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diff --git a/40331.txt b/40331.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1d4bca0..0000000 --- a/40331.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5729 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 1 of 3), by Robert Cleland - -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: A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 1 of 3) - -Author: Robert Cleland - -Release Date: July 25, 2012 [EBook #40331] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://www.archive.org/details/richmansrelative01clel - (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - - - A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES - - - - - - - PRESS NOTICES - - OF - - "INCHBRACKEN," - - A NOVEL BY R. CLELAND - - * * * - - _Westminster Review, October_, 1883. - -"Inchbracken" is a clever sketch of Scottish life and manners at the -time of the "Disruption," or great secession from the Established -Church of Scotland, which resulted in the formation of the Free -Church. The scene of the story is a remote country parish in the north -of Scotland, within a few miles of the highland line. The main -interest centres in the young Free Church minister and his sister and -their relations, on the one hand, with the enthusiastic supporters of -the Disruption movement, mostly of the peasant or small tradesmen -class, with a sprinkling of the smaller landowners; and, on the other -hand, with the zealous supporters of the Established Church, -represented by the Drysdales of Inchbracken, the great family of the -neighbourhood. The story is well and simply told, with many a quiet -touch of humour, founded on no inconsiderable knowledge of human -nature. - - _Academy, 27th October_, 1883. - -There is a great deal of solid writing in "Inchbracken," and they who -read it will hardly do so in vain. It is a story of the Disruption; -and it sets forth, with much pains and not a little spirit, the -humours and scandals of one of the communities affected by the event. -The main incident of the story has nothing to do with the Disruption, -it is true; but its personages are those of the time, and the uses to -which they are put are such as the Disruption made possible. Roderick -Brown, the enthusiastic young Free Church minister, finds on the -sea-shore after wreck and storm, a poor little human waif which the -sea has spared. He takes the baby home, and does his best for it. One -of his parishioners has lost her character, however; and as Roderick, -at the instigation of his beadle, the real author of her ruin, is good -enough to give her money and help, it soon becomes evident to -Inchbracken that he is the villain, and that the baby of the wreck is -the fruit of an illicit amour. How it ends I shall not say. I shall do -no more than note that the story of the minister's trials and the -portraitures--of elders and gossips, hags and maids and village -notables--with which it is enriched are (especially if you are not -afraid of the broadest Scotch, written with the most uncompromising -regard for the national honour) amusing and natural in no mean degree. - - W. E. HENLEY. - - _Athenaeum, 17th November_, 1883. - -"Inchbracken" will be found amusing by those who are familiar with -Scotch country life. The period chosen, the "Disruption time," is an -epoch in the religious and social life of Scotland, marking a revival, -in an extremely modified and not altogether genuine form, of the -polemic Puritanism of the early Presbyterians, and so furnishing a -subject which lends itself better to literary treatment than most -sides of Scottish life in this prosaic century. The author has a good -descriptive gift, and makes the most of the picturesque side of the -early Free Church meetings at which declaimers against Erastian -patronage posed in the attitude of the Covenanters of old. The story -opens on a stormy night when Roderick Brown, the young Free Church -minister of Kilrundle, is summoned on a ten-mile expedition to attend -a dying woman, an expedition which involves him in all the troubles -which form the subject of the book. The patient has nothing on her -mind of an urgent character. "No, mem! na!" says the messenger. - -"My granny's a godly auld wife, tho' maybe she's gye fraxious whiles, -an' money's the sair paikin' she's gi'en me; gin there was ocht to -confess she kens the road to the Throne better nor maist. But ye see -there's a maggit gotten intil her heid an' she says she bent to -testifee afore she gangs hence." - -The example of Jenny Geddes has been too much for the poor old -woman:-- - -"Ay, an' I'm thinkin' it's that auld carline, Jenny Geddes, 'at's -raised a' the fash! My granny gaed to hear Mester Dowlas whan he -preached among the whins down by the shore, an' oh, but he was bonny! -An' a graand screed o' doctrine he gae us. For twa hale hours he -preached an expundet an' never drew breath for a' the wind was -skirlin', an' the renn whiles skelpin' like wild. An' I'm thinkin' my -granny's gotten her death o' ta'. But oh! an' he was grand on Jenny -Geddes! an' hoo she up wi' the creepie am' heved it a the Erastian's -heid. An' my granny was just fairly ta'en wi't a', an' she vooed she -beut to be a mither in Israel tae, an' whan she gaed hame she out wi' -the auld hugger 'at she keeps the bawbees in, aneath the hearthstane, -for to buy a creepie o' her ain,--she thocht a new ane wad be best for -the Lord's wark,--an' she coupet the chair whaur hung her grave -claes,' at she airs fonent the fire ilika Saturday at e'en, 'an out -there cam a lowe, an' scorched a hole i' the windin' sheet, an' noo, -puir body, we'll hae to hap her in her muckle tartan plaid. An' -aiblins she'll be a' the warmer e'y moulds for that. But, however, she -says the sheet was weel waur'd, for the guid cause. An' syne she took -til her bed, wi' a sair host, an' sma' winder, for there was a weet -daub whaur she had been sittin' amang the whins. An' noo the host's -settled on her that sair, she whiles canna draw her breath. Sae she -says she maun let the creepie birlin' slide, but she beut to testifee -afore some godly minister or she gangs hence. An' I'm fear'd, sir, ye -maun hurry, for she's real far through." - -The excuse for this long extract must be its excellence as a specimen -of a long-winded statement, just such as a Scotch fisher boy would -make when once the ice was broken. Not less idiomatic is the interview -between Mrs. Boague, the shepherd's wife, and Mrs. Sangster "of -Auchlippie," the great lady of the congregation, when the latter has -had her painful experience of mountain climbing, till rescued by the -"lug and the horn" at the hands of her spiritual pastor. Other good -scenes are the meeting of the two old wives in mutches an the brae -side, and the final discomfiture of the hypocritical scamp Joseph -Smiley by his mother-in-law, Tibbie Tirpie, who rights her daughter's -wrongs and the minister's reputation by a capital _coup de main_. Of -more serious interest, though full of humour, are the trials the -excellent Roderick endures at the hands of his kirk session. Ebenezer -Prittie and Peter Malloch are types of many an elder minister and -ministers' wives have had to groan under, and the race is not extinct. -But all who are interested in such specimens of human nature should -refer to Mr. Cleland, who knows his countrymen as well as he can -describe his country. - - - - - * * * * * - - Select Novels by Popular Authors. - - _Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. each_. - - By Florence Marryat. - - MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. - A BROKEN BLOSSOM. - PHYLLIDA. - THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. - FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. - - By Annie Thomas. - - ALLERTON TOWERS. - FRIENDS AND LOVERS. - EYRE OF BLENDON. - - - By Mrs. Eiloart. - - THE DEAN'S WIFE. - SOME OF OUR GIRLS. - - - By Lady Constance Howard. - - SWEETHEART AND WIFE. - MOLLIE DARLING. - - - By the Author of "Recommended to Mercy." - - BARBARA'S WARNING. - - - By Mrs. Alexander Fraser. - - A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. - - - By Harriett Jay. - - TWO MEN AND A MAID. - - - - - - - A - - RICH MAN'S RELATIVES. - - - - BY - - R. CLELAND, - - AUTHOR OF "INCHBRACKEN." - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_. - - VOL. I. - - - - - LONDON: - - F. V. WHITE AND CO., - - 31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. - - 1885. - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS; - AND MIDDLE MILL KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - - CONTENTS - - * * * - - CHAP. - - I.--How his Relations vexed the Rich Man. - - II.--Steadfast Mary. - - III.--Little Arcadia. - - IV.--"Ouff." - - V.--Fidele. - - VI.--The Misses Stanley. - - VII.--The Desolate Mother. - - VIII.--Ralph. - - IX.--At St. Euphrase. - - X.--Ten Years Later. - - XI.--Mahomet and Kadijah. - - XII.--A Garden Tea. - - XIII.--On Account of Strawberries. - - - - - A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - HOW HIS RELATIONS VEXED THE RICH MAN. - - -One evening early in July, 1858, there might have been seen through -the railings of a villa in a suburban street of Montreal, if only the -thick shrubbery leaves would have permitted the view, a lady--Miss -Judith Herkimer, to wit--seated in a quiet corner of the verandah, and -partially concealed by the clusters of a wisteria trained to the -pillar against which she leaned. Miss Judith had entered on that -uninteresting middle time of life, when, though youth with its graces -is undeniably of the past, the grey hairs which may perchance intrude -among the brown, are not yet a crown of honour; the bloom and the -promise of life are over, but the pathetic dignity of retrospect, with -its suggestions of what has or what might have been, which make age -beautiful, are not yet arrived. It was the sear and dusty afternoon -stage of her pilgrimage and her spinsterhood, and there was a shade of -severity in her aspect, as though living had grown into something to -be struggled with and endured--the season for duty to a serious mind, -seeing that the time for enjoyment is manifestly gone by. - -The flatness with which her hair was laid upon her temples, and then -drawn back tightly without wave or pad to the apex of her head, and -secured in the form of an onion, left no doubt as to the seriousness -of Miss Judith's mind, while the severe ungracefulness of her dress -argued an ascetic tendency of that aggressive kind which says, -"Brother, I would fast, therefore you shall go without your dinner"--a -person tiresome rather than bad, but with the long chin of that -obstinacy which can be so provoking when the understanding and -imagination are too narrow to perceive the true relation of things. - -On the lawn before her stood a mulatto lad of about eighteen, dressed -in the white linen suit of a house servant, and with a long apron -suspended from his neck, as though he had been called from his -glass-washing in the pantry. - -"You say, Miss Judith," he was saying, while he pulled the apron -through his fingers with a puzzled look, "dat I b'long to myself and -not to de cu'nel as owns me? Den w'y dis house as you owns not b'long -to me too?" - -"Because property in our fellow-men is not recognized in this free -country, Cato. But you cannot be expected to understand these -intricate questions all at once. Patience and humility, Cato! Now for -your reading. Have you got your book? Ah! yes. Here is the place. What -does r a t read?" - -"Cat! Miss Judy." - -"Fie! Cato. _C a t_ is cat. That is _rat!_ Begins with an R. You see?" - -"'Cep' de cat hab done gone eaten de rat. Den whaar will he be, Miss -Judy? All cat after dat! I reckon." - -"Cato, you are foolish! Now, attend!" - -"Cato," said another voice from the background, "go to your pantry and -assist Bridget with her tea-things," and Miss Herkimer stepped out on -the verandah from a window not far off. Miss Herkimer was a good many -years older than her sister, but she admitted the fact that she was -elderly, and did not seem to find it interfere with her comfort. Her -hair was white, and hung in curls over her temples, and the folds of -her black silk gown had a free and contented swing which refreshed the -eye after the pinched exactness of Miss Judith's costume. - -"Gerald and his friend have moved into the smoking-room with their -cigars, and as the windows are open I was afraid your instructions -might be overheard; and then, Judith, there would be a commotion which -you would regret." - -"We must think what is right, Susan, do it, and never mind the -consequences." - -"It cannot be right to interfere between our brother Gerald and his -servant. If the customs in his country are different from ours, that -cannot be helped. He follows his own, and while he is our guest, it is -not for us to disturb." - -"Think of the iniquity of slavery, Susan--that that young man should -be held in bondage, in this free Canada! It seems awful. Look at him, -and deny if you can that he is a man and a brother!" - -"I have no objection whatever to admit his being a man and brother, -but I certainly should not like to have to call him _nephew!_ And that -is what it may come to if you provoke Gerald. You know how violent he -can be when he is roused, and if he thought we were tampering with his -negro, or attempting an abolitionist scheme, he is capable even -of--_adopting_ him, we will call it--and leaving him his whole -fortune." - -"Do you think so? That would be most unprincipled conduct on his -part." - -"I know he is quite capable of it; and besides, Judith, I think you -are unnecessarily scrupulous about that ugly word 'slavery.' It really -seems not so bad a thing after all, come to see it in action. Gerald, -now, is extremely kind to the boy--spoils him, indeed, with -indulgence, and makes him do very little work. How much better he is -off than Stephen's foot-boy, with a pony to mind and the garden to -weed when he is not splitting wood or acting butler in the house. It -is Stephen's boy who is the slave, to my thinking. Again, I heard -Gerald say he refused two thousand dollars for him from a barber in -New Orleans. He is quite a valuable boy, and you would tempt him to -leave his master!" - -"Two thousand dollars for a black boy? Why! Stephen's white boy gets -only ten dollars a month and some clothes. Does it not seem -extravagant, now, to have so much money tied up in one negro?--and -sinful? How much good might be done with that money if the boy were -realized! One like Stephen's at ten dollars a month could do his -work--it seems to be only shaving his master, and after that to do -what he is bid--and the rest of the money might do such very great -good. Five hundred dollars might be given to African missions to -enlighten his pagan fellow-countrymen, and would carry the truth to so -many!--and still there would be money over to do much good." - -"And how do you propose to realize a negro boy, sister, except by -selling him to another slave owner? And what about the man and -brother?" - -"True, Susan! Quite true. I admit the force of your objection. -It is another illustration of the mystery our good rector dwelt -upon so touchingly last Sunday, that good and evil walk the earth -hand-in-hand. A solemn thought! But in this case it really seems to me -that the boy's bondage would be well compensated. He is a slave -already, you must remember--has no idea what liberty means--and five -hundred dollars would bring so many darkened savages within the -influence of gospel light. If the poor ignorant creature knew enough -to understand, I am sure he would rejoice to think that so slight a -change in his own circumstances would bring so vast a benefit to his -benighted brethren." - -"And you'd still be fifteen hundred dollars to the good, Judith. Quite -an _operation_ in another man's niggers! Ha, ha! Godliness is -profitable! That's sound evangelical doctrine! Ha, ha, ha!" - -These words rang forth in a discordant voice from a neighbouring -window, the Venetians of which were now pushed open. - -The ladies gasped and turned round in dismay. As they had grown -earnest in their conversation their voices had been rising to the -pitch at which they could not but be heard without eaves-dropping, and -they had been overheard. - -Within the window, which was open, stood the "Gerald" of whom they had -been discoursing--a tall square-framed man, but sadly wasted and -collapsed under prolonged attacks of malarial fever. He was between -fifty and sixty years of age, with features which had once been stern -and resolute, but now, under the stress of continued ill-health, had -grown querulous and peevish in their expression. He had gone to -Louisiana some thirty years before to push his fortune. From -French-speaking Lower Canada to French-understanding Louisiana seemed -less of an expatriation than to English New York or California, and -such Frenchness as he was able to bring--he was English-born after -all, and only Canadian by education--had prepossessed the Louisianians -in his favour. He had pushed his fortune--married the heiress of a -valuable plantation near Natchez, where he had resided ever since--and -amassed wealth. He had lost, however, his wife, his child, and -latterly his good-health; and at last had been compelled to return to -his friends in the North to give his shattered constitution a last -chance to shake off the creeping agues which were dragging him to the -grave. He had been a year already under his sisters' roof, greatly to -his own worriment; for between his fever fits and the prostration -which followed them, there would intervene hours of restless -irritability, when it seemed to him that his affairs were entangling -themselves into a knot of hopeless confusion, deprived as they were of -the master's eye which alone sees clearly. - -"What do you think of that, major?" Gerald continued, turning to his -companion who was gnawing the end of a very large cigar--a tall sallow -man with a much waxed and pointed black moustache and goatee, and an -exuberant display of jewellery in his shirt front. "Who in Natchez -would expect to find me summering in a nest of blazing abolitionists? -Better say nothing when you get home, or I may have to settle with the -vigilance committee when I go back." - -"I did not expect it, colonel," said the major, pulling down his -waistcoat and looking dignified. "Among fanatical Yankees I reckon on -hearing the institootions of my country vilified, and so I give sech -cattle a wide berth; but here, on British terri-tory, I expected some -liberality. Bless my soul! trying to corrupt your servant under your -very nose!" - -The ladies had withdrawn in confusion under their brother's first -attack, or civility to his hostesses must have kept the major silent. -At the same time he felt outraged. To think that he, one of the most -"high-toned" men of his neighbourhood, and with the very soundest -Southern principles, should have been trapped into a den of -lowlived--it was always "lowlived"--abolitionism! His friend Herkimer -too, had always passed for a "high-toned gentleman" of sound -principles when in Natchez, and to find him the member of such a -family was inexpressibly shocking. - -"Yes," said Herkimer, "it is bad--shows what fools women can be when -they don't know, and swallow all the rant that gets into print. After -that they think they know so much that they won't believe a word those -who could tell them can say. If my boy, Cato, now, had not been an -extra good nigger, these sisters of mine would have made him leave me -long ago. When his mother, Amanda, died, I promised her I would always -keep him about myself--and he does, I will say, understand my little -ways--or I never would have ventured to bring him to Canada; but the -fact is, the boy's fond of me, and won't leave me, say what they like. -Still it provokes a man to see his property being tampered with. Then, -too, my sister Judith feels it her dooty, she says, to speak to me -about the sinfulness of having property in human beings. I ask her to -prove that they _are_ human, but she just rolls her eyes and looks -solemn. She calls her talk 'a word in season,' but she chooses the -most unseasonable times to hold forth; generally when my chill is -coming on, and the long yawn creeping up my back that we all know, -when I don't feel man enough to say 'bo' to a goose. My wig! If I -could I'd say more than 'bo' to Judith. She holds on steady till I -begin to grow blue and my teeth chatter, then I pull the bell for Cato -to bring more blankets, and he--good lad--always sends her away, first -tiling. Susan bothers too--money, generally--but I'm free to allow she -has more gumption than Judith. Old maids both. That's a sort of -critter we don't have down Natchez way. There they marry. Reckon you -never saw any before, major? Pecoolier, ain't they?" - -"The ladies are your sisters, colonel. Estimable, I doubt not; but -they do not understand our Southern institootions." - -"Talking of understanding, major, do you see much of my nephew, Ralph? -When he went down to the plantation I gave him a letter to you, as -being my nearest neighbour, and a good friend. I told him he might -place implicit reliance on your opinion in any case of doubt which -might arise. The overseers are men whom I could trust to make a crop -if I was on the spot myself; but of course the young man had to learn, -and circumstances were sure to arise in which your advice would be -most val'able. Do you see him often?" - -Major Considine--I omitted to mention his name earlier, and I may now -add by way of making amends for the neglect, that the "_major_" was a -prefix of courtesy conferred by his neighbours to describe his social -status and the extent of his possessions; Herkimer's colonelcy was of -the same kind, but the higher rank implied a larger holding in land -and negroes--Major Considine coughed dryly, drew himself up, and -looked sallower if possible than his wont, while his eyes sought the -ground. - -"I have seen your nephew, sir," he said, "frequently. When he came -down first I invited him to come and see me, and treated him in all -respects as I would any other gentleman, your friend; but I am bound -to own that lately we have not met;" and he gave the waxed points of -his moustache a further twirl with something of an aggrieved air, as -if to intimate that while he had done _his_ part unimpeachably, he had -reason to complain of the way in which his advances had been met. - -Herkimer frowned and threw away his cigar. "Fact is, major," he said, -"I have a letter from Taine. Taine has been my overseer for a good -many years, as you know, and I have found him a good man. He talks of -leaving my employment at the end of the year, and asks me to send him -a letter stating my satisfaction with him during the years he has been -overseeing for me. I can well do that, but I'd hate to lose him. Good -overseers are scarce. He complains that Ralph has discharged one of -the assistant overseers against his wish, that he interferes with the -field work, and has damaged ten of the hands to the extent of two or -three hundred dollars apiece, and the crop prospect is reduced by -forty or fifty bales. He says that his character for getting more -bales to the hand than any other overseer in the section is at stake, -and he has concluded, if I feel unable to return to the plantation, -that he will leave. What do you think of it?" - -"Not at all surprised, sir; Taine is not to be blamed. Mr. Ralph -Herkimer came to me shortly after he had discharged that assistant you -mention, to ask my advice. It seems they had met accidentally -immediately after the discharge, in some saloon, and Mister Ralph -Herkimer being ignorant, it appears, that in our glorious land of -freedom all white men are equal, had put on some of his plantation -airs. He has those plantation airs mighty strong, having, as you say -yourself, knocked three or four thousand dollars off the value of your -field gangs, by nothing but whipping--clear unmerciful whipping, they -do say around Natchez. Waal, his tale was a good deal mixed, and I -don't pretend to know the rights, but it seems the discharged overseer -asked him to drink, to show he bore no spite. Mr. Ralph Herkimer -refused, said something about white trash, and flung the liquor in his -face. The overseer drew his pistol, and would have fired, but the -folks in the bar-room interfered to protect an unarmed man, and so Mr. -Ralph Herkimer rode safe home, and shortly after arriving there -received a hostile message. He rode over to see me with the letter in -his hand, and that is how I come to know the circumstance, colonel. -And let me add, sir, that though I fear no man living, I would not -have pained your feelin's by alluding to it, if you had not made it -necessary yourself, by bringing up the subject. The young man showed -me his letter of defiance, and I spoke to him, as an older man and a -gentleman, I hope, colonel, should speak to your nephew on such an -occasion. He said he was indignant at being addressed in that style by -a common fellow, and that where there was no equality there could be -no claim to satisfaction. I pointed out to him that under the -constitootion of our State all white men are equal, and that we, the -first families, were always scrupulously courteous to our poorer -neighbours, that being the only way to hold the community together. We -want their help often, I told him, as at election times, in case of -jury trials, when their goodwill goes farther to gain a verdict than -all the blathering of the lawyers; and in case of serious trouble with -the hands we can always depend on a white man, and it is well worth -our while to accord him such equality as he can understand. Our first -families, I told him, yield all that cheerfully, and find they can -still be exclusive enough. As he had gone so far, I assured him he -must fight, which after all would be a high compliment to the poor -devil, and would make him--your nephew--popular with the meaner sort, -which he would find profitable at an election, if by-and-by he were to -naturalize and go into politics. I offered to undertake the management -of the whole affair, and you are aware, colonel, I have some -experience. I even showed him my French case of spring triggers, and -my new patent Colt's revolvers, in case he had any preference as to -arms, the choice resting with him; and--would you believe it, -sir?--but really, really I dare not call up the blush of shame -on your honourable features. The--this young man--declined my offer -with thanks! He said it did not become him as a gentleman to go -cut-throating with common fellows. I suggested that it was often -nothing but a reverse of fortune which turned a gentleman into an -assistant overseer. Then he said that bloodshed on account of a -trifling misunderstanding was against his principles, when I replied -that he must have mistaken Mississippi for Pennsylvania, and warned -him that if he did not fight when it was put upon him, he would be -insulted every time he appeared outside his own plantation. Then he -asked me to use my good offices to accommodate things, but I explained -to him that I could only meet the class to which his adversary -belonged, either to fight them or to order them what they should do. -After that Mr. Ralph Herkimer grew sulky--I thought at one time he was -going to be offensive--but the pistol cases stood open on the table, -and the gentleman don't like firearms I think; anyhow, he simmered -down. I believe he ended by apologizing to the assistant overseer for -not drinking his liquor; but I do know, I have never spoken to Mr. -Ralph Herkimer since." - -"I don't blame you, major," said Herkimer. "The young man is not what -my father's grandson ought to be. He won't do for Mississippi, that's -clear; and I ain't going to let Taine leave me on account of him. I -was wise to let him go down for the first year alone, leaving his wife -and child here till he knew how he liked it. He had better come home -again, for _I_ don't like it, whether he does or no. I had meant him -to succeed me down there, major; but the man who first pays off -overseers and then apologizes to them cannot do that. He is my only -brother Stephen's only son. It is disappointing. My two sisters, whom -you have seen, would not do for planteresses in Mississippi; but I -have another sister yet--young, major, and handsome--my half-sister; -just about the age of Ralph. She might be made my heiress, and if she -marries as I would wish, she shall! I need not conceal the truth from -myself, major. The doctors have as good as told me I shall never -return to Mississippi. You have not seen her yet, Considine, this -sister of mine, Mary. She is just about the age of Jeanne de Beaulieu -when I married her--poor Jeanne!--not unlike her, and quite as -handsome. Strange, would it not be, if Beaulieu went with an heiress -again? Here comes Cato to call us into the drawing-room for tea. We'll -go, Considine, if you have finished your cigar; and--who knows?--we -may see Mary." - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - STEADFAST MARY. - - -It was late in November. The screen of foliage which hid the villa -from the road had grown thin, changing to all gay colours, and -dropping leaf by leaf. Old Gerald's health had not improved. The clear -autumnal airs had failed to invigorate his fever-worn system, or brace -it into vigour. They only chilled him, and forced him to keep his -room. - -The light was fading out of a grey and lifeless afternoon--one of -those days when all things are possible, rain, frost, snow, or even a -revulsion into the sunshine of a last brief remnant of St. Martin's -summer, and yet nothing happens. Gerald sat by the window in his easy -chair, wrapped in a thick dressing-gown and buried under many rugs. -His letters lay at his elbow unread, and the _New Orleans Picayune_ -was on his lap, but he was too listless to look into its contents. His -eyes were turned towards the road, and he watched with as much -impatience as his torpid faculties were capable of feeling. - -"There she is at last!" he muttered after a while. "Glad! She is all -the company I have now, or can expect while I am kept indoors. Susan -and Judith don't count in that way, even if they tried to be -agreeable, which they don't. The one is for ever bothering about my -negroes and my soul, the other about my money. What have I done that -they should imagine they may puzzle their foolish heads over me and my -affairs, or wag their cackling tongues. I am sick, and want nursing, -so they take me for a child? Think of me, who consult no one, being -advised by _them!_ But never mind, here is little Mary. She is always -good company, and she never bothers." - -"But who is the fellow walking with her? Big and strapping. Fair hair, -whiskers and moustache--not bad to look at, but seems most -unnecessarily eager in his attentions. Wonder who he is. Carrying her -music? Very proper; but he need not linger so long before letting go -her hand. Mary shouldn't let him--looks particular--the major would -not like that." - -Presently Mary entered the room. She was flushed, or perhaps the air -had heightened her complexion and brightened her eyes, which shone -like stars; and there were smiles lingering about her lips, in wait, -as it were, to break forth again on the first pretext. - -"Your walk has done you good," said Gerald. "Where have you been? I -have been wearying for you to come home; but now one sees you, it is -impossible to grudge your short constitutional, you are so brightened -up by it. I wish Considine was here to see you." - -"I have been at choir-practising. I promised to take the solo in -Sunday's anthem, and have been trying it over. The booming of the -organ through the empty church rouses, one, I think. I generally feel -brighter after it, and that may account for my looking so cheerful as -you say." - -"And who is the gentleman who carried home your music?" - -"That is Mr. Selby, our organist. A splendid player. If you had not -been such an invalid, you would have known both his playing and -himself ere now." - -"It would seem that you know him very well; and to see you walking -together one would have said that he knows you very well too. You -appear quite intimate, and yet I have never seen him here." - -"No. Susan will not let him be invited to the house. She says his is -not a recognized profession. As if a successful musician were not -better than a bungling doctor or notary! It has something to do with -the _line_ which she says must be drawn--between wholesale and retail, -for instance--if Montreal is to have a Society. A ridiculous line, it -seems to me, which excludes many wealthy and accomplished people as -traders, while it lets in poor Stephen and his wife, with her -superfluous h's, because his little business in needles and pins is -wholesale, seeing that he never sells less than a thousand at a time." - -"Mrs. Stephen is my sister-in-law, and may do with her h's what she -pleases. It is not her fault if she was born in the British -metropolis, and if Stephen is not in opulent circumstances, it is just -because it has so happened. I have known many high-toned families who -were but in a small way _pecooniarily_ speaking. I am surprised to -hear you run Stephen and his family down, though I confess I have been -disappointed myself in his son Ralph." - -"I don't run them down; but why should they be so particular about -others? It was Mrs. Stephen who said to Susan that an organist wasn't -'genteel,'--Mrs. Stephen, who doesn't know one tune from another--and -so Mr. Selby has never been asked to the house. And then Judith chimed -in with her 'higher grounds.' She says that good music is a snare and -device of the High Church party, and that you got on very well without -it long ago in the old church at Stoke-upon-Severn. A funny church it -must have been." - -"So it was, and I reckon you would not have liked it. The village -joiner and the bellows mender played the clarionet and the bassoon in -a little loft over the squire's pew, while the blacksmith's daughter -sang the hymns, and the schoolmaster as clerk said the responses out -loud before the people. But the world has changed since then. Yes! I -daresay an organist might do as well to invite as anybody else. But -what does it matter? What do you want with an organist? You have no -organ." - -"I like to be able to invite my friends just as other people do. If -you knew him, Gerald, you would like him." - -"I dare say. There are many people one would like if one knew them. -Yet if one does not, it seems of little consequence, there are so many -others. If you lived in Natchez, now, you would not see much of your -Canadian friends. You would make friends down there, and very -high-toned and elegant you would find them." - -"Natchez, Gerald? What should I be doing there?" - -"Doing? Living, of course; surrounded by every elegance that money and -the best society can secure. If I live and get well, it is my -intention to carry you back with me, and make you mistress of the -Beaulieu estate--de Bully they call it for short. In case I do not, -and I can see the doctor has not much hope of my recovery, I have -willed the place and all my property to you. Don't stare, Mary. It is -so. I feel it a duty to provide a good mistress for those helpless -creatures who are dependent on me, and you, I am satisfied, will be -that. I have tried Ralph, as you know, and have found him unfit to -take my place. You are the only other member of the family who could -go there. You will marry, and the plantation will prosper. Treat the -poor creatures kindly, Mary. But I know you will, and Considine is an -excellent manager. His place adjoins ours. You will have the finest -estate for miles on that part of the river." - -"Oh! This seems very strange to me." - -"You will get used to it in time. But to tell you the truth, I did not -think the idea would be altogether new to you. I did not think -Considine would have been so backward. He must be hard hit to be so -diffident of his success in taking a girl's fancy. Has he said nothing -to you?" - -"It would have been strange in Major Considine to have divulged your -testamentary intentions. You surely do not think he would speculate to -me about your chances of recovery, or what you would do with your -property. I should have stopped him at once if he had mooted the -subject, you may be sure." - -"I did not suppose that he had divulged my intentions, but I think it -is about time that he had declared his own. After visiting here so -constantly all through the summer, and keeping you singing by the hour -to him downstairs in the drawing-room, he has surely made himself -understood. Still, I wonder he has not spoken. Not that I have a right -to complain, he has declared himself plainly enough to _me_, or you -may be sure I would have put a stop to his visits long ago. Still I -wonder at his backwardness. Where are you running to, Mary? Has he -said nothing?" - -"I want to take off my things," said Mary, her face aflame with -blushes. - -"Tell me before you go. What has he said? Tell me! There is his ring -at the front door. I must speak to him." - -"I don't know. But better say nothing," cried Mary in evident -confusion, escaping from the room. - -Gerald would have recalled her, but the major's heavy step was already -audible on the stairs. He could only throw himself back in his chair -with an impatient snort. - -"Colonel!" said Considine, entering, "I come to make you my -_adieux_"--'adoos' is how he pronounced it, the Major was certainly -not French. "What orders for Taine at the plantation? Any commands for -any one down there? I shall be pleased to be your messenger. I see by -the Memphis paper there was a slight touch of frost the other night, -so the sickly season is over, and I can safely go home to look after -my affairs. They want looking into, I reckon, after five months' -absence. I have to thank you for the very pleasant summer I have put -in here." - -"Do you mean it, major? Going right off? I have reckoned on your being -here till the New Year." - -"The call to go home has come sudden, colonel, but I reckon I had best -obey it." - -"And what about our plan to join the plantations?" - -"I'm agreeable, colonel--anxious I should say; but if the lady ain't, -what can I do?" - -"You don't know, major, till you try. I reckon a sister of mine ain't -just like a ripe persimmon, to drop in a man's mouth before he shakes -the tree." - -"Shakes the tree, colonel? There ain't no man ever shook the tree -harder than I did. I shook in both my shoes for a mortal hour before I -could steady my voice--that shook too--enough to say what I wanted. -All the time I was trying, the lady was diverting herself with her -singing. French songs, and I-talian songs, full of all kind of rare -fandangoes, like a mocking bird in a cherry tree. I couldn't get a -word in endways for ever so long, and when I did, at last, she just -stopped and looked at me out of her eyes. And when I got through, she -said 'Oh! Mr. Considine, it's all a mistake. You have misunderstood, -and I don't understand. I am quite sure I cannot say what you desire, -so we will suppose that you have not asked me to, and that nothing has -been said at all, and we will agree never to recur to the subject.' -And then she asked me if I did not think the last movement in the song -she had been singing very effective, and the bravura passage at the -end powerfully written. By-and-by I got away. You may suppose she did -not play a great deal more music, and that I had got about enough for -that time. I ain't a widower, colonel, as you know; I never was -refused before, and I never backed out of an engagement, so you may -say that I have no experience in these matters; but it appears to me -that the young lady knows her own mind, and there is no use in my -speaking to her again." - -"But she didn't know about the joining our plantations then. I had -only just done explaining that to her when you came in, and she ran -out, which shows that she ain't indifferent to the idea, as who in -their senses could be? The two will make a mighty pretty property, and -you and Mary will look well at the head of it, and raise a fine family -to come after you. She did not know she was heir to my property when -she took you down that time. Ha, ha, major! It makes me laugh to think -of it. You that so long have been boss of the range, and had only to -beckon to fetch any gal in all the country--you to come all the way to -Canada to be took down by a gal that didn't know she had a dollar to -her name!" - -"Sir, the subject of your jests is not a pleasant one. Let us pass -on." - -"I ask your pardon, major. No offence was intended; but if you will -speak to Mary now, I am willing to bet any money her answer will be -different. A man of experience should not mind every word a young -woman says, when it is about marrying. It is the one time in life she -is let have her head, and we must not blame her for taking it, just at -first. Trust me, she has thought better of it already. Try again." - -"It would be useless, colonel." - -"Don't give in, sir! If the gal and the plantation are to your liking, -that is." - -"I think a mighty deal of the lady, sir; and would be fain to repeat -my offer, even if she were as much without fortune as she believed -herself to be last night; but I do not see my way to doing so after -what has passed between us, the more so that now my fortune--a mighty -neat one though it be--will count for less than before, seeing she -knows now how well you have provided for her." - -"I believe that will influence her the other way. However, it is -reasonable you should want to halt and take breath before returning to -the attack. This is a disappointment to me, but I won't cry beat yet, -if you are still minded to persevere. Let me speak to her, and I will -write to you. Now the ice has been broken between you, you will be -able to take up the subject by letter." Considine shortly took his -leave, and Gerald awaited the return of Mary, who did not appear till -Cato had been sent to hammer on her chamber door and request her -presence. - -"Is this true," said Gerald, when she at length entered the room, -"which I hear of you? Have you really gone and said 'No' to -Considine's proposal? Do you know that he owns a hundred and fifty -head of the likeliest niggers in all the Mississippi Valley, besides -land and sundries?--nigh on two hundred thousand dollars, and no -debts. What do you expect to be able to catch if Considine ain't good -enough for you?" - -"I didn't say he was not good enough. He deserves a better wife than I -could make him, and I believe he will have no difficulty in finding -her." - -"But it is in you he thinks he has found her, Mary! Don't be foolish, -you are not likely ever to get a better offer, or another half as -good. The man is steady and well off, a kind man and a perfect -gentleman. What more would you have?" - -"I do not want more, Gerald! But then I do not want--him." - -"What is your objection to him? Is it his appearance, or his temper, -or what? Is he not passably well-looking?" - -"I would almost call him handsome." - -"Does he not succeed in making himself sufficiently agreeable to you? -I can assure you, at any rate, that you have succeeded in being -agreeable to him. He says he would be fain to get you if you had not a -cent to your name. Can a man say more than that?" - -"I do not know that he can." - -"Then what is your fault to him?" - -"I find no fault with him. On the contrary----" - -"Then why won't you marry him?" - -"Because I could not like him in that way." - -"What can a girl like you know about the marrying way?" - -"I know that I could not marry Mr. Considine." - -"Why? Is there some one else?" - -Mary's face flushed hotly and her eyes fell. - -"Ha! Have I caught you? You are engaged already? Why did you never -tell? Surely you might have trusted your big brother. You never saw me -till the other day, it is true, but we have been fast friends for -twelve months now, have we not, Mary? Why did you never tell me?" And -he drew her towards him as he spoke, and kissed her on the forehead. -"Think I feel no interest in my future heir?" - -"Because, Gerald, you do not know him. How could I tell you?" - -"Tell me now, then, dear. Who is he?" - -"You must find out," she answered with a watery smile and changing -colour. "Girls are not expected to say such things, because they -cannot." - -"You say I do not know him? Have I seen him?" - -"Yes." - -"Do I know him by sight? Or have I seen him recently?" - -"Yes, very recently indeed--as recently as could be." - -"What? Then--you do not say? But it cannot be, Mary?" - -There was a self-convicted look in Mary's face which pleaded guilty to -the unspoken indictment. - -"Do you really mean--but no, you cannot mean your friend the -organist?" - -Mary bowed her head in silence and looked expectantly in her brother's -face, till his rising colour and the gathering frown left no doubt as -to his reception of her tidings; then she removed her eyes with a -heavy sigh and let them fall on the carpet. - -"You cannot mean it, Mary? You!--my father's daughter!--my sister!--to -engage yourself to marry a kind of fiddler!" - -"He is _not_ a fiddler, in your sense, Gerald, although he can play -the violin, and indeed most other instruments. He is a cultured -person, and has his university degree--Bachelor of Music--while few of -those who try to look down on him have had the chance even to get -plucked for one, having never gone to college at all." - -"He plays tunes at any rate in a church loft on Sundays for a living. -Is that a fit occupation for the man who would marry my sister?" - -"Remember the great composers, Gerald. More than one of them was a -chapelmaster, which is just an organist." - -"The great fiddlesticks! If you had seen them in their lifetime in -their frowzy little German houses and dirty linen, with their wives -cooking their dinner, such as it was, for there was little enough at -times to put in the pot, you would think less of their greatness. What -good is the greatness which is not found out till after you are dead? -A great fortune! That is the only greatness a sensible woman will -marry to." - -"Shame, Gerald! You do not mean what you say. You have been married -yourself, and I know you loved and honoured your wife. Do you mean now -to say that your wife was a fool because she married you when you were -not rich? Or is it that she was mercenary and married you for your -money?" - -"Tush! Mary. You never saw poor Jeanne, so you cannot speak about her. -The beautiful darling!" Gerald's voice grew husky here, and there was -some coughing before he could resume. - -"No! She was not mercenary, and she was not a fool. She married me -when I was a poor man because we loved one another, and she did not -think about money. But if she had, it was not an unwise thing, as it -turned out, which she did in marrying me, for I managed her property -successfully, and more than doubled its value." - -"Then why will you doubt that another woman--and she your own -sister--may love as well, or that the man she intrusts her future to, -may be as well able as you were to take care of it? Mr. Selby has a -great many pupils, and can very well maintain a wife." - -"A wife, I dare say, but not my sister. It is true my property which I -intend you to have is far more than Jeanne had when she married me; -but I was able to take care of her and of what she had, and the -property throve in my hands. An organist is different. What could such -as he do with a gang of unruly niggers? It needs a clear business head -and a strong arm to make plantation property pay." - -"He does not aspire to your property, Gerald. He does not know of it, -and with his feelings I am not sure that he would consent to become a -slave-owner." - -"Not consent, eh? Never fear. His consent will not be asked, for mine -shall never be given to his owning my negroes. Slave-owning forsooth! -No. Let him manage his chest of whistles. I have no right and no wish -to dictate to you, though I would dearly like to see you marry -Considine; but at least I can make sure, and I will, that your -insidious organ-grinder shall never benefit a cent by my money, I -promise you that, and I shall alter my will accordingly." - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - LITTLE ARCADIA. - - -Four years later, and summer once more. Again it is in a suburban -garden, not a very extensive one, but nicety kept; inclosed by tall -trees and dense shrubbery on every side, and disclosing nothing of -what may stand beyond, but here and there the corner of a chimney -intruding its morsel of red amongst the sunny green of the tree-tops, -and the golden cross on the neighbouring steeple soaring over all, and -shining down its benediction on the peace below. - -The grass is as short, soft, and green as constant mowing and -sprinkling and warmth can make it. The flower-beds are masses of -brilliant colour, and in the centre stands the house, a tin-roofed -wooden cottage painted in the whitest white, relieved by vividly green -Venetians; a broad verandah round the whole, windows descending to the -floor, and above, small casements peering out through the shining tin, -each with its Venetian thrown open to admit the breeze which comes up -at the decline of day. The effect is cool, and home-like, -notwithstanding the keenness of the colours, and quite other than that -of the raw-toned packing-boxes in which so many an American is -condemned to pass the night, and from which he is in so great a hurry -to escape in the morning. It may be merely a peculiarity in the pitch -of a French Canadian roof, or it may be some spiritual association -which lingers about the work of these first settlers and oldest -inhabitants; but there is a personality, permanence, and history about -the newest and frailest of their structures which is wanting in the -buildings of their English speaking neighbours, even when they give -permanence to vulgar commonplace by embodying it in brick or stone. - -The pillars of the verandah are garlanded with roses--pink, crimson, -white, and creamy yellow--blooming profusely, but, to judge from the -ruin of shed petals scattered on the ground, soon to cease. Already, -however, clematis--white, purple, blue--has begun to appear and will -be ready to catch up the song of the roses, though in a minor key, so -soon as their colour harmonies shall fade out. Butterflies are -fluttering in the scented air, and a humming bird flits here and there -where the flowers are thickest. - -In a garden seat is Mary--no longer Herkimer, but Selby, now--and at -her feet is a child, something more than a year old, who rolls and -kicks upon the grass, crowing and babbling the while in a language -which only mothers understand. Mary looks no older than she did in her -brother's sick-room; fresher, perhaps, and fuller of harmonious life, -as well may happen where the desires were reasonable and are all -fulfilled. She is mistress of her own life, and of his in whom she -trusts, as well as of that other at her feet, in whom his and hers are -united and bloom anew; and as for the life, she would not wish it to -be other than it is, even if it were in her power to change it. She is -at work upon some small matter of muslin and lace which busies her -fingers, while it leaves her thoughts free to wander; and their -wanderings are among pleasant places, to judge by her smile and the -big full breath of utter content. - -The winter which was coming on when we saw Gerald last proved more -than his enfeebled system could bear up against; he died before it was -out; and Mary, feeling that her duty at home was accomplished, and -seeing no good reason to sacrifice herself to the family prejudices, -took her fate in her own hands and married the man of her choice. - -"And it has all turned out so beautifully," she was saying to herself -with a well-pleased sigh, when the click of the gate latch roused her -from her reverie. It was Selby with his roll of music. She rose to -meet him, and they made the round of their domain together, observing -what new buds had opened since yesterday, and telling each other the -events of the day. - -"I heard a man down town say that your nephew Ralph is succeeding most -wonderfully since he dropped the law and turned broker." - -"I am glad of that, George. Poor Ralph! It was hard upon him the way -Gerald seemed to take him up at first--sending him down to live upon -the property at Natchez, and letting him expect to inherit it--and -then to recall him and drop him so suddenly. He refused to see him -even, when he came home. Judith says it was Colonel Considine set him -against Ralph, to make him leave everything to me. But I do not think -that. I always found Colonel Considine 'very much of a gentleman,' to -use his own expression--a little high-backed and tiresome, no doubt, -but incapable of a shabbiness like that. What good would it have done -him my getting everything, considering how little we saw or cared for -each other?" - -"Speak for yourself, Mary. I am not so sure that Considine's interest -in you was slight. From little things you have said I suspect--Nay, -never blush for that, dearest, though the crimson is infinitely -becoming--Having gained the prize I am not churl enough to resent -another's having wished for it. Indeed, knowing as I do now how much -he has missed, I could feel sorry for him, and I cannot but respect -his good taste. I really could not believe that he attempted to -undermine Ralph in his uncle's favour; a thing, by-the-way, which -Ralph, according to those who know him best, is well able to do for -himself; he has so many crooked little ways, and is proud of them, and -careless about concealment, because I suppose it does not strike him -that they can shock people, or are at all out of the way--obtuseness -of moral perception, I fancy, it might be called." - -"And yet, George, he was the only one of the family who did not oppose -our marriage, and who has not given me up utterly, even since. Surely -that shows a good heart. I, at least, shall always think kindly of -Ralph for that, if for nothing else." - -"My good innocent darling! Do you not see that that man[oe]uvre alone, -if there were nothing else, would stamp the man as selfish and a -schemer? Remember the terms of your brother's will. He names you as -his heiress, but he provides against contingencies which he fears may -arise. He does not leave the property to you, but to Jordan the -notary, and Considine, as trustees. In case you married Considine the -trust was at an end, and everything passed to you at once. If you did -not, all was to be sold and the money invested in Canada bank-stock -and other securities which he named. You were to have the interest -while you remained single or married with the approval of Mr. Jordan, -in accordance with written instructions left in his hands. If you -married contrary to these instructions, however, you were to receive -nothing. The interest and dividends were to be re-invested as they -fell due, and at the end of twenty years from your brother's death the -whole is to be divided among your children, share and share alike; and -in case you have none it is to go to Ralph's boy. Everything is tied -up with only an annuity of a thousand dollars each to his three -sisters and his brother. Now! Do you recognize the true inwardness of -Ralph's amiability?" - -"And pray, sir," cried Mary, drawing back with eyes wide open, "How -come you to know all this? I would have bitten my tongue out sooner -than tell you. It seems so ungenerous in Gerald to have treated you -so." - -"It shows the generosity of Gerald's sister, and that is all I care -for. But often, I will own it, my conscience has reproached me with -depriving you of your splendid inheritance; only, we are so happy -here; and if love can make up for money--if my love----" - -"Hush, George! I have all I want--more, I think sometimes, than should -fall to one woman's share--and I wonder if it can last. But who told -you about the will?" - -"Who but your sister Judith!" - -"She? I did not think you knew her; and she spoke so unkindly when I -proposed to bring and introduce you. You surprise me." - -"Ah! Miss Judy is a woman of surprises--a woman of energy who does not -stick at trifles; and she is a diplomatist. She would not let you -introduce me, that would have been yielding you a point; but she could -find me out for herself when she wished to speak to me. That was on -what she considered business, and did not oblige her to know me next -time we met. It would have forced _me_ to know _her_ afterwards, if -she had wished it; but that is nothing. Where would be the gain in -being a lady, if rules worked both ways? Miss Judy found me out, and -requested a few minutes' private conversation in the most gracious way -possible. She apologized profusely for the intrusion, with quite a -pretty warming of the complexion and an engaging little twitter behind -her glove tips. Ass that I was, I grew red like a lobster all over my -face, and my heart thumped against my ribs like a smithy hammer. I -imagined your family were relenting towards me--that piety and true -principle had overcome in the second Miss Herkimer her disapproval of -our attachment, and that she had come to tell me so. I could have -knelt down and kissed her hand, so overcome was I with grateful joy. -It was well I did not. The group would have been too ridiculous. Miss -Judy appealed to my feelings as a gentleman and a man of honour 'not -to ruin the prospects of her sweet young sister;' that was her phrase, -and she rendered it in a fine adagio manner, accompanied by a tremolo -of her crumpled pocket-handkerchief, which did her artistic instinct -the greatest credit, and really made the little petition seem both -reasonable and affecting. Judy would have succeeded on the stage, -Mary, I do believe, if they had put her in training early." - -"George, you are profane. It sounds ribald to speak of serious people -in that way." - -"Judy and the playhouse, eh? It _is_ a little incongruous, I admit; -but which has most right to resent the juxtaposition we need not stop -to inquire. Miss Judith told me you had come into a large fortune, and -your family were anxious about your matrimonial prospects, so many -swells were your friends, and you were so highly connected. There was -at least one general officer and a captain of dragoons, besides many -more; but whether they wanted to marry you, or were only your -grandfather's cousins, I did not quite catch. You see my feelings were -a little tumultuous, like those of the man stepping on board a -steamboat to meet his sweetheart, when he misses the plank and drops -into the water. I had a feeling of cold bath all over, and was cross, -I dare say; at least I did not respond to Miss Judy's condescensions -as she had expected. At once she changed her tone, drawing herself up -and looking severely superior. It was scarcely conceivable, she told -me with dignified coldness, that I could seriously have expected -anything more than a little notoriety would result from my appearing -in public conversing with her sister, but if I cherished any delusion -on the subject, it was for my good that she should speak plainly, and -as a Christian she saw it her duty to do so. It was out of the -question, she told me, that you should marry a man in my position, and -one who was not a gentleman. This to me, whose gentlemanly feelings -she had just been appealing to! It sent the blood tingling down to my -fingertips, and revived me after the _douche_ of what she had been -saying before. I told her these were matters I declined to discuss -with a lady whom I had not the honour of being acquainted with, and -that while I enjoyed the privilege of your friendship, none but -yourself should dictate to me the terms. Then she pulled out a paper -which she said was a copy of your brother Gerald's will, and another, -the private instructions he had left with Jordan. She insisted on -reading them both to me, word by word, and was especially emphatic in -her rendering of the instructions in which I am mentioned by name as a -person you were not to marry." - -"I know, George; and I think it was cruel in Gerald to make such a -stipulation. However, it does not matter. I did not want the money, -and you do not grudge to earn money for us both; and what do we want -which we have not got?" - -"True, my darling; and after all, your dividends which fell due before -you disobeyed your kinsman's commands by marrying me have bought us -this cosey little home, so you did not come to me a penniless bride -after all. Talking of these things, by-the-way, reminds me--Did you -observe Considine's name in the war news this morning? He is a general -now. Why, Mary, you might have been one of their great ladies down -there, if you had chosen!" - -"But I did not choose; and I question if a general's lady down there -has much to congratulate herself on. Grant is in Memphis, I see, and -steadily working southwards. The negroes on the plantations are in a -ferment, and Mrs. Dunwiddie, the refugee who is staying with Mrs. -Brown, and called here to-day, says the boxes of silver spoons and -candlesticks the Yankee officers are sending home to their friends by -express are more than the Express Company's car will carry, and they -talk of requisitioning a gunboat to carry their loot North to -Cincinnati. I should not have liked to ride with my plate and -valuables in an ambulance in the rear of even a husband's column. But -is it not fortunate that Gerald's property was realized, and the money -received safely in Canada before these troubles began? You and I may -not be the richer for it, but think of Edith, the little elf; what a -sum it will be when she is old enough to receive it!" - -"Over a million of dollars. Far too much for a girl to have. Let us -hope she may have brothers and sisters to share it with. But where, at -the same time, have you left this great heiress? I have not had a -chance yet to give her a kiss." - -"I called Lisette to come for her when you came in. Ah! There she is, -among the raspberry bushes--ruining her white frock with berry juice, -I'll be bound, for it is Cato who is carrying her. See how she -clutches his curly wool while he picks fruit for her. Her tugging must -be quite sore, but he seems positively to enjoy it, he is so fond of -her." - -"And well he may. Have you forgot Judith's and Ralph's attempt to -'_realize_' him when his master died?--to huddle him over to Buffalo -and sell him into slavery again. Miss Judith thought she could do so -much good with the money, and Ralph encouraged her, and undertook to -arrange the transaction on the American side, when he would quietly -have pocketed the money, I make no doubt. If you had not interfered -and explained things to the poor boy he certainly would have fallen -into their trap, and been disposed of for cash down. He is the only -decent nigger I ever saw, and the only one who could have been so -imposed on. Oh, yes! He would do anything for you or the child." - -"Dinner will be on the table almost at once, George. Come in and get -ready." - -"Ah, yes! Dinner and something cool, after the long broiling day. -By-and-by, when the candles are lit, and the moths and beetles come -droning in from the darkness to singe their wings in the flame, we -will have music and a little singing. Some of those dear old songs by -the masters we used to revel in long ago. Haydn and the rest. Such as -'Gra-a-aceful partner.'" - -"Quite so, your highness. That I may have to respond 'Spouse adored,' -my most sovereign lord and master! Ha, ha, ha! What it is to be a lord -of creation! Meanwhile, there is the bell. Hurry to your room." - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - "OUFF." - - -The hour which saw Mary Selby thus lapping herself in her simple joys, -was the same which witnessed the brewing of the storm destined to -wreck and scatter them. A premonition must have been upon her -spirits--that impalpable tremor and exhilaration preceding a -catastrophe which whets the perceptions to intenser enjoyment before -the destroying assault, like advancing fire which illumines, expands, -and glorifies ere it leaps on its prey and turns it into smoke and -ashes. It is certain at least that her spirits overstepped the limit -of their tranquil wont. She turned over the piles of music with her -husband in search of something to sing, but the measured graces of the -older works were all too serious for her mood. - -"Your masters are prosy, George," she cried; "I could not settle down -to sing them to-night. Let us have that new duet from the 'Grand -Duchesse.'" - -"From Bach to Offenbach," he answered. "What a leap! You really are -exuberant to-night. What next?" - -Five or six miles away, on the lake-like broadening of the river which -stretches upward from Lachine, a canoe was drifting under the lee of -the wooded islands, and in it sat Ralph Herkimer. Remaining in town -through the summer to watch the fluctuations of the gold-room--it was -during the American war--he betook himself each afternoon to Lachine, -to exchange the dust of streets for the breezy coolness of the water. -He had been fishing, and Paul, an Indian from the Indian village of -Caughnawaga near by, managed the canoe. His fishing had not prospered. -It seemed indifferent to him, indeed, whether he got "bites" or not, -but still from time to time he made a cast of the line, with his eyes -brooding on the water where the slackened current drifted lazily by, -with its rhythmic ripples flickering in the reddening light. The sun -went down behind heavy banks of cloud, and the grey twilight stole -silently up with that listening stillness which makes audible the -murmur of the stream, a sound unnoticed in the garish hurry of noon -when the world is vocal with a hundred noises, but heard at eve when -other things with life have sunk to sleep. - -The canoe hung idly among the gathering shadows of the shore where the -waters were black and oily in the shelter of the wooded islands; but -Ralph took no heed of the twilight closing in. The coolness, the -drowsy movement, and the murmur soothed him, and his thoughts flowed -freely in their wonted channels. They were like the streams we read of -which run over golden sands, for they were all about money, shares, -stocks, margins, shorts, longs, bulling and bearing the market, with -sunny visions of a hundred per cent. glittering remotely, like islands -of the blest, and with banks of contingency drifting in between. Then -his memory wandered to the fortune he had missed, and which should -surely have been left to him, his father's only son, and the only male -shoot of the family tree. To think of so much money being deliberately -left past him!---tied up for twenty years to wait for heirs unborn at -the time of Gerald's death. He snorted and moved restlessly in his -seat as he thought of it, till the jerking of his limbs disturbed the -unstable equilibrium of the canoe, and he only composed and controlled -himself in time to avoid a ducking from the rolling over of the -lightly-poised craft. Paul raised his hand and caught the water with -his paddle at the same instant, relapsing into his impassive wont so -soon as the accident was averted. - -"Too bad!" muttered Ralph, when the disturbance of his nerves had -subsided, and his thoughts fell back into their channel. "If the old -man would none of me personally, there was my boy, and he bears his -name and is a Herkimer--nearer to him, surely, than the music master's -brat; and she a girl, too, as it turns out!" Then his thoughts grew -deep again--sank into silence, as the rivers in a limestone country -disappear into the ground, and thread mysterious miles through caves -of night and blackness. - -He whipped the waters with his line, letting it drift anon and -forgetting to draw it in even when an infatuated bass caught hold and -jerked and struggled till he got away again, and even the apathetic -Paul looked up surprised; but then, the ways of the pale faces are not -as those of the red man, so he merely grunted, and became quiescent -again as before. - -"Too bad!" Ralph muttered again. "Only a life between my boy and a -million!--it will be nearer three millions by the end of the twenty -years--just one life between my Gerald and all that; and what a -life! Only a year old--incapable of knowing anything about it, or -taking any satisfaction out of it. A girl, too, at that. Child of an -organ-grinder. Nobody worth knowing will ever care to know her. Of -what use can a million of dollars be to such as she?" Here with a -groan and a snort the black waters of unwholesome thought sunk down -again out of sight, and out of ken of the thinker, if that were -possible, for--under the devil's guidance shall we call it?--one will -sometimes avert the eyes from the working and festering of his own -soul with a sense of conventional shame (hypocrisy is like the polar -frosts which strike a yard or two down into the ground), and still -with the back turned as it were to the evil thought, as a man must -continue to do within himself if he would retain his own good opinion, -there will be a furtive peering glance cast down and backward into the -deeper depths, awaiting till some deeper down conscience is overcome, -which is not the admitted self at all, yet the vanquishment of which -will be so good an excuse for dropping the moral barriers in the upper -stratum of admitted consciousness. To that wave of unstemmable -temptation, a cyclone as it were to which nature in her strength -succumbs, and the best of men may yield, lifting their heads again -after it, like palm trees when the tempest has passed over, and -saying, "A storm; a convulsion beyond human might to withstand; for -yielding to that, who can be blamed? Let us spread our draggled -plumage wide to dry. The gale is over, and we shall soon be as -honorable as before." - -Not that Ralph could be called a hypocrite in the vulgar sense. For -why? He troubled himself little about morals of any kind, that not -being, as he said, his particular "fad." But there is a righteousness -which is not ecclesiastical. There are decencies of life for us all, -and a standard of right and wrong, which it is _base_ to contravene -even when we put on speculative airs and question the Church's -teachings. Right is always right, and wrong wrong, decency decent, and -baseness contemptible, even if there were no God in heaven, and no -account to render at the last day; and there are thoughts which a man -must turn his back on when they pass through his mind, if he would -continue to enjoy his own respect. - -There is a way of seeing sidewise, however, when the eyes are -averted--a policy of reconciliation between doing and eschewing, when -deeds at once vile and profitable are under consideration--and I fear -me much this luckless Ralph Herkimer had found out the trick of it. - -His thoughts, at all events, sank down deep into those sunless -channels where even he himself declined wittingly to follow them -though keeping watch. He whipped the water more briskly than before, -and stared intently at the end of his line; but somehow he did not -lose the thread of his reflections; he kept on thinking all the time -and even with more and more intentness, though still he made pretence -to himself of ignoring the whole of the deep-down discussion--till it -was finished, that is--then he succumbed, as who may not, under -sufficient temptation? It is a question of price or number. Ralph -yielded before the flashing glory of _millions of dollars!_ So Danae -may have stretched her arms, erewhile so chaste and cold, to welcome -Jove when drest in that disguise he sought the mercenary maid. Was not -gold divine? And has it not continued ever since to be the same? Even -Miss Judy can appraise to a cent the good to be achieved with part in -saving souls, and still leave unexpressed the balance--the pride and -finery which what remains will bring the priests and priestesses of -Goody. - -Millions of dollars! That was the burden and refrain which repeated -itself over and over in Ralph's mind; and it ought by right to be his. -Was not he grandson of the father of this childless Gerald who had -made the money? The only grandson too, and the only person through -whom future generations of Herkimers could connect themselves with -this fortune? And Gerald to pass him over! Gerald who talked so much -about Shropshire, and all the rest of it, things of which he (Ralph) -knew nothing--old Uncle Gerald who would not hear, even, of Aunt -Mary's marrying a music master. That the old man's money should be -tied up for twenty years and then handed over to this very music -master's brats. Gerald could not have meant it; notwithstanding the -little unpleasantness which occurred when he (Ralph) returned from -Natchez, and Gerald refused to admit him to his presence. The bequest -must have been merely a threat which the imprudent old man had -supposed so terrible that nobody would brave it. If he could have -dreamed that Mary would defy him, and marry all the same, he would -have made a different disposition of his property altogether. What he -meant was to go on governing his relations after death as he had ruled -them while in life. - -There seemed at the moment a pathos to this hard and worldly-minded -Ralph, swinging and oscillating silently in the fading light, with air -and tinted greyness all around, and only the heaving, quivering -reflections upon which he swung beneath; there seemed a pathos in it, -and he felt a sympathy with the vanished and disappointed maker -of the fortune, or rather with the straying misdirected wealth. -If he had lived, how different all would have been; and Ralph -looked out into the empty evening air, feeling as if he might -catch some shadowy glimpse of a disembodied presence, which -would look on him friendly-wise, and which he would have greeted--oh, -so reverently!--the revisiting shadow of a millionaire, come back -regretfully to make amends to an ill-used relative whom the glamour of -life and the flesh had led him to misjudge. Ralph felt he could meet -his uncle in a fitting spirit, friendly, forgiving, and open to any -suggestions the other state might have enlightened him to make; for -was he not doing his best to remedy the unfortunate and injudicious -dispositions of the will? Had he not already taken the best advice in -the province to remedy them, and been told that the will was good, -sure, fast, and without flaw--that it would stand, and there was no -remedy? - -He peered far off into the shadows, and around on either hand. There -was nothing but a gradual failing in the light--neither sound nor -vision--only, over against him, let the canoe turn as it might, there -sat the Indian Paul, an image brown and still, with dull, quiescent -eyes, gazing into nowhere, ready at a moment to flash into fire and -life, but absent until wanted; plainer than the unseen vision in his -thoughts, yet less to be understood--a mute and dusky image of the -unknowable. The dark unwinking eyes gleamed with no thought or -intelligence; they looked out seemingly beyond, and burned, or rather -smouldered, like coals abstracted from the nether fire, awaiting the -gust of passion to rouse the slumbering blaze. Black like the mirrors -used by necromancers, they showed back, when he looked in them, his -own soul stripped of conventional trappings, looking out of them into -himself, and seeming to have gathered active evil in their dusky -depths--a wish to guide the dubious hand of Fate which deals the cards -promiscuously as though her eyes were bandaged, and influence the -falling of the aces and kings, just one place now and then to the -right or left. We would all like to do that, if we could--just a -little--and bring out more clearly as we think, the poetical justice -of Time; but it comes right in the end, of itself, without our help, -and "if it tarry," as the Prophet says, "wait for it;" it is for the -best. - -Ralph is impatient, however; and it is not, besides, poetic justice -that he is thinking of. Nothing so abstract. It is money, good and -lawful coin of the realm, and it is himself and his children, he -thinks, who should have it. Gerald, too, he takes it, having attained -to that clearer insight which is gained beyond the grave, must wish it -likewise, and if the inheritance under that most pernicious will can -be turned aside, he feels that he will be fulfilling the present and -maturer wishes of the testator. The law may say otherwise; but what of -the law? There is a higher law! We have all heard of it, though -generally, let us hope, when the issue was unconnected with the -possession of dollars. Gerald must have heard of the higher law. Here -was a case involving money, and when one comes to money what is more -sacred? The forger "gets twenty years" for his crime against property; -the culpable homicide five. _His_ fault is only against life, and by -good fortune he may escape with a rebuke from the court. - -Ralph had been meditating and considering, calmly, earnestly, and at -length, in a way he was not accustomed to consider, and out here amid -evening's impressive silence, where the brooding peace suggested -presences far enough removed at other times in the common hubbub of -life; and he felt--what? That he must not give in, or acquiesce in a -fiddler's children getting all that money! - -"The higher fitness" was he to call it?--and old Gerald himself, -who must be near, he was sure, though he could not gain speech of -him--must disapprove the misapplication of so many dollars. But how to -remedy that ill-judged will? If Mary Herkimer, it said, should so far -forget herself as to marry the organist, then the money was to remain -accumulating in Jordan's hands for twenty years, and after that was to -be paid to her children, secured only against the organist by the -provision that in case they died unmarried it should come to the -children of Ralph. And Mary had a child. But the child might die. A -tremor passed through him at the idea. Or how would it be, he set -himself to consider, if the child were lost? Children do get lost -sometimes, and he raised himself in the canoe to shake off any -oppressiveness that might attach to the idea. Suppose the child were -lost--one may innocently suppose anything--suppose it could not be -found, and never _were_ found. What then? After a time it would be -unreasonable to keep the next in succession out of his property; and -this next--his blood tingled to think of it--was his own boy Gerald, a -quiet, gentle little boy, such as strangely sometimes is given to an -unscrupulous father, as if to try how far he will venture to use the -facile tool. If ever _his_ Gerald fell heir to property, Ralph made -sure of being able to dispose of it; it seemed to him that it would be -like money settled on his wife, which he could still use, though no -creditor could lay hands on--a cake quite different from that in the -children's proverb, which one can both eat and have at the same time. - -But at present, to arrange for Mary's child getting--_lost_, seemed -the pressing question. There would be time enough to influence his -boy's plastic mind afterwards. - -The infant's plastic mind need not be taken into account, the infant -being only a year old. There were no impressions inscribed on it so -far, and it would be some time yet before it acquired any. "Get it -away now," he told himself, "and it can do nothing for its own -restoration. In a week or two it will have forgotten its mother and -there will be no troublesome memories in after life tempting it to -suspect and try to unravel a mystery in its fate. Yet how, and through -whom, to manage it?" His eyes wandered questioningly over the extent -of waters, heaving with regulated swell, suggestive of life and -personality and thought; but never an answer came back to him out of -the sullen grey. His eye swept the horizon and the distant shore, and -at last it rested on the apathetic face of his companion; Still as a -mask, and showing not a sign of what might be behind, any more than -the swaying tide on which they hung betrayed the mysteries of the pool -beneath. The man's long straight hair, and the swarthy skin suggestive -of a life apart from civilization, could not but call up the wish that -the child could become of these. Wooden, hard, and cold, with his -bead-like eyes half closed, were the little one in hands like his it -would be as safe as if it were in another planet; thinking such -thoughts as it must, in Iroquois, understanding Canadian French, and -with only enough English to beg or trade with strangers. Paul he knew -as restless, and in some sort a vagabond, attending those who hired -him on fishing or hunting expeditions, at times joining the Governor -of Hudson's Bay as a canoe-man, on his journeys to Fort William, or -wandering on the Ottawa from one Indian settlement to another. If he -would only undertake to superintend the fortunes of this inconvenient -infant, it would become a waif indeed, and lost beyond restoration. - -Ralph sighed with profound relief as the idea passed through his mind. -There had been another shadowy suggestion present there all the -afternoon, which he had been contemplating as it were with averted -eyes, shuddering to consider or reduce to shape, yet refusing to -dismiss it, harbouring it as one may an outlaw, whom it would be -confusion to acknowledge as a guest. If Paul would undertake the -business, the child might live out its life as a squaw among the -wigwams of the upper Ottawa, without troubling any one. Exposure to -the weather would bronze her to the hue of the other children of the -wilderness; and if not, there are few bands now-a-days in which there -are not half-breeds, proving that all men are of one blood, and that -time and circumstances alone are needed to blend the races into a -common stream. How infinitely more satisfactory this would be than any -fatal accident which could be devised! Yes! it must be done, and Ralph -looked up to his companion and in his most friendly tone said,--"Paul." - -Instantly the bead-like eyes awoke and turned upon him, sharp and -interrogative. The propitiatory modulation had not escaped the -delicate ear, bred from infancy to catch and interpret the faintest -whisper of the forest--the rustle of a leaf disturbed by passing game, -or the stroke of a wing raising eddies in the stagnant air. Since Paul -had grown to be a man whiskey and dollars had become the game of his -eagerest pursuit, and the mood of the white man he served for the time -was the hunting ground where these were to be run down. That something -was wanted of him he knew by the extra friendliness of tone. What -Englishman having hired him would speak so softly if he did not want -something beyond the stipulated services, something of value, and -something which he wished to gain cheaply? - -"Ouff," was his answer, dubiously interrogative, and altogether -non-committal as to whether he would be interested in what was to -follow. - -"Have you got children?" - -"No," with a slight head-shake. - -"Would you not like to have one?" - -"Papoose come plenty soon." - -"Then you have a wife." - -"Got squaw;" but still he looked out impassively over the water. - -"Would she like to keep a child for me? do you think?--good pay, you -know." - -"Pay-Ouff?" The words was clearly interrogative now, and the beady -eyes returned from their wandering, and settled on the speaker. - -"A healthy child twelve months old--would make a lusty squaw. She can -make anything of it she likes. No questions will be asked, you know." - -"Yours?" - -"Not exactly. But I have an interest in the child." - -"How much money?" - -"Fifty dollars, as soon as she has done the job." - -The beady eyes kindled into animation, and the lips grew moist, but -the Indian sat motionless as before, and waited in silence for what -was to come. - -"She will have to _take_ the child, you know. It will not be hard for -her to get it at this time of year, when the nurse is out of doors -with it most of the time; on the steps, at the garden gate, or down -the street. She can easily take it away from the nurse, a little slip -of a French girl. A strong Indian woman could easily knock her down -and run away with the child under her blanket. Only she must not be -caught or the child brought back. You must send her to some -reservation far away--up West, say--the farther West the better. I -will pay as soon as she gets clear off. But you must not mix me up in -the thing, mind that! That is why I offer to pay so much for the job." - -"Much for job? Ouff. Le Pere Theophile--the judge court--prison long -time. Ouff!" and he shook his head slowly. - -"You must send her where the cure's admonitions will not reach her. -Send her to Brantford, or up the Ottawa; you know better than I do -where. You can do a good deal with fifty dollars, you know, Paul." - -"Ouff. And send 'way my squaw. Fidele good squaw." - -"Chut! Paul, you rascal! You have plenty more sweethearts you know; -and they do not marry you so tight as us white men." - -Paul grunted. "The Pere Theophile very strict. Make squaw confess -right up. Poor Fidele go to prison--all found out. Paul sent to Isle -aux Noix--you too, then." - -"Stuff, man! No fear of your letting yourself be caught. Send your -squaw away at once, before she has time to go near her priest." - -"Police?" - -"Not much fear of _them_, if you are half sharp. But, let me see. It -might not be a bad idea if she changed clothes with some other girl -before she started West. One squaw is so like another in white folks' -eyes. It might turn pursuit in a wrong direction while she is getting -away." - -"Ouff," Paul grunted again, but nothing more. The two dusky shadows -swung silently on the dim bosom of the waters, whitening now beneath -the glimmer of the rising moon. - -"See here, Paul," Ralph said at last; "I shall be better than my word -after all. Here are ten dollars in hand, for you. Come round to my -office as soon as the work is done and your squaw safely off, and I -will pay you your fifty dollars. Now land us. We shall take first -train to the city. We must not be seen together, so will take -different cars. Wait for me in the shadow of the cabstand, and I will -go up town with you and point out the house." - -"Ouff," again was the only answer, but as Paul's long arm stretched -out to snatch the money, and under a deft stroke or two of the paddle -the canoe shot swiftly down stream to the landing, Ralph understood -that the bargain was struck. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - FIDELE. - - -It was a day or two later, in the early forenoon. The air was -stagnant, breathlessly awaiting the thunderstorm whose cumulus vapour -masses were already drifting up from the distant horizon; though as -yet the sun blazed in cloudless fervour overhead, and the world lay -panting in the intolerable heat. The very light was sultry, and Mary -Selby had drawn close the blinds, to shut it out where she lay on a -sofa trying to stir the thick stillness into motion with her fan; but -the air was heavy with heat and she felt too faint for the exertion. - -She was dropping asleep when Lisette entered with a basket of May -apples. They looked so cool in their green pith-like husks that she -could not refrain from pulling one or two asunder to reach the blob of -fragrant pulp within, tasting and awakening from her langour, before -she asked where they had come from. The maid answered that a squaw -without was offering them for sale, and the mistress had then to rise -and go into an adjoining room to find her purse. - -She took the basket in her lap and began to pull open the fruit, -separating the small eatable portions from the pod-like rind. "What a -feast for Edith!" she said, when she had done; and she called to -Lisette to bring the baby. - -Lisette appeared looking hot and troubled. "She had not seen -Miss Edith," she said, since she brought the fruit to her -mistress--"supposed Cato must have got her. She had been looking for -the squaw to give her her money, but could not find her. She thought -at first she might be prowling round the house looking for something -to steal, but she had looked everywhere now, even in the wood shed and -coal cellar, but could not see a sign." - -Mary rose to join in the search, running out with the maid to question -Cato. Cato was in the far-off corner of the garden, delving with a -will. The sultry fervour of the air, stifling to men of another race, -was like wine to him, recalling the torrid country of his birth, and -he tossed the spadefuls gleefully, perspiring and singing as he -worked. He had been there all the morning, and knew nothing of Edith -or the vanished squaw; but he threw down his spade at once and joined -the searchers. The cook came running from her kitchen to assist, and -the little band now quickening each other's alarm ran hither and -thither over the small domain, peering under every bush, pulling about -melon frames and empty boxes, dropping stones down the well, looking -under all the beds in the house and even up the chimney. By-and-by -they were out of breath and began to think. Then Lisette was sent for -a policeman, and Cato to fetch a cab to carry his mistress in search -of her husband, and to the police-station in case he could not be -found. - -The policeman arrived first with grave importance and a note-book. He -questioned Lisette, but being an Irishman while she was French, he -soon lost himself amongst her voluble but not very lucid English, -emphasized with frequent "_mon Dieux_," and much gesticulation. She -was the only one who had seen the squaw, and the last to see the -child, but what of that? "Them furreigners were of no account, and -nobody could tell what they might be afther intending to mane:" so he -turned to the cook, a countrywoman of his own, and from her got ample -satisfaction. It is true she had seen nothing, and only knew what she -had heard Lisette say, but then she had thought a great deal since; -and the thoughts and the hearsay flowed in a mixed and copious, if not -too coherent stream, which Paddy could readily follow, it was so much -like the meanderings of his own mind. He opened his book and proceeded -to write it all down--how she had just finished washing up her morning -dishes, and the pan of water was in her hands to empty down the sink -at that very moment "whin who should come trapezin' into moy kitchen -but the gurrl, all brithless loike, an' hur hair flyin' ivery way at -wanst. An' thinks oi to meself, 'whativer's the matther wid the -omadhaun?' An' sorr if I was to take me boible oath this moment, -thim's the very worrds that passed through me moind whin I seed hur, -an' ye may safely write them down, for oi'll stand boy thim before all -the judges and juries in the land." - -"Oi'll wroite thim down, mum, ye may depind; an' be me troth, it's -moighty remarkable them worrds are; an' they do ye credit, mum, though -it's me that says it," answered the policeman, relaxing the crooks in -his shoulder and elbow, and the frown on his brow, which were with him -the concomitants of penmanship. He had not in truth the pen of a ready -writer, and it was only by pushing his tongue into one cheek and -closing an eye, that he was able to construct the letters at all. That -was of little consequence, however; the notebook was solely for his -own private eye, or rather for the eye of the public, which could not -but respect a policeman who wrote everything down. - -It impressed the cook immensely, and flattered her too, for never -before had she seen her words put down on paper, and she resolved in -her mind there should be a smoking hot morsel for this "supayrior" -man, whenever he came round to see her of a winter's afternoon. The -man perfectly understood. There were several kitchens on his beat -where he was wont to visit, and the cook before him smiled so -hospitably that he promised himself not to forget her. - -Cato now arrived with the cab for his mistress, and the guardian of -the peace, hitherto engrossed with a more important person, turned to -the poor lady to favour her with a few words at parting. - -"You're purfecly right, ma'am," he said, "to make ivery exurtion. An' -if ye call at the station, ye'll foind the jintlemen there both -poloite an' accommodatin'. An' ye may go wid an aisy mind, for well be -havin' your intherests under consideration all the same as if ye was -here. An' ye may rest assured that the sthrong arrum of the law will -be laid on the aivil doer sooner or later. An' as for the choild, -ma'am, oi'm bound to sthop ivery choild of a year old that's carried -through my bait; but ye must give me marks, ye see, or they would soon -be complainin' of me at head quarthers. Did the choild squint, now, -maybe, ma'am, the purty angel? An' it's moighty becomin' some says -that same is; an' kinvanient too, whin they gits older, an' can look -both ways at wanst. No? Well, no offince, ma'am. Or maybe there was -something crooked about wan of its legs, or an arrum, or who knows but -there might be something wrong wid its face. A hare lip, now, would be -a sure mark, and oi'd arrist the first wan I met. No? Well, no -offince, ma'am. Oi cuddn't arrest all the childer I moight meet, ye -see, an' bring thim here for you to oidintifee. How many teeth, thin, -moight your purty darlin' have, ma'am?--though it's misdoubtin' I am -if the law gives me power to open the childher's mouths an' look down -their throats. But we'll do our best, ye may depind on that. An' it's -wishin' ye a plisant dhroive, ma'am, an' thank ye keoindly," as Mary, -driven desperate by his gabble, pushed a dollar into his hand and -hurried to her cab. - -In this way "the law's delays" left the coast clear for the escape of -the kidnapper. It was an hour or two before the police throughout the -city became aware that a squaw had run away with an infant, and by the -time they had begun to be on the alert, the thief had made good her -retreat. Wrapped in her bright blue blanket and broad-leafed straw -hat, she passed swiftly along, as might any of her fellows who hawk -their beadwork and like wares about the streets. A lump of fat, rubbed -in the juice of some narcotic herb, pushed into the little mouth had -stilled the child's cries and made it sleep as though in its nurse's -arms--evidence of the practical wisdom of the wilderness still -lingering among its erewhile people, as yet but partially elevated to -our higher plane of life. Our women may become doctors of divinity, -law, or physic; they can play the piano, or stand in the front rank of -culture; but can they handle a baby like the artless daughters of the -North-West, whose charges, packed in moss and fur, strapped upon a -board and suspended from a branch, sway gently in the breeze, watching -and growing silently, like the plants, for hours together, with never -a cry to disturb the resting sire or the laborious mother? In the -march of improvement some useful knowledge has been dropped by the -way, and there are regrettable losses to set off against the manifest -gains. - -The thunder which had been threatening all the morning began to -rumble, the sky darkened, and soon the rain came down in torrents. The -ferry-boat between Lachine and Caughnawaga had whistled, and was -throwing loose from the wharf, when a squaw--it was Fidele, Paul's -squaw, of course--rain-soaked and draggled, leaped on board. She -squatted on the deck beside the three or four others who were the only -passengers, cowering over the bundle under her blanket, but not -uncovering its face as did the mothers near her. - -"She has stolen something," the purser observed to the mate, "and is -passing it off for a child. She don't behave to it as the others do. -If there is a constable on the pier, I'll give her in charge. But -there won't be in this heavy rain, and there would be a row if we -attempted to stop her. Best take no notice, I guess; 'taint no -business of ours." - -On reaching the pier, Fidele was the first to land and flit away -through the village. "I told you so," said the purser, looking wise. -"You just see if we don't hear more about that one. Blue blanket, -with a tear in one corner; straw hat--brim badly broken; face, like -they all have--broad and brown as a butternut; red cheeks--must be -young--and real spry on the pins. Guess I'd know her again--know the -clothes, any way. Injuns are as like one another as copper cents." - -Fidele reached a cabin in the outskirts, of square logs, whitewashed, -one window and a door, with a "lean-to" addition of boards in the -rear, where the cooking-stove stood in the warm weather. Entering, she -found her sister Therese awaiting her, who with very few words -proceeded to strip off her own brightly printed cotton gown. Fidele -carried the child into the room behind, and returning, removed her -blanket and dripping headgear. - -"Ouff," said Therese, undoing the gay handkerchief from her head and -picking up the hat in evident disgust. "No good." - -There was a small silver cross hanging from her neck by a black -riband, to which Fidele stretched out her hand expecting it to be -taken off likewise. But no. Therese drew back with a head-shake, -explaining that that belonged to the ladies of the Convent school, -adding, that it was bad enough to give up the smart frock and kerchief -in exchange for such a hat and a damp blanket. Fidele reminded her of -the new ones she was to receive from Paul, after she had worn the -blanket for a week, and again snatched at the nuns' silver badge of -merit. Therese caught the hand and bit it. Fidele screamed, and a -battle was imminent, when Paul's growl from the back room, threatening -violence, restored calm, and Therese sulkily took up the blanket and -drew it over her head. Presently, Paul looked out to bid her begone, -and Therese, through the open door, saw enough to silence -remonstrance, and send her trembling away. - -Paul entered as Therese went out, and stood before his squaw. He spoke -in Iroquois, briefly, and in the conclusive tone which admits neither -of question nor reply. Another, Messieurs the Benedicts, of those -natural gifts dropped by the way in the march of improvement. The -squaw never "speaks back," but the "last word" belongs of right to -every self-respecting Christian woman, and she takes it. Ask the -ladies! - -"To work at once," was the purport of Paul's orders, "then sweep up. -Put on your sister's gown, and that black blanket over all. Go out by -the back, into the bush. Hide in the old roothouse by the corner of -the clearing till sundown; then away, across the reservation. Take -care you are not seen. Travel all night, going west. Stay in the woods -to-morrow till dusk. Travel your quickest till you reach Ogdensburg. -Cross the river there, and go west to Brantford, taking your own time. -Go to your brother, and tell him to expect me next winter." And so -saying, he went out by the front of the house, locking the door behind -him. - -Fidele set her teeth and proceeded to obey. It was a repulsive sight -which she beheld on entering the inner room, and the work set her to -do was horrible. A board or two of the flooring had been pulled up, -and there was a sack filled with the earth brought up through the -opening. The hole was a foot or two deep, and it was shaped like a -grave. Paul must have been terribly in earnest to have it rightly -done, seeing he had dug it himself. There was a box--a soap-box -seemingly, from the village store--hammer and nails, a bundle of -withered grass, and the baby asleep lying on it. The sight of the baby -must have been too much for Paul, for part of an old buffalo robe had -been thrown over it. He had his design fixed and firm, but having also -a squaw why should he likewise discompose himself? Civilization had at -least eaten so far into his nature that to extinguish a helpless and -unresisting life was no longer delightful enough to compensate the -risk--and he had the squaw. - -Fidele sat down on the ground with the poor little thing in her lap. -How peacefully it slept! Was it angels whispering in those little ears -which made it smile in its sleep, as the ladies of the Convent had -said? Could viewless spirits be hovering around, seeing and noting all -that passed? Involuntarily she looked over her shoulder expecting -almost to behold a presence. Then she shook herself and snorted. Why -should she call up shadowy fears to make harder for herself the work -she had to do? If she failed to do it she knew full surely the terrors -would be all too real--bruises, wounds, possibly death by violence; -assuredly violence in any less degree. - -The child lay sleeping on her lap, so fair and soft of skin, rounded -and dainty in every joint. She could not but recall the picture in the -church, of the Holy Mother with her ever Blessed Son, high up above -the altar, amid the star-like twinkling of the tapers and the cloudy -incense ascending before it in solemn fragrance, while holy nuns and -innocent choristers sang hymns of adoration; and all she had learned -to think of blessedness beyond the grave, attainable only by more than -common goodness, was that it would be like that. The little rings of -hair that framed the face were bright and shining like burnished gold, -a glory like the gilded halos about the heads in that sacred picture; -and the long eyelashes laid peacefully upon the reddening cheeks, like -clouds at daybreak, promising so enhanced a brightness at the -awakening. Fidele laid her fingers on the little neck. How dark and -evil they looked upon its creamy whiteness! How could she ever grasp -it hard and cruelly, till the heaving bosom grew convulsed to bursting -at the interrupted breath, and the sweet face grew black and distorted -in fruitless gaspings? Her fingers lay more heavily as she thought, -and the slight pressure disturbed the sleeper. The plump round -shoulder and cheek were drawn together as if tickling were the subject -of her dreams; the lips parted in a smile, the eyes unclosed, and the -child awoke with a low and merry laugh. She looked so fearless and -trustful out of her blue eyes and crowed so gleefully, caressing with -her own tiny palms the dusky fingers so near her throat, and with such -fell intent, that surely a fiend must have abandoned the thought of -doing her harm. And Fidele was no fiend at all. Ignorance and a narrow -horizon had left her sympathies to slumber, but, so far as she could -see or know, she was true and good. To serve her man had seemed the -chief if not the only end of her being, and she had done it blindly -hitherto; but it appeared to her now that to do this thing was more -than she ought, or could. - -The little hands were stretched up now to her face and the lips -strained up to kiss her, and the clear blue light of the eyes -penetrated the blackness of her own with a cooling purifying influence -which made evil intent like a shadow slink away. She stooped and -pressed the little pink lips to her own, and to her forehead and to -her breast, and then with a big breath of resolution she got up and -set the little one down in a corner while she fulfilled in seeming the -orders she had received. She took the dried grass and laid it in the -box which she then closed and placed in the bottom of the little -grave. The grave she then filled up with earth from the sack, tramping -it down tightly, and making the top level with the adjacent soil, and -strewing what earth was left in the rain pools outside the house. She -then nailed down the flooring as before, and swept the house, making -it appear again as it had always been. No one could now suspect that -there was a grave beneath his feet, nor could Paul that that grave was -empty. Then concealing the child under her blanket she stole into the -bush as she had been instructed to do, an instance of how the -scrupulously obedient wife, even while obeying, may contrive to effect -the exact opposite of her instructions; and showing, perhaps, that the -equality and sympathy of the civilized home may secure a man the -fulfilment of his wishes no less, at least, than the despotism of the -barbarian plan. - -In the twilight Fidele left her place of concealment and stole away -under the dripping-trees. The storm was over, and as the light died -out of the heavens the stars came twinkling forth, awaiting the rising -moon. It was a long and toilsome tramp across the reservation, through -wet and tangled herbage, with many a slough and flooded brook, for she -had been bidden to avoid observation and dared not avail herself of -such paths and rude bridges as suffice the Indians on their own -domain. At length when night had fully come, and home-going stragglers -were no longer likely to be met, she reached a country road. The march -of the stars pointed her way and further she knew not, for she had -never been there before. She hurried along clasping her burden, which -grew heavier as she went, for she had been travelling for hours. It -was late and she had spent a long and a busy day, a day of hard work -and much excitement. The child grew heavier, and as her own strength -grew less, she clasped it the more tightly. Since she had saved the -little one's life, something of a mother's feeling for it had stolen -into her heart. It seemed dependent on her, and her very own; and were -not the tiny fingers even then spreading themselves against her breast -to gather warmth? The night seemed very long, and yet she feared to -stop and rest. A pursuer might be on her track even now to seize her -for child-stealing. And the child in her arms! She could not but be -taken and punished, and the child given back. And even when her -punishment was over, and she let out of jail, there would still be -Paul to reckon with. And what might _he_ not do? Her heart died within -her at the thought, her limbs grew feeble, and the child heavier than -lead. She staggered along looking behind her and before, but all was -still, no one to be seen. And now she was approaching a village. The -moonlight glittered on the tin belfry of the church, and there were -houses, low-browed _habitant_ houses, with deep projecting eaves and -great black shadows lurking under the stoops and porches. Not a soul -was stirring, but from those coverts of obscurity what or who might -not rush forth on her as she went by? The law in some mysterious way -might be lying in wait for her among the dusky shadows, or Paul -himself might be in hiding to watch her pass, and see that he was -obeyed. It would be bad for her if she were to meet him now, and bad -for the child as well. She stopped, faltering as she thought of it, -unable to go on. Ah! there stood one small house at a forking of the -road, where one branch ran uphill through well-fenced woods, -surrounding a mansion, doubtless, for the moonlight glistened on the -tin of the roof; and the other branch ran downward to the village and -the church, and there was a broad river beyond, with perhaps no -bridge, and she might have to wait for morning to be ferried across. -There might be a magistrate in the mansion, she would avoid that, and -down in the village the child might be seen. No! she dared not carry -it in either direction, but here in the corner of the ways stood the -little _habitant_ house, a good half-mile from both. Yet there was no -light visible in the window; the house might be uninhabited; not a dog -or pig was to be seen around. But then it was late. The voiceless -stars and the silent sailing moon were whitening the slumbering world -with dim and hazy dreams. Nothing was awake or moving but the vagrant -breeze which rustled drowsily among the poplar leaves; and--yes, that -decided her--the loose casement of the one window in the roof swaying -back and forth against the flapping curtains within. There must be -people in the house, people asleep, who would not awake till she had -time to escape. She stepped on the little porch, laid down her burden, -knocked, and fled into a neighbouring bank of shadow, where her dark -blanketed figure was swallowed up in the gloom and she could wait and -watch. Her moccasined feet made no sound, but the knock awoke a dog -within. The dog barked, and presently a head looked out of the open -casement. The baby, uncovered to the night air and laid on the hard -boards, began to cry, and the head--it was a woman's and a -mother's--recognized the voice of a _bebe_. The door was opened, the -woman came out and took up the child. - -"Holy Madaleine!--it is a child! And whose? Another, when there are -already six, and the loaf so small, and the _sous_ so hard to come -by!" - -Fidele saw, and she may have heard; but she could not understand or -enter into the white woman's troubled feelings. _Sous_ scarce and -loaves small were just as she knew them, when she knew them at all, -which was not always. At least it was better, both for herself and the -child, that it should not be with _her_. She waited till the woman had -carried it indoors, and then, like a wandering shadow, she went her -way, westward, with the stars and moon. Her friends, her home, her -man, were all behind her, and she must not return to them. She must go -forward and westward to Upper Canada, a wanderer and alone, with -nothing but the stolid patience of her unawakened mind to bear her up. -But at least her hands were untainted with the stain of blood, and she -could look forward to the long dark winter nights and their howling -winds without fear. There would be no voices in them to make her -tremble, no cry of a murdered child--no image in the darkness of -gasping lips and eyes rolled back in the death-struggle. She could -sleep in peace and still ask God and His saints to shelter her. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - THE MISSES STANLEY. - - -The Misses Stanley were sitting up far into the night. They had been -prostrated in the morning by the sultry oppression of the coming -storm. Later, when it burst, and the blackened sky grew ablaze -with lightning, and the very earth was trembling at the deafening -thunder-claps, they fled to the cellar, closing and bolting the door, -in that unreasoning panic which seizes even very sensible people when -the heavens begin to utter their terrible voices; and there they -gasped, and sighed, and panted, and listened, forgetting even the -headache which a while before had nailed their heads to the pillow. -"Ah!" they would whisper to each other, "did you hear that?--and -that?--One of the chimneys has surely been struck! Can that be the -rattle of the falling bricks? Is the roof coming down, do you think? -Are we safe here?" and they caught each other's hands and pressed them -tightly, and leaned against the door with all their might, to keep it -shut against the danger. - -"Do you hear that hissing? Has the house taken fire? Do you smell -smoke?" It was only the first heavy downpour of the rain upon the -resounding tin roof. The steady continuance of the monotone assured -them of that in time, as the thunder grew intermittent and less loud. -Even the hissing of the rain grew faint after a while, and there came -a breath of cooler air down even into the locked-up cellar. - -The terror was past, and they crept out of their hole again into the -light, like the mice and the spiders and other timid folk. The storm -was over and they were happy and safe. They had been able to eat no -breakfast; dinner had been standing on the table cooling and getting -spoiled while they were trembling in the cellar. So they had tea, and -partook of it with relish. The air was purified by the storm; it was -reviving to breathe it, and the world, seen through the open windows, -though wet, was brightened and refreshed by the rain, like a young -girl fresh from the luxury of a good cry. - -It was sweet to be alive now, and drink in the scented air, so crisp -and fresh, yet without a suspicion of cold; and a while since life had -been a burden. The ladies sat and breathed, and sighed, and toyed with -existence, and spoke softly to one another, and were silent; and -evening wore on and night came, and still it was too pleasant to move. -Their lamp was lighted--a dim one, with no garish gleam to disturb -enjoyment within, or lure the flapping night-moths and beetles from -without--and feeling hungry they thought they would have supper, a -most unusual thing. It was but strawberries and cakes with lemonade -and cold tea, but for them it was a carouse; they sat picking and -sipping for very long, forgetful of time, and most other things, and -bathed by gentle stirrings of the soothing air, restful and in soft -shadow, while in the moonlit garden without, the white radiance was -reflected and broken into a hundred glittering sparkles from every -dripping leaf. - -"I declare," said the younger sister, "midnight is decidedly the most -enjoyable part of the day, at this time of year." - -"It is long past midnight, Matilda," her sister answered, "I am afraid -to look what hour of the morning it must be." - -"Morning? To-morrow morning? This is to-morrow then! I like it; -and if we go to bed it will be to-day when we get up again. I prefer -to-morrow myself. Let's sit up all night, Tookey dear, and remain in -the future 'till daylight does appear,' and turns it into to-day -again. Commonplace affair that sun, compared to the moon, and -disagreeably hot at this season, besides. I envy the owls, and mice, -and bats, and things, coming out at night and sleeping all day. _I_ -can't sleep in the daytime." - -"The more need to go to bed at night. Come, Tilly!--or how shall we -get up in the morning? Late rising puts everything out of joint for -all day, and bothers the poor servants sadly." - -"Bother the servants! By all means, say I. 'Never do to-morrow what -should be done to-day.' You know that is a proverb! And this is -to-morrow. It was you who said so; so let us sit still. I think I have -proved my case." - -"Pshaw, Matilda! don't be childish. And the downstairs windows still -to shut up! Bring the light, dear. We'll make the round, and see that -all is fast." - -It was a nightly procession in which these two ladies walked through -all the rooms on the ground floor. Miss Penelope the elder--called -Tookey for short by her sister--went first, trying the locked doors, -closing and bolting the windows, while Matilda with a candle held -aloft, kept close beside her. It fluttered her heart to go into an -empty room after dark, and it caught her breath to remain alone in the -drawing-room while her sister made the rounds, so she accompanied her -close, always within touching distance, and ready to scream should -occasion arise. Last of all they closed the drawing-room windows, and -barred the heavy inside shutters, provided with bells, so that no -housebreaker should be able to enter without ringing; and then with -their candlesticks in their hands, having extinguished the lamp, they -stood taking a last look, as it were, on the scene of their waking -existence, before wending upstairs to sleep and forgetfulness, -when---- - -Bang! The sound seemed deafening, coming as it did so unexpectedly, in -the night stillness, with all the world slumbering save themselves. -Again! Not so loud this time, it seemed, with the ear already -attentive. It was a knock at the hall door. And now the bell was rung, -a jangling peal resounding through the house, and under cover of the -uproar there was a crunching on the gravel as of hasty steps. - -The sisters looked at one another with parted lips, and eyes that -sought help and counsel and assurance each in the other's. Matilda -assuredly had neither strength nor wisdom for their joint support, but -her need was so great and she looked with such fervent trustfulness at -her sister, that Penelope felt she must brace herself up and take -courage for both, though her heart was faint within her. She was the -object of a faith which supported by its helpless reliance, and -stimulated her to effort that it might not prove misplaced. So -strength ere now has been bred of double weakness, though in this case -it was put forth but falteringly at first. - -There was a shuffling now and a whispering in the lobby. Penelope held -the door handle and listened. Matilda threw her weight against the -door, expecting it would be burst open; but it was not, and thus they -stood breathlessly awaiting some unspecified terror which did not -arrive, till doubt grew too painful, and Penelope in very desperation -flung wide the door. Three pale faces were disclosed blinking at the -gleam of the ladies' candles, and Matilda screamed. An answering -scream was raised by the three pale faces startled by the sudden flash -of light in the darkened passage, and already prepared to be -frightened by anything which might happen. - -"How very foolish!" said Miss Penelope, who, having wrought herself up -to do battle of some kind, had her nerves better in hand. "Do you not -see it is the servants? Awakened by the noise, they have come -downstairs, and seeing light in here at such an hour, supposed it was -a thief. Now we must see who is at the front door." - -"No, Penelope! I implore you, do not!" - -"Oh, ma'am," said the cook, "if anything happens to _you_ what will -become of _us?_" and the other maids looked deprecating in concert, -while even Miss Matilda ejaculated, "What, indeed?" - -"We cannot stand here all night! And we could not go to bed with -burglars perhaps waiting on the doorstep till we are asleep." - -"Think, Penelope, if they should burst in when we unbar the door!" - -"They had better not. Is there not my father's gun?" and so saying she -stepped on a chair to reach down that redoubtable weapon from where it -rested on two brass hooks, high up over the fireplace in the hall. -There it had rested ever since the decease of the late lamented Deputy -Assistant Commissary General--called General for short, or perhaps for -honour--the parent of the Misses Stanley. - -"Oh, Tookey! don't!" cried Miss Matilda. "It might go off and hurt -some one," and the maids drew up their shoulders to their ears, and -looked apprehensive in chorus. - -"Nonsense!" answered Miss Stanley severely. "Do you not see I am -pointing it to the ceiling?" - -"One never knows, such strange things happen with guns. The barrels -burst, they say, or else they go off, and shoot the people they have -no business to touch, and let others escape who really ought to have -been hit. Remember how poor Major Hopkins' gun went off, nobody knew -how, and killed papa's spaniel, and let the duck fly away. I shall -never forget how cross poor papa was when he came home, and he never -asked Major Hopkins to come again." And Miss Matilda looked regretful, -as does the Historic Muse when she registers the might-have-beens. -"Pray point the muzzle up the chimney, dear; it is safer." - -Penelope, with a disdainful shrug, moved to the door, raised her -firearm to her shoulder, and motioned the maids to undo the -fastenings and open. They obeyed, and as the door flew back there -entered a puff of wind which blew out the candles and made everybody -scream--everybody except Miss Stanley. She, like a hero, stood to her -gun, and pulled the trigger--she pulled it frequently, in fact, but as -the piece was not loaded, that made no difference. Indeed, it was much -better, her timid companions were saved the dreadful bang, while she -herself had the heroic feeling of having shot a gang of burglars; that -is, she would have shot them if her gun had been loaded, and they had -been there to be shot. But they were not, fortunately for themselves. -There was no one there at all. The band of affrighted females came -slowly to realize the fact, as their panic subsided, and they re-lit -the candles. "But who," they began to inquire, "could it be, who had -knocked so loudly and rung the bell?" As their tremors abated they -ventured out upon the verandah, which ran round the house, to -reconnoitre. There was no one there, and again they grew uneasy. The -visitant must have concealed himself in the shrubbery, and if so, he -must certainly be evil-disposed. Miss Stanley took up her gun again; -she had no misgiving about handling it now, and it looked as -formidable as ever, for of course the man in the shrubbery could not -know that it was unloaded, and she made sure he would not put its -being so to the test. - -"Here is a large parcel, ma'am!" cried the parlour-maid, "shall I -bring it in? It is covered with old matting and tied with a -shoe-string." - -"Take care, Rhoda!" said Matilda. "Let us look at it first. I have -heard of thieves tying themselves up in parcels in order to be taken -into the houses they intended to rob. Perhaps you had better fire your -gun into this, Penelope; I have known that to be done in a story with -the best effects." - -Miss Penelope came to look. "I think we may take this one in, Tilly, -without fear. If it contains a man he cannot be very big. See! I can -lift the bundle myself. Bring it in, Rhoda; we will examine it in the -dining-room." - -"It must be living, ma'am! I see it moving. Will it bite?" and she -took it up suspiciously and with precaution. - -A cry, small and plaintive, was now heard. - -"Do you hear that?" said Miss Matilda, "mewing--I think. Can anybody -have brought us a cat and kittens? A practical joke I suppose they -think it. Yet I like kittens,--soft little balls of fluff and fun," -she went on, putting on her gloves at the same time, "but strange cats -may bite or scratch. Very impertinent, was it not, of the senders? -They mean, I suppose, that we are old maids. Well! If we are, at least -it is from choice, and I venture to say we are more comfortably -situated than the husband or wife of this impertinent." - -"Tush! sister," said Penelope, glancing to the servants standing at -the lower end of the table and full of curiosity. "Have you a -penknife? Quick! No cat ever mewed like that." - -And now indeed it was a lusty cry, distinctly human and articulating -mamma. The string was cut, the wrappings were kicked away by the -struggling contents of the parcel, and a good-sized, healthy infant, -well nourished, well clad, flushing red in the opening paroxysm of a -big cry on waking, was disclosed to view. - -"A little child!" cried Miss Matilda in transports. - -"What a frightful din!" said Miss Stanley, putting her fingers in her -ears. "To think that anything so small should make so much noise! What -ever shall we do with it?" - -"Give it some milk, of course; bathe it, put it to bed. That is -what they always do with babies, I believe. Cook! get hot water at -once--and a large basin--and some milk--and--and--everything else that -is necessary. Quick! you others, and help her," she added, observing -the lingering steps of the maids, yawning now, and utterly disgusted -and wishing themselves back in bed, though a moment ago they had been -all wakefulness and interest. - -It was curious to see how Matilda took the lead, now that her -sympathies were appealed to, while her practical sister, the mistress -and manager of the establishment, stood aside bewildered and confused. -She took the child in her arms and walked up and down, dandling it, -singing, and purring forth floods of baby talk, till the little one -stopped short in the middle of its lament to look at her, and -ascertain who this voluble person might be. Then, finding she could -make out nothing by her scrutiny, she prepared to resume with -augmented vigour, but Matilda would not have it. She sat down with the -doubter in her lap, bent over it, and made a bower for it with her -curls, crooning more volubly than ever, and tickling it with the -ringlet points, till the astonished infant grew confused, forgot that -it had intended to scream, and presently was smiling and crowing and -pulling the ringlets like bell-ropes. - -Miss Matilda's ringlets were perhaps her most noticeable -feature--long, waving, twining masses of falling hair; giving her face -a pensive and romantic expression which has long ceased to be -fashionable, though it once was greatly admired, as was also the -poetry of Moore and Mrs. Hemans about the same time. In her youth, and -that was not so many years before, an officer in Montreal--it was -there the family lived then--had told her she looked like a muse, and -not long after he was ordered away to the Crimean war. Her own father -was ordered there too, but he said he owed a higher duty to his -motherless daughters than to leave them, and he thought he owed it to -his own ease not to let himself be sent ranging over Asia Minor, -Syria, and Egypt, in search of transport mules and donkeys, and so he -left the Service. He lingered in Montreal after the troops were -withdrawn; but soon that community of busy traders grew insupportable -in the absence of his fellow-loungers; he bought a farm near Saint -Euphrase, and there established himself, carrying his daughters with -him. He had already, as he told them, sacrificed his prospects of -advancement to their need of a protector, and now it was for them to -yield the social comforts of town life, bury themselves in the -country, and with grateful assiduity make his home as comfortable, and -his rheumatism as little intolerable as possible. After the fall of -Sebastopol the troops returned to Canada, and "General" Stanley was -able from time to time to relieve the monotony of his retirement with -the society of old friends; but the officer who had called Matilda a -muse never re-appeared, and no other gentleman since had said -anything half as nice. So Matilda cherished her ringlets and her -recollections--not very painful ones--and lived tranquilly on, with no -event to mark the flight of years, till the death of her father, which -took place some three or four years before the time I write of. After -that the sisters lived on as before, only more retiredly still. Miss -Penelope developed considerable business faculty in managing their -affairs, and overlooking Jean Bruneau, the factotum on the farm; and -dropped some of the feminine helplessnesses of her youth, though she -was still as much in terror of thunder, burglars, fire and snakes as -ever. Matilda having less need to exert her powers, continued the same -ringletted damsel she had always been. She busied herself with her -flowers and her birds, a little music not too difficult or new, a -little poetry and fiction, and a good deal of kindness when the need -for it was made plain to her. Her youth was passing or had passed into -middle life, but the current of her days had been so even that she had -not observed their flight. She had had no cares, and her heart slept -peacefully, for it had never been awakened. Captain Lorrimer may have -called her a muse, and Major Hopkins may have looked in her eyes, but -these things had never been carried to a disturbing length; just -enough to afford a little pensive self-consciousness, when she read of -deserted maids, or Love's young dream, and make her fancy that she -understood it all, and ejaculate that "it was so true." Then she would -look up and shake her curls with a quite comfortable sigh, and her -prosaic sister would watch her admiringly, and wonder where the men's -eyes could have been that she was still unmarried. Perhaps it was well -for her that she was so. Perhaps it would be well, at least it would -be comfortable, for many of us if our hearts would sleep through -life, and leave digestion to do its work in peace. How sweet and -enjoyable to lead untroubled lives, free from the ecstasies alike of -joy and woe, as do the flowers, as did this "muse"--this "grass of -Parnassus"--basking in summer suns and drinking dews, without ambition -or desire or strife. - -But this is wandering. We left Miss Penelope desirous of getting to -bed; and Miss Matilda engrossed in her new plaything. - -"I shall certainly keep it, Penelope! The very thing of all others I -should have liked best to have." - -"Is not that rather an odd thing to say?" - -"That I am charmed to have found a living doll?--I think it is quite -natural. _You_ are too sensible, of course, but for other people--for -me--it seems the most natural thing in the world. You know I always -doted on dolls, especially when they could wink their eyes. This one -can do that, and lots of other things besides. It will be delightful. -And to think how I have been mourning the loss of my lame canary these -last few days! You would not believe the tears I have shed every time -I have looked at the empty cage, and how lonely I have felt; and here, -in the middle of the night, just when we are going to bed, arrives -this little pet! Is it not opportune? If I had awakened in the night, -I might have thought of poor dicky, and then I should certainly have -cried. Now I shall take this sweet little image with me, and if I -awake, it will be to think how I can make up to it the loss of its -mother; though indeed the mother who could find it in her breast to -cast her off in this disgraceful way can be no loss." - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - THE DESOLATE MOTHER. - - -It was three months later. The Selbys' shrubbery had changed from the -vigorous greens of summer to russet, paling here into sulphur yellow, -there deepening to orange and crimson which outshone the less vivid -tints of the early chrysanthemums. The autumn flowers, nipped by early -frosts, lay black and ragged on their erewhile brilliant beds. The sun -was warm and the air sweet with the breath of leaves falling softly in -their brightness, one by one, peaceful, beautiful, fragrant, like the -ending of a well-spent life. - -In the parlour the windows were open; and a fire burning in the grate -to temper the air in shady corners proclaimed the fall of the year. - -Stretched on a sofa, thin and wan, with hair pushed back--hair which -three months before had been soft and glossy and of the loveliest -brown, now dry, rusty, grizzled, banded with locks of grey, and mixed -all through with threads of shining white--her fingers shrunk and -bloodless, clasping a baby's bells and coral, and her dim eyes wet -with silent tears, lay the desolate mother mourning for her child. She -had been very ill, and bodily weakness, unable to suffer more, was the -one consoler as yet to mitigate her grief, by benumbing the capacity -for pain. Her George had mingled tears with hers, tears drawn as much -by the sight of what she suffered as by its cause. He had tended and -watched her with more than a woman's tenderness, but after all he was -a man, with his day's work to perform whatever might befall, and the -doing it supported him by bringing distraction and thereby rest. True, -it jarred miserably on the overwrought nerves to keep up the routine -of music lessons, to watch the "fingering" of inattentive pupils and -have his senses pierced by their frequent discords; but it was easier -to find endurance for these physical ills than for the heartstrain he -had felt at home. The patience and fatigue of the outdoor toil brought -the calmness he needed so much in the presence of his stricken wife. - -For her there was no break or respite to the rush of black and -miserable thought. If the child had died she could have borne it. It -would have been grief, but grief of the common kind, and for which -there is consolation in the pious certainties of another life. It -would have been agony to part with her treasure, but agony with a -hope. In time she would have learned to bear the bereavement with -sorrowful patience and resignation--to think of her blossom snatched -away, rather as one transplanted and someday to be recovered in -brighter bloom, growing in immortal gardens; just as she looked on the -other--brother of the lost one, born since her loss, and which had -never seen the light. Oh, if she could but have thought of the two as -with each other! But even the consolations of faith were denied her. -The child had vanished utterly, and she was left to wonder and surmise -whither it might have been carried. Surely if it had died there would -have been found some sign or vestige, and then her mother's heart -would have been at rest. She would have wept and there would have been -an end. She could have rested her thoughts on the armies of the Holy -Innocents, and in her dreams a cherub face would have come to her with -shining wings, whispering hope and consolation. But even this saddened -peace was not for her. She would not entertain the thought that her -baby was dead; it was away somewhere--where, oh where?--and perhaps it -needed her, and was crying for her, and she could not come to it; and -a restlessness seized her, a low dull fever of impotent longing, and -kept her pacing the chamber to and fro, till exhaustion numbed her -senses and she fell asleep. But oh, what sleep! It was more miserable -than waking. Fancy gave shape to her yearnings, and dreams revived -their wretchedness into more tangible shape. The baby's cry, as if in -pain, rang through them all, and sometimes she could see the arms -stretched out to her, but never the face. A shadow undefined came in -between, and bore her darling away into darkness. Sometimes her feet -would be heavy as lead, and scarcely could she drag herself after, -while the shadow fled out of sight, and the cries came to her -fitfully, and far away, borne on the wind. At other times she would be -able to pursue, but that brought little comfort. The shadow still fled -before her, and ah, by what dreary ways! Sometimes it would be dark, -and yet she could see them speeding on before; across a raging river, -where the waters tossed and tumbled about her, lifting her from her -feet, or overwhelming her in their depths; but still she hurried on -and clambered up the slippery rocks on the further shore, and up and -up where there was no foothold, and she felt herself falling through -depths and catching and clinging with her hands and drawing herself -upward and up and up among curling mists to dreary deserts far above -the clouds. And still the shadow sped on before, and she pursued -across the sandy wastes, where horrid reptiles hissed at her as she -went by, and clouds of dust arose and came between, obscuring and -impeding the way. And still she would pursue and seem to be -overtaking. The child's cry would become quite close, and she would -see the very dimples at the finger joints and the streaming hair, and -she would stretch her hand to lay it on the form, and her hand would -pass through it like a shadow and she would awake. It was all a dream, -her darling was gone from her and she was desolate. - -On the day of the theft she had driven about the town in search of her -husband, sometimes hearing of him but never meeting; and then she had -gone to the police station herself, breathless with anxiety and haste, -and there they were so mechanical and full of formalities, and heard -her story with so aggravating an official calm that it wellnigh drove -her mad. The person she addressed on entering was sweltering on two -chairs, without coat or collar, and his boots pulled off. Before he -would listen to a lady he felt it due to himself to rectify his -appearance. The boots were tight and could not be quickly stepped -into; the coat was on a nail in another part of the office. Then the -book of complaints had to be found, and a pen, and so many flies had -drowned themselves in the ink that the stand must be refilled, and -Mary stood wringing her hands and swaying back and forth in agonized -impatience. - -"Calm yourself, madame," he said, while he dipped in the ink his pen, -and then removed first a dead fly from the point, and next a hair. "I -shall now take down your complaints," and he bent over his book, -extending his left elbow and bending his head towards it, with the -eyes squinting across the page he was about to illustrate with his -caligraphy, while with an expert turn of the wrist he made a -preliminary flourish in waiting for this member of the public to begin -stating her grievance; "but stay one moment, madame; I believe I have -mislaid my glasses;" and he started up and laid his hand upon each of -his pockets in turn. "No! I believe I must have lef dem in ze ozer -desk beside ze journaux." - -"Oh man! man!" cried Mary in desperation, "while you are putting off -time my baby is being carried further and further away; and we know -not where she may be or what they are doing to her!" - -"Be tranquillisee madame! Ze occurrence--is of frequent--how you -say?--occurrence. Zere are tree--five!" and he held up his fingers to -show the number--"infants vich make disappearance all ze days, and zey -all turn zemselves up again before to-morrow. Ze leetle tings march in -ze streets voisines, and know not ze retour. Ze police arrest, and -bring here; and voila!--l'enfant perdu ees on return to ze famille." -At this point the spectacles were discovered, and the speaker returned -to his book. - -"My baby _could_ not run away. She cannot walk yet." Mary answered. -"My baby has been carried off, and you are wasting precious time in -talk." - -"Ze publique ees so deraisonnable! And me. Behold me!"--and he spread -out all his fingers and shrugged his shoulders in philosophic and -forbearing remonstrance--"I attend madame's informations." - -The "informations" were given, recorded and commented on, and the slow -machinery of justice set in motion at last, and the distracted mother -turned away to the grey nunnery where foundlings are received and -cared for. There she left a description of her child, and begged that -if any one resembling hers were presented, she might at once be -informed. Then she went home. What to her was the thunder storm and -lashing rain? A wilder tempest of doubt raged in her own aching heart. -Her husband had arrived before her, and in tears on his shoulder she -found the first momentary easement since her trouble began. The world -was so hard and callous, so busy, every one with his own affairs; -people accepted her desolation so calmly, told her not to fret, that -the child would soon be found. She could not have believed the -atrocious selfishness of mankind if she had not seen it. The street -children, playing after the rain, were as gleeful as ever, without a -thought of her distress; losing their balls across the fence and -coming over after them--breaking in on her very inclosure, sacred to -miserable anxiety, as if nothing were the matter. Her own servants -were no better, they were going on with their cooking and their -housework just as usual. There was the dinner bell! Who could think of -dinner on a day like this? And yet George--and she could not but own -that George had proper feeling, and was as anxious and distressed as a -_man_ well could be--even George seemed to have bodily appetite. He -was not cannibal enough to dine, but he did eat a slice of beef, and -drink a tumbler of wine and water. It seemed incomprehensible to her, -somehow, that even the round heavens should revolve as usual. But they -did. It was growing dark just the same as if nothing had befallen her -baby, and the long still night was before her. There were hours and -hours to wait before another day would arise, with its possibilities -of news or restoration, and how was she to spend them? She could not -sit still, far less lie down. She wondered about the house hour after -hour, and three several times her husband took a cab to the police -head-quarters in vain. There was no news. - -The morrow brought no change; but weariness stilled the restlessness -of her misery. She could not eat or drink or sleep, or even wander to -and fro; she could but wait, seated in the porch and watching the gate -for coming news--for news which did not come. The chief of police -appeared, and questioned Lisette and went again. Another day, and -Lisette was sent for to see Indians taken upon suspicion, and in the -evening she returned having identified one. But still there was no -news of the child. The squaw arrested declared she knew nothing of it, -had not taken it, had not been in the city that day. - -And now Mary's strength gave way. She fainted, and when revived it was -found that she was dangerously ill; and through long weeks her life -trembled on the verge of dissolution, flickering and waning till it -seemed scarce possible the spark should not go out. And then, too weak -to suffer, she began to mend, and in the vacuity of utter exhaustion, -her mind obtained that rest which no doubt saved her reason, sparing -her the weary waitings on for news which never came. In her illness a -son was born--was born and died--but only in her convalescence did she -become aware of her loss. That was a grief, but it was grief of the -more ordinary kind, and one to which the Church's consolations -effectively minister. The little one's earthly sojourn was -accomplished; it needed her care no longer, and the hopes of religion -were a soothing balm to mingle with her tears. But the other?--She was -so sure the little daughter needed her still. Sleeping or waking her -heart yearned to be with her, and often in the night when she awoke, -the baby voice would be ringing in her ears, calling her to come. That -was a dry aching feverish unassuageable grief, on which ordinary -consolation had no power. It might have killed her with its gnawing -carking care, but for the gentler sorrow of the other loss, which -vented itself naturally in tears, and the tears relieved the -over-burdened heart, easing it and strengthening it for the stronger -grief. Then, too, there was George to share her sorrow, and sorrows -are less crushing when they are not borne alone. And there were -friends who came to see her and strove to console. Utterly futile as -was all they could say, their presence and their sympathy were -grateful. It is so desolate after awhile to have to bear our -wretchedness all alone. An ear in which to pour our complaints, an eye -to look pitifully on our pain, soothes and strengthens, if it cannot -mitigate the anguish. And Mary had these. Her nephew Ralph Herkimer -and his wife were, as the servants said, most attentive; and the -sympathy of the wife at least was very genuine, while Ralph's was -equally well expressed. And after all, till men become able to read -each other's souls--a state of things which even the best of us would -not relish--it is the expression which is efficacious or otherwise, -not the prompting spirit. Consider it, oh ye of the hard shell, who -plume yourselves on your good hearts and sweet natures! How many a -cocoanut has been left to rot, because the eaters could not penetrate -the husk! - -Mary's sisters, too, when they heard of her desolation, had relented; -and found they must forgive her having married against their wish. -Being human, even if peculiar, they could not but be sorry, only they -had said so many things in their heat that each felt awkward about -proposing to the other to relax the estrangement so far as to call on -the offender. Public opinion, however decided the matter. Mary's -distress was perfectly well known to every one, and when the ladies of -their acquaintance began to inquire for their sister and to express -sympathy, it was even more "awkward" to acknowledge the estrangement -than to bring it to an end. - -Circumstances were kind to them in their attempt to make friends, and -let them down very gently. When they called the first time their -sister was far too ill to see any one, which spared them the -"awkwardness" of a meeting. They called every day afterwards, and so -had their bulletin ready for inquiring friends, and also had their own -feelings modulated gradually to a gentler frame. By-and-by they were -admitted to the sickroom. Mary was too feeble to talk; she welcomed -them with a faint smile, to which the only possible answer on their -part was a kiss, a kiss of reconciliation as well as sympathy, all the -more reconciling in that no words were possible on either side, for so -soon as it was given the nurse was ready to usher them out again -without parley. - -On the late October day we have mentioned Mary lay with her thin -fingers twined about the baby's plaything, and tears stealing from her -eyes. As each movement of her chest stirred the little bells, their -ringing thrilled her senses like a pain. - -It was the far-away cry of a departed joy, reminding her of its loss. -And yet she clasped the bauble but the tighter for each new sting it -inflicted on her heart; it brought the vanished past a little nearer, -and she almost coveted the pain as a relief from the leaden desolation -under which she lay. So, when a wound begins to heal, one will touch -and trifle with it, reviving the smart as an easement from the weary -numbness of the congested tissues. She was absorbed in her sorrowful -musings and did not note the entrance of her sisters, till, in their -sabled gowns, coming between her and the light, they bent over her. -Susan kissed her on the forehead, and Judith's tightened lips -delivered a peck upon her mouth. Then she opened her eyes with a wan -smile, and faintly bade them welcome, endeavouring to raise herself -the while. - -"Keep still, Mary," said Susan. "Do not attempt to move. You will get -strong all the sooner for taking care now." - -"I think," said Judith, observing the child's coral in her hands, -which she was at the moment slipping away among her coverings, "you -should put away those things. They can do no good, and can only revive -distressing thoughts." - -Mary sighed, and asked if they had walked. - -"Give it to me, Mary!" persisted Judith the energetic, "and let me put -it away and lock it up." - -"Oh, no!" said Mary, clasping it with both hands to her breast, and -smiling sorrowfully. "It comforts me." - -"Very wrong! Foolishly injudicious in Mr. Selby to allow it," and Miss -Judith stood up with a jerk, as though she would take the obnoxious -article by force. "Susan----" - -"Judith! Better let alone," her sister interrupted, attempting to draw -her back to her chair. - -Judith flushed hotly. Like other zealous reformers of their -neighbours, she was irritably intolerant of advice to herself; -because, of course, she must be right--she always was. So are the -others. She turned upon her sister with a frown, and there might have -been words; but at that moment the click of the gate-latch sounded. -The gate opened, and a clergyman appeared--a young clergyman. Judith -admired clergymen, and we all admire youth, at least all who have lost -their own. - -By the time the Reverend Dionysius Bunce entered the room. Miss -Judith's angry flush had cooled down, and her tightened lips had -relaxed into a smile of virgin sweetness. She had a taste for -clergymen, just as some other ladies have a taste for horses, and -some for cats. People talk of "pigeon-fanciers." Miss Judith was a -parson-fancier, that is, she fancied the parsons but she could not -keep them, as the pigeon-fanciers keep _their_ pets; they always flew -away to fresher fields. Mr. Bunce was curate of St. Wittikind's, the -church where Selby was organist and choirmaster. It was a place of -worship which Miss Judith's pietistical scruples would not allow her -to attend. The people there were given to singing harmoniously words -which she held should be said discordantly, and to other practices -equally to be regretted. St. Wittikind's, in fact, was "high," and she -never mentioned it without drawing a long breath, and shaking her head -sadly. Still, if her mind was controversial it was also feminine, and -the curate's trim, ecclesiastical uniform attracted her much. The -linen was so white, so tight, and so starchy, while that of the -married curate of her own St. Silas' was yellow, limp, and even -slovenly, like the services in which he assisted. No doubt it was -right, from her standpoint, that the service should be bald and -unattractive, and she had very decided views about vestments _in_ -church, but in vesture _out_ of church, she had a woman's preference -for neatness, and if she could win this young man from his -unevangelical vagaries, would it not be like plucking a brand from the -burning? She had long known him by sight, as indeed, she knew all the -clergy, but hitherto he had been one of the black sheep in her eyes. -Now, when she met him in a room, he was so neat and seemed so young -and inexperienced, that her heart yearned towards him with a mother's -interest--no! not a mother's interest precisely, but an interest of -the adaptable kind, which may change into any other sort as occasion -dictates. - -In Miss Susan's eyes the curate appeared uninteresting enough. She -thought him stubby, commonplace, and scarcely a gentleman, save that -to a good churchwoman like herself, his orders, like the Queen's -commission in the army, made his position unassailable. But then, Miss -Susan had no enthusiasm, and was disposed to let the brands burn, each -in its own fashion. She would have liked to go now, when she saw the -clergyman sit down beside Mary's sofa, and pull out his book, and had -risen with that intention, when Judith, clasping her black gloves and -smiling with grave sweetness, as one may smile at a christening, asked -if it was absolutely needful that they should go away. "For herself," -she said, "there was no portion of our beautiful liturgy in which she -so much delighted as in those sweet and improving passages which occur -in the 'visitation of the sick,' and if Mr. Bunce did not object, she -would feel it a privilege to be permitted to remain." - -Poor Mr. Bunce could only acquiesce, and go on with his function, -resigning the hope of whatever satisfaction he might otherwise have -found in its performance, and a good deal disturbed by Miss Judith's -sighs of extreme interest in one place, and the fervency of her -responses in another. Susan, too, perforce sat down again, wondering -internally at the queerness of her sister's taste. For herself, she -felt perfectly well, and it only depressed her to listen to the -curate's words. She looked out of the window where the sun was -shining, and could not but think that it would have been far more -cheerful to be walking down the street. - -Having finished, Mr. Bunce would have liked to remain a little for a -quiet chat with Mrs. Selby; but Miss Judith sat still and seemed bent -on taking on herself the entire duty of conversing with him. It might -be well intended, he thought, to save her sister fatigue, but it was -not very interesting, so he quickly rose to leave. Judith did so at -the same time, and when he reached the gate, the reverend man -discovered that fate had condemned him to accompany the two ladies -along more than a mile of suburban street, where he saw no hope of -breaking away. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - RALPH. - - -It was with a sweet and respectful smile that Judith looked at the -curate, and left him to make the first observation. She would have -liked to look up to him; that being her natural mental attitude to men -of his cloth; but physically the thing was impracticable. She was not -notably a tall woman, but he was distinctly a short man; and though -too bulky to be called little, his figure justified Susan's mental -definition of him as "stumpy." He was her junior too, and his -countenance was not impressive. It was blond as regarded hair and -eyes, indefinite in feature, pasty in complexion; still, it was neatly -kept, and relieved from vacuity by that undoubting self-complacency -which comes to those privileged to reprove and exhort unchallenged, -for twenty minutes at a stretch. - -Mr. Bunce waited, coughed, observed on the fineness of the weather, -and was silent. Miss Susan agreed with him in her mind, but having -nothing to say on the subject, said nothing, and it was left for -Judith to fan the verbal spark, and nurse it into a conversation. She -opened in dulcet tones, and with a respectful effusiveness, like the -carved nymphs round an old fountain, catching the wasting driblets in -their marble shells. She agreed that the weather was indeed extremely -pleasant, and counted up how many other fine days there had been that -week and the week before. But there had been a shower the week before -that, just when the people were leaving the missionary meeting, where -the good Bishop of Rara Tonga spoke so sweetly. Had Mr. Bunce been -there? No? Ah! then, he had indeed missed a treat. It had been most -instructive. The bishop told about a deacon who remembered having -eaten part of his grandmother, and about the octopus coming out of the -sea, to eat breadfruit on shore on moonlight nights,--perhaps it was -not breadfruit, by the way, it may have been something else; and -perhaps it was not an octopus; but at any rate it was some dreadful -creature, and it did something very curious, and it was all most -interesting; "and indeed, Mr. Bunce, you missed a treat." - -Mr. Bunce said he found his parochial duty too heavy and too -engrossing to admit of desultory meeting-going. - -"But the heathen! Mr. Bunce, if you take no interest in the octopus." - -"We have heathens in Montreal, Miss Herkimer, as ignorant of good as -any South Sea Islander. They want to be taught, and some even to be -fed, for work is scarce this year, and winter coming on." - -"Ah, yes!" answered Miss Judith, "it is sad to think of, and," she -added--with a twinge of conscience for what she was about, to say, for -she was of St. Silas, and set no great store by the church activities -of St. Wittikind, but then good manners and Christian charity require -one to stretch a point verbally sometimes--"You are doing much good in -St. Wittikind's, I understand. We in St. Silas are doing what we can -too. We distribute fifty thousand gospel leaflets every month, and -with--well, they must have the best results. So many benighted -Romanists have no other opportunity to get a glimpse of the truth; and -you know, Mr. Bunce, the truth _must_ prevail." - -"No doubt. Miss Herkimer, it will, someday. In St. Wittikind's parish, -however, we find so many in physical want, and so many with no -religion at all, that our hands are full, and we do not attempt -controversy." - -Miss Judith sighed softly, so as not to be observed. These were not -the views in vogue at St. Silas, and of course they were wrong; but -with her "yearning" towards this curate, who seemed meet for better -things, if he could be won, it seemed her duty to be winning. So she -suppressed her inclination to say something "sound," merely observing -that all souls were alike precious, and then added that she had heard -much of the zealous beneficence exercised at St. Wittikind's, and -"would he explain about those sisterhoods, of which people talked so -much." - -This, to use an Americanism, "fetched" the curate--fetched him round, -as it were, to his own shopdoor, the pulpit, into which he at once -stepped, and held forth fluently and minutely, and at very great -length, while Judith listened with interest. Not so Susan, who found -the prelection both tedious and unnecessary. She paid what she thought -she could afford to the different charities recommended by her church, -whose business she considered it to see that its member's money was -well applied; and having paid, she took a receipt in full from her -conscience, and did not wish to hear any more about giving till -that day twelvemonths, when, if convenient, she would renew the -contribution. Every one, she said, had her own preference in -fancy-work and amusements; hers was Berlin wool--as indeed her -drawing-room showed, where every chair and ottoman was bedecked with -representations of impossible herbage in the crudest of colour and -design. Judith's fad was handing tracts to ragged French and Irish -men, an equally harmless exercise, though with less result to show, -seeing the recipients hardly waited till her back was turned before -lighting their pipes with them. - -Susan's eyes strayed from one passer-by to the next, in search of -something to interest her more than the clerical monologue proceeding -at her side, and by-and-by she espied a gentleman being driven in the -direction from which she had come. An idea struck her; she hailed the -cab, which stopped before her, and the gentleman within looked out -inquiringly. - -"Oh! Mr. Jordan," she said, "forgive my stopping you; but this was the -day that wretched woman who stole our little niece was to be tried, -and I know you have charge of Mr. Selby's interests in the matter. Is -the case decided? What have they done with her? Has she confessed?" - -"She has been acquitted, ma'am. I am just now on my way to Mrs. -Selby's, who will no doubt be impatient to hear the result; though, -for myself, I have suspected for some time there was a mistake in -arresting her." - -"Acquitted? But the nurse-girl swore positively--did she not?--that -that was the squaw who was at the house! And the ferry-boatmen -corroborated what she said." - -"Yes. The man swore that a squaw with a bundle, which he suspected -might be a baby, crossed in the steamboat that afternoon, and he was -inclined to swear to the identity of the blanket the prisoner wore, on -account of its being torn at one corner. The girl Lisette was very -positive about both the blanket and the wearer, and I fear her being -so will materially prejudice any further attempts we may make, for the -priest swore to the squaw's having been in Caughnawaga all day, and he -produced the school roll of the Ladies of the Sacred Heart to show -that she had not only been there, but had taken the medal of honour -that day." - -"Ah!" ejaculated Judith with emphasis, "what a system is Popery! So -insidious! So soul-destroying!--capable of any subterfuge. I wonder -you don't take out a warrant and have that convent searched." - -Mr. Bunce opened his eyes, startled and shocked that one so much -interested in works of beneficence should have so little charity. - -Mr. Jordan, who knew the lady better, sniffed impatiently but not -loud, as recognizing the ebullition to be constitutional and unworthy -of notice. "The worst of it is," he said, "the girl has sworn so -positively that it will weaken the value of her testimony when we -bring her up by-and-by to identify the real offender, if found. And we -have no other witness to produce. In my professional experience I have -always found that too much zeal is dangerous--far worse than too -little! How do _you_ find it, Mr. Bunce in _your_ profession? Zeal -without knowledge, eh?" and he glanced with a sly smile from Miss -Judy's face to the curate's. - -The curate looked blankly before him. He was too slightly acquainted -with the ladies to feel warranted in poking fun at their -eccentricities; and he was too much of a cleric to welcome a layman's -jest on subjects pertaining to his cloth. It was well, he thought, -that the lady should have a zeal, whether wise or the reverse. The -trouble he had found had oftener been to kindle a zeal than to direct -it, and he doubted not but with judicious guidance this ardent lady -might be brought right--that is, to take views like his own of most -things. - -The pause resulting from Mr. Jordan's wit and the curate's -unresponsiveness was broken by Miss Susan, who was growing restless. -Though no longer young, she retained some of the characteristics of -her departed youth, and had what, to misquote the high-heeled -dignitaries of literature, might be called "the modern spirit." -Had she been thirty years younger than the family bible showed -her to be she would assuredly have said that all men of the -professions--especially successful ones--were prigs, and most of them -bores into the bargain; and, as it was, she thought it. Foolish old -woman! Her weakness, in days of old had been for the red coats, and -though none of them had ever proposed, she was still loyal to her -ancient ideal. Her roving eye descried her nephew Ralph on the other -side of the way, and just as the pause incident to the curate's -silence became notable, she called aloud, "Ralph!" and waved her -parasol. - -Ralph obeyed the signal, and joined the party on the curbstone, around -the cab door. - -"Ah, Ralph!" cried Mr. Jordan. "Going to call on your aunt, I -daresay, and tell her the trial is over and that it is proved now we -have been on a wrong scent these last three months, and must begin all -over again from the beginning. Here, get in; we may as well go -together--or, better still, I will yield you up the cab. You can -explain it all, just as well as I could; it seems like a fresh -disappointment to the poor lady, and the news will come better from a -relative." Then, looking at his watch, "I have a meeting due in ten -minutes from now; I shall still be in time; so good-bye! and thanks." - -"No--you--don't! Mr. Jordan," responded Ralph. "I will not deny that I -intended to call at Selby's; but, since _you_ are so far on your way, -just complete the trip. Take all the credit yourself and charge it in -your bill. I can't do that, you know, being only a broker." - -Jordan looked disgusted, re-seated himself in his cab and drove away. -Susan repeated her expressions of regret at what she still looked on -as a miscarriage of justice; but Ralph replied: - -"Not at all! No one who was present at the trial could have looked for -any other conclusion. We must just try again; but--now that old Jordan -is out of hearing, one may venture to say it--the whole case has been -mismanaged. Why did they not offer a reward at the first? Now, I fear, -it will be too late! The little circumstances which detectives are -able to piece together to so good a purpose are soon forgotten, and so -the clue is lost." - -"Poor Mary!" said Susan, "my heart bleeds for her. It may turn out for -the best, perhaps, and remedy the iniquity of Gerald's preposterous -will, by keeping the money in his own family, but it is very sad. She -seems crushed. If her boy had been spared to her--but to lose them -both! It is turning her hair grey. She who used to be the flower of -our family!" - -Judith's lips tightened at "flower of the family." Herself was that -interesting blossom she thought, but that was not what she said. On -the contrary she expressed herself with evangelical superiority to -such trifles. - -"_I_ regard it as a dispensation, to wean her from earthly joys. It is -in love that, when we make ourselves idols, they are taken away. -Perhaps, too, it may be a judgment on her for marrying in defiance of -those who were older and wiser than herself. There are warnings in all -these mysterious happenings, and food for thought;" and she rolled her -eyes Sibyl-wise over Ralph to the curate. - -There was an irreverent gleam in Ralph's eyes, and he turned to watch -a passing dray till his inclination to laugh went off. The curate was -regarding her with a puzzled expression. He was a well-meaning young -man, who wished both to be and to do good; but who, not being any -wiser than his neighbours, notwithstanding the higher ground on which, -in right of his orders, he believed himself to stand, was often in -doubt both as to what he ought to feel and to say. He was very sure it -would never have occurred to himself to use the language he had -listened to, and he began to wonder if he had stumbled on some -advancedly serious person, whose acquaintance would be improving, -or--or something else. There seemed a fine devotional tone in her -opening words, especially enunciated as they were, with a full and -rounded unction. They were not very novel, perhaps; he seemed to have -heard the like before, and more than once; but then, what that is true -is also new?--as was said, or something not unlike it in sound, by a -late prime minister. Her next proposition rather startled him, -carrying him back to his college days, and reminding him of the -stealing of Jove's thunderbolts; but there was a third-like the third -course beloved by another prime minister, reconciling contradictions -and committing to nothing--"mysterious happenings, food for thought." -That was it! He would think it over; and there was balm in this, -for had she not been listening to him, as they came along, as to -another Gamaliel, while he described the charitable schemes of St. -Wittikind's? and would it not be painful to think otherwise than well -of so responsive a lady? - -Confused by all these thoughts the curate did not speak; and Susan, -thinking it high time to break up the meeting, reminded Judith that -their dressmaker lived hard by, and now would be a good opportunity to -order their winter gowns. Judith said goodbye regretfully and made the -curate promise to come very soon and tell her more about St. -Wittikind's, and the two gentlemen walked townwards together. - -"You seem to know my aunt well," said Ralph. "I am agreeably -surprised. I fancied she was too grimly Low Church to speak to any -clergyman not of St. Silas or St. Zebedee. I hope your acquaintance -will broaden her views, which are rather extreme, and something of a -nuisance in the family. However, Aunt Judy means well. We all allow -that. The trouble is that she will never allow that we mean well, when -we go counter to her advice; and then she treats us to a word in -season, which is apt to be very highly seasoned with brimstone and -what not." - -There was a tone of levity and indifference to his cloth in this talk -which jarred on Mr. Bunce. It was evident that Ralph looked on him as -just like a secular person, or perhaps as less shrewd, and this was -not as he liked. His associations were mostly with the docile of the -other sex, and the more reverential of his own, and the company of -this robust worldling was so unpleasantly bracing that they soon -parted, and Ralph was alone when he reached his office. - -"A man waiting to see you, sir." - -"What sort of man?" - -"An Indian. The same I think who came for your guns last year, when -you went camping out." - -"Tell him I've gone out." - -"He saw you come in through the glass door." - -"Say I'm engaged." - -"He says he will wait till you are at leisure." - -"Bid him come in, then," and presently Paul stood before his employer, -looking in his eyes but saying nothing. - -"Well, Paul?" said Ralph, without looking up from the letter he -appeared to be writing, "deer have been seen near the Lake of Two -Mountains, eh? Too busy! Shall not be able to leave town this Fall. -Hard on a man--is it not? Wish I was an Indian and could do as I -pleased." - -"Ouff," grunted Paul, with an impatient glance, and that slight twitch -of the eyebrows equivalent to a Frenchman's shrug, which says so -plainly "Why all these idle words?" Then, producing a paper from his -bosom he handed it to Ralph. - -"Ze notaire gave dis! Want pay--for Therese--Judge court defend." - -"Ah!" said Ralph, taking the paper and glancing over it. "Your bill of -costs. Defending that squaw--eh? You want me to look it over?--Oh yes! -quite right. O.K![1] all correct! Pay it at once, Paul, and finish the -business." - -"Ze dollars?" answered Paul. "You give! I pay." - -"It's all right, Paul! The account, I mean. But you must pay your own -bills, you know--defend your own family. She's your squaw, not mine." - -Paul shot a fiery glance from under his gathered brows. "Zis my squaw -sister! Done for you!--O.K? Squaw get dollars for fetch back papoose. -Easy fetch back." - -"What do you mean, Paul? What will be so easy for you to fetch back?" -said Ralph wheeling round in his chair. - -"Fetch papoose. Got no dollars for pay notaire." - -"Man alive! Did I not pay you as I promised?" - -"Fifty dollars! O.K! Squaw take papoose for pay. Notaire want -sixty-five. Squaw bring back papoose. Get two hundred dollars. Pay -notaire. O.K.!" - -"Come now, Paul!" cried Ralph, not over well pleased, yet with a -business man's pleasure in a bit of smartness, even when it told -against himself. "You've euchred me, I allow it. But don't draw the -string too tight in case it breaks. What do you want?" - -"Two hundred dollars," said Paul. - -"But the bill of costs is only sixty-five." - -"How long live squaw and papoose on hundred dollars?" - -"You leave thirty-five out of the reckoning. However, we will suppose -that goes to you for your smartness. Well! I'm busy, Paul, I'll give -you your two hundred dollars at once to get you away. Not, mind you, -that I couldn't fight you off, if I cared to; but I have other things -to think of." - -"And for Fidele and the papoose?" - -"That must suffice them for the present. When it is all spent--we will -see--" and so Ralph got rid of his importunate visitor for the -present, though not without misgiving. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - AT SAINT EUPHRASE. - - -Saint Euphrase is a village of the usual Lower Canada type, with its -big high-shouldered stone church, made stately in front by square -towers capped with tin belfries, on which the light twinkles as the -bell tinkles to call the people to mass. The village, like a brood of -chickens, nestles around, a cluster of little low-browed wooden -houses, with pillared porches and verandahs, the poorer ones roofed -with weather-stained shingles, the prosperous with red plates or tin; -pierced here and there with little casements, shining yellow in the -afternoon sun, like inquisitive eyes prying into their neighbours' -enclosures. A few tall poplars--sign of a French-speaking -settlement--rise here and there above the roofs, and around are fields -divided by picturesquely ill-kept fences, in whose corners the wild -plum or the slippery elm entwined with brambles form belts of growth -which might be hedges, grateful to the eye after the trim bald farming -of the West. A broad river runs by at about a stone-cast's distance, -but the place used to be too small to have traffic by water; and save -to the boatman who got his living by ferrying people across the river, -was but a desert barrier to the villagers, cutting them off from the -West, whither Transatlantic prosperity ever tends--lonely waters down -which a few rafts of timber passed in the Spring, and peopled only by -the duck and teal frequenting the reedy shores of an island down -stream, a bank raised by opposing currents and gathered out of the -flood by a thicket of ash and willow. The fields sloping upwards on -the other three sides, end in bush, which would cover the general -level of the country but for the farms, with their houses set by the -roadsides and their narrow strips of land running for a mile or more -back into the distance. Of late a good many country houses have been -built by Montrealers desiring something less suburban than their own -island affords. There is a railway, and a few modern shops; and -gaily-dressed townspeople may be seen driving fast horses or playing -lawn tennis in the cool of the afternoon; but these are recent -innovations on the old time when M. le Cure in his long skirts walked -down the street alone among the bowing _habitants_, smiling as he went -and bestowing his blessing. - -"General" Stanley was the earliest outsider to build himself a home in -the sequestered neighbourhood, and not many as yet had followed his -example, at the time we speak of. If it had been dull in his lifetime, -his daughters found it doubly so after his death, and but for the -horrors of moving they would have migrated back to the city. As we -grow older it becomes ever more painful to root up formed habits, -while new ones are less and less able to take their place; and Miss -Stanley, at least, acknowledged that she had reached the age when -change grows irksome. Therefore, while they amused themselves by -talking of removal, and each Spring promised themselves the comforts -of town life for the succeeding Winter, the years slid by and they -found themselves still where they were. The years too made havoc among -their circle of friends, and made the city seem a less desirable -residence, just as the week works changes in our gardens, scarce -noticeable from day to day, but so complete before the month is out. -People die and marry and move away, and the ladies' shopping -expeditions to Montreal grew briefer and less frequent as time went -on, till from lasting over weeks and ending in tender partings from -regretful friends, they dwindled into excursions accomplished between -a morning and an afternoon. Soon, too, there came into the -neighbourhood a sprinkling of English-speaking settlers, which, -productive in the end of life and spirit, was like yeast turbid and -disturbing at first, when dropped into that sweet but stagnant -reservoir of old-world manners; and soon there was on the outskirts of -the village a Protestant mission, a meek little clap-boarded -structure, without spire or bell, but sufficient for the needs of its -few worshippers, and enough to rouse the watchfulnesss of the cure and -the jealous wrath of his flock. However, the parson proved to be a -peace-loving man, and the zeal which at first threatened to become -flagrant, simmered down for want of provocation, into armed -neutrality, if not into more neighbourly feelings. These changes -brought the ladies at least the feeling of a less complete isolation -than they had experienced at first, and eventually, as the grade of -new-comers improved, a little society; while the earlier polemical -excitement passed them by, they being persons content to say their own -prayers in their own fashion, and to leave their neighbours to do -likewise. - - -"Oh, Tookey!" said Miss Matilda, when the sisters met at breakfast on -the morning after the arrival of the baby, "the little darling is -simply delightful! When I took her upstairs Smithers most obligingly -offered to keep her through the night; but it looked so pretty lying -fast asleep in my bed with nothing on but a large pocket handkerchief, -that I really had not the heart to disturb it. We bathed it, you -know, and you cannot think what a dear, soft, plump little morsel it -looked in its bath; and it crowed--positively crowed and smiled to me -myself, for I do not think it minded Smithers much, though it was she -who did the bathing. I daresay her hands felt rough, you know, on -its tender little skin. We laid it in my bed and covered it with a -pocket-handkerchief--dear little morsel--while I went to look for -something small enough to dress it in. I thought of the clothes for my -immense wax doll I was so proud of once, and kept so long after I grew -up; but alas! I gave that to my godchild, and apparently every rag of -its wardrobe; I thought I might find a little shirt or a wrapper--I am -certain they would have been quite large enough for this one--but -Tilly Martindale seems to have got them every one. Is it not a pity? -But, as I was saying, we laid baby in the bed while I was looking for -the things, and she just dropped asleep the moment Smithers laid her -down. So I just sent Smithers off to bed, and lay down beside the dear -little duck, and it has nestled in my arms all night, as soft as a -ball of silk; and oh, Tookey! I don't think I ever slept as pleasantly -before; and in the morning it woke me by stroking my cheeks with its -soft little hands. Did you notice its hands? I never saw anything so -lovely, with a crease round the wrist, a dimple at each knuckle, and -pink little finger-tips like rosebuds." - -"But what are we to do with the infant?" asked the practical Penelope. - -"Do? The first thing to do is to give it some bread and milk! But I -daresay Smither's has done that already. I should have liked to do it -myself but was afraid to try. I remember so well how I hurt my -kitten's mouth, trying to feed it with a teaspoon, and I would'nt make -this little beauty cry for all the world. But I know what I will do. I -have some cambric for pocket-handkerchiefs upstairs, I shall make -it a chemise! Smithers will know how big to make it, or rather how -little--the dear wee love!" - -"Matilda, dearest, let us be sensible. The child must have a _parent_, -and if _we_ can become attached to it so warmly in a few hours what -must the feelings of that parent be to be deprived of her? Ought we -not to endeavour to return the child?" - -"If the parents valued it so highly why did they leave it here, -without asking leave or saying a word? No! They forsook it! I shall -always say so. Besides, how can we give it back, even if we would try? -How find the discreditable parents? And if we could, what a life we -might be giving up the little lamb to!" - -"It does not seem right, our keeping it." - -"And whom, pray, would you give it up to? Would you give it to the -village priest?--to be carried to some convent and brought up for a -nun?--fasting, and scrubbing all her life long for the sisterhood? -Just look at the tiny hands, like little flowers, and the plump little -person. Work and fasting, indeed! Not if _I_ can help it." - -"But there is the parson. Naturally we would give it in charge to our -own church." - -"And how much better would that be? What could an old bachelor do, but -make his housekeeper wrap it in a shawl, and carry it to the -Protestant Orphan Home? A very good place you know--I have been -through it--quite proper for children such as it is meant for--rough -little squalling things, quite tough and hardy. They are cared for, -and taught and brought up to service. A most useful institution and I -shall double my subscription, but it would be no home for _our_ little -fairy. Why, it is a blossom! It would wither away in that rough place -within a week. And better so, than the desecration of rearing it -there! No, no! I shall keep it for my own, if it is not claimed. Of -course if we knew its parents, and they were proper people, it would -be wrong not to let them know; but even then I would pay them money to -let me adopt it. And if they wanted to keep the child, why did they -bring it here? It seems nonsense to think about the parents at all." - -"I do not like the idea of keeping a stray baby whom nobody knows -anything about, Tilly! We should ask advice, at any rate. I think I -had better go over to Montreal and ask Mr. Jordan what we should do." - -"And have yourself laughed at for a fussy old maid, saddled with a -baby! You will make us a laughing stock to all our friends. Just think -how ridiculous it sounds! Besides, what can he advise? I know quite -well what he will say, and can save you your consultation fee. He will -ask you to 'be seated' in his clients' chair--_I_ know, for I visited -him several times about my steamboat shares, and it was always the -same performance--then he lies back in his own chair and takes his -foot upon his knee. After that he takes off his spectacles, wipes them -with his handkerchief and puts them on again, rests his elbows on the -chair arms, clears his voice and begins, ticking off the items of -advice with the fingers of one hand upon those of the other. He makes -it very clear, and it sounds most wise; but when you go away and think -it over, you will find he has told you just what you might have told -yourself, if you had only thought calmly and sensibly about it. There -is no witchcraft in Mr. Jordan's advice. Perhaps that is why people -say he is a sound lawyer. Remember, too, he is apt to divulge the -secrets of her dear friends to his wife. She spoke to _me_ about my -steamboat shares, I remember; and congratulated me upon selling at the -right time. You know how dearly she loves a good story, and if your -dilemma should strike her in an absurd light, she will soon have it -known all over the town. Our dear Amelia has a very long tongue." - -"I only want to do what is right," said Penelope, a little dismayed at -the suggestion, "right to ourselves, and right to this baby. I feel -for the little waif, Tilly, though I do not become rapturous like -you." - -"As to the baby, then, just think. It seems unlikely that it would -have been laid on our verandah if its friends had wanted to keep it at -home. Even if we could return it to them we could not make them keep -it, or use it kindly; and there seem to be only three other ways of -disposing of it--the Protestant Orphans' Home, the Grey Nunnery, or to -adopt it ourselves. Now, suppose we were to do the last--I do not -propose it, mind; but, after there seems no more likelihood of its -being claimed, if we should--would it be nice to have our _protegee_ -spoken of as a foundling, and nobody's child? Would it not tell -against her when she grew up, and we took her into society with us, as -of course we should if we reared her ourselves?" - -"But, my dear, the child has not been twelve hours in the house yet, -and to hear you, one would say you are already dreaming of bringing it -up! I have known you all your life, Tilly, and I never heard you -discuss at such length before; but what you say seems reasonable -enough. It would _not_ be nice to have Amelia making fun of our -perplexities, and yet there is no one else we can go to, whose advice -we could trust in like Mr. Jordan's. For yourself, now, what do you -think we should do?" - -"I think we should do nothing! Nobody can blame us for doing that. It -is no affair of ours, and if only we are kind to the little one till a -claimant appears, or till we see more plainly what we should do, we -can get nothing but praise and thanks for our charity." - -To do nothing is always an inviting course, in times of perplexity, -especially when it is the interest of another rather than our own -which is most deeply involved; we cannot then be blamed for doing the -wrong thing, even if we have failed to do the right one. Time, too, -has a way of winding up affairs left open, which is often more -satisfactory than the half-wise efforts of meddlesome mortals. Miss -Stanley accepted the invitation to inaction and let things take their -course. - -That day was a royal one for Miss Matilda. Instead of loitering -between her flowers and her sofa, fanning herself and dropping asleep, -a new interest had come into her life; and such a pretty one! It crept -and rolled and tumbled about on the matting at her feet; while she sat -at her worktable in the bay window with scissors and cambric, sewing -strange garments, and pricking her fingers a good deal, for the needle -was an unfamiliar implement in her hands; but she went bravely on with -unflagging industry, stopping only to get fresh bread and milk, when -she imagined the little one must be hungry, or to find a pillow when -it wanted to sleep. - -The newspapers came in the afternoon as usual, but she had no leisure -to waste on them; the plaything at her feet was far too engrossing. -Even Penelope only glanced over the column of "Born," "Died" and -"Married"--there is no "Divorced" in a Canadian paper, as in American -ones--in search of any known name, and then sat down to wonder at -Matilda's new-born energy and admire the baby. - -These ladies were not very thorough-going newspaper readers, although -they lived in the country and saw few visitors. The two city -newspapers they received each day were always torn open, the marriages -and deaths glanced at, and sometimes the fashions, if it was their -time for getting new bonnets; but politics bewildered them, and the -local gossip had ceased to be interesting, it was so long since they -had lived in town. Their bookseller sent them magazines and boxes of -books, their home was comfortable, and life moved on smoothly, like a -door on well-oiled hinges. They forgot to crave for outside interests -and excitements, and the energies which in town life might have found -scope in arranging or disarranging their neighbours' concerns, took -gentler exercise over roses, geraniums, chickens, bees, or a rheumatic -habitant, especially if he spoke prettily and was respectful. - -It was only as might be expected, then, that nothing in the newspapers -relating to their little waif ever met their eyes. The parson--their -only visiting neighbour at that time--was away for his summer -vacation; the friends who sometimes came to them from Montreal were at -the seaside, so there was no one to talk with, and they heard nothing; -which indeed was as they liked it best. All through the remainder -of that Summer and Golden Fall, these two women, not very young, -revelled in a new-found joy--the sudden awakening within them of the -holy instinct of motherhood--the double living, living in another -life besides their own, the joyous wondering progressive life of -childhood--re-entering anew a world still dew-bright in the morning -freshness which it loses as life wears on; and their hearts grew purer -and their thoughts simpler, in this unlooked for return to the Eden of -long ago. - -Before two months had passed they had come to recognize their little -visitor as a member of the household and one of the family--"of our -own family, sister," Matilda said one day. "Let us make her a Stanley -and call her our niece--Muriel Stanley. What do you say?" - -"But how can we, with neither brother nor sister, call her that?" said -Penelope the business-minded and literal. "Think of the stories we -should have to make up; and if anybody asked questions we should have -to make some more, and there would be discrepancies, and the most -dreadful things might be said." - -"And pray," cried Matilda the impetuous, "who will presume to ask -questions when we look them in the eye and calmly state the--the fact -that she is our brother's child, and he is dead? Some people are not -very polite, but I never met any one who would dare to disbelieve a -lady to her face; and if we give no particulars and change the subject -at once, there will be no opportunity to ask questions, If we call it -a niece there will be no more to say, and as soon as it is generally -known it will interest nobody. They are all too full of their own -affairs." - -"But, Tilly, we never had a brother." - -"But, Tookey dear, who knows that? Papa married in this country, and -you were born here, but you know he was sent to Bermuda soon after, -and we remained there till you and I were grown. Nobody in Montreal -knows even that mamma was Canadian. Nobody asks anything about the -connections of the military or commissariat. There they are. The -Service is a voucher for their respectability. It is taken for granted -that they are English with no relations in this country, so nobody -troubles to inquire." - -"But our mother's relations, Tilly, in Upper Canada; what are we to -say to _them?_" - -"We have been thirteen years in Canada without meeting them. Mamma had -only a sister--Aunt Bunce--who died before we left Bermuda; if her -family live in Upper Canada still, they cannot know much about us. It -is so long since poor mamma died--before Aunt Bunce, even--so very -long that I do not care to count the years; it makes me feel so old." - -"Don't talk of being old, child! You have not aged one bit. Think of -me! But why need we bother with telling fibs about the child? Fibs -always end in bother; I have been taught that all my life." - -"Do you want us to be laughed at? Are you willing to confess yourself -an old maid--a Protestant grey nun--adopting babies left on your -doorstep? I am not, if you are; though I suppose I _am_ older to-day -than I was five years ago," and she shook out her ringlets with a -defiant toss. "Just let it become generally known that we keep an -upper-class foundling asylum, and we shall soon get plenty of pupils! -They will bring them from Vermont, I daresay, or up from Quebec." - -"Tush! Tilly." - -"It is true. Only how should we dispose of them after they were -brought up? Other institutions train them for service; now I do not -think we could do that, so what would become of them? And what will -become of our own little pet if we let her be looked on as a stray, -and different from other children? Think of the slights she will be -exposed to; and the unkind remarks, especially as she is sure to be -pretty. It would be cruelty to bring her up with ourselves, and yet -deprive her of the chance of marrying. Think of her struggles as a -lonely woman to support herself after we are gone. Our gentle nurture -would prove a curse to her and not a blessing." - -"But we could not let a gentleman marry a nameless girl under a false -impression." - -"Certainly not. We would explain all to any gentleman who had a right -to know; and if he _was_ a gentleman, I do not think it would prevent -the marriage; but that is quite different from proclaiming a poor -girl's misfortune." - -"Think the matter over, Penelope, and I am sure you will come to see -it as I do. Meanwhile there is no hurry. We need not converse to -visitors about our _protegee_, she is too little yet to be shown to -company, and as the weather is growing cold, I propose we arrange that -room at the top of the house as a nursery, and establish her there -with Smithers. She will be out of the way both of draughts and idle -curiosity." - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - TEN YEARS LATER. - - -Ten years later. What a startlingly abrupt transition for the onlooker -from the "then" to the "now!" And yet how intimately the two are -connected, and how utterly the one is dependent on the other! Two -cities on the same broad river, the upper spreading along the stream, -set in a fruitful plain, the key to fertile regions farther up, -gathering the produce and shipping it down the current; the other -perched upon cliffs and overhanging shores, and twice each day lapped -by the turning tide from the distant sea whither everything is -tending. Yet to the voyager the transition is gradual enough, and -smooth, and natural. But for the retreating objects along the shore he -would not recognize that he was moving, save when descending a rapid, -or running on a sandbank--the events, marriages, deaths, failures, and -successes of his onward way. It is the same river still, in part the -very drops of water which tumbled over Niagara long ago, passed -through Ontario, and down the rapids to Montreal, and onward through -the broads and the deeps till it meets tide-water at Quebec, and still -with all the gathered tributes it hurries on, a river still for scores -and scores of miles between ever widening banks, on to the misty -everlasting sea, where the voyager disappears for ever from the view. - -Not that my friends have moved their dwelling-place down stream to -Quebec, but there is a sadness in the thought of the slowly passing -years which makes one moralize and grow metaphoric before he is aware. -No, the people of this history are still geographically where they -were, standing on their own ground, while the big tumultuous river -rushes by--but the figure which their permanence suggests is even a -sadder one, that of the fabled maidens drawing water in their sieves, -water which will not be drawn or held, but keeps oozing through and -slipping away, just as the stream runs by and will not wait; for life -is but a sorry comedy with its stayless passing. Yet which of us would -stop it if we could, even at its best? It always seems as if a sweeter -drop were somewhere up the stream, and even if the present could be -held, we would let it pass to taste the fancied sweeter yet to come. - -In ten years the American war had ended and specie payments were -resumed. In ten years Ralph Herkimer had made a fortune and a -"position"--the terms are interchangeable in the moneyed world, and -elsewhere too. No one was better liked or more respected as a good -fellow, a clear-headed business man, and a high-souled altogether -superior person. Even General Considine--who had been taken prisoner -during the war, exchanged, "paroled," withdrawn from the game like the -slaughtered pawn from a chess board--had quite forgotten having -grandly dropped his acquaintance in Natchez and the reasons for so -doing; and, on taking up his abode in Montreal, was very pleased to -renew intimacy with his young friend of _ante bellum_ times. Ralph was -happy to respond. If there ever had been an imputation on his courage, -it seemed well to support the only one who could remember, in -forgetting it; though really, as he told himself, there was nothing to -be ashamed of. He had merely shown disapproval of a bloodthirsty and -barbarous custom in a state of society already passed away; and no one -who was anybody would have the bad taste to be amused at anecdotes -told at the expense of a man so well off as himself, and who -entertained so liberally. Still, since it is wiser to humour fools -than to fight them, he would be civil to this broken-down fireater, -heap coals of fire on his head like a good Christian, and make him -thoroughly ashamed of his rudeness in former years. - -Considine, too, was no very cumbrous _protege_. He was better supplied -with money than many of his compatriots at that time, having inherited -some property in New York, which the same events which had ruined his -estate in the South had rendered four times as valuable as before, in -the paper money of the period. His deportment exhibited a fair share -of the manly pathos becoming a fallen hero, and made him an -interesting guest to the dwellers in a city at peace. It is true he -wore red studs in his shirt front, as his way of mounting his -country's colours--red and white--and would defiantly puff out his -chest so decorated whenever a Yankee uniform came in sight. But -something must be permitted to the bruised susceptibilities of the -warrior overcome, and at least he did not travesty the conspiracies of -exiled Poles and old time Jacobites by joining in absurd schemes to -capture towns on the lakes, or infect the capital with yellow fever; -in which crack-brained escapades the excitement for the plotters lay -not so much in their design, as in communicating it to one another -with infinite stage mystery of whisperings, signs, passwords, and -secret information. In those days a party of refugees on one of the -St. Lawrence steamboats would make the voyage as interesting to their -fellow-passengers as a pantomime, with their dark glances, stealings -aside, mysterious beckonings to each other, and hasty whispers, -followed by backward glances in search of spies. There may have been -real plots, but they were carried on by practical persons who showed -no sign, and it was rumour of these which impressed the rest, and -filled them with emulation. They imagined they were being watched and -reported on at Washington, though what interest their vagaries could -have for Mr. Lincoln's government it is hard to imagine. Much, -however, should be excused to people deprived by war of their fortunes -and their homes, often with but slender means of support, and no -occupation, driven to spend eight hours of their day in euchre -playing, and the other eight in unending discussions of the war news. -To such, conspiracy must have seemed the most delightful of pastimes, -even if barren of practical results. - -When Considine approached Ralph with a most respectable sheaf of -"greenbacks" under his arm, and appealed to him as an old friend for -advice as to their conversion into specie, and their subsequent -employment, Ralph was genial, and by-and-by showed him the way to the -gold-room, where good Canadians, following the lead of New York, sold -each other stacks of foreign currency which the sellers could not -deliver and the buyers had no wish to receive. The telegraph clerk -hung up the quotations from New York at certain hours, the "operators" -took note and paid their losses--no! "held settlements" is the proper -expression, for this was _business_. Respectable gentlemen, church -members, and heads of families, brushed their hats each morning and -walked down to their offices, gloved and caned, the very pink of -respectability, and from thence went on "'Change," where the money -would change hands with astounding celerity--all in the way of -"business." - -"_Faites votre jeu, Messieurs! Le jeu est fait_"? Not at all! This was -in Montreal not at Monte Carlo. Strictly "business," and thoroughly -respectable. True, many men lost, but some won. And what would you -have? How could it be otherwise? There are but a certain number of -gold pieces in the world; and, if, after an "operation," my bag -contains more, it is certain that my neighbour's must hold less. -Currency, bullion, stocks, shares, grain, cotton, what are any of them -but the tokens to win and lose money upon? But the thing is done "upon -'Change," and 'Change, like church, is a good word, and everything -belonging to it is respectable. If it were round a green-cloth table -now, how different it would be! though the outcome might be the same. -Respectability cannot tolerate the green cloth. And yet, to an -all-seeing eye, there may be less amiss when a man's money falls upon -the _black_ and the _red_. At least the play at Monte Carlo is "on the -square;" there are no misquotations or false telegrams, bogus -prospectuses, lying reports, collusive understandings, and traps for -the unwary, such as have been heard of at times in the places of -better repute. - -Ralph Herkimer made a great deal of money; Considine made some; and -by-and-by, as American finance returned to a normal position, other -fields of enterprise were needed as the possibilities of gambling in -gold and greenbacks grew less; and then Considine's American -connections became a valuable introduction for Ralph to several "good -things." There were estates whose owners, stripped of all their other -property, and still encumbered by their debts, could not wring a -subsistence from the devastated acres, and were willing to part with -them for a trifle; but no one would buy--no one at hand, that is, who -had opportunity to know about the war-ravaged fields and the -intractable labourers. But at a distance, in a land of peace, where a -good title and a veracious statement of the acreage and the yielding -capacity were the data--where, in fact, a pencil and a piece of paper -were the means for judging the promise of the venture--how different -it all was. Here was a country where snows and frosts were scarcely -known, or, so it was said, where the cattle could range without -shelter all through the year, where the gardens were planted with figs -and pomegranates, and pigs fattened in the orchards on peaches too -plentiful to repay the gathering. There were minerals too, every -variety of riches, gold, coal, copper, hidden in the ground, and only -awaiting the capital and skill to dig them up; and forests of pine, -now vastly enhanced in value by the Chicago fire, waiting to be cut -down and converted into lumber if only foreign enterprise would -undertake the task. What could be better calculated to stir the -imagination of people accustomed to contend for three long months of -the year with the fiercest severities of winter, and to wring fixed -and moderate profits by patient industry from a soil which still was -five or ten times the price of these fields of endless summer? The -fevers, malaria, bad water, and general backwardness did not show on -the map, and a dense silence kept them from the knowledge of -investors. - -Ralph and his friend being well-to-do, their statements and -recommendations were implicitly accepted; and, indeed, the statements -in themselves were not untruthful; it was in the counter-balancing -facts, which were left unstated, that those who afterwards considered -themselves their dupes, found the limitation and disillusion of their -hopes, which teach men in the end that Fortune is as likely to find -them out while labouring at home, as to be found by them without -exertion and experience, in distant places. But that was the buyers' -concern--knowledge which came to them later and by degrees, Ralph and -his friend had completed their share of the transaction and pocketed -their commission when the sale was made; what followed had for them no -interest. - -They made many such sales, pocketing large commissions--the larger, -indeed, the worse the property they disposed of--vast tracts in some -cases, containing untold wealth in minerals and forests, where the -buyers sunk fortunes in endeavouring to bring the riches within reach; -and at length, having exhausted their resources, had to subside into -the ranks of the ruined people around them, and wait patiently for a -generation, till the march of time should bring within reach of their -children the sums they had placed out of reach for themselves. There -were smaller farms, too, where sturdy yeomen with their blooming -children went to make rich more quickly; but somehow few appeared to -thrive in those distant migrations. Their livestock was apt to die; -too little rain, or too much, would destroy their crops, and their own -health would fail; and in a year or two they would find their way back -to Canada, with an enlarged experience but a shrunken purse; while of -the children, some would be left behind in the foreign churchyard, and -the rest, yellow and gaunt, bore small resemblance to the bright-eyed -youngsters they had been before. - -In a few years the trade in southern homesteads died out, Canadian -enterprise laid down her telescope and interested herself with things -nearer home. Science, ransacking her own soil, had come on hid -treasure of many kinds, gold, copper, iron, phosphates, and plumbago, -and showed where, instead of sending her savings abroad, she might -sink them at home--her own savings and those of many a sanguine -stranger. On every side Ralph saw opportunities of money-making, and -he was ready to use them; but now his operations, he found, must be on -another footing than before. Hitherto he had been a financier; now, -his neighbours recognized him as a capitalist. The change of standing -was gratifying, but it had its dangers and its drawbacks. - -Finance has been described as the art of transferring money from one -pocket to another--in a Stock Exchange sense, be it understood, not an -Old Bailey one--and the financiers are the artists who perform the -feat. Money is a volatile and also an adhesive substance--matter in a -state of unstable equilibrium, which must not be disturbed or changes -will ensue--wherefore, in the process of transferring, some of it is -certain to be spilled, and that the artist may pick up if he can; it -is his perquisite. A good deal too is apt to stick to the artist's -fingers--perquisites again--and hence the profit of handling other -people's money. If it were one's own already, whence would come the -profit? A man can scarcely gain by paying perquisites to himself; -though, to be sure, he may obviate the necessity of paying them to any -one else. But there cannot be a doubt that the financier escapes much -embarrassment when he is not a capitalist. See, for example, with what -calm unflinching pluck a "general manager" can carry on war with a -rival railway! The next half-yearly dividend may be sacrificed in the -contest, but he does not falter, he goes bravely on. _He_ is not a -shareholder; it makes no matter to _him_. To seek a parallel in the -political world capitalists and financiers stand to one another as -kings to their ministers. When things go well the minister does the -work, the king has the profit and glory; but when they miscarry, -though the minister did the mischief, it is the king who loses his -crown; the minister merely withdraws into privacy, and lives -comfortably in retirement on the emoluments of former office. Yet who, -if he could, would not be a king, to be trembled before and -worshipped? and after all, the successful revolutions are not -numerous. - -Ralph recognized the new danger in his path, and regretted a little, -at times, when he found he must let a profitable opportunity go by, -merely because it was one which only an impecunious promoter durst -undertake; but he had his compensations. Like the man who becomes a -king, he got well grovelled to, and he liked it. He could _influence_, -too, if the after responsibilities of "promoting" were too onerous to -be undertaken. The use by other men of his name, unauthorizedly, as a -heavy holder of their stocks, was worth money; and, as long as he -"unloaded" in time, perfectly safe. He did not now flutter about -'Change, scattering reports and picking up news; he sat in his office, -and was waited on by those who sought his countenance in their schemes -and wished to learn its price. - -Only one disappointment as yet had befallen him. He wished to become -president of a leading bank, and he knew so many of the directors that -he made sure of gaining his point. Unfortunately the directors knew -him as well, and deemed it advisable to choose some one else; but then -of course it was the general body of shareholders who must bear the -blame. The ballot leaves so many things in doubt, and covers up so -much about which there can be no doubt at all. His friends, the -directors, called on him immediately the election was over--the -traitors being probably the first to hurry in--and expressed the most -cordial regret and condolence; and Ralph was too wise not to accept -the profuse explanations with gracious condescension. Their hastening -to explain was a tribute, at any rate, to his weight, and showed that -they feared him; and as one after another he smiled them out, he -promised himself to let them feel yet that their fears had not been -groundless. He was not, therefore, in his most debonair mood, when, on -being informed by a new clerk that a rough-looking man had been -waiting some time, he permitted him to be introduced. - -"Paul?" - -"----day, sir." - -"It seems only the other day since you were here last." - -"Six months." - -"How many six months do you make in a year? - -"Two." - -"Hm--I am not so sure of that. Seems to me you have managed to pack -three into this last year. However--Here, Stinson!" he called to the -clerk appointed to wait without and attend his private behests, while -he scribbled a cheque. "Ask the cashier to cash that. Quick!" he added -as he raised his eyes and saw the stolid figure of his visitor -standing before him, a statue in copper-coloured flesh, motionless and -unregarding, unimpressed by his grandeur or the trembling -assiduousness of his clerk; an embodiment of still impassible waiting, -like the image carved on the granite door-post of an Egyptian temple. -Paul did not even glance about him, he simply stood, and with -unwinking eye gazed into space, inscrutible and indifferent to all -around. - -Ralph threw himself back in his chair, fidgetted impatiently, and -coughed and snorted. So impressive is that which cannot be gauged or -looked into, even if it contain nothing. This was the instrument, too, -and the reminder of a crime, who stood before him; a crime of so long -ago, and which yet, so long as the Indian lives may come to light--may -even be remedied, and leave him unprofited by the deed, as well as -disgraced by its discovery. With wonder he asked himself how he could -have ventured to do what he had done, the chances of failure being -so many, the consequences of detection so ruinous, that to think of -them even now sent a cold thrill through him. Since it was done, -however--and he felt no remorse at the deed--he was content enough to -enjoy the fruits, although his successes since had made him in a -measure independent of them; still his uncle's millions when they -came--came to his boy that is, but he ere then would be his -partner--would, added to his own, gain him a position above rivalry; -and even now in expectancy they enhanced his importance. - -Stinson returned with the proceeds of the cheque, and Ralph counted -over two hundred dollars to hand to Paul. His fingers lingered -lovingly over the bits of paper, touching each dollar with a dainty -caress as though he loved it and was sad to part. - -It is strange how a rich man hates to part with money, while the poor -are free and even lavish so far as their little "pile" will go; but -perhaps we only invert the statement of what is a truism, that they -who dislike to part with their money keep it and grow rich, while they -who spend it lavishly grow poor. At any rate, Ralph lingered while he -counted the two hundred dollars, and the thought occurred to him "how -many times more would this have to be done?" Eight years still before -Gerald's money became payable! Sixteen more half-yearly payments of -two hundred dollars each! Thirty-two hundred dollars in all, besides -interest! It seemed monstrous. Could nothing be done? Could he not be -made to take a round sum down, and be bound to keep silence for ever? -No! That had been tried already, and so soon as the money was spent he -came back for more, saying he must live, and if Ralph would not pay, -assuredly the bereaved parents would. And so it had come about that -Paul was grown an annuitant, and came to claim his little income every -six months. - -"Here you are, Paul," growled Ralph, handing over the money with a -sigh; and Paul with a gleam in his eye laid hands upon the roll of -bills which vanished from view forthwith. - -"Say, Paul," speaking in a more insinuating voice, "would it not suit -you better to get a good big lump of money once for all, than to be -coming here so often drawing it by dribs and drabs? If I were to give -you a thousand dollars now, all at once, see how many things you could -do with it! You could open a tavern up the Ottawa and make your -fortune right away, and you would save all the money you spend for -drink besides." - -"Ah!" said Paul, his face lighting up at the inviting picture, and -bending forward with extended palm to receive the largess at once. - -"I con-sent!" - -"Consent to what?" - -"Take ze money." - -"Of course you will, my fine fellow; I know that. And after you have -got rid of it all you will come back to me for more." - -"Promise to come no more." - -"Of course you do! But you will come all the same. The promise don't -count after the money is spent. I have not forgot last time." - -Paul smiled like a man who receives a compliment. Veracity was not his -point of honour. Rather, it was smartness; and to have "done" this -rich and masterful white man seemed an achievement to be proud of. He -stroked his beardless cheeks with a simper of gratified vanity, and -fairly laughed at last, so tickled was he by the recollection of his -cleverness. - -"No! my fine fellow, you don't come it over me again like that!--no -use supposing it. But I'll tell you what I _will_ do, for I like you, -you see, Paul; though I know you're a rascal. I have been thinking -that if that child were to die it would be bad for you. You could not -try it on with me any more by threatening to carry the kid home to its -people, and so your pension would come to an end, and you'd have to go -to work. How would you like that, Paul, you idle dog, after all these -years? So I have been thinking that if that were to happen--the kid's -death, you know--and you could bring me some proof, I would give you a -lump sum and have done with you." - -"If the papoose die?" - -"Yes." - -"You give thousand dollars?--dollars down?" - -"Down on the nail, if you bring proof." - -"How make sure?" - -"You will tell me how it all happened, and I shall know how to verify -the fact." - -"No, no! Make _me_ sure. Thousand dollars." - -"Ha! I see. You want some assurance that I will pay what I say? Don't -see what more assurance I can give than to say so, or what more you -should want. Have I not kept my word with you before?" - -"Ouff"--and Paul plunged into thought where he stood, while Ralph, -impatient to be rid of him, collected his papers and locked them in -his desk, rose, and took his hat and gloves, as if about to go home. - -This brought Paul's reflections to a point. He turned to Ralph with a -grin and a grunt, and held out his hand. - -"Thousand dollars!" he said with another grunt; and when Ralph, -supposing it a fashion of leave-taking, laid some of his fingers -rather gingerly on the extended palm, he caught and shook them -eagerly, saying: - -"Pay down! Pay down! Papoose dead." - -Ralph drew back. - -"Dead! When? Where? Tell me all about it." - -"Dead at Caughnawaga." - -"How long ago?" - -"Ten year--Day 'twas took. Come, see, if you will. _Au-dessous du -plancher_ at my _cabane_--Thousand dollars!" and he held out his hand -again. - -"Ten years ago! And you have been drawing money from me for that -child's support all this time? And never told!" - -Paul looked gratified, and drew himself up like modest genius when at -length its merit is brought to light. Then he chuckled and moved his -fingers as if to poke Ralph in the ribs. The idea of Ralph's having -been so completely fooled was too delicious. - -"But how could it have happened? You cannot mean that you--murdered -the child?" - -"Ouff," grunted Paul, from whose face the grin was fading. His sly -escapade appeared not to be appreciated as it deserved. He placed his -fingers on his throat now, and let his tongue protrude, to describe -the process of strangulation. - -Ralph drew back in horror. It is one thing to entertain the idea of a -crime hypothetically, and even to incite to the deed. The mind busies -itself in contemplating the results, and the act appears but a -circumstance, a necessary one perhaps, but one on which it is -unnecessary to dwell. It is another thing to confront the deed after -it has been done, and can no longer be overlooked, when it has become -a realized infamy, withering and dwindling the profits and results -into worthless Dead Sea fruit. The bloodhound will pursue its prey for -days together, eager to pull him down and bury its fangs in his flesh, -but if in the heat of the chase it should encounter blood, there is an -end, the scent is lost, the hunt ended. And so was Ralph staggered at -what he heard. This child's life had stood in his way, and he had -striven to set it aside. But to think that it had been murdered, and -that his was the finger which touched the spring and set the murderous -machine in motion! No! He _would_ not think it. It was horrible. The -instrument, the over-zealous instrument which had done too much, must -shoulder the responsibility of his own deed; and, for himself, he -would no longer compromise his respectability by having dealings with -such a ruffian, now that it had become quite safe to break with him. -The blood of the little innocent seemed crying out of the ground for -vengeance, and at least he would wash his hands of the murderer, and -not a cent of blood-money should the homicide receive from him. A -virtuous glow diffused itself through Ralph's pulses as these thoughts -passed through his mind in a space far shorter than it takes to write -or read them; indeed there had been little more than the ordinary -conversational pause between Paul's last grunt of assent and -pantomimic signs, and Ralph's reply as he now looked him squarely in -the face with a frown of the severest virtue, and a demeanour of -dignified rebuke which an ignorant onlooker might have hoped would not -be lost on the poor untaught son of the wilderness. - -"And you have been drawing money from me for that child's support all -these years!" He grew indignant as he thought how he had been imposed -upon; and Paul, quenched the moment before, and astonished at his -demeanour, began to pluck up heart again, and the dawn of a smile at -his own cleverness began to re-appear on his wooden visage; but it -faded again as Ralph proceeded: - -"Do you know that what you have been accusing yourself of is a hanging -offence? A cruel, cowardly murder of a helpless infant? But I will not -be made accessory after the fact! I am done with you, Paul!--Go!--Do -you hear me? Git!" - -Paul looked in his face amazed. What had he meant then when he -promised him money to bring news of the child's death? He was about to -speak, but Ralph stopped him before, in his stupefaction, he could -find words. - -"Go! I say. And never let me see you again. Or----! You can guess -yourself what will happen." - -Confused, crestfallen and crushed, Paul withdrew. A new view of the -inscrutable ways of the great white man had been given him. He could -only draw a great breath in his helplessness and go his way. The white -folks were too much for him, that was the one idea which penetrated -his darkened mind. They would make use of him when they wanted him, -and then cast him aside; but for the future he promised himself to -keep out of their way. - -Ralph coughed and drew on his gloves, not ill-pleased, at the last, at -the turn which affairs had taken, and hurried off to catch the -afternoon train for St. Euphrase, where his family were spending the -summer at a smart new villa which he had built a year or two before. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - MAHOMET AND KADIJAH. - - -Ralph Herkimer reached the station as the train was about to start. M. -Rouget was in the act of assisting his wife and daughter into the -parlour car, and Ralph sprang in after him just as the train moved -from the platform. M. Rouget owned the seigniory of La Hache, on the -outskirts of St. Euphrase, an outlying fragment of which Ralph had -purchased and built upon, hoping that with the other products of the -soil there would spring up an intimacy with the Rouget family, -and thereby an entrance to that French circle which so few -English-speaking Canadians ever penetrate. Not that that circle is -more wealthy, or of necessity more cultured than others on the great -American continent; but language, religion, and customs make it less -accessible and more exclusive, and therefore, like other things -difficult, both desirable and distinguished. A certain prescriptive -precedence, too, naturally attaches to the first comers everywhere, if -only they are strong enough to enforce it; and it must be remembered -that these Lower Canada seigniors represent the earliest settlers, and -as a body are the only approach to a landed aristocracy in North -America. North America, it is true, is the chosen home of democracy -and equality; but democratic equality--what is it? Does it not mean, -my brother, that you are on no pretext whatever to claim any sort of -betterness over _me_, while _I_, if I can secure distinction or -superiority am to be protected in the enjoyment of my acquisition; for -is it not a free and a law-abiding country that we live in? Witness -the army of the decorated in democratic France! or the shoals of -colonels, generals, and judges in the United States. Such is -democracy. _You_ must have nothing which I have not, but _I_ may take -whatever I can lay my hands on; and you, sir, are to bow down to me -for having it. It is the autocrat's crown cut up in slices, and placed -on the head of every one self-asserting enough to wear his fraction. - -Ralph had made money--secured a substantial hunch of the bread of -subsistence, and now he was minded to butter it with all the social -distinctions and advantages he could attain to. M. Rouget passed up -the car before him, preceded by madame and the demoiselle, his -daughter. These ladies had not called upon Ralph's wife on her coming -to reside in the neighbourhood; but then Martha, as he told himself, -though a worthy creature, and one who had made him an excellent wife -in his day of small things, was scarcely equal to the promotion which -had overtaken her. She was undeniably diffident and undistinguished; -perhaps even dowdy, he added with a sigh, as the fresh crisp dresses -of the French ladies, befringed, bebugled, and "relieved" with -streamers of lace and ribbon, swam on in front of him. He would claim -his neighbour's acquaintance, he thought, who doubtless would -introduce him to his family; and then he doubted not he should make -himself so pleasant that the ladies would re-consider their previous -reserve and call on Martha forthwith. Already he saw himself at La -Hache, invited to meet Monseigneur the Archbishop and the Honourable -the Minister of Drainage and Irrigation, whom after that, if he were -but civil, he should feel bound to support at future elections, though -hitherto he had voted _rouge_. - -So quick is thought, all this and more had flashed through his mind, -illustrated with _vignettes_ of gracious smiling ladies and -gesticulating Frenchmen--the prismatic glintings of a snob's beatific -vision--and he had not yet reached the middle of the car. M. Rouget -was walking on before. Another step and he would overtake him. Already -his hand was raised to touch the seignior's arm, when, hsh!--the prod -of a parasol point dexterously planted in the small of his back made -him start, exclaim, stop, and turn round. - -In the corner of a sofa he had passed, a wizened little woman, -somewhat dusty and tumbled was smiling, to him from under the frizzes -of her false front, wide-mouthedly smiling, till every gold pin in her -best set of teeth shone in the slanting sunbeams of the afternoon. She -held out a clawlike hand in a cotton glove, by way of welcome, making -room on the sofa beside her, and dropping the parasol point, as the -wild Indian lays down his tomahawk in sign of amity. - -"Judy!" said Ralph in some disgust; but while he spoke he saw the -Rouget party seat themselves with some friends, and recognized that -the opportunity for his little _coup_ was past, so he recovered -himself and dropped into the place so effusively offered. - -"And how come _you_ to be here, ma'am? The general car does not seem -over-crowded. If the treasurer of the diocesan fund were to see you -travelling in parlour cars, he would doubt the need of that -augmentation we have been petitioning for." - -"It would be just like him if he did. He is mean enough for anything -in the way of prying into the private affairs of the rural clergy. I -wonder how he would like it himself? Still, there _are_ a few whose -goings on he might inquire into more closely. But he has favourites. I -wish Synod would make a change." - -"But they will say _you_ are a favourite if you travel in this -regardlessly extravagant way." - -"Let them, if they dare! But there is no fear of that. They cannot but -know that on the five hundred dollars of stipend they allow Mr. Bunce, -a clergyman's family cannot travel at all, except on foot; and even -that takes more shoe leather than they can afford. They understand -perfectly well, that, but for my little income, Mr. Bunce could not -have afforded to accept the parish of St. Euphrase at all--a fact -which is no credit to our church. And I think, Ralph, it would have -been more respectful to Mr. Bunce, and kinder to me, if you had not -alluded to our pecuniary circumstances. We cannot all be brokers, you -must remember." - -"Beg pardon, Judy. No offence. And you remind me that I have not yet -inquired after the health of my respected uncle," he added with an -impertinent laugh. "I hope he is well." - -Ralph's acquisition of an uncle on his Aunt Judith's marriage was -rather an ancient ground of amusement by this time, for the marriage -had taken place years before; but the idea of his maiden aunt created -a wife, and the cleric, his junior, transformed into his uncle, was a -perennial joke, from which time and familiarity could not rub the -point. His other uncle, Gerald, had been one to make a nephew quail; -and that this mild, shaven, unwealthy, and, so far, youthful parson -should have stepped into the redoubtable title, was inexhaustibly -droll. It is notable how long the same quip and jest will serve to -tickle the busy man engrossed in material interests; but in this case -there was the excuse that the Bunces really were an oddly-assorted -pair. A stranger could not but have inquired how they had come to -marry each other--she, so mature, he, with his drab-coloured hair and -round smooth cheeks. "Cherubical," his bride had called the cheeks to -her bridesmaid in a moment of enthusiasm and confidence; but they were -too loose and pasty to deserve the title, or if not, the cherub must -have been out of health--cloyed with ambrosia perhaps, or too much -nectar, in the Elysian Fields. - -Judith herself had rejuvenated, or brightened, perhaps, since we saw -her first, with hair and clothing severely plain, and a look of -reproving superiority to all things pleasant. She was an old young -woman in those days, and now she was a young old one. Then, leanness -and the tight-drawn skin prevented the crows' feet round the eyes from -being strongly marked, and the low-toned colouring harmonized in its -way with the grizzling of the hair; now, with some gain of adipose -tissue, and the relaxed tension incident to a mind relieved from the -imaginary reproach of spinsterhood, the lines and creases showed quite -clearly, like ripple marks on the sand left by the ebbing waves of -time. The hair, too, with its faded browns sympathizing with the -greyness of the flesh tints was changed; for now the lady shone in a -new capillary outfit, and seemingly, when buying it, she had chosen to -revert to the livelier colouring of her youth. The "front," "bang," -"fringe," or whatever she may have called it, was of a cheerful -gingerbread hue, which quenched any lingering lustre of the eye, or -aspiration toward pinkness in the cheek, and gave her somewhat the -look of a mummy, which, after ages wasted in darkness, comes forth -again to taste the happiness of life, and the warmth of the upper -world. - -The love tale of these two had no doubt been as thrilling an idyl to -themselves as that of any pair of nightingales in all Arcadia, but it -appeared rather a drab-coloured romance, or, better, no romance at -all, to their friends, who opened their eyes in blank amaze when the -project of marriage was announced, and vowed the strangely-assorted -couple had lost their wits. Judith, the severely Protestant virgin of -St. Silas, to the High Church--the very high--curate of St. -Wittikind's! It seemed incredible. It was true that for some time she -had visited a good deal among the poor of St. Wittikind's parish, -frequented its schools, guilds and sisterhoods, where things were -conducted not precisely as the good people of St. Silas thought best; -but still that was "Church work," and as she continued to distribute -tracts as copiously as ever in the Catholic neighbourhood selected by -the St. Silas' ladies as their experimental farm of controversy, they -had agreed to regard the vagary as only showing great breadth of view, -and a largely comprehensive charity, which they hoped would lead to -reciprocity, and bring some darkling wanderer from the other pen to -their own better-lighted fold. - -The reality of the case was far otherwise. Miss Judith had a leisure -and energy ravenous of occupation, and which would not be filled up, -and appeased with fancy-work, and dispensing printed leaves to French -people who could not understand what she said. These are pleasing -occupations, but they grow monotonous after a time. She had tried -improving her mind, too, a good work, but it postulates a mind capable -of being improved by printed matter, and the minds of many who have -done the world's work, and done it well, have not been of that kind. -Miss Judith's mind was practical rather than contemplative, and her -studies did not go great lengths, while nature had blessed her with a -sustaining self-content. When her book wearied her she laid it down -and sought some other occupation--somebody else to improve, when her -own mind had had enough of it. Her sister Susan declined her offices, -knowing the teacher too well to set much store by the lessons, and -therefore she had to carry her instructions farther afield. - -Such is the sad lot of spinsterhood in modern life, when woman misses -her natural vocation of house-mother, and fortune exempts her from the -need to earn her living. The instincts and traits which society for -its own entertainment encouraged and cultivated in youth lose their -power to please when bloom and sprightliness have vanished. Then the -love of applause and excitement so attractive in the youthful beauty -turn like famished hounds on their forsaken mistress, and rend her own -heart when she can furnish them no other game. She has been taught to -think highly of herself, and to claim much, and she may have learned -the world and its lessons well, but the world has grown weary of her, -and goes its way in search of a fresher plaything. There is tragedy in -this of the unspoken kind, but it is so common, and it drags its -course so slowly--for people do not easily die of spinsterhood--that -we fail to note the restless gnawing of hearts and brains condemned to -inaction, and only laugh at the _bizarrerie_, when, growing -intolerable, it breaks out into lady-doctors of divinity, law, or -physic. - -When Judith made the acquaintance of the Rev, Dionysius Bunce, it was -with something of the trepidation with which an explorer clambers up -the side of an unknown volcano. "Could he be a Jesuit in disguise, as -some people said?" she wondered, "or was he a well-meaning but -uninstructed person who had lost his way, and now unwittingly was -travelling the broad and flowery road, whose course is ever downward, -and which leads, we all know whither?" What an achievement it would be -could she lead back the wanderer, if indeed he were astray! Or if he -were, as she had been taught to think, a wolf in sheep's clothing, -what a privilege to unmask him and save true Protestantism from his -insidious wiles! - -But there was a single-minded earnestness in this young man which -interested her from the first, and soon assured her he was no Jesuit; -and he was so strangely willing to listen, to discuss, and even to -admit that there might be much in her view of a question. This was new -to Judith, whose guides hitherto, knowing all about everything, had -tolerated no differences of opinion, and had shown her the path of -orthodoxy laid down with square and compass from which no one must -venture to diverge under pain of running up against some text of -Scripture, set like a curbstone by the wayside, to the peril of unwary -wheels meandering off the track. Dionysius was self-denying in his -charity, too. He would give his dinner to the poor any day, instead of -dining first and bestowing the leavings, as is more usual; and -self-denial is a virtue which enthusiastic women delight in. -Enthusiasm is catching, and when it has caught, it makes scattered -units run together and cohere like drops of quicksilver. Judith had -caught it from him as had the members of his guilds; and they worked -away with a happy feeling of earnestness which made things very -pleasant, and over-rode all misgivings as to whether the dance were -worth the candle, or at least as to the usefulness or wisdom of what -they were about. - -Judith was drawn by the fervour of St. Wittikind's curate into -visiting his poor, and even decorating his sanctuary--a Low Church -lady actually embroidering crosses and polemical symbols!--and yet in -her new frame of mind it did not occur to her she had at first -discussed with disapproval the use of papistical emblems. He had -treated her view with every respect while differing from it, and then -had talked round the point to the other side, and shown the amiable -and pious feeling in which such things may be done when looked at the -other way, till Judith, won by his toleration, could not but be -tolerant too, and actually joined in the work. - -It must have been this mixture of docility and independence which won -on Dionysius, and recalled the sacred feelings with which in his -boyhood he had regarded a venerable aunt and a saintly mother both -deceased. He was a young man of a pre-eminently earnest cast of mind, -which turned churchwards. He greatly admired and fain would have -copied the saints and heroes of early times. Had the Church of Canada -kept a wilderness for retiring into, like the Thebaeid of antiquity, he -would have turned hermit; or had there been some real genuine pagans -within its confines he would have been a missionary; but the Indian of -the North-West, part horse-thief, part fur-trader, and altogether -indifferent, offers no opening to aspirants to the rank of martyr or -confessor; so he was forced to do like the rest, and stay at home. - -He did what he could in St. Wittikind's, but it was discouraging work. -The men there were mostly wealthy, and all engrossed in business. They -could not be induced to attend either daily matins or evensong, and -though scrupulously polite when he approached them, were sure to have -an important appointment somewhere, and forced to hurry away. The -young ladies of course were ready, nay charmed, to attend matins or -anything else, provided the hour was reasonable and there had been no -ball overnight. Evensong he found unpopular with them, as interfering -with "home duties," to wit afternoon tea; but they were eager for -"Church work," at least in the shape of elaborate embroideries in gold -thread and ecclesiastical patterns. If Dionysius would have interested -himself in croquet or lawn tennis, or if he would have nourished a -taste for music of a form less severe than Gregorians, he would have -come to have influence; but the young man at that stage of his growth -was too single-minded to have any mistress but Religion; and Mrs. -Silvertongue, his rector's worldly-minded wife, was heard to compare -him to a shaggy young Baptist broke loose from the desert, when Judith -rushed to the rescue by declaring that he seemed to be a very sound -Churchman indeed, and everybody laughed at both the ladies. - -As years went on, the intimacy grew closer. Judith found it delightful -to be busy and of importance--to be authorized to interfere with -people too poor to dare resent it; telling them what they must do, -scolding and physicking them as seemed best, and really being kind, -though in a provoking way; consulting with a clergyman, talking and -being listened to by a gentleman with interest and respect. It was so -very long ago since any gentleman had shown interest in her -conversation, or anything but weariness, and now this ordained pastor -sometimes even consulted her. It made her feel that she was not yet -all of the past, that there was something to live for still, and -afforded some of the old time satisfaction in being minded by one of -the stronger sex, mixed at once with the reverence she owed a -spiritual guide, and motherly interest in one so much her junior. - -Dionysius, too, grew attached, though not precisely in the same way as -if she had been twenty years younger. He was so good a young man, and -so shy, that he failed, perhaps, to fill all the social uses of a -curate, and grew somewhat out of intimacy with the younger ladies of -his cure, who, though they saw him daily at matins, had learned not to -look for his presence at garden parties and afternoon teas. Judith -listened to him with so ardent an interest that he forgot his -diffidence and reserve in conversing with her, and grew even eloquent -at times, as he knew by the admiring reverence in her face; and then, -in the gratification of appreciated merit, he would forget the -disparity in their ages, and hail her as a sister spirit travelling -the same heavenward road with himself. And so they continued to fare -on together in amity and trust, the brother uttering words of wisdom, -the sister accepting them humbly, and ignorant that they were leading -her far from the truth according to St. Silas, where with her sister -on Sundays she still went to church; for Judith's theological mind was -of the emotional not the argumentative sort; though she loved to use -the party catch-words, and believed she set great store by them, they -conveyed to her no clearly defined ideas. Warmth was what she longed -for, and friendship, and these she drew most readily from the curate -of St. Wittikind. - -The intimacy between the two might have gone on for ever unchanged, -but at length Dionysius fell ill, and then the crisis in their -friendship and their lives arrived. Judith called regularly at her -friend's lodging to inquire for his health. By-and-by she had messages -to carry him from his poor, she sat down by his bedside and conversed, -and he declared himself so much refreshed by her visit that it would -have been inhuman if she had not called again. She did call again, and -again; and by-and-by she fell into the way of bringing jellies and -little dainties to tempt the sick man's appetite. One day as he was -dining on a warm and greasy broth, misnamed beef tea, he laid it down -scarce tasted on her entrance, and with manifest disrelish pushed it -away. Judith peered and sniffed at the ungrateful preparation, and -pressed him to try her jelly instead. "I know how beef-tea should be -made, and I shall bring your landlady a supply, and then she will only -have to warm a little from time to time as you want it." - -The next day Judith arrived, carrying upstairs with difficulty a large -stone jar in a basket. In the study, which was also the ante-chamber -to the sick-room, she encountered the landlady coming out. Mrs. -McQuirter looked her full in the face, flushing indignantly and eyeing -with a sniff and a toss of the head the jar which Judith was lifting -with difficulty to the table. - -"Good morning, Mrs. McQuirter," said Judith in her most conciliatory -manner. - -"Morning, miss," replied the other with a side-long glance which was -far from friendly. - -"How do you think Mr. Bunce is to-day, Mrs. McQuirter?" - -"Guess you're going in, miss, and will see for yourself; so there's no -good me telling you. You'd be sure to think you knew a deal better," -and she sailed towards the door in her grandest style; then turning as -if an idea had struck her, and as if fearing that she had not already -been sufficiently provoking, she added: - -"Say, miss! Is that sleigh as brought you and your basket still at the -door? We've a deal of old crockery here as don't belong to us, and -we'd be right glad to be rid on. Odd bowls, and plates, and chipped -jelly glasses as don't match our sets, and make me feel kind o' mean -when neighbours come in at dish-washing time with their 'Laws, Mrs. -McQuirter, now! and where in goodness did you ever pick up all them -cracked dishes?' If you're agreeable, I will just get 'em all together -and send them back by the carman before they get broke, for it 'ud -cost more than the valy of all the messes they brought here to replace -'em with new." - -Judith felt indignant, and coloured deeply, but as to reply in kind -would have been to raise a dragon in the path to her friend's bedside, -she restrained herself, and merely answered: "By all means, Mrs. -McQuirter. Kindly help me to lift this jar out of the basket, and then -you can take it." - -"And what may you be bringing here in your large crock, miss?" asked -the landlady contemptuously. It seemed so impossible to irritate this -old maid into the scolding match she thirsted for, that she was -growing to despise as well as detest her. - -"This is some beef-tea--a most excellent form in which to give -nourishment to invalids like Mr. Bunce." - -"Beef-tea, indeed! It's more like half-melted glue to look at. Ugh!" - -"Quite natural in you to say so, Mrs. McQuirter. So few people know -what beef-tea really should be like. It is the strength of the stock, -which has jellied in cooling, that gives it the appearance you allude -to. If you will just warm a cupful in a saucepan as it is wanted, -without letting it boil, you will find it delicious. Try a little of -it yourself, I know you will like it." - -"Not me! And do you know, miss, how many large knuckles of beef I have -boiled into tea in the last ten days? And scarce a drop has he let -pass his lips! All clean gone to waste. I don't hold with beef-tea for -Mr. Bunce no ways. He seems to hate it like pizen." - -"I am not surprised at his having refused the decoction I saw sent up -to him yesterday," said Judith with a relish. It seemed that -notwithstanding her forbearance she was to have an innings, and she -meant to use it in truly Christian fashion; not to exult openly, but -to rub any blistering truth which came to hand well into the bone. "In -making beef-tea all fat is carefully removed, and the meat is then -placed in a jar with salt and cold water, near the fire, where it must -stand for hours without boiling or even simmering. Now, really, Mrs. -McQuirter," and she dipped a teaspoon in the jar, "just taste how good -it is! If you will warm a cup or so of it two or three times a day I -am confident you will have no difficulty in getting Mr. Bunce to drink -it." - -"I think I see me trying it, miss! And it shows your assurance to be -evening me to the like. You are but a young lady yet, so to say, -though you were born ten years before myself, I guess, as am the -mother of six--leastways you are but an old maid, when all is said, -and to take upon you to tell me how to make beef-tea! Me, as am the -mother of six, and has buried a good husband. And many a bowl of my -beef-tea the poor man drank, and him lying on the very feather bed -where the parson lies now." - -"And he died, Mrs. McQuirter? I am not surprised," said Miss Judith, -thinking more of her argument and less of conciliation as the talk -went on. "I observed the mixture yesterday when Mr. Bunce was unable -to swallow it--a mere mixture of grease and warm water. Do you not -know that at boiling point albumen coagulates, and becomes insoluble, -like the white of a hard-boiled egg? You would not expect the water -you boil eggs in to be very nourishing? Your beef-tea is just like -that, and if your late husband's dietary contained no more nourishing -items, I cannot wonder that he did not survive." - -"You owdacious old maid, you! How daar you? To insinniwate that me as -has fairly slaved for my man and his children had a hand to his taking -off. But I'll have the law of you, I will! and I take Mr. Bunce in -there as must have heard ye, if he's awake yet, to witness that you -said it. Me, the mother of six, to be insulted and put upon by an old -thing as never was able to get married at all! And it shows the men's -good sense, that same. And here you come with your broths and your -messes after my poor young gentleman, as is laid on the broad of his -back, and too sick to run away from you like the rest. And it's a -disgrace to your sect, you are, miss! for all your silk, and your -sealskin, and me but a poor lone widdy with a quiet lodger--to be -coming here at all hours acourting a gentleman as don't want you--you -that are old enough to be his grandmother and should be at home making -your soul, for your change as must come before long, 'stead of running -that shameless after the men to make them marry you." - -"Oh!" was all that Judith could utter, throwing up her black gloved -hands to the ceiling and then dropping in a heap on a stool in the -corner and burying her face in her handkerchief. The wordy hurricane -had fallen on the flower--an elderflower--and beaten it down and -crushed it; and there she cowered in her confusion, convulsed with -sobs, while the hurricane whistled but the more wildly in its triumph, -and would fain have scattered and dispersed the ruin it had already -made. - -"And well may you hide your face after sich ongoings! and it don't -become one as sets up for quality to have done the like; to be coming -here a worritting of a poor young gentleman to marry her, as it's -quite oncertain if he will see the light of next week! Or is it that -you think you will make the people say he has treated you bad if he -don't, after you coming here so often? But the people knows better, -miss! and they say you're too old for him; and that you've been -worritting around him that long, it's a fair amazement between his -patience and your perseverance whatever comes of it. The very rector -of the parish takes notice on it, and the rector's lady says its -shameless the way you go on to make him marry you!" - -"Silence, Mrs. McQuirter! with your bad and cruel tongue." - -Mrs. McQuirter turned and stood aghast. The door of the sleeping-room -had opened without noise, and framed in the opening stood Dionysius, -like the picture of his canonized namesake stepped out of some Gothic -window. One arm was thrust into the sleeve of a purple dressing-gown -which was wrapped about him, leaving exposed his chest and other arm -clothed in their snowwhite sleeping gear. Excitement caused by the -altercation he must have overheard, and the exertion of rising had -brought a feverish flush to his cheeks, burning into hectic spots amid -the pallor of illness, and there was a lustre in his eye, which could -the world have seen, it would have reconsidered its judgment of his -appearance as ordinary and commonplace. - -"How dare you address my kind visitor--my friend--in the wicked words -I have heard you use?" - -Mrs. McQuirter was taken aback; but being now, to use her own phrase, -"in for it," as having sinned beyond forgiveness, and sure to lose her -lodger, it seemed best to retreat in good order, and show neither fear -nor remorse. - -"What a lone widdy like me says, Mr. Bunce, ain't of no 'count to a -gentleman like you, sir, and I have always done my very best to make -you comfortable, so my mind's easy. It's what the rector's lady says, -and the quality in your church, and if you like to have them speaking -that way of you and that--that female there, as is ashamed to look an -honest woman in the face, 'taint no affairs of mine." - -Judith felt as if she would gladly die, and sank from the stool to the -carpet in a collapsed heap. If the ground would have opened and -swallowed her, how thankful she would have been; but it did not, and -she could but bury her face deeper in her lap. - -"The lady you have presumed to scandalize so shamefully," the curate -resumed, "has called here at my earnest request. If I could induce her -to come more frequently she would be even more welcome; and in case -you should still have any doubts, let me tell you plainly that if this -lady would condescend to accept me, there is no one I would so gladly -make my wife. Now! I have said all that can possibly interest you. -Leave the room instantly, and close the door." - -The door closed behind Mrs. McQuirter and the two were left together. -Judith's confusion was too great to permit her to lift her head, but -there was a tremor of expectancy in the heap of silk and sealskin into -which she had collapsed, which made itself felt in the surrounding -air. She had ceased to sob, and became all ear. Even the silk of her -gown, though she was crouched so close that to draw breath without a -movement seemed impossible, forbore to rustle. - -Dionysius stood still in his white and purple like a Gothic saint, but -less erect now that the impulse of battle had spent itself. He stood a -committed man, yet a man who has not yet spoken, shivering on the -brink of the proposal which he has bound himself to make. You remember -the feeling, my married friend, when the words grew too unwieldy to -articulate, and there was a pause. The leading up to the grand climax -had been achieved, the lady and the universe were waiting, the very -next word must be the word of fate, and you were not dreaming of -drawing back, but still it lingered; and oh! the effort it took to -launch that ill-formed sentence! Dionysius stood, and his strength was -waning. Before him there was the prostrate heap of clothing which -waited but made no sign, and the air around was still and listening. -The very fire forgot to blaze and crackle, and looked at him silently -in red unblinking expectation. Only the clock on the mantelpiece went -on unmoved, counting the fleeting seconds as they sped with -dispassionate calmness. They were slipping away, and so too was his -strength, and yet he had not spoken. - -"Judith," he said at last with a great effort; but when he had so far -found his voice the words came easier. - -"Judith, my fr----Judith!" and he went and laid a tremulous hand upon -her shoulder. "You have heard the words I spoke to Mrs. McQuirter. -Will you forgive me that I should thus have declared myself in the -presence of a stranger before having spoken to yourself. Believe me, -dear, it was from no disrespect, no lack of appreciation; but you know -how we have been with each other. Our close fellowship in the higher -life may have made us forgetful of mere earthly relations, but we must -remedy that now. This foolish woman, with her idle tongue, has spoken -words of more wisdom than she knew, and if we are to be companions on -the heavenward way, is it not well that our earthly paths should be -united?" - -A thrill ran all through Judith's frame. He felt her tremble beneath -his hand, but still she did not lift her head. - -"Judith, my own dear, you must marry me! It is necessary for your good -name. If that is not enough to move you, it is necessary for mine. I -will not have them say that I could trifle with a woman's regard. -Though what care we, either you or I, for people's idle talk? Have we -not been walking hand-in-hand, each helping and supporting the other -to live aright? And has not our companionship been for good to both? -Let us marry, Judith! and silence babbling tongues. It will be best -so. Look up, my friend, and answer. And yet, Judith, I must own it, I -am poor. I have nothing but the stipend of my curacy; and when the -poor, my brothers, have had their share, and my yearly bills are paid, -there is nothing over. Not a cent. It will explain to you how I never -came to think of marriage before." - -Then Judith raised her face suffused with blushes, and lighted with a -happy eager look which had not been seen there before in twenty years; -and under the transfiguring influence of an unexpected joy, she looked -for the moment almost beautiful. So, when the fogs and rain of autumn -have spent their strength, and the frosts of winter still linger in -their coming, there fall halcyon days, when nature, not yet stripped -bare of flower and foliage, blooms out again in her Indian summer. The -trees are hung with wreaths of gold-bright leaves, or garlanded with -crimson, the sod renewed by rains after the summer scorchings, is -green with a greenness unseen at other times; the garden is still -cheered by marigolds and asters, larkspur and phlox, and the sky and -the waters have a sunny blueness, shining but the brighter for the -smoky grey which conceals the distance--the distance which harbours -winter, tempest, rain, too soon to be let loose. - -A tear was quivering on Judith's eyelash. A happy sob gave a tremor to -her voice when she tried to speak. - -"Dionysius. And do you mean it? Marry--marry me! But it is only your -gentlemanly feeling which will not have me talked about. I dare not -take you at your word, however--however much--I might----" and her -colour deepened, and the drops rained down, and again she hid her -face. - -"Indeed, it is not so, Judith. You may indeed believe me--if only you -will have it so. And we have been so much to each other--and now we -must be nothing any more, unless you will consent to marry." - -Judith moved as if trying to gain her feet, and Dionysius took her -hand to lend assistance, and so it came about that they stood with -their arms entwined. Judith's head dropped on the curate's shoulder, -and felt as if it would gladly linger there for ever. And he, the lady -clinging and half-supported in his arms, had a vague sense of heroic -worth and power as man; standing thus before the universe, lord of -another life besides his own; and many other feelings, surging and -confused, which would not lend themselves to words. And little more -was said, though much was understood and agreed between them; and -by-and-by the striking of the clock recalled them to common life, and -both sat down. Then Dionysius, exhausted with excitement, grew faint -and returned to his room. - -Judith lingered till she was assured that the faintness was wearing -off, and then she stole softly downstairs on her way home. Softly as -she stepped, however, she was overheard, and ere she could reach the -door, Mrs. McQuirter stood before her blocking the way; but it was -Mrs. McQuirter in a different part from the one she had played so -lately. Then, she was the dragon landlady ready to devour an intrusive -and defenceless spinster, now she was the lone widow, the mother of -six. One little toddler held on to her gown, she led another by the -hand, while her other hand held a napkin saturated with the moisture -which ran from her streaming eyes and bedewed her face. - -"Oh, miss!" she cried with a sob, and the little ones piped a small -chorus of sympathy, "I was wishful to speak to you as you went out, to -make it up with you for what I said upstairs. And I'm free to confess, -miss, it was not my place to speak the way I did. But I'm hot by -nature, miss, and when once I begin, my tongue runs clean away from -me. But I bear no malice, miss, as John McQuirter often said. 'She -bears no malice,' he'd say, and them's his very words." - -"It is of no consequence, Mrs. McQuirter; I'm willing to overlook," -and Judith endeavoured to slide past in the narrow hallway, but the -little ones, with faces damp and sticky, and threatening damage to any -article of apparel which might rub against them in passing, blocked -the way. - -"And it's good of you to say so much, miss; and it does credit to Mr. -Bunce's choice. And oh, Miss! you'll remember, will you not? I'm a -lone widdy, and the mother of six! And it's hoping you'll have a fine -family of your own some day," which made Judith blush. "And you won't -be for allowing Mr. Bunce to change his lodging, and all along of a -few thoughtless words, as I'm truly sorry for the saying on. You won't -now? Will'e, miss? Like a dear." - -"I have told you, already, Mrs. McQuirter, I shall overlook the -offence. Mr. Bunce is too ill to think of moving. He feels quite faint -after the disturbance you caused him, and he needs nourishment. You -had better warm him a cupful of that beef-tea I brought. Warm it in a -saucepan, but don't let it boil; and send up a few sippets of dry -toast along with it. The sooner you can let him have it the better." -And having prescribed this penance to the spirit-broken mother of six, -she got away. - -It was near the end of Lent before the secret of the engagement was -divulged, though the wedding was to be immediately after Easter; but -then a storm of ridicule arose which could not but offend those most -interested. Judith's own family were as provokingly sarcastic as any -one in the churches of St. Silas or St. Wittikind, and that is saying -much. It became clear to the young couple that they must leave the -city; so Dionysius resigned his curacy and accepted the small -missionary parish of St. Euphrase. The emoluments there were less than -he had enjoyed in the city, but his wife was possessed of a modest -competency, on which in that sequestered place, they contrived to live -in comfort and respect. - -If the taste in which Judith had endeavoured to rejuvenate her -appearance was doubtful, the acquisition of a spouse had still had the -best influence in softening and sweetening her nature, and her -gratitude and devotion to the man who had looked on her in her -loneliness were pleasant to see. For him, it was only after marriage -and the worship which it brought him at his own fireside, that it -began to dawn on Mr. Bunce what a very superior man he must surely be, -and he felt beholden to his helpmate for making the discovery. So -Mahomet no doubt, felt to the elderly Kadijah, his first wife, the -earliest of his converts, and the first to recognize him as a prophet. -In after years he married women younger and more beautiful, but none -ever held a place so high in his affection as the wealthy widow who -had married him in his poverty and youth. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - A GARDEN TEA. - - -It was on the same afternoon as that referred to, previous to the long -digression in the last chapter, but perhaps a trifle earlier, though -the torrid glare of mid-day had passed, and the cool shadows below the -trees had begun to creep eastward on the shaven lawn. The air was full -of warmth and sunshine, with just stir enough to move the aspen leaves -upon the tree, and scatter more faint and widely the scent of roses -beyond the alleys, where it hung in drowsy sweetness, mingling with -the droning of bees and inviting to mid-day sleep, that crowning -deliciousness of summer weather. - -The Misses Stanley were in their grounds, and they had friends. They -were in their grounds, that is to say in a shady corner of the lawn by -the house, where three or four grand hemlocks, survivors of the -forest, spread out umbrageous arms over a glimmering arcade of gloom, -where never sunbeam stole, and the shady air was fresh with the -fragrant breath of resins drawn from the upper branches by the sun. -There, lounging on cane chairs and garden seats, they plied their -fans calmly, and chatted, but not too much or loud, in sociable -repose. It was early in July, when everything is green and fresh and -vigorous--bud, bloom, and spray instinct with brimming life, and not a -yellowing leaf to tell of memories or regret, all hope and promise and -delight in the flowery present and the fruitful days to come. Great -butterflies were tumbling in the brightness, and there was a low -continuous murmur in the grass from the thousand living things too -small to be separately or distinctly heard; and ever and anon from -around the banks of shrubs would come the gurgling laughter of -youthful voices, so lightsome in its freedom from care and adult -emotion. - -There were six of them, those youthful ones, whose merry voices -disturbed the slumbrous heat, walking or running, heedless alike of -shade and sunshine, their hands full of roses. Muriel was one of them, -the ladies' niece, and Tilly Martindale, Miss Matilda's goddaughter, -and Betsey Bunce, a niece of the rector, and so a sort of cousin to -the family. There was Gerald Herkimer, Ralph's only child, whose -mother Martha was sitting with the ladies in the shade, and Randolph -Jordan, the son of Matilda's friend Amelia who was sitting by her at -that moment. And, last, there was Pierre Bruneau, a black-eyed -_habitant_ boy, the son of Jean, who managed the farm. He had been -working in the garden, and seeing Muriel, had found some small service -to render her, and had lingered near, unconscious of the sidelong -glances of her companions. She had given him her flowers to carry and -bade him bring them to the house, and he, intoxicated with their -fragrance, or rather, perhaps, at being permitted to carry them for -his mistress when the young gentlemen were by, joined gaily in the -general laughter, and even ventured to put in a jest in his queer -French-English, to the amusement and placation of the not over-well -pleased company. - -They were all between fifteen and seventeen years old, all except -Muriel. Muriel was eleven, and all the promise of her babyhood, which -had dropped so unexpectedly into the ladies' arms, had been more than -fulfilled. The roses and the butterflies were pale dim things beside -her, as she skipped among the rest, her long hair shining like threads -of gold where it caught the light, and melting into a warm shadow -beneath the leaf of her spreading garden-hat, from beneath whose brim -there shone a pair of eyes luminous in their glee and innocency, -penetrating without sharpness and soft without being dull; lips short, -red, and parted, displaying teeth small, regular, well apart, like a -string of evenly-assorted pearls. - -The fete was hers--her birthday it was called--and in reality it was -the anniversary of her appearance in her present life, on the night -after the thunderstorm, when the ladies had found her on their -doorsteps. Penelope, prudent and timid, would rather have left the day -unmarked, in case talk should arise; but Matilda, emboldened by -success in her plan of adoption, insisted that fears were now idle, -"that their darling must keep her birthday like other children, and -that it would be unthankful to the good Providence who had sent the -little one to brighten their humdrum lives, if they kept the feast on -any other day." Besides, what was there to fear? Every servant in the -house had been changed over and over in the ten years which had -intervened since then; even Smithers the nurse, who had stayed the -longest, was gone these three years, and she had not only been paid to -hold her tongue, but was too fond of the child to let slip a word -which could injure her. Only Bruneau and his family remained about the -place, and they were such quiet and respectful _habitants_ they would -not babble; and even if they would, who could understand them? The -servants did not understand French, and Jean's and his wife's English -was so awkward and hard to come, they never spoke to any of them if it -could be avoided. There was the boy Pierre, to be sure, "But remember, -sister, how respectful he has always been, even when, years ago, we -used to send for him to come and play with Muriel; and now that he has -grown big and able to work, he seems to pay far more attention to the -orders she gives him than to any of ours." So Penelope shrugged her -shoulders with a sigh, as she always did in the end when Matilda was -"positive," and yielded the point. - -"What a pretty, graceful child Muriel is," said Mrs. Martindale, -Tilly's mother, a widow. They had come from Montreal for the fete. - -"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Jordan, "she will make a sensation in -Montreal when you bring her out, Matilda; but that is some years in -the future yet. The other girls had better make haste and arrange -themselves before she appears," and she glanced at Mrs. Martindale, -which was gratuitously unkind, seeing that Tilly, being only fifteen, -would not appear in the world for two winters to come, and she -promised to be a remarkably fine girl, and in quite a different style. -But then her boy Randolph had been essaying to pipe his first small -note for ladies' ears in those of the damsel, and she, though not yet -out, was grown woman enough to desiderate whiskers or a moustache in -an admirer, and to scorn with youth's uncompromising freedom the -advances of a callow swain of her own tender years. Ten years later, -how different her views will be! But so, in ten years' time, will his -be too--and the gentleman will have the pull then, as much as the lady -has it now. Wherefore, my dear Mrs. Amelia, you might very well have -forborne to resent the seeming slight upon your boy! But women are -such partisans, especially the good ones; and she who is not, even if -she be half a philosopher, is but half a woman--and not the best half -either. - -And now the creaking of the entrance gate was heard, and the crunching -of wheels on the gravel; and presently from among the clumps of -shrubbery which screened them from the road there issued a _caleche_, -the French Canadian substitute for an American buggy, high set and -hung on leather straps instead of springs; and in it swung the rector -and his spouse, trundling along to the front of the house. - -Mrs. Jordan lifted her _pince-nez_ to her eyes. "Ha! a calash! Mr. -Bunce, of course. Nobody else would get into such a thing." - -"Do you know, I like them, and they are very much used down at -Quebec," observed Mrs. Martindale, rendered generally contradictious -by the tone of the other's recent remarks. - -"They make me seasick. I feel as if I were in a cradle." - -"Was that the effect your cradle had, Amelia dear? You have certainly -an uncommon memory to recollect so well; for surely you were in the -advanced class at Mrs. Jones' when I was learning my letters." - -"Quite true, Louisa," said the other, biting her lip; "but you know -you were a backward child. Great talent is often slow in showing -itself, you know. What a droll pair those two make, swinging up there -in company--as contented as Darby and Joan carrying their eggs to -market. Ah, now they are out of sight--gone round to the front door. I -am told that on their wedding tour they were mistaken for mother and -son--and, strange to say, the error did not put them out in the -least." - -"I think it nice, myself," said Penelope, "to see people so content to -be happy in their own way, and so indifferent to the world's idle -talk. It is idle talk, Amelia. When two people find each other's -company desirable, are they not foolish to give it up for fear that -somebody else will laugh? How much would that somebody else do to make -either of them happy? And how little he _could_ do. Perhaps you do not -know, Amelia, that Mr. Bunce is our cousin, and therefore we feel -bound to like him. At the same time he is your rector, of course, -while you are living at St. Euphrase, and I admit your right to -criticise him." - -And here the clerical pair coming through a window from the -drawing-room descried the party in the shade and joined them, which -changed the conversation; at the same time the crunching gravel gave -notice of other arrivals. First, a waggonette carrying Jordan, -Considine and Ralph; and before these had time to alight and join the -rest, a rockaway, with the family from La Hache. Mrs. Martha Herkimer, -who had been enjoying the heat and the coolness and the buzz of talk -in a large lounging chair, with her fan drooping listlessly in her -hand, and her pose indicating enjoyment of the quiescent if not -somnolent kind, roused herself, shook out her skirts, and sat down -again bolt upright, ready to become acquainted with the French people -her husband so wished to know, as soon as possible. - -Madame Rouget led by her lord, hat in hand, and followed by her -daughter, all smiles and sweetness, fluttered through the window to -the grass, where her hostesses met her and exchanged salutations eked -out with gesture, in which gloves a little brighter and eyebrows a -trifle more arched than the Anglo-Saxon pattern bore an important -part. Madame's English was not fluent; the Misses Stanley, with the -backwardness of their nation, did not venture to use French, and there -was some obscurity and delay in the opening phrases, during which M. -Rouget stood benevolently by, still uncovered and regardless of sun -and sunstroke. In time they reached the grateful shade of the -hemlocks, where the newcomers inhaled the perfumed coolness with -infinite relish, after the glare and dust of their recent drive; and -then there came presentations of the lately come neighbours, with -profuse explanations from Madame, "that her English so _difficile_ had -made her delay, till she was so _comblee_ of confusions, that---- Ah, -well! she prayed the ladies to excuse;" and she smiled very -graciously, and pressed the hands of Amelia and Martha, lisping hopes -to be better acquainted; meaning, no doubt, as with Penelope and her -sister, the exchange of half-yearly visits, which, in view of -differences of church as well as language, was as much as could be -expected. That church counted for a great deal became evident when -"Mrs. Bunce, the wife of my cousin the rector," was next presented. -The smile died out of Madame's face, and the _empressement_ faded from -her manner as she bowed more deeply than before with eyes fastened on -the ground. "The _betise_," as she said to her daughter afterwards, -"of those English! To introduce the wife of one of their married -priests to me, the niece of My Lord the Archbishop!" - -"But he is of their family, we must recollect, my mother," replied -this judicious young person. "And perhaps they do not know of my great -uncle the Archbishop. At least the ladies intended to be kind, and -Monsieur Gerald Herkimaire, and Monsieur Randolphe are both _tres -comme il faut?_" On which Madame patted the precocious utterer of so -much wisdom--she was not yet sixteen--with her fan, and laughed -heartily. But this did not occur till the following morning. - -Penelope was not slow to perceive that the last presentation had not -been a success, and came promptly to the rescue, by asking Mrs. Bunce -a question, while Matilda drew off the attention of the others by -asking Mademoiselle if she would not join the young people, and -leading her away, while the mother and the rest fell into conversation -with the gentlemen. - -The young ones by this time had sent Pierre to the house with their -flowers, and were lingering on Muriel's croquet ground until Miss -Martindale should persuade herself that she was not too grown up to -play, a conclusion which she speedily arrived at on the appearance of -the new comer, who was quite as advanced as herself and seemed eager -to begin. - -"How your niece is most _gracieuse_, and so prettee!" said the -Frenchwoman to Matilda when she rejoined the elders. - -"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Martindale, "she is one of the very nicest -little girls I know; and so clever. You should hear her play. It is -more like a grown person's performance than a child's. And to think -she should never have had any governess but dear Matilda here! I call -it quite remarkable." - -"Ah!" said Madame sympathetically. It is always a safe observation to -make, especially in reply to what has not been very clearly -understood, and the inflection of the voice can make it stand for so -many things, that if it is only uncertain it will mean whatever the -hearer likes best. - -"It is a loss to society that women like you should be independent, -Matilda," said Amelia. "What a governess you would have made! You need -not shrug; it is a compliment, and one which very few people can -claim. If you knew the troubles of governess-ridden mothers, you would -understand me; so few are worth much, and those few keep one in -constant dread of their growing dissatisfied and leaving, till the -mother's life becomes a burden. I am so glad my family consists only -of a boy, and it is Jordan's business to think what is to become of -him," glancing at the croquet players. - -"That young gentleman," said Madame, following the direction of the -other's eyes. "_Distingue!_ What joy to have one so fine son!" - -Mrs. Jordan smiled her gratification and could not help glancing -across at Mrs. Martindale, whose daughter's depreciation of the -paragon must have ruffled her maternal plumage not a little. - -"Yes," she said, "he is a dear boy--so manly and yet so affectionate," -and her eyes drooped, and her voice fell, as it will when one talks of -something near the heart; and there were signs--woman of the world -though she was--of her maundering on upon the same sweet theme, if -only there were an attentive silence. - -But this Mrs. Martha's patience could not yield. She saw nothing so -remarkable in the Jordan boy "for that affected French woman to make a -fuss about. If it had been her Gerald now, there might have been some -sense in it--with his delicate fair skin like a girl's, and his sturdy -broad shoulders. It was true young Jordan had the advantage in height; -but what matters half an inch? And as to the manliness----" And again -she seemed to be standing in an upper window of her town house, -securely hid behind a curtain, looking down on the two boys in a -tussle. How her boy tumbled the other over, let him get up and knocked -him down again, and pummelled him till he had had enough. And she? Had -she been a right-minded person--taken in the abstract--of course she -would have interfered; but being only a woman and a mother, and seeing -it was her side which played the winning game, she merely stood and -looked on. Lady lecturers and authors often tell us of the higher -moral plane from which the gentle sex surveys the world's affairs, but -for honest old-world delight in sheer physical force and muscular -prowess, can a woman be equalled? It must be a survival from the days -of savagery and marriage by capture. The learned professor's wife may -expect to be led out to dinner before plain mistress, but as likely as -not she is innocent of even a smattering of the "ology" on which her -husband's reputation is built; but she whom good fortune has wed to a -Victoria Cross knows every detail of his achievements and believes -herself married to a demigod. - -But this is digression. It seemed to Martha that Amelia was about to -moralize aloud upon her boy, and having a kindness for her and being -unwilling that she should make herself absurd, she broke the momentary -silence with - -"And really. Miss Matildy now"--Martha was a lady 'Noo -Hampshire'--"doo tell! Have you taught the child her letters and -pothooks and some of the multiplication table all by yourself; and you -not married? Well, now, I call it real smart--you might almost do for -a school marm. That you might, with just taking pains--at least, if -you, had begun earlier." - -Ralph was standing within earshot, and it is not unlikely that he -wished his wife had not spoken. She was a good soul, he well knew. She -had been a beauty, and once there had seemed a quaint charm in the -direct and high-pitched utterances which stole from between those -coral lips. But that was years ago. The lips were withered now; it was -on account of her poor health they had come to live at St. Euphrase, -and only the unusual and impolite utterances remained to wound the -sensibilities of polished ears--now, too, when he had become rich, and -he could buy her whatever she wanted, and would have bought her some -conventional refinement as gladly as her diamonds from Tiffany's. It -was Matilda, however, who replied in support of her own achievements. - -"Letters and pothooks, my dear Mrs. Herkimer? Muriel can read the -newspapers and even 'Paradise Lost' perfectly well. She reads me to -sleep every Sunday afternoon with 'Paradise Lost' or Young's 'Night -Thoughts.' I think poetry is improving for the child, you know, and I -enjoy it myself. It soothes me. And, by-the-way, it was she who wrote -asking you to come here to-day." - -"Well now! You don't----" ejaculated Martha; but Matilda, though -mollified, ran on: "Indeed, I believe I have gained quite as much as -Muriel by her lessons. One must know a thing in order to teach it. I -found my own education had grown sadly rusty, and needed brushing up. -I had no idea there was so much interesting information to be got from -'Mangnall's Questions' and 'The Child's History of England' till I -went over them with Muriel. As to music, I used to play, but was -getting out of practice; she has revived my interest in it, and now we -both play and sing together--in a mild way, my dear Amelia; pray do -not look apprehensive, I am not meditating an exhibition. But I was -going to say, I think Muriel needs better teaching than mine, now; so -we propose going to Montreal for the winter. I cannot teach languages, -and her voice seems worth cultivating." - -"Take her to Selby, Miss Matildy," cried the worthy Martha, little -dreaming how her husband and his aunt wished her a lockjaw. "He is -married to a sister of Judy's there--plays the organ at St. -Wittikind's--does it beautiful, my dear, but you will have heard -him--and if there is any sing in the child it is he will bring it out. -He'd make the kettle sing." - -"We can all do that," said Judith disgusted. "Put another stick in the -stove, that's all it wants. And this is little Muriel's birthday. Miss -Matilda? How old is she today? Twelve? Ah--Pretty child, but not very -tall. But that is in the family, I suppose. Dionysius is almost short, -and Betsey there is really stumpy. But I do not see much resemblance -in her to Betsey." - -"Neither do I." - -"But one would expect to see a family-likeness." - -"Between second cousins? I do not see the necessity." - -"Blood always tells, you know. Yet she is not even like -Dionysius----no trace of his square intellectual forehead, or -anything." - -"Your niece and her uncle are Bunces, perhaps, and Muriel a Stanley." - -"But she is not like you either." - -"I confess I never was clever about seeing likenesses, but I am sure I -could not be fonder of the child if she were ever so like me. -Penelope, do you not think we might have tea, now?" - -Considine had heard Martha's mention of Selby. It was the first time -in years that he had heard the name. It awoke recollections which had -long been asleep. Jordan, his co-trustee in the Herkimer fortune had -no doubt told him the family story on his return to Montreal, but at -that time his mind was full of his own cares, and since then the mere -periodical investment of dividends had not called for a recurrence to -the subject. Though, doubtless, he remembered his old attachment, and -would still have felt a kindness for its object had his thoughts -wandered that way, the preoccupations of business led them in other -directions; the tender passages were relegated to the same limbo as -the memories of childhood, and his _ante bellum_ possessions wiped out -of existence by the event of war. Love-dreams, longings, the yearnings -of what we call our "hearts," are luxuries of the well-to-do, living -at their ease. When the wolf comes to the door, and the means of -subsistence are in doubt or danger, Cupid, the ethereal sprite, -feeding daintily on sighs and idle fancies, wings himself way; and in -the turmoil of hard material facts, he is not missed. It is best so. -The heart wounds, forgotten, skin over and heal, where head and arms -are in danger from the blows of fortune; and so the undivided energies -are free for the combat. But now, his personal affairs having arranged -themselves in an easy well-to-do routine which gave no anxiety, his -mind was open to other interests, and of these there were not enough -to engage it. He often felt dull and lonely. He would now and then -accompany Ralph to St. Euphrase, remaining over night and returning to -town in the morning, thereby killing a long afternoon, as on the -present occasion; but this could be only an occasional palliation. The -"planting" years of his youth, as he called them, and the fighting -years which followed, had not been the apprenticeship to make him take -an undivided interest in business for its own sake after he had -secured income sufficient for his needs. He had outlived his relish -for the society of young men--young men of business, at least--the -middle-aged had withdrawn into domestic life, and he found himself a -good deal alone. - -The mention of Selby's name stirred old associations which time and -adventure had long deprived of bitterness; and now he looked back with -only a plaintive yearning to the happiness which might have been, if -he had had his way, and pitied himself in his solitary estate. If he -had married, what wealth of love was his to have bestowed! And how he -could have enjoyed being cosseted and purred to by a wife of his own, -instead of depending on hirelings whose servile smile betrayed the -hollowness of their attentions. The smoking-room at his club, and his -own rooms at the hotel rose before his eye in their dull solid -unsatisfying comfort, and he could not but compare them with the -clean, unsmoky freshness and brightness of the woman's world around -him, and confess the two as different and apart as the close warm -stuffiness of a winter sick-room, from the clear keen day out of doors -in early spring. - -"What ails you, gineral? You look that glum you might have been -hearing of your brother's death," said Martha, making room for him on -the garden seat where she sat. - -"I am well, madam. I heard you allude just now to a Mr. Selby as -having married the sister of Mrs. Bunce. Are you acquainted with the -lady?" - -"To be sure I am. She is Ralph's aunt. A dear good soul as ever lived, -but real sorrowful-like and sickly now--she that used to be as peart -and blooming as the flowers in May. It's heart-breaking to see her. -She has never got over the loss of her child ten years ago, and it has -fairly broke her up. Her hair is white like a woman of sixty. She -might be older than Judy, there; and yet she is just one age with -Ralph--not forty yet." - -"I recollect her very distinctly in her brother Gerald's lifetime--a -beautiful young lady. That was before the war; the first time I was in -Canada." - -"Were you in Canady then? But to be sure you were! You were Gerald's -friend, and are a trustee of his property. Ah, yes! I recollect. And -you were----" - -But she did not say any more; only she looked in his face with a new -interest, and what would have been a kind and sympathizing smile if -good manners had not restrained the manifestation. Nothing awakens the -interest of a good woman so warmly as a story of true enduring love. -If the love have been unrequited, its constancy seems but the more -rarely and touchingly beautiful. It is something to be dealt with -delicately, and spoken to in low, soft, ambiguous words that may -soothe but will not flutter the tender thing. It was such love that -Martha dreamed of in her youth, and humbly hoped for; and when Ralph, -young, eager and impetuous, found her in the New England homestead, -she dreamed the divine influence had descended to stir the hushed and -waiting waters of her life. She cheerfully left home and kindred to -dwell with the man who loved her, and she had been his true and -devoted wife. Yet often when she recalled the enthusiasm of that early -time it seemed to her that the love-feast had been but a Barmecide's -banquet after all, or like the husks with which another adventurer had -to stay his hunger when he left the shelter of the paternal home. She -lavished the wealth of her own affection, but the return had seemed -but slender and humdrum to her high-wrought expectations. The young -couple went to housekeeping, which is something quite different from -the life of the hummingbirds among the flowers: Love's dainty fare of -sighs and kisses gave place to the grosser nourishment of bread and -beef. The bread had to be earned, the house had to be kept, and very -soon the pair of Arcadians found themselves toilers like the rest of -the world. He toiled with a will, nay with a relish; it was what he -was better fitted for than the fantastic joys of feeling; and she did -her part at least without repining. It was what she had promised, and -she did it loyally, if wearily at times, in the colourless greyness of -daily life, when she recalled the rosy dawn of maiden love, with the -heavens above all shining and the world sparkling with dew. So Eve, -mayhap, looked back on Paradise when she was sent forth with her lord -into common life, and doubtless she would sigh at times to remember -it, even with her boys growing up around her. And so with Martha in -her prosperity, to fancy Considine cherishing the ashes of a blighted -love, stirred feelings not dead, but long since grown to be a mere -luxurious pain--a poignancy of plaintive delight. - -"Yes," said Considine, after allowing time for the completion of -Martha's interrupted sentence, "yes, I believe it was to Miss Mary's -adherence to her own choice in the matter of a husband that I owe my -association with Jordan as trustee under that eccentric will. People -cannot control their likings, I suppose, and I do think the young lady -was hardly dealt with. I hope the marriage she was so set on has -turned out well. Is she in good circumstances?" - -"They are very comfortable; but not rich, of course. People do not -make fortunes in Selby's profession; but when a woman throws away one -fortune she has no right to expect another. However they'd have done -well enough if it had not been for losing the child. That has fairly -broke them up. They live retired, and don't care to see anybody. Mary -keeps her room half the time, and if it was not for Susan, who lives -with them since Judy married, I don't know what they would do. But it -gives me the dumps to think of them. Is this not a nice place, -gineral? And how do you like the ladies? Seems to me Miss Matildy is -just too altogether awful nice for anything." - -And so she ran on, good soul. She was bent on withdrawing Considine -from what she considered his "just too beautiful" contemplation of an -ancient grief, and resolved to find him a suitable consoler. The -consoler, indeed, was already fixed upon in her own mind, and ere she -went home that afternoon, she had already begun to depict the -interesting bachelor in colours which, but for the incipient baldness -above his temples, the shaggy moustache, and the absence of wings, -might have stood for the Cupid on an old-fashioned valentine. - -Her auditor was quite interested, in a pleasant heart-whole way, and -much as she might have been over a new variety of Brahmah or other -fowl; for besides her lively sensibility, Matilda had a considerable -fund of sober sense, though she was scarcely herself aware of it. -Nevertheless, it _was_ interesting to hear of the vanquished hero. -Martha dwelt much on his warlike exploits, and his cherishing -through years and battles the memory of his old attachment. Captain -Lorrimer--who knew?--might have done the same, and Matilda still -thought kindly of him, though she had never read his name in any list -of killed or wounded, and she had seen or heard nothing of him since -he marched his men on board the steamer to the strains of "The girl I -left behind me," amid the waving handkerchiefs of the ladies on the -wharf; and henceforth Matilda felt very friendly and exerted herself -to be pleasant whenever she found herself in Considine's company. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - ON ACCOUNT OF STRAWBERRIES. - - -The tea-table was set on the lawn where the lengthening shadows -inscribed themselves map-wise in islands and peninsulas of coolness; -and within the opened windows on the verandah were other refreshments, -whither the gentlemen were invited to bend their steps, while the -ladies with their ices remained out of doors. Muriel looking up, saw -Pierre disappearing among the bushes along the approach. - -"Auntie," she whispered to Matilda, "give me a big heaped-up plate of -strawberries and ice-cream for poor Pierre. See, there he goes away -home, all by himself. How lonely he must feel! and hot, and thirsty, -to see us all sitting out here eating nice things. Quick! Tilly, dear, -or he will be through the gate, and at his own door before I can catch -him; and then I may meet Annette, who is never nice to me. I don't -like Annette." - -The plate was speedily filled and heaped up, and away she ran. - -To Pierre, trudging along the gravel in his heavy boots, the light -footsteps in pursuit were inaudible; and it was not till passing the -gate, he stopped to close it behind him, that he heard his name -called, and looking up, saw Muriel running towards him. Of course he -stopped, and of course, too, being French, and a civil lad, he pulled -off his cap and waited. An English lad would probably have turned back -to meet the young mistress; but Pierre was apt to grow confused when -Muriel appeared suddenly, she was so airy and different from his own -heavy lumbering self. So there he stood, stock still like Jack -stepping off his bean-stalk, when the fairy tripping down the meadow -from the giant's castle, accosted him. - -"Here, Pierre, I have brought you these. I wish I had seen you to give -them sooner. You could have eaten them in the garden then, which would -have been nicer." - -"Oh! mademoiselle ees too kind," mumbled Pierre, reddening to the -roots of his hair and looking sheepishly grateful. "Too moosh of -trouble to give mademoiselle," and the burning black eyes looked out -from under their lashes as if they would have spoken things forbidden -to the stammering tongue. But there came a shrill call up the road -just then, "Pier-r-re!" which quenched their lustre in a moment, and -brought a faint frown of impatience even to Muriel's sunny brow. - -"Your mother is calling you, Pierre. Good night. _Bon appetit_. - -"Ah! _coquin!_ What is it thou dost there?" was the greeting which met -him as he drew near, from his mother standing in the road before the -door. "_Cochon! Bete!_ And thou lingerest at the gate with the -_donzelle_, forsooth. Thou!--Deny it not! Undutiful! And I have beaten -thee for it when thou wert small, till my poor heart ached more than -the bruises on thy little skin. And still thou wilt persist. I pray -the heavenly queen upon my knees, and all the saints, to let thee die -sooner than come to love her. 'Twere mortal sin." - -"My mother? Calm yourself It was only that the demoiselle ran after me -to give this plate of fruit. Will you not taste it?" - -"Taste gift of hers? _Enfante fausse!_" and she pushed aside the -offered strawberries which rolled plentifully from the plate and were -scattered on the ground. - -"Ah, no, my mother! Not false! The youngest angel in heaven is not -more true and good than Mademoiselle Muriel. But you will not think -so--I remind me often how you beat me for her sake. Beat me again, my -mother, if so it please you; but she is good and very beautiful." - -"_Sacr-re!_" she ground out from between her clenched teeth, with -flashing eyes glancing up and down the road; and then she started with -a sob of afright, and a tremor ran through her frame as she composed -herself to speak quite calmly. "I see thy father coming home. He must -not know of what we have spoken, if thou would'st have thy mother's -blessing when I die. Pick up thy berries. It was a heedless gesture of -my arm which upset them. Thou can'st say so much." And she went -indoors, leaving Pierre in bewilderment to gather the fruit. - -That his mother, so gentle and fond, so sober, industrious and -sensible, should break out like one beside herself, if their ladies' -niece were but named, was unaccountable. A mystery, and one he dared -not even try to solve. She had threatened to curse him if he did but -inquire. And yet it was only before himself that she betrayed her -feeling. In his father's presence she showed no sign, but would -discuss the niece of their mistresses with him with the same composure -as their horses, sheep or cattle. And yet mademoiseile was so sweet! -And as he thought of her the bewilderment vanished in his mind like -mist before the morning sun, and he forgot even to pick up his -strawberries scattered around, while he knelt on the threshold. - -"Heh, Pierre! On thy knees before sundown? Will the rosary not keep -till bedtime?" said Jean, the father, stepping past him into the -house. - -"I am picking up some strawberries I let fall just now. Mademoiselle -Muriel brought me them as I went home." - -"She is an angel of considerateness and kindness--never forgets the -poor for the sake of the rich--just like monsieur the general, her -grandfather, if so please the ladies, and the demoiselles his -daughters. A family most generous, even if they are not French and -good Catholics;" and he crammed half-a-dozen large strawberries into -his mouth at once, and gave them a crunch as though to drink the -family's health in a bumper of strawberry wine. - -Annette looked up from the baby she was nursing, and there was a gleam -of red and smothered fire lurking in her eye, and she set her teeth -tight to hold back the struggling wish that the girl's gift might -choke him; while sire and son seated themselves on the door-sill to -consume the collation, the elder, at least, utterly unconscious that -aught was amiss. - - - - FOOTNOTE: - -[Footnote 1: All right. First used by an auditor of accounts in -Kentucky, who it was believed meant the letters to stand for Oll Kreck -(all correct).] - - - - END OF VOL I. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Rich Man's Relatives (Vol. 1 of 3), by -Robert Cleland - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RICH MAN'S RELATIVES *** - -***** This file should be named 40331.txt or 40331.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/3/40331/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - -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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