I 
 
 SORB! 
 
 Hi 
 
THE LOST DAUGHTEK; 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ: 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LINDA," "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE," "RENA," "EOLINE/ 
 "PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE," "LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE," ETC. 
 
 Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price One Dollar and Twenty- 
 Jive cents j or in two volumes, paper cover, for One Dollar, 
 
 BEAD WHAT SOME OF THE LEADING EDITORS SAY OF IT: 
 
 "The story is an exceedingly touching one of American Domestic life 
 a story of wild and diseased passions, successfully contrasted with purity 
 and gentleness of taste and aspect. Mrs. Hentz is one of our most dra- 
 matic of female writers. She makes a story as felicitously as any of them 
 knows the secret of exciting and prolonging the interest, and of bring- 
 ing about an appropriate d6nouement. Her characters are drawn with 
 spirit and freedom, and her incidents are well selected for their illustra- 
 tion." Southern Patriot. 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S OTHER WORKS. 
 
 T. B. Peterson has lust published a new, uniform and beautiful edition of 
 the works of Mrs. Hentz, printed on a much better and finer paper, and in far 
 superior and better style to what they have ever before been issued in, (all 
 in uniform style with The Lost Daughter,) copies of any one or all of which 
 will be sent to any place in the United States, free of postage, on receipt of 
 remittances. Each book contains a beautiful illustration of one of the best 
 scenes. The following are the names of these world-wide celebrated works : 
 
 EOLINE ; or, MAGNOLIA YALE. Complete in two 
 volumes, paper cover, price One Dollar; or bound in one 
 volume, cloth, gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " We do not think that amongst American authors, there is one more 
 pleasing or more instructive than Mrs. Hentz. This novel is equal to any 
 which she has written." Cincinnati Gazette. 
 
 "A charming and delightful story, and will add to the well-merited re- 
 putation of its fair and gifted author." Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 " It will be found to be the best story which Mrs. Hentz has ever given 
 to the public." Saturday Courier. 
 
ii MRS. HENTZ'S WORKS. 
 
 THE BANISHED SON; and othe7~STories. "Tfoinplefe" 
 in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in 
 one volume, cloth gilt, $1 25. 
 
 " The 'Banished Son* seems to us the chef d'ceuvre of the collection. It 
 appeals to all the nobler sentiments of humanity, is full of action and 
 healthy excitement, and sets forth the best of morals." Charleston Neics. 
 
 AUNT PATTY'S SCRAP BAG, together with large ad- 
 ditions to it, written by Mrs. Hentz, prior to her death, 
 and never before published in any former edition of this 
 work. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One 
 Dol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25 
 
 "We venture to assert that there is not one reader who has not been 
 made wiser and better by its perusal who has not been enabled to treasure 
 up golden precepts of morality, virtue, and experience, as guiding princi- 
 ples of their own commerce with the world." American Courier. 
 
 LOVE AFTER, MARRIAGE ; and other Stories. Com- 
 plete in two volumes, paper cover, priceOne Dol., or bound 
 in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " This is a charming and instructive story one of those beautiful efforts 
 that enchant the mind, refreshing and strengthening it." City Item. 
 " The work before us is a charming one." Boston Evening Journal. 
 
 MARCUS WARLAND; or, THE LONG MOSS 
 SPRING. A Tale of the South. Complete in two vo- 
 lumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " Every succeeding chapter of this new and beautiful nouvellette of Mrs. 
 Ilentz increases in interest and pathos. We defy any one to read aloud 
 the chapters to a listening auditory, without deep emotion, or producing 
 many a pearly tribute to its truthfulness, pathos, and power." Am. Courier. 
 
 "It is pleasant to meet now and then with a tale like this, which seema 
 rather like a narrative of real events than a creature of the imagination." 
 N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, THE JOYS 
 AND SORROWS OF AMERICAN LIFE. With a 
 Portrait of the Author. Complete in two large volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " This work will be found, on perusal by all, to be one of the most exciting, 
 interesting, and popular works that has ever emanated from the American 
 Press. It is written in a charming style, and will elicit through all a 
 thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure. It is a work which the oldest and 
 the youngest may alike read with profit. It abounds with the most beauti- 
 ful scenic descriptions j and displays an intimate acquaintance with all 
 
MRS. HENTZ ? S WORKS. Hi 
 
 phases of hr/man character; all the characters being exceedingly "well 
 drawn. It is a delightful book, full of incidents, oftentimes bold and 
 startling, and describes the warm feelings of the Southerner in glowing 
 colors. Indeed, all Mrs. Hentz's stories aptly describe Southern life, and 
 are highly moral in their application. In this field Mrs. Hentz wields a 
 keen sickle, and harvests a rich and abundant crop. It will be found in 
 plot, incident, and management, to be a superior work. In the whole 
 range of elegant moral fiction, there cannot be found any thing of more 
 inestimable value, or superior to this work, and it is a gem that will well 
 repay a careful perusal. The Publisher feels assured that it will gh r e 
 entire satisfaction to all readers, encourage good taste and good morals, 
 and while away many leisure hours with great pleasure and profit, and be 
 recommended to others by all that peruse it." 
 
 LINDA. THE YOUNG PILOT OP THE BELLE 
 CREOLE. Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price 
 OneDol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "We hail with pleasure this contribution to the literature of the South. 
 Works containing faithful delineations of Southern life, society, and 
 scenery, whether in the garb of romance or in the soberer attire of simple 
 narrative, cannot fail to have a salutary influence in correcting the false 
 impressions which prevail in regard to our people and institutions ; and 
 our thanks are due to Mrs. Hentz for the addition she has made to this de- 
 partment of our native literature. We cannot close without expressing a 
 hope that 'Linda' may be followed by many other works of the same class 
 from the pen of its gifted author." Southern Literary Gazette. 
 
 ROBERT GRAHAM. The Sequel to, and continuation 
 of Linda. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 
 price One Dol., or bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 " We cannot admire too much, nor thank Mrs. Hentz too sincerely for 
 the high and ennobling morality and Christian grace, which not only per- 
 vade her entire writings, but which shine forth with undimmed beauty in 
 the new novel, Robert Graham. It sustains the character which is very 
 difficult to well delineate in a work of fiction a religious missionary. All 
 who read the work will bear testimony to the entire success of Mrs. Hentz." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 "A charming novel; and in point of plot, style, and all the other char- 
 acteristics of a readable romance, it will compare favorably with almost 
 any of the many publications of the season." Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE. With illus- 
 trations. Complete in two large volumes, paper cover, 
 COO pages, price One Dollar, or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "Wo have seldom been more charmed by the perusal of a novel; and we 
 desire to commend it to our readers in the strongest words of praise that 
 our vocabulary affords. The incidents are well varied; the scenes beauti- 
 fully described; and the interest admirably kept up. But the moral of the 
 book is its highest merit. The 'Planter's Northern Brido' should be as 
 
iv MRS. HENTZ'S WOKKS. 
 
 welcomo as the dove of peace to every fireside in the Union. It cannot be 
 read without a moistening of the eyes, a softening of the heart, and a miti- 
 gation of sectional and most unchristian prejudices." N. Y. Mirror. 
 
 "It is unquestionably the most powerful and important, if not the most 
 charming work that ha,s yet flowed from her elegant pen ; and though evi- 
 dently founded upon the all-absorbing subjects of slavery and abolitionism, 
 the genius and skill of the fair author have developed new views of golden 
 argument, and flung around the whole such a halo of pathos, interest, and 
 beauty, as to render it every way worthy the author of 'Linda/ 'Marcus 
 Warland/ 'Rena,' and the numerous other literary gems from the same 
 author." American Courier. 
 
 " The most delightful and remarkable book of the day." Boston Traveler. 
 
 "Written with remarkable vigor, and contains many passages of real 
 eloquence. We heartily commend it to general perusal." Newark Eagle. 
 
 RENA ; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 
 Complete in two volumes, paper cover, price One Dol., or 
 bound in one volume, cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "'Rena; or, the Snow Bird' elicits a thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure, 
 even exceeding that which accompanied 'Linda,' which was generally ad- 
 mitted to be the best story ever written for a newspaper. That was certainly 
 high praise, but 'Rena' takes precedence even of its predecessor, and, in 
 both, Mrs. Lee Hentz has achieved a triumph of no ordinary kind. It is not 
 that old associations bias our judgment, for though from the appearance, 
 years since, of the famous 'Mob Cap' in this paper, we formed an exalted 
 opinion of the womanly and literary .excellence of the writer, our feelings 
 have, in the interim, had quite sufficient leisure to cool ; yet, after the 
 lapse of years, we have continued to maintain tbe same literary devotion 
 to this best of our female writers. The two last productions of Mrs. Lee 
 Hentz now fully confirm our previously formed opinion, and we unhesi- 
 tatingly commend 'Rena,' now published in book form, in beautiful style, 
 by T. B. Peterson, as a story which, in its varied, deep, and thrilling in- 
 terest, has no superior." American Courier. 
 
 HELEN AND ARTHUR. Complete in two volumes, 
 paper cover, price One Dol., or bound in one volume, 
 cloth gilt, $1.25. 
 
 "A story of domestic life, written in Mrs. Hentz's best vein. The de- 
 tails of the plot are skilfully elaborated, and many passages are deeply 
 pathetic." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 "As a high-toned novel it possesses throughout a most touching and 
 thrilling interest, far above the level of the novels of the day. All are de- 
 lighted who read it." Courier. 
 
 _^f* Copies of either edition of any of the foregoing works will be sent 
 to any person, to any part of the United States, free of postage, on their 
 remitting the price of the ones they may wish, to the publisher, in a letter. 
 
 Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
- .-/^ 
 
 
 T II K 
 
 PLANTER'S DAUGHTER, 
 
 ialt of f juisisna. 
 
 "Beauty gives 
 
 The features perfect ness, and to the form 
 Its delicate proportions: she may stain 
 The eye with a celestial blue the cheek 
 With carmine of the sunset ; she may breathe 
 Grace into every motion, like the play 
 Of the least visible tissue of a cloud : 
 She may give alt that is within her own 
 Bright cestus and one glance of intellect, 
 Like stronger magic, will outshine it aJL"WtU1a. 
 
 T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by 
 T. B. PETEHSON & BKOTHEKS, 
 
 111 the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
<to 
 
 IUs. $o S. S Up fet 
 
 C^c /cllotoing pages 
 instribeb foitj] ^ffectrouaie 
 
 M17343! 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE autumn sun lay on the long stretches of level green- 
 sward, possessing a beauty of its own which the dwellers 
 among mountain scenery will scarcely be willing to concede ; 
 yet if one of these had seen the vivid green of the earth, the 
 varied hues of the foliage, together with the lucid southern 
 atmosphere filled with the golden haze of a brilliant sunset, 
 the beholder must have admitted that the great Father of all 
 has not forgotten to shower beauties peculiar to each portion 
 of his wide-spread domain. 
 
 Fields of luxurious cane stretched away as far as the eye 
 could reach. The sugar-house, built of brick, and looking 
 like a huge castle, stood far back from the river, while the 
 planter's dwelling was placed directly in front of a sweeping 
 bend in the mighty Father of Waters, but sufficiently distant 
 to afford a wide road between the lawn that lay in front of it, 
 and the verdant levee w r hich here rose to the height of thirty 
 feet above the land around it, and also a wide lawn, on which 
 groups of the beautiful water oak made a pleasant shade. 
 
 One of these trees was a patriarch among its kind, and 
 centuries must have elapsed since it first grew, a tiny bud, 
 from the fruitful soil which gave to it such luxuriant develop- 
 ment. Three immense stems sprang from a single root, and 
 

 8 THE PLANTERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 were twisted curiously together, as if a child in sport had 
 twined the tender saplings in their infancy, and they had 
 taken the form thus given them. Each shoot had now grown 
 into an immense tree of itself, and spreading out laterally, 
 cast its protecting shadow over a space which would have 
 measured more than half an acre in extent. Many of the 
 limbs curved upward, and in several of the most romantic 
 situations, seats had been placed which were easily reached 
 .from the ground, even by one unaccustomed to climbing. 
 
 This tree stood at the end of an old-fashioned French house, 
 two stories high, with a pointed roof in the centre, from which 
 rose a stack of chimnies. A wing of more modern construc- 
 tion had been added on each side, rendering the mansion 
 large and convenient, though externally by no means a model 
 of architectural elegance. Wide galleries, supported by mass- 
 ive pillars, surrounded it, and there was an air of substantial 
 comfort about it, which seemed to indicate the character of 
 its hospitality. 
 
 On the side opposite the patriarchal tree, was an inclosure, 
 of considerable size, filled with fine shrubbery, and many 
 beautiful flowers yet bloomed there. 
 
 Surely this should be the home of contentment, peace, and 
 love. Its fair outward seeming should be but a type of its 
 inward loveliness. It is difficult to look on a beautifully em- 
 bellished home, and not believe it to be tenanted by spirits at 
 peace with themselves, and contented with the lot awarded 
 them on earth. 
 
 Yet such is unhappily far from always being the case : the 
 curse of our fallen nature, discontent, comes everywhere ; and 
 
is oftenest found among those who toil not for their daily/ 
 bread. The same feeling which caused Alexander to weep v 
 that there were no more worlds to lavish his superabundant 
 energies in conquering, often causes his humbler brother, 
 amid the quiet abundance of a lot which seems stripped of 
 every care, to repine for the excitement of which his nature 
 feels the need, and he will often seek it in sources ruinous 
 alike to health and fortune. 
 
 The windows facing the front gallery all opened to the 
 floor, and as the evening sun declined toward the horizon, the 
 green blinds protecting one of these were unclosed, and the 
 master of the mansion, a healthy, florid man of fifty, stepped 
 from it. Jt is a frank, handsome face, on which the evening 
 light glances, yet in the dark blue eye, and the closing of the 
 well cut lips, a daring spirit, and a strong will, are legibly 
 impressed. 
 
 Life had evidently gone well with Mr. Harrington, though 
 one bitter sorrow had prematurely whitened the hair, which, 
 at fifty, lay in silver waves above his brow, scarcely threaded 
 by a line of black ; yet his cheek glowed with health, and the 
 bland expression of his inouth when engaged in conversation, 
 proved that ill-temper and repining claimed no share in 
 bleaching the dark locks, amid which the fingers of her he 
 Lad loved as man seldom loves, had so often strayed. 
 
 They, alas ! were dust, and a few weeks of suffering from 
 this great bereavement, sufficed to silver the hair over which 
 but thirty summers had then shone. Since that great anguish, . 
 a wide gulf of twenty years had grown up, but as it regarded 
 the memory of his lost Adele, it was to him as a single day. 
 
 1* 
 
10 
 
 The bitterness of early bereavement was gone, but in his deep 
 heart he cherished the beloved image, and daily she stood be- 
 fore his imagination in all the young beauty which had been 
 so soon snatched from him. 
 
 r 
 
 No other woman had ever touched his heart, and no step- 
 mother came to his home to rule over his children. A son 
 and two daughters had grown to maturity beneath the indul- 
 gent care of their father, and the almost maternal love of his 
 only sister, a maiden lady but few years younger than Mr. 
 Harrington himself. 
 
 The practical good sense, and even temper of Miss Ger- 
 trude Harrington, had enabled her to supply the place of the 
 mother they had lost, and the children grew beneath her fos- 
 tering care, without cause to feel a regret for the parent who 
 had been taken from them before they were old enough to 
 feel the calamity. 
 
 The son, Victor, was now a young man of twenty-three, 
 and the twin daughters had just completed their twentieth 
 year quite a mature age for unmarried ladies in Louisiana ; 
 but Miss Harrington had impressed her own ideas on the 
 subject of marriage on her nieces, and they both seemed de- 
 cidedly of the opinion that unless they were irrevocably in 
 love, they had better remain in their happy home, the dar- 
 lings of their beloved father, and their adopted mother. 
 
 As the twins were fastidious, and much more highly culti- 
 vated than is common among their sex in their native State, 
 they were not likely to rush into matrimony from the vulgar 
 fear that the epithet of old maid might be applied to them. 
 They loved and valued one of that class, and after all, there 
 
11 
 
 was nothing so terrible in living as Aunt Gertrude had lived. 
 She was happy, and useful, and made a noble use of the great 
 boon of life; why then should they deprecate the fate which 
 she had preferred to a wretched lot with the lost and unhappy 
 being it had been her misfortune to love in her girlhood ; for 
 the fair and placid Miss Harrington had loved with a truth and 
 fervor of which half the wedded dames are utterly incapable. 
 
 The memory of this love kept her single many years; 
 then the death of her brother's wife, and the helplessness of 
 the infant children thus bereaved, gave her a home and 
 a position she was peculiarly qualified to fill. During all 
 these long years, suitors had not been wanting, for she was 
 still fair and attractive, but none of them came so near her 
 heart as the little beings who clung to her with the fondest 
 affection, and their suit was accordingly denied. 
 
 As Mr. Harrington shaded his eyes with his hands, and 
 looked out upon the long sweep of gleaming water, as if in 
 expectation of the appearance of a boat on its smooth surface, 
 another window quietly opened, and from it came forth a 
 stately matronly figure rather above the medium height, clad 
 in a dark gray silk made to cover the throat and the arms 
 down to the slender and well formed hands. A small em- 
 broidered collar fastened with a cameo pin, and a cap of fine 
 lace, very becomingly arranged, completed her costume. 
 
 Dark silky-looking hair lay in smooth bands above a broad 
 and lineless brow, on which candor and sincerity were 
 stamped. Her eyes, like those of her brother, were of a deep 
 violet blue, but they often assumed a darker hue in moments 
 of excited feeling ; there was good humor and benevolence in 
 
12 
 
 their genial sparkle, and upon the well-shaped mouth, the 
 same characteristics were impressed. It was a face one could 
 trust, for the least observant intuitively felt that neither de- 
 ceit nor guile were concealed beneath that attractive smile 
 and winning address. 
 
 She approached Mr. Harrington, and placed her hand upon 
 his shoulder, before he was aware of her presence. 
 
 "For whom are you watching with such keen interest, 
 brother?" asked a clear, sweet-toned voice. "Three times 
 within the last hour, I have seen you scan the river, as if in 
 eager expectation of an arrival." 
 
 Mr. Harrington seemed slightly annoyed at this inquiry, 
 but he replied with great good humor, 
 
 "Why, Gertrude, it is packet-day, and I am expecting 
 quite a supply of comestibles for our birth-day party." 
 
 "You are not usually so anxious about such things, 
 brother, as to become restless for the arrival of the packet. 
 Is that all you are expecting?" asked the lady, raising her 
 penetrating eyes to his face. 
 
 " Pooh ! why should you question one so ? Who or what 
 should I expect, pray ?" 
 
 " A letter from that daring speculator, Mr. Malcolm, or per- 
 haps his own visible presence," she quietly replied. 
 
 Mr. Harrington started, and his face flushed, but before he 
 could reply, his sister went on with a persuasive earnestness 
 of manner which should have produced a greater effect: 
 /"^ Brother, beware of that man. He tempts you to what 
 may end in ruin, instead of increasing your present posses- 
 sions. He is reckless, and, I am afraid, unprincipled. As a 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 13 
 
 capitalist, he probably seeks you ; but after he has fairly ob- 
 tained the control of your means, I am sadly afraid he may be 
 unscrupulous in the use pf them. Under any circumstances, 
 they will be used to his own advantage, whatever the result 
 may be to you." 
 
 " I have heard you patiently, Gertrude, because I generally 
 have great respect for your judgment ; but in this matter I 
 hold my own to be superior to it. You speak very harshly 
 of a most honorable gentleman. Every security has been of- 
 fered me by Malcolm, that the most exacting could demand. 
 I am quite satisfied of his power to fulfill every pledge he has 
 given." 
 
 "Yet why, my dear Charles, should you at your age 
 plunge into speculations that must unsettle your quiet life, 
 and render you a victim to constant fears as to the result? 
 You were, in your early manhood, so fortunate as to accumu- 
 late wealth : why then will you disturb your declining years 
 with such uncertain things as speculations 2" 
 
 " It is true, Gertrude, I was fortunate in my youth, and by 
 my own energy and daring gained what I now possess. It is 
 a good fortune for one man, but an indifferent portion when 
 divided among five." 
 
 " Wherefore shall it be thus divided 3" 
 
 " How can you ask such a question ? My son is now old 
 enough to desire -an establishment of his own ; and his ap- 
 proaching uni<5a with his. cousin renders it desirable that I 
 should give him a plantation. This I can not at present af- 
 ford, for I can not bear the thought of aba'iug my usual 
 style of hospitality, and my whole income barely suffices to 
 
14 
 
 maintain it. My daughters will marry ; whence shall come 
 portions for them suited to the style in which they have been 
 reared, if I do not enter the arena anew ? My pride is greatly 
 concerned in all this, and I am willing to risk something for 
 their future good." 
 
 " Ah, poor and false pride !" murmured Miss Harrington. 
 " I trust in God it may not be too severely punished." She 
 then asked, 
 
 " If your income is annually spent, how is the money for 
 the proposed speculations to be raised ?" 
 
 " 0, that is easy enough to a man possessed of my property. 
 There is absolutely no risk of failure, and I shall raise what I 
 need by mortgaging my crops for a few years to come. Do 
 not annoy me with your croaking, Gertrude, for I have gone 
 too far to recede, and to tell you the truth, I am expecting 
 Malcolm on the packet this evening." 
 
 "I feared as much," replied Miss Harrington, sighing 
 deeply. "Since it is too late for remonstrance, brother, I 
 will refrain from it ; but do you know that this Mr. Malcolm 
 aspires to the hand of one of your daughters?" 
 
 An emotion of displeased surprise gleamed athwart the 
 features of Mr. Harrington, but it was immediately checked, 
 and, after a brief pause, he replied : 
 
 "It is well. I have pronounced him an honorable man, 
 and I truly believe him to be such. If my child accepts his 
 suit, I shall not cross her wishes." 
 
 '* If Adele is as easily won over as you are, I suppose we 
 may have a bridal before long," said Miss Harrington, 
 coldly. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 15 
 
 " Adelc ; no, no 1" exclaimed the father, almost passion- 
 ately. " I thought he most admired Pauline. Adele is my 
 own, own darling. Malcolm is fond of travel ; he would sel- 
 dom remain stationary, and his wife must be the companion 
 of his wanderings. I could struggle with my own regrets, 
 and bear to be parted from the child that most resembles 
 myself; but Adele no, no, she is like the angel in heaven ; 
 her voice speaks to me in the music that charmed my youth. 
 O, I can never suffer Adele to leave me. Her husband must : 
 be to me in all respects as a son. Malcolm must look else- \ 
 where for a bride." 
 
 " Then beware how you place yourself in his power," was 
 the impressive response. " He will use it ungenerously, even 
 if his principles should prove sound. But there is the boat, 
 and I will no longer trouble you with my doubts and fears." 
 
 Where the glowing sunset was mirrored in the rippling 
 water, a dark object, puffing forth dense volumes of black 
 smoke, and gallantly breasting the current, was seen ap- 
 proaching, and soon the deep boom of the escape-pipe rang 
 through the air its shrill warning of the approach of a fine 
 steamer. 
 
 As she came up to the landing, which was not more than 
 thirty yards above the mansion, her guards were crowded 
 with passengers, and among them was one conspicuous from 
 his commanding height, standing on the bow, waving a hand- 
 kerchief to the group on the piazza, now increased by the ap- 
 pearance of the daughters of the house, who are of too much 
 importance to our story to be introduced at the end of a 
 chapter. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ENTIRELY unlike were the twin sisters. Pauline was tall, 
 fair, and blue-eyed, with a profusion of soft brown hair worn 
 in plain bands above her well-formed brow. Alone, she would 
 perhaps have been pronounced handsome by many, for there 
 was much to attract in the sweet expression of her face, and 
 the winning grace of her manner. But brought perpetually 
 in contrast with her sister, few thought of her except as a 
 clever and rather good-looking girl. 
 
 Adele was one of those rare women who are invested at 
 their birth with the cestus of Venus, and to the last hour of 
 a lengthened life must still be attractive : she was piquant, 
 graceful, elegant, and always fascinating. Her form was so 
 perfectly proportioned, that no awkward movement could 
 mar its attractiveness, and her features were of equal sym- 
 metry. Large, dark, glancing eyes, exquisite in their shape 
 and expression, were vailed by lashes of the raven hue of her 
 tresses, which had often aroused the poetic fervor of her ad- 
 mirers, and no wonder, for they were beautiful in texture, 
 and of such length and abundance, that it required much 
 skill to coil them around the gracefully-molded head, so as 
 not to spoil its fair proportions. When let down, this magni- 
 ficent cbevelure reached the floor as she stood, and lay in 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 17 
 
 rings around her feet. Hands and arms of sculptured beauty ) 
 completed the picture, and no poet could have dreamed of a/ 
 fairer ideal than the living, breathing form of Adele Harring-l 
 ton. 
 
 It is very rare to see a perfectly beautiful woman, but she 
 was undoubtedly that rara avis ; and the fame of her charms 
 was widely spread. During an extensive northern tour, she 
 had reigned the undisputed belle wherever she appeared ; and 
 many were the suitors who came to her home, seeking to 
 touch the heart which never yet had felt the bewildering 
 power of love. 
 
 Adele knew that she was beautiful ; but so judicious was 
 the training she had received, that she also knew she must 
 be much more than that, if she wished to retain her hold on 
 the heart her loveliness impressed. The sisters were conscien- 
 tious, truthful, and God-fearing beings, and withal deeply at- 
 tached to each other. Pauline, as much fascinated by her 
 sister's attractions as any who approached her, felt no con- 
 cealed jealousy of that peerless loveliness which so completely 
 eclipsed her humbler charms, and Adele returned her affec- 
 tion with a truth and sincerity which proved that adulation 
 had not weakened the native warmth of her feelings, nor 
 rendered her insensible to the hallowed tenderness of home 
 affections; that holy. halo which encircled her life, and gave 
 the brightest sunshine she had yet known to the thornless 
 path she had heretofore walked in. 
 
 The sisters were dressed alike in delicately -tinted silk, 
 trimmed at the throat and wrists with fine lace ; a knot of 
 gay ribbon, on which glittered a magnificent diamond pin, 
 
18 
 
 was worn upon the breast ; and a ring of corresponding ele- 
 gance adorned each fair hand. A chain so fine as to seem 
 like a thread of gold, supported a small enameled watch at 
 one side. 
 
 Mr. Harrington was proud of his fair daughters, and he 
 liked to see them always elegantly attired. The finest Paris- 
 ian robes were ordered for them, from the most tasteful milli- 
 ners in that emporium of fashion, and no expense was spared 
 in gratifying the most fastidious fancy either one might have. 
 Their father's liberality was boundless, for he had accumu- 
 lated wealth so easily, that he dispensed it with a lavish 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Harrington had emigrated from Virginia in his youth, 
 when fortunes were more easily won in the south-west than 
 now. A fortunate investment of his small capital afforded 
 him the means of speculating in land at a period of great 
 depression, when he felt assured that the pressure must soon 
 be removed. His convictions proved correct, and a rapid 
 fortune was accumulated. He purchased the plantation on 
 which he then resided ; married the daughter of a French 
 gentleman in the vicinity, of whom he had become violently 
 enamored, regardless that her only dower was her great 
 beauty, and a gentleness of temper which rendered her inex- 
 pressibly dear to him. 
 
 Then commenced a style of princely hospitality, such as 
 has ruined nearly all the old families in his native State. To 
 do him justice, Mr. Harrington endeavored to keep within the 
 bounds of his income ; but few men of lavish habits of ex- 
 penditure can easily do this, and he least of all. He was an 
 
19 
 
 indulgent and considerate master, and often his crops fell 
 short, though little sickness or mortality was ever found on 
 the Wavertree plantation. 
 
 From year to year these deficiencies increased, while the 
 sanguine spirit of the ease-loving owner induced him to hope 
 that a rise in sugar, or some other lucky chance, would ena- 
 ble him to clear himself of the debt which had thus gradually 
 accumulated. Mr. Harrington gave himself little real con- 
 cern about it, for he was not of a disposition to anticipate 
 trouble, and but one calamity had ever possessed the power 
 to cast a shade over his hitherto fortunate destiny. The 
 death of his adored wife in the fifth year of their union, 
 caused him for a season to give up society ; but the arrival of 
 his sister to preside over his household, seemed to arouse his 
 love of social life. 
 
 Again he assembled his friends around him, and year after 
 year glided away in the same round of hospitality, until his 
 children were of an age to settle in life. Then, he felt many 
 emotions of regret that he had not set aside a certain portion 
 of his annual income to accumulate for them ; but these 
 regrets were speedily chased away by the recollection of his 
 early good fortune. He would again undertake the same 
 game, on a larger scale, and with gains proportionately in- 
 creased, be able to provide magnificently for those dependent 
 upon him. 
 
 At this crisis, Mr. Harrington encountered a man who 
 seemed to him to be sont to him by an especial interposition 
 of Providence. 
 
 Mr. Malcolm was an acute man of business ; practical, keen- 
 
20 
 
 sighted, and an accurate reader of character. He was the 
 reputed possessor of wealth accumulated by his own skill and 
 energy, and withal he possessed the polished ease and address 
 of an educated man. 
 
 With rare command of language, Malcolm communicated 
 his plans to his eager listener, and impressed him with the 
 firm conviction that the speculations undertaken by him, must 
 be successful. He revealed just enough of his proposed enter- 
 prises to arouse the desire for gain in the mind of Mr. Ilar- 
 nngton, and impress him with a belief in his vast resources, 
 both of intellect and means ; and then left the poison to work 
 its legitimate result. 
 
 As he had foreseen,~that gentleman was soon joined with 
 him in operations which required all the credit both could 
 command ; but this was only the first step in the subtle game 
 which Malcolm was playing. A gambler on a magnificent 
 scale he certainly was, and human hopes and fears were the 
 v counters in the game : under his dexterous management, for- 
 tunes changed hands with magical rapidity, but what mat- 
 tered it to him if homes were desecrated, hearts broken, if 
 his own ends were gained ? 
 
 Ruthless as Fate, polished as adamant, and as impassive, 
 was the man into whose power the ease-loving and honorable 
 ! Mr. Harrington had fallen. 
 
 But it is time we should describe him, as it was Malcolm 
 himself who stood on the bow of the steamer, and wafted his 
 salutation to the fair sisters. But few moments elapsed be- 
 fore he stood beside them, greeting the group with a degree 
 of animated cordiality which rendered him a great favorite 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 21 
 
 with all of the household except Miss Harrington. Her pen- 
 etration had fathomed the hollowness of that graceful manner, ! 
 and she felt an intuitive^ consciousness that he was yet to be-/ 
 come the agent of evil to their happy family. 
 
 Malcolm was a handsome man, with a singular and pleas- 
 ing blending of the traits of a Scotch father and Spanish 
 mother. His hair was of a pale golden brown, with eyes of a 
 deep hazel, shaded by brows and lashes so dark as to seem 
 black in a doubtful light. The expressive beauty of his well- 
 cut profile was somewhat marred by the high cheek-bones he 
 had inherited from his paternal race, but his smile was serene 
 and captivating, and he could throw an expression of softness 
 in his darkly beautiful eyes which had beguiled the trusting- 
 heart of many a romantic maiden into the belief that he cher- i 
 ished for her a tenderer sentiment than he had ever been ' 
 guilty of toward any human being, save himself. 
 
 His voice was peculiarly winning in its tones, and he was 
 an admirable amateur singer. Every gift had not been lav- 
 ished on Adele ; her sister was the sweet songstress of Wav- 
 ertree, and the mutual fondness for music which Pauline and 
 his guest betrayed, had naturally misled Mr. Harrington as to 
 which sister he preferred. 
 
 After conversing a few moments with happy animation, 
 Malcolm turned to Pauline and said, 
 
 "I have brought you some fine music, Miss Harrington, 
 which I think will suit your voice well. I have heard the 
 new prima donna in it in a rehearsal, and although she 
 comes with a great reputation, I scarcely think her voice so 
 fine as yours." 
 
22 
 
 "Thank you for both the music, and the compliment," 
 said Pauline with a smile, and he turned toward Adele, with 
 a look which seemed to read her soul as he said, " To you 
 mademoiselle, I venture to offer these beautiful flowers, as the 
 only worthy oblation at your shrine." 
 
 She indolently extended her hand, and with a slight incli- 
 nation of the head received the bouquet, to which every public 
 garden in the vicinity of New Orleans had contributed its 
 rarest flowers. Could she have known at what cost of time 
 and patience it had been procured, how jealously it had been 
 guarded in its transit from the city, she might perhaps have 
 prized it more ; but after daintily plucking a few petals from 
 a delicately-tinted rose which formed the centre, Adele called 
 a servant-girl from the yard below, and transferred the flowers 
 to her care, with injunctions to place them in a vase of water 
 immediately. 
 
 The scornful lip of Malcolm slightly curled, and the flash 
 of his eye betokened inward wrath, but he spoke as calmly as 
 though no disappointed feeling rankled in his heart. 
 
 Mr. Harrington inquired the latest news from the city. 
 
 ** There is nothing new, I believe," he replied ; " all alarm 
 from fever has passed away, but the citizens have as yet 
 scarcely had time to arouse themselves from the paralyzing 
 influence of the heat cf summer. I brought with me the 
 daily papers which are at your service. From them you will 
 find that sugar has advanced, and is likely to remain firm." 
 
 " Good so much the better for the agricultural interests," 
 said Mr. Harrington, as he drew forth his spectacles, and was 
 soon deeply absorbed in the news of the day, while Malcolm 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 turned to Pauline, and together they entered the parlor to try 
 some of the songs he had brought with him. Soon a blended 
 strain of rare melody was wailed from, the open windows, and 
 Adele smiled as her heart whispered, " he will like Pauline 
 best, if I show him how cold I am to all his advances ; she 
 never before appeared so much pleased with any stranger. 
 He seems good and noble my father would like the match, I 
 think, and I shall not permit a useless preference for me to 
 stand in the way of Pauline's happiness. Oh! poor and 
 perishing beauty, why should you attract so -many, when my 
 sister is so much better worth winning than I ?" 
 
 And thereupon Adele fell into a reverie on a story she had 
 just finished reading, in which mental beauty was held up as 
 the most desirable of all possessions, and she came to the sage 
 
 7 O 
 
 conclusion that such was not the decision of the world in 
 which she lived. 
 
 Miss Harrington went below stairs to superintend the 
 storing of the various articles ordered from New Orleans for 
 the approaching birth-day fete of the only son. The boat 
 departed on her way, and a group approached the house, con- 
 sisting of that young gentleman, accompanied by several 
 guests who were staying at Wavertree, for the mansion was 
 rarely destitute of company. As they are of little importance 
 to our story, we need describe none of them except Victor 
 Harrington. 
 
 Nearly as beautiful as his sister, Adele, he was too effemi- 
 nate in appearance to be considered a handsome man ; vain 
 and self-conceited, he considered himself the " glass of fashion 
 and the mould of form," and the exquisite style of his toilette, 
 
24 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 proclaimed him at once a dandy of the highest pretensions in 
 that line. 
 
 Victor lightly ascended the flight of steps leading to the 
 upper gallery, and approaching Adele with a little more 
 animation than he usually condescended to manifest, he held 
 out a letter and drawled 
 
 "Malcolm brought this. I must say that Louise seems 
 more than sufficiently charmed with him ; I can't see what 
 there is about the creature to attract you women so much. 
 His dress is decidedly out of ton." 
 
 Adele laughed. It was a sweet, musical laugh, which the 
 most fastidious would not have been shocked to hear issue 
 from those lovely lips. 
 
 " That is what your sex invariably say of an associate who 
 happens to be particularly popular with ours ; vanity and envy 
 confined to women, indeed ! No greater slander was ever ut- 
 tered, as I could prove to you, brother of mine, if I had time, 
 or thought it would produce any good result. I will, however, 
 point out one of Mr. Malcolm's good qualities : he is manly, 
 and does not choose to imitate the affectations of the feminine 
 race, as do some I could name ; but I will not be ill-natured. 
 Give me the letter of Louise ; I am impatient to learn when 
 she will join us." 
 
 " Oh, in time for the ball ; she will be sure not to miss 
 that," replied Victor, in a moody tone. " I suspect Louise 
 would have hurried her motions if she had known a little 
 sooner that Malcolm would come to-day, and remain a 
 week." 
 
 " For shame, brother ! Why should you judge Louise so 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 25 
 
 harshly ? There is nothing in this letter but the nonsense 
 of a very young girl, elated at the prospect of her first ball." 
 
 She glanced over the sheet of rose-colored paper she held, 
 profusely ornamented with Cupids wreathed in flowers, and 
 highly perfumed. It was addressed to herself, although Vic- 
 tor, in his impatience to hear from the writer, had taken the 
 liberty of opening it. The missive which had produced such 
 unpleasant feelings in his mind contained these words : 
 
 " DEAR Coz : 
 
 " Mr. Malcolm came himself with your despatch. I was 
 charmed to make his acquaintance, for I think him a most 
 delightful person. So handsome so distingue the last a 
 most uncommon merit among my countrymen. I wonder if 
 my baby face made any impression on him ; yet how could 
 I hope such a thing, when he has seen and knows you. N^im- 
 porte I mean to be a belle (if ma will give me time before 
 she marries me off), and who knows but this same magnificent ! 
 Celtic Spanish man may eventually be one of my conquests ? 
 
 " I was dying to come up this week to Wavertree, but that 
 odious Mademoiselle F. did not finish my ball dress in time, and 
 I could not think of leaving without that. It would be Venus 
 without her girdle, for I intend to do great execution in this 
 same dress. I learn that your fete is to be quite a fairy 
 scene you will be the Armida, Pauline the Minerva of the 
 evening, and I will content myself with being as happy as 
 a queen ought to be, though I am afraid they are not often 
 really so. 
 
 " Tell Victor I have not forgotten my engagement to dance 
 2 
 
26 
 
 the first Polka with him ; I have been taking some new steps 
 which are very graceful ; I will teach them to him, and we 
 will practice together for our grand exhibition. After all, 
 Victor is the very best dancer I know, and shows one off to 
 such advantage when one really can dance. 
 
 " There is a poor wandering minstrel playing on a violin 
 in the street, nearly opposite my window, and my feet will 
 scarcely keep still, so impatient are they to tread the mazy 
 round at a real ball. 
 
 "I am sixteen to-morrow, and ma has at last consented 
 that I shall make my debut. I wonder if my heart will al- 
 ways be as joyful as it is now. Good-by, sweet coz, and be- 
 lieve, feather-brain as I am, that I love you always. 
 
 " LOUISE RUSKIN. 
 
 " P. S. Present me to Aunt Gertrude, uncle, and Pauline, 
 and look for me on the next packet. I send no remembrance 
 to Victor, because on an occasion of such importance, I think 
 he might have come down for the purpose of escorting me to 
 Wavertree. I forgot to say that ma will accompany me, 
 though that is a matter of course ; only it would not be cour- 
 teous to omit all mention of my respected maternity in this 
 hair-brained epistle. L. R." 
 
 Adele read the letter through with much amusement, and 
 then offered it to her brother. 
 
 " I really can see nothing offensive to you in that girlish 
 nonsense, Victor. You expect too much of Louise, and I 
 warn you she has no idea of romantic constancy to one object 
 just now. If you really wish Louise to be happy as your 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 27 
 
 wife, you must let her enjoy her first youth, and allow time 
 for the effervescence of a very joyous spirit to subside into the 
 steadiness required in one who assumes the cares of married , 
 life." 
 
 " Cares of married life, indeed !" repeated Victor, mock- 
 ingly. " When will Aunt Gertrude speak again through your 
 lips, I wonder. As if I wish Louise to be dull and stupid 
 in short, otherwise than she now is, in order to become my 
 wife. No, I love the very mad-cap spirit that rules her, and 
 I would not exchange her for the best pattern girl I know ; 
 not even one fashioned by our good aunt herself. She makes 
 girls too sensible by half, as was proved by your last speech." 
 
 He sauntered into the house, carefully folding the letter 
 with which he had been so greatly displeased, and it was soon 
 placed among his choicest possessions. Adele smiled as she 
 looked after him, and she thought, 
 
 " After all, Victor has genuine feeling left, in spite of his af- 
 fectation and nonsense. Yet my giddy little Louise will never 
 elevate him above his present standard. Why could he not 
 have chosen differently ? There are women in the world who 
 might have made Victor quite a different being from his 
 present self. Yet would those women have loved him, or he 
 them ? Ah, my own heart answers no. Like will seek its 
 like, and he has made as good a selection as the nature of 
 things permitted. There are such things as the * heart's own 
 country people,' I well know. I wonder if I shall ever find 
 one even half equal to my ideal. Ah, that entrancing 
 melody ! One more look at the setting sun, and I must go 
 in and join them." 
 
28 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The young girl drew near her father, and placed her hand 
 in his, as he too turned his chair toward the declining lumin- 
 ary which cast a golden haze over the whole horizon. No 
 clouds vailed its splendor, and the vapor hovering near the 
 earth reflected only the yellow rays in a golden glory over 
 the landscape. No chilling blast of winter had yet breathed 
 over its loveliness, though the foliage had begun to assume 
 the changeful hues of autumn, imparting a variety doubly 
 welcome, after the unbroken verdure of summer. 
 
 The land on the opposite side of the river was hilly and 
 uncultivated, and the deep forest stretched down to the 
 water's edge. 
 
 Mr. Harrington fondly clasped the hand which was placed 
 in his own, and passing his arm around the slender form of 
 his daughter, drew her close beside him. He spoke with ten- 
 der melancholy vibrating in the tones of his voice : 
 
 " Ah, my child, this carries me back to other times, and I 
 could almost fancy the past twenty years a fantasy, and my 
 own lost one standing beside me as in the days of yore. 
 Promise me one thing, Adele : that you will never leave me 
 while I live ; that I shall feel the clasp of your soft fingers in 
 my dying hour." 
 
 " Dearest father, why exact such a promise ? Do I not 
 love you best of all on earth ? Who but your own darling 
 should be beside you in that solemn hour ? Yet speak not of 
 it, for it saddens my heart to allude to so mournful an event, 
 however distant it may be." 
 
 " Yet we must all die, my child ; and sometimes I fancy 
 the summons for me may not be so far off. But you evade 
 
29 
 
 my request, Adele. My sister's surmise can not be correct, 
 and your heart be favorably inclined toward this new ac- 
 quaintance. You would not leave your father's hearth deso- 
 late, to carry joy into the home of Malcolm ?" 
 
 Adele answered gravely, 
 
 " I would not ; for I have never felt the slightest emotion 
 of preference for him." 
 
 u Right, right, my bonny bird ! yet Malcolm would be a 
 brilliant match in the opinion of the world. If he and 
 Pauline should like each other, it would be well ; but you, 
 my precious Adele, must never leave me. The light of 
 that day in in which I could not behold you, would be 
 odious to me." 
 
 " Hush, hush, dear father. Place me not so far above the 
 others in your affections so far above my deserts." 
 
 " God knows I love them all dearly, but he also knows that 
 he gave you your mother's form, to keep my heart from 
 utterly breaking in that deep sea of anguish which so long 
 flooded my soul. But the lamps are lighted in the parlors ; 
 let us go in and join the party there." 
 
 And thus in social excitement, shaking off the creeping 
 shadows which often come over the heart in twilight, even as 
 the earth darkens with the departure of the sun, Mr. Harring- 
 ton, in the gorgeously-furnished, and brilliantly-lighted sa- 
 loon, soon cast aside all sadness, and joined in the mirthful 
 converse as easily, and apparently with as much enjoyment, 
 as the most youthful of the group. His was a genial temper- 
 ament, and to see others happy around him, reflected at least 
 the light of contentment on his own bosom. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AFTER tea was served, Miss Harrington joined the party, 
 and played chess with one of the elder guests. Pauline 
 seemed to be the guiding spirit among the more youthful por- 
 tion of the company, and Adele, sought after and flattered as 
 she was, always deferred to her. It was charming to behold 
 the perfect union which subsisted between the two sisters, 
 and the unobtrusive efforts of the more attractive one, to 
 bring forward and show the best points of the other. 
 
 Pauline was an admirable hostess, for she seemed intui- 
 tively to know what would best suit each individual of the 
 company, and she had a graceful way of saying pleasant 
 things which rendered her charming to all who were not in- 
 toxicated by the beauty of her sister. 
 
 In the course of the evening, several young planters from 
 the neighborhood joined the circle, and those among the 
 guests who chose to do so, found amusement in different 
 games, at which, however, nothing was staked. The young 
 hostesses never played themselves, as they were too fully 
 occupied in conversing with the different guests. 
 
 Malcolm watched Pauline, and he admired the tact with 
 which she provided each one with the amusement best suited 
 to his capacity. He mused on the contrast between the two 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 sisters, and as lie followed the movements of the elder, 
 bis eye caught hers, and she smiled with an expression that 
 thrilled his heart with an emotion quite unexpected to him- 
 self. 
 
 " By heaven !" he thought, " this girl might have made an 
 impression upon me it would have been hard to erase, if I 
 had only met her away from that bewildering creature, her 
 sister. She is as cold to me as an icicle, yet one glance upon 
 her peerless loveliness makes me her slave. I can now see 
 some sense in the Eastern law which renders it criminal for 
 a woman to unvail her face to any man save her husband. 
 Were Adele my wife, I should be jealous of every eye that 
 beheld her charms. I know that she can never render me 
 half as happy as the less attractive sister, yet from the mo- 
 ment I first beheld her, a species of frenzy has possessed me. 
 I know she does not, that she never will love me, but I must 
 and will call her mine, either with her own consent, or if 
 needs be, even without it. Already is the ground-work laid 
 of that plan which must place all she loves at my mercy. 
 Mercy ! I have none. From my father I derived my cold, 
 clear intellect, which intercourse with the world has only 
 sharpened ; from my mother the passionate nature of her 
 southern race ; but neither gave ' me one impulse of compas- 
 sion toward the rest of my kind. My Jesuitical preceptor 
 completed the release of my mind from such vulgar preju- 
 dices as sway common men. He also taught me to assume 
 any phase of character which would give me influence with 
 the associate of the moment, and for this I owe him thanks. 
 
 By its power I sway others, and mould them to my will." 
 3 
 
32 
 
 He cast a serene, triumphant glance around the room, 
 taking in every person it contained, and finally resting on 
 the bland countenance of Mr. Harrington. 
 
 " Unsuspicious good soul ! How like wax he is in my 
 hands. How little he dreams of my plans while he hugs 
 himself in the delusion that he is about to increase his 
 fortune by thousands. Fool ! why could he not rest con- 
 tent with what he already possessed? It would be quite 
 sufficient to satisfy any man but one who wishes to live en 
 prince." 
 
 At that instant Adele glided past him, and as she caught 
 a view of his features, the expression of sarcasm, mingled 
 with something like contemptuous compassion, caused her to 
 pause involuntarily to scan its meaning. The scornful irony 
 visible there must surely be directed toward some one pres- 
 ent, and she sought to follow the direction of his eyes. Be- 
 fore she had succeeded, Malcolm, by some species of electrical 
 sympathy which no one has yet been able to explain, became 
 conscious of her proximity. He turned toward her with a 
 smile so winning, that she marveled that the hard, cold face 
 she had recently scrutinized, could now look down upon her 
 with an expression that was almost fascinating. 
 
 "You must be a very Proteus, Mr. Malcolm," she said, with 
 a smile. " Just now I was likening you in my own mind to 
 Mephistopheles ; so sardonic was the expression with which 
 . you regarded our innocent pastimes, in which I am sorry 
 you are too self-absorbed to join. But now, your features 
 have entirely changed their character, and Alcibiades himself 
 could not have worn a more captivating smile." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 33 
 
 His face clouded at the first portion of her remarks, but 
 cleared up brilliantly as she concluded. He replied, 
 
 " It was certainly not grateful to my vanity to be compared 
 by you to Mephistopheles, the fiend, the tempter; but the 
 remainder of your speech compensates for that. Alcibiades 
 was the most elegant and admired man of his day. To be 
 likened to him in any manner, and by lips that must pro- 
 nounce my fate, is the most delicious of all flattery." 
 
 Adele did not blush as Malcolm had hoped, nor did she 
 betray any emotion at the covert declaration he had ventured 
 to make. He really felt doubtful whether she had heard it at 
 all, for she quietly said, 
 
 " Flattery between friends is a poor substitute for sincerity, 
 Mr. Malcolm. It is too vapid and common-place to produce 
 any other emotion than weariness. I came hither to make 
 an effort to draw you from your sombre reverie by propos- 
 ing to you to join my sister and myself in a duett which sev- 
 eral persons have expressed a wish to hear." 
 
 " Certainly ; a wish of Miss Pauline Harrington's has only 
 to be expressed to be obeyed by me." 
 
 "With graceful courtesy he offered his arm to conduct her 
 across the spacious apartment to a recess occupied by a fine- 
 toned piano. Adele tuned her harp in unison with it, Mal- 
 colm performed on the flute, and soon the cards and back- 
 gammon were deserted, and a charmed group gathered 
 around the performers. 
 
 Later in the evening, Victor exhibited an accomplishment 
 he possessed, to the great delight of the company. Gifted like 
 his elder sister with a fine musical ear, he could, by distorting 
 
34 
 
 his lips, and placing his fingers over them in a peculiar man- 
 ner, produced an accurate imitation of the finest-toned bugle ; 
 and he produced with precision the favorite airs of the most 
 celebrated bugle-players of that day. The performance was 
 carried on with his back to the company, for Victor was 
 much too vain of his beauty to distort his features in view of 
 others. 
 
 Malcolm was equally surprised and delighted with the 
 others, and as Victor turned smilingly and bowed in reply 
 to the compliments that greeted him, he said to the young 
 man, 
 
 " Should fortune ever frown on you, Mr. Harrington, and 
 you should be compelled to gain your own subsistence, you 
 possess a great resource. A theatrical manager would give 
 you your own terms to perform this before his audience." 
 
 Victor smiled proudly. 
 
 " In the event of such a crisis, I believe I should prefer 
 seeking employment in some more honorable calling." 
 
 " A man may render any calling honorable, by his manner 
 of conducting himself in it," replied Malcolm, coldly, as he 
 turned away, half offended at the self-sufficiency of the young 
 exquisite's manner. " Should loss of fortune compel you to 
 exert your own energies, this despised resource may be the 
 only one open to you." 
 
 " Malcolm has you there, Victor," said one of the young 
 men, "for I really believe that you excel in nothing else, 
 though you are generally admitted to be a very fascinating 
 young gentleman." 
 
 " You are mistaken," drawled Victor. " I am considered 
 
35 
 
 an unexceptionable dancer ; at least my cousin, Louise, thinks 
 so, and she is no mean proficient in the art herself. I believe 
 I should rather teach young, budding beauty to ' trip it on 
 the light, fantastic toe,' than to screw up my phiz nightly 
 for the benefit of a critical audience. After a while, my face 
 might take that set, you know, which would be duecedly un- 
 
 "Decidedly so. Ah, I have thought of a conundrum. 
 Why is Harrington's face like a flute?" and the speaker 
 looked around triumphantly. " Do you give it up ?" 
 
 " No," responded another youth, dryly. " I can tell that 
 myself. Because it has to be screwed up to get it in tune. 
 But should fortune frown, I am afraid it would require a 
 great deal of courage to screw it up to the tooting point, eh, 
 Victor ?" 
 
 All laughed at this sally, and the speaker bade them good- 
 evening, with the agreeable conviction that he had said some- 
 thing witty : 
 
 " A great bore is that young De Salle," muttered Victor. 
 " In his attempts to be witty he is only impertinent." He then 
 spoke aloud : 
 
 " Since I have told my future resource, should evil days 
 come on me, pray let me hear what the remainder of the 
 company would resort to. Since you are so kind as to make 
 a suggestion to me, Mr. Malcolm, I will begin with you." 
 
 Malcolm bowed slightly, and made a motion toward the 
 sisters. 
 
 " It is but courtesy to give tLe ladies precedence ; then I 
 will name my resource." 
 
36 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Very well. I begin with Aunt Gertrude. Speak frankly, 
 aunt, and tell us how you would maintain yourself 2" 
 
 After a moment of consideration, Miss Harrington said, 
 
 " In my girlhood, this question assumed a serious aspect to 
 me ; and I considered it in all its bearings. Then I con- 
 cluded that I was best fitted to train and instruct the young ; 
 and I believe I should still select that as my occupation." 
 
 " Well said, dear aunt," said Pauline, " for no choice could 
 have been so well suited to you. My turn comes next, I be- 
 lieve. Really, I have never thought on the subject before, and 
 I am a little puzzled to know what I am best fitted for I 
 possess but one talent an enthusiastic love for music : but 
 unfortunately I have a fineness of ear, that would render it 
 absolute torture to undertake to give ordinary instruction. 
 Unless I followed Mr. Malcolm's suggestion to Victor, and 
 appeared as a public singer, I believe I could find nothing to 
 suit me." 
 
 " You are right, Miss Pauline. Where a gift of such rare 
 perfection as yours has been bestowed, it seems a pity that it 
 should be buried beneath the sunshine of prosperity : it should 
 belong to the world." Thus spoke Malcolm, and Paulipe 
 blushed, and her eyes grew blighter as they met his. Again 
 their expression caused that indefinable thrill of emotion, and. 
 he asked himself, 
 
 " Can I really be attracted by both sisters ? The soul of 
 one responds to all that is good in mine, while the mere out- 
 ward beauty of the other, bewilders and enchants me. I am 
 in a singular position between the two : however, let time and 
 opportunity decide between them." 
 
37 
 
 And thus lightly deciding what was of such vital im- 
 portance to one at least, Malcolm turned and bowed lowly be- 
 fore Adele. 
 
 " I know not what you can choose, fair lady, for, like the 
 lilies of the field, you seem formed neither to 'toil nor to 
 spin.' " 
 
 "Yet their Maker forgetleth not their need," replied Adele, 
 promptly, " and he has not neglected to endow me with at 
 least one humble resource. I can embroider with such skill 
 as almost to rival the beauty of the flowers from which I 
 copy ; such work is always well remunerated, and although I 
 should not become famous like Pauline, I could lead a quiet 
 and respectable life, which would be better suited to my tem- 
 per than a more public one. Now, Mr. Malcolm, what is 
 your resource ? As the last one to speak, you have had more 
 time to reflect on the many paths open to a cultivated and 
 energetic man, and you have, doubtless, chosen well." 
 
 " Thank you, but I am afraid my choice will scarcely justify 
 your good opinion of my judgment. I would pursue any em- 
 ployment for which I am fitted until I had accumulated a few 
 hundred dollars, wherewith to speculate. That is an occupa- 
 tion which tasks every resource of an active mind. It is a 
 great game, in which fortune and honor are often staked ; 
 yet if successful at last, how splendid are the results." 
 
 As he spoke, his clear, brown cheek glowed, his eyes lighted 
 up, and his tall figure seemed to dilate with the exulting con- 
 sciousness of success in whatever he undertook. 
 
 The quiet, even tones of Miss Harrington were here heard. 
 
 " It seems to me only gambling on a very large scale, 
 
38 
 
 where ruiu is more complete, and wide-spread if the financier- 
 ing fails. I should be sorry to see one I love embark in so 
 perilous a game." 
 
 " Nonsense, Gertrude, what should women know about such 
 things ?" said Mr. Harrington, hastily. 
 
 " 'T is true, brother, that women know but little of the de- 
 tails, but results they are often compelled to feel most disas- 
 trously. But all our guests have not yet spoken," and she 
 turned courteously toward the others. 
 
 / / The most of them had not made up their minds on so 
 v \ intricate a subject as self dependence, and waived a reply. 
 Soon 'after, the party broke up, and the family retired. 
 
 Light gleamed from Malcolm's window until past mid- 
 night, and while the rest of the household slept he matured 
 plans likely to deprive many of them of rest for many a night 
 to come, lie then addressed the following letter to a con- 
 federate in the bold game he was -playing. 
 
 " DEAR LEVERING : 
 
 " You will see from the date of this, that I am again at 
 Wavertree. I shall soon have its magnificent owner com- 
 pletely in my power, for he is charmed by the plans I have 
 developed to him, and as you are aware, has already pledged 
 his credit to the utmost to sustain our enterprises. If they 
 fail, he is ruined and in that event, we must provide for 
 ourselves as well as we can. I believe they will be success- 
 ful, but who can foresee results ? It is necessary to my ul- 
 terior plans that Mr. H. shall be placed completely in my 
 power, and I have an especial bait for him, so suited to my 
 
39 
 
 purpose that I shall propose raising something more sub- 
 stantial than credit, to insure its success. Money must be 
 obtained, and Mr. H. is so liberal that I doubt not that he 
 will promptly and unsuspiciously meet the demand. 
 
 " It seems almost a pity to play upon the credulity of so 
 good a man, and I believe I should let him escape with only 
 a slight call on his resources, if money were the only thing 
 at stake. Keep clear of all acquaintance with this house- 
 hold, I warn you Levering, for in it is formed a circle from 
 whose charms there is no escape. Beautiful as the fairest 
 dream that poet-artist ever imagined ; fascinating by only a 
 single movement of her hand, or a glance of her eye, yet 
 seeking not to charm. Cold to all proffers of love, almost 
 disdainful to me, yet, I can not do otherwise than worship 
 this magical loveliness. While my eye rests upon Adele 
 Harrington, I feel that it would be possible to sacrifice truth, 
 honor, every thing save life itself, to call her mine : and mine 
 she shall surely be. 
 
 " But strange anomaly ! when she passes from my vision, 
 and the clear soft eye of her sister meets mine ; when her 
 seraph voice mingles with mine, in strains that seem almost 
 celestial, the little good that so often lies dormant within me 
 is suddenly aroused, and I feel the conviction that with her, 
 under her sweet influence, I could become a better and a 
 happier man, and do good to others, instead of working their 
 evil, as I now so often do. And this fair Pauline would love 
 me nay, she loves me now : I have read it in her eyes, when 
 she ireamed not how much they expressed and I half love 
 her yet no Adele rises up between us, and I repudiate the 
 
40 
 
 thought. She she alone is my fate and my curse, for she 
 will hate me for the evil I must bring to her and hers, only 
 to bend her to my will. Yet, my resolve is firm as iron, she 
 shall become my future wife, whether love or hate rule our 
 household. 
 
 " It is madness, I know, to resolve thus, but I have no power 
 to act otherwise. I believe I would make her mine, if I felt 
 assured in clasping her to my heart, T should be consumed to 
 ashes, as she of old who asked the god to show himself in 
 all the majesty of his divine attributes. Ah ! I must cease 
 this rhapsody, for when on this theme I forget myself. 
 
 " My host is a fine, generous-hearted man, and were less at 
 stake, I could scarcely find it in my heart to cause that open- 
 handed liberality, which knows no bounds, to be checked in 
 its course. He lives profusely ; keeps open house, with every- 
 day a dinner of many courses, with the most exquisite wines. 
 Such provision is made for every guest, that on his arrival he 
 feels as if he had been long expected, and arrangements made 
 beforehand for his especial comfort. 
 
 "My chamber has a small dressing-room attached to it, 
 and both are furnished with such luxury as would amaze 
 many foreigners, who fancy that in this far away part of the 
 world we are in a state of semi -barbarism. They do not 
 know what a progressive nation we are, and forget the facili- 
 ties that steam offers for the attainment of any luxury we 
 may possess the means to purchase. 
 
 " Adjoining my room is the library ; a charmingly lighted 
 apartment with large windows with deeply embayed recesses, 
 such aa are only found in old Spanish or French houses. A 
 
41 
 
 venerable tree, which gives a name to the place, rustles its 
 branches against these old-fashioned casements, and affords 
 the most agreeable green twilight, even in the brightest day. 
 This room contains an excellent selection of books, in En- 
 glish, French, and German, for the fair sisters speak with 
 elegance all these languages. Accessions are constantly 
 made to them by new arrivals from the North. 
 
 " Mr. Harrington has a table in one of the most retired 
 nooks, devoted to his own use ; and on this his political and 
 business papers are daily placed. I have discovered that it 
 is Pauline who arranges these papers so deftly that no dust is 
 permitted to accumulate, yet her father never has cause to 
 complain that they are in confusion. Clever girl, isn't she ? 
 but ah ! not half so lovely as that other Peri, Muse, Grace 
 My God ! why was this woman made so fair and so cold ? 
 Will the voice of passion never touch her heart ? I firmly 
 believe it never will, but I 
 
 "01 will stop here, lest you think my mind really un- 
 hinged. You will find inclosed some directions which you 
 will scrupulously follow, and be sure and write to me by 
 every mail, inform me of every thing relative to our affairs, 
 that I may know when and where to strike : as every thing 
 depends on judgment and skill in our calling. 
 
 "I shall probably remain here a week or ten days, as a 
 grand festival comes off some time this week in honor of 
 the birthday of the only son; a weak and beautiful Nar- 
 cissus who would be quite capable of imitating his proto- 
 type, for he is already deeply enamored of his own 
 attractions. How the brother of such sisters can content 
 
42 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 himself with being a mere common-place exquisite, is beyond 
 my comprehension. 
 
 " There is also another member of the family circle who 
 should not have been mentioned last. Miss Gertrude Har- 
 rington, the sister of my host, is still a very attractive and in- 
 teresting woman. The greater portion of her life has been 
 devoted to her brother's daughters, who certainly do credit to 
 her training. In one respect she has been only too success- 
 ful : she has given them such high-toned and fastidious senti- 
 ments concerning marriage, that I believe Adele will never 
 find one to suit her exalted fancy. Pauline has hitherto 
 passed unscathed, but now if I choose, I fancy she has met 
 her master. 
 
 "To my world-hardened soul there is something deliciously 
 fascinating in the thought of this pure, first love wreathing 
 itself around my image, and, at moments, I could almost wish 
 that no obstacle existed to its return. Then the frenzied pas- 
 sion I feel for this tantalizing being, assumes the mastery over 
 me, sweeping every rational feeling away before it. 
 
 "Adieu, Levering. Do not think me quite demented, for I 
 assure you that, except on this single subject, my thoughts 
 are as clear, my mind as far-reaching and acute as ever. 
 
 " REGINALD MALCOLM." 
 
CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 THE apartment of the sisters was on tbe side of the man- 
 sion opposite to the one occupied by Malcolm. The windows 
 opened on a balcony that overhung the flower garden, from 
 which they could enjoy the beauties of this favorite spot. Be- 
 yond the hedge which inclosed it, was a group of fine forest 
 trees, between whose waving branches silvery gleams of the 
 winding river could be seen. The room was large and well 
 proportioned, with walls as white and smooth as marble, with 
 a moulding of vine-leaves and grapes around the ceiling. In 
 the centre was a similar circle from which was suspended a 
 lamp of rose-colored glass, through which a soft, dreamy light 
 was diffused throughout the apartment. The floor was cov- 
 ered with a delicately-tinted carpet of costly texture, and 
 the furniture was of ebony inlaid with pearl. It had been 
 ordered in Paris, and elegant and tasteful designs furnished 
 by the sisters themselves. Groups of fadeless flowers glowed 
 in every direction around the fair young beings, now in the 
 zenith of their charms. Two large mirrors were placed where 
 the light fell best upon them, and a few fine paintings adorned 
 the walls. These represented pastoral scenes in Alpine coun- 
 tries, for the taste of the sisters led them to select what con- 
 trasted most vividly with the scenery amid which they had 
 been reared. 
 
44 V>v THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Books were scattered through the room, showing that a 
 taste for reading was not neglected, and an open portfolio 
 contained many scraps of writing, both of poetry and prose. 
 There might be read the thoughts, fancies, and feelings of 
 two youthful minds which seemed to fiow in unison; for 
 nature, which had made their outward forms so unlike, had 
 stamped a remarkable resemblance upon the spiritual being 
 within. 
 
 Pauline's was the stronger nature, perhaps ; but in all that 
 gives a poetic coloring to youth, in the freshness of feeling, 
 the buoyancy of temperament, and all generous emotions, they 
 were as one. A slight variation in character had been made 
 by the different experience of the two since they entered 
 society. Accustomed to find herself the courted idol where- 
 ever she appeared, an indifference to the opinions of others 
 tad grown up in the mind of Adele, when she saw that every 
 thing was conceded to beauty alone. This, perhaps, had ren- 
 dered her less sympathetic than Pauline. The heart of the 
 latter was as a sweetly-strung lyre which responded to each 
 skillful touch, but only now had the master-hand begun to 
 sweep its chords. 
 
 At night, the sisters dispensed with the services of a maid, 
 and took pleasure in performing for each other such duties as 
 their toilette required. 
 
 Pauline sat beside the open window, with her head resting 
 upon her hand, absorbed in a deep reverie. The rose-colored 
 curtain was thrown back from the casement, and the blinds 
 unclosed, to admit the bright moonlight, which lit up the 
 vapory wreaths that began to rise from the river and settle 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 45 
 
 over the landscape. She was not thinking of the beauty of 
 the night, though that doubtless exerted an unconscious in- 
 fluence upon her. Her mind was occupied by one of those 
 idle dreams which come only to the young and the romantic : 
 vivid unreal charming the soul into an imaginary Eden, 
 which, alas ! can find no counterpart on earth ; brilliant and 
 unsubstantial as the vapor which the god of day, for a brief 
 season, lights up with the glory of his beams. Pauline had 
 forgotten the presence of another, until Adele approached 
 and placed her hand upon the one which lay idly on her lap. 
 She gayly said, 
 
 " Well, sister mine, what think you of the new arrival at 
 Wavertree ? It is Mr. Malcolm's third visit, and your mind 
 must be made up concerning what brings him hither." 
 
 A faint rose tint gleamed on the fair cheek of Pauline, and 
 a smile parted her lips. A smile of such sweet, soul-lit 
 meaning as betrayed that the sound of that name already 
 had power to thrill her soul with pleasurable emotions. 
 There was a softer music than usual in her tones, as she re- 
 plied, 
 
 "I think him eminently agreeable. He was describing 
 some of his European adventures to me this evening, and I 
 was quite charmed with his eloquence. He possesses a keen 
 appreciation of the beautiful and the noble, united with a per- 
 ception of the ridiculous, that must render him a delightful 
 traveling companion. Yes, I consider Mr. Malcolm a remark- 
 able man, as well as a very handsome one." 
 
 Adele laughed. 
 
 "I did not think you would be so frank. I am glad you 
 
46 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 like him so much, for I believe he likes you, too. I watched 
 him this evening, when his eyes fell on you, and I am sure I 
 interpreted his glances rightly. There is something that at- 
 tracts him irresistibly toward you, which he scarcely, as yet, 
 comprehends himself; but he will and he will learn that 
 this is the true love: the wordless sympathy that most 
 strongly binds souls to each other. Heigh-ho ! I wish I 
 could find some one to attract me thus mysteriously." 
 
 Pauline's face glowed as her sister thus spoke, and the 
 happy light in her eyes shone full upon her. She playfully 
 said, 
 
 " For a young lady who professes to know nothing of the 
 grand passion, you talk very learnedly upon it." 
 
 " Ah ! that is only the love of books. I have been reading 
 of affinities, sympathies, and so forth, of late, in the hope that 
 some such mysteries would be developed iu myself : but, alas ! 
 no such miracle has taken place. I listen to the rhapsodies of 
 my lovers as unmoved as if I were really the marble they so 
 often compare me to." 
 
 " Could not Malcolm move you, either ? I thought at first 
 that he admired you most." 
 
 " Admired oh yes, of course. He saw that I am what 
 the world calls beautiful, and he rendered the usual homage ; 
 but admiration is not love, Pauline ; and I am the last person 
 to accept the counterfeit. Mr. Malcolm will be very highly 
 esteemed by me as a brother, but the duplicate soul created 
 by a higher power to blend with mine, I intuitively feel he is 
 not. He knows this, too v for he has met his better self in 
 you." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Pauline, carelessly, as she rose, as if 
 all interest in the discussion had suddenly ceased. " But it 
 seems to me this is rather a premature decision, Adele. Mr. 
 Malcolm is as yet almost a stranger to us, so let us not discuss 
 such a theme just yet. After all, he may only have returned 
 thither to see our father on business, and may have no in- 
 terest in either' of us beyond the mere amusement of the 
 hour." 
 
 " There speaks my aunt's prudence," replied Adele, smiling 
 brightly. " Well, we will drop the subject, since 't is of such 
 perilous import. Does Mr. Malcolm * remain until the birth- 
 day fete ?" 
 
 " I believe so. By the way, he told me he brought you a 
 letter from Louise." 
 
 " Yes ; but, as usual, Victor appropriated it. Louise will 
 be up on the next packet : some disappointment about her 
 dress was all that prevented her coming on this one in com- 
 pany with Mr. Malcolm. Victor was quite jealous of her 
 praises of him. By the way, I really believe our brother 
 has given all the heart he possesses to our giddy little 
 cousin.'' 
 
 " I have long known that, and from the disappointment he 
 will inevitably meet there, the manliness of charactef he lacks 
 may be developed. Wise writers have agreed that the char- 
 acter of a man is unformed until a disappointment in love 
 crushes the last remnant of boyishness out of him. Such 
 may be Victor's experience." 
 
 " You then think that Louise will jilt him ?" 
 
 " Theirs was a mere childish betrothal, to which my aunt 
 4 
 
48 
 
 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 * V 
 
 if. 1 
 
 
 attaches little importance. Louise likes Victor well enough, 
 for their tastes assimilate perfectly ; and our worldly-wise 
 aunt sees a good match in my father's son ; but should a 
 wealthier suitor present himself, I am afraid poor Victor's 
 hopes will all be dashed in fragments." 
 
 " He is tolerably safe, then ; for from my father's liberality, 
 Aunt Ruskin imagines his fortune to be exhaustless. What 
 a life they will lead together, neither of them ever seeking 
 one higher or more ennobling motive than the amusement 
 of the hour." 
 
 "Let us not speak of it. Our influence over Victor 
 amounts to nothing, and father possesses but little more. 
 He is free to make his own choice, and we must make the 
 best of it. Ah, if our only brother had possessed talent, high 
 purpose, how proud of him we should have been !" 
 
 " True, Pauline ; but we must love him still as dearly as 
 when we were children together, in spite of the disappoint- 
 ment we have suffered in him. Do you remember how we 
 used to sit in the shade of the old oak, and talk of the future ? 
 Then, Victor was to become either a great Warrior, or a great 
 statesman : you thought you would travel, and write a book 
 describing all the things you saw ; while I always said I 
 would live at home, and take care of my father in his old 
 age. I wonder if either lot will be verified. It seems, to 
 my small experience, that what we dream of in childhood as 
 the choice of our life, is always what is denied to our ma- 
 turity. 'Ehomme propose, et Dieu dispose] so we must 
 submit to the will of him who doeth all things well." 
 
 " Yes," said Pauline, reverently, " our good aunt has taught 
 
49 
 
 us amid prosperity, never to forget the beneficent love which 
 has bestowed on us so much to be thankful for. It is your 
 turn to read to-night, Adele, and it is quite time to cease our 
 chatter, and retire." 
 
 Adele took from the table a volume of the Scriptures whictf 
 was evidently not kept for show, alone, and slowly turne4 
 over the leaves, while the sisters composed their minds to the 
 duty before them. She then read aloud a chapter from the 
 New Testament, after which they knelt side by side, in prayer. 
 When they arose, they affectionately kissed each other, and 
 retired to the same couch of innocence and rest. 
 
 Thus had their second mother trained them, and thus they 
 passed, unscathed, amid that world which had failed to im- 
 press its own character of frivolity upon them. In the world, 
 but not of it, they were, for each one preserved her own pure 
 individuality, and placed her faith and trust in a higher ; 
 power, as firmly as the ascetic who holds himself aloof from) 
 all association with his fellow-sinners, fearing their evil may 
 prove stronger against himself, than his power to influence 
 them to good. 
 
 Why was Victor so different from these lovely sisters? 
 His father thought that, as a boy, he must be trained by men, 
 and so soon as he was of an age to leave the paternal roofj \ 
 Mr. Harrington removed him to a northern school, where he / 
 was prepared for college. From there, the young gentleman 
 returned home, a finished exquisite, with as small an amount 
 of information as was possible to enable him to pass through 
 the various grades necessary to graduate him. Known to be 
 the only son of a wealthy and liberal father, Victor was ca- 
 
50 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ressed and flattered, until but one true emotion lingered in 
 his heart, and this was his childish love for Louise Ruskin. 
 
 Mr. Ruskin, the father of Louise, was a half brother of Mr. 
 Harrington. He had settled in New Orleans, where he ac- 
 cumulated an independence, as a cotton factor. He died be- 
 fore attaining middle age, leaving a widow with four children, 
 of whom Louise was the eldest ; to whom he bequeathed a 
 fine residence, with an income quite insufficient to live in a 
 style suitable to the aristocratic ideas of the family. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ON the following morning, Pauline, as was her usual habit, 
 came on the front piazza, to take a view of the river, and 
 meditate a few moments alone. She found a hammock which 
 swung from one corner, already occupied by an earlier riser 
 than herself; and while he remained unconscious of her pres- 
 ence, she paused, involuntarily, and soon forgot the purpose 
 that had brought her thither. 
 
 Malcolm reclined in the hammock, and his eyes seemed to 
 be following the flitting shadows made by the quivering mo- 
 tion of the leaves in the morning sunshine, with an interest 
 which quite preoccupied his mind. Yet, in reality, he saw 
 not the beauty of that bright morning. Self-absorbed, wrapt 
 in plans in which self was most deeply interested, his subtle 
 intellect was weaving the net-work of a scheme in which the 
 happiness of all she loved was involved. Yet, even then, her 
 image, with its soft, pure eyes, flitted before him, and seemed 
 to whisper " forbear :" a warning which caused his blood to 
 flow with accelerated speed, but checked him not one instant 
 in his purpose. 
 
 Pauline stood motionless, gazing on that remarkable face, 
 on which passion, intellect, and iron will were stamped in lines 
 of power, and yet of wonderful attraction. It was impossible 
 
52 
 
 to find a face of finer masculine beauty, but it was one to be 
 appreciated only by the cultivated and intellectual. Amid 
 the strife of the world, with man against man, its stern hard- 
 ness might have revolted those of a more generous tempera- 
 ment ; btft among women, with nothing to excite his antago- 
 nism, and every motive to induce him to please, that sternness 
 was lost in the fascinating smile he could assume, and the 
 passionate tenderness which, at will, flashed from his large, 
 dark eyes. 
 
 What the young girl felt, who thus gazed in silence on the 
 placid face, which betrayed not the tide of emotions within, 
 has been told a thousand times in ballad and in fiction, and 
 will be read with interest as long as human hearts can feel the 
 same humanity stirring within them. 
 
 Pauline was far from comprehending her own feelings, 
 though they were so clearly mirrored in her face, that the 
 worldly-wise man, as he became aware of her presence, and 
 started from his resting-place, to offer the morning greeting, 
 read them as clearly as if words had given them utterance ; 
 and the softness of his manner, as he approached and stood 
 beside her, caused the blood to mantle her cheeks with an 
 unusual glow. 
 
 What Malcolm said was common-place enough ; something 
 about the beauty of the morning, but that was of no conse- 
 quence. As his expressive eyes rested upon her, Pauline felt 
 as if suddenly permitted to have a glimpse of paradise ; as if 
 the airs of Eden were fanning her cheek, and sending their 
 rapturous glow throughout her frame. 
 
 What was the source of the wonderful power this man had 
 
53 
 
 so easily assumed over her ? As he held her hand claspec). 
 a moment in his, she felt as if it could lead her over thja 
 world, only too happy to be forever by his side. 
 
 Pauline immediately recovered her self-possession, and led 
 the way to a point from which the best view of the landscape 
 could be obtained. She pointed out all its beauties to her 
 companion, but her eloquent words were lost on him. His 
 eyes mechanically followed her movements as she indicated 
 her favorite points in the scene, but they returned each in- 
 stant to the animated face which charmed him much more 
 than river and woodland. At length she paused, and he 
 said, 
 
 "It is all beautiful." 
 
 " You really think so ? Well, I am glad of it, for I love ' 
 every leaf and spear of grass nay, every ripple in the old 
 river is dear to my heart. It is my home, though, and I 
 have known no other : it is but natural that I should love it 
 dearly." 
 
 " Could you not then bear to leave it with one who loves 
 you ? to whose happiness you felt yourself necessary ?" asked 
 Malcolm, with his unfathomable eyes fixed upon her with an 
 expression of earnest inquiry that made her heart tremble. 
 Pauline did not immediately reply, and she then said, in a 
 lower and more quiet tone, 
 
 " I have not seriously thought on that subject. It could 
 not be the true love which would find a rival even in the 
 beloved home of my infancy, where strife nor contentions 
 never entered." 
 
 He seemed struck with her concluding words. 
 
54 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " A home without strife or contention must indeed be a 
 paradise on earth. You will be brave, Miss Harrington, to 
 leave it for the truest love that human heart can offer." 
 
 " Yet it seems the usual course of destiny," replied Pauline, 
 " and I may not prove wiser than the rest of my sex." 
 
 " In that decision may be true wisdom, perhaps ; for the 
 home presided over by you must be one of peace and happi- 
 ness. Lost indeed must be that man who could not feel him- 
 self nobler and happier in having such an angel ministrant 
 beside his hearth." 
 
 There was a depth and earnestness in his tones that thrilled 
 to her heart, and often as Pauline had listened to the language 
 of flattery, no words ever before addressed to her had pro- 
 duced so sweet an illusion. They made her happier, of more 
 importance in her own estimation than before, and she stood 
 in silence beside him, scarcely conscious of the lapse of time. 
 
 The spell was broken by the voice of Adele, and Malcolm 
 turned toward her with a painful revulsion of feeling. A 
 moment before, all had seemed at peace within him ; his rest- 
 less and stormier feelings lulled to magical repose by the 
 singular power the eyes and voice of Pauline possessed over 
 him. Now appeared the antagonistic power, and innocent as 
 Adele was of any intention to arouse the turbulent swell of 
 passion in that wayward breast, such was ever the effect of 
 * her presence. But Malcolm possessed great power of self- 
 control, and he knew that the success of his plans depended 
 on its exertion. Until the proper moment came to avow his 
 true wishes, Adele should not again have cause to believe her- 
 self preferred before her sister ; nay, the contrary impression 
 
55 
 
 he would endeavor to make, without actually commiting him- 
 self with Pauline. Her happiness was a secondary considera- 
 tion with him, much as he was flattered by the preference she 
 evinced for himself; much as he was attracted toward her, he 
 wavered not one instant in the course he had marked out for 
 himself. With characteristic selfishness, he rushed forward, 
 reckless of the bleeding hearts he trampled on in his course 
 to the gratification of his own wishes. His better nature was 
 stifled, but his good angel vailed his face, and waited silently 
 for the hour in which he would yearn for the power to repair 
 evil he had so recklessly caused. Then he would learn a lesson 
 which would last as long as life. 
 
 This morning Adele looked so lovely in her delicate morn- 
 ing wrapper, and plainly braided hair, that his very spirit 
 bowed before the incarnate ideal of beauty before him ; while 
 she smiled and talked as if unconscious of her pre-eminent 
 attractions; yet Malcolm's manner was coldly polite, and 
 Adele was quite satisfied that he had indeed discovered 
 where the true attraction lay. 
 
 In a few more moments the summons to breakfast came, 
 and the three descended the flight of steps leading to the 
 lower piazza on which the eating-room opened. The windows, 
 like those above, opened to the floor, and through them was 
 wafted the pleasant freshness of the morning air, perfumed with 
 the odor of flowers. 
 
 Miss Harrington presided as the mistress of the mansion, 
 and the assembled party placed themselves around the table 
 as chance directed. Malcolm secured a seat next to Pauline, 
 and Adele glided into the vacant one on her father's left 
 
56 
 
 hand which was generally understood to be peculiarly her 
 own. 
 
 Mr. Harrington was in a very blithe mood this morning, 
 and an animated conversation was carried on over the 
 fragrant coffee. Malcolm bore his part in it so grace- 
 fully, and showed such extensive and accurate information 
 on every subject touched on, as to surprise Mr. Harrington. 
 Pauline listened with charmed attention, and even Adele was 
 interested. 
 
 Immediately after rising from the table, Malcolm requested 
 a few moments' conversation with his host, and together they 
 went into the library. Mr. Harrington seated himself in his 
 usual recess beside the window, and endeavored to assume 
 a business-like air, while Malcolm, grave and serene as the 
 fathomless sea, placed himself on the opposite side of the 
 table, and carelessly played with a paper-folder that lay upon it. 
 
 "Any thing new on the subject of our speculations ?" asked 
 the elder gentleman, somewhat nervously. 
 
 " I receive constant information on the subject which is of 
 such vital importance to both of us," replied Malcolm, calmly. 
 " There is nothing absolutely new about that to communicate : 
 but I have something to propose which I think will interest 
 you. If I could command fifty thousand dollars, I know of 
 an operation by which I could with certainty treble the money 
 in three weeks." 
 
 The spirit of the gambler was thoroughly roused in Mr. 
 Harrington ; his eyes sparkled, his cheeks glowed, as he asked, 
 
 " Are you perfectly sure of the speedy return, Malcolm, and 
 the enormous profit ?" 
 
57 
 
 u I can speedily convince you, sir. I do not wish you to do 
 any thing in the dark." 
 
 Malcolm drew from his pocket several documents which he 
 placed upon the table. The nature of these he explained in 
 words which were clear and convincing to the listener, and as 
 he concluded, he said, 
 
 " My own resources are so completely tied up in other spec- 
 ulations, that I can not command the means to avail myself 
 of this magnificent opening. But I thought it right to let 
 you, a moneyed man, know how much you could gain by risk- 
 ing a little." 
 
 He paused, and after a few moments Mr. Harrington said, 
 slowly, 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars ! It is a large sum. To raise it 
 I must mortgage my whole income for two years and a half, 
 and if the thing should fail after all, you see it would be 
 rather an awkward predicament for an extravagant fellow like 
 myself." 
 
 " Fail ! My dear sir, there is no such word for any thing 
 I undertake to bring to a successful conclusion. I consider 
 this as safe as if the whole sum were already in your posses- 
 sion. It is absolute child's play to win in a game that is so 
 sure. I spoke of risk certainly, but there is really none, as I 
 could convince you, if I were at liberty to tell all I know 
 about it. There are secrets in all crafts, you know, and I 
 have information concerning this property, which I am certain 
 would decide you at once. I think I may venture to tell you, 
 as you are an interested party." 
 
58 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mr. Harrington listened eagerly, as Malcolm went on in a 
 lower tone : 
 
 " There is a flaw in the title to this estate, which the owner 
 has but recently discovered. Hence his anxiety to sell at 
 only a third of its value. It so happens that I have been 
 able to perform an important service for the only person who 
 can rectify this. The widow of the former owner is childless, 
 and enormously rich ; I have from her a promise, in writing, 
 to give me a perfect title if I become the purchaser. Thus, 
 you see, there is no chance of loss. Bought in my name, I 
 would immediately transfer it to you." 
 
 He watched the earnest face of Mr. Harrington, as ho 
 thus spoke, and read in its variations the effect his words 
 produced. As he concluded, he drew the promise to which 
 he had alluded from his pocket, and exhibited it. The 
 paper bore the signature of an aged woman, well-known in 
 her native State, as the inheritor of great wealth from her 
 lately-deceased husband. 
 
 Mr. Harrington examined it attentively, and after drum- 
 ming with his fingers upon the table, he suddenly said, 
 
 " By heaven, I will do it ! The temptation is too great 
 to be withstood. But tell me this, Malcolm ; can the prop- 
 erty be sold immediately ? I have no desire to retain it ; 
 the money must be replaced, for I can not bear to be 
 cramped in my resources. It would be especially incon- 
 venient just now, when my children have a right to the 
 gratifications I have never denied myself." 
 
 " A purchaser is ready to take it off your hands at its 
 just valuation. All that was attended to before I spoke 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 59 
 
 to you on the subject, as I anticipated some sucn. ob- 
 jection." 
 
 " My dear fellow, you are a perfect trump ; and what is 
 to be your own recompense for thus serving my interests? 
 Any percentage you may think reasonable for conducting 
 this business, I am quite ready to allow you ; for you see, 
 without your assistance I should never have made any thing 
 at all." 
 
 " There is a reward I may hereafter claim," said Malcolm, 
 " but it is not a pecuniary one, my dear sir. Permit me to 
 have the gratification of serving your interests in this in- 
 stance without claiming a portion of the spoils." 
 
 " I understand you," replied his dupe, with a smile, for he 
 believed that his own observation had fathomed the secret 
 of Malcolm's preference for Pauline, during the matin meal, 
 and he felt quite convinced that her hand was the prize he 
 aimed to secure. 
 
 " And believe me, Mr. Malcolm," he added, " that I shall 
 feel gratified to aid you by every means in my power. In the 
 end, it shall not be the worse for you that you refuse this." 
 
 "I do not need it. My future prospects are brilliant. 
 Assured of your consent in what so nearly concerns my 
 happiness, I ask for nothing more. And now, dear sir, 
 let us to business. I am sufficiently a lawyer to know what 
 is necessary to be done, and^to draw up such orders as can 
 be negotiated by my agent in New Orleans. No time is 
 to be lost, I assure you, in concluding this business, as a 
 positive answer was promised before the end of the present 
 week." 
 
60 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "I am at your service. I will sign whatever you may 
 consider necessary, and my commission merchant will honor 
 my drafts to the full amount." 
 
 Thus unsuspiciously did Mr. Harrington surrender himself 
 into the power of a man who had the art to inspire all who 
 approached him with a belief in his honor and integrity. 
 Ample testimonials he had furnished of his high position, and 
 his ability to redeem such pledges as he made. Thus far 
 no imposition had been practiced, and when Malcolm first 
 sought Mr. Harrington, it was with the same honorable 
 intention which had hitherto ruled all his dealings. He 
 had done hard things as a successful speculator, but no un- 
 principled ones, and until he beheld Adele Harrington, and 
 loved her so hopelessly, the idea of his present game had 
 never occurred to him. To make her feel his iron grasp 
 upon her fate ; to force her to give herself to him, as the 
 price of redemption from ruin to her idolized father, Malcolm 
 would have risked much more. Throughout all he was scru- 
 pulous to avoid every appearance of fraud, that, end as their 
 speculations might, his own character should remain without 
 reproach. In the present dealing, he only intended to hold 
 the title to the property thus purchased in his name, until 
 his necessities forced from Mr. Harrington his consent to a 
 union with his favorite daughter. Then their interests would 
 be united, and henceforth his father-in-law should have no 
 cause to complain of him. 
 
 " I wonder what Gertrude will say when she learns the 
 result of all this ?" thought Mr. Harrington, as he placed his 
 signature to the papers offered him by Malcolm, and he 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 smiled at the pleasant idea of her surprise, when he should 
 announce to her his sudden access of fortune. How he 
 would dispose of it was already arranged in his own mind, 
 and with agreeable -visions floating before his excited fancy, 
 he went forth amid his guests, followed by his tempter, who 
 looked as bland, and spoke as carelessly as if no scheme 
 beyond the amusement of the hour had ever been harbored 
 in his subtle mind. 
 
 Two more days flowed on in the same quiet manner, dur- 
 ing which Malcolm devoted himself to the society of the 
 sisters, and a casual observer would have perceived no dif- 
 ference in his manner to either ; but to them there was a 
 slight shade of distinction quite perceptible ; and hourly the 
 conviction grew on the mind of Pauline that he loved her, 
 and in the silent communing of her spirit, her heart over- 
 flowed with thankful happiness that to her had been granted 
 a lot which promised such perfect content. Love with her 
 was not the mere idle preference of a young girl, who has 
 been taught to believe that only in early marriage can a 
 woman find her legitimate destiny. It was the strong 
 attachment of a responsible and thinking being for one pre- 
 ferred before all others ; with whom she was willing to link 
 her being throughout all time. 
 
 Could Malcolm have looked into her heart, and seen how 
 deep, how fervent, how pure from all taint of selfishness was 
 the affection he had won, the beauty of soul thus displayed 
 would have eclipsed the charms that had made him a reckless 
 invader of domestic happiness. 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Miss HARRINGTON was busily employed preparing for the 
 expected fete, and was unobservant of what was passing be- 
 tween the three whose happiness was so deeply involved in 
 each fleeting hour. 
 
 Guests from a distance were gathering in, and the large 
 house was filled with company, with the exception of one 
 room reserved for Mrs. Ruskin and her daughter. They were 
 expected on the next packet, and Miss Gertrude resigned her- 
 self to the thought of the inquisition into her family affairs to 
 which she knew she would be compelled to submit ; and sighed 
 in anticipation over the lectures on her management to which 
 she knew she would be forced to listen at least with an ap- 
 pearance of complacency. Mrs. Ruskin was a woman of vast 
 importance in her own estimation at least, and fully believed 
 that she understood the science of domestic economy better 
 than any one else. Her sister-in-law's housekeeping was 
 always a fruitful theme of fault-finding with her, for she 
 had not sufficient breadth of understanding to compre- 
 hend that the system practiced in her narrow household 
 could not be tolerated for a day in such an establishment 
 as Harrington's. Mrs. Ruskiu did not choose to compre- 
 hend this, for she was of that class of women who make 
 
63 
 
 their own management the standard by which they judge 
 that of all their friends. 
 
 She duly arrived at the appointed time, and exhibited a tall 
 bony figure, clad in the extreme of fashion, with a length of 
 neck which certainly emulated that of the swan, though the 
 grace and whiteness of the latter had been withheld, as a 
 temptation to vanity which Mrs. Ruskin did not need, pos- 
 sessing as she did a sufficient supply of that quality without 
 any visible reason for indulging it. 
 
 Her face was hard and harsh in its outlines, and even in 
 youth could have boasted little claim to beauty. She had, 
 in spite of her want of attractions, certainly won for a hus- . 
 band a handsome man, with a noble and gallant spirit 
 of his own. For the sake of peace, he permitted her to ex- 
 ercise unlimited sway over his house and family, and since 
 his death, this love of managing had been frequently exercised 
 on such of her friends as would submit to her rule. 
 
 Louise Ruskin, the eldest daughter of this unattractive 
 mother, was a delicate graceful blonde, with a complexion as 
 soft and rosy in its hue as that of an infant ; eyes of deep 
 azure, and a profusion of waving hair of a soft paly brown. 
 Her motions were quick and agile as those of a playful fawn, 
 and her vivacity was unconquerable. Even the iron rule of 
 her mother had never been able to discipline her into subjec- 
 tion. She evaded her authority when it was possible to do 
 so, and sometimes openly rebelled against it, though means 
 were always found to punish these outbreaks when she was 
 least anticipating it. 
 
 Mr. Harrington himself went forth to meet the exacting 
 
 Q 
 
G4 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 widow, when the boat landed, for he was fully conscious that 
 the omission of that courtesy would be visited by the most 
 ungracious treatment both of himself and the guests that 
 were within his mansion. He conducted her in formal state 
 toward the house, expressing by the way his pleasure in wel- 
 coming her to his abode on this festive occasion. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin acknowledged the courtesy coldly, and replied, 
 
 " I can not say that I greatly approve of such temptations 
 to the young to pass the bounds of reason in their pleasures. 
 The whole night will doubtless be given to revelry ; but as it 
 is Victor's birthday fete, and he is your only son, I though 
 it my duty to be present." 
 
 "And as he is moreover likely to become your son, be- 
 fore very long, it became doubly your duty, both to youi 
 daughter and yourself to attend," replied Mr. Harrington. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin smiled grimly, as she said, 
 
 " Perhaps so but they are very young." 
 
 She slowly ascended the staircase leading to the upper 
 piazza, on which stood Miss Harrington and her nieces, in 
 readiness to receive her. She took the offered hand of the 
 elder lady, and impressing a cold kiss upon the cheeks of 
 the two younger ones, said rather sharply, 
 
 " I really think, girls, that on an occasion like the present, 
 you might have shown me the respect to descend into the 
 yard, and meet me. I should then have felt that I received 
 a warm welcome from youthful hearts that should love me 
 for the interest I take in their welfare." 
 
 Pauline took her hand in her simple graceful manner, and 
 said, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 05 
 
 "Thank you, aunt, for the expression of your last senti- 
 ment, and I trust you will believe that neither of us is un- 
 grateful for it. We thought to do you more honor by meet- 
 ing you in a family group in the house. Believe me, no 
 slight, or want of affection, influenced your reception, which 
 I am sorry does not please you." 
 
 There was a charm in her manner, and in the truthful 
 expression of her face, which mollified Mrs. Ruskin, she knew 
 not why, and she said, 
 
 "I am not hurt, nor offended, Pauline, only I always* 
 think it is good to let young people know when they fail 
 in respect to their elders. Ah! there is Mr. Malcolm" I 
 and she advanced with her most gracious manner to speak 
 to him. 
 
 In the mean time, Louise had detained Victor in the yard 
 below, while she flitted among the shrubbery ostensibly 
 gathering flowers, but really, as she whispered to him, " to 
 give Madam Stiff an opportunity to administer the reproofs 
 she would be sure to find occasion for." 
 
 Well as he knew her, Victor was a little shocked at this 
 want of respect toward her mother, and he undertook to 
 lecture her. 
 
 " I wonder, Louise, if you have a shadow of respect for 
 any thing in this world ? Does it not strike you that it is 
 shameful to speak thus of your mother ?" 
 
 " Is it now, really ?" mockingly asked the little fairy. 
 " Can you tell me now, my grave cousin, what ma has ever 
 done to inspire me with respect ? She has tormented and 
 managed me, until I should have been perfectly crushed, 
 
66 
 
 if nature had not fortunately made me of very elastic ma- 
 terials." 
 
 " Are you not afraid to speak thus before me, Louise ?" 
 
 " Why, pray ? Will you go with a shocked face, and re- 
 port my naughtiness at head-quarters ?" 
 
 " Not that. But then you know a rebellious daughter will 
 not make the best wife, in all probability, and as I intend you 
 to stand in that relation to me some of these days, I should 
 not encourage such a spirit in you." 
 
 Louise assumed an expression of comical astonishment, as 
 she slowly repeated : 
 
 " You intend ! Magnificent, truly ! When did you leave 
 Turkey, most imperial sultan ? Will your highness be so 
 good as to inform me when I may expect the distinguished 
 honor of becoming your wife ? A sort of good little sheep, 
 as Miss Bremer says." 
 
 " Nonsense, Louise ; you know very well that an under- 
 standing to that effect has long existed between us, and you 
 are nearly old enough to fulfill your pledge." 
 
 " Pledge ? What pledge can a child make, Victor ? I 
 am only sixteen now, and my memory never runs back 
 further than two years; even that seems an age, and the 
 promise you allude to must be quite antediluvian washed 
 out by the sea of tears shed over my lessons since it was 
 made. Pray don't make such an antiquity of yourself as to 
 go back to the days when that folly was enacted." 
 
 Victor gazed on her with reproachful eyes. " I understand 
 you, Louise, quite as well as you comprehend yourself. You 
 are half in love with Malcolm I gathered that from your 
 
67 
 
 letter to Adele ; you think he is rich, and you came hither 
 to flirt with, if possible to win, him. I warn you in time, that 
 such a game will not succeed ; Malcolm plays the lover to 
 my sister." 
 
 " To Adele ?" she quietly asked. 
 
 " No ; but to Pauline ; and if she has the power to win 
 him when Adele is near, you may be sure you have no 
 chance." 
 
 " Pooh ! don't be jealous, Victor. I have not the least 
 idea of running a tilt against the cold proud heart of Mr. 
 Malcolm. Let us be friends, for you know, after all, I like 
 you better than any one in the world. I perceive that ma 
 has got through with her greetings, and I will skip up stairs 
 and pay my compliments in rather a different style, I fancy." 
 
 She darted away and was half way up the staircase before 
 Victor could gain the lower piazza. She paused, shook her 
 finger at him, and with a radiant smile, said, 
 
 " If you would run a life-race with me, you must be more 
 agile in your movements." 
 
 The next instant she was in the midst of the group above, 
 and her greetings would have been almost boisterous if any 
 thing so graceful and childlike could have been thus re- 
 garded. Like a bright-winged bird, she flitted from one to 
 another, casting from her own gay spirit a brief sunbeam on 
 all save her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin drew herself up with an expression of haughty 
 surprise, and said, in grandly tragic tones, 
 
 " This violation of propriety, Louise, after all I said to you 
 on the boat !" 
 
68 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Ob, ma, I can't be pompous wben I am glad to see my 
 friends," replied tbe reckless romp, secure of impunity wbile 
 beneatb tbe roof of her indulgent uncle. 
 
 " Pompous ! no, but proper, Miss Ruskin. Excuse ber, 
 Mr. Malcolm, ber gay spirits carry ber away." 
 
 " She carries ber own best excuse with her, in ber joyous 
 and beautiful youth," replied be, as be bent bis expressive 
 eyes on tbe charming face, upturned to bis with an arcb 
 coquettish smile. 
 
 " I wonder bow jealous I can make Victor ?" thought the 
 little flirt, as she gave a sidelong glance to see if he had yet 
 reached the scene of action. " Ah, if it would only reach 
 tbe climax of pistols and coffee for two, how delightful it 
 would be ! I should be more talked of than any girl in New 
 Orleans, and sucb a belle !" 
 
 Just then Victor appeared, and bis eye singled ber out 
 immediately ; but be looked provokiugly tranquil. A single 
 moment of reflection bad convinced Victor that to betray 
 jealousy of Louise was not tbe way to manage ber she 
 seemed rather to enjoy it ; so he would try the effect of 
 indifference to her flirtations, and see bow that would 
 succeed. 
 
 Miss Harrington proposed to conduct Mrs. Ruskin to 
 her apartment, and, calling to Louise to follow ber, that 
 lady moved away with most dignified bearing ; but her 
 daugbter was too busily engaged prattling .to Malcolm, to 
 think of obeying the summons. He listened with amused 
 interest to the history of ber adventures on tbe boat, and 
 tbe piquant sketches she gave of her traveling companions. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 69 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Malcolm," she suddenly said, "one 
 old lady said she knew you ; and what do you think she said 
 of you?" 
 
 " Something complimentary, I hope," replied he, smiling. 
 
 " Not entirely ; and that was the best of it, for she did 
 not know that we were friends of yours when she spoke of 
 you." 
 
 " Indeed ; pray let me hear this anonymous old lady's 
 opinion of me. It must have amused you from your 
 smiles." 
 
 " No, not exactly amusing, though I can not help laughing 
 to think how droll it was, that she should have spoken of 
 you before friends in such a manner. She said shjs had 
 known you from a boy ; that you were then the most de- 
 mure little chap to be found anywhere, with more mischief 
 plotting in your head than one would believe of a child ; 
 and she moreover added, that she did not believe you had 
 improved much as a man." 
 
 A spot of deep red glowed in the centre of Malcolm's 
 usually colorless cheeks, and his eyes gleamed with an ex- 
 pression that daunted even the reckless Louise. 
 
 She quickly added, 
 
 " There I really believe I have made you angry." 
 
 " Oh, no," and he laughed, but a nicely-tuned ear could 
 have detected no mirth in that laugh. "Pray go on, Miss 
 Ruskin. I am interested in the description of my un- 
 known friend. One likes occasionally to hear a sketch 
 of themselves taken by a looker on. What else have you 
 to reveal 2" 
 
70 
 
 " Only a piece of advice given to any young lady who 
 might be captivated by your good looks and winning man- 
 ners. Shall I repeat it ?" 
 
 " By all means. I am curious to hear it." 
 
 " Then here it is. She said, ' Let every girl beware of 
 Reginald Malcolm, for he has a will of iron and a heart of 
 steel.' " 
 
 " Ah ! I am sure I am greatly indebted to the old lady for 
 her flattering estimate of myself, and I should be glad to hear 
 her name." 
 
 " I asked her that, ani she said it was of no consequence ; 
 you would know she had not misrepresented you, should you 
 chance to hear what she had said." 
 
 " She intended her words to be repeated to me, then ?" 
 
 " Of course as she said all this to me." 
 
 " Louise," said a soft voice close beside her, " come with 
 me. How can you be so inconsiderate ? Do you not see 
 that your words inflict pain ?" 
 
 " I declare I never thought of that," said the giddy girl, 
 flying back to Malcolm, for Pauline had drawn her away, as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " I am sorry I told you this nonsense, Mr. Malcolm, 
 for my consiu thinks I have done wrong, and she always 
 knows so much better than I do. I did not mean any 
 thing, I declare, and I hope you will forgive me if I have 
 annoyed you." 
 
 Malcolm smiled composedly. 
 
 " You have not annoyed me, Miss Ruskin, for I really 
 place no value on such idle gossip. I regret, Miss Pauline, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 71 
 
 that you should think for a moment that it has any weight 
 with me. A * heart of steel' is not likely to be thus easily 
 moved." 
 
 "ISTo. But a noble heart of flesh feels the sting of 
 even an idle slander," she replied, as she lifted her eyes 
 to his. As he caught the glance, he murmure^, in a low 
 tone, 
 
 " By one generous nature, at least, I am not misjudged, 
 and that is as much as any human being need hope for." 
 
 Pauline drew her giddy young relative away, and as Louise 
 followed her, she mentally soliloquized, 
 
 " I really believe the stupid man is in love with her ; and 
 it is clear that she is with him. They say he will be a mil- 
 lionaire before many years, and 't is a shame that my rich 
 cousin should win him, while I Heigh ho ! I believe I 
 like Victor best, in spite of his silly talk, and his foppery ; 
 so it really makes no difference to me, only I should like to 
 have a good flirtation with Mr. Malcolm, just to torment my 
 true lover a little before I say the final yes, for I know ma 
 means to marry me off before this winter is over, young as 
 I am." 
 
 She then spoke aloud : 
 
 " I do hope, cousin, that you are not going to put me in 
 the same room with ma." 
 
 " I am sorry that arrangement does not suit you, Louise, 
 but the house is so crowded, we can do no better just 
 now." 
 
 Louise pouted. " I declare that is the way my pleasure I 
 is always spoiled. Madam Stiff will lecture me half the night \. 
 
72 
 
 for my proceedings during the day, and I shall have no peace. 
 Preachers get bronchitis by speaking so much, and I am sure 
 T can 't tell what keeps ma from having it. I would n't care 
 much, if it did not kill, and would keep her at home a little 
 more." 
 
 " I see, Louise, that you have not improved much in re- 
 spect to your mother, in spite of my lectures on the subject 
 when we were last together," said Pauline, gravely. 
 
 " You may talk, cousin ; but if you had to submit to half 
 I endure, you would not be half as good as you are. If ma 
 was only like Aunt Gertrude, I should not find it so difficult 
 to be a saint." 
 
 Pauline half smiled at the idea of her own saintliness, and 
 tapped at the door of her aunt's room. The high-toned voice 
 of Mrs. Ruskin bade them enter, and while Louise divested 
 herself of her shawl and bonnet, and smoothed her redundant 
 tresses before the mirror, her mother turned her attention 
 toward her niece. Mrs. Ruskin possessed a peculiar talent 
 for saying unpleasant things, and after sharply examining 
 Pauline, she remarked, 
 
 " You have not improved in your good looks since I saw 
 you, my dear ; though they do say that the handsomest man 
 and the best match in the market just now, has actually fallen 
 in love with you. Is it so, child ?" 
 
 This evident allusion to Malcolm, was as repulsive to the 
 young girl as any thing Mrs. Ruskin could have contrived to 
 say. The deep romance of her nature, and the depth of the 
 impression made upon her heart, rendered it almost sacrilege 
 in her estimation for the hollow outside world to comment 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 on Malcolm's preference for herself expressing surprise, 
 perhaps, at his want of taste in preferring so plain and unpre- 
 tending a person. A cloud caine over her fair face, and a 
 reply arose to her lips, but she repressed it, and Miss Har- 
 rington came to her assistance. 
 
 " The idle world gossips a great deal about affairs it really 
 knows nothing about. Mr. Malcolm came hither on business 
 with my brother, and there is no need to impute other mo- 
 tives to his visit." 
 
 " It is not true, then, after all ? Well, I thought it strange 
 that a man who had seen so much of the world, and known 
 so many elegant women, should select Pauline for his wife. 
 You are very well in your way, my dear," she continued, 
 apologetically, as she saw the expression of pain on the 
 features of her niece, " but then you always knew you were 
 not beautiful. If it had been Adele now, one would not have 
 been so much surprised, for she has charms enough to make 
 a man commit any folly." 
 
 " I am at a loss to know where the folly would be in select- 
 ing either of my nieces," retorted Miss Harrington. " In my 
 opinion, it is they who have the best right to be fastidious." 
 
 " I am sure it is a right they have sufficiently exercised," 
 said the provoking widow, " for if I mistake not they are 
 both twenty. Pauline is right to lay her snares to cap- 
 tivate so unexceptionable a person as this distingue Mal- 
 colm. As for Adele, she is lovely enough to attract for 
 several years to come." 
 
 Pauline had always recoiled from Mrs. Ruskin's matter-of- 
 fact way of saying things, but now she regarded her with 
 
74 
 
 extreme disgust, in spite of her amiable efforts to excuse her 
 rudeness. 
 
 She was glad to retreat from the room when Louise was 
 ready to accompany her, and the latter was quite pleased to 
 escape comment herself, at the expense of her cousin. Her 
 mother, however, called after her, and commanded her, under 
 pain of her severe displeasure, to bridle her tongue, and act 
 with lady-like propriety. Louise only shrugged her shoulders, 
 made a mocking grimace, and skipped out of hearing as 
 soon as possible. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 f 
 
 WHILE affairs progressed thus merrily at Wavertree, a man 
 past his first youth sat alone in a luxuriously appointed room 
 in the city of New Orleans. His residence was situated in the 
 French portion of the city, and the front rooms faced a narrow 
 and nearly deserted thoroughfare. The windows on that side 
 were, however, kept constantly closed, and the neighbors were 
 scarcely aware that the house was tenanted. The apartments 
 occupied by Mr. George Withers were in the rear of the 
 building, and opened upon a spacious garden surrounded by 
 a high hedge of orange-trees, whose unpruned branches 
 formed a thick screen between his domicil and the prying 
 eyes of those occupying the neighboring houses. A long 
 sweep of smooth green turf was kept carefully free from fallen 
 leaves ; flowers were judiciously arranged in groups, and from 
 the depth of their leafy verdure, a statue, white and pure, oc- 
 casionally gleamed. 
 
 Two rooms opened on this little Eden, and they were deco- 
 rated with a degree of elegance and refined taste one would 
 scarcely have expected to find in the residence of the dark, 
 hard-looking man who sat beside the window, robed in a 
 dressing-gown of flowered cashmere, girt to his waist with 
 a silken cord with heavy tassels. He seemed deeply absorbed 
 
76 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 in some memoranda contained in a small book which he held 
 in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Withers was rather above medium height, with a 
 slender, wiry frame, which seemed capable of any amount of 
 endurance. His complexion was sallow, and his eyes of that 
 changeless, rayless black, which seem to absorb all the light 
 and emit none, until aroused to passion, when the lurid flash 
 wnich darts from them is like the sharp electric flame that 
 consumes as it falls. 
 
 His cheek-bones were prominent, and his nose aquiline. 
 The mouth was full and sensual : . in its expression was read 
 the love of self-indulgence, and the enjoyment of the beauti- 
 ful ; the retreating forehead, denoting the absence of benevo- 
 lence and conscientiousness, gave a clew to the true character 
 of the man who had appropriated to himself this little nest 
 of loveliness. 
 
 As he muttered over the items before him, a name quite 
 familiar to us escaped his lips more than once ; finally he 
 placed the book upon a table near him, and glancing at an 
 ivory time-piece elaborately carved, he spoke half audibly : 
 
 " That boy lingers Malcolm must have written by this 
 mail, concerning the estate of Madame Roget. Ah ! I only 
 wish that chance were mine. I owe him a grudge that he 
 lets this Harrington have it in preference to myself, and I will 
 pay him for it yet. I had his promise to give me the first 
 good bargain, and he has broken it. Beware, Master Mal- 
 colm, or you will find yourself checkmated by your tool some 
 of these days. Only let a good chance come to me, and I 
 will grasp it, let the results be what they may. Here am I 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 77 
 
 at thirty-eight, still working, still scheming, without any tan- 
 gible reward. Why is fortune so unjust to me, when she 
 pours wealth so prodigally into the coffers of Malcolm 2" 
 
 The current of his thought was interrupted by the cautious 
 opening of a small gate in full view from the spot on which 
 he sat, and the look of care and hardness seemed to vanish ; 
 his face wore an expression that was almost tender as he 
 recognized the slight figure which came quietly in, and care- 
 fully closed the entrance behind her. This was a child who 
 had seen twelve summers perhaps ; she was clad in a dark 
 gray silk, with a crimson scarf tied around her throat, the 
 long ends hanging down in front, and a small hood of the 
 same color upon her head. 
 
 She walked quietly and gravely forward, as if afraid of 
 disturbing him she came to seek. The girl was not pretty, 
 and it was not difficult to decide the relationship existing 
 between herself and the person who awaited her coming, 
 commenting in his own mind on her appearance, and her 
 demure demeanor. She was very brown, and no bloom re- 
 lieved the sallowness of her complexion, yet her features were 
 well proportioned, and her mouth and eyes most expressive. 
 The latter were large, dark, and of a clear hazel ; they, with 
 the open and well defined brow, the delicately curved lips, 
 were unlike those of her father, and redeemed her face from 
 utter homeliness. 
 
 The child saw that she was observed, but she did not 
 quicken her steps on that account. With a quiet diffident 
 grace she came into the room and stood beside him who had 
 watched every motion, and comprehended what was passing 
 
78 
 
 in her young mind. Withers took the hand which was not 
 extended to him, and kindly said, 
 
 "Grace left me in anger yesterday. Is she in a better 
 humor to-day ?" 
 
 Then a deep blush burned on the brown cheek, and she 
 quickly and earnestly said, 
 
 " No, no, not in anger, father. I could not presume to 
 feel that against you. I was only hurt. You refused me 
 what I thought you could grant, and and " 
 
 She paused, and seemed resolutely to repress some painful 
 emotion. 
 
 "And I was harsh. Yes; I was busy, and annoyed, and 
 I said what I was sorry for afterward. Forget it, child, and 
 I will be more forbearing in future. But there is one thing I 
 wish you to understand, Grace ; I am no millionaire ; so 
 do not torment me by asking such indulgences as I can not 
 afford." 
 
 The child glanced midly around, as if taking note of the 
 costly fitting up of le apartment in which they stood, and 
 she meekly replied, 
 
 " I know it is wrong to tease you, but I so much desire to 
 learn drawing ; and mademoiselle says I have a talent for it ; 
 as she would have less trouble in teaching me, she offers to 
 give me lessons at a lower price than the rest of the class. I 
 came to let you know this ; I hope you will not be angry 
 with me for speaking of it again." 
 
 Her father drew her toward him, and caressed her. It 
 was very rare that he exhibited any fondness for her, and the 
 child received these tokens of affection very shyly, as if un- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 79 
 
 certain that at any moment she might not unwittingly give 
 offense. Her father at length said, 
 
 " Well, you are a poor little brown puss, and an accbrn- 
 plished education is all that can ever bring you out. I sup- 
 pose you must have it, .cost what it will. You may learn to 
 draw, but tell that French madame that I choose to pay the 
 full price. No one shall say that my daughter owed a por- 
 tion of her education to charity. . Hold up your head, child, 
 among the best, for I intend to make you rich yet." 
 
 An expression of intense happiness irradiated the features 
 of the girl, rendering them attractive in spite of their 
 homeliness. The concluding words of her father had been 
 unheeded, and she clasped him around the neck, as she ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " I may indeed learn to draw ! Dear, good father. Ma- 
 demoiselle says I may become a great painter. I have, 
 without instruction, drawn several heads. One of you, 
 which is so like you. I drew it from memory, and, and 
 here it is, father." 
 
 She drew from the pocket of her dress a small dingy 
 square of drawing board, on which she had traced the harsh 
 outlines of her father's features ; she had rubbed them out 
 many times before she satisfied herself that the expression 
 was correct ; and the result of her want of skill was, that a 
 gray-looking ogre, with the high nose and fierce eyes of Mr. 
 Withers, looked out from the background. She presented 
 this specimen of her talent with trembling eagerness,* hoping 
 it would make a favorable impression. To her mortification 
 Withers started back, and exclaimed, 
 
80 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That like me ? Why, child, do I seem such a monster 
 to you ? Poor little Grace, I do not wonder that she often 
 trembles when she comes near me, if I resemble that black- 
 looking fellow." 
 
 Grace burst into tears ; she sobbed, 
 
 "I I thought it like. It is not ugly to me, father. 
 Indeed, indeed mademoiselle thought it a good begin- 
 ning." 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense ! She only flattered you to get another 
 pupil. But you may learn, if it is only to prevent you from 
 caricaturing me in such a manner. There, burn it, and say 
 no more about it." 
 
 He made a motion as if he would take it from her, and 
 throw it in the fire, but she eagerly clasped it to her breast, 
 and pleaded, 
 
 " Pray let me keep it until I can do better ; I like it, I value 
 it. I will promise to tell no one who it is." 
 
 Her father half smiled. 
 
 " On those terms I consent." 
 
 Grace, glad of this permission, hurriedly concealed her 
 treasure, thoroughly mortified and disheartened at the unflat- 
 tering comments it had elicited. 
 
 After a pause, Mr. Withers asked, 
 
 "Did Madame S send her bill?" 
 
 The child drew forth a neatly-folded paper, and gave it to 
 him. He looked over the various items, frowned, bit his lips, 
 and as he glanced at the total he said, 
 
 " Madame's charges are extortionate. You cost me almost 
 a small fortune every year, young as you are ; and yet you 
 
81 
 
 still ask to add to the list of your accomplishments. It is not 
 reasonable." 
 
 " I will give up music then, father," said the low, depre- 
 cating voice. " That is not my talent. I shall never become 
 a fine performer." 
 
 " Do n't provoke me, child. Music is of more importance 
 in society than all the drawing and languages a girl can 
 
 learn. You shall excel in it ; and I shall tell Madame S 
 
 to double your practice, unless you promise me that you will 
 use every effort to become a skillful performer." 
 
 " I will try to please you, father," was the subdued reply. 
 
 "Really; well, I will not withdraw my promise' about the 
 drawing lessons, since you promise so fairly." 
 
 The downcast face brightened. Withers added, 
 
 " I believe I can't stand this much longer. I will take you 
 to France next year, where you can be educated at a mere 
 tithe of the expense bestowed upon you here." 
 
 " To France !" and Grace's eyes grew larger and brighter. 
 " How charming that will be ! But will you really take me, 
 father ?" 
 
 " If my affairs prosper as I hope they will, I shall certainly 
 do so. But here comes John. Leave me now, and tell 
 Madame S I will call and settle with her to-morrow." 
 
 He carelessly held out his hand, and the child timidly 
 touched it with her own, before gliding quietly out, and 
 threading her way toward the entrance by which she had 
 gained admission. Could that young heart have been looked 
 into, there might have been read deep tenderness repressed 
 the yearning desire to be loved, which only the motherless 
 
82 
 
 child can know in all its bitterness. A tear stole silently 
 down her colorless cheek, but it was soon wiped away. 
 Pride of character gave her strength beyond her years, and 
 she would not weep, though her father's words had deeply 
 
 wounded her. She came back to Madame S 's school with 
 
 the same composed reserve of character which always dis- 
 tinguished her, and with respectful gravity delivered the 
 message with which she was charged. 
 
 In the mean time his messenger entered the apartment of 
 Mr. Withers, and laid a package of papers and letters before 
 him. He dismissed the boy, and then eagerly looked over 
 the letters : one was speedily singled out, which he recognized 
 as coming from Malcolm. Tearing open the envelop, he 
 threw it on the floor, and rapidly read the few lines addressed 
 to himself. They simply gave brief directions in reference to 
 what was to be done with the inclosed papers. Withers 
 glanced over them, and an expression of miserly greed came 
 upon his unattractive face. He vehemently exclaimed, 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars ! That sum in my power ? Oh, 
 blind Fortune, do you take the guise of a money-fiend to 
 tempt me to evil 2" 
 
 With absorbing interest he read the papers over. Inclosed 
 was an order for the sum named, on one of the wealthiest 
 firms in New Orleans ; and a mortgage on the plantation of 
 Wavertree, duly signed and witnessed, to secure the commis- 
 sion merchant in case he should hesitate to advance so large 
 a sum of money. With this money Withers was imme- 
 diately to close the purchase of the estate offered at a great 
 sacrifice by M. Delolme. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 83 
 
 The astute man of business read and pondered, and his 
 rayless eyes seemed to have a deeper meaning in them than 
 ever. He again muttered, " Fifty thousand dollars ! It is a 
 large sum. In a foreign land, one could live like a prince on 
 that. It is a great chance : I doubt if I shall ever have an- 
 other half so good. Malcolm always promises to advance my 
 interests, but he finds me too useful to assist me to become 
 independent of him. I begin to feel that I have played the 
 drudge too long, and it is time that I look after my own 
 interests." 
 
 He again read the letter, and walked up and down the 
 room thinking, resolving, planning. He courted temptation ; 
 he made no effort to fly from it, and before the morning had 
 half elapsed, his mind was quite fixed on the extensive fraud 
 he meditated. He knew that Malcolm had implicit reliance 
 on his integrity for he had been scrupulous never to give 
 him the slightest cause of suspicion in their numerous deal- 
 ings with each other. It had been necessary to establish this 
 confidence, that the power to acquire wealth by one bold 
 stroke should be afforded him. He had waited and watched 
 for the hour of fruition, and now it had arrived. Never again 
 could he hope for so brilliant an opportunity of securing for- 
 tune by one bold stroke. He thought not of the ruined man 
 and his helpless family, hurled from their hospitable home 
 into the abyss of poverty. He laughed sardonically, as he 
 said, 
 
 " By this stroke I shall also serve Malcolm, and save him 
 much finessing. He wishes for power over the fate of that 
 cold beauty, the daughter, and what can plead more power- 
 
84 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fully in his favor than her dainty luxuriousness reduced to 
 labor for her bread, or accept the wealth he offers together 
 with his hand. Ha ! I fancy that story will soon be told, 
 and a new leaf in his destiny unfolded. That man has gr^at 
 luck I wonder why it should be so ? Why Fate gives to 
 some men every thing, and to others a stone ?" 
 
 Suddenly it occurred to him that this was no time to 
 moralize. The moments were passing, and he must, without 
 delay, call on Messrs. Hall & Co. with his vouchers, and demand 
 the large sum they were required to advance. With great 
 care he completed his toilette, for he was a man extremely 
 attentive to appearances ; then fastening his rooms, he^rem 
 out by the private entrance through which his daughter had 
 passed. He had to walk a great distance, and his way lay 
 through much of the busiest portion of New Orleans. He 
 received and returned many friendly greetings, for Withers 
 was a man well known in the speculating world which com- 
 prises so many acute intellects in every large city. 
 
 The counting-house of Messrs. Hall & Co. was at length 
 gained, and with an air of confidence he succeeded in penetra- 
 ting into the sanctum of the head of the establishment. This 
 was a small dark-looking room, in which was a gray-haired man, 
 somewhat advanced in life, busily engaged in writing. This 
 was the senior partner of the firm, and after nodding to 
 Withers, he completed the sentence he was engaged on, 
 before turning toward him. Then he whirled nervously 
 around, and said quickly, 
 
 " Can I do any thing for you this morning, Mr. Withers ?" 
 
 " A great deal," was the prompt reply; "as these papers 
 
85 
 
 will show you," and lie drew forth a letter from Mr. Har- 
 rington, which had accompanied that of Malcolm. It 
 was addressed to the merchant, explaining the business to 
 him. As Withers placed it before him, he half smiled, and 
 said, 
 
 "You do business after my own mind, Mr. Withers. 
 There is no preamble which tends to nothing, no loss of time 
 in mere words." 
 
 Withers bowed as he replied, 
 
 " Your own promptness is so well known, that I only seek 
 to fall into the habit of your mind, my dear sir." 
 
 The merchant had evidently not listened to him. ' His eyes 
 were fastened on the paper before him, and his brows knit as 
 he read and re-read its contents. He then laid it on the desk 
 and, after a moment's thought, said, 
 
 " Mr. Harrington makes a large demand on us, and at short 
 notice." 
 
 " The security is good," quietly responded Withers, with a 
 motion toward the mortgage. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; Wavertree is a fine plantation, and the 
 owner of it a man of honor, but he already has many 
 liabilities against him. Mr. Harrington is extravagant, 
 and" 
 
 He paused, and seemed unwilling to utter what was 
 passing in his mind. The heart of Withers began to beat 
 painfully, as the possibility presented itself that his golden 
 "visions might vanish before the obstinacy of this man. He 
 felt the blood rushing with electric speed through his frame, 
 and the veins on his broad forehead swelled almost to burst- 
 
86 
 
 ing. Setting bis teeth firmly, and clenching his hands, he 
 resolutety summoned back his calmness. Only by superior 
 craft could he accomplish the end he was now fully resolved 
 to achieve. When he thought the opportunity about to 
 escape him, all his lingering scruples vanished ; he must 
 secure this money must appropriate it at all hazards. He 
 presently spoke in a quiet, even-toned voice. 
 
 " I can assure you, Mr. Hall, tbat the money will be per- 
 fectly safe,.. You are aware that I am engaged in extensive 
 speculations in which others are also deeply concerned. I 
 can not betray the exact nature of the present one, but I can 
 assure you, on the faith of an experienced calculator of 
 chances, that Mr. Harrington will be in a position to refund 
 the money in less than a month." 
 
 The merchant regarded him with a penetrating glance. 
 
 " Your judgment is usually considered excellent I know in 
 the kind of business to which you have devoted your ener- 
 gies, Mr. Withers ; yet I still hesitate. We have already a 
 considerable balance against Harrington, and should he fail 
 in this speculation, for such I understand it to be from your 
 words, he would be inextricably involved. Ruin would over- 
 take a family that has never known a privation. We could 
 not afford to suffer so large a sum to lie idle, and you know 
 of course what must follow." 
 
 " But I tell you this is as certain as if I held the proceeds 
 in my hand. It is only buying a magnificent estate at a 
 mere nominal value, and selling it immediately to another 
 who will pay down as much as you are requested to advance. 
 
87 
 
 Thus you see, the use of the money will only be required for 
 a few weeks." ' r *\ 
 
 " If that were certain," replied the cautious man of busi- 
 ness. " But pardon me an idea occurs to me. Is the 
 estate in question the one offered by Mr. Delolme ?" 
 
 " I believe I may lay aside my usual discretion so far as to 
 reply in the affirmative." 
 
 "Are you, who usually know every thing in that line, 
 not aware that the title to that property is defective? and 
 that is the true reason why it is offered so much below its 
 real value." 
 
 Withers smiled knowingly. 
 
 "Mr. Harrington is fully informed on that subject. He 
 has ample security from Madame Koget for a good title, hence 
 his desire to purchase the estate in question." 
 
 This statement had a visible effect : the face of the mer- 
 chant cleared up, and he at once said, 
 
 " That materially alters the case, and Harrington seems as 
 fortunate in his maturity as he was in his youth. I can 
 now see my way clear, and no longer hesitate. But you 
 are perfectly certain that the title will be perfected, Mr. 
 Withers ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. It will be done before the money is paid." 
 
 " So much the better. Harrington is a fine, noble-hearted 
 fellow, and I know of no man who more liberally uses his 
 good fortune. I will consult a few moments with the junior 
 member of the firm, and then inform you of our decision. 
 You will find the morning paper in the next room. I have 
 not yet found time to glance at any thing in it, except 
 
88 
 
 the state of the market. We have an unusual press of busi- 
 ness just now, and I am employed until late in the afternoon." 
 
 Withers bowed, and retired to the apartment occupied by 
 the clerks, one of whom summoned the junior partner to a 
 conference with the chief of this little world in itself. A 
 bland smile, and a courteous bow greeted him from the junior 
 as he passed him on his way to the inner shrine of Mammon ; 
 and Withers knew that from him he had not much opposi- 
 tion to fear. He was not the financiering partner, and seldom 
 ventured to oppose the fiat of his senior. 
 
 Withers took the morning paper which was offered him 
 by one of the young men, and glanced over it. The recent 
 land sales and the advertisements for new ones were carefully 
 conned ; then he glanced over the other items. By some 
 chance his eyes were directed toward the dark lines that 
 usually surround the column of deaths. He rarely glanced 
 at them, for they reminded him of a disagreeable necessity 
 there must be at some future day, for relinquishing all the 
 enjoyments of existence, and appearing where an account 
 would be required of the talent committed to his charge. 
 But a name fascinated his eye to the page. The announce- 
 ment ran thus 
 
 " Died, suddenly, on her plantation on Bayou Lafourche. 
 Madame Annette JRoget, relict of the late Pierre Roget." 
 
 For an instant the heart of the reader ceased to throb, and 
 he seemed suffocating. With a furtive glance around to see 
 if his emotion was observed, he arose, and crushed the paper 
 into his pocket. 
 
 A few moments afterward he was summoned into the 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 sanctum, and by the time he entered it, his inscrutable face 
 had resumed its usual expression. The elder partner said, 
 
 "We have decided to make the required advance, Mr. 
 Withers. Is it imperative that the money shall be paid 
 over to-day ?" 
 
 " My orders are positive to close the trade immediately, 
 and I have an appointment this afternoon to meet the lawyer 
 of M. Delolme, and make a final settlement." 
 
 "In that case, be kind enough to wait a few moments, and 
 I will send one of the clerks round to the bank with you." 
 
 With an unquiet heart, Withers sat down while Mr. Hall 
 drew the order for the sum he so ardently coveted. He 
 turned once, and laconically said, 
 
 " In gold, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Certainly gold will be most convenient." 
 
 The order was completed, and handed to him ; with stifled 
 exultation he received it, and his eyes gloated on each sepa- 
 rate word as they ran over them. He felt his form dilating 
 with a consciousness of power. A few more hours, and all 
 this would be his. 
 
 He bade adieu to Mr. Hall and, accompanied by the clerk, 
 left the house. Together they entered the bank the order 
 was carefully examined, found genuine, and duly honored. 
 There was no delay in counting the money, for it was already 
 put up in bags of five thousand dollars each, and ten of these 
 were soon transferred to him. 
 
 A cab was called, and loaded with the precious deposit; 
 Mr. Withers then jumped in and gave the direction to his 
 retired abode. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE cab was driven to the front entrance, where the boy 
 who acted as his messenger was lounging on the sidewalk. 
 Assisted by him, the bags of coin were safely transferred to 
 the sitting-room of Withers. As he resumed his reins, after 
 receiving his fare, the cabman said, 
 
 " I guess there 's a fortin' in them ere bags ?" 
 
 " Not a very large one silver weighs heavy," replied 
 Withers. " But, small as the sum is, I shall pay it away this 
 afternoon, for I make it a rule never to keep money about me 
 in a city like this." 
 
 The man nodded, but looked as if he had his own opinion 
 on that subject. He drove on a few paces, then stopped and 
 looked back,>.to see if Withers had disappeared. He had 
 gone in, and the door was closed. The cabman arose from 
 his seat and took a deliberate survey of the house and its sur- 
 roundings. He muttered, 
 
 " Silver, indeed ! Guess I knows better 'n that. I knows how 
 gold is did up in them ere banks, and there was a cool fifty 
 thousand shiners in them bags. It 's a lonesome place, and 
 something might be done there without the neighbors being 
 any the wiser for it. It 's worth thinking of, any way. You '11 
 pay it away old file will you, afore night ? I know what that 's 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 91 
 
 worth. Maybe you '11 part with it afore day, but not with 
 your own consent, that 's certain." 
 
 Thus half soliloquizing, he drove slowly away absorbed in 
 his scheme of plunder, as deeply as was the villian of a higher 
 grade, who placed the money upon his table, dismissed the 
 boy, and composedly sat down before it to calculate all the 
 chances in favor of his escape with his booty. With the 
 skill of a cool head he argued in his own mind the two sides 
 of the question merely as a matter of policy conscience and 
 justice had no voice in the decision. 
 
 Should he abscond with his prize, and, under a feigned 
 name, enjoy all the pleasures it could purchase ? or should he 
 devote ten more years to the honest acquisition of a fortune, 
 which, in that time, would probably exceed the sum before 
 him ? Ay, if fortune smiled on him. If? there was the 
 doubt. Toward him the favors of the blind goddess had 
 fluctuated, and what he gained in one successful hit, was 
 often swept away in his next venture. His calling was but a 
 more exciting species of gambling, in which he could not 
 always control the chances. Finally, the choice seemed so 
 nearly balanced, that in the true spirit of the gambler, he re- 
 solved to leave it to the chances of the dice. He drew forth 
 a box, and after shaking them furiously, he threw them on 
 the table. " I will take three throws," he muttered, " and if 
 they go over thirty-eight, my own age, I take the present 
 chance and leave my fatherland forever." The word father- 
 land caused a sneer to stamp itself upon his features, and it 
 was with this expression that he stood where a streak of 
 sunshine fell through the half-closed window-blind upon 
 
92 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 him, revealing all the ugliness of his brown, iron-looking 
 face. 
 
 " Eighteen, by Jupiter !" he exclaimed. " The evil demon 
 has the ascendancy just now, I am sure. Let me try again." 
 
 Again the dice rattles upon the wood. 
 
 " Ace, four," he muttered discontentedly. " Hem ! the good 
 angel, I suppose, is taking his turn now, and of course he 
 gives me the lowest mark on the dice. It has always been 
 my luck." 
 
 He rattled the pieces of ivory energetically, and after a 
 pause, during which he grew perceptibly paler, he threw 
 them with a hand tremulous from anxiety. He glared at 
 the numbers, as if they, indeed, revealed the decree of Fate, 
 and fell utterly unnerved upon his seat. 
 
 Yes if upon that throw hung honor, integrity, and the 
 welfare of others, he had indeed lost, for seventeen made the 
 number greater than the one he had named as the maximum. 
 A cold perspiration bedewed his brow, and for a few seconds 
 a confused whirl was in his brain. His self-possession was 
 however speedily restored by a loud knocking at the outer 
 door. 
 
 He hurriedly threw his cloak over the table to conceal the 
 bags of treasure, and went with slow steps to admit the im- 
 patient applicant, who was again making the house resound 
 with his sonorous rappings. 
 
 " How often have I told you, Bondy, never to come to this 
 entrance ?" Withers peevishly inquired, as he recognized the 
 person who entered. " Can you not let yourself in at the 
 garden-gate, without all this uproar 2" 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 93 
 
 " Maybe I could, if I was a witch or a spirit," was the 
 response, made in a sharp voice which proceeded from a 
 man near his own size, with a shrewd Jewish physiog- 
 nomy. He was elaborately dressed, and had the air of a 
 third-rate man of fashion. " The deuce ! Do you expect 
 a fellow to creep through the key-hole? for the gate was 
 securely fastened." 
 
 "I had forgotten I went out by that way myself this 
 morning, and took the key with me. On my return, I en- 
 tered by this door. Excuse me you interrupted me in a 
 deep calculation, and I was annoyed." 
 
 " 0, 1 never expect manners from a bear, and you can be 
 the best representative of one that I have had the good for- 
 tune to meet," carelessly responded the young man, as he 
 entered the apartment occupied by Withers, and threw him- 
 self upon a seat. 
 
 "You are disposed to be complimentary," said Withers, 
 with sarcastic emphasis. 
 
 " Not at all I always pique myself on speaking the plain 
 truth." 
 
 " That your manners and appearance may be in keeping, 
 I suppose," retorted the other, for he knew that his visitor 
 was peculiarly sensitive on the score of his want of beauty. 
 Bondy only scowled in reply, and sat impatiently tapping his 
 boot with a fancy cane he held in his hand. 
 
 After a pause Withers said, 
 
 " It may seem inhospitable, but I am extremely busy to-day, 
 Bondy, and if you have only made a friendly call, I must dis- 
 pense with the civility till some other time." 
 
94 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Polite," sneered the Jew ; " but suppose I came on busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " In that case, be so good as to state it as briefly as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " I am quite willing ; for you can not be more anxious 
 to get rid of me than I am to be gone. I came to know 
 if the purchase of Delolme's place has been completed by 
 you ?" 
 
 " Of what interest can that be to you ?" inquired Withers, 
 fixing his most sinister gaze upon him. 
 
 " Only this ; I thought your employers would not thank 
 you for your precipitation, as Madame Roget is dead, 
 and I know the next heir is ready to dispute the title. I 
 came to give you this information, thinking it might be use- 
 ful to you ; but it is small thanks one need expect from 
 you for any service." 
 
 " My dear Bondy, I am really obliged to you for the in- 
 tended kindness," said Withers, with assumed frankness. 
 " To tell you the truth, I have just seen the announcement 
 of her death in the morning paper, and it was that which 
 made me so out of humor, when you came in. The old lady 
 could not have been guilty of a more inconvenient or ill-bred 
 thing than to die just at this crisis ; she has spoiled one of 
 the best trades I ever made, and I lose commissions that 
 would have made me much better off than I now am." 
 
 " What will you then do with the large sum you drew 
 from the bank this morning ?" asked Bondy, carelessly. 
 
 Withers started and knit his heavy brows. He slowly re- 
 peated, 
 
95 
 
 " The money true that is another inconvenience ; but 
 how did you know I had it ?" 
 
 "Oh, I saw you on the way to the bank; I know the 
 clerk who was with you, and when I accidentally met him 
 afterward, he told me that you had drawn fifty thousand 
 dollars to pay Delolme. I had seen the announcement of 
 Madame Roget's death, and I carae to warn you." 
 
 " Thank you. I appreciate your motive ; but what I am 
 to do with this large sum is a puzzle. Business hours at the 
 banks will be over before I could deposit it again, and by the 
 time I could return to Messrs. Hall & Co., the principals will 
 both have left for their own homes." 
 
 " True ; but you could have the money placed in their safe 
 for security." 
 
 " I could ; but then the clerks only would be responsible 
 for it. Safes have proved very unsafe in many instances, and 
 this is a large sum, a great temptation." 
 
 He uttered the last words with such emphasis that Bondy 
 looked at him curiously. He abruptly asked, 
 
 " Is it one to you ?" 
 
 Withers winced, for this was a home-thrust. He passion- 
 ately said, while his dark face flushed deeply, 
 
 " Did you come hither to insult me ? Am I a man to sac- 
 rifice my integrity for even a sum like this ? I, who have had 
 thousands to pass through my hands, and never yet had an 
 insinuation breathed against my honesty." 
 
 " Pooh ! you take it too seriously. I intended no insult," 
 replied Bondy, coolly. " If you take it up thus, I shall begin 
 
96 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 to think that you really meditate some treachery with regard 
 to this money." 
 
 " I care very little what you think," responded Withers, 
 angrily, and if you can say nothing more agreeable to me, I 
 wish you would leave me to complete the business I before 
 told you presses heavily upon me. But for services rendered 
 me in the past, I should know how to resent the insinuations 
 you have had the hardihood to make." 
 
 "Oh, as to that, I only said what I did to vex you. 
 Anger makes your hard, brown face look so infernal, that 
 you are even uglier than I am. Ha ! ha ! you are quite a 
 picture now, and would figure finely among the goblins in a 
 certain place you wot of." 
 
 Withers made a furious gesture toward him, but Bondy 
 arose, bowed to him with an air of mock respect, and left the 
 room, closing the door as he went out. 
 
 Drawing a long breath, the angry man stepped quickly 
 after him, and was about to turn the key in the lock, 
 when it was suddenly opened again, and Bondy's face came 
 almost in contact with his own, as he thrust his head 
 forward, 
 
 "Just looked in; hope I don't intrude," he said, twisting 
 his face into a ridiculous imitation of Paul Pry. " I forgot to 
 mention the chief business that brought me here. A gentle- 
 man of my acquaintance has seen this place once when he 
 called to visit you on business, and he wishes to know if you 
 will give it up on any terms ?" 
 
 " The place is not mine. I have only a lease, which I 
 would be glad to get rid of. Rooms nearer the centre of 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 business would suit me better, and I snail be very glad to let 
 him have it. Who wants it ?" 
 
 " A young man who is about to be married. He thinks a 
 romantic solitude, like this, will be pleasant for his honey- 
 moon ; and he is quite willing to pay you for any inconve- 
 nience he may put you to." 
 
 Withers affected to hesitate a moment, though nothing 
 could have better suited his plans. He asked, 
 
 "Will he pay cash?" 
 
 " Certainly, and to-day, if required." 
 
 " That will suit me very well, as I have a bill to make up 
 by to-morrow, which I intended to borrow money to meet. 
 This will obviate that necessity, and for a few weeks I can 
 take boarding at a hotel, until I can look around, and find 
 lodgings for myself." 
 
 " Good ! It is a bargain, then. How much, and when must 
 he pay ?" 
 
 Withers glanced around at the luxurious adornments, and 
 made a rapid calculation in his mind. He then said, 
 
 " A thousand dollars paid at six o'clock this evening, and 
 your friend can have possession to-morrow." 
 
 "You shall have it at that hour; good-morning." And 
 this time he actually went. Withers threw him the key of 
 the garden gate, and requested him to let himself out. As 
 Bondy slowly wended his way through the shaded walks, he 
 pondered on the recent interview; and to his suspicious nature 
 the conduct of Withers seemed very strange. He muttered, 
 
 "I do believe something is wrong about that money. 
 Withers must feel very confident of his means of defense to 
 
 5 
 
98 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 keep so large a sum as that in so retired a place. I do n't 
 believe lie means to do the right thing by the owner, but I '11 
 think twice before I agree to that cabman's proposal." 
 
 The gate closed on him, and Withers, who had eargerly 
 watched every step he made, rushed out and rapidly threaded 
 his way to the portal which he securely locked, and carried 
 away the key with him. On his return, he opened a closet 
 concealed in the wall, and after a few minutes' search, drew 
 forth an empty chest strongly made, into which he hurriedly 
 packed the gold, and fastened it up. He then looked over 
 the newspaper which he had abstracted in the morning, to 
 see what ships would leave port that day. 
 
 One bound for France he wished to find, and there was 
 exactly what suited him. The bark Euterpe would leave 
 certainly on the following morning at six o'clock for Havre. 
 His dinner-hour was approaching, and he concealed the box 
 in the closet and impatiently awaited the return of the boy 
 who usually brought him his meals from a neighboring res- 
 taurant. 
 
 In the mean time he wrote two notes one was to the law- 
 yer of M. Delolme declining the proposed purchase, since the 
 only person who" could have made a legal title to the property 
 
 was dead. The other was to Madame S requesting her 
 
 to permit his daughter to come to him at four o'clock and 
 bring with her a change of clothing, and such other articles 
 as she might need in a visit to a friend in the country, to 
 whose residence he intended taking her the same afternoon. 
 
 They were scarcely finished, when the boy came in with a 
 recherche little dinner, which Withers ordered in person every 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 99 
 
 morning, for he was a connoisseur in good living, lean and 
 sinewy as lie looked. While he discussed the deliciously 
 flavored viands, he despatched the boy on his errands, telling 
 
 him to call first at Madame S 's and as he returned from 
 
 the lawyer's office to stop again at the academy, and bring 
 his daughter and her packages with him. 
 
 Withers was more abstemious than usual in the indulgence 
 of his appetite, for he wished to keep his brain clear for what 
 remained before him. 
 
 The interval between the departure of the lad, and the 
 arrival of his daughter was spent in looking over the account 
 of all his worldly possessions. There was strong evidence 
 among them to prove that the step he was about to take was 
 not the effect of sudden temptation that it had long been 
 prepared for, although vaguely, and as a possible rather than 
 a probable event. All the property he had realized amounted 
 to nearly ten thousand dollars, and it was invested in foreign 
 securities in the assumed name of Charles Hamilton. Thus 
 he was prepared at any moment, when a temptation of suffi- 
 cient magnitude was offered, to avail himself of his perfect 
 readiness to abscond at any moment. 
 
 And this man, stained with guilt, as he was about to be- 
 come, had a child, young and pure, who was to become the 
 companion of his flight. He loved her, too, in his own way, 
 though there was little tenderness in his affection for her. It 
 was merely the instinctive attachment which nature implants 
 in the breast of the meanest of her offspring for their own. 
 Grace also recalled to her father the one green spot upon 
 his hard pathway, in which self-interest had not been his 
 
100 
 
 guiding motive. Withers had never been romantic, but by 
 some strange chance, he had really fallen in love with an in- 
 teresting girl who possessed no fortune, and had married her. 
 She did not live long enough after their union for him to grow 
 weary of her, aud the clear eyes and gentle manners of his 
 daughter, often recalled the image of her who had been much 
 fairer and more attractive than her descendant. 
 
 The boy at length returned, accompanied by Grace, who 
 was dressed exactly as on her visit in the early part of the 
 day. Her face wore a brighter expression in the anticipation 
 of some change in her monotonous life, and her greeting to 
 her father was less timid than usual. 
 
 " Shall we indeed go into the country, dear father ? and 
 see the beautiful flowers, and bright sunshine away from 
 crowded brick walls ? Ah that will indeed be charming !" 
 and she gayly clapped her hands. 
 
 Mr. Withers was surprised at this outburst, so different 
 from her usual quietness. He laughed as he said, 
 
 u 0, you will have a thousand wonders to relate to Madame 
 
 S when you return. But pray moderate your raptures 
 
 a little, and assist me in packing my trunk." 
 
 " You will take a trunk then, father ? We must be going 
 to make quite a visit." 
 
 " Only a small trunk, child. Put in a change of clothing 
 for me, and then lay your own things above them, in good 
 order." 
 
 Quiet and orderly in her habits, Grace had soon completed 
 her task, and by that time a carriage, for which the boy had 
 been despatched, stood before the door. The chest of treas- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 101 
 
 ure was transferred to it the trunk fastened on, and, giving 
 the lad- strict orders to remain at home until his return, Mr. 
 Withers and his daughter were rapidly driven to a ship land- 
 ing at the lower end of the city. 
 
 The Euterpe had already received her freight, and hauled 
 out in the stream, ready to leave on the following morning. 
 The water was calm, and in a few moments the father and 
 daughter stood in safety upon her deck. The captain, a 
 bluff Scotchman, received them politely, and to him Mr. 
 "Withers briefly communicated his desire to engage a passage 
 on his vessel for himself and the child that accompanied him. 
 
 The old man looked kindly at Grace, as he asked, 
 
 " And will the lassie have no woman with her 2" 
 
 " No she is not dainty, and can take care of herself. Her 
 mother is dead." 
 
 "Poor bairn more's the pity for her. Well sir, we have 
 but one passenger, and that happens to be a lady who has 
 taken the whole of the cabin. If she will let your daughter 
 have a berth, I can accommodate you." 
 
 While he spoke, a delicate, middle-aged woman, dressed in 
 deep mourning, emerged from the cabin. Her eye at once 
 fell on Grace, and she seemed attracted by the young face, 
 and shy manner, for she faintly smiled on her as she passed 
 the group. The captain arrested her steps without ceremony, 
 and said, 
 
 " Madame, this gentleman wishes to take passage with m3 
 for himself and this little girl : but I was just telling him that 
 unless you would give the child a berth in your cabin, there 
 ia no chance to accommodate him." 
 
102 T'HE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The lady paused, but she scarcely listened to the words of 
 Mr. Withers, who made an elaborate speech, setting forth his 
 earnest desire to obtain a passage on the Euterpe, arid the 
 great obligation he should feel under to her, if she would give 
 a nook in her cabin to his daughter. 
 
 The lady gently took the hand of the frightened and con- 
 fused girl, and said, 
 
 " Your daughter, sir, looks like a child of refined manners, 
 and amiable temper, and her companionship will be a wel- 
 come relief to the tedium of a sea voyage, which I had not 
 hoped for. I love children, and can interest myself with 
 them, when the society of their elders would jar upon my 
 feelings. I accept her willingly as the companion of iny 
 voyage." 
 
 Grace clung to the hand which lightly and softly held 
 hers, but with a touch so friendly -so mother-like, that she 
 instinctively felt she had gained a friend, in the sorrowful- 
 looking being beside her. 
 
 Mr. Withers would have thanked her, but she impatiently 
 waved her hand, saying, 
 
 " Enough, sir ; we understand each other. From this mo- 
 ment, I consider your daughter under my charge." 
 
 She drew Grace unresistingly toward her, and together 
 they entered the cabin. 
 
 On their way to the ship, Mr. Withers had explained to 
 his daughter that they would not visit the country, but em- 
 bark at once for Europe. He toy. her the tale he had already 
 prepared for her ; that he had inherited a fortune from a dis- 
 tant relative in England ; which he would visit that country 
 
103 
 
 and claim, so soon as he had placed her at school in France, 
 where he intended her to complete her education. The will 
 of the testator provided that he should assume his name, and 
 as Charles Hamilton he should register himself upon the 
 ship's book. 
 
 As he disliked to answer questions, he forbade Grace, un- 
 der penalty of his severe displeasure, to reveal to any one the 
 fact that she had ever borne any other name ; and as he 
 parted from her he found means to whisper a caution not to 
 betray this vital secret to her new friend. 
 
 Having placed his daughter and his gold in safety, Withers 
 selected a berth, and then left the ship, with the assurance to 
 the captain that he would be on board by daylight. The fur- 
 ther arrangements he had to make compelled him. to return 
 again to the city. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WITHERS regained his own residence just at twilight, and 
 found the boy he had left in charge of the house, sleeping 
 soundly on the floor of his sitting-room. He let himself in 
 by the private entrance, and after some effort, succeeded in 
 arousing the young somnambulist sufficiently to send him 
 away to his mother's for the remainder of the night. 
 
 In a few moments more he expected Bondy to arrive, and 
 after the transaction of the business he came on, he would 
 have a few hours in which to seek rest for his harassed mind 
 and wearied body. Now he sat in the dim twilight, with his 
 head supported on his hand, thinking over the past days of 
 toil and drudgery, and trying to imagine how brilliant would 
 be the life of pleasure he intended to lead, in that old world 
 he had so long desired to visit. 
 
 But, spite of his efforts to conceal the fact from himself, a 
 feeling deeper than weariness fell with leaden power upon 
 him. He did not regret leaving the spot so long his home ; 
 he would have sneered had such a thought occurred to him. 
 As he thus sat in the dim room, all the events in his monot- 
 onous life passed in review before him, and he felt the con- 
 viction in his own mind that he had never yet really lived. 
 This existence of calculation and plodding business was not 
 life. What then was ? 
 

 THE PLANTER S DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 Ah, how different would be the reply of each human being 
 to that question. That of Withers was, to enjoy to live 
 luxuriously to gratify every caprice and then ? Beyond 
 that, he cared not his was the creed of the worldly-wise 
 man, who lives only in the present, and suffers the future to 
 take care of itself. Why should he look into that dim, dim 
 uncertainty beyond, so long as he could avoid it ? 
 
 As he thus sat, he must have slept, for a vision, clad in 
 floating garments, seemed to hover beside him, and luminous 
 rays appeared to emanate from the sweetly-sorrowful face 
 that bent toward him. Shadowy fingers parted the hair 
 upon his brow, and their touch diffused a delicious sense of 
 repose throughout his aching brain. A low voice thrilled 
 through his soul, and the words that came to him were those 
 of warning and entreaty : 
 
 " My beloved, go back upon your perilous path. Do not 
 this wrong thing; bring back our child as your best safe- 
 guard from evil. She will protect you, if you respect her 1 
 innocence ;" and as he remained impassive, a long wail of woe j I 
 seemed breathed into the tones of entreaty. 
 
 A loud rap upon the window startled him, and he aroused 
 himself from the light slumber that, for a few brief moments, 
 had enchained his faculties. The impression of his dream 
 was still upon him, but he cast it aside with an impatient 
 exclamation, and admitted Bondy. 
 
 " What ! All in the dark, and no fire, this chilly evening," 
 he exclaimed, as he entered. "Why, man, what are you 
 dreaming about 2" 
 
 " An angel, I believe," replied Withers, lightly ; " for only 
 5* 
 
106 
 
 a moment since I could have sworn that one was beside 
 ine. At the approach of an evil spirit, she vanished, of 
 course." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," coldly replied the other. " But as I am 
 the bearer of money to you, I should scarcely be considered a 
 spirit of evil. Thus, you see, your desire to say a rude thing 
 to me has caused you to utter a falsehood almost in the pres- 
 ence of your angel visitant." 
 
 " Nonsense let us to business at once, for I have no time 
 to spare. You have brought the money ?" 
 
 " Certainly and this paper for you to sign. Mr. Somers 
 would have come himself, but he had an engagement with his 
 betrothed, and made me his agent." 
 
 Withers lighted a lamp, and examined the paper he then 
 carefully counted over the money, and after securing it in his 
 pocket-book, signed the agreement, expressing the hope that 
 the purchaser would be as well satisfied with his bargain as 
 he was. 
 
 " He is more than contented," said Bondy. " He is 
 charmed to be able to secure so lovely a seclusion in the 
 heart of a city like this. But let us not talk of him. What 
 have you done with the money for the Roget place ? Did 
 you finally take my advice, and deposit it with Messrs Hall, 
 until to-morrow ?" 
 
 "No not with them, but in quite as secure a place," 
 briefly responded Withers. 
 
 " Ah, I see that you do not choose to answer me ; but I 
 only asked, that in case you have risked keeping it here, I 
 might offer to remain with you to-night." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 " Thank you, but I believe I shall not need your services. 
 The money is quite safe ; I do not apprehend any danger to 
 it ; and if I did, I believe I am quite competent to take good 
 care of it myself." 
 
 " This is a lonely, out of the way place." 
 
 Yes but I am well armed, and a resolute man," replied 
 Withers, who took pleasure in baffling the evident desire of 
 Bondy to discover whether tlie money was really in the house. 
 A suspicion of his motives never glanced athwart his mind. 
 He was too deeply absorbed in his own scheme of fraud to 
 think for a moment that another was canvassing in his own 
 mind the chances in favor of his appropriation of the same 
 spoil. 
 
 After a little more desultory conversation Bondy took his 
 leave, and so soon as "Withers heard the garden door clang 
 behind him, he closed and barred his shutters, locked every 
 avenue of entrance, and went out by the front way. 
 
 It was quite dark, and he did not see a crouching form 
 that arose from the corner, and stealthily followed him. Every 
 step he took that night was watched. He went into a coffee- 
 house where he usually supped, and called for what he wanted. 
 He afterward smoked a segar leisurely and then took a 
 much larger draught of brandy than he was in the habit of 
 drinking. 
 
 "Ah," imittered the spy, from his distant corner, "that is 
 to keep his spirits up ; I don't believe he means to pay over 
 that money honestly, even if he keeps it till morning, which 
 I consider doubtful." 
 
 Withers lingered, looking over the evening papers, and 
 
108 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fancying the appearance of the paragraph which would so 
 soon appear, announcing his flight, and the magnitude of his 
 successful fraud. He could well anticipate the comments of 
 the press, but this did not cause him to falter in his course. 
 
 Ah ! if he could only have been gifted with a gleam of 
 second-sight, how would his hair have bristled with horror at 
 the announcement that those same types would send forth to 
 the world in twenty-four hours from that time. 
 
 He must return to his late home, yet there was a dread 
 upon his soul at the thought of the house which had never 
 been lonely to him before. His feelings were inexplicable to 
 himself, and he walked out in the open air to recover his self- 
 possession. 
 
 Still that dark form followed him tracked him back to his 
 own door, and saw him enter. As the door closed on him, 
 Bondy stood erect, and said in muttered tones, 
 
 " Now, I am certain the money is there. He always goes 
 to some place of amusement at night, and he does not change 
 his habit without good cause. He would not tell me. O 
 no lie had to be mysterious, but I found it out for myself, 
 and I '11 make a good use of my knowledge, too. I rather 
 think that the ' wedded love's first home' of Mr. Somers is 
 likely to prove a bad bargain." 
 
 While thus muttering, he swiftly passed along the street 
 until he came to a narrow alley that opened from it. A few 
 paces within, he was joined by another man, who eagerly 
 inquired 
 
 " Have you found out whether he has it there ?" 
 
 " Yes I am now satisfied that he has not removed it from 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 109 
 
 his own house. We must lose no time, for I believe that he 
 intends to leave under cover of night, and appropriate it him- 
 self. His looks were very strange, when I questioned him 
 about it." 
 
 " I am quite ready, but it will not be safe to make an at- 
 tempt upon the house for several hours yet." 
 
 " I have secured the means of entering. I long ago ob- 
 tained the impression of the key to the front entrance, and 
 had a duplicate made, for he has papers I have long been 
 anxious to get. It will be easy to enter, for Withers I know 
 always takes out the keys at night, and carries them into his 
 own room." 
 
 " A stupid precaution, it seems to me." 
 
 " It is one that we shall profit by, at all events ;" and the 
 two confederates walked away. 
 
 On the following morning a scence of confusion and ex- 
 citement was witnessed in the usually quiet garden that sur- 
 rounded the abode of Withers. A crowd of eager and 
 alarmed faces filled its shaded walks, and those who penetrated 
 to the interior of the house shuddered and grew pale as they 
 looked upon the pallid and blood-stained figure, which with 
 an awful mockery of death, the murderers had placed erect 
 in a large arm chair, with his feet stretched out before him. 
 
 There had evidently been a violent struggle, for blood was 
 sprinkled on every thing, and a large pool had flowed from 
 the numerous wounds of the dead man upon the flowery 
 groundwork of the carpet. The closet was broken open, and 
 its contents scattered on the floor. In the adjoining bed-room 
 the struggle had evidently commenced; there every thing 
 
110 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 was in the wildest confusion. Every article of value had 
 been removed ; even the rings and the watch of the murdered 
 man. His pocket-book, rifled of its contents, was found upon 
 the floor, and all his papers had disappeared. 
 
 A more thorough and systematic robbery had never been 
 perpetrated, nor could one have been more quietly done. 
 The neighbors had heard no alarm ; that, however, was not 
 remarkable, as the house was isolated from others, and em- 
 bowered in shrubbery. The errand-boy was the first to dis- 
 cover the deed. On arriving at the house at an early hour 
 in the morning, as was his usual custom, he found the door 
 imperfectly closed. Alarmed at this, he entered, and beheld 
 a scene that nearly deprived him of his senses. His frantic 
 cries alarmed the people in the -street, and soon the rumor of 
 what had occurred filled the house and yard with eager and 
 appalled spectators. 
 
 That evening the papers contained the following para- 
 graph : 
 
 " A most daring murder and robbery was perpetrated last 
 evening in the lower part of the city, in a lonely house on 
 
 street. A large sum of money had been drawn from 
 
 the bank by John Withers, Esq., a gentleman well known in 
 the speculating world, as a man of enterprise and integrity. 
 The trade which it was designed to close was unhappily post- 
 poned, and the deceased imprudently ventured to keep the 
 money in his house. It was entered by burglars, Mr. 
 Withers assassinated, and every thing of value removed. 
 We learn that there is no clew to the perpetrators of the 
 deed." 
 
Ill 
 
 Such was the announcement, and much excitement it 
 occasioned in certain circles where Withers was known. 
 The police made every effort to trace -the murderers, but 
 without success; and a full account of the untoward event 
 was despatched to Mr. Harrington by Messrs. Hall. A 
 friend of Malcolm's also sent to him, by the same mail, 
 the particulars of the murder and robbery of his agent. 
 
 And where was Grace during all this ferment ? 
 
 Finding that his passenger did not come on board at the 
 appointed time, the captain of the Euterpe concluded that 
 unexpected business had detained him, and he would follow 
 the vessel to the Balize, on the first steamer. The tow-boat 
 which was to take the ship to the mouth of the river, came 
 alongside at the appointed hour, and it was impossible to 
 wait for a single passenger, even if his daughter was on 
 board. 
 
 Grace had been awake until a late hour of the previous 
 night, talking with her new friend, and she slept late on the 
 following morning. When she awoke, they were many 
 miles below the city, and her distress at the non-appearance 
 of her father, was soothed by the assurance that he would 
 certainly overtake the vessel before she left the Mississippi. 
 Mrs. Dalton endeavored to interest her, to prevent her 
 mind from continually reverting to her father's inexplic- 
 able absence, and she found so much feeling and intelligence 
 in this quiet and plain child, that her interest in her 
 deepened every moment. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton was a widow, and childless, and her heart 
 
 opened to the motherless one with a warm sympathy, which 
 8 
 
112 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 those who have suffered themselves know how to give. 
 Grace watched the approach of every steamer with intense 
 solicitude, for the slow progress of the ship enabled many to 
 pass them, and her face grew more sorrowful as each one 
 went on without hailing. 
 
 The ship reached the Balize, and was ready to go on her 
 outward voyage, and still the missing passenger lingered. 
 The captain was in a dilemma about the child. He came 
 into the cabin, holding a newspaper from New Orleans in his 
 hand, which he had just obtained. On the outer page two 
 words, in large letters, were conspicuous, " Awful Tragedy," 
 and then came the details of the recent murder. 
 
 As he commenced explaining to Grace that she must re- 
 main at the Balize, or go on the voyage without her father, 
 her eye fell on those words. She glanced at the name of the 
 street on which the house occupied by the murdered man was 
 situated, snatched the paper, read the terrible details, and fell 
 senseless on the floor. 
 
 When she recovered consciousness she was delirious, and 
 many days elapsed before she was in a condition to give a 
 connected account of the cause of her emotion. The captain 
 wished to leave her to be taken care of at the Balize ; but 
 this Mrs. Dalton opposed, and she insisted that her father had 
 been detained, but would follow his daughter in the next 
 ship bound for the same port. She herself would undertake 
 the care of the young girl, and, in the event of her father's 
 non-appearance, Grace should become to her as her own 
 daughter. 
 
 Thus released from all responsibility as to her future 
 
113 
 
 fate, the captain consented, and they set sail with the sick 
 girl. 
 
 Her recovery was very slow, and on being questioned by 
 Mrs. Dalton, Grace at once revealed the heavy blow which 
 had caused her such severe suffering. 
 
 At her request, the paper was sought for, and she pointed 
 out to her protectress the paragraph which had so nearly 
 proved fatal to her existence. 
 
 " But, my child," said Mrs. Dalton, " the name of the per- 
 son who met this sad fate was Withers, and yours is registered 
 as Hamilton." 
 
 Grace then repeated to her the story concerning the change 
 in his name, fabricated by her father, and Mrs. Dalton saw 
 no reason to doubt its truth. She folded the orphan to her 
 heart, and told her that in herself she had gained a mother, 
 and from that hour she must consider her in the light of a 
 parent. Mrs. Dalton then went on to inform her that she 
 was very independent in circumstances, but not wealthy. 
 
 " My father was not poor, ma 'am," replied Grace, with 
 simplicity, " and from something he said the evening we came 
 down to the ship, I think the box he brought on board con- 
 tained his money, for he intended living in Franc hereafter." 
 
 " So much the better, my love, for my fortune is only a life 
 annuity in the English funds, and it would not enable me to 
 provide for you in a suitable manner in case of my death. 
 Have you no relatives, Grace, who can interfere with my 
 claims upon you ?" 
 
 " None, madame. My father never spoke of any, and my 
 mother died before I can remember her." 
 
114 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Then let me take lier place in your affections, my dear 
 girl. I promise to cherish you as my own. Call me mother, 
 Grace, and let my name replace the lately assumed one of 
 Hamilton." 
 
 Grace wept some sweet tears upon the bosom of her newly- 
 found friend, and promised the love and obedience of a 
 daughter to her, and thus the compact was sealed. 
 
 On their arrival in France, Mrs. Dalton placed her adopted 
 daughter in a seminary in the vicinity of Paris, and boarded 
 in the house with her. She led an isolated life in a country 
 in which she had no friends, and of whose language she had 
 but an imperfect knowledge; but this seclusion suited her. 
 She had endured sorrows which destroyed all taste for society, 
 and she was passionately fond of reading. The society of her 
 young protege gave all the variety to her life that she felt 
 the need of, and her benevolence was interested in the prog- 
 ress and happiness of her adopted daughter. 
 
 On opening the box, Mrs. Dalton was surprised to find 
 how large a sum it contained. With the aid of the English 
 banker who managed her own business, it was securely in- 
 vested for the benefit of Grace Withers Hamilton Dalton; 
 for it was thus she wished her young companion to designate 
 herself, that if by chance any member of her family, or any 
 friend of her father, should happen to meet with her, they 
 might be enabled to recognize her from the united names 
 she bore. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE day on which Victor Harrington completed his twenty- 
 third year dawned brilliantly. The gay party assembled 
 around the breakfast table offered tbeir congratulations, and 
 wished him every happiness and success in the future. Victor 
 received them with elated spirits, and glanced toward his 
 hard-looking mother-in-law elect, to see what effect his popu- 
 larity had on her. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin only curled her lip, and said, 
 
 "Wishes cost nothing, nephew. For my part, I might 
 wish you to be the fortunate possessor of Aladdin's lamp, or 
 the purse of Fortunatus, but I should only prove my sincerity 
 by helping you to their attainment, if there was any chance 
 of getting them." 
 
 The well-wishers felt these words as a sneer toward them- 
 selves, but the most of them knew Mrs. Ruskin, and they said 
 to each other, 
 
 " It is only her way. It is useless to pay attention to a 
 person whose life is made up of ill-temper and sarcasm." 
 
 Victor was elated by the auspicious commencement of the 
 day, and he felt irritated at his aunt's remark. With height- 
 ened color he replied, 
 
 " When I ask services at the hands of my friends, madame, 
 aiid they are refused, it will be time enough to pronounce 
 
116 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 their kindly expressed wishes for my success in life, insincere. 
 Thank heaven ! that is a test my father's son is not likely 
 soon to put them to." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskiu smiled skeptically. 
 
 " Who knows ? Mutual dependence is as much a law of 
 society as any I know. It is nonsense to boast of never 
 asking a favor. I can prove to you, if I choose, that you are 
 ready now to ask of me that which I alone have the authority 
 to bestow." 
 
 Victor understood her, and he glanced toward Louise, 
 who blushed slightly, and made a little grimace, while she 
 raised her finger to him as a warning not to reply. They 
 soon after left the table, and Malcolm sought the nook in the 
 library, in which he knew Pauline often ensconced herself, 
 that, in the charms of her conversation, he might beguile his 
 uneasiness at the non-arrival of letters from Withers. He 
 had confidently expected to receive, by the mail of that 
 morning, the assurance that the purchase of the Delolme 
 estate had been completed, and on the following one he de- 
 signed setting out for the residence of Madame Roget, to se- 
 cure the promised title. He knew the old lady to be infirm, 
 and he considered it important to have the business completed 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 But this morning his fair friend did not make her appear- 
 ance, and with an impatient exclamation he threw down the 
 book in which he made an effort to interest himself, and 
 strolled toward Mr. Harrington's table. He was about to ad- 
 dress him, when an exclamation from that gentleman arrested 
 him. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 " What is it ?" inquired Malcolm, listlessly, as lie extended 
 his hand toward the paper Mr. Harrington held in his trem- 
 bling grasp. But he had no sooner glanced at the paragraph 
 to which his attention was directed than he too showed evi- 
 dences of excitement. 
 
 " Madame Roget dead !" he exclaimed. " That is a mis- 
 fortune I had not anticipated. There went a cool hundred 
 thousand from you, my dear sir. But do not become ex- 
 cited ; it is only missing a fine speculation." 
 
 " But but the money ? The large sum I authorized your 
 agent to draw from my commission merchant," said Mr. Har- 
 rington, nervously. " It may have been paid for an estate 
 that I could not hold as my own." 
 
 Malcolm glanced at the paper again, and he coolly re- 
 plied, 
 
 " The date of this paper is on the morning of the day on 
 which the money was to be paid. Withers is extremely 
 cautious, and he would certainly have heard of Madame Bo- 
 get's death before the trade was completed. Make yourself 
 quite easy, Mr. Harrington, I will guaranty the safety of your 
 funds." 
 
 " But this Withers ? Is he perfectly trustworthy." 
 
 " Perfectly. I have transacted business with him for many 
 years, and I have always found him the soul of punctuality" 
 and honor. Feel assured, my dear sir, that your money is 
 in the custody of a shrewd man, who will keep it perfectly 
 safe." 
 
 "I trust so for " he paused, unwilling to let another 
 see how uneasy he really was, for he best knew the import- 
 
118 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ance of this speculation to his prosperity. By its means, he 
 had hoped to clear his estate from debt, and leave a hand- 
 some surplus besides, with which to endow his son on his 
 marriage. Now, that hope was at an end, and he could not 
 repress a vague feeling of uneasiness as to the fate of his 
 thousands. He said, 
 
 " I think you expected to hear from the city this morn- 
 ing r 
 
 Malcolm bowed. 
 
 " And you did not ? The newspapers came, you see : so 
 it was not the fault of the mail." 
 
 " I blame no one for the failure," replied Malcolm, slightly 
 annoyed. " I can veiy well imagine that Withers was so 
 pressed with business, he had not time to notify me of the 
 escape we made. A packet is due to-night, and I shall hear 
 from him with certainty then." 
 
 " I trust so," and Mr. Harrington sunk back in his chair 
 in a most unpleasant reverie. Malcolm walked away, and 
 buried himself behind the folds of a heavy curtain that 
 hung over one of the window seats, there to ponder over 
 the thoughts which the unexpected death of Madame Ro- 
 get elicited. How shocked would his unsuspicious host 
 have been, could he have read what was passing in his 
 mind. 
 
 "Suppose Withers should play me false at last?" he 
 mused. " It would play the deuce with my plans, and nearly 
 ruin Mr. Harrington. I should be minus several thousands, 
 but not enough to affect my fortunes seriously. It is strange 
 he did not write, though I would not say so to my host. 
 
119 
 
 Suppose the fifty thousand gone, and Withers eloped ! It 
 would save me a world of finesse. Harrington quite in my 
 power, I need not then throw aside the mask. I could play 
 the disinterested friend could offer such assistance as would 
 stave off ruin, while I held him by the double ties of honor 
 and gratitude. I do believe I could forgive Withers if such 
 were the issue. My losses w r ould be more than repaid, could 
 they only result in winning the girl I best love." 
 
 He paused, and then with a half smile, repeated, 
 
 " Best love- by heaven ! I wish I knew which one that is. 
 Both these bewitching sisters enthrall me. Adele merely by 
 her beauty ; Pauline by her tact, her feeling, her unspeakable 
 charm. What is it that breathes into my hard soul a feeling 
 of tenderness almost feminine, when I am near this girl ?" 
 
 Unconsciously he had spoken the few last words aloud, and 
 a voice that seemed to come from the clouds said, 
 
 "I declare, Mr. Malcolm is so fond of talking that he 
 speaks aloud to himself." 
 
 He started, and looked out ; the great tree rustled its 
 branches against the window, on the wide seat of which he 
 had thrown himself. There, amid the arching boughs of the 
 oak, sat Louise, comfortably placed on one of the seats we 
 have before described, striking her foot against a neighboring 
 limb, to give her perch a swinging motion. 
 
 " Hebe must have stooped from Olympus to commune with 
 me, favored mortal that I am," said Malcolm, bowing with 
 mock reverence to the romp, who looked quite as fresh and 
 charming as the handmaiden of the gods herself. She gayly 
 said, 
 
120 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "And what do you think induced my divinityship to con- 
 descend to talk with a mere mortal ?" 
 
 " I am sure I can not guess, unless it was to honor the 
 humblest of her slaves." 
 
 " A better one than that. To gratify my curiosity on a 
 subject that puzzles me." 
 
 "A divinity puzzled by mere mortal affairs! That is be- 
 yond belief, fair goddess. I am persuaded that your own 
 sagacity can enable you to penetrate whatever is of interest 
 to yourself." 
 
 " Ay what interests myself, but not what concerns 
 others." 
 
 " What then, would you learn ?" 
 
 " I am dying to find out which one of my cousins it is you 
 prefer. Do you know it is the gossip of the whole house, 
 and the majority give you to Pauline, because you pay her 
 the most attention? But I have watched you when your eye 
 fell on Adele, and I set my single opinion against that of the 
 rest. Am I not right ? Now tell me, like a good soul, be- 
 cause I have a bet depending on it." 
 
 There was a cool effrontery in this, which only Louise 
 Ruskin could have assumed. 
 
 Malcolm haughtily answered, 
 
 " Really, Miss Ruskin, you have taken an infinite deal of 
 trouble about a matter that, so far as I can see, only concerns 
 myself. Is there any absolute necessity that I should be in 
 love with either of your cousins ?" 
 
 " O, certainly not. Only you know that every unmarried 
 
121 
 
 man that comes hither thrice, is supposed to be attracted by 
 either one or the other of the daughters." 
 
 " I believe the world to which 1 belong, comprehends very 
 well that business, and not love-making, brings me to Waver- 
 tree. Your world may judge me as it pleases. I can afford 
 to turn a deaf ear to comments to which I am indifferent." 
 
 His cheek was slightly flushed, and there was a tone of 
 vexation in his voice in spite of his professed indifference. 
 Louise saw this, and replied with a mocking laugh, 
 
 "So the calculating, moneyed world, has a contempt for 
 the butterfly portion of humanity. I thought Mr. Malcolm 
 was ambitious of belonging to both classes, and considered 
 himself successful in his aim too. Come, be truthful now, 
 and confess that Solomon's lilies are, after all, more attractive 
 to your fastidious taste, than those who are born to toil and 
 spin." 
 
 " So long as Miss Louise Ruskin is classed among them, I 
 must, of course, reply ' yes' to such a query," said Malcolm, 
 with a low bow of mock respect. Even Louise was a little 
 daunted at this, but she immediately recovered her self-pos- 
 session and coquettishly replied, 
 
 ** Thank you. I shall begin to say to the gossips, Withhold 
 your judgment. It is neither wealth or beauty that always 
 wins the day. Sprightliness and gayety may possess a charm 
 superior to either. Adieu, Mr. Malcolm ; after that last speech 
 I am satisfied that neither of my cousins is in the ascendant," 
 and with a roguish glance Louise fluttered down from her 
 perch in a manner peculiar to herself. 
 
 Light of form, and firm of foot, she sprang from branch to 
 6 
 
122 
 
 branch in the old tree with as great celerity as though she 
 had been running down a staircase. Malcolm arose and fol- 
 lowed her agile motions with admiration, in spite of the an- 
 noyance she had inflicted on him. Ere he withdrew his head 
 from the window, he saw the frowning face of Victor emerge 
 from the shelter of the shrubbery, and he approached his 
 giddy lady love with an expression ominous of one of their 
 numerous quarrels. 
 
 They disappeared behind the hedge, and the schemer 
 threw himself upon his seat, and gave himself anew to his 
 own thoughts. 
 
 So, subtle as he believed himself, he had permitted his true 
 feelings to be fathomed even by one so young and thought- 
 less as this girl. Then he tried to console himself with the 
 thought that the outside world must have its gossip, and why 
 should he regard it? It had not been his wont to do so, but 
 now so much was at stake so uncertain even to himself was 
 the game he was playing, that he wished to shroud his move- 
 ments from observation as much as possible ; as if the lookers 
 on are not always the keenest judges, and the coldest calcu- 
 lators of success, in any game in which the feelings are at all 
 interested. 
 
 While Malcolm thus mused, Louise made her peace with 
 her lover, and returned to her mother's room. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin raised her cold eyes to her flushed features, 
 as she entered, and with some appearance of interest in- 
 quired, 
 
 " Why have you been weeping, Louise ? Did my com- 
 mission end in such a manner as to cause tears ?" 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 123 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, it did ; for I have just had such a scene 
 with Victor as I would not go through again for any con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " Victor is presumptuous, and troublesome," replied the 
 elder lady, with asperity. " Tell me what occurred to make 
 him angry ?" 
 
 " Only this ; in obedience to your commands, I went in 
 search of Mr. Malcolm. He was in the library with my 
 uncle, and without attracting his notice I could not join him 
 there. After a while he placed himself in the window near- 
 est the great tree, so I mounted in that, and asked him what 
 you wish to know." 
 
 "You asked him, child? What do you mean by that? 
 Did you put so brusque a question to him as that ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am you know I never have patience to take a 
 round-about way to any thing, so I asked him plainly what I 
 wished to find out." 
 
 " Stupid ! have you no tact, no finesse, that you would 
 approach a man like Malcolm in that way ? And what did 
 he answer ?" 
 
 "Just as I might have expected. He defended himself 
 from the charge of loving either of my cousins by a mock- 
 ingly expressed admiration for myself." 
 
 " Then really how do you know he was not in earnest, 
 Louise ? You are pretty, and piquant ; just the sort of person 
 to attract a grave, sober man like Malcolm. Suppose he 
 should be in earnest ?" 
 
 " Then I can only say so much the worse for him. But I 
 know that he only took that means of defending himself from 
 
124 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 a charge he felt to be serious. You may not think my 
 opinion worth much, mother, but Adele is the load-star. I 
 have seen that in his eyes when they turned on her, which I 
 have read in Victor's for myself by that same token I know 
 that it means love." 
 
 " If it is Adele, there is no danger, for she will never marry 
 him. Do n't be silly about Victor, Louise, and I believe I can 
 secure this brilliant destiny for you." 
 
 " I do n't want it," said Louise, pettishly. " Victor will be 
 rich enough, and we like each other. If any man on earth 
 could make me afraid of him it would be this Malcolm. I 
 declare when I asked him that simple question about my 
 cousins, he looked at me like a tiger, until he recollected 
 himself, and tried to make me believe he had not thought of 
 being in love with either of them." 
 
 " You are but a child, Louise, and reason like one. I do 
 not consider you bound by any promise you have made to 
 Victor ; for I have never yet been formally required to give 
 my consent, and without that the contract is void." 
 
 Louise looked at her mother doubtfully she slowly said, 
 
 "To listen to you, ma'am, one would suppose that you 
 only spoke of a contract for the transfer of property. You 
 suffered Victor and myself as children to speak openly of 
 this engagement, and to regard each other as lovers. How 
 then can you now oppose what you have so long tacitly sanc- 
 tioned ?" 
 
 "When I did that, I thought your uncle far richer than I 
 now have reason to believe he is. You can bring no fortune 
 to your husband, for until my death your father's estate is 
 
THB PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 125 
 
 bequeathed to my control. It is too small to bear dismem- 
 berment, and afford to the other children the same advantages 
 you have enjoyed. If you marry Victor, you must come here 
 and live, for I know your uncle is not in a position to give 
 him a home of his own, and Victor is not the sort of person 
 to make a living for himself. Think how different your life 
 would be, united to a self-sustained man like Malcolm. Al- 
 ready the possessor of wealth, which the future will surely 
 increase, he could afford you an elegant home in a large city 
 where you could become the centre of a brilliant circle. You 
 could travel " 
 
 Louise put her hands over her ears, and exclaimed, 
 
 " No more, no more, mother : it is useless. I have just 
 promised Victor that I will marry him next month, if my 
 uncle wishes it. He saw me in the tree talking to Mr. Mal- 
 colm, and he was so jealous and angry I could pacify him in 
 no other way. You know you can not refuse your consent 
 when my uncle asks it, so these temptations to swerve from 
 truth to him I really prefer, need not be offered." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin assumed her haughtiest air. 
 
 " I am not bound to say yes, to every thing my brother 
 may ask ; especially when the demand is for my daughter's 
 hand, who is yet too much of a child to be capable of com- 
 prehending her true interests. You shall not marry Victor 
 next month. It is hurrying matters too much, and I can 
 easily convince your uncle that you are yet too young to be- 
 come a bride, The young gentleman can recover his good 
 humor at a less price than the sacrifice of a girl who might 
 
126 
 
 become a distinguished belle if she would use her chances 
 well." 
 
 With skill Mrs. Ruskin had touched a cord that always 
 vibrated to her touch, for this was the sole ambition of Louise, 
 and to its gratification she was even capable of sacrificing 
 her affection for Victor. Intensely had she desired to emu- 
 late the career of her cousin Adele, and she replied, 
 
 " Very well, ma'am ; act as you please I only thought 
 you wished me settled aiid out of Georgiana's way. I shall 
 be glad to make my peace with Victor at less cost than this 
 early sacrifice of my girlish freedom." 
 
 " Now you talk reasonably, my daughter, I can easily ar- 
 range it. As to Georgiana, she will remain at school another 
 year." 
 
 Thus spoke the worldly-minded mother, unconscious that 
 a crisis was rapidly approaching, which would give her a 
 good pretext for breaking the engagement altogether. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 IN the rear of the mansion of Wavertree, situated in a 
 grove of live oaks, was a long building, the lower story of 
 which was an extensive conservatory, and the upper one a 
 ball-room. The latter was lighted by an immense glass chan- 
 delier which hung from the arched roof. The white walls 
 were draped with evergreens, among which transparent paint- 
 ings were placed. Long wreaths of wild vines from the 
 woodland were festooned over-head, and colored lights peered 
 from their foliage. 
 
 The decorations were so contrived as to give the room the 
 appearance of an immense leafy temple in which sported 
 dryads of exceeding loveliness and grace. The fair daughters 
 of Louisiana appeared to much advantage amid the fairy 
 scene, and a more graceful or elegant number of young girls 
 could scarcely have been collected together from any quarter 
 of the world. 
 
 The brilliant eyes, luxuriant hair, and willowy grace which 
 characterizes the Creoles, were seen in perfection, and even 
 the matchless Adele found many among their guests who 
 were not unworthy to stand on the throne beside her. A fine 
 band from New Orleans filled the large hall with a flood of 
 melody, and glad feet twinkled in the graceful waltz and 
 
 merry polka. 
 9 
 
128 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Pauline and her sister were attired alike in gossamer 
 dresses, embroidered with silver and worn with pearl orna- 
 ments. It was a fancy of the sisters to dress alike, and it was 
 unfortunate for the less beautiful one that it was so. It 
 brought their different styles in such vivid contrast, that 
 Pauline always lost much by the comparison. 
 
 Malcolm gazed upon the two as they stood side by side to 
 receive their guests, and to him, Adele seemed a divinity who 
 condescended for a brief space to bear the burden of mortality, 
 while Pauline was only a lovely and affectionate woman. He 
 thought of Wordsworth's lines as he glanced toward her, 
 
 "A being not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food," 
 
 and his heart felt a warm thrill of emotion ; but when his 
 eye passed to the more beautiful sister, his blood seemed 
 rushing in a burning torrent through his frame, and again in 
 his deep soul, he said, 
 
 " She must, she shall be mine, at any cost." 
 
 From a short distance, Louise was watching him, and she 
 felt confirmed in her suspicions. Louise wore a fanciful cos- 
 tume which suited her extremely well. A scarlet silk skirt 
 trimmed with black velvet, and a boddice to match the trim- 
 ming, laced up in front over an embroidered chemisette, 
 scarlet stockings, with black satin shoes laced high up on the 
 ankle, showed her small, well-shaped feet to advantage. Her 
 fair neck, and finely moulded arms were bare, and without 
 jewels, and her hair was dressed without other ornament 
 than its own silky beauty. 
 
129 
 
 Victor, in the most exquisite of costumes, and with the 
 blackest of moustaches, was beside his cousin, ready to begin 
 the polka which they had been assiduously practicing every 
 day since her arrival. He was in the most radiant of humors, 
 for his ruthless aunt had not yet had an opportunity to shatter 
 his chateau en Espagne, and he reveled in the belief that one 
 little month would give him the authority of a husband over 
 his coquettish inamorata. Mrs. Ruskin had considered it 
 best to defer her conversation with her brother, relative to the 
 proposed marriage, until after the bustle of the ball was over, 
 Thus poor Victor enjoyed one evening of unalloyed happi- 
 ness ; the last the poor fellow would probably ever realize. 
 
 Louise was kinder than usual ; and there was an expression 
 in her glance that thrilled his soul with bliss. She knew 
 how baseless was his vision of happiness, and compassion for 
 him imparted a softness to her manner which completed her 
 power of fascination. The young Creole planters thronged 
 around her, and she had more solicitations to dance than 
 she could possibly accept. She began to realize the triumph 
 of being a belle, even in the presence of the enchanting 
 Adele. 
 
 Louise was not of a nature to comprehend that the 
 homage which enchanted her, was considered by her loftier 
 cousin as a common, and not always acceptable tribute to her 
 charms. Adele had drained the cup of adulation to its 
 dregs, and she turned from its emptiness with the conviction 
 that her soul was not formed to be satisfied with such ephe- 
 meral triumphs. It craved something higher, nobler, some- 
 thing more in harmony with the immortal spirit within. 
 
130 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mr. Harrington had resolutely cast aside the uneasiness 
 that hung over him. Throughout the day a vague dread of 
 impending evil haunted his mind, but as night approached, 
 and the necessity for arousing himself became imperative, he 
 came forth amid his guests, and from that social sympathy 
 which was so prominent an element in his character, he soon 
 acquired the power to throw off the unusual weight, and join 
 in the festivities of the evening with his usual zest. Never 
 had he been more cordial to his friends, and many remem- 
 bered that entertainment at Wavertree, as the last in which 
 the hospitable host appeared in his true element. 
 
 Mr. Harrington was even persuaded, by a young Creole 
 girl, to dance a gay measure with her, and at its close, the 
 band played the march which was the signal for supper. 
 Followed by the company, he conducted his lively partner 
 down a broad flight of steps leading into the conservatory, 
 which looked more like a fairy temple than a spot dedicated 
 to the mundane enjoyment of satisfying the appetite. Gor- 
 geous flowering plants were skillfully arranged around the 
 walls of glass ; and in the centre, stretched a long table, 
 elegantly decorated, and bearing upon it every luxury that 
 wealth could purchase. 
 
 " It would not be so bad to live here, after all," thought 
 Louise, as she entered, leaning on the arm of Malcolm ; for 
 that gentleman, to Victor's extreme discomfiture, had danced 
 with her more than once, and actually engaged her to go 
 down to supper with him, before he, in his exultation, had 
 thought of any thing so commonplace as eating. 
 
 Malcolm had a double motive for this. He wished to 
 
131 
 
 mislead the suspicions of Louise, and at the same time to 
 discover, if possible, if her mother had not instigated the in- 
 quiries she had so hardily propounded to himself. Mrs. Rus- 
 kin was charmed to see her daughter thus escorted, and the 
 vain heart of Louise exulted as she floated past her cousins, 
 attended by their devoted cavalier. 
 
 Louise was transparent enough, for she was too giddy to 
 be artful, and the skillful man of the world found out all he 
 cared to know, without betraying himself. Henceforth he 
 was armed against all the manoauvres of Mrs. Ruskin, and 
 he secretly laughed, as he thought how easily he could foil 
 her plans. 
 
 Supper was nearly over, and Malcolm was w^hing it was 
 at an end, for he began to weary of the volatile chatter of his 
 fair companion, when a new arrival attracted his attention. 
 The packet from New Orleans, which had been expected at 
 twilight, had only now arrived, bringing on it several gentle- 
 men who had been invited to the festival. Among them was 
 an admirer of Miss Ruskin's, who joined her immediately, and 
 fortunately monopolized her attention while a voice whispered 
 in Malcolm's ear, 
 
 " Excuse yourself to Miss Ruskin, and let Nevin take your 
 place a few moments. I have something of moment to com- 
 municate to you." 
 
 In more perturbation than he would have wished to betray, 
 Malcolm bowed to Louise, and smiled as blandly as usual, as 
 he said, 
 
 " I am constrained to be guilty of a great rudeness, Miss 
 Ruskin. See the consequences of having a solemn man of 
 
132 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 business to escort you in this festive scene. Will you excuse 
 me five minutes, while Nevin takes my place, and I go with 
 my newly-arrived friend, to hear important news ?" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Louise, carelessly, already deep in a 
 flirtation with the new arrival. 
 
 As he turned away, he said, 
 
 " Remember, you are to dance the next polka with me." 
 
 " no I only polk with Victor ; but I will waltz with 
 you after supper." 
 
 " Waltz be it, then," and with a gay air he turned, and soon 
 disappeared with his friend. 
 
 No sooner were they beyond the lights and glare of the 
 conservatory, than the expression of his features changed 
 rnarvelously. He plunged into the shadow of the trees, and 
 then said briefly, almost sternly, 
 
 " What has happened, Lennard ? The sound of your voice 
 startled me greatly, for there was a tone in it that seemed 
 ominous of ruin." 
 
 " I do not know if the loss of fifty thousand dollars will 
 ruin you, but if you have confided that sum to Withers I have 
 to tell you that it is irretrievably lost." 
 
 " Lost how ? He has not surely eloped, or paid it with- 
 out knowing that Madame Roget was dead 2" 
 
 " Neither he learned her death in time to refuse to close 
 the trade; but unfortunately he drew the money, and was 
 foolhardy enough to keep it in the house with him. He was 
 robbed and assassinated." 
 
 " Murdered 1" exclaimed Malcolm, with a shudder. " The 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 money irrevocably gone! Good heavens 1 This is a sad 
 affair for our friend Harrington." 
 
 " The fifty thousand was not yours then ?" 
 
 No k u t it is useless now to explain. Is there no pos- 
 sible clew to the robbers ?" 
 
 " None the police are entirely at fault. Withers had no 
 intimates he lived a quiet and secluded life, as you know. 
 There never was an affair of the kind enveloped in more pro- 
 found mystery." 
 
 There was a pause, and then Malcolm spoke with vague 
 bitterness, as he waved his hand toward the scene of 
 pleasure, 
 
 " Hark ! hear that music look on that brilliantly-lighted 
 saloon, in which is gathered the elite of the whole parish. 
 Will it not be strange news to them that the giver of the 
 feast is a ruined man ? Of all the guests collected here, 
 I wonder how many of them would come forward to 
 assist him with the thousands so many have at their com- 
 mand?" 
 
 His companion shrugged his shoulders : 
 
 " Not many, I fancy. Prodigality must find an end to its 
 wastefulness at last. This will be a lightning stroke to the 
 exquisite son, and dainty daughters. I fancy the beauty will 
 be less fastidious now than formerly." 
 
 A fiery gleam lighted up the eyes of Malcolm, and he 
 clenched his hands until the nails wounded the flesh, but he 
 did not utter the angry feeling that swept through his mind 
 at such an allusion to Adele. He knew the speaker had been 
 an unsuccessful suitor to her, and ,he therefore pardoned his 
 
134 
 
 petty spite. Already had the open-handed generosity of the 
 man of abundant means found a harsh name. What was 
 called liberality in the wealthy planter, was stigmatized as 
 prodigality in him over whom the first cloud of misfortune 
 began to lower. He briefly said, 
 
 " Mr. Harrington has been unfortunate, but not blamable. 
 He only endeavored to increase his possessions as many men 
 do, and the chances have been against him that is all : he 
 may recover yet. I spoke precipitately I was shocked and 
 hurried by the sudden announcement of this fatal catas- 
 trophe." 
 
 "Hum," said Lennard, discontentedly, "I hope affairs 
 may be so managed as not quite to ruin him. Let us return 
 to the supper-room ; since I was so fortunate as to come in at 
 the fog-end of the feast, I wish to enjoy as much of it as pos- 
 sible before it closes especially as, from present indications, 
 it is likely to be the last." 
 
 Revolted by his hardness, and half offended by his evident 
 hostility toward the family whose hospitality he was enjoying, 
 Malcolm accompanied him in silence. 
 
 As they entered the conservatory, there was a slight lull in 
 the eager buzz of conversation, and Mr. Harrington stood at 
 the head of the table, holding a goblet of wine in his hand, 
 from which he was about to drink to the health of his guests. 
 In a few well-chosen words he expressed the hope that he 
 should often have the pleasure of thus assembling them be- 
 neath his roof. 
 
 This little speech was received with audible murmurs of 
 applause ; he was in the act of lifting the sparkling draught 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 135 
 
 to his lips, when a few words were uttered near him. He 
 grew pale spilled the wine, and tremulously replaced the 
 goblet upon the table ; then seeming to recover his self-pos- 
 session, he again lifted it, quaffed the contents with an effort, 
 but the crystal fell from his nerveless grasp, and was shat- 
 tered into fragments at his feet. With a vague look around, 
 he comprehended that those near him thought him ill. In 
 reply to their anxious queries, he muttered, 
 
 " No no not ill not ill only stricken stricken/' and 
 with the effort to raise himself to a more erect position, he 
 reeled, and would have fallen, had he not been sustained by 
 others. 
 
 The words which had produced this fatal emotion were 
 uttered at random by two of the guests. A gentleman in- 
 quired of one of the newly-arrived party, 
 
 "What is this story about the murder and robbery of 
 Withers ?" 
 
 " 0, a very bad one. He had drawn fifty thousand dollars 
 from one of his numerous patrons, to pay for the Delolme 
 estate. The trade was not completed ; he kept the money by 
 him, and that night his house was robbed, and himself assas- 
 sinated." 
 
 Malcolm comprehended what had happened so soon as 
 he caught a view of the ghastly features of Mr. Harrington. 
 He pushed his way through the crowd until he reached him, 
 and then whispered, 
 
 " For heaven's sake, my dear sir, control this emotion. I 
 believe I know its cause ; to conceal it is of the last import- 
 ance to you." 
 
136 
 
 Mr. Harrington regarded him with a stony expression 
 which greatly alarmed him. 
 
 " Get me away from here," he said ; " I shall suffocate in 
 this crowd." 
 
 A way was opened to the door, and, attended by the 
 alarmed members of his own family, he went out, leaning on 
 the arm of Malcolm. As he gained the door, he turned, 
 waved his hand, and spoke more collectedly, 
 
 "My friends, enjoy yourselves my illness will soon be 
 over. Let it not mar your pleasure." 
 
 As he passed out, Lennard sneered, 
 
 " No danger of that. The giver of the feast is the last 
 person thought of after the compliments of the evening are 
 offered." 
 
 " I do not agree with you, sir," said a gentleman who over- 
 heard him ; " especially when the host is such a man as the 
 one who has just left us." 
 
 Finding that_ his cynicism was not agreeable to every one, 
 Lennard joined Louise Ruskin, and said, 
 
 " Malcolm has gone to look after your uncle, Miss Louise, 
 and I indulge the hope that you will accept me in his place 
 as a partner for the next waltz. I have something for your 
 especial ear, fair lady." 
 
 "Is my uncle really so ill ? I thought it was only a little 
 dizziness, from which he will soon recover." 
 
 " So it is : but Malcolm must not neglect his father-in-law 
 elect, you know. He will not return in time. Besides, I 
 have a secret for you." 
 
 " A secret ' I never kept one in my life : and you think 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 137 
 
 yours a temptation to me to forego my engagement with Mr. 
 Malcolm. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " Excuse me ; I prefer not giving a direct answer to that ; 
 but I really have something to reveal to you that may 
 seriously influence your conduct toward a certain person." 
 
 " Well, I believe I must hear that," and Louise took his arm 
 to return to the ball-room, contenting herself with requesting 
 Nevin to inquire how her uncle now was, and bring her 
 word. 
 
 Victor had followed the family group, and while Lennard 
 and Louise promenaded the room he poured into her ears the 
 story of her uncle's ruin. 
 
 She listened in pained silence, for thoughtless and worldly 
 as she was, Louise was not destitute of feeling. She sorrow- 
 fully felt how changed were her relations with Victor by this 
 disastrous reverse, and she felt that her kind uncle held a 
 warmer place in her regard than she could have believed, 
 before this catastrophe. 
 
 " Are you quite sure of all this, Mr. Lennard ?" she asked. 
 
 " As sure as a man can be who knows all about it. The 
 world has given you to Victor Harrington, Miss Ruskin ; but 
 I place no faith in the report. I, however, thought it best to 
 warn you, that if there is any truth in it, you may recede in 
 time." 
 
 She seemed annoyed, and coldly replied, 
 
 " Thank you, but there is no need for the caution. We 
 are cousins, and therefore come within the degrees forbidden 
 to marry by one church at least. My mother has prejudices 
 on that score too. Under such circumstances, it is not likely 
 
138 
 
 that Victor and myself will ever seek to become more to each 
 other than we now are. We have a cousinly regard for each 
 other, but no more." 
 
 Her cheek glowed at the falsehood, but she knew Lennard 
 to be a gossip and a bitter retailer of the weaknesses of 
 others. To her, any thing seemed better than exposing the 
 true state of affairs between herself and Victor. Lennard 
 went on talking and speculating on the changes likely to 
 occur at Wavertree, but she listened vacantly, and responded 
 at random. 
 
 The dancing did not recommence until the sisters, at- 
 tended by their brother, returned to the ball-room, and to the 
 numerous inquiries addressed to them, replied that their fathei 
 was better, and requested that the music should no longer be 
 silent. 
 
 Again the dancing was resumed, and continued until nearly 
 daylight. The pale and suffering sisters then sought their 
 father's room, to learn how he had passed the hours of their 
 enforced absence from him. 
 
 They found him sleeping heavily and uneasily, with 
 flushed features, and labored breathing. Miss Harrington 
 sat beside the bed, watching him with great solicitude. She 
 
 " My dear girls, your father sleeps, and you had better seek 
 the repose you need yourselves. Be not uneasy about him ; I 
 will not leave him." 
 
 " But you are worn out yourself, aunt. Let one of us re- 
 main here, while you rest." 
 
 " No, Pauline. I can not sleep and this large chair of- 
 
139 
 
 fers me as much repose as I need. Sleep, sleep, my child, 
 for you know not what call may soon be made on your 
 energies." 
 
 " Do you think my father dangerously ill ?" asked Adele, 
 apprehensively. 
 
 " Not at present, my dear." 
 
 Pauline examined his flushed face. 
 
 "Has he taken an anodyne, Aunt Gertrude, that he 
 breathes so heavily ?" 
 
 " No he has taken nothing. Many persons are so con- 
 stituted that a sudden shock seems to paralyze the nervous 
 sensibility, and sleep becomes necessary to them. In such a 
 condition your father seems now to lie." 
 
 " But what shock has he met with ? Has any thing hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 " I believe he heard unpleasant news from New Orleans, 
 concerning money transactions in which he was interested. 
 There, run away to your own room it is quite day, and 
 you look tired to death." 
 
 With lighter hearts the sisters obeyed. A difficulty of that 
 kind could only be temporary to one of their father's means, 
 they thought ; and, therefore, things would soon flow on at 
 Wavertree in their usual course. 
 
 Miss Harrington sat alone beside the couch of her brother, 
 awaiting the arrival of the physician who had been hastily 
 summoned. Dr. Germain resided several miles from Waver- 
 tree, and when the messenger reached his house, he was not 
 at home. He went in search of him, and in extreme un- 
 easiness the attached sister awaited his arrival. She was too 
 
140 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTEB. 
 
 experienced a judge of sickness not to be aware that her 
 brother was in imminent danger of a stroke of apoplexy, and 
 with the deepest solicitude she listened to every noise which 
 might indicate the approach of the physician. 
 
 It was bright day when he arrived, and he came directly 
 to the bedside of his patient. 
 
 "Nothing serious the matter, I trust, Miss Harrington," 
 he said in a low tone, as he entered. " The eagerness of 
 the negro boy, and his disjointed story, gave me great un- 
 easiness until I arrived. Then Mr. Malcolm, whom I met 
 in the yard, told me that your brother is suffering more in 
 mind than in body." 
 
 " I am afraid that his mind has not acted for several hours, 
 doctor. He has slept heavily ever since we have succeeded 
 in getting him in bed." 
 
 With a slow, cautious movement, the physician raised 
 the heavy curtain from the window nearest the bed, and 
 suffered the light to fall on the flushed face of the sleeper. 
 One glance showed his experienced eye that what he 
 feared had really taken place. He dropped the curtain and 
 asked, 
 
 " Has your brother lain motionless ever since you watched 
 beside him, Miss Harrington ?" 
 
 " No at first he was restless, and spoke several times ; but 
 he gradually sunk into silence, and then commenced this 
 heavy breathing. I know what you apprehend, doctor, for 
 the same fear has been in my own mind. Can apoplexy be 
 averted by medical treatment ?" 
 
 " If I had been on the spot at first, I might have saved him 
 
141 
 
 from this. O would that I had been here, and then this good 
 man would not be here, and thus." 
 
 He wiped the moisture from his eyes as he gazed upon his 
 old friend, lying so helpless before him. Miss Harrington be- 
 came alarmed. She tremulously asked, 
 
 " Has my brother really had a fit ?" 
 
 " A slight one. I can relieve him for the present, Miss 
 Gertrude, so do not be alarmed. But it always painrally af- 
 fects me to see a noble man thus stricken down in the pride 
 of his strength. Never do I so forcibly feel what helpless 
 atoms we are in the eyes of the Great Omnipotent, as when I 
 behold such a sight as this." 
 
 With skill and success Dr. Germain applied such remedies 
 as restored Mr. Harrington to consciousness in a few hours , 
 and it was agreed between himself and the affectionate sister, 
 that the nature of the attack should be concealed, as far as 
 possible, from the sick man, and also from the friends of the 
 family. Hie household were, therefore, warned to be guarded 
 in reference to his illness, either to himself or others. 
 
 During the day, the guests dispersed to their various homes, 
 leaving only Mrs. Ruskin,her daughter, and Malcolm, with the 
 family. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 . v ^r ^Vip.-.sa! -. *<**. <v* 1 l^jbeeii 
 
 MALCOLM felt compelled to leave Wavertree as soon as 
 
 possible for New Orleans, to attend to business which the 
 sudden death of- Withers had left in a confused and preca- 
 rious state ; but he also felt the necessity of communica- 
 ting with Mr. Harrington before his departure. 
 
 He waited in great uneasiness until day began to decline, 
 in the hope that the invalid would be sufficiently recovered to 
 give his attention a few moments to what he wished to say to 
 him. At first, Dr. Germain opposed his wish, as any excite- 
 ment in Mr. Harrington's weakened and critical condition, 
 must be injurious ; but Malcolm hinted to him the cause of 
 the attack, and assured him that he possessed the power to 
 remove from the sick man's mind much of the weight that 
 oppressed it. 
 
 In this view of the case, the physician consented that he 
 should see him ; and Malcolm was ushered into the invalid's 
 apartment. Mr. Harrington, pallid and exhausted from ex- 
 cessive loss of blood, lay against a pile of pillows, with his 
 eyes half closed. At the sound of footsteps, he feebly raised 
 them, and a faint glow of color crossed his cheek as he recog- 
 nized his visitor. He made a deprecating sign with his hand, 
 and muttered, 
 
143 
 
 "Not now, not now, Malcolm. I am too weak to think." 
 
 " I came to relieve you from the most pressing portion of 
 your mental weight, my dear sir," replied Malcolm, sooth- 
 ingly. " I do not ask you to talk ; only listen to me, and 
 I think you will find cause to be less despondent," 
 
 " Let me hear it," he feebly said. " But do not be sur- 
 prised if I can not always follow your meaning. My brain 
 seems in a chaotic state, which I can scarcely account for. 
 The tendency of blood to the brain frightened my sister, and 
 she persuaded the doctor to bleed me until I am as weak as a 
 child." 
 
 " You will soon recover from that, my dear sir ; and now I 
 will speak of what brought me hither. You remember ac- 
 curately what so unnerved you last night ?" 
 
 Mr. Harrington assented, and the expression of his face 
 showed that while consciousness was with him, that recol- 
 lection would not soon be effaced. Malcolm went on : 
 
 " I came to you to propose a remedy for it." 
 
 The attention of the sick man was now fully aroused, 
 and ho evidently listened with the keenest interest. He 
 said, 
 
 " Let me hear it ; perhaps it will give me strength to 
 live." 
 
 "To live yes, my dear friend; and to enjoy life too. 
 I am certain that I can restore to you the means of so 
 doing without compromising either your fortune or your in- 
 tegrity." 
 
 Mr. Harrington's eyes gleamed with new lustre, and he 
 
 grasped the hand of the speaker. 
 10 
 
144 
 
 " Do this, and I shall indeed believe you my friend. Let 
 me hear what you propose." 
 
 " It is this. I offer to advance you the sum requisite to 
 repay this debt to Messrs. Hall, if you will transfer the mort- 
 gage on this place to me. You know that I will make no 
 illiberal use of it, and in fact, it seems only a family arrange- 
 ment, since you are so kind as to permit me to hope that a 
 nearer tie will one day connect us." 
 
 " Only on the condition that my daughter freely consents. 
 I will not barter my child for money, however much I may 
 need it." 
 
 Malcolm was glad he spoke vaguely of his daughter, as it 
 afforded him a pretext to evade defining his position, without 
 actually telling a falsehood. He quietly replied, 
 
 " I fully understand that ; but with your sanction to my 
 pretensions, I do not apprehend a failure where my heart is so 
 deeply interested." 
 
 There was a slight pause. Mr. Harrington moved rest- 
 lessly, and Malcolm again proceeded, 
 
 " You will pardon me, I hope, for what I am about to say, 
 but in consideration of the deep interest I feel for you, I am 
 compelled to speak what I think will be for the best. Your 
 income is large : reduce your expenses one half, and you will 
 still live in as handsome style as any of your neighbors. Ap- 
 ply the half saved to the reduction of this debt, and in four 
 years you will be free." 
 
 " Ah if that were all," sighed the sick man. " But my 
 liabilities are large, aside from that." 
 
 Malcolm pondered a moment, and then said, 
 
145 
 
 " Our other speculations may enable you to clear off those. 
 I am sanguine of success in them." 
 
 Mr. Harrington shuddered ; he repeated, 
 
 " Speculation ! I would to heaven I had never heard the 
 word, or been tempted to barter my peace of mind for any 
 increase of wealth. If I had possessed the strength to make 
 the retrenchment now imperatively needed, I could have ex- 
 tricated myself from every embarrassment without recourse 
 to such doubtful means of increasing my fortune. After all, 
 who have I really gratified by the lavish display which has 
 so long surrounded me ? I begin to think that wealth is a 
 gift to be held in trust for the benefit of others. But who 
 has been benefited by mine ? Flatterers, parasites, and the 
 seekers after amusement, are all who have shared with me in 
 the bounties Providence has lavished upon me." 
 
 " Dear sir, these are only the grim fancies of a sick bed. 
 I have been told of many acts of yours, which prove that 
 you are never deaf to the call of benevolence." 
 
 " No, Malcolm, my liberality does not deserve the name of 
 benevolence. It was only a good-natured dislike to see others 
 suffer for what I possessed in abundance. I have given freely, 
 I know, but often to objects I knew to be unworthy. Now, 
 when I can no longer give, I feel this. Ah ! what pure and 
 noble pleasure have I sacrificed to my love of ease, and the 
 outward show that surrounds me ! As I lie here, I feel the 
 vanity of all those things." 
 
 " If all men had as little to reproach themselves with as 
 you have, my dear friend," said Malcolm, " the recording angel 
 would have few sins to blot out with his tears." 
 
146 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mr. Harrington closed his eyes wearily, and seemed to 
 meditate. Presently he said, 
 
 " We have wandered from the subject. Let us understand 
 each other at once. I gladly consent to your offer to release 
 me from this debt to my merchants, for with so large an addi- 
 tion to what I already owe them, I could not ask them to 
 wait longer with me. You can have such an instrument 
 drawn as is necessary, and on your return I will execute such 
 legal formalities as are needful." 
 
 Malcolm's face grew bright with triumph but he sat with 
 his back to the evening light, and the sick man could not see 
 its expression. He gently said, 
 
 " Thank you ; I rejoice in the power to serve you. I must 
 leave immediately for New Orleans ; there I will arrange every 
 thing with Messrs. Hall, and, on my return, the mortgage 
 can be settled." 
 
 " Do as your judgment dictates, Malcolm. I have implicit 
 reliance on your friendship for me." 
 
 Malcolm winced a little at this, but in the next moment he 
 felt renewed pride in the skill with which he had managed 
 his dupe. 
 
 After a pause, Mr. Harrington went on, 
 
 " I must curtail my expenses still Further, for I feel that it 
 will not be honest to live in such elegance as even the half 
 of my income will purchase, while a debt of such importance 
 is hanging over me. Arrange with Messrs. Hall for me, that 
 I will pay them annually six thousand dollars on their claim 
 until it is liquidated." 
 
 " But, just as your son is about to marry, how can you do 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 this ? His allowance, has, I believe, been at least half the 
 sum you propose to retain for the support of your whole es- 
 tablishment." 
 
 " Victor must now content himself with one third of that 
 sum, and if he marries he can bring his bride here. She will 
 be doubly welcome, since we can no longer afford to entertain 
 so much company as heretofore. The sprightliness of Louise 
 will enliven us all ; my children, I truly believe, will be ready 
 to make any sacrifice to bring peace to my mind." 
 
 Of the daughters, Malcolm readily believed this, but he was 
 doubtful about the ready acquiescence of Victor. He knew 
 more of the young man's affairs than his father was likely to 
 be aware of, and he knew that Victor had far exceeded his 
 allowance, liberal as it was. How then would it be possible 
 for him to live on a few hundreds a year with a wife of fash- 
 ionable habits and expensive tastes ? This, however, was 
 no concern of his, and he seemingly assented to Mr. Harring- 
 ton's observation. He arose, and pressing the hand of the 
 sick man, said, 
 
 " Set your mind at rest, dear sir, and recover as rapidly as 
 possible. I will settle every thing with your merchants to 
 your satisfaction, and in a few weeks I hope to be able to re- 
 turn to claim my reward." 
 
 Mr. Harrington smiled faintly ; he said, 
 
 " Always with the understanding that my daughter freely 
 consents. These business details must be kept from her 
 knowledge, lest they might influence her decision." 
 
 " I should wish that as earnestly as yourself, of course," 
 were the words of Malcolm's reply, though he scorned him- 
 
148 
 
 self for their falseness as they were uttered. As he passed 
 from the room, he met Miss Harrington at the door. He 
 paused, and said, 
 
 " You were uneasy at this protracted interview, Miss Har- 
 rington, but I believe I may pledge you my word that it has 
 not injured your brother. On the contrary, he will be better 
 for what has passed between us ; and now I must bid you 
 farewell, as a packet is momentarily expected, and on it I 
 leave for New Orleans." 
 
 " We shall see you again before very long ?" she cour- 
 teously inquired, for even Aunt Gertrude was not proof 
 against Malcom's fascinating address. Her usual insight into 
 character seemed here completely baffled, and, like her brother, 
 she began to place implicit faith in the honor of him who 
 seemed formed to win golden opinions from all the world. 
 He smiled brilliantly, as he replied, 
 
 "0 yes, ma'am. You do not so easily get rid of one 
 who has found so many attractions beneath this roof. Can 
 you tell me where I can find the young ladies, Miss Har- 
 rington ?" 
 
 " Adele is suffering from headache ; the shock of seeing 
 her father so ill quite overcame her, poor child ; but Pauline 
 has more fortitude you will find her in the library, whither 
 she went to answer some letters on business for my brother." 
 
 After bidding her farewell, Malcolm slowly proceeded to- 
 ward the library, endeavoring by the way to stifle the strange 
 interest which Pauline ever created in his heart. Near her, 
 he was always on his guard, lest an expression of too much 
 warmth should compromise him, and render his posi- 
 
149 
 
 tion between the two sisters more difficult than it already 
 was. 
 
 He found her seated beside her father's table, busily en- 
 gaged in writing, and the evening sunshine quivered through 
 the leaves of the old tree upon her delicately-moulded hands 
 and colorless face. The folds of silken hair, more carelessly 
 arranged than usual, for she had watched beside her father 
 many hours of the day, contrasted their glossy brightness 
 with her worn and wearied features. Malcolm paused on the 
 threshold and watched her several moments, and so easily 
 impressed by mere outward appearance was he, that he won- 
 dered how that pale, inanimate, and ordinary-looking girl had 
 possessed the power, even for an instant, to interest his heart. 
 As Pauline now appeared, the spell was broken, and he felt 
 that he no longer feared himself. 
 
 He advanced leisurely into the room ; as the sound of his 
 step fell upon the carpet, a clear streak of crimson swept 
 across the pale cheek, for the writer recognized that tread. 
 She raised her eyes from the paper, they glanced an instant 
 into his own, and by a subtle electric influence he could not 
 comprehend, those wonderful eyes drew him at once to her 
 side with a heart full of sympathy for her sorrow. Yet the 
 eyes of Pauline were neither magnificent nor unfathomable 
 they were tender human eyes, which expressed kindness, af 
 fection, and truth ; and by ordinary observers, they would 
 not perhaps have been considered very beautiful, but to 
 those she loved, they were indeed " wells of light ;" to such, 
 her plain face became transfigured and shone with wonderful 
 loveliness. 
 
150 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You have been with my father ?" she said. " Ah ! how 
 his poor pallid face made my heart ache, as I sat beside him 
 to-day. And then to think of the awful dread that must re- 
 main with us, that he may be struck down at any moment 
 by a similar attack, and snatched from us forevey." 
 
 "Forever," repeated Malcolm, with a softened inflexion in 
 his voice he could not control. " I thought your faith taught 
 you a better lesson than that, Pauline." 
 
 It was the first time he had ventured to call her thus, and 
 a strange thrill of happiness quivered through her unquiet 
 heart, at the sound of her own name thus pronounced. She 
 reverently answered, 
 
 " I spoke too vaguely on a subject of such moment. I 
 simply meant that on earth we should behold him no more. 
 Do you really think my father is in great danger, Mr. Mal- 
 colm 2" 
 
 " By no means. He seems quite relieved now ; in a few 
 days his strength will return, and you will see him as well as 
 ever." 
 
 She doubtfully answered, 
 
 " I fear not. If the cause could be removed, perhaps it 
 might be so. It seems so strange to me that a difficulty 
 about money should so seriously affect my father. I have 
 always seen him so lavish in his expenditure, that distress of 
 that kind would never have occurred to me, but for the as- 
 surance of my aunt that such is really the case." 
 
 " The very liberality of which you speak has probably 
 caused his embarrassment. I will not deceive you, Pauline ; 
 your father has met with heavy losses, and it will be neces- 
 
THB PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 sary to alter his present style of living materially, to release 
 him from encumbrances that have been increasing from year 
 to year, until they have become oppressive." 
 
 " O ! why did he not sooner let us know this ?" she ex- 
 claimed. "Could my father think so meanly of his children 
 is to suppose that we would not cheerfully resign the out- 
 ward pageantry of life, to secure him peace, and repose of 
 mind ?" 
 
 " He fully believes this, I assure you, for he but now ex- 
 pressed it to me. Until a recent loss, which became known 
 to him too suddenly last night, he was not uneasy about the 
 other debts. Both together might have been something seri- 
 ous to contend with, had I not fortunately possessed the 
 power to aid in extricating him from his most pressing em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 " You ! how shall I thank you ?" exclaimed the young 
 girl, with clasped hands, and eyes shining through tears. 
 
 Malcolm had purposely revealed this to her to witness its 
 effect. He wished the sisters to know and feel the obligation 
 under which their father rested to him, but he was touched 
 deeply at Pauline's delighted emotion. It plainly said, that 
 to him of all the world, she preferred her father should be 
 indebted for his release from his difficulties. He took her 
 hand, and his heart fluttered as he felt its tremulous throb- 
 bing within his own. His strong impulse was to press it to 
 his lips and heart, and ask her to bestow it upon him for- 
 ever. 
 
 Words trembled on his lips, which would have rendered it 
 impossible for him to retract, when a voice spoke beneath the 
 
152 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 window, which sent back those burning messengers with a 
 recoil that blanched his dark cheek, and made the strong 
 man tremble at the precipice on which he stood. 
 
 He dropped her hand, and gazed down upon the fair face 
 of Adele, who, with her head thrown back, stood looking up, 
 calling upon her sister to join her in a walk. She, too, was 
 slightly paler than usual, but this spiritual fairness seemed to 
 give a new charm to her sculptured features. Malcolm stood 
 freed from the spell of Pauline, for the greater enchantress 
 had appeared, and his soul sank in willing homage before 
 her. 
 
 Adele smiled as she recognized Malcolm. She said, 
 
 " You there, too, Mr. Malcolm ? That is a pleasure I had 
 not anticipated. Come with my sister, and let us walk on 
 the levee. It will cure my head-ache, I believe." 
 
 Pauline demurred her letters were not quite completed, 
 and they must go by that night's mail. 
 
 " Insist on her coming, Mr. Malcolm," urged Adele. " She 
 has been in the house all day, and looks like a ghost. Bring 
 her down, and I will assist her to finish her letters when we 
 return. Hark! there is a boat coming hurry, and we will 
 reach the levee in time to see it sweep past." 
 
 " Come," said Malcolm, rapidly. " I know by the sound 
 that it comes down stream and I must leave on it." 
 
 " So soon ? I thought you would yet remain a few days, 
 until my father is quite restored." 
 
 " It is for his sake that I go at once ; I have not a moment 
 to lose, for the boat is rounding to now. I sought you hero 
 to bid you farewell." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 As they descended toward the yard, Pauline asked, 
 
 " How long hefore you will return to Wavertree ?" 
 
 " Not long a week perhaps ten days. It depends on 
 the husiness I have to arrange. At all events, you will see 
 me again before very long." 
 
 They were joined by Adele ; after a brief adieu, Malcolm 
 hurried on the steamer, followed by his servant, and was rap- 
 idly borne down the Mississippi, with the exulting conviction 
 in his mind that the fastidious sisters were both securely in 
 his power one through a love that betrayed itself in every 
 varying expression of her face, the other through her fond 
 affection for her father. 
 
 The two girls walked on, and Pauline revealed to Adele 
 precisely what Malcolm wished her to learn. With impas- 
 sioned earnestness she related how generously he had offered 
 liis aid to her father, at a moment when it was all-important 
 to him. Adele listened with deep interest. She thought- 
 fully asked, 
 
 " How can this service be returned ? It is a great deal for 
 one almost a stranger to us, to do, Pauline." 
 
 "A stranger ! O, Adele, how can you speak thus of him 
 who has nia-Je himself dear to every heart at Watertree ?" 
 exclaimed Pauline, with fervor. 
 
 " Still, he has only been known to us a few short weeks. 
 I can believe that you love him, sister, for he has made 
 steady efforts to win your affection ; you see I was right in 
 the opinion I expressed wiien we last spoke together of Mr. 
 Malcolm." 
 
 " Until to-dav I never dared to think so, Adele ; but half 
 
154 TUB PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 an hour since, had you not spoken beneath the window, the 
 declaration I wish yet fear to hear, would have been made. 
 I saw that the expression of his feelings trembled on his lips ; 
 but the sound of your voice called us both back to this world 
 of conventionalities. We joined you, and he left unspoken 
 those words which must have influenced my fate forever." 
 
 " Unlucky mar-all that I am ! What perverse fate called 
 me there at that particular moment, I wonder ?" said Adele, 
 in a vexed tone, though she half smiled at her own earnest- 
 ness. She added, 
 
 " Never mind the words will yet be uttered, dearest, and 
 I shall see you the happy wife of this lordly Malcolm." 
 
 Had Malcolm seen Pauline's face at that moment, he must 
 have thought it beautiful. The light within glowed through 
 the plain features, illuminating them with the divine glow of 
 happiness. The words of her sister sent a thrill of rapture 
 through her veins. His wife the loved companion of his 
 life the partner of his joys and sorrows ! There was bliss 
 unutterable in the thought ; and she was firmly impressed 
 with the belief that such would indeed be her fortunate lot. 
 All other sorrows were as gossamer weights to her now and 
 she almost felt remorse that she could be so buoyantly happy 
 while her beloved father lay upon a bed of suffering. 
 
 Sweet and joyful was the sisterly communion that evening, 
 as they strolled along the margin of the liver, and never did 
 the declining sun fall on two more self-sacrificing, and gener- 
 ous-hearted beings. The embarrassments of their father were 
 fully canvassed, and they agreed to surrender cheerfully the 
 outward state in which they had lived, and show him that 
 
155 
 
 with them happiness was not dependent on brilliant display. 
 A pleasant domestic home they would now endeavor to make 
 for him, embellished by their own talents and accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 Their true friends they would yet be able to receive, and 
 many attractions would Wavertree still possess for the culti- 
 vated and the intellectual, though the outward glitter of pros- 
 perity would no longer allure the mere worldly seeker after 
 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FAR different were the feelings of Victor when informed 
 of the change in his father's fortunes. He knew and felt it 
 to be a death-blow to his hope of calling Louise his bride, for 
 he felt the assurance in his own heart that Mrs. Ruskin would 
 never bestow the hand of her beautiful daughter on any man 
 who could not afford to place her in a brilliant home of her 
 own. 
 
 The beau-ideal of life to both himself and Louise, was to 
 possess a sufficient income to enable them to live in New 
 Orleans, in a style of elegance suited to their extravagant 
 tastes. Hitherto, he had not doubted for a moment that on 
 his marriage his father would double his munificent allowance ; 
 thus securing him leisure to follow every fashionable folly 
 that might attract him. 
 
 In place of this, he found with dismay that he must relin- 
 quish the greater portion of what he had hitherto controlled, 
 until his father had worked himself out of the debts that had 
 accumulated against him. What remained to him seemed 
 actual poverty to one who never denied himself any grati- 
 fication that money could purchase. 
 
 In addition to this, an appalling list of debts arose before 
 his mind, recklessly incurred, in the belief that the resources 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 157 
 
 of his father were inexhaustible, and would be readily applied 
 to their liquidation. Now, Mr. Harrington was not likely to 
 possess the means of so doing very soon, and Victor knew 
 that at the first rumor of a change in fortune, his creditors 
 would become clamorous for payment. 
 
 Altogether, Victor was as unhappy as a selfish and thor- 
 oughly spoiled young man could be, under such untoward 
 circumstances. At the first whisper of financial difficulties, 
 Mrs. Ruskin seemed to grow harder and colder than ever, and 
 her manner to her unhappy nephew became almost scornful. 
 The eyes of Louise several times betrayed that she had wept 
 bitterly, but even in her manner there was a decided change. 
 Her usual wild spirits seemed to have settled down into a 
 quiet apathy that afforded no clew to her true feelings. It 
 was quite evident to Victor that she had decided to be gov- 
 erned by her mother ; he knew this rendered her unhappy, 
 but he could gain from her no positive hope for the future. 
 She would give him no pledge to refuse such proposals as 
 might be offered her in the years that must now inevitably 
 elapse before they could be united. 
 
 Louise insisted that she must retain perfect freedom of 
 action, untrammeled by an engagement that might, after all, 
 never end in marriage ; and Victor reproached her with bit- 
 terness for her want of faith to one to whom she had pledged 
 herself in prosperity. 
 
 In the midst of this scene, her mother came in, and her 
 manner showed that she had heard much that had passed. 
 She seated herself, and said in her haughtiest tones, 
 
 " It seems to me, nephew, that in place of seeking an inter- 
 
158 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 view with my daughter, for the purpose of inducing her to 
 act directly contrary to my wishes, it would have better be- 
 come a man of honer to relinquish such hopes as past encour- 
 agement has given birth to." 
 
 " You sanctioned those hopes yourself, madame," said 
 Victor, passionately. " You give your daughter a fine lesson 
 of truth and probity, when you speak thus to her betrothed 
 husband." 
 
 " No, Victor, not betrothed, because my consent had neither 
 been asked, nor given." 
 
 "It has been tacitly granted, madame; and my whole 
 family hold you as much bound by it as I do." 
 
 "It matters little to me what they may think," replied 
 Mrs. Ruskin, with heightened color. " I am the guardian of 
 my daughter's interests and happiness, and " 
 
 Victor impetuously interrupted her, 
 
 " Her happiness, do you say ? No no interest alone is 
 the word to use there, for you as ruthlessly trample on happi- 
 ness as if hearts are of no more worth than the earth on which 
 you walk." 
 
 " Interest let it be, then," was the frigid rejoinder. " Ana 
 to such a butterfly as Louise, it is of the last importance that 
 even interest shall be considered. She must marry in such a 
 manner as to secure her the means of living according to her 
 tastes, or she will be miserable, and render her husband so 
 too. I ask you if it is fair, to ask a young girl, just setting 
 out in life, with such advantages as Louise possesses, to forego 
 the enjoyments of her age, and settle down in a quiet country 
 house, with an invalid father, of broken spirits and fortunes, 
 
159 
 
 and an elderly woman, who will look on her childish follies as 
 serious faults ?" 
 
 u My aunt would never do this, for she has soul and heart ; 
 and where are my sisters ? Will they not make agreeable 
 and suitable companions for my wife 2" 
 
 " They will marry, themselves ; the sooner, perhaps, since 
 times are changed, and the gay life they have been accus- 
 tomed to lead is now ended forever." 
 
 "You speak unadvisedly, madame. My father's fortune 
 only suffers under a temporary eclipse. At no very distant 
 day, he will resume his old style of living." 
 
 " You are mistaken, nephew. A man who has received 
 such a lesson as your father is taking to heart even now, is 
 likely to profit by it. Besides, there is an old adage that 
 * misfortunes never come single ;' hitherto your father has 
 been a very fortunate man, but now the tide has turned, and 
 no one can tell whither it may bear him." 
 
 Victor grew pale ; after a silent struggle, he said, 
 
 " I see, madame, that you have canvassed every contingency 
 in your own mind, and it is useless to attempt to move you 
 but I warn you that you hold a human destiny in your 
 hands. I love Louise as I shall never love another, and if I 
 become a loathing and a curse to myself a disgrace to my 
 family, you will be responsible for it To you will be traced 
 my ruin." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin scornfully retorted, 
 
 " Pooh ! are you a man, and use such stupid words ? 
 Say rather to your own weakness and want of purpose in life, 
 
 will your ruin be due. Such threats move me not." 
 11 
 
160 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I know it," he bitterly answered. " Nothing moves you. 
 I know that I am weak I feel it ; and so much the greater 
 should be your dread of driving me to desperation, if you 
 possessed the sensibility of your sex." 
 
 During this colloquy, Louise had sat with her hands 
 clasped over her face. At this juncture she arose, and tak- 
 ing Victor's hand, she pleadingly said, 
 
 "Mother, we are both very young. Let us wait. Let 
 us see the result of my uncle's efforts to reinstate himself. 
 In four years I shall only be twenty. I will obey your will 
 so far as not to pledge myself formally to Victor. Only 
 suffer things to remain as they are, and all may come out 
 right." 
 
 Victor's words and his wild manner had made some im- 
 pression on his aunt, in spite of her scornful reception of them. 
 Mr. Harrington had been uniformly kind to herself and her 
 orphan children, and Mrs. Ruskin felt that she scarcely dared 
 to drive his only son to extremity. After a pause for reflec- 
 tion, she ungraciously said, 
 
 H I will consent, then, that, for one year, this silly love af- 
 fair may drag along ; and at the end of that time, in my 
 opinion, you will both be heartily tired of it. If you are con- 
 stant, and affairs go smoothly with my brother, I will consider 
 the engagement as binding. But to this I attach one impera- 
 tive condition " 
 
 " What is that ?" asked Victor, apprehensively. 
 
 " That you immediately undertake some employment by 
 which you can earn your own living and become independent 
 of your father." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 161 
 
 The thanks that trembled on the lips of the young man for 
 the concession they had gained, were arrested by these words. 
 He presently stammered, 
 
 " Do you mean that I shall learn to work, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Precisely. Is that any thing surprising ? Did not God 
 say of all the sons of Adam that they should gain their own. 
 bread by the sweat of the brow ? Pray what entitles you to 
 be exempted from the common lot ?" 
 
 " Because I I really know of nothing for which I am 
 fitted," he candidly responded. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin smiled grimly. 
 
 " The more shame to you that it is so. I suppose then, if 
 poverty actually should assail you, you will belong to that 
 pitiable class who are 'too proud to beg, to dig they are 
 ashamed,' a fragment of poetry which Meanness and Laziness 
 have quoted innumerable times to shelter themselves from the 
 odium they deserve. What does it mean ? That you must 
 violate God's law, and commit suicide, to escape from laboring 
 for the support of the life he has given you ? Or must you 
 steal, to save your delicate sensibility from the shock of asking 
 for what would sustain you ?" 
 
 She had talked herself into something like vehemence, and 
 when she paused to take breath, Victor feebly said, 
 
 " Really, aunt, you express yourself in the most extraordi- 
 nary manner. I suppose if I must work, there will be 
 enough to do here in assisting my father to manage this 
 place." 
 
 " Your father has an efficient overseer, and if you were to 
 take his place, I fancy his crops would not be benefited 
 
162 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 thereby," she dryly said. " No you are only fit for a mer- 
 cantile life, and I shall advise that your father shall send you 
 to New Orleans to learn book-keeping. You can get a clerk- 
 ship with his merchant, who, I dare say, would not be too 
 hard on so useless a young gentleman as you confess yourself 
 to be, before you have time to learn something of busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " I can not see the necessity of such extreme measures," 
 faltered poor Victor. " My father is not absolutely ruined, 
 and he can still afford rne what many young men would con- 
 sider a handsome allowance." 
 
 " Your allowance is more than sufficient, in my opinion, if 
 your own wants were the only claims on it. Can you not 
 see the necessity of laying aside the greater portion of it, in 
 imitation of your father, to pay your debts ?" 
 
 Victor grew crimson, and then pale beneath the searching 
 glance that rested on him. He was too much confused to 
 summon words for an immediate reply, and she went on 
 
 " You surely would not thrust this responsibility on your 
 father in addition to all he has to bear beside ?" 
 
 Victor by this time recovered a little composure, and he 
 asked, 
 
 "How do you know that such debts are in existence 
 ma'am ? My allowance has hitherto been very liberal." 
 
 " So much the greater shame to you that you have ex- 
 ceeded it. I know that debts exist, and moreover, that they 
 are such as the world miscalls debts of honor, incurred at the 
 gambling table, and on the race-course." 
 
 Victor assumed a little spirit 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 163 
 
 " It is useless to taunt me with what all others of my caste 
 practice, ma'am. I will think of what you have said " 
 
 " And decide as I wish, or I retract even the partial con- 
 sent I have given to the tacit engagement you desire. Some 
 nation I have read of, required the lovers of their daughters, 
 however wealthy, or high in station, to learn some handicraft 
 by which they could gain a subsistence, in the event of a 
 reverse of fortune ; in a country like ours, where fortunes are 
 lost and won with magical celerity, I think it is an example 
 that should be followed. Show that you can exert the energy 
 to make a living, and I shall no longer withhold my consent 
 to your union with Louise." 
 
 The young girl softly whispered, 
 
 " For my sake, Victor, promise any thing" and the poor 
 victimized young man looked into her face, and replied in the 
 same subdued tone, 
 
 " For you, I can bear every thing, Louise. Besides, if I go 
 to New Orleans, I shall be near you, and can see you often." 
 
 This was the only gleam of consolation to him, and after 
 parting from his aunt and cousin, he strolled into his father's 
 room, looking as gloomy as possible. 
 
 This was the third day from Mr. Harrington's attack, and 
 he was able to sit up in a large invalid chair. He was still 
 pallid from loss of blood, but he looked animated, and almost 
 cheerful. Miss Gertrude, with her work table, was seated on 
 one side of the fire, and on a low seat beside her father sat 
 Adele, reading aloud the "Pilgrim's Progress." Mr. Har- 
 rington called this his sick book, because when he was indis- 
 posed he never desired to hear any thing beside that and the 
 
164 
 
 Bible read to him. His room was decorated with engravings 
 illustrating the various scenes in the Pilgrim's trials, and over 
 the mantel hung a beautiful painting representing Mercy's 
 dream. 
 
 As her brother entered, Adele laid aside her book, and 
 looking anxiously at him, said, 
 
 " You are not well, Victor. Take care, or we shall have 
 you to nurse as well as father." 
 
 " Nothing is the matter with my health," responded the 
 young man, moodily, as he threw himself carelessly on a 
 seat, and stretched his feet toward the fire. " I am only wea- 
 ried with the silly exactions of my aunt. She must think 
 that we live in the age of the patriarchs, when it was the 
 fashion for men to labor seven years for their wives before 
 obtaining them." 
 
 His father half smiled, 
 
 "If such is her present demand, my son, I am afraid I 
 shall never call Louise daughter. I should be glad, however, 
 if love for her would stimulate you to exertion of any kind. 
 It is not good for any young man to lead a life of indolent 
 self-indulgence, such as yours has been since your return from 
 college." 
 
 "M tu, Brute? muttered Victor, sullenly, and then he 
 spoke aloud. " I scarcely expected you to take sides with 
 Mrs. Ruskin, sir ; though I have consented to what surprises 
 myself." 
 
 " What does my sister desire ?" anxiously inquired Mr. 
 Harrington. 
 
 " That I shall go to New Orleans, and seek a clerkship 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 165 
 
 with Messrs. Hall, with a view of learning how to make 
 my own living." 
 
 His father reflected a few moments, and then said, 
 
 "I am quite willing. I commenced life as a merchant's 
 clerk, myself, and my son should not disdain to begin as his 
 father did. A wide and varied field of information is open to 
 men of that class, especially in a city like our southern em- 
 porium. Remember that the merchants of Italy were also 
 her princes, and that it does not necessarily follow that a 
 man is mercenary or narrow-minded, because he follows such 
 a calling. I can point out to you my own commission mer- 
 chant as an example of what the influence of our institutions, 
 and a fine original nature combined, may produce. Mr. 
 Hall went to New Orleans, poor and unknown ; by his 
 own energy he has amassed a very large fortune, and besides 
 many acts of liberality in his business transactions, his annual 
 charities are said to amount to not less than thirty thousand 
 dollars. Think what an honor it would be to emulate the 
 career of such a man." 
 
 "True but he was old and gray-haired before he pos- 
 sessed the means of enjoying life. Then, its zest had de- 
 parted," replied Victor, discontentedly. 
 
 " He labored in the morning of life, my son, that his noon 
 and evening might be happy and honored. He had a pur- 
 pose in view which he nobly accomplished. Think how 
 much better is such an existence, than that of him who 
 makes pleasure alone his pursuit." 
 
 " Ah, sir, you can preach very well, but such has not been 
 
166 
 
 your practice. I know of no one who has taken his own ease 
 more than you have done." 
 
 "Victor," said his Aunt Gertrude, gravely, "you take a 
 great liberty when you speak thus to your father." 
 
 " Let the boy say what he thinks, sister. His reproach 
 touches me a little, I confess ; but you must remember this, 
 Victor, that I made my own fortune before I thought of en- 
 joying ease ; and neither is it absolute idleness to keep every 
 thing in order on a plantation like this. When you have 
 won for yourself what will purchase a third of its value, I 
 shall consider you entitled to take to yourself the otium cum 
 dignitate? 
 
 " Very likely, sir ; but I am afraid I shall be as old as 
 Methuselah before I could, by my own exertions, acquire so 
 much." 
 
 " Never despair, my boy. The thought of labor to which 
 we have been unaccustomed is discouraging to the mind ; but 
 when once disciplined to it, both interest and occupation are 
 found in details that were once repulsive. Does Mrs. Ruskin 
 wish you to be united to Louise, and live with her instead of 
 at Wavertree ?" 
 
 " Heaven defend me from such a proposition ! I am 
 afraid I should consider even Louise a hard bargain on 
 such terms. No, sir she insists that the marriage shall be 
 deferred until I have proved my capacity to take care of a 
 wife." 
 
 " I can not think that she is very far wrong, Victor. A 
 mother risks a great deal in giving her daughter to a thrift- 
 less young man of fashion, who only knows the value of 
 
DAUGHTER. 167 
 
 money by calculating how many indulgences it will purchase 
 for him. Prove your devotion to Louise by winning for 
 yourself the reputation of an industrious, steady young man. 
 Believe me, you will be the gainer both in happiness and re- 
 spectability." 
 
 This reasoning might be very convincing, but it was not 
 very consoling to one who had never before given a thought 
 to the necessity of providing for his own wants ; and in the 
 deep heart of Victor, lurked the unexpressed conviction that 
 he was one of that unhappy class who do not possess the re- 
 quisite strength to struggle against difficulties and overcome 
 them. " Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel," came to his 
 mind as a prophecy, and his weak soul almost fainted within 
 him at the thought of the untried path before him. He arose 
 and said, 
 
 " I will think of all you have said, sir, and in the meantime 
 I will thank you to write to Mr. Hall and ascertain if there is 
 an opening in his establishment for me." 
 
 " I will, my dear boy ; and may Heaven bless you. for so 
 readily accommodating yourself to the change in our circum- 
 btaL,ces. It will, I truly believe, be an advantage to you to 
 try your fortune in the great warfare of life. I possess the 
 power to place you advantageously, and I need scarcely say it 
 will be fully used for your benefit." 
 
 ** Thank you, sir ; I will endeavor to be as grateful to you 
 as I should ; but I believe, if the truth must be told, no son 
 ever went forth from his father's roof more unwillingly to try 
 his fortune than I do. In the end I may prove victor, but I 
 am sadly afraid I shall lose all in the race." 
 
168 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ' 
 
 " Do not cherish such despondent feelings, my son. Re- 
 mber that Louise is to be your reward." 
 
 "I do remember that, sir, or I should never have courage 
 to make the attempt." 
 
 " I have great hopes for you, Victor, if you cherish 
 such love for your betrothed. It is a holy and noble 
 motive ; one that I believe will bring energy and com- 
 fort to you in many a dark hour, and secure success at the 
 last." 
 
 " I trust so, though I have many dark misgivings myself," 
 rejoined the discontented young man ; and he left the room, 
 wearing a brow of gloom, which even the sight of Louise in 
 the yard did not remove. He joined her, and they walked 
 together the remainder of the afternoon, discussing their future 
 plans in a mood that was far from resigned to the change in 
 their prospects. 
 
 Louise was too wayward and too uncertain of her own 
 constancy, to give much consolation to her lover ; and Victor 
 bitterly felt that to cling to a belief in her truth, was like the 
 frail straw on which the drowning man clasps his frantic hold ; 
 yet so weakly infatuated was he, that he could not relinquish 
 even that. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MALCOLM found the business he had undertaken to 
 manage was in a much more complicated condition than 
 he expected. The abduction of Withers' accounts caused 
 inevitable losses to himself, for the murdered man had 
 long been his trusted agent, in his frequent absences from 
 the city. 
 
 Week after week rolled by, and he was still detained in 
 New Orleans, though he frequently wrote to the inmates of 
 Wavertree, and always in such a manner as to induce the 
 deluded Pauline to believe that his chief anxiety was to 
 return on her account ; though he did not actually commit 
 himself. 
 
 Malcolm sought an early interview with Messrs. Hall and 
 informed them of the transfer Mr. Harrington wished made, 
 and also of his own readiness to pay over to them negotiable 
 paper for the sum recently advanced by them. They mani- 
 fested some surprise at this, and the senior partner inquired, 
 
 "Do you advance the whole of this sum yourself, Mr. 
 Malcolm ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I have extensive business relations with Mr. 
 Harrington, and he finds it more convenient to suffer me to 
 hold the mortgage ; especially, as I may soon stand in such a 
 
170 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 position toward him as to render it to our mutual interest to 
 clear the place of debt as soon as possible." 
 
 " Hem that alters the case, certainly, and we are glad to 
 get back this large advance so soon. But what guaranty do 
 you offer that the older claims we hold against Mr. Harring- 
 ton shall be liquidated ?" 
 
 " I am also authorized by him to pledge to you the sum of 
 six thousand dollars annually from his crops, until the whole 
 is paid." 
 
 "I hope Mr. Harrington does not think we would have 
 proved hard creditors ? I know Charlie Harrington of old, 
 and a more liberal heart never beat in a man's bosom. He 
 is among the last that I should feel inclined to be hard with." 
 
 " I believe he fully understands that : but he wishes earn- 
 estly to clear himself of debt as soon as practicable; and 
 there is a family arrangement between us which enables me 
 to assist him efficiently." 
 
 He half smiled, and Mr. Hall said, 
 
 " I may congratulate you then, on a more favorable fate 
 than has befallen many others. The fair sisters of Wavertree 
 have often been wooed, but this is the first hint I have heard 
 that either one has been won. May I ask which is " 
 
 At that moment a clerk came in with a communication of 
 importance for the chief, and to the infinite relief of Malcolm., 
 he turned his attention to it at once. It would have been 
 rather embarrassing to reply to the query Mr. Hall was 
 about to utter, as there was as yet no positive certainty that 
 either sister would ever be his wife. 
 
 When the merchant had despatched the business, he turned 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 171 
 
 with his mercantile air to Malcolm, evidently oblivious of 
 every thing save the matter in hand. He said briefly, 
 
 " I consent to the transfer you propose, Mr. Malcolm, since 
 it is the wish of Mr. Harrington. We will be ready at any 
 time to go through with the details necessary to complete it." 
 
 Malcolm named an hour on the following morning for a 
 final settlement, well pleased with the result of the interview. 
 From there he proceeded to the office of one of the principal 
 papers in the city in which he had caused an advertisement to 
 be inserted to the effect that if the person who possessed the 
 accounts of the murdered Withers, would cause them to be 
 left at that office, all further inquiry into the affair would be 
 dropped. 
 
 As the police had utterly failed to obtain a clew to that 
 mysterious assassination, Malcolm believed that the offer 
 might produce what he desired, and as he seemed likely to 
 be the chief sufferer from the heavy robbery then committed, 
 considered himself at liberty to quash the proceedings which 
 promised no effectual result. 
 
 On entering the sanctum of the editor, he found him seated 
 at his table with a voluminous package before him which he 
 was preparing to open. He nodded toward a seat, as he 
 said, 
 
 " See what we^oor devils of editors have to undergo. 
 Here is a correspondent, now, who must think we have an 
 immense amount of spare time, and more patience than even 
 fel 1 to the lot of Job, to wade through such a mass of matter 
 as is here." 
 
 " I only wish it would prove what I am so anxious to gain, 11 
 
1*72 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 replied Malcolm; "I would gladly undergo the labor of 
 looking over every page." 
 
 " Yes, they would repay you, but in all likelihood I shall 
 only have the trouble without any profit. 'Tis not every 
 article that comes to a publisher's sanctum that is worth 
 the carriage." 
 
 While he thus spoke, he cut the strings and broke the 
 seals of the package. The contents scattered over the table, 
 and Malcolm started up, exclaiming, 
 
 " By Jove ! there is a paper bearing in large letters, ' For 
 Edward Malcolm, Esq.' They are mine, they are the accounts 
 of that unfortunate wretch, Withers, for which I adver- 
 tised." 
 
 " Very true," replied the other, " and several of them bear 
 the marks of bloody fingers, as if wet with the blood yet 
 warm from the heart of the murdered man. Pah ! take 
 them away." 
 
 Malcolm hastily gathered them up, and examined them 
 with sparkling eyes. Not one in which he was interested was 
 missing; but among them were several that puzzled him; 
 for well as he had known Withers, he had not been aware 
 that he had a daughter. There were bills for tuition and 
 clothing, dated so recently that he concluded the child must 
 still be at the same school. 
 
 He immediately took an omnibus for the lower part of the 
 city, and was soon set down at the corner nearest to Madame 
 S 's seminary for young ladies. On ringing, he was im- 
 mediately ushered into the presence of the principal, a small, 
 dark woman, of bustling manner, and sharp voice. She re- 
 
173 
 
 ceived him with great politeness, and inquired if he wished to 
 place a new pupil with her. 
 
 " No, madame," he replied ; " my business rather is to see 
 an old pupil of yours. Is Mademoiselle Withers still with 
 you ?" 
 
 " Ah ! bon Dieu !" exclaimed the excitable woman. " Is it 
 to see Mademoiselle Withers you really came, monsieur ? I 
 am afraid she will not soon again be seen by any of her 
 friends." 
 
 " What do you mean, madame ? Is the little girl no longer 
 with you ?" 
 
 " No, monsieur ; and it is a great mystery what has be- 
 come of her. She left here to go into the country with her 
 father the day he was killed, and since then she has never 
 been heard of." 
 
 "You amaze me, ma'am. Have you caused diligent in- 
 quiry to be made after her ?" 
 
 " yes. My teacher of drawing, who was fond of the 
 little brown creature, went to the house herself when we 
 saw the account of the terrible murder in the papers ; but 
 all her inquiries only elicited the fact that her father had 
 taken her away in a carriage soon after she reached his res- 
 idence." 
 
 " Could not the number of the carriage be ascertained ? A 
 clew might thus have been furnished." 
 
 " No, sir we lost all trace of her there ; and as we could 
 not afford to go to any expense about it, we concluded to let 
 the matter drop." 
 
 " And the child's fate is still a mystery ?" 
 
"Yes, monsieur so far as we are concerned, a profound 
 one. Are you a relative ?" 
 
 " No. Only a friend of her deceased father. I have been 
 absent from town, and after my return I thought it right to 
 look after the little girl." 
 
 " Very true, monsieur. I am sorry I can afford you no in- 
 formation. I shall be very glad to know what has become of 
 her myself, for she was a quiet, obedient pupil." 
 
 Completely mystified himself as to why the child was re- 
 moved at such a crisis, Malcolm took his leave, and slowly 
 walked toward the busier portion of the city. 
 
 It was late when he regained his own apartments ; and he 
 shut himself up with the papers of the doftd man, to examine 
 them thoroughly, hoping thus to gain a clew to the probable 
 whereabouts of his daughter. Withers possessed an interest 
 in some of their joint speculations, which, in the event of suc- 
 cess, would probably amount to a few thousand dollars, and 
 he felt it to be only just that his child should be sought out, 
 and receive the benefit of them. 
 
 Though Malcolm wove his nets so skillfully around unsus- 
 picious Mr. Harrington, to get him completely in his power, 
 for the accomplishment of his own ulterior objects, he was 
 neither grasping nor dishonest ; and he would have been un- 
 willing to possess himself of this property to which a helpless 
 minor had a claim. 
 
 As he scanned the various memoranda, his brow grew dark, 
 and more than once muttered exclamations escaped him. 
 At length the book which Withers had looked over with so 
 much interest on the morning before his assassination, fell 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 175 
 
 into his hands, and with amazement he read such proofs as 
 convinced him that his trustworthy agent had long meditated 
 an extensive fraud of which he himself might have become 
 the ultimate victim, had not the large sum of money thrown 
 into his hands proved a temptation too great to be resisted. 
 From the moment this belief was settled in his mind, Malcolm 
 sought among the papers for further proof. A card presently 
 came up with the name of the ship Euterpe on it, and also 
 the landing opposite to which she lay, apparently intended as 
 a direction for a trunk. 
 
 The certificate of the investment of stocks in the name 
 of Charles Hamilton was missing. The robbers had appro- 
 priated that, but the name occurred several times, scribbled 
 on some of the papers, apparently in a fit of absence of 
 mind. 
 
 Malcolm was an acute reasoner and a keen observer. He 
 carefully placed all these facts together, and then sought for 
 the newspapers which had accumulated in his absence. They 
 had been carefully filed by his servant, and, on turning to the 
 date of Withers' death, he looked down the list of shipping, 
 and found among the vessels cleared on that day, the Eu- 
 terpe, bound for Havre. His rapid mind came to the accu- 
 rate conclusion that on this ship Withers had placed his 
 daughter, together with Mr. Harrington's money, intending 
 to sail in her himself; that he was forced to return to ar- 
 range other business, and met his fate. 
 
 On the return of the Euterpe he would make such inquiries 
 as must lead to the knowledge of what he desired to ascer- 
 tain. We may as well mention here that on the arrival of 
 12 
 
176 
 
 the Euterpe in port, Malcolm visited her ; ascertained that 
 his suspicions were correct, and carefully noted down the 
 name of Grace Withers* protectress, together with the feigned 
 name by which Withers had registered himself and his 
 daughter. He could gain no certainty concerning the 
 money, and it was still doubtful whether it had been trans- 
 ferred to the vessel with his daughter, or whether it had 
 fallen a prey to the robbers. 
 
 All these facts Malcolm kept carefully to himself. He did 
 not wish to furnish a hint to Mr. Harrington by which he 
 might eventually recover his property. Should Adele prove 
 propitious to his suit, when she was once his own, he could 
 follow the clew thus ingeniously obtained, and possibly regain 
 the money. 
 
 He wished to obtain the entire control of Mr. Harrington's 
 affairs, and with the implicit confidence reposed in him, noth- 
 ing seemed easier than to do so, especially if the old adage 
 should with him prove true, that " misfortunes never come 
 single." With sanguine expectation Mr. Harrington looked 
 upon the future as certain to release him from this temporary 
 embarrassment the chances of failure in his crops, or any 
 other casualty which could affect his ability to fulfill his en- 
 gagements, had scarcely entered into his calculations at all ; 
 . but the more astute mind of Malcolm contemplated all these 
 possibilities, and he felt that each one added a new link to 
 the chain he had so subtly woven around him. 
 
 Their joint speculations were in Malcolm's name, and 
 should Adele finally refuse his offered hand in spite of the 
 influences brought to bear their evil weight upon the fortunes 
 
177 
 
 of her family, he could retain a sufficient portion of their 
 proceeds to indemnify himself for the advance he had made. 
 Thus responsible to no one save God and his own conscience, 
 Malcolm possessed the power to bring ruin and desolation 
 into a family which so lately was prosperous, united, and 
 happy. 
 
 If the schemer felt remorse, it was silenced by the thought 
 that Adele could avert the threatened ruin: could render 
 him an efficient co-worker with her father, if she would only 
 speak the magic words that would bind her to him forever. 
 If she refused, Lt the misfortunes of those she loved come to 
 her as a life-long reproach ; selfish and hard of heart must 
 that daughter be who could refuse to rescue her family from 
 ruin even by the sacrifice he demanded. Should Adele prove 
 thus obdurate, let desolation come to their once happy home : 
 let them sink into the oblivion of poverty. 
 
 What cared he? He could so manage as to avert re- 
 proach from his own name, and the hollow world would still 
 smile upon the prosperous and fascinating speculator, as be- 
 fore. Malcolm believed that should this disappointment in- 
 deed be his, it would seal up the only human spot in his 
 heart. Henceforth, with the flowers of life withered, he 
 would, like a second Midas, turn all he touched to gold, and 
 in time, become himself as hard and impassive as the metal 
 itself. 
 
 While he thus mused with bent brows, and writhing lips, 
 a knock came to his door, and without troubling himself to 
 rise, he said, 
 
 " Come in." 
 
178 
 
 The door was opened with a jerk, and Nevin entered with 
 a careless, familiar air. 
 
 " Found you at last, old fellow," he said, as he threw him- 
 self full length on two chairs. " Where on earth have you 
 been keeping yourself this age ? I have seen you in none of 
 our usual haunts, for many days past." 
 
 " I have been busy you know I have recovered the ac- 
 counts I was so anxious about, and they have given me a 
 great deal to attend to." 
 
 " Ah yes ; don't speak of them. It gives me the blues to 
 talk of murdered men's affairs. By the way do you know 
 that Madame Stiff and her daughter have returned to the 
 city?" 
 
 " Who do you mean ?" 
 
 " WTiy the Ruskins to be sure. Don't you know the duti- 
 ful Louise bestows that very appropriate name on her stately 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Ruskin is then in town ?' asked Malcolm with some 
 anxiety. "When did she come down, and why did I not 
 hear from Wavertree by her ?" 
 
 " Because there was nobody to write, I suppose. Pauline 
 was slightly indisposed. Mr. Harrington is about again, but 
 very busy with his plantation affairs ; anxious about the 
 amount of his crops, I fancy. It is well for some men to 
 have a little care thrust on them sometimes, aud he has en- 
 joyed the dolcefar niente long enough in all conscience." 
 
 " Pooh ! you 're only envious, Nevin. And the rest of the 
 family? What of them?" 
 
 " I do not suppose that you are particularly interested in 
 
179 
 
 the dandy exquisite, but I really must tell you something 
 new of him. He has actually made up his mind to do some- 
 thing useful, and he has come hither to enter Messrs. Halls' 
 commission house as a clerk. An efficient one he is likely to 
 prove. I wish his employers joy in their acquisition don't 
 you ?" 
 
 " That is something unexpected. What motive prompted 
 him to it. Can you imagine ?" 
 
 " Love for Louise Ruskin, I fancy ; for the little gipsy told 
 me that her mother insisted on his learning some means of 
 making his bread, or she would not permit him to address 
 her daughter." 
 
 " Miss Ruskin must be very communicative," said Malcolm, 
 contemptuously. "I do not fancy that Victor would be 
 much flattered by this confidence." 
 
 "0 as to that, I have known Louise all her life, and I can 
 get any secret out of her that I wish to find out. I was half 
 in love with her myself, before I saw that enchanting cousin 
 of hers and I don't know but I may end by being seriously 
 involved yet. There is something wonderfully attractive to 
 me in the gayety and beauty of this girl." 
 
 " You have only to speak, and the mother will be on your 
 side. Money is evidently what Mrs. Ruskin seeks for her 
 daughter, and you have enough of that But I believe the 
 girl herself likes Harrington." 
 
 " Pooh ! it is only a childish flirtation on her side. He is 
 serious enough, but that giddy child never yet had an earnest 
 emotion in her life. I am only speculating now, however, for 
 I have sometimes thought if this involvement of Mr. Har- 
 
180 
 
 ringlon ends in ruin, the beauty may not prove so obdurate 
 to a wooer who carries fortune in his hand, as she once was." 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon the face of Malcolm as he thus 
 spoke, as if seeking to read his soul. The slight start he 
 gave, and the sudden knitting of his brows, gave Nevin a 
 clew to what he had earnestly desired to fathom. He uttered 
 a forced laugh, as he added, 
 
 " Ah-h I have found something that will move you at 
 last. I never saw your face change under emotion before, 
 Malcolm. Excuse me but this is really too good." 
 
 Malcolm regarded him with chilling composure, 
 
 " I do not comprehend you. Will you be so kind as to 
 explain your meaning ?" 
 
 " hang it ! Put off that face, now. You and I know 
 each other too well to practice that sort of humbug. I have 
 only discovered what all our friends have been speculating 
 about for weeks past ; which one of the sisters has captivated 
 you ? The world says it is Pauline, but I say that Adele has 
 fascinated you as she does every one else ; but you are too 
 cautious to let others see it until you are sure of your ground." 
 
 " Your judgments are not always correct, Nevin," replied 
 Malcolm, coldly, " and I beg that you will keep your surmises 
 to yourself, as I do not wish my affairs canvassed by those 
 who have no personal interest in them." 
 
 "Neither does any one else, but it is nevertheless done 
 *very day by our dear five hundred friends. By the way, 
 jvhen mentioning the rest of the family I forgot to say that 
 Adele's time is taken up with a new lover, and one who seems 
 : n a fair way to win where the rest of us have failed." 
 
181 
 
 This time, Malcolm turned his head away, pretending to be 
 searching for something, but really to avoid the scrutinizing 
 gaze he felt was upon him. A pang of mortal jealousy 
 wrung his proud heart, though he only half believed the as- 
 sertion of Nevin. He carelessly said, 
 
 " This too, is a portion of Miss Louise Ruskin's information, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 " No Louise cares very little about any body's lovers but 
 her own. Her mother told me of a young, interesting, and 
 highly cultivated guest, who comes from Virginia on a visit 
 to Wavertree. He is a distant connection of the family, and 
 feeble health demanded a change of climate. Philip Evelyn 
 has delicate lungs, and the vapor from the boiling sugar has 
 been prescribed for his restoration." 
 
 Malcolm listened to these details with repressed eagerness. 
 With assumed carelessness, he asked, 
 
 " And Adele ? What has she to do with this guest more 
 than any other that has ever visited Wavertree ?" 
 
 " Only that she seems more fascinated by this young man, 
 than by any who has gone before. She walks with him 
 they read, together, books which he recommends to her pe- 
 rusal in short, they seem quite charmed with each other's 
 society." 
 
 " Did Mrs. Ruskin assert that from her own observation !" 
 
 " Yes, with her own facile tongue. She thought she was 
 crushing my tender aspirations in that quarter, I know. But 
 thank Heaven, I am no longer so verdant as to cherish any. 
 You may win and wear her, if you can, Malcolm." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are generous to give away that to which 
 
182 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 f 
 you have no claim," was the sarcastic rejoinder. " It seems 
 
 very absurd that a man of business like myself, can not visit 
 Wavertree on matters of interest alone, without being in- 
 volved, by common gossip, in a love affair with one or the 
 other of the young ladies. You should be sufficiently a man 
 of the world to know that with us, love and love-making are 
 only the interludes in existence, not its business." 
 
 Nevin listened skeptically. 
 
 " And you would really persuade me that you are not fasci- 
 nated by either of those fair sisters ? Well, I can play the 
 blind friend, if it suits you, especially as I have no particular 
 interest in fathoming your secrets." 
 
 He arose, and consulted his watch. 
 
 " It is nearly eight o'clock. I am going to call at Mrs. 
 Ruskin's for the amiable purpose of making Harrington as 
 jealous as Othello. It is real fun to flirt with such a girl as 
 Louise she plays into one's hand so finely, and enters so 
 completely into the spirit of the thing. Won't you go ?" 
 
 Malcolm muttered something that was not very intelligible, 
 but after a moment's hesitation he took up his hat, and they 
 went out together. A walk of a few squares brought them 
 in front of an imposing looking city house, on the brass 
 door-plate of which, in large letters, was the name of Mrs. 
 Ruskin. 
 
 The visitors were promptly admitted, and received by that 
 lady and her daughter with great cordiality. On their en- 
 trance, they found Louise seated at the piano, over which 
 leaned Victor Harrington, watching the play of her white 
 fingers, as they glanced over the ivory keys, and speculating 
 
183 
 
 in rather a melancholy mood on the chances of ever becom- 
 ing the possessor of the fair hand to which they belonged. 
 
 She sprang up with her characteristic vivacity, and began 
 her usual lively chatter. Nevin answered her in her own 
 strain, and soon the moody Victor, with savage heart, and 
 watchful eyes, beheld his best-loved cousin Louise apparently 
 charmed by the flattery her visitor contrived to mingle with 
 his trifling. Once the unhappy lover ventured a whispered 
 remonstrance in rather a fierce tone, but Louise cavalierly 
 replied, 
 
 " Nonsense you are so dull yourself that you make no 
 effort to amuse me, and then get angry if any one else takes 
 that trouble." 
 
 Victor shrank away, and soon after took leave, an unhappy 
 victim to anger and jealousy. 
 
 In the meantime, Malcolm devoted himself to Mrs. Ruskin, 
 and, for his reward, obtained all the information from Waver- 
 tree that he desired. 
 
 There really was a young relative there on a visit, which 
 would probably extend through the winter. Philip Evelyn 
 was a cousin so distant that no other people except Virgin- 
 ians would think of claiming the relationship. In this case, 
 however, there were ties of friendship which bound Mr. Har- 
 rington to his father in the days of his youth ; and when he 
 learned that Mr. Evelyn's most promising son was threatened 
 with consumption, he cordially invited him to spend the 
 winter in his family to try the benefit of a more southern 
 climate. 
 
 Mrs. Buskin, from motives of her own, went on to say that 
 
184 
 
 from the first day of his arrival he had admired Adele, and 
 she showed more interest in his society than was at all usual 
 with her. The delicacy of his appearance, probably, elicited 
 her womanly sympathies, and, as before, Adele might be 
 fancy free ; but of this Mrs. Ruskin had her doubts her 
 niece was not demonstrative, and her solicitude for the welfare 
 of the invalid betrayed a great deal. 
 
 Malcolm listened with calm brow, and smiling lip, but 
 rage was in his heart, when he bowed over her hand, and, 
 with Nevin, took his departure. Why had he delayed his 
 return to Wavertree so long ? he asked himself. Why had 
 he not put in his claims before another had won an in- 
 terest in her heart? He would lose no more time he 
 would go at once and use his power to compel her to be 
 his. 
 
 With this fixed determination he went home, to make 
 preparations for an early departure. 
 
 The door had no sooner closed on her visitors, than Mrs. 
 Ruskin sharply said, 
 
 " Louise, you certainly possess less judgment than any sane 
 girl I ever met. Here you have flirted and talked nonsense 
 with Mr. Nevin in the very presence of Mr. Malcolm, when 
 you know my wishes in that quarter.*' 
 
 " Set your heart at rest, ma, and spare your manoeuvres, for 
 that man of adamant is never going to seek such a little 
 nobody as I am. I have more sense ^bout some things than 
 you give me credit for. My destiny lies between poor Victor 
 and Mr. Nevin. One is desperately in love with me, and, if I 
 choose, I can lead the other on to make a proposal ; but I 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 185 
 
 will wait to see how my forlorn cousin comes out in his trial ; 
 if he fails and I am sure I hope the poor fellow will not, for : 
 I like him best of any of them I think Mr. Neviii will suit 
 me far better than this pompous Malcolm." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin ceased her reproaches, and, for once, she 
 thought Louise less giddy than usual. Nevin was of a good 
 family, and independent in fortune, with large expectations 
 from a wealthy aunt who lived on the coast. 
 
 Considering all the chances against success in her attempt 
 to secure Malcolm for a son-in-law, she thought it would be 
 as well, perhaps, to permit her daughter to have her own 
 way. So, for that evening at least, Louise escaped the usual 
 lecture, which she was in the habit of yawning through and 
 forgetting as soon as it was uttered. 
 
 Louise thought of Victor's angry face, and felt some com- 
 punction, but she consoled herself with the belief that she 
 could soon make him forget it all, by bestowing on him a few 
 sweet smiles and tender words. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE winter proved remarkably rnild, and the open weather 
 allowed the sugar-making to go on at Wavertree with un- 
 usual success. Mr. Harrington rejoiced in the prospect of 
 making a larger crop than usual, for the thought of the load 
 of debt that encumbered him lay as an incubus upon his 
 usually buoyant spirit. He bitterly reproached himself with 
 the change in the prospects of his children, caused, as he felt, 
 by his own imprudence ; and the disappointment to Victor's 
 matrimonial expectations lay nearer his heart than any one 
 supposed. 
 
 He feared for the result to his son, for he apprehended 
 that with Victor's peculiar character, a disappointment of 
 this nature might lead to the most deplorable consequences. 
 Instead of gaining strength from the blow, there was every 
 reason to fear he would be crushed by it. 
 
 Mr. Harrington's health was apparently restored, though 
 thei'e was less of the florid hue of health which had so lately 
 distinguished his appearance. Where the ruby blood once 
 glowed upon his cheek, a tinge of deeper purple was now 
 seen, as if the vessels in the skin were too full ; an occasional 
 vertigo warned him that all was not right with him. 
 
 " I must put my house in order," was his frequent thought 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 187 
 
 " if I die -with my affairs so much deranged, my children 
 may be impoverished." 
 
 These reflections stimulated him to a feverish activity that 
 was far from beneficial to him, and after all, he felt how little 
 could be accomplished in comparison with what he wished 
 done. To Malcolm's return he looked with trustful in- 
 terest. Firmly impressed with the belief in his attachment to 
 Pauline, he would give her to him without delay, and thus 
 provide a protector for both his daughters, in a man of en- 
 ergy who, should Heaven summon him away, could manage 
 his estate to the best advantage, and in time restore it to his 
 children, freed from debt. 
 
 It cost him many severe struggles to lay aside his habits of 
 general hospitality, but a sense of the higher duty he owed, 
 enabled him to accomplish even this ; and the elegant din- 
 ners, and social reunions for which Wavertree had long been 
 noted, were discontinued. They still received their friends in 
 a quiet way, and entertained them as agreeably, though less 
 sumptuously, than in days of yore. 
 
 To Miss Harrington and her nieces this change would have 
 been welcome, but for its cause. The constant tide of com- 
 pany had so greatly occupied each one, that their own pecu- 
 liar tastes were, in a measure, compelled to lie dormant, while 
 they gave up so large a portion of their time to the exactions 
 of hospitality. Pauline devoted herself more assiduously 
 than ever to the cultivation of her musical abilities, and 
 Adele found an interest in books which they had never be- 
 fore possessed ; while Miss Gertrude looked after her house- 
 
188 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 keeping, and attended to the comfort of her brother with 
 most assiduous care. 
 
 One permanent guest was received for the winter, and that 
 was the Philip Evelyn of whom Mrs. Ruskin had made Mal- 
 colm so jealous. He had been invited to Wavertree before 
 misfortune darkened over its roof; but under any circum- 
 stances this young man would have been welcomed warmly 
 to Mr. Harrington's house. His father had been one of the 
 friends of his boyhood, to whom he had been indebted for 
 valuable aid at his first start in life. To such men favors 
 once rendered appeal with powerful force throughout exist- 
 ence ; and Philip Evelyn came to the heart and home of Mr. 
 Harrington, not as the son of a distant kinsman, but with 
 the cordial reception his own child would have received. 
 
 A violent injury to his breast, occasioned by a fall from 
 his horse, had produced symptoms of consumption, and it 
 was hoped that change of climate, aided by breathing the 
 vapor from the sugar-house a short time every day, would 
 restore him to his usual health. 
 
 Philip Evelyn was slender and delicate in appearance, and 
 if Malcolm had seen him, he would probably, at the first 
 glance, have thought he had little cause to fear a rival whose 
 personal pretensions were certainly far inferior to his own , 
 but after talking with him after seeing those delicate fea- 
 tures lighted up with the spiritual fire within hearing the 
 tones of a voice as clear and musical as the chime of silver 
 bells, uttering words that charmed by their eloquence, he 
 would probably have changed his opinion. Evelyn was not 
 a man of action and enterprise, such as Malcolm ; he was a 
 
189 
 
 man of thought of scientific and intellectual tastes some- 
 times a dreamer, but also a worker ; he had been a hard 
 student ; was a good practical engineer, and a fine draughts- 
 man. 
 
 He was received into the family circle as one of thorn- 
 selves, and soon felt as perfectly domesticated as if he had 
 been in his own home. He had been accustomed to the 
 society of cultivated women, and enjoyed it. His mother 
 and sisters were very dear to him, and from them he had 
 formed a very high estimate of the sex. Such men are 
 always popular with women, and Miss Gertrude took him un- 
 der her especial charge, while the sisters endeavored, as far as 
 possible, to render Wavertree agreeable to him. 
 
 Like others, Evelyn admired the rare beauty of Adele, but 
 he was not captivated at first sight. He was not the sort of 
 man to set an exaggerated value on mere personal attractions, 
 and it was not until he saw indications of her true womanly 
 character, that his heart acknowledged how lovely she really 
 was. The great affection for her father which she unostenta- 
 tiously betrayed, first won him to think of her as something 
 more than beautiful ; and this observation continued from 
 day to day, made him soon think that at last he had found a 
 being who came as near the ideal of the poets as it was pos- 
 sible for a real living woman to be. 
 
 His early indifference pleased Adele more than the violent 
 admiration she was accustomed to elicit; it seemed to her 
 more natural, and to be founded on something better than a 
 mere appreciation of a fine specimen of nature's handiwork ; 
 a species of admiration she only shared with a beautiful 
 
190 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 flower, or any other object calculated to charm the eye. 
 This -kind of worship she disdained as an offering that low- 
 ered her far beneath her true level. To be valued for her 
 real superiority was her earnest desire, and not for the adven- 
 titious charms which must lose their bloom in a few fleetim* 
 
 O 
 
 years. 
 
 On further acquaintance, Adele found that the character of 
 her mind harmonized wonderfully well with that of Evelyn ; 
 yet had any one hinted to either that a life-destiny was in- 
 volved in this newly-awakened interest, they would both 
 have denied the imputation at once. 
 
 The arrival of Evelyn was a great piece of good fortune tc 
 Mr. Harrington. His intelligent and active mind took a keen 
 interest in the new field of observation opened to him. The 
 bright weather enticed him to accompany his host in his 
 daily rounds on the plantation, and his professional skill en- 
 abled him frequently to be of great use to him. 
 
 For several years past, the river had been unusually high, 
 and the additional quantity of transpiration water imbibed 
 by the soil, rendered it necessary to drain to a greater extent 
 than before, to prevent the cane from suffering injury from 
 the moisture. These miniature canals were surveyed by 
 Evelyn, and with his assistance every thing placed in readi- 
 ness to commence their construction so soon as the rush of 
 sugar-making was over ; for on a sugar plantation, every 
 thing bends before the necessity of grinding the cane before 
 it is injured by the frost. 
 
 Evelyn possessed that rare tact which enables persons to 
 talk only when conversation is most welcome, and to say that 
 
191 
 
 which is pleasing to the state of the listener's mind. A few 
 rare mental organizations possess this species of magnetic 
 sympathy, and a greater gift it is than beauty, genius, or 
 power ; for by its magic properties, it enables its possessor t 
 throw new light upon fading hopes to raise the sinking 
 heart, and infuse energy into the faltering, doubting soul. 
 
 Day after day, Philip Evelyn rode out beside his old friend, 
 and Mr. Harrington felt that he had been sent to him for a 
 purpose. Deeply and unostentatiously pious, he often turned 
 his conversation from the pressing worldly concerns which he 
 saw were burdening the anxious mind of his companion, to 
 " that house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ; n 
 and for a season, his eloquent words would cause all ^earthly 
 cares to fade before the bright visions of the hereafter to 
 which they gave birth. 
 
 Mr. Harrington had thought of all these things seriously ; 
 and he had been a constant reader of his Bible throughout 
 life, but his faith was only that which he had imbibed from 
 careful maternal instruction.- He was merely a passive Chris- 
 tian, and to this consciousness he gradually awoke as he 
 listened to the unobtrusive remarks of his young friend. Mr. 
 Harrington was thus led to read books which treated on this 
 subject, in his leisure hours, and to reflect deeply on their 
 contents. The carking load of care, which had planted 
 many new furrows on his brow, thus lost much of its bitter- 
 ness. Persons of sanguine temperament above all others, must 
 have something bright to look to in the future, whether it be 
 of this world or the next ; without it, they are in a slough of 
 despond from which there is no escape. 
 
192 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 The new ideas so unostentatiously opened to his over- 
 burdened mind carried with them inexpressible relief and satis- 
 faction ; and many hours, when he rode slowly forth in the 
 bright winter sunshine, outwardly grave, his heart was rising 
 in grateful thanks to Him who has made all visible things so 
 beautiful that they carry a lesson of sublimity and reverence 
 to the spirit, if they are viewed with the eye of faith and 
 love. 
 
 Mr. Harrington soon learned to regard the messenger of 
 good to himself with a strength of affection that rendered 
 the idea of parting from him extremely painful ; and he 
 sought for some pretext for retaining him near him through- 
 out the future. The only one that naturally suggested itself, 
 was, to give him his favorite daughter, and thus claim the 
 love of a son from Evelyn. He watched the slight indications 
 of a mutually developing preference between the two with 
 deep solicitude, though he was too delicate, as well as too 
 anxious for the denouement to betray his wishes in the 
 slightest degree. 
 
 Thus weeks rolled away fraught with deeper peril to Mal- 
 colm's hopes, than even Pauline's preference for himself. She, 
 poor girl, during his protracted absence, felt that sickness of 
 the heart of which the poet has so truly sung. The bright 
 vision of happiness that had made an abiding-place there 
 gradually faded faded until hope struggled with despair. 
 She would not yield to the terrible conviction that him she 
 so fervently loved was indifferent to her happiness unworthy 
 of a tender thought. Her imagination had invested Malcolm 
 with every attribute of excellence, and her spirit had bowed 
 
193 
 
 in heart-homage before that ideal goodness in which her own 
 nature found so much that was congenial. 
 
 At first, Malcolm's letters kept up this delusion, but grad- 
 ually their tone changed, as if he wished to prepare the way 
 for the avowal of his true designs ; but as the suspicion of 
 his falseness to herself darkened over her mind, Pauline sum 
 moned all the pride of womanhood, all the shrinking reserve 
 of her peculiar temperament, to aid her in concealing the 
 deadly blow that had been dealt upon her heart. Others, 
 not even those dearest to her, should know how keen were 
 her sufferings ; and she armed herself with endurance for her 
 daily duties, and passed among her friends the same thought- 
 ful considerate Pauline she had been before this bitter struggle 
 came, to strengthen her perhaps, for the conflict with the 
 trials which so rapidly approached the ruined family. 
 
 Pauline's manner had always been quiet, and even the 
 affectionate eyes around her, did not detect the veiled suffer- 
 ing that often tortured her heart. She saw this, and it gave 
 her strength to struggle on, but the very life of life seemed 
 to herself to be perishing within her soul, never again to be 
 revivified. 
 
 In the midst of this, Mr. Harrington was summoned to 
 New Orleans by his perfidious friend, to complete the last 
 details of the business necessary to place him entirely in Mal- 
 colm's power. The latter wrote that his presence was imper- 
 atively necessary, and he forthwith prepared to go. He con- 
 siderately proposed to make Pauline the companion of his 
 journey, but she declined accompanying him, with the shrink- 
 ing feeling that in so doing she would be intruding her 
 
194 
 
 presence on one to whom it would be unwelcome. Mr. Har- 
 rington was surprised at this decision, and would have re- 
 monstrated, but she gave so many plausible reasons why it 
 would be best to remain at home that he was silenced. He 
 said, 
 
 " I only wished to contribute to your happiness, my child. 
 If you think it best to stay at home, of course I will not insist 
 on taking you with me, though your presence would afford 
 happiness not alone to myself." 
 
 At this allusion the poor girl grew heart-sick. After a 
 pause, to steady her voice, she asked, 
 
 " Will it be prying unwarrantably into your affairs, father, 
 if I inquire into the nature of the business which takes you to 
 New Orleans at present ?" 
 
 " It is too complicated to explain to you, Pauline, and could 
 do no good. I will only say, that God never created a more 
 generous man than Malcolm. Without the assistance he has 
 rendered me, I should now be in a labyrinth of difficulties 
 from which I could scarcely find my way out." 
 
 " Has he really been so kind ?" and a feeling of strange 
 pleasure filled her sad heart, at hearing him she feared to 
 trust thus praised by lips she loved. " I knew from Mr. Mal- 
 colm, himself, that he had aided you, but I was not aware 
 that your obligations are so great. Yet yet 0, father, do 
 not think me presumptuous if I entreat you not to trust him 
 too far. It is not well to place ourselves too much in the 
 power of another." 
 
 " I know that well, my daughter ; but necessity teaches us 
 stern lessons sometimes. With me, just now, it is a question 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 195 
 
 of insolvency or assistance from Malcolm. I tell you this in 
 confidence, however ; do not "betray it to your aunt or sister. 
 I shall swim through yet, and you have strength of mind to 
 know and sympathize with my difficulties without annoying 
 me by looking sorrowful. I can not bear grave faces about 
 me, Pauline you know how I have always promoted cheer- 
 fulness." 
 
 Her heart felt as if a cord of steel were drawn tightly 
 around it, as he thus spoke, but she found courage to look up 
 and smile. 
 
 " Thank you, dear father, for your confidence ; but pardon 
 me, if I again ask you if there is no other means of settling 
 your affairs open to you, than to place yourself so completely 
 at the mercy of Mr. Malcolm ?" 
 
 " What would the child be at ?" said Mr. Harrington, in a 
 slightly irritated tone. " From whom can I with so much 
 propriety accept assistance as from the man who expects to 
 become my son-in-law ? You must be aware of the nature of 
 his hopes, Pauline, for he as good as told me you had sanc- 
 tioned them." 
 
 " Did he indeed say that ?" gasped Pauline, a flood of hap- 
 piness and contrition pouring into her heart with magical 
 swiftness. " Then indeed have I wronged him." 
 
 " Wronged him ! Have you doubted him because he has 
 not written a parcel of silly love-letters to you, telling you 
 every week how much he adores you ? Pooh ! Malcolm has 
 passed the age of sentimentality, and he eschews such non- 
 sense ; but lie loves you none the less for that, as I can testify 
 
196 
 
 from his emotion when he spoke of his hope of becoming my 
 son." 
 
 Pauline covered her face with her hands, to conceal her 
 strong emotion. This sudden revulsion of feeling seemed al- 
 most more than she could bear ; tears of delicious happiness 
 streamed through her slender fingers, and her father drew her 
 tenderly to his heart. 
 
 " My love, you must have inflicted much needless suffering 
 upon yourself, to be thus moved by the assurance I have just 
 given you. I did not before think that my Pauline possessed 
 a suspicious temper." 
 
 " O, father," she whispered, " where so much is given, the 
 heart aches for a fair return. Perhaps mine is inclined to be 
 too exacting, but I must think it strange that Mr. Malcolm 
 has written so differently of late." 
 
 " He is harassed with business, Pauline ; and men in such 
 circumstances forget the heart that in loneliness broods over 
 even an apparent slight. Trust Malcolm, my child, for he is 
 worthy, and I know he loves you well." 
 
 This repeated assurance gave comfort and certainty to the 
 bruised heart, for how completely her father was himself de- 
 ceived the young girl could not suspect, and her dream of 
 love, brighter and warmer from its temporary eclipse, cast re- 
 newed sunshine upon her path. 
 
 Again Mr. Harrington urged her to accompany him, but 
 she said, with a bright smile, 
 
 " He will return with you to Wavertree, dear father, and 
 thus reassured, I can afford to wait. I would prefer to avoid 
 even the appearance of seeking him." 
 
197 
 
 " I believe you are right, my child. The daughters of ray 
 house are not used to play the part of wooer to a tardy 
 lover ; not that I mean to insinuate that of Malcolm, for he 
 has been detained from you as much by his endeavors to 
 serve me, as by his own affairs." 
 
 " For which service I will endeavor to repay him in the 
 future," said Pauline, blushing brightly. " I owe him repar- 
 ation for my unkind suspicions." 
 
 " Take heed that they find no place in your heart again, 
 and thus double your ciime against him," replied her father 
 with a smile, as he turned away and busied himself with his 
 preparations for departure. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PHILIP EVELYN sat in the shadow of the great tree, and 
 read the "Lotus Eaters." It was one of those deliciously 
 balmy days, in the very heart of winter, which are only 
 known to a southern clime. The bright sun had warmed 
 the air, until it came in gushes of dreamy softness to his 
 cheek. The leaves of the old tree fluttered around him, and 
 cast flickering shadows upon his page. In the distance, the 
 wide fields of cane of a vivid green, spread away like an 
 ocean of verdure, and the sparkling river went on its resist- 
 less way, an object of grandeur, and often of terror to the 
 dwellers on its banks, who for many months of the year are 
 only protected from destruction by the frail barrier of earth 
 which human ingenuity has reared to restrain the eddying 
 waters. 
 
 It was just the kind of day on which to read the dreamy 
 pages of Tennyson, and the young man was exactly in the 
 mood to enjoy them. The coloring of health again faintly 
 tinged his cheek, and the irritating cough he had suffered 
 from, was now heard only at rare intervals. His thoughtful 
 eyes were occasionally lifted, and swept over the scene around 
 him, as if the day were too bright to be forgotten, even in 
 intellectual enjoyment. Then he would lean back against 
 a curved branch that afforded a pleasant support, and dream 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 such a dream as only comes once to the human heart in all 
 the freshness of that pristine time when our first parents 
 dwelt within the garden of Eden. 
 
 It was but a dream, for his hopes had scarcely yet taken 
 a tangible form, but it was only the more delicious from its 
 very vagueness. Evelyn was yet in that stage of love in 
 which passion has not usurped the empire of reason. He 
 could say, 
 
 " Should such happiness be mine in the future, I shall be a 
 better and a nobler man for such companionship ;" and the 
 doubt thus expressed, gave him no pain, for he scarcely knew 
 as yet, the influence Adele had really established over his 
 feelings. The suspicion that another wished successfully to 
 pluck this fair flower, was alone needed to show him all the 
 depths of his own heart, and how absolutely she reigned 
 there. 
 
 Presently a soft strain of music floated out upon the sunlit 
 air, and he listened in charmed listlessness to the sweet voice 
 of Pauline singing one of Malcolm's favorite songs. He had 
 never heard her sing that one before, and he marveled at the 
 exceeding melody of that voice which sent up its joyful paean 
 of gratitude for renewed hope in every note of her sweetly 
 modulated tones. It was the outgushing of a spirit released 
 from a burden it had found almost too heavy to be borne ; 
 and more than one heart in that household felt that a shadow 
 they had scarcely noticed while it lasted, was lifted from the 
 heart and brow of their dearly cherished one. 
 
 Miss Harrington sat in her own room sewing, but the open 
 doors permitted those charming tones to penetrate to her 
 
200 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 sanctum, and she silently thanked the Giver of ajl that the 
 clouded fortunes of her brother had caused no diminution of 
 happiness in their household. 
 
 Adele, in a long sun-bonnet, and a pair of gardening gloves, 
 was at work among her flowers, and she too paused to listen 
 to her sister's singing. It seemed as glad as the gush of song 
 from the happy birds on a bright spring morning, and she 
 thought, 
 
 "Pauline must feel more assured of Mr. Malcolm's con- 
 stancy than of late; for she seemed to me to be rather 
 depressed in spirits until my father left us. Can he have 
 written more explicitly, and yet she would not tell me ? O, 
 sister mine, if you have played off such a cheat upon me, I 
 will let me see what I will do ? repay you in like man- 
 ner, I suppose," and she blushed under her garden bonnet, 
 though she would fain have persuaded herself that the in- 
 creasing heat of the day caused the sudden flush that suf- 
 fused her face. 
 
 She presently threw back her bonnet, and plucking a few 
 monthly roses, came out into the open yard, crossed it, and 
 seated herself on a rustic bench beneath a cluster of china 
 trees. 
 
 From his perch in the oak, Evelyn's eye was caught by her 
 flitting figure, and he followed it with a sudden fluttering of 
 the heart which might have spoken volumes to him, had he 
 paused to analyze its meaning ; but he did not. The beauti- 
 ful young girl was but an accessory to the picture which was 
 stamping itself upon his memory in ineffaceable brightness. 
 
 There are days and scenes which are lived over again 
 
THE PLANTER 8 DAUGHTER. 201 
 
 years after they are numbered with the things that were. 
 Scenes in which every gleam of sunlight every fluttering 
 shadow on the landscape, are as distinctly visible to the men- 
 tal vision, as when they were actually beheld. When with 
 these is mingled some delicious heart association, how vividly 
 they return, carrying the gray head, the wearied spirit back 
 to that golden time when Hope chanted her blithest song, 
 and Joy was the offspring of her deceptive light. 
 
 Philip Evelyn was unconsciously daguerreotyping such a 
 scene upon his memory, and he was annoyed when his deli- 
 cious dream was broken by the dismounting of a gentleman 
 at the gate with a package of letters and papers. It was one 
 of the neighbors who had been to the village containing the 
 post-office, and finding several letters there for the family at 
 Wavertree, had volunteered to deliver them himself. 
 
 Seeing Adele in the yard, he declined coming in, and after 
 exchanging a few friendly words with her, he again mounted 
 his steed and rode away. The young girl returned to the 
 bench, and looked over the letters ; she put aside two, and 
 opened a third one which she read carelessly, and then tear- 
 ing it in pieces, thrust them into the pocket of her dress. 
 She did not attempt to open the papers, but sat as if ab- 
 sorbed in thought. 
 
 Evelyn speculated on her abstraction, and presently became 
 restless. He was expecting letters from his own beloved 
 home, and he felt certain that those which had been put 
 aside were for him, or Adele would herself have carried 
 them in to her aunt or sister. She did not know where 
 he was to be found, and, therefore, they were suffered to 
 
202 
 
 lie idly beside her, until she was ready to go in the house 
 herself. 
 
 With these thoughts in his mind, Tennyson lost his pecu- 
 liar charm, and the book was closed. The dreamer awoke to 
 the actual world around him, to which so many interests and 
 hopes so strongly bound him, and with the activity of youth, 
 he came down from his lofty station and lightly approached 
 the unconscious Adele. 
 
 " Sweet coz, I hope your dream has been as bright as mine, 
 this charming day," he softly said. 
 
 Adele started, colored slightly, and replied in the most 
 matter-of-fact manner, 
 
 " Here are two letters for you, Cousin Philip. They will 
 be welcome to you, I know, for they come from your home. 
 I did not know that you were so near, or I should have sent 
 them to you." 
 
 He took them as he said, 
 
 " You have not yet found out where I secrete myself, nor 
 what marvels I have discovered by occupying a retreat so 
 near and so unsuspected." 
 
 "You are welcome to all the information you may 
 thus have gained ; but if you had not avowed it, you are 
 the last person I should have suspected of a prying dis- 
 position." 
 
 " Sometimes one may be interested in discovering whether 
 the lovely outward seeming, is mated by as beautiful a spirit ; 
 but I assure you, I have used no underhand means to solve 
 my doubts, for I have daily overlooked your proceedings, and 
 found " 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 203 
 
 " That I can scold sometimes," she laughingly interrupted. 
 " Never imagine ladies altogether angels, Cousin Philip ; for 
 you may safely believe there is a touch of mother Eve in 
 them all." 
 
 " I have a faint recollection that I did one day hear some 
 exclamations about a flower, in which the gardener found some 
 blame, but the tone in which they were uttered half disarmed 
 them of their sting." 
 
 " I do not believe that such was the opinion of John ; for 
 he looked even blacker than is natural to him, and declared 
 that my crushed japonica was no fault of his. You overlook 
 us, you say ; then I suppose you have found your way to the 
 top of the old tree ?" 
 
 " Yes and a charming lounging-place it is. Whose idea 
 was it to put such convenient seats amid its branches ?" 
 
 " My father's, of course. Who ever thinks of as many 
 agreeable things as he does ?" 
 
 "Few indeed for few persons cherish such kindly and be- 
 nevolent feelings toward all others." 
 
 Adele looked pleased at this just tribute to her beloved 
 father. She said, 
 
 " Thank you ; but you are forgetting your letters ; I 
 think one of them is from your mother. Here is room 
 beside me. Sit there and read them ; I wish to hear 
 something more of those in whom you have so deeply in- 
 terested me." 
 
 Evelyn obeyed, and some time passed in perusing two very 
 long letters one from his mother, and the other from hia 
 eldest sister. 
 
204 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Adele's eyes wandered to his face as he bent slightly for- 
 ward, oblivious of even her presence, as his heart went back 
 to his boyhood's home, and, in spirit, he was amid the family 
 group, a sharer in all their joys and hopes. She watched the 
 play of emotion upoo his delicate features, and felt their 
 power to express tender, noble, and manly feeling. She con- 
 trasted them, in her own mind, with the clearly cut and 
 almost faultless profile of Malcolm, and thought how much 
 Philip's gained by the comparison. Yet she believed 
 she was simply appreciating the good points of her kins- 
 man. 
 
 At length he looked up, with a bright gleam of pleasure 
 illuminating his face. 
 
 " You have glad news ?" she said. 
 
 " The very best," was the joyful reply. " My mother tells 
 me that my sister Mary will be married very soon, to one 
 to whom she has been betrothed several years. Hitherto, 
 Mr. Groves has not been in circumstances to marry ; but he 
 has recently received the appointment of professor of lan- 
 guages in college, with a sufficient salary to enable him 
 
 to do so ; and Mary leaves her home as a bride, so soon as 
 my renovated health will enable me to return to be present 
 at the ceremony." 
 
 " Then I am of the opinion that she must defer her hap- 
 piness some time yet ; for you can not venture to leave our 
 mild climate until the winter is fairly over." 
 
 Adele spoke these words with a painful contraction of the 
 heart, which gave her the first warning of its true condition. 
 
 " Yes Mary is considerate about that herself. She tells 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 205 
 
 me she has assured her professor, that she can not name an 
 earlier month than May for their union. I shall be quite re- 
 stored by that time, and can leave with safety." 
 
 Adele turned her faced toward the river, and gazed vague- 
 ly on the distant landscape. She thought Philip spoke very 
 coldly of leaving those \vho had received him so kindly, but 
 she would not have told him so for the world. Evelyn went 
 on 
 
 " This engagement has been one of long standing for my 
 father, with his large family, can not afford to bestow a por- / 
 tion on my sister, and Groves possessed too little himself, to 
 render a marriage prudent without he could obtain some em- 
 ployment that afforded him a certain income. He is only 
 qualified for the station he now fills ; for he is a man of 
 books, and is out of place in the busy world." 
 
 " I trust your sister may realize all the happiness for which 
 she hopes," Adele forced herself to say, as she paused. 
 Philip was too much occupied with his own thoughts to re- 
 mark the slight constraint in the tone of her voice. He went 
 on "Mary says they wish to establish a scientific depart- 
 ment in connection with the college ; and Groves thinks I am 
 exactly qualified to fill the situation of principal. He will 
 write to me in a tew days himself, on the subject, and Mary 
 says I can in fle meantime reflect upon it myself." 
 
 " How does such a proposal please you ?" she asked, doubt- 
 
 He reflected a moment, and then said, 
 " It offers the means of independence, which I should not 
 hastily reject. I can no longer consent to be a burden to my 
 
206 
 
 father, for he has very liberally educated me. The failure of 
 my health, will, I fear, compel me to relinquish the profession 
 I had chosen ; as the exposure to which a surveyor is liable 
 may bring back the symptoms I suffered from when I came 
 hither." 
 
 There was a pause, which Adele broke by saying, 
 
 " How will my father bear to part from you, Cousin Philip ? 
 He seems as much attached to you as if you were " 
 
 She paused, crimsoned, and altered the intended form of 
 her speech. 
 
 " I really think he will grieve over your departure more 
 than over the change in his fortunes. I never before knew 
 him to attach himself so strongly to a stranger, in so short a 
 time." 
 
 "I have never felt as a stranger in your father's house, 
 Adele. He received me from the first as a son ; and as such, 
 I sincerely love and reverence him." 
 
 At the word son, the consciousness of Adele came to him. 
 He looked at her, but her own emotion was controlled, and 
 she seemed as placidly lovely as usual. He thought of his 
 own limited resources, of the luxury in which she had been 
 reared, and he felt that to suffer his dream to take a tangible 
 form, would be a wrong to her. He had nothing to offer, 
 save a true and honest affection ; and this he would not 
 weigh against the wealth which might be hers, when this 
 temporary embarrassment to her father's fortunes had passed 
 away. 
 
 The first awakening pang came with this hard thought, 
 and by its bitterness Evelyn knew how much he loved her. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 207 
 
 To him the dreamy glory of the day was gone ; he looked out 
 on the still sunshine, felt upon his cheek the soft venial 
 breeze, but a change seemed to have fallen over them. The 
 brightness was still there, but it was a hard, harsh glitter, 
 that no longer harmonized with his own spirit ; so strongly 
 do sensitive natures give an expression and a coloring of their 
 own to the outward influences that surround them. 
 
 Both sat absorbed in unpleasant reverie several moments, 
 which neither would willingly have betrayed to the other. 
 Adele, then feeling the awkwardness of this silence, took up 
 the volume of Tennyson which Philip had placed on the seat, 
 and opened it. 
 
 "Are you an admirer of Tennyson?" she asked. 
 
 " In some moods of my mind his strains are charming to 
 me ; but I do not pretend to understand all he has written. 
 There are mystic lines, that require interpreting as much as 
 some of the involved sentences of Carlyle." 
 
 " I agree with you. I am sure it would puzzle the poet 
 himself to explain what he sometimes means ; but like your- 
 self, I enjoy some of his writings intensely. Is he your favor- 
 ite poet ?" * 
 
 " No that distinction belongs to Shelley. Some of his 
 pictures live in my mind like actual realities, and if I were 
 an artist, I could paint them. He has written much that is 
 objectionable ; but there is a true conception of poetry in its 
 highest sense, breathed through nearly all his productions. 
 You feel, while reading them, that they are a portion of the 
 man's soul that must find utterance. It was not mere intel- 
 lectual power that made Shelley a poet, but the outgushing 
 
208 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of the inspired spirit that must be heard ; he sang as the lark 
 sings, without thought of the impression his music would 
 make. That doubtless came as an after consideration, but in 
 the fervor of composition, I do not believe he once referred 
 to it." 
 
 After a slight pause, he asked, 
 
 u Who is your favorite poet ? Which one among the mighty 
 sons of song has found the warmest appreciation in your heart ?" 
 
 Adele smiled, as she replied, 
 
 " I feel a womanly pride in turning from the lordly list, 
 and telling you that the truest poetry I have read, has been 
 written by one of my own sex." 
 
 Philip looked a little disappointed. He said, 
 
 " By Mrs. Hemans, of course. She is justly a favorite with 
 the lovers of the tender and the beautiful ; but I looked for 
 a different choice from you." 
 
 " No, it is not Mrs. Hemans. I admire her greatly, but 
 she is not my ideal of what a highly intellectual woman can 
 be, as an utterer of great truths." 
 
 " Mrs. Norton, then ?" he asked. " Some of her strains are 
 exquisite or Miss Baillie ? or " 
 
 " Come nearer to our own time, and you will call the name 
 of 'the woman who has astonished the intellectual world by 
 her learning, and charmed the feeling one, by her wonderful 
 gift of poesy." 
 
 "Ah, I should not have been so thoughtless as to omit the 
 greatest among them all Elizabeth Barrett Browning. All 
 honor to her, I sincerely say, for she is a wonderfully gifted 
 creature." 
 
209 
 
 " You may indeed say so," said Adele with enthusiasm. 
 " Mrs. Browning has not only written things that appeal to 
 the deepest and truest sympathies of the human heart, but 
 she has given the world a poem which, in my opinion, de- 
 serves to be placed beside Paradise Lost, and she suffers not 
 when brought in comparison even with Milton." 
 
 " You refer to the Drama of Exile. It is indeed an extra- 
 ordinary production, and I must confess that it is far more 
 readable than the voluminous pages of Milton." 
 
 " I think so ; and her character of Eve is a more natural 
 conception of our first mother, than the one delineated in 
 Paradise Lost. She is truer to our ideal of the womanly 
 nature. Shirley is right, when she insinuates that Milton 
 did not comprehend the finer nature of woman." 
 
 " Rank heresy that, and rebellion against the long estab- 
 lished superiority of my sex over yours, Miss Adele Harring- 
 ton. I can not permit such a depreciating comparison between 
 the work of a feminine pen, and that of the great blind magi- 
 cian, whose darkness was peopled with visions more wonder- 
 ful than are beheld by the keenest eyesight." 
 
 Adele laughed at his mock heroic tone. 
 
 "You forget that this is the age of woman's rights or 
 rather the redressing of her wrongs. I need not take up arms 
 in their defense, because my sex are proving themselves, in 
 every way, quite capable of taking care of themselves." 
 
 " And are you really an advocate of these women's conven- 
 tions ?" asked Evelyn, seriously. 
 
 " Yes, if by such means only, right can assert itself. No, 
 if you think I would take a part in such a proceeding." 
 
210 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " If you think them necessary, why shrink from a duty ?" 
 
 " It may be a necessity to those who suffer from the actual 
 pressure of evils that legislation can correct. I can very well 
 understand that as society is now constructed, a woman may 
 be made too much the slave of a worthless or unprincipled 
 husband. But I am so fortunate as to occupy a position that 
 in a measure places me above the sufferings by which women 
 among the medium and lower walks of life are often crushed. 
 There is also another objection they claim too much : they 
 wish to step out of the sphere Nature has evidently allotted 
 to them, and claim such privileges as would destroy the femi- 
 nine qualities which are their greatest charm. They forget 
 the beautiful words of Roger Ascham to Lady Jane Grey 
 * Women, like plants in woods, derive their softness and ten- 
 derness from the shade.' " 
 
 "Right, right, my wise little cousin. Your true instinct 
 teaches you that; and I believe the most sensible among 
 those who advocate their ultra claims, do so on the principle 
 of asking a great deal more than will be conceded, that they 
 may make sure of gaining the most important of their de- 
 mands." 
 
 " Very likely. There rings the bell for lunch. It seems 
 a great pity to leave the bright sunshine, but my aunt and 
 Pauline are waiting for us." 
 
 Thus ended this morning's tete-a-tete, and both entered 
 the house, with the conviction that the joy of life lay in the 
 presence of the other. 
 
CHAPTER. XVII. 
 
 AFTER an absence of a week, Mr. Harrington returned to 
 Wavertree, accompanied by Malcolm. It was a bright even- 
 ing when the packet landed, and the four he had left at home 
 stood in a group upon the levee, to welcome them. 
 
 Malcolm glanced rapidly toward Philip Evelyn, as he ap- 
 proached the party, and at the first look, the refined and 
 intellectual cast of the head seemed insignificant to one ac- 
 customed to believe his own striking style of person the beau- 
 ideal of masculine beauty. That he was vain of his un- 
 common personal advantages, I do not mean to insinuate, for 
 he was too proud of his superiority to most men in that 
 respect, to be very vain of it. He had so long been accus- 
 tomed to see others of his sex defer to his claims, that he 
 rather contemptuously thought that it would be no difficult 
 matter to cast his youthful rival in the shade. 
 
 Mr. Harrington seemed in buoyant spirits, and in better 
 health than when he left home ; and his joyous greeting 
 to the members of the family infused a spirit of gladness 
 among them all, as they entered the house, conversing cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 Malcolm, on meeting them, bowed deeply over the hand 
 of each sister, but he scrupulously avoided meeting the eyes 
 
212 
 
 of Pauline. Their power lie dreaded as of old, arid lie came 
 to Wavertree with his mind irrevocably made up as to the 
 course he intended to pursue. Absence had weakened the 
 influence of one sister and strengthened that of the other; the 
 heart he knew to be his own, with that caprice so common to 
 human natuue, was valueless ; while the one that must be 
 struggled for, must be forced to concede every thing to his 
 power, was estimated above all price. 
 
 Pauline had discarded her suspicions, and during the first 
 hours of their meeting she was too happy in his presence to 
 notice such slight changes in his manner as might have 
 warned her of the blow about to fall upon her heart. 
 
 When supper was over, Mr. Harrington said, 
 
 " I placed my affairs on so satisfactory a footing, during my 
 absence, that I feel as if restored to my usual fortune. A 
 liberal fit came over me, girls, and I brought you the presents 
 you should have had at Christmas." 
 
 "And I, too," said Malcolm, in his most winning tone, 
 " have ventured to repair my neglect at that season. I trust 
 you will not disdain the souvenirs I have brought ?" 
 
 Adele, to whom these words were addressed, looked up, 
 caught the expression of his glance, and she recoiled with a 
 strange feeling of repulsion, mingled with surprise. A painful 
 suspicion flashed across her mind, but it w T as instantly re- 
 pelled, and she frankly said, 
 
 " Provided the offering is not too costly ; and your 
 good taste, Mr. Malcolm, has, doubtless, prevented you 
 from selecting what I may not with propriety accept from 
 you." 
 
213 
 
 " If the valu.e of my offerings were measured by my sense 
 of the charms of her who is to receive them, fair Adele, I 
 should spend a fortune in obtaining them," he replied, in a 
 voice so guarded that no one present save herself compre- 
 hended the import of his words. 
 
 Inexpressibly haughty was the movement of that beautiful 
 head, as Adele regarded him with an expression of surprise 
 he was at no loss to interpret, and his soul almost quailed be- 
 fore it ; yet he would not now recoil, and in his eyes, as he 
 fixed his gaze on hers, she read what made the blood recede 
 from her heart, and caused a chill, as of death, to quiver 
 through her veins. 
 
 All her father's obligations to this man flashed on 'her 
 mind, and, with that intuition of evil which so often comes to 
 us, she comprehended why Malcolm had taken such pains to 
 place Mr. Harrington in his power. Yet even this was not 
 so terrible as the thought that she had rivaled her sister 
 where her heart was irrevocably bestowed ; and then all the 
 double-dealing of this unmasked hypocrite arose before her. 
 She felt that to recoil before him was to lose the little vantage- 
 ground she possessed, and with a glance of chilling disdain, 
 she said, 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Malcolm ; you make a slight mistake as 
 to whom your offering is due. I can not accept what was as- 
 suredly designed for another." 
 
 She turned so decidedly from him that he could not add 
 another word. This aside had been unnoticed by all present 
 except Pauline, and she was far from suspecting its true 
 meaning. While it passed, several parcels were brought in 
 
214 
 
 and placed on the table. The party gathered around it, and 
 were soon in the pleasant excitement of looking over their 
 contents. 
 
 Three elegantly illustrated books were presented by Mr. 
 Harrington to his sister and daughters, and then came the 
 offerings of Malcolm. A fine work-box was presented to Miss 
 Harrington, an exquisitely carved fan, with a miniature mirror, 
 set in precious stones, on either side, was for Pauline, and a 
 small papier-mache desk, filled with paper and envelops, bore 
 the name of Adele. 
 
 The offering was not very costly, and she had no pretext 
 for refusing it at present, but the resolution was in her own 
 mind to return it to him at the first favorable opportunity. 
 Pauline's fan excited the most admiration ; it was an importa- 
 tion from China, and was a specimen of the most curious and 
 elaborate carving. It reminded Pauline of Madame De Stael's 
 comparison of fine architecture to frozen music. She spoke 
 of it, and Malcolm said, 
 
 " Then is it a most appropriate offering to you, Miss Pau- 
 line ; for a sweeter minstrel I have seldom heard." 
 
 Pauline lifted her eyes to his face, expecting to meet his, 
 but he was only looking toward her, not at her; and she 
 thought it strange that not once had their eyes met since he 
 returned. " What could this mean ?" she asked herself, and 
 a vague terror of its true import, fell upon her heart. Then 
 her father's words came as an assurance to her mind, and she 
 would not listen to the voice of warning that began to ring 
 its knell in her soul. 
 
 Adele sat down beside her father, and inquired about Vic- 
 
THK PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 tor. Of him Mr. Harrington had not much to tell ; he 
 seemed making an effort to accustom himself to the routine 
 of business, but great indulgence was extended to him on ac- 
 count of the manner in which he had been reared. Mr. 
 Harrington hoped for the best, but if Messrs. Hall had told 
 the whole truth, they would probably have stated to his 
 father, that it was a hopeless experiment to make a man of 
 business of Victor. They tolerated his presence in their es- 
 tablishment through consideration for his father, but no trust 
 of the slightest importance was ever confided to him, because 
 they had no confidence in his ability to discharge it in a sat- 
 isfactory manner. He copied commercial letters for them 
 into immense books kept for that purpose, a few hours every 
 morning, and then was at liberty to appropriate the rest of 
 the day as he pleased. 
 
 Victor made no effort to acquire information in his new 
 pursuit ; his only aim seemed to be to satisfy Mrs. Ruskin 
 that he was really doing something toward his own support, 
 that she might not force Louise to break with him entirely ; 
 and day after day, his heart was devoured with jealousy as 
 he saw his giddy mistress flirting with some new admirer, or 
 smiling more sweetly on Nevin than he thought she had a 
 right to do in her position toward himself. 
 
 Of much of this Mr. Harrington was happily ignorant, 
 and he reported his son as doing pretty well, considering all 
 things ; and the sisters listened with eager interest, hoping 
 that at last some manly feeling of self-dependence had been 
 aroused within him. Miss Gertrude sighed, and doubted, but 
 she did not express her fears, and the affectionate hopes of 
 
216 
 
 those who loved him were not dimmed by a word or look 
 calculated to dispel the agreeable illusion that Victor was 
 learning to be of some use to himself as well as to others. 
 
 In the exhilaration of his spirits, Mr. Harrington talked 
 much more than usual, and Adele knew that he believed him- 
 self freed from the immediate pressure of care concerning his 
 business affairs. With the new light that had dawned on 
 her mind, laying bare the true intentions of Malcolm, she felt 
 a sympathy and commiseration for him which she could 
 only express by drawing near to him, and clasping his hand 
 between both her own. She thrust aside the unhappy posi- 
 tion in which she herself was placed, as something to be 
 reflected on when it was laid actually before her, stripped oi 
 the vague terror with which uncertainty now enveloped it. 
 Let her look the evil in the face, and she could rise to strug- 
 gle against it, for she eminently possessed that fine nature 
 which rebounds beneath the pressure of evil. 
 
 At length Mr. Harrington asked, 
 
 " Have no letters arrived since T left ?" 
 
 " None for you," father," replied Adele, " but Cousin Philip 
 has good news from home." 
 
 " What is it, my dear boy ?" and he turned and placed hi^ 
 hand affectionately on the shoulder of the young man, who 
 had seated himself at his other side. Evelyn, thus called on, 
 related to him the intended marriage of his sister, and his 
 own summons to the paternal roof to be present at the cere- 
 mony, so soon as it would be safe for him to leave his present 
 asylum. Mr. Harrington's face clouded 
 
 " My dear Philip, I do not like to hear you speak of leav- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 ing ine. Do you know that you have become almost neces- 
 sary to me during the short months you have been here ? I 
 shall write to your father, and take on myself all care for 
 your future. Thus you can remain in the climate that is best 
 suited to your delicate organization, and be as a son to me." 
 
 At these words Malcolm frowned, and bit his lips, but 
 without remarking his emotion, Evelyn replied, 
 
 " Thank you, dear sir. We will talk this over at some 
 other time ; but whatever my ultimate decision may be, I 
 shall always remember your kind intentions toward me with 
 deep gratitude." 
 
 While Philip spoke, Malcolm watched him keenly to see 
 if one glance of mutual intelligence passed between him and 
 Adele ; but he detected no signs of an understanding be- 
 tween them, and with renewed confidence in the strength of 
 his own position, he awaited calmly the issue of events. He 
 was quieter and more self-absorbed than usual, and at length 
 Mr. Harrington remarked this. He turned toward him, and said, 
 
 " My best friend, you do not seem to enjoy yourself as much 
 as I could wish. He who has proved himself so true to me, 
 must not be permitted to grow dull beneath my roof-tree. 
 Pauline, my love, perhaps Mr. Malcolm would like to hear 
 some music. You used to like to sing together." 
 
 Pauline arose at once, and went to the piano ; but before 
 Malcolm followed her, he paused to say, 
 
 " You know, dear sir, when the heart is full of uncertain 
 hope, the tongue can not find many words. When once as- 
 sured of my true position in your family, my usual vivacitv 
 will return." 
 
218 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 He spoke in an under tone to Mr. Harrington, but lie felt 
 fully assured that Adele heard and understood his words, for 
 she grew pale, and trembled at her father's reply. 
 
 "Have little fear for the result. My daughter will not 
 close her heart to the pleadings of her father's best friend, 
 even if no preference already exists in your favor." 
 
 A single bright gleam of exultation flashed upon the 
 shrinking Adele, which, seemed to say, 
 
 "How dare you resist that appeal?" and Malcolm was 
 gone. She bowed her head upon her breast, nor saw nor 
 heard any thing distinctly until the blended voices of the 
 singers arose clear and thrilling upon the air. 
 
 Malcolm sung as usual, without a false note ; but several 
 times the voice of Pauline faltered, and it seemed to require 
 all the effort she could make to go on with her part. What 
 self-control she was practicing, no one present could have 
 imagined, for she sung when a deluge of anguish was over- 
 whelming her heart. 
 
 Oh ! indomitable pride of woman, great is your power to 
 roll back the surging waves of despair, and with the strength 
 of mighty will, bid them be at peace, until silence and soli- 
 tude give them free dominion, where there is no eye to behold 
 save that of Omnipotence. 
 
 When the young girl arose from the instrument, there was 
 a strange glitter in her eyes, caused by the unshed tears that 
 were resolutely forced back to their source. At length the 
 hour for retiring arrived, and as they bade each other good- 
 night, Mr. Harrington said to Adele, 
 
 " My child, you must be ill. Your hands are cold as ice." 
 
219 
 
 " Oh no, sir, I am quite well," she replied with assumed 
 cheerfulness. " Come, sister, let us seek the realm of dreams 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 She drew her arm around the form of Pauline, and passed 
 with her from the room. Malcolm arose and opened the door 
 for them he stood on the side next to Adele, and as she went 
 out with an expression of disdainful pride upon her features, 
 which she did not seek to control, he breathed into her ear, 
 
 " Examine the desk." 
 
 She gave no token that the whisper had been heard, but 
 walked on, almost sustaining the faltering steps of Pauline. 
 They reached their own apartment, and after placing her 
 sister tenderly in a large chair before the fire, she drew a low- 
 seat beside her, and leaned her head upon the clasped hands 
 of Pauline. 
 
 The heart-stricken girl sat motionless for many moments, 
 with slow tears stealing down her face. It was martyrdom 
 to her to shed them, wrung from her as they were, over her 
 blighted illusions. She at length found voice to say, 
 
 " Adele, examine the desk, as he bade you. In that, you 
 will undoubtedly find a letter which will unveil his cruel 
 policy more completely. I am weak now, my darling, be- 
 cause because, this was so unexpected so terrible. But I 
 shall soon be able to summon strength to bear it." 
 
 Without a word, Adele arose, sought for the desk, which 
 had been placed on her dressing-stand, and opened it. With 
 tremulous haste she turned over the snowy sheets of writing- 
 paper, and beneath them all, found a letter addressed to her- 
 self. She tore it open, and read, 
 
220 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " By some inexplicable mistake of your father, I am placed 
 in a most embarrassing position between yourself and your 
 sister. He imagines that I love Pauline, while you must 
 know that from the first hour of our acquaintance I have 
 been enthralled by you alone. Can you have ever for one 
 moment doubted this, Adele ? 
 
 "You showed by your manner, that lover-like assiduity was 
 not welcome to you, and I lavished fraternal attention upon 
 your sister ; at first, because she stood in that relation to you, 
 but afterward, because I really cherished a high esteem and 
 admiration for her. Pauline herself will exonerate me from 
 ever having expressed any thing warmer than friendship, and 
 that I am proud and happy to claim from her. 
 
 " But from you Adele, I have written calmly, but my 
 heart is on fire with a passion which can dare any thing 
 sooner than be disappointed. Words are poor and powerless 
 to express the half of my emotions ; they are but sounds, 
 but what I feel is a terrible, powerful, overmastering reality. 
 Be mine, and all that human effort can attain shall be done 
 for the happiness of you and yours ; refuse, and I can not 
 answer for myself. I know not to what depths the demon 
 you will then arouse within me may impel me, in abusing 
 the power I hold over the destiny of all you love. 
 
 " O, pardon me this threat, my best-loved Adele ; for I 
 would not have you driven into my arms by fear. Love me, 
 love me, for I swear that I can prove myself worthy of your 
 love, although I have schemed and planned to force you to 
 concede it to me, should other means fail. Examine our ac- 
 tual position toward each other in all its bearings, and re- 
 
221 
 
 member that I am either the joyful guardian of your future : 
 happiness, or the hard and ruthless creditor you will make me 
 to your father. 
 
 " Accept my offered hand, and I cancel the mortgage I 
 hold on his property and restore him to independence at 
 once ; refuse, and I dare not answer for myself, for every 
 good and true feeling will then he turned to gall and bitter- 
 ness. R. M." 
 
 Adele read, and trembled. This cold, hard man here as- 
 sumed a new character to her. As steel is made from heated 
 iron, she felt that his fierce passions would harden under dis- 
 appointment into something terrible to contend with. She 
 held the letter in her nerveless grasp, her mind in a confused 
 whirl of conflicting feelings and interests. 
 
 With feverish eagerness, Pauline had watched her as she 
 read, and she held out her hand for the letter. 
 
 " I must read it, Adcle," 
 
 " ! my dear sister," she tearfully exclaimed, " ask me not. 
 It is too, too cruel. It will break your heart." 
 
 Pauline smiled strangely, and there was something ineffably 
 touching in her voice, as she said, 
 
 " My heart is harder than you think. The worst is passed, 
 Adele. I know that he never loved me, then why doubt my 
 firmness to bear all things also ? The very cruelty to which 
 you refer, may be as a tower of strength to me. Let me read 
 it ; I claim it as my right." 
 
 Thus constrained, Adele gave her the letter. She ran her 
 eyes over the lines, and, at first, a slight spot of crimson 
 
222 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 glowed on her cheek, to fade away in the pallor of seeming 
 death, as she came to the conclusion. She had overrated her 
 powers of endurance, for she lay before Adele perfectly insen- 
 sible, and nearly as cold as if death had really claimed her as 
 his own. 
 
 Repressing her own violent agitation, Adele had* firmness 
 to restrain her first impulse to call for assistance. She un- 
 derstood the proud reserve of Pauline's character, and she 
 knew it would aggravate her sufferings tenfold, to know that 
 others were aware of her indisposition at such a crisis. She 
 brought essences from the toilette, and bathed her pale face ; 
 she chafed her cold hands in her own, and was finally re- 
 warded by returning symptoms of animation. 
 
 With a long-drawn sigh, Pauline unclosed her eyes, beheld 
 the anxious face of her who knelt before her, and siuTering 
 her head -to droop upon her shoulder, she wept long and 
 silently. 
 
 At length Adele softly said, 
 
 " You do not blame me, dearest ? This shall not estrange 
 our hearts from each other ?" 
 
 Pauline threw her arms round her and clasped her fondly 
 to her bosom. 
 
 " Never, never let us cling together, my sister ; and give 
 not a bad man the power to come between us and sever our 
 hearts from each other." 
 
 " You pardon, then, my involuntary crime against you ? 
 O, Pauline, how little worth is this fatal beauty, when com- 
 pared with your goodness ! That man is blind, infatuated, 
 or he must have seen this. God is punishing him for some 
 
223 
 
 evil he has committed, when he permits him to turn from the 
 brightest boon fate can bestow, a pure, loving, woman's heart. 
 May the hour come to him in which he will feel and compre- 
 hend this in all its bitterness." 
 
 " ' Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord," said Pauline, sol- 
 emnly. "Denounce him not, my sister; but leave him to 
 that higher wisdom which permits not wrong toward the 
 helpless and unoftending to pass unpunished. Let us pray 
 that his hard heart may be tamed from its cruel purpose 
 toward one who has trusted him so implicitly as our poor 
 father has." 
 
 A dele shuddered. 
 
 " There, there is the horror. He has him completely in 
 his power ; he makes mo the price of his freedom from 
 the galling bondage of debt, while my whole soul recoils 
 from him." 
 
 Pauline grasped her hand, and fixed her dilating eyes upon 
 her. 
 
 " You will not give yourself to him, Adele ? it would be 
 severing us forever. I can cast my fatal dream of love 
 into oblivion, but I can not see you take the place I once 
 thought my own, and live. O ! it will take a long and 
 bitter struggle to tear the image of that false one from my 
 heart." 
 
 Her agitation was frightful. Adele felt the necessity of 
 calming her ; she knelt before her, took her cold hands in 
 her own, and pressing them upon her troubled heart, sol- 
 emnly said, 
 
 " Hear me, Pauline, and believe me. I pledge you the 
 
224 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 word of one who loves you truly, that I will endure any evil 
 sooner than become the wife of Mr. Malcolm. I would 
 sooner labor for my bread, than owe wealth to his forbear- 
 ance. I could lay down my life for you, rather than usurp 
 the place he led you to believe belonged to you alone." 
 
 Pauline seemed soothed by this assurance, but after reflect- 
 ing a few moments, she feebly said, 
 
 " I am very selfish to exact such a promise, Adele, when it 
 may be necessary to our father's interests that you shall en- 
 deavor to return the passionate love you seem to have in- 
 spired." 
 
 " It is not now a question of interest, Pauline ; but one of 
 feeling. Our father is too honorable, too just a man, and he 
 loves us too dearly to submit to the insult this ruthless man 
 has offered to us both. How dared he come beneath our 
 own roof, to play the lover to one daughter, while the other 
 was really the object of his pursuit ? It fills me with dis- 
 dainful resentment to think of his conduct." 
 
 " Forgive him, for my sake," murmured the unhappy girl. 
 " 0, 1 am weak weak I can not bear to hear him spoken 
 of in such terms. Ah ! why did Heaven bestow on him so 
 much that is noble, and mar all by withholding truth and 
 honor ?" 
 
 Adele gazed on her with deep compassion. Darker than 
 the " valley of the shadow of death," was the pathway her 
 unhappy sister had now entered on, and long must she wan- 
 der therein before she could again behold a glimpse of sun- 
 shine on her weary way. She could understand the power 
 such a man as Malcolm must long hold over one who had 
 
225 
 
 given him the first love of a generous and tender heart. 
 Slow to be won had Pauline been, and this was the end of 
 her only dream of wedded happiness. 
 
 This was a wretched night to the two sisters. Neither 
 slept at all ; Pauline, in the first anguish of wounded feeling, 
 felt as if death would be welcome, for she believed that alone 
 could still the convulsive agony that rived her heart. Adele 
 did as Malcolm bade her ; she endeavored calmly to examine 
 their actual position toward each other ; to realize all the evil 
 power he possessed over the fortunes of one so dear to her as 
 her father ; but all her reflections ended in the conviction 
 that any fate would be preferable to the acceptance of Mal- 
 colm as her future husband. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE following morning dawned clear and bright as if no 
 cloud had ever marred the tranquil beauty of the azure vault 
 which overarched crime, and wrong, and fraud, and goodness, 
 and truth ; smiling on all alike ; inviting the evil to repent- 
 ance, and the good to adoration, for that mercy which gives 
 sunshine and rain alike to the just and the unjust. 
 
 Malcolm was up with the dawn, for he too had passed a 
 restless night, and when he did sleep, dreams of unpleasant 
 augury filled his troubled slumbers. A fear he would not 
 acknowledge, filled his heart, that in spite of the interests 
 which appealed so powerfully to Adele, she would refuse to 
 avert ruin to her father at such a price. What then would 
 be his course ? He almost trembled at the dark and bitter 
 thoughts which such a supposition alone engendered. He, 
 the proud in heart, and high in station, had condescended to 
 become an intriguer, a deceiver, almost a sharper, to gain 
 the control of this girl's destiny, and yet her obstinacy might 
 defeat all his skillfully laid plans. He clenched his hands, 
 and ground his teeth together at the bare thought. 
 
 He glanced his eye around on the luxuriant fields, and sub- 
 stantial evidences of wealth, before him, and thought, 
 
 " Let her refuse me if she dares, and all this can become 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTEB. 227 
 
 mine. I can cast forth all she loves to poverty, and by 
 Heaven ! I will do it should she prove intractable." 
 
 Then came the conviction of the worthlessness of all these 
 additional possessions, if he failed to gain her he so ardently 
 desired to win. He was already rich beyond his desires ; he 
 was not mercenary ; then of what value could the property 
 of the ruined family be to him who possessed more than he 
 cared to use ? He only wished to control it, as a means of 
 crushing her beneath the iron weight of broken fortunes, until 
 she would gladly accept the hand that offered wealth, how- 
 ever repulsive to her feelings its possessor might be. 
 
 It was something to triumph over her even thus to bring 
 her humbled and yielding to his heart ready to cast the 
 past into oblivion, and feign gratitude and affection, even 
 when she felt them not. The disdainful haughtiness of Adele 
 on the previous evening had pierced him to the soul, and he 
 felt a fierce joy in beholding her, in imagination, bending be- 
 neath the iron power he had established over her destiny. 
 
 As he thus mused, Malcolm paced up and down the piazza 
 with that rapid and uneven tread which corresponded with 
 the emotions sweeping through his mind. The sisters heard 
 the monotonous echo of those impatient footsteps even in 
 their apartment, and both knew perfectly well by whom they 
 were made. 
 
 Adele arose, and made her toilette, trying, while thus oc- 
 cupied, to nerve herself for the meeting she was resolute to 
 seek as soon as possible. 
 
 Pauline too, made an effort to rise, but she sunk back, too 
 weak and feverish to succeed in the attempt. She felt that 
 
228 
 
 she was ill there was an acute pain in her temples which 
 / seemed to dull the mental anguish she had borne throughout 
 the night, by the stupefaction of physical suffering. 
 
 A dele did not speak to her until she was quite ready to go 
 out. She then came to the bedside, and tenderly kissed the 
 throbbing brow of her sister. She held the desk in her hand, 
 and Pauline muttered, 
 
 " The fan take that too. I can not keep it ; the air from 
 it might perhaps cool this burning fever, for I know it would 
 be as chilling to me as a polar breeze, but the sight of it 
 would make me worse. Take it to him ; I care not what he 
 thinks. He knows I loved him my pride can not be saved 
 there ; but he shall also learn that I have too much self- 
 respect to retain his gift." 
 
 " I will do so, darling ; but you seem very ill. Let me call 
 my aunt, and send for Dr. Germain." 
 
 " No no I charge you say nothing about it. Solitude 
 solitude is all I need. Medicine can not aid me : it is the 
 soul that grieves and flutters, and sends this feverish torrent 
 through my veins. Give me time to become reasonable to 
 arrange my future conduct, and I shall rise up, looking, to the 
 outside world, as usual. Oh, Adele, how many hearts have 
 brokenly lived on. Mine will only be one more added to the 
 sad catalogue. I must speak now while the fever and the 
 anguish are upon me, and the weight will seem less heavy 
 when shared with another." 
 
 There was the wildness of incipient delirium in her voice 
 and eyes, and Adele spoke soothingly to her, while she bathed 
 her brow in cold water. Pauline presently closed her eyes, 
 
. 229 
 
 and lay perfectly cairn ; hoping that she slept, Adele placed 
 the fan in the desk, and after a long and tender gaze upon 
 her pale face, departed on her painful errand. 
 
 In strange contrast with her own feelings, all the soft beauty 
 of the morning came home to her heart, as she stepped fortli 
 on the piazza, and looked out on the glittering sunshine bath- 
 ing her beautiful home in its bright beams. Every memory 
 of her life was entwined with this spot, and yet she must pro- 
 nounce the words, which, in all human probability ,would 
 -exile her beloved father from the scenes which were so dear 
 to him. 
 
 It was a fearful responsibility, and for one moment her 
 courage failed her, but the approach of Malcolm, with looks 
 of passionate admiration beaming on his expressive face, 
 aroused the deepest repulsion her gentle nature had ever known. 
 
 He offered to take her hand, but she drew back so coldly, 
 that he was offended. He said, 
 
 " I had indulged the hope that a night's reflection would 
 induce you to feel that we must meet as friends, Miss Adele 
 Harrington." 
 
 " It has only taught me that under the mask of honor and 
 friendship, the most deadly blow may be dealt at the peace 
 of those who trust such men as you." 
 
 As Adele spoke, she took the desk from beneath the shawl 
 she had thrown around her to protect her from the morning 
 air, and placed it on a flower-stand that stood in an angle of 
 the piazza. Malcolm regarded it with a sardonic expression. 
 
 " So, you refuse my gift. Is that an augury of what is to 
 follow ?" 
 
230 
 
 " If you will accept it as such, it will save me much suf- 
 fering." 
 
 He looked at the pale cheeks, usually so bright with health 
 and hope he saw the trembling lips, and he felt that he 
 possessed power of some kind, if it did not extend to the 
 control of her affections, and he exulted in it. Her first words 
 had stung him deeply, and he felt his heart hardening to her 
 evident suffering. He deliberately said, 
 
 " I can not accept it in that light. You, yourself have too 
 much at stake, sincerely to wish me to do so." 
 
 " But I do, most earnestly, most truly, I assure you," she 
 eagerly replied. " You wrong yourself, Mr. Malcolm. You 
 are too generous to abuse the power you have so unright- 
 eously obtained, to the injury of those who aro dear to me, 
 because because I can not love you." 
 
 " Why can you not, Adele ?" he passionately asked. " Am 
 I repulsive, hateful in your sight, that even such motives as 
 you have for tolerating my suit, possess no weight with 
 vou ?" 
 
 She replied in a subdued tone, for she felt as if inflicting a 
 wrong upon her unhappy sister by even alluding to her posi- 
 ';on toward Malcolm, 
 
 " Is there not a reason for declining it, which must have 
 greater weight with an affectionate and true heart, than all 
 the motives you can array in its favor ?" 
 
 He listened conscience-stricken. Presently he said, 
 
 " I have explained that misconception. Pauline can not 
 accuse me " 
 
 " Hold, sir !" said the young girl, with dignity. " My 
 
231 
 
 sister accuses you of nothing. Her name need not be called 
 in tins discussion. I refer now to what 1 myself have seen. 
 I, like the rest of my family, was impressed with the belief 
 that you sought Pauline as your wife, and your attentions to 
 her could bear no other interpretation. You sought her 
 love in every honorable manner ; at times, I am sure, you 
 must have preferred her ; and it seems to me some terrible 
 hallucination which makes you now assert a preference for 
 me." 
 
 Malcolm smiled sarcastically. 
 
 " You must be a rare judge of human nature, fair Adele, 
 for you have analyzed a feeling I was scarcely conscious of 
 myself. There were moments when your sister greatly 
 attracted me ; when, had you been away, I might, perhaps, 
 have wooed her to my heart. But, mark me ; even in those 
 moments, one glance at your person, one tone of your voice, 
 brought me back to you, and I felt that you were the true 
 divinity before whom my spirit bowed." 
 
 " Then was your conduct most cruel to her and insulting 
 to me. Never will I pardon it ; never give him who was 
 capable of playing this double part, greater power over my 
 fate than he now possesses." 
 
 " When you are fully aware of the extent of that power, 
 you may possibly change your conduct to me. Adele, try 
 me not too far. I adore you. I would be the bestower of 
 good on all connected with you ; pause, then, ere you decide 
 to make me your bitter and implacable foe. I offer you 
 such love as men rarely feel or that hatred which is 
 born of the despair of slighted passion. Such men as I 
 
232 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 know no medium reflect well, then, ere you. decide against 
 my suit." 
 
 His face was white with repressed anger, and his eyes 
 glowed like vivid fire as he fastened their gaze, half of 
 menace, half of passion, upon her. Adele shrank before it 
 as from something she could not, dared not comprehend in 
 all its intensity of meaning. She veiled her face and stood 
 silent and trembling for several moments ; but never, for one 
 instant, did her determi nation falter. Her sister's rival 
 no earthly temptation should induce her 'to become; and, 
 after collecting her bewildered thoughts, she looked calmly 
 up and said, 
 
 " You have threatened me with your power over the for- 
 tunes of my father ; learn from me that so great is my love 
 for him, that, for his sake, I might have struggled against 
 the repulsion I feel to the idea of becoming your wife, 
 and, in time, have possibly cultivated some feeling of tender- 
 ness for you ; but this, your own unmanly course toward 
 another most dear to me, has rendered impossible. Threats 
 nor persuasions can ever induce me to stand beside you 
 as the partner of that life which should be shared with 
 another." 
 
 Malcolm's head drooped upon his breast and his eyes 
 lowered before the clear glance bent unfalteringly upon him. 
 He muttered, 
 
 " We shall see, we shall see. Wait till you have seen your 
 father have heard all he has to say." 
 
 " He will sustain me in what I have said ; that you have 
 defeated your own wishes by acting a double part, where 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 238 
 
 every impulse of truth and honor should have made you show 
 which was the sister really preferred." 
 
 " Miss Harrington, your words are hard to bear. Will you 
 answer me one question with the same frankness with which 
 you have hitherto spoken ?" 
 
 " I will, if I can with propriety do so." 
 
 " Then tell me if you were not quite r aware, from the day 
 of our first acquaintance, that you had inspired me with 
 ardent admiration ?" 
 
 Adele blushed and slightly hesitated, for such had 
 been her first impression ; but she paused only a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " I will speak the truth, painful as it is to me. You, like 
 many others, seemed charmed with this poor perishing 
 beauty, of which I so often have the consciousness unpleas- 
 antly forced upon me. I do not value admiration elicited by 
 my personal advantages alone ; and when a man of your 
 cultivation and good sense, on further acquaintance, seemed 
 attracted by the mental superiority of my sister, I rejoiced 
 that it was so ; and esteemed you more highly, that you had 
 the good taste to appreciate her." 
 
 " Expressed in a most sisterly and affectionate manner," 
 replied he, with veiled sarcasm. " But I appeal to you to do 
 me this much justice. Remember that, from the first, I 
 showed my predilection for yourself, and what followed was 
 only an effort on my part, to gain the good opinion of her 
 who seemed as your second self. She possessed great in- 
 fluence with you, I well knew ; and to gain that was my chief 
 object in devoting myself to her as I did." 
 
234 ^^ 
 
 " You, who have had so much greater experience in life 
 than I have, should know that in matters of this kind, the 
 heart alone must speak. The praises of another as often 
 disgust as they preposses in favor of an aspirant for the 
 affections." 
 
 " It is not thus with all women ; many are won as Bene- 
 dict gained his bride." 
 
 Adele's lips slightly curled. 
 
 " In Beatrice, Shakespeare may have truly portrayed one 
 phase of the womanly character, but not the highest. You 
 misjudged me if you supposed that I belong to that class of 
 women." 
 
 Malcolm walked a few steps from her, and then returned. 
 
 " Would to God you belonged to those who can be 
 wrought on by any ordinary motives. Will nothing induce 
 you to reconsider your determination ? Adele, have mercy 
 on me on yourself for your consent to become mine will 
 save such suffering to others as you would willingly avert 
 from them, if you only comprehend its extent." 
 
 He again made an effort to take her hand, though the 
 pale, fixed features offered no encouragement to do so. She 
 quietly evaded him, and said gently, but firmly, 
 
 " My reply has already been given, Mr. Malcolm ; I assure 
 you, that any further effort toward changing my resolution 
 will be useless. Use as you will the power you have so un- 
 righteously sought, my father will, I am sure, sustain me in 
 the course I have pursued. Consider this interview as final, 
 for with my consent, we meet no more." 
 
 She flitted past him, but he detained her almost forcibly 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 235 
 
 by grasping her dress. Malcolm endeavored to quell th 
 rush of passionate anger that swept through his breast ; but 
 the fierce struggle was mirrored on his features, and Adele 
 turned her eyes away, that she might not behold what filled 
 her with terror and disgust. 
 
 " I have but one thing more to say, and to that you shall 
 listen. Had not that pale-faced Evelyn made his abode be- 
 neath the same roof, your answer might not have been so 
 positive. Adele Harrington, you love another." 
 
 The bright crimson leaped to the cheek of the young girl, 
 and an indignant denial arose to her lips ; but the words died 
 away, and she grew faint as she felt the piercing gaze of Mal- 
 colm reading her very soul. She slowly said, 
 
 " I might refuse to reply to a charge thus rudely and un- 
 warrantably brought ; but I will say, that no words of mu- 
 tual love have ever passed between myself and any suitor." 
 
 " Of what need are words, when glances can so well sup- 
 ply their place ? You have not you dare not deny the 
 truth of my accusation." 
 
 " I must first learn by what right you bring it," said Adele, 
 haughtily. "Let me pass, sir; I have already borne your 
 presence too long." 
 
 He bowed proudly, loosened his grasp upon her robe, and 
 stepped aside. 
 
 "Go," he sternly said, "and carry with you the knowl- 
 edge that you have consummated the ruin of your father. 
 Let that remembrance come to you as a life-long reproach, 
 for now I am nerved for any thing." 
 
 Adele fled to hor own room, weeping tears of outraged 
 
236 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 pride, and wounded sensibility, which she could not repress. 
 Malcom's words had forced her to look into her own heart, 
 and the veil which had concealed her true feelings was rudely 
 torn aside. She comprehended now why his overtures filled 
 her with such deep repulsion ; and with terror she felt 
 ^ , that her secret was at the mercy of another. His jealous 
 heart had fathomed in a few hours, what she had sedulously 
 concealed even from herself. 
 
 She found Pauline in a light slumber, the effect of exhaus- 
 tion, from which she aroused herself a few moments after her 
 sister's entrance. Adele wiped away the traces of her tears, 
 and beheld with deep alarm the change the last hour had 
 wrought in her. The deathlike pallor of her features was 
 now brightened by a vivid spot of crimson on each cheek, 
 which lighted up her eyes with almost supernatural lustre. 
 She murmured snatches of her favorite songs, and talked in 
 the intervals in so wild a manner, that Adele listened in 
 shuddering terror. 
 
 Many of the most thrilling strains from Norma, where her 
 broken heart is wailed forth, were given with startling effect, 
 and then she paused, and muttered, 
 
 " I sing too loud. He will hear me he will comprehend 
 what those strains so well express. O ! my life is desolate 
 desolate my dreams all vanished," and her voice sank in a 
 low whisper, as if with this consciousness all power to wrestle 
 with the dreary phantoms that encompassed her had suddenly 
 departed. She lay with closed eye-lids, through which bitter 
 tears forced themselves, and flowed over her flushed cheeks. 
 
 Adele softly took her hnnd, and her presence seemed to 
 
237 
 
 restore to Pauline a dim consciousness of what had so lately 
 passed. She feebly said, 
 
 " You have seen him. Tell me how the interview ended. 
 Did you leave him no hope of success with you ? Are you 
 sure you left him none ?" 
 
 " Quite sure, my dear sister. Compose yourself ; all is 
 ended with Mr. Malcolm, so far as we are both concerned." 
 
 " All !" and she started up. " And shall I see him no 
 more ! hear the echoes of his voice only in my own soul ! 
 Cruel, cruel, to let a fair face come between himself and the 
 heart that so truly loves him. 0, Adele, why did nature 
 deny me that outward beauty that never fails to win ?" 
 
 Again she sunk back, quite exhausted, and Adele, in great 
 alarm, was about to summon her aunt, when she entered the 
 room. The unusual sounds proceeding from the apartment 
 of her nieces, had aroused Miss Gertrude, and she came to 
 learn their import. She was shocked at the appearance of 
 Pauline, and earnestly inquired, 
 
 " What has happened ? Why do I find your sister thus, 
 my child ?" 
 
 Adele replied, with bitter indignation^ 
 
 u Her heart is broken by the cruel treachery of one un- 
 worthy to claim even a passing thought from her.-" 
 
 Before Miss Harrington could reply, the voice of her brother 
 was heard at the door. 
 
 " What is the matter, girls ? Kitty tells me that Pauline 
 is ill." 
 
 Adele opened the door, and the sight of her distressed face 
 filled him with alarm. 
 
238 
 
 M Good Heavens ! wliat is it, Adele ? Is your sister so 
 very ill ?" 
 
 " I am afraid she is, sir. Look at her ; how wild and worn 
 she is. I wished to send for Dr. Germain when I first arose, 
 but she insisted that I should not." 
 
 Pauline, overcome by physical and mental suffering, lay 
 half insensible, and Mr. Harrington gazed on her with 
 dismay. 
 
 " Gertrude, dear sister, send for the doctor, without delay , 
 my daughter is dangerously ill." 
 
 Miss Harrington left the room to fulfill his request, and he 
 turned to Adele, with a bewildered air, 
 
 " Is there any reason for this sudden attack, that you can 
 fathom ?" 
 
 " Dearest father, I fear there is," said the trembling girl, 
 clasping his hand in her own, and tenderly pressing it. 
 Adele knew all the danger of sudden and violent excitement- 
 to her father, and she would willingly have given a portion 
 of her own life to spare him the blow about to fall. 
 
 Mr. Harrington sank into a chair that stood beside the bed, 
 and seemed to summon all his fortitude to bear what was to 
 follow. He presently said in a hollow tone, 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, Adele. I am quite in the 
 dark. Last night every thing seemed so happy why should 
 Pauline be ill to-day, when her lover is here to tell the tale to 
 which I know she is not indifferent ?" 
 
 " The tale is already told, my father, and you behold its 
 effects." 
 
 Still he could not understand what was dimly fore- 
 
239 
 
 shadowed by the distress of Adele, and he said with irri- 
 tation, 
 
 " Speak plainly, child. I am no seer, and can not foresee 
 what is about to happen." 
 
 "The worst to Pauline has already happened, father. She 
 knows that her fervent love is slighted, her heart left to break, 
 by him who once seemed to value it." 
 
 A tide of crimson rushed to the face of the father, and he 
 clenched his hands until the nails buried themselves in the 
 flesh. 
 
 "He, heMalcolm has not dared to act thus by my 
 daughter? There is some misconception he is honorable, 
 liberal. O, she has misunderstood him sadly." 
 
 " There is no misunderstanding this, father," and she drew 
 forth Malcolm's last letter, which she had delayed returning 
 for this purpose. That said all that was necessary and spared 
 her a most painful explanation. 
 
 As Mr. Harrington read, his face darkened, and large drops 
 gathered upon his forehead. When he finished, he bent 
 his head down, and held the paper so as to conceal the work- 
 ing of his features from his daughter. She only pressed the 
 hand she still held to her lips, and waited for him to speak. 
 He presently asked, 
 
 " Did you suspect this, Adele ? Did ho ever give you 
 reason to suppose that he preferred you ?" 
 
 " Until last night I believed him devoted to Pauline," she 
 briefly replied. 
 
 " And now, what says your heart ?" asked her father. 
 
 " That its owner would sooner face poverty, toil, hardship 
 16 
 
240 
 
 in any form, than give herself to one who has shown himself 
 so destitute of principle and feeling." 
 
 "Right, right there spoke my own child," he saiu, 
 with emotion. " Traitor ! I now comprehend his game ; 
 but it shall not whelm me in ruin, although you do refuse 
 him. With good fortune on my side, I can baffle him 
 yet." 
 
 " Thank Heaven for that assurance, my dear father ; for a 
 Bad fear weighed on my heart, even when I declared to him 
 that I would never marry him." 
 
 " You have seen him, then ? When ?" 
 
 \ " This morning. I sought him when I heard him walk- 
 ing on the piazza, and he knows exactly how he stands with 
 me." 
 
 " Right you are my own brave girl. But Pauline. O, it 
 breaks my heart to see her suffering thus." 
 
 The sound of her own name, seemed to arouse the suffer- 
 ering girl from the stupor into which she had fallen. She 
 suddenly unclosed her wild eyes, and seeing her father beside 
 her, she became for a few moments conscious of his identity. 
 She moaned, 
 
 " You will not let him take my sister from me. She is all 
 to me now : that evil man would torture us both, by tearing 
 us asunder forever. Adele must not take my place beside 
 him : Oh ! I should hate her then, sinful as it would be." 
 
 " My precious darling, only be calm, and all shall be well 
 with you," said Mr. Harrington, soothingly. " No one shall 
 do any thing to render you unhappy." 
 
 "Nothing can now be done to crush me into deeper 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 misery," was the dejected reply, and she again closed her 
 eyes, and turned her head to conceal the tears that gushed 
 from them. 
 
 " 0, Adele, Adele, this ruin is harder to bear, than loss 
 of fortune," exclaimed the affectionate father, as he wiped 
 away the drops wrung from his eyes by the picture of deso- 
 lation before him. 
 
 " Fortune fortune," muttered the sick girl. " Who cares 
 for fortune ? There is but one dower worth possessing to a 
 woman, and that is beauty." 
 
 " Yet it has been a fatal possession to many, dear sister," 
 said Adele softly. 
 
 " Not half so fatal as the want of it is to thousands. O, 
 Uike your fair face away, lest my reft heart become jealous 
 of its charms. Then I should hate myself indeed." 
 
 Miss Harrington passed before Adele and gently put her 
 aside. 
 
 " Let me attend to Pauline, my love, while you seek rest, 
 for you look perfectly worn out. Dr. Germain will soon be 
 here now, and in the meantime she needs quiet more than 
 any thing else." 
 
 " Quiet," thought Pauline, bitterly. " If you could only 
 behold the tumult seething in my heart and brain, you would 
 never use such a mocking word. I believe I shall die or lose 
 my reason, and I do not much care which, for I am reckless 
 in my misery;" and again the feverish rush of anguish 
 brought back the delirium, which had partially subsided. 
 
 On his arrival, Dr. Germain found her in a wild paroxysm, 
 and he pronounced her in a violent fever. From the rapidity 
 
242 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 with which such diseases rim their course in a southern cli- 
 mate, he felt that no time was to be lost. 
 
 Occupied with Pauline, no one of the family appeard at 
 the morning meal, and the two guests breakfasted together. 
 Unconscious of the cause of Pauline's sudden illness, Evelyn 
 spoke of it with concern, and he was surprised at the haughty 
 coldness with which his companion listened. 
 
 Even the knowledge that Pauline was suffering from his 
 own treachery, did not at that crisis cause Malcolm to regret. 
 He was too bitterly disappointed ; too resentful himself, to 
 waste sympathy on another; and could he have found a 
 pretext for fastening a quarrel on the unconscious Philip, he 
 would have grasped at it with eagerness, and never have left 
 the field until his own life, or that of his antagonist had paid 
 the forfeit of their rivalry. He drank several cups of very 
 strong coffee, and without tasting food, abruptly arose from 
 the table. 
 
 Evelyn's eye followed him in surprise, but he mentally ex- 
 cused him, by thinking, 
 
 " He is in love with Paulino, poor fellow, and her danger 
 unmans him. Now I think of it, I have heard this Malcolm 
 spoken of as an admirer of hers. Bear cousin, I trust she 
 is not dangerously ill." 
 
 At that instant he caught sight of Dr. Germain mounting 
 his horse, and hurried out to intercept him. The physician 
 looked unusually serious, and in reply to his inquiries, said, 
 
 " Miss Pauline is in a very critical condition, Mr. Evelyn. 
 She has evidently received a mental shock of a very serious 
 nature, just at a time when her nervous system was in a con- 
 
243 
 
 dition to be most seriously affected by it, as is proved by the 
 result." 
 
 " Do you really tbink her in danger of deatb ?" asked 
 Evelyn, in alarm. 
 
 " In most imminent danger ; for she has every symptom of 
 a violent and unmanageable fever. I am compelled to leave 
 her now, but I shall return in a few hours, and remain here 
 until some change takes place, either for better or worse." 
 
 He bowed, and rode away, and Philip turned to encounter 
 the fixed gaze of Malcolm, who stood pale, yet composed, 
 within a few feet of him. 
 
 " This is a sad change from the joy of last evening," re- 
 marked the younger man. 
 
 Malcolm unclosed his lips as if to answer, but the words 
 died away in a husky murmur ; he turned away abruptly, 
 and plunged into the shrubbery. As he strode on, the soft 
 clear eyes of the sick girl seemed to be looking into his soul, 
 and the thought of her danger again made his lately savage 
 heart thrill to human sympathy. All the attraction she had 
 ever possessed for him seemed to revive, and invest her with 
 a tender interest that for a season melted the hardness from 
 his nature. 
 
 Ill, dying for his sake, Pauline was an object of deep 
 interest to him, but he felt within his inmost soul the secret 
 conviction that should she be restored to her wonted health^ 
 the supremacy of beauty would again assert itself over his 
 senses, and Adele be the only coveted treasure. Adele, who 
 scorned him, who despised him, while the tender heart of 
 Pauline adored him. 
 
244 
 
 He had outraged this love, and for what ? Rejection and 
 contempt. Should the suffering one perish she would be as 
 surely his victim as if the dagger or poison had consum- 
 mated his crime, and an impassable gulf would thus arise 
 between himself and the real object of his pursuit. 
 
 Should such be the fatal result, he would relinquish all 
 claims on Mr. Harrington's estate, and endeavor thus to 
 atone for his crime ; for criminal he now felt his conduct to 
 have been. Should she recover, his path lay broad before 
 him. Adele should be forced into becoming his wife, or 
 ruin be brought upon her father. 
 
 While he thus mused, he was unconscious of footsteps 
 tracking him with hurried and uneven tread, until the voice 
 of Mr. Harrington sounded in his ears, and at the command 
 of that gentleman he paused in his rapid career. 
 
 With a feeling of strong reluctance, he turned to meet the 
 outraged father. Mr. Harrington held in his hand the letter 
 which Adele had recently given him, and he presented it t 
 Malcolm with the brief remark, 
 
 " This is a production of yours, I believe, sir ?" 
 
 Malcolm's self-possession did not desert him ; he glanced 
 coldly on it, and replied, 
 
 " It is, Mr. Harrington ; and since your daughter has sub- 
 mitted it to you, I presume she has also sufficiently explained 
 our relative position toward each other." 
 
 " She has -and I have followed you to return your insult- 
 ing declaration of love to one whom I wish you distinctly to 
 understand is, under yiy circumstances, quite beyond your 
 reach." 
 
245 
 
 Malcolm compressed his lips to keep back the angry words 
 that rushed to them. With forced composure, he said, 
 
 "Perhaps it would be well, Mr. Harrington, for you to 
 reconsider your words. Where so much is at stake, the 
 caprices of a young lady should not be allowed too much 
 weight." 
 
 " I comprehend the veiled threat in your words, sir," said 
 Mr. Harrington, with dignity. "I now understand all your 
 manoeuvres to place me as much at your mercy as you think 
 I am ; but I trust in God, and better friends than you have 
 proved yourself, to rescue me from your power. But should 
 the worst happen to me, know that I would sooner endure 
 ruin in its most aggravated form, than barter my child to 
 such a man as I now comprehend you to be, to save myself." 
 
 Malcolm's face was inscrutable ; he said, 
 
 " Very well, sir. You possess at least the merit of frank- 
 ness ; whether it is prudent to use it toward one situated as I 
 am with you, is for you to determine. It seems to me, that 
 a painful misconception has placed me in a false position 
 toward your whole family." 
 
 " Misconception !" repeated the father, indignantly ; but he 
 checked himself, and added, 
 
 "Mr. Malcolm, there are some things that do not admit of 
 discussion ; of such, is your anomalous position toward my 
 family. If the feelings involved were of a less delicate 
 nature, you may truly believe that I should not attempt to 
 practice my present self-control. You have to deal with a 
 gentleman, and a man of honor ; therefore, you escape un- 
 whipped of that justice you so justly merit." 
 
246 
 
 Malcolm's face darkened as he listened, 
 
 " And after all I have done to serve you, this is my re- 
 ward ?" 
 
 "Appeal not to your services, when you know with what 
 motive they were rendered. I have implicitly trusted you, 
 for, until this unhappy morning, not a doubt of you entered 
 niy mind. Now you stand unmasked before me, and bitterly 
 painful is the revelation ; not so much on the score of in- 
 terest, as you may suppose, but because one I esteemed has 
 fallen so utterly low in my regard." 
 
 Malcolm smiled disdainfully. He said, 
 
 " All men pursue their individual interest. I have simply 
 done that which I supposed would further the wish that lies 
 nearest my heart." 
 
 u And in thus acting, destroyed every hope of success." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. Those who have never felt the 
 actual pressure of difficulty and narrow means know not 
 what lessons of worldly prudence they may learn from them. 
 I refuse to receive your final reply, or that of your daughter, 
 until six months shall have rolled away. At that time, you 
 will both probably better comprehend our actual relations 
 toward each other than you now do." 
 
 Mr. Harrington's face flushed, for his temper was rap- 
 idly getting the better of the self-control he had painfully 
 imposed on himself from the commencement of this in- 
 terview. 
 
 " You wish to take time to consummate the ruin you believe 
 to be in your power. I grant you six months, but before 
 they are passed, I will find means to rescue my property from 
 
THK PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 your claims, or forfeit it utterly. But even in that extreme 
 case, my answer will still be the same. I, and those belong- 
 ing to me, will know how to bear honorable poverty, better 
 than the slavery of enforced submission to such a man as I 
 now know you to be. Good morning, Mr. Malcolm. The 
 hospitality of Wavertree is open to you as long as you choose 
 to remain beneath its roof, but the master of the mansion you 
 will excuse, as his mind is not in a condition to entertain 
 visitors." 
 
 He bowed, and Malcolm also ceremoniously raised his hat. 
 He said, 
 
 " I shall leave on the first boat that passes. Pray remem- 
 ber, sir, that this conversation will be forgotten when the day 
 of reconciliation arrives." 
 
 " Remember it until that day," said Mr. Harrington, point- 
 edly, as he moved away with rapid steps. 
 
 Malcolm slowly followed him in the direction of the house, 
 intending to order his servant to be in readiness for the first 
 steamer that came down the river. In the meantime he 
 brooded qyer his plans. 
 
 He would delay his great blow, until the result of Pauline's 
 illness was ascertained. Should the anguish he had inflicted 
 not prove fatal, he would proceed to crush the fortunes of her 
 family ; not in his own person, however that would bring 
 too much odium upon him but through the agency of one 
 whose unscrupulous services he knew he could command, who 
 would be ruthless as Fate itself in his demands. 
 
 In spite of the high tone assumed by Mr. Harrington in 
 their recent interview, he fully believed that he could call on 
 
248 THB PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 no friend who would come to his rescue in the present crisis 
 of his affairs. He had made himself fully acquainted with 
 his resources and their availability, and he knew of no 
 source from which he could raise so large a sum as was 
 necessary to release his property from the mortgage he 
 held upon it. 
 
 Within the next hour, Malcolm left Wavertree without 
 bidding adieu to any of the family ; and as the steamer swept 
 down the rapid stream, he looked back at the house filled 
 with suffering by himself, and calculated how long it might 
 be before he could enter as master, carrying with him the 
 fiat which would bid the shrinking object of his pursuit 
 crush down her swelling heart, and force back her tears, 
 while she feigned a smiling welcome to the arbiter of her 
 fate. 
 
 Tffe interview with Mr. Harrington had only hardened his 
 purpose, and the momentaiy softness inspired by the knowl- 
 edge of Pauline's danger, passed away, leaving that heart of 
 steel and will of adamant, to their own devices. 
 

 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DAYS of unconscious suffering to the helpless Pauline rolled 
 away, and heavy hearts watched beside her; for her physician 
 gave scarcely a gleam of hope that she would be restored to 
 those who so fondly loved her. 
 
 Dark and gloomy weather followed the beautiful days we 
 have lately described ; no ray of sunshine had power to 
 penetrate the heavy mist which hung in white wreaths over 
 the lowland, often shrouding the surface of the river entirely 
 from view. 
 
 In the evening twilight of such a day, dashes of rain were 
 swept against the casement, and the wind wailed in fitful 
 gusts around the house. The sick girl lay white and motion- 
 less upon her pillow, unconscious of the strife of the elements 
 without; while Miss Harrington and Adele sat beside a bright 
 wood fire which sent its ruby glow throughout the apartment, 
 and conversed in guarded tones. They spoke of Pauline, and 
 her aunt said, 
 
 " I always thought the dear child possessed remarkable 
 strength of character. I never could have believed that she 
 would linve sunk beneath such a blow as this." 
 
 "Ah, dear aunt, is it not generally the strong in soul that 
 have the greatest tenderness of feeling ? Think how often 
 
250 
 
 my sister lias been wooed, nnd how great must have been the 
 attraction to which she <it last yielded her heart. Great was 
 the trust, boundless the love she must have bestowed on this 
 man." 
 
 Miss Harrington sighed, and seemed absorbed in musing. 
 At length she said, more as if speaking to herself than to 
 her niece, 
 
 "Even should Pauline be spared to us, she will never 
 marry now. I understand her heart by my " 
 
 She paused abruptly, shaded her face with her hand, and 
 remained silent, for her thoughts were traveling far back over 
 the long track of years, to that turbulent period in the his- 
 tory of her own heart, when the voice of love spoke loudly 
 in favor of one her principles revolted from uniting her fate 
 with. She firmly believed she had acted for the best, and no 
 sentimental sorrow had dimmed the path she had since trod- 
 den. She trusted that Pauline would yet arise from her 
 couch of suffering, strong to meet the future, and in time, be 
 able to say to her throbbing heart, 
 
 " Be at peace. This sorrow came from Him who doeth all 
 things well, and I can bear it with resignation. It is better 
 even thus, than united to one in whose honor and affection I 
 have not implicit faith." 
 
 Adele had risen, and was standing beside the bed, gazing 
 down upon the wasted features of her sister. She took her 
 nerveless hand in her own, and endeavored to impart a feel- 
 ing of vitality to it by rubbing it gently. Presently she felt 
 a slight pressure in the fingers, and connected words issued 
 from the lips which had so long unclosed to utter only the 
 
THK PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 ravings of delirium. She bent down to hear the feeble whis- 
 per, and Pauline asked, 
 
 "Where is my father? How has he borne so much sor- 
 row ?" 
 
 " He is well he has hoped for your restoration, and that 
 has kept him up. my dearest sister, how glad it makes 
 my heart, to hear you speak thus once more." 
 
 " I have been very ill, I know. How long have I lain thus ?" 
 
 " This is the ninth day we have watched over you." 
 
 " This, then, is the crisis. The dying often have intervals 
 of reason before the great Conqueror comes. Such, I believe, 
 is my condition now. Call my father, that I may see him 
 once more." 
 
 At the sound of her voice, Miss Gertrude had drawn near. 
 She now said, 
 
 " Call my brother, by all means, Adele, but it is to see how 
 much better our dear invalid is. You are greatly improved, 
 my darling your pulse is stronger, and you have no fever. 
 Hope for yourself, and all will be well with you." 
 
 " All would indeed be well, aunt, if Heaven in its 
 mercy, would claim me for its own. 0, 1 shrink from life 
 with its great burden of sorrow and care. Let me go to the 
 better land, where treachery never more may wound ; where 
 hope will sing no falsehoods to the heart." 
 
 " And leave those who love you to grieve forever over the 
 loss of their precious child ? Life is worth a struggle, Pau- 
 line the heart will rebound, and yet sing its glad hymn ot 
 gratitude to Him who granted the prayers of those who hava 
 watched over you, and gave you back to them." 
 
252 THE PLANTER'S DAUGZIER. 
 
 " I am faint and weak, dear aunt ; and I scarcely know 
 what I should desire ; but I think I shall die. I shall grieve 
 that you must mourn for me, but O ! I wish so much to 
 go!" 
 
 Dr. Germain was in the house, watching for this crisis, and 
 he came softly into the room, followed by Mr. Harrington. 
 The physician came to the bedside, and she smiled faintly as 
 she recognized him. 
 
 " You see, doctor, all your skill has failed you here. My 
 spirit only tarries to bid farewell to the loved of earth, before 
 it wings its way to the eternal morning." 
 
 " Not so, my dear young lady ; earth will not so readily 
 relinquish its hold upon you. I am surprised at the symp- 
 toms of amendment I see in you. Your eyes are clearer, and 
 vour voice grows stronger with eveiy word you utter." 
 
 " That is only the last effort, doctor. When this excite- 
 ment passes away, my life will pass with it." 
 
 " We will endeavor to assist nature, Miss Pauline, and you 
 will yet live to say that skill may sometimes set the grim 
 Conqueror at defiance. Take these drops, and when you 
 recover from their effects you will feel like a new creature." 
 
 "Yes I shall indeed be renewed in the blood of Him 
 who died that man might live throughout all the ages of 
 eternity, to glorify his holy name." 
 
 Her father raised her head, and she quaffed the contents 
 of the cup the physician offered, and then sunk back upon 
 his breast quite exhausted ; Mr. Harrington tremulously said, 
 as he bent fondly over her, 
 
 " My child, my darling, look up to me ; feel how I clasp 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 you to my heart, as if even Fate itself shall not sever us, and 
 endeavor to live for my sake." 
 
 After a pause, as if gathering strength to speak, she faintly 
 said, 
 
 " I hear and comprehend you, father. Until now I shrank 
 from the struggle life brings with it ; but with your tender 
 arms around me, I feel that I could willingly win my way 
 back to life, should such be the will of Heaven. But my 
 doom is written, and I may not avoid it. You will not be 
 desolate my sister Victor remain to you. Ah, where is 
 my brother, at this crisis ? I see him not among you." 
 
 " I look for him ; he will be here before many hours elapse," 
 replied her father, in a troubled tone, for Victor's conduct was 
 inexplicable to him. 
 
 At the commencement of Pauline's illness, Victor had been 
 summoned home, in anticipation of a fatal termination of it ; 
 but no answer came in reply to the letter. A second one was 
 then addressed to his employers, requesting some information 
 of him, and, in reply, they stated that the young man had ab- 
 sented himself from their counting-house for many days, and 
 they had no clew to his whereabouts. 
 
 But for the imminent danger in which Pauline lay, Mr. 
 Harrington would at once have set out to New Orleans 
 in search of him, but, for the present, that precluded every 
 other interest ; and in a state of great uneasiness he watched 
 from hour to hour for the appearance of his truant son at 
 Wavertree. 
 
 Victor came not, neither did they hear from him, and 
 Adele saw, with deep concern, from day to day, that these 
 
254 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 double sources of uuhappiness imprinted new furrows on hei 
 father's face, and seemed to give a more silvery hue to his 
 already whitened hair. 
 
 " Where is Cousin Philip ?" asked Pauline, glancing over 
 the assembled group, and missing him from it. 
 
 " He is at the door, my love, and will gladly come in, if 
 you will permit him." 
 
 " By all means : call him, aunt." 
 
 Evelyn obeyed the summons, and smiling feebly on him, 
 Pauline said, 
 
 " You read so beautifully, cousin, that I wish you to read 
 to me the prayers for the dying. It would too severely task 
 the feelings of my poor Adele, to ask this service of her." 
 
 Evelyn looked toward Dr. Germain, and he whispered, 
 
 "It is best to humor her fancy. All hope is not lost, 
 though it is not safe to refuse any thing she wishes." 
 
 Philip took the prayer book which Adele silently offered, 
 and, with reverence and feeling, performed the required ser- 
 vice, while the rest of the group responded. The lips of the 
 sick girl moved, but no sound issued from them. When he 
 finished she said, 
 
 "Thank you and now, Cousin Philip, receive my last 
 adieu, with my earnest injunction to watch over and console 
 those who are dear to me. Remain with my father, and be- 
 come to him as a son." 
 
 "If I can serve him in any manner, dear Pauline, rest 
 assured that I will cling to his side as long as he wishes it." 
 
 " Thank you I can not ask for more. Time will show 
 how great will be your reward. My sister, iny kind aunt, 
 
255 
 
 cherish me in your hearts, but do not mourn for the happy 
 one who has thus early escaped the burden of mortality to 
 live in that higher sphere in which my mother will joyfully 
 welcome her child. Dearest father, let that thought console 
 you for the loss of your Pauline." 
 
 Mr. Harrington only replied by clasping her more closely 
 to his heart, and casting on Dr. Germain a troubled look of 
 inquiry. He replied to it in a faint whisper, 
 
 " She can not bear contradiction. Sleep approaches gradu- 
 ally. She may die in it, or she may awake to renewed life. 
 I have done all that human skill can accomplish, and we 
 must leave the result to God." 
 
 The father bowed his head in submission, and fixed his 
 gaze upon the pallid features resting upon his breast. As she 
 seemed about to sink into slumber, she unclosed her heavy 
 eyes and murmured, 
 
 " Tell him that, with my last breath, I forgave him ; that I 
 died at peace with all the world." 
 
 The eye-lids drooped over the weary eyes, and, save' that a 
 faint pulsation of the heart indicated that life still lingered, 
 Pauline lay to all appearance dead. Almost afraid to breathe, 
 Mr. Harrington held her in his arms, and watched her with 
 an intensity of interest no words can portray. In spirit he 
 seemed to behold the silent struggle between the principle of 
 life and that mysterious thing called death ; and how fer- 
 vently he prayed, how reverently he asked help for his 
 stricken one, that she might again be restored to him, was 
 known only to himself and that omnipotent One to whom the 
 
 deepest emotions of the soul are laid bare. 
 17 
 
256 
 
 The remainder of the group sat motionless, watching the 
 mournful tableau made by the father and daughter, and afraid 
 to move lest the spell that seemed to be upon them, should be 
 broken by the approach of death. 
 
 Hours that seemed ages, passed away in this terrible 
 watch, and the physician was the only one who had ventured 
 to leave his place. He had at intervals, held his watch over 
 the lips of Pauline to ascertain if breath still issued from 
 them. The faint dimness that appeared each time upon its 
 polished crystal, gave assurance that life yet lingered, but 
 that was all. 
 
 Mr. Harrington sat as motionless as if carved from stone, 
 fearful that the slightest movement would break this sleep on 
 which so much depended. This long continued suspense 
 had become almost agonizing, when suddenly the deep still- 
 ness was broken by the sound of an eager footstep which 
 came through the house with reckless speed. 
 
 Each one recognized the step of Victor, but before any 
 one could rise to meet him he was in the room. A faint 
 murmur of surprise greeted him as he paused in the door- 
 way, and surveyed the scene within. He looked as if he had 
 recently suffered from severe illness himselfj for he was pale 
 and wan, and his dress was in a state of remarkable disorder 
 to be worn by so finished an exquisite as young Harrington. 
 
 With a hasty gesture toward those who sat near the fire, 
 he approached the bed and silently looked upon the scarcely 
 breathing form his father sustained in his arms, while the 
 working of his features seemed to say, 
 
 " Would to God I could exchange places with you, Pau- 
 
THB PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 257 
 
 line, and bury myself, together with my faults, in the grave 
 which seems yawning for you." 
 
 His earnest gaze seemed to possess some magnetic influ- 
 ence on the sick girl, for she moved slightly, and presently 
 unclosed her eyes. Intelligence was in their glance, and 
 after a brief pause, as if collecting her thoughts, she softly 
 said, 
 
 I li ve f or the loved of earth are yet around me. Vic- 
 tor, my brother, welcome among us once more." 
 She endeavored to raise her hand, but had not the power 
 to do so. Victor touched it with his lips, and muttered 
 hoarsely, 
 
 "Thank God, you will not die, Pauline. I did not know 
 of your danger till last night, when I accidentally met Mal- 
 colm, and he told me how ill you have been. I hurried 
 home at every ri " 
 
 He checked himself suddenly, as if he was about to be- 
 tray more than he intended ; and afraid of the effect Mal- 
 colm's name thus carelessly uttered, might have on Pauline, 
 Miss Harrington quickly approached, and drew him away. 
 She only drew a long shivering sigh, and requested her father 
 to place her on the pillows, as he must be weary of the con- 
 strained position in which he had so long remained. 
 
 Mr. Harrington kissed her tenderly, as he said, 
 
 " God has given you back to me, my darling. You will 
 live to bless me yet." 
 
 " I trust so, best of fathers," and again the weary eye-lida 
 drooped, and she slumbered serenely. Dr. Germain prepared 
 some drops for her when she again awoke, and insisted that 
 
258 
 
 every one should retire for the night; except Miss Gertrude, 
 who would remain to watch beside her niece. 
 
 Exhausted hy previous fatigue, Adele consented to seek 
 repose on a lounge which was drawn near the fire ; but she 
 would by no means agree to leave the room while her sister's 
 life hung on so precarious a thread. 
 
 Worn out as Mr. Harrington was by the varied emotions 
 he had passed through during the evening, he felt the impos- 
 sibility of sleeping before ascertaining from Victor the his- 
 tory of the few past weeks of his life. There was much that 
 was painful to hear he well knew, even before seeing him, for 
 the impress of suffering upon his son's features, had told its 
 own tale of reckless misery to the father's yearning heart. 
 
 Mr. Harrington found Victor in the usual sitting-room of 
 the family, cowering over a few embers left from the neg- 
 lected fire of the previous day. He placed the light he 
 carried, on a table, so as to throw its glare on the wasted 
 features of the young man, and seated himself opposite to 
 him in silence. 
 
 Victor eyed him half sullenly at first, but there was some- 
 thing in his father's face that gradually melted the feeling of 
 rebellious obstinacy which had lately ruled his heart. He 
 felt that compassion for himself was in the gaze bent on him, 
 and not that spirit of questioning accusation he had expected 
 to meet. He also saw how much his father had suffered of 
 late, for old age seemed to have made rapid inroads on the 
 features which, a few months since, were bright with health 
 and happiness. 
 
 " Have you been ill, father ?" he asked. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 259 
 
 " Only in rnind, my son. You know how I have suffered 
 on Pauline's account ; and added to that, was my uncertainty 
 concerning you. Where have you been during these dark 
 days, Victor, while my heart was torn with anxiety for you?" 
 
 u Wait until to-morrow, father, and I will tell you all. 
 To-night you need rest and the tale I have to tell will 
 hardly promote slumber," he bitterly replied. 
 
 " I can not sleep until I have heard it, Victor. Let me 
 know the worst at once ; speak the whole truth, my son, as if 
 you were laying bare your heart before Heaven, for I prom 
 ise you not to judge you harshly." 
 
 Victor walked the floor hurriedly to and fro, and a strug- 
 gle was evidently going on within him. He seemed endeav- 
 oring to summon courage to obey his father ; at length he 
 paused before him, and said, 
 
 " I am indeed the returned prodigal, father ; and I bring 
 not alone myself and my evil nature back to the parental roof, 
 but a list of responsibilities I know you are unable to meet." 
 
 " How have they been incurred, Victor ?" asked the father, 
 steadily. 
 
 " I might deceive you, sir ; but I came home with the pur- 
 pose of telling all, and I will not shrink from the ordeal. 
 They are gambling debts." 
 
 " I feared as much. And what says your aunt ? What 
 will Louise say to such a course ?" 
 
 An expression of passionate anger came up on his face. 
 
 " My aunt ! I could curse that hard woman, did not respect 
 for you withhold me, sir. As to Louise, I am certain she 
 will never consent to marry a man who is not rich, and it 
 
260 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 was tliis belief that sent me to tlie gaming table, in the mad 
 hope of forcing Fortune to become my friend." 
 
 " Sit down, Victor, and tell me your story in a connected 
 manner. I wish to comprehend all the temptations you have 
 had to struggle with." 
 
 The calm manner of his father exerted a constraint over 
 Victor that he could not evade. He sat down opposite to 
 Mr. Harrington, and commenced, 
 
 "When I left Wavertree for New Orleans, I was deeply in 
 debt, but I would not tell you at that crisis, because I knew 
 your own financial difficulties were then bearing heavily upon 
 you. I hoped to be able to extricate myself gradually by 
 the same means that had involved me. Like a thousand 
 pther fools, I imagined that my losses had taught me wis- 
 dom, and I could, in my turn, break the bank in the saloon 
 where I had lost so much. My aunt showed me unequivo- 
 cally that unless I possessed money I should never gain Lou- 
 ise ; and she, too, flirted before my face with a man whose 
 only recommendation in her e3 r es, is the possession of wealth. 
 Day by day, I grew more reckless, and more resolute to risk 
 every thing to gain what I had lost. The little employment 
 given me at Messrs. Hall, afforded me the leisure to devote 
 the greater portion of my time to the pursuit which so deeply 
 fascinated me ; at first, I won so largely that I paid off all 
 the debts of honor which had given me so much uneasiness. 
 All ! if I had only stopped there ! but the delusive hope of 
 continued good fortune led me on. I knew my aunt was 
 not the kind of woman to be scrupulous about the method 
 by which money was gained, provided a man possessed it ; 
 
261 
 
 and I rushed more madly than ever into the excitement of 
 gambling. I made Louise magnificent presents, and again 
 she smiled on me more encouragingly than on Nevin. In 
 short, I went on with various alternations of fortune, until 
 about a week since, when I resolved at one blow to know 
 what my fate was to be. I risked every thing I possessed, 
 and many thousands more ; that I am here, and thus, shows 
 you the result." 
 
 " Where have you been since you left the employment of 
 Messrs. Hall ?" asked Mr. Harrington. 
 
 "In h 11," responded Victor, impetuously, "for those in- 
 famous gambling saloons have been well named thus. I 
 have played until I was nearly maddened, but the fates 
 were ever against me. A gleam of good fortune was in- 
 variably followed by greater losses than my previous gains 
 would cover." 
 
 " What finally tore you from this infatuation, Victor ?" 
 
 "One night, when I was nearly frenzied with my ill luck, 
 Malcolm came into the room, and seemed surprised to see me 
 there. He spoke to me, and asked me if I knew that Paul- 
 ine's life was despaired of ? I had not lately inquired for 
 letters from home, for I could not bear to think of those who 
 expected me to act so differently from the course I was pur- 
 suing. 
 
 44 1 had just lost the last stake my credit enabled me to 
 raise, and I left the house bankrupt in every thing ; for I had 
 lost more than I was ever likely to possess the means of pay- 
 ing. I got on the first boat that left New Orleans, and came 
 home." 
 
262 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! you are once more safe beneath my own 
 roof-tree," said Mr. Harrington, fervently. "And now tell me, 
 my son, what is the amount of your debts ?" 
 
 Victor shrank from naming the sum, but his father's eye 
 enforced his demand in a manner inexplicable to himself. He 
 said, 
 
 " I arose from the table fifteen thousand dollars in debt." 
 
 This far exceeded his father's utmost estimate, but he felt 
 that this was no time to reproach him with his cruel 
 want of principle. Harshness now might plunge him down 
 the precipice on the brink of which he trembled. He sighed 
 heavily, as he said, 
 
 " You have suffered enough, Victor, to show you all the 
 error of your ways, if you will only lay the lesson to heart. 
 I trust the remorse you must now feel will complete the re- 
 formation of which your return home would indicate the 
 commencement. Sleep in peace, my son, for you sadly need 
 rest. To-morrow we will discuss the means of extricating 
 you from the sea of debt into which you have so unhappily 
 plunged." 
 
 " Will you indeed do this ?" exclaimed the unhappy 
 young man. "Then all for me is not lost. But I 
 thought you could not aid me : that your own embarrass- 
 ments are too great to give you the power to bestow any 
 assistance on me." 
 
 "We will talk of that to-morrow, Victor," replied his 
 father, evasively. " It is now past midnight ; let us both 
 seek that rest which we so greatly need." 
 
 Selfish and reckless as Victor was, he was touched by hia 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 263 
 
 father's forbearance toward him, and he grasped his hand in 
 both his own, as he said, 
 
 " I have no words to thank you, dear sir. I dreaded this 
 meeting more than words can express, but your goodness 
 has lifted a heavy weight from my heart. Your reproaches, 
 added to those of my own conscience, would have been more 
 thau I could bear." 
 
 " Do not too lightly cast the burden aside, Victor," said 
 Mr. Harrington, seriously ; " but let repentance work the 
 reformation I so much desire. Remember that though my 
 heart yearns over you with inexpressible tenderness, that you 
 have dealt upon it the heaviest blow parental pride and af- 
 fection can receive. I would save you from ruin, my only 
 son, therefore I trampled not upon the bruised reed ; but if 
 you could behold the anguish your conduct is causing me, 
 you would shrink from inflicting such suffering on your bit- 
 terest foe." 
 
 His voice grew tremulous and broken as he uttered these 
 words, and, for the first time, Victor comprehended what 
 self-control his father had imposed on himself in this inter- 
 view. He carried his hand impetuously to his heart, as he 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Pardon, pardon, best of fathers, and I will endeavor to 
 become all you wish. I will no longer vacillate between 
 good and evil, but walk in the path of rectitude and honor." 
 
 " God grant the power to do so, my dear boy," solemnly 
 responded Mr. Harrington, " and I will earnestly pray that 
 He will give you strength to conquer the evil you have suf- 
 fered to overshadow your youth." 
 
264 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Affected by his father's manner, even more than by his 
 words, Victor bowed reverently before him, as they parted to 
 seek such rest as could be obtained in the agitated state ol 
 their minds. 
 
 Victor soon slept, for he was young and weary, and his 
 light unimpressible nature was not one to retain long any 
 unpleasant weight. The fear of his father's displeasure gone, 
 and in its place the certainty that his difficulties would be 
 removed, his spirits rebounded at once, and all the anguish 
 and debasement of the few past weeks of his life were thrust 
 aside, as an unpleasant memory to be dwelt on as little as 
 possible. 
 
 From such a being, little could be hoped in the future ; 
 and it was this fear which weighed heaviest on the already 
 overtasked heart of the father. While Victor slept in peace, 
 Mr. Harrington lay upon his restless pillow, revolving in his 
 own mind the story he had just heard, and endeavoring to 
 arrange some plan to extricate his son from his difficulties, 
 without loss of honor. 
 
 How this was to be done, he could not yet see ; for, added 
 to his previous embarrassments, these debts seemed like the 
 last feather's weight that was to crush him down. Toward 
 morning he fell into a brief and unrefreshing slumber, from 
 which he awoke to new cares and sorrows. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHEN Malcolm reached New Orleans, his first object was 
 to see a Jewish dealer in securities with whom he had some- 
 times transacted business through the intervention of With- 
 ers. He intended to place in this man's possession the note 
 which Mr. Harrington had given him for the sum secured by 
 a mortgage on the Wavertree plantation. Bondy had al- 
 ready served him faithfully in several instances where he did 
 not wish his own name to be brought forward, in transactions 
 that might sully the fair reputation he was so anxious to 
 maintain among men of liberal feeling and unblemished 
 integrity. 
 
 Malcolm received constant information from Wavertree 
 concerning the condition of Pauline, from Dr. Germain, to 
 whom, on his departure, he had addressed a note expressed 
 in such terms as to induce the unsuspicious physician to sup- 
 pose him warmly interested in her recovery. Unwilling to 
 give pain, Dr. Germain had, even when almost hopeless him- 
 self, given Malcolm cause to believe that her illness would 
 not prove fatal. 
 
 With this conviction, the transient softness that played 
 about the heart of the schemer, while he believed her dying 
 for his sake, was succeeded by the stern determination to 
 
266 
 
 make her father feel that his grasp of iron was on his for- 
 tune, and from it there was no avenue of escape. 
 
 On the third evening after his return to the city, he pre- 
 pared to seek the Jew : and with a strong feeling of repug- 
 nance, he proceeded to the same house in which the murder 
 of the unhappy Withers had taken place. After that terri- 
 ble catastrophe, the place had remained uutenanted, until 
 Bondy, the former friend of the murdered man, applied to 
 the owner for it. He was glad to let him have it at a merely 
 nominal rent, for no one else had been found willing to reside 
 in it on any terms. 
 
 Bondy had been in possession of the place only a few 
 weeks, and this was the first time Malcolm had found occa- 
 sion to visit him since his removal. The night was cold, and 
 a slight mist filled the atmosphere with a chilling vapor, that 
 seemed like breathings from a charnel-house to him who 
 hurried along with his fancy filled with the ghastly memo- 
 ries linked with the place he was about to visit. 
 
 When he reached it, he knocked long and loudly upon the 
 door before any one responded. At length a shuffling step 
 approached, and after demanding who was there several 
 times, Bondy recognized the voice of his visitor, and admit- 
 ted him. 
 
 " Do you often freeze your clients in such weather as this, 
 Mr. Bondy, by keeping them parleying as long as you have 
 talked with me before unclosing your inhospitable door ?" he 
 asked, in an angry tone. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir ; but you know this place has not the best 
 reputation, and it is always safest to use a little caution. I 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 26Y 
 
 had no idea it was you, sir ; for I thought you had gone up 
 the river to visit some friends. Pray walk in, and make 
 yourself welome." 
 
 While he thus spoke, the Jew ushered his visitor into the 
 bame room with which he was so familiar. It was scarcely 
 altered in its outward aspect ; a bright coal fire burned in the 
 grate, and a solar lamp also shed its cheerful light around. 
 The blood-stained carpet had been removed, and one of com- 
 moner texture, but of brilliant hues, substituted. The re- 
 mainder of the furniture was the same, though Malcolm 
 remarked that not a single piece occupied the same position 
 as in former days. A French bedstead in one corner of the 
 apartment had been added to the accommodations, and the 
 door leading into the adjoining room was concealed by a cur- 
 tain. 
 
 Malcolm looked around, almost expecting to see the dark 
 face of Withers start up before him, and his host seemed to 
 understand what was passing in his mind ; he said, 
 
 " You 're thinking of the old days, Mr. Malcolm, when 
 Withers used to meet you on this spot. That was a dreadful 
 business, sir dreadful." 
 
 " I do not know how you can bear to live in a place dese- 
 crated by such a crime," replied Malcolm, looking curiously 
 at the ugly dark face of the young Jew, and wondering in 
 his own mind what manner of man he could be. 
 
 " You see, sir, no body offered to take the house, and the 
 owner was glad to let me have it almost for nothing, to keep 
 it from from falling to ruin. I have a nice little garden back 
 here that my office-boy keeps in order, besides raising early 
 
268 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 vegetables in it, which the keeper of the restaurant near is 
 glad to get in payment of the little I eat." 
 
 " All that may be very well, but are you never nervous 
 when sitting here alone ? Do you not often involuntarily 
 look around, expecting to see the spectre of the murdered 
 man near you ?" 
 
 " Hush sir, do not suggest such fancies," replied Bondy, 
 with a repressed shiver. " I try not to think of those things. 
 It is to my interest to stay here, and I have taught myself to 
 make every thing bend before that." 
 
 " Hum that is the creed of your race, I believe." 
 
 The Jew's face darkened. " Not more than of yours, I 
 think, sir. It would be hard to find a keener hand at self- 
 interest than the man we have just spoken of, and he was 
 no Jew." 
 
 " You are right there, Bondy. Forget that I spoke thus, 
 for I assure you I have a very sincere respect for the house 
 of Israel. I came hither to-night to trust to the management 
 of one of its sons an affair of delicacy and importance, which 
 I am sure he can conduct for me in a satisfactory manner." 
 
 Bondy listened eagerly. He said, 
 
 "I am at your service, Mr. Malcolm. Only inform me of 
 what you wish done, and if it is in my power, it shall be ac- 
 complished." 
 
 " I think you have greatly enlarged your business of late ?" 
 inquired the visitor. 
 
 The Jew slightly changed countenance. 
 
 "Why yes since the death of Withers, I have fallen 
 heir to much of his business. I knew many of his employers, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 269 
 
 and in fact, often attended to affairs for him. This naturally 
 led to my stepping as it were, into his shoes. In fact, that 
 was one reason for taking- the old place ; people had been 
 accustomed to come here for a real estate broker, and " 
 
 " There is no need of an enumeration of all your reasons 
 for selecting such an abode, Bondy," said Malcolm, carelessly. 
 " You were certainly free to act as you chose in that matter, 
 and it is no concern of mine. All I care about just at present 
 is to avail myself of your talent for business." 
 
 " Very well, sir ; we understand each other ; so let us pro- 
 ceed to business at once. I am at your service." 
 
 Malcolm drew forth his pocket-book, and took from it sev- 
 eral papers carefully tied together. He proceeded to state 
 to his eager listener, in clear and concise language, the trust 
 he wished to repose in him. When he had finished, Bondy 
 mused a few momenta, and then asked, 
 
 " Do you wish to ruin this man utterly ?" 
 
 " I wish to make him feel that poverty impends over him, 
 and will certainly fall and crush him, unless I choose to save 
 him." 
 
 " Has he injured you," asked the Jew, curiously. 
 
 " That, I imagine, has nothing to do with the business in 
 hand," replied Malcolm, haughtily. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I was indiscreet. I must then pro- 
 ceed to foreclose this mortgage without delay." 
 
 " You may save appearances, by giving him notice that in 
 two weeks you will proceed according to law. I am certain 
 that he can not raise the money to pay you in that time. 
 You may almost make your fortune out of this job, Bondy ; 
 
270 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 for I do not care so much for the money at stake, as for the 
 power the loss of fortune gives me over one I wish to bend to 
 my will. It is a business in which I do not wish my mime 
 mixed up, and since you will take the entire responsibility, 
 you can charge such commissions as your conscience will 
 sanction." 
 
 The Jew's face brightened, and he rubbed his hands to- 
 gether joyfully, as he replied, 
 
 " You are a gentleman that knows how to act liberally 
 toward those that serve you, Mr. Malcolm. I will proceed 
 immediately according to your directions, so pray give them 
 to me in your usual clear manner ; I will jot them down on 
 this paper, that I may be sure of following them to the 
 letter." 
 
 An hour was consumed by the pair, in arranging the most 
 minlite details of the proposed proceedings against Mr. Har- 
 rington, and then Malcolm arose to depart, feeling far from 
 comfortable in his own mind; but resolved to stifle every 
 emotion of compassion toward the ruined family, until his 
 own object was gained. 
 
 Bondy obsequiously attended him to the door, and after 
 carefully barring and bolting it, he returned to his room. As 
 he entered it alone, he cast around a half scared glance, as if 
 he almost expected to behold some supernatural appearance 
 within : but seeing every thing looking as usual, he quickly 
 entered and closed the door after him. He stood before the 
 fire nervously working his fingers together as he muttered, 
 
 " If people only knew all, they might well wonder that I 
 can live here ; can sleep here, where " 
 
271 
 
 He glanced around with dilating eyes, and then con- 
 tinued, 
 
 " But / need not fear. / did not kill him. I did not 
 even wish to have his blood spilled, but Wilkins was com- 
 pelled to take his life in self-defense ; hugh ! how he struggled 
 for it, poor devil. After all, it was only a fight, in which he 
 came off the loser. I need not be afraid to live here, for I 
 had not half as great a grudge against him then as I have 
 now, for hiding that money where I can never find it. I 
 would n't care much if his ghost would come back, provided 
 it would come to tell me where the fifty thousand is con- 
 cealed." 
 
 Here his eyes roved round the walls of the room, as if in 
 restless search of a clew to what he firmly believed was con- 
 cealed somewhere in the old house. This conviction had 
 overcome his repugnance to the idea of inhabiting a spot so 
 long occupied by one whom he had seen deprived of life. 
 Bondy had carelessly examined the papers left by Withers, 
 and he had found no clew to the disposal of the money, such 
 as had presented itself to the more astute mind of Malcolm. 
 He believed that the murdered man had contrived some 
 secret place in which the large sum which had tempted the 
 robbers to enter the house yet lay in safety ; and night after 
 night, with a determination of purpose and hardness of feeling 
 it is difficult to conceive, he sounded the walls in the unused 
 rooms, and pryed up the floors to find the imaginary place 
 of concealment. 
 
 Several hours every night were consumed in this fruitless 
 
 employment, until it had become a species of mania with 
 18 
 
272 
 
 him. After carefully putting away the papers Malcolm had 
 left with him, he replenished his fire, that it might burn 
 brightly on his return, lighted a dark lantern, and started on 
 his nightly round. 
 
 With a shiver he could not repress, the Jew ascended the 
 dusky staircase, and entered the mouldy rooms above. They 
 had been left to the occupation of the bats so long, that their 
 desolation offered a striking contrast to the bright and cheer- 
 ful-looking apartments below. With a dogged persever- 
 ance worthy of a better cause, Bondy took a long staff 
 from a corner, and sounded every part of the wall and 
 floor. 
 
 One portion returned a hollow echo he had never before 
 remarked, and, with almost maniac haste, he seized a chisel 
 from a basket of tools he carried on his arm, and tore open a 
 space in the old and rotten plaster. It scattered around him 
 in a stifling shower, but he heeded it not : greed and avarice 
 were raging in his heart, and he hearkened to no other voice. 
 A mocking void met his view, and, witli imprecations at his 
 ill success, he hurled the tools upon the floor, and retired to 
 the room below. 
 
 After locking himself in there, he eyed the curtain which 
 concealed the entrance to the next apartment, and muttered, 
 
 " I wish I dared go in there, where I saw his ghastly face, 
 as Wilkins gave him the finishing blow. But I dare not 
 maybe I 'd find him there gibbering over the blood upon the 
 floor, which was his own life. If I thought he 'd tell me what 
 he did with the money, I believe I 'd stand even that. I '11 
 find out yet I know I will." 
 
273 
 
 He drew near the curtain, but just as he was about to 
 grasp and pull it aside, a sudden gust of wind blew it toward 
 him, and he recoiled as if expecting to see -the hueless face of 
 the murdered man emerge from it. A moment's reflection 
 restored him to composure, and, with a half sneer on his face, 
 he said, 
 
 " On second thoughts, I '11 take daylight for that room. 
 It's an ugly customer any way. If old Withers is in 
 there, I wouldn't care to see him, unless I was sure he 
 would give me the information I seek. A wretch like him 
 would scarcely do that ; so I believe I will let him alone for 
 the present." 
 
 He sat before the fire until he felt overcome with drowsi- 
 ness, and then, removing his boots, he made a single spring 
 into the bed with all his clothing on, and rolled the covering 
 around him, so as to shut out both light and sound. 
 
 He was soon wrapped in a deep sleep ; the lamp continued 
 to burn throughout the night, and the capacious chair in 
 which Withers once sat, remained in front of the glowing 
 fire. If the invisible spirit of the murdered man lingered 
 about his old abiding place, it must have scowled upon the 
 
 comfortable appliances of his sleeping enemy. 
 12* 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AFTER brief and broken slumbers, Mr. Harrington arose, 
 and visited the room of his daughter to learn how she had 
 passed the latter portion of the night He found her sleep- 
 ing calmly, while Adele had taken the place of watcher 
 beside her. Pauline was evidently better, but Adele was 
 struck with a new apprehension, as she looked upon her 
 father's altered features. She whispered, 
 
 " What is the matter, father ? Has Victor given you addi- 
 tional trouble ? Ah ! this fear kept me awake last night, 
 long after I laid down to rest." 
 
 "It is a trouble that money can remedy, my love," he 
 replied. " Let it not be a weight on your young spirits ; keep 
 their brightness, my darling, as long as you may." 
 
 "But but -will not this add to your recent embarrass- 
 ments ? Ah ! how could my brother be so thoughtless ? so 
 cruel ?" 
 
 " Hush, Adele. Youth is ever prone to temptation, and 
 we must not judge him too hardly. Kindness may save your 
 brother yet ; but harshness will surely drive him to destruc- 
 tion. It is imperatively necessary that I leave for New Or- 
 leans to-day, and I came hither to see if the condition of 
 Pauline is such, as to permit me to leave her." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 275 
 
 "My sister is evidently much better; the doctor was in 
 here a little while since, and he says, with careful nursing, we 
 shall now bring her through safely." 
 
 " Thank God, for this great mercy, even amid other trou- 
 bles," said the father, fervently. 
 
 With wearied looks, the family assembled around a late 
 breakfast. Though all felt that a great weight was lifted by 
 the convalescence of Pauline, there was still a nameless dread 
 on the score of Victor ; but he seemed the only one uncon- 
 scious of any cause of care. He was refreshed by several 
 hours of sound sleep, and he arose with renewed buoyancy 
 of spirits, produced by the agreeable conviction that he need 
 take no further heed for the liquidation of his debts, since 
 his father had so kindly assumed the responsibility of provid- 
 ing for their payment. "With the emotion and suffering of 
 the past night, all his repentance seemed to have departed. 
 
 It was the first time himself and Evelyn had met, and he 
 earned on as animated a conversation with their young guest, 
 as though no sorrow had ever marred his happiness. Mr. 
 Harrington sighed, over this apparent want of sensibility, and 
 feared it augured ill for the reformation he so earnestly de- 
 sired. 
 
 As they were rising from the table, a servant came in with 
 letters, and Mr. Harrington found that two among them were 
 for himself. One was from New Orleans, and the address 
 was written in a hand entirely new to him. On glancing 
 over its contents, he found it to be a formal notification from 
 a Jewish broker in the city, that in ten days from the date of 
 his communication, the mortgage on Wavertree which had 
 
276 
 
 been given to Malcolm, and transferred by that gentleman to 
 the writer, would be foreclosed ; unless the advance of fifty 
 thousand dollars was promptly paid, together with the costs 
 of the proceedings against himself. 
 
 " He has indeed lost no time," thought the sorely-pressed 
 man. " Ten days ! have I a friend on earth, who in that 
 limited time, would advance so large a sum for me ? I fear 
 not ; and Malcolm evidently thinks the same, or he would 
 not have hurried thus." 
 
 He retired to his own apartment to ponder on his posi- 
 tion, and seek for some resource which would enable him to 
 stave off the ruin that threatened him. He saw but one 
 avenue by which he could extricate himself, and that he 
 shrank from, because, to his honorable mind, it involved a 
 seeming breach of trust. As the guardian of Mrs. Ruskin's 
 children, the sum of forty thousand dollars belonging to 
 them, was placed absolutely in his power, until the youngest 
 child came of age, or until Louise married. 
 
 This money Mr. Harrington knew he could use for his own 
 benefit, and the children could not ultimately be losers, for 
 even in the event of disaster to himself, his property was 
 worth far more than the claims against him, if purchased at 
 a fair valuation. On the other hand, he knew Mrs. Ruskin 
 too well to risk any thing belonging to her or hers without 
 possessing ample security for its replacement at a moment's 
 warning ; besides, Louise might marry any day, and in all 
 probability would accept Nevin, now all hope of a union with 
 Victor was at an end. Thus only a temporary release would 
 be afforded him, and he would only risk what his conscience 
 
277 
 
 condemned, to produce no real benefit in the end. There 
 was one thing in his favor : his crop promised to be unusu- 
 ally large this year, and if he could only secure it, and trans- 
 fer it to the hands of his commission merchants, they would, 
 in all probability, be willing to make a considerable advance 
 on it, if he stated his exact position to them. Should that 
 hope fail him, through some unforeseen misfortune, he felt 
 that the old home must go ; the spot which was as dear to 
 his heart as the very life-blood that flowed in it, must be- 
 come the property of strangers, and he must seek an hum- 
 bler shelter for his declining years. But he dwelt on this 
 sombre picture but a few moments ; with his usual sanguine 
 spirit, he began to count the chances in his favor, and left the 
 others to take care of themselves. 
 
 Having summoned Victor to the library, where he spent 
 the greater portion of the morning in arranging his future 
 plans, Mr. Harrington impatiently awaited his appearance. 
 His son came in from the amusement of shooting at a mark 
 a trial of skill to which he had challenged Evelyn im- 
 mediately after breakfast. He looked animated and cheerful, 
 but his face grew sensibly graver as he beheld the serious ex- 
 pression of his father. 
 
 Mr. Harrington motioned him to a seat, which he rather 
 unwillingly took. 
 
 " Sit down, Victor, and listen quietly to me. The after- 
 noon packet takes me to New Orleans in a few hours, to 
 attend to important business of my own. While there, I wish 
 to make an effort to extricate you from the difficulties in 
 which you are involved." 
 

 278 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " Do not thank me yet, Victor," said his father, coldly. " I 
 am sorry to see you so indifferent to what, at your age, I 
 should have felt as a disgrace." 
 
 "Why, father, I have only (Jqne what others of my station 
 do every day. I was unlucky, and " 
 
 " And you risked what you knew you had not the means 
 of paying, sir. But we will not now discuss this painful 
 subject a great change must take place in you before such 
 a discussion could be beneficial. I wish to learn from you 
 to whom the greater portion of the sums lost by you are 
 owing ?" 
 
 Victor was offended, and he sullenly replied, 
 
 " About five thousand are due to individuals. The remain- 
 der to the proprietors of the house." 
 
 " From that fact I judge that it has long been a place 
 of resort for you; they would scarcely have permitted a 
 stranger to become so largely indebted to them. They sup- 
 posed you the son of a rich man, and, therefore, helped you 
 on to ruin." 
 
 " Of course they knew my prospects," said Victor, coolly, 
 " and they believed you would come to the rescue, as you 
 have already promised to do. As I said before, I have 
 only done what all young men of spirit do every day." 
 
 " We will waive the discussion of that, if you please ; you 
 are already in possession of my sentiments on the subject of 
 gambling. I consider it the foundation of nearly every vice, 
 for it opens every avenue to temptation. Five thousand dol- 
 lars, then, I shall consider the maximum of your debts, for I 
 
279 
 
 shall not pay the obliging proprietors of the tables at all ; and 
 they may consider themselves fortunate to escape a prosecu- 
 tion. If I had time to attend to it, I believe I would take up 
 the cause of society, and endeavor to cast such insatiable 
 leeches from its bosom." 
 
 Victor looked extremely crest-fallen. He said, 
 
 " I shall feel myself dishonored by such a proceeding, 
 sir. I shall never again dare to hold up my head in my own 
 set." 
 
 "So much the better, if your set habitually frequent 
 such places. O, my son, my son, is this the end of all 
 my care? Of all the fond hopes that once centered in 
 you ?" 
 
 Victor made no reply to this appeal, but sat looking 
 gloomily- out of the window, apparently unconscious of the 
 wounded spirit breathed in the reproachful tones of his 
 father's voice. Mr. Harrington gazed mournfully upon him, 
 and after a pause said, 
 
 " Look at me, Victor. Can you not mark the change that 
 mental uneasiness has wrought upon me within the last few 
 months ? Are you not fully aware that financial embarrass- 
 ments have caused this ? Can you, then, ask me to take 
 upon myself the additional burden of a large debt, incurred as 
 this has been ?" 
 
 " I should not, perhaps, have expected it, sir, if you had not 
 intimated some such intention last night." 
 
 " You misunderstood me, then. I knew at the time, that 
 it was impossible for me to think of discharging the whole 
 amount. It was, therefore, a relief to me, when you said that 
 
280 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the larger portion is due to the keepers of the house. Those 
 who live by the fraud and ruin of others, I do not scruple to 
 deal with according to their merits." 
 
 "I shall be dishonored by it, at all events," responded 
 Victor, gloomily. "There is but one code among men of 
 honor." 
 
 " Honor !" repeated his father. " A shameful desecration 
 of the word it is, to use it thus. I care very little what esti- 
 mate such men put on you and if you are compelled, by 
 my acts, to hold yourself aloof from them, I shall rejoice that 
 it is so. Since you have proved yourself so weak, I think it 
 best that you, in future, remain at Wavertree. I am afraid 
 the attempt you made to do something for yourself, before 
 encumbering yourself with a wife, was a most unwise thing 
 for you. Your Aunt Ruskin wil) hardly consent to give you 
 Louise now." 
 
 " I do not believe she ever meant to give her to me, after 
 she found that you had met with heavy losses. That little 
 flirt is to be the cause of my ruin yet." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 " Only this that if Louise finally disappoints me, I shall 
 \ be good for nothing, I know I shall. I believe I would make 
 an effort to retrieve myself, if my cousin was to be my re- 
 ward." 
 
 " Are you then mad enough still to cherish hope in that 
 quarter ?" 
 
 " I must do so, as long as Louise is single ; and if she 
 marries another, I believe I will shoot myself." 
 
 These words were uttered with a reckless air of desperation, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 281 
 
 which made his father regard him more seriously than ever. 
 He sternly asked, 
 
 " And would you dare to consummate your own eternal 
 ruin thus ?" 
 
 " What would I then have to live for ? I tell you, father, 
 I have been on the eve of doing this more than once during 
 the past few weeks, and if things go on so contrary with me 
 ngain, I do not believe I can answer for myself." 
 
 Mr. Harrington was appalled by the coolness with which 
 he spoke of self-destruction. He asked with emotion, 
 
 " Victor, have you ever reflected on the suicide's fate, after 
 death?" 
 
 " I suppose it will be much like that of the majority of 
 mankind, if we give implicit faith to what the preachers say ; 
 for they literally make it as hard for any man to enter the 
 kingdom of heaven, as for the camel to pass through the 
 eye of a needle." 
 
 " My son, on a subject of such vital importance to every 
 living being, I scarcely expected so flippant an answer from 
 you. I request that in my absence, you will read such books 
 as Philip Evelyn can recommend to you, and reflect seriously 
 upon their contents. When I return, I trust that I may find 
 you in a more promising state of mind." 
 
 " So Evelyn preaches, does ho ? I half suspected as much 
 from his looks," replied Victor, contemptuously. " Thank you, 
 sir ; but when I take up the study of theology I shall seek a 
 wiser tutor than he is likely to be." 
 
 " I would to God that you only resembled him ; then I 
 might indeed be proud to call you son." 
 
282 
 
 "I am flattered, sir, that you estimate another so much 
 more highly than you do me," replied the perverse Victor, 
 flushing angrily. " You had better claim this paragon for 
 your son, in reality. Either of my sisters, I fancy, he would 
 be glad to take for a wife ; only Pauline is bespoke for Mal- 
 colm, i suppose ; and Adele is a deuced deal too handsome 
 to be given to a canting, Methodistical youngster, like this 
 Evelyn." 
 
 " You speak too freely, sir," said Mr. Harrington, rebuk- 
 ingly, " and you do not seem to be yet aware that all inti- 
 macy between Mr. Malcolm and my family is at an end." 
 
 Victor looked really astonished. He asked, 
 
 " And Pauline ? What did his attentions to her, mean ? 
 What caused this illness 2 Ah ! I begin to see a gleam of 
 light : have you refused your consent, sir, and caused all this 
 suffering to my sister ?" 
 
 " It matters not now. Suffice it, that Malcolm is no longer 
 a suitor to my daughter. Furnish me with a list of your 
 debts, and the persons to whom they are due, that I may see 
 what can be done toward settling them before I return home 
 again." 
 
 This command Victor ungraciously obeyed, and after his 
 father had placed the memoranda in his pocket-book, the 
 young man discontentedly said, 
 
 " After living in such a round of excitement as my life has 
 been since my return from college, how do you think I can 
 stand this humdrum place, sir ? with no life in it nothing 
 going on as it used to ? I shall perish of ennui here.V 
 
 " I shall exceedingly regret to find that you have no re- 
 

 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 283 
 
 sources within yourself. Fish, shoot, hunt, work, read in 
 short, there is plenty to do, if you will only occupy your- 
 self with healthful and natural pursuits." 
 
 "All tiresome, and ruinous to the hands and the com- 
 plexion, except reading ; and of that I am not particularly 
 fond. Was too regularly bored with it at college." 
 
 Mr. Harrington's patience was exhausted. 
 
 " Victor," he sternly said, " leave me alone, and give me no 
 further cause to-day, to wish that you had never been born. 
 God forgive me for losing my temper ; but you really do con- 
 trive to wound and exasperate me beyond endurance. Such 
 as Wavertree is, it is your home, and you must make the 
 best of it, since you can no longer afford the means to follow 
 your heartless career of city dissipation." 
 
 " I obey you, sir : but pray tell Louise from me, that if she 
 marries Nevin, I will shoot him first, and myself afterward." 
 
 " I shall deliver no such absurd message," replied Mr. Har- 
 rington, now really angry with his flippant son. " I shall tell 
 her if she values happiness or respectability, never to marry 
 a man who has respect for nothing on earth ; not even the 
 gray hairs of his own father." 
 
 Victor arose, and with a more serious manner than he had' 
 hitherto assumed, said, 
 
 " Father, I do respect them, but you do not make due 
 allowance for the condition of my mind. I am ruined, there- 
 fore, I am reckless ; but I am in solemn earnest about Louise. 
 I have sworn that I will never live to see her the wife of 
 another, and I never will." 
 
 He rushed from the room, and in a few more moments 
 
284 
 
 was seen plunging across the yard with heedless speed. 
 Deeply discomfited by his words, Mr. Harrington remained 
 in unpleasant musing several moments, and then went to his 
 daughters' apartment to bid them farewell. 
 
 Pauline was awake, and smiled faintly upon him as he 
 came in. 
 
 " You must leave me ?" she found voice to say. 
 
 "Yes, my darling, but not for long. Your illness has 
 already interfered with business that admits of no further 
 delay. Make haste to get well, and let me find you almost 
 blooming on my return." 
 
 A shadow flitted over her wan face, and her lips trembled 
 with emotion. Making an effort to repress her feelings, she 
 whispered, 
 
 " I will try to live, for your sake. Dear father, tell me, is 
 your business connected with with " 
 
 She could not pronounce the name, but Mr. Harrington 
 understood her, and evasively replied, 
 
 " I shall not have occasion to see Malcolm in settling our 
 affairs. He has transferred his accounts to another. Suffice 
 it, my love, that I can settle with him." 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" and she closed her eyes to keep back 
 the tears that would come, as she remembered how differ- 
 ently she had once felt concerning her fathers's indebtedness 
 to Malcolm. 
 
 A melancholy household was left after Mr. Harrington's 
 departure. Victor, self-absorbed, and careless of the feelings 
 of others, wandered alone in the forest many hours of every 
 day ; he seemed to take no interest in attending to the busi- 
 
285 
 
 ness of the plantation, which afforded his father so many 
 pleasant and healthful hours of exercise in the open air. He 
 inade.no effort to follow any rational employment that could 
 have afforded occupation to his mind, and prevented it from 
 dwelling on the probability that in the wreck of his worldly 
 prospects, he had lost all chance of ever gaining Louise. 
 
 His only employment was smoking cigars, and to such 
 excess did he carry their use, that his health was seriously 
 affected by it. To Miss Gertrude's remonstrances he turned 
 a deaf ear, and to her dismay he added another habit even 
 more injurious to his future welfare. Day after day at din- 
 ner, he drank so much wine as to stupefy him for the remain- 
 der of the afternoon. He would not listen to the affectionate 
 warning his aunt ventured to utter, and she impatiently 
 awaited the return of his father, in the hope that his influ- 
 ence would stay the rapid downward career the unhappy 
 young man seemed determined to run. 
 
 Evelyn followed the usual routine to which he had been 
 accustomed before the departure of his old friend, and he 
 vainly endeavored to interest Victor in pursuits he found so 
 congenial to his healthy and active mind. Unfortunately Vic- 
 tor had taken a dislike to him, and refused all overtures of in- 
 timacy in such a manner, as finally to induce Philip to confine 
 his intercourse with him to mere civility. Thus the influ- 
 ence from which Mr. Harrington had hoped so much for his 
 perverse son, was negatived. 
 
 Miss Gertrude, and Adele, confined themselves chiefly to 
 the sick room of Pauline, in attendance on her. After her 
 father's departure, an unfavorable change took place, and a 
 
286 
 
 low nervous fever settled over her, the offspring, doubtless, 
 of her state of mind. Days of wordless Buffering passed 
 away, in which a sound, a sudden motion, was agony to her. 
 She struggled heroically to regain the mastery of her own 
 sensations, but the shattered physical system seemed as if it 
 would never regain its proper equilibrium. 
 
 This excessive bodily weakness added intensely to the suf- 
 ferings of the mind, and there were hours of such darkness, 
 such utter mental prostration, that death itself often seemed 
 preferable to the boon of continued existence, now the 
 brightest hope of life was forever extinguished. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TIME wears on, whether wearily or happily, and at length 
 a slight amendment in the health of Pauline took place. 
 She could once more sit up, looking the pale shadow of her 
 former self; and then came a new phase in the condition of 
 her mind, that disgusted herself. 
 
 As she slowly mended, a degree of irritability of temper 
 manifested itself, to the surprise of all around her. She had 
 always been mild and conciliating to every one, but now, the 
 restless unhappiness that preyed on her, seemed to have 
 destroyed all power of self-control. Trifles she would not 
 once have noticed, often irritated her, and then ashamed of 
 her own impatience with those who were so kind and consid- 
 erate toward her, she would weep so violently as to alarm her 
 affectionate nurses. 
 
 Evelyn read to her an hour every day, after she recovered 
 sufficiently to desire it; but he was compelled to be ex- 
 tremely cautious in his selection of books. Poetry or works 
 of fiction, in which she had once taken great pleasure, 
 excited emotions that threatened to destroy the little tran- 
 quillity she had regained. He generally commenced with 
 reading the Psalm for the day, and then books of travel ; or 
 
 essays filled the remainder of the time. 
 19 
 
288 
 
 A new and wide realm of thought was opened to both 
 sisters by the valuable writings of the British Essayists ; and 
 Adele often found herself involuntarily laying down her sew- 
 ing, and gazing upon the expressive features of the reader, 
 with an interest that made her deeply blush when she be 
 came conscious of it. 
 
 When Evelyn gave utterance to some sentence that par- 
 ticularly pleased him, he seemed naturally to look toward 
 Adele for sympathy for Pauline listened with closed eyes, as 
 she lay back in her large invalid chair, and the careful aunt 
 was generally too busily engaged with her sewing to do any 
 thing more than listen intelligently. 
 
 Many were the glances thus exchanged, which had a far 
 deeper meaning than either dreamed ; though each was fully 
 aware that the society of the other became more attractive 
 every day. Philip looked forward to that hour as the bright- 
 est in the twenty -four ; and Adele caught herself listening for 
 his step each morning, as the time for him to come in drew 
 near. 
 
 At the end of two weeks Mr. Harrington came back to 
 Wavertree, looking more cheerful than those he had left x be- 
 hind dared to hope. He informed them that, with the assist- 
 ance of the senior partner in the house that received his 
 crops, he had been enabled to settle his affairs on a more 
 satisfactory footing, and he was no longer in the power of 
 Malcolm. This was a joyful announcement to Adele, and 
 Pauline also felt that her mind was relieved of a great 
 weight. One of the most fruitful sources of anguish to her, 
 had been the thought that the man to whom her heart would 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 289 
 
 not become indifferent, was the hard and merciless creditor of 
 her father. 
 
 Mr. Harrington did not explain to her the ungenerous use 
 made of his note by Malcolm, and he rather enjoyed the idea 
 of the amazement and rage that gentleman must have felt, 
 when he found that his intended prey had escaped him. 
 That his finely-spun web had been for naught, as his victim 
 seemed to have torn it away as easily as Gulliver freed him- 
 self from the fetters of the Lilliputians. No meeting took 
 place between himself and Malcolm as the kindness of 
 Mr. Hall, when he fully understood the position of his old 
 friend, enabled him to settle with the Jew without reference 
 to him. 
 
 To Victor, Mr. Harrington brought no consolation. Louise 
 was as gay and fond of admiration as ever, and Mrs. Ruskin 
 quite decided that the matrimonial aspirations of her nephew 
 should be completely crushed. She spoke confidentially to 
 Mr. Harrington of the attentions of Nevin to her daughter, 
 and informed him that she looked forward with certainty to a 
 union between them before very long. 
 
 Mr. Harrington remembered the looks and words of his 
 son on their last interview, when he spoke of his false love ; 
 but he could not urge the claims of one who had proved so 
 untrue to himself as the unhappy Victor; and he merely 
 suggested to the mother that it would probably be best for 
 all parties to permit Louise to enjoy her youth a little longer, 
 before putting on the shackles of matrimony. This advice 
 was not agreeable to Mrs. Ruskin's views, and nothing re- 
 mained for the father, but to advise Victor to stifle his hopes, 
 
290 
 
 and apply himself to some absorbing pursuit, to drive from 
 his heart the memory of his blighted affections. 
 
 But unhappily Victor was not made of the materials to 
 succeed in any struggle. Unstable as water, self-indulgence 
 had been his creed so long, that when real sorrow came on 
 him, he was no better fitted to cope with it than the dead 
 autumn leaf is to resist the blast which whirls it to the 
 ground. 
 
 He pondered on his father's information until his jealous 
 heart could endure no more. About a week after Mr. Har- 
 rington's return, Victor left "Wavertree in the night. The 
 next morning one of the servants brought his master a note, 
 which the young gentleman had intrusted to him at the mo- 
 ment of his departure. In great disturbance, Mr. Harrington 
 read the following lines : 
 
 " Father, I can not live at Wavertree. I should either be- 
 come a reckless sot or a madman. I have decided on leav- 
 ing, and, I warn you, it will be useless to seek me. As 
 Victor Harrington I will no longer be known, until I have 
 either redeemed myself, or gone to destruction. In the latter 
 case, I may reveal my identity in my dying moments, that 
 you may learn through others of the fate of the son who has 
 always been a source of uneasiness to you. 
 
 " I ask nothing from you, for you have already done more 
 for me than the condition of your own affairs warranted. I 
 am not quite destitute, for I can raise a small sum of money 
 from the jewelry I once took a silly pride in decking myself 
 with. I also have a resource aside from that, by which I, 
 
hope to acquire a support ; but I shall not betray to you what 
 it. is. 
 
 " Judge me as leniently as you can, for I feel that I am 
 the cause of trouble to all connected with me. 
 
 " Your unhappy 
 
 " VICTOR." 
 
 Deeply pained, and humiliated was Mr. Harrington by this 
 desertion ; and in spite of his son's prohibition, he caused his 
 friends in New Orleans to make diligent inquiry after him. 
 When they failed, a p Jice officer was employed to discover 
 his place of concealment ; but Victor at least possessed suffi- 
 cient ingenuity to baffle them all ; for his whereabouts re- 
 mained a profound mystery to those most deeply interested 
 in his welfare. 
 
 Had Mr. Harrington been in the habit of examining the 
 theatrical announcements, he might have found a clew in one 
 which speedily appeared in the city papers. It ran thus : 
 
 "Mr. Julian St. George, a young English gentleman of 
 aristocratic connections, and fine musical talents, will appear, 
 before a New Orleans audience on the twentieth instant ; he 
 will give a most accurate imitation of the performances of 
 the most celebrated bugle players in the world, without the 
 use of any instrument. We promise the music-loving public 
 a great treat." 
 
 Thus, sooner than endure the monotony of his beautiful 
 home, the prodigal stifled his pride, and under a disguise so 
 skillfully prepared as to baffle even those who had known 
 him most intimately, Victor lived in the midst of the excite- 
 
292 
 
 xnent that had become a necessity to his vacant and undisci- 
 plined mind. He lodged in the French portion of the city, 
 and when his professional engagements were ended, the 
 greater portion of his time was spent in a gambling-house 
 near his rooms. There the liberal sum he received weekly 
 was soon staked ; he played with various success ; sometimes 
 he won largely, but when he was encouraged by this gleam 
 of good fortune to risk nearly every thing he possessed on a 
 single cast, he invariably arose a heavy loser. 
 
 When not thus employed, he watched the movements of 
 Louise. His passion for her seemed to have assumed the 
 form of a mania, and day after day she received from him 
 the most passionate letters, filled with his despair at the idea 
 of her union with Nevin. At first, the silly vanity of Louise 
 was flattered by these effusions ; but gradually they filled her 
 with fear, and also touched her heart as deeply as it was 
 capable of being moved by the anguish of another. She 
 shrank from showing them to her mother, lest Mrs. Ruskin 
 should condemn the unhappy young man more harshly 
 than ever. In her inmost heart Louise felt that Victor had 
 been hardly dealt with, both by herself and her mother. 
 The attentions of Nevin had assumed such a phase as to leave 
 no room to doubt his intentions, and Louise looked into her 
 own heart to discover its true feelings toward him. 
 
 She did not for an instant attempt to practice on herself 
 the deception that she cared for any thing more than the 
 worldly advantages she secured by accepting Nevin ; and 
 she felt that if Victor Harrington could only afford her a 
 gay home, with sufficient to indulge her fashionable tastes, 
 
293 
 
 even without great wealth, she would not hesitate in her 
 choice. 
 
 While in this vacillating state of rnind, she received a wild 
 letter from Victor, demanding an interview as a right, and 
 threatening her vaguely if she did not comply with his 
 request. He stated that he should be at the Catholic ceme- 
 tery at five o'clock in the afternoon of the following day, 
 where she must meet him, or forever repent her refusal. 
 
 At first, Louise hesitated ; but the romance of the appoint- 
 ment possessed a great charm for her; and there was some- 
 thing in the tone of the letter that made her tremble at the 
 idea of refusing him the meeting he seemed so anxious to 
 have. She owed it to him to grant this earnest request, and 
 hear all he wished to communicate. By seeing him, she 
 could better judge the condition of his mind, and the possi- 
 bility of a future union between them. 
 
 Thus argued Louise, and she was not one to consider 
 either imprudence or risk in such a meeting. She possessed 
 full confidence in her power to baffle the espionage of her 
 mother in such a manner as to escape detection ; her only 
 fear was, that by some chance Nevin might become aware of 
 this clandestine meeting, and thus the chance of sharing his 
 wealth would be lost to her. With her acute worldly rea- 
 soning, she saw that if Victor was once entirely out of the 
 question, the liberal young Southerner would in all proba- 
 bility be the best match that would ever be offered to her 
 acceptance. 
 
 She finally resolved, at all hazards, to meet her cousin ; and 
 in that interview decide her own fate irrevocably. Dressing 
 
294 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 herself as plainly as possible, she wrapped a large dark shawl 
 around her, and shrouded her features beneath the double 
 folds of a thick green veil ; thus sheltered from recognition 
 by any friend she might chance to meet, she took her way 
 toward the appointed place. 
 
 The evening was dark and chilly, and she shivered as she 
 hurried toward the gloomy rendezvous, wondering in her 
 own mind why Victor had selected such a place for their 
 interview. At that day the Catholic cemetery lay beyond the 
 limits of the city, and as one approached them, the miniature 
 temples of death more nearly resembled the pictures of small 
 Chinese pagodas, than mausoleums for Christian burial. 
 
 The nature of the soil does not there permit respectcible 
 burial in the bosom of mother earth, and vaults of various 
 sizes and shapes, are built in rows like the streets of a mima 
 ture city. Around many of these are small flower-beds, as 
 neatly kept as in the most luxuriant garden ; on others are 
 vases daily filled with fresh flowers, even years after the lost 
 one had been laid there in the marble repose of death ; a 
 beautiful and tender tribute, that never fails to touch the 
 heart of the wanderer amid the wilderness of tombs. 
 
 Louise drew near the entrance with some misgiving, for the 
 evening was so dreary that she began to fear she would find 
 herself alone in the cemetery with her outraged and half- 
 maddened cousin. She had made but a few steps within the 
 inclosure, and was hesitating whether to advance or retreat, 
 when a figure, that she at first did not recognize as Victor, 
 rushed precipitately from behind a neighboring tomb, and 
 sizing her hand with violence, said, 
 
295 
 
 " I began to fear you would not come ; and oh ! Louise, if 
 you had not, I should have been desperate you know not 
 what I might have been tempted to do." 
 
 Louise endeavored to extricate her hand from his vice-like 
 grasp, but she might as well have attempted to withstand the 
 force of a whirlwind. 
 
 " Why do you grasp me thus ?" she asked in alarm ; " es- 
 pecially as I am not certain that you are indeed my cousin." 
 
 Victor laughed wildly, and the sound rang out startlingly 
 amid the homes of the silent dead. 
 
 Louise was shocked, but he did not seem to notice the ex- 
 pression of her face. He exclaimed, 
 
 " Not know me, Louise Ruskin ! That is as false as your 
 own double-dealing heart. You know there is but one man 
 in this world, who would seek this interview. Look at me, 
 and see if in the wretched being before you, disguised as he 
 may be, you can not at once recognize the man your treach- 
 ery is killing by slow degrees." 
 
 Louise did indeed look at him, and her heart quivered and 
 shrank, as she beheld his burning eyes, his wasted features, 
 and reckless expression. His complexion was artificially 
 darkened, and he wore a wig and false whiskers, several 
 shades lighter than his own hair, but to her vision Victor Har- 
 rington stood so clearly revealed, that she wondered how her 
 uncle's emissaries had been so unsuccessful in their search 
 after him. 
 
 Her eyes at last met those of Victor, and as she gazed 
 
 J O , 
 
 into them, as if spell-bound, all the womanly tenderness that 
 was in her nature was aroused by what she beheld there, 
 
296 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and she burst into tears. As if soothed by this evidence of 
 feeling, Victor gently drew her toward him, until her head 
 rested on his bosom, and she wept till her emotion exhausted 
 itself. 
 
 He then led her slowly forward, almost sustaining her 
 steps, until they gained the shelter of a high vault, beside 
 which was a bench shaded by darkly overarching cedars. 
 On this he placed her ; and then mournfully regarding her, 
 he said, 
 
 " So you can weep for me, Louise, though your own incon- 
 stancy, your open encouragement to the hopes of another, 
 are the hardest things I have to bear, unfortunate as I have 
 lately been." 
 
 " Oh, Victor, situated as I am, what can I do ? Why have 
 you absented yourself from all your friends ? Why entered 
 on the disreputable career you must be pursuing. You must 
 know that such conduct only more firmly closes my mother's 
 heart toward you." 
 
 " I may, in my turn, ask you what can I do ?" replied Victor, 
 disdainfully. " Would you have me buiy myself at Waver- 
 tree, where my jealous heart often made mo half wild because 
 I could not know what you were doing : could not behold your 
 coquettish face, and know on whom it was smiling most 
 brightly. Louise, God has given me but one strong feeling, 
 and that is, my love for you. If any other impulses possessed 
 the same strength and tenacity, I should be capable of making 
 myself all the pride of my father once hoped I would become. 
 I can not, I will not see you given to another ; so I bid you 
 beware." 
 
297 
 
 " Of what ?" asked Louise, trembling with vague apprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 " Of my despair ; for I warn you it is as a consuming 
 fire." 
 
 " What would you do, Victor?" she faltered. 
 
 " God knows. The blackness of darkness hangs between 
 me and the future. What I may be tempted to do, the 
 demon that has so severely tried me, only knows. I might 
 be tempted kill you, Louise, and then destroy myself. Such 
 things have been done by desperate men before to-day." 
 
 Louise looked on him, and felt, with increasing fear, that 
 Victor was terribly in earnest. Hers was not a nature to 
 cope with such real and passionate anguish as she beheld 
 written in every line of his countenance, so she again had 
 recourse to tears. 
 
 He held both her hands clasped in his, and as the large 
 clear drops fell upon his own, he raised them to his lips, and 
 tenderly kissed them away. At length, he said in a softer 
 tone, 
 
 " These tears assure me, Louise, of what I have sometimes 
 doubted ; that in your heart I still hold a tender place. 
 Speak tell me that I am dearer to you than Kevin, or in- 
 deed than any other." 
 
 " I may with truth give you that assurance, dear Victor, 
 though your jealous heart has so cruelly doubted me. I only 
 amuse myself with the admiration of others, but love is a very 
 different thing." 
 
 Victor regarded her searchingly, and an expression of soft- 
 ness crossed his features. He asked, 
 
298 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Will you prove your sincerity, Louise ?" 
 
 " If I can the proof you ask may not be in my power." 
 
 " It is fully in your power." 
 
 "Then let me hear what it is?" 
 
 " If I can, in three months from this time, offer you what 
 even you would consider an independence, will you refuse 
 Nevin, in spite of your mother's opposition and unite your 
 fate with mine ?" 
 
 Louise hesitated. She feared to refuse him, in the excited 
 state in which he evidently was, lest he might perpetrate his 
 threat of taking her life in that solitary spot ; she resolved to 
 use craft ; and though in her heart there really was no inten- 
 tion of ever giving herself to the reckless-looking being before 
 her, she replied, 
 
 " I do not see how you are to gain independence in so brief 
 a period ; yet I will not refuse the pledge you ask. If you 
 are successful, I will evade my mother's authority, and " she 
 paused. 
 
 " And marry me ?" he eagerly added. 
 
 " Yes and marry you," she slowly repeated, as if the 
 treacherous words were reluctantly wrung from her. 
 
 " Eureka !" shouted the excited Victor, in a transport of 
 happiness, as violent as his former anguish had been. "I 
 shall win yet, and baffle my good aunt in her best laid 
 schemes." 
 
 " But how ?" inquired Louise, with interest. " I do not 
 understand how this sudden independence is to be acquired." 
 
 "It is a secret I have just discovered myself," he myster- 
 iously said. " It would be as valuable to me as the philoso- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 299 
 
 pher's stone, if I could continue to use it ; but I will not tempt 
 fortune too far. I will only make the independence I referred 
 to and then abjure it forever." 
 
 u But what is it?" she insisted, with irrepressible curi- 
 osity. 
 
 Victor drew from his pocket a pack of cards, and dex- 
 terously shuffled them, while he said, 
 
 "I have puzzled over these many hours, when I should 
 have been sleeping ; but I found my reward at last. I am 
 certain that I have discovered an infallible means of winning. 
 See." 
 
 And he placed the cards in certain combinations before 
 her, which he rapidly explained ; but his words only con- 
 fused the listener, and when he looked up triumphantly and 
 
 " Will not that be simple ?" she replied, 
 
 " Perhaps so-^but gambling for money is very uncertain, 
 as you have already proved." 
 
 " Yes but I did not know the power of these wonderful 
 little bits of paper, then. Now I can turn the scale of fortune 
 so as always to come off winner." 
 
 " I hope so, Victor," said Louise, rising. " But I must go 
 I have already stayed too long. It will be quite dark 
 when I get home, and ma will be offended with me for remain- 
 ing out so late." 
 
 Victor looked on the rapidly darkening air, and reluctantly 
 admitted that she was right. He again took her hands in 
 that iron grasp, and held them firmly, while he looked into 
 her face. 
 
300 
 
 " Swear to be true to me, Louise, by all your hopes of hap- 
 piness in eternity," he solemnly said. 
 
 Louise inwardly shrank from giving such a pledge, but she 
 dared not permit him to see her indecision. She smiled 
 charmingly, and said in her softest tone, 
 
 " Trust me, Victor ; and I shall love you a thousand times 
 better than if you extorted from me any thing so unfeminine 
 as an oath." 
 
 Victor was subdued. He said, 
 
 "I will trust you, Louise. But fail me at your peril; 
 for I should then become such a being as no laws may bind." 
 
 He walked beside her the greater part of the way back, 
 talking in an eager and excited manner, which renewed all 
 her uneasiness ; and when he bade her adieu at the corner 
 nearest to her mother's residence, Louise felt as if a great 
 weight was lifted from her heart ; and she sped rapidly 
 toward her own home. A servant met her in the hall, who 
 said, 
 
 "Mistress has been inquiring for you everywhere, Miss 
 Louise. Mr. Nevin has been in the parlor a good while." 
 
 With a quickly beating heart Louise ran up to her own 
 room, and, on entering it, confronted the cold and angry face 
 of her mother. She said, 
 
 " "Where have you been staying so late ? It is quite dark, 
 and there is company already waiting for you." 
 
 " I know it, mother. I will be ready in a few minutes." 
 
 " That is very likely, with your hair in this condition. 
 Where on earth have you been, to get your curls blown out 
 of order thus?" 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 301 
 
 "Mother," replied Louise, hurriedly, "I might deceive 
 you, but I will not. I have been to the Catholic cemetery, to 
 meet my cousin Victor, and he detained me till nearly night." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin looked aghast at what seemed a deliberate 
 braving of her authority. Louise took advantage of her 
 speechless anger to go on rapidly, 
 
 " I tell you this now that you may at the same time learn 
 that all is at an end between us. He sent me such letters 
 that I was afraid to refuse the meeting he demanded, lest he 
 might be guilty of some violence toward me. The letters are 
 in that drawer you can read them, if you like. I have seen 
 him, and he is certainly mad. I shall write to my uncle to- 
 morrow, and describe the disguise he wears, that he may be 
 secured, and taken home. Mother, this interview was neces- 
 sary to the peace of my own mind. I am now convinced 
 that Victor and myself could never be happy together, and I 
 have made up my mind to " 
 
 She paused, and her cheek slightly paled, as the conscious- 
 ness of her own great treachery to the heart that so earnestly 
 loved her, flashed on her mind. Her mother fully under- 
 stood what was not expressed, and she half-smiled as she 
 said, 
 
 " I am glad that you are at last reasonable. These letters, 
 over which I have scarcely glanced, I see are clearly the pro- 
 ductions of insanity. I will send them to my brother. In 
 the meantime, dress yourself most becomingly, while I go 
 down and entertain Mr. Nevin till you appear." 
 
 Half an hour later, Louise entered the room in which they 
 Bat, attired in a delicately tinted evening dress, and looking 
 
302 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 most bewitchingly to him who was impatiently awaiting her. 
 The emotions of the evening had sent a delicate carnation to 
 her cheek, and the quick pulsation of her heart gave unusual 
 brightness to her fine eyes. The flutter of spirits excited by 
 her interview with Victor, imparted softness to her manner, 
 and Nevin was enchanted with her. 
 
 Her lover seized the earliest opportunity offered by her 
 mother's absence from the drawing-room, to express his ad- 
 miration in much stronger language than usual, and ended 
 by making an offer of his heart and hand. They were grace- 
 fully but decidedly accepted by the young coquette, who pos- 
 sessed tact enough to comprehend that her present suitor 
 would tolerate no appearance of trifling. She must speak to 
 the point, or lose him for ever. 
 
 Between a tear and a sigh Louise Ruskin that night laid 
 her head upon her pillow, the betrothed bride of the man 
 concerning whom she had so recently reassured Victor's fears. 
 She could not sleep, and no wonder. "TaTegiveth bis beloved 
 sleep," and Louise felt this night as if utterly God-forsaken. 
 
 If she could have beheld her unhappy cousin during those 
 hours, she might have fancied that his good angel was at her 
 ear, upbraiding her with the ruin into which he was madly 
 plunging, in the forlorn hope of winning that which would 
 tempt her to remain faithful to her plighted troth. 
 
 When Victor left Louise, he proceeded at once to his room, 
 and collected all the money he possessed. It was not a large 
 sum, but he hoped to make it increase as magically as did the 
 coins in the purse of Fortunatus. On this evening, he had 
 no engagement at the theatre, and he hurried at once to the 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 303 
 
 saloon, to try the new trick by which he so confidently ex- 
 pected to win back all he had lost. 
 
 At first, his most sanguine anticipations were realized. He 
 won, he doubled, trebled, quadrupled his bets, and still the 
 current of good fortune bore him onward. Elated by this 
 sudden change, he went on wildly, staking any sum for which 
 he could gain an equivalent, until it seemed the very frenzy 
 of gambling. 
 
 A crowd collected around the table to observe the strange 
 conduct of the winner, for at every new success, he uttered 
 exclamations of wild excitement. Among the lookers-on, 
 was a tall, acute-looking man, who was evidently not a South- 
 erner. He had the organ of calculation largely developed on 
 his head ; and as he looked on the game, he gradually com- 
 prehended that the success of the winner was based on a cal- 
 culation of chances ; he also saw that he had stopped short 
 of that point which must insure invariable success. 
 - By a species of intuition, he saw the defective spot, and the 
 evil genius of Victor whispered him to take advantage of it. 
 The stranger was not an habitual gambler, though he knew 
 many games accurately. At first, he bet cautiously, and to 
 the surprise of the bystanders, the tide of fortune turned at 
 once in his favor. 
 
 He increased the stake again he won again again and 
 yet again. Becoming excited by success, he plunged at last 
 into the game with his whole soul, and the wavering bewild- 
 ered being opposed to him was no match for him either in 
 skill or coolness. 
 
 Three o'clock rang out from the pendule on the mantel, 
 20 
 
304 THE PLANTER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 and Victor heard it as the knell of his last hope. His trick 
 had failed, and he was bankrupt. In moody despair he 
 rushed away, and sat down in an outer room, in the darkest 
 corner, behind a window-curtain. There he remained in a 
 species of stupor, listening vaguely to the sounds that issued 
 from the apartment he had just left, and wondering if the 
 waters of the Mississippi were very cold this dismal night. 
 If he should throw himself in them he speculated on the 
 chances of his body being found, and identified, and thus his 
 sad fate becoming known to his family ; or whether it would 
 be swept into the Gulf, and become a prey to the sea mon- 
 sters which infest the great deep. 
 
 As Victor thus sat, two gentlemen, unconscious of his 
 vicinity, placed themselves near him, and resumed a conver- 
 sation they seemed to have been carrying on. One said, 
 
 " The death of Madame Le Grand, will doubtless cause the 
 marriage of her nephew to be postponed." 
 
 "Whom does he marry?" 
 
 " Miss Ruskin, report says : and I rather think it is correct 
 in this instance." 
 
 " 0, Nevin is only a grand nephew, and he will scarcely 
 
 ? er his nuptials on that account, especially where so uncer- 
 tain a coquette as Louise Rnskin is the bride-elect. He had 
 better take her while she is in the humor." 
 
 Victor's attention was arrested, and he listened with 
 clenched hands and stifled breath. The other asked, 
 
 " Is it certain that he has serious intentions in that quar- 
 ter ? He may be only playing the young lady's own game 
 against herself." 
 
 def( 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 305 
 
 " O no, Nevin has a large bet depending on his union with 
 her before the spring is half over. You will see that Mad- 
 ame Le Grand's death will make no change in his plans, 
 although, as next heir, he comes in for the greater part of 
 her handsome estate." 
 
 " The old lady had better have left her diamonds to the 
 pretty bride-elect, than to have had them buried with her- 
 self," remarked one of the speakers, with a laugh. 
 
 " I am credibly informed that not less than thirty thousand 
 dollars worth of diamonds of the finest water, are entombed 
 on that old mummy. If I were Nevin, I would have her dis- 
 interred, and remove them. It is the most horrible mockery 
 of death I ever heard of." 
 
 " Not he, indeed. Nevin has too great a horror of death 
 and all its accompaniments, to touch jewels that have once 
 lain in contact with the perishing remains of mortality. 
 Besides, rich as he now is, of what consequence are the thou- 
 sands that lie entombed with the old anatomy ? These dia- 
 monds are family jewels brought from France by her 
 husband, when they fled from the horrors of the Revolution 
 there. Hence her desire to lie in state in them, even in her 
 grave, I suppose." 
 
 They strolled away, and Victor remained plunged in rev- 
 erie ; but it was scarcely less terrible than that which had 
 preceded it. The turbid waters of the river no longer rolled 
 darkly before his mental vision ; but in their place, arose a 
 solitary grave-yard, with a newly made tomb within it, which 
 skill and craft might enable him to penetrate without detec- 
 tion. The sparkling gems that were hidden away there, were 
 
306 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 useless to the poor, perishing remnants of mortality that lay 
 within ; they were lost to those who had a legal claim on 
 them ; then where would be the crime of restoring them to 
 the light of day ? especially as, by so doing, he could rein- 
 state himself in his former position, and snatch the woman 
 he adored, from his rival. 
 
 Victor had recently endured such violent mental vicissi- 
 tudes, that his mind was not in a condition to make very 
 accurate distinctions between wrong and right. He argued 
 the question mentally, always leaning to the side that prom- 
 ised to extricate him from his present wretched condition ; 
 the weak are always open to temptation, and the unhappy 
 young man listened to its voice, until he had no accurate per- 
 ception of right left. It seemed to him but a choice between 
 suicide and the desecration of the tomb of the dead ; and in 
 his madness he half believed that Providence had thrown 
 this temptation in his way, to save him from the greater guilt 
 of self-destruction. 
 
 The plantation of the deceased woman was only a few 
 miles below that of his father, and he had several times vis- 
 ited the place in company with Nevin, before the rivalry 
 between them with Louise, grew up. A Catholic church was 
 in the vicinity, with a rural cemetery surrounding it ; and be 
 knew well the square of ground in it belonging to the Le 
 Grand family. Suspicion could never light on him, even if 
 the desecration was discovered ; and in after years when the 
 cloud which now shaded the fortunes of his family had 
 cleared away, he would anonymously return the money ob- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 307 
 
 tained from the sale of the diamonds, with interest from the 
 time they came into his possession. 
 
 Thus, in fact, he would only be taking a temporary loan 
 from his enemy, with which to baffle his hoes, and win his 
 chosen bride. What had been asserted of the approaching 
 marriage of Louise with Kevin was only the common gos- 
 sip of the town ; and after her late assurances of good faith 
 to himself, he attached no importance to them. 
 
 At length Victor arose with a feeling of desperate resolve ; 
 he took from his shirt bosom a valuable pin, which he had 
 not parted from when he sold the remainder of his ornaments, 
 and going into the next apartment, he spoke mysteriously 
 with the proprietor of the rooms. The result was, that the 
 man gave him a small sum of money, in exchange for it, and 
 with this, Victor Harrington left New Orleans that morning 
 on his terrible errand. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SPRING had opened at Wavertree, and with it caine om- 
 inous fears of an overflow in the sweeping current which 
 came whirling down, day after day, a mass of driftwood and 
 turbid water, whose volume increased from hour to hour with 
 fearful rapidity. 
 
 The fall and early portion of the winter season had been 
 unusually dry in that vast region watered by the Mississippi 
 and its tributaries. Then set in heavy and long-continued 
 rains, and among the mountainous regions in which the Mis- 
 souri, Arkansas, and Red rivers have their origin, there was a 
 simultaneous breaking-up of the accumulated masses of snow 
 and ice. 
 
 As the steamers from above landed at a neighboring wood- 
 yard, to obtain fresh supplies of fuel, those upon them gave 
 the most disastrous accounts of the country through which 
 they had passed. Many plantations were already overflowed, 
 where no levees existed, or where they were too small to pro- 
 tect from the flood. 
 
 Wavertree was situated in a bend of the river, and the 
 formation of a sand-bar on a point of land on the opposite 
 side of the stream a few miles above, had within the few past 
 years given Mr. Harrington much uneasiness. He feared 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 309 
 
 that the course of the current would thus be changed, and 
 its whole force be thrown upon his plantation. That his fears 
 were not groundless, was soon proved by several land-slides, 
 which approached during the past season, to within twenty 
 feet of the substantial levee covered with thickly matted 
 grass, which had long protected the low coast from the in- 
 roads of the river. 
 
 The levee was apparently as solid as ever, but Mr. Harring- 
 ton did not feel quite secure, and the embankment was 
 strengthened in every possible manner that skill and in- 
 genuity could devise. That these precautions were not use- 
 less was evident, as the advancing water gained upon it ; and 
 soon every soul on the plantation learned to look with appre- 
 hension on the approach of the steamers that almost hourly 
 plowed their way up or down the eddying current ; for the 
 waters had now risen so high that the dashing of the paddle- 
 wheels sent the waves over the levee, and often, in places, it 
 seemed to quiver from the shock. 
 
 To strengthen these spots from within was now the only 
 resource, and the other plantation labor was suspended to 
 avert, to the planter, the most dreaded of all calamities, a cre- 
 vasse. During this time of apprehension, Evelyn's skill as an 
 engineer was of incalculable service to Mr. Harrington. The 
 whole day, and frequently a portion of the night, was spent 
 by both gentlemen in superintending the labor of the slaves. 
 These also worked with good will when they beheld the gray 
 hair of their kind master floating in the winds that swept o*er 
 them, and saw the additional wrinkles which the cares of 
 the past year had stamped upon his features. They also , 
 
310 
 
 \ labored for the preservation of their own cabins, their flour- 
 
 V ishing gardens, and their poultry-houses from destruction. 
 
 \iTo them too it was home, and all the local attachments the 
 
 most of them had known, clung around this spot. Nearly 
 
 the whole of the elder slaves had belonged to the place when 
 
 it was purchased by Mr. Harrington, and all the younger and 
 
 imore valuable portion of them, had been reared under bis 
 
 kindly rule. 
 
 They were warmly attached to their master and his chil- 
 dren, and each individual one was as proud of the grace and 
 elegance of the two young ladies as if they had been allied to 
 them by ties of blood. To a faithful slave, the children of 
 the white family are as dear as their own ; and to those chil- 
 dren they unhesitatingly appeal in cases of difficulty, when 
 they have passed into their possession ; confident that the 
 plea of being family negroes is an all-sufficient one to entitle 
 them to forbearance. Nor is it often done in vain. " He 
 served my father," covers a multitude of sins of omission and 
 of commission. 
 
 While affairs proceeded thus actively without, a kind of 
 dreamy quiet seemed to have settled over the inmates of 
 the mansion. Occupied with her own sweet fancies, Adele's 
 soft low voice might be often heard murmuring such snatches 
 ol simple ballad music as were most filled with tender and 
 delicate beauty. The new happiness which flooded her be- 
 ing thus found utterence ; though she checked her glad song 
 instantly, if she chanced to look up and catch sight of her 
 sister. It seemed, to her sympathetic heart, cruel to suffer 
 Pauline to have even a glimpse of the beautiful Eden that 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 311 
 
 had lately blossomed in her own heart, when her future lay 
 before her a desert waste. 
 
 Pauline was still, an invalid ; she did not appear to possess 
 sufficient energy to arouse herself from the lifeless dejection 
 in which her long illness had left her. She sat for hours 
 alone, leaning back in a large chair with her hands folded on 
 each other, white and lifeless-looking ; with eyes closed, to 
 shut out the glad sunshine which seemed as a bitter mockery 
 to her cheerless heart. She forgot how much she had once 
 enjoyed its brilliancy and almost peevishly wondered why 
 God had made the earth so fair, when the being he had 
 created in his own image was so imperfect, so false, as men 
 often proved themselves. 
 
 The only pleasure she seemed to enjoy was lying at night 
 where she could behold the star-lit sky. The hammock 
 which swung in one corner of the piazza was her chosen 
 place of rest, from the time the sun disappeared until a late 
 hour of the night. From her position there a clear open 
 space of the blue concave above was visible, with its bright 
 orbs gleaming from the lucid depths of *ether ; and often did 
 she pine for the wings of the seraph to flee away to one of 
 these, and leave to earth and its unsatisfactory destinies, all 
 memory of the sorrow that oppressed her being. 
 
 Miss Gertrude had vainly endeavored to win her attention 
 to such employments as had formerly interested her; the 
 sick heart recoiled from all that had once afforded pleasure, 
 and Pauline believed that length of days was only granted 
 her that she might more perfectly prepare for the great 
 change awaiting all of mortal birth. With this impression, 
 
312 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 she confined her reading almost exclusively to the Scriptures 
 and their commentaries, and she endeavored to meditate on 
 the divine Mediator, who came to redeem humanity from its 
 burden of woe and sin. But alas ! the thorn-crowned head 
 of that majestic One, was often misplaced by the human one 
 of him who had cruelly reduced her to her present state of 
 hopeless dejection ; and she daily more deeply despised her- 
 self for still regretting the loss of one who had shown himself 
 so reckless of her happiness. 
 
 Nothing was heard of Malcolm. He seemed to have drop- 
 ped as completely out of their world, as if death had removed 
 him, and his name was tacitly avoided in the family. With 
 the morbid restlessness that consumed her heart, Pauline 
 pined to hear something any thing, from him. Even the 
 echo of his name, she fancied, might soothe her irritated spir- 
 its, and she wondered why they would never pronounce it 
 before her. 
 
 Did they know where he was, and purposely refrain .from 
 telling her ? Why should that be ? the evil was perpetrated 
 now, and surely they could not imagine that the sound of a 
 name could injure her. Perhaps he already sought another 
 and the fierce pang this thought gave her poor heart, told 
 its own tale of unrepressed anguish and deathless love. The 
 rivalry between herself and her sister, seemed as a vague 
 dream" now, and she thought of Malcolm as one who had 
 grown indifferent to the love he had won merely through 
 caprice. 
 
 Alarmed by her slow convalescence, her father again con- 
 sulted Dr. Germain. He gave it as his opinion, that change 
 
313 
 
 of scene, and such gentle excitements as she could bear, 
 would be the best restoratives. To this, Pauline would not 
 listen ; firmly impressed with the belief that the physician 
 only sent her from her home to die far away from the be- 
 loved scenes which surrounded her, she positively refused to 
 leave Wavertree, even for a day. 
 
 " I can do nothing more," said the doctor, gravely. " I 
 have already tried every tonic in my pharmacopoeia, and all 
 have failed. There is but one chance left. She has strong 
 affections : induce her to believe that some one she loves is 
 suffering, is threatened with danger that may arouse her 
 sympathies, and thus act on the stagnant mind, for I need 
 scarcely tell you that it is the mind which is preying on the 
 physical system." 
 
 " Her restoration must then be purchased by some real dis- 
 aster," replied her father, gloomily. "I can not consent to 
 practice any deception upon her, for if detected, the reaction 
 might be worse than her present condition." 
 
 " I am not sure that in this case the experiment would not 
 be excusable. Your son is absent -can you not induce her 
 to visit New Orleans, under the plea of se'eing him during an 
 illness ?" 
 
 Mr. Harrington's face clouded, and he evasively replied, 
 
 " I do not think that my son is at present in the city ; and 
 Pauline believes he is traveling for his health. Thus, no de- 
 ception can pass undetected in that quarter." 
 
 Such had been the belief impressed on Pauline's mind, for 
 her father considered it dangerous to let her know the actual 
 truth concerning Victor ; this heavy burden was confined to 
 
314 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 his own heart, aud not one of the family was aware of the 
 real position of the young man. Mr. Harrington watched 
 for news from his truant son, from day to day, with a. solici- 
 tude that frequently amounted to anguish ; but for many 
 weeks after his departure, nothing definite arrived. 
 
 At length a letter from Louise came, inclosed in one from 
 her mother, in which they described the condition of Victor 
 as that of incipient madness. Mr. Harrington would have 
 left home at once in pursuit of him, had it been possible to 
 do so ; but the threatening appearance of the river, rendered 
 it imminently necessary to ship the crop which had been pre- 
 pared for market, and he could only write to such friends in 
 the city as would take an interest in discovering the unhappy 
 youth, and restoring him to his family. 
 
 During this season of dread, his mind was often in such a 
 condition as almost to unfit him for any labor. There were 
 hours in which his overwrought spirit seemed as if it must 
 give way; that the unnatural tension which sustained him 
 must suddenly snap and give him that everlasting rest which 
 it often seemed to him an eternity of peace would be neces- 
 sary to bestow on liis strained mind. 
 
 In all this troubled time, his restless slumbers were filled 
 with dreams, and night after night his angel wife seemed to 
 hover near him, and beckon him to herself. But for the 
 children she had left him, how gladly would he have laid 
 aside the cares of mortality, and joined her " where sorrows 
 cease from troubling, and the weaiy are at rest." But to his 
 heart, these were precious beyond expression, and he knew 
 
THE PLANTER S DAUGHTER. 315 
 
 that his own death, in the present condition of his affairs, 
 would leave them nearly unprovided for. 
 
 In this time of trial, the energy, tact, and sympathy of his 
 young guest, were invaluable to him. Evelyn assisted him 
 in every manner, and endeavored to shield him, as far as pos- 
 sible, from the too great pressure of care. In their few inter- 
 vals of quiet, he led the conversation to such topics as 
 insensibly raised his mind to higher subjects of thought than 
 the mere earthly interests that encompassed him. It seemed 
 to the worn man, like breathing a purer and brighter atmos- 
 phere for a few moments, which strengthened him anew for 
 the conflict. 
 
 One evening, toward the latter part of April, all the family 
 were assembled on the front piazza, wistfully regarding the 
 vast flood which rolled past, now within a few inches of the 
 top of the levee. The river had been stationary for the last 
 twenty-four hours, and hopes began to dawn that it would 
 soon begin to subside. 
 
 The negroes were at work on a portion of the embank- 
 ment, about a quarter of a mile above the house, which, 
 within the last few days, had betrayed symptoms of giving 
 way. They sang as they labored at their task, and the wild 
 chorus was borne toward them by the evening breeze, in 
 snatches of melody ; for time and tune are seldom denied to 
 the negro race, arid in the open air their voices often have a 
 fine effect. 
 
 Mr. Harrington sighed as he listened. 
 
 " Poor fellows !" he said, " how merrily they can sing, even 
 with such a misfortune threatening them as the loss of home 
 
316 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 must be, even to a slave. I wish I could take things thus 
 lightly." 
 
 Before this remark, Pauline had been gazing iu her usual 
 listless manner upon the scene ; but the words of her father 
 seemed to strike a painful chord, and, for the first time for 
 many long weeks, a faint shade of crimson swept over her 
 cheek. She looked earnestly at him, and asked with in- 
 terest, 
 
 " Do you apprehend any danger, father ?" 
 
 " Look at yonder flood, my child ; see how angrily it 
 lashes the frail barrier of earth we can interpose to stay its 
 might, and judge for yourself. I sometimes wonder that it 
 has not long ago been swept away by the force of the cur- 
 rent. To-night I shall have strict watch kept; for the 
 greatest danger of a crevasse is when the flood begins to 
 subside." 
 
 Pauline arose, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked 
 out on the wide sweep of arrowy water, in which the angry 
 clouds of a stormy sunset were mirrored. 
 
 " And there is really danger that our beautiful home will 
 be wrecked by the flood ?" she asked. 
 
 " There is, my daughter ; I almost reproach myself with 
 this brief interval of rest I allow my wearied frame, when I 
 know that on the next few hours hangs our safety." 
 
 " And I have been so self-absorbed I have not heeded this 
 danger," she sorrowfully said. " I knew that you were much 
 away, and you often seemed harassed ; but I was too selfish to 
 heed it. Dearest father, forgive me, for I know that the state 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 317 
 
 of my mind must have added to all the other cares you have 
 to bear." 
 
 She went up to him, laid her hand on his arm, and 
 earnestly looked into his eyes, as she thus appealed to him. 
 Mr. Harrington feelingly said, 
 
 " If I could see you arouse yourself from the deadly apathy 
 that is destroying you, Pauline, the heaviest cause of suffering 
 would be removed from my heart. Other cares I can bear, 
 but this crushes me." 
 
 " Poor father I will try, and you shall see how brave I 
 will be," murmured Pauline, tenderly kissing him. "But 
 tell me in the event of a crevasse, will it not be dangerous 
 to remain here ? Should the levee break, where the negroes 
 are at work, the whole force of the torrent will be thrown 
 against the house, and we might all be swept away." 
 
 " I trust in God that it will not break. Evelyn and myself 
 have consulted on this danger, and we have concluded that 
 the risk is not sufficiently great to render a removal neces 
 sary." 
 
 Thus reassured, Pauline sank back on her seat, but her 
 mind was thoroughly aroused to a keen interest in what was 
 passing around her. A storm was evidently gathering, for 
 the dark clouds toward sunset, were, every few seconds, rent 
 by flashes of vivid lightning, and the muttering thunder ap- 
 proached gradually nearer and nearer, until it rolled in inces- 
 sant peals above tbeir heads. 
 
 An ominous stillness pervaded the atmosphere, soon, they 
 well knew, to be wildly interrupted ; and the two gentlemen 
 gazed with deep solicitude on those evidences of Nature's ap- 
 
318 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 preaching strife. The servants were heard hurriedly closing 
 the windows and doors against the coming storm, and the 
 party on the levee sought a shelter iroin its anticipated 
 violence ; while those on the piazza retreated to the par- 
 lor opening on that side of the house, leaving the door 
 unclosed, through which to behold the ^ rst burst of the 
 tempest. 
 
 Presently a faint, low breath came quivering through the 
 leaves, as if they had only now awakened to a sense of the 
 brooding storm ; then, almost before the eye saw their trem- 
 bling, a wild wail swept around the house, and two beautiful 
 crape myrtle-trees in full blossom, that stood in front of it, 
 were snapped off within a few feet of the earth, and their 
 crushed branches whirled aloft, the sport of the counter cur- 
 rents of air that appeared to meet on the spot. Branches 
 from the other trees were torn away, and mingled with them, 
 by the fierce blast that seemed to shake the very earth. The 
 house began to reel, as though an earthquake were upheav- 
 ing its foundations, and vainly did Mr. Harrington, aided by 
 Evelyn, endeavor to close the door. 
 
 No common storm was this they now saw ; for a tornado had 
 evidently burst over the doomed place. Finding it impossi- 
 ble to shut the door, they hurriedly called on those around 
 them to seek the hall, as the shorter beams across the ceiling 
 rendered that the safest place of refuge. 
 
 " The lower story will be safer yet," suggested Miss Ger- 
 trude, as they hastened to the spot indicated. 
 
 "But should the levee break, we might not have time to 
 save ourselves from the flood." replied Evelyn. 
 
319 
 
 In the more imminent danger she Lad forgotten that, and 
 she silently sat down in the hall with her trembling nieces 
 beside her. 
 
 The whole party was scarcely safe within its shelter, when 
 the floor of the room they had left was rent in twain in the 
 centre, by the resistless force of the wind. At this crisis, the 
 servants kept about the establishment, came rushing in with 
 loud cries of terror, and wildly wringing their hands. 
 
 The efforts of the white family to soothe their fears, were 
 fearfully interrupted by a sudden blast more furious than the 
 first, and the roof was lifted from the house, and whirled into 
 the yard, leaving the blinding torrent of rain to pour through 
 the tottering walls. Afraid to descend to the lower story, 
 there was no resource but to abide the issue as firmly as they 
 might. 
 
 At this crisis, the cries of the negroes reached a wild pitch, 
 and the others endeavored to stifle their own thrilling fears to 
 reason with, and attempt to restore them to some degree of \ 
 calmness. It was useless like frightened animals, they 
 seemed incapable of listening to words either of entreaty or\ 
 command ; when suddenly the clear musical voice of Evelyn 
 was heard above the uproar, saying, 
 
 " Let us pray : God alone can help us in such extremity as 
 this." 
 
 There was a tone of authority in it which produced a per- 
 ceptible lull in the tempest of human sounds around him ; 
 and after the first few sentences he uttered, each voice sunk 
 into quietness as its owner followed the earnest supplications 
 of him who invoked the mercy of that power which could 
 
320 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 alone stay the raging storm that threatened their destruction. 
 Dense darkness, only broken by the vivid lightning that 
 hurtled through the inky clouds, had settled over them, 
 adding to the horrors of the scene. 
 
 By this fitful and lurid light, Adele looked on the pale 
 face of her lover, turned devoutly toward heaven, and thought 
 that inspiration was surely in the beautiful expression of 
 almost divine calm it wore amid the uproar around him. 
 That he " possessed his soul in peace," was evident to her, 
 even at such a fearful crisis, and the certainty came to her 
 i then and there, that inexpressible love and respect for Philip 
 Evelyn dwelt in her heart. 
 
 The excited negroes crouched down as near together as 
 possible, and only a few faint sobs interrupted the young 
 man's appeal for mercy. At length he arose, and looked out 
 on the darkened sky and deluged earth. 
 
 For the last few moments there had been a lull in the 
 storm, but he feared it was only gathering new force to pur- 
 sue its devastations. 
 
 Mr. Harrington stood beside a window which the force of 
 the blast had torn open; it looked toward the river, and 
 Evelyn approached him and awaited the next flash of light, 
 as he gazed fearfully toward that portion of the levee which 
 had lately shown signs of giving way. 
 
 A deep pall of darkness had gathered over the earth, and 
 he stood in inexpressible solicitude for the space of a minute, 
 before the gloom was rent by a flash of electric fire that 
 quivered in lines of ghastly brightness over the dense clouds ; 
 tb\ey afforded a brief glimpse of the angry torrent, lashed into 
 
321 
 
 foam by the fury of the winds, and the levee seemed rising 
 and falling with the motion of the current. 
 
 During the awful interval of darkness that followed this 
 brief illumination, Mr. Harrington leaned against the wall, 
 and pressed his hand upon his wildly throbbing heart, to 
 endeavor to stifle the suffocating sensation which oppressed 
 him. He waited in breathless suspense for another glimpse 
 of what was passing without. 
 
 It came and with it, a sound as if the very foundations of 
 the great deep were broken up. A wild torrent poured against 
 the rocking walls of the house, and each one in it gave up all 
 for lost. 
 
 " A crevasse ! a crevasse !" shouted the negroes, lashed 
 anew into the wildest fear. "My God my God have mercy 
 upon us," and mingled cries and prayers arose on the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 " The worst has happened," said a voice so broken and 
 feeble that it startled even the speaker. "My children, 
 draw near to me; let us perish together, if die we must. 
 Come, Evelyn come, my sister." 
 
 In the dense gloom, they drew nearer, over the trembling 
 floor, and as they surrounded him, the stricken father sunk j 
 down in another of those terrible attacks of insensibility / 
 which had already so greatly alarmed them. 
 
 " My father is dying," exclaimed Pauline, roused at once to 
 assume the ascendancy which had been hers before her ill- 
 ness. "Sustain his head, Aunt Gertrude, and you, Adele, 
 warm his hands in yours, while I seek some means of restor- 
 ing him." 
 
 14* 
 
322 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You are not able, sister ; let me go," said the trembling 
 Adele, but Pauline firmly said, 
 
 " Remain where you are, dear Adele. I know where I can 
 find a restorative that you would have to search for. At all 
 events it is worth the risk of seeking." 
 
 There was a decision in her tones which admitted of no 
 appeal ; and placing her hand against the wall, as a guide in 
 the darkness that closed around them in the intervals between 
 the flashes of lightning, she glided over the unsteady floor, 
 until she gained the farthest end of the hall, where a door 
 opened into a back parlor, from which there was a communi- 
 cation with her own room. 
 
 When she reached the threshold, she was compelled to 
 pause and wait for the next glare to illuminate the ruin, that 
 she might ascertain if the floor offered a secure footing. It 
 came, and was gone so quickly that nothing was distinctly 
 revealed ; but the floor showed no visible rent, and she 
 resolved to trust herself to its stability. She could but lose 
 life in the attempt to serve her father, and it was now a pos- 
 session she valued chiefly on his account. 
 
 With light and cautious tread, she moved over the quiver- 
 ing floor, and safely reached the opposite side ; an open door 
 stood before her, and a few more steps brought her to the 
 entrance of her own chamber. By this time the fury of the 
 storm had sunk into a low sobbing sound, as if Nature 
 mourned over the devastations she had committed, and the 
 air was filled with momentary gleams of electricity, which 
 cast a wan and weird light on the ruin that met her view. 
 
 The wind seemed to have spent its fury on that side of the 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 323 
 
 house, for the wall was torn partially away, and the beautiful 
 furniture lay crushed among fragments of wood and plaster. 
 Pauline saw that her quest was hopeless, and she turned back 
 discouraged and heart-sick. To reach the rest of the house- 
 hold was now her first wish, and without pause, she carefully 
 retraced her steps, and soon stood in safety in the hall. 
 
 It occurred to Pauline that the opposite side of the mansion 
 had not, in all probability, suffered so much. In that, was 
 the library, and she nervously opened a door leading into it. 
 To her great joy, she saw that a portion of the roof still 
 sheltered more than half its extent she stepped in, and 
 found that the floor seemed firm beneath her tread. At the 
 upper end, there was another door which opened close behind 
 the spot on which her father lay, and with the joyful hope 
 that they might all be saved, she sped lightly toward it. 
 Speaking rapidly as she unclosed it, Pauline said, 
 
 " There is safety here, Cousin Philip. A few steps, and 
 my father can be placed under shelter." 
 
 Evelyn arose from his kneeling position beside Mr. Har- 
 rington, and quickly joined her. He remembered that a 
 small closet was in the wall in an angle made by the fire- 
 place, in which a reading-lamp and matches were always 
 kept. With that quick intuition of what is best to be done, 
 which is invaluable in time of danger, he sought the shel- 
 tered nook, and after groping about a few moments, found 
 the box of matches, and succeeded in lighting the lamp. 
 
 The faint rays it sent through the open door into the hall, / 
 gave courage to the servants to obey the commands of their ' 
 young mistress. At first, they moved slowly and crouch- 
 
324 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ingly forward, afraid that the tottering floor would fail 
 beneath them. Two of the strongest men raised Mr. Har- 
 rington, and with his head still supported in the arms of his 
 sister, they cautiously bore him within the library, and placed 
 him on a lounge at the further end. The others followed, 
 and a melancholy group gathered around the insensible man. 
 
 Evelyn knew that bleeding copiously afforded the only 
 chance of recovery for him, and he endeavored to use his pen- 
 knife as a lancet. The stagnant blood refused to flow, and 
 the heavy breathing that filled the room with its ominous 
 sounds, caused those who heard it to shiver with dread. 
 
 While these efforts to restore sensibility were made, the 
 storm had exhausted its violence, and the gray clouds were 
 sailing overhead in vapory masses, affording occasional 
 glimpses of the full moon and the quiet stars. Gradually 
 these were swept away, and the blue dome of heaven, in its 
 silent majesty, looked down on the scene of ruin and suffer- 
 ing left by the wild career of the tempest. 
 
 Now that the wind had ceased its uproar, and the dashing 
 of the rain was hushed, sounds of human suffering came to 
 those who were powerless to assist those who uttered them. 
 Cries for help came from the quarter occupied by the 
 negroes ; and the various mournful and terrible sounds ut- 
 tered by cattle when in danger, made a discordant wail of dis- 
 tress, which his children almost rejoiced that Mr. Harrington 
 could not hear. 
 
 Evelyn left the side of his old friend and went to a window 
 which afforded a view of the plantation. The whole surface 
 of the earth was covered with the flood, and every tree and 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 325 
 
 shrub that might have risen above its level seemed to have 
 been torn away by the tornado. A wild waste of turbid 
 water now occupied the place of the cane-fields, so lately 
 flourishing with verdant beauty ; and this was dotted by dark 
 objects he knew to be the cabins of the negroes. In the 
 bright moonlight he could see figures on their roofs, and he 
 fervently prayed that none might perish in this awful season 
 of calamity. 
 
 To wait until morning brought assistance was the only re- 
 source, for he knew that the water below must have reached 
 at least the height of seven feet, and no communication could 
 take place except by boats. 
 
 Long and dreary was the watch of that terrible night. 
 Toward midnight the exhausted lamp expired, and only the 
 moon and stars gave light through the broken roof; and the 
 sullen wash of the waves against the uncertain walls, seemed 
 the sad wail of desolation over the destruction of beautiful, 
 beloved Wavertree. 
 
 Even the patriarchal tree which had given a name to the 
 place, and had defied the storms of ages, reared its bare and 
 denuded trunk toward heaven. The branches had been scat- 
 tered by the resistless tornado as so many dead autumn 
 leaves. Toward morning Evelyn opened the window-shutter 
 on that side of the house which the tree had apparently pro- 
 tected from destruction, and inexpressibly sad were the feel- 
 ings of the weeping group that surrounded the apparently 
 dying man, as they beheld the ruin of the dear old tree ; it 
 seemed to them a fatal prestige of the calamities which were 
 crushing the fortunes and life of him who had been so long 
 sheltered beneath its branches. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A BRILLIANT morning sun dawned on a scene of desolation, 
 of which words would fail to give an accurate picture. A 
 wide gap in the levee afforded free ingress to the sullen flood, 
 and the ruins of the old mansion vibrated to every wash of 
 the waves. Fortunately the wing containing the library was 
 of more modern construction than the body of the house, and 
 offered greater resistance to the insidious undermining of the 
 waters. 
 
 As far as the eye could reach, the sunbeams were reflected 
 back from the invading flood, and an experienced eye saw, at 
 a glance, that ruin and devastation reigned conquerors over 
 the lately flourishing plantation ; and not over Wavertree 
 alone, but many other places must have shared the same fate ; 
 as this levee protected many miles of the coast, and the uni- 
 form level of the lands offered no obstruction to the passage 
 of the water. 
 
 Many of the shivering and half-drowned cattle had found 
 their way to the embankment, where it still remained firm ; 
 and stood forlornly regarding the deluge which surrounded 
 them, while the remainder had perished in their struggle to 
 regain a temporary place of safety. 
 
 The roofs of the negro cabins were covered with their in- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 327 
 
 mates, who ever and anon raised their voices in a vain effort 
 to hold communication with those in the house. At length 
 two of the most intelligent men succeeded in making a frail 
 raft of the planks from the roof of a cabin, and on it they 
 slowly and cautiously approached the wrecked mansion. 
 Their own humble abodes had escaped almost scatheless, as 
 they fortunately lay just beyond the path of the tornado ; 
 being situated more than half a mile from the house. 
 
 As the men drew near, they called aloud to the master, 
 who, alas ! was in no condidion to hear them ; and Miss Ger- 
 trude went to the window. 
 
 " Ah, ha, Miss Gertrude, dat you, safe dar ? I 'm mighty 
 glad, de Good Man knows, to see you agin. An' whar V 
 master, an' de young ladies ? I hope nothin 's happened to 
 dem, dis obstroplous night," said Peter, the spokesman of the 
 two, with perceptible anxiety in his voice. 
 
 " Your master is ill, Peter too ill to speak to you now. 
 The rest of us have escaped almost by a miracle. How is it 
 with you all at the quarter ? Has any fatal accident occurred 
 among you, during this dreadful storm ?" 
 
 " Bress de Lord, we 's all safe, missis. Even de picanin- 
 nies is doin' bery well. But, 'bout master. Is he bery 
 sick?" 
 
 " I am afraid he is, Peter. Can you not find a boat ? 
 What has become of ours ?" 
 
 " It 's gone like de old house," replied the negro. " I neb- 
 ber 'spected to live to see de bressed Wavertree all gone to 
 smash dis here way ; an' I think it oncommon strange God 
 a 1 mighty could n't let well enough alone." 
 
328 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Hush, Peter. Do not speak irreverently of what He sees 
 best to do," replied Miss Harrington, gravely. " My brother 
 stands in need of medical assistance as speedily as it can be 
 obtained. I must trust to you to get a message to Dr. Ger- 
 main as soon as possible." 
 
 / " De Lord above knows my willin'ness to do de bes' I can, 
 / Missis ; but it 's rather dubous about gitliri' a boat, and de 
 bes' plan will be to git on de top o' de levee an' walk down to 
 de doctor's. It 's a narrow paff, an' hemmed in wid de swell- 
 in' flood, but it's like de road to glory in d?it respec': dere- 
 fbre ole Pete is willin' to trabel it for de service of his yearthly 
 master, as he is de oder for his heavenly one." 
 
 During this conversation, the remainder of the wearied and 
 frightened group gathered around the window, and glad 
 greetings passed between the negroes, Evelyn spoke to Peter. 
 
 "Make every effort, my good fellow, to get Dr. Germain 
 here as speedily as may be ; you will probably find a boat 
 moored safely to the levee somewhere above, where it has not 
 broken away. Any of our neighbors will let you have the 
 use of it, when you state the condition in which your master 
 lies." 
 
 " I un'stan's, Mass' Philip, an' I will 'bey your 'structions to 
 
 de letter. Ah de lily is whiter den eber, an' de rose hab 
 
 I los' its damask," he added, with a low bow, to the two sisters, 
 
 who left their father's side a moment to look out on the 
 
 changed aspect of their beloved home. 
 
 The negroes departed on their errand, and as the family 
 drew around the couch on which Mr. Harrington lay appa- 
 rently in a heavy sleep, a hurried counsel was held as to the 
 
329 
 
 best course to be pursued in their forlorn condition. To re- 
 main in the ruin was impossible, for it was by no means safe, 
 even if they had possessed the means of comfort within its 
 walls. Evelyn proposed that the first steamer that passed 
 down the river should be hailed, and Mr. Harrington, with his 
 sister and daughters, should be transferred to it, and leave for 
 New Orleans, where such attendance as the sick man stood 
 so imminently in need of, could be procured. He would him- 
 self remain with the overseer to look after the safety of the 
 negroes, and would follow them to the city when comfortable 
 arrangements had been made for them. 
 
 This plan had suggested itself to each one, but Miss Ger- 
 trude and her nieces felt a great reluctance to become the 
 guests of Mrs. Ruskin, at such a crisis ; yet they knew if they 
 ventured to stop at a hotel a mortal offense would be given 
 to that exacting personage. A moment's reflection, however, 
 convinced them that the first consideration must be the benefit 
 of Mr. Harrington, and every objection yielded before the 
 necessity of placing him where the best medical skill could 
 be obtained. 
 
 This determined on, it became necessary to reach the oppo- 
 site side of the house, if there remained any possibility of 
 doing so, to ascertain if any portion of the wardrobe of the 
 family could be gathered from the wreck. Pauline overruled 
 her aunt and Adele, and insisted that as she had once crossed 
 the insecure floor she would best know how to find her way 
 in safety : but Evelyn would accompany her to protect her as 
 far as possible from accident. 
 
 On reaching the hall, they found that the floor had sunk a 
 
330 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 foot below its former level ; Evelyn stepped upon it first, and 
 finding that it only oscillated slightly, he offered his hand to 
 Pauline and carefully assisted her down. As they stood on 
 the threshold of the back parlor, they saw that it gradually 
 slanted toward the opposite side where the supporting wall 
 had partially fallen. The doors were all open, and through 
 the space where once had stood her own beloved room, the 
 blue heavens were visible to Pauline. 
 
 Evelyn endeavored to induce her to turn back, as he be- 
 lieved the risk incurred would not be repaid by what she 
 might regain there ; but she insisted that she could pass the 
 intervening space in safety ; as she spoke, she eluded his 
 grasp and glided across the floor, looking more like a spirit 
 than a living being. 
 
 Afraid to step upon the floor at the same time lest their 
 united weight might be more than it would bear, Philip stood 
 till until she had gained the threshold of her own apartment. 
 Then he rapidly followed her, and they both stood togther in 
 what had so lately been a graceful temple, dedicated to re- 
 finement and elegance. 
 
 Now the furniture was crushed and defaced, and the greater 
 part of it utterly destroyed. Pauline eagerly sought for the 
 remains of the writing-table, but only a few vestiges of it re - 
 mained ; and with an expression of blank disappointment she 
 turned to the dressing-stand, which lay on one side with the 
 mirror shivered into fragments. On unclosing the drawers, 
 the contents were found in a tolerable state of preservation 
 from the damp, and she took from them a change of clothing 
 for herself and sister. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 331 
 
 Ashamed of the hesitation they had betrayed in braving a 
 danger from which their young lady had not shrunk, two of 
 the servants at length found courage to follow Pauline, and 
 after gaining that side of the house in safety, they soon pene- 
 trated to the respective chambers of their master and his 
 sister. In the latter, they found a large work-basket, which 
 Letty, her own maid, filled with the clothes selected by 
 Pauline, and safely transferred them to the library. An 
 empty trunk was also sent over to pack them in, and Pauline 
 prepared to return. 
 
 As she was about to leave the spot forever, she paused and 
 cast her eyes around the beloved walls, as if bidding a last 
 adieu to the place which had been so dear to her heart : 
 where so many bright hours had been spent where the 
 great anguish of her life had overtaken her. 
 
 As her sorrowful glance roved slowly around, it caught 
 sight of several bits of paper scattered under the crushed 
 bedstead. She darted forward, and there, saturated with 
 water, lay her portfolio, nearly concealed by the fallen drapery 
 of the bed. 
 
 " Thank God ! I could lose all better than this !" was 
 the exclamation with which she drew it forth, and eagerly 
 opening it, a faint rush of crimson came to her pallid cheeks 
 as she grasped a slender frame that lay within. Forgetful of 
 Evelyn's vicinity, she hurriedly unclosed it : the light glanced 
 on a face of regal manly beauty, and her companion knew 
 then why she had so resolutely braved the risk of entering 
 her own room again. He looked on her face, and read there 
 a joy scarcely inferior to that which would have welcomed 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the living original, had he come, as once she thought ae 
 would, to claim her everlasting troth. Then her lips grew 
 tremulous and white, and with blinding tears she hid it from 
 her sight. Philip softly said, 
 
 "Give it to me, cousin. The sight of that face, which 
 seems an index of so much that is noble, only lacerates your 
 heart anew. Put it far from you, and it will be better for you." 
 
 " Do not ask it of me, Philip. I can not I can not. He 
 does not know I have it : he left it here by accident. It was 
 brought to me by the servant who attended to his room. I 
 did not then think it wrong to keep it, for I believed he 
 loved me. Now I must keep it, or or " 
 
 She paused and struggled with her emotion. Then with 
 an accent of pride, she said, 
 
 " It is my will to keep it let that suffice." 
 
 Evelyn saw that it would be useless to remonstrate, and he 
 said nothing more. Pauline "gave him a small casket con- 
 taining her own and her sister's jewels, which she had found 
 safe in one of the drawers ; and herself carried her portfolio 
 with its precious contents, on their return to the library. 
 
 When they entered, they found those within watching the 
 approach of a steamer which cautiously drew near the eddy- 
 ing whirl made in the river by the crevasse. She made a 
 landing nearly opposite the house, and a boat with the cap- 
 tain in it, who was an old acquaintance, came to offer such 
 assistance as it was evident they so greatly needed. Sincere 
 was the concern of the kind man, when he learned the con- 
 dition of the master of the family, and he hurried back to 
 provide the means of transporting him to his vessel. 
 
333 
 
 After much difficulty, Mr. Harrington was transferred to 
 the steamer, the motion caused the blood to flow from his 
 arm, which had been left unbandaged in the hope of such a 
 result, and be showed some faint signs of returning conscious- 
 ness. He was soon placed in a comfortable berth, and a few 
 moments afterward, Adele was made inexpressibly happy by 
 an effort from him to pronounce her name. Judicious and 
 unremitting attention soon restored him to perfect conscious- 
 ness, though he was still feeble to an alarming degree. 
 
 Evelyn bade the melancholy family a reluctant farewell, 
 assuring them that so soon as he had seen the slaves safely 
 transferred to the high land on the opposite side of the river, 
 and as comfortably situated as the nature of things admitted, 
 he would join them in New Orleans. 
 
 As the boat swung around, and prepared to resume her 
 voyage down the stream, a wild wail of sorrow from the 
 negroes, over the departure of their beloved master arose, and 
 its sad cadence mingled with the dash of the waters, and the 
 roar of the escaping stream, until an intervening bend in the 
 river shut out the mournful wreck of that which at last even- 
 ing's sunset had been so fair, and also drowned the sorrowful 
 cries of the unhappy blacks over the misfortunes which had 
 whelmed all in one common ruin. 
 
 They comprehended the probable result of the disasters of 
 the past night, and a vague fear filled the minds of all, that 
 a sale must soon take place, which would transfer them to 
 the ownership of another, in all probability less kind, less 
 considerate than him who had so long held them beneath his 
 mild sway. 
 
334 
 
 By almost superhuman exertions, the overseer, aided effi- 
 ciently by Evelyn, found means to transfer them during the 
 day to the opposite side of the river, which was hilly and 
 \ uncultivated. There, temporary shelters were erected in a 
 \ few hours, food was obtained for them, and, with their animal 
 jwants supplied, the negroes slept as soundly that night as 
 though no trouble had ever visited their waking hours ; while 
 he who held the position of their master, tossed from side to 
 side on his uneasy pillow, bringing the bitter conviction 
 \ nearer and nearer to his mind, that irretrievable ruin had 
 overtaken him and his. 
 
 Once his strong soul would have braced itself for the con- 
 flict with that blind fortune which of late had so utterly with- 
 drawn her favors from him ; but now he was ill, nerveless, 
 with a confused brain and tremulous form, and he felt him- 
 self unable to cope with her. 
 
 In the long hours of that lonely night, with the sound of 
 the dashing waves in his ears, he felt that the waters of a 
 wider sea w T ould soon receive him, and he laid bare his soul 
 before the all-seeing One, and prayed to have all earthly frail- 
 ties removed far from him. 
 
 But two things appertaining to earth he asked in humble- 
 ness of spirit : one was time to place his worldly affairs in 
 such a train that none should suffer through him or have 
 cause to reproach his memory ; the other was resignation to 
 the decree which removed him from his beloved ones when 
 they most needed him. 
 
 How often, during the hours of that long night, did the 
 cry of David over his ungrateful son come home to him, as 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 335 
 
 his sorrowful breast yearned over the uncertain fate of the 
 hapless Victor. To see him once more to clasp him in 
 forgiveness to his breast was now the strongest wish of his 
 soul. 
 
 Fortunately the recent career of the reckless young man 
 was unsuspected by him ; tor, e^eu in thought, this noble, 
 high-minded man could not link dishonor with the unsullied 
 name he had borne through a long life. That Victor was 
 wild and disobedient he keenly felt, but that deeper turpitude 
 could ever sully his actions, he did not once suspect. Fortu- 
 nate it was for him that he possessed such confidence, for it 
 saved his broken heart from the severest pang it could have 
 known, even amid the ruined hopes that were crushing him 
 into his grave. 
 
 22 Aird 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WEEKS sped away during the progress of these events, and 
 the preparations for the union of Louise with Kevin were 
 rapidly progressing. Since her last interview with Victor, 
 she had heard nothing from him ; he had ceased to per- 
 secute her with his letters, and in a vague state of fear 
 concerning him, she awaited the arrival of her bridal 
 day. 
 
 Where Victor was, or what he might be tempted to do, 
 when her treachery became apparent to him, she trembled 
 to think ; yet, with her characteristic heedlessness, she thrust 
 the fear from her as far as possible, and pursued the path 
 she had resolved to tread in, with a calm brow and smil- 
 ing lip. 
 
 Early one evening Nevin came in, with a serious-look- 
 ing brow, crushing a letter in his hand. Louise looked up 
 at him apprehensively, for, of late, every thing made her feel 
 jervous. 
 
 " Has any thing unpleasant happened ?" she inquired, in 
 considerable trepidation. 
 
 " Do not grow pale, my pretty rose-bud^' he playfully re- 
 plied, though his thoughtful brow did not relax. "It is 
 nothing that can affect your happiness ; but a singular and re- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 337 
 
 volting circumstance, in which I am interested, has just come 
 to light. This letter from the overseer of the plantation of my 
 lately deceased aunt, informs me of it ; and, reckless as I am. 
 it fills me with horror." 
 
 " What can it be ?" 
 
 " You have, perhaps, heard me speak of a strange whim of 
 the old lady, to be buried in family jewels of immense value ? 
 As she had no child to heir them, and they came to her from 
 her husband's side of the family, to which I am not related, I 
 considered my claim to them as doubtful. At all events, I 
 should have respected her wish to lie in state, decked with 
 jewels in her coffin. Well, by some means, it became 
 known that diamonds were entombed with her, and Wilkins 
 writes to me that the vault has been violated, and the jewels 
 removed." 
 
 Louise uttered an exclamation of horror. She asked, 
 
 " Why did they not keep a careful watch over the tomb ?" 
 
 " That was done until it was supposed all danger was 
 past ; but the very first night that my poor old aunt and 
 her finery were left to the protection of the ghosts that are 
 said to haunt church-yards, some daring disbeliever in 
 such stories invaded her rest, and despoiled her of her orna- 
 ments." 
 
 "Do not speak so lightly of what was so terrible. It 
 was an awful sacrilege. What steps will you take to recover 
 them ?" 
 
 " Before writing to me, Wilkins telegraphed to the chief of 
 police in New Orleans to warn every jeweler in the city 
 against purchasing them; and such precautions have been 
 
 15 
 
838 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 taken as must lead to the detection of the robber, if he ven- 
 tures to offer them for sale here." 
 
 " Are the diamonds of very fine water ?" 
 
 " They are magnificent. M. Le Grand claimed royal blood 
 how justly I do not know ; but these diamonds he asserted 
 had once belonged to a Bourbon prince. He was one of the 
 refugees from France during the Revolution of '92, and these 
 jewels were nearly all he saved in his flight. He subse- 
 quently married my mother's aunt, who owned large posses- 
 sions herself. Among the ornaments is one in the form of a 
 scepter, surmounted by the most magnificent emerald I ever 
 have seen." 
 
 " What a shame to bury them with the dead !" exclaimed 
 Louise. 
 
 " True and now they have been disinterred, I will make 
 a better use of them, should I be so fortunate as to regain 
 them. What a magnificent parure they would make for you, 
 Louise, reset in modern style. That is, if you could get over 
 the idea that they had once been buried with the dead." 
 
 Louise shuddered, and felt a little shrinking at first ; but 
 the imagined glitter of the gems soon dispelled this from her 
 vain heart, and she eagerly replied, 
 
 u Regain them, if you can, by all means. Then it will be 
 time enough to decide on the disposition we will make of 
 them." 
 
 "I shall certainly make every effort to do so, ma petite. 
 It would be too great a loss to suffer family jewels of such 
 value to pass into the hands of others, without using every 
 exertion to recover them." 
 
339 
 
 " And is there not the slightest clew to the robber ?" 
 
 " Not yet, though I hope we will soon gain one." 
 
 " If he should be discovered, would you prosecute him ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly for the double crime of theft and sacri- 
 lege. Poor wretch ! I am afraid it would go hard with him." 
 
 Louise looked grave. She knew it was criminal to act 
 thus, but she was too young, and yet possessed too much 
 feeling to wish to regain the gems at the sacrifice of another's 
 liberty for years of his life ; she reflected a few moments, and 
 then said, 
 
 "It seems to me that some man maddened by poverty 
 must have been tempted to commit this crime. Perhaps you 
 may wrong him more deeply by seeking to expose him, than 
 he oould injure you by taking from you what you had virtu- 
 ally relinquished, by permitting the jewels to be buried in the 
 grave." 
 
 " You reason like a little lawyer, my pretty one ; but even 
 if I were convinced, it is too late to withdraw the instruc- 
 tions the police have received ; and I must admit that I hope 
 they will be successful in detecting the author of so revolting 
 a sacrilege." 
 
 Louise half smiled, and changed the conversation. A 
 bridal tour to Havana had been proposed, and they were 
 deeply interested in its discussion, when a servant belonging 
 to Nevin sent in a request to see his master a few moments. 
 
 He arose and went to the door, where an intelligent mu- 
 latto, much in his confidence, awaited him. 
 
 "What is it, Ned?" he inquired. "Something unusual 
 must have happened, to induce you to follow me." 
 
340 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir ; but I knew how anxious you are about 
 the robbery of Madame Le Grand's jewels, and as this letter 
 was left for you shortly after you came away, by a suspicious- 
 looking person, I thought I had better bring it to you at 
 once." 
 
 " You were quite right. I will examine it immediately." 
 As Kevin returned to the room, he broke the seal of a 
 strangely-folded letter, and pausing beside the lamp, he read 
 the following words, written evidently in a disguised hand : 
 
 " It is useless to take any steps for the recovery of your 
 diamonds, for I, the purloiner, assure you that they will be 
 utterly unsuccessful. I have only borrowed them, for I am 
 no vulgar thief, and I pledge my word that within ten years 
 they shall be restored to you ; or their equivalent in money, 
 with the interest due on their value during that period. 
 
 " I stood in vital need of the funds I can raise on them, 
 and I knew they could be of no value to you lying in a 
 death-vault. I reasoned that it could be no injury to you to 
 appropriate them for a season, and it could be no wrong to 
 the wearer to remove them carefully from her person. This 
 I have done. Think how strong my necessity must have 
 been, when it overcame the thrilling horror of sacrilege to 
 the grave of the dead, and be assured, that he who did this, 
 is quite capable of warding off even suspicion from himself." 
 
 He read these lines, and then offered them to Louise. He 
 laughed as he said, 
 
341 
 
 " Here is something curiously apropos to the subject of our 
 conversation ; see, I have a letter actually from the robber, 
 and he addresses me as unceremoniously as if he belonged 
 to the same sphere in life with myself." 
 
 Louise eagerly held out her hand. She glanced at the 
 crabbed-looking writing, and suddenly averting her head, 
 grew very pale, and sank back on a seat. 
 
 " What is the matter, Louise ? Why are you so pale ?" 
 asked Nevin, in alarm. 
 
 By a great effort she regained outward composure, though 
 her heart beat so violently that she felt as if suffocating. She 
 forced a faint laugh, as she said, 
 
 " I I really hardly know. I am not given to fainting, as 
 you know : but just then I felt very like it. It must be 
 that there is some occult sympathy between the miserable 
 writer of this letter and myself. You know I was pleading 
 his cause only a little while since." 
 
 Her manner was flurried, and Nevin regarded her with a 
 perplexed air. He seriously said, 
 
 " Your agitation is incomprehensible, Louise. The writer 
 of this letter can not be known to you. Is the writing 
 familiar to you ? Look tell me does it resemble any you 
 have ever before seen ?" 
 
 Louise felt the necessity of self-control, and she resolutely 
 curbed the tremor that thrilled through every nerve in her 
 frame. She calmly replied, 
 
 " It does not I am surprised that you should ask such a 
 question. How could you expect me to recognize such crabbed- 
 looking characters as those ? Let me see what he says : I 
 
342 
 
 was only moved by a foolish sympathy for one reduced to 
 such extremity, that was all." 
 
 "Ah I did not know your sympathies were so easily 
 aroused before." 
 
 Louise affected not to hear him, as she glanced over the 
 lines. She asked, 
 
 " Will you still prosecute the search 2" 
 
 " Certainly ; that was only written to prevent me from using 
 vigorous measures for their recovery. I shall be doubly on 
 the alert now. But let us dismiss this poor devil from our 
 thoughts, and talk of our own affairs. They are of much 
 deeper interest to us. A fine steamship leaves for Havana on 
 this day week. Name the morning of that day for our bridal, 
 and we will -leave on her. It will soon be too late in the 
 season for such a trip, if you continue to put me off, Louise. 
 Shall it be so, my own love ?" 
 
 After some demur, Louise consented to this arrangement, 
 and after a little more lover-like talk, the betrothed parted. 
 
 The young girl had managed, as if in a fit of absence of 
 mind, to retain the mysterious letter which had caused such 
 inexplicable agitation to her. In the delight of having a day 
 for their union at last named, Nevin had quite forgotten it. 
 
 Louise stood on the spot on which he had left her, listening 
 eagerly until she heard the outer door close after him. Then 
 she unfolded the paper with feverish haste, and with distended 
 eyes and pallid lips she again examined the writing which no 
 effort had been able to disguise from her. 
 
 As the conviction came home to her that Victor was indeed 
 the writer, she threw herself upon a sofa, and wept bitterly. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 343 
 
 " O, has it come to this," she convulsively sobbed. " A 
 felon ! and for my sake ! and I so fallen so ready to sell my- 
 self to another ! O Victor, Victor, I love you in spite of 
 all ; but this act severs us more widely than even my union 
 with another. This fatal letter, to what might it not have 
 led, had I not secured it? Imprudent imprudent to write it 
 at all. I must destroy it at once." 
 
 With this thought she started up, and thrusting it into the 
 lamp, watched it consume with trembling eagerness. She 
 heard her mother approaching the room, giving directions to 
 a servant as she came, and Louise sprang forward to escape 
 before she had an opportunity to observe that she had been 
 weeping. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin arrested her on the threshold. 
 
 " Your uncle and cousins have just sent word that they are 
 at the landing, and will be here within an hour. This notice 
 was sent beforehand that we may have a room prepared for 
 my brother, who is ill, and comes to the city for medical 
 advice." 
 
 Louise paused, but she made no reply, and Mrs. Ruskin 
 went on, 
 
 " It is especially inconvenient to have a sick man here in 
 the height of our preparations for your marriage, but he must 
 not go to a hotel while I have a house to receive him in." 
 
 " Of course not ; after all his kindness to us," Louise found 
 voice to say. 
 
 " 0, as to that, I am not particular," replied her mother, 
 with a shrug. " If it were not for other people talking, I 
 would not incommode myself just now to receive them. 
 
344 
 
 Thank heaven, after your brilliant marriage is concluded our 
 obligations to him will be at an end, and I can free myself 
 from keeping up a show of cordiality I really do not feel." 
 
 Louise was too much accustomed to her mother's hard 
 manner of acting, to feel surprised that she thus expressed 
 herself. She did not remonstrate, though with her heart full 
 of newly-awakened tenderness toward Victor she thought it 
 cruel to speak thus of a relative so near and so kind as her 
 uncle had always been to every member of her mother's 
 family. She only asked, 
 
 "What rooms have you ordered to be made ready for 
 them, ma'am ?" 
 
 " 0, the same as usual ; the two front chambers up stairs. 
 But really, Louise, it will be very inconvenient to me, and an 
 ill-omen beside, to have a dying man in the house when a 
 wedding is going on." 
 
 lf Dying, mother ? My uncle is not as ill as that, I hope." 
 
 " I do n't know. The messenger said he had suffered 
 another attack similar to the one he had when we were there ; 
 and lay insensible many hours. But the worst news of all is, 
 that a crevasse had taken place, and a tornado has swept over 
 Wavertree together they have almost destroyed the place. 
 I know your uncle must be ruined, and he is the trustee for 
 the fortune belonging to my children. I shall insist on com- 
 ing in as first creditor, and having their interest secured at 
 once, and that is one reason why I submit to the trouble of 
 receiving them just now." 
 
 This intelligence aroused the interest of Louise, and she 
 listened eagerly. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 345 
 
 " Poor uncle !" she sighed. " He has been most un- 
 fortunate of late. You need have no fears, mother, concern- 
 ing the money so honorable a man will never permit orphan 
 children to suffer through him." 
 
 " I hope not," was the brief rejoinder of Mrs. Ruskin, and 
 Louise escaped to her own room. She hurried to the mir- 
 ror to see if her tell-tale face would betray her emotion 
 to those that were expected, and her eye glanced on a 
 letter addressed to herself in the writing of Victor Harring- 
 ton. Had a serpent met her on her path, she could scarcely 
 have been more appalled, and she stood white and cold, afraid 
 to learn its contents. 
 
 She had never been able to discover who placed the mis- 
 sives upon her dressing-stand, but all the communications she 
 had received from Victor since his incognito, had been thus 
 mysteriously placed where she must find them. Her own 
 maid declared that she knew nothing of the means by which 
 they were brought into the house, and hitherto the fear that 
 her mother would discover their reception prevented her from 
 making a too rigid inquiry among the other servants. 
 
 Partly anticipating the contents, she presently summoned 
 courage to break the seal, and read these lines : 
 
 " Louise, I claim your promise. Victory is mine. I have 
 won independence, and I claim the troth pledged to me. I 
 know your mother will never consent to our union, but if you 
 love me, as you have often vowed you do, you will not hesi- 
 tate to elope with me. 
 
 " I am on the eve of departure for a foreign land, and you 
 15* 
 
346 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 must be my companion. O, Louise, I am almost deliriously 
 happy in the thought that I can now call you my own can 
 snatch you from the gilded misery to which your mother is 
 so eager to consign you. We will seek Italy the world-re- 
 nowned land of poetry and song, and in its charming climate 
 and delightful associations forget the misery of the past. 
 
 " See, Louise ; though the world persists in saying that you 
 are on the eve of marriage with Nevin, I do not utter a re- 
 proach or a doubt of your truth. I believe that you love me, 
 even as I do you, and you will gladly fly from the hollow 
 splendor he offers you to him who assures you that he is 
 neither deluding you nor himself when he offers you a luxu- 
 rious and happy home in the land of the olive and the vine. 
 Come with me, love, and 1 promise you happiness; what 
 more can a mortal ask of life ? What brighter boon can 
 lleaven itself bestow on poor humanity ? 
 
 " I will call on you this evening. Again I am Victor Har- 
 rington. Again I lift up my head among my peers, and ex- 
 ultingly claim the woman I love in spite of that unrighteous 
 authority which would refuse her to me." 
 
 Again Louise wept ; but she soon stifled her tears, and seiz- 
 ing a pen hurriedly wrote. 
 
 " Come to see your dying father, Victor, who will be be- 
 neath our roof by the time this reaches you ; but seek me 
 not. I refuse to share the independence you have so mys- 
 teriously gained, because / know how it was obtained. Be 
 assured I write only the truth when I assert this ; and 1 
 
347 
 
 Victor, I tremble while I write it. You, the son of an honor- 
 able man, have 
 
 " Victor, Victor, if I thought that your unhappy passion 
 for myself had brought this ruin upon you, I should reproach 
 myself with it to the last hour of my life. Recoil from the 
 evil you have committed. Make such restitution as is com- 
 patible with your own safety ; suffer this dark passage in 
 your life to be buried in your own breast, and in that of her 
 who would once have shared her life with you ; but not now, 
 Victor you have done that which places an everlasting bar- 
 rier between us." 
 
 There was no signature to this scrawl, which her tears de- 
 faced in many places; she folded and sealed it, and then 
 summoned the mulatto girl who waited on her, to her 
 presence. 
 
 " Annette," she gravely said, " you have constantly denied 
 all knowledge of the means by which the letters I have latehr 
 received have been placed in my room. It matters not noW; 
 but this I require of you ; that you take this note without an 
 address, and cause it to be delivered to the person who sent 
 them, before an hour has elapsed. If you fail to do so, my 
 mother shall be informed. Go now ; I shall be sure to know 
 to-night whether the note has reached the person for whom it 
 is intended." 
 
 Annette looked frightened, for she knew the unbending 
 severity of her mistress. She stammered, 
 
 " Only think, Miss Louise. I has waited on you sence you 
 was a little girl, and now you gwine to tell missis 'bout dese 
 
348 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 letters, and git me in trouble, when I don't know nothin' 
 'bout era I 'clare I don't." 
 
 " That may, or may not be true, Annette," replied her 
 young lady, with more dignity than her maid had ever before 
 seen her assume; "but you are literally to obey my orders. 
 Since you live among the other servants, you must have some 
 clew to the person who ventures to bring these letters here. 
 It is imperatively necessary that an answer to this last one 
 shall be sent at once, that an end may be put to such imper- 
 tinence. It is your business to see that it safely reaches the 
 person for whom it is intended ; remember that he receives 
 it without delay, or my mother shall investigate the affair." 
 
 A bustle was heard below stairs, which announced the 
 arrival of her uncle's family, and Louise left the room with 
 an imposing step. Annette stood where she left her, mutter- 
 ing, 
 
 " 'Vestigation, indeed ! Missis sha n't do no sich thing. 
 Jes' as if Miss Louise don't know that Mass Victor sent them 
 ere letters, and till now she was mighty glad to git 'em. 
 An' as I 'm livin', here 's nothin' but a white paper kiver with 
 no name at all on it ! Well, women is women all de worl* 
 over ; dey mus' make a mystery out o' nothin'." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MR. HARRINGTON was carried at once to the apartment 
 prepared for him, and even Mrs. Kuskin was shocked as she 
 looked on his fallen and pallid features. He seemed ten 
 years older than when she had parted from him only a few 
 months before, and his hair lay in silvery waves around his 
 sunken temples. 
 
 He lay for many moments almost insensible from exhaus- 
 tion, after they placed him on the bed, and when he lifted his 
 weary eyelids, the first object he beheld was Louise, half 
 weeping over his condition. He feebly motioned her to draw 
 nearer to him, and as she bent over him, he whispered, 
 
 "My son, my Victor! Where is he, Louise? Do you 
 know aught of him ?" 
 
 " I do, dear uncle. I know that Victor is in town ; that 
 he has laid aside the incognito he has so long thought proper 
 to observe toward his friends. I am certain he will be here 
 to-night, for I have apprised him of your expected arrival." 
 
 "Thanks, my child. Are you sure he will come?" he 
 eagerly asked. 
 
 " I think I can reply, Yes ; for I look for him with cer- 
 tainty before the evening is over." 
 
 The overburdened heart of the father heaved a deep sigh 
 
350 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of thankfulness, and his lips moved as if lie prayed mentally. 
 Just then the physician who had been summoned, came in. 
 He was an old acquaintance, and he examined the condition 
 of his patient with a serious carefulness which caused those 
 most deeply interested in the result, to tremble. 
 
 Mr. Harrington also drew his own auguries from his man- 
 ner, and he said, in a subdued tone, 
 
 " I read my doom, doctor. Do not fear to speak the 
 truth : I may shrink from leaving those who are dependent 
 on me, but I do not fear to die. Nay, to meet the deliverer 
 upon his holy mission, would be easy to me, but for the grief 
 of those I love." 
 
 " I rejoice that it is thus with you," replied the physician, 
 in the same tone ; " for your time of deliverance from earthly 
 cares is at hand. Set your house in order without delay, 
 Mr. Harrington, for the subtle cord may be snapped at any 
 moment." 
 
 " Ah ! is it even thus ?" and a bright ray of joy illumined 
 his features for a single instant. The face of a seraph seemed 
 bending toward him, to bear him away to that world where 
 " the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." 
 
 The weary ! How significant was that little phrase. The 
 burden of life might be laid down and rest be found 
 rest for which he pined ; which he so greatly needed. O no ! 
 death had no terrors for the good man who could raise his 
 brow before the Eternal and with truth say, " Father, I have 
 respected the divinity breathed into my spirit by thy ever- 
 lasting grace. A true and noble life hast thou given unto 
 me, and I have endeavored, so far as lay within the imperfect 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 351 
 
 ability of human nature, to do that which thou hast com- 
 manded thy children to perform." 
 
 While thus rapt away from earth, and its cares, the dying 
 man was oblivious of those around him. The touch of Adele, 
 and the sound of her low voice speaking to the physician, 
 recalled him; and he felt the true pang of death, as he 
 thought of the helpless condition of those he must leave to 
 struggle with the burden he was so glad to be released from. 
 
 The replies of Dr. Wells to the questions addressed to 
 him were feeling, though true. He was a conscientious man, 
 and he did not attempt to conceal the real condition of the 
 patient from his family. He gently but distinctly informed 
 Miss Harrington that no hope of recovery remained to her 
 brother; that his heart was so seriously affected that any 
 sudden agitation might cause his death, without a moment's 
 warning. 
 
 They heard the fiat, and stifled their tears that they might 
 not darken, the last hours of existence which remained to him 
 they so dearly loved. When the physciau retired, Mr. Har- 
 rington desired to be left alone with his own family. As 
 Louise kissed him before leaving the room with her mother, 
 he whispered, 
 
 " Send Victor up to me the moment he arrives, my love." 
 
 Then he motioned his children to draw near to him and 
 gave a hand to each one, while his sister stood beside his 
 pillow, and laid her soft clasp upon his brow. He said, 
 
 " Gertrude, I leave my beloved ones to your care, and I fear 
 the charge I bequeath with them will be a heavy one." 
 
 " Dear brother, do not think of that now. I stand in the 
 23 
 
352 
 
 place of a mother to them, and, as such, I will endeavor to 
 shield them from all you would deprecate for them." 
 
 " Thank you, sister. You will meet your reward in that 
 land where earthly ties are again reunited. The doctor said 
 that I must set rny house in order, and my failing breath 
 warns me that I have no time to lose. Gertrude, your pre- 
 dictions have proved fatally true. The speculations I was 
 unfortunately tempted into, failed ; and a series of unlooked- 
 for disasters have since followed, to be consummated by the 
 destruction of Wavertree. I know that I am ruined, and 
 God takes me from the evil to come ; but ah ! he leaves 
 those that I best love exposed to the bitter blast of impending 
 poverty." 
 
 " Not poverty, brother," gently said Miss Harrington. 
 " Something can be saved from the wreck, and that our own 
 exertions can increase to a competence." 
 
 An expression of bitter pain passed over his features, and 
 he feebly prayed. 
 
 " God of infinite mercy, preserve me from false pride in 
 
 this solemn hour. It is no degredation to labor forindepend- 
 
 i ence ; then why do I shrink from it in your case ? But I 
 
 \ had so earnestly hoped to shield my darlings from the evils 
 
 of life. I am punished sorely for the grasping spirit which 
 
 made me ask for more for the sake of those I so much love." 
 
 "It was but natural, brother. Calm yourself, I entreat, 
 and have no care for us. Give me as clear an account as 
 possible of the condition of your affairs ; and give me your 
 directions, that I may endeavor to obey them as literally as 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 353 
 
 After a pause, in which he seemed collecting his thoughts, 
 he again spoke. 
 
 " But for the late calamity, you could have remained at 
 Wavertree until the estate is settled. It would have taken 
 several years to do that, and eventually enough would have 
 been left to enable you to live according to your tastes. But 
 now, there is only one course to be pursued. Surrender the 
 estate at once to my creditors, by compromise. There will 
 be enough to pay every debt I owe, and leave a small surplus, 
 but it will take time. To get the property into their own 
 hands, those I owe will readily give you the small farm four 
 miles back on False river, and also a sufficient number of the 
 negroes to cultivate it. Thus a home will be secured to you, 
 and no man can say that in dying I defrauded him of a cent 
 that was his due. 
 
 "And the people, sister tell them that I remembered 
 them ; and my chief creditor, Mr. Hall, is too humane a man 
 to see them pass into the possession of those who will not 
 kindly treat them. See to this, Gertrude, or I can not die 
 contented." 
 
 " We will care for that first, dear father," murmured Paul- 
 ine. " Have no uneasiness on your mind concerning us, for 
 we will still have our Father in heaven to care for us." 
 
 " And He is mighty to raise up as well as to cast down," 
 said Mr. Harrington, devoutly. " I commit you to Him, dar- 
 lings of my heart, for I know that his ways are right and just, 
 however mysterious they may seem to our darkened vision." 
 
 There was a silence some moments, and then he again 
 Bpoke in touching accents of appeal. 
 
354 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " O Victor, my son, my son, in this solemn hour, why are 
 you not beside me ? I can not die without once more behold- 
 ing you. My soul will cling to this worn-out frame, I feel, 
 until my eyes may rest upon you again." 
 
 As if in reply to this yearning wish, the door softly un- 
 closed, and what seemed but the shadow of Victor glided 
 toward the bed. More worn and emaciated than when we 
 last beheld him, a deep fiery glare burned in his dark eyes, 
 and his thin lips seemed drawn in a ghastly manner apart 
 from his shining teeth. 
 
 That some terrible and all-absorbing emotion was gnawing, 
 vulture-like, at his very being, was painfully apparent. Much 
 as his father had desired to behold him, he shuddered and 
 closed his eyes as this startling vision stood beside him and 
 touched his hand with his own clammy one. 
 
 In a deep, monotonous tone, he said, 
 
 "You wished for me, and I am here. Father, will you 
 not look on me ?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, Mr. Harrington unclosed his eyes and 
 gazed upon the wreck before him. He asked, 
 
 " Where have you been, Victor ? and why have you so long 
 concealed yourself from your family ?" 
 
 " Because I was not worthy to belong to them. Where 
 have I been, do you ask ? I have been in bitterness in 
 temptation in guilt ! Yes, guilt, and all for the sake of one 
 who now refuses the hand that has so dearly gained independ- 
 ence for her." 
 
 " What can you mean, my poor boy ? Independence is 
 not gained in a day, nor yet in a month." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 355 
 
 "No not by common means; but mine was a desperate 
 case, and I took desperate measures to retrieve myself. I have 
 watched with the dead, and felt my hair stiffen with horror as 
 I saw the blue flames rising from their graves for I thought 
 they might be the spirits of the departed come to warn me 
 from the sacrilege I meditated. Yet I persevered. I yes, I 
 did the deed. I secured the sparkling gems, but ! their 
 touch burns me here, here," and he raised his hand to his 
 forehead with a pathetic gesture. 
 
 "After all, Louise scorns me. Louise tramples on my 
 hopes. She knows all ! well, let her tell it. I care not now, 
 for I am hopeless, hopeless." 
 
 There was an indescribable expression of utter desola- 
 tion in the tones of his voice ; his words sounded dull and 
 hollow, as if the soul took no cognizance of their terrible 
 meaning. 
 
 Those who listened fortunately possessed no clew to their 
 true import, and they thought him delirious. 
 
 Adele took his hand and tenderly drew him toward a 
 seat. 
 
 "You look weary and worn, brother. Sit down and 
 rest." 
 
 " Rest there is no more rest for me. I am haunted by 
 a useless crime. I dared every thing for her, and she has 
 proved false to me false false " 
 
 He yielded to the hand of his sister, and passively sat down 
 upon the chair she drew forward for him ; then he bent his 
 head forward and wept bitterly. In silence the father gazed 
 on the miserable wreck of his only and beloved son, and his 
 
356 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 heart was filled with compassion toward him. At length he 
 mildly said, 
 
 "Victor, you are young. You can redeem the misspent 
 years of your life ; and your father, from his bed of death, en- 
 treats you to make an effort to do so." 
 
 Victor only wept with the passionate emotion of a woman 
 at these words. Mr. Harrington proceeded in a more impress- 
 ive manner, 
 
 "My son, I bequeath to you, instead of the fortune I 
 once hoped to bestow upon you, a struggle for the in- 
 dependence every man should be willing to gain for him- 
 self. You will be the sole protector of your aunt and sisters ; 
 think how much devolves upon you by my departure, 
 and prove yourself worthy of the precious trust confided 
 to you." 
 
 Victor checked his tears at these 'words, and regarded 
 his father with a glassy stare, which showed imperfect 
 consciousness of his meaning. But one word seemed to 
 have made any distinct impression on him. He vaguely re- 
 peated, 
 
 "Trust no, no I am unworthy of trust. Do not ask 
 any thing of that sort from me ; because I I 'm not fit to ac- 
 cept it." 
 
 "Is he mad ?" asked Mr. Harrington, despairingly. "Must 
 this last anguish be added to all that has gone before ?" 
 
 Miss Harrington had taken Victor's hand in her own, and 
 she soothingly replied, 
 
 " Be not alarmed, brother ; Victor has fever he is deli- 
 rious, not mad. He must be put to bed and nursed. Come 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 357 
 
 with me, my dear boy," she persuasively continued. " Come 
 into my room and lie down a little while ; presently you will 
 feel better." 
 
 Victor arose, and pressing his hand upon his brow, seemed 
 to be recalling his bewildered senses. An expression of 
 softer feeling beamed from his eyes as he took his father's 
 hand and pressed it reverently to his lips and heart. He 
 said, 
 
 " Forgive me, dear father, for all the anguish I have occa- 
 sioned you. I am less criminal than weak, but I trust in God 
 all my evil deeds may never be revealed to you, in this world 
 nor the next. Adele, Pauline, adieu ! Watch over our father, 
 and repay him for my ingratitude." 
 
 With a more collected air, he followed his aunt from the 
 room, and submitted to lie upon the bed in her own apart- 
 ment, and take some composing drops which she pressed 
 upon him. With the cunning of persons whose minds are 
 slightly deranged, he knew that the only way to evade her 
 solicitude was to follow her directions implicitly. 
 
 He soon closed his eyes, and seeing him apparently quiet, 
 Miss Gertrude ventured to return to her brother, leaving 
 Victor, she trusted, in a refreshing sleep. He listened to her 
 retreating steps, and waited until voices were again heard 
 from the room of his father, speaking in guarded tones. Then 
 he cautiously arose, unclosed a door that opened into a cen- 
 tral hall from which the staircase descended, and went in pur- 
 suit of his false love. 
 
 Every portion of the house was familiar to him, and he 
 knew that he should, probably, find Louise in the drawing- 
 
358 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 room, at that hour of the evening. He had not seen her 
 since her note cam& to him, and he sought her now with a 
 feeling of reckless desperation, which might impel him to he 
 knew not, cared not, what. 
 
 He noiselessly opened the door of the room, and looked in. 
 A solar lamp, with the light partly turned down, diffused a 
 softened tint throughout the apartment. The evening was 
 warm, and two large windows opening upon a yard filled 
 with shrubbery, were unclosed, and the beams of a young 
 moon fell in tremulous lines on the carpet. This room was 
 distant from those usually occupied by the family, and Victor 
 rejoiced that the hours for receiving visitors for the evening 
 were past. 
 
 Beside one of the windows sat Louise, looking paler than 
 usual, and he fancied that a tear glittered upon her cheek. 
 He advanced so softly that she was not aware of his pres- 
 ence until he called her name. She nervously started up, 
 and as she caught a view of his worn features, exclaimed, 
 
 " You here, Victor ! I gave orders that you should at 
 once be taken to your father's room. You know he is here ? 
 and and Victor, Dr. Germain thinks that he can not 
 live many hours." 
 
 " I am aware of that, Louise. I have seen him ; have 
 bidden him an eternal adieu; and now all that remains to me 
 on earth is to settle with you." 
 
 There was something sinister in the tone of his voice, and 
 the wild gleam of his eyes startled her into a suspicion of the 
 truth. Trembling with fear, she faltered, 
 
 " What can you mean, cousin ?" 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 359 
 
 " To take with me to the Inferno that spirit which has so 
 wronged and outraged mine. Louise, I have sworn that no 
 living man shall claim you as his bride, save myself. How, 
 think you, is my oath to be accomplished ?" 
 
 " I am sure I can not tell," she faltered, as she made an 
 effort to glide past him and reach the door. He intercepted 
 her, and drawing a pistol from his breast, he presented it to- 
 ward her. 
 
 " I will enlighten you," he said. " Now call out, or at- 
 tempt to alarm the house, and I use this weapon even before 
 I have said all I came to say." 
 
 Louise had a peculiar dread of fire-arms, and she felt as if 
 she should become insensible from terror ; but she struggled 
 against her fears, with the consciousness that in retaining per- 
 fect self-command her only chance of safety lay. 
 
 She said, slowly, and with outward composure, 
 
 " Put up your pistol, Victor ; it might accidentally go off, 
 and do me an injury. Such an accident must be fatal to 
 your father in his present condition. Reflect an instant, and 
 you will see that I have not deserved such unmanly treat- 
 ment from you." 
 
 Her words seemed to have some weight with him. He 
 placed the weapon on a table within reach of his hand, and 
 drew forth the last communication she had sent him. 
 
 "Tell me, Louise, what this production means? Have 
 you indeed given up all intention of fulfilling the troth so 
 often and so solemnly plighted to me ? What do you mean 
 by the words, * / know how it was obtained] referring to the 
 independence I offered to share with you ? n 
 
360 
 
 There was an evident effort to preserve his calmness, as he 
 thus spoke, but his voice quivered with the intensity of his 
 emotion, and his eyes seemed to her like a devouring flame, 
 as he fixed them on her whitening features. 
 
 How Louise wished some one would come in ! but no foot- 
 steps approached. She feared to cry out, lest the excited 
 being before her should destroy her before assistance could 
 reach her ; and she read that in his face which assured her 
 that he was desperate enough for any crime. 
 
 She did not reply, and he held the lines so close to her 
 face as almost to touch it, as he again demanded, 
 
 "Your meaning your meaning? I must know if you 
 really are aware of all I have dared for your sake ; or is it a 
 pitiable ruse to afford you an excuse for your most heartless 
 and unwomanly conduct toward me." 
 
 " I did not wish to break with you, Victor," she pleaded. 
 " Your own acts have placed a barrier between us, as I have 
 there stated." 
 
 " My acts ? what are they ? How did you know them ? 
 Speak tell me, what could I do that would render me un- 
 worthy of you, false and hollow piece of deceit that I now 
 know you to be." 
 
 " Your own conscience will tell you, Victor," she faintly 
 said ; for her courage was rapidly giving way before the in- 
 creasing fury of his gestures and expression. He repeated, 
 
 " My conscience ! I have none, I tell you. It was buried 
 long since in the grave of principle. I have become a terror 
 and a loathing to myself and all through you. And now, 
 do you fancy for one moment that I will ever permit Nevin 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 361 
 
 to snatch you from me ? Tell me what you know, or my 
 pistol shall at once do its predestined work ; its fellow is 
 ready to release me from the consequences, and I have no 
 compunction in using them." 
 
 Again he placed his hand upon the weapon, and Louise 
 felt that boldness alone could now save her. She pressed her 
 hand upon her heart, to still its rapid beating, and said, 
 
 " Listen to me, Victor, and do not endeavor to frighten me 
 thus, for I can not believe that your threats are made in earn- 
 est. You have committed a fearful crime for my sake : I 
 pity you ; I forgive you ; and O, Victor, I love you still. Do 
 not be so harsh so cruel you break my heart by acting 
 thus." 
 
 At the allusion to his crime, Victor shuddered, and cast a 
 fearful glance around. He spoke in a whisper, every tone of 
 which seemed to vibrate with horror. 
 
 " The dead gibbered around me the vault seemed lighted 
 with flames from the Inferno ; but I would not be baulked. 
 Ha ! look here, see what I won by my perseverance." 
 
 He drew forth a casket from his pocket, and, opening it, 
 the flash of diamonds of singular luster and purity, was seen. 
 A necklace of rose-diamonds, of large size, he drew forth, 
 and said, with a ghastly smile, 
 
 " See how I can afford to deck you, Louise." 
 
 Before she was aware of his intention, he threw it over her 
 bare neck. The touch of the gems which had so lately lain 
 in contact with the dead overpowerd the little fortitude Lou- 
 ise retained, and she sunk back insensible on the crimson 
 velvet fauteuil in which she was seated. 
 
 16 
 
362 
 
 Without heeding this, Victor proceeded in his task. He 
 next drew forth an ornament for the head, in the shape of a 
 coronet ; this he carefully placed, then clasped the rings in 
 the ears, the bracelets on her arms, and then lifting the nerve- 
 less hand, he placed in it the miniature scepter of which 
 ]N"evin had spoken. 
 
 When all was done, he stood off and viewed the effect. 
 The delicate and colorless features of the insensible girl, con- 
 trasted with the crimson back-ground against which she 
 reclined, looked pure as marble. Her evening dress, of a pale 
 rose tint, was cut so as to leave the fair neck and rounded 
 arms partially bared ; and the blaze of the jewels in the 
 lamp-light, might, at a first glance, have induced one to be 
 lieve that she was in grand toilette for some gay assemblage ; 
 but a second look at the fixed features and closed eyes would 
 have startled the beholder into the belief that death was only 
 mocked with this semblance of splendor. 
 
 Victor contemplated her in silence several moments, then 
 he kneeled before her, and said, 
 
 " My queen of love and beauty, once now my queen of 
 death most royally art thou decked for the sacrifice. Ha ! 
 ha ! will not Nevin learn that his gems are well bestowed ? 
 even on her to whom he would have given them himself. 
 But I am beforehand with him. I have the advantage this 
 time, and I mean to keep it." 
 
 He kissed the hand of the insensible girl her lifeless lips 
 her brow, again, and again. Then he drew from his 
 pocket a second pistol, and lifting the one on the table, he 
 pointed it toward the heart of Louise. The other he placed 
 
363 
 
 where his hand could grasp it the instant he dropped the 
 first. 
 
 Then the madman paused ; and fixing his eyes adoringly 
 upon the face he had so worshiped, he said, in a tone of en- 
 treaty, 
 
 " Forgive me, darling, best loved one. I take you from a 
 world that can only bring sorrow to your heart, and a blight 
 upon your loveliness. I will not mar your beauty, my flower 
 of Paradise; through your heart the messenger of release 
 shall go, and you will not even feel the pain of death." 
 
 He raised himself on one knee, and deliberately took aim 
 at the left side of the defenseless girl, who had not yet ex- 
 hibited the slightest sign of returning consciousness. Not a 
 muscle trembled, as he slowly raised his finger to touch the 
 deadly trigger. 
 
 In another instant Louise would have been beyond help, 
 when a swift step came noiselessly over the carpet, and a firm 
 hand dashed up the weapon, with the exclamation, 
 
 " Madman ! what would you do ?" 
 
 Victor struggled violently, for he recognized the voice of 
 his rival, and he endeavored to turn the weapon against him. 
 Kevin wrenched his arm with a grasp of iron ; as the pistol 
 came in contact with the body of the hapless young man, it 
 exploded, and the meditated assassin received the load in his 
 own heart. 
 
 Victor fell dead upon the floor, and the report seemed to 
 arouse Louise from her death-like swoon, for she unclosed her 
 eyes, and looked vacantly around. Nevin snatched her in his 
 arms, as if she had been a child, and rushed toward the door, 
 
364 
 
 meeting in his precipitate retreat the affrighted members ot 
 the household, hurrying to the scene of blood. 
 
 " My daughter what has happened to my daughter ?" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Kuskin, as she arrested him on the threshold. 
 
 " Your daughter is safe, but frightened into insensibility by 
 the mad boy who lies yonder in death, madam. Let me 
 place Louise in a place of safety, and I will explain what I 
 know of this terrible affair." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin at once led the way into her own chamber. 
 By the time Louise was placed on the bed, the recollection 
 of what had recently passed between herself and Victor came 
 vividly back to her ; and she started up, exclaiming, 
 
 " Where is my cousin ? What has become of him ?" then 
 catching the gleam of the jewels that still decked her person, 
 she frantically tore them off. 
 
 "Take them away take them away. That madman 
 must have decked me in them after I became insensible. O, 
 where is he ? will no one tell me what has become of him ?" 
 
 " He is safe, Louise," replied Nevin, gravely. " He has no 
 longer the power to harm you." 
 
 She regarded him with a frightened air and then she said, 
 in a faint tone, 
 
 " You have regained your jewels. You you will cease all 
 inquiry quash all proceedings against him ?" 
 
 "It is already done, Louise, by a higher power than 
 mine." 
 
 She comprehended him at once, and vailing her eyes with 
 her hand, she said, 
 
 "Lord Lord of mercy, pardon for me for him," and 
 
* 
 
 365 
 
 sunk back exhausted by the various emotions she had endured 
 within the last few hours. 
 
 This was no time to question her concerning what had pre- 
 ceeded her swoon, and Nevin left the house to meet at once 
 the inquiry he knew must be made into the catastrophe of 
 the evening. He immediately went to the office of a magis- 
 trate and recounted the particulars of the struggle between 
 himself and young Harrington. He stated that he had visited 
 Mrs. Euskin's family early in the evening, but having an 
 engagement elsewhere, he left about eight o'clock for the 
 purpose of fulfilling it. On his return home, it was a little 
 out of his way to pass the house again, but he was impelled 
 to do so, he knew not why. On reaching it the lights in the 
 drawing-room were still burning, and although it was then 
 past ten o'clock, the same internal monitor bade him enter. 
 He did so, and was just in time to save the life of the eldest 
 daughter of the family from the weapon of a madman ; for 
 there was every evidence to believe that Victor Harrington 
 was no longer in a condition to be accountable for his actions. 
 In the struggle that ensued the pistol exploded, taking the 
 life of the unfortunate young man. 
 
 As no previous ill-feeling was known to have existed be- 
 tween them, his statement was received without question, and 
 a verdict of accidental death returned by the coroner. 
 
 Thus a life in its early prime passed into oblivion, without 
 a record of any thing save weakness and a want of self-con- 
 trol. How many such go up among the vast throng hourly 
 crowding toward the portals of eternity, who shall say ? To 
 them, how awful must be the award of Him who gave the 
 noble boon of life in vain. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WHILE these terrible scenes were enacting below, Miss 
 Gertrude had resumed her position beside the bed of her 
 brother, and listened to his last directions with an earnest 
 desire to comprehend them in such a manner as to render 
 their execution comparatively easy. Mrs. Ruskin was sum- 
 moned to the room, and received from Mr. Harrington ample 
 security for the money due to her children. No temptation 
 had been strong enough to induce him to use any portion of 
 it for the relief of his own embarrassments. She accepted it 
 with ill-concealed joy ; for she had been reflecting on the best 
 means of bringing forward her claims at once, from the 
 moment she saw the precarious condition of her brother-in- 
 law. She said, 
 
 " Thank you this is very considerate, and only anticipates 
 what I must have demanded in a few weeks. The marriage 
 of Louise would have rendered a settlement necessary." 
 
 Mr. Harrington sighed as he recalled the wasted wreck he 
 had so lately looked on ; he said, 
 
 " Louise has then entirely given up my poor boy ?" 
 
 "Of course; what could you expect, brother? Louise 
 marries a man of great wealth : Victor could give her neither 
 home nor position." 
 
367 
 
 " That, alas ! is too true. Let us not speak of what is so 
 painful to me. Gertrude my children, have patience with 
 the lorn and blighted life of my poor boy. Lead him back, 
 by gentle means, to hope and happiness. Teach him wherein 
 lies the true life, and seek to elevate him to your own noble 
 standard." 
 
 " We will we pledge ourselves to make every effort to do 
 so," was the reply of those to whom he addressed himself. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin privately thought the task thus undertaken at 
 least a very difficult one to perform, and by no means certain 
 as to the result, but she wisely said nothing. 
 
 " Do not weary yourself with talking so much, dear father," 
 pleaded Adele. Mr. Harrington faintly smiled, as he replied, 
 
 "Any sudden excitement may seal my lips forever, my 
 darling, I feel from the rapid pulsation of my poor old heart ; 
 and I must speak what is on my mind before I go. My next 
 words are for you, Adele. Philip loves you ; he has told me 
 so himself; and I know that he is worthy of you. I once 
 hoped to live and retain him near me, where I could provide 
 for the happy future of both for you are not indifferent to 
 him, I believe. Is it not so, my love ?" 
 
 Adele bowed her head, and murmured, 
 
 " I will not deny it, father." 
 
 " That is right, my love ; Evelyn will wish you to unite 
 your fate to his at once ; but hearken to the advice of your 
 best friend, and remember it when I am gone. In their 
 change of fortune, your aunt and sister will need your pres- 
 ence for a while, to brighten their home, for yours is now 
 the glad spirit of our household, and you must not permit 
 
368 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 my loss to weigh you down. Remember that I go really to 
 a better land, from which I sincerely believe I shall be per- 
 mitted to watch over your welfare. Promise me, all of 
 you, that you will check your grief for my loss, that you 
 will seek such sunshine as life may now offer to you." 
 
 The promise was tearfully given, and he again pro- 
 ceeded, 
 
 " Let Philip return to his own home and seek such em- 
 ployment as may afford him a competence. Let the grass 
 grow above my last resting-place, and then, my daughter, 
 seek your new home with its cares and pleasures, bearing to 
 it a hopeful heart. That Providence which uprooted and 
 destroyed one earthly abiding-place, will, I feel assured, smile 
 on the creation of another, in which will dwell two good and 
 true spirits, that love and trust each other." 
 
 " Dearest father, it shall be as you desire," murmured the 
 weeping girl. He passed his hand caressingly over her bowed 
 head, and then drew Pauline toward him. 
 
 " This blow will be hardest for you to sustain, my daughter. 
 Bear it patiently, meekly, and He who sent it will, in his own 
 good time, also send peace to the desolate chambers of your 
 soul." 
 
 " If I could only go with you," she sobbed. " Of what use 
 can my weary life be to any one, when I almost feel it as a 
 burden to myself?" 
 
 I "My love, you have suffered deeply. Thus you have 
 learned compassion for those who have also felt the chasten- 
 ing hand of affliction. It will teach you to be tender to the 
 / erring ; to bind up the broken heart and minister to the 
 
369 
 
 bruised spirit. Such are God's angels on earth ; remember 
 that our divine Master was ' a man of sorrows and acquainted 
 with grief.' " 
 
 " I do remember it. I have tried to conquer myself. I have 
 prayed ; but the passionate human spirit refused to be com- 
 forted. Christ was divine" 
 
 " And also human : in weighing his sufferings, do not for- 
 get that, my darling, and then, perhaps, you will have a truer 
 comprehension of them. Struggle against your own weak- 
 ness, and He will send the strength of His divine faith, to 
 comfort and sustain you." 
 
 " I promise to make the effort," said the poor girl, weeping 
 convulsively ; for it seemed to her that the last tie that bound 
 her to life was about to be severed. 
 
 Presently Mr. Harrington spoke to his sister, 
 
 " What did you propose to do, Gertrude, when yon alluded 
 to your own efforts to increase the pittance I shall be enabled 
 to leave you f J> 
 
 " The Grange is situated in a thickly-populated neighbor- 
 hood, where there are many wealthy people. The first idea 
 that occurred to me, was to establish a select school there. 
 You know that my education originally fitted me for that 
 sphere, and the supervision I maintained over that of your 
 daughters has not permitted my attainments to grow rusty. 
 I can be the head of the establishment, while Pauline and 
 Adele assist in the department of music and modern lan- 
 guages." 
 
 " It is a good thought," he began, but Mrs. Ruskin uncere- 
 moniously broke in, 
 
 16* 
 
370 
 
 " What ! will you lower yourself so much ? Will you 
 lose caste by attempting to do any thing toward your own 
 support when there will really be no absolute necessity 
 for it ?" 
 
 She appeared quite excited, and Miss Gertrude quietly re- 
 plied, 
 
 " It seems to me that, in a country like ours, no honorable 
 employment that brings independence, should be thus spoken 
 of. The loss of caste you refer to, is, I presume, only loss 
 of wealth ; and included with that, of course, the de- 
 sertion of the summer friends that flutter around the pros- 
 perous." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin only looked scornfully, and asked, 
 
 " What need will there be of such extreme measures 1 The 
 estate must leave at least a support for you all, after it is 
 wound up." 
 
 " A bare support, which we will make an independence ; 
 for we are neither afraid nor ashamed to labor," replied Miss 
 Harrington. " The small pittance that can honestly be res- 
 cued from my brother's property might afford a mere living 
 for us, stripped of every refinement and every elegance to 
 which we have been accustomed. Is it not far better to use 
 our own abilities to procure those things than to feel the 
 want of them every day ? and, in the absence of employment, 
 probably, to repine at their loss ? That is one view, and the 
 most selfish one. On the other hand, we may become the 
 means of accomplishing much good to others, in the new 
 path opened before us." 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin replied, with a sneer, 
 
371 
 
 " You always had the strangest ideas, Gertrude, that ever 
 any woman of good sense before entertained. Pray let this 
 mad scheme alone, until my nieces have time to look around 
 them. Adele may marry in such a manner as to render any 
 thing of this kind unnecessary. She is so uncommonly hand- 
 some that even without fortune she can choose among those 
 who can save her from this." 
 
 This discussion carried on, in such a tone, before her fathei 
 in his present condition, shocked Adele, and she raised her 
 head, and replied to her unfeeling aunt, 
 
 " I shall never barter myself for wealth to obviate the 
 necessity of using the faculties nature has bestowed on me. 
 So far as I am concerned, I will aid Aunt Gertrude with 
 heart and hand." 
 
 " And I also," said Pauline, decisively, as she arose, and, 
 crossing the room, brought her prayer-book back with her. 
 To end the discussion which she saw was painful to her 
 father, she asked him if she should read aloud to him a por- 
 tion of the visitation to the sick. 
 
 " Thank you, my love," he said " I will gladly listen to it 
 to-morrow I will see a clergyman; to-night be you my 
 spiritual ministrant." 
 
 He smiled fondly on her, and she sat down where the light 
 from the shaded lamp fell upon the page. All composed 
 themselves to listen, and Mr. Harrington lay with his eyes 
 closed as the sweet tones of the reader floated around him. 
 In many of the most consoling portions his lips moved as if 
 he repeated the words after her, and never had they seemed 
 so significant to him. 
 
372 
 
 "When slie had concluded, her father said, 
 
 " The works of Franklin are here, I know. Get the vol- 
 ume containing his letter to Miss Hubbard, on the death of 
 his brother, and read it to me." Mr. Harrington then told 
 her the volume and page in which she would find it, showing 
 that he was perfectly familiar with it already. Pauline left 
 the room a few moments, and soon returned with the book ; 
 and the sick man listened with rapt attention as she read the 
 beautiful and consoling language there found on the subject 
 of death. He wrote, 
 
 " We have lost a most dear and valuable relation. But it 
 is the will of God and nature that these mortal bodies be laid 
 aside when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather 
 an embryo state : a preparation for living. A man is not 
 completely born until he is dead. Why then should we 
 grieve that a new child is born among the immortals ? a new 
 member added to their happy society? We are spirits. 
 That bodies should be lent us while they can afford us pleas- 
 ure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or doing good to our 
 fellow-creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. When 
 they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain in- 
 stead of pleasure instead of an aid, become an incumbrance, 
 and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, 
 it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by 
 which we may get rid of them. 
 
 " Death is that way. We ourselves, in some cases, pru- 
 dently choose a partial death. A mangled, painful limb, 
 which can not be restored, we willingly cut off. He who 
 plucks out a tooth, parts with it freely, since the pain goes 
 
 
373 
 
 with it ; and he who quits the whole body, parts at once with 
 all pains and possibilities of pains and diseases it was liable 
 to, or capable of making him suffer." 
 
 " Our friend and we were invited abroad on a party of 
 pleasure which is to last forever. His chair was ready first, 
 and he is gone before us. We could not conveniently start 
 together ; and why should you and I be grieved at this, since 
 we are soon to follow, and know where to find him? 
 
 She ceased, and Mr. Harrington said, 
 
 " How beautiful, how consoling, is such a view of the inev- 
 itable parting of soul and body ; and I more than ever real- 
 ize how true are his sublime consolations. Read those words 
 again, and yet again, my beloved ones, when I am no longer 
 with you, and they will speak peace to your souls. We gaze 
 with silent awe into the dimming eyes in which flickers the 
 last expiring gleams of that intelligence which has illumined 
 earth : which is soon to mingle among angels to claim the 
 bright reward of a struggle well sustained then why should 
 we grieve for the departure of such a one ? death ! best 
 and truest friend of humanity ! why have the fears and super- 
 stitions of man made thee a grisly phantom of terror ? The 
 flower falleth to the earth, and from its seed springs a richer 
 abundance in the future ; so shall the soul of man expand as 
 a flower in the glories of the perfect day." 
 
 While this Christian and philosopher thus discoursed on 
 the approach of the shining angel, a profound stillness reigned 
 throughout the mansion ; suddenly this was interrupted by 
 the report of a pistol which rang sharp, clear, and distinct 
 through the silence of night. 
 
 - 
 
374 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mrs. Ruskin rushed from the room, and Mr. Harrington 
 started up with an exclamation : the sudden rush of blood 
 through his heart was more than his exhausted condition 
 could bear, and he had scarcely gained an upright position, 
 when he fell back, dead. 
 
 Thus did Heaven, in its mercy, spare him a knowledge 
 of what was passing below. The angel of death folded him 
 in his shining mantle and bore him to that " home eternal in 
 the heavens, prepared for them that love God and keep His 
 commandments." 
 
 Occupied with this sudden catastrophe, those around him 
 did not leave the apartment to learn the cause of the tumult 
 below ; and when Mrs. Ruskin at last returned, it was easy 
 for her to account for it in a plausible manner, without be- 
 traying the terrible scene that had ended so tragically. That 
 Victor had again disappeared they soon knew ; but his move- 
 ments of late had been so erratic, that much as they were dis- 
 tressed at his apparent want of respect to the last rites due to 
 his father, they never suspected the truth. 
 
 Many weeks after his quiet burial, the sisters were informed 
 of his accidental death from the explosion of a pistol he held 
 carelessly in his hand ; but the particulars were never made 
 known to them. They were shocked and grieved at such a 
 catastrophe ; but after the first sorrow had passed away they 
 submitted to that wisdom which had seen fit to cut short a 
 life which promised no good result ; and in all human proba- 
 bility would have been filled with much that was evil. 
 
 Miss Harrington followed the injunctions of her brother as 
 literally as possible. The creditors were surprised at the ofier 
 
375 
 
 made to them to compromise at once, and did so with more 
 liberality than she anticipated. The Grange, a small place 
 containing about fifty acres of land, and such improvements 
 as rendered it habitable, together with six negroes, to be se- 
 lected by themselves, were secured to the daughters of 
 Mr. Harrington, and the estate passed into the hands of 
 strangers. 
 
 The plantation of Wavertree was a desolate waste. The 
 subsiding waters left an immense deposit of sand which 
 choked up the drains ; all the houses had been undermined 
 by the flood, and were in a state of dilapidation. The man- 
 sion was an utter wreck. One visit was made to it by its 
 late inmates, but they suffered so much in beholding the ruin 
 of their beloved home that a tacit resolution was made by 
 each one never again to seek the spot where so much happi- 
 ness had once dwelt. 
 
 The negroes were sold to a neighboring proprietor, to 
 whom they chose to go ; and a most trying scene it was to 
 the sisters when they came to bid adieu to those under whose 
 rule they had hoped to live and die. Cries, sobs, and bene- 
 dictions were heard on every side, and the young ladies 
 wept with them at the inevitable separation. 
 
 They were permitted to select those they were to retain, 
 and a difficult task ,it was to choose among so many, all 
 equally anxious to be the favored ones. With many tears 
 and much heart-breaking emotion, the choice was finally 
 made, and then they reproached themselves for the preference 
 they had shown the chosen ones, when they heard the bless- 
 
376 THE PLANTER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ings of the others, and their assurances that " they had done 
 for the best, and as all could not go, it was but right that 
 they should select such as could be most useful to them in 
 their new mode of life." 
 
CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 WE have hurried over the painful events in the life of our 
 fair heroines which the last few weeks had unfolded ; because 
 such things, though almost of daily occurrence, are too full of 
 anguish to be dwelt on, even by the pen of the story-teller. 
 How many of the incidents of this " ower true tale" will come 
 home, as a sad reality of by-gone years, to hearts that have 
 been rived to their very core by such family ruin as we have 
 just depicted, from that actual experience which enables us to 
 turn back in fancy to that terrible hour 
 
 " When hearts were gushing in pale despair, 
 O'er the joys of the home no longer there.' ; 
 
 We will now follow the three severely-tried ones to their 
 new abode. The Grange was situated several miles from the 
 river on a romantic lake which is supposed once to have been 
 a portion of the Mississippi thrown into its present isolated 
 position by the impetuous current forcing its way through a 
 new channel, thus leaving this long shining reach of water in- 
 sulated and calm. It is many miles in extent, and bears all 
 the peculiar characteristics of the Father of Waters, save that 
 its banks are green and sloping, and offer, in many places, 
 exquisite nooks in which the disciples of Isaac Walton may 
 
378 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 find as rare sport as ever was chronicled even by that enthu- 
 siast in angling. 
 
 The house fronted a curve in the lake, and four gigantic 
 forest trees interlaced their branches over the green bank that 
 fell in natural terraces toward the water. A small yard filled 
 with fruit-trees, mingled with a few magnolias of large size, 
 was in front of the cottage. This was of wood painted white, 
 with a light green verandah in front, over which a rose-bush 
 twined its luxuriant creepers. 
 
 The place had been improved by a French creole, and in 
 accordance with their usual custom, in place of building one 
 large house, several smaller ones had been preferred. The 
 central cottage contained three rooms two in front, open- 
 ing on the verandah, and one the whole length of the build- 
 ing, in the rear. These were appropriated as parlor, dining- 
 room, and bed-room by Miss Harrington and her nieces, and 
 such furniture as had been saved from the wreck at Waver- 
 tree was transferred to them. 
 
 There were two smaller houses on either side of the yard, 
 facing toward the principal cottage. Q^e of these contained 
 two rooms fitted up for guests ; the other had been converted 
 into a school-room, by tearing away the partition which 
 divided the apartments, and throwing them into one. This 
 was well shaded, and kept with delicate attention to neatness. 
 
 This was a very paradise of a school-room ; and the young 
 faces that peeped forth from its shelter during the week were 
 as bright and sparkling as health, happiness, and employment 
 could make them. Miss Gertrude possessed the rare tact of 
 gaining the affectionate respect of her pupils, and they vied 
 
379 
 
 with each other in endeavoring to obtain her approbation : 
 and each young heart in the school felt it to be a privilege to 
 be instructed by the lovely sisters. 
 
 Pauline, with her pale pensive face, and subdued manner, 
 seemed to them like a pure spirit from some higher sphere, 
 lent for a while to this, to show the beauty of self-abnegation 
 to these young being, born to bear the burden of that life 
 which must inevitably bring with it sorrow, struggle, tempta- 
 tion, and death. 
 
 In Adele they beheld the incarnation of beauty of soul, in 
 a physical frame worthy to enshrine it ; and each one thought 
 in her heart that the seraphs in heaven could not be more 
 beautiful, or more angelic in temper than their lovely h> 
 structress. 
 
 The necessity of immediate exertion had been an inexpress- 
 ible benefit to the bereaved family. Unavailing sorrow, over 
 losses that were irreparable was forcibly repressed ; that, as 
 far as possible, they might fulfill the last wishes of him whose 
 memory was reverently and tenderly cherished by them ; and 
 every energy was tasked to execute their plans without 
 delay. 
 
 Philip Evelyn remained with them until they were settled 
 in their new home, and the school fairly under way. The 
 desire to establish such a seminary was eagerly responded to 
 by the most intelligent families in the vicinity, who were 
 anxious to educate their daughters without sending them from 
 home. The accomplishments of the teachers insured them 
 more than the limited number of pupils they were willing to 
 take ; and in the occupation thus afforded, they found tempo- 
 
380 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 rary forge tfulness of their recent afflictions, if not oblivion to 
 them. 
 
 It was a bright evening in early Autumn : it was Friday 
 evening; the labors of the week were over, and the little 
 family hailed the interval of repose offered by the two days 
 to come with feelings of quiet gratitude that the path they 
 had so resolutely and nobly opened for themselves had, thus 
 far, been so easy to walk in. They still sat beneath their own 
 vine and fig-tree, independent, and blessed with contentment 
 in the society and affection of each other. 
 
 On this evening the servant had been to the post-office, 
 and brought back letters for each one. Miss Gertrude and 
 Pauline sat on the verandah and read theirs, while Adele tooi 
 hers and strolled down to a quiet nook on the edge of the 
 lake, where she sat down beneath an old tree to peruse the 
 beautiful effusions of heart-felt affection addressed to her by 
 her absent lover. 
 
 Miss Harrington's letter was from Mrs. Ruskin, and it was 
 filled with complaints that after all the expense of preparing 
 a bridal trousseau for Louise suited to the position she was to 
 occupy as the wife of Kevin, the match was likely to prove a 
 failure. The gentleman had perversely taken the idea into 
 his head that he was not first in the affections of her daughter. 
 
 Nevin, she said, was about to embark for Europe with their 
 ci-devant friend, Mr. Malcolm, who had suddenly appeared in 
 the city after several months' absence, no one knew where, as 
 he did not choose to enlighten them. There was much more 
 in the same querulous strain, and the writer ended by signing 
 herself the most unfortunate and ill-used woman in the world. 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 381 
 
 Louise had also written to Pauline with much of her usual 
 flippancy. She said, 
 
 " Ma is groaning in spirit over the desertion of Mr. Nevin, 
 as she chooses to consider it. / do not, however, regard it 
 as an irreparable misfortune. I had not by any means em- 
 barked all my hopes in one frail argosy, as some poet most 
 absurdly said as if any woman of sense would do such a 
 thing. The sighing, pining, die-away sort of feminines may 
 do this, perhaps ; but they are not at all to my taste, and I 
 decline following their lachrymose example. 
 
 " If my heart could have broken, it would have been when 
 poor Victor met his untimely fate. I know you will believe 
 me, Pauline, when I tell you that I sincerely loved him; 
 though you, with your different nature, will scarcely be able 
 to comprehend this affection for one man, when worldliness 
 was hurrying me into a union with another. All that was 
 true in me was developed by that affection ; the rest is the 
 result of the training I have received, in some measure, 
 though I am afraid that Nature, when she formed me, 
 used the elements of the butterfly in place of giving me 
 the grand passionate soul which makes or mars a woman's 
 destiny." 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, my mother did the best she could with 
 the materials she had to work on ; but such as I am, be as- 
 sured that my heart is not going to break because my rich 
 lover thinks his high-mightiness occupies a lower place in my 
 affections than some one else once claimed." 
 
 " Mr. Nevin goes to Europe with , I do not know that 
 
 I should name him, for I believe he caused my uncle much 
 
382 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 trouble, and some say, laid the foundation of all bis subse- 
 quent misfortunes ; but let that be as it may, I hate mysteries, 
 and I must tell you that Mr. Malcolm has returned to the 
 city, and goes to Europe on an extended tour. He says it 
 may last his lifetime. I \vonder if he will go alone forever, 
 like the Wandering Jew ; or if he will yet seek some * glad 
 spirit for his minister.' 
 
 He looks as if he stands sadly in need of something to en- 
 liven him, for a more absent, self-absorbed being, it would be 
 difficult to find. He makes no effort to interest others, but 
 glides like the wraith of his former self, through the scenes 
 of which he was once the ornament and pride. Thus passeth 
 the glory of the world ; see what a moralizing vein I am in, 
 and lest you should grow weary of it, I will close my epistle, 
 with assurances of my continued appreciation, in spite of 
 your horrid seclusion in that humble cottage, throwing away 
 your fine acquirements, and your youth, in guiding little un- 
 taught Creoles up the ascent of knowledge. I trust that a 
 sufficient portion of the spirit of Job has been transfused 
 into your individuality to enable you to bear the burden of 
 such a lot with patience. As to myself, I believe that I 
 would prefer annihilation to such a destiny. 
 
 With kind regards to my aunt and Adele, I am, as ever, 
 your affectionate friend and cousin, LOUISE RUSKIN. 
 
 Pauline silently handed the letter over to her aunt. Miss 
 Gertrude read it, and remarked, 
 
 " I believe Louise will ever remain the same. No misfor- 
 tune can long subdue her spirits." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 383 
 
 Pauline sighed heavily. She said, 
 
 "After all, such light, unimpressible natures enjoy life 
 most. I would give much to be able to rise, Phoenix like, 
 from the ashes of affliction, as Louise does. She loved poor 
 Victor, but not as he loved her." 
 
 " No how should she ? Intense and overwrought feeling 
 seems the heritage of my brother's children ; and a fearful 
 one it is, as Victor too fatally knew. I own that I like Lou- 
 ise better since reading her letter ; if she could have per- 
 mitted her marriage to go on so soon after the poor boy's 
 tragic end I should never have respected her again." 
 
 " Aunt, have you ever been able to learn all the particulars 
 of that that " 
 
 She faltered and grew pale at the recollection of that 
 night of agony, when the sound of the explosion which car- 
 ried death to her brother, by some mysterious and powerful 
 sympathy, also stilled the pulses of her beloved father's 
 heart forever. Miss Gertrude looked disturbed, for all the 
 occurrences of that fatal night had been made known to her, 
 though she studiously concealed them from her nieces. She 
 replied, 
 
 " Victor was accidentally shot, my dear. Let that suffice. 
 It is a painful subject, which can not very well bear discus 
 sion." 
 
 Pauline sank into a reverie, in which her brother, as she 
 had last seen him, at first occupied the most prominent place ; 
 but gradually his image faded from her musings, and another, 
 whose name had stirred, to their very depths, the pulses of 
 the heart she hoped was growing indifferent to him, came 
 
384 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 before her fancy. She beheld him as described by Louise, 
 and again the surges of desolation swept over her spirit ; and 
 the sad requiem of unrequited love floated silently upward 
 from her sternly tried soul. 
 
 " Will I never be free from this anguish ?" she mentally 
 asked. " why will my foolish heart cling to him who is 
 indifferent to me, with this everlasting yearning to be all 
 things to him ? I have tasked all the strength of my spirit 
 to drive his memory far, far from me, and all in vain. The 
 very sight of his name on this senseless piece of paper, 
 awakens a thousand emotions which assure me that I love 
 him as tenderly, as exclusively as ever. 
 
 "And he, too, the minister of so much evil to my De- 
 loved father ; O, I feel that it is almost a wrong to his 
 memory to give one kind thought to this man, yet I can not 
 help it !" 
 
 While Pauline thus struggled with memories of the past, 
 Adele sat beneath the trees with a bright smile and height- 
 ened color, and felt that joy in her heart with which the 
 " stranger intermeddleth not." Her sweet yet rational dream 
 of love was sacred to her as is the holy fire to the Eastern 
 worshiper. Philip Evelyn's poet soul was breathed in every 
 line of his letter, and the young girl thanked Heaven that 
 amid all the sad reverses of her lot, the love of such a man 
 had been bestowed upon herself. Evelyn informed her of the 
 arrangements he had already commenced making for their 
 future home. 
 
 Aided by his brother-in-law, he had established the scien- 
 tific department in the college in which Mr. Graves was pro- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 885 
 
 fessor of languages, and it promised soon to be in a nourishing 
 condition. 
 
 The salary from it would be amply sufficient to supportx 
 them in comfort, and promised to be still better in the future. / 
 Philip described a beautiful cottage, romantic enough to be 
 " wedded love's first home," which his father had purchased 
 for him, and which he had commenced beautifying for the re- 
 ception of his lovely bride. By the time she would take pos- 
 session he hoped the grounds around would be a paradise of 
 sweets, reminding her of the luxuriant vegetation and gorge- 
 ous flowers of her own southern land. 
 
 The roof, too, was overshadowed by an immense oak ; not 
 so grand and imposing as the magnificent tree from which 
 her early home had derived its name, but still of noble pro- 
 portions, and this, too, should bear the beloved name of 
 Wavertree, if Adele approved. 
 
 She read his letter twice, and then resting her head against 
 the trunk of the tree, at whose foot she sat, and casting her 
 eyes over the placid waters before her, Adele surrendered her 
 mind to the beautiful dreams and emotions that filled it. 
 Twilight was slowly stealing over the earth; the glowing 
 western sky was fading and the first bright star of evening 
 already cast a long line of tremulous light upon the calm sur- 
 face of the lake. 
 
 Suddenly a footstep broke the stillness, and Adele looked 
 up. expecting to behold her aunt or sister. 
 
 A tall, stately form stood beside her, which, at a glance, 
 she recognized ; she arose precipitately, her cheek alternately 
 paling and flushing with agitation, for the intruder was so 
 
 17 
 
386 
 
 vividly associated in her mind with the troubles and ruin of 
 her father as to cause his presence to be a painful oppression, 
 from which she would gladly escape. She hastily said, 
 
 " Mr. Malcolm, I scarcely expected to see you again. Par- 
 don me, if I also add that I had no desire ever again to meet 
 you." 
 
 " You are candid, at least, Miss Harrington," he said, 
 with an accent of pained bitterness. " Yet I entreat that 
 you will endeavor to control your antipathy to me while 
 I speak a few words which must, for my own peace, be 
 uttered." 
 
 He had taken off his hat, and as the fading light fell on his 
 features, Adele saw that he looked dejected and pale, and her 
 sympathetic heart was touched by this appearance of suffer- 
 ing in one who had seemed too self- sustained to betray such 
 evidences of his kindred with the common lot of humanity. 
 She more gently asked, 
 
 " Is it of importance to me, that you thus seek me ?" 
 
 " It may be ; I scarcely know ; you must decide on that." 
 
 He seemed collecting his thoughts, and he remained silent 
 so long that the young girl looked apprehensively toward 
 the cottage, fearing that her sister might come out to seek 
 her, and thus discover who was her companion. At length 
 she said, 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Malcolm, but it grows late, and I must re- 
 turn to the house. If you have any thing important to say to 
 me, pray lose no time." 
 
 " Adele, I know not how to begin ; how to word the offer ] 
 came to make. Let me restore you to the sphere to which 
 
387 
 
 you rightfully belong. Let me be the medium by which 
 wealth may be restored to all you love." 
 
 " And is this your errand here ?" she coldly asked. " I 
 thought that question had been sot at rest long since. If you 
 were not satisfied with the answer you received last winter, 
 permit me to reiterate it. No inducement could be offered 
 (hat could tempt me to become your wife. 
 
 Malcolm bowed with his most stately air. 
 
 " I fully comprehended that at the time, Miss Harrington ; 
 and I have become reconciled to the decision in the months 
 of absence which have since passed. Removed from the in- 
 fluence of your entrancing beauty, knowing you to be de- 
 voted to another, the mist of passion fell from my heart, and 
 too late for my own happiness or that of one revered in my 
 inmost spirit as a being too pure, too noble, to belong to such 
 as I am, the voice of truth made itself heard." 
 
 There was inexpressible melancholy in the tones of his 
 ringing voice, and Adele listened in silent surprise to this un- 
 expected revelation. She slowly said, 
 
 " It is then as I have always said : the true love was given 
 to my sister ? ! how have you sinned against her, against 
 yourself !" 
 
 " I know it I feel it but it is now too late. I never can 
 throw my heart at her feet to be spurned, as it deserves." 
 
 " Why then have you sought this interview ? What am I 
 to understand by your offer to become the medium by which 
 fortune is to be restored to my family ?" 
 
 " Simply this : I tempted your father to embark in specu- 
 lations which laid the foundation of all his subsequent mis- 
 
388 
 
 fortunes. He gave me important aid, by which I made large 
 'sums of money. It seems to me only just that I shall atone 
 to his children by returning to them at least a portion of 
 these gains. I conjure you, Adele, to let no false pride in- 
 terfere, and prompt the rejection of what my conscience tells 
 me is justly yours." 
 
 Adele was greatly touched by his earnest and impassioned 
 manner, but she gently and firmly replied, 
 
 " Mr. Malcolm, this may not be. We do not need your 
 bounty, and it would lower our standard of independence too 
 greatly to accept it." 
 
 " But I have wronged you I feel it I know it. Let me 
 atone in the only manner now left open to me," he pleaded. 
 " Adele, it is no longer the lover, but the friend, who offers 
 what he can not honestly keep." 
 
 " Give it then in deeds of charity to those who need it. 
 We are contented in our new sphere ; reflect an instant on 
 all that is past and gone, Mr. Malcolm, and you will feel the 
 impossibility of accepting what you would bestow." 
 
 " Content !" he repeated bitterly. "What a dim shadow 
 of happiness is that! And Pauline, the angel of destiny, 
 whose ministrations I madly slighted, is condemned to this 
 life of toil and mental drudgery. I tell you, Adele, if I could 
 redeem the past I would give the best blood in my heart to 
 be enabled to do so." 
 
 Adele could not forbear saying, half-reproachfully, 
 
 " Had you known your own mind sooner, Mr. Malcolm, all 
 the misery that has ensued might have been spared." 
 
 " Ah ! that is my bitterest reproach ! I loved you both, 
 
389 
 
 strange as the avowal may seem. Your transcendant beauty 
 dazzled and bewildered me ; and when I gazed on you with 
 the faintest hope that I might ultimately win you, it stifled 
 the whispered voice which always assured me that the true, 
 sacred, and enduring flame of love was lighted by Pauline, 
 alone, I wronged her ; I cruelly trampled on her heart, and 
 mine now bleeds for every wound she received from me. 
 Adele, do you think I may dare to tell her this ?" 
 
 She was deeply embarrassed, and hesitated how to reply 
 to him. She was firmly impressed with the belief that her 
 sister would not now listen to his suit. The silent struggles 
 of Pauline had been confined to her own bosom ; and Adele 
 believed that calmness, founded on indifference, had at last 
 returned to the wounded heart. She feared that overtures 
 from Malcolm would only lacerate it anew, and she at length 
 replied, 
 
 " I believe it is now too late. Pauline has so long believed 
 herself unloved, that you will not be able to convince her of 
 the sincerity of your affection. She will probably think you 
 seek her from a feeling of pity." 
 
 Malcolm sighed heavily. 
 
 " I believe you are right ; and I, who have caused her so 
 much suffering, have no right to inflict an additional pang 
 upon her pride. I will not consider your refusal of my offer 
 of restitution as final, Miss Harrington, until two weeks have 
 passed by without any communication from you. At the end 
 of that time I shall leave my native land, perhaps forever. 
 Permit me to bid you adieu, and to hope that in the lot you 
 have chosen, you may find happiness." 
 
390 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Adele suffered him to take her hand in his and carry it to 
 his lips ; for by the magic sway his manner exercised over 
 even those who were inimical to him, Malcolm compelled 
 her forgiveness of the past. 
 
 " Adieu," he murmured ; " I can not ask to be remembered 
 by her who dwells alone and apart in my heart, as a being 
 worthy of its entire homage. Speak not to her of what has 
 passed between us, if you dream that its knowledge may 
 bring a pang to her heart." 
 
 As he turned away the voice of Pauline was heard from 
 the cottage, chanting an evening hymn. The rich, full tones 
 of her charming voice filled the air around him, and Malcolm 
 listened with mingled emotions of pleasure and regret. This 
 might have been the music of his home had he not played a 
 double part, and execrating the blindness of heart which pre- 
 vented him from appreciating it, until it was too late, he 
 went on his sorrowful way. 
 
 Adele returned to the cottage in a considerable flurry of 
 spirits; the recent interview had been both painful and con- 
 solatory to her ; and she felt the necessity of communicating 
 its chief purport to her aunt and sister; they must be con- 
 eujted as to the final refusal of Malcolm's offer of restitution ; 
 she did not doubt their course, but she had no right to with- 
 hold a knowledge of it from them. But how much more 
 should she tell ? 
 
 She looked at the transparent cheek of Pauline, beheld the 
 almost saint-like tranquillity of her expression, and she feared 
 to disturb this calm. She believed her love for Malcolm dead, 
 why then again unfold that painful leaf in her destiny ? No 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 391 
 
 let it remain closed ; and when she related the recent inter- 
 view, she suppressed every allusion to his avowed affection for 
 her sister. 
 
 At the first mention of his name, Pauline raised her hand 
 and shaded her face from the light ; but Adele saw that she 
 listened with unchanging cheek to the narrative she gave in 
 as few words as possible. 
 
 Before Miss Gertrude could speak, Pauline quietly said, 
 
 " You acted perfectly right, Adele. I would rather toil to 
 the last hour of my life, than be indebted to Mr. Malcolm for 
 any thing. If, as I fully believe, my father can now behold 
 us, he approves of what you have done." 
 
 " You have exactly expressed my sentiments," said Miss 
 Gertrude ; " and now let us dismiss this painful subject." 
 
 She then spoke of Philip, and in listening to his plans for 
 the future, and interesting herself in the happiness of Adele, 
 the aunt soon dismissed Malcolm from her mind. 
 
 Pauline listened with interest at first, but soon her fancy 
 wandered to the late visitor, and she would have given much 
 to know if he had come in the downfall of their fortunes to 
 ask her sister to share his wealth with him. 
 
 Many long months passed away before she summoned 
 courage to ask this question. It was not until the eve of 
 A dele's own marriage, and departure for Virginia, that she 
 gained self-command to maintain the outward control neces- 
 sary to sustain the semblance of indifference to the reply. 
 
 Then Adele revealed all. There could no longer be danger 
 in so doing, for her sister was now fancy-free. With a glad 
 laugh she told her that her own words had indeed been true : 
 
392 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 that Malcolm's passion for herself had been the delusive mi- 
 rage, while the preference he really entertained for Pauline 
 was the true manna of spiritual life to both mind and heart. 
 
 O what a flood of gladness did this revelation pour into the 
 poor weary heart ! What new impulses did it breathe into 
 life! After the cold winter of neglect, a gleam of warm 
 tropical sunshine poured its revivifying rays into the region so 
 long desolate, and spring again bloomed there. 
 
 They might never meet again on earth, but Malcolm had 
 loved her. He still cherished her memory. Ah ! that was 
 happiness enough for that solitary and beautiful life. 
 
 Devoted to the elevation and improvement of others, one 
 ray of brightness was sufficient to warm and illumine the 
 path she trod ; that narrow and shining path leading to the 
 throne of the Eternal. 
 
 In the years that glided silently by, many sought her, but 
 her beautiful dream of constancy was never for one instant 
 shadowed by the worldly temptations which were offered her 
 to change her useful and honorable position. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Six years, with all their manifold changes, have passed 
 away since the close of the last chapter, and the course of 
 our story now takes us to the emporium of modern civiliza- 
 tion, Paris. 
 
 Malcolm had wandered over the whole of Europe, finding 
 amusement first, then ennui, lastly discontent. A deep and 
 strong yearning was in his soul to return once more to his 
 native land. In twilight that Ave Maria sanctissima, rang in 
 his soul, and he would have given much to behold the singer 
 once more face to face, with the same kindly light in her eyes 
 which once had beamed on him from them. 
 
 Perhaps one cause of this intense desire to renew the past 
 was his own failing health. An accident had occurred to 
 him on a railway train on which he was traveling, that caused 
 a severe internal injury, which baffled the skill of his physi- 
 cians, and he believed his days were numbered. 
 
 He received constant communications from the United 
 States, and he was well informed of the position of the sisters. 
 
 He knew that for the last five years Adele had been the 
 happy wife of Evelyn, and their fortunes had prospered in 
 their quiet way. That Pauline still assisted her aunt in the 
 school, which had now become quite a distinguished institution 
 
004 
 
 for young ladies. That she steadily discouraged all offers of 
 marriage ; and he felt that the one love had been to her too 
 sacred to be desecrated by even dreaming of a second passion. 
 He mused deeply, and decided on his plans. 
 
 "I will seek Pauline, now that I feel death slowly but 
 surely approaching. By the time I reach my native land 
 my life will be at its last ebb ; then, perhaps, she will not 
 refuse me the right to bestow on her the wealth I possess. I 
 must make the attempt, at all events, for 'tis the only hope 
 that now gives interest to life." 
 
 In pursuance of this design, Malcolm lost no time in mak- 
 ing arrangements for his departure. A faithful servant, who 
 had accompanied him throughout his whole tour, attended to 
 every thing with care and dispatch, and a first class steamer 
 was soon found, on which a passage was taken. 
 
 On his first arrival in France, Malcolm had endeavored to 
 pursue the clew in his possession which might lead to the res- 
 titution of the money embezzled by Withers. He traced Mrs. 
 Dalton and her young protegee to the hotel at Havre, where 
 they had remained several days. Beyond there, no trace of 
 them could be found, and he was compelled, reluctantly, to 
 give up the hope of restoring to the sisters what was so in- 
 disputably theirs that they could not refuse to receive it. 
 
 In the years that had since intervened, the subject had 
 been dismissed from his mind so completely that even the 
 names of the parties interested were scarcely remembered. 
 
 On the evening before setting out for Havre, for the purpose 
 of embarking, a note, written in a delicate female hand, was 
 brought in by a Parisian friend. The address was to Mai- 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 395 
 
 colm, and with slight surprise he broke the seal, and read 
 the following lines : 
 
 "A fellow-countryman will pardon a stranger who needs 
 a friend, for thus introducing herself to his notice, and at the 
 same time asking a favor of him. 
 
 "I am a young and unprotected girl, left thus by the 
 recent death of the only friend I possess. Thus situated, I 
 am extremely anxious to return to the land of my birth, and 
 if Mr. Malcolm will permit me to become the companion of 
 his voyage, I promise not to be a troublesome addition to his 
 suite. M. Lesane, who kindly offers to deliver this, will ex- 
 plain all that is necessary. Respectfully, 
 
 "GRACE W. H. DALTON." 
 
 " What does this mean, Lesane ?" inquired Malcolm. " I 
 am scarcely in a condition to become a squire of dames 
 across the Atlantic." 
 
 " O, you need not put yourself out about this little girl ; 
 she will not expect much attention, and she only wishes to 
 get safe back to America, under the protection of some one 
 who will keep her from feeling perfectly forlorn when on 
 shipboard. What she desires to go back for I can not tell, 
 for she has no relatives there to claim her." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " An American child, adopted by an eccentric Englishwo- 
 man, who has recently died. For several years they have lived 
 together in the pension in which Miss Dalton received her 
 education. She is accomplished, and is, I believe, quite an 
 
396 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 heiress in her own right. It does not much matter about her 
 having kindred, for with the means she possesses she can pur- 
 chase friends enough. She has great enthusiasm for her 
 native land, and is very anxious to return to it ; hence her 
 wish to avail herself of your escort." 
 
 Malcolm listened with interest. 
 
 " Of course I can not refuse such a request. Tell her how 
 much of an invalid I am, if you please, that she may not 
 expect the attentions I should otherwise bestow on her. Say 
 to Miss Dalton that if she will meet me on the steamer, I 
 will, from the hour of our embarkation, consider her under 
 my protection, and do the best I can to place her in a satis- 
 factory position when we reach New Orleans." 
 
 " That is all she desires. I will take her to Havre myself, 
 and see her comfortably established on the ship. Au revoir, 
 try and get better in the prospect of seeing fatherland again." 
 
 " Ah ! I might if there was any one there to welcome me," 
 was the bitter thought of the poor invalid as he turned his 
 weary head away, oppressed with the languor of lonely suf- 
 fering. The name of Dalton had struck a confused cord in 
 his memory, but his mind was not in a state to recall any 
 thing with accuracy ; and after a few moments' reflection he 
 dismissed it from his thoughts. 
 
 Three days afterward the young lady and her escort met 
 in the cabin of the steamer. Malcolm was slightly better ; 
 and he was able to recline in a large comfortably fashioned 
 chair for several hours before retiring to his state-room. 
 Illness had bleached his superbly cut features almost to 
 the hue of marble ; and the brown rings of hair which lay 
 
397 
 
 above his transparent temples were thickly sprinkled with 
 
 gray- 
 
 In the years of lonely wandering, the expression of his 
 face had changed. The look of haughty pride was gone, for 
 remorse and humiliation had done their work ; and in hum- 
 bleness of spirit he asked to be permitted to remedy the great 
 wrong he had been the means of inflicting upon an innocent 
 family, even to the sacrifice of his own life. To die then 
 would be easy : but death was a terror until he had made 
 ample atonement for all the past. 
 
 In a few moments after he was seated, Lesane came for- 
 ward, accompanied by a young girl of sedate air and quiet 
 manner, wearing a black traveling dress, relieved at the throat 
 and wrists by a white crape collar and cuffs. Her hair, of 
 raven blackness, lay in shining bands upon her head, looking 
 as if a single hair had never been out of order since it grew 
 there. Her complexion was dark, but transparently clear, 
 and the soft hue of health glowed in the ruby tinge of her 
 cheeks and lips. Her eyes were dark and singularly sweet in 
 their expression, as they beamed from beneath a clear, broad 
 forehead on which sincerity was stamped. The mouth 
 was too wide, but it was smiling, and the teeth even and 
 white. 
 
 Altogether, little Miss Dal ton was quite an attractive per- 
 son, if not a regular beauty. As her eyes fell on Malcolm, 
 she gave a little start, and then a perplexed expression stole 
 over her features, though she addressed him with the ease 
 and grace of a Frenchwoman. 
 
 " You have conferred a great favor on me, monsieur, by 
 
398 
 
 taking me under your charge. I have been most anxious, for 
 several months, to return to my native land. As you are go- 
 ing directly to New Orleans, I made bold to ask you to give 
 me your protection on the voyage thither." 
 
 " You honored me, mademoiselle, by so doing. The trust 
 is one I can but indifferently fulfill in my present condition, 
 but I will do my best," 
 
 " Thank you, monsieur," she replied, in a tone that assured 
 him that a perfect understanding was established between 
 them at once. 
 
 Grace seemed to feel that the difference in their years 
 authorized her to offer him the attentions of a daughter, and 
 she soon quietly assumed the responsibility of preparing his 
 medicines, and, when too weary to read himself, she selected 
 such books as she thought would amuse him, and read aloud 
 to him many hours of the day. She was also a skillful 
 player of such games as amuse without wearying, and Malcolm 
 often wondered how he could have endured the tedium of the 
 voyage without her sprightly companionship. 
 
 One day he had fallen into a light slumber, and she laid 
 down the book from which she had been reading, and scanned 
 his features, as his head rested against the large chair in 
 which he usually reclined. Again that expression of per- 
 plexity with which she had first beheld him came back to 
 her own face ; suddenly Malcolm unclosed his eyes, startled, 
 perhaps, into consciousness by her earnest gaze, and he asked, 
 with a half smile, 
 
 " Why do you gaze so earnestly on my features, Grace ? 
 Am I looking worse to-day ?" 
 
399 
 
 " no, sir ! Heaven forbid ! I trust that you are better. 
 But something in your face seems so familiar to me that I 
 try to remember where I could have seen it before we met on 
 the steamer." 
 
 "Some accidental resemblance, or, perhaps, you have met 
 me before you left New Orleans. How long is it since you 
 went to France?" 
 
 "Nearly seven years;" and she paused as if painful mem- 
 ories were connected with her departure. 
 
 " Did you live in the city ?" 
 
 " I was at school there." 
 
 Her reserve on the subject was so evident that Malcolm 
 said no more ; and in a few hours the conversation passed 
 from his mind, never, in all probability, to be recalled but for 
 a circumstance that occurred a few days afterward, which 
 poured a flood of light on the antecedents of his young com- 
 panion, and brought vividly back to his own mind occur- 
 rences which had nearly faded from it. 
 
 Grace Dal ton excelled in drawing. Malcolm was first made 
 aware of it by an outline of his own head he found on the 
 blank leaf of a book she had been reading. The sketch 
 was so spirited that he begged of her a sight of her port- 
 folio. 
 
 She at once complied, and picture after picture passed 
 through his hands, each one eliciting- praises which they 
 really merited, until the collection was nearly exhausted. 
 
 At length Malcolm took up a scene which struck him as 
 familiar ; though for many moments he could not recall its 
 
 locality. Gradually the mists of time cleared away, and the 
 26 
 
400 
 
 yard belonging to the house once occupied by Withers arose 
 before him, together with the moss-grown facade of the old 
 building which fronted it. The windows of one room were open, 
 and this he recognized as the sitting-room occupied by him. 
 
 He recalled the mysterious disappearance of his daughter, 
 as described by Madame S , and turned his gaze upon 
 the young girl opposite to him, to see if he could trace any 
 resemblance in her piquant face to the harsh features of 
 Withers. She was bending down over a small bit of card- 
 board, on which the blurred outline of a head was visible. 
 He glanced at what seemed so completely to absorb her, and 
 started. It had the same peculiar formation he had often 
 noticed in that of Withers a marked deficiency in con- 
 scientiousness and benevolence ; this, in connection with his 
 recently-aroused suspicions, caused him to hold out his hand, 
 and ask, 
 
 " May I see that sketch ?" 
 
 She blushed, and withheld it, as she said, 
 
 " It is among the first things I ever drew. It is not worth 
 looking at." 
 
 " It seemed to interest you deeply." 
 
 " Because it is a blurred resemblance of one that was dear 
 to me." 
 
 " That renders me doubly anxious to see it ; for I think 
 from the glimpse I obtained of it that I once knew the origi- 
 nal." 
 
 " Oh, did you?" she eagerly exclaimed. "Then you may 
 be able to tell me what I so earnestly desire to know : may 
 resolve all my doubts." 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 401 
 
 She paused, deeply, painfully embarrassed ; and Malcolm 
 wondered if she could possibly be aware of what was so well 
 known to himself; for that she was really the daughter of 
 Withers he had now made up his mind. He drew the sketch 
 from her hand without any resistance on her part, and at a 
 glance recognized the saturnine features of his quondam asso- 
 ciate. 
 
 He looked compassionately on the young girl before him, 
 and she read the expression of his features with evident an- 
 guish. Malcolm saw the suffering, but was unable to account 
 for it. She looked up pallid as death, and breathed in faint 
 tones, 
 
 " You knew him, then ?" 
 
 " I did and he was your father ?" 
 
 " Yes that was my first attempt to draw his likeness, but 
 here is a better one, drawn from memory." 
 
 She produced another head from a pocket in the portfolio, 
 and unfolding the tissue paper in which it was carefully en- 
 veloped, held up an idealized resemblance of her father. It 
 was happier, brighter, more youthful-looking than the With- 
 ers either of them could remember ; but still it was like. 
 
 " Your memory is faithful, Grace," said Malcolm. " How 
 old were you when you last parted from your father ?" 
 
 " Twelve years of age." 
 
 " Will you tell me your history, my dear girl, as far back 
 as you can remember it." 
 
 " It is my purpose to do so, if you will answer a question 
 I wish to ask you." 
 
 " I will, to the best of my ability." She went on. 
 
402 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "I now remember you, Mr. Malcolm. I saw you once 
 through the window when you were at the old house in New 
 Orleans. I was in the garden, and my father made a sign to 
 me not to come in'while you were with him. Mr. Malcolm, 
 I ask you, if you were a sincere friend to my father, and now 
 he is in his grave, would you refrain from making public that 
 which would cast a reproach on his memory ?" 
 
 " I believe I may safely answer yes to both queries ; for 
 the latter I have already done. I know more of his affairs 
 than any other living man." 
 
 " Then Providence must have led me to you, as the friend 
 I so much need. You will aid the child in pursuit of 
 justice without giving the name of the parent to " 
 
 She stopped as if unable to pronounce the word that sug- 
 gested itself. Malcolm kindly said, 
 
 " I do not know that I clearly understand the extent of 
 your information, my dear girl ; nor what your ulterior pur- 
 poses may be. Confide in me as readily as you would in 
 your mother if she were living, and I assure you your confi- 
 dence shall be as sacred. I believe that I can clear up all that 
 is mysterious to you in the history of your father, and painful 
 as it must be to both of us, I promise to satisfy all your 
 doubts only confide in me." 
 
 Grace seemed to struggle with strong emotion for several 
 moments and she then said, 
 
 " Since I have been old enough to reflect, painful doubts 
 have always filled my mind concerning my sudden departure 
 from New Orleans, and the large sum of money embarked 
 with me. My father was assassinated as you know ; and 0, 
 
403 
 
 Mr. Malcolm ! since the death of Mrs. Dalton, I have dis- 
 covered that the fortune invested for me in the English funds 
 amounted to the exact sum supposed to have been taken on 
 that terrible night. It was a blow that nearly destroyed me, 
 but I gradually recovered calmness, and I am now on my 
 return to my native land to discover, if possible, the rightful 
 owners of the money, and restore it to them." 
 
 Malcolm listened with deep interest. He said, 
 
 " But my child you will render yourself penniless by act- 
 ing thus." 
 
 " I am accomplished, I have patience : I can make a living 
 for myself. Will not this be a thousand times better than re- 
 taining any portion of that money which must prove a curse 
 to me ?" 
 
 " You are right, Grace, and the noble act of the child must 
 redeem the fault of the parent. I know those to whom this 
 money rightfully belongs ; they are two lovely and amiable 
 sisters, who will not permit you to impoverish yourself utterly, 
 even to fulfill an act of justice. Strange it is, but I had 
 already thought of seeking the protection of one of these 
 ladies for you, on our arrival in Louisiana." 
 
 " Tell me of her : let me know how I can best make resti- 
 tution," said the young girl, with interest ; and as delicately 
 as possible Malcolm unfolded the various links in that history 
 of the past which made all clear before her. 
 
 During this recital Grace shed many tears ; but she was 
 glad to see her path made plain before her, to peform a deed 
 of justice she had firmly made up her mind to accomplish at 
 the cost of any sacrifice or suffering to herself. 
 
404 
 
 Malcolm was deeply interested in this development of char- 
 acter in one so young and unprotected as this girl ; and he 
 mentally resolved that he would shield her from the conse- 
 quences of the restitution thus nobly made, as far as lay in 
 his power. His will was already made, but he could add a 
 codicil bequeathing to Grace Dalton a sufficient sum to ren- 
 der her independent of labor. 
 
 By his advice she retained the name given her by her 
 adopted mother, as that of Withers had too many painful 
 associations connected with it to be willingly resumed. 
 
 And thus they voyaged toward the haven where so much 
 that was interesting to the hearts of both was to be accom- 
 plished. During the latter portion of the trip the weather 
 was tempestuous, and Malcolm suffered so severely that seri- 
 ous fears were entertained that he would never reach the end 
 of his journey alive. When they entered the Mississippi he 
 rallied a little, but reached New Orleans in a state of exhaus- 
 tion that very nearly resembled death. 
 
 A few days' rest there enabled him to recruit sufficiently to 
 undertake another journey, which he firmly believed would 
 be his last pilgrimage on earth. Grace insisted on accompa- 
 nying him, and together they ascended the river. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IT is again a bright evening in spring, and the Grange is in 
 its highest beauty. The magnolias are in full blossom, and 
 flowers brighten every portion of the neatly kept yard. 
 
 A family groupe had assembled upon the verandah in front 
 of the cottage. Miss Harrington, as fair and contented as 
 ever, was seated beside a lovely but matronly-looking woman 
 who played with an infant that nestled on her lap, while a 
 boy of four summers gambols at her feet. 
 
 Adele is still beautiful, and there is an expression of inef- 
 fable content and happiness on her features, which gives 
 the assurance that in her married experience she has met 
 with nothing to destroy her dream of love and confidence in 
 him she has chosen to walk through life with. 
 
 Evelyn and Pauline are near the outer gate, busily engaged 
 in training some wandering vines which have grown too rap- 
 idly of late. The elevated and serene expression habitual to 
 his features has not been lost in the struggle of life, for he 
 has honorably and manfully labored for daily bread for him- 
 self and those he loves ; and he has found exceeding joy and 
 reward in the comfort he has thus been enabled to secure to 
 the cottage home in which dwells his beautiful Peri, as the 
 dispenser of peace and happiness to all around her. 
 
406 
 
 How shall I describe Pauline ? I have said at the com- 
 mencement of our story that she was not beautiful ; but now 
 the decision seems unjust. On the brow of the conscientious 
 and perfectly developed woman is a light and serenity which 
 is the offspring of long suffering, struggled through until the 
 brighter day dawned, and the dove of peace once 'more 
 folded her wings over her sorely-tried spirit. All is peace 
 within, and now joy dwells in her heart, in the presence of 
 her beloved sister and her noble husband. 
 
 A laugh, blithe as in the first bright day of her youth, 
 gushes forth at some witticism from Evelyn ; and its ringing 
 mirthful sound is wafted, on the still evening air, to the weary 
 dulling senses of a pale phantom, propped up by pillows in a 
 carriage that approaches at a slow pace. 
 
 He recognized the voice, and new vitality seemed infused in 
 his languid frame by its tones. He made an effort to lean 
 forward to obtain a view of the face he had so yearned to 
 look on once more before all earthly things faded from his 
 vision ; but exhausted by the sudden effort, he fell back in- 
 sensible. 
 
 A young girl who occupied the carriage with him uttered 
 a slight cry of alarm, and called to the driver, 
 
 " Stop, John. This must be the place ; and I believe Mr. 
 Malcolm is dying." 
 
 John hurriedly drew up opposite to the gate by which 
 Evelyn and Pauline stood, and requested permission to bring 
 in a gentleman who was extremely ill, and fainting from ex- 
 haustion. 
 
 Such an appeal was never made in vain to a humane heart, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 407 
 
 and Pauline hurried into the house immediately to have an 
 apartment made ready for his reception. During the next 
 few moments all was bustle and confusion, for the invalid lay 
 so long insensible after he was taken to his room, that Eve- 
 lyn began to fear he never would revive. 
 
 So emaciated, so changed was Malcolm that his rival failed 
 to recognize him, as he lay, apparently in death, before him. 
 It was not until he again unclosed his eyes and looked around 
 him, that a suspicion of his identity came to Evelyn. Then 
 his first emotion was one of annoyance that this new trial 
 should come to Pauline when her pathway seemed at last 
 freed from the shadow he had cast over it. 
 
 Why Malcolm should come there to die was incomprehen- 
 sible to him; and who this young lady could be, who so 
 sedulously busied herself in recovering him from his swoon, 
 he was equally at a loss to determine. At length Malcolm re- 
 vived sufficiently to speak, and feebly motioning to Grace 
 Dalton, he said, 
 
 "My child, leave me alone with Mr. Evelyn a little 
 while ; but do not yet betray who I am to the rest of the 
 family." 
 
 She left the room, and the sick man turned to Evelyn. 
 
 " I see that you know me now. Sit near me, I beg, for 
 my voice is too weak to make itself heard far off." 
 
 Evelyn sat down beside the bed, and Malcolm con- 
 tinued, 
 
 " You must wonder why I came hither, and I read some 
 such feeling in your face. You see that I am dying, but I 
 could not leave earth without once more beholding Pauline. 
 
408 
 
 She is the only woman I have ever truly loved, and bitterly 
 have I suffered from my cruel hesitation between the two sis- 
 ters. Will you not bring her to my side, that I may entreat 
 her forgiveness for the past ?" 
 
 Evelyn hesitated. He at length said, 
 
 "Pauline is not like other women. She has borne much, 
 but she has at last triumphed, and I scarcely think it right to 
 cloud the peace she has so struggled to regain by seeking 
 this interview. Pardon me, Mr. Malcolm, if I say that 
 your former conduct toward her does not authorize me to 
 bring my sister face to face with you at such a time as 
 this." 
 
 Malcolm groaned. 
 
 "01 have deserved this ; but I must see her. So much 
 depends on it that, if you knew all, you could not refuse. By 
 the love Pauline once cherished for me, I conjure her to see a 
 dying man who is now only anxious to make atonement for 
 the past. Let her decide for herself, and, if I judge her right, 
 she will never pardon you for concealing my presence from 
 her until it is too late for her to speak peace to the re- 
 pentant soul which has bitterly expiated its wrong toward 
 her." 
 
 His agitation increased to such a degree that Evelyn be- 
 came alarmed, and, after a few moments' reflection, he prom- 
 ised to go at once and inform Pauline of his earnest wish. 
 Before leaving the room, at Malcolm's request, he gave him 
 some stimulating drops which revived him sufficiently to en- 
 able him to be raised up and supported by pillows. He then 
 said, 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 409 
 
 "Now, Mr. Evelyn, I have one more request to make of 
 you : I entreat you to send for the nearest clergyman, and 
 have him here as speedily as possible. The service I re- 
 quire at his hands shall be made known to him when ne 
 arrives." 
 
 Evelyn thought that service was easily understood, when 
 summoned to the bed of a dying man, but he left the room 
 without reply, and went in search of Pauline. 
 
 He found her preparing nourishment for the sick guest 
 herself, and begged that she would come into the yard wita 
 him while he spoke a few words with her in private. 
 
 "In a i moment," she replied, and after transferring the 
 cup to the servant of Malcolm, to be taken in to him 
 immediately, she joined Evelyn, looking as composed as 
 usual. 
 
 It was evident to him that, as jet, she had gained no clew 
 to the identity of Malcolm. He paused, embarrassed how to 
 begin, and she looked up at him in surprise. She read some* 
 thing in his eyes that perplexed her, and her fair cheek faintly 
 colored, as she asked, 
 
 " What is it, Philip ? Have you any thing painful to tell 
 me?" 
 
 " I fear it may prove so, Pauline. I fear that the 
 seal so resolutely placed on past emotions is about to be 
 broken. I would that he had spared you this, dear sister." 
 
 * He who ?" asked Pauline, standing rigid and pale before 
 him. " Is it is it " 
 
 Her voice died away in an indistinct murmur ; she could 
 not utter the name that sprang to her lip. 
 
410 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Evelyn understood her, and said, gently, 
 
 " It is Malcolm and he asks to see you." 
 
 She seemed as one stricken into stcne ; and after a pain 
 ful pause she spoke more as if communing with herself than 
 with him. 
 
 " What ! that pale shadow my prince among men ! My 
 noble noble one, brought to this ! ! I must see him I 
 must see him." 
 
 Evelyn gazed on her heard the intense feeling breathed 
 into the tones of her voice with amazement. Was it possi- 
 ble that through all these long years Pauline had continued 
 to cherish this hopeless love ? Even amid the darkness and 
 silence of time had it still maintained its sway over her? 
 Verily, such indeed seemed the truth ; and with sorrowful 
 regret he came to the unwelcome conclusion that for her the 
 anguish of the past was about to be renewed. He gravely 
 replied, 
 
 " Malcom sent me but now with an earnest request to see 
 you. I would have denied him, but he insisted, and I felt 
 compelled to inform you of his wish, though I do it very 
 unwillingly." 
 
 " He was right. I never could have forgiven you if you 
 had refused his dying request. I& he ready to receive me 
 now ?" 
 
 " I believe he is." 
 
 " Then let us go to him at once. My own heart shall be 
 my only counselor in this." 
 
 With her hand pressed upon her heart to quell its wild 
 throbbing. Pauline followed him to the door of the room in 
 
THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 411 
 
 which Malcora lay. She paused at the threshold until Eve- 
 *yn went in and announced her ; then as he came out the 
 pale girl glided in, and in another moment was beside the 
 couch of him whom she had so truly, so unwaveringly 
 loved. 
 
 Malcolm held out his emaciated hand, and she clasped it 
 in both her own, and gazed into his eyes as if hers were 
 spell-bound to that changed, yet still nobly beautiful face. 
 At length he found voice to say, 
 
 "Pauline, I have returned to you in death, to tell you what 
 in life I never dared reveal. I have loved you hopelessly for 
 vears. Forgive forgive the past : I was mad ; I was under 
 a fatal delusion, from which I recovered too late for your 
 happiness or my own." 
 
 a I know it all," murmured Pauline ; " and this knowledge 
 it was that brought back to me peace and self-respect." 
 
 " Then you have forgiven me, my own love ? and I may 
 venture to make the proposal for which I came hither." 
 
 " What is it ?" she faintly asked. 
 
 " Let me die calling you by the holy name of wife. I en- 
 treat you to give me the legal right to endow you with the 
 wealth which I would gladly have devoted to rescuing -you 
 from ruin. O ! Pauline, tear me before you reply. I am a 
 changed man since those days. I have bitterly repented o* 
 the evil that flowed from my selfish madness. I would have 
 aided to repair it then, but he who has passed away re- 
 fused all overtures of assistance from me. I made many, but 
 he spurned them all. Could he now look down on us and 
 breathe his wishes into your soul, I firmly believe he would 
 
412 THE PLANTERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 bid you accede to the request which enables me to perform 
 an act of justice to one I have so heavily wronged." 
 
 Pauline was weeping quietly, and her spirit seemed fainting 
 within her, at the proposal of this mockery of the solemn 
 ceremonial of marriage, which the icy hand of death must so 
 soon dissolve. Yet how refuse a request thus urged? and 
 from him to whom her soul was knit by ties that could never 
 be broken. 
 
 " You will not you can not refuse me this, Pauline ?" he 
 again urged, and his pale, eager face appealed to her even 
 more powerfully than his words. She at length said, 
 
 " I consent : it will at least give me the right to be near 
 you at the last, and that will be worth purchasing at any cost. 
 Let it be as you will." 
 
 "Thanks thanks, best, dearest Pauline; I felt assured 
 that my appeal to your gentle heart would not be in vain. 
 Remain beside me, love, until the minister I requested Evelyn 
 to send for, arrives. He little dreams of the service I really 
 require from him ;" and one of his old smiles gleamed over 
 his wasted features, lighting them up with a beauty that 
 seemed to her almost divine. 
 
 To these long-severed hearts the communion of the next 
 hour seemed but as a moment, and when the announcement 
 came that the clergyman had arrived, they both heard it 
 with surprise. Pauline left the room for a few moments, to 
 apprize her family of her intentions : they heard them with 
 pain, but without remonstrance ; for they were quite willing 
 that she should do whatever she considered best for her own 
 future peace of mind. Her forbearance her long suffering, 
 
413 
 
 had purchased the right to this confidence on the part of 
 those who loved her. 
 
 Soon a groupe collected around the chair in which the 
 invalid had been placed, and a white-robed figure kneeled on 
 a cushion at his side, while the clergyman performed the sol- 
 emn and impressive ceremony which united them until death 
 should part them ; and each one shuddered at the word as if 
 the icy phantom was already in their midst, breathing his 
 chilling breath on both bridegroom and bride ; for Pauline, 
 pale with agitation and intense feeling, looked as if ready to 
 pass away with him to whom she so tenderly clung. 
 
 After this strange union, no congratulations were offered, 
 for each one felt that they must be a painful mockery to the 
 sad hearts thus united. Only a silent kiss and pressure of the 
 hand to the bride were given, and then all save Pauline re- 
 tired from the room. 
 
 As Grace Dalton was passing out, Malcolm recalled her. 
 
 " Come hither, my dear girl," he caressingly said. " This 
 is the lady to whose protection I wish to bequeath you. 
 I have told her your history, and, like myself, she is filled 
 with admiration for your honorable intention to do justice to 
 her family. She wishes, from this hour, to claim you as her 
 adopted sister." 
 
 Grace timidly turned to Pauline, who clasped her in her 
 arms and imprinting a kiss on her cheek, said, 
 
 "A sacred bequest will you be to me, dear girl. Con- 
 sider me, in future, as a near and dear relative, who will 
 feel bound to promote your happiness in every possible 
 
414 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Grace expressed her thanks with emotion, and then glided 
 from the room, leaving the two thus suddenly united to such 
 communion as yet remained to them on earth. 
 
 When they were alone, Pauline again knelt upon the 
 cushion at his feet and bowed her head upon the clasped 
 hands of Malcolm, and wept in anguish while she mur- 
 mured, 
 
 " You must not die, you must not die and leave me deso- 
 late. God will never try me thus fearfully ; long ere this 
 my measure of suffering has been full. He is too merciful 
 to bring this crowning anguish to my lot. Hope for your- 
 self, my best -loved, and you may yet be restored ; the mind 
 can triumph over physical ills believe that you will re- 
 cover, and you will be given back to me in all your native 
 strength." 
 
 "I would that it might be so, dear Paulinff; and I feel 
 nerved anew for the struggle since I feel that life now has 
 something worth striving for. To live with you, for you, is a 
 beautiful hope ; rise, my darling wife, from that lowly position 
 and pillow your head upon my heart ; there should be your 
 place of rest and shelter thus let us pray to the Eternal that 
 our united lives may not so soon be severed. That I may be 
 restored to prove to you how sincere, how tender is my affec- 
 tion for you." 
 
 The fervent aspirations thus sent up seemed indeed to be 
 answered. Slowly, but surely, Malcolm won his way back to 
 health ; Dr. Germain attended him daily, and Pauline nursed 
 him so assiduously that the physician declared that to her 
 care the sick man owed his recovery, much more than to his 
 
415 
 
 skill. A bright and Eden-like day was it to tlie devoted / 
 wife when Malcolm again walked forth in the light of 
 heaven with the hue of recovered health upon his cheek and I 
 the tranquil light of happiness in his eyes. Pauline felt as / 
 if all her trials were more than compensated by this great 
 mercy. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 A few more words, and our task is completed. 
 
 Malcolm and his beloved wife removed to a beautiful place 
 in the vicinity of New Orleans, which he owned, and took 
 with them Grace Dalton, whom they treated in every respect 
 as a near relative. 
 
 Miss Gertrude had accumulated quite an independence 
 in her six years of toil, and she relinquished her school 
 much to the regret of her pupils and their parents, and ac- 
 companied her favorite niece to her new home. Malcolm 
 refused to share the money restored by his young protegee, 
 and the whole sum was paid over to Evelyn as the portion of 
 his wife. 
 
 With the consent of Adele he returned to Grace the sum 
 of five thousand dollars, which was settled on her ; and the 
 act by which she had impoverished herself did not long go 
 unrewarded. The Jew, Bondy, was found dead in the room 
 in which Withers had been assassinated, with a written con- 
 fession of his agency in the robbery beside him. 
 27 
 
416 THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 In a sudden paroxysm of disappointed avarice at his un- 
 availing search for the concealed treasure, he had corn- 
 milted suicide. Malcolm was thus enabled to regain the 
 property belonging to Withers which the robbers had ap- 
 propriated. 
 
 Mrs. Euskin heard of the marriage of Pauline to her early 
 lover with amazement, mingled with many envious pangs ; 
 for Louise, after gaining the deserved reputation of being 
 the greatest flirt in New Orleans, had recently married a 
 young man as frivolous as herself, who was dependent on 
 his salary in a large mercantile establishment for a sup- 
 port. 
 
 The sisters are still living in prosperity and happiness, and 
 thev annually meet, during the summer season, at the beauti- 
 ful house of Evelyn in Virginia. It is confidently whispered 
 that a reunion of the whole family will take place at New 
 Orleans next winter, at the marriage of Grace Dalton to 
 Algernon, a younger brother of Philip Evelyn. 
 
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 (2) 
 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 3 
 
 MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. 
 
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4 T, B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS. 
 
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 Arthur O'Leary,... Price 50 cent* 
 Knight of Gwynne,.. 50 " 
 Kate O'Donoghue,.... 50 " 
 Con Cregan, tlie Irisli 
 
 Gil Bias, ...................... 
 
 Davenport Dunn, a 
 
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 50 
 
 50 
 
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 Harry Lorrequer, 50 " 
 
 Horace Templeton,... 50 " 
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 LIBRARY EDITION. 
 
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 cheap edition, paper cover, 50 
 
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 Diary of a Medical Student. By S. C. Warren, author of " Ten 
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 Major Jones' Courtship and 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 5 
 
 CHARL.ES DICKENS' WORKS. 
 
 Fourteen Different Editions in Octavo Form. 
 
 "PETERSON'S" are the only complete and uniform editions of Charles Dickens' 
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 Little Dorrit, Price 50 cents. 
 
 Pickwik Papers, 60 " 
 
 I>ickeiis' New Stories, 50 " 
 
 Bleak House, CO " 
 
 David Copperneld, 50 " 
 
 Dombey and Son, 50 " 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 50 " 
 
 Christmas Stories, 50 " 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit,.... 50 " 
 
 Barnaby R/udge,... Price 50 cents 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop,.... 50 " 
 
 Sketches by Boz," 50 " 
 
 Oliver Twist, 50 " 
 
 The Two Apprentices, 25 " 
 Wreck of the Golden 
 
 Mary, 25 " 
 
 Perils of certain En- 
 glish Prisoners, 25 " 
 
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 LIBRARY OCTAVO EDITION. 
 
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 This Edition is complete in SIX very large octavo volumes, with a Portrait on ste 
 -;f Charles Dickens, containing the whole of the above works, handsomely printed 
 and bound in various styles. 
 
 Vol. 1 contains Pickwick Papers and Curiosity Shop. 
 " a do. Oliver Twist, Sketches by " Box," and Bar- 
 naby Itudge. 
 
 " 3 do. Nicholas Nickleby, and Martin Chuzzlewit. 
 " A do. David Copperneld, Dombey and Son, and 
 
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 " 6 do. tittle Dorrit. In two books Poverty and Riches. 
 
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 " Half calf, real ancient antique, .,, 1800 
 
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 ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION. 
 
 THIS EDITION IS IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES, and is printed on very thic* 
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8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
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 Little Dorrit. Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 Pickwick Papers. 
 Rarnal>y Rudge. 
 Old Curiosity Shop. 
 Bleak House. 
 David Copper Held. 
 
 Christmas Stories* 
 Martin Chuzzlewlt. 
 Sketches by "Boz." 
 Oliver Twist. 
 Dickens' New Stories. 
 
 Domhey and Son. 
 
 Price of a sett, in Black cloth, in Thirteen volumes, $19.00 
 
 " Full Law Library style, 26.00 
 
 " Half calf, or half Turkey, 29.00 
 
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 DUODECIMO ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 
 
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 This edition of Dickens' Works is now published complete, entire, and unabridged 
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 Price $2.50 a sett, as follows : 
 
 Pickwick Papers. 
 Nicholas Nicklehy. 
 David Copper iield. 
 Oliver Twist. 
 Bleak House. 
 Little Dorrit. 
 Domhey and Son. 
 
 Sketches toy "Boz." 
 Barnahy Rudge. 
 Martin Chuzzlewit. 
 Old Curiosity Shop. 
 Christmas Stories. 
 Dickens' New Stories. 
 
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 " Half calf, full gilt back, 60.00 
 
 " Full calf, ancient antique, 75.00 
 
 " Full calf, gilt edges, backs, etc., 75.00 
 
T, B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 7 
 
 PEOPLE'S DUODECIMO EDITION. 
 
 Published in Eight Different Styles. 
 
 This Duodecimo edition is complete in Thirteen volumes, of near One Thousand 
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 Oliver Twist. 
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 ADVENTURES 
 
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 South Africa. By Major Corn- 
 
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 GEORGE 
 
 AND TRAVELS. 
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I 1 . B PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 9 
 
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10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATION S. 
 
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T, B. PETEH80TI & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 13 
 
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 Game of Euchre and its 
 Laws. Price 12> cents. 
 
 Dr. Berg's Answer to Arch- 
 bishop Hughes. 12) cents. 
 
 Dr. Berg's lecture on. the 
 Jesuits. Price 12> cts. 
 
 Life of the Rev. John N. 
 Maffit. Price Viy z cents. 
 
 Odd Fellowship Exposed. Il- 
 lustrated. Price 12) cents. 
 
 Mormonism Exposed. Full of 
 Engravings. Price 12> cent*. 
 
1. 6. PETERSON'S LIST OF POBUCiTIOHS 
 
 the Books in this Catalogue wiU be found to be the very Best and Lates- 
 Publications by the most popular and celebrated writers in the world. 
 They are also the most readable and entertaining Books, and are printed 
 for the " Million," at very cheap rates, and copies of all or any of them 
 wi)l be sent by Mail, free of postage, to any person, on receipt o* 
 tho advertised price. They ar& suitable for the 
 
 f arlor, Library, Sitting Room, Railroad, Steamboat, or Chamber Reading, 
 
 AND AKE PUBLISHED AND FOB SALE BY 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
 Booksellers, and all others, will be supplied at very Low Bates, 
 
 MRS SOUTHWORTHS'. 
 
 CHARLES LEVER'S. 
 
 Vivia ; or, The Secret 
 
 Charles O'Malley, 50 
 
 of Power, - - 1 00 
 
 Knight of Gwynne, 50 
 
 India. The Pearl of 
 
 Arthur O'Leary, 60 
 
 Pearl River, - - 1 00 
 
 Tom Burke of Ours, 60 
 
 The Missing Bride, - 1 00 
 
 Jack Hinton, - 50 
 
 The Lost Heiress, - 1 00 
 
 Harry Lorrequer, 60 
 
 Deserted Wife, - - 1 00 
 
 Horace Templeton, 60 
 
 Wife's Victory, - - 1 00 
 
 Kate O'Donoghue, 60 
 
 Curse of Clifton, - 1 00 
 
 Lever's works are alsobound 
 
 Discarded Daughter, - 1 00 
 
 in four volumes, in black 
 
 Retribution, - - 1 00 
 
 cloth, for $600. Scarlet 
 
 Initials, - - - 1 
 
 cloth, $6.50. Law Library 
 
 Kate Aylesford, - 1 00 
 
 sheep $7.00. Half calf $9.00 
 
 Mabel, - - - 1 00 
 
 Ten Thousand a Year, 1.00 
 
 The above are also published 
 
 Valentine Vox, the 
 
 in cloth, price $1.25 each. 
 
 Ventriloquist, - 60 
 
 
 Th.6 Sist6rs 60 
 
 MRS. HENTZ'S WORKS. 
 
 The Steward, 60 
 
 The Planter's Northern 
 
 Percy Effingham, - 60 
 
 Bride, - - - 1 00 
 Liada, - - - 1 00 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS'. 
 
 Robert Graham, - 1 00 
 
 The Three Guardsmen, 75 
 
 Courtship and Marriage 1 00 
 
 Twenty Years After, - 75 
 
 Rena ; or the Snow Bird 1 00 
 
 Bragelonne, 75 
 
 Marcus Warland, - 1 00 
 
 The Iron Hand, - 50 
 
 Love after Marriage, - 1 00 
 
 Forty-Five Guardsmen, 75 
 
 Eoline, - - - 1 00 
 
 Memoirs of a Marquis, 1 00 
 
 The Banished Son, - 1 00 
 
 Andree de Taverney, - 1 00 
 
 Helen and Arthur, - 1 00 
 
 Countess of Charny, - 1 00 
 
 Annt Patty's Scrap Bag, 1 00 
 The above are also published 
 
 The Iron Mask, - 1 00 
 Louise La Valliere, 1 00 
 
 in cloth, price $1.25 each. 
 
 Memoirs of a Physician, 1 00 
 
 ELLEN PICKERING'S. 
 
 Queen's Necklace, - 1 00 
 Diana of Meridor, - 1 00 
 
 Orphan Niece. - - 25 
 
 Six Years Later, 1 00 
 
 Kate Walsingham, - 25 
 
 Felina de Chambure, CO 
 
 Poor Cousin. - - 2ft 
 
 Gouevieve, 50 
 
 Ellen Wareham, - 25 
 
 Sketches in France, - 60 
 
 Who Shall be Heir ? 2o 
 
 Isabel of Bavaria, - 60 
 
 Secret Foe, 25 
 
 Edmond Dantes, . 60 
 
 Expectant, 25 
 
 Corsican Brothers, - 25 
 
 Fright, - - 25 
 iuiet Ilu. e ban<L 2- r > 
 
 LIPPARD'S WORKS. 
 
 Nan Darrelt, 25 
 
 Washington & Generals, 1 00 
 
 Prince and Ped'ai, 25 
 
 Quaker City, - - 1 00 
 
 Merchant's Daughter 25 
 
 Paul Ardenheim, 1 00 
 
 The Squire, - 25 
 
 Blanche of Brandywine, 1 00 
 
 Agnen Serle, 25 
 
 The Nazarene, - - 60 
 
 The Heiress, 2ft 
 
 Legends of Mexico, - 25 
 
 fctwOrumblff. - 50 
 
 Ladye of Albarone, 1 00 
 
 CHAELES DICKENS'. 
 
 David Copperfield, - 50 
 
 Dombey and Son, - 60 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 50 
 
 Pickwick Papers, - 50 
 
 Christmas Stories, - 50 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit, - 50 
 
 Barnaby Rudge, - 50 
 
 Dickens' New Stories, 50 
 
 Bleak House, - 50 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop, - 60 
 
 Sketches by " Boz," - 60 
 
 Oliver Twist, - - 50 
 
 A complete sett of the above 
 
 will be sold for $5; also, 
 
 bound in five vols., black 
 
 cloth, for $7.50. Scarlet 
 
 cloth, for $8.50. Law Li- 
 
 brary Sheep, for $9.00. The 
 
 Illustrated edition is $1.50 
 
 a volume, or $18 for the 
 
 complete sett of 12 volumes. 
 
 FRANK FAIBLEGH'S. 
 
 Frank Fairlegh, - 60 
 Lewis Arundel, - 75 
 Harry Coverdale's Court- 
 ship, - - - 1 00 
 Lorrimer Littlegood, 1 00 
 Fortunes and Misfor- 
 tunes of Harry Rack- 
 ett Scapegrace, - 60 
 
 BOOKS OF FUN. 
 
 Major Jones' Courtship 
 and Travels. Cloth, 1 28 
 
 Simon Suggs' Adventures 
 and Travels. Cloth, 1 25 
 
 Major Jones' Scenesin , 
 Georgia. Cloth, - 1 2A 
 
 Humors of Falcoubridgel 00 
 
 Frank Forester's Sport- 
 ing Scenes and Cha- 
 racters. 2 vols., cloth, 2 50 
 
 Dow 's Patent Sermons. 
 By Dow, Jr. Svols., 
 each, - - - 7fi 
 
 Piney Woods Tavern, 1 00 
 
 Adventures of Captain 
 Priest, ... 7 
 
 American Joe Miller. Sft 
 
HUMOROUS WORKS. 
 
 REYNOLDS' WOUES. 
 
 HIGHWAYMEN. 
 
 BEAtTTIFULLr ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 Mysteries of the Court 
 
 Life of John A. Murrel, 28 
 
 Major Jones' Courtship, 50 
 
 of London. 2 vols. 1 00 
 
 Life of Joseph T. Hare, 25 
 
 Major Jones' Sketches 
 
 Rose Foster. 3 vols. 1 50 
 
 Life of Monroo Edward*, 25 
 
 of Travel, - - 50 
 
 Caroline of Brunswick. 1 00 
 
 Life of Helen Jewett, 25 
 
 Simon Suggs' Adventures, 50 
 
 Venetia Trelawney, 1 00 
 
 Life of Jack Rann, - 25 
 
 Mitfcr Jones' Chronicles 
 
 Lord Saxondaio, 1 00 
 
 Kit Clayton, - 25 
 
 of Pineville, - - 50 
 
 Count Christoval, 1 00 
 
 Lives of the Felons 25 
 
 Polly Peablossom's 
 
 Rosa Lambert, 1 00 
 
 Tom Waters, - 25 
 
 Wedding, - - 50 
 
 Mary Price, - 1 00 
 
 Nat Blake, - 25 
 
 Widow Rugby's Husband, 50 
 
 Eustace Quentin, - 1 00 
 
 Bill Horton, - 25 
 
 >ig Bear of Arkansas, 50 
 
 Joseph Wilmot, - 1 00 
 
 Galloping Gus, - 25 
 
 Btreaks of Squatter Life, 50 
 
 Banker's Daughter, - 1 00 
 
 Ned Hastings, - 25 
 
 1 Pickings from Picayune, 50 
 
 Kenneth, - - - 1 00 
 
 Biddy Woodhull, 25 
 
 Stray Subjects arrested 
 
 The Rye-House Plot, 1 00 
 
 Eveleen Wilson, - 26 
 
 and Bound Over, - 50 
 
 Isabella Vincent, - 50 
 
 Diary of a Pawnbroker, 2.1 
 
 Louisiana Swamj Doctor, 50 
 
 Vivian Bertram, - 60 
 
 Silver and Pewter, - 25 
 
 Charcoal Sketches, - 50 
 
 Countess of Lascelles, 60 
 
 Sweeney Todd, - - 25 
 
 Misfortunes of Peter Faber,50 
 Peter Ploddy, - - 50 
 Yankee among Mermaids, 50 
 
 Duke of Marchmont, - 60 
 The Necromancer, - 75 
 The Soldier's Wife, - 60 
 
 TALES OF THE SEA. 
 Adventures of Ben Brace, 50 
 
 New Orleans Sketch Book, 50 
 
 May Middleton, - 60 
 
 Jack Adams,the Mutineer. 50 
 
 Drama in Pokerville, - 50 
 
 Massacre of Glencoe, - 60 
 
 The Spitfire, - - ' 50 
 
 The Charms of Paris,- 50 
 
 The Court of Naples, 50 
 
 The Petrel, - - 60 
 
 The Quorndon Hounds, 60 
 
 Loves of the Harem, - 60 
 
 The Pirate's Son, - 25 
 
 My Shooting Box, - 60 
 
 Ellen Percy, - - 60 
 
 The Doomed Ship, - 25 
 
 Warwick Woodlands, 60 
 
 Agnes Evelyn, 60 
 
 The Three Pirates, - 25 
 
 The Deer Stalkers, - 60 
 Adventures of Captain 
 
 Edgar Montrose, - 25 
 Parricide, - - 60 
 
 The Flying Dutchman, 25 
 Life of Alexander Tardy, 25 
 
 Farrago, - - 50 
 
 Life in Paris, - - 50 
 
 The Flying Yankee, - 25 
 
 Major 0' Regan's Ad- 
 ventures, 50 
 Sol. Smith's Theatrical 
 Apprenticeship, - 50 
 Sol. Smith's Theatrical 
 
 CAPT. MARRYATT'B. 
 
 Jacob Faithful, - - 25 
 Japhet Search of Father, 25 
 Phantom Ship, - - 25 
 
 The Yankee Middy, - 25 
 The Gold Seekers, - 25 
 The River Pirates, - 25 
 Dark Shades of City Life, 25 
 The Rats of the Seine, 25 
 
 Journey-Work, - 50 
 Quarter Race Kentucky, 50 
 Rival Belles, - - 50 
 
 Midshipman Easy, - 25 
 Pacha of Many Tales, 25 
 Naval Officer, - - 25 
 
 Yankees in Japan, 25 
 Red King, ... 25 
 Morgan, the Buccaneer, 25 
 
 Life of Col. Vanderbomb, 60 
 Life and Adventures of 
 
 Snarleyow, 25 
 Newton Foster, 25 
 
 Jack Junk, - - 25 
 Davis, the Pirate, - 25 
 
 Percival Mayberry, 50 
 Yankee Yarns and 
 
 King's Own, 25 
 Pirate & Three Cutters, 25 
 
 Valdez, the Pirate, - 25 
 Jack Ariel, - - 25 
 
 Yankee Letters, - 50 
 
 Peter Simple, 50 
 
 Gallant Tom, - - 25 
 
 
 Percival Keene, - 50 
 
 Yankee Jack 25 
 
 MRS. GREY'S. 
 
 Poor Jack, - - 60 
 
 Harry Helm, - - 25 
 
 Gipsey's Daughter, 25 
 
 Sea King, 50 
 
 IT t wr 
 
 Harry Tempest, - 25 
 
 Lena Cameron, 25 
 
 Valerie, 5C 
 
 
 Belle of the Family, - 25 
 
 AINSWORTH'S. 
 
 REVOLUTION TALES. 
 
 Sybil Lennard, - 25 
 Duke and Cousin, - 25 
 The Little Wife, - 25 
 Manoeuvring Mother, 25 
 Baronet's Daughters, - 25 
 Young Prima Donna, 25 
 Old Dower House, - 25 
 Hyacinthe, - - 25 
 Alice Seymour, 25 
 Mary Seaham, - - 50 
 Passion and Principle, 60 
 
 Jack Sheppard, - 50 
 Tower of London, - 1 00 
 Guy Fawkes, - 60 
 The Star Chamber, - 50 
 Newgate Calendar, 50 
 Old St Paul's, - - 60 
 Mysteries of the Court 
 of Queen Anne, 50 
 Mysteries of the Court 
 of the Stuarts, 50 
 Life of Davy Crockett, 60 
 
 Seven Bros, of Wyoming, 25 
 The Brigand, - - 25 
 The Rebel Bride, - 25 
 Ralph Runnion, - 25 
 The Flying Artillerist, 25 
 Old Put, ... 25 
 Wau-nan-gee, 2* 
 The Guerilla Chief, - 1+ 
 
 MAITLAND'S WORKS. 
 The Watchman, - 1 09 
 
 D'ISRAELI'S WORKS. 
 
 Henrietta Temple, 60 
 Tlyian Grey, 50 
 Venetia, 60 
 
 Life of Henry Thomas, 25 
 Dick Turpin, - - 25 
 Desperadoes New World, 25 
 Ninon De L'Enclos, - 25 
 
 The Wanderer, - - 1 Of 
 Diary of aa Old Doctor, 1 00 
 The Lawyer's Story, - 1 00 
 Above in cloth, $1.25 each. 
 
 Young Duke 38 
 Miriam Alroy, - - 38 
 
 Lite of Arthur Spring, 25 
 Life of Grace O'Malley, 38 
 
 EUGENE SUE'S, 
 
 Contarini Fleming - 38 
 
 Windsor Castle, - 60 
 
 Martin, the Foundling, 1 00 
 
 
 
 Wandering Jew, - 1 00 
 
 LANGUAGES. 
 
 GREEN ON GAMBLING 
 
 Mysteries of Paris, - 1 00 
 
 French without a Master, 25 
 
 Gambling Exposed, - 1 00 
 
 First Love, - 25 
 
 Rpanish without a Master, 25 
 
 Gambling Unmasked, 1 00 
 
 Woman's Love, 26 
 
 German without a Master, 25 
 
 Secret Baud of Brothers, 1 00 
 
 Man-of-War's-Man, . 26 
 
 Italian without a Master, 25 
 
 The Reformed Gambler, 1 00 
 
 Femalo Bluebeard, 2ft 
 
 Latin without a Master, 25 
 
 Ab4 ve tn oloth, <*! 25 -wch. 
 
 RaouJ JU SurTilid, & 
 
T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 3 
 
 COOK BOOKS. 
 
 BY BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 QUARTER BOOKS. 
 
 Miss Leslie's New 
 Cookery Book, - 1 25 
 Wirtiifleld's New Cook 
 
 3urrerLyle, - - 1 00 
 Modern Chivalry, cloth i 25 
 Columbia, the Beauti- 
 
 Mysteries of a Convent, 29 
 Female Life in New York, 25 
 Agnes Grey, - -- 25 
 
 Book, - - - 1 00 
 
 ful Blonde. - - 1 00 
 
 EvaSt-Clair, - - 25 
 
 Mrs. Hale's Four Thou- 
 
 Life and Beauties of 
 
 Diary of a Physician, 26 
 
 sand & Five Receipts, 1 00 
 
 Fanny Fern, - - 1 00 
 
 Emigrant Squire, - 25 
 
 Miss Leslie's New Re- 
 
 The Pride of Life, - 1 00 
 
 Monk, by Lewis, - 25 
 
 ceipts for Cooking, - 1 00 
 Mrr Bale's New Cook 
 Book, - - - 1 00 
 
 Autobiography of an 
 Orphan Girl, - 1 00 
 The Student, - - 1 00 
 
 Beautiful French Girl, 25 
 Mysteries of Bedlam, 25 
 Abednego, by Mrs. a*>r 25 
 
 ARTHUR'S WORKS. 
 
 Adelaide Waldgrave, 50 
 Greatest Plague of Life, 60 
 
 The Orphan Child, - 2fl 
 Ghost Stories, - - 2ft 
 
 The Two Brides, - 25 
 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin as 
 
 Madison's Exposition 
 
 Love in a Cottage, - 25 
 
 it Is, - - - 1 00 
 
 of Odd Fellowship, - 25 
 
 Love in High Life, - 25 
 Year after Marriage, - 25 
 
 Tom Racquet, $0 
 Mysteries of Three Cities, 60 
 
 Abbey of Innismoyle, 2* 
 Gliddon's Ancient Egypij 25 
 
 The Lady at Home, - 25 
 
 Red Indians of New- 
 
 Josephine, - - 25 
 
 Cecilia Howard, - 25 
 
 foundland, 50 
 
 Bell Brandon, - - 25 
 
 Orphan Children, - 25 
 
 Roman Traitor, - - 1 00 
 
 Philip in Search of a Wih, 25 
 
 Debtor's Daughter, - 25 
 
 Salathiel, by Croley, - 50 
 
 Admiral's Daughter, - 25 
 
 Mary Moreton. - 25 
 
 Aristocracy, - - 50 
 
 Rody the Rover, - 25 
 
 The Divorced Wife, - 25 
 
 Inquisition in Spain, - 50 
 
 Jenuy Ambrose, 25 
 
 Pride and Prudence, - 25 
 
 Flirtations in America, 50 
 
 Moreton Hall, - - 25 
 
 Agnes, or the Possessed, 25 
 Lucy Sandford, - 25 
 
 The Coquette, - - 50 
 Arrah Neil, by James, 50 
 
 Agricultural Chemistry, '25 
 Animal Chemistry, - 25 
 
 The Banker's Wife, - 25 
 
 Life in the South, - 50 
 
 Liebig's Potato Disease, 25 
 
 The Two Merchants, - 25 
 
 Sketches in Ireland, - 50 
 
 Rose Warrington, - 25 
 
 Insubordination, - 25 
 
 Whitehall, - - 50 
 
 Lady Altamont, - 25 
 
 Trial and Triumph, 25 
 
 Whitefriars, - - 50 
 
 The Deformed, and 
 
 The Iron Rule, - 25 
 The Old Astrologer, - 25 
 
 Wild Sports of West, - 50 
 Cabin and Parlor, - 50 
 
 Charity Sister, - 25 
 Ryan's Mysteries of 
 
 The Seamstress, 25 
 
 Uomish Confessional, 50 
 
 Marriage, - - 25 
 
 USEFUL BOOKS. 
 
 Father Clement, 50 
 Fortune Hunter, . 33 
 
 Uncle Tom iu England, 25 
 
 Lardner's One Thou- 
 
 Genevra, ... 50 
 
 CHRISTY & WHITE'S 
 
 sand and Ten Things 
 Worth Knowing, - 25 
 
 Miser's Heir, - - 50 
 Victims of Amusements, 37 
 
 SONG BOOKS. 
 
 How to get Rich, - 25 
 
 Henry Clay's Portrait, 1 00 
 
 Christy and Wood'* 
 
 Etiquette for All. Cloth, 75 
 Five Languages with- 
 
 Siege of Londonderry, 37 
 The Orphan Sisters, - 
 
 Complete Songster, 12 
 Melodeca Song Book, 12 
 
 out a Master. Cloth, 1 25 
 
 Two Lovers, - - 60 
 
 Plantation Melodies, - 12 
 
 P->cket Library of Use- 
 ful Knowledge, - 50 
 Lady's Work Table Book, 50 
 Gentlemen's Etiquette, 25 
 Ladies' Etiquette, - 25 
 Kitchen Gardener, - 25 
 Complete Florist, - 25 
 Knowlson's Horse Doctor, 25 
 
 ADVENTURES. 
 
 Adventures in Africa, 1 00 
 Adventures of Ned Lorn.l 00 
 Don Quixotte, - - 1 00 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad, 5U 
 Life and Adventures of 
 Paul Periwinkle, - 50 
 
 Ethiopian Song Book, 12 
 Serenader's Song Book, 12 
 Complete Ethiopian Me- 
 lodies, by Christy and 
 White. Cloth, - 75 
 
 12 CENT BOOKS. 
 
 Knowlson's Cow Doctor, 25 
 
 GEORGE SANDS' 
 
 Seven Poor Travelers, 1<4 
 
 irthur's Receipts for 
 Putting up Fruits 
 aad Vegetables in 
 Summer to Keep, - 12 
 
 First and True Love, - 50 
 Indiana, ... 50 
 The Corsair, - - 25 
 
 The Schoolboy, - 12 
 Lizzie Leigh, - - 12 
 Christmas Carol, - 12 
 The Chimes, - - 12 
 
 EMERSON BENNETT'S. 
 Fhe Border Rover, 1 00 
 
 C. J. PETERSON'S. 
 
 Mabel ; or, Darkness 
 and Dawn - - 1 00 
 
 Cricket on the Hearth, 12 
 Battle of Life, - - 12 
 Haunted Man, - - 12 
 
 Clara Moreland, 50 
 Viola, - 50 
 Bride of Wilderness, 50 
 Ellen Norburj, 50 
 Forged Will, 50 
 
 Kate Aylesfo'rd, - 1 00 
 Cruising in Last War, 50 
 Grace Dudley, 25 
 Valley Farm, - - 25 
 
 Sister Rose, - 12 
 Yellow Mask, - - 12 
 Mother & Step Mother, 1 2 
 A Wife's Story, - - 12 
 Odd Fellowship Exposed, 1 'J 
 
 Kate Clarendon 60 
 
 SERMONS. 
 
 Mormonism Exposed, 12 
 
 Pioneer's Daughtor. 50 
 
 America's Mission, 25 
 
 Duties of Woman, by 
 
 Heirew. of Bellefoute 
 
 1 hankfulness and Cha- 
 
 Lucretia Mott, 12 
 
 and Walde-Warren 50 
 
 racter, --- 25 
 
 The Holly-Tiee Inn, - 1* 
 
 
 Politics in Religion. 1^ 
 
 Life of John Maffit, - 12 
 
 BULWER'S NOVELS. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S. 
 
 Euchre and its Laws, 12 
 l>mue of Iniquity, 
 
 Falkland, 2e 
 
 Anatomy & Physiology, I 00 
 
 Dr. liens on Jesuits, - 12 
 
 The OxMiSai H, 2* 
 
 Dr. llollick's Family 
 
 Dr. BtTg's Answer f o 
 
 CaJderon. thv Courtier 1- 
 
 Physician, 26 
 
 .m-iii/bhoi 11-j^hea. 13 
 
T. B. PETERSON'S LIST OF PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 WORKS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 FLIRTATIONS IN AMERICA; OR HIGH LIFE IN NEW YORK. A 
 capital book. 285 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 DON QUIXOTTE. ILLUSTRATED LIFE AND ADVENTURES 09 
 DON QUIXOTTE DE LA MANCHA, and his Squire Sancho Panza 
 with all the original notes. 300 pages. Price 75 cents. 
 
 WILD SPORTS IN THE WEST. By W. II. Maxwell, author of ?i- 
 torial Life and Adventures of Grace O'Malley." Price 50 cents. 
 
 THE ROMISH CONFESSIONAL; or, the Auricular Confession and Spi- 
 ritual direction of the Romish Church. Its History, Consequences, 
 and policy of the Jesuits. By M. Michelet. Price 50 cents. 
 
 GENEVRA ; or, the History of a Portrait. By Miss Fairfield, one of tht 
 best writers in America. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 WILD OATS SOWN ABROAD ; OR, ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS. It 
 is the Private Jourc^l of a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and 
 of a highly cultivated mind, in making the tour of Europe. It shows 
 up all the High and Low Life to be found in all the fashionable re- 
 eorts in Paris. Price 50 cents in paper cover, or 75 cents in cloth, gilt. 
 
 SALATHIEL; OR, THE WANDERING JEW. By Rev. George Croly. 
 One of the best and most world-wide celebrated books that has ever 
 been printed. Price 50 cents. 
 
 LLORENTE'S HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION IN SPAIN. Only 
 edition published in this country. Price 50 cents; or handsomely 
 bound in muslin, gilt, price 75 cents. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S NEW BOOK. ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, 
 
 with a large dissected plate of the Human Figure, colored to Life. 
 By the celebrated Dr. Hollick, author of " The Family Physician/' 
 " Origin of Life," etc. Price One Dollar. 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S FAMILY PHYSICIAN ; OR, THE TRUE ART OF 
 HEALING THE SICK. A book that should bo in the house of 
 every family. It is a perfect treasure. Price 25 cents. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THREE CITIES. Boston, New York, and Philadel- 
 phia. Revealing the secrets of society in these various cities. All 
 should read it. By A. J. II. Duganne. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 BED INDIANS OF NEWFOUNDLAND. A beautifully illustrated In- 
 dian Story, by the author of the " Prairie Bird." Price 50 cents. 
 
 HARRIS'S ADVENTURES IN AFRICA. This book is a rich treat 
 Two volumes. Price One Dollar, or handsomely bound, $1 50. 
 
 THE PETREL; OR, LOVE ON THE OCEAN. A sea novel equal to tht 
 best. By Admiral Fisher. 200 pages. Price 50 cents. 
 
 ARISTOCRACY, OR LIFE AMONG THE "UPPER TEN." A trut 
 novel of fashionable life. By J. A. Nunes, Esq. Price 50 cents. 
 
 TOE CABIN AND PARLOR. By J. Thornton Randolph. It it 
 beautifully illustrated. Price 50 cents in paper cover ; or a finer edi- 
 tion, printed on thickei and better paper, and handsomely bound ii 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar. 
 
 LIPE IN THE SOUTH . A companion to " Uncle Tom's Cabin." Bj 
 C. H. Wiley. Beautifully illustrated from original designs by DM 
 IT. Price 50 cents. 
 
mm mi 
 
 OR, 
 
 ON AND OFF SOUNDINGS, 
 
 A 
 
 IF 
 
 A NEW AND EXQUISITELY ORIGINAL WORK. 
 
 Have you read it 1 ? If not, then do so. 
 Price Fifty Cents in Paper ; or Seventy Five Cents in Cloth. 
 
 Wild Oats Sown Abroad is a splendid work. It is the Private Journal 
 ef a Gentleman of Leisure and Education, and of a highly cultivated mind, 
 in making the Tour of Europe. It is having a sale unprecedented in tho 
 annals of literature, for nothing equal to it in spiciness, vivacity, and real 
 Bonnes and observations in daily travel, has' ever appeared from the press. 
 
 TABLE Or CONTENTS OF THIS EXTRAORDINARY WORK. 
 
 Abelard and Hcloisfl. 
 Scenes on the Road. 
 The ''Tug of War." 
 " There they are, by Jove!" 
 The Raven-Haired One! 
 Heaven and Hell ! 
 The " Hamlet" of Sculpture. 
 The Modern Susannah, 
 take care of Hey, Presto! Change! 
 
 The Death Scene cf Cleo- 
 
 and 
 
 e Journal. A View in Lyons 
 
 Adventure in search of Ruin. Aviguou Petrarch 
 Parting Tribute to Ijove. Laura. 
 
 Three Desperate Days! Our First Ruin. 
 
 The Poetry of Sea-Sickness. The Unconscious Blessing. 
 The Red Flannel Night-Cap. A Crash and a Wreck. 
 A Ship by Moonlight. The Hail road of Life. 
 
 Arrival in London. A Night Adventure. 
 
 The Parks of London. " The Gods 
 
 Foot's Corner, Westminster Cato." 
 
 Abbey. 
 England's Monuments. 
 Madame lus.saud's Wax 
 
 Works. 
 
 The " Beauties" of 
 ton Court. 
 
 Love and Philosophy. 
 
 " Love's Labor Ixwt." 
 
 A Prop at " The Shades." 
 
 The Modern " Aspasia." 
 
 Nob'e Plea for M?.trimony. 
 
 The Lily on the Shore. 
 
 Knglish Mother and Ameri- 
 can Daughter. 
 
 The " M;iid of Normanilie." 
 
 An Effecting Scene. 
 
 ' Paris est un Artist." 
 
 The Guillotine. 
 
 4 (live us Another!" 
 
 Post Mort<-ni Reflection*. 
 Criticism. 
 
 The Triumphs of Neptune. patra. 
 The Marquisi's Foot. An Eulogy on Tuscany. 
 
 Beauties of'Naples Bay. A Real Ciaude Sunset. 
 Natural History of 'the Laz- Tasso and Byron. 
 
 Hamp- zaroui 
 
 The True Venus. 
 Love and Devotion. 
 The Mortality of Pompeii. 
 Procession of the Host. 
 The Ascent of Vesuvius. 1 
 The Mountain Emetic. 
 The Human Projectile 
 The City of the Soul. 
 The Coup de Main. 
 Night in the Cnlfoeum! 
 Catholicity Considered. 
 Power Passing Away! 
 Byvon Among the Ruins. 
 A Gossip with the Artists. 
 Speaking Gems. 
 " Weep for Adonis !' 
 
 V'hiskev Punch and Logic. The Lady and the God. 
 
 'Shylocksisks f r Justice! 
 
 " Lorotte" and "Grisettc." 
 
 Klwinsr l>ay. 
 
 TI.e Tattoo. 
 
 The M.-.sked Hall. 
 
 The Incognita. 
 
 The Charms ot Paris. 
 
 Changing Hurses. 
 
 The'ShockingTeaml 
 Floating* in Venice. 
 The Venetian Girls. 
 The Bell-Crowned Hat! 
 The "Lion's Mouth." 
 The " Bridge of Sighs !" 
 A Subterranean Fete! 
 Byron and Moore in Venice. 
 Diann and Endymion. 
 The Pinch of Snuff. 
 The Rock-Crystal Coffin I 
 Eccentricity of Art. 
 Thoughts in a Monastery. 
 The Lake of Como. 
 Immortal Drummer Boy 
 Wit. niid its Reward! 
 The Co'd Bath. 
 " Here we are !*' 
 Tlie Mountain Expose. 
 The "Last Rose of Sum 
 inor." 
 
 The Science of I'salmistry. 
 
 " Sour (Jrapes." 
 
 A Ramble about Tivoli. 
 
 Illumination of St. Peter" B. Wa!;iir,' tlie Echoe^ 
 
 Tiie ' NMobfr of Nations." Watching the Aviilinclie. 
 
 A Ghostly Scene! A Beautiful Incident. 
 
 " Ilonisnitntii mal y pense." A Shot with the Long I Jew. 
 
 A " 15all" witliout Music. Mt. Wane and a full stop. 
 
 I'ru'e fi.r the complete work, in paper cover, Fifty cents a copy only ; Cf 
 buiidsomcly bound in muslin, gilt, tor Seventy-Five cents. 
 
 Copies of either edition of the work will be sent to any person at all, to 
 any r-irt of the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the prica 
 of the edition they wish, to the publisher, in a letter, post paid. 
 Published find fjr S.-ile by 
 
 K. 10-2 i;a 
 
 T . D . PETERSON, 
 
ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. 
 
 in n \ 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT. 
 
 Complete in one Volume of 336 pages ; full of beautiful illustrations 
 PRICE FIFTY CFNTS IN PAPER COVER j OR ONE DOLLAR A COPY IN CLOTH, GUT, 
 
 Clu I'M Morcland is truly a celebrated work. It has been running through th 
 <v>kin;ns of -'The Saturday Evening Post," where it has been appearing for the last 
 twelve weeks, and has proved itself to be o.ne of the most popular works that has ever 
 appeared in the columns of any newspaper in this country. J5eforc it was half completed, 
 the bark numbers (although Twelve Thousand extra of each number were printed,) 
 could not be obtained at any price, and the Publishers of the " Post" were forced to issue 
 a f-'nppleuicnt sheet oithe first half of it for new subscribers to their paper, which induced 
 the present publisher to make ao arrangement with the popular author, to bring it out 
 in a beautiful style for the thousands in this country that wish it in book form. 
 
 It is purely an American Rook, and one of those interesting and beautiful American 
 Stories, in which the Publisher in its announcement feels it a pleasing duty to say one 
 word of its popular and talented author. 
 
 K.MRRSON BENNETT, as an Author, is well known throughout the United States; and 
 in the great West, and far extended Southern countries his writings are recognized KS 
 " n-rusehold Words" ever welcome guests in the comfortable cabin of tho Western 
 W<xnlsman. or at the parlor fireside of the busy Town Merchant. 
 
 His glowing and truthful descriptions of Wild Western Scenes his home-like 
 familiarity with the untaught manners and singular customs of the Indian Tribes of 
 the Far Wtest his exquisite delineations of male and female character of character 
 civilized and of character savage his bold and artistic sketches in the dark and shadowy 
 wilderness, or on the broad and untrodden Prairie all acknowledge his dominion in 
 this field of literature, and that Bennett now holds undisputed sway in this species of 
 American Story. 
 
 ' We consider this altogether the best fiction which Mr. Bennett lias yet written. In 
 pHVin^ this*, we pay him the highest possible compliment, as he has long been one of the 
 most popular of American Novelists. His publisher has done every thing that was 
 possible to add to the pubiis desire for the work, having issued it in a very handsome, 
 style. i*> that its dress might not disgrace its merits. Clara Moreland is destined to have 
 an immense sale." Ladies National Magazine. 
 
 Price for the complete work, in paper cover, beautifully illustrated. Fifty cents a copy 
 on ly ; or a finer edition, printed on thicker and better paper, and handsomely bound in 
 muslin, gilt, is published for One Dollar. 
 
 Cojii'-c of either edition of the work will be sent to any person at all, to any part of 
 the United States, free of postage, on their remitting the price of the edition they wiL 
 io the i ublisher, in a letter, post-paid. Published and for sale by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 No. 108 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia* 
 
LIFE IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 A COMPANION TO 
 
 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. 
 
 Complete in one large Octavo volume of 200 pages. Price, Fifty Cents. 
 
 Embellished with fourteen full page, spirited Illustrations, designed by Barley, andengravJ 
 In the finest style of art, and printed on the finest tinted plate paper. Copies of it will be sent 
 to any one to any place, free of postage, on their remitting Fifty Cents to the publisher for a 
 cpy. Published and for Sale by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON, 
 No. 109 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia* 
 
A. NJ2W I3OOX by th? AUTHOR OS? " THH \Y A.TCII11.AN,'' & 
 
 THE^WANDERER 
 
 A TALE OF LIFE'S VICISSITUDES. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WATCHMAN," 
 
 One volume, cloth, $1.25 ; or two volumes, paper cover, $l 
 
 famous WATCHMA.N has justified us in publi shing a 
 
 w , ~ - - a lar rir 8a!e tlmn H>*t. celebrated book, of h -j-jv 
 
 oni w.re sold m the country alone. It is a tale of real LiF*-ev~ .nH.nt hnvmir come under UN thc 
 own observation. It is crowded with circumstances ot the most vi 
 
 T nnbounded popularity of tail -real author's famous WATCHMAN has justified us in publi shing a ^""J 
 41Uon; for we knowtLt this book must have even a larger sale ^^ddHrkinifMM 
 
 and startling interest 
 
 wly supply of this popular work. 
 
"THE WATCHMAN!' 1 
 
 AN INTERESTING AND MORAL 
 
 TALE OF DOMESTIC LIFE. 
 One volume, cloth, $1.35 ; or two volumes, paper cover, $1.00. 
 
 "And let ns not be weary in well doing, in due season we shall reap if we faint not.** 
 
 READ THE FOLLOWING OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 
 
 THE WATCHMAN ig designed to subserve a good purpose, and it will, doubtless, effect its object. Tfc 
 ihararterg are skillfully drawn and are remarkably life-like, and the plot of the tale is of the meet interesting 
 inscription. The moral it, inculcates is, that eventual success awaits the efforts of those who earnestly strive to <i 
 (heir duty to God and man. This book will be a fitting companion to the popular story of "The Lamplighter " 
 tidvocalr, York,Penn 
 
 THE WATCHMAN. This work is deservedly popular. The reader finds in their pages sympathies of the 
 <k iet nature, forming flowers for his path through fife's weary journey. " The Watchman" is safely eseosee* 
 Hf.:nst any attack by critics. Its pagoa deal in truth. It pictures life as it is, and inculcates useful lessons. The 
 r-mng man whose past has been boisterous; whose present is full of chaos and crags, and whose FUTUBK appear* 
 rtocmy with dark forebodings, may learn a lesson of contentment from its pages. rAdvertiier, Auburn JV. I 
 
 THI WATCHMAN. This book is of a kindred character with ''The Lamplighter " a volume which 
 trfOtrti seme months since and was extensively read and admired. The characters are all well drawn, and th 
 I -jry *s chan ningly tfild. It abounds in incident and adventure, and is pervaded by a healthy moral tone. It 
 SBQnot fail of meeting with great success with the reading public. Troy Budget. 
 
 T. B. PETEESON, Publisher, No. 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia 
 
GREAT INDUCEMENTS FOR 1858! 
 
 IS THE TIME TO GET UP 
 
 PETERSON S MAGAZINE 
 
 THE BEST IN THE WORLD FOll LADIES! 
 ESP ONLY TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. .Jgfl 
 
 This popular monthly Magazine will be greatly improved, as well as enlarged for ISAfi. 
 It will contain over 900 pages yearly; from 2o to 30 Steel Plates; and 600 Wood En- 
 gravings. This is more, proportionately, than any periodical gives. The Ntws- 
 paper Press calls this Magazine "THE CHEAPEST m THE WORLD." 
 
 ITS THRILLING ORIGINAL STORIES. 
 
 The editors are Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, author of "The Old Homestead," "Fashion 
 and Famine," and Charles J. Peterson, author of "Kate Aylesford," "The Valley 
 Farm," etc., etc. ; and they are assisted by Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, author of " Tha 
 Lost Heiress," "Vivia," "Ketribution," etc., etc. ; by Alice Carey, Mrs. Deuison, Miss 
 Townsend, Miss Fail-field, Carry Stanley, Clara Moreton, Hetty Holyoke, and by all the 
 most popular female writers of America. New talent is continually being added, r?y<ir<l- 
 less of expense, so as to keep "Peterson's Magazine" unapproachable in merit. Mo- 
 rality and virtue are always inculcated. 
 
 ITS SUPERB MEZZOTINTS, AND OTHER STEEL ENGRAVINGS, 
 
 Are the best published anywhere ; and at the end of each year are alone worth the 
 subscription price. 
 
 COLORED FASHION PLATES IN ADVANCE, 
 
 Each number contains a Fashion Plate, engraved on Steel, and colored ; also a dozen 
 or more New Styles, engraved on Wood ; also, a Pattern, from which a Dress, Mantilla, 
 or Child's Costume, can be cut, without the aid of a mantua-maker, so that each 
 Number, in this way, will save a year's subscription. The Paris, London, Philadel- 
 phia, and New York Fashions are described at length, each month. Patterns of Caps, 
 Bonnets, Head-dresses, etc., given ; in short, of every article of female dress. 
 
 Colored fJqMns foi* Ctybftifat, etc. 
 
 Embroidery Patterns engraved for every Number, with instructions how to work 
 them ; also, Patterns in Knitting, Inserting, Broiderie Anglaise, Netting, Frivolite, Lace- 
 making, etc., etc. Also, Patterns for Sleeves, Collars, and Chemisettes; Patterns In 
 Bead-work, Hair-work, Shell-work; Handkerchief Corners ; Names for Marking and 
 Initials. Occasionally, BCPKRB COLORED PATTERNS FOR EMBROIOKKY, ETC., are given, 
 each of which, at a retail store,, would cost Fifty Cents. A piece of fashionable Music is 
 published every month. Also, New Receipts for Cooking, the Sick-room, the Toilet, 
 Nursery, etc., etc. ; and everything required in the Household. 
 
 TERMS: ^Lir^LYS JUT 
 
 One Copy f or One Year, - - $2.00 
 Three Copies for One Year, - 6.00 
 Five Copies for One Year, - 7.50 
 
 Eight Copies for One Year, - $10.00 
 Twelve Copies for One Year, 15.00 
 Sixteen Copies for One Year, 20.00 
 
 PREMIUMS FOR MAKING UP CLUBS. Three, Five, Eight, Twelve, 
 or Sixteen copies make a Club. To every person getting up a Club of Three, and remit- 
 ting Five Dollars ; or a Club of Five, and remitting Seven Dollars and a Half; or a Club 
 of Eight, and remitting Ten Dollars; we will send, gratis, a copy of our "Casket for 
 1W58," a book of costly Engravings, 40 in number. To every person getting up a Club 
 of Twelve, and remitting Fifteen Dollars ; we will send either an extra copy of the Ma- 
 gazine for 1858, or a " Casket," as the remitter may prefer. To every person getting up 
 8 Clab of Sixteen, and remitting Twenty Dollars, we will send both the "Casket" and 
 an extra copy for 18">S. Or to any person getting up a Club, and entitled to the " Casket," 
 we will send, if preferred, a copy of the Magazine for 18.17. 
 
 IKf Any person may get up a Club. Specimens sent gratuitously, if written for, 
 
 t post-paid, CHARLES J. PETERSON, 
 
 TV**. 3Ofi fJHTSSTlVUT ST.. PHFLADELPHI A.. 
 
FOURTEEN DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 This book is ** ' 1 below, or 
 
 __ ^newed. 
 Renewcu oooks are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 j. 30Nov'55TW 
 
 
 IN STACKS 
 
 
 NOV 1 6 1955 
 
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THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY