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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Allen House, by T. S. Arthur
+
+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: The Allen House
+       or Twenty Years Ago and Now
+
+Author: T. S. Arthur
+
+Release Date: October, 2003  [Etext #4588]
+Posting Date: January 29, 2010
+Last Updated: March 14, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ALLEN HOUSE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ALLEN HOUSE
+
+OR, TWENTY YEARS AGO AND NOW.
+
+By T. S. Arthur
+
+Philadelphia:
+
+1860
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+WE point to two ways in life, and if the young man and maiden, whose
+feet are lingering in soft green meadows and flowery walks, will
+consider these two ways in sober earnest, before moving onward, and
+choose the one that truth and reason tell them leads to honor, success,
+and happiness, our book will accomplish its right work for them. It is
+a sad thing, after the lapse of twenty years, to find ourselves amid
+ruined hopes;--to sit down with folded hands and say, “Thus far life has
+been a failure!” Yet, to how many is this the wretched summing up at the
+end of a single score of years from the time that reason takes the helm!
+Alas! that so few, who start wrong, ever succeed in finding the right
+way; life proving, even to its last burdened years, a miserable failure!
+
+
+
+
+
+TWENTY YEARS AGO, AND NOW.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+
+THE rain had poured in torrents all day, and now, for the third time
+since morning, I came home, wet, uncomfortable and weary. I half dreaded
+to look at the slate, lest some urgent call should stare me in the face.
+
+“It must indeed be a case of life and death, that takes me out again
+to-night,” said I, as my good wife met me in the entry, and with light
+hands, made active by love, assisted in the removal of my great coat and
+comforter.
+
+“Now come into the sitting-room,” she said, “your slippers are on the
+rug, and your dressing-gown warmed and waiting. Tea is ready, and
+will be on the table by the time you feel a little comfortable. What a
+dreadful day it has been!”
+
+“Dreadful for those who have been compelled to face the storm,” I
+remarked, as I drew off my boots, and proceeded to take advantage of all
+the pleasant arrangements my thoughtful wife had ready for my solace and
+delight.
+
+It was on my lip to inquire if any one had called since I went out, but
+the ringing of the tea-bell sent my thought in a new direction; when,
+with my second self leaning on an arm, and my little Aggy holding
+tightly by my hand, I moved on to the dining-room, all the disagreeable
+things of the day forgotten.
+
+“Has any one been here?” I asked, as I handed my cup for a third
+replenishing. Professional habit was too strong--the query would intrude
+itself.
+
+“Mrs. Wallingford called to see you.”
+
+“Ah! Is anybody sick?”
+
+“I believe so--but she evaded my inquiry, and said that she wished to
+speak a word with the Doctor.”
+
+“She don't want me to call over to-night, I hope. Did she leave any
+word?”
+
+“No. She looked troubled in her mind, I thought.”
+
+“No other call?”
+
+“Yes. Mary Jones sent word that something was the matter with the baby.
+It cried nearly all last night, her little boy said, and to-day has
+fever, and lies in a kind of stupor.”
+
+“That case must be seen to,” I remarked, speaking to myself.
+
+“You might let it go over until morning,” suggested my wife. “At any
+rate, I would let them send again before going. The child may be better
+by this time.”
+
+“A call in time may save life here, Constance,” I made answer; the sense
+of duty growing stronger as the inner and outer man felt the renovating
+effects of a good supper, and the brightness and warmth of my pleasant
+home. “And life, you know, is a precious thing--even a baby's life.”
+
+And I turned a meaning glance upon the calm, sweet face of our latest
+born, as she lay sleeping in her cradle. That was enough. I saw the
+tears spring instantly to the eyes of my wife.
+
+“I have not a word to say. God forbid, that in the weakness of love and
+care for you, dear husband, I should draw you aside from duty. Yes--yes!
+The life of a baby is indeed a precious thing!”
+
+And bending over the cradle, she left a kiss on the lips, and a tear
+on the pure brow of our darling. Now was I doubly strengthened for the
+night. There arose at this instant a wild storm-wail, that shrieked for
+a brief time amid the chimneys, and around the eaves of our dwelling,
+and then went moaning away, sadly, dying at last in the far distance.
+The rain beat heavily against the windows. But I did not waver, nor seek
+for reasons to warrant a neglect of duty. “I must see Mary Jones's baby,
+and that to-night.” I said this to myself, resolutely, by way of answer
+to the intimidating storm.
+
+Mrs. Jones was a widow, and poor. She lived full a quarter of a mile
+away. So in deciding to make the visit that night, I hardly think a
+very strong element of self-interest was included in the motives that
+governed me. But that is irrelevant.
+
+“As there is no prospect of an abatement in the storm,” said I, after
+returning to our cosy little sitting-room, “it may be as well for me to
+see the baby at once. The visit will be over, so far as I am concerned,
+and precious time may be gained for the patient.”
+
+“I will tell Joseph to bring around the horse,” said my wife.
+
+“No--I will walk. Poor beast! He has done enough for one day, and shall
+not be taken out again.”
+
+“Horse-flesh is not so precious as man-flesh,” Constance smiled
+entreatingly, as she laid her hand upon my shoulder. “Let Tom be
+harnessed up; it won't hurt him.”
+
+“The merciful man is merciful to his beast,” I made answer. “If
+horse-flesh is cheaper than man-flesh, like most cheap articles, it is
+less enduring. Tom must rest, if his master cannot.”
+
+“The decision is final, I suppose.”
+
+“I must say yes.”
+
+“I hardly think your great coat is dry yet,” said my wife. “I had it
+hung before the kitchen fire. Let me see.”
+
+“You must wait for ten, or fifteen minutes longer,” she remarked, on
+returning from the kitchen. “One sleeve was completely wetted through,
+and I have turned it in order to get the lining dry.”
+
+I sat down and took Agnes on my lap, and was just getting into a
+pleasant talk with her, when the door-bell rung. A shadow fell across my
+wife's face.
+
+“People are thoughtless of Doctors,” she remarked, a little fretfully,
+“and often choose the worst weather and the most untimely seasons to
+send for them.”
+
+I did not answer, but listened as the boy went to the door. Some one was
+admitted, and shown into the office.
+
+“Who is it?” I enquired, as Joseph came to the sitting-room.
+
+“Mrs. Wallingford.”
+
+My wife and I exchanged glances. She looking grave and curious; but no
+remark was made.
+
+“Good-evening, Mrs. Wallingford,” said I, on entering my office. “This
+is a very bad night for a lady to come out. I hope no one is seriously
+ill.”
+
+“I wish you would come over and see our Henry, Doctor.”
+
+There was a choking tremor in her voice; and as I looked in her face, I
+saw that it was pale and distressed.
+
+“What's the matter?” I inquired.
+
+“I can't say what it is, Doctor. Something's wrong. I'm afraid--yes, I'm
+afraid he's going out of his senses.”
+
+And she wrung her hands together with a nervous uneasiness in singular
+contrast with her usual quiet exterior.
+
+“How is he affected?”
+
+“Well, Doctor, he came home last evening looking as white as a sheet. I
+almost screamed out when I saw the strange, suffering expression on his
+colorless face. My first thought was that he had fallen somewhere, and
+been hurt dreadfully. He tried to pass me without stopping; but I put
+both hands on him, and said--'Oh, Henry! what does ail you?' 'Nothing
+of any account,' he answered, in a low, husky tone. 'I don't feel right
+well, and am going to my room to lie down.' And saying this, he brushed
+right past me, and went up stairs. I followed after him, but when I
+tried his door it was fastened on the inside. I called three times
+before he answered, and then he said--'Mother, I'm not sick; but I feel
+bad and want to be alone. Please don't disturb me to-night.' I don't
+think I would have known the voice if it hadn't been just then and
+there. Knowing his disposition, anxious and troubled as I was, I felt
+that it would be best for the time being to let him alone. And I did so.
+For an hour or more all in his room was as still as death, and I began
+to grow very uneasy. Then I heard his feet upon the floor moving about.
+I heard him walk to his bureau--my ears served me for eyes--then to
+the mantlepiece, and then to the window. All was still again for some
+minutes. My heart beat like a hammer, as one vague suggestion after
+another floated through my mind. Then he crossed the room with a slow
+step; turned and went back again; and so kept on walking to and fro.
+I listened, waiting for the sound to cease; nut he walked on and on,
+backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, tramp, tramp, tramp,
+until it seemed as if every jarring footfall was on my heart. Oh,
+Doctor! I never had anything to affect me so before in my whole life. An
+hour passed, and still he walked the floor of his room. I could bear it
+no longer, and went and called to him. But he seemed deaf, and made no
+reply. I rattled at the lock and called again and again. Then he came
+close to the door, and said, speaking a little impatiently for him--
+
+'Mother! Mother! For Heaven's sake don't trouble me! I don't feel just
+right, and you must let me alone for the present.'
+
+“Well, he kept on walking for an hour longer, and then everything was
+still in his room for the night. This morning on trying his door it was
+unfastened. I went in. He was lying in bed wide awake. But, oh! such a
+change as I saw in his face. It was colorless as on the evening before;
+but less expressive of emotion. A dead calm seemed to have settled upon
+it. I took his hand; it was cold. I pressed his forehead; it was cold
+also. 'Henry, my son, how are you?' I asked. He did not reply; but
+looked in my face with a cold, steady gaze that chilled me. 'Are you
+sick, my son?' He merely shook his head slowly. 'Has anything happened?
+What has happened?' I pressed my question upon him; but it was of no
+use. He would not satisfy me. I then asked if he would not rise. 'Not
+yet,' he said. 'Shall I bring you some breakfast?' 'No--no--I cannot
+eat.' And he shook his head and shut his eyes, while there came into his
+face a look so sad and suffering that as I gazed on him I could not keep
+the tears back.
+
+“And it has been no better with him all the day, Doctor,” added Mrs.
+Wallingford, heaving a long sigh. “Oh, I am distressed to death about
+it. Won't you come and see him? I'm afraid if something isn't done that
+he will lose his senses.”
+
+“Have you no conjecture as to the cause of this strange condition of
+mind?” I asked.
+
+“None,” she replied. “Henry is a reserved young man, you know, Doctor;
+and keeps many things hidden in his mind even from me that should be
+outspoken.”
+
+“Has he no love affair on hand?”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+“Hasn't he been paying attention to Squire Floyd's daughter?”
+
+“Delia?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I believe not, Doctor.”
+
+“I've seen him at the Squire's.”
+
+“Nothing serious, or I should have known of it. Henry is rather shy
+about the girls.”
+
+“And you wish me to see him to-night?”
+
+“Yes. Something ought to be done.”
+
+“What is his condition just now?” I inquired. “How did you leave him?”
+
+“He's been in bed nearly all day, and hasn't touched a mouthful. To all
+my persuasions and entreaties he answers--'Please, mother, let me alone.
+I will be better after a while.'”
+
+“I think,” said I, after musing on the case, “that, may be, the
+let-alone prescription will be the best one for the present. He is
+prostrated by some strong mental emotion--that seems clear; and time
+must be given for the mind to regain its equipoise. If I were to call,
+as you desire, it might annoy or irritate him, and so do more harm than
+good. No medicine that I can give is at all likely to reach his case.”
+
+Mrs. Wallingford looked disappointed, and demurred strongly to my
+conclusion.
+
+“I'm sure, Doctor, if you saw him you might suggest something. Or, may
+be, he would open his mind to you.”
+
+“I'll think it over,” said I. “Mrs. Jones has sent for me to see her
+baby to-night. I was just about starting when you called. On my way
+back, if, on reflection, it seems to me advisable, I will drop in at
+your house.”
+
+“Call at any rate, Doctor,” urged Mrs. Wallingford. “Even if you don't
+see Henry, you may be able to advise me as to what I had better do.”
+
+I gave my promise, and the troubled mother went back through storm and
+darkness to her home. By this time my overcoat was thoroughly dried. As
+Constance brought it forth warm from the fire, she looked into my face
+with an expression of inquiry. But I was not ready to speak in regard to
+Mrs. Wallingford, and, perceiving this at a glance, she kept silence on
+that subject.
+
+As I opened the front door, the storm swept into my face; but I passed
+out quickly into the night, and shielding myself with an umbrella, as
+best I could, bent to the rushing wind, and took my solitary way in
+the direction of Mrs. Jones's humble dwelling, which lay quite upon the
+outskirts of our town. To reach my destination, I had to pass the Old
+Allen House, which stood within a high stone enclosure, surrounded by
+stately elms a century old, which spread their great arms above and
+around the decaying mansion, as if to ward off the encroachments of
+time. As I came opposite the gate opening upon the carriage way, I
+stopped suddenly in surprise, for light streamed out from both windows
+of the north-west chamber, which I knew had been closed ever since the
+death of Captain Allen, who passed to his account several years before.
+
+This Allen House was one of the notable places in our town; and the
+stories in circulation touching the Allen family, now almost extinct,
+were so strongly tinctured with romance, that sober-minded people
+generally received them with a large measure of incredulity.
+
+The spacious old two-story mansion, with its high-pitched roof and rows
+of dormer windows, was built by the father of Captain Allen, who had
+also followed the sea, and, it was said, obtained his large wealth
+through means not sanctioned by laws human or divine. Men and women of
+the past generation, and therefore contemporaries, did not hesitate to
+designate him an “old pirate,” though always the opprobrious words
+were spoken in an undertone, for people were half afraid of the dark,
+reserved, evil-looking man, who had evidently passed a large portion of
+his life among scenes of peril and violence. There were more pleasing
+traditions of the beautiful wife he brought home to grace the luxurious
+dwelling he had fitted up in a style of almost princely splendor,
+compared with the plain abode of even the best off people in town. Who
+she was, or from whence she came, no one knew certainly. She was very
+young--almost a child--when the elder Captain Allen brought her to
+S----.
+
+Very little intercourse, I believe, passed between the Allen family and
+the town's-people, except in a business way. The first regular entry
+made into the house beyond the formal drawing-room, was on the occasion
+of a birth, when the best nurse and gossip in town was summoned to
+attend the young mistress. A son was born. He was called John; though
+not under the sign of Christian baptism--John Allen; afterwards Captain
+Allen. The old sea-dog, his father, was absent at the time; but returned
+before the infant was four weeks old. The nurse described the meeting
+of husband and wife as very lover-like and tender on his part, but with
+scarcely a sign of feeling on hers. She did not repel him, nor turn from
+him; but received his caresses with the manner of one in whom all quick
+emotion had died. And so it continued between them--he thoughtful and
+assiduous, and she cold, and for the most part silent. But, to her babe,
+the young mother was passionate at times in her loving demonstrations.
+The pent up waters of feeling gave way in this direction, and poured
+themselves out, often, in a rushing flood. Towards all others she bore
+herself with a calm, sweet dignity of manner, that captivated the heart,
+and made it sigh for a better acquaintance with one around whom mystery
+had hung a veil that no hand but her own could push aside--and that hand
+was never lifted.
+
+The next event in the Allen House, noted by the people, was the birth of
+a daughter. The same nurse was called in, who remained the usual time,
+and then retired; bearing with her a history of the period, which she
+related, very confidentially, at tea-tables, and in familiar gossip with
+choice spirits of her own.
+
+Those who knew her best, were always something in doubt as to which
+of her stories contained truth and which romance. The latter element
+mingled largely, it is presumed, in all of them.
+
+A great change had taken place in the Captain's manner. He no longer
+played the lover to a cold and distant mistress, but carried himself
+haughtily at times--captiously at times--and always with an air of
+indifference. All affection seemed transferred to his boy, who was
+growing self-willed, passionate, and daring. These qualities were never
+repressed by his father, but rather encouraged and strengthened. On
+learning that his next heir was a daughter, he expressed impatience, and
+muttered something about its being strangled at birth. The nurse said
+that he never deigned even to look at it while she was in the house.
+
+The beautiful young wife showed signs of change, also. Much of the old
+sweetness had left her mouth, which was calmer and graver. Her manner
+towards Captain Allen, noted before, was of the same quiet, distant
+character, but more strongly marked. It was plain that she had no love
+for him. The great mystery was, how two so wholly unlike in all internal
+qualities, and external seeming, could ever have been constrained into
+the relationship, of man and wife. She was, evidently, an English woman.
+This was seen in her rich complexion, sweet blue eyes, fair hair, and
+quiet dignity of manner. Among the many probable and improbable rumors
+as to her first meeting with Captain Allen, this one had currency. A
+sailor, who had seen a good deal of service in the West Indies, told the
+following story:
+
+An English vessel from Jamaica, richly freighted, had on board a
+merchant with his family, returning from a residence of a few years on
+the island, to the mother country.
+
+They had been out only a day, when a pirate bore down upon them, and
+made an easy capture of the ship. The usual bloody scenes of that day
+followed. Death, in terrible forms, met the passengers and crew, and the
+vessel, after being robbed of its costliest treasures, was scuttled and
+sent down into the far depths of the ocean, from whence no sign could
+ever come.
+
+But one living soul was spared--so the story went. An only child of
+the English merchant, a fair and beautiful young girl, whose years had
+compassed only the early spring-time of life, flung herself upon her
+knees before the pirate Captain and begged so piteously for life,
+that he spared her from the general slaughter he had himself decreed.
+Something in her pure, exquisitely beautiful face, touched his
+compassion. There were murmurs of discontent among his savage crew. But
+the strong-willed Captain had his way, and when he sailed back with
+his booty to their place of rendezvous, he bore with him the beautiful
+maiden. Here, it was said, he gave her honorable protection, and had her
+cared for as tenderly as was possible under the circumstances. And it
+was further related, that, when the maiden grew to ripe womanhood, he
+abandoned the trade of a buccaneer and made her his wife. The sailor
+told this story, shrugged his shoulders, looked knowing and mysterious,
+and left his auditors to draw what inference they pleased. As they had
+been talking of Captain Allen, the listeners made their own conclusion
+as to his identity with the buccaneer. True to human nature, in its
+inclination to believe always the worst of a man, nine out of ten
+credited the story as applied to the cut-throat looking captain, and so,
+after this, it was no unusual thing to hear him designated by the not
+very flattering sobriquet of the “old pirate.”
+
+Later events, still more inexplicable in their character, and yet
+unexplained, gave color to this story, and invested it with the elements
+of probability. As related, the old gossip's second intrusion upon the
+Aliens, in the capacity of nurse, furnished the town's-people with a few
+additional facts, as to the state of things inside of a dwelling, upon
+whose very walls seemed written mystery. In the beginning, Mrs. Allen
+had made a few acquaintances, who were charmed with her character, as
+far as she let herself be known. Visits were made and returned for a
+short season. But after the birth of her first child, she went abroad
+but rarely, and ceasing to return all visits, social intercourse came to
+an end. The old nurse insisted that this was not her fault, but wholly
+chargeable upon the Captain, who, she was certain, had forbidden his
+wife to have anything to do with the town's-people.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+One day, nearly two years after the birth of this second child,
+the quiet town of S----was aroused from its dreams by a strange and
+startling event. About a week before, a handsomely dressed man, with the
+air of a foreigner, alighted from the stage coach at the “White
+Swan,” and asked if he could have a room. A traveler of such apparent
+distinction was a rare event in S----; and as he suggested the probable
+stay of a week or so, he became an object of immediate attention, as
+well as curiosity.
+
+Night had closed in when he arrived, and as he was fatigued by his
+journey in the old lumbering stage coach that ran between the nearest
+sea-port town and S----, he did not show himself again that evening to
+the curious people who were to be found idling about the “White Swan.”
+ But he had a talk with the landlord. That functionary waited upon him to
+know his pleasure as to supper.
+
+“The ride has given me a headache,” the stranger said, “which a cup of
+tea will probably remove. Beyond that, I will take nothing to-night.
+Your name is--”
+
+“Adams, sir. Adams is my name,” replied the landlord.
+
+“And mine is Willoughby--Col. Willoughby.” And the Englishman bowed with
+a slight air of condescension.
+
+“I am at your service, Col. Willoughby,” said the landlord in his blunt
+way. “Just say what you want, and the thing is done.”
+
+“A cup of tea will serve me to-night, my friend. Let it be good and
+strong; for my head is a little unsettled with this throbbing pain.
+That stage coach of yours would be something better for a pair of new
+springs.”
+
+“It's seen service, and no mistake. But people in these parts don't
+calculate much on easy riding. Springs are no great account. We look to
+the main chance.”
+
+“What is that?”
+
+“Getting over the ground.”
+
+The traveler smiled to himself in a quiet way, as if the landlord's
+answer had touched some memory or experience.
+
+Nothing further being remarked, Mr. Adams retired to order a cup of
+tea for his guest. Something about the Englishman had stimulated his
+curiosity; and, so, instead of sending the cup of tea by his wife, who
+did most of the waiting, he carried it to the room himself.
+
+“Sit down, Mr. Adams,” said the traveler, after the tea had been put
+before him.
+
+The landlord did not wait for a second invitation.
+
+“I hope the tea is to your liking, sir.”
+
+“Excellent. I've not tasted better since I left London.”
+
+The traveler spoke blandly, as he held his cup a little way from his
+lips, and looked over the top of it at his host with something more than
+a casual glance. He was reading his face with an evident effort to gain
+from it, as an index, some clear impression of his character.
+
+“My wife understands her business,” replied the flattered landlord.
+“There is not her equal in all the country round.”
+
+“I can believe you, Mr. Adams. Already this delicious beverage has acted
+like a charmed potion. My headache has left me as if by magic.”
+
+He set his cup down; moved his chair a little way from the table at
+which he was sitting, and threw a pleasant look upon the landlord.
+
+“How long have you been in this town, Mr. Adams?” The question seemed
+indifferently asked; but the landlord's ear did not fail to perceive in
+the tone in which it was given, a foreshadowing of much beyond.
+
+“I was born here,” he replied.
+
+“Ah! Then you know all the people, I imagine?”
+
+“I know all their faces, at least.”
+
+“And their histories and characters?”
+
+“Perhaps.”
+
+Something in this “perhaps,” and the tone in which it was uttered,
+seemed not to strike the questioner agreeably. He bent his brows a
+little, and looked more narrowly at the landlord.
+
+“I did not see much of your town as I came in this evening. How large is
+it?”
+
+“Middling good size, sir, for an inland town,” was the not very
+satisfactory answer.
+
+“What is the population?”
+
+“Well, I don't know--can't just say to a certainty.”
+
+“Two thousand?”
+
+“Laws! no sir! Not over one, if that.”
+
+“About a thousand, then?”
+
+“Maybe a thousand, and maybe not more than six or seven hundred.”
+
+“Call it seven hundred, then,” said the traveler, evidently a little
+amused.
+
+“And that will, in my view, be calling it enough.”
+
+There was a pause. The traveler seemed in doubt as to whether he should
+go on with his queries.
+
+“Not much trade here, I presume?” He asked, at length.
+
+“Not much to boast of,” said Adams.
+
+Another pause.
+
+“Any well-to-do people? Gentlemen who live on their means?”
+
+“Yes; there's Aaron Thompson. He's rich, I guess. But you can't measure
+a snake 'till he's dead, as they say.”
+
+“True,” said the traveler, seeming to fall into the landlord's mood.
+“Executors often change the public estimate of a man as to this world's
+goods. So, Aaron Thompson is one of your rich men?”
+
+“Yes, and there's Abel Reeder--a close-fisted old dog, but wealthy as a
+Jew, and no mistake. Then there is Captain Allen.”
+
+A flash of interest went over the stranger's face, which was turned at
+once from the light.
+
+“Captain Allen! And what of him?” The voice was pitched to a lower tone;
+but there was no appearance of special curiosity.
+
+“A great deal of him.” The landlord put on a knowing look.
+
+“Is he a sea captain?”
+
+“Yes;” and lowering his voice, “something else besides, if we are to
+credit people who pretend to know.”
+
+“Ah! but you speak in riddles, Mr. Adams. What do you mean by something
+more?”
+
+“Why, the fact is, Mr. Willoughby, they do say, that he got his money in
+a backhanded sort of fashion.”
+
+“By gambling?”
+
+“No, sir! By piracy!”
+
+Col. Willoughby gave a real or affected start.
+
+“A grave charge that, sir.” He looked steadily at the landlord. “And one
+that should not be lightly made.”
+
+“I only report the common talk.”
+
+“If such talk should reach the ears of Captain Allen?” suggested the
+stranger.
+
+“No great likelihood of its doing so, for I reckon there's no man in
+S----bold enough to say 'pirate' to his face.”
+
+“What kind of a man is he?”
+
+“A bad specimen in every way.”
+
+“He's no favorite of yours, I see?”
+
+“I have no personal cause of dislike. We never had many words together,”
+ said the landlord. “But he's a man that you want to get as far away from
+as possible. There are men, you know, who kind of draw you towards them,
+as if they were made of loadstone; and others that seem to push you off.
+Captain Allen is one of the latter kind.”
+
+“What sort of a looking man is he?”
+
+“Short; thick-set; heavily built, as to body. A full, coarse face; dark
+leathery skin; and eyes that are a match for the Evil One's. There is a
+deep scar across his left forehead, running past the outer corner of
+his eye, and ending against the cheek bone. The lower lid of this eye
+is drawn down, and the inside turned out, showing its deep red lining.
+There is another scar on his chin. Two fingers are gone from his left
+hand, and his right hand has suffered violence.”
+
+“He has evidently seen hard service,” remarked the stranger, and in a
+voice that showed him to be suppressing, as best he could, all signs of
+interest in the landlord's communication.
+
+“There's no mistake about that; and if you could only see him, my word
+for it, you would fall into the common belief that blood lies upon his
+conscience.”
+
+“I shall certainly put myself in the way of seeing him, after the spur
+you have just given to my curiosity,” said Col. Willoughby, in a decided
+manner, as if he had an interest in the man beyond what the landlord's
+communication had excited.
+
+“Then you will have to remain here something more than a week, I'm
+thinking,” replied the landlord.
+
+“Why so?”
+
+“Captain Allen isn't at home.”
+
+There was a sudden change in the stranger's face that did not escape the
+landlord's notice. But whether it indicated pleasure or disappointment,
+he could not tell; for it was at best a very equivocal expression.
+
+“Not at home!” His voice indicated surprise.
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“How long has he been absent?”
+
+“About a month.”
+
+“And is expected to return soon, no doubt?”
+
+“As to that, I can't say. Few people in this town I apprehend, can speak
+with certainty as to the going and coming of Captain Allen.”
+
+“Is he often away?”
+
+“No, sir; but oftener of late than formerly.”
+
+“Is his absence usually of a prolonged character?”
+
+“It is much longer than it used to be--never less than a month, and
+often extended to three times that period.”
+
+Colonel Willoughby sat without further remark for some time, his eyes
+bent down, his brows contracted by thought, and his lips firmly drawn
+together.
+
+“Thank you, my friend,” he said, at length, looking up, “for your
+patience in answering my idle questions. I will not detain you any
+longer.”
+
+The landlord arose, and, bowing to his guest, retired from the
+apartment.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+On the next morning Colonel Willoughby plied the landlord with a few
+more questions about Captain Allen, and then, inquiring the direction of
+his house, started out, as he said, to take a ramble through the town.
+He did not come back until near dinner time, and then he showed no
+disposition to encourage familiarity on the part of Mr. Adams. But that
+individual was not in the dark touching the morning whereabouts of his
+friend. A familiar of his, stimulated by certain good things which the
+landlord knew when and how to dispense, had tracked the stranger from
+the “White Swan” to Captain Allen's house. After walking around it, on
+the outside of the enclosure once or twice, and viewing it on all sides,
+he had ventured, at last, through the gate, and up to the front door of
+the stately mansion. A servant admitted him, and the landlord's familiar
+loitered around for nearly three hours before he came out. Mrs. Allen
+accompanied him to the door, and stood and talked with him earnestly
+for some time in the portico. They shook hands in parting, and Colonel
+Willoughby retired with a firm, slow step, and his eyes bent downwards
+as if his thoughts were sober, if not oppressive.
+
+All this Mr. Adams knew; and of course, his curiosity was pitched to a
+high key. But, it was all in vain that he threw himself in the way
+of his guest, made leading remarks, and even asked if he had seen the
+splendid dwelling of Captain Allen. The handsome stranger held him
+firmly at a distance. And not only on that day and evening, but on the
+next day and the next. He was polite even to blandness, but suffered no
+approach beyond the simplest formal intercourse. Every morning he was
+seen going to Captain Allen's house, where he always stayed several
+hours. The afternoons he spent, for the most part, in his own room.
+
+All this soon became noised throughout the town of S----, and there was
+a little world of excitement, and all manner of conjectures, as to who
+this Colonel Willoughby might be. The old nurse, of whom mention has
+been made, presuming upon her professional acquaintance with Mrs. Allen,
+took the liberty of calling in one afternoon, when, to her certain
+knowledge, the stranger was in the house. She was, however, disappointed
+in seeing him. The servant who admitted her showed her into a small
+reception-room, on the opposite side of the hall from the main parlor,
+and here Mrs. Allen met her. She was “very sweet to her”--to use her own
+words--sweet, and kind, and gentle as ever. But she looked paler than
+usual, and did not seem to be at ease.
+
+The nurse reported that something was going wrong; but, as to its exact
+nature, she was in the dark. It certainly didn't look right for Mrs.
+Allen to be receiving daily the visits of an elegant looking stranger,
+and her husband away. There was only one opinion on this head.
+
+And so it went on from day to day for nearly a week--Colonel Willoughby,
+as he had called himself, spending the greater part of every morning
+with Mrs. Allen, and hiding himself from curious eyes, during the
+afternoons, in his room at the “White Swan.” Then came the denouement to
+this exciting little drama.
+
+One day the stranger, after dining, asked Mr. Adams for his bill, which
+he paid in British gold. He then gave directions to have a small trunk,
+the only baggage he had with him, sent to the house of Captain Allen.
+
+The landlord raised his eyebrows, of course; looked very much surprised,
+and even ventured a curious question. But the stranger repelled all
+inquisition touching his movements. And so he left the “White Swan,”
+ after sojourning there for nearly a week, and the landlord never saw him
+again.
+
+The news which came on the following day, created no little sensation in
+S----. Jacob Perkins, who lived near Captain Allen's, and often worked
+for him, told the story. His relation was to this effect: About
+ten o'clock at night, Mrs. Allen sent for him, and he waited on her
+accordingly. He found her dressed as for a journey, but alone.
+
+“Take a seat, Jacob,” she said. “I wish to have some talk with you.” The
+man noticed something unusual in her talk and manner.
+
+“Jacob,” she resumed, after a pause, bending towards Mr. Perkins, “can
+I trust you in a matter requiring both service and secrecy? I have done
+some kind things for you and yours; I now wish you to return the favor.”
+
+As she spoke, she drew out a purse, and let him see something of its
+golden contents.
+
+“Say on, Mrs. Allen. You may trust me. If you ask anything short of a
+crime, it shall be done. Yes, you have been kind to me and mine, and now
+I will repay you, if in my power to do so.”
+
+Jacob Perkins was in earnest. But, whether gratitude, or that apparition
+of golden sovereigns, had most influence upon him, cannot at this remote
+period be said.
+
+“Can you get a pair of horses and a carriage, or light wagon, to-night?”
+
+“I can,” replied Jacob.
+
+“And so as not to excite undue curiosity?”
+
+“I think so.”
+
+“Very well. Next, will you drive that team all night?”
+
+And Mrs. Allen played with the purse of gold, and let the coins it
+contained strike each other with a musical chink, very pleasant to the
+ear of Jacob Perkins.
+
+“You shall be paid handsomely for your trouble,” added the lady, as
+she fixed her beautiful blue eyes upon Jacob with an earnest, almost
+pleading look.
+
+“I hope there is nothing wrong,” said Jacob, as some troublesome
+suspicions began turning themselves over in his mind.
+
+“Nothing wrong, as God is my witness!” And Mrs. Allen lifted her pale
+face reverently upwards.
+
+“Forgive me, madam; I might have known that,” said Jacob. “And now, if
+you will give me your orders, they shall be obeyed to the letter.”
+
+“Thank you, my kind friend,” returned Mrs. Allen. “The service you are
+now about to render me, cannot be estimated in the usual way. To me, it
+will be far beyond all price.”
+
+She was agitated, and paused to recover herself. Then she resumed, with
+her usual calmness of manner--
+
+“Bring the carriage here--driving with as little noise as possible--in
+half an hour. Be very discreet. Don't mention the matter even to your
+wife. You can talk with her as freely as you choose on your return from
+Boston.”
+
+“From Boston? Why, that is thirty miles away, at least!”
+
+“I know it, Jacob; but I must be in Boston early to-morrow morning. You
+know the road?”
+
+“Every foot of it.”
+
+“So much the better. And now go for the carriage.”
+
+Jacob Perkins arose. As he was turning to go, Mrs. Allen placed her hand
+upon his shoulder, and said--
+
+“I can trust you, Mr. Perkins?”
+
+“Madam, you can,” was his reply; and he passed from the quiet house into
+the darkness without. The night was moonless, but the stars shone down
+from an unclouded sky. When Jacob Perkins found himself alone, and began
+to look this adventure full in the face, some unpleasant doubts touching
+the part he was about to play, intruded themselves upon his thoughts. He
+had seen the handsome stranger going daily to visit Mrs. Allen, for now
+nearly a week, and had listened to the town talk touching the matter,
+until his own mind was filled with the common idea, that something was
+wrong. And now, to be called on to drive Mrs. Allen to Boston, secretly,
+and under cover of the night, seemed so much like becoming a party to
+some act of folly or crime, that he gave way to hesitation, and began
+to seek for reasons that would justify his playing the lady false. Then
+came up the image of her sweet, reverent face, as she said so earnestly,
+“Nothing wrong, as God is my witness!” And his first purpose was
+restored.
+
+Punctually, at half-past ten o'clock, the team of Jacob Perkins drove
+noiselessly in through the gate, and up the carriage-way to the door
+of the Allen mansion. No lights were visible in any part of the house.
+Under the portico were two figures, a man and a woman--the man holding
+something in his arms, which, on a closer observation, Jacob saw to be a
+child. Two large trunks and a small one stood near.
+
+“Put them on the carriage,” said Mrs. Allen, in a low, steady voice;
+and Jacob obeyed in silence. When all was ready, she got in, and the man
+handed her the sleeping child, and then took his place beside her.
+
+“To Boston, remember, Jacob; and make the time as short as possible.”
+
+No other words were spoken. Jacob led his horses down the carriage-way
+to the gate, which he closed carefully after passing through; and then
+mounting to his seat, drove off rapidly.
+
+But little conversation took place between Mrs. Allen and her traveling
+companion; and that was in so low a tone of voice, that Jacob Perkins
+failed to catch a single word, though he bent his ear and listened with
+the closest attention whenever he heard a murmur of voices.
+
+It was after daylight when they arrived in Boston, where Jacob Perkins
+left them, and returned home with all speed, to wake up the town of
+S----with a report of his strange adventure. Before parting with Mrs.
+Allen, she gave him a purse, which, on examination, was found to contain
+a hundred dollars in gold. She also placed in his hand a small gold
+locket, and said, impressively, while her almost colorless lips
+quivered, and her bosom struggled with its pent up feelings--
+
+“Jacob, when my son--he is now absent with his father--reaches his tenth
+year, give him this, and say that it is a gift from his mother, and
+contains a lock of her hair. Can I trust you faithfully to perform this
+office of love?”
+
+Tears filled her eyes; then her breast heaved with a great sob.
+
+“As Heaven is my witness, madam,” answered Jacob Perkins, “it shall be
+done.”
+
+“Remember,” she said, “that you are only to give this to John, and not
+until his tenth year. Keep my gift sacred from the knowledge of every
+one until that time, and then let the communication be to him alone.”
+
+Jacob Perkins promised to do according to her wishes, and then left her
+looking so pale, sad, and miserable, that, to use his own words, “he
+never could recall her image as she stood looking, not at him, but past
+him, as if trying to explore the future, without thinking of some marble
+statue in a grave-yard.”
+
+She was never seen in S----again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+The excitement in the little town of S----, when Jacob returned from
+Boston, and told his singular story, may well be imagined. The whole
+community was in a buzz.
+
+It was found that Mrs. Allen had so arranged matters, as to get all
+the servants away from the house, on one pretence or another, for
+that night, except an old negro woman, famous for her good sleeping
+qualities; and she was in the land of forgetfulness long before the hour
+appointed for flight.
+
+Many conjectures were made, and one or two rather philanthropic
+individuals proposed, as a common duty, an attempt to arrest the
+fugitives and bring them back. But there were none to second this, the
+general sentiment being, that Captain Allen was fully competent to look
+after his own affairs. And that he wood look after them, and promptly
+too, on his return, none doubted for an instant. As for Jacob Perkins,
+no one professed a willingness to stand in his shoes. The fire-eating
+Captain would most probably blow that gentleman's brains out in the
+heat of his first excitement. Poor Jacob, not a very courageous man,
+was almost beside himself with fear, when his view of the case was
+confidently asserted. One advised this course of conduct on the part of
+Jacob, and another advised that, while all agreed that it would on no
+account be safe for him to fall in the Captain's way immediately on his
+return. More than a dozen people, friends of Jacob, were on the alert,
+to give him the earliest intelligence of Captain Allen's arrival in
+S----, that he might hide himself until the first fearful outbreak of
+passion was over.
+
+Well, in about two weeks the Captain returned with his little son.
+Expectation was on tip-toe. People's hearts beat in their mouths. There
+were some who would not have been surprised at any startling occurrence;
+an apparition of the scarred sea-dog, rushing along the streets,
+slashing his sword about like a madman, would have seemed to them
+nothing extraordinary, under the circumstances.
+
+But expectation stood so long on tip-toe that it grew tired, and came
+down a few inches. Nothing occurred to arouse the quiet inhabitants.
+Captain Allen was seen to enter his dwelling about two o'clock in the
+afternoon, and although not less than twenty sharp pairs of eyes were
+turned in that direction, and never abated their vigilance until night
+drew down her curtains, no one got even a glimpse of his person.
+
+Jacob Perkins left the town, and took refuge with a neighbor living two
+miles away, on the first intimation of the Captain's return.
+
+The next day passed, but no one saw the Captain. On the third day a
+member of the inquisitorial committee, who had his house under constant
+observation, saw him drive out with his son, and take the road that
+went direct to the neighborhood where Jacob Perkins lay concealed in the
+house of a friend.
+
+Poor Jacob! None doubted but the hour of retribution for him was at
+hand. That he might have timely warning, if possible, a lad was sent
+out on a fleet horse, who managed to go by Captain Allen's chaise on the
+road. Pale with affright, the unhappy fugitive hid himself under a hay
+rick, and remained there for an hour. But the Captain passed through
+without pause or inquiry, and in due course of time returned to his
+home, having committed no act in the least degree notable.
+
+And so, as if nothing unusual had happened, he was seen, day after day,
+going about as of old, with not a sign of change in his deportment that
+any one could read. In a week, Jacob Perkins returned to his home, fully
+assured that no harm was likely to visit him.
+
+No event touching Captain Allen or his family, worthy of record,
+transpired for several years. The only servants in the house were negro
+slaves, brought from a distance, and kept as much as possible away from
+others of their class in town. Among these, the boy, John, grew up. When
+he was ten years old, Jacob Perkins, though in some fear, performed the
+sacred duty promised to his mother on that memorable morning, when he
+looked upon her pale, statuesque countenance for the last time. A flush
+covered the boy's face, as he received the locket, and understood from
+whence it came. He stood for some minutes, wholly abstracted, as if
+under the spell of some vivid memory.
+
+Tears at length filled his eyes, and glistened on the long fringed
+lashes. Then there was a single, half-repressed sob--and then, grasping
+the locket tightly in his hand, he turned from Jacob, and, without a
+word, walked hastily away.
+
+When the boy was sixteen, Captain Allen took him to sea. From that
+period for many years, both of them were absent for at least two-thirds
+of the time. At twenty-five, John took command of a large merchant-man,
+trading to the South American coast, and his father, now worn down by
+hard service, as well as by years, retired to his home in S----, to
+close up there, in such repose of mind as he could gain, the last days
+of his eventful life. He died soon after by apoplexy.
+
+Prior to this event, his son, the younger Captain Allen, had brought
+home from Cuba a Spanish woman, who took the name of his wife. Of her
+family, or antecedents, no one in our town knew anything; and it was
+questioned by many whether any rite of marriage had ever been celebrated
+between them. Of this, however, nothing certain was known. None of the
+best people, so called, in S----paid her the hospitable compliment of a
+visit; and she showed no disposition to intrude herself upon them.
+And so they stood towards each other as strangers; and the Allen house
+remained, as from the beginning, to most people a terra incognita.
+
+Neither Captain Allen nor his Spanish consort, to whom no children
+were born, as they advanced in years, “grew old gracefully.” Both
+had repulsive features, which were strongly marked by passion and
+sensuality. During the last two years of his life I was frequently
+called to see him, and prescribe for his enemy, the gout, by which he
+was sorely afflicted. Mrs. Allen also required treatment. Her nervous
+system was disordered; and, on closer observation, I detected signs of a
+vagrant imagination, leading her away into states verging upon insanity.
+She was fretful and ill-tempered; and rarely spoke to the Captain except
+complainingly, or in anger. The visits I made to the Allen house, during
+the lifetime of Captain Allen, were among the most unsatisfactory of
+all my professional calls. I think, from signs which met my eyes,
+that something more than bitter words passed occasionally between the
+ill-matched couple.
+
+Late in the day, nearly five years anterior to the time of which I am
+now writing, I was summoned in haste to visit Captain Allen. I found him
+lying on a bed in the north-west chamber, where he usually slept, in
+a state of insensibility. Mrs. Allen received me at the door of the
+chamber with a frightened countenance. On inquiry as to the cause of
+his condition, she informed me that he had gone to his own room about an
+hour before, a little the worse for a bottle of wine; and that she had
+heard nothing more from him, until she was startled by a loud, jarring
+noise in his chamber. On running up stairs, she found him lying upon the
+floor, insensible.
+
+I looked at her steadily, as she gave me this relation, but could not
+hold her eyes in mine. She seemed more uneasy than troubled. There was
+a contused wound just below the right temple, which covered, with its
+livid stain, a portion of the cheek. A cursory examination satisfied me
+that, whatever might be the cause of his fall, congestion of the brain
+had occurred, and that but few chances for life remained. So I informed
+Mrs. Allen. At the words, I could see a shudder run through her frame,
+and an expression of something like terror sweep over her face.
+
+“His father died of apoplexy,” said she in a hoarse whisper, looking at
+me with a side-long, almost stealthy glance, not full and open-eyed.
+
+“This is something more than apoplexy,” I remarked; still observing her
+closely.
+
+“The fall may have injured him,” she suggested.
+
+“The blow on his temple has done the fearful work,” said I.
+
+There was a perceptible start, and another look of fear-almost terror.
+
+“For heaven's sake, doctor,” she said, rousing herself, and speaking
+half imperatively, “do something! Don't stand speculating about the
+cause; but do something if you have any skill.”
+
+Thus prompted, I set myself to work, in good earnest, with my patient.
+The result was in no way flattering to my skill, for he passed to his
+account in less than an hour, dying without a sign.
+
+I shall never forget the wild screams which rang awfully through the old
+mansion, when it was announced to Mrs. Allen that the Captain was dead.
+She flung herself upon his body, tore her hair, and committed other
+extravagances. All the slumbering passions of her undisciplined nature
+seemed quickened into sudden life, overmastering her in their strong
+excitement. So it would have seemed to a less suspicious observer; but I
+thought that I could detect the overacting of pretence. I may have
+done her wrong; but the impression still remains. At the funeral, this
+extravagant role of grief was re-enacted, and the impression was left on
+many minds that she was half mad with grief.
+
+Occasionally, after this event, I was summoned to the Allen House to see
+its unhappy mistress. I say unhappy, for no human being ever had a face
+written all over with the characters you might read in hers, that was
+not miserable. I used to study it, sometimes, to see if I could get
+anything like a true revelation of her inner life. The sudden lighting
+up of her countenance at times, as you observed its rapidly varying
+expression, made you almost shudder, for the gleam which shot across it
+looked like a reflection from hell. I know no other word to express what
+I mean. Remorse, at times, I could plainly read.
+
+One thing I soon noticed; the room in which Captain Allen died--the
+north-west chamber before mentioned--remained shut up; and an old
+servant told me, years afterwards, that Mrs. Allen had never been inside
+of it since the fatal day on which I attended him in his last moments.
+
+At the time when this story opens the old lady was verging on to sixty.
+The five years which had passed since she was left alone had bent her
+form considerably, and the diseased state of mind which I noticed when
+first called in to visit the family as a physician, was now but a
+little way removed from insanity. She was haunted by many strange
+hallucinations; and the old servant above alluded to, informed me, that
+she was required to sleep in the room with her mistress, as she never
+would be alone after dark. Often, through the night, she would start up
+in terror, her diseased imagination building up terrible phantoms in the
+land of dreams, alarming the house with her cries.
+
+I rarely visited her that I did not see new evidences of waning reason.
+In the beginning I was fearful that she might do some violence to
+herself or her servants, but her insanity began to assume a less
+excitable form; and at last she sank into a condition of torpor, both of
+mind and body, from which I saw little prospect of her ever rising.
+
+“It is well,” I said to myself. “Life had better wane slowly away than
+to go out in lurid gleams like the flashes of a dying volcano.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+
+And now, reader, after this long digression, you can understand my
+surprise at seeing broad gleams of light reaching out into the darkness
+from the windows of that north-west chamber, as I breasted the storm
+on my way to visit the sick child of Mary Jones. No wonder that I stood
+still and looked up at those windows, though the rain beat into my face,
+half blinding me. The shutters were thrown open, and the curtains drawn
+partly aside. I plainly saw shadows on the ceiling and walls as of
+persons moving about the room. Did my eyes deceive me? Was not that the
+figure of a young girl that stood for a moment at the window trying to
+pierce with her eyes the thick veil of night? I was still in doubt when
+the figure turned away, and only gave me a shadow on the wall.
+
+I lingered in front of the old house for some minutes, but gaining no
+intelligence of what was passing within, I kept on my way to the
+humbler dwelling of Mary Jones. I found her child quite ill, and needing
+attention. After doing what, in my judgment, the case required, I turned
+my steps towards the house of Mrs. Wallingford to look into the case
+of her son Henry, who, according to her account, was in a very unhappy
+condition.
+
+I went a little out of my way so as to go past the Allen House again.
+As I approached, my eyes were directed to the chamber windows at the
+north-west corner, and while yet some distance away, as the old elms
+tossed their great limbs about in struggling with the storm, I saw
+glancing out between them the same cheery light that met my astonished
+gaze a little while before. As then, I saw shadows moving on the walls,
+and once the same slender, graceful figure--evidently that of a young
+girl--came to the window and tried to look out into the deep darkness.
+
+As there was nothing to be gained by standing there in the drenching
+storm, I moved onward, taking the way to Mrs. Wallingford's dwelling. I
+had scarcely touched the knocker when the door was opened, and by Mrs.
+Wallingford herself.
+
+“Oh, Doctor, I'm so glad you've come!” she said in a low, troubled
+voice.
+
+I stepped in out of the rain, gave her my dripping umbrella, and laid
+off my overcoat.
+
+“How is Henry now?” I asked.
+
+She put her finger to her lip, and said, in a whisper,
+
+“Just the same, Doctor--just the same. Listen! Don't you hear him
+walking the floor overhead? I've tried to get him to take a cup of tea,
+but he won't touch any thing. All I can get out of him is--'Mother--dear
+mother--leave me to myself. I shall come right again. Only leave me to
+myself now.' But, how can I let him go on in this way? Oh, Doctor, I
+am almost beside myself! What can it all mean? Something dreadful has
+happened.”
+
+I sat listening and reflecting for something like ten minutes. Steadily,
+from one side the room overhead to the other, went the noise of feet;
+now slowly, now with a quicker motion: and now with a sudden tramp, that
+sent the listener's blood with a start along its courses.
+
+“Won't you see him, doctor?”
+
+I did not answer at once, for I was in the dark as to what was best to
+be done. If I had known the origin of his trouble, I could have acted
+understandingly. As it was, any intrusion upon the young man might do
+harm rather than good.
+
+“He has asked to be let alone,” I replied, “and it may be best to let
+him alone. He says that he will come out right. Give him a little more
+time. Wait, at least, until to-morrow. Then, if there is no change, I
+will see him.”
+
+Still the mother urged. At last I said--
+
+“Go to your son. Suggest to him a visit from me, and mark the effect.”
+
+I listened as she went up stairs. On entering his room, I noticed that
+he ceased walking. Soon came to my ears the murmur of voices, which rose
+to a sudden loudness on his part, and I distinctly heard the words:
+
+“Mother! you will drive me mad! If you talk of that, I will go from the
+house. I _must_ be left alone!”
+
+Then all was silent. Soon Mrs. Wallingford came down. She looked even
+more distressed than when she left the room.
+
+“I'm afraid it might do harm,” she said doubtingly.
+
+“So am I. It will, I am sure, be best to let him have his way for the
+present. Something has disturbed him fearfully; but he is struggling
+hard for the mastery over himself, and you may be sure, madam, that he
+will gain it. Your son is a young man of no light stamp of character;
+and he will come out of this ordeal, as gold from the crucible.”
+
+“You think so, Doctor?”
+
+She looked at me with a hopeful light in her troubled countenance.
+
+“I do, verily. So let your heart dwell in peace.”
+
+I was anxious to get back to my good Constance, and so, after a few more
+encouraging words for Mrs. Wallingford, I tried the storm again, and
+went through its shivering gusts, to my own home. There had been
+no calls in my absence, and so the prospect looked fair for a quiet
+evening--just what I wanted; for the strange condition of Henry
+Wallingford, and the singular circumstance connected with the old Allen
+House, were things to be conned over with that second self, towards whom
+all thought turned and all interest converged as to a centre.
+
+After exchanging wet outer garments and boots, for dressing gown and
+slippers; and darkness and storm for a pleasant fireside; my thoughts
+turned to the north-west chamber of the Allen House, and I said--
+
+“I have seen something to-night that puzzled me.”
+
+“What is that?” inquired my wife, turning her mild eyes upon me.
+
+“You know the room in which old Captain Allen died?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The chamber on the north-west corner, which, as far as we know, has
+been shut up ever since?”
+
+“Yes, I remember your suspicion as to foul play on the part of Mrs.
+Allen, who, it is believed, has never visited the apartment since the
+Captain's death.”
+
+“Well, you will be surprised to hear that the shutters are unclosed, and
+lights burning in that chamber.”
+
+“Now!”
+
+“Yes--or at least half an hour ago.”
+
+“That is remarkable.”
+
+My wife looked puzzled.
+
+“And more remarkable still--I saw shadows moving on the walls, as of two
+or three persons in the room.”
+
+“Something unusual has happened,” said my wife.
+
+“Perhaps Mrs. Allen is dead.”
+
+This thought had not occurred to me. I turned it over for a few moments,
+and then remarked,
+
+“Hardly probable--for, in that case, I would have been summoned. No; it
+strikes me that some strangers are in the house; for I am certain that
+I saw a young girl come to the window and press her face close up to one
+of the panes, as if trying to penetrate the darkness.
+
+“Singular!” said my wife, as if speaking to herself. “Now, that
+explains, in part, something that I couldn't just make out yesterday. I
+was late in getting home from Aunt Elder's you know. Well, as I came in
+view of that old house, I thought I saw a girl standing by the gate.
+An appearance so unusual, caused me to strain my eyes to make out the
+figure, but the twilight had fallen too deeply. While I still looked,
+the form disappeared; but, through an opening in the shrubbery, I caught
+another glimpse of it, as it vanished in the portico. I was going to
+speak of the incident, but other matters pushed it, till now, from my
+thoughts when you were at home.”
+
+“Then my eyes did not deceive me,” said I; “your story corroborates
+mine. There is a young lady in the Allen House. But who is she? That is
+the question.”
+
+As we could not get beyond this question, we left the riddle for time
+to solve, and turned next to the singular state of mind into which young
+Henry Wallingford had fallen.
+
+“Well,” said my wife, speaking with some emphasis, after I had told her
+of the case, “I never imagined that he cared so much for the girl!”
+
+“What girl?” I inquired.
+
+“Why, Delia Floyd--the silly fool! if I must speak so strongly.”
+
+“Then he is really in love with Squire Floyd's daughter?”
+
+“It looks like it, if he's taking on as his mother says,” answered my
+wife, with considerable feeling. “And Delia will rue the day she turned
+from as true a man as Henry Wallingford.”
+
+“Bless me, Constance! you've got deeper into this matter, than either
+his mother or me. Who has been initiating you into the love secrets of
+S----?”
+
+“This affair,” returned my wife, “has not passed into town talk, and
+will, I trust, be kept sacred by those who know the facts. I learned
+them from Mrs. Dean, the sister of Mrs. Floyd. The case stands thus:
+Henry is peculiar, shy, reserved, and rather silent. He goes but little
+into company, and has not the taking way with girls that renders
+some young men so popular. But his qualities are all of the sterling
+kind--such as wear well, and grow brighter with usage. For more than a
+year past, he has shown a decided preference for Delia Floyd, and she
+has encouraged his attentions. Indeed, so far as I can learn from Mrs.
+Dean, the heart of her niece was deeply interested. But a lover of
+higher pretensions came, dazzling her mind with a more brilliant
+future.”
+
+“Who?” I inquired.
+
+“That dashing young fellow from New York, Judge Bigelow's nephew.”
+
+“Not Ralph Dewey?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Foolish girl, to throw away a man for such an effigy! It will be a
+dark day that sees her wedded to him. But I will not believe in the
+possibility of such an event.”
+
+“Well, to go on with my story,” resumed Constance. “Last evening,
+seeing, I suppose, that a dangerous rival was intruding, Henry made suit
+for the hand of Delia, and was rejected.”
+
+“I understand the case better now,” said I, speaking from a professional
+point of view.
+
+“Poor young man! I did not suppose it was in him to love any woman after
+that fashion,” remarked Constance.
+
+“Your men of reserved exterior have often great depths of feeling,” I
+remarked. “Usually women are not drawn towards them; because they are
+attracted most readily by what meets the eye. If they would look deeper,
+they would commit fewer mistakes, like that which Delia Floyd has just
+committed.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+
+Delia Floyd was a girl of more than ordinary attractions, and it is
+not surprising that young Wallingford was drawn, fascinated, within the
+charmed circle of her influence. She was, by no means, the weak, vain,
+beautiful young woman, that the brief allusion I have made to her might
+naturally lead the reader to infer. I had possessed good opportunities
+for observing her, for our families were intimate, and she was
+frequently at our house. Her father had given her a good education--not
+showy; but of the solid kind. She was fond of books, and better read, I
+think, in the literature of the day, than any other young lady in S----.
+Her conversational powers were of a high order. Good sense, I had always
+given her credit for possessing; and I believed her capable of reading
+character correctly. She was the last one I should have regarded as
+being in danger of losing a heart to Ralph Dewey.
+
+In person, Delia was rather below than above the middle stature. Her
+hair was of a dark brown, and so were her eyes--the latter large and
+liquid. Her complexion was fresh, almost ruddy, and her countenance
+animated, and quick to register every play of feeling.
+
+In manner, she was exceedingly agreeable, and had the happy art of
+putting even strangers at ease. It was no matter of wonder to me, as
+I said before, that Henry Wallingford should fall in love with Delia
+Floyd. But I did wonder, most profoundly, when I became fully assured,
+that she had, for a mere flash man, such as Ralph Dewey seemed to me,
+turned herself away from Henry Wallingford.
+
+But women are enigmas to most of us--I don't include you, dear
+Constance!--and every now and then puzzle us by acts so strangely out
+of keeping with all that we had predicated of them, as to leave
+no explanation within our reach, save that of evil fascination, or
+temporary loss of reason. We see their feet often turning aside
+into ways that we know lead to wretchedness, and onward they move
+persistently, heeding neither the voice of love, warning, nor reproach.
+They hope all things, believe all things, trust all things, and make
+shipwreck on the breakers that all eyes but their own see leaping and
+foaming in their course. Yes, woman is truly an enigma!
+
+Squire Floyd was a plain, upright man, in moderately good circumstances.
+He owned a water power on the stream that ran near our town, and had
+built himself a cotton mill, which was yielding him a good annual
+income. But he was far from being rich, and had the good sense not to
+assume a style of living beyond his means.
+
+Henry Wallingford was the son of an old friend of Squire Floyd's.
+The elder Mr. Wallingford was not a man of the Squire's caution and
+prudence. He was always making mistakes in matters of business, and
+never succeeded well in any thing. He died when his son was about
+eighteen years of age. Henry was at that time studying law with Judge
+Bigelow. As, in the settlement of his father's estate, it was found to
+be wholly insolvent, Henry, unwilling to be dependent on his mother, who
+had a small income in her own right, gave notice to the Judge that he
+was about to leave his office. Now, the Judge was a man of penetration,
+and had already discovered in the quiet, reserved young man, just the
+qualities needed to give success in the practice of law. He
+looked calmly at his student for some moments after receiving this
+announcement, conning over his face, which by no means gave indications
+of a happy state of mind.
+
+“You think you can find a better preceptor?” said the Judge, at last, in
+his calm way.
+
+“No, sir! no!” answered Henry, quickly. “Not in all this town, nor out
+of it, either. It is not that, Judge Bigelow.”
+
+“Then you don't fancy the law?”
+
+“On the contrary, there is no other calling in life that presents to my
+mind any thing attractive,” replied Henry, in a tone of despondency that
+did not escape the Judge.
+
+“Well, if that is the case, why not keep on? You are getting along
+bravely.”
+
+“I must support myself, sir--must do something besides sitting here and
+reading law books.”
+
+“Ah, yes, I see.” The Judge spoke to himself, as if light had broken
+into his mind. “Well, Henry,” he added, looking at the young man, “what
+do you propose doing?”
+
+“I have hands and health,” was the reply.
+
+“Something more than hands and health are required in this world. What
+can you do?”
+
+“I can work on a farm, if nothing better offers. Or, may be, I can get a
+place in some store.”
+
+“There's good stuff in the lad,” said Judge Bigelow to himself. Then
+speaking aloud--
+
+“I'll think this matter over for you, Henry. Let it rest for a day or
+two. The law is your proper calling, and you must not give it up, if you
+can be sustained in it.”
+
+On that very day, Judge Bigelow saw Squire Floyd, and talked the matter
+over with him. They had but one sentiment in the matter, and that was
+favorable to Henry's remaining where he was.
+
+“Can he be of any service to you, in your office, Judge--such as copying
+deeds and papers, hunting up cases, and the like?” asked the Squire.
+
+“Yes, he can be of service to me in that way; and is of service now.”
+
+“You can afford to pay him something?” suggested Squire Floyd.
+
+“It is usual,” replied the Judge, “to get this kind of service in return
+for instruction and office privileges.”
+
+“I know; but this case is peculiar. The death of Henry's father has left
+him without a support, and he is too independent to burden his mother.
+Unless he can earn something, therefore, he must abandon the law.”
+
+“I understand that, Squire, and have already decided to compensate him,”
+ said the Judge. “But what I can offer will not be enough.”
+
+“How much can you offer?”
+
+“Not over a hundred dollars for the first year.”
+
+“Call it two hundred, Judge,” was the ready answer.
+
+The two men looked for a moment into each other's faces.
+
+“His father and I were friends from boyhood,” said Squire Floyd. “He was
+a warm-hearted man; but always making mistakes. He would have ruined
+me two or three times over, if I had been weak enough to enter into
+his plans, or to yield to his importunities in the way of risks and
+securities. It often went hard for me to refuse him; but duty to those
+dependent on me was stronger than friendship. But I can spare a hundred
+dollars for his son, and will do it cheerfully. Only, I must not be
+known in the matter; for it would lay on Henry's mind a weight of
+obligation, not pleasant for one of his sensitive disposition to bear.”
+
+“I see, Squire,” answered Judge Bigelow to this; “but then it won't
+place me in the right position. I shall receive credit for your
+benevolence.”
+
+“Don't trouble yourself on that score,” answered the Squire, laughing.
+“It may be that I shall want some law business done--though heaven
+forbid! In that case, I will call on you, and you can let Henry do the
+work. Thus the equilibrium of benefits will be restored. Let the salary
+be two hundred.”
+
+And so this matter being settled, Henry Wallingford remained in the
+office of Judge Bigelow. The fact of being salaried by the Judge,
+stimulated him to new efforts, and made him forward to relieve his kind
+preceptor of all duties within the range of his ability. There
+came, during the next year, an unusually large amount of office
+practice--preparing deeds, making searches, and drawing up papers of
+various kinds. In doing this work, Henry was rapid and reliable. So,
+when Squire Floyd tendered his proportion of the young man's salary to
+his neighbor, the Judge declined receiving it. The Squire urged; but the
+Judge said--
+
+“No; Henry has earned his salary, and I must pay it, in simple justice.
+I did not think there was so much in him. Business has increased, and
+without so valuable an assistant, I could not get along.”
+
+So the way had opened before Henry Wallingford, and he was on the road
+to a successful manhood. At the time of his introduction to the reader,
+he was in his twenty-third year. On attaining his majority, he had
+become so indispensable to Judge Bigelow, who had the largest practice
+in the county, that no course was left for him but to offer the young
+man a share in his business. It was accepted; and the name of Henry
+Wallingford was thenceforth displayed in gilt letters, in the office
+window of his preceptor.
+
+From that time, his mind never rested with anything like care or anxiety
+on the future. His daily life consisted in an almost absorbed devotion
+to his professional duties, which grew steadily on his hands. His
+affection was in them, and so the balance of his mind was fully
+sustained. Ah, if we could all thus rest, without anxiety, on the
+right performance of our allotted work! If we would be content to
+wait patiently for that success which comes as the orderly result of
+well-doing in our business, trades, or professions, what a different
+adjustment would there be in our social condition and relations! There
+would not be all around us so many eager, care-worn faces--so many
+heads bowed with anxious thought--so many shoulders bent with burdens,
+destined, sooner or later, to prove too great for the strength which now
+sustains them. But how few, like Henry Wallingford, enter with anything
+like pleasure into their work! It is, in most cases, held as drudgery,
+and regarded only as the means to cherished ends in life wholly removed
+from the calling itself. Impatience comes as a natural result. The hand
+reaches forth to pluck the growing fruit ere it is half ripened. No
+wonder that its taste is bitter to so many thousands. No wonder that
+true success comes to so small a number--that to so many life proves but
+a miserable failure.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+
+The morning which broke after that night of storm was serene and
+beautiful. The air had a crystal clearness, and as you looked away up
+into the cloudless azure, it seemed as if the eye could penetrate to an
+immeasurable distance. The act of breathing was a luxury. You drew in
+draught after draught of the rich air, feeling, with every inhalation,
+that a new vitality was absorbed through the lungs, giving to the heart
+a nobler beat, and to the brain a fresh activity. With what a different
+feeling did I take up my round of duties for the day! Yesterday I went
+creeping forth like a reluctant school boy; to-day, with an uplifted
+countenance and a willing step.
+
+Having a few near calls to make, I did not order my horse, as both
+health and inclination were better served by walking. Soon after
+breakfast I started out, and was going in the direction of Judge
+Bigelow's office, when, hearing a step behind me that had in it
+a familiar sound, I turned to find myself face to face with Henry
+Wallingford! He could hardly have failed to see the look of surprise in
+my face.
+
+“Good morning, Henry,” I said, giving him my hand, and trying to
+speak with that cheerful interest in the young man which I had always
+endeavored to show.
+
+He smiled in his usual quiet way as he took my hand and said in return,
+
+“Good-morning, Doctor.”
+
+“You were not out, I believe, yesterday,” I remarked, as we moved on
+together.
+
+“I didn't feel very well,” he answered, in a voice pitched to a lower
+key than usual; “and, the day being a stormy one, I shut myself up at
+home.”
+
+“Ah,” said I, in a cheerful way, “you lawyers have the advantage of us
+knights of the pill box and lancet. Rain or shine, sick or well, we must
+travel round our parish.”
+
+“All have their share of the good as well as the evil things of life,”
+ he replied, a little soberly. “Doctors and lawyers included.”
+
+I did not observe any marked change in the young man, except that he
+was paler, and had a different look out of his eyes from any that I had
+hitherto noticed; a more matured look, which not only indicated deeper
+feeling, but gave signs of will and endurance. I carried that new
+expression away with me as we parted at the door of his office, and
+studied it as a new revelation of the man. It was very certain that
+profounder depths had been opened in his nature--opened to his own
+consciousness--than had ever seen the light before. That he was more
+a man than he had ever been, and more worthy to be mated with a true
+woman. Up to this time I had thought of him more as a boy than as a man,
+for the years had glided by so quietly that bore him onward with the
+rest, that he had not arisen in my thought to the full mental stature
+which the word manhood includes.
+
+“Ah,” said I, as I walked on, “what a mistake in Delia Floyd! She is
+just as capable of high development as a woman as he is as a man.
+How admirably would they have mated. In him, self-reliance, reason,
+judgment, and deep feeling would have found in her all the qualities
+they seek--taste, perception, tenderness and love. They would have grown
+upwards into higher ideas of life, not downwards into sensualism and
+mere worldliness, like the many. Alas! This mistake on her part may
+ruin them both; for a man of deep, reserved feelings, who suffers a
+disappointment in love, is often warped in his appreciation of the sex,
+and grows one-sided in his character as he advances through the cycles
+of life.”
+
+I had parted from Henry only a few minutes when I met his rival, Ralph
+Dewey. Let me describe him. In person he was taller than Wallingford,
+and had the easy, confident manner of one who had seen the world, as we
+say. His face was called handsome; but it was not a manly face--manly in
+that best sense which includes character and thought. The chin and mouth
+were feeble, and the forehead narrow, throwing the small orbs close
+together. But he had a fresh complexion, dark, sprightly eyes, and
+a winning smile. His voice was not very good, having in it a kind of
+unpleasant rattle; but he managed it rather skillfully in conversation,
+and you soon, ceased to notice the peculiarity.
+
+Ralph lived in New York, where he had recently been advanced to the
+position of fourth partner in a dry goods jobbing house, with a small
+percentage on the net profits. Judging from the air with which he spoke
+of his firm's operations, and his relation to the business, you might
+have inferred that he was senior instead of junior partner, and that the
+whole weight of the concern rested on his shoulders.
+
+Judge Bigelow, a solid man, and from professional habit skilled in
+reading character, was, singularly enough, quite carried away with his
+smart nephew, and really believed his report of himself. Prospectively,
+he saw him a merchant prince, surrounded by palatial splendors.
+
+Our acquaintance was as yet but slight, so we only nodded in passing.
+As we were in the neighborhood of Squire Floyd's pleasant cottage, I was
+naturally curious, under the circumstances, to see whether the young
+man was going to make a visit at so early an hour; and I managed to keep
+long enough in sight to have this matter determined. Ralph called at the
+Squire's, and I saw him admitted. So I shook my head disapprovingly, and
+kept on my way.
+
+Not until late in the afternoon did I find occasion to go into that part
+of the town where the old Allen house was located, though the image
+of its gleaming north-west windows was frequently in my thought. The
+surprise occasioned by that incident was in no way lessened on seeing a
+carriage drive in through the gateway, and two ladies alight therefrom
+and enter the house. Both were in mourning. I did not see their faces;
+but, judging from the dress and figure of each, it was evident that one
+was past the meridian of life, and the other young. Still more to my
+surprise, the carriage was not built after our New England fashion, but
+looked heavy, and of a somewhat ancient date. It was large and high,
+with a single seat for the driver perched away up in the air, and a
+footman's stand and hangings behind. There was, moreover, a footman in
+attendance, who sprung to his place after the ladies had alighted, and
+rode off to the stables.
+
+“Am I dreaming?” said I to myself, as I kept on my way, after
+witnessing this new incident in the series of strange events that were
+half-bewildering me. But it was in vain that I rubbed my eyes; I could
+not wake up to a different reality.
+
+It was late when I got home from my round of calls, and found tea
+awaiting my arrival.
+
+“Any one been here?” I asked--my usual question.
+
+“No one.' The answer pleased me for I had many things on my mind, and
+I wished to have a good long evening with my wife. Baby Mary and Louis
+were asleep: but we had the sweet, gentle face of Agnes, our first born,
+to brighten the meal-time. After she was in dream-land, guarded by
+the loving angels who watch with children in sleep, and Constance
+was through with her household cares for the evening, I came into the
+sitting-room from my office, and taking the large rocking-chair, leaned
+my head back, mind and body enjoying a sense of rest and comfort.
+
+“You are not the only one,” said my wife, looking up from the basket of
+work through which she had been searching for some article, “who noticed
+lights in the Allen House last evening.”
+
+“Who else saw them?” I asked.
+
+“Mrs. Dean says she heard two or three people say that the house was lit
+up all over--a perfect illumination.”
+
+“Stories lose nothing in being re-told. The illumination was confined to
+the room in which Captain Allen died. I am witness to that. But I have
+something more for your ears. This afternoon, as I rode past, I saw an
+old-fashioned English coach, with a liveried driver and footman, turn
+into the gate. From this two ladies alighted and went into the house;
+when the coach was driven to the stables. Now, what do you think of
+that?”
+
+“We are to have a romance enacted in our very midst, it would seem,”
+ replied my wife, in her unimpassioned way. “Other eyes have seen this
+also, and the strange fact is buzzing through the town. I was only
+waiting until we were alone to tell you that these two ladies whom you
+saw, arrived at the Allen House in their carriage near about daylight,
+on the day before yesterday. But no one knows who they are, or from
+whence they came. It is said that they made themselves as completely at
+home as if they were in their own house; selected the north-west chamber
+as their sleeping apartment; and ordered the old servants about with an
+air of authority that subdued them to obedience.”
+
+“But what of Mrs. Allen?” I asked, in astonishment at all this.
+
+“The stories about her reception of the strangers do not agree.
+According to one, the old lady was all resistance and indignation at
+this intrusion; according to another, she gave way, passively, as if she
+were no longer sole mistress of the house.”
+
+Constance ceased speaking, for there came the usual interruption to our
+evening _tete-a-tete_--the ringing of my office bell.
+
+“You are wanted up at the Allen House, Doctor, said my boy, coming in
+from the office a few moments afterwards.
+
+“Who is sick?” I asked.
+
+“The old lady.”
+
+“Any thing serious?”
+
+“I don't know, sir. But I should think there was from the way old Aunty
+looked. She says, come up as quickly as you can.”
+
+“Is she in the office?”
+
+“No, sir. She just said that, and then went out in a hurry.”
+
+“The plot thickens,” said I, looking at Constance.
+
+“Poor old lady!” There was a shade of pity in her tones.
+
+“You have not seen her for many years?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Poor old witch of Endor! were better said.”
+
+“Oh!” answered my wife, smiling, “you know that the painter's idea of
+this celebrated individual has been reversed by some, who affirm that
+she was young and handsome instead of old and ugly like modern witches.”
+
+“I don't know how that may be, but if you could see Mrs. Allen, you
+would say that 'hag' were a better term for her than woman. If the good
+grow beautiful as they grow old, the loving spirit shining like a lamp
+through the wasted and failing walls of flesh, so do the evil grow ugly
+and repulsive. Ah, Constance, the lesson is for all of us. If we live
+true lives, our countenances will grow radiant from within, as we
+advance in years; if selfish, worldly, discontented lives, they will
+grow cold, hard, and repulsive.”
+
+I drew on my boots and coat, and started on my visit to the Allen House.
+The night was in perfect contrast with the previous one. There was no
+moon, but every star shone with its highest brilliancy, while the galaxy
+threw its white scarf gracefully across the sky, veiling millions of
+suns in their own excessive brightness. I paused several times in my
+walk, as broader expanses opened between the great elms that gave to
+our town a sylvan beauty, and repeated, with a rapt feeling of awe and
+admiration, the opening stanza of a familiar hymn:--
+
+“The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And
+spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim.”
+
+How the beauty and grandeur of nature move the heart, as if it
+recognized something of its own in every changing aspect. The sun and
+moon and stars--the grand old mountains lifting themselves upwards
+into serene heights--the limitless expanse of ocean, girdling the whole
+earth--rivers, valleys, and plains--trees, flowers, the infinite forms
+of life--to all the soul gives some response, as if they were akin.
+
+I half forgot my interest in old Mrs. Allen, as my heart beat responsive
+to the pulsings of nature, and my thoughts flew upwards and away as on
+the wings of eagles. But my faithful feet had borne me steadily onwards,
+and I was at the gate opening to the grounds of the Allen House, before
+I was conscious of having passed over half the distance that lay
+between that and my home. I looked up, and saw a light in the north-west
+chamber, but the curtains were down.
+
+On entering the house, I was shown by the servant who admitted me, into
+the small office or reception room opening from the hall. I had scarcely
+seated myself, when a tall woman, dressed in black, came in, and said,
+with a graceful, but rather stately manner--
+
+“The Doctor, I believe?”
+
+How familiar the voice sounded! And yet I did not recognise it as
+the voice of any one whom I had known, but rather as a voice heard in
+dreams. Nor was the calm, dignified countenance on which my eyes rested,
+strange in every lineament. The lady was, to all appearance, somewhere
+in the neighborhood of sixty, and, for an elderly lady, handsome. I
+thought of my remark to Constance about the beauty and deformity of age,
+and said to myself, “Here is one who has not lived in vain.”
+
+I arose as she spoke, and answered in the affirmative.
+
+“You have come too late,” she said, with a touch of feeling in her
+voice.
+
+“Not dead?” I ejaculated.
+
+“Yes, dead. Will you walk up stairs and see her?”
+
+I followed in silence, ascending to the chamber which had been occupied
+by Mrs. Allen since the old Captain's death. It was true as she had
+said; a ghastly corpse was before me. I use the word ghastly, for it
+fully expresses the ugliness of that lifeless face, withered, marred,
+almost shorn of every true aspect of humanity. I laid my hand upon
+her--the skin was cold. I felt for her pulse, but there was no sign of
+motion in the arteries.
+
+“It is over,” I said, lifting myself from my brief examination, “and
+may God have mercy upon her soul!” The last part of the sentence was
+involuntary.
+
+“Amen!”
+
+I felt that this response was no idle ejaculation.
+
+“How was she affected?” I asked. “Has she been sick for any time? Or did
+life go out suddenly?”
+
+“It went out suddenly,” replied the lady--“as suddenly as a lamp in the
+wind.”
+
+“Was she excited from any cause?”
+
+“She has been in an excited state ever since our arrival, although every
+thing that lay in our power has been done to quiet her mind and give it
+confidence and repose.”
+
+She spoke calmly, as one, who held a controlling position there, and of
+right. I looked into her serene face, almost classic in its outlines,
+with an expression of blended inquiry and surprise, that it was evident
+did not escape her observation, although she offered no explanation in
+regard to herself.
+
+I turned again to the corpse, and examined it with some care. There was
+nothing in its appearance that gave me any clue to the cause which had
+produced this sudden extinguishment of life.
+
+“In what way was she excited?” I asked, looking at the stranger as I
+stepped back from the couch on which the dead body was lying.
+
+She returned my steady gaze, without answering, for some moments.
+Either my tone or manner affected her unpleasantly, for I saw her brows
+contract slightly, her full lips close upon themselves, and her eyes
+acquire an intenser look.
+
+“You have been her physician, I believe?” There was no sign of feeling
+in the steady voice which made the inquiry.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“_I_ need not, in that case, describe to you her unhappy state of
+mind. _I_ need not tell you that an evil will had the mastery over her
+understanding, and that, in the fierce struggle of evil passion with
+evil passion, mind and body had lost their right adjustment.”
+
+“I know all this,” said I. “Still, madam, in view of my professional
+duty, I must repeat my question, and urge upon you the propriety of an
+undisguised answer. In what way was she excited? and what was the cause
+leading to an excitement which has ended thus fatally?”
+
+“I am not in the habit of putting on disguises,” she answered, with a
+quiet dignity that really looked beautiful.
+
+“I pray you, madam, not to misunderstand me,” said I. “As a physician,
+I must report the cause of all deaths in the range of my practice. If I
+were not to do so in this case, a permit for burial would not be issued
+until a regular inquest was held by the Coroner.”
+
+“Ah, I see,” she replied, yet with an air of indecision. “You are
+perfectly right, Doctor, and we must answer to your satisfaction. But
+let us retire from this chamber.”
+
+She led the way down stairs. As we passed the memorable north-west room,
+she pushed the door open, and said,
+
+“Blanche, dear, I wish to see you. Come down to the parlor.”
+
+I heard faintly the answer, in a very musical voice. We had scarcely
+entered the parlor, when the lady said--
+
+“My daughter, Doctor.”
+
+A vision of beauty and innocence met my gaze. A young girl, not over
+seventeen, tall like her mother, very fair, with a face just subdued
+into something of womanly seriousness, stood in the door, as I turned at
+mention of her presence.
+
+A single lamp gave its feeble light to the room, only half subduing the
+shadows that went creeping into corners and recesses. Something of a
+weird aspect was on every thing; and I could not but gaze at the
+two strangers in that strange place to them, under such peculiar
+circumstances, and wonder to see them so calm, dignified, and
+self-possessed. We sat down by the table on which the lamp was standing,
+the elder of the two opposite, and the younger a little turned away, so
+that her features were nearly concealed.
+
+“Blanche,” said the former, “the Doctor wishes to know the particular
+incidents connected with the death of Mrs. Allen.”
+
+I thought there was an uneasy movement on the part of the girl. She did
+not reply. There was a pause.
+
+“The facts are simply these, Doctor,” and the mother looked me steadily
+in the face, which stood out clear, as the lamp shone full on every
+feature. “From the moment of our arrival, Mrs. Allen has seemed like one
+possessed of an evil Spirit. How she conducted herself before, is
+known to me only as reported by the servants. From the little they have
+communicated, I infer that for some time past she has not been ii her
+right mind. How is it? You must know as to her sanity or insanity.”
+
+“She has not, in my opinion, been a truly sane woman for years,” was my
+answer.
+
+“As I just said,” she continued, “she has seemed like one possessed of
+an evil spirit. In no way could we soften or conciliate her. Her conduct
+resembled more nearly that of some fierce wild beast whose den was
+invaded, than that of a human being. She would hold no friendly
+intercourse with us, and if we met at any time, or in any part of the
+house, she would fix her keen black eyes upon us, with an expression
+that sent a shudder to the heart. My daughter scarcely dared venture
+from her room. She so dreaded to meet her. Twice, as she flew past me,
+in her restless wanderings over the house, muttering to herself, I heard
+her say, as she struck her clenched hand in the air, 'I can do it again,
+and I will!'”
+
+A cold chill crept over me, for I remembered the death of Captain Allen;
+and this was like a confirmation of what I had feared as to foul play.
+
+“There is no trusting one wholly or even partially insane. So we were
+always on our guard. Not once, but many times during the few nights
+we have spent here, have we heard the door of our chamber tried after
+midnight. It was plain to us that it was not safe to live in this way,
+and so we had come to the reluctant conclusion that personal restraint
+must be secured. The question as to how this could best be done we had
+not yet decided, when death unraveled the difficulty.”
+
+The speaker ceased at this part of her narrative, and lifting from
+the table a small bell, rung it. A maid entered. I had never seen her
+before.
+
+“Tell Jackson that I want him.”
+
+The girl curtsied respectfully, and withdrew.
+
+Nothing more was said, until a man, whom I recognized at a glance to be
+a regularly trained English servant, presented himself.
+
+“Jackson,” said the lady, “I wish you to relate exactly, what occurred
+just previously to, and at the time of Mrs. Allen's death.”
+
+The man looked bewildered for a moment or two; but soon recovering
+himself, answered without hesitation.
+
+“Hit 'appened just in this way, ma'am. I was a comin' hup stairs, when
+I met the hold lady a tearin' down like a mad cat. She looked kind o'
+awful. I never saw anybody out of an 'ospital look that way in all my
+life before. She 'eld an hiron poker in 'er 'and. As my young lady--”
+ and he looked towards Blanche--“was in the 'all, I didn't think it safe
+for 'er if I let the hold woman go down. So I just stood in 'er way, and
+put my harms across the stairs so”--stretching his arms out. “My! but
+'ow she did fire up! She stood almost a minute, and then sprung on me as
+if she was a tiger. But I was the strongest, and 'olding 'er in my harms
+like as I would a mad kitten, I carried 'er hup to 'er room, put 'er
+hin, and shut the door. My young lady saw it hall, for she followed
+right hup after me.”
+
+He looked towards Blanche.
+
+“Just as it occurred,” she said, in a low, sweet fluttering voice.
+
+“I heard the strife,” said her mother, “and ran up to see what was the
+matter. I reached the door of Mrs. Allen's room just as Jackson thrust
+her in. He did not use any more violence than was needed in a case of
+such sudden emergency. He is strong, and held her so tightly that she
+could not even struggle. One wild, fierce scream rent the air, as
+he shut the door, and then all was silent as death. I went in to her
+instantly. She was on the floor in a convulsion. You were sent for
+immediately; but it was too late for human intervention. Jackson, you
+can go.”
+
+The man bowed with an air of deferential respect, and retired.
+
+“Now, sir,” she added, turning to me, “you have the facts as they
+occurred. I have no wish to give them publicity, for they are family
+matters, and these are always in their degree, sacred. If, however, you
+think it your duty as a physician, to make the matter one of official
+investigation, I can have nothing to say.”
+
+I thought for some minutes before answering. The story, as related by
+the servant, I fully credited.
+
+“Let me see the body again,” said I, coming at length to a conclusion.
+
+We went up stairs, all three together; but only two of us entered the
+chamber of death. As we neared the door, Blanche caught at her mother's
+arm, and I heard her say, in a whisper:
+
+“Dear mamma! spare me that sight again. It is too horrible!”
+
+“The presence of your daughter is not needed,” said I, interposing. “Let
+her retire to her own room.”
+
+“Thank you!” There was a grateful expression in her voice, as she
+uttered these brief words, and then went back, while we passed in to the
+apartment where the dead woman was still lying.
+
+As I looked upon her face again, it seemed even more ghastly than
+before; and I could hardly repress a shudder. My companion held a
+lamp; while I made as careful an examination as was possible under the
+circumstances. I did not expect to find any marks of violence, though
+I searched for them about her head, neck, and chest. But, under the
+circumstances, I felt it to be my duty to know, from actual search, that
+no such signs existed. In every aspect presented by the corpse, there
+was a corroboration of the story related by the serving man. It was
+plain, that in a fit of half insane, uncontrollable passion, the nice
+adjustment of physical forces had been lost.
+
+“I am fully satisfied, madam,” said I, at length, turning from my
+unpleasant task.
+
+She let her calm, earnest eyes dwell on mine for a few moments, and then
+answered, with a softened tone, in which there was just a perceptible
+thrill of feeling--
+
+“If I were a believer in omens, I should take this sad incident,
+following so quickly on our removal to a new country and a new home, as
+foreshadowing evil to me or mine. But I do not so read external events.”
+
+“Between a life like hers, and a life like yours, madam, there can be
+no possible nearness; nor any relation between your spiritual affinities
+and hers. The antipodes are not farther apart,” said I, in return;
+“therefore, nothing that has befallen her can be ominous as to you.”
+
+“I trust not,” she gravely answered, as we left the room together.
+
+To my inquiry if I could serve her in any way, in the present matter,
+she simply requested me to send a respectable undertaker, who would
+perform what was fitting in the last rites due to the dead.
+
+I promised, and retired.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+
+The appearance, manner, and bearing of the two strangers impressed
+me strongly. The elder had evidently moved in refined and cultivated
+society all her life. There was about her the air of “a lady, born and
+bred”--dignified, calm, easy, and courteous. The daughter was a lovely
+blossom on this stately stem--delicate, beautiful, sweet with the odors
+of innocence. I see her now as I saw her on that first night of our
+meeting--to my eyes a new born vision of loveliness.
+
+I found Constance awaiting, with curious interest, my return. I was
+going right into the heart of this new wonder, and could not fail
+to bring back some revelation that would satisfy, in a measure, the
+excitement of mind produced by so singular an intrusion of strangers
+upon our quiet town. I answered her first look of inquiry by the
+words:--
+
+“It is over. Another book of life is sealed up here to be opened in
+eternity.”
+
+“Dead! Not dead?”
+
+“Yes, Constance, Mrs. Allen is dead. Her spirit had passed away before
+my arrival.”
+
+“How did she die?--from what cause?”
+
+“From what I can learn she died in a fit of passion.” I then related all
+that I had seen and heard.
+
+“But who can they be?” This query came as a natural sequence. “What
+right have they in the Allen House?”
+
+“Whoever they may be,” I replied, “they act, or, at least, the elder
+of the two ladies acts as if her right there was not even open to a
+question. And, perhaps, it is not.”
+
+“But what can they be to the Allens?”
+
+“I will give you,” said I, “the benefit of my guessing on the subject.
+You recollect the story told about Captain Allen's mother; how she went
+off a great many years ago with a stranger--an Englishman.”
+
+Constance remembered all about this family history, for it was the
+romance of our town.
+
+“My conclusion is that this lady is the sister of Captain Allen--the
+child that his mother took with her when she fled from her husband's
+house. I am strengthened in this belief from the first impression of her
+voice, as if the tones had in them something familiar.”
+
+We talked this matter over, looking at it in every way, until we
+satisfied ourselves that my conjectures must be true. The quiet manner
+in which they had intruded themselves, and taken possession of the
+house--unheralded as far as we knew--could not but present itself to our
+minds as a matter of special wonder. The more we conned it over the more
+we were puzzled. Before coming home I had called at an undertaker's, and
+notified him that his services were wanted at the Allen House. Early on
+the next day I took the liberty of calling there myself. I sent up my
+name, and awaited, with some interest, my reception. The visit might be
+regarded as an intrusion, and I was prepared to receive a message from
+the lady asking to be excused. Not so, however. I had been seated only
+a few moments, when I heard the rustle of her garments on the stairs. My
+first glance at her face assured me that I was no unwelcome visitor.
+
+“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, as she extended her hand, “for this early
+call. Our meeting last night for the first time can hardly be called a
+pleasant one--or the associations connected with it such as either of us
+might wish to recall.”
+
+“Our control over events is so slight,” I made answer as I resumed my
+seat, “that we should separate unpleasant feelings as far as possible
+from any memories connected with them.”
+
+A faint, sad smile just lightened up her placid face as she said, in
+reply to the remark.
+
+“Ah, Doctor, that may not be. Lives are too intimately blended here for
+any one to suffer or do wrong without leaving a burden of sadness on
+other memories.”
+
+“True; but the burden will be light or heavy according to our strength.”
+
+She looked at me without replying, for the remark was so palpable, that
+it seemed to involve nothing beyond a literal fact.
+
+“Or rather,” I said, “the burden will be heavy or light according to our
+state or quality.”
+
+There was a sign of awakening interest in her countenance as if my
+remark had touched some hidden spring of thought.
+
+“If we are right with ourselves,” I went on, “the disturbance produced
+by others' misconduct will not reach very far down. The pressure of
+sadness may lie upon us for a season; but cannot long remain; for the
+pure heart will lift itself into serene atmospheres.”
+
+“But, who is right with himself?” she said. “Whose heart is pure enough
+to dwell in these serene atmospheres? Not mine, alas!”
+
+I looked into the suddenly illuminated face as she put these questions,
+in surprise at the quick change which had passed over it. But the
+tone in which she uttered the closing sentence was touched with tender
+sadness.
+
+“Rather let me say,” I made answer, “_in the degree_ that we are right
+with ourselves. None attain unto perfection here.”
+
+“Yet,” said the lady, with a sweet calmness of manner that made her
+look beautiful, “is it not pleasant to imagine a state of perfection--or
+rather a state in which evil is quiescent, and the heart active with all
+good and loving impulses? How full of inspiration is such an ideal of
+life! But the way by which we must go, if we would rise into this state,
+is one of difficulty and perpetual warfare. The enemies of our peace are
+numbered by myriads; and they seek with deadly hatred to do us harm.”
+
+“And yet are powerless,” said I, “if we keep the outworks of our lives
+in order.”
+
+“Yes,” she answered, “it is the very ultimate or last things of our
+lives where the power of repulsion resides. We can, in temptation, be it
+ever so strong, refuse to _act_ in the wrong direction--refuse to do an
+evil thing, because it is sinful. And this is our bulwark; this is our
+tower of safety; for it is only in _wrong doing_ that our enemies gain
+the victory over us. They may assault us never so fiercely--may dazzle
+our eyes with the glitter of this world's most alluring things--may
+stir the latent envy, malice, pride, or dishonesty, that lurks in every
+heart; but if we stand still, hold back our hands and stay our feet--if
+we give our resolute 'No' to all enticements, and keep our _actions_
+free from evil, all hell cannot prevail against us. God will take care
+of the interior of our lives, and make them pure and heavenly, if we
+resist evil in the exterior. But, pardon me; I did not mean to read you
+a homily.”
+
+She smiled with a grave sort of smile, and then sat silent.
+
+“I like your way of talking,” said I. There was something about the lady
+that put me at ease with her, and I said this without reserve, as if
+I were speaking to a friend. “It looks to higher things in life than
+people usually regard as worthy of our chief consideration. To most of
+us, the outer world offers the highest attractions; only the few turn
+inwardly to the more beautiful world of mind.”
+
+“Outward things fade--change--die; only spiritual things dwell in
+unfading beauty. We are in a world of mere effects as to our bodies;
+but the soul lives in the world of causes. Do we not spend a vain
+and unprofitable life, then, if we go on building, day after day, our
+tabernacle on the ever-shifting sands of time, instead of upon the
+immovable Rock of Ages? But who is guiltless of this folly? Not I! not
+I!”
+
+Again that calm, earnest voice fell to a lower key, and was veiled by a
+tender sadness.
+
+“It is something gained,” she added, with returning firmness of tone,
+“if, even after the sharp lessons of many years, we get glimpses of
+Truth, and are willing to follow, though it be at a far distance, the
+light she holds aloft. Yes, it is something gained--something gained!”
+
+She spoke the last words as if merely thinking aloud, and not addressing
+an auditor.
+
+“Can I aid you in anything, madam?” said I, breaking in upon a state
+of reverie into which her mind seemed to be falling. “The circumstances
+under which you find yourself are peculiar--I refer to the death of Mrs.
+Allen, following so quickly on your arrival among strangers--and you
+may stand in need of friendly service from one who knows the people and
+their ways. If so, do not hesitate to command me.”
+
+“I thank you sincerely,” she answered, unbending still more from
+her almost stately manner. “Friendly consideration I shall need, of
+course--as who does not in this world? And I repeat my thanks, that
+you have so kindly and so promptly anticipated my needs So far as the
+remains of my unhappy kinswoman are concerned, I have referred all to
+the undertaker. He will carry out my wishes. To-morrow the interment
+will take place. On the day following, if it it is altogether agreeable
+to yourself, I would esteem a call as a particular favor.”
+
+I arose, as she concluded the last sentence, saying as I did so,
+
+“I will be sure to call, madam; and render any service in my power. You
+may regard me as a friend.”
+
+“Already you have extorted my confidence,” she answered, faintly
+smiling.
+
+I bowed low, and was retiring when she said--
+
+“A moment, Doctor!”
+
+I turned toward her again.
+
+“Doctor, it may be well for you to see my daughter.”
+
+“Is she indisposed?” I asked.
+
+“Not exactly that. But the excitement and alarm of the last two or three
+days have been, I fear, rather too much for her nerves. I say alarm, for
+the poor girl was really frightened at Mrs. Allen's wild conduct--and no
+wonder. Death following in so sad a way, shocked her painfully. She did
+not sleep well last night; and this morning she looks pale and drooping.
+In all probability, quiet of mind and body will soon adjust the balance
+of health; still, it may be safest for you to see her.”
+
+“A mere temporary disturbance, no doubt, which, as you suggest, quiet of
+mind and body will, in all probability, overcome. Yet it will do no harm
+for me to see her; and may save trouble.”
+
+“Excuse me a moment,” she said, and left the room. In a little while she
+returned, and asked me to accompany her up stairs.
+
+I found the daughter in a black and gray silk wrapper, seated on a
+lounge. She arose as I entered, a slight flush coming into her face,
+which subsided in a few moments, leaving it quite pale, and weary
+looking. After we were all seated, I took her hand, which was hot in the
+palm, but cold at the extremities. Her pulse was feeble, disturbed, and
+quick.
+
+“How is your head?” I asked.
+
+“It feels a little strangely,” she replied, moving it two or three
+times, as if to get some well defined sensation.
+
+“Any pain?”
+
+“Yes; a dull kind of pain over my left eye, that seems to go deep into
+my head.”
+
+“What general bodily sensation have you? Any that you can speak of
+definitely?”
+
+“None, except a sense of oppression and heaviness. When I raise my arm,
+it seems to fall like lead; if I move about, I am weary, and wish to be
+at rest.”
+
+“Rest is, by all means, the most desirable condition for you now,”
+ said I. Then addressing her mother, I added--“I think your daughter had
+better lie down. Let her room be shaded and kept quiet. She needs rest
+and sleep. Sleep is one of nature's great restorers.”
+
+“Will you make no prescription, Doctor?” the mother asked.
+
+I reflected on the symptoms exhibited, for a few moments, and then said,
+
+“Nothing beyond repose, now. I trust that nature, as the pressure is
+removed, will work all right again.”
+
+“You will call in again to-day.”
+
+“Yes; towards evening I will see your daughter, when I hope to find her
+improved in every way.”
+
+I spoke with a cheerfulness of manner that did not altogether express
+my feelings in the case; for, there were some indications, not yet clear
+enough for a diagnosis, that awakened slight concern. As I did not wish
+to go wrong in my first prescription, I deemed it better to wait a few
+hours, and see how nature would succeed in her efforts to repel the
+enemy. So I went away, with a promise to call again early in the
+afternoon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+
+It was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, when I called
+again at the Allen House. An old colored servant, who had been in the
+family ever since my remembrance--she went by the name of “Aunty”--was
+standing by the gate as I alighted from my chaise.
+
+“'Deed, massa, Ise glad you come,” said she in a troubled way.
+
+“Why so, Aunty? No body very sick, I hope.”
+
+“'Deed, an dar is den; else old Aunty don't know nothin'.”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Why dat blessed young lady what drapped in among us, as if she'd come
+right down from Heaven. I was jest a gwine to run down an' ax you to
+come and see her right away.”
+
+I did not linger to talk with “Aunty,” but went forward to the house.
+The mother of Blanche met me at the door. She looked very anxious.
+
+“How is your daughter now?” I asked.
+
+“Not so well as when you saw her this morning,” she answered. Her voice
+trembled.
+
+“I would have called earlier, but have been visiting a patient several
+miles away.”
+
+“She has been lying in a kind of stupor ever since you were here. What
+can it mean, Doctor?”
+
+The mother looked intently in my face, and paused for an answer, with
+her lips apart. But I knew as little as she what it meant. Ah! how often
+do anxious friends question us, and hearken eagerly for our replies,
+when the signs of disease are yet too indefinite for any clear
+diagnosis!
+
+“I can tell better after seeing your daughter,” said I. And we went up
+to the sick girl's chamber; that north-west room, at the window of which
+I had first seen the fair stranger, as I stood wondering in storm and
+darkness. I found her lying in apparent sleep, and breathing heavily.
+Her face was flushed; and I noticed the peculiar odor that usually
+accompanies an eruptive fever.
+
+“How do you feel now?” I asked.
+
+She had opened her eyes as I took her hand. She did not answer, but
+looked at me in a half bewildered way. Her skin was hot and the pulse
+small, but tense and corded.
+
+“Does your head ache?”
+
+I wished to arouse her to external consciousness.
+
+“Oh, it's you, Doctor.”
+
+She recognized me and smiled faintly.
+
+“How are you now?” I inquired.
+
+“Not so well, I think, Doctor,” she answered. “My head aches worse than
+it did; and I feel sick all over. I don't know what can ail me.”
+
+“Have you any uneasiness, or sense of oppression in the stomach?” I
+inquired.
+
+“Oh, yes, Doctor.” She laid her hand upon her chest; and drew in a long
+breath, as if trying to get relief.
+
+“Have you felt as well as usual for a week, or ten days past?” I
+inquired.
+
+“No, Doctor.” It was the mother who answered my question. “And in order
+that you may understand the case clearly, let me say, that it is only a
+week since we arrived from England. We came over in a steamer, and were
+fifteen days in making the trip. From Boston, we came here in our own
+carriage. Before leaving home, Blanche went around to see a number of
+poor cottagers in our neighbourhood, and there was sickness at several
+of the places where she called. In one cottage, particularly, was a case
+of low fever. I was troubled when I learned that she had been there, but
+still hoped that her excellent state of health would repel anything
+like contagion. During the first part of our voyage, she suffered
+considerably from sea-sickness; but got along very well after that. If
+it hadn't been for the unhappy scenes of the last few days, with their
+painfully exciting consummation, I think she would have thrown off,
+wholly, any lurking tendency to disease.”
+
+I turned my face partly aside, so that its expression could not be seen.
+The facts stated, and the symptoms as now presented, left me in little
+doubt as to the nature of the malady against which I had to contend.
+Even while her mother talked, my patient fell away into the stupor from
+which I had aroused her.
+
+My treatment of the case coincided with the practice of men eminent in
+the school of medicine to which I then belonged. I am not a disciple
+of that school now, having found a system of exacter science, and one
+compassing more certain results with smaller risk and less waste of
+physical energy.
+
+In order to remove the uneasiness of which my patient complained, I gave
+an emetic. Its action was salutary, causing a determination towards the
+skin, and opening the pores, as well as relieving the oppression from
+which she suffered.
+
+“How is your head now?” I asked, after she had been quiet for some
+minutes.
+
+“Better. I feel scarcely any pain.”
+
+“So far, all is right,” said I, cheerfully.
+
+The mother looked at me with an anxious face. I arose, and we retired
+from the room together. Before leaving, I spoke encouragingly to my
+patient, and promised to see her early in the morning.
+
+“My daughter is very sick, Doctor. What is the disease?” The mother
+spoke calmly and firmly. “I am not one towards whom any concealments
+need be practised; and it is meet that I should know the worst, that I
+may do the best.”
+
+“The disease, madam,” I replied, “has not yet put on all of its
+distinctive signs. A fever--we call it the fever of incubation--is the
+forerunner of several very different ailments, and, at the beginning,
+the most accurate eye may fail to see what is beyond. In the present
+case, however, I think that typhoid fever is indicated.”
+
+I spoke as evenly as possible, and with as little apparent concern as
+possible. But I saw the blood go instantly back from the mother's face.
+
+“Typhoid fever!” she ejaculated, in a low voice, clasping her hands
+together. I learned afterwards that she had cause to dread this
+exhausting and often fatal disease. “Oh, Doctor! do for her as if she
+were your own and only child.”
+
+She grasped my arm, like one catching at a fleeting hope.
+
+“As if she were my own and only child!” I repeated her words in promise
+and assurance, adding--
+
+“The first result of the medicine which I gave is just what I desired.
+I will leave something more to be taken at intervals of two hours, until
+midnight. In the morning, I hope to find a very encouraging change.”
+
+“But, Doctor,” she replied, “if this is a case of typhoid fever, no hope
+of any quick change for the better can be entertained. I am no stranger
+to the fearful malady.”
+
+“Attacks of all diseases,” I answered to this, “are more or less severe,
+according to the nature of the predisposing and exciting causes. So
+far as your daughter is concerned, I should think, from the very slight
+opportunity I have had of forming an opinion in regard to her, that
+she is not readily susceptible of morbific intrusions. Under an unusual
+exposure to exciting causes, the balance of health has been overcome.
+If my presumption is correct, we have the steady effort of nature, in
+co-operation with remedial agencies, working towards a cure.”
+
+“Do you think the attack light, or severe?” the mother asked, speaking
+more calmly.
+
+“Neither light nor severe; but of a character, judging from the first
+impression made upon it, entirely controllable by medicines.”
+
+This opinion gave her confidence. As I had spoken without any apparent
+concealment, she evidently believed the case to stand exactly as I had
+stated it. After leaving medicine to be taken, every two hours, for the
+first part of the night, I went away.
+
+In the morning, I found my patient in that comatose state, the usual
+attendant upon typhoid fever. She aroused herself on my entrance, and
+answered all questions clearly. She had no pain in the head, nor any
+distressing symptoms. Her skin was soft and moist. All things looked
+favorable. I gave, now, only gentle diaphoretics, and let the case
+progress, watching it with the closest attention. In this, I followed my
+usual course of treatment as to giving medicines. If I could produce a
+reaction, or remove some obstruction, and give nature a chance, I did
+not think it wise to keep on with drugs, which, from their general
+poisonous qualities, make even well people sick--regarding the struggle
+of life with disease as hazardous enough, without increasing the risk by
+adding a new cause of disturbance, unless the need of its presence were
+unmistakably indicated.
+
+The course of this fever is always slow and exhausting. My patient sunk
+steadily, day by day, while I continued to watch the case with more than
+common anxiety. At the end of a week, she was feeble as an infant, and
+lay, for the most part, in a state of coma. I visited her two or three
+times every day, and had the thought of her almost constantly in my
+mind. Her mother, nerved for the occasion, was calm, patient, and
+untiring. The excitement which appeared on the occasion of my first
+visits, when there was doubt as to the character of the disease, passed
+away, and never showed itself again during her daughter's illness. I
+saw, daily, deeper into her character, which more and more impressed
+me with its simple grandeur, if I may use the word in this connection.
+There was nothing trifling, mean, or unwomanly about her. Her mind
+seemed to rest with a profoundly rational, and at the same time
+child-like trust, in Providence. Fear did not unnerve her, nor anxiety
+stay her hands in any thing. She met me, at every visit, with dignified
+self-possession, and received my report of the case, each time, without
+visible emotion. I had not attempted to deceive her in any thing from
+the beginning; she had seen this, and the fact gave her confidence in
+all my statements touching her daughter's condition.
+
+At the end of a week, I commenced giving stimulants, selecting, as the
+chief article, sound old Maderia wine. The effect was soon apparent,
+in a firmer pulse and a quickened vitality. The lethargic condition in
+which she had lain for most of the time since the commencement of the
+attack, began to give way, and in a much shorter period than is
+usually the case, in this disease, we had the unmistakable signs of
+convalescence.
+
+“Thank God, who, by means of your skill, has given me back my precious
+child!” said the mother to me, one day, after Blanche was able to sit
+up in bed. She took my hand and grasped it tightly. I saw that she was
+deeply moved. I merely answered:
+
+“With Him are the issues of life.”
+
+“And I have tried to leave all with Him,” she said. “To be willing to
+suffer even that loss, the bare thought of which makes me shudder. But I
+am not equal to the trial, and in mercy He has spared me.”
+
+“He is full of compassion, and gracious. He knows our strength, and will
+not test it beyond the limits of endurance.”
+
+“Doctor,” she said, a light coming into her face, “I have much to say to
+you, but not now. I think you can understand me.”
+
+I merely bowed.
+
+“There is one thing,” she went on, “that I have liked in you from the
+beginning. I am to you a total stranger, and my presence in this house
+is a fact that must awaken many questions in your mind. Yet you have
+shown no restless curiosity, have plied me with no leading questions,
+have left me free to speak, or keep silence. There is a manly courtesy
+about this that accords with my feelings.”
+
+I bowed again, but did not venture upon mere words of compliment.
+
+“I am not sure,” said she, “that my name even is known to you.”
+
+“It is not,” I answered. “You have seemed to avoid any allusion thereto,
+and delicacy forbade my asking.”
+
+“There has been no purposed concealment. My name is Montgomery; and I am
+sister to the late Captain Allen.”
+
+“I had already inferred this relationship.” The remark evidently
+surprised her.
+
+“On what ground could you base such an inference?” she asked, curiously.
+
+“On traditional ground. The history of this old mansion is familiar
+to most persons in S----; and some of the incidents connected with the
+family have too strong a tinge of romance about them to easily pass into
+oblivion. It is well known to us that Captain Allen had an only sister.”
+
+“What is it said became of her?”
+
+“When she was about two years of age her mother carried her off,
+sailing, as was believed, to England, of which country she was a
+native.”
+
+“Is the name of the child preserved in this tradition?”
+
+“Yes. It was Flora.”
+
+“My own name,” she said.
+
+“And in person you are identical.”
+
+“Yes. My mother's early life embraced some dreadful experiences. Her
+father and mother, with two brothers and a younger sister, were all
+murdered by pirates. She alone was spared, and afterwards became the
+wife of a sea captain, who, I fear, was not a man innocent of blood.
+On this point, however, my mother was reserved, almost silent. In the
+course of time she grew so wretched, as the wife of this man, that
+she sent a letter to England, addressed to some remembered relative,
+imploring him to save her from a life that was worse than death. This
+letter fell into the right hands. A cousin was sent out from England,
+and she fled with him. No attempt, as far as we know, was ever made to
+follow and regain her She did not live many years afterwards. I grew
+up among my relatives, ignorant of her history. My memory of her is
+distinct, though she died when I was but eight years old.
+
+“I married, at the age of twenty-six, an officer in the British army,
+one of the younger sons in a titled family, for whom no way in the
+world is opened, except through the church or the battle-field. General
+Montgomery chose the profession of a soldier, not from a love of its
+exciting and fearful concomitants, but because he had no fancy for the
+gown and cassock, and could not be a hypocrite in religion. He went
+quite early to British India, and distinguished himself there by many
+acts of bravery, as well as by his humane and honorable conduct. So
+highly was he regarded by the East India Company, that he was
+selected for most important services, and assigned to posts of great
+responsibility. He was past thirty years of age when I met him, on the
+occasion of one of his visits to England. The attraction was mutual;
+and when he returned to Calcutta, I went with him as his wife. Then
+came twenty years of a happy married life;--happy, I mean, so far as a
+perfect union of souls can make us happy in this world, but miserable,
+at times, through intense anxiety for the absent one exposed to fearful
+perils.
+
+“We had three children.” There was a tremor in the voice of Mrs.
+Montgomery as she referred to her children. “One only remains.” She
+paused, as if to recover herself, and then went on.
+
+“I lost my husband first. Ten years ago, he fell at the post of duty,
+and, while my heart lay crushed and bleeding under the terrible blow, it
+leaped with throbbings of pride, as his honored name went sounding from
+lip to lip, and from land to land. I had not the sad pleasure of being
+with him in that last time. For the sake of our children, I was residing
+in England.
+
+“Troubles rarely come alone. Two years afterwards my oldest son died. My
+home was in the family of General Montgomery, where I was treated with
+great kindness; but as my income was not sufficient for an establishment
+of my own, I felt a sense of obligation that is always oppressive to
+one of my nature. This feeling grew upon me daily, and at last began to
+haunt me like a constantly re-appearing spectre. It is now about
+three years since, in looking over some old letters and papers, I came
+unexpectedly upon a document written by my mother--all the evidence as
+to this was clear--and addressed to myself. How it should have remained
+so long unobserved, and yet in my possession, is one of the mysterious
+things which I do not attempt to explain. There is a Providence in
+all things, even to the most minute, and I simply refer the fact to
+Providence, and leave it there. This document spoke briefly, but with
+no special particularity, of her marriage with a Captain Allen, and
+settlement in this town. It stated that she had two children, a son and
+a daughter, and that in leaving America for England, she had taken her
+daughter, but left the son behind. There was no suggestion as to the
+use to be made of these facts; but there was such a statement of them as
+left their verification, I thought, easy. I turned them over and over
+in my mind, and in the end resolved to gain all accessible information
+touching the present condition of things. To this end, I sent over
+about two years ago, a man of prudence and intelligence, versed in legal
+matters, with instructions to obtain all possible particulars in regard
+to my brother, his family and estate. He brought back word that my
+brother was dead; that he had left no children, and that his widow--if,
+indeed, she were ever his legal wife, which seemed to be doubted--was
+old, in poor health, and verging towards mental imbecility, if not
+insanity. That there was a large and valuable estate, to which I, as
+sister of Captain Allen, was undoubtedly the heir.
+
+“I kept these things, for the time being, to myself, and pondered over
+them in some perplexity as to the best course to take. But from these
+thoughts, my mind was soon turned by the illness of my oldest daughter.
+After a lingering sickness of many weeks, she died. It seemed almost
+impossible to arouse myself from the stunning effects of this blow. It
+crushed me down more than any previous sorrow, for it fell upon a heart
+weakened by pain. It was many months before the discipline of this
+affliction awakened me to thoughts of a higher life. Then I began to
+rise into serener heights--to see as by an interior vision, to believe
+that even our saddest things may fall upon us in mercy.
+
+“Finally, circumstances of which I need not speak, made me resolve to
+leave England, and under legal advice of the highest authority, take
+quiet possession of this estate, which is mine.”
+
+Mrs. Montgomery ceased speaking.
+
+“Perhaps,” she resumed, after a moment, “it may be as well, all things
+considered, that you do not speak of this for the present. I shall,
+as soon as my daughter's full recovery gives me time to enter into the
+subject, place my affairs in the hands of a safe legal agent, in order
+that they may assume due form and order. You can, no doubt, refer me to
+the right individual.”
+
+“I can,” was my reply. “Judge Bigelow, of our town, is the man. I speak
+of him with the utmost confidence.”
+
+“Thank you, Doctor. You lay me under additional obligation,” she said.
+“I will, at an early day consult him.”
+
+Thus closed this deeply interesting interview.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+
+
+I attended Blanche Montgomery through her slow convalescence, and had
+many opportunities for observing her and her mother closely. The more
+intimately I knew them the higher did they rise in my estimation. A
+purer, sweeter, truer-hearted girl than Blanche I had never seen. There
+was an artlessness and innocence about her but rarely met with in young
+ladies of her age. Especially was she free from that worldliness and
+levity which so often mars young maidenhood. Her mind was well stored
+and cultivated, and she was beginning to use her mental treasures in a
+way that interested you, and made you listen with pleased attention when
+she spoke on even common-place subjects. Her manners had in them a grace
+and dignity that was very attractive. As she advanced towards health her
+deportment took on an easy, confiding air, as if she looked upon me as a
+true friend. Her smile, whenever I appeared, broke over her gentle face
+like a gleam of sunshine.
+
+Mrs. Montgomery's manner towards me was distinguished by the same
+frankness that marked her daughter's deportment. The stately air that
+struck me in the beginning I no longer observed. If it existed, my eyes
+saw it differently. At her request, when her mind was sufficiently at
+ease about her daughter to busy itself with the common affairs of life,
+I brought Judge Bigelow to see her, and she placed her business matters
+in his hands. The judge was very much struck with her person and manner,
+and told me the day after his first meeting with her that she came
+nearer to his ideal of a lady than any woman he had ever met; and as
+for the daughter she seemed more like a picture he had once seen than a
+piece of real flesh and blood. I smiled at the Judge's enthusiasm, but
+did not wonder at the impression he had received.
+
+Other characters in our story now claim attention, and we must turn to
+them. After Henry Wallingford had gained the mastery over himself:--the
+struggle was wild, but brief--he resumed his office duties as usual, and
+few noticed any change in him, except that he withdrew even more than
+ever into himself. I met him occasionally, and observed him closely. In
+my eyes there was a marked difference in the aspect of his face. It had
+an expression of patient suffering at times--and again I saw in it a
+most touching sadness.
+
+The dashing nephew of Judge Bigelow offered himself to Squire Floyd's
+daughter in about a week after her rejection of Wallingford's suit,
+and was accepted. I became immediately cognizant of the fact through
+my wife, who had the news from Delia's aunt, Mrs. Dean. A day or two
+afterwards I met her in company with young Dewey, and observed her
+closely. Alas! In my eyes the work of moral retrocession had already
+begun. She was gay and chatty, and her countenance fresh and blooming.
+But I missed something--something the absence of which awakened a sigh
+of regret. Ralph was very lover-like in his deportment, fluttering about
+Delia, complimenting her, and showing her many obtrusive attentions. But
+eyes that were in the habit of looking below the surface of things, saw
+no heart in it all.
+
+Squire Floyd was delighted with his daughter's fine prospects; and he
+and Judge Bigelow drew their heads together over the affair in a cosy
+and confidential way very pleasant to both of them. The Judge was
+eloquent touching his nephew's fine qualities and splendid prospects;
+and congratulated the Squire, time and again, on his daughter's
+fortunate matrimonial speculation. He used the word which was
+significative beyond any thing that entered his imagination.
+
+A few days after the engagement Ralph Dewey returned to New York. The
+wedding-day had not been fixed; but the marriage, as understood by all
+parties, was to take place some time during the next winter.
+
+From that time I noticed a change in Delia. She grew silent in company,
+and had an absent way about her that contrasted strongly with her former
+social disposition. Young people rallied her in the usual style about
+her heart being absent with the beloved one, but I read the signs
+differently. It could not but follow, that a soul, endowed like hers,
+would have misgivings in view of an alliance with one like Ralph
+Dewey. What was there in him to satisfy a true woman's yearnings for
+conjunction with a kindred nature? Nothing! He was all outside as to
+good. A mere selfish, superficial, speculating man of the world. While
+she had a heart capable of the deepest and truest affection. Would he
+make the fitting complement to her life? Alas! No! That were a thing
+impossible.
+
+During the few months that preceded this marriage, I often heard its
+promise discussed by my wife and Mrs. Dean, neither of whom had any
+strong liking for the young New York merchant.
+
+“It's my opinion,” said Mrs. Dean, as she sat with my wife one evening,
+about two months after the engagement had taken place, “that Ralph has
+more froth than substance about him. He really talks, sometimes, as if
+he had the world in a sling and could toss it up among the stars. As far
+as my observation goes, such people flourish only for a season.”
+
+“If Delia were a child of mine,” said my good Constance, in her earnest
+way, “I would a thousand times rather trust her with Henry Wallingford
+than with Ralph Dewey.”
+
+“Yes, and a thousand millions of times,” responded Mrs. Dean. “He is
+a man. You know just what he is, and where he is. But, as for this
+splashing nephew of Judge Bigelow's--who knows what's below the surface?
+Delia's father is all taken up with him, and thinks the match a splendid
+one. Sister don't say much; but I can see that she has her misgivings. I
+can talk to you freely, you know.”
+
+“I don't think,” said I, “that Delia has grown more cheerful since her
+engagement. Brides expectant ought to feel as happy as the day is long.”
+
+“More cheerful? Oh, dear, no! She isn't the same that she was at all;
+but mopes about more than half of her time. It's just my opinion--spoken
+between friends--that she cares, now, a great deal more for Henry than
+she does for Ralph.”
+
+“Do they ever meet?” I inquired.
+
+“Not very often.”
+
+“They have met?”
+
+“Yes, several times.”
+
+“Have you seen them together?”
+
+“Oh, yes.”
+
+“How does she act towards him?”
+
+“Not always the same. Sometimes she is talkative, and sometimes
+reserved--sometimes as gay as a lark, and sometimes sober enough; as
+if there were such a weight on her spirits, that she could not smile
+without an effort.”
+
+“Does the fact of his presence make any change in her?” I inquired.
+“What I mean is, if she were lively in spirits before he came in, would
+she grow serious--or if serious, grow excited?”
+
+“Oh, yes, it always makes a change. I've known her, after being very
+quiet, and hardly having any thing to say, though in the midst of young
+company, grow all at once as merry as a cricket, and laugh and joke in
+a wild sort of way. And again, when she has been in one of her old,
+pleasant states of mind I have noticed that she all at once drew back
+into herself; I could trace the cause to only this--the presence of
+Henry Wallingford. But this doesn't often happen, for he rarely shows
+himself in company.”
+
+“Is there anything noticeable about Henry when they meet?” I asked.
+
+“Not to an ordinary observer,” replied Mrs. Dean. “But I look with
+sharper eyes than most people. Yes, there is something noticeable. He
+always puts himself in her way, but with a kind of forced, resolute
+manner, as if the act were a trial of strength, and involved a stern
+heart-discipline. And this I think, is just the real state of the case.
+He has deliberately and resolutely entered upon the work of unwinding
+from his heart the cord which love his thrown around it in so many
+intertwisted folds. So I read him. To break it by sudden force, would
+leave so many unwound portions behind, that the memory of her might
+sadden the whole of his after-life. And so he is learning to grow
+indifferent towards her. To search in her for such things as repel,
+instead of for those that charm the heart.”
+
+“A dangerous experiment,” said my wife, “for one who has loved so
+deeply.”
+
+“It would be to most men,” I remarked. “But there is stuff about
+Henry--the stuff that strong, persistent, successful men are made of. If
+he has begun this work, he will complete it certainly.”
+
+A few weeks afterwards, I had an opportunity of seeing them together,
+and I improved it to observe them closely. It was in a mixed company
+at the house of Judge Bigelow. Wallingford came in rather late. I
+was conversing with Delia when he entered the room, and we were at an
+interesting point in the subject under consideration. I noticed, all at
+once, a hesitation and confusion of thought, as her eyes rested, with a
+sudden interest, on some object in the room. Glancing around, I saw the
+young man. We went on with our conversation, Delia rallying herself, as
+I could see, with an effort. But she talked no longer from thought, only
+from memory--uttering mere truisms and common-places. She put on more
+animation, and affected a deeper interest; but I was not deceived.
+
+We were still in conversation, when Wallingford joined us. I saw him fix
+his eyes, as they met, searchingly upon her face, and saw her eyes droop
+away from his. He was fully self-possessed; she not at ease. His mind
+was clear; hers in some confusion. I remained some time near them,
+listening to their conversation, and joining in occasionally. Never
+before had I seen him appear so well, nor her to such poor advantage.
+She tried to act a part--he was himself. I noticed, as he led the
+conversation, that he kept away from the esthetic, and held her thought
+in the region of moral causes; that he dwelt on the ends and purposes
+of life, as involving everything. Now and then she essayed a feeble
+argument, or met some of his propositions with light banter. But with
+a word he obliterated the sophism--and with a glance repressed the
+badinage. I think she could never before have so felt the superiority of
+this man, whose pure love--almost worship--she had put aside as a thing
+of light importance; and I think the interview helped him in the work
+upon which he had entered, that of obliterating from his heart all
+traces of her image.
+
+After this interview, they did not draw together again during the
+evening. Delia tried to be gay and indifferent; but he acted himself out
+just as he was. I did not observe that he was more social than usual,
+or that he mingled more than was his wont with the young ladies present.
+For most of the time, he kept, as was usual with him, in company and in
+conversation with his own sex.
+
+I could not but pity Delia Floyd. It was plain to me that she was waking
+up to the sad error she had committed--an error, the consequences of
+which would go with her through life. Very, very far was she from being
+indifferent to Wallingford--that I could plainly see.
+
+During the winter, Ralph came up frequently from New York to visit his
+bride to be. As he was the nephew of Judge Bigelow, he and Wallingford
+were, as a thing of course, thrown often together during these visits.
+It can hardly excite wonder, that Wallingford maintained a reserved
+and distant demeanor towards the young man, steadily repelling all
+familiarity, yet always treating him with such politeness and respect
+that no cause of offence could appear. On the part of Dewey, it may be
+said that he saw little in the grave plodder among dusty law books and
+discolored parchments, that won upon his regard. He looked upon him as
+a young man good enough in his way--a very small way, in his
+estimation--good enough for S----, and small enough for a country town
+lawyer. He would have put on towards him a patronizing air, and tried to
+excite in his mind a nobler ambition than to move in our circumscribed
+sphere, if something in the young man's steady, penetrating,
+half-mysterious eye had not always held him back:
+
+“I never can talk with that young associate or yours, uncle,” he would
+say, now and then, to Judge Bigelow, “and I can't just make him out. Is
+he stupid, or queer?”
+
+The Judge would smile, or laugh quietly to himself, or perhaps answer in
+this wise:
+
+“I think Henry understands himself. Still waters, you know, run deep.”
+
+One day in February, on the occasion of a periodical visit to S----,
+young Dewey called in at Judge Bigelow's office, and finding Wallingford
+alone, sat down and entered into as familiar a talk with him as was
+possible, considering how little they had in common. Ralph had a purpose
+in view, and as soon as he saw, or thought he saw, Wallingford's mind in
+the right mood, said--
+
+“I am going to ask a particular favor, and you must not refuse.”
+
+“If I can serve you in any thing, it will be my pleasure to do so,” was
+the ready answer.
+
+“You know that I am to be married next month?”
+
+“So I have heard,” replied Wallingford.
+
+“You will stand my groomsman? Don't say no!”
+
+He had seen an instant negative in the young man's face.
+
+“Almost any thing else, but not that!” replied Henry, speaking with some
+feeling. He was thrown off his guard by so unexpected a request.
+
+“Come now, my good friend, don't take the matter so much to heart!” said
+Dewey, in a light way. “Plenty of good fish in the sea yet--as good as
+ever were caught. You must forgive the girl for liking me the best.”
+
+“You jest on a grave subject,” said Wallingford, his face growing pale,
+but his eyes, a little dilated, riveting his companion's where he stood.
+
+“No, I am in earnest,” said Dewey, with something in his manner that was
+offensive.
+
+“Jest or earnest, your familiarity is out of place with me,” retorted
+Wallingford, with a sternness of manner, that quickened the flow of bad
+blood in Dewey's heart.
+
+“Oh, you needn't take on airs!” replied the other with a sneer of
+contempt. Then muttering to himself, yet loud enough to be heard,--“I
+didn't suppose the puppy would growl at a familiar pat on the head.”
+
+This was too much for Wallingford. At another time, he might have borne
+it with a manly self-possession. But only an hour before he had met
+Miss Floyd in the street, and the look she then gave him had stirred
+his heart, and left a tinge of shadowy regret on his feelings. He was,
+therefore, in no mood to bear trifling, much less insult. Scarcely
+had the offensive words passed Dewey's lips, when a blow in the face
+staggered him back against the wall. Instantly recovering himself,
+he sprang towards Wallingford in blind rage, and struck at him with a
+savage energy; but the latter stepped aside, and let his assailant come,
+with stunning force, against the wall at the other side of the office,
+when he fell to the floor.
+
+At this instant, Judge Bigelow came in.
+
+“Henry! Ralph!” he exclaimed--“what is the meaning of this?”
+
+“Your nephew insulted me, and in the heat of anger I struck him in the
+face. In attempting to return that blow, he missed his aim, and fell
+against the wall, as you see.”
+
+Wallingford spoke without excitement, but in a stern, resolute way. By
+this time, Dewey was on his feet again. The sight of his uncle, and
+the unflinching aspect of the person he had ventured to insult, had the
+effect to cool off his excitement many degrees.
+
+“What is the meaning of this, young men?” sternly repeated Judge
+Bigelow, looking from one to the other.
+
+“I have answered your question as far as I am concerned,” replied Henry.
+
+“Ralph! Speak! Did you offer him an insult?”
+
+To this demand, the nephew replied, with no abatement of his originally
+offensive manner--
+
+“If he chooses to consider my words as an insult, let him do so. I shall
+in no case take them back.”
+
+“What did you say?”
+
+There was an imperative force in the Judge's manner.
+
+Dewey was silent.
+
+“What did he say,”--Judge Bigelow turned to Wallingford, “that you
+should answer it with a blow?”
+
+“If he is satisfied with the answer,” replied the latter, “the case can
+rest where it is. If not, I am ready to meet him on any appeal. I He
+will find me no trifler.”
+
+The Judge turned again to his nephew.
+
+“Ralph! I insist upon having this matter explained. I know Henry too
+well to believe that he would strike you, unless there had been strong
+provocation.”
+
+“Perhaps he regarded it as such; I did not,” said Dewey.
+
+“If he is satisfied with his chastisement, there is no occasion to press
+him farther, Judge.” Wallingford was provoked to this by the young man's
+cool impertinence.
+
+Dewey made a movement as if about to rush upon Wallingford, but the
+Judge interposed his body to keep them apart. The appearance of a fourth
+party at this juncture, in the person of Squire Floyd, the prospective
+father-in-law of one of the belligerents, changed materially the aspect
+of affairs.
+
+“Good-morning, Squire,” said Wallingford, with a quickly assumed
+cheerfulness of manner, smiling in his usual grave way.
+
+Both the Judge and his nephew saw reason to imitate the example of
+Wallingford, and thus throw up a blind before the eyes of Squire
+Floyd, who thought he perceived something wrong as he came in, but was
+afterwards inclined to doubt the evidence of his senses.
+
+Wallingford retired in a few moments. When he came back to the office an
+hour afterwards, he found a note of apology on his table, accompanied
+by a request that so unpleasant an incident as the one which had just
+occurred, might be suffered to pass into oblivion. No acknowledgment of
+this communication was made by the young lawyer. He felt the strongest
+kind of repugnance towards Dewey, and could not gain his own consent to
+have any intercourse with him. His position, as an associate with
+Judge Bigelow, occasionally brought him in contact with his nephew, who
+recognized him always in a respectful manner. But Wallingford held him
+ever coldly at a distance.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+
+
+The marriage of Delia Floyd was an event in our quiet town. It was
+celebrated at the house of her father, in the presence of a large
+company, who were invited to witness the ceremony, and take part in
+the attendant festivities. The match was regarded generally as a most
+desirable one for the young lady; and there was more than one mother
+present who envied the good fortune which had given such a son-in-law to
+Mrs. Floyd. I heard many snatches of conversation, half aside, in which
+marvelous things were related, or suggested, touching the bridegroom's
+fortune and the splendid home he had prepared for his bride. He was
+looked upon as a prospective millionaire, and imagination pictured Delia
+as the jeweled mistress of a palace home. Few seemed to think of any
+thing beyond the promised worldly advantage.
+
+“I am glad that your daughter has married so well.”
+
+“Let me congratulate you, Squire Floyd, on this splendid match.”
+
+“It is not often, Mrs. Floyd, that a mother sees her daughter go forth
+into the world with such brilliant prospects.”
+
+“You have all that your heart can desire, so far as Delia is concerned,
+Mrs. Floyd.”
+
+“You are the envy of mothers.”
+
+And so I heard the changes rung on all sides of me, and from the lips of
+people who might have looked deeper if they had taken the trouble to use
+their eyes.
+
+To me, the wedding was full of sad suggestions. It was one of those
+social self-sacrifices, as common now as then, in which the victim
+goes self-impelled to the altar, and lays upon its consuming fires the
+richest dower of womanhood.
+
+I listened to the vows that were made on this occasion, and felt a low
+thrill of repulsion as words of such solemn import trembled on the air,
+for too well I knew that a union of souls in a true marriage, such as
+Delia Floyd might consummate, was impossible here. Could she be happy
+in this marriage? I gave to my own question an emphatic “No!” She might
+have a gay, brilliant, exciting life; but to that deep peace which is
+given to loving hearts, and which, in hours of isolation and loneliness,
+she would desire with an irrepressible longing, she must forever be a
+stranger.
+
+I looked into her beautiful young face as she stood receiving the
+congratulations of friends, and felt as I had never felt before on such
+an occasion. Instinctively my thought ran questioning along the future.
+But no hopeful answer was returned. How was she to advance in that
+inner-life development through which the true woman is perfected? I
+pushed the question aside. It was too painful. Had she been one of
+the great company of almost soulless women--if I may use such strong
+language--who pass, yearly, through legal forms into the mere semblance
+of a marriage, I might have looked on with indifference, for then, the
+realization would, in all probability, be equal to the promise. But
+Delia Floyd was of a different spiritual organization. She had higher
+capabilities and nobler aspirations; and if the one found no true sphere
+of development, while the other was doomed to beat its wings vainly
+amid the lower atmospheres of life, was happiness in the case even a
+possibility?
+
+Among the guests was Wallingford. It was six months, almost to a day,
+since the dearest hope in life he had ever cherished went suddenly out,
+and left him, for a season, in the darkness of despair. I did not expect
+to see him on this occasion; and there was another, I think, who as
+little anticipated his presence--I mean the bride. But he had shared in
+the invitations, and came up to witness the sacrifice. To see, what a
+few months before was to him the most precious thing in life, pass into
+the full possession of another. Had not the fine gold grown dim in his
+eyes? It had--dim with the tarnish that better natures receive when they
+consent to dwell with inferior spirits, and breathe in an atmosphere
+loaded with earthly exhalations. It would have been the highest delight
+of his life to have ascended with her into the pure regions, where
+thought builds tabernacles and establishes its dwelling-places. To have
+walked onward, side by side, in a dear life companionship, towards the
+goal of eternal spiritual oneness. But she had willed it otherwise; and
+now he had come, resolutely, to bear the pain of a final sundering of
+all bonds, that his soul might free itself from her soul completely and
+forever.
+
+I first noticed him as the bridal party entered the room, and took their
+places in front of the clergyman who was to officiate on the occasion.
+He occupied a position that gave him a clear view of Delia's face, while
+he was removed from general observation. Almost from the commencement to
+the ending of the ceremony his gaze rested on her countenance. His head
+was thrown a little forward, his brows slightly contracted, his lips
+firmly set, and his eyes fixed as if the object upon which he was gazing
+held him by an irresistible fascination. I was so much interested in him
+that I scarcely looked at the bride during the ceremony. At last, the
+minister, in conclusion, announced the twain to be husband and wife.
+I saw Wallingford give a slight start as if a tensely strung chord of
+feeling had been jarred. A moment more and the spell was broken!
+Every lineament of his countenance showed this. The stern aspect gave
+way--light trembled over the softening features--the body stood more
+erect as if a great pressure had been removed.
+
+I noticed that he did not hold back in the excitement of congratulation
+that followed the ceremony. I was near him when he took the hand of
+Delia, and heard him say--not--“I congratulate you”--but “May your life
+be a happy one.” The tone was earnest and feeling, such as a brother
+might use to a beloved sister. I held that tone long afterwards in my
+memory, studying its signification. It had in it nothing of regret, or
+pain, or sadness, as if he were losing something, but simply expressed
+the regard and tender interest of a sincere well wisher. And so that
+great trial was at an end for him. He had struggled manfully with a
+great enemy to his peace, and this was his hour of triumph.
+
+With the bride's state of mind, as read in external signs, I was far
+from being satisfied. Marriage, in any case, to one who thinks and
+feels, is a thing of serious import; and even the habitually thoughtless
+can hardly take its solemn vows upon their lips without falling into a
+sober mood. We are, therefore, not surprised to see emotion put on signs
+of pain--like April showers that weep away into sunshine. But in Delia's
+face I saw something that went deeper than all this.
+
+“There is no one here,” said I, taking her hand, and holding it tightly
+in mine, “who wishes you well in the future more sincerely than I do.”
+
+“I know it, Doctor,” she answered, returning the warm grasp I gave her.
+Her eyes rested steadily in mine, and saw a shadow in them.
+
+“We are sorry to lose you from S----. Indeed we cannot afford to lose
+you.”
+
+“She is wanted,” spoke up her young husband a little proudly, “to grace
+a wider and more brilliant sphere of life.”
+
+“It is not the brilliant sphere that is always the happiest,” said I.
+“Life's truest pleasures come oftener to quiet home circles even among
+the lowly, than to gilded palaces where fortune's favorites reside.”
+
+“It is not to external condition,” the bride remarked, “that we are to
+look for happiness.” I thought her voice had in it a pensive tone, as if
+she were not wholly satisfied with the brilliant promise that lay before
+her. “You know, Doctor, we have talked that over more than once in our
+lives.”
+
+“Yes, Delia; and it is a truth which we ought never to forget--one that
+I trust you and your husband will lay up in your hearts.”
+
+I turned to the young man desiring my admonition to reach him also.
+
+“Perhaps I might differ something from this sage conclusion,” he
+answered a little flippantly. “As far as I can see, the external
+condition has a great deal to do with our happiness. I am very sure,
+that if I were situated as some people are whom I know, I would be
+miserable. So you see, Doctor, I have my doubts touching this theory of
+yours and Delia's.”
+
+“Time, I think, will demonstrate its truth,” I said, in a graver tone,
+and turned from them to give place to those who could talk in a lighter
+strain than was possible for me on the occasion.
+
+During the evening I saw Wallingford more than once in conversation with
+the bride; but only when she happened to be a little separated from her
+husband, towards whom his manner was coldly polite. The two young men,
+after the scene in Judge Bigelow's office, only kept up, for the sake of
+others, the shadow of acquaintanceship. Between them there was a strong
+mutual repulsion which neither sought to overcome.
+
+As I remarked I saw Wallingford more than once in conversation with the
+bride. But nothing in his manner indicated any sentiment beyond that of
+friendship. He was polite, cheerful, and at his ease. But it was
+different with her. She was not at her ease in his company, and yet,
+I could see that his attention was grateful--even pleasant.
+
+The augury was not good. As I read the signs, Delia Floyd, when she
+passed from maidenhood to wifehood, departed from the path that led
+to happiness in this world. And I said to myself as I pondered her
+future--“May the disappointments and sorrows that are almost sure to
+come, turn her feet aside into the right way at last!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+
+
+On the day following, the young husband bore his bride away to grace
+the prouder home that awaited her in New York; and affairs in our town
+settled themselves down into the old routine.
+
+During the few months that have passed since the opening of our story,
+the only matter that has occurred, of any interest to the reader, at
+the Allen House, is the fact that Judge Bigelow has undertaken the
+management of Mrs. Montgomery's affairs, and the establishment of her
+claim to the possession, as only heir, of the whole of Captain Allen's
+property. Some legal difficulties, bearing upon her identification as
+his sister, were in the way; and in the effort to remove these, there
+had been considerable correspondence with persons in England.
+
+The first fact to be clearly proved was the solemnization of a marriage
+between Mrs. Montgomery's mother and the elder Captain Allen. Next, the
+identity of Mrs. Montgomery as her child. No marriage certificate, nor
+any record of the fact, as to the exact time and place, were known to
+be in existence; and without them, or evidence of a very conclusive
+character, the title of Mrs. Montgomery could not be clearly
+established.
+
+This, Judge Bigelow stated to her in the beginning; but, up to this
+time, no such evidence had been found.
+
+Mrs. Montgomery's health was not good, and as she required occasional
+medical aid, my visits to the Allen House were continued. The more
+intimately I came to know this lady, the higher did she rise in my
+esteem. She united strength of mind with clearness of perception: and
+decision of character with prudence and justice. She had, likewise, a
+depth and tenderness of feeling that often exhibited itself in beautiful
+incidents. The dignity of manner, which at first seemed touched with
+hauteur, now only gave grace to her fine proportions.
+
+She had, from the beginning, spoken to me without reserve of her
+affairs, in which I naturally took deep interest. One day she said:--
+
+“Doctor, I wish to get your opinion in regard to an individual whom
+Judge Bigelow proposes to send out to England for me on important
+business. He is a young man, associated with him, as I understand it,
+professionally.
+
+“Mr. Wallingford, you mean?”
+
+“Yes, that is the name, I believe. Do you know him?”
+
+“Very well.”
+
+“Is he prudent, intelligent, and reliable?”
+
+“I think so.”
+
+“You only think so, Doctor?”
+
+“I can speak in stronger terms. As far as one can know another, I am
+ready to say that _he is_ prudent, intelligent, and reliable. If I had
+important business to transact at a distant point, and needed a trusty
+agent, I would select him before any other man in S----.”
+
+“I wish no better testimony, Doctor, and am glad to know that I can
+procure an agent so well qualified.”
+
+“Have you seen him?” I inquired.
+
+“No. But Judge Bigelow is to bring him here today, in order that I may
+see and converse with him.”
+
+“You will find him,” said I, “a young man of few words and unobtrusive
+manners--but solid as a rock. I have seen him under circumstances
+calculated to test the character of any man.”
+
+“What are the circumstances, if you are free to speak of them?” asked
+Mrs. Montgomery. “We get always a truer estimate of a man, when we
+see him in some great battle of life; for then, his real qualities and
+resources become apparent.”
+
+I thought for a little while before answering. It did not seem just
+right to draw aside the veil that strangers' eyes might look upon a
+life-passage such as was written in Wallingford's Book of Memory. The
+brief but fierce struggle was over with him; and he was moving steadily
+onward, sadder, no doubt, for the experience, and wiser, no doubt.
+But the secret was his own, and I felt that no one ought to meddle
+therewith. Still, a relation of the fact, showing how deeply the man
+could feel, and how strong he was in self-mastery, could not but raise
+him in the estimation of Mrs. Montgomery, and increase her confidence.
+
+“It is hardly fair,” said I, “to bring up the circumstances of a man's
+life over which he has drawn a veil; and which are sacred to himself
+alone. In this case, however, with the end of enabling you more fully to
+know the person you think of sending abroad on an important service,
+I will relate an occurrence that cannot fail to awaken in your mind an
+interest for the young man, such as we always feel for those who have
+passed through deep suffering.”
+
+Blanche was sitting by her mother. Indeed, the two were almost
+inseparable companions. It was a rare thing to find them apart. I saw
+her face kindle with an earnest curiosity.
+
+“Judge Bigelow's nephew was married, recently,” I said.
+
+“So the Judge informed me. He spoke very warmly of his nephew, who is a
+merchant in New York, I think he said.”
+
+“He is a partner in a mercantile firm there. The bride was Squire
+Floyd's daughter; a very superior girl--lovely in character, attractive
+in person, and, mentally, well cultivated. I have always regarded her as
+the flower of our town.”
+
+“The young man had good taste, it seems,” Mrs. Montgomery remarked.
+
+“Better than the young lady showed in taking him for a husband,” said I.
+
+“Ah? Then your opinion of him is not so favorable.”
+
+“He was not worthy of her, if I possess any skill in reading character.
+But there was one worthy of her, and deeply attached to her at the same
+time.”
+
+“This young Wallingford, of whom we were speaking?”
+
+“The same.”
+
+“But she didn't fancy him?”
+
+“She did fancy him. But--”
+
+“Was not able to resist the attractions of a New York merchant, when put
+in opposition to those of a humble country lawyer?”
+
+“The truth lies about there. She took the showy effigy of a man, in
+place of the real man.”
+
+“A sad mistake. But it is made every day,” said Mrs. Montgomery, “and
+will continue to be made. Alas for the blindness and folly that lead so
+many into paths that terminate in barren deserts, or wildernesses where
+the soul is lost! And so our young friend has been crossed in love.”
+
+“The experience is deeper than usual,” said I. Then I related, with some
+particularity, the facts in the case, already known to the reader.
+Both the mother and daughter listened with deep attention. After I had
+finished my story, Mrs. Montgomery said,
+
+“He possesses will and strength of character, that is plain; but I can't
+say that I just like the deliberate process of _un_loving, if I may use
+the word, which you have described. There is something too cold-blooded
+about it for me. Like the oak, bent under the pressure of a fierce
+storm, he comes up erect too soon.”
+
+I smiled at her view of the case, and answered,
+
+“You look upon it as a woman, I as a man. To me, there is a certain
+moral grandeur in the way he has disenthralled himself from fetters that
+could not remain, without a life-long disability.”
+
+“Oh, no doubt it was the wisest course,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
+
+“And may we not look among the wisest men, for the best and most
+reliable?” I queried.
+
+“Among those who are truly wise,” she said, her voice giving emphasis to
+the word _truly_.
+
+“What is it to be truly wise?”
+
+“All true wisdom,” she answered, “as it appertains to the affairs of
+this life, has its foundation in a just regard for others; for, in the
+degree that we are just to others, are we just to ourselves.”
+
+“And is not the converse of your proposition true also? In the degree
+that we are just to ourselves, are we not just to others?”
+
+“Undoubtedly. Each individual bears to common society, the same relation
+that a member, organ, or fibre, does to the human body, of which it
+makes a part. And as no member, organ, or fibre of the body, can injure
+itself without injuring the whole man; so no individual can do wrong
+to himself, without a consequent wrong to others. Each has duties
+to perform for the good of common society, and any self-inflicted or
+self-permitted disabilities that hinder the right performance of these
+duties, involve a moral wrong.”
+
+“Then the case is very clear for my friend Wallingford,” said I. “He is
+a wise man in your sense of the word--wise, in resolutely putting away
+from his mind the image of one who, if she had been worthy of him, would
+have taken her place proudly by his side; but, proving herself unworthy,
+could never afterward be to him more than a friend or stringer. He could
+not hold her image in his heart, and fondly regard it, without sin; for
+was she not to be the bride of another? Nor without suffering loss of
+mental power, and life-purpose, and thus injuring others trough neglect
+of duty. It was acting wisely, then, for him to come up, manfully, to
+the work of drawing back his misplaced affections, and getting them
+again fully into his own possession. And he has done the work, if I read
+the signs aright. All honor to his manhood!”
+
+“He has, I see, a warm advocate in you, Doctor,” said Mrs. Montgomery,
+again smiling. “Still, in an affair of the heart, where so much was
+involved, as seemed to be in his case, we can hardly fancy such a
+matter-of-fact, business-like proceeding as you have described. He might
+well have been forgiven, if he had shown more weakness of character, and
+acted even a little unreasonably. I will yield to no one in my regard
+for manly firmness and self-control, for bravery and endurance; and
+I have seen these qualities put to some of the severest tests. But
+in matters of the heart, I must own that I like to see a man show his
+weakness. Your Mr. Wallingford is too cool and calculating for me. But
+this is irrelevant to our consideration of his qualities as a business
+agent. For this purpose, I am satisfied that he is fitted in all things
+essential.”
+
+“And that is quite as far as we need go,” said I.
+
+“The business in hand,” said Mrs. Montgomery, resuming the conversation
+after a pause, “is of great importance to me, and may require not only
+a visit to England, but also to the West Indies. Unless evidence of my
+mother's marriage can be found, there will be, as you know, considerable
+difficulty in establishing my full right to inherit my brother's
+property. And my identity as the sister of the late Captain Allen must
+also be proved. By the will of my father, which is on record, he
+left all of his property to my brother. He, as far as is known, died
+intestate. As next of kin, I am the legal heir; but the proof is yet
+wanting. My mother's cousin, a Colonel Willoughby, of whom we have
+before spoken, came over from England, on the strength of some vague
+rumors that reached the family from Jamaica, and was successful in
+discovering the only survivor of his uncle's family. She saw it best to
+abandon her husband, as you know. My purpose in sending an agent, versed
+in legal matters, and used to weighing evidence, is to have such papers
+of Colonel Willoughby's as the family possess and will submit for
+examination, carefully searched, in the hope that some record may be
+found in his hand-writing, sufficiently clear to establish the fact that
+my mother was the wife of the elder Captain Allen. So important an event
+as that of searching out my mother, and inducing her to flee from her
+husband, could hardly have taken place, it seems to me, without evidence
+of the fact being preserved. And my hope is, that this evidence, if it
+can be found, will prove of great value. So you see, Doctor, that I have
+good reasons for wishing to know well the agent who goes abroad with a
+matter so vital as this in his hands.”
+
+I admitted the importance of a thoroughly reliable man to go upon this
+mission, and repeated my faith in Wallingford.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+
+
+I saw Mrs. Montgomery a few days afterwards, and inquired if she
+had seen the young associate of Judge Bigelow. She replied in the
+affirmative.
+
+“How does he impress you?” I asked.
+
+“Favorably, upon the whole; though,” she added with one of her meaning
+smiles, “I can't help thinking all the time about the cool, calculating,
+resolute way in which he went about disentangling himself from an
+unfortunate love affair. I look at his calm face, over which you rarely
+see a ripple of feeling go, and ask myself, sometimes, if a heart really
+beats within his bosom.”
+
+“There does; a true, large, manly heart, full of deep feeling; you may
+be sure of this, madam,” I answered, with some warmth.
+
+“I will not gainsay your words, Doctor. I trust for his sake that it may
+be so.”
+
+“Leaving out the heart matter, and regarding him only as to his fitness
+for the work in hand, you are favorably impressed?”
+
+“Quite so. I find him quick of apprehension, intelligent, and of
+sufficient gravity of deportment to ensure a respectful attention
+wherever he may go. He made one suggestion that ought to have occurred
+to me, and upon which I am acting. As no will has been found, it has
+been assumed that Captain Allen died intestate. Mr. Wallingford suggests
+that a will may have been executed; and that a thorough search be made
+in order to discover if one exists. In consequence of this suggestion,
+Blanche and I have been hard at work for two days, prying into drawers,
+examining old papers, and looking into all conceivable, and I had almost
+said inconceivable places.”
+
+“And if you were to find a will?” said I, looking into her earnest face.
+
+“The question would be that much nearer to a solution.”
+
+“Is it at all probable that it would be in your favor?”
+
+I saw her start at the query, while her brows closed slightly, as if
+from a sudden pain. She looked at me steadily for a few moments, without
+speaking; then, after a long inspiration, she said:
+
+“Whether in my favor or not, any disposition that he has made of his
+property, in law and right, must, of course, stand good.”
+
+“You might contest such a will, if not in your favor.”
+
+She shook her head, compressed her lips firmly, and said:
+
+“No. I should not contest the will. My belief was, when I came here,
+that he died without making a bequest of any kind, and that his property
+would go, in consequence, to the heir-at-law. This was the information
+that I received. If it should prove otherwise, I shall make no
+opposition.”
+
+“Do you intend, under this view, continuing the search for a will?”
+
+Something in the tone of voice touched her unpleasantly. I saw the light
+in her eyes glow intenser, and her lips arch.
+
+“Why not?” she asked, looking at me steadily. I could have given another
+meaning to my question from the one I intended to convey, had it so
+pleased me, and thus avoided a probable offence. But I wished to see a
+little deeper into the quality of her mind, and so used the probe that
+was in my hand.
+
+“If you find a will, devising the property out of your line, all your
+present prospects are at an end,” said I.
+
+“I know it.”
+
+Her voice was firm as well as emphatic.
+
+“Then why not take the other horn of this dilemma? Give up searching for
+a will that can hardly be in your favor, and go on to prove your title
+through consanguinity.”
+
+“And thus shut my eyes to the probable rights of others, in order to
+secure a personal advantage? Do you think I would do this, Doctor? If
+so, you have mistaken me.”
+
+There was a tone of regret in her voice.
+
+“Pardon me,” I replied. “The suggestion was natural under the
+circumstances, and I gave it utterance.”
+
+“Were you in my place, would you give up the search here?”
+
+She fixed on me a penetrating look.
+
+The probe had changed hands.
+
+“It is difficult,” I answered, “for us to say what we would do if we
+were to change places with another. In my experience, it is easy to see
+what is right for our neighbor, but very difficult to see the right way
+for ourselves, when under the allurement of some personal advantage.”
+
+“Would it be right in me to give up the search?”
+
+“I think not.”
+
+My answer was without hesitation.
+
+“And I will not,” she said, firmly. “If my brother has devised his
+property, I have only to know the terms of his will. If it is against
+me, well. I shall not oppose its operation.”
+
+“It sometimes happens,” I suggested, “that a testator is manifestly
+out of his right mind as to the direction given to his property, and
+bequeaths it in a manner so evidently unwise and improper, that both
+justice and humanity are served in the act of setting aside the will.
+And it might prove so in this case.”
+
+“I know not how that may be,” Mrs. Montgomery answered, soberly, yet
+firmly. “But this I do know”--she spoke resolutely--“God helping me, I
+will not stain my hands with gold that, in any legal right, belongs to
+another. What is clearly mine, I will take and use as it is my right
+and duty. But I must be certain that it is mine. If there is no will, I
+am clear as to who is the owner of this estate; if there is a will, and
+I and mine are not included in its provisions, I will step aside. First,
+however, the obligation to search for a will is imperative; and I shall
+continue it until clearly satisfied that no such document exists.”
+
+What a womanly dignity there was in Mrs. Montgomery as she said this,
+drawing her tall form up to its full height in speaking--not proudly,
+but with conscious integrity!
+
+“What is right is always best.” I made the remark as well approvingly as
+in expression of an immutable truth.
+
+“Always, always,” she replied, with earnestness. “There is no blinder
+folly than that of grasping a present worldly good, at the expense of
+violated justice. Whoever does so, comes out that far wrong in the end.
+There is only one way that leads to peace of mind: the way of honor and
+right. All other ways, no matter into what rich harvest fields they may
+lead in the beginning, terminate in wretchedness. There never has been,
+and never will be, any exception to this rule. We see its operation
+daily, turn our eyes whatsoever way we choose. And God forbid that I
+should deliberately enter the way that leads to ultimate unhappiness!
+Self-denial in the present is better than gnawing regret in the future.
+The good things of this world prove to be curses instead of blessings,
+unless the mind be rightly adjusted for their enjoyment. And such a
+right adjustment is impossible where the very fact of their possession
+involves a moral wrong. I see this so clearly, Doctor, that I shudder
+inwardly at the bare imagination of committing such a wrong.”
+
+“It is by trial that God proves us,” said I, “and may He bring you out
+of this one, should the trial come, as gold from the refiner's furnace!”
+
+“Amen!” was her solemnly uttered response; “if it should come, may I be
+found strong enough to do the right!”
+
+For over a week this search for a will was continued, until it was
+clear to all concerned that no such document was in existence. Then
+preparation was made for the visit to England, in search of evidence
+bearing upon the identity of Mrs. Montgomery as the sister of Captain
+Allen. Two or three months elapsed, however, before Mr. Wallingford
+could so arrange his business as to be absent for the length of time
+it might take to complete his mission. He sailed for England in June,
+between three and four months after the marriage of Delia Floyd. He
+called to see me on the day before leaving, and I had a brief but
+pleasant talk with him. He was in good health and good spirits, and
+anticipated a successful visit.
+
+“I shall gain,” he remarked, “in two ways by this trip. Professionally
+and intellectually. I have had many a dream of that land of our
+forefathers--England--now to be realized. I shall see London, walk its
+streets, and linger amid its historic places. Don't smile at this
+almost boyish enthusiasm, Doctor. London has always been the Mecca of my
+desires.”
+
+I had never seen him so animated. A higher life seemed flowing in his
+veins. His countenance had a brighter aspect than usual, and his head
+an erecter carriage. There was a depth of meaning in his eyes never
+observed before--a look as if some new born hope were lending its
+inspiration to his soul. Altogether manlier was his aspect and bearing
+than I had ever seen it.
+
+“God speed your mission,” said I, as I shook hands with him in parting.
+
+“If it depends on human agency, directed with earnestness, patience, and
+will, my mission will have a prosperous result,” he replied. “It is to
+be my first entirely self-reliant experience, and I think the discipline
+of mind it will involve must strengthen me for higher professional work
+than any in which I have yet been engaged. You are aware, Doctor, that
+my heart is in my profession.”
+
+“So I have seen from the beginning.”
+
+“I will not deny,” he added, “that I have ambition. That I wish to be
+distinguished at the bar.”
+
+“An honorable ambition,” said I.
+
+“Nor that, sometimes--in moments of weakness, perhaps--my dreams
+have gone higher. But I am a very young man, and youth is ardent and
+imaginative,” he added.
+
+“And you have this great advantage,” I replied, “that, with every year
+added to your life, you may, if you will, grow wiser and stronger. You
+stand, as all young minds, at the bottom of a ladder. The height to
+which you climb will depend upon your strength and endurance.”
+
+“If we both live long enough, Doctor, you may see me on the topmost
+rundle, for I shall climb with unwearying effort.”
+
+He spoke with a fine enthusiasm, that lent a manly beauty to his face.
+
+“Climb on,” I answered, “and you will rise high above the great mass,
+who are aimless and indolent. But you will have competitors, few, but
+vigorous and tireless. In the contest for position that you must wage
+with these, all your powers will be taxed; and if you reach the
+topmost rundle to which you aspire, success will be, indeed, a proud
+achievement.”
+
+“I have the will, the ambition, the courage, and the endurance, Doctor,”
+ was his reply. “So, if I fail, the fault will lie here,” and he touched,
+significantly, his forehead.
+
+“For lack of brains?” said I, smiling.
+
+“Yes. The defect will lie there,” he answered, smiling in return.
+
+“Brains are remarkable for latent capacity. If stimulated, they develop
+new powers, and this almost without limit. All they want is to be well
+supplied with the right kind of food, and well worked at the same time.”
+
+“I believe that, Doctor, and find vast encouragement in the thought,”
+ and Wallingford laughed pleasantly.
+
+Our parting words were growing voluminous. So we shook hands again,
+repeated our mutual good wishes, and separated. In the afternoon he
+started for Boston, from whence he sailed, on the next day, for England.
+
+This was towards the latter end of June. He was to write to Mrs.
+Montgomery immediately on his arrival out, and again as soon as he had
+obtained an interview with the Willoughby family. Early in August,
+she received his first letter, which was brief, simply announcing his
+arrival at Liverpool.
+
+About three weeks after the coming of this letter, I received a note
+from Mrs. Montgomery asking me to call. On meeting her, I noticed
+something in her manner that struck me as unusual. She did not smile, as
+was her wont, when we met, her countenance retaining its usual serious
+expression. I thought she looked paler, and just a little troubled.
+
+“Thank you for calling so promptly, Doctor,” she said. “I am afraid you
+will think me troublesome. But you have always shown a kindly interest
+in me, though a stranger; and have proved, in all cases, a sound
+adviser.”
+
+I bowed, and she continued:
+
+“I have a second letter from Mr. Wallingford. He has, he writes,
+been well received by my relatives, who had placed in his hands,
+for examination, a large quantity of papers that belonged to Colonel
+Willoughby.”
+
+“If they contain any evidence in the right direction, he will be sure to
+find it,” said I.
+
+“No doubt of that. But”--I thought her voice faltered a little--“the
+question is solved, and he may return.”
+
+“Solved! How?” I asked quickly.
+
+“I have found the will.”
+
+“What?”
+
+“I have found the will,” she repeated, in a steady tone, “and that
+solves the question.”
+
+“Is it in your favor?” I asked, and then held my breath for a reply. It
+came in a firmly uttered--
+
+“No.”
+
+We looked steadily into each other's face for several moments.
+
+“In whose favor?”
+
+“In favor of Theresa Garcia his wife,” she replied.
+
+“But she is dead,” I answered quickly.
+
+“True--but I am not his heir.”
+
+She said this resolutely.
+
+“She died childless,” said I, “and will not the descent stop with
+her?--the property reverting to you, as next of kin to Captain Allen?”
+
+“She may have relatives--a brother or sister,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
+
+“That is scarcely probable,” I objected.
+
+“It is possible; and in order to ascertain the fact, all right means
+ought to, and must be, taken.”
+
+“Where did you find the will?” I inquired.
+
+“Blanche was examining a small drawer in an old secretary, when she
+accidentally pressed her hand against one side, which yielded. She
+pressed harder, lad it continued to yield, until it was pushed back
+several inches. On withdrawing this pressure, the side returned to its
+place. She then tried to see how far it could be forced in. As soon
+as it had passed a certain point, a secret drawer, set in vertically,
+sprung up, and from the side, which fell open, the will dropped out.”
+
+“It is singular,” said I, “that it should come to light just at this
+time.”
+
+“It is Providential, no doubt,” Mrs. Montgomery remarked.
+
+“What course will you pursue?” I inquired.
+
+“My first step will be to recall Mr. Wallingford.”
+
+“I must take the liberty of a friend, and object to that,” said I.
+
+“On what ground?”
+
+“This will may be worth the paper on which it is written, and no more.
+If the legatee have no relatives, you stand just where you stood before,
+and will require the evidence as to identity for which Mr. Wallingford
+is now in search. Oh, no, Mrs. Montgomery; he must not be recalled.”
+
+The lady mused for a little while, and then said--
+
+“Perhaps you are right, Doctor.”
+
+“I am sure of it,” I replied, speaking earnestly. “This will, if we
+find it, on examination, to be an instrument executed according to
+legal forms, puts your rights in jeopardy, though by no means sets them
+aside.”
+
+“You take the correct view, no doubt,” was her reply to this. Her voice
+was not so firm as in the beginning. As the probabilities began to show
+themselves again in her favor, she lost a degree of self-possession.
+
+“Let Mr. Wallingford complete his work,” said I, “and find, if possible,
+the evidence you require, in case you prove to be the legal heir, as I
+trust you will. And until his return, the existence of this important
+document had better remain a secret.”
+
+“Shall I not submit it to Judge Bigelow?”
+
+I reflected for some moments, and then replied--
+
+“Yes. He is your legal adviser, and one in whom the highest confidence
+may be reposed. The will should be at once placed in his hands for
+examination.”
+
+“And go upon record?”
+
+“Better leave all to his superior legal judgment. But,” as the thought
+occurred to me, “who are named as the executors of this will?”
+
+“I did not examine as to that, being too much interested in the
+provisions of the writing,” she replied.
+
+“May I see the document?”
+
+“Blanche, dear, you will find it in the right-hand drawer of the
+secretary, in our room;” and Mrs. Montgomery handed a key to her
+daughter, who left the apartment in which we were sitting. She came back
+in a few minutes, and handed me a paper, which, on examination, I found
+to be written throughout, and evidently by the hand of Captain Allen. It
+was dated San Juan de Porto Rico, January 10, 1820, and was witnessed by
+two signatures--the names Spanish. The executors were Judge Bigelow and
+Squire Floyd. There was an important sentence at the conclusion of the
+will. It was in these words:--“In case my wife, in dying, should leave
+no relatives, then every thing shall revert to my own right heirs,
+should any be living.”
+
+All this gave the affair, in my mind, a more serious aspect. Before
+mentioning the executors' names, I said--
+
+“Do you know where Theresa Garcia resided, before her marriage with
+Captain Allen?”
+
+“In Porto Rico, as I have learned from old 'Aunty,' and also from
+letters found in searching for the will.”
+
+“Which I find was executed at San Juan De Porto Rico, the principal town
+on the island. Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd are the executors.”
+
+I saw her start slightly, and grow a little pale as I said this.
+
+“Judge Bigelow, and Squire Floyd! That is extraordinary!” She was more
+disturbed than I had yet seen her in reference to this matter.
+
+“It is remarkable, certainly, that Judge Bigelow, your legal adviser,
+should be one of the executors of a will, which determines your
+brother's estate out of the line of consanguinity.”
+
+“He must, of course, cease to represent my interest in the case,”
+ remarked the lady.
+
+“He cannot represent two diverse interests,” said I.
+
+“No; that is clear.” She said this in a troubled way; and was,
+evidently, falling into a perplexed state of mind. “Well, Doctor, what
+is to be done?” She spoke with recovered self-possession, after a short
+period of silence, looking at me with her old calmness of expression.
+
+I took some moments for reflection, and then said,
+
+“My advice is, to keep your own counsel, and wait until Mr. Wallingford
+returns from England. Whenever you place this document in the hands of
+Judge Bigelow, he must go over to the adverse interest; when you will
+be compelled to seek another legal adviser. You are not just ready for
+this; nor will be until after your agent comes back with the result of
+his investigations. No wrong to any one can possibly occur from letting
+things remain just as they are for a few months.”
+
+“I think your view of the matter correct, Doctor,” was her reply. “And
+yet, to keep this secret, even for an hour, when I have no right to its
+possession, touches my conscience. Is it just? This will is not in my
+favor. It does not even recognize my existence. It devises property,
+of large value, in another line; and there may be heirs ready to take
+possession, the moment its existence is made known to them. Am I not
+intermeddling, unjustly, in the affairs of another?”
+
+“But for you,” I replied, “this will might never have seen the light. If
+heirs exist, they can, therefore, have no just reason for complaint at
+the brief delay to which, under the circumstances, you are, in
+common justice, entitled. Your conscience may be over sensitive, Mrs.
+Montgomery.”
+
+“I would rather it were over sensitive than obtuse,” she said. “Worldly
+possessions are desirable. They give us many advantages. We all desire
+and cling to them. But they are dearly bought at the price of heavenly
+possessions. What will it profit a man if he gain the whole world and
+lose his own soul? Nothing! It were better for him to die like Lazarus.
+No, Doctor, I am resolved in this matter to be simply just. If, in
+justice and right, this estate comes into my hands, I will take the
+wealth thankfully and use it as wisely as I can. But I will not throw
+a single straw in the way of its passing to the legal heirs of my
+brother's wife, if any are in existence and can be found.”
+
+“But you will keep this secret until Mr. Wallingford's return?” I urged.
+
+“I do not see that wrong to any one can follow such a delay,” she
+answered. “Yes, I will keep the secret.”
+
+“And I will keep it also, even from my good Constance,” said I, “until
+your agent's return. The matter lies sacred between us.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+
+
+“Mrs. Dewey is at her father's,” said my wife to me, one evening in
+August, as we sat at the tea-table.
+
+“Ah! have you seen her?” I was interested at once. Six months had
+elapsed since Delia's wedding, and this was her first visit home; though
+her mother had been twice down to New York, in company with the Squire,
+who had business with the firm to which Ralph belonged. In fact, since
+his marriage to Squire Floyd's daughter, young Dewey had prevailed upon
+his father-in-law to make the house of Floyd, Lawson, Lee & Co., agents
+for the entire product of his manufactory--an arrangement which the
+Squire regarded as greatly to his advantage.
+
+My question was answered in the affirmative.
+
+“How is she?”
+
+“Looking very well.”
+
+There was no warmth or feeling in my wife's voice or manner, although
+Delia had been a favorite with her, and we had often talked about the
+pleasure we should have in meeting her again.
+
+“Have you nothing more to say of our young friend?” I asked.
+
+“She is very much changed.”
+
+“For the better?”
+
+“Some might think so. I do not.” There was a disappointed manner about
+my wife.
+
+“In what respect is she changed?”
+
+“Some would say that she had grown handsome; and, in truth, her
+countenance strikes you, at first, as much improved. It is rounded to a
+fuller outline, and has a style about it, caught, I suppose, from city
+life and feeling. But she carries her head with a statelier air than is
+becoming Squire Floyd's daughter; and I am very sure, that, as the wife
+of Ralph Dewey, she has acquired no special consequence. Rich jewelry
+may be very well in city drawing-rooms, and public assemblages, where
+dress is made conspicuous. But to sport diamond ear-rings and breastpin,
+splendid enough for a countess, in her father's little parlor, and
+before the eyes of friends who loved her once for herself alone, savored
+so strongly of weak pride and vanity, that I could not look upon her
+with any of my old feelings. It was Delia Floyd no longer. Already,
+the pure, sweet, artless maiden, had changed into a woman of the world,
+dressed up for show. Ah, my husband! if this is the effect of city life,
+let me never breathe its tainted atmosphere.”
+
+And she dropped her eyes, with a sigh, and sat, lost in thought, for
+several moments.
+
+“Your account of Delia pains me,” said I. “Is the case indeed so bad?”
+
+“It is. Alas! the fine gold is dimmed. Our sweet young friend has
+strayed from the paths of nature, and will never, I fear, get back
+again.”
+
+“Had you any conversation with her?” I inquired.
+
+“Yes: or, rather I listened to her, as she ran on about her city life;
+the grand people with whom, she had already become acquainted; and the
+splendor of balls, parties, soirees, and operas. I grew sober as she
+talked: for not one true womanly sentiment fell from her lips. She did
+not express interest in any of her new friends and acquaintances for
+the good qualities they possessed; but spoke of their wealth, style of
+living, social connections, and other attractions wholly external to the
+individual. She was even eloquent over star actresses and opera singers;
+one or two of whom she spoke of having met at the house of a fashionable
+friend.”
+
+“How true the old adage, that evil communications corrupt good manners!”
+ said I.
+
+“There must be some radical weakness in a case of such sudden
+deterioration as this,” replied my wife. “Some latent vanity and love of
+the world. I cannot believe that one sensible young woman in ten would
+be spoiled to the degree that Delia is spoiled, if you passed her
+through like temptations.”
+
+I saw Delia myself, on the next day. She was dressed in New York, not in
+S----, style; and so, naturally, appeared to disadvantage in my eyes.
+I found her very bright and animated; and to my questions as to her
+new city life, she spoke warmly of its attractions. At times, in the
+intervals of exciting talk, her countenance would fall into its true
+expression, as nearly all countenances will when thought ceases to be
+active--that expression, in which you see, as in a mirror, the actual
+state of mind. It revealed far more than came into her consciousness at
+the time, else would she have covered it with one of the rippling smiles
+she had already learned to throw, like a spangled veil, over her face.
+
+Mrs. Dewey spent nearly a month in S----and then went back with her
+husband to New York. I saw them several times together during this
+period. He had grown more pompous in manner, and talked in a larger way.
+Our little town was simply contemptible in his eyes, and he was at no
+pains to conceal his opinion. New York was everything; and a New York
+merchant of passable standing, able to put two or three towns like
+S----in his breeches pocket.
+
+The only interest I felt in this conceited young man was as the husband
+of my young friend; and as touching their relation to each other, I
+observed both of them very closely. It did not take me long to discover
+that there was no true bond of love between them. The little fond
+attentions that we look for in a husband of only six months' standing;
+and the tender reciprocations which are sure to follow, were all wanting
+here. Constance spoke of this, and I answered, lightly, to cover the
+regret the fact occasioned--
+
+“It is not fashionable in good society, you know, for husband and wife
+to show any interest in each other.”
+
+She laid her hand suddenly upon my arm, and looked lovingly into my
+face.
+
+“May we never make a part of good society, then!”
+
+I kissed her pure lips, and answered,
+
+“There is no present prospect of it, my Constance. I am not ambitious of
+social distinction. Still, our trial in this direction may come, for you
+know that I am not without ambition professionally. A chair in one of
+the medical schools might tempt me to an Atlantic city.”
+
+Constance smiled, as she still rested her hand upon my arm. Then looking
+from my face to our little ones, two of whom were playing on the floor,
+while the third slept like a vision of innocence in the cradle, she
+said:--
+
+“I shall not need the glitter of diamonds--these are my jewels.”
+
+Turn your eyes away, good society reader, lest they be offended at sight
+of a husband's kiss. Could I do less than breathe my tender love upon
+her lips again?
+
+“And richer jewels were never worn in the diadem of a queen,” said I.
+“As a mother, woman attains her highest glory.”
+
+“As wife and mother,” Constance answered quickly. And now she leaned
+against me, and I drew my arm tenderly around her.
+
+“And all this,” she said, “a good society woman must give up; and for
+what? God help them in the time of life's bitter trials and painful
+experience, which all must endure in some degree!” She spoke with strong
+feeling. “On what arm can a woman lean, who has no husband in the true
+sense? Is she strong enough, standing alone, for life's great battles?
+What has she to sustain her, when all the external support, received
+from pride, is swept away? Alas! Alas! Is there a blinder folly than the
+pageantry of fashionable society? It is the stage on a grander scale,
+glittering, gorgeous, fascinating to the senses--but all a mere
+show, back from which the actors retire, each with an individual
+consciousness, and the sad words pressing to tremulous lips--'The heart
+knoweth its own bitterness.'”
+
+Like ourselves, most of Delia's best friends were disappointed, and when
+she returned to New York, no hearts followed her with tender interest,
+except those of her own family. She had carried herself with an air
+of too much self-consequence; or, if she came down to the level of
+old friends and companions, it was with too evident a feeling of
+condescension.
+
+I happened to fall into the company of Squire Floyd and Judge Bigelow,
+not very long after the return of Delia and her husband to New York.
+The conversation turned upon business, and I learned that the Squire had
+thought of enlarging his mill, and introducing steam--the water power
+being only sufficient for its present productive capacity. Judge
+Bigelow was very much interested, I found, in the particular branch of
+manufacture in which his neighbor was engaged, and inclined to embark
+some capital with him in the proposed extension of the works. They
+frequently quoted the Judge's nephew, Mr. Ralph Dewey, as to the extent
+to which goods could be put into market by the house of Floyd, Lawson,
+Lee & Co., who possessed, it was conceded, almost unlimited facilities.
+
+I listened to their conversation, which involved plans of enlargement,
+statistics of trade, home and foreign production, capital, and the
+like, until I began to feel that I was moving in a narrow sphere, and
+destined, in comparison with them, to occupy a very small space on the
+world. And I will confess it, a shade of dissatisfaction crept over my
+heart.
+
+A few months later I learned that my two neighbors were jointly
+interested in the mill, and that early in the ensuing spring steam-power
+would be introduced, and the capacity of the works increased to more
+than double their present range.
+
+It was December when Wallingford returned from England. He brought
+back with him all the evidence required to prove the identity of Mrs.
+Montgomery. Up to this time only three persons knew of the existence of
+a will--Mrs. Montgomery, Blanche, and myself; and we formed a council on
+the question of what was now to be done. I gave it as my opinion, that,
+as Judge Bigelow was one of the executors, and must in consequence cease
+to act for Mrs. Montgomery, that we had better call in Mr. Wallingford,
+and get his view of the case before placing the will in Judge Bigelow's
+hands. The mother and daughter agreed with me. So a time of meeting was
+appointed, and a note sent to the young lawyer desiring his presence
+at the house of Mrs. Montgomery. He seemed very much gratified at the
+successful result of his visit to England, and referred to it with
+something of pardonable pride in his manner.
+
+“We have every reason,” said Mrs. Montgomery, in response to this, “to
+be satisfied with the manner in which you have executed an important
+mission. Since you left America, however, a document has come into my
+hands, which, had it reached me earlier, would have saved you a long and
+tedious search among mouldy and moth-eaten papers. It was nothing less
+than Captain Allen's will.”
+
+And she gave him the paper. He looked surprised, and for a moment or two
+bewildered. Then opening the will, he read it through rapidly. I saw the
+color leave his face as he progressed, and his hand move nervously.
+It was plain that his mind took in, at a grasp, the entire series of
+consequences which the appearance of this document involved.
+
+“This is a serious matter,” he said, looking up at Mrs. Montgomery.
+
+“It is,” she answered, calmly. “The will appears to be in legal form.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And must go into the hands of those who are named as executors.”
+
+“And be by them entered in the office of probate,” added Wallingford.
+
+“I would have placed it in their hands immediately on its discovery, but
+have, acting under advice from my kind friend here, waited until your
+return from England. No interest has suffered, I presume, by this
+delay?”
+
+“None.”
+
+Wallingford bent his eyes to the floor, and sat for some time as if
+half-confounded by the discovery.
+
+“What step will the executors probably take?” I inquired.
+
+“It will be their duty to assume possession of the estate, and hold it
+for the heirs of Mrs. Allen, if any are in existence,” he replied.
+
+“And it will be their duty to take all proper means for discovering
+these heirs?” said I.
+
+“Yes. That follows, of course.”
+
+“And if none are found within a reasonable time?” I asked.
+
+“The phrase, a reasonable time, is very indeterminate,” said
+Wallingford. “It may include one, or ten years, according to the facts
+in the case, the views of the executors and the courts.”
+
+“But, finally?”
+
+“Finally,” he answered, “if no heirs come forward to claim the estate,
+it will revert to the old line of descent through the blood relations of
+Captain Allen.”
+
+“And come into the possession of Mrs. Montgomery?”
+
+“Yes, if the courts are satisfied with the evidence which can be
+presented in her favor.”
+
+There followed a long silence, which Mrs. Montgomery was first to break.
+
+“I believe,” she said, firmly, “that I am prepared for the final issue
+of this matter, whatever it may be. I shall still require legal advice,
+Mr. Wallingford.”
+
+The young man bowed assent.
+
+“And, as Judge Bigelow is one of the executors--”
+
+“I do not think, madam,” said Wallingford, interrupting her, “that the
+fact of his executorship will make him any the less a safe adviser for
+you. He is a man of the highest integrity of character, clear-seeing,
+and of impartial judgment.”
+
+“I believe in his judgment and integrity,” she replied. “Still, I do not
+think it well to have these two interests represented by the same man.
+You are his associate, if I understand correctly the relation between
+you.”
+
+“I am, in a certain sense.”
+
+“Do you have a share in all of his business?”
+
+“Not in all.”
+
+“So he can be independent of you in any special case if he deems it
+desirable.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And this is also true as regards yourself?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then, Mr. Wallingford, I shall consult you, individually, in future.”
+
+He bowed low in acquiescence.
+
+“And let me say to you, once for all, that I want only my rights, if I
+have any, protected. I do not wish any impediments thrown in the way
+of a proper search for the heirs of Mrs. Allen; but desire to see the
+fullest notice given, and in channels by which it is most likely to
+reach them. At the same time, it is but just to me and mine that all
+right steps should be taken to protect my interests, in case no heirs
+should be found. And I have faith in you, Mr. Wallingford.”
+
+“You shall never have cause to regret your confidence, madam,” he
+replied, in a tone so full of manly integrity, that I could not but gaze
+upon his fine countenance with a feeling of admiration.
+
+“Will you place this will in the hands of Judge Bigelow?” asked Mrs.
+Montgomery.
+
+“It will be best for you to do that yourself, madam,” replied
+Wallingford.
+
+“I will be guided by your judgment in the case, sir. This very day I
+will send him a note asking an interview.”
+
+“After that, madam,” said Wallingford, rising, “I will be at your
+service.”
+
+We retired together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+
+
+Both Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd were discreet men, and did not, at
+the outset of their executorship, do more in the way of giving publicity
+to the fact, than probating the will, and entering into bonds for the
+faithful performance of the trust. For the present they decided to let
+Mrs. Montgomery remain in occupancy of the old mansion, and she accepted
+this concession in her favor.
+
+The property left by Captain Allen was large. The grounds upon which the
+old house stood, embraced nearly twenty acres, and as the town had grown
+in that direction, its value might now be estimated by the foot, instead
+of the acre, as houses had grown up on all sides. Moreover, the stream
+of water upon which the mill of Squire Floyd stood, ran through these
+grounds, in a series of picturesque rapids, giving a fall of over twenty
+feet. The value of this property, including a mill site, was estimated
+at sixty thousand dollars. Then there were twenty thousand dollars in
+stock of the County Bank, the interest of which Mrs. Allen had drawn
+since the death of her husband, regularly, as administratrix of the
+estate. Besides this property, there were several pieces of unimproved
+land in and around the town, the value of which could not fall much
+below twenty thousand dollars. In addition to all this, was a coffee
+estate on the island of Porto Rico. But as to its extent, or value, no
+evidence appeared. It might now be richly productive, or a mere tropical
+wilderness. If productive, no evidence of any return since Captain
+Allen's death appeared.
+
+The winter passed without any apparent movement on the part of the
+executors looking to the discovery of Mrs. Allen's heirs. Young Dewey
+came up from New York every few weeks, to hold business interviews with
+his uncle and Squire Floyd, touching the mill-extension which was
+fully determined upon; Judge Bigelow agreeing to invest twenty thousand
+dollars, and the nephew ten thousand. All these matters were talked of
+in the beginning, freely, before Wallingford, who still had his office
+with his old preceptor, and shared in his business. After a while, he
+noticed a growing reserve on the part of Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd,
+when he was by, touching their private affairs; and then they ceased
+entirely all reference thereto.
+
+Dewey came up as frequently as usual, but avoided any remark in relation
+to business while in the presence of Wallingford. During his stay in
+S----, the Judge spent but little time at the office; being, for the
+most part, at the mill with his nephew and the Squire.
+
+In the spring, a large force of men was set to work on the extension of
+Squire Floyd's mill; and as Judge Bigelow had become largely interested
+in the new enterprise, he gave a great deal more attention to what was
+going on in that direction, than to the business of his office, the
+heaviest part of which devolved upon Mr. Wallingford. Still, no steps
+were taken to discover the heirs of Mrs. Allen. Once or twice Mr.
+Wallingford had approached the subject, but the Judge made no response.
+At last, he put the question direct, as to what had been done. The Judge
+seemed a little annoyed; but said, in a hurried way that was unusual
+with him,
+
+“I must, and will attend to this matter immediately. I have had so much
+on my mind that it has been neglected.”
+
+But the spring months passed--summer glided by--and still there was
+no advertisement for heirs, nor any steps taken, so far as Wallingford
+could learn, to ascertain their existence.
+
+Mrs. Montgomery still occupied the old mansion, waiting patiently the
+issue whatever it might be. Her health, I regretted to find, was not
+firm. She suffered a great deal from nervous debility; and I saw,
+plainly, that she had failed considerably during the past few months.
+Blanche, on the contrary, after recovering from the illness which
+followed immediately on her arrival in S----, had continued in excellent
+health; and was growing daily more matured and womanly both as to mental
+development and personal bearing.
+
+The mill improvements went on all summer, exciting no little interest
+in our town, and occasioning no small amount of talk and speculation.
+It was some time in the fall of that year, that I was permitted to hear
+this brief conversation between a couple of townsmen. Mr. A----had made
+some query as to the source of all the money expended on the new mill of
+Squire Floyd, which was now standing forth, under roof, in most
+imposing proportions, compared with the old works. Mr. B----shrugged his
+shoulders, and replied,
+
+“Floyd and the Judge are joint executors of old Allen's estate, you
+know.”
+
+“What does that signify?” inquired Mr. A----.
+
+“It may signify a great deal. They have trust funds in their possession
+to a large amount, I am told.”
+
+“They are both honorable men, and would not violate their trust,” said
+A----.
+
+“I will not gainsay that,” answered Mr. B----. “Still, they may use
+these funds temporarily, and wrong no one.”
+
+Nothing more was said in my presence, but I turned their remarks over
+and over again, feeling less satisfied the more I pondered them. A day
+or two afterwards I met Mr. Wallingford, and said to him,
+
+“How comes on the search for the heirs of the Allen estate?”
+
+The question caused him to look grave.
+
+“No progress has been made, so far as I can learn,” he answered.
+
+“Isn't this indifference on the part of the executors a little
+extraordinary?” I remarked.
+
+“I must confess that I do not understand it,” said the young lawyer.
+
+“There is personal, as well as real estate?”
+
+“Yes. Stocks worth twenty thousand dollars.”
+
+“I have heard it suggested, that trust funds in the case are going into
+Squire Floyd's mill.”
+
+Wallingford started at the suggestion, and looked for some moments
+intently in my face; then dropped his eyes, and stood lost in thought a
+good while.
+
+“Where did you hear the suggestion?” he at length inquired.
+
+I repeated the conversation just mentioned, and named the individuals
+with whom it had occurred.
+
+“And now, Henry,” said I, “put this hint, and the singular neglect of
+the executors to search for the heirs to the Allen property, together,
+and tell me how the matter shapes itself in your mind. We speak
+confidentially with each other, of course.”
+
+“I don't just like the appearance of it, that is all I can say, Doctor,”
+ he replied in a half absent manner.
+
+“As you represent the interests of Mrs. Montgomery,” said I, “is it not
+your duty to look a little closer into this matter?”
+
+“It is; and I shall give it immediate attention.”
+
+He did so, and to his surprise, found that all the bank stock had been
+sold, and transferred. It was now plain to him where at least a part
+of the funds being so liberally expended on the mill property of Squire
+Floyd came from. On venturing to make some inquiries of Judge Bigelow
+bearing on the subject, that individual showed an unusual degree of
+irritation, and intimated, in terms not to be misunderstood, that he
+thought himself competent to manage any business he might undertake, and
+did not feel disposed to tolerate any intermeddling.
+
+From that time, Wallingford saw that a separation from his old preceptor
+was inevitable; and he so shaped events, that in less than three months
+he made the separation easy and natural, and took an office to himself
+alone.
+
+Still there was no movement on the part of the executors in regard
+to the valuable estate in their hands. Summer and fall passed, and
+Christmas saw the splendid improvements of Squire Floyd completed,
+and the new mill in operation, under the vigorous power of steam. The
+product thus secured was almost fabulous in the eyes of the half asleep
+and awake people of S----, many of whom could hardly imagine people
+enough in the country to consume the miles of cloth that came streaming
+out from the rattling looms. And yet, we were informed, that more than
+quadruple this product could be sold by the extensive house of Floyd,
+Lawson, Lee, & Co.; and that all that stood in the way of creating a
+magnificent fortune out of cotton bales, was the lack of productive
+facilities.
+
+During this winter I saw more than usual of Mrs. Dewey. She came up
+from New York with her nurse and child, a babe not quite a year old, and
+spent over six weeks with her parents. She had lost, in the two years
+which had passed since her marriage, nearly all those beautiful traits
+of character which made her once so charming. Fashionable city life
+seemed to have spoiled her altogether. Her mind had not grown in the
+right direction. She had wholly abandoned that tasteful reading through
+which intellectual refinement comes; and to all appearance, no longer
+cared for anything beyond the mere sensuous. Nothing in S----had
+any interest for her; and she scarcely took the pains to conceal her
+contempt for certain sincere and worthy people, who felt called upon,
+for the sake of her parents, to show her some attention. She was not
+happy, of course. When in repose; I noticed a discontented look on her
+face. Her eyes had lost that clear, innocent, almost child-like beauty
+of expression, that once made you gaze into them; and now had a cold,
+absent, or eagerly longing expression, as if her thought were straining
+itself forward towards some coveted good.
+
+Her conversation was almost always within the range of New York
+fashionable themes; and barren of any food upon which the mind could
+grow. There was not even the pretence of affection between her and her
+husband. The fairest specimen of well bred indifference I had yet seen
+was exhibited in their conduct to each other. Their babe did not seem
+to be a matter of much account either. Delia took no personal care of it
+whatever--leaving all this to the nurse.
+
+It happened one day that I was called in to see the child. I found it
+suffering from some of the ill effects of difficult dentition, and
+did what the case required. There was an old friend of Delia's at the
+house--a young lady who had been much attached to her, and who still
+retained a degree of her old friendship. They were talking together in
+a pleasant, familiar way, when I came down stairs from my visit to the
+sick child--the mother had not shown sufficient interest in the little
+sufferer to attend me to the nurse's room. A word or two of almost
+careless inquiry was made;--I had scarcely answered the mother's
+queries, when her friend said, in a laughing way, looking from the
+window at the same time,
+
+“There, Delia! see what you escaped.”
+
+I turned my eyes in the same direction, and saw Mr. Wallingford walking
+past, on the opposite side of the street, with his head bent down. His
+step was slow, but firm, and his air and carriage manly.
+
+Delia shrugged her shoulders, and drew up the corners of her lips. There
+was an expression very much like contempt on her face.--But she did
+not make any reply. I saw this expression gradually fade away, and her
+countenance grow sober. Her friend did not pursue the banter, and the
+subject dropped.
+
+What she had escaped! It was a dark day in the calendar of her life,
+when she made that escape; and I think there must have been times when
+a consciousness of this fact pressed upon her soul like a suffocating
+nightmare.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+
+
+Spring opened again, and the days glided swiftly on towards summer; and
+yet, so far as the movements of the executors could be traced, nothing
+had been done in the work of searching for the heirs. One day, early in
+June, Mrs. Montgomery sent for Mr. Wallingford. On attending her, she
+placed in his hands a communication which she had just received. It was
+from the executors, giving notice in a kind and respectful way, that,
+for the interest of the legal heirs, and their own security, it would be
+necessary for them to assume full possession of the mansion and grounds,
+unless she felt willing to pay a rental that was equivalent to the
+interest on their value.
+
+“I have expected this,” said the lady; “and, so far from considering
+myself aggrieved, feel grateful that a quiet residence here has been so
+long accorded me.”
+
+“You will remove?”
+
+“There is no other course left. My income will not justify a rent of
+some three thousand dollars.”
+
+“As the property is unproductive, no such rent as that will be
+required.”
+
+“The letter says, 'a rental equivalent to the interest on their value.'”
+
+“I will see Judge Bigelow this morning, and ascertain precisely what
+views are held in regard to this matter.”
+
+They were sitting near one of the parlor windows that looked out upon
+the portion of the grounds that sloped away towards the stream, that
+threw its white folds of water from one rocky ledge to another
+in graceful undulations. As Mr. Wallingford ceased speaking, Mrs.
+Montgomery turned her head quickly and looked out. The sound of voices
+had reached her ears. Three men had entered the grounds, and were
+passing the window at a short distance.
+
+“Who are they?” asked Mr. Wallingford. Then, answering his own question,
+he said, “Oh, I see; Judge Bigelow, Squire Floyd, and Ralph Dewey, his
+son-in-law.”
+
+The three men, after going a few hundred rods in the direction of the
+stream, turned and stood for some minutes looking at the house,
+and talking earnestly. Dewey appeared to have the most to say, and
+gesticulated quite freely. Then they moved on to that portion of the
+stream where the water went gliding down the mimic rapids, and remained
+there for a considerable time. It was plain that some scheme was in
+their heads, for they took measurement by pacing off the grounds in
+various directions; drew together in close conference at times; then
+separated, each making some examination for himself; and again stood in
+close deliberation. At last, as if satisfied with their investigations,
+they returned by way of the mansion, and passed out without calling.
+
+“Put that and that together, and there is a meaning in this procedure
+beyond the simple rental of the place,” said Wallingford.
+
+“What is your inference?” asked Mrs. Montgomery.
+
+“I have made none as yet,” he replied. “But I will see Judge Bigelow,
+and have some talk with him. Of course, I can have nothing to say,
+adverse to a requirement of rent. Executors are responsible for the
+right use of property in their hands, and must see that it produces an
+interest, if in a position to pay anything. You do not, of course, wish
+to occupy the whole of these grounds. It may be, that the use of the
+house, garden, lawn, and appurtenances, may be secured at a moderate
+rent. If so, do you wish to remain?”
+
+“I would prefer remaining here, if the rent is within a certain sum.”
+
+“Say three hundred dollars?”
+
+“Yes. If not beyond that sum, I will remain,” replied Mrs. Montgomery.
+
+The interview which Mr. Wallingford held with Judge Bigelow a few hours
+afterwards, was not satisfactory. The proposition to let Mrs. Montgomery
+and her daughter occupy the house, separate from the extensive grounds,
+would not be entertained. It finally came out, that an offer to purchase
+had been made by the firm of Floyd, Lawson, Lee, & Co., with a view to
+the erection of extensive mills, and that the executors were going
+to ask the Court for power to sell, as a handsome sum could now be
+obtained. It further came out, that in case this power was granted,
+Mr. Dewey was to reside in S----, to superintend the erection of these
+mills, and afterwards to join Squire Floyd in the management of both
+establishments--a consolidation of interests between the mercantile and
+manufacturing branches being about to take place. The old mansion was
+to undergo a thorough revision, and become the domicile of the resident
+partner.
+
+With these plans in view, the executors insisted upon the removal of
+Mrs. Montgomery; and notice as to time was given, which included three
+months. Formal application was made to the Court having power in the
+case, for authority to sell and re-invest. The reasons for so doing were
+set forth in detail, and involved plausible arguments in favor of the
+heirs whenever they should be found.
+
+Mr. Wallingford had personal reasons for not wishing to oppose this
+application. The executors had been his friends from boyhood. Especially
+towards Judge Bigelow did he entertain sentiments of deep gratitude
+for his many favors and kindnesses. But his duty, as counsel to Mrs.
+Montgomery, left him no alternative. She was heir prospective to this
+property, and he did not believe that the plans in view were best for
+her interests, in case no other heir was found. So, he went before the
+Court, and opposed the prayer of the executors. In doing so, he gained
+their ill-will, but did not succeed in preventing a decree authorizing a
+sale of the property. Dewey was present, a deeply interested listener to
+the arguments that were advanced on both sides. After the decision, as
+Wallingford was passing from the court-room, Dewey, who stood near the
+door, talking with a gentleman, said, loud enough for the young lawyer
+to hear him.
+
+“The hound! He got on the wrong scent that time!”
+
+A feeling of indignation stirred in Wallingford's bosom; but he
+repressed the bitter feeling, and moved on without giving any intimation
+that the offensive remark had reached him.
+
+As soon as this decree, authorizing a sale of the property, was made,
+Mrs. Montgomery began to make preparation for removal. At first she
+seemed inclined to favor a return to England; but after repeated
+conferences with Mr. Wallingford, she finally concluded to remain in
+this country.
+
+Nearly three years had woven their many colored web of events, since
+Mrs. Montgomery had dropped down suddenly among us like a being
+from cloudland. The friendly relation established between us in the
+beginning, had continued, growing more and more intimate. My good
+Constance found in her a woman after her own heart.
+
+“The days I spend at the Allen House,” she would often say to me, “are
+days to be remembered. I meet with no one who lives in so pure and
+tranquil an atmosphere as Mrs. Montgomery. An hour with her lifts me
+above the petty cares and selfish struggles of this life, and fills my
+mind with longings after those higher things into which all must rise
+before that peace comes to the soul which passeth all understanding.
+I return home from these interviews, happier in mind, and stronger for
+life's duties. I do not know any term that so clearly expresses my idea
+of this lady, as Christian philosopher.”
+
+Occasionally Mrs. Montgomery would pay us a visit; and these also were
+times treasured up in my wife's remembrance. I always observed a certain
+elevation of feeling, a calmer spirit, and a more loving sphere about
+her after one of these pleasant seasons.
+
+The daughter came very often. Our children loved her almost as much as
+they did their mother, and she seemed as happy with them, as if they
+were her own flesh and blood. Agnes, our oldest, now in her eighth year,
+almost lived at the Allen House. Blanche never came without taking her
+home with her, and often kept her for two or three days at a time.
+
+Blanche had developed into a young woman of almost queenly beauty; yet
+her manners retained the easy grace and truthfulness of a child. She did
+not seem conscious of her remarkable personal attractions, nor of the
+admiration her presence always extorted. No one could meet her, as
+a stranger, without feeling that she stood removed from ordinary
+contact--a being of superior mould with whom familiarity was
+presumption.
+
+The companion of such a mother, who had with tender solicitude, from
+childhood upwards, guarded all the avenues of her mind, lest false
+principles or false views of things should find entrance; and as
+carefully selected her mental food, in order that there might be health
+of mind as well as health of body--it was not surprising to find about
+her a solidity and strength of character, that showed itself beneath the
+sweet grace of her external life, whenever occasion for their exhibition
+arose. From her mother she had imbibed a deep religious sentiment; but
+this did not manifest itself so much in language, as in dutiful acts.
+I had often occasion to notice, how, almost instinctively, she referred
+all things to a superintending Providence; and looked into the future,
+veiled as it is to all eyes, with a confidence that every thing would
+come out right, beautiful to contemplate. What she meant by right,
+was something more than is usually included in the words; for she had
+learned from her wise teacher, that God's providence disposes the things
+of this world for every individual in a way that serves best his eternal
+interests; therefore, what was best in this sense, could not fail to be
+right.
+
+To our deep regret, Mrs. Montgomery decided to change the place of her
+residence from S----to Boston. All the reasons that led her to this
+decision, I was not able to discover. Her life at the Allen House had
+been quite secluded. She had been courteous to all the people with whom
+she was brought into any degree of contact, and had reciprocated all
+friendly visits; but there was a certain distance between her and them,
+that it seemed impossible for either to pass over. One of my inferences
+was, that, in removing from the retired old mansion, and taking a modern
+house, she would stand out more prominently before all eyes than was
+agreeable to her. Be this as it may, she was in earnest about removing
+to Boston.
+
+I happened to be present when the announcement of this purposed removal
+was made to Mr. Wallingford. He had called in, during one of my visits
+to Mrs. Montgomery, for the transaction of some business.
+
+“To Boston?” he said, in a tone of surprise, and, I thought,
+disappointment. At the same time I saw his eyes turned towards Blanche.
+
+“Yes; I think it will be best,” she replied. “If I have any interests
+here, I feel that they are safe in your hands, Mr. Wallingford.”
+
+She leaned a little towards him, and I thought her voice had in it a
+softer tone than usual. Her eyes looked steadily into his face.
+
+“I will do all that is right, madam.” He spoke a little lower than
+usual.
+
+“And the right is always the best in any case, Mr. Wallingford,” said
+she with feeling.
+
+“How soon do you think of removing?” the young man inquired.
+
+“In three or four weeks.”
+
+“So soon.”
+
+Again I noticed that his eyes wandered towards Blanche, who sat close to
+her mother, with her face bent down and turned partly away.
+
+“There is no reason why we should linger in S----, after all things are
+ready for removal. It would have suited my feelings and habits of mind
+to have remained here; but as this cannot be, I prefer going to Boston
+on more than one account.”
+
+“You will leave behind you many sincere friends,” said Wallingford.
+
+There was more feeling in his voice than usually showed itself; and I
+again observed that Mrs. Montgomery, in responding to the remark, fixed
+her eyes upon him steadily, and with, I thought, a look of more than
+usual interest.
+
+The few weeks of preparation glided swiftly away, and then we parted
+from friends who had won their way into our own hearts; and whose memory
+would ever be to us like the fragrance of holy incense. I learned from
+Mrs. Montgomery, before she left us, during a more confidential talk
+than usual, that her income was comparatively small, and that the
+chief part of this, a pension from Government in acknowledgment of her
+husband's services, would cease at her death. There was a momentary
+failure in her voice as she said this, and her eyes turned with the
+instinct of love towards Blanche.
+
+At her desire, Mr. Wallingford attended them to Boston, and remained
+away for three or four days. He then returned to S----, bringing with
+him kind words from the absent ones. The old routine of life went on
+again, each of us taking up the daily duty; yet I think there was not
+one of the favored few who had known Mrs. Montgomery and her daughter
+intimately, that was not stronger to do right in every trial for the
+memory of these true-hearted strangers--no, friends!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+
+
+It was in October when Mrs. Montgomery, after a residence of three years
+in the Allen House, went from among us. Old “Aunty,” and another
+colored servant who had lived with Mrs. Allen, remained in charge of the
+mansion. There was, of course, no removal of furniture, as that belonged
+to the estate. Mrs. Montgomery had brought with her three servants from
+England, a coachman, footman, and maid. The footman was sent back after
+he had been a year in the country; but the coachman and maid still lived
+with her, and accompanied her to Boston.
+
+The large schemes of men ambitious for gain, will not suffer them to
+linger by the way. Ralph Dewey had set his mind on getting possession,
+jointly with others, of the valuable Allen property; and as the Court
+had granted a decree of sale, he urged upon his father-in-law and uncle
+an early day for its consummation. They were in heart, honorable men,
+but they had embarked in grand enterprises with at least one dishonest
+compeer, and were carried forward by an impulse which they had not the
+courage or force of character to resist. They thought that spring would
+be the best time to offer the property for sale; but Dewey urged the
+fall as more consonant with their views, and so the sale was fixed for
+the first day of November. Notice was given in the country papers,
+and Dewey engaged to see that the proposed sale was duly advertised in
+Boston and New York. He managed, however, to omit that part of his duty.
+
+On the day of sale, quite a company of curious people assembled at the
+Allen House, but when the property was offered, only a single bid was
+offered. That came from Dewey, as the representative of Floyd, Lawson,
+Lee & Co., and it was awarded to them for the sum of thirty-five
+thousand dollars, a little more than half its real value.
+
+From that time until spring opened, all remained quiet. Then began the
+busy hum of preparation, and great things for our town foreshadowed
+themselves. A hundred men went to work on the site chosen for a new
+mill, digging, blasting, and hauling; while carpenters and masons
+were busy in and around the old mansion, with a view to its thorough
+renovation, as the future residence of Mr. Ralph Dewey. That gentleman
+was on the ground, moving about with a self-sufficient air, and giving
+his orders in a tone of authority that most of the work people felt to
+be offensive.
+
+The antiquated furniture in the Allen House, rich though it was in style
+and finish, would not suit our prospective millionaire, and it was all
+sent to auction. From the auctioneers, it was scattered among the town's
+people, who obtained some rare bargains. An old French secretary came
+into my possession, at the cost of ten dollars--the original owner could
+not have paid less than a hundred. It was curiously inlaid with satin
+wood, and rich in quaint carvings. There seemed to be no end to the
+discoveries I was continually making among its intricate series of
+drawers, pigeon holes, slides, and hidden receptacles. But some one
+had preceded me in the examination, and had removed all the papers and
+documents it contained. It flashed across my mind, as I explored the
+mazes of this old piece of furniture, that it might contain, in some
+secret drawer, another will. This thought caused the blood to leap along
+my veins, my cheeks to burn, and my hands to tremble. I renewed the
+examination, at first hurriedly; then with order and deliberation,
+taking out each drawer, and feeling carefully all around the cavity
+left by its removal, in the hope of touching some hidden spring. But the
+search was fruitless. One drawer perplexed me considerably. I could not
+pull it clear out, nor get access above or below to see how closely
+the various partitions and compartments came up to its sides, top, and
+bottom. After working with it for some time, I gave up the search, and
+my enthusiasm in this direction soon died out. I smiled to myself
+many times afterwards, in thinking of the idle fancy which for a time
+possessed me.
+
+In May, the furnishing of the renovated house began. This took nearly
+a month. Every thing was brought from New York. Car loads of enormous
+boxes, bales, and articles not made up into packages, were constantly
+arriving at the depot, and being conveyed to the Allen House--the
+designation which the property retains even to this day. The furniture
+was of the richest kind--the carpets, curtains, and mirrors, princely in
+elegance. When all was ready for the proud owners to come in and enjoy
+their splendid home, it was thrown open for examination and admiration.
+All S----went to see the show, and wander in dreamy amazement through
+parlors, halls, and chambers. I went with the rest. The change seemed
+like the work of magic. I could with difficulty make out the old
+landmarks. The spacious rooms, newly painted and decked out in
+rich, modern furniture, looked still more spacious. In place of the
+whitewashed ceilings and dingy papered walls, graceful frescoes
+spread their light figures, entrancing the eyes with their marvelous
+semblances. The great hall received you with a statelier formality than
+before; for it, too, had received also its gift of painting, and its
+golden broideries. As you passed from room to room, you said--“This is
+the palace of a prince--not the abode of a citizen.”
+
+The grounds around the mansion had been subject to as thorough a
+renovation as the mansion itself. The old gate had given place to one of
+larger proportions, and more imposing design. A new carriage-road swept
+away in a grander curve from the gate to the dwelling. Substantial
+stone-stabling had been torn down in order to erect a fanciful
+carriage-house, built in imitation of a Swiss cottage; which, from its
+singular want of harmony with the principal buildings, stood forth a
+perpetual commentary upon the false taste of the upstart owner.
+
+I hardly think that either Mr. Dewey or his wife would have been much
+flattered by the general tone of remark that ran through the curious
+crowds that lingered in the elegant rooms, or inspected the improvements
+outside. Nobody liked him; and as for his wife, fashionable associations
+had so spoiled her, that not a single old friend retained either
+affection or respect. It was sad to think that three years of a false
+life could so entirely obliterate the good qualities that once blossomed
+in her soul with such a sweet promise of golden fruitage.
+
+Early in June, the family of Mr. Dewey took possession of their new
+home, and the occasion was celebrated by a splendid entertainment,
+the cost of which, common rumor said, was over two thousand dollars.
+We--Constance and I--were among the invited guests. It was a festive
+scene, brilliant and extravagant beyond anything we had ever witnessed,
+and quite bewildering to minds like ours. Mrs. Dewey was dressed like a
+queen, and radiant in pearls and diamonds. I questioned her good taste
+in this, as hostess; and think she knew better--but the temptation to
+astonish the good people of S----was too strong to be resisted.
+
+After the curtain fell on this brilliant spectacle, Mrs. Dewey assumed a
+stately air, showing, on all occasions, a conscious superiority that
+was offensive to our really best people. There are in all communities
+a class who toady to the rich; and we had a few of these in S----.
+They flattered the Deweys, and basked in the sunshine of their inflated
+grandeur.
+
+I was not one towards whom Mrs. Dewey put on superior airs. My
+profession brought me into a kind of relation to her that set aside
+all pretence. Very soon after her removal to S----, my services were
+required in the family, one of her two children having been attacked
+with measles. On the occasion of my first call, I referred, naturally,
+to the fact of her removal from New York, and asked how she liked the
+change.
+
+“I don't like it all, Doctor,” she replied, in a dissatisfied tone.
+
+“Could heart desire more of elegance and comfort than you possess?” I
+glanced around the richly decorated apartment in which we were seated.
+
+“Gilded misery, Doctor!” She emphasized her words.
+
+I looked at her without speaking. She understood my expression of
+surprise.
+
+“I need not tell you, Doctor, that a fine house and fine furniture are
+not everything in this world.”
+
+I thought her waking up to a better state of mind, through the
+irrepressible yearnings of a soul that could find no sustenance amid the
+husks of this outer life.
+
+“They go but a little way towards making up the aggregate of human
+happiness,” said I.
+
+“All well enough in their place. But, to my thinking, sadly out of place
+here. We must have society, Doctor.”
+
+“True.” My voice was a little rough. I had mistaken her.
+
+“But there is no society here!” And she tossed her head a little
+contemptuously.
+
+“Not much fashionable society I will grant you, Delia.”
+
+She pursed up her lips and looked disagreeable.
+
+“I shall die of ennui before six months. What am I to do with myself?”
+
+“Act like a true woman,” said I, firmly.
+
+She lifted her eyes suddenly to my face as if I had presumed.
+
+“Do your duty as a wife and mother,” I added, “and there will be no
+danger of your dying with ennui.”
+
+“You speak as if I were derelict in this matter.”
+
+She drew herself up with some dignity of manner.
+
+“I merely prescribed a remedy for a disease from which you are
+suffering,” said I, calmly. “Thousands of women scattered all over the
+land are martyrs to this disease; and there is only one remedy--that
+which I offer to you, Delia.”
+
+I think she saw, from my manner, that it would be useless to quarrel
+with me. I was so much in earnest that truth came to my lips in any
+attempt at utterance.
+
+“What would you have me do, Doctor?” There was a petty fretfulness in
+her voice. “Turn cook or nursery-maid?”
+
+“Yes, rather than sit idle, and let your restless mind fret itself for
+want of useful employment into unhappiness.”
+
+“I cannot take your prescription in that crude form,” she replied, with
+more seriousness than I had expected.
+
+“It is not requisite to a cure,” said I. “Only let your thought and
+purpose fall into the sphere of home. Think of your husband as one to be
+made happier by your personal control of such household matters as touch
+his comfort; of your babes as tender, precious things, blessed by your
+sleepless care, or hurt by your neglect; of your domestics, as requiring
+orderly supervision, lest they bring discord into your home, or waste
+your substance. Every household, Delia, is a little government, and the
+governor must be as watchful over all its concerns as the governor of a
+state. Take, then, the reins of office firmly into your hands, dispose
+of everything according to the best of your judgment, and require
+orderly obedience from every subject. But act wisely and kindly. Do
+this, my young friend, and you will not be troubled with the fashionable
+complaint--ennui.”
+
+“That is, sink down into a mere housekeeper,” she remarked; “weigh out
+the flour, count the eggs, fill the sugar bowls, and grow learned in
+cookery-books. I think I see myself wandering about from cellar to
+garret, jingling a great bunch of keys, prying into rubbish-corners, and
+scolding lazy cooks and idle chambermaids!”
+
+She laughed a short, artificial laugh, and then added--
+
+“Is that the picture of what you mean, Doctor?”
+
+“It is the picture of a happier woman than you are, Delia,” said I,
+seriously.
+
+The suggestion seemed to startle her.
+
+“You speak very confidently, Doctor.”
+
+“With the confidence of one who makes diseases and their cure his study.
+I know something of the human soul as well as the human body, and of the
+maladies to which both are subjected. A cure is hopeless in either case,
+unless the patient will accept the remedy. Pain of body is the indicator
+of disease, and gives warning that an enemy to life has found a
+lodgment; pain of mind is the same phenomenon, only showing itself in a
+higher sphere, and for the same purpose. If you are unhappy, surrounded
+by all this elegance, and with the means of gratifying every orderly
+wish, it shows that an enemy to your soul has entered through some
+unguarded gateway. You cannot get rid of this enemy by any change
+of place, or by any new associations. Society will not help you. The
+excitement of shows; gauds, glitter, pageants; the brief triumphs gained
+in fashionable tournaments, will not expel this foe of your higher and
+nobler life, but only veil, for brief seasons, his presence from your
+consciousness. When these are past, and you retire into yourself, then
+comes back the pain, the languor, the excessive weariness. Is it not so,
+Delia? Is not this your sad experience?”
+
+I paused. Her eyes had fallen to the floor. She sat very still, like one
+who was thinking deeply.
+
+“The plodding housekeeper, whose picture you drew just now--humble,
+even mean in your regard though she be--sinks to peaceful sleep when her
+tasks are done, and rises refreshed at coming dawn. If she is happier
+than your fine lady, whose dainty hands cannot bear the soil of these
+common things, why? Ponder this subject, Delia. It concerns you deeply.
+It is the happiest state in life that we all strive to gain; but you may
+lay it up in your heart as immutable truth, that happiness never comes
+to any one, except through a useful employment of all the powers which
+God has given to us. The idle are the most miserable--and none are more
+miserable in their ever-recurring ennuied hours, than your fashionable
+idlers. We see them only in their holiday attire, tricked out for show,
+and radiant in reflected smiles. Alas! If we could go back with them to
+their homes, and sit beside them, unseen, in their lonely hours, would
+not pity fill our hearts? My dear young friend! Turn your feet aside
+from this way--it is the path that leads to unutterable wretchedness.”
+
+The earnestness of my manner added force to what I said, and constrained
+at least a momentary conviction.
+
+“You speak strongly, Doctor,” she said, with the air of one who could
+not look aside from an unpleasant truth.
+
+“Not too strongly, Delia. Is it not as I have said? Are not your mere
+society-ladies too often miserable at home?”
+
+She sighed heavily, as if unpleasant images were forcing themselves upon
+her mind. I felt that I might follow up the impression I had made, and
+resumed:
+
+“There was a time, Delia--and it lies only three or four short years
+backward on your path of life--when I read in your opening mind a
+promise of higher things than have yet been attained--you must pardon
+the freedom of an old but true friend. A time when thought, taste,
+feeling were all building for themselves a habitation, the stones
+whereof were truths, and the decorations within and without pure and
+good affections. All this”--I glanced at the rich furniture, mirrors,
+and curtains--“is poor and mean to that dwelling place of the soul, the
+foundations for which you once commenced laying. Are you happier now
+than then? Have the half bewildering experiences through which you have
+passed satisfied you that you are in the right way? That life's highest
+blessings are to be found in these pageantries? Think, think, my dear
+young friend! Look inwards. Search into your heart, and try the quality
+of its motives. Examine the foundation upon which you are building, and
+if it is sand, in heaven's name stop, and look for solid earth on which
+to place the corner stone of your temple of happiness.”
+
+“You bewilder me, Doctor,” she said, in reply to this. “I can't think,
+I can't look inwards. If I am building on a sandy foundation, God help
+me!--for I cannot turn back to search for the solid earth of which you
+speak.”
+
+“But--”
+
+She raised her hand and said,
+
+“Spare me, Doctor. I know you are truthful and sincere--a friend who
+may be trusted--but you cannot see as I see, nor know as I know. I have
+chosen my way, and must walk in it, even to the end, let it terminate as
+it will. I had once a dream of other things--a sweet, entrancing dream
+while it lasted--but to me it can never be more than a dream. There
+are quiet, secluded, peaceful ways in life, and happy are they who are
+content to walk in them. But they are not for my feet, and I do not envy
+those who hide themselves in tranquil valleys, or linger on the distant
+hill-slopes. The crowd, the hum, the shock of social life for me!”
+
+“But this you cannot have in S----. And is it not the part of a wise
+woman--”
+
+“Again, Doctor, let me beg of you to spare me.” she said, lifting her
+hands, and turning her face partly away. “I only half comprehend you,
+and am hurt and disturbed by your well-meant suggestions. I am not a
+wise woman, in your sense of the word, and cannot take your admonitions
+to heart. Let us talk of something else.”
+
+And she changed the subject, as well as her whole manner and expression
+of countenance, with a promptness that surprised me; showing the
+existence of will and self-control that in a right direction would have
+given her large power for good.
+
+It was the first and last time I ventured to speak with her so freely.
+Always afterwards, when we met, there was an impression of uneasiness
+on her part, as if she had an unpleasant remembrance, or feared that I
+would venture upon some disagreeable theme.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+
+
+Steadily, under the busy hands of hundreds of workmen, the new buildings
+arose, stretching their far lengths along, and towering up, story after
+story. Steam, in addition to water power, was contemplated here also,
+for the looms and spindles to be driven were nearly twice the number
+contained in the other mill.
+
+Disappointments and vexatious delays nearly always attend large building
+operations, and the present case formed no exception. The time within
+which everything was to be completed, and the mill to go into operation,
+was one year. Two years elapsed before the first bale of goods came
+through its ample doors, ready for market.
+
+Of course there was a large expenditure of money in S----, and this was
+a great thing for our town. Property rose in value, houses were built,
+and the whole community felt that a new era had dawned--an era of growth
+and prosperity. Among other signs of advancement, was the establishment
+of a new Bank. The “Clinton Bank” it was called. The charter had been
+obtained through the influence of Judge Bigelow, who had several warm
+personal friends in the Legislature. There was not a great deal of loose
+money in S----to flow easily into bank stocks; but for all that the
+shares were soon taken, and all the provisions of the charter complied
+with. Judge Bigelow subscribed freely; so did Squire Floyd and Mr.
+Dewey. Other townsmen, to the number of twenty or thirty, put down their
+names for a few shares. It was from New York, however, that the largest
+subscriptions came; and it was New York shareholders, voting by proxy,
+who elected the Board of Directors, and determined the choice of
+officers. Judge Bigelow was elected President, and a Mr. Joshua King,
+from New York, Cashier. The tellers and book-keepers were selected from
+among our own people.
+
+The Clinton Bank and the new mills went into operation about the same
+time. Years of prosperity followed. Money was plenty in our town, and
+everybody was growing better off. Dewey was still the manufacturing
+partner of the large house in New York, whose demand for goods it seemed
+impossible to satisfy. He was a great man in S----. People spoke of
+him as possessing vast mental as well as money resources; as having
+expansive views of trade and finance; as being a man of extraordinary
+ability. I listened to all these things as I passed around among our
+citizens, plodding along in my profession, and managing to grow just a
+little better off each year; and wondered within myself if I were really
+mistaken in the man--if there was a solid basis of right judgment below
+all this splendid seeming.
+
+And what of our friend Wallingford, during those busy years? Like
+myself, he moved so quietly through his round of professional duties,
+as to attract little attention. But he had been growing in all this
+time--growing in mental stature; and growing in the confidence of all
+just men. Judge Bigelow's interest in the mills, and in the new Bank,
+drew his attention so much away from his law cases, that clients began
+to grow dissatisfied, and this threw a great deal of excellent business
+into the hands of Wallingford, who, if not always successful in his
+cases, so managed them as to retain the confidence and good will of all
+who employed him. He got the character in our town of a safe adviser. If
+a man had a difficulty with a neighbor, and talked of going to law with
+him, in all probability some one would say--
+
+“Go to Mr. Wallingford; he will tell you, on the spot, if there is any
+chance for you in Court.”
+
+And he bore this character justly. A thorn in the side he had proved
+to the three great mill owners, Judge Bigelow, Squire Floyd, and Ralph
+Dewey. The two former failed entirely, in his view, as to the right
+steps for discovering the heirs to the large property in their hands,
+all of which had been changed from its original position; while the
+latter showed ill-feeling whenever Wallingford, as he continued to do,
+at stated intervals, filed interrogatories, and required answers as to
+the condition of the trust, and the prospects of finding heirs.
+
+Ten years had elapsed since the discovery of Mr. Allen's will, and yet
+no heirs had presented themselves. And now Mr. Wallingford took formal
+issue in the case, and demanded the property for his client, Mrs.
+Montgomery, who was still living in Boston with her daughter, in a
+retired way. Nearly one-half of her income had been cut off, and her
+circumstances were, in consequence, greatly reduced. Her health was
+feeble, having steadily declined since her removal from S----. An
+occasional letter passed between her and my wife; and it was in this way
+that I learned of her health and condition. How free was all she wrote
+from repining or despondency--how full of Christian faith, hope, and
+patience! You could not read one of her letters without growing stronger
+for the right--without seeing the world as through a reversed telescope.
+
+A time was fixed for hearing the case, which, now that it assumed this
+important shape, excited great interest among the people of S----. When
+the matter came fairly into court, Mr. Wallingford presented his clearly
+arranged documentary evidence, in proof of Mrs. Montgomery's identity
+as the sister of Captain Allen, and claimed the property as hers. He
+covered, in anticipation, every possible ground of objection; bringing
+forward, at the same time, such an array of precedents and decisions
+bearing upon the case, that it was clear to every one on which side the
+decision would lie.
+
+At this important juncture a letter, post-marked in New York on the day
+before, was offered in court, and a demand, based on its contents, made
+for a stay of proceedings. It came from the Spanish Consul, and was
+addressed to Abel Bigelow and John Floyd, executors of the late Captain
+Allen, and notified them that he had just received letters from San Juan
+De Porto Rico, containing information as to the existence of an heir to
+the estate in the person of a boy named Leon Garcia, nephew to the late
+Mrs. Allen. The case was immediately laid over until the next term of
+court.
+
+In the meantime, steps were promptly taken to ascertain the truth of
+this assumption. An agent was sent out to the island of Porto Rico, who
+brought back all the proofs needed to establish the claim, and also the
+lad himself, who was represented to be in his fourteenth year. He was
+a coarse, wicked-looking boy, who, it was plain, had not yet fully
+awakened to a realizing sense of the good fortune that awaited him.
+
+A resolute opposition was made by Wallingford, but all the evidence
+adduced to prove Leon Garcia's relationship to Mrs. Allen was too
+clear, and so the court dismissed the case, and appointed Ralph Dewey
+as guardian to the boy, who was immediately placed at school in a
+neighboring town.
+
+So ended this long season of suspense. Immediately on the decision
+of the case, Wallingford went to Boston to see Mrs. Montgomery, and
+remained absent nearly a week. I saw him soon after his return.
+
+“How did she bear this final dashing of her hopes to the earth?” I
+asked.
+
+“As any one who knew her well might have expected,” he answered, with so
+little apparent feeling that I thought him indifferent.
+
+“As a Christian philosopher,” said I.
+
+“You make use of exactly the right words,” he remarked. “Yes, as a
+Christian philosopher. As one who thinks and reasons as well as feels. I
+have seen a great many so-called religious people in my time. People who
+had much to say about their-spiritual experiences and hopes of heaven.
+But never one who so made obedience to the strict law of right, in all
+its plain, common-sense interpretations, a matter of common duty. I
+do not believe that for anything this world could offer her, Mrs.
+Montgomery would swerve a hair's breadth from justice. I have been in
+the position to see her tempted; have, myself, been the tempter over and
+over again during the ten years in which I represented her claims to the
+Allen estate; but her principles were immovable as the hills. Once, I
+shall never forget the incident--I pressed her to adopt a certain course
+of procedure, involving a law quibble, in order to get possession of the
+property. She looked at me for a moment or two, with a flushing face.
+Then her countenance grew serene, almost heavenly, and she gave me this
+memorable reply--'Mr. Wallingford, I have a richer estate than this
+in expectancy, and cannot mar the title.' And she has not marred it,
+Doctor.”
+
+“How did her daughter receive the news?” I inquired. I thought he turned
+his face a little away, as he answered.
+
+“Not so well as her mother.” I knew his voice was lower. “When I
+announced the fact that the claims of young Garcia had been admitted
+by the court, tears sprung to her eyes, and a shadow fell upon her
+countenance such as I have never seen there before.”
+
+“She is younger and less disciplined,” said I.
+
+“Few at her age,” he answered, “are so well disciplined”
+
+“Will they still remain in Boston?” I asked.
+
+“Yes, for the present,” he answered, and we parted. A few months after
+this, my wife said to me one day,
+
+“Did you hear that Mr. Wallingford had bought the pretty little cottage
+on Cedar Lane, where Jacob Homer lived?”
+
+“Is that true?”
+
+“It is said so. In fact, I heard it from Jane Homer, and that is pretty
+good authority.”
+
+“Is he going to live there with his mother?”
+
+“Jane did not know. Her husband went behind hand the year he built
+the cottage, and never was able to get up even with the world. So
+they determined to sell their place, pay off their debts, and find
+contentment in a rented house. Mr. Homer said something to Mr.
+Wallingford on the subject, and he offered to buy the property at a fair
+price.”
+
+A few days afterwards, in passing along Cedar Lane, I noticed a
+carpenter at work in the pretty cottage above referred to; and also a
+gardener who was trimming the shrubbery.
+
+Good morning, William, “I spoke to the gardener with whom I was well
+acquainted. This is a nice cozy place.”
+
+“Indeed and it is, Doctor. Mr. Homer took great pride in it.”
+
+“And showed much taste in gardening.”
+
+“You may well say that, Doctor. There isn't a finer shrubbery to any
+garden in S----.”
+
+“Is Mr. Wallingford going to live here, or does he intend renting the
+cottage?”
+
+“That's more than I can answer, Doctor. Mr. Wallingford isn't the man,
+you know, to talk with everybody about his affairs.”
+
+“True enough, William,” said I smiling and passed on.
+
+“Did you know,” said my wife, a few weeks later, “that Mr. Wallingford
+was furnishing the cottage on Cedar Lane?”
+
+“Ah! Is that so?”
+
+“Yes. Mrs. Dean told me that Jones the cabinet maker had the order,
+which was completed, and that the furniture was now going in.
+Everything, she says, is plain and neat, but good.”
+
+“Why, what can this mean, Constance? Is our young friend about to
+marry?”
+
+“It has a look that way, I fancy.”
+
+“But who is the bride to be?” I asked.
+
+“Mrs. Dean thinks it is Florence Williams.”
+
+“A fine girl; but hardly worthy of Henry Wallingford. Besides, he is ten
+year her senior,” said I.
+
+“What is the difference in our ages, dear?” Constance turned her fresh
+young face to mine--fresh and young still, though more than thirty-five
+years had thrown across it their lights and shadows, and laid her head
+fondly against my breast.
+
+I kissed her tenderly, and she answered her own question.
+
+“Ten years; and you are not so much my senior. I do not see any force
+in that objection. Still if I had been commissioned to select a wife for
+Mr. Wallingford, I would not have chosen Florence Williams.”
+
+“Her father is well off, and growing richer every day.”
+
+“Worth taking into the account, I suppose, as one of the reasons in
+favor of the choice,” said my wife. “But I hardly think Wallingford is
+the man to let that consideration have much influence.”
+
+There was no mistake about the matter of furnishing Ivy Cottage, as the
+place was called. I saw carpets going in on the very next day. All the
+shrubbery had been trimmed, the grounds cleared up and put in order, and
+many choice flowers planted in borders already rich in floral treasures.
+
+Curiosity now began to flutter its wings, lift up its head, and look
+around sharply. Many arrows had taken their flight towards the heart of
+our young bachelor lawyer, but, until now, there had been no evidence
+of a wound. What fair maiden had conquered at last? I met him not long
+after, walking in the street with Florence Williams. She looked smiling
+and happy; and his face was brighter than I had ever seen it. This
+confirmed to me the rumor.
+
+Mrs. Wallingford was not to be approached on the subject. If she knew
+of an intended marriage, she feigned ignorance; and affected not to
+understand the hints, questions, and surmises of curious neighbors.
+
+A week or two later, and I missed Wallingford from his office. The lad
+in attendance said that he was away from the town, but would return in a
+few days.
+
+“I have a surprise for you,” said my wife on that very afternoon. She
+had a letter in her hand just received by post. Her whole face was
+radiant with pleasure. Drawing a card from the envelope, she held it
+before my eyes. I read the names of _Henry Wallingford_ and _Blanche
+Montgomery_, and the words, “At home Wednesday evening, June 15th. Ivy
+Cottage.”
+
+“Bravo!” I exclaimed, as soon as a momentary bewilderment passed,
+showing more than my wonted enthusiasm. “The best match since Hymen
+linked our fates together, Constance.”
+
+“May it prove as happy a one!” my wife answered, with a glance of
+tenderness.
+
+“It will, Constance--it will. That is a marriage after my own heart; one
+that I have, now and then, dimly foreshadowed in imagination, but never
+thought to see.”
+
+“It is over five years since we saw Blanche,” remarked Constance. “I
+wonder how she looks! If life's sunshine and rain have produced a rich
+harvest in her soul, or only abraded the surface, and marred the
+sweet beauty that captivated us of old! I wonder how she has borne the
+shadowing of earthly prospects--the change from luxurious surroundings!”
+
+“They have not dimmed the virgin gold; you may be sure of that,
+Constance,” was my reply to this.
+
+“At home, Wednesday evening, June fifteenth.”
+
+And this was Tuesday. Only a single day intervened. And yet it seemed
+like a week in anticipation, so eager did we grow for the promised
+re-union with friends whose memory was in our hearts as the sound of
+pleasant music.
+
+It was eight o'clock, on Wednesday evening, when we entered Ivy Cottage,
+our hearts beating with quickened strokes under their burden of pleasant
+anticipation. What a queenly woman stood revealed to us, as we entered
+the little parlor! I would hardly have known her as the almost shrinking
+girl from whom we parted not many years before. How wonderfully she had
+developed! Figure, face, air, manner, attitude--all showed the woman
+of heart, mind, and purpose. Yet, nothing struck you as masculine; but
+rather as exquisitely feminine. It took but one glance at her serene
+face, to solve the query as to whether there had been a free gift of
+heart as well as hand. My eyes turned next to the pale, thin face of
+Mrs. Montgomery, who sat, or half reclined, in a large cushioned chair.
+She was looking at her daughter. That expression of blended love and
+pride, will it ever cease to be a sweet picture in my memory? All was
+right--I saw that in the first instant of time.
+
+The reception was not a formal one. There was no display of orange
+blossoms, airy veils, and glittering jewels--but a simple welcoming of
+a few old friends, who had come to heart-congratulations. It was
+the happiest bridal reception--always excepting the one in which my
+Constance wore the orange wreath--that I had ever seen. Do you inquire
+of Wallingford, as to how he looked and seemed? Worthy of the splendid
+woman who stood by his side and leaned towards him with such a sweet
+assurance. How beautiful it was to see the proud look with which she
+turned her eyes upon him, whenever he spoke! It was plain, that to her,
+his words had deeper meanings in them, than came to other ears.
+
+“It is all right, I see.” I had drawn a chair close to the one in which
+Mrs. Montgomery sat, and was holding in mine the thin, almost shadowy
+hand which she had extended.
+
+“Yes, it is all right, Doctor,” she answered, as a smile lit up her pale
+face. “All right, and I am numbered among the happiest of mothers. He
+is not titled, nor rich, nor noble in the vulgar sense--but titled, and
+rich, and noble as God gives rank and wealth. I came to this land of
+promise ten years ago, in search of an estate for my child; and I
+have found it, at last. Ah, Doctor”--and site glanced upwards as she
+spoke--“His ways are not as our ways. And if we will only trust in Him,
+He will bring such things to pass, as never entered into the imagination
+of our hearts. I did not dream of this man as the husband of my child,
+when I gave my business into his care. The remote suggestion of such
+a thing would have offended me; for my heart was full of false pride,
+though I knew it not. But there was a destiny for Blanche, foreshadowed
+for me then, but not seen.”
+
+“It is the quality of the man,” I said, “that determines the quality
+of the marriage. She who weds best, weds the truest man. The rank
+and wealth are of the last consideration. To make them first, is the
+blindest folly of the blindest.”
+
+“Ah, if this were but rightly understood”--said Mrs. Montgomery--“what
+new lives would people begin to live in the world! How the shadows
+that dwell among so many households--even those of the fairest external
+seeming--would begin to lift themselves upward and roll away, letting in
+the sunlight and filling the chambers of discord with heavenly music! I
+have sometimes thought, that more than half the misery which curses the
+world springs from discordant marriages.”
+
+“The estimate is low,” I answered. “If you had said two-thirds, you
+would have been, perhaps, nearer the truth.”
+
+Blanche crossed the room, and came and stood by her mother's chair,
+looking down into her face with a loving smile.
+
+“I am afraid the journey has been too much for you,” she said, with a
+shadow of concern in her face.
+
+“You look paler than usual.”
+
+“Paler, because a little fatigued, dear. But a night's rest will bring
+me up even again,” Mrs. Montgomery replied cheerfully.
+
+“How is the pain in your side, now?” asked Blanche, still with a look of
+concern.
+
+“Easier. I scarcely notice it now.”
+
+“Blanche is over anxious about my health, dear girl!” said Mrs.
+Montgomery, as the bride moved to another part of the room. “She thinks
+me failing rapidly. And, without doubt, the foundations of this earthly
+house are giving way; but I trust, that ere it fall into ruin, a house
+not made with hands, eternal, in the heavens, will be ready for my
+reception.”
+
+There was no depressing solemnity in her tones, as she thus alluded to
+that event which comes to all; but a smiling cheerfulness of manner that
+was contagious.
+
+“You think of death as a Christian,” said I.
+
+“And how else should I think of it?” she replied. “Can I not trust Him
+in whom I have believed? What is it more than passing from a lower to a
+higher state of life--from the natural to the spiritual world? When the
+hour comes, I will lay me down in peace and sleep.”
+
+She remained silent for some moments, her thoughts apparently indrawn.
+The brief, closing sentence was spoken as if she were lapsing into
+reverie. I thought the subject hardly in place for a wedding occasion,
+and was about starting another theme, when she said--
+
+“Do you not think, Doctor, that this dread of dying, which haunts most
+people like a fearful spectre--the good as well as the bad--is a very
+foolish thing? We are taught, from childhood, to look forward to death
+as the greatest of all calamities; as a change attended by indefinable
+terrors. Teachers and preachers ring in our ears the same dread chimes,
+thrilling the strongest nerves and appalling the stoutest hearts. Death
+is pictured to us as a grim monster; and we shudder as we look at the
+ghastly apparition. Now, all this comes from what is false. Death is
+not the crowning evil of our lives; but the door through which we pass,
+tranquilly, into that eternal world, which is our destined home. I hold
+in my thought a different picture of Death from that which affrighted
+me in childhood. The form is one of angelic beauty, and the countenance
+full of love. I know, that when I pass along the dark and narrow way
+that leads from this outer world of nature, to the inner world from
+which it has existence, that my hand will rest firmly in that of an
+angel, commissioned of God to guide my peaceful footsteps. Is not that a
+better faith?”
+
+“Yes, a better and a truer,” said I.
+
+“It is not the death passage that we need fear. That has in it no
+intrinsic evil. It is the sleep of mortality, and the rest is sweet
+to all. If we give place to fear, let it be for that state beyond the
+bourne, which will be unhappy in the degree that we are lovers of self
+and the world--that is, lovers of evil instead of good. As the tree
+falls, so it lies, Doctor. As our quality is at death, so will it remain
+to all eternity. Here is the just occasion for dread.”
+
+She would have kept on, but her attention was drawn away by the remark
+of a lady who came up at the moment. I left her side and passed to
+another part of the room; but her words, tone, and impressive manner
+remained with me. I turned my eyes often during the evening upon her
+pale, pure face, which seemed like a transparent veil through which the
+spirit half revealed itself. How greatly she had changed in five years!
+There had been trial and discipline; and she had come up from them
+purer for the ordeal. The flesh had failed; but the spirit had taken on
+strength and beauty.
+
+“How did Mrs. Montgomery impress you?” said I to my wife, as we sat down
+together on our return home.
+
+“As one ready to be translated,” she answered. “I was at a loss to
+determine which was the most beautiful, she or Blanche.”
+
+“You cannot make a comparison between them as to beauty,” I remarked.
+
+“Not as to beauty in the same degree. The beauty of Blanche was queenly;
+that of her mother angelic. All things lovely in nature were collated,
+and expressed themselves in the younger as she stood blushing in the
+ripeness of her charms; while all things lovely in the soul beamed forth
+from the countenance of the elder. And so, as I have said, I was at a
+loss to determine which was most beautiful.”
+
+I was just rising from my early breakfast on the next morning when I
+received a hurried message from Ivy Cottage. The angel of Death had been
+there. Tenderly and lovingly had he taken the hand of Mrs. Montgomery,
+and led her through the gate that opens into the land of immortals.
+She received her daughter's kiss at eleven o'clock, held her for some
+moments, gazing into her face, and then said--“Good-night, my precious
+one! Good-night, and God bless you!” At seven in the morning she was
+found lying in bed with a smile on her face, but cold and lifeless as
+marble! There had been no strife with the heavenly messenger.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+
+
+No;--there had been no strife with the heavenly messenger. As a child
+falls asleep in its mother's arms, so fell Mrs. Montgomery asleep in the
+arms of an angel--tranquil, peaceful, happy. I say happy--for in lapsing
+away into that mortal sleep, of which our natural sleep is but an image,
+shall the world-weary who have in trial and suffering grown heavenly
+minded, sink into unconsciousness with less of tranquil delight than the
+babe pillowed against its mother's bosom? I think not.
+
+As I gazed upon her dead face, where the parting soul had left its sign
+of peace, I prayed that, when I passed from my labors, there might be as
+few stains of earth upon my garments.
+
+“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, Yea, saith the Spirit, for
+they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.”
+
+I found myself repeating these holy words, as I stood looking at the
+white, shrunken features of the departed.
+
+It was not until the next day that I saw Blanche. But Constance was with
+her immediately after the sad news jarred upon her sympathizing heart.
+
+“How did you leave her?” was my anxious query, on meeting my wife at
+home.
+
+“Calm,” was the brief answer.
+
+How much the word included!
+
+“Did you talk with her?”
+
+“Not a great deal; she did not seem inclined to talk, like some who seek
+relief through expression. I found her alone in the room next to the one
+in which the body of her mother was lying. She was sitting by a table,
+with one hand pressed over her eyes, as I entered. 'Oh, my friend! my
+dear friend!' she said, in a tone of grief, rising and coming a step or
+two to meet me. I drew my arms around her, and she laid her head against
+me and sobbed three or four times, while the tears ran down and dropped
+upon the floor. 'It is well with her!' I said.
+
+“'Oh, yes, my friend, it is well with her,' she answered, mournfully,
+'well with her, but not with me. How shall I walk onward in life's
+difficult ways, without my mother's arm to lean upon? My steps already
+hesitate.'
+
+“'You have another arm to lean upon,' I ventured to suggest.
+
+“'Yes, a strong arm upon which I can lean in unfaltering trust. In this
+God has been good to me. But my wise, patient mother--how shall I live
+without her?'
+
+“'She is only removed from you as to bodily presence,' said I. 'Love
+conjoins your souls as intimately as ever.'
+
+“'Ah, yes, I know this must be. Too many times have I heard that
+comforting truth from her lips ever to forget it. But while we are in
+the body, the mind will not rest satisfied with any thing less than
+bodily presence.'
+
+“I did not press the point, for I knew that in all sorrow the heart is
+its own best comforter, and gathers for itself themes of consolation
+that even the nearest friend would fail to suggest. We went in together
+to look at the frail tabernacle from which the pure spirit of her mother
+had departed forever! How sweetly the smile left upon the lips in the
+last kiss of parting, lingered there still, fixed in human marble with
+more than a sculptor's art! There was no passionate weeping, as we stood
+by the lifeless clay. Very calm and silent she was; but oh, what a look
+of intense love went out from her sad eyes! Not despairing but hopeful
+love. The curtain of death hid from her no land of shadows and mystery;
+but a world of spiritual realities. Her mother had not gone shrinking
+and trembling into regions of darkness and doubt; but in the blessed
+assurance of a peaceful reception in the house of her friends.
+
+“How a true faith,” said I, strongly impressed by the images which
+were presented to my mind, “strips from death its old terrors! When the
+Apostle exclaimed, 'Oh, grave, where is thy victory? oh, death, where
+is thy sting?' his mind looked deeper into the mystery of dying, and
+saw farther into the world beyond, than do our modern Christians, who
+frighten us with images of terror. 'I will lay me down in peace
+and sleep,' when the time of my departure comes, should be the
+heart-language of every one who takes upon himself the name of Him who
+said, 'In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place
+for you, that where I am, ye may be also.'”
+
+“Since I knew Mrs. Montgomery, and felt the sphere of her quality,” said
+Constance, “my perceptions of life and duty here, and their connection
+with life and happiness hereafter, have been elevated to a higher
+region. I see no longer as in a glass darkly, but in the light of
+reason, made clear by the more interior light of Revelation.”
+
+“And the same is true with me,” I replied. “We may well say that it
+was good to have known her. She was so true, so just, so unconscious
+of self, that truth, justice, and unselfishness were always lovelier in
+your eyes for having seen them illustrated in her person. And there
+was no pious cant about her. No parade of her unworthiness; no solemn
+aspects, nor obtrusive writings of bitter things against herself. But
+always an effort to repress what was evil in her nature; and a state of
+quiet, religious trust, which said, 'I know in whom I have believed.'”
+
+“Ah,” said Constance, “if there was only more of such religion in the
+world!”
+
+“It would be a happier world than it is,” I answered.
+
+“By the impress of a life like hers, what lasting good is done!” said my
+wife. “Such are the salt of the earth. Cities set upon hills. Lights in
+candlesticks. They live not in vain!'”
+
+I did not see Blanche until the day of burial. Her beautiful face was
+calm, but very pale. It bore strongly the impress of sorrow, but not of
+that hopeless sorrow which we so often see on these mournful occasions.
+It was very plain that her thoughts were not lingering around the
+shrouded and coffined form of what was once her mother's body, but were
+following her into the world beyond our mortal vision, as we follow a
+dear friend who has gone from us on a long journey.
+
+And thus it was that Blanche Montgomery entered upon her new life.
+Death's shadow fell upon the torch of Hymen. There was a rain of grief
+just as the sun of love poured forth his brightest beams, and the bow
+which spanned the horizon gave, in that hour of grief, sweet promise for
+the future.
+
+These exciting events in the experience of our young friends had come
+upon us so suddenly, that our minds were half bewildered. A few weeks
+served, however, to bring all things into a right adjustment with our
+own daily life and thought, and Ivy Cottage became one of the places
+that grew dearer to us for the accumulating memories of pleasant hours
+spent there with true-hearted ones who were living for something more
+than the unreal things of this world.
+
+How many times was the life that beat so feverishly in the Allen House,
+and that which moved to such even pulsings in Ivy Cottage, contrasted in
+my observation! Ten years of a marriage such as Delia Floyd so unwisely
+consummated, had not served for the development of her inner life to any
+right purpose. She had kept on in the wrong way taken by her feet in
+the beginning, growing purse proud, vain, ambitious of external
+pre-eminence, worldly-minded, and self-indulgent. She had four children,
+who were given up almost wholly to the care of hirelings. There was,
+consequent upon neglect, ignorance, and bad regimen, a great deal of
+sickness among them, and I was frequently called in to interpose my
+skill for their relief. Poor little suffering ones! how often I pitied
+them An occasional warning was thrown in, but it was scarcely heeded
+by the mother, who had put on towards me a reserved stateliness, that
+precluded all friendly remonstrance.
+
+At least two months of every summer Mrs. Dewey was absent from S----,
+intermitting between Saratoga and Newport, where she abandoned herself
+to all the excitements of fashionable dissipation. Regularly each year
+we saw her name in the New York correspondence of the Herald, as the
+“fascinating Mrs. D----;” the “charming wife of Mr. D----;” or in some
+like style of reference. At last, coupled with one of these allusions,
+was an intimation that “it might be well if some discreet friend would
+whisper in the lady's ear that she was a little too intimate with men of
+doubtful reputation; particularly in the absence of her husband.”
+
+This paragraph was pointed out to me by one of my patients. I read it
+with a throb of pain. A little while afterwards I passed Mr. Floyd and
+Mr. Dewey in the street. They were walking rapidly, and conversing in an
+excited manner. I saw them take the direction of the depot.
+
+“Here is trouble!” I said, sighing to myself. “Trouble that gold cannot
+gild, nor the sparkle of diamonds hide. Alas! alas! that a human soul,
+in which was so fair a promise, should get so far astray!”
+
+I met Mr. Floyd half an hour later. His face was pale and troubled, and
+his eyes upon the ground. He did not see me--or care to see me--and so
+we passed without recognition.
+
+Before night the little warning sentence, written by the Saratoga
+correspondent, was running from lip to lip all over S----. Some pitied,
+some blamed, and not a few were glad in their hearts of the disgrace;
+for Mrs. Dewey had so carried herself among us as to destroy all
+friendly feeling.
+
+There was an expectant pause for several days. Then it was noised
+through the town that Mr. Dewey had returned, bringing his wife home
+with him. I met him in the street on the day after. There was a heavy
+cloud on his brow. Various rumors were afloat. One was--it came from a
+person just arrived from Saratoga--that Mr. Dewey surprised his wife in
+a moonlight walk with a young man for whom he had no particular fancy,
+and under such lover-like relations, that he took the liberty of caning
+the gentleman on the spot. Great excitement followed. The young
+man resisted--Mrs. Dewey screamed in terror--people flocked to the
+place--and mortifying exposure followed. This story was in part
+corroborated by the following paragraph in the Herald's Saratoga
+correspondence:
+
+“We had a spicy scene, a little out of the regular performance, last
+evening; no less than the caning of a New York sprig of fashion, who
+made himself rather more agreeable to a certain married lady who dashes
+about here in a queenly way than was agreeable to her husband. The
+affair was hushed up. This morning I missed the lady from her usual
+place at the breakfast-table. Later in the day I learned that her
+husband had taken her home. If he'll accept my advice, he will keep her
+there.”
+
+“Poor Mrs. Floyd!” It was the mother's deep sorrow and humiliation that
+touched the heart of my Constance when this disgraceful exposure reached
+her. “She has worn to me a troubled look for this long while,” she
+added. “The handsome new house which the Squire built, and into which
+they moved last year, has not, with all its elegant accompaniments, made
+her any more cheerful than she was before. Mrs. Dean told me that her
+sister was very much opposed to leaving her old home; but the Squire
+has grown rich so fast that he must have everything in the external
+to correspond with his improved circumstances. Ah me! If, with riches,
+troubles so deep must come, give me poverty as a blessing.”
+
+A week passed, and no one that I happened to meet knew, certainly,
+whether Mrs. Dewey was at home or not. Then she suddenly made her
+appearance riding about in her stylish carriage, and looking as
+self-assured as of old.
+
+“That was a strange story about Mrs. Dewey,” said I to a lady whom I
+was visiting professionally. I knew her to be of Mrs. Dewey's set.
+Don't smile, reader; we had risen to the dignity of having a fashionable
+“set,” in S----, and Mrs. Dewey was the leader.
+
+The lady shrugged her shoulders, drew up her eyebrows, and looked
+knowing and mysterious. I had expected this, for I knew my subject very
+well.
+
+“You were at Saratoga,” I added; “and must know whether rumor has
+exaggerated her conduct.”
+
+“Well, Doctor,” said the lady, dropping her voice, and putting on the
+air of one who spoke in confidence. “I must say that our friend was not
+as discreet as she might have been. Nothing wrong--that is, criminal--of
+course. But the truth is, she is too fond of admiration, and encourages
+the attentions of young men a great deal more than is discreet for any
+married woman.”
+
+“There was an actual rencontre between Mr. Dewey and a person he thought
+too familiar with his wife?” said I.
+
+“Oh, yes. Why, it was in the newspapers!”
+
+“How was it made up between the parties?”
+
+“It isn't made up at all, I believe; There's been some talk of a duel.”
+
+“A sad affair,” said I. “How could Mrs. Dewey have been so thoughtless?”
+
+“She isn't prudent, by any means,” answered this intimate friend. “I
+often look at the way she conducts herself at public places, and wonder
+at her folly.”
+
+“Folly, indeed, if her conduct strikes at the root of domestic
+happiness.”
+
+The lady shook her head in a quiet, meaning way.
+
+I waited for her to put her thoughts into words, which she did in a few
+moments after this fashion:
+
+“There's not much domestic happiness to spoil, Doctor, so far as I can
+see. I don't think she cares a farthing for her husband; and he seems to
+have his mind so full of grand business schemes as to have no place left
+for the image of his wife. At least, so I read him.”
+
+“How has this matter affected their relation one to the other?”
+
+“I have not seen them together since her return, and therefore cannot
+speak from actual observation,” she replied.
+
+There was nothing very definite in all this, yet it revealed such an
+utter abandonment of life's best hopes--such a desolation of love's
+pleasant land--such a dark future for one who might have been so nobly
+blest in a true marriage union, that I turned from the theme with a sad
+heart.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+
+
+Almost daily, while the pleasant fall weather lasted, did I meet the
+handsome carriage of Mrs. Dewey; but I noticed that she went less
+through the town, and oftener out into the country. And I also noticed
+that she rode alone more frequently than she had been accustomed to do.
+Formerly, one fashionable friend or another, who felt it to be an honor
+to sit in the carriage of Mrs. Dewey, was generally to be seen in her
+company when she went abroad. Now, the cases were exceptional. I also
+noticed a gathering shade of trouble on her face.
+
+The fact was, opinion had commenced setting against her. The unhappy
+affair at Saratoga was not allowed to sleep in the public mind of S----.
+It was conned over, magnified, distorted, and added to, until it assumed
+most discreditable proportions; and ladies who respected themselves
+began to question whether it was altogether reputable to be known as her
+intimate friends. The less scrupulous felt the force of example as set
+by these, and began receding also. In a large city, like New York, the
+defection would only have been partial; for there, one can be included
+in many fashionable circles, while only a few of them may be penetrated
+by a defaming rumor. But in a small town like S----, the case is
+different.
+
+I was surprised when I comprehended the meaning of this apparent
+isolation of herself by Mrs. Dewey, and saw, in progress, the ban of
+social ostracism. While I pitied the victim, I was glad that we had
+virtue enough, even among our weak-minded votaries of fashion, to stamp
+with disapproval the conduct of which she had been guilty.
+
+“I saw Mrs. Dewey this morning,” said my wife, one day, late in
+November. “She was in at Howard's making some purchases.”
+
+“Did you speak to her?”
+
+“Yes, we passed a few words. How much she has changed!”
+
+“For the worse?”
+
+“Yes. She appears five years older than she did last summer, and has
+such a sad, disappointed look, that I could not help pitying her from my
+heart.”
+
+“There are few who need your pity more, Constance. I think she must be
+wretched almost beyond endurance. So young, and the goblet which held
+the shine of her life broken, and all its precious contents spilled in
+the thirsty sand at her feet. Every one seems to have receded from her.”
+
+“The common sentiment is against her; and yet, I am of those who never
+believed her any thing worse than indiscreet.”
+
+“Her indiscretion was in itself a heinous offence against good morals,”
+ said I; “and while she has my compassion, I have no wish to see a
+different course of treatment pursued towards her.”
+
+“I haven't much faith in the soundness of this common sentiment against
+her,” replied Constance. “There is in it some self-righteousness, a good
+deal of pretended horror at her conduct, but very little real virtuous
+indignation. It is my opinion that eight out of ten of her old
+fashionable friends would be just as intimate with her as ever, though
+they knew all about the affair at Saratoga, if they only were in the
+secret. It is in order to stand well with the world that they lift their
+hands in pretended holy horror.”
+
+“We cannot expect people to act from any higher principles than they
+possess,” said I; “and it is something gained to good morals, when even
+those who are corrupt in heart affect to be shocked at departures from
+virtue in their friends.”
+
+“Yes, I can see that. Still, when I look beneath the surface, I feel
+that, so far as the motives are concerned, a wrong has been done; and
+my soul stirs with a feeling of pity towards Mrs. Dewey, and indignation
+against her heartless friends. Do you know, dear, that since I met her
+this morning, I have had serious thoughts of calling upon her?”
+
+“You!”
+
+Constance gave me one of her placid smiles in answer to my surprised
+ejaculation.
+
+“Yes; why not?”
+
+“What will people say?”
+
+“I can tell you what they will not say,” she replied,
+
+“Well?”
+
+“They will not say, as they do of her, that of all men, I care least for
+my husband.”
+
+“I am not afraid of their saying that; but--”
+
+I was a little bewildered by this unexpected thought on the part of my
+wife, and did not at first see the matter clear.
+
+“She has held herself very high, and quite aloof from many of her old
+friends,” Constance resumed. “While this was the case, I have not
+cared to intrude upon her; although she has been kind and polite to me
+whenever we happened to meet. Now, when the summer friends who courted
+her are dropping away like autumn leaves, a true friend may draw near
+and help her in the trial through which she is passing.”
+
+“Right, Constance! right!” said I, warmly. “Your clearer eyes have gone
+down below, the surface. Oh, yes; call upon her, and be her true friend,
+if she will permit you to come near enough. There can be no loss to you;
+there may be great gain to her. Was there any thing in her manner that
+encouraged you to approach?”
+
+“I think so. It was this, no doubt, that stirred the suggestion in my
+mind.”
+
+Constance waited a day or two, pondering the matter, and then made a
+call at the Allen House.
+
+“How were you received?” I asked, on meeting her.
+
+“Kindly,” she said.
+
+“But with indifference?”
+
+“No. Mrs. Dewey was surprised, I thought, but evidently pleased.”
+
+“How long did you stay?”
+
+“Only for a short time.”
+
+“What did you talk about?”
+
+“Scarcely any thing beyond the common-place topics that come up on
+formal visits. But I penetrated deep enough into her mind to discover
+the 'aching void' there, which she has been so vainly endeavoring to
+fill. I do not think she meant to let me see this abyss of wretchedness;
+but her efforts to hide it were in vain. Unhappy one! She has been
+seeking to quench an immortal thirst at broken cisterns which can hold
+no water.”
+
+“Can you do her any good, Constance?” I asked.
+
+“If we would do good, we must put ourselves in the way,” she replied.
+“Nothing is gained by standing afar off.”
+
+“Then you mean to call upon her again?”
+
+“She held my hand at parting, with such an earnest pressure, and looked
+at me so kindly when she said, 'Your visit has been very pleasant,' that
+I saw the way plain before me.”
+
+“You will wait until she returns your call?”
+
+“I cannot say. It will depend upon the way things shape themselves in my
+mind. If I can do her good, I shall not stand upon etiquette.”
+
+As I came in sight of my modest little home a few days afterwards, I
+saw the stylish carriage of Mrs. Dewey dash away from my door, taking a
+direction opposite to that by which I was approaching.
+
+“How are the mighty fallen!” It was hardly a good spirit by whom this
+thought was quickened, for I was conscious of something like a feeling
+of triumph. With an effort I repressed the ungenerous state of mind.
+
+“So your call has been returned,” said I, on entering our sitting room.
+
+“Yes. How did you know?” Constance looked up, smiling, but curious.
+
+“I saw Mrs. Dewey's carriage leave our door as I turned into the street.
+Did she come in, or only leave her card?”
+
+“She came in, and sat for half an hour.”
+
+“And made herself very agreeable,--was patronizing, and all that?”
+
+“No--nothing of the kind suggested by your words.” And Constance looked
+at me reproachfully. “She was, on the contrary, quiet, subdued, and
+womanly. I called to see her, with the manner of one who had about her
+no consciousness of inferiority; and she returned the call, without a
+sign that I could regard as offensive.”
+
+“It is well,” I answered, coming back into my better state. “If true
+friends can take the place of false friends, who left her the moment a
+shadow fell upon her good name, then the occasion of blame may pave the
+way to life instead of ruin. There must be remains of early and better
+states covered up and hidden away in her soul, but not lost; and by
+means of these she may be saved--yet, I fear, that only through deep
+suffering will the overlying accretions of folly be broken away.”
+
+“She is in the hands of one to whom all spirits are precious,” said
+Constance, meekly; “and if we can aid in His good work of restoration
+and salvation, our reward shall be great.”
+
+After the lapse of a week, Constance called again upon Mrs. Dewey. She
+found her in a very unhappy state of mind, and failed, almost entirely,
+in her efforts to throw a few sunbeams across the shadow by which she
+was environed. Her reception was neither cold nor cordial.
+
+“I think,” she said, “that my visit was untimely. Some recent occurrence
+had, probably, disturbed her mind so deeply; that she was not able
+to rise above the depression that followed. I noticed a bitterness of
+feeling about her that was not apparent on the occasion of my first
+call; and a hardness of manner and sentiment, that indicated a condition
+of mental suffering having its origin in a sense of wrong. Mr. Dewey
+passed through the hall, and went out a few minutes after I entered the
+house, and before his wife joined me in the parlor. It may have been
+fancy; but I thought, while I sat there awaiting her appearance, that I
+heard angry words in the room above. The heavy tread of a man's foot
+was there; but the sound ceased all at once--so did the voices. A little
+while afterwards Mr. Dewey came down stairs, and went out, as I have
+said. Some minutes passed before I heard the rustle of Mrs. Dewey's
+garments. There was the air of one disturbed and ill at ease about her,
+when she entered; and though she made an effort to seem pleased, all was
+forced work. Poor woman! The path she selected to walk in through the
+world has proved rough and thorny, I fear, beyond any thing dreamed of
+in her young imagination.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+
+
+Weeks passed after this second visit to the Allen House, but the call
+was not returned by Mrs. Dewey. We talked the matter over, occasionally,
+and concluded that, for some reason best known to herself, the friendly
+overtures of Constance were not agreeable to the lady. She was not often
+seen abroad, and when she did appear, the closed windows of her carriage
+usually hid her face from careful observation.
+
+Of late, Mr. Dewey was away from S----more than usual, business
+connected with the firm of which he was a member requiring his frequent
+presence in New York. He did not remain absent over two or three days at
+a time.
+
+Nearly opposite to where I resided lived Mr. Joshua Kling, the Cashier
+of the new Clinton Bank. He and Mr. Dewey seemed to be on particularly
+friendly terms. Often I noticed the visits of Mr. Dewey to the Cashier's
+house after bank hours, and many times in paying evening calls would I
+meet the two gentlemen, arm in arm, engaged in close conversation.
+
+It was pretty generally understood in S----that the Clinton Bank was
+in the hands or parties in New York, and that a large proportion of the
+discounts made were of paper bearing the endorsement of Floyd, Lawson,
+Lee, & Co., which was passed by the directors as the legitimate business
+paper received by that house in its extensive business operations; or of
+paper drawn to the order of John Floyd & Co., given in payment of goods
+manufactured at the mills in S----. It was also generally conceded that
+as, through their partner, Mr. Dewey, this firm of Floyd, Lawson, Lee,
+& Co., had invested a large amount of capital in S----, and by their
+liberality and enterprise greatly benefited the town, they were
+entitled to all the favors it was in the power of the bank to give; more
+particularly as the firm was one of great wealth--“solid as gold”--and
+the interests of the stockholders would, therefore, be best served by
+keeping the line of discount mainly in so safe a channel.
+
+Now and then a disappointed storekeeper, whose small offerings were
+thrown out, would inveigh bitterly against the directors, calling hard
+names, and prophesying “a grand explosion one of these days;” but these
+invectives and predictions hardly ever found a repetition beyond the
+narrow limits of his place of business.
+
+And so the splendid schemes of Ralph Dewey and Company went on
+prospering, while he grew daily in self-importance, and in offensive
+superciliousness toward men from whom he had nothing to expect. In
+my own case I had little to complain of, as my contact with him was
+generally professional, and under circumstances that caused a natural
+deference to my skill as a physician.
+
+Nothing out of the ordinary range of things transpired until towards
+Christmas, when my wife received a note from Mrs. Dewey, asking her as a
+special favor to call at the Allen House. She was there in half an hour
+after the note came to hand.
+
+I was at home when she returned, and saw the moment I looked into her
+face that she had been the witness of something that had moved her
+deeply.
+
+“Is anything wrong with Mrs. Dewey?” I asked.
+
+“Yes.” Her countenance took on a more serious aspect.
+
+“In what respect?”
+
+“The story cannot be told in a sentence. I received a note from her as
+you are aware. Its earnest brevity forewarned me that the call involved
+something of serious import; and I was not mistaken in this conclusion.
+On calling, and asking for Mrs. Dewey, I noticed an air of irresolution
+about the servant. 'Mrs. Dewey is not well,' she said, 'and I hardly
+think can see company to-day.'
+
+“'She is not ill, I hope?' said I.
+
+“'No, ma'am; not ill exactly, but--' and she hesitated and looked
+embarrassed.
+
+“'She will see me,' I spoke confidently. 'Take her my name, and I will
+wait here in the parlor.'
+
+“In a few minutes the girl returned and asked me to walk up stairs. I
+followed her to Mrs. Dewey's room. She tapped lightly on the door, which
+was opened. I passed in, and found myself alone with Delia. She grasped
+my arm tightly as she shut the door and locked it, saying as she did so,
+in a voice so altered from her usual tone, that it sounded strangely in
+my ears--
+
+“'Thank you, my friend, for coming so soon. I am in deep trouble, and
+need a counselor as well as a comforter. I can trust you for both.'
+
+“I drew my arm around her, so that by act I could give more than the
+assurance of words, and walked from the door with her to a lounge
+between the windows, where we sat down. Her face had a shrunken aspect,
+like the face of one who had been sick; and it showed also the marks of
+great suffering.
+
+“'You may trust me as your own sister, Delia,' said I, 'and if in my
+power to counsel or to comfort, both will be freely accorded.'
+
+“I called her Delia, instead of Mrs. Dewey; not from design, but because
+the old name by which I had known her was first on my lips.
+
+“I thought there was a sudden lifting of her eyes as I pronounced this
+name. The effect, if any followed, was not to repel, but to draw her
+closer.
+
+“'I am standing,' she said, speaking slowly and solemnly, 'at the edge
+of a deep abyss, my way hedged up on both sides, and enemies coming on
+behind. I have not strength to spring over; and to fall is destruction.
+In my weakness and despair, I turn to you for help. If there is help in
+any mortal arm, something tells me it is in yours.'
+
+“She did not weep, nor show strong emotion. But her face was almost
+colorless, and presented an image of woe such as never met my eyes,
+except in pictures.
+
+“'You have heard, no doubt,' she went on, 'some of the stories to
+my discredit which have been circulated in S----. That I was gay and
+imprudent at Saratoga, cannot be denied--gay and imprudent as are too
+many fashionable women, under the exciting allurements of the place.
+Little fond flirtations with gentlemen made up a part of our pastime
+there. But as for sin--it was not in my thoughts!' She said this with
+an emphasis that assured me of its truth. 'A mere life of fashionable
+pleasure is a great exhauster of resources. One tires of this excitement
+and of that, pushing them aside, as a child does an old or broken toy,
+to grasp after something new. It is not surprising, therefore, that mere
+pleasure-seeking women forget at times the just proprieties of life,
+and, before they are aware of danger, find themselves in very equivocal
+positions. This was simply my case. Nothing more--nothing less.'
+
+“She paused and looked earnestly into my face, to see if I credited this
+assertion.
+
+“'I have never believed any thing else,' said I.
+
+“A faint, sad smile flitted across her wan face.
+
+“'The consequences of this error on my part,' she went on, 'threaten
+to be of the most disastrous kind. My husband has ever since conducted
+himself towards me as if I were a guilty and disgraced thing. We occupy
+separate apartments; and though we sit together at the same table, words
+rarely pass between us. Occasionally he comes home under the influence
+of wine, and then his abuse of me is fearful to think of. If any thing
+could waken a thoughtless creature sleeping on enchanted ground, it was
+this.'
+
+“'There has never been anything more than the semblance of love between
+us,' she continued. 'The more intimately I came to know him, after
+our marriage, the more did my soul separate itself from him, until the
+antipodes were not farther apart than we. So we lived on; I seeking a
+poor compensation in fashionable emulations and social triumphs; and he
+in grand business enterprises--castles in the air perhaps. Living
+thus, we have come to this point in our journey; and now the crisis has
+arrived!'
+
+“She paused.
+
+“' What crisis?' I asked.
+
+“'He demands a separation.' Her voice choked--'a divorce--'
+
+“'On what ground?'
+
+“'On legal ground.' She bent down, covered her face, and uttered a
+groan so full of mental anguish, that I almost shuddered as the sound
+penetrated my ears.
+
+“'I am to remain passive,' she resumed, while he charges me before the
+proper court, with infidelity, and gains a divorce through failure on
+my part to stand forth and defend myself. This, or a public trial of the
+case, at which he pledges himself to have witnesses who will prove me
+criminal, is my dreadful alternative. If he gains a divorce quietly on
+the charge of infidelity, I am wronged and disgraced; and if successful
+in a public trial, through perjured witnesses, the wrong and disgrace
+will be more terrible. Oh, my friend! pity and counsel me.'
+
+“'There is one,' said I, 'better able to stand your friend in a crisis
+like this than I am.'
+
+“'Who?' She looked up anxiously.
+
+“'Your father.'
+
+“A shadow fell over her face, and she answered mournfully,
+
+“'Even he is against me. How it is I cannot tell; but my husband seems
+to have my father completely under his influence.'
+
+“'Your mother?' I suggested.
+
+“'Can only weep with me. I have no adviser, and my heart beats so wildly
+all the time, that thought confuses itself whenever it makes an effort
+to see the right direction. Fear of a public trial suggests passive
+endurance of wrong on my part; but an innate sense of justice cries out
+against this course, and urges me to resistance.'
+
+“'If you are innocent,' said I, firmly, 'in the name and strength of
+innocence defend yourself! All that a woman holds dearest is at stake.
+If they drive you to this great extremity, do not shrink from the
+trial.'
+
+“'But what hope have I in such a trial if false witnesses come up
+against me?'
+
+“'God and justice are stronger than all the powers of evil,' said I.
+
+“'They might be, in your case,' she answered, mournfully; 'for you have
+made God your friend, and justice your strong tower. But I--what have I
+to hope for in God? He has not been in all my thoughts; and now will He
+not mock at my calamity?'
+
+“'No--no, my unhappy friend!' I answered. 'He never turns from any; it
+is we who turn from Him. His tender mercy is over all His works. All
+human souls are alike precious in His eyes. If you trust in Him, you
+need not fear your bitterest enemies.'
+
+“'How shall I trust in him?'
+
+“She bent towards me eagerly.
+
+“'In the simple work of doing right,' said I.
+
+“'Doing right?'
+
+“She did not clearly understand me.
+
+“Do you think it would be right to let a charge of crime lie,
+unrepelled, against you; a great crime, such as is alleged--destroying
+your good name, and throwing a shadow of disgrace over your children!'
+
+“'No,' was her unhesitating reply.
+
+“'Then it would be wrong for you to suffer a divorce to issue on the
+ground of infidelity, without a defence of yourself by every legal means
+in your power. Do right, then, in so defending yourself, and trust in
+God for the result.'
+
+“I shudder at the bare thought of a public trial,' she answered.
+
+“'Don't think of anything but right action, said I. If you would have
+the Hosts of Heaven on your side, give them power by doing the right;
+and they will surely achieve for you the victory over all your enemies.
+Have any steps been taken by Mr. Dewey?'
+
+“'I fear so.'
+
+“'How long is it since your husband entertained this purpose?'
+
+“'I think it has been growing in his mind ever since that unhappy affair
+at Saratoga.'
+
+“As she said this, her thoughts seemed to turn aside upon something
+else, and she sat looking down upon the floor in a state of deep
+abstraction. At last, taking a long breath, she looked up, and said with
+trembling lips and a husky voice,
+
+“'I have something more to tell you. There is another aspect to this
+miserable affair.'
+
+“And she drew forth a crumpled letter.
+
+“'I found this, sealed, and directed, lying on the floor of my husband's
+room, two days ago. It is in his hand writing; addressed to a lady
+in New York, and signed R. D. I will read you its contents.' And she
+unfolded the letter, and read:
+
+“'My dearest Caroline,' it began; and then went on for a few paragraphs,
+in a lover-like strain; after which, the divorce from the writer's wife
+was referred to as a thing of speedy attainment, there being little fear
+of opposition on her part, as he had given her to understand that he had
+witnesses ready to prove her criminal conduct; if she dared to resist
+his will in the matter. 'A few months of patient waiting, dearest
+Caroline,' was the concluding sentence, 'and then for that happy
+consummation we have so long desired.'
+
+“'What do you think of that?' asked poor Delia, looking almost wildly
+into my face.
+
+“'I think,' said I, 'that you hold in your hands the means of safety.
+Your husband will not dare to force you into a defensive position, when
+he learns that you have this document in your possession. It would tell
+strongly against him and his perjured witnesses if produced in court.
+Then take heart, my friend. This worst evil that you dreaded will
+not come to pass. If a divorce is granted, it will have to be on some
+different allegation.'
+
+“She grasped my hand, and said, 'Oh, do you think so? Do you think so?'”
+
+“'I am sure of it,' was my confident answer. 'Sure of it. Why the man
+would only damage his cause, and disgrace himself, by venturing into a
+trial with a witness like this against him.'”
+
+“'Oh, bless you for such confidently assuring words!' and the poor
+creature threw herself forward, and laid her face upon my bosom. For
+the first time she wept, and for a season, oh how wildly! You will not
+wonder that my tears fell almost as fast as hers.
+
+“'I turned in my despair to you,' she said, on growing calm, 'you whom
+I loved, and almost revered, in the earlier and better days of my life,
+and my heart tells me that I have not turned in vain. Into the darkness
+that surrounded me like the pall of death, a little light has already
+penetrated.'”
+
+“May it shine unto the perfect day!” I answered fervently.
+
+“And, dear husband! it will shine,” said Constance, a glow of enthusiasm
+lighting up her face, and giving it a new beauty, “even unto the perfect
+day! Not the perfect day of earthly bliss--for I think the sun of that
+day has gone down never to rise again for her--but the perfect day of
+that higher life, which to many comes not, except through the gates of
+tribulation.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+
+
+I was shocked and distressed by the painful revelation which Mrs. Dewey
+had made to Constance. A sadder history in real life I had never heard.
+
+A few days after this memorable visit to the Allen House, a note was
+received by my wife, containing this single word, “_Come_,” and signed
+_Delia_.
+
+“Any change in the aspect of affairs?” I inquired of Constance on her
+return.
+
+“Yes. Mrs. Dewey has received notice, in due form, of her husband's
+application for a divorce.”
+
+“What has she done?”
+
+“Nothing yet. It was to ask my advice as to her best course that she
+sent for me.”
+
+“And what advice did you give her?”
+
+“I gave none. First, I must consult you.”
+
+I shook my head and replied,
+
+“It will not do for me to be mixed up in this affair, Constance.”
+
+Worldly prudence spoke there.
+
+My wife laid her hand upon my arm, and looking calmly in my face, said,
+
+“The right way is always a safe way.”
+
+“Granted.”
+
+“It will be right for you to give such advice as your judgment dictates,
+and therefore safe. I do not know much about law matters, but it occurs
+to me that her first step should be the employment of counsel.”
+
+“Is her father going to stand wholly aloof?” I inquired.
+
+“Yes, if she be resolved to defend herself in open court. He will not
+sanction a course that involves so much disgrace of herself and family.”
+
+“Has she shown him the letter you saw?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I think she is afraid to let it go out of her hands.”
+
+“She might trust it with her father, surely,” said I.
+
+“Her father has been very hard with her; and seems to take the worst for
+granted. He evidently believes that it is in the power of Dewey to prove
+her guilty; and that if she makes any opposition to his application for
+a divorce, he will hold her up disgraced before the world.”
+
+“This letter might open his eyes.”
+
+“The letter is no defence of her; only a witness against him. It does
+not prove her innocence. If it did, then it would turn toward her a
+father's averted face. In court its effect will be to throw doubt
+upon the sincerity of her husband's motives, and to show that he had a
+reason, back of alleged infidelity, for wishing to be divorced from his
+wife.”
+
+“I declare, Constance!” said I, looking at my wife in surprise, “you
+have taken upon yourself a new character. I think the case is safe in
+your hands, and that Mrs. Dewey wants no more judicious friend. If
+you were a man, you might conduct the defence for her to a successful
+issue.”
+
+“I am not a man, and, therefore, I come to a man,” she replied, “and ask
+the aid of his judgment. I go by a very straight road to conclusions;
+but I want the light of your reason upon these conclusions.”
+
+“I am not a lawyer as you are aware, Constance--only a doctor.”
+
+“You are a man with a heart and common sense,” she answered, with just
+a little shade of rebuke in her tones, “and as God has put in your way a
+wretched human soul that may be lost, unless you stretch forth a saving
+hand, is there any room for question as to duty? There is none, my
+husband! Squire Floyd believes his daughter guilty; and while he rests
+in this conclusion, he will not aid her in anything that points to
+exposure and disgrace. She must, therefore, if a vigorous defence is
+undertaken, look elsewhere for aid and comfort.”
+
+I began to see the matter a little clearer.
+
+“Mr. Wallingford is the best man I know.”
+
+“Mr. Wallingford!” I thought Constance would have looked me through.
+
+“Mr. Wallingford!” she repeated, still gazing steadily into my face.
+“Are you jesting?”
+
+“No,” I replied calmly. “In a case that involves so much, she wants a
+wise and good defender; and I do not know of any man upon whom she could
+so thoroughly rely.”
+
+Constance dropped her eyes to the floor.
+
+“It would not do,” she said, after some moments.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Their former relation to each other precludes its possibility.”
+
+“But, you must remember, Constance, that Delia never knew how deeply he
+was once attached to her.”
+
+“She knows that he offered himself.”
+
+“And that, in a very short time afterwards, he met her with as much
+apparent indifference as if she had never been to him more than a
+pleasant acquaintance. Of the struggle through which he passed, in the
+work of obliterating her image from his mind, she knows nothing.”
+
+“But he knows it,” objected Constance.
+
+“And what does that signify? Will he defend her less skillfully on this
+account? Rather will he not feel a stronger interest in the case?”
+
+“I do not think that she will employ him to defend her,” said Constance.
+“I would not, were the case mine.”
+
+“Womanly pride spoke there, Constance.”
+
+“Or rather say a manly lack of perception in your case.”
+
+“Perception of what?”
+
+“Of the fitness of things,” she answered.
+
+“That is just what I do see,” I returned. “There is no man in
+S----better fitted for conducting this case than Mr. Wallingford.”
+
+“She will never place it in his hands; you may take a woman's word for
+that,” said my wife confidently. “Of all living men he is the last one
+to whom she could talk of the humiliating particulars involved in a case
+like this.”
+
+“Suppose you suggest his name to her. Twelve years of such a life as she
+has led may have almost obliterated the memory of that passage in her
+life.”
+
+“Don't believe it. A woman never forgets a passage like that;
+particularly when the events of every passing day but serve to remind
+her of the error she once committed.”
+
+“I don't know what else to advise,” said I. “She ought to have a good
+and discreet man to represent her, or all may be lost.”
+
+“Would you have any objection to confer with Mr. Wallingford on the
+subject in a private, confidential way?”
+
+“None in the world,” I replied.
+
+“Will you see him at once?” The interest of Constance was too strongly
+excited to brook delay.
+
+“Yes, immediately.”
+
+And putting on my overcoat I went to the office of Mr. Wallingford. I
+found him alone, and at once laid the whole case before him--relating,
+with particularity, all that had occurred between my wife and Mrs.
+Dewey. He listened with deep and pitying attention; and when I was
+through, expressed his opinion of Dewey in very strong language.
+
+“And now what is to be done?” I asked, going at once to the vital
+question.
+
+“Your wife is right,” he answered. “I can hardly become her advocate. It
+would involve humiliation on her part too deep to be borne. But my aid
+she shall have to the fullest extent; and it will be strange if I do not
+thwart his wicked scheme.”
+
+“How will you aid her?”
+
+“Through her right attorney, if my advice as to the choice be followed.
+You know James Orton?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“He is a young man to be relied upon. Let Mrs. Dewey put the case in his
+hands. If she does so, it will be, virtually, in mine.”
+
+“Enough, Mr. Wallingford,” said I. “It looks more hopeful for our poor
+unhappy friend, against whom even her own flesh and blood have turned.”
+
+When I gave Constance the result of my interview with Mr. Wallingford,
+she was quite elated at the prospect of securing his most valuable aid
+for Mrs. Dewey. Orton was young, and had been practising at the bar for
+only a couple of years. Up to this time he had not appeared in any case
+of leading importance; and had, therefore, no established reputation.
+Our fear was that Mrs. Dewey might not be willing to place her case in
+such inexperienced hands. In order to have the matter settled with as
+little delay as possible, Constance paid an early visit to the Allen
+House, and suggested Mr. Orton as counsel. Mrs. Dewey had not even heard
+his name; but, after being assured that I had the fullest confidence in
+him, and particularly advised his employment, she consented to accept of
+his services.
+
+Their first interview was arranged to take place at my house, and in
+the presence of my wife, when the notice Mrs. Dewey had received on the
+institution of proceedings, was placed in the young lawyer's hands, and
+some conversation had as to the basis and tenor of an answer. A second
+interview took place on the day following, at which Mrs. Dewey gave a
+full statement of the affair at Saratoga, and asserted her innocence in
+the most solemn and impressive manner. The letter from her husband to
+the lady in New York, was produced, and at the request of Mr. Orton,
+given into his possession.
+
+The answer to Mr. Dewey's application for a divorce was drawn up by Mr.
+Wallingford, who entered with great earnestness into the matter. It
+was filed in court within a week after notice of the application
+was received. This was altogether unexpected by the husband, who, on
+becoming aware of the fact, lost all decent control of himself, and
+ordered his wretched wife to leave his house. This, however, she refused
+to do. Then she had her father's angry opposition to brave. But she
+remained firm.
+
+“He will cover you with infamy, if you dare to persevere in this mad
+opposition,” he said. And she answered--
+
+“The infamy may recoil upon his own head. I am innocent--I will not be
+such a traitor to virtue as to let silence declare me guilty.”
+
+There was a pause, now, for a few weeks. The unhappy state of affairs at
+the Allen House made it hardly proper for my wife to continue her visits
+there, and Mrs. Dewey did not venture to call upon her. The trial of the
+case would not come up for some two or three months, and both parties
+were waiting, in stern resolution, for the approaching contest.
+
+One day I received a message from Mrs. Dewey, desiring me to call
+and see two of her children who were sick. On visiting them--the two
+youngest--I found them seriously ill, with symptoms so like scarletina,
+that I had little question in my mind as to the character of the disease
+from which they were suffering. My second visit confirmed these fears.
+
+“It is scarlet fever?” said Mrs. Dewey, looking at me calmly, as I moved
+from the bed-side after a careful examination of the two little ones.
+
+I merely answered--
+
+“Yes.”
+
+There was no change in her countenance.
+
+“They are both very ill.”
+
+She spoke with a slow deliberateness, that was unusual to her.
+
+“They are sick children,” said I.
+
+“Sick, it may be, unto death.”
+
+There was no emotion in her voice.
+
+I looked at her without replying.
+
+“I can see them die, Doctor, if that must be.”
+
+Oh, that icy coldness of manner, how it chilled me!
+
+“No hand but mine shall tend them now, Doctor. They have been long
+enough in the care of others--neglected--almost forgotten--by their
+unworthy mother. But in this painful extremity I will be near them. I
+come back to the post of duty, even at this late hour, and all that is
+left for me, that will I do.”
+
+I was deeply touched by her words and manner.
+
+The latter softened a little as she uttered the closing sentence.
+
+“You look at the darkest side,” I answered. “With God are the issues of
+life. He calls us, our children, or our friends, in His own good time.
+We cannot tell how any sickness will terminate; and hope for the best is
+always our truest state.”
+
+“I hope for the best,” she replied; but with something equivocal in her
+voice.
+
+“The best is life,” I said, scarcely reflecting upon my words.
+
+“Not always,” she returned, still speaking calmly. “Death is often the
+highest blessing that God can give. It will be so in the present case.”
+
+“Madam!”
+
+My tone of surprise did not move her.
+
+“It is simply true, Doctor,” she made answer. “As things are now, and
+as they promise to be in the future, the safest place for these helpless
+innocents is in Heaven; and I feel that their best Friend is about to
+remove them there through the door of sickness.”
+
+I could not bear to hear her talk in this way. It sent cold chills
+through me. So I changed the subject.
+
+On the next day, all the symptoms were unfavorable. Mrs. Dewey was calm
+as when I last saw her; but it was plain from her appearance, that she
+had taken little if any rest. Her manner towards the sick babes was full
+of tenderness; but there was no betrayal of weakness or distress in
+view of a fatal termination. She made no anxious inquiries, such as are
+pressed on physicians in cases of dangerous illness; but received my
+directions, and promised to give them a careful observance, with a
+self-possession that showed not a sign of wavering strength.
+
+I was touched by all this. How intense must have been the suffering that
+could so benumb the heart!--that could prepare a mother to sit by
+the couch of her sick babes, and be willing to see them die! I have
+witnessed many sad scenes in professional experience; but none so sad as
+this.
+
+Steadily did the destroyer keep on with his work. There were none of
+those flattering changes that sometimes cheat us into hopes of recovery,
+but a regular daily accumulation of the most unfavorable symptoms. At
+the end of a week, I gave up all hope of saving the children, and made
+no more vain attempts to control a disease that had gone on from tie
+beginning, steadily breaking away the foundations of life. To diminish
+the suffering of my little patients, and make their passage from earth
+to Heaven as easy as possible, was now my only care.
+
+On the mother's part, there was no sign of wavering. Patiently,
+tenderly, faithfully did she minister to her little ones, night and day.
+No lassitude or weariness appeared, though her face, which grew
+paler and thinner every day, told the story of exhausting nature. She
+continued in the same state of mind I have described; never for an
+instant, as far as I could see, receding from a full consent to their
+removal.
+
+One morning, in making my usually early call at the Allen House, I saw,
+what I was not unprepared to see, a dark death sign on the door.
+
+“All over?” I said to the servant who admitted me.
+
+“Yes, sir, all is over,” she replied.
+
+“Both gone?”
+
+“Yes, sir, both.”
+
+Tears were in her eyes.
+
+“When did they die?”
+
+“About midnight.”
+
+“At the same time?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Dear little souls! They went together.”
+
+“I will go up to see them,” said I.
+
+And the girl showed me to the room in which they were laid. The door was
+closed. I opened it, and stepped in softly. The room was darkened; but
+light came in through a small opening in the curtains at the top of the
+window, and fell in a narrow circle around the spot where the bodies,
+already in their snowy grave clothes, were laid. In a chair beside
+them sat the mother. She was alone with her dead. I felt that I was an
+intruder upon a sorrow too deep for tears or words; but it was too late
+to recede. So I moved forward and stood by the bedside, looking down
+upon the two white little faces, from which had passed every line of
+suffering.
+
+Mrs. Dewey neither stirred nor spoke, nor in any way gave token that she
+was aware of my presence in the room. I stood for over a minute looking
+upon the sweet images before me--for in them, death had put on forms of
+beauty--and still there was no movement on the part of Mrs. Dewey. Then,
+feeling that she was with One who could speak to her heart by an inner
+way, better than I could speak through the natural ear, I quietly
+receded and left the apartment. As my eyes rested on her a moment, in
+closing the door, I saw that her form remained as still as a statue.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+
+
+An hour later, when Constance went to see Mrs. Dewey, she found her in
+a state of unconsciousness, nature having at last given way. Not long
+after I left the house, her mother, on entering the room where the
+children were laid out, found her insensible, lying across the bed, with
+her dead babes clasped in her arms.
+
+Mrs. Floyd sent word for me to come and see her daughter, as she
+continued in a lethargic state. I found her like one in a deep sleep,
+only her breathing was light, and her pulse very feeble, but regular.
+She was out of the reach of my skill, and in the hands of the Great
+Physician. I could only trust the cure to Him. No medicine for the body
+would be of any avail here. I called again in the afternoon; but found
+no change. How little was there in the pale, pinched face that lay among
+the white pillows, to remind me of the handsome, dashing Mrs. Dewey, of
+a year gone by!
+
+“What do you think of her, Doctor?”
+
+Mrs. Floyd put the question. The tone had in it something that made me
+look narrowly into the speaker's face. My ears had not deceived me.
+
+There was the wish in her heart that Delia might die!
+
+I was not surprised at this. And yet the revelation of such a state of
+feeling, in so good and true a woman, as I had reason to know Mrs. Floyd
+to be, made my heart bound with a throb of pain.
+
+Alas! alas! Into what unnatural conditions may not the mind fall,
+through suffering that shuts out human hope!
+
+“Nature,” said I, in answer to the question of Mrs. Floyd, “may be only
+gathering up her powers after a long period of exhaustion. The strife
+through which your daughter has passed--calmly passed to all external
+seeming--has not been without a wasting of internal life. How she kept
+on so evenly to the end, passes my comprehension. There is not one woman
+in a thousand who could have so borne herself through to the final act.
+It is meet that she should rest now.”
+
+“If she were sleeping with her babes, happy would it be for her!”
+
+Tears fell over the face of Mrs. Floyd.
+
+“God knows what is best,” I remarked.
+
+“She has nothing to live for in this world.” A sob broke from its
+repression, and heaved the mother's bosom. “O Doctor, if I saw the death
+dews on her brow, I would not weep!”
+
+“Leave her, my dear friend,” said I, “in the hands of Him who sees
+deeper into the heart than it is possible for our eyes to penetrate. Her
+feet have left the soft, flowery ways they trod for a time, and turned
+into rough paths, where every footfall is upon sharp stones; but it
+may be that a blessed land is smiling beyond, he has been astray in the
+world, and God may only be leading her homeward by the way of sorrow.”
+
+Mrs. Floyd wept freely as I talked.
+
+“His will be done,” she said, sobbing.
+
+“Your daughter,” said I, taking the occasion to bear my testimony on the
+favorable side, “has been wronged without question. She was doubtless
+imprudent, but not sinful; and the present attempt to disgrace her I
+regard as a cruel wrong. It will recoil, I trust, in a way not dreamed
+of.”
+
+“O Doctor, let me thank you for such words.”
+
+And Mrs. Floyd caught my arm with an eager movement.
+
+“I speak soberly, madam, and from observation and reflection. And I
+trust to see Delia live and triumph over her enemies.”
+
+“Won't you talk with the Squire, Doctor?” She still grasped my arm. “He
+will not hear a word from me in favor of Delia. Mr. Dewey has completely
+blinded him.”
+
+“Wait patiently, Mrs. Floyd,” said I, in a tone of encouragement. “Your
+daughter is not without friends. There are those upon her side, who
+have the will and the power to defend her; and they will defend her, I
+believe successfully.”
+
+A sigh fluttered through the room, causing us both to turn quickly
+towards the bed on which Mrs. Dewey was lying. Her lips were moving
+slightly; but no change appeared on her death-like face. I laid my
+fingers upon her wrist, and searched for her pulse. It was very low and
+thread-like; but with more vitality than on the occasion of my first
+visit to her in the morning.
+
+“The signs are favorable.”
+
+Mrs. Floyd did not respond. She was looking at her daughter with an
+expression of unutterable grief upon her countenance.
+
+I did not attempt to give medicine, but left unerring nature to do her
+own work.
+
+Mrs. Dewey did not again look upon the faces of her dead children. They
+were buried ere her mind awoke to any knowledge of passing events. I
+was at the funeral, and closely observed her husband. He appeared very
+sober, and shed some tears at the grave, when the little coffins were
+lowered together into the earth.
+
+It was a week before Mrs. Dewey was clearly conscious of external
+things. I visited her every day, watching, with deep interest, her slow
+convalescence. It was plain, as her mind began to recover its faculties,
+that the memory of a sad event had faded; and I was anxious for the
+effect, when this painful remembrance was restored.
+
+One day I found her sitting up in her room. She smiled feebly as I came
+in, and said:
+
+“Doctor, am I never going to get well? It seems like an age since I
+became sick.”
+
+“You are getting on finely,” I answered, in a cheerful way, sitting down
+by her and taking her hand, which was wasted and shadowy.
+
+“I don't know about that, Doctor,” she said.
+
+“What makes me so weak? I've no more strength than a babe. And that
+reminds me of a frightful dream I had.” And her countenance changed.
+
+“A dream?” I queried.
+
+“Yes; I thought Aggy and Lu were both dead! I saw them laid out, cold
+and white as statues, just as plainly as I see you now.”
+
+She stopped suddenly, an expression of fear going over her face--then
+looked at me in a strange, questioning way.
+
+“Doctor”--she leaned towards me, with lips apart, and eyes full of a
+sudden, wild alarm. I laid my hand upon her, and said:
+
+“You have been very ill for some time, Mrs. Dewey, and are too weak to
+bear excitement. Don't let mere dreams disturb you.”
+
+“Dreams?” Her eyes fell from mine. “Dreams?” she repeated. “I feel very
+weak, Doctor,” was added, after a few moments. “Won't you assist me to
+lie down?”
+
+And she made a movement to rise. I took her arm and supported her to the
+bed, where she quietly composed herself, and turned her face away, so as
+almost to hide it from my view. At this moment Mrs. Floyd came in, and I
+withdrew, leaving them together.
+
+Memory had been restored. The accompanying shock was severe, but not
+heavy enough seriously to retard her recovery, which went on slowly. She
+still remained at the Allen House, rarely meeting her husband, who now
+spent a large part of his time in New York.
+
+The period fixed for a trial of the case between them was fast
+approaching. He continued resolute, and she did not waver from her
+purpose to defend her good name. The deep interest I took in the case,
+led me to see Mr. Wallingford often, and make inquiry as to the evidence
+which could be produced in Mrs. Dewey's favor, and the probable chances
+of an honorable result. We both favored a settlement of the difficulty
+without a trial and its consequent exposure, if that were possible.
+But how to prevent this was the difficult question. Finally it was
+determined to make a copy of the letter found by Mrs. Dewey, and enclose
+it to her husband, giving him warning at the same time that the original
+would be produced at the trial.
+
+Nothing was heard in response to this movement, until within a week
+of the day on which the case was expected to come up, when Mr. Dewey's
+lawyer called on Mr. Orton to know if it was still his intention to meet
+them in open court and resist their application for a divorce. On being
+assured that such was their purposes he expressed some regret at the
+consequent damage to the lady's reputation, as they had evidence against
+her of the most conclusive character. Finally he wished to know whether,
+in case a new ground were taken--one not touching the lady's good
+name--any opposition would be made. Mr. Orton said that he would consult
+his client, and answer the query with as little delay as practicable.
+
+Mrs. Dewey expressed a willingness to remain passive, provided no
+allegations were made in the new bill that even remotely cast a shadow
+upon her virtue.
+
+But Mr. Wallingford, on taking the matter into further consideration,
+advised a different course altogether--no less than an application
+from the other side, on the ground of neglect, ill-treatment, and
+constructive conjugal infidelity, based on the important letter already
+referred to. Mrs. Dewey caught eagerly at this suggestion, as soon as it
+was presented to her. If a divorce were thus obtained, her vindication
+would be complete.
+
+The ranks of the enemy were thrown into confusion by this diversion. Mr.
+Dewey was violent, and threatened most terrible consequences. But when
+the time set for the case to come up arrived, he failed to appear.
+
+It was from the other side that the next movement came. A divorce was
+applied for on the part of Mrs. Dewey, in a bill carefully drawn up
+by Mr. Wallingford. It asked not only for a legal separation from
+her husband, but for alimony, and the possession of the two remaining
+children. An answer was filed; but it was of so feeble a character as to
+amount to scarcely anything in the way of opposition. The chief argument
+was directed against the claim for alimony. The result was as we had
+anticipated. In the following spring a divorce was granted, and Mrs.
+Dewey, with her two children, left the Allen House and returned to her
+father's. The maintenance allowed by the court, was one thousand dollars
+a year for herself, and five hundred a year for each of the children
+during their minority.
+
+And so closed this exciting drama, begun in weakness, and ending in
+hopeless disaster. Oh, a few years! How many broken hearts do they close
+over? How many wrecks of goodly lives do they see scattered among the
+breakers!
+
+The interposition of Mr. Wallingford, in this case, was so managed as to
+keep him entirely out of sight, and Mrs. Dewey was never made aware of
+the fact that he had rendered her a great service.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+
+
+We did not see a great deal of Mr. Dewey in S----for some months after
+this. I heard it casually remarked that he was traveling in the South
+and West, for a part of the time, on business. The large interests of
+his firm involved in the two mills, however, made his presence necessary
+among us, and late in the fall he came back, and remained through the
+winter residing at the Allen House.
+
+In the spring a rumor got afloat that Mr. Dewey was soon to be married.
+A lady in New York was mentioned; the same, it was said, to whom the
+letter found by Mrs. Dewey was addressed. A few signs of renovation at
+the Allen House gave confirmation of this rumor, which at length assumed
+a more positive shape.
+
+The intimacy between Mrs. Wallingford and Constance, had grown into a
+close interior friendship, and scarcely a week passed that an evening
+was not spent by them together, sometimes at our house, and sometimes
+at Ivy Cottage. Mr. Wallingford had developed into a man after my own
+heart; and so I shared, when professional engagements allowed, in the
+enjoyment of these pleasant seasons.
+
+One evening Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford came round to spend an hour with
+us. I was happily at leisure. Conversation naturally falls into the
+current of passing events, and on this occasion, the approaching
+marriage of Mr. Dewey came naturally into the field of topics. This
+led to a review of the many strange circumstances connected with Mrs.
+Wallingford's presence in S----, and naturally, to an inquiry from my
+wife as to the present position of the property left by Captain Allen.
+
+“What about this young Garcia?” said Constance, addressing Mr.
+Wallingford. “I haven't heard of him for some time.”
+
+“He is at school yet, I believe,” replied Mr. Wallingford, not showing
+much interest in the matter.
+
+“He must be nearly of age,” said I.
+
+“About twenty, if his years were correctly given.”
+
+“He will come into the possession of a handsome property,” I remarked.
+
+“Yes, if it can be found by the time he is ready to receive it.”
+
+“Can be found! I don't comprehend you, Mr. Wallingford? Do you mean to
+question the integrity of the men who are executors to the estate?”
+
+“No. But, they have embarked in the same vessel with an unscrupulous
+villain--so I regard Ralph Dewey--and have, as far as I can see, given
+the rudder into his hands. If he do not wreck them on some dangerous
+coast, or sunken rock, it will be more from good fortune than anything
+else.”
+
+“He is partner in a very wealthy firm,” said I.
+
+“The standing of Floyd, Lawson, Lee & Co., is, you know, undoubted. He
+can't wreck out friends Bigelow and Floyd, without ruining them also.”
+
+“I was in New York a few months ago, on business,” Mr. Wallingford
+replied, “and it so happened, that I heard the firm of which Dewey is a
+partner spoken of. Among other remarks, was this: 'They are thought to
+be very much extended.'”
+
+“What is the meaning of that?” asked Mrs. Wallingford.
+
+“It is understood in business circles,” replied her husband, “to mean,
+that a house is doing too much business for the amount of capital
+employed, and that it has issued, in consequence, a large amount of
+paper. Any very heavy losses to a firm in this condition might prove
+disastrous.”
+
+“Too much extended?” said I, thoughtfully, some new impressions forming
+themselves in my mind.
+
+“Yes, that was the opinion held by the individual I refer to; and he was
+not one to speak carelessly on so grave a matter.”
+
+“If the house of Floyd, Lawson, Lee, & Co. should go down,” I remarked,
+“there will be sad work in S----.”
+
+“There will, without any doubt,” replied Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“The executors to the Allen estate might find themselves in a most
+unfortunate position,” said I.
+
+“Such a position as I would not be in, for all the world. Any thing but
+dishonor!”
+
+“How dishonor?” asked Constance.
+
+“The whole estate would be, I fear, involved.”
+
+“They gave security,” said I.
+
+“But the sureties are not worth a tenth part of the sum for which they
+stand responsible. The court acted with a singular want of discretion in
+appointing them.”
+
+“You don't mean to have us infer that Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd
+have used the funds of this estate for their own purposes, to any great
+extent?”
+
+“I would not care to say this out of doors, Doctor, but that is just my
+opinion of the matter as it now stands. Dewey is guardian to the heir,
+and would favor, rather than oppose, such a use of the funds.”
+
+“It might be just so much in favor of the heir,” remarked Mrs.
+Wallingford, “if two-thirds of the property had disappeared by the time
+he reached his majority; for, from all that I have heard of him, he is
+not likely to become a man fitted to use large wealth either to his own
+or any body else's advantage. He was low born and low bred, in the
+worst sense of the words; and I fear that no education will change his
+original quality, or greatly modify his early bias. So while the wasting
+of his substance is a great wrong in the abstract, it may be a real
+blessing to him. Events in this life work out strangely to our human
+eyes, yet there is a Providence in them that ever educes good from
+evil.”
+
+“If we could always believe that,” said I, “how tranquilly might we pass
+through life! How clearly would our eyes see through the darkest clouds,
+and rest upon the silver lining!”
+
+“Is it not so? Does not God's providence follow us in the smallest
+things of our lives? Do we take a step that falls outside of his
+cognizance? We have only to look back, to be assured of this. We may
+walk on tranquilly, Doctor, for, as sure as we live, no evil can
+befall us that does not have its origin within our own spirits. All the
+machinations of our most bitter enemies will come to naught, if we keep
+our hearts free from guile. They may rob us of our earthly possessions;
+but even this God will turn to our greater gain.”
+
+Mrs. Wallingford spoke with a charming enthusiasm.
+
+“With such a confidence,” said my wife, “one is richer than if he had
+the wealth of an Astor.”
+
+“And with this great advantage,” replied Mrs. Wallingford, “that he may
+enjoy the whole of his possessions. Moth and rust never corrupt them;
+and no man can take them away.”
+
+“I have a new book from which I want to read you a sentiment,” said
+Constance, rising, and moving towards the secretary and book-case, which
+stood in the room.
+
+Mrs. Wallingford rose and went with her.
+
+“It is so beautifully accordant with many things I have heard you say,”
+ added my wife, as she took down the volume, and commenced turning over
+its pages.
+
+After reading a few sentences, and commenting upon them, some remark
+directed the attention of Mrs. Wallingford to the antiquated secretary,
+which was the one I had purchased when the furniture of the Allen house
+was sold.
+
+“I have reason to remember this old secretary,” she said. “It was here
+that the will was found which cut off our interest in the estate of my
+uncle.”
+
+As she spoke in a pleasant way, she pulled out a drawer--the very one
+which had suggested concealment, when I first got possession of the
+piece of furniture--and said--
+
+“This is where the will lay concealed.”
+
+And she pressed against the side firmly, when a portion of it yielded,
+and there sprung up another drawer, or receptacle, placed in vertically.
+
+We were all very much interested in this curious arrangement. The drawer
+could not be pulled out much beyond half its depth; the secret portion
+lying within this limit.
+
+As I stood looking at the drawer, a sudden thought flashed through my
+mind, and I pressed my hand against the other side. It began to yield!
+I pressed harder, and up sprung a corresponding secret receptacle, from
+which a paper fell out. A hard substance rattled on the solid wood. It
+was a gold locket, tied with a piece of blue ribbon; and attached, with
+a seal, to the folded paper.
+
+It was some moments before a hand reached forth to lift the document.
+It was at length taken up by Mr. Wallingford. As he did so, the locket
+swung free, and we saw that it contained a braid of dark hair. Unfolding
+the paper, and stepping back to the light, he read, in a low, firm
+voice, as follows:
+
+“I, John Allen, being of sound mind, do make this as my last will and
+testament, revoking, at the same time, all other wills. I give and
+bequeath all my property, real and personal, to my sister Flora, if
+living; or, if dead, to her legal heirs--reserving only, for my wife,
+Theresa Garcia, in case she survive me, a legacy of five hundred dollars
+a year, to be continued during her natural life. And I name as
+my executors, to carry out the provisions of this will, Doctor
+Edward-----and James Wilkinson, of the town of S----, State of
+Massachusetts.”
+
+Then followed the date, which was recent, compared with that of the
+other wills, and the signatures of the testator and witnesses, all in
+due form. The witnesses were men in our town, and well known to us all.
+
+At the reading of her mother's name, Mrs. Wallingford sat down quickly,
+and, covering her face, leaned over upon the centre table. I saw that
+she was endeavoring to control a strong agitation.
+
+I was the first to speak.
+
+“The ways of Providence are past finding out,” said I. “Let me
+congratulate you on this good fortune.”
+
+As I spoke, Mrs. Wallingford rose from the table, and, going to her
+husband, placed her hands upon his arms, and looking up into his face,
+fondly and tearfully, said:--
+
+“Dear Henry! For your sake, my heart is glad to-night.”
+
+He laid the will down, as if it were a thing of little value, and
+kissing her, said:--
+
+“This cannot add to our happiness, Blanche, and may bring care and
+trouble.”
+
+“Not more trouble than blessing,” she replied, “if rightfully used.”
+
+The locket attached to the will excited our curious interest. It was, we
+felt sure, the same that Captain Allen's mother had sent to him by the
+hands of Jacob Perkins. Doubtless, some memory of his mother, stirred by
+the sight of this locket, had caused him to revoke his former will, and
+execute this one in favor of his sister. There was no room to question,
+for a moment, its genuineness. It had all legal formality, and the men
+who witnessed the signature were living and well known to us all. I was
+named as one of the executors. So there was some perplexing business
+before me; for, in taking things as they were, it was not probable that
+the executors under the former will would be able, promptly, to give a
+satisfactory account of their trust, or to hand over the property in a
+shape acceptable to the right heirs.
+
+But, of this, more anon. Our good friends went home early after this
+singular discovery, showing more bewilderment than elation of manner. I
+think that Constance and I were gladder in heart than they.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+
+
+The first thing done was to place the will on record; the next to give
+proper legal notice of its existence to the executors under the previous
+will, Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd. Mr. Dewey, on the announcement
+of this discovery, unhesitatingly declared the paper a forgery; but the
+witnesses to the signature of Captain Allen were living, and ready to
+attest its genuineness. They remembered, very distinctly, the time when
+their names were appended to the document. It was only a year before the
+Captain's death. They were walking past the Allen House, when the old
+man called them in, and asked them to witness the signing of a paper. Of
+its contents they had no knowledge, as he did not make any communication
+on the subject. But he signed it in their presence, and their signatures
+showed this will to be the paper then executed.
+
+Notwithstanding this, it came to our ears, that Mr. Dewey persisted in
+alleging fraud, forgery, and the complicity of these witnesses. And
+from the manner of Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd, in the first brief
+interview I had with them, it was plain that they were far from being
+satisfied that all was right. Their manner was that of men utterly
+confounded. If the property in question had been held by them as really
+their own, they could hardly have exhibited more feeling.
+
+After the will was entered at the proper office, and thus made public,
+the following paragraph appeared in our “Weekly Star”--
+
+“_Remarkable Discovery of a Will._--A singular circumstance happened in
+our town last week, no less than the discovery of a new and more recent
+will of the late Captain Allen, by which all of his large property is
+devised to his sister and her heirs. It was found in a secret drawer,
+contained in an antiquated French Secretary, which Dr.----bought when
+the furniture of the Allen House was sold, previous to a renovation
+of the old mansion for the residence of Mr. Ralph Dewey. The late Mrs.
+Montgomery, who resided for a time at the Allen House, was sister to
+Captain Allen, and her daughter is now the wife of our townsman, Henry
+Wallingford, Esq. We congratulate the parties on the good fortune which
+has come to their door.”
+
+The marriage of Mr. Dewey took place within a month after the discovery
+of this will, and he brought his new wife to S----, installing her as
+mistress of the Allen House. She was a showy woman, past thirty, with
+a pair of brilliant black eyes, and a dark, rich complexion. Her long,
+thin nose, and delicate, but proudly arching lips, showed her to possess
+will and determination. It was the rumor in S----, that she brought her
+husband a considerable fortune. But she was not well received among us.
+The families of Judge Bigelow, and Joshua Kling, Cashier of the Clinton
+Bank, called immediately. Something later called the wives of two
+Directors in the Bank, and afterwards the wives of one or two citizens
+who had embarked some capital in the cotton mills. Beyond this, no
+advances were made towards an acquaintance with the new Mrs. Dewey.
+
+It shocked my sensibilities to see this woman dashing about through
+S----in the elegant equipage once the pride of the now humbled daughter
+of Squire Floyd, who, since the divorce granted on her application, had
+lived in strict retirement in her father's house. The only time when she
+was seen abroad, was on the Sabbath, at church, with her two children.
+The oldest, a daughter, in her thirteenth year; and the youngest, a boy,
+ten years of age. The terrible ordeal passed through by this unhappy
+woman, had told upon her severely. In a year, she seemed to have lived
+ten. All the fine roundness of her face and person had given way, and
+she presented the appearance of one who had come out of a long and
+exhausting illness.
+
+Constance made it a point of duty to visit her often. She found her
+states of mind exceedingly variable. Sometimes she was in patient,
+tranquil states, and sometimes she manifested great bitterness of
+spirit, complaining of man's cruel selfishness, and God's injustice.
+The marriage of Mr. Dewey disturbed her considerably. One day, not long
+after this event, Constance called to see her. She was in one of her
+darker moods; and all the comforting suggestions which my good wife
+could make, seemed to go for nothing. They were sitting near a window,
+overlooking the street, when Delia suddenly turned pale, and caught her
+breath. A carriage went sweeping by at the moment, drawn by two spirited
+horses.
+
+“Is that the woman?” she exclaimed, as soon as she recovered herself.
+
+“That is the woman,” Constance replied.
+
+Delia clutched her hands so tightly that her arms quivered, and grew
+rigid; while her pale face darkened with an expression so like revenge,
+that Constance felt a shudder of fear in her heart.
+
+“If my prayers for her are answered,” said the excited woman, speaking
+through her closing teeth, “she will find that day the darkest in the
+calendar of her life, when she stepped between me and my husband. I have
+only curses for her in my heart. Only curses!”
+
+Constance, startled, and almost frightened by this wild burst of
+feeling, endeavored to soothe her; but the storm was too fierce to own
+the power of her gentle persuasions, and raged on for its brief season.
+
+“I thought her mind had given way,” said my wife, on relating what she
+had seen and heard. “It was fearful to look upon a human creature so
+terribly moved.”
+
+“The trial to her feelings must have been very.... [Gap in original]
+
+“But I thought the severe discipline through which she had passed, had
+chastened and subdued her,” answered Constance. “I saw, or believed that
+I saw, the beginnings of a new and true life in her soul. But over all
+this, passion has swept with its besom of destruction.”
+
+“The better states,” I replied, “may not have been destroyed in this
+evil whirlwind. Such states, when once formed, usually retire and hide
+themselves until the storm has spent its fury.”
+
+“I pray that it may be so in this case,” said Constance. “But from what
+I saw to-day, my fears are on the other side.”
+
+In the mean time we were taking such steps as the responsibility of our
+position required, towards getting possession of the property,
+which, under the will of Captain Allen, must come into our hands. My
+co-executor, Mr. James Wilkinson, a merchant of S----, was for adopting
+the most summary proceedings. He was annoyed at the questions, doubts,
+and delays which Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd permitted to intervene;
+and more especially by the intermeddling of Dewey, towards whom, from
+some cause, he entertained hostile feeling.
+
+As a matter of course, we were guided in all our movements by Mr.
+Wallingford. At the earliest term of court, we brought forward the claim
+of Mrs. Wallingford, under the last will and testament of her uncle.
+A feeble effort was made to throw doubt upon the genuineness of the
+document; but the oath of the witnesses to the signature of Captain
+Allen settled the question beyond the reach of cavil, and the executors
+under the first will were ordered to transfer, by a certain date, all
+property belonging to the estate into our hands.
+
+I saw plainly enough, from the beginning, that the idea of giving an
+account of their stewardship was not an agreeable one to either of the
+executors under the old will. The direction which the property must take
+was one that would not admit of any holding back or covering up on their
+part. They would be required to exhibit clean hands.
+
+The property clearly shown as having passed into their possession, was
+the old mansion and valuable grounds, which had been sold, under an
+order of the court, at a heavy sacrifice--bringing only thirty-five
+thousand dollars, instead of sixty thousand, its real value--and the
+proceeds re-invested. Then there was other town property worth twenty
+thousand dollars, and stocks valued at as much more: making seventy-five
+thousand dollars in all as the principal. Interest added, would swell
+the sum for which they must give account to over one hundred thousand
+dollars.
+
+It was found, on looking into the business, that the whole of this
+immense sum was invested in the cotton mills. The search made into the
+legal condition of these mill properties was not satisfactory. There
+were several mortgages against them, one of which, for twenty-five
+thousand dollars, was held by the Clinton Bank as collateral security
+for loans.
+
+After various delays and failures on the part of the old executors to
+meet us in a satisfactory manner, we all assembled, by appointment, in
+the office of Judge Bigelow. Mr. Dewey I was surprised to find present.
+But it was plain that he was there either by the consent or request
+of the Judge and Squire. The court had given a certain time for the
+executors under the first will to make up their accounts, and hand over
+the property in trust. That time had expired.
+
+There was manifest embarrassment on the part of Judge Bigelow and his
+associate; while Dewey looked stern and dogged. We soon got into
+the centre of the business, and found it pretty earnest work. It was
+admitted by the executors that the greater portion of the estate was in
+the cotton mills. How to get it out was the question.
+
+“I had always understood,” said Mr. Wallingford, “that the mills were
+chiefly owned in New York.”
+
+“The New York interest is large,” replied Squire Floyd, in a husky
+voice.
+
+“And can be increased, no doubt, to almost any extent, in order to
+enable you to withdraw the trust investments,” resumed Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“Why cannot you let it remain where it is for the present? The
+investment is safe and the interest sure,” said Judge Bigelow.
+
+“There isn't safer security in the state,” spoke up Mr. Dewey, with
+animation.
+
+“It isn't the kind of security we wish to hold,” said Mr. Wilkinson
+firmly. “We have given heavy bonds, and prefer to get the property in a
+different shape.”
+
+Here followed a chilling silence, which was broken by Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“There is one way in which this can be arranged,” said he.
+
+All eyes were turned upon him.
+
+“If it is not convenient to transfer to new parties interests of such
+magnitude, we will take, at a fair valuation, the Allen House and
+grounds appertaining thereto, including the mill site.”
+
+Mr. Dewey was on his feet in a moment, and said--
+
+“Never!” with considerable excitement of manner.
+
+Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd looked at each other in a bewildered
+manner, and then at Mr. Dewey, who was walking the floor with many signs
+of disturbance.
+
+“This is the family property,” continued Mr. Wallingford, coolly--“and
+ought never to have been sold. It is but fair that it should come back.”
+
+“It can't go back,” spoke up Mr. Dewey. “The present owners will not let
+it pass out of their hands.”
+
+“If that is the case,” said Mr. Wallingford, “we shall have to look in
+another direction. It occurred to me that this might suit all parties,
+and lead to an easy arrangement. But if that cannot be--if the present
+owners, to use Mr. Dewey's words, will not let it go back--then my
+suggestion falls to the ground, and we must look to the investments as
+they stand. We do not press the matter.”
+
+I observed Mr. Dewey closely; the amount of feeling he displayed having
+drawn my attention upon him. Once or twice I saw him dart malignant
+glances towards Mr. Wallingford. And so, by degrees, I began to have
+a glimpse of what was passing in his mind. To go out from that elegant
+home, and let Wallingford succeed him as the owner, was something to
+which his proud heart could not submit--Wallingford, the once despised
+and contemned student of his uncle! That was too bitter a humiliation.
+
+As nothing could then be decided, another meeting, to take place in
+three or four days, was agreed upon, and we separated.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+
+
+As my profession kept me going about all the while, I had opportunities
+for observing the movements of other people. The day following the
+meeting referred to in the last chapter, I saw Dewey, the Judge, and
+the Squire together several times, and always in earnest talk. As I came
+home, towards evening, I saw them all entering Mr. Dewey's residence. It
+was plain that there was trouble in the camp.
+
+On the next day, Mr. Dewey left town. I noticed him going into a car at
+the depot. When the time came for our meeting, a postponement was asked
+for. I felt like demurring, but Mr. Wallingford readily consented.
+
+“Give them a little more time,” said he, as we walked away from Judge
+Bigelow's office. “It will come out as we desired. The easiest way for
+them to arrange with us, is to let us have the Allen House property,
+which is owned by the firm of which Dewey is a member; and it is with a
+view to this, I have no doubt, that he is now in New York.”
+
+So we waited a few days longer. The return of Mr. Dewey took place in
+the course of a week, when I received a note from Judge Bigelow, asking
+a private interview. I found him and his nephew alone. They received me
+in a pleasant, affable way; and the Judge said that he wished to have
+a little talk with me before another formal meeting of the executors.
+I answered that it would give me pleasure to confer with him; though I
+could neither accept nor propose any thing, standing alone.
+
+“It is not with a view to that, Doctor,” replied the Judge, his
+countenance putting on a shade of gravity that nearly obliterated the
+smiles with which he at first received me. “But I thought it might
+help to a better issue, if two of the parties representing the opposite
+interests in this case were to have a little informal conversation.”
+
+“I am ready to hear any thing you have to say, Judge, and shall be very
+happy if I can aid, in any thing, the satisfactory adjustment of these
+matters.” My answer, I thought, appeared to give him confidence, and he
+said--
+
+“Without doubt you can aid, Doctor. The position in which Squire Floyd
+and myself find ourselves placed, is one of some embarrassment. In
+making investments of the property which came into our hands, we had
+reference, of course, to its security and productiveness; at the same
+time looking to a period, still some years in advance, when our trust
+would cease, and the property pass in due course to the heir-at-law. To
+realize on these investments now, would be to damage the interests of
+others; and I cannot feel that it would be right for you to urge this.
+The discovery of a new will, bearing a later date, is a thing wholly
+unexpected. We had no warning to prepare for the summary action growing
+out of its appearance, and, as I have just intimated, cannot proceed
+without injury to others.”
+
+“I do not believe,” said Mr. Dewey, “that the court, if the case was
+fairly stated, would require this speedy settlement of the trust. And it
+is my advice, that the whole matter be referred back for a new award as
+to time. A year longer should be conceded to the executors under the old
+will.”
+
+“That would be equitable,” said the Judge.
+
+“I am afraid,” I made answer to this, “that Mr. Wallingford will not
+consent to any postponement.”
+
+“He won't? The hound!” I was startled by the fierceness of Dewey's
+tone of voice, and, turning to look at him, saw on his countenance an
+expression of malignant hatred.
+
+“Ralph!” said Judge Bigelow, in a warning voice.
+
+“I can't repress my indignation,” answered the nephew. “What demons from
+the nether hell have conspired to give _him_ power over us? If it had
+been any other man in the world I could have borne it patiently.”
+
+“Ralph! Ralph!” interposed the Judge, in a deprecating voice.
+
+“It is no use, uncle. I cannot keep down my feeling,” was replied. “To
+see you hunted by this hound, who owes you everything.”
+
+“Pardon me, Mr. Dewey,” said I, “but I cannot hear such language used
+towards a gentleman of irreproachable character. Mr. Wallingford is not
+entitled to the epithet you give; and I warn you, not to repeat that, or
+anything like it, in my presence.”
+
+“You warn me!”
+
+A gleam shot towards me from his evil eyes.
+
+“Ralph! silence!” The Judge spoke sternly.
+
+“Yes, in all soberness, I warn you,” said I, fixing my gaze upon him,
+and holding his eyes until they fell to the floor. “Mr. Wallingford is
+not the man to permit any one to use language about him, such as you
+have indulged in. If you make use of another opprobrious epithet, I will
+communicate the fact to him immediately. And let me say, that, unless
+a different temper is manifested, I must terminate this interview at
+once.”
+
+Judge Bigelow drew his nephew aside, and talked for some time with him,
+in a low, earnest tone; after which the latter apologized, though with
+an ill grace, for the intemperance of his manner--alleging that an old
+wound smarted whenever Wallingford crossed his path.
+
+The result of this confidential talk was not as favorable on my mind as
+Judge Bigelow had hoped to make it. I pitied his embarrassment; but the
+conduct of Dewey confirmed my previous view of the case, which was to
+require a transfer of the property specified by Mr. Wallingford, or
+press for an immediate foreclosure of the mill investments. There was, I
+felt satisfied, hazard in delay.
+
+When our next formal meeting took place, Dewey was again present. It was
+in my thought to suggest that he was not a party covered by the business
+to be considered, when Mr. Wallingford said, in his mild, grave way--
+
+“I believe this is a meeting of the Executors under the two wills of
+Captain Allen.”
+
+The meaning of his remark could not be misunderstood, for he glanced
+towards Mr. Dewey as he spoke. That individual, however, did not choose
+to regard himself as referred to, and made no sign. But Mr. Wallingford
+was not the man to let a deliberate purpose fall to the ground. He
+had come with the intention of objecting to Dewey's presence at the
+conference, and to insist upon his retiring, as a preliminary to
+business.
+
+No one replying to Mr. Wallingford's remark, he said, further--
+
+“I do not mean to be uncourteous, but I must suggest the propriety of
+Mr. Dewey's withdrawal.”
+
+“I am an interested party,” said Dewey, with ill-concealed anger.
+
+“Ah! I was not before aware of this,” replied Wallingford, and he
+looked inquiringly towards the Judge and Squire. They showed an uneasy
+perplexity of manner, but did not respond.
+
+“In what way are you interested?” queried Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“I am one of the guardians to the heir under an existing will.”
+
+“A will that the decision of our court has rendered null and void,” was
+promptly answered. “We have not met to consider questions in which Leon
+Garcia, or his representative, has any concern. Our business refers to
+other matters.”
+
+Dewey moved uneasily, and seemed struggling to keep down his rising
+displeasure. But he did not, manifest any intention to withdraw.
+
+“Had we not better proceed to business?” suggested Squire Floyd.
+
+“Not while Mr. Dewey remains,” said I, firmly taking the side of Mr.
+Wallingford.
+
+“Somebody will repent himself of this!” exclaimed the ill-governed man,
+passionately, starting to his feet, and striding from the office.
+
+“I don't understand this individual's conduct,” remarked Wallingford, in
+a serious way. “Why has he presumed to intermeddle in our business? It
+has a bad look.”
+
+He knit his brows closely, and put on a stern aspect, very unusual to
+him.
+
+“You probably forget,” said Judge Bigelow, “that you have proposed a
+change of ownership in property now occupied by him?”
+
+“That was simply to give you more latitude in settling up the estate
+in your hands. I said we were willing to accept that property at a fair
+valuation, thinking it would offer a desirable mode of liquidation. It
+is for you to say yea or nay to us; not Ralph Dewey. If you cannot gain
+his consent to the transfer, there is an end of that proposal.”
+
+I really commiserated the embarrassment shown by the Judge and Squire.
+They seemed to be in a maze, without perceiving the right way of
+extrication. Dewey appeared to have over them some mysterious influence,
+above which they had not power to rise.
+
+“If Ralph will not consent--”
+
+“Ralph must consent!” exclaimed Squire Floyd, with a sudden energy of
+manner, and the exhibition of a degree of will not shown before. “Ralph
+_must_ consent! The mode of adjustment proposed by Mr. Wallingford is
+the one easiest for us to accomplish, and I shall insist on Dewey's
+giving up his opposition. There is a vast deal more of pride than
+principle involved in his objection.”
+
+The Squire was breaking away from his fetters.
+
+“It is plain,” added Squire Floyd, “that his partners wish that property
+to go in preference to any other. And it must go.”
+
+This was a style of remark quite unexpected on our part; and only added
+firmness to our purpose. The interview was not prolonged in discussion.
+We merely reaffirmed our ultimatum, and gave one week for the two men to
+decide in what manner to close their trust.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+
+
+The decision was as I expected it to be; and the old property came back
+into the family. There were few hearts in S----, that did not beat with
+pleasure, when it was known that Mr. Wallingford and his lovely wife
+were to pass from Ivy Cottage to the stately Allen House.
+
+I think the strife between Mr. Dewey and the old executors was severe,
+and that he yielded only when he saw that they were immovable. An
+open rupture with Squire Floyd was a consequence of his persistent
+determination to have the Allen property transferred; and after the
+settlement of this business, they held no personal communication with
+each other.
+
+The change in Mr. Dewey's appearance, after it became a settled thing
+that he must remove from the splendid mansion he had occupied for years,
+was remarkable. He lost the impressive swagger that always said, “I am
+the first man in S----;” and presented the appearance of one who
+had suffered some great misfortune, without growing better under the
+discipline. He did not meet you with the free, open, better-than-you
+look that previously characterized him, but with a half sidelong falling
+of the eyes, in which there was, to me, something very sinister.
+
+As far as our observation went, Mr. Wallingford put on no new phase of
+character. There was about him the same quiet, thoughtful dignity of
+manner which had always commanded involuntary respect. He showed no
+unseemly haste in dispossessing Mr. Dewey of his elegant home. Two
+months after the title deeds had passed, I called in at Ivy Cottage, now
+one of the sweetest, little places in S----, for Constance, who had
+been passing the evening there. Not in any home, through all the region
+round, into which it was my privilege to enter, was there radiant, like
+a warm, enticing atmosphere that swelled your lungs with a new vitality,
+and gave all your pulses a freer beat, such pure love--maternal and
+conjugal--as pervaded this sanctuary of the heart. I say maternal,
+as well as conjugal, for two dear babes had brought into this home
+attendant angels from the higher heaven.
+
+A soft astral lamp threw its mellow rays about the room. Mr. Wallingford
+had a book open in his hand, from which he had been reading aloud to his
+wife and Constance. He closed the volume as I entered, and rising, took
+my hand, saying, with even more than his usual cordiality--
+
+“Now our circle is complete.”
+
+“Excuse me from rising, Doctor,” said Mrs. Wallingford, a smile of
+welcome giving increased beauty to her countenance, as she offered the
+hand that was free--the other held her babe, just three months old,
+tenderly to her bosom.
+
+“What have you been reading?” I asked, as I seated myself, and glanced
+towards the volume which Mr. Wallingford had closed and laid upon the
+table.
+
+“A memorable relation of the Swedish Seer,” he replied, smiling.
+
+“Touching marriage in heaven,” said I, smiling in return.
+
+“Or, to speak more truly,” he replied, “the union of two souls in
+heaven, into an eternal oneness. Yes, that was the subject, and it
+always interests me deeply. Our life here is but a span, and our brief
+union shadowed by care, pain, sickness, and the never-dying fear of
+parting. The sky of our being is not unclouded long. And therefore I
+cannot believe that the blessedness of married love dies forever at the
+end of this struggle to come into perfect form and beauty. No, Doctor;
+the end is not here. And so Blanche and I turn often with an eager
+delight to these relations, feeling, as we read, that they are not mere
+pictures of fancy, but heavenly verities. They teach us that if we
+would be united in the next world, we must become purified in this.
+That selfish love, which is of the person must give place to a love for
+spiritual qualities. That we must grow in the likeness and image of God,
+if we would make one angel in His heavenly kingdom.”
+
+His eyes rested upon Blanche, as he closed the sentence, with a look
+full of love; and she, as if she knew that the glance was coming, turned
+and received it into her heart.
+
+I did not question the faith that carried them over the bounds of time,
+and gave them delicious foreshadowings of the blessedness beyond. As I
+looked at them, and marked how they seemed to grow daily into a oneness
+of spirit, could I doubt that there was for them an eternal union? No,
+no. Such doubts would have been false to the instincts of my own soul,
+and false to the instincts of every conscious being made to love and be
+loved.
+
+“The laying aside of this earthly investiture,” said Wallingford,
+resuming, “the passage from mortal to immortal life, cannot change our
+spirits, but only give to all their powers a freer and more perfect
+development. Love is not a quality of the body, but of the spirit, and
+will remain in full force, after the body is cast off like the shell of
+a chrysalis. Still existing, it will seek its object. And shall it seek
+forever and not find? God forbid! No! The love I bear my wife is not,
+I trust, all of the earth, earthy; but instinct with a heavenly
+perpetuity. And when we sleep the sleep of death, it will be in the
+confident assurance of a speedy and more perfect conjunction of our
+lives. On a subject of such deep concern, we are dissatisfied with the
+vague and conjectural; and this is why the record of things seen and
+heard in the spiritual world by Swedenborg--especially in what relates
+to marriages in heaven--has for us such an absorbing interest.”
+
+“Are you satisfied with the evidence?” I ventured to inquire, seeing him
+so confident.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He answered quietly, and with an assured manner.
+
+“How do you reach a conclusion as to the truth of these things?”
+
+“Something after the same way that you satisfy yourself that the sun
+shines.”
+
+“My eyes testify to me that fact. Seeing is believing,” I answered.
+
+“The spirit of a man has eyes as well as his body,” said Wallingford.
+“And seeing is believing in another sense than you intimate. Now
+the bodily eyes see material objects, and the mind, receiving their
+testimony, is in no doubt as to the existence, quality, and relation of
+things in the outer world. The eyes of our spirits, on the other hand,
+see immaterial objects or truths; and presenting them to the rational
+and perceptive faculties, they are recognized as actual existences, and
+their quality as surely determined as the quality of a stone or metal.
+If you ask me how I know that this is quartz, or that iron; I answer, By
+the testimony of my eyes. And so, if you ask how I satisfy myself as to
+the truth of which I read in this book; I can only reply that I see it
+all so clearly that conviction is a necessity. There is no trouble in
+believing. To attempt disbelief, would be to illustrate the fable of
+Sisyphus.”
+
+He spoke calmly, like one whose mind had risen above doubt. I objected
+nothing further; for that would have been useless. And why attempt to
+throw questions into his mind? Was there anything evil in the faith
+which he had adopted as exhibited in his life? I could not say yes. On
+the contrary, taking his life as an illustration, good only was to be
+inferred. I remembered very well when his mind diverged into this
+new direction. Some years had intervened. I thought to see him
+grow visionary or enthusiastic. Not so, however. There was a change
+progressively visible; but it was in the direction of sound and rational
+views of life. A broader humanity showed itself in his words and
+actions. Then came the subtler vein of religious sentiments, running
+like pure gold through all that appertained to him.
+
+If, therefore, he was progressing towards a higher life, why should I
+question as to the way being right for him? Why should I seek to turn
+him into another path when there was such a broad light for his eyes on
+the one he had chosen? “By their fruits ye shall know them.” And by his
+fruits I knew him to be of that highest type of manhood, a Christian
+gentleman.
+
+I noticed, while Mr. Wallingford spoke so confidently of their reunion
+in heaven, that his wife leaned towards, and looked at him, with eyes
+through which her soul seemed going forth into his.
+
+As the conversation flowed on, it gradually involved other themes, and
+finally led to the question On my part, as to when they were going to
+leave Ivy Cottage.
+
+“That is quite uncertain,” replied Mr. Wallingford. “I shall not hurry
+the present occupant. We have been so happy here, that we feel more
+inclined to stay than to remove to a more ambitious home.”
+
+“I hear that Mr. Dewey is going to build,” said I.
+
+“Where?”
+
+“He has been negotiating for the property on the elevation west of the
+Allen House.”
+
+“Ah!”
+
+“Yes. The price of the ground, five acres, is ten thousand dollars.”
+
+“The site is commanding and beautiful. The finest in S----, for one
+who thinks mainly of attracting the attention of others,” said Mr.
+Wallingford.
+
+“If he builds, we shall see something on a grander scale than anything
+yet attempted in our neighborhood. He will overshadow you.”
+
+“The rivalry must be on his side alone,” was Mr. Wallingford's reply.
+“No elegance or imposing grandeur that he may assume, can disturb me in
+the smallest degree. I shall only feel pity for the defect of happiness
+that all his blandishments must hide.”
+
+“A splendid Italian villa is talked of.”
+
+Mr. Wallingford shook his head.
+
+“You doubt all this?” said I.
+
+“Not the man's ambitious pride; but his ability to do what pride
+suggests. He and his compeers are poorer, by a hundred thousand dollars,
+than they deemed themselves a few short months ago.”
+
+“Have they met with heavy losses?” I asked, not understanding the drift
+of his remark.
+
+“The estate in trust has been withdrawn.”
+
+“How should that make them poorer?”
+
+“It makes them poorer, in the first place, as to the means for carrying
+on business. And it makes them poorer, in the second place, in the loss
+of an estate, which, I am sorry to believe, Mr. Dewey and a part of his
+New York associates regarded as virtually their own.
+
+“But the heir was approaching his majority,” said I.
+
+“And growing up a weak, vicious, self-indulgent young man, who, in the
+hands of a shrewd, unscrupulous villain, might easily be robbed of his
+fortune. You may depend upon it, Doctor, that somebody has suffered a
+terrible disappointment, and one from which he is not likely soon to
+recover. No--no! We shall see nothing of this princely Italian villa.”
+
+“I cannot believe,” I replied, “that the executors who had the estate in
+trust were influenced by dishonorable motives. I know the men too well.”
+
+“Nor do I, Doctor,” he answered, promptly. “But, as I have before said,
+they were almost wholly under the influence of Dewey, and I think that
+he was leading them into mazes from which honorable extrication would
+have been impossible.”
+
+“Have you given Dewey any notice of removal?” I inquired.
+
+“No--and shall not, for some time. I am in no hurry to leave this place,
+in which the happiest days of my life have passed. Any seeming eagerness
+to dispossess him, would only chafe a spirit in which I would not
+needlessly excite evil passions. His pride must, I think, lead him at a
+very early day to remove, and thus make a plain way before me.”
+
+“How long will you wait?” I asked.
+
+“Almost any reasonable time.”
+
+“You and he might not take the same view of what was reasonable,” said
+I.
+
+“Perhaps not. But, as I remarked just now, being in no hurry to leave
+our present home, I shall not disturb him for some months to come. No
+change will be made by us earlier than next spring. And if he wishes to
+spend the winter in his present abode, he is welcome to remain.”
+
+There was no assumed virtuous forbearance in all this; but a sincere
+regard for the feelings and comfort of Dewey. This was so apparent, that
+I did not question for a moment his generous consideration of a man who
+would not have hesitated, if the power were given, to crush him to the
+very earth.
+
+Many thoughts passed in my mind, as I pondered the incidents and
+conversation of this evening. In looking back upon life, we see the sure
+progress of causes to effects; and in the effects, the quality of the
+causes. We no longer wonder at results--the only wonder is, that they
+were not foreseen. Wise maxims, some of the garnered grains of our
+fathers' experiences, are scattered through the books we read, and daily
+fall from the lips of teachers and friends; maxims which, if observed,
+would lead us to honor and happiness. But who gives them heed? Who makes
+them the rule of his conduct?
+
+We might wonder less at the blind infatuation with which so many press
+onward in a course that all the wisdom of the past, as well as all the
+reason of the present, condemns, if it were possible to rub out our
+actions, as a child rubs from his slate a wrong sum, and begin the work
+of life over again. But this cannot be. We weave hourly the web that is
+to bind us in the future. Our to-days hold the fate of our to-morrows.
+What we do is done for ever, and in some degree will affect us
+throughout infinite ages.
+
+“Poor Delia Floyd!” My thought had turned to her as I lay awake,
+long after the small hours of the morning, busy with incidents and
+reflections which had completely banished sleep from my eyes. In the
+strong pity of my heart, I spoke the words aloud.
+
+“What of her?” said Constance, in a tone of surprise. And so intruding
+thought had kept her awake also!
+
+“Nothing more than usual,” I answered. “But I cannot sleep for thinking
+of her unhappy state, and what she might have been, if obeying her own
+heart's right impulses, and the reason God gave her, she had accepted
+a true man, instead of a specious villain for her husband. The scene in
+Ivy Cottage to-night stands in most remarkable contrast with some things
+I witnessed at the Allen House before she went out thence a wretched
+woman for life. She staked everything on a desperate venture, and has
+lost. God pity her! for there is no help in any human arm. To think of
+what she is, and what she might have been, is enough to veil her reason
+in midnight darkness.”
+
+“Amen! God pity her!” said Constance. “For truly there is no help for
+her in mortal arm.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+
+
+The conduct of Mr. Wallingford, in regard to the estate which had
+fallen into his hands, rather puzzled Dewey. He had anticipated an early
+notification to remove, and, true to his character, had determined
+to annoy the new owner by vexatious delays. But after the passage of
+several weeks, in which came to him no intimation that he must give up
+the possession of his elegant home, he began to wonder what it could
+mean.
+
+One day, not long after the conversation with Wallingford, mentioned in
+the last chapter, I met Mr. Dewey in the street. He stopped me and said,
+in half-sneering way,
+
+“What of our honorable friend? Impatient, I suppose, to see the inside
+of the Allen House?”
+
+“No,” I replied, “he has no wish to disturb you for the present.”
+
+“Indeed! You expect me to believe all that, of course.”
+
+There was a rudeness in his manner that was offensive; but I did not
+care to let him see that I noticed it.
+
+“Why should you not believe my remark?” said I. “Is it a new thing in
+your experience with men to find an individual considerate of another?”
+
+“What do you mean by considerate of another?”
+
+My form of speech touched his pride.
+
+“Mr. Wallingford has manifested towards you a considerate spirit,” said
+I, speaking slowly and distinctly. “It naturally occurs to him that,
+as you are so pleasantly situated at the Allen House, an early removal
+therefrom might be anything but desirable. And so he has rested quietly
+up to this time, leaving a decision as to the period with yourself.”
+
+“Humph! Very unselfish, truly!”
+
+His lip curled in disdain.
+
+“If you feel restive under this concession in your favor,” said I,
+putting on a serious manner, “I would suggest independence as a remedy.”
+
+He looked at me curiously, yet with a scowling contraction of his brows.
+
+“Independence! What am I to understand by your remark?”
+
+“Simply this, Mr. Dewey. You are in the occupancy of property belonging
+to Mr. Wallingford, and by his favor. Now, if you cannot receive a
+kindness at his hands, in the name of all that is manly and independent,
+put yourself out of the range of obligation.”
+
+I was not able to repress a sudden feeling of indignation, and so spoke
+with warmth and plainness.
+
+“Thank you for your plainness of speech, Doctor,” he retorted, drawing
+himself up in a haughty manner.
+
+“As to removing from the Allen House, I will do that just when it suits
+my pleasure.”
+
+“Mr. Wallingford, you may be assured,” said I, “will not show any
+unseemly impatience, if you do not find it convenient to make an early
+removal. He knows that it cannot be agreeable for you to give up the
+home of years, and he is too much of a Christian and a gentleman to do
+violence to another's feelings, if it can be in any way avoided.”
+
+“Pah! I hate cant!”
+
+He threw his head aside in affected disgust.
+
+“We judge men by their actions, not their words,” said I. “If a man
+acts with considerate kindness, is it cant to speak of him in terms of
+praise? Pardon me, Mr. Dewey, but I think you are letting passion blind
+you to another's good qualities.”
+
+“The subject is disagreeable to me, Doctor. Let us waive it.”
+
+“It was introduced by yourself, remember,” I replied; “and all that I
+have said has been in response to your own remarks. This much good has
+grown from it. You know just how Mr. Wallingford stands towards you, and
+you can govern yourself according to your own views in the case. And now
+let me volunteer this piece of advice. Never wantonly give offence to
+another, for you cannot tell how soon you may find yourself in need of
+his good services.”
+
+Dewey gave me a formal bow, and passed on his way.
+
+About a week afterwards, Judge Bigelow inquired of Wallingford as to
+when he wished to get possession of the Allen House.
+
+“Whenever Mr. Dewey finds it entirely convenient to remove,” was the
+unhesitating reply.
+
+“Suppose it should not be convenient this fall or winter?”
+
+“Very well. The spring will suit me. I am in no hurry. We are too
+comfortable in Ivy Cottage to be in any wise impatient for change.”
+
+“Then it is your pleasure that Mr. Dewey remain until spring?”
+
+“If such an arrangement is desirable on his part, Judge, it is
+altogether accordant with my feelings and convenience. Say to him that
+he has only to consult his own wishes in the case.”
+
+“You are kind and considerate, Mr. Wallingford,” said the Judge, his
+manner softening considerably, for there had been a coldness of some
+years' standing on the part of Judge Bigelow, which more recent events
+had increased.
+
+“And why should it be otherwise, Judge?” inquired his old student.
+
+“Mr. Dewey has not given you cause for either kindness or
+consideration.”
+
+“It would hurt me more than it would him, were I to foster his unhappy
+spirit. It is always best, I find, Judge, to be right with myself.”
+
+“All men would find it better for themselves, were they to let so fine
+a sentiment govern their lives,” remarked Judge Bigelow, struck by the
+language of Wallingford.
+
+“It is the only true philosophy,” was replied. “If a man is right with
+himself, he cannot be wrong towards others; though it is possible, as in
+my case, that other eyes, looking through a densely refracting medium,
+may see him out of his just position. But he would act very unwisely
+were he to change his position for all that. He will be seen right in
+the end.”
+
+Judge Bigelow reached out his hand and grasped that of Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“Spoken like a man, Henry! Spoken like a man!” he said, warmly. “I only
+wish that Ralph had something of your spirit. I have seen you a little
+out of your right position, I believe; but a closer view is correcting
+the error.”
+
+Wallingford returned the pressure as warmly as it was given, saying, as
+he did so--
+
+“I am aware, Judge, that you have suffered your mind to fall into a
+state of prejudice in regard to me. But I am not aware of any thing
+in my conduct towards you or others, to warrant the feeling. If in any
+thing I have been brought into opposition, faithfulness to the interests
+I represented has been the rule of my conduct. I have sought by no trick
+of law to gain an advantage. The right and the just I have endeavored
+to pursue, without fear and without favor. Can you give me a better rule
+for professional or private life?”
+
+“I cannot, Henry,” was the earnest reply. “And if all men would so
+pursue the right and the just, how different would be the result for
+each, as the sure adjustment of advancing years gave them their true
+places in the world's observation!”
+
+The Judge spoke in a half--absent way, and with a shade of regret in his
+tones; Wallingford noted this with a feeling of concern.
+
+“Let us be friends in the future,” he added, again offering his hand to
+Wallingford.
+
+“It will be your fault, not mine, if we are not fast fiends, Judge. I
+have never forgotten the obligations of my boyhood; and never ceased
+to regret the alienation you have shown. To have seemed in your eyes
+ungrateful, has been a source of pain whenever I saw or thought of you.”
+
+The two men parted, each feeling better for the interview. A day or two
+afterwards Wallingford received a note from Judge Bigelow asking him,
+as a particular favor, to call at his office that evening. He went,
+of course. The Judge was alone, and received him cordially. But, his
+countenance soon fell into an expression of more than usual gravity.
+
+“Mr. Wallingford,” he said, after the passage of a few casual
+observations, “I would like to consult you in strict confidence on some
+matters in which I have become involved. I can trust you, of course?”
+
+“As fully as if the business were my own,” was the unhesitating answer.
+
+“So I have believed. The fact is, Henry, I have become so entangled in
+this cotton mill business with Squire Floyd, Dewey, and others, that I
+find myself in a maze of bewildering uncertainty. The Squire and Ralph
+are at loggerheads, and seem to me to be getting matters snarled up.
+There is no denying the fact that this summary footing of our accounts,
+as executors, has tended to cripple affairs. We were working up to the
+full extent of capital invested, and the absence of a hundred thousand
+dollars--or its representative security--has made financiering a thing
+of no easy consideration.”
+
+“I am afraid, Judge Bigelow,” said Wallingford, as the old man paused,
+“that you are in the hands of one who, to gain his own ends, would
+sacrifice you without a moment's hesitation.”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“You will permit me to speak plainly, Judge.”
+
+“Say on. The plain speech of a friend is better than the flatteries of
+an enemy.”
+
+“I have no faith in Ralph Dewey.”
+
+The two men looked steadily at each other for some moments.
+
+“Over fifteen years' observation of the man has satisfied me that he
+possesses neither honor nor humanity. He is your nephew. But that does
+not signify. We must look at men as they are.”
+
+“His movements have not been to my satisfaction for some time,” said the
+Judge; speaking as though conviction had to force itself upon his mind.
+
+“You should canvass all he does with the closest care; and if your
+property lies in any degree at his mercy, change the relation as quickly
+as possible.”
+
+“Are you not prejudiced against him, Henry?” The Judge spoke in a
+deprecating tone.
+
+“I believe, sir, that I estimate him at his real value; and I do most
+earnestly conjure you to set to work at once to disentangle your affairs
+if seriously involved with his. If you do not, he will beggar you in
+your old age, which God forbid!”
+
+“I am far from sure that I can disentangle my affairs,” said the Judge.
+
+“There is nothing like trying, you know.” Wallingford spoke in a tone of
+encouragement. “And everything may depend on beginning in time. In what
+way are you involved with him?”
+
+It was some time before Judge Bigelow answered this direct question. He
+then replied,
+
+“Heavily in the way of endorsements.”
+
+“Of his individual paper?”
+
+“Yes. Also of the paper of his firm.”
+
+“To an extent beyond your ability to pay if there should be failure on
+their part?”
+
+“Yes; to three times my ability to pay.”
+
+Wallingford dropped his eyes to the floor, and sat for some time. He
+then looked up into Judge Bigelow's face, and said,
+
+“If that be so, I can see only one way for you.”
+
+“Say on.”
+
+“Let no more endorsements be given from this day forth.”
+
+“How can I suddenly refuse? The thing has been going on for years.”
+
+“You can refuse to do wrong on the plea of wrong. If your name gives no
+real value to a piece of paper, yet accredits it in the eyes of others,
+it is wrong for you to place your endorsement thereon. Is not this so?”
+
+“I admit the proposition, Henry.”
+
+“Very well. The only way to get right, is to start right. And my dear,
+dear sir! let me implore you to take immediately the first step in a
+right direction. Standing outside of the charmed circle of temptation as
+I do, I can see the right way for your feet to walk in better than you
+can. Oh, sir! Let me be eyes, and hand, and feet for you if need be; and
+if it is not too late, I will save you from impending ruin.”
+
+Wallingford took the old man's hand, and grasped it warmly as he
+spoke. The Judge was moved by this earnest appeal, coming upon him so
+unexpectedly; and not only moved, but startled and alarmed by the tenor
+of what was said.
+
+“The first thing,” he remarked, after taking time to get his thoughts
+clear, “if I accept of your friendly overtures, is for me to lay before
+you everything just as it is, so that you can see where I stand, and how
+I stand. Without this, your view of the case would be partial, and your
+conclusions might not be right.”
+
+“That is unquestionably so,” Wallingford replied. “And now, Judge, if
+you wish my friendly aid, confide in me as you would a son or brother.
+You will find me as true as steel.”
+
+A revelation succeeded that filled Mr. Wallingford with painful
+astonishment. The endorsements of Judge Bigelow, on paper brought to him
+by Dewey, and of which he took no memorandums, covered, no doubt, from a
+hundred to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars! Then, as to the affairs
+of the Clinton Bank, of which Judge Bigelow was still the President, he
+felt a great deal of concern. The Cashier and Mr. Dewey knew far more
+about the business and condition of the institution than anybody else,
+and managed it pretty much in their own way. The directors, if not
+men of straw, might almost as well have been, for all the intelligent
+control they exercised. As for Judge, Bigelow, the principal duty
+required of him was to sign his name as President to great sheets of
+bank bills, the denomination running from one dollar to a thousand.
+Touching the extent to which these representatives of value were issued,
+he knew nothing certain. He was shown, at regular periods, a statement
+wherein the condition of the bank was set forth, and to which he
+appended his signature. But he had no certain knowledge that the figures
+were correct. Of the paper under discount over two-thirds was drawn or
+endorsed by Floyd, Lawson, Lee, & Co.
+
+At the time Judge Bigelow began investing in mill property, he was
+worth, in productive stocks and real estate, from thirty to forty
+thousand dollars. He now estimated his wealth at from sixty to eighty
+thousand dollars; but it was all locked up in the mills.
+
+The result of this first interview between the Judge and Mr. Wallingford
+was to set the former in a better position to see the character of his
+responsibilities, and the extreme danger in which he stood. The clear,
+honest, common sense way in which Wallingford looked at everything, and
+comprehended everything, surprised his old preceptor; and gave him so
+much confidence in his judgment and discretion, that he placed himself
+fully in his hands. And well for him was it that he did so in time.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+
+
+In accordance with the advice of Mr. Wallingford, the first reactionary
+movement on the part of Judge Bigelow, was his refusal to endorse any
+more paper for his nephew, or the firm of which he was a member, on
+the ground that such endorsements, on his part, were of no real value,
+considering the large amounts for which he was already responsible, and
+consequently little better than fraudulent engagements to pay.
+
+A storm between the uncle and nephew was the consequence, and the latter
+undertook to drive the old gentleman back again into the traces, by
+threats of terrible disasters to him and all concerned. If Judge Bigelow
+had stood alone, the nephew would have been too strong for him. But he
+had a clear-seeing, honest mind to throw light upon his way, and a young
+and vigorous arm to lean upon in his hour of weakness and trial. And so
+Ralph Dewey, to his surprise and alarm, found it impossible to bend the
+Judge from his resolution.
+
+Then followed several weeks, during which time Dewey was flying back
+and forth between New York and S----, trying to re-adjust the disturbed
+balance of things. The result was as Mr. Wallingford had anticipated.
+There was too much at stake for the house of Floyd, Lawson, Lee, & Co.,
+to let matters fail for lack of Judge Bigelow's endorsements. Some other
+prop must be substituted for this one.
+
+The four months that followed were months of anxious suspense on the
+part of Judge Bigelow and his true friend, who was standing beside
+him, though invisible in this thing to all other eyes, firm as a rocky
+pillar. No more endorsements were given, and the paper bearing his name
+was by this time nearly all paid.
+
+“Right, so far,” said Mr. Wallingford, at the expiration of the time
+in which most of the paper bearing Judge Bigelow's name reached its
+maturity. “And now for the next safe move in this difficult game, where
+the odds are still against us. You must get out of this Bank.”
+
+The Judge looked gravely opposed.
+
+“It may awaken suspicion that something is wrong, and create a run upon
+the Bank, which would be ruin.”
+
+“Can you exercise a controlling influence in the position you hold? Can
+you be true, as President of the Clinton Bank, to the public interest
+you represent?”
+
+“I cannot. They have made of me an automaton.”
+
+“Very well. That settles the question. You cannot honorably hold your
+place a single day. There is only one safe step, and that is to resign.”
+
+“But the loose way in which I held office will be exposed to my
+successor.”
+
+“That is not the question to consider, Judge--but the right. Still, so
+far as this fear is concerned, don't let it trouble you. The choice of
+successor will fall upon some one quite as facile to the wishes of Ralph
+Dewey & Company as you have been.”
+
+The good counsels of Mr. Wallingford prevailed. At the next meeting of
+the Board of Directors, the resignation of Judge Bigelow was presented.
+Dewey had been notified two days before of what was coming, and was
+prepared for it. He moved, promptly, that the resignation be accepted.
+As soon as the motion was carried, he offered the name of Joshua Kling,
+the present Cashier, for the consideration of the Board, and urged his
+remarkable fitness. Of course, Mr. Joshua Kling was elected; and
+his place filled by one of the tellers. To complete the work, strong
+complimentary resolutions, in which deep regret at the resignation
+of Judge Bigelow was expressed, were passed by the Board. In the next
+week's paper, the following notice of this change in the officers of the
+Bank appeared:
+
+“_Resignation of Judge Bigelow._--In consequence of the pressure of
+professional engagements, our highly esteemed citizen Judge Bigelow,
+has found it necessary to give up the office of President in the
+Clinton Bank, which he has held with so much honor to himself since the
+institution commenced business. He is succeeded by Joshua Kling, Esq.,
+late Cashier; a gentleman peculiarly well-fitted for the position to
+which he has been elevated. Harvey Weems, the first Teller, takes the
+place of Cashier. A better selection, it would be impossible to make.
+From the beginning, the affairs of this Bank have been managed with
+great prudence, and it is justly regarded as one of the soundest in the
+State.”
+
+“My dear friend,” said the grateful Judge, grasping the hand of
+Wallingford, who called his attention to this notice, “what a world of
+responsibility you have helped me to cast from my shoulders! I am to-day
+a happier man than I have been for years. The new President is welcome
+to all the honor his higher position may reflect upon him.”
+
+“The next work in order,” remarked the Judge's clear-headed, resolute
+friend, “is to withdraw your investments from the cotton mills. That
+will be a slower and more difficult operation; but it must be done, even
+at a sacrifice. Better have fifty thousand dollars in solid real estate,
+than a hundred thousand in that concern.”
+
+And so this further disentanglement was commenced.
+
+Winter having passed away, Mr. Dewey saw it expedient to retire from the
+Allen House. By this time nothing more was heard of his Italian Villa.
+He had something else to occupy his thoughts. As there was no house
+to be rented in S----, that in any way corresponded with his ideas, he
+stored his furniture, and took board at the new hotel which had lately
+been erected.
+
+Mr. Wallingford now made preparations for removing to the old mansion,
+which was still the handsomest place, by all odds, in our town.
+
+One day, early in the summer, I received a note from Mr. Wallingford,
+asking me to call around at Ivy Cottage in the evening. At the bottom
+of the note, was a pencilled line from his wife to Constance, asking the
+pleasure of seeing her also. We went after tea.
+
+“Come with me to the library, Doctor!” said my excellent friend, soon
+after our arrival. “I want to have a little talk with you.”
+
+So we left the ladies and retired to the library.
+
+“My business with you to-night,” said he, as we seated ourselves, facing
+each other, on opposite sides of the library-table, “is to get at some
+adjustment of affairs between us, as touching your executorship of the
+Allen estate. I have asked two or three times for your bills against the
+estate, but you have always put me off. Mr. Wilkinson, on the contrary,
+rendered an account for services, which has been allowed and settled.”
+
+“The business required so little attention on my part,” I replied to
+this, “that I have never felt that I could, in conscience, render an
+account. And besides, it was with me so much a labor of love, that I
+do not wish to mar the pleasure I felt by overlaying it with a
+compensation.”
+
+“No man could possibly feel more deeply your generous good will toward
+me and mine--manifested from the beginning until now--than I do, Doctor.
+But I cannot permit the obligation to rest all on one side.”
+
+He pulled out a drawer of the library-table, as he said this, and taking
+therefrom a broad parchment document, laid it down, and while his hand
+rested upon it continued--
+
+“Anticipating that, as heretofore, I might not be able to get your
+figures, I have taken the matter into my own hands, and fixed the amount
+of compensation--subject, of course, to objections on your part, if I
+have made the award too low. These papers are the title deeds of Ivy
+Cottage, executed in your favor. There are memories and associations
+connected with this dear spot, which must for ever be sacred in
+the hearts of myself and wife; and it would be pain to us to see it
+desecrated by strangers. In equity and love, then, we pass it over to
+you and yours; and may God give you as much happiness beneath its roof
+as we have known.”
+
+Surprise kept me silent for some time. But as soon as my thoughts ran
+free, I answered--
+
+“No--no, Mr. Wallingford. This is fixing the sum entirely beyond a fair
+estimate. I cannot for a moment--”
+
+He stopped me before I could finish the sentence.
+
+“Doctor!” He spoke with earnestness and deep feeling. “There is no
+living man to whom I am so heavily indebted as I am to you. Not until
+after my marriage was I aware that your favorable word, given without
+qualification, bore me into the confidence of Mrs. Montgomery, and thus
+opened the way for me to happiness and fortune. My good Blanche has
+often repeated to me the language you once used in my favor, and which
+awakened in her mind an interest which gradually deepened into love. My
+heart moves towards you, Doctor, and you must let its impulses have way
+in this small matter. Do not feel it as an obligation. That is all on
+our side. We cannot let Ivy Cottage go entirely out of the family. We
+wish to have as much property in it as the pilgrim has in Mecca. We must
+visit it sometimes, and feel always that its chambers are the abodes of
+peace and love. A kind Providence has given us of this world's goods an
+abundance. We did not even have to lift our hands to the ripe clusters.
+They fell into our laps. And now, if, from our plenty, we take a small
+portion and discharge a debt, will you push aside the offering, and say,
+No? Doctor, this must not be!”
+
+Again I essayed objection; but all was in vain. Ivy Cottage was to be
+our pleasant home. When, on returning with Constance, I related to her
+what had passed between Mr. Wallingford and myself, she was affected to
+tears.
+
+“If I have ever had a covetous thought,” she said, “it has been when
+I looked at Ivy Cottage. And to think it is to be mine! The sweetest,
+dearest spot in S----!”
+
+There was no putting aside this good fortune. It came in such a shape,
+that we could not refuse it without doing violence to the feelings of
+true-hearted friends. And so, when they removed to their new home, we
+passed to Ivy Cottage.
+
+The two years that followed were marked by no events of striking
+interest. The affairs of Judge Bigelow continued to assume a better
+shape, under the persistent direction of Mr. Wallingford, until every
+dollar which he had invested in the cotton mills was withdrawn and
+placed in real estate or sound securities. Long before this there had
+come an open rupture between the old man and his nephew; but the Judge
+had seen his real character in so clear a light that friendship was no
+longer desirable.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+
+
+And now we have come down to the memorable summer and fall of 1857. No
+gathering clouds, no far-distant, low-voiced thunder gave warning of an
+approaching storm. The sky was clear, and the sun of prosperity moving
+onward in his strength, when, suddenly, from the West came a quick flash
+and an ominous roll of thunder. Men paused, looked at each other, and
+asked what it meant. Here and there a note of warning was sounded; but,
+if heeded by any, it came too late. There followed a brief pause, in
+which people held their breaths. Then came another flash, and another
+rattling peal. Heavy clouds began to roll up from the horizon; and soon
+the whole sky was dark. Pale face looked into pale face, and tremulous
+voices asked as to what was coming. Fear and consternation were in
+all hearts. It was too late for any to seek refuge or shelter. Ere the
+startled multitudes had stirred from their first surprised position,
+the tempest came down in its fury, sweeping, tornado-like, from West to
+East, and then into one grand gyration circling the whole horizon. Men
+lost courage, confidence, and hope. They stood still while the storm
+beat down, and the fearful work of destruction went on.
+
+No commercial disaster like this had ever before visited our country.
+Houses that stood unmoved through many fierce convulsions went down
+like brittle reeds, and old Corporations which were thought to be as
+immovable as the hills tottered and fell, crushing hundreds amid their
+gigantic ruins.
+
+Among the first to yield was the greatly extended house of Floyd,
+Lawson, Lee, & Co. The news came up on the wires to S----, with orders
+to stop the mills and discharge all hands. This was the bursting of the
+tempest on our town. Mr. Dewey had gone to New York on the first sign of
+approaching trouble, and his return was looked for anxiously by all with
+whom he was deeply interested in business. But many days passed and none
+saw him, or heard from him. Failing to receive any communication, Squire
+Floyd, who had everything involved, went down to New York. I saw him on
+the morning of his return. He looked ten years older.
+
+It was soon whispered about that the failure of Floyd, Lawson, Lee, &
+Co. was a bad one. Then came intimations that Mr. Dewey was not in
+New York, and that his partners, when questioned about him, gave very
+unsatisfactory replies.
+
+“Have you any notes of the Clinton Bank, Doctor?” said a friend whom I
+met in the street. “Because, if you have, take my advice and get rid of
+them as quickly as possible. A run has commenced, and it's my opinion
+that the institution will not stand for forty-eight hours.”
+
+It stood just forty-eight hours from the date of this prophecy, and then
+closed its doors, leaving our neighborhood poorer by the disaster over
+two hundred thousand dollars. There was scarcely a struggle in dying,
+for the institution had suffered such an exhausting depletion that when
+its extremity came it passed from existence without a throe. A Receiver
+was immediately appointed, and the assets examined. These consisted,
+mainly, of bills receivable under discount, not probably worth now ten
+cents on the dollar. Three-fourths of this paper was drawn or endorsed
+by New York firms or individuals, most of whom had already failed. The
+personal account of Ralph Dewey showed him to be a debtor to the Bank
+in the sum of nearly a hundred thousand dollars. The President, Joshua
+Kling, had not been seen since the evening of the day on which the doors
+of the Clinton Bank were shut, never to be opened for business again.
+His accounts were all in confusion. The Cashier, who had succeeded
+him on his elevation to the Presidency of the institution; was a mere
+creature in his hands; and from his revelations it was plain that
+robbery had been progressing for some time on a grand scale.
+
+As soon as these disastrous facts became known to the heaviest sufferers
+in S----, the proper affidavits were made out, and requisitions obtained
+for both Dewey and Kling, as defaulters and fugitives from justice.
+The Sheriff of our county, charged with the duty of arrest, proceeded
+forthwith to New York, and, engaging the services of detectives there,
+began the search for Dewey, who, it was believed, had not left that
+city. He was discovered, in a week, after having dexterously eluded
+pursuit, on the eve of departure for England, disguised, and under an
+assumed name. His next appearance in S----was as a prisoner in the hands
+of our Sheriff, who lodged him in jail. Very heavy bonds being required
+for his appearance at court, there was not found among us any one
+willing to take the risk, who was qualified to become his surety. And so
+the wretched man was compelled to lie in prison until the day of trial.
+
+Immediately on his incarceration, he sent for Mr. Wallingford, who
+visited him without delay. He found him a shrinking, cowed, and
+frightened culprit; not a man, conscious of rectitude, and therefore
+firm in bearing, though in a false and dangerous position.
+
+“This is a bad business, Mr. Wallingford,” he said, on meeting the
+lawyer--“a very bad business; and I have sent for you as a professional
+gentleman of standing and ability, in order to have a consultation in
+regard to my position--in fact, to place myself wholly in your hands. I
+must have the best counsel, and therefore take the earliest opportunity
+to secure your valuable services. Will you undertake my case?”
+
+“That will depend, Mr. Dewey,” was answered, “entirely upon how it
+stands. If you are falsely accused, and can demonstrate to me your
+innocence, I will defend you to the utmost of my ability, battling your
+accusers to the last. But if, on the contrary, you cannot show clean
+hands, I am not the one to undertake your case.”
+
+Dewey looked at Mr. Wallingford strangely. He scarcely comprehended him.
+
+“I may have committed mistakes; all men are liable to error,” he
+replied.
+
+“Mistake is one thing, Mr. Dewey, and may be explained; fraud is another
+thing, and cannot be explained to mean any thing else. What I want you
+to understand, distinctly, is this: If your connection with the Clinton
+Bank has been, from the beginning, just and honorable, however much it
+may now seem to be otherwise, I will undertake your case, and conduct
+it, I care not through how great difficulties, to a favorable issue. But
+if it has not been--and you know how it stands--do not commit your fate
+to me, for I will abandon you the moment I discover that you have been
+guilty of deliberate wrong to others.”
+
+The countenance of Mr. Dewey fell, and he seemed to shudder back into
+himself. For some time he was silent.
+
+“If there is a foregone conclusion in your mind, that settles the
+matter,” he said, at length, in a disappointed tone.
+
+“All I ask is clear evidence, Mr. Dewey. Foregone conclusions have
+nothing to do with the matter,” replied Mr. Wallingford, “If you know
+yourself to be innocent, you may trust yourself in my hands; if not, I
+counsel you to look beyond me to some other man.”
+
+“All men are liable to do wrong, Mr. Wallingford; and religion teaches
+that the door of repentance is open to every one.”
+
+“True, but the just punishment of wrong is always needed for a salutary
+repentance. The contrition that springs from fear of consequences,
+is not genuine repentance. If you have done wrong, you must take the
+penalty in some shape, and I am not the man knowingly to stay the just
+progression of either moral or civil law.”
+
+“Will you accept a retaining fee, even if not active in my case?” asked
+Mr. Dewey.
+
+“No,” was the emphatic answer.
+
+A dark, despairing shadow fell over the miserable man's face, and he
+turned himself away from the only being towards whom he had looked with
+any hope in this great extremity of his life.
+
+Mr. Wallingford retired with pity in his heart. The spectacle was one of
+the most painful he had ever witnessed. How was the mighty fallen!--the
+proud brought low! As he walked from the prison, the Psalmist's striking
+words passed through his mind--“I have seen the wicked in great power,
+and spreading himself like a green bay tree; yet he passed away, and lo,
+he was not.”
+
+When the day of trial came, Mr. Wallingford appeared as counsel for the
+creditors of the Clinton Bank, on the side of the prosecution. He did
+not show any eagerness to gain his case against the prisoner; but the
+facts were so strong, and all the links in the chain of evidence so
+clear, that conviction was inevitable. A series of frauds and robberies
+was exposed, that filled the community with surprise and indignation;
+and when the jury, after a brief consultation, brought in a verdict of
+guilty, the expression of delight was general. Detestation of the man's
+crimes took away all pity from the common sentiment in regard to him. A
+sentence of five years' expiation in the State prison closed the career
+of Ralph Dewey in S-----, and all men said: “The retribution is just.”
+
+Squire Floyd lost everything, and narrowly escaped the charge of
+complicity with Dewey. Nothing but the fact of their known antagonism
+for some two or three years, turned the public mind in his favor, and
+enabled him to show that what appeared collusion, was only, so far as he
+was concerned, fair business operations. With the wreck of his fortune
+he came very near making also a wreck of his good name. Even as it was,
+there were some in S----who thought the Squire had, in some things, gone
+far beyond the rule of strict integrity.
+
+Judge Bigelow, thanks to the timely and resolute intervention of Mr.
+Wallingford, stood far away from the crashing wrecks, when the storm
+swept down in fearful devastation. It raged around, but did not touch
+him; for he was safely sheltered, and beyond its reach.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+
+
+Two years have passed since these disastrous events; and twenty years
+since the opening of our story. The causes at work in the beginning,
+have wrought out their legitimate effects--the tree has ripened its
+fruits--the harvest has been gathered. The quiet of old times has fallen
+upon S----. It was only a week ago that steps were taken to set the long
+silent mills in motion. A company, formed in Boston, has purchased the
+lower mill, and rented from Mr. Wallingford the upper one, which was
+built on the Allen estate. Squire Floyd, I learn, is to be the manager
+here for the company. I am glad of this. Poor man! He was stripped
+of everything, and has been, for the past two years, in destitute
+circumstances. How he has contrived to live, is almost a mystery. The
+elegant house which he had built for himself was taken and sold by
+creditors, with the furniture, plate, and all things pertaining thereto,
+and, broken-spirited, he retired to a small tenement on the outskirts of
+the town, where he has since lived. His unhappy daughter, with her two
+children, are with him. Her son, old enough to be put to some business,
+she has placed in a store, where he is earning enough to pay his board;
+while she and her daughter take in what sewing they can obtain, in order
+to lessen, as far as possible, the burden of their maintenance. Alas for
+her that the father of those children should be a convicted felon!
+
+I move about through S----on my round of duties, and daily there comes
+to me some reminder of the events and changes of twenty years. I see,
+here and there, a stranded wreck, and think how proudly the vessel
+spread her white sails in the wind a few short years gone by, freighted
+with golden hopes. But where are those treasures now? Lost, lost forever
+in the fathomless sea!
+
+Twenty years ago, and now! As a man soweth, even so shall he reap.
+Spring time loses itself in luxuriant summer, and autumn follows with
+the sure result. If the seed has been good, the fruit will be good; but
+if a man have sown only tares in his fields, he must reap in sorrow and
+not in joy. There is no exception to the rule. A bramble bush can no
+more bear grapes, than a selfish and evil life can produce happiness.
+The one is a natural, and the other a spiritual, impossibility.
+
+A few days ago, as I was riding along on a visit to one of my patients,
+I met Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford, with two of their children, driving
+out in their carriage. They stopped, and we were passing a few pleasant
+words, when there came by two persons, plainly, almost coarsely
+dressed--a mother and her daughter. Both had bundles in their hands.
+Over the mother's face a veil was drawn, and as she passed, with
+evidently quickening steps, she turned herself partly away. The daughter
+looked at us steadily from her calm blue eyes, in which you saw a shade
+of sadness, as though already many hopes had failed. Her face was
+pale and placid, but touched you with its expression of half-concealed
+suffering, as if, young as she was, some lessons of pain and endurance
+had already been learned.
+
+“Who are they?” asked Mrs. Wallingford.
+
+“Delia Floyd and her daughter,” said I.
+
+No remark was made. If my ears did not deceive me, I heard a faint sigh
+pass the lips of Mr. Wallingford.
+
+I spoke to my horse, and, bowing mutually, we passed on our ways.
+
+“Twenty years ago, and now!” said I to myself, falling into a sober
+mood, as thought went back to the sweet, fragrant morning of Delia's
+life, and I saw it in contrast with this dreary autumn. “If the young
+would only take a lesson like this to heart!”
+
+In the evening, Mr. Wallingford called to see me.
+
+“I have not been able, all day,” said he, “to get the image of that poor
+woman and her daughter out of my mind. What are their circumstances,
+Doctor?”
+
+“They live with Squire Floyd,” I answered, “and he is very poor. I think
+Delia and her daughter support themselves by their needles.”
+
+“What a fall!” he said, with pity in his tones.
+
+“Yes, it was a sad fall--sad, but salutary, I trust.”
+
+“How was she after her separation from Mr. Dewey?”
+
+“Very bitter and rebellious, for a time. His marriage seemed to arouse
+every evil passion of her nature. I almost shuddered to hear the
+maledictions she called down upon the head of his wife one day, when
+she rode by in the elegant equipage of which she had once been the proud
+owner. She fairly trembled with rage. Since then, the discipline of the
+inevitable in life has done its better work. She has grown subdued and
+patient, and is doing all a mother in such narrow circumstances can do
+for her children.”
+
+“What of Dewey's second wife?” asked Mr. Wallingford.
+
+“She has applied for a divorce from him, on the ground that he is a
+convicted felon; and will get a decree in her favor, without doubt.”
+
+“What a history!” he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he asked--
+
+“Cannot something be done for Mr. Floyd?”
+
+“I have understood,” said I, “that the company about to start the mills
+again have engaged him as manager.”
+
+“Is that so? Just what I was thinking,” he replied, with animation. “I
+must look after that matter, and see that it does not fall through.”
+
+And he was in this, as in all things, as good as his word. It needed
+only a favorable intimation from him to decide the company to place
+their works in the hands of Squire Floyd, who was a man of skill and
+experience in manufacturing, and one in whose integrity the fullest
+confidence might be reposed.
+
+A month has passed; and Squire Floyd, engaged at a salary of two
+thousand dollars a year, is again at the mills, busy in superintending
+repairs, improvements, and additions. A few more weeks, and the rattle
+of industry will commence, and the old aspect of things show itself in
+S----. May the new mill owners be wiser than their predecessors!
+
+Squire Floyd has removed from the poor tenement lately the home of his
+depressed family, and is back in the pleasant homestead he abandoned
+years ago, when pride and ambition impelled him to put on a grander
+exterior. It is understood that the company have bought the house, and
+rent it to him at a very moderate price. My own impression is, that
+Mr. Wallingford has more to do in the matter than people imagine. I am
+strengthened in this view, from the fact of having seen Mrs. Wallingford
+call at the Squire's twice during the past week. They are in good hands,
+and I see a better future in store for them.
+
+And now, reader, you have the story I wished to tell. It is full of
+suggestion to all who are starting forth upon life's perilous journey.
+Let truth, honor, integrity, and humanity, govern all your actions. Do
+not make haste to be rich, lest you fall into divers temptations. Keep
+always close to the right; and always bear in mind that no wrong is ever
+done that does not, sooner or later, return upon the wrong-doer.
+
+And above all, gentle maiden, be not dazzled by the condition or
+prospect of any who seek your hand.
+
+Look away, down, deeply into the character, disposition, and quality;
+and if these are not of good seeming, shun the proffered alliance as you
+would death. Better, a thousand times, pass through life alone than wed
+yourself to inevitable misery. So heeding the moralist, you will not,
+in the harvest time which comes to all, look in despair over your barren
+fields, but find them golden with Autumn's treasures, that shall fill
+your granaries and crown your latter days with blessing.
+
+The End.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Allen House, by T. S. Arthur
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