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diff --git a/37476-0.txt b/37476-0.txt index 9c396a8..ed2292c 100644 --- a/37476-0.txt +++ b/37476-0.txt @@ -1,25 +1,4 @@ - JESSIE GRAHAM - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jessie Graham - -Author: Mary J. Holmes - -Release Date: September 18, 2011 [EBook #37476] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 37476 *** Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. @@ -5533,375 +5512,4 @@ nearly eighty years between the first and fourth. _The End_. - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37476 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jessie Graham - -Author: Mary J. Holmes - -Release Date: September 18, 2011 [EBook #37476] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - OR, - LOVE AND PRIDE. - - By MARY J. HOLMES - - 1878 - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I.--THE INMATES OF THE FARM-HOUSE. - CHAPTER II.--MR. GRAHAM AND JESSIE. - CHAPTER III.--EIGHT YEARS LATER. - CHAPTER IV.--JESSIE AND ELLEN. - CHAPTER V.--WALTER AND JESSIE. - CHAPTER VI.--OLD MRS. BARTOW. - CHAPTER VII.--HUMAN NATURE. - CHAPTER VIII.--A RETROSPECT. - CHAPTER IX.--NELLIE. - CHAPTER X.--A DISCLOSURE. - CHAPTER XI.--THE NIGHT AFTER THE BURIAL. - CHAPTER XII.--A CRISIS. - CHAPTER XIII.--EXPLANATIONS. - CHAPTER XIV.--THE STRANGER NURSE. - CHAPTER XV.--GLORIOUS NEWS. - CHAPTER XVI.--THANKSGIVING DAY AT DEERWOOD. - CHAPTER XVII.--CONCLUSION. - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I.--THE INMATES OF THE FARM-HOUSE. - - -Old Deacon Marshall sat smoking beneath the maple tree which he had -planted many years before, when he was scarcely older than the little -girl sitting on the broad doorstep and watching the sun as it went down -behind the western hills. The tree was a sapling then, and himself a -mere boy. The sapling now was a mighty tree, and its huge branches swept -the gable roof of the time-worn building, while the boy was a -gray-haired man, sitting there in the glorious sunset of that bright -October day, and thinking of all which had come to him since the morning -long ago, when, from the woods near by, he brought the little twig, and -with his mother's help secured it in its place, watching anxiously for -the first indications of its future growth. - -Across the fields and on a shady hillside, there were white headstones -gleaming in the fading sunlight. He could count them all from where he -sat,--could tell which was his mother's, which his father's, and which -his fair-haired sister's. Then there came a blur before his eyes, and -great tears rolled down his furrowed cheek, as he remembered that in -that yard there were more graves of his loved ones than there were -chairs around his fireside, even though he counted the one which for -years had not been used, but stood in the dark corner of the kitchen, -just where it had been left that dreadful night when his only son was -taken from him. On the hillside there was no headstone for that boy, but -there were two graves, which had been made just as many years as the -arm-chair of oak had stood in the dark corner, and on the handsome -monument which a stranger's hand had reared, was cut the name of the -deacon's wife and the deacon's daughter-in-law. - -Fourteen times the forest tree had cast its leaf since this last great -sorrow came, and the old man had in a measure recovered from the -stunning blow, for new joys, new cares, new loves had sprung into -existence, and few who looked into his calm, unruffled face, ever -dreamed of the anguish he had suffered. Time will soften the keenest -grief, and in all the town there was not apparently a happier man than -the deacon; though as often as the autumn came, bringing the frosty -nights and hazy October days, there stole a look of sadness over his -face, and the pipe, his never-failing friend, was brought into -requisition more frequently than ever. - -"It drove the blues away," he said; but on the afternoon of which we -write, _the blues_ must have dipped their garments in a deeper dye than -usual, for though the thick smoke curled in graceful wreaths about his -head, it did not dissipate the gloom which weighed upon his spirits as -he sat beneath the maple, counting the distant graves, and then casting -his eye down the long lane, through which a herd of cows was wending its -homeward way. They were the deacon's cows, and he watched them as they -came slowly on, now stopping to crop the tufts of grass growing by the -wayside, now thrusting their slender horns over the low fence in quest -of the juicy cornstalk, and then quickening their movements as they -heard the loud, clear whistle of their driver, a lad of fourteen, and -the deacon's only grandson. - -Walter Marshall was a handsome boy, and none ever looked into his frank, -open face, and clear, honest eyes, without turning to look again, he -seemed so manly, so mature for his years, while about his slightly -compressed lips there was an expression as if he were constantly seeking -to force back some unpleasant memory, which had embittered his young -life and fostered in his bosom a feeling of jealousy or distrust of -those about him, lest they, too, were thinking of what was always -uppermost in his mind. - -To the deacon, Walter was dear as the apple of his eye, both for his -noble qualities and the cloud of sorrow which had overshadowed his -babyhood. A dying mother's tears had mingled with the baptismal waters -sprinkled on his face, and the first sound to which he ever seemed to -listen was that of the village bell tolling, as a funeral train wound -slowly through the lane and across the field to the hillside, where the -dead of the Marshall family were sleeping. He had lain in his -grandmother's arms that day, but before a week went by, a stranger held -him in her lap, while the deacon went again to the hillside and stood by -an open grave. Then the remaining inmates of the farm-house fell back to -their accustomed ways, and the prattle of the orphan boy,--for so they -called him,--was the only sunshine which for many a weary month visited -the old homestead. - -Since that time the deacon's daughter had married, had wept over her -dead husband, and smiled upon a little pale-faced, blue-eyed girl, to -whom she gave the name of Ellen, for the sake of Walter's mother. - -Aunt Debby, the deacon's maiden sister, occupied a prominent position in -the family, who prized her virtues and humored her whims in a way which -spoke volumes in her praise. Although unmarried, Aunt Debby declared -that it was not her fault, and insisted that her husband, who was to -have been, was killed in the war of 1812. Not that she ever saw him, but -her fortune had been told for fifty cents by one who pretended to read -the future, and as she placed implicit confidence in the words of the -seer, she shed a few tears to the memory of the widower who marched -bravely to his death, leaving to the world four little children, and to -her a life of single-blessedness. For the sake of the four children -whose step-mother she ought to have been, she professed a great -affection for the entire race of little ones, and especially for Walter, -whose father had been her pet. - -"Walter was the very image of him," she said, and when, on the night of -which we are writing, she heard his clear whistle in the distance, she -drew her straight-backed chair nearer to the window, and watched for the -first appearance of the boy. "That's Seth again all over," she thought, -as she saw him make believe set the dog on Ellen, who had gone to meet -him. "That's just the way Seth used to pester Mary," and she glanced at -the meek-eyed woman, moulding biscuits on the pantry shelf. As was usual -with Aunt Debby, when Seth was the burden of her thoughts, she finished -her remarks with, "Seth allus was a good boy," and then, as she saw -Walter take a letter from his pocket and pass it to his grandfather, she -hastened to the door, while her pulses quickened with the hope that it -might contain some tidings of the wanderer. - -The letter bore the New York postmark, and glancing at the signature, -the deacon said: - -"It's from Richard Graham," while both Walter and Aunt Debby drew nearer -to him, waiting patiently to know the nature of its contents. - -"There's nothing about my boy," the old man said, when he had finished -reading, and with a gesture of impatience Walter turned away, saying to -himself, "I'd thank him not to write if he can't tell us something we -want to hear," while Aunt Debby went back to her knitting, and the -polished needles were wet as they resumed their accustomed click. - -"Mary," called the deacon, to his daughter, "this letter concerns you -more than it does me. Richard's wife is dead,--killed herself with -fashion and fooleries." - -Advancing toward her father, Mary said: - -"When did she die, and what will he do with his little girl?" - -"That's it," returned the father, "that's the very thing he wrote -about," and opening the letter a second time, he read that the -fashionable and frivolous Mrs. Graham, worn out by a life of folly and -dissipation, had died long before her time, and that the husband, warned -by her example, wished to remove his daughter, a little girl eight years -of age, from the city, or rather from the care of her maternal -grandmother, who was sure to ruin her. - -It is true the letter was not exactly worded thus, but that was what it -meant. Mr. Graham had once lived in Deerwood, and knew the old Marshall -homestead well,--knew how invigorating were the breezes from the -mountains,--how sweet the breath of the newly mown hay, or soil freshly -plowed,--knew how bracing were the winter winds which howled around the -farm-house,--how healthful the influences within, and when he decided to -shut up his grand house and go to Europe for an indefinite length of -time, his thoughts turned toward rustic Deerwood as a safe asylum for -his child. In the gentle Mary Howland she would find a mother's care, -such as she had never known, and after a little hesitation, he wrote to -know if at the deacon's fireside there was room for Jessie Graham. - -"She is a wayward, high-spirited little thing," he wrote, "but -warm-hearted, affectionate and truthful,--willing to confess her faults, -though very apt to do the same thing again. If you take her, Mrs. -Howland, treat her as if she were your own; punish her when she deserves -it, and, in short, train her to be a healthy, useful woman." - -The price offered in return for all this was exceedingly liberal, and -would have tempted the deacon had there been no other inducement. - -"That's an enormous sum to pay for one little girl," he said, when he -finished reading the letter. "It will send Ellen through the seminary, -and maybe, buy her a piano, if she's thinking she must have one to drum -upon." - -"Piano!" repeated Walter. "I'll earn one for her when she needs it. I -don't like this Jessie with her city airs. Don't take her, Aunt Mary. We -have suffered enough from the Grahams;" and Walter tossed his cap into -the tree, with a low rejoinder, which sounded very much like "_darn -'em!_" - -"Walter," said the deacon, "you do wrong to cherish such feelings toward -Mr. Graham. He only did what he thought was right, and were your father -here now, he'd say Richard was the best friend he ever had." - -This was the place for Aunt Debby to put in her accustomed "Seth allus -was a good boy," while Walter, not caring to discuss the matter, laughed -good-humoredly, and said: - -"But that's nothing to do with this minx of a Jessie. Why does he write -her name s-i-e? Why don't he spell it s-y-sy, and be sensible? Of course -she's as stuck up as she can be,--afraid of cows and snakes and -everything," and Walter sneered at the idea of a girl who was afraid of -snakes and everything. - -"Yes," chimed in Ellen, who Aunt Debby said was born for no earthly use -except to "take Walter down." "I shouldn't suppose you'd say anything, -for don't you remember when you went to Boston with Mr. Smith to see the -caravan, and stopped at the Tremont, and when they pounded that big -thing for dinner you were scared almost to death, and hid behind the -door screaming, 'The lion's out! the lion's out! Don't you hear him -roar?'" - -Walter colored crimson, and replied apologetically: - -"Pshaw, Nell, I was a little shaver then, only ten years old. I'd never -heard a gong before, and why shouldn't I think the lion out?" - -"And why shouldn't Jessie be afraid of snakes if she never saw one? -She's only eight, and you were ten," was the reply of Ellen, whose heart -bounded at the thoughts of a companion, and who had unwittingly avowed -herself the champion of the unknown Jessie Graham. - -"Hush, children," interrupted the deacon. "It isn't worth while to -quarrel. Folks raised in the city are sometimes green as well as country -people, and this Jessie may be one of 'em. But the question now is, -shall she come to Deerwood or not?" and he turned inquiringly toward his -daughter. "Mary, are you willing to be a mother to Richard Graham's -child?" - -Mrs. Howland started, and sweeping her hand across her face, answered: -"I am willing," while Aunt Debby, in her straight-backed chair mumbled: - -"To think it should come to that,--Mary taking care of his and another -woman's child; but, law! it's no more than I should have done if he -hadn't been killed," and with a sigh for the widower and his four -motherless offspring, Aunt Debby also gave her assent, thinking how she -would knit lamb's-wool stockings for the little girl, whose feet she -guessed were about the size of Ellen's. - -"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Ellen, when it was settled, "for now there'll -be somebody to play with when my head aches too hard to go to school. I -hope she'll bring a lot of dolls; and, Walter, you won't ink their faces -and break their legs as you did that cob baby Aunt Debby made for me?" - -When thus appealed to, Walter was reading for himself the letter which -had fallen at his grandfather's feet, and his clear hazel eyes were -moist with tears, as he read the postscript: - -"I have as yet heard nothing from Seth, poor fellow! I hoped he would -come back ere this. It may be I shall meet him in my travels." - -"He isn't so bad a man after all," thought Walter, and with his feelings -softened toward the father, he was more favorably disposed toward the -daughter's dolls, and to Ellen's question he replied, "Of course I -shan't bother her if she lets me alone and don't put on too many airs." - -"I can't see to write as well as I used to," said the deacon, after -everything had been arranged, "and Walter must answer the letter." - -"Walter won't do any such thing," was the mental comment of the boy, -whose animosity began to return toward one who he fancied had done his -father a wrong. - -After a little, however, he relented, and going to his room wasted -several sheets of paper before he was at all satisfied with the few -brief lines which were to tell Mr. Graham that his daughter Jessie would -be welcome at Deerwood. Great pains he took to spell her name according -to his views of orthography, making an extra flourish to the "y" with -which he finished up the "Jessy." - -"Now, that's sensible," he said. "I wonder Aunt Debby don't spell her -name b-i-e-by. She would, I dare say, if she lived in New York." - -Walter's ideas of city people were formed entirely from the occasional -glimpses he had received of his proud Boston relatives, who had been -highly indignant at his mother's marriage with a country youth, the most -of them resenting it so far as to absent themselves from her funeral. -His lady grandmother, they told him, had been present, and had held him -for a moment upon her rich black mourning dress, but from that day she -had not looked upon his face. These things had tended to embitter Walter -toward his mother's family, and judging all city people by them, it was -hardly natural that he should be very favorably disposed toward little -Jessie. Still, as the time for her arrival drew near, none watched for -her more vigilantly or evinced a greater interest in her coming than -himself, and on the day when she was expected, it was observed by his -cousin Ellen that he took more than usual pains with his toilet, and -even exchanged his cowhide boots for a lighter pair, which would make -less noise in walking; then as he heard the whistle in the distance, he -stationed himself by the gate, where he waited until the gray horses -which drew the village omnibus appeared over the hill. The omnibus -itself next came in sight, and the head of a little girl was thrust from -the window, a profusion of curls falling from beneath her brown straw -hat, and herself evidently on the lookout for her new home. - -"Curls, of course," said Walter. "See if I don't cut some of 'em off," -and he involuntarily felt for his jack-knife. - -By this time the carriage was so near that he vacated his post, lest the -strangers should think he was waiting for them, and returning to the -house, looked out of the west window, whistling indifferently, and was -apparently quite oblivious of the people alighting at the gate, or of -the chubby form tripping up the walk, and with sunny face and laughing -round bright eyes, winning at once the hearts of the four who, unlike -himself, had gone out to receive her. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--MR. GRAHAM AND JESSIE. - - -She was a little fat, black-eyed, black-haired girl, with waist and -ankles of no Lilliputian size, and when at last Walter dared to steal a -look at her, she had already divested herself of her traveling -habiliments, and with the household cat in her arms, was looking about -for a chair which suited her. She evidently did not fancy the high, -old-fashioned ones which had belonged to Deacon Marshall's wife, for, -spying the one which was never used, and into which even Ellen dared not -climb, she unhesitatingly wheeled it from its place, and seated herself -in its capacious depths, quite as a matter of course. - -A good deal shocked, and somewhat amused, Walter watched her -proceedings, thinking to himself: - -"By and by I'll tell her that is father's chair, and then she won't want -to sit in it; but she's a stranger now, so I guess I'll let her alone." - -By this time the cat, unaccustomed to quite so hard a squeeze as Jessie -gave it, escaped from her lap, and jumping down, Jessie ran after it, -exclaiming: - -"Oh, boy, boy, stop her!" - -A peculiar whistle from Walter sent the animal flying faster from her, -and shaking back her curls, Jessie's black eyes flashed up into his -face, as she said: - -"You're the meanest boy, and I don't like you a bit." - -"Jessie," said the stern voice of her father, and for the first time -since his entrance, Walter turned to look at him, and as he looked he -felt the bitterness gradually giving way, for the expression of Mr. -Graham's face was not proud and overbearing as he had fancied it to be. - -On the contrary, it was mild and gentle as a woman's, while there was -something in his pleasant blue eyes which would prompt an entire -stranger to trust him at once. He had seen much of the world, and of -what is called best society, and his manners were polished and pleasing. -Still there was nothing ostentatious about him, no consciousness of -superiority, and when Deacon Marshall, pointing to Walter, said to him, -"This is Seth's child," he took the boy's hand in his own, and for a -moment, stood gazing down into the frank, open face, then pushing the -brown hair from off the forehead, he said: - -"You look as your father did, when we were boys together, and he was the -dearest friend I knew." - -"What made you turn against him then?" trembled on Walter's lips, but -the words were not uttered, for Mr. Graham's manner had disarmed him of -all animosity, and he said instead: - -"I hope I may be as good and true a man as I believe him to have been." - -For a moment longer Mr. Graham held the hand in his, while he looked -admiringly at the boy, who had paid this tribute to one whom the world -considered an outcast, then releasing it, he turned away, and Walter was -sure that his eyes were moist with something which looked like tears. - -"I like him for that," was his mental comment, as he watched Mr. Graham -talking with his aunt of little Jessie, who, when he bade her -farewell,--for he went back that night,--clung sobbing to his neck, -refusing to be comforted, until Walter whispered to her of a bright-eyed -squirrel playing in its cage up in the maple tree. - -Then her arms relaxed their grasp, and she went with Ellen to see the -sight, while Walter accompanied Mr. Graham to the depot. There was a -bond of sympathy between the man and boy, and they grew to liking each -other very fast during the few moments they talked together upon the -platform of the Deerwood station. Numerous were the charges Mr. Graham -gave to Walter concerning his little girl, bidding him care for her as -if she were his sister, and Walter felt a boyish pride in thinking how -well he would fulfill his trust. - -Mr. Graham could never tell what prompted him to say it, but as his mind -went forward to the future, when Jessie would be grown, he said: - -"She will make a beautiful woman, I think, and I hope she will be as -good and pure as beautiful, so that her future husband, should she ever -have one, will not look to her in vain for happiness." - -It might have been that Mr. Graham was thinking of his own wife, and the -little congeniality there had been between them. If so, he hastened to -thrust such thoughts aside by adding, laughingly: - -"Her grandmother is a remarkably scheming old lady, and has already set -her heart on William Bellenger, or rather on his family; but I would -rather see her buried than the wife of any of that race." - -Unconsciously Mr. Graham had wounded Walter deeply, for in his veins the -blood of the Bellengers was flowing, and he did not care to hear another -speak thus disparagingly of a race from which his gentle mother sprung, -though he had no love for it himself. William Bellenger was his cousin, -and even now he felt his finger tips tingle as he recalled the only time -they had met. It was on the occasion of that first visit to Boston, to -which Ellen had alluded. His uncle's family were then boarding at the -Tremont and William was making a constrained effort to entertain him in -the public parlor, when he became so frightened with the gong, mistaking -it for a roaring lion, and taking refuge behind the door as Ellen had -said. With explosive shouts of laughter William repeated the story to -all whose ear he could gain, and Walter had never forgotten the sneering -tone of his voice as he called after him at parting: - -"The lion's out! the lion's out!" - -They had never seen each other since,--he hoped they never should see -each other again,--and though sure that he disliked Jessie very much, he -shrank even from the thought of associating her with William Bellenger, -though he did not like to have Mr. Graham speak so slightingly of him. -Something like this must have shown itself upon his face, for Mr. Graham -saw the shadow resting there and quickly divining the cause, hastened to -say: - -"Forgive me, Walter, for speaking thus thoughtlessly of your mother's -family. I did not think of the relationship. You are not like them in -the least, I am sure, for you remind me each moment of your father." - -Around the curve the train appeared in view, but Walter must ask one -question of his companion, and as the latter sprang upon the steps of -the forward car, he held his arm, and said to him entreatingly, as it -were: - -"Do you think my father guilty?" - -Oh, how Mr. Graham longed to say no to the impulsive boy, whose handsome -face looked up to him so wistfully. But he could not, and he answered -sadly: - -"I did think so, years ago." - -"Yes, yes; but now? Do you think so now?" and Walter held fast to the -arm, even though the train was moving slowly on. - -The ringing of the bell, the creaking of the machinery, and the puffing -of the engine increased each moment; but above the din of them all -Walter caught the reply: - -"I have had no reason to change my mind," and releasing Mr. Graham, he -sprang to the ground and walked slowly back to the farm-house, his bosom -swelling with resentment, and his eyes filling with tears, for upon no -subject was the high-spirited boy so sensitive as the subject of his -father's honor. - -"I'll never believe it till he himself tells me it is true," he said, -and then, as he had often done before, he began to wonder if his father -ever thought of the child he had never seen, and if in this world they -would ever meet. - -While thus meditating, he reached home, where he found the entire family -assembled around little Jessie, who, with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, -was stamping her fat feet furiously, and, by way of variety, -occasionally bumping her hard head against the harder door. - -"What is it?" he asked, pressing forward until he caught sight of the -little tempest. - -The matter was soon explained. Always accustomed to her own way with her -indulgent grandmother, Jessie had insisted upon opening the cage and -taking the squirrel in her hands, and when her request was refused she -had flown into a most violent passion, screaming for her father to come -and take her away from such dirty, ugly people. It was in vain that they -tried by turns to soothe her. Her spirit was the ruling one as yet, and -she raved on till Walter came and learned the cause of her wrath. - -"I can make her mind, I'll bet," he thought, and advancing toward her, -he said sternly: "Jessie!" but a more decided stamp of the foot was her -only answer, and seizing her arm, he shook her violently, while he said -more sternly than before: "Stop, instantly!" - -Like coals of fire the black eyes flashed up into his, meeting a look so -firm and decided that they quailed beneath the glance. Jessie had met -her master, and after a few hysterical sobs, she became as gentle as a -lamb, nestling so close to Walter, who had seated himself upon the -chintz-covered lounge, that he involuntarily wound his arm around her, -as if to make amends for his recent harshness. - -Jessie was as affectionate and warm-hearted as she was high-tempered and -rebellious. Her tears were like April showers, and before Walter had -been with her one half hour, all traces of the storm had disappeared, -and in her own way she was cultivating his acquaintance, and -occasionally inflicting upon him a pang by criticising some of his modes -of speech. Particularly was she shocked at his favorite expression, -"Darn it!" and looking wonderingly into his face, she said: - -"You mustn't use such naughty words. Nobody but vulgar folks do that." - -Walter colored painfully, and that night, in the little diary which he -kept, he wrote: - -"Resolved to break myself of using the word 'darn;' not because a pert -city miss wishes it, but because--" - -He didn't know quite what reason to assign, so he left the sentence to -be finished at some future time. - -In less than three weeks Jessie was the pet of the household, not even -excepting Walter, whose prejudices gradually gave way, and who at last -admitted that she would be "a niceish kind of a little girl, if she -wasn't so awful spunky." - -To no one of the family did Jessie take so kindly as to him. He had been -the first to conquer her, and she clung to him with a childish, trusting -love, whose influence he could not resist. Naturally full of life and -fond of exercise, she was his constant companion in the fields and in -the woods, where, fearless of complexion or dress, she gathered the rich -butternuts, or sought among the yellow leaves for the brown chestnuts -which the hoar frost had cast from their prickly covering. She liked the -country, she said, and when her grandmother wrote, as she often did, -begging her to come back, if only for a week, she absolutely refused to -go, bidding Walter, who was her amanuensis, say that she liked staying -where she was, and never meant to live in the city again. To Walter she -was of inestimable advantage, for she cured him of more than one bad -habit, both of word and manner, and though he, perhaps, would not have -acknowledged it, he was very careful not to offend her ladyship by a -repetition of the offense, until at last his schoolmates more than once -called him stuck-up and proud, while even Ellen thought him greatly -changed. - -And thus the autumn passed away, and the breath of winter was cold and -keen upon the New England hills, while the grim old mountain frowned -gloomily down upon the pond, or tiny lake, whose surface was covered -over with a coat of polished glass, tempting the skaters far and near, -and bringing to its banks one day Walter and Jessie Graham. It was in -vain that Mrs. Howland and Aunt Debby both urged upon the latter the -propriety of remaining at home and knitting on the deacon's socks, just -as gentle, domestic Ellen did. Jessie was not to be persuaded, and, -wrapped in her warm fur cape and mittens, she went with Walter to the -pond, receiving many a heavy fall upon the ice, but always saying it was -no matter, particularly if Walter were within hearing. The surest way to -win his favor, she knew, was to be brave and fearless, and when, as the -bright afternoon drew to its close, some boy, more mischievous than the -rest, caught off Walter's cap and sent it flying toward the southern -boundary of the pond, she darted after it, unmindful of the many voices -raised to stay the rash adventure. - -"Stop, Jessie! stop! The deep hole lies just there!" was shouted after -her. But she did not hear; she thought only of Walter's commendation -when she returned him his cap, and she kept on her way, while Walter, -with blanched cheek, looked anxiously after her, involuntarily shutting -his eyes as the dreadful cry rose upon the air: - -"She's gone! she's gone!" - -When he opened them again the space where he had seen her last, with her -bright face turned toward him, was vacant, and the cold, black waters -were breaking angrily over the spot where she had stood, Walter thought -himself dying, and almost hoped he was, for the world would be very -dreary with no little Jessie in it; then as he caught sight of the -crimson lining to Jessie's cape fluttering above the ice, and thought of -her father's trust in him, he cried, "I'll save her, or perish too!" and -rushed on to the rescue. - -There was a fierce struggle in the water, and the ice was broken up for -many yards around, and then, just as those who stood upon the shore, -breathlessly awaiting the result, were beginning to despair, the noble -boy fell fainting in their midst, his arms clasped convulsively around -Jessie, whose short black curls and dripping garments clung tightly to -her face and form. Half an hour later and Deacon Marshall, smoking by -his kitchen fire, looked from the western window, and, starting to his -feet, exclaimed: - -"Who are all those people coming this way, and what do they carry with -them? It's Walter,--it's Walter!" he cried, as the setting sun shone on -the white face, and hurrying out, he asked, huskily, "Is my boy dead?" - -"No, not dead," answered one of the group, "his heart is beating yet, -but she----" and he pointed to little Jessie, whom a strong man carried -in his arms. - -But Jessie was not dead, although for a long time they thought she was, -and Walter, who had recovered from his fainting fit, was not ashamed to -cry as he looked upon the still white face and wished he had never been -harsh to the little girl, or shaken her so hard on that first day of her -arrival at Deerwood. Slowly, as one wakes from a heavy slumber, Jessie -came back to life, and the first words she uttered were: - -"Tell Walter I did get his cap, but somebody took it from me and hurt my -hand so bad," and she held up the tiny thing on which was a deep cut -made by the sharp-pointed ice. - -"Yes, darling, I know it," Walter whispered, and when no one saw him he -pressed his lips to the wounded hand. - -This was a good deal for Walter to do. Never had he called any one -darling before, never kissed even his blue-eyed cousin Ellen, but the -first taste inspired him with a desire for more, and he wondered at -himself for having refrained so long. - -"Will she live?" he asked eagerly of the physician, who replied: - -"There is now no reason why she should not," and Walter hastened away to -his own room, where, unobserved, he could weep out his great joy. - -Gradually, as the days went by, Jessie comprehended what Walter had done -for her, and her first impulse was that some one should write to her -father,--somebody who would say just what she told them to, and as Aunt -Debby was the most likely to do this, the poor old lady was pressed into -the service, groaning and sweating over the task. - -"And now, pa," Aunt Debby wrote, after telling of the accident, "Walter -must be paid, and I'll tell you how to pay him. I heard him one night -talking with his grandpa about going to school and college, and his -grandpa said he couldn't, they were not worth enough in the whole world -for that. Then Walter said he should never know anything, and cried so -hard that I was just going to cry too, when I fell asleep and forgot it. -You are rich, I know, for one of ma's rings cost five hundred dollars, -and her shawl a thousand, and I want you to send me money enough for -Walter to go to college. It will take a lot, I guess, for I heard him -say he'd only studied the things they learn in district schools; but you -have got enough. Let me give it to him with my own hands, because he -saved me with his, will you, father? Walter is the nicest kind of a -boy." - -The letter was sent, and in course of time there came a response with a -draft for two thousand dollars, the whole to be used for the noble lad -who had saved the life of the father's only child. Wild with delight -Jessie listened while Aunt Debby, the only one in the secret, spelled -out the words, then seizing the draft, she hastened out in quest of -Walter, whom she found in the barn, milking the speckled cow. Running up -to him she cried: - -"It's come,--the money! You're going to school,--to college, and to be a -great big man like father. Here it is," and thrusting the paper into his -hand she crouched so near to him that the milk-pail was upset, and the -white drops spattered her jet black hair. - -At first Walter could not understand it, but Jessie managed to explain -how she had asked her father for money to pay for his education. - -"Because," she said, "if it hadn't been for you I should have been a -little dead girl now, and the boys, next winter, would have skated right -over me lying there on the bottom of the pond." - -Walter's first emotion was one of joy in having within his reach what he -had so greatly desired, but considered impossible. Then there arose a -feeling of unwillingness to receive his education from Mr. Graham, to -whom they were already indebted. It seemed too much like charity, and -that he could not endure. Still he did not say so to Jessie,--he would -wait, he thought, until he had talked with his grandfather. Greatly -surprised, Deacon Marshall listened to the story, saying, when it was -finished: - -"You'll accept it, of course." - -"No, I shan't," returned Walter. "We owe Mr. Graham now more than we can -ever pay, and I would rather work all my life on the old homestead than -be dependent on his bounty. You may send it back to your father," he -added, giving the draft to Jessie. "Tell him I thank him, but I can't -accept his favor." - -"Oh, Walter!" and climbing into a chair, for Walter was standing up, -Jessie wound her arms around his neck and poured forth a torrent of -entreaties which led him finally to waver, and at last to decide upon -accepting it, provided Mr. Graham would allow him to pay it back as soon -as he was able. - -To this Mr. Graham, who was immediately written to upon the subject, -assented, for he readily understood the feeling of pride which had -prompted the suggestion. - -"I do not respect you less," he wrote to Walter in reply, "for wishing -to take care of yourself, and the time may come when the money so -cheerfully loaned to you now will be sorely needed by me and mine. Until -then, give yourself no trouble about it, but devote all your energies to -the acquirement of an education. Were my advice asked in reference to a -college, I should tell you Yale, but you must do as you think best. I -shall need a partner by-and-by, perhaps, and nothing could please me -more than to see the names of Graham and Marshall associated together in -business again. God bless your father, wherever he may be." - -This letter touched the right chord, and often in his sleep Walter saw -the sign whose yellow letters read "Graham & Marshall," and the junior -partner of this firm sometimes was himself, but oftener a mild-faced man -wearing the sad, weary look he always saw in dreams upon his father's -face. The day would come, too, he said, when the honor of the Marshall -name would be redeemed, and he looked eagerly forward to the time when -he was to enter as a student the Wilbraham Academy, where it was decided -that he should fit himself for college. - -Very delightful was the bustle and confusion attendant upon the -preparations in the deacon's household, the entire family entering into -the excitement with a zest which told how much the boy was beloved. -Every one wished to do something for him, even to little Jessie, who, -having never been taught to do a really useful thing until she came to -Deerwood, worked perseveringly, but with small hope of success, upon a -pair of socks like those which Ellen had knit for the deacon the winter -before. But alas for Jessie! knitting was not her forte, and Walter -himself could not forbear a smile at the queer-looking thing which grew -but slowly in her hands. At last, in despair, she gave it up, and one -night, when no one was near, threw it into the fire. - -"I must give him something for a keepsake," she thought, and remembering -that he had sometimes smoothed her hair as if he liked it, she seized -the shears, and cutting from her head the longest, handsomest curl, gave -it to him with the explanation that "her father had taken a lock of her -hair when he went away, and perhaps he would like one too." - -Affecting an indifference he did not feel, Walter laughingly accepted a -gift which in future years would be very dear to him, because of the -fair donor. - -The bright April morning came at last on which Walter left his home, and -with tearful eyes the family watched him out of sight, and then, with -saddened hearts, went back to their usual employments, feeling that the -sunshine of the house had gone with the stirring, active boy, who, in -one corner of the noisy car, was winking hard and counting the fence -posts as they ran swiftly past, to keep himself from crying. Anon this -feeling left him, and with the hopefulness of youth he looked eagerly -into the far future, catching occasional glimpses of the day which would -surely come to him when the names of Graham and Marshall would be -associated together again. - - - - -CHAPTER III.--EIGHT YEARS LATER. - - -It is the pleasant summer time, and on the college green groups of -people hurry to and fro, some seeking their own pleasure beneath the -grateful shade of the majestic elms, others wending their way to the -hotel, while others still are hastening to the Center Church to hear the -valedictory, which rumor says will be all the better received for the -noble, manly beauty of the speaker chosen to this honor. Flushed with -excitement, he stands before the people, his clear hazel eye wandering -uneasily over the sea of upturned faces, as if in quest of one from -whose presence he had hoped to catch his inspiration. But he looked in -vain. Two figures alone met his view,--one a bent and gray-haired old -man leaning on his staff, the other a mustached, stylish-looking youth -of nearly his own age, who occupied a front seat, and with his glass -coolly inspected the young orator. - -With a calm, dignified mien, Walter returned the gaze, wondering where -he had seen that face before. Suddenly it flashed upon him, and with a -feeling of gratified pride that it was thus they met again, he glanced a -second time at the calm, benignant expression of the old man, who had -come many miles to hear the speech his boy was to make. In the looks of -the latter there was that which kindled a thrill of enthusiasm in -Walter's frame, and when at last he opened his lips, and the tide of -eloquence burst forth, the audience hung upon his words with breathless -interest, greeting him at the close with shouts of applause which shook -the solid walls and brought the old man to his feet. Then the tumult -ceased, and amid the throng the hero of the hour was seen piloting his -aged grandfather across the green to the hotel. - -"I wish your father was here to-day," the deacon said, as they reached -the public parlor; but before Walter could reply he saw approaching them -the stranger who had so leisurely inspected him with his quizzing-glass, -and who now came forward, offering his hand and saying, laughingly: - -"Allow me to congratulate you upon having become yourself a _lion_." - -It did not need this speech to tell Walter that his visitor was William -Bellenger, and he answered in the same light strain: - -"Yes, I'm not afraid of the lion now;" "nor of the baboon, either," was -his mental rejoinder, as he saw the wondrous amount of hair his cousin -had brought back from Europe, where for the last two years he had been -traveling. - -William Bellenger could be very gracious when he tried, and as his -object in introducing himself to Walter's notice was not so much to talk -with him particularly, as to inquire after a certain young girl and -heiress, whose bright, sparkling beauty was beginning to create -something of a sensation, he assumed a friendliness he did not feel, and -was soon conversing familiarly with Walter of the different people they -both knew, mentioning incidentally Mr. Graham, the wealthy New York -banker, whom he had met in Europe, for Mr. Graham had remained abroad -six years. From him William had heard the warmest eulogies of Walter -Marshall, and there had been kindled in his bosom a feeling of jealous -enmity, which the events of the day had not in the least tended to -diminish. Still if his cousin had not interfered with him in another -matter of greater importance than the being praised by Mr. Graham and -the people, he was satisfied, and it was to ascertain this fact that he -had followed young Marshall to the hotel. - -Before going to New Haven William had called at the home of Jessie's -grandmother in the city, to inquire for the young lady. The house was -shut up and the family were in the country, the servant said, who -answered William's ring, but the sharp eyes of the young man caught the -outline of a figure listening in the upper hall, and readily divining -who the figure was, he answered: - -"Yes, but Mrs. Bartow is here. Carry her my card and say that I will -wait." - -The name of Bellenger brought down at once a bundle of satin and lace, -which Jessie called her grandmother, and which was supposed to be -showing off its diamonds at some fashionable hotel, instead of fanning -itself in the back chamber of that brownstone front. From her William -learned that Jessie was in Deerwood, and would probably attend the -commencement exercises at Yale, as a boy of some kind, whom Mr. Graham -had taken up, was to be graduated at that time. To New Haven, then, he -went, examining the books at every hotel, and scanning the faces of -those he met with an eager gaze, and at last, as he became convinced she -was not there, he determined to seek an interview with his cousin, and -question him of her whereabouts. After speaking of the father as a man -whose acquaintance every one was proud to claim, he said, quite -indifferently: - -"By the way, Walter, his daughter Jessie is in Deerwood, is she not?" - -"Yes," returned Walter; "she has been there for some weeks. She lived -with us all the time her father was in Europe, except when she was away -at school," and Walter felt his pulses quicken, for he remembered what -Mr. Graham had said of Mrs. Bartow's having set her heart on William as -her future grandson. - -William knew as well as Walter that Jessie had lived at Deerwood, but he -seemed to be surprised, and continued: - -"I wonder, then, she is not here to-day. She must feel quite a sisterly -interest in you," and the eyes, not wholly unlike Walter's, save that -they had in them a sinister expression, were fixed inquiringly upon -young Marshall, who replied: - -"I did expect her, and my cousin too; but my grandfather says that Ellen -was not able to come, and Jessie would not leave her." - -"She must be greatly attached to her country friends," returned William, -and the slight sneer which accompanied the words prompted Walter to -reply: - -"She is attached to some of us, I trust. At all events, I love her as a -sister, for such she has been to me, while Mr. Graham has been a second -father. I owe him everything----" - -"Not your education, certainly. You don't mean that?" interrupted -William, who had from the first suspected as much, for he knew that -Deacon Marshall was comparatively poor. - -Walter hesitated, for he had not yet outlived the pride which caused him -to shrink from blazoning it abroad that a stranger's money had made him -what he was. Deacon Marshall, on the contrary, had no such -sensitiveness, and observing Walter's embarrassment, he answered for -him: - -"Yes, Mr. Graham did pay for his education, and an old man's blessing on -his head for that same deed of his'n." - -"Mr. Graham is very liberal," returned William, with a supercilious bow, -which brought the hot blood to Walter's cheek. "Do you go home -immediately?" he continued, and Walter replied: - -"My grandfather has a desire to visit Medway, in Massachusetts, where he -married his wife, and as I promised to go with him in case he came to -New Haven, I shall not return to Deerwood for a week." - -Instantly the face of William Bellenger brightened, and Walter felt a -strong desire to knock him down when he said: - -"Allow me, then, to be the bearer of any message you may choose to send, -for I am resolved upon seeing Miss Graham, and shall, accordingly, go to -Deerwood. She will need a gallant in your absence, and trust me, I will -do my best, though I cannot hope to fill the place of a _lion_." - -Involuntarily Walter clenched his fist, while in the angry look of -defiance he cast upon his cousin, the impudent William read all the -withering scorn he felt for him. Ay, more, for he read, too, or thought -he did, that the beautiful Jessie Graham, whose father was worth a -million, had a warm place in the young plebeian's heart, and this it was -which brought the wrathful scowl to his own face as he compelled himself -to offer his hand at parting. - -"What message did you bid me carry?" he asked, and taking his extended -hand, Walter looked fiercely into his eyes as he replied: - -"None; I can tell her myself all I have to say." - -"Very well," said William, with another bow, and stroking the little -forest about his mouth, he walked away. - -"I don't put much faith in presentiments," said the deacon, when he was -gone, "but all the time that chap was here I felt as if a snake were -crawling at my feet. Believe me, he's got to cross my path or yourn, -mebby both," and the deacon resumed his post by the window, watching the -passers-by, while Walter hurriedly paced the floor with a vague, uneasy -sensation, for though he knew of no way in which the unprincipled -Bellenger could possibly cross his grandfather's path, he did know how -he could seriously disturb himself. - -Not that he had any confessed hope of winning Jessie Graham. She was far -above him, he said. Yet she was the one particular star he worshiped, -feeling that no other had a right to share the brightness with him, and -when he remembered the shady, winding paths in the pleasant old woods at -Deerwood, and the long afternoons when Ellen would be too languid to go -out, and William and Jessie free to go alone, he longed for his -grandfather to give up his favorite project and go back with him to -Deerwood. But when he saw how the old man was set upon the visit, -wondering if he should know the place, and if the thorn-apple tree were -growing still where he sat with Eunice and asked her to be his wife, he -put aside all thoughts of self, and went cheerfully to Medway, while his -cousin, with an eye also to the shadowy woods and the quiet mountain -walks, was hurrying on to Deerwood. - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--JESSIE AND ELLEN. - - -It was a glorious afternoon, and not a single feathery cloud flecked the -clear blue of the sky. The refreshing rain of the previous night had -cooled the sultry August air, and all about the farm-house the grass had -taken a brighter green and the flowers a brighter hue. Away to the -westward, at the distance of nearly one-fourth of a mile, the woods were -streaked with an avenue of pines, which grew so closely together that -the scorching rays of the noontide sun seldom found entrance to the -velvety plat where Walter had built a rustic bench, with Jessie looking -on, and where Jessie and Ellen now were sitting, the one upon the seat -and the other on the grass filling her straw hat with cones, and talking -to her companion of the young graduate, wondering where he was, and if -he didn't wish he were there with them beneath the sheltering pines. - -Eight years had changed the little girls of nine and eight into -grown-up, graceful maidens, and though of an entirely different style, -each was beautiful in her own way, Jessie as a brunette, and Ellen as a -blonde. Full of frolic, life and fun, Jessie carried it all upon her -sparkling face, and in her laughing eyes of black. Now, as of old, her -raven hair clustered in short, thick curls around her forehead and neck, -giving her the look of a gypsy, her father said, as he fondly stroked -the elfin locks, and thought how beautiful she was. Five years she had -lived in Deerwood, and then, at her father's request, had gone to a -fashionable boarding-school, for the only child of the millionaire must -have accomplishments such as could not be obtained among the New England -mountains. No process of polishing, however, or course of discipline had -succeeded as yet in making her forget her country home, and when Mr. -Graham, whose business called him West, offered her the choice between -Newport and Deerwood, she unhesitatingly chose the latter, greatly to -the vexation of her grandmother, who delighted in society now even more -than she did when young. If Jessie went to Deerwood she must remain at -home, for she could not go to Newport alone, and what was worse, she -must live secluded in the rear of the house for Mrs. Bartow would not -for the world let her fashionable acquaintances know that she passed the -entire summer in the city. She should lose _caste_ at once, she thought, -and she used every possible argument to persuade Jessie to give up her -visit to Deerwood, and go with her instead. But Jessie would not listen. -"Grandma could accompany old Mrs. Reeves," she said, "they'd have a -splendid time quarreling over their respective granddaughters, herself -and Charlotte, but as for her, she should go to Deerwood;" and she -accordingly went there, and took with her a few city airs and numerous -city fashions. - -The former, however, were always laid aside when talking to Ellen, who -was by some accounted the more beautiful of the two, with her wealth of -golden hair, her soft eyes of violet blue, and her pale, transparent -complexion. As gentle and quiet as she was lovely, she formed a striking -contrast to the merry, frolicsome Jessie, with her darker, richer style -of beauty, and neither ever appeared so well as when they were together. -In all the world there was no one, except her father, whom Jessie loved -as she did Ellen Howland, and though, amid the gay scenes of her city -home, she frequently forgot her, and neglected to send the letters which -were so precious to the simple country girl, her love returned the -moment the city was left behind, and she breathed the exhilarating air -of the Deerwood hills. - -She called Walter her brother, and had watched him through his college -course with all a sister's pride, looking eagerly forward to the time -when he would be in her father's employ, for it was settled that he was -to enter Mr. Graham's bank as soon as he was graduated. And as on that -summer afternoon she sat upon the grassy ridge and talked with Ellen of -him, she spoke of the coming winter when he would be with her in the -city. - -"It will be so nice," she said, "to have such a splendid beau, for I -mean to get him introduced right away. I shall be seventeen in a month, -and I'm coming out next season. I wish you could spend the winter with -me, and see something of the world. I mean to ask your mother. Father -will buy your dresses to wear to parties, and concerts, and the opera. -Only think of having a box all to ourselves,--you and I and Walter, and -maybe Charlotte Reeves once in a great while, or cousin Jennie. Wouldn't -you love to go?" - -"No, not for anything," answered Ellen, who liked early hours and quiet -rooms, and always experienced a kind of suffocation in the presence of -fashionable people, and who continued: "I don't believe Walter will like -it either, unless he changes greatly. He used to have a horror of city -folks, and I do believe almost hated _you_ before you came to Deerwood, -just because you were born in New York." - -"Hated _me_, Ellen!" repeated Jessie. "He shook me, I know, and I've -been a little afraid of him ever since, but it did me good, for I -deserved it, I was such a high-tempered piece; but I did not know he -hated me. Do you suppose he hates me now?" and Jessie's manner evinced a -deeper interest in Walter than she herself believed existed. - -Ellen saw it at once, and so did the man who for the last ten minutes -had been watching the young girls through the pine tree boughs. William -Bellenger had reached Deerwood on the afternoon train, and gone at once -to the farm-house, whose gable roof, small window panes, and low walls -had provoked a smile of derision, while he wondered what Jessie Graham -could find to attract her there. Particularly was he amused with the -quaint expressions of Aunt Debby, who, in her high-crowned cap, with -black handkerchief smoothly crossed in front, and her wide check apron -on, sat knitting by the door, stopping occasionally to take a pinch of -snuff, or "shoo" the hens when they came too near. - -"The gals was in the woods," she said, when he asked for Miss Graham, -and she bade him "make Ellen get up if he should find her setting on the -damp ground, as she presumed she was. Ellen was weakly," she said, "and -wasn't an atom like Walter, who was as trim a chap as one could wish to -see. Did the young man know Walter?" - -"Oh, yes," returned William. "He is my cousin." - -"Your cousin!" and the needles dropped from the old lady's hands. "Bless -me!" and adjusting her glasses a little more firmly upon her nose she -peered curiously at him. "I want to know if you are one of them -Bellengers? Wall, I guess you do favor Walter, if a body could see your -face. It's the fashion, I s'pose, to wear all that baird." - -"Yes, all the fashion," returned William, who was certainly -good-natured, even if he possessed no other virtue, and having asked -again the road to the woods, he set off in that direction. - -Following the path Aunt Debby pointed out, he soon came near enough to -catch a view of the white dress Jessie wore, and wishing to see her -first, himself unobserved, he crept cautiously to an opening among the -pines, where he could see and hear all that was passing. Jessie's -sparkling, animated face was turned toward him, but he scarcely heeded -it in his surprise at another view which greeted his vision. A slender, -willowy form was more in accordance with Will's taste than a fat chubby -one, and in Ellen Howland his idea of a beautiful woman was, if -possible, more than realized. She was leaning against a tree, her blue -gingham morning gown,--for she was an invalid,--wrapped gracefully about -her her golden hair, slightly tinged with red, combed back from her -forehead, her long eyelashes veiling her eyes of blue, and shading her -colorless cheek, while her lily-white hands were folded together, and -rested upon her lap. - -"Jupiter!" thought William, "I did not suppose Deerwood capable of -producing anything like that. Why, she's the realization of what I've -often fancied my wife should be. Now, if she were only rich I'd yield -the black-eyed witch of a Jessie to my milksop cousin. But, pshaw! it -shan't be said of me that I fell in love at first sight with a vulgar -country girl. What the deuce, they talk of Walter, do they! I'll try -eavesdropping a little longer," and bending his head, he listened while -their conversation proceeded. - -He heard what Ellen said of Walter; he saw the startled look upon the -face of Jessie as she exclaimed, "Does he hate me now?" and in that look -he read what Jessie did not know herself. - -"The wretch!" he muttered, between his teeth; "why couldn't he take the -other one? I would, if the million were on her side," and in the glance -he cast on Ellen there was more than a mere passing fancy. - -She must have felt its influence, for as that look fell upon her she -said: - -"It's cold,--I shiver as with a chill. Let's go back to the house," and -she arose to her feet, just as the pine boughs parted asunder, and -William appeared before them. - -"Mr. Bellenger!" Jessie exclaimed. "When did you come?" - -"Half an hour since," he returned, "and not finding you in the house I -came this way, little thinking I should stumble upon two wood nymphs -instead of one," and again the peculiar glance rested upon Ellen, who -had sunk back upon her seat, and whose soft eyes fell beneath his gaze. - -The brief introduction was over, and then Ellen rose to go, complaining -that she was cold and tired. - -"We will go, too," said Jessie, putting on her hat, when Mr. Bellenger -touched her arm, and said in a low voice of entreaty: - -"Stay here with me." - -"Yes, stay," rejoined Ellen, who caught the words. "It is pleasant here, -and I can go alone." - -So Jessie stayed, and when the slow footsteps had died away in the -distance William sat down beside her, and after expressing his delight -at meeting her again, said, indifferently as it were: - -"By the way, I have just come from New Haven, where I had the pleasure -of hearing the charity boy's valedictory. It is strange what assurance -some people have." - -"Charity boy!" repeated Jessie; "I thought Walter Marshall was to -deliver the valedictory." - -"And isn't he a charity scholar? Don't your father pay his bills?" asked -William, in a tone which Jessie did not like. - -"Well, yes," she answered, "but somehow I don't like to hear you call -him that, because----" she hesitated, and William's face grew dark while -waiting for her answer, which, when it came, was, "because he saved my -life;" and then Jessie told her companion how, but for Walter Marshall, -she would not have been sitting there that summer afternoon. - -"Was Walter's speech a good one?" she asked, her manner indicating that -she knew it was. - -Not a change in her speaking face escaped the watchful eye of William, -and knowing well that insinuations are often stronger and harder to -refute than any open assertion, he replied, with seeming reluctance: - -"Yes, very good; though some of it sounded strangely familiar, and I -heard others hinting pretty strongly at plagiarism." - -This last was in a measure true, for one of Walter's class, chagrined -that the honor was not conferred upon himself, had taken pains to say -that the valedictory was not all of it Walter's,--that an older and -wiser head had helped him in its composition. William did not believe -this, but it suited his purpose to repeat it, and he watched narrowly -for the effect. Jessie Graham was the soul of truth, and no accusation -could have been brought against Walter which would have pained her so -much as the belief that he had been dishonorable in the least degree. - -"Walter would never pass off what was not his own!" she exclaimed. "It -isn't like him, or like any of the Marshall family." - -"You forget his father," said the man beside her, carelessly thrusting -aside a cone with his polished boot. - -"What did his father do?" Jessie asked in some surprise, and her -companion replied: - -"You astonish me, Miss Graham, by professing ignorance of what Walter's -father did. You know, of course." - -"Indeed I do not," she returned. "I only know that there is something -unpleasant connected with him,--something which annoys Walter terribly, -but I never heard the story. I asked my father once and he seemed -greatly agitated, saying he would rather not talk of it. Then I asked -Ellen, but if she knew she would not tell, and she evaded all my -questioning, so I gave it up, for I dare not ask Deacon Marshall or -Walter either. What was it, Mr. Bellenger?" - -William understood just how proud Jessie Graham was, and how she would -be shocked at the very idea of public disgrace. Once convince her of the -parent's guilt, and she will sicken of the son, he thought, so when she -said again, "What was it? What did Mr. Marshall do?" he replied: - -"If your father has kept it from you, I ought not to speak of it, -perhaps; but this I will say, if Seth Marshall had his just deserts, he -would now be the inmate of a felon's cell." - -"Walter's father a felon!" Jessie exclaimed, bounding to her feet. "I -never thought of anything as bad as that. Is it true? Oh! is it true?" -and in the maiden's heart there was a new-born feeling, which, had -Walter been there then, would have prompted her to shrink from him as if -he, too, had been a sharer of his father's sin. - -"You seem greatly excited," said William. "It must be that you are more -deeply interested in young Marshall than I supposed." - -"I am interested," she replied. "I have liked him so much that I never -dreamed of associating him with dishonor." - -"Why need you now?" asked the wily Will. "Walter had nothing to do with -it, though, to be sure, it is but natural to suppose that the child is -somewhat like the father, particularly if it does not inherit any of its -mother's virtues, as Walter, I suppose, does not. He is a Marshall -through and through," and William smiled exultingly as he saw how well -his insinuation was doing its work. - -"Tell me more," Jessie whispered. "_What_ did Mr. Marshall do?" - -"I would rather not," returned William, at the same time hinting that it -was something she ought not to hear. "If your father had good reason for -keeping it from you, so have I. Suffice it to know that it killed his -young wife, my father's sister, and that our family since have scarcely -recognized Walter as belonging to us. It wasn't any fault of mine," he -continued, as he saw the flash of Jessie's eyes, and readily divined -that she did not wish to have Walter slighted. "I cannot help it. Our -family are very proud, my grandmother particularly; and when my aunt -married a poor ignorant country youth, it was natural that she should -feel it, and when the disgrace came it was ten times worse. There is -such a thing as marrying far beneath one's station, and you can imagine -my grandmother's feelings by fancying what your own father's would be if -you were to throw yourself away upon--well, upon this Waiter, who may be -well enough himself, but who can never hope to wipe away the stain upon -his name," and William looked at her sideways, to see the effect of what -he had said. - -Jessie Graham was easily influenced, and she attached far more -importance to William's words than she would have done had she known his -real design; so when he spoke of her marrying Walter as a preposterous -and impossible event, she accepted it as such, and wondered why her -heart should throb so painfully or why she should feel as if something -had been wrested from her,--something which, all unknown to herself, had -made her life so happy. She had taken her first lesson in distrust, and -the poison was working well. - -For a long time they sat there among the pines, not talking of Walter, -but of the city and the wondrous sights which Will had seen in his -foreign travels. There was something very soothing to Jessie in -William's manner, so different from that which Walter assumed toward -her. Like most young girls she was fond of flattery, and Walter had more -than once offended her by his straightforward way of telling her faults. -William, on the contrary, sang her praises only; and, while listening to -him, she wondered she had never thought before how very agreeable he -was. He saw the impression he was making, and when at last, as the sun -was nearing the western horizon, she arose to go, proposing that they -should take the Marshall grave-yard in their route, he assented, for -this, he knew, would keep him longer with her alone. - -"Your aunt is buried here," Jessie said, as they drew near to the fence -which surrounded the home of dead; "that is hers," and she pointed to -the monument gleaming in the sunlight. - -"Do you bury your bodies above the ground?" asked William, directing her -attention to the flutter of a blue morning dress, plainly visible beyond -the taller stone. - -"Why, that is Ellen!" cried Jessie, hurrying on until she reached the -gate, where she stopped suddenly, and beckoned her companion to approach -as noiselessly as possible. - -Ellen also had come that way, and seating herself by her grandmother's -grave, had fallen asleep, and like some rare piece of sculpture, she lay -among the tall, rank grass--so near to a rose tree that one of the -fading blossoms had dropped its leaves upon her face. - -"Isn't she beautiful?" Jessie said to her companion, who replied; "Yes, -wonderfully beautiful," so loud that the fair sleeper awoke and started -up. - -"I was so tired," she said, "that I sat down and must have gone to -sleep, for I dreamed that I was dead, and that the man who came to us in -the pines dug my grave. Where is he, Jessie!" - -"I am here," said William, coming forward, "and believe me, my dear Miss -Howland, I would dig the grave of almost any one sooner than your own. -Allow me to assist you," and he offered her his hand. - -Ellen was really very weak, and when he saw how pale she was he made her -lean upon him as they walked down the hillside to the house. And once, -when Jessie was tripping on before, he slightly pressed the little -blue-veined hand trembling on his arm, while in a very tender voice he -asked if she felt better. Ellen Howland was wholly unaccustomed to the -world, and had grown up to womanhood as ignorant of flattery or deceit -as the veriest child. Pure and innocent herself, she did not dream of -treachery in others. Walter to her was a fair type of all mankind, and -she could not begin to fathom the heart of the man who walked beside -her, touching her hand more than once before they reached the farm-house -door. - -They found the supper table neatly spread for five, and though William's -intention was to spend the night at the village hotel, he accepted Mrs. -Howland's invitation to stay to tea, making himself so much at home, and -chatting with all so familiarly, that Aunt Debby pronounced him a clever -chap, while Mrs. Howland wondered why people should say the Bellengers -of Boston were proud and overbearing. It was late that night when -William left them, for there was something very attractive in the blue -of Ellen's eyes, and the shining black of Jessie's, and when at last he -left them, and was alone with himself and the moonlight, he was -conscious that there had come to him that day the first unselfish, manly -impulse he had known for years. He had mingled much with fashionable -ladies. None knew how artificial they were better than himself, and he -had come at last to believe that there was not among them a single true, -noble-hearted woman. Jessie Graham might be an exception, but even she -was tainted with the city atmosphere. Her father's purse, however, would -make amends for any faults she might possess, and he must win that purse -at all hazards; but while doing that he did not think it wrong to pay -the tribute of admiration to the golden-haired Ellen, whose modest, -refined beauty had impressed him so much, and whose artless, childlike -manner had affected him more than he supposed. "Little Snow-Drop" he -called her to himself, and sitting alone in his chamber at the hotel, he -blessed the happy chance which had thrown her in his way. - -"It is like the refreshing shower to the parched earth," he said, and he -thought what happiness it would be to study that pure girl, to see if, -far down in the depths of her heart, there were not the germs of vanity -and deceit, or better yet, if there were not something in her nature -which would sometime respond to him. He did not think of the harm he -might do her. He did not care, in fact, even though he won her love only -to cast it from him as a useless thing. Country girls like her were only -made for men like him to play with. No wonder then if in her dreams that -night Ellen moaned with fear of the beautiful serpent which seemed -winding itself, fold on fold, about her. - -Jessie, too, had troubled dreams of felon's cells, of clanking chains, -and even of a gallows, with Walter standing underneath beseeching her to -come and share the shame with him. Truly the serpent had entered this -Eden and left its poisonous trail. - -For nearly a week William staid in town, and the village maidens often -looked wistfully after him as he drove his fast horses, sometimes with -Jessie at his side, and sometimes with Ellen, but never with them both, -for the words he breathed into the ear of one were not intended for the -other. Drop by drop was he infusing into Jessie's mind a distrust of one -whom she had heretofore considered the soul of integrity and honor. Not -openly, lest she should suspect his motive, but covertly, cautiously, -always apparently seeking an excuse for anything the young man might -hereafter do, and succeeding at last in making Jessie thoroughly -uncomfortable, though why she could not tell. She did not blame Walter -for his father's sins, but she would much rather his name should have -been without a blemish. - -Gradually the brightness of Jessie's face gave way to a thoughtful, -serious look, her merry laugh was seldom heard, and she would sit for -hours so absorbed in her own thoughts as not to heed the change which -the last few days had wrought in Ellen, too. Never before had the latter -seemed so happy, so joyous, so full of life as now, and Aunt Debby said -the rides with Mr. Bellenger upon the mountains had done her good. -William had pursued his study faithfully, and, in doing so, had become -so much interested himself that he would have asked Ellen to be his wife -had she been rich as she was lovely. But his bride must be an heiress; -and so, though knowing that he could never be to Ellen Howland other -than a friend, he led her on step by step until at last she saw but what -he saw, and heard but what he heard. He was not deceiving her, he said, -sometimes when conscience reproached him for his cruelty. She knew how -widely different their stations were; she could not expect that one whom -half the belles of Boston and New York would willingly accept could -think of making her his wife. He was only polite to her, only giving a -little variety to her monotonous life. She would forget him when he was -gone. And at this point he was conscious of an unwillingness to be -forgotten. - -"If we were only Mormons," he thought, the last night of his stay at -Deerwood, when out under the cherry trees in the garden he talked with -her alone, and saw the varying color on her cheek, as he said, "We may -never meet again." "If we were only Mormons, I would have them both, -Nellie and Jessie, the one for her gilded setting, the other -because----" - -He did not finish the sentence, for he was not willing then to -acknowledge to himself the love which really and truly was growing in -his heart for the fair girl beside him. - -"But you'll surely come to us again," Nellie said. "Jessie will be here. -You'll want to visit her," and a tear trembled on her long eyelashes. - -"I can see Jessie in the city, and if I come to Deerwood it will be you -who brings me. Do you wish me to come and see you, Nellie?" and the -dark, handsome face bent so low that the rich brown hair rested on the -golden locks of the artless, innocent girl, who answered, in a whisper, - -"Yes, I wish you to come." - -"Then you must give me a kiss," he said, "as a surety of my welcome, and -when the trees on the mountain where we have been so happy together are -casting their dense leaves in the autumn, I will surely be with you -again." - -The kiss was given--not one--not two--but many, for William Bellenger -was greedy, and his lips had never touched aught so pure and sweet -before. - -"I wouldn't tell Walter that I'm coming," he said, "for he does not like -me, I fancy, and I cannot bear to have him prejudice you against me. I -wouldn't tell my mother either, or any one----" - -"Not Jessie?" Ellen asked, for she had a kind of natural pride in -wishing her friend to know that she, who never aspired to notice of any -kind, had succeeded in pleasing the fastidious William Bellenger. - -"No, not Jessie," he said, "because,--well, because you better not," and -knowing well his power over the timid girl, he felt sure that his wishes -would be regarded, and with another good-by, he left her. - -He had hoped that Jessie would be induced to accompany him to New York, -and as there was a secret understanding between himself and Mrs. Bartow, -the old lady had written, entreating her granddaughter to return with -William. - -"You have stayed in the country long enough," she wrote, "and I dare say -you are as sunburnt and freckled as you can be, so pray come home. -Everybody is gone, I know, and New York is just like Sunday, while I -stay like a guilty thing in the rear of the house, to make folks think -I'm off to some watering place. I wouldn't for the world let old Mrs. -Reeves know that I have been cooped up here the blessed summer. It's all -owing to your obstinacy, too, and I think you ought to come back and -entertain me. Mr. Bellenger will attend to you, and you couldn't ask for -a more desirable companion. Old Mrs. Reeves says he is the most eligible -match in the city, his family are so aristocratic. There isn't a single -mechanic or working person in the whole line, for she spent an entire -season in tracing back their ancestry, finding but one blot, and that an -unfortunate marriage of a Miss Ellen Bellenger with some ignorant -country loafer she met at boarding-school, and who she says was hung, or -sent to State prison, I forgot which. I am sorry she discovered this -last, as in case you cut out Charlotte, and of course you will, it will -be like the spiteful old wretch to blazon it abroad, though William -ain't to blame, of course." - -"I wonder I never told grandma that Walter was connected with the -Bellengers," Jessie thought, as she finished reading this letter, which -came to her the night when William, beneath the cherry trees, was -whispering words to Ellen which should never have been spoken. "It's -probably because I've not been much with her of late, and she never -seemed at all interested in him, except indeed, to say that pa ought to -get him a situation in a grocery, or something to pay him for saving my -life. I wish she wasn't so foolishly proud," and as Jessie read the -letter again, she felt glad that her grandmother did not know how nearly -Walter Marshall was connected with the man who "was hung, or sent to -State prison." - -Gradually, too, there arose before her mind the whole array of her city -friends, with old Mrs. Reeves and Charlotte at their head, and the idea -of having Walter with her in the city the coming winter was not as -pleasant as it once had been. Her grandmother might find out who he was; -William would tell, perhaps, and she could not bear the thought of -seeing him slighted, as he was sure to be if the tide, of which the old -lady Reeves was the under-current, should set in against him. - -"I've half a mind to go home," she thought, "before anything definite is -arranged, and persuade father to secure Walter just as good a situation -in some other place where he won't be slighted." - -This allusion to her father was a fortunate one, for in her cool moments -of reflection there was no one whose judgment Jessie regarded so highly -as her father's. He knew Walter,--he respected him, too, and had often -spoken with pleasure of the time when he would be with him. - -"People dare not laugh if father takes him up," she thought, while -something whispered to her that she, too, could, if she would, do much -toward helping Walter to the position in society he was fitted to -occupy. "I won't go," she said, at last. "I'll stay and see Walter -again, at all events, though I do wish Will hadn't told me about his -speech, and his father, too. I mean to ask him some time to tell me the -exact truth." And having reached this resolution Jessie sat down and -wrote to her grandmother that she could not come yet, she was so happy -in the country. - -This she intended taking to William in the morning, for she had promised -to meet him at the depot and see him off. "I shall be rather lonely when -he is gone," she thought, and walking to the window of her room, she -wondered if Charlotte Reeves would succeed in winning William Bellenger. - -"Her grandmother will strain every nerve," she thought, "but by just -saying a word I can supplant her, I know, else why has he stayed here a -whole week? Nell, is that you?" and Jessie started as the young girl -glided into the room, her face unusually pale, and her whole appearance -indicative of some secret agitation. "Where have you been?" asked -Jessie, "and who was it that shut the gate?" - -"Where? I didn't hear any gate," Ellen replied, trembling lest she -should betray what she had been forbidden to divulge. - -Had she confessed it then it would have saved her many a weary -heartache, and her companion from many a thoughtless act, but she did -not, and when Jessie, caressed her white cheek, and said laughingly, -"Has my prudish Nell a secret love affair?" she made some incoherent -answer, and, seeking her pillow, lived over again the scene in the -garden, blushing to herself as she recalled the dark face which had bent -so near to hers, and the tender voice which had whispered in her ear the -name so recently given to her. "Little Snow-Drop," he called her when he -bade her adieu, and the moon went down behind the mountain ere she fell -asleep thinking of that name and the time when the forest tree would -cast its leaf and he be with her again. - - - - -CHAPTER V.--WALTER AND JESSIE. - - -"So you won't go with me," William said to Jessie, next morning, when -she met him at the depot and gave him the note intended for her -grandmother. - -"No," she replied. "The city is dull as yet, and I'd rather remain here -with Ellen." - -"Oh, yes, Ellen," and William spoke quite indifferently. "Why didn't she -come to bid me good-by?" and he looked curiously at Jessie to see how -much she knew. - -But Jessie suspected nothing, and replied at once: - -"She has a headache this morning and was still in bed when I left her." - -The heartless man was conscious of a pleasurable sensation,--a feeling -of gratified vanity,--for he knew that headache was for him. But he -merely said: - -"Tell her that I'm sorry she's sick; she is a pleasant, quiet little -girl, quite superior to country girls in general." - -"There's the train," cried Jessie, and in a moment the cars rolled up -before them. - -"It will seem a young eternity until you come home," said William, -clasping Jessie's hand. "Good-bye," he added, as "all aboard" was -shouted in his ear, and as he turned away his place was taken by -another, who had witnessed the parting between the two, and at whom -Jessie looked wonderingly, exclaiming: - -"Why, Walter, I didn't expect you to-day." - -"And shall I infer that I am the less welcome from that?" the young man -asked, for with his inborn jealousy, which no amount of discipline could -quite subdue, he thought he detected in Jessie's tone and manner -something cold and constrained. - -Nor was he wholly mistaken, for Jessie did not feel toward him just as -she had done before. Still she greeted him cordially,--thought how -handsome he was, and came pretty near telling him so,--but told him -instead, that she thought he resembled his cousin William. This brought -the conversation to a point Walter longed to reach, and as they walked -slowly towards home he questioned her of William,--asking when he came, -and if she had seen much of him previous to his visit there. - -"I saw him almost every day before he went to Europe," she replied. "You -know he lives in New York now, and grandma thinks there's nobody like -him." - -"Yes," returned Walter, "I remember your father told me once that she -had set her heart upon your marrying him." - -"People would think it a splendid match," returned Jessie, a little -mischievously, for as she had known that William disliked Walter, so she -now felt that Walter disliked William, and she continued: "Charlotte -Reeves would give the world to have him spend a week in the country with -her," and the saucy black eyes looked roguishly up at Walter, who -frowned gloomily for an instant, and then rejoined: - -"Shall I tell you what your father said about it?" - -"Yes, do. I think everything of his opinion." - -"He said, then, that he would rather see you buried than the wife of any -of that race," and Walter laid a great stress upon the last two words. - -For a time Jessie walked on in silence, then stopping short and looking -up from under her straw hat, she said: - -"Ain't _you_ one of that race?" - -"I suppose I am," answered Walter, smiling at a question which admitted -of two or three significations. - -Jessie thought of but one. Her father liked Walter very much, even -though his mother was a Bellenger; consequently it must be something -about William himself which prompted that remark, and as Jessie usually -echoed her father's sentiments, she felt, the old disagreeable sensation -giving way, and before they reached the farm-house she was chatting as -gayly with Walter, as if nothing had ever come between them. - -That night Walter and Jessie sat together in the little portico, which -was securely shaded from the sun by Aunt Debby's thrifty hop vines. -Walter was telling Jessie of his recent visit, and how his grandfather -cried when he stood in the room where he was married nearly fifty years -before. - -"I supposed old people outlived all their romance," said Jessie, adding -laughingly, as she plucked the broad green leaves growing near her head, -"I don't think I could love any body but father fifty years,--could -you?" - -"It would depend a good deal upon the person I loved," returned Walter, -and the look he gave Jessie seemed to say that it would not be a hard -matter to love her through all time. - -Jessie saw the look, and while it thrilled her with a sudden emotion of -pleasure, it involuntarily reminded her of what William had said of the -valedictory, and abruptly changing the conversation she said: - -"Mr. Bellenger told me your speech was very good. May I see it for -myself?" - -Walter was a fine orator, and knew that the favor with which his speech -had been received was in a great measure owing to the manner in which it -was delivered. He was willing for Jessie to have heard it, but he felt a -natural reluctance in permitting her to read it. Jessie saw his -hesitancy, and it strengthened the suspicion which before had hardly -existed. - -"Yes, let me see it," she said. "You are surely not afraid of me!" and -she persisted in her entreaties until he gave it into her hands, and -then joined his grandfather, while she returned to her room, and -striking a light, abandoned herself to the reading of the valedictory; -and as she read it seemed even to her that she had heard some portion of -it before. - -"Yes, I have!" she exclaimed, as she came upon a strikingly expressed -and peculiar idea. "I have read that in print," and in Jessie's heart -there was a sore spot, for the losing confidence in Walter was terrible -to her. "He is not strictly honorable," she said, and laying her face -upon the roll of paper, she cried to think how she had been deceived. - -The next morning Walter was not long in observing her cold distant -manner, and he accordingly became as cold and formal toward her, -addressing her as Miss Graham, when he spoke to her at all, and after -breakfast was over, going to the village, where he remained until long -past the dinner hour, hearing that which made him in no hurry to return -home and make his peace with the little dark-eyed beauty. Everybody was -talking of Miss Graham's city beau, who had taken her to ride so often, -and who, when joked by his familiar landlord, had partially admitted -that an engagement actually existed between them. - -"So you've lost her, sleek and clean," said the talkative Joslyn to -Walter, who replied that "it was difficult losing what one never had," -and said distinctly that "he did not aspire to the honor of Miss -Graham's hand." - -But whether he did or not, the story he had heard was not calculated to -improve his state of mind, and his dejection was plainly visible upon -his face when he at last reached home. - -"Jessie was up among the pines," Aunt Debby said, advising him "to join -her and cheer her up a bit, for she seemed desput low spirited since Mr. -Bellenger went away." - -Had Aunt Debby wished to keep Walter from Jessie, she could not have -devised a better plan than this, for the high spirited young man had no -intention of intruding upon a grief caused by William Bellenger's -absence, and hour after hour Jessie sat alone among the pines, starting -at every sound, and once, when sure a footstep was near, hiding behind a -rock, "so as to make him think she wasn't there." Then, when the -footstep proved to be a rabbit's tread, she crept back to her seat upon -the grass, and pouted because it was not Walter. - -"He might know I'd be lonesome," she said, "after receiving so much -attention, and he ought to entertain me a little, if only to pay for all -father has done for him. If there is anything I dislike, it is -ingratitude," and having reached this point, Jessie burst into tears, -though why she should cry, she could not tell. - -She only knew that she was very warm and very uncomfortable, and that it -did her good to cry, so she lay with her face in the grass, while the -rabbit came several times very near, and at last fled away as a heavier, -firmer step approached. - -It was not likely Jessie would stay in the pines all the afternoon, -Walter thought, and as the sun drew near the western horizon, he said to -his grandfather: - -"I will go for the cows to-night just as I used to do," and though the -pasture where they fed lay in the opposite direction from the pines, he -bent his footsteps toward the latter place, and came suddenly upon -Jessie, who was sobbing like a child. - -"Jessie," he exclaimed, laying his hand gently upon her arm, "what _is_ -the matter." - -"Nothing," she replied, "only I'm lonesome and homesick, and I wish I'd -gone to New York with Mr. Bellenger." - -"Why didn't you then?" was Walter's cool reply, and Jessie answered, -angrily: - -"I would, if I had known what I do now." - -"And pray what do you know now?" Walter asked, in the same cold, calm, -tone, which so exasperated Jessie that she replied: - -"I know you hate me, and I know you didn't write all that valedictory, -and everything." - -"Jessie," Walter said, sternly, "what do you mean about that -valedictory. Come, sit by me and tell me at once." - -In Walter's voice there was a tone which, as a child, Jessie had been -wont to obey, and now at his command she stole timidly to his side upon -the rustic bench, and told him all her suspicions, and the source from -which they originated. - -There was a sudden flash of anger in Walter's eye at his cousin's -meanness, and then, with a merry laugh, he said: - -"And it sounded familiar to you, too, did it? Some parts of it might, -I'll admit, for you had heard them before. Do you remember being at any -examination in Wilbraham, when I took the prize in composition, or -rather declamation? It was said then that my essay was far beyond my -years, and I am inclined to think it was; for I have written nothing -since which pleased me half so well. I was appointed valedictorian, as -you know, and in preparing my oration I selected a few of those old -ideas and embodied them in language to suit the occasion. I am hardly -willing to call it plagiarism, stealing from myself, and I am sure you -would never have recognized it either if Mr. Bellenger had not roused -your suspicions. Is my explanation satisfactory?" - -It was perfectly so, for Jessie now remembered where she had heard -something like Walter's valedictory, and with her doubts removed she -became much like herself again, though she would not admit that -William's insinuations were mere fabrications of his own. He never heard -it before, she knew, but some of Walter's old Wilbraham associates might -have been present and said in his hearing that it seemed familiar, and -then it would be quite natural for him to think so too. - -Walter did not dispute her, but said: - -"What else did my amiable cousin say against me?" - -Clasping her hands over her burning face, Jessie answered faintly: - -"He told me that your father had done a horrible thing, though he didn't -explain what it was. I knew before that there was something unpleasant, -and once asked father about it, but he wouldn't tell, and I want so much -to know. What was it, Walter?" - -For a moment Walter hesitated, then drawing Jessie nearer to him, he -replied: - -"It will pain me greatly to tell you that sad story, but I would rather -you should hear it from my lips than from any other," and then, -unmindful of the cows, which, having waited long for their accustomed -summons, were slowly wending their way homeward, he began the story as -follows: - -"You know that old stone building on the hill near the village, and you -have heard also that it was a flourishing high school for girls. There -one pleasant summer my mother came. She was spending several months with -a family who occupied what is now that huge old ruin down by the river -side. Mother was beautiful, they say, and so my father thought, for -every leisure moment found him at her side." - -"But wasn't she a great deal richer than he," Jessie asked, unconscious -of the pang her question inflicted upon her companion, who replied: - -"Yes, he was poor, while Ellen Bellenger was rich, but she had a soul -above the foolish distinction the world will make between the wealthy -and the working class. She loved my father, and he loved her. At last -they were engaged, and then he proposed writing to her parents, as he -would do nothing dishonorable; but she begged him not to do it, for she -knew how proud they were, and that they would take her home at once. And -so, in an unguarded moment, they went together over the line into New -York, where they were married. The Bellengers, of course, were fearfully -enraged, denouncing her at once, and bidding her never cross their -threshold again. But this only drew her nearer to her husband, who -fairly worshiped her, as did the entire family,--for she lived in the -old gable-roofed house,--and was happy in that little room which we call -yours now. Father was anxious that she should have everything she -wanted, and it is said was sometimes very extravagant, buying for her -costly luxuries which he could not well afford." - -"But _my_ father," said Jessie. "What had he to do with it?" - -"Everything," returned Walter, with bitterness. "Old Mr. Graham had a -bank in Deerwood. Your father was cashier, while mine was teller, and in -consideration of a large remuneration, performed a menial's part, such -as sweeping the rooms, building the fires in winter, and of course he -kept the keys. They were great friends, Richard Graham and Seth -Marshall, and people likened them to David and Jonathan. At last one of -the large bills my father had made came due, and on that very night the -bank was robbed of more than a thousand dollars." - -"Oh, Walter, how could he do it?" cried Jessie, and Walter replied: - -"He didn't! He was as innocent as I, who was then unborn. Listen while I -tell you. There was in town a dissipated, good-natured fellow, named -Heyward, who had sometimes taught singing-school, and sometimes fiddled -for country dances. No one knew how he managed to subsist, for he -dressed well, traveled a great deal, and was very liberal with his -money, when he had any. Still none suspected him of dishonesty; he did -not know enough for that, they said. Everybody liked him, and when on -that night he came to our house, apparently intoxicated, and asked for a -shelter, grandfather bade him stay, and assigned him a back room in -which was an outer door. In the morning he was, or seemed to be, still -in a drunken sleep. Your father brought the news of the robbery, and -while he talked he looked suspiciously at mine, especially when my -mother said innocently: - -"'The burglars must have tried this house, too, for I woke in the night, -and finding my husband gone, called to him to know where he was. -Presently he came in, saying he thought he heard a noise and got up to -find what it was.' - -"When she said this Mr. Graham changed color, and pointing to my -father's shoes, which stood upon the hearth, he asked: - -"'How came these so muddy? It was not raining at bedtime last night.' - -"This was true. A heavy storm had arisen after ten and subsided before -twelve, so that the shoes must have been worn since that hour, as there -was fresh dirt still upon them. The robber had been tracked to our door, -while there were corresponding marks from our door to the bank. My -father's shoes just fitted in these tracks, for they measured them with -the wretched man looking on in a kind of torpid apathy, as if utterly -unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw; but when Richard, his -best friend, whispered to him softly, 'Confess it, Seth. Give up the -money and it won't go so hard against you,' the truth burst upon him, -and he dropped to the ground like one scathed with the lightning's -stroke. For hours he lay in that death-like swoon, and when he came back -to consciousness he was guarded by the officers of the law. They led him -off in the care of a constable, he all the time protesting his -innocence, save at intervals when he refused to speak, but sat with a -look upon his face as if bereft of reason. - -"The examination came on, and the upper room, where the court was held, -was crowded to overflowing, all anxious to gain a sight of my father, -though they had known him from boyhood up. Grandpa was there, and close -behind sat or rather crouched my wretched mother. She would not be kept -back, and with a face as white as marble, and hands locked firmly -together, she sat to hear the testimony. Once the counsel for my father -thought to clear him by throwing suspicion upon Heyward, who with a most -foolish expression upon his face had declared that he heard nothing -during the night. People would rather it had been he than Seth Marshall, -and the tide was turning in favor of the latter when Richard Graham was -called to the stand. He was known to be my father's dearest friend, and -the audience waited breathlessly to hear what he would say. He testified -that, having been very restless, he got up about two o'clock in the -morning, and as his window commanded a full view of the bank, he -naturally looked in that direction. The moon was setting, but he could -still discern objects with tolerable distinctness, and he saw a man come -out of the bank, lock the door, put the key in his pocket, and hurry -down the street. My father then wore a light gray coat and cap of the -same color, so did this man, and thinking it must be he, Mr. Graham -called him by name; but if he heard he did not stop. Mr. Graham then -remembered that the day before my father had procured some medicine for -my mother, and had forgotten to take it home. This threw some light upon -the matter, and thinking that mother had probably been taken suddenly -ill and my father had gone for the medicine, Mr. Graham retired again to -rest, and gave it no further thought until the robbery was discovered. - -"'Do you believe the man you saw leaving the bank to have been the -prisoner?' asked the lawyer, and for an instant Mr. Graham hesitated, -for with the white stony face of his early friend upturned to his and -the supplicating eyes of the young wife fixed upon him, how could he -answer yes? But he did, Jessie,--he did it at last. He said, 'I do,' and -over the white face there passed a look of agony which wrung a groan -even from your father's lips, while the pale young creature not far away -rocked to and fro in her hopeless desolation." - -"Oh, Walter, Walter!" cried Jessie, "don't tell me any more. I see now -so plain that fair girl-wife crouching on the floor and my father -testifying against her. How could he?" - -Walter had asked himself that question many a time, and his bosom had -swelled with resentment at the act; but now, when Jessie, too, -questioned the justice of the proceeding, he answered: - -"It was right I suppose,--all right. Mr. Graham believed that to which -he testified, and when he left the stand he wound his arms around my -father's neck and said: - -"'God forgive me, Seth, I couldn't help it.'" - -"But he could," said Jessie; "he needn't have told all he knew." - -Walter made no reply to this; he merely went on with his story: - -"Then the decision came. There was proof sufficient for the case to be -presented before the grand jury, and unless bail could be found to the -amount of one thousand dollars, my father must go to jail, there to -await his trial at the county court, which would hold its next session -in three weeks. When the decision was made known, my father pressed his -hands tightly over his heart for a moment, and then he clasped them to -his ears as the deep stillness in the room was broken by the plaintive -cry: - -"'Save my husband, somebody. Oh, save my darling husband!' - -"The next moment my mother fell at his feet, a crushed, lifeless thing, -her hair falling down her face and a blue, pinched look about her lips, -while my father bent over her, his tears falling like rain upon her -face. Everybody cried, and when the question was asked, 'Who will go the -prisoner's bail?' your father answered aloud: - -"'I will.'" - -"Oh, I am so glad!" gasped Jessie, while Walter continued: - -"With Mr. Graham for security, they let my poor father go home; but a -mighty blow had fallen upon him, benumbing all his faculties; he could -neither think, nor talk, nor act, but would sit all day with mother's -hands in his, gazing into her face and whispering sometimes: - -"'What will my darling do when I am in State prison?' - -"Such would be his fate, everybody said. It could not be avoided, and in -a kind of feverish despair he waited the result. Your father was with -him often, 'keeping watch,' the villagers said; but if so, he was not -vigilant enough, for one dark, stormy night, the last before the -dreadful sitting of the court, when the wind roared and howled about the -old farm-house, and the heavy autumnal rain beat against the windows, my -father drew his favorite chair, the one which always stands in that dark -corner, and which none save you has ever used since then, he drew it, I -say, to my mother's side, and winding his arms about her neck, he said: - -"'Ellen, do you believe me guilty?' - -"'No, never for a moment,' she replied, and he continued: - -"'Heaven bless you, precious one, for that. Teach our child to think the -same, and give it a father's blessing.' - -"My mother was too much bewildered to answer, and with a kiss upon her -lips, my father turned to his father and standing up before him, said: - -"'I know what's in your heart; but, father, I swear to you that I am -innocent. Bless me, father--bless your only boy once more.' - -"Then grandpa put his trembling hand upon the brown locks of his son and -said: - -"'I would lay down my life to know that you are not guilty; but I bless -you all the same, and may God bless you too, my boy!' - -"In the bedroom grandmother lay sick, and kneeling by her side, my -father said to her: - -"'Do you believe I did it?' - -"'No,' she answered faintly, and without his asking it, she gave him her -blessing. - -"He kissed his sister,--kissed Aunt Debby, and then he went away. They -saw his face, white as a corpse, pressed against the window pane, while -his eyes were riveted upon his beautiful young wife,--then the face was -gone, and only the storm went sobbing past the place where he had stood. -All that night the light burned on the table, and they waited his -return, but from that hour to this he has not come back. He could not go -to prison, and so he ran away. Mr. Graham paid the bail, and was heard -to say that he was glad poor Seth escaped. I did not quite understand -the matter when I was a boy, and I almost hated your father for -testifying against him, but I know now he did what he thought was right. -It is said he loved my Aunt Mary, Ellen's mother, and that she loved him -in return, but after this sad affair there arose a coolness between -them. He went to New York and married a more fashionable woman, while -she, too, chose another." - -"Did they ever find the money?" Jessie asked, and Walter replied: - -"Never, though Aunt Debby says that Heyward indulged in a new suit of -clothes soon after, and gave various other tokens of being abundantly -supplied. No one knows where he is now, for he left Deerwood years ago." - -"And your mother," interrupted Jessie, "tell me more of her." - -The night shadows were falling, and she could not see the look of pain -on Walter's face as he replied: - -"For a few days she watched to see father coming back, for suspense was -more terrible than reality, and those who were his friends before said -his going off looked badly. From Boston her proud relatives sent her a -double curse for bringing this disgrace upon them, and then she took her -bed, never to rise again. The first October frosts had fallen when they -laid me in her arms and bade her live for her baby's sake. But five days -after I was born she lay dead beneath that western window where you so -often sit. Then the proud mother relented and came to the funeral, but -she has never been here since. Your father was present, too,--he bought -the monument; he cried over me, and wished that he could fill my -father's place." - -"I wish he could, too," cried the impulsive Jessie, "I wish you were my -brother," and she involuntarily laid her hand in his. "Have you never -heard from your father?" she asked, and Walter replied: - -"Only once. Six months after mother died he wrote to Mr. Graham from -Texas, and that is the very last. But, Jessie, I shall find him. I shall -prove him innocent, and until then there will always be a load in my -heart,--a something which makes me irritable, cross and jealous of those -I love the best, lest they should despise me for what I cannot help." - -"And is that why you speak so coldly to me sometimes when I don't -deserve it?" Jessie asked, twining her snowy fingers about his own. - -Oh, how Walter longed to fold her in his arms and tell her how dear she -was to him, and that because he loved her so much he was oftenest harsh -with her. But he dared not. She would not listen to such words, he knew. -She thought of him as her brother, and he would not disturb the dream, -so he answered her gently: - -"Am I cross to you, Jessie? I do not mean to be, and now that you know -all, I will be so no longer. You do not hate me, do you, because of my -misfortune?" - -"Hate you, Walter! Oh, no! I love,--I mean I like you so much better -than I did when I came up here this afternoon and cried with my face in -the grass. I pity you, Walter, for it seems terrible to live with that -disgrace hanging over you." - -Walter winced at these last words, and Jessie, as if speaking more to -herself than him, continued: - -"I hope Will won't tell grandma who you are, for she is so proud that -she might make me feel very uncomfortable by fretting every time I spoke -to you. Walter," and the tone of Jessie's voice led Walter to expect -some unpleasant remark, "you know father has intended to have you live -with us, but if William tells grandma, it will be better for you to -board somewhere else,--grandma can be very disagreeable if she tries, -and she would annoy us almost to death." - -Jessie was perfectly innocent in all she said, but in spite of his -recent promise Walter felt his old jealousy rising up, and whispering to -him that Jessie spoke for herself rather than her grandmother. With a -great effort, however, he mastered the emotion and replied: - -"It will be better, I think, and I will write to your father at once." - -Jessie little dreamed what it cost Walter thus deliberately to give up -seeing her every day, and living with her beneath the same roof. It had -been the goal to which he had looked forward through all his college -course, for when he entered on his first year Mr. Graham had written: - -"After you are graduated I shall take you into business, and into my own -family, as if you were my son." - -And Jessie herself had vetoed this,--had said it must not be. - -For an instant Walter felt that he would not go to New York at all; but -when he saw how closely Jessie nestled to his side, and heard her say, -"You can come to see me every day, and when I am going to concerts, or -the opera, I shall always send word to you by father," he rejected his -first suspicions as unjust. - -She was not ashamed of him,--she only wished to screen him from her -grandmother's ill nature, and, winding his arm around her, he said: - -"You are a good girl, Jessie, and I'm glad you think of me as a -brother." - -But he was not glad. He did not wish her to be his sister, but he tried -to make himself believe he did, and as in the pines where they sat it -was already very dark, he proposed their returning home. Jessie was -unusually silent during the walk, for she was thinking of Walter's young -mother, and as they passed the grave-yard in the distance, she sighed: - -"Poor dear lady! I don't wonder you are often sad with that memory -haunting you." - -"I should not be sad," he returned, "if I could bring the world to my -opinion; but nearly all except Aunt Debby believe him guilty." - -"Does my father?" asked Jessie, and as Walter replied, "Yes," she -rejoined: "Then I'm afraid I think so too, for father knows; but," she -hastily added, as she felt the gesture of impatience Walter made, "I -like you just the same,--yes, a great deal better than before I heard -the story. It isn't as bad as I supposed, and I am so glad you told it. -Will Bellenger won't make me distrust you again." - -By this time they had reached the house, where the deacon sat smoking -his accustomed pipe, and saying to Walter as he entered: - -"Where are the cows you went after more than three hours ago?" - -Walter colored, and so did Jessie, while the matter-of-fact Aunt Debby -rejoined: - -"Why, Amos, the cows is milked and the cream is nigh about riz." - -That night, after all had retired except the deacon and Walter, the -former said to his grandson: - -"What kept you and Jessie so late?" - -"I was telling her of my father, and why he went away," returned Walter. - -The deacon groaned as he always did when that subject was -mentioned,--then after a moment he added: - -"I am glad it was no worse,--that is, I'm glad you are not betraying Mr. -Graham's trust by making love to his daughter." - -Walter was very pale, but he did not speak, and his grandfather -continued: - -"I am old, Walter, but I have not forgotten the days when I was young; -and remembering my disposition then, I can see why you should love -Jessie Graham. God bless her! She's worthy of any man's best love, and -she's wound herself round my old heart till the sound of her voice is -sweet to me almost as Ellen's; but she isn't for you, Walter. I know Mr. -Graham better than you do. He's noble and good, but very proud, and the -daughter of a millionaire must never marry the son of a poor----" - -"Don't!" cried Walter, catching his grandfather's arm. "I understand it -all,--I know that I am poor, know what the world says of my father, and -I will suffer through all time sooner than ask the bright-faced Jessie -to share one iota of our shame. But were my father innocent, I would -never rest until I made myself a name which even Jessie Graham would not -despise, for I love her, grandpa,--love her better than my life," and as -after this confession he could not look his grandfather in the face, he -stared hard at the candle dying in its socket, as if he would fain read -there some token that what he so much desired would one day come to -pass. - -And he did read it too, for with a last great effort the expiring flame -sent up a flash of light, which shone on Walter's face and that of the -gray-haired man regarding him with a look of tender pity. Then it passed -away, and the darkness fell between them just as the old man said, -mournfully: - -"There is no hope, my boy,--no hope for you." - - - - -CHAPTER VI.--OLD MRS. BARTOW. - - -The good lady sat in her chamber wiping the perspiration from her ruddy -face, and occasionally peering out into the pleasant street, with a -longing desire to escape from her self-imposed prison, and breathe the -air again in her accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it -should be discovered that she was not away from home and enjoying some -little pent-up room in the third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, -too, she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the fresh, green -grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie was really enjoying herself, -without the trouble of dressing three times a day, and then swelling -with vexation because some one else out-did her. - -"If she don't come with William, I mean to go down there and see what -this family are like that she makes such a fuss about," she said. -"Marshall? Marshall? The name sounds familiar, but it isn't likely I -ever knew them. If I supposed I had, I wouldn't stir a step." - -At this point in her soliloquy a servant appeared, saying "Mr. Bellenger -wished to see her," and putting in her teeth, for it tired her to wear -them all the time, and adjusting her lace cap, the old lady went down to -meet the young man, who had just returned from Deerwood. Numberless were -the questions she asked concerning her granddaughter. Was she well? was -she happy? was she sun-burned? were her hands scratched with briers? and -what kind of people were these Marshalls? - -To this last William hastened to reply: - -"Clever country people, very kind to Jessie, and well they may be, for -if I've the least discernment, they hope to have her in their family one -of these days." - -"What can you mean?" and the old lady's salts were brought into frequent -use, while William, in his peculiar way, told her of Walter Marshall, -who he said "was undoubtedly presuming enough to aspire to Jessie's -hand." - -"What, that boy that Richard educated?" Mrs. Bartow asked, growing very -red and very warm withal. - -"Yes," returned William; "but the fact of his being a charity student is -not the worst feature in the case. It pains me greatly to talk upon the -subject, but duty requires me to tell you just who Walter is," and -assuming a half-reluctant, half-mortified tone, Will told Mrs. Bartow -how Walter was connected with himself and the "terrible disgrace" of -which she had written to Jessie in her last letter. - -For a moment the old lady fancied herself choking to death, but she -managed at last to scream: - -"You don't say that he has dared to think of Jessie, the daughter of a -millionaire, and the granddaughter of a----" - -She was too much overcome to finish the sentence, and she sank back in -her chair, while her cap-strings floated up and down with the rapid -motion of her fan. - -"I'll go for her at once," she said, when at last she found her voice. -"I'll see this Mr. Impudence for myself. I'll teach him what is what. -Oh, I hope Mrs. Reeves won't find it out. Don't tell her, Mr. -Bellenger." - -"I am as anxious to conceal the fact as you are," he replied, "for he, -you know, is a relative of mine, although our family do not acknowledge -him." And having done all he came to do, the nice young man departed, -while the greatly disturbed lady began to pack her trunk preparatory to -a start for Deerwood. - -In the midst of her preparations she was surprised by the unexpected -return of Mr. Graham, to whom she at once disclosed the cause of her -distress, asking him "if he wished his daughter to marry Walter -Marshall, whose father was a----" - -She didn't quite know what, for William had not made that point very -clear. - -"I do not wish her to marry any one as yet," returned Mr. Graham, at the -same time asking if Walter had proposed, or shown any signs of so doing. - -"Of course he's shown signs," returned Mrs. Bartow, "but I trust Jessie -has enough of the Stanwood about her to keep him at a proper distance." - -"Enough of the what?" asked Mr. Graham, with the least possible smile -playing about his mouth. - -"Well, enough of the Bartow," returned the lady. "The very idea of -receiving into our family a person of his antecedents!" - -In a few words Mr. Graham gave her his opinion of Walter Marshall, -adding: - -"I do not say that I would like him to marry Jessie,--very likely I -should not,--and still, if I knew that she loved him and he loved her, I -should not think it my duty to oppose them seriously, though I would -rather, of course, that the unfortunate affair of his father's had never -occurred." - -This was all the satisfaction Mrs. Bartow could gain from him, and -doubly strengthened in her determination to remove Jessie from Walter's -society, she started the next morning for Deerwood, reaching there -toward the close of the day succeeding Jessie's interview with Walter in -the pines. - -"Not this tumble-down shanty, surely?" she said to the omnibus driver -when he stopped before the gate of the farm-house. - -"Yes'm, this is Deacon Marshall's," he replied, and mounting his box -again he drove off, while she went slowly up the walk, casting -contemptuous glances at the well-sweep, the smoke-house, the bee-hives, -the hollyhocks, poppies and pinks, which, in spite of herself, carried -her back to a time, years and years and years ago, when she had lived in -just such a place as this, save that it was not so cheerful or so neat. - -Aunt Debby was the first to spy her, and she called to her niece: - -"Why, Mary, just look-a-here! There's a lady all dressed up in her -meetin' clothes, a-comin' in. I wish we had mopped the kitchen floor -to-day. There, she's gone to the front door. I presume the gals has -littered the front hall till it's a sight to behold." - -Mrs. Bartow's loud knock was now distinctly heard, and as Mrs. Howland -had not quite finished her afternoon toilet, Aunt Debby herself went to -answer the summons. Holding fast to her knitting, with the ball rolling -after her, and Jessie's kitten running after that, she presented herself -before her visitor, courtesying very low, and asking if "she'd walk into -the t'other room, or into the kitchen, where it was a great deal -cooler." - -Mrs. Bartow chose the "t'other room," and taking the Boston rocker, -asked "if Miss Graham was staying here?" - -"You mean Jessie," returned Aunt Debby. "It's so cool this afternoon -that she's gone out ridin' hossback in the mountains with Walter and -Ellen. Be you any of her kin?" - -"I'm her grandmother, and have come to take her home," answered the -lady, frowning wrathfully at the idea of Jessie's riding with Walter -Marshall. - -"I want to know!" returned Aunt Debby. "We'll be desput sorry to lose -her jest as Walter has come home, and he thinks so much of her, too." - -Mrs. Bartow was too indignant to speak, but Aunt Debby, who was not at -all suspicious, talked on just the same, praising first Walter, then -Ellen, then Jessie, and then giving an outline history of her whole -family, even including Seth, who she said "allus was a good boy." - -If Aunt Debby expected a return of confidence she was mistaken, for Mrs. -Bartow had nothing to say of her family, and after a little Aunt Debby -began to question her. Was she city-born, and if not, where was she -born? - -"That red mark on your chin makes me think of a girl, Patty Loomis by -name, that I used to know in Hopkinton," she said, and the mark upon the -chin grew redder as she continued: "I did housework there once, in -Squire Fielding's family, and this Patty that I was tellin' you about -done chores in a family close by. She was some younger than me, but I -remember her by that mark, similar to your'n, and because she was -connected to them three Thayers that was hung in York State for killin' -John Love. There was some han'some verses made about it, and I used to -sing the whole of 'em, but my memory's failin' me now. I wonder what's -become of Patty. I haven't thought of her before in an age. I heard that -a rich old widder took her for her own child, and that's all I ever -knew. She was smart as steel, and could milk seven cows while I was -milkin' three. There they come, on the full canter of course. Ellen 'll -get her neck broke some day," and greatly to the relief of Mrs. Bartow -she changed the conversation from Patty Loomis and the three Thayers who -were hung, to the three riders dashing up to the gate, Jessie a little -in advance, with her black curls streaming out from under her riding -hat, and her cheeks glowing with the exercise. - -"Why, grandma!" she exclaimed, as holding up her long skirt, she bounded -into the house, and nearly upset the old lady before she was aware of -her presence. "Where in the world did you come from? Isn't it pleasant -and nice out here?" and throwing off her hat, Jessie sat down by the -window to cool herself after her rapid ride. - -"Why, grandma, you are as cross as two sticks," she said, when Aunt -Debby had left the room, and grandma replied: - -"That's a very lady-like expression. Learned it of Mr. Marshall, I -suppose." - -"No, I didn't," returned Jessie. "I learned it of Will Bellenger when he -was here. It's his favorite expression. Did he bring you my note?" - -"Certainly; and I've come down to see what the attraction is which keeps -you here so contentedly." - -"Oh, it's so nice," returned Jessie, and Mrs. Bartow rejoined: - -"I should think it was. Who ever heard of a bed in the parlor -now-a-days?" and she cast a rueful glance at the snowy mountain in the -corner. - -"That's a little out of date, I know," answered Jessie; "but the house -is rather small, and they keep the spare bed in here for such visitors -as you are. The sheets are all of Aunt Debby's make, she spun the linen -on a wheel that treads so funny. Did you ever see a little wheel, -grandma?" - -The question reminded Mrs. Bartow of Patty Loomis and the three Thayers, -and she did not reply directly to it, but said instead: - -"What did you call that woman?" - -"Aunt Debby Marshall, the deacon's sister," returned Jessie, and Mrs. -Bartow relapsed into a thoughtful mood, from which she was finally -aroused by hearing Walter's voice in the kitchen. - -Instantly she glanced at Jessie, who involuntarily blushed; and then the -old lady commenced the battle at once, telling Jessie plainly that "she -had come down to take her home before she disgraced them all by -suffering a boy of Walter Marshall's reputation to make love to her." - -"Walter never thought of making love to me," returned the astonished and -slightly indignant Jessie; "and if he had it wouldn't have been -anybody's business but mine and father's. He isn't a boy, either. He's a -splendid-looking man. Pa thinks the world of him; and he knows, too, -about that old affair, which wasn't half as bad as Will and Mrs. Reeves -seem to think. Walter told it to me last night up in the pines, and I'll -tell it to you. It wasn't murder nor anything like it. Now, even I -shouldn't wish it said that any of my friends were hung." - -"Hung!" repeated the old lady. "Who said anybody's friends were hung? -It's false!" and the red mark around the lip wore a scarlet hue. - -"Of course it's false," answered Jessie. "That's what I said. Nobody -knows for certain that he stole, either," and forgetting her own belief, -founded on her father's, Jessie tried to prove that Seth Marshall was as -innocent as Walter himself had declared him to be. - -"Whether he's guilty or not," returned Mrs. Bartow, "you are going home, -and you're to have nothing to say to Walter. It would sound pretty, -wouldn't it, for Mrs. Reeves to be telling that Jessie Graham liked a -poor charity boy?" - -Jessie was proud, and the last words grated harshly, but she would stand -by Walter, and she replied: - -"Mrs. Reeves forever! I believe you'd stop breathing if she said it was -fashionable. I wonder who she was in her young days. Somebody not half -so good as Walter, I dare say. I mean to ask Aunt Debby. She has lived -since the flood, and knows the history of everybody that ever was born -in New England, or out of it either, for that matter." - -Mrs. Bartow was not inclined to doubt this after her own experience, and -as in case there was anything about Mrs. Reeves, she wished to know it, -she secretly hoped Jessie would carry her threat into execution. Just -then they were summoned to supper, and following her granddaughter into -the pleasant sitting-room, Mrs. Bartow frowned majestically upon Walter, -bowed coldly to the other members of the family, and then took her seat, -thinking to herself: - -"The boy has a little of the Bellenger look, and, if anything, is -handsomer than William." - -The tea being passed, with the biscuit and butter and honey, and the -cheese contemptuously refused by the city guest, Jessie said to Aunt -Debby: - -"Did you ever know anybody by the name of Gregory? That was Mrs. Reeves' -maiden name, wasn't it, grandma?" - -Mrs. Bartow nodded, and Aunt Debby, after withdrawing within herself for -a moment, came out again and said: - -"Yes, I knew Tim and Ben Gregory in Spencer. Ben was the best of the -two, but he wa'n't none too likely. He had six boys, and Tim had six -gals." - -"What were their names?" asked Jessie, and Aunt Debby replied: - -"There was Zeruah, and Lyddy, and Charlotty----" - -"That'll do!" cried Jessie, her delight dancing in her eyes. "What was -their father, and where are the girls now?" - -"Their father was a tin peddler, and what he didn't get that way folks -said he used to steal, though they never proved it ag'in him. Charlotty -and I was 'bout of an age." - -"I knew she was older than she pretended," thought Mrs. Bartow, and in -her joy at having probably discovered her dear friend's genealogy, she -took two biscuits instead of one. - -"She worked in Lester factory a spell, and then, after she was quite -along in years, say thirty or more, she married somebody who was a -storekeeper, and went somewhere, and I believe I've heard that she -finally moved to New York." - -"Can't you think of her husband's name," persisted Jessie, and Aunt -Debby replied: - -"Twan't very far from Reed, but it's so long ago, and I've been through -so much since, that I can't justly remember." - -Neither was it necessary that she should, for Mrs. Bartow and Jessie -were satisfied with what she could remember, and nothing doubting that -Charlotte Gregory was now the exceedingly aristocratic and purse-proud -Mrs. Reeves, whose granddaughter was a kind of rival to Jessie, they -returned to the parlor, Mrs. Bartow repeating at intervals: - -"A tin peddler and a factory girl, and she holding her head so high." - -"She's none the worse for that, if she'd behave herself, and not put on -such airs," said Jessie. "I wouldn't wonder if some of my ancestors were -tinkers or chimney sweeps. I mean to ask Aunt Debby. Let's see. Your -name wasn't really Martha Stanwood, was it? Weren't you an adopted -child?" - -"Jessie!" and in the startled lady's voice there was such unmitigated -alarm and distress that Jessie turned quickly to look at her. "Do let -that old crone alone. If there's anything I hate it's a person that -knows everybody's history, they are so disagreeable, and make one so -uncomfortable, though I'm glad to be sure, that I've found out who Mrs. -Reeves was. Just to think how she talks about high birth and all -that,--born in a garret, I dare say." - -"She don't put on a bit more than you do," said the saucy Jessie, -thinking to herself that she would some time quiz Aunt Debby concerning -her grandmother's past. - -That night, after Jessie had retired, Mrs. Bartow asked for a few -moments' conversation with Walter, to whom she had scarcely spoken the -entire evening Quick to detect a slight, he assumed his haughtiest -bearing, and rather overawed the old lady, who fidgetted in her chair, -and pulled at her cap, and then began: - -"It is very unpleasant for me to say to you what I must, but duty to -Miss Graham, and justice to you, demands that I should speak. From -things which I have heard and seen, I infer that you,--or rather I'm -afraid that you,--in short, it's just possible you are thinking too much -of Miss Graham," and having gotten thus far, the old lady gave a sigh of -relief, while the young man, with a proud inclination of the head, said -coolly: - -"And what then?" - -This roused her, and muttering to herself, "Such impudence!" she -continued: - -"I should suppose your own sense would tell you what then! Of course -nothing can ever come of it, for even were you her equal in rank and -wealth, you must know there is a stain upon your name which must never -be imparted to the Grahams." - -"Madam," said Walter, "you will please confine your remarks to me -personally, and say nothing of my father." - -"Well, then," returned the lady. "You, personally, are not a fit husband -for Jessie." - -"Have I ever asked to be her husband?" he said. - -"Not in words, perhaps, but you show it in your manner both to me and -others, and this is what brought me here. Jessie is young and easily -influenced, and might possibly, in an unguarded moment, do as foolish a -thing as your mother did." - -There was a feeling of intense delight beaming in Walter's eyes, for the -idea that Jessie could in any way be induced to marry him was a blissful -one; but it quickly passed off as Mrs. Bartow continued: - -"It would break her father's heart should she thus throw herself away, -while you would prove yourself most ungrateful for all he has done for -you." - -This was touching Walter in a tender point, and the pride of his nature -flashed in his dark eyes as he replied: - -"Let me know Mr. Graham's wishes, and they shall be obeyed." - -"Well, then," returned the lady, "I asked him if he would like to have -his daughter marry you, and he replied--" she hesitated before uttering -the falsehood, while Walter bent forward eagerly to listen. "He said he -certainly would not, and with his approbation I came down to remove her -from temptation." - -Walter was very white, and something like a groan escaped him, for he -felt that Jessie was indeed wrested from him, and he began to see that -he had always cherished a secret hope of winning her some day. But the -dream was over now. She, he knew, would never disobey her father, while -he himself would not return the many kindnesses received from his -benefactor with ingratitude. - -"Tell Mr. Graham from me," he said at last, almost in a whisper, "that -he need have no fears, for I pledge you my word of honor that I will -never ask Jessie Graham to be my wife, unless the time should come when -I am by the world acknowledged her equal, and when I promise this, Mrs. -Bartow, I tear out, as it were, the dearest, purest affection of my -heart, for I do love Jessie Graham; I see it now as clearly as I see -that I must kill that love. Not because you ask it of me, Madam," and he -assumed a haughty tone, "but because it is the wish of the best friend I -ever knew. He need not fear when I am with her in New York. I will keep -my place, whatever that may be, and when I call on Jessie, as I shall -sometimes do, it will be a brother's call, and nothing more. Will you be -satisfied with this?" - -"Yes, more than satisfied," and Mrs. Bartow offered him her hand. - -He took it mechanically, and as he turned away the lady thought to -herself: - -"He is a noble fellow, and so handsome, too, but William looks almost as -well. Didn't he give it up quick when I mentioned Mr. Graham. I wonder -if that was a lie I told. I only left off a little, that was all," and -framing excuses for her duplicity, the old lady retired for the night. - -They were to leave in the morning, and Jessie seemed unusually sad when -she came out to breakfast, for the inmates of the farm-house were very -dear to her. - -"You'll come to New York soon, won't you?" she said to Walter, when, -after breakfast, she joined him under the maple tree. - -At the sound of her voice he started, and looking down into her bright, -sunny face, felt a thrill of pain. Involuntarily he took her hand in -his, and said: - -"I have been thinking that I may not come at all." - -"Why, Walter, yes you will; father will be so disappointed. I believe he -anticipates it even more than I." - -"But your grandmother," he suggested, and Jessie rejoined: - -"Don't mind grandma; she's always fidgetty if anybody looks at me, but -when she sees that we really and truly are brother and sister, she'll -get over it." - -There was a tremulous tone in Jessie's voice, as she said this, and it -fell very sweetly on Walter's ear, for it said to him that he might -possibly be something more than a brother to the beautiful girl who -stood before him with blushing cheeks and half-averted eyes. - -"Jessie, Jessie!" called Mrs. Bartow from the house, and Jessie ran in -to finish packing her trunks and don her traveling dress. - -Once, as Aunt Debby slipped into her satchel a paper of "doughnuts and -cheese, to save buying a dinner," Jessie could not forbear saying: - -"Oh, Aunt Debby! I think I know that Charlotty Gregory, who used to live -in Leicester. She's Mrs. Reeves now, and the greatest lady in New York; -rides in her carriage with colored coachman and footman in livery, wears -a host of diamonds, and lives in a brownstone house up town." - -"Wall, if I ever," Aunt Debby exclaimed, sitting down in her surprise on -Mrs. Bartow's bonnet. "Reeves was the name, come to think. Drives a -nigger, did you say? She used to be as black as one herself, but a -clever, lively gal for all of that. With her first earnin's in the -factory she bought her mother a calico gown, and her sister Betsey a -pair of shoes." - -"Betsey," repeated Jessie, turning to her grandmother, "that must be -Mrs. Reeves' invalid sister, whom Charlotte calls Aunt Lizzie. Very few -people ever see her." - -"Wa'n't over bright," whispered Aunt Debby, continuing aloud: "How I'd -like to see Miss Reeves once more. Give her my regrets, and tell her if -I should ever come to the city I shall call on her; but she mustn't feel -hurt if I don't. I'm getting old fast." - -Jessie laughed aloud as she fancied Mrs. Reeves' amazement at receiving -Aunt Debby's regrets, and as the omnibus was by that time at the door, -she hastened her preparations, and soon stood at the gate, bidding her -friends good-by. For an instant Walter held her hand in his, but his -manner was constrained, and Jessie bit her lip to keep back the tears -which finally found a lodgment on Ellen's neck. The two young girls were -tenderly attached, and both wept bitterly at parting, Jessie crying for -Ellen and Walter, too, and Ellen for Jessie and the man whom she, ere -long, would meet. - -"What shall I tell Will for you?" Jessie asked, leaning from the omnibus -and looking in Ellen's face, which had never been so white and thin -before. - -From the maple tree above her head a withered leaf came rustling down, -and fell upon Ellen's hair. Brushing it away, she answered mournfully: - -"Tell him the leaves are beginning to fade." - -"That's a strange message for her to send, but she speaks the truth," -Walter thought, and after the omnibus had rolled away, and he walked -slowly to the house, he felt that for him more than the leaves were -fading,--that the blossoms of hope which he had nurtured in his heart -were torn from their roots, and dying beneath the chilly breath of -fashion and caste. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--HUMAN NATURE. - - -It was the night of Charlotte Reeves' grand party, which had been talked -about for weeks, and more than one passer-by paused in the keen February -air to look at the brilliantly-lighted house, where the song, the -flirtation, the dance, and the gossip went on, and to which, at a late -hour, Mrs. Bartow came, and with her Jessie Graham. Walter accompanied -them, for Mr. Graham had asked him to be their escort, and Walter never -refused a request from one who, since his residence in the city, had -been to him like a father rather than a friend. - -Mr. Graham had evinced much surprise when told that Walter would rather -some other house should be his home, but Jessie, too, had said that it -was better so, and looking into her eyes, which told more tales than she -supposed, Mr. Graham saw that Walter was not indifferent to his only -child, nor was he displeased that it was so, and when Walter came to the -city he found to his surprise that he was not to be the clerk, but the -junior partner of his friend, who treated him with a respect and -thoughtful kindness which puzzled him greatly. Especially was he -astonished when Mr. Graham, as he often did, asked him to go with Jessie -to the places where he could not accompany her. - -"He wishes to show me," he thought, "that after what I said to Mrs. -Bartow, he dare trust his daughter with me as if I were her brother," -and Walter felt more determined than ever not to betray the trust, but -to treat Jessie as a friend and nothing more. - -So he called occasionally at the house, where he often found William -Bellenger, and compelled himself to listen in silence to the flattering -speeches his cousin made to Jessie, who, a good deal piqued at Walter's -apparent coldness, received them far more complacently than she would -otherwise have done, and so the gulf widened between them, while in the -heart of each there was a restless pain, which neither the gay world in -which Jessie lived, nor yet the busy one where Walter passed his days, -could dissipate. He had absented himself from Jessie's "come-out party," -and for this offense the young lady had been sorely indignant. - -"She wanted Charlotte Reeves and all the girls to see him, and then to -be treated that way was perfectly horrid," and the beautiful belle -pouted many a day over the young man's obstinacy. - -But Charlotte Reeves did see him at last, and when she learned that he -was Mr. Graham's partner, and much esteemed by that gentleman, she -partially took him up as a card to be played whenever she wished to -annoy William Bellenger, who kept an eye on her in case he should lose -Jessie. The relationship between the two was not known, for Walter had -no desire to speak of it, and as William vainly fancied it might reflect -discredit on himself, he, too, kept silent on the subject, while Mrs. -Bartow, having received instructions both from Jessie and her father, -never hinted to her bosom friend and deadliest enemy, Mrs. Reeves, that -the young Marshall whom Charlotte was patronizing, and who was noticed -by all for his gentlemanly bearing and handsome face, was in any way -connected with the Bellenger disgrace. - -After her return from Saratoga, Mrs. Reeves had been sick for several -months, and at the time of the party was still an invalid, and claimed -the privilege of sitting during the evening. Consequently Mrs. Bartow -had not yet found a favorable opportunity for wounding her as she -intended doing, and when, on the evening of the party, she entered the -crowded rooms, she made her way to the sofa, and greeting the lady with -her blandest words, told her how delighted she was to see her in society -again, how much she had been missed, and all the other compliments which -meant worse than nothing. Then taking a mental inventory of the -different articles which made up her dear friend's dress and comparing -them with her own, she set her costly fan in motion and watched to see -which received the more attention,--Charlotte Reeves or Jessie. The -latter certainly looked the best, as, arm in arm with Walter, she walked -through the parlor, oblivious to all else in her delight at seeing him -appear so much like himself as he did to-night. - -"It's such a pity he's poor," said Mrs. Reeves, as he was passing. "Do -you know I think him by far the most distinguished looking man in the -room, always excepting, of course, Mr. Bellenger," and she nodded -apologetically to a little pale-faced lady sitting beside her on the -sofa. - -This lady she had not seen fit to introduce to her dear friend, who had -scanned her a moment with her glass, and then pronounced her "somebody." -Twice Walter and Jessie passed, stopping the second time, while the -latter received from her grandmother the whispered injunction "not to -walk with him until everybody talked." - -"Pshaw!" was Jessie's answer, while Mrs. Reeves slyly congratulated Mr. -Marshall on his good luck in having the belle of the evening so much to -himself, and as they stood there thus the face of the little silent lady -flashed with a sudden light, and touching Mrs. Reeves when they were -gone, she said: - -"Who was that young man? You called him Marshall, didn't you?" - -"Yes, Walter Marshall, and he is Mr. Graham's partner. You know of Mr. -Graham,--people call him a millionaire, but my son says he don't believe -it." - -This last was lost upon the little lady, who cared nothing for Mr. -Graham, and who continued: - -"Where did he come from?" - -"Really, I don't know. Perhaps Mrs. Bartow can enlighten you," and Mrs. -Reeves went through with a form of introduction, speaking the stranger's -name so low, that in the surrounding hum it was entirely lost on Mrs. -Bartow, who bowed, and briefly stated that Walter was from Deerwood, -Mass. - -The lady's hands worked nervously together, and when Walter again drew -near, the white, thin face looked wistfully after him, while the lips -moved as if they would call him back. He was disengaged at last. Jessie -had another gallant in the person of William Bellenger, Mrs. Bartow's -fan moved faster than before, and Mrs. Reeves was about to make some -remark to her companion, when the latter rose, and crossing over to -where Walter stood, said to him in a low, pleasant voice: - -"Excuse me, Mr. Marshall, but would you object to walking with me,--an -old lady?" - -Walter started, and looking earnestly into the dark eyes, which were -full of tears, offered her his arm, and the two were soon lost amid the -gay throng. - -"Who is she? I didn't understand the name," Mrs. Bartow asked, her lip -dropping suddenly, as Mrs. Reeves replied: - -"Why, that's the honorable Mrs. Bellenger, returned from a ten years' -residence abroad." - -"Mrs. Bellenger," Mrs. Bartow repeated. "Is it possible? I have always -had a great desire to make her acquaintance. How plain, and yet how -elegantly she dresses." - -"She is not the woman she used to be," returned Mrs. Reeves. "She is -very much changed, and they say that during the last year of her sojourn -in London she spent her time in distributing tracts among the poor, and -all that sort of thing. I wonder what she wants of Mr. Marshall. Wasn't -it queer the way she introduced herself to him?" - -"Very," Mrs. Bartow said; but she thought, "not strange at all," and she -was half tempted to tell her friend the relationship existing between -the two. - -This she would perhaps have done had not Mrs. Reeves at that moment -directed her attention to William and Jessie, saying of the former that -he seemed very unhappy. - -"The fact is," she whispered, confidentially, "he never appears at ease -unless he is somewhere near Charlotte. I think he monopolizes her -altogether too much. I tell her so too. But she only laughs, and says he -don't go with her any more than with Jessie Graham, though everybody -knows he does. He likes Jessie, of course, but Charlotte is his first -choice," and the old lady glanced complacently toward the spot where her -sprightly granddaughter stood surrounded by a knot of admirers, each of -whom had an eye to her father's coffers as well as to herself. - -"The wretch!" thought Mrs. Bartow. "Just as though William preferred -that great, long-necked thing to Jessie; but I'll be even with her yet. -I'll be revenged when Mrs. Bellenger comes back," and the fan moved -rapidly as Mrs. Bartow thought how crest-fallen her dear friend would be -when she said what she meant to say to her. - -Meantime Mrs. Bellenger had led Walter to a little ante-room where they -would be comparatively free from observation, and sitting down upon an -ottoman, she bade him, too, be seated. He complied with her request, and -then waited for her to speak, wondering much who she was, and why she -had sought this interview with him. As Mrs. Reeves had said, Mrs. -Bellenger had for the last ten years resided in different parts of -Europe. She had gone there with her husband and only surviving daughter, -both of whom she had buried, one among the Grampian Hills, and the other -upon the banks of the blue Rhine. Her youngest son, who was still -unmarried, had joined her there, but he had become dissipated, and -eighteen months before her return to America she had lain him in a -drunkard's grave. With a breaking heart she returned to her lonely home -in London, dating from that hour the commencement of another and better -life, and now there was not in the whole world an humbler or more -consistent Christian than the once haughty Mrs. Bellenger. Many and many -a time, when away over the sea, had her thoughts gone back to her -youngest born, the gentle brown-eyed Ellen, whom she had disowned -because the man she chose was poor, and in bitterness of heart she had -cried: - -"Oh, that I had her with me now!" - -Then, as she remembered the helpless infant which she had once held for -a brief moment upon her lap, her heart yearned toward him with all a -mother's love, and she said to herself: - -"I will find the boy, and it may be he will comfort my old age." - -On her return to Boston she went to the house of William's father, but -everything there was cold and ostentatious. They greeted her warmly, it -is true, and paid her marked attention, but she suspected they did it -for the money she had in her possession, for the family was extravagant -and deeply involved in debt. Once she asked if they knew anything of -Ellen's child, and her son replied that he believed he was a clerk of -some kind in New York, but none of the family had ever seen him save -Will, who had met him once or twice, and who spoke of him as having a -little of the Bellenger look and bearing. - -Then she came to New York and found her grandson Will, who was less her -favorite than ever when she heard how sneeringly he spoke of Walter. -From his remarks, she did not expect to meet the latter at the party, -but she would find him next day, she said, and when he entered the room -she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to notice him, but when he -passed her with Jessie she started, for there was in his face a look -like her dead daughter. - -"Can it be that handsome young man is Ellen's child?" she said, and she -waited anxiously till he appeared again. - -He stopped before her then, and with a beating heart she listened to -what they called him, and then asked who he was. - -"It is my boy,--it is," she murmured between her quivering lips, and as -soon as she saw that he was free she joined him, as we have seen, and -led him to another room. - -For a moment she hesitated, as if uncertain what to say, then, as they -were left alone, she began: - -"My conduct may seem strange to you, but I cannot help it. Twenty-five -years ago a sweet girlish voice called me mother, and the face of her -who called me thus was much like yours, young man. She left me one -summer morning, and our house was like a tomb without her; but she never -came back again, and when I saw her next she lay in her coffin. She was -too young to be lying there, for she was scarcely twenty. She died with -the shadow of my anger resting on her heart, for when I heard she had -married one whom the world said was not her equal, I cast her off, I -said she was not mine, and from that day to this the worm of remorse has -been gnawing at my heart, for I hear continually the dying message they -said she left for me: 'Tell mother to love my baby for the sake of the -love she once bore me.' I didn't do it. I steeled my proud heart even -against the little boy. But I'm yearning for him now,--yearning for that -child to hold up my feeble hands,--to guide my trembling feet and smooth -my pathway down into the valley which I must tread ere long." - -She paused, and covering her face, wept aloud. Glancing hurriedly -around, Walter saw that no one was very near, and going up to her, he -wound his arm round her, and whispered in her ear: - -"My mother's mother,--my grandmother,--I never expected this from you." - -Before Mrs. Bellenger could reply, footsteps were heard approaching, and -William appeared with Jessie. He had told her of his grandmother's -unexpected arrival that morning, and when she expressed a wish to see -her, he started in quest of her at once. He knew that he was not a -favorite with her, but she surely would like Jessie, and that might make -her more lenient toward himself; so he had sought for her everywhere, -learning at last from Mrs. Bartow that she had gone off with Walter. - -"Upon my word," he thought, "he has commenced his operations soon," and -a sudden fear came over him lest Walter should be preferred to himself -by the rich old lady. - -And this suspicion was not in the least diminished by the position of -the parties when he came suddenly upon them. - -"He is playing his cards well," he said, involuntarily, while Jessie was -conscious of a feeling of pleasure at seeing Walter thus acknowledged by -his grandmother. - -With a tolerably good grace, Will introduced his companion, his spirits -rising when he saw how pleasantly and kindly his grandmother received -them both. Once, as they stood together talking, Mrs. Bellenger spoke of -Deerwood, where her daughter was buried, and instantly over William's -face there flitted the same uneasy look which Mrs. Reeves had seen and -imputed to his desire to be with Charlotte. - -"Have you heard from Miss Howland recently?" he asked Walter, who -replied: - -"I heard some three weeks since, and she was then about as usual. She is -always feeble in the winter, though I believe they think her worse this -season than she has ever been before." - -William thought of a letter received a few days before, the contents of -which had written the look upon his face which Mrs. Reeves had noticed, -and had prompted him to ask the question he did. - -"Poor Ellen!" sighed Jessie. "I fear she's not long for this world." - -"What did you call her?" Mrs. Bellenger asked, and Walter replied: - -"Ellen, my mother's namesake, and my cousin." - -"I shall see her," returned the lady, "for I am going to Deerwood -by-and-by." - -William was going, too, but he would rather not meet his grandmother -there, and he said to her, indifferently, as it were: - -"When will you go?" - -"In two or three weeks," she answered, and satisfied that she would not -then interfere with him, he offered Jessie his arm a second time and -walked away, hearing little of what was passing around him, and caring -less, for the words "Oh, William, I am surely dying! Won't you come?" -rang in his ears like a funeral knell. - -For a long time Mrs. Bellenger talked with Walter, asking him at last of -his father, and if any news had been heard of him. - -"It does not matter," she said, when he replied in the negative. "I have -outlived all that foolish pride, and love you just the same." - -Her words were sweet and soothing to Walter, and he did not care much -now even if William did keep Jessie continually at his side, walking -frequently past the door where he could see them. Once, as they passed, -Mrs. Bellenger remarked: - -"Miss Graham is a beautiful young woman. Is she engaged to William?" - -"No, no! oh, no!" and in the voice Mrs. Bellenger learned all she wished -to know. - -"Pardon me," she continued, taking Walter's hand, "pardon the liberty, -but you love Jessie Graham," and her mild eyes look gently into his. - -"Hopelessly," he answered, and his grandmother rejoined: - -"Not hopelessly, my child; for as one woman can read another, so I saw -upon her face that which told me she cared only for you. Be patient and -wait," and with another pleasant smile she arose, saying to him, -laughingly: "I am going to acknowledge you now. You say they do not know -that my blood is flowing in your veins," and she passed again into the -crowd, who fell back at her approach, for by this time every body knew -who she was, and numerous were the surmises as to what kept her so long -with young Marshall. - -The matter was soon explained, for she only needed to say to those about -her, "This is my grandson,--my daughter Ellen's child," for the news to -spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still seated on her -throne. Greatly she wondered how it could be, and why William had not -told her before; then, as she remembered her investigations with regard -to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to complete the tale, -leaving out the robbery, and merely saying that Mr. Marshall's poverty -had been the chief objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger. -This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother for a prop, -Walter could not be trampled down, and she meant to be the first to hold -him up. - -In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was enumerating Jessie's -many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard the news, and answered very carelessly: - -"Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man," and as -she spoke, she wondered if he would share with William in his -grandmother's property. - -"Even if he does," she thought, "William will have the most, for his -father is very wealthy,--then there is the name of Bellenger, which is -something," and having thus balanced the two, and found the heavier -weight in William's favor, she looked after him, as he led Jessie away -to the dancing-room, with a most benignant expression, particularly as -she saw that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too. - -"I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing to be with Charlotte?" -she thought, and she longed for the moment when she could pay the lady -for her ill-natured remarks. - -By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her seat by Mrs. Reeves, and -thinking this a favorable opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near -them and began: - -"By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any one in Leicester, -Massachusetts, by the name of Marshall--Debby Marshall, I mean?" - -Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as if that which she had -long feared and greatly dreaded had come upon her at last. Then, -resuming her composure, she repeated the name: - -"Debby Marshall?--Debby Marshall? I certainly do not number her among my -acquaintances." - -"I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs. Bartow, "particularly as -she was malicious enough to say that your father was a tin peddler." - -"A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making a furious attack upon her -smelling salts. "I believe I'm going to faint. The idea! It's perfectly -preposterous! Where is this mischief-maker?" and the black eyes flashed -round the room, as if in search of the offending Aunt Debby. - -"Pray don't distress yourself," said the delighted Mrs. Bartow. "Of -course it isn't true, and if it were, it's safe with me. I met this -woman last summer in Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced to -mention your name, as I frequently do when away from you, and this -Debby, who is an old maid, seventy at least, said she used to know a -factory girl,--Charlotty Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a -man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called him. It's a -remarkable coincidence, isn't it, that there should be two Charlotte Ann -Gregorys, with sister Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of -the same name and come to New York. But nothing is strange now-a-days, -so don't let it worry you. This old Debby is famous for knowing -everybody's history." - -Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this last remark. If Debby -Marshall knew everybody's history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow's, and -the disconcerted lady hastened to ask: - -"Where did you say she lived?" - -"In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos Marshall, about half a mile -from the village," returned the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow. - -Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon the tablets of her -memory, and then, in a low voice of entreaty, said to her friend: - -"You know it is all false, as well as you know that there are, in this -city, envious people who would delight in just such scandal, and I trust -you will not repeat it." - -"Certainly,--certainly," said Mrs. Bartow, but whether the certainly -were affirmative or negative was doubtful. - -Mrs. Reeves accepted the latter, and then turned to Mrs. Bellenger to -remove from her mind any unpleasant impression she might have received. -This, however, was wholly unnecessary, for Mrs. Bellenger was too much -absorbed in her own reflections to hear what Mrs. Bartow had been -saying, and to Mrs. Reeves' remark, "I trust you do not credit the -ridiculous story," she answered: - -"What story? I heard nothing." - -Thus relieved in that quarter, Mrs. Reeves became rather more composed, -and for the remainder of the evening addressed Mrs. Bartow as "my dear," -complimenting her once or twice upon her youthful looks, and saying -several flattering things of Jessie. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--A RETROSPECT. - - -The flowers in the garden and the leaves on the trees were withered and -dead. The luxuriant hop-vine, which grew about the farm-house door, had -yielded its bountiful store, and loosened from its summer fastening -trailed upon the ground. The cows no longer fed among the hills, the -winter stores had been gathered in, there was a thin coating of ice upon -the pond, and a dark, cold mist upon the mountain. There was a pallid -hue upon Ellen's cheek, and a look of strange unrest in her eyes as day -after day, all through the autumn time, she watched for the coming of -one who had said, "I will be with you when the forest casts its leaf." - -The time appointed had come, and the brown leaves were "heaped in the -hollow of the wood" or tossed by the autumn wind, and the pain in -Ellen's heart grew heavier to bear, as morning after morning she said: - -"He will come to-day," and night after night she wept at his delay. - -But there came a day at last, a bright November day, when she saw him in -the distance, and with a cry of joy she buried her face in the pillows -of the lounge, saying to her mother: - -"I am faint and sick." - -She lay very white and still, while kind Aunt Debby chafed her clammy -hands, and when they said to her, "Mr. Bellenger is here," she simply -answered, "Is he?" for she had never told them that she expected him. - -He said he was passing through the town, and for old acquaintance sake -had stopped over one train, and the unsuspecting family believed it all, -and when he said that Ellen stayed too much indoors, that a ride would -do her good, they offered no remonstrance, but wrapping her up in warm -shawls sent her out with him upon the mountain, where he told her how, -through all the dreary months of his absence, one face alone had shone -on him, one voice had sounded in his ear, and that the voice which now -said to him so mournfully: - -"I almost feared you had forgotten me, and it seemed so dreadful after -all were gone, Walter, Jessie, and everybody. Forgive me, William, but -when I remembered Jessie's sparkling beauty and knew she was a belle, I -feared you would not come." - -William Bellenger was conscious of a pang, for he knew how terribly he -was deceiving the trusting girl sitting there upon the rock beside him, -the color coming and going upon her marble cheek, and a tear dimming the -luster of her eyes. On his way thither he had resolved to rouse her from -the dream, to tell her she must forget him, but when he looked upon her -unearthly beauty, and saw how she clung to him, he could not do it. So -when she spoke of Jessie as one who might rival her, he said: - -"Yes, Miss Graham is charming, but believe me, Nellie, I can love but -one, and that one you." - -The bright round spot deepened on her cheek, and William felt for an -instant that had he the means, he would bear the poor invalid away to a -sunnier clime, and by his tender care nurse her back to health. But he -had not. There were bills on bills which he could not pay. His father, -too, was straitened, for old Mr. Bellenger had left his entire fortune -by will to his wife, who had refused to sanction the reckless -extravagance of her son's family. A rich bride, then, must cancel -William's debts, and as Ellen was not rich, he dared not talk to her of -marriage, but whispered only of the love he felt for her. And Ellen grew -faint and chill listening to this idle mockery, for the November wind -blew cold upon the bleak mountain side. It was in vain that William -wrapped both shawl and arm about her, hugging her closer to him until -her golden hair rested on his bosom. He could not make her warm, and at -last he took her home, telling her by the way that he would come again -ere long and stay with her a week. - -"I will explain to your mother then," he said, "and until that time -you'd better say nothing of the matter, lest it should reach the ears of -my proud family. I would write to you, but that would create surprise. -So you'll have to be content with knowing that I do most truly love -you." - -And Ellen tried to be content, though after he was gone she cried -herself to sleep, and for a time forgot her wretchedness. She had taken -a severe cold upon the mountain, and for many weeks she stayed indoors, -thinking through all the long winter evenings of William, and wishing he -would come again, or send her some message. - -At last, as her desire to see him grew stronger, she resolved to write -and bid him come, for she was dying. - -"I know that it is so," she wrote. "I see it in the faces of my friends, -I hear it in my mother's voice, I feel it in my failing strength. Yes, I -am surely dying, won't you come? It is but a little thing for you, and -it will do me so much good. Do you really love me, William? I have -sometimes feared you didn't as I loved you. I sometimes thought you -might be glad when the grass was growing on my grave, because you then -would have no dread lest your proud relatives should know how you paused -a moment to look at the frail blossom fading by the wayside. If it is -so, William, don't tell it to me now; let me die believing that you -really do love me. Come and tell me so once more, let me hear your voice -again; then when I am dead, and they go to lay me down in the very spot -where you found me sleeping that summer afternoon, you needn't join the -mourners, for the world might ask why you were there. But when I'm -buried, William, and the candles are lighted in my dear old home, then -go alone where Nellie lies. It will make you a better man to pray above -my grave, and if you know in your secret heart that you have been -deceiving me, God will forgive you then. I am growing tired, William, -there's a blur before my eyes and I cannot see. Come quickly, William, -do." - -This letter Ellen carried to the office herself, for she sometimes rode -as far as the village with her grandfather, and thus none of the family -knew that it was sent, or guessed why, for many days, her face grew -brighter with a joyous, expectant look, which Aunt Debby said "came -straight from Heaven." The letter reached William just as he was -dressing for Charlotte Reeves' party, and tearing open the envelope, he -read it with dim eye and quivering lip, for the writer had a stronger -hold on his affections than he had at first supposed. - -"I will go and see her," he said to himself, "though I can carry her no -comfort unless I fabricate some lie. Poor, darling Nellie! It will not -be a falsehood to tell her that I love her best of all the world, even -though I cannot make her my wife. Perhaps she don't expect me to do -that," and crushing into his pocket the letter, stained with Nellie's -tears and his, he went, as we have seen, to the house of festivity, -mingling in the gay scene, and letting no opportunity pass for showing -to those around that Jessie Graham was the chosen one, though all the -while his thoughts were away in Deerwood, where the dying Nellie waited -so anxiously his coming, and whither in a few days he went, taking care -to say to Jessie that he was going into the country, and might possibly -visit the farm-house before he returned. - - - - -CHAPTER IX.--NELLIE. - - -The winter sun was setting, and its fading light fell upon the golden -hair and white, beautiful face of Nellie, who lay upon the lounge in the -room where Walter's mother died, and which Jessie now called hers. She -was weaker than usual, and the hectic spot upon her cheek was larger and -brighter, while her eyes shone like diamonds as she looked wistfully in -the direction of the village, where the smoke of the New York train was -slowly dying away. - -"Mother," she said at last, "isn't the omnibus coming over the hill?" - -"Yes," Mrs. Howland answered. "Possibly it is Walter, though I did not -tell him in my last how weak you are, as you know you bade me not, lest -he should be unnecessarily alarmed." - -Ellen knew it was not Walter, and the spot on her cheek was almost a -blood-red hue when she heard the dear familiar voice, and knew that -William had come. - -"Mother," she said faintly, "it's Mr. Bellenger, and you must let me see -him alone,--all the evening alone;--will you? It's right," she -continued, as she met her mother's look of inquiry. "I'll explain it, -perhaps, when he's gone." - -In an instant the truth flashed upon Mrs. Howland, bringing with it a -feeling of gratified pride that the elegant William Bellenger had -condescended to think of her child. She did not know the whole. She -could not guess how thoroughly selfish was the man who was deliberately -breaking her daughter's heart, or she would not have left them to -themselves that long winter evening, saying to her father and Aunt -Debby, when they questioned the propriety of the proceeding: - -"He wants to tell her of Walter and Jessie, I suppose, and the fine -times they have in the city." - -This satisfied Aunt Debby, but the deacon was not quite at ease, and -more than once after finishing his fourth pipe, he started to join them, -but was as often kept back by some well-timed remark addressed to him by -Mrs. Howland; and so William was left undisturbed while he poured again -into Ellen's ear the story of his love, telling her how inexpressibly -dear she was to him, and that but for circumstances which he could not -control, he would prove his assertion true by making her at once his -wife. Then the long eyelashes drooped beneath their weight of tears, for -there flitted across Ellen's mind a vague consciousness that if these -circumstances existed when he first talked to her of love, he had done -very wrong. Still she could not accuse him even in thought, and she -hastened to say: - -"I don't know as I really ever supposed that you wished me to be your -wife; and if I did it don't matter now, for I am going to die; death has -a prior claim, and I never can be yours." - -He held her hot hand in his,--felt the rapid pulse,--saw the deep color -on her cheek,--the unnatural luster of her eye,--and felt that she told -him truly. And thinking that anything which he could say to comfort and -please her would be right, he whispered: - -"I hope there are many years in store for you. If I should take you to -Florida as my wife, do you think you would get well?" - -She had said to him that it could not be,--that death would claim her -first, but now that he had asked her this, all the energies of life were -roused within her, and her whole face said yes, even before the answer -dropped from her pale lips. - -"Oh, William, dear, are you in earnest? Can I go?" and raising herself -up, she wound her arms around his neck so that her head rested on his -bosom. - -And William held it there, caressing the fair hair, while he battled -with all his better nature, and tried to think of some excuse,--some -good reason for retracting the proposition which had been received so -differently from what he expected. He thought of it at last, and laying -his burden gently back upon her pillow, he answered mournfully: - -"Forgive me, darling. In my great love for you I spoke inadvertently. I -wish I were free to do what my heart dictates, but I am not. Listen, -Nellie, and then you shall decide. Perhaps you have never heard that -Jessie and I were long ago intended for each other by our parents?" - -William's voice trembled as he uttered this falsehood, but not one-half -as much as did the young girl on the lounge. - -"No," she answered faintly; "Jessie never told me." - -"Some girls are not inclined to talk of those they love," said William, -and fixing her clear blue eyes on him, Ellen asked: - -"Does Jessie love you, William?" - -"And suppose she does?" he replied; "suppose she had always been taught -to look upon me as her future husband? Suppose that even when I first -came here there was an understanding that, unless Jessie should prefer -some one else, we were to be married when she was eighteen, and suppose -that since we have been so much together as we have this winter, Jessie -had learned to love me very much, and that my marrying another now would -break her heart, what would you have me do? I know you must think it -wrong in me to talk of love to you, knowing what I did, but struggle as -I would, I could not help it. You are my ideal of a wife. I love you -better than I do Jessie,--better than I do any one, and you shall decide -the matter. I will leave Jessie, offend her father, and incur the -lasting displeasure of my own family, if you say so. Think a moment, -darling, and then tell me what to do." - -Had he held a knife at her heart, and a pistol at her head, bidding her -take her choice between the two, he could scarcely have pained her more. -Folding her hands together, she lay so still that it seemed almost like -the stillness of death, and William once bent down to see if she were -sleeping. But the large blue eyes turned toward him, and a faint whisper -met his ear: - -"Don't disturb me. I am thinking," and as she thought the cold -perspiration stood in the palms of her hands and about her mouth, for it -was like tearing out her very life, deciding to give William up, and -bidding him marry another, even though she knew she could never be his -wife. - -Jessie Graham was very dear to the poor invalid, as the first and almost -only girl friend she had ever known. Jessie had been kind to her, while -Mr. Graham had been most kind to them all. Jessie would make William a -far more suitable wife than she could. His proud relatives would scoff -at her, and perhaps if she should live and marry him he might some day -be sorry that he did not take the more brilliant Jessie. But was there -any probability that she could live? She wished she knew, and she said -to William: - -"Do people always get well if they go to Florida?" - -"Sometimes, darling, if the disease is not too far advanced," was the -answer, and Ellen went back to her reflections. - -Her disease was too far advanced, she feared, and if she could not live, -why should she wish to trammel William for so short a time, even if -there were no Jessie, and would it not be better to give him up at once? -Yes, it would, she said, and just as William began a second time to -think she had fallen away to sleep she beckoned him to come near, and in -a voice which sounded like the wail of a broken heart, she whispered: - -"I have decided, William. You must marry Jessie,--but not till I am -dead. You'll love poor me till then, won't you?" and burying her face in -his bosom, she sobbed bitterly. He kissed her tears away; he told her he -would not marry Jessie, that she alone should be his wife; and when she -answered that it must not be, that at the longest she could live but a -short time, he felt in his villainous, selfish heart that he was glad -she was so sensible. He had told her no lie, he thought. He had merely -supposed a case, and she, taking it for granted, had deliberately given -him up. He could not help himself, for had she not virtually refused -him? - -By such arguments as these did the wicked man seek to quiet his guilty -conscience, but when he saw how much it had cost the young girl to say -what she had said, he was half tempted to undeceive her, to tell her it -was all false, that story of himself and Jessie,--but gold was dearer to -him than aught else on earth, and so he did not do it. He merely told -her that so long as she lived he should love her the best, but advised -her not to talk with Jessie on the subject, as it would only make them -both unhappy. - -"You may tell your mother that I love you, but I would say nothing of -Jessie, who might not like to have the matter talked about, as it is not -positively settled yet, at least not enough to proclaim it to the -world." - -Like a submissive child, Ellen promised compliance with all his wishes, -and as the deacon by this time had declared "there was no sense in them -two staying in there any longer," he appeared in the door, and thus put -an end to the conversation. - -All the next day William stayed, improving every opportunity to whisper -to Ellen of his love, but the words were almost meaningless to her now. -She knew that she loved him; she believed that he loved her, but there -was a barrier between them, and when at night he left her, she was so -strangely calm that he felt a pang lest he might have lost a little of -her love, which, in spite of his selfishness, was very dear to him. -After he was gone, Ellen told her mother of their mutual love, which -never could be consummated, because she must die; but she said nothing -of Jessie, and the deluded woman, gazing on her beautiful daughter, -prayed that she might live, and so one day grace the halls of the proud -Bellengers. After this there often came to the farm-house dainty -luxuries for the invalid, and though there was no name, Ellen knew who -sent them, and smiling into her mother's face would say: - -"Isn't he good to me?" - -At last the stormy March had come, and one night a lady stood at the -farm-house door, asking if Deacon Marshall lived there. - -"I have no claim upon your hospitality," she said, "but a mother has a -right to visit her daughter's grave and the home where her daughter -died." - -It was Mrs. Bellenger, but so changed from the haughty woman who years -ago had been there, that the family could scarcely believe it was the -same. It is true they had heard from Walter of his grandmother's -kindness, and how the effect of that kindness was already beginning to -be apparent in the treatment he received from those who before had -scarcely noticed him, but they could not understand it until they saw -the lady in their midst, affable and friendly to them all, but -especially to poor sick Nellie, to whom she attached herself at once. -Very rapidly each grew to liking the other. Mrs. Bellenger, because the -gentle invalid bore her daughter's name; and Nellie, because the lady -was William's grandmother, and sometimes spoke of him. For many days -Mrs. Bellenger lingered, for there was something very soothing in the -quiet of the farm-house, and very attractive about the sick girl, who -once as they sat together alone, opened her whole heart and told the -story of her love. - -"It surely is not wrong for me to confide in you," she said, "and I must -talk of it to somebody." - -Mrs. Bellenger had heretofore distrusted William, but the fact that he -had won the love of so pure a being as Ellen Howland changed her -feelings toward him, and when the latter said, "He spoke of taking me to -Florida," she thought at once that her money should pay the bills, and -that she too would go and help her grandson nurse the beautiful young -girl back to life and strength. This last she said to Ellen, who -answered mournfully: - -"It cannot be, for I have given him up to Jessie, whose claim was better -than mine," and then she repeated all that William had said to her. - -"It doesn't matter," she continued. "I can't live very long, and Jessie -has been so kind to me that I want to give her something, and William is -the most precious thing I have. - -"It hurt me to give him up. But it is best, even if there were no Jessie -Graham. His parents are not like you; they might teach him in time to -despise me, and I'd rather die now." - -Mrs. Bellenger turned away to hide her tears, and could William have -seen what was in her heart,--could he have known how easily Ellen's -wasted hand could unlock her coffers and give him the money he craved, -the proud house of Bellenger would have mourned over a second -_mesalliance_. - -For nearly two weeks Mrs. Bellenger remained in Deerwood, and then, -promising to come again ere long, returned to the city, where rumor was -already busy with the marriage which the world said was soon to take -place between William Bellenger and the beautiful Miss Graham. - - - - -CHAPTER X.--A DISCLOSURE. - - -Much surprise was expressed, and a good deal of interest manifested, -when it was known that the handsome house up-town which had recently -been bought by a stranger it was said, and elegantly furnished, was the -property of Mrs. Bellenger, who, not long after her return from -Deerwood, took possession of it, and made it also the home of Walter -Marshall. The latter was now courted and admired as a most "delightful -young man," and probably the principal heir of the rich old lady, who -did not hesitate to show how greatly she preferred him to her other -grandson, William. Even Mrs. Reeves was especially gracious to him now, -saying she believed him quite as good a match as Mr. Bellenger, who was -welcome to Jessie Graham if he wanted her. And it would seem that he -did, for almost every evening found him at her side, while Walter -frequently met them in the street, or heard of them at various places of -amusement. - -Still Jessie was very kind to him whenever he called upon her, unless -William chanced to be present, and then she seemed to take delight in -annoying him, by devoting herself almost entirely to one whom he at last -believed was really his rival. This opinion he expressed one day to his -grandmother, who had come to the same conclusion, and who as gently as -possible repeated to him all that Ellen had told her. It was the first -intimation Walter had received that William Bellenger had pretended to -care for his cousin, and it affected him deeply. - -"The wretch!" he exclaimed. "He won Ellen's love only to cast it from -him at his will, for he never thought of making her his wife." - -Then, as his own gloomy future arose before him, he groaned aloud, for -he never knew before how dear Jessie was to him. - -"It may not be so," his grandmother said, laying her hand upon his head. -"I cannot quite think Jessie would prefer him to you, and she has known -you always, too. Suppose you talk with her upon the subject. It will not -make the matter worse." - -"Grandmother," said Walter, "I have promised never to speak of love to -Jessie Graham until I am freed from the taint my father's misfortune has -fastened upon my name, and as there is no hope that this will ever be, I -must live on and see her given to another. Were my rival anybody but -William, I could bear it better, for I want Jessie to be happy, and I -believe him to be--a villain, and I would far rather that Jessie would -die than be his bride." - -Walter was very much excited, and as the atmosphere of the room seemed -oppressive, he seized his hat and rushed out into the street, meeting by -the way William and Jessie. They were walking very slowly, and -apparently so absorbed with themselves, that neither observed him till -just as he was passing, when Jessie looked up and called after him: - -"Are you never coming to see me again?" - -"I don't know,--perhaps not," was the cool answer, and Walter hastened -on, while William, who never let an opportunity pass for a sly -insinuation against his cousin, asked Jessie if she had not observed how -consequential Walter had grown since his grandmother took him up and -pushed him into society. "Everybody is laughing about it," said he, "but -that is the way with people of his class. They cannot bear prosperity." - -"I think Walter has too much good sense," Jessie replied, "to be lifted -up by the attentions of those who used to slight him, but who notice him -now just because Mrs. Bellenger likes him. There's Mrs. Reeves, for -instance,--it's perfectly sickening to hear her talk about 'dear Mr. -Marshall,' when she used to speak of him as 'that poor young man in Mr. -Graham's employ.' Charlotte always liked him." - -This last was not very agreeable to Will, for in case he failed to -secure Jessie, Charlotte was his next choice. - -Money he must have, and soon too, for there was a heavy burden on his -mind, and unless that burden was lifted disgrace was sure to follow. -Twice recently he had written to his father for money and received the -same answer: - -"I have nothing for you; go to your grandmother, who has plenty." - -Once he had asked Mrs. Bellenger for a hundred dollars; but she had said -that "a young man in perfect health ought to have some occupation, and -as he had none he had no right to live as expensively as he did." - -Several times he had borrowed of Walter, making an excuse that he had -forgotten his purse, or "that the old man's remittances had not come," -but never remembering to pay or mention it again. In this state of -affairs it was quite natural that he should be looking about for -something to ease his mind and fill his pocket at the same time. A rich -wife could do this, and as Jessie and Charlotte both were rich, one of -them must come to the rescue. Jessie's remark about Charlotte disturbed -him, and as he had not of late paid her much attention, he resolved to -call upon her as soon as he had seen Jessie to her own door. - -Meanwhile Walter had gone to his office, where he found upon the desk a -letter in his grandfather's handwriting, and hastily breaking the seal, -he read, that he must come quickly if he would see his cousin alive. The -letter inclosed a note for Jessie, and Walter was requested to give it -to her so that she might come with him. - -"Poor Ellen talks of Jessie and Mrs. Bellenger all the time," the deacon -wrote, "and perhaps your grandmother would not mind coming too. She -seemed to take kindly to the child." - -Not a word was said of William, for Ellen would not allow her mother to -send for him. - -"It would only make him feel badly," she said, "and I would save him -from unnecessary pain." So she hushed her longing to see him again and -asked only for Jessie. - -"I will go to-morrow morning," Walter thought, and as Mr. Graham was -absent for a day or two he was thinking of taking the note to Jessie -himself, when William came suddenly upon him. - -"Well, old fellow," said he, "what's up now? Your face is long as a -gravestone." - -"Ellen is dying," returned Walter, "and they have sent for me." - -"Ellen dying!" and the man, who a moment before had spoken so jeeringly, -staggered into a chair as if smitten by a heavy blow. - -"I did not suppose he cared so much for her," thought Walter, and in a -kinder tone he told what he knew, and passing William the note intended -for Jessie, he bade him take it to her that night, and tell her to meet -him at the depot in the morning. "And William," said Walter, fixing his -eye earnestly upon his cousin, "what message shall I take to Ellen for -you? or will you go too?" - -For a moment William hesitated, while his better nature battled with his -worse, urging him to give up the game at which he was playing, and -comfort the dying girl he had so cruelly deceived, and acknowledge to -the world how dear she was to him; then, as another frightful thought -intruded itself upon him, he murmured, "I can't, I can't," and with that -resolution he sealed his future destiny. "No, I cannot go," he said, and -thrusting the note into his pocket went out into the open air, a harder -man, if possible, than he had been before. "Jessie must not go to -Deerwood if I can prevent it," he thought to himself. "Nellie may tell -her all, and that would be fatal to my plans." - -So he resolved not to call at Mr. Graham's that night, and in case an -explanation should afterward be necessary, he would say that he had sent -the note by a boy, who, of course, had neglected to deliver it. - -Accordingly the next morning Walter and his grandmother waited -impatiently for Jessie at the depot, and then, when they found she was -not coming, took their seats in the cars with heavy hearts, for both -knew how terrible would be the disappointment to Ellen, who loved Jessie -Graham better almost than herself. - - ---- - -"Where's Jessie? Didn't I hear her voice in the other room?" the sick -girl asked, when, one after the other, Mrs. Bellenger and Walter bent -over her pillow and kissed her wasted face. - -"She isn't here," said Walter, and the color faded from Ellen's face as -she replied: - -"Isn't here? Where is she, Walter?" - -He answered that he did not see her himself, but had sent the message by -William, and at the mention of his name the blood came surging back to -the pallid cheeks. - -"William would carry the note, I know," she said, "and why does she stay -away when I want so much to see her before I die?" And turning her face -to the wall, she wept silently over her friend's apparent neglect. - -"Walter," said Mrs. Bellenger, drawing him aside, "it may be possible -there is some mistake, and Jessie does not know. Suppose you telegraph -to her father and be sure." - -Walter immediately acted upon this suggestion, and that evening as -Jessie sat listlessly drumming her piano, wondering why Walter seemed so -changed, and wishing somebody would come, she received the telegram, and -with feverish impatience waited for the morning, when she set off for -Deerwood, where she was hailed with rapture by Ellen, who could now only -whisper her delight and press the hands of her early friend. - -"Why didn't you come with Walter?" she asked, and Jessie replied: - -"How could I, when I knew nothing of his coming?" - -"Didn't William give you a note?" asked Walter, who was standing near, -and upon Jessie's replying that she had neither seen nor heard from -William, a sudden suspicion crossed his mind that the message had -purposely been withheld. - -No such thought, however, intruded itself upon Ellen; the neglect was -not intentional, she was sure; and in her joy at having Jessie with her -at last, she forgot her earlier disappointment. Earnestly and lovingly -she looked up into Jessie's bright, glowing face, and, pushing back her -short black curls, whispered: - -"Darling Jessie, I am glad you are so beautiful, so good." - -And Jessie, listening to these oft-repeated words did not dream of the -pure, unselfish love which prompted them. - -If Jessie were beautiful and good, she would make the life of William -Bellenger happier than if she were otherwise; and this was all that -Ellen asked or wished. - -Hidden away in a little rosewood box, which Jessie had given her, was a -blurred and blotted letter, which she had written at intervals, as her -failing strength would permit. It was her farewell to William, and she -would trust it to no messenger but Jessie. - -"Tell them all to go out," she said, as the shadows stretched farther -and farther across the floor, and she knew it was growing late. "Tell -them to leave us together once more, just as we used to be." - -Her request was granted, and then laying her hand upon her pillow, she -said: - -"Lie down beside me, Jessie, and put your arms around my neck while I -tell you how I love you. It wasn't my way to talk much, Jessie, and when -you used to say so often that I was very dear to you, I only kissed you -back, and did not tell you how full my heart was of love. Dear Jessie, -don't cry. What makes you? Are you sorry I am going to die?" - -A passionate hug was Jessie's answer, and Ellen continued: - -"It's right, darling, that I should go, for neither of us could be quite -happy in knowing that another shared the love we coveted for ourselves. -Forgive me, Jessie, I never meant to interfere, and when I'm dead, you -won't let it cast a shadow between you that he loved me a little, too." - -"I do not understand you," said Jessie, "I love nobody but father,--no -man, I mean. - -"Oh, Jessie, don't profess to be ignorant of my meaning," said Ellen. -"It may be wrong for me to speak of it, but at the very last, I cannot -forbear telling you how willingly I gave William up to you." - -"_William!_" Jessie exclaimed. "I never loved William Bellenger,--never -_could_ love him. What do you mean!" - -There was no color in Ellen's face, and she trembled in every limb, as -she answered, faintly: - -"You wouldn't tell me a lie when I am dying?" - -"No, darling, no," and passing her arm around the sick girl, Jessie -raised her up, and continued, "explain to me, will you? for I do not -comprehend." - -Then as briefly as possible Nellie told the story of her love, and how -William had said that Jessie stood between them. - -"If it is not so," she gasped, "if he has deceived me, don't tell me. I -could not endure losing faith in him. Don't, don't," she continued, -entreatingly, as Jessie cried indignantly: - -"It is false,--false as his own black heart! There is no understanding -between our parents. I never thought of loving him. I hate him now, the -monster. And you are dying for me, Nellie, but he killed you, the -wretch!" - -Jessie paused, for there was something in Nellie's face which awed her -into silence. It was as white as ashes, and Jessie never forgot its -grieved, heart-broken expression, or the spasmodic quivering of the -lips, which uttered no complaint against the perfidious man, but -whispered faintly: - -"Bring me my little box, and bring the candle, too." - -Both were brought, and taking out the letter so deeply freighted with -her love, the sick girl held it in the blaze, watching it as it -blackened and charred, and dropped upon the floor. - -"With that I burned up my very heart," she said, and a cold smile curled -her lips. "The pain is over now. I do not feel it any more." - -Then, taking a pencil and a tiny sheet of note paper from the box, she -wrote: - -"Heaven forgive you, William. Pray for pardon at my grave. You have much -need to pray." - -Passing it to Jessie, she said: - -"Give this to William when I am dead; and now draw the covering closer -over me, for I am growing cold and sleepy." - -Jessie folded the blanket about her shoulders and chest, and then sat -down beside her, while the family, hearing no sound, stole softly across -the threshold into the room where the May moonshine lay; where the -candle burned dimly on the table, and where the light of a young life -flickered and faded with each tick of the tall old clock, which in the -kitchen without could be distinctly heard measuring off the time. - -Fainter and fainter, dimmer and dimmer, grew the light, until at last, -as the swinging pendulum beat the hour of midnight, it went out forever, -and the moon-beams fell on the golden hair and white face of the -beautiful dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XI.--THE NIGHT AFTER THE BURIAL. - - -Down the lane, over the rustic bridge beneath the shadow of the tasseled -pines and up the grassy hillside, where the headstones of the dead -gleamed in the warm sunlight, the long procession wended its way, and -the fair May blossoms were upturned, and the moist earth thrown out to -make room for the fair sleeper, thus early gone to rest. - -Then back again, down the grassy hillside, under the tasseled pines, and -up the winding lane the mourners came, and all the afternoon the -villagers talked of the beautiful girl,--but in the home she had left so -desolate, her name was not once mentioned. They could not speak of her -yet, and so the mother sat in her lonely room, rocking to and fro, just -as she used to do when there was pillowed on her breast the golden head, -now lying across the fields, where the dim eyes of the deacon wandered -often, as the old man whispered to himself. - -"One grave more, and one chair less. Our store grows fast in Heaven." - -For once Aunt Debby forgot to knit, and the kitten rolled the ball at -pleasure, pausing sometimes in her play, and looking up in Jessie's -face, as if to ask her the reason of its unwonted sadness, and why the -hug and squeeze had been so long omitted. - -To Walter, Ellen had been like a sister, and he went away to weep alone, -while Mrs. Bellenger, not wishing to intrude on any one, withdrew to the -quiet garden, and so the dreary afternoon went by, and when the sun was -set and the moon was shining on the floor of the little portico the -family assembled there, and drawing a little stool to the deacon's side -Jessie laid her bright head on his knee. - -The moonlight fell softly on her upturned face, heightening its dark, -rich beauty, and Walter was gazing admiringly upon her, when a sound in -the distance caught his ear, and arrested the attention of all. - -It was the sound of horse's feet, and as the sharp hoofs struck the -earth with a rapidity which told how swiftly the rider came, Jessie's -heart beat faster with a feeling that she knew who the rider was. He -passed them with averted face, and they heard the clatter of the iron -shoes, as the steed dashed down the lane, over the rustic bridge, and up -the grassy hillside. - -Jessie had not told the family the story which broke poor Nellie's -heart, for she would not inflict an unnecessary pang upon the mother, or -the grandfather, but she wanted Walter to know it, and as the sound of -the horse's feet died away in the distance, she said to him: - -"Will you walk with me, Walter? It is so light and pleasant." - -It seemed a strange request to him, but he complied with it, and as if -by mutual consent, the two went together, toward the grave, whither -another had preceded them. - -In the city William had heard of the telegram sent to Jessie, and with a -feeling of restless impatience, he at last took the cars, as far as the -town adjoining Deerwood, where he stopped and heard of Ellen's death. He -heard, too, that she was buried that very afternoon, and his pulses -quickened with a painful throb, as as he heard the landlord's daughter, -who had attended the funeral, telling her mother how beautiful the young -girl was, all covered with flowers, and how Miss Graham from New York -cried when she bent over the coffin. - -He would see her grave, he said, he would kiss the earth which covered -her, and so when the "candle was lighted in her dear old home," he came, -a weary, wretched man, and stood by the little mound. He had almost felt -that he should find her there, just as she was that August afternoon, -when she lay sleeping with the withered roses drooping on her face. - -She had told him of this hour, and bidden him pray when he stood so near -to her, but he could not, and he only murmured through his tears: - -"Poor Nellie. She deserved a better fate. I wish I had never crossed her -path." - -There were voices in the distance, and not caring to be found there, he -knelt by the pile of earth, and burying his face in the dust, said -aloud: - -"I wish that I were dead and happy as you are, little Snow Drop," then -leaving the inclosure, he mounted his horse, and rode rapidly off, just -as Walter and Jessie came up on the opposite side. - -"That was William Bellenger," Jessie cried. "I thought so when he passed -the house, and I wanted so much to see him here by Ellen's grave." - -"William Bellenger," Walter repeated. "Do you know why he was here?" - -"Yes, I do," Jessie answered, "and I wanted to reproach him with it. -Walter, William Bellenger is a villain! - -"Sit down with me," she continued, "here, beside your mother's grave, -and Nellie's, and listen while I repeat to you what Nellie told me just -before she died." - -He obeyed, and in a voice of mingled sorrow and resentment, Jessie told -him of the falsehood which had been imposed upon the gentle girl lying -there so near them. - -It would be impossible to describe Walter's anger and disgust, as he -listened to the story of Ellen's wrongs. - -"The wretch! He killed her!" he exclaimed, "killed her through love for -him, and her unselfish devotion to you." - -"But he _did_ love her," interposed Jessie, "or he had never been here -to-night." - -Walter could not comprehend a love like this. It was not what he felt -for the dark-haired girl at his side, and in his joy at finding that -she, too, thoroughly despised one whom he had feared might be his rival, -he came near telling her so, but he remembered in time the promise made -to Mrs. Bartow, and merely said: - -"Forgive me, Jessie. I have fancied you loved this rascally fellow, and -it made me very unhappy, for I knew he was unworthy." - -"Are you not sometimes unreasonably suspicious of me?" Jessie asked, and -Walter replied: - -"If I am, it is because,--because,--I would have my sister happy, and -now that Nellie is dead, you are all I have to love." - -It surely was not wrong for him to say so much, he thought, and Jessie -must have thought so too, for impulsively laying her hand in his, she -looked up into his face and answered: - -"There must never be another cloud between us." - -For a long time they sat together among the graves, and then, as it was -growing late, they retraced their steps toward the farm-house, where -only Mrs. Bellenger was waiting for them, the others having retired to -rest. - -To her, with Jessie's consent, Walter told what he had heard, but not -till Jessie had left them for the night. Covering her face with her -hands, Mrs. Bellenger groaned aloud at this fresh proof of William's -perfidy. - -"There is one comfort, however," she said, at last, "Jessie is not bound -to him," and she spoke hopefully to Walter of his future. - -"It may be," he said, "but my father must first be proved innocent. I am -going to find him, too," and then he told his grandmother that Mr. -Graham had long contemplated sending him to California on business -connected with the firm. "Next September is the time appointed for me to -go, and something tells me that I shall find my father in my travels." - -Then he told her that if he could arrange it, he should spend several -weeks at home, as the family were now so lonely, and as Mrs. Bellenger -was herself, ere long, going to Boston, she offered no remonstrance to -the plan. - -The moon by this time had reached a point high up in the heavens, and -bidding him good night she left him sitting there alone, dreaming bright -dreams of the future, when the little hand which not long ago had crept -of its own accord into his own, should be his indeed. But what if it -should never be proved that his father was innocent? Could he keep his -promise forever? He dared not answer this, but there swept over him -again, as it had done many times of late, the belief that ere a year had -passed, Seth Marshall would stand before the world an honored and -respected man. Until that time he was willing to wait, he said, and the -moon had long since passed the zenith and was shining through the -western window into the room where Jessie Graham lay sleeping ere he -left his seat beneath the vines and sought his pillow to realize in -dreamland the happiness in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII.--A CRISIS. - - -The next morning, Mrs. Bellenger, Jessie and Walter returned to the -city, the latter promising his family that he would if possible obtain -leave of absence from his business for several weeks, and be with them -in the first stages of their bereavement. - -To this plan Mr. Graham made no objection, and without seeing William, -who chanced to be out of the city, Walter went back to Deerwood, while -his grandmother also started on her projected visit to Boston. - -Lonely indeed was Walter's life at the farm-house, and not even the -cheering letters of Mr. Graham, which always contained a pleasant -message from Jessie, had the power to enliven his solitude. He had -tasted of the busy world, and a life of inactivity could not satisfy him -now. So he wrote at last to Mr. Graham, asking why he could not start at -once for California, instead of waiting until September. - -With a father's ready tact, Mr. Graham understood exactly the nature of -Walter's feelings toward his daughter, and as Mrs. Bartow had told him -of the young man's promise, he watched him narrowly to see how well it -would be kept. - -"He is a noble fellow," he thought, "and he shall not wait for what may -never be. I am sure Jessie loves him quite as much as he does her, and I -will bring them together in my own way, and when September comes he -shall not go to California alone;" so in reply to Walter's letter, he -wrote: "You can go at once if you like, though I have in mind a pleasant -surprise if you will wait until autumn," and as he wrote his own heart -grew young and warm again, with fancying Walter's joy when he should say -to him, "I know your secret, and you need not wait. Jessie loves you. -Take her and be happy." - -And as thoughts of his own daughter's possible bridal suggested to him -another, he dipped his pen a second time, and added as a postscript: - -"There is a rumor of a marriage to take place before long, and Jessie, I -dare say, will wish you to be present, so perhaps you'd better wait." - -Over the postscript Walter lingered long and anxiously. Was Jessie to be -the bride? It would seem so, and yet there was madness in the thought. -Once he resolved to go and see, and this he would perhaps have done had -not the next mail brought him a confirmation of his fears. It was from -his cousin, and read as follows: - - "_Dear Walt_:--You will be greatly surprised, I dare say, to - hear that I have caught the bird at last, and the tenth of July, - at eleven A. M., will see us one. It is sudden, I know; but all - the better for that. She wanted to wait until fall and have a - grand smash-up, but I, with her grandmother to back me, insisted - upon its taking place immediately, and in a quiet way. We shall - be married in church, and then go off to some watering-place. - Her father does the handsome thing, and comes down with a cool - 50,000 on her bridal day, but that's nothing for a millionaire. - I'm more obliged to you, Walt, than I can well express for not - interfering. At one time I was deuced jealous, but you behaved - like a gentleman, and left me an open field, for which I thank - you, and cordially invite you to the wedding. - - "By the way, Jessie says you know about that unfortunate affair - with poor Nellie. Believe me, Walt, I loved that girl, and even - now the thought of her takes my breath away; but she was too - poor. Isn't it lucky Jessie is rich? You ought to see how - delighted my grandmother-elect is with the match. But time - hastens, and I must finish. Remember, July 10th, hour 11, from - ---- Church. Adieu. - - "_Bill Bellenger_." - -For a time after reading the letter Walter sat powerless to act or -think. Then the storm burst upon him with overwhelming fury, and he -raved like one bereft of reason. Jessie was lost to him forever, and, -what was worse than all, she had proved herself unworthy of esteem by -her heartless treachery. How could she so soon forget the little grave -on the hillside? How could she plight her faith to one whom, only a few -weeks since, she had denounced so strongly? Was there no truth in woman? -Were they all as false as fair? Yes, they were, he said; and he laughed -bitterly as he thought how, hereafter, he should hate the entire sex. -Walter was growing desperate, and, in his desperation, he resolved to -put the width of the western hemisphere between himself and the fickle -Jessie Graham. He could go to California now as well as later, and he -determined to start for New York that night. So with a hurried good-by -to his family he left them, and scarcely knowing whether he were dead or -alive, he took the express for the city. - -It was morning when he reached there, and the Wall street thunder had -already commenced. His first business was to ascertain that a vessel -would sail that day for California,--his next to call on Mr. Graham and -make the necessary explanations. - -Mr. Graham was not at the office,--he was sick, the clerk said, and as -Walter had neither the time nor the inclination to go all the way -up-town to find him, he sat down and wrote to him what he would have -said. - -He was going to California, and the reason why he went Mr. Graham could -perhaps divine; if not, Walter would tell him frankly that he could not -stay in New York and see a man of William Bellenger's character married -to the girl he loved better than he loved his life. - -"I understand the business on which I am going thoroughly, I believe," -he added in conclusion; "but if there is anything more which you wish to -say, you can write it by the next steamer, and your directions shall be -attended to most strictly." - -This letter he left for Mr. Graham, and when the night shadows fell -again on Deerwood, where in the large old kitchen the family talked of -him, he sat upon the upper deck, listening, with an aching heart, to the -surging of the waves, as they dashed against his floating home. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII.--EXPLANATIONS. - - -After Jessie's return to the city, several days had elapsed ere she met -with William; and when at last she did, he saw at once that there was a -change in her demeanor,--that she was unusually reserved; but this he -hoped might arise from the sad scene through which she had recently -passed, and as he was fast nearing a point when something must be done, -he resolved upon a decisive step. - -His attentions to Jessie must have prepared her for a proposal, he -thought, and as it would be better for him to know his fate at once, so -that in case she refused him, he could look elsewhere for aid, he -determined to improve the present opportunity, which, so far as outward -circumstances were concerned, seemed propitious. - -Mr. Graham was away, and Mrs. Bartow kindly absented herself from the -room, as was her custom when William was present. The night was rainy, -too, and they would not be liable to interruption. Accordingly when -Jessie spoke to him of Nellie's death, and gave him the note which had -been entrusted to her, he drew his chair to her side, and, after a few -preliminary coughs, plunged at once into business, and made her a formal -offer of himself, saying that he knew he was very faulty, but she could -mould him as she pleased, and make him a good and useful man. - -With a cold, haughty look upon her face, Jessie Graham listened to him -until he finished, and then said: - -"You astonish me more than I can express, for if you do not respect -yourself, I hoped you had too much respect for me to offer me a hand -reeking, as it were, with the blood of sweet Nellie Howland. I know it -all,--know the lie you imposed upon the poor, weak girl, whose only -fault was loving you too well. And now do you think I would marry you? I -have never seen the hour when I would have done so,--much less will I do -it now. I despise you, William Bellenger,--despise you more than I can -tell." - -She ceased speaking, but her eyes never for a moment left the white -face, which had grown whiter as she proceeded, and which was now almost -livid with chagrin, disappointment and rage. - -"I have nothing to offer which can extenuate my sin toward Nellie," he -answered, at last, "though I did love her,--better than I love you,--but -for certain reasons, I preferred that you should be my wife. You refuse -me, and I know well to whom I am indebted for the good opinion you are -pleased to entertain of me; but I warn you now, fair lady, that my -precious cousin is no better than myself." - -"Hush!" interrupted Jessie. "You are not to speak of Walter in that way. -Shall I consider our interview at an end?" - -She spoke with dignity, and motioned him toward the door. - -"Jessie," he stammered, as he started to leave the room, "I'll admit -that I'm a wretch, but I trust that you will not think it necessary to -repeat this to everybody." - -"I have no desire to injure you," she answered, and walking to the -window she stood until she heard him leave the house; then her unwonted -calmness gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears, sometimes -wishing she had spoken more harshly to him, and again regretting that -she had been harsh at all. - -She might have spared herself this last feeling, for at that moment the -man she had discarded was pouring into the ear of Charlotte Reeves words -similar to those he had breathed to her not an hour before. And -Charlotte, knowing nothing of Nellie,--nothing of Jessie, save that the -latter had been a dreaded rival, said _yes_ to him, on condition that -her father's consent could be won. - -This last was an easy matter; for Mr. Reeves, who scarcely had an -identity save that connected with his business, answered that in this -thing Charlotte would do as she pleased, just as she did in everything -else, adding in a kind of absent way: - -"I always intended giving her fifty thousand the day she was married, -and after that my duty will be done." - -William could scarcely refrain from hugging his prospective -father-in-law, but he wisely withheld the hug for the daughter, who, -while he was closeted with the father, ran with the news to the -grandmother. - -The next morning, as Jessie sat at her work, she was surprised at a call -from Charlotte, who, seating herself upon the sofa began at once to -unfold the object of her visit. - -"She was engaged, and Jessie could not guess to whom if she guessed a -year." - -"William Bellenger," Jessie said at once, her lip curling with scorn, -and her cheek growing slightly pale. - -"You wicked creature," exclaimed Charlotte, jumping up and giving her a -squeeze. "What made you think of him? I always supposed he would marry -you, and used to be awful jealous. Yes, it's William. He came in last -night and as pa chanced to be home in his room, the whole thing was -arranged at once. I wanted so badly to wait till fall, and have a grand -affair, but William is in such a hurry, and says it will be so much -nicer to be a bride and belle, too, at Newport or Nahant, that I gave it -up, and we are to be married the 10th of July, and go right off. Won't -it be fun? I'm going to employ every dressmaker in the city, that is, -every fashionable one. Father gave me a thousand dollars this morning to -begin my shopping with," and the thoughtless light-hearted Charlotte -clapped her hands and danced around the room in childish delight. - -"Shall I tell her? Ought I to tell her?" Jessie thought, looking into -the bright face of the young girl. - -Then as she remembered how really good-natured William was, and that -after all he might make a kind husband, she resolved to throw no cloud -over the happiness of her friend, and congratulated her as cordially as -it was possible for her to do. But Charlotte detected the absence of -something in her manner, and imputing it to a feeling of chagrin at -having lost Mr. Bellenger, she soon brought her visit to a close, and -hastened home, telling her grandmother that she believed Jessie Graham -was terribly disappointed, for she was as white as a ghost, and could -scarcely keep from crying. - -Meantime William, in a most singular state of mind, tried to play the -part of a devoted lover to Charlotte,--avoided an interview with -Jessie,--received quite indifferently the congratulations of his -friends, and spent the remainder of his time in hating Walter, who, he -believed, stood between him and Jessie Graham, just as he was sure he -stood between him and his rich grandmother. - -"I'll torment him while I can," he thought. "I'll make him think for a -time, at least, that Jessie is lost," and sitting down he wrote the -carefully-worded letter which had sent Walter so suddenly from home. -"There," said he, as he read it over, "he can infer what he pleases. I -don't say it's Jessie I'm going to marry; but he can think so, if he -likes, and I don't envy him his cogitations." - -William could not have devised a way of wounding Walter more deeply than -the letter had wounded him, or of affecting Jessie more sensibly than -she was affected, when she heard that Walter had gone to California. - -"Not gone!" she cried, when her father brought to her the news. "Not -gone, without a word for me. Oh, father, it was cruel! Didn't he leave a -message for you?" - -"Yes, read it if you choose," and Mr. Graham passed to her the letter -which had greatly puzzled him. - -Was it possible he had been deceived? Was it Charlotte Reeves, and not -his daughter, whom Walter Marshall loved? It would seem so, and yet he -could not be so mistaken; Walter must have been misinformed as to the -bride. Jessie, perhaps, could explain; and he stood watching her face as -she read the letter. - -At first it turned very red, then spotted, and then, as the horrible -truth burst upon her, it became as white as marble, and stretching out -her arms she moaned: - -"Oh, father, I never thought that he loved Charlotte Reeves. I most wish -I were dead;" and with another cry, Jessie lay sobbing in her father's -arms. Very gently he tried to soothe her; and then, when she was better, -laid her upon the sofa, and kneeling beside her, kissed away the tears -which rolled down her cheeks so fast. - -She had betrayed her secret, or rather it had been betrayed to herself, -and winding her arms around her father's neck, she whispered: - -"I didn't know that before I,--that I,--oh, father,--I guess I do love -Walter better than I supposed; and I guess I thought that he loved me. -You won't tell anybody, will you?" and she laid her burning cheek -against his own. - -"Jessie," he said, "I have known for a long time that you loved Walter -Marshall. Once I believed that he loved you. I believe so still. There -is surely some mistake. I will inquire of William." - -Mr. Graham did not know why he should seek for an explanation from -William Bellenger, but he could think of nothing else, and after Jessie -was somewhat composed, he sought an interview with that young man, -asking him if he knew of any reason why his cousin should start so -suddenly for California, without a word from any one. - -"I should suppose he might have waited until after your marriage with -_Miss Reeves_?" and Mr. Graham fixed his eyes upon Will, who colored -slightly as he replied: - -"Oh, yes, I wrote to him about it, and invited him to be present." - -Mr. Graham was puzzled. If William wrote as he said, Walter could not -have been deceived, and he wended his way homeward, quite uncertain how -to act. At last, he decided that as he must write to Walter by the next -steamer, he would take particular pains to speak of Charlotte as having -been the bride, and this might, perhaps, bring Walter back sooner than -was expected. Still he would not tell this to Jessie, lest she should be -disappointed, and day after day her face grew less merry than of old, -until at last the kind-hearted Charlotte, who watched her narrowly, -threw her arms around her neck, and said to her, entreatingly: - -"What is it, Jessie? Did you love William, and does it make you so -unhappy to have him marry me?" - -"No, no," and Jessie recoiled from her in horror. "I never loved William -Bellenger,--never saw the day when I would have married him,--never, as -I live!" and she spoke so indignantly that Charlotte, a little piqued, -replied: - -"Don't scream so loud, if you didn't. I only asked you because I knew -something had ailed you ever since I was engaged. Others notice it too; -and, if I were you, I'd try to appear cheerful, even if I did not feel -it." - -Greatly as Jessie was annoyed, she resolved to act upon this advice, for -she would not have people think that she cared for William Bellenger. So -she roused herself from the state of listless indifference into which -she had fallen, and Charlotte Reeves no longer had reason to complain of -her dullness, or non-appreciation of the bridal finery, which was so -ostentatiously displayed, and which greatly annoyed Mrs. Bartow. - -This lady was secretly chagrined at what she considered Charlotte's good -luck, and at Mrs. Reeves' evident exultation, and she took great pains -to let the latter know that she did not care and on the whole was glad -William was going to do so well. Jessie would never have accepted him, -even if she had had a chance; and for the sake of dear Mrs. Bellenger -she was pleased to think the Reeves family was so respectable. Of course -she never did believe that ridiculous story about the tin-peddler, and -she couldn't see who had reported it. She had been asked about it, two -or three times, and had always told exactly how the story originated, -and said it was not true. - -This speech she made in substance several times to Mrs. Reeves, when -that lady was congratulating herself upon her granddaughter's brilliant -prospects, and insisting that "Jessie was a year the oldest; basing her -assertion upon the fact that she bought her camel's hair shawl so many -years ago, and Jessie was born that very day." - -"And I," retorted Mrs. Bartow, "remember that my daughter Graham's -silver tea-set was sent home the morning after Jessie was born, and that -has the date on it, so I can't be wrong. And another thing which makes -me sure, is that a raw country girl we had just hired insisted that it -was tin, saying her father was a peddler, and she guessed she knew." - -At the mention of tin of any kind, Mrs. Reeves always seemed uneasy; and -as Mrs. Bartow frequently took occasion to name the offensive article in -her hearing, she resolved at last to steal a day or so from the -excitement at home, and see if she too, could not find a weapon with -which to fight her friend. - -Accordingly, one morning, when Mrs. Bartow called to tell her that -"people said William Bellenger would drink and gamble too," she was -informed that the lady was out of town, and so she contented herself -with repeating the story to Charlotte, adding that she didn't believe it -herself and she wondered why people would talk so. - -Charlotte wondered too, and said that those who repeated such scandal -were quite as bad as the originators, a remark in which Mrs. Bartow -fully concurred, saying, "if there was anything she despised it was a -talebearer." - -The next day about one as she sat with Jessie in her little sewing-room, -Mrs. Reeves was announced, and after a few preliminary remarks, began: - -"By the way, my dear Mrs. Bartow, I have been to Springfield, and -remembering what you said about that woman in Deerwood, I thought I'd -run over there and see her just to convince her that she was mistaken in -thinking she ever knew me or my father." - -"Yes, yes. It's pretty warm in here, isn't it? Jessie, hadn't you better -go where it is cooler?" said Mrs. Bartow, and Jessie replied: - -"I am not uncomfortable, and I want to hear about Deerwood. Isn't it a -pleasant old town?" and she turned to Mrs. Reeves, who answered: - -"Charming! and those Marshalls are such kind, worthy people. But what an -odd specimen that Aunt Debby is; and what a wonderful memory she has, -though, of course, she remembers some things which never could have -been, for instance----" - -"Jessie, will you bring me my salts, or will you go away, it's so close -in here," came faintly from the distressed lady, who had dropped her -work, and was nervously unbuttoning the top of her dress. - -"Do you feel choked?" asked Mrs. Reeves, while Jessie answered: - -"I'll get your salts, grandma; but I don't wish to go out, unless Mrs. -Reeves has something to tell which I must not hear." - -"Certainly not," returned Mrs. Reeves. "It's false, I'm sure, just as -false as that ridiculous story about the tin peddler and factory girl. I -convinced Aunt Debby that she was wrong. It was some other Charlotte -Gregory she used to know." - -"Of course it was; I always said so," and a violent sneeze followed the -remark and a too strong inhalation of the salts. - -"As I was saying," persisted Mrs. Reeves, "Aunt Debby knows everybody -who has lived since the flood, and even pretended to have known you, -after I told her your name was Lummis, before you were adopted by Mrs. -Stanwood." - -"Oh, delightful," cried Jessie. "Do pray give us the entire family tree, -root and all. Was grandma's father a cobbler, or did he make the _tin -things_ yours used to _peddle_?" and the saucy black eyes looked archly -at both the ladies. - -"I don't know what her father was," said Mrs. Reeves, "but Aunt Debby -pretends that Martha Lummis,--Patty, she called her----" - -"That's the name in the old black book, grandma, that you said belonged -to a friend," interrupted Jessie, and while grandma groaned, Mrs. Reeves -continued: - -"Said that Patty did housework in Hopkinton, and I believe could milk -_seventeen_ cows to her one!" - -"Oh," said Jessie, "how I wish I could milk. It's such fun. I did try -once, but got the tiniest stream, and Walter said I'd dry the cows all -up. I wish you could hear _him_ when he first begins. It sounds like -hail stones rattling on the _tin pail_. Did yours sound so, grandma, and -did you buy the pail of Mr. Gregory?" - -Mrs. Reeves, by this time, began to think that Jessie might be making -fun of her, and smothering her wrath, she proceeded: - -"I shouldn't care anything about the housework or the milking, but I'll -confess I _was_ shocked, when she spoke of----" - -"I certainly am going to faint, Jessie, do go out," gasped the white -figure in the rocking chair, while Jessie rejoined: - -"I don't see how my going out can help you." Then crossing over to her -grandmother, she whispered, "Brave it out. _Don't_ let her see that you -care." - -Thus entreated Mrs. Bartow became somewhat composed, and her tormentor -went on: - -"This Patty Lummis, Aunt Debby said, was blood relation to _three -Thayers_, who were hung some years ago for murdering _John Love_, or -some such name. I remember hearing of it at the time, but did not -suppose I knew any of their relatives." - -"Horrid!" cried Jessie, and then, as she saw how white her grandmother -was, she added quickly: - -"And didn't she say too, that the Gregorys _ought_ to have been hung if -they weren't?" - -"Such impertinence," muttered Mrs. Reeves, while Jessie rejoined: - -"There are very few families, which, if traced to the fountain head, -have not a halter, or a peddler's cart, or a smell of tallow, or -shoemaker's wax----" - -"Or a woollen factory, Jessie. Don't forget that," suggested Mrs. -Bartow, and Jessie added, laughingly: - -"Yes, a woollen factory, and as you and grandma do not belong to the few -who are exempt from a stain of any kind, if honorable work can be called -a stain, I advise you to drop old scores, and let the past be -forgotten." - -"I'm sure I'm willing," sobbed Mrs. Bartow. "I never did tell that -ridiculous story to but one, and she promised not to breathe it as long -as she lived." - -"And will you take it back?" chimed in Mrs. Reeves. - -"Ye-es. I'll do everything I can toward it," answered the distracted old -lady. "I couldn't help those _Thayers_. I never saw them in my life, and -they were only second cousins." - -"_Fourth_ to you, then," and Mrs. Reeves nodded to Jessie, who replied: - -"I don't care if they were _first_. Everybody knows me, and my position -in society does not depend upon what my family have been before me, but -upon what I am myself. Isn't it so, father?" and she turned to Mr. -Graham, who had just entered the room. - -"I don't know the nature of your conversation," he replied, "but I -overheard your last remarks, and fully concur with you, that persons are -to be respected for themselves and not for their family; neither are -they to be despised for what their family or any member of it may do." - -There was a tremor in his voice, and looking at him closely, Jessie saw -that he was very pale, and evidently much agitated. - -"What is it, father?" she cried, forgetting the _three Thayers_ and -thinking only of Walter. "What has happened?" - -Mr. Graham did not reply to her, but turning to Mrs. Reeves, he said: - -"Excuse me, madam, but I think your duty calls you home, where poor -Charlotte needs your sympathy." - -"Why _poor_ Charlotte?" replied Jessie, grasping his arm. "Is William -sick or dead?" - -"He has been arrested for forgery. I may as well tell it first as last," -and the words dropped slowly from Mr. Graham's lips. - -"_Forgery!_ William arrested! It's false!" shrieked Mrs. Reeves, and the -salts which Mrs. Bartow had used so vigorously a little time before -changed hands, while Jessie passed her arm around the lady to keep her -from falling to the floor. "It's false. He never forged. Why should he? -Isn't he rich, and a Bellenger?" she kept repeating, until at last Mr. -Graham answered: - -"It is too true, my dear madam, that for some time past Mr. Bellenger -has been engaged in a systematic course of forging, managing always to -escape detection, until now, it has been clearly proved against him, and -he is in the hands of the law." - -There was no reason why Mrs. Reeves, at this point, should think of -Walter, but she did, and fancying that her auditors might possibly be -drawing comparisons between the two cousins she said: - -"It's the _Marshall_ blood with which he is tainted." - -"Marshall blood!" repeated Jessie, indignantly. "I'd like to know by -what chemical process you have mingled the Marshall blood with William -Bellenger's." - -Mrs. Reeves could not explain. She only knew that she was completely -overwhelmed with surprise and mortification, and she seemed so -bewildered and helpless that Mr. Graham ordered his carriage, and sent -her to No.--, whither the sad news had preceded her, and where Charlotte -lay fainting and moaning in the midst of her bridal finery, which would -never be worn. She had noticed William's absence from the house for the -last twenty-four hours, and was wondering at it, when her father, roused -by the shock from his usual state of quiet passiveness, rushed in, -telling her in thunder tones that her affianced husband had been guilty -of forging Graham & Marshall's name, not once, not twice, but many -times, until at last he was detected and under arrest. - -"He'll go to State prison, girl--do you hear? To State prison! Why don't -you speak, and not sit staring at me with that milky face?" - -Poor Charlotte could not speak, but she fainted and fell at the feet of -her father, who became himself at once, and bending kindly over her -brought her back to life. It was not that Charlotte loved William so -very much. It was rather her pride which was wounded, and she moaned and -wept until her grandmother came, and with her lamentations and -reproaches, so wholly out-did all Charlotte had done, that the latter -grew suddenly calm, and without a word or a tear, sat motionless, while -the old lady raved on, one moment talking as if they were all going to -prison together, and the next giving Charlotte most uncomfortable -squeezes to think she was not the wife of a forger after all. - - ---- - -The _three Thayers_ were for the time forgotten, and when at Charlotte's -request Jessie came to see her, accompanied by her grandmother, Mrs. -Reeves kissed the latter affectionately, whispering in her ear: - -"We'll not mind the past, for the present has enough of trouble and -disgrace." - -Great was the excitement among William's friends, the majority of whom -turned against him, saying "they expected it and knew all the time that -something was wrong." - -Mr. Graham stood by and pitied the cowed and wretched young man, and -pitied him all the more that his father kept aloof, saying: - -"He's made his bed and he may lie in it." - -At the first intimation of the sad affair, Mrs. Bellenger hastened home, -but neither her money nor her influence, and both were freely used, -could disprove the guilt of the young man, who awaited his trial in a -state of mind bordering on despair. - -Only once did he speak of Charlotte, and that on the day which was to -have seen her his bride. Then, with Mr. Graham, he talked of her freely, -asking what effect it had on her, and appearing greatly agitated when -told that she was very ill, and would see none of her friends but -Jessie. - -"God bless her,--Jessie, I mean," he said, "and bless poor Lottie, too. -I am sorry I brought this trouble upon her. I thought to pay the notes -with her money, and I resolved after that to be a better man. I am glad -Nellie did not live to see this day. Do you think that up in Heaven she -knows what I have done and prays for me still?" - -Then, as talking of Nellie naturally brought Walter to his mind, he -confessed to Mr. Graham how his letter had sent his cousin away. - -"I thought once to win Jessie for myself," he said, "and so I broke poor -Nellie's heart. I purposely withheld the note the deacon sent to Jessie, -bidding her come ere Nellie died. And this I did, because I feared what -the result might be of Jessie's going there. But my sin has found me -out, and I shall never cross Walter's path again; it's Jessie he loves; -tell her so, and bring the light back to her eyes, which were heavy with -tears when I saw her last." - -Mr. Graham did tell her, and when next she went to the chamber where -Charlotte lay sick of a slow fever, there was an increased bloom upon -her cheek and a brighter flash in her dark eye, while from her own great -happiness she strove to draw some comfort for her friend, who would -suffer no other one of her acquaintance to approach her. - -Jessie alone could comfort her, Jessie alone knew what to say, and the -right time to say it, and when at last the trial came, and the verdict -of "guilty" was pronounced, it was Jessie who broke the news as gently -as possible to the pale invalid. - -Locked in each others' arms they wept together; the one, tears of pity; -the other, tears of regret and mortification over the misguided man -whose home for the next five years would be a dreary prison. - -There was no going to Saratoga that summer, no trip to Newport; and when -the gay world congregated there asked for the sprightly girl who had -been with them the season before, and for the old lady who carried her -head so proudly and sported such superb diamonds, the answer was a -mysterious whisper of some dire misfortune or disgrace which had -befallen them, and then the dance and the song in which Charlotte had -ever been the first to join, went on the same as before. - -Gradually as Charlotte recovered her strength and her spirits, she began -to wish for some quiet spot where no one knew her, and remembering dear -old Deerwood, now a thousand times more dear since she knew of Walter's -love, Jessie told her of its shadowy woods, its pleasant walks, its -musical pines with the rustic seat beneath, and Charlotte, pleased with -her rural picture, bade her write and ask if she could come. - -So Jessie wrote, and in less than one week's time two girls walked again -upon the mountain side, or paused by the little grave where Nellie was -buried. Upon the bank close to the mound a single rose was growing,--the -last of the sisterhood. It had been late in unfolding its delicate -leaves, and when at last, it was full blown, Jessie picked it, and -pressing it carefully, sent it with the message, "it grew near Nellie's -grave," to the weary man whose life was now one of toil and loneliness. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV.--THE STRANGER NURSE. - - -The regular boarders at the ---- Hotel were discussing their dinner with -all the haste and greediness which characterizes their Eastern brethren. -The first and second courses had been removed, and the merits of the -dessert were about to be tested when for a moment the operation ceased, -while the operators welcomed back to their midst a middle-aged man, who -for a few weeks had been absent from the city. - -That Captain Murdock was a general favorite, could readily be seen by -the heartiness of his greeting from his friends, and that he was worthy -of esteem, none knew better than the hundreds of poor and destitute who -had often been relieved and comforted by his well-filled purse, and -words of genuine sympathy. Possessed of unbounded wealth, he scattered -it about him with no miserly hand, and many a child of poverty blessed -him for the great good done to him. - -"Well, captain," said one of the boarders, "glad to see you back. We've -been mighty lonesome without you. Found your room occupied, didn't you?" - -"Yes," returned the man addressed as captain, "the landlord tells me he -took the liberty to put the young man in there because the house was so -full. Of course, he couldn't know that he would be too sick to vacate -the premises in the morning; but it's all right. I, who have slept so -often on the ground, don't mind camping on the floor now and then." - -Here a dozen voices interposed offering him a part or the whole of their -rooms, but the good-natured captain declined them all, saying "he should -do very well, and perhaps the young man would not be sick long. Did they -know where he came from? Was he a stranger or a resident in California?" - -A stranger, they replied, adding that he came from New York about two -weeks before, and had almost immediately been taken sick, and that was -all they knew about him. - -Dinner being over, Captain Murdock went up to his room, not to see the -sick man particularly, but because he wished to remove to another -apartment a few articles which he would probably need. - -Walter, for it was he, was sleeping, while near him, in an arm-chair, -dozed the old crone who had been hired to nurse him. One glance at the -former convinced the captain that he was poorly cared for and must -necessarily be very uncomfortable. Still he might not have interfered, -had not the sick man moaned uneasily in his sleep, and turning on his -side, murmured the name of _father_. - -Never had Captain Murdock been thus addressed,--no infant arms had ever -twined themselves around his neck,--no sweet voice called him -_father_,--and yet this one word thrilled him with an undefinable -emotion, awakening at once within his bosom feelings of tender pity for -the sick man, who seemed so young and helpless. - -"Poor boy," he whispered, "he is dreaming of his home away in the East, -and of the loved ones who little know how much he needs their care," and -advancing toward the bedside, he adjusted the tumbled pillows, smoothed -the soiled spread, pushed back the tangled hair from the burning -forehead, and was turning away when Walter awoke, and fixing his bright -eyes upon him, said faintly, "Don't go." - -Thus entreated the captain sat down beside him, while the old nurse -roused up, exclaiming: - -"Sakes alive, captain! is that you? Ain't you feared the fever's -catching? He's got it mightily in his head, and keeps a goin' on about -Jessy, his brother, I guess, or some chap he know'd at home." - -At the mention of Jessie, Walter turned his eyes again upon the captain, -and said. - -"Jessie's married. Did you know it?" - -"Yes, I know it," answered the captain, thinking it best to humor the -whim. "Whom did she marry?" - -"William," was the reply, "and I loved her so much." - -At this point the nurse arose, saying: - -"Bein' you're here, I'll go out a bit," and she left the room. - -Walter looked uneasily after her, and when she was gone, said: - -"Lock the door, and keep her out. Don't let her come back. She's one of -Macbeth's witches, and makes one think of Jessie's grandmother, who -won't let me talk of love to Jessie, until I am--well, no matter what. -Do you know my father?" - -"No," and the captain shook his head mournfully, while Walter continued: - -"Are you anybody's father?" - -"I don't know," and the voice was sadder than when it spoke before. - -"I'm looking for my father," Walter said, "just as Telemachus looked for -his. Do you know Ulysses?" - -The captain had heard of Ulysses, and the mention of him carried him -back to an old stone house on the hill, where he had read the wonderful -adventures of the hero. - -"Well," Walter continued, "I am hunting for my father, and Jessie cried -up in the pines when I told her about him, and how her father testified -against him. Do you know Mr. Graham?" - -"Who?" screamed the captain, bounding to his feet, and bending so near -to Walter that his hot breath stirred the thick brown hair. "Do I know -whom?" - -But Walter refused to answer, or even to speak; the captain's manner had -startled him, or it may be there was something in the keen eye fixed so -earnestly upon him, which held him speechless. - -For a moment the two gazed fixedly at each other,--the old man and the -young,--the latter with a bright, vacant stare, while the other sought -for some token to tell him that it was not without a reason his heart -beat so fast with a hope of he scarcely knew what. - -"I will inquire below," he said at last, as he failed to elicit any -information from Walter, and going to the office, he turned the leaves -of the register back to the day when he had left three weeks before. - -Then with untiring patience he read on and on, read Jones and Smith, and -Smith and Brown, some with wives and some without, some with daughters, -some with sisters, and some alone, but none as yet were sent to No. 40. -So he read on again and then at last he found the name he -sought,--_Walter Marshall_. - -"Thank God! thank God!" he uttered faintly, and those who heard only the -last word thought to themselves: - -"I never knew the captain _swore_ before." - -With great effort he compelled himself to be calm, and when at last he -spoke none detected in his voice a trace of the shock that name had -given him, bringing back at once the gable-roofed farm-house far away, -the maple tree where his name was cut, the brown-haired wife, the stormy -night when the wind rushed sobbing past the window where he stood and -looked his last on her, the mother long since dead, and the father who -believed him guilty. - -All this passed in rapid review before his mind, and then his thoughts -came back to the present time, and centered themselves upon the -restless, tossing form which, up in No. 40, had said to him: - -"Do you know my father?" - -"What is it, captain?" the landlord asked. "Your face is white as -paper." - -"I am thinking," and the captain spoke naturally, "I am thinking that I -will take care of that young man. I find I know his people, or used to -know them, rather. Dismiss that imbecile old woman," and having said so -much he left the room and fled up the stairs seeing nothing but that -name as it looked upon the page,--_Walter Marshall_. - -He repeated it again and again, and in the tone with which he did so -there was a peculiar tenderness, such as mothers are only supposed to -feel toward their children. - -"Walter Marshall,--my boy,--Ellen's and mine," and over the boy, which -was Ellen's and his, the man, old before his time, bent down and wept -great teardrops, which fell upon the white handsome face, which grew -each moment more and more like the young girl wife, whose grave the -broken-hearted husband had never looked upon. - -"Why do you cry?" asked Walter, and the captain replied: - -"I had a son once like you, and it makes me cry to see you here so sick. -I am going to take care of you, too, and send that woman off." - -"Oh! will you?" was Walter's joyful cry, "and will you stay until I find -my father?" - -"Yes, yes, I will stay with you always," and again Seth Marshall's lips -touched those of his son. - -"Isn't it funny for men to kiss men?" Walter asked, passing his hand -over the spot. "I thought they only kissed women, girls like Jessie, and -I don't kiss her now. I haven't since she was a little thing and gave me -one of her curls. It's in my trunk, with a lock of mother's hair. Did -you know _mother_, man?" - -"Yes, yes, oh, Heaven, yes," and the man thus questioned fell upon his -knees, and hiding his face in the bed-clothes, sobbed aloud. - -His grief distressed Walter, who, without understanding it clearly, felt -that he was himself in some way connected with it, and laying his hand -upon the gray hair within his reach, he smoothed it caressingly, saying: - -"Don't cry. It won't do any good. I used to cry when I was a boy and -thought of poor, dear father." - -"Say it again. Say, 'poor, dear father,' once more," and the white, -haggard face lifted itself slowly up and crept on until it lay beside -the feverish one upon the pillow. - -Thus it was the father met his son, and all through the afternoon he sat -by him, soothing him to sleep, and then bending fondly over him to watch -him while he slept. - -"He is some like Ellen," he whispered, "but more like me, as I was in my -early manhood, and yet, as he lies sleeping, there is a look about him -that I have often seen on Ellen's face when she was asleep. Darling -wife, we little thought when we talked together of our child, that the -first time I beheld him would be beneath the California skies, and he a -bearded man." - -Then, as he remembered what Walter had said of the hair, he opened the -lid of the trunk, and hunted until he found Jessie's raven curl, and the -longer, browner tress. He knew in a moment that it was Ellen's -hair,--and kissing it reverently he twined it about his fingers just as -he used to when the soft eyes it shaded looked lovingly into his. - -"Walter's is like it," he said, stealing to the bedside, and laying it -among the brown locks of his son. "Bless my boy,--bless my boy!" and -going back again, he placed the lock of hair beside this jet black -ringlet wondering who Jessie was, and why she had married another. - -It was growing dark when Walter awoke, but between himself and the -window he saw the outline of his friend, and knowing he was not alone, -fell away again to sleep, resting better that night than he had done -before since the commencement of his illness. - -For many days Captain Murdock watched by him, and when at last the -danger was passed, and Walter restored to consciousness, he was the -first to know it, and bending over him he breathed a prayer of -thanksgiving for the restoration of his son. - -"Who are you?" Walter asked after objects and events had assumed a -rational form. "Who are you, and why have you been so kind to me, as I -am sure you have?" - -"I am called Captain Murdock," was the answer "This is my room; the one -I have occupied for a long, long time. I left the city some weeks ago on -business and during my absence you came. As the house was full the -landlord put you in here for one night, but in the morning you were too -ill to be moved. You have been very sick, and as your nurse was none of -the best, I dismissed her and took care of you myself, because if I had -a son in a strange land I should want some one to care for him, and I -only did what your father would wish me to do. You have a father, young -man?" - -The question was put affirmatively, and without looking at the eyes -fixed so intently upon him, Walter colored crimson as he replied: - -"I hope I have, though I don't know. I never saw him except in dreams." - -Captain Murdock turned toward the window for a moment, and then in a -calm voice continued: - -"I will not seek your confidence. You said some strange things in your -delirium, but they are safe with me,--as safe as if I were the father -you never saw. This came for you some days ago," and he held up Mr. -Graham's letter, the sight of which had wrung a cry of pain from his own -lips, for he knew whose hand had traced the name that letter bore. - -"And has anybody written to the people at home?" Walter asked, and -Captain Murdock replied: - -"Yes, the landlord sent a few lines, saying that you were ill, but well -cared for. He directed to 'Walter Marshall's Friends, Deerwood, Mass.,' -for by looking over your papers, we found your family lived there. A -grandfather, perhaps, if you have no father?" and Seth Marshall waited -anxiously for the answer which would tell him if his aged sire were yet -numbered among the living. - -In his ravings Walter had never spoken of him, and the heart, not less a -child's because its owner was a man, grew faint with fear lest his -father should be dead. Walter's reply, however, dissipated all his -doubt. - -"Yes, my grandfather lives there, but this is not from him," and -breaking open the envelope, Walter read what Mr. Graham had written, -heeding little what was said of business, scarcely knowing, indeed, that -business was mentioned at all, in his great joy at finding that -Charlotte and not Jessie was William's chosen bride. - -"He deceived me purposely," he thought, and then, as he realized more -and more that Jessie was not married, he said aloud, "I am so glad, so -glad." - -"You must have good news," the captain suggested, and Walter answered: - -"Yes, blessed news," then as there came over him a strong desire to talk -of the good news with some one, he continued: - -"Tell me, Captain Murdock, have I talked of Jessie Graham?" - -The captain started, for he had not thought of Jessie as the daughter of -Richard Graham. - -"Yes," he answered, "you said that she was married." - -"But she isn't," interrupted Walter. "It was a lie imposed upon me by -that false-hearted William Bellenger." - -"You spoke of him, too," said the captain, "and I fancied he might be -your cousin. You see I am tolerably well posted in your affairs," and -the pleasant smile which accompanied these words, disarmed Walter at -once from all fear that his secrets would be betrayed. - -"What else did you learn?" he asked, and the captain replied: - -"There is some trouble about your father. He robbed a bank, didn't he?" -and there was a strange look in the keen eyes which did not now rest on -Walter's face, but sought the floor as if doubtful of the answer. - -"Never, never!" Walter exclaimed, with an energy which brought the blood -to his pale cheek, and tears to the eyes riveted upon the carpet. "He -never did that." - -"He has been proved innocent, then?" and in the voice which asked the -question there was a trembling eagerness. - -"Not proved so to the world, but I need no proof," returned Walter. "I -never for a moment thought him guilty." - -Then after a pause, he added. "I have, I see, unwittingly divulged much -of my family history, and lest you should have received a wrong -impression, I may as well confess the whole to you, but not now, I am -too much excited, too tired to talk longer." - -He was indeed exhausted, and for several hours he lay quite still, -saying but little and thinking happy thoughts of home and _Jessie_, who -Mr. Graham wrote, "mourned sadly over his absence." - -Suddenly remembering the message he had left, and which would seem to -say he loved Charlotte Reeves, he bade the captain bring to him pen and -paper, and with a shaking hand he wrote to Mr. Graham: - -"I am getting better fast, thanks to Captain Murdock, who, though a -stranger, has been the best of friends, and kindest nurse. Forgive me, -Mr. Graham. I thought the bride was Jessie. Don't hate me, I could not -help it, and I had learned to love her before I heard from Mrs. Bartow -that you would be displeased. I will overcome it if I can, for I -promised the grandmother I would not talk of love to Jessie, until my -father was proved innocent." - -This was all he had strength to write, and when the letter was finished, -he relapsed into a thoughtful, half dreamy state, from which he did not -rouse for a day or two. Then, with strength renewed, he called the -captain to him, and bidding him sit down beside him, told him the whole -story of his life, even to his love for Jessie Graham,--which he must -not tell until his father were proved innocent. - -There was a smothered groan in the direction where Mr. Marshall sat, and -inwardly the unfortunate man prayed: - -"How long, dear Lord, oh, how long must thy servant wait?" - -"Mr. Graham may release you from that promise," he said, "and then you -surely would not hesitate." - -"Perhaps not," Walter answered, for in spite of what Mrs. Bartow had -said, he, too, entertained a secret hope that Mr. Graham would in some -way interfere for him. - -"What would be the result if your father should return to Deerwood?" -Captain Murdock asked. "Would they proceed against him?" - -"Oh, no! oh, no;" said Walter. "It was so long ago, and everybody who -knew him speaks well of him now. I have often wished he would come home, -and when I was a little boy, I used to watch by the window till it grew -dark, and then cry myself to sleep. Did I tell you his arm-chair stands -in the kitchen corner now just where he left it that night he went away! -It was a fancy of grandpa's that no one should ever sit in it again, and -no one has, but Jessie. She would make a playhouse of it, in spite of -all we could say. I wish you could see Jessie and grandfather and all." - -The captain wished so, too, and in his dreams that night, he was back -again by the old hearth stone, sitting in the chair kept for him so -long, and listening to his father's voice blessing his long-lost son. - -All this might be again, he said, when he awoke but his young wife, -whose face he saw, just as it looked on her bridal day, would not be -there to meet him, and the strong man wept again as he had not done in -many years, over the blight which had fallen so heavily upon him. - -Rapidly the days and weeks went by, and then there came letters both -from Mr. Graham and Mrs. Bellenger, telling how the wedding song had -been changed into a wail of sorrow, and that the elegant William -Bellenger was branded as a villain. Mr. Graham, too, spoke of Jessie, -saying toward the close: - -"You told me no news, dear Walter, when you said you loved my daughter. -I knew it long ago and I have watched you narrowly, to see if you were -worthy of her. That I think you are, I prove to you by saying, that to -no young man of my acquaintance, would I entrust her happiness so -willingly as to you, and had you talked to me freely upon the subject, -you would not, perhaps, have been in California now. Your remark -concerning Mrs. Bartow reminded me of what she once told me, and when I -questioned her again upon the subject, demanding to know the truth, she -confessed the falsehood she imposed on you, by saying I did not wish you -to marry Jessie. I can find nothing to excuse her save her foolish -pride, which will probably never be subdued. Still she is your stanch -friend now, just as she is poor William's bitter enemy. You have said -you would not talk of love to Jessie until your father was proved -innocent. This, my dear Walter, may never be, even if he is living, -which is very doubtful. So why should you hesitate. You have my free -consent to say to her whatever you think best to say. She is in -Deerwood, now, with poor Lottie, who is sadly mortified at what she -considers her disgrace. I am doing what I can for William, so is his -grandmother; but his father refuses to see him or even hear his name -spoken. Unfortunate Will, he seems penitent, and has acknowledged -everything to me, even the wicked part he acted toward you, by deceiving -you. I thank Heaven every day that Jessie's choice fell on you, and not -on him." - -This letter made Walter supremely happy, and to Captain Murdock, in whom -he now confided everything, he told how, immediately on his return to -New York, he should ask the young lady to be his wife. - -"And would you like your father to come back even though his guilt could -not be disproved?" the captain asked, and Walter answered: - -"Yes, oh, yes; but I'm afraid he never will. Poor father, if I could -once look upon his face." - -"You shall--you do!" sprang to the lips of Captain Murdock, but he -forced the wild words back, and going away alone, he prayed, as he often -did, that the load he had borne so long might be lifted from his heart, -and that the sun of domestic peace, which had early set in gloom, might -shine upon his later life. - - - - -CHAPTER XV.--GLORIOUS NEWS. - - -There was a package for Walter, who had now been some months in -California,--a package of letters and papers both,--and with a beating -heart he sat down to read, taking Mr. Graham's letter first, for that -might have a message from Jessie. - -It was glorious news which the letter contained, and it wrung a cry of -delight from Walter, which was heard by the captain, who turned to see -what it was that thus affected his companion. - -"Listen, Captain Murdock," Walter exclaimed, "listen to this. _My father -is proved innocent. Heyward was the robber,--he came back and confessed -it the night before he died_, and----" - -He did not finish the sentence, for, like a wild beast startled from its -lair by a sudden fright, Captain Murdock bounded to his side, and, -snatching the letter from him, devoured its contents at a glance then -striking his hands together, he fairly screamed: - -"Thank God! the year of jubilee has come,--the day I've waited for so -long!" - -Earnestly and half fearfully Walter gazed up into the marble face, and -into the eyes that burned like coals of fire, seeing in them now, for -the first time, a look like his grandfather. Then a suspicion of truth -burst upon him, and springing up he caught the gray-haired captain by -the arm, demanding faintly: - -"Who are you? Tell me, or I shall die." - -"I am your father, boy," and, opening his arms, the father received to -his embrace his fainting son. - -The news and the surprise combined were too much for Walter, and for -some little time he lay upon the bed, whither his father had borne him, -unconscious of the caresses, the words of love, the whispered blessings -showered on him by one who felt now that he trod a different earth, and -breathed a different air from what he had done for twenty-four long -years. - -"_Father_,"--how like music that word sounded in his ear when Walter -said it at last, and how it wrung tears from eyes which, until recently, -were unused to weep. - -"Say it again, my son. Call me father often. 'Tis the name I've thirsted -for, but never expected to hear," and the strong man, weak now as a -woman, kissed lovingly the face of the handsome boy. - -"Read it aloud," Walter said, pointing to the crumpled letter lying on -the floor. - -Mr. Marshall complied, and read in tremulous tones how Ralph Heyward, -after an absence of eighteen years, had again asked shelter at the -farm-house, saying he was tired and sick. His request was granted, and -when the morning came he was too ill to leave his bed, but lay there for -many days, kindly cared for by the deacon, to whom he made a full -confession of his guilt, saying that _he_, and not Seth Marshall, robbed -the Deerwood Bank; that it was what he intended to do when he came there -that night, feigning drunkenness the better to cover his design. - -He knew that Seth kept the keys in his pocket, and when sure that the -household were asleep, he arose, and putting on his victim's coat, cap -and shoes, left the house stealthily, committed the theft, hid the -money, and then as cautiously returned to his room, and was settling -himself a second time into an apparently drunken sleep, when he heard -some one up, looking, as he supposed, for the cause of the disturbance -he had made in accidentally upsetting a chair as he left Seth Marshall's -room. Then he was still again until the morning came, and the arrest was -made. - -At the examination, when he saw the terrible anguish of the young wife, -he was half tempted to confess, but dared not, for fear of what might -follow; so he kept his own counsel, and for a few years remained in the -vicinity of Deerwood, hoping to hear something of the man he had so -wronged, and then he went away to the West, wandering up and down with -that burden of guilt upon his soul, until at last, knowing that he must -die, he returned to Deerwood, and seeking out the farm-house, asked -permission to lay his head again beneath its hospitable roof. This done, -he acknowledged to the father how he had sinned against the son, and -after making an affidavit of his guilt, died a penitent and, it was to -be hoped, a better man. - -"And now," wrote Mr. Graham in conclusion, "I wish I could convey to you -some little idea of the present excitement in Deerwood. Everybody is -talking of the disclosure, and of your father, who, were he here, would -be a greater lion even than Lafayette in his day. And I wish that he -were here. Poor Seth! God forgive me that I testified against him. I -verily believed him guilty up to the hour when Heyward proved him -innocent. Oh, if he only could come back to me again, and to the home -where your aged grandfather prays continually that his sun may not go -down until he has seen once more the face of his boy. Poor old man, it -is a touching sight to see his lips move continually, and hear the words -he whispers: 'God send him back, God send him back.' You know Aunt Debby -always said, 'Seth allus was a good boy;' she repeats it now with -ten-fold earnestness, as if it were a fact in which everybody concurred. -It may be that your father is dead, and if so he cannot return; but if -still living, I am sure we shall see him again, for I shall take means -to have the story inserted in the papers far and near, so that it will -be sure to meet his eye. - -"Meanwhile, Walter, come home as soon as you are able to bear the -journey. We want you here to share in our great joy. Leave the business, -if it is not arranged, and come. We are waiting anxiously for you, and -none more anxiously than Jessie. She has been wild with delight ever -since I told her your father was innocent. Mrs. Bellenger, too, shares -the general joy, and were yourself and your father here our happiness -would be complete." - -"We will go, too," cried Walter, "you as Captain Murdock at first, to -see if they will know you. Oh, I wish it were now that we were there," -and Walter's dark eyes danced as he anticipated the meeting between the -deacon and his son. - -"Yes, we will go," Mr. Marshall answered, and then, after looking over -the papers which Mr. Graham had sent, and which contained Heyward's -confession, he sat down by Walter and told of his wanderings since that -dreadful night when he left his home, branded as a thief and robber. -"But first," said he, "let me tell you how I chanced to run away. I -should never have done it but for Mr. Graham, who begged and entreated -me to go." - -"Mr. Graham!" exclaimed Walter. "Why, he, I thought, was your bail." - -"So he was," returned the father, "but he wished me to come away for all -that. He would rather lose all his fortune, he said, than know I was in -prison, and sent there on his testimony. So he urged me to leave, -contriving a way for me to do so, and even carrying me himself, that -stormy night, many miles from Deerwood. I dreaded the State prison. I -believe I would rather have been hung, and I yielded to his -importunities on one condition only. I knew his father would be very -indignant, and that people would censure him severely, too, if it were -known he was in my secret, and, as I would not have him blamed, I made -him promise to me solemnly that he would never tell that he first -suggested my going and then helped me away. He has kept his promise, and -it is well. I have ample means, now, for paying him all I owe, and many -a time I have thought to send it to him, but I have been dead to all my -friends so long that I decided to remain so. I wrote to him from Texas, -asking for you all, and learning from him of Ellen's death, and of your -birth. You were a feeble child, he said, and probably would not live. I -had never seen you, my son, and when I heard that my darling was -gone,--my mother, too,--and that my father and best friend still -believed me guilty, I felt a growing coldness toward you all. I would -never write home again, I said. I would forget that I ever had a home, -and for a time I kept this resolution, plunging into vices of every -kind,--swearing, gambling, drinking----" - -"Oh father,--father!" said Walter, with a shudder. "You do not tell me -true." - -"It's all true, my boy, and more," returned the father, "but I was -overtaken at last, by a terrible sickness, the result of dissipation in -New Orleans. A sister of charity saved my life, and opened my heart to -better things. Her face was like Ellen's, and it carried me back to -other days, until I wept like a little child over my past folly. From -that sick bed, I arose a different man, and then for years I watched the -Northern papers to see if they contained anything like what we have just -read. But they did not, and I said I cannot go home yet. I sometimes saw -Mr. Graham's name, and knew that he was living, but whether you were -dead or alive I could not even guess. Here, in California, where I have -been for the last ten years, I have never met a single person from the -vicinity of Deerwood. At first I worked among the mines, amassing money -so fast as even to astonish myself. At length, weary of the labor, I -left the mines and came to the city, where I am known as Captain -Murdock, the title having been first given to me in sport by some of my -mining friends. Latterly I have thought of going home, for it is so long -since the robbery, that I had no fears of being arrested, and I was -about making up my mind to do so, when chance threw you in my way, and -it now remains for you to say when we both shall start." - -"At once,--at once," said Walter, who had listened intently to the -story, giving vent to an occasional exclamation of surprise. "We will go -in the very next steamer. I shall not have a chance to write, but it -will be just as well. I wish to see if grandpa or Mr. Graham will -recognize you." - -Mr. Marshall had no objections to testing the recollections of his -father, and he readily consented to go, saying to his friends that as -New England was his birthplace he intended accompanying his young friend -home. - -"I can write the truth back to them," he thought, "and save myself much -annoyance." - -Thus it was arranged, and the next steamer for New York which left the -harbor of San Francisco, bore on its deck the father and his son, both -eager and expectant and anxious to be at the end of the voyage. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI.--THANKSGIVING DAY AT DEERWOOD. - - -The dinner table was nicely arranged in the "best room" of the -farm-house, and Jessie Graham, with a happy look on her bright face, -flitted in and out, arranging the dishes a little more to her taste, -smoothing the snowy cloth, pausing a moment before the fire blazing so -cheerfully upon the hearth, and then glancing from the window, across -the frozen fields to the hillside where a new grave had been made since -the last Thanksgiving Day. - -"Dear Ellen!" she sighed, "there is no plate for her now,--no chair." -Then, as she remembered an absent one, dearer far than Ellen, she -thought, "I'll make believe _he's_ here," and seeking Mrs. Howland, who -was busy with her turkey, she said: "May I put a plate for Walter? It -will please him when he hears of it." - -"Yes, child," was the ready answer, and Jessie was hastening off, when a -feeble voice from the kitchen corner where the deacon sat, called her -back: - -"Jessie," the old man said. "Put Seth's arm-chair next to mine. It is -the last Thanksgiving I shall ever see, and I would fancy him with me -once more," and as Jessie turned toward the place where the leathern -chair stood, she heard the words: - -"God send him back,--God send him back." - -"It is the deacon's wish," she whispered to her father, who, with Mrs. -Bellenger, was also spending Thanksgiving at the farm-house, and who -looked up surprised, as Jessie dragged from its accustomed post, the -ponderous arm-chair, and wheeling it into the other room, placed it to -the deacon's right. - -The dinner was ready at last, and Mrs. Howland was only waiting for the -oysters to boil, before she served them up, when Jessie gave a scream of -joy, and dropping the dish of cranberries she held, ran off into the -pantry, where, as Aunt Debby affirmed, she hid herself in the closet, -though from what she was hiding it were difficult to tell. There was -surely nothing appalling in the sight of _Walter_, who, alighting from -the village omnibus, now stood upon the threshold, with Captain Murdock. - -They had stayed all night in the city, where Walter had learned that Mr. -Graham, Jessie and his grandmother, had gone to Deerwood to spend -Thanksgiving Day. - -"We shall be there just in time," he said to his father, when at an -early hour they took their seat in the cars; but his father paid little -heed, so intent was he upon noting the changes which more than twenty -years had wrought in the localities with which he was once familiar. - -As the day wore on, and he drew near to Deerwood, he leaned back in his -seat, faint and sick with the crowd of memories which came rushing over -him. - -"Deerwood!" shouted the conductor, and looking from the window, he could -scarcely believe it possible that this flourishing village was the same -he had known among the hills. When he went away _one_ spire alone -pointed heavenward, now he counted _four_, while in the faces of some -who greeted Walter again he saw the looks of those who had been boys -with him, but who were fathers now to these grown-up young men. - -"I am old," he sighed, and mechanically entering the omnibus, he folded -his arms in moody silence, as they rattled down the street. But when the -brow of the hill was reached, and Walter said: "See, father, there's our -orchard," he started, and looked, not at the orchard, nor at the gable -roof now fully in view, nor at the maple tree, but down the lane, along -the beaten path, to where a tall monument gleamed white and cold in the -gray November light. - -"That's her's,--that's mother's," Walter said, following the direction -of his father's eyes; then fearing that his father, by his emotions, -should betray himself too soon, he arose and sat by him, taking his -hand, and saying tenderly: - -"Don't give way. You have me left, and grandpa, and Aunt Mary, and -Jessie,--won't you try to be calm?" - -"Yes, yes," whispered the agitated man, and with a tremendous effort he -was calm, as, standing in the well-remembered kitchen, he waited till -the noisy outburst had somewhat subsided, and Walter been welcomed home. - -But not a single thing escaped the notice of his keen eyes, which -wandered round the room taking in each familiar object, and noticing -where there had been a change. - -There was none in Aunt Debby, he said,--wrinkled, gray, slight and -straight as her high-backed chair,--just as he remembered her years -ago,--just so she was now--her kerchief crossed as she wore it -then,--her spectacles on her forehead,--her apron long, and meeting -almost behind, and on the chair-post her satin bag with the knitting -visible therefrom. She was the same, but the comely matron Walter called -Aunt Mary, was she the blooming maiden he had left so long ago, and the -elegant-looking stranger, with the unmistakable city polish, was that -his early friend? It took him but an instant to think all this, and then -his eyes fell upon the old man by the fire,--the man with the furrowed -cheek, the bowed form, the silvery hair and shaking limbs,--who, like -some giant oak which has yielded to the storms of many a winter, sat -there the battered wreck of a once noble man. That was his father, but -he would not call him so just then, and when Walter, turning at last, -said: "This is Captain Murdock, the kind friend who took care of me," he -went forward, taking first Aunt Debby's hand, then his sister Mary's, -then Mr. Graham's, and now there was a slight faltering of manner, while -his eyes sought the floor, for they could not meet the gaze fixed so -curiously upon him. - -"Grandpa, this is Captain Murdock," said Walter, while Captain Murdock -advanced a step or so and took the shriveled hand, which had so often -rested fondly on his head. - -Oh, how Seth longed to kiss that feeble hand; but he dared not, and he -was glad that Walter, by his loud, rapid talking, attracted the entire -attention, leaving him to sit down unobserved, when the meeting between -himself and Mrs. Bellenger was over. At her he had looked rather -inquisitively, for she was his Ellen's mother, and his heart yearned -toward her for the sake of his gentle wife. - -Meanwhile Walter, without seeming to do so, had been watching for -somebody, who, behind the pantry door, was trying to gain courage to -come out. - -"I'll look at him, anyway," she said, and Walter glanced that way just -in time to see a profusion of raven curls and a shining, round black -eye. - -"Jessie," called Mr. Graham, who saw them too, "Jessie, hadn't you -better come out and gather up the cranberries you dropped so suddenly -when the omnibus drove up?" - -"Father, how can you?" and the young lady immediately appeared, and -greeted Walter quite naturally. - -He evidently was embarrassed, for he hastened to present her to Captain -Murdock, who, feeling, intuitively, that he beheld his future -daughter-in-law, took both her soft chubby hands in his and held them -there, while he said, a little mischievously: - -"I have heard much of you, Miss Jessie, from my so--, my friend, I -mean," he added, quickly, correcting himself, but not so quickly that -Jessie did not detect what he meant to say. - -One by one she scanned his features, then the deacon's, then Walter's, -and then, with a flash of intelligence in her bright eyes, turned to the -latter for a confirmation of her suspicions. Walter understood her -meaning, and with an answering nod, said softly: - -"By and by." - -"The dinner will be cold," suggested Mrs. Howland, and then the deacon -rose, and leaning on his cane, walked into the adjoining room, when he -took his seat at the head of the table. - -"There's a chair for you," Jessie said to Walter who, following the -natural laws of attraction, kept close to her side. "There's one for -_you_ and him, too, my old playhouse," and she pointed to the leathern -chair. - -"Sit here, Captain Murdock,--here," said Walter, hurrying on as he saw -Mrs. Howland giving the stranger another seat than that. - -"Walter," and there was reproach in the deacon's voice, "not in your -father's chair." - -"Yes, grandpa," said Walter, "Captain Murdock has been a father to -me,--let him sit there for once." - -So Captain Murdock sat there, his heart throbbing so loudly that Jessie, -who was next to him, could hear it beat, and see his chin quiver, when -the voice nearly eighty years old, was asking God's blessing on their -Thanksgiving Dinner; thanking God for returning their boy to them, and -finishing the prayer with the touching petition: "Send the other back! -oh, send the other back!" - -Owing to the presence of the captain, who was considered a stranger, not -a word was spoken of Seth, until they arose from the table, when Walter, -unable longer to keep still, said: - -"And so my father is free from all blame?" - -Involuntarily Jessie went up to him and put her arm in his, waiting -breathlessly for what would follow next. - -"Yes, Walter," returned the deacon, "my Seth is innocent. Heaven bless -him wherever he may be, and send him to me before I die, so I can hear -him say he didn't lay it up against me,--my hardening my heart and -thinking he was guilty. Poor Seth, poor Seth! I'd give my life to blot -out all the past and have him with me just as he was before he went -away." - -Captain Murdock was standing with his face to the window, but, as the -deacon ceased speaking, he turned, and going up to him, placed his hand -on either shoulder and looked into his eyes. - -The movement was a most singular one, and to Mr. Graham, who knew that -there must be a powerful motive for the action, there came a suspicion -of the truth; but none to the old man, whose eyes fell beneath the -burning gaze riveted upon him. - -"Who are you?" he asked in a bewildered tone, "why do you look at me so -hard? He scares me; Walter, take him away." - -"Grandpa, don't you know him?" and Walter drew near to them, but not -until the old man's ear had caught the whispered name of "_Father_." - -Then, with a scream of joy, he wound his feeble arms round the -stranger's neck. - -"Seth, boy, darling, Walter, am I going mad, or is it true? _Is it -Seth?_ Is it my boy? Tell me, Walter," and releasing their grasp, the -shaking hands were stretched supplicatingly toward Walter, who answered: - -"Yes, grandpa. _It's Seth._ I found him, and I have brought him home." - -"Oh, Seth, Seth," and the hoary head bowed itself upon the neck of the -stranger, while the poor old man sobbed like a little child. "I didn't -expect it, Seth, though I've prayed for it so hard. Bless you, bless -you, boy, I didn't mean to go against you. I would have died at any time -to know that you were innocent. Forgive me, Seth, because I am so old -and weak." - -"I do forgive you," answered Seth. "It's all forgotten now, and I've -come home to stay with you always till you die." - -There was a hand laid lightly on Seth's shoulder, and turning, he looked -into the face of Mr. Graham, which quivered with emotion, as he said: - -"I, too, have need of your forgiveness." - -"None, Richard, none," and locked in each other's arms, the friends long -parted cancelled the olden debt, and in the heart of neither was there a -feeling save that of perfect love. - -Long and passionately Mrs. Howland wept over her brother, for his return -brought back the past, and all that she had suffered since the night he -went away. - -Aunt Debby, too, was much affected, but did not omit her accustomed "He -allus was a good boy." - -Then Mrs. Bellenger approached, and offering her hand, said to him very -kindly: - -"You are dear to me for Ellen's sake, and though I never saw you until -to-day, my heart claims you for a child. Shall I be your mother, Mr. -Marshall?" - -He could only reply by pressing the hand she extended, for his heart was -all too full for utterance. - -"Let me go away alone," he said at last, "to weep out my great joy," and -opening the door of what was once his room, he passed for a time from -their midst. - -The surprise had apparently disturbed the deacon's reason, for even -after his son had left him he continued talking just the same: "Poor -Seth,--poor child, to think your hair should be so gray, and you but a -little boy." - -Then, when Seth returned to them he made him sit down beside him, and -holding both his hands, smiled up into his face a smile far more painful -than tears would have been. - -"Seth's come home. Did you know it?" he would say to those around him, -as if it were to them a piece of news, and often as he said it, he would -smoothe the gray hair which seemed to trouble him so much. - -Gradually, however, his mind became clearer, and he was able to -understand all that Seth was telling them of his experience since the -night he went away. - -At last, just as the sun was setting, Mr. Marshall arose, and without a -word, passed into the open air. No one watched him to see whither he -went, for all knew that before he returned to them he would go down the -lane, along the beaten path, to where the moonlight fell upon a little -grave. - -It was long before he came back, and when he did, and entered the large -kitchen, two figures stood by the western window, and he thought the arm -of the taller was thrown about the waist of the shorter, while the face -of the shorter was very near to that of the taller. Advancing toward -them and stroking the dark curls, he said, half playfully, half -earnestly: - -"I believe that as Mr. Marshall I have not greeted Jessie yet, so I will -do it now. Are you to be my daughter, little girl?" - -"Yes, she is," answered Walter, while Jessie broke away from them, and -was not visible again that night. - -But when, at a late hour, Mrs. Bellenger left the happy group still -assembled around the cheerful fire, and sought her room, from the depths -of the snowy pillows, where Jessie lay nestled, there came a smothered -voice, saying, half timidly: - -"This is the nicest Thanksgiving I ever had, and I shall remember it -forever." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII.--CONCLUSION. - - -Four years have passed away since that Thanksgiving dinner, and for the -deacon, who, then, did not expect to see another, there seem to be many -yet in store. Hale, hearty and happy, he sits in his arm-chair, smoking -his accustomed pipe; and when the villagers, who come often to see him, -tell him how the old farm-house is improved, and how they should -scarcely know it, he always answers: - -"Yes, Seth has good taste, and Seth is rich. He could buy Deerwood, if -he tried. He built those new houses for the poor down there by the -river; he built the factory, too, and gives them all employment. Seth is -a blessed boy." - -Others, too, there were, besides the deacon, who called Seth Marshall -blessed, and never since his return had a voice been raised against him. - -After becoming somewhat accustomed to his new position as a free and -respected man, his first wish was to modernize the farm-house a little -more according to his ideas of taste and comfort. Once he thought to -build a splendid mansion near by, but to this suggestion the father -said: - -"No; I like the old place best. The new house might be handsomer, but it -would not be the one where you and I, and all of us were born, and your -mother died. Wait till I'm dead, and then do as you please." - -And so Seth is waiting, and as he waits he sets out trees and shrubbery, -and beautifies a plot of ground, on which he will sometime erect a -dwelling as a summer residence for his son, who lives in the city, and -calls Mrs. Bartow grandma. - -When the first Christmas snows were falling after his father's return, -Walter made Jessie his bride, and there now plays at his fireside a -chubby, black-eyed boy, whom they call Graham Marshall, and who spends -more time in Deerwood than he does in New York. Quite as old as the -hoary man in the corner, who sometimes calls him Walter, but oftener -Seth, he "rides to Boston" on the deacon's knee, pulls the deacon's -beard, wears the deacon's glasses, smokes a stick of candy, and spits in -imitation of the deacon, and then falls away to sleep in the deacon's -lap,--the two forming a most beautiful picture of old age and infancy -together. - -At Mr. Graham's house, there is a beautiful six-months' baby, whose hair -looks golden in the sunlight, and whose eyes of blue are much like those -of Ellen Howland. They call her Nellie, and in all the world there is -nothing one-half so precious as this child to the broken, melancholy -man, who often comes to see her, and when no one can hear him, whispers -sadly: - -"Sweet Nellie,--darling Nellie,--little snow drop!" But whether he means -the infant in the crib, or the Nellie dead long ago, is difficult to -tell. - -For eighteen months he toiled inside the prison walls, and then the -powerful influence of Mr. Graham, Seth Marshall and Walter combined, -procured him a pardon. An humbled and a better man, he would not leave -the city. He would rather remain, he said, and live down his disgrace, -than have it follow him as it was sure to do. So he stayed, accepting -thankfully a situation which Walter procured for him, and Mrs. -Bellenger, when she saw that he was really changed, gladly gave him a -home with herself, for she was lonely now that Walter was gone. - -Old Mrs. Reeves was very much astonished that the Grahams and Marshalls -should make so much of one who had been in State prison, and said: - -"She was glad that Charlotte had married a Southern planter and gone to -Mississippi, as there was no knowing what notions might have entered her -brain." - -Every summer there is a family gathering of the Grahams and Marshalls -with Mrs. Bellenger and Mrs. Bartow at Deerwood, where the deacon seems -as young and happy as any of them. And now, where our story opened we -will bring it to a close, at the farm-house where the old man sits -smoking in the twilight with his son and grandson, and great-grandson -around him,--representatives of four generations, with a difference of -nearly eighty years between the first and fourth. - - - - _The End_. - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37476 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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-
-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 37476
- :PG.Title: Jessie Graham
- :PG.Released: 2011-09-18
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
- :PG.Producer: Mary Meehan
- :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
- :PG.Credits:
- :DC.Creator: Mary J. Holmes
- :MARCREL.ill:
- :DC.Title: Jessie Graham
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1878
-
-.. role:: small-caps
- :class: small-caps
-
-
-
-
-
-=============
-JESSIE GRAHAM
-=============
-
-.. _pg-header:
-
-.. container:: pgheader language-en
-
- .. style:: paragraph
- :class: noindent
-
- This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
- almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
- re-use it under the terms of the `Project Gutenberg License`_
- included with this eBook or online at
- http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-machine-header:
-
- .. container::
-
- Title: Jessie Graham
-
- Author: Mary J. Holmes
-
- Release Date: September 18, 2011 [EBook #37476]
-
- Language: English
-
- Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-start-line:
-
- \*\*\* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM \*\*\*
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-
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-
-
-
-
-.. class:: center x-large
-
- | OR,
- | LOVE AND PRIDE.
-
- | By MARY J. HOLMES
-
- | 1878
-
-----
-
-.. contents:: CONTENTS
- :depth: 1
- :backlinks: entry
-
-----
-
-
-CHAPTER I.—THE INMATES OF THE FARM-HOUSE.
-=========================================
-
-
-Old Deacon Marshall sat smoking
-beneath the maple tree which he had
-planted many years before, when he was
-scarcely older than the little girl sitting on the broad
-doorstep and watching the sun as it went down
-behind the western hills. The tree was a sapling
-then, and himself a mere boy. The sapling now was
-a mighty tree, and its huge branches swept the gable
-roof of the time-worn building, while the boy was a
-gray-haired man, sitting there in the glorious sunset
-of that bright October day, and thinking of all which
-had come to him since the morning long ago, when,
-from the woods near by, he brought the little twig,
-and with his mother's help secured it in its place,
-watching anxiously for the first indications of its
-future growth.
-
-Across the fields and on a shady hillside, there
-were white headstones gleaming in the fading sunlight.
-He could count them all from where he sat,—could
-tell which was his mother's, which his father's,
-and which his fair-haired sister's. Then there came a
-blur before his eyes, and great tears rolled down his
-furrowed cheek, as he remembered that in that yard
-there were more graves of his loved ones than there
-were chairs around his fireside, even though he
-counted the one which for years had not been used,
-but stood in the dark corner of the kitchen, just
-where it had been left that dreadful night when his
-only son was taken from him. On the hillside there
-was no headstone for that boy, but there were two
-graves, which had been made just as many years as
-the arm-chair of oak had stood in the dark corner, and
-on the handsome monument which a stranger's hand
-had reared, was cut the name of the deacon's wife and
-the deacon's daughter-in-law.
-
-Fourteen times the forest tree had cast its leaf
-since this last great sorrow came, and the old man
-had in a measure recovered from the stunning blow,
-for new joys, new cares, new loves had sprung into
-existence, and few who looked into his calm, unruffled
-face, ever dreamed of the anguish he had suffered.
-Time will soften the keenest grief, and in all the town
-there was not apparently a happier man than the
-deacon; though as often as the autumn came, bringing
-the frosty nights and hazy October days, there
-stole a look of sadness over his face, and the pipe, his
-never-failing friend, was brought into requisition
-more frequently than ever.
-
-"It drove the blues away," he said; but on the
-afternoon of which we write, *the blues* must have
-dipped their garments in a deeper dye than usual, for
-though the thick smoke curled in graceful wreaths
-about his head, it did not dissipate the gloom which
-weighed upon his spirits as he sat beneath the maple,
-counting the distant graves, and then casting his eye
-down the long lane, through which a herd of cows
-was wending its homeward way. They were the
-deacon's cows, and he watched them as they came
-slowly on, now stopping to crop the tufts of grass
-growing by the wayside, now thrusting their slender
-horns over the low fence in quest of the juicy cornstalk,
-and then quickening their movements as they
-heard the loud, clear whistle of their driver, a lad of
-fourteen, and the deacon's only grandson.
-
-Walter Marshall was a handsome boy, and none
-ever looked into his frank, open face, and clear, honest
-eyes, without turning to look again, he seemed so
-manly, so mature for his years, while about his slightly
-compressed lips there was an expression as if he
-were constantly seeking to force back some unpleasant
-memory, which had embittered his young life and
-fostered in his bosom a feeling of jealousy or distrust
-of those about him, lest they, too, were thinking of
-what was always uppermost in his mind.
-
-To the deacon, Walter was dear as the apple of his
-eye, both for his noble qualities and the cloud of sorrow
-which had overshadowed his babyhood. A dying
-mother's tears had mingled with the baptismal waters
-sprinkled on his face, and the first sound to which he
-ever seemed to listen was that of the village bell tolling,
-as a funeral train wound slowly through the lane
-and across the field to the hillside, where the dead of
-the Marshall family were sleeping. He had lain in his
-grandmother's arms that day, but before a week went
-by, a stranger held him in her lap, while the deacon
-went again to the hillside and stood by an open grave.
-Then the remaining inmates of the farm-house fell
-back to their accustomed ways, and the prattle of the
-orphan boy,—for so they called him,—was the only
-sunshine which for many a weary month visited the
-old homestead.
-
-Since that time the deacon's daughter had married,
-had wept over her dead husband, and smiled upon a
-little pale-faced, blue-eyed girl, to whom she gave the
-name of Ellen, for the sake of Walter's mother.
-
-Aunt Debby, the deacon's maiden sister, occupied
-a prominent position in the family, who prized her
-virtues and humored her whims in a way which spoke
-volumes in her praise. Although unmarried, Aunt
-Debby declared that it was not her fault, and insisted
-that her husband, who was to have been, was killed in
-the war of 1812. Not that she ever saw him, but her
-fortune had been told for fifty cents by one who pretended
-to read the future, and as she placed implicit
-confidence in the words of the seer, she shed a few
-tears to the memory of the widower who marched
-bravely to his death, leaving to the world four little
-children, and to her a life of single-blessedness. For
-the sake of the four children whose step-mother she
-ought to have been, she professed a great affection for
-the entire race of little ones, and especially for Walter,
-whose father had been her pet.
-
-"Walter was the very image of him," she said,
-and when, on the night of which we are writing, she
-heard his clear whistle in the distance, she drew her
-straight-backed chair nearer to the window, and
-watched for the first appearance of the boy. "That's
-Seth again all over," she thought, as she saw him make
-believe set the dog on Ellen, who had gone to meet
-him. "That's just the way Seth used to pester
-Mary," and she glanced at the meek-eyed woman,
-moulding biscuits on the pantry shelf. As was usual
-with Aunt Debby, when Seth was the burden of her
-thoughts, she finished her remarks with, "Seth allus
-was a good boy," and then, as she saw Walter take a
-letter from his pocket and pass it to his grandfather,
-she hastened to the door, while her pulses quickened
-with the hope that it might contain some tidings of
-the wanderer.
-
-The letter bore the New York postmark, and
-glancing at the signature, the deacon said:
-
-"It's from Richard Graham," while both Walter
-and Aunt Debby drew nearer to him, waiting patiently
-to know the nature of its contents.
-
-"There's nothing about my boy," the old man said,
-when he had finished reading, and with a gesture of
-impatience Walter turned away, saying to himself,
-"I'd thank him not to write if he can't tell us something
-we want to hear," while Aunt Debby went back
-to her knitting, and the polished needles were wet as
-they resumed their accustomed click.
-
-"Mary," called the deacon, to his daughter, "this
-letter concerns you more than it does me. Richard's
-wife is dead,—killed herself with fashion and fooleries."
-
-Advancing toward her father, Mary said:
-
-"When did she die, and what will he do with his
-little girl?"
-
-"That's it," returned the father, "that's the very
-thing he wrote about," and opening the letter a second
-time, he read that the fashionable and frivolous Mrs.
-Graham, worn out by a life of folly and dissipation,
-had died long before her time, and that the husband,
-warned by her example, wished to remove his daughter,
-a little girl eight years of age, from the city, or
-rather from the care of her maternal grandmother,
-who was sure to ruin her.
-
-It is true the letter was not exactly worded thus,
-but that was what it meant. Mr. Graham had once
-lived in Deerwood, and knew the old Marshall homestead
-well,—knew how invigorating were the breezes
-from the mountains,—how sweet the breath of the newly
-mown hay, or soil freshly plowed,—knew how bracing
-were the winter winds which howled around the
-farm-house,—how healthful the influences within, and
-when he decided to shut up his grand house and go to
-Europe for an indefinite length of time, his thoughts
-turned toward rustic Deerwood as a safe asylum for
-his child. In the gentle Mary Howland she would
-find a mother's care, such as she had never known,
-and after a little hesitation, he wrote to know if at
-the deacon's fireside there was room for Jessie Graham.
-
-"She is a wayward, high-spirited little thing," he
-wrote, "but warm-hearted, affectionate and truthful,—willing
-to confess her faults, though very apt to do
-the same thing again. If you take her, Mrs. Howland,
-treat her as if she were your own; punish her when
-she deserves it, and, in short, train her to be a healthy,
-useful woman."
-
-The price offered in return for all this was exceedingly
-liberal, and would have tempted the deacon had
-there been no other inducement.
-
-"That's an enormous sum to pay for one little
-girl," he said, when he finished reading the letter.
-"It will send Ellen through the seminary, and maybe,
-buy her a piano, if she's thinking she must have one to
-drum upon."
-
-"Piano!" repeated Walter. "I'll earn one for her
-when she needs it. I don't like this Jessie with her
-city airs. Don't take her, Aunt Mary. We have
-suffered enough from the Grahams;" and Walter tossed
-his cap into the tree, with a low rejoinder, which
-sounded very much like "*darn 'em!*"
-
-"Walter," said the deacon, "you do wrong to
-cherish such feelings toward Mr. Graham. He only
-did what he thought was right, and were your father
-here now, he'd say Richard was the best friend he
-ever had."
-
-This was the place for Aunt Debby to put in her
-accustomed "Seth allus was a good boy," while Walter,
-not caring to discuss the matter, laughed good-humoredly,
-and said:
-
-"But that's nothing to do with this minx of a
-Jessie. Why does he write her name s-i-e? Why
-don't he spell it s-y-sy, and be sensible? Of course
-she's as stuck up as she can be,—afraid of cows and
-snakes and everything," and Walter sneered at the
-idea of a girl who was afraid of snakes and everything.
-
-"Yes," chimed in Ellen, who Aunt Debby said was
-born for no earthly use except to "take Walter down."
-"I shouldn't suppose you'd say anything, for don't you
-remember when you went to Boston with Mr. Smith
-to see the caravan, and stopped at the Tremont, and
-when they pounded that big thing for dinner you were
-scared almost to death, and hid behind the door
-screaming, 'The lion's out! the lion's out! Don't
-you hear him roar?'"
-
-Walter colored crimson, and replied apologetically:
-
-"Pshaw, Nell, I was a little shaver then, only ten
-years old. I'd never heard a gong before, and why
-shouldn't I think the lion out?"
-
-"And why shouldn't Jessie be afraid of snakes if
-she never saw one? She's only eight, and you were
-ten," was the reply of Ellen, whose heart bounded at
-the thoughts of a companion, and who had unwittingly
-avowed herself the champion of the unknown
-Jessie Graham.
-
-"Hush, children," interrupted the deacon. "It
-isn't worth while to quarrel. Folks raised in the city
-are sometimes green as well as country people, and
-this Jessie may be one of 'em. But the question
-now is, shall she come to Deerwood or not?" and he
-turned inquiringly toward his daughter. "Mary,
-are you willing to be a mother to Richard Graham's
-child?"
-
-Mrs. Howland started, and sweeping her hand
-across her face, answered: "I am willing," while
-Aunt Debby, in her straight-backed chair mumbled:
-
-"To think it should come to that,—Mary taking
-care of his and another woman's child; but, law! it's
-no more than I should have done if he hadn't been
-killed," and with a sigh for the widower and his four
-motherless offspring, Aunt Debby also gave her assent,
-thinking how she would knit lamb's-wool stockings for
-the little girl, whose feet she guessed were about the
-size of Ellen's.
-
-"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Ellen, when it was settled,
-"for now there'll be somebody to play with when
-my head aches too hard to go to school. I hope she'll
-bring a lot of dolls; and, Walter, you won't ink their
-faces and break their legs as you did that cob baby
-Aunt Debby made for me?"
-
-When thus appealed to, Walter was reading for
-himself the letter which had fallen at his grandfather's
-feet, and his clear hazel eyes were moist with tears, as
-he read the postscript:
-
-"I have as yet heard nothing from Seth, poor fellow!
-I hoped he would come back ere this. It may
-be I shall meet him in my travels."
-
-"He isn't so bad a man after all," thought Walter,
-and with his feelings softened toward the father, he
-was more favorably disposed toward the daughter's
-dolls, and to Ellen's question he replied, "Of course I
-shan't bother her if she lets me alone and don't put on
-too many airs."
-
-"I can't see to write as well as I used to," said the
-deacon, after everything had been arranged, "and
-Walter must answer the letter."
-
-"Walter won't do any such thing," was the mental
-comment of the boy, whose animosity began to return
-toward one who he fancied had done his father a
-wrong.
-
-After a little, however, he relented, and going to
-his room wasted several sheets of paper before he was
-at all satisfied with the few brief lines which were to
-tell Mr. Graham that his daughter Jessie would be
-welcome at Deerwood. Great pains he took to spell
-her name according to his views of orthography, making
-an extra flourish to the "y" with which he finished
-up the "Jessy."
-
-"Now, that's sensible," he said. "I wonder Aunt
-Debby don't spell her name b-i-e-by. She would, I
-dare say, if she lived in New York."
-
-Walter's ideas of city people were formed entirely
-from the occasional glimpses he had received of his
-proud Boston relatives, who had been highly indignant
-at his mother's marriage with a country youth, the
-most of them resenting it so far as to absent themselves
-from her funeral. His lady grandmother, they
-told him, had been present, and had held him for a
-moment upon her rich black mourning dress, but from
-that day she had not looked upon his face. These
-things had tended to embitter Walter toward his
-mother's family, and judging all city people by them,
-it was hardly natural that he should be very favorably
-disposed toward little Jessie. Still, as the time for
-her arrival drew near, none watched for her more vigilantly
-or evinced a greater interest in her coming than
-himself, and on the day when she was expected, it was
-observed by his cousin Ellen that he took more than
-usual pains with his toilet, and even exchanged his
-cowhide boots for a lighter pair, which would make
-less noise in walking; then as he heard the whistle in
-the distance, he stationed himself by the gate, where
-he waited until the gray horses which drew the village
-omnibus appeared over the hill. The omnibus itself
-next came in sight, and the head of a little girl was
-thrust from the window, a profusion of curls falling
-from beneath her brown straw hat, and herself evidently
-on the lookout for her new home.
-
-"Curls, of course," said Walter. "See if I don't
-cut some of 'em off," and he involuntarily felt for his
-jack-knife.
-
-By this time the carriage was so near that he vacated
-his post, lest the strangers should think he was
-waiting for them, and returning to the house, looked
-out of the west window, whistling indifferently, and
-was apparently quite oblivious of the people alighting
-at the gate, or of the chubby form tripping up the
-walk, and with sunny face and laughing round bright
-eyes, winning at once the hearts of the four who, unlike
-himself, had gone out to receive her.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.—MR. GRAHAM AND JESSIE.
-==================================
-
-
-She was a little fat, black-eyed, black-haired
-girl, with waist and ankles of no Lilliputian
-size, and when at last Walter dared
-to steal a look at her, she had already divested herself
-of her traveling habiliments, and with the household
-cat in her arms, was looking about for a chair which
-suited her. She evidently did not fancy the high, old-fashioned
-ones which had belonged to Deacon Marshall's
-wife, for, spying the one which was never used,
-and into which even Ellen dared not climb, she unhesitatingly
-wheeled it from its place, and seated herself
-in its capacious depths, quite as a matter of course.
-
-A good deal shocked, and somewhat amused,
-Walter watched her proceedings, thinking to himself:
-
-"By and by I'll tell her that is father's chair, and
-then she won't want to sit in it; but she's a stranger
-now, so I guess I'll let her alone."
-
-By this time the cat, unaccustomed to quite so
-hard a squeeze as Jessie gave it, escaped from her lap,
-and jumping down, Jessie ran after it, exclaiming:
-
-"Oh, boy, boy, stop her!"
-
-A peculiar whistle from Walter sent the animal
-flying faster from her, and shaking back her curls,
-Jessie's black eyes flashed up into his face, as she
-said:
-
-"You're the meanest boy, and I don't like you a
-bit."
-
-"Jessie," said the stern voice of her father, and
-for the first time since his entrance, Walter turned to
-look at him, and as he looked he felt the bitterness
-gradually giving way, for the expression of Mr.
-Graham's face was not proud and overbearing as he
-had fancied it to be.
-
-On the contrary, it was mild and gentle as a
-woman's, while there was something in his pleasant
-blue eyes which would prompt an entire stranger to
-trust him at once. He had seen much of the world,
-and of what is called best society, and his manners
-were polished and pleasing. Still there was nothing
-ostentatious about him, no consciousness of superiority,
-and when Deacon Marshall, pointing to Walter,
-said to him, "This is Seth's child," he took the boy's
-hand in his own, and for a moment, stood gazing
-down into the frank, open face, then pushing the
-brown hair from off the forehead, he said:
-
-"You look as your father did, when we were boys
-together, and he was the dearest friend I knew."
-
-"What made you turn against him then?" trembled
-on Walter's lips, but the words were not uttered,
-for Mr. Graham's manner had disarmed him of all
-animosity, and he said instead:
-
-"I hope I may be as good and true a man as I
-believe him to have been."
-
-For a moment longer Mr. Graham held the hand
-in his, while he looked admiringly at the boy, who
-had paid this tribute to one whom the world considered
-an outcast, then releasing it, he turned away,
-and Walter was sure that his eyes were moist with
-something which looked like tears.
-
-"I like him for that," was his mental comment, as
-he watched Mr. Graham talking with his aunt of little
-Jessie, who, when he bade her farewell,—for he went
-back that night,—clung sobbing to his neck, refusing
-to be comforted, until Walter whispered to her of a
-bright-eyed squirrel playing in its cage up in the
-maple tree.
-
-Then her arms relaxed their grasp, and she went
-with Ellen to see the sight, while Walter accompanied
-Mr. Graham to the depot. There was a bond of sympathy
-between the man and boy, and they grew to
-liking each other very fast during the few moments
-they talked together upon the platform of the Deerwood
-station. Numerous were the charges Mr.
-Graham gave to Walter concerning his little girl,
-bidding him care for her as if she were his sister, and
-Walter felt a boyish pride in thinking how well he
-would fulfill his trust.
-
-Mr. Graham could never tell what prompted him
-to say it, but as his mind went forward to the future,
-when Jessie would be grown, he said:
-
-"She will make a beautiful woman, I think, and I
-hope she will be as good and pure as beautiful, so that
-her future husband, should she ever have one, will not
-look to her in vain for happiness."
-
-It might have been that Mr. Graham was thinking
-of his own wife, and the little congeniality there had
-been between them. If so, he hastened to thrust such
-thoughts aside by adding, laughingly:
-
-"Her grandmother is a remarkably scheming old
-lady, and has already set her heart on William Bellenger,
-or rather on his family; but I would rather
-see her buried than the wife of any of that race."
-
-Unconsciously Mr. Graham had wounded Walter
-deeply, for in his veins the blood of the Bellengers
-was flowing, and he did not care to hear another
-speak thus disparagingly of a race from which his
-gentle mother sprung, though he had no love for it
-himself. William Bellenger was his cousin, and even
-now he felt his finger tips tingle as he recalled the
-only time they had met. It was on the occasion of
-that first visit to Boston, to which Ellen had alluded.
-His uncle's family were then boarding at the Tremont
-and William was making a constrained effort to entertain
-him in the public parlor, when he became so
-frightened with the gong, mistaking it for a roaring
-lion, and taking refuge behind the door as Ellen had
-said. With explosive shouts of laughter William
-repeated the story to all whose ear he could gain, and
-Walter had never forgotten the sneering tone of his
-voice as he called after him at parting:
-
-"The lion's out! the lion's out!"
-
-They had never seen each other since,—he hoped
-they never should see each other again,—and though
-sure that he disliked Jessie very much, he shrank even
-from the thought of associating her with William
-Bellenger, though he did not like to have Mr. Graham
-speak so slightingly of him. Something like this must
-have shown itself upon his face, for Mr. Graham saw
-the shadow resting there and quickly divining the
-cause, hastened to say:
-
-"Forgive me, Walter, for speaking thus thoughtlessly
-of your mother's family. I did not think of the
-relationship. You are not like them in the least, I am
-sure, for you remind me each moment of your father."
-
-Around the curve the train appeared in view, but
-Walter must ask one question of his companion, and
-as the latter sprang upon the steps of the forward car,
-he held his arm, and said to him entreatingly, as it
-were:
-
-"Do you think my father guilty?"
-
-Oh, how Mr. Graham longed to say no to the impulsive
-boy, whose handsome face looked up to him so
-wistfully. But he could not, and he answered sadly:
-
-"I did think so, years ago."
-
-"Yes, yes; but now? Do you think so now?"
-and Walter held fast to the arm, even though the train
-was moving slowly on.
-
-The ringing of the bell, the creaking of the machinery,
-and the puffing of the engine increased each
-moment; but above the din of them all Walter caught
-the reply:
-
-"I have had no reason to change my mind," and
-releasing Mr. Graham, he sprang to the ground and
-walked slowly back to the farm-house, his bosom swelling
-with resentment, and his eyes filling with tears,
-for upon no subject was the high-spirited boy so sensitive
-as the subject of his father's honor.
-
-"I'll never believe it till he himself tells me it is
-true," he said, and then, as he had often done before,
-he began to wonder if his father ever thought of the
-child he had never seen, and if in this world they
-would ever meet.
-
-While thus meditating, he reached home, where
-he found the entire family assembled around little
-Jessie, who, with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, was
-stamping her fat feet furiously, and, by way of variety,
-occasionally bumping her hard head against the harder
-door.
-
-"What is it?" he asked, pressing forward until he
-caught sight of the little tempest.
-
-The matter was soon explained. Always accustomed
-to her own way with her indulgent grandmother,
-Jessie had insisted upon opening the cage
-and taking the squirrel in her hands, and when her
-request was refused she had flown into a most violent
-passion, screaming for her father to come and take her
-away from such dirty, ugly people. It was in vain that
-they tried by turns to soothe her. Her spirit was the
-ruling one as yet, and she raved on till Walter came
-and learned the cause of her wrath.
-
-"I can make her mind, I'll bet," he thought, and
-advancing toward her, he said sternly: "Jessie!" but
-a more decided stamp of the foot was her only answer,
-and seizing her arm, he shook her violently,
-while he said more sternly than before: "Stop,
-instantly!"
-
-Like coals of fire the black eyes flashed up into his,
-meeting a look so firm and decided that they quailed
-beneath the glance. Jessie had met her master, and
-after a few hysterical sobs, she became as gentle as a
-lamb, nestling so close to Walter, who had seated
-himself upon the chintz-covered lounge, that he involuntarily
-wound his arm around her, as if to make
-amends for his recent harshness.
-
-Jessie was as affectionate and warm-hearted as
-she was high-tempered and rebellious. Her tears
-were like April showers, and before Walter had been
-with her one half hour, all traces of the storm had
-disappeared, and in her own way she was cultivating
-his acquaintance, and occasionally inflicting upon him
-a pang by criticising some of his modes of speech.
-Particularly was she shocked at his favorite expression,
-"Darn it!" and looking wonderingly into his
-face, she said:
-
-"You mustn't use such naughty words. Nobody
-but vulgar folks do that."
-
-Walter colored painfully, and that night, in the
-little diary which he kept, he wrote:
-
-"Resolved to break myself of using the word
-'darn;' not because a pert city miss wishes it, but because—"
-
-He didn't know quite what reason to assign, so he
-left the sentence to be finished at some future time.
-
-In less than three weeks Jessie was the pet of the
-household, not even excepting Walter, whose prejudices
-gradually gave way, and who at last admitted
-that she would be "a niceish kind of a little girl, if
-she wasn't so awful spunky."
-
-To no one of the family did Jessie take so kindly
-as to him. He had been the first to conquer her, and
-she clung to him with a childish, trusting love, whose
-influence he could not resist. Naturally full of life
-and fond of exercise, she was his constant companion
-in the fields and in the woods, where, fearless of complexion
-or dress, she gathered the rich butternuts, or
-sought among the yellow leaves for the brown chestnuts
-which the hoar frost had cast from their prickly
-covering. She liked the country, she said, and when
-her grandmother wrote, as she often did, begging her
-to come back, if only for a week, she absolutely refused
-to go, bidding Walter, who was her amanuensis,
-say that she liked staying where she was, and never
-meant to live in the city again. To Walter she was
-of inestimable advantage, for she cured him of more
-than one bad habit, both of word and manner, and
-though he, perhaps, would not have acknowledged it,
-he was very careful not to offend her ladyship by a
-repetition of the offense, until at last his schoolmates
-more than once called him stuck-up and proud, while
-even Ellen thought him greatly changed.
-
-And thus the autumn passed away, and the breath
-of winter was cold and keen upon the New England
-hills, while the grim old mountain frowned gloomily
-down upon the pond, or tiny lake, whose surface was
-covered over with a coat of polished glass, tempting
-the skaters far and near, and bringing to its banks
-one day Walter and Jessie Graham. It was in vain
-that Mrs. Howland and Aunt Debby both urged upon
-the latter the propriety of remaining at home and
-knitting on the deacon's socks, just as gentle, domestic
-Ellen did. Jessie was not to be persuaded, and,
-wrapped in her warm fur cape and mittens, she went
-with Walter to the pond, receiving many a heavy fall
-upon the ice, but always saying it was no matter, particularly
-if Walter were within hearing. The surest
-way to win his favor, she knew, was to be brave and
-fearless, and when, as the bright afternoon drew to
-its close, some boy, more mischievous than the rest,
-caught off Walter's cap and sent it flying toward the
-southern boundary of the pond, she darted after it,
-unmindful of the many voices raised to stay the rash
-adventure.
-
-"Stop, Jessie! stop! The deep hole lies just
-there!" was shouted after her. But she did not hear;
-she thought only of Walter's commendation when she
-returned him his cap, and she kept on her way, while
-Walter, with blanched cheek, looked anxiously after
-her, involuntarily shutting his eyes as the dreadful cry
-rose upon the air:
-
-"She's gone! she's gone!"
-
-When he opened them again the space where he
-had seen her last, with her bright face turned toward
-him, was vacant, and the cold, black waters were
-breaking angrily over the spot where she had stood,
-Walter thought himself dying, and almost hoped he
-was, for the world would be very dreary with no little
-Jessie in it; then as he caught sight of the crimson
-lining to Jessie's cape fluttering above the ice, and
-thought of her father's trust in him, he cried, "I'll
-save her, or perish too!" and rushed on to the
-rescue.
-
-There was a fierce struggle in the water, and the
-ice was broken up for many yards around, and then,
-just as those who stood upon the shore, breathlessly
-awaiting the result, were beginning to despair, the
-noble boy fell fainting in their midst, his arms clasped
-convulsively around Jessie, whose short black curls
-and dripping garments clung tightly to her face and
-form. Half an hour later and Deacon Marshall,
-smoking by his kitchen fire, looked from the western
-window, and, starting to his feet, exclaimed:
-
-"Who are all those people coming this way, and
-what do they carry with them? It's Walter,—it's
-Walter!" he cried, as the setting sun shone on the
-white face, and hurrying out, he asked, huskily, "Is
-my boy dead?"
-
-"No, not dead," answered one of the group, "his
-heart is beating yet, but she——" and he pointed to
-little Jessie, whom a strong man carried in his arms.
-
-But Jessie was not dead, although for a long time
-they thought she was, and Walter, who had recovered
-from his fainting fit, was not ashamed to cry as he
-looked upon the still white face and wished he had
-never been harsh to the little girl, or shaken her so
-hard on that first day of her arrival at Deerwood.
-Slowly, as one wakes from a heavy slumber, Jessie
-came back to life, and the first words she uttered
-were:
-
-"Tell Walter I did get his cap, but somebody took
-it from me and hurt my hand so bad," and she held up
-the tiny thing on which was a deep cut made by the
-sharp-pointed ice.
-
-"Yes, darling, I know it," Walter whispered, and
-when no one saw him he pressed his lips to the
-wounded hand.
-
-This was a good deal for Walter to do. Never
-had he called any one darling before, never kissed
-even his blue-eyed cousin Ellen, but the first taste
-inspired him with a desire for more, and he wondered
-at himself for having refrained so long.
-
-"Will she live?" he asked eagerly of the physician,
-who replied:
-
-"There is now no reason why she should not," and
-Walter hastened away to his own room, where, unobserved,
-he could weep out his great joy.
-
-Gradually, as the days went by, Jessie comprehended
-what Walter had done for her, and her first
-impulse was that some one should write to her father,—somebody
-who would say just what she told them
-to, and as Aunt Debby was the most likely to do this,
-the poor old lady was pressed into the service, groaning
-and sweating over the task.
-
-"And now, pa," Aunt Debby wrote, after telling of
-the accident, "Walter must be paid, and I'll tell you
-how to pay him. I heard him one night talking with
-his grandpa about going to school and college, and his
-grandpa said he couldn't, they were not worth enough
-in the whole world for that. Then Walter said he
-should never know anything, and cried so hard that I
-was just going to cry too, when I fell asleep and forgot
-it. You are rich, I know, for one of ma's rings
-cost five hundred dollars, and her shawl a thousand,
-and I want you to send me money enough for Walter
-to go to college. It will take a lot, I guess, for I heard
-him say he'd only studied the things they learn in district
-schools; but you have got enough. Let me give
-it to him with my own hands, because he saved me
-with his, will you, father? Walter is the nicest kind
-of a boy."
-
-The letter was sent, and in course of time there
-came a response with a draft for two thousand dollars,
-the whole to be used for the noble lad who had saved
-the life of the father's only child. Wild with delight
-Jessie listened while Aunt Debby, the only one in the
-secret, spelled out the words, then seizing the draft,
-she hastened out in quest of Walter, whom she found
-in the barn, milking the speckled cow. Running up
-to him she cried:
-
-"It's come,—the money! You're going to school,—to
-college, and to be a great big man like father.
-Here it is," and thrusting the paper into his hand she
-crouched so near to him that the milk-pail was upset,
-and the white drops spattered her jet black hair.
-
-At first Walter could not understand it, but Jessie
-managed to explain how she had asked her father for
-money to pay for his education.
-
-"Because," she said, "if it hadn't been for you I
-should have been a little dead girl now, and the boys,
-next winter, would have skated right over me lying
-there on the bottom of the pond."
-
-Walter's first emotion was one of joy in having
-within his reach what he had so greatly desired, but
-considered impossible. Then there arose a feeling
-of unwillingness to receive his education from Mr.
-Graham, to whom they were already indebted. It
-seemed too much like charity, and that he could not
-endure. Still he did not say so to Jessie,—he would
-wait, he thought, until he had talked with his grandfather.
-Greatly surprised, Deacon Marshall listened
-to the story, saying, when it was finished:
-
-"You'll accept it, of course."
-
-"No, I shan't," returned Walter. "We owe Mr.
-Graham now more than we can ever pay, and I would
-rather work all my life on the old homestead than be
-dependent on his bounty. You may send it back to
-your father," he added, giving the draft to Jessie.
-"Tell him I thank him, but I can't accept his favor."
-
-"Oh, Walter!" and climbing into a chair, for
-Walter was standing up, Jessie wound her arms
-around his neck and poured forth a torrent of entreaties
-which led him finally to waver, and at last to
-decide upon accepting it, provided Mr. Graham would
-allow him to pay it back as soon as he was able.
-
-To this Mr. Graham, who was immediately written
-to upon the subject, assented, for he readily understood
-the feeling of pride which had prompted the
-suggestion.
-
-"I do not respect you less," he wrote to Walter in
-reply, "for wishing to take care of yourself, and the
-time may come when the money so cheerfully loaned
-to you now will be sorely needed by me and mine.
-Until then, give yourself no trouble about it, but devote
-all your energies to the acquirement of an education.
-Were my advice asked in reference to a college,
-I should tell you Yale, but you must do as you
-think best. I shall need a partner by-and-by, perhaps,
-and nothing could please me more than to see the
-names of Graham and Marshall associated together in
-business again. God bless your father, wherever he
-may be."
-
-This letter touched the right chord, and often in
-his sleep Walter saw the sign whose yellow letters
-read "Graham & Marshall," and the junior partner of
-this firm sometimes was himself, but oftener a mild-faced
-man wearing the sad, weary look he always saw
-in dreams upon his father's face. The day would
-come, too, he said, when the honor of the Marshall
-name would be redeemed, and he looked eagerly forward
-to the time when he was to enter as a student
-the Wilbraham Academy, where it was decided that
-he should fit himself for college.
-
-Very delightful was the bustle and confusion attendant
-upon the preparations in the deacon's household,
-the entire family entering into the excitement
-with a zest which told how much the boy was beloved.
-Every one wished to do something for him, even to
-little Jessie, who, having never been taught to do a
-really useful thing until she came to Deerwood,
-worked perseveringly, but with small hope of success,
-upon a pair of socks like those which Ellen had knit
-for the deacon the winter before. But alas for Jessie!
-knitting was not her forte, and Walter himself
-could not forbear a smile at the queer-looking thing
-which grew but slowly in her hands. At last, in despair,
-she gave it up, and one night, when no one was
-near, threw it into the fire.
-
-"I must give him something for a keepsake," she
-thought, and remembering that he had sometimes
-smoothed her hair as if he liked it, she seized the
-shears, and cutting from her head the longest, handsomest
-curl, gave it to him with the explanation
-that "her father had taken a lock of her hair when he
-went away, and perhaps he would like one too."
-
-Affecting an indifference he did not feel, Walter
-laughingly accepted a gift which in future years
-would be very dear to him, because of the fair donor.
-
-The bright April morning came at last on which
-Walter left his home, and with tearful eyes the family
-watched him out of sight, and then, with saddened
-hearts, went back to their usual employments, feeling
-that the sunshine of the house had gone with the
-stirring, active boy, who, in one corner of the noisy
-car, was winking hard and counting the fence posts as
-they ran swiftly past, to keep himself from crying.
-Anon this feeling left him, and with the hopefulness of
-youth he looked eagerly into the far future, catching
-occasional glimpses of the day which would surely
-come to him when the names of Graham and Marshall
-would be associated together again.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.—EIGHT YEARS LATER.
-===============================
-
-
-It is the pleasant summer time, and on the
-college green groups of people hurry to
-and fro, some seeking their own pleasure
-beneath the grateful shade of the majestic elms, others
-wending their way to the hotel, while others still are
-hastening to the Center Church to hear the valedictory,
-which rumor says will be all the better received
-for the noble, manly beauty of the speaker chosen to
-this honor. Flushed with excitement, he stands before
-the people, his clear hazel eye wandering uneasily
-over the sea of upturned faces, as if in quest of one
-from whose presence he had hoped to catch his inspiration.
-But he looked in vain. Two figures alone
-met his view,—one a bent and gray-haired old man
-leaning on his staff, the other a mustached, stylish-looking
-youth of nearly his own age, who occupied a
-front seat, and with his glass coolly inspected the
-young orator.
-
-With a calm, dignified mien, Walter returned the
-gaze, wondering where he had seen that face before.
-Suddenly it flashed upon him, and with a feeling of
-gratified pride that it was thus they met again, he
-glanced a second time at the calm, benignant expression
-of the old man, who had come many miles to hear
-the speech his boy was to make. In the looks of the
-latter there was that which kindled a thrill of enthusiasm
-in Walter's frame, and when at last he opened his
-lips, and the tide of eloquence burst forth, the audience
-hung upon his words with breathless interest,
-greeting him at the close with shouts of applause
-which shook the solid walls and brought the old man
-to his feet. Then the tumult ceased, and amid the
-throng the hero of the hour was seen piloting his aged
-grandfather across the green to the hotel.
-
-"I wish your father was here to-day," the deacon
-said, as they reached the public parlor; but before
-Walter could reply he saw approaching them the
-stranger who had so leisurely inspected him with his
-quizzing-glass, and who now came forward, offering
-his hand and saying, laughingly:
-
-"Allow me to congratulate you upon having become
-yourself a *lion*."
-
-It did not need this speech to tell Walter that his
-visitor was William Bellenger, and he answered in the
-same light strain:
-
-"Yes, I'm not afraid of the lion now;" "nor of the
-baboon, either," was his mental rejoinder, as he saw
-the wondrous amount of hair his cousin had brought
-back from Europe, where for the last two years he had
-been traveling.
-
-William Bellenger could be very gracious when he
-tried, and as his object in introducing himself to Walter's
-notice was not so much to talk with him particularly,
-as to inquire after a certain young girl and
-heiress, whose bright, sparkling beauty was beginning
-to create something of a sensation, he assumed a
-friendliness he did not feel, and was soon conversing
-familiarly with Walter of the different people they
-both knew, mentioning incidentally Mr. Graham, the
-wealthy New York banker, whom he had met in
-Europe, for Mr. Graham had remained abroad six
-years. From him William had heard the warmest
-eulogies of Walter Marshall, and there had been
-kindled in his bosom a feeling of jealous enmity,
-which the events of the day had not in the least
-tended to diminish. Still if his cousin had not interfered
-with him in another matter of greater importance
-than the being praised by Mr. Graham and the
-people, he was satisfied, and it was to ascertain this
-fact that he had followed young Marshall to the hotel.
-
-Before going to New Haven William had called
-at the home of Jessie's grandmother in the city, to inquire
-for the young lady. The house was shut up
-and the family were in the country, the servant said,
-who answered William's ring, but the sharp eyes of
-the young man caught the outline of a figure listening
-in the upper hall, and readily divining who the
-figure was, he answered:
-
-"Yes, but Mrs. Bartow is here. Carry her my
-card and say that I will wait."
-
-The name of Bellenger brought down at once a
-bundle of satin and lace, which Jessie called her
-grandmother, and which was supposed to be showing
-off its diamonds at some fashionable hotel, instead of
-fanning itself in the back chamber of that brownstone
-front. From her William learned that Jessie
-was in Deerwood, and would probably attend the commencement
-exercises at Yale, as a boy of some kind,
-whom Mr. Graham had taken up, was to be graduated
-at that time. To New Haven, then, he went, examining
-the books at every hotel, and scanning the faces
-of those he met with an eager gaze, and at last, as he
-became convinced she was not there, he determined to
-seek an interview with his cousin, and question him
-of her whereabouts. After speaking of the father as
-a man whose acquaintance every one was proud to
-claim, he said, quite indifferently:
-
-"By the way, Walter, his daughter Jessie is in
-Deerwood, is she not?"
-
-"Yes," returned Walter; "she has been there for
-some weeks. She lived with us all the time her father
-was in Europe, except when she was away at school,"
-and Walter felt his pulses quicken, for he remembered
-what Mr. Graham had said of Mrs. Bartow's
-having set her heart on William as her future grandson.
-
-William knew as well as Walter that Jessie had
-lived at Deerwood, but he seemed to be surprised, and
-continued:
-
-"I wonder, then, she is not here to-day. She must
-feel quite a sisterly interest in you," and the eyes, not
-wholly unlike Walter's, save that they had in them a
-sinister expression, were fixed inquiringly upon young
-Marshall, who replied:
-
-"I did expect her, and my cousin too; but my
-grandfather says that Ellen was not able to come, and
-Jessie would not leave her."
-
-"She must be greatly attached to her country
-friends," returned William, and the slight sneer which
-accompanied the words prompted Walter to reply:
-
-"She is attached to some of us, I trust. At all
-events, I love her as a sister, for such she has been to
-me, while Mr. Graham has been a second father. I
-owe him everything——"
-
-"Not your education, certainly. You don't mean
-that?" interrupted William, who had from the first
-suspected as much, for he knew that Deacon Marshall
-was comparatively poor.
-
-Walter hesitated, for he had not yet outlived the
-pride which caused him to shrink from blazoning it
-abroad that a stranger's money had made him what he
-was. Deacon Marshall, on the contrary, had no such
-sensitiveness, and observing Walter's embarrassment,
-he answered for him:
-
-"Yes, Mr. Graham did pay for his education, and
-an old man's blessing on his head for that same deed
-of his'n."
-
-"Mr. Graham is very liberal," returned William,
-with a supercilious bow, which brought the hot blood
-to Walter's cheek. "Do you go home immediately?"
-he continued, and Walter replied:
-
-"My grandfather has a desire to visit Medway, in
-Massachusetts, where he married his wife, and as I
-promised to go with him in case he came to New
-Haven, I shall not return to Deerwood for a week."
-
-Instantly the face of William Bellenger brightened,
-and Walter felt a strong desire to knock him down
-when he said:
-
-"Allow me, then, to be the bearer of any message
-you may choose to send, for I am resolved upon seeing
-Miss Graham, and shall, accordingly, go to Deerwood.
-She will need a gallant in your absence, and
-trust me, I will do my best, though I cannot hope to
-fill the place of a *lion*."
-
-Involuntarily Walter clenched his fist, while in the
-angry look of defiance he cast upon his cousin, the impudent
-William read all the withering scorn he felt
-for him. Ay, more, for he read, too, or thought he
-did, that the beautiful Jessie Graham, whose father
-was worth a million, had a warm place in the young
-plebeian's heart, and this it was which brought the
-wrathful scowl to his own face as he compelled himself
-to offer his hand at parting.
-
-"What message did you bid me carry?" he asked,
-and taking his extended hand, Walter looked fiercely
-into his eyes as he replied:
-
-"None; I can tell her myself all I have to say."
-
-"Very well," said William, with another bow, and
-stroking the little forest about his mouth, he walked
-away.
-
-"I don't put much faith in presentiments," said the
-deacon, when he was gone, "but all the time that
-chap was here I felt as if a snake were crawling at my
-feet. Believe me, he's got to cross my path or yourn,
-mebby both," and the deacon resumed his post by the
-window, watching the passers-by, while Walter hurriedly
-paced the floor with a vague, uneasy sensation,
-for though he knew of no way in which the unprincipled
-Bellenger could possibly cross his grandfather's
-path, he did know how he could seriously disturb himself.
-
-Not that he had any confessed hope of winning
-Jessie Graham. She was far above him, he said. Yet
-she was the one particular star he worshiped, feeling
-that no other had a right to share the brightness with
-him, and when he remembered the shady, winding
-paths in the pleasant old woods at Deerwood, and the
-long afternoons when Ellen would be too languid to
-go out, and William and Jessie free to go alone, he
-longed for his grandfather to give up his favorite
-project and go back with him to Deerwood. But
-when he saw how the old man was set upon the visit,
-wondering if he should know the place, and if the
-thorn-apple tree were growing still where he sat with
-Eunice and asked her to be his wife, he put aside all
-thoughts of self, and went cheerfully to Medway,
-while his cousin, with an eye also to the shadowy
-woods and the quiet mountain walks, was hurrying on
-to Deerwood.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.—JESSIE AND ELLEN.
-=============================
-
-
-It was a glorious afternoon, and not a single
-feathery cloud flecked the clear blue of the
-sky. The refreshing rain of the previous
-night had cooled the sultry August air, and all about
-the farm-house the grass had taken a brighter green
-and the flowers a brighter hue. Away to the westward,
-at the distance of nearly one-fourth of a mile,
-the woods were streaked with an avenue of pines,
-which grew so closely together that the scorching rays
-of the noontide sun seldom found entrance to the velvety
-plat where Walter had built a rustic bench, with
-Jessie looking on, and where Jessie and Ellen now
-were sitting, the one upon the seat and the other on
-the grass filling her straw hat with cones, and talking
-to her companion of the young graduate, wondering
-where he was, and if he didn't wish he were there
-with them beneath the sheltering pines.
-
-Eight years had changed the little girls of nine
-and eight into grown-up, graceful maidens, and though
-of an entirely different style, each was beautiful in her
-own way, Jessie as a brunette, and Ellen as a blonde.
-Full of frolic, life and fun, Jessie carried it all upon
-her sparkling face, and in her laughing eyes of black.
-Now, as of old, her raven hair clustered in short, thick
-curls around her forehead and neck, giving her the
-look of a gypsy, her father said, as he fondly stroked
-the elfin locks, and thought how beautiful she was.
-Five years she had lived in Deerwood, and then, at
-her father's request, had gone to a fashionable boarding-school,
-for the only child of the millionaire must
-have accomplishments such as could not be obtained
-among the New England mountains. No process of
-polishing, however, or course of discipline had succeeded
-as yet in making her forget her country home,
-and when Mr. Graham, whose business called him
-West, offered her the choice between Newport and
-Deerwood, she unhesitatingly chose the latter, greatly
-to the vexation of her grandmother, who delighted in
-society now even more than she did when young. If
-Jessie went to Deerwood she must remain at home,
-for she could not go to Newport alone, and what was
-worse, she must live secluded in the rear of the house
-for Mrs. Bartow would not for the world let her fashionable
-acquaintances know that she passed the entire
-summer in the city. She should lose *caste* at once,
-she thought, and she used every possible argument to
-persuade Jessie to give up her visit to Deerwood, and
-go with her instead. But Jessie would not listen.
-"Grandma could accompany old Mrs. Reeves," she
-said, "they'd have a splendid time quarreling over
-their respective granddaughters, herself and Charlotte,
-but as for her, she should go to Deerwood;" and she
-accordingly went there, and took with her a few city
-airs and numerous city fashions.
-
-The former, however, were always laid aside when
-talking to Ellen, who was by some accounted the more
-beautiful of the two, with her wealth of golden hair,
-her soft eyes of violet blue, and her pale, transparent
-complexion. As gentle and quiet as she was lovely,
-she formed a striking contrast to the merry, frolicsome
-Jessie, with her darker, richer style of beauty,
-and neither ever appeared so well as when they were
-together. In all the world there was no one, except
-her father, whom Jessie loved as she did Ellen Howland,
-and though, amid the gay scenes of her city
-home, she frequently forgot her, and neglected to send
-the letters which were so precious to the simple country
-girl, her love returned the moment the city was
-left behind, and she breathed the exhilarating air of
-the Deerwood hills.
-
-She called Walter her brother, and had watched
-him through his college course with all a sister's pride,
-looking eagerly forward to the time when he would
-be in her father's employ, for it was settled that he
-was to enter Mr. Graham's bank as soon as he was
-graduated. And as on that summer afternoon she sat
-upon the grassy ridge and talked with Ellen of him,
-she spoke of the coming winter when he would be
-with her in the city.
-
-"It will be so nice," she said, "to have such a
-splendid beau, for I mean to get him introduced right
-away. I shall be seventeen in a month, and I'm coming
-out next season. I wish you could spend the winter
-with me, and see something of the world. I mean
-to ask your mother. Father will buy your dresses to
-wear to parties, and concerts, and the opera. Only
-think of having a box all to ourselves,—you and I and
-Walter, and maybe Charlotte Reeves once in a great
-while, or cousin Jennie. Wouldn't you love to go?"
-
-"No, not for anything," answered Ellen, who
-liked early hours and quiet rooms, and always experienced
-a kind of suffocation in the presence of fashionable
-people, and who continued: "I don't believe
-Walter will like it either, unless he changes greatly.
-He used to have a horror of city folks, and I do believe
-almost hated *you* before you came to Deerwood,
-just because you were born in New York."
-
-"Hated *me*, Ellen!" repeated Jessie. "He shook
-me, I know, and I've been a little afraid of him ever
-since, but it did me good, for I deserved it, I was such
-a high-tempered piece; but I did not know he hated
-me. Do you suppose he hates me now?" and Jessie's
-manner evinced a deeper interest in Walter than she
-herself believed existed.
-
-Ellen saw it at once, and so did the man who for
-the last ten minutes had been watching the young
-girls through the pine tree boughs. William Bellenger
-had reached Deerwood on the afternoon train,
-and gone at once to the farm-house, whose gable roof,
-small window panes, and low walls had provoked
-a smile of derision, while he wondered what Jessie
-Graham could find to attract her there. Particularly
-was he amused with the quaint expressions of
-Aunt Debby, who, in her high-crowned cap, with
-black handkerchief smoothly crossed in front, and her
-wide check apron on, sat knitting by the door, stopping
-occasionally to take a pinch of snuff, or "shoo"
-the hens when they came too near.
-
-"The gals was in the woods," she said, when he
-asked for Miss Graham, and she bade him "make
-Ellen get up if he should find her setting on the damp
-ground, as she presumed she was. Ellen was weakly,"
-she said, "and wasn't an atom like Walter, who was
-as trim a chap as one could wish to see. Did the
-young man know Walter?"
-
-"Oh, yes," returned William. "He is my cousin."
-
-"Your cousin!" and the needles dropped from the
-old lady's hands. "Bless me!" and adjusting her
-glasses a little more firmly upon her nose she peered
-curiously at him. "I want to know if you are one of
-them Bellengers? Wall, I guess you do favor
-Walter, if a body could see your face. It's the fashion,
-I s'pose, to wear all that baird."
-
-"Yes, all the fashion," returned William, who was
-certainly good-natured, even if he possessed no other
-virtue, and having asked again the road to the woods,
-he set off in that direction.
-
-Following the path Aunt Debby pointed out, he
-soon came near enough to catch a view of the white
-dress Jessie wore, and wishing to see her first, himself
-unobserved, he crept cautiously to an opening
-among the pines, where he could see and hear all that
-was passing. Jessie's sparkling, animated face was
-turned toward him, but he scarcely heeded it in his
-surprise at another view which greeted his vision. A
-slender, willowy form was more in accordance with
-Will's taste than a fat chubby one, and in Ellen
-Howland his idea of a beautiful woman was, if possible,
-more than realized. She was leaning against a
-tree, her blue gingham morning gown,—for she was an
-invalid,—wrapped gracefully about her her golden
-hair, slightly tinged with red, combed back from
-her forehead, her long eyelashes veiling her eyes of
-blue, and shading her colorless cheek, while her lily-white
-hands were folded together, and rested upon
-her lap.
-
-"Jupiter!" thought William, "I did not suppose
-Deerwood capable of producing anything like that.
-Why, she's the realization of what I've often fancied
-my wife should be. Now, if she were only rich I'd
-yield the black-eyed witch of a Jessie to my milksop
-cousin. But, pshaw! it shan't be said of me that I
-fell in love at first sight with a vulgar country girl.
-What the deuce, they talk of Walter, do they! I'll
-try eavesdropping a little longer," and bending his
-head, he listened while their conversation proceeded.
-
-He heard what Ellen said of Walter; he saw the
-startled look upon the face of Jessie as she exclaimed,
-"Does he hate me now?" and in that look he read
-what Jessie did not know herself.
-
-"The wretch!" he muttered, between his teeth;
-"why couldn't he take the other one? I would, if the
-million were on her side," and in the glance he cast on
-Ellen there was more than a mere passing fancy.
-
-She must have felt its influence, for as that look
-fell upon her she said:
-
-"It's cold,—I shiver as with a chill. Let's go back
-to the house," and she arose to her feet, just as the
-pine boughs parted asunder, and William appeared
-before them.
-
-"Mr. Bellenger!" Jessie exclaimed. "When did
-you come?"
-
-"Half an hour since," he returned, "and not finding
-you in the house I came this way, little thinking I
-should stumble upon two wood nymphs instead of
-one," and again the peculiar glance rested upon Ellen,
-who had sunk back upon her seat, and whose soft eyes
-fell beneath his gaze.
-
-The brief introduction was over, and then Ellen
-rose to go, complaining that she was cold and tired.
-
-"We will go, too," said Jessie, putting on her hat,
-when Mr. Bellenger touched her arm, and said in a low
-voice of entreaty:
-
-"Stay here with me."
-
-"Yes, stay," rejoined Ellen, who caught the words.
-"It is pleasant here, and I can go alone."
-
-So Jessie stayed, and when the slow footsteps had
-died away in the distance William sat down beside
-her, and after expressing his delight at meeting her
-again, said, indifferently as it were:
-
-"By the way, I have just come from New Haven,
-where I had the pleasure of hearing the charity boy's
-valedictory. It is strange what assurance some people
-have."
-
-"Charity boy!" repeated Jessie; "I thought
-Walter Marshall was to deliver the valedictory."
-
-"And isn't he a charity scholar? Don't your
-father pay his bills?" asked William, in a tone which
-Jessie did not like.
-
-"Well, yes," she answered, "but somehow I
-don't like to hear you call him that, because——" she
-hesitated, and William's face grew dark while waiting
-for her answer, which, when it came, was, "because
-he saved my life;" and then Jessie told her companion
-how, but for Walter Marshall, she would not
-have been sitting there that summer afternoon.
-
-"Was Walter's speech a good one?" she asked,
-her manner indicating that she knew it was.
-
-Not a change in her speaking face escaped the
-watchful eye of William, and knowing well that insinuations
-are often stronger and harder to refute than
-any open assertion, he replied, with seeming reluctance:
-
-"Yes, very good; though some of it sounded
-strangely familiar, and I heard others hinting pretty
-strongly at plagiarism."
-
-This last was in a measure true, for one of Walter's
-class, chagrined that the honor was not conferred
-upon himself, had taken pains to say that the valedictory
-was not all of it Walter's,—that an older and
-wiser head had helped him in its composition. William
-did not believe this, but it suited his purpose to
-repeat it, and he watched narrowly for the effect.
-Jessie Graham was the soul of truth, and no accusation
-could have been brought against Walter which would
-have pained her so much as the belief that he had been
-dishonorable in the least degree.
-
-"Walter would never pass off what was not his
-own!" she exclaimed. "It isn't like him, or like any
-of the Marshall family."
-
-"You forget his father," said the man beside her,
-carelessly thrusting aside a cone with his polished
-boot.
-
-"What did his father do?" Jessie asked in some
-surprise, and her companion replied:
-
-"You astonish me, Miss Graham, by professing
-ignorance of what Walter's father did. You know, of
-course."
-
-"Indeed I do not," she returned. "I only know
-that there is something unpleasant connected with
-him,—something which annoys Walter terribly, but I
-never heard the story. I asked my father once and he
-seemed greatly agitated, saying he would rather not
-talk of it. Then I asked Ellen, but if she knew she
-would not tell, and she evaded all my questioning, so
-I gave it up, for I dare not ask Deacon Marshall or
-Walter either. What was it, Mr. Bellenger?"
-
-William understood just how proud Jessie Graham
-was, and how she would be shocked at the very idea
-of public disgrace. Once convince her of the parent's
-guilt, and she will sicken of the son, he thought, so
-when she said again, "What was it? What did Mr.
-Marshall do?" he replied:
-
-"If your father has kept it from you, I ought not
-to speak of it, perhaps; but this I will say, if Seth
-Marshall had his just deserts, he would now be the
-inmate of a felon's cell."
-
-"Walter's father a felon!" Jessie exclaimed,
-bounding to her feet. "I never thought of anything
-as bad as that. Is it true? Oh! is it true?" and
-in the maiden's heart there was a new-born feeling,
-which, had Walter been there then, would have
-prompted her to shrink from him as if he, too, had
-been a sharer of his father's sin.
-
-"You seem greatly excited," said William. "It
-must be that you are more deeply interested in young
-Marshall than I supposed."
-
-"I am interested," she replied. "I have liked him
-so much that I never dreamed of associating him with
-dishonor."
-
-"Why need you now?" asked the wily Will.
-"Walter had nothing to do with it, though, to be
-sure, it is but natural to suppose that the child is
-somewhat like the father, particularly if it does not
-inherit any of its mother's virtues, as Walter, I suppose,
-does not. He is a Marshall through and
-through," and William smiled exultingly as he saw
-how well his insinuation was doing its work.
-
-"Tell me more," Jessie whispered. "*What* did
-Mr. Marshall do?"
-
-"I would rather not," returned William, at the
-same time hinting that it was something she ought
-not to hear. "If your father had good reason for
-keeping it from you, so have I. Suffice it to know
-that it killed his young wife, my father's sister, and
-that our family since have scarcely recognized Walter
-as belonging to us. It wasn't any fault of mine," he
-continued, as he saw the flash of Jessie's eyes, and
-readily divined that she did not wish to have Walter
-slighted. "I cannot help it. Our family are very
-proud, my grandmother particularly; and when my
-aunt married a poor ignorant country youth, it was
-natural that she should feel it, and when the disgrace
-came it was ten times worse. There is such a thing
-as marrying far beneath one's station, and you can
-imagine my grandmother's feelings by fancying what
-your own father's would be if you were to throw
-yourself away upon—well, upon this Waiter, who
-may be well enough himself, but who can never hope
-to wipe away the stain upon his name," and William
-looked at her sideways, to see the effect of what he
-had said.
-
-Jessie Graham was easily influenced, and she attached
-far more importance to William's words than
-she would have done had she known his real design;
-so when he spoke of her marrying Walter as a preposterous
-and impossible event, she accepted it as such,
-and wondered why her heart should throb so painfully
-or why she should feel as if something had
-been wrested from her,—something which, all unknown
-to herself, had made her life so happy. She
-had taken her first lesson in distrust, and the poison
-was working well.
-
-For a long time they sat there among the pines,
-not talking of Walter, but of the city and the wondrous
-sights which Will had seen in his foreign
-travels. There was something very soothing to Jessie
-in William's manner, so different from that which
-Walter assumed toward her. Like most young girls
-she was fond of flattery, and Walter had more than
-once offended her by his straightforward way of telling
-her faults. William, on the contrary, sang her
-praises only; and, while listening to him, she wondered
-she had never thought before how very agreeable
-he was. He saw the impression he was making,
-and when at last, as the sun was nearing the western
-horizon, she arose to go, proposing that they should
-take the Marshall grave-yard in their route, he assented,
-for this, he knew, would keep him longer with
-her alone.
-
-"Your aunt is buried here," Jessie said, as they
-drew near to the fence which surrounded the home of
-dead; "that is hers," and she pointed to the monument
-gleaming in the sunlight.
-
-"Do you bury your bodies above the ground?"
-asked William, directing her attention to the flutter of
-a blue morning dress, plainly visible beyond the taller
-stone.
-
-"Why, that is Ellen!" cried Jessie, hurrying on
-until she reached the gate, where she stopped suddenly,
-and beckoned her companion to approach as
-noiselessly as possible.
-
-Ellen also had come that way, and seating herself
-by her grandmother's grave, had fallen asleep, and
-like some rare piece of sculpture, she lay among the
-tall, rank grass—so near to a rose tree that one of the
-fading blossoms had dropped its leaves upon her face.
-
-"Isn't she beautiful?" Jessie said to her companion,
-who replied; "Yes, wonderfully beautiful," so
-loud that the fair sleeper awoke and started up.
-
-"I was so tired," she said, "that I sat down and
-must have gone to sleep, for I dreamed that I was
-dead, and that the man who came to us in the pines
-dug my grave. Where is he, Jessie!"
-
-"I am here," said William, coming forward, "and
-believe me, my dear Miss Howland, I would dig the
-grave of almost any one sooner than your own. Allow
-me to assist you," and he offered her his hand.
-
-Ellen was really very weak, and when he saw how
-pale she was he made her lean upon him as they
-walked down the hillside to the house. And once,
-when Jessie was tripping on before, he slightly
-pressed the little blue-veined hand trembling on his
-arm, while in a very tender voice he asked if she felt
-better. Ellen Howland was wholly unaccustomed to
-the world, and had grown up to womanhood as ignorant
-of flattery or deceit as the veriest child. Pure
-and innocent herself, she did not dream of treachery
-in others. Walter to her was a fair type of all mankind,
-and she could not begin to fathom the heart of
-the man who walked beside her, touching her hand
-more than once before they reached the farm-house
-door.
-
-They found the supper table neatly spread for five,
-and though William's intention was to spend the night
-at the village hotel, he accepted Mrs. Howland's invitation
-to stay to tea, making himself so much at home,
-and chatting with all so familiarly, that Aunt Debby
-pronounced him a clever chap, while Mrs. Howland
-wondered why people should say the Bellengers of
-Boston were proud and overbearing. It was late that
-night when William left them, for there was something
-very attractive in the blue of Ellen's eyes, and
-the shining black of Jessie's, and when at last he left
-them, and was alone with himself and the moonlight,
-he was conscious that there had come to him that day
-the first unselfish, manly impulse he had known for
-years. He had mingled much with fashionable ladies.
-None knew how artificial they were better than himself,
-and he had come at last to believe that there was
-not among them a single true, noble-hearted woman.
-Jessie Graham might be an exception, but even she
-was tainted with the city atmosphere. Her father's
-purse, however, would make amends for any faults
-she might possess, and he must win that purse at all
-hazards; but while doing that he did not think it
-wrong to pay the tribute of admiration to the golden-haired
-Ellen, whose modest, refined beauty had impressed
-him so much, and whose artless, childlike
-manner had affected him more than he supposed.
-"Little Snow-Drop" he called her to himself, and sitting
-alone in his chamber at the hotel, he blessed the
-happy chance which had thrown her in his way.
-
-"It is like the refreshing shower to the parched
-earth," he said, and he thought what happiness it
-would be to study that pure girl, to see if, far down
-in the depths of her heart, there were not the germs of
-vanity and deceit, or better yet, if there were not
-something in her nature which would sometime respond
-to him. He did not think of the harm he
-might do her. He did not care, in fact, even though
-he won her love only to cast it from him as a useless
-thing. Country girls like her were only made for
-men like him to play with. No wonder then if in her
-dreams that night Ellen moaned with fear of the
-beautiful serpent which seemed winding itself, fold on
-fold, about her.
-
-Jessie, too, had troubled dreams of felon's cells, of
-clanking chains, and even of a gallows, with Walter
-standing underneath beseeching her to come and share
-the shame with him. Truly the serpent had entered
-this Eden and left its poisonous trail.
-
-For nearly a week William staid in town, and the
-village maidens often looked wistfully after him as he
-drove his fast horses, sometimes with Jessie at his side,
-and sometimes with Ellen, but never with them both,
-for the words he breathed into the ear of one were not
-intended for the other. Drop by drop was he infusing
-into Jessie's mind a distrust of one whom she had
-heretofore considered the soul of integrity and honor.
-Not openly, lest she should suspect his motive, but
-covertly, cautiously, always apparently seeking an
-excuse for anything the young man might hereafter
-do, and succeeding at last in making Jessie thoroughly
-uncomfortable, though why she could not tell. She
-did not blame Walter for his father's sins, but she
-would much rather his name should have been without
-a blemish.
-
-Gradually the brightness of Jessie's face gave way
-to a thoughtful, serious look, her merry laugh was
-seldom heard, and she would sit for hours so absorbed
-in her own thoughts as not to heed the change which
-the last few days had wrought in Ellen, too. Never
-before had the latter seemed so happy, so joyous, so
-full of life as now, and Aunt Debby said the rides
-with Mr. Bellenger upon the mountains had done her
-good. William had pursued his study faithfully, and,
-in doing so, had become so much interested himself
-that he would have asked Ellen to be his wife had she
-been rich as she was lovely. But his bride must be
-an heiress; and so, though knowing that he could
-never be to Ellen Howland other than a friend, he led
-her on step by step until at last she saw but what he
-saw, and heard but what he heard. He was not deceiving
-her, he said, sometimes when conscience
-reproached him for his cruelty. She knew how widely
-different their stations were; she could not expect
-that one whom half the belles of Boston and New
-York would willingly accept could think of making
-her his wife. He was only polite to her, only giving
-a little variety to her monotonous life. She would
-forget him when he was gone. And at this point he
-was conscious of an unwillingness to be forgotten.
-
-"If we were only Mormons," he thought, the last
-night of his stay at Deerwood, when out under the
-cherry trees in the garden he talked with her alone,
-and saw the varying color on her cheek, as he said,
-"We may never meet again." "If we were only
-Mormons, I would have them both, Nellie and Jessie,
-the one for her gilded setting, the other because——"
-
-He did not finish the sentence, for he was not willing
-then to acknowledge to himself the love which
-really and truly was growing in his heart for the fair
-girl beside him.
-
-"But you'll surely come to us again," Nellie said.
-"Jessie will be here. You'll want to visit her," and a
-tear trembled on her long eyelashes.
-
-"I can see Jessie in the city, and if I come to
-Deerwood it will be you who brings me. Do you
-wish me to come and see you, Nellie?" and the dark,
-handsome face bent so low that the rich brown hair
-rested on the golden locks of the artless, innocent girl,
-who answered, in a whisper,
-
-"Yes, I wish you to come."
-
-"Then you must give me a kiss," he said, "as a
-surety of my welcome, and when the trees on the
-mountain where we have been so happy together are
-casting their dense leaves in the autumn, I will surely
-be with you again."
-
-The kiss was given—not one—not two—but many,
-for William Bellenger was greedy, and his lips had
-never touched aught so pure and sweet before.
-
-"I wouldn't tell Walter that I'm coming," he
-said, "for he does not like me, I fancy, and I cannot
-bear to have him prejudice you against me. I
-wouldn't tell my mother either, or any one——"
-
-"Not Jessie?" Ellen asked, for she had a kind of
-natural pride in wishing her friend to know that she,
-who never aspired to notice of any kind, had succeeded
-in pleasing the fastidious William Bellenger.
-
-"No, not Jessie," he said, "because,—well, because
-you better not," and knowing well his power over the
-timid girl, he felt sure that his wishes would be regarded,
-and with another good-by, he left her.
-
-He had hoped that Jessie would be induced to accompany
-him to New York, and as there was a secret
-understanding between himself and Mrs. Bartow, the
-old lady had written, entreating her granddaughter to
-return with William.
-
-"You have stayed in the country long enough,"
-she wrote, "and I dare say you are as sunburnt and
-freckled as you can be, so pray come home. Everybody
-is gone, I know, and New York is just like
-Sunday, while I stay like a guilty thing in the rear of
-the house, to make folks think I'm off to some watering
-place. I wouldn't for the world let old Mrs.
-Reeves know that I have been cooped up here the
-blessed summer. It's all owing to your obstinacy, too,
-and I think you ought to come back and entertain me.
-Mr. Bellenger will attend to you, and you couldn't
-ask for a more desirable companion. Old Mrs. Reeves
-says he is the most eligible match in the city, his
-family are so aristocratic. There isn't a single mechanic
-or working person in the whole line, for she
-spent an entire season in tracing back their ancestry,
-finding but one blot, and that an unfortunate marriage
-of a Miss Ellen Bellenger with some ignorant country
-loafer she met at boarding-school, and who she says
-was hung, or sent to State prison, I forgot which. I
-am sorry she discovered this last, as in case you cut
-out Charlotte, and of course you will, it will be like
-the spiteful old wretch to blazon it abroad, though
-William ain't to blame, of course."
-
-"I wonder I never told grandma that Walter was
-connected with the Bellengers," Jessie thought, as she
-finished reading this letter, which came to her the
-night when William, beneath the cherry trees, was
-whispering words to Ellen which should never have
-been spoken. "It's probably because I've not been
-much with her of late, and she never seemed at all interested
-in him, except indeed, to say that pa ought to
-get him a situation in a grocery, or something to pay
-him for saving my life. I wish she wasn't so foolishly
-proud," and as Jessie read the letter again, she felt
-glad that her grandmother did not know how nearly
-Walter Marshall was connected with the man who
-"was hung, or sent to State prison."
-
-Gradually, too, there arose before her mind the
-whole array of her city friends, with old Mrs. Reeves
-and Charlotte at their head, and the idea of having
-Walter with her in the city the coming winter was
-not as pleasant as it once had been. Her grandmother
-might find out who he was; William would
-tell, perhaps, and she could not bear the thought of
-seeing him slighted, as he was sure to be if the tide,
-of which the old lady Reeves was the under-current,
-should set in against him.
-
-"I've half a mind to go home," she thought, "before
-anything definite is arranged, and persuade father
-to secure Walter just as good a situation in some other
-place where he won't be slighted."
-
-This allusion to her father was a fortunate one, for
-in her cool moments of reflection there was no one
-whose judgment Jessie regarded so highly as her
-father's. He knew Walter,—he respected him, too,
-and had often spoken with pleasure of the time when
-he would be with him.
-
-"People dare not laugh if father takes him up,"
-she thought, while something whispered to her that
-she, too, could, if she would, do much toward helping
-Walter to the position in society he was fitted to
-occupy. "I won't go," she said, at last. "I'll stay
-and see Walter again, at all events, though I do wish
-Will hadn't told me about his speech, and his father,
-too. I mean to ask him some time to tell me the exact
-truth." And having reached this resolution Jessie
-sat down and wrote to her grandmother that she
-could not come yet, she was so happy in the country.
-
-This she intended taking to William in the morning,
-for she had promised to meet him at the depot
-and see him off. "I shall be rather lonely when he is
-gone," she thought, and walking to the window of her
-room, she wondered if Charlotte Reeves would succeed
-in winning William Bellenger.
-
-"Her grandmother will strain every nerve," she
-thought, "but by just saying a word I can supplant
-her, I know, else why has he stayed here a whole
-week? Nell, is that you?" and Jessie started as the
-young girl glided into the room, her face unusually
-pale, and her whole appearance indicative of some
-secret agitation. "Where have you been?" asked
-Jessie, "and who was it that shut the gate?"
-
-"Where? I didn't hear any gate," Ellen replied,
-trembling lest she should betray what she had been
-forbidden to divulge.
-
-Had she confessed it then it would have saved her
-many a weary heartache, and her companion from
-many a thoughtless act, but she did not, and when
-Jessie, caressed her white cheek, and said laughingly,
-"Has my prudish Nell a secret love affair?" she made
-some incoherent answer, and, seeking her pillow, lived
-over again the scene in the garden, blushing to herself
-as she recalled the dark face which had bent so near
-to hers, and the tender voice which had whispered in
-her ear the name so recently given to her. "Little
-Snow-Drop," he called her when he bade her adieu,
-and the moon went down behind the mountain ere she
-fell asleep thinking of that name and the time when
-the forest tree would cast its leaf and he be with
-her again.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.—WALTER AND JESSIE.
-=============================
-
-
-"So you won't go with me," William said to
-Jessie, next morning, when she met him
-at the depot and gave him the note
-intended for her grandmother.
-
-"No," she replied. "The city is dull as yet, and
-I'd rather remain here with Ellen."
-
-"Oh, yes, Ellen," and William spoke quite indifferently.
-"Why didn't she come to bid me good-by?"
-and he looked curiously at Jessie to see how much she
-knew.
-
-But Jessie suspected nothing, and replied at once:
-
-"She has a headache this morning and was still in
-bed when I left her."
-
-The heartless man was conscious of a pleasurable
-sensation,—a feeling of gratified vanity,—for he knew
-that headache was for him. But he merely said:
-
-"Tell her that I'm sorry she's sick; she is a pleasant,
-quiet little girl, quite superior to country girls in
-general."
-
-"There's the train," cried Jessie, and in a moment
-the cars rolled up before them.
-
-"It will seem a young eternity until you come
-home," said William, clasping Jessie's hand. "Good-bye,"
-he added, as "all aboard" was shouted in his
-ear, and as he turned away his place was taken by
-another, who had witnessed the parting between the
-two, and at whom Jessie looked wonderingly, exclaiming:
-
-"Why, Walter, I didn't expect you to-day."
-
-"And shall I infer that I am the less welcome from
-that?" the young man asked, for with his inborn
-jealousy, which no amount of discipline could quite
-subdue, he thought he detected in Jessie's tone and
-manner something cold and constrained.
-
-Nor was he wholly mistaken, for Jessie did not
-feel toward him just as she had done before. Still
-she greeted him cordially,—thought how handsome he
-was, and came pretty near telling him so,—but told
-him instead, that she thought he resembled his cousin
-William. This brought the conversation to a point
-Walter longed to reach, and as they walked slowly
-towards home he questioned her of William,—asking
-when he came, and if she had seen much of him previous
-to his visit there.
-
-"I saw him almost every day before he went to
-Europe," she replied. "You know he lives in New
-York now, and grandma thinks there's nobody like
-him."
-
-"Yes," returned Walter, "I remember your father
-told me once that she had set her heart upon your
-marrying him."
-
-"People would think it a splendid match," returned
-Jessie, a little mischievously, for as she had
-known that William disliked Walter, so she now felt
-that Walter disliked William, and she continued:
-"Charlotte Reeves would give the world to have him
-spend a week in the country with her," and the saucy
-black eyes looked roguishly up at Walter, who
-frowned gloomily for an instant, and then rejoined:
-
-"Shall I tell you what your father said about it?"
-
-"Yes, do. I think everything of his opinion."
-
-"He said, then, that he would rather see you
-buried than the wife of any of that race," and Walter
-laid a great stress upon the last two words.
-
-For a time Jessie walked on in silence, then stopping
-short and looking up from under her straw hat,
-she said:
-
-"Ain't *you* one of that race?"
-
-"I suppose I am," answered Walter, smiling at
-a question which admitted of two or three significations.
-
-Jessie thought of but one. Her father liked
-Walter very much, even though his mother was a
-Bellenger; consequently it must be something about
-William himself which prompted that remark, and as
-Jessie usually echoed her father's sentiments, she felt,
-the old disagreeable sensation giving way, and before
-they reached the farm-house she was chatting as
-gayly with Walter, as if nothing had ever come between
-them.
-
-That night Walter and Jessie sat together in the
-little portico, which was securely shaded from the sun
-by Aunt Debby's thrifty hop vines. Walter was telling
-Jessie of his recent visit, and how his grandfather
-cried when he stood in the room where he was married
-nearly fifty years before.
-
-"I supposed old people outlived all their romance,"
-said Jessie, adding laughingly, as she plucked the
-broad green leaves growing near her head, "I don't
-think I could love any body but father fifty years,—could
-you?"
-
-"It would depend a good deal upon the person I
-loved," returned Walter, and the look he gave Jessie
-seemed to say that it would not be a hard matter to
-love her through all time.
-
-Jessie saw the look, and while it thrilled her with
-a sudden emotion of pleasure, it involuntarily reminded
-her of what William had said of the valedictory,
-and abruptly changing the conversation she
-said:
-
-"Mr. Bellenger told me your speech was very
-good. May I see it for myself?"
-
-Walter was a fine orator, and knew that the favor
-with which his speech had been received was in a
-great measure owing to the manner in which it was
-delivered. He was willing for Jessie to have heard it,
-but he felt a natural reluctance in permitting her to
-read it. Jessie saw his hesitancy, and it strengthened
-the suspicion which before had hardly existed.
-
-"Yes, let me see it," she said. "You are surely
-not afraid of me!" and she persisted in her entreaties
-until he gave it into her hands, and then joined his
-grandfather, while she returned to her room, and
-striking a light, abandoned herself to the reading of
-the valedictory; and as she read it seemed even to her
-that she had heard some portion of it before.
-
-"Yes, I have!" she exclaimed, as she came upon a
-strikingly expressed and peculiar idea. "I have read
-that in print," and in Jessie's heart there was a sore
-spot, for the losing confidence in Walter was terrible
-to her. "He is not strictly honorable," she said, and
-laying her face upon the roll of paper, she cried to
-think how she had been deceived.
-
-The next morning Walter was not long in observing
-her cold distant manner, and he accordingly became
-as cold and formal toward her, addressing her
-as Miss Graham, when he spoke to her at all, and
-after breakfast was over, going to the village, where
-he remained until long past the dinner hour, hearing
-that which made him in no hurry to return home and
-make his peace with the little dark-eyed beauty.
-Everybody was talking of Miss Graham's city beau,
-who had taken her to ride so often, and who, when
-joked by his familiar landlord, had partially admitted
-that an engagement actually existed between them.
-
-"So you've lost her, sleek and clean," said the
-talkative Joslyn to Walter, who replied that "it was
-difficult losing what one never had," and said distinctly
-that "he did not aspire to the honor of Miss
-Graham's hand."
-
-But whether he did or not, the story he had
-heard was not calculated to improve his state of mind,
-and his dejection was plainly visible upon his face
-when he at last reached home.
-
-"Jessie was up among the pines," Aunt Debby
-said, advising him "to join her and cheer her up a
-bit, for she seemed desput low spirited since Mr.
-Bellenger went away."
-
-Had Aunt Debby wished to keep Walter from
-Jessie, she could not have devised a better plan than
-this, for the high spirited young man had no intention
-of intruding upon a grief caused by William Bellenger's
-absence, and hour after hour Jessie sat alone
-among the pines, starting at every sound, and once,
-when sure a footstep was near, hiding behind a rock,
-"so as to make him think she wasn't there." Then,
-when the footstep proved to be a rabbit's tread, she
-crept back to her seat upon the grass, and pouted because
-it was not Walter.
-
-"He might know I'd be lonesome," she said, "after
-receiving so much attention, and he ought to entertain
-me a little, if only to pay for all father has done for
-him. If there is anything I dislike, it is ingratitude,"
-and having reached this point, Jessie burst into tears,
-though why she should cry, she could not tell.
-
-She only knew that she was very warm and very
-uncomfortable, and that it did her good to cry, so she
-lay with her face in the grass, while the rabbit came
-several times very near, and at last fled away as a
-heavier, firmer step approached.
-
-It was not likely Jessie would stay in the pines all
-the afternoon, Walter thought, and as the sun drew
-near the western horizon, he said to his grandfather:
-
-"I will go for the cows to-night just as I used to
-do," and though the pasture where they fed lay in the
-opposite direction from the pines, he bent his footsteps
-toward the latter place, and came suddenly upon Jessie,
-who was sobbing like a child.
-
-"Jessie," he exclaimed, laying his hand gently
-upon her arm, "what *is* the matter."
-
-"Nothing," she replied, "only I'm lonesome and
-homesick, and I wish I'd gone to New York with Mr.
-Bellenger."
-
-"Why didn't you then?" was Walter's cool reply,
-and Jessie answered, angrily:
-
-"I would, if I had known what I do now."
-
-"And pray what do you know now?" Walter
-asked, in the same cold, calm, tone, which so exasperated
-Jessie that she replied:
-
-"I know you hate me, and I know you didn't write
-all that valedictory, and everything."
-
-"Jessie," Walter said, sternly, "what do you mean
-about that valedictory. Come, sit by me and tell me
-at once."
-
-In Walter's voice there was a tone which, as a
-child, Jessie had been wont to obey, and now at his
-command she stole timidly to his side upon the rustic
-bench, and told him all her suspicions, and the source
-from which they originated.
-
-There was a sudden flash of anger in Walter's eye
-at his cousin's meanness, and then, with a merry laugh,
-he said:
-
-"And it sounded familiar to you, too, did it?
-Some parts of it might, I'll admit, for you had heard
-them before. Do you remember being at any examination
-in Wilbraham, when I took the prize in composition,
-or rather declamation? It was said then
-that my essay was far beyond my years, and I am
-inclined to think it was; for I have written nothing
-since which pleased me half so well. I was appointed
-valedictorian, as you know, and in preparing my oration
-I selected a few of those old ideas and embodied
-them in language to suit the occasion. I am hardly
-willing to call it plagiarism, stealing from myself, and
-I am sure you would never have recognized it either
-if Mr. Bellenger had not roused your suspicions. Is
-my explanation satisfactory?"
-
-It was perfectly so, for Jessie now remembered
-where she had heard something like Walter's valedictory,
-and with her doubts removed she became much
-like herself again, though she would not admit that
-William's insinuations were mere fabrications of his
-own. He never heard it before, she knew, but some
-of Walter's old Wilbraham associates might have
-been present and said in his hearing that it seemed
-familiar, and then it would be quite natural for him to
-think so too.
-
-Walter did not dispute her, but said:
-
-"What else did my amiable cousin say against
-me?"
-
-Clasping her hands over her burning face, Jessie
-answered faintly:
-
-"He told me that your father had done a horrible
-thing, though he didn't explain what it was. I knew
-before that there was something unpleasant, and once
-asked father about it, but he wouldn't tell, and I want
-so much to know. What was it, Walter?"
-
-For a moment Walter hesitated, then drawing
-Jessie nearer to him, he replied:
-
-"It will pain me greatly to tell you that sad story,
-but I would rather you should hear it from my lips
-than from any other," and then, unmindful of the
-cows, which, having waited long for their accustomed
-summons, were slowly wending their way homeward,
-he began the story as follows:
-
-"You know that old stone building on the hill
-near the village, and you have heard also that it was
-a flourishing high school for girls. There one pleasant
-summer my mother came. She was spending several
-months with a family who occupied what is now
-that huge old ruin down by the river side. Mother
-was beautiful, they say, and so my father thought,
-for every leisure moment found him at her side."
-
-"But wasn't she a great deal richer than he," Jessie
-asked, unconscious of the pang her question inflicted
-upon her companion, who replied:
-
-"Yes, he was poor, while Ellen Bellenger was rich,
-but she had a soul above the foolish distinction the
-world will make between the wealthy and the working
-class. She loved my father, and he loved her. At
-last they were engaged, and then he proposed writing
-to her parents, as he would do nothing dishonorable;
-but she begged him not to do it, for she knew how
-proud they were, and that they would take her home
-at once. And so, in an unguarded moment, they went
-together over the line into New York, where they
-were married. The Bellengers, of course, were fearfully
-enraged, denouncing her at once, and bidding
-her never cross their threshold again. But this only
-drew her nearer to her husband, who fairly worshiped
-her, as did the entire family,—for she lived in the old
-gable-roofed house,—and was happy in that little
-room which we call yours now. Father was anxious
-that she should have everything she wanted, and it is
-said was sometimes very extravagant, buying for her
-costly luxuries which he could not well afford."
-
-"But *my* father," said Jessie. "What had he to
-do with it?"
-
-"Everything," returned Walter, with bitterness.
-"Old Mr. Graham had a bank in Deerwood. Your
-father was cashier, while mine was teller, and in consideration
-of a large remuneration, performed a menial's
-part, such as sweeping the rooms, building the
-fires in winter, and of course he kept the keys. They
-were great friends, Richard Graham and Seth Marshall,
-and people likened them to David and Jonathan.
-At last one of the large bills my father had made
-came due, and on that very night the bank was robbed
-of more than a thousand dollars."
-
-"Oh, Walter, how could he do it?" cried Jessie,
-and Walter replied:
-
-"He didn't! He was as innocent as I, who was
-then unborn. Listen while I tell you. There was in
-town a dissipated, good-natured fellow, named Heyward,
-who had sometimes taught singing-school, and
-sometimes fiddled for country dances. No one knew
-how he managed to subsist, for he dressed well, traveled
-a great deal, and was very liberal with his money,
-when he had any. Still none suspected him of dishonesty;
-he did not know enough for that, they said.
-Everybody liked him, and when on that night he came
-to our house, apparently intoxicated, and asked for a
-shelter, grandfather bade him stay, and assigned him
-a back room in which was an outer door. In the
-morning he was, or seemed to be, still in a drunken
-sleep. Your father brought the news of the robbery,
-and while he talked he looked suspiciously at mine,
-especially when my mother said innocently:
-
-"'The burglars must have tried this house, too,
-for I woke in the night, and finding my husband gone,
-called to him to know where he was. Presently he
-came in, saying he thought he heard a noise and got
-up to find what it was.'
-
-"When she said this Mr. Graham changed color,
-and pointing to my father's shoes, which stood upon
-the hearth, he asked:
-
-"'How came these so muddy? It was not raining
-at bedtime last night.'
-
-"This was true. A heavy storm had arisen after
-ten and subsided before twelve, so that the shoes must
-have been worn since that hour, as there was fresh
-dirt still upon them. The robber had been tracked to
-our door, while there were corresponding marks from
-our door to the bank. My father's shoes just fitted in
-these tracks, for they measured them with the wretched
-man looking on in a kind of torpid apathy, as if utterly
-unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw;
-but when Richard, his best friend, whispered to him
-softly, 'Confess it, Seth. Give up the money and it
-won't go so hard against you,' the truth burst upon
-him, and he dropped to the ground like one scathed
-with the lightning's stroke. For hours he lay in that
-death-like swoon, and when he came back to consciousness
-he was guarded by the officers of the law.
-They led him off in the care of a constable, he all the
-time protesting his innocence, save at intervals when
-he refused to speak, but sat with a look upon his face
-as if bereft of reason.
-
-"The examination came on, and the upper room,
-where the court was held, was crowded to overflowing,
-all anxious to gain a sight of my father, though they
-had known him from boyhood up. Grandpa was
-there, and close behind sat or rather crouched my
-wretched mother. She would not be kept back, and
-with a face as white as marble, and hands locked
-firmly together, she sat to hear the testimony. Once
-the counsel for my father thought to clear him by
-throwing suspicion upon Heyward, who with a most
-foolish expression upon his face had declared that he
-heard nothing during the night. People would rather
-it had been he than Seth Marshall, and the tide was
-turning in favor of the latter when Richard Graham
-was called to the stand. He was known to be my
-father's dearest friend, and the audience waited
-breathlessly to hear what he would say. He testified
-that, having been very restless, he got up about two
-o'clock in the morning, and as his window commanded
-a full view of the bank, he naturally looked in that
-direction. The moon was setting, but he could still
-discern objects with tolerable distinctness, and he saw
-a man come out of the bank, lock the door, put the
-key in his pocket, and hurry down the street. My
-father then wore a light gray coat and cap of the
-same color, so did this man, and thinking it must be
-he, Mr. Graham called him by name; but if he heard
-he did not stop. Mr. Graham then remembered that
-the day before my father had procured some medicine
-for my mother, and had forgotten to take it home.
-This threw some light upon the matter, and thinking
-that mother had probably been taken suddenly ill and
-my father had gone for the medicine, Mr. Graham retired
-again to rest, and gave it no further thought
-until the robbery was discovered.
-
-"'Do you believe the man you saw leaving the
-bank to have been the prisoner?' asked the lawyer,
-and for an instant Mr. Graham hesitated, for with the
-white stony face of his early friend upturned to his
-and the supplicating eyes of the young wife fixed
-upon him, how could he answer yes? But he did,
-Jessie,—he did it at last. He said, 'I do,' and over
-the white face there passed a look of agony which
-wrung a groan even from your father's lips, while the
-pale young creature not far away rocked to and fro in
-her hopeless desolation."
-
-"Oh, Walter, Walter!" cried Jessie, "don't tell
-me any more. I see now so plain that fair girl-wife
-crouching on the floor and my father testifying
-against her. How could he?"
-
-Walter had asked himself that question many a
-time, and his bosom had swelled with resentment at
-the act; but now, when Jessie, too, questioned the
-justice of the proceeding, he answered:
-
-"It was right I suppose,—all right. Mr. Graham
-believed that to which he testified, and when he left
-the stand he wound his arms around my father's neck
-and said:
-
-"'God forgive me, Seth, I couldn't help it.'"
-
-"But he could," said Jessie; "he needn't have
-told all he knew."
-
-Walter made no reply to this; he merely went on
-with his story:
-
-"Then the decision came. There was proof sufficient
-for the case to be presented before the grand
-jury, and unless bail could be found to the amount of
-one thousand dollars, my father must go to jail, there
-to await his trial at the county court, which would
-hold its next session in three weeks. When the decision
-was made known, my father pressed his hands
-tightly over his heart for a moment, and then he
-clasped them to his ears as the deep stillness in the
-room was broken by the plaintive cry:
-
-"'Save my husband, somebody. Oh, save my darling
-husband!'
-
-"The next moment my mother fell at his feet, a
-crushed, lifeless thing, her hair falling down her face
-and a blue, pinched look about her lips, while my
-father bent over her, his tears falling like rain upon
-her face. Everybody cried, and when the question
-was asked, 'Who will go the prisoner's bail?' your
-father answered aloud:
-
-"'I will.'"
-
-"Oh, I am so glad!" gasped Jessie, while Walter
-continued:
-
-"With Mr. Graham for security, they let my poor
-father go home; but a mighty blow had fallen upon
-him, benumbing all his faculties; he could neither
-think, nor talk, nor act, but would sit all day with
-mother's hands in his, gazing into her face and whispering
-sometimes:
-
-"'What will my darling do when I am in State
-prison?'
-
-"Such would be his fate, everybody said. It
-could not be avoided, and in a kind of feverish
-despair he waited the result. Your father was with
-him often, 'keeping watch,' the villagers said; but if
-so, he was not vigilant enough, for one dark, stormy
-night, the last before the dreadful sitting of the court,
-when the wind roared and howled about the old farm-house,
-and the heavy autumnal rain beat against the
-windows, my father drew his favorite chair, the one
-which always stands in that dark corner, and which
-none save you has ever used since then, he drew it, I
-say, to my mother's side, and winding his arms about
-her neck, he said:
-
-"'Ellen, do you believe me guilty?'
-
-"'No, never for a moment,' she replied, and he
-continued:
-
-"'Heaven bless you, precious one, for that. Teach
-our child to think the same, and give it a father's
-blessing.'
-
-"My mother was too much bewildered to answer,
-and with a kiss upon her lips, my father turned to his
-father and standing up before him, said:
-
-"'I know what's in your heart; but, father, I
-swear to you that I am innocent. Bless me, father—bless
-your only boy once more.'
-
-"Then grandpa put his trembling hand upon the
-brown locks of his son and said:
-
-"'I would lay down my life to know that you are
-not guilty; but I bless you all the same, and may God
-bless you too, my boy!'
-
-"In the bedroom grandmother lay sick, and kneeling
-by her side, my father said to her:
-
-"'Do you believe I did it?'
-
-"'No,' she answered faintly, and without his asking
-it, she gave him her blessing.
-
-"He kissed his sister,—kissed Aunt Debby, and
-then he went away. They saw his face, white as a
-corpse, pressed against the window pane, while his
-eyes were riveted upon his beautiful young wife,—then
-the face was gone, and only the storm went sobbing
-past the place where he had stood. All that night the
-light burned on the table, and they waited his return,
-but from that hour to this he has not come back. He
-could not go to prison, and so he ran away. Mr.
-Graham paid the bail, and was heard to say that he
-was glad poor Seth escaped. I did not quite understand
-the matter when I was a boy, and I almost
-hated your father for testifying against him, but I
-know now he did what he thought was right. It is
-said he loved my Aunt Mary, Ellen's mother, and that
-she loved him in return, but after this sad affair there
-arose a coolness between them. He went to New
-York and married a more fashionable woman, while
-she, too, chose another."
-
-"Did they ever find the money?" Jessie asked,
-and Walter replied:
-
-"Never, though Aunt Debby says that Heyward
-indulged in a new suit of clothes soon after, and gave
-various other tokens of being abundantly supplied.
-No one knows where he is now, for he left Deerwood
-years ago."
-
-"And your mother," interrupted Jessie, "tell me
-more of her."
-
-The night shadows were falling, and she could not
-see the look of pain on Walter's face as he replied:
-
-"For a few days she watched to see father coming
-back, for suspense was more terrible than reality, and
-those who were his friends before said his going off
-looked badly. From Boston her proud relatives sent
-her a double curse for bringing this disgrace upon
-them, and then she took her bed, never to rise again.
-The first October frosts had fallen when they laid me
-in her arms and bade her live for her baby's sake.
-But five days after I was born she lay dead beneath
-that western window where you so often sit. Then
-the proud mother relented and came to the funeral,
-but she has never been here since. Your father was
-present, too,—he bought the monument; he cried over
-me, and wished that he could fill my father's place."
-
-"I wish he could, too," cried the impulsive Jessie,
-"I wish you were my brother," and she involuntarily
-laid her hand in his. "Have you never heard from
-your father?" she asked, and Walter replied:
-
-"Only once. Six months after mother died he
-wrote to Mr. Graham from Texas, and that is the very
-last. But, Jessie, I shall find him. I shall prove him
-innocent, and until then there will always be a load in
-my heart,—a something which makes me irritable,
-cross and jealous of those I love the best, lest they
-should despise me for what I cannot help."
-
-"And is that why you speak so coldly to me sometimes
-when I don't deserve it?" Jessie asked, twining
-her snowy fingers about his own.
-
-Oh, how Walter longed to fold her in his arms
-and tell her how dear she was to him, and that because
-he loved her so much he was oftenest harsh with
-her. But he dared not. She would not listen to such
-words, he knew. She thought of him as her brother,
-and he would not disturb the dream, so he answered
-her gently:
-
-"Am I cross to you, Jessie? I do not mean to be,
-and now that you know all, I will be so no longer.
-You do not hate me, do you, because of my misfortune?"
-
-"Hate you, Walter! Oh, no! I love,—I mean
-I like you so much better than I did when I came up
-here this afternoon and cried with my face in the
-grass. I pity you, Walter, for it seems terrible to
-live with that disgrace hanging over you."
-
-Walter winced at these last words, and Jessie, as
-if speaking more to herself than him, continued:
-
-"I hope Will won't tell grandma who you are, for
-she is so proud that she might make me feel very uncomfortable
-by fretting every time I spoke to you.
-Walter," and the tone of Jessie's voice led Walter to
-expect some unpleasant remark, "you know father
-has intended to have you live with us, but if William
-tells grandma, it will be better for you to board somewhere
-else,—grandma can be very disagreeable if she
-tries, and she would annoy us almost to death."
-
-Jessie was perfectly innocent in all she said, but in
-spite of his recent promise Walter felt his old jealousy
-rising up, and whispering to him that Jessie
-spoke for herself rather than her grandmother.
-With a great effort, however, he mastered the emotion
-and replied:
-
-"It will be better, I think, and I will write to your
-father at once."
-
-Jessie little dreamed what it cost Walter thus deliberately
-to give up seeing her every day, and living
-with her beneath the same roof. It had been the
-goal to which he had looked forward through all his
-college course, for when he entered on his first year
-Mr. Graham had written:
-
-"After you are graduated I shall take you into
-business, and into my own family, as if you were my
-son."
-
-And Jessie herself had vetoed this,—had said it
-must not be.
-
-For an instant Walter felt that he would not go to
-New York at all; but when he saw how closely Jessie
-nestled to his side, and heard her say, "You can come
-to see me every day, and when I am going to concerts,
-or the opera, I shall always send word to you
-by father," he rejected his first suspicions as unjust.
-
-She was not ashamed of him,—she only wished to
-screen him from her grandmother's ill nature, and,
-winding his arm around her, he said:
-
-"You are a good girl, Jessie, and I'm glad you
-think of me as a brother."
-
-But he was not glad. He did not wish her to be
-his sister, but he tried to make himself believe he did,
-and as in the pines where they sat it was already very
-dark, he proposed their returning home. Jessie was
-unusually silent during the walk, for she was thinking
-of Walter's young mother, and as they passed the
-grave-yard in the distance, she sighed:
-
-"Poor dear lady! I don't wonder you are often
-sad with that memory haunting you."
-
-"I should not be sad," he returned, "if I could
-bring the world to my opinion; but nearly all except
-Aunt Debby believe him guilty."
-
-"Does my father?" asked Jessie, and as Walter
-replied, "Yes," she rejoined: "Then I'm afraid I
-think so too, for father knows; but," she hastily
-added, as she felt the gesture of impatience Walter
-made, "I like you just the same,—yes, a great deal
-better than before I heard the story. It isn't as bad
-as I supposed, and I am so glad you told it. Will
-Bellenger won't make me distrust you again."
-
-By this time they had reached the house, where
-the deacon sat smoking his accustomed pipe, and saying
-to Walter as he entered:
-
-"Where are the cows you went after more than
-three hours ago?"
-
-Walter colored, and so did Jessie, while the matter-of-fact
-Aunt Debby rejoined:
-
-"Why, Amos, the cows is milked and the cream is
-nigh about riz."
-
-That night, after all had retired except the deacon
-and Walter, the former said to his grandson:
-
-"What kept you and Jessie so late?"
-
-"I was telling her of my father, and why he went
-away," returned Walter.
-
-The deacon groaned as he always did when that
-subject was mentioned,—then after a moment he
-added:
-
-"I am glad it was no worse,—that is, I'm glad you
-are not betraying Mr. Graham's trust by making love
-to his daughter."
-
-Walter was very pale, but he did not speak, and
-his grandfather continued:
-
-"I am old, Walter, but I have not forgotten the
-days when I was young; and remembering my disposition
-then, I can see why you should love Jessie
-Graham. God bless her! She's worthy of any man's
-best love, and she's wound herself round my old heart
-till the sound of her voice is sweet to me almost as
-Ellen's; but she isn't for you, Walter. I know Mr.
-Graham better than you do. He's noble and good,
-but very proud, and the daughter of a millionaire
-must never marry the son of a poor——"
-
-"Don't!" cried Walter, catching his grandfather's
-arm. "I understand it all,—I know that I am poor,
-know what the world says of my father, and I will
-suffer through all time sooner than ask the bright-faced
-Jessie to share one iota of our shame. But
-were my father innocent, I would never rest until I
-made myself a name which even Jessie Graham would
-not despise, for I love her, grandpa,—love her better
-than my life," and as after this confession he could
-not look his grandfather in the face, he stared hard at
-the candle dying in its socket, as if he would fain read
-there some token that what he so much desired would
-one day come to pass.
-
-And he did read it too, for with a last great effort
-the expiring flame sent up a flash of light, which shone
-on Walter's face and that of the gray-haired man regarding
-him with a look of tender pity. Then it
-passed away, and the darkness fell between them just
-as the old man said, mournfully:
-
-"There is no hope, my boy,—no hope for you."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.—OLD MRS. BARTOW.
-============================
-
-
-The good lady sat in her chamber wiping
-the perspiration from her ruddy face, and
-occasionally peering out into the pleasant
-street, with a longing desire to escape from her
-self-imposed prison, and breathe the air again in her
-accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it
-should be discovered that she was not away from
-home and enjoying some little pent-up room in the
-third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, too,
-she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the
-fresh, green grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie
-was really enjoying herself, without the trouble of
-dressing three times a day, and then swelling with
-vexation because some one else out-did her.
-
-"If she don't come with William, I mean to go
-down there and see what this family are like that she
-makes such a fuss about," she said. "Marshall? Marshall?
-The name sounds familiar, but it isn't likely I
-ever knew them. If I supposed I had, I wouldn't stir
-a step."
-
-At this point in her soliloquy a servant appeared,
-saying "Mr. Bellenger wished to see her," and putting
-in her teeth, for it tired her to wear them all the time,
-and adjusting her lace cap, the old lady went down to
-meet the young man, who had just returned from
-Deerwood. Numberless were the questions she asked
-concerning her granddaughter. Was she well? was
-she happy? was she sun-burned? were her hands
-scratched with briers? and what kind of people were
-these Marshalls?
-
-To this last William hastened to reply:
-
-"Clever country people, very kind to Jessie, and
-well they may be, for if I've the least discernment,
-they hope to have her in their family one of these
-days."
-
-"What can you mean?" and the old lady's salts
-were brought into frequent use, while William, in his
-peculiar way, told her of Walter Marshall, who he
-said "was undoubtedly presuming enough to aspire to
-Jessie's hand."
-
-"What, that boy that Richard educated?" Mrs.
-Bartow asked, growing very red and very warm
-withal.
-
-"Yes," returned William; "but the fact of his
-being a charity student is not the worst feature in the
-case. It pains me greatly to talk upon the subject,
-but duty requires me to tell you just who Walter is,"
-and assuming a half-reluctant, half-mortified tone,
-Will told Mrs. Bartow how Walter was connected
-with himself and the "terrible disgrace" of which she
-had written to Jessie in her last letter.
-
-For a moment the old lady fancied herself choking
-to death, but she managed at last to scream:
-
-"You don't say that he has dared to think of
-Jessie, the daughter of a millionaire, and the granddaughter
-of a——"
-
-She was too much overcome to finish the sentence,
-and she sank back in her chair, while her cap-strings
-floated up and down with the rapid motion of her fan.
-
-"I'll go for her at once," she said, when at last she
-found her voice. "I'll see this Mr. Impudence for
-myself. I'll teach him what is what. Oh, I hope
-Mrs. Reeves won't find it out. Don't tell her, Mr.
-Bellenger."
-
-"I am as anxious to conceal the fact as you are,"
-he replied, "for he, you know, is a relative of mine,
-although our family do not acknowledge him." And
-having done all he came to do, the nice young man
-departed, while the greatly disturbed lady began to
-pack her trunk preparatory to a start for Deerwood.
-
-In the midst of her preparations she was surprised
-by the unexpected return of Mr. Graham, to whom she
-at once disclosed the cause of her distress, asking him
-"if he wished his daughter to marry Walter Marshall,
-whose father was a——"
-
-She didn't quite know what, for William had not
-made that point very clear.
-
-"I do not wish her to marry any one as yet,"
-returned Mr. Graham, at the same time asking if
-Walter had proposed, or shown any signs of so doing.
-
-"Of course he's shown signs," returned Mrs. Bartow,
-"but I trust Jessie has enough of the Stanwood
-about her to keep him at a proper distance."
-
-"Enough of the what?" asked Mr. Graham, with
-the least possible smile playing about his mouth.
-
-"Well, enough of the Bartow," returned the lady.
-"The very idea of receiving into our family a person
-of his antecedents!"
-
-In a few words Mr. Graham gave her his opinion
-of Walter Marshall, adding:
-
-"I do not say that I would like him to marry Jessie,—very
-likely I should not,—and still, if I knew
-that she loved him and he loved her, I should not
-think it my duty to oppose them seriously, though I
-would rather, of course, that the unfortunate affair of
-his father's had never occurred."
-
-This was all the satisfaction Mrs. Bartow could
-gain from him, and doubly strengthened in her determination
-to remove Jessie from Walter's society,
-she started the next morning for Deerwood, reaching
-there toward the close of the day succeeding Jessie's
-interview with Walter in the pines.
-
-"Not this tumble-down shanty, surely?" she said
-to the omnibus driver when he stopped before the
-gate of the farm-house.
-
-"Yes'm, this is Deacon Marshall's," he replied, and
-mounting his box again he drove off, while she went
-slowly up the walk, casting contemptuous glances at
-the well-sweep, the smoke-house, the bee-hives, the
-hollyhocks, poppies and pinks, which, in spite of herself,
-carried her back to a time, years and years and
-years ago, when she had lived in just such a place as
-this, save that it was not so cheerful or so neat.
-
-Aunt Debby was the first to spy her, and she called
-to her niece:
-
-"Why, Mary, just look-a-here! There's a lady all
-dressed up in her meetin' clothes, a-comin' in. I wish
-we had mopped the kitchen floor to-day. There, she's
-gone to the front door. I presume the gals has littered
-the front hall till it's a sight to behold."
-
-Mrs. Bartow's loud knock was now distinctly heard,
-and as Mrs. Howland had not quite finished her afternoon
-toilet, Aunt Debby herself went to answer the
-summons. Holding fast to her knitting, with the ball
-rolling after her, and Jessie's kitten running after that,
-she presented herself before her visitor, courtesying
-very low, and asking if "she'd walk into the t'other
-room, or into the kitchen, where it was a great deal
-cooler."
-
-Mrs. Bartow chose the "t'other room," and taking
-the Boston rocker, asked "if Miss Graham was staying
-here?"
-
-"You mean Jessie," returned Aunt Debby. "It's
-so cool this afternoon that she's gone out ridin' hossback
-in the mountains with Walter and Ellen. Be
-you any of her kin?"
-
-"I'm her grandmother, and have come to take her
-home," answered the lady, frowning wrathfully at the
-idea of Jessie's riding with Walter Marshall.
-
-"I want to know!" returned Aunt Debby.
-"We'll be desput sorry to lose her jest as Walter has
-come home, and he thinks so much of her, too."
-
-Mrs. Bartow was too indignant to speak, but Aunt
-Debby, who was not at all suspicious, talked on just
-the same, praising first Walter, then Ellen, then Jessie,
-and then giving an outline history of her whole
-family, even including Seth, who she said "allus was
-a good boy."
-
-If Aunt Debby expected a return of confidence
-she was mistaken, for Mrs. Bartow had nothing to say
-of her family, and after a little Aunt Debby began to
-question her. Was she city-born, and if not, where
-was she born?
-
-"That red mark on your chin makes me think of
-a girl, Patty Loomis by name, that I used to know in
-Hopkinton," she said, and the mark upon the chin
-grew redder as she continued: "I did housework
-there once, in Squire Fielding's family, and this Patty
-that I was tellin' you about done chores in a family
-close by. She was some younger than me, but I remember
-her by that mark, similar to your'n, and because
-she was connected to them three Thayers that
-was hung in York State for killin' John Love. There
-was some han'some verses made about it, and I used
-to sing the whole of 'em, but my memory's failin' me
-now. I wonder what's become of Patty. I haven't
-thought of her before in an age. I heard that a rich
-old widder took her for her own child, and that's all I
-ever knew. She was smart as steel, and could milk
-seven cows while I was milkin' three. There they come,
-on the full canter of course. Ellen 'll get her neck
-broke some day," and greatly to the relief of Mrs. Bartow
-she changed the conversation from Patty Loomis
-and the three Thayers who were hung, to the three
-riders dashing up to the gate, Jessie a little in advance,
-with her black curls streaming out from under her
-riding hat, and her cheeks glowing with the exercise.
-
-"Why, grandma!" she exclaimed, as holding up
-her long skirt, she bounded into the house, and nearly
-upset the old lady before she was aware of her presence.
-"Where in the world did you come from?
-Isn't it pleasant and nice out here?" and throwing off
-her hat, Jessie sat down by the window to cool herself
-after her rapid ride.
-
-"Why, grandma, you are as cross as two sticks,"
-she said, when Aunt Debby had left the room, and
-grandma replied:
-
-"That's a very lady-like expression. Learned it
-of Mr. Marshall, I suppose."
-
-"No, I didn't," returned Jessie. "I learned it of
-Will Bellenger when he was here. It's his favorite
-expression. Did he bring you my note?"
-
-"Certainly; and I've come down to see what the
-attraction is which keeps you here so contentedly."
-
-"Oh, it's so nice," returned Jessie, and Mrs. Bartow
-rejoined:
-
-"I should think it was. Who ever heard of a bed
-in the parlor now-a-days?" and she cast a rueful glance
-at the snowy mountain in the corner.
-
-"That's a little out of date, I know," answered
-Jessie; "but the house is rather small, and they keep
-the spare bed in here for such visitors as you are.
-The sheets are all of Aunt Debby's make, she spun
-the linen on a wheel that treads so funny. Did you
-ever see a little wheel, grandma?"
-
-The question reminded Mrs. Bartow of Patty Loomis
-and the three Thayers, and she did not reply
-directly to it, but said instead:
-
-"What did you call that woman?"
-
-"Aunt Debby Marshall, the deacon's sister," returned
-Jessie, and Mrs. Bartow relapsed into a
-thoughtful mood, from which she was finally aroused
-by hearing Walter's voice in the kitchen.
-
-Instantly she glanced at Jessie, who involuntarily
-blushed; and then the old lady commenced the battle
-at once, telling Jessie plainly that "she had come
-down to take her home before she disgraced them all
-by suffering a boy of Walter Marshall's reputation to
-make love to her."
-
-"Walter never thought of making love to me,"
-returned the astonished and slightly indignant Jessie;
-"and if he had it wouldn't have been anybody's business
-but mine and father's. He isn't a boy, either.
-He's a splendid-looking man. Pa thinks the world of
-him; and he knows, too, about that old affair, which
-wasn't half as bad as Will and Mrs. Reeves seem to
-think. Walter told it to me last night up in the
-pines, and I'll tell it to you. It wasn't murder nor
-anything like it. Now, even I shouldn't wish it said
-that any of my friends were hung."
-
-"Hung!" repeated the old lady. "Who said
-anybody's friends were hung? It's false!" and the
-red mark around the lip wore a scarlet hue.
-
-"Of course it's false," answered Jessie. "That's
-what I said. Nobody knows for certain that he stole,
-either," and forgetting her own belief, founded on her
-father's, Jessie tried to prove that Seth Marshall was
-as innocent as Walter himself had declared him to
-be.
-
-"Whether he's guilty or not," returned Mrs. Bartow,
-"you are going home, and you're to have nothing
-to say to Walter. It would sound pretty, wouldn't it,
-for Mrs. Reeves to be telling that Jessie Graham
-liked a poor charity boy?"
-
-Jessie was proud, and the last words grated harshly,
-but she would stand by Walter, and she replied:
-
-"Mrs. Reeves forever! I believe you'd stop
-breathing if she said it was fashionable. I wonder
-who she was in her young days. Somebody not half
-so good as Walter, I dare say. I mean to ask Aunt
-Debby. She has lived since the flood, and knows the
-history of everybody that ever was born in New England,
-or out of it either, for that matter."
-
-Mrs. Bartow was not inclined to doubt this after
-her own experience, and as in case there was anything
-about Mrs. Reeves, she wished to know it, she secretly
-hoped Jessie would carry her threat into execution.
-Just then they were summoned to supper, and following
-her granddaughter into the pleasant sitting-room,
-Mrs. Bartow frowned majestically upon Walter, bowed
-coldly to the other members of the family, and then
-took her seat, thinking to herself:
-
-"The boy has a little of the Bellenger look, and, if
-anything, is handsomer than William."
-
-The tea being passed, with the biscuit and butter
-and honey, and the cheese contemptuously refused by
-the city guest, Jessie said to Aunt Debby:
-
-"Did you ever know anybody by the name of
-Gregory? That was Mrs. Reeves' maiden name,
-wasn't it, grandma?"
-
-Mrs. Bartow nodded, and Aunt Debby, after withdrawing
-within herself for a moment, came out again
-and said:
-
-"Yes, I knew Tim and Ben Gregory in Spencer.
-Ben was the best of the two, but he wa'n't none too
-likely. He had six boys, and Tim had six gals."
-
-"What were their names?" asked Jessie, and Aunt
-Debby replied:
-
-"There was Zeruah, and Lyddy, and Charlotty——"
-
-"That'll do!" cried Jessie, her delight dancing in
-her eyes. "What was their father, and where are the
-girls now?"
-
-"Their father was a tin peddler, and what he
-didn't get that way folks said he used to steal, though
-they never proved it ag'in him. Charlotty and I was
-'bout of an age."
-
-"I knew she was older than she pretended,"
-thought Mrs. Bartow, and in her joy at having probably
-discovered her dear friend's genealogy, she took
-two biscuits instead of one.
-
-"She worked in Lester factory a spell, and then,
-after she was quite along in years, say thirty or more,
-she married somebody who was a storekeeper, and
-went somewhere, and I believe I've heard that she
-finally moved to New York."
-
-"Can't you think of her husband's name," persisted
-Jessie, and Aunt Debby replied:
-
-"Twan't very far from Reed, but it's so long ago,
-and I've been through so much since, that I can't
-justly remember."
-
-Neither was it necessary that she should, for Mrs.
-Bartow and Jessie were satisfied with what she could
-remember, and nothing doubting that Charlotte
-Gregory was now the exceedingly aristocratic and
-purse-proud Mrs. Reeves, whose granddaughter was a
-kind of rival to Jessie, they returned to the parlor,
-Mrs. Bartow repeating at intervals:
-
-"A tin peddler and a factory girl, and she holding
-her head so high."
-
-"She's none the worse for that, if she'd behave
-herself, and not put on such airs," said Jessie. "I
-wouldn't wonder if some of my ancestors were tinkers
-or chimney sweeps. I mean to ask Aunt Debby.
-Let's see. Your name wasn't really Martha Stanwood,
-was it? Weren't you an adopted child?"
-
-"Jessie!" and in the startled lady's voice there
-was such unmitigated alarm and distress that Jessie
-turned quickly to look at her. "Do let that old crone
-alone. If there's anything I hate it's a person that
-knows everybody's history, they are so disagreeable,
-and make one so uncomfortable, though I'm glad to
-be sure, that I've found out who Mrs. Reeves was.
-Just to think how she talks about high birth and all
-that,—born in a garret, I dare say."
-
-"She don't put on a bit more than you do," said
-the saucy Jessie, thinking to herself that she would
-some time quiz Aunt Debby concerning her grandmother's
-past.
-
-That night, after Jessie had retired, Mrs. Bartow
-asked for a few moments' conversation with Walter, to
-whom she had scarcely spoken the entire evening
-Quick to detect a slight, he assumed his haughtiest
-bearing, and rather overawed the old lady, who fidgetted
-in her chair, and pulled at her cap, and then began:
-
-"It is very unpleasant for me to say to you what I
-must, but duty to Miss Graham, and justice to you,
-demands that I should speak. From things which I
-have heard and seen, I infer that you,—or rather I'm
-afraid that you,—in short, it's just possible you are
-thinking too much of Miss Graham," and having
-gotten thus far, the old lady gave a sigh of relief,
-while the young man, with a proud inclination of the
-head, said coolly:
-
-"And what then?"
-
-This roused her, and muttering to herself, "Such
-impudence!" she continued:
-
-"I should suppose your own sense would tell you
-what then! Of course nothing can ever come of it,
-for even were you her equal in rank and wealth, you
-must know there is a stain upon your name which
-must never be imparted to the Grahams."
-
-"Madam," said Walter, "you will please confine
-your remarks to me personally, and say nothing of my
-father."
-
-"Well, then," returned the lady. "You, personally,
-are not a fit husband for Jessie."
-
-"Have I ever asked to be her husband?" he said.
-
-"Not in words, perhaps, but you show it in your
-manner both to me and others, and this is what
-brought me here. Jessie is young and easily influenced,
-and might possibly, in an unguarded moment,
-do as foolish a thing as your mother did."
-
-There was a feeling of intense delight beaming in
-Walter's eyes, for the idea that Jessie could in any
-way be induced to marry him was a blissful one; but
-it quickly passed off as Mrs. Bartow continued:
-
-"It would break her father's heart should she thus
-throw herself away, while you would prove yourself
-most ungrateful for all he has done for you."
-
-This was touching Walter in a tender point, and
-the pride of his nature flashed in his dark eyes as he
-replied:
-
-"Let me know Mr. Graham's wishes, and they
-shall be obeyed."
-
-"Well, then," returned the lady, "I asked him if
-he would like to have his daughter marry you, and he
-replied—" she hesitated before uttering the falsehood,
-while Walter bent forward eagerly to listen. "He
-said he certainly would not, and with his approbation
-I came down to remove her from temptation."
-
-Walter was very white, and something like a
-groan escaped him, for he felt that Jessie was indeed
-wrested from him, and he began to see that he had
-always cherished a secret hope of winning her some
-day. But the dream was over now. She, he knew,
-would never disobey her father, while he himself
-would not return the many kindnesses received from
-his benefactor with ingratitude.
-
-"Tell Mr. Graham from me," he said at last,
-almost in a whisper, "that he need have no fears, for
-I pledge you my word of honor that I will never ask
-Jessie Graham to be my wife, unless the time should
-come when I am by the world acknowledged her
-equal, and when I promise this, Mrs. Bartow, I tear
-out, as it were, the dearest, purest affection of my
-heart, for I do love Jessie Graham; I see it now as
-clearly as I see that I must kill that love. Not because
-you ask it of me, Madam," and he assumed a
-haughty tone, "but because it is the wish of the best
-friend I ever knew. He need not fear when I am
-with her in New York. I will keep my place, whatever
-that may be, and when I call on Jessie, as I shall
-sometimes do, it will be a brother's call, and nothing
-more. Will you be satisfied with this?"
-
-"Yes, more than satisfied," and Mrs. Bartow
-offered him her hand.
-
-He took it mechanically, and as he turned away
-the lady thought to herself:
-
-"He is a noble fellow, and so handsome, too, but
-William looks almost as well. Didn't he give it up
-quick when I mentioned Mr. Graham. I wonder if
-that was a lie I told. I only left off a little, that was
-all," and framing excuses for her duplicity, the old
-lady retired for the night.
-
-They were to leave in the morning, and Jessie
-seemed unusually sad when she came out to breakfast,
-for the inmates of the farm-house were very dear to
-her.
-
-"You'll come to New York soon, won't you?" she
-said to Walter, when, after breakfast, she joined him
-under the maple tree.
-
-At the sound of her voice he started, and looking
-down into her bright, sunny face, felt a thrill of pain.
-Involuntarily he took her hand in his, and said:
-
-"I have been thinking that I may not come at
-all."
-
-"Why, Walter, yes you will; father will be so
-disappointed. I believe he anticipates it even more
-than I."
-
-"But your grandmother," he suggested, and Jessie
-rejoined:
-
-"Don't mind grandma; she's always fidgetty if
-anybody looks at me, but when she sees that we really
-and truly are brother and sister, she'll get over it."
-
-There was a tremulous tone in Jessie's voice, as she
-said this, and it fell very sweetly on Walter's ear,
-for it said to him that he might possibly be something
-more than a brother to the beautiful girl who
-stood before him with blushing cheeks and half-averted
-eyes.
-
-"Jessie, Jessie!" called Mrs. Bartow from the
-house, and Jessie ran in to finish packing her trunks
-and don her traveling dress.
-
-Once, as Aunt Debby slipped into her satchel a
-paper of "doughnuts and cheese, to save buying a
-dinner," Jessie could not forbear saying:
-
-"Oh, Aunt Debby! I think I know that Charlotty
-Gregory, who used to live in Leicester. She's
-Mrs. Reeves now, and the greatest lady in New York;
-rides in her carriage with colored coachman and footman
-in livery, wears a host of diamonds, and lives in
-a brownstone house up town."
-
-"Wall, if I ever," Aunt Debby exclaimed, sitting
-down in her surprise on Mrs. Bartow's bonnet.
-"Reeves was the name, come to think. Drives a nigger,
-did you say? She used to be as black as one herself,
-but a clever, lively gal for all of that. With her
-first earnin's in the factory she bought her mother a
-calico gown, and her sister Betsey a pair of shoes."
-
-"Betsey," repeated Jessie, turning to her
-grandmother, "that must be Mrs. Reeves' invalid sister,
-whom Charlotte calls Aunt Lizzie. Very few people
-ever see her."
-
-"Wa'n't over bright," whispered Aunt Debby,
-continuing aloud: "How I'd like to see Miss Reeves
-once more. Give her my regrets, and tell her if I
-should ever come to the city I shall call on her; but
-she mustn't feel hurt if I don't. I'm getting old fast."
-
-Jessie laughed aloud as she fancied Mrs. Reeves'
-amazement at receiving Aunt Debby's regrets, and as
-the omnibus was by that time at the door, she
-hastened her preparations, and soon stood at the gate,
-bidding her friends good-by. For an instant Walter
-held her hand in his, but his manner was constrained,
-and Jessie bit her lip to keep back the tears which
-finally found a lodgment on Ellen's neck. The two
-young girls were tenderly attached, and both wept
-bitterly at parting, Jessie crying for Ellen and
-Walter, too, and Ellen for Jessie and the man whom
-she, ere long, would meet.
-
-"What shall I tell Will for you?" Jessie asked,
-leaning from the omnibus and looking in Ellen's face,
-which had never been so white and thin before.
-
-From the maple tree above her head a withered
-leaf came rustling down, and fell upon Ellen's hair.
-Brushing it away, she answered mournfully:
-
-"Tell him the leaves are beginning to fade."
-
-"That's a strange message for her to send, but she
-speaks the truth," Walter thought, and after the
-omnibus had rolled away, and he walked slowly to the
-house, he felt that for him more than the leaves were
-fading,—that the blossoms of hope which he had nurtured
-in his heart were torn from their roots, and
-dying beneath the chilly breath of fashion and caste.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.—HUMAN NATURE.
-==========================
-
-
-It was the night of Charlotte Reeves' grand
-party, which had been talked about for
-weeks, and more than one passer-by
-paused in the keen February air to look at the brilliantly-lighted
-house, where the song, the flirtation,
-the dance, and the gossip went on, and to which, at a
-late hour, Mrs. Bartow came, and with her Jessie
-Graham. Walter accompanied them, for Mr. Graham
-had asked him to be their escort, and Walter never
-refused a request from one who, since his residence in
-the city, had been to him like a father rather than a
-friend.
-
-Mr. Graham had evinced much surprise when told
-that Walter would rather some other house should be
-his home, but Jessie, too, had said that it was better
-so, and looking into her eyes, which told more tales
-than she supposed, Mr. Graham saw that Walter was
-not indifferent to his only child, nor was he displeased
-that it was so, and when Walter came to the city he
-found to his surprise that he was not to be the clerk,
-but the junior partner of his friend, who treated him
-with a respect and thoughtful kindness which puzzled
-him greatly. Especially was he astonished when Mr.
-Graham, as he often did, asked him to go with Jessie
-to the places where he could not accompany her.
-
-"He wishes to show me," he thought, "that after
-what I said to Mrs. Bartow, he dare trust his daughter
-with me as if I were her brother," and Walter felt
-more determined than ever not to betray the trust,
-but to treat Jessie as a friend and nothing more.
-
-So he called occasionally at the house, where he
-often found William Bellenger, and compelled himself
-to listen in silence to the flattering speeches his cousin
-made to Jessie, who, a good deal piqued at Walter's
-apparent coldness, received them far more complacently
-than she would otherwise have done, and so the
-gulf widened between them, while in the heart of each
-there was a restless pain, which neither the gay world
-in which Jessie lived, nor yet the busy one where
-Walter passed his days, could dissipate. He had absented
-himself from Jessie's "come-out party," and
-for this offense the young lady had been sorely indignant.
-
-"She wanted Charlotte Reeves and all the girls to
-see him, and then to be treated that way was perfectly
-horrid," and the beautiful belle pouted many a day
-over the young man's obstinacy.
-
-But Charlotte Reeves did see him at last, and
-when she learned that he was Mr. Graham's partner,
-and much esteemed by that gentleman, she partially
-took him up as a card to be played whenever she
-wished to annoy William Bellenger, who kept an eye
-on her in case he should lose Jessie. The relationship
-between the two was not known, for Walter had
-no desire to speak of it, and as William vainly fancied
-it might reflect discredit on himself, he, too, kept
-silent on the subject, while Mrs. Bartow, having received
-instructions both from Jessie and her father,
-never hinted to her bosom friend and deadliest enemy,
-Mrs. Reeves, that the young Marshall whom Charlotte
-was patronizing, and who was noticed by all for his
-gentlemanly bearing and handsome face, was in any
-way connected with the Bellenger disgrace.
-
-After her return from Saratoga, Mrs. Reeves had
-been sick for several months, and at the time of the
-party was still an invalid, and claimed the privilege of
-sitting during the evening. Consequently Mrs. Bartow
-had not yet found a favorable opportunity for
-wounding her as she intended doing, and when, on the
-evening of the party, she entered the crowded rooms,
-she made her way to the sofa, and greeting the lady
-with her blandest words, told her how delighted she
-was to see her in society again, how much she had
-been missed, and all the other compliments which
-meant worse than nothing. Then taking a mental inventory
-of the different articles which made up her
-dear friend's dress and comparing them with her own,
-she set her costly fan in motion and watched to see
-which received the more attention,—Charlotte Reeves
-or Jessie. The latter certainly looked the best, as,
-arm in arm with Walter, she walked through the parlor,
-oblivious to all else in her delight at seeing him
-appear so much like himself as he did to-night.
-
-"It's such a pity he's poor," said Mrs. Reeves, as
-he was passing. "Do you know I think him by far
-the most distinguished looking man in the room,
-always excepting, of course, Mr. Bellenger," and she
-nodded apologetically to a little pale-faced lady sitting
-beside her on the sofa.
-
-This lady she had not seen fit to introduce to her
-dear friend, who had scanned her a moment with her
-glass, and then pronounced her "somebody." Twice
-Walter and Jessie passed, stopping the second time,
-while the latter received from her grandmother the
-whispered injunction "not to walk with him until
-everybody talked."
-
-"Pshaw!" was Jessie's answer, while Mrs. Reeves
-slyly congratulated Mr. Marshall on his good luck in
-having the belle of the evening so much to himself,
-and as they stood there thus the face of the little
-silent lady flashed with a sudden light, and touching
-Mrs. Reeves when they were gone, she said:
-
-"Who was that young man? You called him
-Marshall, didn't you?"
-
-"Yes, Walter Marshall, and he is Mr. Graham's
-partner. You know of Mr. Graham,—people call him
-a millionaire, but my son says he don't believe it."
-
-This last was lost upon the little lady, who cared
-nothing for Mr. Graham, and who continued:
-
-"Where did he come from?"
-
-"Really, I don't know. Perhaps Mrs. Bartow can
-enlighten you," and Mrs. Reeves went through with a
-form of introduction, speaking the stranger's name so
-low, that in the surrounding hum it was entirely lost
-on Mrs. Bartow, who bowed, and briefly stated that
-Walter was from Deerwood, Mass.
-
-The lady's hands worked nervously together, and
-when Walter again drew near, the white, thin face
-looked wistfully after him, while the lips moved as if
-they would call him back. He was disengaged at last.
-Jessie had another gallant in the person of William
-Bellenger, Mrs. Bartow's fan moved faster than before,
-and Mrs. Reeves was about to make some remark
-to her companion, when the latter rose, and crossing
-over to where Walter stood, said to him in a low,
-pleasant voice:
-
-"Excuse me, Mr. Marshall, but would you object
-to walking with me,—an old lady?"
-
-Walter started, and looking earnestly into the
-dark eyes, which were full of tears, offered her his
-arm, and the two were soon lost amid the gay
-throng.
-
-"Who is she? I didn't understand the name,"
-Mrs. Bartow asked, her lip dropping suddenly, as Mrs.
-Reeves replied:
-
-"Why, that's the honorable Mrs. Bellenger, returned
-from a ten years' residence abroad."
-
-"Mrs. Bellenger," Mrs. Bartow repeated. "Is it
-possible? I have always had a great desire to make
-her acquaintance. How plain, and yet how elegantly
-she dresses."
-
-"She is not the woman she used to be," returned
-Mrs. Reeves. "She is very much changed, and they
-say that during the last year of her sojourn in London
-she spent her time in distributing tracts among the
-poor, and all that sort of thing. I wonder what she
-wants of Mr. Marshall. Wasn't it queer the way she
-introduced herself to him?"
-
-"Very," Mrs. Bartow said; but she thought, "not
-strange at all," and she was half tempted to tell her
-friend the relationship existing between the two.
-
-This she would perhaps have done had not Mrs.
-Reeves at that moment directed her attention to William
-and Jessie, saying of the former that he seemed
-very unhappy.
-
-"The fact is," she whispered, confidentially, "he
-never appears at ease unless he is somewhere near
-Charlotte. I think he monopolizes her altogether too
-much. I tell her so too. But she only laughs, and
-says he don't go with her any more than with Jessie
-Graham, though everybody knows he does. He likes
-Jessie, of course, but Charlotte is his first choice," and
-the old lady glanced complacently toward the spot
-where her sprightly granddaughter stood surrounded
-by a knot of admirers, each of whom had an eye to
-her father's coffers as well as to herself.
-
-"The wretch!" thought Mrs. Bartow. "Just as
-though William preferred that great, long-necked
-thing to Jessie; but I'll be even with her yet. I'll be
-revenged when Mrs. Bellenger comes back," and the
-fan moved rapidly as Mrs. Bartow thought how crest-fallen
-her dear friend would be when she said what
-she meant to say to her.
-
-Meantime Mrs. Bellenger had led Walter to a little
-ante-room where they would be comparatively free
-from observation, and sitting down upon an ottoman,
-she bade him, too, be seated. He complied with her
-request, and then waited for her to speak, wondering
-much who she was, and why she had sought this interview
-with him. As Mrs. Reeves had said, Mrs. Bellenger
-had for the last ten years resided in different
-parts of Europe. She had gone there with her husband
-and only surviving daughter, both of whom she
-had buried, one among the Grampian Hills, and the
-other upon the banks of the blue Rhine. Her youngest
-son, who was still unmarried, had joined her there,
-but he had become dissipated, and eighteen months
-before her return to America she had lain him in a
-drunkard's grave. With a breaking heart she returned
-to her lonely home in London, dating from that hour
-the commencement of another and better life, and now
-there was not in the whole world an humbler or more
-consistent Christian than the once haughty Mrs. Bellenger.
-Many and many a time, when away over the
-sea, had her thoughts gone back to her youngest born,
-the gentle brown-eyed Ellen, whom she had disowned
-because the man she chose was poor, and in bitterness
-of heart she had cried:
-
-"Oh, that I had her with me now!"
-
-Then, as she remembered the helpless infant which
-she had once held for a brief moment upon her lap,
-her heart yearned toward him with all a mother's love,
-and she said to herself:
-
-"I will find the boy, and it may be he will comfort
-my old age."
-
-On her return to Boston she went to the house of
-William's father, but everything there was cold and
-ostentatious. They greeted her warmly, it is true,
-and paid her marked attention, but she suspected they
-did it for the money she had in her possession, for the
-family was extravagant and deeply involved in debt.
-Once she asked if they knew anything of Ellen's child,
-and her son replied that he believed he was a clerk of
-some kind in New York, but none of the family had
-ever seen him save Will, who had met him once or
-twice, and who spoke of him as having a little of the
-Bellenger look and bearing.
-
-Then she came to New York and found her grandson
-Will, who was less her favorite than ever when
-she heard how sneeringly he spoke of Walter. From
-his remarks, she did not expect to meet the latter
-at the party, but she would find him next day, she
-said, and when he entered the room she was too much
-absorbed in her own thoughts to notice him, but when
-he passed her with Jessie she started, for there was in
-his face a look like her dead daughter.
-
-"Can it be that handsome young man is Ellen's
-child?" she said, and she waited anxiously till he
-appeared again.
-
-He stopped before her then, and with a beating
-heart she listened to what they called him, and then
-asked who he was.
-
-"It is my boy,—it is," she murmured between her
-quivering lips, and as soon as she saw that he was free
-she joined him, as we have seen, and led him to another
-room.
-
-For a moment she hesitated, as if uncertain what
-to say, then, as they were left alone, she began:
-
-"My conduct may seem strange to you, but I cannot
-help it. Twenty-five years ago a sweet girlish
-voice called me mother, and the face of her who called
-me thus was much like yours, young man. She left
-me one summer morning, and our house was like a
-tomb without her; but she never came back again,
-and when I saw her next she lay in her coffin. She
-was too young to be lying there, for she was scarcely
-twenty. She died with the shadow of my anger resting
-on her heart, for when I heard she had married
-one whom the world said was not her equal, I cast her
-off, I said she was not mine, and from that day to this
-the worm of remorse has been gnawing at my heart,
-for I hear continually the dying message they said she
-left for me: 'Tell mother to love my baby for the
-sake of the love she once bore me.' I didn't do it. I
-steeled my proud heart even against the little boy.
-But I'm yearning for him now,—yearning for that
-child to hold up my feeble hands,—to guide my trembling
-feet and smooth my pathway down into the valley
-which I must tread ere long."
-
-She paused, and covering her face, wept aloud.
-Glancing hurriedly around, Walter saw that no one
-was very near, and going up to her, he wound his arm
-round her, and whispered in her ear:
-
-"My mother's mother,—my grandmother,—I never
-expected this from you."
-
-Before Mrs. Bellenger could reply, footsteps were
-heard approaching, and William appeared with Jessie.
-He had told her of his grandmother's unexpected
-arrival that morning, and when she expressed a wish
-to see her, he started in quest of her at once. He
-knew that he was not a favorite with her, but she
-surely would like Jessie, and that might make her
-more lenient toward himself; so he had sought for
-her everywhere, learning at last from Mrs. Bartow
-that she had gone off with Walter.
-
-"Upon my word," he thought, "he has commenced
-his operations soon," and a sudden fear came over him
-lest Walter should be preferred to himself by the rich
-old lady.
-
-And this suspicion was not in the least diminished
-by the position of the parties when he came suddenly
-upon them.
-
-"He is playing his cards well," he said, involuntarily,
-while Jessie was conscious of a feeling of
-pleasure at seeing Walter thus acknowledged by his
-grandmother.
-
-With a tolerably good grace, Will introduced his
-companion, his spirits rising when he saw how pleasantly
-and kindly his grandmother received them both.
-Once, as they stood together talking, Mrs. Bellenger
-spoke of Deerwood, where her daughter was buried,
-and instantly over William's face there flitted the
-same uneasy look which Mrs. Reeves had seen and
-imputed to his desire to be with Charlotte.
-
-"Have you heard from Miss Howland recently?"
-he asked Walter, who replied:
-
-"I heard some three weeks since, and she was then
-about as usual. She is always feeble in the winter,
-though I believe they think her worse this season than
-she has ever been before."
-
-William thought of a letter received a few days
-before, the contents of which had written the look
-upon his face which Mrs. Reeves had noticed, and
-had prompted him to ask the question he did.
-
-"Poor Ellen!" sighed Jessie. "I fear she's not
-long for this world."
-
-"What did you call her?" Mrs. Bellenger asked,
-and Walter replied:
-
-"Ellen, my mother's namesake, and my cousin."
-
-"I shall see her," returned the lady, "for I am
-going to Deerwood by-and-by."
-
-William was going, too, but he would rather not
-meet his grandmother there, and he said to her, indifferently,
-as it were:
-
-"When will you go?"
-
-"In two or three weeks," she answered, and satisfied
-that she would not then interfere with him, he
-offered Jessie his arm a second time and walked away,
-hearing little of what was passing around him, and
-caring less, for the words "Oh, William, I am surely
-dying! Won't you come?" rang in his ears like a
-funeral knell.
-
-For a long time Mrs. Bellenger talked with
-Walter, asking him at last of his father, and if any
-news had been heard of him.
-
-"It does not matter," she said, when he replied in
-the negative. "I have outlived all that foolish pride,
-and love you just the same."
-
-Her words were sweet and soothing to Walter, and
-he did not care much now even if William did keep
-Jessie continually at his side, walking frequently past
-the door where he could see them. Once, as they
-passed, Mrs. Bellenger remarked:
-
-"Miss Graham is a beautiful young woman. Is
-she engaged to William?"
-
-"No, no! oh, no!" and in the voice Mrs. Bellenger
-learned all she wished to know.
-
-"Pardon me," she continued, taking Walter's
-hand, "pardon the liberty, but you love Jessie
-Graham," and her mild eyes look gently into his.
-
-"Hopelessly," he answered, and his grandmother
-rejoined:
-
-"Not hopelessly, my child; for as one woman can
-read another, so I saw upon her face that which told
-me she cared only for you. Be patient and wait," and
-with another pleasant smile she arose, saying to him,
-laughingly: "I am going to acknowledge you now.
-You say they do not know that my blood is flowing in
-your veins," and she passed again into the crowd, who
-fell back at her approach, for by this time every body
-knew who she was, and numerous were the surmises
-as to what kept her so long with young Marshall.
-
-The matter was soon explained, for she only
-needed to say to those about her, "This is my grandson,—my
-daughter Ellen's child," for the news to
-spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still
-seated on her throne. Greatly she wondered how it
-could be, and why William had not told her before;
-then, as she remembered her investigations with regard
-to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to
-complete the tale, leaving out the robbery, and merely
-saying that Mr. Marshall's poverty had been the chief
-objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger.
-This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother
-for a prop, Walter could not be trampled
-down, and she meant to be the first to hold him up.
-
-In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was
-enumerating Jessie's many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard
-the news, and answered very carelessly:
-
-"Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a
-fine young man," and as she spoke, she wondered if
-he would share with William in his grandmother's
-property.
-
-"Even if he does," she thought, "William will
-have the most, for his father is very wealthy,—then
-there is the name of Bellenger, which is something,"
-and having thus balanced the two, and found the
-heavier weight in William's favor, she looked after
-him, as he led Jessie away to the dancing-room, with
-a most benignant expression, particularly as she saw
-that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too.
-
-"I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing
-to be with Charlotte?" she thought, and she longed
-for the moment when she could pay the lady for her
-ill-natured remarks.
-
-By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her
-seat by Mrs. Reeves, and thinking this a favorable
-opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near them
-and began:
-
-"By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any
-one in Leicester, Massachusetts, by the name of Marshall—Debby
-Marshall, I mean?"
-
-Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as
-if that which she had long feared and greatly dreaded
-had come upon her at last. Then, resuming her composure,
-she repeated the name:
-
-"Debby Marshall?—Debby Marshall? I certainly
-do not number her among my acquaintances."
-
-"I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs.
-Bartow, "particularly as she was malicious enough to
-say that your father was a tin peddler."
-
-"A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making
-a furious attack upon her smelling salts. "I believe
-I'm going to faint. The idea! It's perfectly preposterous!
-Where is this mischief-maker?" and the
-black eyes flashed round the room, as if in search of
-the offending Aunt Debby.
-
-"Pray don't distress yourself," said the delighted
-Mrs. Bartow. "Of course it isn't true, and if it were,
-it's safe with me. I met this woman last summer in
-Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced
-to mention your name, as I frequently do when away
-from you, and this Debby, who is an old maid, seventy
-at least, said she used to know a factory girl,—Charlotty
-Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a
-man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called
-him. It's a remarkable coincidence, isn't it, that there
-should be two Charlotte Ann Gregorys, with sister
-Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of the
-same name and come to New York. But nothing is
-strange now-a-days, so don't let it worry you. This
-old Debby is famous for knowing everybody's history."
-
-Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this
-last remark. If Debby Marshall knew everybody's
-history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow's, and the
-disconcerted lady hastened to ask:
-
-"Where did you say she lived?"
-
-"In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos
-Marshall, about half a mile from the village," returned
-the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow.
-
-Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon
-the tablets of her memory, and then, in a low voice of
-entreaty, said to her friend:
-
-"You know it is all false, as well as you know that
-there are, in this city, envious people who would delight
-in just such scandal, and I trust you will not repeat
-it."
-
-"Certainly,—certainly," said Mrs. Bartow, but
-whether the certainly were affirmative or negative was
-doubtful.
-
-Mrs. Reeves accepted the latter, and then turned
-to Mrs. Bellenger to remove from her mind any unpleasant
-impression she might have received. This,
-however, was wholly unnecessary, for Mrs. Bellenger
-was too much absorbed in her own reflections to hear
-what Mrs. Bartow had been saying, and to Mrs.
-Reeves' remark, "I trust you do not credit the ridiculous
-story," she answered:
-
-"What story? I heard nothing."
-
-Thus relieved in that quarter, Mrs. Reeves became
-rather more composed, and for the remainder of the
-evening addressed Mrs. Bartow as "my dear," complimenting
-her once or twice upon her youthful looks,
-and saying several flattering things of Jessie.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.—A RETROSPECT.
-===========================
-
-
-The flowers in the garden and the leaves on
-the trees were withered and dead. The
-luxuriant hop-vine, which grew about the
-farm-house door, had yielded its bountiful store, and
-loosened from its summer fastening trailed upon the
-ground. The cows no longer fed among the hills, the
-winter stores had been gathered in, there was a thin
-coating of ice upon the pond, and a dark, cold mist
-upon the mountain. There was a pallid hue upon
-Ellen's cheek, and a look of strange unrest in her eyes
-as day after day, all through the autumn time, she
-watched for the coming of one who had said, "I will
-be with you when the forest casts its leaf."
-
-The time appointed had come, and the brown
-leaves were "heaped in the hollow of the wood" or
-tossed by the autumn wind, and the pain in Ellen's
-heart grew heavier to bear, as morning after morning
-she said:
-
-"He will come to-day," and night after night she
-wept at his delay.
-
-But there came a day at last, a bright November
-day, when she saw him in the distance, and with a cry
-of joy she buried her face in the pillows of the lounge,
-saying to her mother:
-
-"I am faint and sick."
-
-She lay very white and still, while kind Aunt
-Debby chafed her clammy hands, and when they said
-to her, "Mr. Bellenger is here," she simply answered,
-"Is he?" for she had never told them that she expected
-him.
-
-He said he was passing through the town, and for
-old acquaintance sake had stopped over one train, and
-the unsuspecting family believed it all, and when he
-said that Ellen stayed too much indoors, that a ride
-would do her good, they offered no remonstrance, but
-wrapping her up in warm shawls sent her out with
-him upon the mountain, where he told her how,
-through all the dreary months of his absence, one face
-alone had shone on him, one voice had sounded in his
-ear, and that the voice which now said to him so
-mournfully:
-
-"I almost feared you had forgotten me, and it
-seemed so dreadful after all were gone, Walter, Jessie,
-and everybody. Forgive me, William, but when I
-remembered Jessie's sparkling beauty and knew she
-was a belle, I feared you would not come."
-
-William Bellenger was conscious of a pang, for he
-knew how terribly he was deceiving the trusting girl
-sitting there upon the rock beside him, the color coming
-and going upon her marble cheek, and a tear dimming
-the luster of her eyes. On his way thither he
-had resolved to rouse her from the dream, to tell her
-she must forget him, but when he looked upon her
-unearthly beauty, and saw how she clung to him, he
-could not do it. So when she spoke of Jessie as one
-who might rival her, he said:
-
-"Yes, Miss Graham is charming, but believe me,
-Nellie, I can love but one, and that one you."
-
-The bright round spot deepened on her cheek, and
-William felt for an instant that had he the means, he
-would bear the poor invalid away to a sunnier clime,
-and by his tender care nurse her back to health. But
-he had not. There were bills on bills which he could
-not pay. His father, too, was straitened, for old Mr.
-Bellenger had left his entire fortune by will to his
-wife, who had refused to sanction the reckless extravagance
-of her son's family. A rich bride, then, must
-cancel William's debts, and as Ellen was not rich, he
-dared not talk to her of marriage, but whispered only
-of the love he felt for her. And Ellen grew faint and
-chill listening to this idle mockery, for the November
-wind blew cold upon the bleak mountain side. It was
-in vain that William wrapped both shawl and arm
-about her, hugging her closer to him until her golden
-hair rested on his bosom. He could not make her
-warm, and at last he took her home, telling her by the
-way that he would come again ere long and stay with
-her a week.
-
-"I will explain to your mother then," he said,
-"and until that time you'd better say nothing of
-the matter, lest it should reach the ears of my proud
-family. I would write to you, but that would create
-surprise. So you'll have to be content with knowing
-that I do most truly love you."
-
-And Ellen tried to be content, though after he was
-gone she cried herself to sleep, and for a time forgot
-her wretchedness. She had taken a severe cold upon
-the mountain, and for many weeks she stayed indoors,
-thinking through all the long winter evenings of
-William, and wishing he would come again, or send
-her some message.
-
-At last, as her desire to see him grew stronger, she
-resolved to write and bid him come, for she was
-dying.
-
-"I know that it is so," she wrote. "I see it in the
-faces of my friends, I hear it in my mother's voice, I
-feel it in my failing strength. Yes, I am surely dying,
-won't you come? It is but a little thing for you, and
-it will do me so much good. Do you really love me,
-William? I have sometimes feared you didn't as I
-loved you. I sometimes thought you might be glad
-when the grass was growing on my grave, because you
-then would have no dread lest your proud relatives
-should know how you paused a moment to look at the
-frail blossom fading by the wayside. If it is so, William,
-don't tell it to me now; let me die believing that
-you really do love me. Come and tell me so once
-more, let me hear your voice again; then when I am
-dead, and they go to lay me down in the very spot
-where you found me sleeping that summer afternoon,
-you needn't join the mourners, for the world might ask
-why you were there. But when I'm buried, William,
-and the candles are lighted in my dear old home, then
-go alone where Nellie lies. It will make you a better
-man to pray above my grave, and if you know in your
-secret heart that you have been deceiving me, God
-will forgive you then. I am growing tired, William,
-there's a blur before my eyes and I cannot see. Come
-quickly, William, do."
-
-This letter Ellen carried to the office herself, for
-she sometimes rode as far as the village with her
-grandfather, and thus none of the family knew that it
-was sent, or guessed why, for many days, her face
-grew brighter with a joyous, expectant look, which
-Aunt Debby said "came straight from Heaven." The
-letter reached William just as he was dressing for
-Charlotte Reeves' party, and tearing open the envelope,
-he read it with dim eye and quivering lip, for
-the writer had a stronger hold on his affections than
-he had at first supposed.
-
-"I will go and see her," he said to himself, "though
-I can carry her no comfort unless I fabricate some lie.
-Poor, darling Nellie! It will not be a falsehood to
-tell her that I love her best of all the world, even
-though I cannot make her my wife. Perhaps she
-don't expect me to do that," and crushing into his
-pocket the letter, stained with Nellie's tears and his,
-he went, as we have seen, to the house of festivity,
-mingling in the gay scene, and letting no opportunity
-pass for showing to those around that Jessie Graham
-was the chosen one, though all the while his thoughts
-were away in Deerwood, where the dying Nellie
-waited so anxiously his coming, and whither in a few
-days he went, taking care to say to Jessie that he was
-going into the country, and might possibly visit the
-farm-house before he returned.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.—NELLIE.
-===================
-
-
-The winter sun was setting, and its fading
-light fell upon the golden hair and white,
-beautiful face of Nellie, who lay upon the
-lounge in the room where Walter's mother died, and
-which Jessie now called hers. She was weaker than
-usual, and the hectic spot upon her cheek was larger
-and brighter, while her eyes shone like diamonds as she
-looked wistfully in the direction of the village, where
-the smoke of the New York train was slowly dying
-away.
-
-"Mother," she said at last, "isn't the omnibus
-coming over the hill?"
-
-"Yes," Mrs. Howland answered. "Possibly it is
-Walter, though I did not tell him in my last how
-weak you are, as you know you bade me not, lest he
-should be unnecessarily alarmed."
-
-Ellen knew it was not Walter, and the spot on her
-cheek was almost a blood-red hue when she heard the
-dear familiar voice, and knew that William had come.
-
-"Mother," she said faintly, "it's Mr. Bellenger,
-and you must let me see him alone,—all the evening
-alone;—will you? It's right," she continued, as she
-met her mother's look of inquiry. "I'll explain it,
-perhaps, when he's gone."
-
-In an instant the truth flashed upon Mrs. Howland,
-bringing with it a feeling of gratified pride that the
-elegant William Bellenger had condescended to think
-of her child. She did not know the whole. She could
-not guess how thoroughly selfish was the man who
-was deliberately breaking her daughter's heart, or she
-would not have left them to themselves that long winter
-evening, saying to her father and Aunt Debby,
-when they questioned the propriety of the proceeding:
-
-"He wants to tell her of Walter and Jessie, I suppose,
-and the fine times they have in the city."
-
-This satisfied Aunt Debby, but the deacon was not
-quite at ease, and more than once after finishing his
-fourth pipe, he started to join them, but was as often
-kept back by some well-timed remark addressed to
-him by Mrs. Howland; and so William was left undisturbed
-while he poured again into Ellen's ear the
-story of his love, telling her how inexpressibly dear
-she was to him, and that but for circumstances which
-he could not control, he would prove his assertion
-true by making her at once his wife. Then the long
-eyelashes drooped beneath their weight of tears, for
-there flitted across Ellen's mind a vague consciousness
-that if these circumstances existed when he first talked
-to her of love, he had done very wrong. Still she
-could not accuse him even in thought, and she hastened
-to say:
-
-"I don't know as I really ever supposed that you
-wished me to be your wife; and if I did it don't matter
-now, for I am going to die; death has a prior
-claim, and I never can be yours."
-
-He held her hot hand in his,—felt the rapid pulse,—saw
-the deep color on her cheek,—the unnatural luster
-of her eye,—and felt that she told him truly. And
-thinking that anything which he could say to comfort
-and please her would be right, he whispered:
-
-"I hope there are many years in store for you. If
-I should take you to Florida as my wife, do you think
-you would get well?"
-
-She had said to him that it could not be,—that
-death would claim her first, but now that he had asked
-her this, all the energies of life were roused within
-her, and her whole face said yes, even before the
-answer dropped from her pale lips.
-
-"Oh, William, dear, are you in earnest? Can I
-go?" and raising herself up, she wound her arms
-around his neck so that her head rested on his bosom.
-
-And William held it there, caressing the fair hair,
-while he battled with all his better nature, and tried
-to think of some excuse,—some good reason for retracting
-the proposition which had been received so differently
-from what he expected. He thought of it at
-last, and laying his burden gently back upon her pillow,
-he answered mournfully:
-
-"Forgive me, darling. In my great love for you
-I spoke inadvertently. I wish I were free to do what
-my heart dictates, but I am not. Listen, Nellie, and
-then you shall decide. Perhaps you have never heard
-that Jessie and I were long ago intended for each
-other by our parents?"
-
-William's voice trembled as he uttered this falsehood,
-but not one-half as much as did the young girl
-on the lounge.
-
-"No," she answered faintly; "Jessie never told
-me."
-
-"Some girls are not inclined to talk of those they
-love," said William, and fixing her clear blue eyes on
-him, Ellen asked:
-
-"Does Jessie love you, William?"
-
-"And suppose she does?" he replied; "suppose
-she had always been taught to look upon me as her
-future husband? Suppose that even when I first came
-here there was an understanding that, unless Jessie
-should prefer some one else, we were to be married
-when she was eighteen, and suppose that since we
-have been so much together as we have this winter,
-Jessie had learned to love me very much, and that my
-marrying another now would break her heart, what
-would you have me do? I know you must think it
-wrong in me to talk of love to you, knowing what I
-did, but struggle as I would, I could not help it. You
-are my ideal of a wife. I love you better than I do
-Jessie,—better than I do any one, and you shall decide
-the matter. I will leave Jessie, offend her father, and
-incur the lasting displeasure of my own family, if you
-say so. Think a moment, darling, and then tell me
-what to do."
-
-Had he held a knife at her heart, and a pistol at
-her head, bidding her take her choice between the
-two, he could scarcely have pained her more. Folding
-her hands together, she lay so still that it seemed almost
-like the stillness of death, and William once
-bent down to see if she were sleeping. But the large
-blue eyes turned toward him, and a faint whisper met
-his ear:
-
-"Don't disturb me. I am thinking," and as she
-thought the cold perspiration stood in the palms of
-her hands and about her mouth, for it was like tearing
-out her very life, deciding to give William up,
-and bidding him marry another, even though she
-knew she could never be his wife.
-
-Jessie Graham was very dear to the poor invalid,
-as the first and almost only girl friend she had ever
-known. Jessie had been kind to her, while Mr.
-Graham had been most kind to them all. Jessie
-would make William a far more suitable wife than
-she could. His proud relatives would scoff at her,
-and perhaps if she should live and marry him he
-might some day be sorry that he did not take the
-more brilliant Jessie. But was there any probability
-that she could live? She wished she knew, and she
-said to William:
-
-"Do people always get well if they go to
-Florida?"
-
-"Sometimes, darling, if the disease is not too far
-advanced," was the answer, and Ellen went back to
-her reflections.
-
-Her disease was too far advanced, she feared, and
-if she could not live, why should she wish to trammel
-William for so short a time, even if there were no
-Jessie, and would it not be better to give him up at
-once? Yes, it would, she said, and just as William
-began a second time to think she had fallen away to
-sleep she beckoned him to come near, and in a voice
-which sounded like the wail of a broken heart, she
-whispered:
-
-"I have decided, William. You must marry Jessie,—but
-not till I am dead. You'll love poor me till
-then, won't you?" and burying her face in his bosom,
-she sobbed bitterly. He kissed her tears away; he
-told her he would not marry Jessie, that she alone
-should be his wife; and when she answered that it
-must not be, that at the longest she could live but a
-short time, he felt in his villainous, selfish heart that
-he was glad she was so sensible. He had told her no
-lie, he thought. He had merely supposed a case, and
-she, taking it for granted, had deliberately given him
-up. He could not help himself, for had she not virtually
-refused him?
-
-By such arguments as these did the wicked man
-seek to quiet his guilty conscience, but when he saw
-how much it had cost the young girl to say what she
-had said, he was half tempted to undeceive her, to tell
-her it was all false, that story of himself and Jessie,—but
-gold was dearer to him than aught else on earth,
-and so he did not do it. He merely told her that so
-long as she lived he should love her the best, but advised
-her not to talk with Jessie on the subject, as it
-would only make them both unhappy.
-
-"You may tell your mother that I love you, but I
-would say nothing of Jessie, who might not like to
-have the matter talked about, as it is not positively
-settled yet, at least not enough to proclaim it to the
-world."
-
-Like a submissive child, Ellen promised compliance
-with all his wishes, and as the deacon by this
-time had declared "there was no sense in them two
-staying in there any longer," he appeared in the door,
-and thus put an end to the conversation.
-
-All the next day William stayed, improving every
-opportunity to whisper to Ellen of his love, but the
-words were almost meaningless to her now. She
-knew that she loved him; she believed that he loved
-her, but there was a barrier between them, and when
-at night he left her, she was so strangely calm that he
-felt a pang lest he might have lost a little of her love,
-which, in spite of his selfishness, was very dear to him.
-After he was gone, Ellen told her mother of their
-mutual love, which never could be consummated, because
-she must die; but she said nothing of Jessie,
-and the deluded woman, gazing on her beautiful
-daughter, prayed that she might live, and so one day
-grace the halls of the proud Bellengers. After this
-there often came to the farm-house dainty luxuries for
-the invalid, and though there was no name, Ellen
-knew who sent them, and smiling into her mother's
-face would say:
-
-"Isn't he good to me?"
-
-At last the stormy March had come, and one night
-a lady stood at the farm-house door, asking if Deacon
-Marshall lived there.
-
-"I have no claim upon your hospitality," she said,
-"but a mother has a right to visit her daughter's
-grave and the home where her daughter died."
-
-It was Mrs. Bellenger, but so changed from the
-haughty woman who years ago had been there, that
-the family could scarcely believe it was the same.
-It is true they had heard from Walter of his grandmother's
-kindness, and how the effect of that kindness
-was already beginning to be apparent in the treatment
-he received from those who before had scarcely
-noticed him, but they could not understand it until
-they saw the lady in their midst, affable and friendly
-to them all, but especially to poor sick Nellie, to whom
-she attached herself at once. Very rapidly each grew
-to liking the other. Mrs. Bellenger, because the gentle
-invalid bore her daughter's name; and Nellie, because
-the lady was William's grandmother, and sometimes
-spoke of him. For many days Mrs. Bellenger
-lingered, for there was something very soothing in
-the quiet of the farm-house, and very attractive about
-the sick girl, who once as they sat together alone,
-opened her whole heart and told the story of her
-love.
-
-"It surely is not wrong for me to confide in you,"
-she said, "and I must talk of it to somebody."
-
-Mrs. Bellenger had heretofore distrusted William,
-but the fact that he had won the love of so pure a
-being as Ellen Howland changed her feelings toward
-him, and when the latter said, "He spoke of taking
-me to Florida," she thought at once that her money
-should pay the bills, and that she too would go and
-help her grandson nurse the beautiful young girl back
-to life and strength. This last she said to Ellen, who
-answered mournfully:
-
-"It cannot be, for I have given him up to Jessie,
-whose claim was better than mine," and then she repeated
-all that William had said to her.
-
-"It doesn't matter," she continued. "I can't live
-very long, and Jessie has been so kind to me that I
-want to give her something, and William is the most
-precious thing I have.
-
-"It hurt me to give him up. But it is best, even
-if there were no Jessie Graham. His parents are not
-like you; they might teach him in time to despise
-me, and I'd rather die now."
-
-Mrs. Bellenger turned away to hide her tears, and
-could William have seen what was in her heart,—could
-he have known how easily Ellen's wasted hand
-could unlock her coffers and give him the money he
-craved, the proud house of Bellenger would have
-mourned over a second *mesalliance*.
-
-For nearly two weeks Mrs. Bellenger remained in
-Deerwood, and then, promising to come again ere
-long, returned to the city, where rumor was already
-busy with the marriage which the world said was soon
-to take place between William Bellenger and the
-beautiful Miss Graham.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.—A DISCLOSURE.
-========================
-
-
-Much surprise was expressed, and a good
-deal of interest manifested, when it was
-known that the handsome house up-town
-which had recently been bought by a stranger it was
-said, and elegantly furnished, was the property of
-Mrs. Bellenger, who, not long after her return from
-Deerwood, took possession of it, and made it also the
-home of Walter Marshall. The latter was now
-courted and admired as a most "delightful young
-man," and probably the principal heir of the rich old
-lady, who did not hesitate to show how greatly she
-preferred him to her other grandson, William. Even
-Mrs. Reeves was especially gracious to him now, saying
-she believed him quite as good a match as Mr.
-Bellenger, who was welcome to Jessie Graham if he
-wanted her. And it would seem that he did, for almost
-every evening found him at her side, while
-Walter frequently met them in the street, or heard of
-them at various places of amusement.
-
-Still Jessie was very kind to him whenever he
-called upon her, unless William chanced to be present,
-and then she seemed to take delight in annoying
-him, by devoting herself almost entirely to one whom
-he at last believed was really his rival. This opinion
-he expressed one day to his grandmother, who had
-come to the same conclusion, and who as gently as
-possible repeated to him all that Ellen had told her.
-It was the first intimation Walter had received that
-William Bellenger had pretended to care for his
-cousin, and it affected him deeply.
-
-"The wretch!" he exclaimed. "He won Ellen's
-love only to cast it from him at his will, for he never
-thought of making her his wife."
-
-Then, as his own gloomy future arose before him,
-he groaned aloud, for he never knew before how dear
-Jessie was to him.
-
-"It may not be so," his grandmother said, laying
-her hand upon his head. "I cannot quite think Jessie
-would prefer him to you, and she has known you
-always, too. Suppose you talk with her upon the subject.
-It will not make the matter worse."
-
-"Grandmother," said Walter, "I have promised
-never to speak of love to Jessie Graham until I am
-freed from the taint my father's misfortune has fastened
-upon my name, and as there is no hope that this
-will ever be, I must live on and see her given to another.
-Were my rival anybody but William, I could
-bear it better, for I want Jessie to be happy, and I
-believe him to be—a villain, and I would far rather
-that Jessie would die than be his bride."
-
-Walter was very much excited, and as the atmosphere
-of the room seemed oppressive, he seized his hat
-and rushed out into the street, meeting by the way
-William and Jessie. They were walking very slowly,
-and apparently so absorbed with themselves, that
-neither observed him till just as he was passing, when
-Jessie looked up and called after him:
-
-"Are you never coming to see me again?"
-
-"I don't know,—perhaps not," was the cool answer,
-and Walter hastened on, while William, who
-never let an opportunity pass for a sly insinuation
-against his cousin, asked Jessie if she had not observed
-how consequential Walter had grown since his
-grandmother took him up and pushed him into society.
-"Everybody is laughing about it," said he, "but that
-is the way with people of his class. They cannot bear
-prosperity."
-
-"I think Walter has too much good sense," Jessie
-replied, "to be lifted up by the attentions of those
-who used to slight him, but who notice him now just
-because Mrs. Bellenger likes him. There's Mrs.
-Reeves, for instance,—it's perfectly sickening to hear
-her talk about 'dear Mr. Marshall,' when she used to
-speak of him as 'that poor young man in Mr. Graham's
-employ.' Charlotte always liked him."
-
-This last was not very agreeable to Will, for in
-case he failed to secure Jessie, Charlotte was his next
-choice.
-
-Money he must have, and soon too, for there was
-a heavy burden on his mind, and unless that burden
-was lifted disgrace was sure to follow. Twice
-recently he had written to his father for money and
-received the same answer:
-
-"I have nothing for you; go to your grandmother,
-who has plenty."
-
-Once he had asked Mrs. Bellenger for a hundred
-dollars; but she had said that "a young man in perfect
-health ought to have some occupation, and as he had
-none he had no right to live as expensively as he
-did."
-
-Several times he had borrowed of Walter, making
-an excuse that he had forgotten his purse, or "that
-the old man's remittances had not come," but never
-remembering to pay or mention it again. In this
-state of affairs it was quite natural that he should be
-looking about for something to ease his mind and fill
-his pocket at the same time. A rich wife could do
-this, and as Jessie and Charlotte both were rich, one
-of them must come to the rescue. Jessie's remark
-about Charlotte disturbed him, and as he had not of
-late paid her much attention, he resolved to call
-upon her as soon as he had seen Jessie to her own
-door.
-
-Meanwhile Walter had gone to his office, where he
-found upon the desk a letter in his grandfather's
-handwriting, and hastily breaking the seal, he read,
-that he must come quickly if he would see his cousin
-alive. The letter inclosed a note for Jessie, and
-Walter was requested to give it to her so that she
-might come with him.
-
-"Poor Ellen talks of Jessie and Mrs. Bellenger all
-the time," the deacon wrote, "and perhaps your
-grandmother would not mind coming too. She
-seemed to take kindly to the child."
-
-Not a word was said of William, for Ellen would
-not allow her mother to send for him.
-
-"It would only make him feel badly," she said,
-"and I would save him from unnecessary pain." So
-she hushed her longing to see him again and asked
-only for Jessie.
-
-"I will go to-morrow morning," Walter thought,
-and as Mr. Graham was absent for a day or two he
-was thinking of taking the note to Jessie himself,
-when William came suddenly upon him.
-
-"Well, old fellow," said he, "what's up now?
-Your face is long as a gravestone."
-
-"Ellen is dying," returned Walter, "and they
-have sent for me."
-
-"Ellen dying!" and the man, who a moment
-before had spoken so jeeringly, staggered into a chair
-as if smitten by a heavy blow.
-
-"I did not suppose he cared so much for her,"
-thought Walter, and in a kinder tone he told what he
-knew, and passing William the note intended for
-Jessie, he bade him take it to her that night, and tell
-her to meet him at the depot in the morning. "And
-William," said Walter, fixing his eye earnestly upon
-his cousin, "what message shall I take to Ellen for
-you? or will you go too?"
-
-For a moment William hesitated, while his better
-nature battled with his worse, urging him to give up
-the game at which he was playing, and comfort the
-dying girl he had so cruelly deceived, and acknowledge
-to the world how dear she was to him; then, as
-another frightful thought intruded itself upon him, he
-murmured, "I can't, I can't," and with that resolution
-he sealed his future destiny. "No, I cannot go," he
-said, and thrusting the note into his pocket went out
-into the open air, a harder man, if possible, than he
-had been before. "Jessie must not go to Deerwood
-if I can prevent it," he thought to himself. "Nellie
-may tell her all, and that would be fatal to my
-plans."
-
-So he resolved not to call at Mr. Graham's that
-night, and in case an explanation should afterward
-be necessary, he would say that he had sent the
-note by a boy, who, of course, had neglected to
-deliver it.
-
-Accordingly the next morning Walter and his
-grandmother waited impatiently for Jessie at the
-depot, and then, when they found she was not coming,
-took their seats in the cars with heavy hearts, for
-both knew how terrible would be the disappointment
-to Ellen, who loved Jessie Graham better almost than
-herself.
-
-----
-
-"Where's Jessie? Didn't I hear her voice in the
-other room?" the sick girl asked, when, one after the
-other, Mrs. Bellenger and Walter bent over her pillow
-and kissed her wasted face.
-
-"She isn't here," said Walter, and the color faded
-from Ellen's face as she replied:
-
-"Isn't here? Where is she, Walter?"
-
-He answered that he did not see her himself, but
-had sent the message by William, and at the mention
-of his name the blood came surging back to the pallid
-cheeks.
-
-"William would carry the note, I know," she said,
-"and why does she stay away when I want so much
-to see her before I die?" And turning her face to the
-wall, she wept silently over her friend's apparent
-neglect.
-
-"Walter," said Mrs. Bellenger, drawing him aside,
-"it may be possible there is some mistake, and Jessie
-does not know. Suppose you telegraph to her father
-and be sure."
-
-Walter immediately acted upon this suggestion,
-and that evening as Jessie sat listlessly drumming her
-piano, wondering why Walter seemed so changed, and
-wishing somebody would come, she received the telegram,
-and with feverish impatience waited for the
-morning, when she set off for Deerwood, where she
-was hailed with rapture by Ellen, who could now only
-whisper her delight and press the hands of her early
-friend.
-
-"Why didn't you come with Walter?" she asked,
-and Jessie replied:
-
-"How could I, when I knew nothing of his coming?"
-
-"Didn't William give you a note?" asked Walter,
-who was standing near, and upon Jessie's replying
-that she had neither seen nor heard from William, a
-sudden suspicion crossed his mind that the message
-had purposely been withheld.
-
-No such thought, however, intruded itself upon
-Ellen; the neglect was not intentional, she was sure;
-and in her joy at having Jessie with her at last, she
-forgot her earlier disappointment. Earnestly and
-lovingly she looked up into Jessie's bright, glowing
-face, and, pushing back her short black curls, whispered:
-
-"Darling Jessie, I am glad you are so beautiful, so
-good."
-
-And Jessie, listening to these oft-repeated words
-did not dream of the pure, unselfish love which
-prompted them.
-
-If Jessie were beautiful and good, she would make
-the life of William Bellenger happier than if she were
-otherwise; and this was all that Ellen asked or
-wished.
-
-Hidden away in a little rosewood box, which Jessie
-had given her, was a blurred and blotted letter, which
-she had written at intervals, as her failing strength
-would permit. It was her farewell to William, and
-she would trust it to no messenger but Jessie.
-
-"Tell them all to go out," she said, as the shadows
-stretched farther and farther across the floor, and she
-knew it was growing late. "Tell them to leave us together
-once more, just as we used to be."
-
-Her request was granted, and then laying her hand
-upon her pillow, she said:
-
-"Lie down beside me, Jessie, and put your arms
-around my neck while I tell you how I love you. It
-wasn't my way to talk much, Jessie, and when you
-used to say so often that I was very dear to you, I
-only kissed you back, and did not tell you how
-full my heart was of love. Dear Jessie, don't cry.
-What makes you? Are you sorry I am going to
-die?"
-
-A passionate hug was Jessie's answer, and Ellen
-continued:
-
-"It's right, darling, that I should go, for neither
-of us could be quite happy in knowing that another
-shared the love we coveted for ourselves. Forgive
-me, Jessie, I never meant to interfere, and when I'm
-dead, you won't let it cast a shadow between you that
-he loved me a little, too."
-
-"I do not understand you," said Jessie, "I love
-nobody but father,—no man, I mean.
-
-"Oh, Jessie, don't profess to be ignorant of my
-meaning," said Ellen. "It may be wrong for me to
-speak of it, but at the very last, I cannot forbear
-telling you how willingly I gave William up to
-you."
-
-"*William!*" Jessie exclaimed. "I never loved
-William Bellenger,—never *could* love him. What
-do you mean!"
-
-There was no color in Ellen's face, and she trembled
-in every limb, as she answered, faintly:
-
-"You wouldn't tell me a lie when I am dying?"
-
-"No, darling, no," and passing her arm around
-the sick girl, Jessie raised her up, and continued,
-"explain to me, will you? for I do not comprehend."
-
-Then as briefly as possible Nellie told the story of
-her love, and how William had said that Jessie stood
-between them.
-
-"If it is not so," she gasped, "if he has deceived
-me, don't tell me. I could not endure losing faith in
-him. Don't, don't," she continued, entreatingly, as
-Jessie cried indignantly:
-
-"It is false,—false as his own black heart! There
-is no understanding between our parents. I never
-thought of loving him. I hate him now, the monster.
-And you are dying for me, Nellie, but he killed you,
-the wretch!"
-
-Jessie paused, for there was something in Nellie's
-face which awed her into silence. It was as white as
-ashes, and Jessie never forgot its grieved, heart-broken
-expression, or the spasmodic quivering of the lips,
-which uttered no complaint against the perfidious
-man, but whispered faintly:
-
-"Bring me my little box, and bring the candle,
-too."
-
-Both were brought, and taking out the letter so
-deeply freighted with her love, the sick girl held it in
-the blaze, watching it as it blackened and charred, and
-dropped upon the floor.
-
-"With that I burned up my very heart," she said,
-and a cold smile curled her lips. "The pain is over
-now. I do not feel it any more."
-
-Then, taking a pencil and a tiny sheet of note
-paper from the box, she wrote:
-
-"Heaven forgive you, William. Pray for pardon
-at my grave. You have much need to pray."
-
-Passing it to Jessie, she said:
-
-"Give this to William when I am dead; and now
-draw the covering closer over me, for I am growing
-cold and sleepy."
-
-Jessie folded the blanket about her shoulders and
-chest, and then sat down beside her, while the family,
-hearing no sound, stole softly across the threshold
-into the room where the May moonshine lay; where
-the candle burned dimly on the table, and where the
-light of a young life flickered and faded with each
-tick of the tall old clock, which in the kitchen without
-could be distinctly heard measuring off the time.
-
-Fainter and fainter, dimmer and dimmer, grew the
-light, until at last, as the swinging pendulum beat the
-hour of midnight, it went out forever, and the moon-beams
-fell on the golden hair and white face of the
-beautiful dead.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.—THE NIGHT AFTER THE BURIAL.
-=======================================
-
-
-Down the lane, over the rustic bridge
-beneath the shadow of the tasseled pines
-and up the grassy hillside, where the headstones
-of the dead gleamed in the warm sunlight, the
-long procession wended its way, and the fair May
-blossoms were upturned, and the moist earth thrown
-out to make room for the fair sleeper, thus early gone
-to rest.
-
-Then back again, down the grassy hillside, under
-the tasseled pines, and up the winding lane the
-mourners came, and all the afternoon the villagers
-talked of the beautiful girl,—but in the home she had
-left so desolate, her name was not once mentioned.
-They could not speak of her yet, and so the mother
-sat in her lonely room, rocking to and fro, just as she
-used to do when there was pillowed on her breast the
-golden head, now lying across the fields, where the
-dim eyes of the deacon wandered often, as the old
-man whispered to himself.
-
-"One grave more, and one chair less. Our store
-grows fast in Heaven."
-
-For once Aunt Debby forgot to knit, and the kitten
-rolled the ball at pleasure, pausing sometimes in
-her play, and looking up in Jessie's face, as if to ask
-her the reason of its unwonted sadness, and why the
-hug and squeeze had been so long omitted.
-
-To Walter, Ellen had been like a sister, and he
-went away to weep alone, while Mrs. Bellenger, not
-wishing to intrude on any one, withdrew to the quiet
-garden, and so the dreary afternoon went by, and
-when the sun was set and the moon was shining on
-the floor of the little portico the family assembled
-there, and drawing a little stool to the deacon's side
-Jessie laid her bright head on his knee.
-
-The moonlight fell softly on her upturned face,
-heightening its dark, rich beauty, and Walter was
-gazing admiringly upon her, when a sound in the distance
-caught his ear, and arrested the attention of all.
-
-It was the sound of horse's feet, and as the sharp
-hoofs struck the earth with a rapidity which told how
-swiftly the rider came, Jessie's heart beat faster with
-a feeling that she knew who the rider was. He passed
-them with averted face, and they heard the clatter
-of the iron shoes, as the steed dashed down the
-lane, over the rustic bridge, and up the grassy hillside.
-
-Jessie had not told the family the story which
-broke poor Nellie's heart, for she would not inflict an
-unnecessary pang upon the mother, or the grandfather,
-but she wanted Walter to know it, and as the
-sound of the horse's feet died away in the distance,
-she said to him:
-
-"Will you walk with me, Walter? It is so light
-and pleasant."
-
-It seemed a strange request to him, but he complied
-with it, and as if by mutual consent, the two
-went together, toward the grave, whither another had
-preceded them.
-
-In the city William had heard of the telegram sent
-to Jessie, and with a feeling of restless impatience, he
-at last took the cars, as far as the town adjoining
-Deerwood, where he stopped and heard of Ellen's
-death. He heard, too, that she was buried that very
-afternoon, and his pulses quickened with a painful
-throb, as as he heard the landlord's daughter, who had
-attended the funeral, telling her mother how beautiful
-the young girl was, all covered with flowers, and
-how Miss Graham from New York cried when she
-bent over the coffin.
-
-He would see her grave, he said, he would kiss the
-earth which covered her, and so when the "candle was
-lighted in her dear old home," he came, a weary,
-wretched man, and stood by the little mound. He
-had almost felt that he should find her there, just as
-she was that August afternoon, when she lay sleeping
-with the withered roses drooping on her face.
-
-She had told him of this hour, and bidden him
-pray when he stood so near to her, but he could not,
-and he only murmured through his tears:
-
-"Poor Nellie. She deserved a better fate. I wish
-I had never crossed her path."
-
-There were voices in the distance, and not caring
-to be found there, he knelt by the pile of earth, and
-burying his face in the dust, said aloud:
-
-"I wish that I were dead and happy as you are,
-little Snow Drop," then leaving the inclosure, he
-mounted his horse, and rode rapidly off, just as Walter
-and Jessie came up on the opposite side.
-
-"That was William Bellenger," Jessie cried. "I
-thought so when he passed the house, and I wanted so
-much to see him here by Ellen's grave."
-
-"William Bellenger," Walter repeated. "Do you
-know why he was here?"
-
-"Yes, I do," Jessie answered, "and I wanted to
-reproach him with it. Walter, William Bellenger is a
-villain!
-
-"Sit down with me," she continued, "here, beside
-your mother's grave, and Nellie's, and listen while I
-repeat to you what Nellie told me just before she
-died."
-
-He obeyed, and in a voice of mingled sorrow and
-resentment, Jessie told him of the falsehood which
-had been imposed upon the gentle girl lying there so
-near them.
-
-It would be impossible to describe Walter's anger
-and disgust, as he listened to the story of Ellen's
-wrongs.
-
-"The wretch! He killed her!" he exclaimed,
-"killed her through love for him, and her unselfish
-devotion to you."
-
-"But he *did* love her," interposed Jessie, "or he
-had never been here to-night."
-
-Walter could not comprehend a love like this. It
-was not what he felt for the dark-haired girl at his
-side, and in his joy at finding that she, too, thoroughly
-despised one whom he had feared might be his rival,
-he came near telling her so, but he remembered in
-time the promise made to Mrs. Bartow, and merely
-said:
-
-"Forgive me, Jessie. I have fancied you loved
-this rascally fellow, and it made me very unhappy, for
-I knew he was unworthy."
-
-"Are you not sometimes unreasonably suspicious
-of me?" Jessie asked, and Walter replied:
-
-"If I am, it is because,—because,—I would have
-my sister happy, and now that Nellie is dead, you are
-all I have to love."
-
-It surely was not wrong for him to say so much,
-he thought, and Jessie must have thought so too, for
-impulsively laying her hand in his, she looked up into
-his face and answered:
-
-"There must never be another cloud between us."
-
-For a long time they sat together among the
-graves, and then, as it was growing late, they retraced
-their steps toward the farm-house, where only Mrs.
-Bellenger was waiting for them, the others having retired
-to rest.
-
-To her, with Jessie's consent, Walter told what he
-had heard, but not till Jessie had left them for the
-night. Covering her face with her hands, Mrs. Bellenger
-groaned aloud at this fresh proof of William's
-perfidy.
-
-"There is one comfort, however," she said, at last,
-"Jessie is not bound to him," and she spoke hopefully
-to Walter of his future.
-
-"It may be," he said, "but my father must first
-be proved innocent. I am going to find him, too,"
-and then he told his grandmother that Mr. Graham
-had long contemplated sending him to California on
-business connected with the firm. "Next September
-is the time appointed for me to go, and something
-tells me that I shall find my father in my
-travels."
-
-Then he told her that if he could arrange it, he
-should spend several weeks at home, as the family
-were now so lonely, and as Mrs. Bellenger was herself,
-ere long, going to Boston, she offered no remonstrance
-to the plan.
-
-The moon by this time had reached a point high
-up in the heavens, and bidding him good night she
-left him sitting there alone, dreaming bright dreams
-of the future, when the little hand which not long ago
-had crept of its own accord into his own, should be
-his indeed. But what if it should never be proved
-that his father was innocent? Could he keep his
-promise forever? He dared not answer this, but
-there swept over him again, as it had done many
-times of late, the belief that ere a year had passed,
-Seth Marshall would stand before the world an
-honored and respected man. Until that time he was
-willing to wait, he said, and the moon had long since
-passed the zenith and was shining through the
-western window into the room where Jessie Graham
-lay sleeping ere he left his seat beneath the vines and
-sought his pillow to realize in dreamland the happiness
-in store for him.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.—A CRISIS.
-======================
-
-
-The next morning, Mrs. Bellenger, Jessie
-and Walter returned to the city, the latter
-promising his family that he would if
-possible obtain leave of absence from his business for
-several weeks, and be with them in the first stages of
-their bereavement.
-
-To this plan Mr. Graham made no objection, and
-without seeing William, who chanced to be out of
-the city, Walter went back to Deerwood, while his
-grandmother also started on her projected visit to
-Boston.
-
-Lonely indeed was Walter's life at the farm-house,
-and not even the cheering letters of Mr. Graham,
-which always contained a pleasant message from
-Jessie, had the power to enliven his solitude. He had
-tasted of the busy world, and a life of inactivity
-could not satisfy him now. So he wrote at last to
-Mr. Graham, asking why he could not start at once
-for California, instead of waiting until September.
-
-With a father's ready tact, Mr. Graham understood
-exactly the nature of Walter's feelings toward
-his daughter, and as Mrs. Bartow had told him of
-the young man's promise, he watched him narrowly
-to see how well it would be kept.
-
-"He is a noble fellow," he thought, "and he shall
-not wait for what may never be. I am sure Jessie
-loves him quite as much as he does her, and I will
-bring them together in my own way, and when
-September comes he shall not go to California alone;" so
-in reply to Walter's letter, he wrote: "You can go
-at once if you like, though I have in mind a pleasant
-surprise if you will wait until autumn," and as he
-wrote his own heart grew young and warm again,
-with fancying Walter's joy when he should say to
-him, "I know your secret, and you need not wait.
-Jessie loves you. Take her and be happy."
-
-And as thoughts of his own daughter's possible
-bridal suggested to him another, he dipped his pen a
-second time, and added as a postscript:
-
-"There is a rumor of a marriage to take place
-before long, and Jessie, I dare say, will wish you to be
-present, so perhaps you'd better wait."
-
-Over the postscript Walter lingered long and
-anxiously. Was Jessie to be the bride? It would
-seem so, and yet there was madness in the thought.
-Once he resolved to go and see, and this he would
-perhaps have done had not the next mail brought him
-a confirmation of his fears. It was from his cousin,
-and read as follows:
-
- ":small-caps:`Dear Walt`:—You will be greatly surprised, I
- dare say, to hear that I have caught the bird at last,
- and the tenth of July, at eleven A. M., will see us
- one. It is sudden, I know; but all the better for that.
- She wanted to wait until fall and have a grand smash-up,
- but I, with her grandmother to back me, insisted
- upon its taking place immediately, and in a quiet way.
- We shall be married in church, and then go off to
- some watering-place. Her father does the handsome
- thing, and comes down with a cool 50,000 on her
- bridal day, but that's nothing for a millionaire. I'm
- more obliged to you, Walt, than I can well express
- for not interfering. At one time I was deuced
- jealous, but you behaved like a gentleman, and left
- me an open field, for which I thank you, and cordially
- invite you to the wedding.
-
- "By the way, Jessie says you know about that
- unfortunate affair with poor Nellie. Believe me,
- Walt, I loved that girl, and even now the thought of
- her takes my breath away; but she was too poor.
- Isn't it lucky Jessie is rich? You ought to see how
- delighted my grandmother-elect is with the match.
- But time hastens, and I must finish. Remember, July
- 10th, hour 11, from —— Church. Adieu.
-
-.. class:: right
-
- ":small-caps:`Bill Bellenger`."
-
-For a time after reading the letter Walter sat
-powerless to act or think. Then the storm burst upon
-him with overwhelming fury, and he raved like one
-bereft of reason. Jessie was lost to him forever, and,
-what was worse than all, she had proved herself
-unworthy of esteem by her heartless treachery. How
-could she so soon forget the little grave on the hillside?
-How could she plight her faith to one whom,
-only a few weeks since, she had denounced so
-strongly? Was there no truth in woman? Were
-they all as false as fair? Yes, they were, he said;
-and he laughed bitterly as he thought how, hereafter,
-he should hate the entire sex. Walter was growing
-desperate, and, in his desperation, he resolved to put
-the width of the western hemisphere between himself
-and the fickle Jessie Graham. He could go to California
-now as well as later, and he determined to start
-for New York that night. So with a hurried good-by
-to his family he left them, and scarcely knowing
-whether he were dead or alive, he took the express
-for the city.
-
-It was morning when he reached there, and the
-Wall street thunder had already commenced. His
-first business was to ascertain that a vessel would sail
-that day for California,—his next to call on Mr.
-Graham and make the necessary explanations.
-
-Mr. Graham was not at the office,—he was sick,
-the clerk said, and as Walter had neither the time nor
-the inclination to go all the way up-town to find him,
-he sat down and wrote to him what he would have
-said.
-
-He was going to California, and the reason why he
-went Mr. Graham could perhaps divine; if not, Walter
-would tell him frankly that he could not stay in
-New York and see a man of William Bellenger's
-character married to the girl he loved better than he
-loved his life.
-
-"I understand the business on which I am going
-thoroughly, I believe," he added in conclusion; "but
-if there is anything more which you wish to say, you
-can write it by the next steamer, and your directions
-shall be attended to most strictly."
-
-This letter he left for Mr. Graham, and when the
-night shadows fell again on Deerwood, where in the
-large old kitchen the family talked of him, he sat
-upon the upper deck, listening, with an aching heart,
-to the surging of the waves, as they dashed against
-his floating home.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII.—EXPLANATIONS.
-===========================
-
-
-After Jessie's return to the city, several
-days had elapsed ere she met with William;
-and when at last she did, he saw at
-once that there was a change in her demeanor,—that
-she was unusually reserved; but this he hoped might
-arise from the sad scene through which she had
-recently passed, and as he was fast nearing a point
-when something must be done, he resolved upon a
-decisive step.
-
-His attentions to Jessie must have prepared her
-for a proposal, he thought, and as it would be better
-for him to know his fate at once, so that in case she
-refused him, he could look elsewhere for aid, he determined
-to improve the present opportunity, which,
-so far as outward circumstances were concerned,
-seemed propitious.
-
-Mr. Graham was away, and Mrs. Bartow kindly
-absented herself from the room, as was her custom
-when William was present. The night was rainy,
-too, and they would not be liable to interruption.
-Accordingly when Jessie spoke to him of Nellie's
-death, and gave him the note which had been entrusted
-to her, he drew his chair to her side, and, after
-a few preliminary coughs, plunged at once into business,
-and made her a formal offer of himself, saying
-that he knew he was very faulty, but she could mould
-him as she pleased, and make him a good and useful
-man.
-
-With a cold, haughty look upon her face, Jessie
-Graham listened to him until he finished, and then
-said:
-
-"You astonish me more than I can express, for if
-you do not respect yourself, I hoped you had too much
-respect for me to offer me a hand reeking, as it were,
-with the blood of sweet Nellie Howland. I know it
-all,—know the lie you imposed upon the poor, weak
-girl, whose only fault was loving you too well. And
-now do you think I would marry you? I have never
-seen the hour when I would have done so,—much less
-will I do it now. I despise you, William Bellenger,—despise
-you more than I can tell."
-
-She ceased speaking, but her eyes never for a
-moment left the white face, which had grown whiter
-as she proceeded, and which was now almost livid
-with chagrin, disappointment and rage.
-
-"I have nothing to offer which can extenuate my
-sin toward Nellie," he answered, at last, "though I
-did love her,—better than I love you,—but for certain
-reasons, I preferred that you should be my wife.
-You refuse me, and I know well to whom I am
-indebted for the good opinion you are pleased to
-entertain of me; but I warn you now, fair lady, that
-my precious cousin is no better than myself."
-
-"Hush!" interrupted Jessie. "You are not to
-speak of Walter in that way. Shall I consider our
-interview at an end?"
-
-She spoke with dignity, and motioned him toward
-the door.
-
-"Jessie," he stammered, as he started to leave the
-room, "I'll admit that I'm a wretch, but I trust that
-you will not think it necessary to repeat this to everybody."
-
-"I have no desire to injure you," she answered,
-and walking to the window she stood until she heard
-him leave the house; then her unwonted calmness
-gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears, sometimes
-wishing she had spoken more harshly to him,
-and again regretting that she had been harsh at all.
-
-She might have spared herself this last feeling,
-for at that moment the man she had discarded was
-pouring into the ear of Charlotte Reeves words similar
-to those he had breathed to her not an hour before.
-And Charlotte, knowing nothing of Nellie,—nothing
-of Jessie, save that the latter had been a dreaded
-rival, said *yes* to him, on condition that her father's
-consent could be won.
-
-This last was an easy matter; for Mr. Reeves, who
-scarcely had an identity save that connected with his
-business, answered that in this thing Charlotte would
-do as she pleased, just as she did in everything else,
-adding in a kind of absent way:
-
-"I always intended giving her fifty thousand the
-day she was married, and after that my duty will be
-done."
-
-William could scarcely refrain from hugging his
-prospective father-in-law, but he wisely withheld the
-hug for the daughter, who, while he was closeted
-with the father, ran with the news to the grandmother.
-
-The next morning, as Jessie sat at her work, she
-was surprised at a call from Charlotte, who, seating
-herself upon the sofa began at once to unfold the
-object of her visit.
-
-"She was engaged, and Jessie could not guess to
-whom if she guessed a year."
-
-"William Bellenger," Jessie said at once, her lip
-curling with scorn, and her cheek growing slightly pale.
-
-"You wicked creature," exclaimed Charlotte,
-jumping up and giving her a squeeze. "What made
-you think of him? I always supposed he would marry
-you, and used to be awful jealous. Yes, it's William.
-He came in last night and as pa chanced to be home
-in his room, the whole thing was arranged at once.
-I wanted so badly to wait till fall, and have a grand
-affair, but William is in such a hurry, and says it will
-be so much nicer to be a bride and belle, too, at Newport
-or Nahant, that I gave it up, and we are to be
-married the 10th of July, and go right off. Won't it
-be fun? I'm going to employ every dressmaker in
-the city, that is, every fashionable one. Father gave
-me a thousand dollars this morning to begin my shopping
-with," and the thoughtless light-hearted Charlotte
-clapped her hands and danced around the room
-in childish delight.
-
-"Shall I tell her? Ought I to tell her?" Jessie
-thought, looking into the bright face of the young
-girl.
-
-Then as she remembered how really good-natured
-William was, and that after all he might make a kind
-husband, she resolved to throw no cloud over the
-happiness of her friend, and congratulated her as cordially
-as it was possible for her to do. But Charlotte
-detected the absence of something in her manner, and
-imputing it to a feeling of chagrin at having lost Mr.
-Bellenger, she soon brought her visit to a close,
-and hastened home, telling her grandmother that she
-believed Jessie Graham was terribly disappointed, for
-she was as white as a ghost, and could scarcely keep
-from crying.
-
-Meantime William, in a most singular state of
-mind, tried to play the part of a devoted lover to
-Charlotte,—avoided an interview with Jessie,—received
-quite indifferently the congratulations of his
-friends, and spent the remainder of his time in hating
-Walter, who, he believed, stood between him and
-Jessie Graham, just as he was sure he stood between
-him and his rich grandmother.
-
-"I'll torment him while I can," he thought. "I'll
-make him think for a time, at least, that Jessie is
-lost," and sitting down he wrote the carefully-worded
-letter which had sent Walter so suddenly from home.
-"There," said he, as he read it over, "he can infer
-what he pleases. I don't say it's Jessie I'm going to
-marry; but he can think so, if he likes, and I don't
-envy him his cogitations."
-
-William could not have devised a way of wounding
-Walter more deeply than the letter had wounded
-him, or of affecting Jessie more sensibly than she was
-affected, when she heard that Walter had gone to
-California.
-
-"Not gone!" she cried, when her father brought
-to her the news. "Not gone, without a word for me.
-Oh, father, it was cruel! Didn't he leave a message
-for you?"
-
-"Yes, read it if you choose," and Mr. Graham
-passed to her the letter which had greatly puzzled
-him.
-
-Was it possible he had been deceived? Was it
-Charlotte Reeves, and not his daughter, whom Walter
-Marshall loved? It would seem so, and yet he could
-not be so mistaken; Walter must have been misinformed
-as to the bride. Jessie, perhaps, could explain;
-and he stood watching her face as she read the
-letter.
-
-At first it turned very red, then spotted, and then,
-as the horrible truth burst upon her, it became as
-white as marble, and stretching out her arms she
-moaned:
-
-"Oh, father, I never thought that he loved Charlotte
-Reeves. I most wish I were dead;" and with
-another cry, Jessie lay sobbing in her father's arms.
-Very gently he tried to soothe her; and then, when
-she was better, laid her upon the sofa, and kneeling
-beside her, kissed away the tears which rolled down
-her cheeks so fast.
-
-She had betrayed her secret, or rather it had been
-betrayed to herself, and winding her arms around her
-father's neck, she whispered:
-
-"I didn't know that before I,—that I,—oh, father,—I
-guess I do love Walter better than I supposed;
-and I guess I thought that he loved me. You won't
-tell anybody, will you?" and she laid her burning
-cheek against his own.
-
-"Jessie," he said, "I have known for a long
-time that you loved Walter Marshall. Once I
-believed that he loved you. I believe so still.
-There is surely some mistake. I will inquire of
-William."
-
-Mr. Graham did not know why he should seek for
-an explanation from William Bellenger, but he could
-think of nothing else, and after Jessie was somewhat
-composed, he sought an interview with that young
-man, asking him if he knew of any reason why his
-cousin should start so suddenly for California, without
-a word from any one.
-
-"I should suppose he might have waited until after
-your marriage with *Miss Reeves*?" and Mr. Graham
-fixed his eyes upon Will, who colored slightly as
-he replied:
-
-"Oh, yes, I wrote to him about it, and invited him
-to be present."
-
-Mr. Graham was puzzled. If William wrote as he
-said, Walter could not have been deceived, and he
-wended his way homeward, quite uncertain how to act.
-At last, he decided that as he must write to Walter by
-the next steamer, he would take particular pains to
-speak of Charlotte as having been the bride, and this
-might, perhaps, bring Walter back sooner than was
-expected. Still he would not tell this to Jessie, lest
-she should be disappointed, and day after day her face
-grew less merry than of old, until at last the kind-hearted
-Charlotte, who watched her narrowly, threw
-her arms around her neck, and said to her, entreatingly:
-
-"What is it, Jessie? Did you love William,
-and does it make you so unhappy to have him marry
-me?"
-
-"No, no," and Jessie recoiled from her in horror.
-"I never loved William Bellenger,—never saw the
-day when I would have married him,—never, as I
-live!" and she spoke so indignantly that Charlotte, a
-little piqued, replied:
-
-"Don't scream so loud, if you didn't. I only
-asked you because I knew something had ailed you
-ever since I was engaged. Others notice it too;
-and, if I were you, I'd try to appear cheerful, even if
-I did not feel it."
-
-Greatly as Jessie was annoyed, she resolved to act
-upon this advice, for she would not have people think
-that she cared for William Bellenger. So she roused
-herself from the state of listless indifference into
-which she had fallen, and Charlotte Reeves no longer
-had reason to complain of her dullness, or non-appreciation
-of the bridal finery, which was so ostentatiously
-displayed, and which greatly annoyed Mrs.
-Bartow.
-
-This lady was secretly chagrined at what she considered
-Charlotte's good luck, and at Mrs. Reeves'
-evident exultation, and she took great pains to let the
-latter know that she did not care and on the whole
-was glad William was going to do so well. Jessie
-would never have accepted him, even if she had had
-a chance; and for the sake of dear Mrs. Bellenger
-she was pleased to think the Reeves family was so
-respectable. Of course she never did believe that
-ridiculous story about the tin-peddler, and she
-couldn't see who had reported it. She had been
-asked about it, two or three times, and had always
-told exactly how the story originated, and said it was
-not true.
-
-This speech she made in substance several times to
-Mrs. Reeves, when that lady was congratulating herself
-upon her granddaughter's brilliant prospects, and
-insisting that "Jessie was a year the oldest; basing
-her assertion upon the fact that she bought her
-camel's hair shawl so many years ago, and Jessie was
-born that very day."
-
-"And I," retorted Mrs. Bartow, "remember
-that my daughter Graham's silver tea-set was sent
-home the morning after Jessie was born, and that
-has the date on it, so I can't be wrong. And another
-thing which makes me sure, is that a raw country
-girl we had just hired insisted that it was tin, saying
-her father was a peddler, and she guessed she
-knew."
-
-At the mention of tin of any kind, Mrs. Reeves
-always seemed uneasy; and as Mrs. Bartow frequently
-took occasion to name the offensive article in
-her hearing, she resolved at last to steal a day or so
-from the excitement at home, and see if she too,
-could not find a weapon with which to fight her
-friend.
-
-Accordingly, one morning, when Mrs. Bartow
-called to tell her that "people said William Bellenger
-would drink and gamble too," she was informed that
-the lady was out of town, and so she contented herself
-with repeating the story to Charlotte, adding that she
-didn't believe it herself and she wondered why people
-would talk so.
-
-Charlotte wondered too, and said that those who
-repeated such scandal were quite as bad as the originators,
-a remark in which Mrs. Bartow fully concurred,
-saying, "if there was anything she despised it was a
-talebearer."
-
-The next day about one as she sat with Jessie in her
-little sewing-room, Mrs. Reeves was announced, and
-after a few preliminary remarks, began:
-
-"By the way, my dear Mrs. Bartow, I have been
-to Springfield, and remembering what you said about
-that woman in Deerwood, I thought I'd run over there
-and see her just to convince her that she was mistaken
-in thinking she ever knew me or my father."
-
-"Yes, yes. It's pretty warm in here, isn't it?
-Jessie, hadn't you better go where it is cooler?" said
-Mrs. Bartow, and Jessie replied:
-
-"I am not uncomfortable, and I want to hear about
-Deerwood. Isn't it a pleasant old town?" and she
-turned to Mrs. Reeves, who answered:
-
-"Charming! and those Marshalls are such kind,
-worthy people. But what an odd specimen that Aunt
-Debby is; and what a wonderful memory she has,
-though, of course, she remembers some things which
-never could have been, for instance——"
-
-"Jessie, will you bring me my salts, or will you go
-away, it's so close in here," came faintly from the distressed
-lady, who had dropped her work, and was nervously
-unbuttoning the top of her dress.
-
-"Do you feel choked?" asked Mrs. Reeves, while
-Jessie answered:
-
-"I'll get your salts, grandma; but I don't wish to
-go out, unless Mrs. Reeves has something to tell which
-I must not hear."
-
-"Certainly not," returned Mrs. Reeves. "It's
-false, I'm sure, just as false as that ridiculous story
-about the tin peddler and factory girl. I convinced
-Aunt Debby that she was wrong. It was some other
-Charlotte Gregory she used to know."
-
-"Of course it was; I always said so," and a violent
-sneeze followed the remark and a too strong inhalation
-of the salts.
-
-"As I was saying," persisted Mrs. Reeves, "Aunt
-Debby knows everybody who has lived since the flood,
-and even pretended to have known you, after I told
-her your name was Lummis, before you were adopted
-by Mrs. Stanwood."
-
-"Oh, delightful," cried Jessie. "Do pray give us
-the entire family tree, root and all. Was grandma's
-father a cobbler, or did he make the *tin things* yours
-used to *peddle*?" and the saucy black eyes looked
-archly at both the ladies.
-
-"I don't know what her father was," said Mrs.
-Reeves, "but Aunt Debby pretends that Martha
-Lummis,—Patty, she called her——"
-
-"That's the name in the old black book, grandma,
-that you said belonged to a friend," interrupted
-Jessie, and while grandma groaned, Mrs. Reeves continued:
-
-"Said that Patty did housework in Hopkinton,
-and I believe could milk *seventeen* cows to her
-one!"
-
-"Oh," said Jessie, "how I wish I could milk. It's
-such fun. I did try once, but got the tiniest stream,
-and Walter said I'd dry the cows all up. I wish you
-could hear *him* when he first begins. It sounds like
-hail stones rattling on the *tin pail*. Did yours sound
-so, grandma, and did you buy the pail of Mr.
-Gregory?"
-
-Mrs. Reeves, by this time, began to think that
-Jessie might be making fun of her, and smothering
-her wrath, she proceeded:
-
-"I shouldn't care anything about the housework or
-the milking, but I'll confess I *was* shocked, when she
-spoke of——"
-
-"I certainly am going to faint, Jessie, do go
-out," gasped the white figure in the rocking chair,
-while Jessie rejoined:
-
-"I don't see how my going out can help you."
-Then crossing over to her grandmother, she whispered,
-"Brave it out. *Don't* let her see that you
-care."
-
-Thus entreated Mrs. Bartow became somewhat
-composed, and her tormentor went on:
-
-"This Patty Lummis, Aunt Debby said, was
-blood relation to *three Thayers*, who were hung
-some years ago for murdering *John Love*, or some
-such name. I remember hearing of it at the time,
-but did not suppose I knew any of their relatives."
-
-"Horrid!" cried Jessie, and then, as she saw how
-white her grandmother was, she added quickly:
-
-"And didn't she say too, that the Gregorys *ought*
-to have been hung if they weren't?"
-
-"Such impertinence," muttered Mrs. Reeves, while
-Jessie rejoined:
-
-"There are very few families, which, if traced to
-the fountain head, have not a halter, or a peddler's
-cart, or a smell of tallow, or shoemaker's wax——"
-
-"Or a woollen factory, Jessie. Don't forget
-that," suggested Mrs. Bartow, and Jessie added,
-laughingly:
-
-"Yes, a woollen factory, and as you and grandma
-do not belong to the few who are exempt from a stain
-of any kind, if honorable work can be called a stain,
-I advise you to drop old scores, and let the past be
-forgotten."
-
-"I'm sure I'm willing," sobbed Mrs. Bartow. "I
-never did tell that ridiculous story to but one, and
-she promised not to breathe it as long as she
-lived."
-
-"And will you take it back?" chimed in Mrs.
-Reeves.
-
-"Ye-es. I'll do everything I can toward it," answered
-the distracted old lady. "I couldn't help
-those *Thayers*. I never saw them in my life, and they
-were only second cousins."
-
-"*Fourth* to you, then," and Mrs. Reeves nodded
-to Jessie, who replied:
-
-"I don't care if they were *first*. Everybody
-knows me, and my position in society does not depend
-upon what my family have been before me, but upon
-what I am myself. Isn't it so, father?" and she
-turned to Mr. Graham, who had just entered the
-room.
-
-"I don't know the nature of your conversation,"
-he replied, "but I overheard your last remarks, and
-fully concur with you, that persons are to be respected
-for themselves and not for their family; neither are
-they to be despised for what their family or any member
-of it may do."
-
-There was a tremor in his voice, and looking at
-him closely, Jessie saw that he was very pale, and
-evidently much agitated.
-
-"What is it, father?" she cried, forgetting the
-*three Thayers* and thinking only of Walter. "What
-has happened?"
-
-Mr. Graham did not reply to her, but turning to
-Mrs. Reeves, he said:
-
-"Excuse me, madam, but I think your duty calls
-you home, where poor Charlotte needs your sympathy."
-
-"Why *poor* Charlotte?" replied Jessie, grasping
-his arm. "Is William sick or dead?"
-
-"He has been arrested for forgery. I may as
-well tell it first as last," and the words dropped slowly
-from Mr. Graham's lips.
-
-"*Forgery!* William arrested! It's false!" shrieked
-Mrs. Reeves, and the salts which Mrs. Bartow had used
-so vigorously a little time before changed hands,
-while Jessie passed her arm around the lady to keep
-her from falling to the floor. "It's false. He never
-forged. Why should he? Isn't he rich, and a Bellenger?"
-she kept repeating, until at last Mr. Graham
-answered:
-
-"It is too true, my dear madam, that for some
-time past Mr. Bellenger has been engaged in a systematic
-course of forging, managing always to escape
-detection, until now, it has been clearly proved against
-him, and he is in the hands of the law."
-
-There was no reason why Mrs. Reeves, at this
-point, should think of Walter, but she did, and fancying
-that her auditors might possibly be drawing comparisons
-between the two cousins she said:
-
-"It's the *Marshall* blood with which he is tainted."
-
-"Marshall blood!" repeated Jessie, indignantly.
-"I'd like to know by what chemical process you have
-mingled the Marshall blood with William Bellenger's."
-
-Mrs. Reeves could not explain. She only knew
-that she was completely overwhelmed with surprise
-and mortification, and she seemed so bewildered and
-helpless that Mr. Graham ordered his carriage, and
-sent her to No.—, whither the sad news had preceded
-her, and where Charlotte lay fainting and moaning in
-the midst of her bridal finery, which would never be
-worn. She had noticed William's absence from the
-house for the last twenty-four hours, and was wondering
-at it, when her father, roused by the shock from
-his usual state of quiet passiveness, rushed in, telling
-her in thunder tones that her affianced husband had
-been guilty of forging Graham & Marshall's name,
-not once, not twice, but many times, until at last he
-was detected and under arrest.
-
-"He'll go to State prison, girl—do you hear? To
-State prison! Why don't you speak, and not sit staring
-at me with that milky face?"
-
-Poor Charlotte could not speak, but she fainted
-and fell at the feet of her father, who became himself
-at once, and bending kindly over her brought her
-back to life. It was not that Charlotte loved William
-so very much. It was rather her pride which was
-wounded, and she moaned and wept until her grandmother
-came, and with her lamentations and reproaches,
-so wholly out-did all Charlotte had done,
-that the latter grew suddenly calm, and without a
-word or a tear, sat motionless, while the old lady
-raved on, one moment talking as if they were all going
-to prison together, and the next giving Charlotte
-most uncomfortable squeezes to think she was not the
-wife of a forger after all.
-
-----
-
-The *three Thayers* were for the time forgotten,
-and when at Charlotte's request Jessie came to see
-her, accompanied by her grandmother, Mrs. Reeves
-kissed the latter affectionately, whispering in her ear:
-
-"We'll not mind the past, for the present has
-enough of trouble and disgrace."
-
-Great was the excitement among William's friends,
-the majority of whom turned against him, saying
-"they expected it and knew all the time that something
-was wrong."
-
-Mr. Graham stood by and pitied the cowed and
-wretched young man, and pitied him all the more that
-his father kept aloof, saying:
-
-"He's made his bed and he may lie in it."
-
-At the first intimation of the sad affair, Mrs. Bellenger
-hastened home, but neither her money nor her
-influence, and both were freely used, could disprove
-the guilt of the young man, who awaited his trial in a
-state of mind bordering on despair.
-
-Only once did he speak of Charlotte, and that on
-the day which was to have seen her his bride. Then,
-with Mr. Graham, he talked of her freely, asking what
-effect it had on her, and appearing greatly agitated
-when told that she was very ill, and would see none of
-her friends but Jessie.
-
-"God bless her,—Jessie, I mean," he said, "and
-bless poor Lottie, too. I am sorry I brought this
-trouble upon her. I thought to pay the notes with
-her money, and I resolved after that to be a better
-man. I am glad Nellie did not live to see this day.
-Do you think that up in Heaven she knows what I
-have done and prays for me still?"
-
-Then, as talking of Nellie naturally brought Walter
-to his mind, he confessed to Mr. Graham how his
-letter had sent his cousin away.
-
-"I thought once to win Jessie for myself," he said,
-"and so I broke poor Nellie's heart. I purposely
-withheld the note the deacon sent to Jessie, bidding
-her come ere Nellie died. And this I did, because I
-feared what the result might be of Jessie's going
-there. But my sin has found me out, and I shall
-never cross Walter's path again; it's Jessie he loves;
-tell her so, and bring the light back to her eyes, which
-were heavy with tears when I saw her last."
-
-Mr. Graham did tell her, and when next she went
-to the chamber where Charlotte lay sick of a slow
-fever, there was an increased bloom upon her cheek
-and a brighter flash in her dark eye, while from her
-own great happiness she strove to draw some comfort
-for her friend, who would suffer no other one of her
-acquaintance to approach her.
-
-Jessie alone could comfort her, Jessie alone knew
-what to say, and the right time to say it, and when at
-last the trial came, and the verdict of "guilty" was
-pronounced, it was Jessie who broke the news as
-gently as possible to the pale invalid.
-
-Locked in each others' arms they wept together;
-the one, tears of pity; the other, tears of regret and
-mortification over the misguided man whose home for
-the next five years would be a dreary prison.
-
-There was no going to Saratoga that summer, no
-trip to Newport; and when the gay world congregated
-there asked for the sprightly girl who had been
-with them the season before, and for the old lady who
-carried her head so proudly and sported such superb
-diamonds, the answer was a mysterious whisper of
-some dire misfortune or disgrace which had befallen
-them, and then the dance and the song in which
-Charlotte had ever been the first to join, went on the
-same as before.
-
-Gradually as Charlotte recovered her strength and
-her spirits, she began to wish for some quiet spot
-where no one knew her, and remembering dear old
-Deerwood, now a thousand times more dear since she
-knew of Walter's love, Jessie told her of its shadowy
-woods, its pleasant walks, its musical pines with the
-rustic seat beneath, and Charlotte, pleased with her
-rural picture, bade her write and ask if she could come.
-
-So Jessie wrote, and in less than one week's time
-two girls walked again upon the mountain side, or
-paused by the little grave where Nellie was buried.
-Upon the bank close to the mound a single rose was
-growing,—the last of the sisterhood. It had been late
-in unfolding its delicate leaves, and when at last, it
-was full blown, Jessie picked it, and pressing it carefully,
-sent it with the message, "it grew near Nellie's
-grave," to the weary man whose life was now one of
-toil and loneliness.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.—THE STRANGER NURSE.
-================================
-
-
-The regular boarders at the —— Hotel were
-discussing their dinner with all the haste
-and greediness which characterizes their
-Eastern brethren. The first and second courses had
-been removed, and the merits of the dessert were about
-to be tested when for a moment the operation ceased,
-while the operators welcomed back to their midst a
-middle-aged man, who for a few weeks had been
-absent from the city.
-
-That Captain Murdock was a general favorite,
-could readily be seen by the heartiness of his greeting
-from his friends, and that he was worthy of
-esteem, none knew better than the hundreds of poor
-and destitute who had often been relieved and comforted
-by his well-filled purse, and words of genuine
-sympathy. Possessed of unbounded wealth, he scattered
-it about him with no miserly hand, and many a
-child of poverty blessed him for the great good done
-to him.
-
-"Well, captain," said one of the boarders, "glad
-to see you back. We've been mighty lonesome
-without you. Found your room occupied, didn't
-you?"
-
-"Yes," returned the man addressed as captain,
-"the landlord tells me he took the liberty to put the
-young man in there because the house was so full.
-Of course, he couldn't know that he would be too sick
-to vacate the premises in the morning; but it's all
-right. I, who have slept so often on the ground, don't
-mind camping on the floor now and then."
-
-Here a dozen voices interposed offering him a part
-or the whole of their rooms, but the good-natured
-captain declined them all, saying "he should do very
-well, and perhaps the young man would not be sick
-long. Did they know where he came from? Was he
-a stranger or a resident in California?"
-
-A stranger, they replied, adding that he came
-from New York about two weeks before, and had almost
-immediately been taken sick, and that was all
-they knew about him.
-
-Dinner being over, Captain Murdock went up to
-his room, not to see the sick man particularly, but because
-he wished to remove to another apartment a
-few articles which he would probably need.
-
-Walter, for it was he, was sleeping, while near him,
-in an arm-chair, dozed the old crone who had been
-hired to nurse him. One glance at the former convinced
-the captain that he was poorly cared for and
-must necessarily be very uncomfortable. Still he
-might not have interfered, had not the sick man
-moaned uneasily in his sleep, and turning on his side,
-murmured the name of *father*.
-
-Never had Captain Murdock been thus addressed,—no
-infant arms had ever twined themselves around his
-neck,—no sweet voice called him *father*,—and yet this
-one word thrilled him with an undefinable emotion,
-awakening at once within his bosom feelings of tender
-pity for the sick man, who seemed so young and helpless.
-
-"Poor boy," he whispered, "he is dreaming of his
-home away in the East, and of the loved ones who
-little know how much he needs their care," and advancing
-toward the bedside, he adjusted the tumbled
-pillows, smoothed the soiled spread, pushed back the
-tangled hair from the burning forehead, and was turning
-away when Walter awoke, and fixing his bright
-eyes upon him, said faintly, "Don't go."
-
-Thus entreated the captain sat down beside him,
-while the old nurse roused up, exclaiming:
-
-"Sakes alive, captain! is that you? Ain't you
-feared the fever's catching? He's got it mightily
-in his head, and keeps a goin' on about Jessy,
-his brother, I guess, or some chap he know'd at
-home."
-
-At the mention of Jessie, Walter turned his eyes
-again upon the captain, and said.
-
-"Jessie's married. Did you know it?"
-
-"Yes, I know it," answered the captain, thinking
-it best to humor the whim. "Whom did she
-marry?"
-
-"William," was the reply, "and I loved her so
-much."
-
-At this point the nurse arose, saying:
-
-"Bein' you're here, I'll go out a bit," and she left
-the room.
-
-Walter looked uneasily after her, and when she
-was gone, said:
-
-"Lock the door, and keep her out. Don't let her
-come back. She's one of Macbeth's witches, and
-makes one think of Jessie's grandmother, who won't
-let me talk of love to Jessie, until I am—well, no
-matter what. Do you know my father?"
-
-"No," and the captain shook his head mournfully,
-while Walter continued:
-
-"Are you anybody's father?"
-
-"I don't know," and the voice was sadder than
-when it spoke before.
-
-"I'm looking for my father," Walter said, "just
-as Telemachus looked for his. Do you know
-Ulysses?"
-
-The captain had heard of Ulysses, and the mention
-of him carried him back to an old stone house on
-the hill, where he had read the wonderful adventures
-of the hero.
-
-"Well," Walter continued, "I am hunting for my
-father, and Jessie cried up in the pines when I told
-her about him, and how her father testified against
-him. Do you know Mr. Graham?"
-
-"Who?" screamed the captain, bounding to his
-feet, and bending so near to Walter that his hot
-breath stirred the thick brown hair. "Do I know
-whom?"
-
-But Walter refused to answer, or even to speak;
-the captain's manner had startled him, or it may be
-there was something in the keen eye fixed so earnestly
-upon him, which held him speechless.
-
-For a moment the two gazed fixedly at each other,—the
-old man and the young,—the latter with a
-bright, vacant stare, while the other sought for some
-token to tell him that it was not without a reason his
-heart beat so fast with a hope of he scarcely knew
-what.
-
-"I will inquire below," he said at last, as he
-failed to elicit any information from Walter, and
-going to the office, he turned the leaves of the
-register back to the day when he had left three
-weeks before.
-
-Then with untiring patience he read on and on,
-read Jones and Smith, and Smith and Brown, some
-with wives and some without, some with daughters,
-some with sisters, and some alone, but none as yet
-were sent to No. 40. So he read on again and then at
-last he found the name he sought,—\ :small-caps:`Walter Marshall`.
-
-"Thank God! thank God!" he uttered faintly,
-and those who heard only the last word thought to
-themselves:
-
-"I never knew the captain *swore* before."
-
-With great effort he compelled himself to be calm,
-and when at last he spoke none detected in his voice
-a trace of the shock that name had given him, bringing
-back at once the gable-roofed farm-house far
-away, the maple tree where his name was cut, the
-brown-haired wife, the stormy night when the wind
-rushed sobbing past the window where he stood and
-looked his last on her, the mother long since dead, and
-the father who believed him guilty.
-
-All this passed in rapid review before his mind, and
-then his thoughts came back to the present time, and
-centered themselves upon the restless, tossing form
-which, up in No. 40, had said to him:
-
-"Do you know my father?"
-
-"What is it, captain?" the landlord asked. "Your
-face is white as paper."
-
-"I am thinking," and the captain spoke naturally,
-"I am thinking that I will take care of that young
-man. I find I know his people, or used to know them,
-rather. Dismiss that imbecile old woman," and having
-said so much he left the room and fled up the stairs
-seeing nothing but that name as it looked upon the
-page,—\ :small-caps:`Walter Marshall`.
-
-He repeated it again and again, and in the tone
-with which he did so there was a peculiar tenderness,
-such as mothers are only supposed to feel toward their
-children.
-
-"Walter Marshall,—my boy,—Ellen's and mine,"
-and over the boy, which was Ellen's and his, the man,
-old before his time, bent down and wept great teardrops,
-which fell upon the white handsome face, which
-grew each moment more and more like the young girl
-wife, whose grave the broken-hearted husband had
-never looked upon.
-
-"Why do you cry?" asked Walter, and the captain
-replied:
-
-"I had a son once like you, and it makes me cry
-to see you here so sick. I am going to take care of
-you, too, and send that woman off."
-
-"Oh! will you?" was Walter's joyful cry, "and
-will you stay until I find my father?"
-
-"Yes, yes, I will stay with you always," and again
-Seth Marshall's lips touched those of his son.
-
-"Isn't it funny for men to kiss men?" Walter
-asked, passing his hand over the spot. "I thought
-they only kissed women, girls like Jessie, and I don't
-kiss her now. I haven't since she was a little thing
-and gave me one of her curls. It's in my trunk, with
-a lock of mother's hair. Did you know *mother*,
-man?"
-
-"Yes, yes, oh, Heaven, yes," and the man thus
-questioned fell upon his knees, and hiding his face in
-the bed-clothes, sobbed aloud.
-
-His grief distressed Walter, who, without understanding
-it clearly, felt that he was himself in some
-way connected with it, and laying his hand upon the
-gray hair within his reach, he smoothed it caressingly,
-saying:
-
-"Don't cry. It won't do any good. I used to
-cry when I was a boy and thought of poor, dear
-father."
-
-"Say it again. Say, 'poor, dear father,' once
-more," and the white, haggard face lifted itself slowly
-up and crept on until it lay beside the feverish one
-upon the pillow.
-
-Thus it was the father met his son, and all
-through the afternoon he sat by him, soothing him to
-sleep, and then bending fondly over him to watch
-him while he slept.
-
-"He is some like Ellen," he whispered, "but more
-like me, as I was in my early manhood, and yet, as he
-lies sleeping, there is a look about him that I have
-often seen on Ellen's face when she was asleep.
-Darling wife, we little thought when we talked together
-of our child, that the first time I beheld him
-would be beneath the California skies, and he a
-bearded man."
-
-Then, as he remembered what Walter had said of
-the hair, he opened the lid of the trunk, and hunted
-until he found Jessie's raven curl, and the longer,
-browner tress. He knew in a moment that it was
-Ellen's hair,—and kissing it reverently he twined it
-about his fingers just as he used to when the soft eyes
-it shaded looked lovingly into his.
-
-"Walter's is like it," he said, stealing to the bedside,
-and laying it among the brown locks of his son.
-"Bless my boy,—bless my boy!" and going back
-again, he placed the lock of hair beside this jet black
-ringlet wondering who Jessie was, and why she had
-married another.
-
-It was growing dark when Walter awoke, but
-between himself and the window he saw the outline
-of his friend, and knowing he was not alone, fell
-away again to sleep, resting better that night than he
-had done before since the commencement of his illness.
-
-For many days Captain Murdock watched by him,
-and when at last the danger was passed, and Walter
-restored to consciousness, he was the first to know it,
-and bending over him he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving
-for the restoration of his son.
-
-"Who are you?" Walter asked after objects and
-events had assumed a rational form. "Who are you,
-and why have you been so kind to me, as I am sure
-you have?"
-
-"I am called Captain Murdock," was the answer
-"This is my room; the one I have occupied for a long,
-long time. I left the city some weeks ago on business
-and during my absence you came. As the house was
-full the landlord put you in here for one night, but in
-the morning you were too ill to be moved. You have
-been very sick, and as your nurse was none of the best,
-I dismissed her and took care of you myself, because
-if I had a son in a strange land I should want some
-one to care for him, and I only did what your father
-would wish me to do. You have a father, young
-man?"
-
-The question was put affirmatively, and without
-looking at the eyes fixed so intently upon him, Walter
-colored crimson as he replied:
-
-"I hope I have, though I don't know. I never
-saw him except in dreams."
-
-Captain Murdock turned toward the window for a
-moment, and then in a calm voice continued:
-
-"I will not seek your confidence. You said some
-strange things in your delirium, but they are safe with
-me,—as safe as if I were the father you never saw.
-This came for you some days ago," and he held up
-Mr. Graham's letter, the sight of which had wrung a
-cry of pain from his own lips, for he knew whose hand
-had traced the name that letter bore.
-
-"And has anybody written to the people at home?"
-Walter asked, and Captain Murdock replied:
-
-"Yes, the landlord sent a few lines, saying that
-you were ill, but well cared for. He directed to
-'Walter Marshall's Friends, Deerwood, Mass.,' for by
-looking over your papers, we found your family lived
-there. A grandfather, perhaps, if you have no father?"
-and Seth Marshall waited anxiously for the answer
-which would tell him if his aged sire were yet numbered
-among the living.
-
-In his ravings Walter had never spoken of him,
-and the heart, not less a child's because its owner was
-a man, grew faint with fear lest his father should be
-dead. Walter's reply, however, dissipated all his
-doubt.
-
-"Yes, my grandfather lives there, but this is not
-from him," and breaking open the envelope, Walter
-read what Mr. Graham had written, heeding little
-what was said of business, scarcely knowing, indeed,
-that business was mentioned at all, in his great joy at
-finding that Charlotte and not Jessie was William's
-chosen bride.
-
-"He deceived me purposely," he thought, and
-then, as he realized more and more that Jessie was not
-married, he said aloud, "I am so glad, so glad."
-
-"You must have good news," the captain suggested,
-and Walter answered:
-
-"Yes, blessed news," then as there came over him
-a strong desire to talk of the good news with some
-one, he continued:
-
-"Tell me, Captain Murdock, have I talked of
-Jessie Graham?"
-
-The captain started, for he had not thought of
-Jessie as the daughter of Richard Graham.
-
-"Yes," he answered, "you said that she was
-married."
-
-"But she isn't," interrupted Walter. "It was a
-lie imposed upon me by that false-hearted William
-Bellenger."
-
-"You spoke of him, too," said the captain, "and
-I fancied he might be your cousin. You see I am
-tolerably well posted in your affairs," and the pleasant
-smile which accompanied these words, disarmed
-Walter at once from all fear that his secrets would be
-betrayed.
-
-"What else did you learn?" he asked, and the
-captain replied:
-
-"There is some trouble about your father. He
-robbed a bank, didn't he?" and there was a strange
-look in the keen eyes which did not now rest on
-Walter's face, but sought the floor as if doubtful of the
-answer.
-
-"Never, never!" Walter exclaimed, with an
-energy which brought the blood to his pale cheek,
-and tears to the eyes riveted upon the carpet. "He
-never did that."
-
-"He has been proved innocent, then?" and in the
-voice which asked the question there was a trembling
-eagerness.
-
-"Not proved so to the world, but I need no
-proof," returned Walter. "I never for a moment
-thought him guilty."
-
-Then after a pause, he added. "I have, I see,
-unwittingly divulged much of my family history,
-and lest you should have received a wrong impression,
-I may as well confess the whole to you, but
-not now, I am too much excited, too tired to talk
-longer."
-
-He was indeed exhausted, and for several hours he
-lay quite still, saying but little and thinking happy
-thoughts of home and *Jessie*, who Mr. Graham wrote,
-"mourned sadly over his absence."
-
-Suddenly remembering the message he had left,
-and which would seem to say he loved Charlotte
-Reeves, he bade the captain bring to him pen and
-paper, and with a shaking hand he wrote to Mr.
-Graham:
-
-"I am getting better fast, thanks to Captain
-Murdock, who, though a stranger, has been the
-best of friends, and kindest nurse. Forgive me,
-Mr. Graham. I thought the bride was Jessie.
-Don't hate me, I could not help it, and I had
-learned to love her before I heard from Mrs. Bartow
-that you would be displeased. I will overcome
-it if I can, for I promised the grandmother I would
-not talk of love to Jessie, until my father was
-proved innocent."
-
-This was all he had strength to write, and when the
-letter was finished, he relapsed into a thoughtful, half
-dreamy state, from which he did not rouse for a day
-or two. Then, with strength renewed, he called the
-captain to him, and bidding him sit down beside him,
-told him the whole story of his life, even to his love
-for Jessie Graham,—which he must not tell until his
-father were proved innocent.
-
-There was a smothered groan in the direction
-where Mr. Marshall sat, and inwardly the unfortunate
-man prayed:
-
-"How long, dear Lord, oh, how long must thy servant
-wait?"
-
-"Mr. Graham may release you from that promise,"
-he said, "and then you surely would not hesitate."
-
-"Perhaps not," Walter answered, for in spite of
-what Mrs. Bartow had said, he, too, entertained a
-secret hope that Mr. Graham would in some way
-interfere for him.
-
-"What would be the result if your father should
-return to Deerwood?" Captain Murdock asked.
-"Would they proceed against him?"
-
-"Oh, no! oh, no;" said Walter. "It was so long ago,
-and everybody who knew him speaks well of him now.
-I have often wished he would come home, and when I
-was a little boy, I used to watch by the window till it
-grew dark, and then cry myself to sleep. Did I tell
-you his arm-chair stands in the kitchen corner now
-just where he left it that night he went away! It was
-a fancy of grandpa's that no one should ever sit in it
-again, and no one has, but Jessie. She would make
-a playhouse of it, in spite of all we could say. I
-wish you could see Jessie and grandfather and
-all."
-
-The captain wished so, too, and in his dreams
-that night, he was back again by the old hearth
-stone, sitting in the chair kept for him so long,
-and listening to his father's voice blessing his long-lost
-son.
-
-All this might be again, he said, when he awoke
-but his young wife, whose face he saw, just as it
-looked on her bridal day, would not be there to meet
-him, and the strong man wept again as he had not
-done in many years, over the blight which had fallen
-so heavily upon him.
-
-Rapidly the days and weeks went by, and then
-there came letters both from Mr. Graham and Mrs.
-Bellenger, telling how the wedding song had been
-changed into a wail of sorrow, and that the elegant
-William Bellenger was branded as a villain. Mr.
-Graham, too, spoke of Jessie, saying toward the
-close:
-
-"You told me no news, dear Walter, when you
-said you loved my daughter. I knew it long ago and
-I have watched you narrowly, to see if you were
-worthy of her. That I think you are, I prove to you
-by saying, that to no young man of my acquaintance,
-would I entrust her happiness so willingly as to you,
-and had you talked to me freely upon the subject,
-you would not, perhaps, have been in California now.
-Your remark concerning Mrs. Bartow reminded me of
-what she once told me, and when I questioned her
-again upon the subject, demanding to know the truth,
-she confessed the falsehood she imposed on you, by
-saying I did not wish you to marry Jessie. I can find
-nothing to excuse her save her foolish pride, which
-will probably never be subdued. Still she is your
-stanch friend now, just as she is poor William's bitter
-enemy. You have said you would not talk of love to
-Jessie until your father was proved innocent. This,
-my dear Walter, may never be, even if he is living,
-which is very doubtful. So why should you hesitate.
-You have my free consent to say to her whatever you
-think best to say. She is in Deerwood, now, with
-poor Lottie, who is sadly mortified at what she considers
-her disgrace. I am doing what I can for William,
-so is his grandmother; but his father refuses to
-see him or even hear his name spoken. Unfortunate
-Will, he seems penitent, and has acknowledged everything
-to me, even the wicked part he acted toward
-you, by deceiving you. I thank Heaven every day
-that Jessie's choice fell on you, and not on him."
-
-This letter made Walter supremely happy, and to
-Captain Murdock, in whom he now confided everything,
-he told how, immediately on his return to
-New York, he should ask the young lady to be
-his wife.
-
-"And would you like your father to come back
-even though his guilt could not be disproved?" the
-captain asked, and Walter answered:
-
-"Yes, oh, yes; but I'm afraid he never will.
-Poor father, if I could once look upon his face."
-
-"You shall—you do!" sprang to the lips of Captain
-Murdock, but he forced the wild words back, and
-going away alone, he prayed, as he often did, that the
-load he had borne so long might be lifted from his
-heart, and that the sun of domestic peace, which had
-early set in gloom, might shine upon his later life.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.—GLORIOUS NEWS.
-==========================
-
-
-There was a package for Walter, who had
-now been some months in California,—a
-package of letters and papers both,—and
-with a beating heart he sat down to read, taking Mr.
-Graham's letter first, for that might have a message
-from Jessie.
-
-It was glorious news which the letter contained,
-and it wrung a cry of delight from Walter, which
-was heard by the captain, who turned to see what it
-was that thus affected his companion.
-
-"Listen, Captain Murdock," Walter exclaimed,
-"listen to this. *My father is proved innocent. Heyward
-was the robber,—he came back and confessed it
-the night before he died*, and——"
-
-He did not finish the sentence, for, like a wild beast
-startled from its lair by a sudden fright, Captain Murdock
-bounded to his side, and, snatching the letter
-from him, devoured its contents at a glance then
-striking his hands together, he fairly screamed:
-
-"Thank God! the year of jubilee has come,—the
-day I've waited for so long!"
-
-Earnestly and half fearfully Walter gazed up into
-the marble face, and into the eyes that burned like
-coals of fire, seeing in them now, for the first time, a
-look like his grandfather. Then a suspicion of truth
-burst upon him, and springing up he caught the gray-haired
-captain by the arm, demanding faintly:
-
-"Who are you? Tell me, or I shall die."
-
-"I am your father, boy," and, opening his arms,
-the father received to his embrace his fainting son.
-
-The news and the surprise combined were too
-much for Walter, and for some little time he lay upon
-the bed, whither his father had borne him, unconscious
-of the caresses, the words of love, the whispered
-blessings showered on him by one who felt now that
-he trod a different earth, and breathed a different
-air from what he had done for twenty-four long
-years.
-
-"*Father*,"—how like music that word sounded in
-his ear when Walter said it at last, and how it wrung
-tears from eyes which, until recently, were unused to
-weep.
-
-"Say it again, my son. Call me father often.
-'Tis the name I've thirsted for, but never expected to
-hear," and the strong man, weak now as a woman,
-kissed lovingly the face of the handsome boy.
-
-"Read it aloud," Walter said, pointing to the
-crumpled letter lying on the floor.
-
-Mr. Marshall complied, and read in tremulous
-tones how Ralph Heyward, after an absence of
-eighteen years, had again asked shelter at the farm-house,
-saying he was tired and sick. His request was
-granted, and when the morning came he was too ill to
-leave his bed, but lay there for many days, kindly
-cared for by the deacon, to whom he made a full
-confession of his guilt, saying that *he*, and not Seth
-Marshall, robbed the Deerwood Bank; that it was
-what he intended to do when he came there that
-night, feigning drunkenness the better to cover his
-design.
-
-He knew that Seth kept the keys in his pocket,
-and when sure that the household were asleep, he
-arose, and putting on his victim's coat, cap and shoes,
-left the house stealthily, committed the theft, hid the
-money, and then as cautiously returned to his room,
-and was settling himself a second time into an apparently
-drunken sleep, when he heard some one up,
-looking, as he supposed, for the cause of the disturbance
-he had made in accidentally upsetting a chair as
-he left Seth Marshall's room. Then he was still
-again until the morning came, and the arrest was
-made.
-
-At the examination, when he saw the terrible
-anguish of the young wife, he was half tempted to
-confess, but dared not, for fear of what might follow;
-so he kept his own counsel, and for a few years remained
-in the vicinity of Deerwood, hoping to hear
-something of the man he had so wronged, and then he
-went away to the West, wandering up and down with
-that burden of guilt upon his soul, until at last, knowing
-that he must die, he returned to Deerwood, and
-seeking out the farm-house, asked permission to lay
-his head again beneath its hospitable roof. This done,
-he acknowledged to the father how he had sinned
-against the son, and after making an affidavit of his
-guilt, died a penitent and, it was to be hoped, a better
-man.
-
-"And now," wrote Mr. Graham in conclusion, "I
-wish I could convey to you some little idea of the
-present excitement in Deerwood. Everybody is talking
-of the disclosure, and of your father, who, were
-he here, would be a greater lion even than Lafayette
-in his day. And I wish that he were here. Poor
-Seth! God forgive me that I testified against him.
-I verily believed him guilty up to the hour when Heyward
-proved him innocent. Oh, if he only could
-come back to me again, and to the home where your
-aged grandfather prays continually that his sun may
-not go down until he has seen once more the face of
-his boy. Poor old man, it is a touching sight to see
-his lips move continually, and hear the words he
-whispers: 'God send him back, God send him back.'
-You know Aunt Debby always said, 'Seth allus was a
-good boy;' she repeats it now with ten-fold earnestness,
-as if it were a fact in which everybody concurred.
-It may be that your father is dead, and if so he cannot
-return; but if still living, I am sure we shall see
-him again, for I shall take means to have the story
-inserted in the papers far and near, so that it will be
-sure to meet his eye.
-
-"Meanwhile, Walter, come home as soon as you
-are able to bear the journey. We want you here to
-share in our great joy. Leave the business, if it is
-not arranged, and come. We are waiting anxiously
-for you, and none more anxiously than Jessie. She
-has been wild with delight ever since I told her your
-father was innocent. Mrs. Bellenger, too, shares the
-general joy, and were yourself and your father here
-our happiness would be complete."
-
-"We will go, too," cried Walter, "you as Captain
-Murdock at first, to see if they will know you. Oh, I
-wish it were now that we were there," and Walter's
-dark eyes danced as he anticipated the meeting
-between the deacon and his son.
-
-"Yes, we will go," Mr. Marshall answered, and
-then, after looking over the papers which Mr. Graham
-had sent, and which contained Heyward's confession,
-he sat down by Walter and told of his wanderings
-since that dreadful night when he left his home,
-branded as a thief and robber. "But first," said he,
-"let me tell you how I chanced to run away. I
-should never have done it but for Mr. Graham, who
-begged and entreated me to go."
-
-"Mr. Graham!" exclaimed Walter. "Why, he, I
-thought, was your bail."
-
-"So he was," returned the father, "but he wished
-me to come away for all that. He would rather lose
-all his fortune, he said, than know I was in prison,
-and sent there on his testimony. So he urged me to
-leave, contriving a way for me to do so, and even
-carrying me himself, that stormy night, many miles
-from Deerwood. I dreaded the State prison. I
-believe I would rather have been hung, and I yielded
-to his importunities on one condition only. I knew
-his father would be very indignant, and that people
-would censure him severely, too, if it were known he
-was in my secret, and, as I would not have him
-blamed, I made him promise to me solemnly that he
-would never tell that he first suggested my going and
-then helped me away. He has kept his promise, and
-it is well. I have ample means, now, for paying him
-all I owe, and many a time I have thought to send it
-to him, but I have been dead to all my friends so long
-that I decided to remain so. I wrote to him from
-Texas, asking for you all, and learning from him of
-Ellen's death, and of your birth. You were a feeble
-child, he said, and probably would not live. I had
-never seen you, my son, and when I heard that my
-darling was gone,—my mother, too,—and that my
-father and best friend still believed me guilty, I felt a
-growing coldness toward you all. I would never
-write home again, I said. I would forget that I ever
-had a home, and for a time I kept this resolution,
-plunging into vices of every kind,—swearing, gambling,
-drinking——"
-
-"Oh father,—father!" said Walter, with a shudder.
-"You do not tell me true."
-
-"It's all true, my boy, and more," returned the
-father, "but I was overtaken at last, by a terrible
-sickness, the result of dissipation in New Orleans. A
-sister of charity saved my life, and opened my heart
-to better things. Her face was like Ellen's, and it
-carried me back to other days, until I wept like a little
-child over my past folly. From that sick bed, I
-arose a different man, and then for years I watched
-the Northern papers to see if they contained anything
-like what we have just read. But they did not, and I
-said I cannot go home yet. I sometimes saw Mr.
-Graham's name, and knew that he was living, but
-whether you were dead or alive I could not even
-guess. Here, in California, where I have been for the
-last ten years, I have never met a single person from
-the vicinity of Deerwood. At first I worked among
-the mines, amassing money so fast as even to astonish
-myself. At length, weary of the labor, I left the
-mines and came to the city, where I am known as
-Captain Murdock, the title having been first given to
-me in sport by some of my mining friends. Latterly
-I have thought of going home, for it is so long since
-the robbery, that I had no fears of being arrested, and
-I was about making up my mind to do so, when
-chance threw you in my way, and it now remains for
-you to say when we both shall start."
-
-"At once,—at once," said Walter, who had listened
-intently to the story, giving vent to an occasional exclamation
-of surprise. "We will go in the very next
-steamer. I shall not have a chance to write, but it
-will be just as well. I wish to see if grandpa or Mr.
-Graham will recognize you."
-
-Mr. Marshall had no objections to testing the recollections
-of his father, and he readily consented to
-go, saying to his friends that as New England was his
-birthplace he intended accompanying his young
-friend home.
-
-"I can write the truth back to them," he thought,
-"and save myself much annoyance."
-
-Thus it was arranged, and the next steamer for
-New York which left the harbor of San Francisco,
-bore on its deck the father and his son, both eager
-and expectant and anxious to be at the end of the
-voyage.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI.—THANKSGIVING DAY AT DEERWOOD.
-==========================================
-
-
-The dinner table was nicely arranged in the
-"best room" of the farm-house, and Jessie
-Graham, with a happy look on her bright
-face, flitted in and out, arranging the dishes a little
-more to her taste, smoothing the snowy cloth, pausing
-a moment before the fire blazing so cheerfully upon
-the hearth, and then glancing from the window, across
-the frozen fields to the hillside where a new grave had
-been made since the last Thanksgiving Day.
-
-"Dear Ellen!" she sighed, "there is no plate for
-her now,—no chair." Then, as she remembered an
-absent one, dearer far than Ellen, she thought, "I'll
-make believe *he's* here," and seeking Mrs. Howland,
-who was busy with her turkey, she said: "May I
-put a plate for Walter? It will please him when he
-hears of it."
-
-"Yes, child," was the ready answer, and Jessie
-was hastening off, when a feeble voice from the
-kitchen corner where the deacon sat, called her
-back:
-
-"Jessie," the old man said. "Put Seth's arm-chair
-next to mine. It is the last Thanksgiving I
-shall ever see, and I would fancy him with me once
-more," and as Jessie turned toward the place where
-the leathern chair stood, she heard the words:
-
-"God send him back,—God send him back."
-
-"It is the deacon's wish," she whispered to her
-father, who, with Mrs. Bellenger, was also spending
-Thanksgiving at the farm-house, and who looked up
-surprised, as Jessie dragged from its accustomed post,
-the ponderous arm-chair, and wheeling it into the
-other room, placed it to the deacon's right.
-
-The dinner was ready at last, and Mrs. Howland
-was only waiting for the oysters to boil, before she
-served them up, when Jessie gave a scream of joy,
-and dropping the dish of cranberries she held, ran off
-into the pantry, where, as Aunt Debby affirmed, she
-hid herself in the closet, though from what she was
-hiding it were difficult to tell. There was surely
-nothing appalling in the sight of *Walter*, who, alighting
-from the village omnibus, now stood upon the
-threshold, with Captain Murdock.
-
-They had stayed all night in the city, where
-Walter had learned that Mr. Graham, Jessie and his
-grandmother, had gone to Deerwood to spend
-Thanksgiving Day.
-
-"We shall be there just in time," he said to his
-father, when at an early hour they took their seat in
-the cars; but his father paid little heed, so intent was
-he upon noting the changes which more than twenty
-years had wrought in the localities with which he was
-once familiar.
-
-As the day wore on, and he drew near to Deerwood,
-he leaned back in his seat, faint and sick with
-the crowd of memories which came rushing over
-him.
-
-"Deerwood!" shouted the conductor, and looking
-from the window, he could scarcely believe it possible
-that this flourishing village was the same he had
-known among the hills. When he went away *one*
-spire alone pointed heavenward, now he counted *four*,
-while in the faces of some who greeted Walter
-again he saw the looks of those who had been boys
-with him, but who were fathers now to these grown-up
-young men.
-
-"I am old," he sighed, and mechanically entering
-the omnibus, he folded his arms in moody silence, as
-they rattled down the street. But when the brow of
-the hill was reached, and Walter said: "See, father,
-there's our orchard," he started, and looked, not at
-the orchard, nor at the gable roof now fully in view,
-nor at the maple tree, but down the lane, along the
-beaten path, to where a tall monument gleamed white
-and cold in the gray November light.
-
-"That's her's,—that's mother's," Walter said, following
-the direction of his father's eyes; then fearing
-that his father, by his emotions, should betray
-himself too soon, he arose and sat by him, taking his
-hand, and saying tenderly:
-
-"Don't give way. You have me left, and grandpa,
-and Aunt Mary, and Jessie,—won't you try to be
-calm?"
-
-"Yes, yes," whispered the agitated man, and with
-a tremendous effort he was calm, as, standing in the
-well-remembered kitchen, he waited till the noisy
-outburst had somewhat subsided, and Walter been
-welcomed home.
-
-But not a single thing escaped the notice of his
-keen eyes, which wandered round the room taking in
-each familiar object, and noticing where there had
-been a change.
-
-There was none in Aunt Debby, he said,—wrinkled,
-gray, slight and straight as her high-backed
-chair,—just as he remembered her years ago,—just so
-she was now—her kerchief crossed as she wore it then,—her
-spectacles on her forehead,—her apron long,
-and meeting almost behind, and on the chair-post her
-satin bag with the knitting visible therefrom. She
-was the same, but the comely matron Walter called
-Aunt Mary, was she the blooming maiden he had left
-so long ago, and the elegant-looking stranger, with
-the unmistakable city polish, was that his early
-friend? It took him but an instant to think all this,
-and then his eyes fell upon the old man by the fire,—the
-man with the furrowed cheek, the bowed form,
-the silvery hair and shaking limbs,—who, like some
-giant oak which has yielded to the storms of many a
-winter, sat there the battered wreck of a once noble
-man. That was his father, but he would not call him
-so just then, and when Walter, turning at last, said:
-"This is Captain Murdock, the kind friend who took
-care of me," he went forward, taking first Aunt
-Debby's hand, then his sister Mary's, then Mr.
-Graham's, and now there was a slight faltering of
-manner, while his eyes sought the floor, for they
-could not meet the gaze fixed so curiously upon
-him.
-
-"Grandpa, this is Captain Murdock," said Walter,
-while Captain Murdock advanced a step or so and
-took the shriveled hand, which had so often rested
-fondly on his head.
-
-Oh, how Seth longed to kiss that feeble hand; but
-he dared not, and he was glad that Walter, by his
-loud, rapid talking, attracted the entire attention,
-leaving him to sit down unobserved, when the meeting
-between himself and Mrs. Bellenger was over.
-At her he had looked rather inquisitively, for she
-was his Ellen's mother, and his heart yearned toward
-her for the sake of his gentle wife.
-
-Meanwhile Walter, without seeming to do so,
-had been watching for somebody, who, behind the
-pantry door, was trying to gain courage to come
-out.
-
-"I'll look at him, anyway," she said, and Walter
-glanced that way just in time to see a profusion of
-raven curls and a shining, round black eye.
-
-"Jessie," called Mr. Graham, who saw them too,
-"Jessie, hadn't you better come out and gather up
-the cranberries you dropped so suddenly when the
-omnibus drove up?"
-
-"Father, how can you?" and the young lady
-immediately appeared, and greeted Walter quite
-naturally.
-
-He evidently was embarrassed, for he hastened to
-present her to Captain Murdock, who, feeling, intuitively,
-that he beheld his future daughter-in-law, took
-both her soft chubby hands in his and held them
-there, while he said, a little mischievously:
-
-"I have heard much of you, Miss Jessie, from my
-so—, my friend, I mean," he added, quickly, correcting
-himself, but not so quickly that Jessie did not
-detect what he meant to say.
-
-One by one she scanned his features, then the deacon's,
-then Walter's, and then, with a flash of intelligence
-in her bright eyes, turned to the latter for a
-confirmation of her suspicions. Walter understood
-her meaning, and with an answering nod, said softly:
-
-"By and by."
-
-"The dinner will be cold," suggested Mrs. Howland,
-and then the deacon rose, and leaning on his
-cane, walked into the adjoining room, when he took
-his seat at the head of the table.
-
-"There's a chair for you," Jessie said to Walter
-who, following the natural laws of attraction, kept
-close to her side. "There's one for *you* and him, too,
-my old playhouse," and she pointed to the leathern
-chair.
-
-"Sit here, Captain Murdock,—here," said Walter,
-hurrying on as he saw Mrs. Howland giving the stranger
-another seat than that.
-
-"Walter," and there was reproach in the deacon's
-voice, "not in your father's chair."
-
-"Yes, grandpa," said Walter, "Captain Murdock
-has been a father to me,—let him sit there for
-once."
-
-So Captain Murdock sat there, his heart throbbing
-so loudly that Jessie, who was next to him, could hear
-it beat, and see his chin quiver, when the voice nearly
-eighty years old, was asking God's blessing on their
-Thanksgiving Dinner; thanking God for returning
-their boy to them, and finishing the prayer with the
-touching petition: "Send the other back! oh, send
-the other back!"
-
-Owing to the presence of the captain, who was
-considered a stranger, not a word was spoken of Seth,
-until they arose from the table, when Walter, unable
-longer to keep still, said:
-
-"And so my father is free from all blame?"
-
-Involuntarily Jessie went up to him and put her
-arm in his, waiting breathlessly for what would follow
-next.
-
-"Yes, Walter," returned the deacon, "my Seth is
-innocent. Heaven bless him wherever he may be,
-and send him to me before I die, so I can hear him say
-he didn't lay it up against me,—my hardening my heart
-and thinking he was guilty. Poor Seth, poor Seth!
-I'd give my life to blot out all the past and have him
-with me just as he was before he went away."
-
-Captain Murdock was standing with his face to
-the window, but, as the deacon ceased speaking, he
-turned, and going up to him, placed his hand on
-either shoulder and looked into his eyes.
-
-The movement was a most singular one, and to
-Mr. Graham, who knew that there must be a powerful
-motive for the action, there came a suspicion of the
-truth; but none to the old man, whose eyes fell
-beneath the burning gaze riveted upon him.
-
-"Who are you?" he asked in a bewildered tone,
-"why do you look at me so hard? He scares me;
-Walter, take him away."
-
-"Grandpa, don't you know him?" and Walter
-drew near to them, but not until the old man's ear
-had caught the whispered name of "*Father*."
-
-Then, with a scream of joy, he wound his feeble
-arms round the stranger's neck.
-
-"Seth, boy, darling, Walter, am I going mad, or
-is it true? *Is it Seth?* Is it my boy? Tell me,
-Walter," and releasing their grasp, the shaking
-hands were stretched supplicatingly toward Walter,
-who answered:
-
-"Yes, grandpa. *It's Seth.* I found him, and I
-have brought him home."
-
-"Oh, Seth, Seth," and the hoary head bowed itself
-upon the neck of the stranger, while the poor old man
-sobbed like a little child. "I didn't expect it, Seth,
-though I've prayed for it so hard. Bless you, bless
-you, boy, I didn't mean to go against you. I would
-have died at any time to know that you were innocent.
-Forgive me, Seth, because I am so old and
-weak."
-
-"I do forgive you," answered Seth. "It's all forgotten
-now, and I've come home to stay with you
-always till you die."
-
-There was a hand laid lightly on Seth's shoulder,
-and turning, he looked into the face of Mr. Graham,
-which quivered with emotion, as he said:
-
-"I, too, have need of your forgiveness."
-
-"None, Richard, none," and locked in each other's
-arms, the friends long parted cancelled the olden
-debt, and in the heart of neither was there a feeling
-save that of perfect love.
-
-Long and passionately Mrs. Howland wept over
-her brother, for his return brought back the past, and
-all that she had suffered since the night he went
-away.
-
-Aunt Debby, too, was much affected, but did not
-omit her accustomed "He allus was a good boy."
-
-Then Mrs. Bellenger approached, and offering her
-hand, said to him very kindly:
-
-"You are dear to me for Ellen's sake, and though
-I never saw you until to-day, my heart claims you for
-a child. Shall I be your mother, Mr. Marshall?"
-
-He could only reply by pressing the hand she extended,
-for his heart was all too full for utterance.
-
-"Let me go away alone," he said at last, "to weep
-out my great joy," and opening the door of what
-was once his room, he passed for a time from their
-midst.
-
-The surprise had apparently disturbed the deacon's
-reason, for even after his son had left him he continued
-talking just the same: "Poor Seth,—poor child,
-to think your hair should be so gray, and you but a
-little boy."
-
-Then, when Seth returned to them he made him
-sit down beside him, and holding both his hands,
-smiled up into his face a smile far more painful than
-tears would have been.
-
-"Seth's come home. Did you know it?" he
-would say to those around him, as if it were to them
-a piece of news, and often as he said it, he would
-smoothe the gray hair which seemed to trouble him so
-much.
-
-Gradually, however, his mind became clearer, and
-he was able to understand all that Seth was telling
-them of his experience since the night he went
-away.
-
-At last, just as the sun was setting, Mr. Marshall
-arose, and without a word, passed into the open air.
-No one watched him to see whither he went, for all
-knew that before he returned to them he would go
-down the lane, along the beaten path, to where the
-moonlight fell upon a little grave.
-
-It was long before he came back, and when he did,
-and entered the large kitchen, two figures stood by
-the western window, and he thought the arm of the
-taller was thrown about the waist of the shorter,
-while the face of the shorter was very near to
-that of the taller. Advancing toward them and
-stroking the dark curls, he said, half playfully, half
-earnestly:
-
-"I believe that as Mr. Marshall I have not greeted
-Jessie yet, so I will do it now. Are you to be my
-daughter, little girl?"
-
-"Yes, she is," answered Walter, while Jessie
-broke away from them, and was not visible again that
-night.
-
-But when, at a late hour, Mrs. Bellenger left the
-happy group still assembled around the cheerful fire,
-and sought her room, from the depths of the snowy
-pillows, where Jessie lay nestled, there came a
-smothered voice, saying, half timidly:
-
-"This is the nicest Thanksgiving I ever had, and I
-shall remember it forever."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII.—CONCLUSION.
-=========================
-
-
-Four years have passed away since that
-Thanksgiving dinner, and for the deacon,
-who, then, did not expect to see another,
-there seem to be many yet in store. Hale, hearty
-and happy, he sits in his arm-chair, smoking his accustomed
-pipe; and when the villagers, who come often
-to see him, tell him how the old farm-house is
-improved, and how they should scarcely know it, he
-always answers:
-
-"Yes, Seth has good taste, and Seth is rich. He
-could buy Deerwood, if he tried. He built those
-new houses for the poor down there by the river; he
-built the factory, too, and gives them all employment.
-Seth is a blessed boy."
-
-Others, too, there were, besides the deacon, who
-called Seth Marshall blessed, and never since his
-return had a voice been raised against him.
-
-After becoming somewhat accustomed to his new
-position as a free and respected man, his first wish
-was to modernize the farm-house a little more according
-to his ideas of taste and comfort. Once he
-thought to build a splendid mansion near by, but to
-this suggestion the father said:
-
-"No; I like the old place best. The new house
-might be handsomer, but it would not be the one
-where you and I, and all of us were born, and your
-mother died. Wait till I'm dead, and then do as you
-please."
-
-And so Seth is waiting, and as he waits he sets out
-trees and shrubbery, and beautifies a plot of ground,
-on which he will sometime erect a dwelling as a summer
-residence for his son, who lives in the city, and
-calls Mrs. Bartow grandma.
-
-When the first Christmas snows were falling after
-his father's return, Walter made Jessie his bride, and
-there now plays at his fireside a chubby, black-eyed
-boy, whom they call Graham Marshall, and who
-spends more time in Deerwood than he does in New
-York. Quite as old as the hoary man in the corner,
-who sometimes calls him Walter, but oftener Seth, he
-"rides to Boston" on the deacon's knee, pulls the deacon's
-beard, wears the deacon's glasses, smokes a stick
-of candy, and spits in imitation of the deacon, and
-then falls away to sleep in the deacon's lap,—the two
-forming a most beautiful picture of old age and infancy
-together.
-
-At Mr. Graham's house, there is a beautiful six-months'
-baby, whose hair looks golden in the sunlight,
-and whose eyes of blue are much like those of Ellen
-Howland. They call her Nellie, and in all the world
-there is nothing one-half so precious as this child
-to the broken, melancholy man, who often comes to
-see her, and when no one can hear him, whispers
-sadly:
-
-"Sweet Nellie,—darling Nellie,—little snow
-drop!" But whether he means the infant in the crib,
-or the Nellie dead long ago, is difficult to tell.
-
-For eighteen months he toiled inside the prison
-walls, and then the powerful influence of Mr. Graham,
-Seth Marshall and Walter combined, procured him a
-pardon. An humbled and a better man, he would not
-leave the city. He would rather remain, he said, and
-live down his disgrace, than have it follow him as it
-was sure to do. So he stayed, accepting thankfully a
-situation which Walter procured for him, and Mrs.
-Bellenger, when she saw that he was really changed,
-gladly gave him a home with herself, for she was
-lonely now that Walter was gone.
-
-Old Mrs. Reeves was very much astonished that
-the Grahams and Marshalls should make so much of
-one who had been in State prison, and said:
-
-"She was glad that Charlotte had married a
-Southern planter and gone to Mississippi, as there
-was no knowing what notions might have entered her
-brain."
-
-Every summer there is a family gathering of the
-Grahams and Marshalls with Mrs. Bellenger and
-Mrs. Bartow at Deerwood, where the deacon seems as
-young and happy as any of them. And now, where
-our story opened we will bring it to a close, at the
-farm-house where the old man sits smoking in the
-twilight with his son and grandson, and great-grandson
-around him,—representatives of four generations,
-with a difference of nearly eighty years between the
-first and fourth.
-
-.. class:: center
-
-:small-caps:`The End`.
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-
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-|
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-.. _pg_end_line:
-
-\*\*\* END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM \*\*\*
-
-.. backmatter::
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-.. toc-entry::
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-
-.. _pg-footer:
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-.. class:: pgfooter language-en
-
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diff --git a/37476.txt b/37476.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6a7552f..0000000 --- a/37476.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5917 +0,0 @@ - JESSIE GRAHAM - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: Jessie Graham - -Author: Mary J. Holmes - -Release Date: September 18, 2011 [EBook #37476] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - OR, - LOVE AND PRIDE. - - By MARY J. HOLMES - - 1878 - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I.--THE INMATES OF THE FARM-HOUSE. - CHAPTER II.--MR. GRAHAM AND JESSIE. - CHAPTER III.--EIGHT YEARS LATER. - CHAPTER IV.--JESSIE AND ELLEN. - CHAPTER V.--WALTER AND JESSIE. - CHAPTER VI.--OLD MRS. BARTOW. - CHAPTER VII.--HUMAN NATURE. - CHAPTER VIII.--A RETROSPECT. - CHAPTER IX.--NELLIE. - CHAPTER X.--A DISCLOSURE. - CHAPTER XI.--THE NIGHT AFTER THE BURIAL. - CHAPTER XII.--A CRISIS. - CHAPTER XIII.--EXPLANATIONS. - CHAPTER XIV.--THE STRANGER NURSE. - CHAPTER XV.--GLORIOUS NEWS. - CHAPTER XVI.--THANKSGIVING DAY AT DEERWOOD. - CHAPTER XVII.--CONCLUSION. - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I.--THE INMATES OF THE FARM-HOUSE. - - -Old Deacon Marshall sat smoking beneath the maple tree which he had -planted many years before, when he was scarcely older than the little -girl sitting on the broad doorstep and watching the sun as it went down -behind the western hills. The tree was a sapling then, and himself a -mere boy. The sapling now was a mighty tree, and its huge branches swept -the gable roof of the time-worn building, while the boy was a -gray-haired man, sitting there in the glorious sunset of that bright -October day, and thinking of all which had come to him since the morning -long ago, when, from the woods near by, he brought the little twig, and -with his mother's help secured it in its place, watching anxiously for -the first indications of its future growth. - -Across the fields and on a shady hillside, there were white headstones -gleaming in the fading sunlight. He could count them all from where he -sat,--could tell which was his mother's, which his father's, and which -his fair-haired sister's. Then there came a blur before his eyes, and -great tears rolled down his furrowed cheek, as he remembered that in -that yard there were more graves of his loved ones than there were -chairs around his fireside, even though he counted the one which for -years had not been used, but stood in the dark corner of the kitchen, -just where it had been left that dreadful night when his only son was -taken from him. On the hillside there was no headstone for that boy, but -there were two graves, which had been made just as many years as the -arm-chair of oak had stood in the dark corner, and on the handsome -monument which a stranger's hand had reared, was cut the name of the -deacon's wife and the deacon's daughter-in-law. - -Fourteen times the forest tree had cast its leaf since this last great -sorrow came, and the old man had in a measure recovered from the -stunning blow, for new joys, new cares, new loves had sprung into -existence, and few who looked into his calm, unruffled face, ever -dreamed of the anguish he had suffered. Time will soften the keenest -grief, and in all the town there was not apparently a happier man than -the deacon; though as often as the autumn came, bringing the frosty -nights and hazy October days, there stole a look of sadness over his -face, and the pipe, his never-failing friend, was brought into -requisition more frequently than ever. - -"It drove the blues away," he said; but on the afternoon of which we -write, _the blues_ must have dipped their garments in a deeper dye than -usual, for though the thick smoke curled in graceful wreaths about his -head, it did not dissipate the gloom which weighed upon his spirits as -he sat beneath the maple, counting the distant graves, and then casting -his eye down the long lane, through which a herd of cows was wending its -homeward way. They were the deacon's cows, and he watched them as they -came slowly on, now stopping to crop the tufts of grass growing by the -wayside, now thrusting their slender horns over the low fence in quest -of the juicy cornstalk, and then quickening their movements as they -heard the loud, clear whistle of their driver, a lad of fourteen, and -the deacon's only grandson. - -Walter Marshall was a handsome boy, and none ever looked into his frank, -open face, and clear, honest eyes, without turning to look again, he -seemed so manly, so mature for his years, while about his slightly -compressed lips there was an expression as if he were constantly seeking -to force back some unpleasant memory, which had embittered his young -life and fostered in his bosom a feeling of jealousy or distrust of -those about him, lest they, too, were thinking of what was always -uppermost in his mind. - -To the deacon, Walter was dear as the apple of his eye, both for his -noble qualities and the cloud of sorrow which had overshadowed his -babyhood. A dying mother's tears had mingled with the baptismal waters -sprinkled on his face, and the first sound to which he ever seemed to -listen was that of the village bell tolling, as a funeral train wound -slowly through the lane and across the field to the hillside, where the -dead of the Marshall family were sleeping. He had lain in his -grandmother's arms that day, but before a week went by, a stranger held -him in her lap, while the deacon went again to the hillside and stood by -an open grave. Then the remaining inmates of the farm-house fell back to -their accustomed ways, and the prattle of the orphan boy,--for so they -called him,--was the only sunshine which for many a weary month visited -the old homestead. - -Since that time the deacon's daughter had married, had wept over her -dead husband, and smiled upon a little pale-faced, blue-eyed girl, to -whom she gave the name of Ellen, for the sake of Walter's mother. - -Aunt Debby, the deacon's maiden sister, occupied a prominent position in -the family, who prized her virtues and humored her whims in a way which -spoke volumes in her praise. Although unmarried, Aunt Debby declared -that it was not her fault, and insisted that her husband, who was to -have been, was killed in the war of 1812. Not that she ever saw him, but -her fortune had been told for fifty cents by one who pretended to read -the future, and as she placed implicit confidence in the words of the -seer, she shed a few tears to the memory of the widower who marched -bravely to his death, leaving to the world four little children, and to -her a life of single-blessedness. For the sake of the four children -whose step-mother she ought to have been, she professed a great -affection for the entire race of little ones, and especially for Walter, -whose father had been her pet. - -"Walter was the very image of him," she said, and when, on the night of -which we are writing, she heard his clear whistle in the distance, she -drew her straight-backed chair nearer to the window, and watched for the -first appearance of the boy. "That's Seth again all over," she thought, -as she saw him make believe set the dog on Ellen, who had gone to meet -him. "That's just the way Seth used to pester Mary," and she glanced at -the meek-eyed woman, moulding biscuits on the pantry shelf. As was usual -with Aunt Debby, when Seth was the burden of her thoughts, she finished -her remarks with, "Seth allus was a good boy," and then, as she saw -Walter take a letter from his pocket and pass it to his grandfather, she -hastened to the door, while her pulses quickened with the hope that it -might contain some tidings of the wanderer. - -The letter bore the New York postmark, and glancing at the signature, -the deacon said: - -"It's from Richard Graham," while both Walter and Aunt Debby drew nearer -to him, waiting patiently to know the nature of its contents. - -"There's nothing about my boy," the old man said, when he had finished -reading, and with a gesture of impatience Walter turned away, saying to -himself, "I'd thank him not to write if he can't tell us something we -want to hear," while Aunt Debby went back to her knitting, and the -polished needles were wet as they resumed their accustomed click. - -"Mary," called the deacon, to his daughter, "this letter concerns you -more than it does me. Richard's wife is dead,--killed herself with -fashion and fooleries." - -Advancing toward her father, Mary said: - -"When did she die, and what will he do with his little girl?" - -"That's it," returned the father, "that's the very thing he wrote -about," and opening the letter a second time, he read that the -fashionable and frivolous Mrs. Graham, worn out by a life of folly and -dissipation, had died long before her time, and that the husband, warned -by her example, wished to remove his daughter, a little girl eight years -of age, from the city, or rather from the care of her maternal -grandmother, who was sure to ruin her. - -It is true the letter was not exactly worded thus, but that was what it -meant. Mr. Graham had once lived in Deerwood, and knew the old Marshall -homestead well,--knew how invigorating were the breezes from the -mountains,--how sweet the breath of the newly mown hay, or soil freshly -plowed,--knew how bracing were the winter winds which howled around the -farm-house,--how healthful the influences within, and when he decided to -shut up his grand house and go to Europe for an indefinite length of -time, his thoughts turned toward rustic Deerwood as a safe asylum for -his child. In the gentle Mary Howland she would find a mother's care, -such as she had never known, and after a little hesitation, he wrote to -know if at the deacon's fireside there was room for Jessie Graham. - -"She is a wayward, high-spirited little thing," he wrote, "but -warm-hearted, affectionate and truthful,--willing to confess her faults, -though very apt to do the same thing again. If you take her, Mrs. -Howland, treat her as if she were your own; punish her when she deserves -it, and, in short, train her to be a healthy, useful woman." - -The price offered in return for all this was exceedingly liberal, and -would have tempted the deacon had there been no other inducement. - -"That's an enormous sum to pay for one little girl," he said, when he -finished reading the letter. "It will send Ellen through the seminary, -and maybe, buy her a piano, if she's thinking she must have one to drum -upon." - -"Piano!" repeated Walter. "I'll earn one for her when she needs it. I -don't like this Jessie with her city airs. Don't take her, Aunt Mary. We -have suffered enough from the Grahams;" and Walter tossed his cap into -the tree, with a low rejoinder, which sounded very much like "_darn -'em!_" - -"Walter," said the deacon, "you do wrong to cherish such feelings toward -Mr. Graham. He only did what he thought was right, and were your father -here now, he'd say Richard was the best friend he ever had." - -This was the place for Aunt Debby to put in her accustomed "Seth allus -was a good boy," while Walter, not caring to discuss the matter, laughed -good-humoredly, and said: - -"But that's nothing to do with this minx of a Jessie. Why does he write -her name s-i-e? Why don't he spell it s-y-sy, and be sensible? Of course -she's as stuck up as she can be,--afraid of cows and snakes and -everything," and Walter sneered at the idea of a girl who was afraid of -snakes and everything. - -"Yes," chimed in Ellen, who Aunt Debby said was born for no earthly use -except to "take Walter down." "I shouldn't suppose you'd say anything, -for don't you remember when you went to Boston with Mr. Smith to see the -caravan, and stopped at the Tremont, and when they pounded that big -thing for dinner you were scared almost to death, and hid behind the -door screaming, 'The lion's out! the lion's out! Don't you hear him -roar?'" - -Walter colored crimson, and replied apologetically: - -"Pshaw, Nell, I was a little shaver then, only ten years old. I'd never -heard a gong before, and why shouldn't I think the lion out?" - -"And why shouldn't Jessie be afraid of snakes if she never saw one? -She's only eight, and you were ten," was the reply of Ellen, whose heart -bounded at the thoughts of a companion, and who had unwittingly avowed -herself the champion of the unknown Jessie Graham. - -"Hush, children," interrupted the deacon. "It isn't worth while to -quarrel. Folks raised in the city are sometimes green as well as country -people, and this Jessie may be one of 'em. But the question now is, -shall she come to Deerwood or not?" and he turned inquiringly toward his -daughter. "Mary, are you willing to be a mother to Richard Graham's -child?" - -Mrs. Howland started, and sweeping her hand across her face, answered: -"I am willing," while Aunt Debby, in her straight-backed chair mumbled: - -"To think it should come to that,--Mary taking care of his and another -woman's child; but, law! it's no more than I should have done if he -hadn't been killed," and with a sigh for the widower and his four -motherless offspring, Aunt Debby also gave her assent, thinking how she -would knit lamb's-wool stockings for the little girl, whose feet she -guessed were about the size of Ellen's. - -"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Ellen, when it was settled, "for now there'll -be somebody to play with when my head aches too hard to go to school. I -hope she'll bring a lot of dolls; and, Walter, you won't ink their faces -and break their legs as you did that cob baby Aunt Debby made for me?" - -When thus appealed to, Walter was reading for himself the letter which -had fallen at his grandfather's feet, and his clear hazel eyes were -moist with tears, as he read the postscript: - -"I have as yet heard nothing from Seth, poor fellow! I hoped he would -come back ere this. It may be I shall meet him in my travels." - -"He isn't so bad a man after all," thought Walter, and with his feelings -softened toward the father, he was more favorably disposed toward the -daughter's dolls, and to Ellen's question he replied, "Of course I -shan't bother her if she lets me alone and don't put on too many airs." - -"I can't see to write as well as I used to," said the deacon, after -everything had been arranged, "and Walter must answer the letter." - -"Walter won't do any such thing," was the mental comment of the boy, -whose animosity began to return toward one who he fancied had done his -father a wrong. - -After a little, however, he relented, and going to his room wasted -several sheets of paper before he was at all satisfied with the few -brief lines which were to tell Mr. Graham that his daughter Jessie would -be welcome at Deerwood. Great pains he took to spell her name according -to his views of orthography, making an extra flourish to the "y" with -which he finished up the "Jessy." - -"Now, that's sensible," he said. "I wonder Aunt Debby don't spell her -name b-i-e-by. She would, I dare say, if she lived in New York." - -Walter's ideas of city people were formed entirely from the occasional -glimpses he had received of his proud Boston relatives, who had been -highly indignant at his mother's marriage with a country youth, the most -of them resenting it so far as to absent themselves from her funeral. -His lady grandmother, they told him, had been present, and had held him -for a moment upon her rich black mourning dress, but from that day she -had not looked upon his face. These things had tended to embitter Walter -toward his mother's family, and judging all city people by them, it was -hardly natural that he should be very favorably disposed toward little -Jessie. Still, as the time for her arrival drew near, none watched for -her more vigilantly or evinced a greater interest in her coming than -himself, and on the day when she was expected, it was observed by his -cousin Ellen that he took more than usual pains with his toilet, and -even exchanged his cowhide boots for a lighter pair, which would make -less noise in walking; then as he heard the whistle in the distance, he -stationed himself by the gate, where he waited until the gray horses -which drew the village omnibus appeared over the hill. The omnibus -itself next came in sight, and the head of a little girl was thrust from -the window, a profusion of curls falling from beneath her brown straw -hat, and herself evidently on the lookout for her new home. - -"Curls, of course," said Walter. "See if I don't cut some of 'em off," -and he involuntarily felt for his jack-knife. - -By this time the carriage was so near that he vacated his post, lest the -strangers should think he was waiting for them, and returning to the -house, looked out of the west window, whistling indifferently, and was -apparently quite oblivious of the people alighting at the gate, or of -the chubby form tripping up the walk, and with sunny face and laughing -round bright eyes, winning at once the hearts of the four who, unlike -himself, had gone out to receive her. - - - - -CHAPTER II.--MR. GRAHAM AND JESSIE. - - -She was a little fat, black-eyed, black-haired girl, with waist and -ankles of no Lilliputian size, and when at last Walter dared to steal a -look at her, she had already divested herself of her traveling -habiliments, and with the household cat in her arms, was looking about -for a chair which suited her. She evidently did not fancy the high, -old-fashioned ones which had belonged to Deacon Marshall's wife, for, -spying the one which was never used, and into which even Ellen dared not -climb, she unhesitatingly wheeled it from its place, and seated herself -in its capacious depths, quite as a matter of course. - -A good deal shocked, and somewhat amused, Walter watched her -proceedings, thinking to himself: - -"By and by I'll tell her that is father's chair, and then she won't want -to sit in it; but she's a stranger now, so I guess I'll let her alone." - -By this time the cat, unaccustomed to quite so hard a squeeze as Jessie -gave it, escaped from her lap, and jumping down, Jessie ran after it, -exclaiming: - -"Oh, boy, boy, stop her!" - -A peculiar whistle from Walter sent the animal flying faster from her, -and shaking back her curls, Jessie's black eyes flashed up into his -face, as she said: - -"You're the meanest boy, and I don't like you a bit." - -"Jessie," said the stern voice of her father, and for the first time -since his entrance, Walter turned to look at him, and as he looked he -felt the bitterness gradually giving way, for the expression of Mr. -Graham's face was not proud and overbearing as he had fancied it to be. - -On the contrary, it was mild and gentle as a woman's, while there was -something in his pleasant blue eyes which would prompt an entire -stranger to trust him at once. He had seen much of the world, and of -what is called best society, and his manners were polished and pleasing. -Still there was nothing ostentatious about him, no consciousness of -superiority, and when Deacon Marshall, pointing to Walter, said to him, -"This is Seth's child," he took the boy's hand in his own, and for a -moment, stood gazing down into the frank, open face, then pushing the -brown hair from off the forehead, he said: - -"You look as your father did, when we were boys together, and he was the -dearest friend I knew." - -"What made you turn against him then?" trembled on Walter's lips, but -the words were not uttered, for Mr. Graham's manner had disarmed him of -all animosity, and he said instead: - -"I hope I may be as good and true a man as I believe him to have been." - -For a moment longer Mr. Graham held the hand in his, while he looked -admiringly at the boy, who had paid this tribute to one whom the world -considered an outcast, then releasing it, he turned away, and Walter was -sure that his eyes were moist with something which looked like tears. - -"I like him for that," was his mental comment, as he watched Mr. Graham -talking with his aunt of little Jessie, who, when he bade her -farewell,--for he went back that night,--clung sobbing to his neck, -refusing to be comforted, until Walter whispered to her of a bright-eyed -squirrel playing in its cage up in the maple tree. - -Then her arms relaxed their grasp, and she went with Ellen to see the -sight, while Walter accompanied Mr. Graham to the depot. There was a -bond of sympathy between the man and boy, and they grew to liking each -other very fast during the few moments they talked together upon the -platform of the Deerwood station. Numerous were the charges Mr. Graham -gave to Walter concerning his little girl, bidding him care for her as -if she were his sister, and Walter felt a boyish pride in thinking how -well he would fulfill his trust. - -Mr. Graham could never tell what prompted him to say it, but as his mind -went forward to the future, when Jessie would be grown, he said: - -"She will make a beautiful woman, I think, and I hope she will be as -good and pure as beautiful, so that her future husband, should she ever -have one, will not look to her in vain for happiness." - -It might have been that Mr. Graham was thinking of his own wife, and the -little congeniality there had been between them. If so, he hastened to -thrust such thoughts aside by adding, laughingly: - -"Her grandmother is a remarkably scheming old lady, and has already set -her heart on William Bellenger, or rather on his family; but I would -rather see her buried than the wife of any of that race." - -Unconsciously Mr. Graham had wounded Walter deeply, for in his veins the -blood of the Bellengers was flowing, and he did not care to hear another -speak thus disparagingly of a race from which his gentle mother sprung, -though he had no love for it himself. William Bellenger was his cousin, -and even now he felt his finger tips tingle as he recalled the only time -they had met. It was on the occasion of that first visit to Boston, to -which Ellen had alluded. His uncle's family were then boarding at the -Tremont and William was making a constrained effort to entertain him in -the public parlor, when he became so frightened with the gong, mistaking -it for a roaring lion, and taking refuge behind the door as Ellen had -said. With explosive shouts of laughter William repeated the story to -all whose ear he could gain, and Walter had never forgotten the sneering -tone of his voice as he called after him at parting: - -"The lion's out! the lion's out!" - -They had never seen each other since,--he hoped they never should see -each other again,--and though sure that he disliked Jessie very much, he -shrank even from the thought of associating her with William Bellenger, -though he did not like to have Mr. Graham speak so slightingly of him. -Something like this must have shown itself upon his face, for Mr. Graham -saw the shadow resting there and quickly divining the cause, hastened to -say: - -"Forgive me, Walter, for speaking thus thoughtlessly of your mother's -family. I did not think of the relationship. You are not like them in -the least, I am sure, for you remind me each moment of your father." - -Around the curve the train appeared in view, but Walter must ask one -question of his companion, and as the latter sprang upon the steps of -the forward car, he held his arm, and said to him entreatingly, as it -were: - -"Do you think my father guilty?" - -Oh, how Mr. Graham longed to say no to the impulsive boy, whose handsome -face looked up to him so wistfully. But he could not, and he answered -sadly: - -"I did think so, years ago." - -"Yes, yes; but now? Do you think so now?" and Walter held fast to the -arm, even though the train was moving slowly on. - -The ringing of the bell, the creaking of the machinery, and the puffing -of the engine increased each moment; but above the din of them all -Walter caught the reply: - -"I have had no reason to change my mind," and releasing Mr. Graham, he -sprang to the ground and walked slowly back to the farm-house, his bosom -swelling with resentment, and his eyes filling with tears, for upon no -subject was the high-spirited boy so sensitive as the subject of his -father's honor. - -"I'll never believe it till he himself tells me it is true," he said, -and then, as he had often done before, he began to wonder if his father -ever thought of the child he had never seen, and if in this world they -would ever meet. - -While thus meditating, he reached home, where he found the entire family -assembled around little Jessie, who, with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, -was stamping her fat feet furiously, and, by way of variety, -occasionally bumping her hard head against the harder door. - -"What is it?" he asked, pressing forward until he caught sight of the -little tempest. - -The matter was soon explained. Always accustomed to her own way with her -indulgent grandmother, Jessie had insisted upon opening the cage and -taking the squirrel in her hands, and when her request was refused she -had flown into a most violent passion, screaming for her father to come -and take her away from such dirty, ugly people. It was in vain that they -tried by turns to soothe her. Her spirit was the ruling one as yet, and -she raved on till Walter came and learned the cause of her wrath. - -"I can make her mind, I'll bet," he thought, and advancing toward her, -he said sternly: "Jessie!" but a more decided stamp of the foot was her -only answer, and seizing her arm, he shook her violently, while he said -more sternly than before: "Stop, instantly!" - -Like coals of fire the black eyes flashed up into his, meeting a look so -firm and decided that they quailed beneath the glance. Jessie had met -her master, and after a few hysterical sobs, she became as gentle as a -lamb, nestling so close to Walter, who had seated himself upon the -chintz-covered lounge, that he involuntarily wound his arm around her, -as if to make amends for his recent harshness. - -Jessie was as affectionate and warm-hearted as she was high-tempered and -rebellious. Her tears were like April showers, and before Walter had -been with her one half hour, all traces of the storm had disappeared, -and in her own way she was cultivating his acquaintance, and -occasionally inflicting upon him a pang by criticising some of his modes -of speech. Particularly was she shocked at his favorite expression, -"Darn it!" and looking wonderingly into his face, she said: - -"You mustn't use such naughty words. Nobody but vulgar folks do that." - -Walter colored painfully, and that night, in the little diary which he -kept, he wrote: - -"Resolved to break myself of using the word 'darn;' not because a pert -city miss wishes it, but because--" - -He didn't know quite what reason to assign, so he left the sentence to -be finished at some future time. - -In less than three weeks Jessie was the pet of the household, not even -excepting Walter, whose prejudices gradually gave way, and who at last -admitted that she would be "a niceish kind of a little girl, if she -wasn't so awful spunky." - -To no one of the family did Jessie take so kindly as to him. He had been -the first to conquer her, and she clung to him with a childish, trusting -love, whose influence he could not resist. Naturally full of life and -fond of exercise, she was his constant companion in the fields and in -the woods, where, fearless of complexion or dress, she gathered the rich -butternuts, or sought among the yellow leaves for the brown chestnuts -which the hoar frost had cast from their prickly covering. She liked the -country, she said, and when her grandmother wrote, as she often did, -begging her to come back, if only for a week, she absolutely refused to -go, bidding Walter, who was her amanuensis, say that she liked staying -where she was, and never meant to live in the city again. To Walter she -was of inestimable advantage, for she cured him of more than one bad -habit, both of word and manner, and though he, perhaps, would not have -acknowledged it, he was very careful not to offend her ladyship by a -repetition of the offense, until at last his schoolmates more than once -called him stuck-up and proud, while even Ellen thought him greatly -changed. - -And thus the autumn passed away, and the breath of winter was cold and -keen upon the New England hills, while the grim old mountain frowned -gloomily down upon the pond, or tiny lake, whose surface was covered -over with a coat of polished glass, tempting the skaters far and near, -and bringing to its banks one day Walter and Jessie Graham. It was in -vain that Mrs. Howland and Aunt Debby both urged upon the latter the -propriety of remaining at home and knitting on the deacon's socks, just -as gentle, domestic Ellen did. Jessie was not to be persuaded, and, -wrapped in her warm fur cape and mittens, she went with Walter to the -pond, receiving many a heavy fall upon the ice, but always saying it was -no matter, particularly if Walter were within hearing. The surest way to -win his favor, she knew, was to be brave and fearless, and when, as the -bright afternoon drew to its close, some boy, more mischievous than the -rest, caught off Walter's cap and sent it flying toward the southern -boundary of the pond, she darted after it, unmindful of the many voices -raised to stay the rash adventure. - -"Stop, Jessie! stop! The deep hole lies just there!" was shouted after -her. But she did not hear; she thought only of Walter's commendation -when she returned him his cap, and she kept on her way, while Walter, -with blanched cheek, looked anxiously after her, involuntarily shutting -his eyes as the dreadful cry rose upon the air: - -"She's gone! she's gone!" - -When he opened them again the space where he had seen her last, with her -bright face turned toward him, was vacant, and the cold, black waters -were breaking angrily over the spot where she had stood, Walter thought -himself dying, and almost hoped he was, for the world would be very -dreary with no little Jessie in it; then as he caught sight of the -crimson lining to Jessie's cape fluttering above the ice, and thought of -her father's trust in him, he cried, "I'll save her, or perish too!" and -rushed on to the rescue. - -There was a fierce struggle in the water, and the ice was broken up for -many yards around, and then, just as those who stood upon the shore, -breathlessly awaiting the result, were beginning to despair, the noble -boy fell fainting in their midst, his arms clasped convulsively around -Jessie, whose short black curls and dripping garments clung tightly to -her face and form. Half an hour later and Deacon Marshall, smoking by -his kitchen fire, looked from the western window, and, starting to his -feet, exclaimed: - -"Who are all those people coming this way, and what do they carry with -them? It's Walter,--it's Walter!" he cried, as the setting sun shone on -the white face, and hurrying out, he asked, huskily, "Is my boy dead?" - -"No, not dead," answered one of the group, "his heart is beating yet, -but she----" and he pointed to little Jessie, whom a strong man carried -in his arms. - -But Jessie was not dead, although for a long time they thought she was, -and Walter, who had recovered from his fainting fit, was not ashamed to -cry as he looked upon the still white face and wished he had never been -harsh to the little girl, or shaken her so hard on that first day of her -arrival at Deerwood. Slowly, as one wakes from a heavy slumber, Jessie -came back to life, and the first words she uttered were: - -"Tell Walter I did get his cap, but somebody took it from me and hurt my -hand so bad," and she held up the tiny thing on which was a deep cut -made by the sharp-pointed ice. - -"Yes, darling, I know it," Walter whispered, and when no one saw him he -pressed his lips to the wounded hand. - -This was a good deal for Walter to do. Never had he called any one -darling before, never kissed even his blue-eyed cousin Ellen, but the -first taste inspired him with a desire for more, and he wondered at -himself for having refrained so long. - -"Will she live?" he asked eagerly of the physician, who replied: - -"There is now no reason why she should not," and Walter hastened away to -his own room, where, unobserved, he could weep out his great joy. - -Gradually, as the days went by, Jessie comprehended what Walter had done -for her, and her first impulse was that some one should write to her -father,--somebody who would say just what she told them to, and as Aunt -Debby was the most likely to do this, the poor old lady was pressed into -the service, groaning and sweating over the task. - -"And now, pa," Aunt Debby wrote, after telling of the accident, "Walter -must be paid, and I'll tell you how to pay him. I heard him one night -talking with his grandpa about going to school and college, and his -grandpa said he couldn't, they were not worth enough in the whole world -for that. Then Walter said he should never know anything, and cried so -hard that I was just going to cry too, when I fell asleep and forgot it. -You are rich, I know, for one of ma's rings cost five hundred dollars, -and her shawl a thousand, and I want you to send me money enough for -Walter to go to college. It will take a lot, I guess, for I heard him -say he'd only studied the things they learn in district schools; but you -have got enough. Let me give it to him with my own hands, because he -saved me with his, will you, father? Walter is the nicest kind of a -boy." - -The letter was sent, and in course of time there came a response with a -draft for two thousand dollars, the whole to be used for the noble lad -who had saved the life of the father's only child. Wild with delight -Jessie listened while Aunt Debby, the only one in the secret, spelled -out the words, then seizing the draft, she hastened out in quest of -Walter, whom she found in the barn, milking the speckled cow. Running up -to him she cried: - -"It's come,--the money! You're going to school,--to college, and to be a -great big man like father. Here it is," and thrusting the paper into his -hand she crouched so near to him that the milk-pail was upset, and the -white drops spattered her jet black hair. - -At first Walter could not understand it, but Jessie managed to explain -how she had asked her father for money to pay for his education. - -"Because," she said, "if it hadn't been for you I should have been a -little dead girl now, and the boys, next winter, would have skated right -over me lying there on the bottom of the pond." - -Walter's first emotion was one of joy in having within his reach what he -had so greatly desired, but considered impossible. Then there arose a -feeling of unwillingness to receive his education from Mr. Graham, to -whom they were already indebted. It seemed too much like charity, and -that he could not endure. Still he did not say so to Jessie,--he would -wait, he thought, until he had talked with his grandfather. Greatly -surprised, Deacon Marshall listened to the story, saying, when it was -finished: - -"You'll accept it, of course." - -"No, I shan't," returned Walter. "We owe Mr. Graham now more than we can -ever pay, and I would rather work all my life on the old homestead than -be dependent on his bounty. You may send it back to your father," he -added, giving the draft to Jessie. "Tell him I thank him, but I can't -accept his favor." - -"Oh, Walter!" and climbing into a chair, for Walter was standing up, -Jessie wound her arms around his neck and poured forth a torrent of -entreaties which led him finally to waver, and at last to decide upon -accepting it, provided Mr. Graham would allow him to pay it back as soon -as he was able. - -To this Mr. Graham, who was immediately written to upon the subject, -assented, for he readily understood the feeling of pride which had -prompted the suggestion. - -"I do not respect you less," he wrote to Walter in reply, "for wishing -to take care of yourself, and the time may come when the money so -cheerfully loaned to you now will be sorely needed by me and mine. Until -then, give yourself no trouble about it, but devote all your energies to -the acquirement of an education. Were my advice asked in reference to a -college, I should tell you Yale, but you must do as you think best. I -shall need a partner by-and-by, perhaps, and nothing could please me -more than to see the names of Graham and Marshall associated together in -business again. God bless your father, wherever he may be." - -This letter touched the right chord, and often in his sleep Walter saw -the sign whose yellow letters read "Graham & Marshall," and the junior -partner of this firm sometimes was himself, but oftener a mild-faced man -wearing the sad, weary look he always saw in dreams upon his father's -face. The day would come, too, he said, when the honor of the Marshall -name would be redeemed, and he looked eagerly forward to the time when -he was to enter as a student the Wilbraham Academy, where it was decided -that he should fit himself for college. - -Very delightful was the bustle and confusion attendant upon the -preparations in the deacon's household, the entire family entering into -the excitement with a zest which told how much the boy was beloved. -Every one wished to do something for him, even to little Jessie, who, -having never been taught to do a really useful thing until she came to -Deerwood, worked perseveringly, but with small hope of success, upon a -pair of socks like those which Ellen had knit for the deacon the winter -before. But alas for Jessie! knitting was not her forte, and Walter -himself could not forbear a smile at the queer-looking thing which grew -but slowly in her hands. At last, in despair, she gave it up, and one -night, when no one was near, threw it into the fire. - -"I must give him something for a keepsake," she thought, and remembering -that he had sometimes smoothed her hair as if he liked it, she seized -the shears, and cutting from her head the longest, handsomest curl, gave -it to him with the explanation that "her father had taken a lock of her -hair when he went away, and perhaps he would like one too." - -Affecting an indifference he did not feel, Walter laughingly accepted a -gift which in future years would be very dear to him, because of the -fair donor. - -The bright April morning came at last on which Walter left his home, and -with tearful eyes the family watched him out of sight, and then, with -saddened hearts, went back to their usual employments, feeling that the -sunshine of the house had gone with the stirring, active boy, who, in -one corner of the noisy car, was winking hard and counting the fence -posts as they ran swiftly past, to keep himself from crying. Anon this -feeling left him, and with the hopefulness of youth he looked eagerly -into the far future, catching occasional glimpses of the day which would -surely come to him when the names of Graham and Marshall would be -associated together again. - - - - -CHAPTER III.--EIGHT YEARS LATER. - - -It is the pleasant summer time, and on the college green groups of -people hurry to and fro, some seeking their own pleasure beneath the -grateful shade of the majestic elms, others wending their way to the -hotel, while others still are hastening to the Center Church to hear the -valedictory, which rumor says will be all the better received for the -noble, manly beauty of the speaker chosen to this honor. Flushed with -excitement, he stands before the people, his clear hazel eye wandering -uneasily over the sea of upturned faces, as if in quest of one from -whose presence he had hoped to catch his inspiration. But he looked in -vain. Two figures alone met his view,--one a bent and gray-haired old -man leaning on his staff, the other a mustached, stylish-looking youth -of nearly his own age, who occupied a front seat, and with his glass -coolly inspected the young orator. - -With a calm, dignified mien, Walter returned the gaze, wondering where -he had seen that face before. Suddenly it flashed upon him, and with a -feeling of gratified pride that it was thus they met again, he glanced a -second time at the calm, benignant expression of the old man, who had -come many miles to hear the speech his boy was to make. In the looks of -the latter there was that which kindled a thrill of enthusiasm in -Walter's frame, and when at last he opened his lips, and the tide of -eloquence burst forth, the audience hung upon his words with breathless -interest, greeting him at the close with shouts of applause which shook -the solid walls and brought the old man to his feet. Then the tumult -ceased, and amid the throng the hero of the hour was seen piloting his -aged grandfather across the green to the hotel. - -"I wish your father was here to-day," the deacon said, as they reached -the public parlor; but before Walter could reply he saw approaching them -the stranger who had so leisurely inspected him with his quizzing-glass, -and who now came forward, offering his hand and saying, laughingly: - -"Allow me to congratulate you upon having become yourself a _lion_." - -It did not need this speech to tell Walter that his visitor was William -Bellenger, and he answered in the same light strain: - -"Yes, I'm not afraid of the lion now;" "nor of the baboon, either," was -his mental rejoinder, as he saw the wondrous amount of hair his cousin -had brought back from Europe, where for the last two years he had been -traveling. - -William Bellenger could be very gracious when he tried, and as his -object in introducing himself to Walter's notice was not so much to talk -with him particularly, as to inquire after a certain young girl and -heiress, whose bright, sparkling beauty was beginning to create -something of a sensation, he assumed a friendliness he did not feel, and -was soon conversing familiarly with Walter of the different people they -both knew, mentioning incidentally Mr. Graham, the wealthy New York -banker, whom he had met in Europe, for Mr. Graham had remained abroad -six years. From him William had heard the warmest eulogies of Walter -Marshall, and there had been kindled in his bosom a feeling of jealous -enmity, which the events of the day had not in the least tended to -diminish. Still if his cousin had not interfered with him in another -matter of greater importance than the being praised by Mr. Graham and -the people, he was satisfied, and it was to ascertain this fact that he -had followed young Marshall to the hotel. - -Before going to New Haven William had called at the home of Jessie's -grandmother in the city, to inquire for the young lady. The house was -shut up and the family were in the country, the servant said, who -answered William's ring, but the sharp eyes of the young man caught the -outline of a figure listening in the upper hall, and readily divining -who the figure was, he answered: - -"Yes, but Mrs. Bartow is here. Carry her my card and say that I will -wait." - -The name of Bellenger brought down at once a bundle of satin and lace, -which Jessie called her grandmother, and which was supposed to be -showing off its diamonds at some fashionable hotel, instead of fanning -itself in the back chamber of that brownstone front. From her William -learned that Jessie was in Deerwood, and would probably attend the -commencement exercises at Yale, as a boy of some kind, whom Mr. Graham -had taken up, was to be graduated at that time. To New Haven, then, he -went, examining the books at every hotel, and scanning the faces of -those he met with an eager gaze, and at last, as he became convinced she -was not there, he determined to seek an interview with his cousin, and -question him of her whereabouts. After speaking of the father as a man -whose acquaintance every one was proud to claim, he said, quite -indifferently: - -"By the way, Walter, his daughter Jessie is in Deerwood, is she not?" - -"Yes," returned Walter; "she has been there for some weeks. She lived -with us all the time her father was in Europe, except when she was away -at school," and Walter felt his pulses quicken, for he remembered what -Mr. Graham had said of Mrs. Bartow's having set her heart on William as -her future grandson. - -William knew as well as Walter that Jessie had lived at Deerwood, but he -seemed to be surprised, and continued: - -"I wonder, then, she is not here to-day. She must feel quite a sisterly -interest in you," and the eyes, not wholly unlike Walter's, save that -they had in them a sinister expression, were fixed inquiringly upon -young Marshall, who replied: - -"I did expect her, and my cousin too; but my grandfather says that Ellen -was not able to come, and Jessie would not leave her." - -"She must be greatly attached to her country friends," returned William, -and the slight sneer which accompanied the words prompted Walter to -reply: - -"She is attached to some of us, I trust. At all events, I love her as a -sister, for such she has been to me, while Mr. Graham has been a second -father. I owe him everything----" - -"Not your education, certainly. You don't mean that?" interrupted -William, who had from the first suspected as much, for he knew that -Deacon Marshall was comparatively poor. - -Walter hesitated, for he had not yet outlived the pride which caused him -to shrink from blazoning it abroad that a stranger's money had made him -what he was. Deacon Marshall, on the contrary, had no such -sensitiveness, and observing Walter's embarrassment, he answered for -him: - -"Yes, Mr. Graham did pay for his education, and an old man's blessing on -his head for that same deed of his'n." - -"Mr. Graham is very liberal," returned William, with a supercilious bow, -which brought the hot blood to Walter's cheek. "Do you go home -immediately?" he continued, and Walter replied: - -"My grandfather has a desire to visit Medway, in Massachusetts, where he -married his wife, and as I promised to go with him in case he came to -New Haven, I shall not return to Deerwood for a week." - -Instantly the face of William Bellenger brightened, and Walter felt a -strong desire to knock him down when he said: - -"Allow me, then, to be the bearer of any message you may choose to send, -for I am resolved upon seeing Miss Graham, and shall, accordingly, go to -Deerwood. She will need a gallant in your absence, and trust me, I will -do my best, though I cannot hope to fill the place of a _lion_." - -Involuntarily Walter clenched his fist, while in the angry look of -defiance he cast upon his cousin, the impudent William read all the -withering scorn he felt for him. Ay, more, for he read, too, or thought -he did, that the beautiful Jessie Graham, whose father was worth a -million, had a warm place in the young plebeian's heart, and this it was -which brought the wrathful scowl to his own face as he compelled himself -to offer his hand at parting. - -"What message did you bid me carry?" he asked, and taking his extended -hand, Walter looked fiercely into his eyes as he replied: - -"None; I can tell her myself all I have to say." - -"Very well," said William, with another bow, and stroking the little -forest about his mouth, he walked away. - -"I don't put much faith in presentiments," said the deacon, when he was -gone, "but all the time that chap was here I felt as if a snake were -crawling at my feet. Believe me, he's got to cross my path or yourn, -mebby both," and the deacon resumed his post by the window, watching the -passers-by, while Walter hurriedly paced the floor with a vague, uneasy -sensation, for though he knew of no way in which the unprincipled -Bellenger could possibly cross his grandfather's path, he did know how -he could seriously disturb himself. - -Not that he had any confessed hope of winning Jessie Graham. She was far -above him, he said. Yet she was the one particular star he worshiped, -feeling that no other had a right to share the brightness with him, and -when he remembered the shady, winding paths in the pleasant old woods at -Deerwood, and the long afternoons when Ellen would be too languid to go -out, and William and Jessie free to go alone, he longed for his -grandfather to give up his favorite project and go back with him to -Deerwood. But when he saw how the old man was set upon the visit, -wondering if he should know the place, and if the thorn-apple tree were -growing still where he sat with Eunice and asked her to be his wife, he -put aside all thoughts of self, and went cheerfully to Medway, while his -cousin, with an eye also to the shadowy woods and the quiet mountain -walks, was hurrying on to Deerwood. - - - - -CHAPTER IV.--JESSIE AND ELLEN. - - -It was a glorious afternoon, and not a single feathery cloud flecked the -clear blue of the sky. The refreshing rain of the previous night had -cooled the sultry August air, and all about the farm-house the grass had -taken a brighter green and the flowers a brighter hue. Away to the -westward, at the distance of nearly one-fourth of a mile, the woods were -streaked with an avenue of pines, which grew so closely together that -the scorching rays of the noontide sun seldom found entrance to the -velvety plat where Walter had built a rustic bench, with Jessie looking -on, and where Jessie and Ellen now were sitting, the one upon the seat -and the other on the grass filling her straw hat with cones, and talking -to her companion of the young graduate, wondering where he was, and if -he didn't wish he were there with them beneath the sheltering pines. - -Eight years had changed the little girls of nine and eight into -grown-up, graceful maidens, and though of an entirely different style, -each was beautiful in her own way, Jessie as a brunette, and Ellen as a -blonde. Full of frolic, life and fun, Jessie carried it all upon her -sparkling face, and in her laughing eyes of black. Now, as of old, her -raven hair clustered in short, thick curls around her forehead and neck, -giving her the look of a gypsy, her father said, as he fondly stroked -the elfin locks, and thought how beautiful she was. Five years she had -lived in Deerwood, and then, at her father's request, had gone to a -fashionable boarding-school, for the only child of the millionaire must -have accomplishments such as could not be obtained among the New England -mountains. No process of polishing, however, or course of discipline had -succeeded as yet in making her forget her country home, and when Mr. -Graham, whose business called him West, offered her the choice between -Newport and Deerwood, she unhesitatingly chose the latter, greatly to -the vexation of her grandmother, who delighted in society now even more -than she did when young. If Jessie went to Deerwood she must remain at -home, for she could not go to Newport alone, and what was worse, she -must live secluded in the rear of the house for Mrs. Bartow would not -for the world let her fashionable acquaintances know that she passed the -entire summer in the city. She should lose _caste_ at once, she thought, -and she used every possible argument to persuade Jessie to give up her -visit to Deerwood, and go with her instead. But Jessie would not listen. -"Grandma could accompany old Mrs. Reeves," she said, "they'd have a -splendid time quarreling over their respective granddaughters, herself -and Charlotte, but as for her, she should go to Deerwood;" and she -accordingly went there, and took with her a few city airs and numerous -city fashions. - -The former, however, were always laid aside when talking to Ellen, who -was by some accounted the more beautiful of the two, with her wealth of -golden hair, her soft eyes of violet blue, and her pale, transparent -complexion. As gentle and quiet as she was lovely, she formed a striking -contrast to the merry, frolicsome Jessie, with her darker, richer style -of beauty, and neither ever appeared so well as when they were together. -In all the world there was no one, except her father, whom Jessie loved -as she did Ellen Howland, and though, amid the gay scenes of her city -home, she frequently forgot her, and neglected to send the letters which -were so precious to the simple country girl, her love returned the -moment the city was left behind, and she breathed the exhilarating air -of the Deerwood hills. - -She called Walter her brother, and had watched him through his college -course with all a sister's pride, looking eagerly forward to the time -when he would be in her father's employ, for it was settled that he was -to enter Mr. Graham's bank as soon as he was graduated. And as on that -summer afternoon she sat upon the grassy ridge and talked with Ellen of -him, she spoke of the coming winter when he would be with her in the -city. - -"It will be so nice," she said, "to have such a splendid beau, for I -mean to get him introduced right away. I shall be seventeen in a month, -and I'm coming out next season. I wish you could spend the winter with -me, and see something of the world. I mean to ask your mother. Father -will buy your dresses to wear to parties, and concerts, and the opera. -Only think of having a box all to ourselves,--you and I and Walter, and -maybe Charlotte Reeves once in a great while, or cousin Jennie. Wouldn't -you love to go?" - -"No, not for anything," answered Ellen, who liked early hours and quiet -rooms, and always experienced a kind of suffocation in the presence of -fashionable people, and who continued: "I don't believe Walter will like -it either, unless he changes greatly. He used to have a horror of city -folks, and I do believe almost hated _you_ before you came to Deerwood, -just because you were born in New York." - -"Hated _me_, Ellen!" repeated Jessie. "He shook me, I know, and I've -been a little afraid of him ever since, but it did me good, for I -deserved it, I was such a high-tempered piece; but I did not know he -hated me. Do you suppose he hates me now?" and Jessie's manner evinced a -deeper interest in Walter than she herself believed existed. - -Ellen saw it at once, and so did the man who for the last ten minutes -had been watching the young girls through the pine tree boughs. William -Bellenger had reached Deerwood on the afternoon train, and gone at once -to the farm-house, whose gable roof, small window panes, and low walls -had provoked a smile of derision, while he wondered what Jessie Graham -could find to attract her there. Particularly was he amused with the -quaint expressions of Aunt Debby, who, in her high-crowned cap, with -black handkerchief smoothly crossed in front, and her wide check apron -on, sat knitting by the door, stopping occasionally to take a pinch of -snuff, or "shoo" the hens when they came too near. - -"The gals was in the woods," she said, when he asked for Miss Graham, -and she bade him "make Ellen get up if he should find her setting on the -damp ground, as she presumed she was. Ellen was weakly," she said, "and -wasn't an atom like Walter, who was as trim a chap as one could wish to -see. Did the young man know Walter?" - -"Oh, yes," returned William. "He is my cousin." - -"Your cousin!" and the needles dropped from the old lady's hands. "Bless -me!" and adjusting her glasses a little more firmly upon her nose she -peered curiously at him. "I want to know if you are one of them -Bellengers? Wall, I guess you do favor Walter, if a body could see your -face. It's the fashion, I s'pose, to wear all that baird." - -"Yes, all the fashion," returned William, who was certainly -good-natured, even if he possessed no other virtue, and having asked -again the road to the woods, he set off in that direction. - -Following the path Aunt Debby pointed out, he soon came near enough to -catch a view of the white dress Jessie wore, and wishing to see her -first, himself unobserved, he crept cautiously to an opening among the -pines, where he could see and hear all that was passing. Jessie's -sparkling, animated face was turned toward him, but he scarcely heeded -it in his surprise at another view which greeted his vision. A slender, -willowy form was more in accordance with Will's taste than a fat chubby -one, and in Ellen Howland his idea of a beautiful woman was, if -possible, more than realized. She was leaning against a tree, her blue -gingham morning gown,--for she was an invalid,--wrapped gracefully about -her her golden hair, slightly tinged with red, combed back from her -forehead, her long eyelashes veiling her eyes of blue, and shading her -colorless cheek, while her lily-white hands were folded together, and -rested upon her lap. - -"Jupiter!" thought William, "I did not suppose Deerwood capable of -producing anything like that. Why, she's the realization of what I've -often fancied my wife should be. Now, if she were only rich I'd yield -the black-eyed witch of a Jessie to my milksop cousin. But, pshaw! it -shan't be said of me that I fell in love at first sight with a vulgar -country girl. What the deuce, they talk of Walter, do they! I'll try -eavesdropping a little longer," and bending his head, he listened while -their conversation proceeded. - -He heard what Ellen said of Walter; he saw the startled look upon the -face of Jessie as she exclaimed, "Does he hate me now?" and in that look -he read what Jessie did not know herself. - -"The wretch!" he muttered, between his teeth; "why couldn't he take the -other one? I would, if the million were on her side," and in the glance -he cast on Ellen there was more than a mere passing fancy. - -She must have felt its influence, for as that look fell upon her she -said: - -"It's cold,--I shiver as with a chill. Let's go back to the house," and -she arose to her feet, just as the pine boughs parted asunder, and -William appeared before them. - -"Mr. Bellenger!" Jessie exclaimed. "When did you come?" - -"Half an hour since," he returned, "and not finding you in the house I -came this way, little thinking I should stumble upon two wood nymphs -instead of one," and again the peculiar glance rested upon Ellen, who -had sunk back upon her seat, and whose soft eyes fell beneath his gaze. - -The brief introduction was over, and then Ellen rose to go, complaining -that she was cold and tired. - -"We will go, too," said Jessie, putting on her hat, when Mr. Bellenger -touched her arm, and said in a low voice of entreaty: - -"Stay here with me." - -"Yes, stay," rejoined Ellen, who caught the words. "It is pleasant here, -and I can go alone." - -So Jessie stayed, and when the slow footsteps had died away in the -distance William sat down beside her, and after expressing his delight -at meeting her again, said, indifferently as it were: - -"By the way, I have just come from New Haven, where I had the pleasure -of hearing the charity boy's valedictory. It is strange what assurance -some people have." - -"Charity boy!" repeated Jessie; "I thought Walter Marshall was to -deliver the valedictory." - -"And isn't he a charity scholar? Don't your father pay his bills?" asked -William, in a tone which Jessie did not like. - -"Well, yes," she answered, "but somehow I don't like to hear you call -him that, because----" she hesitated, and William's face grew dark while -waiting for her answer, which, when it came, was, "because he saved my -life;" and then Jessie told her companion how, but for Walter Marshall, -she would not have been sitting there that summer afternoon. - -"Was Walter's speech a good one?" she asked, her manner indicating that -she knew it was. - -Not a change in her speaking face escaped the watchful eye of William, -and knowing well that insinuations are often stronger and harder to -refute than any open assertion, he replied, with seeming reluctance: - -"Yes, very good; though some of it sounded strangely familiar, and I -heard others hinting pretty strongly at plagiarism." - -This last was in a measure true, for one of Walter's class, chagrined -that the honor was not conferred upon himself, had taken pains to say -that the valedictory was not all of it Walter's,--that an older and -wiser head had helped him in its composition. William did not believe -this, but it suited his purpose to repeat it, and he watched narrowly -for the effect. Jessie Graham was the soul of truth, and no accusation -could have been brought against Walter which would have pained her so -much as the belief that he had been dishonorable in the least degree. - -"Walter would never pass off what was not his own!" she exclaimed. "It -isn't like him, or like any of the Marshall family." - -"You forget his father," said the man beside her, carelessly thrusting -aside a cone with his polished boot. - -"What did his father do?" Jessie asked in some surprise, and her -companion replied: - -"You astonish me, Miss Graham, by professing ignorance of what Walter's -father did. You know, of course." - -"Indeed I do not," she returned. "I only know that there is something -unpleasant connected with him,--something which annoys Walter terribly, -but I never heard the story. I asked my father once and he seemed -greatly agitated, saying he would rather not talk of it. Then I asked -Ellen, but if she knew she would not tell, and she evaded all my -questioning, so I gave it up, for I dare not ask Deacon Marshall or -Walter either. What was it, Mr. Bellenger?" - -William understood just how proud Jessie Graham was, and how she would -be shocked at the very idea of public disgrace. Once convince her of the -parent's guilt, and she will sicken of the son, he thought, so when she -said again, "What was it? What did Mr. Marshall do?" he replied: - -"If your father has kept it from you, I ought not to speak of it, -perhaps; but this I will say, if Seth Marshall had his just deserts, he -would now be the inmate of a felon's cell." - -"Walter's father a felon!" Jessie exclaimed, bounding to her feet. "I -never thought of anything as bad as that. Is it true? Oh! is it true?" -and in the maiden's heart there was a new-born feeling, which, had -Walter been there then, would have prompted her to shrink from him as if -he, too, had been a sharer of his father's sin. - -"You seem greatly excited," said William. "It must be that you are more -deeply interested in young Marshall than I supposed." - -"I am interested," she replied. "I have liked him so much that I never -dreamed of associating him with dishonor." - -"Why need you now?" asked the wily Will. "Walter had nothing to do with -it, though, to be sure, it is but natural to suppose that the child is -somewhat like the father, particularly if it does not inherit any of its -mother's virtues, as Walter, I suppose, does not. He is a Marshall -through and through," and William smiled exultingly as he saw how well -his insinuation was doing its work. - -"Tell me more," Jessie whispered. "_What_ did Mr. Marshall do?" - -"I would rather not," returned William, at the same time hinting that it -was something she ought not to hear. "If your father had good reason for -keeping it from you, so have I. Suffice it to know that it killed his -young wife, my father's sister, and that our family since have scarcely -recognized Walter as belonging to us. It wasn't any fault of mine," he -continued, as he saw the flash of Jessie's eyes, and readily divined -that she did not wish to have Walter slighted. "I cannot help it. Our -family are very proud, my grandmother particularly; and when my aunt -married a poor ignorant country youth, it was natural that she should -feel it, and when the disgrace came it was ten times worse. There is -such a thing as marrying far beneath one's station, and you can imagine -my grandmother's feelings by fancying what your own father's would be if -you were to throw yourself away upon--well, upon this Waiter, who may be -well enough himself, but who can never hope to wipe away the stain upon -his name," and William looked at her sideways, to see the effect of what -he had said. - -Jessie Graham was easily influenced, and she attached far more -importance to William's words than she would have done had she known his -real design; so when he spoke of her marrying Walter as a preposterous -and impossible event, she accepted it as such, and wondered why her -heart should throb so painfully or why she should feel as if something -had been wrested from her,--something which, all unknown to herself, had -made her life so happy. She had taken her first lesson in distrust, and -the poison was working well. - -For a long time they sat there among the pines, not talking of Walter, -but of the city and the wondrous sights which Will had seen in his -foreign travels. There was something very soothing to Jessie in -William's manner, so different from that which Walter assumed toward -her. Like most young girls she was fond of flattery, and Walter had more -than once offended her by his straightforward way of telling her faults. -William, on the contrary, sang her praises only; and, while listening to -him, she wondered she had never thought before how very agreeable he -was. He saw the impression he was making, and when at last, as the sun -was nearing the western horizon, she arose to go, proposing that they -should take the Marshall grave-yard in their route, he assented, for -this, he knew, would keep him longer with her alone. - -"Your aunt is buried here," Jessie said, as they drew near to the fence -which surrounded the home of dead; "that is hers," and she pointed to -the monument gleaming in the sunlight. - -"Do you bury your bodies above the ground?" asked William, directing her -attention to the flutter of a blue morning dress, plainly visible beyond -the taller stone. - -"Why, that is Ellen!" cried Jessie, hurrying on until she reached the -gate, where she stopped suddenly, and beckoned her companion to approach -as noiselessly as possible. - -Ellen also had come that way, and seating herself by her grandmother's -grave, had fallen asleep, and like some rare piece of sculpture, she lay -among the tall, rank grass--so near to a rose tree that one of the -fading blossoms had dropped its leaves upon her face. - -"Isn't she beautiful?" Jessie said to her companion, who replied; "Yes, -wonderfully beautiful," so loud that the fair sleeper awoke and started -up. - -"I was so tired," she said, "that I sat down and must have gone to -sleep, for I dreamed that I was dead, and that the man who came to us in -the pines dug my grave. Where is he, Jessie!" - -"I am here," said William, coming forward, "and believe me, my dear Miss -Howland, I would dig the grave of almost any one sooner than your own. -Allow me to assist you," and he offered her his hand. - -Ellen was really very weak, and when he saw how pale she was he made her -lean upon him as they walked down the hillside to the house. And once, -when Jessie was tripping on before, he slightly pressed the little -blue-veined hand trembling on his arm, while in a very tender voice he -asked if she felt better. Ellen Howland was wholly unaccustomed to the -world, and had grown up to womanhood as ignorant of flattery or deceit -as the veriest child. Pure and innocent herself, she did not dream of -treachery in others. Walter to her was a fair type of all mankind, and -she could not begin to fathom the heart of the man who walked beside -her, touching her hand more than once before they reached the farm-house -door. - -They found the supper table neatly spread for five, and though William's -intention was to spend the night at the village hotel, he accepted Mrs. -Howland's invitation to stay to tea, making himself so much at home, and -chatting with all so familiarly, that Aunt Debby pronounced him a clever -chap, while Mrs. Howland wondered why people should say the Bellengers -of Boston were proud and overbearing. It was late that night when -William left them, for there was something very attractive in the blue -of Ellen's eyes, and the shining black of Jessie's, and when at last he -left them, and was alone with himself and the moonlight, he was -conscious that there had come to him that day the first unselfish, manly -impulse he had known for years. He had mingled much with fashionable -ladies. None knew how artificial they were better than himself, and he -had come at last to believe that there was not among them a single true, -noble-hearted woman. Jessie Graham might be an exception, but even she -was tainted with the city atmosphere. Her father's purse, however, would -make amends for any faults she might possess, and he must win that purse -at all hazards; but while doing that he did not think it wrong to pay -the tribute of admiration to the golden-haired Ellen, whose modest, -refined beauty had impressed him so much, and whose artless, childlike -manner had affected him more than he supposed. "Little Snow-Drop" he -called her to himself, and sitting alone in his chamber at the hotel, he -blessed the happy chance which had thrown her in his way. - -"It is like the refreshing shower to the parched earth," he said, and he -thought what happiness it would be to study that pure girl, to see if, -far down in the depths of her heart, there were not the germs of vanity -and deceit, or better yet, if there were not something in her nature -which would sometime respond to him. He did not think of the harm he -might do her. He did not care, in fact, even though he won her love only -to cast it from him as a useless thing. Country girls like her were only -made for men like him to play with. No wonder then if in her dreams that -night Ellen moaned with fear of the beautiful serpent which seemed -winding itself, fold on fold, about her. - -Jessie, too, had troubled dreams of felon's cells, of clanking chains, -and even of a gallows, with Walter standing underneath beseeching her to -come and share the shame with him. Truly the serpent had entered this -Eden and left its poisonous trail. - -For nearly a week William staid in town, and the village maidens often -looked wistfully after him as he drove his fast horses, sometimes with -Jessie at his side, and sometimes with Ellen, but never with them both, -for the words he breathed into the ear of one were not intended for the -other. Drop by drop was he infusing into Jessie's mind a distrust of one -whom she had heretofore considered the soul of integrity and honor. Not -openly, lest she should suspect his motive, but covertly, cautiously, -always apparently seeking an excuse for anything the young man might -hereafter do, and succeeding at last in making Jessie thoroughly -uncomfortable, though why she could not tell. She did not blame Walter -for his father's sins, but she would much rather his name should have -been without a blemish. - -Gradually the brightness of Jessie's face gave way to a thoughtful, -serious look, her merry laugh was seldom heard, and she would sit for -hours so absorbed in her own thoughts as not to heed the change which -the last few days had wrought in Ellen, too. Never before had the latter -seemed so happy, so joyous, so full of life as now, and Aunt Debby said -the rides with Mr. Bellenger upon the mountains had done her good. -William had pursued his study faithfully, and, in doing so, had become -so much interested himself that he would have asked Ellen to be his wife -had she been rich as she was lovely. But his bride must be an heiress; -and so, though knowing that he could never be to Ellen Howland other -than a friend, he led her on step by step until at last she saw but what -he saw, and heard but what he heard. He was not deceiving her, he said, -sometimes when conscience reproached him for his cruelty. She knew how -widely different their stations were; she could not expect that one whom -half the belles of Boston and New York would willingly accept could -think of making her his wife. He was only polite to her, only giving a -little variety to her monotonous life. She would forget him when he was -gone. And at this point he was conscious of an unwillingness to be -forgotten. - -"If we were only Mormons," he thought, the last night of his stay at -Deerwood, when out under the cherry trees in the garden he talked with -her alone, and saw the varying color on her cheek, as he said, "We may -never meet again." "If we were only Mormons, I would have them both, -Nellie and Jessie, the one for her gilded setting, the other -because----" - -He did not finish the sentence, for he was not willing then to -acknowledge to himself the love which really and truly was growing in -his heart for the fair girl beside him. - -"But you'll surely come to us again," Nellie said. "Jessie will be here. -You'll want to visit her," and a tear trembled on her long eyelashes. - -"I can see Jessie in the city, and if I come to Deerwood it will be you -who brings me. Do you wish me to come and see you, Nellie?" and the -dark, handsome face bent so low that the rich brown hair rested on the -golden locks of the artless, innocent girl, who answered, in a whisper, - -"Yes, I wish you to come." - -"Then you must give me a kiss," he said, "as a surety of my welcome, and -when the trees on the mountain where we have been so happy together are -casting their dense leaves in the autumn, I will surely be with you -again." - -The kiss was given--not one--not two--but many, for William Bellenger -was greedy, and his lips had never touched aught so pure and sweet -before. - -"I wouldn't tell Walter that I'm coming," he said, "for he does not like -me, I fancy, and I cannot bear to have him prejudice you against me. I -wouldn't tell my mother either, or any one----" - -"Not Jessie?" Ellen asked, for she had a kind of natural pride in -wishing her friend to know that she, who never aspired to notice of any -kind, had succeeded in pleasing the fastidious William Bellenger. - -"No, not Jessie," he said, "because,--well, because you better not," and -knowing well his power over the timid girl, he felt sure that his wishes -would be regarded, and with another good-by, he left her. - -He had hoped that Jessie would be induced to accompany him to New York, -and as there was a secret understanding between himself and Mrs. Bartow, -the old lady had written, entreating her granddaughter to return with -William. - -"You have stayed in the country long enough," she wrote, "and I dare say -you are as sunburnt and freckled as you can be, so pray come home. -Everybody is gone, I know, and New York is just like Sunday, while I -stay like a guilty thing in the rear of the house, to make folks think -I'm off to some watering place. I wouldn't for the world let old Mrs. -Reeves know that I have been cooped up here the blessed summer. It's all -owing to your obstinacy, too, and I think you ought to come back and -entertain me. Mr. Bellenger will attend to you, and you couldn't ask for -a more desirable companion. Old Mrs. Reeves says he is the most eligible -match in the city, his family are so aristocratic. There isn't a single -mechanic or working person in the whole line, for she spent an entire -season in tracing back their ancestry, finding but one blot, and that an -unfortunate marriage of a Miss Ellen Bellenger with some ignorant -country loafer she met at boarding-school, and who she says was hung, or -sent to State prison, I forgot which. I am sorry she discovered this -last, as in case you cut out Charlotte, and of course you will, it will -be like the spiteful old wretch to blazon it abroad, though William -ain't to blame, of course." - -"I wonder I never told grandma that Walter was connected with the -Bellengers," Jessie thought, as she finished reading this letter, which -came to her the night when William, beneath the cherry trees, was -whispering words to Ellen which should never have been spoken. "It's -probably because I've not been much with her of late, and she never -seemed at all interested in him, except indeed, to say that pa ought to -get him a situation in a grocery, or something to pay him for saving my -life. I wish she wasn't so foolishly proud," and as Jessie read the -letter again, she felt glad that her grandmother did not know how nearly -Walter Marshall was connected with the man who "was hung, or sent to -State prison." - -Gradually, too, there arose before her mind the whole array of her city -friends, with old Mrs. Reeves and Charlotte at their head, and the idea -of having Walter with her in the city the coming winter was not as -pleasant as it once had been. Her grandmother might find out who he was; -William would tell, perhaps, and she could not bear the thought of -seeing him slighted, as he was sure to be if the tide, of which the old -lady Reeves was the under-current, should set in against him. - -"I've half a mind to go home," she thought, "before anything definite is -arranged, and persuade father to secure Walter just as good a situation -in some other place where he won't be slighted." - -This allusion to her father was a fortunate one, for in her cool moments -of reflection there was no one whose judgment Jessie regarded so highly -as her father's. He knew Walter,--he respected him, too, and had often -spoken with pleasure of the time when he would be with him. - -"People dare not laugh if father takes him up," she thought, while -something whispered to her that she, too, could, if she would, do much -toward helping Walter to the position in society he was fitted to -occupy. "I won't go," she said, at last. "I'll stay and see Walter -again, at all events, though I do wish Will hadn't told me about his -speech, and his father, too. I mean to ask him some time to tell me the -exact truth." And having reached this resolution Jessie sat down and -wrote to her grandmother that she could not come yet, she was so happy -in the country. - -This she intended taking to William in the morning, for she had promised -to meet him at the depot and see him off. "I shall be rather lonely when -he is gone," she thought, and walking to the window of her room, she -wondered if Charlotte Reeves would succeed in winning William Bellenger. - -"Her grandmother will strain every nerve," she thought, "but by just -saying a word I can supplant her, I know, else why has he stayed here a -whole week? Nell, is that you?" and Jessie started as the young girl -glided into the room, her face unusually pale, and her whole appearance -indicative of some secret agitation. "Where have you been?" asked -Jessie, "and who was it that shut the gate?" - -"Where? I didn't hear any gate," Ellen replied, trembling lest she -should betray what she had been forbidden to divulge. - -Had she confessed it then it would have saved her many a weary -heartache, and her companion from many a thoughtless act, but she did -not, and when Jessie, caressed her white cheek, and said laughingly, -"Has my prudish Nell a secret love affair?" she made some incoherent -answer, and, seeking her pillow, lived over again the scene in the -garden, blushing to herself as she recalled the dark face which had bent -so near to hers, and the tender voice which had whispered in her ear the -name so recently given to her. "Little Snow-Drop," he called her when he -bade her adieu, and the moon went down behind the mountain ere she fell -asleep thinking of that name and the time when the forest tree would -cast its leaf and he be with her again. - - - - -CHAPTER V.--WALTER AND JESSIE. - - -"So you won't go with me," William said to Jessie, next morning, when -she met him at the depot and gave him the note intended for her -grandmother. - -"No," she replied. "The city is dull as yet, and I'd rather remain here -with Ellen." - -"Oh, yes, Ellen," and William spoke quite indifferently. "Why didn't she -come to bid me good-by?" and he looked curiously at Jessie to see how -much she knew. - -But Jessie suspected nothing, and replied at once: - -"She has a headache this morning and was still in bed when I left her." - -The heartless man was conscious of a pleasurable sensation,--a feeling -of gratified vanity,--for he knew that headache was for him. But he -merely said: - -"Tell her that I'm sorry she's sick; she is a pleasant, quiet little -girl, quite superior to country girls in general." - -"There's the train," cried Jessie, and in a moment the cars rolled up -before them. - -"It will seem a young eternity until you come home," said William, -clasping Jessie's hand. "Good-bye," he added, as "all aboard" was -shouted in his ear, and as he turned away his place was taken by -another, who had witnessed the parting between the two, and at whom -Jessie looked wonderingly, exclaiming: - -"Why, Walter, I didn't expect you to-day." - -"And shall I infer that I am the less welcome from that?" the young man -asked, for with his inborn jealousy, which no amount of discipline could -quite subdue, he thought he detected in Jessie's tone and manner -something cold and constrained. - -Nor was he wholly mistaken, for Jessie did not feel toward him just as -she had done before. Still she greeted him cordially,--thought how -handsome he was, and came pretty near telling him so,--but told him -instead, that she thought he resembled his cousin William. This brought -the conversation to a point Walter longed to reach, and as they walked -slowly towards home he questioned her of William,--asking when he came, -and if she had seen much of him previous to his visit there. - -"I saw him almost every day before he went to Europe," she replied. "You -know he lives in New York now, and grandma thinks there's nobody like -him." - -"Yes," returned Walter, "I remember your father told me once that she -had set her heart upon your marrying him." - -"People would think it a splendid match," returned Jessie, a little -mischievously, for as she had known that William disliked Walter, so she -now felt that Walter disliked William, and she continued: "Charlotte -Reeves would give the world to have him spend a week in the country with -her," and the saucy black eyes looked roguishly up at Walter, who -frowned gloomily for an instant, and then rejoined: - -"Shall I tell you what your father said about it?" - -"Yes, do. I think everything of his opinion." - -"He said, then, that he would rather see you buried than the wife of any -of that race," and Walter laid a great stress upon the last two words. - -For a time Jessie walked on in silence, then stopping short and looking -up from under her straw hat, she said: - -"Ain't _you_ one of that race?" - -"I suppose I am," answered Walter, smiling at a question which admitted -of two or three significations. - -Jessie thought of but one. Her father liked Walter very much, even -though his mother was a Bellenger; consequently it must be something -about William himself which prompted that remark, and as Jessie usually -echoed her father's sentiments, she felt, the old disagreeable sensation -giving way, and before they reached the farm-house she was chatting as -gayly with Walter, as if nothing had ever come between them. - -That night Walter and Jessie sat together in the little portico, which -was securely shaded from the sun by Aunt Debby's thrifty hop vines. -Walter was telling Jessie of his recent visit, and how his grandfather -cried when he stood in the room where he was married nearly fifty years -before. - -"I supposed old people outlived all their romance," said Jessie, adding -laughingly, as she plucked the broad green leaves growing near her head, -"I don't think I could love any body but father fifty years,--could -you?" - -"It would depend a good deal upon the person I loved," returned Walter, -and the look he gave Jessie seemed to say that it would not be a hard -matter to love her through all time. - -Jessie saw the look, and while it thrilled her with a sudden emotion of -pleasure, it involuntarily reminded her of what William had said of the -valedictory, and abruptly changing the conversation she said: - -"Mr. Bellenger told me your speech was very good. May I see it for -myself?" - -Walter was a fine orator, and knew that the favor with which his speech -had been received was in a great measure owing to the manner in which it -was delivered. He was willing for Jessie to have heard it, but he felt a -natural reluctance in permitting her to read it. Jessie saw his -hesitancy, and it strengthened the suspicion which before had hardly -existed. - -"Yes, let me see it," she said. "You are surely not afraid of me!" and -she persisted in her entreaties until he gave it into her hands, and -then joined his grandfather, while she returned to her room, and -striking a light, abandoned herself to the reading of the valedictory; -and as she read it seemed even to her that she had heard some portion of -it before. - -"Yes, I have!" she exclaimed, as she came upon a strikingly expressed -and peculiar idea. "I have read that in print," and in Jessie's heart -there was a sore spot, for the losing confidence in Walter was terrible -to her. "He is not strictly honorable," she said, and laying her face -upon the roll of paper, she cried to think how she had been deceived. - -The next morning Walter was not long in observing her cold distant -manner, and he accordingly became as cold and formal toward her, -addressing her as Miss Graham, when he spoke to her at all, and after -breakfast was over, going to the village, where he remained until long -past the dinner hour, hearing that which made him in no hurry to return -home and make his peace with the little dark-eyed beauty. Everybody was -talking of Miss Graham's city beau, who had taken her to ride so often, -and who, when joked by his familiar landlord, had partially admitted -that an engagement actually existed between them. - -"So you've lost her, sleek and clean," said the talkative Joslyn to -Walter, who replied that "it was difficult losing what one never had," -and said distinctly that "he did not aspire to the honor of Miss -Graham's hand." - -But whether he did or not, the story he had heard was not calculated to -improve his state of mind, and his dejection was plainly visible upon -his face when he at last reached home. - -"Jessie was up among the pines," Aunt Debby said, advising him "to join -her and cheer her up a bit, for she seemed desput low spirited since Mr. -Bellenger went away." - -Had Aunt Debby wished to keep Walter from Jessie, she could not have -devised a better plan than this, for the high spirited young man had no -intention of intruding upon a grief caused by William Bellenger's -absence, and hour after hour Jessie sat alone among the pines, starting -at every sound, and once, when sure a footstep was near, hiding behind a -rock, "so as to make him think she wasn't there." Then, when the -footstep proved to be a rabbit's tread, she crept back to her seat upon -the grass, and pouted because it was not Walter. - -"He might know I'd be lonesome," she said, "after receiving so much -attention, and he ought to entertain me a little, if only to pay for all -father has done for him. If there is anything I dislike, it is -ingratitude," and having reached this point, Jessie burst into tears, -though why she should cry, she could not tell. - -She only knew that she was very warm and very uncomfortable, and that it -did her good to cry, so she lay with her face in the grass, while the -rabbit came several times very near, and at last fled away as a heavier, -firmer step approached. - -It was not likely Jessie would stay in the pines all the afternoon, -Walter thought, and as the sun drew near the western horizon, he said to -his grandfather: - -"I will go for the cows to-night just as I used to do," and though the -pasture where they fed lay in the opposite direction from the pines, he -bent his footsteps toward the latter place, and came suddenly upon -Jessie, who was sobbing like a child. - -"Jessie," he exclaimed, laying his hand gently upon her arm, "what _is_ -the matter." - -"Nothing," she replied, "only I'm lonesome and homesick, and I wish I'd -gone to New York with Mr. Bellenger." - -"Why didn't you then?" was Walter's cool reply, and Jessie answered, -angrily: - -"I would, if I had known what I do now." - -"And pray what do you know now?" Walter asked, in the same cold, calm, -tone, which so exasperated Jessie that she replied: - -"I know you hate me, and I know you didn't write all that valedictory, -and everything." - -"Jessie," Walter said, sternly, "what do you mean about that -valedictory. Come, sit by me and tell me at once." - -In Walter's voice there was a tone which, as a child, Jessie had been -wont to obey, and now at his command she stole timidly to his side upon -the rustic bench, and told him all her suspicions, and the source from -which they originated. - -There was a sudden flash of anger in Walter's eye at his cousin's -meanness, and then, with a merry laugh, he said: - -"And it sounded familiar to you, too, did it? Some parts of it might, -I'll admit, for you had heard them before. Do you remember being at any -examination in Wilbraham, when I took the prize in composition, or -rather declamation? It was said then that my essay was far beyond my -years, and I am inclined to think it was; for I have written nothing -since which pleased me half so well. I was appointed valedictorian, as -you know, and in preparing my oration I selected a few of those old -ideas and embodied them in language to suit the occasion. I am hardly -willing to call it plagiarism, stealing from myself, and I am sure you -would never have recognized it either if Mr. Bellenger had not roused -your suspicions. Is my explanation satisfactory?" - -It was perfectly so, for Jessie now remembered where she had heard -something like Walter's valedictory, and with her doubts removed she -became much like herself again, though she would not admit that -William's insinuations were mere fabrications of his own. He never heard -it before, she knew, but some of Walter's old Wilbraham associates might -have been present and said in his hearing that it seemed familiar, and -then it would be quite natural for him to think so too. - -Walter did not dispute her, but said: - -"What else did my amiable cousin say against me?" - -Clasping her hands over her burning face, Jessie answered faintly: - -"He told me that your father had done a horrible thing, though he didn't -explain what it was. I knew before that there was something unpleasant, -and once asked father about it, but he wouldn't tell, and I want so much -to know. What was it, Walter?" - -For a moment Walter hesitated, then drawing Jessie nearer to him, he -replied: - -"It will pain me greatly to tell you that sad story, but I would rather -you should hear it from my lips than from any other," and then, -unmindful of the cows, which, having waited long for their accustomed -summons, were slowly wending their way homeward, he began the story as -follows: - -"You know that old stone building on the hill near the village, and you -have heard also that it was a flourishing high school for girls. There -one pleasant summer my mother came. She was spending several months with -a family who occupied what is now that huge old ruin down by the river -side. Mother was beautiful, they say, and so my father thought, for -every leisure moment found him at her side." - -"But wasn't she a great deal richer than he," Jessie asked, unconscious -of the pang her question inflicted upon her companion, who replied: - -"Yes, he was poor, while Ellen Bellenger was rich, but she had a soul -above the foolish distinction the world will make between the wealthy -and the working class. She loved my father, and he loved her. At last -they were engaged, and then he proposed writing to her parents, as he -would do nothing dishonorable; but she begged him not to do it, for she -knew how proud they were, and that they would take her home at once. And -so, in an unguarded moment, they went together over the line into New -York, where they were married. The Bellengers, of course, were fearfully -enraged, denouncing her at once, and bidding her never cross their -threshold again. But this only drew her nearer to her husband, who -fairly worshiped her, as did the entire family,--for she lived in the -old gable-roofed house,--and was happy in that little room which we call -yours now. Father was anxious that she should have everything she -wanted, and it is said was sometimes very extravagant, buying for her -costly luxuries which he could not well afford." - -"But _my_ father," said Jessie. "What had he to do with it?" - -"Everything," returned Walter, with bitterness. "Old Mr. Graham had a -bank in Deerwood. Your father was cashier, while mine was teller, and in -consideration of a large remuneration, performed a menial's part, such -as sweeping the rooms, building the fires in winter, and of course he -kept the keys. They were great friends, Richard Graham and Seth -Marshall, and people likened them to David and Jonathan. At last one of -the large bills my father had made came due, and on that very night the -bank was robbed of more than a thousand dollars." - -"Oh, Walter, how could he do it?" cried Jessie, and Walter replied: - -"He didn't! He was as innocent as I, who was then unborn. Listen while I -tell you. There was in town a dissipated, good-natured fellow, named -Heyward, who had sometimes taught singing-school, and sometimes fiddled -for country dances. No one knew how he managed to subsist, for he -dressed well, traveled a great deal, and was very liberal with his -money, when he had any. Still none suspected him of dishonesty; he did -not know enough for that, they said. Everybody liked him, and when on -that night he came to our house, apparently intoxicated, and asked for a -shelter, grandfather bade him stay, and assigned him a back room in -which was an outer door. In the morning he was, or seemed to be, still -in a drunken sleep. Your father brought the news of the robbery, and -while he talked he looked suspiciously at mine, especially when my -mother said innocently: - -"'The burglars must have tried this house, too, for I woke in the night, -and finding my husband gone, called to him to know where he was. -Presently he came in, saying he thought he heard a noise and got up to -find what it was.' - -"When she said this Mr. Graham changed color, and pointing to my -father's shoes, which stood upon the hearth, he asked: - -"'How came these so muddy? It was not raining at bedtime last night.' - -"This was true. A heavy storm had arisen after ten and subsided before -twelve, so that the shoes must have been worn since that hour, as there -was fresh dirt still upon them. The robber had been tracked to our door, -while there were corresponding marks from our door to the bank. My -father's shoes just fitted in these tracks, for they measured them with -the wretched man looking on in a kind of torpid apathy, as if utterly -unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw; but when Richard, his -best friend, whispered to him softly, 'Confess it, Seth. Give up the -money and it won't go so hard against you,' the truth burst upon him, -and he dropped to the ground like one scathed with the lightning's -stroke. For hours he lay in that death-like swoon, and when he came back -to consciousness he was guarded by the officers of the law. They led him -off in the care of a constable, he all the time protesting his -innocence, save at intervals when he refused to speak, but sat with a -look upon his face as if bereft of reason. - -"The examination came on, and the upper room, where the court was held, -was crowded to overflowing, all anxious to gain a sight of my father, -though they had known him from boyhood up. Grandpa was there, and close -behind sat or rather crouched my wretched mother. She would not be kept -back, and with a face as white as marble, and hands locked firmly -together, she sat to hear the testimony. Once the counsel for my father -thought to clear him by throwing suspicion upon Heyward, who with a most -foolish expression upon his face had declared that he heard nothing -during the night. People would rather it had been he than Seth Marshall, -and the tide was turning in favor of the latter when Richard Graham was -called to the stand. He was known to be my father's dearest friend, and -the audience waited breathlessly to hear what he would say. He testified -that, having been very restless, he got up about two o'clock in the -morning, and as his window commanded a full view of the bank, he -naturally looked in that direction. The moon was setting, but he could -still discern objects with tolerable distinctness, and he saw a man come -out of the bank, lock the door, put the key in his pocket, and hurry -down the street. My father then wore a light gray coat and cap of the -same color, so did this man, and thinking it must be he, Mr. Graham -called him by name; but if he heard he did not stop. Mr. Graham then -remembered that the day before my father had procured some medicine for -my mother, and had forgotten to take it home. This threw some light upon -the matter, and thinking that mother had probably been taken suddenly -ill and my father had gone for the medicine, Mr. Graham retired again to -rest, and gave it no further thought until the robbery was discovered. - -"'Do you believe the man you saw leaving the bank to have been the -prisoner?' asked the lawyer, and for an instant Mr. Graham hesitated, -for with the white stony face of his early friend upturned to his and -the supplicating eyes of the young wife fixed upon him, how could he -answer yes? But he did, Jessie,--he did it at last. He said, 'I do,' and -over the white face there passed a look of agony which wrung a groan -even from your father's lips, while the pale young creature not far away -rocked to and fro in her hopeless desolation." - -"Oh, Walter, Walter!" cried Jessie, "don't tell me any more. I see now -so plain that fair girl-wife crouching on the floor and my father -testifying against her. How could he?" - -Walter had asked himself that question many a time, and his bosom had -swelled with resentment at the act; but now, when Jessie, too, -questioned the justice of the proceeding, he answered: - -"It was right I suppose,--all right. Mr. Graham believed that to which -he testified, and when he left the stand he wound his arms around my -father's neck and said: - -"'God forgive me, Seth, I couldn't help it.'" - -"But he could," said Jessie; "he needn't have told all he knew." - -Walter made no reply to this; he merely went on with his story: - -"Then the decision came. There was proof sufficient for the case to be -presented before the grand jury, and unless bail could be found to the -amount of one thousand dollars, my father must go to jail, there to -await his trial at the county court, which would hold its next session -in three weeks. When the decision was made known, my father pressed his -hands tightly over his heart for a moment, and then he clasped them to -his ears as the deep stillness in the room was broken by the plaintive -cry: - -"'Save my husband, somebody. Oh, save my darling husband!' - -"The next moment my mother fell at his feet, a crushed, lifeless thing, -her hair falling down her face and a blue, pinched look about her lips, -while my father bent over her, his tears falling like rain upon her -face. Everybody cried, and when the question was asked, 'Who will go the -prisoner's bail?' your father answered aloud: - -"'I will.'" - -"Oh, I am so glad!" gasped Jessie, while Walter continued: - -"With Mr. Graham for security, they let my poor father go home; but a -mighty blow had fallen upon him, benumbing all his faculties; he could -neither think, nor talk, nor act, but would sit all day with mother's -hands in his, gazing into her face and whispering sometimes: - -"'What will my darling do when I am in State prison?' - -"Such would be his fate, everybody said. It could not be avoided, and in -a kind of feverish despair he waited the result. Your father was with -him often, 'keeping watch,' the villagers said; but if so, he was not -vigilant enough, for one dark, stormy night, the last before the -dreadful sitting of the court, when the wind roared and howled about the -old farm-house, and the heavy autumnal rain beat against the windows, my -father drew his favorite chair, the one which always stands in that dark -corner, and which none save you has ever used since then, he drew it, I -say, to my mother's side, and winding his arms about her neck, he said: - -"'Ellen, do you believe me guilty?' - -"'No, never for a moment,' she replied, and he continued: - -"'Heaven bless you, precious one, for that. Teach our child to think the -same, and give it a father's blessing.' - -"My mother was too much bewildered to answer, and with a kiss upon her -lips, my father turned to his father and standing up before him, said: - -"'I know what's in your heart; but, father, I swear to you that I am -innocent. Bless me, father--bless your only boy once more.' - -"Then grandpa put his trembling hand upon the brown locks of his son and -said: - -"'I would lay down my life to know that you are not guilty; but I bless -you all the same, and may God bless you too, my boy!' - -"In the bedroom grandmother lay sick, and kneeling by her side, my -father said to her: - -"'Do you believe I did it?' - -"'No,' she answered faintly, and without his asking it, she gave him her -blessing. - -"He kissed his sister,--kissed Aunt Debby, and then he went away. They -saw his face, white as a corpse, pressed against the window pane, while -his eyes were riveted upon his beautiful young wife,--then the face was -gone, and only the storm went sobbing past the place where he had stood. -All that night the light burned on the table, and they waited his -return, but from that hour to this he has not come back. He could not go -to prison, and so he ran away. Mr. Graham paid the bail, and was heard -to say that he was glad poor Seth escaped. I did not quite understand -the matter when I was a boy, and I almost hated your father for -testifying against him, but I know now he did what he thought was right. -It is said he loved my Aunt Mary, Ellen's mother, and that she loved him -in return, but after this sad affair there arose a coolness between -them. He went to New York and married a more fashionable woman, while -she, too, chose another." - -"Did they ever find the money?" Jessie asked, and Walter replied: - -"Never, though Aunt Debby says that Heyward indulged in a new suit of -clothes soon after, and gave various other tokens of being abundantly -supplied. No one knows where he is now, for he left Deerwood years ago." - -"And your mother," interrupted Jessie, "tell me more of her." - -The night shadows were falling, and she could not see the look of pain -on Walter's face as he replied: - -"For a few days she watched to see father coming back, for suspense was -more terrible than reality, and those who were his friends before said -his going off looked badly. From Boston her proud relatives sent her a -double curse for bringing this disgrace upon them, and then she took her -bed, never to rise again. The first October frosts had fallen when they -laid me in her arms and bade her live for her baby's sake. But five days -after I was born she lay dead beneath that western window where you so -often sit. Then the proud mother relented and came to the funeral, but -she has never been here since. Your father was present, too,--he bought -the monument; he cried over me, and wished that he could fill my -father's place." - -"I wish he could, too," cried the impulsive Jessie, "I wish you were my -brother," and she involuntarily laid her hand in his. "Have you never -heard from your father?" she asked, and Walter replied: - -"Only once. Six months after mother died he wrote to Mr. Graham from -Texas, and that is the very last. But, Jessie, I shall find him. I shall -prove him innocent, and until then there will always be a load in my -heart,--a something which makes me irritable, cross and jealous of those -I love the best, lest they should despise me for what I cannot help." - -"And is that why you speak so coldly to me sometimes when I don't -deserve it?" Jessie asked, twining her snowy fingers about his own. - -Oh, how Walter longed to fold her in his arms and tell her how dear she -was to him, and that because he loved her so much he was oftenest harsh -with her. But he dared not. She would not listen to such words, he knew. -She thought of him as her brother, and he would not disturb the dream, -so he answered her gently: - -"Am I cross to you, Jessie? I do not mean to be, and now that you know -all, I will be so no longer. You do not hate me, do you, because of my -misfortune?" - -"Hate you, Walter! Oh, no! I love,--I mean I like you so much better -than I did when I came up here this afternoon and cried with my face in -the grass. I pity you, Walter, for it seems terrible to live with that -disgrace hanging over you." - -Walter winced at these last words, and Jessie, as if speaking more to -herself than him, continued: - -"I hope Will won't tell grandma who you are, for she is so proud that -she might make me feel very uncomfortable by fretting every time I spoke -to you. Walter," and the tone of Jessie's voice led Walter to expect -some unpleasant remark, "you know father has intended to have you live -with us, but if William tells grandma, it will be better for you to -board somewhere else,--grandma can be very disagreeable if she tries, -and she would annoy us almost to death." - -Jessie was perfectly innocent in all she said, but in spite of his -recent promise Walter felt his old jealousy rising up, and whispering to -him that Jessie spoke for herself rather than her grandmother. With a -great effort, however, he mastered the emotion and replied: - -"It will be better, I think, and I will write to your father at once." - -Jessie little dreamed what it cost Walter thus deliberately to give up -seeing her every day, and living with her beneath the same roof. It had -been the goal to which he had looked forward through all his college -course, for when he entered on his first year Mr. Graham had written: - -"After you are graduated I shall take you into business, and into my own -family, as if you were my son." - -And Jessie herself had vetoed this,--had said it must not be. - -For an instant Walter felt that he would not go to New York at all; but -when he saw how closely Jessie nestled to his side, and heard her say, -"You can come to see me every day, and when I am going to concerts, or -the opera, I shall always send word to you by father," he rejected his -first suspicions as unjust. - -She was not ashamed of him,--she only wished to screen him from her -grandmother's ill nature, and, winding his arm around her, he said: - -"You are a good girl, Jessie, and I'm glad you think of me as a -brother." - -But he was not glad. He did not wish her to be his sister, but he tried -to make himself believe he did, and as in the pines where they sat it -was already very dark, he proposed their returning home. Jessie was -unusually silent during the walk, for she was thinking of Walter's young -mother, and as they passed the grave-yard in the distance, she sighed: - -"Poor dear lady! I don't wonder you are often sad with that memory -haunting you." - -"I should not be sad," he returned, "if I could bring the world to my -opinion; but nearly all except Aunt Debby believe him guilty." - -"Does my father?" asked Jessie, and as Walter replied, "Yes," she -rejoined: "Then I'm afraid I think so too, for father knows; but," she -hastily added, as she felt the gesture of impatience Walter made, "I -like you just the same,--yes, a great deal better than before I heard -the story. It isn't as bad as I supposed, and I am so glad you told it. -Will Bellenger won't make me distrust you again." - -By this time they had reached the house, where the deacon sat smoking -his accustomed pipe, and saying to Walter as he entered: - -"Where are the cows you went after more than three hours ago?" - -Walter colored, and so did Jessie, while the matter-of-fact Aunt Debby -rejoined: - -"Why, Amos, the cows is milked and the cream is nigh about riz." - -That night, after all had retired except the deacon and Walter, the -former said to his grandson: - -"What kept you and Jessie so late?" - -"I was telling her of my father, and why he went away," returned Walter. - -The deacon groaned as he always did when that subject was -mentioned,--then after a moment he added: - -"I am glad it was no worse,--that is, I'm glad you are not betraying Mr. -Graham's trust by making love to his daughter." - -Walter was very pale, but he did not speak, and his grandfather -continued: - -"I am old, Walter, but I have not forgotten the days when I was young; -and remembering my disposition then, I can see why you should love -Jessie Graham. God bless her! She's worthy of any man's best love, and -she's wound herself round my old heart till the sound of her voice is -sweet to me almost as Ellen's; but she isn't for you, Walter. I know Mr. -Graham better than you do. He's noble and good, but very proud, and the -daughter of a millionaire must never marry the son of a poor----" - -"Don't!" cried Walter, catching his grandfather's arm. "I understand it -all,--I know that I am poor, know what the world says of my father, and -I will suffer through all time sooner than ask the bright-faced Jessie -to share one iota of our shame. But were my father innocent, I would -never rest until I made myself a name which even Jessie Graham would not -despise, for I love her, grandpa,--love her better than my life," and as -after this confession he could not look his grandfather in the face, he -stared hard at the candle dying in its socket, as if he would fain read -there some token that what he so much desired would one day come to -pass. - -And he did read it too, for with a last great effort the expiring flame -sent up a flash of light, which shone on Walter's face and that of the -gray-haired man regarding him with a look of tender pity. Then it passed -away, and the darkness fell between them just as the old man said, -mournfully: - -"There is no hope, my boy,--no hope for you." - - - - -CHAPTER VI.--OLD MRS. BARTOW. - - -The good lady sat in her chamber wiping the perspiration from her ruddy -face, and occasionally peering out into the pleasant street, with a -longing desire to escape from her self-imposed prison, and breathe the -air again in her accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it -should be discovered that she was not away from home and enjoying some -little pent-up room in the third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, -too, she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the fresh, green -grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie was really enjoying herself, -without the trouble of dressing three times a day, and then swelling -with vexation because some one else out-did her. - -"If she don't come with William, I mean to go down there and see what -this family are like that she makes such a fuss about," she said. -"Marshall? Marshall? The name sounds familiar, but it isn't likely I -ever knew them. If I supposed I had, I wouldn't stir a step." - -At this point in her soliloquy a servant appeared, saying "Mr. Bellenger -wished to see her," and putting in her teeth, for it tired her to wear -them all the time, and adjusting her lace cap, the old lady went down to -meet the young man, who had just returned from Deerwood. Numberless were -the questions she asked concerning her granddaughter. Was she well? was -she happy? was she sun-burned? were her hands scratched with briers? and -what kind of people were these Marshalls? - -To this last William hastened to reply: - -"Clever country people, very kind to Jessie, and well they may be, for -if I've the least discernment, they hope to have her in their family one -of these days." - -"What can you mean?" and the old lady's salts were brought into frequent -use, while William, in his peculiar way, told her of Walter Marshall, -who he said "was undoubtedly presuming enough to aspire to Jessie's -hand." - -"What, that boy that Richard educated?" Mrs. Bartow asked, growing very -red and very warm withal. - -"Yes," returned William; "but the fact of his being a charity student is -not the worst feature in the case. It pains me greatly to talk upon the -subject, but duty requires me to tell you just who Walter is," and -assuming a half-reluctant, half-mortified tone, Will told Mrs. Bartow -how Walter was connected with himself and the "terrible disgrace" of -which she had written to Jessie in her last letter. - -For a moment the old lady fancied herself choking to death, but she -managed at last to scream: - -"You don't say that he has dared to think of Jessie, the daughter of a -millionaire, and the granddaughter of a----" - -She was too much overcome to finish the sentence, and she sank back in -her chair, while her cap-strings floated up and down with the rapid -motion of her fan. - -"I'll go for her at once," she said, when at last she found her voice. -"I'll see this Mr. Impudence for myself. I'll teach him what is what. -Oh, I hope Mrs. Reeves won't find it out. Don't tell her, Mr. -Bellenger." - -"I am as anxious to conceal the fact as you are," he replied, "for he, -you know, is a relative of mine, although our family do not acknowledge -him." And having done all he came to do, the nice young man departed, -while the greatly disturbed lady began to pack her trunk preparatory to -a start for Deerwood. - -In the midst of her preparations she was surprised by the unexpected -return of Mr. Graham, to whom she at once disclosed the cause of her -distress, asking him "if he wished his daughter to marry Walter -Marshall, whose father was a----" - -She didn't quite know what, for William had not made that point very -clear. - -"I do not wish her to marry any one as yet," returned Mr. Graham, at the -same time asking if Walter had proposed, or shown any signs of so doing. - -"Of course he's shown signs," returned Mrs. Bartow, "but I trust Jessie -has enough of the Stanwood about her to keep him at a proper distance." - -"Enough of the what?" asked Mr. Graham, with the least possible smile -playing about his mouth. - -"Well, enough of the Bartow," returned the lady. "The very idea of -receiving into our family a person of his antecedents!" - -In a few words Mr. Graham gave her his opinion of Walter Marshall, -adding: - -"I do not say that I would like him to marry Jessie,--very likely I -should not,--and still, if I knew that she loved him and he loved her, I -should not think it my duty to oppose them seriously, though I would -rather, of course, that the unfortunate affair of his father's had never -occurred." - -This was all the satisfaction Mrs. Bartow could gain from him, and -doubly strengthened in her determination to remove Jessie from Walter's -society, she started the next morning for Deerwood, reaching there -toward the close of the day succeeding Jessie's interview with Walter in -the pines. - -"Not this tumble-down shanty, surely?" she said to the omnibus driver -when he stopped before the gate of the farm-house. - -"Yes'm, this is Deacon Marshall's," he replied, and mounting his box -again he drove off, while she went slowly up the walk, casting -contemptuous glances at the well-sweep, the smoke-house, the bee-hives, -the hollyhocks, poppies and pinks, which, in spite of herself, carried -her back to a time, years and years and years ago, when she had lived in -just such a place as this, save that it was not so cheerful or so neat. - -Aunt Debby was the first to spy her, and she called to her niece: - -"Why, Mary, just look-a-here! There's a lady all dressed up in her -meetin' clothes, a-comin' in. I wish we had mopped the kitchen floor -to-day. There, she's gone to the front door. I presume the gals has -littered the front hall till it's a sight to behold." - -Mrs. Bartow's loud knock was now distinctly heard, and as Mrs. Howland -had not quite finished her afternoon toilet, Aunt Debby herself went to -answer the summons. Holding fast to her knitting, with the ball rolling -after her, and Jessie's kitten running after that, she presented herself -before her visitor, courtesying very low, and asking if "she'd walk into -the t'other room, or into the kitchen, where it was a great deal -cooler." - -Mrs. Bartow chose the "t'other room," and taking the Boston rocker, -asked "if Miss Graham was staying here?" - -"You mean Jessie," returned Aunt Debby. "It's so cool this afternoon -that she's gone out ridin' hossback in the mountains with Walter and -Ellen. Be you any of her kin?" - -"I'm her grandmother, and have come to take her home," answered the -lady, frowning wrathfully at the idea of Jessie's riding with Walter -Marshall. - -"I want to know!" returned Aunt Debby. "We'll be desput sorry to lose -her jest as Walter has come home, and he thinks so much of her, too." - -Mrs. Bartow was too indignant to speak, but Aunt Debby, who was not at -all suspicious, talked on just the same, praising first Walter, then -Ellen, then Jessie, and then giving an outline history of her whole -family, even including Seth, who she said "allus was a good boy." - -If Aunt Debby expected a return of confidence she was mistaken, for Mrs. -Bartow had nothing to say of her family, and after a little Aunt Debby -began to question her. Was she city-born, and if not, where was she -born? - -"That red mark on your chin makes me think of a girl, Patty Loomis by -name, that I used to know in Hopkinton," she said, and the mark upon the -chin grew redder as she continued: "I did housework there once, in -Squire Fielding's family, and this Patty that I was tellin' you about -done chores in a family close by. She was some younger than me, but I -remember her by that mark, similar to your'n, and because she was -connected to them three Thayers that was hung in York State for killin' -John Love. There was some han'some verses made about it, and I used to -sing the whole of 'em, but my memory's failin' me now. I wonder what's -become of Patty. I haven't thought of her before in an age. I heard that -a rich old widder took her for her own child, and that's all I ever -knew. She was smart as steel, and could milk seven cows while I was -milkin' three. There they come, on the full canter of course. Ellen 'll -get her neck broke some day," and greatly to the relief of Mrs. Bartow -she changed the conversation from Patty Loomis and the three Thayers who -were hung, to the three riders dashing up to the gate, Jessie a little -in advance, with her black curls streaming out from under her riding -hat, and her cheeks glowing with the exercise. - -"Why, grandma!" she exclaimed, as holding up her long skirt, she bounded -into the house, and nearly upset the old lady before she was aware of -her presence. "Where in the world did you come from? Isn't it pleasant -and nice out here?" and throwing off her hat, Jessie sat down by the -window to cool herself after her rapid ride. - -"Why, grandma, you are as cross as two sticks," she said, when Aunt -Debby had left the room, and grandma replied: - -"That's a very lady-like expression. Learned it of Mr. Marshall, I -suppose." - -"No, I didn't," returned Jessie. "I learned it of Will Bellenger when he -was here. It's his favorite expression. Did he bring you my note?" - -"Certainly; and I've come down to see what the attraction is which keeps -you here so contentedly." - -"Oh, it's so nice," returned Jessie, and Mrs. Bartow rejoined: - -"I should think it was. Who ever heard of a bed in the parlor -now-a-days?" and she cast a rueful glance at the snowy mountain in the -corner. - -"That's a little out of date, I know," answered Jessie; "but the house -is rather small, and they keep the spare bed in here for such visitors -as you are. The sheets are all of Aunt Debby's make, she spun the linen -on a wheel that treads so funny. Did you ever see a little wheel, -grandma?" - -The question reminded Mrs. Bartow of Patty Loomis and the three Thayers, -and she did not reply directly to it, but said instead: - -"What did you call that woman?" - -"Aunt Debby Marshall, the deacon's sister," returned Jessie, and Mrs. -Bartow relapsed into a thoughtful mood, from which she was finally -aroused by hearing Walter's voice in the kitchen. - -Instantly she glanced at Jessie, who involuntarily blushed; and then the -old lady commenced the battle at once, telling Jessie plainly that "she -had come down to take her home before she disgraced them all by -suffering a boy of Walter Marshall's reputation to make love to her." - -"Walter never thought of making love to me," returned the astonished and -slightly indignant Jessie; "and if he had it wouldn't have been -anybody's business but mine and father's. He isn't a boy, either. He's a -splendid-looking man. Pa thinks the world of him; and he knows, too, -about that old affair, which wasn't half as bad as Will and Mrs. Reeves -seem to think. Walter told it to me last night up in the pines, and I'll -tell it to you. It wasn't murder nor anything like it. Now, even I -shouldn't wish it said that any of my friends were hung." - -"Hung!" repeated the old lady. "Who said anybody's friends were hung? -It's false!" and the red mark around the lip wore a scarlet hue. - -"Of course it's false," answered Jessie. "That's what I said. Nobody -knows for certain that he stole, either," and forgetting her own belief, -founded on her father's, Jessie tried to prove that Seth Marshall was as -innocent as Walter himself had declared him to be. - -"Whether he's guilty or not," returned Mrs. Bartow, "you are going home, -and you're to have nothing to say to Walter. It would sound pretty, -wouldn't it, for Mrs. Reeves to be telling that Jessie Graham liked a -poor charity boy?" - -Jessie was proud, and the last words grated harshly, but she would stand -by Walter, and she replied: - -"Mrs. Reeves forever! I believe you'd stop breathing if she said it was -fashionable. I wonder who she was in her young days. Somebody not half -so good as Walter, I dare say. I mean to ask Aunt Debby. She has lived -since the flood, and knows the history of everybody that ever was born -in New England, or out of it either, for that matter." - -Mrs. Bartow was not inclined to doubt this after her own experience, and -as in case there was anything about Mrs. Reeves, she wished to know it, -she secretly hoped Jessie would carry her threat into execution. Just -then they were summoned to supper, and following her granddaughter into -the pleasant sitting-room, Mrs. Bartow frowned majestically upon Walter, -bowed coldly to the other members of the family, and then took her seat, -thinking to herself: - -"The boy has a little of the Bellenger look, and, if anything, is -handsomer than William." - -The tea being passed, with the biscuit and butter and honey, and the -cheese contemptuously refused by the city guest, Jessie said to Aunt -Debby: - -"Did you ever know anybody by the name of Gregory? That was Mrs. Reeves' -maiden name, wasn't it, grandma?" - -Mrs. Bartow nodded, and Aunt Debby, after withdrawing within herself for -a moment, came out again and said: - -"Yes, I knew Tim and Ben Gregory in Spencer. Ben was the best of the -two, but he wa'n't none too likely. He had six boys, and Tim had six -gals." - -"What were their names?" asked Jessie, and Aunt Debby replied: - -"There was Zeruah, and Lyddy, and Charlotty----" - -"That'll do!" cried Jessie, her delight dancing in her eyes. "What was -their father, and where are the girls now?" - -"Their father was a tin peddler, and what he didn't get that way folks -said he used to steal, though they never proved it ag'in him. Charlotty -and I was 'bout of an age." - -"I knew she was older than she pretended," thought Mrs. Bartow, and in -her joy at having probably discovered her dear friend's genealogy, she -took two biscuits instead of one. - -"She worked in Lester factory a spell, and then, after she was quite -along in years, say thirty or more, she married somebody who was a -storekeeper, and went somewhere, and I believe I've heard that she -finally moved to New York." - -"Can't you think of her husband's name," persisted Jessie, and Aunt -Debby replied: - -"Twan't very far from Reed, but it's so long ago, and I've been through -so much since, that I can't justly remember." - -Neither was it necessary that she should, for Mrs. Bartow and Jessie -were satisfied with what she could remember, and nothing doubting that -Charlotte Gregory was now the exceedingly aristocratic and purse-proud -Mrs. Reeves, whose granddaughter was a kind of rival to Jessie, they -returned to the parlor, Mrs. Bartow repeating at intervals: - -"A tin peddler and a factory girl, and she holding her head so high." - -"She's none the worse for that, if she'd behave herself, and not put on -such airs," said Jessie. "I wouldn't wonder if some of my ancestors were -tinkers or chimney sweeps. I mean to ask Aunt Debby. Let's see. Your -name wasn't really Martha Stanwood, was it? Weren't you an adopted -child?" - -"Jessie!" and in the startled lady's voice there was such unmitigated -alarm and distress that Jessie turned quickly to look at her. "Do let -that old crone alone. If there's anything I hate it's a person that -knows everybody's history, they are so disagreeable, and make one so -uncomfortable, though I'm glad to be sure, that I've found out who Mrs. -Reeves was. Just to think how she talks about high birth and all -that,--born in a garret, I dare say." - -"She don't put on a bit more than you do," said the saucy Jessie, -thinking to herself that she would some time quiz Aunt Debby concerning -her grandmother's past. - -That night, after Jessie had retired, Mrs. Bartow asked for a few -moments' conversation with Walter, to whom she had scarcely spoken the -entire evening Quick to detect a slight, he assumed his haughtiest -bearing, and rather overawed the old lady, who fidgetted in her chair, -and pulled at her cap, and then began: - -"It is very unpleasant for me to say to you what I must, but duty to -Miss Graham, and justice to you, demands that I should speak. From -things which I have heard and seen, I infer that you,--or rather I'm -afraid that you,--in short, it's just possible you are thinking too much -of Miss Graham," and having gotten thus far, the old lady gave a sigh of -relief, while the young man, with a proud inclination of the head, said -coolly: - -"And what then?" - -This roused her, and muttering to herself, "Such impudence!" she -continued: - -"I should suppose your own sense would tell you what then! Of course -nothing can ever come of it, for even were you her equal in rank and -wealth, you must know there is a stain upon your name which must never -be imparted to the Grahams." - -"Madam," said Walter, "you will please confine your remarks to me -personally, and say nothing of my father." - -"Well, then," returned the lady. "You, personally, are not a fit husband -for Jessie." - -"Have I ever asked to be her husband?" he said. - -"Not in words, perhaps, but you show it in your manner both to me and -others, and this is what brought me here. Jessie is young and easily -influenced, and might possibly, in an unguarded moment, do as foolish a -thing as your mother did." - -There was a feeling of intense delight beaming in Walter's eyes, for the -idea that Jessie could in any way be induced to marry him was a blissful -one; but it quickly passed off as Mrs. Bartow continued: - -"It would break her father's heart should she thus throw herself away, -while you would prove yourself most ungrateful for all he has done for -you." - -This was touching Walter in a tender point, and the pride of his nature -flashed in his dark eyes as he replied: - -"Let me know Mr. Graham's wishes, and they shall be obeyed." - -"Well, then," returned the lady, "I asked him if he would like to have -his daughter marry you, and he replied--" she hesitated before uttering -the falsehood, while Walter bent forward eagerly to listen. "He said he -certainly would not, and with his approbation I came down to remove her -from temptation." - -Walter was very white, and something like a groan escaped him, for he -felt that Jessie was indeed wrested from him, and he began to see that -he had always cherished a secret hope of winning her some day. But the -dream was over now. She, he knew, would never disobey her father, while -he himself would not return the many kindnesses received from his -benefactor with ingratitude. - -"Tell Mr. Graham from me," he said at last, almost in a whisper, "that -he need have no fears, for I pledge you my word of honor that I will -never ask Jessie Graham to be my wife, unless the time should come when -I am by the world acknowledged her equal, and when I promise this, Mrs. -Bartow, I tear out, as it were, the dearest, purest affection of my -heart, for I do love Jessie Graham; I see it now as clearly as I see -that I must kill that love. Not because you ask it of me, Madam," and he -assumed a haughty tone, "but because it is the wish of the best friend I -ever knew. He need not fear when I am with her in New York. I will keep -my place, whatever that may be, and when I call on Jessie, as I shall -sometimes do, it will be a brother's call, and nothing more. Will you be -satisfied with this?" - -"Yes, more than satisfied," and Mrs. Bartow offered him her hand. - -He took it mechanically, and as he turned away the lady thought to -herself: - -"He is a noble fellow, and so handsome, too, but William looks almost as -well. Didn't he give it up quick when I mentioned Mr. Graham. I wonder -if that was a lie I told. I only left off a little, that was all," and -framing excuses for her duplicity, the old lady retired for the night. - -They were to leave in the morning, and Jessie seemed unusually sad when -she came out to breakfast, for the inmates of the farm-house were very -dear to her. - -"You'll come to New York soon, won't you?" she said to Walter, when, -after breakfast, she joined him under the maple tree. - -At the sound of her voice he started, and looking down into her bright, -sunny face, felt a thrill of pain. Involuntarily he took her hand in -his, and said: - -"I have been thinking that I may not come at all." - -"Why, Walter, yes you will; father will be so disappointed. I believe he -anticipates it even more than I." - -"But your grandmother," he suggested, and Jessie rejoined: - -"Don't mind grandma; she's always fidgetty if anybody looks at me, but -when she sees that we really and truly are brother and sister, she'll -get over it." - -There was a tremulous tone in Jessie's voice, as she said this, and it -fell very sweetly on Walter's ear, for it said to him that he might -possibly be something more than a brother to the beautiful girl who -stood before him with blushing cheeks and half-averted eyes. - -"Jessie, Jessie!" called Mrs. Bartow from the house, and Jessie ran in -to finish packing her trunks and don her traveling dress. - -Once, as Aunt Debby slipped into her satchel a paper of "doughnuts and -cheese, to save buying a dinner," Jessie could not forbear saying: - -"Oh, Aunt Debby! I think I know that Charlotty Gregory, who used to live -in Leicester. She's Mrs. Reeves now, and the greatest lady in New York; -rides in her carriage with colored coachman and footman in livery, wears -a host of diamonds, and lives in a brownstone house up town." - -"Wall, if I ever," Aunt Debby exclaimed, sitting down in her surprise on -Mrs. Bartow's bonnet. "Reeves was the name, come to think. Drives a -nigger, did you say? She used to be as black as one herself, but a -clever, lively gal for all of that. With her first earnin's in the -factory she bought her mother a calico gown, and her sister Betsey a -pair of shoes." - -"Betsey," repeated Jessie, turning to her grandmother, "that must be -Mrs. Reeves' invalid sister, whom Charlotte calls Aunt Lizzie. Very few -people ever see her." - -"Wa'n't over bright," whispered Aunt Debby, continuing aloud: "How I'd -like to see Miss Reeves once more. Give her my regrets, and tell her if -I should ever come to the city I shall call on her; but she mustn't feel -hurt if I don't. I'm getting old fast." - -Jessie laughed aloud as she fancied Mrs. Reeves' amazement at receiving -Aunt Debby's regrets, and as the omnibus was by that time at the door, -she hastened her preparations, and soon stood at the gate, bidding her -friends good-by. For an instant Walter held her hand in his, but his -manner was constrained, and Jessie bit her lip to keep back the tears -which finally found a lodgment on Ellen's neck. The two young girls were -tenderly attached, and both wept bitterly at parting, Jessie crying for -Ellen and Walter, too, and Ellen for Jessie and the man whom she, ere -long, would meet. - -"What shall I tell Will for you?" Jessie asked, leaning from the omnibus -and looking in Ellen's face, which had never been so white and thin -before. - -From the maple tree above her head a withered leaf came rustling down, -and fell upon Ellen's hair. Brushing it away, she answered mournfully: - -"Tell him the leaves are beginning to fade." - -"That's a strange message for her to send, but she speaks the truth," -Walter thought, and after the omnibus had rolled away, and he walked -slowly to the house, he felt that for him more than the leaves were -fading,--that the blossoms of hope which he had nurtured in his heart -were torn from their roots, and dying beneath the chilly breath of -fashion and caste. - - - - -CHAPTER VII.--HUMAN NATURE. - - -It was the night of Charlotte Reeves' grand party, which had been talked -about for weeks, and more than one passer-by paused in the keen February -air to look at the brilliantly-lighted house, where the song, the -flirtation, the dance, and the gossip went on, and to which, at a late -hour, Mrs. Bartow came, and with her Jessie Graham. Walter accompanied -them, for Mr. Graham had asked him to be their escort, and Walter never -refused a request from one who, since his residence in the city, had -been to him like a father rather than a friend. - -Mr. Graham had evinced much surprise when told that Walter would rather -some other house should be his home, but Jessie, too, had said that it -was better so, and looking into her eyes, which told more tales than she -supposed, Mr. Graham saw that Walter was not indifferent to his only -child, nor was he displeased that it was so, and when Walter came to the -city he found to his surprise that he was not to be the clerk, but the -junior partner of his friend, who treated him with a respect and -thoughtful kindness which puzzled him greatly. Especially was he -astonished when Mr. Graham, as he often did, asked him to go with Jessie -to the places where he could not accompany her. - -"He wishes to show me," he thought, "that after what I said to Mrs. -Bartow, he dare trust his daughter with me as if I were her brother," -and Walter felt more determined than ever not to betray the trust, but -to treat Jessie as a friend and nothing more. - -So he called occasionally at the house, where he often found William -Bellenger, and compelled himself to listen in silence to the flattering -speeches his cousin made to Jessie, who, a good deal piqued at Walter's -apparent coldness, received them far more complacently than she would -otherwise have done, and so the gulf widened between them, while in the -heart of each there was a restless pain, which neither the gay world in -which Jessie lived, nor yet the busy one where Walter passed his days, -could dissipate. He had absented himself from Jessie's "come-out party," -and for this offense the young lady had been sorely indignant. - -"She wanted Charlotte Reeves and all the girls to see him, and then to -be treated that way was perfectly horrid," and the beautiful belle -pouted many a day over the young man's obstinacy. - -But Charlotte Reeves did see him at last, and when she learned that he -was Mr. Graham's partner, and much esteemed by that gentleman, she -partially took him up as a card to be played whenever she wished to -annoy William Bellenger, who kept an eye on her in case he should lose -Jessie. The relationship between the two was not known, for Walter had -no desire to speak of it, and as William vainly fancied it might reflect -discredit on himself, he, too, kept silent on the subject, while Mrs. -Bartow, having received instructions both from Jessie and her father, -never hinted to her bosom friend and deadliest enemy, Mrs. Reeves, that -the young Marshall whom Charlotte was patronizing, and who was noticed -by all for his gentlemanly bearing and handsome face, was in any way -connected with the Bellenger disgrace. - -After her return from Saratoga, Mrs. Reeves had been sick for several -months, and at the time of the party was still an invalid, and claimed -the privilege of sitting during the evening. Consequently Mrs. Bartow -had not yet found a favorable opportunity for wounding her as she -intended doing, and when, on the evening of the party, she entered the -crowded rooms, she made her way to the sofa, and greeting the lady with -her blandest words, told her how delighted she was to see her in society -again, how much she had been missed, and all the other compliments which -meant worse than nothing. Then taking a mental inventory of the -different articles which made up her dear friend's dress and comparing -them with her own, she set her costly fan in motion and watched to see -which received the more attention,--Charlotte Reeves or Jessie. The -latter certainly looked the best, as, arm in arm with Walter, she walked -through the parlor, oblivious to all else in her delight at seeing him -appear so much like himself as he did to-night. - -"It's such a pity he's poor," said Mrs. Reeves, as he was passing. "Do -you know I think him by far the most distinguished looking man in the -room, always excepting, of course, Mr. Bellenger," and she nodded -apologetically to a little pale-faced lady sitting beside her on the -sofa. - -This lady she had not seen fit to introduce to her dear friend, who had -scanned her a moment with her glass, and then pronounced her "somebody." -Twice Walter and Jessie passed, stopping the second time, while the -latter received from her grandmother the whispered injunction "not to -walk with him until everybody talked." - -"Pshaw!" was Jessie's answer, while Mrs. Reeves slyly congratulated Mr. -Marshall on his good luck in having the belle of the evening so much to -himself, and as they stood there thus the face of the little silent lady -flashed with a sudden light, and touching Mrs. Reeves when they were -gone, she said: - -"Who was that young man? You called him Marshall, didn't you?" - -"Yes, Walter Marshall, and he is Mr. Graham's partner. You know of Mr. -Graham,--people call him a millionaire, but my son says he don't believe -it." - -This last was lost upon the little lady, who cared nothing for Mr. -Graham, and who continued: - -"Where did he come from?" - -"Really, I don't know. Perhaps Mrs. Bartow can enlighten you," and Mrs. -Reeves went through with a form of introduction, speaking the stranger's -name so low, that in the surrounding hum it was entirely lost on Mrs. -Bartow, who bowed, and briefly stated that Walter was from Deerwood, -Mass. - -The lady's hands worked nervously together, and when Walter again drew -near, the white, thin face looked wistfully after him, while the lips -moved as if they would call him back. He was disengaged at last. Jessie -had another gallant in the person of William Bellenger, Mrs. Bartow's -fan moved faster than before, and Mrs. Reeves was about to make some -remark to her companion, when the latter rose, and crossing over to -where Walter stood, said to him in a low, pleasant voice: - -"Excuse me, Mr. Marshall, but would you object to walking with me,--an -old lady?" - -Walter started, and looking earnestly into the dark eyes, which were -full of tears, offered her his arm, and the two were soon lost amid the -gay throng. - -"Who is she? I didn't understand the name," Mrs. Bartow asked, her lip -dropping suddenly, as Mrs. Reeves replied: - -"Why, that's the honorable Mrs. Bellenger, returned from a ten years' -residence abroad." - -"Mrs. Bellenger," Mrs. Bartow repeated. "Is it possible? I have always -had a great desire to make her acquaintance. How plain, and yet how -elegantly she dresses." - -"She is not the woman she used to be," returned Mrs. Reeves. "She is -very much changed, and they say that during the last year of her sojourn -in London she spent her time in distributing tracts among the poor, and -all that sort of thing. I wonder what she wants of Mr. Marshall. Wasn't -it queer the way she introduced herself to him?" - -"Very," Mrs. Bartow said; but she thought, "not strange at all," and she -was half tempted to tell her friend the relationship existing between -the two. - -This she would perhaps have done had not Mrs. Reeves at that moment -directed her attention to William and Jessie, saying of the former that -he seemed very unhappy. - -"The fact is," she whispered, confidentially, "he never appears at ease -unless he is somewhere near Charlotte. I think he monopolizes her -altogether too much. I tell her so too. But she only laughs, and says he -don't go with her any more than with Jessie Graham, though everybody -knows he does. He likes Jessie, of course, but Charlotte is his first -choice," and the old lady glanced complacently toward the spot where her -sprightly granddaughter stood surrounded by a knot of admirers, each of -whom had an eye to her father's coffers as well as to herself. - -"The wretch!" thought Mrs. Bartow. "Just as though William preferred -that great, long-necked thing to Jessie; but I'll be even with her yet. -I'll be revenged when Mrs. Bellenger comes back," and the fan moved -rapidly as Mrs. Bartow thought how crest-fallen her dear friend would be -when she said what she meant to say to her. - -Meantime Mrs. Bellenger had led Walter to a little ante-room where they -would be comparatively free from observation, and sitting down upon an -ottoman, she bade him, too, be seated. He complied with her request, and -then waited for her to speak, wondering much who she was, and why she -had sought this interview with him. As Mrs. Reeves had said, Mrs. -Bellenger had for the last ten years resided in different parts of -Europe. She had gone there with her husband and only surviving daughter, -both of whom she had buried, one among the Grampian Hills, and the other -upon the banks of the blue Rhine. Her youngest son, who was still -unmarried, had joined her there, but he had become dissipated, and -eighteen months before her return to America she had lain him in a -drunkard's grave. With a breaking heart she returned to her lonely home -in London, dating from that hour the commencement of another and better -life, and now there was not in the whole world an humbler or more -consistent Christian than the once haughty Mrs. Bellenger. Many and many -a time, when away over the sea, had her thoughts gone back to her -youngest born, the gentle brown-eyed Ellen, whom she had disowned -because the man she chose was poor, and in bitterness of heart she had -cried: - -"Oh, that I had her with me now!" - -Then, as she remembered the helpless infant which she had once held for -a brief moment upon her lap, her heart yearned toward him with all a -mother's love, and she said to herself: - -"I will find the boy, and it may be he will comfort my old age." - -On her return to Boston she went to the house of William's father, but -everything there was cold and ostentatious. They greeted her warmly, it -is true, and paid her marked attention, but she suspected they did it -for the money she had in her possession, for the family was extravagant -and deeply involved in debt. Once she asked if they knew anything of -Ellen's child, and her son replied that he believed he was a clerk of -some kind in New York, but none of the family had ever seen him save -Will, who had met him once or twice, and who spoke of him as having a -little of the Bellenger look and bearing. - -Then she came to New York and found her grandson Will, who was less her -favorite than ever when she heard how sneeringly he spoke of Walter. -From his remarks, she did not expect to meet the latter at the party, -but she would find him next day, she said, and when he entered the room -she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to notice him, but when he -passed her with Jessie she started, for there was in his face a look -like her dead daughter. - -"Can it be that handsome young man is Ellen's child?" she said, and she -waited anxiously till he appeared again. - -He stopped before her then, and with a beating heart she listened to -what they called him, and then asked who he was. - -"It is my boy,--it is," she murmured between her quivering lips, and as -soon as she saw that he was free she joined him, as we have seen, and -led him to another room. - -For a moment she hesitated, as if uncertain what to say, then, as they -were left alone, she began: - -"My conduct may seem strange to you, but I cannot help it. Twenty-five -years ago a sweet girlish voice called me mother, and the face of her -who called me thus was much like yours, young man. She left me one -summer morning, and our house was like a tomb without her; but she never -came back again, and when I saw her next she lay in her coffin. She was -too young to be lying there, for she was scarcely twenty. She died with -the shadow of my anger resting on her heart, for when I heard she had -married one whom the world said was not her equal, I cast her off, I -said she was not mine, and from that day to this the worm of remorse has -been gnawing at my heart, for I hear continually the dying message they -said she left for me: 'Tell mother to love my baby for the sake of the -love she once bore me.' I didn't do it. I steeled my proud heart even -against the little boy. But I'm yearning for him now,--yearning for that -child to hold up my feeble hands,--to guide my trembling feet and smooth -my pathway down into the valley which I must tread ere long." - -She paused, and covering her face, wept aloud. Glancing hurriedly -around, Walter saw that no one was very near, and going up to her, he -wound his arm round her, and whispered in her ear: - -"My mother's mother,--my grandmother,--I never expected this from you." - -Before Mrs. Bellenger could reply, footsteps were heard approaching, and -William appeared with Jessie. He had told her of his grandmother's -unexpected arrival that morning, and when she expressed a wish to see -her, he started in quest of her at once. He knew that he was not a -favorite with her, but she surely would like Jessie, and that might make -her more lenient toward himself; so he had sought for her everywhere, -learning at last from Mrs. Bartow that she had gone off with Walter. - -"Upon my word," he thought, "he has commenced his operations soon," and -a sudden fear came over him lest Walter should be preferred to himself -by the rich old lady. - -And this suspicion was not in the least diminished by the position of -the parties when he came suddenly upon them. - -"He is playing his cards well," he said, involuntarily, while Jessie was -conscious of a feeling of pleasure at seeing Walter thus acknowledged by -his grandmother. - -With a tolerably good grace, Will introduced his companion, his spirits -rising when he saw how pleasantly and kindly his grandmother received -them both. Once, as they stood together talking, Mrs. Bellenger spoke of -Deerwood, where her daughter was buried, and instantly over William's -face there flitted the same uneasy look which Mrs. Reeves had seen and -imputed to his desire to be with Charlotte. - -"Have you heard from Miss Howland recently?" he asked Walter, who -replied: - -"I heard some three weeks since, and she was then about as usual. She is -always feeble in the winter, though I believe they think her worse this -season than she has ever been before." - -William thought of a letter received a few days before, the contents of -which had written the look upon his face which Mrs. Reeves had noticed, -and had prompted him to ask the question he did. - -"Poor Ellen!" sighed Jessie. "I fear she's not long for this world." - -"What did you call her?" Mrs. Bellenger asked, and Walter replied: - -"Ellen, my mother's namesake, and my cousin." - -"I shall see her," returned the lady, "for I am going to Deerwood -by-and-by." - -William was going, too, but he would rather not meet his grandmother -there, and he said to her, indifferently, as it were: - -"When will you go?" - -"In two or three weeks," she answered, and satisfied that she would not -then interfere with him, he offered Jessie his arm a second time and -walked away, hearing little of what was passing around him, and caring -less, for the words "Oh, William, I am surely dying! Won't you come?" -rang in his ears like a funeral knell. - -For a long time Mrs. Bellenger talked with Walter, asking him at last of -his father, and if any news had been heard of him. - -"It does not matter," she said, when he replied in the negative. "I have -outlived all that foolish pride, and love you just the same." - -Her words were sweet and soothing to Walter, and he did not care much -now even if William did keep Jessie continually at his side, walking -frequently past the door where he could see them. Once, as they passed, -Mrs. Bellenger remarked: - -"Miss Graham is a beautiful young woman. Is she engaged to William?" - -"No, no! oh, no!" and in the voice Mrs. Bellenger learned all she wished -to know. - -"Pardon me," she continued, taking Walter's hand, "pardon the liberty, -but you love Jessie Graham," and her mild eyes look gently into his. - -"Hopelessly," he answered, and his grandmother rejoined: - -"Not hopelessly, my child; for as one woman can read another, so I saw -upon her face that which told me she cared only for you. Be patient and -wait," and with another pleasant smile she arose, saying to him, -laughingly: "I am going to acknowledge you now. You say they do not know -that my blood is flowing in your veins," and she passed again into the -crowd, who fell back at her approach, for by this time every body knew -who she was, and numerous were the surmises as to what kept her so long -with young Marshall. - -The matter was soon explained, for she only needed to say to those about -her, "This is my grandson,--my daughter Ellen's child," for the news to -spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still seated on her -throne. Greatly she wondered how it could be, and why William had not -told her before; then, as she remembered her investigations with regard -to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to complete the tale, -leaving out the robbery, and merely saying that Mr. Marshall's poverty -had been the chief objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger. -This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother for a prop, -Walter could not be trampled down, and she meant to be the first to hold -him up. - -In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was enumerating Jessie's -many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard the news, and answered very carelessly: - -"Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man," and as -she spoke, she wondered if he would share with William in his -grandmother's property. - -"Even if he does," she thought, "William will have the most, for his -father is very wealthy,--then there is the name of Bellenger, which is -something," and having thus balanced the two, and found the heavier -weight in William's favor, she looked after him, as he led Jessie away -to the dancing-room, with a most benignant expression, particularly as -she saw that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too. - -"I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing to be with Charlotte?" -she thought, and she longed for the moment when she could pay the lady -for her ill-natured remarks. - -By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her seat by Mrs. Reeves, and -thinking this a favorable opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near -them and began: - -"By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any one in Leicester, -Massachusetts, by the name of Marshall--Debby Marshall, I mean?" - -Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as if that which she had -long feared and greatly dreaded had come upon her at last. Then, -resuming her composure, she repeated the name: - -"Debby Marshall?--Debby Marshall? I certainly do not number her among my -acquaintances." - -"I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs. Bartow, "particularly as -she was malicious enough to say that your father was a tin peddler." - -"A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making a furious attack upon her -smelling salts. "I believe I'm going to faint. The idea! It's perfectly -preposterous! Where is this mischief-maker?" and the black eyes flashed -round the room, as if in search of the offending Aunt Debby. - -"Pray don't distress yourself," said the delighted Mrs. Bartow. "Of -course it isn't true, and if it were, it's safe with me. I met this -woman last summer in Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced to -mention your name, as I frequently do when away from you, and this -Debby, who is an old maid, seventy at least, said she used to know a -factory girl,--Charlotty Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a -man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called him. It's a -remarkable coincidence, isn't it, that there should be two Charlotte Ann -Gregorys, with sister Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of -the same name and come to New York. But nothing is strange now-a-days, -so don't let it worry you. This old Debby is famous for knowing -everybody's history." - -Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this last remark. If Debby -Marshall knew everybody's history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow's, and -the disconcerted lady hastened to ask: - -"Where did you say she lived?" - -"In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos Marshall, about half a mile -from the village," returned the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow. - -Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon the tablets of her -memory, and then, in a low voice of entreaty, said to her friend: - -"You know it is all false, as well as you know that there are, in this -city, envious people who would delight in just such scandal, and I trust -you will not repeat it." - -"Certainly,--certainly," said Mrs. Bartow, but whether the certainly -were affirmative or negative was doubtful. - -Mrs. Reeves accepted the latter, and then turned to Mrs. Bellenger to -remove from her mind any unpleasant impression she might have received. -This, however, was wholly unnecessary, for Mrs. Bellenger was too much -absorbed in her own reflections to hear what Mrs. Bartow had been -saying, and to Mrs. Reeves' remark, "I trust you do not credit the -ridiculous story," she answered: - -"What story? I heard nothing." - -Thus relieved in that quarter, Mrs. Reeves became rather more composed, -and for the remainder of the evening addressed Mrs. Bartow as "my dear," -complimenting her once or twice upon her youthful looks, and saying -several flattering things of Jessie. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII.--A RETROSPECT. - - -The flowers in the garden and the leaves on the trees were withered and -dead. The luxuriant hop-vine, which grew about the farm-house door, had -yielded its bountiful store, and loosened from its summer fastening -trailed upon the ground. The cows no longer fed among the hills, the -winter stores had been gathered in, there was a thin coating of ice upon -the pond, and a dark, cold mist upon the mountain. There was a pallid -hue upon Ellen's cheek, and a look of strange unrest in her eyes as day -after day, all through the autumn time, she watched for the coming of -one who had said, "I will be with you when the forest casts its leaf." - -The time appointed had come, and the brown leaves were "heaped in the -hollow of the wood" or tossed by the autumn wind, and the pain in -Ellen's heart grew heavier to bear, as morning after morning she said: - -"He will come to-day," and night after night she wept at his delay. - -But there came a day at last, a bright November day, when she saw him in -the distance, and with a cry of joy she buried her face in the pillows -of the lounge, saying to her mother: - -"I am faint and sick." - -She lay very white and still, while kind Aunt Debby chafed her clammy -hands, and when they said to her, "Mr. Bellenger is here," she simply -answered, "Is he?" for she had never told them that she expected him. - -He said he was passing through the town, and for old acquaintance sake -had stopped over one train, and the unsuspecting family believed it all, -and when he said that Ellen stayed too much indoors, that a ride would -do her good, they offered no remonstrance, but wrapping her up in warm -shawls sent her out with him upon the mountain, where he told her how, -through all the dreary months of his absence, one face alone had shone -on him, one voice had sounded in his ear, and that the voice which now -said to him so mournfully: - -"I almost feared you had forgotten me, and it seemed so dreadful after -all were gone, Walter, Jessie, and everybody. Forgive me, William, but -when I remembered Jessie's sparkling beauty and knew she was a belle, I -feared you would not come." - -William Bellenger was conscious of a pang, for he knew how terribly he -was deceiving the trusting girl sitting there upon the rock beside him, -the color coming and going upon her marble cheek, and a tear dimming the -luster of her eyes. On his way thither he had resolved to rouse her from -the dream, to tell her she must forget him, but when he looked upon her -unearthly beauty, and saw how she clung to him, he could not do it. So -when she spoke of Jessie as one who might rival her, he said: - -"Yes, Miss Graham is charming, but believe me, Nellie, I can love but -one, and that one you." - -The bright round spot deepened on her cheek, and William felt for an -instant that had he the means, he would bear the poor invalid away to a -sunnier clime, and by his tender care nurse her back to health. But he -had not. There were bills on bills which he could not pay. His father, -too, was straitened, for old Mr. Bellenger had left his entire fortune -by will to his wife, who had refused to sanction the reckless -extravagance of her son's family. A rich bride, then, must cancel -William's debts, and as Ellen was not rich, he dared not talk to her of -marriage, but whispered only of the love he felt for her. And Ellen grew -faint and chill listening to this idle mockery, for the November wind -blew cold upon the bleak mountain side. It was in vain that William -wrapped both shawl and arm about her, hugging her closer to him until -her golden hair rested on his bosom. He could not make her warm, and at -last he took her home, telling her by the way that he would come again -ere long and stay with her a week. - -"I will explain to your mother then," he said, "and until that time -you'd better say nothing of the matter, lest it should reach the ears of -my proud family. I would write to you, but that would create surprise. -So you'll have to be content with knowing that I do most truly love -you." - -And Ellen tried to be content, though after he was gone she cried -herself to sleep, and for a time forgot her wretchedness. She had taken -a severe cold upon the mountain, and for many weeks she stayed indoors, -thinking through all the long winter evenings of William, and wishing he -would come again, or send her some message. - -At last, as her desire to see him grew stronger, she resolved to write -and bid him come, for she was dying. - -"I know that it is so," she wrote. "I see it in the faces of my friends, -I hear it in my mother's voice, I feel it in my failing strength. Yes, I -am surely dying, won't you come? It is but a little thing for you, and -it will do me so much good. Do you really love me, William? I have -sometimes feared you didn't as I loved you. I sometimes thought you -might be glad when the grass was growing on my grave, because you then -would have no dread lest your proud relatives should know how you paused -a moment to look at the frail blossom fading by the wayside. If it is -so, William, don't tell it to me now; let me die believing that you -really do love me. Come and tell me so once more, let me hear your voice -again; then when I am dead, and they go to lay me down in the very spot -where you found me sleeping that summer afternoon, you needn't join the -mourners, for the world might ask why you were there. But when I'm -buried, William, and the candles are lighted in my dear old home, then -go alone where Nellie lies. It will make you a better man to pray above -my grave, and if you know in your secret heart that you have been -deceiving me, God will forgive you then. I am growing tired, William, -there's a blur before my eyes and I cannot see. Come quickly, William, -do." - -This letter Ellen carried to the office herself, for she sometimes rode -as far as the village with her grandfather, and thus none of the family -knew that it was sent, or guessed why, for many days, her face grew -brighter with a joyous, expectant look, which Aunt Debby said "came -straight from Heaven." The letter reached William just as he was -dressing for Charlotte Reeves' party, and tearing open the envelope, he -read it with dim eye and quivering lip, for the writer had a stronger -hold on his affections than he had at first supposed. - -"I will go and see her," he said to himself, "though I can carry her no -comfort unless I fabricate some lie. Poor, darling Nellie! It will not -be a falsehood to tell her that I love her best of all the world, even -though I cannot make her my wife. Perhaps she don't expect me to do -that," and crushing into his pocket the letter, stained with Nellie's -tears and his, he went, as we have seen, to the house of festivity, -mingling in the gay scene, and letting no opportunity pass for showing -to those around that Jessie Graham was the chosen one, though all the -while his thoughts were away in Deerwood, where the dying Nellie waited -so anxiously his coming, and whither in a few days he went, taking care -to say to Jessie that he was going into the country, and might possibly -visit the farm-house before he returned. - - - - -CHAPTER IX.--NELLIE. - - -The winter sun was setting, and its fading light fell upon the golden -hair and white, beautiful face of Nellie, who lay upon the lounge in the -room where Walter's mother died, and which Jessie now called hers. She -was weaker than usual, and the hectic spot upon her cheek was larger and -brighter, while her eyes shone like diamonds as she looked wistfully in -the direction of the village, where the smoke of the New York train was -slowly dying away. - -"Mother," she said at last, "isn't the omnibus coming over the hill?" - -"Yes," Mrs. Howland answered. "Possibly it is Walter, though I did not -tell him in my last how weak you are, as you know you bade me not, lest -he should be unnecessarily alarmed." - -Ellen knew it was not Walter, and the spot on her cheek was almost a -blood-red hue when she heard the dear familiar voice, and knew that -William had come. - -"Mother," she said faintly, "it's Mr. Bellenger, and you must let me see -him alone,--all the evening alone;--will you? It's right," she -continued, as she met her mother's look of inquiry. "I'll explain it, -perhaps, when he's gone." - -In an instant the truth flashed upon Mrs. Howland, bringing with it a -feeling of gratified pride that the elegant William Bellenger had -condescended to think of her child. She did not know the whole. She -could not guess how thoroughly selfish was the man who was deliberately -breaking her daughter's heart, or she would not have left them to -themselves that long winter evening, saying to her father and Aunt -Debby, when they questioned the propriety of the proceeding: - -"He wants to tell her of Walter and Jessie, I suppose, and the fine -times they have in the city." - -This satisfied Aunt Debby, but the deacon was not quite at ease, and -more than once after finishing his fourth pipe, he started to join them, -but was as often kept back by some well-timed remark addressed to him by -Mrs. Howland; and so William was left undisturbed while he poured again -into Ellen's ear the story of his love, telling her how inexpressibly -dear she was to him, and that but for circumstances which he could not -control, he would prove his assertion true by making her at once his -wife. Then the long eyelashes drooped beneath their weight of tears, for -there flitted across Ellen's mind a vague consciousness that if these -circumstances existed when he first talked to her of love, he had done -very wrong. Still she could not accuse him even in thought, and she -hastened to say: - -"I don't know as I really ever supposed that you wished me to be your -wife; and if I did it don't matter now, for I am going to die; death has -a prior claim, and I never can be yours." - -He held her hot hand in his,--felt the rapid pulse,--saw the deep color -on her cheek,--the unnatural luster of her eye,--and felt that she told -him truly. And thinking that anything which he could say to comfort and -please her would be right, he whispered: - -"I hope there are many years in store for you. If I should take you to -Florida as my wife, do you think you would get well?" - -She had said to him that it could not be,--that death would claim her -first, but now that he had asked her this, all the energies of life were -roused within her, and her whole face said yes, even before the answer -dropped from her pale lips. - -"Oh, William, dear, are you in earnest? Can I go?" and raising herself -up, she wound her arms around his neck so that her head rested on his -bosom. - -And William held it there, caressing the fair hair, while he battled -with all his better nature, and tried to think of some excuse,--some -good reason for retracting the proposition which had been received so -differently from what he expected. He thought of it at last, and laying -his burden gently back upon her pillow, he answered mournfully: - -"Forgive me, darling. In my great love for you I spoke inadvertently. I -wish I were free to do what my heart dictates, but I am not. Listen, -Nellie, and then you shall decide. Perhaps you have never heard that -Jessie and I were long ago intended for each other by our parents?" - -William's voice trembled as he uttered this falsehood, but not one-half -as much as did the young girl on the lounge. - -"No," she answered faintly; "Jessie never told me." - -"Some girls are not inclined to talk of those they love," said William, -and fixing her clear blue eyes on him, Ellen asked: - -"Does Jessie love you, William?" - -"And suppose she does?" he replied; "suppose she had always been taught -to look upon me as her future husband? Suppose that even when I first -came here there was an understanding that, unless Jessie should prefer -some one else, we were to be married when she was eighteen, and suppose -that since we have been so much together as we have this winter, Jessie -had learned to love me very much, and that my marrying another now would -break her heart, what would you have me do? I know you must think it -wrong in me to talk of love to you, knowing what I did, but struggle as -I would, I could not help it. You are my ideal of a wife. I love you -better than I do Jessie,--better than I do any one, and you shall decide -the matter. I will leave Jessie, offend her father, and incur the -lasting displeasure of my own family, if you say so. Think a moment, -darling, and then tell me what to do." - -Had he held a knife at her heart, and a pistol at her head, bidding her -take her choice between the two, he could scarcely have pained her more. -Folding her hands together, she lay so still that it seemed almost like -the stillness of death, and William once bent down to see if she were -sleeping. But the large blue eyes turned toward him, and a faint whisper -met his ear: - -"Don't disturb me. I am thinking," and as she thought the cold -perspiration stood in the palms of her hands and about her mouth, for it -was like tearing out her very life, deciding to give William up, and -bidding him marry another, even though she knew she could never be his -wife. - -Jessie Graham was very dear to the poor invalid, as the first and almost -only girl friend she had ever known. Jessie had been kind to her, while -Mr. Graham had been most kind to them all. Jessie would make William a -far more suitable wife than she could. His proud relatives would scoff -at her, and perhaps if she should live and marry him he might some day -be sorry that he did not take the more brilliant Jessie. But was there -any probability that she could live? She wished she knew, and she said -to William: - -"Do people always get well if they go to Florida?" - -"Sometimes, darling, if the disease is not too far advanced," was the -answer, and Ellen went back to her reflections. - -Her disease was too far advanced, she feared, and if she could not live, -why should she wish to trammel William for so short a time, even if -there were no Jessie, and would it not be better to give him up at once? -Yes, it would, she said, and just as William began a second time to -think she had fallen away to sleep she beckoned him to come near, and in -a voice which sounded like the wail of a broken heart, she whispered: - -"I have decided, William. You must marry Jessie,--but not till I am -dead. You'll love poor me till then, won't you?" and burying her face in -his bosom, she sobbed bitterly. He kissed her tears away; he told her he -would not marry Jessie, that she alone should be his wife; and when she -answered that it must not be, that at the longest she could live but a -short time, he felt in his villainous, selfish heart that he was glad -she was so sensible. He had told her no lie, he thought. He had merely -supposed a case, and she, taking it for granted, had deliberately given -him up. He could not help himself, for had she not virtually refused -him? - -By such arguments as these did the wicked man seek to quiet his guilty -conscience, but when he saw how much it had cost the young girl to say -what she had said, he was half tempted to undeceive her, to tell her it -was all false, that story of himself and Jessie,--but gold was dearer to -him than aught else on earth, and so he did not do it. He merely told -her that so long as she lived he should love her the best, but advised -her not to talk with Jessie on the subject, as it would only make them -both unhappy. - -"You may tell your mother that I love you, but I would say nothing of -Jessie, who might not like to have the matter talked about, as it is not -positively settled yet, at least not enough to proclaim it to the -world." - -Like a submissive child, Ellen promised compliance with all his wishes, -and as the deacon by this time had declared "there was no sense in them -two staying in there any longer," he appeared in the door, and thus put -an end to the conversation. - -All the next day William stayed, improving every opportunity to whisper -to Ellen of his love, but the words were almost meaningless to her now. -She knew that she loved him; she believed that he loved her, but there -was a barrier between them, and when at night he left her, she was so -strangely calm that he felt a pang lest he might have lost a little of -her love, which, in spite of his selfishness, was very dear to him. -After he was gone, Ellen told her mother of their mutual love, which -never could be consummated, because she must die; but she said nothing -of Jessie, and the deluded woman, gazing on her beautiful daughter, -prayed that she might live, and so one day grace the halls of the proud -Bellengers. After this there often came to the farm-house dainty -luxuries for the invalid, and though there was no name, Ellen knew who -sent them, and smiling into her mother's face would say: - -"Isn't he good to me?" - -At last the stormy March had come, and one night a lady stood at the -farm-house door, asking if Deacon Marshall lived there. - -"I have no claim upon your hospitality," she said, "but a mother has a -right to visit her daughter's grave and the home where her daughter -died." - -It was Mrs. Bellenger, but so changed from the haughty woman who years -ago had been there, that the family could scarcely believe it was the -same. It is true they had heard from Walter of his grandmother's -kindness, and how the effect of that kindness was already beginning to -be apparent in the treatment he received from those who before had -scarcely noticed him, but they could not understand it until they saw -the lady in their midst, affable and friendly to them all, but -especially to poor sick Nellie, to whom she attached herself at once. -Very rapidly each grew to liking the other. Mrs. Bellenger, because the -gentle invalid bore her daughter's name; and Nellie, because the lady -was William's grandmother, and sometimes spoke of him. For many days -Mrs. Bellenger lingered, for there was something very soothing in the -quiet of the farm-house, and very attractive about the sick girl, who -once as they sat together alone, opened her whole heart and told the -story of her love. - -"It surely is not wrong for me to confide in you," she said, "and I must -talk of it to somebody." - -Mrs. Bellenger had heretofore distrusted William, but the fact that he -had won the love of so pure a being as Ellen Howland changed her -feelings toward him, and when the latter said, "He spoke of taking me to -Florida," she thought at once that her money should pay the bills, and -that she too would go and help her grandson nurse the beautiful young -girl back to life and strength. This last she said to Ellen, who -answered mournfully: - -"It cannot be, for I have given him up to Jessie, whose claim was better -than mine," and then she repeated all that William had said to her. - -"It doesn't matter," she continued. "I can't live very long, and Jessie -has been so kind to me that I want to give her something, and William is -the most precious thing I have. - -"It hurt me to give him up. But it is best, even if there were no Jessie -Graham. His parents are not like you; they might teach him in time to -despise me, and I'd rather die now." - -Mrs. Bellenger turned away to hide her tears, and could William have -seen what was in her heart,--could he have known how easily Ellen's -wasted hand could unlock her coffers and give him the money he craved, -the proud house of Bellenger would have mourned over a second -_mesalliance_. - -For nearly two weeks Mrs. Bellenger remained in Deerwood, and then, -promising to come again ere long, returned to the city, where rumor was -already busy with the marriage which the world said was soon to take -place between William Bellenger and the beautiful Miss Graham. - - - - -CHAPTER X.--A DISCLOSURE. - - -Much surprise was expressed, and a good deal of interest manifested, -when it was known that the handsome house up-town which had recently -been bought by a stranger it was said, and elegantly furnished, was the -property of Mrs. Bellenger, who, not long after her return from -Deerwood, took possession of it, and made it also the home of Walter -Marshall. The latter was now courted and admired as a most "delightful -young man," and probably the principal heir of the rich old lady, who -did not hesitate to show how greatly she preferred him to her other -grandson, William. Even Mrs. Reeves was especially gracious to him now, -saying she believed him quite as good a match as Mr. Bellenger, who was -welcome to Jessie Graham if he wanted her. And it would seem that he -did, for almost every evening found him at her side, while Walter -frequently met them in the street, or heard of them at various places of -amusement. - -Still Jessie was very kind to him whenever he called upon her, unless -William chanced to be present, and then she seemed to take delight in -annoying him, by devoting herself almost entirely to one whom he at last -believed was really his rival. This opinion he expressed one day to his -grandmother, who had come to the same conclusion, and who as gently as -possible repeated to him all that Ellen had told her. It was the first -intimation Walter had received that William Bellenger had pretended to -care for his cousin, and it affected him deeply. - -"The wretch!" he exclaimed. "He won Ellen's love only to cast it from -him at his will, for he never thought of making her his wife." - -Then, as his own gloomy future arose before him, he groaned aloud, for -he never knew before how dear Jessie was to him. - -"It may not be so," his grandmother said, laying her hand upon his head. -"I cannot quite think Jessie would prefer him to you, and she has known -you always, too. Suppose you talk with her upon the subject. It will not -make the matter worse." - -"Grandmother," said Walter, "I have promised never to speak of love to -Jessie Graham until I am freed from the taint my father's misfortune has -fastened upon my name, and as there is no hope that this will ever be, I -must live on and see her given to another. Were my rival anybody but -William, I could bear it better, for I want Jessie to be happy, and I -believe him to be--a villain, and I would far rather that Jessie would -die than be his bride." - -Walter was very much excited, and as the atmosphere of the room seemed -oppressive, he seized his hat and rushed out into the street, meeting by -the way William and Jessie. They were walking very slowly, and -apparently so absorbed with themselves, that neither observed him till -just as he was passing, when Jessie looked up and called after him: - -"Are you never coming to see me again?" - -"I don't know,--perhaps not," was the cool answer, and Walter hastened -on, while William, who never let an opportunity pass for a sly -insinuation against his cousin, asked Jessie if she had not observed how -consequential Walter had grown since his grandmother took him up and -pushed him into society. "Everybody is laughing about it," said he, "but -that is the way with people of his class. They cannot bear prosperity." - -"I think Walter has too much good sense," Jessie replied, "to be lifted -up by the attentions of those who used to slight him, but who notice him -now just because Mrs. Bellenger likes him. There's Mrs. Reeves, for -instance,--it's perfectly sickening to hear her talk about 'dear Mr. -Marshall,' when she used to speak of him as 'that poor young man in Mr. -Graham's employ.' Charlotte always liked him." - -This last was not very agreeable to Will, for in case he failed to -secure Jessie, Charlotte was his next choice. - -Money he must have, and soon too, for there was a heavy burden on his -mind, and unless that burden was lifted disgrace was sure to follow. -Twice recently he had written to his father for money and received the -same answer: - -"I have nothing for you; go to your grandmother, who has plenty." - -Once he had asked Mrs. Bellenger for a hundred dollars; but she had said -that "a young man in perfect health ought to have some occupation, and -as he had none he had no right to live as expensively as he did." - -Several times he had borrowed of Walter, making an excuse that he had -forgotten his purse, or "that the old man's remittances had not come," -but never remembering to pay or mention it again. In this state of -affairs it was quite natural that he should be looking about for -something to ease his mind and fill his pocket at the same time. A rich -wife could do this, and as Jessie and Charlotte both were rich, one of -them must come to the rescue. Jessie's remark about Charlotte disturbed -him, and as he had not of late paid her much attention, he resolved to -call upon her as soon as he had seen Jessie to her own door. - -Meanwhile Walter had gone to his office, where he found upon the desk a -letter in his grandfather's handwriting, and hastily breaking the seal, -he read, that he must come quickly if he would see his cousin alive. The -letter inclosed a note for Jessie, and Walter was requested to give it -to her so that she might come with him. - -"Poor Ellen talks of Jessie and Mrs. Bellenger all the time," the deacon -wrote, "and perhaps your grandmother would not mind coming too. She -seemed to take kindly to the child." - -Not a word was said of William, for Ellen would not allow her mother to -send for him. - -"It would only make him feel badly," she said, "and I would save him -from unnecessary pain." So she hushed her longing to see him again and -asked only for Jessie. - -"I will go to-morrow morning," Walter thought, and as Mr. Graham was -absent for a day or two he was thinking of taking the note to Jessie -himself, when William came suddenly upon him. - -"Well, old fellow," said he, "what's up now? Your face is long as a -gravestone." - -"Ellen is dying," returned Walter, "and they have sent for me." - -"Ellen dying!" and the man, who a moment before had spoken so jeeringly, -staggered into a chair as if smitten by a heavy blow. - -"I did not suppose he cared so much for her," thought Walter, and in a -kinder tone he told what he knew, and passing William the note intended -for Jessie, he bade him take it to her that night, and tell her to meet -him at the depot in the morning. "And William," said Walter, fixing his -eye earnestly upon his cousin, "what message shall I take to Ellen for -you? or will you go too?" - -For a moment William hesitated, while his better nature battled with his -worse, urging him to give up the game at which he was playing, and -comfort the dying girl he had so cruelly deceived, and acknowledge to -the world how dear she was to him; then, as another frightful thought -intruded itself upon him, he murmured, "I can't, I can't," and with that -resolution he sealed his future destiny. "No, I cannot go," he said, and -thrusting the note into his pocket went out into the open air, a harder -man, if possible, than he had been before. "Jessie must not go to -Deerwood if I can prevent it," he thought to himself. "Nellie may tell -her all, and that would be fatal to my plans." - -So he resolved not to call at Mr. Graham's that night, and in case an -explanation should afterward be necessary, he would say that he had sent -the note by a boy, who, of course, had neglected to deliver it. - -Accordingly the next morning Walter and his grandmother waited -impatiently for Jessie at the depot, and then, when they found she was -not coming, took their seats in the cars with heavy hearts, for both -knew how terrible would be the disappointment to Ellen, who loved Jessie -Graham better almost than herself. - - ---- - -"Where's Jessie? Didn't I hear her voice in the other room?" the sick -girl asked, when, one after the other, Mrs. Bellenger and Walter bent -over her pillow and kissed her wasted face. - -"She isn't here," said Walter, and the color faded from Ellen's face as -she replied: - -"Isn't here? Where is she, Walter?" - -He answered that he did not see her himself, but had sent the message by -William, and at the mention of his name the blood came surging back to -the pallid cheeks. - -"William would carry the note, I know," she said, "and why does she stay -away when I want so much to see her before I die?" And turning her face -to the wall, she wept silently over her friend's apparent neglect. - -"Walter," said Mrs. Bellenger, drawing him aside, "it may be possible -there is some mistake, and Jessie does not know. Suppose you telegraph -to her father and be sure." - -Walter immediately acted upon this suggestion, and that evening as -Jessie sat listlessly drumming her piano, wondering why Walter seemed so -changed, and wishing somebody would come, she received the telegram, and -with feverish impatience waited for the morning, when she set off for -Deerwood, where she was hailed with rapture by Ellen, who could now only -whisper her delight and press the hands of her early friend. - -"Why didn't you come with Walter?" she asked, and Jessie replied: - -"How could I, when I knew nothing of his coming?" - -"Didn't William give you a note?" asked Walter, who was standing near, -and upon Jessie's replying that she had neither seen nor heard from -William, a sudden suspicion crossed his mind that the message had -purposely been withheld. - -No such thought, however, intruded itself upon Ellen; the neglect was -not intentional, she was sure; and in her joy at having Jessie with her -at last, she forgot her earlier disappointment. Earnestly and lovingly -she looked up into Jessie's bright, glowing face, and, pushing back her -short black curls, whispered: - -"Darling Jessie, I am glad you are so beautiful, so good." - -And Jessie, listening to these oft-repeated words did not dream of the -pure, unselfish love which prompted them. - -If Jessie were beautiful and good, she would make the life of William -Bellenger happier than if she were otherwise; and this was all that -Ellen asked or wished. - -Hidden away in a little rosewood box, which Jessie had given her, was a -blurred and blotted letter, which she had written at intervals, as her -failing strength would permit. It was her farewell to William, and she -would trust it to no messenger but Jessie. - -"Tell them all to go out," she said, as the shadows stretched farther -and farther across the floor, and she knew it was growing late. "Tell -them to leave us together once more, just as we used to be." - -Her request was granted, and then laying her hand upon her pillow, she -said: - -"Lie down beside me, Jessie, and put your arms around my neck while I -tell you how I love you. It wasn't my way to talk much, Jessie, and when -you used to say so often that I was very dear to you, I only kissed you -back, and did not tell you how full my heart was of love. Dear Jessie, -don't cry. What makes you? Are you sorry I am going to die?" - -A passionate hug was Jessie's answer, and Ellen continued: - -"It's right, darling, that I should go, for neither of us could be quite -happy in knowing that another shared the love we coveted for ourselves. -Forgive me, Jessie, I never meant to interfere, and when I'm dead, you -won't let it cast a shadow between you that he loved me a little, too." - -"I do not understand you," said Jessie, "I love nobody but father,--no -man, I mean. - -"Oh, Jessie, don't profess to be ignorant of my meaning," said Ellen. -"It may be wrong for me to speak of it, but at the very last, I cannot -forbear telling you how willingly I gave William up to you." - -"_William!_" Jessie exclaimed. "I never loved William Bellenger,--never -_could_ love him. What do you mean!" - -There was no color in Ellen's face, and she trembled in every limb, as -she answered, faintly: - -"You wouldn't tell me a lie when I am dying?" - -"No, darling, no," and passing her arm around the sick girl, Jessie -raised her up, and continued, "explain to me, will you? for I do not -comprehend." - -Then as briefly as possible Nellie told the story of her love, and how -William had said that Jessie stood between them. - -"If it is not so," she gasped, "if he has deceived me, don't tell me. I -could not endure losing faith in him. Don't, don't," she continued, -entreatingly, as Jessie cried indignantly: - -"It is false,--false as his own black heart! There is no understanding -between our parents. I never thought of loving him. I hate him now, the -monster. And you are dying for me, Nellie, but he killed you, the -wretch!" - -Jessie paused, for there was something in Nellie's face which awed her -into silence. It was as white as ashes, and Jessie never forgot its -grieved, heart-broken expression, or the spasmodic quivering of the -lips, which uttered no complaint against the perfidious man, but -whispered faintly: - -"Bring me my little box, and bring the candle, too." - -Both were brought, and taking out the letter so deeply freighted with -her love, the sick girl held it in the blaze, watching it as it -blackened and charred, and dropped upon the floor. - -"With that I burned up my very heart," she said, and a cold smile curled -her lips. "The pain is over now. I do not feel it any more." - -Then, taking a pencil and a tiny sheet of note paper from the box, she -wrote: - -"Heaven forgive you, William. Pray for pardon at my grave. You have much -need to pray." - -Passing it to Jessie, she said: - -"Give this to William when I am dead; and now draw the covering closer -over me, for I am growing cold and sleepy." - -Jessie folded the blanket about her shoulders and chest, and then sat -down beside her, while the family, hearing no sound, stole softly across -the threshold into the room where the May moonshine lay; where the -candle burned dimly on the table, and where the light of a young life -flickered and faded with each tick of the tall old clock, which in the -kitchen without could be distinctly heard measuring off the time. - -Fainter and fainter, dimmer and dimmer, grew the light, until at last, -as the swinging pendulum beat the hour of midnight, it went out forever, -and the moon-beams fell on the golden hair and white face of the -beautiful dead. - - - - -CHAPTER XI.--THE NIGHT AFTER THE BURIAL. - - -Down the lane, over the rustic bridge beneath the shadow of the tasseled -pines and up the grassy hillside, where the headstones of the dead -gleamed in the warm sunlight, the long procession wended its way, and -the fair May blossoms were upturned, and the moist earth thrown out to -make room for the fair sleeper, thus early gone to rest. - -Then back again, down the grassy hillside, under the tasseled pines, and -up the winding lane the mourners came, and all the afternoon the -villagers talked of the beautiful girl,--but in the home she had left so -desolate, her name was not once mentioned. They could not speak of her -yet, and so the mother sat in her lonely room, rocking to and fro, just -as she used to do when there was pillowed on her breast the golden head, -now lying across the fields, where the dim eyes of the deacon wandered -often, as the old man whispered to himself. - -"One grave more, and one chair less. Our store grows fast in Heaven." - -For once Aunt Debby forgot to knit, and the kitten rolled the ball at -pleasure, pausing sometimes in her play, and looking up in Jessie's -face, as if to ask her the reason of its unwonted sadness, and why the -hug and squeeze had been so long omitted. - -To Walter, Ellen had been like a sister, and he went away to weep alone, -while Mrs. Bellenger, not wishing to intrude on any one, withdrew to the -quiet garden, and so the dreary afternoon went by, and when the sun was -set and the moon was shining on the floor of the little portico the -family assembled there, and drawing a little stool to the deacon's side -Jessie laid her bright head on his knee. - -The moonlight fell softly on her upturned face, heightening its dark, -rich beauty, and Walter was gazing admiringly upon her, when a sound in -the distance caught his ear, and arrested the attention of all. - -It was the sound of horse's feet, and as the sharp hoofs struck the -earth with a rapidity which told how swiftly the rider came, Jessie's -heart beat faster with a feeling that she knew who the rider was. He -passed them with averted face, and they heard the clatter of the iron -shoes, as the steed dashed down the lane, over the rustic bridge, and up -the grassy hillside. - -Jessie had not told the family the story which broke poor Nellie's -heart, for she would not inflict an unnecessary pang upon the mother, or -the grandfather, but she wanted Walter to know it, and as the sound of -the horse's feet died away in the distance, she said to him: - -"Will you walk with me, Walter? It is so light and pleasant." - -It seemed a strange request to him, but he complied with it, and as if -by mutual consent, the two went together, toward the grave, whither -another had preceded them. - -In the city William had heard of the telegram sent to Jessie, and with a -feeling of restless impatience, he at last took the cars, as far as the -town adjoining Deerwood, where he stopped and heard of Ellen's death. He -heard, too, that she was buried that very afternoon, and his pulses -quickened with a painful throb, as as he heard the landlord's daughter, -who had attended the funeral, telling her mother how beautiful the young -girl was, all covered with flowers, and how Miss Graham from New York -cried when she bent over the coffin. - -He would see her grave, he said, he would kiss the earth which covered -her, and so when the "candle was lighted in her dear old home," he came, -a weary, wretched man, and stood by the little mound. He had almost felt -that he should find her there, just as she was that August afternoon, -when she lay sleeping with the withered roses drooping on her face. - -She had told him of this hour, and bidden him pray when he stood so near -to her, but he could not, and he only murmured through his tears: - -"Poor Nellie. She deserved a better fate. I wish I had never crossed her -path." - -There were voices in the distance, and not caring to be found there, he -knelt by the pile of earth, and burying his face in the dust, said -aloud: - -"I wish that I were dead and happy as you are, little Snow Drop," then -leaving the inclosure, he mounted his horse, and rode rapidly off, just -as Walter and Jessie came up on the opposite side. - -"That was William Bellenger," Jessie cried. "I thought so when he passed -the house, and I wanted so much to see him here by Ellen's grave." - -"William Bellenger," Walter repeated. "Do you know why he was here?" - -"Yes, I do," Jessie answered, "and I wanted to reproach him with it. -Walter, William Bellenger is a villain! - -"Sit down with me," she continued, "here, beside your mother's grave, -and Nellie's, and listen while I repeat to you what Nellie told me just -before she died." - -He obeyed, and in a voice of mingled sorrow and resentment, Jessie told -him of the falsehood which had been imposed upon the gentle girl lying -there so near them. - -It would be impossible to describe Walter's anger and disgust, as he -listened to the story of Ellen's wrongs. - -"The wretch! He killed her!" he exclaimed, "killed her through love for -him, and her unselfish devotion to you." - -"But he _did_ love her," interposed Jessie, "or he had never been here -to-night." - -Walter could not comprehend a love like this. It was not what he felt -for the dark-haired girl at his side, and in his joy at finding that -she, too, thoroughly despised one whom he had feared might be his rival, -he came near telling her so, but he remembered in time the promise made -to Mrs. Bartow, and merely said: - -"Forgive me, Jessie. I have fancied you loved this rascally fellow, and -it made me very unhappy, for I knew he was unworthy." - -"Are you not sometimes unreasonably suspicious of me?" Jessie asked, and -Walter replied: - -"If I am, it is because,--because,--I would have my sister happy, and -now that Nellie is dead, you are all I have to love." - -It surely was not wrong for him to say so much, he thought, and Jessie -must have thought so too, for impulsively laying her hand in his, she -looked up into his face and answered: - -"There must never be another cloud between us." - -For a long time they sat together among the graves, and then, as it was -growing late, they retraced their steps toward the farm-house, where -only Mrs. Bellenger was waiting for them, the others having retired to -rest. - -To her, with Jessie's consent, Walter told what he had heard, but not -till Jessie had left them for the night. Covering her face with her -hands, Mrs. Bellenger groaned aloud at this fresh proof of William's -perfidy. - -"There is one comfort, however," she said, at last, "Jessie is not bound -to him," and she spoke hopefully to Walter of his future. - -"It may be," he said, "but my father must first be proved innocent. I am -going to find him, too," and then he told his grandmother that Mr. -Graham had long contemplated sending him to California on business -connected with the firm. "Next September is the time appointed for me to -go, and something tells me that I shall find my father in my travels." - -Then he told her that if he could arrange it, he should spend several -weeks at home, as the family were now so lonely, and as Mrs. Bellenger -was herself, ere long, going to Boston, she offered no remonstrance to -the plan. - -The moon by this time had reached a point high up in the heavens, and -bidding him good night she left him sitting there alone, dreaming bright -dreams of the future, when the little hand which not long ago had crept -of its own accord into his own, should be his indeed. But what if it -should never be proved that his father was innocent? Could he keep his -promise forever? He dared not answer this, but there swept over him -again, as it had done many times of late, the belief that ere a year had -passed, Seth Marshall would stand before the world an honored and -respected man. Until that time he was willing to wait, he said, and the -moon had long since passed the zenith and was shining through the -western window into the room where Jessie Graham lay sleeping ere he -left his seat beneath the vines and sought his pillow to realize in -dreamland the happiness in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII.--A CRISIS. - - -The next morning, Mrs. Bellenger, Jessie and Walter returned to the -city, the latter promising his family that he would if possible obtain -leave of absence from his business for several weeks, and be with them -in the first stages of their bereavement. - -To this plan Mr. Graham made no objection, and without seeing William, -who chanced to be out of the city, Walter went back to Deerwood, while -his grandmother also started on her projected visit to Boston. - -Lonely indeed was Walter's life at the farm-house, and not even the -cheering letters of Mr. Graham, which always contained a pleasant -message from Jessie, had the power to enliven his solitude. He had -tasted of the busy world, and a life of inactivity could not satisfy him -now. So he wrote at last to Mr. Graham, asking why he could not start at -once for California, instead of waiting until September. - -With a father's ready tact, Mr. Graham understood exactly the nature of -Walter's feelings toward his daughter, and as Mrs. Bartow had told him -of the young man's promise, he watched him narrowly to see how well it -would be kept. - -"He is a noble fellow," he thought, "and he shall not wait for what may -never be. I am sure Jessie loves him quite as much as he does her, and I -will bring them together in my own way, and when September comes he -shall not go to California alone;" so in reply to Walter's letter, he -wrote: "You can go at once if you like, though I have in mind a pleasant -surprise if you will wait until autumn," and as he wrote his own heart -grew young and warm again, with fancying Walter's joy when he should say -to him, "I know your secret, and you need not wait. Jessie loves you. -Take her and be happy." - -And as thoughts of his own daughter's possible bridal suggested to him -another, he dipped his pen a second time, and added as a postscript: - -"There is a rumor of a marriage to take place before long, and Jessie, I -dare say, will wish you to be present, so perhaps you'd better wait." - -Over the postscript Walter lingered long and anxiously. Was Jessie to be -the bride? It would seem so, and yet there was madness in the thought. -Once he resolved to go and see, and this he would perhaps have done had -not the next mail brought him a confirmation of his fears. It was from -his cousin, and read as follows: - - "_Dear Walt_:--You will be greatly surprised, I dare say, to - hear that I have caught the bird at last, and the tenth of July, - at eleven A. M., will see us one. It is sudden, I know; but all - the better for that. She wanted to wait until fall and have a - grand smash-up, but I, with her grandmother to back me, insisted - upon its taking place immediately, and in a quiet way. We shall - be married in church, and then go off to some watering-place. - Her father does the handsome thing, and comes down with a cool - 50,000 on her bridal day, but that's nothing for a millionaire. - I'm more obliged to you, Walt, than I can well express for not - interfering. At one time I was deuced jealous, but you behaved - like a gentleman, and left me an open field, for which I thank - you, and cordially invite you to the wedding. - - "By the way, Jessie says you know about that unfortunate affair - with poor Nellie. Believe me, Walt, I loved that girl, and even - now the thought of her takes my breath away; but she was too - poor. Isn't it lucky Jessie is rich? You ought to see how - delighted my grandmother-elect is with the match. But time - hastens, and I must finish. Remember, July 10th, hour 11, from - ---- Church. Adieu. - - "_Bill Bellenger_." - -For a time after reading the letter Walter sat powerless to act or -think. Then the storm burst upon him with overwhelming fury, and he -raved like one bereft of reason. Jessie was lost to him forever, and, -what was worse than all, she had proved herself unworthy of esteem by -her heartless treachery. How could she so soon forget the little grave -on the hillside? How could she plight her faith to one whom, only a few -weeks since, she had denounced so strongly? Was there no truth in woman? -Were they all as false as fair? Yes, they were, he said; and he laughed -bitterly as he thought how, hereafter, he should hate the entire sex. -Walter was growing desperate, and, in his desperation, he resolved to -put the width of the western hemisphere between himself and the fickle -Jessie Graham. He could go to California now as well as later, and he -determined to start for New York that night. So with a hurried good-by -to his family he left them, and scarcely knowing whether he were dead or -alive, he took the express for the city. - -It was morning when he reached there, and the Wall street thunder had -already commenced. His first business was to ascertain that a vessel -would sail that day for California,--his next to call on Mr. Graham and -make the necessary explanations. - -Mr. Graham was not at the office,--he was sick, the clerk said, and as -Walter had neither the time nor the inclination to go all the way -up-town to find him, he sat down and wrote to him what he would have -said. - -He was going to California, and the reason why he went Mr. Graham could -perhaps divine; if not, Walter would tell him frankly that he could not -stay in New York and see a man of William Bellenger's character married -to the girl he loved better than he loved his life. - -"I understand the business on which I am going thoroughly, I believe," -he added in conclusion; "but if there is anything more which you wish to -say, you can write it by the next steamer, and your directions shall be -attended to most strictly." - -This letter he left for Mr. Graham, and when the night shadows fell -again on Deerwood, where in the large old kitchen the family talked of -him, he sat upon the upper deck, listening, with an aching heart, to the -surging of the waves, as they dashed against his floating home. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII.--EXPLANATIONS. - - -After Jessie's return to the city, several days had elapsed ere she met -with William; and when at last she did, he saw at once that there was a -change in her demeanor,--that she was unusually reserved; but this he -hoped might arise from the sad scene through which she had recently -passed, and as he was fast nearing a point when something must be done, -he resolved upon a decisive step. - -His attentions to Jessie must have prepared her for a proposal, he -thought, and as it would be better for him to know his fate at once, so -that in case she refused him, he could look elsewhere for aid, he -determined to improve the present opportunity, which, so far as outward -circumstances were concerned, seemed propitious. - -Mr. Graham was away, and Mrs. Bartow kindly absented herself from the -room, as was her custom when William was present. The night was rainy, -too, and they would not be liable to interruption. Accordingly when -Jessie spoke to him of Nellie's death, and gave him the note which had -been entrusted to her, he drew his chair to her side, and, after a few -preliminary coughs, plunged at once into business, and made her a formal -offer of himself, saying that he knew he was very faulty, but she could -mould him as she pleased, and make him a good and useful man. - -With a cold, haughty look upon her face, Jessie Graham listened to him -until he finished, and then said: - -"You astonish me more than I can express, for if you do not respect -yourself, I hoped you had too much respect for me to offer me a hand -reeking, as it were, with the blood of sweet Nellie Howland. I know it -all,--know the lie you imposed upon the poor, weak girl, whose only -fault was loving you too well. And now do you think I would marry you? I -have never seen the hour when I would have done so,--much less will I do -it now. I despise you, William Bellenger,--despise you more than I can -tell." - -She ceased speaking, but her eyes never for a moment left the white -face, which had grown whiter as she proceeded, and which was now almost -livid with chagrin, disappointment and rage. - -"I have nothing to offer which can extenuate my sin toward Nellie," he -answered, at last, "though I did love her,--better than I love you,--but -for certain reasons, I preferred that you should be my wife. You refuse -me, and I know well to whom I am indebted for the good opinion you are -pleased to entertain of me; but I warn you now, fair lady, that my -precious cousin is no better than myself." - -"Hush!" interrupted Jessie. "You are not to speak of Walter in that way. -Shall I consider our interview at an end?" - -She spoke with dignity, and motioned him toward the door. - -"Jessie," he stammered, as he started to leave the room, "I'll admit -that I'm a wretch, but I trust that you will not think it necessary to -repeat this to everybody." - -"I have no desire to injure you," she answered, and walking to the -window she stood until she heard him leave the house; then her unwonted -calmness gave way, and she burst into a flood of tears, sometimes -wishing she had spoken more harshly to him, and again regretting that -she had been harsh at all. - -She might have spared herself this last feeling, for at that moment the -man she had discarded was pouring into the ear of Charlotte Reeves words -similar to those he had breathed to her not an hour before. And -Charlotte, knowing nothing of Nellie,--nothing of Jessie, save that the -latter had been a dreaded rival, said _yes_ to him, on condition that -her father's consent could be won. - -This last was an easy matter; for Mr. Reeves, who scarcely had an -identity save that connected with his business, answered that in this -thing Charlotte would do as she pleased, just as she did in everything -else, adding in a kind of absent way: - -"I always intended giving her fifty thousand the day she was married, -and after that my duty will be done." - -William could scarcely refrain from hugging his prospective -father-in-law, but he wisely withheld the hug for the daughter, who, -while he was closeted with the father, ran with the news to the -grandmother. - -The next morning, as Jessie sat at her work, she was surprised at a call -from Charlotte, who, seating herself upon the sofa began at once to -unfold the object of her visit. - -"She was engaged, and Jessie could not guess to whom if she guessed a -year." - -"William Bellenger," Jessie said at once, her lip curling with scorn, -and her cheek growing slightly pale. - -"You wicked creature," exclaimed Charlotte, jumping up and giving her a -squeeze. "What made you think of him? I always supposed he would marry -you, and used to be awful jealous. Yes, it's William. He came in last -night and as pa chanced to be home in his room, the whole thing was -arranged at once. I wanted so badly to wait till fall, and have a grand -affair, but William is in such a hurry, and says it will be so much -nicer to be a bride and belle, too, at Newport or Nahant, that I gave it -up, and we are to be married the 10th of July, and go right off. Won't -it be fun? I'm going to employ every dressmaker in the city, that is, -every fashionable one. Father gave me a thousand dollars this morning to -begin my shopping with," and the thoughtless light-hearted Charlotte -clapped her hands and danced around the room in childish delight. - -"Shall I tell her? Ought I to tell her?" Jessie thought, looking into -the bright face of the young girl. - -Then as she remembered how really good-natured William was, and that -after all he might make a kind husband, she resolved to throw no cloud -over the happiness of her friend, and congratulated her as cordially as -it was possible for her to do. But Charlotte detected the absence of -something in her manner, and imputing it to a feeling of chagrin at -having lost Mr. Bellenger, she soon brought her visit to a close, and -hastened home, telling her grandmother that she believed Jessie Graham -was terribly disappointed, for she was as white as a ghost, and could -scarcely keep from crying. - -Meantime William, in a most singular state of mind, tried to play the -part of a devoted lover to Charlotte,--avoided an interview with -Jessie,--received quite indifferently the congratulations of his -friends, and spent the remainder of his time in hating Walter, who, he -believed, stood between him and Jessie Graham, just as he was sure he -stood between him and his rich grandmother. - -"I'll torment him while I can," he thought. "I'll make him think for a -time, at least, that Jessie is lost," and sitting down he wrote the -carefully-worded letter which had sent Walter so suddenly from home. -"There," said he, as he read it over, "he can infer what he pleases. I -don't say it's Jessie I'm going to marry; but he can think so, if he -likes, and I don't envy him his cogitations." - -William could not have devised a way of wounding Walter more deeply than -the letter had wounded him, or of affecting Jessie more sensibly than -she was affected, when she heard that Walter had gone to California. - -"Not gone!" she cried, when her father brought to her the news. "Not -gone, without a word for me. Oh, father, it was cruel! Didn't he leave a -message for you?" - -"Yes, read it if you choose," and Mr. Graham passed to her the letter -which had greatly puzzled him. - -Was it possible he had been deceived? Was it Charlotte Reeves, and not -his daughter, whom Walter Marshall loved? It would seem so, and yet he -could not be so mistaken; Walter must have been misinformed as to the -bride. Jessie, perhaps, could explain; and he stood watching her face as -she read the letter. - -At first it turned very red, then spotted, and then, as the horrible -truth burst upon her, it became as white as marble, and stretching out -her arms she moaned: - -"Oh, father, I never thought that he loved Charlotte Reeves. I most wish -I were dead;" and with another cry, Jessie lay sobbing in her father's -arms. Very gently he tried to soothe her; and then, when she was better, -laid her upon the sofa, and kneeling beside her, kissed away the tears -which rolled down her cheeks so fast. - -She had betrayed her secret, or rather it had been betrayed to herself, -and winding her arms around her father's neck, she whispered: - -"I didn't know that before I,--that I,--oh, father,--I guess I do love -Walter better than I supposed; and I guess I thought that he loved me. -You won't tell anybody, will you?" and she laid her burning cheek -against his own. - -"Jessie," he said, "I have known for a long time that you loved Walter -Marshall. Once I believed that he loved you. I believe so still. There -is surely some mistake. I will inquire of William." - -Mr. Graham did not know why he should seek for an explanation from -William Bellenger, but he could think of nothing else, and after Jessie -was somewhat composed, he sought an interview with that young man, -asking him if he knew of any reason why his cousin should start so -suddenly for California, without a word from any one. - -"I should suppose he might have waited until after your marriage with -_Miss Reeves_?" and Mr. Graham fixed his eyes upon Will, who colored -slightly as he replied: - -"Oh, yes, I wrote to him about it, and invited him to be present." - -Mr. Graham was puzzled. If William wrote as he said, Walter could not -have been deceived, and he wended his way homeward, quite uncertain how -to act. At last, he decided that as he must write to Walter by the next -steamer, he would take particular pains to speak of Charlotte as having -been the bride, and this might, perhaps, bring Walter back sooner than -was expected. Still he would not tell this to Jessie, lest she should be -disappointed, and day after day her face grew less merry than of old, -until at last the kind-hearted Charlotte, who watched her narrowly, -threw her arms around her neck, and said to her, entreatingly: - -"What is it, Jessie? Did you love William, and does it make you so -unhappy to have him marry me?" - -"No, no," and Jessie recoiled from her in horror. "I never loved William -Bellenger,--never saw the day when I would have married him,--never, as -I live!" and she spoke so indignantly that Charlotte, a little piqued, -replied: - -"Don't scream so loud, if you didn't. I only asked you because I knew -something had ailed you ever since I was engaged. Others notice it too; -and, if I were you, I'd try to appear cheerful, even if I did not feel -it." - -Greatly as Jessie was annoyed, she resolved to act upon this advice, for -she would not have people think that she cared for William Bellenger. So -she roused herself from the state of listless indifference into which -she had fallen, and Charlotte Reeves no longer had reason to complain of -her dullness, or non-appreciation of the bridal finery, which was so -ostentatiously displayed, and which greatly annoyed Mrs. Bartow. - -This lady was secretly chagrined at what she considered Charlotte's good -luck, and at Mrs. Reeves' evident exultation, and she took great pains -to let the latter know that she did not care and on the whole was glad -William was going to do so well. Jessie would never have accepted him, -even if she had had a chance; and for the sake of dear Mrs. Bellenger -she was pleased to think the Reeves family was so respectable. Of course -she never did believe that ridiculous story about the tin-peddler, and -she couldn't see who had reported it. She had been asked about it, two -or three times, and had always told exactly how the story originated, -and said it was not true. - -This speech she made in substance several times to Mrs. Reeves, when -that lady was congratulating herself upon her granddaughter's brilliant -prospects, and insisting that "Jessie was a year the oldest; basing her -assertion upon the fact that she bought her camel's hair shawl so many -years ago, and Jessie was born that very day." - -"And I," retorted Mrs. Bartow, "remember that my daughter Graham's -silver tea-set was sent home the morning after Jessie was born, and that -has the date on it, so I can't be wrong. And another thing which makes -me sure, is that a raw country girl we had just hired insisted that it -was tin, saying her father was a peddler, and she guessed she knew." - -At the mention of tin of any kind, Mrs. Reeves always seemed uneasy; and -as Mrs. Bartow frequently took occasion to name the offensive article in -her hearing, she resolved at last to steal a day or so from the -excitement at home, and see if she too, could not find a weapon with -which to fight her friend. - -Accordingly, one morning, when Mrs. Bartow called to tell her that -"people said William Bellenger would drink and gamble too," she was -informed that the lady was out of town, and so she contented herself -with repeating the story to Charlotte, adding that she didn't believe it -herself and she wondered why people would talk so. - -Charlotte wondered too, and said that those who repeated such scandal -were quite as bad as the originators, a remark in which Mrs. Bartow -fully concurred, saying, "if there was anything she despised it was a -talebearer." - -The next day about one as she sat with Jessie in her little sewing-room, -Mrs. Reeves was announced, and after a few preliminary remarks, began: - -"By the way, my dear Mrs. Bartow, I have been to Springfield, and -remembering what you said about that woman in Deerwood, I thought I'd -run over there and see her just to convince her that she was mistaken in -thinking she ever knew me or my father." - -"Yes, yes. It's pretty warm in here, isn't it? Jessie, hadn't you better -go where it is cooler?" said Mrs. Bartow, and Jessie replied: - -"I am not uncomfortable, and I want to hear about Deerwood. Isn't it a -pleasant old town?" and she turned to Mrs. Reeves, who answered: - -"Charming! and those Marshalls are such kind, worthy people. But what an -odd specimen that Aunt Debby is; and what a wonderful memory she has, -though, of course, she remembers some things which never could have -been, for instance----" - -"Jessie, will you bring me my salts, or will you go away, it's so close -in here," came faintly from the distressed lady, who had dropped her -work, and was nervously unbuttoning the top of her dress. - -"Do you feel choked?" asked Mrs. Reeves, while Jessie answered: - -"I'll get your salts, grandma; but I don't wish to go out, unless Mrs. -Reeves has something to tell which I must not hear." - -"Certainly not," returned Mrs. Reeves. "It's false, I'm sure, just as -false as that ridiculous story about the tin peddler and factory girl. I -convinced Aunt Debby that she was wrong. It was some other Charlotte -Gregory she used to know." - -"Of course it was; I always said so," and a violent sneeze followed the -remark and a too strong inhalation of the salts. - -"As I was saying," persisted Mrs. Reeves, "Aunt Debby knows everybody -who has lived since the flood, and even pretended to have known you, -after I told her your name was Lummis, before you were adopted by Mrs. -Stanwood." - -"Oh, delightful," cried Jessie. "Do pray give us the entire family tree, -root and all. Was grandma's father a cobbler, or did he make the _tin -things_ yours used to _peddle_?" and the saucy black eyes looked archly -at both the ladies. - -"I don't know what her father was," said Mrs. Reeves, "but Aunt Debby -pretends that Martha Lummis,--Patty, she called her----" - -"That's the name in the old black book, grandma, that you said belonged -to a friend," interrupted Jessie, and while grandma groaned, Mrs. Reeves -continued: - -"Said that Patty did housework in Hopkinton, and I believe could milk -_seventeen_ cows to her one!" - -"Oh," said Jessie, "how I wish I could milk. It's such fun. I did try -once, but got the tiniest stream, and Walter said I'd dry the cows all -up. I wish you could hear _him_ when he first begins. It sounds like -hail stones rattling on the _tin pail_. Did yours sound so, grandma, and -did you buy the pail of Mr. Gregory?" - -Mrs. Reeves, by this time, began to think that Jessie might be making -fun of her, and smothering her wrath, she proceeded: - -"I shouldn't care anything about the housework or the milking, but I'll -confess I _was_ shocked, when she spoke of----" - -"I certainly am going to faint, Jessie, do go out," gasped the white -figure in the rocking chair, while Jessie rejoined: - -"I don't see how my going out can help you." Then crossing over to her -grandmother, she whispered, "Brave it out. _Don't_ let her see that you -care." - -Thus entreated Mrs. Bartow became somewhat composed, and her tormentor -went on: - -"This Patty Lummis, Aunt Debby said, was blood relation to _three -Thayers_, who were hung some years ago for murdering _John Love_, or -some such name. I remember hearing of it at the time, but did not -suppose I knew any of their relatives." - -"Horrid!" cried Jessie, and then, as she saw how white her grandmother -was, she added quickly: - -"And didn't she say too, that the Gregorys _ought_ to have been hung if -they weren't?" - -"Such impertinence," muttered Mrs. Reeves, while Jessie rejoined: - -"There are very few families, which, if traced to the fountain head, -have not a halter, or a peddler's cart, or a smell of tallow, or -shoemaker's wax----" - -"Or a woollen factory, Jessie. Don't forget that," suggested Mrs. -Bartow, and Jessie added, laughingly: - -"Yes, a woollen factory, and as you and grandma do not belong to the few -who are exempt from a stain of any kind, if honorable work can be called -a stain, I advise you to drop old scores, and let the past be -forgotten." - -"I'm sure I'm willing," sobbed Mrs. Bartow. "I never did tell that -ridiculous story to but one, and she promised not to breathe it as long -as she lived." - -"And will you take it back?" chimed in Mrs. Reeves. - -"Ye-es. I'll do everything I can toward it," answered the distracted old -lady. "I couldn't help those _Thayers_. I never saw them in my life, and -they were only second cousins." - -"_Fourth_ to you, then," and Mrs. Reeves nodded to Jessie, who replied: - -"I don't care if they were _first_. Everybody knows me, and my position -in society does not depend upon what my family have been before me, but -upon what I am myself. Isn't it so, father?" and she turned to Mr. -Graham, who had just entered the room. - -"I don't know the nature of your conversation," he replied, "but I -overheard your last remarks, and fully concur with you, that persons are -to be respected for themselves and not for their family; neither are -they to be despised for what their family or any member of it may do." - -There was a tremor in his voice, and looking at him closely, Jessie saw -that he was very pale, and evidently much agitated. - -"What is it, father?" she cried, forgetting the _three Thayers_ and -thinking only of Walter. "What has happened?" - -Mr. Graham did not reply to her, but turning to Mrs. Reeves, he said: - -"Excuse me, madam, but I think your duty calls you home, where poor -Charlotte needs your sympathy." - -"Why _poor_ Charlotte?" replied Jessie, grasping his arm. "Is William -sick or dead?" - -"He has been arrested for forgery. I may as well tell it first as last," -and the words dropped slowly from Mr. Graham's lips. - -"_Forgery!_ William arrested! It's false!" shrieked Mrs. Reeves, and the -salts which Mrs. Bartow had used so vigorously a little time before -changed hands, while Jessie passed her arm around the lady to keep her -from falling to the floor. "It's false. He never forged. Why should he? -Isn't he rich, and a Bellenger?" she kept repeating, until at last Mr. -Graham answered: - -"It is too true, my dear madam, that for some time past Mr. Bellenger -has been engaged in a systematic course of forging, managing always to -escape detection, until now, it has been clearly proved against him, and -he is in the hands of the law." - -There was no reason why Mrs. Reeves, at this point, should think of -Walter, but she did, and fancying that her auditors might possibly be -drawing comparisons between the two cousins she said: - -"It's the _Marshall_ blood with which he is tainted." - -"Marshall blood!" repeated Jessie, indignantly. "I'd like to know by -what chemical process you have mingled the Marshall blood with William -Bellenger's." - -Mrs. Reeves could not explain. She only knew that she was completely -overwhelmed with surprise and mortification, and she seemed so -bewildered and helpless that Mr. Graham ordered his carriage, and sent -her to No.--, whither the sad news had preceded her, and where Charlotte -lay fainting and moaning in the midst of her bridal finery, which would -never be worn. She had noticed William's absence from the house for the -last twenty-four hours, and was wondering at it, when her father, roused -by the shock from his usual state of quiet passiveness, rushed in, -telling her in thunder tones that her affianced husband had been guilty -of forging Graham & Marshall's name, not once, not twice, but many -times, until at last he was detected and under arrest. - -"He'll go to State prison, girl--do you hear? To State prison! Why don't -you speak, and not sit staring at me with that milky face?" - -Poor Charlotte could not speak, but she fainted and fell at the feet of -her father, who became himself at once, and bending kindly over her -brought her back to life. It was not that Charlotte loved William so -very much. It was rather her pride which was wounded, and she moaned and -wept until her grandmother came, and with her lamentations and -reproaches, so wholly out-did all Charlotte had done, that the latter -grew suddenly calm, and without a word or a tear, sat motionless, while -the old lady raved on, one moment talking as if they were all going to -prison together, and the next giving Charlotte most uncomfortable -squeezes to think she was not the wife of a forger after all. - - ---- - -The _three Thayers_ were for the time forgotten, and when at Charlotte's -request Jessie came to see her, accompanied by her grandmother, Mrs. -Reeves kissed the latter affectionately, whispering in her ear: - -"We'll not mind the past, for the present has enough of trouble and -disgrace." - -Great was the excitement among William's friends, the majority of whom -turned against him, saying "they expected it and knew all the time that -something was wrong." - -Mr. Graham stood by and pitied the cowed and wretched young man, and -pitied him all the more that his father kept aloof, saying: - -"He's made his bed and he may lie in it." - -At the first intimation of the sad affair, Mrs. Bellenger hastened home, -but neither her money nor her influence, and both were freely used, -could disprove the guilt of the young man, who awaited his trial in a -state of mind bordering on despair. - -Only once did he speak of Charlotte, and that on the day which was to -have seen her his bride. Then, with Mr. Graham, he talked of her freely, -asking what effect it had on her, and appearing greatly agitated when -told that she was very ill, and would see none of her friends but -Jessie. - -"God bless her,--Jessie, I mean," he said, "and bless poor Lottie, too. -I am sorry I brought this trouble upon her. I thought to pay the notes -with her money, and I resolved after that to be a better man. I am glad -Nellie did not live to see this day. Do you think that up in Heaven she -knows what I have done and prays for me still?" - -Then, as talking of Nellie naturally brought Walter to his mind, he -confessed to Mr. Graham how his letter had sent his cousin away. - -"I thought once to win Jessie for myself," he said, "and so I broke poor -Nellie's heart. I purposely withheld the note the deacon sent to Jessie, -bidding her come ere Nellie died. And this I did, because I feared what -the result might be of Jessie's going there. But my sin has found me -out, and I shall never cross Walter's path again; it's Jessie he loves; -tell her so, and bring the light back to her eyes, which were heavy with -tears when I saw her last." - -Mr. Graham did tell her, and when next she went to the chamber where -Charlotte lay sick of a slow fever, there was an increased bloom upon -her cheek and a brighter flash in her dark eye, while from her own great -happiness she strove to draw some comfort for her friend, who would -suffer no other one of her acquaintance to approach her. - -Jessie alone could comfort her, Jessie alone knew what to say, and the -right time to say it, and when at last the trial came, and the verdict -of "guilty" was pronounced, it was Jessie who broke the news as gently -as possible to the pale invalid. - -Locked in each others' arms they wept together; the one, tears of pity; -the other, tears of regret and mortification over the misguided man -whose home for the next five years would be a dreary prison. - -There was no going to Saratoga that summer, no trip to Newport; and when -the gay world congregated there asked for the sprightly girl who had -been with them the season before, and for the old lady who carried her -head so proudly and sported such superb diamonds, the answer was a -mysterious whisper of some dire misfortune or disgrace which had -befallen them, and then the dance and the song in which Charlotte had -ever been the first to join, went on the same as before. - -Gradually as Charlotte recovered her strength and her spirits, she began -to wish for some quiet spot where no one knew her, and remembering dear -old Deerwood, now a thousand times more dear since she knew of Walter's -love, Jessie told her of its shadowy woods, its pleasant walks, its -musical pines with the rustic seat beneath, and Charlotte, pleased with -her rural picture, bade her write and ask if she could come. - -So Jessie wrote, and in less than one week's time two girls walked again -upon the mountain side, or paused by the little grave where Nellie was -buried. Upon the bank close to the mound a single rose was growing,--the -last of the sisterhood. It had been late in unfolding its delicate -leaves, and when at last, it was full blown, Jessie picked it, and -pressing it carefully, sent it with the message, "it grew near Nellie's -grave," to the weary man whose life was now one of toil and loneliness. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV.--THE STRANGER NURSE. - - -The regular boarders at the ---- Hotel were discussing their dinner with -all the haste and greediness which characterizes their Eastern brethren. -The first and second courses had been removed, and the merits of the -dessert were about to be tested when for a moment the operation ceased, -while the operators welcomed back to their midst a middle-aged man, who -for a few weeks had been absent from the city. - -That Captain Murdock was a general favorite, could readily be seen by -the heartiness of his greeting from his friends, and that he was worthy -of esteem, none knew better than the hundreds of poor and destitute who -had often been relieved and comforted by his well-filled purse, and -words of genuine sympathy. Possessed of unbounded wealth, he scattered -it about him with no miserly hand, and many a child of poverty blessed -him for the great good done to him. - -"Well, captain," said one of the boarders, "glad to see you back. We've -been mighty lonesome without you. Found your room occupied, didn't you?" - -"Yes," returned the man addressed as captain, "the landlord tells me he -took the liberty to put the young man in there because the house was so -full. Of course, he couldn't know that he would be too sick to vacate -the premises in the morning; but it's all right. I, who have slept so -often on the ground, don't mind camping on the floor now and then." - -Here a dozen voices interposed offering him a part or the whole of their -rooms, but the good-natured captain declined them all, saying "he should -do very well, and perhaps the young man would not be sick long. Did they -know where he came from? Was he a stranger or a resident in California?" - -A stranger, they replied, adding that he came from New York about two -weeks before, and had almost immediately been taken sick, and that was -all they knew about him. - -Dinner being over, Captain Murdock went up to his room, not to see the -sick man particularly, but because he wished to remove to another -apartment a few articles which he would probably need. - -Walter, for it was he, was sleeping, while near him, in an arm-chair, -dozed the old crone who had been hired to nurse him. One glance at the -former convinced the captain that he was poorly cared for and must -necessarily be very uncomfortable. Still he might not have interfered, -had not the sick man moaned uneasily in his sleep, and turning on his -side, murmured the name of _father_. - -Never had Captain Murdock been thus addressed,--no infant arms had ever -twined themselves around his neck,--no sweet voice called him -_father_,--and yet this one word thrilled him with an undefinable -emotion, awakening at once within his bosom feelings of tender pity for -the sick man, who seemed so young and helpless. - -"Poor boy," he whispered, "he is dreaming of his home away in the East, -and of the loved ones who little know how much he needs their care," and -advancing toward the bedside, he adjusted the tumbled pillows, smoothed -the soiled spread, pushed back the tangled hair from the burning -forehead, and was turning away when Walter awoke, and fixing his bright -eyes upon him, said faintly, "Don't go." - -Thus entreated the captain sat down beside him, while the old nurse -roused up, exclaiming: - -"Sakes alive, captain! is that you? Ain't you feared the fever's -catching? He's got it mightily in his head, and keeps a goin' on about -Jessy, his brother, I guess, or some chap he know'd at home." - -At the mention of Jessie, Walter turned his eyes again upon the captain, -and said. - -"Jessie's married. Did you know it?" - -"Yes, I know it," answered the captain, thinking it best to humor the -whim. "Whom did she marry?" - -"William," was the reply, "and I loved her so much." - -At this point the nurse arose, saying: - -"Bein' you're here, I'll go out a bit," and she left the room. - -Walter looked uneasily after her, and when she was gone, said: - -"Lock the door, and keep her out. Don't let her come back. She's one of -Macbeth's witches, and makes one think of Jessie's grandmother, who -won't let me talk of love to Jessie, until I am--well, no matter what. -Do you know my father?" - -"No," and the captain shook his head mournfully, while Walter continued: - -"Are you anybody's father?" - -"I don't know," and the voice was sadder than when it spoke before. - -"I'm looking for my father," Walter said, "just as Telemachus looked for -his. Do you know Ulysses?" - -The captain had heard of Ulysses, and the mention of him carried him -back to an old stone house on the hill, where he had read the wonderful -adventures of the hero. - -"Well," Walter continued, "I am hunting for my father, and Jessie cried -up in the pines when I told her about him, and how her father testified -against him. Do you know Mr. Graham?" - -"Who?" screamed the captain, bounding to his feet, and bending so near -to Walter that his hot breath stirred the thick brown hair. "Do I know -whom?" - -But Walter refused to answer, or even to speak; the captain's manner had -startled him, or it may be there was something in the keen eye fixed so -earnestly upon him, which held him speechless. - -For a moment the two gazed fixedly at each other,--the old man and the -young,--the latter with a bright, vacant stare, while the other sought -for some token to tell him that it was not without a reason his heart -beat so fast with a hope of he scarcely knew what. - -"I will inquire below," he said at last, as he failed to elicit any -information from Walter, and going to the office, he turned the leaves -of the register back to the day when he had left three weeks before. - -Then with untiring patience he read on and on, read Jones and Smith, and -Smith and Brown, some with wives and some without, some with daughters, -some with sisters, and some alone, but none as yet were sent to No. 40. -So he read on again and then at last he found the name he -sought,--_Walter Marshall_. - -"Thank God! thank God!" he uttered faintly, and those who heard only the -last word thought to themselves: - -"I never knew the captain _swore_ before." - -With great effort he compelled himself to be calm, and when at last he -spoke none detected in his voice a trace of the shock that name had -given him, bringing back at once the gable-roofed farm-house far away, -the maple tree where his name was cut, the brown-haired wife, the stormy -night when the wind rushed sobbing past the window where he stood and -looked his last on her, the mother long since dead, and the father who -believed him guilty. - -All this passed in rapid review before his mind, and then his thoughts -came back to the present time, and centered themselves upon the -restless, tossing form which, up in No. 40, had said to him: - -"Do you know my father?" - -"What is it, captain?" the landlord asked. "Your face is white as -paper." - -"I am thinking," and the captain spoke naturally, "I am thinking that I -will take care of that young man. I find I know his people, or used to -know them, rather. Dismiss that imbecile old woman," and having said so -much he left the room and fled up the stairs seeing nothing but that -name as it looked upon the page,--_Walter Marshall_. - -He repeated it again and again, and in the tone with which he did so -there was a peculiar tenderness, such as mothers are only supposed to -feel toward their children. - -"Walter Marshall,--my boy,--Ellen's and mine," and over the boy, which -was Ellen's and his, the man, old before his time, bent down and wept -great teardrops, which fell upon the white handsome face, which grew -each moment more and more like the young girl wife, whose grave the -broken-hearted husband had never looked upon. - -"Why do you cry?" asked Walter, and the captain replied: - -"I had a son once like you, and it makes me cry to see you here so sick. -I am going to take care of you, too, and send that woman off." - -"Oh! will you?" was Walter's joyful cry, "and will you stay until I find -my father?" - -"Yes, yes, I will stay with you always," and again Seth Marshall's lips -touched those of his son. - -"Isn't it funny for men to kiss men?" Walter asked, passing his hand -over the spot. "I thought they only kissed women, girls like Jessie, and -I don't kiss her now. I haven't since she was a little thing and gave me -one of her curls. It's in my trunk, with a lock of mother's hair. Did -you know _mother_, man?" - -"Yes, yes, oh, Heaven, yes," and the man thus questioned fell upon his -knees, and hiding his face in the bed-clothes, sobbed aloud. - -His grief distressed Walter, who, without understanding it clearly, felt -that he was himself in some way connected with it, and laying his hand -upon the gray hair within his reach, he smoothed it caressingly, saying: - -"Don't cry. It won't do any good. I used to cry when I was a boy and -thought of poor, dear father." - -"Say it again. Say, 'poor, dear father,' once more," and the white, -haggard face lifted itself slowly up and crept on until it lay beside -the feverish one upon the pillow. - -Thus it was the father met his son, and all through the afternoon he sat -by him, soothing him to sleep, and then bending fondly over him to watch -him while he slept. - -"He is some like Ellen," he whispered, "but more like me, as I was in my -early manhood, and yet, as he lies sleeping, there is a look about him -that I have often seen on Ellen's face when she was asleep. Darling -wife, we little thought when we talked together of our child, that the -first time I beheld him would be beneath the California skies, and he a -bearded man." - -Then, as he remembered what Walter had said of the hair, he opened the -lid of the trunk, and hunted until he found Jessie's raven curl, and the -longer, browner tress. He knew in a moment that it was Ellen's -hair,--and kissing it reverently he twined it about his fingers just as -he used to when the soft eyes it shaded looked lovingly into his. - -"Walter's is like it," he said, stealing to the bedside, and laying it -among the brown locks of his son. "Bless my boy,--bless my boy!" and -going back again, he placed the lock of hair beside this jet black -ringlet wondering who Jessie was, and why she had married another. - -It was growing dark when Walter awoke, but between himself and the -window he saw the outline of his friend, and knowing he was not alone, -fell away again to sleep, resting better that night than he had done -before since the commencement of his illness. - -For many days Captain Murdock watched by him, and when at last the -danger was passed, and Walter restored to consciousness, he was the -first to know it, and bending over him he breathed a prayer of -thanksgiving for the restoration of his son. - -"Who are you?" Walter asked after objects and events had assumed a -rational form. "Who are you, and why have you been so kind to me, as I -am sure you have?" - -"I am called Captain Murdock," was the answer "This is my room; the one -I have occupied for a long, long time. I left the city some weeks ago on -business and during my absence you came. As the house was full the -landlord put you in here for one night, but in the morning you were too -ill to be moved. You have been very sick, and as your nurse was none of -the best, I dismissed her and took care of you myself, because if I had -a son in a strange land I should want some one to care for him, and I -only did what your father would wish me to do. You have a father, young -man?" - -The question was put affirmatively, and without looking at the eyes -fixed so intently upon him, Walter colored crimson as he replied: - -"I hope I have, though I don't know. I never saw him except in dreams." - -Captain Murdock turned toward the window for a moment, and then in a -calm voice continued: - -"I will not seek your confidence. You said some strange things in your -delirium, but they are safe with me,--as safe as if I were the father -you never saw. This came for you some days ago," and he held up Mr. -Graham's letter, the sight of which had wrung a cry of pain from his own -lips, for he knew whose hand had traced the name that letter bore. - -"And has anybody written to the people at home?" Walter asked, and -Captain Murdock replied: - -"Yes, the landlord sent a few lines, saying that you were ill, but well -cared for. He directed to 'Walter Marshall's Friends, Deerwood, Mass.,' -for by looking over your papers, we found your family lived there. A -grandfather, perhaps, if you have no father?" and Seth Marshall waited -anxiously for the answer which would tell him if his aged sire were yet -numbered among the living. - -In his ravings Walter had never spoken of him, and the heart, not less a -child's because its owner was a man, grew faint with fear lest his -father should be dead. Walter's reply, however, dissipated all his -doubt. - -"Yes, my grandfather lives there, but this is not from him," and -breaking open the envelope, Walter read what Mr. Graham had written, -heeding little what was said of business, scarcely knowing, indeed, that -business was mentioned at all, in his great joy at finding that -Charlotte and not Jessie was William's chosen bride. - -"He deceived me purposely," he thought, and then, as he realized more -and more that Jessie was not married, he said aloud, "I am so glad, so -glad." - -"You must have good news," the captain suggested, and Walter answered: - -"Yes, blessed news," then as there came over him a strong desire to talk -of the good news with some one, he continued: - -"Tell me, Captain Murdock, have I talked of Jessie Graham?" - -The captain started, for he had not thought of Jessie as the daughter of -Richard Graham. - -"Yes," he answered, "you said that she was married." - -"But she isn't," interrupted Walter. "It was a lie imposed upon me by -that false-hearted William Bellenger." - -"You spoke of him, too," said the captain, "and I fancied he might be -your cousin. You see I am tolerably well posted in your affairs," and -the pleasant smile which accompanied these words, disarmed Walter at -once from all fear that his secrets would be betrayed. - -"What else did you learn?" he asked, and the captain replied: - -"There is some trouble about your father. He robbed a bank, didn't he?" -and there was a strange look in the keen eyes which did not now rest on -Walter's face, but sought the floor as if doubtful of the answer. - -"Never, never!" Walter exclaimed, with an energy which brought the blood -to his pale cheek, and tears to the eyes riveted upon the carpet. "He -never did that." - -"He has been proved innocent, then?" and in the voice which asked the -question there was a trembling eagerness. - -"Not proved so to the world, but I need no proof," returned Walter. "I -never for a moment thought him guilty." - -Then after a pause, he added. "I have, I see, unwittingly divulged much -of my family history, and lest you should have received a wrong -impression, I may as well confess the whole to you, but not now, I am -too much excited, too tired to talk longer." - -He was indeed exhausted, and for several hours he lay quite still, -saying but little and thinking happy thoughts of home and _Jessie_, who -Mr. Graham wrote, "mourned sadly over his absence." - -Suddenly remembering the message he had left, and which would seem to -say he loved Charlotte Reeves, he bade the captain bring to him pen and -paper, and with a shaking hand he wrote to Mr. Graham: - -"I am getting better fast, thanks to Captain Murdock, who, though a -stranger, has been the best of friends, and kindest nurse. Forgive me, -Mr. Graham. I thought the bride was Jessie. Don't hate me, I could not -help it, and I had learned to love her before I heard from Mrs. Bartow -that you would be displeased. I will overcome it if I can, for I -promised the grandmother I would not talk of love to Jessie, until my -father was proved innocent." - -This was all he had strength to write, and when the letter was finished, -he relapsed into a thoughtful, half dreamy state, from which he did not -rouse for a day or two. Then, with strength renewed, he called the -captain to him, and bidding him sit down beside him, told him the whole -story of his life, even to his love for Jessie Graham,--which he must -not tell until his father were proved innocent. - -There was a smothered groan in the direction where Mr. Marshall sat, and -inwardly the unfortunate man prayed: - -"How long, dear Lord, oh, how long must thy servant wait?" - -"Mr. Graham may release you from that promise," he said, "and then you -surely would not hesitate." - -"Perhaps not," Walter answered, for in spite of what Mrs. Bartow had -said, he, too, entertained a secret hope that Mr. Graham would in some -way interfere for him. - -"What would be the result if your father should return to Deerwood?" -Captain Murdock asked. "Would they proceed against him?" - -"Oh, no! oh, no;" said Walter. "It was so long ago, and everybody who -knew him speaks well of him now. I have often wished he would come home, -and when I was a little boy, I used to watch by the window till it grew -dark, and then cry myself to sleep. Did I tell you his arm-chair stands -in the kitchen corner now just where he left it that night he went away! -It was a fancy of grandpa's that no one should ever sit in it again, and -no one has, but Jessie. She would make a playhouse of it, in spite of -all we could say. I wish you could see Jessie and grandfather and all." - -The captain wished so, too, and in his dreams that night, he was back -again by the old hearth stone, sitting in the chair kept for him so -long, and listening to his father's voice blessing his long-lost son. - -All this might be again, he said, when he awoke but his young wife, -whose face he saw, just as it looked on her bridal day, would not be -there to meet him, and the strong man wept again as he had not done in -many years, over the blight which had fallen so heavily upon him. - -Rapidly the days and weeks went by, and then there came letters both -from Mr. Graham and Mrs. Bellenger, telling how the wedding song had -been changed into a wail of sorrow, and that the elegant William -Bellenger was branded as a villain. Mr. Graham, too, spoke of Jessie, -saying toward the close: - -"You told me no news, dear Walter, when you said you loved my daughter. -I knew it long ago and I have watched you narrowly, to see if you were -worthy of her. That I think you are, I prove to you by saying, that to -no young man of my acquaintance, would I entrust her happiness so -willingly as to you, and had you talked to me freely upon the subject, -you would not, perhaps, have been in California now. Your remark -concerning Mrs. Bartow reminded me of what she once told me, and when I -questioned her again upon the subject, demanding to know the truth, she -confessed the falsehood she imposed on you, by saying I did not wish you -to marry Jessie. I can find nothing to excuse her save her foolish -pride, which will probably never be subdued. Still she is your stanch -friend now, just as she is poor William's bitter enemy. You have said -you would not talk of love to Jessie until your father was proved -innocent. This, my dear Walter, may never be, even if he is living, -which is very doubtful. So why should you hesitate. You have my free -consent to say to her whatever you think best to say. She is in -Deerwood, now, with poor Lottie, who is sadly mortified at what she -considers her disgrace. I am doing what I can for William, so is his -grandmother; but his father refuses to see him or even hear his name -spoken. Unfortunate Will, he seems penitent, and has acknowledged -everything to me, even the wicked part he acted toward you, by deceiving -you. I thank Heaven every day that Jessie's choice fell on you, and not -on him." - -This letter made Walter supremely happy, and to Captain Murdock, in whom -he now confided everything, he told how, immediately on his return to -New York, he should ask the young lady to be his wife. - -"And would you like your father to come back even though his guilt could -not be disproved?" the captain asked, and Walter answered: - -"Yes, oh, yes; but I'm afraid he never will. Poor father, if I could -once look upon his face." - -"You shall--you do!" sprang to the lips of Captain Murdock, but he -forced the wild words back, and going away alone, he prayed, as he often -did, that the load he had borne so long might be lifted from his heart, -and that the sun of domestic peace, which had early set in gloom, might -shine upon his later life. - - - - -CHAPTER XV.--GLORIOUS NEWS. - - -There was a package for Walter, who had now been some months in -California,--a package of letters and papers both,--and with a beating -heart he sat down to read, taking Mr. Graham's letter first, for that -might have a message from Jessie. - -It was glorious news which the letter contained, and it wrung a cry of -delight from Walter, which was heard by the captain, who turned to see -what it was that thus affected his companion. - -"Listen, Captain Murdock," Walter exclaimed, "listen to this. _My father -is proved innocent. Heyward was the robber,--he came back and confessed -it the night before he died_, and----" - -He did not finish the sentence, for, like a wild beast startled from its -lair by a sudden fright, Captain Murdock bounded to his side, and, -snatching the letter from him, devoured its contents at a glance then -striking his hands together, he fairly screamed: - -"Thank God! the year of jubilee has come,--the day I've waited for so -long!" - -Earnestly and half fearfully Walter gazed up into the marble face, and -into the eyes that burned like coals of fire, seeing in them now, for -the first time, a look like his grandfather. Then a suspicion of truth -burst upon him, and springing up he caught the gray-haired captain by -the arm, demanding faintly: - -"Who are you? Tell me, or I shall die." - -"I am your father, boy," and, opening his arms, the father received to -his embrace his fainting son. - -The news and the surprise combined were too much for Walter, and for -some little time he lay upon the bed, whither his father had borne him, -unconscious of the caresses, the words of love, the whispered blessings -showered on him by one who felt now that he trod a different earth, and -breathed a different air from what he had done for twenty-four long -years. - -"_Father_,"--how like music that word sounded in his ear when Walter -said it at last, and how it wrung tears from eyes which, until recently, -were unused to weep. - -"Say it again, my son. Call me father often. 'Tis the name I've thirsted -for, but never expected to hear," and the strong man, weak now as a -woman, kissed lovingly the face of the handsome boy. - -"Read it aloud," Walter said, pointing to the crumpled letter lying on -the floor. - -Mr. Marshall complied, and read in tremulous tones how Ralph Heyward, -after an absence of eighteen years, had again asked shelter at the -farm-house, saying he was tired and sick. His request was granted, and -when the morning came he was too ill to leave his bed, but lay there for -many days, kindly cared for by the deacon, to whom he made a full -confession of his guilt, saying that _he_, and not Seth Marshall, robbed -the Deerwood Bank; that it was what he intended to do when he came there -that night, feigning drunkenness the better to cover his design. - -He knew that Seth kept the keys in his pocket, and when sure that the -household were asleep, he arose, and putting on his victim's coat, cap -and shoes, left the house stealthily, committed the theft, hid the -money, and then as cautiously returned to his room, and was settling -himself a second time into an apparently drunken sleep, when he heard -some one up, looking, as he supposed, for the cause of the disturbance -he had made in accidentally upsetting a chair as he left Seth Marshall's -room. Then he was still again until the morning came, and the arrest was -made. - -At the examination, when he saw the terrible anguish of the young wife, -he was half tempted to confess, but dared not, for fear of what might -follow; so he kept his own counsel, and for a few years remained in the -vicinity of Deerwood, hoping to hear something of the man he had so -wronged, and then he went away to the West, wandering up and down with -that burden of guilt upon his soul, until at last, knowing that he must -die, he returned to Deerwood, and seeking out the farm-house, asked -permission to lay his head again beneath its hospitable roof. This done, -he acknowledged to the father how he had sinned against the son, and -after making an affidavit of his guilt, died a penitent and, it was to -be hoped, a better man. - -"And now," wrote Mr. Graham in conclusion, "I wish I could convey to you -some little idea of the present excitement in Deerwood. Everybody is -talking of the disclosure, and of your father, who, were he here, would -be a greater lion even than Lafayette in his day. And I wish that he -were here. Poor Seth! God forgive me that I testified against him. I -verily believed him guilty up to the hour when Heyward proved him -innocent. Oh, if he only could come back to me again, and to the home -where your aged grandfather prays continually that his sun may not go -down until he has seen once more the face of his boy. Poor old man, it -is a touching sight to see his lips move continually, and hear the words -he whispers: 'God send him back, God send him back.' You know Aunt Debby -always said, 'Seth allus was a good boy;' she repeats it now with -ten-fold earnestness, as if it were a fact in which everybody concurred. -It may be that your father is dead, and if so he cannot return; but if -still living, I am sure we shall see him again, for I shall take means -to have the story inserted in the papers far and near, so that it will -be sure to meet his eye. - -"Meanwhile, Walter, come home as soon as you are able to bear the -journey. We want you here to share in our great joy. Leave the business, -if it is not arranged, and come. We are waiting anxiously for you, and -none more anxiously than Jessie. She has been wild with delight ever -since I told her your father was innocent. Mrs. Bellenger, too, shares -the general joy, and were yourself and your father here our happiness -would be complete." - -"We will go, too," cried Walter, "you as Captain Murdock at first, to -see if they will know you. Oh, I wish it were now that we were there," -and Walter's dark eyes danced as he anticipated the meeting between the -deacon and his son. - -"Yes, we will go," Mr. Marshall answered, and then, after looking over -the papers which Mr. Graham had sent, and which contained Heyward's -confession, he sat down by Walter and told of his wanderings since that -dreadful night when he left his home, branded as a thief and robber. -"But first," said he, "let me tell you how I chanced to run away. I -should never have done it but for Mr. Graham, who begged and entreated -me to go." - -"Mr. Graham!" exclaimed Walter. "Why, he, I thought, was your bail." - -"So he was," returned the father, "but he wished me to come away for all -that. He would rather lose all his fortune, he said, than know I was in -prison, and sent there on his testimony. So he urged me to leave, -contriving a way for me to do so, and even carrying me himself, that -stormy night, many miles from Deerwood. I dreaded the State prison. I -believe I would rather have been hung, and I yielded to his -importunities on one condition only. I knew his father would be very -indignant, and that people would censure him severely, too, if it were -known he was in my secret, and, as I would not have him blamed, I made -him promise to me solemnly that he would never tell that he first -suggested my going and then helped me away. He has kept his promise, and -it is well. I have ample means, now, for paying him all I owe, and many -a time I have thought to send it to him, but I have been dead to all my -friends so long that I decided to remain so. I wrote to him from Texas, -asking for you all, and learning from him of Ellen's death, and of your -birth. You were a feeble child, he said, and probably would not live. I -had never seen you, my son, and when I heard that my darling was -gone,--my mother, too,--and that my father and best friend still -believed me guilty, I felt a growing coldness toward you all. I would -never write home again, I said. I would forget that I ever had a home, -and for a time I kept this resolution, plunging into vices of every -kind,--swearing, gambling, drinking----" - -"Oh father,--father!" said Walter, with a shudder. "You do not tell me -true." - -"It's all true, my boy, and more," returned the father, "but I was -overtaken at last, by a terrible sickness, the result of dissipation in -New Orleans. A sister of charity saved my life, and opened my heart to -better things. Her face was like Ellen's, and it carried me back to -other days, until I wept like a little child over my past folly. From -that sick bed, I arose a different man, and then for years I watched the -Northern papers to see if they contained anything like what we have just -read. But they did not, and I said I cannot go home yet. I sometimes saw -Mr. Graham's name, and knew that he was living, but whether you were -dead or alive I could not even guess. Here, in California, where I have -been for the last ten years, I have never met a single person from the -vicinity of Deerwood. At first I worked among the mines, amassing money -so fast as even to astonish myself. At length, weary of the labor, I -left the mines and came to the city, where I am known as Captain -Murdock, the title having been first given to me in sport by some of my -mining friends. Latterly I have thought of going home, for it is so long -since the robbery, that I had no fears of being arrested, and I was -about making up my mind to do so, when chance threw you in my way, and -it now remains for you to say when we both shall start." - -"At once,--at once," said Walter, who had listened intently to the -story, giving vent to an occasional exclamation of surprise. "We will go -in the very next steamer. I shall not have a chance to write, but it -will be just as well. I wish to see if grandpa or Mr. Graham will -recognize you." - -Mr. Marshall had no objections to testing the recollections of his -father, and he readily consented to go, saying to his friends that as -New England was his birthplace he intended accompanying his young friend -home. - -"I can write the truth back to them," he thought, "and save myself much -annoyance." - -Thus it was arranged, and the next steamer for New York which left the -harbor of San Francisco, bore on its deck the father and his son, both -eager and expectant and anxious to be at the end of the voyage. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI.--THANKSGIVING DAY AT DEERWOOD. - - -The dinner table was nicely arranged in the "best room" of the -farm-house, and Jessie Graham, with a happy look on her bright face, -flitted in and out, arranging the dishes a little more to her taste, -smoothing the snowy cloth, pausing a moment before the fire blazing so -cheerfully upon the hearth, and then glancing from the window, across -the frozen fields to the hillside where a new grave had been made since -the last Thanksgiving Day. - -"Dear Ellen!" she sighed, "there is no plate for her now,--no chair." -Then, as she remembered an absent one, dearer far than Ellen, she -thought, "I'll make believe _he's_ here," and seeking Mrs. Howland, who -was busy with her turkey, she said: "May I put a plate for Walter? It -will please him when he hears of it." - -"Yes, child," was the ready answer, and Jessie was hastening off, when a -feeble voice from the kitchen corner where the deacon sat, called her -back: - -"Jessie," the old man said. "Put Seth's arm-chair next to mine. It is -the last Thanksgiving I shall ever see, and I would fancy him with me -once more," and as Jessie turned toward the place where the leathern -chair stood, she heard the words: - -"God send him back,--God send him back." - -"It is the deacon's wish," she whispered to her father, who, with Mrs. -Bellenger, was also spending Thanksgiving at the farm-house, and who -looked up surprised, as Jessie dragged from its accustomed post, the -ponderous arm-chair, and wheeling it into the other room, placed it to -the deacon's right. - -The dinner was ready at last, and Mrs. Howland was only waiting for the -oysters to boil, before she served them up, when Jessie gave a scream of -joy, and dropping the dish of cranberries she held, ran off into the -pantry, where, as Aunt Debby affirmed, she hid herself in the closet, -though from what she was hiding it were difficult to tell. There was -surely nothing appalling in the sight of _Walter_, who, alighting from -the village omnibus, now stood upon the threshold, with Captain Murdock. - -They had stayed all night in the city, where Walter had learned that Mr. -Graham, Jessie and his grandmother, had gone to Deerwood to spend -Thanksgiving Day. - -"We shall be there just in time," he said to his father, when at an -early hour they took their seat in the cars; but his father paid little -heed, so intent was he upon noting the changes which more than twenty -years had wrought in the localities with which he was once familiar. - -As the day wore on, and he drew near to Deerwood, he leaned back in his -seat, faint and sick with the crowd of memories which came rushing over -him. - -"Deerwood!" shouted the conductor, and looking from the window, he could -scarcely believe it possible that this flourishing village was the same -he had known among the hills. When he went away _one_ spire alone -pointed heavenward, now he counted _four_, while in the faces of some -who greeted Walter again he saw the looks of those who had been boys -with him, but who were fathers now to these grown-up young men. - -"I am old," he sighed, and mechanically entering the omnibus, he folded -his arms in moody silence, as they rattled down the street. But when the -brow of the hill was reached, and Walter said: "See, father, there's our -orchard," he started, and looked, not at the orchard, nor at the gable -roof now fully in view, nor at the maple tree, but down the lane, along -the beaten path, to where a tall monument gleamed white and cold in the -gray November light. - -"That's her's,--that's mother's," Walter said, following the direction -of his father's eyes; then fearing that his father, by his emotions, -should betray himself too soon, he arose and sat by him, taking his -hand, and saying tenderly: - -"Don't give way. You have me left, and grandpa, and Aunt Mary, and -Jessie,--won't you try to be calm?" - -"Yes, yes," whispered the agitated man, and with a tremendous effort he -was calm, as, standing in the well-remembered kitchen, he waited till -the noisy outburst had somewhat subsided, and Walter been welcomed home. - -But not a single thing escaped the notice of his keen eyes, which -wandered round the room taking in each familiar object, and noticing -where there had been a change. - -There was none in Aunt Debby, he said,--wrinkled, gray, slight and -straight as her high-backed chair,--just as he remembered her years -ago,--just so she was now--her kerchief crossed as she wore it -then,--her spectacles on her forehead,--her apron long, and meeting -almost behind, and on the chair-post her satin bag with the knitting -visible therefrom. She was the same, but the comely matron Walter called -Aunt Mary, was she the blooming maiden he had left so long ago, and the -elegant-looking stranger, with the unmistakable city polish, was that -his early friend? It took him but an instant to think all this, and then -his eyes fell upon the old man by the fire,--the man with the furrowed -cheek, the bowed form, the silvery hair and shaking limbs,--who, like -some giant oak which has yielded to the storms of many a winter, sat -there the battered wreck of a once noble man. That was his father, but -he would not call him so just then, and when Walter, turning at last, -said: "This is Captain Murdock, the kind friend who took care of me," he -went forward, taking first Aunt Debby's hand, then his sister Mary's, -then Mr. Graham's, and now there was a slight faltering of manner, while -his eyes sought the floor, for they could not meet the gaze fixed so -curiously upon him. - -"Grandpa, this is Captain Murdock," said Walter, while Captain Murdock -advanced a step or so and took the shriveled hand, which had so often -rested fondly on his head. - -Oh, how Seth longed to kiss that feeble hand; but he dared not, and he -was glad that Walter, by his loud, rapid talking, attracted the entire -attention, leaving him to sit down unobserved, when the meeting between -himself and Mrs. Bellenger was over. At her he had looked rather -inquisitively, for she was his Ellen's mother, and his heart yearned -toward her for the sake of his gentle wife. - -Meanwhile Walter, without seeming to do so, had been watching for -somebody, who, behind the pantry door, was trying to gain courage to -come out. - -"I'll look at him, anyway," she said, and Walter glanced that way just -in time to see a profusion of raven curls and a shining, round black -eye. - -"Jessie," called Mr. Graham, who saw them too, "Jessie, hadn't you -better come out and gather up the cranberries you dropped so suddenly -when the omnibus drove up?" - -"Father, how can you?" and the young lady immediately appeared, and -greeted Walter quite naturally. - -He evidently was embarrassed, for he hastened to present her to Captain -Murdock, who, feeling, intuitively, that he beheld his future -daughter-in-law, took both her soft chubby hands in his and held them -there, while he said, a little mischievously: - -"I have heard much of you, Miss Jessie, from my so--, my friend, I -mean," he added, quickly, correcting himself, but not so quickly that -Jessie did not detect what he meant to say. - -One by one she scanned his features, then the deacon's, then Walter's, -and then, with a flash of intelligence in her bright eyes, turned to the -latter for a confirmation of her suspicions. Walter understood her -meaning, and with an answering nod, said softly: - -"By and by." - -"The dinner will be cold," suggested Mrs. Howland, and then the deacon -rose, and leaning on his cane, walked into the adjoining room, when he -took his seat at the head of the table. - -"There's a chair for you," Jessie said to Walter who, following the -natural laws of attraction, kept close to her side. "There's one for -_you_ and him, too, my old playhouse," and she pointed to the leathern -chair. - -"Sit here, Captain Murdock,--here," said Walter, hurrying on as he saw -Mrs. Howland giving the stranger another seat than that. - -"Walter," and there was reproach in the deacon's voice, "not in your -father's chair." - -"Yes, grandpa," said Walter, "Captain Murdock has been a father to -me,--let him sit there for once." - -So Captain Murdock sat there, his heart throbbing so loudly that Jessie, -who was next to him, could hear it beat, and see his chin quiver, when -the voice nearly eighty years old, was asking God's blessing on their -Thanksgiving Dinner; thanking God for returning their boy to them, and -finishing the prayer with the touching petition: "Send the other back! -oh, send the other back!" - -Owing to the presence of the captain, who was considered a stranger, not -a word was spoken of Seth, until they arose from the table, when Walter, -unable longer to keep still, said: - -"And so my father is free from all blame?" - -Involuntarily Jessie went up to him and put her arm in his, waiting -breathlessly for what would follow next. - -"Yes, Walter," returned the deacon, "my Seth is innocent. Heaven bless -him wherever he may be, and send him to me before I die, so I can hear -him say he didn't lay it up against me,--my hardening my heart and -thinking he was guilty. Poor Seth, poor Seth! I'd give my life to blot -out all the past and have him with me just as he was before he went -away." - -Captain Murdock was standing with his face to the window, but, as the -deacon ceased speaking, he turned, and going up to him, placed his hand -on either shoulder and looked into his eyes. - -The movement was a most singular one, and to Mr. Graham, who knew that -there must be a powerful motive for the action, there came a suspicion -of the truth; but none to the old man, whose eyes fell beneath the -burning gaze riveted upon him. - -"Who are you?" he asked in a bewildered tone, "why do you look at me so -hard? He scares me; Walter, take him away." - -"Grandpa, don't you know him?" and Walter drew near to them, but not -until the old man's ear had caught the whispered name of "_Father_." - -Then, with a scream of joy, he wound his feeble arms round the -stranger's neck. - -"Seth, boy, darling, Walter, am I going mad, or is it true? _Is it -Seth?_ Is it my boy? Tell me, Walter," and releasing their grasp, the -shaking hands were stretched supplicatingly toward Walter, who answered: - -"Yes, grandpa. _It's Seth._ I found him, and I have brought him home." - -"Oh, Seth, Seth," and the hoary head bowed itself upon the neck of the -stranger, while the poor old man sobbed like a little child. "I didn't -expect it, Seth, though I've prayed for it so hard. Bless you, bless -you, boy, I didn't mean to go against you. I would have died at any time -to know that you were innocent. Forgive me, Seth, because I am so old -and weak." - -"I do forgive you," answered Seth. "It's all forgotten now, and I've -come home to stay with you always till you die." - -There was a hand laid lightly on Seth's shoulder, and turning, he looked -into the face of Mr. Graham, which quivered with emotion, as he said: - -"I, too, have need of your forgiveness." - -"None, Richard, none," and locked in each other's arms, the friends long -parted cancelled the olden debt, and in the heart of neither was there a -feeling save that of perfect love. - -Long and passionately Mrs. Howland wept over her brother, for his return -brought back the past, and all that she had suffered since the night he -went away. - -Aunt Debby, too, was much affected, but did not omit her accustomed "He -allus was a good boy." - -Then Mrs. Bellenger approached, and offering her hand, said to him very -kindly: - -"You are dear to me for Ellen's sake, and though I never saw you until -to-day, my heart claims you for a child. Shall I be your mother, Mr. -Marshall?" - -He could only reply by pressing the hand she extended, for his heart was -all too full for utterance. - -"Let me go away alone," he said at last, "to weep out my great joy," and -opening the door of what was once his room, he passed for a time from -their midst. - -The surprise had apparently disturbed the deacon's reason, for even -after his son had left him he continued talking just the same: "Poor -Seth,--poor child, to think your hair should be so gray, and you but a -little boy." - -Then, when Seth returned to them he made him sit down beside him, and -holding both his hands, smiled up into his face a smile far more painful -than tears would have been. - -"Seth's come home. Did you know it?" he would say to those around him, -as if it were to them a piece of news, and often as he said it, he would -smoothe the gray hair which seemed to trouble him so much. - -Gradually, however, his mind became clearer, and he was able to -understand all that Seth was telling them of his experience since the -night he went away. - -At last, just as the sun was setting, Mr. Marshall arose, and without a -word, passed into the open air. No one watched him to see whither he -went, for all knew that before he returned to them he would go down the -lane, along the beaten path, to where the moonlight fell upon a little -grave. - -It was long before he came back, and when he did, and entered the large -kitchen, two figures stood by the western window, and he thought the arm -of the taller was thrown about the waist of the shorter, while the face -of the shorter was very near to that of the taller. Advancing toward -them and stroking the dark curls, he said, half playfully, half -earnestly: - -"I believe that as Mr. Marshall I have not greeted Jessie yet, so I will -do it now. Are you to be my daughter, little girl?" - -"Yes, she is," answered Walter, while Jessie broke away from them, and -was not visible again that night. - -But when, at a late hour, Mrs. Bellenger left the happy group still -assembled around the cheerful fire, and sought her room, from the depths -of the snowy pillows, where Jessie lay nestled, there came a smothered -voice, saying, half timidly: - -"This is the nicest Thanksgiving I ever had, and I shall remember it -forever." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII.--CONCLUSION. - - -Four years have passed away since that Thanksgiving dinner, and for the -deacon, who, then, did not expect to see another, there seem to be many -yet in store. Hale, hearty and happy, he sits in his arm-chair, smoking -his accustomed pipe; and when the villagers, who come often to see him, -tell him how the old farm-house is improved, and how they should -scarcely know it, he always answers: - -"Yes, Seth has good taste, and Seth is rich. He could buy Deerwood, if -he tried. He built those new houses for the poor down there by the -river; he built the factory, too, and gives them all employment. Seth is -a blessed boy." - -Others, too, there were, besides the deacon, who called Seth Marshall -blessed, and never since his return had a voice been raised against him. - -After becoming somewhat accustomed to his new position as a free and -respected man, his first wish was to modernize the farm-house a little -more according to his ideas of taste and comfort. Once he thought to -build a splendid mansion near by, but to this suggestion the father -said: - -"No; I like the old place best. The new house might be handsomer, but it -would not be the one where you and I, and all of us were born, and your -mother died. Wait till I'm dead, and then do as you please." - -And so Seth is waiting, and as he waits he sets out trees and shrubbery, -and beautifies a plot of ground, on which he will sometime erect a -dwelling as a summer residence for his son, who lives in the city, and -calls Mrs. Bartow grandma. - -When the first Christmas snows were falling after his father's return, -Walter made Jessie his bride, and there now plays at his fireside a -chubby, black-eyed boy, whom they call Graham Marshall, and who spends -more time in Deerwood than he does in New York. Quite as old as the -hoary man in the corner, who sometimes calls him Walter, but oftener -Seth, he "rides to Boston" on the deacon's knee, pulls the deacon's -beard, wears the deacon's glasses, smokes a stick of candy, and spits in -imitation of the deacon, and then falls away to sleep in the deacon's -lap,--the two forming a most beautiful picture of old age and infancy -together. - -At Mr. Graham's house, there is a beautiful six-months' baby, whose hair -looks golden in the sunlight, and whose eyes of blue are much like those -of Ellen Howland. They call her Nellie, and in all the world there is -nothing one-half so precious as this child to the broken, melancholy -man, who often comes to see her, and when no one can hear him, whispers -sadly: - -"Sweet Nellie,--darling Nellie,--little snow drop!" But whether he means -the infant in the crib, or the Nellie dead long ago, is difficult to -tell. - -For eighteen months he toiled inside the prison walls, and then the -powerful influence of Mr. Graham, Seth Marshall and Walter combined, -procured him a pardon. An humbled and a better man, he would not leave -the city. He would rather remain, he said, and live down his disgrace, -than have it follow him as it was sure to do. So he stayed, accepting -thankfully a situation which Walter procured for him, and Mrs. -Bellenger, when she saw that he was really changed, gladly gave him a -home with herself, for she was lonely now that Walter was gone. - -Old Mrs. Reeves was very much astonished that the Grahams and Marshalls -should make so much of one who had been in State prison, and said: - -"She was glad that Charlotte had married a Southern planter and gone to -Mississippi, as there was no knowing what notions might have entered her -brain." - -Every summer there is a family gathering of the Grahams and Marshalls -with Mrs. Bellenger and Mrs. Bartow at Deerwood, where the deacon seems -as young and happy as any of them. And now, where our story opened we -will bring it to a close, at the farm-house where the old man sits -smoking in the twilight with his son and grandson, and great-grandson -around him,--representatives of four generations, with a difference of -nearly eighty years between the first and fourth. - - - - _The End_. - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JESSIE GRAHAM *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37476 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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