce. Don't come flying home by the return 
 steamer. We'll cable if we want you. Perhaps 
 George and I will be granted wisdom enough to 
 conduct the office a month or two," said the old 
 gentleman modestly. " What do you sa} r , George ? " 
 
 ' ' Lawyers threatened with softening of the brain 
 all flee to Europe," remarked Mr. George Lawrence. 
 " Any danger for Sydney? " 
 
 " No one will suspect it," replied the old gentle 
 man. " He has never worked hard enough." 
 
 Sydney smiled. " There was no necessity. Your 
 laurels and my father's have fallen on my undeserv 
 ing brow." 
 
 " 'Hm ! You'd better go to Europe with your un 
 deserving brow," returned Lawrence dryly. " And 
 take time over there to grow young. We want 
 youths in this office. We have octogenarians enough. 
 Do you hear?"
 
 AUNT SERENA. 175 
 
 And Bruce went to Europe. Unconscious Mar- 
 jorie's charm won him when the others had failed. 
 His indifference and depression, his remorseful 
 memory of past weakness, his weary disgust at. a 
 warmth which found no response in his own breast, 
 his stem contempt for the lies of a beautiful woman 
 whose very beauty had grown loathsome to him, 
 all, at the sweet, pure call of a child's voice from 
 the depths of her fairy glades, fled like a troop of 
 frightened demons before the uplifted cross ; and 
 Sydney Bruce, light of heart, he knew not why, 
 sailed towards Ostende and he knew not 
 what. 
 
 He had merely telegraphed his sister, and taken 
 the first steamer. Arriving, as soon as the out 
 bursts of delight were somewhat appeased, he an 
 nounced his intention to belong exclusively to the 
 children. "With riotous joy they took him at his 
 word, and triumphantly carried him off to their 
 favorite haunts, and an unlimited course of sand- 
 pies and quiet fairy-corners. Mrs. Raymond was 
 too glad to have him upon any terms to make ob 
 jections to this monopoly. "There's nobody here 
 J want for him," she confided to her husband after 
 a few days. 
 
 "There are several who want him, however," 
 answered Mr. Raymond. 
 
 ."There always are," the admiring sister said 
 carelessly. 
 
 " I have often wondered in what Sj'dney's special 
 attraction to women lies," he said speculatively.
 
 176 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 ' He's a good-looking fellow, but he has slain his 
 tens of thousands where another man ' ' 
 
 " You, for instance," suggested his wife, smiling. 
 
 "Yes, I if you like have slain only my 
 thousands." 
 
 "Henry," she explained, "you and Sydney are 
 the same height and the same size, and your clothes 
 look alike, and your voices are not dissimilar, and 
 3*ou both have Antinous noses, and, curiously enough, 
 what I call indistinct hair, brown fading into early 
 gray ; but you are no more alike, and you look no 
 more alike, than than " 
 
 "Than a nutmeg and a calla-lily," said her hus 
 band, coming to her aid. "Thanks for the cata 
 logue of my charms, my dear." 
 
 "You have a great many charms for me," re 
 marked Mrs. Raymond in her sincere, direct way. 
 " You suit me better than a man like Sydney would. 
 I mean, as my husband." 
 
 Mr. Raymond laughed. "You suit me better 
 than any other woman in the world would. I mean, 
 as my wife." 
 
 " I do not doubt it," she said seriously. " Fortu 
 nately, we suit each other. But Sydney would be 
 more attractive to many women than you could ever 
 be, for the simple reason, that while he has lived as 
 well as you, and been, upon the whole, quite as com 
 fortable, I think, he has not the air of it. You are 
 simple." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "He is complex. You are sunny: he is some-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 177 
 
 times, but not always. He is indifferent to women. 
 You were never in your life perfectly indifferent to 
 a pretty girl, Henry," she said with smiling empha 
 sis. 
 
 " My dear Florence ! " he expostulated. 
 
 " He takes life seriously," she continued. " You 
 take it as a pastime. You look out of your gray 
 eyes as if everybody were a joke. He looks out of 
 his thoughtfully ; and all the women think he has 
 suffered, that he has a history. And most women, 
 whether they like it in a husband or not, are be 
 witched with a suffering soul in a lover." 
 
 ' ' But what in the deuce ' ' 
 
 "Hush!" Mrs. Raymond went on. " It is not 
 his fault. You know yourself that no man is more 
 incapable of ' posing ' than Sydney. You asked me 
 for the difference between you, and I'm telling you. 
 That is all. He doesn't aspire to the suffering-soul 
 ideal ; and for that matter, I realty don't think Syd 
 ney has ever suffered any thing to speak of," she 
 said coolly. " Since that unpleasant experience with 
 Eleanor Vaughn years ago, things have run along 
 as smoothly for him as for us. But you see, he has 
 aspirations, and we have none." 
 
 " What a clever woman you are, Florence," said 
 her husband, laughing. "Pray continue your ad 
 mirable exposition." 
 
 " He longs to elevate humanity, or at least he 
 longs to have it elevated. Now, we don't, Hen 
 ry." 
 
 " No, my love, I don't think we do."
 
 178 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " As long as we find things comfortable and peo 
 ple agreeable, we are satisfied." 
 
 " We are," repeated Mr. Raymond heartily. 
 
 " And except that Percy's teeth make me a little 
 anxious, I have not at this moment a care in the 
 world. But Sydney has. He is lofty, and we are 
 commonplace and matter-of-fact. I have been mat 
 ter-of-fact all my life," she stated, smiling brightly 
 at her husband ; " and so have you, Henry. Now, 
 watch Sydney. He cannot help it ; but he's actually 
 brooding over the life-problem of that little girl, the 
 child of one of the bathers, who follows our children 
 about. I call her a pretty, bright-eyed child. He 
 calls the little brown thing a pure pearl. He talks 
 about the dusky warmth of her eyes and the opal 
 glow of her cheek. I think I even heard him say 
 that she has a lotus-face. Now, Henry, do you 
 know why that child has a lotus-face ? For I do not 
 hesitate to say I have not the faintest idea." 
 
 Mr. Raymond laughed with exceeding delight. 
 
 " He says poetry to Marjorie, and watches the 
 effect of it on the fisherman's daughter." 
 
 " That's what is usually called flirting," suggested 
 Raymond. 
 
 " Oh, no : he is merely analyzing her emotions." 
 
 " Same thing, is it not? " 
 
 " And I actually believe he is pondering upon the 
 propriety of having her educated." 
 
 " And marrying her? That would not be an 
 unheard-of thing. Think of the Capri beauties who 
 have married in the great world."
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 179 
 
 " He hasn't gone so far as to consider that yet," 
 Mrs. Raymond replied tranquilly. "He is disin 
 terested. Fortunately the child is matter-of-fact 
 too. He can't make her melt as Marjorie does with 
 his stories. He will become tired of her if he dis 
 covers her to be ' soulless.' ' 
 
 "How old is she?" 
 
 " Thirteen possibly. But you see, Henry, you 
 and I can look at the nut-brown maid with no desire 
 to ameliorate her condition. Sydney cannot. He 
 always sees possibilities." 
 
 " Or impossibilities. He would do better to 
 marry," said Mr. Raymond. 
 
 His wife nodded unqualified assent. 
 
 " And I am glad you are matter-of-fact, if that is 
 what you call it. I think you are about right, Flor 
 ence, just as you are," he said kindly. 
 
 "Henry, dear, you and I are very comfortable, 
 but we have not Sydney's charm," she answered 
 sedately. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sydney, unconscious of the friendly 
 councils held in his behalf, equally unmindful of the 
 serried ranks of matrons with marriageable daugh 
 ters, invulnerable to the charge of the light brigade 
 of professional beauties, and blind to the dangerous 
 ambush of the ingenues, swam, walked, and fished 
 like a careless boy in the holidays, and, above all, 
 was the children's devoted cavalier. Marjorie's 
 people who were "happy a year and a day," and 
 even they who were " happy forever after," hovered 
 about his path with their gracious influences. Each
 
 180 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 day his eye grew brighter, his step more elastic ; and 
 had one ventured to suggest to him that he had a 
 " suffering soul," he would have greeted the remark 
 with an explosion of laughter, so ignorant was ho 
 of the fine things attributed to him. 
 
 " For what is Mr. Bruce ' posing ' ? " inquired an 
 irate belle satirically, after ten days' unsuccessful 
 angling for his attention. 
 
 Her brother, weary of kneeling every evening in 
 the hotel or crowded casino, with a struggling taroug 
 of aspirants, before a dull heiress, rich as the 
 mines of Golconda, stolidly ugly as a Chinese idol, 
 growled, 
 
 " He's posing for comfort, and he succeeds un 
 commonly well." 
 
 After Ostende, the Raymonds spent some pleas 
 ant weeks in Switzerland and Baden-Baden, return 
 ing to Wynburg in October ; and Mrs. Raymond was 
 in a prolonged state of wonder and delight that her 
 brother had not yet proposed going to America. 
 
 " If I can keep him here this winter," she said to 
 her husband, " I shall be almost too happy." 
 
 "There's hope for Sydney," Mr. Raymond re 
 plied. " He seems inclined to take a cheerful view 
 of most things. Indeed," with an amused look at 
 his wife, " I almost think now and then that he is 
 matter-of-fact."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 
 " Does the road wind up-hill all the way ? " 
 
 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. 
 
 " "TTTHY Mrs. Vivien was here, and what has 
 V V happened, are matters which do not con 
 cern me," reasoned Gertrude Peyton. 
 
 " Why Mrs. Vivien was here, and what has hap 
 pened, are matters which require no explanation," 
 reasoned aunt Serena. 
 
 Rosamond, instinctively opposed to abusing a 
 guest the moment her foot had crossed the thresh 
 old, came in with a virtuous air of self-control, but 
 lost it speedily in delight, when Babele appeared, 
 her rubicund visage half concealed by a long, low, 
 oval basket of roses, which she bore proudly aloft. 
 Uttering rapturous ejaculations, she laid it on Miss 
 Lennox's knee. 
 
 " Flowers for me? " and aunt Serena looked won- 
 deringly at the two young girls. " Have you done 
 this, children? " 
 
 Their quick eyes spied a card. " For Miss Len 
 nox. Compliments of Mr. Sydney Bruce," Rosa- 
 mond read, with pleased emphasis. Aunt Serena 
 hung over the roses in mute ecstasy, her hands 
 clasped above them, her eyes devouring them aa 
 they lay there in their loveliness among their owu
 
 182 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 cool weaves, fragrant, dewy, cut with long, gener 
 ous stems, and sent in beautiful confusion, with no 
 attempt at arrangement. Duskj 7 Dutch Velvets, full 
 blown, and heavy with then- own sweetness ; pale, 
 slender, white buds, looking cold and coy ; rich, warm 
 Jacqueminots ; Mare'chal Niels ; pink tea-roses, and 
 the perfect ones, where the creamy tint is suffused 
 with a faint blush, as if a tender thought were pass 
 ing over it. 
 
 Aunt Serena looked up at the eager girls standing 
 before her. In her soft dark eyes was a suspicion 
 of tears. 
 
 "Children," she said slowly, "Mr. Bruce has 
 made me very happy. I am a foolish old woman to 
 be so pleased. But no one has sent me a basket of 
 flowers in forty-three years ; and it touches me, my 
 dears, it touches me deeply." She gave a little 
 tremulous apologetic smile, and looked down into 
 the glowing hearts of her flowers. 
 
 With quick grace Rose stooped, and lightly kissed 
 the silvery hair on the bowed head. 
 
 "And you call yourself old!" she exclaimed. 
 "Why, you couldn't possibly be any younger, you 
 dear person, not unless you were an infant." 
 
 " Forty- three years," repeated aunt Serena in a 
 low tone, half to herself; " forty-three years ago this 
 very month : ' ' and she looked again from the roses 
 to the girls, with the sweet surprise and the old 
 memories in her face. 
 
 Gertrude wanted to cry. There seemed to be no 
 reason why she should. Aunt Serena looked happy
 
 AUNT SERENA. 183 
 
 if moved ; and Rosamond had assumed a spirited 
 and protective air towards her, as she was wont to 
 do when their respective positions were for a mo 
 ment reversed, and it was her aunt who needed her 
 aid. But Gertrude often felt a certain weak, chok 
 ing sensation in her strong, song-bird throat when 
 she was with these two. At aunt Serena's feet she 
 offered homage and adoration, as to a holy saint in a 
 shrine; and more, she gave an intense personal 
 devotion, as if that enshrined saint had reached out 
 to her, in her loneliness, loving, pitiful, human hands, 
 had breathed sweet words of guidance and of hope 
 into her desolate soul. And Rose was the personi 
 fication of the light, warmth, and sweetness in which 
 her own drean>- life had failed. But the very secu 
 rity and sympathy existing between the two com 
 panions, the perfect relationship which they enjoyed, 
 it seemed to her as naturally as they breathed, filled 
 her with sadness. "It is so rare," she thought; 
 " and they do not even know how wonderful and 
 beautiful it is. Why, I would give all the rest of 
 my life if I might be as happy as this dear Rose 
 one single day ! " Yet no shade of envy darkened 
 her generous spirit. It was only that the loveliness 
 she now perceived was so vivid a contrast to her 
 own experience, that, in watching her new friends, 
 she was always living in two worlds. 
 
 Aunt Serena, in spite of the staid gentleness of 
 her manner, was noticeably unlike the people about 
 her. Her direct, loyal, simple words and ways 
 made her to Gertrude as much of a marvel as Rose
 
 184 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 herself, with her pretty, fearless caprices, and her 
 habitual unconsciousness that she was living in a 
 world regarded by most people as a sorry place at 
 best. " I must tell them every thing, every thing," 
 thought Gertrude ; " and she will know what I ought 
 to do. She will know, like the angel sent to guide 
 the young Tobias, in the picture." But now she 
 felt like crying, nevertheless ; and it seemed to be 
 only because Miss Serena Lennox was pleased with 
 her beautiful roses. Aunt Serena looked at the 
 young girl, and suddenly forgot her flowers and her 
 old associations. 
 
 "Why, Gertrude, child!" she said in her low 
 voice. Gertrude was quite still, and her eyes were 
 dry and bright ; but aunt Serena had a divining-rod 
 for pain in the depths of human hearts. 
 
 " Rose, you may put them in water in my room, 
 and begin to arrange them," and she held out the 
 basket. She knew, that while Gertrude, in all prob 
 ability, had nothing to say which she would wish 
 withheld from Rose, yet it would be easier for her 
 to speak if her young friend were not seated for 
 mally as second auditor ; a confidence ' ' under six 
 eyes" being rarely satisfactoiy. "Wait, dear;" 
 and choosing two deep, red buds, she gave one to 
 Gertrude. " You should alwaj 7 s wear that rich 
 color," she said, as Gertrude fastened it at her 
 throat. While she spoke, she studied the young, 
 earnest face. " The child would rather I would 
 begii ," she concluded. 
 
 " You said you wished to tell me something, my
 
 AUNT SERENA. 185 
 
 dear, I believe, some little trouble some doubt 
 perplexity. If you will trust me so far, I would 
 gladly be of service to you ; and I think you may 
 trust me, Gertrude," she added in her quiet voice. 
 
 Gertrude smiled. " I trust you as I would trust 
 one of God's high archangels," she thought; but 
 what she said was only, 
 
 " I wish to tell yoi my whole life." 
 
 Miss Lennox made an involuntary restraining 
 gesture. 
 
 "My child," she said, "what you have in your 
 heart to tell me, you may tell as freely as if you 
 were Rosamond. But for your own sake be sure 
 that you will not regret it. Sometimes one speaks, 
 and afterwards one is sorry. I would not wish you 
 to be sorry that you had told me your life, my dear ; 
 and you do not need to tell me a word. In years, 
 it is still a little life. I am sure it has been good 
 and brave. You shall tell it all if you wish, if it 
 would be a relief to you ; but you do not need to 
 speak. Rose and I are not curious." 
 
 "No, we are not," corroborated Rose emphati 
 cally, coming in with a filled vase, going out with 
 an empty one, and leaving, as she passed, a hasty 
 little kiss on Gertrude's cheek. 
 
 " I wish to tell you, for every reason," Gertrude 
 relied in her low, vibrating tones, " if I may 
 if you have patience if it will not be too long 
 and stupid." 
 
 " Very well, my child. Remember it is a life for 
 which I care."
 
 186 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "And I have been out walking with Lieut, von 
 Falkenstein ! " Gertrude stated, beginning in eager, 
 honorable haste, with the end of her story. 
 
 " I know. I heard you say so the first day I 
 saw you," aunt Serena reassuringly remarked, as 
 if the German army were a trifle to be left on one 
 side until more weighty matters had been discussed. 
 
 Gertrude looked at her gravely. Here was a 
 woman who evidently regarded a young girl's life 
 as more important than a young man's uniform, 
 who cared to know what was in the heart, and not 
 the accidents of her temporary position. 
 
 " I am nineteen," she began again. 
 
 " Only a year and a half older than Rose," said 
 Miss Lennox with a little air of encouragement and 
 approval. It seemed as if there were something 
 praiseworthy in the mere fact of being nineteen. 
 Gertrude smiled in spite of herself. 
 
 Aunt Serena was leaning comfortably in the tall 
 oak-chair. She looked small and fragile against its 
 massive back. She wore a sober dove-gray morn 
 ing-gown, with soft old lace at the throat and 
 wrists. In her gentle hand was the dark-red rose. 
 Sometimes she looked at the rose, sometimes she 
 looked at Gertrude. There was nothing formal ic 
 her way of listening ; yet the girl felt that this be 
 nign being was there, all there, the charitable 
 heart, the delicate, rapid intuition, the brain with 
 its close attention, its clear, calm judgment, for 
 her. 
 
 Aunt Serena was not one of those much-vaunted,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 187 
 
 exemplary, elderly ladies who are never known to 
 sit idle, or to lean their aged frames against a con 
 venient prop. Her hands were skilled in all kinds 
 of womanly work, her days were full to overflow 
 ing ; but her industry was not clamorous, her ener 
 gies were unobtrusive. 
 
 She was a woman to whom people were apt to 
 bring their secrets. Over-burdened hearts poured 
 themselves out before her, as in a still and safe 
 confessional. At such moments she would listen, 
 at rest in mind and body, until the very peace of 
 her presence would calm troubled* waves of feeling. 
 "A human spirit strives to show itself to me," 
 was her simple and tender reflection ; "its hidden 
 thoughts, its aspirations, its pathetic losses. I 
 cannot, if I would, see it as it is, or reach it or aid 
 it much. But at least I can do it reverence. Shall 
 I bring my needlework where an imprisoned king 
 struggles to escape ? ' ' 
 
 Courteous and restful, she now listened to the 
 young girl, who with a troubled air was saying, 
 
 "I am not two years older than Rose, yet ages 
 older than she will ever be." ' 
 
 "And who knows that, Gertrude?" said Rose 
 herself with soft seriousness, clasping two large 
 green jars in her slender arms, and standing a mo 
 ment in deep thought. 
 
 " You are right," Gertrude replied gently. " No 
 one knows. But it seems so, and I hope so." 
 
 Rose hesitated. "I will leave her to aunt 
 Serena," she thought, walking slowly out with her
 
 138 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 jars, which seemed to occupy considerable time ; for 
 she did not return at once. 
 
 " It may be my own fault that things have been 
 hard for me," Gertrude began : " but, Miss Lennox, 
 I do become very obstinate when uncle Charles 
 insists that I must be a teacher ; for I have not 
 the least gift of imparting the little I know. I 
 could at best only teach German and music to Lifcle 
 children, and I have neither taste nor talent for 
 such a life. Above all, I have not patience for it. 
 I know that a great many girls, with what we call 
 musical organizations, teach patiently and well. A 
 girl no older than 1 comes to Molly and Daisy 
 Lancaster, and helps them prepare their lessons for 
 the Conservatory. She is as sensitive as I am, and 
 a better musician, and not as strong physically. I 
 don't know whether it will kill her or not. My 
 private opinion is that it will, but I probably shall 
 not be here to see. As for me, I loathe it. It 
 makes me irritable and nervous, and miserable in 
 soul and body : and, what is more, it makes my 
 own music hideous to me ; and my music is the 
 one lovely thing in my life, or was until you 
 and Rose came," she added timidly. Aunt Serena 
 looked at her with kind composure, and said nothiDg 
 
 " I'm talking queerly, am I not? I do not know 
 how to tell it in a proper autobiography style. I 
 forget that you don't know uncle Charles. I am 
 afraid I shall tell it very badly. You know, I never 
 told it before ; " and Gertrude spoke with some agi 
 tation.
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 189 
 
 "Tell it just as it comes, my child," said aunt 
 Serena's calm voice. 
 
 "Uncle Charles is not unkind. I suppose he is 
 a very good man, even if I do not like him much. 
 Do not think I consider myself a victim to any 
 body's cruelty. Other girls have trouble too. 
 Perhaps it is cowardly in me to come to you in this 
 way. But since I have known you, it has seemed 
 to me that you and Rose were pure harmony, and I 
 was out of tune with myself and the whole world ; 
 and I thought the great crashing discords would " 
 She paused confused, hardly knowing what she 
 wished to say. 
 
 " They may not be discords, child, only strong 
 transition chords. How do you know, indeed, 
 when you stand too near to hear them clearly? 
 The} r may lead from a stormy theme into a melody 
 beautiful be} r ond your imagining. And if they are 
 discords! What then? They, too, are needful. 
 They are potent in life's harmonies. No master- 
 hand writes lullabies alone. Must I tell our chief 
 musician, our sweet singer, this?" and she smiled 
 irto Gertrude's troubled eyes. 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but I am tired : " and her brave 
 young voice quivered slightly. Recovering herself, 
 she said lightly, " I have been disagreeing con 
 stantly with my uncle for one thing ; and that in 
 itself is fatiguing, for he is as tenacious of his opin 
 ion as I am of mine. He sa,ys I must submit to the 
 inevitable, and I tell him I want to find out first what 
 the inevitable is. He thinks me proud. He
 
 190 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 me that ' a haughty spirit goeth before destruction.' 
 He likes phrases, you see. He says we are all vile 
 worms, I never feel so. How can one do honest 
 work in the world, even the little one is called upon 
 to do, if one believes one is only a mean, crawling 
 thing, fated to be stepped upon, or gobbled up by 
 some cruel beak. I may as well confess that I am 
 not humble." 
 
 " I never thought you were, my dear," said aunt 
 Serena demurely. 
 
 "O Gertrude, Gertrude, I hear you!" cried 
 Rose, appearing again. " You are quite as bad as 
 I. I never was humble, either." 
 
 "You are two dangerous revolutionists. Rosa 
 mond is the worse, because her desire to overthrow 
 and destroy is innate ; while yours, Gertrude, is 
 more pardonable, having been roused by contact 
 with the hard world. How shall I reduce you 
 young rebels to submission? What shall I do with 
 you?" 
 
 Rose responded with a happy little laugh, and 
 withdrew. But Gertrude said vehemently, "What 
 you will ; any thing, now that you have classed me 
 with Rose." 
 
 " You are more like my impetuous Rose than I 
 would have imagined such a pale, calm girl could 
 evar be ; " and aunt Serena laid her hand lightly 
 on Gertrude's. 
 
 Gertrude was longing to speak unreservedly. She 
 was eager to confess, and receive absolution from 
 this dear and saintly priestess. But the habit of
 
 AUNT SERENA. 191 
 
 reticence had taken firm root in her young soul ; and 
 when she would fain disclose her griefs and cares, 
 the words died on her lips. Indeed, why was it 
 necessary? "Was not this fine old lady a reader 
 of hearts? Would not her wonderful prescience 
 reveal more than a girl's awkward, lame recital? 
 But aunt Serena, unconscious of the magic powers 
 attributed to her, waited as if she were not waiting, 
 watched as if she were not watching, and, by the 
 silent might of her womanliness, controlled the ques 
 tioning, uneasy spirit. 
 
 " May I sit down low on the cushion, like Eose ? " 
 Gertrude asked shyly. 
 
 Aunt Serena reached over to the sofa, pulled the 
 cushion down, and made a kindly, inviting gesture 
 in a familiar, motherly way, as if it were as natural 
 for one of her girls as for the other, to sit at her feet. 
 
 Gertrude, with bowed head and drooping eyelids, 
 her hands working a little nervously, said, 
 
 " There are ugly things in my life, Miss Lennox. 
 They began when I was very young. I was not 
 responsible for them ; but they have influenced most 
 people's estimation of me, and haunted me always. 
 I used to be very confused and miserable in my own 
 ideas. It seemed to me I could never separate 
 myself from the acts of other people. But now I 
 believe every soul stands alone. And I grieve and 
 mourn for what happened ; but I will not blush or 
 be ashamed any more, unless I blush for myself: 
 why should I?" And she threw back her head 
 with a certain defiance in her face.
 
 192 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 She met only the earnest gaze of the kindest eyes 
 in the world, and saw a tender mouth with the pa 
 thetic lines that renunciation draws ; and, more gen 
 tly than any one had ever spoken to her, a voice 
 murmured, 
 
 " Why, indeed, my child? " 
 
 Her face softened ; her eyes flashed one eloquent, 
 grateful glance upwards, then drooped as before ; 
 and she went on rapidly, 
 
 "I was only a little girl when it happened. I 
 was nearly twelve years old ; but I was an old- 
 fashioned child, and was playing with my doll. She 
 was almost as large as I, I remember. I was carry 
 ing her down stairs one day. I had come from 
 mamma's room. She was an invalid, and rarely 
 left her room. And I heard a great noise. I ran 
 into papa's study ; and I saw him lying there. 
 He had shot himself, you know, and I was only a 
 little girl, and I was the one who found him ; " and 
 she covered her eyes. Two tender hands rested 
 with a great compassion on the fair head. 
 
 " I put my doll before my face, and stood still, 
 and shrieked. I could not stir, but I shrieked until 
 they came and took me awaj r . I never touched a 
 doll again. I never was a little girl any more. 
 Months after I used to see poor papa in my sleep, 
 and wake nryself with cries of terror. It frightened 
 my very life. It frightened the blood from my 
 cheeks and the youth from my heart, and left me 
 pallid and joyless. 
 
 " Then came ghastly weeks. Mamma was very
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 193 
 
 ill. I could scarcely see her. The servants went 
 about whispering. I used to cry days until I was 
 too weary to cry more ; for I loved papa, and 
 missed him keenly. He was very good to me. 
 Nights my awful dream never forsook me. Uncle 
 Charles came in and out, and always told me I 
 must be reconciled. Whom the Lord loveth he 
 chasteneth. I hardly knew what he meant. I was 
 a wretched, neglected child. There was no one to 
 comfort me. I was naturally reconciled to nothing. 
 My little sister Ruth was born, and mamma died. 
 This was another shock and grief; still, I sorrowed 
 most for papa. They took us then to uncle Charles's 
 house ; but he had four daughters himself, and soon 
 he sent me to boarding-school. I have been in 
 different schools ever since, until last year. 
 
 "Are you tired of me? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 Aunt Serena's smile was the only answer. 
 
 " It is a wonder," Gertrude said simply. " I was 
 in a small school in New York two years. At first 
 I was lonely and shy ; but the second year I was 
 happier, because a new girl came who was very 
 winning, and bright as a sunbeam. I thought her 
 an angel. We became intimate friends. I idolized 
 her, telling her every thing, except that of which I 
 never spoke. One day she came to me with a 
 proper little air, and no constraint or hesitation. 
 ' Gertrude,' she said, ' I am very sorry ; but I have 
 just heard about your father, and I think mamma 
 would hardly like me to be intimate with you.' She 
 looked so pretty as she said it. She had beautiful
 
 194 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 warm chestnut hair, like Rose ; and she tossed it 
 back, and smiled at one of the governesses who waa 
 passing. Eve^'body loved her, I most of all. I 
 was so stunned and dull I did not blame her. It 
 did not occur to me then that she did wrong. I 
 have heard of her and seen her since. The world 
 calls her a most lovely character ;" and Gertrude 
 smiled. 
 
 "How old was she?" 
 
 " Fourteen. A little older than I." 
 
 " Fourteen in a girl is hardly young enough for 
 an act of mere thoughtless, childish brutality," aunt 
 Serena said gravely. 
 
 " Oh, no. She was not thoughtless. She knew 
 quite well what she did. She would do it again, or 
 a similar thing, whenever it suited her convenience. 
 But she would never say an unlady-like word, never 
 make an abrupt gesture. She is very attractive. 
 
 "After that I grew depressed and silent again. 
 I was conscious that I was pointed out to new girls, 
 and that my story was told to them. Now and 
 then it seemed to me people knew more than I 
 did. Once I distinctly heard some one say, ' dis 
 honor and suicide.' It filled me with new horrors. 
 I was moody and ill. I think now, as I look back, 
 that I really suffered very much at that time ; but 
 no one knew it. They only thought me peculiar. 
 No doubt there were girls there who would have 
 been generous and good, if I could have told them 
 how miserable I was. But I did not know how to 
 take the weight off my heart. I was a little, white,
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 195 
 
 silent, unattractive girl. Do not think I am blaming 
 them. They were always kind enough to me, but I 
 felt as if a great gulf was fixed between them and 
 me. The only tune I forgot it was when I was 
 happy with Lilian. Ah ! I did not intend to men 
 tion her name," Gertrude said hurriedly. "I am 
 sorry. It is quite possible that you may meet 
 her." 
 
 " Why should you not mention her name to me? " 
 aunt Serena asked with a searching look. 
 
 Gertrude hesitated. " I do not like to complain 
 of people, if I do abuse fate roundly now and then ; 
 and I have a theory that it is mean not to let every 
 body have a fair start. You might meet her, and 
 like her. Why not ? It is not my affair. But she 
 would hardly have a fair start, if she were weighed 
 down with that one thing she said when she was 
 fourteen." 
 
 "No, she would not," said aunt Serena very 
 gently and with a singular smile. "But you say 
 you think she would do it again." 
 
 "Yes," replied Gertrude with quiet decision, "I 
 am sure. She stood by me in the Dresden Gallery, 
 before the Sistine Madonna, two years after, and 
 looked me freely in the face with no sign of recog 
 nition. She was with her mamma." 
 
 "You spoke?" 
 
 "I said, 'O Lilian!' It was foolish, but quite 
 involuntary. I came suddenly upon them, and 1 
 had seen no one from home in a long time. She 
 looked so very pretty, you understand."
 
 196 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 "Yes, dear. I think I am beginning to under 
 stand you." 
 
 " It hurt me, I must admit ; but I might have 
 known she would do it. That last winter in New 
 York she had spoken politely to me always. She 
 was the most civil girl there. Her manners were 
 the pride of the school. We simply ceased to be 
 intimate. She changed her room, and her tone to 
 me. She knew how to put little nuances of mean 
 ing into her face and voice as well as her mamma 
 did ; but she was never rude, and she always spoke, 
 when she could not avoid seeing me. Of course, 
 she had the right to recognize me or not when she 
 was older. 
 
 "But I did not tell you how I came to Dresden. 
 I was pale and thin, no credit to the school, and no 
 favorite with the teachers. They thought me sul 
 len. Perhaps I was. At all events, I could not 
 have merry, amiable ways like other girls. A 
 great hush seemed to have fallen upon me. 
 
 "Then I heard of a girl who had gone to Ger 
 many, and I gave uncle Charles no peace until he 
 nad consented to send me away. It seemed to me 
 I might be able to begin fresh in a strange land. 
 He was really not averse to the idea. The care of 
 me has always made him uncomfortable, and he has 
 daughters enough of his own. My cousins were 
 never at the same school with me. It would have 
 been embarrassing to them. It need not have been. 
 Papa was much nobler and lovelier than uncle 
 Charles ; and even if misfortune did come, and he
 
 AUNT SERENA. 197 
 
 was desperate, he had been always generous and 
 kind to every mortal. Poor papa ! " She stopped 
 and looked directly into the gentle, attentive face. 
 "Perhaps I ought to tell you that there was what 
 they call dishonor there. When I was little I never 
 knew why he did it. I thought it was because he 
 was unhappy. But uncle Charles has told me there 
 were money difficulties, and something wrong. Per 
 haps I could explain it more clearly, if you wish," 
 with a distressed look. 
 
 " I do not wish. You have explained it quite 
 clearly enough." 
 
 " I only wished you to know all. He had asked 
 uncle Charles for help, but he would not ask but 
 once. Papa was very proud and sensitive. I can 
 not understand myself how such dreadful complica 
 tions ever arose ; but I think papa was good, in 
 his own nature I mean. I shall always think so," 
 and she looked at Miss Lennox sadly. In her eyes 
 was a mute appeal. 
 
 " He must have been a miserable, tortured soul," 
 said aunt Serena. 
 
 "Yes," assented the girl gratefully. "That is 
 what I always think. He did not know what he 
 did. Well," she went on wearily, "it is not a 
 very interesting tale, as you must acknowledge. 
 Uncle Charles was upon the whole relieved to have 
 me come away. I think it was a wise thing ; for 
 I ceased to remind them all of a disgrace, and I 
 could breathe more freely myself. Ruth, my littlo 
 sister, was too young to care. I came to a school
 
 198 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 near Dresden. I was not quite fifteen then. I 
 don't know whether it was the voyage that did me 
 good, or the novelty ; but I grew brighter and hap 
 pier at once. I no longer felt as if there were a 
 curse overshadowing me. 
 
 " Only once was any ungenerous allusion made. 
 One of the younger governesses was rebuking four 
 or five of us for some neglect of duty. I do not 
 know how she knew. Such bitter things have 
 wings, and fly from shore to shore. Then, after 
 wards, indeed, I heard she had given German les 
 sons to some children in a New- York family, then 
 living in Dresden. She said, 'It is inexcusable in 
 you all, but particularly in Miss Peyton, who ought 
 always to remember she should not claim too much 
 indulgence.' The girls were simple, good-natured 
 creatures, and attached no meaning to her words. 
 They may have thought she singled me out because 
 I was taller than the others. But I went straight to 
 her room. I don't know what I said. I was mad 
 with rage. I was at a white heat. I forbade her 
 ever to speak to me or of me again. I had begun 
 to have a little comfort. Something within me 
 asserted its right to it. I would not give up my 
 chances without a struggle. I would not blame 
 papa ; but neither would I lose myself again in 
 that black shadow. She reported that I stood 
 there with flaming eyes and a deathly face, ' like 
 a fiend,' she said, tearing my handkerchief into 
 strips, and telling her, in a low, unearthly voice, 
 that I would kill her if she did not let me alone.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 199 
 
 She left soon after that ; and although I was repri 
 manded for improper language, I always imagined 
 that the principal looked leniently upon my blinding 
 tornado of wrath, and that the indiscreet governess 
 had been dismissed on my account. I presume the 
 poor thing meant no harm. She was stupid and 
 without tact, and wished to be important. But you 
 see, I had borne all I could. I refused to accept 
 needless suffering. Then things went on very 
 quietly. It was pleasant enough there. Only, 
 you know, I never had the feeling of belonging 
 to anybody ; and I never dared be intimate with 
 any girl after Lilian. I staid a long time, until 
 my eighteenth birthday. The last year I was pupil 
 teacher, so I know from experience what a poor in 
 structor of youth I make. They would take me 
 back. They give me a good character." She 
 smiled rather sadly. "I cannot say there is not 
 a respectable occupation and a respectable home 
 awaiting me. I ought to be grateful. The time 
 may come when I shall go back to it, but I hope 
 I may die before I must. I hope I may die first. 
 
 "Last year I went home to see Ruth. She is 
 seven years old now, and the dearest little girl, but 
 very, very delicate. She cried so when I came 
 away, and it broke my heart to leave her. She is 
 the one thing that belongs to me, and I want her. 
 I hunger and thirst for her. But they do right to 
 keep her. She has to have the doctor constantly. 
 She doesn't seem to grow very much," Gertrude 
 said mournfully ; " but some day, I think, she will.
 
 200 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 Some day I will have her with me. I will take care 
 of her ; and if there is skill enough in the world, I 
 will make her strong. If there is not, I will make 
 her happier than any strong child. 
 
 " This is my castle in the air, but it is weary work 
 reaching it. Uncle Charles says the sensible thing 
 for me to do is to accept the inevitable, and teach in 
 the Dresden school. Miss Lennox, if I should do 
 that, I could not earn enough to take Ruth. He 
 says Ruth is well off where she is ; and if they are 
 willing to have her there, I ought not to complain. 
 Ruth is comfortable, but she is not happy. Indeed, 
 the little thing is not happy ; and she grows so glad 
 with me, and loses the pitiful look round her mouth. 
 "Why, one day, when I was there, she laughed till 
 she could hardly stop, like any child. You know 
 we have very little, Ruthie and I, only a trifle mam 
 ma left. Uncle Charles helped pay for my education 
 until I was eighteen. It was kind ; but I shall repay 
 it later," she added with some coldness. "! should 
 be sorry to deprive my cousins of their rights. 
 Now he insists that I must teach. He says that the 
 world is full of impoverished women of good family 
 who have resorted to teaching as the most respecta 
 ble way of supporting themselves." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " I insist that it is not respectable, but dishonest, 
 to do for money what one is not fitted to do well. 
 And more than that, when they discovered my voice 
 was promising, and advised me to come here, I 
 flatly refused to teach ; and I persisted in comi ng to
 
 AUNT SERENA. 201 
 
 Wynburg : and I hope it is not too tedious in me 
 to tell you such things I am drawing from my 
 little capital in order to study here. Of course uncle 
 Chai'les does not like it. But my voice is my one 
 hope. I would rather risk all, and lose all if I must, 
 than doom myself to a life of dishonest drudgery. 
 They say here I am studying for the stage. I never 
 deny it. I wish I were. But I am not sure that I 
 have dramatic talent ; and then, you know, it takes 
 mone} 7 and influence to push one forward nowadays, 
 there are so many aspirants. Still, if the opportu 
 nity should present itself, I should not hesitate. 
 Meanwhile I work as hard as I can at my music. 
 Perhaps I might be a church-singer somewhere at 
 home, and even teach, if I might choose my pupils. 
 But that is the trouble. If one teaches, one can't 
 choose unless one is a celebrated person, and can 
 afford to be fastidious and tyrannical. I am afraid 
 I should be sending them away when they sang false, 
 and then poor little Ruth would starve. But a great 
 opera-singer earns her thousands upon thousands, 
 and Ruth would have her caniage." 
 
 "I don't know much about the stage," aunt 
 Serena remarked thoughtfully, tr}*ing to imagine -his 
 fair girl before the footlights. 
 
 ' ' There is very little prospect of my knowing any 
 more of it than I do now," Gertrude said with a dry 
 little laugh. " It is all visionary on my part. But I 
 must decide upon something before long. They 
 say I am going on the stage, merely because one of 
 the professors at the Conservatory happened to de 
 clare that I had voice enough."
 
 202 AUNT 8EEENA. 
 
 " And your uncle Charles? " 
 
 "Would object, and disown me, unless I should 
 become a famous singer, when he would be at my 
 feet." 
 
 ' ' He is not in easy circumstances himself , I infer 
 from your story," Miss Lennox remarked with some 
 hesitation. " Otherwise he would not separate you 
 and your little sister." 
 
 Gertrude laughed. 
 
 " He has four fashionable daughters, and he lives 
 in an elegant house in New York. They are not 
 poor ; but the girls are very gay, and no doubt he 
 has expenditures enough. He would not refuse me 
 shelter if I could accept it. I could not. I would 
 rather teach," she added quietly. "You do not 
 know my cousins. I could not live in any depend 
 ent position with them. Then, they would object 
 to it as much as I. It would not be an enviable life, 
 believe me. Yes, I would rather teach in Dresden," 
 she repeated. 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear, that I ventured to ques 
 tion you." 
 
 " Oh, please ask any thing you would care to 
 know ! I have never told any one what I am telling 
 you, and now I am inundating you with my confi 
 dences. Yet I am telling it very poorly. It is littlo 
 to tell, after all. You are so good to listen, but it is 
 strange enough to me to be talking of mj^self." 
 
 " No older woman has offered you aid and sympa 
 thy ? Is it possible that you have not opened your 
 young, oppressed heart in all these years? "
 
 AUNT SERENA. 203 
 
 " I have had neither desire nor opportunity," 
 Gertrude answered calmly. Then, with ardor, 
 " Dear Miss Lennox, I have not seemed to need 
 any thing. No one but you has suspected that I 
 was in deadly want. No one else had the courage 
 to believe in me without examining my credentials. 
 If you had not had faith in me before hearing my 
 story, I would not have told it to you. I make no 
 explanations to people who doubt me ; " and she 
 drew herself up with her haughty air. 
 
 ' ' I understand that very well ; but could you per 
 haps have seemed defiant, and repelled well-meant 
 advances ? Is this not possible ? ' ' said the harm 
 less, honest voice. 
 
 " It is possible, yet I think it has not happened. 
 I am defiant, but not of kindness. I have been too 
 famishing for warm human sympathy to reject it, 
 had it been proffered. But some instinct warns me 
 when low curiosity prompts a seeming interest. Do 
 not misunderstand. I cannot doubt that there are 
 kind hearts everywhere. But it has happened that 
 I have not met with them, or those which I have 
 met are content in their own circles . After all, as 
 I said before, there is nothing in me which would 
 appeal to them ; and my life has been commonplace 
 enough, except for the gloom that came upon it 
 seven years ago, which I feel still as a great and 
 terrible sorrow, but which I refuse to regard as a 
 disgrace. There are women here who would enjoy 
 taking my lonely condition for a theme, and playing 
 variations upon it from pension to pension. It is
 
 204 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 possible, if I could have confided in them, I might 
 even have been petted and patronized for a season. 
 They like any kind of sensation. But I take the 
 liberty of reserving my feelings and thoughts for 
 myself; and they, in revenge, comment merely upon 
 superficial, unimportant matters. This cannot hurt 
 me, the real me, however." 
 
 "The real me has been talking a long time," 
 said aunt Serena affectionately. "Will she rest a 
 moment? and if, as I imagine, we are coming to 
 Wynburg, may I call Rose? Or would it be better 
 if she should still wait? " 
 
 ' ' Oh, let me call her ! She might have been here 
 all the time. It was only that I was awkward at 
 the beginning. But I am glad that I have spoken, 
 and that the sad, dull, poor little story is almost 
 told." 
 
 Aunt Serena rose. "Dear child," she said 
 slowly, " I thank you from my heart that you have 
 trusted your story to me. I shall not tell you ah* 
 that I think of it ; but believe me, I find it neither 
 dull nor poor : " and then she kissed her on her lips. 
 " As she kise^ Rose ! As she kisses Rose ! " ex 
 ulted Gertrude. 
 
 Rose was reading in her own room. Being sum 
 moned, she came, bringing with her the rich, warm, 
 innocent gladness that distinguished her. Yet it 
 did not conflict with Gertrude's graver mood. In 
 deed, Rose supplied what Gertrude needed. 
 
 " Aunt Serena, I have filled all the vases in the 
 most aesthetic manner, also the big jars, and a large
 
 AUNT SERENA. 205 
 
 basket and a little one, and whatever dishes, not 
 too suggestive of vegetables, that I could beg or 
 borrow from Frau Rudolph ; and still there are 
 roses and roses and roses. I think Mr. Sydney 
 Bruce is a most charming person. ' C'est mon opi 
 nion, ct je la partage.' ' She glanced furtively at 
 Gertrude with soft, sympathetic ej'cs. 
 
 "We all share that opinion, I, with reason, 
 most of all," said aunt Serena, bringing a small 
 glass of wine. "Drink this, my dear. It is my 
 special wine, and you are fatigued." 
 
 " It is Greek wine, Gertrude. Aunt Serena had 
 a great box brought to her years ago at home. She 
 had just used the last bottle when we came away. 
 Finding the same kind here has reconciled her to 
 "Wynburg. She has never, to my knowledge, swal 
 lowed a thimbleful herself; but she administers it to 
 her friends as a universal panacea. Fevers, colds, 
 headaches, neuralgia, sprained ankles, and broken 
 hearts are all treated at the Nest with Greek wine, 
 in that ver} 7 tiny antique glass ; and, what is more, 
 it always cures." 
 
 Miss Lennox was, however, at this moment, also 
 sipping the red nectar. " I am afflicted with neither 
 of the ills you mention, Rose ; but this has been a 
 full and exciting morning for a recluse like me." 
 
 ' ' Are you not too tired to have me go on ? " 
 Gertrude asked anxiously. 
 
 "Indeed, no. Rose, Gertrude is going to tell 
 us now what her experience in Wyuburg has been." 
 
 ' ' Ah ? You have had dinner, and I am allowed
 
 206 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 to come in at dessert. Are there any sweets left, 
 Gertrude?" 
 
 "Yes, Lieut, von Falkenstein ; " and the two 
 girls laughed with no apparent reason, as girls will, 
 Gertrude as heartily as Rose. "That is well," 
 thought aunt Serena. "Rose is good for her, and 
 the child has not the slightest sensitiveness in re 
 gard to this young man. Poor, poor dear ! What 
 a barren, weary, cruel way she has trod through 
 these years of her girlhood, and not a complaint, 
 not a reproach, not a harsh word for one of them. 
 And Lilian must have a fair start ! Well, well, we 
 will see." 
 
 " Go on, my child, my other child," she said 
 very sweetly. 
 
 Gertrude's world had grown warmer. She was 
 no longer a waif. She was one of them. They 
 had adopted her. It is as if she had said " Thou," 
 she thought.
 
 AUNT 8EEENA. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " There are who ask not if thine eye 
 Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 
 "Where no misgiving is, rely 
 Upon the genial sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts 1 without reproach or blot : 
 Who do thy work, and know it not." 
 
 WORDSWORTH : Ode to Duty. 
 
 " ~F WAS not at Frau Rudolph's at first," Ger- 
 I trade began. " I was with a person some 
 one had recommended to uncle Charles. When he 
 found I would come whether or no, he made what 
 arrangements he could for me. They told him she 
 would be a mother to me. Her idea of maternal 
 duties consisted apparently in examining my boxes 
 and opening my letters. I had seen Frau Rudolph 
 on the street, and knew she kept a pension. I came 
 to her, and asked her if she had a room for me. 
 4 Where you live ? ' she asked. I told her. ' Why 
 you leave that house? ' She knew I spoke German, 
 for I told her I had been three or four years in 
 Dresden. But she likes her English. ' Because she 
 meddles with my boxes and opens my letters,' I 
 said. Frau Rudolph laughed. ' I know that old 
 fool. She do. She do,' she muttered. ' You have 
 friends. Who sent you to me ? You go much out
 
 208 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 to tea? You have young miss often with you to 
 speak and make noise ? ' 
 
 " ' No one sent me to you. I have no friends. 
 I am very quiet, and I am alone. I may disturb 
 you with my music, but not with company.' 
 
 ' ' ' Why come to me ? ' ' Because I liked your 
 face,' I answered bluntly ; and she laughed again, 
 and pointed at her comely countenance with a wise 
 forefinger. ' My face is good face. My face is old 
 cheat. My face he look honest, but he do not say 
 my thought.' Then she led me to my little room, 
 which, as I have discovered lately, the good soul gave 
 me for two-thirds her regular price, probably making 
 up for it by increasing some other person's board 
 proportionately " ( u Bless her ! ' ' murmured Rose) ; 
 " and she has done her best for me ever since." 
 
 " Frau Rudolph takes the measure of every one 
 under her roof. She knows us all, our characters 
 and proclivities, sometimes, it seems to me, our very 
 thoughts before we think them. She would not let 
 me, a young girl all alone, stay here, if I were not 
 really nice ; " and Gertrude colored slightly. "But 
 the people do not seem to think of that." 
 
 "What people, Gertrude? " asked aunt Serena. 
 
 " What people, indeed ! " Gertrude repeated with 
 a retrospective look. " Who can tell how a rumor, 
 an impression, flies? No one originates it. No one 
 owns it. But it travels far and wide, and does 
 harm, and is sheltered and welcomed and fattened, 
 and every one helps it along, and no one treads it 
 under foot. Miss Lennox, I tell you frankly that if
 
 AUNT SERENA. 209 
 
 you inquire about me in families that you will know 
 here, in nine cases out of ten you will hear some 
 thing unfavorable. You may think I exaggerate my 
 own importance," and she smiled somewhat bitterly, 
 " but I assure you I do not. I am only a Conserva 
 tory girl ; but whenever I am spoken of at all, the 
 chances are that it is with a curl of the lip." 
 
 "If it's merely a question of lip-curling!" and 
 Rose's sweet mouth broke into innumerable scornful 
 curves. 
 
 " I wish it were only that, dear. I think I ought 
 to make you understand this, Miss Lennox," Ger 
 trude went on. " I do not feel as if you were quite 
 aware exactly how people speak of me. This 
 thought embarrasses me often, and most when you 
 are kindest. I could not let Rose associate with 
 me unless you knew. I could no more deny myself 
 the delight of knowing you and coming to you here, 
 than I could turn away from food and drink when 
 starving ; but as to riding horseback and going 
 everywhere wilh Rose, publicly " 
 
 "Gertrude Peyton," cried Rose, "are you as 
 crazy as the rest of them? " 
 
 " My dear child," and Miss Lennox spoke with 
 mild but perceptible hauteur, " may I inquire for 
 what j'ou take us? " 
 
 Gertrude looked blankly from one to the other. 
 
 "Do you not see that you attribute to us the 
 meanest kind of meanness? " exclaimed Rose. 
 
 " She is actually warning us against herself, poor 
 lamb," thought aunt Serena; "but I cannot seem 
 to interpret it so."
 
 210 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 " Gertrude, you must admit that you r own dig 
 nity, as well as ours, would forbid sach * relation 
 ship." 
 
 " Does my aunt Serena look like a c*-o-ndestine 
 person ? ' ' inquired Rose solemnly. 
 
 " But I did not mean that. Rose is so ber^jtiful," 
 cried Gertrude, her rich voice throbbing with trong 
 emotion, " and so clean before the work 3 ; and 
 you do not know them, not even you, Miss Lennox, 
 wise as you are. I could not bear to have them 
 hurt her, and be myself the cause." 
 
 Aunt Serena's face was calm as a marble angel's, 
 as she took Gertrude's hands in hers. 
 
 " Dear, we may as well begin to understand each 
 other. In the first place, we consider you our friend, 
 which settles half the question. In the next place, 
 you give as much or more than }*ou take, as I find 
 you a most desirable companion for my niece Rosa 
 mond ; which settles the other half. As to the peo 
 ple, whom, by the way," and she smiled with some 
 amusement, " I regard as of very little importance, 
 we will take them slowly one by one as they 
 come." 
 
 A great light shone out of Gertrude's eyes. ' ' You 
 think me good for Rose, me? " she faltered, breath 
 less with joy. " You not only tolerate me and are 
 kind to me, but you think me of use to you? " 
 
 " Don't you know it, you clever, dull girl? " and 
 Rose's glad, caressing tones, full of sweetness, full 
 of laughter, sank into the depths of Gertrude's 
 heart. " Are you too blind to see that we love you
 
 AUNT SERENA. 211 
 
 and admire you? That your heroic little finger ia 
 worth all of me and many like me ? That you make 
 me ashamed of my easy life? That you are the 
 dearest, loveliest, and bravest of girls? And that 
 I am proud to form an alliance with you, offensive 
 and defensive ? " 
 
 Gertn.de gave one long sigh of pure happiness. 
 
 " And you do not even ask me what they say? " 
 
 " I do not in the least care to know," said aunt 
 Serena tranquilly. 
 
 " But now I want to tell you all ; " and Gertrude 
 sprang to her feet, and stood with her illumined face 
 before them. "I want to tell you that there is 
 not one act or word or thought of mine that I am 
 ashamed to show you. I have pretended not to 
 care for the people, but I do care. They hurt me. 
 They wound me. They kill me. I have tried not 
 to be weak enough to pity myself; but sometimes I 
 could not help being sorry for that girl who was so 
 very much alone, and working so hard, and trying 
 only to find a way to make a home for her little 
 sister, and always hunted down. I do not blame 
 the people, at least not many of them. But they 
 hurt me. At first everybody was kind at the Con 
 servatory. Now the Americans avoid me. The 
 German girls are gentle, but shy. Thev do not 
 understand ; and why should they go out of their 
 own circles? The Americans, at best, are enigmas 
 to thorn. Then, if my own country-women think me 
 queer, they must evidently have some cause. Some 
 of the American girls were cordial ; but when they
 
 212 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 found I did not know Mrs. Van Reusalaer, and Mrs. 
 Raymond, and the others, they gradually dropped 
 me. I have always been praised by my masters, 
 and I hope it is not ill-natured in me to say that 
 Kitty Van Rensalaer seemed to consider herself 
 personally aggrieved by my progress. She stared 
 at me, without returning my good-morning, as I 
 went in to my piano-lesson, and she came out, one 
 day. This was sufficient to exclude me from the 
 polite world." 
 
 "But you are all children !" said Mrs. Lennox 
 surprised. 
 
 " We are very precocious children, and Kitty repre 
 sents her mamma," Gertrude replied with a smile. 
 "Much begins with us children. Kitty Van Ren 
 salaer and some others were, to speak plainly, 
 jealous of m}* music. They need not have been," 
 she said sadly. " It was all I had. But they did 
 not know that. Kitty is not malicious, I think. 
 She merely likes to be first." 
 
 "Gertrude," said Rose suddenly, "you talk to 
 me as if I were a sleepy kitten, only fit to curl itself 
 up and purr. Now, I am going to surprise you with 
 my knowledge of the world. You are a very dis 
 tinguished-looking girl. They were jealous of more 
 than 3"our music." 
 
 " I never thought of that," said Gertrude simply 
 ' My pale, dull face " 
 
 "So it began with those young girls?" asked 
 Miss Lennox, ignoring the interruption. 
 
 " Yes ; and I began to have my old Pariah feeling
 
 AUNT SERENA. 213 
 
 again : although, as far as I know, people here do not 
 know about that," and she looked at aunt Serena 
 significantly. "And I was cold, and made no ad 
 vances to any one, and stalked grimly in and out of 
 the Conservator}' ; and no one had a good word for 
 me, except the professors. Then, when one of them 
 happened to make that remark about my voice, I 
 was at once studying for the stage ; and soon I had 
 already been an actress in the remote past ; and this 
 was quite enough to frighten the timid girls, and 
 girls have right instincts, do they not? Of course, 
 if my peers condemn me, I am lost. All the time I 
 worked, and wrote little letters to Ruth, and drew 
 myself more and more into my shell ; and I never 
 have been able to assimilate with any of the ladies 
 in the house," with which quiet remark she disposed 
 of the pension. 
 
 " Then came the von Falkenstein episode." 
 
 Into Gertrude's face darted the look of careless, 
 girlish amusement that aunt Serena had gladly 
 noticed before. 
 
 "Which is, it would seem, not a very serious 
 affair," she said encouragingly. 
 
 "Which is pure comedy," Gertrude answered, 
 ' ' except in its consequences ; and they have done 
 me much harm." 
 
 ' ' Gertrude, I am devoured by curiosity. I thought 
 you would never come to the lieutenant. Molly 
 and Daisy themselves could not be more excited 
 than I." 
 
 "I am glad it is comedy, dear. You certainly
 
 214 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 have a right to it. You have been telling me much 
 of a different nature. May I say for your comfort, 
 that j'ou have lived so much in your nineteen j'ears, 
 and your inner life is so much richer than that 
 of the people who have been careless enough to 
 pain you, I think 3-011 need not be cast down?" 
 
 Gertrude said with grave thankfulness, 
 
 " Now that I have you, yes. It is all different 
 when one is quite alone. The evenings are long, 
 and one sits and thinks. But it is quite possible 
 that I have exaggerated little things," she said 
 brightly. Already the people seemed kinder to 
 her. 
 
 " Now for Lieut, von Falkenstein," and in her 
 eyes came the laughter. " No one but you would 
 believe me : but, indeed, he is the nicest boy in 
 the world, and quite a boy, not much older than I 
 am; and that is young for a man." 
 
 "He has a bright, boyish face," said aunt 
 Serena, with certain reasons for having a strong 
 interest in this narrative. 
 
 "He reminds me of Harold when he rides by," 
 said Rose, " with his fair hair and fresh color, and 
 debonair look." 
 
 "He has meant no harm," Gertrude went on 
 eagerly, "and whatever fault there may have been 
 is wholly my own. In the first place, the way we 
 met was most extraordinary and romantic, or 
 ridiculous, as one pleases to regard it. It's quite 
 a long story. One day in the street I met one of 
 the Dresden school-girls. She was making a little
 
 AUNT SERENA. 215 
 
 journey with her father, and was in "Wyiiburg only 
 for that clay. She was a good-natured, quiet Ger 
 man girl, whom I had not known very well ; but she 
 seemed moderately glad to see a familiar face : and 
 when they politely asked me to drive with them, 
 and do some sight-seeing, and dine with them at 
 the hotel afterwards, you can imagine how glad I 
 was to accept. Frau Rudolph looked as pleased as 
 possible when they called for me. She came herself 
 to the carriage, and gave me the house-keys, which 
 are also the keys which unlock the Falkenstein 
 mystery, and are as fatal as Bluebeard's." 
 
 " The keys ? " said aunt Serena inquiringly. " We 
 have but one. The key to the inner entrance-door. 
 The main door of our floor." 
 
 " Yes. But you have not been out evenings yet ; 
 and by day the iron gate and the house-door are 
 never closed, you know. "When you have once come 
 in after ten you will appreciate the ponderosity of 
 German precautions. I had not before been out 
 late, and had not my three keys together, as I have 
 now ; ' ' and she drew them from her pocket for in 
 spection. "I had not any keys at all, in fact. 
 Fi au Rudolph thought I might not come home early, 
 and so kindly provided me with the means of 
 entrance. 
 
 " We took our drive, and did not come back to 
 the hotel until nine. Then we had some supper s 
 and it was quite eleven when my friends walked up 
 to the house with me. I felt elated, like any girl 
 who has friends and goes out to drive. One ac-
 
 216 AUNT SEE EN A. 
 
 customs one's self so quickly to pleasant things, you 
 know. They stood there chatting on the pavement 
 as I unlocked the great gate with key No. 1, closed 
 it, and re-locked it. Then they waited until I had 
 walked through the little court, applied key No. 2 
 to the lock of the house-door, after which they could 
 not possibly do any more for me than to wish me a 
 kind good-night. Between us was a locked gate. 
 They had brought me safely home. Their minds 
 were at rest, so was mine. They walked away ; and 
 I opened the heavy door, closed it behind me, 
 locked it, and stood in utter darkness at the foot of 
 the little first flight, carefully putting my two great 
 keys in my pocket. Then, with perfect composure, 
 I grasped my little glass-door key which was to let 
 me into Frau Rudolph's habitation, and, feeling my 
 way with my feet, began to ascend. 
 
 " It seemed very comical to me to be stealing up 
 stairs like a thief in the night. I can give you no 
 idea of the darkness. It was perfectly black. I 
 went on slowly, but cheerfully, wondering if every 
 body over here had had the same curious experience ; 
 presuming that genteel people ordered their maids or 
 footmen when they went out to tea ; trying to decide 
 upon the best mode of action in case one has neither ; 
 and determining that if ever I should be invited 
 anywhere again, I would, at least, provide myself 
 with a box of matches and a taper. I crept up the 
 first little flight, and the long flight, and came to 
 our door. Gently, so that I should wake no one, 
 I put the key in, and tried to turn it. To my great
 
 AUNT SERENA. 217 
 
 amazement it would not turn. In vain I strained 
 my wrist, and nearly sprained my thumb. I drew it 
 out, aud inserted it in a different way, in a wily and 
 enticing manner ; but neither by force nor art could 
 I turn that key a hair's-breadth. It was incredible. 
 I felt annoyed. I turned, looked behind me, and 
 saw only a faint glimmer over the stairs. It was 
 not light. It was only a little less black, and 
 showed where the ground-glass window was. I knew 
 that people in the dark become strangely confused, 
 and it occurred to me I might have come up too 
 many nights. I was sure I had not, but something 
 was wrong. It might be I. So back I crept down 
 the stairs, counting them, clinging to the balusters, 
 slow, and determined not to be nervous and foolish. 
 I went down the long flight. Right so far. I 
 crossed the little landing. I went down the short 
 flight. I stood in the lower corridor, and put my 
 hands on the massive house-door. There was no 
 mistake. I was still quite cool, and once more made 
 my deliberate ascent of the very slippery stairway, 
 counting again with painful decision, and with re 
 newed hope applied my perverse key to Frau Ru 
 dolph's entrance-door. The result was as before. 
 There is no help for it, I thought : I must ring, and 
 wake them all. I am sorry, but I have done my 
 best ; and I cannot sit on the stairs all night. So 
 I rang, timidly, reluctantl}-, deprecatingly, because I 
 must, and not because I would. The bell sounded 
 but too loud, I thought, in the silent night. Eager 
 to enter, I pressed my cheek against the door. No
 
 218 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 one carne. Not a sound could I hear. Then I 
 rang again, boldly, repeatedly, with no hesitation 
 or scruples ; the bell pealed out without mercy, and 
 the wire shook angrily ; then the noise died away, 
 acd utter silence followed; and I was there alone, 
 and, as far as I knew, likely to be there until 
 morning. I was desperate ; pulled the bell and 
 worked at the lock by turns until I was tired. I 
 am ashamed to say I grew nervous. It may have 
 been the strong tea which I had drunk at the hotel ; 
 but I began to see grinning, ghastly faces in the 
 darkness, hands reached out to clutch me. I heard 
 all the clocks strike twelve, and then the little silver 
 bell of the church-tower. I seized the door, shook 
 it and pounded it frantically ; but I had only lame 
 knuckles for my pains. I repeated poetry to take 
 up the time. I remembered Constance de Beverley 
 and the vestal virgins, and the poor man immured 
 in the foundations of the Rath Haus at old Rothen- 
 burg on the Tauber, and all the appalling tales I 
 had ever read of dark dungeons growing smaller 
 each day until they crushed the unhappy wretch 
 within ; and though I knew I was in the corridor, 
 witli six long flights, and air enough for an army, I 
 felt half suffocated. You have no idea of the fool 
 ish, extravagant fancies I had, or how dreadful the 
 darkness grew. 
 
 " Soon after twelve the iron gate opened and 
 closed with a loud clang. I heard a heavy, stum 
 bling step, and then the slam of the house-door. I 
 shrank back into the corner and faced the stairway,
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 219 
 
 my eyes staring towards the invisible approaching 
 figure. Very slowly, step by step, the man came 
 nearer and nearer, so near that the fumes of liquor 
 reached me as he passed ; and it seemed to me he 
 must touch me. I scarcely breathed until he had 
 mounted to the very top of the house, and shut a 
 door behind him. I felt faint from fright. I 
 thought I would go out in the street. It would be 
 lighter there, and one would not be so penned i p. 
 I could at least run away if any thing should 
 frighten me. Suddenly the iron gate clanged again, 
 and again my heart stood still. Presently the great 
 house-door closed, gently this time ; and on the 
 stairs sounded a firm, even step, the clicking of 
 spurs, and a swinging sabre. It was ah 1 like the 
 pealing of joy-bells to me. Now I am safe. Now 
 my distress is over. I thought, with the inborn 
 confidence with which an American girl relies upon 
 even a stranger's protection, ' This is the young 
 lieutenant. They all speak well of him. He will 
 take care of me, and open that dreadful door.' He 
 came on rapidly. He must have been on the fourth 
 or fifth stair from the landing where I stood strain 
 ing my eyes to see him, when, in a tolerably cheer 
 ful voice, all things considered, I began, ' Oh, if 
 you please, Herr Lieutenant ' ' Who is there? ' 
 a stern voice thundered at me ; and not another step 
 did the young man take. There he stood, on guard, 
 or his step, and there I stood on mine, disappointed, 
 trembling, more alarmed than I had been at all, and 
 utterly at a loss to know why he was so appalling.
 
 220 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 A woeful figure indeed I was, not worth his chal 
 lenge ; but this the darkness did not reveal. Of 
 course, absorbed in my own troubles, I did not real 
 ize the effect of my voice upon him, rising as it did 
 from midnight shades. 
 
 "We both stood in silence, how long I do not 
 know. 
 
 " ' Who is there? ' he growled again. 
 
 " He has told me since that I sounded as if I 
 were about to burst into tears as I answered, in a 
 feeble and disconnected manner, ' I am sure, I think 
 it is very trying. I have stood here in the dark an 
 hour and a half at least, and I thought you would 
 open it.' 
 
 "Without abandoning his position, he discreetly 
 lighted a match. By its flickering and insufficient 
 flame I saw Lieut, von Falkenstein in gala uni 
 form, and he saw me. Obviously I was not intim 
 idating. The match went out ; and he, with a mar 
 vellously softened voice, said, 
 
 "'Open what?' 
 
 " ' The door, of course,' said I with some irrita 
 tion. 
 
 " ' Oh. the door ! Do you live here ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, when I can get in,' I answered again not 
 very amiably. 
 
 " He gave a little subdued laugh. I am afraid I 
 laughed as well. It was so delicious to have some 
 one to speak to. He seemed companionable and 
 kind. My spirits rose. He lighted another match. 
 Again I saw his blond face, grave and civil, but
 
 AUNT SERENA. 221 
 
 with a gleam of mirth in it : then the blue and silver 
 of his uniform vanished in the darkness. He came 
 forward. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon. Will you give me your 
 key?' 
 
 " ' Our hands met awkwardly in the darkness. 
 He took the key, and tried to turn it in the lock. 
 I must confess I felt a sensation of relief as well as 
 perplexity when he, with his man's strength, suc 
 ceeded no better than I. He then tried his own 
 keys, with no better result. 
 
 "'If you will kindly wait an instant,' he said 
 very civilly. 
 
 "I laughed again. What could I do but wait? 
 ' I have been waiting since a little after eleven 
 o'clock,' I said demurely. ' I think a minute more 
 or less won't matter.' 
 
 " ' I was about to say that I would go up to my 
 rooms, bring a lantern and all my keys, and then I 
 am sure I can open it.' 
 
 " ' Thanks. If you will be so kind.' 
 
 " He had sprung half waj r up the next flight, 
 when it seems strange, but it was a night of won 
 ders, you know I heard some one on the inside 
 of our door, and it softly opened. 
 
 "' Don't open it wide, for the world, Miss Pey- 
 lor,' whispered a voice ineffably modest in spite 
 of the darkness. ' I am in such dishabille. I 
 should expire if your friend should see me.' 
 
 " ' Lieut, von Falkenstein,' I called out, ' I shall 
 not need your lantern. I thank you very much for 
 your kindness. Good-night.'
 
 222 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 "And before he could reply, I slipped through, 
 and stood at last safe in the inner corridor. 
 
 "The lady who let me in lighted a candle, 
 and" 
 
 " Who was the lady? " asked Miss Lennox. " It 
 is not idle curiosity that leads me to inquire, Ger 
 trude." 
 
 " It was Mrs. Vivien." 
 
 " Ah? and why, then, had not Mrs. Vivien opened 
 the door before? " 
 
 " She said she had heard a fumbling at the lock, 
 and thought it might be one of the students in an 
 intoxicated condition ; and then she went to sleep 
 again. Of course it did not devolve upon her to 
 open the door. She slept through all the bell- 
 ringing, she said. She was only roused the second 
 time by the man's voice," Gertrude explained, 
 innocent of any attempt at satire, "her room 
 being next to the door." 
 
 " She must be a sound sleeper," said aunt Serena 
 dryly. " Where was Frau Rudolph? " 
 
 " Curiously enough, out of the house. That one 
 night she staid with her sister whose child was ill." 
 
 " And the servants? " 
 
 " Oh, they sleep in the attic." 
 
 " And why did not Babele come for you, and bring 
 you home properly? " 
 
 " I do not know. Frau Eudolph did not know 
 what time to send her perhaps ; and then, my 
 friends proposed bringing me home." 
 
 '' Ani what was the matter with the key ? "
 
 AUNT SERENA. 223 
 
 " That was the grand misfortune. It was a mis 
 take of the locksmith, who had sent home new keys 
 that da}'. Frau Rudolph took it for granted it was 
 right, and had not tried this one. The man hud 
 nerer made a mistake before." 
 
 " Did Mrs. Vivien understand it all? " 
 
 "Perfectly. She was really kind that night. 
 She insisted upon coming into my room and giving 
 me something warm to drink ; and I told her the 
 whole story. She laughed immoderately, I remem 
 ber." 
 
 Aunt Serena looked grave. 
 
 " She knew that you had never spoken with Lieut, 
 von Falkenstein before? " 
 
 "Oh, yes! She has never troubled me about 
 that," Gertrude added frankly. " Of course I do 
 not pretend to like her. We do not sympathize. 
 But even she, I think, would not misrepresent any 
 thing so palpably innocent as that experience. The 
 next day she shook her finger at me, and said, ' Oh, 
 you sly rogue ! Girls will be girls.' I did not know 
 what she meant, and never asked." 
 
 " Gertrude, you are ungrateful," said Rosamond. 
 " Do you know nothing ever happened to me in all 
 my life so interesting as this adventure with a beau 
 tiful blue-and-silver lieutenant? " 
 
 "But it has not resulted well, unfortunately," 
 Gertrude continued. " The next day he came to 
 Frau Rudolph, and asked how the young lady wss 
 who had such an unpleasant experience, if she 
 had taken cold, if she was quite recovered."
 
 224 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "Frau Rudolph considered his solicitude not un 
 natural, and let me answer for myself, in her little 
 reception-room and in her presence. Of course we 
 could not be very formal after so absurd a meeting. 
 Ho described his own perturbation. ' How was I 
 to know? ' said he. ' Why, you might have been a 
 thief, or a murderer, or an any thing ! ' and he 
 told me the flickering match had revealed such a 
 white, imploring face, his wrath at being startled 
 was appeased at once. He has, since then, seen 
 me there in Frau Rudolph's presence about once in 
 six weeks; and then, I have been to walk with 
 him three times." 
 
 " And is that your veiy worst crime, Gertrude? " 
 said aunt Serena pleasantly, but with a strongly 
 observant expression. 
 
 "It is a crime here," the your>g girl admitted. 
 " I know that perfectly well. But I was recklese, 
 because I had nothing to lose. I was avoided. I 
 was pointed out as eccentric and queer. I had been 
 an actress, was going to be an actress, was an 
 actress : as if that in itself were an}* harm, had it 
 been true. I do not wish to exculpate myself. Of 
 course I might have been careful and discreet still. 
 But the truth is, it hardly seemed worth while. I 
 had done the best I could, and every thing was as 
 uncomfortable as possible. So I thought, why need 
 I try to please the world ? ' ' 
 
 " And you pleased yourself, and went to walk 
 with the young baron? " 
 
 "Yes."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 225 
 
 "How did it happen, dear?" aunt Serena asked 
 in her quiet, friendly way. " I must plead guilty to 
 vast interest in the lieutenant. I share the weak 
 ness of Daisy and Molly and my niece." 
 
 " I am always inclined to laugh when I allude to 
 him. It is all, to speak plainly, such a tempest in 
 a teapot. It looks so ominous, and is, in reality, so 
 funny. The first time I walked with him, it was 
 an accident. It was broad daylight, five o'clock ; 
 and I was hurrying home, and met him two blocks 
 from the house, coming the same way. I had seen 
 him repeatedly, then, you know ; and we had never 
 been very ceremonious. It was hardly possible 
 after that absurd midnight meeting." 
 
 " Naturally," acquiesced aunt Serena. 
 
 " So we walked on together, chatting and laugh 
 ing. He is very amusing and light-hearted. I was 
 not aware that the strictest person would object. I 
 did not think of etiquette, in fact. But we met 
 Molly and Daisy's awe-struck faces at the gate ; and 
 I saw Mrs. Vivien at the window ; and at supper 
 the colonels' lambs seemed to shrink smaller and 
 smaller, in their desire to get away from me ; and 
 Mrs. Lancaster's virtuous air was conspicuously 
 rampant ; and I was made to feel that I was ostra 
 cized beyond hope of recall. I did not know whether 
 to be angry or laugh. They all seemed very petty 
 and contemptible. I am afraid I considered myself 
 rather superior to them. Still, they were stronger 
 than I ; and they have left nothing undone to show 
 their horroi of me and their fear of contamination.
 
 226 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Frau Rudolph went about chuckling, and often 
 brought nice little dishes to my room ; but not one 
 unguarded word did she say. 
 
 " And the second walk was half an accident. I 
 had been working very hard all day, with my piano 
 And my voice ; and then I had some sewing to finish : 
 and it was a warm evening in September, some 
 weeks before you came. After supper, about half- 
 past seven, I longed for a little air. I thought I 
 would take a brisk walk round the square. I ran 
 down stairs, and met Lieut, von Falkenstein at the 
 gate." 
 
 "Accidentally?" said aunt Serena. 
 
 "Accidentally," replied Gertrude firmly, with 
 clear, unshrinking eyes. "He stopped short, and 
 asked me if he might not escort me wherever I was 
 going. I said I was going nowhere. Then he 
 asked if he might not go nowhere with me. It was 
 not very brilliant, but we both laughed." 
 
 ' 'And you said yes ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes. I thought it would be pleasant," remarked 
 Gertrude with naivete. "And it was pleasant. We 
 went very much farther than round the square. We 
 walked to the top of the hill, and looked back at 
 the city-lights. It was very nice and breezy." 
 
 "This is the most thrillingly interesting romance 
 I ever heard," said Rose, laughing. " Was it very, 
 very late when you came home ? ' ' 
 
 "It was nine, and they all knew. It made a 
 grand excitement in the pension. And it was after 
 that, I think, that the vague rumors began to pre-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 227 
 
 ciser themselves ; and they said the worst possible 
 things." Gertrude colored. 
 
 Miss Lennox nodded gravely. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to feel differently alx>ut it. 
 Sometimes I am scornful and indignant ; but some 
 times I really do not feel it at aU. Perhaps I have 
 grown callous. If they should say I was too inde 
 pendent and unamiable and defiant and indiscreet, 
 I should feel it, and know that it was true. But 
 they go too far, they go too far ! It is all so impos 
 sibly remote from me. A girl can't feel it, when she 
 hears she is a murderer or a thief, or has poisoned all 
 ner family, or any thing like that " 
 
 "And the third time, my dear? " 
 
 "The third tune was the evening before 3 r our 
 first appearance at the dinner-table ; and it was no 
 accident at all, but a well-organized plan. He 
 asked me to go. I wanted to go, and I went. We 
 had a long walk and a very earnest talk." 
 
 There was a slight pause. At length aunt Serena 
 said, 
 
 " Gertrude, I think I understand you. But I do 
 not understand Frau Rudolph or this young man." 
 
 "It is the rule of Frau Rudolph's life never to 
 interfere," said the girl quietly. "I think, upon 
 the whole, she does right. She is very wise. And 
 she did go so far once as to show her kindly feeling 
 towards me. She brought a little plate of maca 
 roons to my room, and said in her queer wa}*, 
 
 " ' Friiulein Gertrude, you are good/muZem, and,' 
 with a significant jerk of her thumb towards the
 
 228 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 next floor, * he no harm. But they,' and she gave 
 a comprehensive wave of her two fat arms, as if to 
 encircle the universe, but no one in particular, 
 ' great fools. Poor little one frdulein fight too 
 much great fools ; she get hurt, she get dead, i nd 
 who sorrows? What for is that good, to fight so 
 strong old fools ? ' And in a twinkling she drew 
 herself up with an unmistakable Imitation of Mrs. 
 Lancaster ; then as suddenly gave a side-glance, 
 and looked deprecating, like Mrs. Vivien, and went 
 off with her usual chuckle." 
 
 " She is an estimable woman," said aunt Serena 
 heartily. "And, Gertrude, she told }'ou the truth. 
 But I am not going to begin my homily at present. 
 I wish to return to our lieutenant. What is his posi 
 tion in the matter? How does he reconcile it with 
 his own ideas of etiquette? I ask you directly, my 
 child, as if 3*011 were Rosamond." 
 
 Gertrude smiled, well pleased, and in her simple, 
 frank manner said, 
 
 " I think at first he wanted to be 'American.' 
 He has met nice American girls in Switzerland, 
 not loud, flirty ones, I imagine from what he has 
 said, but really refined, pleasant girls, and he has 
 been allowed to escort them a short distance now 
 and then ; and he is quite enthusiastic over what he 
 calls the American system. He says girls with us 
 are not so likely to think a young man has inten 
 tions as German girls are, and not so sentimental ; 
 and altogether he raves about a sensible and frank 
 intercourse."
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 229 
 
 " And therefore invites an unprotected } T oung girl 
 to take a late, dark walk with him, and considers 
 that sensible, frank, and American?" sighed aunt 
 Serena, with, however, a humorous rather than a 
 horrified expression. "Oh, my country, thou art 
 still an undiscovered land ! " 
 
 Gertrude laughed. " I know it. I know it. Of 
 course it seems so even to you. But indeed he is 
 not to blame. He told me that last time that he 
 was extremely annoyed to find people were gossip- 
 ping, and he begged me not to misunderstand if he 
 did not even call again very soon ; and he was ex 
 cessively indignant. Really, I think he is simply 
 sorry for me. Frau Rudolph has told him I was 
 alone, and that I worked hard, and had few pleas 
 ures. It seemed natural to me that he should call 
 and ask her how I was, and not surprising when he 
 came again. Of course, he might have been a dif 
 ferent kind of person. But in that case I think I 
 should also have been different," she said with her 
 little dignified air. " I would not have seen him 
 if he had been bold and familiar, as some of the 
 officers look, even like some people whom my cous 
 ins receive in New York, and whom I found unen 
 durable. For, after all, it isn't the nation, but the 
 nature, that makes the difference. He is merry, yet 
 always respectful. You know, I had seen him with 
 Frau Rudolph many times for a half an hour or so, 
 before I let him take that first walk with me. We 
 are very good friends. His light-hearted ways re 
 fresh me like a breath of fresh air. He has told me
 
 230 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 all about his family, and his father's estate, and hia 
 own hunting-dogs, and his mother, and his cousin 
 Olga. He is engaged to be married to his cousin." 
 
 "Ah," said Miss Lennox softly. 
 
 " Oh, yes : and I have enjoyed him so much ; he 
 is so sunny. I really think you would like him." 
 
 " My dear, dear child, I am sure I should ! " and 
 aunt Serena, with a curious mixture of expressions, 
 rose, walked to the recessed window, and stood 
 a while. " It is better even than I had imagined," 
 she thought with much satisfaction. 
 
 " Gertrude, may I ask 3*ou one more question? " 
 
 " A thousand," said the girl joyfully. 
 
 ' ' Have you any reason to believe that your first 
 meeting with Lieut, von Falkenstein at night has 
 ever been mentioned in an unfavorable or a distorted 
 manner?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she said carelessly. " No one would 
 take the trouble to misrepresent that. Everybody 
 understood it, and we were so obviously irrespon 
 sible." 
 
 Aunt Serena, standing by Gertrude's chair, gently 
 smoothed her cheek, now a little flushed from much 
 speaking. 
 
 " Or perhaps it is being reserved as the best 
 trump-card, ' ' she added playfully. ' ' Who knows ? ' ' 
 
 "And you do not attribute your troubles to any 
 one individual? You have given no one cause to 
 feel any personal resentment or enmity to you ? ' ' 
 
 " No one. My troubles are due to fate, and 
 people in general, and myself," replied the young
 
 AUNT SERENA. 231 
 
 girl promptly. " The ladies do not like me here, 
 because I am not of their kind. I do not like them, 
 because they are not of my kind. They disapprove 
 of me thoroughly. They assume what attitude they 
 please towards me, according to the dictates of their 
 various natures, and are not careful as to what they 
 say of me or any one else, as you know. But still, 
 they would not go out of their way to deliberately 
 do me harm, I think. Why, that would be perse 
 cution ! I have never considered myself quite a 
 martyr," she said, laughing. "Indeed, I begin to 
 think, to-day, that I have been making much ado 
 about nothing," she added, with a happy, grateful 
 ring in her voice. 
 
 ' ' I have been forced to think about myself, of 
 course ; but I have given up trying to understand 
 the girl-question. It is too distressingly compli 
 cated. Now, I know that one of our most admired 
 and respected quiet American girls here, who is much 
 liked in very exclusive foreign circles, said to a new 
 comer from America, ' You can do any thing you 
 like, and haA 7 e an awful amount of fun with the offi 
 cers, on the sly, only, never smile at the theatre. 
 Look solemn and wearily indifferent, and you'll be 
 a success. I'll show you how to manage about 
 notes and walks.' / would rather walk with a regi 
 ment of lieutenants than be capable of making that 
 remark." 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " sighed good aunt Serena, greatly 
 dismayed. Here were complications indeed. Here 
 were moral difficulties of which she had not dreamed
 
 232 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 in Nortlibrooke. "Well, let the statesmen take care 
 of the s}^stems ! Meanwhile, she perhaps could at 
 least sweep her own pavement. 
 
 "To return to your inquiry, there is Mrs. Viv 
 ien," Gertrude went on gayly. "A resume of our 
 hostilities would be superfluous. You have had the 
 privilege of frequently seeing our encounters. But 
 I must do her the justice to say that she attacks me 
 honestly enough every day at dinner. It is true," 
 she said thoughtfully, " although we have always 
 been antagonistic, she dislikes me more than ever 
 since I have known Lieut, von Falkenstein. If it 
 is not too petty a thing to repeat, she met him some 
 where in society, and asked him to call ; and he went 
 once, and never again. He does not like her, and 
 mereby puts his heels together and makes the funny 
 little bow the}- give when he meets her, as he usually 
 does on his way to Frau Rudolph's room. She de 
 scribed his visit to her very eloquently at dinner one 
 day, and spoke of him as a dear boy, whom she 
 knew so well, having met him at Lady Manners's. 
 And I was disagreeable enough to smile, because he 
 told me he had never seen her but once ; and then I 
 knew that when he called she had brought out that 
 gra} 7 stocking. She likes young and aristocratic so 
 ciety. I suppose she was annoyed that he didn't 
 come again. Still, she could hardly hold me re 
 sponsible for that, and visit it upon me." 
 
 "Oh, please think aloud, aunt Serena!" said 
 Rose. " You look much too wise. Farewell, peace 
 ful Northbrooke ! The world has seized my aunt. 
 She is full of guile, and maketh plots and plans."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " I must invite Lieut, von Falkenstein here," 
 said Miss Lennox placidly. 
 
 Gertrude looked surprised and amused. " That 
 would be charming ; but, Miss Lennox, people will 
 think you want him ' ' 
 
 " I do want him, or I should not ask him." 
 
 "Yes, but, for Rose!" 
 
 "Oh, wheels within wheels!" aunt Serena re 
 plied with a patient smile. " If they think that, 
 they will, no doubt, have leisure to un think it." 
 
 " I want him very much," remarked Rose se 
 dately. " I may take a walk with him some even 
 ing. And may Molly and Daisy come in and sit in 
 the corner and look at him? Do you think such 
 ecstasy would kill them ? Do people who are young 
 and strong ever die of joy ? ' ' 
 
 "Children, we shall all be late to dinner. Ger 
 trude, will you come back and go in with us? And 
 would you, perhaps, like to call me aunt Serena, my 
 dear? It would not sound strange to us. I am 
 auut to all Northbrooke. Why, why, you are not 
 going to cry now, after telling that brave, long stoi'y 
 with dry eyes ! Hush, child ! Go and bathe your 
 face quickly. Age has its privileges. As you see, 
 I am a tyrant."
 
 234 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " And a bird overhead sang, Follow ; 
 And a bird to the right sang, Here" 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 
 IT was not long before our friends from North- 
 brooke began to take comfort and delight in the 
 pleasant German city. Fair "Wynburg presented 
 itself to them under undeniably favorable auspices. 
 The pension, it is true, was always there ; but after 
 their first inevitable moral plunge into its troubled 
 depths, they were wise enough to float in what 
 ever shallow, sunny pools they could discover, and 
 avoid dangerous quicksands. Although the house 
 hold seldom ceased its insidious surprises and at 
 tacks, aunt Serena was a genial philosopher, with 
 whom it was impossible to quarrel. Each day she 
 began anew with everybody. Her gentle optimism, 
 closing its eyes to the disappointing experience of 
 yesterday, awaited to-day only worthy sentiments 
 and pleasing deportment from all mankind. 
 
 Even Rosamond, since the time her generous 
 blood was stirred by the simple story of a girl's 
 weary, lonely life, had met all annoyances at the 
 table with imperturbable suavity. " If Gertrude," 
 she thought, " has been strong and brave with never 
 a friend or a joy to help her, unless I am a coward I
 
 AUNT SERENA. 235 
 
 shall not allow these pygmies to hurt me." Accord 
 ingly she no longer changed color when the luckless 
 victims of Mrs. Vivien's poisoned darts were slain 
 by scores and dragged about at dinner. With 
 urbaue dignity, not unbecoming, and yet suggestivs 
 of a rosy child masquerading in its grandmother's 
 bonnet, she once heard them covertly reproach her 
 aunt for eccentric deportment and glaring inde 
 pendence. Mrs. Raymond herself could not have 
 ignored the annoyance more loftily than did Rose on 
 this occasion, or have interested herself more amia 
 bly in Molly and Daisy's French. This was a proud 
 moment in her existence. 
 
 " It is war all the same," she would say to Ger 
 trude, "but it is a more scientific kind. I was 
 wasting my ammunition. Nothing routs them like 
 blandness. Aunt Serena meets them with it, and so 
 does Mrs. Raymond, each in her characteristic fash 
 ion ; and both succeed. But oh, the fortifying that 
 my poor spirit requires to imitate it ! " 
 
 However, they liked then- rooms and Frau Ru 
 dolph ; and many beguiling paths led them away 
 from whatever was uncongenial beneath her roof. 
 Daj 7 by day they grew more intimate with the Ray 
 monds, and from their hospitable house gradually 
 advanced upon an agreeable and ever widening 
 social plane, which Miss Lennox found novel and 
 interesting, and the young girls entrancing. 
 
 Safely convoj T ed, the two sailed smoothly on, 
 though meeting strange and unexpected crafts. 
 "With amused surprise they discovered that the terri-
 
 236 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 ble Lacty Manners, the anticipated Juggernaut, vvas 
 a plain and unpretending little person, sufficiently 
 good-natured and rather dull. Mrs. Van. Rensalaer 
 was, it must be admitted, more formidable. She 
 was a woman who took the vast responsibilities of 
 her ultra-fashionable life seriously, drawing lines of 
 demarcation with unflinching rigor, and feeling upon 
 her shoulders the solemn weight of the whole Ameri 
 can colony of Wynburg. But even she was mortal. 
 Her vulnerable point was her marriageable daughter. 
 This fact once perceived, she ceased to inspire un 
 mitigated awe. 
 
 The mighty magnates welcomed Miss Lennox 
 with distinguished favor. Lady Manners, repre 
 senting the conservative English, honestly liked her. 
 Mrs. Van Rensalaer, august leader of the American 
 cohorts, pronounced the Lennox name unimpeacha 
 ble. Nothing more was essential to make aunt 
 Serena a social success than the simple influence of 
 her quiet, personal charm. The two girls declared 
 that she received more attention than a belle in her 
 first season. 
 
 Women admired her unreservedly, and, what is 
 more exceptional, said so. They could not well be 
 jealous of a person approaching sixty-five, however 
 much admired she might be. Sedate, elderly men 
 who found the fairest of the fair wearisome, prefer 
 ring cards and their own cronies, had unlimited 
 respect for this sensible, soft- voiced little woman, 
 who knew something of politics, liked a rubber or two 
 of whist, and was rather difficult to beat at chess.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 237 
 
 Young men appreciated her kindness, her pleasant 
 humor, arid her not unflattering attention to their 
 special hobbies. Girls and children adored her. 
 Germans declared that there was something intrin 
 sically German in her simplicity, her sentiment, 
 her unwoiidliness. Frenchmen praised, as purely 
 French, her delicate, high-bred air, her grace, and 
 polished wit. The English said that Miss Lennox 
 had "so few Yankee peculiarities, you know," she 
 might really almost be mistaken for an English 
 woman. The Americans proudly claimed her as 
 their own, and exhibited her as the one typical 
 American woman in German}', by an unexplained 
 process the direct result of our free institutions and 
 republican form of government. Even a china- 
 manaic, who had no interest in life outside of his 
 collection, was overheard to remark, as he gazed 
 upon her with the gloating eye of a connoisseur, 
 that he had never seen any thing merely human so 
 like a bit of rare and exquisite old porcelain. 
 
 Aunt Serena, in the mean time, moved on in her 
 tranquil course, glad to find so much of home in the 
 dreaded foreign land, accepting a discreet few of 
 her man} T invitations, devising pleasures for the girls, 
 contentedly watching her pretty Rose expand, and 
 studying with deep interest the effects of a taste of 
 joy upon Gertrude. 
 
 For Gertrude was at last happy. " They say we 
 never realize present happiness," she would think, 
 waking to another glad da}', and smiling at herself 
 in the glass for pure content. "Oh, let them live
 
 238 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 as I Lived, and then as I live now ! Happy? I an: 
 gloriously, consciously happy. I exult in happiness. 
 I breathe it in with deep, full breaths." 
 
 She was, it is needless to state, frequently called 
 a sycophant. Her cringing and servile devotion to 
 that rich old woman was freely commented upon. 
 Mrs. Vivien advised her not to let herself be pa 
 tronized. It did not look well in a girl of her spirit. 
 But Gertrude smiled in blessed security. She had 
 passed beyond them. She had soared to a higher 
 sphere. 
 
 She had suffered too much from the carelessness 
 or cruelty of the world to be able to turn suddenly 
 towards it with outstretched arms. But she was 
 relieved that it gave her no more blows, and was 
 sufficiently young and generous to wish to forget 
 how meanly it had treated her. 
 
 No one knew exactly how it was that people in 
 general began to discover that Miss Peyton was an 
 interesting girl. The sheep which had been running 
 in one direction turned, and ran violently in the 
 other. Aunt Serena made no defined effort to 
 induce her acquaintances to admire Miss Peyton. 
 She neither praised her, nor suggested that her 
 young friend was in need of peculiar sympathy. 
 She simply treated her as she treated Rosamond. 
 Presently Gertrude became aware of smiling familiar 
 nods mornings at the Conservatory, and with mildly 
 cynical eyes observed that a thaw in her glacial 
 surroundings had set in. It was a clear case of 
 "Simon says." That mysterious despot had for
 
 AUNT SERENA. 239 
 
 years commanded, " Thumbs down ! " and she had 
 been drooping under their baneful influence. Now 
 the invisible Simon said, "Thumbs up ! " and her 
 spirits rose with the wagging little members. She 
 did not deceive herself in regard to this wondrous 
 change which had come as noiselessly as the dawn 
 of day. No one perceived with more unerring in 
 sight the cumulative effect of the various remedies 
 prescribed in this case for one of the worst ills of 
 humanity. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond's carriage, containing Mrs. Ray 
 mond herself, a distinguished-looking, elderly lady, 
 and a beautiful, bright young girl, waited a few 
 times at the Conservatory for Miss Peyton. Once 
 the elegant equipage had driven up empty ; and 
 quiet Gertrude in her brown ulster, music-roll in 
 hand, her sensitive, satirical mouth smiling unutter 
 able things, stepped lightly in past the obsequious 
 footman. That day she found her circle of ac 
 quaintance surprisingly large. Alas, that inanimate 
 objects like a wooden vehicle and brass buttons 
 can thrill with strong emotion the immortal soul of 
 man ! Who coiild treat with indifference a person 
 known to be with Miss Wellesley, the only young 
 girl ever invited to charming Mrs. Raymond's small 
 Wednesday dinners? Miss Peyton was also seen 
 at one of Lady Manners's receptions. It hardly 
 seemed an important event. She stood in a corner, 
 and felt bored. But it was soon after that Kitty 
 Van Rensalaer asked her if she would not like to 
 try ' : something nice for four hands, a Schumann
 
 240 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 symphony perhaps." When Mr. Sydney Bruce 
 began to pay Miss Peyton marked attention, it was 
 hinted that she was connected with the Stuart Pey- 
 tons of Baltimore, " exclusive old Southern family, 
 you know." Presently she was pointed out to 
 strangers as the beautiful Miss Peyton, the accom 
 plished Miss Peyton, who, it was delicately whis 
 pered, had refused young Baron von Falkenstein. 
 Yes, all the thumbs were unanimously up, Mrs. 
 Vivien's highest of all. 
 
 Frau Rudolph held herself aloof, like Olympian 
 Jove watching the petty struggles of mankind. But, 
 quaffing her strong, black coffee, she soliloquized, 
 shaking her sides in mighty mirth, 
 
 " First time in my dear life I see nice, old, good, 
 very still, little, one woman fight much great fools ; 
 and, oh, she do beat ! It joys me that she do beat." 
 
 " Things amuse me so," Gertrude said one 
 day. " I am the Wonderland Cat. Soon there will 
 be nothing left of me but my grin." Then she 
 added more gravely, ' ' But it does not hurt me to 
 accept all this from you, aunt Serena. First of 
 all, 3 T ou trusted me. That is my decoration of the 
 legion of honor, and ' love may give a flower or a 
 kingdom.' ' 
 
 ' ' You have only that intrepid and honest little 
 person, 'the real me,' to thank. She has fairly 
 gained whatever good has come to 3 r ou." 
 
 But Gertrude shook her thoughtful head, and 
 without extravagant demonstration worshipped her 
 rescuers.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 241 
 
 She worked as diligently as before, yet without 
 anxiety as to her future course. Nothing definite 
 had been decided : aunt Serena had merely re 
 marked in her reliable way, " We will find some 
 thing suitable for you and little Ruth. Be happy 
 now, my child, with Rose ; " and Gertrude at once 
 felt safe as if established in some agreeable, honor 
 able, and lucrative employment, with income enough 
 to enable her to make a snug home for Ruthie, and 
 pay the doctor's bills. 
 
 Rosamond, too, was busy. She had a sweet, 
 light, soprano voice, in which Gertrude deigned to 
 take interest. "It is a nice little parlor- voice," 
 she would say approvingly. "If you work well, 
 you'll be surprised to find how it will grow in six 
 mouths." Rose plunged with energy into vocal 
 exercises and German, to which she devoted her 
 mornings. There were still many golden hours left. 
 
 One jocund day followed another. Harold Thorn 
 ton's arrival towards the middle of November in 
 creased their pleasure, although he himself was at 
 times singularly depressed and constrained. Aunt 
 Serena was apt to ask him, with considerable solici 
 tude, if he were sure he felt well, if he thought Ger 
 many was going to agree with him, if he were not 
 homesick ; when he would rally, and with forced 
 gayety interest himself in plans for the general 
 good. 
 
 It seemed to her scarcely natural for a gay boy to 
 gain his point against all reason, come off to Wyn- 
 burg with flying colors, live under the same roof
 
 242 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 with the girl he professed to fondly love, have no 
 heavier care than to see that every day of the 
 pleasant fall-weather was utilized to the utmost, and 
 still to appear absent-minded, odd, and moody. She 
 knew that he had received no new rebuff from Rose ; 
 that he had, indeed, not yet molested her with the 
 faintest suggestion of love-making ; and no one was 
 sufficiently devoted to her to render him uneasy or 
 anxious. Bruce talked as much or more with Ger 
 trude. Von Falkenstein, too, while manifesting no 
 special preference for either, was naturally less for 
 mal and better acquainted with Miss Peyton. He 
 had known her longer. Then, she spoke German ; 
 and his English, while highly attractive and original, 
 was not yet all that he could desire. Aunt Serena 
 pondered and waited. 
 
 Harold, as a matter of course, was Rose's cava 
 lier. There was a widely diffused impression in 
 "Wynburg that they were, or were going to be, en 
 gaged to be married. He was her cousin, her com 
 panion, and familiar friend. He had hastened over 
 the sea because he could not bear the separation. 
 There could be no reasonable doubt. Mrs. Vivien 
 seemed to know more on this subject than she was 
 prepared to particularize. "I do so admire his 
 youthful ardor," she would often say. " Then it is 
 a so natural, so quite-to-be-expected and sure a 
 thing. It reminds me of my own courtship, which 
 was also a little idyl. Of course, being in the house 
 with the young turtle-doves, I see more than any 
 one else, more indeed than I have any right to 
 divulge at present."
 
 A UNT SEEENA. ' 243 
 
 Meanwhile Rose was thankful Harold was no 
 longer silly, and hoped he would soon tell her, in his 
 old, frank way, what was preying on his mind. She 
 was happy and affectionate, and gave him every 
 opportunity to confide in her. Curiously enough, 
 Harold was never so ill at ease as when tete-a-tete 
 with Rose. He would subject her to long, inquiring 
 looks, then turn away uneasily. He was repeatedly 
 on the point of making some revelation, but would 
 pause abruptly in utter confusion. 
 
 Ah, who may account for the waywardness and 
 inconsistency of youth ! Is there any thing in life 
 so surprising, unless it be the waywardness and 
 inconsistency of age? And why did Cupid play 
 such a trick on this honest lad? Over land and sea, 
 through mist and foam, he comes hurrying upon the 
 wings of the wind to greet the lady of his love. He 
 pictures the kind welcome that awaits him. He is 
 confident his reward is not far off. He plans a 
 happy surprise. He will walk unannounced into 
 their little German home. He comes. With uncon 
 trollable ardor he flies up the long stairway. He 
 hears the sound of low chords, and a girl's voice 
 crooning some sweet strain. He softly knocks, 
 opens the door, enters. A figure all in fleecy 
 white rises from behind the piano, and comes towards 
 him. " Who is this angel?" he thinks. There is 
 a royy glow through the dimly lighted roori, it is 
 owing to a red-paper lamp-shade ; but how is the 
 poor boy to know that? The vision stands before 
 him. It has fair hah-. It looks etherial yet radiant.
 
 244 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 It smiles gently at him. It opens its mouth and 
 says in a cordial, human voice, 
 
 " Oh, you must be Mr. Thornton! I will cau 
 them." 
 
 Alas for Harold's fine writing ! Alas for his vows 
 of fealty ! Aunt Serena and Rose gave him the 
 kindest of welcomes, but the meeting was not what 
 his fond fancy had painted it. Something was 
 wanting. Worst of all, the deficiency was, as he 
 abjectly told himself, in his own black and perjured 
 heart. 
 
 Why were not aunt Serena and Rose there to 
 meet him? Why were they in their own rooms 
 dressing to go to the theatre? Why was Gertrude 
 ready first, sitting there singing low to herself with 
 that bewitching, white, woolly thing thrown over 
 her shoulders? He hung his head in shame, and 
 bewailed his faithlessness. Rose was a dear ; but 
 this white, still maiden, they called Gertrude, was 
 something quite different. Silent, self-contained, 
 with a fleeting sad look in her dark blue eyes that 
 made him sorry, with piquant sarcastic curves in 
 the corners of her mouth that allured him. He was 
 shy with them all that first evening. No, he had 
 never seen any one like this Gertrude. But who 
 would believe him, if he should say so? He could 
 not indeed believe himself, he admitted in angry 
 self-contempt. 
 
 When alone, he sulked persistently ; but this did 
 not prevent him from availing himself largely of the 
 emoluments of his position as escort of two charm-
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 245 
 
 ing girls. In spite of his temporary disgust with 
 the world, his unascetic spirit could not resist the 
 temptations of a good horse, mirth and beauty, rool, 
 crisp air, and excellent roads. They galloped by 
 vineyard and orchard and grove, up the pleasant 
 winding ascent which led from Wynburg to the airy 
 heights surrounding it. They trotted through the 
 stately park, whose noble vistas were now tinged 
 with golden light where the sun shone on innumera 
 ble fallen russet leaves. 
 
 The park was a calm, peaceful spot. No faun or 
 satyr, or any riotous sylvan shape, could ever have 
 frequented its still glades. Only some imprisoned 
 nymph might here, from the heart of a slender birch, 
 softly lament her fate ; and uneasy murmurs among 
 the branches would respond, and a sighing in the 
 reeds by a little, lonely pool ; then silence every 
 where, except for the plashing of many fountains. 
 Even in spring, when the luxuriant foliage was pul 
 sating with fresh life, the park was not without that 
 gentle melancholy, apt to haunt low, level land, 
 TV here there are broad, still spaces between great 
 trees with heavy, drooping branches. The gay 
 world on its race for wealth and power might course 
 through it with its fashion and pleasures and pomps. 
 The trees kept their secrets, and held themselves 
 aloof. The place retained its own chai'acteristics, 
 and would, though trumpets should break its pro 
 found stillness, though laughing children should 
 sport around its solemn trees, and wreathe their 
 trunks with flowers.
 
 246 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Rose and Gertrude loved the breezy hills, but to 
 aunt Serena the park was one of Wynburg's chief 
 attractions. She walked there until the wind grew 
 bleak in its winding waj-s, and the black trunks 
 loomed up against new-fallen snow ; but this was 
 not until Christmas tidings were already in the air. 
 
 Sydney Bruce was often her companion. They 
 had long, congenial talks together. The civil gar 
 deners would stop raking up little piles of yellow 
 leaves to touch their caps to the prett} 7 , white-haired 
 old lady on the arm of the grave and handsome 
 young man. " She is a Russian," they said, which 
 was merely because she was so well wrapped in fur. 
 But the Russians were one ' of the few nations that 
 had not as yet claimed her. Bruce never lost an 
 opportunity to prove his devotion to his lovely lady 
 of the market-place. Flowers for Miss Lennox, 
 books for Miss Lennox, were continually arriving ; 
 and he himself was a frequent visitor in the cosey, 
 too-many windowed room where Harold puzzled over 
 the problem of how soon he could, with any sem 
 blance of dignity, acknowledge himself off with the 
 old love, in order to be as speedily as possible on 
 with the new ; and blithe von Falkenstein improved 
 his English accent, and, what Miss Lennox con 
 sidered of more importance, his knowledge of the 
 much misunderstood American " system." 
 
 Bruce was on excellent terms with them all, except 
 Harold, who treated him with civil, but perceptible, 
 reserve, regarding him, if the truth were known, as 
 his evil genius. "He interfered before. He will
 
 AUNT SERENA. 247 
 
 interfere now," thought the boy. "Why is he 
 always in my way with his confounded handsome 
 head ? Is he insatiable ? ' ' Then he would blush to 
 remember that he himself could not boast of that 
 single-minded devotion to one object which would 
 permit him to assume a lofty moral tone towards 
 inconstancy. Harold entertained the widely diffused 
 but erroneous impression that ' ' girls tell each other 
 every thing ; " and if Gertrude knew all, what re 
 spect could she have for his easily transferable affec 
 tions ? His natural instinct was to confide in Rose 
 as his trusty stanch comrade, but he could not suf 
 ficiently humble himself. We all at times contradict 
 our ruling spirit. In his embarrassment, he turned 
 even from Rose. 
 
 The little party at Frau Rudolph's was accustomed 
 to see Mr. Bruce at any hour with a message from 
 Mrs. Raymond. So willing a messenger was rarely 
 found. They planned excursions with the Ray 
 monds in every direction, and scoured the environs 
 of Wynburg, which were rich in historical and ro 
 mantic incident and natural beauty. Through the 
 queer little irregular villages, perched on the hills 
 and nestled in the dales of that pleasant land, re- 
 sounded the gay clatter of their horses' hoofs ; and 
 every ruined castle and abbey for leagues around 
 was seized and occupied by these happy marauders. 
 Frequently the procession was not insignificant in 
 numbers. The four young people on horseback ; 
 the Raymonds and Miss Lennox driving behind ; 
 Edith and Marjorie, with Elise and the hampers,
 
 248 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 bringing up in the rear in a second carriage, in 
 which might also be occasionally seen Molly's and 
 Daisy's round, pleased eyes and flaxen braids. 
 These over-much-mothered lassies were discovered 
 to be good children, without or in spite of the 
 constant companionship of their own mamma. 
 
 The telling of poetical old stories, the family at 
 mosphere of the party, the bright, presence of the 
 little people whose informal treatment seemed to 
 draw them all nearer together, favored Bruce's 
 smooth and uneventful progress towards his ami. 
 He was consumed with impatience, yet felt it was 
 wise to wait. A man who is in a state of mind 
 which induces him to say to himself, " It is a privi 
 lege to see her merely get up and sit down again, 
 it is a joy to see her turn her lovely head on her 
 gracious shoulders," was naturally not averse to 
 watching Rose by the hour in the free and constant 
 intercourse existing between the families. 
 
 He had had his share of experience with women ; 
 but he felt strangely insecure of his ground with this 
 sweet, unconscious child. He studied her in every 
 mood. He knew her as no one did, except aunt 
 Serena. He loved her more tenderly every day ; but 
 he dared not force circumstances, for fear of utter 
 failure if he risked too much. He had a dread of 
 startling her, of rendering her less childlike and 
 frank with him. Her way of coming freely to him 
 with any trifling wish or need filled him with delight ; 
 but when he noticed her manner to Raymond was 
 equally simple and kind, his spirits sank.
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 249 
 
 Evenings in Miss Lennox's salon he observed von 
 Falkenstein with a degree of irritation he was forced 
 to admit was incipient jealousy, until at length con 
 vinced of the young man's harmless good-natuie, 
 and absence of any intentions whatever as regarded 
 Miss Wellesley, except to enjoy the passing moment, 
 perfect his somewhat defective tli, and form new 
 theories of that vast, delightful, and puzzling sub 
 ject, American girls. 
 
 Harold's advent did not occasion him much alarm. 
 The fact that it was Mrs. Vivien who had declared 
 this fair stripling to be his cousin's accepted lover, 
 seemed to Bruce reasonable ground for doubting the 
 truth of the statement. Then, there was nothing 
 whatever in Miss Lennox's or Rosamond's treatment 
 of Thornton to verify the rumor. Bruce was sure 
 that those eyes had never looked love into any 
 man's. 
 
 This joyful conviction did not prevent him, how 
 ever, from subjecting Harold, as well as all strange 
 young men who presented their respectful homage 
 to Miss Welleslcy, to an inquisitorial scrutiny, of 
 which they were happily unconscious. His well- 
 established position as family friend and aunt 
 Serena's sworn knight, gave him every opportunity 
 to know whom Rose met and what influenced her. 
 Provided he had no cause to fear a rival, he felt that 
 he could bear to wait a ver} r little longer ; yet he 
 anxiously scanned the Wynburg horizon every day. 
 
 He saw that she heartily liked the bright glimpses 
 of society now and then permitted her, that she
 
 250 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 enjoyed speaking her broken German to a little 
 circle of officers, always most indulgent and en 
 couraging critics of the lingual efforts of a pretty 
 girl, that she liked to dance with them and jest 
 with them, that she was pleased to meet people of 
 different nations, and altogether amused at the 
 novelty of her surroundings. But, with exultation, 
 lie saw that beneath her girlish dignity was the 
 careless ga}-ety of a child. " She is always Rose, 
 my wild-rose, my heath-rose, stainless au'l 
 fresh, with the dews of the morning still clinging 
 to her, with the woodland grace and the cool fra 
 grance that make her a thing apart amid the forced 
 growths of this stiff world-garden." 
 
 And Rose was growing used to Mr. Bruce. He 
 seemed to be the best and wisest interpreter of her 
 new life. 
 
 Across a room, whatever she might be doing, she 
 would meet the smile in his eyes, which seemed to 
 flash its way to her over the heads of the people. 
 There was an indulgence and approval in it which 
 made her feel very happy. She asked Gertrude if 
 she had ever noticed how kindly Mr. Bruce 's eyea 
 could smile out of his grave, calm face, and if she 
 thought people's eyes usually smiled when the face 
 seemed to be in perfect repose. Gertrude soberly 
 discussed with her this interesting facial phenome 
 non. Rose was also profoundly grateful to Mr. 
 Bruce. He was most charming in his devotion to 
 her aunt. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with 
 them in the quiet victorious advance of Gertrude's
 
 AUNT SERENA. 251 
 
 self-constituted guard of bouor. Indeed, having 
 noticed that any conspicuous attention to Miss Pey 
 ton would have the sure and delicious effect of 
 sending Rose to him with a glow of gratitude in 
 her face, so nearly resembling tenderness that he 
 could with difficult}^ maintain the reserve of bearing 
 which he deemed temporarily expedient, he be 
 came even more attentive to Gertrude than his 
 benevolent desire to be of service to that charming 
 young girl could justify. To whom, indeed, would 
 he not have devoted himself, if rewarded by the 
 mute, sweet gesture of Rosamond's clasped hands, 
 the glad thankfulness of her beautiful eyes? He 
 would have faced Medusa. But Gertrude belonged 
 to no Gorgon sisterhood. 
 
 Four pairs of friendly eyes were following his 
 movements with extreme interest. Of these, hers 
 saw clearest ; and she quietly awaited the sure and 
 happy result. It seemed to Gertrude she could best 
 serve Rosamond's interests by allowing herself to be 
 used as a puppet. To Gertrude, also, her friend's 
 unconsciousness was something sacred ; and not one 
 jesting allusion in regard to Mr. Bruce did she ever, 
 after the manner of girls, make to Rose. She saw, 
 with much amusement, that being with her gave Mr. 
 Bruce the most admirable opportunity to look at 
 Rosamond, and that he made the most of it. 
 
 One evening, at the house of a German friend, 
 Bruce stood talking with Miss Peyton. At a little 
 distance Rose was receiving very paternal atten 
 tions from her host, whose little pleasantries, she,
 
 252 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 with her charming play of feature, was trying to 
 interpret to Harold. 
 
 "Miss Wellesley looks very beautiful to-night," 
 Bruce remarked carelessly. 
 
 " Yes," Miss Peyton said. " She is the most 
 beautiful girl I ever saw, and the kindest," she 
 added. 
 
 Bruce continued to look steadily at the group m 
 the centre of the room. His cool glance was pleas 
 antly critical, as if he were studying an excellent 
 picture. After a slight pause he remarked deliber 
 ately, " One would not infer from Miss AVellesley's 
 manner to Mr. Thornton that she is his fiancee." 
 
 " What manner do girls have when they are 
 fiancees? " asked Gertrude, smiling. 
 , " Not that. At least, I imagine she would not," 
 he replied gravely. He was as self-contained as 
 ever, but she knew a word might help him. Ger 
 trude looked at him. She liked and admired him. 
 She remembered the fable of the lion and the mouse. 
 " I wonder if I dare," she thought, opening a pho 
 tograph-album, and examining assiduously a moon 
 light view of the Grand Canal at Venice. 
 
 " She treats him as if he were a girl," she said 
 softly, and with a little embarrassment. It seemed 
 presumptuous in her to understand Mr. Bruce as 
 well as she did. It was like instructing the Delphic 
 oracla. " They are not engaged. They never will 
 be, I think. It seems to me neither of them wish 
 it. The} r are only like brother and sistor," and 
 then she stopped, appalled at her temerity.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 253 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Peyton," Bruce said kindly. 
 " You are very good to say that to me." Sho 
 glanced up timidly. They exchanged a long look 
 of good understanding. He was smiling at her 
 frankly. " How shamelessly she flirts," commente.l 
 Mrs. Vivien to a French gentleman. " Really, I 
 blush sometimes for my country!" "You have 
 no occasion, madame," he responded with courteous 
 irony, inspecting Gertrude through his single glass 
 " The young girl is charming." 
 
 Aunt Serena was inclined to believe that Mr. 
 Bruce loved her niece. She had seen much that 
 would seem to be indubitable proof of it. Yet at 
 tunes she wavered. And if it were Gertrude, 
 what then ? she asked herself. ' ' The weary dove 
 would at last find rest. I will not be selfish ; and 
 yet I could gladly trust my Rose to those kind, 
 strong arms." 
 
 Mr. Raymond thought that Bruce no doubt knew 
 what he was about, and at all events was enjoying 
 himself uncommonly well. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond was disappointed. She reluc 
 tantly admitted to her husband that it was, after all, 
 Gertrude. She liked her. She thought her pretty 
 and attractive, but she immeasurably preferred 
 Rose. She had hoped it would be Rose. She had 
 been sure it must be Rose. But wh}* should Syd- 
 ncj , with the choice free before him, deliberately 
 distinguish Gertrude b}^ his attentions? "Why 
 should he talk more with her, walk more with her, 
 if he did not prefer her ?
 
 254 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 That a man like her brother, with no reasonable 
 obstacle in his path, should have sentimental scru 
 ples on account of a girl's jouth, and a tender, 
 protecting care of her happy freedom, did not enter 
 her calculations. 
 
 " Sydney," said she one morning as he was about 
 to take a new novel over to Miss Lennox, " does it 
 seem to you that Miss Peyton is cleverer than Miss 
 Wellesley?" 
 
 He apparently was occupied in weighing their 
 intellects, for he did not immediately answer 
 
 " I think not," he finally said. 
 
 " And do you find Miss Peyton prettier? " 
 
 Again Bruce considered the matter. 
 
 " No," he said. " Upon the whole, I do not." 
 
 ' ' And have you any reason to believe that Miss 
 Peyton has a sweeter disposition?" she went on, 
 elated with her success. 
 
 "They are both charming girls, Folly. Why 
 do you catechise me ? ' ' 
 
 "Because, Sydney, I simply must. Have I 
 once, in all these years, though my hair has almost 
 turned gray with fright time and time again, ventured 
 to warn you against a girl, to suggest another, to 
 direct you in any way in the matrimonial labyrinth ? 
 Have I not abstained with heroic self-command 
 from my natural role of match-making sister ? And 
 when I have seen you mooning about as }*ou 
 did, yes, Sydney, I will speak now! splendid 
 as you are, you were mooning at that time, did 
 I lift my finger in the matter? Did I tell what I
 
 AUNT SERENA. 255 
 
 knew? Did I interfere? Did I do any thing but 
 await in agony the result, which, no thanks to 
 you, my dear, was better than any one couli have 
 expected ? ' ' 
 Bruce laughed. 
 
 " Don't laugh, Sydney. Answer me." 
 " What you say is all quite true, but " 
 " Then, listen to me now. Marry Rosamond 
 Wellesley. I am not prejudiced against Miss Pey 
 ton. I like her. I am her friend. But why take 
 the second best instead of the best? And Rose 
 suits you better, Sydney. Any rational person 
 would tell you so. What do yon want of a girl with 
 a past? After the honeymoon you would both sit 
 and mope. I can see it perfectly. Gertrude is a 
 beautiful, dignified girl ; but what charm can she 
 have for you compared with Rosamond? Let her 
 have Harold Thornton. He's an excellent young 
 man. Oh, every thing is going wrong, and all for 
 the want of a little common sense ! " 
 "But" 
 
 "No: you must hear me this time. You are 
 going to tell me you do not love Rosamond, and that 
 you do love Gertrude ; to which I say, nonsense. 
 How many fancies have you had before in your life, 
 if the truth were known ? How many fancies does 
 every man have ? O Sydney, don't laugh ! it is 
 aot like you to laugh so heartily when I feel this so 
 much. If you would only trust me this once. You 
 have a passing fancy for Gertrude, but Rosamond 
 is the one whose sunny nature would make you
 
 256 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 truly happy. Why need you be so blind? Why 
 do you not perceive that the girl is the most ex 
 quisite being that you or I or anybody has ever 
 seen ? Have you no eyes for her beauty ? for her 
 wonderful, rich coloring? Why, Titian would have 
 gone mad over her ! Is it possible that you do not 
 know she has great, deep, clear eyes, whose exact 
 color I defy any one to find out, that look up at 
 one as innocently as my Marjorie's? Has that no 
 charm for a man like you ? And in what does she 
 fail, I should like to inquire. Do you not find her 
 sympathetic? Does she not care for books and 
 pictures? Has she not tact and wit and grace and 
 quick appreciation? " 
 
 In vain Sydne}' interposed his "But Florence " 
 "And she is good. How loving and good that 
 dear girl is, I suppose no man can quite understand. 
 And how gentle with all her spirit ! Sydney, if I 
 could influence you only this once ! I tell you 
 plainly, that, beside Henry and the children and 
 yourself, there is no one in the world for whom I 
 have so much affection as for this child. Not even 
 for lovely old Miss Lennox. I will not be unkind 
 if it must be Gertrude ; but if it might be Rosa 
 mond, I should feel blessed. I have set my heart 
 on this. Have I not been a good sister? Must 
 you disappoint me in this, dearest Sydney? " 
 
 In his life Bruce had never known his sister to 
 evince so much feeling. There were actually tears 
 in her eyes. He was singular!}" touched. At finst 
 the humorous side of the situation had struck him
 
 AUNT SERENA. 257 
 
 forcibly ; but now he said gently, his own voice 
 somewhat unsteady, 
 
 "If it is not Rosamond, it will be no one ; and, 
 Florence, I will not deceive you. Your pleading^ 
 though I thank you for it, was not needed. It has 
 always been Rosamond."
 
 258 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 " Here, by God's rood, is the one maid for me." 
 
 " She lifted up her eyea 
 
 And loved him 
 
 And all night long his face before her lived, 
 
 Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full 
 Of noble things, and held her from her sleep." 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 ~| TP on the beautiful wooded hills around "Wyn- 
 * ' burg raged the wintry wind, chilling the 
 patient peasant as he trudged from his distant 
 hamlet down through the light snow to the Christ 
 mas market. Below, in the valley, nestled the 
 sheltered, smiling city. From its very heart rose 
 the gray church-tower. No slender, airy spire was 
 this, drawing the soul upward to spiritual contem 
 plation ; but sturdy, bold, and blunt, its broad 
 summit seemed a fitting place for the musicians 
 to climb in the early morning, at busy noonday, 
 again towards quiet eventide, and, according to 
 the primitive custom, trumpet forth Em fester 
 Burg, or some other strong old choral of Martin 
 Luther and his stalwart followers. 
 
 As the passing glance of a keen-eyed stranger 
 may detect, in a human face, subtle lines unob 
 served by those who see it of tenest and love it best ;
 
 AUNT SERENA. 259 
 
 so the tower, am: its valiant neighbor over the way, 
 the massive old castle, spoke to aunt Serena and' 
 Rose with a rough eloquence, unheard perhaps by 
 the careless crowd. Mediaeval memories contrasted, 
 yet mingled pleasantly, with the life of the eager 
 multitude preparing their homes for the most wel 
 come guest of the year. The tower and the castle 
 seemed to put their hoary heads together, remember 
 ing brave Christmases that were ; and the very old 
 est of the queer old houses near by reached up with 
 their peaked gables, and leaned over to listen, know 
 ing that the tales these grim heroes told were bolder 
 and stronger than the tales of to-day. 
 
 The German Christmas had for our friends a rich 
 and novel charm. There were resemblances to their 
 home festivities, yet, also, many points of dissimi 
 larity. Christmas at the Nest meant heavy snow 
 drifts round the cottage, huge open fires within, 
 turkeys to all aunt Serena's old women, trimming 
 the church with evergreen and flowers, glad, full 
 services, and children's carols, a family dinner, 
 they with the Thorntons, or the Thorntons with 
 them, one or two familiar friends, and choice 
 spirits beside, the tree in the evening, and in 
 the exchange of gifts the merry revelation of long 
 cherished secrets, mirth and feasting, peace and 
 good-will, and good cheer. It was a dear and 
 happy time. 
 
 But Christmas at Wynburg, while not dearer and 
 sweeter, was more marvellous and fanciful. All the 
 kobolds and mischievous sprites of German legen-
 
 260 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 dary lore seemed to be let loose, working their 
 merry will. The frugal, careful German would for 
 get his habitual economy, toss prudence to the 
 winds, buy lavishly, give recklessly, not only to 
 his own, but to his friends and their own, to his 
 friend's friends and their own, to his man-servant, 
 his maid-servant, and to the stranger within his 
 
 Frau Rudolph brewed and baked, and filled her 
 larder with cheerful punches and delectable sweet 
 meats. Milk and honey flowed all day long, and all 
 day long a vigorous pounding and beating and stir 
 ring went on in the kitchen. Savory odors pervaded 
 the corridors ; and she, rosier and comelier than ever, 
 was like a huge bubble of delight, so vast was her 
 glee in the mysteries of her Christmas hospitality. 
 
 On the .great joy-wave floated Rosamond and 
 Gertrude, smiling at life. Everybody seemed 
 happy and harmless. Mrs. Vivien became inad 
 vertently sincere. Mrs. Lancaster forgot to bridle, 
 and to censure less enlightened mammas. Mrs. 
 Van Rensalaer was seen to smile. Through the 
 gay, jostling crowd the young girls and aunt Serena 
 were hurried along. The noisy Christmas m:rket 
 filled the streets with its booths and tables. Its 
 common furniture, wheel-barrows, hobby-horses, 
 and baby-carriages threatened to blockade the 
 pavements. By chattering peasant crones, and 
 wrinkled old men in red waistcoats and short 
 breeches, stood elegant women, and stately officers 
 in brilliant uniform. The shop-windows were full
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 261 
 
 of beautiful, dazzling things. Long rows of fir- 
 trees lined the streets. 
 
 The children had entered upon their kingdom, 
 and every one became as much of a child as possi 
 ble in order to obtain entrance into that happy 
 realm. Marjorie Raymond wore an air of deep 
 and quiet bliss. Why should she be excited that 
 all her dear people had come to town ? Did she not 
 understand them? Did they not understand her? 
 They were a motlej' throng from many lands and 
 nations ; but this did not ruffle Marjorie's calm 
 spirit : and, it must be confessed, great unanimity 
 of sentiment and sympathy prevailed among them. 
 She had no narrow prejudices. She was cosmo 
 politan, at home in all wonderlands where a fairy 
 or a gnome would welcome her ; and she knew how 
 to reconcile discrepancies which would have con 
 fused a smaller mind. Now she welcomed them all 
 to Wynburg. lu her goodly company were only 
 well-bred guests. There was no vaunting of na 
 tional peculiarities. Santa Claus did not clash with 
 Knecht Rupreclit, but courteously placed his swiftly 
 flying reindeer at the other's disposal ; and away 
 they sprang over the astonished German roofs. 
 Frau Hotte, that wise arbiter, with her bundle of 
 rods for naughty children, her untold sweets for 
 good ones, far from frowning upon the open ex 
 pectant mouths of little American hung-up stock 
 ings, and declaring them a modern innovation, 
 accepted gallant old St. Nicholas's proffered arm, 
 and made his rounds with him at midnight, lighten-
 
 262 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 ing his labor by her amiable converse, and even 
 helping fill the stockings with her own deft hands. 
 
 The universality of Marjoric's genius permitted 
 Hans Andersen's tin soldiers to act as body-guard 
 for the awakened Dornroschen and the happy prince 
 on their wedding-tour ; while the Ugly Duckling 
 swam about with the Water Babies ; and Blue 
 Beard, little Red Riding Hood, Alice and the White 
 Queen, Gulliver, and a few Liliputians were hos 
 pitably entertained at Aladdin's wonderful palace. 
 They were all there. When, indeed, do they sally 
 forth in such numbers as at the summons of Christ 
 mas bells ? 
 
 Bruce did not laugh at the little girl's fancies, 
 and she could always talk freely with him. He 
 even understood how the three kings of the Orient, 
 who, in gold-paper crowns and shabby white rai 
 ment, stole shyly about from house to house in the 
 twilight, singing their feeble little song, and gladly 
 gaining a few pennies, joined her other majestic folk 
 in their triumphant procession ; though she knew 
 that Caspar was the baker's Hans, Melchior ran on 
 errands, and that Balthazar bore upon his counte 
 nance indisputable signs of his profession of chim 
 ney-sweep. 
 
 Nor was uncle Cid shocked when he found that 
 over her world hovered the fair Christ Child, bless 
 ing and loving all children. 
 
 Several days before Christmas, Edith and Mar- 
 jorie had begged their uncle to help them select a 
 present for mamma. It was an important moment
 
 AUNT SERENA. 263 
 
 when the three sallied forth towards evening, each 
 little girl with the savings of months in her purse. 
 In the large, crowded, brilliant shop they met Ger 
 trude and Rosamond, whom the children at once 
 urgently solicited to aid in the weighty decision. 
 
 Edith knew how much she had to spend, and 
 priced small and useful objects with a savoir faire 
 which amused the spectators. Marjorie, unmoved 
 by the crowd and the glitter, stood with her hand in 
 Rosamond's, turning her slow, calm gaze about. 
 
 Edith, with praiseworthy despatch, bought a pen- 
 rest for papa, a postage-stamp box for mamma, and 
 had some pennies left. Her purchases were both 
 pretty and practical. If there were time, she pro 
 posed having a monogram cut on the box. 
 
 Marjorie said quietly, 
 
 " I don't see any thing pretty enough for mamma 
 here." 
 
 Edith expostulated, but uncle Cid asked, 
 
 " Shall we go somewhere else, Marjorie? " 
 
 When suddenly the child's eyes began to dilate. 
 "I would like that swan!" she exclaimed. In 
 the centre of the window, among fanciful gas-jets 
 and glittering glass and attractive objects of every 
 description, was a large and finely-cut ivory swan. 
 Exquisite white water-lilies rested on gently undu 
 lating ivory waves, and the stately bird's plumage 
 was delicate and feathery as if nature had carved 
 it. It had been placed there more as an ornament 
 or advertisement of fine work in ivory than with any 
 expectation of selling it, and was a gift fit for a 
 princess.
 
 264 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 The saleswoman looked incredulous. The young 
 girls were rather at a loss to know what to advise 
 in this unexpected dilemma, especially as Marjorie 
 did not take her eyes off the swan. Edith had 
 assumed a magisterial manner, and was abou: to 
 enlighten the poor little girl ; when Bruce hushed 
 her, and said, with an indulgent smile, 
 
 "Why do you want the swan, Marjorie? " 
 
 " It is tall and beautiful, like my pretty mamma," 
 the child replied without hesitation. " It saved Brii- 
 derchen uncl Schivesterchen. Oberon has one. 
 Mamma will look at it, and think of lovely Oberon. 
 Then, there is that sad fairy prince, but I do not 
 know him," she said doubtfully, "who looks 
 like you, uncle Cid. he has one." 
 
 Bruce smiled still more indulgently. " She means 
 Lohengrin," said Gertrude with a little laugh. " We 
 have it to-morrow, by the way. Mr. Bruce, you can 
 not resist that flattery, I am sure." 
 
 " I don't intend to try," said he in a low tone. 
 "My sister says I spoil her, but the child seems 
 angelic to me." 
 
 Still clinging to Rosamond, Marjorie said to the 
 saleswoman, 
 
 "Please give me the great white swan," confi 
 dently holding out her little hoard. Bruce, over the 
 child's head, gave an acquiescent nod. 
 
 " But, Marjorie," said Edith, " what is it good 
 for? It is too large for a paper-weight, and it 
 doesn't hold flowers." 
 
 The sisters looked at each other gently, but with,
 
 AUNT SERENA. 265 
 
 perhaps, as much sympathetic comprehension, the 
 one of the other, as a sky-lark and a sparrow might 
 be supposed to feel. 
 
 "It is pretty, like mamma," said the little one 
 at length. 
 
 " You have nothing at all for papa," Edith re 
 monstrated. 
 
 "Papa knows I love him," replied Marjorie in 
 blissful security, " and mamma will allow him to 
 look at the swan." 
 
 Mr. Bruce ordered the swan sent home. It was 
 very unwise in him. It did not inculcate habits of 
 economy and exactness in his little niece. But 
 what could one expect of a bachelor? And then, 
 there were other eyes than Marjorie's, that begged 
 and thanked him. Marjorie's, in fact, did not thank 
 him. The contented little maid labored under the 
 impression that she had bought and paid for the 
 wondrous bird. 
 
 The following evening Rosamond heard " Lohen 
 grin " for the first time, and saw the mystic knight 
 of the swan, whom Marjorie called the sad fairy 
 prince. Aunt Serena smiled to find herself often in 
 the "Wynburg theatre, well pleased, and decidedly at 
 home. "Why," she thought, "can we not have the 
 help of beautiful music and the influence of master 
 minds brought within the reach of moderate means, 
 and at so early an hour that neither the aged and 
 delicate, nor the very young, need hesitate to enjoy 
 them ? " She preferred, indeed, that Rosamond should 
 study life, presented to her gaze in this way, at the
 
 266 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 sensible hour of seven or even half-past six, than 
 that she should make too many personal investiga 
 tions and experiments in a crowded ball-room. So 
 the congenial party enjoyed most charming evenings 
 in the pleasant, and by no means oppressively ele 
 gant, little theatre, where people came early in walk 
 ing-dress, and went home temperately at half-pn,st 
 nine; and the same faces, evening after evening., 
 grew as familiar as the drop-curtain ; and the home 
 like atmosphere made one forget that that nervous 
 little man opposite was the Marquis of Carabas, and 
 that the plainly-dressed, pretty young girls at the 
 right, with cheeks like the sunny side of a peach, 
 and a delightfully fresh and wholesome air, were 
 princesses, belonging to what Americans grandilo 
 quently term the " effete aristocracy of the old 
 world." 
 
 Aunt Serena was an excellent American ; but 
 there was much that puzzled her in the prosperous, 
 well-governed land in which she was sojourning. 
 What she observed did not always seem to assimi 
 late with the uncontradicted eloquence of a Fourth- 
 of-July oration. " Why do we think we are the 
 only ones? We are very far off," she mused this 
 evening. ' ' Perhaps if we were nearer, ' ' when the 
 orchestra, with the thrilling, expectant strains of the 
 overture to Lohengrin, interrupted her gentle medi 
 tations. 
 
 The whole fashionable world of Wynburg was 
 there that night, and the house wore a holiday air. 
 The singers were in excellent voice, the audience
 
 AUNT SERENA. 267 
 
 was in a sympathetic and approving humor, the 
 representation promised to be a brilliant one. But 
 Rosamond had no eyes for the loges, where pretty 
 women and diamonds and uniforms and decora 
 tions might well have attracted a passing glance of 
 pleasure from the little maid of the remote, still 
 Nest. She was unaware, though Bruce was not, of 
 the continued levelling of glasses towards the Ray 
 mond loge, where, behind Mrs. Raymond, always 
 herself a charming figm-e, and the lovely old lady 
 whom people liked to see, sat a beautiful young girl 
 in white, her eager eyes fixed on Elsa of Brabant. 
 
 From the moment the innocent Elsa, with her soft, 
 clinging grace and exquisite womanliness, stood be 
 fore her dark accuser and the people, and implored 
 Heaven to send to her rescue the fair knight of her 
 dreams, Rose lived with her through every phase of 
 the beautiful story. 
 
 Bruce watched on her face, as in a deep, clear 
 lake, the reflection of all that passed. There was a 
 dangerous sweetness in thus gazing into her trans 
 parent soul. She was sitting so near him, he could 
 feel every breath she drew. Sometimes she would 
 hold it, in suspense and sympathy. Her rich, heavy 
 hair was put back simply from broad, level brows. 
 It waved slightly at the temples ; and the right side 
 did not grow quite like the left, as he had noticed 
 many times. Her eyes, by day a brilliant light- 
 brown, were dark and luminous with excitement. 
 Her close white dress, of some heavy material, was 
 severely plain. She might be a priestess of Arte-
 
 268 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 mis, he thought. But on her face was an emotion 
 scarcely requisite in the worship of the cold god 
 dess. The vast problems, the passion and ecstasies 
 and mysticism of the music, and the theme, were 
 swaying the impressionable, inexperienced girl be 
 yond all control. 
 
 He could almost see her pure spirit soaring to 
 wards the heights of Monsalvat, as the ineffable 
 strain of the Holy Grail passed, returned, and 
 passed again ; while she clasped her hands tightly 
 together as the rich, swelling, emotional harmonies, 
 with their conflict of human pain and human sweet 
 ness, swept her maiden soul along in their mighty 
 movement. 
 
 Between the acts she did not talk much. Bruce 
 spoke to her now and then, gently adapting himself 
 to her mood. She would answer him sweetly, with 
 out effort, sometimes hardly looking at him. It was 
 almost as if he were in harmony with her thoughts. 
 He was convinced that at least his presence created 
 no dissonance. He was filled with exultation. His 
 heart beat fast, and an imperious instinct bade him 
 claim his own. "I have waited too long. By the 
 paltry measurement of men, it is a few brief weeks ; 
 but my soul has been waiting for her through the 
 ages." He raised his opera-glass, and quietly 
 studied the opposite gallery. His sister spoke : he 
 listened with attention. Aunt Serena turned, and 
 saw that Rosamond was no longer in Wynburg, but 
 on the broad plains of the Scheldt. " My dear and 
 happy Hose," she thought ; and her smile was full of
 
 AUNT SERENA. 269 
 
 such tender sweetness, as she replied to Mrs. Ray 
 mond's light remark, that a certain very august but 
 kindly and human personage was prompted to say 
 to his first gentleman-in-waiting, "Who is that white- 
 haired old lady?" After which, aunt Serena im 
 mediately, and quite unconscious of her own agility, 
 sprang up several rounds of the Wynburg social 
 ladder. 
 
 The chatter and movement went on in the adjacent 
 loges. There were charming women and distinguished 
 men there. What was it that made this simple little 
 girl, with her large eyes, seem to have nothing ir 
 common with them all ? Why were they two alone 
 in the crowded, brilliant theatre ? Gentle Elsa stands 
 on her balcony at night, white-robed, golden-haired, 
 gracious, and pitiful, the incarnation of womanli 
 ness, her pure heart throbbing with innocent rapture, 
 
 rosy auroras dawning in infinite love-horizons. 
 Motionless by his side, all in vestal white, sat this 
 fair child-woman, who had won his strong love. 
 The wonderful music was passionately beating out 
 its subtle soul-problems. Opposite him were some 
 avowed beauties, their faces as thoroughly prepared 
 for inspection as if the world were a perpetual photo 
 grapher, always adjusting his camera. What dicl 
 their lovely masks lack? What this calm, saiutly, 
 silvery-haired being had never lost. What his sister 
 
 dear woman had found when she found Rose. 
 What Rose herself, with her rich warmth, her strong 
 enthusiasm, her magnificent impulse, had most of all 
 Was it not a glory in this living world to be merely
 
 270 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 so alive as she ? Yet often, as he looked at her, he 
 would feel as he did when Marjorie's dear, dreamy 
 eyes rested upon his, with their fond faith hi unreal 
 ities. Pathos swiftly followed delight. 
 
 On the stage treacherous Ortrud is disputing 
 Elsa's right of precedence, and before the very por 
 tals of the great Minster of Antwerp rages a fierce 
 tumult. 
 
 Rosamond turned to Sydney with, 
 
 ' ' Why should she care for the people ? She has 
 him." 
 
 Somewhat as he would explain a hidden meaning 
 to Marjorie, Bruce replied, 
 
 "It is Ortrud's wicked plot to instil doubts in 
 Elsa's mind. She loves Lohengrin, but he withholds 
 his past. The mystery haunts her." 
 
 Rose looked at him gravely. 
 
 ' ' What has the past to do with it ? It is he that 
 she loves, and not his past." 
 
 "Women think it of importance, sometimes," 
 answered Bruce with a faint smile. 
 
 "I do not understand," she said slowly, as the 
 curtain was rising on the last act. " With him near, 
 how can she listen to them ? It would be as if there 
 were no one else on earth ; ' ' and her low, sweet 
 wordt were more to herself than to him. 
 
 An impetuous, ardent answer sprang to his lips. 
 Already she was far away from him, her entranced 
 gaze watching every movement of the lovers, the 
 joyous bridal chorus pealing in her ears. 
 
 But when the loving, gracious woman, transformed
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 271 
 
 by suspicion, in a frenzy of jealous doubt, rashly 
 asks the fatal question, Rosamond leaned forward 
 with a long, shuddering breath. 
 
 ' ' Oh, she must not ! ' ' she exclaimed softly. ' ' She 
 promised." And still more softly, as if to her own 
 heart, " I would not ask him. Oh, I would not ! ' 
 she murmured. 
 
 All around, it was dim and hushed. The theatre- 
 lights were turned down. She was still leaning for 
 ward, white, and very fair and sweet, so near him 
 that her light breath touched his cheek. He could 
 have taken her in his arms almost without moving. 
 He could have kissed that queer little irregular line 
 of hair on her left temple, and scarcely bent his 
 head. He had not meant to speak with the great 
 world near. But his reticence and his careful plans 
 vanished. He forgot even that he had no rights, no 
 denned place with her ; and, as if they were long- 
 plighted lovers, who had together discussed all 
 sweet old questions of human love and faith, he 
 said, with a deep tenderness she had never heard 
 from any man, 
 
 " Would you not dear? " 
 
 One imperceptible instant, as if she had not heard 
 aright, her large, startled eyes met his strong, ardent 
 gaze, then drooped ; and in her heart was a happy 
 tumult. The music surged in great waves around 
 her, rising and falling in a new and wonderful 
 rhythm. With shy, sweet eyelids down she still 
 saw the bridal-chamber : but, by a strange metamor 
 phosis, it was not Elsa in the oriel-window, but only
 
 272 AUNT SEE EN A. 
 
 little Rose ; and by her side was not Lohengrin, 
 but another, also a stately man with grave eyesj 
 and he, this one, was asking for her faith in low 
 words that she heard clearer than the blare of the 
 trumpets and the prolonged rolling of the drums. 
 This was what it all meant, then. Could she be 
 true to him ? Could she have faith in him, for 
 him against the world? She raised her eyes. His 
 were still upon her. From his fine, expressive, 
 emphatic face, the calm indulgence she had known 
 had vanished. She saw only unspeakable entreaty. 
 She was a child still ; and her head was filled with 
 innocent, romantic fancies. The story on the stage 
 was approaching its end. The music was heavy 
 and weird with doom, wild with mystery. Looking 
 him full in the face she smiled a slow, rapt smile, 
 and thus all silently pledged her faith. It was, 
 indeed, her faith rather than her love that she first 
 promised him in that long, loyal look. Then, feel 
 ing the strong love in his eyes, she turned away with 
 a great, sweet shyness creeping into her heart. 
 
 A few brief moments, and their world was trans 
 formed. It was only words such as one hears every 
 day, a man's earnest look, a girl's impassioned, 
 trustful smile ; but already they two were wander 
 ing in Elysian fields. 
 
 The theatre-lights are still dim. Elsa of Brabant 
 lies fainting in the arms of her women. She has lost 
 her glorious knight. The weak, sweet woman could 
 not trust unquestioning, though he stood before her 
 like a fair, strong god. The last strains of music
 
 AUNT SERENA. 273 
 
 cease. The curtain falls. One love-story is at an 
 end ; another has begun. The people are rising to 
 go. Dear aunt Serena says placidly, as they enter 
 the cloak-room, " How beautiful it has been ! " and 
 scans her child's illumined face. Mrs. Raymond 
 remarks kindly, " Miss Welleslcy is still seeing 
 wonders. Is it a vision of the knights of the San 
 Grail? I must confess, "Wagner is too mystical for 
 me. He works one up, and never calms one down 
 again. He leaves one quivering with emotion, until 
 contact with the world is like a sharp blow in the 
 face. Now, he can't expect anybody to live up to 
 him, can he? Perhaps you others do ; but I am not 
 on your heights, you know. Mr. Raymond and I 
 prefer a comfortable and less exposed location." 
 She smilingly adjusted her opera-cloak. " It is not 
 as sublime ; but then, one does not get blown off 
 one's feet." At which remark her husband's 
 unquestionably firm and well-poised figure presents 
 itself. 
 
 He takes his wife and aunt Serena down. Bruce 
 draws Rose's hand through his arm, and they follow 
 through the crowded corridors. There is no oppor 
 tunity for any word which the world may not iiear. 
 Rose walks sedately by his side, and never glances 
 once at him. But in her eyes is a tender light, and 
 her happy young mouth trembles. She hardly knows 
 herself what great and wonderful thing it is that 
 has happened. The music and the people and the 
 lights and two living Elsas and two Lohengrins are 
 mingling in strange confusion in the young girl's 
 thoughts.
 
 274 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Down the stairs she goes, as in a dream. She 
 has walked with Mr. Bruce, in those careless days, 
 a lifetime ago, before she stood in the oriel- 
 window, and promised him her faith. But no : that 
 was the other maiden ; and she broke her faith ; 
 and her lover was floating away over broad waters. 
 Here is hers, by her side, holding her close on his 
 arm, his beautiful head bending towards her, saying 
 something calmly about " to-morrow." And now 
 the chill air strikes her flushed cheeks, and the cold, 
 bright stars are shining down on the happy Christ 
 mas weather. There is a noise and bustle, a rolling 
 of wheels on the crisp snow, a stamping of im 
 patient hoofs, kind good-nights exchanged. He puts 
 her in the carriage with aunt Serena, and stands an 
 instant, the light shining on his uncovered head. 
 Yes, she had promised him something, promised 
 it for all her life. 
 
 Her hand crept into aunt Serena's, but she said 
 nothing. They drove home in silence. "Dearest 
 child, my good little Rose," murmured aunt Serena, 
 with her good- night kiss. "Dear little fairy god 
 mother," returned the girl softly; and went away 
 alone, to see one face, to hear one voice, 
 
 ' Would you not dear ? ' '
 
 AUNT SERENA. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home. 
 
 "Wassail! wassail! 
 Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come." 
 
 " T TOLD Mr. Bruce," remarked aunt Serena, 
 
 -L rolling a large doll in tissue paper, preparatory 
 to laying her in a box, and finding some difficulty in 
 the disposition of her feet, " that we should be too 
 busy this morning with parcels and strings to enter 
 tain visitors. Was that right, children? " 
 
 "Why ask us, aunt Serena?" said Gertrude 
 brightly. "He comes to see you. I never knew 
 any thing more apparent. All the American belles 
 in Wynburg are jealous of you for your deliberate 
 appropriation of their most desirable cavalier." 
 
 ' ' He said he wished to see me to-day, at all 
 events," answered aunt Serena quietly. She did 
 not look at Rose. Blessed are the women who are 
 not addicted to giving significant glances ! 
 
 " He is devoted to you. He is your slave," Ger 
 trude remarked cordially. " May I have a bit of 
 this red ribbon to tie up Molly's music-case? Pool 
 Molly ! I wish they wouldn't make her study 
 music. She's the least musical person I ever saw, 
 except Daisy." 
 
 Harold gave an abrupt, grim laugh. He was feel-
 
 276 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 ing very uncomfortable. Life was not to him all 
 that it might be this Christmas Eve. It was imme 
 diately after breakfast ; and the three ladies were 
 busily making parcels of all sizes and shapes, neat 
 ly wrapped in white paper, and tied with bright 
 ribbons. He stood moody and silent in the deep 
 window. Lieut, von Falkenstein rode out of the 
 court, and glanced up with a friendly greeting. He 
 looked gallant and dauntless as young Lochinvar. 
 " Happy man ! " groaned Harold. " He announces 
 that he is engaged to his cousin Olga, which saves 
 his honor ; and then he makes desperate love to 
 every girl he meets. I wish I were a German of 
 ficer. They seem to know how to reconcile duty 
 and inclination better than most of us." 
 
 "There's von Falkensteiu," he said aloud. 
 
 "I do like him," Gertrude remarked, searching 
 for the scissors. " He is so light-hearted." 
 
 "Do you consider it a virtue to be light-heart 
 ed?" asked Harold in a melancholy voice. 
 
 " Yes," said Gertrude gravely. 
 
 They all laughed. Curiously enough, Harold at 
 once grew cheerful. Von Falkenstein himself could 
 not have been a more blithe and brisk companion. 
 
 Rosamond seemed to be too busy to talk much. 
 She made the neatest little parcels, as if her life 
 depen led on having them quite even, and laid them, 
 labelled, on the table. It was quiet Gertrude, this 
 morning, who was in high spirits. 
 
 "Why do you wrap up all those things ? " asked 
 Harold.
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 277 
 
 " Foi the pleasure it gives to unwrap them," said 
 Gertrude. "Is there no charm in mystery? Why 
 do novelists tangle a plot, except to ravel it? " 
 
 " I abhor tangled plots. I like a story to be clear 
 and healthy, well understood from first to last, and 
 sure as the flight of an arrow. It is no pleasure 
 to me to see a man in a disagreeably involved poui- 
 tion, even in a book." He spoke with much feel 
 ing. 
 
 ' ' You like him to be monarch of all he surveys ? 
 But that is not good for men, Mr. Thornton," said 
 the girl with a charming smile. How much or how 
 little Gertrude understood, neither Harold nor. any 
 one else ever knew. But girls who must look the 
 rough world in the face from the time they are 
 twelve years old, girls who lay down their dolls to 
 take up grief and pain, are apt to have an extra 
 sense in each intuitive finger-tip. 
 
 "I am very old-fashioned, and not intellectual; 
 but the heroes I like least in modern books," said 
 aunt Serena, struggling with a large toy for Percy 
 Raymond, which was wanting in symmetry and 
 abounding in springs, "are those who sit flat on 
 the stones on a beach, in the dark night, before a 
 ' simple ' sea, and, observing that their hearts beat, 
 stolidly remark, ' I am in love.' It does not seem to 
 me that love is a hypochondriac, painfully analyzing 
 his symptoms." 
 
 ' ' They measure love with the fever- thermometer 
 nowadays," remarked Gertrude dryly. 
 
 "Every one does not," Rosamond said softly
 
 278 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Her thoughts were with Els a of Brabant. "They 
 did not give her time, poor Elsa ! " she said to her 
 self pityingly, as she shaped the corners of her pack 
 ages with a business-like air. ' ' They did not give 
 her time. She had promised him. She would never, 
 never have done it, if they had given her time. I 
 will remember that." 
 
 " No, every one does not," repeated Harold stur 
 dily, with a bold, clear glance at Gertrude. He was 
 like a young Norseman, with his yellow hair and 
 strong blue eyes. The Northern sunshine was in his 
 smile. Gertrude cared for sunshine, she had had so 
 little. "Every man does not dissect his lady-love, 
 and declare himself to her separate sections. Every 
 one does not prefer types to women, and qualitative 
 analyses to emotions. There is still room in the 
 world far us, thank Heaven." 
 
 "You mean the writer whose well-bred people 
 always look at the carpet, and say, 'Ah ? ' and whose 
 ill-bred people look everywhere, and say, ' Well ! ' 
 do you not?" asked Gertrude, smiling. " But we 
 must not devote our attention to unimportant things. 
 We have not too much time, or enough tissue-paper. 
 Who can bring some quickest ? ' ' 
 
 Harold disappeared. 
 
 "How did Mrs. Raymond ever ask Molly and 
 Daisy without Mrs. Lancaster, and give no offence ? 
 asked Gertrude. " Mrs. Lancaster is highly pleased. 
 But only last year she was exceedingly irate when 
 some one wished to separate her from them. ' Christ 
 mas,' she remarked, ' is the appropriate time to cul-
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 279 
 
 tivate the sentiment of family unity. Molly and 
 Daisy remain with their mamma.' It is bad in me 
 to laugh at her," she added good-naturedly, " for 
 she is really devoted to her girls. But sometimes 
 she is deliciously sententious." 
 
 " Mrs. Raymond did it as she does every thing, 
 with honesty and grace. She said she was inviting 
 no older people, except very intimate friends ; but, 
 if Molly and Daisy would enjoy seeing the tree, she 
 should be charmed to have them come. I ventured 
 to add that I would take care of them, and bring 
 them safely home ; and Mrs. Lancaster accepted, 
 with, I think, sufficient security of mind." Aunt 
 Serena smiled slightly. 
 
 "And to-morrow we are to cultivate family unity 
 here. Frau Rudolph is inimitable, when once a year 
 she regally receives us as guests. How beautiful it 
 all is ! Rose, you have told me nothing about Lohen 
 grin. Was Elsa not perfect ? I think, when Nature 
 made Wagner, she had already designed Fraulein 
 Rccler to play his Elsa and Elizabeth. Is she not 
 pure grace and pure graciousness ? ' ' 
 
 " Elsa was lovely," said Rose quietly. "It is a 
 pity she asked him his name." 
 
 " Women always ask in stories. We invariably, 
 at a critical moment, do the thing we solemnly 
 vowed not to do. We either tell all we know, or 
 frantically insist upon knowing all that some one 
 else knows. There are moments when I despise 
 us ! Do you think there is any fatal compulsion 
 about it, aunt Serena ? Do you believe we must be 
 small and mean? "
 
 280 ' AUNT SERENA. 
 
 " If we hadn't the tendency, I presume we should 
 not serve as examples in so many great tragedies," 
 Miss Lennox admitted with much cheerfulness. 
 " But I think you, at least, need not reproach your 
 self, Gertrude. I cannot imagine you in any posi 
 tion in which you would divulge a word more than 
 you ought. You could be as silent as fate." 
 
 "But I am a cold, gray girl. I am not lovable, 
 you know," said Gertrude, laughing. "It is the 
 beautiful, warm, soft, enchanting women, who love 
 vind who are loved, that do ah 1 the harm, like 
 Rose," she added mischievously. 
 
 Eose stopped short in her work. With, an ear 
 nestness surprising to the others, merely jesting in 
 the midst of their tying of knots and writing of 
 inscriptions on Christmas cards, she said, 
 
 "Do you really think I am like that? But I 
 would never have asked Lohengrin, never." Her 
 voice was low and firm. 
 
 "We always think we would not, and then we 
 invariably do," Gertrude retorted gayly. 
 
 Rose looked seriously at her. 
 
 "It does not seem to me it would be impossible 
 to be faithful," she said quietly, and went on with 
 her work. She saw a shining knight, who bent lis 
 lofty head to gaze at her with imperious yet plead 
 ing eyes. No : life itself would be worthless, if she 
 could not always bravely meet those eyes, if ever 
 they must look at her with pity, reproach, and for 
 giveness, and pain and parting, in their tender depths. 
 
 Ah ! how would they look at her this evening ?
 
 AUNT SERENA. 281 
 
 Last night was already so far away. A ant Serena 
 appeared quite as usual, and very busy. There was 
 dear Gertrude, in her brown walking-dress, looking 
 as unconcerned as if nothing had happened. No 
 one seemed to know. No one seemed to read in 
 her face that something beautiful had come, that 
 she could never be the same again. It was very 
 strange. How had she dared to smile so at him? 
 Had she spoken? Had she said, " I will be true to 
 you as long as I live. I will never doubt you. I 
 will never forsake you " ? Or was it the music in 
 throbbing cadences that said it all? Or was it quite 
 unspoken, yet written for all time on each soul? 
 She smiled softly. She was very happy. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien came brightly in. 
 
 ' ' Dear Miss Lennox, may I ask a favor of you ? 
 Oh, don't stop work for me, young ladies. What 
 a little mountain of packages you have there, and 
 how cheerful you all look ! ' ' 
 
 "What can I do for you, Mrs. Vivien?" aunt 
 Serena asked politely. 
 
 "It is only to let my little gifts for Edith and 
 Marjorie go over with yours." 
 
 " That I can do without the least trouble." 
 
 "You are so very kind ! How exhilarating this 
 pleasant Christmas work is ! Miss Peyton, you 
 must enjoy it particularly." 
 
 "Yes, I do," Gertrude answered, not without 
 bluntness. 
 
 "I enjoy it most of all, I think," said Rose with 
 great tranquillity.
 
 282 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 "Ah, life is indeed a lovely garden for you, Miss 
 Wellesley ! But let me advise you : pluck no bril 
 liant poison-flowers. Be content with heart' s-ease 
 and forget-me-not. They suit your youth." 
 
 Rose looked bewildered. Gertrude smiled. 
 
 Aunt Serena said, in a matter-of-fact tone, 
 
 "I have not yet seen a poisonous flower in Ger 
 many. In Northbrooke we have the wakerobin and 
 the mercury- vine." 
 
 "Oh! I refer to a still deadlier blossom. It at 
 tracts, but it kills. It has proved fatal to many." 
 
 '"Indeed!" remarked aunt Serena, with polite 
 but remote interest. 
 
 Gertrude's keen eyes watched Mrs. Vivien closely. 
 "Eyelids clown! She means mischief!" Rosa 
 mond's face wore a questioning smile. The flowery 
 warning amused her. 
 
 "I saw you at the opera last night," the little 
 lady continued. "How could poor Mr. Thornton 
 let you leave him ? And in such fascinating society 
 too ! My cousin, who knows Mr. Bruce intimately, 
 most intimate!} 7 indeed, says he was every 
 where, in old times, called the ' fascinating Mr. 
 Bruce.' That was when they were but I must 
 not tell their little secrets. Oh, no, not I!" and 
 she laughed gayly. 
 
 Rose surveyed her with a certain cold disgust. 
 She began rolling up a long piece of narrow scarlet 
 ribbon. She took care to keep it smooth. 
 
 "I cannot imagine that adjective applied to 
 him," aunt Serena said pleasantly. "He might be
 
 AUNT SERENA. 283 
 
 called an earnest man, a strong man, an inteiesting 
 man ; but what women usually mean when they say 
 a fascinating man, hardly." 
 
 "But it was when he was younger," Mrs. Vivien 
 said with effusion; "when he was quite different., 
 you know, and having his various delicate experi 
 ences. He has had enough, I assure you. Then, 
 don't you find his very reserve and quiet extremely 
 attractive? Don't you, now, Miss Wellesley?" 
 turning suddenly to the girl who stood there, her 
 heart helplessly protesting against the profanation 
 of its temple. How dared this woman, with her 
 loud tread, and rude, unfeeling touch, enter that 
 white, still place, where she herself scarcely dared 
 raise her eyes ? But Rose came of a gallant race. 
 Surprised, she was not disconcerted. 
 
 "Yes, very," she said coolly, her large, fearless 
 eyes on Mrs. Vivien, her hands winding away 
 mechanically. 
 
 "Bravo, Roslein!" thought Gertrude. 
 
 Aunt Serena smiled. " My brave Rose. How 
 well she did it ! And to-day, when her young heart 
 is fairly bewildered with life's new, wonderful mean 
 ing !" 
 
 " Mrs. Vivien." she said, " we all like Mr. Bruce. 
 We mereij have a slight prejudice against the 
 piirase 'fascinating man.'' 
 
 "A fascinating man is simply an odious man," 
 Gertrude remarked with emphasis. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" Mrs. Vivien exclaimed, with a 
 light laugh. " I had no idea you would have any
 
 284 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 special reason here to fight Mr. Brace's battles. 
 Had I imagined that, I would never have called 
 him fascinating, or alluded to his youthful esca 
 pades." 
 
 ' ' Who rashly talks of battles on blessed Christ 
 mas Eve?" said Rose amicably. "Mrs. Vivien, 
 did aunt Serena show you this interesting frog ? I 
 will wind him up for you. His hop is as spirited 
 and independent as if life instead of works instigated 
 it. It is for little Percy." 
 
 "How she guards him! How she loves him!" 
 and a contented smile rounded Gertrude's thin lips. 
 She looked up, and saw that aunt Serena read and 
 shared her thought. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien was vivaciously charmed with the 
 frog. "Another time," she resolved. "There is 
 more in it than I imagined. I must write her at 
 once." 
 
 She rose to go, with gentle words of endearment 
 and approval. ' ' Can I not assist you ? No ? You 
 have really completed all your arrangements ? And 
 you go this evening too, Miss Lennox? What un 
 flinching energy you have ! Always out evenings, 
 always going about, always eager for amusement. If 
 J had the right, dear Miss Lennox, I should fairly 
 keep you at home by force, now and then. Are you 
 really quite as well after so much dissipation ? Are 
 you sure it is perfectly judicious ? But do pardon 
 me. It is only my real interest in you that speaks. 
 Thanks again for 3 7 our kindness about my little 
 packages. I will bring them in later. So very good
 
 AUNT SERENA. 285 
 
 of you. Am delighted that you can go, Miss Pey 
 ton. It will be so pleasant and novel for you." 
 
 Eloquent silence followed her exit. 
 
 Gertrude broke it. 
 
 "Now, why," said she meditatively, "why was 
 this ? I ask in peace and good-will to all women, 
 aunt Serena. Do not be alarmed : I am not going 
 to indulge in animadversions." 
 
 " Which are never your habit, my dear." 
 
 "And to-day I simply cannot. I would like to 
 inquire, merely as a psychological question, you 
 know, why we are all arraigned at once ? Even 
 you, you giddy, frivolous, dissipated person!" 
 
 "I think she is disappointed," aunt Serena said 
 kindly, and with perceptible hesitation. " She 
 would like to go to Mrs. Raymond's to-night. At 
 least, it seems so." 
 
 "Disappointed!" exclaimed Rose. "0 Ger 
 trude, aunt Serena's gentle ' disappointed ' covers 
 the sins of the whole world ! " 
 
 That evening at five they drove to Mrs. Ray 
 mond's. They were very merry, which may have 
 been owing to the exhilarating air and brilliantly- 
 lighted, crowded streets. Then, Molly and Daisy, 
 crowded into the carriage, and behaving with ex 
 treme propriety, according to their mamma's parting 
 injunction, seemed to induce inexplicable mirth. 
 People rarely spoke of Molly and Daisy without a 
 smile. Perhaps it was their smooth, round heads. 
 Perhaps it was their flaxen queues. Perhaps it was 
 their mother. Rose laughed with the others. She
 
 286 AUNT SEBENA. 
 
 even said one or two very amusing things. All the 
 time she thought, ' ' How will he meet me ? how will 
 he greet me? " 
 
 He met her quietly in the bright room where the 
 happy children were and Mr. Raymond. Mrs. 
 Raymond was not there. She was putting last 
 touches on the largest and most wonderful fir- tree 
 which ever grew stately and strong in aromatic 
 shades of the deep green-wood, with the song of 
 birds in its branches and the free blue sky above, 
 to tower up bravely in its last days before breathless 
 little children, a vision of loveliness and glory, a 
 dear memory for all their lives. 
 
 Behind closed doors, Mrs. Raymond was rapidly 
 saying, 
 
 " Now, if it should not turn, Elise? If it should 
 tip? The tree is very heavy. Hang that largest 
 angel straighter ; and the ' Star of Bethlehem ' on the 
 very top looks crooked. Wait. This branch needs 
 more snow, and that one some frost. I must say 
 the ChiiStmas roses are a success. So much vivid 
 scarlet and dead white are always effective. And 
 the gold cherubs make the best taper-holders I have 
 ever used. Remember that, Elise, for next year. 
 If the music-box will only go ! It is so unreliable, 
 and has such an unpleasant way of giving that dis 
 heartening groan, and stopping short at 
 
 ' Be it ever so hum ' " 
 
 " I think it will go, madame ; and the tree is per 
 fectly firm. If the music stops, the ladies and gen-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 287 
 
 tlemen will think madame desired it to stop at that 
 moment." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond laughed. "Sure enough, Elise. 
 So they will. "What a comfort ! See that all the 
 packages for Miss Lennox's party are together at 
 the left. We are ready now, I think, to light the 
 tapers." 
 
 This while her guests were entering the salon. 
 Rosamond slipped a little behind the others. She 
 saw Bruce wish aunt Serena a " Merry Christmas," 
 and kiss her hand. How pretty she looked in her 
 old point-lace and with the faint color in her cheeks. 
 And white Gertrude came next. She was lovely 
 too, her fair hair almost with a silver sheen on it, 
 fairer than usual in contrast with the deep wine-red 
 of her dress. Harold was looking at her hair. 
 Bruce, too, glanced at her kindly, and said some 
 thing in his courteous way. Had she, Rose Welles- 
 ley, really dared to But now he was coming to 
 her. Yes, it was the same face. The same clear, 
 strong, beautiful face that had shone out in the 
 dimness, and owned her, while the San Grail was 
 passii g in the mystic music, and pure, high heavens 
 were opening. He merely drew her arm in his, and 
 took her across the room to see his sister's new 
 Hermes. Marjorie's little hand crept into hers on 
 the other side. She stooped to kiss the child, glad 
 of her presence. He was kind to act as if nothing 
 had happened, except, as he drew her hand within 
 his arm, it was as if a legion of guardian angels 
 were compassing her round about. They stood
 
 238 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 before the Hermes. He looked down upon the 
 lovers with his mild, thoughtful, pitying smile. 
 
 "He has been recently excavated," Bruce ex 
 plained. "Think of this pure Greek perfection 
 being buried so long ; ' ' and he passed his hand 
 lovingly over the veins in the slender throat, and 
 the strong, young, athletic breast of the fair, white 
 god. 
 
 " What does he say to us? " asked Rose softly. 
 
 " He says to us " and Bruce lingered on the 
 little word as if it were pleasant to him " Why, 
 then, are ye here? What will ye become? Only 
 to live and suffer, to love and die, poor mortals ? ' ' 
 
 "But it is enough," said the young girl, her 
 grave, sweet eyes on the god's perfect face. Tak 
 ing some violets from her girdle, she laid them 
 before him on his ebony pedestal. 
 
 "Is he a rogue?" asked Marjorie's clear tones. 
 "Does he steal and cheat? Papa says he is a 
 splendid rascal, but I love him because he is so 
 beautiful. Uncle Cid, please lift me up to kiss 
 him." 
 
 " He is what Fate made him, as we all are," 
 Bruce replied, with a smile for Marjorie's anxious 
 eyes. "But I always like to think of him as 'the 
 swift messenger between Zeus and all life wherein 
 there breathes a soul.' See, there are the broken 
 fingers of the infant Bacchus on his shoulder. It 
 is the child whom he regards with his godlike, 
 pitying smile." 
 
 "Why does the white god pity?" asked little
 
 AUNT SERENA. 289 
 
 Marjorie. " The prince in ' Dornroschen ' does not 
 pity." 
 
 " The prince in ' Doruroschen ' thinks only of the 
 princess and himself. The white god is thinking 
 of all souls," Rose ventured to explain. 
 
 "Oh," said Marjorie softly. Her child-eyes 
 had assumed that alarming look of omniscience 
 which startles us now and then in the very young. 
 
 But now the mysterious doors were opening, 
 revealing the tree, gleaming like hoar-frost in the 
 moonlight, bearing a glory of color among its hun 
 dreds of tapers, and with a transparent silvery veil 
 enhancing its splendors, its rosy, shining fruits, 
 its snowy branches and sharp icicles, its white float 
 ing angels and golden-winged cherubs. 
 
 It revolved. It did not tip. The treacherous 
 music-box gave no inward groan, but conscien 
 tiously tinkled out its harmonious "Home, Sweet 
 Home " to the very end, and began again ; and the 
 wanderers were duly moved to give a passing kindly 
 thought to their fair land beyond the sea, never in 
 deed quite forgotten. 
 
 Bruce, leaving Hose and Marjorie in the guardian 
 ship of the subtly smiling Greek god, slipped be 
 hind the little group to the doorway where aunt 
 Serena was standing with Mr. Raymond, watching 
 the flushed, delighted faces of the children. Quietly 
 dispossessing Raymond, much to that gentleman's 
 amusement, Bruce led her into the library opposite. 
 He was very grave. His eyes were dark with 
 strong emotion.
 
 290 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 "Madame Serena," he said, giving htr the little, 
 stately name which he thought suited her, and which 
 had never displeased her, " one day, long ago, at 
 least it seems long to me since I first had the hap 
 piness of seeing you, I gave into your hands a 
 rose. Dear Madame Serena, will you give her 
 your Rose to me now ? " 
 
 There was utter silence in the library. Opposite, 
 the patient music-box was emphatically reiterating 
 "Home, Sweet Home;" the children's happy 
 laughter, and the warmth and cheerful lights and 
 kindly voices, told the same tale ; and here was this 
 young man wanting a ' ' Sweet Home ' ' for himself 
 and her little girl. 
 
 Was this not indeed what aunt Serena both 
 wished and expected? Yet now that it had come, 
 and Sydney Bruce stood waiting, his handsome, 
 earnest face bent down towards her, in his manner 
 a fine deference and controlled eagerness, it seemed 
 to her a very solemn, fateful moment. It was 
 Rosamond, her child, that this man wanted. It 
 was Rosamond's whole future that was coming to 
 meet her with swift bounds. She looked into the 
 honorable, manly face which she knew so well, not 
 doubting, yet seeking to prove him, to reach his 
 very soul. The clear eyes responded truth for 
 truth. He smiled a slow, kindly, reassuring smile 
 down at this fine, anxious, lovely old lady. 
 
 "Madame Serena," he said, holding out both 
 hands, " will you trust her to me? " 
 
 Aunt Serena was trembling a little. She was 
 deeply agitated.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 291 
 
 But holding herself bravely erect, with her state 
 liest, gentlest grace, as befitted the giving of a royal 
 gift, she smiled back at him, and, extending her 
 delicate hands, said with affection, yet with a cer 
 tain quaint formality, 
 
 "My dear friend, I will send my niece Rosa 
 mond to you." 
 
 Bruce, much moved, stooped, and kissed the 
 trembling hands that lay in his own. 
 
 With a tender color on her cheek, she went softly 
 in to the others. In the hall, she hurriedly wiped 
 away two loving tears with her very best point-lace 
 handkerchief. ' ' I am a most irrational old wo 
 man," she thought. "Am I trying to persuade 
 myself I am not glad? I am most thoroughly 
 glad." And then she wiped away two tears 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond, her hands filled with packages, 
 said brightly, as if quite unaware of the signifi 
 cance of that tete-a-tete in her library, 
 
 " Miss Lennox, it is only once a year that I neg 
 lect my guests for the children ; but Youth reigns 
 to-night. Vive le roil Miss Wellesley, your turn 
 and Miss Peyton's come now ; then we older ones 
 may presume to open our boxes, if royalty permits." 
 
 "We do, mamma," cried Edith graciously; and 
 Mrs. Raymond hurried back to the stores she was 
 distributing. 
 
 " Child," and in aunt Serena's quiet voice was 
 an unspeakable blessing upon all the fair years 
 that had been and all that were to come, " oui
 
 292 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 friend, Mr. Bruce, is waiting for you in the library. 
 Go to him, Rosamond." 
 
 He was standing facing the half-open door. She 
 came softly, shyly in, her heavy white draperies 
 clinging about her lithe form, her great eyes sol 
 emnly upraised to his. She looked slightly pale, 
 and very young. She walked directly towards him 
 hi simple obedience to his summons, as Marjorie 
 might have done. Bruce was inexpressibly touched 
 by it. 
 
 "Rose! my little Rose!" he murmured, placing 
 his hands gently on her shoulders, drawing her 
 nearer and nearer, his steadfast eyes begging her 
 to have no fear of him. 
 
 The low sweetness of the strong man's voice, his 
 beautiful face bending down to her, and his firm and 
 gentle hands holding her near, were a wonderful 
 revelation to happy, troubled, trembling Rose. "I 
 will be faithful ! I will be faithful ! " said the pure 
 voice of her maiden soul. And into the face of the 
 man who loved her she looked the same innocent 
 look of rapt devotion which had shone upon him 
 out of the dusk the evening before, which had an 
 swered his tender words with its ineffable promise. 
 
 He drew her to his breast ; and on her hair, her 
 cheek, her fair, round neck, fell his light kisses. 
 Her face was hidden like a child's against him. 
 She trembled still, but she did not seek to escape : 
 she was offering up her soul to him in a passion of 
 loyalty. Again she saw the high oaks of the Nest, 
 and the lilies and the shining water, and heard, as
 
 AUNT SERENA. 293 
 
 if it were another's, her own prophetic " it must be 
 something very grand and sweet and sad." And 
 now two loving arms were holding her fast, and a 
 voice was murmuring half-spoken words in her ear, 
 
 soothing words, as if she were a little untamed 
 thing, eager for its freedom. And it was grand to 
 care for such a man, and promise him faith for all 
 time; and it was sweet ah, the sweetness of it! 
 
 and it was sad, with an indefinable sadness. And 
 all this the young girl thought, perhaps with her 
 happy heart-beats, perhaps with her exalted enrap 
 tured soul ; for in her head there seemed to be only 
 a sweet confusion and immeasurable wonder, and 
 she had no theories tc expound as she had had for 
 poor Harold ; no words indeed for this strong, 
 stately lover, who took her in his arms and kissed 
 her hair, and called her his Rose of the world. 
 
 At length he lifted her drooping head, and looked 
 at her. 
 
 "What ever sent you to me, child?" he asked 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 With one of the quick transitions so natural to 
 her, over her young face flitted a light, amused 
 smile ; and she answered, 
 
 "Aloha." 
 
 "I will crown him king of the beasts. Was it 
 in the woods that day that he told you to come, 
 dear?" 
 
 She looked at him in mute amazement. 
 
 "But I was near to you even then. I could 
 have stepped across the brook, and taken you in my
 
 294 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 arms ; I could have kissed away your tears : but 
 you would have been angry then. I have been 
 waiting for you ever since. I was waiting for you 
 before ; I have always been waiting for you, heart 
 of my heart ! " and he kissed her innocent, wonder 
 ing lips. 
 
 "Miss Rose, Miss Rose! Please come!" cried 
 Marjorie in the hall, then ran lightly into the room. 
 " Oh, uncle Cid, do you mind? You may have her 
 again, you know, all the other days ; but Christmas 
 is the children's day, and I'm going to give mamma 
 the swan." 
 
 "May I have her all the other days, little Mar 
 jorie ? ' ' 
 
 Rosamond stooped, and pressed her cheek against 
 the child's soft curls. 
 
 "You shall have her, Marjorie. You have sacred 
 claims on her and me, but I must have you both ; " 
 and, led by Marjorie, they went back to the others. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond came directly towards them. 
 
 "My dear child!" she said warmly, kissing 
 Rose with a supremely delighted look. Her cares 
 and fears were at an end. Sydney was safely moored. 
 
 "Why do you kiss Miss Rose, mamma?" in 
 quired Edith. " She did not just come, and it is 
 not time for her to go." 
 
 "She kisses her because she loves her," ex- 
 pi lined Marjorie. " So do I : so does uncle Cid." 
 
 Mr. Raymond, with one cordial word, welcomed 
 the young girl into their inner circle. Gertrude 
 looked beatific.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 295 
 
 It began to seem less strange, now ; and every 
 body was so kind ! Presently Harold stood beside 
 her : on his face various emotions were struggling 
 for mastery. 
 
 " Is this true? " he asked, with a great, glad ring 
 in his voice. 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " O Rose ! " and he shook her hands vigorously, 
 "what a dear you are to get me out of it! You 
 always were the kindest girl. I have been a mean- 
 spirited 'craven, and now I feel like a god ; and 
 you've done it, Rose, you've done it. I never can 
 thank you enough. I can't tell you now, but to 
 morrow I will," he whispered. 
 
 "But I know, Harold. I knew to-day, when I 
 saw you look at her. Why did you mind me, dear 
 boy? You ought to have been sure I would help 
 you, even " and her voice was low and mischiev 
 ous " 'if the years that shall make you more of 
 a man shall' " 
 
 "O hush, Rose! Don't be hard on a fellow 
 Christmas Eve, and your affairs at high tide. 
 I have always liked Bruce, Rose. I am mighty glad 
 it's Bruce." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say that, Mr. Thprnton," 
 Bruce said quietly, coming up behind them. " I 
 have always liked you." 
 
 Unabashed and laughing, Harold held out his hand. 
 
 That blessed Christmas Eve ! Why should it not 
 have been a golden time? Happiness, like a dove, 
 had descended upon them ; and they did not drive
 
 296 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 away that coy and transient guest with one forbid 
 ding look or mien of suffering melancholy. Deso 
 late, pitiful hours had come to most of them, as 
 come they must. They had tasted the dead-sea 
 fruit of the world's disappointments. They had 
 known heavy grinding care and pale sorrow. Life 
 with its burdens was on them, yet also life's rap 
 ture and glory. And Christmas bade them take 
 courage^ and be glad. "Remember us," warned 
 the voices of the past. "Beloved, ye too are wel 
 come," answered the faithful voices of to-day. 
 "Absent and un forgotten, rejoice with us." 
 
 And from Rosamond's pure eyes shone the same 
 love-light that had once transfigured her young moth 
 er's face ; while in the tender strength of her lover, 
 aunt Serena recognized the power that had swayed 
 her own far-off girlhood. The new was ever repeat 
 ing the old ; and the vast, subtle forces of nature 
 were working out their infinite progressions. And 
 she looked thoughtfully upon the fresh, flower-like 
 maidenhood, the men in their goodly strength, and 
 heard with thankfulness the light, rippling laughter 
 of the children. " Tt will pass away," she mused, 
 " yet not in vain is it here. If not for us, the har 
 vest is for others. ' There shall never be one lost 
 good.' The warmth of this one evening reaches 
 farther than we know in ever-widening immeasurable 
 circles. We are imperfect beings, but we are very 
 lovable," smilingly thought this mild judge of her 
 fellow-men ; ' ' and we are the best we have at 
 present."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 297 
 
 Age, serene and beautiful as summer twilight ; 
 calm, trustful, married life ; young lovers entering 
 their paradise ; young lovers far from theirs indeed, 
 yet cheerfully, if with some unavoidable detentions, 
 on the way ; and the sovereign children in the splen 
 dor of their Christmas purple ; while the indefati 
 gable music-box, quietly encouraged by Elise, ground 
 on, like the salt-mill that forever grinds, and keeps 
 the great sea salt, until it was silenced to yield to 
 Gertrude, who sang as even she had never sung 
 before ; and the broad, dignified, noble melody of 
 Stradella's "O Salutaris" soared on, and met the 
 Christmas chimes at midnight.
 
 298 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " I will lift mine eyes unto the hills." 
 
 ' /"^AN a man never please himself ? " said Harold, 
 v_y who had been pleasing himself systematically 
 for twenty years. With a frown he turned away, and 
 looked far down the valley. He was driving slowly 
 with aunt Serena, a gray February day, up towards 
 a villa upon which she had certain undefined but per 
 sistent designs. 
 
 " She misses you, Harold. You are all she has." 
 " She is not unhappy," he said moodily. 
 " She has been very good to spare you so long." 
 "A man of my age cannot be expected to sit in 
 the chimney corner, and toast his feet." 
 Aunt Serena smiled imperturbably. 
 " You have been here three months. In less than 
 six we shall all come back to the Nest." 
 
 "I see no reasonable objection to my waiting for 
 you. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the 
 world for me to do." 
 
 ' ' The most natural and reasonable thing is for you 
 to yield to your mother, and go at once." 
 Harold maintained stern silence. 
 At length aunt Serena began again, 
 " May I speak to you with perfect frankness? "
 
 AUNT SERENA. 299 
 
 "Of course. Why not?" But his permission 
 was not sufficiently affable to be encouraging. 
 
 "Then /wish you to go home. You will go to 
 please your mother, I am sure," she said tranquilly. 
 " But I, too, am anxious to send you away for a 
 tune." 
 
 "I suppose so," he muttered gloomily. "You 
 have not a ray of confidence in a man unless he hap 
 pens to be exactly thirty-two." 
 
 She turned her benign face fully upon him, and 
 said with deliberate earnestness, 
 
 "Harold, I found here a brave little girl work 
 ing away against heavy odds, with oppressive memo 
 ries haunting her, with no apparent promise in her 
 future. I do not intend, being at present personally 
 responsible, to allow any undesirable complications 
 to intrude upon her present restfulness." 
 
 "Am I an undesirable complication?" 
 
 " You might be," she answered with her loveliest 
 smile. 
 
 He deigned to laugh a little. " I cannot quarrel 
 with you, aunt Serena. You have me at an advan 
 tage." 
 
 "I know that I have, dear. Now listen. You 
 have been silent thus far, not out of consideration 
 for any of us, you know, but simply from " 
 
 " Disgust with myself. Nevertheless, I have not 
 a fickle nature. In the face of facts, I swear it," 
 he returned resolutely. 
 
 "From motives of your own," she continued in 
 her unruffled, civil manner, "and at all events I
 
 300 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 approve of your outward course. If the dearest lad 
 that ever had patience with a prosy old woman will 
 let me advise him now, this is what I say. Go home, 
 simply because you ought. What nobler thing can a 
 man do than his simple duty? Then, if } T ou stay, 
 what will it profit you? Do you think she will listen 
 to you now? She has an uncompromising, honest 
 pride of her own ; and she is wiser than her years. 
 She will come with me. Your mother will know her 
 then. It will be quite different. Leave the dear 
 girl trustfully, with the friendly hope of seeing her 
 again. Leave her to the future and to me. I deny 
 you nothing, except my permission to be rash and 
 inconsiderate. I oppose no tide of feeling ; and if I 
 were so unwise, youth is stronger than I. But I say, 
 because I love you, Harold, and because I love her, 
 wait. Be sure of yourself. This time make no pro 
 testations (she had never before alluded to his little 
 romance with Rose). You have been a boy. Do 
 you hope to win Gertrude? Be a man." 
 
 " It is no use. You would make a hero of a brute. 
 I will go. I suppose I must do as you wish. I know 
 you are right, but it is hard." 
 
 " Yes, it is hard," she said. 
 
 ' ' Do you trust me ? ' ' and he turned squarely upon 
 her. 
 
 " I trust your honorable heart. I sometimes dis 
 trust your hasty, extravagant impulse. I am sure 
 that I shall have reason later to trust j^our manly 
 steadfastness." 
 
 "You shall indeed ! " he exclaimed honestly, " and
 
 AUNT SERENA. 301 
 
 1 will go at once. But you'd better send me soon, 
 while I am in a reformed state." 
 
 " The sooner the better, my dear," she replied 
 with strong and kind approval. 
 
 Harold left them in a couple of days. He appeared 
 well in the parting scene. Aunt Serena was proud 
 of him. He only said to Gertrude, "Then I shall 
 surely see you at the Nest, Miss Peyton, before the 
 summer is gone? Auf Wiederselien." If his strong 
 blue eyes flashed one word more into hers, if his 
 hand-pressure was longer than strict ceremony re 
 quired, aunt Serena did not blame him, nor did Ger 
 trude. Baldur the Beautiful is gone, she said to 
 herself many times that day, missing his sunshiny 
 presence, and his friendly care of her. But she knew 
 that his warm welcome would gladden her on those 
 other shores, and she trusted aunt Serena. Gertrude 
 was of a faithful and grateful nature, and he had 
 been good to her. She loved sunshine, and a little 
 went with the fair-haired bonny lad. So she remem 
 bered him in her quiet, patient heart. 
 
 There were many reasons why aunt Serena, at 
 this time, wished to leave the pension. One excel 
 lent one was that they were tired of it. At best, it 
 lacked the freedom and peace of home. There 
 were too many incongruous elements. As a tern- 
 porai'y thing, it was very well, and had no doubt 
 served its useful disciplinary purposes. But the 
 experiment had been tried. There seemed to be 
 nothing more to be learned from it. Indeed, certain 
 experiences grew with each repetition less endurable.
 
 302 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Since the announcement of Rose's engagement, 
 Mrs. Vivien had been, what most women would 
 have unhesitatingly called, intrusive and odious in 
 the extreme. Aunt Serena's severest epithet was 
 " incomprehensible." Rose began to shrink in 
 stinctively from her next-door neighbor's visits. 
 Mrs. Vivien said nothing, which, narrated or com 
 plained of, would have seemed to have sufficient 
 weight to lie heavily upon any one's spirits. But 
 her chatter was depressing to Rose. It is easy for 
 a generous girl to look in her lover's face, and think, 
 What do I care for his past ! I love it, since it has 
 led him step by step to me, and thus, with one 
 grand gesture, wave it out of her remembrance. 
 But it is not easy for her when she finds that others 
 are free to discuss her hero's human weaknesses ; 
 that her noble reticence does not silence other 
 lips ; that her judgment of him goes for nothing ; 
 and that the very nature of her position renders her 
 helpless to defend him from shallow, ignoble critics. 
 
 Mrs. Vivien was an adept in giving small stabs. 
 Rose had received some of which aunt Serena was 
 unaware. Once or twice Mrs. Vivien had "run 
 in ' ' when Miss Lennox was out and Rose was 
 alone, "to be neighborly," the little woman said. 
 Perhaps another girl would have shrunk with less 
 horror from minute details of her lover's experi 
 ences, and from iununendoes more expressive than 
 words. It may be that another girl would have 
 ventured to jest with him about them, and so quiet 
 any vague restlessness they might have caused her.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 303 
 
 But Rose could not ; nor could she bring malicious, 
 petty stories of his life into his noble presence. 
 She did not believe one of them ; and none of them, 
 indeed, merited belief. Some were the interpreta 
 tion of a base mind ; some were the creations of 
 malice. Nevertheless, they distressed her. Her 
 proud, pure nature recoiled from hearing even his 
 name used carelessly as a common thing. She was 
 not curious, and her trust in him was unspeakable. 
 Yet sometimes she would look at him with t, deep 
 wistfulness he could not fathom. 
 
 " What is it, my little Rose? " 
 
 "I wish I were older," she would say. "Are 
 you sure I am old enough for you? I am so igno 
 rant of life. If I were older I should understand 
 many things better." 
 
 Then he would comfort her with a lover's fond 
 assurances, and she would forget her fears. Yet 
 against her will, in some inexplicable way, the fif 
 teen years' difference in their ages grew in her child 
 ish fancy like a chasm between them, over which 
 even her love could throw no bridge. Mrs. Vivien 
 had succeeded simply in making her depressed, 
 doubtful of herself. " I will be all I may to him," 
 she would say fervently. "I will learn to be 
 more." 
 
 Unreserved in all else to aunt Serena, she was 
 reticent with regard to her lover. What she felt, 
 iudeed, she could not have expressed hi words. 
 The lesson of her own insufficiency had been taught 
 her with such gradual insinuations, she could hardly
 
 304 AUNT SERENA 
 
 have told how she had learned it. Ambiguous sug 
 gestions of a complex society life, which she had 
 never known ; pretty enthusiasms about the tran 
 scendent perfection of women of the great world, 
 who had enthralled her lover when she was still 
 playing with dolls ; enlightenment as to the grand 
 passion a man feels once, and never again, the mad 
 infatuation being, as a rule, followed by weariness, 
 and afterwards by an amiable toleration of some 
 gentle being, upon whom he deigns to bestow what 
 ever feeble warmth remains in the ashes of his 
 burnt-out affections, all this and more, in Mrs. 
 Vivien's delicate and playful rendering, the inex 
 perienced child could neither openly resent, nor yet 
 quite forget. She was too far from this other 
 world to be able to judge it clearly ; and the rumors 
 that floated to her from it perplexed her, because of 
 the atmosphere of mystery which enveloped them. 
 Had there been any thing for her active spirit to do, 
 any thing to fairly meet, to refute, she would have 
 suffered less. But these attenuated, poisonous dilu 
 tions instilled a slow pain in her young heart. Pride 
 forbade her to complain of it. She scorned it, 
 struggled with it ; but its dull throb was hard to 
 bear. 
 
 Strictly speaking, it was perhaps an infinitesimal 
 wavering cloud of jealousy which occasioned her 
 mute distress. Yet it would seem that a word less 
 severe, and less suggestive of ignoble emotion, 
 ought to be chosen to depict the uneasiness that 
 overhung this loyal, tender child's untried spirit, the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 305 
 
 increasing self-distrust, the consciousness of those 
 fifteen fatal years of mysterious experience and 
 untold wisdom that lay between him and her. 
 Sometimes she would suddenly grow shy, not dar 
 ing to disclose to him her eager fancies. If perfect 
 love caste th out fear, Rose's was by no means per 
 fect ; but it was perhaps sufficiently near perfection 
 for any mortal man to win. 
 
 The timid homage which she offered him, the 
 tremulous stir in her face of half-understood emo 
 tion, the rapture of her welcome, when all her youth 
 in its glad, pure strength looked out of her lovely 
 eyes, and the fine reserve of her dawning womanli 
 ness guarded the door of her lips, made her to Bruce 
 a perfect pearl of girlhood. He found in her all that 
 he could desire. The childlike element in her he 
 loved as something sacred. He was charmed with 
 her simplicity, her appreciation and sympathy when 
 ever he spoke earnestly with her of his plans. 
 Already she had unconsciously inspired him with 
 more active and larger aims. He did not talk much 
 of his past, for the simple reason that he was apt 
 to forget it in her presence. It seemed worthless to 
 him, compared with the rich and satisfying future 
 opeuJng before them. He had, indeed, no espe 
 cial mysteries or crimes on his conscience ; but, had 
 he known the delicate tissues of perplexity which 
 malice was weaving about her, he would have un 
 hesitatingly laid before her all of his life that it was 
 titting for her young eyes to gaze upon. 
 
 Meanwhile aunt Serena was fully persuaded it
 
 306 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 was time to leave the pension. She had her good 
 and sufficient reasons. If she and Gertrude did not 
 know absolute!} 7 all causes why Rosamond's bright 
 happiness was now and then dimmed by intangible 
 clouds, their loving intuition perceived much. This 
 was not a family where everybody's emotions are 
 arraigned each day before a council of ten or three. 
 ' ' I prefer the ah 1 on the hills now that spring is 
 coming," aunt Serena announced quite generally. 
 Frau Rudolph's chuckle was less audible and fre 
 quent in those days when the departure was under 
 open consideration. Indeed, Molly and Daisy, 
 whose round eyes usually saw all that there was to 
 be seen, repeated that she had mixed her black 
 coffee with a few rare tears the afternoon that aunt 
 Serena and the two young girls finally drove away 
 from her door. Be that as it may, an actual, if 
 surprising fact, or a mere extravagance of the youth 
 ful and reduplicated imagination of the twins, the 
 exceUent woman, true to her principles of always 
 being ready to recognize the mobile character of her 
 flock, cheerily supported aunt Serena in the execu 
 tion of her plans ; was even, with Mr. Raymond, in 
 strumental in securing a short lease of the coveted 
 villa ; and at the parting moment bravely stood her 
 ground with the same " They-come-and-they-go " 
 smile with which she had greeted them as perfect 
 strangers. That was what she deemed upholding 
 the dignity of her calling. But if she afterwards 
 retired to her small room, and locked the door, let 
 us not intrude with prying eyes upon her brief but
 
 AUNT SERENA. 307 
 
 voluntary seclusion from the world, nor seek to lay 
 bare the jealously guarded motives which led her 
 to send odd and dainty little baskets of sweetmeats 
 up to the villa on the hill, and, after her busy day 
 was done, not unfrequently to toil up the warm, 
 kng slope which led to it, and the kind welcome 
 which always awaited her in its cool garden. She 
 never divulged her private views upon this subject. 
 Let us respect her dignified reticence. Not every 
 woman, we are told, can keep a secret. 
 
 It was in March when they moved up to the villa. 
 This was not merely a villa on a hill, but a villa at 
 the glorious crown of a succession of noble hills, 
 waving up in long, gentle undulations to the lovely, 
 lofty spot where it stood. Five forest-roads met 
 and crossed before its door, and witches must have 
 held high carnival there in the merry old witch-days. 
 Indeed, what with the wind and the gloom, and 
 the magic of some nights, it was easy to suspect 
 them of still haunting those mystic precincts. One 
 broad, fine carriage-road wound, with easy turnings, 
 up from the city. Two roads came more abruptly 
 up, and were climbed by good walkers, sometimes 
 by carts. One swept with a long curve round a 
 droll little village and a tiny lake. One led straight 
 into the woods, and ran into a labyrinth of lovely 
 wood-roads, broad and narrow, level and steep, 
 always enchanting. 
 
 The villa, built by a Polish gentleman, from 
 caprice, abandoned from the same dominant prin 
 ciple of all his actions, although perched as high
 
 308 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 as an eagle's eyry, was yet in itself a quiet, 
 like little house, resting with its gardens in what 
 Rose called a dimple in the face of the hill. Before 
 it stood with singular effect seven giant poplar-trees. 
 These were most impressive in their extraordinary 
 height, and as conspicuous in their loneliness as the 
 "Three Sisters" of the Roman Forum. Visible 
 from a point far down the valley, always looming 
 up in their vivid and solemn loftiness, whatever else 
 was concealed by the wooded windings of the road, 
 their mystic number increased their subtle charm ; 
 and the perpetual, mysterious flutter of their delicate 
 leaves far up on that breezy height whispered un 
 speakable things to hearts that loved to listen. 
 
 "We cannot pronounce 'Tarnorowowski,' or 
 whatever it may be, with the slightest hope of suc 
 cess," said aunt Serena one day. "We must re- 
 christen the villa for our own temporary use." 
 
 "Why not call it 'Seven Poplars?' That is 
 simple, and we can pronounce it in the few lan 
 guages of which we know any thing," suggested 
 Rose, listening to the innumerable voices of their 
 leaves. Standing near them, she turned away from 
 gazing at Wynburg and the plain beyond and the 
 distant mountain-range ; and as she looked in hei 
 lover's eyes, her cares sank down into the valley.
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 309 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "Fair? yes, yes 1 the rippled shadow 
 
 Of that midnight hair 
 Shows above her brow as clouds do 
 O'er the moon most fair. 
 
 Shaming truth with truthful seeming; 
 While her laugh, light, low, 
 
 And her subtle mouth that murmurs, 
 And her silken cheek, 
 
 And her eyes, say that she dissembles, 
 Plain as speech could speak." 
 EDWIN AKNOLD: The Indian Song of Songs. 
 
 T~ IFE on the heights suited them all. Aunt Se- 
 -* J rena was again in a natural position, directing 
 her little household, dispensing hospitalities, and 
 working daily in her garden, with a gentle joy in 
 every growing leaf. Gertrude, for the first time 
 since her childhood, was at home. Rosamond 
 dreamed her happy girlish dreams in which Bruce 
 was by turns every hero of every high romance, 
 only somewhat nobler than all. The Seven Poplars 
 looked down upon an ideal life. They heard long, 
 friendly, earnest talks. Much light laughter floated 
 about their sombre stateliness, and sometimes a whis 
 per beneath them would make a maiden's heart aa 
 tremulous as their own sensitive foliage.
 
 310 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 Spring was working its quiet will on sunny hill- 
 slopes and in dark forest-depths. Every day new 
 glories disclosed themselves. The woods near by 
 were of rare beauty, soft and clear and mossy under 
 foot, magnificently high, tempting one ever on and 
 on through their vast arches. 
 
 Up through the shady road and round a sharp 
 corner, there was a grove of great, murmuring pines. 
 Off in another direction, a narrow way a perfect 
 lovers' path, wide enough for two horses abreast 
 led them under a rich growth of soft acacias which 
 met overhead. Here they often rode in fragrant 
 May twilights. 
 
 They searched the woods for its treasures. They 
 learned its trees, most of them indeed stanch old 
 friends. They met the wild forget-me-nots and 
 lilies-of-the-valley as they came. Aunt Serena said 
 one day "that she thought, even at the Nest the 
 birds had never sounded so marvellously sweet." 
 
 " Germans are very musical," Rose replied so 
 berly. " These birds may have more musical tradi 
 tions and more science ; but the birds at the Nest 
 have great natural talent." 
 
 "There are no nightingales there," said aunt 
 Serena with soft regret. 
 
 Again they were telling Gertrude and Bruce how 
 the Nest looked. 
 
 " I can't imagine any thing prettier than this," 
 Gertrude had said. 
 
 " It may not be prettier, except to us," aunt 
 Serena gently explained.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 311 
 
 " It is quite different, " said Rose. " Here we are 
 as high as a robber knight's castle, and not much 
 more retired, although that wild white-rose hedge is 
 some protection," she laughingly admitted; "and 
 there the great oaks shut us in away from the whole 
 world." 
 
 " Then, I shall prefer the Nest," Bruce said, 
 smiling. 
 
 " This has a broader landscape. This is more 
 airy," reflected aunt Serena, wishing to be quite 
 Impartial. 
 
 " Ah, but we have the sea ! " Rose exclaimed. 
 
 " And the Nest is home," aunt Serena said. 
 
 " And Aloha stands in his stall, and looks over 
 his shoulder for his mistress," Bruce suggested. 
 
 " Not always," Rose said practically. " Old 
 John is faithful. He exercises him properly, I am 
 sure. But he will know me. You will all see." 
 
 Still, in spite of their loyalty to the Nest, they 
 grew strongly attached to their little home on the 
 hill-top ; and they made it charming for their Wyn- 
 burg friends. Bruce sent up, for Rose's pleasure, 
 a Hermes like his sister's. They placed him in the 
 garden, facing the poplars. 
 
 "The god of travellers," said Bruce, "shall 
 guard all wayfarers who pass by these intersecting 
 roads." 
 
 " All the funny peasants tramping by, and the 
 cattle and the dogs, and the soldiers going to and 
 from the parade-ground, and gay students singing 
 their loud, late songs, and Lieut, von Falkenstein,
 
 312 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 his brother officers and our own' friends, and the 
 court-people, and the postilions with their horns, 
 and even their majesties, it is a goodly company," 
 said Rose, greatly pleased; "and we, we are trav 
 ellers too. Dear Hermes, bless them all and us." 
 
 June came with her roses, and Rose was glad at 
 heart. She was going to be eighteen. Her un 
 easy wonderings had been blown away by the pure 
 hill-breezes ; and then, Mrs. Vivien, though she 
 came often enough, could not exactly run in with 
 impunity, bringing her gray stocking and many- 
 colored reminiscences. The little lady, too, like 
 every thing in nature, moved with a sort of rhythm, 
 even in her naughtiness. It had its ascending and 
 descending cadences. Malice, like love and joy, 
 has a tide. Hers, at this moment, was apparently 
 at low ebb. But Rosamond still wished to be older, 
 though forgetful of the course of reasoning that had 
 led her to this conclusion. She confided to Ger 
 trude, with a solemnly childlike air, that she thought, 
 after she was eighteen, she might dare to call Mr. 
 Bruce Sydney ; which, curiously enough, she had 
 never yet done. 
 
 She was very lovely in her special manner to 
 Bruce. As he himself had foreseen, it proved to be 
 quite different from her cousinly treatment of Har 
 old. Ingenuous, sufficiently, often playfully, familiar 
 in her speech, yet always with a certain delicate 
 reserve and deference in her way of approaching 
 him. She could not regard her lover, in the emi 
 nently practical manner of certain young women, aa
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 313 
 
 a useful arid creditable object to have on baud and 
 exhibit, tolerably interesting as a novelty, but upon 
 the whole falling far short of the last new thing in 
 parasols. There was much that she intended to do 
 after she was eighteen. She had as many plans as 
 a prime minister ; but they all related to one com 
 prehensive subject, her own intellectual develop 
 ment, to render herself more worthy of Bruce, who 
 on his side regarded her as the fairest thing in 
 mortal eyes. 
 
 It is the evening before Rosamond's birthday. 
 Hermes has four blood- red roses given him, with 
 a kiss in the heart of each. The mythological 
 dictionary had instructed Rose that four was the 
 number sacred to the god, but it had said nothing 
 whatever about kisses. There is a strong breeze 
 sweeping through the poplars, and bending the tree- 
 tops in the woods over the way, and blowing the 
 sweetness of the rose-garden out into the wide world. 
 Rosamond, Gertrude, and Bruce stand at the open 
 casement, smiling in upon aunt Serena. Her silvery 
 hair glistens above her placid face and closed, calm 
 eyelids ; and the rich red wine in a curious antique 
 glass on the table by her side glows like flame in the 
 long, last rays of the western sunshine. 
 
 The good old lady thinks that she is reading, but 
 her head nods and her book bobs. The evening 
 breeze blows at will through the pleasant summer- 
 room, inspiring even the sedate faded Tarnorowow- 
 ski portilres with a wild longing for adventure. It 
 fills them grandly, blows them straight out high and
 
 314 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 bold, holds them motionless an instant in un 
 dreamed-of loftiness, till they sink back, trailing 
 their soft, dull, silken folds on the polished floor, 
 rustling still with excitement, and gently whispering 
 about it among themselves, till the strong, bold 
 breeze comes again. 
 
 But aunt Serena pays no heed to the supernatural 
 sprightliness of the curtains, and is not aware (,f the 
 liberties that South-west Wind, Esq., is taking with 
 the ribbons of her cap. She leans back in a com 
 fortable arm-chair. She holds an interesting volume 
 bravely erect. If the eyelids droop over the kind 
 brown eyes, and the head and the book make eccen 
 tric lurches now and then, who shall venture to 
 affirm that the little old lady is not in reality read 
 ing? What with the changing sunset-lights, and 
 the shadows beginning to gather in the corners, it is 
 a thing about which one need not be unpleasantly 
 positive. Aunt Serena thinks that she is reading, 
 and likes her friends to think so. Is this a weak 
 ness? Ask them, smiling at the window. They 
 would tell you it is a lovely human trait, another 
 charm. 
 
 And knowing the dear soul, her gracious ways ; 
 her loving kindness ; her gentle witticisms ; her most 
 enchanting, fairy-godmother surprises ; her penetra 
 tion and blind credulity ; her shrewdness, and utter 
 ignorance of the world ; the tiny glass of Greek 
 wine which it is her almost unvarying habit to offer 
 to every guest, even upon her very threshold ; her 
 tender solicitude about the most uninteresting peo-
 
 AUNT SERENA. 315 
 
 pie's aches and pains and love-troubles ; her old- 
 fashioned grace ; her frail, helpful hands ; her smile, 
 yes, her smile alone, one can easily at her bid 
 ding believe sleeping is waking, and night, day. 
 
 Except for occasional book-bobbings and head- 
 noddings, she sits motionless. The shadows in the 
 corners grow deeper. The fiery glow fades away 
 from the wine. But still the curtains hold high 
 carnival, and pleasant odors steal in from the rose- 
 garden and the fresh woods and fragrant fields. 
 
 The three advance on tiptoe. Aunt Serena opens 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Dear little auntie," says Rose's rich, joyous 
 voice, " you will be blown away like the witches that 
 used to fly over these cross-roads. The curtains are 
 trying to stand on their heads, and in the garden 
 even the mignonette is excited." 
 
 "Pray do not move, Madame Serena," Bruce 
 adds quickly : ' ' you look like a saint, against the 
 pale gold of the dying sunset." 
 
 "Please remain quite as you are," begged Ger 
 trude. 
 
 "Really, children!" expostulated aunt Serena, 
 smiling. 
 
 " St. Serena," Rosamond began in an impressive 
 voice, with an important wave of the hand. " Em 
 blem, glass of Greek wine. Time, nineteenth cen 
 tury ; quite as good a century as any other, and 
 quite as much room for saiutship, although popular 
 superstition holds the contrary opinion. This saint 
 never thought any thing about herself at all. She
 
 316 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 had no time to stand in a niche. She would have 
 been too busy to stay there. She wore rather rich 
 and costly garments." 
 
 " Child ! " remonstrated aunt Serena, with a som2- 
 what deprecating look at her dress. 
 
 "Like St. Edith of "Wilton," Rose continued, 
 much encouraged by applause from the window ; 
 "who remarked, when rebuked by St. Ethelwold 
 for her good clothes, ' God regardeth the heart alone, 
 and can read beneath any garment. For pride,' 
 she said, ' can exist under the garb of wretchedness ; 
 and a mind may be pure under these rich vestments, 
 as under your tattered furs.' St. Serena, then, 
 liked black silks of excellent quality," 
 
 "But they wear better, dear," said a mild 
 voice. 
 
 "And old lace, and very becoming caps. She 
 loved the whole world, and was patient even with 
 Pension Rudolph. She fed the hungry, healed the 
 sick, was imposed upon by the poor, encouraged 
 the lazy, believed most atrocious fibbers, and needed 
 no hair-shirt or other penance for her soul's grace, 
 because she had brought up from early infancy 
 Rosamond Wellesley ; and that was deemed disci 
 pline enough for one earthly pilgrimage." 
 
 "Canonized," began Gertrude, "not in the 
 world's regular lists, but in " 
 
 "Three irregular hearts," Bruce concluded. 
 
 "Interesting in the extreme, my dears, but un- 
 au'Jieutic, being too strongly colored by narrow, 
 individual views," commented aunt Serena, with
 
 AUNT SERENA. 317 
 
 a good grace, finding escape impossible. Now, Mr. 
 Lathrop is what I call a saint." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Rose. "A thousand years 
 ago he would have lived in a cave, and subsisted on 
 roots, prayers, and flagellations. And you would 
 have been quietly watching ; and just at the moment 
 when his exhausted condition was in extremis, you 
 would have appeared with a bowl of nutritious soup 
 in one hand, and a glass of Greek wine in the other : 
 and no one would have been the wiser. And then 
 walking home in a burning sun, with a bad head 
 ache you would have stopped by the way to 
 extract the gravel from a dog's foot, and to pick 
 up all the bruised children, and comfort them, and 
 wash their faces ; and it's a matter of opinion 
 but ' ' she hesitated. 
 
 "But we happen to like Abou Ben Adhem, and 
 all his kind," said Sydney. "Madame Serena, I 
 came in to tell you that I must go down early to 
 night. I promised Florence. Can I be of any ser 
 vice for to-morrow ? ' ' 
 
 "Thanks. There is nothing more, I believe, ex 
 cept to help us decide that little matter of the invi 
 tation to Mrs. Vivien." 
 
 " Oh, I do not want her ! " exclaimed Rose. 
 
 Gertrude was silent. 
 
 Bruce said, "But I cannot venture to advise as 
 to guests in your own house. If it were mine, I 
 should have an opinion, and express it without delay. 
 
 Aunt Serena smiled appreciatively at him,, then 
 said,
 
 318 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "It is such a trifling thing, after all, one invi 
 tation more or less. It seemed to me advisable to 
 make it an informal affair : and as it is to be a gar 
 den-party, and the children from the house are 
 coming, and even Mrs. Lancaster, I think I would 
 ask Mrs. Vivien ; she might otherwise feel disap 
 pointed. 
 
 "But it is my birthday," sighed Eose. "I can 
 be disappointed too." 
 
 " She has sent you flowers several times, you 
 know," urged aunt Serena. " Would you not ratLer 
 have her this once? With so many others, what 
 does it matter to you? It would be kind to invite 
 them all, because it is your birthday. The courtesy 
 comes from you." 
 
 "I will do it, aunt Serena," replied Rose with 
 dignity. " It will be more mature than to want only 
 people whom I can tolerate. By all means let us ask 
 Mrs. Vivien." 
 
 "Then write the note, dear; and Sydney will 
 kindly send it up to Frau Rudolph's." 
 
 Gertrude was still silent. She had been down in 
 the city that day, and had heard at the Conserva 
 tory the morning news of Wynburg. But she nevei 
 brought it up to the Seven Poplars. 
 
 The happy morning dawned. Rosamond was 
 eighteen. She must have retained in her composi 
 tion much of the primeval savage. Four walls could 
 never contain her in moments of joy or sorrow. She 
 sought sympathy and comfort in the free ah-. She 
 ran out early into the garden, and told Hermes. He
 
 AUNT SERENA. 319 
 
 looked as if he knew it already ; so did the poplars : 
 but her sisters, the roses, glowed with surpi-ise. She 
 gazed down upon pleasant "VVynburg, and the misty 
 mountains fur away, and the uncertain lights flitting 
 over the outstretched valley ; and, with her arm flung 
 around the tallest of the poplars, she tried to realize 
 her happiness. Chosen by him, loved by him ; and 
 only one little year since aunt Harriet had judged 
 her and found her wanting, according to the Bea- 
 conswold standard. " Poor aunt Harriet ! I will be 
 more patient now. I will try to please her. I will 
 sit in the Den, and sew. Nothing that she can say 
 will hurt me now ; no one can hurt me, not even 
 Mrs. Vivien. Aunt Harriet will be satisfied when 
 she sees how much more dignified I have become. 
 She will admire my repose : sometimes I am sure it 
 is almost Beaconswoldian, only it is apt to be evan 
 escent. She cannot help liking Sydney, and she 
 cannot frighten him. Ah, yes : this year I shall 
 grow to be very mature." And giving the gratified 
 poplar a girlish hug, with many light bounds and 
 springs she danced toward the porch to greet aunt 
 Serena. 
 
 Soon after breakfast came a note for Miss Welles- 
 ley. Gertrude eyed it with distrust. 
 
 Rose read it gravely, and passed it silently to her 
 aunt, who also read it, then gave it to Ger 
 trude. 
 
 "I will answer this, dear. Mrs. Vivien should 
 hardly permit herself so much liberty," aunt Serena 
 said with great gentleness. "I shall tell her our
 
 320 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 little garden-party is too informal for us to be able 
 to avail ourselves of her suggestion." 
 
 Gertrude read again, with every satirical curve of 
 her lips in full play, 
 
 "I am so pleased at the delightful opportunity I shall 
 have to present to you my cousin Eleanor, an old friend, 
 hy the way, of the irresistible Mr. Bruce, who is passing 
 a few days with me on her way to join a party in the Tyrol. 
 I have told her so much of all my Wynburg friends, among 
 the dearest of whom I claim my charming companions of 
 the winter, that she is perfectly wild to see you. "VVe will, 
 with your kind permission, come quite early to enjoy all we 
 can of you and your beautiful home. Believe me, my dear 
 Miss Wellesley, with a thousand thanks for your affection 
 ate remembrance of me in yoxir birthday joy, wishing you 
 many happy returns, and with my love to dear Miss Lennox 
 and sweet Miss Peyton, 
 
 " Your most devoted and attached friend, 
 
 "ALICE VIVIEN." 
 
 Then she said, "It is very bold. She thinks 
 you cannot save yourselves. But you will not allow 
 this?" 
 
 " Certainly not," aunt Serena replied. "If for 
 no other reason, I have reason to believe it would be 
 disagreeable to Mrs. Raymond. I must send some 
 one down." 
 
 Neither of them looked at Rose, who had not yet 
 spoken. 
 
 At length she said quietly, 
 
 " I would prefer to allow Mrs. Vivien to bring her 
 friend, if you have no serious objection. Let them 
 come."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 321 
 
 " It does not really seem desirable, Rose." 
 
 Miss Lennox's smile was a little troubled. 
 
 " Dear aunt Serena, yesterday I yielded my wish. 
 We have invited Mrs. Vivien. To-day let us accept 
 the consequences. I accept them." She spoke 
 with composure and decision. 
 
 Not wishing to seem to attach too much impor 
 tance to the matter, her aunt said, "As you wish, 
 dear child. The consequences, at all events, will 
 probably be trifling." 
 
 Rose, as she left the room, was drawing quick 
 little breaths, and thinking eagerly, 
 
 " She shall come. I fear no one, and no one 
 shall dare think that I am afraid. Now I shall see 
 this wonder of the world." 
 
 Aunt Serena looked at Gertrude, and shook her 
 head. "I do not like it," she said frankly. "It 
 is too dramatic for us." 
 
 " And Mr. Bruce will be exceedingly displeased." 
 
 " But he will be a great help. Dear Sydney will 
 make things go," aunt Serena added confidently; 
 which is all that was said at the Poplars until Bruce 
 came up late, when he and aunt Serena had a long, 
 and somewhat earnest, conversation. But Rose 
 treated the matter lightly. " I will not avoid it," 
 she thought. "Why should I?" So she said to 
 Sydney at once, 
 
 " Mrs. Vivien is going to bring her cousin, who 
 has just come ; " and then the loyal child looked 
 away, that she might not surprise any sudden ex 
 pression in his eyes. " She calls her Eleanor. She
 
 322 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 says you used to know her." This was no question, 
 but a simple statement of facts. 
 
 Bruce, with unhesitating frankness and a decided 
 frown, answered promptly, 
 
 "I have known her extremely well, Hose. She 
 is to me at present the most disagreeable person in 
 the world, and she is not a woman whom I wish 
 you to know." 
 
 "Never mind, dear," said Rosamond, glowing 
 with delight. Let them come on, these mysterious, 
 beautiful Circes. . What cared she? She looked at 
 him with a charming smile. "I think," she said 
 slowly, " that I shall begin to-day to call you 
 Sydney." 
 
 ' ' Angel ! Begin now. ' ' 
 
 "No: later. When I quite dare. Now I must 
 arrange the flowers ; and aunt Serena wants 
 you." 
 
 Down in the city, two women sat in Mrs. Vivien's 
 cherubic boudoir engaged in conversation, not ani 
 mated, but portentous. One reclined in a striking 
 ly easy attitude upon the sofa. The other rocked 
 herself gently in a low willow chair. 
 
 " What color are these infants? " inquired she of 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Rose Wellesley has most exquisite coloring, both 
 creamy and warm, and what the poets would call 
 golden eyes," Mrs. Vivien answered, for once not 
 averse to praising a woman's beauty. 
 
 " Never mind the poets," drawled a languid, lazy 
 voice. " What do you call them? "
 
 AUNT SERENA. 323 
 
 The little chair for an instant rocked faster; but 
 the little woman in it said softly, 
 
 " I call them simply fascinating, Eleanor, fasci 
 nating and glorious. Changeable, don't you know, 
 dear? Gray, with yellow lights, or yellow, with 
 gray lights. They are not hazel, but they are too 
 light for brown." 
 
 "And the rest of her?" 
 
 "Straight, handsome features. Tall, slight, sup 
 ple, round, graceful, fair. That wonderful creamy 
 fairness, you know, dear," Mrs. Vaughn was a 
 superb brunette, " and the very prettiest hand I 
 ever saw." Mrs. Vaughn's hand was renowned. 
 
 "Ah, a woman's beauty merely," she said with 
 a yawn. 
 
 " No : a man's beauty too." 
 
 "Indeed! I should not have imagined it from 
 your description. "Women never praise men's beau 
 ties, you know, unless, of course, they are magnani 
 mous, like you, Alice. And the other? " 
 
 " Some people admire her immensely. She is 
 slight, cold, pale, clever-looking, and extremely 
 blond." 
 
 ' ' Which of these babes has the honor to receive 
 Sydney Bruce's transient adoration ? " 
 
 "Why, Eleanor, I've told you repeatedly;" and 
 Mrs. Vivien made no attempt to conceal her impa 
 tience. "It is Rose Wellesley ; and it will do no 
 good to ignore the fact that he is perfectly serious, 
 and more in love than he ever was in his life." 
 
 "I thought there might be some mistake," Mrs,
 
 324 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 Vaughn drawled, with another comfortable yawn. 
 " Sometimes, you know, when there are two, things 
 are not quite clear. What will these dear little girls 
 be likely to wear? " 
 
 "White." 
 
 " Good. I will wear black." 
 
 " I will not disguise from you that you will have 
 all you can do to meet them with any advantage to 
 yourself." Mrs. Vivien volunteered this informa 
 tion with a smile more suggestive of satisfaction 
 than regret. 
 
 "You speak from experience ?" said the lazy, 
 melodious voice. 
 
 ' ' I have never had occasion to compete with either 
 of them," Mrs. Vivien said with equal gentleness. 
 "But I merely suggest, in your interest, that there 
 is a difference between eighteen and thirty, more 
 or less, especially at a garden-party ; and that 
 men, in their fatuity, sometimes prefer what they 
 call freshness to ripe, though undeniable charms, 
 like your own." 
 
 "Thanks, dear," said the beauty, with amiable 
 indifference. "Then, I do wear well? I fancied 
 at one time that I should not." 
 
 " But 3 T ou do not ask how your old love is look 
 ing, Eleanor." 
 
 ' ' He ? I presume he looks as he did ten years 
 ago, as he will after ten years. That kind of man 
 is not apt to change much." 
 
 " How long since you have seen him? " 
 
 ' ' I observe that you have not overcome your old
 
 AUNT SERENA. 325 
 
 habit of asking questions. You know, mine is never 
 to answer them. Still, as I have come a long dis 
 tance to see you, my dear cousin, and as I have no 
 motive for concealing from you the fact you crave, 
 I will make an exception in your favor. It is pre 
 cisely six years since I saw him under a spreading 
 I forget what kind of a tree. It was rather a 
 stupid scene, if I remember. Other of my when- 
 we-two-parted episodes have been brighter. You 
 cannot really do much, you know, if a man neither 
 reproaches you nor storms," she said meditatively, 
 " but simply looks at you with steadily furious eyes, 
 and seems to be studying you with a microscope all 
 the time. I believe, in my emotion, I contradicted 
 myself twice, rather dangerously ; and he knew it. 
 Now, men do not usually. I have often wondered 
 why he did;" and she laughed her soft, pleasant 
 laugh. 
 
 "Curious how unfortunately things work some 
 times," Mrs. Vivien coolly commented. "Old 
 Vaughn not having been so very rich after all ; and 
 Bruce, as far as I can ascertain," 
 
 "Alice," interrupted the liquid, lazy, insolent 
 voice, "might I suggest that there are some sub 
 jects about which ladies do not talk? " 
 
 "Really, Eleanor, since when have you become 
 so fastidious ? and why are you so farcical as to pose 
 for my benefit? In fact, why are you here? " 
 
 Mrs. Vaughn half closed her broad, heavy eyelids. 
 " Questions again," she said amiably. " I am here 
 to meet Sydney Bruce, an old and much esteemed
 
 326 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 friend. If I enjoy Wynburg, I may stay a month 
 or more. If not, I shall join the Cushiugs in the 
 Tyrol, where I also, happily, have an old and es 
 teemed friend. But ladies do not discuss money 
 and men in one breath. Separately, separately, my 
 dear Alice. That reminds me, however, to mention 
 to you that you will have your ' ' she hesitated 
 for a word, then smiled at her selection "per 
 quisites, in any event. Your reports through the 
 winter were useful. Then, some years ago, there 
 was some other affair, I believe, I forget the 
 name, when you found out something for me. I 
 never forget indebtedness of any description. You 
 will be safe, whatever happens. Of course I should 
 not have come over for one." 
 
 "You would have done better to have taken my 
 advice, and come in the winter. You are too late," 
 Mrs. Vivien said with the emphasis of convic 
 tion. 
 
 " Pardon me for differing. I look better in sum 
 mer," said the splendid dark beauty ; " and he had 
 not had time to tire of her. Then, in winter I 
 would have had no Tyrol." 
 
 Mrs. Vivien looked at her with unwilling admira 
 tion. She considered her cousin the most beautiful 
 and the cleverest woman she knew. But it had 
 been rather a hard fate, she thought, always to be 
 eclipsed by Eleanor. Sometimes she fairly hated 
 the insolent, imperious, velvet- voiced creature ; but 
 Bhe had never wilfully betrayed her interests. 
 
 " It will be a wonder if he escapes you, Eleanor."
 
 AUNT SERENA. 327 
 
 " I am never over-sanguine, but I never burn my 
 bridges behind me," she said softly. 
 
 " Only, he is not a boy, as he was the first time, 
 nor yet so impressionable as he was the second, when 
 you had him fast, and lost him, it seems to me, 
 by the only poor management of your life." 
 
 " These things are fate. Had the result been 
 brilliant, you would not have called the means poor 
 management. As for the past, I have enjoyed my 
 self, and regret nothing. Alice, let us give our 
 attention to the immediate future. I shall not need 
 you at the old lady's fete-champetre. You can send 
 me alone, if you please." 
 
 "In all my life I have never known such incom 
 parable insolence ! " Mrs. Vivien exclaimed sharply. 
 " You are superb, my dear Eleanor. But, when you 
 presume to dictate to this extent, you must yourself 
 see that it is folly." 
 
 " Softly, softly ; " and Mrs. Vaughn laughed with 
 perfect amiability. " Kindly grasp the idea, as soon 
 as convenient, that I simply do not want you. I 
 have a certain prejudice, unfounded it may be, 
 against being at critical moments under the espion 
 age of a relative, we will say. It interferes with 
 the perfect freedom of action essential to the true 
 artist. So you will have a neuralgic headache, if 
 yoa please. It's no use to oppose me, Alice ; " and 
 she smiled her languid, lovely smile. Then, slowly 
 raising her white, firm, right hand, the long fingers 
 outstretched, she brought it down as if crushing 
 some infinitesimal insect with her soft, cruel palm.
 
 328 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "You will flutter on successfully many years, if I 
 do not interfere. You are a woman whom the world 
 tolerates : it is hard to say why, except that the 
 world is a fool. Better and worse women suffer, 
 but your kind succeeds. You are not beautiful 
 enough, clever enough, or fascinating enough to 
 seem dangerous, I presume ; so the credulous world 
 assumes that you are a nice little woman. And you 
 are, Alice, a nice, purr-y little woman ; pretty, too ; 
 and clever enough, my dear, quite clever enough to 
 be sensible, and not force me to ruin your "Wynburg 
 career." All this she said with her pleasantly mod 
 ulated, calm voice. "You know it would not be 
 difficult. I should be sorry to seem uncousiuly, 
 since the discerning world likes you so well. But, 
 if you interfere with me, I shall do it. And as you 
 care for what I could say of you, and as I care 
 nothing whatever for what you could say of me, you 
 would do better to have the headache, Alicia mia." 
 
 There was something terrible, even to Mrs. Vivien, 
 in the insolent, imperturbable quiet of this beautiful 
 creature. It was as impossible to quarrel with her 
 as with aunt Serena, but from diametrically opposed 
 causes. Mrs. Vivien recognized a master spirit. 
 
 "Eleanor, you are a very strange woman. Play 
 whatever game you choose," she said, and did not 
 for the moment rock. 
 
 " Good. Now ask your German dumpling, who, 
 by the way, reads you with her shrewd eyes shut, to 
 send me a broiled chicken and half a bottle of dry 
 champagne at one o'clock. I shall not lunch with
 
 AUNT SERENA. 329 
 
 your herd again. Ugly women destroy ray appetite, 
 and I never lunch heavily when a fine stroke of 
 diplomacy is pending. However, whether I succeed 
 or not, we can dine well other daj^s. We'll go down 
 to the hotel to-morrow, and celebrate either our vic 
 tory or defeat. In the latter case, there remain the 
 green hills of Tyrol. And between us, Alice," 
 she threw her handsome arms over her head with & 
 slow, indolent grace, and in her smile was the mem 
 ory of some extremely amusing experience, " be 
 tween us, Sydney is a grain too soulful to enchain 
 my permanent fancy." 
 
 " Your?7ta?" 
 
 " My somewhat volatile interest, then. Oh, I can 
 do it for a time admirably. I used to have as many 
 high thoughts as he, and I was exceedingly fond of 
 Sydney ; but it would bore me to keep myself per 
 petually tuned up to his lofty pitch. Now, Jack 
 Gushing, who is very good-natured, and in his way 
 quite as handsome as Sydney, would only require that 
 his wife should be beautiful, and dress with elegance. 
 Well, well. We will see," she said, with indulgent 
 consideration of their respective charms. "Do not 
 forget the chicken at one, please. Then, I'll sleep 
 till four, when you may send somebody with hot 
 water. And now I'll read, if you don't mind, my 
 dear Alice. Thanks for every thing. The cham 
 pagne dry did you remember? and frappe." 
 And she lay back among the cushions with the con 
 tented sigh of an infant.
 
 330 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " "What a thing friendship is, world without end! " 
 
 EGBERT BROWNING. 
 
 " Yet courage, Soul ! Nor hold thy hope in vain. 
 
 In Faith, o'ercome the steeps God set for thee. 
 Beyond the mountain summits of great pain 
 Lieth thine Italyl " 
 
 r I ^HE other guests had long been assembled at the 
 -L Poplars, when Mrs. Vaughn's carriage drove 
 up. She did not come early, as Mrs. Vivien had 
 announced, but waited until the western light was in 
 what she considered a sufficiently beautifying condi 
 tion. Lady Manners was there, enjoying a quiet 
 chat with aunt Serena ; and Mrs. Lancaster sat 
 near, silent and softened. Tears of joy started to 
 her eyes as she saw her Molly and Daisy playing 
 lawn-tennis with Lady Manners's little Lucy, their 
 flaxen braids flying, their long, slight feet springing 
 in unison with the braids and feet of aristocracy. 
 Aunt Serena thoroughly appreciated her emotion, 
 and could not repress a smile, yet liked the woman 
 rather better than before. " She is a little amusing, 
 of course," she thought; "but there is something 
 very genuine in her." "Mrs. Lancaster," she said 
 with real sympathy, "you are happy, I see, iu 
 watching your children's pleasure. They are such
 
 AUNT SERENA. 331 
 
 good little girls," she added heartily. " I shall miss 
 Molly and Daisy when I go." 
 
 "They are good little girls," Mrs. Lancaster re 
 plied with tearful emphasis ; and in her pleasurable 
 agitation forgot to mention that they were always 
 perfectly chaperoned. It actually seemed 'or the 
 moment as if it pleased her to hear them simply 
 called good. 
 
 Mrs. Van Rensalaer and Mrs. Raymond, Mr. 
 Raymond and Mr. Van Rensalaer, there was a 
 Mr. Van Rensalaer, an excellent man, if somewhat 
 lost in the glory radiating from his wife, were en 
 gaged in au animated discussion with aunt Serena's 
 German banker and his wife. Rose and Gertrude, 
 with Kitty Van Rensalaer and the banker's daugh 
 ters, were shooting at a target, Bruce, von Falken- 
 steiu, and one or two lieutenants standing by. 
 
 A few musicians were pLoying on an upper bal 
 cony, at an agreeable distance ; servants were offer 
 ing refreshments at informal little tables. While the 
 lights in the fragrant garden were perfection in their 
 softness, Eleanor Vaughn, with sinuous, slow grace. 
 her long draperies trailing behind her, her perfect 
 shoulders and arms merely suggesting themselves 
 through half-transparent black, dusky-red roses at 
 her girdle, a dusky red-rose glow on her beautiful 
 cheek, low-browed, with lovely, languid eyes and 
 softly-smiling lips, came over the smooth lawn 
 towards aunt Serena, murmuring Mrs. Vivien's ex 
 cuses and her own gratification. Her rare voice, with 
 its sweet, slow modulations, made an excellent im-
 
 332 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 pression. Aunt Serena was surprised by this brilliant 
 solitary figure ; but she was an Arab in her ideas of 
 hospitality. "Cousin Alice prevailed upon me to 
 come, although I told her it was almost too selfish 
 to leave her, suffering, and enjoy her friend's Para 
 dise. Now, indeed, since I have seen it, it seems 
 doubly selfish." She was telling Miss Lennox this, 
 not with Mrs. Vivien's flattering air, but with calm, 
 suave sincerity of manner, when Rosamond, radiant 
 and smiling, her long bow in her hand, came quickly 
 over from the other lawn to receive the late guest 
 with pointed courtesy. Gertrude, as quasi daughter 
 of the house, followed. As she approached, her 
 hand seemed quite accidentally to dislodge three or 
 four dark-red roses which she had worn in her belt. 
 They were the same kind that Mrs. Vaughn was 
 wearing, and in the same position. Bruce, too, 
 walked leisurely over with Gertrude. 
 
 "We need not present Mr. Bruce, I believe," 
 Rose said with precisely appropriate conventional 
 intonation, her long bow pointing over her shoulder, 
 standing, with a spirited and pretty pose of the 
 head, and altogether a virgin-huntress air. Mrs. 
 Vaughn extended her hand with graciously cordial 
 but not too vivid remembrance. Bruce bowed 
 gravely over it ; but then he always bowed gravely. 
 His face expressed no sentiment of pleasure or 
 the reverse, as he replied with brief civility to her 
 salutation. 
 
 Aunt Serena felt relieved. Surely there was 
 nothing formidable about this. It was not in the
 
 AUNT SERENA. 333 
 
 least dramatic. Oil the contrary, Mrs. Vaughn was 
 charmingly well-bred. Except for her marvellous 
 beauty, against which aunt Serena, unlike Mrs. 
 Lancaster and other excellent matrons, had no in 
 veterate prejudice, she would not have been striking. 
 Her indolent repose, and low, melodious voice, were 
 quiet in the extreme. There was not one abrupt 
 movement, not a sharp corner in her speech or her 
 person. All was slow, sleepy grace, like heavy 
 water-lilies on a torpid lake, soothing as the soft 
 plashing of gentle waves. Her beautiful monotony 
 and lovely inertia were replete with fascination. 
 She was, however, according to her own not inapt 
 classification, emphatically a man's beauty. "Wo 
 men do not like my mouth," she would say to her 
 cousin Alice. "It has too many curves for them. It 
 is not small and prim enough. They are afraid of it. 
 "Well, well ! it is not exactly methodistical, I admit ; 
 but I and my mouth agree marvellously well ; and, 
 do you know? I like it:" and her low, melodious 
 laughter would ripple from her gleaming scarlet lips. 
 She was a gorgeous, languid, tropical flower, with, 
 no doubt, her special use in the economy of na 
 ture. 
 
 ""Will you not corne with us, Mrs. Vaughn?" 
 Rosamond asked with her girlish graciousness. Ah, 
 how the child's heart beat under the white folds 
 of her simple summer-dress ! How she longed to do 
 her best ! Sydney was looking at her. The men on 
 the balcony -vere playing selections from " Lohen 
 grin." It was the sun, no doubt, that sent the fitful
 
 334 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 red to her cheek. "Would you not like to take my 
 bow, Mrs. Vaughn?" 
 
 "I would much rather watch you, Miss Welles- 
 ley," said the lady slowly, with an amused, indul 
 gent smile ; and the two walked together over the 
 smooth turf. "Chaste Diana and an houri," 
 thought Bruce. Gertrude could have kissed Rose's 
 light feet in her devotion and love and pity. 
 
 "Little brave heart," she thought; "how gal 
 lantly she bears it ! If the evening were only over ! 
 But I am on guard, Madame Cleopatra ! I am 
 watching your very breath." 
 
 The four were about to pass the group in which 
 Mrs. Raymond stood. Mr. and Mrs. Raymond ad 
 vanced with civil incoherent murmurs. " Never 
 shall that woman imagine I dread her," thought Flor 
 ence Raymond ; " but I do, I do, every hair on her 
 beautiful head, every glance of her lovely, sleepy, 
 diabolical eyes. Sydney's face does not betray 
 him. If I could see into his heart ! Dear little 
 Rose! Dear, pure, perfect, June Rose!" This 
 while she was courteously remarking, ' ' You are re 
 markably little changed, Mrs. Vaughn. Yes, thanks : 
 those are my little girls with the darker hair." 
 
 The young lieutenants stood in an entranced semi 
 circle round Eleanor Vaughn's garden-chair. Ah, 
 this was a woman ! How she leaned and how she 
 listened ! What is a trifle like a language, when 
 chivalry lies at the feet of beauty? Then, there 
 was French, which both she and the lieutenants 
 spoke with beautiful but reckless confidence.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 335 
 
 The setting sun sent its last greeting to her warm 
 dark cheek. The fragrant breeze moved the lace 
 on her perfect throat. The heavy fringed eyelids 
 drooped and rose and drooped again. She was 
 making no effort to charm. She was as natural as 
 the slow beckoning of the drowsy branches in the 
 twilight woods. The strong fire of her eyes looked 
 out of depths as hazy and beguiling as the waver 
 ing mountain-mists. Von Falkeustein shot at ran 
 dom ; "it is almost too dark," he said apologeti 
 cally: but Rose hit the bull's eye every time. "I 
 rejoice that this woman has come," thought Bruce. 
 "If she humiliates me, she shows me, even clearer 
 than I knew before, how utterly I belong to my little 
 love, brain and heart, soul and body." Yet his 
 grave face gave no sign of feeling. And so the 
 complex evening wore along. 
 
 Once, as Eleanor Vaughn went with von Falken- 
 stein to the white-rose hedge under the poplars, to 
 see the lights steal out of the darkness down in the 
 city, she came upon Edith and Marjorie walking 
 slowly together in the narrow path. She had no 
 affection for children, no antipathy, yet no love. 
 With outstretched palms, one to the right and one 
 to the left, and with her soft, unyielding strength, 
 she gently pushed the sisters out of her way. 
 
 "Do not presume to push me, madame ! " cried 
 Edith in shrill French, the first language she had 
 learned, invariably with her the language of strong 
 emotion. But sweet Marjorie gave a broad leap, 
 like a startled fawn, and turning, silently faced tho
 
 336 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 lady, with wondering, contemplative eyes. Until 
 they were sent home with Elise, Molly and Daisy 
 and Mrs. Lancaster, early, just as the wonderful 
 lieutenants had begun their gyrations, their spurs 
 clicking and their sabres swinging in the dance, 
 those two children were a study to Mrs. Vaughn. 
 " Et must be their interesting Bruce blood," she 
 concluded. But how absurd of these mites ! Edith, 
 painful as it is to relate, would station herself firmly 
 within two feet of Mrs. Vaughn, her back turned, 
 her head looking over her shoulder, with her mam 
 ma's society expression on her composed child-lips. 
 It was plainly a challenge or an invitation to push : 
 while Marjorie, on the contrary, would spring with 
 her light deer-bound whenever she saw the beauti 
 ful dark woman approaching ; and no eyes, except 
 Gertrude's, watched Mrs. Vaughn so intently as hers. 
 Oh, the inflexible dignity of soft childhood ! How 
 its secret wounds endure into far-off distant yeais. 
 As long as they lived, Edith and Marjorie never 
 forgot or quite forgave the presumption of that 
 push. 
 
 Aunt Serena spoke now and then with this beau 
 tiful guest. The kind soul was glad things were 
 going so well, and was grateful to Sydney for his 
 quiet assistance, and proud of Rose's tact and 
 courtesy. " The Lennoxes were always hospita 
 ble," she thought, with gentle pride of race. She 
 was rather tired, having made many preparations 
 herself. She was pleased that the evening had 
 been a success ; so friendly and homelike in spite
 
 AUNT SERENA. 337 
 
 of its contradictory elements. Yes., if the truth 
 were known, she was very tired. Perhaps she 
 missed the sea-air, now that warm weather was 
 coming : she felt rather dull. Fortunately, nothing 
 more was required of her but to chat with Lady 
 Manners, who was always unexciting. But she was 
 glad it had all been so pleasant for dear Rosamond. 
 For once the watchful eyes were weary. But Ger 
 trude was on guard and the poplars. 
 
 The musicians plaj T ed merrily on. All the win 
 dows were open. The June night, while not oppres 
 sive, was still and dark, and heavy with sweet odors. 
 The children had been sent safely home. The older 
 guests lingered. The young people danced in the 
 long salon. Like the mignonette the night before, 
 even staid Lady Manners felt enthusiastic. " Dear 
 Miss Lennox, what have you done to us ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " It is the power of this strange, high spot, per 
 haps," aunt Serena answered. "But is there not 
 always a delight in feeling one's self out of the even 
 row of mankind? I have accidentally discovered 
 that I appreciate a symphony concert inexpressibly 
 more if I can hear it in an airy corridor or anteroom 
 where I can move, rather than in the crowded lines 
 of human beings." 
 
 And Lady Manners, representative of lines and 
 rows, listened with pleasure and amiable concur 
 rence. It must, as aunt Serena suggested, have 
 been owing to the genius of the place. 
 
 The young people danced on. Sometimes, in au
 
 338 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 interval of rest, Gertrude's voice floated out from 
 the height, so strong, so sweet, so inspired, it seemed 
 as if its impassioned echoes would never die. Rose 
 sang too, little wayward, tender folk-songs ; and 
 her pure voice crept into every heart. 
 
 " Unless I can fairly get at him, this is all quite 
 fruitless," reflected Eleanor. "He always had two 
 souls. One is soaring now beyond me. If I can 
 reach the other, there is hope. If not, there is the 
 Tyrol." Upon which her smile was so seductively 
 sweet that von Falkenstein thought, but it was 
 only a fleeting fancy in his thrifty, well-regulated 
 brain, "what matters the estate and dull little 
 Olga?" The musicians, as an interlude between 
 the waltzes, played the " Bridal Chorus " from " Lo 
 hengrin." 
 
 Rosamond never lost for one moment her happy, 
 assured air. Whether she were enduring any hard 
 strain or not, only Gertrude knew ; for aunt Serena 
 was weary, and Sydney was a man : and there are 
 moments when a woman turns from love itself to 
 the comprehensive, restful understanding of another 
 woman. 
 
 At the end of a long corridor the villa had a small 
 heart-shaped room, with mirrors set in the walls. 
 What its especial purpose had been in the old Tarno- 
 rowowski days, they had often wondered. It might 
 have been a boudoir. It might be pretty for birds, 
 Rose thought. But it was not a room where aunt 
 Serena and the young girls liked to stay, since its 
 mirror-walls had the effect of presenting an inter-
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 339 
 
 minable series of reflections. The Tarnorowowskis 
 must have had a passionate interest in curious effects 
 in the refraction of light, they concluded. 
 
 ' ' Come to me in the glass-room as soon as you 
 can. I want to see you one instant alone," Bruce 
 had whispered to Rose during her pretty solicitude 
 for her guests. 
 
 Eleanor saw the quick, glad look of assent as 
 Bruce went back to turn Miss Van Rensalaer's music ; 
 while Rose continued her conversation with the one 
 lieutenant who was able to withstand the intoxication 
 of Mrs. Vaughn's presence. 
 
 "If I go out on the long veranda, I shall see in 
 which room they go, or if they are in the garden, 
 and shall not be seen if I keep in the shadow. I 
 know when Sydney's eyes say come. I do not want 
 in the least to interrupt their tete-a-tete, but I must 
 see Cid alone. How amusing it is to be the original 
 volume of a romance of which they are now preparing 
 a kind of weak, expurgated edition!" Her smil 
 ing mouth disclosed its small, milk-white teeth ; and 
 her lovely eyes looked warm and kind. She rose, 
 scattering the lieutenants. She saw that Bruce was 
 not in the room. " Let us stand by that window," 
 she said to von Falkensteiu, "where the breeze 
 comes in from the garden. It is a warm night ; but 
 delicious, is it not?" with a slow lifting of her 
 tropical gaze. Von Falkenstein thought that it was. 
 She was enjoying herself fairly well this evening. 
 Certain phases of it were vividly entertaining. She 
 never felt resentment, jealousy, or irritation. This
 
 340 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 gave her undeniable advantage in all games of 
 chance. If any thing was in her way, she pushed 
 it gently aside, or crushed it with her soft, slow foot. 
 
 From the window she observed the room. Bruce 
 was still absent. In the next room there were two 
 tables of whist. She could see Raymond strenu 
 ously disputing a point with Mrs. Van Rensalaer, 
 and the others listening with amused attention. She 
 saw Rose steal to the door leading into the corridor. 
 Kitty Van Rensalaer called her. " O Rose ! please 
 come, and sing ' Gretelein. " ' "In one moment. ' ' 
 " Now, please, before the next waltz." Rose came 
 back to sing the little song. What did it matter, 
 a moment more or less ? She was supremely happy. 
 She was glad to sing, to do any thing to oblige any 
 body. She trusted herself. She was no longer 
 oppressed by the consciousness of Sydney's past. 
 This Mrs. Vaughn was very beautiful. She seemed 
 kind too. But Rose did not fear her more than she 
 feared the magnificent summer sunset upon which 
 Sydney had turned his back to gaze at her. She 
 came brightly back, then, and sang. 
 
 Mrs. Vaughn stepped out on the veranda. The 
 climbing roses clustered around her. No one ob 
 served her except von Falkenstein and Gertrude, 
 whose cold, critical eyes said, "What now, you 
 handsome panther?" The abandoned lieutenants, 
 with an assumption of returning manliness, grouped 
 themselves about the piano. 
 
 "Oh, my vinaigrette!" murmured the beautiful 
 woman.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 341 
 
 Von Falkenstein stooped to look for it. 
 
 " I must have dropped it round there under the 
 poplars. It is a little thing, but I prize it for ts 
 associations. I have had it since I was a child," 
 she said with touching though mild regret. 
 
 She had bought it the week before, as a good bar 
 gain, to use in the cars. It reposed securely in the 
 depths of her pocket. 
 
 "I will find it for you surely," said the kind- 
 hearted young man. "May I leave you here? " 
 
 "Don't stay too long," murmured the beauty, 
 " or I shall come to help search." 
 
 Von Falkenstein flew to the poplars. 
 
 "She is safe," thought Gertrude. "No one 
 cares how much she flirts with von Falkenstein, for 
 he will be none the worse for it. He is India rub 
 ber. Where is Mr. Bruce ? Never mind. He can 
 take care of himself. I'll stay by Rose." 
 
 Eleanor's garments trailed softly the whole length 
 of the veranda. She looked in every window of 
 the long suite. She came to the end, where a small 
 room was dimly lighted, and a man stood, his pro 
 file turned towards her, facing the corridor. " Set 
 liubscli meine Braut," sang Rose's tender little voice 
 in the distance, She pushed the casement noise 
 lessly, passed in. and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 He started, with a look of unconcealed disgust on 
 his face, that left her in no doubt as to the proba 
 bilities of her success. " This is still more amus 
 ing," she thought in her good-natured way. " Oh, 
 my handsome, fickle Sydney ! What a contrast 
 between then and now."
 
 342 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 "At last! At last!" she murmured in accents 
 of unrestrained tenderness. 
 
 "Mrs. Vaughn," said Bruce with icy coldness, 
 "you have apparently mistaken the room and the 
 person. Allow me to show you the way back." 
 
 " I'll take the first train for the Tyrol to-morrow," 
 resolved Eleanor, with humorous appreciation of the 
 scene. 
 
 But acting was to her like the breath of life. 
 
 "Have you forgotten the dear old days? O 
 Sydney ! tell me, have you forgotten? " Her voice 
 was low and rich with tender emotion. 
 
 He stood before her drawn up to his full height. 
 
 "I have forgotten," he said with magnificent in 
 consequence, and stern- emphasis on every syllable. 
 " I have forgotten every day and hour and word I 
 ever knew with you." 
 
 " Now, Jack Gushing could never have said that," 
 she thought, with artistic enjoyment of the man's 
 dignity. The Tyrol for the moment assumed a less 
 attractive hue. " After all, Sydney is but human. 
 Men relent, swearing they will not." Pier senses 
 were as acute as her morals were obtuse. She had 
 the hearing of a wild thing of the woods. A light, 
 swift step was coming down the corridor. 
 
 " Oh, call me Eleanor once more ! " she cried pas 
 sionately, throwing herself upon his breast, clasping 
 him close with her jasmine-scented arms ; and 
 Rose's happy, hurrying feet stopped short near the 
 threshold. Ah, the fatal Tarnorowowski mirrors I 
 They gave back the cruel vision, not once, but in an
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 343 
 
 innumerable mocking series. Dim yet distinct, im 
 possible yet actual, a man and a woman, lovers, 
 reaching down into inconceivably remote space, 
 haunting all time. 
 
 One instant, then the girl turned, and went back 
 towards the dancers. Faithful Gertrude met her on 
 the way. 
 
 ' ' Rose, Rose ! What is it ? " 
 
 The stunned, vacant look left her eyes. 
 
 " Let us dance," she said, and laughed ; but her 
 laugh made Gertrude faint with fear. 
 
 In the heart-shaped room, Sydney Bruce had un 
 wound the clinging arms with deliberate force. A 
 mighty scorn convulsed him, scorn of her, scorn of 
 himself, that she had ever enchained him. 
 
 " A gentleman does not use strength against a 
 woman, Sydney," said Eleanor Vaughn, smiling, and 
 looking at her wrists. " Really, the years have not 
 improved your manners." 
 
 He looked at her, and turned to leave the room. 
 His contempt was too profound for words, but it 
 was for himself also. 
 
 " O Sydney dear ! " she called with languid insou 
 ciance, "don't let us make scenes under granny 
 Lennox's roof. How shall I look strolling in after 
 you, pensive, neglected, and alone? Take me in. 
 That's a dear. Not that I care on my own account. 
 It's only my good nature, my care for others. Let 
 us go in together. Two old friends like us. What 
 is more natural?" 
 
 He turned again, and looked at her. His face 
 was coldly gentle.
 
 344 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 He even smiled, but the smile was for his own 
 thoughts. "Pardon, oh, pardon, my perfect Rose ! " 
 
 "You are right, Mrs. Vaughn," he said formally. 
 "Allow me," offering his arm. She was not worth 
 resentment. Silence was too dignified a tribute to 
 offer her. 
 
 They passed in among the dancers. She had 
 assumed a significant, over-sweet, conscious look. 
 It was as if she had been listening to some tender 
 revelation. Gertrude hated her. She even at the 
 moment hated Sydney. But she saw his eyes follow 
 Rose as she danced a fast and furious galop. " Let 
 us go till the music stops," she had said to her 
 partner. 
 
 Gertrude saw him draw a long, slow breath as of 
 relief. She saw thankfulness in every line of his 
 face. "He is true. He is pure gold. But what 
 is making my poor Rose mad ? ' ' And she looked 
 instinctively for aunt Serena. She was placidly 
 playing old-fashioned whist in the next room. "She 
 is very weary. Oh ! what shall I do to help Rose?" 
 
 Eleanor, with an ecstatic lieutenant, sauntered 
 out to find von Falkenstein. The devoted young 
 man was down on all- fours under the poplars, beat 
 ing the grass with his hands. 
 
 "I am so sorry!" she said sweetly. "I have 
 found the vinaigrette. "It was on the veranda, 
 after all." 
 
 "We really must go, dear Miss Lennox," said 
 Lady Manners. " It is not very late, I believe ; but 
 you make us forget that some of us have been here
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 345 
 
 since four o'clock, and that we have a drive of nearly 
 an hour." 
 
 The little company was soon making its adieus. 
 Rosamond was so much occupied with her young 
 friends that she had not a moment or a glance for 
 Bruce. This naturally did not disturb him. He was 
 neither very young, nor a madly impatient lover. Ha 
 quietly wondered why she had not come to the glass- 
 room ; but was rather glad, as things had happened, 
 that something had detained her. 
 
 The people all went together, and the family stood 
 informally on the porch as the carriages drove up. 
 It was a pleasant scene. Rose was unusually gay. 
 Occasionally Bruce spent the night at the Poplars to 
 be able to ride with the young girls in the early 
 morning. It was understood that he was to remain 
 to-night. His horse was in the stable. The Ray 
 monds were already gone, and all the others, except 
 Mrs. Vaughn and the lieutenants. As her carriage 
 drove up, and she was saying her last charming 
 words to the ladies, Rosamond said clearly in a deci 
 sive tone, 
 
 " Aunt Serena, we ought not to let Mrs. Vaughn, 
 a stranger, drive home so late alone. Mr. Bruce, 
 will you not drive down with Mrs. Vaughn? " 
 
 " She is jealous. She is madly jealous," thought 
 Eleanor. 
 
 "You are so considerate, Miss Wellesley ; although 
 I should have suffered in silence without your kind 
 intervention. I am a little timid," said the beauti 
 ful woman, leaning back indolently against the
 
 346 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 cushions, the bright light from the entrance fulling 
 on her lustrous eyes looking out of a bewitching cloud 
 of black lace. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce," said Rose with a smile, and a polite 
 little wave of her hand towards the carriage-door. 
 The other hand, which she held behind her, was 
 tightly clinched ; but only Gertrude saw. 
 
 Bruce stood like a stone image. He was thunder 
 struck. Rose always said Mr. Bruce when she called 
 him by any formal name at all. But she had never 
 said it like this. Nor did aunt Serena understand. 
 Puzzled, she began hesitatingly, 
 
 " Of course, if Mrs. Vaughn is timid " 
 
 " Pray allow me," and von Falkenstein advanced 
 eagerly. " If I may escort madame ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Vaughn lay back smiling, and enjoying the 
 dilemma. "Really," she thought, "I would not 
 have believed there was so much spirit in the child. 
 If I had any one to bet with, any one who has any 
 appreciation of a joke, I'd wager two dozen Bertins 
 that she'll win. Nobody else has the shadow of a 
 chance. How deliciously furious Sydney is ! " 
 
 Rose came swiftly down the three steps, and 
 stood by the gentlemen. With a smile for von 
 Falkenstein, she said, as if etiquette were the law 
 of her life, 
 
 "Mr. Bruce must have the honor this evening, 
 Ilerr Lieutenant, as it is from our house, you know ; 
 and Mrs. Vaughn is our guest." 
 
 This was incontrovertible. Von Falkenstein 
 bowed with entire submission.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 847 
 
 There seemed to be no appeal, but Bruce waited. 
 
 " Is my little Rose gone mad? " he thought. 
 
 "I am always, as you know, at your orders," he 
 said with light and significant emphasis, looking 
 Rose, who stood near him, earnestly in the face. 
 
 "Now, he needn't pretend it's a hardship to go 
 down with that superb woman," thought the lieu 
 tenants, one and all. 
 
 "Yes, I know," Rose answered with a strange 
 little laugh. 
 
 " You wish this? " he said, careless of the others. 
 
 "I wish it." 
 
 He deliberately took the place opposite Mrs. 
 Vaughn. " I regret to disappoint you, von Falken- 
 stein," he said. 
 
 "Patience till to-morrow," he thought. "As 
 for this woman, I can drive with her in the darkest 
 night to the end of the world, if Rose and fate 
 ordain." 
 
 The carriage rolled slowly from the door. 
 
 "Now, Sydney, smoke and be social," said the 
 low, laughing voice. " You are in a ludicrous posi 
 tion, you know ; but you'll make it more absurd if 
 you sit there in utter silence, with a face as black 
 as the night." 
 
 " Thanks, Mrs. Vaughn. Since you permit me," 
 vaking out his cigar-case, 
 
 Gertrude was desperate. It had been impossible 
 for her to say one private word to Bruce ; but she 
 thought, if she did not, Rose would go mad, or die; 
 " Are they all blind ? Do they not see her eyes ? "
 
 348 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce ! " she called out clear and loud. 
 
 The carriage stopped. 
 
 "Wait, please." 
 
 She ran in, tore a fly-leaf from a book, and wrote, 
 "Come back, come instantly back, at any hour. 
 Something is breaking Rose's heart, and she does 
 not tell us." 
 
 She hurried down the drive with the paper in her 
 hand. "It is something I want Mr. Bruce to 
 bring," she explained. 
 
 " To-morrow morning ?" he asked, as he laid it 
 carefully in his pocket-book. 
 
 "As soon as you find it convenient," she said, 
 her eyes looking daggers at Mrs. Vaughn, her voice 
 instinct with strong, latent meaning. 
 
 ' ' Actually another one ! How well she does it ! 
 Both so young too ! I am indebted to Alice for a 
 most entertaining evening. She shall dine well to 
 morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Vaughn was one of those women who would 
 give a photograph- book filled with views of herself 
 at different stages of her beauty to girls of eighteen 
 and twenty, as she would give a rattle to a baby ; 
 and, having discharged her social duty, considering 
 the means of entertainment adequate, would take 
 her siesta in their presence. She rarely wasted a 
 thought on them. 
 
 " Good-night again, Miss Peyton," she said cor 
 dially. 
 
 Gertrude bowed haughtily, without speaking. 
 
 Again the carriage rolled away.
 
 AUNT SERENA. 349 
 
 " Delicious ! Inimitable ! Sydney, I'm glad you 
 deign to smoke : it looks more gemuthlich. That is 
 what the Germans call it, is it not? Those little 
 girls up there are very gallant little fighters. They 
 have managed things quite prettily." 
 
 "Mrs. Vaughn," said Sydney civilly, "you would 
 oblige me very much if you would kindly refrain in 
 my presence from remarks about any and all of my 
 friends. With this slight condition, I am at your 
 service as escort. Otherwise I shall stop the car 
 riage, and get out." 
 
 " You would, I am sure you would ! " she said 
 with intense amusement. " You are tyrannical, my 
 dear ; but I yield, being amiable. Only one word in 
 your own interest, don't fail to read that pale and 
 wrathful child's missive before morning. I advise 
 you to read it by the first lamp-post. Perhaps the 
 carriage-lamps would be sufficient. It is not a list 
 of books, Cid. Mark my words, and I am an 
 experienced woman. Now, to change the subject. 
 I want to tell you, knowing so old a friend will be 
 glad to congratulate me, that I am engaged to be 
 married to Jack Gushing. That is, he considers it 
 an engagement. I am always more or less incredu 
 lous about such things, and have been waiting for 
 the latest advices. I have now, however, nearly 
 concluded that it is an actual engagement ;" and she 
 iaughed softly, and drew her lace well round her 
 tnroat. " Of course, this made our bit of comedy to 
 night the more delectable. You lack humor, Sydney, 
 ii you cannot appreciate it. They say few women
 
 350 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 are endowed with humor. But I honestly think it's 
 the men who have none. They often are stolid and 
 dull, when every fine point of a situation is exquis 
 itely humorous, and appeals most irresistibly to me. 
 Have you never*thought of this ? No ? But why so 
 laconic? Just imagine me a good-natured man in 
 the corner of a railway coupe, and then you will be 
 more entertaining. 
 
 So the sweet, insolent voice drawled out its edify 
 ing philosophy as the carriage went down the hill in 
 the soft, dark, June night. "Your pardon, my little 
 Rose, that I ever loved this woman ! " was always 
 Bruce's thought. "Drive fast," he said to the 
 coachman ; and to her, indifferentty, 
 
 ' ' Gushing is in Austria, is he not ? I believe some 
 one told me he was in Vienna." 
 
 At the villa all the guests were gone, and the 
 servants were putting out the lights. 
 
 ' ' It has been pleasant, has it not, children ? 
 Everybody was so kind. And it is not late, only 
 a little after eleven ; although it seems later, we 
 began so early. I think I won't sit up to talk it 
 over to-night, however ; as I feel rather fatigued. It 
 is not my eighteenth birthday, you know. Good 
 night, dear children. Is my Rose quite happy?" 
 asked the weary little old lady. 
 
 " Quite," said Rose, kissing her. 
 
 " That is the first untruth that ever passed her 
 lips, and it is delirium," thought Gertrude. 
 
 Aunt Serena went to her pleasant room over the 
 porch. It was cool and fresh and fragrant. The
 
 AUNT SEEENA. 351 
 
 casement opened towards the rose-garden. " I am 
 blessed," she thought, "blessed in my friends, and 
 in my children's happiness. It has been a full and 
 beautiful year for my happy little girl." Soon she 
 slept peacefully. 
 
 The young girls occupied adjoining rooms. 
 
 "Good-night, Gertrude," said Rose. "It has 
 been delightful, has it not? " Her voice had a dry, 
 hard intonation. She was pale as death, and hi her 
 eyes was the look Gertrude feared. 
 
 " Do you want me for any thing, Rose? " she said 
 timidly. 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 "There is nothing you would like to talk about? 
 I thought perhaps you were not sleepy. I am not, 
 if you want me." She knew she was awkward ; 
 but she did not know how to approach her friend, 
 mortally wounded, yet holding herself erect in her 
 indomitable pride. 
 
 Rose laughed. 
 
 "I have nothing to talk about. What should I 
 have ? It has been a pleasant evening, has it not ? 
 And I am eighteen, am I not? Then, we have said 
 all. Good-night, Gertrude' Sleep well." She 
 kissed her mechanically, and closed the door of her 
 room. 
 
 " As fast as he can come, for life or death, it will 
 be an hour and a half before he can be here. O 
 Rose, my pretty Rose ! What did you see ? What 
 did you hear?" 
 
 And Gertrude, who never wasted tears on her own
 
 352 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 troubles, threw herself on her bed in a paroxysm of 
 silent grief. In the next room she heard Rose's 
 incessant, rapid step. Up and down, up and down, 
 like a caged thing. She sat motionless. She had 
 turned out her light. "Rose need not know I am 
 listening. No one can help only he. Even if aunt 
 Serena were not tired, she could not help, to-night. 
 Oh, I am sure it must be a frightful mistake. Yet 
 he went out to meet her ; and then, her beautiful, 
 evil face!" 
 
 A half-hour passed. Always the steps. Then 
 Rose's door softly opened. 
 
 "Oh, what is she going to do? Is she quite 
 mad?" 
 
 But Rose was not mad. She was merely misera 
 ble. Softly, that she might not waken aunt Serena 
 or Gertrude, she stole down the stairway. She 
 opened one of the long windows, stepped out, and 
 disappeared in the darkness. Behind her, noiseless, 
 not in sight, Gertrude followed like a faithful hound. 
 
 The night was intensely dark, no moonlight, no 
 starlight. A warm, soft, strong wind stirred the 
 languid roses and the poplar leaves and the great, 
 gloomy woods across the way. 
 
 Rose lay motionless upon the ground. 
 
 Do other women feel like this? Then, what do 
 they do ? Do they die ? A revelation of the woe of 
 the whole woman-world had suddenly opened itself 
 before her. She had felt only the innocent rapture 
 of love, the sunny love that had known no sorrow, 
 the love of a child. Where was the Rose who had
 
 AUNT SERENA. 353 
 
 been singing her little song an hour before? The 
 Rose that laughed and danced? Foolish, happy 
 Rose, so light of heart, so fearless, so content. And 
 who was this trembling, stricken thing prostrate in 
 the damp grass below pale Hermes ? She shuddered, 
 and clasped the cold stone closer, then lay motionless 
 as a broken flower. 
 
 Hermes looked down upon her with his lovely, 
 pitying, speculative, faint smile. The uneasy pop 
 lars sighed incessantly. " So useless ! So useless ! " 
 The warm wind kissed her pale cheek ; and the soft, 
 dark night covered her misery. In the great woods 
 were strange, deep murmurs. Dear aunt Serena slept. 
 Gertrude crouched by the porch. 
 
 " Oh, my love, my love, if it had been any thing 
 but this ! " moaned the child. " If they had accused 
 you of a great crime if all the world had blamed 
 you I would not have believed you guilty. I 
 would not have believed this, had any one sworn it 
 was true. Not Gertrude. Not aunt Serena herself. 
 Not an angel from heaven. I would have said they 
 were dreaming. But I saw you with my own eyes. 
 I saw you." She buried them in the cool grass, 
 but could not shut out the picture and all its mul 
 tiplied reflections in those ghastly Tarnorowowski 
 mirrors. "I saw her on your breast. I heard her 
 voice as she spoke to you, my Sydney. Oh, you 
 need not have come to me ! You need not have 
 taught me to love you. I was content with aunt 
 Serena. You need not have looked at me so, the 
 night we heard 'Lohengrin.' You need not have
 
 354 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 kissed me that lovely Christmas Eve. You need 
 not have been so kind, so beautiful, so strong, so 
 dear! 
 
 ' ' And if you had told me you loved her, I could 
 have borne it better. She is so wonderful and 
 beautiful. I am so very young, so simple for a 
 man like you. But you could have trusted me with 
 any thing. And now, there is no help. I saw you. 
 I have lost you ! " 
 
 And Hermes smiled his faint, wise smile ; and the 
 poplars whispered, "Useless!" and aunt Serena 
 slept, and Gertrude kept watch. 
 
 What was calming Rose ? Was it the cool dews 
 of the nature she loved? Was it the strong, soft, 
 warm, slow wind? Was it the mystery of the woods, 
 the prophecy of the poplars ? 
 
 Her poor head ceased its wild throbbing. But 
 still she lay motionless, clasping the pedestal of the 
 subtly-smiling, fair Greek god. 
 
 Down in the valley the city-clocks were striking 
 twelve. She raised her head, and listened, as one, 
 in times of grief, is often apt to listen to famil 
 iar sounds, with mechanical attention. She heard 
 first the great, sturdy tower-clock. Then the oth 
 ers in order. She counted all the strokes. The 
 Hospital-Church clock, always slow, was slower 
 than ever before. She waited for it. Then the 
 other tower-clock. Then the silver midnight-bell. 
 Gertrude, too, heard them all, and counted every 
 stroke. " He is on his way ! " she thought. 
 
 Ah, the sweet, solemn bell ! While Rose lived, she
 
 AUNT SERENA. 355 
 
 never forgot how it rang out to her that night, over 
 the silent, sleeping city. How its oft-repeated, 
 emphatic two strokes, the second stronger antl 
 longer than the first, spoke to her with their high 
 and holy message. "Have faith! Have faith i 
 Have faith ! ' ' sang the warning silver voice in the 
 midnight stillness. And again, "Have faith! 
 Have faith!" fainter and slower until it died away. 
 But up to the heights, up to the sorrowful, loving 
 child-heart floated its noble counsel. 
 
 How white Hermes smiled ! And the tallest of the 
 seven great poplars, the one Rose had leaned upon, 
 and clasped with her glad young arms in the early 
 morning, whispered, "Brothers, I see him! The 
 swift feet of his horses are already upon the hill." 
 There was joy among the poplars and laughter in 
 their leaves. The strong, warm wind breathed upon 
 her upturned, listening face ; and the dark, soft night 
 bent over the kneeling figure. 
 
 An ineffable solemn smile was on her lips. 
 
 " Now I know I have not lost you. I have you 
 still, to love. I was mad and wicked. Forgive 
 me, Sydney. I am so young for you, and I did not 
 understand ; but now I know. If they had doubted 
 you in the city- streets, it would have been easy 
 to be true. If you had asked me to be silent, or to 
 speak, it would have been nothing to do your will. 
 How could I think I could determine what trial 
 would come ? How could I dream it must come to 
 me just as it came to poor Elsa? I was a child. But 
 I promised you faith. Ah ! this is what I promised
 
 356 AUNT SEEENA. 
 
 when I looked into your eyes that night, not to 
 doubt whatever came. And I do not, I do not." 
 
 She rose, and pushed back her damp, falling hair. 
 "Thanks, little bell! Once you led a wandering 
 princess home through dark woods, on these very 
 hills. I think I am slowly finding my way ; but 
 it is not easy, Sydney dear! I saw with my own 
 eyes ; but this is my trial, just this. I will not ask 
 what it means. I will not speak. I think you love 
 me, dear ; and if I do not understand quite, why, 
 you are different. You are a strong, wise man : 
 you know, if I do not, why that woman was on 
 your breast ;" and one brave sob broke the still 
 ness. "And if you want me still, I am your own. 
 And if you do not, I can love you and be faithful. 
 This is what I promised in your eyes that night. 
 To be faithful, not only in spite of shadows and 
 suspicions, poor Elsa, they did not give you time ! 
 but in spite of what I see with my own eyes, and 
 hear with my own ears, and know, know with 
 my own heart, though it break with the know- 
 ing!" 
 
 "I saw, Sydney! " 
 
 And she opened wide her soul-eyes, and looked 
 boldly at the mocking multitude of visions in the old 
 Tarnorowowski mirrors. 
 
 Ah, how inscrutably Hermes smiled ! 
 
 " He is almost here," whispered the night- wind. 
 
 " If we could but teU her tell her ! " sighed the 
 poplars. 
 
 Rose stood still by the statue. All seemed clear
 
 AUNT SEKENA. 357 
 
 to her. The night had brought counsel. She was 
 strong, though sorrowful. She had fought one of 
 the great battles of life ; she had striven with an 
 enemy which most loving women, sooner or later, 
 must encounter. 
 
 "lam a woman now," she said. There was a 
 great sadness in her heart. It seemed long ages 
 since the happy morning. But she was wild and 
 desperate no longer. She stood in the tender dark 
 ness, and thought. 
 
 There was a sound on the road. A carriage com 
 ing fast up the long slopes. " How fast it comes ! " 
 she thought. She did not know it was coming to 
 her to her, through the night. 
 
 It stopped an instant just below the cross-roads. 
 Then turned, and went slowly down the hill. The 
 panting horses could now take breath. The gate 
 swung open. Rose started violently. " Only Syd 
 ney has that step." 
 
 He came straight to the porch. A white figure 
 met him with outstretched, trembling hands. " She 
 is there, by the Hermes," whispered Gertrude. 
 Without a word, he strode on in the darkness. 
 
 Eose was waiting in rapturous doubt. She sprang 
 towards him. 
 
 " Sydney ! Sydney ! " she cried, and lifted her 
 innocent arms, and clasped him close. 
 
 Ah ! what were mocking mirrors, beautiful women, 
 the whole world beside, now ? 
 
 He held her in his strong embrace, as if she had 
 been restored to him from danger or from death.
 
 358 AUNT SERENA. 
 
 He kissed the dews from her hair, the sorrow from 
 her eyes. 
 
 " My little love ! My poor little Rose ! What is 
 she doing here all alone in the dark night ? So cold 
 cold, lovely lips, cold, dear hands ;" and his smile, 
 shadowy in the darkness, was as sweet as Hermes' 
 own, ah, sweeter ! for his warm human arms were 
 enfolding her ; and his loving, eager, true voice was 
 whispering comfort to her soul. 
 
 " Dear heart, you thought "- 
 
 " Hush, Sydney : I think nothing." 
 
 "It was not true," he said with tender, solemn 
 triumph. " Nothing is true except that I love you, 
 my Rose ! " 
 
 The poplars breathed their happy sighs out upon 
 the soft, strong, warm night-wind ; and pale, sweet 
 Hermes smiled divinely as the lovers walked on 
 through the dark, fragrant garden. 
 
 Gertrude was waiting on the porch. They drew 
 near with fervent, thankful words. But standing 
 like the small child-god of silence who holds a wise 
 warning finger to his merry lips, her fair face 
 shining with pure, unselfish joy, 
 
 " Softly," she said. For aunt Serena slept.
 
 211 TBEMONT STREET, BOSTON, 
 October, 1881. 
 
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 " Simply exquisite." Andrews' American Queen. 
 
 " The most sumptuously published holiday book of the season." Hartford Times. 
 
 " The poem of ' Lucile ' is one of the most exquisite things in the language." Bos- 
 Km Traveller. 
 
 "The new edition of 'Lucile' a really charming poem ...a work of great 
 ,'jrtistic merit." Art-Interchange. 
 
 (i The wood-cuts follow the author's text closely, and throw fresh life into it." Net* 
 York Times. 
 
 "Decidedly one of the most charming gift-books a poem without peer." Ntta 
 Orleans Picayune. 
 
 JOY FOR THE CHILDREN/ 
 
 THE GLAD YEAR ROUND. 
 
 FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 
 BY MISS A. G. PLYMPTON. 
 
 Square 8vo. With illuminated covers. Price $2.50. 
 
 A series of new poems, admirably adapted to please both young and old, quaint, ori 
 ginal, and amusing. 
 
 Every page is adorned with fresh and spirited illustrations by a new artist; and these 
 dainty pictures are richly and appropriately colored. 
 
 The pages are large, and convenient to keep open. 
 
 " The Glad Year Round " is a successful venture in the field of art which has b> 
 made so popular by the works of Walter Crane and Kate Greenaway. 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., BOSTON.
 
 A FAIR BARBARIAN. 
 
 BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. One volume i6mo, handsomely bound. 
 Price, $1.00. 
 
 " If a more amusing or clever novelette than ' A Fair Barbarian ' has ever been grren 
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 " We have no hesitation in saying that there is no living writer (man or woman) who 
 has Mrs. Burnett's dramatic power in telling a story." New York Herald. 
 
 " The brightest and wittiest of Mrs. Burnett's stories." Baltimore Every Saturday, 
 
 "A particularly sparkling story, the subject being the young heiress of a Pacific-siope 
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 Springfield Republican. 
 
 A FEARFUL RESPONSIBILITY; 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 By WILLIAM D. HOWELLS. One volume iamo. Price, $1.50. 
 
 " Exquisite pieces of workmanship, reflecting the very brightness and glow of the at 
 mosphere of Southern Europe." Neiu Orleans Democrat. 
 
 " The choicest thing in current fiction." Hartford Courant. 
 
 " The style is exquisite." New York Tribune. 
 
 " Against the rich Venetian background which our author is so fond of throwing into 
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 SOMEBODY'S NEIGHBORS. 
 
 A VOLUME OF STORIES. 
 
 BY ROSE TERRY COOKE. In dainty and elegant binding. 400 pages, 12 stories. 
 Price, $1.50. 
 
 " Masterpieces it would be hard to match in any literature." New York Express. 
 
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 A BOOK OF LOVE STORIES. 
 
 'BY NORA PERRY. One volume i6mo. Price, $1.00. 
 
 Ten of her choicest stories, in which the loves and lovers of New England are por 
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 Sold by all booksellers. Sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO., BOSTON.
 
 anony 
 
 GERALDINE: 
 
 A SOUVENIR OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 
 
 One volume i6mo. Price, $1.25. 
 
 " A new poem, by a well-known American poet (who prefers for the present to be 
 nymous). It bears the name of 'Geraldine: a Souvenir of the St. Lawrence,' and 
 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 THE BIRTHDAY-BOOK OF AMERICAN 
 POETS. 
 
 BY ALMIRA L. HAYWARD. One volume i8mo. Beautifully bound. Price, $1.00. 
 
 A pretty little book of the same size as the celebrated " Shakespeare Birthday-Book," 
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 This favorite little volume, of which the whole first edition was sold last season, has 
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 with a new and attractive cover, and portraits of 
 
 ALDRICH, HARTE, LONGFELLOW, STEDMAN, 
 
 BRYANT, HOLMES, LOWELL, STODDARD, 
 
 EMERSON, HOWELLS, POE, TAYLOR, 
 
 and WHITTIER. 
 
 The universal favor with which this Birthday-Book has been received attests the merit 
 of the plan of selecting the choicest extracts oiall the best American poets, instead of lim 
 iting the collection to a single writer, however eminent. 
 
 FAMOUS SCULPTORS AND SCULPTURES. 
 
 FAMOUS PAINTERS AND PAINTINGS. 
 
 BY MRS. JULIA A. SHEDD. 
 
 Each in one volume. Illustrated with 13 full-page Heliotypes. Revised and enlarged 
 edition, izmo. Price, $3.00 each volume; half-calf, $5.00; tree-calf, $7.00. 
 
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 ume cannot fail to prove a work of permanent interest and value." Providence Journal. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the Publishers, 
 
 James R. Osgood & Co., Boston.
 
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