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diff --git a/38792-h/38792-h.htm b/38792-h/38792-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea82cb0 --- /dev/null +++ b/38792-h/38792-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5871 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of For the Major, by Constance Fenimore Woolson. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.25em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.25em;text-indent:2%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.caption {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;font-size:90%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + +.eng {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;font-family:OLD ENGLISH TEXT MT, serif;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + + h1,h2 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} + + hr.full {width:100%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} + + table {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:5%; margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;text-align:left;} + + body{margin-left:2%;margin-right:2%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:95%;} + + img {border:none;} + +.sans {font-family:sans-serif;} + +.caption {font-weight:bold;} + +.figcenter {margin:5% auto 5% auto;text-align:center;} +</style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of For the Major, by Constance Fenimore Woolson + +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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: For the Major + A Novelette + +Author: Constance Fenimore Woolson + +Release Date: February 8, 2012 [EBook #38792] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR THE MAJOR *** + + + + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/cover_sml.jpg" width="362" height="550" alt="image of the book's cover" title="image of the book's cover" /></a> +</p> + + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a name="front" id="front"></a> +<a href="images/frontispiece_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/frontispiece_sml.jpg" width="349" height="550" alt=""SARA HAD PREFERRED TO WALK."— Page 71." title=""SARA HAD PREFERRED TO WALK."—[Page 71." /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"SARA HAD PREFERRED TO WALK."—[<a href="#page_071">Page 71.</a>]</span> +</p> + +<h1>FOR THE MAJOR</h1> + +<p class="eng">A Novelette</p> + +<p class="cb"><small>BY</small><br /> +CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON<br /> +<small>AUTHOR OF "ANNE"</small><br /><br /><br /> +<span class="sans"><small>ILLUSTRATED</small></span><br /><br /><br /> +NEW YORK<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE<br /> +1883</p> + +<p class="c"><br /><br /> +Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by<br /> +<br /> +<small>HARPER & BROTHERS,</small><br /> +<br /> +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.<br /> +<br /> +<i><small>All rights reserved.</small></i><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><th colspan="2" align="center"><big><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</big></th></tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chapter II.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chapter III.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Chapter IV.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">Chapter V.</a></td> + +<td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Chapter VI.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Chapter VII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Chapter VIII.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Chapter IX.</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="ILLUSTRATIONS"> +<tr><th colspan="3" align="center"><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a><big>ILLUSTRATIONS.</big></th></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"> </td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3" align="center">———</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3" align="center"> </td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>SARA HAD PREFERRED TO WALK.</small>" </td><td colspan="2" align="right"> <a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece.</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>'HAPPY GIRL,' INTERPOLATED SARA.</small>"</td><td align="center"> <i>To face p.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#page_008">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>HE CAME OFTEN TO THEIR FLOWER GARDEN.</small>"</td><td align="center"> "</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_094">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>THE GIRL DREW HER MOTHER MORE CLOSELY TO HER SIDE.</small>"</td><td align="center">"</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>THE LAST LOOK ON EARTH.</small>"</td><td align="center"> "</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td>"<small>I AM AFRAID, MAJOR, THAT YOU ARE GROWING INDOLENT.</small>"</td><td align="center"> "</td><td align="right"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p> + +<h1>FOR THE MAJOR.</h1> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p>E<small>DGERLEY</small> the first lay on the eastern flank of Chillawassee Mountain; +Edgerley the second six hundred feet above. The first Edgerley, being +nearer the high civilization of the state capital, claimed the name, and +held it; while the second Edgerley was obliged to content itself with an +added "far." Far Edgerley did not object to its adjective so long as it +was not considered as applying especially to the distance between it and +the lower town. It was "far," if you pleased—far from cities, far from +traffic, from Babylon, from Zanzibar, from the Pole—but it was not +"far" from Edgerley. Rather was Edgerley far from it, and—long may she +keep so! Meanwhile Edgerley the first prospered, though rather +plebeianly. She had two thousand inhabitants, cheese factories, +saw-mills, and a stage line across Black Mountain to Tuloa, where +connection was made with a second<a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a> line, which went eastward to the +railway. An Edgerley merchant, therefore, could reach the capital of his +state in fifty-five hours: what could man want more? The merchants were +of the opinion that they wanted nothing; they fully appreciated their +advantages, and Edgerley. But their neighbors on top of the mountain, +who looked down upon them in more senses than one, did not agree with +them in their opinion; they infinitely preferred their own village, +though it had no factories, no saw-mills, no stage line to Tuloa, and no +necessity for one, and no two thousand inhabitants—hardly, indeed, and +with stretching, a bare thousand. There would seem to have been little +in these lacks upon which to found a pride, if the matter had been +viewed with the eyes of that spirit of progress which generally takes +charge of American towns; but, so far at least, the Spirit of Progress +had not climbed Chillawassee Mountain, and thus Far Edgerley was left to +its prejudiced creed.</p> + +<p>The creed was ancient—both towns boasting an ante-Revolutionary +origin—but, though ancient, Madam Carroll of the Farms had been the +first to embody it in a portable phrase; brief (for more words would +have given too much importance to the subject), calmly superior, as a +Carroll phrase should be. Madam Carroll had remarked that Edgerley +seemed<a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a> to her "commercial." This was excellent. "Commercial!" Nothing +could be better. Whatever Far Edgerley was, it certainly was not that.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll of the Farms, upon a certain evening in May, 1868, was +sitting in her doorway, her eyes fixed upon the dull red line of a road +winding down the mountain opposite. This road was red because it ran +through red clay; and a hopelessly sticky road it was, too, at most +seasons of the year, as the horses of the Tuloa stage line knew to their +cost. But the vehicle now coming through the last fringes of the firs +was not a stage; and it was drawn, also, by two stout mules that +possessed a tenacity of purpose greater even than that of red clay. It +was the carriage of Major Carroll of the Farms, Far Edgerley, and at the +present moment it was bringing home his daughter from the western +terminus of the railway.</p> + +<p>A gentleman's carriage drawn by mules might have seemed something of an +anomaly in certain localities farther eastward. But not here. Even +Edgerley regarded this possession of its rival with a respect which +included the mules, or rather, which effaced them in the general aroma +of the whole, an aroma not actual (the actual being that of ancient +leather not unacquainted with decay), but figurative—the aroma of an +undoubted aristocracy. For "the equipage," as it was called, had +belonged to the Carrolls<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> of the Sea Islands, who, in former days of +opulence, had been in the habit of spending their summers at the Farms. +When their distant cousin, the Major, bought the Farms, he bought the +carriage also. This was as well. The Sea Island Carrolls had no longer +any use for a carriage. They had not even mules to draw it, and, as they +lived all the year round now upon one of their Sea Islands, whose only +road through the waste of old cotton-fields was most of the time +overflowed, they had nothing to draw it upon; so the Major could as well +have the benefit of it. This carriage with its mules now came into sight +on the zigzags of the mountain opposite; but it had still to cross the +lower valley, and climb Chillawassee, and night had fallen before the +sound of its wheels was heard on the little bridge over the brook which +crossed what was called Carroll Lane, the grassy avenue which led from +Edgerley Street up the long knoll to Carroll Farms.</p> + +<p>"Chew up, Peter! chew up, then. Chew!" Inches, the coachman, said to his +mules: Inches wished to approach the house in good style. The mules, +refusing to entertain this idea, came up to the door on a slow walk. +Inches could, however, let down the steps with a flourish; and this he +proceeded to do by the light of the candle which Madam Carroll had +brought with her to the piazza. The steps came<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a> down with a long +clatter. And they had clanked in their imprisonment all the way from +Tuloa. But no one in Far Edgerley would have sacrificed them for such +trifles as these; they were considered to impart an especial dignity to +"the equipage" (which was, indeed, rather high-hung). No other carriage +west of the capital had steps of this kind. It might have been added +that no other carriage east of it had them either. But Chillawassee did +not know this, and went on contentedly admiring. As to the clatter made +when the steps were let down—at the church door, for instance, on +Sunday mornings—did it not announce that the Major and his wife had +arrived, that they were about to enter? And were not people naturally +glad to know this in time? They could be all ready, then, to look.</p> + +<p>Upon this occasion the tall girl who had arrived, scarcely touching the +unfolded steps, sprang lightly to the ground, and clasped the waiting +lady in her arms. "Oh, mamma, how glad I am to see you again! But where +is my father?"</p> + +<p>"He felt very tired, Sara, and as it is late, he has gone to his room. +He left his love for you. You know we expected you two hours ago."</p> + +<p>"It is but little past ten. He must be still awake. Could I not slip in +for a moment, just to speak to him? I would not stay."<a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a></p> + +<p>"He has been asleep for some time. It would be better not to disturb +him, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"If he is asleep—of course," answered Sara Carroll. But her tone was a +disappointed one.</p> + +<p>"You will see him in the morning," said the elder lady, leading the way +within.</p> + +<p>"But a whole night to wait is so long!"</p> + +<p>"You do not intend, I presume, to pass this one in wakefulness?" said +Madam Carroll.</p> + +<p>Sara laughed. "Scar, too, is asleep, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But Scar you can waken, if you like; he falls asleep again +readily. He is in the first room at the head of the stairs."</p> + +<p>The girl flew off, coming back with a bright face. "Dear little fellow!" +she said, "his hands and cheeks are as soft as ever. I am so glad that +he has not grown into a great, rough boy. It is a year and a half since +I have seen him, and he seems exactly the same."</p> + +<p>"He is the same," said Madam Carroll. "He does not grow."</p> + +<p>"I am delighted to hear it," replied Sara, answering stoutly the +mother's implied regret. And then they both laughed.</p> + +<p>Judith Inches, sister of the coachman, now served a light repast for the +traveller in the dining-room. But when it was over, the two ladies came +back to the door-way.<a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a></p> + +<p>"For I want to look out," Sara said. "I want to be sure that I am really +at home at last; that this is Chillawassee, that the Black Range is +opposite, and that there in the west the long line of Lonely Mountain is +rising against the sky."</p> + +<p>"As it is dark, perhaps you could see them as well from a comfortable +chair in the library," suggested Madam Carroll, smiling.</p> + +<p>"By no means. They will reveal themselves to me; you will see. I know +just where they all ought to be; I made a map from the descriptions in +your letters."</p> + +<p>She had seated herself on the door-step, while Madam Carroll sat in a +low chair within. Outside was a broad piazza; beyond it an old-fashioned +flower-garden going down the slope of the knoll. All the earlier summer +flowers were out, their presence made known in the warm, deep darkness +by perfume only, save for a faint glimmer of white where the snow-ball +bushes stood.</p> + +<p>"And so, as I told you, I have decided to give an especial reception," +said Madam Carroll, returning to a subject begun in the dining-room. "I +shall have it on Monday; from five to eight."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you took the trouble, mamma. It is pleasure enough for me +simply to be at home again."</p> + +<p>"My receptions are seldom for pleasure, I think,"<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> said Madam Carroll, +thoughtfully. "In this case it seemed proper to announce the fact that +you had returned to us; that Miss Carroll would be henceforth a member +of her father's household at the Farms."</p> + +<p>"Happy girl!" interpolated Sara. She was leaning back in the door-way, +her hands clasped behind her head, her eyes looking into the soft +darkness of the garden.</p> + +<p>"This was, in my opinion, a not unimportant event," continued Madam +Carroll. "And it will be so estimated in Far Edgerley. There are, you +know, in every society certain little distinctions and—and differences, +which should be properly marked; the home-coming of Miss Carroll is one +of them. You have, without doubt, an appropriate dress?"</p> + +<p>"All my gowns are black, of course. There is one I call best; but even +that is severely plain."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/ill_pg_008_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/ill_pg_008_sml.jpg" width="365" height="550" alt=""'HAPPY GIRL,' INTERPOLATED SARA."" title=""'HAPPY GIRL,' INTERPOLATED SARA."" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"'HAPPY GIRL,' INTERPOLATED SARA."</span> +</p> + +<p>"On the whole, you will look well in it," answered Madam Carroll, after +a moment's consideration of the figure in the door-way; "and it will +have the added advantage of being a contrast. We have few contrasts in +Far Edgerley, and, I may say, no plainness—no plainness whatever. +Rather, a superabundance of trimming. The motive is good: I should be +the last to underrate it. But even with the best intentions you cannot +always construct new costumes from changes of trimming merely; there +comes a<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> time when the finest skill will not take the place of a +little fresh material, no matter how plain it may be. The Greers, for +instance, have made over their green poplins twice a year now for five +years, and have done it well. But, after all, we remain conscious that +they are still the same green poplins. Miss Corinna Rendlesham, too, and +her sisters, have accomplished wonders with different combinations of +narrow black velvet ribbon and fringe on their black silks—so much so, +indeed, that the material is now quite riddled with the old lines of +needle-holes where trimmings formerly ran. They wear them to church with +Stella shawls," pursued the lady, meditatively; "and to receptions, +turned in at the neck, with white lace."</p> + +<p>"Do the other people here give receptions also?" asked Sara, from the +door-step.</p> + +<p>"They would never dream of it," replied the elder lady, with serenity.</p> + +<p>But was she the elder? No sign of age was visible in all her little +person from head to foot. She was very small and slight. Her muslin +gown, whose simple gathered waist was belted by a ribbon sash, had a +youthful, almost childlike, aspect, yet at the same time a pretty +quaintness of its own, like that of an old-fashioned miniature. The +effect of this young-old attire was increased by the arrangement<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> of the +hair. It was golden hair, even and fine, and it hung in curls all round +her head—long curls that fell below the waist. These curls were +distinct and complete spirals, each one perfect in itself, not +intertwining with the next; a round stick passed through any one of them +would not have been visible from bottom to top. "Now <i>that</i> is what I +call a curl!" old Senator Ashley was wont to remark. But though this +golden hair curled so definitively when it once began to curl, it lay +smooth and straight as the hair of a nun over the top of the little +head, and came down evenly also over the corners of the forehead, after +that demure old fashion which made of every lady's brow a modest +triangle, unambitious alike of a too intellectual height or a too pagan +lowness.</p> + +<p>What was it that this little <i>grande dame</i>, with her curls, her dress, +and her attitudes, resembled? Some persons upon seeing her would have +been haunted by a half-forgotten memory, and would at last (if clever) +have recalled the pictures in the old "Annuals" and "Keepsakes" of fair +ladies of the days of the Hon. Mrs. Norton and L. E. L. The little +mistress of Carroll Farms needed but a scarf and harp, or a gold chain +round her curls, with an ornament reposing classically in the centre of +her forehead, to have taken her place among them. But upon a closer +inspection one difference would have made<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> itself apparent, namely, that +whereas the lovely ladies of the "Annuals" were depicted with shoulders +copiously bare (though much cloth had been expended in sleeves), the +muslin gown of little Madam Carroll came up to her chin, the narrow +ruffles at the top being kept in place by a child's old-fashioned +necklace of coral, which fitted closely over them.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll's eyes were blue, large, and in expression tranquil; her +features were small and delicate, the slender little lips like rose +leaves, the upper one rather long, coming straight down over childlike +teeth of pearl. No; certainly there was no sign of age. Yet it might +have been noticed, also, by an acute observer, how little space, where +such signs would have been likely to appear, was left uncovered: the +tell-tale temples and outside corners of the eyes, the throat, with its +faint, betraying hue, the subtly traitorous back of the neck, the +texture of the wrists and palms, all these were concealed by the veil of +curls and the close ruffles of the dress, the latter falling over the +hands almost to the knuckles. There was really nothing of the actual +woman to be seen save a narrow, curl-shaded portion of forehead and +cheek, two eyes, a little nose and mouth, and the small fingers; that +was all.</p> + +<p>But a presence is more than an absence. Absent<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a> as were all signs of age +in Madam Carroll, as present were all signs of youth in the daughter who +had just arrived. Sara Carroll was barely twenty. She was tall and +slender; she carried herself well—well, but with a little air of pride. +This air came from the poise of her head: it was as noticeable when one +saw her back only as when one saw her face. It seemed a pride personal, +not objective, belonging to herself, not to her surroundings; one could +imagine her with just the same air on a throne, or walking with a basket +on her arm across a prairie. But while it was evident that she was +proud, it would have been difficult to have stated correctly the nature +of the feeling, since it was equally evident that she cherished none of +the simple little beliefs often seen in girls of her age before contact +with the world has roughly dispelled them—beliefs that they are +especially attractive, beautiful, interesting, winning, and have only to +go forth to conquer. But she herself could have stated the nature of it +confidently enough: she believed that her tastes, her wishes, her ideas, +possessed rather a superior quality of refinement; but far beyond this +did her pride base itself upon the fact that she was her father's +daughter. She had been proud of this from her birth. Her features were +rather irregular, delicate. Ordinarily she had not much color. Her +straight,<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a> soft thick hair of dark brown was put plainly back from her +oval face, and this face was marked by the slender line of eyebrows of +the same dusky hue, and lighted by two gray eyes, which were always, in +their fair, clear color, a sort of surprise when the long, dark lashes +were lifted.</p> + +<p>"I wonder that you take the trouble," she said, referring to the +proposed reception.</p> + +<p>The blue orbs of Madam Carroll dwelt upon her for a moment. "We must +fill our position," she answered. "We did not make it; it has been +allotted to us. Its duties are therefore our duties."</p> + +<p>"But are they real duties, mamma? May they not be fictitious ones? If we +should drop them for a while—as an experiment?"</p> + +<p>"If we should drop them," answered Madam Carroll—"if we should drop +them, Far Edgerley, socially speaking, would disappear. It would become +a miscellaneous hamlet upon a mountain-top, like any other. It would +dissolve into its component parts, which are, as you know, but ciphers; +we, of the Farms, hold them together, and give them whatever importance +they possess."</p> + +<p>"In other words, we, of the Farms, are the large figure. One, which, +placed before these poor ciphers, immediately turns them into wealth," +said Sara, laughing.<a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a> "Precisely. The receptions are part of it. In +addition, the Major likes them."</p> + +<p>Sara's eyes left the soft darkness of the garden, and rested upon the +speaker. "If my father likes them, that is enough. But I thought he did +not; he used to speak of them, when we met at Baltimore, as so +wearisome."</p> + +<p>"Wearisome, perhaps; but still duties. And of late—that is, since you +last saw him a year and a half ago—he has come to make of them a sort +of pastime."</p> + +<p>"That is so like my father! He always looks above everything narrow and +petty. He can find even in poor little Far Edgerley something of +interest. How glad I am to be at home again, mamma, where I can be with +him all the time! I have never met any one in the world who could +approach my father." She spoke warmly; her gray eyes were full of loving +pride.</p> + +<p>"He appreciates your affection. Never doubt it, in spite of what may +seem to you an—an increase of reticence," said Madam Carroll.</p> + +<p>"Father was never talkative."</p> + +<p>"True. But he is more easily fatigued now than formerly—since his +illness of last winter, you know. But it is growing late; I must close +the house."</p> + +<p>"Do you do that yourself?"<a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a></p> + +<p>"Generally. I seldom keep Judith Inches up after half-past nine. And on +ordinary occasions I am in bed myself soon after ten. Your home-coming +is an extraordinary one."</p> + +<p>"And extraordinarily glad it makes me," said Sara. "I wonder, mamma, if +you know how glad? I have fairly pined during this last year and a half +at Longfields—yes, in spite of all Uncle John's kindness. Do you think +me heartless?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Madam Carroll, as they went up the stairs together. "You +loved your uncle, I know. You did your best to make him happy. But your +father, Sara—your father, you have always adored."</p> + +<p>"And I continue to do it," answered the daughter, gayly. "I shall be +down early, early in the morning to see him."</p> + +<p>"He does not come to breakfast at present. His strength has not yet +fully returned. I have written you of this."</p> + +<p>"Not that he did not come to breakfast, mamma. That is so unlike him; he +was always so cheerful and bright at the breakfast-table. But at least I +can take his breakfast in to him?"</p> + +<p>"I think he would rather see you later—about ten, or half-past."</p> + +<p>A flush rose in Sara's face: no one would have called her colorless now. +She looked hurt and angry.<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> "Pray, who does take in his breakfast, +then?" she asked. "I should think I might be as welcome as Judith +Inches."</p> + +<p>"I take it," replied Madam Carroll, gently.</p> + +<p>"Very well, mamma; I will not begin by being jealous of you?"</p> + +<p>"You never have been, my daughter. And I—have appreciated it." Madam +Carroll spoke in low tones: they were approaching the Major's door. She +pointed towards it warningly. "We must not waken him," she said. She led +her daughter in silence to the room she had fitted up for her with much +taste and care. They kissed each other, and separated.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Sara Carroll looked round her room. As much had been done to +make it bright as woman's hands, with but a small purse to draw upon, +could accomplish. The toilet-table, the curtains, the low lounge, with +its great, cool, chintz-covered pillows, the hanging shelves, the +easy-chair, the writing-table—all these were miracles of prettiness and +ingenuity. But the person for whom this had been done saw it but +vaguely. She was thinking of only one thing—her father; that he had not +waited to welcome her; that she should not see him until half-past ten +the next morning. What could this mean? If he were ill, should not his +daughter be the first to see him, the first to take care of him?<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> She +had told Madam Carroll that she would not begin the new home life by +being jealous of her. But there was something very like jealousy in the +disappointment which filled her heart as she laid her head upon the +pillow. She had looked forward to her home-coming so long; and now that +she held it in her grasp it was not at all what she had been sure it +would be.</p> + +<p>Upon this same Saturday evening, at dusk, light was shining from the +porch and windows of St. John in the Wilderness, the Episcopal church of +Far Edgerley. This light shone brightest from the porch, for there was a +choir rehearsal within, and the four illuminating candles were down by +the door, where stood the organ. Two of the candles illumined the +organist, Miss Rendlesham the second, that is, Miss Millie; the others +lighted the high music-stand, behind which stood the choir in two rows, +the first very crowded, the second looking with some difficulty over the +shoulders of the first at the lighted books which served for both, +little Miss Tappen, indeed, who was short, being obliged to stand on +four unused chant-books, piled. In the front row were the soprani, eight +in number, namely, Miss Rendlesham the elder, and her sister; the three +Misses Greer; Miss Dalley and her two cousins, the Farrens, who were +(which was so interesting) twins.<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a> In the back row were the two +contralti, Miss Bolt and the already-mentioned Miss Tappen on her books, +together with the tenor, Mr. Phipps; there, too, was the basso, Mr. +Ferdinand Kenneway, a bachelor of amiable aspect, but the possessor +also, in spite of amiability, of several singularly elusive qualities +which had tried the patience of not a few.</p> + +<p>The music-stand, no doubt, was very much too short for this company. But +then it was intended for a quartette only, and had served without +question for four estimable persons during the long, peaceful rectorship +of good old Parson Montgomery, who had but recently passed away. Since +the advent of his successor, the Reverend Frederick Owen, three months +before, the choir had trebled its size without trebling that of the +stand; the result was naturally that which has been described.</p> + +<p>The Reverend Frederick Owen was an unmarried man.</p> + +<p>St. John in the Wilderness had as its rector's study a little one-story +building standing in the church-yard, not far from the church; on +Saturday evenings the rector was generally there. Upon the present +evening Miss Rendlesham the elder, that is, Miss Corinna, sent the +juvenile organ-blower, Alexander Mann by name, across to this study for +the numbers of the hymns, as usual. But the rector did<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> not return with +Alexander Mann, as usual, bringing the hymns with him: he sent the +numbers, written on a slip of paper. Under these circumstances the choir +began its practising. And its practising was, on the whole, rather +spiritless. That is, in sound, but not in continuance; for, two hours +later, they were still bravely at work. The time had been principally +filled with <i>Te Deums</i>. During the past three months the choir had had a +new <i>Te Deum</i> every Sunday—to the discomfiture of Senator Ashley, who +liked to join in "old Jackson's."</p> + +<p>This gentleman, who was junior warden, had dropped in, soon after +Alexander Mann's departure with the hymns, to talk over some church +matters with the rector. The church matters finished, he remained a +while longer to talk over matters more secular. The junior warden had a +talent for talking. But this gift (as is often the case with gifts) was +not encouraged at home, Miss Honoria Ashley, his daughter, not being of +a listening disposition. The junior warden was therefore obliged to +carry his talent elsewhere. He was a small old gentleman, lean and +wizened, but active, and even lively, in spite of his age, save for a +harassing little cough, which could, however, end with surprising +adaptation to circumstances in either a chuckle or a groan. The +possessor of this cough wore an old-fashioned dress-coat,<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> with a high +stock and very neat, shining little shoes. He had always in his +button-hole a flower in summer, and in winter a geranium leaf.</p> + +<p>The chanting of the choir came through the open windows. "I should think +they would be exhausted over there," he said. "How long do they keep it +up? Ferdinand Kenneway must be voiceless by this time. He has only a +thread of a voice to begin with."</p> + +<p>"He sings with unusual correctness, I believe," said the rector.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's <i>correct</i>—very! It's his only characteristic. I don't know of +any other, unless you include his health: he lives principally for the +purpose of not taking cold. Your choir is rather predominately feminine +just now, isn't it?" added the old gentleman, slyly.</p> + +<p>"Choirs are apt to be, are they not? I mean the volunteer ones. For the +women everywhere come to church far more than the men do. It is one of +the problems with which clergymen of the present day find themselves +confronted."</p> + +<p>"That the women come?"</p> + +<p>"That the men do not." The rector spoke gravely. He was but little over +thirty himself, yet he had been obliged more than once to put a mildly +restraining pressure upon the somewhat too active gay-mindedness of his +venerable junior warden.<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a></p> + +<p>"What's that thing they're trying now?" said this official, abandoning +his jocularity. "Dull and see-saw it sounds to me; dull and see-saw."</p> + +<p>"It's a <i>Te Deum</i> I selected for Trinity Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Ah, if <i>you</i> selected it—But it can never equal 'old Jackson's,' +never! That's Sophy Greer on the solo. She can no more do it than a +consumptive hen. But, sir, I'll tell you who can—Sara Carroll. They +expect her home to-night."</p> + +<p>"Madam Carroll's daughter?"</p> + +<p>"No, the Major's. Madam Carroll is the Major's second wife—didn't you +know that? Sara Carroll, sir, can never hope to equal her step-mother in +beauty, grace, or charm. But she is a fine girl in her way—as indeed +she ought to be: her mother was a Witherspoon-Meredith."</p> + +<p>The rector looked unimpressed. The junior warden, seeing this, drew up +his chair. "The Witherspoon-Merediths, Mr. Owen, are one of our oldest +families." (The rector resigned himself.) "When Scarborough Carroll +married the beautiful Sara of that name, a noble pair they were, indeed, +as they stood at the altar. I speak, sir, from knowledge: <i>I</i> was +<i>there</i>. Their children—two boys—died, to their great grief. The last +child was this daughter Sara; and the accomplished mother passed away +soon after the little thing's birth. Sir, Major Carroll, your senior<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a> +warden, has always been one of our grandest men; in personal appearance, +character, and distinguished services, one of the noblest sons of our +state. Of late he has not, perhaps, been <i>quite</i> what he was physically; +but the change is, in my opinion, entirely due—entirely—to his own +absurd imprudences. For he is still in the prime of life, the very +prime." (Major Carroll was sixty-nine; but as the junior warden was +eighty-five, he naturally considered his colleague still quite a boy.) +"Until lately, however, he has been undeniably, I will not say one of +nature's princes, because I do not believe in them, but one of the +princes of the Carrolls, which is saying a vast deal more. His little +girl has always adored him. He has been, in fact, a man to inspire +admiration. To give you an idea of what I mean: a half-brother of his, +much older than himself, and broken in health, lost, by the failure of a +bank, all he had in the world. He was a married man, with a family. +Carroll, who was at that time a young lieutenant just out of West Point, +immediately shared his own property with this unfortunate relative. He +didn't dole out help, keeping a close watch over its use, or grudgingly +give so much a year, with the constant accompaniment of good advice; he +simply deeded a full half of all he had to his brother, and never spoke +of it again. Forty-five years have passed, and<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a> he has never broken this +silence; the brother is dead, and I doubt if the children and +grandchildren who profited by the generous act even know to whom they +are indebted. Such, sir, is the man, chivalrous, unsullied, true. In +1861 he gave his sword to his state, and served with great gallantry +throughout the war. He was twice severely wounded; you may have noticed +that his left arm is stiff. When our Sacred Cause was lost, with the +small remains of his small fortune he purchased this old place called +the Farms, and here, sir, he has come, to pass the remainder of his days +in, as I may well say, the Past—the only country left open to him, as +indeed to many of us." And the old gentleman's cough ended in the groan.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Carroll has not been with them here?" asked the rector, giving +the helm of conversation a slight turn from this well-beaten track.</p> + +<p>"No, she has not. But there have been good reasons for it. To give you +the causes, I must make a slight detower into retrospect. At a military +post in Alabama, when Sara was about seven years old, the Major met the +lady who is now Madam Carroll; she was then a widow named Morris, with +one child, a little girl. You have seen this lady for yourself, sir, and +know what she is—a domestic angel, yet a very Muse in culture; one of +the loveliest women,<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> one of the most engaging, upon my word, that ever +walked the face of this earth, and honored it with her tread." (The +junior warden spoke with enthusiasm.) "She is of course very much +younger than her husband, <i>thir</i>-ty three or four years at the least, I +should say; for Carroll was fifty-six at the time of his second +marriage, though no one would have suspected it. I saw Madam Carroll +very soon afterwards, and she could not have been then more than twenty +one or two; a little fairy-like girl-mother. She must have been married +the first time when not more than sixteen. Later they had a son, the boy +you know, who is now, save Sara, the only child."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see; I understand," said the rector.</p> + +<p>But the junior warden did not; his understanding was that there was more +to tell. He drew up his chair again. "Sara Carroll, sir, is a remarkable +girl." (The rector again resigned himself.) "She is, as I may say, +one-ideaed. By that I mean that she has had from childhood one feeling +so predominant that she has fairly seemed to have but the one, which is +her devotion to her father. She had scarcely been separated from him +(save, as it happens, during the very summer when he met and married the +present Madam Carroll) until she was a tall girl of thirteen. This was +in 1861. At that time, before the beginning of actual hostilities, her +uncle,<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> John Chase—he had married her mother's sister—offered to take +her and have her educated with his own daughter Euphemia during the +continuance of the troubled times. For John Chase had always been very +fond of the little Sara; he fancied that she was like his wife. And, +cold New-Englander though he was, he had worshipped his wife (she was +Juliet Witherspoon-Meredith), and seemed to be always thinking of her, +though she had been dead many years. The Major at first refused. But +Madam Carroll, with her exquisite perception, perfect judgment, and +beautiful goodness" (the junior warden always spoke in at least triplets +of admiration when he mentioned the Major's wife), "explained to him the +benefit it would be to Sara. Her own lot was cast with his; she would +not have it otherwise; but in the wandering life she expected to lead, +following his fortunes through the armed South, what advantages in the +way of education should she be able to secure for his little daughter, +who was now of an age to need them? Whereas her uncle, who was very fond +of her, would give her many. The Major at last yielded. And then Sara +was told. Well as they knew her, I think they were both alarmed at the +intensity of her grief. But when the poor child saw how it was +distressing her father, she controlled it, or rather the expression of<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> +it; and to me her self-control was more touching even than her tears had +been, for one could see that her innocent heart was breaking. The +parting was a most pathetic sight—her white cheeks, silence, and +loving, despairing eyes, that never left her father's face—I don't know +when I have been more affected. For I speak from personal remembrance, +sir: <i>I</i> was <i>there</i>. Well, that little girl did not see her father +again for four long years. She lived during that time with her uncle at +Longfields—one of those villages of New England with still, elm-shaded, +conscientious streets, silent white houses, the green blinds all closed +across their broad fronts, yet the whole pervaded too, in spite of this +quietude, by an atmosphere of general, unresting <i>interrogativeness</i>, +which is, as I may say, sir, <i>strangling</i> to the unaccustomed throat. I +speak from personal remembrance; I have been <i>personally</i> there."</p> + +<p>"I do not think there is now as much of—of the atmosphere you mention, +as there once was," said the rector, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, perhaps not. But when I was there you breathed it in every +time you opened your mouth—like powdered alum. But to ree-vee-nir (I +presume you are familiar with the French expression). In those four +years Sara Carroll grew to womanhood; but she did not grow in her +feelings;<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> she remained one-ideaed. Mind you, I do not, while describing +it, mean in the least to commend such an affection as hers; it was +unreasonable, overstrained. I should be very sorry indeed, extremely +sorry, to see my daughter Honoria making such an idol of me."</p> + +<p>The rector, who knew Miss Honoria Ashley, her aspect, voice, and the +rules with which she barred off the days of the poor old junior warden, +let his eyes fall upon his well-scrubbed floor (scrubbed twice a week, +under the personal supervision of Mrs. Rendlesham, by the Rendleshams +maid-of-all-work, Lucilla).</p> + +<p>"But the Ashleys are always of a calm and reasonable temperament, I am +glad to say," pursued the warden, "a temperament that might be +classified as judicial. Honoria is judicial. To ree-vee-nir. Sara was +about seventeen when her father bought this place, called the Farms, and +nothing, I suppose, could have kept her from coming home at that time +but precisely that which did keep her—the serious illness of the uncle +to whom she owed so much. His days were said to be numbered, and he +wanted her constantly beside him. I am inclined to suspect that his own +daughter, Euphemia, while no doubt a highly intellectual person, may not +have a—a natural aptitude for those little tendernesses of voice, +touch,<a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a> and speech—unprescribed if you like, but most dear—which to a +sick man, sir, are beyond rubies, far beyond." The old man's eyes had a +wistful look as he said this; he had forgotten for the moment his +narrative, and even Miss Honoria; he was thinking of Miss Honoria's +mother, his loving little wife, who had been long in paradise.</p> + +<p>He went on with his story, but less briskly. "Sara, therefore, has +remained at Longfields with her uncle. But every six months or so she +has come down as far as Baltimore to meet her father, who has journeyed +northward for the purpose, with Madam Carroll, the expense of these +meetings being gladly borne by John Chase, whose days could not have +been so definitely numbered, after all, as he supposed, since he has +lingered on indefinitely all this time, nearly three years. During the +last year and a half, too, he has been so feeble that Sara could not +leave him, the mere thought of an absence, however short, seeming to +prey upon him. She has not, therefore, seen her father since their last +Baltimore meeting, eighteen months back, as the Major himself has not +been quite well enough to undertake the long journey to Connecticut. +Chase at length died, two months ago, and she has now come home to live. +From what I hear," added the warden, summing up, "I am inclined to think +that she will prove a very<a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a> fair specimen of a Witherspoon and Meredith, +if not quite a complete Carroll."</p> + +<p>"And she could sing the solo for us on Trinity Sunday?" said the rector, +giving the helm a turn towards his anthem.</p> + +<p>"She <i>could</i>," said the warden, with impartial accent, retreating a +little when he found himself confronted by a date.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean if she would?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes. She is rather distant—reserved; I mean, that she seems so +to strangers. You won't find <i>her</i> offering to sing in your choir, or +teach in your Sunday-school, or bring you flowers, or embroider your +book-marks, or make sermon-covers for you, or dust the church, or have +troubles in her mind which require your especial advice; <i>she</i> won't be +going off to distant mission stations on Sunday afternoons, walking +miles over red-clay roads, and jumping brooks, while you go comfortably +on your black horse. She'll be rather a contrast in St. John's just now, +won't she?" And the warden's cough ended in the chuckle.</p> + +<p>It was now after ten, and the choir was still practising. Mr. Phipps, +indeed, had proposed going home some time before. But Miss Corinna +Rendlesham having remarked in a general way that she pitied "poor puny +men" whose throats were always<a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a> "giving out," he knew from that that she +would not go herself nor allow Miss Lucy to go. Now Miss Lucy was the +third Miss Rendlesham, and Mr. Phipps greatly admired her. Ferdinand +Kenneway, wiser than Phipps, made no proposals of any sort (this was +part of his correctness); his voice had been gone for some time, but he +found the places for everybody in the music-books, as usual, and +pretended to be singing, which did quite as well.</p> + +<p>"I am convinced that there is some mistake about this second hymn," +announced Miss Corinna (after a fourth rehearsal of it); "it is the same +one we had only three Sundays ago."</p> + +<p>"Four, I think," said Miss Greer, with feeling. For was not this a +reflection upon the rector's memory?</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well; if it <i>is</i> four, I will say nothing. I <i>was</i> going to +send Alexander Mann over to the study to find out—supposing it to be +three only—if there might not be some mistake."</p> + +<p>At this all the other ladies looked reproachfully at Miss Greer.</p> + +<p>She murmured, "But your fine powers of remembrance, dear Miss Corinna, +are <i>far</i> better than mine."</p> + +<p>Miss Corinna accepted this; and sent Alexander Mann on his errand. +Ferdinand Kenneway, in the<a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a> dusk of the back row, smiled to himself, +thinly; but as nature had made him thin, especially about the cheeks, he +was not able to smile in a richer way.</p> + +<p>During the organ-boy's absence the choir rested. The voices of the +ladies were, in fact, a little husky.</p> + +<p>"No, it's all right; that's the hymn he meaned," said Alexander Mann, +returning. "An' I ast him if he weern't coming over ter-night, an' he +says, 'Oh yes!' says he, an' he get up. Old Senator Ashley's theer, an' +<i>he</i> get up too. So I reckon the parson's comin', ladies." And Alexander +smiled cheerfully on the row of bonnets as he went across to his box +beside the organ.</p> + +<p>But Miss Corinna stopped him on the way. "What could have possessed you +to ask questions of your rector in that inquisitive manner, Alexander +Mann?" she said, surveying him. "It was a piece of great impertinence. +What are his intentions or his non-intentions to you, pray?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss Corinna, it's orful late, an' I've blowed an' blowed till +I'm clean blowed out. An' I knewed that as long as the parson stayed on +over theer, you'd all—"</p> + +<p>"All what?" demanded Miss Corinna, severely.</p> + +<p>But Alexander, frightened by her tone, retreated to his box.</p> + +<p>"Never mind him, dear Miss Corinna," said little<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> Miss Tappen, from +behind; "he's but a poor motherless orphan."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he is, and perhaps he is <i>not</i>" said Miss Corinna. "But in any +case he must finish his sentence: propriety requires it. Speak up, then, +Alexander Mann."</p> + +<p>"I'll stand by you, Sandy," said Mr. Phipps, humorously.</p> + +<p>"You said," pursued Miss Corinna, addressing the box, since Alexander +was now well hidden within it—"you said that as long as the rector +remained in his study, you knew—"</p> + +<p>"I knewed you'd all hang on here," said Alexander, shrilly, driven to +desperation, but safely invisible within his wooden retreat.</p> + +<p>"Does he mean anything by this?" asked Miss Corinna, turning to the +soprani.</p> + +<p>"I am sure we have not remained a moment beyond our usual time," said +Miss Greer, with dignity.</p> + +<p>"I ask you, does he <i>mean</i> anything?" repeated Miss Corinna, sternly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear Miss Corinna, I am sure he has no meaning at all—none +whatever. He never has," said good-natured little Miss Tappen, from her +piled chant-books. "And he weeds flower-beds <i>so</i> well!"</p> + +<p>Here voices becoming audible outside, the ladies stopped; a moment later +the rector entered. His<a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a> junior warden was not with him. Having +recollected suddenly the probable expression upon Miss Honoria's face at +this hour, the junior warden had said good-night, paced down the knoll +and up Edgerley Street with his usual careful little step until the safe +seclusion of Ashley Lane was reached, when, laying aside his dignity, he +took its even moonlit centre, and ran, or rather trotted, as fast as he +could up its winding ascent to his own barred front door, where Miss +Honoria let him in, candle in hand, and on her head the ominous cap +(frilled) which was with her the expression of the hour. For Miss +Honoria always arranged her hair for the night and put on this cap at +ten precisely; thus crowned, and wrapped in a singularly depressing gray +shawl, she was accustomed to wait for the gay junior warden, when (as +had at present happened) he had forgotten her wishes and the excellent +clock on her mantel that struck the hours. Meanwhile the rector was +speaking to his choir about the selections for Trinity Sunday. He +addressed Miss Corinna. At rehearsals he generally addressed Miss +Corinna. This was partly due to her martial aspect, which made her seem +the natural leader far more than Phipps or Kenneway, but principally +because, being well over fifty, she was no longer troubled by the +flutter of embarrassment with which the other ladies seemed<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> to be +oppressed whenever he happened to speak to them—timid young things as +they were, all of them under thirty-five.</p> + +<p>Miss Corinna responded firmly. The other ladies maintained a gently +listening silence. At length the rector, having finished all he had to +say, glanced at his watch. "Isn't it rather late?" he said.</p> + +<p>And they were all surprised to find how late it was.</p> + +<p>Like a covey of birds rising, they emerged from the pen made by the +music-stand and organ, and moved in a modest group towards the door. The +rector remained behind for a moment to speak to Bell-ringer Flower. When +he came out, they were still fluttering about the steps and down the +front path towards the gate. "I believe our roads are the same," he +said.</p> + +<p>As indeed they were: there was but one road in Far Edgerley. This was +called Edgerley Street, and all the grassy lanes that led to people's +residences turned off from and came back to it, going nowhere else. +There were advantages in this. Some persons had lately felt that they +had not sufficiently appreciated this excellent plan for a town; for if +any friend should happen to be out, paying a visit or taking the air, +sooner or later, with a little patience, one could always meet her (or +him); she (or<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a> he), without deliberate climbing of fences, not being +able to escape.</p> + +<p>The little company from the church now went down the church knoll +towards this useful street. Far Edgerley was all knolls, almost every +house having one of its own, and crowning it. The rector walked first, +with Miss Corinna; the other ladies followed in a cluster which was +graceful, but somewhat indefinite as to ranks, save where Mr. Phipps had +determinedly placed himself beside Miss Lucy Rendlesham, and thus made +one even rank of two. Ferdinand Kenneway walked by himself a little to +the right of the band; he walked not with any one in particular, but as +general escort for the whole. Ferdinand Kenneway often accompanied Far +Edgerley ladies homeward in this collective way. It was considered +especially safe.</p> + +<p>Flower, the bell-ringer, left alone on the church steps, looked after +their departing figures in the moonlight. "A riddler it is," he said to +himself—"a riddler, and a myst'rous one, the way all womenkind feels +itself drawed to parsons. I suppose they jedge anything proper that's +clirrycal." He shook his head, locked the church door, and went across +to close the study.</p> + +<p>Flower was a Chillawassee philosopher who had formerly carried the mail +on horseback over Lonely<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> Mountain to Fox Gap. Age having dimmed +somewhat his youthful fires, lessening thereby his interest in natural +history, as exemplified by the bears, wolves, and catamounts that +diversified his route, he had resigned his position, judging it to be "a +little too woodsy," on the whole, for a man of his years. He then +accepted the office of bell-ringer of St. John's, a place which he had +been heard to say conferred a dignity second only to that of mails. He +was very particular about this dignity, and the title of it. "Item," he +said, "that I be not a sexton; for sexton be a slavish name for a +free-born mountaineer. Bell-ringer Flower I be, and Bell-ringer Flower +you may call me."</p> + +<p>Now the bell of St. John's was but a small one, suspended rustically, +under a little roof of thatch, from the branch of an old elm near the +church door; to ring it, therefore, was but a slight task. But Flower +made it a weighty one by his attitude and manner as he stood on Sunday +mornings, rope in hand, hat off, and eyes devotionally closed, beside +his leafy belfry, bringing out with majestic pull the one little silver +note.</p> + +<p>He now re-arranged the chairs in the study, and came upon a framed motto +surrounded by rosebuds in worsted-work, a fresh contribution to the +rector's walls from the second Miss Greer. "Talk about<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> the mil'try—my! +they're nothing to 'em—nothing to these unmarried reverints!" he said +to himself, as he surveyed this new memento. He hung it on the wall, +where there was already quite a frieze of charming embroidery in the way +of texts and woollen flowers. "Item—however, very few of them <i>is</i> +unmarried. Undoubted they be drove to it early, in self-defence."<a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>"Y<small>OU</small> are a little tired, Major?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly. Somewhat. Sara has been reading aloud to me from the +<i>Review</i>. She read all the long articles."</p> + +<p>"Ah—she does not know how that tires you. I must tell her. She does not +appreciate—she is still so young, you know—that with your extensive +reading, your knowledge of public affairs and the world at large, you +can generally anticipate, after the first few sentences, all that can be +said."</p> + +<p>The Major did not deny this statement of his resources.</p> + +<p>"I am going to the village for an hour or two," continued Madam Carroll; +"I shall take Sara with me." (Here the Major's face seemed to evince a +certain relief.) "We must call upon Miss Honoria Ashley. And also at +Chapultepec, upon Mrs. Hibbard."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—widow of General Hibbard, of the Mexican War," said the +Major, half to himself.<a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a></p> + +<p>"I do not pay many visits, as you know, Major; our position does not +require it. We open our house—that is enough; our friends come to us; +they do not expect us to go to them. But I make an exception in the case +of Mrs. Hibbard and of Miss Ashley, as you have advised me to do; for +the Ashleys are connected with the Carrolls by marriage, though the tie +is remote, and Mrs. Hibbard's mother was a Witherspoon. I know you wish +Sara to understand and recognize these little distinctions and +differences."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Very proper," said the Major.</p> + +<p>"We shall be gone an hour and a half, perhaps two hours. I will send +Scar to you for his lessons; and I shall tell Judith Inches to allow no +one to disturb you, not even to knock at this door. For Scar's lessons +are important, Major."</p> + +<p>"Yes, very important—very."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, then," said his wife, cheerfully, resting her hand on his +shoulder for a moment, as she stood beside his chair. The Major drew the +slender hand forward to his gray moustache.</p> + +<p>"Fie, Major! you spoil me," said the little woman, laughing.</p> + +<p>She left the room, making, with her light dress and long curls, a pretty +picture at the door, as she turned to give him over her shoulder a +farewell nod<a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a> and smile. The Major kept on looking at the closed door +for several minutes after she had gone.</p> + +<p>Not long after this the same door opened, and a little boy came in; his +step was so light and his movements so careful that he made no sound. He +closed the door, and laid the book he had brought with him upon a table. +He was a small, frail child, with a serious face and large blue eyes; +his flaxen hair, thin and fine, hung in soft, scanty waves round his +little throat—a throat which seemed too small for his well-developed +head, yet quite large enough for his short, puny body. He was dressed in +a blue jacket, with an embroidered white collar reaching to the +shoulders, and ruffles of the same embroidery at the knee, where his +short trousers ended. A blue ribbon tied his collar, and his slender +little legs and feet were incased in long white stockings and low +slippers, such as are worn by little girls. His whole costume, indeed, +had an air of effeminacy; but he was such a delicate-looking little +fellow that it was not noticeable. From a woman's point of view, he was +prettily dressed.</p> + +<p>He crossed the room, opened a closet door, and took from a shelf two +boxes, which he carried to the table, making a separate journey with +each. He arranged these systematically, the book in the centre, a box on +each side; then he pushed the table<a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a> over the carpet towards the Major's +chair. The table was narrow and light, and made no sound. He moved +onward slowly, his hands, widely apart, grasping its top, and he paused +several times to peer round the corner of it so as to bring it up within +an inch of the Major's feet, yet not to touch them. This accomplished, +he surveyed the position gravely. Satisfied with it, he next brought up +a chair for himself, which, while not the ordinary high-chair of a +child, seemed yet to have been made especially for him on account of his +low stature. He drew this chair close to the table on the opposite side, +climbed into it, and then, when all was prepared, he spoke. "I am quite +ready now, papa, if you please." His slender little voice was clear and +even, like his mother's; his words followed each other with slow +precision.</p> + +<p>The Major woke, or, if he had not been asleep, opened his eyes. "Ah, +little Scar," he said, "you here?" And he patted the child's hand +caressingly. Scar opened his book; then one of the boxes, which +contained white blocks with large red letters painted upon them. He read +aloud from the book a sentence, once, twice. Then he proceeded to make +it from memory with the blocks on the table, working slowly, and +choosing each letter with thoughtful deliberation.<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a></p> + +<p>"Good—blood—can—not—lie," he read aloud from his row of letters when +the sentence was completed. "I think that is right. Your turn, papa."</p> + +<p>And then the Major, with almost equal slowness, formed, after Scar had +read it, the following adage: "A brave father makes a brave son." +"That's you and I, Scar."</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa. And this is the next: +'The—knights—are—dust.—Their—good—swords—rust.—Their—souls—are—with—the—saints—we—trust.' +That is too long for one. We will call it three."</p> + +<p>Father and little son completed in this slow way eight of the sentences +the little book contained. It was a small, flat volume in manuscript, +the letters clearly printed with pen and ink. The Major's wife had +prepared it, "from the Major's dictation," she said. "A collection of +the fine old sayings of the world, which he greatly admires, and which +he thinks should form part of the preliminary education of our son."</p> + +<p>"Eight. The lesson is finished, papa," said Scar. "If you think I have +done sufficiently well, I may now amuse myself with my dominoes." As he +spoke he replaced the letters in their box, put on the cover, and laid +the manuscript book on the top. Then he drew forward the second box, and +took out his dominoes. He played by himself, one hand<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> against the +other. "You will remember, papa, that my right hand I call Bayard and my +left Roland."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the Major, looking on with interest.</p> + +<p>Roland won the first game. Then the second. "The poor chevalier seems to +have no luck to-day. I must help him a little," said the Major. And he +and Scar played a third game.</p> + +<p>While they were thus engaged, with Bayard's fortunes not much improved +as yet, the door opened, and Sara Carroll came in. The Major was sitting +with his spectacles on and head bent forward, in order to read the +numbers on the dominoes; his hand, poised over the game while he +considered his choice, had the shrivelled appearance, with the veins +prominent on the back, which more than anything else betrays the first +feebleness of old age. As his daughter came in he looked up, first +through his spectacles, then, dropping his head a little, over them, +after the peering fashion of old men. But the instant he recognized her +his manner, attitude, even his whole appearance, changed, as if by +magic; his spectacles were off; he had straightened himself, and risen. +"Ah! you have returned?" he said. "Scar had his lessons so well that I +have permitted him to amuse himself with his dominoes for a while, as +you see. You are back rather sooner than you expected, aren't you?"<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a></p> + +<p>"We had to postpone our visit to Mrs. Hibbard," said Sara.</p> + +<p>The Major's lips formed, "of the Mexican War;" but he did not utter the +syllables aloud, and immediately thereafter seemed to take himself more +vigorously in hand, as it were. He walked to the hearth-rug, and took up +a position there with his shoulders back, his head erect, and one hand +in the breast of his frock-coat. "It is quite proper that you should go +to see those two ladies, my daughter; the Ashleys are connected with the +Carrolls by marriage, though the tie is a remote one, and the mother of +Mrs.—Mrs.—the other lady you were mentioning; her name has just +escaped me—"</p> + +<p>"Hibbard," said Sara.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Hibbard of the Mex—I mean, that Mrs. Hibbard's mother was a +Witherspoon. It is right that you should recognize these—ah, these +little distinctions and differences." He brought out the last words in +full, round tones. The Major's voice had always been a fine one.</p> + +<p>He was a handsome, soldierly-looking man, tall, broad-shouldered, with +noble bearing, and bold, well-cut features. He was dressed in black, +with broad, stiff, freshly starched white cuffs, and a high standing +collar, round which was folded a black silk cravat that when opened was +three-quarters of a yard square.<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> His thin gray hair, moustache, and +imperial were cut after the fashion affected by the senior officers of +the old army—the army before the war.</p> + +<p>"They are not especially interesting in themselves, those two ladies," +remarked his daughter, taking off her little black bonnet. "Miss Honoria +cares more about one's shoes—whether or not they are dusty enough to +injure her oiled floors—than about one's self; and Mrs. Hibbard talks +all the time about her ducks."</p> + +<p>"True, quite true. Those ducks are extremely tiresome. I have had to +hear a great deal about them myself," said the Major, in an injured +tone, forgetting for a moment his military attitude. "What do I know of +ducks? Yet she <i>will</i> talk about them."</p> + +<p>"Why should you listen?" said Sara, drawing off her gloves.</p> + +<p>"Ah, we must not forget that her mother was a Mex—I mean, a +Witherspoon. It is not necessary for us, for you, to pay many visits, my +daughter; our position does not require it. We—ah—we open our house; +that is enough; our friends come to us; they do not expect us to go to +them."</p> + +<p>Sara was now taking off her mantle; he watched to see whether she would +keep it or put it down. She threw it over her arm, and she also took up +her<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> bonnet and gloves. "You will let me come back and read to you, +father?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear; but it is not necessary. I have still another of +Scar's lessons to attend to, and Scar's lessons are important, very +important. There are, besides, various other little things which may +require my attention. In short, my—ah—mornings are at present quite +filled. Besides, reading aloud is very fatiguing, very; and I do not +wish you to fatigue yourself on my account."</p> + +<p>"Nothing I was doing for you could fatigue me, father. You don't know +how I have longed to be at home again so that I <i>could</i> do something for +you." She spoke warmly.</p> + +<p>The Major looked perturbed. He coughed, and glanced helplessly towards +the door. As if in answer to his look, the door at that moment opened, +and his wife came in.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Owen is in the drawing-room, Sara," she said. "Will you go in and +see him, please? I will follow you in a moment. I met him on his way +here, and offered him your vacant place in the carriage."</p> + +<p>"He comes rather often, doesn't he?" said Sara, her eyes still on her +father's face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he comes often. But it is natural that he should wish to come. As +the Major has observed<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> before this, the rector of St. John's must +always rely for his most congenial society, as well as for something of +guidance, too, upon Carroll Farms."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said the Major. "I have often made the remark."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he comes more especially to see you, father," Sara said.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Owen knows that he must not expect to see the Major in the +morning," said Madam Carroll. "The Major's mornings are always occupied, +and he prefers not to be interrupted. In fact, it is not Mr. Owen, but +you and I, Sara, who have been the chief sinners in this respect of +late; we must amend our ways. But come, you should not keep the rector +waiting too long, or he will think that your Northern education has +relaxed the perfection of your Carroll manners."</p> + +<p>She took her daughter's arm, and they left the room together. But only a +few minutes had elapsed when the little wife returned. "Go get your +father's glass of milk, my pet," she said to Scar.</p> + +<p>The boy climbed down from his place at the table, and left the room with +his noiseless step. The Major was leaning back in his easy-chair, with +his eyes closed; he looked tired.</p> + +<p>"We went to the Ashleys'," said his wife, taking a seat beside him. "But +there we learned that Mrs.<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a> Hibbard was confined to her bed by an attack +of rheumatism, brought on, they think, by her having remained too long +in the duck-yard; and so we were obliged to postpone our visit to +Chapultepec. I then decided to take the time for some necessary +household purchases, and as Sara knows as yet but little of my method of +purchasing, I arranged to leave her at Miss Dalley's (Miss Dalley has +been so anxious to talk over Tasso with her, you know), and call for her +on my return. But she must have soon tired of Miss Dalley, for she did +not wait; she walked home alone."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she came in here. She has been here a long time," answered the +Major. Then he opened his eyes. "It was in the midst of Scar's lessons," +he said, as if explaining.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see. That must not happen again. She will at once +understand—that is, when I explain it—that Scar's lessons should not +be interrupted. She is very fond of Scar. You will have your lunch in +here to-day, won't you, Major? I think it would be better. It is +Saturday, you know, and on Saturdays we all rest before the duties of +Sunday—duties which, in your case especially, are so important."</p> + +<p>But the Major seemed dejected. "I don't know about that—about their +being so important," he answered. "Ashley is always there."<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, Major! Major! the idea of your comparing yourself with Godfrey +Ashley! He is all very well in his way—I do not deny that; but he is +not and never can be <i>you</i>. Why, St. John's would not know itself, it +would not be St. John's, if you were not there to carry round the plate +on Sunday mornings. And everybody would say the same." She laid her hand +on his forehead, not with a light, uncertain touch, but with that even +pressure which is grateful to a tired head. The Major seemed soothed; he +did not open his eyes, but he bent his head forward a little so that his +forehead could rest against her hand. Thus they remained for several +minutes. Then Scar came back, bringing a glass of milk, with the thick +cream on it; he placed this on the table beside his father, climbed into +his chair, and went on with his game, Bayard against Roland. The Major +took the glass and began to sip the milk, at first critically, then +appreciatively; he had the air of a connoisseur over a glass of old +wine. "How is it this morning?" asked Madam Carroll, with interest. And +she listened to his opinion, delivered at some length.</p> + +<p>"I must go now," she said, rising; "Sara will be expecting me in the +drawing-room."</p> + +<p>She had taken off her gypsy hat and gloves, and put on a little white +apron with blue bows on the<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> pockets. As she crossed the room towards +the door, with her bunch of household keys at her belt, she looked more +like a school-girl playing at housekeeping than the wife of a man of the +Major's age (or, indeed, of a man much younger than the Major), and the +mother of Scar. But this was one of the charms among the many possessed +by this little lady—she was so young and small and fair, and yet at the +same time in other ways so fully "Madam Carroll" of "The Farms."</p> + +<p>The Reverend Mr. Owen thought of this as she entered the drawing-room. +He had thought of it before. The Reverend Mr. Owen greatly admired Madam +Carroll.</p> + +<p>When he had paid his visit and gone, Sara Carroll went up-stairs to her +own room. She had her mantle on her arm, her bonnet in her hand, for she +had not taken the trouble to go to her room before receiving his visit, +as Madam Carroll had taken it: Madam Carroll always took trouble.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later there was a tap upon her door, and her step-mother, +having first waited for permission, entered. Sara had taken the seat +which happened to be nearest the entrance, an old, uncomfortable ottoman +without a back, and she still held her bonnet and mantle, apparently +unconscious that she had them; the blinds had not been closed, and the<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a> +room was full of the noon sunshine, which struck glaringly against the +freshly whitewashed walls. Madam Carroll took in the whole—the listless +attitude, the forgotten mantle, the open blinds, the nearest chair. She +drew the blinds together, making a cool, green shade in place of the +white light; then she took the bonnet and mantle from the girl's passive +hand, folded the mantle, and placed the two carefully in the closet +where they belonged.</p> + +<p>"I can do that. You must not give yourself trouble about my things, +mamma," Sara said.</p> + +<p>"It is no trouble, but a pleasure. I am so glad to see other feminine +things about the house; mine have so long been the only ones—for I +suppose we can hardly count the neuter gowns of Judith Inches. Don't you +like the easy-chair Caleb and I made for you?"</p> + +<p>"It is very nice. I like it very much."</p> + +<p>"But not enough to sit in it," said Madam Carroll, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I really did not notice where I was sitting," said the girl, getting +up; "I almost always sit in the easy-chair. But won't you take it +yourself, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"I would rather see you in it," answered Madam Carroll. "Besides, it is +too deep for me; there is some difference in our lengths." She seated +herself in a low chair, and looked at the long, lithe shape<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> of Sara, +opposite, her head thrown back, her slender feet out, her arms extended +on the broad arms of the cushioned seat.</p> + +<p>Sara, too, looked at herself. "I am afraid I loll," she said.</p> + +<p>"Be thankful that you can," answered the smaller lady; "it is a most +refreshing thing to do now and then. Short-backed women cannot loll. And +then people say, 'Oh, <i>she</i> never rests! <i>she</i> never leans back and +looks comfortable!' when how can she? It is a matter of vertebræ, and we +do not make our own, I suppose. You did not stay long at Miss Dalley's. +Didn't you find her agreeable?"</p> + +<p>"She might have been—unaccompanied by Tasso."</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll laughed. "He is her most intimate friend. She has quite +taken him to her heart. She has been so anxious to see you, because you +were acquainted with him in his own tongue, whereas she has been obliged +to content herself with translations. She has a leaf from his favorite +tree, and a small piece of cloth from his coat—or was it a toga? But +no, of course not; doublet and hose, and those delightful lace ruffles +which are such a loss to society. These valuable relics she keeps +framed. It is really most interesting."</p> + +<p>"I never cared much for Tasso," said Sara, indifferently.<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a></p> + +<p>"That is because you have had a large variety to choose from, reading as +you do all the poets in the original, from Homer down to—to our sad but +fascinating Lamartine," answered Madam Carroll, looking consideringly +about the room, and finally staying her glance at the toilet-table, upon +which she had expended much time and care. "But our poor Miss Dalley's +life has been harshly narrowed down, narrowed, I may say, to Tasso +alone. For all their small property was swept away by the war, and she +is now obliged to support herself and her mother by dyeing: there is, +fortunately, a good deal of dyeing in Far Edgerley, and so she took it +up. You must have noticed her hands. But we always pretend not to notice +them, because in all other ways she is so lady-like; when she expects to +see any one, she always, and most delicately, wears gloves."</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll related this little village history as though she were but +filling an idle moment; but the listener received an impression, none +the less, somewhere down in a secondary consciousness, that she had not +quite done justice to poor Miss Dalley and her aspirations, and that +some time she ought to try to atone for it.</p> + +<p>But this secondary consciousness was small: it was small because the +first was so wide and deep, and so filled with trouble—trouble composed +in<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> equal parts of perplexity, disappointment, and grief. She was at +home, and she was not happy. This was a conjunction of conditions which +she had not believed could be possible.</p> + +<p>She had never had any disagreements with her father's wife, and she had +been fond of her in a certain way. But the wife had never been to the +daughter more than an adjunct—something added to her father, of +qualifying but not independent importance; a little moon, bright, if you +pleased, and pretty, but still a satellite revolving round its sun. As a +child, she had accepted the new mother upon this basis, because she +could make everything "more pleasant for papa;" and she had gone on +accepting her upon the same basis ever since. Madam Carroll knew this. +She had never quarrelled with it. She and her daughter had filled their +respective positions in entire amity. But now that this daughter had +come home to live, now that she was no longer a school-girl or child, +this was what she had discovered: her father, her idol, had turned from +her, and his wife had gained what his daughter had lost. There could be +no doubt but that he had turned from her; his manner towards her was +entirely changed. He seemed no longer to care to have her with him; he +seemed to avoid her; he was not interested in anything that was +connected with her—he who had<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> formerly been so full of interest; he +never kept up a conversation with her, but let it drop as soon as he +could; he was so—so strange! Although she had now been at home two +weeks, she had scarcely once been alone with him; Madam Carroll had +either been present from the beginning, or she had soon come in; Madam +Carroll had led the conversation, suggested the topics. The Major had +always been fond of his pretty little wife; but he had also been devoted +to his daughter. The change in him she could not understand; it made her +very unhappy. It would have made her more than that—made her wretched +beyond the possibility of concealment—had there not been in it an +element of perplexity; perplexity which bewildered her, which she could +not solve. For, while her own position and her father's regard for her +seemed completely changed, life at the Farms went on day after day upon +the distinct assumption that there was no change, that everything was +precisely as it always had been. This assumption was not only mentioned, +but insisted upon, the Major's wife often alluding with amusement to +what she called their "dear obstinate old ways."</p> + +<p>"The Major ties his cravat precisely as he did twenty-five years ago—he +has acknowledged it to me," she said, glancing at him merrily. "We have<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a> +the same things for dinner; we wear the same clothes, or others made +exactly like them; we read the same books because we think them so much +better than the new; we discuss the same old topics for the same +prejudiced old reason. We remain so obstinately unchanged that even Time +himself does not remember who we are. Each year when he comes round he +thinks we belong to a younger generation."</p> + +<p>The Major always laughed at these sallies of his wife. "You forget, my +dear, my gray hairs," he said.</p> + +<p>"Gray hairs are a distinction," answered Madam Carroll, decisively. "And +besides, Major, they're the only sign of age about you; your figure, +your bearing, are as they always were."</p> + +<p>And on Sundays, when he carried round the plate at St. John's, and at +his wife's receptions once in two weeks, this was true.</p> + +<p>Sara came out of her troubled revery at the sound of Madam Carroll's +voice. This lady was going on with her subject, as her step-daughter had +not spoken.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Caroline Dalley is really very intelligent; she is one of the +subscribers for our <i>Saturday Review</i>. You know we subscribe for one +copy—about twelve families of our little circle here—and it goes to +all in turn, beginning with the Farms. The Major selected it; the Major +prefers its tone to that of<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a> our American journals as they are at +present. Not that he cares for the long articles. With his—his wide +experience, you know, the <i>long</i> articles could only be tiresome; they +weary him greatly."</p> + +<p>"I must have tired him, then, this morning; I read some of the long +articles aloud."</p> + +<p>"You had forgotten; you have been so long absent. It was very natural, I +am sure. You will soon recall those little things."</p> + +<p>"How can I recall what I never knew? No, mamma, it is not that; it is +the—the change. I am perplexed all the time. I don't know what to do."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so much what to do as what not to do," replied Madam Carroll, +looking now at the lounge she had designed, and surveying it with her +head a little on one side, so as to take in its perspective. "The Major +has not yet recovered entirely from his illness of last winter, you +know, and his strength cannot be overtaxed. A—a tranquil solitude is +the best thing for him most of the time. I often go out of the room +myself purposely, leaving him alone, or with Scar, whose childish talk, +of course, makes no demand upon his attention; I do this to avoid tiring +him."</p> + +<p>"I don't think <i>you</i> ever tire him," said Sara.</p> + +<p>The Major's wife glanced at her step-daughter; then she resumed her +consideration of the lounge.<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> "That is because I have been with him so +constantly. I have learned. You will soon learn also. And then we shall +have a very happy little household here at the Farms."</p> + +<p>"I doubt it," said the girl, despondently. She paused. "I am afraid I am +a disappointment to my father," she went on, with an effort, but unable +longer to abstain from putting her fear into words—words which should +be in substance, if not in actual form, a question. "I am afraid that as +a woman, no longer a school-girl or child, I am not what he thought I +should be, and therefore whenever I am with him he is oppressed by this. +Each day I see less of him than I did the day before. There seems to be +no time for me, no place. He has just told me that all his mornings +would be occupied; by that he must have meant simply that he did not +want <i>me</i>." Tears had come into her eyes as she spoke, but she did not +let them fall.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken," said Madam Carroll, earnestly. Then in her turn she +paused. "I venture to predict that soon, very soon, you will find +yourself indispensable to your father," she added, in her usual tone.</p> + +<p>"Never as you are," answered Sara. She spoke with a humility which, +coming from so proud a girl, was touching. For the first time in her +life<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> she was acknowledging her step-mother's superiority.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll rose, came across, and kissed her. "My dear," she said, "a +wife has more opportunities than a daughter can have; that is all. The +Major loves you as much as ever. He is also very proud of you. So proud, +indeed, that he has a great desire to have you proud of him as well; you +always have been extremely proud of him, you know, and he remembers it. +This feeling causes him, perhaps, to make something of—of an effort +when he is with you, an effort to appear in every respect himself, as he +was before his illness—as he was when you last saw him. This effort is +at times fatiguing to him; yet it is probable that he will not +relinquish it while he feels that you are noticing or—or comparing. I +have not spoken of this before, because you have never liked to have me +tell you anything about your father; even as a child you always wanted +to get your knowledge directly from him, not from me. I have never found +fault with this, because I knew that it came from your great love for +him. As I love him too, I have tried to please, or at least not to +displease, his daughter; not to cross her wishes, her ideas; not to seem +to her officious, presuming. Yet at the same time remember that I love +him probably as much as you do. But now<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> that you have asked me, now +that I know you wish me to speak, I will say that if you could remove +all necessity for the effort your father now makes, by placing yourself +so fully upon a lower plane—if I may so express it—that his former +self should not be suggested to him by anything in <i>you</i>, in your words, +looks, or manner, you would soon find, I think, that this slight—slight +constraint you have noticed was at an end. In addition, he himself would +be more comfortable. And our dearest wish is of course to make him happy +and comfortable, to keep him so."</p> + +<p>As she uttered these sentences quietly, guardedly, Sara had grown very +pale. Her eyes, large and dark with pain, were searching her +step-mother's fair little face. But Madam Carroll's gaze was fixed upon +the window opposite; not until she had brought all her words to a close +did she let it drop upon her daughter. Then the two women looked at each +other. The girl's eyes asked a mute question, a question which the +wife's eyes, seeing that it was an appeal to her closer knowledge, at +length answered—answered bravely and clearly, sympathetically, too, and +with tenderness, but—in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>Then the daughter bowed her head, her face hidden in her hands.<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a></p> + +<p>Madam Carroll sat down upon the arm of the easy-chair, and drew that +bowed head towards her. No more words were spoken. But now the daughter +understood all. Her perplexity and her trouble were at an end; but they +ended in a grief, as a river ends in the sea—a grief that opened out +all round her, overwhelming the present, and, as it seemed to her then, +the future as well. Madam Carroll said nothing; the bereavement was +there, and the daughter must bear it. No one could save her from her +pain. But the girl knew from this very silence, and the gentle touch of +the hand upon her hair, that all her sorrow was comprehended, her +desolation pitied, understood. For her father had been her idol, her +all; and now he was taken from her. His mind was failing. This was the +bereavement which had fallen upon her heart and life.<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p>A<small>T</small> sunset of the same day Madam Carroll was in her dining-room; she had +changed her dress, and now wore a fresh muslin, with a bunch of violets +in her belt. Sara, coming down the stairs, saw the bright little figure +through the open door; Judith Inches was bringing in the kettle (for +Madam Carroll always made the tea herself), and on the table were one or +two hot dishes of a delicate sort, additions to the usual meal. Sara +recognized in these added dishes the never-failing touch of the +mistress's hand upon the household helm. The four-o'clock dinner had +come and gone, but no summons had been sent to her—that pitiless +summons which in so many households remains inflexible, though stricken +hearts may be longing for solitude, for a respite, however brief, from +the petty duties of the day. Through the long hours of the afternoon +there had been no knock, not so much even as a footstep outside her +door. But now, in the cool of the evening, the one who had thus +protected her seclusion<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a> was hoping that she would of her own accord +come down and take again her accustomed place at the family table. Sara +did this. She did more. She had put away the signs of her grief so +completely that, save for an added pallor and the dark half-circle under +her eyes, she was quite herself again. Her soft hair was smooth, her +black dress made less severe by a little white scarf which encircled the +narrow linen collar. Scar was sitting on the bottom stair as she came +down. She put her hand on his head. "Where is papa?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Papa is in the library. I think he is not coming out to tea," answered +the child.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but we must make him come—the dining-room is so dull without papa. +Let us go and ask him." She took his hand, and they went together to the +library. Madam Carroll, who had heard their words through the open door, +watched them go. She did not interfere. She told Judith Inches to take +back the hot dishes to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>The Major was sitting in his easy-chair, looking at the pictures in an +old book. He closed the volume and hastily drew off his spectacles as +his daughter came in. "It has been a beautiful afternoon," he remarked, +speaking promptly and decidedly. "Have you been out? or were you at home +with a book—in your old way? What do you find to read<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> nowadays? I find +almost nothing." And he folded his arms with a critical air.</p> + +<p>"I find little that can be compared with the old English authors, the +ones you like," answered his daughter. "The old books are better than +the new."</p> + +<p>"So they are, so they are," replied the Major, with satisfaction. "I +have often made the remark myself."</p> + +<p>"Now that I am at home again," continued Sara, "I want to look over all +those old books I used to have before I went to Longfields—those that +were called mine. I hope we have them still?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Scar, in his deliberate little voice, "we have. I read them +now. And the long words I look out in the dictionary."</p> + +<p>"It is a very good exercise for him. I suggested it," said the Major.</p> + +<p>"I want to see all their old pictures again," pursued Sara. "I know I +shall care a great deal about them; they will be like dear old friends."</p> + +<p>"Very natural; I quite understand the feeling," said the Major, +encouragingly. "And as Scar reads the books, perhaps you will find some +of them lying about this very room. Let me see—didn't I have one just +now? Yes, here it is; what was it?" And taking up the volume he had laid +down a moment before, he opened it, and read, or repeated with the air +of reading (for his spectacles were off), "'The<a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a> Life and Adventures of +Robinson Crusoe and his Servant-man Friday. Defoe. London.'"</p> + +<p>Sara came to his side and looked at the title-page. "Yes, that is my +dear old book. I loved it better than any other, excepting, perhaps, +'Good Queen Bertha's Honey-Broth.' I wonder if the old pictures are all +there?"</p> + +<p>"I think they are," said the Major, turning the leaves. They looked at +one or two together, recalling reminiscences of the days when she used +to talk about them as a child. "You always insisted that this print of +Friday's foot was not of the right shape, and once you even went out in +the garden, took off your shoe and stocking, and made a print in a +flower-bed to show me," said the Major, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Let us look them all over after tea, and 'Good Queen Bertha' too," said +Sara. "For Scar and I have come to take you out to tea, father; the +dining-room is so dull without you. Besides, I want you to give me some +peach preserves, and then say, 'No, Sara, not again,' when I ask for +more; and then, after a few minutes, put a large table-spoonful on my +plate with your head turned away, while talking to some one else, as +though unconscious of what you were doing."</p> + +<p>Scar laughed over this anecdote, and so did Scar's<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> father. "But perhaps +we shall have no peach preserve," he said, rising.</p> + +<p>"We will ask mamma to give us some," answered Sara. She took his arm, +and Scar took his other hand; thus together they entered the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll welcomed them; but placidly, as though the Major's coming +was a matter of course. Since his daughter's return, however, it had not +been a matter of course: first for this reason, then for that, his meals +had almost always been sent to the library. Now he was tired; and now +the dining-room floor might be damp after Judith Inches' +scrubbing-brush; now there was an east wind, and now there was a west; +or else he was not feeling well, and some one might "drop in," in which +case, as the dining-room opened only into the hall, which was wide, like +a room, he should not be able to escape. In actual fact, however, there +was very little "dropping in" at Carroll Farms, unless one should give +that name to the visits of the rector, Mr. Owen. Once in a while, in the +evening, when the weather was decisively pleasant, the junior warden +came to see them. But all their other acquaintances came to the +receptions, made a brief call upon the first Thursday afternoon +following, and that was all. The sweet little mistress of the mansion +had never uttered one syllable upon the subject, yet each<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> member of the +circle of Far Edgerley society knew as well as though it had been +proclaimed through the town by a herald with a silver trumpet emblazoned +with the Carroll arms, that these bimonthly receptions (which were so +delightful) and the brief following call comprised all the visits they +were expected to pay at Carroll Farms. And surely, when one considered +the great pleasure and also improvement derived from these receptions, +the four visits a month at the Farms were worth more than forty times +four visits at any other residence in the village or its neighborhood. +True, Mrs. Hibbard endeavored to maintain an appearance of importance at +her mansion of yellow wood called Chapultepec; but as General Hibbard +(of the Mexican War) had now been dead eight years, and as his old house +had not been opened for so much as the afternoon sewing society since +his departure, its importance, socially considered, existed only in the +imagination of his relict—which was, however, in itself quite a domain.</p> + +<p>Judith Inches, tall and serious, now brought back the hot dishes, Madam +Carroll made the tea (with many pretty little motions and attitudes, +which her husband watched), and the meal began. The Major was in +excellent spirits. He told stories of Sara's childhood, her obstinacy, +her never-failing questions.<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> "She came to me once, Scar," he said, "and +announced that Galileo was a humbug. When I asked her why, she said that +there was good King David, who knew all about astronomy long before he +did; for didn't he say, 'the round world, and they that dwell therein'? +We sang it every Sunday. So that proved plain as day that David knew +that the world was round, and that it moved, and all about it, of +course. Yet here was this old Italian taking everything to himself! Just +like Amerigo Vespucci, another old Italian, who had all America named +after himself, leaving poor Columbus, the real discoverer, with nothing +but 'Hail, Columbia!' to show for it. She announced all this +triumphantly and at the top of her voice, from a window; for I was in +the garden. When I told her that the word 'round,' upon which all her +argument had been founded, was not in the original text, you should have +seen how crest-fallen she was. She said she should never sing that chant +again."</p> + +<p>Scar laughed over this story. He did not laugh often, but when he did, +it was a happy little sound, which made every one join in it by its +merry glee.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I was a very self-conceited little girl, Scar," his sister +said.</p> + +<p>As the meal went on, the Major's manner grew all the time more easy. His +eyes were no longer<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> restless. His old attention returned, too, in a +measure; he kept watch of his wife's plate to ask if she would not have +something more; he remembered that Sara preferred bread to the beat +biscuit, and placed it near her. The meal ended, they went back to the +library. Sara found her old copy of "Good Queen Bertha's Honey-Broth," +and she and her father looked at the pictures together, as well as at +those of "Robinson Crusoe." Each had its association, a few recalled by +him, but many more by her. After Scar had gone to bed, and the books had +been laid aside, she still sat there talking to him. She talked of her +life at Longfields, telling stories in connection with it—stories not +long—bright and amusing. The Major's wife meanwhile sat near them, +sewing; she sat with her back to the lamp, in order that the light might +fall over her shoulder upon the seam. The light did the work she +assigned to it, but it also took the opportunity to play over her curls +in all sorts of winsome ways, to gleam on her thimble, to glide down her +rosy muslin skirt, and touch her little slipper. She said hardly +anything; but, as they talked on, every now and then she looked up +appreciatively, and smiled. At last she folded up her work, replacing it +in her neat rose-lined work-basket; then she sat still in her low chair, +with her feet on a footstool, listening.<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a></p> + +<p>The old clock, with its fierce gilt corsair climbing over a glass rock, +struck ten.</p> + +<p>"Bed-time," said Sara, pausing.</p> + +<p>"Not for me," observed the Major. "My time for sleep is always brief; +five or six hours are quite enough."</p> + +<p>"I remember," said his daughter. And the memory, as a memory, was a true +one. Until recently the Major's sleep had been as he described it. He +had forgotten, or rather he had never been conscious of, the long nights +of twelve or thirteen hours' rest which had now become a necessity to +him.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I am not like you, father. I am very apt to be sleepy about +ten," said Sara. "And I suspect it is the same with mamma."</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll did not deny this assertion. The Major, laughing at the +early somnolence of the two ladies, rose to light a candle for his +daughter, in the old way. As she took it, and bent to kiss her +stepmother good-night, Madam Carroll's eyes met hers, full of an +expression which made them bright (ordinarily they were not bright, but +soft); the expression was that of warm congratulation.</p> + +<p>The next day dawned fair and cloudless—Trinity Sunday. The mountain +breeze and the warm sun together made an atmosphere fit for a heaven. On +the many knolls of Far Edgerley the tall grass, carrying<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> with it the +slender stalks of the buttercups, was bending and waving merrily; the +red clover, equally abundant, could not join in this dance, because it +had crowded itself so greedily into the desirable fields that all that +its close ranks could do was to undulate a little at the top, like a +swell passing over a pond. Madam Carroll, the Major, and Scar were to +drive to church as usual, in the equipage. Sara had preferred to walk. +She started some time before the hour for service, having a fancy to +stroll under the churchyard pines for a while by herself. These pines +were noble trees; they had belonged to the primitive forest, and had +been left standing along the northern border of the churchyard by the +Carroll who had first given the land for the church a hundred years +before. The ground beneath them was covered with a thick carpet of their +own brown aromatic needles. There were no graves here save one, of an +Indian chief, who slept by himself with his face towards the west, while +all his white brethren on the other side turned their closed eyes +towards the rising sun. It was a beautiful rural God's-acre, stretching +round the church in the old-fashioned way, so that the shadow of the +cross on the spire passed slowly over all the graves, one by one, as the +sun made his journey from the peak of Chillawassee across to Lonely<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a> +Mountain, behind whose long soft line he always sank, and generally in +such a blaze of beautiful light that the children of the village grew up +in the vague belief that the edge of the world must be just there, that +there it rounded and went downward into a mysterious golden atmosphere, +in which, some day, when they had wings, they, too, should sport and +float like birds.</p> + +<p>Early though it was, Miss Carroll discovered when she entered the church +gate that she was not the first comer; the choir ladies were practising +within, and other ladies of floral if not musical tastes were arranging +mountain laurel in the font and chancel—to the manifest disapproval of +Flower, the disapproval being expressed in the eye he had fixed upon +them, his "mountain eye," as he called his best one. "It be swep, and it +be dustered," he said to himself. "What more do the reasonless female +creatures want?" Miss Carroll had not joined the choir, although the +rector, prompted by his junior warden, had suggested it; Miss Sophia +Greer would, therefore, continue to sing the solos undisturbed. She was +trying one now. And the other ladies were talking. But this music, this +conversation, this arrangement of laurel, and this disapproval of Flower +went on within the church. The new-comer had the churchyard to herself; +she went over to the pines<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> on its northern side, and strolled to and +fro at the edge of the slope, looking at the mountains, whose peaks rose +like a grand amphitheatre all round her against the sky.</p> + +<p>Her face was sad, but the bitterness, the revolt, were gone; her eyes +were quiet and sweet. She had accepted her sorrow. It was a great one. +At first it had been overwhelming; for all the brightness of the past +had depended upon her father, all her plans for the present, her hopes +for the future. His help, his comprehension, his dear affection and +interest, had made up all her life, and she did not know how to go on +without them, how to live. Never again could she depend upon him for +guidance, never again have the exquisite happiness of his perfect +sympathy—for he had always understood her, and no one else ever had, or +at least so she thought. She had cared only for him, she had found all +her companionship in him; and now she was left alone.</p> + +<p>But after a while Love rose, and turned back this tide. The sharp +personal pain, the bitter loneliness, gave way to a new tenderness for +the stricken man himself. Evidently he was at times partly conscious of +this lethargy which was fettering more and more his mental powers, for +he exerted himself, he tried to remember, he tried to be brighter, to +talk in the old way. And who could tell but that he perceived<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a> his +failure to accomplish this? Who could tell, when he was silent so often, +sitting with his eyes on the carpet, that he was not brooding over it +sadly? For a man such as he had been, this must be deep suffering—deep, +even though vague—like the sensation of falling in a dream, falling +from a height, and continuing to fall, without ever reaching bottom. +Probably he did not catch the full reality; it constantly eluded him; +yet every now and then some power of his once fine mind might be awake +long enough to make him conscious of a lack, a something that gave him +pain, he knew not why. As she thought of this, all her heart went out to +him with a loving, protecting tenderness which no words could express; +she forgot her own grief in thinking of his, and her trouble took the +form of a passionate desire to make him happy; to keep even this dim +consciousness always from him, if possible; to shield him from contact +with the thoughtless and unfeeling; to so surround his life with love, +like a wall, that he should never again remember anything of his loss, +never again feel that inarticulate pain, but be like one who has entered +a beautiful, tranquil garden, to leave it no more.</p> + +<p>This morning, under the pines, she was thinking of all this, as she +walked slowly to and fro past the Indian's grave. Flower came out to +ring his first<a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> bell. His "first bell" was unimportant, made up of +short, business-like notes; he rang it in his working jacket, an old +mountain homespun coat, whose swallow-tails had been cut off, so that it +now existed as a roundabout. But when, twenty minutes later, he issued +forth a second time, he was attired in a coat of thin but shining black, +with butternut trousers and a high pink calico vest. Placing his hat +upon the ground beside him, he took the rope in his hand, made a solemn +grimace or two to get his mouth into position, and then, closing his +eyes, brought out with gravity the first stroke of his "second bell." +His second bell consisted of dignified solo notes, with long pauses +between. Flower's theory was that each of these notes echoed resonantly +through its following pause. But as the bell of St. John's was not one +of size or resonance, he could only make the pauses for the echoes which +should have been there.</p> + +<p>As the first note of this second bell sounded from the elm, all the +Episcopal doors of Far Edgerley opened almost simultaneously, and forth +came the congregation, pacing with Sunday step down their respective +front paths, opening their gates, and proceeding decorously towards St. +John's in groups of two or three, or a family party of father, mother, +and children, the father a little in advance. They all arrived in good +season, passed the semi-unconscious<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a> Flower ringing his bell, and +entered the church. Next, after an interval, came "clatter," "clatter:" +they knew that "the equipage" was coming up the hill. Then "clank," +"clank:" the steps were down.</p> + +<p>All now turned their heads, but only to the angle which was considered +allowable—less than profile, about a quarter view of the face, with a +side glance from one eye. To them, thus waiting, now entered their +senior warden, freshly dressed, gloved, carrying his hat and his large +prayer-book; and as he walked up the central aisle, a commanding figure, +with noble head, gray hair, and military bearing, he was undoubtedly a +remarkably handsome, distinguished-looking man.</p> + +<p>Behind him, but not too near, came the small figures of Madam Carroll +and Scar, the lady in a simple summer costume of lavender muslin, with +many breezy little ruffles, and lavender ribbons on her gypsy hat, the +delicate hues causing the junior warden to exclaim (afterwards) that she +looked like "a hyacinth, sir; a veritable hyacinth!" Scar, in a black +velvet jacket (she had made it for him out of an old cloak), carrying +his little straw hat, held his mother's hand. The Major stopped at his +pew, which was the first, near the chancel; he turned, and stood waiting +ceremoniously for his wife to<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> enter. She passed in with Scar; he +followed, and they took their seats. Then the congregation let its chin +return to a normal straightness, the bell stopped, Alexander Mann (to +use his own expression) "blew up," and Miss Millie began.</p> + +<p>Miss Carroll came in a minute or two late. But there was no longer much +curiosity about Miss Carroll. It was feared that she was "cold;" and it +was known that she was "silent;" she had almost no "conversation." Now, +Far Edgerley prided itself upon its conversation. It never spoke of its +domestic affairs in company; light topics of elegant nature were then in +order. Mrs. Greer, for instance, had Horace Walpole's Letters—which +never failed. Other ladies preferred the cultivation of flowers, garden +rock-work, and their bees (they allowed themselves to go as far as bees, +because honey, though of course edible, was so delicate). Mrs. +Rendlesham, who was historical, had made quite a study of the +characteristics of Archbishop Laud. And the Misses Farren were greatly +interested in Egyptian ceramics. Senator Ashley, among many subjects, +had also his favorite; he not infrequently turned his talent for talking +loose upon the Crimean War. This was felt to be rather a modern topic. +But the junior warden was, on the whole, the most modern man they had. +Too modern, some persons thought.<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p>J<small>ULY</small> passed, and August began. Sara Carroll had spent the weeks in +trying to add to her father's comfort, and trying also to alter herself +so fully, when with him, that she should no longer be a burden upon his +expectation, a care upon his mind. In the first of these attempts she +was and could be but an assistant, and a subordinate one, filling the +interstices left by Madam Carroll. For the Major depended more and more +each day upon his little wife. Her remarks always interested him, her +voice he always liked to hear; he liked to know all she was doing, and +where she went, and what people said to her; he liked to look at her; +her bright little gowns and sunny curls pleased his eye, and made him +feel young again, so he said. He had come, too, to have a great pride in +her, and this pride had grown dear to him; it now made one of the +important ingredients of his life. He liked to mention what a fine +education she had had; he liked to say that her mother had been a +"Forster of Forster's Island," and that her father<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a> was an Episcopal +clergyman who had "received his education at Oxford." He thought little +Scar had "English traits," and these he enumerated. He had always been a +proud man, and now his pride had centred itself in her. But if his pride +was strong, his affection was stronger; he was always content when she +was in the room, and he never liked to have her long absent. When he was +tired, she knew it; he was not obliged to explain. All his moods she +comprehended; he was not obliged to define them. And when he did appear +in public, at church on Sundays, or at her receptions, it was she upon +whom he relied, who kept herself mentally as well as in person by his +side, acting as quick-witted outrider, warding off possible annoyance, +guiding the conversation towards the track he preferred, guarding his +entrances and exits, so that above all and through all her other duties +and occupations, his ease and his pleasure were always made secure.</p> + +<p>Of all this his daughter became aware only by degrees. It went on so +unobtrusively, invisibly almost, that only when she had begun to study +the subject of her father's probable needs in connection with herself, +what she could do to add to his comfort, only then did she comprehend +the importance of these little hourly actions of Madam Carroll, +comprehend what a safeguard they kept all the time<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> round his +tranquillity, how indispensable they were to his happiness. For the +feeling he had had with regard to his daughter extended, though in a +less degree, to all Far Edgerley society; he wished—and it was now his +greatest wish—to appear at his best when any one saw him. And, thanks +to the devotion and tact of his wife, to her watchfulness (which never +seemed to watch), to the unceasing protection she had thrown round his +seclusion, and the quiet but masterly support she gave when he did +appear, no one in the village was as yet aware that any change had come +to the Major, save a somewhat invalid condition, the result of his +illness of the preceding winter.</p> + +<p>Sara herself had now learned how much this opinion of the Far Edgerley +public was to her father; he rested on Saturday almost all day in order +to prepare for Sunday, and the same preparation was made before each of +the receptions. At these receptions she could now be of use; she could +take Madam Carroll's place from time to time, stand beside him and keep +other people down to his topics, prevent interruptions and sudden +changes of subject, move with him through the rooms, as, with head erect +and one hand in the breast of his coat, he passed from group to group, +having a few words with each, and so much in the old way that when<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> at +length he retired, excusing himself on account of his health, he left +unbroken the impression which all Far Edgerley cherished, the impression +of his distinguished appearance, charming conversation, and polished, +delightful manners.</p> + +<p>During these weeks, the more his daughter had studied him and the ways +to make herself of use to him, even if not a pleasure, the greater had +become her admiration for the little woman who was his wife—who did it +all, and so thoroughly! who did it all, and so tenderly! What she, the +daughter, with all her great love for him, could think out only with +careful effort, the wife divined; what she did with too much +earnestness, the wife did easily, lightly. Her own words when she was +with him were considered, planned; but the wife's talk flowed on as +naturally and brightly as though she had never given a thought to +adapting it to him; yet always was it perfectly adapted. Sara often sat +looking at Madam Carroll, during these days, with a wonder at her own +long blindness; a wonder also that such a woman should have borne always +in silence, and with unfailing gentleness, her step-daughter's moderate +and somewhat patronizing estimate of her. But even while she was +thinking of these things Madam Carroll would perhaps rise and cross the +room, stopping to pat dog Carlo on the rug as she passed, and<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> she would +seem so small and young, her very prettiness so unlike the countenance +and expression one associates with a strong character, that the daughter +would unconsciously fall back into her old opinion of her, always, +however, to emerge from it again hurriedly, remorsefully, almost +reverentially, upon the next example of the exquisite tact, tenderness, +and care with which she surrounded and propped up her husband's broken +days.</p> + +<p>But the Major's life was now very comfortable. His daughter, if she had +not as yet succeeded in doing what she did without thought over it, had, +at least, gradually succeeded in relieving him from all feeling of +uneasiness in her society: she now came and went as freely as Scar. She +had made her manner so completely unexpectant and (apparently) +unobservant, she had placed herself so entirely on a line with him as he +was at present, that nothing led him to think of making an effort; he +had forgotten that he had ever made one. She talked to him on local +subjects, generally adding some little comment that amused him; she had +items about the garden and fields or dog Carlo to tell him; but most of +all she talked to him of the past, and led him to talk of it. For the +Major had a much clearer remembrance of his boyhood and youth than he +had of the events of later years, and not only a clearer remembrance, +but<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> a greater interest; he liked to relate his adventures of those +days, and often did it with spirit and zest. He was willing now to have +her present at "Scar's lessons;" she formed sentences in her turn from +the chivalrous little manuscript book, and took part in the game of +dominoes that followed. The Major grew into the habit also of taking an +afternoon walk with her about the grounds—always at a safe distance +from the entrance gate. They went to visit the birds' nests she had +discovered, and count the eggs or fledglings, and he recalled his +boyhood knowledge of birds, which was clear and accurate; they went down +to the pond made by the brook, and sent in dog Carlo for a bath; they +strolled through the orchard to see how the apples were coming on, and +sat for a while on a bench under the patriarch tree. These walks became +very precious to the daughter; her father enjoyed them, enjoyed so much +the summer atmosphere, pure and fresh and high, yet aromatic also with +the scents from the miles of unbroken pine and fir forest round about, +enjoyed so much looking at the mountains, noting the moving bands of +light and shadow cast upon their purple sides as the white clouds sailed +slowly across the sky, that sometimes for an hour at a time he would +almost be his former self again. He knew this when it happened, and it +made<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> him happy. And Sara was so glad to see him happy that she began to +feel, and with surprise, as if she herself too might be really happy +again, happy after all.</p> + +<p>This first little beginning of happiness grew and budded like a flower; +for now more and more her father asked for her, wanted her with him; he +took her arm as they walked about the grounds, and she felt as glad and +proud as a child because she was tall enough and strong enough to be of +real use to him. She remembered the desolation of those hours when she +had thought that she should never be of use to him again, should have no +place beside him, should be to him only a care and a dread; thinking of +this, she was very thankfully happy. When she could do something for +him, and he was pleased, it seemed to her almost as if she had never +loved him so much; for, added to her old strong affection, there was now +that deep and sacred tenderness which fills the heart when the person +one loves becomes dependent—trustingly dependent, like a little +child—upon one's hourly thought and care.</p> + +<p>The rector of St. John's had continued those visits which Miss Carroll +had criticised as too frequent. When he came he seldom saw his senior +warden; but the non-appearance was sufficiently excused by the state of +the senior warden's health, as well as<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> made up for by the presence of +his wife. For Madam Carroll was charming in her manner to the young +clergyman, always giving him the kind of welcome which made him feel +sure that she was glad to see him, and that she wished him to come +again. As he continued to come, it happened now and then that the +mistress of the house would be engaged, and unable to see him. Perhaps +she was reading to the Major from his <i>Saturday Review</i>; and this was +something which no one else could do in the way he liked. She alone knew +how to select the items he cared to hear, and, what was more important, +how to leave the rest unread; she alone knew how to give in a line an +abstract that was clear to him, and how to enliven the whole with gay +little remarks of her own, which, she said, he must allow her—a +diversion for her smaller feminine mind. The Major greatly valued his +<i>Saturday Review</i>; he would have been much disturbed if deprived of the +acquaintance it gave him with the events of the day. Not that he enjoyed +listening to it; but when it was done and over for that week, he had the +sensation of satisfaction in duty accomplished which a man feels who has +faced an east wind for several hours without loss of optimism, and +returned home with a double appreciation of his own pleasant library and +bright fire. One's life should not be too personal,<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a> too easy; there +should be a calm consideration of public events, a general knowledge of +the outside world—though that outside world, tending as it did at +present too much towards mere utilitarian interests, was not especially +interesting; thus spoke the Major at the receptions (with that week's +<i>Saturday</i> fresh in his memory), as he alluded briefly to the European +news. For they never discussed American news at the receptions; they +never came farther westward, conversationally, than longitude +twenty-five, reckoned, of course, from Greenwich. In 1868 there was a +good deal of this polite oblivion south of the Potomac and Cumberland.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, Mr. Owen happened to call at a time when Madam Carroll +was engaged, Miss Carroll was obliged to receive him. She did not +dislike him (which was fortunate; she disliked so many people!), but she +did not care to see him so often, she said. He talked well, she was +aware of that; he had gone over the entire field of general subjects +with the hope, as it seemed, of finding one in which she might be +interested. But as she was interested in nothing but her father, and +would not talk of him now, save conventionally, with any one, he found +her rather unresponsive.</p> + +<p>His congregation thought her, in addition, cold. Not a few of them had +mentioned to him this opinion.<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> But there was something in Sara +Carroll's face which seemed to Owen the reverse of cold, though he could +not deny that to him personally she was, if not precisely wintry, at +least as neutral as a late October day, when there is neither sun to +warm nor wind to vivify the gray, still air. Yet he continued to come to +the Farms. His liking for the little mistress of the house was strong +and sincere. He thought her very sweet and winning. He found there, too, +an atmosphere in which he did not have to mount guard over himself and +his possessions—an atmosphere of pleasant welcome and pleasant words, +but both of them unaccompanied by what might have been called, perhaps, +the acquisitiveness which prevailed elsewhere. No one at the Farms +wanted him or anything that was his, that is, wanted it with any +tenacity; his time, his thoughts, his opinions, his approval or +disapproval, his ideas, his advice, his personal sympathy, his especial +daily guidance, his mornings, his evenings, his afternoons, his favorite +books, his sermons in manuscript—all these were considered his own +property, and were not asked for in the large, low-ceilinged +drawing-room where the Major's wife and daughter, one or both, received +him when he came. They received him as an equal (Miss Carroll as a not +especially important one), and not as a superior, a being from another +world; though Madam<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a> Carroll always put enough respect for his rector's +position into her manner to make him feel easy about himself and about +coming again.</p> + +<p>He continued to come again. And Miss Carroll continued her neutral +manner. The only change, the only expression of feeling which he had +seen in her in all these weeks, was one look in her eyes and a sentence +or two she had uttered, brought out by something he said about her +mother. During one of their first interviews he had spoken of this lady, +expressing, respectfully, his great liking for her, his admiration. +Madame Carroll's daughter had responded briefly, and rather as though +she thought it unnecessary for him to have an opinion, and more than +unnecessary to express one. He had remembered this little passage of +arms, and had said no more. But having met the mistress of the house a +few days before, at a cabin on the outskirts of the town, where a poor +crippled boy had just breathed his last breath of pain, he had been much +touched by the sweet, comprehending, sisterly tenderness of the mother +who was a lady to the mother who was so ignorant, rough-spoken, almost +rough-hearted as well. But, though rough-hearted, she had loved her poor +child as dearly as that other mother loved her little Scar. The other +mother had herself said this to him as they left the cabin together. He +spoke of it to<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> Sara when he made his next visit at the Farms; he could +not help it.</p> + +<p>And then a humility he had never seen there before came into her eyes, +and a warmth of tone he had not heard before into her voice.</p> + +<p>"My mother's goodness is simply unparalleled," she answered. "You admire +her sincerely; many do. But no one save those who are in the house with +her all the time can comprehend the one hundredth part of her +unselfishness, her energy—which is always so quiet—her tenderness for +others, her constant thought for them."</p> + +<p>Frederick Owen was surprised at the pleasure these words gave him. For +they gave him a great pleasure. He felt himself in a glow as she +finished. He thought of this as he walked home. He knew that he admired +Madame Carroll; and he was not without a very pleasant belief, too, that +she had a respect for his opinion, and even an especial respect. Still, +did he care so much to hear her praised?—care so much that it put him +in a glow?</p> + +<p>Towards the last of August occurred, on its regular day, one of Madame +Carroll's receptions. To Sara Carroll it was an unusually disagreeable +one. She had never been fond of the receptions at any time, though of +late she had accepted them because they were so much to her father; but +this particular one was odious.<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a></p> + +<p>It was odious on account of the presence of a stranger who had appeared +in Far Edgerley three weeks before, a stranger who had made his way into +society there with so much rapidity and success that he had now +penetrated even the exclusive barriers of the Farms. But this +phraseology was Miss Carroll's. In reality, the stranger's "way" had not +been made by any effort of his own, but rather by his manners and +appearance, which were original, and more especially by a gift for which +nature was responsible, not himself. And as to "penetrating the +barriers" of the Farms, he had not shown any especial interest in that +old-fashioned mansion, and now that he was actually there, and at one of +the receptions, too, he seemed not impressed by his good fortune, but +wandered about rather restlessly, and yawned a good deal in corners. +These little ways of his, however, were considered to belong to the +"fantasies of genius;" Madam Carroll herself had so characterized them.</p> + +<p>The stranger had, indeed, unlimited genius, if signs of this kind were +to be taken as evidences of it; he interrupted people in the middle of +their sentences; he left them abruptly while they were still talking to +him; he yawned (as has already been mentioned), and not always in +corners; he went to see the persons he fancied, whether they had asked +him to do<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a> so or not; he never dreamed of going to see the persons he +did not fancy, no matter how many times they had invited him. He had a +liking for flower-gardens, and had been discovered more than once, soon +after his arrival, sitting in honeysuckle arbors which the owners had +supposed were for their own private enjoyment. When found, he had not +apologized; he had complimented the owners upon their honeysuckles.</p> + +<p>Strangers were so rare in Far Edgerley—high, ancient little village in +the mountains, far from railways, unmentioned in guide-books—that this +admirer of flower-gardens was known by sight through all the town before +he had been two days in the place. He was named Dupont, and he was +staying at the village inn, the Washington Hotel—an old red brick +structure, whose sign, a weather-beaten portrait of the Father of his +Country, crowned the top of a thick blue pole set out in the middle of +Edgerley Street. He was apparently about twenty-eight or thirty years of +age, tall, slender, carelessly dressed, yet possessing, too, some +picturesque articles of attire to which Far Edgerley was not accustomed; +notably, low shoes with red silk stockings above them, and a red silk +handkerchief to match the stockings peeping from the breast pocket of +the coat; a cream-colored umbrella lined with red silk; a quantity<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a> of +cream-colored gauze wound round a straw hat.</p> + +<p>But it was not these articles, remarkable as they were, nor his taste +for opening gates without permission, nor his habit of walking in the +middle of the street, ignoring sidewalks, nor another habit he had of +rising and going out of church just before the sermon—it was none of +these which had given him his privilege of entering "the best society." +The best society had opened its doors to Genius, and to Genius alone. +This genius was of the musical kind. Dupont played and sang his own +compositions. "What," said Madam Carroll, "is genius, if not this?"</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll's opinion was followed in Far Edgerley, and Dupont now had +the benefit of it. The Rendleshams invited him to tea; the Greers sang +for him; he was offered the <i>Saturday Review</i>; even Mrs. General +Hibbard, joining the gentle tide, invited him to Chapultepec, and when +he came, showed him the duck yard. Miss Honoria Ashley did not yield to +the current. But then Miss Honoria never yielded to anything. Her +father, the junior warden, freely announced (outside his own gate) that +the "singing man" amused him. Mr. Phipps hated him, but that was because +Dupont had shown some interest in Miss Lucy Rendlesham, who was pretty. +Not that they cared much, however, for beauty in<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a> Far Edgerley; it was +so much better to be intellectual. Ferdinand Kenneway, when he learned +that the new-comer had been received both at Chapultepec and the Farms, +called at the inn, and left one of his engraved cards—"Mr. F. Kenneway, +Baltimore." He had once lived in Baltimore six months. Dupont made an +excellent caricature of Ferdinand on the back of the card, and never +returned the call. On the whole, the musician had reason to congratulate +himself upon so complete a conquest of Far Edgerley's highest circle. +Only two persons (besides Phipps) in all that circle disliked him. True, +these two disliked him strongly; but they remained only two, and they +were, in public, at least, silent. They were Miss Carroll and the rector +of St. John's.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was but natural that a clergyman should look askance at a man +who always rose and walked out of church at the very moment when he was +preparing to begin his sermon. Miss Carroll, however, had no such +sufficient reason to give for her dislike; when Dupont came to the Farms +he was as respectfully polite to her as he could be in the very small +opportunity she vouchsafed him. He came often to their flower-garden. +She complained of his constant presence. "I am never sure that he is not +there. He is either lying at full length in the shade<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> of the +rhododendrons, or else sitting in the rose arbor, drumming on the +table."</p> + +<p>"Very harmless amusements they seem to me," replied Madam Carroll.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But why should we be compelled to provide his amusements? I think +that office we might decline."</p> + +<p>"You are rather unkind, aren't you? What harm has the poor fellow done +to us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you are going to pity him, mamma—"</p> + +<p>"Why should not one pity him a little?—a young man who is so alone in +the world, as he tells us he is, not strong in health, and often moody. +Then, too, there is his genius."</p> + +<p>"I am tired of his genius. I do not believe in his genius. There is no +power in it. Always a 'little song!' A 'little song!' His little songs +are too sweet; they have no force."</p> + +<p>"Do you wish him to shout?"</p> + +<p>"I wish him to take himself elsewhere. I am speaking freely, mamma; for +I have noticed that you seem to like him."</p> + +<p>"He is a variety—that is the explanation; we have so little variety +here. But I do like him, Sara, or, rather, I like his songs. To me they +are very beautiful."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/ill_pg_094_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/ill_pg_094_sml.jpg" width="368" height="550" alt=""HE CAME OFTEN TO THEIR FLOWER GARDEN."" title=""HE CAME OFTEN TO THEIR FLOWER GARDEN."" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"HE CAME OFTEN TO THEIR FLOWER GARDEN."</span> +</p> + +<p>Nothing more was said on either side. Sara had<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> announced her dislike, +and it had been ignored; her regard for Madam Carroll kept her from +again expressing the feeling.</p> + +<p>The present reception was considered an especially delightful one. One +reason for this was that Madam Carroll had altered her hours; instead of +from five to eight, they were now from eight to ten. True, the time was +shorter; but this was compensated for by the change from afternoon to +evening. For choice as had been the tone of elegant culture which had +underlain these social meetings heretofore, there was no doubt but that +they gained in the element of gayety by being deferred to candle-light. +The candles inspired everybody; it was felt to be more festal. The +ladies wore flowers in their hair, and Ferdinand Kenneway came out in +white gloves. The Major, too, had not appeared so well all summer as he +did this evening; every one remarked it. Not that the Major did not +always appear well. "He is, and always has been, the first gentleman of +our state. But to-night, how peculiarly distinguished he looks! His gray +hair but adds to his noble appearance—don't you think so?—his gray +hair and his wounded arm? And dear Madam Carroll, too, when have you +seen her look so bright?"</p> + +<p>Thus the ladies. But the daughter of the house, meanwhile, had never +been more silent. To-night<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a> she merited, without doubt, their adjective +"cold." She had not been able to be of much use to her father this +evening. During the three quarters of an hour he had given to his guests +Madam Carroll had not left him; together they had gone through the +rooms, exchanging greetings, holding short conversations, inquiring +after the health of the absent. As had been remarked, the little wife +looked very bright. She had more color than usual; her complexion had +never had, they said, a more exquisite bloom. She was dressed in white, +with a large bunch of pink roses fastened in her belt, and as she stood +by the side of her tall, gray-haired husband she looked, the junior +warden declared, like "a Hebe." And then he carefully explained that he +meant an American Hebe of delicate outlines, and not the Hebe of the +ancient Greeks—"who always weighed two hundred."</p> + +<p>The American Hebe talked with much animation; Far Edgerley admired her +more than ever. After the Major had retired she was even gay; the junior +warden having lost the spray of sweet-pea from his button-hole, with +charming sportiveness she called him to her and replaced it with one of +her pink roses.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Mr. Dupont was conducting himself after his usual fantasied +fashion. He strolled about<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a> and leaned against the walls—a thing never +done in Far Edgerley, on account of the paper; he stared at the +head-dress of Mrs. General Hibbard, an impressive edifice of black lace +and bugles; he talked a little to Miss Lucy Rendlesham, to the rage of +Phipps; he turned his back on F. Kenneway; and he laughed at the +poetical quotations of Mrs. Greer. And then he made no less than six +profound bows before Miss Corinna, the dignified leader of St. John's +choir.</p> + +<p>He bowed whenever he met her, stopping especially for the purpose, +drawing his feet together, and bending his head and body to an angle +heretofore unwitnessed in that community. Miss Corinna, in chaste black +silk, became at last, martial though she was, disconcerted by this +extreme respect. She could not return it properly, because, most +unfortunately, as she had always thought, the days of the courtesy, the +only stately salutation for a lady, were gone by. She bowed as +majestically as she could. But when it came to the seventh time, she +said to her second sister, "Really, Camilla, his attentions are becoming +too pressing. Let us retire." So they retired—to the wall. But even +here they were not secure, Dupont discovering their retreat, and coming +by expressly every now and then to bestow upon the stately maiden +another salute.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of the evening—or rather, of the<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> reception—he sang, +accompanying himself upon the guitar. His guitar had a long loop of red +ribbon attached to it; Miss Carroll surveyed it and its owner with +coldest eye, as, seated upon a low ottoman in the centre of the room, he +began what she had called his "little songs." His songs were, in truth, +always brief; but they were not entirely valueless, in spite of her +prejudice against them. They had a character of their own. Sometimes +they contained minor strains too old for Far Edgerley to remember, the +wild, soft, plaintive cadences of the Indian women of tribes long gone +towards the setting sun, of the first African slaves poling their +flatboats along the Southern rivers. And sometimes they were love-songs, +of a style far too modern for the little, old-fashioned town to +comprehend. Dupont's voice was a tenor, not powerful, but deliciously, +sensuously sweet. As he sat there singing, with his large, bold dark +eyes roving about the room, with his slender dark fingers touching the +strings, with his black moustache, waxed at the ends, the gleam of his +red handkerchief, and the red flower in his coat, he seemed to some of +the ladies present romantically handsome. To Sara Carroll he seemed a +living impertinence.</p> + +<p>What right had this person of unknown antecedents, position, and +character to be posturing there<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> before them?—to be admitted at all to +the house of her father? And then her eyes happened to fall upon her +father's wife, who, in the chair nearest the musician, was listening to +him with noticeable enjoyment. She turned and left the room.</p> + +<p>By doing this she came directly upon Frederick Owen, who had apparently +performed the same action a little while before. They were alone in the +wide hall; every one else was in the drawing-room, gathered round the +singer.</p> + +<p>"It—it was cooler here," Owen explained, rather awkwardly. At this +instant Dupont's voice floated out to them in one of his long, soft +notes. "It has 'a dying fall,' has it not?" said the clergyman; he was +trying to speak politely of her guest. But as his eyes met those of Miss +Carroll, he suddenly read in them a feeling of the same strength and +nature as his own, regarding that guest. This was a surprise, and a +satisfaction. It was the first corresponding dislike he had been able to +discover. For his own dislike had been so strong that he had been +searching in all directions for a corresponding one, with the hope, +perhaps, of proving to himself that his was not mere baseless prejudice. +But until this evening he had not succeeded in finding what he sought. +It was all the other way.</p> + +<p>It should be mentioned here that Owen had not<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> betrayed this dislike of +his. If he had done so, if his objection to the musician had been known, +or even suspected, it is probable that Dupont would hardly have attained +his present position in Far Edgerley. For after Madam Carroll's opinion, +the opinion of the rector of St. John's came next. But he had not +betrayed it. There was nothing of essential importance against Dupont. +The fact that he was precisely the kind of fellow whom Frederick Owen +particularly disliked was simply a matter between the two men +themselves, or rather, as Dupont cared nothing about it, between Owen +and his own conscience; for he could hardly go about denouncing a man +because he happened to play the guitar. But after three weeks of +enduring him—for he met him wherever he went—it was great comfort to +have caught that gleam of contempt in Miss Carroll's fair gray eyes; he +was glad that he had been at just the right spot in the hall to receive +it as she came from the drawing-room with that alluring voice floating +forth behind her.</p> + +<p>"It is a beautiful evening," he said, dropping the subject of the +musician; "the moonlight is so bright that one can see all the +mountains. Shall we go out and look at them?"</p> + +<p>And Miss Carroll was so displeased with the scene within that she +consented to withdraw to the scene<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> without; and there they remained as +long as the singing lasted. They walked up and down the broad piazza; he +talked about the mountain scenery, and the waterfalls. She did not +appear to be much interested in them. Her companion, however, was not so +much chilled by this manner of hers as he had sometimes been; he had had +a glimpse behind it.<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p>E<small>ARLY</small> in the week following the reception, Frederick Owen learned that +Dupont was about to take his departure from Far Edgerley, and with no +expectation of returning. This was good news. He was beginning to have +the feeling that the fellow would never go away, that he and his guitar +would become a permanent feature of Madam Carroll's receptions, his +lounging figure under the cream-colored umbrella a daily ornament of the +centre of Edgerley Street. Was he really, then, going? It seemed too +good to be true. But the tidings had been brought by Miss Dalley, who +was both good and true, and who was accurate as well; she had the very +hour—"On Friday, at nine."</p> + +<p>"Hangman's day!" thought Owen, with satisfaction, doing his thinking +this time with the remnants of boyhood feelings; for though he was in +his third decade—the beginning of it—and a clergyman, the boy in him +was by no means entirely outgrown. Miss Dalley had come to return a +book, Longfellow's<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> "Outre Mer," and to borrow anything he might have +about Ferrara.</p> + +<p>"I was so much interested in our American poet's description of the +Italian poet's grave, on the Janiculum," she said. "It was such a +touching passage, and it contained this truly poetical sentence: 'He +sleeps midway between his cradle at Sorrento and his dungeon at +Ferrara.' I can never go in <i>person</i>, Mr. Owen; Fate has denied me that. +But I can think of the inscription, which Longfellow gives: 'Torquati +Tasso ossa hic jacet,' and be there in <i>mind</i>."</p> + +<p>She had called it "hic jacket." "Jacent, I think," said the rector, +gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly; that is what I meant—jacinth," said Miss Dalley, +correcting herself. "A beautiful word, is it not? And so appropriate, +too, for a poet's grave, mentioned, as it is, in Revelations!"</p> + +<p>On Friday Dupont really did go. The rector himself saw him pass in the +high red wagon of the Washington Inn on his way down the mountain to the +lower town, the eastward-bound stage, and thence—wherever he pleased, +the gazer thought, so long as he did not return. But although the rector +gave this vagueness to the musician's destination, it was understood in +other quarters that he was going back to the West India Islands—"where +he used to live, you know."<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a></p> + +<p>"Upon which one did he live?" asked the junior warden. "There are about +fifty thousand of them, large and small; he can't have lived on them +all."</p> + +<p>"For my part, I think him <i>quite</i> capable of it," answered Miss Honoria, +grimly.</p> + +<p>Having seen the musician depart, Owen jumped on his horse and went off +to one of his mission stations far up among the crags of Lonely +Mountain. For, not content with a rector's usual duties, all of which he +attended to with a modern promptness unknown in the days of good old +Parson Montgomery, he had established mission stations at various points +in the mountains above Far Edgerley. Wherever there were a few +log-houses gathered together, there he held services, or started a +Sunday-school. He was by far the most energetic rector the parish of St. +John in the Wilderness had ever had; so much so, indeed, that the parish +hardly knew how to take his energy, and thought that he was perhaps +rather too much in the wilderness—more than necessity demanded or his +bishop required. Miss Honoria Ashley had even called these journeyings +of his "itinerant;" but Miss Honoria was known to disapprove, on general +principles, of everything the rector did: she had once seen him wearing +a sack-coat.</p> + +<p>On this particular Friday he was out all day among the peaks, close up +under the sky. Coming down at<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> sunset, and entering Edgerley Street, +with its knolls and flower-gardens and rambling old houses, his home +seemed to him a peaceful and pleasant one. And then, as he passed +Carroll Farms, he became conscious that the cause for its seeming +especially peaceful to him this evening was the absence of the intruder, +that man from another world, who was no longer there to contaminate its +sweet, old-fashioned simplicity with his dubious beauty, his dangerous +character, and his enchanting voice. For Owen believed that the +musician's character was dangerous; his face bore the marks of +dissipation, and though indolent, and often full of gay good-nature, he +had at times a reckless expression in his eyes. Nothing deterred him +from amusing himself; and probably, in the same way, nothing would deter +him from any course towards which he should happen to feel an +inclination. He was not dangerous by plan or calculation; he was +dangerous from the very lack of them. He was essentially erratic, and +followed his fancies, and no one could tell whither they would lead him. +But he might have been all this, and the clergyman would still have felt +able to guard his parish and people from any harm his presence might do +them, had it not been for the favor shown him by Madam Carroll. This had +been a blow to Owen. He said to himself that the gentle lady's love of<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a> +music had blinded her judgment, and carried her astray. It was a +satisfaction that Miss Carroll's judgment remained unblinded. But it was +greatest satisfaction of all that the man was gone; he congratulated +himself upon this anew as he rode by the gateway of the Farms.</p> + +<p>It was well that he had this taste of comfort. It did not last long. +Less than three weeks had passed when he learned one afternoon that +Dupont had returned. And not long afterwards he was in possession of +other knowledge, which troubled him more than anything that had happened +since he came to Far Edgerley.</p> + +<p>In the meantime his parish, unaware of its rector's opinion, had +welcomed back the summer visitor with various graceful little +attentions. The summer visitor had been seriously ill, and needed +attentions, graceful or otherwise. He had journeyed as far as New York, +and there had fallen ill of a fever, which was not surprising, the +parish thought, when one considered the dangerously torrid climate of +that business metropolis at this season. Upon recovery, he had longed +with a great longing for "our pure Chillawassee air," and had returned +to pass the time of convalescence "among our noble peaks;" this was +repeated from knoll to knoll. Dupont's appearance bore testimony to the +truth of the tale. He<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> had evidently been ill: his cheeks were hollow, +and he moved about slowly, as though he had not much strength; his eyes, +large and dark, looked larger and darker than ever, set in his thin, +brown face. But he was still Dupont; his moustache was still waxed, and +he had some new articles of finery, a gold watch-chain, and a seal-ring +on his long-fingered hand. This time he did not stay at the inn; he +preferred to try a farm-house, and selected Walley's Cove, a small farm +a little above the village, in one of the high ravines which, when wide +enough for a few fields along the mountain-brook that flowed through the +centre, were called coves. Dupont liked the place on account of the +view; and also, he said, because he could throw a stone from the cove's +mouth "into every chimney in Far Edgerley." This was repeated. "Do you +suppose," said Mrs. General Hibbard, solemnly—"do you suppose he is +going to do it?"</p> + +<p>This lady had felt from the beginning a solemn curiosity about Dupont, +about all he said and did. But this was quite natural, the village +thought, when one considered the interesting proximity of the West India +Islands (where the musician used to live) to the glorious Mexican field +of her departed husband's fame. But, in return for her interest, Dupont +had irreverently made a caricature of the august widow,<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> depicting her +as a mermaid, in her own duck-pond, surrounded by all her ducks, clad in +Mexican costumes; and then Far Edgerley society, which had been obliged +to listen for eight long years to many details about these birds of +Chapultepec—Far Edgerley society was corrupt enough to laugh.</p> + +<p>But this incident belonged to Dupont's first visit; and, like other +incidents of his first visit, could be deemed amusing or impertinent +according to one's view of him. The new knowledge which had come to +Frederick Owen was something very different—different and grave: Sara +Carroll had changed. She now felt an interest in this stranger, and she +was showing it.</p> + +<p>Was this the influence of Madam Carroll? But Owen could not long think +this. Miss Carroll was not a person to be easily influenced or led. She +was not yielding; whatever course she might follow, one could at least +be sure that, good or bad, it was her own. Her interest showed itself +guardedly; so much so that no one had observed it. The clergyman felt +sure that he was the only discoverer, and his own discovery he owed to a +rare chance. He was coming down Chillawassee on horseback, and in +bending to gather a flower from a bush, as he passed, he had lost a +small note-book from the breast pocket of his coat; dismounting to look +for it, he<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> found that it was lying on a ledge not far below the road, +and that he could get it by a little climbing. He made his way down to +the ledge, and secured the book. Then he saw, a little farther down, one +of the isolated rocks called chimneys, and was seized with the fancy to +have a look from its top. He obeyed this fancy. And from its top he +found himself looking directly down into a small field on the edge of +Carroll Farms; here, standing together under a tree, were two figures +which he instantly recognized—they were the figures of Sara Carroll and +Dupont. This field was separated from the road by a hedge so high that +no one could look over it, and from the other fields and the orchard of +the Farms by a thicket of chincapins. The two were therefore well +hidden; they were safe from discovery save for the remote chance that +some one had climbed the chimney above them. And this one remote chance +had fallen to the lot of Frederick Owen.</p> + +<p>He was much surprised, uncertain, unhappy. Shielded by the tall bushes +growing on top of the chimney, he had stood for several minutes looking +down upon the two. Then he left the rock, went back to his horse, and +rode home.</p> + +<p>His uneasiness, after spoiling his night's sleep, took him to the Farms +the next afternoon. Madam Carroll received him in the drawing-room. She<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a> +offered an excuse for Miss Carroll; it seemed that she had a headache. +But on his way out the clergyman distinctly saw the shadow of a man +thrown across the dining-room floor by the bright sunshine shining +through the western windows. It might not be the shadow of Dupont, of +course; he was ashamed of himself for his quick suspicion. It might be +that of some other visitor, or of one of their poor pensioners, or of +Caleb Inches. But no masculine visitor came to the Farms at this hour +save, now and then, the junior warden, whose small figure never cast +shadow like that; and all the pensioners of whom he had knowledge were +women. He decided that, of course, it was Inches; and then, on his way +down Carroll Lane, he met Inches coming up. Still, it was but a +supposition. He forced himself to cast it aside.</p> + +<p>Chance, however, seemed determined to disturb him, for she soon threw in +his way other knowledge, and this not a shadow, but reality. He caught a +glimpse of Sara Carroll turning into a little-used path, which led up +the mountain to a fir-wood. His own road (he was on horseback, as usual, +on his way to a mission station) led him by Walley's Cove, and here, +fifteen minutes later, he distinctly saw the figure of Louis Dupont +entering the same wood at its upper edge, and by the path which would +bring him<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> directly to her, the same path she herself was following.</p> + +<p>Owen's trouble now took complete possession of him; up to this time he +had fought it off. He felt that he ought to do something, to act. Dupont +was a dissipated, erratic adventurer, whose history no one knew. Should +he let this proud, fastidious, delicate-minded girl fall into such a +vulgar trap as this? Before his eyes, within reach of his hand? Yet +there it was again—if she were in reality as proud and fastidious as he +had supposed her to be (and he had thought her the proudest girl he had +ever known), how could she, of her own accord, endure Louis Dupont? At +one time she had not endured him. There had been a memorable moment when +the expression of her eyes (how well he remembered it!) had been +unmistakable; the moment when he had met her, coming from the +drawing-room, with that alluring voice floating forth behind her. What +could have changed her—changed her so completely as this?</p> + +<p>The one answer presented itself with pitiless promptness: Dupont had +changed her. He had accomplished it himself, with the aid of a handsome +face, fine eyes, and an audacity which stopped at nothing; for the +clergyman had always felt sure that the audacity was there, although it +had not, in<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a> Far Edgerley, at least, been much exerted. This was so +acutely disagreeable to the man who was thinking of it, that there was +in his own eyes (handsome ones, too, in their way—a blue way) angry +moisture as he went over its possibilities. He clinched his hand and +rode on; it would have fared hardly with the musician had he crossed his +path just then. Owen was a clergyman. But he had been a man, and a free +one, first; he had not gone from college and seminary directly into the +ministry. He was thirty-one years old, and he had taken orders but two +years before; the preceding interval had not been spent in country +villages.</p> + +<p>With all this surging feeling, however, he had as yet nothing definite +against this stranger—this stranger whose bad manners had been +protected by his "genius," and whose bad aspects had not been perceived +by the innocent little town. By nothing definite he meant nothing that +he could use. But now Chance, having given him three heavy burdens of +knowledge to carry (he had carried them as well as he could, with a +heavy heart as well)—the knowledge of those three meetings which, if +not clandestine, were at least concealed—this same Chance relented so +far as to present him with other knowledge—knowledge of a different +hue. She put in his possession some recent facts concerning the +musician<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> which were proof, and proof positive, against him.</p> + +<p>But what could Owen do with his facts? If he had not known what he knew +of Sara Carroll's interest in him, he could have proceeded against the +fellow at once; it needed but the statement which he was now able to +make to close every door in Far Edgerley against him, for the little +town, though not strait-laced, had a standard of morals as pure as its +own air. But if he should do this, might not Dupont take his revenge, +or, less than that, amuse himself, as he would call it, by letting the +village public learn of his intimate relations with the Farms, or rather +with Miss Carroll? Madam Carroll's liking for him, or, rather, for his +songs, was known and comprehended. But Miss Carroll's liking was not +known; and it had, too, an aspect—and here Frederick Owen felt that he +would rather go on forever in silence than have that aspect discussed. +Yet something he must do. He decided to go to Major Carroll himself. +Infirm as was his health, and secluded as was his life, he was the +natural protector of these two ladies, and would wish to know, ought to +know, everything that concerned them. He went to the Farms.</p> + +<p>The Major was not feeling well that day; Madam Carroll hoped that the +rector would excuse him.<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> The rector had no alternative but to do so. He +asked if he might not see him on the following day. Madam Carroll, with +regret, feared that this would not be possible; he had taken cold, and +his colds always lasted for a long time; he had not yet recovered his +strength fully after that illness of the preceding winter—as the rector +was probably aware. Disappointed, the rector went away. As he passed +down green Edgerley Street he met Dupont coming up, as usual, in the +centre of the roadway. The musician gave the clergyman a profound bow, +almost as profound as those with which he had disconcerted Miss Corinna. +As Owen returned it—as slightly as possible—he thought he saw in +Dupont's eyes a mocking gleam of amusement. Amusement? Or was it +triumph? He went on his way, walking rapidly; but at a certain point in +the road he could not help looking back. Yes, Dupont had turned into +Carroll Lane.</p> + +<p>On the next day the rector of St. John's, having taken a new resolution, +started to pay a morning visit at the residence of his senior warden. In +answer to his knock Judith Inches opened the door. Without waiting for +words from him, this guardian of the Farms announced that the Major was +not well, and that the ladies were engaged, and would like to be +excused. She then seemed quite prepared to close the door.<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a></p> + +<p>"Perhaps Madam Carroll would see me, if she knew it was I," said Owen.</p> + +<p>Judith Inches thought there was no probability of this.</p> + +<p>The tall, blue-eyed man on the door-step did not accept her probability; +he suggested that she at least make it sure.</p> + +<p>Judith surveyed him from head to foot; then, gradually, as much of a +smile as ever illumined her countenance stole across its lean, +high-cheek-boned expanse; she beckoned him in, and pointed with a long +forefinger down the hall towards a half-open door. "<i>Miss Sara's</i> +theer," she said.</p> + +<p>It was the door of the dining-room. Visitors were not invited to enter +this room, save at the receptions, and Owen, after advancing a step or +two, stopped; the permission of Judith Inches seemed hardly enough.</p> + +<p>And then this mountain maid, in her lank brown gown, drew near, and +murmured in his ear these mystic words: "Go right along in. What yer +feared of? I've noticed that you was feared of her before now. <i>That's</i> +no way. Brace up, man, brace up. Stiffen in an irun will, and you'll do +it." She then softly and swiftly withdrew down the hall, turning to give +him a solemn wink at a far door before she disappeared.<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a></p> + +<p>Owen felt a great schoolboy blush rising all over his face as he stood +there alone. Had the feminine eye of this serious spinster discovered +what he himself had not? But no; he always knew all about himself. She +had simply discovered, woman-fashion, more than existed. He went down +the hall, and entered the dining-room. There, at its western window, sat +Sara Carroll, sewing.</p> + +<p>She answered his greeting, and gave him her hand. "I heard a knock, but +there was so long a delay that I supposed no one had entered," she said.</p> + +<p>He took a seat, explaining that Judith Inches had told him to come to +this room. "My visit is more especially to either Major or Madam Carroll +this morning," he said. "But your tall handmaiden was sure that they +would not be able to receive me."</p> + +<p>"My father is not well to-day, and mamma has a headache. Judith was +right," answered Miss Carroll. She took up her sewing again, and went on +with the seam.</p> + +<p>Owen, who had brought himself up to the point of speaking to Madam +Carroll herself (for he had no hope, after yesterday, of seeing the +Major), was disappointed. It was a difficult task he had undertaken, and +he wanted to do it, and have it over. Foiled for this day at least, he +still sat there, his<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> eyes on Miss Carroll's moving needle. He was +thinking a little, perhaps, of Judith Inches' remarkable imagination; +but far more of Miss Carroll herself. Her delicately cut face, with its +reserved expression, was there before him. Yet this was the same girl +who had received Dupont in this very room, who had talked with him in +that secluded meadow, who had gone to the fir-wood to meet him. His eyes +showed his inward trouble, they looked bluely dense and clouded. Miss +Carroll glanced at him once or twice, as it seemed to him, guardedly; +but he was aware that he was no longer a calm judge where she was +concerned; aware that he might easily mistake the importance or +significance of any little look or act. He fell into almost complete +silence, so that she was obliged to find topics herself, and keep up the +conversation; heretofore, when with her, this had always been his task.</p> + +<p>He had sat there twenty minutes when there was a light step in the hall, +and Madam Carroll entered. She came towards him with her hand extended +and a smile of welcome. "Why did they not tell me you were here, Mr. +Owen? It was by mere chance that I happened to hear the sound of your +voice, and came down."</p> + +<p>Sara had risen as her mother entered, her work dropping to the floor. +"Oh, mamma!" she murmured.<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> Then, "I have told Mr. Owen that you have a +headache," she explained.</p> + +<p>"A mere trifle. And it is over now. Besides, headache or no headache, I +always wish to see Mr. Owen," said the Major's wife, giving him her +hand.</p> + +<p>Owen tried to recall his prearranged sentences, and summoned all his +coolness and skill. The opportunity he had sought was to be his after +all; now let him use it to the best advantage. But it was not easy to +tell a lady in her own house that both her taste and her judgment had +been at fault.</p> + +<p>"I especially wished to see you this morning, Madam Carroll," he said; +"I am very glad you came down. I am anxious to speak with you upon a +subject which seems to me important."</p> + +<p>"I am at your service," answered the lady, giving the ruffle of her +overskirt a pat of adjustment, and then drawing forward a low willow +chair.</p> + +<p>"I think—I think, with your permission, we will go to another room," +said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>Miss Carroll was still standing; she made no offer to go. Again she +looked at their visitor, and this time it seemed to him that it was more +than guardedly, that it was defiance. "Mamma," she said, "with your +headache—for I know you have it still—are you not undertaking too +much? Mr.<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a> Owen will excuse you. Or could I not take your place?" And +she turned to Owen.</p> + +<p>"No," he answered; "you could not." And he said no more. He was aware +that he was proceeding clumsily, but he could not help it. He found that +he cared too much about it to do it gracefully or with skill. He +recalled her slender, black-robed figure going towards the fir-wood, and +his eyes grew more clouded than before. He turned away. "Of course, if +Madam Carroll is suffering," he said—then he stopped; he did not want +to postpone it again.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll threw up her hands. "My dear Sara, you make so much of my +poor little headache that Mr. Owen will think I am subject to headaches. +But I am happy to say that I am not; as a general thing, they are mere +feminine affectations. Come to the drawing-room, Mr. Owen. At this hour +we shall not be interrupted." She led the way thither, and seated +herself in her favorite chair, having first rolled forward a larger one +for her guest. The spindle-legged furniture of the old-fashioned room +had been covered by her own deft fingers with chintz of cream-color, +enlivened with wreaths of bright flowers; over the windows and doors +hung curtains of the same material. In this garden-like expanse Owen +took his seat, collected himself and what he<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> had to say in one quick +moment of review, and then began.</p> + +<p>First, he asked her to pardon what was, in one way, the great liberty he +was taking in speaking at all; in excuse he could only say that it +seemed to him important—important to her own household. And in no +household the world held had he a deeper, a more sincere, interest than +in her own.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll begged to recall to his remembrance that that was saying a +great deal—"no household in the world."</p> + +<p>He did not answer this little speech, archly made. He took up his main +subject. He told her that he had been unwilling to speak to her of it at +all; that he should have greatly preferred speaking to the Major; but +that had not been possible, at least for the present, as she was aware. +The matter concerned itself with some facts he had lately learned about +a person who had been generally received in Far Edgerley and also at the +Farms—a person of whose history they really knew nothing, this—this +musician—</p> + +<p>"Are you pretending you do not know his name?" asked Madam Carroll. "I +can tell you what it is if you have forgotten; it will make your story +easier: Dupont—Louis Eugene Dupont."</p> + +<p>Owen was astounded by her manner; he had never seen anything like it in +her before. Her large blue eyes—of<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> a blue lighter than his own—looked +at him calmly, almost, it seemed to him, with a calm impertinence.</p> + +<p>"I had not forgotten his name," he answered, gravely. "I have had too +much reason to remember it. He has given me anxiety for some time past, +Madam Carroll. I have felt that he was not the person to be received +among us as he has been received. We are rather a secluded mountain +village, you know, and there has been little here to tempt him into +betraying himself; but I have suspected him from the first, and now—"</p> + +<p>"You are rather inclined to suspect people, aren't you?" said Madam +Carroll, with the same calm gaze.</p> + +<p>"Major Carroll would have suspected him also had he ever met him."</p> + +<p>"As it happens, my husband has met him. It was at one of our receptions; +early in the evening, I think, before you came."</p> + +<p>"And he said nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"I must go on in any case," said Owen; "I can do no otherwise. For it is +not for my own sake I am speaking—"</p> + +<p>"Are you sure of that?" said his hostess, interrupting him again without +ceremony. This time her tone had an amusement in it, an amusement not +unmixed with sarcasm.<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a></p> + +<p>"I should do it just the same though I were on the eve of leaving Far +Edgerley forever, never expecting to see any of you again," he answered, +with some heat.</p> + +<p>"It could hardly be a final parting, even then; for the world is not so +large as you suppose, Mr. Owen. It hardly seems necessary, on the whole, +to be so tragic," answered the lady, again adjusting the ruffle of her +overskirt, and laughing a little.</p> + +<p>Owen was bewildered. He had thought that he knew her so well, he had +thought that she was of all his parish his best and kindest friend; yet +there she sat, within three feet of him, looking at him mockingly, +turning all his earnest words into ridicule, laughing at him.</p> + +<p>He was no match for her in little sarcasms, and he was in no mood for +that kind of warfare. He said no more about himself and his feelings; he +simply gave her a plain outline of the facts which had recently come +into his possession.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll replied that she did not believe them. Such stories were +always in circulation about handsome young men like Louis Dupont. They +were told by other men—who were jealous of them.</p> + +<p>Owen, who had grown a little pale, quietly gave her his proofs. The +scene of the affair was one of his own mission stations—the most +distant one; he<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a> knew the young girl's father, and even the young girl +herself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it seems <i>you</i> knew her too, then," said Madam Carroll, laughing. +"I suppose she liked Dupont best."</p> + +<p>The young clergyman was struck into silence. This little, gentle, +golden-haired lady, whom he had admired so long and so sincerely, was +this she? Were those her words? Was that her laugh? It seemed to him as +if some evil spirit had suddenly taken up his abode in her, and having +driven out her own sweet soul, was looking at him through her pretty +eyes, and speaking to him with her pretty, rose-leaf lips. Stinging, +under the circumstances insulting, as had been her speech, he was not +angry; he was too much grieved. He could have taken her in his arms and +wept over her. For what could it all mean save that Dupont had in some +way obtained such control of her, poor little woman, that she was ready +to attack everybody and anybody who attacked him?</p> + +<p>He looked at her, still in silence. Then he rose. "I have told you all I +know, Madam Carroll," he said, sadly, taking his hat from the chair +beside him. "I had hoped that you would—I never dreamed that you could +receive me or speak to me in the way you have. I have had the greatest +regard for you; I have thought you my best friend."<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a></p> + +<p>Madam Carroll had also risen, with the air of wishing to close the +interview. She dropped her eyes as he said these last words, and lifted +her handkerchief to her mouth.</p> + +<p>"I think as much of you as ever," she murmured. And then she began to +cough, a cough with a long following breath that was almost like a sob.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and Sara Carroll entered. She came straight to her +mother, and put her arm round her as if to support her. "I knew you were +not well, mamma. Mr. Owen will certainly excuse you <i>now</i>" And she +looked at their guest with a glance which he felt to be dismissal.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll, exhausted by the cough, leaned against her daughter, her +face covered by her handkerchief. Owen turned to go. But when he saw the +daughter standing there so near him, when he thought of what he knew of +her interest in this man, and of the mother's recent tone about him, his +heart failed him. He could not go—go and leave her without one word of +warning, one effort to save her, to show her what he felt.</p> + +<p>"I came to warn Madam Carroll against Louis Dupont," he said, abruptly. +"Madam Carroll has not credited what I have said, or, rather, she is not +impressed by it. Yet it is all true. And probably there is much more. He +is not a person with whom<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a> you should have intimate acquaintance, or, +indeed, any acquaintance. As Madam Carroll will not do so, will you let +<i>me</i> warn you?"</p> + +<p>Miss Carroll started slightly as he said this. Then she recovered +herself. "Surely it is nothing to me," she said, indifferently, with a +slight emphasis on the "me."</p> + +<p>Owen watched the indifferent expression. "She is acting," he thought. +"She does it well!" Then aloud, "On the contrary, I suppose it to be a +great deal to you," he answered, his eyes, intent and sorrowful, fixed +full upon her over the little mother's head.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll took down her handkerchief, and the two women faced him +with startled gaze. Sara was calm; but Madam Carroll's eyes, at first +only startled, were now growing frightened. She turned her small face +towards her daughter dumbly, as if for help.</p> + +<p>The girl drew her mother more closely to her side. "And what right have +you to suppose anything?" she said to Owen, with composure. "Are you our +guardian?"</p> + +<p>"Would that I were!" answered Owen, with deepest feeling in his tone. "I +don't 'suppose' anything, Miss Carroll—I know. I have been unfortunate +enough to see you with this man, or going to<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a> meet him, and it has made +me wretched. But do not be troubled—no one else has seen it, and with +me you are perfectly safe; I would guard you with my life. I had +intended to expose him; I am in possession of some facts which tell +heavily against him (Madam Carroll knows what they are); but now how can +I, when I fear that he—when I know that you—" he paused; his voice was +trembling a little, and he wished to control the tremor.</p> + +<p>"And if I should tell you that there was no occasion for either your +fears or your advice?" said Sara Carroll, after a moment's silence. She +raised her eyes again, and met his gaze steadily. "If I should tell you +that Mr. Dupont—to whom you object so strongly—had the right to be +with me as much as he pleased, and that I had given him this right, +surely you would then understand that your warning came quite too late, +and that both your opinion and your advice were superfluous? And you +would, perhaps, spare us further conversation on a matter that concerns +only ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Am I to believe this?" said Owen.</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/ill_pg_126_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/ill_pg_126_sml.jpg" width="382" height="550" alt=""THE GIRL DREW HER MOTHER MORE CLOSELY TO HER SIDE."" title=""THE GIRL DREW HER MOTHER MORE CLOSELY TO HER SIDE."" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"THE GIRL DREW HER MOTHER MORE CLOSELY TO HER SIDE."</span> +</p> + +<p>"You have it from me directly—I don't know what better authority you +would have. I tell you in order to show you, decisively, that further +interference on your part will be unnecessary. It is a secret as yet, +and, for the present, we wish it to remain<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> one; we trust to you not +to betray it. And I think you will now keep to yourself, will you not, +what you know, or fancy you know, against him?" She looked at him +inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"If I could only have seen your father!" said Owen, with bitterest +regret.</p> + +<p>Her face changed, her arm dropped from her mother's shoulders; she +turned abruptly from him.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Madam Carroll straightened herself, as if trying to resume +her usual manner. She looked after Sara, who had crossed the broad room +to a window opposite. Then she looked at Owen. She came closer to him. +"I am sure it will not last, this—this engagement of hers," she said, +in a whisper, shielding her lips with her hand as if to make her tone +still lower. "It is only a little fancy of the moment, you know, a fancy +founded upon his genius, his musical genius, and his lovely voice. But +it will pass, Mr. Owen; I am sure it will pass. And in the meantime our +course—yours and mine—should be just <i>silence</i>. Everything must go on +as usual, and you must say nothing against him to any one; that is the +most important of all. No one has suspected it but you. She <i>has</i> been +rather incautious; but I will see that that is mended, so that no one +else shall suspect. If we are careful and silent, Mr. Owen, you and +I—the only ones who know—and if we<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> simply have patience and <i>wait</i>, +all will yet be well; I assure you all will yet be well." She smiled, +and looked up anxiously into his face with her soft blue eyes; she was +quite her gentle self again.</p> + +<p>"She is protecting her husband's daughter to the extent of her power," +thought the young man, who was listening; "that has been the secret of +her enigmatical manner from the beginning." But while he thought this, +he was frowning with the pain her words had given him—a "fancy of the +moment"—Louis Dupont!</p> + +<p>"Promise me to say nothing against him," continued Madam Carroll, in the +same earnest whisper, still smiling anxiously, and looking up in his +face.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall say nothing. How could I do otherwise now?" answered +Owen. "But my trouble is as great as ever, and my fear. You do not +comprehend him, Madam Carroll. You do not see what he really is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I comprehend him—I comprehend him," said Madam Carroll, in a +strained though still whispering tone. "I do my best, Mr. Owen," she +added, in a broken voice—"my very best."</p> + +<p>These last words were uttered aloud. Sara Carroll left the window and +came back to her mother; she took her hands in hers. "Kindly excuse us +now," she said to the clergyman, with quiet dignity.<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a></p> + +<p>He bowed, and left the room, his face still full of trouble and pain. +They heard him close the front door behind him.</p> + +<p>"I think he will say nothing," said Sara.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll had drawn her hands away; she stood motionless, looking at +the carpet.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is safe now; don't you think so?" Sara continued, musingly.</p> + +<p>Her step-mother raised her eyes. There was a flash in them. "I bore it +because I had to. But it was the hardest thing of all to bear. You +despise him, you know you do. You always have. You have been pitiless, +suspicious, cruel."</p> + +<p>"Not lately, mamma," said the girl. She put her arms round the little +figure, and, with infinite pity, drew it towards her. Madam Carroll at +first resisted; then the tense muscles relaxed, and she let her head +rest against her daughter's breast. The lashes fell over her bright, dry +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You will never be able to keep it up," she murmured, after a moment, +her eyes still closed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall, mamma."</p> + +<p>"Never, never."</p> + +<p>"I could do a great deal more for my dear father's sake," answered the +girl, after a short hesitation.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll began to sob. "I have been a<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> good wife to him, Sara," she +murmured, appealingly, piteously.</p> + +<p>"Indeed you have, mamma. You are all his happiness, all his life; he +could not live without you. But you ought to rest; let me go with you +up-stairs."</p> + +<p>"I must go alone," answered Madam Carroll. She had repressed her sobs, +but her breath still came and went unevenly. "It is not that I am angry, +Sara; do not think that. I was—but it has passed; I am quite reasonable +now—as you see. But, for a little while, I must be alone, quite alone."</p> + +<p>She left the room with her usual quick, light step. After she had gone, +Sara stood for a few moments with her hands clasped over her eyes. Then +she went to the library.</p> + +<p>Scar was playing dominoes, Roland against Bayard; and the Major was +watching the game. His daughter bent her head, and kissed his forehead; +then she sat down beside him, holding his hand in hers, and stroking it +tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Well, my daughter, you seem to think a good deal of me to-day," said +the old man, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Not only to-day, but always, papa—always," answered the girl, with +emotion.</p> + +<p>"Roland is very dull this morning," said the Major, explaining the +situation. "He has lost three games, and is going to lose a fourth."<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p>F<small>AR</small> E<small>DGERLEY</small> was deprived of its rector. Mr. Owen had gone to the coast +to attend the Diocesan Convention. But as he had started more than a +week before the time of its opening, and had remained a week after its +sessions were ended, Mrs. General Hibbard was of the opinion that he was +attending to other things as well. She had, indeed, heard a rumor before +he came that there was <i>some one</i> (some one in whom he felt an interest) +elsewhere. Now it is well known that there is nothing more depressing +for a parish than a rector with an interest, large or small, +"elsewhere." St. John in the Wilderness was therefore much relieved when +its rector returned, with no signs of having left any portion of himself +or his interest behind him. And Mrs. General Hibbard lost ground.</p> + +<p>Mr. Owen had started eastward on the day after his interview with the +two ladies of Carroll Farms; he had started westward on the day after +the arrival of a letter from his junior warden. This letter,<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a> written in +a clear, old-fashioned hand, decorated with much underscoring, was a +mixture of the formal phraseology of the warden's youth and that +too-modern lightness which he had learned in his later years, and of +which Miss Honoria so justly disapproved. He was supposed to be writing +about church business. Having finished that (in six lines), he added an +epitome of the news of the whole village, from the slippers which Miss +Sophy Greer, at the north end of Edgerley Street, was working for him +(the rector)—ecclesiastical borders, with the motto "Vestigia nulla +retrorsum"—down to the last new duck in the duck-pond at Chapultepec, +the south end of it. Among the items was this: "That amusing fellow +Dupont is, I am sorry to say, ill, and I suspect seriously. It is a +return of the fever he had in New York, I am told. He is at the Cove, +and the Walleys are taking care of him. It has leaked out" ("leaked +out"—oh, poor Miss Honoria!) "that he has no money, not even enough to +pay for his medicines—those musicians are always an improvident lot, +you know. But our lovely Madam Carroll, ministering angel that she is, +pitying lady of the manor, has supplied everything that has been +necessary. I have just heard, as I write these lines, that the poor +fellow is no better."</p> + +<p>The rector, upon his return, busied himself in attending<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> to the many +duties which had accumulated during his absence. He did not go to the +Farms immediately; but as he was making no calls for the present—owing +to the accumulation—the omission was not noticed. The musician was very +ill, and every one was sorry. His poverty was now generally known; but +Madam Carroll was doing all that was needful, and the poor wanderer +lacked nothing. That was what they called him now—the "poor wanderer;" +it was a delicate way of phrasing the fact that he was without means. +Far Edgerley people were as far as possible from being mercenary; they +had no intention of turning their backs upon Dupont because he was poor. +They were poor themselves, and, besides, that had never been the +Southern way. They would gladly have helped him now, had there been +opportunity, and they looked forward to helping him as far as they were +able so soon as he should have recovered his health. But at present +Madam Carroll was doing the whole, and the whole was only—could be +only—a doctor and medicines.</p> + +<p>In all this there was nothing of Sara; that secret, the rector +perceived, had been carefully kept. There was nothing, too, of the +recent evil story concerning the musician, which he had related to Madam +Carroll. But he had been aware that if he himself<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> should be silent, it +was probable that nothing of it would reach Far Edgerley, at least for +some time. For the mission station was remote, and the mountain people +were very proud in their way, proud and reticent. They had, too, an +opinion of Far Edgerley which was not unlike the opinion Far Edgerley +had of the lower town. Pride in these mountains seemed a matter of +altitudes. Owen knew that he was glad that these two hidden things had +remained undiscovered; that, at least, was clear in the conflicting +feelings that haunted his troubled heart.</p> + +<p>He had returned on Monday evening; the week passed and Sunday dawned +without his having seen any of the Carrolls. They came to church as +usual; that is, the Major came, with his wife and little Scar; Miss +Carroll was absent. After service the Major waited. The Major always +waited. He waited to speak to his rector; it was a little attention he +always paid. Owen knew that he was waiting, knew that he was standing +there at the head of the aisle in his military attitude, with his +prayer-book under his arm; yet, although he knew it, it was some minutes +before he came forth. When at length he did appear, the Major advanced, +shook hands with him, and asked how he was. The rector replied that he +was quite well.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Owen is probably the better for his journey,"<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> said Madam Carroll, +joining her husband in the open space at the foot of the chancel steps, +where the two men were standing. "A journey is always so pleasant, and +especially a journey to the coast."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said the Major; "your journey. I hope you enjoyed it?"</p> + +<p>"The coast is considered so beneficial," continued Madam Carroll. "For +my own part, however, I prefer our mountain air; it seems to me more +bracing. And the Major thinks so too."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said the Major; "I have often made the observation." He +said a few words more, shook hands with the rector a second time, bowed, +and then offered his arm to his wife. She took it, with a farewell smile +to the rector, and they went down the aisle together through the empty +church towards the open door. And Owen, who had been looking forward +with eagerness, yet at the same time with dread, to his first meeting +with Miss Carroll or her mother, found himself almost able to smile over +the contrast between his own inward trouble and pain and the smiling +self-possession of the little lady of the Farms. There rose before him +her strange manner during the beginning of that last morning interview +in her drawing-room; and then her frightened face turned towards her +daughter; and then<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> her effort to excuse to him that daughter's avowal. +But in thinking of all this, he soon lost himself in thoughts of the +daughter alone. This was not a new experience; he forced his mind to +turn from the haunting subject, in active preparations for the duties of +the afternoon.</p> + +<p>In the meantime the Major and his wife had reached the porch. Scar was +waiting for them outside, sitting on a little tombstone in the sunshine, +and a number of Far Edgerley people were standing about the gate. The +Major bowed to these with much courtesy, and Madam Carroll with much +grace; they entered their carriage, Inches folded up the steps, climbed +to his perch, the mules started, and "the equipage" rolled away.</p> + +<p>They reached home; but, in getting out, the bearing of the Major was not +quite so military as it had been at the church door. Inches came to his +assistance, and he took his wife's arm, and kept it until he was in his +own easy-chair again in the library. There he sat all the afternoon. His +wife—for she did not leave him—read aloud to Scar, and heard him +recite his little Sunday lessons. Then she took him on her lap and told +him Bible stories, speaking in a low tone, as the Major was now asleep. +They were close beside him, mother and little son. The child's face was +a curious mixture of her delicate<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> rose-tinted prettiness and the bold +outlines of his father.</p> + +<p>The sun, which had been journeying down the western sky, now touched the +top of Lonely Mountain, and immediately all its side was robed in purple +velvet, and its long summit tipped with gold. Still farther sank the +monarch; and now he was out of sight. Then rose such a splendor of color +in the west that it flooded even this quiet room across the valley, +turning the old paper on the walls into cloth of gold, and Scar's flaxen +hair into a little halo. The Major was now awake; he moved his +easy-chair to the open window in order to see the sunset. Scar got +another chair, climbed up, and sat down beside him. "I think, papa," he +said, after some moments of silence, during which he had meditatively +watched the glow—"I think it very probable that the little children who +have to die young live over in that particular part of heaven. For those +beautiful colors would amuse them, you know; and they must be very +lonely up in the sky, without their fathers and mothers."</p> + +<p>"Fathers and mothers die too, sometimes, my boy," answered the Major, +his eyes turning misty. He took Scar's little hand, and held it in his +own.</p> + +<p>His wife came up behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder. The old +Major looked up at her as<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> she stood by his chair, with a great trust +and affection in his dim glance. For of late the Major had been growing +older rapidly; his eyes were losing their clearness of vision; there +were now many sounds he could not hear. But he always heard every +intonation of her voice; always saw the hue of her dress, and any little +change in its arrangement. Where she was concerned, his dulled senses +were young again.</p> + +<p>"My sister Sara is coming," announced Scar. "I can see her. I can see +the top of her bonnet above the hedge, because she is so tall." And soon +the girl's figure appeared in sight. She opened the gate, and came up +the path towards the front door. Scar leaned forward and waved his hand. +She returned his greeting, looking at the group of three in the +window—father, mother, and child.</p> + +<p>The Major could not see his daughter, but he turned his face in the +direction of the path and gave a little bow and smile. "She has been +gone a long time," he said to his wife; "almost all day."</p> + +<p>His wife did not reply; she had left the room. She met Sara in the hall. +"I have come back for you, mamma," whispered the girl. "I think the time +has come."</p> + +<p>"I will go immediately," said Madam Carroll, walking quickly towards the +stairs. Then she<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> stopped. "But how can I? You would have to go with me. +And at this hour the Major would notice it. He would notice it if we +should both leave him. It would trouble him." She looked at Sara as she +stood uttering these sentences. Though her voice was quiet, the +suffering in her eyes was pitiable to see.</p> + +<p>"Go, mamma. For this one time do not mind that. Judith will be here."</p> + +<p>"No," answered Madam Carroll, with the same measured utterance; "the +Major must not be troubled, his comfort must always be first. But as he +is generally tired on Sunday evenings, perhaps he will go to bed early. +I must wait, in any case, until he is asleep."</p> + +<p>"Mamma, you cannot bear it," urged Sara, following her.</p> + +<p>"Instead of saying that, you should tell me if there is hope—hope that +I may not be too late," said Madam Carroll almost sternly, putting aside +the girl's outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>"I think he may not—they said he would not—Mrs. Walley said, 'He will +pass at dawn,'" answered Sara, using the mountain phrase.</p> + +<p>"I may then be in time," said Madam Carroll, in the same calm voice. She +turned the handle of the door. "You had better join us soon. Your father +has been asking for you." She went in, closing the door behind her.<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a></p> + +<p>When Sara entered, fifteen minutes later, she found her singing the +evening hymn to the Major. The Major liked to have her sing that hymn on +Sunday evenings, and Scar liked it too, because he could join in with +his soft little alto.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="poetry" +style="font-size:90%;"> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">"The day is past and gone,</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The evening shades appear;</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 0em;">O may we all remember well</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night of death draws near,"</span></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="nind">sang the wife, in her sweet voice, sitting close to her husband's chair, +so that he could hear the words.</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards the Major said he was tired; it was not often that +he was tired so early in the evening, but to-night, for some reason, he +felt quite weary; he thought he would go to bed. It was half-past eight; +at nine he and Scar were both asleep, and the two women left the house +together. Walley's Cove was not far from the Farms, but it was farther +up the mountain, where there was no road, only paths; they could not, +therefore, go in the carriage; they could have taken Caleb Inches with +them, but in that peaceful neighborhood escort for mere safety's sake +was not necessary, and they preferred to be alone.</p> + +<p>"Take my arm, mamma," said Sara, as they began to ascend.</p> + +<p>But Madam Carroll would not. She walked on unaided. Her step was firm. +She did not once speak.<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a></p> + +<p>In the small room under the roof, which he had occupied since his +return, lay the young man who was now dying; for it needed but one +glance to show that the summons had come: he was passing away. The +farmer's wife, much affected, knelt beside him; the doctor had gone, she +said, but a short time before; there was nothing more that he could do, +and he was needed elsewhere. The farmer himself was fanning the +unconscious face. Madam Carroll took the fan.</p> + +<p>"Let me do that," she said. "I know you feel as if your children were +needing you down-stairs."</p> + +<p>For the three little children had been left alone in the room below, +and, disturbed by the absence of father and mother, were not asleep; one +of them had begun to cry a little at intervals. The farmer went down, +his clumsy boots making no sound on the uncarpeted stairway, so careful +was his tread. Madam Carroll sat down on the edge of the poor bed, and +fanned the sleeping face; the eyes were closed, the long, dark lashes +lay on the thin cheeks, the breath came slowly through the slightly +parted lips. The farmer's wife began to pray in a low voice; she was a +devout Baptist, and she had had her pastor there in the afternoon, and +had fancied that the dying man was conscious for a time, and that he had +listened and responded. She had grown fond of the poor<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a> musician in +taking care of him, and the tears rolled down her sunburned cheeks as +she prayed. Madam Carroll remained calm; she moved the fan with even +sweep to and fro. She had taken off her bonnet, as the night was warm, +and with her golden curls, her pink-tinted complexion, and the same +pretty dress she had worn to church in the morning, she was a contrast +to the rough, bare room, to the farmer's wife, in her coarse homespun +gown, and even to her own daughter, who, in her plain black dress, her +face pale and sad, was standing near.</p> + +<p>An hour passed. The child's wail below had now in it the unmistakable +sound of suffering. "Pray go down," said Madam Carroll; "I am sure your +baby needs you."</p> + +<p>"But I don't like to leave you, Madam Carroll; it doesn't seem right," +the woman answered, yet listening, too, at the same time, to the baby's +wail below.</p> + +<p>"You need have no hesitation. I have had experience of this kind before; +and besides, I do not easily lose my self-possession."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you <i>hev</i> got a strong hold on yersel," said the farmer's wife +admiringly. They spoke in low tones, though sounds of earth could no +longer penetrate to that gray, still border-land which the sleeper's +soul was crossing. "I know you keer for the poor<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> young man; you keer +for him as much as I do. For yer see he ain't got no mother to be sorry +for him, poor fellow," she continued, laying her rough hand tenderly on +his head; "and you and me knows, Madam Carroll, how his mother'd feel. +There ain't nothing like the way a mother keers for her boy."</p> + +<p>Sara came forward. "I am sure your child needs you, Mrs. Walley," she +said; "please go down at once. I promise to call you if anything should +be needed."</p> + +<p>The child was crying again, and the mother went. Sara softly closed the +door. It had not been closed until then.</p> + +<p>A little before midnight, Dupont, who had been for six hours in a +lethargic sleep, stirred and woke. Madam Carroll bent over him. He knew +her; he turned his head towards her and lay looking at her, his large +eyes strangely solemn in their unmoving gaze. Sara came and stood on the +other side of the bed, fanning him with the fan which her mother had +relinquished. Thus he remained, looking at Madam Carroll, with his slow, +partially comprehending stare. Then gradually the stare grew conscious +and intelligent. And then it grew full of expression. It was wonderful +to see the mind come back and look once more from the windows of its +deserted house of clay—the last look on earth. Madam Carroll, bending<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> +towards him, returned his gaze; she had laid one hand on his forehead, +the other on his breast; her fair hair touched his shoulder. She said +nothing; she did not move; but all her being was concentrated in her +eyes. The dying man also was silent: probably he had passed beyond the +power of speech. Thus, motionless, they continued to look at each other +for a number of minutes. Then consciousness faded, the light left the +windows; a few seconds more and the soul was gone. Madam Carroll, still +in silence, laid her hand upon the heart and temples; all was still. +Then she gently closed the eyes.</p> + +<p>Sara, weeping, came to her side. "Do not, Sara; some one might come in," +said her mother. Her hands rested on the closed lids. Then, her task +done, she stood for a moment beside the couch, silently, looking at the +still face on the pillow. "You must go down and tell them," she said, in +a composed tone. "Farmer Walley must go immediately for Sabrina Barnes +and her sister. You can say that the funeral will be from this house, +and that they had better ask their own minister—the one who was here +this afternoon—to officiate."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma, do not try to think of everything; it is not necessary now," +said Sara, beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"Do as I tell you, Sara," answered Madam Carroll. And Sara obeyed her.<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a></p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/ill_pg_144_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/ill_pg_144_sml.jpg" width="382" height="550" alt=""THE LAST LOOK ON EARTH."" title=""THE LAST LOOK ON EARTH."" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"THE LAST LOOK ON EARTH."</span> +</p> + +<p>When she returned, Madam Carroll was arranging the pillows and +straightening the coarse sheet. She had folded the musician's thin hands +over his breast and smoothed his disordered hair.</p> + +<p>"The child has been in pain all this time," said the daughter, "and they +are frightened; Farmer Walley will go for Sabrina Barnes and for the +doctor at the same time. I told Mrs. Walley that she need not come up, +that we would stay. In any case she could hardly leave her baby now. But +oh, mamma, do not try to do that; do not try to do anything more."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we will stay," said Madam Carroll. She took a chair, placed it +beside the bed, so that it faced the figure lying there, and sat down; +she put her feet on a footstool and folded her hands.</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma, do not sit there looking like that; do not try to be so +quiet. No one will be here for half an hour: cry, mamma; let yourself +cry. You have this little time, and—and it will be your last."</p> + +<p>"I will not cry," answered Madam Carroll; "I have not cried at all; +tears I can keep back. But I should like to kiss him, Sara, if you will +keep watch. He would like to have his mother kiss him once before he +goes away." And bending forward as she sat, she kissed tenderly the +forehead and the closed eyes. The touch overcame her; she did not weep,<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> +but, putting her arms round him, she sat looking at him piteously. "He +was such a dear little baby!" she murmured. "I was so proud of him! He +was always so handsome and so brave—such a sturdy little fellow! When +he was only six years old he said, 'I want to grow up quick and be big, +so that I can take care of you, mamma.'" She stroked back his dark hair. +"You meant no harm; none of it was your fault, Julian. Do not think your +mother has any blame for you, my darling boy. But <i>now</i> you know that I +have not." She passed her hands softly over his wasted cheeks. "May I +put him in our—in your—lot in the church-yard, Sara? It will only take +a little space, and the lot is so large; there isn't any other place +where I should like to have him lying. People would think it was our +kindness; in that way it could be done. And do not put me too far from +him, when my time comes; not <i>too</i> far. For you know he was, Sara, my +dear boy, my darling first-born son." She murmured this over and over, +her arms round him. Then, "He is not lying quite straight," she said. +And she tried to move his head a little. But already it had the strange +heaviness of death, it was like a weight of stone in her small hands. As +she realized this, her face became convulsed for the first time; her +whole frame was shaken by her grief.<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a></p> + +<p>Footsteps were now audible coming up the mountain path outside. "Mamma, +they are here," said Sara, from her post at the window.</p> + +<p>But Madam Carroll had already controlled herself. She rose, pressed one +long, last kiss on the still face; then she went to the door and opened +it. When Sabrina Barnes and her sister, the two old women who in that +rural neighborhood filled the office of watching by the dead, came up +the stairs, she was waiting for them. In a clear, low voice she gave +them her directions: the expenses of the funeral she should herself +assume. Then she passed down the stairs with Sara on her way home, +stopping to speak to the mother of the sick child in the lower room, and +suggest some new remedy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walley was distressed at the idea of their going home alone; but +her husband had not yet returned, and the ladies did not wish to wait. +The path was safe enough; it was only the loneliness of it. But the +ladies said that they did not mind the loneliness. They went down the +mountain by the light of the stars, reaching the Farms a little after +two o'clock. Dupont had died at midnight.</p> + +<p>The funeral took place on Tuesday afternoon. The Baptist minister +officiated, but all the congregation of St. John's were also present. +The farm-house was full, and people stood in the garden outside +bare-headed<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a> and reverent. Then the little procession was formed, and +went down the mountain towards St. John's, where the Carrolls, with +their usual goodness, as everybody said, had given a place for the poor +stranger in their own lot. The coffin was borne on men's shoulders in +the old-fashioned way. It was covered with flowers. Every one had sent +some, for they all remembered how fond he had been of their +flower-gardens. They recalled his sweet voice and his songs, his merry +ways with children. There was a pathos, too, in his poverty, because +they had not suspected it. And so they all thought of him kindly as he +was borne by on his way to his last rest.</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll and Sara had not been at the farm-house. But they were at +the grave. They were in waiting there when the procession entered the +church-yard gate. They stood at the head of the coffin as it rested on +the bier during the prayer. They stood there while it was lowered, and +while the grave was being filled. This was the custom in Far Edgerley: +everybody stayed. But when this task was completed the people dispersed; +the services were considered at an end.</p> + +<p>Flower had begun to shape the mound, and Madam Carroll still waited. +Seeing this, several persons came back, and a little group gathered.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, poor friendless young man, his life here<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a> is over," said Mrs. +Greer. "It is not quite straight, Flower; if you come here and look, you +can see for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he was a foreigner," said Miss Sophy; "he looked like one. +Didn't you say that you thought he was a foreigner, Madam Carroll?"</p> + +<p>"He came from Martinique," answered the Major's wife; "he had lived +there, I believe, or on one of the neighboring islands, almost all his +life."</p> + +<p>"Well, I call that foreign; I call all the West India Islands very +foreign," said Miss Sophy. "They don't seem to me civilized. They are +principally inhabited by blacks."</p> + +<p>"It was so sad that he had no money," remarked Mrs. Rendlesham. "We +never dreamed of that, you know. Though I remember now that his clothes, +when you came to really look at them, were a little—a little worn, +perhaps."</p> + +<p>"They were shabby," said Miss Corinna, not with unkindness, but simply +as historian.</p> + +<p>"Is it true, Madam Carroll, that he was a Baptist?" asked Miss Bolt, +thoughtfully looking at the mound.</p> + +<p>"The Walleys are Baptists, you know," answered the lady of the Farms. +"They had their pastor there several times, and on the last day Mrs. +Walley was sure that Mr.—Mr. Dupont was conscious, and that he joined +in their prayers, and assented to what was said."<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a></p> + +<p>"I don't believe he was <i>anything</i>—I mean, anything in particular," +said Mrs. General Hibbard, decisively. "He hadn't that air."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear Mrs. Hibbard, surely we should be charitable," said little +Miss Tappen, who was waiting with a wreath of her best chrysanthemums to +place upon the completed mound.</p> + +<p>"Well, Amelia, can you say he <i>had</i>?" said the General's widow, in an +argumentative tone, with her forefinger extended.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he had neither father nor mother, nor any near relatives, +poor fellow, as he never spoke of them," observed Miss Dalley; "that is, +I never heard that he did. But perhaps he talked more freely to you, +Madam Carroll. Did he ever mention his parents?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma, I think we had better go now," interposed Sara Carroll. "You are +very tired, I know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said all the ladies, "do go, dear Madam Carroll." "You have +had so much to do lately." "You are looking quite fatigued, really." +"Pray take care of yourself, for all our sakes."</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll looked at the mound, which was now nearly completed. Then +she made a little gesture of farewell to the group, and turned with her +daughter towards the gate. All the ladies wore black dresses: it was the +custom at Far Edgerley to<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> wear black at funerals. Madam Carroll not +only wore a black dress, but she had put a black ribbon on her little +straw bonnet.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it sweet of her to do that?" said Miss Dalley. "It makes it a +sort of mourning, you know; and I like to think that the poor lonely +fellow had at least one mourner to stand beside his grave."</p> + +<p>The path took the two ladies past the study. Its door was open; the +rector saw them, and came out. He offered his arm in silence to Madam +Carroll. She took it. She was trembling a little. "I am excessively +tired," she said, as if apologizing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I noticed it during the prayer."</p> + +<p>"Then you were there?" She spoke mechanically, more as if she were +filling the time that must pass before they could reach the gate than as +though she cared for reply.</p> + +<p>"I was both at the house and the grave," answered Owen. He did not look +at Sara, who was on the other side of Madam Carroll. He could not. +During all these days and nights of Dupont's last illness, and since his +death, he had been haunted by the thought of the grief she must be +enduring. And yet to have seen the least trace of that grief in her face +(and he should be sure to see it, though others might not), would have +been intolerable to him. He did not, therefore, once look at her; he was +a man<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> of stern self-control as regarded his actions. But he could not +help his feelings; and these gave him new suffering as he walked on, so +near her, yet separated from her by the gulf of that bitter knowledge. +Their carriage was waiting at the gate; he assisted them in, bowed, and +they drove away.</p> + +<p>Scar and the Major were sitting at the open window of the library as the +two ladies alighted at the door. "Mamma, it seems a <i>very</i> long time +since you and sister Sara went away," said the child, leaning out to +speak to them. "Papa and I have taken a walk, and looked at all our +pictures, and told all our stories; and now we are sitting here waiting +for you."</p> + +<p>"I will come in a few minutes, my pet," said Madam Carroll.</p> + +<p>Sara went directly to the library, and sat down beside her father's +chair. He wished to hear all about the funeral of "that poor young man," +and she answered his questions at length, and told him everything she +could think of in connection with it. The Major had known Dupont but +vaguely; he had seen him at the reception, but the face had faded from +his memory, and he should not have known him had they met again. He was +a musical genius who had appeared among them. He was glad that he had +appeared; it was a variety, and they had so little variety in Far +Edgerley. Good music was always<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> an addition, and Marion was very fond +of music, very; he was glad she could have this little enjoyment. He had +said this to Marion several times. But it was a sad end—very—to die +alone among strangers, so far from home.</p> + +<p>After some delay, Madam Carroll came in. She had taken off her black +dress and put on a bright little gown of blue; her hair had been +recurled, and there was a lovely color in her cheeks, and some sprays of +cream-colored honeysuckle in her blue belt. As she came nearer, the +Major's old eyes dwelt upon her with childlike pleasure and pride. "You +are looking very charming this evening, Madam Carroll," he said, with +his old-fashioned gallantry.</p> + +<p>She sat down beside him. "Sara has been telling me about the funeral of +that unfortunate young musician," he continued. "It was like you, +Marion, to show so much kindness to the poor fellow, whoever he was, and +I am glad you did it. Kindness to the unfortunate and the stranger has +always been an especial characteristic of the Carroll family, and you +have merely represented me in this matter, done what I, of course, +should have done had I been well—had I quite recovered from my illness +of last winter, you know. But I am much improved—much improved. This +poor young man seems to have been utterly alone in the world, since even +when he was<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a> dying, and knew that he was, he told no one, as I +understand it, anything of his parentage, or life, or history, and left +no letters or even a message for friends. It is really quite +remarkable."</p> + +<p>"Papa," said Sara, "now that we are all here, wouldn't it be a good time +to look at the new photographs?" The photographs were views of English +scenery which she had sent for; the Major had been in England, and liked +to relate reminiscences of his visit. He was interested at once.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he answered, with alacrity, "an excellent idea. Scar, get +the boxes."</p> + +<p>Scar brought the boxes, and gave one of them to his mother; as he did so +his hand touched hers. "Why, mamma, are you so cold?" he said, in +surprise. "It is still summer, mamma, and quite warm."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," answered Madam Carroll; "only a passing chill. It is +over now."<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p>A <small>FEW</small> days after the funeral of the musician the Major was taken ill. It +was not the failure of strength, which often came over him, nor the +confused feeling in the head, of which he never spoke, but which his +wife always recognized when she saw him sitting with his forehead bent +and his hand over his eyes. This time he had fever, and was slightly +delirious; he seemed also to be in pain. Madam Carroll and Sara did not +leave him; they were in deep anxiety. But in the evening relief came; +the fever ceased, and he fell into a quiet sleep. The two women kissed +him softly, and, still anxious, stole into the next room to keep the +watch, leaving the door open between the two. A shaded night-lamp +faintly illumined the room where he lay, but the outer one was in +darkness. Scar had gone to bed, and the house was very still; they could +hear the murmur of the brook through the open window; for although it +was now towards the last of October, it was still summer in that favored +land. The outer room was<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a> large, and they sat on a sofa at its far end; +they could talk in low tones without danger of disturbing the Major, +whose sleeping face they could see through the open door.</p> + +<p>The moon rose. Madam Carroll went into the Major's room and closed the +dark curtains, so that the increasing light should not waken him; when +she came back the silver radiance had reached Sara, and was illuminating +her face and figure as she leaned against the cushions of the sofa. "He +is sleeping naturally and restfully now," said the wife, as she took her +seat again; "his face has lost that look of pain it has had all day. But +do you know that you yourself are looking far from well, Sara?"</p> + +<p>"I know it. And I am ashamed of it. When I see you doing everything, and +bearing everything, without one outward sign, without the least change +in your face or expression, I am ashamed that I have so little +self-control."</p> + +<p>"Have you been supposing, then, that all this unvarying pink and white +color was my own? Have you never suspected that I put it on?—that it +was fictitious? I began in July—you know when. It was for that reason +that I altered the hours of our receptions from afternoon to evening: +candle-light is more favorable, you know. I also began then to wear a +little lace veil. You think me about thirty-five,<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> don't you? I am +forty-eight. I was thirty-five when I married the Major. All this golden +hair would be heavily streaked with gray if I should let it alone."</p> + +<p>"Do not feel obliged to tell me anything, mamma."</p> + +<p>"I prefer that you should know; and it is also a relief to me to tell," +answered Madam Carroll, her eyes on the dark outline of the mountains, +visible in the moonlight through the open window. "My poor little +Cecilia passed easily for six, she was so small and frail, like Scar; in +reality she was over ten. The story was, you know, that I had been +married the first time at sixteen. That part was true; but nineteen +years had passed instead of seven, as they supposed. You are wondering, +probably, why I should have deceived your father in such little things, +matters unimportant. There had been no plan for deceiving him; it had +been begun before I met him; he simply believed what the others +believed. And later I found that they were not unimportant to him—those +little things; they were important. He thought a great deal of them. He +thought a great deal of my youth; youth and ignorance of the world, +child-like inexperience, had made up his ideal of me, and by the time I +found it out, his love and goodness, his dear protection, had become so +much to me that I could not run the risk of<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> losing them by telling him +his mistake. I know now that I need not have feared this, I need not +have feared anything where he was concerned; but I did not know then, +and I was afraid. He saw in me a little blue-eyed, golden-haired +girl-mother, unacquainted with the dark side of life, trusting, sweet. +It was this very youth and childlike look which had attracted him, man +of the world as he was himself, and no longer young. I feared to shatter +his dream. In addition, that part did not seem to me of any especial +consequence; I knew that I should be able to live up to his ideal, to +maintain it not only fully, but longer, probably, than as though I had +been in reality the person he supposed me to be; for now it would be a +purpose, determinedly and carefully carried out, and not mere chance. I +knew that I could look the same for years longer; I have that kind of +diminutive prettiness which, with attention, does not change; and I +should give the greatest attention. I felt, too, that I should always be +entirely devoted to him. Gallant and handsome as he was, he was not +young, and I knew that I should care for him just the same through +illness, age, or infirmity; for I have that kind of faithfulness (many +women haven't) and—I loved him.</p> + +<p>"And as to my little dead boy, there again there had been no plan for +deceiving him. People had<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> supposed from my young face that I could have +been married but a year or two, and that Cecilia had been my only child. +It was imagined from my silence that my marriage had not been a happy +one—they said I had that look—and therefore no one questioned me; they +took it all for granted. I said that my husband was dead. But I said no +more. I had decided, for Cecilia's sake, to keep the secret of the +manner of his death: why should her innocent life be clouded by the +story of her father? Besides, could I go about proclaiming, relating, +his—shortcomings? He was my husband, though he had cared so little for +me; he was my husband, though he had taken from me my darling little +son. And about that son, my poor little drowned boy, I simply had never +been able to speak; the hurt was too deep; I could not have spoken +without telling what I had decided not to tell, for where he was +concerned I could not have invented. Thus I had kept the secret at first +from loyalty to my dead husband, and for the sake of my little girl; I +kept it later, Sara, because I was afraid. The Major loved me—yes; but +would he continue to love me if he should know that instead of being the +youthful little woman barely twenty-three, I was over thirty-five? that +instead of being inexperienced, unacquainted with the dark side of life, +I knew all, had been through all? that instead<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> of the dear little +girl's being my only child, I was the mother of a son who, had he lived, +would have been a man almost full-grown—would he continue to love me +through all this? I was afraid he would not.</p> + +<p>"Remember that <i>I</i> had not planned his idea of me, I had had nothing to +do with it; he had made it himself. Remember, too, that such as it was, +I knew I could live up to it, that he need never be disappointed, that I +could fully realize his dream. In that, at least, I have succeeded. I +have lived up to it, I have <i>been</i> it, so long, that there have even +been times when I have seemed to myself to really be the pretty, bright +little wife, thirty years younger than her husband, that I was +pretending to be. But that feeling can never come again.</p> + +<p>"I am not excusing myself to you, Sara, in all this; I am only +explaining myself. Under the same circumstances you would never have +done it, nor under twenty times the same circumstances. But I am not +you; I am not anybody but myself. That lofty kind of vision which sees +only the one path, and that the highest, is not mine; I always see all +the shorter paths, lower down, that lead to the same place—the +cross-cuts. I can do little things well, and I can do a great many of +them; I have that kind of small and ever-present cleverness. But the +great things, the wide view—they are beyond<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a> me. And do not forget, +too, how much it was to me. It was everything. I was alone in the world +with my delicate little girl, who needed so much that I could not +give—luxuries, constant care, the best advice. I had strained every +nerve, made use of all my poor little knowledge and my trifling +accomplishments; I had worked as hard as I possibly could; and the +result of all my efforts was that I had barely succeeded in getting our +bread from day to day, with nothing laid up for the future, and the end +of my small strength near at hand. For I was not fitted for that kind of +struggle, and I knew that I was not. I could work and plan and +accomplish, and even, I believed, successfully, but only when +sheltered—sheltered in a home, no matter how plain, protected from +actual contact with the crowd. In a crowd there is always brutality; in +a crowd I lost heart. What were my small plans, which always concerned +themselves with the delicate little things and details, in the great +pushing struggle for bread? It was when I was fully realizing the +hopelessness of all my efforts, when the future was at its blackest, and +I could not look at Cecilia without danger of tears—for they had told +me that something might be done for her during the next year—for her +poor spine—and I had not the money to pay for it—it was then that your +father's love came to me like a gift<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> straight down from heaven. But do +not think that I did not love him in return—really love him for +himself, not for what he gave me. I did. I do. I had suffered so much, +my life had been so crushed under sorrow and trouble, that, save my love +for Cecilia, I seemed to myself to have no feelings left; I thought they +were all dead. But when the Major began to love me, when he spoke—oh, +then I knew that they were not! I felt that I had never known what real +happiness was until that day; and my whole heart turned to him. There +was gratitude in my love, I do not deny it; but the gratitude was for my +little girl—the love was all for him. It has never lessened, Sara, from +that hour.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me such a wonderful thing that he should love me! It gave +me such a strange surprise that he should care for my little doll-like +face and curls. But when I found that he did care for them, how precious +they became to me, how hard I tried to keep them pretty for his sake! +And, for his sake, I not only kept them pretty, but I made them +prettier. I was a far prettier woman after the Major married me than I +was before; I had a motive to be so. Ah, yes, I loved him, Sara! May you +never have a comprehension of the ill-usage, the suffering, I had been +through! but still, without such knowledge, you will hardly be able to +understand the depth<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> of my love for him. When he first saw me, I was +making an effort to seem comparatively cheerful; I was spending a few +weeks with Mrs. Upton, the wife of an army officer, at Mayberry, and I +did not want her to suspect my inward despair. Mrs. Upton had known me +at Natchez while I was trying to keep a little school there, and when I +came to Mayberry to try again, she asked me to come and spend a few +weeks with her before I began. She knew that I was poor—she did not +know how poor—and she had always been fond of Cecilia, who was—surely +I may say it now—a very beautiful child. Think of it all, Sara; +remember the needs of the child; remember what he was himself, and—that +I loved him."</p> + +<p>"I do think of it. And I do not blame you," Sara Carroll answered, +speaking not as the daughter, but as one woman speaks to another. "You +have made my father's life a very happy one."</p> + +<p>"I have tried; but it has always been in my own narrow way, the little +things of each day and hour. It was the only way I knew."</p> + +<p>There was a silence; the room had grown dark, as a broad bank of cloud +came slowly over the moon.</p> + +<p>"Cecilia is with her brother to-night," said Madam Carroll, after a +while; "Cecilia is a woman now, a woman in heaven. She was twenty-two on +the 11th of September. I wonder what they are saying to<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> each other! He +used to be so fond of her, so proud when I let him hold her for a few +minutes in his strong little arms! They will be sure to meet and talk +together; don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"How can we know, mamma?" said Sara, sadly.</p> + +<p>"We cannot. Yet we do," answered Madam Carroll. "I know it; I am sure of +it." She was silent for a moment; then went on speaking softly in the +darkness, as if half to herself. "His poor clothes, Sara—oh, so +neglected and worn!—I could not bear it when I saw them. I had asked +him about them more than once, and he always said that they were in good +order—that is, good enough. But I pressed him; I wanted to see with my +own eyes; and at last I succeeded in persuading him to bring a few of +them late in the evening when no one would see him, and put them under +the hedge near the gate; then, when everybody was asleep, I stole down +to get them, took them into the sitting-room, lighted the lamp, and +looked at them. In 'good order' he had called them, poor boy, when they +were almost rags. I cried over those clothes, Sara; I could not help it; +they were the only tears I shed. It showed so plainly what his life had +been. I could not help remembering in what careful order were all his +little frocks and jackets when he was my dear little child. After that I +made him bring me a few things once<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> a week. I gave him a little old +carpet-bag of mine to put them in. I used to mend them in my +dressing-room, with the door locked, whenever I had a little leisure (I +took only my leisure), and then I carried them down and put them under +the hedge when I knew he was coming. It was a comfort to me to do it; +but he didn't care anything about the mending himself—he said so. He +had lived so long with his poor things neglected and ragged that he +didn't know any other way. Yet he tried, too, after his fashion—a man's +fashion—to dress well. Don't you remember his red silk handkerchiefs +and socks, and his silk-lined umbrella? Poor boy, he had the wish; but +not the money or the knowledge. How could he learn, living where and as +he had? That watch-chain and ring he had when he came back—they were +only gilt."</p> + +<p>The grieving story was no longer uttered aloud, the low tones ceased. +But the mother was pursuing the train of thought in her own mind.</p> + +<p>After a while she spoke again. "I was so unwilling to tell you, Sara, to +burden you with it all! Nothing could have made me do it but the fear +of—of that which afterwards <i>did</i> happen—death. For when he came back +after that illness, and I saw how changed he was, how weak, and knew +that I had nothing to help him with, then I felt desperate. I<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> knew that +he ought to return to that warmer climate, and at once; I had nothing of +my own, and the Major's money, of course, I would not take. Yours is not +his, and so I came to you; I knew that you would help me to the utmost +of your power—as you have. But if there had been any possible +alternative, anything else in the world that I could have done—and I +thought over everything—I want you to believe that I should never have +come to you."</p> + +<p>"It was too much for you to bear alone, mamma."</p> + +<p>"No, it was not that; I could have borne much more. I have borne it. But +what I could not bear was that he should be ill. I had exhausted every +means I had when he went away the first time; there was nothing left. I +had given all I had—all, excepting things which the Major himself had +given me. I had even stretched a point, and added the watch your uncle +Mr. Chase sent me when I was married. There was the little breast-pin, +also, that Mrs. Upton gave me at the same time. Then there was the gold +thimble and the sleeve-buttons you sent me from Longfields, and the gold +pencil Senator Ashley gave me one Christmas. I even put in my little +coral necklace. It had belonged to Cecilia, and was the only thing I had +left from her baby days; it was of little, almost no value +intrinsically, as I knew, because I had tried to sell it more<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a> than once +when she and I were so poor; but if it could add even a few shillings to +the hoard—so small!—that was to take him back to the climate he +needed, I was glad to have it go. I tell you this only to show you that +absolute necessity, and that alone, drove me to you."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you came, mamma!—glad that I was able to help you, or at +least that you let me try."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you were glad to help me; you were very kind and good," answered +the Major's wife. Then, sitting erect, and with a quicker utterance, +"But you were always afraid of him. You never trusted him. You were +always afraid that he would be traitorous, that he would go to your +father, <i>I</i> was never afraid; I knew that he would never betray; he +cared too much for me, for his poor mother; for although he had not been +with me since he was a child, in his way he loved me. He was never +selfish, he was only unthinking, my poor, neglected boy! But <i>you</i> never +gave him any mercy; you suspected him to the last."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, mamma; I tried—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you tried. But you were always Miss Carroll, always scornful at +heart, cold. You endured him; that was all. And do not think he did not +see it, was not hurt by it! But I did not mean to<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> reproach you, Sara; +it is not just. I will stop this minute." She brought one hand down into +the palm of the other with a decided little sound, and held them thus +pressed tightly together for several minutes. Then, letting them fall +apart, she leaned her head back against the cushions again. "You were +thinking of your father," she said, in a gentler tone; "that was the +cause of all, of your coldness, your fear. You were afraid that Julian +would do something to distress him, to disturb his peace. But he would +never have done that. You did not know him, Sara; you never in the least +comprehended him. But I must not keep going back to that. Rather tell +me—and speak truthfully, it can make no difference now—do you think +there was any time, after my poor boy's first coming, when we could have +safely told the Major?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the Major's daughter, "there was no time. He could not +have borne it; the surprise, the shock, would have been too great."</p> + +<p>"So it seemed to me. But I wanted your opinion too. You see, about me +there is more than there used to be in his mind, or, rather, in his +fancy: he doesn't distinguish. What were once surmises he now thinks +facts, and he fully believes in them. He has constructed a sort of +history, and has woven in all sorts of imaginary theories in the most +curious<a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> way. For instance, he thinks that my mother was one of a family +well known in New York—so they tell me, at least; I know little of New +York—the Forsters of Forster's Island. My mother was plain Mary Foster, +from Chester, Vermont, or its neighborhood, a farmer's daughter. In the +same way he has built up a belief that my father was an Episcopal +clergyman, and that he was educated in England. My father was a Baptist +missionary; he was a man of fair education (he educated me), but he was +never in England in his life. These are only parts of it, his late +fancies about me. To have brushed them all away, to have told him that +they were false, that I had all along been deceiving him, to have +bewildered him, given him so much pain—my dear gray-haired old Major! +Oh, Sara, I could never have done it! 'A son?' he would have said, +perplexed. 'But there is only little Scar.' It would have been cruelty, +he believes in me so!" Her voice quivered, and she stopped.</p> + +<p>"He has never had more cause to believe in you than now, mamma—to +believe in your love for him; he does not know it, but some day he will. +You have been so unswerving in your determination to make secure, first +of all, his happiness and tranquillity, so unmindful of your own pain, +that it seems to me, his daughter, as if you had never been so faithful +a wife to him as now."<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, say it again!" said Madam Carroll, burying her face in her hands. +"I did my best, or at least I tried; but I have been +so—tortured—harassed—"</p> + +<p>The Major stirred in the next room; they hurried softly in. He was +awake; he turned his head and looked at his wife as she stood beside the +bed. "You and Sara both here?" he said. "Did I go to bed, then, very +early this evening?" He did not wait for reply, but went on. "I have had +such a beautiful dream, Marion; it was about that drive we took when we +were first married—do you remember? Through the woods near Mayberry. +There was that same little stream that we had to cross so many times, +and the same bank where you got out and gathered wild violets, and the +same spring where we drank, and that broken bridge where you were so +frightened—do you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered his wife, brightly; "and I remember, too, that you lost +your way, and pretended that you had not, and wouldn't ask, for fear I +should suspect it."</p> + +<p>The Major laughed, feebly, but with enjoyment. "I didn't want <i>you</i> to +know that <i>I</i> didn't know everything—even the country roads," he +answered. "For I was old enough to be your father, and you were such a +little thing; I had my dignity to keep up, you see." He laughed again. +"That spring was<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> very cold, wasn't it?" he said, and he lay thinking of +it for a minute or two. Then slowly his eyes closed; he had fallen +asleep. They waited, but he did not waken. His sleep was peaceful, and +they went back again to their watch in the outer room.</p> + +<p>"It is two o'clock, mamma. Won't you lie down for a while? I am strong, +and not at all tired; if he should waken, I will at once call you."</p> + +<p>"I could not sleep," answered Madam Carroll, taking her former seat. "We +could neither of us sleep, I fancy, while there was the least danger of +the fever's returning—as the doctor said it might."</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps you might rest, even if you did not sleep."</p> + +<p>"I shall never be any more rested than I am now," answered the Major's +wife. After a silence of some length she spoke again; "In all this we +should not forget Mr. Owen," she said, as though taking up a task which +must be performed. "I feel sure that he is suffering deeply. You know +what he must be thinking?"</p> + +<p>"So long as he does not speak, what he thinks is of small consequence," +said Miss Carroll.</p> + +<p>"It may be so to you. It is not to him." She paused. "I can remember +that I once liked him," she went on, in a monotonous tone. "And I can +even believe that I shall like him again. But not<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> now, not now. Now it +is too near—those cruel words he spoke about my boy."</p> + +<p>"He did not know—"</p> + +<p>"Of course he did not; and I try to be just. He was angry, hurt, +alarmed; he was hurt that I should treat him as I did—I treated him +horribly—and he was alarmed about you. I have never thanked you for +what you did that day, Sara—the day he came to warn us; I could not. +For I knew how you loathed it—the expedient you took. You only took it +because there was no other."</p> + +<p>"You are very hard to me, mamma."</p> + +<p>"About your feeling I am; how can I help it? But not about the deed: +that was noble. In order to help me you let Mr. Owen suppose that you +were engaged to a man he—he utterly despised. Well, you helped me. But +you hurt him; you hurt Frederick Owen that morning about as deeply as +you could." She moved to Sara's side in the darkness, took her hand with +a quick grasp and held it in both her own. "And you are so proud," she +whispered softly, "that you will never acknowledge that you hurt +yourself too; that the sacrifice you then made in lowering yourself by +your own act in his eyes was as great a one as a woman can make; for he +loves you devotedly, jealously, and you—<i>you</i> know how much you care +for him."<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a></p> + +<p>Without leaving time for reply, she moved back to her former place, and +went on with what she had been saying, as though that sudden soft +interpolated whisper had not existed. "Yes—this strange double feeling +that I have about Frederick Owen makes me even feel sorry for him at +times, sorry to have him suffer as I know he must be suffering, sorry to +have him think what I know he must be thinking of you; and also of me. +For he thinks that you had a liking for a man whom he considered +unworthy to speak your name (oh, detestable arrogance!); he thinks that +it was clandestine, that you dared not tell your father; and that I was +protecting you in it as well as I could; all this, of course, he must +believe. Death has put an end to it, and now it will never be known; +this also he is thinking. But, meanwhile, <i>he</i> knows it. And he cannot +forget it. He thinks you have in your heart the same feeling still. But +I remembered—I did what I could for you by telling him that it was but +a fancy of the moment, that it would pass."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" murmured Sara, with a quick, involuntary gesture of repulsion; +then she stopped.</p> + +<p>"I was trying to pave a way out of it for you. You do not like the way, +because it includes—includes the supposition that you—But one can +never please you, Sara Carroll!"<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a></p> + +<p>She rose and began to walk swiftly to and fro across the room, her +footsteps making no sound on the thick, faded, old-fashioned carpet—a +relic from the days of the Sea Island Carrolls.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?" she said, abruptly, as she passed Sara for +the fourth time.</p> + +<p>"If you are alluding to Mr. Owen, I don't want you to do anything," +answered Miss Carroll.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are proud! For the present nothing can be done. But let me tell +you one thing—do not be <i>too</i> repellent. 'Tis good in me to warn you, +to take his part, when I hate him so—hate him for what he said. Do you +suppose I would have had him reading prayers over my poor dead boy after +what had passed? Never in the world. No one who despised him should come +near him. So I had the Baptist minister. I was a Baptist myself when I +was a girl—if I ever was a girl! All this hurts <i>you</i>, of course; but I +cannot help it. Be patient. Some day I shall forgive him. Perhaps soon." +She had paused in front of Sara as she said this, for they had both been +guardedly careful to speak in the lowest tones.</p> + +<p>The girl left her place on the sofa; she rose and walked beside her +stepmother as she resumed her quick, restless journey to and fro across +the floor. They came and went in silence for many minutes.<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> Then Sara +put her arm round Madam Carroll, and drew her towards the sofa again.</p> + +<p>"Rest awhile, mamma," she said, placing the cushions so that she could +lie easily; "you do not know how very tired you are." And Madam Carroll +for a half-hour yielded.</p> + +<p>"We must bear with each other, Sara," she said, as she lay with her eyes +closed. "For amid all our other feelings, there is one which we have in +common, our love for your father. That is and always must be a tie +between you and me."</p> + +<p>"Always," answered Sara.</p> + +<p>A little after daylight the Major woke. There had been no return of the +fever; he had slept in peace while they kept the vigil near him; his +illness was over. As he opened his eyes, his wife came to the bedside; +she had just risen—or so it seemed, for she wore a rose-colored +wrapper, and on her head a little lace cap adorned with rose-colored +ribbon. The Major had not seen the cap before; he thought it very +pretty.</p> + +<p>"Trying to be old, are you, Madam Carroll?" he said; "old and matronly?"</p> + +<p>Sara came in not long afterwards; she, too, was freshly dressed in a +white wrapper.</p> + +<p>"I have brought you your breakfast, papa," she said.<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a></p> + +<p>"Isn't it earlier than usual?" asked the Major, turning his dim eyes +towards the window. But he could not see the light of the sunrise on the +peaks.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, Major, that you are growing indolent," said Madam Carroll, +with pretended severity, as she poured out his tea.</p> + +<p>"Indolent?" said the Major—"indolent? Indolence is nothing to vanity. +And you and Sara, in your pink and white gowns, are living images of +vanity this morning, Madam Carroll."</p> + +<p class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/ill_pg_176_lg.jpg"> +<img src="images/ill_pg_176_sml.jpg" width="398" height="550" alt=""I AM AFRAID, MAJOR, THAT YOU ARE GROWING INDOLENT."" title=""I AM AFRAID, MAJOR, THAT YOU ARE GROWING INDOLENT."" /></a> +<br /> +<span class="caption">"I AM AFRAID, MAJOR, THAT YOU ARE GROWING INDOLENT."</span> +</p> + +<p><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p>A<small>UTUMN</small> at last came over the mountains; she decked them in her most +sumptuous colors, and passed slowly on towards the south. The winds +followed the goddess, eight of them; they came sounding their long +trumpets through the defiles; they held carnival in the high green +valleys; they attacked the forests and routed the lighter foliage, but +could not do much against the stiff, dark ranks of the firs. They +careered over all the peaks; sometimes they joined hands on +Chillawassee's head, and whirled round in a great circle, laughing +loudly, for half a day; and then the little people who lived on the +ground said to each other that it "blew from all round the sky."</p> + +<p>They came to Far Edgerley more than once; they blew through Edgerley +Street; at night the villagers in their beds heard the long trumpets +through the near gorges, and felt their houses shake. But they were +accustomed to these autumn visitors; they had a theory, too, that this +great sweeping of their peaks<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> and sky was excellent for their mountain +air. And upon the subject of their air there was much conceit in Far +Edgerley.</p> + +<p>When at length the winds had betaken themselves to the lowlands, with +the intention of blowing across the levels of Georgia and Florida, and +coming round to surprise the northerners at Indian River and St. +Augustine, the quiet winter opened in the mountains they had left behind +them. The Major had had no return of his October illness; he came to +church on Sundays as usual, and appeared at his wife's receptions. It +was noticed, although no one spoke of it, that he did not hold himself +quite so erect as formerly, and that perhaps his eyesight was not quite +so good; but he still remained to his village the exemplar of all that +was noble and distinguished, and they admired him and talked about him +as much as ever. He was their legend, their escutcheon; so long as they +had him they felt distinguished themselves.</p> + +<p>The winter amusements began about Christmastime. They consisted +principally of the Sewing Society and the Musical Afternoons. To these +entertainments "the gentlemen" came in the evening—F. Kenneway, Mr. +Phipps, the junior warden, and the rector, when they could get him. A +Whist Club had, indeed, been proposed. There was a double<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> motive in +this proposal. There were persons in the congregation who considered +whist-playing a test of the best churchmanship; these were secretly +desirous to see the test applied to the new rector, or rather the new +rector applied to it. But the thoughtful Mrs. Greer, having foreseen +this very possibility at an early date in the summer, had herself +sounded the rector upon the subject, and brought back a negative upon +the end of her delicate conversational line. She had asked him if he +thought that the sociability engendered by card-tables at small parties +could, in his opinion, counterbalance the danger which familiarity with +the pasteboard squares might bring to their young men (Phipps and +Kenneway); and whether he himself, at moments of leisure, and when he +wished to rest from intellectual fatigue, of which, of course, he must +have <i>so</i> much, ever whiled away the time with these same gilded +symbols, not with others, but by himself.</p> + +<p>Owen, who had not for the moment paid that attention to the eloquence of +Mrs. Greer which he should have done, did not understand her. He had +received an impression of cymbals. This was no surprise to him; he had +found Mrs. Greer capable of the widest range of subjects.</p> + +<p>"I mean the painted emblems, you know—cards," explained Mrs. Greer; +"clubs, diamonds, and spades,<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> Mr. Owen. Nor should we leave out hearts. +I was referring, when I spoke, to solitaire. But there is also whist. +Whist is, in its way, a climate by itself—a climate of geniality."</p> + +<p>This was a phrase of Madam Carroll's. Mrs. Greer had collected a large +assortment of phrases from the overflow of the Farms. These she +treasured, and dealt out one by one; her conversation was richly adorned +with them. She had excellent opportunities for collecting, as Madam +Carroll had long been in the habit of telling her any little item which +she wished to have put in circulation through the village in a certain +guise. She always knew that her exact phrase would be repeated, but not +as hers; it would be repeated as if it were original with the lady who +spoke it. This was precisely what Madam Carroll intended. To have said +herself, for instance, that the new chintz curtains of her drawing-room +combined delicacy and durability, and a bower-like brightness, was too +apparent; but for Mrs. Greer to say it (in every house on Edgerley +Street) was perfectly proper, and accomplished the same result. The +whole town remarked upon the delicacy and the durability and the +bower-like brightness; and the curtains, which she had made and put up +herself at small expense, took their place among the many other +peculiarly admirable things possessed by the Farms.<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a> Upon the present +occasion, however, Mrs. Greer gave Madam Carroll's name to the phrase +she had repeated; she thought it would have more influence. "Yes, that +is what our dear Madam Carroll used to call it—a climate of geniality," +she said, looking at the rector with an inquiring smile.</p> + +<p>But, ignoring the phrase of the Farms, none the less did Owen bring out +his negative; with the gilded symbols he did not amuse himself, either +alone or in company.</p> + +<p>Armed, therefore, with this knowledge, Mrs. Greer was ready; she met the +project of the Whist Club in its bud, and vanquished it with a Literary +Society, whose first four meetings she gave herself, with a delicate +little hot supper thrown in. The Whist Club could not stand against +this, Miss Honoria Ashley, who was its chief supporter, offering only +apples and conversation. But a large cold apple on a winter night is not +calculated to rouse enthusiasm; while, as to conversation, everybody +knew that hot coffee promoted it. So the Literary Society conquered, and +the whist test was not, for that season at least, applied to the +churchmanship of the rector.</p> + +<p>During these winter months Owen kept himself constantly busy. It was +thought that he worked too hard. He looked tired; sometimes, young and +strong as he was, he looked worn. There was a good deal<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> of motherly +anxiety about this; some sisterly, too. Ferdinand Kenneway said that he +felt towards him like a brother. But Owen pursued his own course, +unmindful of these sympathetic feelings. He came to Madam Carroll's +receptions as usual, but did not stay long: he was the last to come and +the first to go. He called at the Farms, though not often; and when he +went there, he did not go alone.</p> + +<p>So the winter passed on and departed, and spring came. Then a sorrow +fell upon the little mountain town. Early one soft morning in March, +when the cinnamon-colored tassels were out on the trees, and the air was +warm and gray, with the smell of rain in it, word came down Edgerley +Street, passing from house to house, that Carroll Farms had been visited +in the night: the Major, their Major, had wakened quiet and content, but +like a little child; the powers of his mind had been taken from him.</p> + +<p>Every one had loved him, and now there was real mourning. They all said +to each other and to themselves that they should never look upon his +like again. The poor nation had greatly retrograded since his day; even +their state was not what it had been; under these circumstances it could +not be expected that the world should soon produce another Scarborough +Carroll. They went over all the history of his life: his generous +sharing of his fortune<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> with his half-brother; his silence under the +forgetfulness of that half-brother's children; his high position and +many friends in the old army; his brilliant record in the later army, +their own army, vanquished, but still dear to them, the army of the +South; they told again the story of his gallant ride round the enemy's +forces in the Valley, of his charge up the hill at Fredericksburg, his +last brave defence of the bridge on the way to Appomattox. His wounds +were recalled, his shattered arm, the loss of his money, so +uncomplainingly borne; they spoke of his beautiful courtesy to every +one, and of his unfailing kindness to all the poor. And then, how +handsome he was, how noble in bearing and expression, how polished in +manner! such a devoted husband and father, so pure a patriot! Their dear +old Major: they could not say enough.</p> + +<p>The junior warden kept his room all day; he could not bear to hear it +talked about. Then the next morning out he went at an early hour to see +everybody he knew, and he told them all how very imprudent Carroll had +always been, recklessly so, recklessly. He was up and down Edgerley +Street all day, swinging his cane more than usual as he walked, thus +giving a light and juvenile air to his arms and shoulders, which was +perhaps somewhat contradicted by the uncertain tread of his little old +feet. In the<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> afternoon Frederick Owen went to the Farms; for the first +time since the preceding October he went alone. Miss Carroll was in the +drawing-room when he came in; she was receiving a visit of general +inquiry and condolence from the three Miss Rendleshams. They went away +after a while, and then, before he had had time to speak—as he stood +there realizing that he had not been alone with her since that day, now +six months in the past, when she had told him of her engagement to +Dupont—he saw through the open door of the drawing-room the small +figure of Madam Carroll. She had not come down to see the three Miss +Rendleshams. But she did come down to see the rector. She came straight +to him, with her quick, light step. "I heard that you were here, and +came down. I am anxious to see you, Mr. Owen. Not to-day, but soon. I +thought I would come down myself and ask you; I did not want to write a +note."</p> + +<p>"At any time you will name," answered Owen. He had risen as she entered. +Miss Carroll had seemed to him unchanged, save that her eyes showed that +she had been crying; but the Major's wife, he said to himself, with +almost awe-struck astonishment—the Major's wife, had he met her +elsewhere, he should hardly have known. Her veil of golden hair, no +longer curled, was put plainly back, and<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a> fastened in a close knot +behind; her eyes, the blue eyes he had always thought so pretty, looked +tired and sunken and dim, with crows'-feet at their corners; all her +lovely bloom was gone, and the whole of her little faded face was a +net-work of minute wrinkles. She was still small and slender, and she +still had her pretty features; but this was an old woman who was talking +to him, and Madam Carroll had been so young.</p> + +<p>"It will not be for some days yet, I think," she was saying. "I shall +wait until the doctor has made up his mind. He wants more time, though I +want none; when he does make it up, it will be as mine is now. But I +prefer to wait until he sees clearly; will you ask him from day to day +what he thinks, and, when he has decided, then will you come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Owen. "But do you mean that the Major—"</p> + +<p>"I mean that the Major is in no immediate danger; that he will continue +about the same. He will not grow better, but neither will he grow much +worse. He may be brighter at times, but he will not regain his memory; +that is gone. But we shall not lose him, Mr. Owen, that is our great +happiness. We shall not lose him, Sara and I, as we had at first +feared."</p> + +<p>Two tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke.<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a> "It is because I am so +thankful," she said, wiping them away. Her long lace-bordered sleeves +had been turned back, and Owen was struck with the old, withered look of +her small wrists and hands.</p> + +<p>"I could not have borne it to lose him now," she went on, as if +explaining. "You may think that existence such as his will be is no +blessing, nothing to be desired for him or for me. But he is not +suffering, he is even happy as a child is happy, and he knows me. He +would be content himself to wait a little, if he could know how much it +was to me, how much to have him with me, so that I can devote myself to +him, devote myself entirely."</p> + +<p>"You have always done that, Madam Carroll," said Owen, touched by her +emotion.</p> + +<p>"You will come, then—on whatever day the doctor makes up his mind," she +said, controlling herself, and returning to her subject.</p> + +<p>Here Miss Carroll spoke. "Isn't it better not to make engagements for +the present, mamma?" she said, warningly. "You will overtax your +strength."</p> + +<p>"It is overtaxed at this moment far less than it has been for many a +long month," answered Madam Carroll, as it seemed to Owen, strangely. +She passed her hand over her forehead, and then, as if putting herself +aside in order to consider her companions for a moment, she looked first +at Sara, then turned and<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> looked at Owen. "Do not stay any longer now," +she said to him, gently, in an advising tone. He obeyed her, and went +away.</p> + +<p>On the tenth day after this the doctor, whose conclusions, if slowly +made, were sure, announced his decision: it tallied exactly with that of +Madam Carroll. The Major was in no present danger; his physical health +was fairly good; his condition would not change much, and he might +linger on in this state for several years. And then the Far Edgerley +people, knowing that no more pain would come to him, and that he was +tranquil and even happy, that he recognized his wife, and that she gave +to him the most beautiful and tender devotion—then these Far Edgerley +people were glad and thankful to have him with them still; not wholly +gone, though lying unseen in his peaceful room, which faced the west, so +that the sunset could shine every day upon the quiet sunset of his life. +And they thought, some of them, that thanksgiving prayers should be +offered for this in the church. And they all prayed for him at home, +each family in its own way.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of the day when the doctor had made up his mind, +Frederick Owen went to the Farms. Madam Carroll came down to see him; +she took him to the library, now unused, and when they had entered, she +closed the door. "Will you sit here<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> beside me?" she said, indicating a +sofa opposite the window. Again he was struck by the great—as it seemed +to him, the marvellous—change in her. She looked even older than +before; her hair was put back in the same plain way; there was the same +absence of color, the same tired look in her eyes, the same fine +net-work of wrinkles over all her small face; but added to these there +was now a settled sadness of expression which he felt would never pass +away. He missed, too, all the changing inflections and gestures, the +pretty little manner and attitudes, and even the pronunciation, which he +had supposed to belong inseparably to her, which he had thought entirely +her own. He missed likewise, though unconsciously, the prettiness of the +bright little gowns she had always worn; she was dressed now in black, +without color or ornament.</p> + +<p>She seemed to divine his thoughts. "The Major can no longer see me," she +said, quietly; "that is, with any distinctness. It is no longer anything +to him—what I wear."</p> + +<p>He had taken the seat she had offered; she sat beside him, with her +hands folded, her eyes on the opposite wall. "I have a story to tell +you," she said. "But I can make no prefaces; I cannot speak of feelings. +I hope for your interest, Mr. Owen, even for your sympathy; but if I get +them it will be accomplished<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> by a narrative of facts alone, and not by +any pathos in the words themselves. I got beyond pathos long ago. My +name was Marion More. My father was a missionary in the Southwest—the +exact localities I need not give. At sixteen I married. My father died +within the year; my mother had died long before. My first child was a +son, born when I was seventeen; I called him Julian. Later there came to +me a daughter, my little Cecilia. When she was still a baby, and Julian +was seven, my husband, in a brawl at a town some miles from our house, +killed a man who was well known and liked in the neighborhood; they had +both fired, and the other man was the better shot, but upon this +occasion his ball happened to miss, and my husband's did not. I was +sitting at home, sewing; the baby was in the cradle at my feet, and +Julian was playing with his little top on the floor. My husband rode +rapidly into the yard on his fast black horse, Tom, sprang down, came +into the house, and went into the inner room. He soon came back and went +out. He called Julian. The child ran into the yard; then hurried back to +get the little overcoat I had made for him. 'Where are you going?' I +said. 'To ride with papa,' he answered, and, eager as he was to go, he +did not forget to come and kiss me good-by. Then he ran out, and I heard +them start;<a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a> I heard Tom's hoofs on the hard road farther and farther +away; then all was still. But less than half an hour afterwards there +was noise enough; the garden was full of armed men. The whole +country-side were out after him. They hunted him for three days. But he +knew the woods and swamps better than they did, and they could not find +him. They knew that he would in time make for the river, and they kept a +watch along shore. He reached it on the fourth day, at a lonely point; +he turned Tom loose, took a skiff which he knew was there, and started +out with my little boy upon the swollen tide—for the river was high. +They were soon discovered by the watch on shore. Shots were fired at +them. But the skiff was out in the centre of the stream, which was very +wide just there, and the shots missed. They followed the skiff along +shore. They knew what he did not—that the river narrowed below the +bend, and that there were rapids there. He reached the bend, and saw +that he was lost; the current carried the boat down towards the narrows; +and they began to shoot again; one shot struck Julian. Then his father +took him in his arms and jumped overboard with him. That, they knew, was +death. They saw the dark bodies whirled round and round, and amused +themselves by shooting at them once or twice; they saw them sucked<a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a> +under. Then, farther away, they saw them again swept along like logs, +inert, dead; on and on; two black dots; out of sight. Then they rode +back, that hunting party; and their wives came and told me, as +mercifully as they could, that my husband and my little boy were +drowned. I could not bury my dead; on the rapid current of the river +they were already miles away; in that country no one cared for the dead. +They cared but little for the living. I took my baby and went away; I +left that horrible land. I came eastward. I had no money, or very +little; my husband had taken what—what he needed for his flight, and +there was nothing left. I tried to teach little day schools for +children. I gave music lessons. I did my best. But I was not strong; my +little girl, too, was very delicate: there was something the matter with +her spine. When this life of ours—hers and mine—had lasted ten years +(for I am much older than you have supposed), I met Major Carroll. He +was so good as to love me; he was so good as to marry me; he took as his +own my poor little girl, and gave her all the comforts and luxuries she +needed—things I could not give. She died soon afterwards, in spite of +all. But in our new home she had had happy days, and when the end came +she did not suffer: she went back to God in sleep. On the 6th of last +July I was in the garden here,<a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a> gathering some roses; it was below the +slope of the knoll, out of sight from the house. The gate opened, and a +young man came in. He came across to me. He introduced himself as a +stranger in Far Edgerley, who had admired our flowers. He spoke several +sentences while I stood looking at him. I was frightened; I knew not +why. At last, recovering myself, I turned to walk towards the house. +Then it was that he put his hand on my arm, and said: 'Don't you know +me, mother? I am Julian, the little boy you thought dead.' He was +thirty-one years old, and I had lost him before he was eight. What had +startled me was his likeness to his father. They had escaped, after all. +His father had feigned death; he had let himself be swept along, keeping +hold of the child, who was unconscious. It was a desperate expedient. +But he was desperate. He was an expert swimmer, and he succeeded, though +barely, with life just fluttering within them. They lay hid in a +canebrake for some days, and then, after much difficulty, they made +their way out of the country. They went to Mexico. Then they went to the +West India Islands. They lived in Martinique, and they took the name of +Dupont. My husband did not try to come back; a reward had been offered +for him before he fled; there was a price on his head. He knew that I +supposed him dead, and<a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a> he was quite willing to be dead—to me. He was +tired of me. I was only a burden to him. I was always talking about +little things. My son thought that we were dead—his little sister and +I; his father had told him so. But after his father's death he found +among his papers some memoranda which made him think that perhaps we +were not, that perhaps he could even find us. He did not try +immediately; it was but a chance, and he was interested in other things. +But later he did try; that is, in his way; he was never sharp and +energetic—as you are. He found me; but his little sister had gone to +heaven. My son had had only the education of the islands, and he was, +besides, a musician. The temperament of musicians is peculiar. You will +allow me to say that I think you do not understand it. He wished to go +back to the islands; he had been in the United States for a year, and he +did not like the life or climate. I helped him as much as I could. It +was not much; but he started. Then he had that illness in New York, and +came back. It was most important that he should start again, and +soon—before the return of winter. I had nothing to give him, and so I +went to my daughter—I mean my step-daughter, Sara. She has, you know, a +small income of her own, left her by her uncle. You are asking yourself +why I did not go to the Major; why there should<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a> have been any secret +about it from the first. It was because I had not told him at the time +of our marriage, or at any time, that I had ever had a son. He thought +when he married me that Cecilia was my only child; he thought me +twenty-three, when I was in reality over thirty-five. It would have been +a great shock and pain to him to know that I had deceived him—a shock +which, in his state of health at that time, he could not have borne. +When Sara knew, she helped me; she helped me nobly. But the time for the +semi-annual payment of her income was not until the 12th of October, and +by the terms of her uncle's will she could not anticipate it; we were +therefore obliged to wait. Before the 12th of October my son was taken +ill, as I had feared. And the rest—you know. The time when I could tell +you this has now come. It has come because nothing can again disturb the +Major's peace. He is near us in touch, and close to our love, but +earth's sorrows and pains can trouble him no more. I can therefore tell +you, and I do it for two reasons. One is that it will explain to you the +course we took; it will explain to you what Sara said that afternoon, +for I think that it has grieved you—what Sara said. It was an expedient +that she thought of to divert your attention, to stop further action on +your part. We knew—from your having tried to see the Major,<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> and see +him alone—that you had learned something; how much, we could not tell. +And when you came again the next day, and spoke as you did, first to me, +and then to her, and I was frightened and lost my courage, fearing lest +you should speak to others also; then Sara took the only expedient she +could think of to silence you, to stop you effectually, and thus secure +her father's peace. But it was only an expedient, Mr. Owen. It was never +true." She paused for the first time in the utterance of her brief +sentences, turned her head, and looked at him with her faded, tired +eyes.</p> + +<p>Owen's own eyes were wet. "Even before that," he said, "and I do not +deny how important it is to me—more important than anything else in the +world—even before that, Madam Carroll, I beg you to say that you +forgive me, that you forgive what I did and said. I did not know—how +could I?—and I was greatly troubled."</p> + +<p>"I think I can say that I have forgiven you," answered Madam Carroll. "I +did not at first; I did not for a long time. It is all over now; and of +course you did not know. But you never understood my son—you could not; +and therefore—if you will be so good—I should prefer that you should +not speak to me of him again; it is much the easiest way for us both." +She turned her eyes back to the<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> wall. "About Sara," she continued, +without pause, "it was a pity. It has been a long time for you to +wait—with that—that mistaken belief on your mind. But, while the Major +was still with us in his consciousness and his memory, I could not tell +to you, a stranger, what I was not able to tell him."</p> + +<p>"You were afraid to trust me!" said Owen, a pained expression coming +into his face.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Madam Carroll, simply.</p> + +<p>"You did not know then that I felt as far as possible from being a +stranger? That I wished—that I have tried—"</p> + +<p>"That is later; I was coming to that. Yes—since I have known that you +cared so much for her (though I knew it long ago!)—since you have +spoken, rather, I have felt that I wished to tell you, that I would +gladly tell you, as soon as I could. The time has come, and it came +earlier than I expected, though I knew it could not be long delayed. I +have taken the earliest hour."</p> + +<p>"Then she—then Miss Carroll told you that I—that I had spoken?" said +Owen.</p> + +<p>"She told me because I asked her, pressed her. I knew that you had been +here—a week ago, wasn't it?—I had caught a glimpse of your face as you +left the house. And so I asked her. She is very reticent, very proud; +she would never have told me, in<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> spite of my asking, if her wish to +show me that I had been mistaken in something I had said to her long +before had not been stronger even than her reserve."</p> + +<p>"What was it that you were mistaken in?" said Owen, quickly.</p> + +<p>"I was not mistaken. But she wished to prove to me that I was. I had +told her in October that she cared for you, and that she had made the +greatest sacrifice a woman could make in voluntarily lowering herself in +your eyes by allowing you to suppose—to suppose what you did."</p> + +<p>"You were mistaken, after all, Madam Carroll," said Owen, sadly. "She +cares nothing for me."</p> + +<p>"Men are dull," answered the mistress of the Farms, wearily. "They have +to have everything explained to them. Don't you see that it was +inevitable that she should refuse you? As things stood—as you let them +stand—she could not stoop to any other course. She knew that you +believed that she had cared for—for Louis Dupont" (Madam Carroll's face +had here a strange, set sternness, but her soft voice went on +unchanged), "and she knew your opinion of him. She knew, moreover, that +you believed it clandestine, that she had not dared to tell her father. +For you to come, then, at this late day, believing all this, and tell +her that you loved her—that seemed to her an<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> insult. Your tone was, I +presume (if not your words), that you loved her in spite of all."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Owen answered. "For that was my feeling. I did love her in spite +of all. I had fought against it. I had thought—I don't know what. But +it was over; whatever it had been it was ended forever, and my love had +conquered. I knew that very well!"</p> + +<p>"And you told her so, I suppose—'I love you in spite of all'—when you +should have said 'I love you; and it never existed.'"</p> + +<p>"But had she not told me with her own lips that it did exist, that she +was engaged to him?"</p> + +<p>"You should not have believed her own lips; you should have risen above +that. You should have told her to her face that you did not believe, and +never would believe, anything that was, or even seemed to be, against +her. I see you know very little about women. You will have to learn. I +am taking all this pains for you because I want her to be happy. Her +nature is a very noble one, in spite of an overweight of pride. She +could not explain to you, even at that time, without betraying me, and +that she would never do. But I doubt whether she would have explained in +any case; it would have been doing too much for you."</p> + +<p>"All she did was done for her father," said Owen;<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> "and it was the same +with you, Madam Carroll. Seldom has man been so loved. My place with her +will be but a second one."</p> + +<p>"That should content you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you do <i>not</i> like me, though you try to help me," cried the young +man. "But give me time, Madam Carroll; give me time."</p> + +<p>"To make me like you? Take as much as you please. But do not take it +with Sara."</p> + +<p>"I shall take five minutes," Owen answered. Then he lifted her hand to +his lips. "Forgive me for thinking of my own happiness," he said, with +the gentlest respect.</p> + +<p>"I like you to think of it; it gives me pleasure. And now I must come to +my second reason for telling you. You remember I said that there were +two. This is something which even Sara does not know—I would not give +her any of that burden; she could not help me, and she had enough to +bear. She could not help me; but now you can. It is something I want you +to do for me. It could not be done before, it could not be done until +the Major became as he is at present. No one now living knows; still, as +you are to be one of us, I should like to have you do it for me."</p> + +<p>And then she told him.<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p>O<small>N</small> Easter Sunday morning Far Edgerley people woke to find their village +robed in blossoms; in one night the fruit trees had burst into bloom, so +that all the knolls and Edgerley Street itself stood in bridal array, +and walking to church was like taking part in a beautiful procession.</p> + +<p>Nearly a month had passed since the Major's attack; but all his old +friends in the congregation of St. John's missed him more than ever on +this Easter morning. Sara and Scar were in the Carroll pew at the head +of the aisle; but it looked very empty, nevertheless. During this month +there had not been much change in the Major, save that for two weeks +after the doctor's decision he had not been so well; restlessness had +troubled him. But for the preceding few days he had been much better, +and every one was cheered by this; every one was interested in hearing +that he had talked quite at length with his wife on simple local +subjects, that he enjoyed little things, and thought about them. He +lived entirely<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a> in the present, the present of the passing moment; +everything in the past he had forgotten, and he speedily forgot the +moment itself as soon as it was gone. What his wife said to him he +understood, and he always knew when she was near, though his blind eyes +could not see her; he felt for a fold of her dress or the ruffle of her +sleeve, and held it; the sense of touch had taken the place of the +vanished sight. He listened for Scar's voice too, and seemed to like to +have him in the room, to hold the child's hand in his. In the same way +he always smiled and was pleased when Sara spoke to him.</p> + +<p>When the morning service was over, every one waited to ask how the Major +was on this lovely Easter Sunday. Lately they had come to like his +daughter far better than they had liked her at first; they said she +talked more, that she was not so cold. Certainly there was nothing cold +in her face, but a beautiful sweetness, as she rose from her knees and, +taking Scar's hand, turned to go down the aisle. She answered their +questions on the steps and in the church-yard. For on Easter morning Far +Edgerley people always brought many flowers to church; then, after +service, they took them out and laid them upon all the graves, so that, +as Scar once said, "they could have their Easter Sunday too." Every +mound had its blossoms to-day, and there were many upon<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> the grave of +the young stranger, Louis Dupont; this was because there was no one, +they said, to remember him. So they all remembered him.</p> + +<p>A little before sunset Frederick Owen, having officiated at the Easter +service of the Sunday-school and at one of his mission stations, was on +his way to Carroll Farms. As he came up Carroll Lane and crossed the +little bridge over the brook, he saw that there was more bloom here than +anywhere else in all the blooming town. For the whole orchard was out +behind the house, and all the flowering almonds in front of it; the old +stone walls rose close pressed in blossoms. Sara opened the door before +he had time to knock. "I was watching for you," she said. "Judith Inches +and Caleb have gone up the mountain to see their mother, as they always +do on Easter afternoon, and they have taken Scar."</p> + +<p>Owen paused in the hall to greet her; he was very proud of this proud, +reserved girl whose love he had won.</p> + +<p>"Do not wait, Frederick. Mamma has such a pleadingly sorrowful look +to-day that I want to have it over."</p> + +<p>"Only a moment," said Owen. He was standing with his arm round her, +holding her close. "Do you remember that afternoon when I spoke to you +of your mother, of the sisterly kindness she had<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> shown to that poor +woman who had lost her crippled boy? And do you remember that you said +that no one save those who were in the house with her all the time could +comprehend the one hundredth part of her tenderness, her constant +thought for others? Your answer put me in a glow of pleasure, I did not +then comprehend why. I asked myself as I walked home if I cared so much +to hear Madam Carroll praised. I know now what I cared for—it was +because <i>you</i> had said it. For I had been afraid, unconsciously to +myself, perhaps, that you did not fully appreciate her, appreciate her +as she seemed to me."</p> + +<p>"And I had not until then. I shall always reproach myself—"</p> + +<p>"You need not; you have made up for it a hundredfold," answered Owen. +Then, coming back to himself, with love's unfailing egotism—"I wonder +if you realize all the suffering I went through?" he continued. "You +made me wait in my pain so long, so long!"</p> + +<p>"We suffer more than you do, always," answered, after a moment, the +woman he held in his arms. And then into her beautiful eyes, raised to +meet his, there came such a world of feeling, some of it beyond his ken, +that touched, stirred, feeling himself unworthy, yet exultant in his +happiness, the man<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> who loved her rested his lips on hers without +attempting further reply.</p> + +<p>A moment later he went up the stairs, and Sara turned the key of the +front door. The Major, his wife and daughter, and the clergyman were now +alone in the flower-encircled house. All its windows were open, and the +flowers fairly seemed to be coming in, so near were they to the +casements; outside the Major's windows two great apple-trees, a mass of +bloom, stretched out their long, flowering arms until they touched the +sills.</p> + +<p>The sun, now low down, was sinking towards Lonely mountain; he sent +horizontal rays full into the mass of apple-blossoms, but could not +penetrate them save as a faintly pink radiance, which fell upon the +figure of Madam Carroll as she stood beside the bed. She wore one of her +white dresses, but her face looked worn and old as the radiance brought +out all its lines, and showed the many silver threads in her faded hair. +The Major was sitting up in bed; he had on a new dressing-gown, and was +propped with cushions.</p> + +<p>"Has the clergyman come?" he said. He spoke indistinctly, but his wife +could always understand him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is here, Scarborough," she answered, bending over him.</p> + +<p>"He is welcome. Let him be seated," said the<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a> Major, in his old +ceremonial manner. Then he felt for his wife's arm, and pulled her +sleeve. "Am I dressed?" he asked, anxiously. "Did you see to it? Is my +hair smooth?" He supposed himself to be speaking in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Major, you have on your new dressing-gown, and it is of a +beautiful color, and your hair is quite smooth."</p> + +<p>"I don't feel sure about the hair," said the Major, still, as he +supposed, confidentially. "I don't remember that I brushed it."</p> + +<p>Madam Carroll took a brush from the table and gently smoothed the thin +white locks.</p> + +<p>"That is better," he murmured. "And my clean white silk handkerchief?"</p> + +<p>"It is by your side, close to your hand."</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment. "I ought to have a flower for my button-hole, +oughtn't I?" he added, looking about the room with his darkened eyes as +if to find one.</p> + +<p>Sara went to the window and broke off a spray of apple-blossoms from the +tree outside. His wife gave it to him, and he tried to put it into the +button-hole of his dressing-gown; she did it for him, and then he was +content. "I am ready now," he said, folding his hands.</p> + +<p>Frederick Owen came forward; he wore his white<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a> robes of office. "Dearly +beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join +together this man and this woman in holy matrimony," he read, standing +close to the Major, so that he could hear.</p> + +<p>The Major listened with serenity; and of his own accord, when the time +came, he answered, "I will."</p> + +<p>When the longer answer was reached, Owen repeated it first, then Madam +Carroll repeated it to the Major, as he could hear her voice more +easily. "I, Scarborough, take thee, Marion, to my wedded wife, to have +and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for +poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us +do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my +troth," said the Major, in his indistinct tones, following her word by +word, and holding the hand she had placed in his.</p> + +<p>Then the wife drew off her own wedding-ring, and guided his feeble +fingers to put it back in its place again. "With this ring I thee wed," +said the Major, repeating after her in a voice that was growing tired.</p> + +<p>"Let us pray," said Owen. They knelt, and the Major bowed his head, and +put his hand over his eyes. "Our Father, who art in heaven," prayed +Owen, "hallowed be thy name."<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a></p> + +<p>As he came to the benediction, the sun's last rays, sent from the golden +line of Lonely Mountain, shot triumphantly under the apple-blossoms and +entered the room; they shone on Madam Carroll's kneeling figure, and +lighted up the old Major's silver hair—"that in the world to come, ye +may have life everlasting. Amen."</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Then the Major took down his hand and tried to look +from one to the other as they stood round his bed. His wife kissed him. +And then Sara, her eyes full of tears, came and kissed him also.</p> + +<p>"Where is the clergyman?" said the Major to his wife, again supposing +himself to be speaking apart. "I ought to shake hands with him, you +know."</p> + +<p>Owen came forward, and the Major bowed and put out his hand. Then he +seemed to be forgetting all that had occurred. "I am very tired, +Marion," he said, not complainingly, but as if surprised. "I don't know +what is the reason, but I am very tired." They took out the cushions, +and he put his head down upon the pillow. In a few minutes he was +asleep.</p> + +<p>At late twilight Scar came back in the wagon with Judith Inches and +Caleb. His mother was waiting for him on the piazza; she took him in her +arms and kissed him several times. "Why, mamma,<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> you are crying!" said +the boy, surprised. "Are you sorry about anything, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Scar. But it is over now. Come up-stairs."</p> + +<p>The Major was awake; he looked very tranquil. Sara was sitting beside +him. Scar went up to the bedside. "It is Scar," said Madam Carroll. +"Don't you remember him, Major? Little Scar?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said the Major. "Of course I remember him; a little child."</p> + +<p>She took his hand and put it on the boy's head. The Major stroked the +fair hair gently. "Little Scar," he murmured softly to himself. "Yes, +certainly I remember; little Scar."</p> + +<p class="cb"><small>THE END</small>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cb"><big><big><big>ANNE.</big></big></big><br /> +A Novel.<br /> +BY CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.<br /> +ILLUSTRATED BY REINHART.<br /> +16mo, Cloth, $1.25.<br /><br /> +<i>EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF "ANNE."</i></p> + +<p>It proves the author's right to stand without question at the head of +American women novelists.—<i>N.Y. Tribune.</i></p> + +<p>The appearance of "Anne" may be regarded as a fact worth special notice, +for Miss Woolson adds to her observation of scenes and localities an +unusual insight into the human heart. Sometimes one is ready to say that +a fragment, and not an inferior fragment, of the mantle of George Eliot +is resting on her capable shoulders.—<i>Century, N.Y.</i></p> + +<p>The scenery is fine, the characterization excellent, and the purpose +true. * * * It has fine touches. * * * It has admirable sketches from +nature. * * * The book has humor, also, and plenty of it.* * * Anne is +full of power, and will not soon be forgotten.—<i>Literary World</i>, +Boston.</p> + +<p>A very vigorous story. * * * Anne is very well drawn, and is an +attractive study.—<i>Zion's Herald</i>, Boston.</p> + +<p>A rich contribution to American fiction.—<i>Christian Intelligencer</i>, +N.Y.</p> + +<p>It is one of the most remarkable combinations of feminine delicacy and +acuteness with masculine strength and breadth furnished by a lady +novelist since "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was given to the public. * * * Of the +heroine we can only say she is wholly admirable—a perfect woman. The +plot is unique, of increasing interest, presenting many varied and novel +scenes, and alternating artistically between the lighter and deeper +emotions. The author exerts her dramatic powers to the utmost toward the +close, and the result is something rarely paralleled in modern +fiction.—<i>Pittsburgh Christian Advocate.</i></p> + +<p>Its wealth of plot, its rare bits of humor, its well-marked +characterization, and its many fine pieces of description of natural +scenery.—<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>Its characters are marvels. They are not portraits nor statues, but +living persons among and of us. Anne is a type, first of girlhood, then +womanhood, of wondrous beauty—an imperishable flower of that wild, +almost uncivilized, rugged region whence alone she could have +sprung.—<i>Cleveland Leader.</i></p> + +<p>A strong, fresh, vigorous story, American in scene, people, and tone. * +* * Few novels contain more striking incidents.—<i>Louisville +Courier-Journal.</i></p> + +<p>One of the cleverest of recent American novels.—<i>N. Y. World.</i></p> + +<p>The publication of a book like Miss Woolson's "Anne" is really a +literary event. * * * The plot is carefully studied, and is worked out +with an honest patience and a conscientious faithfulness in details +which merit the name of genius.—<i>Dial</i>, Chicago.</p> + +<p>Clearly a work of genius.—<i>Boston Traveller.</i></p> + +<p>A book which has excited more interest and expectation during its +appearance in serial form than any American novel published for years. * +* * "Anne" is a work of real power; its characters are painted with a +master hand; its literary style calls for the warmest praise; and the +story has pre-eminently that sympathetic quality which is the chief +charm of what may be called the novel of domestic life.—<i>Saturday +Evening Gazette</i>, Boston.</p> + +<p>"Anne" has produced a very marked impression—more so, indeed, than any +other recent work of fiction. * * * It certainly is a delightful and +refreshing novel.—<i>Albany Evening Journal.</i></p> + +<p>A delightful novel of American life.—<i>Portland Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>A charming domestic story, interesting in plot and incident, and fresh +in the telling.—<i>St. Louis Republican.</i></p> + +<p>It is one of the strongest and most perfectly finished American novels +ever written.—<i>New England Farmer</i>, Boston.</p> + +<p>To take up this volume is to hold it until every page has been read. The +interest is kept up without intermission from beginning to end, for new +complications and developments arise so constantly that the reader is +kept on the <i>qui vive</i>.—<i>Pittsburgh Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p class="c">PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.</p> + +<p class="c">=><i>Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on +receipt of the price.</i></p> + +<p class="cb"><big><big>SOME POPULAR NOVELS</big></big></p> + +<p class="c">Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.</p> + +<p><i>The Novels in this list which are not otherwise designated are in +Octavo, pamphlet form, and may be obtained in half-binding [leather +backs and pasteboard sides], suitable for Public and Circulating +Libraries, at 25 cents, net, per volume, in addition to the price of the +respective works as stated below. The Duodecimo Novels are bound in +Cloth, unless otherwise specified.</i></p> + +<p><i>For a</i> <span class="smcap">Full List of Novels</span> <i>published by</i> <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>, see +<span class="smcap">Harper's New and Revised Catalogue</span>, <i>which will be sent by mail, postage +prepaid, to any address in the United States, on receipt of nine cents</i>.</p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="" +style="margin: 5% 10% 5% 10%;"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PRICE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td>BAKER'S (W.M.) Carter Quarterman. Illustrated. $ 60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Inside: a Chronicle of Secession. Illustrated. 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The New Timothy.</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Virginians in Texas.</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td>BLACK'S A Daughter of Heth.</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Princess of Thule.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Green Pastures and Piccadilly.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> In Silk Attire.</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Kilmeny.</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Love or Marriage?</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Macleod of Dare. Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 8vo</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Madcap Violet.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Shandon Bells. Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sunrise.</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> That Beautiful Wretch. Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Maid of Killeena, and Other Stories.</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Monarch of Mincing-Lane. Illustrated. 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Three Feathers. Illustrated. 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> White Wings. Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td>BLACKMORE'S Alice Lorraine.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Christowell.</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td>BLACKMORE'S Clara Vaughan</td><td align="right">4to, Paper $ 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Cradock Nowell</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Cripps, the Carrier</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Erema</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lorna Doone</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mary Anerley</td><td align="right">16mo, Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Maid of Sker</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td>BENEDICT'S John Worthington's Name</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miss Dorothy's Charge</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miss Van Kortland</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mr. Vaughan's Heir</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Daughter Elinor</td><td align="right">80</td></tr> +<tr><td> St. Simon's Niece</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td>BULWER'S Alice</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Strange Story. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Devereux</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Ernest Maltravers</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Eugene Aram</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Godolphin</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Kenelm Chillingly</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Leila</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lucretia</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Novel</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">2 vols. 12mo 2 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Night and Morning</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Paul Clifford</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Pausanias the Spartan</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> Pelham</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Rienzi</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Caxtons</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Coming Race</td><td align="right">12mo, Paper 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Disowned</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Last Days of Pompeii</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Last of the Barons</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Parisians. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Pilgrims of the Rhine</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> What will He do with it</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> What will He do with it</td><td align="right">Cloth 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Zanoni</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td>BULWER'S (Robert) The Ring of Amasis</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td>BRADDON'S (Miss) An Open Verdict</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Strange World</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Asphodel</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Aurora Floyd</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Barbara; or, Splendid Misery</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Birds of Prey. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Bound to John Company. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Charlotte's Inheritance</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Dead Men's Shoes</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Dead Sea Fruit. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Eleanor's Victory</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Fenton's Quest. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Flower and Weed</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hostages to Fortune. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> John Marchmont's Legacy</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Joshua Haggard's Daughter. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Just as I Am</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lost for Love. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mistletoe Bough, 1878. Edited by M. E. Braddon.</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mistletoe Bough, 1879. Edited by M. E. Braddon.</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mount Royal</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Publicans and Sinners</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Strangers and Pilgrims. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Taken at the Flood</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Cloven Foot</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Lovels of Arden. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> To the Bitter End. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Vixen</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Weavers and Weft</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td>BRONTE'S (Charlotte) Jane Eyre</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Shirley</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Professor. Illustrated</td><td align="right">12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> Villette</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> (Anna) The Tenant of Wild fell Hall.Illustrated.. 12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> (Emily) Wuthering Heights. Illustrated</td><td align="right">12mo 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td>CRAIK'S (Miss G. M.) Dorcas</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mildred</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Anne Warwick</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Fortune's Marriage</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hard to Bear</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sydney</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sylvia's Choice</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Two Women</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td>COLLINS'S Antonina</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Armadale.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Man and Wife.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Lady's Money</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> No Name.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Percy and the Prophet</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Poor Miss Finch.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Law and the Lady.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Moonstone.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> The New Magdalen</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Two Destinies.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Woman in White.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">COLLINS'S Illustrated Library Edition 12mo, per vol. 1 25 After +Dark, and Other +Stories.—Antonina.—Armadale.—Basil.—Hide-and-Seek.—Man and +Wife.—My Miscellanies.—No Name.—Poor Miss Finch.—The Dead +Secret.—The Law and the Lady.—The Moonstone.—The New +Magdalen.—The Queen of Hearts.—The Two Destinies.—The Woman in +White.</td></tr> + +<tr><td>DICKENS'S NOVELS. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Tale of Two Cities</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> Barnaby Rudge</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Bleak House</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Christmas Stories</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> David Copperfield</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Dombey and Son</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Great Expectations</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Dorrit</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Martin Chuzzlewit</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Nicholas Nickleby</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Oliver Twist</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> Our Mutual Friend</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Pickwick Papers</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Pictures from Italy, Sketches by Boz, and American Notes 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Old Curiosity Shop</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Uncommercial Traveller,</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hard Times, and Edwin</td></tr> +<tr><td> Drood</td><td align="right">1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 50</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> <i>Harper's Household Dickens</i>, 16 vols., Cloth, in box, $22 00. +The same in 8 vols., Cloth, $20 00; Imitation Half Morocco, +$22 00; Half Calf, $40 00.</td></tr> + +<tr><td>DE MILLE'S Cord and Creese.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> The American Baron.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Cryptogram.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Dodge Club. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Living Link. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Cloth 1 10</td></tr> +<tr><td>DISRAELI'S (Earl of Beaconsfield) Endymion</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Young Duke</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td>ELIOT'S (George) Novels:</td></tr> +<tr><td> Adam Bede.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Amos Barton</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Brother Jacob.—The Lifted Veil</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Daniel Deronda</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">2 vols., 12mo 2 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Felix Holt, the Radical</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Janet's Repentance</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Middlemarch</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"> Cloth 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">2 vols., 12mo 2 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mr. Gilfil's Love Story</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Romola.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Scenes of Clerical Life</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Scenes of Clerical Life and Silas Marner. 1 vol.</td><td align="right">Ill'd. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Silas Marner</td><td align="right">12mo 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Mill on the Floss</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td>GASKELL'S (Mrs.) A Dark Night's Work</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Cousin Phillis</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Cranford</td><td align="right">16mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mary Barton</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Moorland Cottage</td><td align="right">18mo 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Lady Ludlow</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> North and South</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Right at Last, &c.</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sylvia's Lovers</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Wives and Daughters.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td>GOLDSMITH'S Vicar of Wakefield</td><td align="right">18mo, Cloth</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td>32mo, Paper </td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td>HAY'S (M. C.) A Dark Inheritance</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Shadow on the Threshold</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Among the Ruins, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> At the Seaside, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Back to the Old Home</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Bid Me Discourse</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> Dorothy's Venture</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> For Her Dear Sake</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hidden Perils</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Into the Shade, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lady Carmichael's Will</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Missing</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> My First Offer, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Nora's Love Test</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Myddelton's Money</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Reaping the Whirlwind</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Arundel Motto</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Sorrow of a Secret</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Squire's Legacy</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Under Life's Key, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Victor and Vanquished</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td>HELEN Troy</td><td align="right">16mo, Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td>HUGO'S Ninety-Three.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td>12mo 1 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Toilers of the Sea</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. Cloth 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td>JAMES'S (Henry, Jun.) Daisy Miller</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> An International Episode</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Diary of a Man of Fifty, and A Bundle of Letters</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> <i>The four above-mentioned works in one volume.</i></td><td align="right">4to, Paper 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Washington Square.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">16mo, Cloth 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td>LAWRENCE'S Anteros</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Brakespeare</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Breaking a Butterfly</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Guy Livingstone</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hagarene</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Maurice Dering</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sans Merci</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sword and Gown</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td>LEVER'S A Day's Ride</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Barrington</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Gerald Fitzgerald</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lord Kilgobbin.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Luttrell of Arran</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Maurice Tiernay</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> One of Them</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Roland Cashel.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sir Brook Fosbrooke</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sir Jasper Carew</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> That Boy of Norcott's.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Daltons</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Dodd Family Abroad</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Fortunes of Glencore</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Martins of Cro' Martin</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Tony Butler</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> McCARTHY'S Comet of a Season</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Donna Quixote</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Enemy's Daughter.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Commander's Statue</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Waterdale Neighbors</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td>MACDONALD'S Alec Forbes</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Guild Court</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Warlock o' Glenwarlock</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Weighed and Wanting</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td>MULOCK'S (Miss) A Brave Lady. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td>12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> A French Country Family. Translated.Illustrated. 12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Agatha's Husband</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Hero, &c.</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Life for a Life</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Noble Life</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Avillion, and Other Tales</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Christian's Mistake</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hannah.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Head of the Family</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> His Little Mother</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> John Halifax, Gentleman</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mistress and Maid</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Motherless. Translated. Illustrated</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Mother and I. Illustrated</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Nothing New</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Ogilvies</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Olive</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">Illustrated. 12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Laurel Bush. Illustrated</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Woman's Kingdom. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Two Marriages</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Unkind Word, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Mrs. Jardine</td><td align="right">12mo 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Mrs. Jardine</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td>NORRIS'S Heaps of Money</td><td align="right">15</td></tr> +<tr><td>OLIPHANT'S (Mrs.) Agnes</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Son of the Soil</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Athelings</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Brownlows</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Carità</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Chronicles of Carlingford</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Days of My Life</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> For Love and Life</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Harry Joscelyn</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> He That Will Not when He May</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Innocent. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> It was a Lover and His Lass</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> John: a Love Story</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Katie Stewart</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lady Jane</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lucy Crofton</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Madonna Mary</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miss Marjoribanks</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mrs. Arthur</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Ombra</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Phœbe, Junior</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Squire Arden</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Curate in Charge</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Fugitives</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Greatest Heiress in England</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The House on the Moor</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Laird of Norlaw</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Last of the Mortimers</td><td align="right">12mo 1 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Minister's Wife</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Perpetual Curate</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Primrose Path</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Quiet Heart</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Story of Valentine and his Brother</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Within the Precincts</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Young Musgrave</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td>PATRICK'S (Mary) Christine Brownlee's Ordeal</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Marjorie Bruce's Lovers</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mr. Leslie of Underwood</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td>PAYN'S (James) A Beggar on Horseback</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Confidential Agent</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Grape from a Thorn</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Woman's Vengeance</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> At Her Mercy</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Bred in the Bone</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> By Proxy</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Carlyon's Year</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Cecil's Tryst</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> For Cash Only</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Found Dead</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> From Exile</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Gwendoline's Harvest</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Halves</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> High Spirits</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Kit. Illustrated</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Less Black than We're Painted</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Murphy's Master</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> One of the Family</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Best of Husbands</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Under One Roof</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Walter's Word</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> What He Cost Her</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Won—Not Wooed</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td>READE'S Novels: Household Edition. Ill'd</td><td align="right">12mo, per vol. 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Simpleton and the Wandering</td></tr> +<tr><td> Heir.</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Terrible Temptation.</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Woman-Hater.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Foul Play.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Griffith Gaunt.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hard Cash.</td></tr> +<tr><td> It is Never Too Late to Mend.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Love me Little, Love me Long.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Peg Woffington, Christie Johnstone, &c.</td></tr> +<tr><td> Put Yourself in His Place.</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Cloister and the Hearth.</td></tr> +<tr><td> White Lies.</td></tr> +<tr><td>READE'S (Charles) A Hero and a Martyr</td><td align="right">15</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Simpleton</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Woman-Hater. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Foul Play</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hard Cash. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> It is Never Too Late to Mend</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Love Me Little, Love Me Long</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Multum in Parvo</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Peg Woffington, &c.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Cloister and the Hearth</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Jilt</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Wandering Heir. Illustrated</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> White Lies</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td>RICE & BESANT'S All Sorts and Conditions of Men</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> By Celia's Arbor. Illustrated</td><td align="right">8vo, Paper 50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Shepherds All and Maidens Fair</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> "So they were Married!" Illustrated</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Sweet Nelly, My Heart's Delight</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Captains' Room</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Chaplain of the Fleet</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Golden Butterfly</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td>'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> When the Ship Comes Home</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 25</td></tr> +<tr><td>ROBINSON'S (F. W.) A Bridge of Glass</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Girl's Romance, and Other Stories</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> As Long as She Lived</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Carry's Confession</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Christie's Faith</td><td align="right">12mo 1 75</td></tr> +<tr><td> Coward Conscience</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> For Her Sake. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Her Face was Her Fortune</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Kate Kirby. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Mattie: a Stray</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> No Man's Friend</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Othello the Second</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Poor Humanity</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Poor Zeph</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Romance on Four Wheels</td><td align="right">15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrated</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Stern Necessity</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Barmaid at Battleton</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Black Speck</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Hands of Justice</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Romance of a Back Street</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> True to Herself</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td>RUSSELL'S (W. Clarke) Auld Lang Syne</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 10</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Sailor's Sweetheart</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> A Sea Queen</td><td align="right">16mo, Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper</td></tr> +<tr><td> An Ocean Free Lance</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> My Watch Below</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The "Lady Maud:" Schooner Yacht. Ill'd</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Wreck of the "Grosvenor</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td>SHERWOOD'S (Mrs. John) A Transplanted Rose</td><td align="right">12mo, Cloth 1 00</td></tr> +<tr><td>TABOR'S (Eliza) Eglantine</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Hope Meredith</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Jeanie's Quiet Life</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> +<tr><td> Little Miss Primrose</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Meta's Faith</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> St. Olave's</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Blue Ribbon</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Last of Her Line</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td>THACKERAY'S (Miss) Bluebeard's Keys</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Da Capo</td><td align="right">32mo, Paper 20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miscellaneous Works</td><td align="right">90</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miss Angel.Illustrated.</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> Miss Williamson's Divagations</td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Old Kensington. Illustrated</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Village on the Cliff. Illustrated</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td>THACKERAY'S (W. M.) Denis Duval. Illustrated</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> +<tr><td> Henry Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 12 Illustrations</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> Henry Esmond</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right">4to, Paper 15</td></tr> +<tr><td> Lovel the Widower</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> Pendennis. 179 Illustrations</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Adventures of Philip. 64 Illustrations</td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Great Hoggarty Diamond</td><td align="right">20</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Newcomes. 162 Illustrations</td><td align="right">90</td></tr> +<tr><td> The Virginians. 150 Illustrations</td><td align="right">90</td></tr> +<tr><td> Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations</td><td align="right">80</td></tr> +<tr><td>THACKERAY'S Works: Household Edition</td><td align="right">12mo, per vol. 1 25</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> <i>Novels</i>: Vanity Fair.—Pendennis.—The Newcomes.—The +Virginians.—Philip.—Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 6 vols. Ill'd. +<i>Miscellaneous</i>: Barry Lyndon, Hoggarty Diamond, &c.—Paris and +Irish Sketch-Books, &c.—Book of Snobs, Sketches, &c.—Four +Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c.—Catharine, &c. 5 vols. Ill'd.</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> Thistle Edition: 48 Vols., Green Cloth, with 2000 Illustrations, $1 00 +per vol.; Half Morocco, Gilt Tops, $1 50 per vol.; Half Morocco, Extra, +$2 25 per vol.</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> Holyrood Edition: 48 Vols., Brown Cloth, with 2000 Illustrations, 75 +cents per vol.; Half Morocco, Gilt Tops, $1 50 per vol.; Half Morocco, +Extra, $2 25 per vol.</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> Popular Edition: 24 Vols. (two vols. in one), Green Cloth, with 2000 +Illustrations, $1 25 per vol.; Half Morocco, $2 25 per vol.; Half +Morocco, Extra, $3 00 per vol.</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2"> Waverley; Guy Mannering; The Antiquary; Rob Roy; Old Mortality; The +Heart of Mid-Lothian; A Legend of Montrose; The Bride of Lammermoor; The +Black Dwarf; Ivanhoe; The Monastery; The Abbot; Kenilworth; The Pirate; +The Fortunes of Nigel; Peveril of the Peak; Quentin Durward; St. Ronan's +Well; Redgauntlet; The Betrothed; The Talisman; Woodstock; Chronicles of +the Canongate, The Highland Widow, &c.; The Fair Maid of Perth; Anne of +Geierstein; Count Robert of Paris; Castle Dangerous; The Surgeon's +Daughter; Glossary.</td></tr> + +<tr><td>WOOLSON'S (C. F.)</td></tr> +<tr><td> Anne. Illustrated</td><td align="right">16mo, Cloth 1 25</td></tr> +<tr><td> For the Major. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth</td></tr> +<tr><td>YATES'S (Edmund)</td></tr> +<tr><td> Black Sheep.</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Kissing the Rod.</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Land at Last.</td><td align="right">40</td></tr> +<tr><td> Wrecked in Port.</td><td align="right">35</td></tr> +<tr><td> Dr. Wainwright's Patient.</td><td align="right">30</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">=>Harper & Brothers <i>will send any of the above works by mail, postage +prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price</i>.</td></tr> + +</table> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's For the Major, by Constance Fenimore Woolson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR THE MAJOR *** + +***** This file should be named 38792-h.htm or 38792-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/7/9/38792/ + +Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images available at The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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