THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 

 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME. 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY JULIA C. R. DORR, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SYBIL HUNTINGTON," "EXPIATION," ETC. 
 I :>. Extrn Cloth. $1.5O. 
 
 " One of the sweetest and most inspiring, as well as 
 purest, of our poets." Boston Congregationalist. 
 
 " No American poet has been more extensively copied 
 than has this sweet songstress of the green hills of Ver 
 mont." Troy Press. 
 
 " Her outpourings in verse have soothed and elevated 
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 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers, 
 
 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia.
 
 EXPIATION.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SYBIL HUNTINGTON," ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPH I A: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 1873-
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
 
 ps 
 
 1 5+7 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I HAD discovered at least three gray hairs on my 
 last birthday, and girls of the mature age of fifteen 
 were beginning to call me " old Miss Rossiter," when 
 the Armstrongs first came to Altona. Lest this 
 should not fix the date definitely enough to suit the 
 statisticians, I will add that it was in the autumn of 
 
 ^Si- 
 There were only three of them, Mr. John Arm 
 strong, a tall, stern-featured man of fifty-five, or 
 thereabouts, and his two sons, Kenneth and Clyde. 
 The brothers, one of whom was eighteen, the other 
 fifteen, were half-brothers only; and there was no 
 mother. Mr. Armstrong's last wife, who had been, 
 so rumor said, a beautiful but in many respects a 
 strange woman, many years younger than himself, 
 had died a few months previous to his arrival in our 
 little town, and had been buried in the family vault 
 in Greenwood, buried in great state, with all the 
 eclat that funeral pomp and pageantry, nodding 
 plumes, crape streamers, costly catafalque, mourning 
 carriages in long array, and other wonderful trap 
 pings of wealth and woe could give to the perform- 
 
 i* (5) 
 
 1692611
 
 5 EX PI A TION. 
 
 ance. I remembered having read an account of it in 
 the daily Tribune, which was the delight and solace 
 of my winter evenings; and when I learned that Mr. 
 John Armstrong of New York, formerly senior 
 partner in the great house of Armstrong, Verner & 
 Co., had bought the Elliot place, I knew he was the 
 very man who had buried his wife so elaborately. 
 
 Being of Quaker descent, and slightly inclined 
 toward Quakerism myself, the glowing account of 
 this funeral had simply disgusted me. On the whole, 
 I rather regretted the coming of these new neigh 
 bors. I deplored the introduction of the new ele 
 ment of fuss and feathers into our simple country 
 life. 
 
 Yet, after all, it was pleasant to think that the 
 Elliot place was to be a home once more. Its gate 
 way was just opposite to my own ; and I remembered 
 how, as I sat in the window of my unpretending little 
 house, busy with needle, or book, or pen, I had been 
 wont to lift my eyes that I might catch glimpses of 
 the young, light-robed figures that flitted among the 
 trees, wandered down the garden-paths, or gathered 
 at nightfall upon the broad piazza. It had been 
 pleasant to sit in the soft darkness myself after the 
 stars came out, and watch for the lights as, one by 
 one, they twinkled from window and doorway ; and 
 to share, in my own quiet way, the full, free, joyous 
 life that was going on so near me. 
 
 But that was long ago. The Elliot quarry proved 
 an utter failure, having swallowed up, after the man 
 ner of quarries, at least two independent fortunes. 
 The white-robed figures flitted out of the house, and
 
 EXPIA TION. j 
 
 out of my life. The lights went out; the windows 
 were closed ; the gateway was nailed up ; the rose 
 bushes grew riotous ; the syringa thrust one of its 
 long arms through a broken pane in the library ; 
 and the honeysuckles clambered unheeded to the 
 very eaves. For awhile some tame pigeons hovered 
 about the place, sat on the ridgepole, perched upon 
 the tall chimneys, or swooped to the ground in search 
 of food. But at length they too took their departure, 
 and Tara's Hall was left to its own desolation. 
 
 Now, however, there was a change. Mr. Elliot's 
 agent, who had held nominal possession of the place, 
 marshaled a small army of workmen and work 
 women, and in an incredibly short space of time it 
 was swept and garnished and made ready for its new 
 owner. Shrubbery was trimmed, paths were freshly 
 graveled, the lawn green yet, although it was late in 
 October was freshly shaven, and all the rubbish that 
 had accumulated through years of neglect was care 
 fully removed. Paint had been cleaned, windows 
 brightened, the new carpets that had been sent from 
 the city had been laid down, and the old furniture, 
 that had gone with the house, had been uncovered 
 and rearranged. * 
 
 It was five o'clock in the afternoon, and Mr. Arm 
 strong was expected to-morrow. I was just laying 
 the cloth for my solitary meal, and smiling to my 
 self, as I placed upon the table a tiny crystal vase in 
 which a scarlet salvia glowed against a background 
 of white chrysanthemums, when I heard a quick 
 knock at my door. 
 
 It was Patsy. Probably the tall, angular woman,
 
 3 EX PI A TION. 
 
 with iron-gray hair drawn plainly back from her fore 
 head and coiled in the closest possible knot behind, 
 keen, gray eyes, a sallow complexion, high cheek 
 bones, an air at once kindly, shrewd, and observant, 
 and garments that hung straightly about her gaunt, 
 spare figure, probably, I say, this woman had at 
 some remote period of her life been the acknowl 
 edged owner of another name. But Altona knew 
 her as Patsy, just Patsy ; and as Patsy will she come 
 and go upon the pages of this book. In one hand 
 she flourished a huge feather duster, and over her 
 arm hung a motley collection of parti-colored cloths. 
 Laughing and panting, she sank upon the chair I 
 offered her. 
 
 " Dear me !" she said, glancing down at her odd 
 equipments, " I didn't know that I had brought all 
 this trumpery with me. I'd just been round the 
 house gathering up the odds and ends, and I thought 
 I'd run across bareheaded, to see if you wouldn't 
 come over for a minute and take a look at things. 
 
 o 
 
 I'm just flustrated, Miss Rossiter, that's a solemn 
 fact !" 
 
 " Flustrated ?" I said, giving another twist to the 
 green setting of my sal via. " Flustrated, Patsy ? How 
 is that? I thought nothing ever put you out." 
 
 She smiled grimly. " Work never puts me out ; 
 but jimcracks are too much for me. I don't know 
 what on airth to do with 'em. Come over, Miss 
 Rossiter, do now ! and see whether I've got 'em any 
 way near ship-shape." 
 
 " I do not doubt that everything is right," I said, 
 throwing a light shawl over my head, " and as neat
 
 EXPIA TION. g 
 
 as wax, Patsy, if you have taken charge of the sweep 
 ing and scrubbing." 
 
 " Yes, I can tell dirt as far as any other woman ; 
 and there ain't a fly-speck nor a mite of dust about 
 that house, I'll be bound. But when it comes to the 
 little fixin's, then I'm beat. But hurry up, Miss 
 Rossiter; it'll be dark before you know it, and I 
 don't want to light no lights, mussing up the lamps 
 and things !" 
 
 We had crossed the road by this time, and were 
 going in under the tall, arched gateway. The house 
 stood upon rising ground, and the drive wound up 
 ward beneath forest trees, stately maples centuries 
 old, and birches that were ablaze with golden light. 
 I would fain have paused a moment to watch the 
 changing shadows, as the long, slanting sunbeams 
 shot through them from the west ; but Patsy strode 
 on with the tread of a grenadier, bearing me with her. 
 She had business on hand. 
 
 We entered the house, and she led the way into 
 the parlor, on the right. Spacious enough, homelike, 
 and cozy, I thought ; or would be when the house 
 hold gods, so long banished to other shrines, should 
 have come back again. I stepped about the room, 
 making some slight changes in the arrangement of 
 the furniture, and then ran out into the yard to 
 gather treasures of gold and coral and amber where 
 with to fill the wedgwood vases that stood upon the 
 mantel. 
 
 " You do beat all !" exclaimed Patsy, in the exu 
 berance of her delight. " Them vases do look won 
 derful ! But come here, Miss Rossiter," she whis- 
 A*
 
 I0 EXPIATION. 
 
 pered, "iome here! I've got something to show you. 
 What on airth shall a body do with this thing?" 
 
 She had drawn me toward a small round table 
 that stood behind the door ; and, as she spoke, she 
 removed a heavy linen towel from an exquisite Parian 
 statuette an Eve. 
 
 " I thought I'd better cover it up while the men- 
 folks was round," she went on, in the same constrained 
 whisper; " 'tain't decent, Miss Rossiter, that's a fact. 
 I wouldn't ha' believed the Elliots would ha' had 
 such a thing in their house, if I hadn't seen it with 
 my own eyes." 
 
 I did not answer at once. I was too much ab 
 sorbed in admiring the beautiful figure, which I recog 
 nized from a print in my possession ; and presently 
 Patsy went on : 
 
 "What is't an image of, anyhow? Brother Jere 
 miah he saw a wax figure of Martha Washington 
 once, when he was down to New York. But this 
 can't be her, stark naked and holding something that 
 looks like an apple in her hand. I should ha' thought 
 maybe it was Eve ; but there's that great piece o' 
 cloth hanging onto the stump of a tree, and I take it 
 there hadn't been none manufactured in the Garden 
 of Eden, or Eve wouldn't ha' made aprons out o' fig- 
 leaves." 
 
 I smiled at her quick detection of the anachronism, 
 while I informed her that her supposition was correct, 
 and that it was Eve, nevertheless. 
 
 "Well, I never! Eve, is it? Do you suppose it 
 looks like her, Miss Rossiter?" And for a moment 
 Patsy forgot her scruples in eager curiosity. " Do
 
 EXPIA TION. 1 1 
 
 you suppose she was so tall and shapely, and had 
 such hair as that ? Ain't it wonderful ?" 
 
 Taking advantage of her mood, I said, 
 
 " Yes, wiser people than you or I have thought it 
 wonderful, Patsy. Let us put it on this bracket in 
 the corner. It will look better there than on the 
 table." 
 
 But her horrified face checked me. 
 
 " Not right there in plain sight ? Maybe it's all 
 right, Miss Rossiter; and if they've a mind to put it 
 there when they come, well and good. I hain't any 
 thing to say about that. But, if you'd just as lief, 
 I'd rather put it up in the parlor chamber-closet, on 
 the top shelf, till they do come." And wrapping poor 
 Eve in her linen covering again, Patsy bore her up 
 stairs and consigned her to ignominious seclusion. 
 
 " I didn't mean no offense, Miss Rossiter," she said, 
 apologetically, when she came down. " But some 
 things is decent and some things ain't; and I don't 
 believe in putting that naked woman right here in the 
 parlor. Old as I be, it made me color up when I saw 
 one o' the plasterers a-looking at it ; and when he'd 
 gone out I covered it up quicker'n a wink." 
 
 If I had not known and respected Patsy's real 
 simplicity and purity of heart, I might have been 
 tempted to whisper in her ear, " Evil to him that evil 
 thinks," " To the pure all things are pure," and other 
 proverbs of that ilk. But, as it was, I merely said, 
 
 " Let us go into some of the other rooms. Are 
 they all settled, Patsy ?" 
 
 We wandered over the house, through the cham 
 bers, into the library and dining-room, and out into
 
 ! 2 EXP1A TION. 
 
 the kitchen and store-room. All was fresh, bright, 
 and sweet, and I expressed my admiration accord 
 ingly. 
 
 " I've taken a sight o' pains, that's a fact," said 
 Patsy, giving a door-knob an extra polish with her 
 apron. " You see, I expect this Mr. Armstrong will 
 come on with a .whole raft of help from the city, and 
 I wanted to show 'em' that we country-folks know a 
 thing or two ! It's all clean, at any rate." And Patsy 
 opened drawer after drawer, and cupboard after cup 
 board, all immaculate in their purity. 
 
 It was time for me to go home ; but while Patsy 
 was closing windows and fastening doors, I lingered 
 upon the piazza. Ah ! how beautiful they were, 
 the pictures that met my eyes wherever they turned ! 
 Altona was nestled high up among the hills, a 
 little, irregular, picturesque village, with mountains 
 below it and mountains above it, yet with broad 
 stretches of meadow-land as you looked down the 
 valley, through which sparkled a narrow, dancing 
 stream that had nothing to do but play. If the 
 Elliot quarry had not proved a failure, it would have 
 been taken captive and forced to work. As it was, it 
 wandered at its own sweet will, rejoicing, I doubt not, 
 in its happy idleness. So, as I stood there in the late 
 afternoon, the lovely valley stretched away before me, 
 beautiful in its green repose. Around me on each 
 side towered the mountains peak on peak, their 
 summits wrapped in rose and purple, amber and 
 amethyst ; while lower down were peaceful, rounded 
 domes, clothed with pines and hemlocks to their very 
 summits. I only caught stray glimpses of the village :
 
 EX PI A TION. 1 3 
 
 .here and there a gleam of white, a warm red, or a 
 quiet brown, the sparkle of a window-pane, or a 
 single spire rising through the trees. Even my own 
 small cottage, which was nearly opposite, was quite 
 hidden from my sight, so dense was the foliage 
 that rose between. 
 
 And to-morrow the Armstrongs were coming ! I 
 went home to the company of my birds and flowers ; 
 and that night I dreamed of the strange wife and her 
 magnificent funeral, and awoke to wonder what had 
 induced her husband to tear himself away from all 
 the associations of a prosperous lifetime and bury 
 himself among our mountains. 
 
 CHAPT ER II. 
 
 I WAS by no means the only person in Altona who 
 wondered why Mr. Armstrong had come thither ; 
 or rather, why he was preparing to come. I differed 
 from many others only in this, that whereas they 
 openly queried, made all sorts of guesses, and reached 
 the wildest conclusions, I kept my thoughts to 
 myself. Certain vague, undefined, shadowy rumors 
 had floated to us over the hills, just enough to 
 arouse the idlers, who in every community, especially 
 in one so isolated as ours, are always eager to hear 
 and to tell some new thing. Altona found her little 
 bit of a mystery a rare treat; it quite vivified and
 
 I4 EXPIATION. 
 
 brightened her calm, slow-going life, and she made 
 the most of it. 
 
 As for me, I was by no means a gossip nor an 
 idler; yet I found my thoughts wandering constantly 
 to the Armstrongs. Had there been wife or daughter 
 whose presence might have converted any domicile, 
 even the rudest, into a home, it would, perhaps, have 
 been less strange that a man hardly past his prime, 
 in the full vigor of his intellect and the rich maturity 
 of his powers, should suddenly throw up a flourishing 
 and lucrative business, and come to our quiet town 
 with the intention of making it a permanent resi 
 dence. But that, with his two sons just verging upon 
 manhood, and no mother or sister to rule the house 
 with gentle ministry, he should attempt to build up 
 a home in Altona, was odd, to say the least of it. I 
 wondered if he knew how long the winter evenings 
 would be ; and if he thought how his boys would 
 miss the stir and bustle, the stimulus and excitement, 
 of the life to which they had been accustomed. 
 
 The next day they came, as was expected. Altona 
 lay off the line of the railroad, and the daily arrival 
 of the stage was the great event of the day. Patsy 
 had been over the house again that morning, 
 " straightening out things," as she phrased it, al 
 though it would have puzzled any brain but hers to 
 tell what there was to straighten. Finally, at my 
 suggestion, she made a bright little fire upon the 
 hearth in the library, for the day was chilly, and 
 also one in the kitchen. Then she came over to me. 
 
 " I don't want to disturb you, if you're particularly 
 busy, Miss Rossiter," she said, glancing at my table.
 
 EXPIA TION. i 5 
 
 "But, if you haven't no objections, I should like to 
 sit down by this window for a spell, and watch for the 
 stage. After working so hard to get the house ready 
 for 'em, I kind o' want to see what sort o' creeters 
 they be." 
 
 " I presume they are very much like other people, 
 Patsy," I answered. " They will be tired and dusty 
 and travel-worn, like ordinary mortals." 
 
 " Oh, yes, the gentry," said Patsy, meditatively. 
 " They're pretty much alike the world over, I guess. 
 But I wa'n't thinking so much about them as about 
 their help. I want to see what sort o' followers they 
 bring with "em." 
 
 But when in due season the stage-coach swept past 
 the house, turned in under the gateway, and dashed 
 up the hill beneath the overarching maple-boughs, it 
 held precisely three passengers. 
 
 "Why, they hain't brought a soul with 'em !" said 
 Patsy, turning round blankly. " Not a soul. The 
 old man he's as straight and smart as a prince of 
 the blood, and the boys are likely-looking fellows 
 enough. The smallest one's been sick, I guess. Did 
 you see how pale he was ?" 
 
 " No ; he was on the back seat, and I did not 
 notice him," I answered. 
 
 "Well, he don't look fit to stand, much less to be 
 traveling round. Miss Rossiter !" 
 
 I looked up, but Patsy was in a brown study. 
 After a minute I said, 
 
 "What is it, Patsy?" 
 
 "Nothing," she answered; "only I was a-thinking. 
 That sick boy ought to have his dinner, and how is
 
 j6 EXPIATION. 
 
 he going to get it, I should like to know ? Nobody 
 in the house but men folks, and the Lord knows 
 they're just as helpless as babies, allus." 
 
 I did not reply. She was capable of solving her 
 "problem without any of my help. Presently she 
 went on, 
 
 "Would you, Miss Rossiter?" 
 
 "Would I what?" 
 
 " Why, would you go up there and see if you could 
 help 'em get settled and comfortable? I'd go in a 
 minute if they was poor folks." 
 
 " Rich folks stand in need of kind offices some 
 times as well as poor ones," I answered. " If that 
 sick boy needs his dinner, he needs it, that's all." 
 
 She hesitated awhile longer, fidgeting in her seat. 
 
 " I tell you what, Miss Rossiter, I'll go up, if you'll 
 go with me. You just go along and tell 'em what's 
 what, and I'll do the best I can for 'em." 
 
 It was my turn to hesitate. I knew just exactly 
 what our village Mrs. Grundy would say of Mar 
 garet Rossiter, if she was in such haste to make the 
 acquaintance of the new-comers. But what had that 
 to do with the question ? It was just as Patsy had 
 said. Had these neighbors of mine been poor, or 
 had they been women, I should not have hesitated 
 a moment to go frankly to welcome them, bearing 
 the cup of cold water. Was neighborly kindness, 
 then, a question of circumstance or sex ? 
 
 "Can't you go without me, Patsy? I am very 
 busy to-day." And then I despised myself for the 
 subterfuge. 
 
 " No ; they're more your sort of folks than they
 
 EXPIATION. l y 
 
 are mine, Miss Rossiter. I'm willing to help 'em all 
 I can, but you must go up there with me, and tell 'em 
 how 'tis." 
 
 So it rested with me whether the sick boy should 
 have a Christian dinner set before him that day. 
 
 I rose, put away my work, and went to the pantry. 
 There was a light, covered basket there, into which I 
 put divers articles, to wit : a loaf of wheaten bread, a 
 few new-laid eggs, a chicken ready for the gridiron, 
 and a pat of butter. Taking these with us as a 
 peace-offering, we started. 
 
 " If they don't want to see us, and ain't civil, we can 
 go back again," said Patsy, consolingly, as she strode 
 up the hill. " We shall have done our duty, anyhow." 
 
 With which thought I strengthened myself, as I 
 followed after. 
 
 But we were most cordially welcomed by Mr. Arm 
 strong, who came out upon the piazza to meet us, 
 doubtless with a suspicion of our friendly errand, 
 and took us into the library. There we found Clyde, 
 the younger son, who was evidently just recovering 
 from a severe illness, lying upon the lounge, pale and 
 exhausted ; while the elder, Kenneth, was trying to 
 arrange a palatable meal for him from the contents 
 of their lunch-basket. It was not very inviting. 
 
 " Wait a moment," I said. " Here is something 
 that will do better, perhaps." And I lifted the cover 
 from mine. " There is a fire in the kitchen, I believe, 
 and Patsy will broil this chicken for you in a trice." 
 
 Clyde thanked me with his eyes, if not with his 
 voice ; and, seizing the basket, Patsy disappeared. 
 Mr. Armstrong explained their awkward dilemma
 
 T g EXP'IA TION. 
 
 by saying that, not caring to bring servants from the 
 city, he had telegraphed to Mr. Elliot's agent to 
 make all necessary arrangements ; but that, on reach 
 ing the last telegraph station on the way up, he found 
 the dispatch still lying there. 
 
 " Your thoughtful kindness, madam," he added, 
 " makes us comfortable for to-day, and I hope to be 
 able to make all needful arrangements to-morrow. 
 We are greatly your debtors for your prompt neigh- 
 borliness." 
 
 " If you feel compelled to thank any one," I an 
 swered, as I shook up Clyde's pillows, "it should be 
 Patsy, not me. She made the suggestion that brought 
 me up here." 
 
 " The very paragon of servants," he replied, smiling. 
 " Is she the ram avis she seems, or are others of her 
 kind to be found here ?" 
 
 " Oh, Patsy is not a servant, sir, in your accepta 
 tion of the word. Your agent engaged her to take 
 charge of the cleaning and arranging of the house ; 
 and she has done it. But she has a comfortable little 
 home of her own ; and, although always willing to 
 come to the assistance of those who need her help, 
 and not above being paid for her good offices, she 
 would still scorn to be called a ' servant.' " 
 
 "I understand," he answered, laughing, "and I 
 assure you her scruples shall be respected. Such 
 characters grow out of this mountain soil as naturally 
 as do its pines and hemlocks." 
 
 I rose to go ; for in the adjoining room I heard the 
 dishes rattling under Patsy's rapid hands, and I knew 
 the chicken was nearly ready for presentation. But
 
 EXPIATION. ig 
 
 just then she came in to whisper to me that, although 
 the store-room had been filled in advance, salt had 
 been unaccountably forgotten. 
 
 " I thought maybe they might have a little in 
 their lunch-basket," she answered ; "just enough for 
 dinner." 
 
 I made known her want, and it was supplied. But 
 as she was leaving the room with it, Mr. Armstrong 
 stopped her. 
 
 " This lady informs us that we are indebted to you 
 for a warm, homelike dinner, Miss Miss " 
 
 " Patsy," she said; "just Patsy. Don't put any 
 handle onto my name, sir ; nobody does." 
 
 " Well, Patsy, then. How can I best thank you ?" 
 
 "By saying nothing, sir, and eating the chicken, 
 which is done to a turn." And out she bolted. In 
 a second she put her head in at the door again. 
 "It's allus best to have a fair understanding, sir ; and 
 I want to have you know that I ain't a-looking for a 
 place. 'Tain't necessary. I've got a home of my 
 own. But when I saw how pale that young man 
 looked, I thought he ought to have something warm 
 to eat, and that I ought to get it ready for him ; so 
 I came. That's all." And before any one could 
 reply to her, the door closed, and she was off. 
 
 And that's the way the Armstrongs had their first 
 dinner in Altona, and made the acquaintance of 
 Patsy. 
 
 She consented to stay with them for a few days, 
 until they could make other arrangements ; and I 
 began to foresee that they would find it hard to part 
 with her. The days became a week, and the week had
 
 20 EXPIATION. 
 
 lengthened into a fortnight, when one evening she 
 came quietly in and took a seat without a word. 
 Knowing her ways, I simply nodded to her and went 
 on with my reading. After awhile she spoke. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter, what do you think is up now ?" 
 
 " I cannot guess, unless Mr. Armstrong wants you 
 for a housekeeper, or something of that sort." 
 
 " The very thing," she said, looking up suddenly. 
 " Who told you ?" 
 
 " No one ; but I have not lived in Yankee-land all 
 my days for nothing. I guessed it." 
 
 She rocked back and forth, gazing steadily into 
 the fire that gleamed and sparkled on the hearth. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," she exclaimed, at last, " for the 
 land's sake, tell me what to do ! I'm in a regular 
 quandary." 
 
 " What do you want to do ?" 
 
 " That's the veiy point. I don't know." 
 
 Now Patsy generally knew her own mind. In 
 decision was not one of her weaknesses. So I waited 
 awhile, confident that I should soon hear more. 
 Presently she went on. 
 
 "They're just the nicest folks to live with that 
 ever was, Miss Rossiter, that's a fact !" And Patsy's 
 hand dropped upon her knee emphatically. " They 
 know what they want, and how they want it ; and 
 when they get it they're satisfied, and there ain't no 
 grumbling. I hain't got no fault to find with 'em ; 
 and Mr. Armstrong says he'll pay me just what I 
 say, and I may have anybody I want to help in the 
 kitchen and do the rough work. I should calculate 
 to do the cooking myself, pretty much."
 
 EXPIA TION. 2 1 
 
 " Aha, Miss Patsy !" I thought to myself, " you 
 have 'pretty much' made up your mind, after all." 
 But I said, 
 
 " Mr. Armstrong makes you a very fair offer. 
 Why do you hesitate about accepting it ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," she answered, wheeling round. 
 
 " There are some things They're queer not just 
 
 like other folks. I don't know what to make of 'em, 
 sometimes." 
 
 " I like people that have some individuality," I 
 answered. " Stereotyping is a very convenient pro 
 cess, doubtless, but we do not care to have it applied 
 to human nature." 
 
 Patsy was by no means an ignorant person, reader, 
 notwithstanding her perpetual warfare with Lindley 
 Murray. It was not necessary to choose one's words 
 or figures, lest they should be above her compre 
 hension. 
 
 " That's true," she said. " I thank the Lord that 
 he didn't make us all after one pattern. I should 
 get sick o' living quick enough, if the world was all 
 made up of Patsys ! But, Miss Rossiter," and here 
 she lowered her voice, " that ain't what I mean. It's 
 more than that : there's something kind of myste 
 rious about 'em." 
 
 " Nonsense, Patsy !" I said, laughing. " Mysteries 
 in the broad daylight of this nineteenth century! 
 Let the gossips down at the corners talk, if they 
 must, but do you keep clear of their fol-de-rol. 
 You and I are old enough to be sensible." 
 
 Patsy did not reply directly to my words ; but her 
 voice sank to a still lower key, as she said,
 
 22 EXPIATION. 
 
 "What ever brought 'em up here, Miss Rossiter? 
 That's what puzzles me. The old man's as uneasy 
 as a fish out of water; anybody can see that. He 
 ain't used to this quiet sort o' life, and he ain't made 
 for it, neither." 
 
 " But that is neither your business nor mine," I 
 answered, virtuously ignoring all my own queryings 
 and surmises. " Mr. Armstrong has an undoubted 
 right to live where he chooses." 
 
 " Yes ; and as he chooses ; and I don't propose to 
 interfere with it. But, Miss Rossiter, there was some 
 thing queer about that man's last wife, just as sure 
 as you live ; about her life or death, I ain't certain 
 which." 
 
 " Why do you think so ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't hardly know ; I feel it, somehow. 
 They don't never speak of her, for one thing ; and 
 one day, when I said something about her, Mr. Arm 
 strong shut me up mighty quick !" 
 
 " How was it? Tell me about it," I said. You 
 see my curiosity wanted its little crumb of comfort, 
 after all. 
 
 " Oh, I was in the library one day, helping Ken 
 neth hang some pictures and things. They've 
 brought down that statoo of Eve, Miss Rossiter," 
 she added, in a parenthesis, " and put it right on that 
 very bracket; did you ever? But, as I was saying, 
 we was hanging up pictures and things. There was 
 a portrait of Mr. Armstrong, and one of his first wife, 
 that's Kenneth's mother ; and, naturally enough, I 
 spoke about his looking so much like it. He's got 
 her very eyes and nose and hair, and the way his
 
 EXPIATION. 23 
 
 head is sot onto his shoulders is just like hern. His 
 mouth is firmer and more set, somehow ; but, take 
 it by and large, it's a most wonderful likeness, and I 
 said so. Then I said to Kenneth, ' Clyde must be 
 the image of his mother, too, for he don't look a mite 
 like you, nor like his father. There's just room for 
 her picture over there, on 'tother side o' Mr. Arm 
 strong.' Mercy ! Mr. Armstrong was standing by 
 the bookcase, with a big book in his hand, and he 
 dropped it as if he'd been shot. I never saw a man's 
 face change so : he looked blacker'n a thunder-cloud. 
 Pretty soon he went out into the sitting-room, where 
 Clyde was, and shut the door after him; and Ken 
 neth whispered, ' We have no painting of Clyde's 
 mother to hang there, Patsy. Hand me that Bea- 
 trechy.' And then I handed up to him a picture of 
 a young woman with great, mournful eyes, and a 
 white cloth wrapped round her head. I hain't no 
 idea who she is. Some cousin, most^ likely." 
 
 " But what about Mr. Armstrong ? You said he 
 stopped you." 
 
 " Oh, yes. He came back in a minute or two and 
 motioned to Kenneth to go out. Then he said to 
 me, just as solemn, ' Patsy, there are reasons why I 
 wish you never to speak of Clyde's mother, espe 
 cially not to him, nor in his presence. I cannot ex 
 plain, but I can trust you to observe my wishes, can 
 I not?' I was dumfounded, as it were, but I spoke 
 up and said, ' Yes, sir, you can. I hope I know 
 enough to hold my tongue when I'm asked to, 
 civilly.' He smiled just a little bit : I saw it working 
 round the corners of his mouth ; and the very next
 
 24 EXPIATION. 
 
 day he asked me if I wouldn't stay and live with 'em 
 always. I told him ' always' was a great while, and 
 I should have to think on't for a spell ; and I tell you 
 what, Miss Rossiter, I've kept up a desperate think 
 ing ever sence." 
 
 I did not reply. It was a matter in which I did 
 not wish to advise her ; so I kept silent. 
 
 "Miss Rossiter!" 
 
 "What, Patsy?" 
 
 " Kenneth said they hadn't got no picture of 
 Clyde's mother to hang there on the t'other side of 
 Mr. Armstrong. And maybe they hain't, not to 
 hang just there; but there's a picture of her in the 
 house, I'll bet." 
 
 " Don't be too suspicious, Patsy." 
 
 " I ain't ; and it's nothing to me, anyhow. But it's 
 queer, that's all." 
 
 " What makes you think there is a picture of 
 Clyde's mother in the house ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you. Was you ever up garret, over 
 there ?" And she nodded her head in the right direc 
 tion. 
 
 " Never." 
 
 "Well, there's a little narrow closet up there. 
 What it was made for beats me ; just to accommo 
 date Mr. Armstrong, I guess. When the pictures 
 came, I noticed that there was three of 'em, all of a 
 size ; each one wrapped up tight in some old blan 
 kets, so that the frames shouldn't get scratched. 
 Two o' them pictures was taken into the library and 
 undid ; the other one was spirited away somewhere, 
 out o' sight and hearing. The next day I was up
 
 EXPIATION. 25 
 
 garret, putting away things, when I heard somebody 
 coming slowly up the stairs. It was Mr. Armstrong, 
 with that third picture. He went straight to the 
 little closet, as if he had studied the ground before 
 hand, put it in there and locked the door ; then he 
 put the key in his pocket and went down-stairs again. 
 It was kind o' dark up there, and I was 'way off in 
 one corner. He didn't see me at all ; and it was all 
 done in a minute, or I should have showed myself, 
 for I ain't no spy nor eavesdropper. Now, Miss 
 Rossiter, what do you think ?" 
 
 " I think it is all, as you say, queer. But we need 
 not suspect evil because there are some things that 
 we cannot comprehend." 
 
 She was silent for some time ; then she got up and 
 went to the window. 
 
 " I'm kind o' drawn to 'em, that's a fact, Miss 
 Rossiter ; and they need me, that's another fact." 
 
 I smiled to myself, but said nothing. Very soon 
 she went on : 
 
 " I sha'n't be bound to stay there no longer'n I 
 have a mind to. I guess I'll try it for a spell, Miss 
 Rossiter, anyhow till Clyde gets strong again. He's 
 had an awful time, they say." 
 
 " Is he gaining?" 
 
 " Slowly. But you never saw the beat of the way 
 his father sticks to him and humors him and pets 
 him. There's nothing in the house that's too good 
 for that boy, you'd better believe ; Kenneth's no 
 where with the old man when Clyde's around. And 
 that's pretty much always, for they never leave him 
 alone a minute." 
 
 J
 
 26 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " That is because they have been so near losing 
 him," I answered. "He is hardly out of the valley 
 of death yet, you must remember." 
 
 So Patsy found a tenant for the little house that 
 she had bought and paid for with her own earnings, 
 packed up her rag carpet, and stored away her fur 
 niture ; then she went to live with the Armstrongs. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " BENJAMIN ! BENJAMIN !" 
 
 The words rang out sharply and querulously, as 
 if born of inward anguish. Yet there was an infinite 
 longing in them. They thrilled me from head to 
 foot. Leaving my seat by the window, where I had 
 been gazing out into the gathering twilight, I ap 
 proached the bed on which Mr. Armstrong lay 
 wrestling with disease, mayhap with death. 
 
 " What is it, Mr. Armstrong ?" I said, as I bent 
 over him and moistened his lips with a cordial. " Is 
 there anything I can do for you ?" 
 
 " Kenneth," he said, faintly ; for the sudden spasm 
 of strength that had given volume to his voice had 
 expended itself, " Kenneth. I want Kenneth. Has 
 he come?" 
 
 " Not yet, sir. But he has been sent for, you know. 
 He will be here soon, I think." 
 
 " To-night ?" 
 
 " I hope so ; but it is a long journey. There may 
 be delays and hindrances. He will come as speedily
 
 EXPIATION. 27 
 
 as he can, I know ; for the message was urgent, as 
 you requested." 
 
 " He must come to-night, or it will be too late. Miss 
 Rossiter, kneel down here and ask the God you 
 believe in to let me live a little longer, till I can see 
 my boy again." 
 
 He looked so old and worn ! It was pitiful to see 
 him lying there in his helplessness. Was this the 
 strong man who, five years ago when he first came 
 to Altona, had carried himself, to use Patsy's words, 
 " like a prince of the blood" ? 
 
 He repeated the request, imploringly. " Pray that 
 I may live until Kenneth comes. I must live ! I will 
 live, Miss Rossiter ! But the struggle is hard, hard. 
 Pray !" 
 
 The God that I believed in ! Did not he believe in 
 Him too? I asked the question. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I believe that there is a God, and that 
 He hears and answers prayer. I don't believe all that 
 you do, Miss Rossiter, but I believe that. So ask 
 Him to help me to live a little longer. See there !" 
 And he stretched out his hand. Purple stains were 
 deepening beneath the nails, and upon his face was 
 the strange, awful grayness that is the sure precursor 
 of death. 
 
 I knelt by his side, still holding the aged hand in 
 mine, and prayed. It was a simple prayer, dealing 
 with none of the high things of heaven and earth ; 
 not even touching upon the relation between that 
 departing soul and its Creator. I only asked that 
 Kenneth might come while yet his father had strength 
 to speak to him.
 
 2 8 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, as my voice broke, and I 
 rose from my knees. " I think he will come." 
 
 For some reason, that was to us utterly unaccount 
 able, Mr. Armstrong had, ever since his illness be 
 came dangerous, been unwilling to have Clyde about 
 him. The disease was not contagious, and there was 
 no apparent cause for his denying himself the presence 
 of his youngest child, his Benjamin. I knew that 
 the cry I had heard came from the depths of a yearn 
 ing heart; and I knew, too, that Clyde was wandering 
 restlessly about, grieving over his father's seeming 
 waywardness. Just then I heard his footsteps in the 
 library below. 
 
 " Clyde is down-stairs," I said. " Shall I call him 
 up ? Poor fellow ! he wants to be with you." 
 
 A spasm passed over the father's face, a look of 
 unutterable love and longing. He stretched out his 
 arms as if to clasp the empty air. I thought he was 
 about to consent, and turned toward the door ; but 
 he stopped me. 
 
 " No," he said, sharply. " Do not call him. And 
 do not speak of it again : it tortures me. There are 
 reasons, Miss Rossiter. I must not see him." 
 
 I said no more, although I still considered his 
 decision a half-delirious whim. Poor old man ! I 
 judged him more truly after awhile. 
 
 The shadows darkened in the room, and deepened 
 upon the old man's face, as it lay there upon the 
 pillow, framed in by his silvery hair. It had grown 
 so white during these five years ! Its ebon had been 
 just touched with gray when he first came to Altona. 
 Now it was like the snow. Down-stairs I heard
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 2 9 
 
 Clyde's restless footsteps, as he paced back and forth, 
 now in the library, now in the hall, now in the 
 parlor. 
 
 After awhile Patsy brought in a shaded lamp. I 
 was glad of it, for the darkness was growing weird 
 and terrible. 
 
 " How is he ?" she whispered, as she placed the 
 light behind a screen. 
 
 " Better," Mr. Armstrong answered, in a strong, 
 clear voice. " Better ; for I am almost through. I 
 am only waiting for Kenneth. Has he come, Patsy ?" 
 
 " Not yet," she replied. " He can't come till ten 
 o'clock, sir. Train gets into Bloomfield at nine, and 
 it's a good hour's ride from there here." 
 
 He did not answer by word, or look, or sign ; his 
 soul was, as he said, just waiting, waiting for Ken 
 neth. I watched him narrowly. There was no 
 weakness, no irresolution, in his face now. That 
 had passed, and with it the agony of death. He was 
 biding his time in patient submission, sure that his 
 indomitable will would serve him to the end. Once, 
 as I gave him a cordial, he smiled. 
 
 " It is not necessary," he said. " I cannot die till 
 Kenneth comes. What time is it ?" 
 
 Nine o'clock half-past nine ten ! The face I had 
 been watching so long changed as the clock struck. 
 A look of eagerness and unrest took the place of its 
 quiet expectation. 
 
 Five minutes more, and there was a sound of wheels 
 upon the gravelly road, an opening and shutting of 
 doors, Clyde's voice, Kenneth's. Presently I heard 
 footsteps upon the stairs. 
 
 3*
 
 -p EXPIATION. 
 
 I opened the door. Kenneth stood there and 
 Clyde. The father saw only the former. 
 
 " My son ! my son ! Now God be praised !" 
 
 " Father !" 
 
 It was Clyde's voice. The arms that had been out 
 stretched to clasp Kenneth turned at the sound, and 
 for an instant the younger son lay upon his father's 
 breast, held in a close embrace. 
 
 " Let me stay, father !" he cried. " I cannot leave 
 you again. Kenneth, I must stay !" 
 
 " Now, may God help us both, my Clyde ; but you 
 must go ! If you love me go !" 
 
 Without a word, the young man withdrew himself 
 from his father's arms, and left the room. I followed, 
 and closed the door. 
 
 We went down-stairs, Clyde and I, he groping 
 darkly, although the hall was ablaze with light, until 
 I took his hand and led him into the library. Then, 
 without speaking, or even looking at me, he sank 
 into a chair by the table, and dropped his head upon 
 his folded arms. The boy was bewildered. He had 
 been his father's constant companion. During his 
 twenty years of life he had received from him only 
 the most unchanging tenderness, the most unfailing 
 sympathy. For the last five years they had been in 
 separable. Kenneth, soon after the family removed 
 to Altona, had returned to college ; and since his 
 graduation, had been pursuing his medical studies 
 in New York. But Clyde and his father had remained 
 quietly in our little town among the hills, never 
 leaving it save for occasional excursions to points 
 of interest in the vicinity. They had read together,
 
 EXPIATION. 31 
 
 studied together, rode, walked, hunted, and fished in 
 company. Discovering that his son possessed a taste 
 for horticulture and landscape-gardening, and an en 
 thusiastic and almost womanly love for flowers, Mr. 
 Armstrong spared no pains nor expense to develop 
 and cultivate that taste, to gratify that love. Under 
 their united care and labor the grounds about " Grey- 
 holt" for so Clyde had named the place, out of rever 
 ence for the stately forest-trees that sheltered it upon 
 the north had become a miracle of beauty. At 
 least they seemed so to our unaccustomed eyes. A 
 small conservatory, with a fine southern exposure, 
 had been added to the house ; and there the two had 
 spent hours each day, in the cultivation of rare and 
 costly plants that could not endure the rigor of our 
 northern winters. 
 
 Recollections of all this sweet and familiar inter 
 course swept over me as I looked upon the boy's 
 bowed head, and a wordless pity filled my heart. 
 Wordless ; for what could I say ? I could not explain 
 his father's persistence in banishing him from his 
 room and presence ; and failing of that, silence was 
 my safest resource. So we sat there silently, almost 
 breathlessly, while occasionally the murmur of voices 
 in the room above us met our ears. Once in awhile 
 I could even distinguish Mr. Armstrong's, raised for 
 a moment in some stress of pain or excitement, or 
 Kenneth's stronger tones, in earnest question or re 
 sponse. Then all was silent. Minute after minute 
 passed, each seemingly of an hour's duration, minute 
 after minute, until the clock struck one. 
 
 I looked at Clyde. He still sat motionless, with
 
 22 EXPIATION. 
 
 his face buried in his arms. Perhaps he slept. I 
 hoped so. But I could bear that awful stillness no 
 longer. Creeping past Clyde, I stole up-stairs, and 
 tapped gently upon that closed door. There was no 
 response. I laid my hand upon the knob. It turned 
 easily in my clasp, and the door swung noiselessly 
 open. 
 
 It was as I had suspected : Mr. Armstrong had 
 gone. But there was no sign of pain or struggle 
 upon the face that met my gaze as I entered, and the 
 lamplight fell upon the massive brow, the silvery hair, 
 and flowing beard. It was as calm and placid as an 
 infant's, yet grand and awful with the sublimity of 
 death. 
 
 Kenneth sat by the bedside, with his back toward 
 me, and his head bent forward upon the pillow so 
 that the dark locks mingled with the white. One 
 arm was thrown across his father's breast. The 
 other fell listlessly by his side, but in the hand was 
 clasped a folded paper. A small writing-desk of Mr. 
 Armstrong's stood open upon a chair near by, and a 
 bunch of keys lay upon the carpet. 
 
 I stepped forward and laid my hand upon Ken 
 neth's shoulder. 
 
 " Come away, dear Kenneth," I said ; " this is no 
 place for you now. You can do no good here, and 
 Clyde needs you." 
 
 A strong shudder swept over him, as he lifted his 
 heavy eyes to my face. 
 
 " Clyde ?" he said, " Clyde ?" in a vague, bewil 
 dered sort of way. " Ah, yes, I remember. I will 
 go down to him. I forgot. It is all so new and
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 33 
 
 strange. Yes, I will go down to him, aunty. God 
 help us both !" 
 
 You will perceive that my relations with the Arm 
 strongs had long since passed the bounds of mere 
 neighborliness, and grown into warm and earnest 
 friendship. Kenneth and Clyde had both fallen into 
 the habit of calling me "aunty," and I liked it. In 
 my somewhat lonely old-maidenhood, for I was 
 brotherless and sisterless, it did me good to have 
 those two young lives claim kinship with me. This 
 relationship of election, of affinity, was perhaps 
 dearer to me than if it had been that of blood. 
 
 Mechanically, Kenneth picked up the keys, locked 
 the desk, and restored it to its accustomed place. 
 Then he returned to the bedside, and for a long 
 minute stood gazing upon his father's placid face. 
 Stooping, at last, he pressed his fingers upon the 
 already-closed eyelids, kissed the marble brow, and 
 turned away. 
 
 " Poor Clyde !" he said, with a long, weary breath. 
 " Yes, aunty, I must go down to him."
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "WHERE is he?" he said, as we descended the 
 stairs. 
 
 " In the library." 
 
 But he did not go there at once. Pausing at the 
 foot of the staircase, he looked irresolutely at the 
 folded paper he still held, turning it over and over. 
 Then he said, 
 
 "Aunty, can you get me an envelope and some 
 sealing-wax without disturbing Clyde ?" 
 
 " I saw some in the parlor yesterday," I answered, 
 " and pens and ink, too." 
 
 He took a small lamp from the table, motioning for 
 me to follow him. 
 
 He put the paper in an envelope, and sealed it with 
 his own seal. Then he took a pen, and after a 
 moment's thought, during which his head dropped 
 wearily upon his hand, he wrote as follows : 
 
 " Kenneth Armstrong. In case of his death, this 
 paper is to be burned unopened." 
 
 Taking up the lamp, he said, 
 
 " Come with me." 
 
 I followed him into a small room, between the 
 dining-room and the library, where the large safe 
 was standing. 
 
 " Hold the light, please,* he said. And I stood by 
 while he unlocked the triple doors and deposited the 
 paper in the innermost recess. Then he relocked the
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 35 
 
 safe. A noise in the dining-room startled me, 
 every noise startled me that night, and I stepped to 
 the door, which stood ajar. It was only Dennis, re 
 plenishing the fire. 
 
 He touched his hat, after his usual fashion. 
 
 " And how is it with the masther now, yer honor?" 
 he asked, in a low voice. 
 
 " Your master is dead," I answered; and then in 
 terrupting him, as he crossed himself and com 
 menced to pour forth a torrent of " God rest his 
 sowls," and " Howly mother, have mercys," I bade 
 him tell Patsy, who would see that everything needful 
 was done. 
 
 I went back to Kenneth, and, as the rays from the 
 lamp I held fell full upon his face, I was alarmed by 
 its unearthly paleness. It was blanched to the hue 
 of the grave. The dead face up-stairs was not as 
 white, not as ghastly. 
 
 Putting down the lamp, I laid a hand upon either 
 arm, and pushed him with gentle violence toward a 
 large easy-chair that stood near. 
 
 " Wait a moment," I said. " You must not go to 
 Clyde with such a face as that. Sit here while I 
 bring you a glass of wine. You are worn out with 
 your long ride, and the excitement of this sad coming 
 home. Have you had any supper to-night ?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " I thought not. Promise me that you will not 
 stir till I come back." 
 
 He assented, mutely. When I returned, with a 
 small tray of refreshments, I found him lying back 
 in the chair in a dead faint
 
 36 EXPIATION. 
 
 My first thought was to call Patsy. With my 
 second, came the conviction that I had better call no 
 one. That this exceeding emotion, that had shaken 
 the strong man like a reed, grew out of Kenneth's 
 interview with his father and had some connection 
 with the paper I had seen placed in the safe, I could 
 not doubt. Vigorous, stalwart young men of three- 
 and-twenty do not faint at the death of parents, be 
 they loved ever so fondly. This was something more 
 than ordinary filial sorrow. Whatever it might be, 
 I would shield it from all curious eyes. 
 
 Fortunately, restoratives were near at hand, and in 
 a few moments I had the satisfaction of seeing him 
 revive. In a quarter of an hour he was able to sit 
 up and take a little of the food I had prepared for 
 him. 
 
 " You are not quite so ghastly now," I said, re 
 moving the tray. " Dear Kenneth, you must be 
 strong, for Clyde's sake." 
 
 " Yes ; for Clyde's sake," he answered. " Let us 
 go and find him." 
 
 We went into the library, but he was not there ; 
 nor in hall, nor in parlor, nor in dining-room, nor 
 in kitchen. Up-stairs in the room, I heard the voices 
 and footsteps of those who were making our dead 
 ready for the grave, and I knew it was in vain to look 
 for him there. I went into all the other chambers ; 
 he was in none of them. When I made my report, 
 Kenneth and I looked into each other's faces in 
 blank amaze. 
 
 " Now, don't you worry," said Patsy, coming to 
 the rescue with her strong common sense. " He's
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 37 
 
 just stepped out to get a breath o' fresh air, most 
 likely. He'll be in in a minute or two." 
 
 But the minute or two passed, and he did not 
 come in. 
 
 " The young masther might chance to be in the 
 conservatory, yer honor," said Dennis, who had been 
 called into council. 
 
 It was most improbable 'that he would be there, at 
 this hour of the night, or rather of the morning, for 
 it was now past two o'clock ; but, nevertheless, I 
 followed Dennis's suggestion. The moonbeams 
 streamed in through the glass roof, the little fountain 
 played musically in the centre of the room, the roses 
 and heliotropes filled the soft, summer-like air with 
 fragrance, ftie balmy breath of violets welcomed me. 
 All was quiet, peaceful, and serene. The place had 
 no human tenant. 
 
 " He has gone out into the night," said Kenneth, 
 as I returned to the library. " We must find him." 
 
 " Now, Kenneth," interrupted Patsy, laying her 
 strong, helpful hand upon his arm, " you're not going 
 to stir a peg. You look fit to drop this very minute. 
 Dennis and I'll go, and we'll find him in a jiffy." 
 
 When Patsy first took up her abode at Greyholt, 
 she had faithfully tried, as she said, "to put a handle 
 onto them boys' names." But one day she gave up 
 in despair. 
 
 " It's no use, boys,'' she said, laughing ; " I can't do 
 it. I ain't used to it, nohow. If I say ' Mister 
 Kenneth' to-day, I forget it to-morrow. I shall 
 have to give up trying, I guess, for I feel as if I was 
 making a fool of myself." 
 
 4
 
 ^g EXPIATION. 
 
 And plain " Kenneth" and " Clyde" it had been 
 ever since, quite to the content of " the boys" as well 
 as herself; for they were not over-sensitive with re 
 gard to the matter, and her awkward attempts at 
 wearing an unaccustomed livery had afforded them 
 infinite amusement. 
 
 " Get your lantern, Dennis," I said, without giving 
 Kenneth a chance to reply. " The moon is behind 
 the clouds half the time. Patsy, you must stay here 
 with Kenneth. The people up-stairs may need you. 
 I will go with Dennis myself." 
 
 There was some demurring, but I carried my point; 
 and by the time Dennis appeared with his lantern, I 
 was ready. 
 
 It was a whole hour before we found Clyde Arm 
 strong. We went here, there, everywhere: in the 
 woods back of the house, down by the creek, followed 
 the windings of the one irregular village street, and 
 finally thought of the big rock in the hill-pasture. 
 
 " Bedad, Miss Rossiter, and does yer honor think 
 the young masther has been spirited away ?" said 
 Dennis, at last, as he sat down on a large stone for a 
 minute. " Indade, I had best run down to the village, 
 me lady, an' knock upon the doors, and rouse up all 
 the payple at once't.'" 
 
 " No, no, Dennis, that won't do at all," I answered, 
 for I so dreaded village gossip. " We \wll go home 
 now ; and if your young master is not there, we will 
 see what can be done next." 
 
 He helped me down into the road, for the way was 
 rough, and then we walked rapidly on. Suddenly 
 my companion spoke.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 39 
 
 "By the powers, Miss Rossiter, but will yer honor 
 look yonder?" 
 
 The moon favored us at that instant, and, following 
 the direction of his finger, I saw Clyde sitting high 
 up on a jutting rock above the dam, with his feet 
 almost in the water, that was rushing swiftly to its fall. 
 He seemed to be a target for the moonbeams just 
 then, and his whole person and face were irradiated. 
 He looked so strangely in that weird light that I 
 thought of somnambulism and I know not what. 
 
 " Now may the saints preserve us! But how will 
 we get at him ?" asked Dennis. " Feth, but the lad 
 looks like an angel ! Ye can see the glory in his 
 hair." 
 
 It was a beautiful picture; but it occurred to me 
 that we had no time to spend in admiration. 
 
 "We must get him home," I said. "There is no 
 time to lose. Dennis, go round to the foot of the 
 dam and look up. I think there are steps on that 
 side : loose stones, by which he got up there. But 
 don't you go near him without me ; mind, now." 
 
 " Indade, and I'll do yer honor's bidding. God 
 bless me soul, but the lad looks like a wraith." 
 
 I do not know what I feared, but my heart almost 
 stopped beating as Dennis crept round upon the 
 rocks. I half expected that if Clyde caught a glimpse 
 of him he would give one leap into the swirling, 
 seething waters below. I knew that he had suffered 
 intensely during these last few days ; I knew that his 
 nature was impulsive, passionate, and that with him 
 the deed was apt to come first, the thought afterward. 
 I did not know to what wild act he might be driven
 
 40 EXPIATION. 
 
 by the agony, the long suspense, of that night. Cer 
 tainly it could have been only in a moment of semi- 
 madness that he had wandered off in this way and at 
 this hour. 
 
 Presently Dennis came back and reported. He 
 could reach the spot where Clyde was sitting, easily 
 enough, but he doubted whether the " fut of a lady" 
 could succeed in climbing there. Meanwhile Clyde 
 looked straight at us as we stood in the shadow, but 
 did not notice us. Occasionally he threw a stick or 
 a stone into the stream, but for the most part he sat 
 motionless, gazing off into infinite space, or down into 
 the whirling waters. Perhaps, after all, I had better 
 not approach him, and Dennis could do the work 
 better than I; so I bade him go on, cautioning him 
 against precipitancy on the one hand, and too great 
 delay upon the other. 
 
 He nodded understandingly ; and pretty soon I 
 heard him call out, in the most matter-of-fact, com 
 monplace way imaginable, 
 
 "Misther Clyde, wud yer honor be plased to de- 
 scind for a bit ? Miss Rossiter wud like to be spakin' 
 wid ye ; and, faith, this is but an onconvaynient place 
 for a lady." 
 
 All the while he was scrambling up the rocks faster 
 and faster, and by the time he had done speaking he 
 was by Clyde's side, with his hand on his shoulder. 
 My breath came freely again, for the danger, if there 
 had been any, was over. The young man rose slowly, 
 passed his hand over his eyes as if to clear his vision, 
 and came quietly down from his airy perch. 
 
 If there had been any danger. I do not know to this
 
 EXPIATION. 4I 
 
 day whether there was any or not. There was a 
 strange, unnatural look in Clyde's eyes as he joined 
 me, and, with all his native courtesy, drew my arm 
 within his. But he uttered never a syllable. Neither 
 did I ; but I strode over that ground at a pace I had 
 never equaled before. To get my charge home and 
 into bed was the acme of my wishes. 
 
 He asked no questions, never mentioned his 
 father or Kenneth. As we neared the gate I managed 
 to convey a whispered message to Dennis's ear that 
 sent him on at a rapid rate. I bade him see that the 
 coast was clear, and say that I thought it was not best 
 that any one should see Clyde that night. 
 
 When we went into the house, all was still and 
 dark and quiet, as I hoped to find it. One small 
 lamp burned in the hall. 
 
 " It must be getting late," I said, in the most un 
 concerned way. " I suppose it is bedtime. Take this 
 light, Clyde, and I will find another." 
 
 " Good-night," he answered, and went up-stairs. 
 
 I heard him go into his room. Then I stole softly 
 to the door and listened there until I heard him get 
 into bed, and the light ceased to shine through the 
 keyhole. 
 
 Kenneth and Patsy were waiting for me in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Well, if this don't beat the very Dutch !" said the 
 latter, wiping her eyes. " Dennis has told us where 
 you found him. That he should have gone there 
 to-night, of all nights in the year !" 
 
 Kenneth rose wearily. " We won't talk about 
 it," he said. " And, Patsy," he continued, " we will 
 
 4*
 
 42 EXPIA TION. 
 
 say nothing of this to Clyde to-morrow ; it is not 
 best." 
 
 " I agree with you there," she answered ; " ' least 
 said is soonest mended,' 'most allus, to my thinking. 
 But come now, children, we must go to bed," I had 
 slept at Greyholt for a few nights, " it's e'en-a'most 
 daylight a'ready. The world don't stand still, if folks 
 do go out of it, and the hours go on just the same 
 whether we live or die. Breakfast'll have to be got 
 to-morrow morning, and eaten, just as if nothing had 
 happened." 
 
 She took her light and went off. 
 
 When we met around the breakfast-table, at a late 
 hour the next morning, Clyde made no allusion what 
 ever to the events of the night before. Some inward 
 consciousness must have told him that his father was 
 dead. No questions were asked, and no information 
 was volunteered. But as we rose from the table, he 
 asked, simply, 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 " In his own room," answered Kenneth. And as 
 Clyde, with a slow step, turned towards the stairs, 
 his brother followed him. 
 
 " No," said Clyde, " I must go alone. You had 
 him last night ; I must have him now." 
 
 Kenneth turned back without a word. But after 
 Clyde had entered that darkened chamber, and closed 
 the door behind him, he stole softly up-stairs and 
 kept watch there silently, listening intently for every 
 sound.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " THEY say the old man didn't leave no will." 
 It was the week after the funeral. I had gone down 
 to the village store to get two yards of brown alpaca 
 to match a dress which was undergoing repairs. A 
 chill north wind swept through the valley. Doors 
 and windows were closed, and the building was filled 
 with that indescribable combination of odors that be 
 longs to a country store, and to that alone, codfish, 
 molasses, dried herring, tea, coffee, spices, tobacco, 
 leather, hams, and camphor. Out of the strange 
 conglomeration, my sensitive nose singled each sepa 
 rate odor and gave it due credit. A counter ran 
 along each side of the front room. Upon the right 
 were the " dry-goods," which comprehensive term 
 included everything, from a counterpane to a ball of 
 candle-wick ; from the oranges and scarlets and blues 
 the bright plaids and gay ribbons with which our 
 belles were wont to adorn themselves to the sober 
 browns and sombre blacks, which were the " only 
 wear" of their mothers and grandmothers ; from the 
 broadcloth of the judge to the satinet of the plow- 
 boy. 
 
 On the opposite side, the shelves groaned beneath 
 the weight of crockery ; and farther down were boots, 
 shoes, kegs of nails, brooms, mop-sticks, and a motley 
 collection of tinware and Yankee notions. In the
 
 44 EXPIATION. 
 
 back-room but we will penetrate no farther, lest 
 we should lose our way among the plows, the wash- 
 tubs, the barrels, the baskets, the salt-sacks. 
 
 In the middle of the front room stood a rusty stove, 
 with a wooden bench upon either side ; and upon the 
 benches sat two men whittling. 
 
 " They say 't the old man didn't leave no will." 
 
 These words met my ear as I bent over the counter 
 comparing the brown alpaca with the sample I held 
 in my hand. 
 
 " Ain't none needed, as I knows on," was the an 
 swer. " What was the use of makin' one ? There's 
 jest them two boys, and of course they'll share and 
 share alike." 
 
 " Mebbe you're right, squire ; I don't say 't you 
 ain't right. But I'm got a kind of a prejudice in 
 favor o' wills. It allus seemed to be a sort o' solemn 
 and dignified way o' windin' up a man's airthly con- 
 sarns." 
 
 " Have you made yourn, major?" 
 
 " Law, no, squire ! I hain't yet. It would seem 
 kind o' like signin' my death-warrant. But I'm 
 a-goin' to make one afore I die. You see," he 
 added, lowering his voice a little, " I want to leave 
 something to Mehitable's children ; mine'll have 
 enough." 
 
 " I've heard of sinners that calculated on repentin' 
 before they died," said the squire, thoughtfully. " But 
 somehow they didn't seem to get at it. Shouldn't 
 wonder, now, if it was about the same thing with 
 makin' wills. Mebbe the old man calculated on 
 makin' one, but Death was too quick for him."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 45 
 
 Here a man in a gray overcoat, who had been 
 hanging over the counter on the opposite side,. sur 
 reptitiously possessing himself of raisins from a box 
 that stood temptingly near, sauntered up and flung 
 himself upon the wooden settee by the side of " the 
 major." 
 
 "Talkin" about old Mr. Armstrong's will?" he 
 asked. " It seems to be the general 'pinion that he 
 didn't leave none, don't it?" 
 
 " Hain't been any found," said the squire, senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 He of the overcoat leaned forward, and rested his 
 elbows upon his knees. 
 
 " Don't believe but what there is one or was one, 
 nevertheless and notwithstanding" said he. " Tain't 
 no ways likely that Mr. Armstrong left all that 'are 
 property without givin' no hints about where he 
 wanted it to go to." 
 
 " He wanted it to go to his two boys, of course," 
 said the squire, buttoning up his coat. " And they'll 
 have it: so what's the use o' speculatin' about it, 
 Tom Bradshaw ? 'Tain't any of our consarns." 
 
 " Hold on a minute, squire," was the cool reply. 
 " Don't go to puttin' on airs. I've got a word to say 
 on this p'int. Where did the old man get his money, 
 now ? Have you any idee ?" 
 
 " Worked for it, I s'pose," said the squire. " He 
 was a right down good sort of a man, Mr. Armstrong 
 was, not stuck up a bit. He's told me many a time 
 how he used to drive team when he was a boy, and 
 how rich he felt when he aimed his first silver quarter." 
 
 " He got his money," said Mr. Tom Bradshaw,
 
 46 EXPIA TION. 
 
 slowly, measuring off his words with a tap of his 
 forefinger, " he got his money from that 
 last wife o' his'n. D'ye see the p'int now ?" 
 
 " You don't say so !" exclaimed the major. 
 
 " Well, what if he did ?" rejoined the squire. " No, 
 I don't see the p'int. It don't alter the case a mite, 
 not as I can see." 
 
 " Why, Clyde was the last woman's child," Mr. 
 Bradshaw went on, excitedly. " And if the property 
 came through her, Kenneth hain't no right to it, 
 don't you see ? I kind o' mistrust there's been mis 
 chief a-brewin' somewhere." 
 
 " So do I," said the major. " You see, squire, I 
 never sot much store by the Armstrongs, anyhow. 
 They're a queer set. It stands to reason when folks 
 spend money after their style that 'twa'n't got by no 
 hard labor. Easy come, easy go. Why, I've known 
 o' the old man's givin' more for one single root to 
 put in that 'are glass play-house o' theirn, than it 
 takes to keep my folks in groceries the year round !" 
 And here the speaker spat energetically, but with a 
 discontented air. 
 
 "But did that make you any poorer, neighbor?" 
 asked the squire. " It didn't hurt me any." 
 
 " Look a-here, squire," said Mr. Bradshaw, bring 
 ing his hand down heavily upon his companion's 
 knee. " You jest look a-here. I believe there's lots 
 o' deviltry goin' on in this 'ere world, and that there's 
 a snug little nest-egg right here in Altona." 
 
 " Hain't the least doubt o' that," retorted the squire. 
 " Never had. Folks born and bred in Altona ain't no 
 better 'n other folks."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 47 
 
 " But look a-here, squire ; you won't let me tell 
 you. I want to jest state the case. Things ain't done 
 in this 'ere world without a reason, squire; not with 
 out a reason." 
 
 " Things shouldn't be said without a reason, neither, 
 Bradshaw. Come, let's go home. I guess my grist 
 is ground by this time." 
 
 " I don't calculate to say nothing without a reason. 
 Now, squire, hold on just a minute. I've been told 
 by them that know, that all the while the old man 
 was sick he wouldn't let Clyde come near him, but 
 he was in a perfect panic to have t'other one come 
 home. The day 't he died, he was struck with death 
 in the forenoon, but he was bound he wouldn't give 
 up the ship till he'd seen Kenneth. And he didn't. 
 He jest lived right along till he come ; and then they 
 was closeted for more'n two hours." 
 
 " I'm glad the boy got there," said the squire, 
 softly. 
 
 " But I hain't got through," continued Mr. Brad 
 shaw. " You keep a-interruptin' me. Now, look 
 a-here ! I don't want to make nor meddle. But jest 
 as true as you're alive, the breath wa'n't hardly out o' 
 his father's body before Kenneth was down-stairs, 
 a-meddlin' with the big safe and rummagin' round 
 among the papers before they'd laid the old man 
 out, or he'd told Clyde, or anything. That's a fact, 
 squire. You needn't look so so incredoolous. 
 I- 
 
 " You what ? How do you know this ?" 
 
 " I I was told by them that knows." 
 
 " Well, then, I guess we'll quit and go home. Tom
 
 4 8 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 Bradshavv, do you jest keep that mouth o' yourn shet. 
 That's the best piece o' advice 't I can give ye." And 
 the squire strode off 
 
 This conversation took place while I was choosing 
 my alpaca and matching twist and sewing-silk. Prob 
 ably, as I was a near neighbor of the Armstrongs, and 
 was known to be a friend also, my presence would 
 have checked the speakers had they been aware of 
 it. But I was muffled in cloak and hood and stood 
 directly behind them. They did not recognize me. 
 Taking up my bundle, I started for home. 
 
 I was not surprised at the revival of the gossip with 
 which Altona had so refreshed herself five years pre 
 viously. A man's death sets all tongues wagging, 
 and it is always easy to cast stones at the dead lion. 
 In this case there were peculiarities that gave some 
 ground for gossip. The floating rumors with regard 
 to Clyde's mother, the strange woman who was buried 
 in Greenwood, and whose picture I knew, though they 
 did not, was stowed away in the closet in the garret ; 
 the isolated life led by Mr. Armstrong and Clyde ; 
 the fact that they went nowhere, and that hardly one 
 of their old friends had visited them in their seclu 
 sion; their free expenditure of money, which to the 
 old farmers about them, accustomed only to steady 
 labor and scanty gains, seemed almost fabulous, and 
 to their hard-working wives even criminal, all these 
 gave scandal a foothold upon which to totter if it could 
 not stand. The truth was that Mr. Armstrong and 
 his sons did not live luxuriously. They were no 
 Sybarites. Crumpled rose-leaves did not disturb their 
 repose. But Altona was determined to see in simple
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 49 
 
 affluence immense revenues; in culture, taste, and re 
 finement, unheard-of luxury; in a free and generous 
 style of living, wonderful prodigality. And what she 
 was determined to see, as is usually the case, she saw. 
 
 Yet Mr. Armstrong's utterly blameless life had, 
 after awhile, disarmed criticism, and silenced gossip ; 
 or, if it spoke, it was in whispers only. Now that he 
 was dead, I was not surprised that his affairs should 
 be discussed and re-discussed, and that some of the 
 old stories should be re-told. This was no more than 
 was to be expected. But when Mr. Tom Bradshaw 
 spoke of Kenneth's visit to the safe, I was startled. 
 How did he know of it ? I remembered that I had 
 heard Dennis in the dining-room that night ; but I 
 was sure he had not seen Kenneth. And if he had 
 seen him, good, faithful fellow that he was, what 
 motive could he have had for pouring the story into 
 Tom Bradshaw's ears ? The idea was preposterous. 
 
 This Tom Bradshaw had at one time been in Mr. 
 Armstrong's employ, and had been summarily dis 
 charged ; why, I knew not. 
 
 Pondering all these things in my head, I went home, 
 got my supper, and sat down to my evening work. 
 About eight o'clock Patsy came in. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," she said, after she had toasted her 
 feet for awhile, " I wish I knew what those boys was 
 a-going to do." 
 
 " Do ?" I repeated. " What do you mean ? What 
 should they do?" 
 
 " About going or staying, I mean. 'Tain't no ways 
 likely that those two young fellers are going to go 
 right along living here, now 't their father's gone." 
 c 5
 
 go EXriA TION. 
 
 Patsy was right. Yet this thought had not oc 
 curred to me before. My work dropped upon my 
 lap, while I was trying to peer into the future and to 
 see how it would look unbrightened by the young 
 lives whose freshness and fullness had added so much 
 to mine. Whatever might have been the motives 
 that had induced Mr. Armstrong to bury himself in 
 Altona, it was hardly probable that they would be 
 equallybinding upon his sons. 
 
 " Kenneth's been to college," continued Patsy, "and 
 has just begun studying medicine. He can't go on 
 with his studies here ; and my opinion is that they'll 
 just sell out and go back to New York again." 
 
 " Have they said anything about their plans ?" 
 
 " Not a word. But I wish they would. You see," 
 she went on, drawing her chair nearer to mine, " I've 
 got a chance to sell that little place o' mine, down at 
 the corners, at a fair price ; but I don't know what to 
 do, because my plans depend on theirn. It's kind o' 
 running down, the place is ; and it costs me consid 
 erable every year to keep it in repair. If I'm a-going 
 to stay here and keep house for these boys, I'd better 
 sell right out and be done with it. If I ain't a-going 
 to, I shall want the house to live in myself. And 
 that's just how 'tis, Miss Rossiter." 
 
 Patsy had turned her face away as she spoke, but 
 I saw her stealthily wipe away a tear with the corner 
 of her apron. 
 
 " Why do you not ask Kenneth what he intends 
 to do ?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, I hate to! Besides, Miss Rossiter, if I 
 should undertake to talk to them boys about leaving
 
 EXPIA TION. 5 i 
 
 on 'em, and their father just gone and all, I should 
 break right down and make a fool of myself, I know 
 I should, just as I am this very minute!" And the 
 tears flowed unrestrainedly now. 
 
 I said a consoling word or two, words intended 
 for my own benefit quite as much as for hers. But, 
 in truth, there was not much to be said. I felt very 
 sure that " her boys," as she loved to call them, would 
 soon pass out of her life, as out of mine. 
 
 " I didn't know how much I lotted on 'em," she 
 said, at last, wiping her eyes and trying to steady her 
 voice, " until I begun to think about their going 
 away. Clyde he's a piece of fire and tow blazes up 
 one minute and out the next. You never know just 
 where to find him. There ain't no long spells o' 
 mild, settled weather with him, spells when it don't 
 neither rain nor shine. It's either a thunder-burst or 
 clear sunshine. He's awful onreasonable sometimes, 
 too. But then when he is sweet he's clear honey, 
 and you forget he's ever been sour. You can't lay 
 up anything against him, somehow. He's like some 
 children, there's something wonderfully taking even 
 in his naughty ways." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " he is very unreasonable some 
 times ; but I fancy he is never ' naughty' to you. He 
 thinks Patsy is about right." 
 
 " Dear me !" she said, laughing, " he'll get just 
 as mad as fire all at nothing, and it's just as likely 
 to be at me as at anybody; or at Kenneth, even. 
 But it don't last long: that's one comfort. And 
 Kenneth knows how to get along with him ; that's 
 another."
 
 52 EX r i ATI ox. 
 
 " It is fortunate that the two are so unlike," I 
 replied. " If Kenneth had as little self-control as 
 Clyde, one house could not hold them." 
 
 " Kenneth ? He's strong and firm as a rock, and 
 tender as a woman. But it's time I was to home 
 and abed. Miss Rossiter, s'pose you try to find out 
 what's going to be done ? If there's going to be any 
 changes, I ought to know it." 
 
 Strong and firm, yet tender as a woman. I thought 
 of Patsy's words after she had gone, and I sat alone 
 by my fireside. I thought, also, of the night when 
 I had seen that strength broken down, that firmness 
 a failure. I thought of his deathly pallor as he 
 placed that mysterious paper in the safe and turned 
 the key upon it. 
 
 Reticent, too, and cool ; for even in that moment 
 of weakness no word that he could have wished un 
 said had escaped him. He would never betray his 
 secrets, if he had any, unawares. 
 
 Scarcely a day passed during which I did not see 
 my young neighbors, and on the morrow I had an 
 opportunity to fulfill my promise to Patsy. 
 
 " Will Clyde go with you when you return to 
 New York, Kenneth ?" I asked. 
 
 He started. 
 
 " Clyde ? No. I am not going back to New 
 York, aunty." 
 
 " What ? Not to finish your medical studies, Ken 
 neth ? You can do but little with them here." 
 
 " I shall not attempt to go on with them," he an 
 swered, while the young face changed, and a shadow 
 of pain swept over it. " I've given up all idea of
 
 EXPIA TIO\\ 
 
 53 
 
 making myself immortal, just at present, Miss Ros- 
 siter." 
 
 " But your father had great hopes of you, Ken 
 neth ; and I always fancied that ambition was one 
 of your easily-besetting sins. You don't mean that 
 you have abandoned the idea of becoming a phy 
 sician ?" 
 
 " Entirely," he answered. " I shall ' throw physic 
 to the dogs' henceforth, and devote my energies to 
 agriculture. Clyde's conservatory will keep him busy ; 
 and as for me " 
 
 " As for you, you will die of inanition. Kenneth, 
 I doubt if you are coming to a wise conclusion. 
 Clyde may be contented here, for he has become 
 accustomed to the life. But for you, so differently 
 trained and educated, to think of becoming a fixture 
 among these hills, the idea is simply absurd !" 
 
 " I do not propose becoming a fixture, aunty, nor 
 an idler. I shall find work enough ready to my 
 hand." 
 
 " But, the world is so large, and Altona is so 
 small ! I thought you were going abroad as soon 
 as you had obtained your degree ?" 
 
 He did not answer for a moment, but sat gazing 
 from the window upon the far blue hills that shut us 
 in on every side. I knew that in that instant all the 
 treasures of the Old World its art, its architecture, 
 its storied castles, its historic battle-fields, its skies 
 ail written over with memories, its mountains, its 
 monuments, its graves passed before him in one vast 
 panorama. 
 
 Then he turned to me with a faint smile.
 
 54 EXPIATION. 
 
 " That was one of my dreams," he said. " But it 
 is all over now. Father's death has changed every 
 thing. Clyde and I will stay here in Altona. Do 
 you want to get rid of us ?" 
 
 " Get rid of you ? Ah, Kenneth ! But you will feel 
 differently by-and-by. The grass grows green upon 
 all graves after awhile. Your hearts are very sore 
 now, and life has indeed changed its face. Yet Time, 
 the healer, will surely do his work, and then " 
 
 " Ah, it is not that ! it is not that !" he cried. " God 
 help me, but it is not that ! Miss Rossiter, my lot 
 in life is fixed : it lies right here in Altona." 
 
 I knew then that this was renunciation, the vol 
 untary surrender of all a young man's ambitions and 
 hopes, his dreams of being and doing, at the call of 
 some real or fancied duty. Some exaggerated idea 
 of loyalty to his father's memory, some caprice of 
 conscience, some whim of reason or of judgment, I 
 thought it, even while I honored the young man none 
 the less. 
 
 But I speedily set Patsy's heart at rest ; and the 
 little brown house was sold.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THAT winter passed very quietly. The most notice 
 able feature of the life at Greyholt had been Mr. 
 Armstrong's extreme devotion to Clyde. They had 
 been the most inseparable of companions, indeed, 
 the father had seemed utterly swallowed up in the 
 son, and to have merged his existence in his. Per 
 haps there was no real reason for supposing that he 
 loved one son better than the other. But his love 
 for Kenneth was so different in its character and its 
 manifestations from that which he bore Clyde, that 
 one could hardly compare the two emotions. He 
 gloried in his elder son, was proud of him, trusted 
 him. But he cherished the younger as the very apple 
 of his eye. 
 
 Now Kenneth's devotion to his brother became 
 equally noticeable. He seemed to have stepped at 
 once into his father's place. Quietly, unobtrusively, 
 he filled Clyde's life from out his own fullness. To 
 leave no void, no emptiness there, to crowd his days 
 with pleasant doings, to fill his brain with happy 
 thoughts, seemed to be the end and aim of his exist 
 ence. Nothing daunted him, nothing repelled him. 
 Clyde's freaks of temper, his occasional wayward 
 nesses, his self-will, that would at times override all 
 obstacles and overrule all laws, his passionate im 
 pulses, his unreasonable caprices, all these seemed 
 only to fill Kenneth with a tenderer, a more long- 
 enduring patience.
 
 56 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Talk about being patient as a woman !" said Patsy, 
 one day. " Patient as Kenneth Armstrong, I say. 
 That's the way it ought to read." 
 
 But it must be confessed that Patsy had also been 
 right when she said that Clyde's faults were more 
 engaging than other people's virtues. He had been 
 charmed in his cradle, I think ; and love flowed out 
 to him as from its own excess. There was an inde 
 scribable fascination about him, that won all hearts. 
 
 The two young men had but little intercourse with 
 the village people. It was not that they " felt above 
 them," or studiously held themselves aloof. It was 
 simply the working of a natural law. Like affiliates 
 with like. Either one of the brothers would have 
 shone like some " bright particular star" in a circle 
 to which he was adapted and whose habits of thought 
 and feeling were in accordance with his own. But 
 they were not at home with the Altonians. At the 
 merry-makings, the social gatherings to which they 
 were occasionally invited, they were apt to be shy, 
 silent, and constrained. The somewhat rough and 
 noisy jollity abashed them, while it jarred upon some 
 fine chord of their natures that was not in harmony 
 with their surroundings. Of course this does not 
 apply to all Altona. There were some souls in that 
 little country town who were the peers of any in the 
 land, who were in earnest sympathy with all that 
 was finest, truest, and purest. 
 
 So their evenings were spent chiefly at home in 
 their own cozy library, save when, upon clear, moonlit 
 nights, they were tempted out for a rapid drive over 
 the sparkling snow, or down to the creek, where the
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 57 
 
 glare ice waited for the music of the skater's steel. If, 
 sometimes, I grew tired of listening to the ticking of my 
 clock, or of thinking my own thoughts, and throwing 
 a shawl about me, ran over the way to see what my 
 neighbors were about, I knew just the picture that 
 would greet my eyes as I stepped upon the piazza 
 and glanced in at the low window. I knew that the 
 small, inlaid centre-table with the curiously carved 
 legs would be drawn into the middle of the room, in 
 front of the open fireplace, where a bright wood fire 
 would be leaping and sparkling. Upon one side of it 
 I should see the lamplight falling upon Kenneth's 
 dark-brown hair, tossed carelessly back from a low, 
 broad forehead, kindling his cool, gray eyes into 
 subtle fire, and lending his cheek a warmer glow ; on 
 the other, Clyde's curls of reddish gold would be 
 catching a deeper tint from the glowing flames, and 
 his large, black eyes would be flashing with merri 
 ment, or earnest with thought. The table between 
 them would be loaded with books, magazines, re 
 views, and newspapers. They would be reading 
 together ; or, with books dropped upon their knees, 
 they would have floated off upon some sparkling tide 
 of talk. Or the red and white chessmen would be 
 waging mimic war, and kings and queens, knights 
 and bishops, would be trembling in dire dismay. And 
 I knew that as my step crossed the threshold the 
 books would be thrown down, or the chessmen be 
 made to beat an ignominious retreat, and two young 
 voices that I had learned to love would vie with each 
 other in welcoming me. Then, mayhap, Patsy would 
 come in with a basket of rosy-cheeked apples, or a 
 c*
 
 5 8 EXPIATION. 
 
 dish of hickory-nuts ; and sometimes, though very 
 rarely, she would join the little circle. She ex 
 pected to reign undisputed queen in her own realm, 
 but she was shy of intruding upon the domains of 
 others. 
 
 Several times during that winter I had occasion 
 to know that the excitement about the will, and the 
 curiosity awakened by the circumstances attending 
 Mr. Armstrong's last hours, had not entirely sub 
 sided. Strange questions were asked of Patsy ; and 
 many a time Dennis came back from the village with 
 his head filled with vague, idle rumors, rumors that 
 I was fllin to believe he helped rather than hindered, 
 partly out of an Irishman's love of mischief, and 
 partly out of an honest contempt for scandal-mongers. 
 More than once I heard of Kenneth's visit to the safe ; 
 and it was even intimated that selfish motives were at 
 the bottom of his devotion to Clyde. Had not the 
 property belonged to Mr. Armstrong's last wife ? 
 
 The brothers knew nothing of all this. It usually 
 happens that those most nearly concerned are the 
 last to hear an injurious report, a scandalous story, 
 or a rumor of doubtful import. 
 
 And why had the father been buried in Altona ? 
 There was a costly vault in Greenwood, where two 
 women who had loved him awaited his coming. 
 Why, then, did they wait vainly, while his dust 
 mingled with our yellow sands, and our pines cast 
 their long shadows over his grave ? 
 
 These questions, also, were often asked. It was 
 not enough to say that such had been his wish. Why 
 had he wished it ? Why had he not chosen to sleep
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 59 
 
 among his kindred ? None of his kith or kin were 
 buried in Altona. There were many in Greenwood. 
 
 I watched Kenneth closely that winter. He was a 
 curious study to me. Since that one conversation, 
 during the course of which he had said to me, " It is 
 not that; God help me, but it is not that T he had 
 never alluded to the matter. Whatever the burden 
 might be that had fallen upon his young shoulders, 
 or that he had voluntarily lifted to them, he bore 
 it silently, uncomplainingly. He had changed. He 
 seemed suddenly to have sprung out of youth into 
 mature manhood. The vague unrest, the eager 
 longing of the spring had settled into something 
 akin to the fullness, the rich repose of summer. Was 
 he happy? I doubted it sometimes, when I saw the 
 far-away look in his eyes, or caught a gleam like the 
 bursting forth of smouldering flame. But he was 
 cheerful : he was at rest. As Patsy had said, he was 
 firm as a rock ; and having once chosen his lot, or 
 accepted it, he had no regrets, no misgivings. 
 
 And so the quiet months passed on, until it was 
 June. 
 
 June in Altona! If you have never been among 
 our mountains, you can have but a slight idea of the 
 meaning of these three words. It was as if the yearly 
 miracle was but just completed, and the earth had 
 sprung, new-born, from the hand of its Creator. Such 
 a wealth of green lay everywhere, from the dark hue 
 of the pines, on through all the gradations of color, 
 to the tender, delicate tinting of the young hemlock- 
 shoots. The maples were in full leaf, the birches 
 were tipped with airy tracery, the pendent boughs of
 
 (,0 EXPIATION. 
 
 the elm-trees drooped, heavy with their trailing 
 wreaths of verdure, the cedars gave out their resin 
 ous perfume, the oaks wore their emerald crowns, as 
 if rejoicing in the sunlight. In the meadows, the 
 young grass was soft and tender as a baby's cheek. 
 On the hillsides and on all the uplands the grain was 
 springing fresh and green. The wild roses were in 
 bloom ; blue violets smiled from every shady nook ; 
 scarlet honeysuckles, purple columbines, golden ear 
 drops, and a thousand other flowers, made the woods 
 beautiful with their presence. And over all hung the 
 vast sapphire sky, where only a few light, fleecy 
 clouds lay tranquilly against the blue. 
 
 All this young, tender beauty is very evanescent, 
 and soon gives place to the deeper tints, the more 
 gorgeous coloring of midsummer; but while it lasts, 
 it is incomparable for delicacy and sweetness. 
 
 And one morning in June it was when Clyde came 
 in with his arms full of azalea-branches, laden with 
 the exquisite pink flowers that are so heavy with 
 perfume. Flinging down his fragrant burden upon a 
 table that it nearly covered, he looked about him 
 with surprise, not unmingled with dismay. 
 
 "Oh, oh, oh!" he ejaculated, at last. "Aunty, 
 what are you turning Cozytoft upside down for? at 
 this time of year, too ? I thought spring house- 
 cleaning was over long ago," 
 
 Curtains were down, one carpet, at least, was up, 
 and Cozytoft was in a great state of confusion. I 
 waited to drive in the tack that was to re-fasten the 
 said carpet in one corner at least, before I looked up 
 from my knees and answered him.
 
 EXPIATION. 6! 
 
 " Strange things have come to pass since I saw 
 you on the night before last, at sundown, Master 
 Clyde, very strange things. You don't get the news 
 up on the hill ; and if you won't come to Cozytoft 
 after it, why, you don't get it, that's all." 
 
 " But I have come after it," he said, throwing him 
 self upon the floor, and holding the carpet in place 
 for me as I nailed it down. " I have come after it- 
 News ? Tell me what it is, like a good aunty," he 
 added, coaxingly. 
 
 "You'll run right off to tell Kenneth," I answered, 
 " and then I shall have to put my carpet down alone. 
 No; I think I'll keep my secret for the present." 
 
 "A secret? Worse and worse! or rather, better 
 and better !" he cried. " What is it, Miss Rossiter ?" 
 I was "aunty" or " Miss Rossiter," just as it hap 
 pened. " I'll stay and help you put down the carpet, 
 and put up the curtains, and make myself useful gen 
 erally. Kenneth may find out the secret the best 
 way he can. What is it, aunty ?" 
 
 " There is to be a boarder at Cozytoft," I answered, 
 "a city boarder. Think of that, sir! And I am 
 to have a little handmaiden to help about the house 
 work. Isn't that a choice bit of news ?" 
 
 " I shouldn't think it was," he replied, dubiously. 
 "A boarder at Cozytoft! I don't like it, aunty. It 
 will not do at all." 
 
 "Why not?" I asked. "I think it will do nicely. 
 I shall have, pleasant company, and " 
 
 " Who is it ?" he cried, interrupting me. " You 
 don't say who it is ! Some stately divine, with 
 gold-headed cane and spectacles, who will overpower 
 
 6
 
 6 2 EXPIATION. 
 
 you with his theologies; some pale, long-haired 
 student, with a trunk full of philosophy ; or some 
 strong-minded woman, with short, frowzy hair and 
 an ill-fitting dress. I give you joy, Miss Rossiter !" 
 
 " Thank you," I said ; " I would get up and 
 drop you a courtesy if I were not so busy. Guess 
 again, Mr. Clyde Armstrong. You are not right 
 yet." 
 
 "Some young Nimrod, then," he continued, "who 
 will come up here to shoot robins and tame pigeons, 
 and then, when his vacation is over, go home and 
 boast of his hunting exploits ; or some newly-fledged 
 disciple of Izaak Walton, who doesn't know a trout 
 from a pickerel. Say I am right, aunty : it will do 
 me proud to make the young gentleman's acquaint 
 ance." 
 
 I laughed. "You are saucy, sir; and now I will 
 not tell you at all. You must wait and see." 
 
 Clyde grumbled and scolded like a spoiled child. 
 What did I want with boarders, anyway? Just to 
 keep my friends away from Cozy toft, he supposed. 
 And a very effectual plan it was likely to prove. 
 When all that theology and philosophy and strong- 
 mindedness, to say nothing of Nimrod and the 
 angler, had taken possession of the place, there would 
 be but little room for its old frequenters. For his 
 part, he proposed to bid me farewell when he left the 
 house that morning, and never to cross the threshold 
 again until the autumn winds, blowing straight from 
 the north, had swept the intruders away, as leaves 
 before the blast. 
 
 " Take care, Clyde," I said; " if you get your fingers
 
 EXPIA TION. 63 
 
 under this hammer, I won't answer for the conse 
 quences." 
 
 " Much you will care about it!" he answered, toss 
 ing back the auburn locks that fell over his eyes as he 
 tugged away at the carpet. " Much you will care ! 
 You have been hammering on my heart-strings ever 
 since I came in here this morning. It's too bad, 
 aunty ! I would not have believed it of you, and 
 all for the sake of a dozen strangers !" 
 
 " Are you doing a sum in arithmetical progres 
 sion ?" I asked, laughing. " You started me with 
 one boarder, then you had five, and now you have 
 got up to a dozen. I shall have to build an addition 
 to Cozytoft, at this rate." 
 
 " You'd better keep a hotel and be done with it," 
 he said. " I'll give you a sign : my great eagle's 
 nest swinging from a liberty-pole. Nimrod would 
 like that." 
 
 " On the contrary, I fear it would frighten him. 
 Give me a humming-bird's nest, and I will hang it in 
 a corner of the piazza, suspended by a silken thread. 
 You are very absurd, Clyde." 
 
 He strode off in a pet, or something more. But 
 in ten minutes he was back again, as I knew he 
 would be. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," he said, putting his head in at the 
 window, " perhaps you do not know that azalea-blos 
 soms fade very quickly if they are not picked from 
 the boughs and placed in water?" 
 
 "Yes, I know it," I answered; "and those beau 
 ties are drooping already. But what am I to do ? I 
 must bring order out of this chaos before I can stop
 
 6 4 
 
 EX PI A TION. 
 
 to arrange them. I suppose I might put them in a 
 tub of water, just as they are ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! that won't answer," he cried, leaping in 
 at the window. " Don't you know ? These woody 
 branches won't absorb any water. The flowers must 
 be picked off; and it will take some time." 
 
 " Now you see what a convenience it would be if 
 my boarders were here," I said. " Nimrod ought to 
 be a lover of nature, and I am sure he would love 
 June pinks. But of course I can't ask you to ar 
 range them." 
 
 " Why not, I should like to know ? Nimrod 
 
 should not touch these flowers if Bring me 
 
 the big punch-bowl, aunty, that did not come over 
 in the Mayflower, and some cord and a pair of 
 scissors." 
 
 I brought them, and then began to plait my freshly- 
 ironed curtains. By the time they were plaited, the 
 bowl was overflowing with its wealth of beauty and 
 perfume. Clyde brought in the step-ladder, and 
 helped put up the curtains. Then we cleared away 
 the refuse stems and leaves, arranged the furniture, 
 and placed the punch-bowl on the centre-table. 
 
 " There should be some flowers on the mantel," 
 said Clyde, taking a deliberate survey of the cool, 
 fresh, shaded room. " That is all it needs, with some 
 trailing vines for the bracket in the corner." 
 
 Away he dashed, and presently returned with 
 graceful, drooping fuchsias, a handful of roses, from 
 creamiest white to deepest crimson, and long sprays 
 of the delicate mountain-fringe. While he was ar 
 ranging them, I went off to the kitchen.
 
 EXPIATION. 65 
 
 Pretty soon I looked up, to see him standing in 
 the door. 
 
 " What now, aunty ?" 
 
 " Oh, there is sponge-cake to make," I answered. 
 "My 'boarders' will have ravenous appetites, I ex 
 pect." 
 
 " Which you will attempt to satisfy with sponge 
 cake. Wise woman ! I should have supposed roast 
 beef the better thing. But where is your ' neat-handed 
 Phillis'? Why doesn't she do this ?" 
 
 " Baking sponge-cake is one of the fine arts, Mr. 
 Armstrong. She can do some things well, but this is 
 not one of her accomplishments. Besides, she has 
 gone a-strawberrying, and cannot conveniently do two 
 things at once." 
 
 For two minutes he was silent, watching the platter 
 of snowy foam as I heaped it higher and higher. 
 
 " Who is coming, aunty ?" he said, presently, lean 
 ing with both arms upon the table. " What's the use 
 of all this mystery?" 
 
 " There is no mystery at all," I answered. " I 
 should have told you all about it at first, if you had 
 not flown off on such a tangent that I could not reach 
 you." 
 
 "Tell me now, then, if it isn't Nimrod. I don't 
 care to hear about him." 
 
 I laughed. " It is not Nimrod. It is Miss Elsie 
 Meredith." 
 
 " Who is she ?" 
 
 " She is Elsie Meredith niece and ward of Dr. 
 Howard Bellinger, of New York." 
 
 " But what brings her up here ?" 
 5*
 
 66 EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Bellinger is an old friend of mine : he 
 was born in that white farm-house where the Gilmores 
 live now, and he has drawn me to school on his sled 
 many a time. Elsie wanted to spend the summer in 
 the country, pure, unadulterated country, so he 
 said ; and her uncle very naturally thought of Altona 
 as the fitting place. Quite as naturally, too, he 
 wanted me to make a home for her." 
 
 " Did you ever see her?" 
 
 " Once only, five or six years since. She was a 
 pretty child then. Where is Kenneth to-day ?" 
 
 " He has gone over to Highborough, to the bank, 
 and will not be back till to-morrow night. Heigh-ho ! 
 This Miss Meredith is better than Nimrod; but I am 
 sorry she is coming. Aunty, will it be necessary for 
 me to put on a dress-coat and lavender gloves when 
 ever I call at Cozytoft ? I want to do the correct 
 thing." 
 
 " Do just as you please, sir. Dress-coat or linen 
 blouse, lavender gloves or no gloves at all : it is all one. 
 Do you think the coming of this girl is going to 
 overturn all my household arrangements ?" 
 
 " Aunty, your cake is burning, unless my nose de 
 ceives me. When is she coming ?" 
 
 " To-morrow."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 To tell the truth, I had myself some of Clyde's 
 misgivings with regard to the new boarder. I had 
 lived alone so long that I had learned to regard 
 Margaret Rossiter as excellent company. I quar 
 reled with her occasionally, it is true, and often took 
 her severely to task for some doing or not-doing. 
 But on the whole we got on very peaceably together, 
 and I was a little sorry to have our relations dis 
 turbed. This girl this Elsie Meredith who was 
 coming, might make herself agreeable, or very dis 
 agreeable : it was just an experiment. 
 
 But we do not live " unto ourselves ;" and, at all 
 events, I had done right in consenting to make a home 
 for the motherless ward of my old friend. So the 
 next morning I gave a few last adorning touches to 
 the pretty chamber I had already prepared for her, 
 straightened the ruffled pillows upon the little white- 
 draped bed, looped back the muslin curtains in fresher 
 and more graceful folds, placed a basket of purple 
 pansies upon the toilet-table, and then went down 
 stairs, and seated myself, with a quiet heart, to await 
 her coming. 
 
 The stage was due about noon. It was now half- 
 past ten, and I took up my work-basket, thinking 
 there was abundant time to hem a certain strip of 
 ruffling before my guest should arrive. But before I 
 had taken a dozen stitches, the sound of tramping
 
 68 EXPIA TION. 
 
 hoofs drew my eyes down past the clump of maples, 
 to the bend in the road just opposite the dam. 
 
 Tramp tramp, nearer and nearer. A spirited 
 bay horse, which looked strangely familiar, swept 
 round the turn, carrying a lady, in a dark-blue riding- 
 habit. I had time but for a single glance, when she 
 turned, waved her hand lightly to some person or 
 persons behind her, touched her horse with the whip, 
 and he shot forward, like an arrow from a bow. 
 
 Very few ladies rode in Altona ; and we all thought 
 ourselves at liberty to stare at any long-robed figure 
 on horseback. So I stepped to the door to gratify 
 my curiosity. Just as I did so, the lady drew upon 
 the reins, and wheeled her gay charger into my yard. 
 At the same instant two other riders came in sight. 
 Was the foremost one surely it was my old friend 
 Dr. Bellinger? and the other was Kenneth Armstrong. 
 
 So this was Elsie Meredith. I went forward to 
 greet her. As she saw me, she threw her reins upon 
 the horse's neck, gathered up her flowing robes with 
 one hand, and placing the other upon the pommel of 
 the saddle, sprang lightly to the ground. 
 
 Was this the "pretty child" I had seen a few years 
 before ? this beautiful and graceful woman who, even 
 in that first glance, dazzled my eyes with her un 
 wonted loveliness ? I had scarcely had time to speak 
 to her, when the gentlemen dismounted. 
 
 " My old friend Margaret!" exclaimed Dr. Bellin 
 ger as he ungloved; " or must it be 'Miss Rossiter,' 
 in consideration of the years that have passed since 
 you and I ' went gipsying, a long time ago' ?" 
 
 " It shall be ' Margaret,' or ' Miss Rossiter,' just as
 
 EXPIATION. 60 
 
 it pleases you," I replied, as I gave him my hand. 
 " We have helped each other into mischief and out of 
 it too many times to stand upon ceremony now, Dr. 
 Bellinger." 
 
 " And this is Elsie," he said, turning to his niece, 
 who still stood with her hand upon the horn of the 
 saddle. " This is Elsie." 
 
 A most simple introduction; but his voice and 
 manner said more plainly than words could have done 
 that there was but one Elsie in all the world for him. 
 I did not wonder. After a word or two with my 
 beautiful guest, I turned to Kenneth, who stood lean 
 ing against his horse, hat in hand, watching us in a 
 sort of happy silence. 
 
 "And where do you come from, Kenneth?" Tasked; 
 " or rather, how do you happen to be of this party ? 
 I thought you went to Highborough yesterday." 
 
 Dr. Bellinger laughed. "Things don't happen in 
 this world, Margaret. They are ordered. But I 
 beg your pardon, Mr. Armstrong. Tell your own 
 story." 
 
 " Not out here in the sun," I said. " If there is a 
 story to tell, we will hear it in-doors." 
 
 But as I spoke I looked in dire dismay at the 
 horses. Cozytoft did not furnish the amplest accom 
 modations for " man and beast." Kenneth perceived 
 my dilemma. 
 
 " Dennis !" he called, as he caught sight of a figure 
 behind the hedge on the other side of the road. 
 "Dennis!" 
 
 Dennis appeared, touching his hat as soon as he 
 caught a glimpse of his young master.
 
 70 EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Welcome home, yer honor," he said. " Yer 
 honor's welcome home." 
 
 " Thank you, Dennis. All well, I hope ?" Then 
 there was a whispered word or two, and, to my infi 
 nite relief, the horses disappeared. We went into the 
 house. 
 
 " Now for the story, Kenneth." 
 
 " Which is not a story," he answered. 
 
 But he explained the " happening" by saying that 
 Miss Meredith and himself were old acquaintances, 
 and that, very unexpectedly, they had recognized 
 each other at the breakfast-table that morning. It 
 seemed that Dr. Bellinger had wished Elsie to have 
 a better view of the wild, picturesque mountain 
 scenery than she could have on the Bloomfield 
 route, and had accordingly gone up on the other 
 side, stopping at Highborough. 
 
 " In my day, you know," said the doctor, " a stage 
 ran regularly between Highborough and Altona. 
 But your new railroads have disarranged things gen 
 erally, and I could not get a carriage for love or 
 money. Elsie is a famous horsewoman, however, and 
 Mr. Armstrong proposed that we should ride over. 
 So here we are, full an hour earlier than you expected 
 us." 
 
 " What a string of commonplaces !" exclaimed 
 Miss Meredith, laughing, as she untied her hat and 
 smoothed down the golden tresses that had been dis 
 arranged by her long ride. " I thought you were 
 about to draw upon your vivid imagination, and give 
 us a tale of romance and adventure." 
 
 " Certainly, Dr. Bellinger, we had a right to ex-
 
 EXPIA TWN. 7 1 
 
 pect as much, after your allusion to special orderings," 
 I said. " But where are your trunks ?" 
 
 " On the way," she answered : " they will be here 
 presently ; and the driver will take back the horses. 
 But if you will show me where I am to live this sum 
 mer, I will try to make myself tolerably presentable 
 without waiting for them." 
 
 " To live !" exclaimed the doctor. " You are to 
 have all out-of-doors for a dwelling-place. ' No pent- 
 up Utica' this summer, Miss Meredith. Remember 
 that, if you please." 
 
 She went off, laughing lightly, with her blue robes 
 trailing after her, and her wavy hair, half escaping 
 from its net, catching a new gleam from the sunshine 
 as she went up the stairs. 
 
 As I followed, I turned to look at Kenneth, intend 
 ing to ask him to stay to dinner. 
 
 Dinner ! 
 
 There was something in his face that startled me. 
 I cannot tell you what it was, even if I try. It was as 
 if some dormant power of his nature had suddenly 
 wakened into life and vigor ; as if a flame that had 
 long been checked, smothered, held back by opposing 
 elements, had at last burst the barriers and sprung 
 forth a glad, rejoicing thing. And with it all there 
 was a certain quiet content that I had not seen since 
 his father died. 
 
 He was not looking at Elsie. On the contrary, his 
 steadfast gaze had gone out through the low window, 
 with its clustering vines, past village and forest, field 
 and meadow, to the far horizon closing down upon 
 the mountain-peaks. He had not exchanged a dozen
 
 j2 EXPIA TION. 
 
 words with her since they had been in my house ; 
 yet, by some subtle, inward consciousness, rather 
 than by any effort of reason, I felt that Kenneth 
 Armstrong loved this new guest of mine. Was that 
 what had brought her here ? 
 
 I followed her up-stairs in a sort of maze, and 
 then led the way to her chamber. 
 
 "Ah, this is charming!" she said, glancing with 
 pleased eyes about the pleasant room ; " so fresh and 
 cool and sweet ! I foresee that I shall be very happy 
 here, Miss Rossiter." 
 
 " I hope you will be," I answered, turning one of 
 the blinds, that the perfumed breath of the clover- 
 field might find freer entrance. " I have lived here 
 by myself for many years, and know but little of the 
 ways or the wants of young ladies, Miss Meredith ; 
 nevertheless, I think I can make you content and 
 happy up here among the mountains." 
 
 There was a light step behind me, and in a moment 
 a pair of soft white arms for she had laid off her 
 riding-habit were about my neck. 
 
 " Call me Elsie," she said. " You are Uncle How 
 ard's dear old friend, and I cannot be ' Miss Mere 
 dith' to you : it is too formal. Call me Elsie, and I 
 shall feel more at home with you." 
 
 " ' Elsie,' then," I replied, returning her caress, and 
 wondering as I did so at the exquisite purity of her 
 complexion, at the dazzling whiteness of her neck 
 and arms, at the wealth of golden hair, that, loosened 
 from its confinement, fell almost to her knees, en 
 veloping her as in a luminous cloud, at her soft eyes 
 of clearest, darkest blue, at her ripe red lips, and her
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 73 
 
 young cheek's changeful glow. I gazed at all this 
 loveliness, as a woman of forty might be supposed 
 to gaze at it, with a little sigh of regret for her own 
 lost youth, with a little tender envy of the beauty 
 that was so patent, yet so unconscious, and that 
 needed no painstaking, no thought, to make it irre 
 sistible. I wondered if this young girl knew how 
 fair she was, and if her soul was as beautiful as the 
 dwelling it inhabited. 
 
 Yet I hardly doubted this. Some beauty impresses 
 you as being an emanation from the soul itself; and 
 hers was of this sort. You felt, after all, that it was 
 not the pure, calm forehead, not the softly-tinted 
 cheek, the starry eyes, nor the flowing tresses, that 
 made her so fair. It was something that lay behind 
 all these. The true soul of her beauty would look 
 out of those wondrous eyes, and smile from those 
 tender lips, even when Elsie Meredith should be an 
 old, old woman, wrinkled and gray. 
 
 She stepped to the window. Greyholt, embow 
 ered in trees, lay just opposite, and in full view. 
 From the rooms below, we could only catch a glimpse 
 of the piazza. 
 
 " Is that Mr. Armstrong's place ?" she asked ; and 
 I fancied that the color on her cheek deepened a 
 little, just a shade, as she spoke. 
 
 " Yes, that is Greyholt," I answered. " Do you 
 know the family well ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; I do not know the family at all," she 
 
 said. " I knew Mr. Kenneth Armstrong after a 
 
 fashion ; that is, as we know people whom we meet 
 
 in society, a sort of surface acquaintance. I did 
 
 D 7
 
 74 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 not even know that he lived in Altona until we met 
 at Highborough this morning." 
 
 So that was the end of my incipient romance, as 
 far as she was concerned. She had not come up 
 here lured by the remembered music of a lover's 
 voice or by the magic of his smile. On the whole, 
 I was glad of it. Old maids are " particular," you 
 know; and perhaps I should have liked my young 
 guest the less if I had been forced to think that she 
 had come to the mountains in pursuit of an unac 
 knowledged lover, even one as worthy of a maiden's 
 love as Kenneth Armstrong. 
 
 Dr. Bellinger returned to New York after a few 
 days, during which he gave himself wholly up to 
 the delight of living over again the old boyish days 
 when Altona had been all the world to him. Father 
 and mother were gone, it is true, brothers and sisters 
 were scattered or dead, and the farm had passed into 
 other hands. None of his kindred remained to wel 
 come him. But the wild wood-paths were still the 
 same; the trout-stream brawled and sparkled just as 
 it had done when, a barefoot boy, he had followed 
 its windings all day long ; the school-house looked 
 so strangely familiar that he listened involuntarily 
 for the shout and halloo of boisterous urchins, who 
 had been wrestling with the world for many a year; 
 the blue, overarching sky was just as peaceful and 
 serene, the mountains were as royally magnificent, as 
 when his young heart first thrilled before their solemn 
 grandeur. The thrush and the veery sang as sweetly, 
 the humming-birds darted as blithely from flower to 
 flower, the timid partridges lured him from their
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 75 
 
 nests with tricks as quaint and as human as those 
 their far-off ancestors had used for the same wise pur 
 pose; the very humble-bees droned away in the hot 
 noons as drowsily and tunefully as in the days 
 gone by. 
 
 "And the strawberries are just as red and odorous, 
 and the honey just as sweet," he had said, on the last 
 evening of his stay, as he sat at my table and helped 
 himself liberally to both. " Elsie, when our ship 
 comes in, we will retire from business and make unto 
 ourselves a paradise here in Altona." 
 
 " Say rather, when there are no more sick people 
 in the world," she had answered, laughing, " no 
 more w r ork to be done, and no more wretched, home 
 sick souls for you to look after. We shall not have 
 our paradise yet awhile, Uncle Howard." 
 
 Until after he went, I saw comparatively little of 
 Elsie, for he kept her with him all day long. No 
 spot that had been trodden by his infant feet, but 
 must be visited by hers also. Where he had wan 
 dered, she must wander; where he had rested, she 
 must rest. And, last of all, they went to the grave 
 yard on the hill, and cleared away the weeds and 
 brambles from two half-forgotten graves. 
 
 Neither did he forget the old villagers who had 
 petted him when a boy, nor the farmers who had been 
 friends of his father's, and whose hard yet kindly 
 hands had borne him to his rest. Elsie must see and 
 know them all ; and before she had been a week in 
 Altona she had a larger circle of acquaintance than 
 Kenneth and Clyde had made in all the years of their 
 living there.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE days flew on silver wings, for me, I mean. 
 When I had thought, with a slight feeling of dread, 
 of having my quiet broken in upon by the advent of 
 Elsie Meredith, I had little dreamed what the influx 
 of that fresh young life would be to me ; for it was 
 life in the truest sense. Elsie lived, from the lightest 
 golden wave of her sunny hair to the gayly-slippered 
 feet that peeped from beneath her morning robe. 
 
 " I did not come here to be a trouble to you, dear 
 Miss Rossiter," she said, one morning. " Do not 
 make a ' boarder' of me, but let me take my place as 
 a daughter of the house. May I ?" 
 
 And from that time, even as a daughter might have 
 done, she had gone about the house, adding touches 
 of beauty here and there, giving a new grace to this, 
 a fresher charm to that, tending the flowers, training 
 the vines, and brightening up the old place generally, 
 until it seemed dearer and lovelier than ever. She 
 had brought her books, her music, her work ; and 
 ere long there were traces of her presence everywhere, 
 a graceful disorder that, even to my eyes, was more 
 charming than the prim neatness that had been 
 almost inseparable from my way of living. She per 
 vaded every room. Even the kitchen acknowledged 
 her presence in lighter and more savory omelets, in 
 translucent jellies, and in heaps of snowy foam piled 
 high on tremulous waves of gold. She touched
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 77 
 
 nothing that she did not beautify, if it was only a 
 custard. 
 
 In the long summer afternoons, when the house 
 was still, and the soft, perfumed airs stole in through 
 the open windows, we read and worked and talked 
 together, almost as mother and daughter might have 
 done. Sometimes, it is true, when the sweetness of 
 this new relationship struck me with fresher force, a 
 pang came with it, and, for a moment, I felt as one 
 defrauded of his birthright. The instinct of mother 
 hood was strong within me, as it is in many a woman 
 who lives a lonely, isolated life ; and I could but think 
 how, had the lot appointed me been a different one, 
 fair daughters of my own might now have clustered 
 about me, renewing my youth in the beauty and 
 freshness of their own. 
 
 Kenneth dropped in occasionally, but less fre 
 quently, perhaps, than had been his habit heretofore. 
 As for Clyde, he did not come at all. I had been 
 busy at home, and had not exchanged one word 
 with him since our conversation with regard to Miss 
 Meredith on the day before her arrival. I knew that 
 the old whim still held possession of him, but flat 
 tered myself that if he were let alone he would come 
 to his senses after awhile. 
 
 But one morning, when Elsie had been with me 
 about three weeks, I was out in the yard tying up 
 some carnations, whose heavy buds, swollen almost 
 to bursting, drooped wearily to the ground. Pretty 
 soon, without looking up from my work, I became 
 aware that some one was stealing softly along behind 
 the opposite hedge. Presently he came out, near 
 
 7*
 
 7 8 EXPIATION. 
 
 where I was at work, in a position that was not visible 
 from the front windows of Cozytoft. It was Clyde, 
 as I had suspected. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Rossiter." 
 
 " Good-morning, sir." 
 
 He leaped over the fence. " Aunty, aren't you going 
 to shake hands with me ?" 
 
 "Yes, if you think you deserve it; not otherwise." 
 
 He looked at me keenly, drawing his straw hat 
 farther down over his eyes. But he did not extend 
 his hand. 
 
 " That is for you to decide," he said. " I've been 
 dreadfully lonesome for three weeks, Miss Rossiter." 
 
 " Have you ? I'm glad of it." 
 
 " For three weeks. Just think of it," he went on, 
 not deigning to notice my interruption. " For three 
 weeks I have been banished from Cozytoft, and now 
 you refuse to shake hands with me !" 
 
 " Have I refused ? and who banished you from 
 Cozytoft, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " Why, you did. Aunty, how long is this state of 
 things going to last ? Because I am getting tired of 
 it. If it is to continue, I think seriously of putting 
 an end to myself." 
 
 " Good !" I said. " I honor your pluck and bra 
 very. It is a truly noble thing to be able to shuffle 
 off this mortal coil and not so much as groan over it. 
 What mode of self-destruction do you chiefly affect, 
 pistols, drowning, or the hari-kari ?" 
 
 He turned on his heel and walked off. But by the 
 time I had tied up one more carnation, he was back 
 again.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 79 
 
 " Miss Rossiter, I am thinking of going away to 
 spend the rest of the summer." 
 
 Putting my arm within his, I led him off into the 
 shadow of the shrubbery. 
 
 " How long are you going to keep up this farce, 
 Clyde ? Be a good boy, now, and come and see us 
 this evening." 
 
 " Us !" he repeated. " What kind of a person is 
 this Miss Meredith? an ogress?" 
 
 " You know as well as I do. Don't try to make 
 me believe that you have not watched her going out 
 and her coming in. You know the very shade of 
 her hair and the color of her eyes, that are bluer than 
 your English violets." 
 
 He laughed. " You are a wonderful woman, aunty : 
 omniscient, and omnipresent, and all that sort of 
 thing. But I am afraid of her ; that's the truth. I'm 
 not much used to young ladies, you know ; and I 
 would rather face a regiment. I wish she was in 
 Beloochistan !" 
 
 " I can't stay here to bandy words with you any 
 longer, Clyde," I said ; " I must go in and order dinner. 
 Will you come to see me to-night ?" 
 
 "Where will she be?" 
 
 " In the moon, or making a visit to the planet 
 Jupiter." 
 
 " Then I'll come," he answered, gravely. And, leap 
 ing the fence again, he walked away. 
 
 That afternoon Elsie came down-stairs with her 
 broad-brimmed hat on, a large, thin book under her 
 arm, and a small basket in her hand. 
 
 " Whither awa'?" I asked.
 
 g o EXPIATION. 
 
 " To the woods, after ferns to press," she answered. 
 "They are in full beauty now. And I think the 
 orange-lilies must be out. I found any amount of 
 buds the other day, but no flowers." 
 
 Just before sunset I saw her coming slowly along the 
 cross-lot path through the east meadow, laden with 
 lilies herself, while Clyde Armstrong carried the book, 
 and the basket overflowing with mosses and deli 
 cate, trailing vines. They were chatting like two old 
 friends. Evidently Clyde's terror had been of short 
 duration. He held the gate open for her to pass in, 
 and then followed; a scarcely perceptible shade of 
 embarrassment crossing his features as he caught a 
 glimpse of me upon the piazza. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Rossiter, I have played truant, I fear, 
 and kept tea waiting !" cried Elsie, as she came up 
 the steps and seated herself upon the upper one, 
 throwing off her hat and pushing back the damp, soft 
 curls that clustered about her forehead. " But the 
 woods were so beautiful to-day, and see, I have 
 found such treasures ! Not frankincense and myrrh, 
 but coral and amber and pearls and gold." 
 
 Dr. Bellinger was at once a naturalist and a philan 
 thropist. One could hardly tell which interested him 
 most, a rare fossil, a strange plant, a curious orchid, 
 an odd mollusk, or a singular specimen of the genus 
 homo. If the latter needed help, however, that settled 
 the question, and the Doctor at once turned to the 
 human subject. Elsie possessed the same tastes, 
 either by inheritance or acquirement. Nature was to 
 her a marvel and a mystery ; and she revealed herself 
 to her as to those only who approach her shrine in
 
 EXPIATION. gj 
 
 humblest love and reverence. Whatever Elsie sought 
 she found, whether it was the shyest flower or the 
 tiniest bird's-nest. All wild things seemed to love her. 
 The bees droned on unmindful of her presence ; the 
 birds perked and plumed themselves and sang all the 
 more sweetly when she was listening ; bright-winged 
 moths fluttered about her; the quaintest chrysalides 
 dropped at her feet. The little brown tree-toad would 
 hop upon her arm and sit there blinking quietly. 
 Squirrels would deliberately cross her path, looking 
 at her with fearless eyes. Perhaps it was because she 
 was utterly fearless herself, meeting them with no fine- 
 lady screams and tremors, but upon one broad plane 
 of love and charity. Certain it is that even the creep 
 ing things that to most of us are objects of fear and 
 repulsion, to her eyes were clothed with beauty as 
 with a garment, and she shrank neither from their 
 touch nor their presence. 
 
 So when Elsie spoke to me of her treasures of coral 
 and amber and pearls and gold, I knew there was 
 no girlish exaggeration in the words. While woods 
 waved and stars shone and waters sparkled, all out-of- 
 doors would be to her an Eldorado. 
 
 But how could I help looking at Clyde to see how he 
 had endured an afternoon's ramble with this " ogress" ? 
 He caught my eye and smiled, shaking his head at 
 me from behind Elsie's broad hat, which he had picked 
 up and was garlanding with the small, evergreen 
 wreaths of the partridge-vine. 
 
 "We have had just the pleasantest walk, aunty," 
 he said. " I never knew that the west woods were 
 half so beautiful before." 
 D*
 
 8 2 EXPIATION. 
 
 " That is well," I answered. " But come in and take 
 your tea, both of you. You must be hungry after 
 such a tramp ; ancl Matty's biscuits are impatient to 
 be eaten." 
 
 Just then Kenneth came round the corner, and I 
 called him. 
 
 " Come, Kenneth, we are just going to tea. Won't 
 you join us ?" 
 
 He came up the path with his sweet, rare smile, 
 Kenneth was grave rather than frolicsome, taking 
 off his hat and letting the wind blow his brown locks 
 about. 
 
 " Patsy gave me a cup of tea some time ago," he 
 said. " But I am apt to find your invitations irre 
 sistible, aunty. You know that from sad experience." 
 
 As we seated ourselves at the supper-table, Elsie 
 looked from one to the other with an amused face- 
 
 " How is it that you happen to have two such tall 
 nephews, Miss Rossiter? I do not understand it." 
 
 " Oh, it was ' ordered,' as your Uncle Howard would 
 say. They were alone and I was alone : so we 
 adopted each other." 
 
 A world of merry badinage followed, Elsie pro 
 testing against this order of things as a bit of manifest 
 injustice. 
 
 " To think that you should be ' Miss Rossiter' to 
 me, a member of your own household," she said, 
 " and ' aunty' to these two stalwart youths ! I enter a 
 protest on the spot." 
 
 " Miss Rossiter, how far is it from the Slough of 
 Despond to the Hill Difficulty?" asked Clyde, slyly. 
 " No, you need not look at me for an explanation,
 
 EXPIATION. 83 
 
 Kenneth. This is not a riddle to be read of all 
 men." 
 
 " Be it far or near," I answered, " the Hill dwindles 
 to a molehill as one approaches it. What if Miss 
 Meredith were to be adopted also ?" 
 
 Clyde looked at her with a comical air of anxiety 
 and relief. 
 
 " Miss Meredith, do you suppose you could utter 
 the word ' aunty' in your own behalf?" 
 
 " Not I," she answered, laughing ; " I never follow 
 suit. But how would ' Aunt Margaret' do ?" 
 
 " Capital !" cried Clyde. " 'O rare, pale Margaret !' 
 I'll exchange with you, Miss Meredith. But this is 
 a serious question, ladies." And he went on to dis 
 cuss the various aspects of the case, setting forth the 
 rights, duties, and responsibilities of each of the 
 parties concerned, and at last, on a leaf torn from his 
 diary, drew up, in high-sounding phrase, a sort of a 
 covenant or " act of adoption," to be signed by Elsie 
 and myself. 
 
 Kenneth, meanwhile, sat by, quietly watching the 
 two, with a happy smile playing about the corners 
 of his mouth. Now he laughed outright. 
 
 " I wonder if any one has been far-sighted enough 
 to perceive the other relationships growing out of 
 this wonderful ' act' of Clyde's drawing up ? It is 
 ' signed, sealed, and delivered,' however. There is no 
 escape now for any of us !" 
 
 Elsie looked with bewildered eyes from one to the 
 other. 
 
 Clyde clapped his hands. " Kenneth, you are a 
 very Solomon ! My fair cousin, I salute you across
 
 8 4 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 this vast expanse of tablecloth." And he stretched 
 his hand over the little round table. 
 
 Smiling at him, she placed hers in it for an instant, 
 but withdrew it before he had time to raise it to his 
 lips. 
 
 Meanwhile, Kenneth looked at Clyde much as one 
 would look upon the gambols of a kitten. 
 
 We rose from the table, and went out upon the 
 porch. The light breeze that had rustled the maple- 
 leaves all day had died away. All was soft, sweet, 
 dewy, and still. Two or three stars shone tranquilly 
 amid the blue, and the moon, a pale crescent, hung 
 just above the brow of Mount Hoar. Fireflies were 
 dancing over the meadow, and the long, sad notes of 
 the whip-poor-will sounded from the woods behind 
 Greyholt. The quiet serenity of the night impelled 
 us all to silence. Clyde, who had been in unwonted 
 spirits, for a time resisted its influence, and tried to 
 engage Elsie in a running fire of repartee. But it 
 jarred. 
 
 " Hush !" said Kenneth, laying his hand lightly 
 upon his brother's arm. "Hush, Clyde; in such a 
 night as this, ' silence is golden.' " 
 
 But after awhile he rose softly and went into the 
 parlor, whence he soon returned with Elsie's guitar. 
 
 " ' Silence is golden,' " he said, as he hung the 
 black ribbon about her neck, " unless when it can be 
 broken by music. Miss Meredith, will you sing ?" 
 
 " What shall it be ?" And she struck a few tender 
 chords with fingers that gleamed like ivory in that 
 pale light. 
 
 "What you please. But," he added, after a
 
 EXPIATION. 85 
 
 moment's thought, " I heard you sing the song of 
 Elaine ' the lily maid of Astolat' once." 
 
 "Where and when ?" she asked, lifting her eyes to 
 his. " I do not remember. It is very sad ; but you 
 shall have it, if you will." 
 
 And she sang : 
 
 " Sweet is true love, though given in vain, in vain ; 
 And sweet is death, who puts an end to pain : 
 I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. 
 
 " Love, art thou sweet ? then bitter death must be ; 
 Love, thou art bitter ; sweet is death to me. 
 
 love, if death be sweeter, let me die. 
 
 " Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, 
 Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, 
 
 1 know not which is sweeter, no, not I." 
 
 Elsie's voice was peculiar. I never heard another 
 like it. Not strong in itself, it yet thrilled you with 
 some strange, magnetic power. It was a " thrilling, 
 tender, proud, pathetic voice," like that we read of 
 in "Aurora Leigh," clear as a silver bell and softer 
 than the faintest whisper of the night-wind; a soar 
 ing voice, too, that seemed born not of the flesh but 
 of the spirit. Long afterward, when she had learned 
 to know her well, Patsy said to me, " If that girl 
 ever goes to heaven, she'll have to take that voice 
 of hers along; you see if she don't. They hain't 
 got anything half so sweet up there, I'll bet, with all 
 their harps and things." She did not mean to be 
 irreverent. But there was an individuality about 
 the voice. You could not think of Elsie in earth or 
 heaven apart from it.
 
 86 EXPIATION. 
 
 As she sang, Kenneth stood with folded arms, 
 leaning against a pillar, looking down upon the fair, 
 sweet face upturned in the faint starlight; while Clyde 
 had taken his position at her feet. The latter toyed 
 with the fringe of her shawl, and half leaned toward 
 her, as if drawn by some power stronger than him 
 self, as the notes rose and swelled, then died away in 
 long and lingering cadence. The former wore upon 
 his face the very look that had startled me on the 
 day when Elsie first came to Altona. I had not seen 
 it since ; and so cool and reticent had been his bear 
 ing toward my guest, that I had taken myself to task 
 for my vain imaginings. 
 
 " Go on," he said, in a low, husky voice, as she 
 ceased singing. "Something else, please!" 
 
 Dropping her guitar, she leaned back against the 
 woodbine of the porch, and without accompaniment 
 sang one of those grand old Latin hymns that for 
 countless generations have borne the souls of men 
 up to the very gates of heaven. Her voice soared 
 higher and higher, pure, full, and clear, until it 
 seemed as if those gates were opened and we heard 
 the harpings and the chanting around the great white 
 throne ; then it dropped to earth, like a falling star, 
 and all was still again. 
 
 The mere commonplaces of society seemed out of 
 keeping in Elsie's presence. No one of us thought 
 of complimenting her upon her singing, it would 
 have seemed like profanation. We sat awhile silently, 
 in a rapt, lifted mood, one of those moods in 
 which, doubtless, we hold communion with angels 
 unawares.
 
 EXPIATION. 87 
 
 Then Kenneth unfolded his arms and drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, softly, "thank you. 
 Good-night." 
 
 He laid his hand upon Clyde's shoulder with a 
 touch that said, " Come." And the two brothers 
 went down the garden-path, across the road and 
 under the arched gateway, disappearing at last be 
 neath the overhanging boughs of the maples. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Is it to be 'Elsie,' or 'Miss Meredith/ my fair 
 cousin ? Tell me which, quick ! before I make my 
 morning salutations." 
 
 Such was Clyde's greeting the next morning, as 
 he peeped into the parlor where Elsie was busy with 
 her ferns and grasses. She turned her bright face 
 toward him with a smile. 
 
 "It must be 'Elsie,' I suppose, if the fates have 
 made us cousins. ' Miss Meredith' would be too 
 formal in such a relationship. But, in good truth, I 
 never was over-scrupulous in such matters. You 
 will not " 
 
 She hesitated, and Clyde said, softly, 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " You will not, I am sure, be any more likely to 
 forget what is due to me as a lady because you call 
 me by the name my mother gave me."
 
 88 EXPIATION. 
 
 A quick flush rose to his forehead. "Thank 
 you," he said, bowing over her hand with a low 
 reverence. " You shall never repent doing me this 
 grace." 
 
 There was a silence between them for a moment : 
 Elsie's thoughts were wandering back into her past. 
 
 " My mother," she said, softly, at last, " she is 
 like a beautiful myth to me, and nothing more. Do 
 you remember yours ?" 
 
 Clyde started, and a look of bewilderment and pain 
 swept over his face. It was like the sudden, unex 
 plained terror of a child who peers into the darkness 
 in seach of it knows not what. His cheeks blanched, 
 and his features contracted. 
 
 Elsie, generally calm and self-controlled, gave a 
 little scream of dismay. " Oh, what have I done ? 
 what have I said ?" she cried. " Mr. Armstrong, you 
 are ill. What can I do for you ?" 
 
 Her voice seemed to restore him to himself. He 
 passed his hand over his eyes and pushed back the 
 hair that had fallen upon his forehead. Great drops 
 of sweat stood like beads upon his temples. 
 
 " It is nothing," he said, in a voice that trembled a 
 little, " it is nothing ; a momentary spasm, that is 
 all. What were we talking about ?" 
 
 I had passed out of the parlor soon after Clyde 
 came in, so that I had not heard their conversation. 
 An hour afterward, Elsie came to my room, where I 
 was busy with some sewing, and narrated the above 
 episode. 
 
 " It is the strangest thing," she said. " What can 
 it mean, Aunt Margaret ?" We had already made a
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 8 9 
 
 compact of our own that that should be her name for 
 me henceforth. " Can it be possible that, after the 
 lapse of so many years, the mere mention of his 
 mother could affect him so powerfully? Besides," 
 she added, slowly, as if going through with some 
 process of mental analysis, " his emotion seemed to 
 spring less from grief than from dread and horror. 
 I shall never speak to him of Mrs. Armstrong again ; 
 that is certain." 
 
 " It is best that you should not," I answered. " I 
 should have warned you. Years ago, when the 
 family first came to Altona, it became evident that, 
 for some reason, the last Mrs. Armstrong was not 
 to be talked about. I doubt if Clyde has heard her 
 so much as alluded to from that day to this." 
 
 " But strangers like myself " 
 
 " They seldom see strangers ; and they have but 
 little intercourse with the village people. There is 
 some mystery about Clyde's mother, Elsie. So much 
 it is only right that you should know. Six years 
 ago I laughed at Patsy for saying so ; but it is the 
 truth, nevertheless." 
 
 Elsie remained quiet for some time ; then she said, 
 " What do you think it is, Aunt Margaret ?" 
 
 " I do not know, dear ; I cannot even guess. Of 
 course the most natural supposition is that she dis 
 graced her family in some way, and that her memory 
 is exquisitely painful to them, especially to Clyde. 
 They seem to try to forget her utterly, to make her 
 even as if she had never been." 
 
 " It is terrible !" said Elsie. And as the slight 
 tremor in her voice made me look up from my work, 
 
 8*
 
 9 o 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 I saw that her cheek was flushed and large tears were 
 stealing over it unnoticed. " Oh, I am sorry for her, 
 Aunt Margaret ! No matter what she did, she was 
 Clyde's mother. She had borne the unutterable 
 anguish for him, she had played with his baby curls, 
 and pillowed his head upon her breast. Just to die 
 why, that were nothing ! But to be so forgotten, so 
 ignored, to be such an outcast from love and 
 memory, oh, it is terrible! Aunt Margaret, what 
 ever she may have done, one can have only pity for 
 her!" 
 
 " That some sin of hers was the foundation of all 
 this sorrowful mystery," I answered, " it is impossible 
 for me to doubt. But God's mercy is infinite, his 
 love is long-enduring. We will believe that his great 
 compassion sought her out in her wanderings, and 
 that she is now in some far land where she is done 
 with grief and tears. Perhaps she is sorry for us, 
 Elsie, and for her children, who are not done with 
 earth and earthly sorrows." 
 
 " When did she die, Aunt Margaret?" 
 "In 185 1 ; a little while before they came here." 
 " Her husband what sort of a man was he ?" 
 " He may have been a stern man in his younger 
 days. Probably he was. But he was noble and 
 upright. He led an utterly blameless life here ; and 
 his devotion to Clyde was most touching." 
 " A Christian, Aunt Margaret ?" 
 " That depends upon what you mean by the word. 
 He believed that Christ was the Way, the Truth, 
 and the Life ; and I think that he strove to follow 
 Him, even though afar off. He was reticent, like
 
 EXPIATION. gi 
 
 Kenneth. He did not ' wear his heart upon his 
 sleeve,' even in religious matters." 
 
 Elsie drew a long breath, and laid her head upon 
 my lap, while her hand sought mine. " I am glad 
 he was good," she said, simply. 
 
 For a few days I imagined that Elsie held herself 
 somewhat aloof from the two young men. This little 
 shadow of mystery had startled her, as I could plainly 
 see. The dead mother came up between her and 
 them. But the impression wore off after awhile ; and 
 before many weeks had passed, I became aware that 
 the leaves of the old, yet ever new, romance were 
 being slowly turned before my eyes. 
 
 Between Elsie and Clyde there had grown up 
 perhaps sprang up would be the better phrase the 
 frankest and most brotherly and sisterly affection. 
 He hovered about her as a bee about a flower. He 
 made constant demands upon her : his gloves needed 
 mending, and Patsy was busy ; there was a new flower 
 in his conservatory, and Elsie must needs see it ; his 
 pet " seabright" had come off the nest with a brood 
 of animated puff-balls no larger than her thimble, 
 and they waited her inspection ; he had found the 
 rarest spray of clematis, and she must paint it, with 
 feathery mosses for a background ; he was tired, and 
 she must read to him ; his head ached, and only 
 music could cure it. He brought her the earliest 
 fruits, and the loveliest flowers, arranged as only he 
 could arrange them. The glory of the sunset paled 
 unless she saw it with him ; the stars lost half their 
 brightness when they ceased to shine on her. 
 
 Yet, with all this, there was such open, boyish
 
 g 2 EXPIATION. 
 
 frankness in his manner toward her, such an excess 
 of demonstration, so to speak ; he spoke so freely 
 of his admiration for her; he tried to monopolize 
 her in such a peremptory, childlike way, that it was 
 impossible to think it seemed absurd to think 
 that any deeper feeling underlay it all. And she met 
 him in the same spirit. The most casual observer 
 could have seen that her heart held for Clyde only 
 the calmest and most passionless affection. 
 
 Between her and Kenneth there was a slight, im 
 palpable veil of reserve. It was not coldness; it was 
 not distance. Indeed, they drew very near each 
 other, but they did not touch. It was not a cloud. 
 It was more like the filmy gossamer that sometimes 
 lies upon the roses in the cool, dewy freshness of a 
 summer morning, and which vanishes utterly when 
 once the sun arises. When their sun arose, this 
 would vanish also. 
 
 For Kenneth loved her. I who knew him so well 
 read this secret clearly. He had loved her, I was 
 satisfied, even before she came to Altona. Very pos 
 sibly it had then been but an incipient love, of which 
 he was hardly conscious, one of young manhood's 
 sweet, intangible dreams, from which the shock of 
 grief had partially awakened him. 
 
 But, whatever it might have been then, now it had 
 grown to be the one love that should color his whole 
 life. Not that he betrayed this by any unmanly weak 
 ness ; not that there was anything in his words or 
 bearing at which the most fastidious delicacy could 
 have taken alarm. As I have so often said, he was 
 strong and reticent. He could wait. He would not
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 93 
 
 uncover the seed to see if it had sprouted. He 
 would not tear open the rosebud that he might drink 
 in its fragrance before the time. Sometime, please 
 God, he would woo and win this fair girl, this peer 
 less woman, and she should be his, his wife, the 
 crown and glory of his manhood. But he could be 
 patient, as nature is patient, and wait for the develop 
 ment of fruit and flower. 
 
 For Kenneth Armstrong knew that if he did not 
 frighten her by undue precipitancy, he could win 
 Elsie Meredith's love. He knew that he was strong 
 enough, that his love was potent enough, to draw 
 her to himself if only he had wisdom and patience. 
 But her nature could not be forced or hurried. It 
 must turn slowly and deliberately to the man of her 
 choice; and, once having turned, it would henceforth 
 know "neither variableness nor shadow of turning." 
 
 Do not think that he told me this. He was the 
 last man on earth who would have babbled of his 
 loves or his griefs. Some things I saw, and my own 
 intuitions taught me much. But in telling this story 
 I must occasionally blend the knowledge I now have 
 with that which I then had, and look at things from 
 the vantage-ground that the years have given me. 
 
 I have said that there was a slight veil of reserve 
 between himself and Elsie. I think he was well 
 pleased that it should be there. He would brush it 
 away upon some day of days. Meanwhile it was 
 sweet to dream of all that lay behind it. 
 
 It was easy to see that Clyde's affection for Elsie 
 gave Kenneth great delight. Ever since his father 
 died, he had thought first of his brother, then of
 
 94 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 himself. Now as he looked down the years he saw 
 how much this girl whom he loved, and who in his 
 heart of hearts he believed as he had reason to 
 believe was beginning to love him, would be to 
 Clyde also. She would make a home for him too. 
 It would be a new interest in his life. They would 
 have so much in common : every flower that bloomed, 
 every star that shone, every bird that sang, every 
 insect that danced its brief life away in the summer 
 sunshine, would be an additional bond between them. 
 Clyde loved music too, although he was not a musi 
 cian himself; and Elsie's rare voice would be to him 
 a source of never-failing joy. 
 
 And, by-and-by, it might be that God would send 
 fair children to call him father, and to climb upon 
 his knee. His heart beat quicker at this thought, 
 and a mist of happy tears gathered in his eyes. Yet 
 even then his gladness was half for Clyde. They 
 should be his children also, brightening his life with 
 their innocent joyousness, and making of it a still 
 dearer and fairer thing. 
 
 For no dream of Clyde's marriage ever flitted 
 across Kenneth's brain, even in the night-watches. 
 No child of Clyde's smiled out of the far future, with 
 its father's great dark eyes, tossing back from its 
 white forehead rich waves of tawny hair. 
 
 To all of us it seemed that Elsie's influence over 
 Clyde was something to rejoice in. He was calmer 
 in his moods, more quiet and self-controlled ; he 
 seemed less passionate, less the child of impulse, that 
 summer than ever before. Then she enlarged his 
 circle of interests, and brought him into closer rela-
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 95 
 
 tions with his kind. For her uncle's sake, Elsie kept 
 in her heart a warm place for all who had known or 
 loved him in his boyhood. She had the power, which 
 it may be both the brothers lacked, of adapting her 
 self to all classes of people. She was at home alike 
 with the rich and the poor, the high and the low, the 
 learned and the unlearned. The little ragged bare 
 foot boys who brought me trout from the mountain 
 streams were as interesting to her as the " curled 
 darlings of fortune" who walked with their French 
 nurses on Broadway or the avenues. But, aside 
 from all this, she conscientiously kept up her acquaint 
 ance with all those whom her uncle had pointed out 
 to her as his old friends. She remembered who had 
 given him the little spotted pig that he had carried 
 home through the woods, in a bag slung over his 
 shoulder ; in whose hill-pastures he had gone a-black- 
 berrying ; who had shod his first colt, and who had 
 taught him how to make willow whistles. She knew 
 the women who had been kind to him ; which one 
 had knitted him the striped mittens ; which had made 
 " turn-overs" for him ; and which had kissed him and 
 bade God bless him when he started out to seek his 
 fortune. She visited them all, until her smile and 
 voice became familiar pleasures, and the little children 
 nestled at her feet, or clung to her garments with 
 beseeching hands. 
 
 Sometimes Kenneth went with her; sometimes I 
 went ; but oftenest Clyde, who had constituted him 
 self her knight-errant, ready at all times to do her 
 will and wander wherever she bade him. But 
 through her, both the young men were brought
 
 9 6 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 more frequently in contact with their neighbors. In 
 some way she bridged over the chasm between them ; 
 or, when she could not do that, she threw an electric 
 chain of thought across, upon which their sympathies 
 passed and re-passed. 
 
 " If this Elsie of yourn had lived in Salem in the 
 days when they was a-making such a fuss about the 
 witches," said Patsy, one morning, " she'd ha' been 
 took up, forzino." 
 
 " Why so ? " I asked, smiling as I mentally con 
 trasted my sweet, golden-haired Elsie with the with 
 ered and wrinkled crones who had suffered on Witch 
 Hill. 
 
 " Oh, I do' know," she answered. " There's no 
 denying of her anything. I expect if she should 
 ask me for my head, I should take it right off and 
 give it to her. I hain't any other idee. It's wonder 
 ful how she gets round folks and makes 'em like her 
 whether or no. Dennis he thinks the ground ain't 
 good enough for her to tread on. The way he does 
 bow and scrape and touch that old hat of hisn when 
 ever he gets a glimpse of her is a caution to common 
 folks. And as for big dictionary words, the minister 
 ain't no comparison ! What are you laughing at, 
 Miss Rossiter?" 
 
 " At Dennis's ' dictionary words,' as you call 
 them," I answered. " How do you think he twisted 
 the King's English about, in order to tell Clyde he 
 had been driving too fast last night ?" 
 
 Patsy shook her head. " Couldn't guess. Only 
 I'm sure he went round Robin Hood's barn with it. 
 Where there's two roads, he allus takes the longest."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 97 
 
 " ' Misther Clyde,' he said, ruefully, smoothing 
 down the Brownie's chestnut mane, and pointing to 
 some tiny flecks of foam upon his sides, ' Misther 
 Clyde, there's no animal in nayture that, when 
 animated, its constitution will withstand being druv 
 beyont its liabilities !' " 
 
 " That's near-about equal to what he said to me 
 about the eggs." And Patsy's eyes twinkled. " It was 
 last winter, and Dennis was dreadful careless about 
 bringing of 'em in ; and if he hadn't been, the nest- 
 eggs was all the while getting froze. So one day, 
 when I was down to the store, I happened to see 
 some o' them new-fangled china ones, and thinks I 
 to myself, ' I'll try 'em.' So I bought half a dozen 
 of 'em, and took 'em home and showed 'em to 
 Dennis. He was as tickled as a boy with a new top, 
 and says he, ' Miss Patsy,' he never says ' Miss' to 
 me only when he feels oncommon good-natured, 
 ' Miss Patsy, them eggs '11 make them hens lay 
 spon-to;/-eously, without root or culture !' I thought 
 that was settin' of 'em up pretty high ; but we did 
 get more eggs afterwards, that's a fact."
 
 9 8 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IT was in June that Elsie first came to me ; and I 
 think it must have been some time along in September 
 when I first began to perceive that something troubled 
 her. She was not given to tears or sighing, and her 
 uneasiness betrayed itself chiefly in a sort of restless 
 activity that drove her from one employment to 
 another with scarce a moment's cessation. She 
 seemed to be striving not to think. Something, I 
 fancied, had come between her and Kenneth. 
 
 That it would all come out right in the end I did not 
 doubt, for I had unlimited faith in both ; and less ob 
 servant eyes than mine might have seen that there was 
 a strong mutual attraction. So I consoled myself 
 by remembering that while " the course of true love 
 never did run smooth," it was pretty sure to overrule 
 all obstacles and triumph at last. 
 
 Meanwhile I watched them tenderly, weaving this 
 one golden thread of romance into the brown "warp 
 and woof" of my daily living. Elsie became a curious 
 study to me. It was not long before I began to see 
 that when out of Kenneth's presence she was dis 
 posed to be cool and critical, to weigh him in the 
 balances of her judgment, to test him in the crucible 
 of her reason. Something that she had seen in him, 
 or missed in him, I could not tell which, had 
 aroused her from love's first unquestioning dream, 
 and she was trying to look at him with clear eyes,
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 99 
 
 undimmed by mists or glamour. On the other hand, 
 I saw that the charm of his presence was as potent 
 as ever. She would enter the room where he waited 
 her coming, incased, as it were, in armor of steel. 
 Cool, quiet, and self-controlled, she would seat her 
 self at a distance from him, and for awhile their con 
 versation would remain upon a dead level, never 
 rising above commonplaces. If her eyes met his, it 
 would be with scarce a gleam of soul-recognition in 
 their blue depths. But ere long, some word, or tone, 
 or look of Kenneth's would touch the electric chord, 
 and her whole being would respond, as the harp 
 responds to the touch of the master. It was pretty 
 to watch her then : to see the slow color come stealing 
 to her cheek, to see the frost of her manner dissolve, 
 to see the lines of her face grow soft and gentle, and 
 her eyes light up with warm and tender radiance. 
 Finally the armor of steel would drop off noiselessly, 
 some unaccountable change of position would bring 
 them nearer together, until at length they would be 
 sitting side by side, the brown hair and the golden 
 in dangerous proximity. 
 
 Then Clyde would come straying in, if, indeed, he 
 had not been there before, and, throwing himself 
 upon the carpet at their feet, with his elbow resting 
 upon a low ottoman, would claim his share of the 
 warmth and brightness. And it was never denied 
 him. 
 
 Elsie had expected to return to New York about 
 the first of October ; but before the woods had begun 
 to kindle their autumnal fires there came a letter 
 from Dr. Bellinger which changed all her plans.
 
 ICO EXPIATION. 
 
 Some unlooked-for business emergency called him 
 abroad, and he wrote to request Elsie to remain in 
 Altona until his return, in December. Meanwhile 
 their house in West Fourteenth Street was to be 
 shut up. 
 
 She was both glad and sorry. And I, watching 
 quietly the little drama that was being played before 
 me, felt sure that a large part of both the gladness 
 and the sorrow grew out of her relation to Kenneth 
 Armstrong. I began to wonder if there was any 
 other lover in the case, if her feet had become 
 entangled in any of the nets that are continually 
 spreading themselves in the path of young maiden 
 hood. Many a girl becomes caught in some flimsy 
 web, seemingly the veriest gossamer, yet from which 
 she finds it impossible to extricate herself; and this 
 web, woven by the wrong hand, holds her heart a 
 restless prisoner, so that it cannot answer the call 
 of its true lord and master. Then, again, it was very 
 possible that she did not read the story of Kenneth's 
 devotion as I read it. Clyde was evidently unsus 
 picious, and perhaps her perceptions were at fault in 
 this matter. 
 
 But, at all events, after a day's unrest, she quietly 
 settled herself for a stay of two or three months 
 longer in Altona ; so planning her life, however, so 
 crowding the hours, as to leave little leisure for 
 dreaming. 
 
 One still day, early in October, we four Elsie, 
 Kenneth, Clyde, and myself were all in my little 
 parlor. Elsie, in a dark-blue dress, relieved only by 
 soft laces at throat and wrists and the two or three
 
 EXPIATION. IOI 
 
 bright curls that drooped from her heavy golden coil, 
 sat at her easel painting a wreath of autumn leaves ; 
 and I was busy with some bit of needle-work. Clyde 
 was fluttering about as usual, now chirruping to my 
 canary, now quarreling with Elsie as to the arrange 
 ment of her picture, with learned arguments pro and 
 con, now making a confused medley of the contents 
 of my work-basket, and anon laying sacrilegious 
 hands upon the guitar that lay upon the table. 
 
 " What are you trying to do, Clyde ?" said Kenneth, 
 at last, as a low, pathetic strain died away in horrible 
 discord. " Is that a tune, or not ?" And he clapped 
 both hands over his ears. 
 
 "A compliment to my musical abilities!" Clyde 
 answered, with a gay laugh. " I was playing ' The 
 Harp that once through Tara's Halls/ and you coolly 
 ask me if it is a tune.' Where are your ears, sir?" 
 
 "Just released from a state of torture," was the 
 reply. " Sit down and keep quiet, Clyde, for I have 
 something to read to the ladies." 
 
 "Not I; I am not in a listening mood just now. 
 But read away, Kenneth ; I'll be back presently." And 
 very soon we heard him calling to Dennis as he strode 
 up the hill in the direction of the conservatory. 
 
 " What have you there ?" I asked, as Kenneth drew 
 a small volume from his pocket. 
 
 " Nothing new," he answered. " But will you hear 
 ' The Lotus-Eaters ' ? This dreamy, misty, Indian- 
 summer-like day gives us the very atmosphere in 
 which the poem should be read." 
 
 " Let us go out-of-doors to hear it, then," said Elsie, 
 pushing back her easel, " out in the pine-woods, back 
 
 9 *
 
 102 EXPIATION. 
 
 of Greyholt. Here's your shawl, Aunt Margaret, and 
 I will get mine in a trice." 
 
 We followed in Clyde's footsteps, putting our heads 
 in at the open sashes of the conservatory for an instant 
 to tell him where to find us, and then went on into 
 the dim and fragrant silences where pines and hem 
 locks reigned supreme. All was warm and sweet 
 and still ; and there, leaning against a fallen, moss- 
 grown giant, Kenneth read to us : 
 
 " In the afternoon they came unto a land 
 In which it seemed always afternoon. 
 All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream." 
 
 And so, on and on, until he came to the fifth stanza 
 of the choric song: 
 
 " How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 
 With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
 Falling asleep in a half-dream!" 
 
 Kenneth was a remarkably fine reader, and as he 
 half chanted the dreamy poem in a low, dreamy mon 
 otone, in the light of that dreamy afternoon, all life 
 seemed indeed to resolve itself into a dream. Toil 
 seemed a curse, labor a weariness, and we mere motes 
 and atoms in the sunshine, to be drifting, drifting, on 
 some slow, resistless current silently to the end. I 
 saw Elsie's cheek flush and pale, and the shadows 
 deepen in her eyes as he read : 
 
 " Is there any peace 
 
 In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave, 
 In silence ripen, fall and cease : 
 Give us long rest or death, dark death or dreamful ease."
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 103 
 
 But as he went on, " How sweet it were," etc., she 
 started from her seat and laid her hand over the page. 
 
 " Stop !" she cried, " stop ! Do not read any more. 
 Stop !" 
 
 Kenneth looked at her in astonishment, and im 
 prisoned the "rash intruding" hand in his, for an 
 instant, ere he closed the book. 
 
 " Not another line, then," he said, tossing the volume 
 upon the ground. " But what is the trouble ?" 
 
 Instead of replying, she turned suddenly away 
 from him, while tears rained from her eyes. After a 
 moment she strayed away from us, farther back into 
 the woods. 
 
 Kenneth turned to me with a troubled, questioning 
 glance. 
 
 " Leave her to herself," I said. " She will be 
 back presently. The words of the poet touched 
 some chord in her nature that vibrated too keenly. 
 That is all." 
 
 After awhile I saw her returning by an indirect 
 path, with a sweet, shy air of embarrassment hover 
 ing about her like a new charm. But she went 
 straight up to Kenneth, with flushed cheeks and wet, 
 starry eyes. 
 
 " Forgive me," she said. " I fear I was rude. 
 But, oh ! that poem pained me more than I can 
 tell." 
 
 He shook his head as in deprecation of her apology. 
 Then, smiling, he answered, 
 
 " You must do penance by explaining yourself. 
 Why did it pain you ?" 
 
 " I do not know that I can tell you," she said.
 
 I04 EXPIATION. 
 
 " I believe it was the unutterable weariness betrayed 
 in that prayer for rest. Yet it is the weariness of 
 stagnation, not of toil." 
 
 She picked up the book, and turned over the leaves, 
 
 murmuring, 
 
 " But evermore 
 
 Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar, 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam." 
 
 " We are all dreamers, more or less," she went on ; 
 " but I want no poems in praise of dreaming, unless it 
 may be the dream of doing. And even then, unless 
 the brave dream culminates in a brave deed, I fail to 
 see where the good comes in. I feel like crying, ' The 
 pity of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it !' " 
 
 " But," said Kenneth, after a long pause, and utter 
 ing the words as with a painful effort, " there are 
 people in the world who have lost even the dream of 
 doing." 
 
 " But why should they lose it ?" she answered, 
 turning toward him impetuously. " Why should any 
 man, how can any man, be content to sit down in 
 dreamy idleness, however beautiful or however aes 
 thetic it may be ? Self-culture may be all very well, 
 of course it is well. But it must be culture with 
 an end in view, springing not merely from a wish 
 to grow into a fuller, nobler manhood one's self, 
 but from a desire to do one's best for God and for 
 humanity. There is so much to be done, there are 
 so many fields white with the harvest, and the laborers 
 are few. Yet the great God moves chiefly through 
 human agencies, and shall his work stand still while 
 men are dreamers or idlers ?"
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 105 
 
 Elsie's words were uttered in a tone of strong 
 appeal, and I saw that they thrilled Kenneth from 
 head to foot. He looked at her for a moment, as in 
 the days of old a man might have looked upon an 
 inspired sibyl who stood before him in vestal purity 
 declaring the oracles of God. Then his eyes dropped 
 beneath her searching glances. 
 
 " ' They also serve who only stand and wait,' " he 
 repeated, in a low, constrained voice. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " if they can do nothing better. 
 But most of us can. You can, Kenneth Armstrong. 
 Yet you are dreaming your days away in this valley 
 of repose, you, who might be working so grandly 
 for God and for man ; you, who might be carving out 
 for yourself a place and a name that should shine 
 out through the ages, a guiding star to myriads of 
 wandering feet." 
 
 I saw it all now. It was out of the trouble and 
 perplexity of her own heart that these stinging words 
 were wrung. To Elsie's earnest, thoughtful eyes 
 Kenneth seemed an idler, a mere dreamer. It was 
 not strange ; for even I, who had known all his 
 young ambitions, found myself often at fault con 
 cerning him. 
 
 He did not answer her ; and after a little she went 
 on, speaking as if it were a painful task to which she 
 had forced herself and which must be gone through 
 with : 
 
 " It was said in New York it was whispered 
 
 about in society that you were ambitious both to 
 
 do and to be ; that you were so earnest a student, so 
 
 indefatigable a worker. Great things were prophesied 
 
 E*
 
 IO 6 EXPIATION. 
 
 of and for you. Yet you have put off the harness 
 even before it had become fitted to your shoulders ; 
 you have ceased working even before it is noon 
 day." 
 
 The voice, which had been strong and clear when 
 she began to speak, ringing out like a bugle - call, 
 faltered and broke. Her momentary strength had 
 departed, and the sibyl, the pythoness, sank or shall 
 I say rose ? into the gentle, loving woman. A 
 wondrous pity shone out of her violet eyes as she 
 crept nearer to Kenneth and laid her hand upon his 
 knee. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, "I have hurt, I have 
 wounded you." 
 
 Well might she say so ; for, though his eyes and 
 forehead were buried in his hand, his cheek was 
 blanched to the hue of marble. 
 
 " I did not wish to wound you," she went on, almost 
 like a penitent child. " I am sorry. But, oh ! I have 
 felt that I must say this, so long, so long !" 
 
 At the pleading voice, his hand was slowly with 
 drawn from the eyes it hid, and he laid it lightly 
 upon her head. Only for an instant. Then, 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive," he said, in a low, 
 tender voice. " Nothing at all. You have spoken 
 strong and noble words, and I honor you for them. 
 They were true words, too, as uttered from your 
 stand-point. But I cannot explain what justly seems 
 so strange to you. There is but one thing for me to 
 say. A man's work cannot be measured until the 
 day is ended and the labor done. If I may not bring 
 in full sheaves to lay at the Master's feet, I will drop
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 TO/ 
 
 my gleanings there at nightfall, and perhaps He will 
 accept them." 
 
 This had gone far enough, and I was thankful that 
 sounds in the distance gave me an excuse for turning 
 the conversation into a different channel. 
 
 " ' Could we but keep our spirits at this height/ " 
 I quoted, lightly, " we should not need bread and 
 butter. ' But this clay will sink its spark immortal ;' 
 and here come Clyde, Patsy, and Dennis, laden with 
 what looks marvelously like food for the flesh. I 
 prophesy that we are to have an impromptu feast in 
 this sylvan solitude. What say you ?" 
 
 Kenneth rose, and shaking himself as one who 
 would fain throw off a burden of unwelcome thought, 
 peered under the hemlock-boughs at the small pro 
 cession advancing toward us. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," he said, smiling with 
 lips, if not with eyes; " 'yonder cloud' is 'shaped like 
 a camel,' or 'backed like a weasel,' or it is 'very like 
 a whale,' just as your ladyship pleases to have it." 
 
 " I please to have it neither the one nor the other, 
 good Polonius," I answered. " I'm hungry. Clyde, 
 you are a jewel ! Sweet friends, here be peaches 
 and cream, biscuits that are amber without and snow 
 within, yellow drifts of sponge-cake, and dried beef 
 as tender and delicate as rose-leaves." 
 
 "And, feth, here is the tay in the tay-pot, yer 
 honor," said Dennis, looking about him in dire dis 
 may at his inability to touch his hat with both hands 
 full ; " and here is the tay-kettle. It was not aisy to 
 carry them through the woods without spillin' a drop, 
 or gettin' a bit of a scratch upon the shinin' sides of
 
 I0 8 EXPIATION. 
 
 aither one. But Misther Clyde threatened to hould 
 a dissolution over me head if the laste harm befell 
 to 'em." 
 
 " A ' dissolution,' Dennis ? Pray what might that 
 be?" 
 
 " Indade, it's not meself that's knowin', yer honor." 
 And Dennis, carefully depositing his precious burden 
 upon a rock that stood "convaynient," had at last 
 the satisfaction of paying due reverence to Elsie, 
 who had asked the question. "But I'll take me oath 
 upon it, it was a 'dissolution' that he said should be 
 held over me if the laste scratch came upon the lid 
 of the tay-pot" 
 
 "An execution, an execution, Dennis!" cried 
 Clyde, with a merry peal of laughter. " I said there 
 would be an execution on the spot, not a 'dissolu 
 tion.' You see," he went on, "I laid violent hands 
 upon sundry of Patsy's treasures, and I feel bound 
 to take the best possible care of them by proxy." 
 
 " I should think so," I said, as I lifted the cover 
 of one of the wicker baskets. " Tea-cups as fragile 
 as egg-shells, and a solid silver tea-pot for a picnic 
 in the woods ! I don't wonder that Patsy looks dis 
 turbed in spirit." 
 
 " Poor Patsy! I'll make myself a very Puck for the 
 rest of the evening, and 'put a girdle round about 
 the earth in forty minutes,' if such is her pleasure. 
 That will set the matter straight, if my good angels 
 will only take care of the tea-cups!" 
 
 And a very Puck he was, truly, until the deepen 
 ing shadows warned us home, the merriest, mad 
 dest, tricksiest sprite that ever turned the world
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 109 
 
 upside down, doing mischief in unknown quantities, 
 sinning and repenting in a breath. But I was thank 
 ful for even a disturbing element that afternoon. 
 Kenneth and Elsie were both more quiet than usual; 
 and had it not been for Clyde's sallies, which covered 
 their silence and kept Patsy and Dennis in smothered 
 convulsions, his little feast, beautiful as it was with 
 fruit and flowers, odorous with the resinous breath 
 of the pine-trees, and musical as with the harpings 
 of many harpers, would hardly have been a success. 
 
 It was nearly dusk when we got home. Elsie 
 hesitated for a moment; and then, taking a lamp from 
 the mantel, she said, 
 
 " I am very tired, Aunt Margaret, and I think I will 
 go directly to my room. Good-night." 
 
 She kissed me and went up-stairs. 
 
 But when, three hours afterward, I went up to my 
 own chamber, her door stood slightly ajar, and I 
 looked in. She was lying upon the bed in a soft 
 cashmere wrapper, with her face turned toward the 
 wall. 
 
 I went in and bent over her. 
 
 " Are you asleep ?" I asked. " I fear you will take 
 cold." 
 
 She looked at me with wide-awake eyes. 
 
 " No," she said ; " I am only tired." 
 
 I took her hand, which was hot and feverish. 
 " You are ill, I am afraid. Let me do something for 
 you, dear child." 
 
 " Not ill, either," she answered. " Perhaps I am 
 a little ashamed of myself. I do not quite know 
 whether I am or not. Aunt Margaret, am I like a 
 
 10
 
 IIO EXPIATION. 
 
 little dog baying at the moon ? Tell me." And she 
 drew me with gentle violence down upon the bed 
 beside her. 
 
 I smiled, but shook my head. " Do not ask me 
 that question," I said. " I cannot answer it." 
 
 " Yet you know him so much better than I do. 
 Aunt Margaret, you do not know I cannot tell 
 you but I have been so disappointed in Kenneth 
 Armstrong. And this afternoon I could not help 
 speaking." 
 
 " How disappointed ?" I asked. 
 
 " I am not sure that I can make you understand 
 it," she answered. " I did not know him intimately 
 in New York ; but still we met often enough for me 
 to learn his rare qualities of head and heart. Then 
 many of the professors and students in the medical 
 college were friends of his and of mine, and I heard 
 his praises chanted in most glowing terms. I heard 
 him spoken of as one who was fired by all lofty 
 ambitions ; one who would be willing to do all, to 
 dare all, to suffer all, if need be, for the furtherance 
 of grand and noble ends ; one who was sure to accom 
 plish great things for science, for the world, and for 
 himself. Yes, for himself; and I honored him none 
 the less for that. I would like my hero to stand 
 upon some lofty pedestal in the strong light of noon 
 day ; and that so standing, the searching eyes of the 
 multitude might be able to find no spot or blemish 
 in him. Then, after awhile, I heard that his father 
 was dead, and that he had left town." 
 
 A soft flush stole up to her white forehead, and she 
 turned to me with eager, questioning eyes.
 
 EXPIA TION. ! 1 1 
 
 "What is it, Aunt Margaret? I am puzzled at 
 myself and at him. He has disappointed his friends ; 
 he has fallen out of the ranks, and the great army is 
 going on to conquest and to victory without him ; 
 he is, as I told him, dreaming his days away in a sort 
 of aesthetic idleness. Yet as he answered my tirade 
 to-day, the grand patience of the man seemed to me 
 almost godlike ; it made the not-doing seem as noble 
 as the doing. It was the old story, the little dog 
 baying at the moon, and the moon shining on un 
 moved by all the clamor." 
 
 " But the moon was moved in this case, and very 
 perceptibly," I answered. " So the similitude ceases 
 at once. I cannot throw any light upon the matter, 
 Elsie. It is as great a mystery to me as to you. But 
 this much I do believe. Kenneth Armstrong is 
 obeying the voice of some real or fancied duty. 
 Men have died ere this for an idea, a mere fiction of 
 the brain ; and he has in him the stuff of which 
 martyrs are made. He would go to the gibbet or to 
 the stake for a principle." 
 
 " He and Clyde are so unlike," she said. " One is 
 the steel, the other the flint. I have sometimes won 
 dered what the effect would be if the two natures 
 should ever come in sharp collision." 
 
 " There would be an explosion, probably. But it 
 will never happen, I think; for their devotion to each 
 other is as unusual as it is beautiful." 
 
 Elsie lay silent for a few moments. Then she 
 said, with a little toss of her head in the direction of 
 Greyholt,
 
 H2 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Which is master over there, Kenneth or Clyde ? 
 Every house must have a head." 
 
 " Kenneth, nominally, as the elder, while Clyde 
 has his own way in most minor matters. Neverthe 
 less, I think Kenneth would rule in an emergency. 
 But look here, my child. Your watch points to the 
 ' wee sma' hours ayont the twal.' It is time you 
 were asleep." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 YES, I know it. Some things, O my reader, you 
 must take for granted. Some things you must 
 believe, not because I prove them, but because I say 
 that they are so. 
 
 Yet there is truth, and a certain force, in the charge 
 that you bring against me. You say that while I 
 tell you that Clyde was passionate, wayward, self- 
 willed, obstinate, and often moody, you have read ten 
 mortal chapters of this book, and have seen no evi 
 dence of it. There has been a little display of play 
 ful petulance. That is all. You say that I should 
 show him to you as he was. 
 
 Ah, dear friends, I loved the boy, and I want you 
 to love him too. If God had laid a child upon my 
 breast whose poor little body was in some way 
 deformed and distorted, do you think I would strip 
 off the veiling garments and show you all the un- 
 sightliness ? No. I would cover the limbs with full 
 and softly-flowing robes, and no eyes save those that
 
 EXPIA TION. 1 1 3 
 
 are most tender, most pitiful, should ever gaze upon 
 them. And if the face was fair and sweet, if the 
 eyes were like the blue heavens, or dark with the 
 glory of midnight skies; if the hair were paly gold 
 or a lustrous jet, I would show you these, and say, 
 " Behold, God is good. My child has its own 
 beauty." 
 
 So I shall hide from you my poor Clyde's deformi 
 ties as far as I may. The true artist strives to place 
 his subject in the best light ; and, moreover, he strives 
 to paint the possibilities of the man. He tries to 
 look beneath the crust of worldliness, of selfishness, 
 to sweep away the littleness, the falsities, and to place 
 him upon the canvas at his best. He would paint the 
 man at his highest, not at his lowest. Even so shall 
 I give Clyde the advantage of the best possible light. 
 I shall so arrange the lights and shadows as to conceal 
 defects and heighten beauties as far as I am able. 
 None of us are wholly good or wholly bad. He was 
 very far from being either. 
 
 But if he had been bad, which he probably was 
 not, in your sense of the word, shall we carefully 
 conceal all bodily defects, lest they should offend 
 delicate sensibilities, and lay soul-deformities bare 
 to the scrutiny of every curious eye ? Forbid it, 
 Heaven ! 
 
 But to my story again. 
 
 For a week after our little supper under the hem 
 lock-boughs, we saw very little of Kenneth. Clyde 
 said that he was " busy," looking over some busi 
 ness papers of his father's, and so on. But we knew, 
 Elsie and I, that this was not what kept him away 
 
 10*
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 from us. We knew that there was a sore spot in his 
 heart that was slow to heal. It could not yet bear 
 an idle touch. Elsie had wounded him sorely. 
 
 " And what right had I to do it ?" she asked, one 
 day, in a spasm of self-reproach. " Is my shield so 
 spotless that I should presume to call him to account 
 for the one blot upon his ? Why did he not turn 
 about to me and say, * Physician, heal thyself? But, 
 oh, Aunt Margaret, Aunt Margaret ! the worst of it 
 is that every word is true, or seems so. There is 
 nothing I can take back or unsay. ' True from my 
 stand-point,' he said. How is it from his, I wonder?" 
 
 But when he did come to us, his manner was 
 equally free from self-assertion and from self-depre 
 ciation. There was no trace of sensitive pride or 
 of false humility in his bearing. It simply said, with 
 a kind of sublime patience, " I wait." 
 
 I left the two alone for awhile that morning, for 
 a reason of my own. After Kenneth had gone, I 
 asked, 
 
 " Is all right ? Did you allude to the troublesome 
 matter ?" 
 
 " No, Aunt Margaret," she answered, " and I never 
 shall." 
 
 I did not reply to this, and presently she went on : 
 
 " Aunt Margaret !" 
 
 "Well, dear?" 
 
 Her lip quivered, and the color deepened in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I cannot understand Kenneth Armstrong. But 
 I say it not irreverently it seemed to me to-day 
 that if he had said anything it would have been what
 
 EXPIA TION. 1 1 5 
 
 One said long ago, ' What I do thou knowest not 
 now, but thou shalt know hereafter.' " 
 
 Dr. Bellinger, as I have said before, was a prac 
 tical philanthropist. Not content with giving of his 
 abundant means, with heading subscription-lists, and 
 faithfully discharging onerous duties as president of 
 one benevolent association and member of the board 
 of directors of several others, he gave to the poor 
 and the suffering what was often more precious 
 than gold, personal sympathy and kindliness. From 
 her earliest childhood Elsie had been in the habit of 
 visiting with him the bedsides of the sick and the 
 dying, and of ministering to their needs with her small, 
 childish hands. She had been taught to shrink from 
 no service, however menial, if so she might help or 
 comfort those of whom Christ had said, " Inasmuch 
 as ye have done it unto the least of these my breth 
 ren, ye have done it unto me." 
 
 She did not leave this habit of her life behind her 
 when she came to Altona. There was very little of 
 extreme poverty there ; but suffering and sickness 
 and death came to our mountain fastnesses even as 
 to the crowded tenements of New York ; and there 
 was enough of penury and privation, also, to make 
 good those other words of the Master, " The poor 
 ye have always with you." Many a one might have 
 dwelt among us for one summer, or for two, or three, 
 and never discovered that there was a soul in the 
 town who needed help. We had no beggars, and 
 poverty with us kept in the background, hiding its 
 head as if ashamed. But Elsie's sympathies were 
 strong and far-reaching ; and young as she was, she
 
 U6 EXPIATION. 
 
 had learned that all hunger is not of the body ; that 
 charity is not simply money-giving. Many an over 
 worked farmer's wife whose soul yet hungered and 
 thirsted for the beauty it had no leisure to gather 
 about it, found her home brightened by some little 
 touch of graceful adornment ; many a boy whose 
 growing intellect was crying out for food, found the 
 books he longed for placed mysteriously within his 
 reach ; many a young girl whose heart was just 
 awakening to a sense of its needs, and who was strug 
 gling against the influence of uncongenial associa 
 tions, and the coarseness perhaps the wickedness 
 of those about her, found help and sympathy and 
 sisterly counsel where she least expected them. To 
 many a humble home that summer, Elsie's marvelous 
 voice brought the very soul of music. It was Men 
 delssohn and Mozart and Beethoven and Schubert all 
 in one. On many a whitewashed wall her pictures 
 and sketches were all that Rome and Venice, Dresden 
 and Milan, would be to you. It was a part of her 
 creed that her gifts were to be used for others, and 
 so hallowed by the using. 
 
 The next morning we were quietly busy at Cozy- 
 toft: Elsie putting the last stitches in a little pink frock 
 she was making for the birthday of one of her protegees, 
 and I sorting out and setting in order the contents 
 of my writing-desk. Presently a shadow darkened 
 the window, and Dennis came up on to the piazza, 
 touching his hat as usual. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," he said, with one or two extra 
 flourishes, " I have the honor to inform you that 
 Mrs. Blunt has three twins."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 117 
 
 " Three twins !" I exclaimed. "What do you mean, 
 Dennis?" 
 
 " Or rayther, perhaps it behooves me to say, 
 two twins and an odd one," he went on, scratching 
 his head and looking bewildered. " By the powers, 
 it bothers the soul of me to know whether they be 
 twins or not. But anyhow there's three of 'em." 
 
 "Three what?" I asked. "You don't mean three 
 children ?" 
 
 " But indade and I do, savin' your honor's pres 
 ence. Three byes." 
 
 " Dennis, I don't believe it. You are spinning one 
 of your yarns." 
 
 " Indade, then, by my soul, I am not. I would not 
 dare to be foolin' wid an honorable lady like your 
 self. Sure an' 'twas the docther that was tellin' me 
 the good news as I was comin' up from the village 
 wid this bit of a bundle. And he said, moreover, that 
 there were more of 'em than there was any raison to 
 expect, yer honor, and that therewasn't like to be 
 clothin' enough for the three of 'em." 
 
 "Well," I said, " I'll see about it. Run along now 
 and tell Patsy. Mrs. Blunt is a second cousin of 
 hers, I believe." 
 
 " By the powers, and is she, thin ? It's meself 
 that'll be tellin' her the good news in a jiffy." And 
 off he went. 
 
 " I wonder if she will name the trio Shadrach, 
 Meshach, and Abednego," said Elsie, laughing, as 
 she folded up the little pink dress. " It is fortunate 
 that this is finished, for I foresee that there is some 
 sewing for us to do at once."
 
 n8 EXPIATION. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "Mrs. Blunt is a frail little 
 body, hardly able to take care of one child. We 
 must go to sewing for them forthwith. There is 
 plenty of flannel and muslin in the house ; that's one 
 comfort." 
 
 We went to work upon the little soft garments 
 immediately, and by four o'clock one suit was com 
 pleted. Just then Clyde came in. 
 
 "Working for Bellatrix, Betelguese, and Aldeb- 
 aran ?" he asked, as he tossed his cap upon the 
 table. 
 
 "Yes," I answered; "though it seems to me your 
 astronomy is somewhat mixed. One suit is done, 
 and I wish you would undertake to deliver it, if you 
 can possibly get so near the heavens to-night, and 
 tell Mrs. Blunt there are more coming." 
 
 '"So near the heavens'?" repeated Elsie. "Why, 
 where does Mrs. Blunt live?" 
 
 "'Way up on the old turnpike, pretty well up the 
 mountain," Clyda answered. " The road is all out 
 of repair and grass-grown ; hardly passable for car 
 riages, I imagine. But there is a magnificent view 
 up there, Elsie, the finest sweep of the hills to be 
 found in this region ; and I have been wanting an 
 opportunity to show it to you. Will you ride with 
 me? It is just the evening for a swift gallop, and 
 Prince and the Brownie have not been out of the 
 stable to-day." 
 
 Elsie assented; and in half an hour they were off, 
 Clyde disposing of the little bundle of clothing in 
 some one of his deep, mysterious pockets.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 That October was one long to be remembered for 
 its skies, blue and bright as those of June, its soft, 
 balmy airs, its warmth, its fragrance, its beauty. There 
 were frequent showers, but they fell in " the beaded 
 drops of summer-time," not in the wild sweep of 
 autumnal rains ; and while the woods were clothed 
 right royally, and the hills flaunted their banners of 
 crimson and purple and scarlet and gold, the meadows 
 were fresh and green, and the pastures still gay with 
 the golden-rod, and fragrant with the spicy, aromatic 
 breath of the little white downy-stemmed everlast 
 ing, the immortelle of our New England woods. 
 The day had been even sultry ; and as sunset ap 
 proached, the strange, unnatural heat grew more and 
 more oppressive. A lurid, ghastly light lay upon 
 the hills, and the grass and the trees looked wan and 
 spectral, as during the approach of an eclipse. Still, 
 not a cloud was visible. 
 
 I was up-stairs in my chamber, when I heard the 
 loud slamming of a door. In another instant a pair 
 of blinds on the other side of the house blew together 
 with a great crash. Quickly and silently I went 
 through the bedrooms, fastening blinds and closing 
 windows; then went down to the parlor with a 
 strange dread at my heart. Just as I did so, Ken 
 neth rushed into the house without any ceremony. 
 
 "Which way have they gone?" he cried, "Miss 
 Meredith and Clyde, I mean. Dennis says they are 
 riding." 
 
 " Did you not know"it ?" I asked. " They have 
 been gone an hour, up the old turnpike road, to 
 Mrs. Blunt's."
 
 120 EXPIATION. 
 
 " I did not know they were out," he said. " I was 
 writing in the library, and supposed Clyde was here. 
 Hark ! do you hear that ?" 
 
 There had been a preternatural stillness in the air 
 ever since the one sudden gust that had startled me 
 up-stairs. But now, as I listened, I heard a low, 
 faint rumbling as of distant thunder, and the trees 
 bent and swayed before the couriers of the approach 
 ing tempest. 
 
 " We are going to have a fearful storm," he went 
 on. " If they would only stay at Mrs. Blunt's until 
 it is over! But, which way were they coming 
 home ?" 
 
 " Round by the point. Clyde wanted to show 
 Elsie the view from the rock." 
 
 Kenneth groaned heavily. " Then they are on 
 the way before this time. Which horse did she 
 ride ?" 
 
 " The white one, Prince," I answered. 
 
 For a moment we were silent. The soft, rosy 
 tints had faded from the sky, and dense black clouds 
 had gathered overhead. Not a drop of rain had 
 fallen, but now the rumbling and crashing of the 
 thunder was incessant, and the fierce, forked light 
 nings leaped here and there amid the blackness, like 
 fiery serpents darting on their prey. The wind 
 sighed and wailed like a lost spirit; and as the sun 
 went down, the very blackness of midnight seemed 
 to settle upon the earth. Another moment, and both 
 earth and heaven were lit up with a lurid glare that 
 might have come straight from the region of ever 
 lasting flame, while our ears were deafened by the
 
 EXPIATION. 121 
 
 din and tumult that fell from above and arose from 
 around and beneath us. 
 
 " My God, but this is terrible !" exclaimed Ken 
 neth, as he tore his hand from my clasp. " Don't 
 hold me, Miss Rossiter, for I must go." 
 
 " Not out into this storm!" I cried. "You can do 
 no good. They must be home presently." And I 
 clung to him, holding him back by main force. 
 
 But he shook me off, and seized his hat mechan 
 ically. 
 
 " Prince is afraid in a thunder-storm," he said, 
 hoarsely. " That last clap must have driven him 
 wild." 
 
 Before the last words were fairly uttered, he was 
 outside the gate, and I saw him, by the light of the 
 lurid flashes, gazing up the road. 
 
 My very heart stood still with dread and horror. 
 Matty crept in from the kitchen, and crouched on a 
 cricket at my feet. And still the thunder crashed and 
 bellowed and muttered; still the lightning burned with 
 fearful intensity. Presently I saw Kenneth toss his 
 arms wildly in the air, clasp them for one instant, as 
 if in supplication, and then dart forward as on the 
 wings of the wind. 
 
 I rushed to the east window. Just then the sultry 
 fires lit up the brow of the hill, and for one moment 
 I beheld a vision. 
 
 A flying steed, white as the driven snow, against a 
 background of ebony clouds, a mass of tossing 
 drapery, a gleam of golden hair streaming out upon 
 the night wind, a white face fixed in terror and de 
 spair, and two hands clutching the silvery mane.
 
 I2 2 EXPIATION. 
 
 Kenneth took it all in at a glance. He thought as 
 the drowning think : a lifetime was condensed into 
 one moment's space. Straight down the hill flew 
 the frightened horse. At the bottom of it, if he kept 
 the road, there was a short turn, sharp and sudden 
 as a right angle. If he did not keep it, there was 
 a deep ravine straight ahead, with cruel stones at the 
 bottom. Elsie Meredith was riding right into the 
 jaws of death, either way. 
 
 Kenneth told me, afterward, that for one instant 
 r he stood transfixed by terrible doubt and irresolu 
 tion. To stop the horse was simply impossible. 
 Then a sudden thought flashed upon him like an 
 inspiration. Near the foot of the hill, and close to 
 the road, was the smooth stump of a tree that had 
 recently been cut down. Could he plant himself 
 firmly upon that, with one arm wound about a strong 
 sapling, an offshoot from the parent tree that had 
 sprung up at its very root, with the other he might 
 be able to snatch her from the horse as he swept 
 past. It was a forlorn hope, but the only one. In 
 less time than you have been reading this paragraph, 
 he had darted across the road and taken his position. 
 
 Ah ! what a wordless prayer for help parted his 
 white, set lips for an instant, as Elsie drew near, cling 
 ing to the mane with both hands, her slender form 
 swaying in the rapid motion, as a rush sways in the 
 wind ! Then he shouted, 
 
 " Elsie ! Elsie ! to the right ! to the right ! I can 
 save you !" 
 
 The clear accents pierced the nearly deadened ears ; 
 and, looking up, the white-faced rider saw Kenneth
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 123 
 
 almost within reach. Instinct rather than reason 
 taught her to give a sudden pull upon the mane. 
 The horse swerved to the right. Kenneth's extended 
 arm clasped Elsie's waist and drew her from the sad 
 dle, white, trembling, incapable of speech or motion. 
 For an instant he held her clasped closely to his 
 heart, while the steed rushed onward, the very incar 
 nation of the storm. A moment more, and above 
 the wild roar of the elements rose the long, loud, 
 piercing cry of an animal in mortal terror. Then 
 came the crashing of branches, the clattering ot 
 stones, a swift rush, a heavy, sickening thud, and 
 Kenneth and Elsie knew that Prince lay at the 
 bottom of the ravine, torn, mangled, dead. 
 
 It was too much. Elsie fainted. She had looked 
 a horrible death full in the face and kept her reason ; 
 but now that it had turned aside, and life smiled 
 upon her once more, nature yielded. 
 
 All this happened within fifty rods of my house; 
 and I watched it from my window, watched it as 
 well as I could in alternate light and darkness. I saw 
 Kenneth bend for one moment over the inanimate 
 form that lay within his arms, with a wild yearning 
 to kiss the pure, pale lips, the drooping eyelids, the 
 white, still forehead. But he did not. Reverently 
 he put back the soft hair that had fallen over her 
 face, laid her head tenderly upon his shoulder, and 
 bore her swiftly homeward. 
 
 I met them at the door. His face was like marble, 
 and he reeled as I extended my arms to receive his 
 precious burden. 
 
 " Do not be frightened, aunty," he said, as, refusing
 
 124 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 to give her up, he carried her into the parlor and laid 
 her on the sofa. " She is not hurt, I think, except 
 ing as the fright and fatigue have hurt her. I " 
 
 " I saw it all," I hastened to say. " I saw it all. 
 But where is Clyde ?" 
 
 " Clyde ? Oh, merciful Father ! I never once 
 thought of Clyde," he cried. " It was for him I 
 feared in the first place, for it is constitutional, I 
 suppose a thunder-storm has affected him strangely 
 ever since he was a child. I knew he would be fit 
 neither to guide his own horse nor to take care of 
 Elsie. I grew wild as I thought of it all. But 
 when I saw that horse come tearing down the hill^ 
 and knew there was but a hand's-breadth between 
 her and death, I forgot everything else. I have not 
 thought of Clyde since. I forgot " 
 
 He ceased suddenly, and was gone before I could 
 reply. 
 
 In five minutes he was back again, with a lantern 
 in his hand. 
 
 " I have Dennis," he said, " and am going in pur 
 suit of Clyde. Is she better ? Has she revived ?" 
 
 " Partially. She will be all right presently." 
 
 He caught my hand in a quick, convulsive grasp, 
 and was gone again. 
 
 The thunder was dyir^g away in low, distant mut- 
 terings, and the red lightning had exhausted itself. 
 The rain was falling in torrents. 
 
 I went back to Elsie. She lay just where Kenneth 
 had placed her, with closed eyes, as motionless as a 
 statue. But the breath fluttered softly through her 
 parted lips, and, as I looked, two large tears stole
 
 EXPIATION. 12$ 
 
 from beneath the lashes, and rolled slowly down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 She felt the presence that she did not see, and put 
 out her hand in search of mine. As I took it, a 
 strong shudder shook her from head to foot, and she 
 opened her eyes. 
 
 " Where am I ?" she exclaimed, starting up. 
 " Who brought me here ? Where is he Kenneth ? 
 Is Clyde here ?" 
 
 I laid her gently back upon the pillow again. 
 " Kenneth has gone to find Clyde. They will both 
 be here very soon, I trust. But you must not talk 
 now, my child. You need rest." 
 
 " It was terrible, terrible !" she murmured. " Aunt 
 Margaret, from the moment my horse began run 
 ning, I saw myself lying in the bottom of the ravine 
 yonder dead !" 
 
 I kissed her by way of answer, placing my finger 
 upon her lips the while. Then, seeing she had not yet 
 recovered strength enough to go up-stairs, I arranged 
 her pillows as comfortably as I could, brought her a 
 cup of tea, turned down the lamp, and bade her go to 
 sleep. In a short time she did my bidding, falling into 
 the deep, heavy slumber of exhaustion. 
 
 She had hardly done so when Matty opened the 
 door, and beckoned me with a wild, scared face. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Rossiter !" she whispered, " Mister 
 Clyde's horse has just gone home; but there wasn't 
 a soul on to him, and the reins were a-dangling." 
 
 I went to the door and listened. The fury of the 
 storm was spent. The rain had nearly ceased, and 
 from behind ragged rifts of cloud the full round 
 
 u*
 
 1 26 EXPIA TION. 
 
 moon, remote and clear, looked down with chastened, 
 tender light. I threw my waterproof cloak about 
 me, pulled the hood over my head, and went out. 
 
 It seemed to me that I heard noises in the direction 
 of the ravine. Was it the wind, or the still pattering 
 rain-drops, or faint, returning echoes of the storm ? 
 Or did I indeed hear a voice a human voice 
 something between a cry and a moan coming up 
 from the dark abyss ? 
 
 I could not tell. But I resolved to know ; even while 
 a superstitious horror seized me as I thought of Prince 
 lying a mangled heap at the bottom, and wondered 
 if the ghosts of departed steeds did ever walk the 
 earth " in the dead waste and middle of the night." 
 I dared not trust myself to think of Clyde. But, if 
 the noise I had heard did indeed come from the 
 ravine, I must know what it was. 
 
 Just as I reached the spot, however, I saw Kenneth 
 and Dennis coming, round the foot of the hill, and 
 advanced to meet them. As I did so, that same 
 uncertain sound reached my ears again. 
 
 " You here, Miss Rossiter ?" said Kenneth, as the 
 rays from the lantern flashed full upon my face and 
 form. " How about Clyde ? Has he got home ?" 
 
 " No. But the horse has come. Kenneth," I 
 whispered, drawing closer to his side, ' there is some 
 thing stirring in the ravine. There ! do you hear 
 that ? Can Prince be alive, after all ?" 
 
 He shook his head. " Nothing could be alive 
 after such a fall as he had." 
 
 The moon was still shining, but its beams did not 
 penetrate the darkness of the chasm. Kenneth
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 127 
 
 leaned far over the edge, and swung the lantern so that 
 the light would fall below. We caught one glimpse 
 of Prince a heap of white upon the blackened stones ; 
 and I knew well what was the thought that sent so 
 strong a shudder through my companion's stalwart 
 frame. But in a moment he swung the lantern 
 again. 
 
 " See, aunty, see !" he whispered. " There is 
 something crouching there beside it. Do you not 
 see it ? There ! there !" 
 
 " Kenneth, Kenneth, it is a human being, it is 
 Clyde !" I cried, softly. " Nay, nay, but he is alive," 
 I added, quickly, as the lantern dropped from his 
 nerveless hand. " He moved, he spoke. He is not 
 dead, Kenneth ! Speak to him." 
 
 Kenneth bent over the abyss, and called, " Clyde ! 
 Clyde !" 
 
 But the figure, which we now distinctly saw sitting 
 with its forehead bowed upon its knees and its arms 
 clasped about them, gave no sign in recognition or 
 response. Soon, however, it moved visibly. 
 
 " It is Clyde, I think, and apparently unhurt," said 
 Kenneth, after a moment. " But, aunty, how did he 
 ever get there ? Clyde ! Clyde ! Speak to me, 
 Clyde !" 
 
 The figure raised its head. It was Clyde. Just 
 then the moon from directly overhead poured its 
 light into the narrow ravine, flooding the spot where 
 he sat with silver radiance. I saw the very shimmer 
 of his curls as he looked upward. 
 
 He seemed dazed, stunned, but astonished 
 neither at his own position nor at ours. Pretty soon
 
 128 EXPIATION. 
 
 he said, putting his hand to his head with a vague 
 air of bewilderment, 
 
 " It is cold here, Kenneth, oh, so cold !" And he 
 shivered, clasping his arms more tightly about his 
 knees. 
 
 There was a strange, unnatural tension in the voice, 
 that made it very unlike Clyde's. Before we could 
 answer, it reached us again, sharp, querulous, yet 
 intense. 
 
 " Come ! come quickly !" it cried. " Elsie is cold, 
 I tell you ! Come !" 
 
 Years afterward, when the inner life of these two 
 souls had been more fully revealed to me, I re 
 called what, in the excitement of the moment, I had 
 scarcely noticed, the look of pain and dread that 
 swept over Kenneth's face as he heard these words. 
 
 " I am coming," he answered, hastily. " Be 
 patient, Clyde. I will be with you very soon." 
 
 The ravine was hardly more than thirty feet deep, 
 but rocky and precipitous. 
 
 " By the powers, but how will you convey yourself 
 to him, yer honor? It's a mighty onconvaynient 
 place of descint," said Dennis, with an anxious face, as 
 he leaned over the chasm. 
 
 " I must climb down," was the reply. " He must 
 have done it, and I caa do it. Dennis, go for the 
 horse and buggy, and drive round to the head of 
 the gorge. He can never climb up again ; that is 
 certain." 
 
 While he spoke, he was divesting himself of his 
 coat, and making ready for the perilous descent. 
 Clyde had apparently forgotten our presence, and was
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 129 
 
 again crouching in the shadow. Once I saw him 
 groping about as if in search of something. 
 
 " Take care of the lantern, aunty," said Kenneth, 
 as he swung himself over the edge, planting his feet 
 firmly upon a narrow jutting rock. " I would not 
 like to be in total darkness, if the moon should per 
 versely hide herself." Then he shouted, cheerily, 
 " Look out for me, Clyde. I am coming !" 
 I watched him breathlessly, as he crept slowly 
 down the steep side of the abyss, now clinging 
 seemingly to the bare face of the rock, now poised 
 upon some projecting point which scarcely afforded 
 foothold for a Humming-bird, now trying the strength 
 of some hardy shrub and swinging himself down 
 ward by its aid. Once I suppressed a scream as he 
 stepped upon a loose stone and sent it hurtling into 
 the depths below. Once my heart stopped beating 
 as his foot slipped upon the wet, uneven surface, and 
 he saved himself only by throwing himself violently 
 forward and catching at a branch that swung oppor 
 tunely near. But at last the descent was made, and 
 Kenneth stood by his brother's side at the bottom of 
 the ravine. 
 
 F *
 
 130 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MY own senses must have been preternaturally 
 quickened that night; or else the action of the storm 
 had so cleared and vivified the air that sound was 
 borne farther than its wont. Certain it is, that as, 
 wrapped in my waterproof, I stretched myself upon 
 the damp ground and peered over into the moonlit 
 chasm, almost every word from below reached me. 
 
 Clyde had neither looked nor stirred since Ken 
 neth left the upper earth. Now the latter laid his 
 hand upon his bowed head. 
 
 " Here I am, Clyde," he said, with a cheery ring 
 in his voice. "But this is a rough place to get to; 
 I should not like to try it over again. Now we will 
 make our way up to the head of the gorge, where 
 Dennis will meet us. Come on, my boy." 
 
 But Clyde looked at him without moving, for 
 an instant. Then he stretched out his hands im 
 ploringly, 
 
 " Help me to find her !" he cried, in sharp, piteous 
 accents. " I want Elsie ! help me to find her." 
 
 Kenneth took the two hands in his, and I saw 
 him kiss his brother's forehead as he answered, 
 soothingly, 
 
 " Elsie ? Why, she is not here, Clyde. What are 
 you thinking of? She is safe at home." 
 
 " Don't lie to me ! I know better than that," was 
 the passionate response. " She is here, dead or
 
 EXPIATION. i^ L 
 
 dying on these cursed rocks, and I cannot find her. 
 See here !" And he dragged Kenneth round a jutting 
 crag, and pointed shuddcringly to the white mangled 
 heap that had been Prince at sunset. 
 
 " Yes, I know it," said Kenneth, still caressing and 
 soothing Clyde as if he had been a child. "Yes, 
 poor Prince ! But I tell you the truth, my brother ; 
 Elsie is safe at home, asleep in Miss Rossiter's parlor. 
 Is it not so, aunty?" 
 
 " I left her there half an hour ago," I replied, 
 feigning a calmness that I did not feel. " Come 
 home, Clyde, like a good boy. Elsie is all right." 
 
 But Clyde shook his head incredulously, and his 
 voice grew intensely mournful and pathetic. 
 
 " I know," he said ; " you wish to spare me. You 
 would lure me away from this dreadful place, this 
 den of horrors. You feel that it would kill me to 
 know that I had killed her. But, Kenneth, I am neither 
 a fool nor a baby. There lies Prince ; and where is 
 she? Crushed beneath him on the cruel stones ! I 
 know it, and you know it! Standing there, white and 
 impassive as a statue, you know it ! She is dead, 
 dead !" 
 
 It had been impossible to interrupt him, for he 
 would not be interrupted. You might as well have 
 talked to a stone. Gradually his voice grew higher 
 and shriller, until the last words were almost a shriek. 
 As he uttered them, he dropped upon the ground, 
 and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 Kenneth knelt beside him and loosened the 
 clenched fingers. He was indeed white to the very 
 lips, but his voice was calm and steady.
 
 132 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Look at me, Clyde," he said ; and taking his 
 brother's face in his two strong hands, he turned it 
 toward his own. " Look at me. I have never de 
 ceived you, and I shall not deceive you now. Elsie 
 is not killed; I caught her from the saddle myself, 
 and the next moment Prince lay yonder, while she 
 lay fainting in my arms. But she is not hurt : God's 
 angels were with her in her perilous flight, and not 
 one golden hair was harmed. Tell me that you be 
 lieve me, Clyde ! Speak, for God's sake !" 
 
 But a dumb spirit had taken possession of him 
 again ; and he made no answer by word or sign to 
 Kenneth's earnest entreaties. A sudden thought 
 struck me, and I flew back to the house. 
 
 Elsie had awakened from her nap, and was sitting 
 in a low chair by the fire which our thoughtful 
 Matty had kindled, pale but quiet. I had no heart 
 for many words. 
 
 "Can you walk," I said, "as far as the ravine?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "if it is necessary. What 
 is the matter?" 
 
 " Clyde is worrying about you," I said. " He will 
 not believe that you are safe. We will give him 
 ocular evidence, if you have strength to get there." 
 
 I threw a cloak over her shoulders, and a veil over 
 her head, and drew her arm within mine. 
 
 " Where is he ?" was all she said. 
 
 " In the ravine, but Heaven only knows how he 
 got there without breaking his neck. Even Ken 
 neth, with his cool head, found the descent difficult 
 and hazardous. But wait here a moment, while I 
 reconnoitre."
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 133 
 
 As I looked down upon the two brothers, I saw 
 that their positions were unaltered. Still Clyde sat 
 in dumb silence, and still Kenneth was pleading with 
 him. It seemed to me that a sudden coup de main 
 was the only thing that would bring him to reason. 
 So I marshaled my forces. 
 
 Placing my arm about Elsie, I drew her to the 
 brink of the precipice, where the full strength of the 
 moonlight concentred upon her. Then I threw back 
 the cloak in which she was enveloped, and lifted the 
 shrouding veil, from beneath which her long hair fell 
 around her like a mantle. 
 
 " Kenneth ! Clyde !" I called, in a voice that would 
 tremble in spite of me, " I have brought Elsie to 
 you. Look up, and see how the blessed moonbeams 
 are crowning her." 
 
 Both sprang to their feet. Kenneth turned toward 
 her a face that, for one instant, was irradiated, wear 
 ing such a look as a Parsee, in some rapt hour, might 
 lift to the god of his idolatry. Then the light faded, 
 as suddenly as it came. Clyde, after one quick up 
 ward glance, sank slowly to the ground again, while 
 his two outstretched hands were clasped as if in 
 prayer. 
 
 " Speak to me !" he cried ; " if you are not a spirit, 
 speak !" 
 
 Elsie leaned forward, with a smile upon her lips. 
 But just as she was about to open them, thoughts of 
 all that had happened that night of life and death 
 and eternity, and, perhaps, of the love that could 
 hallow them all swept over her, and, instead of 
 speaking, she burst into tears.
 
 134 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 Kenneth turned lightly to Clyde. " Spirits do not 
 weep," he said, " not that I ever heard. Are you 
 satisfied now that she is real flesh and blood? If 
 so, we will try to make our way up to the head of 
 the gorge before the moon goes down." 
 
 He waved his hand in adieu, and I waited to hear 
 no more, but hastened home with Elsie. When we 
 came out of the darkness into the warm and fire- 
 lighted room, I turned to look upon the young face 
 that had grown so dear to me, with fresh wonder and 
 delight. Excitement had brought back the color to 
 her cheeks, the glow and sparkle to her eyes. The 
 dampness had given a new beauty to her hair, which 
 fell in long, loose, golden waves even to her knees, 
 and there coiled up in a host of tiny curls. And to 
 all this glory of light and color was added a rare and 
 subtle charm, a witchery of voice and tone and man 
 ner that intoxicated even me. There was a sweet and 
 tender consciousness about the girl that night which 
 I cannot describe to you. It had all the glory of the 
 dawn, all the delicacy and beauty of the spring. It 
 was what the dew is to the rose, the fragrance to the 
 flower, the bloom to the grape. It crowned her with 
 the grace of perfect womanhood, and I felt that Tar 
 down in her heart of hearts she kept "the secret of 
 a happy dream she did not care to speak." I won 
 dered if in that moment of dread and danger when 
 he snatched her from the very jaws of death, Ken 
 neth's soul had spoken to her soul, revealing that 
 which his lips had never dared to utter. I wondered 
 if, when her bodily senses were sealed and she lay as 
 one dead within his arms, the electric chord of sym-
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 135 
 
 pathy between spirit and spirit had still vibrated, and 
 she had been inly cognizant of all his love and 
 longing. 
 
 But I wasted no time in idle speculations that 
 night. Fair and sweet and winning as she was, she 
 must go to bed like ordinary mortals. She needed 
 warmth and food and rest and sleep as imperatively 
 as the most commonplace girl that ever moulded 
 biscuits or drove the cows to pasture. So I hurried 
 her up-stairs, undressed her as speedily as possible, 
 and left her to darkness and to dreams. 
 
 Then I crept stealthily down to the parlor again, 
 knowing that it would be impossible for me to sleep 
 until I knew that Kenneth was safely at home with 
 his charge. 
 
 Hours of watching and waiting are long hours, 
 and it seemed to me that it must be long past mid 
 night, although the clock pointed only to half-past 
 ten, when I heard the sound of wheels and Dennis's 
 familiar chirrup. 
 
 I stepped to the door ; the moon had gone down, 
 and I held the lamp high above my head, that its 
 light might stream down the path and illuminate the 
 faces for which I sought. They stopped just at the 
 gate. 
 
 Kenneth's face was fixed, set, ashy pale in that 
 weird light, and wore a look that startled me. 
 
 " Is all right ?" I asked, hurriedly. 
 
 But his voice came clear and steady. " Yes, all 
 is right, or will be in the end. Good-night, aunty. 
 You ought to be in bed, after all this excitement." 
 
 But I was not satisfied. I wanted a word from
 
 136 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 Clyde, and went down to the gate. The lamp did 
 not waver in the still night air. 
 
 He looked tired, exhausted, but he was Clyde ; 
 and it was Clyde's smile, though faint and weak, that 
 lighted his eyes for an instant as he turned toward 
 me. The strange tension, the unnatural rigidity of 
 face and manner that had startled me in the ravine, 
 had passed away. Yet still there was something 
 about both the brothers that I could not read. I felt 
 that some revelation had come to both that night, 
 that life to both of them had suddenly assumed a 
 new aspect and become endowed with a new meaning. 
 
 " If Clyde is not sick after this, it will be a wonder," 
 I whispered to Kenneth. " If you need me in the 
 morning, let me know." 
 
 As we sat at a late breakfast the next forenoon, 
 Dennis came in with the young gentlemen's compli 
 ments, and was Miss Meredith suffering any from the 
 combined effects of the ride and the storm ? 
 
 Miss Meredith was not suffering in the least, she 
 was as well as ever, was the reply. But how was it 
 with the young gentlemen themselves ? 
 
 Dennis could not say. He had not seen Mr. Clyde 
 that morning, and thought he had not left his room. 
 But he did not think he was sick, or Mr. Kenneth 
 would have said so. As for Mr. Kenneth himself, he 
 was all right, although Dennis fancied he looked a 
 bit paler than usual, which was not strange, he 
 added, bowing to Elsie with great significance, when 
 one considered the circumstances. 
 
 A little fluttering color stole into Elsie's cheek at 
 this, but she bore it off bravely.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 137 
 
 "Wait a moment, if you please, Dennis; I would 
 like to send a note to Mr. Kenneth." And rising from 
 the table, she ran up-stairs. 
 
 Dennis looked after her in undisguised admiration. 
 
 " Indade and by my troth, Miss Rossiter," he said, 
 " she is quite angelical-like this morning. The blue 
 eyes of her are like two stars, and her cheeks are 
 like white roses wid a blush at the heart of 'em !" 
 
 She came down very soon, with an open note in 
 her hand, which she laid beside my plate. It read 
 thus : 
 
 " Come to me to-day, if you can. You saved my 
 life last night, and I have not yet thanked you." 
 
 " Send it by all means," I said, in a low voice, in 
 response to a half-timid glance of inquiry. She 
 knew what was fitting as well as I did, and I under 
 stood very well that the action sprung solely from a 
 womanly longing for sympathy. " Send it by all 
 means. Not that it is necessary, for I do not doubt 
 he will be in before night, whether you send it or 
 not." 
 
 Dennis departed. 
 
 It suddenly occurred to me that morning, as I was 
 folding away the clothes from the wash, while my 
 thoughts were busy with the events of the previous 
 night, that Kenneth had evinced no surprise at 
 Clyde's sayings or doings. He had asked no ques 
 tions, and exhibited no curiosity. He had simply 
 accepted the situation exactly as he found it, con 
 forming his own actions to it and demanding no ex 
 planations. I had not noticed it at the time, but now 
 this feature of the case forced itself upon my atten- 
 
 12*
 
 138 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 tion, and set me off upon a train of speculation from 
 which I only returned in season for dinner. 
 
 Elsie was up-stairs most of the forenoon ; but once, 
 as I stood at my pantry window, I heard some one 
 go softly out of the front door. Soon I saw the flut 
 ter of a scarlet shawl along by the fence ; and ere 
 long a head appeared, crowned with something soft 
 and white and fleecy, fringed with nodding, dancing 
 atoms. A graceful, girlish figure moved lightly 
 along the yellow road ; then it turned to the right, 
 and presently I saw it standing upon the edge 
 of the ravine, gazing down into the yawning gulf 
 below. 
 
 It stayed there for a few moments, mute and mo 
 tionless. Then it went back to the road again, and 
 followed it up the hill till it reached the stump of the 
 old elm-tree, upon which Kenneth had stood the 
 night before. It was a quiet, secluded spot, removed 
 from human eyes, for no house but mine was within 
 sight. 
 
 Elsie for of course it was she glanced up and 
 down the road. She was utterly alone, alone, as 
 she thought, with God and her own soul. For an 
 instant she stood quietly, with folded hands and 
 drooping forehead; then knelt by the huge bole, 
 throwing her arms about it, and pillowing her cheek 
 upon its scarred and moss-grown face. 
 
 After awhile she rose, gathered a few leaves from 
 the thrifty sapling in whose fresh young veins the 
 life of its dead parent was pulsing, carefully lifted 
 some bits of moss and lichen from the stump, and 
 came home with her treasures.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 139 
 
 She stole gently up to her room, and I saw her no 
 more until dinner-time. 
 
 Years afterward, upon a blank leaf of Elsie's 
 prayer-book, I chanced one day to see three faded, 
 yellow leaves, and some sprays of feathery moss. 
 Beneath them was a date, October loth, 1857. 
 
 Still farther down the page were these words, 
 
 " Out of the jaws of Death 
 Hath he delivered me." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AFTER dinner Elsie went into the parlor, and as I 
 heard her moving lightly about the room I knew 
 that order and beauty were following her steps. 
 Nature had bestowed upon her what is always one of 
 her choicest gifts to woman, the power of evoking 
 beauty from common things. Let her enter a bare, 
 plain, commonplace room, and by a few graceful 
 touches, a picturesque arrangement of the simple 
 furniture, an artistic disposal of unconsidered trifles 
 that had been hidden away in the background, by a 
 flower fitly placed, or a cluster of brightly-tinted 
 leaves, she would change the whole aspect of things, 
 and give a sort of poetic beauty to what was perhaps 
 in itself not beautiful. And this seemingly without 
 thought or effort. It was in her small world as it 
 was in His great one, when God said, " Let there 
 be light," and there ivas light.
 
 140 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 So when I heard her in the parlor, which Matty 
 had swept and dusted that morning, I knew that she 
 was making it beautiful in anticipation of Kenneth's 
 coming. I knew that when I went in I should find it 
 sweet with mignonnette and heliotropes and tuberoses, 
 and gay with scarlet verbenas, purple asters, and 
 golden chrysanthemums. I knew that the great 
 punch-bowl, which, as Clyde had said, did not come 
 over in the Mayflower, would be overflowing with its 
 wealth of verdure, graceful, feathery ferns, and deli 
 cate maiden's-hair, or bright with the coral drops 
 and shining emerald leaves of the checkerberry-vine ; 
 that my beautiful Madonna would smile down upon 
 me from a glow of crimson woodbine, and that trail 
 ing wreaths of the same would hang from window 
 and doorway. 
 
 Now, if I had undertaken this, its accomplishment 
 would have required half a day, at the very least 
 But there was some subtle sympathy between Elsie's 
 fingers and the flower-stems. She gave them a touch 
 here, a twist there, she turned this spray to the light 
 and broke off a few obtrusive leaves from that, and 
 lo ! they were arranged. She perched herself upon 
 a high chair, and tossed the woodbine over the cor 
 nices, and, presto ! it fell at once into the right po 
 sition, as with willing obedience. / should have 
 needed tacks and a hammer, and a step-ladder. All 
 she required was the long, trailing vine, and one toss 
 of her pretty arms. Inanimate things lost all their 
 natural depravity, which is such a hindrance to most 
 of us, when she dealt with them. 
 
 Then she went up-stairs.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 141 
 
 Going up myself half an hour afterward, and find 
 ing the door of her chamber ajar, I peeped in, as was 
 my wont. 
 
 She had on a loose dressing-sack, and had just 
 been brushing and arranging her hair. That, like the 
 vines and flowers, was obedient to her will, obeying 
 her behests with all submission. It was always 
 dressed according to the mood of the moment, simply 
 or elaborately, as the case might be, and seldom 
 twice alike. To-day it was arranged as I had never 
 seen it before : I cannot tell you how, for I am not 
 skilled in the art. I only know that golden braids 
 lay like a coronet above her white forehead, while a 
 shower of curls fell upon one shoulder. 
 
 My first thought found utterance in impulsive 
 speech as she turned toward me: 
 
 " My child, I wonder if you know how beautiful 
 you are !" 
 
 She laughed a little low happy laugh, while her 
 sweet face flushed, and something marvelously like a 
 tear softened the lustre of her eyes. 
 
 "Am I, Aunt Margaret? I am glad of it." 
 
 Then, as if conscious that her reply was a subter 
 fuge, she added, under her breath, " Yes, I do know 
 it, and I thank God for it." 
 
 I was not expecting just this answer. I had 
 never in all my life before seen a girl who would 
 plainly acknowledge that she knew herself to be 
 beautiful. Most girls, in reply to such a remark as 
 mine, would have blushed and simpered and made 
 faint denials of the soft impeachment, pretending to 
 wonder at my absurdity. But Elsie said, frankly,
 
 142 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Yes, I know it." I stopped to think about it a 
 little. 
 
 She answered the unuttered thought, coming up to 
 me, and throwing her arms about my neck : " Aunt 
 Margaret, perhaps it is not quite the thing for me to 
 say this. Girls are expected to be as blind as bats to 
 the pictures their mirrors show them. But I do thank 
 God that He made me fair, just as I thank Him that 
 He gave me health and reason and any other good 
 gift. For it is a good gift, and one for which a 
 woman may well be thankful, let the croakers say 
 what they may." 
 
 " You are right," I said, " and gifts that we can 
 thank God for will not hurt us. I see no reason why 
 you should not thank Him for your beauty as well as 
 
 for your voice. Some time you will be glad " 
 
 But there I stopped. She looked at me inquiringly. 
 "I will not finish that sentence now," I said. "One 
 of these days, maybe, I will give you the 'conclusion 
 of the whole matter.' " 
 
 She turned quickly away, and the swift, hot color 
 flooded neck and brow. So keen were her intuitions, 
 so clear her perceptions, that she was apt to catch the 
 merest hinting of one's thought. She had done so 
 now. She did not need that I should finish the sen 
 tence. She knew I was about to say that some time 
 she would count over every gift, as the miser counts 
 his gold, rejoicing in the amber glory of her hair, 
 in the blue splendor of her eyes, in the snow and car 
 mine of brow and cheek and lip, in all the grace and 
 sweetness of her womanhood, as well as in her mar 
 velous voice and her wealth of mind and heart, if So be
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 143 
 
 that she might lay them all at the feet of the man she 
 loved. For his sake she would glory in them, as 
 she had never gloried for her own. 
 
 Something of all this a faint foreshadowing 
 looked out of her eyes that day, and gave a tenderer 
 beauty to her face. It was for Kenneth's sake that 
 the long tresses had been braided and the flowing 
 ringlets curled. It was for his sake that the blue 
 dress was at last chosen, for was not blue his favor 
 ite color ? and the pearl ornaments put on, for had 
 he not said they were becoming ? and the little clus 
 ter of geranium-leaves and tuberoses made to nestle 
 in the shining hair, for had he not once spoken of 
 their delicate perfume ? 
 
 It was a pretty sight at any time to watch her at 
 her toilet, and to see how speedily laces and ribbons 
 settled themselves into graceful shapes at the touch 
 of her deft fingers. But that day, lying back in the 
 dimity-covered easy-chair, I smiled to myself as I 
 noticed* her innocent, unconscious self- re veal ings. 
 Kenneth's lightest fancy was remembered and de 
 ferred to. Suddenly she looked round at me, clasping 
 a curiously-wrought bracelet upon her arm. 
 
 " What are you staying here for, my lazy Aunt 
 Margaret?" she asked. "You must go straight to 
 your own room, and dress yourself. We 'receive' 
 this evening, you must remember, Miss Rossiter ! so 
 run right away and put on your black silk, with the 
 old thread laces that I like so well." 
 
 Dear me ! My black silk was set apart for special 
 occasions. I never thought of putting it on of an 
 afternoon at home. Besides, it struck me quite for-
 
 144 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 cibly that Miss Meredith would be able to entertain 
 her guest, or guests, that day, without any of my 
 help. However, to please her I arrayed myself with 
 unwonted magnificence and went down to the parlor, 
 where she was already busy at her little work-table 
 making a second suit of clothes for " Mrs. Blunt's 
 three twins." 
 
 It was easy to see that her thoughts were not upon 
 her work. But she never dawdled. She either did 
 what she had to do quickly and well, or she let it 
 religiously alone. So, when at last her fingers refused 
 to do her bidding as expeditiously as usual, she 
 threw the little garment into her work-basket, and 
 drew from its depths a volume of Mrs. Browning. 
 
 Matty called us to tea in due season ; and 
 after we had tried to please her By doing justice to 
 her toast and muffins, we returned to the parlor 
 again. There was a little shadow upon Elsie's face, 
 and she put on her thimble with a sort of desperation. 
 
 " I must finish this little slip to-night," she said, 
 "no matter what comes. I am growing lazy." 
 
 I amended the sentence, mentally, by substituting 
 "who" for "what," thinking, with a half smile, that 
 I would not care to be held responsible for the com 
 pletion of her task. 
 
 But the evening waned away, and he did not come. 
 Neither did Clyde. Greyholt might have been at the 
 antipodes, for all we heard of it or of its inmates that 
 night. 
 
 The next day it rained, and the next, and the next. 
 Generally rain was sure to bring Clyde, if not Ken 
 neth, to Cozytoft; a fact which was apt to remind
 
 EXPIATION. I4 5 
 
 me of a formula common to children in the begin 
 ning of a letter, "As I had nothing else to do, I 
 thought I would write to you." When the two 
 young men had nothing else to do, they were very 
 prone to find their way to my parlor. But now four 
 days had passed, and we had not had so much as a 
 glimpse of them ; neither had Patsy been over upon 
 any of her multifarious errands. 
 
 On the morning of the fifth day I put on my india- 
 rubbers and donned my waterproof. 
 
 " Rain or no rain," I said, putting my head in at 
 the door of the room where Elsie was busy at her 
 easel, " I am going to see whether there is any one 
 alive at Greyholt. Perhaps this flood has swept 
 them all away. But what are you doing ?" 
 
 " Come and see," she answered. 
 
 It was a mere sketch, but it told its story per 
 fectly ; it needed no interpreter. There lay the stal 
 wart knight, dreaming upon his luxurious couch, 
 undisturbed by the strong beams of the morning sun 
 which were streaming in through the open casement. 
 Casque and armor lay upon the floor, shield and 
 buckler leaned against the wall. Outside, but visible 
 through the window, was a band of armed men, 
 whose curveting steeds and waving banners pro 
 claimed them ready for tilt or tournament, or for the 
 fiercer conflict of the deadly fray. Near the couch, 
 gazing upon the sleeper with wonder and with pain, 
 stood a woman fair of face and noble of mien. The 
 very curve of her bending figure, the very pose of 
 her head, said as plainly as words could have said it, 
 " Awake, thou that sleepest !" 
 G 13
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt, 
 Forgetful of the tilt and tournament, 
 Forgetful of his glory and his name, 
 Forgetful of his princedom and its cares !" 
 
 I cried. " Elsie, it is Enid and Geraint !" 
 
 "Thank you," she said, simply. "You have read 
 the story. Yes, it is Enid and Geraint. But it is 
 just a sketch. I shall never work it up." And she 
 turned it to the wall with a weary air. 
 
 Picking my way across the muddy road, and going 
 up under the dripping boughs of the maples, I went 
 round to the kitchen door. Patsy was in her neat 
 store-room, packing away the butter from yesterday's 
 churning. 
 
 " Patsy," I said, going straight to the mark, "what 
 is the matter? Is either of the young gentlemen 
 sick?" 
 
 She turned and looked at me, with the upraised 
 butter-ladle in her hand. 
 
 " I don't know what's the matter, Miss Rossiter. 
 Something is up, but what, is more than I can tell. 
 They ain't sick, neither of 'em, to my knowledge. 
 But Clyde's been desputly upset ever since the night 
 Prince was killed. 'Twas a dreadful narrow escape, 
 now, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Where are they?" I asked, with a nod of assent 
 to her question. 
 
 " In the library. I wish you'd go in and see 'em, 
 Miss Rossiter. I never ask no questions, for Ken 
 neth he knows enough to attend to his own concerns, 
 and I don't want to meddle nor make. But I kind 
 o' guess that Clyde's got on his high-heeled shoes
 
 EXPIATION. ! 4 7 
 
 about something or nuther ; and when he does get 
 'em on, it's mighty hard for Kenneth, I tell you. 
 They hain't eat enough to keep a robin alive since 
 that night, both of 'em put together." 
 " Perhaps they won't want to see me," I said, hesi 
 tating a little as my thoughts ran backward. " I 
 told Kenneth to send for me if I was needed." 
 
 " Never you mind that," she answered, turning her 
 butter vigorously. " Miss Rossiter, you're near about 
 old enough to be mother to them boys, and don't 
 you go to putting on airs with 'em now. Maybe 
 you can do 'em good. At any rate, I think it's your 
 bounden duty to try." 
 
 So through hall and parlor I went, and tapped on 
 the library door. Kenneth opened it. 
 
 He looked ten years older than he had done 
 five days before. " All thy waves and thy billows 
 have gone over me," seemed so clearly whispered 
 to my spirit as I looked upon his face, that I in 
 voluntarily listened, half expecting to hear his lips 
 repeat the words. Yet he was calm and quiet in 
 manner, and took my hand in his warm clasp as 
 cordially as ever. 
 
 "Won't you come in?" he said. 
 
 I looked past him into the room. Clyde sat by 
 the window, gazing moodily out upon the sullen skies, 
 the dripping trees, the cold, wet earth. He too had 
 changed. He looked worn, troubled, harassed. As 
 he saw me he sprang forward, caught my hand, and 
 drew me toward the fire, which since the storm had 
 grown to be a daily necessity. There was a hungry 
 craving in his eyes that startled me.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 "Well, young gentlemen," I said, lightly, "what 
 vows have you taken upon yourselves now ? Have 
 you turned hermits or recluses ? I half expected to 
 find you in the brown habit of the barefooted Car 
 melites." 
 
 "Vows of silence, for one thiag," returned Ken 
 neth. " If you look closely, you will see the seal 
 upon my lips." 
 
 Apparently the words were spoken in jest. He 
 thought I would so receive them. But as I caught 
 his eye I felt that some bitter truth was underlying 
 them. They were spoken to his own soul, and not 
 to me. 
 
 From beneath his heavy, frowning eyebrows, Clyde 
 shot a fierce glance at Kenneth. 
 
 " It is all his work !" he cried. " I will not bear it ! 
 I am not a baby, and I will be kept in leading-strings 
 no longer. From this day forward, Kenneth Arm 
 strong, I take my own course. I will not submit to 
 your dictation." 
 
 The words seem tame enough as I have written 
 them down. But emphasized by his flashing eyes, 
 his eager, passionate voice, his haughty, impetuous 
 bearing, they were anything but tame. I looked 
 from one to the other in a maze of sorrow. 
 
 Kenneth was leaning against the mantel, twirling 
 an ivory pen-holder he had just taken from the rack. 
 As he met my eye, his fingers closed upon it con 
 vulsively, and it snapped like a pipe-stem. But he 
 manifested no other sign of emotion. Ere he had 
 time to speak, Clyde returned to the charge. 
 
 " I will do as I choose ; I will come and go as I
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 149 
 
 please," he said, tossing back his tawny locks with 
 the air of a young lion. " Because you are three years 
 the elder, you think I belong to you, soul and body. 
 You would make me the slave of your caprices. 
 But I tell you I will be ruled by you no longer. I am 
 free !" 
 
 I turned to leave the room. The scene was grow 
 ing too painful; and, besides, I felt myself decidedly 
 de trop. But Clyde strode swiftly to the door and 
 closed it. 
 
 " Stay here, if you please, Miss Rossiter ! You 
 came just in time to hear my declaration of inde 
 pendence. Do you hear it too, Kenneth Armstrong ? 
 From this day forward I am my own master." 
 
 His hand was on the door-knob, and I could not 
 escape if I would. I think I must have looked fright 
 ened, I know I felt so, for Kenneth turned to me for 
 one instant with a reassuring glance. Then he gave 
 his attention to Clyde again. 
 
 " Of course you are your own master, Clyde," he 
 said, very gently, and with no trace of heat or bitter 
 ness in his manner. " Of course you are free to do 
 whatever is best and right. We are none of us free 
 in any other sense." 
 
 " Don't philosophize," returned the other, sharply 
 " I am in no mood for listening to platitudes. All I 
 want to know is this. Do you accept the situation ? 
 Do you understand that your assumed control over 
 me ceases from this hour ?" 
 
 Kenneth's countenance changed at last. An inde 
 scribable expression of yearning pain swept over it. 
 He went up to Clyde, who was pacing back and
 
 !5Q EXPIATION. 
 
 forth across the room, and placed a hand upon either 
 shoulder, looking him full in the face with his clear, 
 strong, gray eyes. But there was a sorrowful quiver 
 in his voice, as he said, 
 
 " Clyde, I understand, I shall understand, only 
 this. I am your brother. We are bound together 
 by the closest, tenderest ties. Just as long as God 
 gives me life and being I shall love you, help you, 
 and care for you. You cannot emancipate yourself 
 from my love, for it will follow you to the world's 
 end." 
 
 I might have left the room, for the door was no 
 longer barricaded. But I was gazing with a fascinated 
 gaze upon the two brothers. For a moment or two 
 Clyde looked into Kenneth's face unblenchingly, as a 
 young eagle might look upon the sun. Then his 
 eyes began to waver ; they glanced right and left, up 
 and down, while Kenneth's were as steady as that 
 sun itself, until at last the white lids dropped over 
 them, veiling their burning brightness. 
 
 Then Kenneth leaned forward and kissed his bro 
 ther's forehead. "Oh, trust me, Clyde!" he whis 
 pered, with a strange tenderness in his voice, a 
 tenderness that thrilled to my heart's core. " Trust 
 me ! Only so can we walk safely to the end. 
 Believe that your happiness, your interests, your 
 welfare are as dear to me as my own, and all will be 
 well. I do not seek to rule you, Clyde. I only try, 
 as best I may, to fill our father's place." 
 
 Clyde's head drooped more and more, until it 
 almost touched Kenneth's shoulder. Then he raised 
 his arms as with a mighty effort, clasped them about
 
 EXPIA TION. 1 5 j 
 
 his brother, straining him to his heart for an instant, 
 and rushed into the hall and up the stairs. 
 
 Kenneth sank into a chair as one utterly exhausted, 
 and covered his face with his hands. I was stealing 
 quietly away, when he put out his arm to stop me. 
 " Don't go," he said. 
 
 I went back to him and laid my hand upon his 
 throbbing temples. How hot and tense they were ! 
 " You have won the victory," I said. It was neces 
 sary to say something, and I uttered the first com 
 monplace that occurred to me. But I was not pre 
 pared for his response. 
 
 " Yes," with a weary sigh, " I have won it for to 
 day. But it will have to be won over again to-mor 
 row, and to-morrow, and to-morrow !" 
 
 I said nothing in reply to this. What could I say ? 
 There was something in the relation of these two 
 that I did not comprehend. Silence was my best 
 resource. 
 
 Yet at length my woman heart found expres 
 sion in one brief question. " Kenneth, can I help 
 you ?" 
 
 He shook his head, and his lips formed the mono 
 syllable " no." But no sound escaped them. At 
 length I heard Clyde's footsteps overhead, and rose 
 hastily. 
 
 " I had better go now," I said, " before he comes 
 down." 
 
 Kenneth rose also. For a moment he looked at 
 me with all his heart in his eyes. Then he held out 
 both hands to me. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," he said, " I believe there is no
 
 152 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 other woman living who could have witnessed this 
 scene and asked no questions." 
 
 " I have none to ask," I answered. " If it were 
 possible for me to help you in any way, I should be 
 only too glad to share your confidence. But I can 
 not seek it." 
 
 "Oh, if I could but give it!" he sighed. "But I 
 told you, you know," and here his lips parted in a 
 faint smile, " I told you that I had taken the vow of 
 silence. My lips are indeed sealed"." 
 
 After a moment I said, 
 
 " Kenneth, you are both troubled, Clyde and 
 you. Is it well for you to keep yourselves shut up 
 here ? A sorrow brooded over is a sorrow magnified. 
 I doubt if you are acting wisely." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered. " I do not know. 
 There is much to be said on either side. Aunty, I 
 am just groping in the dark. If I make mistakes, 
 may God forgive me!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 NOT a word had been said of Elsie, no allusion 
 to her note had been made, no apology offered by 
 Kenneth for his neglect of the invitation contained 
 therein. I dreaded to go home to meet her ques 
 tioning eyes. 
 
 But I need have given myself no uneasiness. She 
 made no inquiries, by word or sign, and I simply told
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 153 
 
 her that Clyde was not looking well, with sundry 
 vague allusions to bad weather, etc. In my heart I 
 was ashamed of myself; yet what else was I to say? 
 I was not a whit wiser than when I went to Greyholt. 
 I could have described the scene which I had wit 
 nessed, as I have described it to you. But had I any 
 right to do so ? I knew that Elsie was troubled ; yet 
 if I had felt at liberty to tell her all I had seen 
 and heard, it would only have increased her trouble 
 and perplexity. Ah, sweet spirit of silence ! some 
 times thou art indeed blessed. 
 
 Elsie was very quiet that day. That is, she did not 
 sing, neither was she inclined to talk. But work was 
 her great panacea ; and she went from one employ 
 ment to another in her own still, unobtrusive way, 
 yet steadily, as if goaded by the demon of unrest. 
 There were no pretty loiterings in window or door 
 way ; no pauses when she sat with happy, smiling 
 eyes lost in a young girl's dreamy reverie. 
 
 But that evening I paused in my reading to listen 
 to the click of the gate-latch ; and presently the well- 
 known footsteps sounded on the gravel-walk. 
 
 Clyde's appearance belied my words. I had told 
 Elsie that he was not looking well ; but it seemed 
 to me that night that I had never seen him look 
 ing better. His large, luminous eyes glowed with 
 softened fire ; his cheeks, so wan and haggard in the 
 morning, wore again the rich coloring of youth and 
 health ; his lips curved in a rare, proud smile; and as he 
 stepped quickly across the room to bow with chival- 
 ric deference over Elsie's hand, I thought I had never 
 seen a finer specimen of manly beauty. It was a 
 G*
 
 154 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 strange beauty, too, of the warm blonde type, with 
 such lustrous eyes of burning black, and clustering 
 waves of hair that changed from reddish gold to 
 darkest auburn, according to the degree of light that 
 fell upon them. He seemed a young Adonis that 
 night, rejoicing in the strength and glory of his 
 dawning manhood. 
 
 What shall I say of Kenneth ? Clyde had appar 
 ently forgotten the events of the morning : he was as 
 gay, as sunny, as free from any sense of care and re 
 sponsibility as ever he had been. You would not 
 have believed, had you seen the graceful, half-tender 
 beauty of his bearing toward his brother, that those 
 perfect, smiling lips could ever have uttered the words 
 I had heard that forenoon. I half doubted the evi 
 dence of my own senses, and wondered if my memory 
 was playing tricks with me. 
 
 But Kenneth's nature was in one sense like granite. 
 Impressions once received were long-enduring. Pie 
 bore upon brow and lip, and in his heavy, shadowed 
 eyes, perceptible traces of the conflict through which 
 he had passed. 
 
 That was a strange evening. All its brightness 
 emanated from Clyde, who, half reclining upon a low 
 divan at Elsie's feet, looked up in her face as a devotee 
 might look upon a saint. He was happy, there was 
 no doubt of that, whatever might be said of the rest 
 of us. It seemed to me that the astral lamp burned 
 more dimly than its wont, and that the open fire, 
 which was of itself a never-failing fountain of light 
 and radiance, had ceased to do its office. There were 
 shadows in the far corners of the room ; they hovered
 
 EXPIA T/O.V. 
 
 155 
 
 about window and doorway and ensconced themselves 
 in forbidden places. 
 
 I glanced up at the cornices and at the dusky-haired 
 Madonna over the mantel -piece. The woodbine 
 wreaths were still there; but, ah! their crimson had 
 changed to dingy brown, and the leaves were crum 
 pled and sere. The vases were empty, save one in 
 which " the last rose of summer" still lingered. Out 
 in the garden, which had been so gay with the late 
 autumnal blooms but a few short days before, the 
 heavy rains had made wild havoc, and the broken 
 flower-stalks trailed upon the cold, wet ground. The 
 faded ferns had been removed from the punch-bowl, 
 and nothing was left but the checkerberry-vine, still 
 gay in its scarlet and green. 
 
 I looked at Elsie, sitting over against the fire-light. 
 No golden coronet crowned the fair forehead to-night, 
 no flowing curls drooped daintily upon the shoulder. 
 Her soft hair rippled plainly back over the small, 
 shell-like ears, and strove to hide its shining wealth 
 in the meshes of a simple net. No azure robe set 
 off the snowy whiteness of her skin ; but a plain 
 black dress, such as I might have worn, left her beauty 
 wholly unadorned. The pearl ornaments rested in 
 their casket up-stairs ; and one little knot of blue 
 ribbon fastened the narrow linen collar at the throat. 
 
 As for me, instead of the shining silk in which, to 
 please Elsie, I had arrayed myself the other night, I 
 wore my every-day brown alpaca. Neither the house 
 nor its inmates were in festal trim. That was not one 
 of our gala-days. 
 
 The contrast struck me forcibly, I think it struck
 
 156 EXPIATION. 
 
 Elsie also; for, even while she strove to answer Clyde's 
 gay sallies, she grew paler, colder, stiller. 
 
 Clyde monopolized her, as he was prone to do ; and 
 after a few words of courteous, kindly greeting, Ken 
 neth devoted himself chiefly to me. But often, as 
 we talked, I noticed that his eye wandered away from 
 me to the two who sat by the fireplace ; and that when 
 ever it did so wander, its shadows deepened, and the 
 strong, firm mouth which could yet be so unspeakably 
 tender, quivered as with sharp and sudden pain. 
 
 Once my eye followed his. Elsie, as usual, had 
 some pretty bit of crocheting in hand, and was busy 
 with her white and scarlet wools, in and out of 
 which the ivory needle darted swiftly. Just then she 
 had reached some critical point, and with head bent 
 and eyes completely veiled by their long, curved 
 lashes, she was counting her stitches. Clyde, with 
 one hand thrust in the glittering mazes of his hair 
 and his elbow resting on his knee, sat watching her, 
 reading her face as intently as a monk might read his 
 missal. But, alas ! there was a passionate glow and 
 fervor in the glances which still failed to warm her 
 almost colorless cheek, that never yet burned in the 
 eyes of an anchorite. Something in Clyde's looks 
 or bearing revealed to me the whole truth, it told 
 me that he too loved Elsie Meredith. 
 
 It flashed upon me in a moment, and I caught 
 my breath in the suddenness of the shock. Kenneth 
 and Elsie had become inseparably connected in my 
 thoughts. But Clyde ! This was indeed a new and 
 disturbing element. Even his strange looks and words 
 in the ravine had not awakened my suspicions. I
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 157 
 
 thought that the sudden terror of the storm and the 
 terrible shock of Elsie's supposed death had over 
 come his strength and made him semi-delirious for 
 awhile ; and I had not dreamed of this. 
 
 But I knew it now, and Kenneth knew it too. 
 One glance at his stern, set face told me that. Yet 
 the sternness seemed directed toward himself; not 
 toward the two at whom he was gazing. 
 
 It was a positive relief when Kenneth rose to go, 
 so making his adieus as to include Clyde and ren 
 der it impossible for him to remain longer without 
 discourtesy. But in the general shifting of the kaleid 
 oscope that took place just then, Kenneth and Elsie 
 were thrown together, while Clyde drifted over to me. 
 
 There had been a touch of pain and weariness in 
 Elsie's face all the evening. I wondered if Kenneth 
 saw it as she glided up to him and hesitatingly laid 
 her hand upon his arm. 
 
 " I have so wanted to see you," she said, glancing 
 up at him with timid eyes. " I wrote you a note, 
 but perhaps Dennis forgot it." 
 
 " I have been much engaged," he answered, eva 
 sively, resisting the temptation to imprison within 
 his own the small, white fingers that caressed his 
 sleeve. No marble statue could have been, appar 
 ently, more insensible to the gentle touch, and it 
 was presently withdrawn. 
 
 " I have wanted to thank you for for what you did 
 the other night," she said, betraying by the enforced 
 steadiness of her voice the restraint she was placing 
 upon herself. "I dare not allow myself to think " 
 
 " Do not speak of it," he interrupted. " It was
 
 158 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 nothing. I should have done the same for the veriest 
 stranger, or even for an enemy. You owe me no 
 thanks." 
 
 " But I must thank you, nevertheless," she con 
 tinued ; and I felt, if he did not, the pang his indiffer 
 ent words had caused her. " The stranger, or the 
 enemy, could do no less than that." 
 
 For an instant he wavered. There were burning 
 words upon his tongue, which he longed to whisper, 
 but did not. Instead, after a moment's pause he re 
 peated, quietly, " It was nothing." Then he turned 
 to Clyde. 
 
 " Come," he said. " It is getting late. Good-even 
 ing, ladies." 
 
 Elsie took a candle, and started to go up-stairs. 
 As she reached the hall door, she turned toward me. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Margaret !" she cried, " if Uncle How 
 ard would only come back ! I need him. I want to 
 go home !" 
 
 " I know it, dear child," I answered, tenderly. " But 
 he will come soon, in a month or six weeks." 
 
 She pushed the hair back from her forehead with 
 a weary touch. " Yes, but that seems like an eter 
 nity." And she passed up the stairs. 
 
 I did not follow her, but went back to the fire, and 
 for a long hour sat peering into the glowing embers, 
 trying to read the destinies of these three whom my 
 heart had adopted as its own. Life plays at cross- 
 purposes with us every day; but the enigma she had 
 now propounded for my solving was beyond my skill. 
 I began to see that it could not be answered, but 
 must be worked out step by step, like a problem in
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 159 
 
 mathematics. And to at least one of the parties 
 probably to more than one each step would be a 
 separate pang. 
 
 What would Kenneth do ? What did he intend to 
 do ? Had he marked out a course for himself, and 
 would he tread it unshrinkingly to the end ? Was 
 he, as appearances to-night had indicated, preparing 
 in a spirit of lofty self-abnegation to immolate his love 
 upon the altar of brotherly devotion ? Would he 
 sink quietly into the background, and, if she could 
 be won, receive from Clyde's hands as a sister the 
 woman he had hoped to call his wife? Would he 
 shut his eyes henceforward to the pure, maidenly 
 love, not for Clyde but for himself, that he could not 
 fail to see was growing in Elsie's heart? 
 
 I did not know Kenneth Armstrong well enough 
 to answer these questions, although I believed him 
 capable of almost any act of self-sacrifice. But as 
 the weeks rolled on, I grew more and more at a loss. 
 Between him and Elsie there seemed a great gulf 
 fixed; a gulf that neither of them attempted to pass. 
 He did not shun her presence, but neither did he seek 
 it, except when compelled to do so. Cautious and 
 kindly always, for, true gentleman that he was, he 
 could not have been otherwise, he yet seemed to 
 have set a bound for himself over which he never 
 passed. There were no more of those long talks in 
 which soul spoke to soul even more clearly than lip 
 to lip. He never read aloud to her now, " lending 
 the rhyme of the poet the beauty of his voice," and 
 thus giving utterance to the passionate devotion he 
 could not quite conceal, but for the avowal of which
 
 l6o EXPIATION. 
 
 the time was not yet ripe. There were no more 
 loitering in the soft twilights, no more quick answer 
 ing glances when the same high thought stirred in 
 the heart of each. 
 
 She sang for him sometimes, but it was when we 
 were all together : never when they were alone. And 
 I remarked that he never called for the old songs 
 that had so thrilled him in the past. Whatever could 
 in any way bring them into their old relation which, 
 while it had not been that of openly avowed lovers, 
 had yet long since passed the bounds of mere friend 
 liness he seemed instinctively to avoid. 
 
 Yet and here was the puzzle he was not giving 
 her up to Clyde. He had apparently withdrawn 
 from the lists himself; but he still threw every 
 possible hindrance in his brother's way. Watching 
 them both, with eyes sharpened by affection and 
 anxiety, I soon saw that Kenneth's every thought 
 was concentrated upon the effort to keep Clyde and 
 Elsie apart, to pile up obstacles between them 
 mountain high. 
 
 I did not like this. In the first place, what law of 
 ethics, human or divine, demanded of Kenneth such a 
 sacrifice as he was making? It seemed to me a sort of 
 mock heroism. There was a touch of the melo-drama- 
 tic about it, which did not suit me. If a love had grown 
 up between him and Elsie, everything in their posi 
 tions, characters, and circumstances went to prove that 
 it was a God-appointed love, with which no fanciful 
 ideas of brotherly obligation should be allowed to 
 interfere. I doubted if he were doing right. Why 
 did he not go. to Clyde and say, frankly, " We both
 
 EXPIATION. !6i 
 
 love this girl, but my love is an older, a stronger love 
 than yours. Mine is full grown; yours is only in 
 the bud. I have already wooed her : not in words, 
 it is true, but in the acts that speak louder than 
 words, and I believe that she is beginning to love 
 me. In this matter you should yield to me, not I 
 to you." 
 
 But even as I thus wearied myself with question 
 ings, I knew that Clyde would not yield to Kenneth, 
 and that such an appeal would have been made 
 utterly in vain. If anything were said, it would have 
 to be this : " We will enter the lists together and 
 give each other fair play. Let the best man win." 
 
 Ah ! Kenneth could never say that. The training 
 of his whole life forbade it. 
 
 But why make a half-sacrifice ? If one must die, 
 surely it were better to die like a man than to sneak 
 out of life like a coward. Had Kenneth strength to 
 shut Elsie out from his own heart, but not strength 
 enough to see her won by another ? Or was there a 
 little of the dog-in-the-manger even here, where I had 
 thought all nobleness was garnered ? 
 
 But whatever my queryings might be, I kept them 
 to myself. I did not dare to meddle with these three 
 souls. If they had been my own children I would 
 not have dared to lay my sacrilegious hand upon 
 the delicate mechanism that a touch might harm 
 beyond repair. There are balances upon which even 
 a mother has no right to lay so much as a feather's 
 weight. There is a holy of holies in every one of 
 the souls that God has committed to her keeping, 
 into which even she has no right to enter ; there are 
 
 14* '
 
 !62 EXPIATION. 
 
 hidden arcana into which even she must not seek to 
 penetrate. 
 
 So I simply observed, and waited for the develop 
 ments that I knew must come at last. 
 
 Kenneth, it seemed, had no such fears as those to 
 which I have just alluded. He was not at all afraid 
 of interfering with matters that had better be let 
 alone. Clyde hardly found in his own shadow a more 
 inseparable companion than Kenneth, during the 
 hours in which there was a probability of meeting 
 Elsie. If the younger brother wandered off under 
 the maples, and, crossing the yellow road, walked up 
 the little graveled path that led to Cozytoft, you may 
 be sure that the elder was never far behind. Elsie 
 had not had courage to mount a horse since that 
 fearful night-ride ; but if Clyde proposed a drive, 
 Destiny, in the shape of Kenneth, always interfered 
 in some way to prevent its being a tete-a-tete. If a 
 ramble was proposed, " aunty's" shawl was brought 
 by the same adroit manceuverer, and we all started out 
 together. I could see that Kenneth strove by every 
 means in his power, by hunting up employments for 
 him, by little excursions into the surrounding coun 
 try, by suggesting improvements and alterations in 
 the green-house and in the laying out of the grounds, 
 by searching out new interests to occupy his thoughts, 
 and by filling up, as far as was possible, every available 
 moment of his time, to keep Clyde away from Cozy- 
 toft. Sometimes he succeeded for days together; 
 but failing in that, he strov to neutralize the evil 
 by introducing into Clyde's intercourse with my fair 
 guest such a strong proportion of broad, open day-
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 I6 3 
 
 light, such a matter-of-fact element, so to speak, that 
 the atmosphere became unfavorable to the growth of 
 sentiment. 
 
 Yet in spite of all this it did grow, day by day. 
 Clyde's devotion became, to me at least, more and 
 more apparent. 
 
 Many a heart has been " caught in the rebound." 
 Would the saying prove true in this instance ? Elsie 
 would have been more or less than woman if, in con 
 trast to his brother's studied coolness, this devotion 
 had not been grateful to her. Besides, she had always 
 liked him : they had had much in common ; and in 
 the free brotherly and sisterly intercourse that they 
 had held all summer, they had drawn very near to 
 each other. All that was brightest, most charming, 
 most winning in Clyde blossomed in the sunshine of 
 Elsie's presence. He never betrayed to her, or before 
 her, any of his waywardnesses, his caprices, his freaks 
 of temper. She drew out the best that was in him, and 
 to her he was all that was gentle, noble, and manly. 
 
 As a rule, I think it is true that personal beauty in 
 man makes but little impression upon women. They 
 do not demand in their heroes smoothness of outline 
 and perfection of feature, preferring even a rugged 
 exterior if it betokens the strength for which they 
 instinctively seek. But Clyde's beauty was so strik 
 ing, so peculiar, that I could not help regarding it 
 as one of the surest arrows in his quiver. It had its 
 influence even upon me, and I was getting to be an 
 old woman. I loved to look at him as I loved to 
 look at a beautiful picture or a fine statue ; the glory 
 of his hair was a delight to me, and the very poise
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 of his shapely head gave me a sense of aesthetic 
 pleasure. I could not help asking myself, some 
 times, what effect it would be likely to have upon 
 me if I were a young girl and this paragon were my 
 lover. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CLYDE was growing restive. The curb chafed and 
 worried him, even while, so adroit was Kenneth's 
 management, he was not distinctly aware that he was 
 curbed. I knew that his brother perceived it, but I 
 saw also that he made no change in his course. If 
 anything, his vigilance increased ; and I lived in con 
 stant fear of an outbreak between these two. If I 
 could only do something to help them ! For even in 
 my blindness I felt that they needed help. 
 
 " Kenneth," said I, the next time I saw him, " I 
 should think" you and Clyde would like to go off on 
 a journey somewhere. You have not been away 
 since you came from New York, and Clyde has 
 taken no long trip since your father first brought 
 him here. It would do you both good." 
 
 "'Traveling is a fool's paradise,' according to 
 Emerson, and ' the wise man stays at home,' " he 
 answered. " I have already journeyed enough to 
 discover what our Philosopher par excellence calls 
 ' the indifference of places.' We carry ourselves with 
 us wherever we go." 
 
 " But we all need change, variety," I rejoined.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 I6 5 
 
 " You are both young men. You need, especially 
 Clyde, to see more of the world." 
 
 Kenneth's face darkened, and he spoke quickly, 
 almost sternly : 
 
 " Do not put such ideas into his head, I beg of 
 you, Miss Rossiter. It would be the greatest misfor 
 tune But I beg your pardon for my hasty words. 
 
 Only believe me, the less that is said to Clyde about 
 seeing the world, the better." 
 
 " Then you might go to the Adirondacks. The 
 world has not wandered up there yet or but a small 
 fragment of it. Jim Wilson says the hunting is very 
 fine, and he brought home some splendid venison." 
 
 "That's a bright thought of yours, aunty," he said, 
 turning round with a sunnier smile than I had seen 
 upon his face for many a day. " That's a bright thought. 
 We will go to-morrow, if I can get Clyde started ; and 
 by the first of the week we'll send you a saddle of 
 venison such as Jim Wilson never dreamed of." 
 
 But Clyde peremptorily refused to go. For his 
 part, he preferred civilized life ; he had no fancy for 
 " roughing it," especially now when the weather was 
 growing cold and inclement. When he turned hunter, 
 he would go to the Far West, get an Indian tribe to 
 adopt him with all due ceremonials, marry some dusky 
 beauty, and settle down in a wigwam. He did not 
 believe in half-way measures. But Kenneth could go 
 if he pleased. Why did he not ? Indeed, Clyde would 
 be very glad to have him go, and thought he had 
 better start at once, by all means. 
 
 To which proposition Kenneth did not agree. So 
 my bright thought went after the myriad of its
 
 1 66 EXPIATION. 
 
 kindred that have been lost in the deep sea of 
 oblivion. 
 
 Patsy flitted in and out that week oftener than was 
 her wont. But it so happened that she never chanced 
 to find me alone. At last one evening as I saw her 
 tall, spare, yet not uncomely figure making its way 
 along by the hedge, it occurred to me that she might 
 have something to say that she did not care to say 
 before Matty. She was in the habit of consulting 
 me with regard to sundry details of household 
 arrangement concerning which she thought I could 
 read the tastes of the young gentlemen better than 
 she could. 
 
 So when I saw her coming I stepped out at the 
 back door. Her face brightened as she saw me, and 
 she beckoned me to one side with an air of mystery. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," she whispered, " I'm proper glad 
 to get a chance to speak to you alone. There's been 
 lots o' things a-troubling me lately." 
 
 " Is that so, Patsy ? I am sorry. But what's the 
 matter ? Don't the new recipes I gave you work 
 well ?" 
 
 " Oh, I hain't tried "em," she answered. " I never 
 could do much with rules for cookin'. I mostly put 
 in a little o' this, and a cupful o' that, and a pinch o' 
 t'other, and stir 'em all up well, and it comes out 
 about right, most generally. I tell you what, Miss 
 Rossiter, cookin' comes by natur'. If you hain't got 
 the faculty, book rules won't do you but mighty little 
 good. No, indeed ! it wasn't the recipes that troubled 
 me, not by a great sight." 
 
 " Well, what was it, then ?"
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 I6 7 
 
 " You've got your shawl on ? Come off here out 
 o' sight and hearin', Miss Rossiter, and I'll tell you 
 all about it. Matty she's good-hearted enough, fur- 
 zino, but she's got dreadful long ears." 
 
 We wandered off out of range of the windows, and 
 Patsy took off her apron and spread it over a rough 
 board to make a seat for me. Then she sat down 
 herself. 
 
 " It's Tom Bradshaw, Miss Rossiter. That's what's 
 the trouble." 
 
 " Tom Bradshaw ! What difficulty can there be 
 between you and him, Patsy ?" 
 
 " Not a mite of any. You know he used to work 
 for Mr. Armstrong ?" 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. But I do not remember 
 much about it. He did not work for him long, did 
 he?" 
 
 " No, not a great while; and now you're coming to 
 the very p'int. He was turned away. I never knew 
 justly what for, but I kind o' reckoned it was for 
 sneaking round, prying into what wa'n't no business 
 o' hisn. At any rate, that's just what he's been a- 
 doing ever since he was born." 
 
 " But what of it just now ?" 
 
 " Oh, you see he's owed the Armstrongs a grudge 
 ever since ; especially Kenneth, who had something 
 or nuther to do with his being turned off. He's told 
 awful stories about him, first and last, Miss Rossiter. 
 I declare to goodness, it just puts me out o' all sorts 
 o' patience." 
 
 "Let him talk," I said, reassuringly; for Patsy's 
 face proved the truth of her words, and her voice
 
 1 68 . EXPIATION. 
 
 trembled with excitement. " He can't hurt Kenneth. 
 It is not worth while to mind his nonsense." 
 
 " But he has hurt him, Miss Rossiter; he does hurt 
 him. He's a dreadful plausible chap, and he makes 
 folks believe just what he tells 'em." 
 
 I did not answer her for a minute. My memory 
 had gone back a year, and I was thinking of the 
 conversation I had chanced to hear in the store 
 between Tom Bradshaw, the major, and the squire. 
 
 " Folks down to the Corners are getting dreadfully 
 interested in Clyde lately, seems to me," she went on, 
 after awhile. 
 
 " How in Clyde, particularly ? What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Oh, I do' know." 
 
 But it was evident that she did know. So I waited 
 in patience till she was ready to tell me. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," she said, at last, " do you know 
 anything about these boys' business matters?" 
 
 " Not much. I imagine that there is not a great 
 deal to know." 
 
 " Did the old man make a will ?" 
 
 " Not that I know of. Why ?" 
 
 " Did the property belong to Clyde's mother, or 
 to Kenneth's?" she went on, entirely ignoring my 
 question. 
 
 " We have no reason to suppose that Mr. Arm 
 strong's property came to him through either of his 
 wives. He was extensively engaged in business for 
 many years ; and I presume he made his money as 
 most other men do, by working for it." 
 
 Patsy gave two or three satisfied nods. " Just so,"
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 169 
 
 she said, "just so! That's just what I've told 'em 
 allus. How folks will talk !" she added, reflectively. 
 
 " But how are the people in the village getting 
 interested in Clyde ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, it's Tom Bradshaw, that's all. He does say, 
 Miss Rossiter, that when Kenneth came out of his 
 father's room the night he died, he went right straight 
 to the safe and began overhauling the papers, putting 
 some in and taking some out, before he'd been in to 
 see Clyde or anything. Now, you know it ain't so, 
 for you was with Kenneth when he come down 
 stairs, and when he was a-hunting all over the house 
 for Clyde. You know it ain't true ; and I hope you 
 won't make no bones about saying so." 
 
 " But, Patsy," I said, " it is true that he went to 
 the safe that night, for I went with him and held the 
 light myself." 
 
 " You don't say so !" And Patsy turned round to 
 me with amazement and dissatisfaction in her face. 
 " I didn't believe one word of it. But don't tell me 't 
 he went to taking out papers and destroying of 'em, 
 for I know better." 
 
 " No," I replied, " he took none out ; but he put 
 one in, one that he had in his hand when I found 
 him by his father's bedside that night. That is all 
 I know about it, Patsy. Kenneth has never alluded 
 to the matter, and of course I have asked no ques 
 tions. But how was this untimely visit to the safe 
 discovered? I have never mentioned it before to a 
 living soul ; and it is not probable that Kenneth has 
 spoken of it." 
 
 " Tom Bradshaw pretends 't he was told on't ; but 
 H 15
 
 I/O 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 it's my private opinion that he was a-prowling round 
 where he hadn't no call to be, and peeked in through 
 the winder. It's just like him, for all the world." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then looked at me 
 with a new trouble in her rugged, yet kindly, face. 
 " That feller's hanging round Clyde too much lately, 
 Miss Rossiter, and 'tain't for no good. I've been 
 wanting to speak to you about it for a fortnight." 
 
 Around Clyde ! What now ? " But how does he 
 manage it ? I should not think Kenneth would allow 
 him to come on the premises, if he has such a spite 
 against the Armstrongs." 
 
 " Mercy ! I don't suppose Kenneth has the least 
 idea of it. He don't hear much of the gossip that's 
 going on, now I tell you. Tom's got a dreadful 
 wheedling kind of a way with him, and he just pulls 
 the wool right over Clyde's eyes, making believe that 
 he's so wonderful interested in his ponies and chick 
 ens and things. It's all gammon, the whole on't. 
 Kenneth don't see much of him, anyway. He kind 
 o' hangs round out o' sight, and watches, and then 
 slips into the green-house when Clyde's by himself. 
 I've seen him there lots o' times lately, and it means 
 mischief, just as sure as my name's Patsy." 
 
 " But what kind of mischief, Patsy ? I am not sure 
 that I get your idea." 
 
 " He means to make trouble between them two 
 brothers," said Patsy, with a jerk of her head. " He 
 wouldn't want no better fun. Miss Rossiter '' 
 
 I waited for her to go on, but here she hesitated. 
 So after a little I said, " Well, what is it, Patsy ?" 
 
 " I want to ask something, and I don't know as
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 I/I 
 
 I've any right to. But you know I set e'en a'most 
 as much by them boys as if they was my own." 
 
 " You may ask me just what you please, Patsy. I 
 shall not misjudge your motives." 
 
 " Of course you ain't bound to say nothing if you 
 don't want to," she remarked, with a considerate air. 
 " My asking hain't nothing to do with your answering. 
 But I've been worrying, for a spell back, about them 
 and this Elsie Meredith ;" turning round with an 
 expression that seemed to say, " Now, if you think 
 I'm a fool, why, say so !" 
 
 " Why have you worried ?" I asked. " Would not 
 the old house be brighter and happier if there was a 
 sweet young mistress there to bring sunshine into the 
 vacant rooms and fill them with life and joy? It 
 would not make much difference with you, Patsy, for 
 I imagine she would not care to make any violent 
 changes in your department." 
 
 Her face flushed hotly. 
 
 " For the land sakes ! I hope you didn't think I 
 meant that. I wa'n't a-looking out for number one. 
 But I tell you what, Miss Rossiter," dropping her 
 voice to a lower key, " I knew two brothers, once, 
 who both fell in love with the same girl, and there 
 was the worst kind of a row." 
 
 I did not answer her : I was thinking. Very soon 
 she went on, 
 
 " Now, you needn't say nothing, if you don't want 
 to. But if I'm a natural born fool, it would be a 
 kind of comfort to know it!" 
 
 "I did think at one time," I said, "that Kenneth 
 was attached to her. But he has changed lately."
 
 1/2 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Kind o' cool, ain't he ? I thought so. It come 
 on him all of a sudden, too. But Clyde he's in dead 
 earnest. Now, if Kenneth don't want her, what does 
 he want to act so for ?" 
 
 "Act how?" 
 
 "Why, interfering between 'em. He's allus hang 
 ing, round. Clyde don't have no fair chance to do 
 his courting." 
 
 " How did you learn all this ?" I asked, looking at 
 her in some surprise. 
 
 " I ain't blind as a bat yet," she answered. " I can 
 see through a millstone, when there's a good big 
 hole in it, if I am nigh on to fifty year old. But, Miss 
 Rossiter, don't it beat all how news travels ? It does 
 seem as if these boys couldn't so much as sneeze 
 but what the whole town was a-talking about it." 
 
 " The village people are not talking about this 
 matter ?" 
 
 "Yes, they be. They've been speculating and 
 surmising all summer. First they would have it 
 that Kenneth was a-courting of her. Now they say 
 she's given him the mitten, and that Clyde's the 
 favored one." 
 
 "Oh, well," I said, "there will be just so much 
 gossip while the world stands. But I supposed Elsie 
 was much beloved in Altona." 
 
 " So she is. Folks ain't saying anything against 
 her. But they do say that Kenneth ain't doing just 
 right. They say 't he's determined that Clyde sha'n't 
 get her. You see, Tom Bradshaw's made 'em believe, 
 down there at the Corners, that Kenneth ain't play 
 ing fair about the property ; and it stands to reason,
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 173 
 
 if that's true, he don't want Clyde to get married and 
 raise a family. Then, too, they think he's kind o' 
 like a dog in the manger, and that if he can't have 
 her himself, he's bound Clyde sha'n't. And that's 
 just the way it goes." 
 
 This troubled me more than I can tell you. I did 
 not care greatly for the gossip of the town ; and, be 
 sides, what right had I to find fault with those who 
 did not know Kenneth so well as I did ? Had not 
 some of these very doubts and questionings come 
 up in my own mind ? 
 
 But I dreaded the effect upon Clyde's sensitive, 
 easily-disturbed nature, if these things came to his 
 ears. Tom Bradshaw had powerful weapons in his 
 hands, if he chose to use them. 
 
 While I sat in a brown study, crushing the with 
 ered grass beneath the toe of my boot, Patsy laid her 
 hand upon my arm. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter, I'm real troubled, or I wouldn't 
 ha' come to you. I've been a-beating about the bush 
 this whole during time; but the truth o' the business 
 is, that I believe this leaven o' Tom Bradshaw's has 
 begun to work a'ready; and it'll leaven the whole 
 lump before we know it." 
 
 "Why do you believe so?" 
 
 " Oh, things don't go on to our house a bit as 
 they used to. Them two boys used to seem so happy 
 together. To be sure, Clyde would make a rumpus 
 once in awhile ; but Kenneth could manage him just 
 as easy, and bring him around after a little ; and 
 then he'd be just as good as pie for a spell. But now 
 there's something wrong all the time. It seems as if
 
 174 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 the air was chock full o' thunder and lightning, and 
 you got a clap right in your face and eyes afore you 
 knew it." 
 
 " Patsy, tell me one thing. You don't doubt 
 Kenneth ? These things don't shake your faith in 
 him?" 
 
 " Shake it ? No, sir ! not a mite ! I don't go back 
 on my friends quite so easy. I calculate to swear by 
 Kenneth Armstrong just as long as I live, right or 
 wrong; and I'm sorry if anything I've said has made 
 you think otherwise. I'm willing to walk by faith 
 and not by sight, sometimes, according to Scriptur'." 
 Tears sprang to the keen gray eyes, and Patsy 
 furtively wiped them with the corner of her apron. 
 " I've felt as if I wanted to be a-praying for them 
 boys all this week," she went on, with a half sob ; 
 " and I should, if I'd only been a professor ! But as 
 'twas, I s'posed my prayers wouldn't amount to much. 
 Leastways, that seemed to be about the p'int o' Mr. 
 Eldridge's last sermon." 
 
 " When a heart that is troubled goes to God to lay 
 its burden at his feet," I said, " I don't believe he 
 stops to ask whether it is the heart of a ' professor' 
 or not. He ' giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth 
 not.' So we may both ask him to help those who 
 need help, Patsy." 
 
 " Well, it's time for me to be a-going," said she, 
 rising. " I've got sponge to set to-night. Miss Ros- 
 siter, it does women lots o' good to talk over their 
 troubles; now, don't it ? I feel better a'ready, though 
 there ain't no airthly reason why I should."
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PATSY was right ; the leaven was working. 
 
 Now, Tom Bradshaw was not a deliberately bad 
 man. Indeed, I may as well say right here that there 
 will be no villain in this story. I am not writing a 
 romance. I am only telling you about the Arm 
 strongs, and the experiences, some strange and some 
 sad, that we had in common. So I cannot manufac 
 ture my own materials ; and we were average people 
 up in Altona. None of us were very good or very 
 bad. As Patsy used to say, we were "just about 
 middling." The very worst of us were not all bad ; 
 and as for the best of us, ah, well ! even Kenneth 
 and Elsie and my beloved Patsy were not quite 
 perfect. They were only mortals, after all. 
 
 No, Tom Bradshaw was not a villain. He was 
 envious and conceited and narrow ; lazy too, and 
 fond of loitering about with open eyes and ears 
 wherever he might see or hear some new thing. 
 He was apt to lay his meddling fingers upon matters 
 that did not concern him, and, with a mischievous 
 tongue to help him, he had succeeded in doing more 
 harm in the world than many a worse man has been 
 able to accomplish. 
 
 He was a self-deceiver also, unable to read the 
 secrets of his own heart, or to sound its subtle depths. 
 I presume he had not the slightest idea that a 
 settled dislike to Kenneth was the real root of his
 
 176 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 sudden interest in Clyde. Probably he had no delib 
 erate, avowed intention of making trouble between 
 the brothers. Clyde was innocent and unsuspecting. 
 He was younger than Kenneth, who was only a half- 
 brother, after all, and had seen much less of the 
 world. Somebody ought to put him on his guard 
 and tell him to take care of his own interests. Even 
 brothers were not always to be trusted. That was 
 all he was going to do. It was merely a praise 
 worthy effort to help his neighbor. 
 
 So when he began, as he did, to instill his venom 
 ous poison into Clyde's ears, drop by drop, I do not 
 doubt that he flattered himself he was doing God 
 service. Men have so flattered themselves many a 
 time, when they, have been doing devil's work for 
 devil's wages. 
 
 I began to long for Dr. Bellinger's return. Elsie 
 had not been placed directly in my charge. I was 
 not responsible for her sayings and doings. She had 
 passed the period of tutelage, and was a woman^ 
 capable of thinking and acting for herself. But in a 
 certain degree I felt myself responsible for her happi 
 ness. She had been, all through the summer months, 
 so bright, so joyous, so full of love for all created 
 things, the very incarnation of hopeful, happy girl 
 hood. Now, as I saw her day by day growing paler, 
 stiller, sadder, more reserved, keeping herself to her 
 self, and giving me fewer and fewer glimpses of her 
 true life, her inner life, it gave me the keenest pain. 
 She seldom mentioned Kenneth's name now. I knew 
 that he was a riddle, an embodied mystery, to her. 
 She saw him often, it is true ; Clyde would come, and
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 177 
 
 if Kenneth did not come with him, he was sure to 
 follow in five minutes. For her sake I regretted this 
 most deeply. There was no real intercourse between 
 them, and I knew his presence was a torture. To 
 her ? Yes ; and to him also. Underneath all the 
 studied coolness, the gentlemanly reserve, I counted 
 the very throbbings of his heart, and knew that he 
 was torturing himself as well as her. 
 
 Very needlessly, too, I thought. If his design was 
 to prevent Clyde from making an avowal of love to 
 Elsie, if he meant so to manage matters that he 
 should have no private interviews with her, I felt 
 that he might as well give it up. That Clyde's 
 love should find open expression ere long, seemed 
 a foregone conclusion. Not that Elsie, consciously, 
 gave him any encouragement. I think she was so 
 absorbed in the effort to take care of her own heart, 
 and in trying to understand the sudden change in 
 Kenneth, that she was totally unaware when Clyde 
 passed the border land of friendship and entered the 
 enchanted domain of love. She did not see that his 
 eyes were opened, and that henceforth there was for 
 him a new heaven and a new earth. His devotion 
 was very sweet to her, and helped her to bear Ken 
 neth's coldness. But she did not translate it aright, 
 she did not give it its true meaning. 
 
 By this time November had worn away, not 
 flown away, as the summer months had done, and 
 it was the ist of December. Matty had been to 
 the post-office, and returned, bringing a letter with a 
 foreign postmark for Elsie. 
 
 Her eye brightened as she broke the seal and 
 H*
 
 178 EXPIATION. 
 
 glanced down the first page. "Uncle Howard is 
 coming," she said. " He will be here in Altona three 
 weeks from to-day. He sailed from Queenstown on 
 the 25th." 
 
 That was good news. It was better that Elsie 
 should go away ; better for her and better for my 
 other two. 
 
 The next morning, as we were at breakfast, she 
 said, 
 
 " Aunt Margaret, do not speak of Uncle Howard's 
 letter. I will just pack my trunks and slip away 
 quietly when he comes. I hate leave-takings." 
 
 Two or three days after this, I met Kenneth just 
 outside the gate. 
 
 " Miss Rossiter," he said, abruptly, " when is Miss 
 Meredith going back to New York ?" 
 
 " Before a very great while, probably," I answered. 
 " You know her uncle, when he went away, expected 
 to return some time in December." 
 
 He did not say, " Thank God !" but he looked it, 
 looked it so plainly that on the impulse of the moment 
 I said, half impatiently, 
 
 " Kenneth Armstrong, if you love Elsie Meredith, 
 and you gave us all reason at one time to suppose 
 you did, why do you not tell her so like a man ? 
 And if you do not care for her, why do you not keep 
 away from her? You torture her, and you torture 
 yourself, and you torture Clyde." 
 
 He turned white as a sheet, white to the very lips. 
 But my heart was hardened against him that day, for 
 I had been mentally contrasting the Elsie I had just 
 left in my little parlor a quiet, saddened woman
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 179 
 
 with the fair young Elsie who but two months before 
 I had watched in her bright, conscious loveliness, as 
 she stood at her mirror adorning herself for his sake. 
 So I had no pity for him, but went on. I fear I had 
 forgotten the rules I had laid down for myself about 
 not " interfering" between these three. 
 
 " I doubt if you are doing right," I said. " I will 
 not pretend to be able to read you. Sometimes I 
 think that you still love her ; sometimes I think that 
 you do not. But you have no right to play with her 
 heart, as a cat plays with a mouse. If, after having 
 taught her to love you, you do not care for her, leave 
 her alone; keep out her way; do not darken her 
 sunshine with your presence. Let Clyde fight his 
 own battles." 
 
 There ! it was all out now, what I had been want 
 ing to say for a month past. I had spoken eagerly, 
 impetuously, in a spasjn of sudden heat, as I must 
 always speak if I said anything of that sort. I had 
 not courage enough to lecture a bearded man, like the 
 one who was looking down upon me, in cool blood. 
 
 A hand fell suddenly upon my arm, compressing it 
 until I shrank with pain. 
 
 " Stop, Miss Rossiter !" he said, in a low, intense 
 voice. " Stop ! You do not know what you are 
 talking about. You are as one who beats the air." 
 
 " I know you have no right to put three people to 
 the torture needlessly," I retorted. 
 
 " Needlessly ? Would to God that it were need 
 less ! But, Miss Rossiter, there is no way of escape 
 for any of us. If there is, I have failed to see it. 
 Prayers and pleadings have been all in vain."
 
 I So EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Kenneth," I persisted, still thinking of the sweet 
 face whose memory blinded my eyes to the deathly 
 pallor of his, " Kenneth, this seems to me like sheer 
 nonsense. I do not believe in fatalism. If we make 
 mistakes, they are seldom irremediable." 
 
 " I have made no mistakes," he answered, sadly. 
 " I think I have made none. But, oh ! aunty," and 
 here his voice softened, growing so tender and be 
 seeching that I could hardly bear it, " do not you 
 distrust me or blame me. I cannot turn aside from 
 the path before me. I did not mark it out for myself; 
 I am not treading it in foolhardy strength and con 
 fidence. Miss Rossiter, believe me, I am trying to 
 do right." 
 
 He held out his hand, and I placed mine within it 
 Yes, I would believe he was " trying to do right." 
 But I still feared he was actuated by some fanciful, 
 exaggerated idea of duty that would not bear the 
 scrutiny of clear-eyed common sense; and I told 
 him so. 
 
 He smiled faintly. " Some time, perhaps, you will 
 know me better," was all he said. 
 
 That night Dennis came in in a great hurry. 
 " Thanks be to God, yer honor," he exclaimed, 
 snatching off his old felt hat with a profound obei 
 sance, " thanks be to God, yer honor, Patsy is in 
 great distress wid her head, and she wants to know 
 wud you be plased to come over for a bit ?" 
 
 Now, one would naturally have supposed that 
 Dennis was giving thanks for poor Patsy's distressing 
 headache, which was by no means the case. It was 
 only a way he had. He was quite likely, in his own
 
 EXP1A TION. l g i 
 
 behalf, to thank God for a jumping toothache in pre 
 cisely the same tone of voice with which he swore at 
 the boys who threw stones at his hens and stole his 
 early watermelons. " Thank God !" was a modified 
 sort of oath with him, much like Deacon Jones's 
 innocent " by thunder!" 
 
 " Yes," I answered ; " I will go to her immediately. 
 Has she been sick long ?" 
 
 " Indade, yer honor, I'm not able to state with ex 
 actness. But, accordin' to the best of me abilities, it 
 was about three o'clock o' the afternoon that she 
 ascinded to her bed-chamber, and she has not left it 
 since, savin' for a few minutes to prepare the tay." 
 
 I found Patsy not dangerously ill, but flushed, 
 feverish, and suffering from neuralgic pains in the 
 head and face. 
 
 " I ain't a-going to be sick," she said, with an in 
 voluntary groan, las she rocked back and forth with 
 both hands pressed to her face. " I meant to fight it 
 out and say nothing to nobody. But the pain kept 
 a-growing wuss and wuss, and I thought maybe 
 'twould kind o' ease off if you'd come and sit here 
 where I could look at you for a spell." 
 
 " You must not look at me at all," I said. " You 
 must undress and go right to bed. Doesn't the room 
 feel chilly ? Why haven't you a fire in this bright 
 little stove ? or do you keep it for ornament ?" 
 
 She laughed, but presently covered her face, and 
 began to moan again. I found plenty of dry 
 wood in her wood-box, and had soon rekindled 
 the fire, which in her heat and feverishness she had 
 neglected. 
 
 16
 
 !g2 EXPIATION. 
 
 "Now," I said, "you must go straight to bed, 
 while I go down to the kitchen and make some mus 
 tard-plasters and get you a cup of hot tea." 
 
 She protested, but I went. Her kitchen and pantry 
 were like wax-work for neatness, as usual. Dennis 
 was out in the wash-room, regaling himself with his 
 pipe and a newspaper. I saw nothing of the two 
 young masters of the establishment. 
 
 " Dennis," I said, "go over toCozytoft, quietly, and 
 tell Matty I shall stay here to-night, and ask her to 
 send me the wrapper that hangs in my closet." 
 
 When I went up-stairs again, I told Patsy what I 
 had done. She demurred at first, urging that it was 
 unnecessary, but, finding that remonstrances were 
 useless, gratefully acknowledged, at last, that she had 
 dreaded the long, lonely night. 
 
 " I shall take a pillow and blanket," I said, " and 
 lie here on the lounge, and if you need anything I 
 shall be near at hand. Now, turn over and try to go 
 to sleep while your face is a little easier. I will sit 
 up awhile and attend to the fire. What have you to 
 read up here, anything ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, " there's a lot o' magazines and 
 things on the closet-shelf; I've got through reading 
 'em, and was calculating to take 'em down-stairs and 
 put 'em away to-day. It's lucky J didn't." 
 
 What do you think I found on the shelf? The 
 New York Ledger, and diluted literature in the shape 
 of weak " Ladies' Magazines" ? By no means. There 
 was a well-thumbed volume of Macaulay's Essays, 
 and two or three other books of that ilk, and sundry 
 odd numbers of " Putnam" for 1855. Patsy had really
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 183 
 
 read much and thought much. She chose strong 
 meat for her diet, not " milk for babes." 
 
 But I was not quite equal to the Essays that night, 
 so I took one of the magazines, and was soon ab 
 sorbed in that strange story, " My Three Conversa 
 tions with Miss Chester." 
 
 Patsy was restless, uneasy, and groaned heavily in 
 her fitful sleep. Two hours passed, and I still sat 
 there reading, though my watch pointed to half-past 
 eleven. At last she threw the covering from her 
 shoulders with an energetic air. 
 
 " It's no use," she said; " I may as well get up and 
 play it's morning. This pain drives me 'most crazy." 
 
 " No, no," I answered: "you will take cold if you 
 get up. But isn't there something else that we can 
 try ? You are a good nurse, Patsy ; tell me what to 
 do for you." 
 
 "If it wa'n't so much trouble," she said. "Some 
 times it works, and then again it don't ; but anyhow, 
 I guess we won't try it to-night, it's such a fuss." 
 
 " But what is it ? Tell me that, Patsy." 
 
 " It's an onion, roasted in the ashes," she said. 
 " That used to be mother's sovereignest cure for the 
 faceache, bound on, you know, piping hot. But 
 there ain't no sense bothering with it to-night. Patsy's 
 tough, and I guess she can stand it." 
 
 " Where are the onions ?" 
 
 " Oh, there ain't any up out o' the cellar, Miss 
 Rossiter. Now, you just hold on." 
 
 But I took the lamp and started off in pursuit oi 
 the " sovereignest cure." 
 
 I had on light slippers, and stole noiselessly about
 
 184 EXPIATION. 
 
 the house for fear of disturbing the other sleepers. 
 There was a good bed of hot ashes in the kitchen 
 stove, in which I speedily buried my onion, and sat 
 down to wait for it. 
 
 i 
 
 As I sat there meditating upon Patsy's case, it 
 occurred to me that there was, or used to be, a bottle 
 of laudanum in a certain cupboard, and that it might 
 be well for me to get it to use in case of emergency. 
 
 The dining-room was separated from the kitchen 
 by a narrow passage. Between it and the library was 
 a small room, to which I have taken my reader be 
 fore, in which the safe was kept. In that room was 
 the cupboard ; and thitherward I went in pursuit of 
 the laudanum. 
 
 The doors between these rooms were open, as was 
 usually the case. So was the one from the library 
 into the hall. As I stood at the cupboard, taking 
 down bottle after bottle in search of the right one, I 
 was startled by a stealthy tread upon the stairs, and 
 a sudden glow of light upon the library wall. 
 
 Startled, not because I was frightened, what was 
 there to be afraid of? but because, as was but nat 
 ural at that hour of the night, I was in an unpresent 
 able deshabille. It was one of the young gentlemen, 
 probably, on his way to the kitchen for a glass of 
 water. Without a moment's reflection, I put out my 
 light and drew back into the corner behind the 
 dining-room door, thinking to remain there quietly 
 till the intruder had accomplished his errand and 
 gone up-stairs again. 
 
 The door swung open inward, so that I was still in 
 the " safe-room," as we called it. The stealthy tread
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 I8 5 
 
 drew nearer and nearer, but it did not pass through 
 the room, as I had planned. It paused just in the 
 range of my vision, and Clyde knelt down before the 
 safe and applied a key that he held in his hand to the 
 lock. 
 
 My heart stopped beating. What did this mean ? 
 Kenneth, I knew, always carried the key of the safe : 
 he had done so ever since his father died. No one 
 but him had ever unlocked it since that time, and 
 many of the papers had never been disturbed, but 
 lay just where they were placed by the elder Mr. 
 Armstrong's own hands. Why was Clyde there at 
 the dead of night? 
 
 I could see his face distinctly. It wore an eager, 
 excited look, flushing and paling by turns; yet it 
 was stern and determined, even while his hand trem 
 bled so that it was with difficulty he adjusted the 
 key to the wards of the lock. But he succeeded at 
 last, and the bolt flew back with a sharp click. 
 
 There was another door, however, and still another, 
 to be unlocked before he could reach the particular 
 portion of the safe in which important documents 
 were kept ; and each of them was to be opened in 
 a different way. Clyde was not familiar with the 
 process, and it took him some time. I should have 
 said that I stood there behind the door, trembling like 
 a leaf with excitement and strange dread, for full half 
 an hour before he succeeded in opening the three 
 doors. Probably it was not five minutes. 
 
 The light fell full upon his face as he leaned for 
 ward and with eager fingers began searching among 
 the papers. Most of them were labeled, and he 
 
 1 6*
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 merely glanced at them, and laid them back again. 
 At length I thought Jie looked disheartened and dis 
 couraged. The stimulus of success was wanting, and 
 he threw quick glances over his shoulder, as if afraid 
 of his shadow. Evidently he had failed to find what 
 he was looking for. 
 
 In one corner of the safe, deep in shadow, stood a 
 small chest or box, fastened with a spring lock. It 
 caught Clyde's roving eye at last, and he pounced 
 upon it, bringing it forward, and placing it upon the 
 carpet at his feet, while his features worked strangely. 
 Here doubtless was the object of his search ; but it 
 was still out of reach, for he had not the key to the 
 box. 
 
 He examined the lock, shook it, beat upon the lid 
 with his hand. But it resisted all such idle cajoler 
 ies. Then from the depths of one of his pockets he 
 produced a bunch of keys, and tried one after another- 
 The very last one upon the ring fitted, and he raised 
 the cover. 
 
 A smothered but triumphant "ha, ha!" burst 
 involuntarily from his lips as he seized an envelope 
 that lay within, and held it up to the light. I knew 
 it in an instant. It was, of course, the very one that 
 Kenneth had sealed and directed on that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night when Mr. Armstrong left us. 
 
 But just then, before he had broken the seal, I 
 became aware by some subtle instinct for I could 
 not see him that Kenneth had entered the library. 
 Clyde felt his presence, too, and turned with a low 
 cry of anger and dismay, that was almost like 
 the snarl of an animal balked of its prey, just in
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 I8 7 
 
 time to meet his cool gray eyes as he crossed the 
 threshold. 
 
 As Kenneth caught sight of the envelope in Clyde's 
 hand, his cheeks blanched, and his lips were com 
 pressed until only a thread of crimson was visible. 
 Stepping quickly forward, before his brother had time 
 to resist him, he quietly removed the paper from his 
 grasp and thrust it into his own bosom. But as 
 Clyde sprang to his feet with a muttered oath, and 
 confronted him with blazing eyes and the front of 
 Mars himself, he spoke to him as calmly and kindly, 
 and with a manner as free from heat and passion, as 
 if they had been training vines together in the con 
 servatory. 
 
 The brothers had evidently both been in bed. 
 They shared the same room ; and doubtless, while 
 Kenneth slept, Clyde had stolen down to prosecute 
 his investigations. But he had not been rapid enough 
 in his movements, and Kenneth's vigilance had 
 thwarted him. 
 
 " What are you doing, Clyde ?" he asked, quietly. 
 " I am astonished to find you here at this hour of 
 the night. Where did you get the key ?" 
 
 "In your pocket, sir!" cried Clyde, wrathfully. 
 " You need not look at me in that way. I am no 
 thief or meddler. My right to my father's papers is 
 as good as yours. I ask no leave or license of you 
 to open this safe." 
 
 " I am sorry you took all this unnecessary trouble," 
 said Kenneth, very gently. " You have not dealt 
 fairly with me, Clyde. You have never given me 
 the slightest hint that you wished to examine these
 
 !88 EXPIATION. 
 
 papers. I would have opened the safe for you any 
 day. I will look them all over with you to-morrow, 
 if you wish." 
 
 " All ? all ? Will you show me the one that you 
 snatched from me, the one you have in your 
 bosom ?" he cried, with an intensity of passion that 
 I cannot describe to you. " That is the one I want : 
 the only one I care for; the one you brought here 
 the night our father died, even before he was cold, 
 and before you had come to me in my agony and 
 told me he was dead. Why have you never spoken 
 to me of that paper, Kenneth Armstrong ? There 
 should be no such secrets between brothers. If all 
 your dealings have been open and fair and honest, 
 why have you not told me of its existence ?" 
 
 " ' Open and fair and honest' ! What do you mean, 
 Clyde ?" cried Kenneth, for once thrown off his 
 balance. " Who has been poisoning you against 
 me ? Who told you about this paper ? I have never 
 mentioned it to a living soul." 
 
 " That's the very thing I complain of," said Clyde, 
 tauntingly. " You should have mentioned it. Am 
 I not John Armstrong's son ? What right have you 
 to his papers that I do not possess also ? I will see 
 that document, Kenneth. If you will not show it to 
 me of your own free will, the law shall compel you 
 to do so." 
 
 " You are beside yourself, Clyde. That paper is 
 one of which the law can take no cognizance. It 
 has nothing to do with it. You have nothing to do 
 with it. It belongs solely to me ; given to me by 
 my father's own hand. I placed it here for safe-keep-
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 189 
 
 ing, as he told me to ; but it has no connection what 
 ever with the papers relating to the estate." 
 
 " What is it, then ?" said Clyde, with smothered 
 fury in his tones. " What is it ? Do you expect me 
 to believe this mysterious story without any proof 
 of its truth ? Do you mean to say that the paper 
 you have kept concealed so long is not our father's 
 will ?" 
 
 " Oh, Clyde ! Clyde !" cried Kenneth, " how can 
 you be so cruel to me, so unjust to your better self? 
 Our father's will ? He made none, Clyde. We two 
 were all he had, and he wished that there should be 
 no division of the estate. ' It is all yours and Clyde's/ 
 he said that night. ' There are no debts. You two 
 are my natural heirs, and all I have is yours.' Was 
 not that enough ? He loved us both so tenderly ; 
 and he wished us to live together, bound by closest 
 ties, with one roof to shelter us, until the day of our 
 death. This was the last wish that he expressed. But 
 we thwart his will as entirely by living in a state of 
 discord as we should by parting ourselves asunder as 
 far as the east is from the west. Oh, Clyde, be satisfied, 
 and trust me even as he did !" 
 
 But Clyde's face did not soften. " It all rests with 
 yourself," he said. " Show me that paper, and I will 
 be satisfied. There can have been no secrets between 
 our father and you in which I am not concerned. 
 The idea is preposterous. I demand equal knowledge 
 with yourself as to the contents of that paper; and 
 as sure as there is a God in heaven I will have it. 
 You cannot thwart me always, strong as you think 
 yourself."
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 Clyde's first fury had subsided. As he made this 
 demand, with his clear, undaunted eyes fixed upon 
 Kenneth's pale face, I thought I had never seen such 
 dignity and grandeur in his bearing. Whether he 
 was right or wrong in his suspicions, it was evident 
 that he believed with all his soul that he had been 
 grossly injured by Kenneth, and, perhaps, by the 
 dead father who had been so dear to him ; that he 
 had indeed been " wounded in the house of his 
 friends." 
 
 For a moment or; two there was silence between 
 them. At length Kenneth said, returning Clyde's 
 steady gaze with one equally steady, 
 
 " Clyde, have I ever lied to you ?" 
 
 There was no answer ; but Clyde's mouth lost a 
 little of its fixed rigidity. 
 
 " Answer me truly, Clyde, I implore you, by all the 
 hallowed memories of our childhood. Have I ever 
 lied to you in all my life long ?" 
 
 The reply was so low as to be scarcely audible, but 
 it was emphatic. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then, believe me, I shall not begin now. I tell 
 you the entire truth, my brother, when I say to you 
 that I am as ignorant as you of the nature of the 
 paper that has so disturbed you. I have never read 
 it. I have never been told what it contains." 
 
 Clyde's countenance hardened again. " You can 
 not expect me to believe that. It is too absurd, 
 too melodramatic. The envelope is addressed in 
 your own handwriting. It is sealed with your own 
 seal. Now you ask me to believe that you know
 
 EXPIATION. I9I 
 
 nothing whatever of its contents. It is too much 
 Kenneth. My reason forbids me to believe it." 
 
 Kenneth's face flushed hotly, and he laid his hand 
 heavily upon Clyde's shoulder. " You must believe 
 it, Clyde. You shall not leave this spot until I 
 make you believe it. See here !" And he took 
 the envelope from his breast. " That is my hand 
 writing, is it ? and that is my seal ? Well, I own 
 it. I have no thought of denying it. But now 
 nay, take it in your own hands : I give you full per 
 mission tear off that envelope and see what you will 
 find beneath it. Tear it off, I say !" he repeated ; for 
 Clyde, overawed by the sudden change in his brother's 
 manner, and by his rapid, impetuous speech, was 
 holding the envelope idly in his hand, and glancing 
 from it to Kenneth's face with anxious, troubled eyes. 
 " Tear it off, I say !" 
 
 He was obeyed at last, but Clyde's fingers trembled 
 so that they could scarcely perform their office. 
 Within the outer envelope was another, closely sealed. 
 As it met his eye, Clyde cowered like a whipped child, 
 and covered his face with his hands. The paper 
 dropped at Kenneth's feet. 
 
 He picked it up, and held it before Clyde's eyes, 
 forcibly removing his hands. But now he spoke 
 gently, even tenderly. 
 
 " Whose handwriting is that, Clyde ? Whose seal 
 is that? Did I forge the one and surreptitiously use 
 the other? You know better. You know that no 
 eye has seen the paper that lies folded within this 
 envelope since our dead father's rested upon it as he 
 placed it there. He gave it to me that night, Clyde,
 
 192 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 sealed as you see it now. He did not tell me what it 
 was. He only placed it in my special keeping, and 
 told me that if certain contingencies arose years hence, 
 I was at liberty to open it. He told me also to place 
 it in another envelope, to direct it to ' Kenneth Arm 
 strong,' to seal it with my own seal, and to write 
 upon it an order that in case of my death it should 
 be burned unopened. I obeyed him to the letter, 
 and at the earliest possible moment. You stand 
 here as my judge to-night, Clyde. Did I do right 
 or wrong ?" 
 
 Clyde did not answer, but his mien had lost all its 
 loftiness, and all its bravado as well. His head drooped 
 toward Kenneth. The stronger nature was once 
 more gaining the ascendancy over the weaker. 
 
 " He did not tell me, in so many words, to keep 
 silent about the matter. But he placed this trust in 
 my hands. Was I to begin babbling of it at the very 
 start ? Speak to me, Clyde. This must be settled 
 once for all. It never must come up between us two 
 again. Tell me, did I do right or wrong ?" 
 
 Clyde's lips moved, but no sound was to be heard. 
 Kenneth bent his head and listened intently. 
 
 " Answer me, Clyde. This must be settled. Right 
 or wrong ?" 
 
 " Right," he answered, feebly, but he did not lift 
 his eyes to his brother's face. It seemed as if he 
 dared not. 
 
 Kenneth clasped him to his heart in an embrace 
 that was at once tender and strong. His face was 
 radiant with joy ineffable. Even so do the angels in 
 heaven rejoice over us when, having been tempted
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 193 
 
 and misled, we turn again to the friend that sticketh 
 closer than a brother. 
 
 " God bless you, Clyde !" he whispered. " We must 
 trust each other, we must cling to each other, even 
 unto the end. There is no other salvation for us." 
 
 They stood silent, heart to heart, for a moment or 
 two. Then Clyde raised his head. 
 
 " Kenneth," he said, " I ought to make amends for 
 suspicions that I now see were a grievous wrong to 
 you. I wish I could do something to make you 
 very happy, to pay for all this." 
 
 The dark gray eyes lightened, and I think he 
 spoke from a sudden impulse with which reason had 
 little to do. 
 
 " Clyde," he said, " is there not something else 
 that has come between us lately ?" 
 
 "I don't know," was the faltered reply. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 Kenneth bent forward and whispered something 
 in Clyde's ear that brought the quick blood mounting 
 to his face. It was like the leaping up of a sudden 
 flame. 
 
 " You have felt that I came in between you and 
 her," he went on, " that I strove to keep you apart, 
 and to throw hindrances in your way. Is it not so, 
 Clyde ? And it steeled your heart against me." 
 
 Clyde gave one quick, passionate cry as he threw 
 himself again upon Kenneth's breast. 
 
 " It did ! it did !" he cried. " I have seen that my love 
 
 for her was utterly distasteful to you, and that you 
 
 would be glad to thwart it. But I cannot believe it 
 
 even yet, Kenneth, when you know her to be what 
 
 i 17
 
 J94 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 she is ! Indeed, I fancied once, before I dreamed of 
 loving her myself, that you might give her to me as 
 a sister some day. Oh, Kenneth, you have put me 
 to the torture 1' 
 
 Kenneth passed his hand tenderly over the thick, 
 wavy locks that touched his shoulder. " My poor 
 Clyde !" he murmured ; " if I could only have spared 
 you !" 
 
 Then, after a little, he went on, speaking slowly and 
 deliberately, like one who was, as it were, feeling his 
 way through a labyrinth of perplexing thought. 
 
 " I hoped that this would prove to be but a boyish 
 fancy, Clyde ; that I could ward off the danger from 
 you, and from her, without the necessity of speaking 
 one word upon this subject. But I have seen, lat 
 terly, that it was impossible." 
 
 He hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice 
 was .almost inaudible. It was the voice of one in 
 extremity. 
 
 " Clyde, you said you wished you could do some 
 thing to make me happy. You can lift from' my 
 heart the heaviest burden it has ever borne, if you will 
 promise me never to speak a word of love to Elsie 
 Meredith." 
 
 Clyde reeled in Kenneth's arms like a drunken 
 man. " I cannot do it !" he cried. " It is too cruel, 
 too unjust, when she is everything that you ought to 
 honor and admire. I cannot give her up to gratify a 
 mere caprice of yours." 
 
 " It is no caprice," said Kenneth, sadly. " I ask 
 nothing for which. I have not a reason. But, Clyde, 
 you are very young yet; so young that it is hardly to
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 195 
 
 be believed that this is the one grand passion of your 
 life. If you will be content to leave the matter in 
 abeyance for awhile, I think this early love of yours 
 will pass away like a dream." 
 
 " It is not so ! it is not so !" was the answer. " You 
 know nothing about it, Kenneth. You are yourself 
 so cold, so passionless, that you have no conception 
 of what love is when it glows in a heart like mine. 
 Why, to win Elsie Meredith I would crush every 
 other hope beneath my feet ; to reach her I would 
 trample every other heart in the universe into the 
 dust." 
 
 " Is it so, my boy ?" asked Kenneth, gazing mourn 
 fully into the flashing yet tearful eyes that were up 
 turned to his. " Is it so ? Then may God help us 
 all ! But, Clyde, I. ask you to do nothing that I have 
 not done myself. You think me cold, passionless, 
 but you know nothing of my life. Once it is no 
 matter when or where I placed my own heart 
 beneath my feet and trampled on its dearest, holiest 
 love. I had to do it, Clyde ; but, crushed and bleed 
 ing, the love lives yet, and will live eternally." 
 
 Clyde raised one hand and passed it over Kenneth's 
 face with a woman's caressing touch. " My poor 
 Kenneth !" he said. " But you you are strong; 
 you are brave to bear and to endure and you do 
 not feel as I do. We are differently constituted. I 
 I could not give up a love. It would be impossible !" 
 
 " Not if duty demanded it?" 
 
 " Not if ten thousand duties stood in the way, 
 glaring at me with their angry eyes. Kenneth, I tell 
 you plainly, and once for all, no power in heaven or
 
 196 EXPIATION. 
 
 on earth shall keep me from marrying Elsie Mere 
 dith, if she will be my wife." 
 
 Kenneth bowed his head. Was it in acquiescence 
 or despair ? I could not tell which. 
 
 When he spoke again, it was in a hoarse, changed 
 voice. 
 
 " You must go back to bed at once," he said. 
 " You are fearfully excited." 
 
 He paused for a moment, raising his hand as in the 
 act of benediction. " May God give us his peace, 
 dear Clyde !" he continued. " I begin to think it a 
 better gift, and a rarer one, than joy : his blessed 
 peace." 
 
 He looked as if he needed it. Clyde glanced at 
 the open safe. 
 
 " Go," said Kenneth. " I will lock it." 
 
 But Clyde still hesitated, lingering at his brother's 
 side. 
 
 " Kenneth," he whispered, at last, " I must take my 
 own course in this matter, but I shall never distrust 
 you again never !" t 
 
 " Until the next time," was the involuntary reply. 
 " Well, I can do no more, Clyde. I must leave you 
 in God's hands. Good-night." 
 
 Kenneth locked the safe, and pretty soon his feet 
 sounded up the stairs, and I was left in darkness. 
 
 I stole out to the kitchen, found a match, and re 
 lighted my lamp. Alas for the poor onion ! I took 
 the remains of it from the ashes, and went up to 
 Patsy. 
 
 All was quiet, and she was sleeping peacefully in a 
 restful, health-giving sleep. I did not disturb her, but
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 197 
 
 lay upon the lounge until the gray dawn shone dimly 
 in the east. Then I rose softly and went home. 
 
 No one ever knew what I saw and heard that 
 night. You, O reader, are my first confidant. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I WONDER if it was fore-ordained that I should tell 
 this story? At all events, my good angels took care 
 that there should be no hindrances, no broken links, 
 in case I ever did tell it. If there was a character upon 
 earth that I regarded with utter detestation, it was that 
 of a gossiping, meddling Paul Pry, of either sex. Yet 
 it seemed as if the persistent efforts of the most 
 malicious eavesdropper, the most cunning spy, would 
 not have enabled him to hear and see what, with 
 out any volition on my part, was being continually 
 thrust upon me. Listen to what happened the next 
 morning. 
 
 About the middle of the forenoon I went over to 
 inquire after Patsy and to see if I could help her in 
 any way. We were in the habit of interchanging 
 neighborly kind offices. Until Elsie came to me, I 
 had kept no servant for many years. Living by 
 myself in the most convenient of cottages, with every 
 thing just where and just as I wanted it, I had found 
 it more pleasant to wait on myself than to have some 
 one continually in my way to do it for me. But 
 many a time during the years she had lived at Grey- 
 
 17*
 
 198 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 holt, when I had not been well or when I had been 
 particularly busy, Patsy had come to the rescue with 
 her willing heart and strong hands. So now I went 
 to see what I could do for her. 
 
 She " slept like a top," she said, after I went down 
 for the onion. The very mention of her mother's 
 remedy must have cured her, for she did not awake 
 until late in the morning. But she looked worn and 
 tired. The severe pain of the previous day had told 
 even upon her strong frame, and seeing that she 
 was about to make some pastry, the materials for 
 which were all ready upon the broad white shelf 
 beneath the pantry window, I insisted that she should 
 go to her room and lie down, while I made the pies. 
 She consented, after much demurring; and, rolling 
 up my sleeves, I was soon deep in the mysteries of 
 butter, flour, jigging-irons, and mince-meat. 
 
 The blinds were closed, the slats being turned 
 enough to admit the light, and the window was let 
 down from the top. It was a bright, sunny day. No 
 snow had yet fallen, excepting a few flakes that 
 melted as they fell. Snowbirds and chickadees and 
 a few tame pigeons were hopping about the yard, 
 picking up the crumbs Patsy had thrown to them, or 
 hunting among the shrubbery for seeds and insects. 
 A great peacock strutted bravely in the sunshine, 
 spreading his magnificent tail and calling upon his 
 whole small world to admire him. A few feet off, 
 through the glass windows or walls of the con 
 servatory, I could see the tiny fountain throw up its 
 silver jets, and catch tantalizing glimpses of dark- 
 green leaves contrasting with brilliant scarlets, pure
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 199 
 
 blues, warm oranges, clear whites, and glowing crim 
 sons. How peaceful and serene it all seemed ! It 
 was hard to think that even into this Eden the 
 serpent had entered, leaving evil and sorrow behind 
 him. 
 
 Just then, as, with a plate poised upon one hand, I 
 was about to cut the undercrust into its appointed 
 shape, Kenneth and Clyde came round the corner 
 and stopped beneath the window, ostensibly to watch 
 the birds, to whom they had thrown a handful of 
 buckwheat. I was about to tap upon the pane with 
 my floury fingers, when I remembered that it had 
 always seemed to annoy them if they happened to 
 see me doing anything like " housework" inside their 
 doors. If they had seen my occupation, they would 
 at once have started off in pursuit of a girl, saying 
 that if Patsy was not well enough to do the work 
 she must consent to have more help; which would 
 have broken her heart, as her disability was not likely 
 to be of long duration. So for her sake I kept silent, 
 although I longed to throw back the blinds and 
 threaten to make each of them a " turnover" with 
 plenty of raisins in it. 
 
 They began to talk presently, but in such low tones 
 that I heard only the murmur of their voices. I 
 rattled the dishes, dropped a fork, and put down the 
 flour-pan with unnecessary noise, in order to convey 
 to them an intimation that some one was within 
 hearing ; but gradually their tones grew more and 
 more distinct. 
 
 " I thought last night that I should never mention 
 this subject again," said Kenneth. " But, oh, Clyde,
 
 200 EXPIATION. 
 
 I cannot help it. I must make one more effort to 
 save you." 
 
 " To save me from what ?" And there was a sharp 
 metallic ring in Clyde's voice that argued ill for the 
 cause his brother was pleading. " To save me from 
 what ? One would think I were about to throw 
 myself into the embraces of that terrible maiden we 
 read of in the old chronicles, whose iron arms con 
 tracted slowly about her shuddering, writhing victims, 
 folding them closer and closer in cruel mockery of 
 love, until death put an end to their torment. To 
 save me from what, Kenneth ? Speak out, man !" 
 
 " From endless regret, and, it may be, from the bit 
 terness of remorse. And" his voice faltered, and it 
 was a moment or two before he went on " to save 
 her from life-long sorrow." 
 
 " I am willing to take all the risks," Clyde answered, 
 coolly. "'Regrets'! 'Remorse'! Does a man 
 regret that he has reached heaven ? Does conscience 
 scourge him because he is blest beyond his deserts ? 
 What do you mean, Kenneth ? Do you think me 
 about to commit incest, or some horrible crime of a 
 kindred nature ? ' A man may not marry his grand 
 mother.' Perhaps you have been studying up the 
 genealogies of our respective families, and have dis 
 covered that Elsie Meredith holds that revered rela 
 tionship to me ?" And he laughed scornfully. 
 
 " No, Clyde," was the answer. " Genealogy does 
 not touch the question in that way. But, oh, my 
 brother, I tell you once again that there are weighty 
 reasons why you should not seek to make this girl your 
 wife. I cannot tell you what they are. I have sworn
 
 EXPIATION. 201 
 
 not to do it. But for our father's sake, for my sake, 
 for God's sake, I implore you to listen to my warning 
 before it is too late." 
 
 " Perhaps, if you are so deeply in earnest, you had 
 better try to win the young lady over to your side, 
 and make an accomplice of her," said Clyde, sarcas 
 tically. " If you should appeal to her, your eloquence 
 might not fail of its desired effect." 
 
 " I shall not do that, Clyde. You need not fear 
 that I shall ever mention this matter to her. It has 
 been hard enough to speak to you, and to feel that 
 my motives would probably be misunderstood, and I 
 myself be charged with cruelty and wanton caprice. 
 I shall never speak of it to her." 
 
 " I can see but one cause for your anxiety on this 
 point, Kenneth," said Clyde, after a long pause. " If 
 I were to die without other heirs, this estate would 
 all be yours." 
 
 My very heart stopped beating. That insinuation 
 on Clyde's part was too cruel. How would Kenneth 
 bear it ? But when he spoke there was no anger, no 
 resentment, in his voice. 
 
 " You are more likely to be my heir than I am to 
 be yours," he said ; " I shall go wifeless and childless 
 to my grave, Clyde. There is but little doubt of that ; 
 and assuredly I have never given you reason to think 
 me grasping or avaricious. But what evil spirit has 
 taken possession of you, thus filling your heart with 
 jealousies and suspicions of your best friend ? Last 
 night I thought I had slain my dragon ; but he has a 
 thousand lives." 
 
 " It is your own fault," was the reply. " You never 
 i*
 
 202 EXPIATION. 
 
 will slay your dragon while you deal in mysteries. 
 If instead of talking Greek you would express your 
 self in plain English, I might listen to you. But 
 you will never frighten me with bug-a-boo stories 
 or with hints of stories that might be told. Scare 
 crows lost all their terrors for me years ago. Tell 
 me why it is that I must not, or should not, marry 
 Elsie Meredith, and I will promise, not to give her 
 up, mind you, but to take the matter into fair con 
 sideration." 
 
 Kenneth drew a long breath that was almost like a 
 groan. " I cannot tell you that, Clyde, although I 
 admit the apparent justice of your demand. Some 
 time, if you are patient, or if you are not, you will 
 know. It may, perhaps, be only when you have 
 passed beyond the veil, and look back upon this life 
 with eyes that see clearly all its pitfalls, all its dan 
 gers. You will do me justice then, if you cannot 
 now." 
 
 The faltering voice touched Clyde. It was only 
 the surface of his nature, after all, that had been dis 
 turbed by Tom Bradshaw's artful insinuations. Away 
 down deep in his heart there was unshaken confidence 
 in Kenneth. It was the one rock upon which he 
 leaned. Do I make you comprehend this, in the face 
 of all his bitter words, his jealousy and distrust? 
 Ah ! you are happy indeed, if there has been nothing 
 in the relations of your soul to its best Friend that 
 can furnish the counterpart to this picture. We doubt, 
 and wonder, and question, and refuse to take God's 
 word, still demanding of him the reason why, even 
 when we know that he is infinitely wise and infinitely
 
 EX PI A TION. 
 
 203 
 
 tender, even when we feel that our trust in him is 
 our only rock of refuge. 
 
 " I did not really mean what I said about the heir- 
 ship, Kenneth. It was the echo of another's thought, 
 to which I should not have given expression. For 
 give me !" 
 
 I knew they had clasped hands, although I could 
 not see them. 
 
 " I can forgive you even unto the seventy times 
 seven," said Kenneth, at last. " But, oh, Clyde, you 
 try me sorely, sorely ; and the trial is renewed day by 
 day." 
 
 Then, in the pause that followed, a sudden thought 
 seemed forced upon him. 
 
 " ' The echo of another's thought,' you said. 
 Whose thought, Clyde ? Tell me that ; for you owe 
 it to me." 
 
 But there was no answer. 
 
 " Whose thought ?" he repeated. " Who is striving 
 to make mischief between you and me ? It cannot 
 be Miss Rossiter. Yet she went with me to the safe 
 when I put the paper there the night our father died, 
 and no one else knew of it." 
 
 This was the very conclusion to which I had feared 
 he would come. I had felt that he had every reason 
 to suspect my prudence, my integrity. Would Clyde 
 exonerate me ? I listened intently. 
 
 " It was not she, Kenneth. Believe me, it was not 
 she !" he answered, earnestly. 
 
 " Who was it, then ? I have a right to demand 
 this, Clyde. Who is it that is striving to sow the 
 seeds of bitterness between us ?"
 
 2O4 
 
 EXP1A T1ON. 
 
 If Clyde would only tell him ! But he did not 
 He persistently refused to tell, and Kenneth was too 
 wise to press the matter beyond certain bounds. As 
 they passed from beneath the window, Clyde said, 
 
 " I would make any other sacrifice to please you, 
 Kenneth. I would pluck out my right eye, or cut 
 off my right hand, if you demanded it. But I cannot 
 give up the chance it is only a chance, for she may 
 not listen to my suit of winning Elsie Meredith. 
 Could you do it, Kenneth ? If you loved her as I 
 do, could you give up the hope of one day making 
 her your wife, the dear hope of calling her yours, 
 your very own, without one effort to woo and win 
 her ? Could you do that, Kenneth ?" 
 
 They had paused again, still near the window, but 
 out from the shadow of the house, where the strong 
 sunlight illumined the face of each. Kenneth's 
 grew white, even to the lips, while Clyde was 
 speaking. 
 
 " Yes," he said, as with a painful effort. " I could 
 do even that, for your sake, Clyde." 
 
 " Then you never dreamed what love is," was the 
 answer. " Love is a law unto itself. It does not stop 
 to think of duties and sacrifices. It does not weigh 
 
 o 
 
 and measure. It gives all ; it dares all ; it demands 
 all. You do not know what love is, Kenneth, and it 
 makes me impatient to hear you talk about it." 
 
 " Perhaps I do not," was the response, made sadly 
 and wearily. " Perhaps I do not. But we will not 
 discuss the matter. You must take your own course, 
 for I see that no words of mine are of any avail." 
 
 They passed out of sight, and I heard no more.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 2C>5 
 
 "It is a victory that will have to be won over 
 again to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow." 
 This was what Kenneth had said to me weeks ago. 
 Surely events were proving the truth of his words. 
 
 From that day there was a change in Kenneth. It 
 seemed to me that he had ceased to struggle, or, in 
 the matter of Elsie, to oppose his will to Clyde's. 
 He had done all, said all, that he could. Henceforth 
 affairs must take their own course. 
 
 But there was no bitterness, no pharisaical " wash 
 ing of hands" with him. He was, if that were pos 
 sible, tenderer of Clyde than ever. If there was also 
 a deep, manly tenderness in his manner toward Elsie, 
 she did not seem to notice it. The girl had taught 
 herself to looT< upon their past as dead and buried. 
 She hoped for no resurrection ; and if sometimes 
 the pale clay seemed to move a little, and the grave- 
 clothes in which it was bound to stir, as if there was 
 life beneath, she evidently regarded it as a mere 
 vagary of her own imagination. I could see that she 
 was fast teaching her heart to believe that Kenneth 
 had never cared for her. 
 
 And, meanwhile, at the very moment when her 
 sensitive womanly pride was quivering with pain at 
 the thought that she had misconstrued him and taken 
 for love what had been mere liking ; when she was 
 reproaching herself for indulging in the dream that 
 had brightened the summer days for her, Clyde came 
 to her, laying his heart at her feet. Many a girl has 
 accepted one lover in a fit of pique at the desertion 
 or inconstancy of another. Would Elsie do this, 
 thus striving to prove to Kenneth that she had cared 
 
 1 8
 
 2o6 EXPIA TION. 
 
 for him as little as he for her ? Or would she really 
 be able to transfer her affection from one brother to 
 the other ? 
 
 I could not tell. I think we all sat with hushed 
 hearts, waiting just waiting to see what the days 
 would bring forth ; Elsie as well as the rest of us. 
 She liked Clyde Armstrong. They had much in 
 common. There was a similarity of tastes between 
 the two that had made them much to each other as 
 companions and friends. She had just awakened to 
 a sense of her great need of love. It is a knowledge 
 that, sooner or later, must come to every woman ; 
 and to her it had come through pain and anguish. 
 Almost with the knowledge of the need had come 
 the love, a full, golden cup, brimming over with 
 the ruby wine. Would she drink, and so find peace ? 
 
 Clyde showed a marvelous patience, a patience 
 he had never been known to manifest before. Always, 
 hitherto, whatever he wanted he must grasp at once. 
 Now, in a moment, love seemed to have taught him 
 the wisdom of the serpent. Or else and perhaps 
 this supposition was nearer the truth he 
 
 " feared his fate too much, 
 And dared not put it to the touch 
 To gain or lose it all." 
 
 Kenneth and Clyde had both been in, one after 
 noon, on their way up from the post-office, and had 
 brought me my mail. There was a letter for Elsie 
 also. 
 
 " Dr. Bellinger's handwriting, and the New York 
 postmark," said Clyde, as he gave it to her. " So
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 207 
 
 he must have got home. I wonder if he came in on 
 the Scotia last Saturday ?" 
 
 " Probably," she answered. She hesitated for a 
 moment, and then broke the seal. 
 
 " And when is he coming up ?" asked Clyde, while 
 his cheeks flushed a little. "Very soon, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, evasively. " Before a great while." 
 Then she refolded the letter, which was a short one, 
 and slipped it into her pocket, merely adding, " He 
 had a very pleasant passage, Aunt Margaret, if it was 
 in the winter." 
 
 Snow had fallen a day or two before, and the roads 
 were in fine condition. 
 
 " You will soon be going home, then," said Clyde, 
 with a little touch of sadness in his voice. " How is 
 it about that sleigh-ride ? We were to have one, you 
 know, and the moon is at the full to-night. It will 
 be almost as light as day. Shall I bring the Brownie 
 round at seven o'clock with the full complement of 
 furs and sleigh-bells ?" 
 
 " ' Keeping time, time, time, 
 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 To the tintinnabulation that so musically swells 
 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 
 Bells, bells, bells, 
 From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells,' etc. ?" 
 
 she said, with a half laugh. " It sets one's blood 
 dancing, does it not? But I think we will not go 
 to-night, Clyde. It is very cold, and I am not just in 
 the mood." 
 
 Did she read, as I did, a secret in Clyde's eyes ?
 
 208 EXPIATION. 
 
 If she did, she did not gain much by staying at home ; 
 for that evening he came, and came alone. 
 
 I was in the dining-room, busy about some little 
 matter. Elsie was in the parlor, touching her guitar 
 softly, and crooning low, tender songs as she sat in 
 the glow of the firelight. I can hear the quaint 
 refrain even now, as it floated out to me through the 
 open door: 
 
 " For men must work, and women must weep, 
 And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep, 
 And good-by to the bar and its moaning !" 
 
 My young neighbors were in the habit of coming 
 in without any ceremony ; especially of an evening, 
 when they were very sure of finding us in the parlor. 
 So when I heard Clyde's step in the hall, I kept on 
 with my work, assured that he would speedily find 
 his way into the warm, fire-lighted room where Elsie 
 was singing. 
 
 She came out to me presently, with a scarlet flush 
 upon her cheeks, and a disturbed, anxious look in 
 her soft eyes. . 
 
 " Come in the other room ; do, Aunt Margaret !" 
 she said, in a quick whisper. " I want you ; I can't 
 do without you." 
 
 "Pretty soon," I answered; "but I have just 
 arranged this pattern, after great tribulation, and 
 must finish cutting out my work first. I will come 
 before long." 
 
 It was better that I should stay where I was. If 
 Clyde had anything to say, it might as well be said 
 at one time as at another ; the sooner the better, I 
 thought.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 209 
 
 Elsie hesitated for a moment; then went slowly 
 back to the parlor, leaving the door wide open. In 
 another minute I heard her talking with great ani 
 mation and fluency about some book she had just 
 been reading, a book for which, as I happened to 
 know, she did not care a straw. 
 
 Clyde rose quietly and shut the door. For half an 
 hour there was a low, continuous murmur of voices 
 in the other room. I could distinguish Clyde's, raised 
 at times in passionate supplication and entreaty; 
 Elsie's, earnest, subdued, compassionate. Alas, poor 
 Clyde ! I was very sure how it would end, and my 
 whole heart yearned over him in unutterable love 
 and pity, even while I felt that his impulsive, stormy 
 nature was one upon which no woman could ever 
 rest in trust and confidence. Elsie could give him 
 pity, sympathy, a quiet, sisterly affection ; all these, 
 indeed, she had given him. But I felt in my very 
 soul that night, that she could not give him the love 
 for which he sought. It was not Kenneth that came 
 between them ; it would have been just the same 
 if he had never been born. Yet I doubt if she 
 was fully conscious of this until the demand was 
 made. There are some questions that a woman's 
 heart refuses to answer when she questions it her 
 self. 
 
 I grew uneasy as the minutes rolled on. They had 
 talked long enough. Should I go in and interrupt 
 them ? I had finished cutting out my work, after 
 ruining one sleeve by turning the figure wrong end 
 up ; and if I kept my promise to Elsie, I must join 
 them. 
 
 8*
 
 210 EXPIATION. 
 
 But just then there was a stir, a movement of 
 chairs, a rising. Clyde was going. 
 
 They went out into the hall. The door into the 
 dining-room stood ajar. They did not notice it, or 
 they did not care ; it may have been either. 
 
 " I cannot regard this as final," said Clyde, in a 
 voice that he vainly strove to render calm. " I will 
 not so regard it. Oh, Elsie! Elsie !" he cried, in intense, 
 passionate whispers, " I will compass heaven and 
 earth to win you ! I cannot resign the blessed hope 
 of calling you mine, my own, my love, my wife ! 
 The fourteen years that Jacob served for Rachel 
 would seem but as a day if at the end I might claim 
 you. Only say that you will not steel your heart 
 against me, only give me one word of hope, and 
 my love shall work miracles to make me worthy of 
 you." 
 
 Elsie was weeping ; a little storm of sobs and sigh 
 ing swept in through the open door, as her singing 
 had before. 
 
 " Oh, Clyde ! do not say any more," she said. " I 
 cannot bear it. I would love you if I could. I 
 wanted to love you, and that is why, when the 
 knowledge of this first dawned upon me, only a 
 little while ago, I did not at once repulse it. I 
 wanted to love you, Clyde. But now that you have 
 spoken, there is not one fibre of my being that 
 answers to your call. My heart tells me this so 
 plainly that I dare not ignore its warning." 
 
 " But I will make you love me !'' he cried. " The 
 strength of my love shall draw you to me in spite of 
 yourself." Then in soft, pleading tones he added,
 
 EXPIA TION. 2 1 1 
 
 " I know I am not worthy of you, Elsie. I know 
 I am high-tempered, passionate, capricious, and that 
 my life has thus far been spent to little purpose. 
 But it shall not be so in the future. For your sake I 
 will do battle with Apollyon. For your sake I will 
 make myself a king among men, and only your hand 
 shall crown me." 
 
 " Worthiness has nothing to do with it," she 
 answered, very sadly ; " though a woman may well 
 doubt whether a man will do for her sake what he 
 has not done for God's. But words are of no avail, 
 Clyde. It is enough that I feel I can never give you 
 the love you seek. Less than that would not con 
 tent you ; and I could not wrong my womanhood by 
 giving it, even if it would." 
 
 " Would not content me !" he exclaimed, grasping at 
 a straw, and ignoring her last sentence. " Oh, Elsie ! 
 the least crumb from your hand will content me. I 
 do not ask that you should love me as you would 
 love a nobler, better man. But I am starving, 
 famishing: do not turn me away empty." 
 
 Poor boy ! for he seemed to my forty-five years 
 hardly more than that, could he not see that every 
 word he spoke was increasing the distance between 
 them? 
 
 " Say no more," she said, with a serious dignity in 
 her voice and mien. " Say no more, Clyde, for I 
 cannot listen. The man who wins my love must be 
 able to command it. He must come as a king, not 
 as a beggar. But let us part as friends, dear friends. 
 Believe me, I have given you all I can." 
 
 I got up and went out into the hall. If Clyde did
 
 212 EXPIATION. 
 
 not like the interruption I could not help it. For 
 both their sakes it was time that he was gone. 
 
 Elsie stood at the foot of the stairs, leaning against 
 the baluster. Clyde had dropped upon the lower 
 step, and, with his hand clasping hers, was looking 
 up in her face beseechingly. Their relative positions, 
 their very attitudes, were significant. Even so, had 
 they been man and wife, would he have sat always at 
 her feet ; even so would he have looked up to her for 
 guidance and direction. There are women who might 
 have been content and happy in such a relationship ; 
 but not so Elsie Meredith. 
 
 He rose when he saw me, and a faint attempt at a 
 smile hovered about his mouth for a moment. He 
 passed his hand across his forehead, and looked about 
 him with a half-bewildered air. Then, as if thought 
 and memory had come back to him, he turned to 
 Elsie. 
 
 "You are not banishing me?" he said. " I may 
 come to see you again ?" 
 
 " Certainly," she answered. " I hope we shall be 
 friends always, Clyde." 
 
 He took the hand she had extended, clasped it in 
 both his for an instant, and bowed his forehead upon 
 it. Then he groped blindly toward the door. 
 
 I opened it for him without a word. Perhaps he 
 knew it, and perhaps he did not. But I think he was 
 quite unconscious of my presence. 
 
 As the door closed upon him, Elsie flew up-stairs. 
 In any extremity of feeling, whether of joy or sorrow, 
 she always sought solitude; and I did not seek to 
 stay her.
 
 EXPIA TION. 2 1 3 
 
 I drew aside the muslin curtain that shaded one of 
 the long, narrow windows by the side of the door, 
 and looked out. It was, as Clyde had prophesied, as 
 light as day. A dark figure, wrapped in a long cloak, 
 was pacing back and forth outside the gate. 
 
 It was Kenneth. 
 
 Clyde stood for a moment upon the piazza, leaning 
 against one of the pillars ; then he staggered down 
 the snow-covered path. Kenneth saw him coming, 
 and one glance told him the whole story. Letting 
 the gate swing to behind him with a sharp clang, he 
 strode swiftly up the path to meet him, and folded 
 him in an embrace so close that Clyde dropped his 
 head upon his shoulder like a tired child. 
 
 There was a little iron settee under a tree near the 
 gate. I saw Kenneth place Clyde there ; I saw him 
 chafe his cold hands, and press handfuls of snow to 
 his lips and forehead. But I did not go out to them. 
 They were better off alone. 
 
 After a few moments, Clyde rose to his feet, and 
 Kenneth, taking off his cloak, wrapped it about him. 
 Then the two brothers, the one supported by the 
 other, went slowly up the hill, under the' leafless 
 boughs of the maples, to their own house.
 
 214 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CLYDE had protested against sentence of banish 
 ment, and Elsie had told him, in effect, that she had 
 no desire to pronounce such a sentence, and that she 
 hoped they might be friends in the future as they 
 had been in the past. Nevertheless, I was surprised 
 when, the next afternoon, he walked in with an air as 
 careless and unembarrassed as usual. I do not mean 
 that he showed no traces of the conflict of the previous 
 night. He looked older: there were shadows about 
 his eyes. There was an unconscious drooping of the 
 eyelids, a tension about the mouth, that spoke of 
 suffering and unrest. But he approached Elsie with 
 the same ease, the same frank, open friendliness that 
 had always characterized his manner toward her. 
 He had not, in the least, the bearing of a rejected 
 lover. She looked disturbed when he entered the 
 room ; an expression of doubt and dread swept over 
 her face, and the color deepened on her cheek ; while 
 about him there was no unpleasant consciousness, no 
 sign of embarrassment. What did it mean ? Had he 
 made up his mind to accept the situation manfully, 
 to give up the struggle, and, his troubled spirit making 
 no sign, to go back silently to their old friendly rela 
 tions ? All I knew of Clyde Armstrong forbade me 
 to believe this. Not so would he receive this blow ; 
 not so would he submit to the downfall of his hopes. 
 
 In Kenneth I could perceive but little change. He
 
 EXPIA TIOX. 
 
 215 
 
 was very quiet, as he had been for weeks. Knowing 
 as I did that he had tried to prevent Clyde from 
 making an avowal of his love, it was but natural that 
 I should look for some evidence of relief or satisfac 
 tion when his suit was rejected. But if it was there, 
 I failed to discover it. He simply devoted himself to 
 Clyde, soul and body, as he had so long done. To 
 Elsie his demeanor was precisely what it was before : 
 sincere, kindly, courteous, but with the "^hus far and 
 no farther" that had so effectually sundered them, as 
 clearly marked, as decided as ever. 
 
 Dr. Bellinger came in due time. Elsie would fain 
 have persuaded him to return the next day ; but he 
 demurred. 
 
 " No, no, child," he said, drawing her upon his 
 knee. " No, no ; don't be in a hurry. I want to see 
 Altona in her winter glory. It is always well to make 
 the most of one's opportunities, Miss Meredith," he 
 added, with the air of a philosopher, " and I want to 
 make the most of mine. I may not have such another 
 chance in thirty years to come. Margaret," turning 
 to me with a quick, enthusiastic gesture, " I thought 
 to-day, as I was coming up through these valleys and 
 under these hills, that in all the wanderings of three 
 decades my eyes had rested upon no fairer land." 
 
 " Three decades !" I repeated. " It is not possible 
 that it is thirty years since you left Altona, Dr. 
 Bellinger?" 
 
 " But it is quite possible," he answered. " I was 
 a boy of twenty then. I am fifty years old, Miss 
 Rossiter !" 
 
 "Poor old uncL- !" said Elsie, passing her hand
 
 2l6 EXPIATION. 
 
 through his now silvered locks, and smiling into his 
 fine, thoughtful face. I was about to say unfurrowed 
 face, but, upon second thoughts, I repent me. Time 
 had done its own chiseling upon it, and there were 
 lines upon the broad forehead and about the firm, 
 steadfast mouth that had not been there in his boy 
 hood. He had thought too much, felt too much, 
 lived too much, to have retained the smooth round 
 ness of his youth. " Poor old uncle !" she said, 
 " what a decrepit veteran he is getting to be ! Half a 
 century old ! Doesn't he want an ear-trumpet, or a 
 new cushion for his gouty foot ?" 
 
 He pinched her ear, and then, springing from his 
 seat with her in his arms, he carried his laughing 
 burden across the room and made a feint of seating 
 her upon the mantel-piece. 
 
 " ' Decrepit veteran' ! ' goiity foot' ! " he exclaimed, 
 fiercely, as she struggled to escape from him. " I'll 
 teach you a lesson or two to-morrow, Miss Meredith. 
 We'll walk up the old turnpike to the top of Bluff 
 Hill, and look off! Which will first cry 'hold, 
 enough' ? You or I ?" 
 
 She made him a merry answer. The excitement 
 of his coming, her delight at seeing the man who had 
 for years stood to her in the place of a father, had 
 brought a glad light to her eyes and made her seem 
 more like her old self than she had for many weeks. 
 I flattered myself that Dr. Bellinger would not observe 
 the change that was so perceptible to me. But that 
 evening, when she had left the room on some trifling 
 errand, he turned to me gravely. 
 
 " What have you been doing to my little girl up
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 217 
 
 here, Miss Rossiter ? She is not at all the same 
 child or woman that I brought here last June." 
 
 I made some confused, incoherent observations re 
 lating^ to the great changes, both in mind and body, 
 that, in certain stages of development, a few months 
 would often bring about. 
 
 " Tut, tut !" he said, worried out of his usual calm 
 gentlemanliness. " It is not that. Elsie is a woman, 
 past the age for such sudden changes. Something is 
 wrong with her, physically or spiritually ; I am not 
 quite sure which. I expected to find her as round 
 and rosy as that little damsel of yours who baked 
 the muffins for tea. What's the trouble, Margaret ? 
 What has she been about ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Dr. Bellinger," I said, in a voice 
 that would tremble a little. " I have tried to take 
 good care of her; but you know " 
 
 He interrupted me hastily. " I know I am not 
 such a brute as to think otherwise," he said. " I 
 knew just what a warm, love-lighted home I was 
 bringing her to, and just what brooding, motherly 
 care you would give her, before I placed her under 
 your roof. But I am perplexed and troubled, Mar 
 garet. Elsie has changed very much. She seems 
 to me to have stepped suddenly from light-hearted 
 girlhood into mature, thoughtful womanhood. She 
 makes an effort to blind me, and to assume with 
 me her old frolicsome ways. But the disguise is thin, 
 and my eyes pierce through it ; I see the suffering 
 underneath the smiles." 
 
 I was thankful that Elsie's return to the parlor just 
 then prevented the necessity of a reply. 
 K 19
 
 2i8 EXPIATION. 
 
 The next day the two were gone for hours. I think 
 Dr. Bellinger became satisfied, by the time they had 
 climbed Bluff Hill and ascended to the top of 
 Wetherby's Ledge, that Elsie was not a prey to con 
 sumption or any other bodily ailment. She came 
 back to supper with glowing cheeks and a good 
 appetite. 
 
 The glow faded after a little, however, and the 
 unrest and longing came back to her eyes. I saw 
 the doctor watching her with the closest interest, 
 and, woman-like, I wondered how much he read. He 
 was both sage and philosopher; yet I took the lib 
 erty of doubting whether there were not certain signs 
 and hieroglyphics which I could translate better 
 than he. 
 
 During Dr. Bellinger's visit of the previous June, 
 he had become a great favorite with both my young 
 neighbors. His heart had kept all the glow and 
 freshness of its youth. In one sense he was as young 
 as they. But in his wide experience, his knowledge 
 of men and things won from extended travel, his 
 erudition, his keen, incisive intellect, his familiar 
 acquaintance with the world of literature, art, and 
 science, in short, in all the garnered wealth of his 
 half-century of noble living, they found a charm that 
 they could hardly have found in the society of any 
 man of their own age. 
 
 So I was not surprised when, soon after tea that 
 evening, they made their appearance, taking great 
 credit to themselves for having left Elsie and me in 
 undisturbed possession of him for full twenty-four 
 hours.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 219 
 
 The doctor did most of the talking that night, the 
 rest of us merely asking questions and making sug 
 gestive observations for the purpose of drawing him 
 out. His late European trip for during his three 
 months of absence he had traveled over half the con 
 tinent was still fresh in his mind, and he greatly 
 enjoyed the telling, as we the hearing, of what he 
 had seen and thought and felt. 
 
 At length, in a little lull in the conversation, he 
 turned to Kenneth. "Mr. Armstrong, do you re 
 member the great excitement in '51 with regard to 
 the Marchdale forgeries?" 
 
 " Perfectly," he replied ; " and not only the for 
 geries, but the heavy embezzlements, the suicide of 
 the cashier, and all the rest of it. It was a strange 
 affair." 
 
 " More than a nine-days' wonder," said the doctor. 
 " Indeed, I believe it has lived to this day. Well, I 
 have something to tell you about that matter which 
 will interest you. That poor cashier, whose memory 
 has been for nearly seven years a target for reproach 
 and obloquy, is at last vindicated." 
 
 " I am glad to hear It," was the answer. " ' Let 
 justice be done, though the heavens fall.' But what 
 new revelations have been made? What has hap 
 pened ?" 
 
 The doctor smiled as he took the tongs and heaped 
 the glowing hickory brands upon the great brass 
 andirons, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, 
 while we all settled ourselves for a story. 
 
 " I came over in the Scotia, as you know," he 
 began. " On the second day out, I noticed a tall,
 
 220 EXPIATION. 
 
 gentlemanly man, whose face seemed strangely fa 
 miliar, so familiar, indeed, that it really became an 
 annoyance ; for I was constantly endeavoring to give 
 to it ' a local habitation and a name.' I ascertained 
 that the man was a New Yorker, and at length arrived 
 at the conclusion that his was one of the numberless 
 faces I was in the habit of meeting on Broadway, and 
 that in some way it had been singled out from the 
 mass and daguerreotyped upon my memory. He 
 occupied a large state-room on the upper deck, and 
 apparently, notwithstanding the crowded condition 
 of the boat, had it all to himself. At least, no other 
 person was ever seen to issue from it, and he seemed 
 to have no companion. But one warm, sunny day I 
 was lying on a settee near the door of his state-room, 
 when he came out, turned the key, and went down 
 stairs. 
 
 " Pretty soon I heard a noise in the state-room that 
 I had supposed to be tenantless, a tramp, tramp, 
 tramp of tireless feet up and down the confined space. 
 Once or twice there was a sound like the clanking 
 of a chain ; then I heard a smothered groan, and the 
 words, ' My God ! what will the end be?' 
 
 " After perhaps half an hour my tall friend came 
 back with a bowl of broth, went into the state-room 
 again, and all was silent. 
 
 " It all flashed upon me in a moment. The man 
 was James Gibson, a United States officer, not of the 
 military, but of the civil service. I had seen him a 
 hundred times, and recognized him from his con 
 nection, more or less important, with several promi 
 nent trials. He had some prisoner in charge whom
 
 EXPIATION. 221 
 
 the British government had kindly delivered over to 
 the tender mercies of our own. Notwithstanding all 
 my love of law and order, I own to a feeling of 
 tender sympathy for the poor wretch who was locked 
 up in that state-room. He was evidently handcuffed: 
 the little clanking noise I had heard betrayed that. 
 Doubtless he was a desperate character; and if I had 
 been the officer having him in charge, I myself should 
 probably have required him to wear those ugly brace 
 lets, feeling that he would hardly have been a safe 
 room-mate without them. Still, the fellow was a man 
 and a brother ; and it was not an agreeable thought 
 that what was a pleasure-trip to most of us some 
 thing to be enjoyed and remembered to him was 
 only the passage of the Bridge of Sighs, fearful in 
 itself, and more fearful in that to which it led. 
 
 " Before the voyage ended, I became quite well 
 acquainted with the officer. He was an intelligent, 
 well-bred man, with a vast amount of practical com 
 mon sense, and singularly acute perceptive faculties. 
 We had many a pleasant chat together, pacing up and 
 down the moonlighted deck, or leaning upon the 
 taffrail to watch the wake of the ship as it stretched 
 behind us, a shining track through the limitless 
 blue desert. But he never alluded to the mysterious 
 occupant of his state-room, and I was silent as 
 the Sphinx. 
 
 " When the pilot came on board, two other men, 
 whom I at once recognized as United States officers, 
 came with him, and, as they sprang on deck, clapped 
 Mr. Gibson on the shoulder with a congratulatory 
 air. 
 
 19*
 
 222 EXPIATION. 
 
 " 'So you've got him, safe and sound, have you ?' 
 said one of them. ' And a good job it is, too. You've 
 made your mark, Gibson.' 
 
 " ' Hush !' whispered that gentleman. ' Not a soul, 
 except the captain and steward, knows that he is on 
 board. I didn't want to stir up a commotion and be 
 the observed of all observers ; neither did I wish to 
 be questioned. So I kept my own counsel.' 
 
 " ' It was best,' returned the other. And the three 
 walked away together. 
 
 " Of course my curiosity was a good deal excited ; 
 but I expected to know nothing more until the affair 
 was duly chronicled in all the papers with startling 
 headings, amazing capitals, and a shower of exclama 
 tion-points. 
 
 " We got in in the night ; and the next morning, 
 knowing there was no one at home impatient to greet 
 me, I remained quietly in my state-room until the 
 rush was over and most of the passengers had left 
 the steamer. Then I sallied forth, valise in hand. 
 
 " But just in advance of me, as I reached the gang 
 way, was a group that instantly riveted my attention, 
 my tall friend, the other two officers, and a fourth. 
 The handcuffs at once pointed him out as their pris 
 oner. They left the vessel quietly, and were just 
 about entering a close carriage that was in waiting, 
 when Mr. Gibson caught a glimpse of me, and sprang 
 back to give me a grasp of the hand at parting. 
 
 " ' Good-by, doctor !' he said. ' We've had a very 
 pleasant voyage, but I fancy we are all glad to be on 
 terra firma again, unless it may be the poor devil in 
 the carriage yonder. Drive on slowly, Bill ; I'll over-
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 223 
 
 take you at the corner. Who do you think we've 
 got there, doctor ?' 
 
 " ' I don't know/ I answered. ' But I've known all 
 along that you had some one cooped up in that state 
 room of yours.' 
 
 "'And never so much as gave me a hint of it! 
 Doctor, you're a close one. To pay you for it, I'll 
 let you into the secret, although I only intended to 
 set you a-guessing. We've been on his track for full 
 two years, and at last we've got him.' 
 
 " ' But who is it ?' I asked, glancing hastily at the 
 carriage, which was nearing the corner. 
 
 " 'It is a man with a dozen aliases,' he said. 
 ' Alexander Bliss is the name he goes by now. He 
 was James Elliott at the time of the Marchdale 
 forgeries.' 
 
 " ' What ! the employe of the concern whose mys 
 terious disappearance occasioned so much comment?' 
 I asked. 
 
 " ' The very same. He's the man who did all the 
 mischief. He forged the notes, stole the money, 
 murdered the cashier, and so cunningly devised his 
 fable that the world supposed the latter to be the 
 felon, and thought he committed suicide through 
 fear of detection. But he's got to the end of his rope 
 at last, and is pretty sure to hang for it. Good-by, 
 doctor! they're waiting for me.' And off he dashed." 
 
 A chorus of exclamations greeted the close of the 
 doctor's little story, and questions and answers fol 
 lowed each other in quick succession. Elsie and I 
 had forgotten all about the affair, if, indeed, we had 
 ever heard of it.
 
 224 
 
 EX PI A TION. 
 
 " How did he look, Uncle Howard ?" asked Elsie. 
 " Such a bloodthirsty wretch as he must be ! I would 
 not have liked to be on the same ship with him. 
 I should have thought the sailors would have been 
 tempted to deal with him as their ancient brethren 
 dealt with Jonah." 
 
 " Perhaps they would, if they had been aware of 
 his presence, for they are a superstitious set. How 
 does he look ? He's a regular Adonis ; and as great 
 an exquisite as you will find on Broadway. Villains 
 do not always wear the mark of the beast on their 
 foreheads, Elsie. The devil prepares all sorts of dis 
 guises for his own. He has given this child of his 
 as fair a mask as one would see in a twelvemonth." 
 
 Elsie shook her head. " I don't quite believe it, 
 uncle. The mark must be there somewhere, if one's 
 eyes were only keen enough to discern it." 
 
 " Or one's spiritual insight clear enough," said the 
 doctor. " But come, we have supped on horrors 
 long enough. Give us a song, Elsie, to exorcise the 
 foul fiends we have been conjuring up." 
 
 What possessed the child, out of her repertoire of 
 songs, to select that night the "Song of the Novice 
 to Queen Guinevere" ? It shivered and sobbed and 
 wailed through the little room until it seemed as if 
 the spirits the doctor had spoken of were nearer to 
 us than ever. In the piteous cry, " Oh, let us in !" 
 some lost, despairing soul seemed to force its way to 
 the very gates of heaven, only to be met in stern 
 response by that terrible " Too late !" and sent hur 
 tling back into the abyss from whence it came. 
 
 Kenneth rose with compressed lips, walked to the
 
 EXPIATION. 22$ 
 
 window, and gazed out into the night, thus hiding his 
 face in the shadow of the curtains. Clyde crept nearer 
 to Elsie, looking at her with great, startled eyes. 
 The doctor glanced from one to the other with 
 curious, troubled glances. 
 
 " There !" he exclaimed, as the last note died upon 
 the ear. " My patience, Elsie ! I thought the day 
 of judgment had come, surely. Now, for sweet 
 pity's sake, give us something that is not quite so 
 doleful." 
 
 " A lump of sugar to take the bad taste out of your 
 mouth !" she said, with a half-smile. " Will this do 
 better ?" And, sweeping the strings of her guitar, 
 she broke into a sweet, joyous strain, with a refrain 
 that was like the chiming of silver bells. 
 
 " Yes, that is better," he said, as she paused. " Ugh ! 
 that other thing made me shiver." 
 
 The next day Clyde dined at Cozytoft. Kenneth 
 had gone to Bloomfield. The conversation turned 
 again upon the forgery and the arrest. 
 
 " It is one of the most remarkable cases I ever 
 heard of," said the doctor. " The plot was worked 
 up with most consummate skill. Now that one 
 knows the whole story, it is really curious to look 
 back and read the ' logic of events.' " 
 
 " Was any one tried for the crime ?" asked Clyde. 
 
 " Yes; two different parties were arrested and tried. 
 But the evidence, though strong, was not sufficient 
 to convict them. At last the public mind settled 
 down into the belief that the cashier was the real 
 culprit, and that he had killed himself." 
 
 " The reports of their trials would be curious 
 
 K*
 
 226 EXPIATION. 
 
 reading now, examined by. the light of these new 
 revelations." 
 
 " Would you like to see them ?" asked the doctor. 
 " Elsie, run up to my room, there's a good child, and 
 bring me the roll of newspapers you will 'find on the 
 bureau. I felt so much interested in the matter, after 
 what Gibson had told me," he continued, "that I 
 bought a file of the Thunderer for '51, in which paper 
 I knew there were full accounts of all that was said 
 and done relating to the matter. I have nearly run 
 them through, and will leave them for you when I go, 
 if you would like to look at them. A formidable 
 array, you see," as he took them from Elsie's hand. 
 " But, fortunately, one is not obliged to read the 
 whole paper." 
 
 Clyde expressed his gratification and his thanks ; 
 and the doctor renewed his promise of leaving them 
 behind him when he left Altona, which was to be 
 on the morrow. Elsie had said that she hated leave- 
 takings ; but she could not avoid them. They came 
 to her, as they come to us all, whether we will have 
 them or not. 
 
 Half the village knew the exact minute of her 
 departure ; tearful eyes looked out of lowly windows, 
 and hands were mutely waved in token of farewell.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE house was very desolate after she had gone. 
 I had intended to dismiss my little Mattie and go 
 back to my old way of living. But after we had put 
 in order the pretty white chamber with its maidenly 
 appointments, closed the blinds, and left it to dark 
 ness and repose ; after we had gone all over the 
 house that seemed so empty, missing her sweet 
 presence and her dainty possessions everywhere, I 
 sat down in the deserted parlor to think about it. I 
 found that I was spoiled for solitude. The quiet was 
 too quiet ; the silence was too intense, or would be 
 if I sent Mattie away. It was pleasant to know that 
 she was dashing about the kitchen, to hear her voice 
 albeit it was none too sweet singing snatches of 
 merry songs, and to be interrupted every half-hour 
 by the opening of a door and the appearance of a 
 good-natured face with the inquiry, " Miss Rossiter, 
 would you do thus or so ?" For Matty was very 
 fond of asking advice. It broke up the monotony 
 of her life as well as mine, I suppose, to discuss the 
 important questions whether it was better to use 
 yeast-cakes or " milk-emptins," or which most effect 
 ually removed the dust, a cloth or a feather duster. 
 So Matty stayed. 
 
 I saw nothing of Kenneth or Clyde for several days. 
 Their absence would have hurt me a little if I had not 
 fully understood the cause. Cozytoft had lost its charm
 
 228 EXPIATION. 
 
 for them as well as for me. But I knew they would 
 come back to it ere long. For both of them it had 
 been hallowed by " Love's young dream." One of 
 them or so it seemed had awakened from that 
 dream of his own free, strong will. He had shaken 
 himself roughly, and said to his soul, " Awake, thou 
 that sleepest." But, nevertheless, the memory of the 
 dream was with him still, and it would be with him 
 as long as life should last. The other dreamed on. 
 The words he had spoken, and those that Elsie had 
 spoken in reply, had stirred him somewhat ; the pain 
 they had occasioned had made him start and shiver ; 
 he had moaned in his sleep in feverish unrest. But 
 he had not awakened from his dream : he had not 
 resigned her. And it was because hope was not 
 dead that he had been able to meet Elsie again with 
 no outward disturbance, and to assume, apparently, 
 their old friendly relations. Because she had told him 
 that she would have loved him if she could, he took 
 courage, after the sober second thought, and went on 
 in the dream of winning her. He did not see that in 
 the open, generous frankness of that admission lay 
 the surest ground of his despair. If her being had 
 answered to the call of his, there would be no need 
 that she should try to love *him. Her heart would 
 have flowed out to him spontaneously, of its own 
 free will. But men have gone on blundering in this 
 way, and failing to read the signs of the times, for six 
 thousand years ; and doubtless they will continue so 
 to go on until the end of time. My poor Clyde was 
 by no means alone in his folly. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bundle of papers that the doctor
 
 EXPIATION. 229 
 
 had left for him lay on the bureau up-stairs in solitary 
 state. When he wanted them badly he would come 
 for them. Or, if at any time he seemed in desperate 
 need of some new thing to interest and amuse him, I 
 would send them over. 
 
 But on Friday evening Elsie went on Monday 
 they both made their appearance, Kenneth and Clyde. 
 Of course we talked of Elsie and of the doctor, and 
 of the strange story of the Marchdale forgeries. 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed Clyde, suddenly, " did Dr. Bel- 
 liager leave those papers for me, as he promised ?" 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 " What papers?" asked Kenneth, carelessly, as he 
 picked a yellow leaf from my rose-geranium. 
 
 "A file of the Thunderer for 1851," answered 
 Clyde, " containing all the reports of the trials. The 
 doctoi says they are curious reading in the light of 
 our present knowledge ; and he left them for us to 
 look over. I will take them when we go home, if 
 you please, aunty." 
 
 One of the quick, startling changes I had so often 
 observed, flashed over Kenneth's face at that instant; 
 but after a little he said, quietly, 
 
 " Better leave them with Miss Rossiter for the 
 waste-paper basket. You will never have patience to 
 read them. Searching for what you particularly care 
 to see will be too much like hunting for the needle in 
 the haymow." 
 
 " They will serve for a rainy day, if nothing more. 
 Don't slander my proverbial patience, Kenneth. I 
 haven't the slightest idea of skipping a single word. 
 Where are they, aunty ? Can I find them ?" 
 
 20
 
 230 
 
 EXPIATION, 
 
 I sent Matty up-stairs for them. When she re 
 turned, Kenneth rose hurriedly, glancing at his watch. 
 
 " Do not stop to examine your treasures now. It 
 is time we were at home. Shoulder your bundle, and 
 come on." 
 
 The next morning Clyde rushed in just after 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Did I leave those papers here last night, aunty?" 
 was his first salutation. " But I ask the question just 
 for form's sake. I know I took them home with 
 me!" 
 
 " I know it, too," I answered. " What's the 
 matter ? Have you lost them ?" 
 
 " Can't find them high nor low," he said. " I have 
 searched the house all over, up-stairs and down. I 
 thought common sense and duty required me to come 
 here and see if by any possibility I had left them. 
 But I knew better all the time. I distinctly remem 
 ber placing the roll on a chair near the head of my 
 bed." 
 
 " It is very strange," I remarked. " Have you 
 looked under the bed ?" 
 
 " Under it, and on it, and over it. It is not in my 
 room, nor anywhere else. Patsy has not seen it, nor 
 Dennis." 
 
 " Nor Kenneth ?" 
 
 I spoke involuntarily, and the next moment, 
 remembering the expression of Kenneth's face when 
 he first heard of the papers, I regretted the unguarded 
 suggestion. 
 
 " Kenneth ? Of course he has not seen them. He 
 went to bed before I did. It is too absurd to think
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 231 
 
 of their being stolen, just a bundle of old papers. 
 But what can have become of them ?" 
 
 " Was your door open during the night ?" 
 
 " Yes, that is, the door into Kenneth's room was 
 open. I think the one into the hall was closed. 
 Their disappearance is just unaccountable. They 
 are not worth making all this fuss about," he added, 
 laughing. " But there is something uncanny about 
 the whole thing, that they should be so spirited 
 away from under my very nose." And off he dashed 
 again. 
 
 Now, something a little unusual had fallen under 
 my observation during the previous night; and 
 musing over it in my quiet fashion as I sat there 
 in my solitary parlor, suddenly a ray of light seemed 
 to fall upon the history of Clyde's papers. 
 
 This was what had happened. About one o'clock 
 I had awakened ; and after tossing restlessly for half 
 an hour or so in vain pursuit of sleep, I got up, threw 
 a heavy shawl over my shoulders, and seated myself 
 at the window. It was bright starlight, clear and 
 still, and every shadow upon the untrodden snow 
 was distinct and immovable as if outlined by the hand 
 of an artist. Suddenly, as I looked over at Grey- 
 holt, from behind a rock in a secluded part of the 
 grounds, and at a long distance from the house, a 
 light flame shot upward. It blazed for a few 
 moments while I watched it with startled eyes. Then, 
 just as I had concluded that it was best for me to 
 make some attempt to alarm my neighbors, it dropped 
 suddenly into arkness. I pondered over the matter 
 for awhile, but finally made up my mind that some
 
 232 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 late boy-truant from the village, going home " across 
 lots," had paused to rest behind the rock and amused 
 himself with a burning pine-knot. 
 
 A different solution of the mystery now presented 
 itself, however; and, laying aside my work, I donned 
 cloak and hood and started forth. Not wishing to 
 be seen from the windows at Greyholt, I crept along 
 behind the hedge, scaled the wall, and stood at length 
 in the shadow of the rock. 
 
 It was as I had suspected. There was no trace of 
 boy footsteps in the snow ; no hint of resinous pine 
 torches. But the snow was trampled down, and there 
 was a footprint that I knew to be Kenneth's. There 
 were heaps of black ashes here and there, ashes so 
 light and intangible that they were blown about by 
 the mere fluttering of my garments. Two or three 
 charred fragments of paper lay upon the unmelted 
 snow, bits no larger than my hand. But as I bent 
 over them, holding my breath lest its faintest quiver 
 should cause them to disappear, I read a date, " June 
 23, 1851." 
 
 I tossed a little snow over it with my foot. The 
 night, the morning thus far, had been intensely still. 
 But just then a light breeze rustled the tree-tops, 
 and crept sighing through the hemlock-boughs. A 
 moment more, and it caught the black, feathery flakes, 
 whirling them hither and yon, sweeping the snow 
 clean and bare, and leaving scarcely a vestige of the 
 last night's work. 
 
 Eighteen hundred and fifty-one! It was the yeai 
 that brought the Armstrongs to Altona. I obliterated 
 the one footprint that I knew to be Kenneth's, threw
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 233 
 
 fresh snow upon whatever spots were darkened, and 
 trampled it down. Then I went home, and sat delib 
 erately down to think. 
 
 The clue to all that was dark and strange in the 
 lives of these two brothers had probably been placed 
 in my very fingers, and I had failed to grasp it. Those 
 innocent papers that had lain up-stairs for a fortnight, 
 what dire secret did they hold, that for its sake they 
 must become a holocaust ? What was there in them 
 that Clyde must not see ? What mystery was there 
 in the history of the Armstrongs, into whose dark 
 labyrinths Kenneth had been admitted and Clyde had 
 not? 
 
 I wearied myself with conjectures ; and meanwhile 
 Clyde fumed and fretted over the loss of his papers, 
 forming first one theory and then another as to their 
 sudden disappearance. He and Dennis held many a 
 discussion over the matter, the latter personage leaning 
 strongly toward the supernatural, and overflowing 
 with pious comments and suggestions. 
 
 " Indade, Misther Clyde, 1 ' he would say, " thim 
 papers were not alive, it is ivident ; and how, thin, 
 could they walk off with themselves ? They had 
 help, sir, they had help." And here the good gray 
 head would wave ominously back and forth. " It is 
 a solemn warnin'. These things are sint to us, Misther 
 Clyde ; they are sint to us to bring us to a sinse of 
 our responsibility ! God bless me poor sowl and 
 body, but I think I know me duty now!" 
 
 What he meant by this last observation it would 
 have puzzled a lawyer to tell. But probably his 
 honest brain held the fancy that he was in some way 
 
 20*
 
 234 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 accountable for the loss that so perplexed and annoyed 
 his young master ; and perhaps he intended to say 
 that if, in order to defend him or his possessions, it 
 was necessary to encounter witches or banshees, he 
 was ready to do it. At all events, he went about his 
 work for many days with head bowed down, mur 
 muring to himself, " God bless me poor sowl and 
 body, but I think I know me duty now !" 
 
 As for Kenneth, he ignored the whole matter, so far 
 as he was able ; and at last it became an old story, 
 and was apparently forgotten. . 
 
 As the winter days wore on, Clyde grew more and 
 more restless, moody, and irritable. Nothing was 
 right ; nothing pleased him save for brief intervals. 
 Sometimes he would be sweeter than the sweetest 
 flower that grows. A strange comparison, you say, 
 when a man is in the case, for flowers belong to 
 womanhood. But, ah, my poor Clyde ! You could 
 not judge him as you judged other men, you could 
 not speak of him as of other men. So I repeat, 
 sometimes he was sweeter than the sweetest flower 
 that grows. Then, again, in an hour perhaps, such 
 storms of passion would gather about him that they 
 darkened the very air. 
 
 The heart of the winter was broken, to use one of 
 Patsy's favorite expressions, and she was beginning 
 to think of spring house-cleaning as not so very far 
 off. I had not seen much of the young gentlemen 
 for a fortnight, the surest of evidence that all was not 
 well with them. But one evening, late in February, 
 Kenneth came in alone. 
 
 He threw himself down upon the lounge beside
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 235 
 
 my little table, and laid his hand upon the pages of 
 my book. 
 
 " Shut it up, aunty," he said : " I want to talk to 
 you. I have come to a place," he went on, pushing 
 back his heavy brown locks as he spoke, " where I 
 cannot see one inch of the way before me. I want 
 you to help me to find it." 
 
 " If I can," I answered. " What is it, Kenneth ?" 
 
 " Clyde is determined to go to New York," he said, 
 hesitating a.little, : "to see Elsie. Miss Rossiter, it 
 must be prevented. He must not go." 
 
 I mused in silence for a few moments. "But 
 why?" I asked, at length. "I think it can do no 
 good, so far as his suit to Elsie is concerned. But 
 assuredly it will do no harm. Why do you object 
 to his going ?" 
 
 " Because it is not best. Because our father 
 begged me on his dying bed to keep Clyde away 
 from New York. Because " 
 
 He came to a dead stop. Then, dashing his hand 
 suddenly across his eyes, he went on, hurriedly : 
 
 " I am conscious that all this must seem very absurd 
 to you, Miss Rossiter ; that it places us in a strange, 
 unfavorable light. I am conscious " 
 
 I interrupted him. " There is one thing I want to 
 say to you, Kenneth. The course you pursue with 
 Clyde is strange, it is peculiar. It is liable to mis 
 construction, and exposes you to harsh judgments. 
 Do you not know it ? Devoted as you are to him, 
 and for some inexplicable cause you are devoted to 
 him, soul and body, there are yet many weak points 
 in your armor. You are vulnerable on all sides."
 
 236 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Know it ?" he cried, passionately. " Oh, my God ! 
 do I not know it? Not a wind blows that does not 
 tell me of it, not a breath passes by that does not 
 whisper of it. Idle tongues are busy with my name. 
 They charge me with mercenary motives ; they say 
 that I take advantage of the fact that I am the elder, 
 and in some way the stronger of the two ; they say 
 that I disregard Clyde's interests, and sacrifice them 
 to my own ; they say that I bend him to my will, 
 and that he is but as a reed in my hands ; they say 
 that I would keep him from love and marriage, even, 
 for the furtherance of my own selfish ends ! You see 
 I know it all !" he continued, smiling sadly. " I am 
 not so blest as to be ignorant of these things." 
 
 " But, my child," I said, " it seems to me that in 
 some ways you might do differently. Your father, 
 like other sick men, had his whims and fantasies. 
 You are not bound by them. - You have no right to 
 sacrifice yourself and Clyde in loyal obedience to 
 them. If Clyde were to lead a life more nearly like 
 that of other young men. If " 
 
 He laid his hand upon my arm with a vice-like 
 grasp. 
 
 " He cannot lead such a life !" he cried. "He cannot ! 
 Let that suffice. I do not create destiny. I do not 
 ordain circumstances. I only conform as best I may 
 and submit. Miss Rossiter, Clyde must not go to 
 New York, if any effort of mine can prevent it." 
 
 But it appeared that no effort could prevent it. The 
 open rebellion that I had feared so long came at last. 
 Clyde was as one distraught for several days. Then 
 he declared positively that he would go ; no power
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 237 
 
 on earth should restrain him ; he had been held in 
 leading-strings too long already, he was of age, 
 he was a man, he had the same right to draw upon 
 the income of the estate that Kenneth had; in short, 
 he was going to New York. If his brother chose 
 to go with him, well and good. If not, he was going 
 alone. 
 
 What would Kenneth do ? Would he still resist, 
 or, having exhausted all his powers of persuasion, 
 would he yield gracefully ? He answered these ques 
 tions himself. 
 
 " I have done the best I can, and all I can, to keep 
 him at home," he said, "and further contention is 
 worse than useless. Of course I cannot compel him 
 to stay. Now I must go with him, and shield him 
 from harm as best I may." 
 
 Patsy was in a state of mingled elation and anxiety 
 when the news of their speedy departure was an 
 nounced. It was a great event in her life, that her 
 young gentlemen were about to start upon a journey; 
 and New York seemed farther off to her than Egypt 
 and the Pyramids do to you. Such overlooking of 
 shirts and handkerchiefs and stockings, such close 
 inspection of buttons and button-holes, as went on at 
 Greyholt during the next two days ! 
 
 They were to start at five o'clock the next morning, 
 Dennis driving them over to Bloomfield in time for 
 the early train. Toward night I ran across the road, 
 with my thimble in my pocket, to do a little delicate 
 bit of repairing that Patsy had feared was beyond 
 her skill. 
 
 The contrast between the two brothers that after-
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 noon struck me more powerfully than ever before. 
 Kenneth's preparations were all made. Everything 
 in which he was personally concerned was arranged 
 for as long an absence as might be necessary. He 
 was in the library when I went in, and I caught a 
 glimpse of him before he saw me. His face was 
 somewhat paler than its wont, but quiet, steady, reso 
 lute ; and out of his cool gray eyes there looked a 
 soul that having warded off some imminent peril as 
 long as it was able, was now girding itself up to 
 meet and grapple with it. Yet there was nothing of 
 sternness or dissatisfaction there. Having yielded 
 the point and consented to go, he did it cordially, 
 entering into all of Clyde's plans and projects, 
 and sharing his eager enthusiasm so far as he 
 might. 
 
 And indeed it was contagious. Even I began to 
 feel as if a visit to New York must be the acme of 
 human desires, the very highest good. Clyde was 
 in a state of the wildest exhilaration, and at the same 
 time in one of his sweetest moods. Why should he 
 not be, having gained his end ? He glowed and 
 sparkled all over. Never had his marvelous beauty 
 seemed so like an incarnation as that day. 
 
 Yet there was something painful about it, after all. 
 There was too much light and sparkle. The hot 
 glow upon his cheek, the intense lustre of his eye, 
 the warmth and splendor that haloed him, gave me a 
 sense of dread, of subtle danger. 
 
 " Come up here, aunty !" he shouted, from the top 
 of the stairs. " Come up here; for I want you." 
 
 That was enough. I went. Clyde's " I want you"
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 239 
 
 was a most difficult thing to resist. Would Elsie 
 find it so at last ? 
 
 He had insisted upon packing his own trunk, and 
 the result was that confusion reigned supreme in 
 every quarter of the room. 
 
 " Just look, aunty !" he exclaimed, excitedly. " I 
 am making a pretty mess of it ! I never can get half 
 these things into the trunk." 
 
 " No ; neither can any one. But there is no 
 necessity for it, Clyde. Why in the world are you 
 taking all your summer clothing with you ? You 
 will not need it" And I began to lay aside the 
 thin garments for which he could find no possible 
 use. 
 
 " No, no," he cried, hastily ; " I must take it ! I 
 shall stay no one knows how long. Perhaps," he 
 continued, looking cautiously around the room and 
 lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, " per 
 haps I shall never come back. To tell the truth, I 
 do not like Altona. It doesn't suit me. I am going 
 to New York. I am going to see the world. I am 
 going to Elsie ! Good-by to Altona !" 
 
 He waved his hand with a theatrical flourish and 
 snapped his fingers. 
 
 " And to me, Clyde ? Good-by to me also ?" 
 
 " Oh, you dear old aunty !" he exclaimed, catch 
 ing me about the waist, a liberty he was by no 
 means in the habit of taking. " Good-by to you ? 
 Not by any means. I'll tell you a secret," he whis 
 pered, while he held me fast, and his hot breath 
 fanned my cheek. " When we are married, Elsie 
 and I, we shall come to Altona to spend our honey-
 
 240 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 moon ! But I shall never come till then, never, 
 never, never !" 
 
 I was frightened, I confess. I tore myself away 
 from him and turned toward the door, with the in 
 tention of calling Kenneth. He divined my purpose, 
 and, springing forward, laid his hand upon the lock. 
 His eyes were a flame of fire. 
 
 " Pack that trunk !" he shouted, under his breath, 
 if one may use such an expression. His voice had 
 all the force and power of a shout, while at the same 
 time there was cunning in his incipient madness. 
 " Pack that trunk ! I am going to Elsie, I tell you ! 
 Pack that trunk ! and don't you dare to call that 
 brother of mine, or I will hurl this inkstand at your 
 head !" 
 
 He caught up a large glass inkstand that stood 
 upon the table within reach, still keeping one hand 
 upon the lock. Why he did not close the door and turn 
 the key has always been a mystery ; but he did not. 
 
 I was in the power of a madman. If I could only 
 keep him quiet till succor came ! 
 
 " Yes, yes," I said, soothingly. " Do not be impa 
 tient, Clyde. I will pack the trunk immediately." 
 
 " Do it, then," he said, peremptorily, " and be quick 
 about it. I am going to-night, to-night ! Do you 
 hear? Kenneth means to play me a trick. He 
 means to carry me off somewhere, where I shall 
 never, never see Elsie. But I'll get the better of him ! 
 Oh, yes ! I'll teach him a thing or two. I'm going 
 to-night to-night and leave him in the lurch. He 
 hates me, Miss Rossiter; and do you hear? I 
 hate him !"
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 2 4 I 
 
 The concentrated bitterness of those last words 
 forced me to look up at him. I was kneeling by the 
 trunk, crowding in one article after another. But in 
 that one quick glance I saw that he had removed his 
 hand from the knob, and the door had swung open a 
 few inches. 
 
 " Hand me that coat, please, Clyde," I said, quietly. 
 " There's just room for it here." 
 
 He turned toward the chair; and, springing to my 
 feet, I flew into the hall, closing the door behind me. 
 As I did so, there was a wild shriek, a groan, a heavy 
 fall. 
 
 I rushed down-stairs, screaming, " Kenneth ! Ken 
 neth !" He was by my side in an instant, gave one 
 glance at my white, scared face, spoke not a word, 
 but bounded up the stairs into the chamber I had 
 left. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I FOLLOWED Kenneth. Clyde lay prone upon the 
 carpet, face downward, and hands clenched in his 
 tawny hair. 
 
 We attempted to lift the poor, insensible body ; 
 but it was too much for my strength. I called Den 
 nis, mute now with bewilderment and sorrow, and 
 the two men raised Clyde from the floor and placed 
 him upon the bed. Kenneth had not spoken one 
 word. Now, as Dennis reverently lifted his hat 
 L 21
 
 242 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 and stood uncovered, he placed his hand upon his 
 brother's forehead and gazed long and earnestly upon 
 his pallid face. Then he stooped and kissed the 
 fast-closed eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Clyde ! Clyde !" he said, under his breath. 
 
 I stepped forward and touched his arm. 
 
 " There is no time to lose, Kenneth. Ought he 
 not to be undressed and made comfortable, as far as 
 we can do it, before he revives from this swoon ?" I 
 feared that at a later moment he might prove utterly 
 unmanageable. 
 
 Kenneth looked at me with a strange, far-away 
 look in his eyes, as if he scarcely comprehended my 
 meaning. I repeated my words. 
 
 " Call Patsy, please, Miss Rossiter," he said, 
 finally. " Dennis, go for Dr. Mathews. Take the 
 Brownie, and be quick. Then come back imme 
 diately." 
 
 There was little said while we disrobed Clyde and 
 applied wet cloths to his burning head. Patsy's tears 
 flowed silently, but she did not open her lips, save 
 to make some necessary suggestions. But when all 
 was done that we could do, and we waited the com 
 ing of the doctor, Kenneth glanced at the open trunk 
 and the various pieces of clothing that were scattered 
 about the room. 
 
 " Put them all away, Patsy," he said. " Put them 
 all out of my sight. What is Dr. Bellinger's address, 
 Miss Rossiter?" 
 
 I gave it ; and he wrote a hasty telegram, finishing 
 it just as the sound of the Brownie's hoofs upon the 
 beaten road told that Dennis had returned. He was
 
 EXPIATION. 243 
 
 at once dispatched to Bloomfield with it, and ordered 
 to wait for an answer. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Mathews came, examined Clyde 
 carefully and gravely, and shook his head. 
 
 " It is a bad case, Mr. Armstrong," he said, at last. 
 " I will not try to conceal the danger from you. It 
 is a violent affection of the brain, the immediate cause 
 of which I should judge to be some strong mental 
 excitement. I have had little experience in such dis 
 eases, and would rather some older physician should 
 take the responsibility of this case. There is Dr. 
 Hazleton, of Bloomfield ?" he added, suggestively. 
 
 "A thousand thanks for your frankness, doctor," 
 said Kenneth, cordially ; " but, anticipating serious 
 trouble here, I have already telegraphed to Dr. Bel 
 linger, of New York. In the interim, however, I 
 would rather the case should remain in your hands." 
 
 The doctor bowed. " Then I will do my best, sir." 
 And he turned toward the bed again, where Clyde 
 still lay in a state of coma. 
 
 In four hours Dennis came back with the dispatch. 
 Kenneth tore off the envelope. 
 
 " Thank God !" he cried, with a deep sigh of relief. 
 Dr. Bellinger would leave New York on the first 
 through train ; we might expect him to-morrow, at 
 midday. 
 
 There was no change in Clyde that night, there 
 was none the next morning. Occasionally he would 
 groan and mutter incoherent words, seemingly of 
 reproach or entreaty. But for the most part he lay 
 as one dead, pallid, silent, motionless. The hours 
 were long until Dr. Bellinger came.
 
 244 EXPIATION. 
 
 But when he did come, he gave us little encour 
 agement. 
 
 " This does not seem quite like ordinary brain 
 affections," he said, stroking his gray beard reflect 
 ively. " Has he ever been hurt ? ever received any 
 injury about the head ?" 
 
 " Yes," Kenneth answered, hesitating a little. " He 
 was thrown from a horse several years ago, and 
 injured severely. Here is the scar." And he parted 
 the heavy hair. 
 
 Dr. Bellinger examined the long, irregular cicatrix 
 critically, asking many questions which Kenneth 
 answered concisely. Then he rose, and paced the 
 room for a quarter of an hour. Turning at last 
 suddenly to Kenneth, 
 
 " Will you know what I mean if I talk about 
 ' Bony Process ' ?" he asked. " I do not use medical 
 terms and phrases, if I can avoid it, when speaking 
 to the uninitiated. In your brother's case there has 
 been a formation of bone, or a bony substance, inside 
 the skull, and pressing upon the brain. It was occa 
 sioned, doubtless, by this accident or injury of which 
 we have been talking. But even with this under 
 standing of the matter, the case is by no means a 
 plain one. Unless I am greatly mistaken, there are 
 complications dating from some trouble still farther 
 back." 
 
 Kenneth made no reply to this, but sat with his 
 hand over his eyes and his lips compressed. 
 
 " There might be an operation, I suppose," the 
 doctor went on, slowly, speaking more to himself than 
 to his companion. " But it would be extremely
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 245 
 
 hazardous ; not one chance in a thousand of saving 
 the life of the patient. And if I am right in my 
 diagnosis, there are other troubles, that no surgical 
 skill can reach. Still, even the one chance is, per 
 haps, worth trying. What do you say, my young 
 friend ?" 
 
 Ever since Dr. Bellinger's arrival Kenneth had been 
 so calm, so collected, so self-contained, that the good 
 physician thought, doubtless, that he was not over 
 sensitive, and could bear the plainest possible dis 
 course without wincing. Now, however, the firm 
 lips parted in a vain endeavor to speak ; the hand 
 that covered the eyes trembled violently ; the broad 
 breast heaved, and a sudden passion of dry, tearless 
 sobs shook the young man's powerful frame, even as 
 a sapling is shaken by the force of the tempest. 
 
 " Do not ask me, do not ask me, Dr. Bellinger !" 
 he cried, seizing the hand that the doctor had ex 
 tended in a spasm of self-reproach and pity. " Do 
 not ask me to decide such a question as that. I leave 
 it all in your hands. I do not know what is best." 
 
 " Then," said the doctor, very gently, remembering 
 at last the close relations that had always existed 
 between these two brothers, and touched with tender 
 pity for both, " then I decide against an operation, 
 at least for the present. I doubt if your brother is 
 able to endure it now. By-and-by, if we can bring 
 about some favorable changes, and mitigate some of 
 the immediately alarming symptoms, it may be well 
 to reconsider the matter." 
 
 That night violent fits of raving alternated with 
 hours of death-like stupor. As in the beginning of 
 
 21*
 
 246 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 the attack, the poor, oppressed brain dwelt constantly 
 upon Elsie and Kenneth. Kenneth hated him, 
 Kenneth was striving to keep him from Elsie, 
 Kenneth had laid a plot oh ! a cunning, deep-laid 
 plot to entice him away to some far land where he 
 could never so much as hear her name. Occasionally 
 he would rave about the will and the safe, repeating 
 over and over again, in every varied form, the cruel 
 suspicions of which Tom Bradshaw had sown the 
 seed. How Kenneth writhed under this torture God 
 only knew ! But Clyde's chief cry was for Elsie, 
 for Elsie. And at last the bewildered, shattered brain 
 settled itself upon that one thought and knew nothing 
 else. The poor, distorted lips cried out for Elsie 
 continually. 
 
 This lasted all that night and the next day. Then 
 Dr. Bellinger said, calling Kenneth and me into the 
 library, 
 
 " There are two things that must be done. With 
 your permission I shall send for Elsie. Her presence 
 may possibly quiet Clyde, and give us a little time. 
 As it is, medicines have no effect upon him, and he 
 will wear himself out in this struggle. Then we must 
 obtain an experienced nurse, one who is more ac 
 customed to dealing with all the different phases of 
 delirium than, thank God ! any of you here can be." 
 
 A quick, hot flush swept over Kenneth's face at 
 the doctor's first proposition. But it faded in an 
 instant. 
 
 " Send for whom and what you please, doctor," 
 he answered. " Under no circumstances could Miss 
 Meredith's presence in Altona be unwelcome. As for
 
 EXPIA TWN. 
 
 247 
 
 the nurse, I am afraid you will have to send away for 
 him or for her also. There are no nurses about here 
 who can be compared with the two who have already 
 placed themselves at your command, Miss Rossiter 
 and Patsy." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand that," was the response. " But 
 we need a professional nurse. Clyde's case demands 
 trained skill. Besides, there is no knowing how long 
 this may last ; and you cannot endure the strain for 
 many weeks. I know of an excellent nurse who has 
 often assisted me in the care of delirious patients at 
 St. Elizabeth's. We must have her at once." 
 
 So again the telegraph was brought into requisi 
 tion, and the doctor dispatched this message to 
 Elsie : 
 
 " Come up here by next train, and bring Sister 
 Agnes." 
 
 But it would be eighteen hours at the least per 
 haps twenty-four before we could reasonably expect 
 them. How slowly those hours dragged on only 
 those can know who have been in a like stress of 
 anxiety and pain. It was morning at last, and possibly 
 they might reach Altona at midday. 
 
 " By the by," said Dr. Bellinger, as I poured for 
 him a cup of strong coffee, " perhaps I ought to tell 
 you that you will not find Sister Agnes a very talka 
 tive person." 
 
 "All the better," I answered. " To tell the truth, 
 I have been dreading her tongue ever since you sent 
 for her. Whatever other virtues they may possess, I 
 never yet knew a nurse who was blessed with the gift 
 of silence."
 
 248 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 The doctor laughed softly as he stirred his coffee. 
 "Then Sister Agnes will suit you to a T; and I 
 may as well tell you the whole story without further 
 circumlocution. The woman is a mute." 
 
 I was struck dumb myself for a moment. " You 
 do not mean that she is deaf and dumb ?" I asked, 
 in a sort of dismay. " What ever shall we do with 
 her ?" 
 
 " No, she is not deaf. But she cannot speak, 
 owing to some difficulty of the throat which seems 
 to have impaired the vocal organs. She would never 
 allow me to examine her case ; so I do not know much 
 about it. But she is a capital nurse, and that is all 
 we care for just now." 
 
 I still thought this was likely to be an uncomfort 
 able state of things, worse, perhaps, than the talka 
 tiveness I had dreaded. 
 
 " It must be awkward, nevertheless," I said. " How 
 do you manage with her ? Does she have any diffi 
 culty in making her wants known ?" 
 
 " Not the least," answered the doctor. " Do not 
 give yourself any uneasiness on her account, Mar 
 garet. She will take care of herself. Her signs are 
 wonderfully graphic and intelligible ; and, besides, 
 she writes with great ease and rapidity. The fact 
 that she can hear simplifies matters, you see." 
 
 I went out to explain the case to Patsy upon this ; 
 thinking it better that she should be prepared for all 
 emergencies. 
 
 " Well, she won't be a-gabbling and a-gossiping, 
 that's one comfort," said she. " And I'd a great sight 
 ruther not have her talk at all than to have her tongue
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 249 
 
 a-running from morning till night. I s'pose she's one 
 o' them furriners, Catholic, most likely, a sort of 
 a nun, or something; and she won't eat meat on 
 Fridays. I wonder how the fish-market is nowa 
 days ? But, see here, Miss Rossiter," she added, as 
 I turned to go up-stairs. "What chamber shall I 
 fix for Miss Elsie?" 
 
 I hesitated a moment. " Not any. Matty will 
 see to that. Miss Elsie will prefer to have her old 
 room at my house, I am sure. But you had better 
 put the one adjoining yours in order for this Sister 
 Agnes." 
 
 The carriage had gone to Bloomfield to meet the 
 travelers ; but neither Dr. Bellinger nor Kenneth 
 had accompanied it. They could not be spared. 
 Neither could I be spared long ; but, catching up a 
 shawl that lay upon the hall table, I ran across the 
 road to give a few directions to Matty and to see for 
 myself that Elsie's room was ready for her. For I 
 felt sure she would stop at Cozytoft. 
 
 The pretty guest-chamber had not been occupied 
 since she left it ; and it had the forlorn, desolate air 
 so soon acquired by a room that is not in daily use. 
 But a bright little fire upon the hearth soon altered 
 all that, and it presently glowed with warmth and 
 radiance, beaming a welcome from every corner. I 
 wheeled the dimity-covered easy-chair in front of 
 the fire, placed a little table beside it, with a new 
 book or two, and a tiny glass vase wherein a crim 
 son tea-rose blushed and smiled amid its emerald 
 leaves. Then I went back ; and as I slowly mounted 
 the hill, under the naked maple-boughs, I heard
 
 250 EXPIATION. 
 
 Clyde's voice raised in strange, unnatural tension, 
 crying 
 
 " Elsie ! Elsie !" 
 
 Dr. Bellinger had gone to lie down, for he had been 
 up a great part of the previous night, and Kenneth 
 and I were in Clyde's chamber, when we heard the 
 sound of wheels upon the graveled road. Even in 
 that darkened room I saw Kenneth's color change, 
 and noted a sudden and peculiar motion of the 
 shoulders, which in him was always a sign of internal 
 agitation. But he rose silently and went to the 
 window. 
 
 " They have come," he said, quietly. " At least, 
 the carriage has come. I do not see Miss Mere 
 dith." 
 
 I went down. Dennis, hat in hand, had just 
 opened the carriage door, and a tall, dignified woman, 
 with the air and bearing of a lady, was descending 
 the steps. As I bade her welcome, she bowed, 
 touched her lips with her finger, smiled faintly, and 
 passed by me into the hall. Dennis had left Elsie at 
 Cozytoft, as I had predicted. I waited to ask him a 
 question or two, and then followed the stranger into 
 the house. 
 
 A strange embarrassment a sort of panic, so to 
 speak seized me as I approached the silent, motion 
 less figure that awaited my coming. A tall, dignified 
 woman, as I have said, of about forty-five years, 
 around whose face and figure the light of past beauty 
 lingered, even as the sunset glow illumines a land 
 scape after the sun has set, with delicate, finely- 
 cut features, a perfectly colorless complexion, large
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 251 
 
 dark eyes, eyebrows somewhat heavy, but singularly 
 arched and almost a jet-black, contrasting strangely 
 with hair that was blanched to a snowy white 
 ness, gray dress of some soft woolen fabric, gray 
 cloak, gray hood which had fallen back upon her 
 shoulders, revealing a quaint, nun-like cap with a 
 band across the forehead like that of a lady abbess, 
 such was Sister Agnes. For a moment it seemed to 
 me that some old medieval portrait had stepped down 
 from its tarnished gilded frame, and was waiting for 
 me to address it. What ever should I do with this 
 stately, silent woman, whose dark, questioning eyes 
 followed me so intently, but whose lips spake never 
 a word ? 
 
 A happy thought struck me. " You will like to 
 see Dr. Bellinger and learn something of the patient 
 for whose sake you have come so far," I said. " Step 
 into the library and be seated, if you please, and I 
 will ask him to speak with you for a moment before 
 you go to your chamber." 
 
 I opened the library door, and then, hastening up 
 stairs, tapped lightly at that of the doctor's room. 
 He appeared presently. 
 
 " Come right down, doctor," I said, " and see this 
 Sister Agnes of yours. And I am going with you, 
 to see how you manage to carry on a conversation 
 with her." 
 
 " Come along, then," he answered, as one but half 
 awake. " Where's Elsie ? But what's the matter ? 
 Have you seen a wraith, or what ?" 
 
 " Elsie is at my house," I answered. " No, I have 
 not seen a wraith. But I believe I am afraid of that
 
 252 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 woman, doctor ! Her silent stateliness is too much 
 for me." 
 
 " You don't say so !" he said, mockingly. " Mar 
 garet Rossiter, I have always thought you that rara 
 avis, a sensible woman. Come straight down-stairs 
 now, and retrieve your character before it is forever 
 too late." 
 
 It was absurd, this unaccountable tremor that had 
 taken possession of me ; and I followed the doctor 
 down to the library in quite a chastened frame of 
 mind. 
 
 He entered the room while I was yet upon the 
 stairs, and his first words were, 
 
 " Heigh-ho ! What's this ? Why, Sister Agnes, 
 Sister Agnes, what is the trouble ?" 
 
 A faint, inarticulate murmur, half sigh and half 
 moan, was the answer, as Sister Agnes, who was 
 standing bolt upright in the middle of the room with 
 both hands pressed upon her heart, turned toward 
 him a white, convulsed face, staggered forward, and 
 fell into his outstretched arms. 
 
 " Here's a to-do !" said the doctor, half impatiently, 
 as he laid her upon the sofa. "Don't be fright 
 ened, Margaret. Raise the window, and give me 
 your sal-volatile. Is the world turning upside 
 down ? I thought this woman had nerves of steel, 
 and here she is fainting away like a scared school- 
 girl!" 
 
 The cold, fresh air and the pungent salts soon 
 revived her in a measure ; and she sat up, looking 
 about her in a vague, bewildered way.* Then her 
 eyes closed again, and I saw that only an effort of
 
 EXPIATION. 253 
 
 most persistent and determined will prevented her 
 from falling back into another swoon. This was a 
 pretty state of things, truly ! 
 
 "A glass of wine, Miss Rossiter," said the doctor. 
 And I brought it. He held it to her lips, bidding her 
 drain it to the very bottom. Presently a little faint 
 color crept into the wan lips, and she raised her hands 
 to her head with a motion of weariness and pain. Dr. 
 Bellinger watched her silently. Then, turning to me, 
 he said, 
 
 "She will be all right soon. Tired out before she 
 started, probably. She had better go to her room 
 for the present" 
 
 At this Sister Agnes lifted her head, with a motion 
 of dissent, and her hand strayed hither and thither, 
 as if in search of something. 
 
 " No," said the doctor. " You can't have your 
 pencil yet. Lie still, if you won't go up-stairs." 
 
 A slight smile just touched her lips for an instant ; 
 but again, as she unclosed her eyes and they wan 
 dered about the room, taking in, in one rapid glance, 
 the books, the pictures, the portraits on the wall, a 
 strong shudder shook her frame. Suddenly, as by a 
 violent effort, she rose from the sofa and seated herself 
 in a chair so placed that from it she could see nothing 
 but the wide, far-reaching landscape without. In that 
 position she remained for five minutes, while the doc 
 tor stood quietly by her side with his fingers upon 
 her wrist. At length she drew a long breath, and 
 looked up at him with an apologetic air, and yet with 
 strangely-questioning glances. 
 
 "All right now?" he said, cheerily. " They have 
 
 22
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 been working you too hard down at St. Elizabeth's 
 since I came away, haven't they, Sister Agnes ? I 
 never expected to have you on my hands, fainting 
 away and all that. See here, you have fright 
 ened Miss Rossiter half out of Jier wits, I verily 
 believe." 
 
 We both bowed in response to this slight ceremony 
 of introduction. Then in a rapid pantomime, which 
 even I could partially understand, she told the doctor 
 that she had not slept for several nights, having 
 devoted herself to a delirious patient, who had died 
 an hour before she left New York. Then, she said, 
 calling her pencil into requisition, she had not been 
 in the cars for many years, and perhaps the unaccus 
 tomed motion accounted for her dizziness. 
 
 Perhaps the doctor believed this; but I did not. 
 Even yet the look of terror and dismay I had no 
 ticed as she fell had not faded out of the woman's 
 great, dark eyes ; and the subtle instincts of my sex 
 told me that in spite of the self-control and strength 
 of will she now wore as armor of proof, her heart was 
 throbbing painfully beneath it. 
 
 I touched her hand. It was cold as ice. " Come 
 to your room now and rest awhile, will you not?" 
 I said. " You can talk with the doctor by-and-by." 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, she rose and followed 
 me, drawing her hood over her head, and glancing 
 neither to the right nor the left as we went. But as we 
 reached the door she paused, and said to the doctor, 
 in her strange sign-language, 
 
 " I want to see you in half an hour. Where ?" 
 
 " Here," "he answered.
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 255 
 
 But she made a gesture of dissent so unmistakable 
 that he said, 
 
 " No ? Then I will come to your room in just 
 thirty minutes. Will that do ?" 
 
 She nodded; and he went up-stairs to Clyde. 
 
 I have been a long time in telling this. But prob 
 ably it was not more than twenty minutes from the 
 time she entered the house until I left her at her 
 chamber door. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CLYDE was worse that night, so much worse that 
 he engrossed my thoughts to the exclusion of all else. 
 I have never been able to recall its events with any 
 distinctness. I know that Elsie came to me, that I 
 felt her clinging arms about my neck, her warm kisses 
 upon my cheek. But where we met, in whose pres 
 ence, or by whose agency, I could never remember. 
 I know that Clyde was raving in wild delirium, now 
 filling the house with shouts of maniacal laughter, 
 now moaning pitifully like a grieved child, now crying 
 out for Elsie, now calling upon his father's name, now 
 invoking heaven's vengeance upon Kenneth, whom 
 yet he did not recognize, when suddenly a slight, 
 graceful, black-robed figure, with hair that made a 
 golden radiance in the darkened room, a firm, sweet 
 mouth, and tearful yet resolute eyes, glided into the 
 chamber, and laid its cool, soft hand upon his fore 
 head, saying only,
 
 256 EXPIATION. 
 
 " I am here, Clyde." And then, as once in days of 
 old, " immediately there was a great calm." 
 
 Clyde did not speak; he did not move. He would 
 hardly have seemed alive had it not been for his eyes. 
 They never left Elsie's face for an instant. 
 
 Kenneth stood in a far corner, watching both. He 
 had not seen Elsie until that moment, when she bent 
 over Clyde like an angel, her very presence bringing 
 temporary peace to the troubled soul. As I have 
 said, I do not remember much about that night. 
 Everything seems vague and dream-like. But I do 
 remember how at last Kenneth stole softly across 
 the room, and, taking the hand that dropped at Elsie's 
 side, raised it to his lips with a whispered " God bless 
 you." That was his only word of greeting. 
 
 Presently he brought her a low chair and left the 
 room. The magnetism of her presence, or the soft 
 pressure of her hand upon Clyde's forehead, soothed 
 and quieted him, and at length he dropped into a 
 fitful slumber. But when she would have stolen 
 away, he started wildly, caught her hand and drew 
 her to her seat again, and again closed his eyes. She 
 did not repeat the experiment, but sat there hour 
 after hour, holding his wasted fingers in a firm, close 
 clasp. Whether the harassed, struggling soul recog 
 nized her in a blind, uncertain way, God only 
 knows. 
 
 It was not until the gray dawn of the morning that 
 I bethought me of Sister Agnes, and, in a sudden 
 spasm of wonder and self-reproach, made inquiries of 
 Dr. Bellinger. 
 
 " She is in her room," he said. " I found her, at
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 257 
 
 the expiration of the half-hour, in a state of extreme 
 nervous excitement, owing probably to overwork, 
 and in imperative need of rest and quiet. Indeed, 
 she at first declared her determination to return to 
 New York at once, saying that she could not, and 
 would not, remain here even for a day. She insisted 
 upon being taken back to Bloomfield in time for the 
 midnight train ; and when I told her that was impos 
 sible, as the horses could not be spared in this emer 
 gency, she said she would walk, then, and actually 
 put on her cloak with that intention. I began to 
 wish the woman was in New York myself, for there 
 was an expression about her eyes that made me almost 
 doubtful of her own sanity." 
 
 " I wish she was well out of the house," I said. 
 " But how did you manage her ? What have you 
 done ?" 
 
 " I took off her cloak, and made her sit down and 
 listen to reason, in the first place," he answered. " I 
 told her that she was simply tired and overwrought, 
 and that a good night's rest which I should insist 
 upon her having before she saw Clyde would set 
 her right. Then I appealed to her womanly sympa 
 thies, told her how strangely alone these two brothers 
 were, having neither father, mother, nor sister, and 
 being entirely dependent upon the good offices of 
 such heathen as you and Patsy, and how much the 
 invalid needed just such a nurse as herself. Finally, 
 I scolded her in my own behalf, telling her that she 
 was treating me shabbily and placing me in a very 
 awkward position. She grew more quiet as I poured 
 out this torrent of words, and at length began to 
 
 22*
 
 258 EXPIATION. 
 
 cry. Such a passion of tears you never saw ; and I 
 knew that the victory was won. After awhile she 
 became calmer, and began to question me about Clyde 
 and Kenneth ; and even about Mr. Armstrong's death, 
 which was something I knew nothing about, and I 
 told her so. But it does not matter, as there could 
 have been no resemblance between his case and that 
 of Clyde. I believe she even asked a question or two 
 about you, supposing you a member of the family, 
 and finally said that, God helping her, she would 
 stay and do the best she could." 
 
 " Quite melodramatic," I said, sarcastically. " Well, 
 after you had sufficiently gratified her womanish 
 curiosity, what next ?" 
 
 " Next, Miss Rossiter," bowing deeply, " I gave her 
 a powerful sedative, and made her promise to go to 
 bed ; where I have a profound belief that she remains 
 at this present moment." 
 
 I remained silent. In my heart of hearts I felt 
 that it would have been a decided relief to me if the 
 good Sister had carried out her original intention and 
 returned to her own Lares et Penates, wherever they 
 might be. This strange, dumb woman, with her 
 tremors, her faintings, and her tears, was not at all to 
 my taste. Dr. Bellinger read my face and answered 
 my unspoken thought. 
 
 "Do not judge hastily or harshly, Margaret," he 
 said, gravely. " I confess that I am disappointed 
 myself. The weak, trembling woman, almost in hys 
 terics, whom we saw yesterday, is by no means the 
 Sister Agnes whom I have known for years, not 
 merely as a ministering angel by the bedsides of the
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 259 
 
 dying, but as a strong, resolute, practical person, to be 
 relied on to the very last. But this only proves that 
 she is human, like the rest of us, and that she cannot 
 endure ajl things. I am confident that she will be 
 herself again after a night of rest, and that you will 
 have no reason to doubt my wisdom in seeking to 
 retain her. Now, leave Clyde to Elsie and me, and 
 go to bed yourself." 
 
 I obeyed, for I was indeed thoroughly worn out. 
 Four hours afterward, when I returned to the sick 
 room, I found Sister Agnes at her post, looking more 
 like a picture than ever, with her beautiful dark eyes, 
 her strong yet tender face, her abundant white hair, 
 her quaint head-dress, her soft gray robe, and her 
 calm, unhurried ways. 
 
 Othello's occupation was gone. In other words, 
 Margaret Rossiter found that the work that had so 
 engrossed her for a fortnight was taken out of her 
 hands completely. Dr. Bellinger's judgment was 
 indeed amply vindicated. It was wonderful to see 
 how quickly and how quietly the new nurse estab 
 lished her sway in the sick-chamber. Her control 
 over Clyde grew to be something marvelous. In his 
 wildest moments, when the poor, tortured soul seemed 
 in deadly conflict with the demons of terror and unrest, 
 her touch, her gentle, appealing eyes, and a certain 
 low, soft, inarticulate murmur, like that of a mother 
 crooning to the babe upon her breast, of which she 
 appeared to be herself unconscious, would soothe him 
 into comparative repose. 
 
 This was generally the case, but not always. There 
 were times when for Clyde the whole universe held
 
 2<5o EXPIA TION. 
 
 only Elsie, and when no presence but hers could give 
 him peace; times when he would look at none but 
 her, listen to no other voice, receive no drop of 
 cordial, no particle of nourishment, save from her 
 hand. So it happened that they two seemed to hold 
 for him the issues of life and death. 
 
 Thus the time wore on for a week. Dr. Bellinger, 
 after a long conference with Sister Agnes, had gone 
 back to New York, promising to return in a few days. 
 The house was very still ; and it seemed to me that 
 the shadow of death brooded over it. Kenneth was 
 always at hand to render any necessary service ; he 
 seemed to drop down out of the skies, as it were, 
 whenever he was needed. But for the most part he 
 held himself aloof from the room where all our 
 thoughts were centred. Perhaps he feared that his 
 presence might be a disturbing element; perhaps he 
 could not bear the sting of Clyde's wandering words ; 
 perhaps he felt that he could not be thrown into 
 frequent association with Elsie without unendurable 
 pain ; perhaps it was merely a gentlemanly instinct 
 that led him to avoid obtruding himself upon her at 
 such a time. Yet, if such was the case, there was 
 less danger than he imagined ; for Elsie was seldom 
 in Clyde's room, save when imperatively summoned 
 by Sister Agnes. She shrank from Kenneth even 
 more than he from her. 
 
 One forenoon I was in the kitchen, helping Patsy 
 in some household emergency. 
 
 " How is that blue-eyed angel o' yourn this morn 
 ing ?'' asked that lady, as she industriously worked 
 her butter. " She hain't quite got her wings yet, I
 
 EXPIATION. 26l 
 
 see. Seems to me it's about time they was a- 
 sprouting." 
 
 "Who? Elsie? Oh, she is as well as usual. I 
 left her doing something for Matty ; I forget what." 
 
 " I should think she had better be in bed," rejoined 
 Patsy, giving the little golden pat another toss. 
 " She'll wear herself out, Miss Rossiter, if you let 
 her go on this way." 
 
 " How ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, being up so nights. This Agnes woman 
 can stand it, I s'pose. She's used to it, and she don't 
 seem to mind it one mite nor grain. But it's too much 
 for a young thing like Elsie Meredith !" 
 
 " What in the world are you talking about, Patsy ?" 
 I said, half impatiently. " Elsie has not been over 
 here a single night this week." 
 
 She dropped her butter-ladle, and wheeled round. 
 "Do you mean to say that girl was not over here 
 last night ?" 
 
 " Not later than ten o'clock." 
 
 " Nor the night before ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor the night before that ?" 
 
 " No. She stayed here Saturday night. She has 
 not been here since in the night." 
 
 " To your certain knowledge ?" 
 
 " To my certain knowledge," I replied. 
 
 " Well, this beats me !" exclaimed Patsy, dropping 
 into a chair. 
 
 " I do not see that there is anything surprising in 
 it," I said. " Sister Agnes prefers to take the entire 
 charge of Clyde at night, whe icver he is quiet enough
 
 262 EXPIATION. 
 
 to allow it. Elsie is never there, excepting when it 
 can't be helped." 
 
 "But see here," whispered Patsy, leaning forward. 
 " Who was there, if she wasn't ?" 
 
 " Sister Agnes, of course. No one else." 
 
 Patsy's chin sank into the palm of her hand, and 
 she deliberated for the space of a minute. 
 
 " Some one else was there," she said, decidedly. 
 " You see, Miss Rossiter, I hain't slept in my own 
 room for more'n a week back. It was kind o' lone 
 some there ; and, besides, I wanted to be near Clyde. 
 I sleep with one eye open, allus ; and I wanted to be 
 where I should know whether he was wuss or not, 
 without asking. So I went into that little room that 
 nobody ever uses, t'other side o' Clyde's. Well, 
 every night I hear somebody a-talking, kind o' low 
 and soft ; and as Sister Agnes is as dumb as a fish, 
 it stands to reason that it ain't her." 
 
 " It is very probable that Kenneth comes down in 
 the night, occasionally," I suggested. " In fact, I 
 know he does." 
 
 " 'Taint his voice that I hear," she said, disdainfully. 
 " I should know that if I should hear it in Joppy. 
 This is a woman's voice, a loving, petting, coaxing 
 kind of a tone, not a bit like Kenneth's." 
 
 " Oh, it is Sister Agnes herself," I answered. " She 
 makes a low, crooning noise sometimes when she 
 is at work over Clyde, that, in the next room, you 
 might easily mistake for speech. That is it, you may 
 depenJ." 
 
 Patsy shook her head. " I sha'n't dispute ye, Miss 
 Rossiter, nor gainsay your words. But if there
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 263 
 
 hain't been somebody in that room for the last three 
 nights besides Clyde and Sister Agnes, then my 
 name ain't Patsy. Miss Rossiter, that's the very 
 chamber Mr. Armstrong died in. Did you ever 
 think on't?" 
 
 " I know it is. But what of that ? I hope you 
 are not going to be superstitious and whimsical at 
 your time of life, Patsy ?" 
 
 " I do' know whether I be or not," she said. 
 " Folks do tell strange stories, and I've read stranger 
 ones. I never thought I was called on to say things 
 wa'n't thus and so just because I never 'd seen the 
 like with my own eyes. I never see a sperit ; but 
 because I hain't, it don't follow that there ain't none. 
 I never see a rhinoceros, but I believe them that 
 has." 
 
 " Nonsense !" I cried. " But, Patsy, suppose we 
 admit that Mr. Armstrong's spirit comes, or can come, 
 to Clyde's bedside. The voice, you say, is a woman's 
 voice ; and I cannot imagine our old friend, whether 
 in heaven or on earth, speaking in any other than his 
 own strong, deep tones. Can you ?" 
 
 She was silent for a moment. Then she said, 
 
 " I never did believe in such things, that's a fact, 
 Miss Rossiter. But there's Clyde's mother, whom 
 it's a kind of sin to talk about in this house. Who 
 knows ? Well, I've nothing to say about it, and I 
 don't calculate to mention it to anybody but you. 
 But just as true as I'm alive, there's somebody in that 
 room o' nights that talks, and it ain't Clyde Arm 
 strong, neither."
 
 264 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THAT afternoon Clyde was in one of his most rest 
 less and excitable moods ; not so noisy as he was 
 sometimes, but keeping up an incessant muttering 
 and murmuring. His utterances were incoherent for 
 the most part ; but, as I strained my ear and strove 
 to catch the disjointed sentences and gather the mean 
 ing of the apparently senseless jargon, I discovered 
 that Kenneth and Elsie were the burden of his thought. 
 He paid no attention to anything that was going on 
 about him as he lay with his face to the wall, picking 
 at the blanket and talking rapidly in a fierce whisper. 
 I made a point of keeping out of the way as much as 
 possible, quiet being so essential ; and my visits, when 
 necessary, were very short. But now, as he noticed 
 my presence no more than that of a fly, I stood for a 
 few moments leaning against the bureau. The room 
 was darkened, but as the subdued light from the hall 
 door fell upon Sister Agnes's face, I noticed that she 
 looked exceedingly worn. If her cheeks were color 
 less when she came to us, they were absolutely pallid 
 now. 
 
 "This is too much for you, Sister Agnes," I said, 
 in a low voice, as I laid my hand upon hers, impul 
 sively. " I shall insist upon taking care of Clyde to 
 night myself, for you must have rest." 
 
 " No," she wrote. " I shall not leave him. Dr. 
 Bellinger left him in my charge. It would do no 
 good, either, for I could not rest away from him."
 
 EXPIATION. 265 
 
 " But you are so pale," I said. " One would almost 
 think Clyde was your brother, your friend, your child, 
 you devote yourself to him so conscientiously. Let 
 me at least share your watch." 
 
 She smiled faintly, while at the same time a swift 
 cloud of pain seemed to darken her face. But she 
 shook her head. 
 
 " I will go out into the grounds for a little while," 
 she wrote, " if you will stay here. The fresh air is 
 better than sleep for me." And she went. 
 
 Just then I heard Elsie's step in the hall below. I 
 glanced at Clyde. He was lying as before, with his 
 face to the wall, still muttering. I stepped lightly to 
 the head of the stairs and beckoned to her. 
 
 She came up softly with her hands full of helio 
 tropes and tea-roses, and laid them on Clyde's pillow. 
 The rich perfume stole tenderly upon his senses; he 
 ceased to whisper, his face softened, and a radiant 
 smile broke over it. 
 
 " The angels are here," he said, at length, in almost 
 his natural voice. " I hear the rustling of their wings 
 and breathe the airs of Paradise." 
 
 Elsie placed one of the great creamy rosebuds in 
 his hand. 
 
 " It is one of your own roses, Clyde," she said. 
 " See how beautiful and sweet it is." 
 
 He looked at her dreamily for a full minute. 
 ' Are you the angel that brought it ?" he then said. 
 '' But it is a lie. I never had a rose, never, never ! 
 If I had, Kenneth would have stolen it away from me. 
 The roses are all his. Everything is his. He has 
 taken everything away from me." 
 
 M 23
 
 266 EXPIATION. 
 
 Oh, the unutterable pathos of those last words ! 
 Then, with a sudden sweep of his arm, he tossed 
 the flowers to the floor. 
 
 " Take them away !" he cried. " They are Ken 
 neth's ! I won't have them here ! Let him put them 
 in the safe and keep them !" 
 
 Elsie quietly moved them out of sight with her 
 foot. Then, sitting down by the bedside, she took 
 the restless hand in hers, and smoothed back the 
 disordered hair with a soft, magnetic touch. For a 
 moment or two he yielded to the spell, his eyelids 
 drooped, and I thought he was going to sleep. But 
 presently he started wildly, and catching both her 
 hands in his, fixed his large, burning eyes upon her 
 with a furious frown. 
 
 "What do you bring me roses for?" he whispered. 
 " I want Elsie ! She is the one rose of the world, the 
 only flower that blows worth a man's care or thought ! 
 Elsie ! Elsie !" 
 
 For a moment Elsie struggled to release her hands 
 from his clasp ; and then, overcome by a feeling that 
 may have had a touch of fear in it, by womanly sorrow, 
 and by her great pity for him, she burst into a flood 
 of passionate tears. He released her at once, and 
 lay back looking at her with a vague wonder. 
 
 " What do you cry for ?" he asked, slowly. 
 " Angels do not cry. You are an angel, and bring 
 me roses. But Elsie ! Elsie is a woman, the 
 sweetest woman on earth !" 
 
 She had risen from her seat, and would have stolen 
 away. But he caught her dress. 
 
 " They don't want you up in heaven," he said.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 267 
 
 " Stay here ! I want to ask you something." And 
 he looked furtively around, as if to make sure there 
 were no listeners within hearing. " Did you ever see 
 Elsie up there ? You would know her by the gold of 
 her hair, and by her eyes that are bluer than violets." 
 He was silent for a moment ; then, with gentle 
 violence, drew her ear close to his mouth. " You 
 see," he went on, in a low, confidential tone, " I think 
 she is dead. There is a spirit comes to me in the night, 
 and says but spirits will lie, you know that she is 
 not. It is a spirit that loves me, and speaks sweet, 
 tender words to me. But spirits will lie, I tell 
 you, and this one says Elsie is not dead. I know 
 better ! Kenneth has killed her !" 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" cried Elsie, involuntarily. " Ken 
 neth " 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" was the imperious command. 
 " You do not know anything about it. Hush, I say ! 
 and don't you interrupt me, if you are an angel. 
 Angels will lie, and spirits ! I'll explain it to you. 
 Kenneth that's my brother, you know he hates 
 me, and if you'll keep the secret I'll tell you why. 
 Will you keep it, angel ? Swear !" 
 
 There was nothing to do but to humor him, and 
 Elsie bowed her head. 
 
 " Swear !" he cried, again seizing her hands. 
 
 " I swear," she said, faintly. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you the whole story," he said. 
 " Kenneth hates me because I love Elsie. Between 
 you and me, he loved her himself, and that's all the 
 trouble. They say so down in the village, and my 
 heart tells me it is true. He loved her ! and he has
 
 268 EXPIATION. 
 
 killed her to keep her away from me. I suspect he 
 has thrown her into the ravine yonder, and I am going 
 there to-night to find her, to-night, when the moon 
 rises ! Angel, will you go with me ? It will be dark 
 and fearful down there, with my dead Elsie and 
 Prince, a horrible white heap, and " 
 
 He stopped and shuddered. 
 
 This could be borne no longer. I had kept quiet, 
 thinking that his mood would change in a moment 
 or two. But now I came forward. 
 
 " Let the angel go, Clyde," I said, soothingly. 
 " Let her go now, and she will come back to 
 morrow." 
 
 He surveyed me coolly from head to foot, still 
 retaining his hold upon her. 
 
 " What have you to say about it ?" he cried. " Who 
 are you ? I have not done with the angel yet. I have 
 more to tell her. Kenneth loved Elsie," he went on, 
 rapidly, "and he tried to make me give her up, that 
 he might win her himself! Ah, but he's a snake in 
 the grass ! There's another thing, wait till I tell you, 
 angel, and then you may go. Wait ! There's all this 
 property, you see. It belongs to Kenneth and me. 
 Joint heirs to millions and millions of dollars, and all 
 the islands of the sea ! He loved Elsie, but he loved 
 money better, better, better !" raising his voice to a 
 shrill scream. " Loved money better, I say, and so 
 he killed her ! Thinks I'm going to die and let him 
 have it all ? Ha, ha, ha ! I'll thwart him yet ! I 
 shall live till I am as old as Methuselah ! Die ? I 
 die? Humph! But go now, angel ! Away! I've 
 done with you !" 
 
 23*
 
 EXPIATION. 269 
 
 He pushed her from him with sudden violence, and 
 fell back upon the pillow, as helpless as a child. 
 
 " Go, quick !" I whispered. " Get out of his sight, 
 and send Sister Agnes in !" I had not dared to leave 
 the room to call her myself. 
 
 Elsie fled from the chamber, to meet Kenneth in 
 the doorway. How much had he heard? One 
 glance at his face told her that he had heard all. His 
 whole tortured soul looked out of the eyes that fast 
 ened upon hers in mute appeal. 
 
 Elsie was not demonstrative. She was not a woman 
 given to sudden gusts of emotion. Sweet and tender 
 as she was, I had sometimes thought her a little too 
 statue-like in her maidenly repose. I had sometimes 
 thought she needed just another spark of the Pro 
 methean fire. But now, whether Clyde had " builded 
 wiser than he knew," and through his wild assertions 
 and accusations had revealed to her more than he him 
 self dreamed of; or whether, by some subtle clairvoy 
 ance, she looked through the mask of circumstance 
 and conventionality, and read for the first time the 
 true story of Kenneth Armstrong's love, its self-abne 
 gation and its anguish, I know not. This I do know. 
 
 She met him, as I said, in the doorway. His lips 
 moved in a vain attempt to speak. The soul of the 
 man cried out for vindication, for justification, but his 
 tongue was palsied. 
 
 She drew him into the hall ; she looked for one 
 moment into his eyes. Then, as if borne away by an 
 irresistible impulse, she threw her arms about his 
 neck, and laid her wet cheek to his, nay, more, she 
 drew down his face till his lips touched hers.
 
 2/0 
 
 EX PI A TION. 
 
 " Kenneth ! Kenneth !" she whispered, " do not 
 think I mind his dreadful words, or that I do not 
 know how hard it is for you to bear them ! But, oh ! 
 it is not Clyde's self that speaks. Forgive him, 
 Kenneth !" 
 
 It was the strongest possible proof of the innate noble 
 ness and delicacy of Kenneth Armstrong's nature, that 
 he did nothing to wound or alarm her then ; nothing 
 that should make her painfully conscious that she 
 had given him a caress that he would not have dared 
 to offer her. He did not clasp her to his heart, he 
 did not frighten her by protestations or by explana 
 tions. An ineffable tenderness drove the anguish 
 from his eyes ; his set lips melted to a softer curve, 
 and a sudden flush of color brightened his face. 
 
 " I cannot forgive him," he said, softly, " for there 
 is nothing to forgive in my poor Clyde. If you trust 
 me, I can bear everything else." 
 
 She had withdrawn her clinging arms, as uncon 
 sciously, in the deep feeling of the moment, as if she 
 had really been the angel Clyde had called her. 
 Kenneth raised her white hand reverently to his lips 
 and kissed it. 
 
 Then she glided down-stairs and out of the house.
 
 EXPIATION. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 CLYDE'S wild words to Elsie that afternoon were the 
 last that he spoke on earth. In the course of an hour 
 he fell into a state of profound stupor, like that which 
 marked the beginning of his illness. It continued 
 through the night. He scarcely breathed : there was 
 hardly a heart-beat perceptible. The morning, to our 
 great relief, brought Dr. Bellinger. 
 
 He looked at Clyde, touched his hands, his feet, 
 and bent his ear to the pale, parted lips. Then he 
 shook his head, and left the room, while Sister 
 Agnes's great dark eyes watched him searchingly. 
 
 I followed him. 
 
 "Well, doctor?" 
 
 " There is no hope for him, poor fellow !" he 
 answered. " Indeed, there has hardly been any from 
 the first. I saw that from the beginning of the attack. 
 But the issues of life and death are not in our hands 
 and I confess I have myself hoped against hope, 
 relying upon his youth and strong constitution. It is 
 all over now, however. He will die." 
 
 "Soon?" I asked. ,1 had feared this, yet with 
 what a shock the certainty came at last ! 
 
 " Before another morning," he answered. " He 
 may linger for a few hours, but he will never rally 
 again." 
 
 " Will he not have a lucid interval, doctor ? Will 
 he not be himself for one moment before " 
 
 I could say no more.
 
 2/2 
 
 EXPIATION'. 
 
 " Before he goes to the arms of infinite love and 
 pity, Margaret," said Dr. Bellinger, solemnly, yet ten 
 derly. " It is not probable. Still, the cloud may be 
 lifted for a moment. Where is Kenneth ?" 
 
 I have said that Kenneth had avoided Clyde's room 
 during his illness, seldom remaining in it except at 
 such times as he was imperatively needed. Now, 
 however, when the doctor had told him that death 
 was already in the chamber, he came quietly in, and 
 took Sister Agnes's place at the head of the bed, close 
 by Clyde's pillow. For a moment, to my great sur 
 prise, she seemed inclined to resist. Her breast 
 heaved ; her face flushed, then blanched to marble 
 paleness ; she stretched out her arms with a sudden 
 motion that had in it a world of pain and yearning, 
 and her swimming eyes went from Kenneth to Clyde 
 in a silent appeal. But he gently put her to one side. 
 
 " This is my place," he said. " He is more to me 
 than to any one else on earth ; and I will go down 
 into the dark valley with him as far as I may. He 
 must feel the clasp of my loving, human hand until 
 death unclasps it. Let me pass, please, Sister Agnes." 
 
 Her lips worked convulsively. It almost seemed 
 as if she were about to speak. Then she moved 
 silently away, leaving her place to Kenneth. 
 
 The house was silent as the grave to which one of 
 its young masters was hastening. Out-of-doors the 
 warm spring sunshine was wakening the earth from 
 its long sleep. The air was full of soft murmurs, 
 inarticulate, yet glad. In sheltered nooks the young 
 green grass was springing. Clyde's garden was full 
 of prophecies of the coming summer.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 273 
 
 But he, our beautiful, wayward Clyde, our 
 impulsive, loving, headstrong, passionate Clyde, 
 whom we loved all the more deeply, perhaps, for the 
 anxious hours he had caused us, ah ! whither was 
 he drifting ? 
 
 Friends ! I was not Clyde Armstrong's mother, nor 
 his sister. I was not bound to him even by remoter 
 ties of kindred ; and my whole life has been so apart 
 from all these close relationships that it may be I have 
 no conception of the love that grows out of them. 
 But even I could hardly have borne those hours of 
 watching and waiting if Christ had not spoken out 
 of the darkness, if He had not stood with , out 
 stretched arms upon the shore of the unknown land 
 whither Clyde was hastening, crying, " Come unto 
 me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will 
 give you rest." This has not been a so-called " reli 
 gious" story. Thither church nor priest have figured 
 in its pages ; and the deeper and holier experiences 
 between the soul and its Creator have never been so 
 much as touched upon. I have given you no mix 
 ture, palatable or otherwise, of religion and love- 
 making ; no pellet of theology, no globule of doc 
 trine half buried in the sweets of romance. I have 
 not thought it necessary to tell you every time we 
 said our prayers or attended divine service. But I 
 want to say here, once for all, that every one of us, 
 from Dr. Bellinger down to Dennis, however widely 
 our creeds might differ in minor matters, stood fast 
 in the grand old faiths that have sustained and com 
 forted countless generations ; I want to say that we 
 all believed, with Paul, in Christ and him crucified. 
 M*
 
 274 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 The hours wore on until it was sunset, a won 
 drous, golden sunset, such as one sees but twice or 
 thrice in a lifetime. No fear of the garish daylight 
 now. It will not torture the sensitive eyeballs, nor 
 waken to keener pain the thrilling nerves. Dr. Bel 
 linger stepped to the window and drew aside the cur 
 tain, letting the full glory of the dying day stream 
 into every corner of the room. 
 
 There was nothing to be done. There had been 
 nothing to do for hours but to moisten Clyde's lips 
 occasionally, and smooth back the tangled hair when 
 it fell low upon his forehead. Sister Agnes sat at the 
 foot of the bed, covering her eyes with her hand. 
 Elsie crouched at my feet, with her face buried in my 
 lap. Patsy leaned against the door-post, silent and 
 almost stern in her sorrow. Dennis, in the hall, 
 bowed his head upon his hands and whispered 
 prayers for the parting soul. 
 
 As for me, it seemed as if all the desires of my 
 life were merged in one great longing, a longing 
 that in an intenser form I read in every lineament 
 of Kenneth's face. For weeks Clyde had not once 
 breathed his brother's name uncoupled with threats, 
 reproaches, and the bitterest accusations. Would he 
 go into the other world without giving one sign or 
 token that his love was stronger than the hallucina 
 tions of disease and the creeping chill of death ? 
 
 The sun dropped lower and lower ; its last red ray 
 fell upon Clyde's clustering curls, lighting them up 
 as with a glory. 
 
 The figure that had lain motionless so long stirred 
 feebly, the pale lips parted, the dim eyes opened,
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 2/5 
 
 and with a low cry of loving recognition, the wasted 
 arms were raised as by a mighty effort and clasped 
 about the neck that Kenneth bowed to receive them. 
 The lips of the brothers met, and with one long 
 sigh Clyde passed behind the veil. 
 
 With all his faults, his weaknesses, his inconsisten 
 cies, the warm human love went with him to the very 
 confines of the unknown. Did not the divine love 
 meet him there, encompassing the poor soul in a still 
 diviner tenderness ? 
 
 In my heart of hearts I thanked God that Kenneth 
 had Clyde's last look, his last thought. I was glad 
 it was not I, not Sister Agnes, not Elsie, even, who 
 caught the last radiance of his love-lighted eyes. That 
 belonged to Kenneth, and he alone received it. 
 
 We were all silent and motionless for awhile. There 
 was a little low sobbing from Elsie, a long, wavering 
 sigh from Patsy. That was all. At last Kenneth 
 laid Clyde back upon the pillow and softly closed the 
 eyes that should answer his no more. Then he left 
 the room, and I saw him no more that night. 
 
 Sister Agnes's head had fallen forward upon the 
 bed. When I rose and bent over her with one hand 
 upon her shoulder to whisper a few words in her ear, 
 I discovered that she had fainted. Dr. Bellinger 
 looked at her for a moment in a sort of consterna 
 tion. 
 
 " We shall have no Sister Agnes at St. Elizabeth's 
 much longer, if this state of things continues," he 
 said. "She told me this morning that she should go 
 back to New York to-morrow. But I shall forbid it, 
 peremptorily. She ought to stay here and recruit
 
 2/6 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 for a month at least, before she takes up her work 
 again." 
 
 We took her to her room, and as soon as she showed 
 signs of returning consciousness, left her to herself, 
 feeling that entire repose was the medicine she needed. 
 The doctor said he considered it doubtful if she left 
 her bed in a week. 
 
 But the next morning she was up as usual, wan 
 dering about the house and grounds in her strange, 
 silent way. She quietly accepted Dr. Bellinger's 
 decision as to her return to New York. Indeed, I 
 fancied it was a kind of relief to feel that she was 
 compelled to remain in this quiet retreat for a few 
 days longer. Yet as she stood that forenoon upon 
 the steps of the conservatory, with the bright sun 
 light falling upon her face and touching the silvery 
 hair that gleamed beneath the folds of her nun-like 
 cap, I could but notice how much older she looked 
 than when she came to Greyholt a fortnight before. 
 
 I do not think she spoke to any one communicated 
 with any one, I should rather say that day, save to 
 return the morning greetings, and to reply briefly to 
 Dr. Bellinger's inquiries. She avoided Kenneth, she 
 avoided Elsie, she avoided me. But some strange 
 attraction seemed to draw her constantly to the silent, 
 shadowy room where Clyde lay crowned with the 
 royal majesty of death. 
 
 It was no wonder. No king upon his throne was 
 ever half so kingly as Clyde Armstrong upon his bier. 
 The emaciation, the look of suffering and unrest, the 
 pain and longing, all had disappeared, and he lay 
 there like a young god asleep. Sister Agnes had
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 277 
 
 not seen him in life until after pain and weariness 
 had robbed his young face of much of its uncommon 
 beauty. It was not strange, I thought, that now she 
 should awaken tc a full sense of its power, and hover, 
 in spite of herself, about the room its presence con 
 secrated. 
 
 Yet so fearful was she of intruding, or of witnessing 
 the grief that should be sacred from the eyes of 
 strangers, that when any of us who loved him entered 
 the chamber, she glided swiftly away like a spirit, her 
 unrustling gray robes and noiseless footsteps scarce 
 breaking the silence. 
 
 There was no studied arrangement of flowers about 
 him as he lay in his coffin ; not a wreath or a harp 
 or a cross, beautiful and emblematic as they all are. 
 Somehow they did not seem suited to Clyde. But 
 Elsie brought all the rare, sweet flowers that he loved, 
 not restricting herself to the conventional white, and 
 laid them here and there in rich profusion, till the 
 whole air was loaded with fragrance rarer than ever 
 fell from Eastern censers. In his pale hands she 
 placed only a cluster of white violets. 
 
 I suppose all Altona came to that funeral. God 
 forbid that I should say that a mere idle curiosity was 
 the sole motive that impelled such throngs to travel 
 over the hills and along the winding roads that day 
 and to fill at last every inch of available space in and 
 about Greyholt. But it cannot be denied that it had 
 much to do with it. There was a mystery about 
 the Armstrongs. There had been something not 
 easy to comprehend in the relations of the two 
 brothers ; there had been hints and insinuations of 
 
 24
 
 2/8 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 unfair dealing on the part of Kenneth, and a large 
 part of the town was agog to see how he would 
 carry himself. Then a majority of the people had 
 never yet had an opportunity to cross the threshold 
 of that door, ^and now was their time. There was 
 a vague curiosity to see the house, merely a gentle 
 man's country residence, by no means grand or mag 
 nificent, but about which such fabulous stories had 
 been told. Some came out of pure friendliness, out 
 of hearty sympathy for the elder brother, and a 
 neighborly desire to join in the last sad offices toward 
 one who had for years brightened their hills and 
 valleys with his presence. For Clyde, Altona had 
 only pity and sincere regret. Nevertheless, many 
 came to his funeral, eager simply, as were the Athen 
 ians of old, to see and to hear some new thing. 
 
 Those who came to study Kenneth must have gone 
 away no wiser than they came. All through the ser 
 vices, which were exquisitely simple and tender, he 
 sat at the head of the coffin, leaning his brow upon 
 his hand, and with his eyes fixed upon Clyde's face. 
 I do not think he knew whether there were ten per 
 sons in the room, or ten hundred. He made no 
 demonstration, no parade of his sorrow ; but there 
 were lines of grief upon his forehead and about his 
 mouth that the most careless observer could not 
 have failed to recognize. 
 
 Yet shall I say it ? I, who knew him so well, read 
 something else there, underlying all the sorrow. 
 There was a certain air of relief, a restful look that 
 I had not seen since Mr. Armstrong died. 
 
 The day on which Clyde died had been warm and
 
 EXPIATION. 279 
 
 spring-like. That on which he was buried was raw 
 and cold, with sudden dashes of rain, and wild, sweep 
 ing winds that belonged to November rather than to 
 April. No one of us thought for a moment that 
 Sister Agnes would care to go to the graveyard, far 
 off on a bleak hillside ; and no arrangements were 
 made for her conveyance thither. She stood in the 
 doorway when the procession moved off, with her 
 gray hood drawn closely about her face, hiding every 
 thing but her large, mournful eyes, eyes whose 
 singularly strong resemblance to a pair that I had 
 surely seen somewhere else, though where I could 
 not tell, had haunted and perplexed me ever since she 
 came to Altona. When we reached the last point 
 in the road from which Greyholt was visible, I turned 
 and looked back. The gray, silent figure was still 
 watching us. 
 
 It was all over at last, and Clyde lay in calmest 
 slumber close beside the father who had so loved him. 
 Then, slowly, sadly, silently, shivering in the fierce 
 blasts that swept down from the mountains, we 
 returned to the desolate house. 
 
 Returned to find Sister Agnes kneeling, a huddled 
 gray heap, in the very spot where Clyde's coffin 
 had stood, and over which Mr. Armstrong's por 
 trait looked down upon her with earnest, compelling 
 eyes. 
 
 She sprang to her feet as she heard our steps. 
 " Oh, God !" she cried, throwing up her hands and 
 clasping them above her head, " oh, my God ! I can 
 bear this burden no longer ! I must speak ! Clyde, 
 my son, my son !"
 
 2 8o EXPIATION. 
 
 Had the grave opened and given up its dead, had 
 Clyde, bound hand and foot in his shroud, stood in 
 bodily presence before us, we could not have been 
 more dismayed, more overwhelmed. We were 
 dumb, even while the dumb spake. I looked at 
 Kenneth. The blood had all left his face ; and in 
 voluntarily I put out my hand and guided him to 
 the seat for which he was blindly groping. 
 
 As for Sister Agnes herself, her strength had 
 expended itself in those few words ; and she stood 
 before us with her face buried in her hands, trembling 
 as one in an ague-fit. Impostor and hypocrite as I 
 believed her to be, I still pitied her as she withered 
 beneath our searching glances. 
 
 Patsy was the first to come to our relief. " Crazy 
 as a loon !" she said, decidedly, advancing toward 
 her with the tread of a grenadier. "Never, mind 
 her, Kenneth. Crazy as a loon ! I have mistrusted 
 it before, and now I know it for certain. Help 
 me to get her up-stairs, doctor. She's out of her 
 head, to be sure, but she's found her voice mighty 
 sudden, it seems to me." And she would have laid 
 violent hands upon her, bearing her off, will she 
 nill she. 
 
 But Sister Agnes drew back with an air of inde 
 scribable sweetness and dignity, lifting her tear- 
 drenched face, and looking round upon us, while she 
 grasped the back of a chair for support. 
 
 " I am not mad, Patsy," she said ; " though it is not 
 strange that you think so. I have feared myself, 
 since I came into this house, that my wits would 
 leave me, so much have I dreaded, so much have I
 
 EXPIATION. 28l 
 
 endured. But I am perfectly sane. You ought to 
 know, doctor. Look in my eyes " 
 
 " Do not appeal to me," interrupted Dr. Bellinger. 
 " If you are not crazy, you ought to be. Your tongue 
 seems glib enough, woman. Why have you pretended 
 to me for all these years that you could not speak ?" 
 
 " I have never told you that I could not speak," 
 she answered. "I have simply refrained from speak 
 ing, and you and others took it for granted that I 
 could not speak. Think for a moment, doctor. Is it 
 not so ?" 
 
 He was silent for a second or two. "It amounts 
 to the same thing," he said, " and brands you as 
 an impostor. Your motive for this deceit is incon 
 ceivable." 
 
 In the doctor's indignation at the fraud that he 
 considered had been practiced upon himself, he quite 
 forgot what she had said. That she should have 
 spoken at all was her offense in his eyes. 
 
 But now Kenneth rose and slowly approached her. 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked, in a voice I hardly 
 recognized. " Who are you ? or whom do you claim 
 to be ?" 
 
 " So may God help me, and save my soul in its 
 extremity," she cried, " I am Clyde Armstrong's 
 mother ! I was the lawful wife of him whose por 
 trait hangs upon the wall yonder, your father, John 
 Armstrong !" 
 
 Kenneth's eyes flashed fire, and he drew a step 
 nearer to the woman, with his hand uplifted, as if he 
 would have crushed her into silence. 
 
 She faced him bravely, never flinching from his 
 24*
 
 2 82 EXPIATION. 
 
 piercing gaze. Presently his arm dropped, and a half 
 smile flitted about his mouth for an instant, as he 
 turned to Dr. Bellinger and addressed his next words 
 to him. 
 
 " Patsy is right," he said. " She is insane. Clyde's 
 mother, my father's second wife, died in the June 
 of 1851. I was present at the funeral, and saw her 
 remains placed in the family vault at Greenwood 
 Cemetery. I have been there since, and seen the 
 hermetically-sealed coffin, and read her name, ' Alice 
 Armstrong,' upon the silver plate. This disposes of 
 the whole question. Be gentle with the woman to 
 night, Patsy, and take good care of her, for humanity's 
 sake, and because she did all she could for Clyde. 
 To-morrow we will see what can be done for her." 
 And he turned to leave the room. 
 
 But Sister Agnes caught his arm and held him 
 fast. " Listen to me, Kenneth Armstrong !" she cried. 
 " Every word you have spoken is the truth, so far as 
 you are concerned. But what if I should tell you 
 that Alice Armstrong was a living, breathing woman 
 at the time those grand obsequies were performed 
 over her pretended remains ? What if I should tell 
 you she was not in the coffin that was borne to Green 
 wood with so much pomp and circumstance?" 
 
 " ' A living, breathing woman,' " said Kenneth, in a 
 low, intense voice, " when I know that " 
 
 He stopped, glanced from one to the other of us 
 with a new, strange trouble in his eyes, trembled 
 violently, and sank into the chair that Patsy pushed 
 toward him, burying his face in his hands. 
 
 What did all this mean ? Was there, indeed,
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 283 
 
 "method in this madness"? When we thought of 
 all that had been dark and mysterious in the lives of 
 these persons, of the shadow that had overhung the 
 memory of Clyde's mother, and then remembered 
 the long years during which this woman, whose 
 claims seemed to be so preposterous, had kept some 
 vow of perpetual silence, devoting herself to good 
 deeds, and yet, in a measure, isolating herself from 
 her kind, was it any wonder that we looked in one 
 another's faces only to read there a vague dread and 
 bewilderment ? 
 
 At length Dr. Bellinger spoke, laying his hand 
 upon Kenneth's shoulder. " Let this whole matter 
 drop for to-day," he said, with an air of authority. 
 " If there is any mystery to be unraveled here, it can 
 be reached only by clear heads and measurably quiet 
 hearts. The day has been full of grief and excite 
 ment. None of us are capable of grappling with new 
 difficulties. Let this all rest for to-night." 
 
 Kenneth rose and walked to the window, saying, 
 simply, " Wait !" when our little group would have 
 retired. He seemed to be gathering strength to say 
 something that must be said. At length he turned. 
 
 " My friends, Dr. Bellinger is right. I have no 
 strength to combat this woman's claims to-night. 
 But to-morrow I will tell you all I know about my 
 poor Clyde's mother, though it will compel me to 
 betray secrets that it has been the study of my life 
 to keep, and which I thought were buried in his 
 grave. It is due to you, now, that you should know 
 all." 
 
 He passed from the room, glancing neither to the
 
 284 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 right nor to the left. Elsie, who was sitting in a low 
 chair near the door with tearful, troubled eyes, rose 
 to meet him as he drew near, and placed in his hand 
 the few faded violets that she had taken from Clyde's 
 cold ringers. 
 
 He raised them passionately to his lips, his face 
 softened, the stern lines about his mouth relaxed, and 
 a quick rush of tears relieved the tension of the over 
 strained nerves. More than one of us thanked God 
 as we saw it. 
 
 I took Sister Agnes home with me that night. It 
 seemed to me that Kenneth's house was no place for 
 her until this strange question was decided. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IT is not probable that any of us slept much that 
 night. Sister Agnes was quiet, grave, dignified, yet 
 with a deep humility of manner that impressed me 
 strangely. But I think I should have been better 
 pleased with her if she had been more demonstrative, 
 if she had wept and sighed and moaned. If she 
 had been compelled by sheer stress of agony and 
 mother-love to betray the secret she had kept so long, 
 was it not strange that she should so soon have grown 
 placid again, like the sea after a storm ? 
 
 I said as much to Elsie, who shared my room. 
 " On the contrary," she answered, " it seems to me 
 entirely in keeping with what we already know of
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 285 
 
 her. A woman who has self-control enough to lead 
 the life she has led for years, simulating dumbness 
 in this unaccountable way, can do anything. Think 
 what command over one's self one must have, to be 
 able to speak, yet for weary years to utter no syllable 
 of love or hate, remorse or fear ! Then admitting 
 for one moment that her story is true (which of course 
 I do not) it is only just to remember that the first 
 cry of confession must have brought relief; it must 
 have been the dropping of a burden which had grown 
 to be beyond endurance." 
 
 Morning came at last ; and soon after breakfast, in 
 obedience to a summons from Dr. Bellinger, we three 
 women ascended the hill and entered the library at 
 Greyholt. 
 
 Elsie went straight up to Kenneth and said some 
 thing in a low tone, too low to reach other ears. 
 
 " No," he answered. " You, of all others, must 
 hear what I have to say. If you will remain, I shall 
 be eternally grateful, whether " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but led Elsie to a 
 seat, bowed gravely to Sister Agnes, for, courteous 
 gentleman that he was, he could not forget her 
 womanhood, even while he believed her insane or an 
 impostor, and gave me a faint little smile of recog 
 nition. 
 
 As for the charge of insanity, the last twenty-four 
 hours had settled that point for me. Whatever else 
 might be said about the woman, she was not crazy. 
 
 " Will you call Patsy, Miss Rossiter ?" 
 
 I obeyed silently. When we were all together, 
 Kenneth asked, turning to Sister Agnes,
 
 286 EXPIA TION. 
 
 " Am I to understand that this morning, in the full 
 glare of daylight, you are prepared to maintain the 
 claims you made yesterday ?" 
 
 She bowed her head in token of assent, while her 
 lips, but not her voice, said, " I am." 
 
 " Then," he went on, his cheek growing, if it were 
 possible, yet a shade paler, " then you compel me to 
 declare that those claims are utterly preposterous, 
 too absurd to merit consideration. You compel me 
 to say, in support of my assertion as to her death and 
 burial, not only that Alice Armstrong, my father's 
 second wife, is dead, but that in a fit of temporary in 
 sanity my poor brother Clyde killed her, killed her 
 instantly. She died without a word or a sign. Now 
 tell me, can the dead rise again? Can this be she?" 
 
 I shall not undertake to repeat the various ex 
 clamations of pity, of sorrow, even of horror, that 
 rose from our little group. Sister Agnes alone be 
 trayed no surprise. Neither did she attempt to reply 
 to Kenneth. Apparently she was listening for what 
 else he had to say. 
 
 " I thank God," he continued, after awhile, " that 
 the necessity for this revelation did not come during 
 Clyde's lifetime. I thank Him to-day that my brother 
 is dead ; that he lies where no whisper of human sin 
 or sorrow can disturb his sacred rest. But as for you, 
 my friends, now that I have told you so much, I must 
 tell you more. Miss Rossiter, Patsy, you both re 
 member the night my father died ?" 
 
 " Even to its slightest incident," I answered ; while 
 Patsy silently assented. 
 
 " Until that night," said Kenneth, " I was entirely
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 287 
 
 ignorant of what I am about to tell you. I, as well as 
 others, wondered at my father's choice of a home for 
 his old age. Clyde's health, it seemed to me, did not 
 require the rigorous seclusion in which he lived; nor 
 could I see how it was to be benefited thereby. I 
 was somewhat restive under the restraints placed 
 upon myself. I was naturally social, and would 
 have been glad to invite my college friends and 
 boon companions to share the hospitalities of Grey- 
 holt. But my father always discountenanced any 
 such proceeding, simply saying that Jt was not best. 
 That memorable night explained all. Bear with me 
 if I am tedious or prolix, while I repeat to you in my 
 own words what he told me in that last hour of his 
 life. 
 
 " About a year after my own mother's death 
 which occurred soon after my birth my father went 
 to New Orleans on business, and there met Alice 
 L'Amoreau, a young and beautiful woman, who fasci 
 nated him at once. It seems to have been, on his 
 part at least, one of those sudden and passionate 
 attachments with which the senses have more to do 
 than the heart or the intellect. An ardent wooing, a 
 hurried courtship, a speedy wedding, followed ; and 
 when my father returned to the North he brought her 
 with him as his wife. 
 
 "There was a year of rapture, of wild, sweet, en 
 grossing happiness, and then my brother Clyde was 
 born. You may perhaps imagine, but you certainly 
 cannot overestimate, my father's distress and horror 
 when he learned, soon after that event, that the curse 
 of hereditary insanity fell upon the boy at his birth.
 
 288 EXPIATION. 
 
 Alice L'Amoreau's uncle, father, and grandfather had 
 all died in insane-asylums, raving maniacs. This he 
 might have ascertained before his marriage, if in his 
 mad infatuation he had not refrained from asking a 
 single question as to the family or antecedents of the 
 woman he was about to make his wife. If he ever 
 blamed her for the concealment she must have prac 
 ticed, he did not say so to me. His reproaches were 
 all for himself, in that his own blind folly had brought 
 this curse upon his child." 
 
 Here Kenneth paused for a moment, and Sister 
 Agnes started forward with parted lips and a pallid 
 face, down which the tears were streaming But Dr. 
 Bellinger laid his hand upon her arm, saying, in his 
 quiet, authoritative tones, 
 
 " Be silent, Agnes ! Let Mr. Armstrong finish his 
 story first. Then, if you have anything to say, 
 we will listen to you as patiently as we can. Be 
 quiet!" 
 
 Kenneth went on : 
 
 " My father had a great, even an unusual, horror of 
 insanity ; and it became the one thought of his life 
 how to ward off this terrible danger that seemed 
 lying in wait for his son. But it soon became evident 
 from Clyde's peculiar mental and spiritual constitu 
 tion, from his high temper, his passionate outbreaks, 
 and his lack of self-control, that only the most patient, 
 watchful, self-denying care would save him. 
 
 " I inferred, although my father did not say so that 
 night, that there was a wide difference of opinion 
 between him and Clyde's mother as to the proper 
 management of the child. He would have striven,
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 289 
 
 even from the boy's infancy, to hold a firm yet gentle 
 sway that should control him almost without his 
 knowledge. He would have endeavored by every 
 possible influence to counteract Clyde's natural tend 
 encies ; to strengthen him where he was weak ; to 
 teach him patience, submission, fortitude ; in short, 
 to supply the balance, the equipoise, that his nature 
 needed. She, so far as I could judge from his cau 
 tious words, I think he shrank from casting even the 
 shadow of blame upon the dead, would have in 
 dulged him in every whim. What my father forbade, 
 she allowed ; what he disapproved, she granted ; 
 where he would have controlled, she would have 
 yielded unlimited license. All this was touched upon 
 very lightly; and these are my own inferences rather 
 than my father's assertions. 
 
 " Time went on,- until Clyde was fifteen. I, mean 
 while, had been for years at boarding-school, and now 
 had just entered college. Between us two brothers 
 there had always been a very strong affection, although 
 we knew comparatively little about each other. In 
 deed, I knew but little of the home-life of the family, 
 so much of my childhood and youth had been spent 
 elsewhere. One day there came to me a letter from 
 my father, telling me that Clyde had been thrown 
 from a horse and very severely injured. .He bade me 
 be in readiness to come home at a moment's warning, 
 as he should send for me if ever the boy seemed to 
 be in any immediate danger. 
 
 " A week passed, and, as all the tidings that reached 
 me were of a favorable character, I had almost ceased 
 to be anxious, when the terrible summons came. 
 N 25
 
 290 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " I hastened home, to find Clyde in extreme danger, 
 and the whole household in a state of profound 
 excitement. My stepmother had died suddenly the 
 previous night. That was all that I knew at the 
 time, all that any one knew, excepting my father, the 
 physician who attended Clyde, and the nurse. It is 
 not necessary for me to linger here.' She was buried. 
 I saw the body, beautiful even in death, time and 
 again, both before and after it was placed in the coffin. 
 As I have said, I attended the funeral. Of the death 
 and burial of Alice Armstrong there exists no doubt 
 whatever." 
 
 " I remember distinctly reading the Tribune's 
 account of the funeral myself," I said. 
 
 Sister Agnes looked at me for a moment with a 
 strange expression. It almost seemed as if there was 
 a little lurking humor in her sad eyes. 
 
 " I read it also," she remarked, quietly. 
 
 " Go on, Kenneth," said Dr. Bellinger. 
 
 " For weeks after that, Clyde hovered between life 
 and death. He had been most devotedly attached 
 to his mother, and his physician at once forbade all 
 allusions to her or her death in his presence. As he 
 became convalescent, slightly so, everything that 
 could remind him of her was carefully kept out of 
 his sight. 
 
 " We came to Altona. Of the life of my father 
 and Clyde during the next five years, Miss Rossiter 
 and Patsy know more than I do, for I was here only 
 during my vacations. But Clyde was never, after 
 that injury, just what he was before. He seemed to 
 have but a faint, undefined memory of his mother;
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 291 
 
 and even that was painful. I never heard him speak 
 of her after her burial. 
 
 " That night the memorable night of my father's 
 death he told me what had hitherto been sedulously 
 concealed from me as from all others. Then, for the 
 first time, I learned of the awful shadow that over 
 hung my poor Clyde." 
 
 He was silent for a few moments, shielding his eyes 
 with his hand, while his lips were white and set. 
 
 "But," said Dr. Bellinger, gently, "you told us 
 yesterday that Clyde was implicated in his mother's 
 death. How was that ?" 
 
 " I will tell you in a moment," he answered. " I 
 am coming now to the hardest part of my story. 
 Clyde, as I have said, was injured by being thrown 
 from a horse. It was a handsome, high-spirited 
 animal, but half broken; and my father had given 
 especial orders that the boy should never mount him. 
 I inferred, from his few reticent words, that my step 
 mother had yielded to Clyde's boyish entreaties, 
 countermanded this order, and granted the permission 
 that he had denied. You know the result. 
 
 " I should, perhaps, have said, a month ago, that it 
 was a part of the divine system of retribution when 
 from that hour Clyde's passionate love for his mother 
 was changed into unspeakable dread and horror. 
 But the experiences of the last few weeks have taught 
 me charity. I believe now that it was only the effect 
 of disease, and that the result might have been the 
 same even if she had been the wisest and most con 
 scientious of mothers." 
 
 Sister Agnes interrupted him with a low, tremulous
 
 292 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 cry. " You believe that, Kenneth Armstrong ? Tell 
 me, in God's name, do you really believe that?" 
 
 He looked at her curiously for a moment. " I do, 
 most certainly," he answered. 
 
 She fell back in her seat, covered her face with her 
 hands, and I saw the tears trickle through her clasped 
 fingers. 
 
 "But, whatever may have been the cause, there 
 was no doubt as to the fact. His mother's presence 
 invariably threw Clyde into the wildest paroxysms 
 of delirium. He would scream at the sight of her 
 and exhibit an insane fury that was most appalling. 
 Yet she persisted in entering the room. God forbid 
 that I should do her injustice! Doubtless she was 
 herself half wild with anxiety and pain, and ' knew 
 not what she did.' " 
 
 As for me, my attention was becoming so en 
 grossed with Sister Agnes that I almost lost my in 
 terest in Kenneth's story. At these words her hands 
 dropped from her face, and she threw upon the 
 speaker a look of gratitude that was not to be mis 
 taken. She must be an impostor, of course. But I 
 thought her a remarkably good actress. 
 
 " At last," continued Kenneth, " the physician per 
 emptorily forbade her presence in Clyde's chamber, 
 declaring that if she did not obey his orders he could 
 not answer for the consequences. But that night, in 
 defiance of all this, she stole into the room. Clyde 
 was wide awake, but quiet. The nurse motioned her 
 away, but she persisted in remaining. Suddenly 
 Clyde turned and saw her. With a wild cry of fear 
 and horror, he snatched a small bronze figure from a
 
 EXPIATION. 293 
 
 bracket over the bed, and hurled it at her with all the 
 strength of madness. 
 
 " It struck her just above the right temple, felling 
 her to the floor ; while, all his strength gone, Clyde 
 cowered under the bedclothes like a frightened child, 
 shivering and weeping. Just then my father and the 
 physician entered the room. One glance told the 
 whole story. They lifted her from the floor and bore 
 her to her own chamber. But all efforts to restore 
 her were utterly in vain. She must have died in 
 stantly; for there was not a beat of the pulse, a throb 
 of the heart, after she fell ; only one little gasp, one 
 slight spasm of the lips. 
 
 " After the first agony was over, my father's 
 thoughts went back to Clyde ; and from that moment 
 to the hour of his own death, it seems to me, he had 
 no thought but for him. He was, indeed, the 'ocean 
 to the river of his thoughts, that terminated all.' The 
 servants were asleep, the house was still. No one 
 outside of that room knew of the tragedy the night 
 had brought forth. What passed between my father, 
 the physician, and the nurse I do not know ; he was 
 in the hour and article of death when he told me 
 these things, and there was no time for many words. 
 But in the morning the world knew that Mrs. John 
 Armstrong had suddenly died, and it knew nothing 
 
 more. Dr. , it was announced, had been in the 
 
 house at the time, and everything had been done that 
 could be done. There was the usual amount of awe 
 and wonder; there were the usual exclamations of 
 surprise and pity. Then she was buried, and the 
 stream of life flowed on as before." 
 
 25*
 
 294 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " But," asked Dr. Bellinger, " was there no dis 
 figurement, nothing to betray this secret to those 
 who must have seen the body?" 
 
 " There was a deep cut high up on the temple," was 
 the answer; "but when the hair was drawn over it, 
 after the fashion of the day, it was not perceptible. 
 There was " 
 
 He stopped and started violently, leaning forward 
 to gaze at Sister Agnes. 
 
 " My God !" he cried. " Woman, who and what are 
 you ?" 
 
 She had torn off her quaint cap with its concealing 
 band, letting her long, beautiful white hair fall over 
 her shoulders. As I turned to look at her, drawn by 
 his exclamation, she rose with a faint smile, and 
 pushed it back from her forehead. 
 
 " I am your stepmother, Alice Armstrong," she 
 said. " There is the scar, Kenneth !" 
 
 As with one impulse, we all sprang to our feet. 
 But Dr. Bellinger, cool and self-possessed as ever, 
 quietly motioned us to our seats again. Kenneth 
 was trembling like a leaf; and at a sign from the 
 doctor, Patsy brought him a glass of wine. After he 
 had drained it, and his face had grown a little less 
 ghastly, Dr. Bellinger said, 
 
 " I want to ask you a question or two, Kenneth, 
 less for myself than for the satisfaction of these ladies. 
 What induced this concealment as to the cause of 
 Mrs. Armstrong's death ?" 
 
 Before he answered this question, Kenneth moved 
 his seat to a position from which he could not see 
 Sister Agnes ; and I noticed that from this time until
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 295 
 
 she began to speak for herself, he did not once look 
 at her. 
 
 " My father had a great deal of family pride," he 
 said. " He shrank sensitively from the talk, the 
 gossip, the scandal, that was sure to follow a revela 
 tion of the facts. He could not bear that he and his 
 should become a nine days' wonder. This I feel in 
 stinctively. But there were still more powerful rea 
 sons. With this hereditary tendency to insanity, there 
 would have been no hope for Clyde if this fearful 
 story had once been revealed to him. Had he once 
 known himself to have been even the innocent slayer 
 of his mother, he would have gone mad at once." 
 
 " But when convalescence came, had he no recol 
 lection of the events of that night ?" 
 
 " None whatever ; and at first my father had no 
 intention of leaving New York. But, as the days 
 
 rolled on, it became evident to him and to Dr. 
 
 that upon one point Clyde's mind was fatally un 
 hinged. The slightest allusion to his mother even 
 the sight of objects remotely connected with her 
 seemed to bring on returns of the old dread and 
 horror that had once culminated so fearfully. At 
 
 last Dr. said that there was no safety for him 
 
 save in an entire breaking up of all old associations, 
 the beginning of an entirely new life, where nothing 
 in nature, in places, or in the faces of those around 
 him should recall his past. For this reason my father 
 sacrificed his business, his friendships, his habits of 
 life, his hopes, and his ambitions. He had so large 
 an acquaintance, he was so widely known in business 
 and political circles, that no half-way measures were
 
 296 EXPIA TION. 
 
 possibl-e. If he had remained in the world, every 
 day would have brought danger to Clyde : so he 
 dropped out of it, almost as a star drops from the 
 sky. From that time his whole life was devoted to 
 one object, to save Clyde. 
 
 " The night he died he told me this sad story, and 
 placed in my hands the charge he dropped at the 
 gates of the grave. God knows I have tried to keep 
 it ! You know now, Miss Rossiter, why we never left 
 Altona ; why we shunned society ; why I so dreaded 
 Clyde's going to New York ; why " 
 
 " I understand all, Kenneth !" I interrupted. 
 " Everything from first to last. And I know why 
 your father denied himself the solace of Clyde's 
 presence when he was upon his death-bed." 
 
 " Doubtless," he replied, " he feared lest, in his 
 weakness, some unguarded word might escape him. 
 Those newspapers do you remember? /destroyed 
 them; for they were printed in '51, and I dreaded 
 lest Clyde should find in them some allusion to his 
 mother's death, something to awaken memory." 
 
 Elsie was weeping silently. I wondered whether 
 much else that had been dark was not now made clear. 
 
 Kenneth's pale face and the evident distress this 
 over-raking of the ashes of the past was causing him, 
 were quite too much for Patsy. She had been strug 
 gling with herself for half an hour, now wiping her 
 eyes, with sorrowful yet indignant sniffs, now casting 
 fierce glances at Sister Agnes. As Kenneth ceased 
 to speak, she dashed across the room and caught his 
 hand in hers, roughened and hardened by a life of 
 labor.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 297 
 
 " This is too bad, my boy !" she cried, while tears 
 rained down her cheeks. " If no one else speaks, I 
 will. Tell that woman to go home ! What right has 
 she to come here, disturbing Kenneth's peace of mind, 
 and poor Clyde not yet cold in his grave ? Tell her 
 to go home, Dr. Bellinger ! Dead folks is dead folks ; 
 and after they have been buried wellnigh on to seven 
 years they don't most generally come to life again. 
 I don't fancy talking in this way before my betters, 
 but I wouldn't mind telling that woman she was a 
 humbug, myself!" 
 
 " Hush, hush, Patsy, my good, faithful Patsy !" said 
 Kenneth, pressing the hard band in both his. " Sister 
 Agnes must not go till she has told her story. I 
 should have no peace if she did. We must hear what 
 she has to say." 
 
 " Yes," remarked Dr. Bellinger. " This matter 
 must be sifted to the bottom now. Sister Agnes, we 
 are ready to hear you ; and I venture to say, in behalf 
 of this entire company, that we will listen kindly and 
 patiently." 
 
 " Don't speak for me, doctor," was Patsy's protest, 
 earnestly yet respectfully uttered. " That scar didn't 
 make a mite of an impression on me. I've had one 
 on my temple more'n twenty year. Look a-there !" 
 And she pushed back her iron-gray locks defiantly.
 
 298 EXPIATION. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DR. BELLINGER laughed in "spite of himself; and, 
 notwithstanding the deep solemnity of the moment, 
 the sound did us all a world of good. How could 
 human nature bear the intenseness of life, if it were 
 not that some touch of the ludicrous so often lessens 
 the strain upon the overtaxed nerves ? Even Ken 
 neth's face relaxed for an instant, and we all settled 
 ourselves more comfortably in our chairs. There 
 was a moment's pause, and then Sister Agnes began, 
 in low, tremulous tones. 
 
 " It is not strange," she said, "that most of you 
 perhaps all of you have prejudged my case, and 
 regard me as an arrant impostor ; and I thank you 
 for the courtesy that grants me a hearing. Your 
 story, Kenneth Armstrong, was entirely correct so 
 far as it went until you reached the burial, the sup 
 posed burial, of Clyde's mother. But I cannot begin 
 at that point. From first to last my story comple 
 ments yours, and I must go back to the hour when 
 your father first met Alice L'Amoreau. Of her I 
 prefer to speak in the third person, instead of the first, 
 until I shall have proved conclusively that she and 
 the person who has been known for seven years as 
 ' Sister Agnes' are one. 
 
 " She was young, impulsive, of an ardent, ill-regu 
 lated temperament. Her family had been possessed 
 of great wealth ; but owing, doubtless, in a great
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 299 
 
 degree to the hereditary taint of which mention has 
 been made it had slowly slipped away from them ; 
 and at the time your father made her acquaintance 
 she was living as a dependent in the family of one of 
 her richer relatives. You say it was a sudden, irre 
 sistible fascination on his part. I beg you to believe 
 that on hers it was a young girl's eager, enthusiastic 
 love. He urged a hasty marriage, and she was but 
 too glad to escape from hateful dependence, from cold 
 charity, to the tender arms that were stretched wide 
 to receive her. 
 
 " A few days before their marriage, your father, in 
 some chance conversation, happened to speak of his 
 intense horror of insanity. He said that it seemed 
 to him the most terrible curse that could be entailed 
 upon a family, and that he doubted if any man had 
 a right to marry, knowing that he carried in his own 
 being seeds that might bear such bitter fruit. Then 
 Alice should have spoken. If she had been thor 
 oughly truthful, she could not have refrained from 
 speaking. If she had loved unselfishly, she would 
 have sacrificed her own heart, if need be, but she 
 would have told John Armstrong the whole truth. 
 But she kept silent, and allowed herself to drift on 
 toward marriage, knowing that hate might take the 
 place of love in her husband's heart, if he ever dis 
 covered the deception she had practiced. That he 
 did not tell you of her sin, her weakness, only shows 
 that he was worthy of a better fate than awaited him. 
 Her only hope lay in the fact that her new home was 
 to be among entire strangers, where perhaps her 
 skeleton would never be unveiled.
 
 300 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " But murder will out. Clyde was born ; and soon 
 after, some idle wind bore to Mr. Armstrong's ears the 
 dreadful secret she had hidden so long. There was 
 a change in their relations from that hour. He heaped 
 no reproaches upon her. He simply asked her if 
 these things were so; and, with his truth-compelling 
 eyes reading her very soul, she could only answer 
 ' yes.' She was his wife ; and outwardly there was 
 no alteration in his demeanor toward her. He was 
 too good a man to be other than a faithful and, in a 
 certain sense, a tender husband. But she read her 
 fate in his eyes. She felt that in spite of his will (or 
 perhaps by reason of it) he recoiled from her. 
 
 " And she grew hard and bitter. Her stormy, pas 
 sionate, yet loving nature could not brook the doom 
 she had brought upon herself. It struggled and 
 rebelled ; and in the struggle the sweetest flowers of 
 her womanhood were trampled in the dust. 
 
 " In her heart of hearts she knew that she was not 
 fit to take the management of Clyde : they were too 
 much alike. She should have left him to the control 
 of his clear-headed, consistent, yet always tender 
 father. But she would not. Pride and a wicked 
 spirit of revenge confronted her like dragons. She 
 had lost her husband. She would not give up her 
 child also. 
 
 " I need not linger longer upon this part of my 
 story. You know how it all ended. She died, as 
 was supposed, killed by Clyde's hand, and was 
 placed in her coffin." 
 
 Up to this moment we had scarcely breathed. 
 Upon every one of us, I think, a conviction of the
 
 EXPIATION. 30I 
 
 truth of this woman's words was growing ; and we 
 were listening, as those who hearken for their lives 
 to the clear, thrilling tones that filled the stillness of 
 the room. But now her voice faltered and broke. 
 
 " Rest a moment," said Dr. Bellinger, gently ; and 
 Patsy, without a word, brought her a glass of water. 
 I could not see Kenneth's face. It was hidden by his 
 hand. 
 
 At length she went on : 
 
 " She was placed in the coffin, which was, fortu 
 nately, left unclosed. Suddenly she felt a thrill, a 
 tremor, a strange prickling sensation in her feet and 
 hands. There was a ringing in her ears. She did 
 not know whether she was in the body or out. She 
 strove to move, but she could not. She tried to tell 
 whether her heart was beating ; but, if it was, its 
 pulsations were so faint as to be imperceptible to 
 her duli senses. Was she dead or alive ? 
 
 " But while she waited, bound hand and foot as it 
 were, there was a great throb, a rush of life-giving 
 influence from the heart to the brain. Her eyes 
 opened. She lived again. 
 
 " For five minutes, perhaps, she was conscious of 
 only this. Then slowly memory woke from its long 
 trance. She recollected all that had happened; she 
 fully realized her situation. And with remembrance, 
 came such a flood of anguish and remorse that the 
 only wonder is that she did not swoon again. For 
 the first time her soul stood naked and ashamed be 
 fore God, and she saw in its true colors the course 
 she had been pursuing. It was comparatively easy 
 for her to forgive herself for the first deceit, the con- 
 
 26
 
 302 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 cealment practiced by a girl who loved. But when 
 she thought of her persistent efforts to thwart her 
 husband in his endeavors to counteract the evil her 
 own falsehood had entailed upon Clyde, her heart 
 sank dead within her. 
 
 " Her resolution was taken. What reparation could, 
 she make but to flee from their presence forever? 
 Clyde's fear and horror of her seemed to indicate her 
 duty. It was a judgment sent upon her by a right 
 eous God. She was dead to them and to the world, 
 and dead she would remain. 
 
 " She was in her own chamber. A shaded lamp 
 burned dimly. She crept silently from the coffin, 
 fearing every moment the approach of the watchers. 
 She glanced at the dress in which they had clothed 
 her for the tomb. It was a plain black silk, entirely 
 unnoticeable. There was a water-proof cloak in the 
 wardrobe with a hood to draw over the head and 
 a pair of slippers. 
 
 " But her strength was failing her. It must last her 
 until she had fled from that house, out into the night, 
 God only knew whither. There was brandy in a cup 
 board, and a cracker. She ate and drank hastily, 
 fearing discovery every instant. Then she had pres 
 ence of mind enough to unlock her own escritoire and 
 take therefrom a purse. It would keep her from, 
 starvation until she could form her plans for the future.! 
 
 " The window, which was unclosed, opened out 
 upon a balcony. From that, a grape-vine with a light 
 trellis led to the ground. Silently as a dream she 
 descended from bar to bar, the very leaves hanging 
 motionless to aid her flight.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 303 
 
 " The streets were hushed. What time was it ? 
 She could not wander about in the darkness without 
 danger of insult, or at least of being taken up by the 
 police. She looked with straining gaze far off into 
 the east. There was a faint streak of light touching 
 the horizon. 
 
 " She crept round the corner of the house into the 
 next street, and there crouched in the shadow of a 
 wall until the morning dawned. She had slipped the 
 brandy-flask into her pocket, and by occasional swal 
 lows kept herself alive. Now she drained the last 
 drop, threw the flask on a heap of garbage, and 
 began to move onward. She wandered along, up one 
 street and down another, vaguely conscious that this 
 must soon end, until suddenly she discovered herself 
 in front of the gray towers of St. Elizabeth's Hospital. 
 Then her strength left her, and she sank to the 
 ground. 
 
 " When she came to herself, she was in one of the 
 wards, and gentle hands were removing her clothing. 
 Only one article that she had about her person was 
 marked, and that she managed to secrete. 
 
 " She lay in a state of semi-consciousness for sev 
 eral days, a great part of the time too weak for 
 anything like connected thought. But one day life's 
 forces rallied fully, and, for the first time, she at 
 tempted to speak. She wanted to see a newspaper, 
 and discover, if she could, whether any notice had 
 been taken of her flight. 
 
 " To her amazement, she found that she could not 
 utter a word. Her vocal organs seemed paralyzed. 
 Her first impulse was to cry out, and give instant
 
 304 
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 alarm. Her second was to be silent and reflect. In 
 the brief intervals during which she had been able to 
 think, she had determined to remain as a nurse at St. 
 Elizabeth's. Nowhere could she be more effectually 
 hidden than in the heart of a great city. No one 
 would think of looking for her in the wards of a hos 
 pital ; and it seemed fitting that she should devote 
 the remainder of her days, be they few or many, to 
 the care of God's suffering ones. Now, as a flash of 
 lightning, came the thought that this dumbness would 
 be the most effective of disguises, even while it pro 
 tected her from careless or impertinent questioning. 
 
 " In the course of time she regained her strength, 
 and proved by her deeds that she was capable of 
 nursing the sick. The very first patient to whom 
 she devoted herself was a Romanist ; and in his 
 delirium he called her continually ' Sister Agnes.' 
 It mattered little to her by what name she went, 
 now that she was no longer Alice Armstrong, and 
 she let it pass. By that name she has been known 
 ever since." 
 
 She ceased ; and for a few moments the room was as 
 silent as the grave from which, according to her story, 
 Mrs. Armstrong had been rescued. This tale seemed 
 plausible enough to me ; but there was the stubborn 
 fact of the funeral. There was no getting around 
 that, and my heart hardened against her again. Ken 
 neth sat as motionless as a statue. At length Dr. 
 Bellinger spoke. 
 
 " Admitting this improbable story to be true, and 
 here, as I shall put my questions directly to you, I 
 beg you to waive your scruples and answer in the
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 first person, did you never make any further attempt 
 to learn how your flight was received ?" 
 
 " I could make no inquiries," she answered, " with 
 out exciting suspicion. But one day I came across 
 an old Tribune. Heaven must have sent it to prove 
 to me, beyond a doubt, that my old life was dead and 
 buried, and could have no resurrection. In it I read 
 an account of my own funeral. It hardened my heart 
 for awhile. But my husband was a good man and a 
 just, and I long ago taught myself to feel that when 
 we meet in the great hereafter we shall understand 
 and forgive each other." 
 
 Kenneth started up with a flushed face and quiv 
 ering lip, then sank back into his seat again, and 
 again covered his eyes with his hand. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that your mother-love never 
 compelled you, irresistibly, to obtain some tidings of 
 Clyde ?" asked Dr. Bellinger. " Did you never learn 
 what had become of the family?" 
 
 " You forget that for months I could not speak," 
 she replied, " and to have written on such a matter 
 would have been too hazardous. But I was wild with 
 longing. The suspense was hardly to be borne. One 
 day, late in the autumn, I discovered that my voice 
 had returned to me. I could speak. I kept my 
 secret; but that evening, just at dusk, I shrouded 
 myself in a heavy cloak and veil, and sped swiftly 
 through the streets until I reached a point from which 
 I could see my lost Eden, the home where I had 
 once loved and been loved. The gas was lighted in 
 the drawing-room, and the curtains were not yet 
 dropped. I crept nearer and looked in. There was 
 
 26*
 
 306 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 a happy wife there, frolicking with the baby on her 
 lap. There were merry children laughing in their 
 glee. There was a husband and father smiling on 
 his loved ones. But I saw no face I had ever seen 
 before. I turned away, and a ragged little urchin a 
 -street-beggar stretched out his hand with the usual 
 ' Gi' me* a penny ?' I dropped five times the amount 
 in his open palm, and then asked, ' Is not this the 
 Armstrong place ?' ' Used to be,' he answered ; ' but 
 they've gone off somewheres. Don't live here no 
 more.' I hesitated ; then ventured one more question. 
 ' You seem to know something about them,' I said. 
 ' Did you ever hear whether the boy who was thrown 
 from the horse last summer got well or not ?' ' Guess 
 he did,' was the answer, ' for I hang out round here 
 mostly, and I never heard o' his dyin'. What yer 
 want to know fur, mum ? He wasn't nothin' to you, 
 was he ?' This random shot took effect, and I hurried 
 away. By indirect means I did at last learn for a 
 certainty that Clyde recovered, and that the family 
 had left the city." 
 
 " But why, in the name of common sense and 
 reason, did you come here and throw yourself into 
 Clyde's way ?" was Dr. Bellinger's next question. 
 
 " Do you suppose I knew where I was going when 
 I left New York ?" she asked, indignantly. "I obeyed 
 your summons in all good faith. Miss Meredith 
 merely told me that you needed my services. I had 
 been under your orders for seven years, and it mat 
 tered little to me whether you required my presence 
 in the hospital or out of it. No names were men 
 tioned ; and it was not until I entered this room and
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 307 
 
 my husband's eyes frowned down upon me from yon 
 der picture on the wall, striking cold terror to my soul t 
 it was not till then, I say, that I had the slightest 
 suspicion under whose roof my patient lay. Then I 
 would have fled, but my limbs failed me. You know 
 what followed. You know how you entreated me to 
 remain, telling me that Clyde's life hung in disbalance. 
 I learned from your words that Mr. Armstrong was 
 dead. I had grown old and faded ; my hair was 
 white. It was not probable that Kenneth would 
 recognize in the poor dumb nurse of St. Elizabeth's 
 the woman who had once reigned as a queen in his 
 father's house. And oh, doctor !" she cried, clasping 
 her hands, as if in supplication, " oh, you !" turning 
 to us, " you, who have tender women's hearts in 
 your bosoms, my heart yearned over my child ! I 
 could not, when God seemed to have called me to 
 his bedside, turn away without one look, one word, 
 one caress. I meant to leave him as soon as he 
 showed signs of convalescence. I had no intention 
 of making myself known to him or to any one. He 
 died. I determined to wait until my beautiful boy was 
 buried, and then to depart as I had come. But when 
 you all went with him to the place of sepulture, and 
 I the mother who bore him was left behind as a 
 careless stranger in this silent house, I could not bear 
 it. I fell on the floor before my husband's portrait. 
 His eyes transfixed me I thought I should go mad. 
 My burden was too heavy, too grievous to be borne. 
 Then I heard your returning footsteps, and with no 
 premeditation, out of the stress of pain and agony, 
 I spoke. Dr. Bellinger, you have known me long,
 
 308 
 
 EXP1A TION. 
 
 and I know I have earned the right to your confi 
 dence. I beg you to believe that I speak the truth !" 
 
 " What if it is true, after all ?" whispered Patsy, 
 wiping her eyes with her apron. " Miss Rossiter, I'm 
 e'en a'most beat out. I don't know what to make on't!" 
 
 Kenneth had scarcely looked at Sister Agnes since 
 she began her story. Now Dr. Bellinger spoke : 
 
 " Look at her, Kenneth. If this woman is the 
 person she professes to be, you surely ought to be 
 able to detect some resemblance to your stepmother, 
 as you remember her." 
 
 Kenneth glanced at her for a second ; then turned 
 his eyes away. " It is not necessary for me to study 
 her features one by one," he said. " There is a re 
 semblance. I admit it frankly. I noticed it as soon 
 as she removed her cap. But I maintain that it is 
 only accidental, and is probably what suggested this 
 plot. The fact that my father was a man of honor 
 and integrity, and that with his consent and co-opera 
 tion the coffin from which this woman says that she 
 escaped, was placed in our family- vault, is a suffi 
 cient refutation of her story. If he had been a villain, 
 he might have chosen that way to break a marriage- 
 tie that had grown hateful. But his whole life, his 
 whole character, gives the lie to such a supposition. 
 This person labors under some strange hallucination. 
 It would be treason to my father's memory for me to 
 believe otherwise for one moment." 
 
 " If Sister Agnes is Mrs. Armstrong, and wa'n't 
 buried, and it stands to reason she wa'n't, who or 
 what was ? That's the question !" said Patsy, con 
 cisely.
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 309 
 
 " A question that is easily answered," replied the 
 doctor. " Kenneth, with your permission I will enter 
 that vault and examine the coffin before another 
 twenty-four hours have passed. For myself, now 
 that I have been drawn into this strange complica 
 tion, I must unravel the mystery to the very bottom. 
 It is my duty. Will you tell me where to find the 
 key ? It is best, my boy," he added, gently, seeing 
 that Kenneth winced at the unwelcome thought. 
 " You will be haunted all your life long if you do not 
 solve this riddle now." 
 
 Kenneth rose with an impenetrable face. " The 
 key to the vault is in the safe," was all he said. 
 
 He went into the little room adjoining. We 
 heard him open one door after another. There was 
 a moment's silence, and then he came back with the 
 key. In his hand there was also a paper, folded and 
 sealed. I recognized it in a moment, and my heart 
 leaped to my throat. 
 
 Kenneth's face was white and stern, as he turned 
 the paper over and over in his hand. Finally he 
 said, in a deep, hoarse voice, " The night my father 
 died, he gave me this paper, sealed as you see it now. 
 I was to open it under certain contingencies, which 
 were so vaguely stated that I hardly understood them. 
 I felt that in his weakness he failed to make his mean 
 ing clear; and I had determined never to break this 
 seal, but to let it be burned unopened at my death, 
 the fate he had in that case decreed for it. I have 
 not once thought of it since Clyde was taken sick ; 
 but I found it in the safe just now. Friends, ought I 
 to open it ?"
 
 3io 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Most decidedly," answered Dr. Bellinger. " It 
 seems to me you can do nothing less." 
 
 You could have heard a pin drop as Kenneth broke 
 the seal and the paper rustled in his fingers. He 
 glanced rapidly down the page, caught a word here 
 and there, turned it over and looked at the signature. 
 Even from where I sat I could read in a large, bold 
 hand the name "John Armstrong." Great beaded 
 drops stood upon his forehead. The paper fell upon 
 the table, and he pushed it toward the doctor. 
 
 " Read it," he said, faintly. " I cannot." 
 
 This is what he read : 
 
 " I, John Armstrong, being of sane mind and 
 sound body, yet knowing that old age is approaching 
 and that death cannot be far off, feel that I ought to 
 put upon record facts that may some time be of im 
 portance. The coffin that was placed in my family- 
 vault in Greenwood Cemetery, in the city of New 
 York, on the twentieth day of June, A.D. 1851, did not 
 contain, as was supposed, the body of my wife Alice 
 L'Amoreau Armstrong. She died on the eighteenth 
 of that month. The body was prepared for the grave 
 in the usual manner, and on the evening of the nine 
 teenth was placed in the coffin, ready for burial on 
 the following day. It stood, unclosed, in the room 
 adjoining mine. About midnight, worn out by days 
 and nights of anxious watching and by a grief that 
 cannot be told, I fell into a profound sleep. After 
 two or three hours, I was suddenly awakened. I 
 heard no noise, yet the impression was strong upon 
 me that I had been aroused from my deep slumber
 
 EXPIATION. 211 
 
 by stealthy footsteps on the balcony. Yet, so dead 
 ened were all my faculties, that it was several minutes 
 before I realized that this was anything deserving of 
 attention. When I did, I arose immediately and 
 went into the next room. It was in disorder : chairs 
 had been moved ; some towels and napkins lay upon 
 the floor ; the window, which I had left open a little 
 way, was thrown wide. I looked in the coffin. 
 
 " It was empty. 
 
 " I sprang out on to the balcony. The garden lay 
 beneath it, hushed in complete repose. There was 
 not a human being in sight, except one woman in a 
 water-proof who was just turning the corner. Why 
 did I not make an immediate outcry ? Why did I 
 not shout for the police ? 
 
 " Because there were circumstances connected with 
 her death, and with the condition of my son Clyde, 
 that rendered it impossible. My son Kenneth, to 
 whom before I go hence I shall commit the secret 
 of those terrible days, will understand why I kept 
 silence; and if it is ever necessary, he will vindicate 
 me. My duty was to the imperiled living, rather 
 than to the dead who was beyond the reach of 
 earthly harm or sorrow. To have placed the matter 
 in the hands of the police, to have made any dis 
 turbance whatever, would have been sure to call 
 attention to what must at all hazards be concealed. 
 
 " On my knees in the room so much more drear 
 and desolate than before it was deserted by its ghastly 
 occupant, with a wordless prayer in my heart, I de 
 termined what to do. 
 
 " The body had been stolen, without a shadow of
 
 312 
 
 EX PI A TION. 
 
 doubt, by those ghouls who prey upon the dead and 
 traffic in such horrible merchandise. The thought 
 was terrible beyond all expression. But Kenneth 
 knows why any effort to regain it would have been 
 too hazardous. The mockery of a funeral must be 
 gone through with, and this secret must clasp hands 
 with the other. 
 
 " I found some bricks and a log of wood, which I 
 placed in the coffin, making them firm and steady by 
 paddings of cloth and paper. Then I put on the lid 
 and screwed it down. When the undertaker came 
 the next morning, I told him that I had found it 
 necessary to close the coffin, and that it must not be 
 opened again. He supposed he understood me, and 
 went his way. 
 
 " The funeral took place ; and I gave orders that 
 it should be in all respects more showy and noticeable 
 than accorded with my tastes. It was a part of my 
 plan. I wanted the world to remember it. 
 
 " Whether this was right or wrong, I leave to the 
 great Judger of hearts and motives rather than of 
 deeds. And though the ashes of Alice Armstrong 
 do not lie in her husband's tomb, may God watch 
 over them, and may his angels protect them ; and 
 may her soul and mine, purified at last through sor 
 row and anguish and much tribulation, meet in glad 
 recognition beyond the veil ! 
 
 " This statement is true, so help me God ! And 
 hereunto I set my hand and seal. 
 
 "JOHN ARMSTRONG." 
 
 I do not know whether we wept or not. I rather
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 3*3 
 
 think our emotions were growing too highly wrought 
 for tears. Kenneth was the first to speak, very 
 quietly, as one who held his whole being in leash. 
 
 " Patsy, in a small closet in the darkest corner 
 of the garret there is a portrait of Clyde's mother. 
 I wish you would bring it to us ; here is the key." 
 
 She gave me one quick glance and a little nod, 
 and then departed on her errand. 
 
 " There is but one step more to be taken," said 
 Kenneth, when she returned. "Just one. Is this" 
 (uncovering it) "the portrait of the woman you have 
 known as Sister Agnes? Friends, I leave the deci 
 sion to you." 
 
 " Allow me one word first," said Dr. Bellinger, 
 rising and taking his stand behind Sister Agnes's 
 chair. " According to the paper we have just read, it 
 was in the night of the ipth and 2Oth of June that 
 the body of Alice Armstrong was taken from the 
 coffin. It was on the morning of the 2Oth that this 
 woman" and he placed his hand on her shoulder 
 " was found lying insensible near St. Elizabeth's, and 
 was admitted as a patient. I happen to have the date 
 in my note-book. Take that for what it is worth. 
 Now for the portrait." 
 
 Ah, how lovely it was ! We glanced curiously 
 from that pictured face to the one that, now flushing, 
 now paling, made young again by the powerful 
 excitement of the moment, looked half timidly, half 
 defiantly at us from beneath Sister Agnes's crown of 
 silvery hair. Suddenly there leaped to her dark eyes 
 a look I had seen in Clyde's a thousand times. I 
 
 could restrain myself no longer, 
 o 27
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 " Kenneth ! Kenneth !" I cried, " this is surely 
 Clyde's mother ! Look at her eyes !" 
 
 She stretched out her arms, echoing my cry of 
 " Kenneth !" and in another moment, the long con 
 flict over, he lay upon her breast, sobbing like a 
 child. 
 
 There were no congratulations. We only crowded 
 round the two who had been so long and so strangely 
 separated, with hearts too full for utterance. After 
 awhile Dr. Bellinger said, under his breath, 
 
 " The eyes seem to have settled it, but the portrait 
 tells the same story." And he turned it with its face 
 to the wall. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong lifted her head at last, and drew 
 from her bosom a heavy gold ring, attached to a 
 silken cord. " It is my wedding-ring, Kenneth," she 
 said. " Here are your father's initials and mine, and 
 the date of our marriage." 
 
 He held it for a moment, while his features worked 
 powerfully. Then he placed it on her ringer. 
 
 "'With this rjng I thee wed,'" he said, reverently.
 
 EXPIA T10N. 
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 PATSY, " on hospitable thoughts intent," wiped her 
 eyes, and started for the door. Dinner must be seen 
 to, come what may. Mrs. Armstrong stopped her. 
 
 " Wait one moment," she said. " Before any one 
 leaves this room, I must receive a pledge of secrecy 
 from all of you. What has been made known here 
 to-day belongs solely to us. It must go no further." 
 
 Kenneth looked at her as one aghast ; and a little 
 murmur of astonishment ran round the room. Patsy 
 sat down again. 
 
 " You did not think," continued Mrs. Armstrong, 
 turning her eyes from one to the other with soft, ap 
 pealing glances, " you did not think I meant, or 
 would consent, that the world should ever hear this 
 sad story ?" 
 
 " But it must hear it," said Kenneth. " How else 
 can you resume your rightful place, the station due 
 to you as my father's widow ?" 
 
 She shook her head with grave dignity. " I shall 
 never resume it, Kenneth. Alice Armstrong is dead 
 and buried. For her there is no resurrection. Nay, 
 nay, hear me !" she cried, as he would have inter 
 rupted her with eager entreaties and expostulations. 
 " Think but for one moment ! I left my husband 
 and child and home, because I felt it was the only 
 reparation I could make for the evils I had brought
 
 316 EXPIATION. 
 
 upon them. The only atonement, the only expiation, 
 I could make for the fatal error of my youth and the 
 mad perverseness of my later years, was to remove 
 myself from them as far as the east is from the west. 
 I died to them and to the world, that night, as truly, 
 as entirely, as if I had indeed been in the coffin that 
 was carried in stately pomp to Greenwood. I gave 
 your father at the last a chance to save Clyde. He 
 had never had it before." 
 
 " But Clyde, our poor Clyde, is gone," said Ken 
 neth. " Nothing we do can help or harm him now. 
 Let the dead past bury its dead. Your expiation " 
 
 " Is not ended," she said, solemnly, as he hesitated. 
 " It is not ended. Look me in the face, Kenneth, 
 and tell me if you think it would be right for me to 
 betray the secret your father guarded so sacredly, 
 and in the keeping of which he sacrificed the best 
 years of his life. You say yourself that he shrank 
 sensitively from being made, or from having Clyde 
 made, the subject of public talk and scandal. Do 
 you believe that death has changed him so entirely 
 that if he could stand here in bodily presence to-day, 
 he would not still shrink from the exposure of his 
 family skeleton ? I tell you that John Armstrong 
 is John Armstrong still, in the other world as in 
 this." 
 
 " This may be all true," Kenneth answered. " But 
 you have your rights also. I must not let my loyalty 
 to my father's memory, to his last expressed wishes, 
 even, make me unjust to you." 
 
 " Rights ? I have none, save the right to continue 
 the expiation I began so long ago. All my other
 
 EXPIA TWN. 
 
 317 
 
 rights were buried with Alice Armstrong. My friends," 
 she continued, looking round upon us, " to you I am 
 the widow of Clyde's father. An humbled, sorrow 
 ing, repentant woman, who would fain make such 
 atonement as she may for the mistakes, the sins, of a 
 lifetime. To the world the small world that will 
 know of me I am still, and must remain, Sister 
 Agnes of St. Elizabeth's. My vows were taken, not 
 for months or years, but for life." 
 
 We were all silent for a moment, half from as 
 tonishment, half from an emotion strangely com 
 pounded of relief and sorrow. Probably each of us 
 had done Mrs. Armstrong the injustice of doubting 
 whether some alloy of earthly greed or selfishness 
 had not joined with the anguish of mother-love in 
 leading to this revelation. 
 
 Kenneth looked at her for a moment with all his 
 heart in his eyes ; then he threw himself at her feet, 
 and clasped her hand in both of his. 
 
 " But you will at least receive a son's love from 
 me, mother !" he exclaimed. " If this is really your 
 wish, it shall be respected as sacredly as if it were the 
 wish of one of God's angels. But surely John Arm 
 strong's son Clyde Armstrong's brother cannot 
 plead with you in vain. They speak to you through 
 me !" 
 
 We stole away and left them. 
 
 In the rush and tumult of feeling consequent upon 
 the exciting events of the morning, our hearts re 
 belled against Mrs. Armstrong's decision. Yet we 
 knew, every one of us, that it was right and best. 
 She was wise in her judgment. Let the ashes of the 
 27*
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 past rest undisturbed by the profane clamor and 
 noisy babbling that would surely have followed a 
 disclosure of the truth. 
 
 One thing, however, we all insisted upon, that 
 she should no longer wear the mask of dumbness. 
 She was safe now from impertinent questioning, and 
 the disguise was no longer needed. 
 
 " It is easily managed," said Dr. Bellinger. " You 
 are to stay here for awhile and recruit, under my ex 
 press orders. You are going to submit to treatment 
 severe medical treatment, madam before I leave 
 for New York, which will be on the morrow. I shall 
 tell all our friends at St. Elizabeth's that there is a 
 fair chance of your recovering your speech. And 
 you will recover it. A plain case, you perceive; easy 
 as a b c." 
 
 Which programme was faithfully carried out. 
 
 A peace and quiet whose blessedness I cannot 
 describe to you, seemed to settle down upon us after 
 Dr. Bellinger left. Sister Agnes for by that name 
 she desired us all to call her, saying that detection 
 would be sure to follow our use of her real title was 
 never weary of asking questions about her husband, 
 about Clyde, their habits, their devotion to each 
 other, and all the little, trifling details of daily living. 
 She and I sat together in the clear mornings, in the 
 still noontides, in the soft twilights, talking some 
 times sadly, but for the most part brightly and ten 
 derly of the two whose graves were growing green 
 in the glad spring sunshine. 
 
 One day we sat in my little parlor, sewing and 
 chatting, as women will. She was growing so fair,
 
 EXPIA TION. 
 
 3'9 
 
 so young, in this enforced quiet, with the burden of 
 an unshared secret weighing her down no longer, 
 and her heart's hungry cravings in a measure satis 
 fied. She still wore her quaint caps, and we were all 
 glad of it. They were a part of the picture we could 
 not afford to lose. 
 
 Elsie and Kenneth were out in the porch, saying 
 little, but quietly content. No word of love had 
 passed between them ; but gradually, I could see, 
 they were coming to know each other's hearts. 
 Slowly but surely the barrier that had grown up be 
 tween them was melting away. Suddenly through 
 the stillness Elsie's voice stole soft and low, singing, 
 as on the evening that seemed so long ago, though 
 it was not yet a year, the Song of Elaine, the Lily 
 Maid of Astolat. 
 
 Sister Agnes held her breath to listen. 
 
 " Tell me," she whispered, as the last note died 
 away. " Do they two love each other? Is Kenneth 
 caught in the meshes of her golden hair, even as my 
 poor Clyde was ?" 
 
 I told her the whole story, how Kenneth had 
 loved her first, how like a thunderbolt out of the 
 clear heavens had come the knowledge of Clyde's 
 passion, how Kenneth had withdrawn from the lists 
 himself, while at the same time he had striven to 
 build up walls of adamant between his brother and 
 Elsie. It was all so clear now ! 
 
 Pretty soon the children, as we elderly women 
 delighted to call them, strayed off up the hill to the 
 conservatory, coming back in half an hour with a 
 basket full of the flowers Clyde had so loved and
 
 320 
 
 EX PI A 77 ON. 
 
 tended. They sat upon the steps a few moments, 
 enjoying their delicious perfume. Then Elsie 
 brought her hat and shawl, and they disappeared 
 down the winding road. We knew, well enough, 
 where they were going. 
 
 " Clyde's memory will be another tie between them 
 some day," said Sister Agnes, gazing after them with 
 brimming eyes. 
 
 A little bird told me what happened that afternoon 
 in May, dear reader, and I will tell it to you. 
 
 Leaving the main road, they wandered on, up the 
 grassy slopes, through the meadows white with 
 strawberry-blossoms, and along the curving river- 
 banks, until they reached the graveyard on the far 
 hillside. Their talk had been in commonplaces at 
 first, of the sunshine, and the birds, and the soft, 
 warm airs that rustled the tree-tops. But gradually it 
 had taken a deeper tone, and drifted on into those 
 regions where the mask of conventionalism drops off 
 and soul speaks to soul. They talked of life, of its 
 glorious possibilities, its aspirations, and its mighty 
 endeavors. They spoke of God, of heaven, and of 
 eternity. And they spoke lovingly and tenderly of 
 Clyde. 
 
 Above them was the far blue sky, around them 
 the wide sweep of the everlasting hills, at their feet 
 a grave, two graves, flower-strewn, wherein " the 
 weary were at rest." Elsie's eyes were bent upon 
 them, but her thoughts had winged their flight far 
 beyond moon and star, and she saw the Great White 
 Throne, and Him that sitteth on it. 
 
 Kenneth saw her, and her only. " Elsie," he said,
 
 EXPIATION. 221 
 
 at last, " do you remember what you said to me, one 
 October afternoon, when we had been reading ' The 
 Lotus-Eaters' ?" 
 
 Her face crimsoned, tears sprang to her blue eyes, 
 and she reached out her two hands impulsively. 
 " Remember it ? Kenneth, Kenneth, I was so cruel, 
 so unjust!" she cried. " But I did not know, I did 
 not understand. It was all such a mystery " 
 
 " Hush, hush !" he whispered, softly, lifting a white 
 rosebud from Clyde's grave and laying it against her 
 lips. " No such words are needed. You were true 
 and sincere and womanly, that was all." He was 
 silent for a moment, then went on in low, eager, 
 passionate tones, while his steadfast eyes sought hers 
 and held them. " I loved you then," he said, "with 
 a love strong as death, and just as hopeless. I love 
 you now with a love that dares to claim you, even 
 beside this grave. On my bended knees I prayed 
 then that you might not care for me. But to-day 
 Elsie ! my sibyl, my inspirer, sole love of my boyhood, 
 sole hope of my manhood, teach me how to win 
 you !" 
 
 The little bird refused to tell me another word. 
 But by the light that illumined their faces when they 
 came down from the hill, " the light that never was 
 on sea or land," we knew that she was won. 
 
 Little more remains to be told. 
 
 Once again the two Elsie and Kenneth tried 
 to persuade Sister Agnes to give up her work at 
 St. Elizabeth's, and live with them, if not as an 
 acknowledged mother, yet as their most cherished 
 friend and counselor. But it was of no avail. The
 
 322 EXPIATION. 
 
 most they could win from her was a promise that 
 when she could work no longer she would rest in the 
 warm shelter of their love and care. With that they 
 were forced to be content. 
 
 Three years afterward there was a wedding in my 
 small parlor. It was the wish of both to be married 
 in Altona. So, one summer morning, with no pomp 
 or parade, no bustle of bridesmaids and groomsmen, 
 no rustling of satins or fluttering of laces, the two 
 were made one. But the bride ! Ah, I wish you 
 could all have seen how fair and sweet and lovely 
 she was ! 
 
 They went away immediately, for Kenneth's place 
 now was elsewhere. There were no more days of 
 aesthetic idleness for him ; for out in the busy world 
 of men he had already taken rank with those who 
 labor and achieve. Elsie's " hero" would one day win 
 the lofty height she had craved for him. 
 
 But they could not give up Greyholt. It was hal 
 lowed by too many memories. So, at their request, 
 I left my own little brown cottage, and Patsy and I, 
 with Dennis for our faithful servitor, keep the old 
 place fresh and bright. Every summer they come to 
 us, and for days and weeks the sound of light foot 
 steps, happy, love-tuned voices, and ringing laughter 
 echoes from hall and chamber. Sometimes Dr. Bel 
 linger joins us ; and Sister Agnes always, still in 
 her gray dress and nun-like cap. But dearest of all 
 most welcome of all is the little Clyde, whose rosy 
 face softens in the twilight when Sister Agnes takes 
 him on her knee and tells him stories of that other 
 Clyde who lies at rest upon the hillside.
 
 EXPIATION. 323 
 
 As for her, with her placid face, her saintly ways, 
 she has learned the blessedness of renunciation, the 
 peace that clasps hands with patience. We who know 
 her best who know of her voluntary, life-long expia 
 tion of the errors of her youth think that no saint 
 among them all was more worthy of canonization 
 than our Sister Agnes of St. Elizabeth's. 
 
 THE END.
 
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