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diff --git a/old/69954-0.txt b/old/69954-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e45a9d6..0000000 --- a/old/69954-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16018 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cameron pride, by Mary Jane Holmes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Cameron pride - or purified by suffering - -Author: Mary Jane Holmes - -Release Date: February 4, 2023 [eBook #69954] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMERON PRIDE *** - - -[Illustration: Mary J Holmes] - - - - - THE CAMERON PRIDE - OR - PURIFIED BY SUFFERING - A Novel - - - BY - MRS. MARY J. HOLMES - - AUTHOR OF “TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “HUGH WORTHINGTON,” “LENA RIVERS,” - ETC., ETC. - - - NEW YORK - HURST & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - - - MARY J. HOLMES SERIES - - UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME - - By MARY J. HOLMES - - Aikenside. - Bad Hugh. - Cousin Maude. - Darkness and Daylight. - Dora Deane. - Edith Lyle’s Secret. - English Orphans, The. - Ethelyn’s Mistake. - Family Pride. - Homestead on the Hillside, The. - Hugh Worthington. - Leighton Homestead, The. - Lena Rivers. - Maggie Miller. - Marion Grey. - Meadow Brook. - Mildred; or, The Child of Adoption. - Millbank; or, Roger Irving’s Ward. - Miss McDonald. - Rector of St. Marks, The. - Rosamond. - Rose Mather. - Tempest and Sunshine. - - _Price, postpaid, 50c. each, or any three books for $1.25_ - - HURST & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - TO - - MY BROTHER, - - Kirke Hawes, - - IN MEMORY OF THE OCTOBER DAY WHEN WE RAMBLED OVER THE - - SILVERTON HILLS, - - WHERE MORRIS AND KITTY LIVED, - - THIS VOLUME - - IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. - - _Brown Cottage, February 22, 1867._ - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. The Farm-house at Silverton 7 - II. Linwood 19 - III. Wilford Cameron 26 - IV. Preparing for the Visit 35 - V. Wilford’s Visit 41 - VI. In the Spring 51 - VII. Wilford’s Second Visit 58 - VIII. Getting Ready to be Married 68 - IX. Before the Marriage 79 - X. Marriage at St. John’s 85 - XI. After the Marriage 89 - XII. First Months of Married Life 99 - XIII. Katy’s First Evening in New York 109 - XIV. Extracts from Bell Cameron’s Diary 121 - XV. Toning Down—Bell’s Diary Continued 124 - XVI. Katy 130 - XVII. The New House 135 - XVIII. Marian Hazelton 144 - XIX. Saratoga and Newport 151 - XX. Mark Ray at Silverton 156 - XXI. A New Life 169 - XXII. Helen in Society 183 - XXIII. Baby’s Name 193 - XXIV. Trouble in the Household 198 - XXV. Aunt Betsy goes on a Journey 211 - XXVI. Aunt Betsy Consults a Lawyer 226 - XXVII. The Dinner Party 234 - XXVIII. The Seventh Regiment 241 - XXIX. Katy goes to Silverton 247 - XXX. Little Genevra 259 - XXXI. After the Funeral 269 - XXXII. The First Wife 274 - XXXIII. What the Page Disclosed 281 - XXXIV. The Effect 290 - XXXV. The Interview 292 - XXXVI. The Fever and its Results 302 - XXXVII. The Confession 308 - XXXVIII. Domestic Troubles 316 - XXXIX. What Followed 327 - XL. Mark and Helen 331 - XLI. Christmas Eve at Silverton 335 - XLII. After Christmas Eve 345 - XLIII. Georgetown Hospital 349 - XLIV. Last Hours 359 - XLV. Mourning 366 - XLVI. Prisoners of War 368 - XLVII. Doctor Grant 372 - XLVIII. Katy 385 - XLIX. The Prisoners 390 - L. The Day of the Wedding 396 - LI. The Wedding 404 - LII. Conclusion 408 - - - - - THE CAMERON PRIDE; - - OR, PURIFIED BY SUFFERING. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - THE FARM-HOUSE AT SILVERTON. - - -Uncle Ephraim Barlow was an old-fashioned man, clinging to the old-time -customs of his fathers, and looking with but little toleration upon what -he termed the “new-fangled notions” of the present generation. Born and -reared amid the rocks and hills of the Bay State, his nature partook -largely of the nature of his surroundings, and he grew into manhood with -many a rough point adhering to his character, which, nevertheless, taken -as a whole, was, like the wild New England scenery, beautiful and grand. -None knew Uncle Ephraim Barlow but to respect him, and at the church in -which he was a deacon, few would have been missed more than the tall, -muscular man, with the long white hair, who, Sunday after Sunday, walked -slowly up the middle aisle to his accustomed seat before the altar, and -who regularly passed the contribution box, bowing involuntarily in token -of approbation when a neighbor’s gift was larger than its wont, and -gravely dropping in his own ten cents—never more, never less, always ten -cents—his weekly offering, which he knew amounted in a year to just five -dollars and twenty cents. And still Uncle Ephraim was not stingy, as the -Silverton poor could testify, for many a load of wood and bag of meal -found entrance to the doors where cold and hunger would have otherwise -been, while to his minister he was literally a holder up of the weary -hands, and a comforter in the time of trouble. - -His helpmeet, Aunt Hannah, like that virtuous woman mentioned in the -Bible, was one “who seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with -her hands, who riseth while yet it is night, and giveth meat to her -household,” while Miss Betsy Barlow, the deacon’s maiden sister, was a -character in her way, and bore no resemblance to those frivolous females -to whom the Apostle Paul had reference when he condemned the plaiting of -hair and the wearing of gold and jewels. Quaint, queer and -simple-hearted, she had but little idea of any world this side of -heaven, except the one bounded by the “huckleberry” hills and the -crystal waters of Fairy Pond, which from the back door of the farm-house -were plainly seen, both in the summer sunshine and when the intervening -fields were covered with the winter snow. - -The home of such a trio was, like themselves, ancient and unpretentious, -nearly one hundred years having elapsed since the solid foundation was -laid to a portion of the building. Unquestionably it was the oldest -house in Silverton, for on the heavy oaken door of what was called the -back room was still to be seen the mark of a bullet, left there by some -marauders who, during the Revolution, had encamped in that neighborhood. -George Washington, it was said, had spent a night beneath its roof, the -deacon’s mother pouring for him her Bohea tea and breaking her home-made -bread. Since that time several attempts had been made to modernize the -house. Lath and plaster had been put upon the rafters and paper upon the -walls, wooden latches had given place to iron, while in the parlor, -where Washington had slept, there was the extravagance of a porcelain -knob, such, as Uncle Ephraim said, was only fit for gentry who could -afford to be grand. For himself he was content to live as his father -did; but young folks, he supposed, must in some things have their way, -and so when his pretty niece, who had lived with him from childhood to -the day of her marriage, came back to him a widow, bringing her two -fatherless children and a host of new ideas, he good-humoredly suffered -her to tear down some of his household idols and replace them with her -own. And thus it was that the farm-house gradually changed its -appearance, for young womanhood which has had one glimpse of the outer -world will not settle down quietly amid fashions a century old. Lucy -Lennox, when she returned to the farm-house, was not quite the same as -when she went away. Indeed, Aunt Betsy in her guileless heart feared -that she had actually fallen from grace, imputing the fall wholly to -Lucy’s predilection for a certain little book on whose back was written -“Common Prayer,” and at which Aunt Betsy scarcely dared to look, lest -she should be guilty of the enormities practiced by the Romanists -themselves. Clearer headed than his sister, the deacon read the -black-bound book, finding therein much that was good, but wondering -“why, when folks promised to renounce the pomps and vanities, they did -not do so, instead of acting more stuck up than ever.” Inconsistency was -the underlying strata of the whole Episcopal Church, he said, and as -Lucy had declared her preference for that church, he too, in a measure, -charged her propensity for repairs to the same source with Aunt Betsy; -but, as he could see no sin in what she did, he suffered her in most -things to have her way. But when she contemplated an attack upon the -huge chimney occupying the centre of the building, he interfered; for -there was nothing he liked better than the bright fire on the hearth -when the evenings grew chilly and long, and the autumn rain was falling -upon the roof. The chimney should stand, he said; and as no amount of -coaxing could prevail on him to revoke his decision, the chimney stood, -and with it the three fire-places, where, in the fall and spring, were -burned the twisted knots too bulky for the kitchen stove. This was -fourteen years ago, and in that lapse of time Lucy Lennox had gradually -fallen in with the family ways of living, and ceased to talk of her -cottage in western New York, where her husband had died and where were -born her daughters, one of whom she was expecting home on the warm July -day when our story opens. - -Katy Lennox had been for a year an inmate of Canandaigua Seminary, -whither she was sent at the expense of a distant relative to whom her -father had been guardian, and who, during her infancy, had had a home -with Uncle Ephraim, Mrs. Lennox having brought him with her when she -returned to Silverton. Dr. Morris Grant he was now, and he had just come -home from a three years’ sojourn in Paris, and was living in his own -handsome dwelling across the fields toward Silverton village, and half a -mile or more from Uncle Ephraim’s farm-house. He had written from Paris, -offering to send his cousins, Helen and Kate, to any school their mother -might select, and as Canandaigua was her choice, they had both gone -thither the year before, but Helen, the eldest, had fallen sick within -the first three months, and returned to Silverton, satisfied that the -New England schools were good enough for her. This was Helen; but Katy -was different. Katy was more susceptible of polish and refinement—so the -mother thought; and as she arranged and rearranged the little parlor, -lingering longest by the piano, Dr. Morris’s gift, she drew bright -pictures of her favorite child, wondering how the farm-house and its -inmates would seem to her after all she must have seen during her weeks -of travel since the close of the summer term. And then she wondered why -cousin Morris was so annoyed when told that Katy had accepted an -invitation to accompany Mrs. Woodhull and her party on a trip to -Montreal and Lake George, taking Boston on her homeward route. Katy’s -movements were nothing to him, unless—and the little ambitious mother -struck at random a few notes of the soft-toned piano as she thought how -possible it was that the interest always manifested by staid, quiet -Morris Grant for her light-hearted Kate was more than a brotherly -interest, such as he would naturally feel for the daughter of one who -had been to him a second father. But Katy was so much a child when he -went away to Paris that it could not be. She would sooner think of -Helen, who was more like him. - -“It’s Helen, if anybody,” she said aloud, just as a voice near the -window called out, “Please, Cousin Lucy, relieve me of these flowers. I -brought them over in honor of Katy’s return.” - -Blushing guiltily, Mrs. Lennox advanced to meet a tall, dark-looking -man, with a grave, pleasant face, which, when he smiled, was strangely -attractive, from the sudden lighting up of the hazel eyes and the -glitter of the white, even teeth disclosed so fully to view. - -“Oh, thank you, Morris! Katy will like them, I am sure,” Mrs. Lennox -said, taking from his hand a bouquet of the choice flowers which grew -only in the hothouse at Linwood. “Come in for a moment, please.” - -“No, thank you,” the doctor replied. “There is a case of rheumatism just -over the hill, and I must not be idle if I would retain the practice -given to me. Not that I make anything but good will as yet, for only the -Silverton poor dare trust their lives in my inexperienced hands. But I -can afford to wait,” and with another flash of the hazel eyes Morris -walked away a pace or two, then, as if struck with some sudden thought, -turned back, and fanning his heated face with his leghorn hat, said, -hesitatingly, “By the way, Uncle Ephraim’s last payment on the old mill -falls due to-morrow. Tell him, if he says anything in your presence, not -to mind unless it is perfectly convenient. He must be somewhat -straitened just now, as Katy’s trip cannot have cost him a small sum.” - -The clear, penetrating eyes were looking full at Mrs. Lennox, who for a -moment felt slightly piqued that Morris Grant should take so much -oversight of her uncle’s affairs. It was natural, too, that he should, -she knew, for there was a strong liking between the old man and the -young, the latter of whom, having lived nine years in the family, took a -kindly interest in everything pertaining to it. - -“Uncle Ephraim did not pay the bills,” Mrs. Lennox faltered at last, -feeling intuitively how Morris’s delicate sense of propriety would -shrink from her next communication. “Mrs. Woodhull wrote that the -expense should be nothing to me, and as she is fully able and makes so -much of Katy, I did not think it wrong.” - -“Lucy Lennox! I am astonished!” was all Morris could say, as the tinge -of wounded pride dyed his cheek. - -Kate was a connection—distant, it is true; but his blood was in her -veins, and his inborn pride shrank from receiving so much from -strangers, while he wondered at her mother, feeling more and more -convinced that what he had so long suspected was literally true. Mrs. -Lennox was weak, Mrs. Lennox was ambitious, and for the sake of -associating her daughter with people whom the world had placed above her -she would stoop to accept that upon which she had no claim. - -“Mrs. Woodhull was so urgent and so fond of Katy; and then I thought it -well to give her the advantage of being with such people as compose that -party, the very first in Canandaigua, besides some from New York,” Mrs. -Lennox began in self-defence, but Morris did not stop to hear more, and -hurried off a second time, while Mrs. Lennox looked after him, wondering -at the feeling which she could not understand. “If Katy can go with the -Woodhulls and their set, I certainly shall not prevent it,” she thought, -as she continued her arrangement of the parlor, wishing that it was more -like what she remembered Mrs. Woodhull’s to have been, fifteen years -ago. - -Of course that lady had kept up with the times, and if her old house was -finer than anything Mrs. Lennox had ever seen, what must her new one be, -with all the modern improvements? and leaning her head upon the mantel, -Mrs. Lennox thought how proud she should be could she live to see her -daughter in similar circumstances to the envied Mrs. Woodhull, at that -moment in the crowded car between Boston and Silverton, tired, hot, and -dusty, and as nearly cross as a fashionable lady can be. - -A call from Uncle Ephraim roused her, and going out into the square -entry she tied his linen cravat, and then handing him the blue umbrella, -an appendage he took with him in sunshine and in storm, she watched him -as he stepped into his one-horse wagon and drove briskly away in the -direction of the depot, where he was to meet his niece. - -“I wish Cousin Morris had offered his carriage,” she thought, as the -corn-colored wagon disappeared from view. “The train stops five minutes -at West Silverton, and some of those grand people will be likely to see -the turnout,” and with a sigh as she doubted whether it were not a -disgrace as well as an inconvenience to be poor, she repaired to the -kitchen, where sundry savory smells betokened a plentiful dinner. - -Bending over the sink, with her cap strings tucked back, her sleeves -rolled up, and her short purple calico shielded from harm by her broad -check apron, Aunt Betsy stood cleaning the silvery onions, and -occasionally wiping her dim old eyes as the odor proved too strong for -her. At another table stood Aunt Hannah, deep in the mysteries of the -light white crust which was to cover the tender chicken boiling in the -pot, while in the oven bubbled and baked the custard pie, remembered -as Katy’s favorite, and prepared for her coming by Helen -herself—plain-spoken, dark-eyed Helen—now out in the strawberry beds, -picking the few luscious berries which almost by a miracle had been -coaxed to wait for Katy, who loved them so dearly. Like her mother, -Helen had wondered how the change would impress her bright little -sister, for she remembered that even to her obtuse perceptions there -had come a pang when after only three months abiding in a place where -the etiquette of life was rigidly enforced, she had returned to their -homely ways at Silverton, and felt that it was worse than vain to try -to effect a change. But Helen’s strong sense, with the help of two or -three good cries, had carried her safely through, and her humble home -among the hills was very dear to her now. But she was Helen, as the -mother had said; she was different from Katy, who might be lonely and -homesick, sobbing herself to sleep in her patient sister’s arms, as -she did on that first night in Canandaigua, which Helen remembered so -well. - -“It’s better, too, now than when I came home,” Helen thought, as with -her rich, scarlet fruit she went slowly to the house. “Morris is here, -and the new church, and if she likes she can teach Sunday-school, though -maybe she will prefer going with Uncle Ephraim. He will be pleased if -she does,” and pausing by the door, Helen looked across Fairy Pond in -the direction of Silverton village, where the top of a slender spire was -just visible—the spire of St. John’s, built within the year, and mostly -at the expense of Dr. Morris Grant, who, a zealous churchman himself, -had labored successfully to instill into Helen’s mind some of his own -peculiar views, as well as to awaken in Mrs. Lennox’s heart the -professions which had lain dormant for as long a time as the little -black bound book had lain on the cupboard shelf, forgotten and unread. - -How the doctor’s views were regarded by the Deacon’s family we shall -see, by and by. At present our story has to do with Helen, holding her -bowl of berries by the rear door and looking across the distant fields. -With one last glance at the object of her thoughts she re-entered the -house, where her mother was arranging the square table for dinner, -bringing out the white stone china instead of the mulberry set kept for -every day use. - -“We ought to have some silver forks,” she said despondingly, as she laid -by each plate the three tined forks of steel, to pay for which Helen and -Katy had picked huckle-berries on the hills and dried apples from the -orchard. - -“Never mind, mother,” Helen answered cheerily: “if Katy is as she used -to be she will care more for us than for silver, and I guess she is, for -I imagine it would take a great deal to make her anything but a -warmhearted, merry little creature.” - -This was sensible Helen’s tribute of affection to the little, gay, -chattering butterfly, at that moment an occupant of Uncle Ephraim’s -corn-colored wagon, and riding with that worthy toward home, throwing -kisses to every barefoot boy and girl she met, and screaming with -delight as the old familiar way-marks met her view. - -“There is Aunt Betsy, with her dress pinned up as usual,” she cried, -when at last the wagon stopped before the door, and the four women came -hurriedly out to meet her, almost smothering her with caresses, and then -holding her off to see if she had changed. - -She was very stylish in her pretty traveling dress of gray, made under -Mrs. Woodhull’s supervision, and nothing could be more becoming than her -jaunty hat, tied with ribbons of blue, while the dainty kids, bought to -match the dress, fitted her fat hands charmingly, and the little -high-heeled boots of soft prunella were faultless in their style. She -was very attractive in her personal appearance, and the mental verdict -of the four females regarding her intently was something as follows: -Mrs. Lennox detected unmistakable marks of the grand society she had -been mingling in, and was pleased accordingly; Aunt Hannah pronounced -her “the prettiest creeter she had ever seen;” Aunt Betsy decided that -her hoops were too big and her clothes too fine for a Barlow; while -Helen, who looked beyond dress, or style, or manner, straight into her -sister’s soft blue eyes, brimming with love and tears, decided that Katy -was not changed for the worse. Nor was she. Truthful, loving, -simple-hearted and full of playful life she had gone from home, and she -came back the same, never once thinking of the difference between the -farm-house and Mrs. Woodhull’s palace, or if she did, giving the -preference to the former. - -“It was perfectly splendid to get home,” she said, handing her gloves to -Helen, her sun-shade to her mother, her satchel to Aunt Hannah, and -tossing her bonnet in the vicinity of the water pail, from which it was -saved by Aunt Betsy, who put it carefully in the press, examining it -closely first and wondering how much it cost. - -Deciding that “it was a good thumpin’ price,” she returned to the -kitchen, where Katy, dancing and curvetting in circles, scarcely stood -still long enough for them to see that in spite of boarding-school fare, -of which she had complained so bitterly, her cheeks were rounder, her -eyes brighter, and her figure fuller than of old. She had improved, but -she did not appear to know it, or to guess how beautiful she was in the -fresh bloom of seventeen, with her golden hair waving around her -childish forehead, and her deep blue eyes laughing so expressively with -each change of her constantly varying face. Everything animate and -inanimate pertaining to the old house, came in for its share of notice. -She kissed the kitten, squeezed the cat, hugged the dog, and hugged the -little goat, tied to his post in the clover yard and trying so hard to -get free. The horse, to whom she fed handfuls of grass, had been already -hugged. She did that the first thing after strangling Uncle Ephraim as -she alighted from the train, and some from the car window saw it, -smiling at what they termed the charming simplicity of an enthusiastic -school-girl. Blessed youth! blessed early girlhood, surrounded by a halo -of rare beauty! It was Katy’s shield and buckler, warding off many a -cold criticism which might otherwise have been passed upon her. - -They were sitting down to dinner now, and the deacon’s voice trembled -as, with the blessing invoked, he thanked God for bringing back the -little girl, whose head was for a moment bent reverently, but quickly -lifted itself up as its owner, in the same breath with that in which the -deacon uttered his amen, declared how hungry she was, and went into -rhapsodies over the nicely cooked viands which loaded the table. The -best bits were hers that day, and she refused nothing until it came to -Aunt Betsy’s onions, once her special delight, but now declined, greatly -to the distress of the old lady, who having been on the watch for -“quirks,” as she styled any departure from long established customs, now -knew she had found one, and with an injured expression withdrew the -offered bowl, saying sadly, “You used to eat ’em raw, Cathe_rine_; -what’s got into you?” - -It was the first time Aunt Betsy had called a name so obnoxious to Kate, -especially when, as in the present case, great emphasis was laid upon -the _rine_, and from past experience Katy knew that her good aunt was -displeased. Her first impulse was to accept the dish refused; but when -she remembered her reason for refusing she said, laughingly, “Excuse me, -Aunt Betsy, I love them still, but—but—well, the fact is, I am going by -and by to run over and see Cousin Morris, inasmuch as he was not polite -enough to come here, and you know it might not be so pleasant.” - -“The land!” and Aunt Betsy brightened. “If that’s all, eat ’em. ’Tain’t -no ways likely you’ll get near enough to him to make any difference—only -turn your head when you shake hands.” - -But Katy remained incorrigible, while Helen, who guessed that her -impulsive sister was contemplating a warmer greeting of the doctor than -a mere shaking of his hands, kindly turned the conversation by telling -how Morris was improved by his tour abroad, and how much the poor people -thought of him. - -“He is very fine looking, too,” she said, whereupon Katy involuntarily -exclaimed, “I wonder if he is as handsome as Wilford Cameron? Oh, I -never wrote about him, did I?” and the little maiden began to blush as -she stirred her tea industriously. - -“Who is Wilford Cameron?” asked Mrs. Lennox. - -“Oh, he’s Wilford Cameron, that’s all; lives on Fifth Avenue—is a -lawyer—is very rich—a friend of Mrs. Woodhull, and was with us in our -travels,” Kate answered rapidly, the red burning on her cheeks so -brightly that Aunt Betsy innocently passed her a big feather fan, saying -“she looked mighty hot.” - -And Katy was warm, but whether from talking of Wilford Cameron or not -none could tell. She said no more of him, but went on to speak of -Morris, asking if it were true, as she had heard, that he built the new -church in Silverton. - -“Yes, and runs it, too,” Aunt Betsy answered, energetically, proceeding -to tell “what goin’s on they had, with the minister shiftin’ his clothes -every now and agin’ and the folks all talkin’ together. Morris got me in -once,” she said, “and I thought meetin’ was let out half a dozen times, -so much histin’ round as there was. I’d as soon go to a show, if it was -a good one, and I told Morris so. He laughed and said I’d feel different -when I knew ’em better; but needn’t tell me that prayers made up is as -good as them as isn’t, though Morris, I do believe, will get to Heaven a -long ways ahead of me, if he is a ’Piscopal.” - -To this there was no response, and being launched on her favorite topic, -Aunt Betsy continued: - -“If you’ll believe it, Helen here is one of ’em, and has got a sight of -’Piscopal quirks into her head. Why, she and Morris sing that -talkin’-like singin’ Sundays when the folks get up and Helen plays the -accordeon.” - -“Melodeon, aunty, melodeon,” and Helen laughed merrily at her aunt’s -mistake, turning the conversation again, and this time to Canandaigua, -where she had some acquaintances. - -But Katy was so much afraid of Canandaigua, and what talking of it might -lead to, that she kept to Cousin Morris, asking innumerable questions -about his house and grounds, and whether there were as many flowers -there now as there used to be in the days when she and Helen went to say -their lessons at Linwood, as they had done before Morris sailed for -Europe. - -“I think it right mean in him not to be here to see me,” she said, -poutingly, “and I am going over as quick as I eat my dinner.” - -But against this all exclaimed at once. She was too tired, the mother -said, she must lie down and rest, while Helen suggested that she had not -told them about her trip, and Uncle Ephraim remarked that she would not -find Morris at home, as he was going that afternoon to Spencer. This -last settled it. Katy must stay at home; but instead of lying down or -talking about her journey, she explored every nook and crevice of the -old house and barn, finding the nest Aunt Betsy had looked for in vain, -and proving to the anxious dame that she was right when she insisted -that the speckled hen had stolen her nest and was in the act of setting. -Later in the day, a neighbor passing by spied the little maiden riding -in the cart off into the meadow, where she sported like a child among -the mounds of fragrant hay, playing her jokes upon the sober deacon, who -smiled fondly upon her, feeling how much lighter the labor seemed -because she was there with him, a hindrance instead of a help, in spite -of her efforts to handle the rake skillfully. - -“Are you glad to have me home again, Uncle Eph?” she asked when once she -caught him regarding her with a peculiar look. - -“Yes, Katy-did, very glad?” he answered; “I’ve missed you every day, -though you do nothing much but bother me.” - -“Why did you look so funny at me just now?” Kate continued, and the -deacon replied: “I was thinking how hard it would be for such a -highty-tighty thing as you to meet the crosses and disappointments which -lie all along the road which you must travel. I should hate to see your -young life crushed out of you, as young lives sometimes are?” - -“Oh, never fear for me. I am going to be happy all my life long. Wilford -Cameron said I ought to be,” and Katy tossed into the air a wisp of the -new-made hay. - -“I don’t know who Wilford Cameron is, but there’s no ought about it,” -the deacon rejoined. “God marks out the path for us to walk in, and when -he says it’s best, we know it is, though some are straight and pleasant -and others crooked and hard.” - -“I’ll choose the straight and pleasant then—why shouldn’t I?” Katy -asked, laughing, as she seated herself upon a rock near which the hay -cart had stopped. - -“Can’t tell what path you’ll take,” the deacon answered. “God knows -whether you’ll go easy through the world, or whether he’ll send you -suffering to purify and make you better.” - -“Purified by suffering,” Katy said aloud, while a shadow involuntarily -crept for an instant over her gay spirits. - -She could not believe _she_ was to be purified by suffering. She had -never done anything very bad, and humming a part of a song learned from -Wilford Cameron she followed after the loaded cart, returning slowly to -the house, thinking to herself that there must be something great and -good in the suffering which should purify at last, but hoping she was -not the one to whom this great good should come. - -It was supper-time ere long, and after that was over Katy announced her -intention of going to Linwood whether Morris were there or not. - -“I can see the housekeeper and the birds and flowers,” she said, as she -swung her straw hat by the string and started from the door. - -“Ain’t Helen going with you?” Aunt Hannah asked, while Helen herself -looked a little surprised. - -But Katy would rather go alone. She had a heap to tell Cousin Morris, -and Helen could go next time. - -“Just as you like,” Helen answered, good-naturedly, and so Katy went -alone to call on Morris Grant. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - LINWOOD. - - -Morris had returned from Spencer, and in his dressing-gown and slippers -was sitting by the window of his library, looking out upon the purple -sunshine flooding the western sky, and thinking of the little girl -coming so rapidly up the grassy lane in the rear of the house. He was -going over to see her by and by, he said, and he pictured to himself how -she must look by this time, hoping that he should not find her greatly -changed, for Morris Grant’s memories were very precious of the -play-child who used to tease and worry him so much with her lessons -poorly learned, and the never-ending jokes played off upon her teacher. -He had thought of her so often when across the sea, and, knowing her -love of the beautiful, he had never looked upon a painting or scene of -rare beauty that he did not wish her by his side sharing in the -pleasure. He had brought her from that far-off land many little trophies -which he thought she would prize, and which he was going to take with -him when he went to the farm-house. He never dreamed of her coming there -to-night. She would, of course, wait for him, to call upon her first. -How then was he amazed when, just as the sun was going down and he was -watching its last rays lingering on the brow of the hill across the -pond, the library door was opened wide and the room suddenly filled with -life and joy, as a graceful figure, with reddish golden hair, bounded -across the floor, and winding its arms around his neck gave him the -hearty kiss which Katy had in her mind when she declined Aunt Betsy’s -favorite vegetable. - -Morris Grant was not averse to being kissed, and yet the fact that Katy -Lennox had kissed him in such a way awoke a chill of disappointment, for -it said that to her he was the teacher still, the elder brother, whom, -as a child, she had loaded with caresses. - -“Oh, Cousin Morris!” she exclaimed, “why didn’t you come over at noon, -you naughty boy! But what a splendid-looking man you’ve got to be, -though! and what do you think of me?” she added, blushing for the first -time, as he held her off from him and looked into the sunny face. - -“I think you wholly unchanged,” he answered, so gravely that Katy began -to pout as she said, “And you are sorry, I know. Pray what did you -expect of me, and what would you have me be?” - -“Nothing but what you are—the same Kitty as of old,” he answered, his -own bright smile breaking all over his sober face. - -He saw that his manner repelled her, and he tried to be natural, -succeeding so well that Katy forgot her first disappointment, and making -him sit by her on the sofa, where she could see him distinctly, she -poured forth a volley of talk, telling him, among other things, how much -afraid of him some of his letters made her—they were so serious and so -like a sermon. - -“You wrote me once that you thought of being a minister,” she added. -“Why did you change your mind? It must be splendid, I think, to be a -young clergyman—invited to so many tea-drinkings, and having all the -girls in the parish after you, as they always are after unmarried -ministers.” - -Into Morris Grant’s eyes there stole a troubled light as he thought how -little Katy realized what it was to be a minister of God—to point the -people heavenward and teach them the right way. There was a moment’s -pause, and then he tried to explain to her that he hoped he had not been -influenced either by thoughts of tea-drinkings or having the parish -girls after him, but rather by an honest desire to choose the sphere in -which he could accomplish the most good. - -“I did not decide rashly,” he said, “but after weeks of anxious thought -and prayer for guidance I came to the conclusion that in the practice of -medicine I could find perhaps as broad a field for good as in the -church, and so I decided to go on with my profession—to be a physician -of the poor and suffering, speaking to them of Him who came to save, and -in this way I shall not labor in vain. Many would seek another place -than Silverton and its vicinity, but something told me that my work was -here, and so I am content to stay, feeling thankful that my means admit -of my waiting for patients, if need be, and at the same time ministering -to the wants of those who are needy.” - -Gradually, as he talked, there came into his face a light born only from -the peace which passeth understanding, and the awe-struck Katy crept -closer to his side and grasping his hand in hers, said softly, “Dear -cousin, what a good man you are, and how silly I must seem to you, -thinking you cared for tea-drinkings, or even girls, when, of course, -you do not.” - -“Perhaps I do,” the doctor replied, slightly pressing the warm, fat hand -holding his so fast. “A minister’s or a doctor’s life would be dreary -indeed if there was no one to share it, and I have had my dreams of the -girls, or girl, who was some day to brighten my home.” - -He looked fully at Katy now, but she was thinking of something else, and -her next remark was to ask him rather abruptly “how old he was?” - -“Twenty-six last May,” he answered, while Katy continued, “You are not -old enough to be married yet. Wilford Cameron is thirty.” - -“Where did _you_ meet Wilford Cameron?” Morris asked, in some surprise, -and then the story which Katy had not told, even to her sister, came out -in full, and Morris tried to listen patiently while Katy explained how, -on the very first day of the examination, Mrs. Woodhull had come in, and -with her the grandest, proudest-looking man, who the girls said was Mr. -Wilford Cameron, from New York, a fastidious bachelor, whose family were -noted for their wealth and exclusiveness, keeping six servants, and -living in the finest style; that Mrs. Woodhull, who all through the year -had been very kind to Katy, came to her after school and invited her -home to tea; that she had gone and met Mr. Cameron; that she was very -much afraid of him at first, and was not sure that she was quite over it -now, although he was so polite to her all through the journey, taking so -much pains to have her see the finest sights, and laughing at her -enthusiasm. - -“Wilford Cameron with you in your trip?” Morris asked, a new idea -dawning on his mind. - -“Yes, let me tell you,” and Katy spoke rapidly. “I saw him that night, -and then Mrs. Woodhull took me to ride with him in the carriage, and -then—well, I rode alone with him once down by the lake, and he talked to -me just as if he was not a grand man and I a little school-girl. And -when the term closed I stayed at Mrs. Woodhull’s and he was there. He -liked my playing and liked my singing, and I guess he liked me—that is, -you know—yes, he liked me _some_” and Katy twisted the fringe of her -shawl, while Morris, in spite of the pain tugging at his heart strings, -laughed aloud as he rejoined, “I have no doubt he did; but go on—what -next?” - -“He said more about my joining that party than anybody, and I am very -sure _he_ paid the _bills_.” - -“Oh, Katy,” and Morris started as if he had been stung. “I would rather -have given Linwood than have you thus indebted to Wilford Cameron, or -any other man.” - -“I could not well help it. I did not mean any harm,” Katy said timidly, -explaining how she had shrunk from the proposition which Mrs. Woodhull -thought was right, urging it until she had consented, and telling how -kind Mr. Cameron was, and how careful not to remind her of her -indebtedness to him, attending to and anticipating every want as if she -had been his sister. - -“You would like Mr. Cameron, Cousin Morris. He made me think of you a -little, only he is prouder,” and Katy’s hand moved up Morris’s coat -sleeve till it rested on his shoulder. - -“Perhaps so,” Morris answered, feeling a growing resentment towards one -who it seemed to him had done him some great wrong. - -But Wilford was not to blame, he reflected. He could not help admiring -the bright little Katy—and so conquering all ungenerous feelings, he -turned to her at last, and said, - -“Did my little Cousin Kitty like Wilford Cameron?” - -Something in Morris’s voice startled Katy strangely; her hand came down -from his shoulder, and for an instant there swept over her an emotion -similar to what she had felt when with Wilford Cameron she rambled along -the shores of Lake George, or sat alone with him on the deck of the -steamer which carried them down Lake Champlain. But Morris had always -been her brother, and she did not guess that she was more to him than a -sister, so she answered frankly at last, “I guess I did like him a -little. I couldn’t help it, Morris. You could not either, or any one. I -believe Mrs. Woodhull was more than half in love with him herself, and -she talked so much of his family; they must be very grand.” - -“Yes, I know those Camerons,” was Morris’s quiet remark. - -“What! You don’t know Wilford?” Katy almost screamed, and Morris -replied, “Not Wilford, no; but the mother and the sisters were in Paris, -and I met them many times.” - -“What were they doing in Paris?” Katy asked, and Morris replied that he -believed the immediate object of their being there was to obtain the -best medical advice for a little orphan grand-child, a bright, beautiful -boy, to whom some terrible accident had happened in infancy, preventing -his walking entirely, and making him nearly helpless. His name was -Jamie, Morris said, and as he saw that Katy was interested, he told her -how sweet-tempered the little fellow was, how patient under suffering, -and how eagerly he listened when Morris, who at one time attended him, -told him of the Saviour and his love for little children. - -“Did he get well?” Katy asked, her eyes filling with tears at the -picture Morris drew of Jamie Cameron, sitting all day long in his wheel -chair, and trying to comfort his grand-mother’s distress when the -torturing instruments for straightening his poor back were applied. - -“No, he died one lovely day in October, and they buried him beneath the -bright skies of France,” Morris said, and then Katy asked about the -mother and sisters. “Were they proud, and did he like them much?” - -“They were very proud,” Morris said; “but they were always civil to -him,” and Katy, had she been watching, might have seen a slight flush on -his cheek as he told her of the stately woman, Wilford’s mother, of the -haughty Juno, a beauty and a belle, and lastly of Arabella, whom the -family nicknamed Bluebell, from her excessive fondness for books, and -her contempt for the fashionable life her mother and sister led. - -It was evident that neither of the young ladies were wholly to Morris’s -taste, but of the two he preferred Bluebell, for though imperious and -self-willed, she had some heart, some principle, while Juno had none. -This was Morris’s opinion, and it disturbed little Katy, as was very -perceptible from the nervous tapping of her foot upon the carpet and the -working of her hands. - -“How would _I_ appear by the side of those ladies?” she suddenly asked, -her countenance changing as Morris replied that it was almost impossible -to think of her as associated with the Camerons, she was so wholly -unlike them in every respect. - -“I don’t believe I shocked Wilford so very much,” Katy rejoined, -reproachfully, while again a heavy pain shot through Morris’s heart, for -he saw more and more how Wilford Cameron was mingled with every thought -of the young girl, who continued: “And if he was satisfied, his mother -and sisters will be. Any way, I don’t want you to make me feel how -different I am from them.” - -There was tears now on Katy’s face, and casting aside all selfishness, -Morris wound his arm around her, and smoothing her golden hair, just as -he used to do when she was a child and came to him to be soothed, he -said, very gently, - -“My poor Kitty, you do like Wilford Cameron; tell me honestly—is it not -so?” - -“Yes, I guess I do,” and Katy’s voice was a half sob. “I could not help -it, either, he was so kind, so—I don’t know what, only I could not help -doing what he bade me. Why, if he had said, ‘Jump overboard, Katy -Lennox,’ I should have done it, I know—that is, if his eyes had been -upon me, they controlled me so absolutely. Can you imagine what I mean?” - -“Yes, I understand. There was the same look in Bell Cameron’s eye, a -kind of mesmeric influence which commanded obedience. They idolize -Wilford, and I dare say he is worthy of their idolatry. One thing at -least is in his favor—the crippled Jamie, for whose opinion I would give -more than all the rest, seemed to worship his Uncle Will; talking of him -continually, and telling how kind he was, sometimes staying up all night -to carry him in his arms when the pain in his back was more than usually -severe. So there must be a good, kind heart in Wilford Cameron, and if -my Cousin Kitty likes him, as she says she does, and he likes her as I -believe he must, why, I hope——” - -Morris Grant could not finish the sentence, for he did _not_ hope that -Wilford Cameron would win the gem he had so long coveted as his own. - -He might give Kitty up because she loved another best. He was generous -enough to do that, but if he did it, she must never know how much it -cost him, and lest he should betray himself he could not to-night talk -with her longer of Wilford Cameron. It was time too for Kitty to go -home, but she did not seem to remember it until Morris suggested to her -that her mother might be uneasy if she stayed away much longer, and so -they went together across the fields, the shadows all gone from Katy’s -heart, but lying so dark and heavy around Morris Grant, who was glad -when he could leave Katy at the farm-house door and go back alone to the -quiet library, where only God could witness the mighty struggle, it was -for him to say, “Thy will be done.” And while he prayed, Katy, in her -humble bedroom, with her head nestled close to Helen’s neck, was telling -her of Wilford Cameron, who, when they went down the rapids and she had -cried with fear, had put his arm around her trying to quiet her, and who -once again, on the mountain overlooking Lake George, had held her hand a -moment, while he pointed out a splendid view seen through the opening -trees. And Helen, listening, knew that Katy’s heart was lost, and that -for Wilford Cameron to deceive her now would be a cruel thing. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - WILFORD CAMERON. - - -The day succeeding Katy Lennox’s return to Silverton was rainy and cold -for the season, the storm extending as far westward as the city of New -York, and making Wilford Cameron shiver as he stepped from the Hudson -River cars into the carriage waiting for him, first greeting pleasantly -the white-gloved driver, who, closing the carriage door, mounted to his -seat and drove his handsome bays in the direction of No. —— Fifth -Avenue. And Wilford, leaning back among the cushions, thought how -pleasant it was to be home again, feeling glad, as he frequently did, -that the home was in every particular unexceptionable. The Camerons, he -knew, were an old and highly respectable family, while it was his -mother’s pride that, go back as far as one might, on either side there -could not be found a single blemish, or a member of whom to be ashamed. -On the Cameron side there were millionaires, merchant princes, bankers, -and stockholders, professors and scholars, while on hers, the Rossiter -side, there were LL. D.’s and D. D.’s, lawyers and clergymen, authors -and artists, beauties and bells, the whole forming an illustrious line -of ancestry, admirably represented and sustained by the present family -of Camerons, occupying the brown-stone front, corner of —— street and -Fifth Avenue, where the handsome carriage stopped, and a tall figure ran -quickly up the marble steps. There was a soft rustle of silk, an odor of -delicate perfume, and from the luxurious chair before the fire kindled -in the grate, a lady rose and advanced a step or two towards the parlor -door. In another moment she was kissing the young man bending over her -and saluting her as mother, kissing him quietly, properly, as the -Camerons always kissed. She was very glad to have Wilford home again, -for he was her favorite child; and brushing the rain-drops from his coat -she led him to the fire, offering him her own easy-chair, and starting -herself in quest of another. But Wilford held her back, and making her -sit down, he drew an ottoman beside her, and then asked her first how -she had been, then where his sisters were, and if his father had come -home—for there was a father, a quiet, unassuming man, who stayed all day -in Wall street, seldom coming home in time to carve at his own dinner -table, and when he was at home, asking for nothing except to be left by -his fashionable wife and daughters to himself, free to smoke and doze -over his evening paper in the seclusion of his own reading-room. - -As Wilford’s question concerning his sire had been the last one asked, -so it was the last one answered, his mother parting his dark hair with -her jeweled hand, and telling him first that, with the exception of a -cold taken at the Park on Saturday afternoon, she was in usual -health—second, that Juno was spending a few days in Orange, and that -Bell had gone to pass the night with her particular friend, Mrs. -Meredith, the most bookish woman in New York. - -“Your father,” the lady added, “has not yet returned; but as the dinner -is ready I think we will not wait.” - -She touched a silver bell beside her, and ordering dinner to be sent up -at once, went on to ask her son concerning his journey and the people he -had met. But Wilford, though intending to tell her all, would wait till -after dinner. So, offering her his arm, he led her out to where the -table was spread, widely different from the table prepared for Katy -Lennox among the Silverton hills, for where at the farm-house there had -been only the homely wares common to the country, with Aunt Betsy’s -onions served in a bowl, there was here the finest of damask, the -choicest of china, the costliest of cut-glass, and the heaviest of -silver, with the well-trained waiter gliding in and out, himself the -very personification of strict table etiquette, such as the Barlows had -never dreamed about. There was no fricasseed chicken here, or flaky -crust, with pickled beans and apple-sauce; no custard pie with -strawberries and rich, sweet cream, poured from a blue earthen pitcher; -but there were soups, and fish, and roasted meats, and dishes with -French names and taste, and dessert elaborately gotten up, and served -with the utmost precision, and Mrs. Cameron presiding over all with -lady-like decorum, her soft glossy silk of brown, with her rich lace and -diamond pin in perfect keeping with herself and her surroundings. And -opposite to her Wilford sat, a tall, dark, handsome man, of thirty or -thereabouts—a man, whose polished manners betokened at once a perfect -knowledge of the world, and whose face, to a close observer, indicated -how little satisfaction he had as yet found in the world. He had tried -its pleasures, drinking the cup of freedom and happiness to its very -dregs, and though he thought he liked it, he often found himself -dissatisfied and reaching after something which should make life more -real, more worth the living for. He had traveled all over Europe twice, -had visited every spot worth visiting in his own country, had been a -frequenter of every fashionable resort in New York, from the -skating-pond to the theatres, had been admitted as a lawyer, had opened -an office on Broadway, acquiring some reputation in his profession, had -looked at more than twenty girls with the view of making them his wife, -and found them, as he believed, alike fickle, selfish, artificial and -hollow-hearted. In short, while thinking far more of family, and -accomplishments, and style, than he ought, he was yet heartily tired of -the butterflies who flitted so constantly around him, offering to be -caught if he would but stretch out his hand to catch them. This he would -not do, and disgusted with the world as he saw it in New York, he had -gone to the Far West, roaming awhile amid the solitude of the broad -prairies, and finding there much that was soothing to him, but not -discovering the fulfillment of the great want he was craving until -coming back to Canandaigua, he met with Katy Lennox. He had smiled -wearily when asked by Mrs. Woodhull to go with her to the examination -then in progress at the Seminary. There was nothing there to interest -him, he thought, as Euclid and Algebra, French and Rhetoric were bygone -things, while young school-misses, in braided hair and pantalettes, were -shockingly insipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless, -fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua generally and Katy Lennox -in particular, he consented, and soon found himself in the crowded room, -the cynosure of many eyes as the whisper ran round that the fine-looking -man with Mrs. Woodhull was Wilford Cameron, from New York, brother to -the proud, dashing Juno Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in town. -Wilford knew they were talking about him, but he did not care, and -assuming as easy an attitude as possible, he leaned back in his chair, -yawning indolently until the class in Algebra was called, and Katy -Lennox came tripping on the stage, a pale blue ribbon in her golden -hair, and her simple dress of white relieved by no ornament except the -cluster of wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her throat. But Katy -needed no ornaments to make her more beautiful than she was at the -moment when, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, she first burst -upon Wilford’s vision, a creature of rare, bewitching beauty, such as he -had never dreamed about. - -Wilford had met his destiny, and he felt it in every throb of blood -which went rushing through his veins. - -“Who is she?” he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that lady knew at once whom -he meant, even though he had not designated her. - -An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in East Bloomfield, -Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from the first day of her arrival in -Canandaigua with a letter of introduction to herself from the ambitious -mother, and being rather inclined to match-making, she had had Katy in -her mind when she urged Wilford to accompany her to the Seminary. -Accordingly, she answered him at once, “That is Katy Lennox, daughter of -Judge Lennox, who died in East Bloomfield a few years ago.” - -“Pretty, is she not?” - -Wilford did not answer her. He had neither eye nor ear for anything save -Katy, acquitting herself with a good deal of credit as she worked out a -rather difficult problem, her dimpled white hand showing to good -advantage against the deep black of the board; and then her voice, -soft-toned and silvery, as a lady’s voice should be, thrilled in -Wilford’s ear, awaking a strange feeling of disquiet, as if the world -would never again be quite the same to him that it was before he met -that fair young girl now passing from the room. - -Mrs. Woodhull saw that he was interested. It was time he was settled in -life. With the exception of wealth and family position, he could not -find a better wife than Katy, and she would do what she could to bring -the marriage about. Accordingly, having first gained the preceptress’s -consent, Katy was taken home with her to dinner. And this was how -Wilford Cameron came to know little Katy Lennox, the simple-hearted -child, who blushed so prettily when first presented to him, and blushed -again when he praised her recitations, but who after that forgot the -difference in their social relations, laughing and chatting as merrily -in his presence as if she had been alone with Mrs. Woodhull. This was -the great charm to Wilford. Katy was so wholly unconscious of herself or -what he might think of her, that he could not sit in judgment upon her, -and he watched her eagerly as she sported, and flashed, and sparkled, -filling the room with sunshine, and putting to rout the entire regiment -of blues which had been for months harassing the city-bred young man. - -If there was any one thing in which Katy excelled, it was music, both -vocal and instrumental, a taste for which had been developed very early, -and fostered by Morris Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every -advantage which Silverton could afford. Great pains had been given to -her style of playing while in Canandaigua, so that as a performer upon -the piano she had few rivals in the seminary, while her bird-like voice -filled every nook and corner of the room, where, on the night after her -visit to Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy shining as -the one bright star, and winning golden laurels for beauty, grace, and -perfect self-possession, from others than Wilford Cameron, who was one -of the invited auditors. - -Juno herself could not equal that, he thought, as Katy’s fingers flew -over the keys, executing a brilliant and difficult piece without a -single mistake, and receiving the applause of the spectators easily, -naturally, as if it were an every day occurrence. But when by request -she sang “Comin’ through the Rye,” Wilford’s heart, if he had any -before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy Lennox that night, -wondering all the ensuing day how his haughty mother would receive that -young school-girl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she -fancied must be equal to the first lady in the land. And if Katy were -not now equal she could be made so, Wilford thought, wondering if -Canandaigua were the best place for her, and if she would consent to -receive a year or two years’ tuition from _him_, provided her family -were poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he did, -feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some extent how Katy was -circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull had never been to Silverton, and so she did -not know of Uncle Ephraim, and his old-fashioned sister; but she knew -that they were poor—that some relation sent Katy to school; and she -frankly told Wilford so, adding, as she detected the shadow on his face, -that one could not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not -found every day. Wilford admitted all this, growing more and more -infatuated, until at last he consented to join the traveling party, -provided Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their departure -for the Falls he seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well -have been happier, unless she had really been his wife, as he so much -wished she was. - -It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better satisfied with -himself than he had been before in years. His past life was not all free -from error, and there were many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy -at his side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and doing -what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the wind, feeling only an -intense desire to clasp the young girl in his arms and bear her away to -some spot where with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the -world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. This was when he -was with Katy. Away from her he could remember the difference in their -position, and prudential motives began to make themselves heard. Never -but once had he taken an important step without consulting his mother, -and the trouble in which that had involved him warned him to be more -cautious a second time. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton -unengaged, leaving her heart with Wilford Cameron, who would first seek -advice from his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen the -white-haired man waiting for her when the train stopped at Silverton, -but standing there as he did, with his silvery locks parted in the -centre, and shading his honest, open face, Uncle Ephraim looked like -some patriarch of old rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt -only respect for him until he saw Katy’s arms wound so lovingly around -his neck as she called him Uncle Eph. That sight grated harshly, and -Wilford felt glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge. Very -curiously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between -Katy and old Whiting, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored vehicle -was the one sent to transport Katy home. He was very moody for the -remainder of the route between Silverton and Albany, where he parted -with his Canandaigua friends, they going on to the westward, while he -stopped all night in Albany, where he had some business to transact for -his father. - -He was intending to tell his mother everything, except that he paid -Katy’s bills. He would rather keep that to himself, as it might shock -his mother’s sense of propriety and make her think less of Katy; so -after dinner was over, and they had returned to the parlor, he opened -the subject by asking her to guess what took him off so suddenly with -Mrs. Woodhull. - -The mother did not know—unless—and a strange light gleamed in her eye, -as she asked if it were some girl. - -“Yes, mother, it was,” and without any reservation Wilford frankly told -the story of his interest in Katy Lennox. - -He admitted that she was poor and unaccustomed to society, but he loved -her more than words could express. - -“Not as I loved Genevra,” he said, and there came a look of intense pain -into his eyes as he continued. “That was the passion of a boy of -nineteen, stimulated by secrecy, but this is the love of a mature man of -thirty, who feels that he is capable of judging for himself.” - -In Wilford’s voice there was a tone warning the mother that opposition -would only feed the flame, and so she offered none directly, but heard -him patiently to the end, and then quietly questioned him of Katy and -her family, especially the last. What did he know of it? Was it one to -detract from the Cameron line, kept untarnished so long? Were the -relatives such as he never need blush to own even if they came there -into their drawing-rooms as they would come if Katy did? - -Wilford thought of Uncle Ephraim as he had seen him upon the platform at -Silverton, and could scarcely repress a smile as he pictured to himself -his mother’s consternation at beholding that man in her drawing-room. -But he did not mention the deacon, though he acknowledged that Katy’s -family friends were not exactly the Cameron style. But Katy was young: -Katy could be easily moulded, and once away from her old associates, his -mother and sisters could make of her what they pleased. - -“I understand, then, that if you marry her you do not marry the family,” -and in the handsome matronly face there was an expression from which -Katy would have shrunk, could she have seen it and understood its -meaning. - -“No, I do not marry the family,” Wilford rejoined emphatically, but the -expression of his face was different from his mother’s, for where she -thought only of herself, not hesitating to trample on all Katy’s love of -home and friends, Wilford remembered Katy, thinking how he would make -amends for separating her wholly from her home as he surely meant to do -if he should win her. “Did I tell you,” he continued, “that her father -was a judge? She must be well connected on that side. And now, what -shall I do?” he asked playfully. “Shall I propose to Katy Lennox, or -shall I try to forget her?” - -“I should not do either,” was Mrs. Cameron’s reply, for she knew that -trying to forget her was the surest way of keeping her in mind, and she -dared not confess to him how determined she was that Katy Lennox should -never be her daughter if she could prevent it. - -If she could not, then as a lady and a woman of policy, she should make -the most of it, receiving Katy kindly and doing her best to educate her -up to the Cameron ideas of style and manner. - -“Let matters take their course for awhile,” she said, “and see how you -feel after a little. We are going to Newport the first of August, and -perhaps you may find somebody there infinitely superior to this Katy -Lennox. That’s your father’s ring. He is earlier than usual to-night. I -would not tell him yet, till you are more decided,” and the lady went -hastily out into the hall to meet her husband. - -A moment more and the elder Cameron appeared—a short, square-built man, -with a face seamed with lines of care and eyes much like Wilford’s, save -that the shaggy eyebrows gave them a different expression. He was very -glad to see his son, though he merely shook his hand, asking what -nonsense took him off around the Lakes with Mrs. Woodhull, and wondering -if women were never happy unless they were chasing after fashion. The -elder Cameron was evidently not of his wife’s way of thinking, but she -let him go on until he was through, and then, with the most unruffled -mien, suggested that his dinner would be cold. He was accustomed to that -and so he did not mind, but he hurried through his lonely meal to-night, -for Wilford was home, and the father was always happier when he knew his -son was in the house. Contrary to his usual custom, he spent the short -summer evening in the parlor, talking with Wilford on various items of -business, and thus preventing any further conversation concerning Katy -Lennox. It took but a short time for Wilford to fall back into his old -way of living, passing a few hours of each day in his office, driving -with his mother, sparring with his imperious sister Juno, and teasing -his blue sister Bell, but never after that first night breathing a word -to any one of Katy Lennox. And still Katy was not forgotten, as his -mother sometimes believed. On the contrary, the very silence he kept -concerning her increased his passion, until he began seriously to -contemplate a trip to Silverton. The family’s removal to Newport, -however, diverted his attention for a little, making him decide to wait -and see what Newport might have in store for him. But Newport was dull -this season, though Juno and Bell both found ample scope for their -different powers of attraction, and his mother was always happy when -showing off her children and knowing that they were appreciated, but -with Wilford it was different. Listless and taciturn, he went through -with the daily routine, wondering how he had ever found happiness there, -and finally, at the close of the season, casting all policy and prudence -aside, he wrote to Katy Lennox that he was coming to Silverton on his -way home, and that he presumed he should have no difficulty in finding -his way to the farm-house. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - PREPARING FOR THE VISIT. - - -Katy had waited very anxiously for a letter from Wilford, and as the -weeks went by and nothing came, a shadow had fallen upon her spirits and -the family missed something from her ringing laugh and frolicsome ways, -while she herself wondered at the change which had come over everything. -Even the light household duties she used to enjoy so much, were irksome -to her and she enjoyed nothing except going with Uncle Ephraim into the -fields where she could sit alone while he worked nearby, or to ride with -Morris as she sometimes did when he made his round of calls. She was not -as good as she used to be, she thought, and with a view of making -herself better she took to teaching in Morris and Helen’s Sunday-School, -greatly to the distress of Aunt Betsy, who groaned bitterly when both -her nieces adopted the “Episcopal quirks,” forsaking entirely the house -where, Sunday after Sunday, her old-fashioned leghorn, with its faded -ribbon of green was seen, bending down in the humble worship which God -so much approves. But teaching in Sunday-school, taken by itself, could -not make Katy better, and the old restlessness remained until the -morning when, sitting on the grass beneath the apple-tree, she read that -Wilford Cameron was coming; then everything was changed and Katy never -forgot the brightness of that day when the robins sang so merrily above -her head, and all nature seemed to sympathize with her joy. There was no -shadow around her now, nothing but hopeful sunshine, and with a bounding -step she sought out Helen to tell her the good news. Helen’s first -remark, however, was a chill upon her spirits. - -“Wilford Cameron coming here? What will he think of us, we are so unlike -him?” - -This was the first time Katy had seriously considered the difference -between her surroundings and those of Wilford Cameron, or how it might -affect him. But Aunt Betsy, who had never dreamed of anything like -Wilford’s home, comforted her, telling her, “if he was any kind of a -chap he wouldn’t be looking round, and if he did, who cared? She guessed -they were as good as he, and as much thought of by the neighbors.” - -Wilford’s letter had been delayed so that the morrow was the day -appointed for his coming, and never was there a busier afternoon at the -farm-house than the one which followed the receipt of the letter. -Everything not spotlessly clean before was made so now, Aunt Betsy, in -her petticoat and short gown, going down upon her knees to scrub the -back door-sill, as if the city guest were expected to notice that. On -Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox devolved the duty of preparing for the wants -of the inner man, while Helen and Katy bent their energies to -beautifying their home and making the most of their plain furniture. - -The “spare bedroom,” kept for company, was only large enough to admit -the high-post bed, a single chair, and the old-fashioned wash-stand, -with the hole in the top for the bowl, and a drawer beneath for towels; -and the two girls held a consultation as to whether it would not be -better to dispense with the parlor altogether, and give that room to -their visitor. But this was vetoed by Aunt Betsy, who, having finished -the back door-sill, had now come round to the front, and with her -scrubbing-brush in one hand and her saucer of sand in the other, held -forth upon the foolishness of the girls. - -“Of course, if they had a beau, they’d want a t’other room, else where -would they do their sparkin’?” - -That settled it. The parlor must remain as it was, Katy said, and Aunt -Betsy went on with her scouring, while Helen and Katy consulted together -how to make the huge feather bed more like the mattresses to which -Wilford must be accustomed. Helen’s mind being the more suggestive, -solved the problem first, and a large comfortable was brought from the -box in the garret and folded carefully over the bed, which, thus -hardened and flattened, “seemed like a mattress,” Katy said, for she -tried it, feeling quite well satisfied with the room when it was -finished. And certainly it was not uninviting, with its strip of bright -carpeting upon the floor, its vase of flowers upon the stand, and its -white-fringed curtain sweeping back from the narrow window. - -“I’d like to sleep here myself,” was Katy’s comment, while Helen offered -no opinion, but followed her sister into the yard, where they were to -sweep the grass and prune the early September flowers. - -This afforded Aunt Betsy a chance to reconnoitre and criticise, which -last she did unsparingly. - -“What have them children been doin’ to that bed? Put on a quilt, as I’m -alive! It would break my back to lie there, and this _Carmon_ is none of -the youngest, accordin’ to their tell; nigh onto thirty, if not turned. -It will make his bones ache, of course. I am glad I know better than to -treat visitors that way. The comforter may stay, but I’ll be bound I’ll -make it softer!” And stealing up the stairs, Aunt Betsy brought down a -second feather bed, much lighter than the one already on, but still -large enough to suggest the thought of smothering. This she had made -herself, intending it as a part of Katy’s “setting out,” should she ever -marry; and as things now seemed tending that way, it was only right, she -thought, that Mr. Carmon, as she called him, should begin to have the -benefit of it. Accordingly _two_ beds, instead of one, were placed -beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy permitted to remain. - -“I’m mighty feared they’ll find me out,” she said, taking great pains in -the making of her bed, and succeeding so well that when her task was -done there was no perceptible difference between Helen’s bed and her -own, except that the latter was a few inches higher than the former, and -more nearly resembled a pincushion in shape. - -There was but little chance for Aunt Betsy to be detected, for Helen, -supposing the room to be in order, had dismissed it from her mind, and -was training a rose over a frame, while Katy was on her way to Linwood -in quest of various little things which Mrs. Lennox considered -indispensable to the entertainment of a man like Wilford Cameron. Morris -was out on his piazza, enjoying the fine prospect he had of the sun -shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding the top -of the little church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he rose and -greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with him, for -he had learned to listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she -often did, of Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how -anxious she was for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he -thought Mr. Cameron would ever write to her. It was hard at first for -Morris to listen, and harder still to keep back the passionate words of -love trembling on his lips—to refrain from asking her to take him in -Cameron’s stead—him who had loved her so long. But Morris had kept -silence, and as the weeks went by there came insensibly into his heart a -hope, or rather conviction, that Wilford Cameron had forgotten the -little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening his home just as -she did every spot where her fairy footsteps trod. Morris did not fully -know that he was hugging this fond dream until he felt the keen pang -which cut like a dissector’s knife as Katy, turning her bright, eager -face up to him, whispered softly, “He’s coming to-morrow—he surely is; I -have his letter to tell me so.” - -Morris could not see the sunshine upon the distant hills, although it -lay there just as purple and warm as it had a moment before. There was -an instant of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun-setting, -and Katy seemed a great way off to Morris, trying so hard to be calm, -and mentally asking for help to do so. But Katy’s hat, which she swung -in her hand, had become entangled in the vines encircling one of the -pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice him until all traces of -his agitation were past, and he could talk with her concerning Wilford; -then playfully lifting her basket he asked what she had come to get. - -This was not the first time the great house had rendered a like service -to the little house, and so Katy did not blush when she explained that -her mother wanted Morris’s forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and -would he be kind enough to bring the caster over himself, and come to -dinner to-morrow at two o’clock, and would he go for Mr. Cameron? The -forks, and salt-cellars, and spoons, and caster were cheerfully -promised, while Morris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came -to the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch as it -concerned Uncle Ephraim—honest, unsophisticated Uncle Ephraim, _who -would come to the table in his shirt sleeves_! This was the burden of -her grief—the one thing she dreaded most, because she knew how such an -act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron who, never having lived in the -country a day in his life, except as he was either guest or traveler, -could not make due allowance for these little departures from -refinement, so obnoxious to people of his training. - -“What is it, Katy?” Morris asked, as he saw how she hesitated, and -guessed her errand was not all told. - -“I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked,” Katy began, her eyes -filling with tears, as she felt that she might be doing Uncle Ephraim a -wrong by admitting that in any way he could be improved. “I certainly -love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and _I_ do not mind his ways, but—but—Mr. -Cameron may—that is, oh, Cousin Morris, _did_ you ever notice how Uncle -Ephraim will persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves?” - -“_Persist_ is hardly the word to use,” Morris replied, smiling -comically, as he readily understood Katy’s misgivings. “Persist would -imply his having been often remonstrated with for that breach of -etiquette; whereas I doubt whether the idea that it was not in strict -accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him.” - -“Maybe not,” Katy answered. “It was never necessary till now, and I feel -so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron to like him, and if he does that I -am sure he won’t.” - -“Why do you think so?” Morris asked, and Katy replied, “He is so -particular, and was so very angry at a little hotel between Lakes George -and Champlain, where we took our dinner before going on the boat. There -was a man along—a real good-natured man, too, so kind to everybody—and, -as the day was warm, he carried his coat on his arm, and sat down to the -table right opposite me. Mr. Cameron was _so_ indignant, and said such -harsh things, which the man heard I am sure, for he put on his coat -directly, and I saw him afterward on the boat, sweating like rain, and -looking so sorry, as if he had been guilty of something wrong. I am -sure, though, he had not?” - -This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris replied: “There is -nothing wrong or wicked in going without one’s coat. Everything depends -upon the circumstances under which it is done. For _me_ to appear at -table in my shirt sleeves would be very rude, but for an old man like -Uncle Ephraim to do so is a very different thing. Still, Mr. Cameron may -see from another standpoint. But I would not distress myself. That love -is not worth much which would think the less of you for anything _outré_ -which Uncle Ephraim may do. If Mr. Cameron cannot stand the test of -seeing your relatives as they are, he is not worth the long face you are -wearing,” and Morris pinched her cheek playfully. - -“Yes, I know,” Katy replied, “but if you only could manage Uncle Eph, I -should be so glad.” - -Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but he promised to -try if an opportunity should occur, and as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper, -had by this time gathered up the articles required for the morrow, -Morris took the basket in his own hands and went with Katy across the -fields. - -“God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron’s visit bring you as much -happiness as you anticipate,” he said, as he set her basket upon the -doorstep and turned back without entering the house. - -Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again there swept over -her the same thrill she had felt when Morris first said to her, “And did -Katy like this Mr. Cameron?” but so far was she from guessing the truth -that she only feared she might have displeased him by what she had said -of Uncle Ephraim. Perhaps she _had_ wronged him, she thought, and the -good old man, resting from his hard day’s toil, in his accustomed chair, -with not only his coat, but his vest and boots cast aside, little -guessed what prompted the caresses which Katy lavished upon him, sitting -in his lap and parting his snowy hair, as if thus she would make amends -for any injury done. Little Katy-did he called her, looking fondly into -her bright, pretty face, and thinking how terrible it would be to see -that face shadowed with pain and care. Somehow, of late, Uncle Ephraim -was always thinking of such a calamity as more than possible for Katy, -and when that night she knelt beside him, his voice was full of pleading -earnestness as he prayed that God would keep them all in safety, and -bring to none of them more grief or pain than was necessary to fit them -for himself. And Katy, listening to him, remembered the talk down in the -meadow, when she sat on the rock beneath the butternut tree. But the -world, while it held Wilford Cameron, as he seemed to her now, was too -full of joy for her to dread what the future might have in store for -her, and so she arose from her knees, thinking only how long it would be -before to-morrow noon, wondering if Wilford would surely be there next -time their evening prayers were said, and if he would notice Uncle -Ephraim’s shocking grammar! - - - - - CHAPTER V. - WILFORD’S VISIT. - - -Wilford had made the last change of cars, and when he stopped again it -would be at Silverton. He did not expect any one to meet him, but as he -remembered the man whom he had seen greeting Katy, he thought it not -unlikely that he might be there now, laughing to himself as he pictured -his mother’s horror, could she see him riding along in the corn-colored -vehicle which Uncle Ephraim drove. But that vehicle was safe at home -beneath the shed, while Uncle Ephraim was laying a stone wall upon the -huckleberry hill, and the handsome carriage waiting at Silverton depot -was certainly unexceptionable; while in the young man who, as the train -stopped and Wilford stepped out upon the platform, came to meet him, -asking if he were Mr. Cameron, Wilford recognized the true gentleman, -and his spirits rose at once as Morris said to him, “I am Miss Lennox’s -cousin, deputed by her to take charge of you for a time.” - -Wilford had heard of Dr. Morris Grant and of his kindness to poor little -Jamie, who died in Paris; he had heard too that his proud sister Juno -had tried her powers of coquetry in vain upon the grave American; but he -had no suspicion that his new acquaintance was the one until Morris -mentioned having met his family in France and inquired after their -welfare. - -After that the conversation became very familiar, and the ride seemed so -short that Wilford was surprised when, as they turned a corner in the -sandy road, Morris pointed to the farm-house, saying: “We are almost -there—that is the place.” - -“_That!_” and Wilford’s voice indicated his disappointment, for in all -his mental pictures of Katy Lennox’s home he had never imagined anything -like this. - -Large, rambling and weird-like, with something lofty and imposing, just -because it was so ancient, was the house he had in his mind, and he -could not conceal his chagrin as his eye took in the small, low -building, with its high windows and tiny panes of glass, paintless and -blindless, standing there alone among the hills. Morris understood it -perfectly; but without seeming to notice it, remarked, “It is the oldest -house probably in the country, and should be invaluable on that account. -I think we Americans are too fond of change and too much inclined to -throw aside all that reminds us of the past. Now I like the farm-house -just because it is old and unpretentious.” - -“Yes, certainly,” Wilford answered, looking ruefully around him at the -stone wall, half tumbled down, the tall well-sweep, and the patch of -sun-flowers in the garden, with Aunt Betsy bending behind them, picking -tomatoes for dinner, and shading her eyes with her hand to look at him -as he drove up. - -It was all very rural, no doubt, and very charming to people who liked -it, but Wilford did _not_ like it, and he was wishing himself safely in -New York when a golden head flashed for an instant before the window and -then disappeared as Katy emerged into view, waiting at the door to -receive him and looking so sweetly in her dress of white with the -scarlet geranium blossoms in her hair that Wilford forgot the homeliness -of the surroundings, thinking only of her and how soft and warm was the -little hand he held as she led him into the parlor. He did not know she -was so beautiful, he said to himself, and he feasted his eyes upon her, -forgetful for a time of all else. But afterwards, when Katy left him for -a moment, he had time to observe the well-worn carpet, the six -cane-seated chairs, large stuffed rocking-chair, the fall-leaf table, -with its plain wool spread, and lastly the really expensive piano, the -only handsome piece of furniture the room contained, and which he -rightly guessed must have come from Morris. - -“What _would_ Juno or Mark say?” he kept repeating to himself half -shuddering as he recalled the bantering proposition to accompany him -made by Mark Ray, the only young man whom he considered fully his equal -in New York. - -Wilford knew these feelings were unworthy of him, and he tried to shake -them off, listlessly turning over the books upon the table—books which -betokened in someone both taste and talent of no low order. - -“Mark’s favorite,” he said, lifting up a volume of Schiller; and turning -to the fly-leaf he read, “Helen Lennox, from Cousin Morris,” just as -Katy returned with her sister, whom she presented to the stranger. - -Helen was prepared to like him because Katy did, and her first thought -was that he was very fine looking; but when she met his cold, proud -eyes, and knew how closely he was scrutinizing her, there arose in her -heart a feeling of dislike which she could never wholly conquer. He was -very polite to her, but something in his manner annoyed and irritated -her, it was so cool, so condescending, as if he endured her merely -because she was Katy’s sister, nothing more. - -“Rather pretty, more character than Katy, but odd and self-willed, with -no kind of style,” was Wilford’s running comment on Helen as he took her -in from the plain arrangement of her dark hair to the fit of her French -calico and the cut of her linen collar. - -Fashionable dress would improve her very much, he thought, turning with -a feeling of relief to Katy, whom nothing could disfigure, and who was -now watching the door eagerly for the entrance of her mother. That lady -had spent a good deal of time at her toilet, and she came in at last, -flurried, fidgety, and very red, both from exercise and the bright-hued -ribbons streaming from her cap and sadly at variance with the color of -the dress. Wilford noticed the discrepancy at once, and noticed too how -little style there was about the nervous woman greeting him so -deferentially, and evidently regarding him as something infinitely -superior to herself. Wilford had looked with indifference on Helen, but -it would take a stronger word to express his opinion of the mother. -Morris, who remained to dinner, was in the parlor now, and in his -presence Wilford felt more at ease, more as if he had found an affinity. -Uncle Ephraim was not there, having eaten his bowl of milk and gone back -to his stone wall, so that upon Morris devolved the duties of host, and -he courteously led the way to the little dining-room, where the table -was loaded with the good things Aunt Hannah had prepared, burning and -browning her wrinkled face, which nevertheless smiled pleasantly upon -the stranger presented as Mr. Cameron. - -About Aunt Hannah there was something naturally lady-like, and Wilford -recognized it at once; but when it came to Aunt Betsy, of whom he had -never heard, he felt for a moment as if by being there in such -promiscuous company he had somehow fallen from the Camerons’ high -estate. By way of pleasing the girls and doing honor to their guest, -Aunt Betsy had donned her very best attire, wearing the slate-colored -pongee dress, bought twenty years before, and actually sporting a set of -Helen’s cast-off hoops, which being too large for the dimensions of her -scanty skirt, gave her anything but the graceful appearance she -intended. - -“Oh, auntie!” was Katy’s involuntary exclamation, while Helen bit her -lip with vexation, for the _hoop_ had been an afterthought to Aunt Betsy -just before going in to dinner. - -But the good old lady never dreamed of shocking anyone with her attempts -at fashion; and curtsying very low to Mr. Cameron, she hoped for a -better acquaintance, and then took her seat at the table, just where -each movement could be distinctly seen by Wilford, scanning her so -intently as scarcely to hear the reverent words with which Morris asked -a blessing upon themselves and the food so abundantly prepared. They -could hardly have gotten through that first dinner without Morris, who -adroitly led the conversation into channels which he knew would interest -Mr. Cameron, and divert his mind from what was passing around him, and -so the dinner proceeded quietly enough, Wilford discovering, ere its -close, that Mrs. Lennox had really some pretensions to a lady, while -Helen’s dress and collar ceased to be obnoxious, as he watched the play -of her fine features and saw her eyes kindle as she took a modest part -in the conversation when it turned on books and literature. - -Meanwhile Katy kept very silent, but when, after dinner was over and -Morris was gone, she went with Wilford down to the shore of the pond, -her tongue was loosed, and he found again the little fairy who had so -bewitched him a few weeks before. And yet there was a load upon his -heart, a shadow upon his brow, for he knew now that between Katy’s -family and his there was a social gulf which never could be crossed by -either party. He might bear Katy over, it was true, but would she not -look longingly back to her humble home, and might he not sometimes be -greatly chagrined by the sudden appearing of some one of this low-bred -family who did not seem to realize how ignorant they were, or how far -below him in the social scale? Poor Wilford! he winced and shivered when -he thought of Aunt Betsy, in her antiquated pongee, and remembered that -she was a near relative of the little maiden sporting so playfully -around him, stealing his heart away in spite of his family pride, and -making him more deeply in love than ever. It was very pleasant down by -the pond, and Wilford kept Katy there until the sun was going down and -they heard in the distance the tinkle of a bell as the deacon’s cows -plodded slowly homeward. Supper was waiting for them, and with his -appetite sharpened by his walk, Wilford found no cause of complaint -against Aunt Hannah’s viands, though he smiled mentally as he accepted -the piece of apple pie Aunt Betsy offered him, saying, by way of -recommendation, that “she made the crust but _Catherine_ peeled and -sliced the apples.” - -The deacon had not returned from his work, and Wilford did not see him -until he came suddenly upon him, seated in the wood-shed door, resting -after the labor of the day. “The young man was welcome to Silverton,” he -said, “but he must excuse him from visitin’ much that night, for the -cows was to milk and the chores to do, as he never kep’ no boy.” The -“chores” were done at last, just as the clock pointed to half-past -eight, the hour for family worship. Unaccustomed as Wilford was to such -things, he felt the influence of the deacon’s voice as he read from the -word of God, and involuntarily found himself kneeling when Katy knelt, -noticing the deacon’s grammar it is true, but still listening patiently -to the lengthy prayer, which included him together with the rest of -mankind. - -There was no chance of seeing Katy alone, that night, and so full two -hours before his usual custom Wilford retired to the little room to -which the deacon conducted him, saying, as he put down the lamp, “You’ll -find it pretty snug quarters, I guess, for such a close, muggy night as -this.” - -And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought, as he surveyed the -dimensions of the room; but there was no alternative, and a few moments -found him in the centre of the two feather beds, neither Helen nor Katy -having discovered the addition made by Aunt Betsy, and which came near -being the death of the New York guest. To sleep was impossible, and -never for a moment did Wilford lose his consciousness or forget to -accuse himself of being an idiot for coming into that heathenish -neighborhood after a wife when in New York there were so many girls -ready and waiting for him. - -“I’ll go back to-morrow morning,” he said, striking a match he consulted -his Railway Guide to find when the first train passed Silverton, feeling -comforted to know that only a few hours intervened between him and -freedom. - -But alas for Wilford! He was but a man, subject to man’s caprices, and -when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as -pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his -resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in -Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not -take the first train, though he might the next; and so he stayed, eating -fried apples and beefsteak, but forgetting to criticise, in his -appreciation of the rich thick cream poured into his coffee, and the -sweet, golden butter, which melted in soft waves upon the flaky rolls. -Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to mill before Wilford left -his room, nor was he visible to the young man until after dinner, for -Wilford did not go home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage -which Morris sent round, excusing himself from coming on the plea of -being too busy, but saying he would join them at tea, if possible. -Wilford’s mind was not yet fully made up, so he concluded to remain -another day and see more of Katy’s family. Accordingly, after dinner, he -bent his energies to cultivating them all, from Helen down to Aunt -Betsy, who proved the most transparent of the four. Arrayed again in the -pongee, but this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor, -bringing her calico patch-work, which she informed him was pieced in the -“herrin’ bone pattern” and intended for Katy; telling him further, that -the feather bed on which he slept was also a part of “Catherine’s -setting out,” and was made from feathers she picked herself, showing him -as proof a mark upon her arm, left there by the gray goose, which had -proved a little refractory when she tried to draw a stocking over its -head. - -Wilford groaned and Katy’s chance for being Mrs. Cameron was growing -constantly less and less as he saw more and more how vast was the -difference between the Barlows and himself. Helen, he acknowledged, was -passable, though she was not one whom he could ever introduce into New -York society; and he was wondering how Katy chanced to be so unlike the -rest, when Uncle Ephraim came up from the meadow, and announced himself -as ready now to _visit_, apologizing for his apparent neglect, and -seeming so absolutely to believe that his company was desirable, that -Wilford felt amused, wondering again what Juno, or even Mark Ray, would -think of the rough old man, sitting with his chair tipped back against -the wall, and going occasionally to the door to relieve himself of his -tobacco juice, for chewing was one of the deacon’s weaknesses. His pants -were faultlessly clean, and his vest was buttoned nearly up to his -throat, but his coat was hanging on a nail out by the kitchen door, and, -to Katy’s distress and Wilford’s horror, he sat among them in his shirt -sleeves, all unconscious of harm or of the disquiet awakened in the -bosom of the young man, who on that point was foolishly fastidious, and -who showed by his face how much he was annoyed. Not even the presence of -Morris, who came about tea time, was of any avail to lift the cloud from -his brow, and he seemed moody and silent until supper was announced. -This was the first opportunity Morris had had of trying his powers of -persuasion upon the deacon, and now, at a hint from Katy, he said to him -in an aside, as they were passing into the dining-room: “Suppose, Uncle -Ephraim, you put on your coat for once. It is better than coming to the -table so.” - -“Pooh,” was Uncle Ephraim’s innocent rejoinder, spoken loudly enough for -Wilford to hear, “I shan’t catch cold, for I am used to it; besides -that, I never could stand the racket this hot weather.” - -In his simplicity he did not even suspect Morris’s motive, but imputed -it wholly to concern for his health. And so Wilford Cameron found -himself seated next to a man who wilfully trampled upon all rules of -etiquette, shocking him in his most sensitive points, and making him -thoroughly disgusted with the country and country people generally. All -but Morris and Katy—he _did_ make an exception in their favor, leaning -most to Morris, whom he admired more and more, as he became better -acquainted with him, wondering how he could content himself to settle -down quietly in Silverton, when he would surely die if compelled to live -there for a week. Something like this he said to Dr. Grant, when that -evening they sat together in the handsome parlor at Linwood, for Morris -kindly invited him to spend the night with him. - -“I stay in Silverton, first, because I think I can do more good here -than elsewhere, and secondly, because I really like the country and the -country people; for, strange and uncouth as they may seem to you, who -never lived among them, they have kinder, truer hearts beating beneath -their rough exteriors, than are often in the city.” - -This was Morris’s reply, and in the conversation which ensued Wilford -Cameron caught glimpses of a nobler, higher phase of manhood than he had -thought existed, feeling an unbounded respect for one who, because he -believed it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to him, wasting his life -among people who could not appreciate his character, though they might -idolize the man. But this did not reconcile Wilford one whit the more to -Silverton. Uncle Ephraim had completed the work commenced by the two -feather beds, and at breakfast, next morning, he announced his intention -of returning to New York that day. To this Morris offered no objection, -but asked to be remembered to the mother and sisters, and then invited -Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he came again to Silverton. - -“Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be here very soon,” -Wilford replied, adding, as he met the peculiar glance of Morris’s eye, -“I found Miss Katy a delightful traveling acquaintance, and on my way -from Newport thought I would renew it and see a little of rustic life.” - -Poor Katy! how her heart would have ached could she have heard those -words and understood their meaning, just as Morris did, feeling a rising -indignation for the man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he -was so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentlemanly, while better than -all, was he not virtually giving Katy up? and if he did might she not -turn at last to him? - -These were Morris’s thoughts as he walked with Wilford across the fields -to the farm-house, where Katy met them with her sunniest smile, singing -to them, at Wilford’s request, her sweetest song, and making him half -wish he could revoke his hasty decision and tarry a little longer. But -it was now too late for that, the carriage which would take him to the -depot was already on its way from Linwood; and when the song was ended -he told her of his intentions to leave on the next train, feeling a pang -when he saw how the blood left her cheek and lip, and then came surging -back as she said timidly, “Why need you leave so soon?” - -“I have already outstayed my time. I thought of going yesterday, and my -partner, Mr. Ray, will be expecting me,” Wilford replied, laying his -hand upon Katy’s hair, while Morris and Helen stole quietly from the -room. - -Thus left to himself, Wilford continued, “Maybe I’ll come again -sometime. Would you like to have me?” - -“Yes,” and Katy’s blue eyes were lifted pleadingly to the young man, who -had never loved her so well as at that very moment when resolving to -cast her off. - -For a moment Wilford was strongly tempted to throw all pride aside, and -ask that young girl to be his; but thoughts of his mother, of Juno and -Bell, and more than all, thoughts of Uncle Ephraim and his sister Betsy, -arose in time to prevent it, and so he only kissed her forehead -caressingly as he said good-bye, telling her that he should not soon -forget his visit to Silverton, and then, as the carriage drove up, going -out to where the remainder of the family were standing together and -commenting upon his sudden departure. - -It was not sudden, he said, trying to explain. He really had thought -seriously of going yesterday, and feeling that he had something to atone -for, he tried to be unusually gracious as he shook their hands, thanking -them for their kindness, but seeming wholly oblivious to Aunt Betsy’s -remark that “she hoped to see him again, if not at Silverton, in New -York, where she wanted dreadfully to visit, but never had on account of -the ’bominable prices charged to the taverns, and she hadn’t no -acquaintances there.” - -This was Aunt Betsy’s parting remark, and, after Katy, Aunt Betsy liked -Wilford Cameron better than any one of the group which watched him as he -drove from their door. Aunt Hannah thought him too much stuck up for -farmers’ folks; Mrs. Lennox, whose ambition would have accounted him a -most desirable match for her daughter, could not deny that his manner -towards them, though polite in the extreme, was that of a superior to -people greatly beneath him; while Helen, who saw clearer than the rest, -read him aright, and detected the struggle between his pride and his -love for poor little Katy, whom she found sitting on the floor, just -where Wilford left her standing, her head resting on the chair and her -face hidden in her hands as she sobbed quietly, hardly knowing why she -cried or what to answer when Helen asked what was the matter. - -“It was so queer in him to go so soon,” she said; “just as if he were -offended about something.” - -“Never mind, Katy,” Helen said, soothingly. “If he cares for you he will -come back again. He could not stay here always, of course; and I must -say I respect him for attending to his business, if he has any. He has -been gone from home for weeks, you know.” - -This was Helen’s reasoning; but it did not comfort Katy, whose face -looked white and sad, as she moved listlessly about the house, almost -crying again when she heard in the distance the whistle of the train -which was to carry Wilford Cameron away and end his first visit to -Silverton. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - IN THE SPRING. - - -Katy Lennox had been very sick, and the bed where Wilford slept had -stood in the parlor during the long weeks while the obstinate fever ran -its course; but she was better now, and sat nearly all day before the -fire, sometimes trying to crochet a little, and again turning over the -books which Morris had bought to interest her—Morris, the kind -physician, who had attended her so faithfully, never leaving her while -the fever was at its height, unless it was necessary, but staying with -her day and night, watching her symptoms carefully, and praying so -earnestly that she might not die, not, at least, until some token had -been given that again in the better world he should find her, where -partings were unknown and where no Wilford Camerons could contest the -prize with him. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; that fear -had mostly died away just as the hope had died from Katy’s heart that -she would ever meet him again. - -Since the September morning when he left her, she had not heard from him -except once, when in the winter Morris had been to New York, and having -a few hours’ leisure on his hands had called at Wilford’s office, -receiving a most cordial reception, and meeting with Mark Ray, who -impressed him as a man quite as highly cultivated as Wilford, and -possessed of more character and principle. This call was not altogether -of Morris’s seeking, but was made rather with a view to pleasing Katy, -who, when she learned that he was going to New York, had said -inadvertently, “Oh, I do so hope you’ll meet with Mr. Cameron, for then -we shall know that he is neither sick nor dead, as I have sometimes -feared.” - -And so Morris had sought his rival, feeling repaid for the effort it had -cost him, when he saw how glad Wilford seemed to meet him. The first -commonplaces over, Wilford inquired for Katy. Was she well, and how was -she occupying her time this winter? - -“Both Helen and Katy are pupils of mine,” Morris replied, “reciting -their lessons to me every day when the weather will admit of their -crossing the fields to Linwood. We have often wondered what had become -of you, that you did not even let us know of your safe arrival home,” he -added, looking Wilford fully in the eye, and rather enjoying his -confusion as he tried to apologize. - -He had intended writing, but an unusual amount of business had occupied -his time. “Mark will tell you how busy I was,” and he turned appealingly -to his partner, in whose expressive eyes Morris read that Silverton was -not unknown to him. - -But if Wilford had told him anything derogatory of the farm-house or its -inmates, it did not appear in Mr. Ray’s manner, as he replied that Mr. -Cameron had been very busy ever since his return from Silverton, adding, -“From what Cameron tells me of your neighborhood, there must be some -splendid hunting and fishing there, and I had last fall half a mind to -try it.” - -This time there was something comical in the eyes turned so -mischievously upon Wilford, who colored scarlet for an instant, but soon -recovered his composure, and invited Morris home with him to dinner. - -“I shall not take a refusal,” he said, as Morris began to decline. -“Mother and the young ladies will be delighted to see you again. Mark -will go with us, of course.” - -There was something so hearty in Wilford’s invitation that Morris did -not again object, and two hours later found him in the drawing-room at -No.—— Fifth Avenue, receiving the friendly greetings of Mrs. Cameron and -her daughters, each of whom vied with the other in their polite -attentions to him. - -Morris did not regret having accepted Wilford’s invitation to dinner, as -by this means he saw the home which had well nigh been little Katy -Lennox’s. She would be sadly out of place here with these people, he -thought, and he looked upon all their formality and ceremony, and then -contrasted it with what Katy had been accustomed to. Juno would kill her -outright, was his next mental comment, as he watched that haughty young -lady, dividing her coquetries between himself and Mr. Ray, who being -every way desirable, both in point of family and wealth, was evidently -her favorite. She had colored scarlet when first presented to Dr. Grant, -and her voice had trembled as she took his offered hand, for she -remembered the time when her liking had not been concealed, and was only -withdrawn at the last because she found how useless it was to waste her -affections upon one who did not prize them. - -When Wilford first returned from Silverton he had, as a sure means of -forgetting Katy, told his mother and sister something of the farm-house -and its inmates; and Juno, while ridiculing both Helen and Katy, had -felt a fierce pang of jealousy in knowing they were cousins to Morris -Grant, who lived so near that he could, if he liked, see them every day. -In Paris Juno had suspected that somebody was standing between her and -Dr. Grant, and with the quick insight of a smart, bright woman, she -guessed that it was one of these cousins—Katy most likely, her brother -having described Helen as very commonplace,—and for a time she had hated -poor, innocent Katy most cordially for having come between her and the -only man for whom she had ever really cared. Gradually, however, the -feeling died away, but was revived again at sight of Morris Grant, and -at the table she could not forbear saying to him, - -“By the way, Dr. Grant, why did you never tell us of those charming -cousins, when you were in Paris? Brother Will describes one of them as a -little water lily, she is so fair and pretty. Katy, I think, is her -name. Wilford, isn’t it Katy Lennox whom you think so beautiful, and -with whom you are more than half in love?” - -“Yes, it _is_ Katy,” and Wilford spoke sternly, for he did not like -Juno’s bantering tone, but he could not stop her, and she went on, - -“Are they your own cousins, Dr. Grant?” - -“No, they are removed from me two or three degrees, their father having -been only my second cousin.” - -The fact that Katy Lennox was not nearly enough related to Dr. Grant to -prevent his marrying her if he liked, did not improve Juno’s amiability, -and she continued to ask questions concerning both Katy and Helen, the -latter of whom she persisted in thinking was strong-minded, until Mark -Ray came to the rescue, diverting her attention by adroitly -complimenting her in some way, and so relieving Wilford and Morris, both -of whom were exceedingly annoyed. - -“When Will visits Silverton again I mean to go with him,” she said to -Morris at parting, but he did not tell her that such an event would give -him the greatest pleasure. On the contrary, he merely replied, - -“If you do you will find plenty of room at Linwood for those four trunks -which I remember seeing in Paris, and your brother will tell you whether -I am a hospitable host or not.” - -Biting her lip with chagrin, Juno went back to the drawing-room, while -Morris returned to his hotel, accompanied by Wilford, who passed the -entire evening with him, appearing somewhat constrained, as if there was -something on his mind which he wished to say; but it remained unspoken, -and there was no allusion to Silverton until, as Wilford was leaving, he -said, - -“Remember me kindly to the Silverton friends, and say I have not -forgotten them.” - -And this was all there was to carry back to Katy, who on the afternoon -of Morris’s return from New York was at Linwood, waiting to pour his tea -and make his toast, she pretended, though the real reason was shining -all over her tell-tale face, which grew so bright and eager when Morris -said, - -“I dined at Mr. Cameron’s, Kitty.” - -But the brightness gradually faded as Morris described his call and then -repeated Wilford’s message. - -“And that was all,” Katy whispered sorrowfully as she beat the damask -cloth softly with her fingers, shutting her lips tightly together to -keep back her disappointment. - -When Morris glanced at her again there was a tear on her long eyelashes, -and it dropped upon her cheek, followed by another and another, but he -did not seem to see it, and talked of New York and the fine sights in -Broadway until Katy was able to take part in the conversation. - -“Please don’t tell _Helen_ that you saw Wilford,” she said to Morris as -he walked home with her after tea, and that was the only allusion she -made to it, never after that mentioning Wilford’s name or giving any -token of the love still so strong within her heart, and waiting only for -some slight token to waken it again to life and vigor. - -This was in the winter, and Katy had been very sick since then, while -Morris had come to believe that Wilford was forgotten, and when, as she -grew stronger, he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how -impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope whispered that -she would surely be his, and his usually grave face wore a look of -happiness which his patients noticed, feeling themselves better after -one of his cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for the -terrible blow in store for him, when one day early in April he started, -as usual, to visit Katy, saying to himself, “If I find her alone, -perhaps I’ll ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;” and Morris -paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his -heart, which beat so fast as he thought of going home from his weary -work and finding Kate there, his little wife—whom he might caress and -love all his affectionate nature would prompt him to. He knew that in -some points she was weak, but then she was very young, and there was -about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that few -men, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris -felt that in possessing her he should have all he needed to make this -life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, and it would be a -most delightful task to train her into what she was capable of becoming. -Alas for Dr. Morris! He was very near the farm-house now, and there were -only a few minutes between him and the cloud which would darken his -horizon so completely. Katy was alone, sitting up in her pretty dressing -gown of blue, which was so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, -which had been all cut away during her long sickness, was growing out -again somewhat darker than before, and lay in rings upon her head, -making her look more childish than ever. But to this Morris did not -object. He liked to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen -her so beautiful as she was this morning, when, with glowing cheek and -dancing eyes, she greeted him as he came in. - -“Oh, Dr. Morris!” she began, holding up a letter she had in her hand, “I -am so glad you’ve come! Wilford has not forgotten me. He has written, -and he is coming again, if I will let him; I _am_ so glad! Ain’t you? -Seeing you knew all about it, and never told Helen, I’ll let you read -the letter.” - -And she held it toward the young man leaning against the mantel and -panting for the breath which came so heavily. - -Something he said apologetically about being _snow blind_, for there was -that day quite a fall of soft spring snow; and then, with a mighty -effort which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once -more, and took the letter in his hand. - -“Perhaps I ought not to read it,” he said, but Katy insisted, and -thinking to himself, “It will cure me sooner perhaps,” he read the few -lines Wilford Cameron had written to his “dear little Katy.” - -That was the way he addressed her, going on to say that circumstances -which he could not explain to her had kept him silent ever since he left -her the previous autumn; but through all he never for a moment had -forgotten her, thinking of her the more for the silence he had -maintained. “And now that I have risen above the circumstances,” he -added, in conclusion, “I write to ask if I may come to Silverton again? -If I may, just drop me one word, ‘come,’ and in less than a week I shall -be there. Yours very truly, W. Cameron.” - -Morris read the letter through, feeling that every word was separating -him further and further from Katy, to whom he said, “You will answer -this?” - -“Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day.” - -“And you will tell him to come?” - -“Why,—what else should I tell him?” and Katy’s blue eyes looked -wonderingly at Morris, who hardly knew what he was doing, or why he said -to her next, “Listen to me, Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron comes -here a second time, and what he will probably ask you ere he goes away: -but, Katy, you are not strong enough yet to see him under so exciting -circumstances, and, as your physician, I desire that you tell him to -wait at least three weeks before he comes. Will you do so, Katy?” - -“That is just as Helen talked,” Katy answered mournfully. “She said I -was not able.” - -“And will you heed us?” Morris asked again, while Katy after a moment -consented, and glad of this respite from what he knew to a certainty -would be, Morris dealt out her medicine, and for an instant felt her -rapid pulse, but did not retain her hand within his own, nor lay his -other upon her head, as he had sometimes done. - -He could not do that now, so he hurried away, finding the world into -which he went far different from what it had seemed an hour ago. Then -all was bright and hopeful; but now, alas! a darker night was gathering -round him than any he had ever known, and the patients visited that day -marveled at the whiteness of his face, asking if he were ill. Yes, he -answered them truly, and for two days he was not seen again, but -remained at home alone, where none but his God was witness to what he -suffered; but when the third day came he went again among his sick, -grave, quiet and unchanged in outward appearance, unless it was that his -voice, always so kind, had now a kinder tone and his manner was -tenderer, more sympathizing. Inwardly, however, there was a change, for -Morris Grant had lain himself upon the sacrificial altar, willing to be -and to endure whatever God should appoint, knowing that all would -eventually be for his good. To the farm-house he went every day, talking -most with Helen now, but never forgetting who it was sitting so demurely -in the arm-chair, or flitting about the room, for Katy was gaining -rapidly. Love perhaps had had nothing to do with her dangerous illness, -but it had much to do with her recovery, and those not in the secret -wondered to see how she improved, her cheeks growing round and full and -her eyes shining with returning health and happiness. - -At Helen’s instigation Katy had deferred Wilford’s visit four weeks -instead of three, but in that time there had come two letters from him, -so full of anxiety and sympathy for “his poor little Katy who had been -so sick,” that even Helen began to think that he was not as proud and -heartless as she supposed, and that he did love her sister after all. - -“If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish I was a man to -cowhide him,” she said to herself, with flashing eye, as she heard Katy -exulting that he was coming “to-morrow.” - -This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had asked Morris if he -might, while Morris had told her yes, feeling his heart-wound throb -afresh, as he thought how hard it would be to entertain his rival. Of -himself Morris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in -vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that the best chamber -should be prepared for his guest, bidding Mrs. Hull see that no pains -were spared for his entertainment, and then with Katy he waited for the -day, the last one in April, which would bring Wilford Cameron a second -time to Silverton. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - WILFORD’S SECOND VISIT. - - -Wilford Cameron had tried to forget Katy Lennox, both for his sake and -her own, for he foresaw that she could not be happy with his family, and -he came to think it might be a wrong to her to transplant her into a -soil so wholly unlike that in which her habits and affections had taken -root. - -His father once had abruptly asked him if there was any truth in the -report that he was about to marry and make a fool of himself, and when -Wilford had answered “No,” he had replied with a significant - -“Umph! Old enough, I should think, if you ever intend to marry. -Wilford,” and the old man faced square about, “I know nothing of the -girl, except what I gathered from your mother and sisters. You have not -asked my advice. I don’t suppose you want it, but if you do, here it is. -If you love the girl and she is respectable, marry her if she is poor as -poverty and the daughter of a tinker; but if you don’t love her, and -she’s as rich as a nabob, for thunder’s sake keep away from her.” - -This was the elder Cameron’s counsel, and Katy’s cause rose fifty per -cent. in consequence. Still Wilford was sadly disquieted, so much so -that his partner, Mark Ray, could not fail to observe that something was -troubling him, and at last frankly asked what it was. Wilford knew he -could trust Mark, and he confessed the whole, telling him far more of -Silverton than he had told his mother, and then asking what his friend -would do were the case his own. - -Fond of fun and frolic, Mark laughed immoderately at Wilford’s -description of Aunt Betsy bringing her “herrin’ bone” patch-work into -the parlor, and telling him it was a part of Katy’s “settin’ out,” but -when it came to her hint for an invitation to visit New York, the amused -young man roared with laughter, wishing so much that he might live to -see the day when poor Aunt Betsy Barlow stood ringing for admittance at -No.—— Fifth Avenue. - -“Wouldn’t it be rich, though, the meeting between your Aunt Betsy and -Juno?” and the tears fairly poured down the young man’s face. - -But Wilford was too serious for trifling, and after his merriment had -subsided, Mark talked with him candidly of Katy Lennox, whose cause he -warmly espoused, telling Wilford that he was far too sensitive with -regard to family and position. - -“You are a good fellow on the whole, but too outrageously proud,” he -said. “Of course this Aunt Betsy in her _pongee_, whatever that may be, -and the uncle in his shirt sleeves, and this mother whom you describe as -weak and ambitious, are objections which you would rather should not -exist; but if you love the girl, take her, family and all. Not that you -are to transport the whole colony of Barlows to New York,” he added, as -he saw Wilford’s look of horror, “but make up your mind to endure what -cannot be helped, resting yourself upon the fact that your position is -such as cannot well be affected by any marriage you might make, provided -the wife were right.” - -This was Mark Ray’s advice, and it had great weight with Wilford, who -knew that Mark came, if possible, from a better line of ancestry than -himself. And still Wilford hesitated, waiting until the winter was over, -before he came to the decision which, when it was reached, was firm as a -granite rock. He had made up his mind at last to marry Katy Lennox if -she would accept him, and he told his mother so in presence of his -sisters, when one evening they were all kept at home by the rain. There -was a sudden uplifting of Bell’s eyelashes, a contemptuous shrug of her -shoulders, and then she went on with the book she was reading, wondering -if Katy was at all inclined to literature, and thinking if she were that -it might be easier to tolerate her. Juno, who was expected to say the -sharpest things, turned upon him with the exclamation, - -“If you can stand those two feather beds, you can do more than I -supposed,” and as one means of showing her disapproval, she quitted the -room, while Bell, who had taken to writing articles on the follies of -the age, soon followed her sister to elaborate an idea suggested to her -mind by her brother’s contemplated marriage. - -Thus left alone with her son, Mrs. Cameron tried all her powers of -persuasion upon him. But nothing she said influenced him in the least, -seeing which she suddenly confronted him with the question, “Shall you -tell her _all_? A husband should have no secrets of that kind from his -wife.” - -Wilford’s face was white as ashes, and his voice trembled as he replied, -“Yes, mother, I shall tell her all; but, oh! you do not know how hard it -has been for me to bring my mind to that, or how sorry I am that we ever -kept that secret—when Genevra died——” - -“Hush—h!” came warningly from the mother as Juno reappeared, the warning -indicating that Genevra was a name never mentioned, except by mother and -son. - -As Juno remained, the conversation was not resumed, and the next morning -Wilford wrote to Katy Lennox the letter which carried to her so much of -joy, and to Dr. Grant so much of grief. To wait four weeks, as Katy said -he must, was a terrible trial to Wilford, who counted every moment which -kept him from her side. It was all owing to Dr. Grant and that -perpendicular Helen, he knew, for Katy in her letter had admitted that -the waiting was wholly their suggestion; and Wilford’s thoughts -concerning them were anything but complimentary, until a new idea was -suggested, which drove every other consideration from his mind. - -Wilford was naturally _jealous_, but that fault had once led him into so -deep a trouble that he had struggled to overcome it, and now, at its -first approach, after he thought it dead, he tried to shake it off—tried -not to believe that Morris cared especially for Katy. But the mere -possibility was unendurable, and in a most feverish state of excitement -he started again for Silverton. - -As before, Morris was at the station, his cordial greeting and friendly -manner disarming him from all anxiety in that quarter, and making him -resolve anew to trample the demon jealousy under his feet, where it -could never rise again. Katy’s life should not be darkened by the green -monster, he thought, and her future would have been bright indeed had it -proved all that he pictured it as he drove along with Morris in the -direction of the farm-house. - -Katy was waiting for him, and he did not hesitate to kiss her more than -once as he kept her for a moment in his arms, and then held her off to -see if her illness had left any traces upon her. It had not, except it -were in the increased delicacy of her complexion and the short hair now -growing out in silky rings. She was very pretty in her short hair, but -Wilford felt a little impatient as he saw how childish it made her look, -and thought how long it would take for it to attain its former length. -He was already appropriating her to himself, and devising ways of -improving her. In New York, with Morris Grant standing before his -jealous gaze, he could see no fault in Katy, and even now, with her -beside him, and the ogre jealousy gone, he saw no fault in _her_; it was -only her hair, and that would be remedied in time; otherwise she was -perfect, and in his delight at meeting her again he forgot to criticise -the farm-house and its occupants, as he had done before. - -They were very civil to him—the mother overwhelmingly so, and Wilford -could not help detecting her anxiety that all should be settled this -time. Helen, on the contrary, was unusually cool, confirming him in his -opinion that she was strong-minded and self-willed, and making him -resolve to remove Katy as soon as possible from her influence. When -talking with his mother he had said that if Katy told him “yes,” he -should probably place her at some fashionable school for a year or two; -but on the way to Silverton he had changed his mind. He could not wait a -year, and if he married Katy at all, it should be immediately. He would -then take her to Europe, where she could have the best of teachers, -besides the advantage of traveling; and it was a very satisfactory -picture he drew of the woman whom he should introduce into New York -society as his wife, Mrs. Wilford Cameron. It is true that Katy had not -yet said the all-important word, but she was going to say it, and when -late that afternoon they came from the walk he had asked her to take, -she had listened to his tale of love and was his promised wife. Katy was -no coquette; whatever she felt she expressed, and she had frankly -confessed to Wilford her love for him, telling him how the fear that he -had forgotten her had haunted her all the long winter; and then with her -clear, truthful blue eyes looking into his, asking him why he had not -sent her some message if as he said, he loved her all the time. - -For a moment Wilford’s lip was compressed and a flush overspread his -face, as, drawing her closer to him, he replied, “My little Katy will -remember that in my first note I spoke of certain circumstances which -had prevented my writing earlier. I do not know that I asked her not to -seek to know those circumstances; but I ask it now. Will Katy trust me -so far as to believe that all is right between us, and never allude to -these circumstances?” - -He was kissing her fondly, and his voice was so winning that Katy -promised, and then came the hardest, the trying to tell her _all_, as he -had said to his mother he would. Twice he essayed to speak, and as often -something sealed his lips, until at last he began, “You must not think -me perfect, Katy, for I have faults, and perhaps if you knew my past -life you would wish to revoke your recent decision and render a -different verdict to my suit. Suppose I unfold the blackest leaf for -your inspection?” - -“No, no, oh no,” and Katy playfully stopped his mouth with her hand. “Of -course you have some faults, but I would rather find them out by myself. -I could not hear anything against you now. I am satisfied to take you as -you are.” - -Wilford felt his heart throb wildly with the feeling that he was -deceiving the young girl; but if she would not suffer him to tell her, -he was not to be censured if she remained in ignorance. And so the -golden moment fled, and when he spoke again he said, “If Katy will not -now read the leaf I offered to show her, she must not shrink in horror, -if ever it does meet her eye.” - -“I won’t, I promise,” Kate answered, a vague feeling of fear creeping -over her as to what the reading of that mysterious page involved. But -this was soon forgotten, as Wilford, remembering his suspicions of Dr. -Grant, thought to probe her a little by asking if she had ever loved any -one before himself. - -“No, never,” she answered. “I never dreamed of such a thing until I saw -you, Mr. Cameron;” and Wilford believed the trusting girl, whose loving -nature shone in every lineament of her face, upturned to receive the -kisses he pressed upon it, resolving within himself to be to her what he -ought to be. - -“By the way,” he continued, “don’t call me Mr. Cameron again, as you did -just now. I would rather be your Wilford. It sounds more familiar;” and -then he told her of his projected tour to Europe, and Katy felt her -pulses quicken as she thought of London, Paris and Rome, as places which -her plain country eyes might yet look upon. But when it came to their -marriage, which Wilford said must be within a few weeks—she demurred, -for this arrangement was not in accordance with her desires; and she -opposed her lover with all her strength, telling him she was so young, -not eighteen till July, and she knew so little of housekeeping. He must -let her stay at home until she learned at least the art of making bread! - -Poor, ignorant Katy! Wilford could not forbear a smile as he thought how -different were her views from his, and tried to explain that the art of -bread-making, though very desirable in most wives, was _not_ an -essential accomplishment for his. Servants would do that; besides he did -not intend to have a house of his own at once; he should take her first -to live with his mother, where she could learn what was necessary much -better than in Silverton. - -Wilford Cameron expected to be obeyed in every important matter by the -happy person who should be his wife, and as he possessed the faculty of -enforcing perfect obedience without seeming to be severe, so he silenced -Katy’s arguments, and when they left the shadow of the butternut tree -she knew that in all human probability six weeks’ time would find her on -the broad ocean alone with Wilford Cameron. So perfect was Katy’s faith -and love that she had no fear of Wilford now, but as his affianced wife -walked confidently by his side, feeling fully his equal, nor once -dreaming how great the disparity his city friends would discover between -the fastidious man of fashion and the unsophisticated country girl. And -Wilford did not seek to enlighten her, but suffered her to talk of the -delight it would be to live in New York, and how pleasant for mother and -Helen to visit her, especially the latter, who would thus have a chance -to see something of the world. - -“When I get a house of my own I mean she shall live with me all the -while,” she said, stooping to gather a tuft of wild blue-bells growing -in a marshy spot. - -Wilford winced a little, but he would not so soon tear down Katy’s -castles, and so he merely remarked, as she asked if it would not be nice -to have Helen with them, - -“Yes, very nice; but do not speak of it to her yet, as it will probably -be some time before she will come to us.” - -And so Helen never suspected the honor in store for her as she stood in -the doorway anxiously waiting for her sister, who she feared would take -cold from being out so long. Something though in Katy’s face made her -guess that to her was lost forever the bright little sister whom she -loved so dearly, and fleeing up the narrow stairway to her room, she -wept bitterly as she thought of the coming time when she would occupy -that room alone, and know that never again would a little golden head -lie upon her neck just as it had lain, for there would be a new love, a -new interest between them, a love for the man whose voice she could hear -now talking to her mother in the peculiar tone he always assumed when -speaking to any one of them excepting Morris or Katy. - -“I wish it were not wrong to hate him,” she exclaimed passionately; “it -would be such a relief; but if he is only kind to Katy, I do not care -how much he despises us,” and bathing her face, Helen sat down by her -window, wondering, if Mr. Cameron took her sister, when it would -probably be. “Not this year or more,” she said, “for Katy is so young;” -but on this point she was soon set right by Katy herself, who, leaving -her lover alone with her mother, stole up to tell her sister the good -news. - -“Yes, I know; I guessed as much when you came back from the meadows,” -and Helen’s voice was very unsteady in its tone as she smoothed the soft -rings clustering around her sister’s brow. - -“Crying, Helen! oh, don’t. I shall love you just the same, and you are -coming to live with us,” Katy said, forgetting Wilford’s instructions in -her desire to comfort Helen, who broke down again, while Katy’s tears -were mingled with her own. - -It was the first time Katy had thought what it would be to leave forever -the good, patient sister, who had been so kind, treating her like a -petted kitten and standing between her and every hardship. - -“Don’t cry, Nellie,” she said, “New York is not far away, and I shall -come so often, that is, after we return from Europe. Did I tell you we -are going there first, and Wilford will not wait, but says we must be -married the 10th of June?—that’s his birthday—thirty—and he is telling -mother now.” - -“So soon—oh Katy! and you so young!” was all Helen could say, as with -quivering lip she kissed her sister’s hand raised to wipe her tears -away. - -“Yes, it is soon, and I am young: but Wilford is in such a hurry; he -don’t care,” Katy replied, trying to comfort Helen, and begging of her -not to cry so hard. - -No, Wilford did not care how much he wrung the hearts of Katy’s family -by taking her from them at once, and by dictating to a certain extent -the way in which he would take her. There must be no invited guests, he -said; no lookers-on, except such as chose to go to the church where the -ceremony would be performed, and from which place he should go directly -to the Boston train. It was his wish, too, that the matter should be -kept as quiet as possible, and not be generally discussed in the -neighborhood, as he disliked being a subject for gossip. And Mrs. -Lennox, to whom this was said, promised compliance with everything, or -if she ventured to object she found herself borne down by a stronger -will than her own, and weakly yielded, her manner fully testifying to -her delight at the honor conferred upon her by this high marriage of her -child. Wilford knew just how pleased she was, and her obsequious manner -annoyed him far more than Helen’s blunt straightforwardness, when, after -supper was over, she told him how averse she was to his taking Katy so -soon, adding still further that if it must be, she saw no harm in -inviting a few of their neighbors. It was customary, it would be -expected, she said, while Mrs. Lennox, emboldened by Helen’s boldness, -chimed in, “at least your folks will come; I shall be glad to meet your -mother.” - -Wilford was very polite to them both; very good-humored, but he kept to -his first position, and poor Mrs. Lennox saw fade into airy nothingness -all her visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake trimmed with myrtle -and flowers, with hosts of the Silverton people there to admire and -partake of the marriage feast. It was too bad and so Aunt Betsy said, -when, after Wilford had gone to Linwood, the family sat together around -the kitchen stove, talking the matter over. - -“Yes, it was too bad, when there was that white hen-turkey she could fat -up so easy before June, and she knew how to make ’lection cake that -would melt in your mouth, and was enough sight better than the black -stuff they called weddin’ cake. She meant to try what _she_ could do -with Mr. Carmon.” - -And next morning when he came again she did try, holding out as -inducements why he should be married the night before starting for -Boston, the “white hen-turkey, the ’lection cake, and the gay old times -the young folks would have playing snap-and-catchem; or if they had a -mind, they could dance a bit in the kitchen. She didn’t believe in it, -to be sure—none of the Orthodox did; but as Wilford was a ’Piscopal, and -that was a ’Piscopal quirk, it wouldn’t harm for once.” - -Wilford tried not to show his disgust, and only Helen suspected how hard -it was for him to keep down his utter contempt. She saw it in his eyes, -which resembled two smouldering volcanoes as they rested upon Aunt Betsy -during her harangue. - -“Thank you, madam, for your good intentions, but I think we will -dispense with the turkey and the cake,” was all he said, though he did -smile at the old lady’s definition of dancing, which for once she might -allow. - -Even Morris, when appealed to, decided with Wilford against Mrs. Lennox -and Aunt Betsy, knowing how unequal he was to the task which would -devolve on him in case of a bridal party at the farm-house. In -comparative silence he heard from Wilford of his engagement offering no -objection when told how soon the marriage would take place, but -congratulating him so quietly, that if Wilford had retained a feeling of -jealousy, it would have disappeared; Morris was so seemingly indifferent -to everything except Katy’s happiness. But Wilford did not observe -closely, and failed to detect the hopeless look in Morris’s eyes, or the -whiteness which settled about his mouth as he fulfilled the duties of -host and sought to entertain his guest. Those were dark hours for Morris -Grant, and he was glad when at the end of the second day Wilford’s visit -expired, and he saw him driven from Linwood round to the farm-house, -where he would say his parting words to Katy and then go back to New -York. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED. - - -“MISS HELEN LENNOX, Silverton, Mass.” - -This was the superscription of a letter, postmarked New York, and -brought to Helen within a week after Wilford’s departure. It was his -handwriting, too; and wondering what he could have written to her, Helen -broke the seal, starting as there dropped into her lap a check for five -hundred dollars. - -“What does it mean?” she said, her cheek flushing with anger and -insulted pride as she read the following brief lines: - - “NEW YORK, May 8th. - - “MISS HELEN LENNOX: Please pardon the liberty I have taken in - enclosing the sum of $500 to be used by you in procuring whatever Katy - may need for present necessities. Presuming that the country - seamstresses have not the best facilities for obtaining the latest - fashions, my mother proposes sending out her own private dressmaker, - Mrs. Ryan. You may look for her the last of the week. - - “Yours truly, WILFORD CAMERON.” - -It would be impossible to describe Helen’s indignation as she read this -letter, which roused her to a pitch of anger such as Wilford Cameron had -never imagined when he wrote the offensive lines. He had really no -intention of insulting her. On the contrary, the gift of money was -kindly meant, for he knew that Uncle Ephraim was poor, while the part -referring to the dressmaker was wholly his mother’s proposition, to -which he had acceded, knowing how much confidence Juno had in her taste, -and that whatever she might see at the farm-house would remain a secret -with her, or at most be confined to the ears of his mother and sisters. -He wished Katy to look well, and foolishly fancying that no country -artiste could make her look so, he consented to Mrs. Ryan’s going, never -dreaming of the effect it would have upon Helen, whose first impulse was -to throw the check into the fire. Her second, however, was soberer. She -would not destroy it, nor tell any one she had it, but Morris—_he_ -should know the whole. Accordingly, she repaired to Linwood, finding -Morris at home, and startling him with the vehemence of her anger as she -explained the nature of her errand. - -“If I disliked Wilford Cameron before, I hate him now. Yes, hate him,” -she said, stamping her little foot in fury. - -“Why, Helen!” Morris exclaimed, laying his hand reprovingly on her -shoulder; “is this the right spirit for one who professes better things? -Stop a moment and think.” - -“I know it is wrong,” Helen answered, “but somehow since he came after -Katy, I have grown so hard, so wicked toward Mr. Cameron. He seems so -proud, so unapproachable. Say, Cousin Morris, do you think him a good -man, that is, good enough for Katy?” - -“Most people would call him too good for her,” Morris replied. “And, in -a worldly point of view, she is doing well. Cameron, I believe, is -better than three-fourths of the men who marry our girls. He is very -proud: but that results from his education and training. Looking only -from a New York standpoint he misjudges country people, but he will -appreciate you by and by. Do not begin by hating him so cordially.” - -“Yes, but this money. Now, Morris, we do not want him to get Katy’s -outfit. I would rather go without clothes my whole life. Shall I send it -back?” - -“I think that the best disposition to make of it,” Morris replied. “As -your brother, I can and will supply Katy’s needs.” - -“I knew you would, Morris. And I’ll send it to-day, in time to keep that -dreadful Mrs. Ryan from coming; for I won’t have any of Wilford -Cameron’s dressmakers in the house.” - -Morris could not help smiling at Helen’s energetic manner, as she -hurried to his library and taking his pen wrote to Wilford Cameron as -follows: - - SILVERTON, May 9th, 18—. - - MR. WILFORD CAMERON:—I give you credit for the kindest of motives in - sending the check which I now return to you, with my compliments. We - are not as poor as you suppose, and would almost deem it sacrilege to - let another than ourselves provide for Katy so long as she is ours. - And furthermore, Mrs. Ryan’s services will not be needed, so it is not - worth her while to make a journey here for nothing. - - Yours, - HELEN LENNOX. - -Helen felt better after this letter had gone, wondering often how it -would be received, and if Wilford would be angry. She hoped he would, -and his mother too. “The idea of sending that Ryan woman to us, as if we -did not know anything!” and Helen’s lip curled scornfully as she thus -denounced the Ryan woman, whose trunk was packed with paper patterns and -devices of various kinds when the letter arrived, saying she was not -needed. Being a woman of few words, she quietly unpacked her patterns -and went back to the work she was engaged upon when Mrs. Cameron -proposed her going into the country. Juno, on the contrary, flew into a -violent passion to think their first friendly advances should be thus -received. Bell laughed immoderately, saying she liked Helen Lennox’s -spirit, and wished her brother had chosen her instead of the other, who, -she presumed, was a milk and water thing, even if Mrs. Woodhull did -extol her so highly. Mrs. Cameron felt the rebuke keenly, wincing under -it, and saying “that Helen Lennox must be a very rude, ill-bred girl,” -and hoping her son would draw the line of division between his wife and -her family so tightly that the sister could never pass over it. She had -received the news of her son’s engagement without opposition, for she -knew the time for that was past. Wilford would marry Katy Lennox, and -she must make the best of it, so she offered no remonstrance, but, when -they were alone, she said to him, “Did you tell her? Does she know it -all?” - -“No, mother,” and the old look of pain came back into Wilford’s face. “I -meant to do so, and I actually began, but she stopped me short, saying -she did not wish to hear my faults, she would rather find them out -herself. Away from her it is very easy to think what I will do, but when -the trial comes I find it hard, we have kept it so long; but I shall -tell her yet; not till after we are married though, and I have made her -love me even more than she does now. She will not mind it then. I shall -take her where I first met Genevra, and there I will tell her. Is that -right?” - -“Yes, if you think so,” Mrs. Cameron replied. - -Whatever it was which Wilford had to tell Katy Lennox, it was very -evident that he and his mother looked at it differently, he regarding it -as a duty he owed to Katy not to conceal from her what might possibly -influence her decision, while his mother only wished the secret told in -hopes that it would prevent the marriage; but now that Wilford had -deferred it till after the marriage, she saw no reason why it need be -told at all. At least Wilford could do as he thought best, and she -changed the conversation from Genevra to Helen’s letter, which had so -upset her plans. That her future daughter-in-law was handsome she did -not doubt, but she, of course, had no manner, no style, and as a means -of improving her in the latter respect, and making her presentable at -the altar and in Boston, she had proposed sending out _Ryan_; but that -project had failed, and Helen Lennox did not stand very high in the -Cameron family, though Wilford in his heart felt an increased respect -for her independent spirit, notwithstanding that she had thwarted his -designs. - -“I have another idea,” Mrs. Cameron said to her daughters that -afternoon, when talking with them upon the subject. “Wilford tells me -Katy and Bell are about the same size and figure, and Ryan shall make up -a traveling suit proper for the occasion. Of course there will be no one -at the wedding for whom we care, but in Boston, at the Revere, it will -be different. Cousin Harvey boards there, and she is very stylish. I saw -some elegant grey poplins, of the finest lustre, at Stewart’s yesterday. -Suppose we drive down this afternoon.” - -This was said to Juno as the more fashionable one of the sisters, but -Bell answered quickly, “Poplin, mother, on Katy? It will not become her -style, I am sure, though suitable for many. If I am to be fitted, I -shall say a word about the fabric. Get a little checked silk, as -expensive as you like. It will suit her better than a heavy poplin.” - -Perhaps Bell was right, Mrs. Cameron said; they would look at both, and -as the result of this looking, two dresses, one of the finest poplin, -and one of the softest, richest, plaided silk, were given the next day -into Mrs. Ryan’s hands, with injunctions to spare no pains or expense in -trimming and making both. And so the dress-making for Katy’s bridal was -proceeding in New York, in spite of Helen’s letter; while down in -Silverton, at the farm-house, there were numerous consultations as to -what was proper and what was not, Helen sometimes almost wishing she had -suffered Mrs. Ryan to come. Katy would look well in anything, but Helen -knew there were certain styles preferable to others, and in a maze of -perplexity she consulted with this and that individual, until all -Silverton knew what was projected, each one offering the benefit of her -advice until Helen and Katy were nearly distracted. Aunt Betsy suggested -a blue delaine and round cape, offering to get it herself, and actually -purchasing the material with her own funds, saved from drying apples. -That would answer for one dress, Helen said, but not for the wedding; -and she was becoming more undecided, when Morris came to the rescue, -telling Katy of a young woman who had for some time past been his -patient, but who was now nearly well and was anxious to obtain work -again. She had evidently seen better days, he said; was very lady-like -in her manner, and possessed of a great deal of taste, he imagined; -besides that, she had worked in one of the largest shops in New York. -“As I am going this afternoon over to North Silverton,” he added, in -conclusion, “and shall pass Miss Hazelton’s house, you or Helen might -accompany me and see for yourself.” - -It was decided that Helen should go, and about four o’clock she found -herself ringing at the cottage over whose door hung the sign, “Miss M. -Hazelton, Fashionable Dressmaker.” She was at home, and in a few moments -Helen was talking with Marian Hazelton, whose face showed signs of -recent illness, but was nevertheless very attractive, from its -peculiarly sad expression and the soft liquid eyes of dark blue, which -looked as if they were not strangers to tears. At twenty she must have -been strikingly beautiful; and even now, at thirty, few ladies could -have vied with her had she possessed the means for gratifying her taste -and studying her style. About the mouth, so perfect in repose, there was -when she spoke a singularly sweet smile, which in a measure prepared one -for the low, silvery voice, which had a strange note of mournful music -in its tone, making Helen start as it asked, “Did you wish to see me?” - -“Yes; Dr. Grant told me you could make dresses, and I drove round with -him to secure your services, if possible, for my sister, who is soon to -be married. We would like it so much if you could go to our house -instead of having Katy come here.” - -Marian Hazelton was needing work, for there was due more than three -months’ board, besides the doctor’s bill, and so, though it was not her -custom to go from house to house, she would, in this instance, -accommodate Miss Lennox, especially as during her illness her customers -had many of them gone elsewhere, and her little shop was nearly broken -up. “Was it an elaborate trousseau she was expected to make?” and she -bent down to turn over some fashion plates lying upon the table. - -“Oh, no! we are plain country people. We cannot afford as much for Katy -as we would like; besides, I dare say Mr. Cameron will prefer selecting -most of her wardrobe himself, as he is very wealthy and fastidious,” -Helen replied, repenting the next instant the part concerning Mr. -Cameron’s wealth, as that might look like boasting to Miss Hazelton, -whose head was bent lower over the magazine as she said, “Did I -understand that the gentleman’s name was Cameron?” - -“Yes, Wilford Cameron, from New York,” Helen answered, holding up her -skirts and s-s-kt-ing at the kitten which came running toward her, -evidently intent upon springing into her lap. - -Fear of cats was Helen’s weakness, if weakness it can be called, and in -her efforts to frighten her tormentor she did not look again at Miss -Hazelton until startled by a gasping cry and heavy fall. Marian had -fainted, and Helen was just raising her head from the floor to her lap -when Morris appeared, relieving her of her burden, of whom he took -charge until she showed signs of life. In her alarm Helen forgot -entirely what they were talking about when the faint came on, and her -first question put to Marian was, “Were you taken suddenly ill? Why did -you faint?” - -There was no answer at first; but when she did speak Marian said, “I am -still so weak that the least exertion affects me, and I was bending over -the table; it will soon pass off.” - -If she was so weak she was not able to work, Helen said, proposing that -the plan be for the present abandoned, but to this Marian would not -listen; and her great eager eyes had in them so scared a look that Helen -said no more on that subject, but made arrangements for her coming to -them at once. Morris was to leave his patient some medicine, and while -he was preparing it, Helen had time to notice her more carefully, -admiring her lady-like manners, and thinking her smile the sweetest she -had ever seen. Greatly interested in her, Helen plied Morris with -questions of Miss Hazelton during their ride home, asking what he knew -of her. - -“Nothing, except that she came to North Silverton a year ago, opening -her shop, and by her faithfulness, and pleasant, obliging manners, -winning favor with all who employed her. Previous to her sickness she -had a few times attended St. Paul’s at South Silverton, that being the -church of her choice. Had Helen never observed her?” - -No, Helen had not. And then she spoke of her fainting, telling how -sudden it was, and wondering if she was subject to such turns. Marian -Hazelton had made a strong impression on Helen’s mind, and she talked of -her so much that Katy waited her appearance at the farm-house with -feverish anxiety. It was evening when she came, looking very white, and -seeming to Helen as if she had changed since she saw her first. In her -eyes there was a kind of hopeless, weary expression, while her smile -made one almost wish to cry, it was so sad, and yet so strangely sweet. -Katy felt its influence at once, growing very confidential with the -stranger, who, during the half hour in which they were accidentally left -alone, drew from her every particular concerning her intended marriage. -Very closely the dark blue eyes scrutinized little Katy, taking in first -the faultless beauty of her face, and then going away down into the -inmost depths of her character, as if to find out what was there. - -“Pure, loving innocent, and unsuspecting,” was Marian Hazelton’s -verdict, and she followed wistfully every movement of the young girl as -she flitted around the room, chatting as familiarly with the dressmaker -as if she were a friend long known instead of an entire stranger. - -“You look very young to be married,” Miss Hazelton said to her once, and -shaking back her short rings of hair Katy answered, “Eighteen next -Fourth of July; but Mr. Cameron is thirty.” - -“Is he a widower?” was the next question, which Katy answered with a -merry laugh. “Mercy, no! _I_ marry a widower! How funny! I don’t believe -he ever cared a fig for anybody but me. I mean to ask him.” - -“I would,” and the pale lips shut tightly together, while a resentful -gleam shot for a moment across Marian’s face; but it quickly passed -away, and her smile was as sweet as ever as she at last bade the family -good night and repaired to the little room where Wilford Cameron once -had slept. - -A long time she stood before the glass, brushing her dark abundant hair, -and intently regarding her own features, while in her eyes there was a -hard, terrible look, from which Katy Lennox would have shrunk in fear. -But that too passed, and the eyes grew soft with tears as she turned -away, and falling on her knees moaned sadly, “I never will—no, I never -will. God help me to keep the promise. Were it the other one—Helen—I -might, for she could bear it; but Katy, that child—no, I never will,” -and as the words died on her lips there came struggling up from her -heart a prayer for Katy Lennox’s happiness, as fervent and sincere as -any which had ever been made for her since she was betrothed. - -They grew to liking each other rapidly, Marian and Katy, the latter of -whom thought her new friend greatly out of place as a dressmaker, -telling her she ought to marry some rich man, calling her Marian -altogether, and questioning her very closely of her previous life. But -Marian only told her that she was born in London; that she learned her -trade on the Isle of Wight, near to the Osborne House, where the royal -family sometimes came, and that she had often seen the present Queen, -thus trying to divert Katy’s mind from asking what there was besides -that apprenticeship to the Misses True on the Isle of Wight. Once indeed -she went farther, saying that her friends were dead; that she had come -to America in hopes of doing better than she could at home; that she had -stayed in New York until her health began to fail, and then had tried -what country air would do, coming to North Silverton because a young -woman who worked in the same shop was acquainted there, and recommended -the place. This was all Katy could learn, and Marian’s heart history, if -she had one, was guarded carefully. - -They had decided at last upon the wedding dress, which Helen reserved -the right to make herself. Miss Hazelton must fit it, of course, but to -her belonged the privilege of making it, every stitch; Katy would think -more of it if she did it all, she said; but she did not confess how the -bending over the dress, both early and late, was the escape-valve for -the feeling which otherwise would have found vent in passionate tears. -Helen was very wretched during the pleasant May days she usually enjoyed -so much, but over which now a dark pall was spread, shutting out all the -brightness and leaving only the terrible certainty that Katy was lost to -her forever—bright, frolicsome Katy, who, without a shadow on her heart, -sported amid the bridal finery, unmindful of the anguish tugging at the -hearts of both the patient women, Marian and Helen, who worked on so -silently, reserving their tears for the night-time, when Katy was -dreaming of Wilford Cameron. Helen was greatly interested in Marian, but -never guessed that her feelings, too, were stirred to their very depths -as the bridal preparations progressed. She only knew how wretched she -was herself, and how hard it was to fight her tears back as she bent -over the silk, weaving in with every stitch a part of the clinging love -which each day grew stronger for the only sister, who would soon be -gone, leaving her alone. Only once did she break entirely down, and that -was when the dress was done and Katy tried it on, admiring its effect -and having a second glass brought that she might see it behind. - -“Isn’t it lovely?” she exclaimed; “and the more valuable because you -made it. I shall think of you every time I wear it,” and the impulsive -girl wound her arms around Helen’s neck, kissing her lovingly, while -Helen sank into a chair and sobbed aloud, “Oh, Katy, darling Katy! you -won’t forget me when you are rich and admired, and can have all you -want? You will remember us here at home, so sad and lonely? You don’t -know how desolate it will be, knowing you are gone, never to come back -again, just as you go away.” - -In an instant Katy was on her knees before Helen, whom she tried to -comfort by telling her she should come back,—come often, too, staying a -long while; and that when she had a city home of her own she should live -with her for good, and they would be so happy. - -“I cannot quite give Wilford up to please you,” she said, when that -gigantic sacrifice suggested itself as something which it was possible -Helen might require of her; “but I will do anything else, only please -don’t cry, darling Nellie—please don’t cry. It spoils all my pleasure,” -and Katy’s soft hands wiped away the tears running so fast over her -sister’s face. - -After that Helen did not cry again in Katy’s presence, but the latter -knew she wanted to, and it made her rather sad, particularly when she -saw reflected in the faces of the other members of the family the grief -she had witnessed in Helen. Even Uncle Ephraim was not as cheerful as -usual, and once when Katy came upon him in the wood-shed chamber, where -he was shelling corn, she found him resting from his work and looking -from the window far off across the hills, with a look which made her -guess he was thinking of her, and stealing up beside him she laid her -hand upon his wrinkled face, whispering softly, “Poor Uncle Eph, are you -sorry, too?” - -He knew what she meant, and the aged chin quivered, while a big tear -dropped into the tub of corn as he replied. “Yes, Katy-did—very sorry.” - -That was all he said, and Katy, after smoothing his silvery hair a -moment, kissed his cheek and then stole away, wondering if the love to -which she was going was equal to the love of home, which, as the days -went by, grew stronger and stronger, enfolding her in a mighty embrace, -which could only be severed by bitter tears and fierce heart-pangs, such -as death itself sometimes brings. In that household there was, after -Katy, no one glad of that marriage except the mother, and she was only -glad because of the position it would bring to her daughter. But among -them all Morris suffered most, and suffered more because he had to -endure in secret, so that no one guessed the pain it was for him to go -each day where Katy was, and watch her as she sometimes donned a part of -her finery for his benefit, asking him once if he did not wish he were -in Wilford’s place, so as to have as pretty a bride as she should make. -Then Marian Hazelton glanced up in time to see the expression of his -face, a look whose meaning she readily recognized, and when Dr. Grant -left the farm-house that day, another than himself knew of his love for -Katy, drawing her breath hurriedly as she thought of taking back the -words, “I never will,”—of revoking that decision and telling Katy what -Wilford Cameron should have told her long before. But the wild wish -fled, and Wilford’s secret was safe, while Marian watched Morris Grant -with a pitying interest as he came among them, speaking always in the -same kind, gentle tone, and trying so hard to enter into Katy’s joy. - -“His burden is greater than mine. God help us both,” Marian said, as she -resumed her work. - -And so amid joy and gladness, silent tears and breaking hearts, the -preparations went on until all was done, and only three days remained -before the eventful tenth. Marian Hazelton was going home, for she would -not stay at the farm-house until all was over, notwithstanding Katy’s -entreaties were joined to those of Helen. - -“Perhaps she would come to the church,” she said, “though she could not -promise;” and her manner was so strange that Katy wondered if she could -have offended her, and at last said to her timidly, as she stood with -her bonnet on, waiting for Uncle Ephraim, “You are not angry with me for -anything, are you?” - -“Angry with _you_!” and Katy never forgot the glitter of the tearful -eyes, or their peculiar expression as they turned upon her. “No, oh, no; -I could not be angry with you, and yet, Katy Lennox, some in my position -would _hate_ you, contrasting your prospects with their own; but I do -not; I love you; I bless you, and pray that you may be happy with your -husband; honor him, obey him if need be, and above all, never give him -the slightest cause to doubt you. You will have admirers, Katy Lennox. -In New York others than your husband will speak to you words of -flattery, but don’t you listen. Remember what I tell you; and now, -again, God bless you.” - -She touched her lips to Katy’s forehead, and when they were withdrawn -there were great tears there which she had left! Marian’s tears on -Katy’s brow; and it was very meet that just before her bridal day -Wilford Cameron’s bride should receive such baptism from Marian -Hazelton. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - BEFORE THE MARRIAGE. - - -Oh the morning of the 9th day of June, 18—, Wilford Cameron stood in his -father’s parlor, surrounded by the entire family, who, after their -unusually early breakfast, had assembled to bid him good-bye, for -Wilford was going for his bride, and it would be months, if not a year, -ere he returned to them again. They had given him up to his idol, asking -only that none of the idol’s family should be permitted to cross their -threshold, and also that the idol should not often be allowed the -privilege of returning to the place from whence she came. These -restrictions had emanated from the female portion of the Cameron family, -the mother, Juno and Bell. The father, on the contrary, had sworn -roundly as he would sometimes swear at what he called the contemptible -pride of his wife and daughters. Katy was sure of a place in his heart -just because of the pride which was building up so high a wall between -her and her friends, and when at parting he held his son’s hand in his, -he said, - -“I charge you, Will, be kind to that young girl, and don’t for Heaven’s -sake go to cramming her with airs and nonsense which she does not -understand. Tell her I’ll be a father to her; her own, you say, is dead, -and give her this as my bridal present.” - -He held out a small box containing a most exquisite set of pearls, such -as he fancied would be becoming to the soft, girlish beauty Wilford had -described. Something in his father’s manner touched Wilford closely, -making him resolve anew that if Kitty were not happy as Mrs. Cameron it -should not be his fault. His mother had said all she wished to say, -while his sisters had been gracious enough to send their love to the -bride, Bell hoping she would look as well in the poplin and little plaid -as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding day, Mrs. Cameron -said, and she might take her choice, only Wilford must see that she did -not wear with the poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk; -country people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look well, -even if she were not there to see her. And with his brain a confused -medley of poplins and plaids, belts and gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford -finally tore himself away, and at three o’clock that afternoon drove -through Silverton village, past the little church, which the Silverton -maidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a moment in their work to -look at him as he went by. Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she only -bent lower over her work, thus hiding the tear which dropped upon the -delicate buds she was fashioning into the words, “Joy to the Bride,” -intending the whole as the center of the wreath to be placed over the -altar where all could see it. - -“The handsomest man I ever saw,” was the verdict of most of the girls as -they came back to their work, while Wilford drove on to the farm-house -where Katy had been so anxiously watching for him. - -When he came in sight, however, and she knew he was actually there, she -ran away to hide her blushes, and the feeling of awe which had come -suddenly over her for the man who was to be her husband. But Helen bade -her go back, and so she went coyly in to Wilford, who met her with -loving caresses, and then put upon her finger the superb diamond which -he said he had thought to send as a pledge of their engagement, but had -finally concluded to wait and present himself. Katy had heard much of -diamonds, and seen some in Canandaigua; but the idea that she, plain -Katy Lennox, would ever wear them, had never entered her mind; and now, -as she looked at the brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she felt a -thrill of something more than joy at that good fortune which had brought -her to diamonds. Vanity, we suppose it was—such vanity as was very -natural in her case, and she thought she should never tire of looking at -the precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next the plain broad -band of gold, and tried it on her third finger, asking if she knew what -it meant, the true woman spoke within her, and she answered tearfully, - -“Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what I shall be to you -when I wear that ring for good.” - -Katy was very quiet for a moment as she sat with her head nestled -against Wilford’s bosom, but when he observed that she was looking -tired, and asked if she had been working hard, the quiet fit was broken, -and she told him of the dress “we had made,” the _we_ referring solely -to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hardly done a thing. But it did not -matter; she fancied she had, and she asked if he did not wish to see her -dresses. Wilford knew it would please Katy, and so he followed her into -the adjoining room, where they were spread out upon tables and chairs, -with Helen in their midst, ready to pack them away. Wilford thought of -Mrs. Ryan and the check, but he shook hands with Helen very civilly, -saying to her playfully, - -“I suppose you are willing I should take your sister with me this time.” - -Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her face, while Katy -showed one dress after another, until she came to the silk, which, with -a bright blush, she told him “was the very thing itself—the one intended -for to-morrow,” and asked if he did not like it. - -Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she wished him to do -so, but in his heart he was thinking bad thoughts against the wardrobe -of his bride elect—thoughts which would have won for him the title of -_hen-huzzy_ from Helen, could she have known them. And yet Wilford did -not deserve that name. He had been accustomed all his life to hearing -dress discussed in his mother’s parlor, and in his sister’s boudoir, -while for the last five weeks he had heard at home of little else than -the probable _tout ensemble_ of Katy’s wardrobe, bought and made in the -country, his mother deciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs. -Harvey, who boarded at the Revere, and have her see to it before Katy -left the city. Under these circumstances, it was not strange that -Wilford did not enter into Katy’s delight, even after she told him how -Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and that it would on -that account be very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting -the poplin off his mind, and with a premonitory _ahem_ he said, “Yes, it -is very nice, no doubt; but,” and here he turned to Helen, “after Mrs. -Ryan’s services were declined, my mother determined to have two dresses -fitted to sister Bell, who I think is just Katy’s size and figure. I -need not say,” and his eyes still rested on Helen, who gave him back an -unflinching glance, “I need not say that no pains have been spared to -make these garments everything they should be in point of quality and -style. I have them in my trunk, and,” turning now to Katy, “it is my -mother’s special request that one of them be worn to-morrow. You could -take your choice, she said—either was suitable. I will bring them for -your inspection.” - -He left the room, while Helen’s face resembled a dark thunder-cloud, -whose lightnings shone in her flashing eyes as she looked after him and -then back to where Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong. - -“Who is Mrs. Ryan?” she asked. “What does he mean?” but before Helen -could command her voice to explain, Wilford was with them again, -bringing the dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild. - -She had never seen anything as elegant as the rich heavy poplin or the -soft lustrous silk, while even Helen acknowledged that there was about -them a finish which threw Miss Hazelton’s quite in the shade. - -“Beautiful!” Katy exclaimed; “and trimmed so exquisitely! I do so hope -they will fit!” - -“I dare say they will,” Wilford replied, enjoying her appreciation of -his mother’s gift. “At all events they will answer for to-morrow, and -any needful alterations can be made in Boston. Which will you wear?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. I wish I could wear both. Helen, which shall I?” and -Katy appealed to her sister, who could endure no more, but hid her head -among the pillows of the bed and cried. - -Katy understood the whole, and dropping the silk to which she inclined -the most, she flew to Helen’s side and whispered to her, “Don’t, Nellie, -I won’t wear either of them. I’ll wear the one you made. It was mean and -vain in me to think of doing otherwise.” - -During this scene Wilford had stolen from the room, and with him gone -Helen was capable of judging candidly and sensibly. She knew the city -silk was handsomer and better suited for Wilford Cameron’s bride than -the country plaid, and so she said to Katy, “I would rather you should -wear the one they sent. It will become you better. Suppose you try it -on,” and in seeking to gratify her sister, Helen forgot in part her own -cruel disappointment, and that her work of days had been for naught. The -dress fitted well, though Katy pronounced it too tight and too long. A -few moments, however, accustomed her to the length, and then her mother, -Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy, came to see and admire, while Katy proposed -going out to Wilford, but Helen kept her back, Aunt Betsy remarking -under her breath, that “she didn’t see for the life on her how Catherine -could be so free and easy with that man when just the sight of him was -enough to take away a body’s breath.” - -“More free and easy than she will be by and by,” was Helen’s mental -comment as she proceeded quietly to pack the trunk which Morris had -brought for the voyage across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as -she folded away one article after another, and wondered under what -circumstances she should see them again if she saw them ever. - -Helen was a Christian girl, and many a time had she prayed in secret -that He who rules the deep would keep its waters calm and still while -her sister was upon them, and she prayed so now, constantly, burying her -face once in her hands, and asking that Katy might come back to them -unchanged, if possible, and asking next that God would remove from her -heart all bitterness towards the bridegroom, who was to be her brother, -and whom, after that short, earnest prayer, she found herself liking -better. He loved Katy, she was sure, and that was all she cared for, -though she did wish he would release her before twelve o’clock on that -night, the last she would spend with them for a long, long time. But -Wilford kept her with him in the parlor, kissing away the tears which -flowed so fast when she recalled the prayer said by Uncle Ephraim, with -her kneeling by him as she might never kneel again. He had called her by -her name, and his voice was very sad as he commended her to God, asking -that he would “be with our little Katy wherever she might go, keeping -her in all the _mewandering_ scenes of life, and bringing her at last to -his own heavenly home.” - -Wilford himself was touched, and though he noticed the deacon’s -pronunciation, he did not even smile, and his manner was very -respectful, when, after the prayer was over and they were alone a -moment, the white-haired deacon felt it incumbent upon him to say a few -words concerning Katy. - -“She’s a young, rattle-headed creature, not much like your own kin, I -guess; but, young man, she is as dear as the apple of our eyes, and I -charge you to treat her well. She has never had a crossways word spoke -to her all her life, and don’t you be the first to speak it, nor let -your folks browbeat her.” - -As they were alone, it was easier for Wilford to be humble and -conciliatory, and he promised all the old man required, and then went -back to Katy, who was going into raptures over the beautiful little -watch which Morris had sent over as her bridal gift from him. Even Mrs. -Cameron herself could have found no fault with this, and Wilford praised -it as much as Katy could desire, noticing the inscription, “Katy, from -Cousin Morris, June 10th, 18—” wishing that after the “Katy” had come -the name Cameron, and wondering if Morris had any design in omitting it. -Wilford had not yet presented his father’s gift, but he did so now, and -Katy’s tears dropped upon the pale, soft pearls as she whispered, “I -shall like your father. I never thought of having things like these.” - -Nor had she; but she would grow to them very soon, while even the family -gathering round and sharing in her joy began to realize how great a lady -their Katy was to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, if sleep -at all they did, which was doubtful, unless it were the bride, who, with -Wilford’s kisses warm upon her lips, crept up to bed just as the clock -was striking twelve, nor awoke until it was again chiming six, and over -her Helen bent, a dark ring about her eyes and her face very white as -she whispered, “Wake, Katy darling, this is your wedding day.” - - - - - CHAPTER X. - MARRIAGE AT ST. JOHN’S. - - -There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy Lennox married, and -the church was literally jammed for full three-quarters of an hour -before the appointed time. Back by the door, where she commanded a full -view of the middle aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face as white as -ashes, and her eyes gleaming strangely wild from beneath the thickly -dotted veil she wore over her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in coming -there were agitating her mind, but something kept her sitting just as -others sat waiting for the bride until the sexton, opening wide the -doors, and assuming an added air of consequence, told the anxious -spectators that the party had arrived—Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford -and Mrs. Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helen, Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy—that -was all, and they came slowly up the aisle, while countless eyes were -turned upon them, every woman noticing Katy’s dress sweeping the carpet -with so long a trail, and knowing by some queer female instinct that it -was city-made, and not the handiwork of Marian Hazelton, panting for -breath in that pew near the door, and trying to forget herself by -watching Dr. Grant. She could not have told what Katy wore; she would -not have sworn that Katy was there, for she saw only two, Wilford and -Morris Grant. She could have touched the former as he passed her by, and -she did breathe the odor of his garments while her hands clasped each -other tightly, and then she turned to Morris Grant, growing content with -her own pain, so much less than his as he stood before the altar with -Wilford Cameron between him and the bride which should have been his. -How pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird her voice -rang out as she responded to the solemn question, - -“Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband,” etc. - -Upon Uncle Ephraim devolved the duty of giving her away, a thing which -Aunt Betsy denounced as a “’Piscopal quirk,” classing it in the same -category with dancing. Still if Ephraim had got it to do she wanted him -to do it well, and she had taken some pains to study that part of the -ceremony, so as to know when to, nudge her brother in case he failed of -coming up to time. - -“Now, Ephraim, now; they’ve reached the quirk,” she whispered, audibly, -almost before Katy’s “I will” was heard, clear and distinct; but Ephraim -did not need her prompting, and his hand rested lovingly upon Katy’s -shoulder as he signified his consent, and then fell back to his place -next to Hannah. But when Wilford’s voice said, “I, Wilford, take thee -Katy to be my wedded wife,” there was a slight confusion near the door, -and those sitting by said to those in front that some one had fainted. -Looking round, the audience saw the sexton leading Marian Hazelton out -into the open air, where, at her request, he left her, and went back to -see the closing of the ceremony which made Katy Lennox a wife. Morris’s -carriage was at the door, and the newly married pair moved slowly out, -Katy smiling upon all, kissing her hand to some and whispering a -good-bye to others, her diamonds flashing in the light and her rich silk -rustling as she walked, while at her side was Wilford, proudly erect, -and holding his head so high as not to see one of the crowd around him, -until, arrived at the vestibule, he stopped a moment and was seized by a -young man with curling hair, saucy eyes, and that air of ease and -assurance which betokens high breeding and wealth. - -“Mark Ray!” was Wilford’s astonished exclamation, while Mark Ray -replied, - -“You did net expect to see me here, neither did I expect to come until -last night, when I found myself in the little village where you know -Scranton lives. Then it occurred to me that as Silverton was only a few -miles distant I would drive over and surprise you, but I am too late for -the ceremony, I see,” and Mark’s eyes rested admiringly upon Katy, whose -graceful beauty was fully equal to what he had imagined. - -Very modestly she received his congratulatory greeting, blushing -prettily when he called her by the new name she had not heard before, -and then, at a motion from Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for -her. Close behind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as much -astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. There was no time for -conversation, and hurriedly introducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris -followed her into the carriage with the bridal pair, and was driven to -the depot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleasant good-humored -sallies did much towards making the parting more cheerful than it would -otherwise have been. It was sad enough at the most, and Katy’s eyes were -very red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and impatient, -when at last the train swept round the corner and the very last good-bye -was said. Many of the village people were there to see Katy off, and in -the crowd Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from the -others, except it were by the fond caresses given to the bride. Aunt -Betsy he had observed from all the rest, both from the hanging of her -pongee and the general quaintness of her attire, and thinking it just -possible that it might be the lady of herrin’ bone memory, he touched -Wilford’s arm as she passed them by, and said, - -“Tell me, Will, quick, who is that woman in the poke bonnet and short, -slim dress?” - -Wilford was just then too much occupied in his efforts to rescue Katy -from the crowd of plebeians who had seized upon her to hear his friends -query, but Helen heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, -she replied, - -“That, sir, is my aunt, Miss Betsy Barlow.” - -“I beg your pardon, I really do. I was not aware——” - -Mark began, lifting his hat involuntarily, and mentally cursing himself -for his stupidity in not observing who was near to him before asking -personal questions. - -With a toss of her head Helen turned away, forgetting her resentment in -the more absorbing thought that Katy was leaving her. - -The bell had rung, the heavy machinery groaned and creaked, and the long -train was under way, while from an open window a little white hand was -thrust, waving its handkerchief until the husband quietly drew it in, -experiencing a feeling of relief that all was over, and that unless he -chose his wife need never go back again to that vulgar crowd standing -upon the platform and looking with tearful eyes and aching hearts after -the fast receding train. - -For a moment Mark talked with Morris Grant, explaining how he came -there, and adding that on the morrow he too intended going on to Boston, -to remain for a few days before Wilford sailed; then, feeling that he -must in some way atone for his awkward speech regarding Aunt Betsy, he -sought out Helen, still standing like a statue and watching the feathery -line of smoke rising above the distant trees. Her bonnet had partially -fallen from her head, revealing her bands of rich brown hair and the -smooth broad forehead, while her hands were locked together, and a tear -trembled on her dark eyelashes. Taken as a whole she made a striking -picture standing apart from the rest and totally oblivious to them all, -and Mark gazed at her a moment curiously; then, as her attitude changed -and she drew her hat back to its place, he advanced toward her, making -some pleasant remark about the morning and the appearance of the country -generally. He knew he could not openly apologize, but he made what -amends he could by talking to her so familiarly that Helen almost forgot -how she hated him and all others who like him lived in New York and -resembled Wilford Cameron. It was Mark who led her to the carriage which -Morris said was waiting. Mark who handed her in, smoothing down the -folds of her dress, and then stood leaning against the door, chatting -with Morris, who thought once of asking him to enter and go back to -Linwood. But when he remembered how unequal he was to entertaining any -one that day, he said merely, - -“On your way from Boston, call and see me. I shall be glad of your -company then.” - -“Which means that you do not wish it now,” Mark laughingly rejoined, as, -offering his hand to both Morris and Helen, he touched his hat and -walked away. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - AFTER THE MARRIAGE. - - -“Why did you invite him to Linwood?” Helen began. “I am sure we have had -city guests enough. Oh, if Wilford Cameron had only never come, we -should have had Katy now,” and the sister-love overcame every other -feeling, making Helen cry bitterly as they drove back to the farm-house. - -Morris could not comfort her then, and so in silence he left her and -went on his way to Linwood. It was well for him that there were many -sick ones on his list, for in attending to them he forgot himself in -part, so that the day with him passed faster than at the farm-house, -where life and its interests seemed suddenly to have stopped. Nothing -had power to rouse Helen, who never realized how much she loved her -young sister until now, when she listlessly put to rights the room which -had been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It was a sad task -picking up that disordered chamber, bearing so many traces of Katy, and -Helen’s heart ached terribly as she hung away the little pink calico -dressing-gown in which Katy had looked so prettily, and picked up from -the floor the pile of skirts lying just where they had been left the -previous night; but when it came to the little half-worn slippers which -had been thrown one here and another there as Katy danced out of them, -she could control herself no longer, and stopping in her work sobbed -bitterly, “Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you!” But tears could -not bring Katy back, and knowing this, Helen dried her eyes ere long and -joined the family below, who like herself were spiritless and sad. - -It was some little solace to them all that day to follow Katy in her -journey, saying, she is at Worcester, or Framingham, or Newton, and when -at noon they sat down to their dinner in the tidy kitchen they said, -“She is in Boston,” and the saying so made the time which had elapsed -since the morning seem interminable. Slowly the hours dragged, and at -last, before the sun-setting, Helen, who could bear the loneliness of -home no longer, stole across the fields to Linwood, hoping in Morris’s -companionship to forget her own grief in part. But Morris was a sorry -comforter then. He had ministered as usual to his patients that day, -listening to their complaints and answering patiently their inquiries; -but amid it all he walked as in a maze, hearing nothing except the -words, “I, Katy, take thee, Wilford, to be my wedded husband,” and -seeing nothing but the airy little figure which stood up on tiptoe for -him to kiss its lips at parting. His work for the day was over now, and -he sat alone in his library when Helen came hurriedly in, starting at -sight of his face, and asking if he was ill. - -“I have had a hard day’s work,” he said. “I am always tired at night,” -and he tried to smile and appear natural. “Are you very lonely at the -farm-house?” he asked, and then Helen broke out afresh, mourning -sometimes for Katy, and again denouncing Wilford as proud and heartless. - -“Positively, Cousin Morris, he acted all the while he was in the church -as if he were doing something of which he was ashamed; and then did you -notice how impatient he seemed when the neighbors were shaking hands -with Katy at the depot, and bidding her good-bye? He looked as if he -thought they had no right to touch her, she was so much their superior, -just because she had married _him_, and he even hurried her away before -Aunt Betsy had time to kiss her. And yet the people think it such a -splendid match for Katy, because he is so rich and generous. Gave the -clergyman fifty dollars and the sexton five, so I heard; but that does -not help him with me. I know it’s wicked, Morris, but I find myself -taking real comfort in hating Wilford Cameron.” - -“That is wrong, Helen, all wrong,” and Morris tried to reason with her; -but his arguments this time were not very strong, and he finally said to -her, inadvertently, “If _I_ can forgive Wilford Cameron for marrying our -Katy, you surely ought to do so, for he has hurt _me_ the most.” - -“_You_, Morris! YOU, YOU!” Helen kept repeating, standing back still -further and further from him, while strange, overwhelming thoughts -passed like lightning through her mind as she marked the pallid face, -where was written since the morning more than one line of suffering, and -saw in the brown eyes a look such as they were not wont to wear. -“Morris, tell me—tell me truly—did you love my sister Katy?” and with an -impetuous rush Helen knelt beside him, as, laying his head upon the -table he answered, - -“Yes, Helen. God forgive me if it were wrong. I _did_ love your sister -Katy, and love her yet, and that is the hardest to bear.” - -All the tender pitying woman was roused in Helen, and like a sister she -smoothed the locks of damp, dark hair, keeping a perfect silence as the -strong man, no longer able to bear up, wept like a very child. For a -time Helen felt as if bereft of reason, while earth and sky seemed -blended in one wild chaos as she thought, “Oh, why couldn’t it have -been? Why didn’t you tell her in time?” and at last she said to him, “If -Katy had known it! Oh, Morris, why didn’t you tell her? She never -guessed it, never! If she had—if she had,” Helen’s breath came -chokingly, “I am very sure—yes, I know _it might have been_!” - - “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, - The saddest are these—it might have been.” - -Morris involuntarily thought of these lines, but they only mocked his -sorrow as he answered Helen, “I doubt if you are right; I hope you are -not. Katy loved me as her brother, nothing more, I am confident. Had she -waited till she was older, God only knows what might have been, but now -she is gone and our Father will help me to bear, will help us both, if -we ask him, as we must.” - -And then, as only he could do, Morris talked with Helen until she felt -her hardness towards Wilford giving way, while she wondered how Morris -could speak so kindly of one who was his rival. - -“Not of myself could I do it,” Morris said; “but I trust in One who says -‘As thy day shall thy strength be,’ and He, you know, never fails.” - -There was a fresh bond of sympathy now between Morris and Helen, and the -latter needed no caution against repeating what she had discovered. The -secret was safe with her, and by dwelling on what “might have been” she -forgot to think so much of what _was_, and so the first days after -Katy’s departure were more tolerable than she had thought it possible -for them to be. At the close of the fourth there came a short note from -Katy, who was still in Boston at the Revere, and perfectly happy, she -said, going into ecstasies over her husband, the best in the world, and -certainly the most generous and indulgent. “Such beautiful things as I -am having made,” she wrote, “when I already had more than I needed, and -so I told him, but he only smiled a queer kind of smile as he said ‘Very -true; you do not need them.’ I wonder then why he gets me more. Oh, I -forgot to tell you how much I like his cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boards -at the Revere, and whom Wilford consults about my dress. I am somewhat -afraid of her, too, she is so grand, but she pets me a great deal and -laughs at my speeches. Mr. Ray is here, and I think him splendid. - -“By the way, Helen, I heard him tell Wilford that you had one of the -best shaped heads he ever saw, and that he thought you decidedly good -looking. I must tell you now of the only thing which troubles me in the -least, and I shall get used to that, I suppose. It is so strange Wilford -never told me a word until she came. Think of little Katy Lennox with a -waiting-maid, who jabbers French half the time, for she speaks that -language as well as her own, having been abroad with the family once -before. That is why they sent her to me; they knew her services would be -invaluable in Paris. Her name is Esther, and she came the day after we -did, and brought me such a beautiful mantilla from Wilford’s mother, and -the loveliest dress. Just the pattern was fifty dollars, she said. - -“The steamer sails in three days, and I will write again before that -time, sending it by Mr. Ray, who is to stop over one train at Linwood. -Wilford has just come in, and says I have written enough for now, but I -must tell you he has bought me a diamond pin and ear-rings, which -Esther, who knows the value of everything, says never cost less than -five hundred dollars. - - “Your loving, - KATY CAMERON.” - -“Five hundred dollars!” and Aunt Betsy held up her hands in horror, -while Helen sat a long time with the letter in her hand, cogitating upon -its contents, and especially upon the part referring to herself, and -what Mark Ray had said of her. - -Every human heart is susceptible of flattery, and Helen’s was not an -exception. Still with her ideas of city men she could not at once think -favorably of Mark Ray, just for a few complimentary words which might or -might not have been in earnest, and she found herself looking forward -with nervous dread to the time when he would stop at Linwood, and of -course call on her, as he would bring a letter from Katy. - -Very sadly to the inmates of the farm-house rose the morning of the day -when Katy was to sail, and as if they could really see the tall masts of -the vessel which was to bear her away, the eyes of the whole family were -turned often to the eastward with a wistful, anxious gaze, while on -their lips and in their hearts were earnest prayers for the safety of -that ship and the precious freight it bore. But hours, however sad, will -wear themselves away, and so the day went on, succeeded by the night, -until that too had passed and another day had come, the second of Katy’s -ocean life. At the farm-house the work was all done up, and Helen in her -neat gingham dress, with her bands of brown hair bound about her head, -sat sewing, when she was startled by the sound of wheels, and looking up -saw the boy employed to carry packages from the express office, driving -to their door with a trunk, which he said had come that morning from -Boston. - -In some surprise Helen hastened to unlock it with the key which she -found appended to it. The trunk was full, and over the whole a linen -towel was folded, while on the top of that lay a letter in Katy’s -handwriting, directed to Helen, who, sitting down upon the floor, broke -the seal and read aloud as follows: - - BOSTON, JUNE—, Revere House - “Nearly midnight. - -“MY DEAR SISTER HELEN:—I have just come in from a little party given by -one of Mrs. Harvey’s friends, and I am _so_ tired, for you know I am not -accustomed to such late hours. The party was very pleasant indeed, and -everybody was so kind to me, especially Mr. Ray, who stood by me all the -time, and who somehow seemed to help me, so that I knew just what to do, -and was not awkward at all. I hope not, at least for Wilford’s sake. - -“You do not know how grand and dignified he is here in Boston among his -own set; he is so different from what he was in Silverton that I should -be afraid of him if I did not know how much he loves me. He shows that -in every action, and I am perfectly happy, except when I think that -to-morrow night at this time I shall be on the sea, going away from you -all. Here it does not seem far to Silverton, and I often look towards -home, wondering what you are doing, and if you miss me any. I wish I -could see you once before I go, just to tell you all how much I love -you—more than I ever did before, I am sure. - -“And now I come to the trunk. I know you will be surprised at its -contents, but you cannot be more so than I was when Wilford said I must -pack them up and send them back—all the dresses you and Marion made.” - -“No, oh no!” and Helen felt her strength leave her wrists in one sudden -throb as the letter dropped from her hand, while she tore off the linen -covering and saw for herself that Katy had written truly. - -She could not weep then, but her face was white as marble as she again -took up the letter and commenced at the point where she had broken off. - -“It seems that people traveling in Europe do not need many things, but -what they have must be just right, and so Mrs. Cameron wrote for Mrs. -Harvey to see to my wardrobe, and if I had not exactly what was proper -she was to procure it. It is very funny that she did not find a single -proper garment among them all, when we thought them so nice. They were -not just the style, she said, and that was very desirable in Mrs. -Wilford Cameron. Somehow she tries to impress me with the idea that -_Mrs. Wilford Cameron_ is a very different person from little Katy -Lennox, but I can see no difference except that I am a great deal -happier and have Wilford all the time. - -“Well, as I was telling you, I was measured and fitted, and my figure -praised, until my head was nearly turned, only I did not like the horrid -stays they put on me, squeezing me up and making me feel so stiff. Mrs. -Harvey says no lady does without them, expressing much surprise that I -had never worn them, and so I submit to the powers that be; but every -chance I get here in my room I take them off and throw them on the -floor, where Wilford has stumbled over them two or three times. - -“This afternoon the dresses came home, and they do look beautifully, -while every one has belt, and gloves, and ribbons, and sashes, and laces -or muslins to match—fashionable people are so particular about these -things. I have tried them on, and except that I think them too tight, -they fit admirably, and _do_ give me a different air from what Miss -Hazelton’s did. But I really believe I like the old ones best, because -_you_ helped to make them; and when Wilford said I must send them home, -I went where he could not see me and cried, because—well, I hardly know -why I cried, unless I feared you might feel badly. Dearest Helen, don’t, -will you? I love you just as much, and shall remember you the same as if -I wore the dresses. Dearest sister, I can fancy the look that will come -on your face, and I wish I could be present to kiss it away. Imagine me -there, will you? with my arms around your neck, and tell mother not to -mind. Tell her I never loved her so well as now, and that when I come -home from Europe I shall bring her ever so many things. There is a new -black silk for her in the trunk, and one for each of the aunties, while -for you there is a lovely brown, which Wilford said was just your style, -telling me to select as nice a silk as I pleased, and this he did, I -think, because he guessed I had been crying. He asked what made my eyes -so red, and when I would not tell him he took me with him to the silk -store and bade me get what I liked. Oh, he is the dearest, kindest -husband, and I love him all the more because I am the least bit afraid -of him. - -“And now I must stop, for Wilford says so. Dear Helen, dear all of you, -I can’t help crying as I say good-bye. Remember little Katy, and if she -ever did anything bad, don’t lay it up against her. Kiss Morris and -Uncle Ephraim, and say how much I love them. Darling sister, darling -mother, good-bye.” - -This was Katy’s letter, and it brought a gush of tears from the four -women remembered so lovingly in it, the mother and the aunts stealing -away to weep in secret, without ever stopping to look at the new dresses -sent to them by Wilford Cameron. They were very soft, very handsome, -especially Helen’s rich golden brown, and as she looked at it she felt a -thrill of satisfaction in knowing it was hers, but this quickly passed -as she took out one by one the garments she had folded with so much -care, wondering when Katy would wear each one and where she would be. - -“She will never wear them, never—they are not fine enough for her now!” -she exclaimed, and as she just then came upon the little plaid, she laid -her head upon the trunk lid, while her tears dropped like rain in among -the discarded articles condemned by Wilford Cameron. - -It seemed to her like Katy’s grave, and she was sobbing bitterly, when a -step sounded outside the window, and a voice called her name. It was -Morris, and lifting up her head Helen said passionately, - -“Oh, Morris, look! he has sent back all Katy’s clothes, which you bought -and I worked so hard to make. They were not good enough for his wife to -wear, and so he insulted us. Oh, Katy, I never fully realized till now -how wholly she is lost to us!” - -“Helen, Helen,” Morris kept saying, trying to stop her, for close behind -him was Mark Ray, who heard her distinctly, and glancing in, saw her -kneeling before the trunk, her pale face stained with tears, and her -dark eyes shining with excitement. - -Mark Ray understood it at once, feeling indignant at Wilford for thus -unnecessarily wounding the sensitive girl, whose expression, as she sat -there upon the floor, with her face upturned to Morris, haunted him for -months. Mark was sorry for her—so sorry that his first impulse was to go -quietly away, and so spare her the mortification of knowing that he had -witnessed that little scene; but it was now too late. As she finished -speaking her eye fell on him, and coloring scarlet she struggled to her -feet, and covering her face with her hands wept still more violently. -Mark was in a dilemma, and whispered softly to Morris, “I think I will -leave. You can tell her all I had to say;” but Helen heard him, and -mastering her agitation, she said to him, - -“Please, Mr. Ray, don’t go—not yet at least, not till I have asked you -of Katy. Did you see her off? Has she gone?” - -Thus importuned Mark Ray came in, and sitting down where his boot almost -touched the new brown silk, he very politely began to answer her rapid -questions, putting her entirely at her ease by his pleasant, affable -manner, and making her forget the littered appearance of the room, as -she listened to his praises of her sister, who, he said, seemed so very -happy, and attracted universal admiration wherever she went. No allusion -whatever was made to the trunk during the time of Mark’s stay, which was -not long. If he took the next train to New York, he had but an hour more -to spend, and feeling that Helen would rather he should spend it at -Linwood he soon arose to go. Offering his hand to Helen, there passed -from his eyes into hers a look which had over her a strangely quieting -influence, and prepared her for a remark which otherwise might have -seemed out of place. - -“I have known Wilford Cameron for years; he is my best friend, and I -respect him as a brother. In some things he may be peculiar, but he will -make your sister a kind husband. He loves her devotedly, I know, -choosing her from the throng of ladies who would gladly have taken her -place. I hope you will like him for _my_ sake as well as Katy’s.” - -His warm hand unclasped from Helen’s, and with another good-bye he was -gone, without seeing either Mrs. Lennox, Aunt Hannah or Aunt Betsy. This -was not the time for extending his acquaintance, he knew, and he went -away with Morris, feeling that the farm-house, so far as he could judge, -was not exactly what Wilford had pictured it. “But then he came for a -wife, and I did not,” he thought, while Helen’s face came before him as -it looked up to Morris, and he wondered, were he obliged to choose -between the sisters, which he should prefer. During the few days passed -in Boston he had become more than half in love with Katy himself, almost -envying his friend the pretty little creature he had won. She was very -beautiful and very fascinating in her simplicity, but there was -something in Helen’s face more attractive than mere beauty, and Mark -said to Morris as they walked along, - -“Miss Lennox is not much like her sister.” - -“Not much, no; but Helen is a splendid girl—more strength of character, -perhaps, than Katy, who is younger than her years even. She has always -been petted from babyhood; it will take time or some great sorrow to -show what she really is.” - -This was Morris’s reply, and the two then proceeded on in silence until -they reached the boundary line between Morris’s farm and Uncle -Ephraim’s, where they found the deacon mending a bit of broken fence, -his coat lying on a pile of stones, and his wide, blue cotton trowsers -hanging loosely around him. When told who Mark was, and that he brought -news of Katy, he greeted him cordially, and sitting down upon his fence -listened to all Mark had to say. Between the old and young man there -seemed at once a mutual liking, the former saying to himself as Mark -went on, and he resumed his work, - -“I most wish it was this chap with Katy on the sea. I like his looks the -best,” while Mark’s thoughts were, - -“Will need not be ashamed of that man, though I don’t suppose _I_ should -really want him coming suddenly in among a drawing-room full of guests.” - -Morris did not feel much like entertaining Mark, but Mark was fully -competent to entertain himself, and thought the hour spent at Linwood a -very pleasant one, half wishing for some excuse to tarry longer; but -there was none, and so at the appointed time he bade Morris good-bye and -went on his way to New York. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - FIRST MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. - - -If Katy’s letters, written, one on board the steamer and another from -London, were to be trusted, she was as nearly perfectly happy as a young -bride well can be, and the people at the farm-house felt themselves more -and more kindly disposed towards Wilford Cameron with each letter -received. They were going soon into the northern part of England, and -from thence into Scotland, Katy wrote from London, and two weeks after -found them comfortably settled at the inn at Alnwick, near to Alnwick -Castle. Wilford had seemed very anxious to get there, leaving London -before Katy was quite ready, and hurrying across the country until -Alnwick was reached. He had been there before, years ago, he said, but -no one seemed to recognize him, though all paid due respect to the -distinguished looking American and his beautiful young wife. An entrance -into Alnwick Castle was easily obtained, and Katy felt that all her -girlish dreams of grandeur and magnificence were more than realized here -in this home of the Percys, where ancient and modern styles of -architecture and furnishing were so blended together. She would never -tire of that place, she thought, but Wilford’s taste led him elsewhere, -and he took more delight in wandering around St. Mary’s church, which -stood upon a hill commanding a view of the castle and of the surrounding -country for miles away. Here Katy also came, rambling with him through -the village grave-yard where slept the dust of centuries, the grey, -mossy tomb-stones bearing date backward for more than a hundred years, -their quaint inscriptions both puzzling and amusing Katy, who studied -them by the hour. - -One quiet summer morning, however, when the heat was unusually great, -she felt too listless to wander about, and so sat upon the grass, -listening to the birds as they sang above her head, while Wilford, at -some distance from her, stood leaning against a tree and thinking sad, -regretful thoughts, as his eye rested upon the rough headstone at his -feet. - -“Genevra Lambert, aged 22,” was the lettering upon it, and as he read it -a feeling of reproach was in his heart, while he said, “I hope I am not -glad to know that she is dead.” - -He had come to Alnwick for the sole purpose of finding that humble -grave—of assuring himself that after life’s fitful fever, Genevra -Lambert slept quietly, forgetful of the wrong once done to her by him. -It is true he had not doubted her death before, but as seeing was -believing, so now he felt sure of it, and plucking from the turf above -her a little flower growing there, he went back to Katy and sitting down -beside her with his arm around her waist, tried to devise some way of -telling her what he had promised himself he would tell her there in that -very yard, where Genevra was buried. But the task was harder now than -before. Katy was so happy with him, trusting his love so fully that he -dared not lift the veil and read to her that page hinted at once in -Silverton, when they sat beneath the butternut tree, with the fresh -young grass springing around them. Then she was not his wife, and the -fear that she would not be if he told her all had kept him silent, but -now she was his alone; nothing could undo that, and there, in the shadow -of the grey old church through whose aisles Genevra had been borne out -to where the rude headstone was gleaming in the English sunlight, it -seemed meet that he should tell the sad story. And Katy would have -forgiven him then, for not a shadow of regret had darkened her life -since it was linked with his, and in her perfect love she could have -pardoned much. But Wilford did not tell. It was not needful, he made -himself believe—not necessary for her ever to know that once he met a -maiden called Genevra, almost as beautiful as she, but never so beloved. -_No, never._ Wilford said that truly, when that night he bent over his -sleeping Katy, comparing her face with Genevra’s, and his love for her -with his love for Genevra. - -Wilford was very fond of his girlish wife, and very proud of her, too, -when strangers paused, as they often did, to look back after her. Thus -far nothing had arisen to mar the happiness of his first weeks of -married life, except the letters from Silverton, over which Katy always -cried, until he sometimes wished that the family could not write. But -they could and they did; even Aunt Betsy inclosed in Helen’s letter a -note, wonderful both in orthography and composition, and concluding with -the remark that “she would be glad when Catherine returned and was -settled in a home of her own, as she would then have a new place to -visit.” - -There was a dark frown on Wilford’s face, and for a moment he felt -tempted to withhold the note from Katy, but this he could not do then, -so he gave it into her bands, watching her as with burning cheeks, she -read it through, and asking her at its close why she looked so red. - -“Oh, Wilford,” and she crept closely to him, “Aunt Betsy spells so -queerly, that I was wishing you would not always open my letters first. -Do all husbands do so?” - -It was the only time Katy had ventured to question a single act of his, -submitting without a word to whatever was his will. Wilford knew that -his father would never have presumed to break a seal belonging to his -mother, but he had broken Katy’s, and he should continue breaking them, -so he answered, laughingly, - -“Why, yes, I guess they do. My little wife has surely no secrets to hide -from me?” - -“No secrets,” Katy answered, “only I did not want you to see Aunt -Betsy’s letter, that’s all.” - -“I did not marry Aunt Betsy—I married you,” was Wilford’s reply, which -meant far more than Katy guessed. - -With three thousand miles between him and his wife’s relatives, Wilford -could endure to think of them; but whenever letters came to Katy bearing -the Silverton postmark, he was conscious of a far different sensation -from what he experienced when the postmark was New York and the -handwriting that of his own family. But not in any way did this feeling -manifest itself to Katy, who, as she always wrote to Helen, was very, -very happy, and never more so, perhaps, than while they were at Alnwick, -where, as if he had something for which to atone, he was unusually kind -and indulgent, caressing her with unwonted tenderness, and making her -ask him once if he loved her a great deal more now than when they were -first married. - -“Yes, darling, a great deal more,” was Wilford’s answer, as he kissed -her upturned face, and then went for the last time to Genevra’s grave; -for on the morrow they were to leave the neighborhood of Alnwick for the -heather blooms of Scotland. - -There was a trip to Edinburgh, a stormy passage across the Straits of -Dover, a two months’ sojourn in Paris, and then they went to Rome, where -Wilford intended to pass the winter, journeying in the spring through -different parts of Europe. He was in no haste to return to America; he -would rather stay where he could have Katy all to himself, away from her -family and his own. But it was not so to be, and not very long after his -arrival at Rome there came a letter from his mother apprising him of his -father’s dangerous illness, and asking him to come home at once. The -elder Cameron had not been well since Wilford left the country, and the -physician was fearful that the disease had assumed a consumptive form, -Mrs. Cameron wrote, adding that her husband’s only anxiety was to see -his son again. To this there was no demur, and about the first of -December, six months from the time he had sailed, Wilford arrived in -Boston, having taken a steamer for that city. His first act was to -telegraph for news of his father, receiving in reply that he was better; -the alarming symptoms had disappeared, and there was now great hope of -his recovery. - -“We might have stayed longer in Europe,” Katy said, feeling a little -chill of disappointment—not that her father-in-law was better, but at -being called home for nothing, when her life abroad was so happy and -free from care. - -Somehow the atmosphere of America seemed different from what it used to -be. It was colder, bluer, the little lady said, tapping her foot -uneasily and looking from her windows at the Revere out upon the snowy -streets, through which the wintry wind was blowing in heavy gales. - -“Yes, it is a heap colder,” she sighed, as she returned to the large -chair which Esther had drawn for her before the cheerful fire, charging -her disquiet to the weather, but never dreaming of imputing it to her -husband, who was far more its cause than was the December cold. - -He, too, though glad of his father’s improvement, was sorry to have been -recalled for nothing to a country which brought his old life back again, -with all its forms and ceremonies, and revived his dread lest Katy -should not acquit herself as was becoming Mrs. Wilford Cameron. In his -selfishness he had kept her almost wholly to himself, so that the polish -she was to acquire from her travels abroad was not as perceptible as he -could desire. Katy was Katy still, in spite of London, Paris, or Rome. -To be sure there was about her a little more maturity and -self-assurance, but in all essential points she was the same: and -Wilford winced as he thought how the free, impulsive manner which, among -the Scottish hills, where there was no one to criticize, had been so -charming to him, would shock his lady mother and sister Juno. And this -it was which made him moody and silent, replying hastily to Katy when -she said to him, “Please, Wilford, telegraph to Helen to be with mother -at the West depot when we pass there to-morrow. The train stops five -minutes, you know, and I want to see them so much. Will you, Wilford?” - -She had come up to him now, and was standing behind him, with her hands -upon his shoulder; so she did not see the expression of his face as he -answered quickly. - -“Yes, yes.” - -A moment after he quitted the room, and it was then that Katy, standing -before the window, charged the day with what was strictly Wilford’s -fault. Returning at last to her chair she went off into a reverie as to -the new home to which she was going and the new friends she was to meet, -wondering what they would think of her, and if they would like her. Once -she had said to Wilford, - -“Which of your sisters shall I like best?” - -And Wilford had answered her by asking, - -“Which do you like best, _books_ or going to parties in full dress?” - -“Oh, parties and dress,” Katy had said, and Wilford had then rejoined, - -“You will like Juno best, for she is all fashion and gayety, while -Blue-Bell prefers her books and the quiet of her own room.” - -Katy felt afraid of Bell, and in fact, now that they were so near, she -felt afraid of them all, notwithstanding Esther’s assurances that they -could not help loving her. During the six months they had been together -Esther had learned to feel for her young lady that strong affection -which sometimes exists between mistress and servant. Everything which -she could do for her she did, smoothing as much as possible the meeting -which she also dreaded, for though the Camerons were too proud to -express before her their opinion of Wilford’s choice, she had guessed it -readily, and pitied the young wife brought up with ideas so different -from those of her husband’s family. More accustomed to Wilford’s moods -than Katy, she saw that something was the matter, and it prompted her to -unusual attentions, stirring the fire into a cheerful blaze and bringing -a stool for Katy, who, in blissful ignorance of her husband’s real -feelings, sat waiting his return from the telegraph office whither she -supposed he had gone, and building pleasant pictures of to-morrow’s -meeting with her mother and Helen, and possibly Dr. Morris, if not Uncle -Ephraim himself. - -So absorbed was she in her reverie as not to hear Wilford’s step as he -came in, but when he stood behind her and took her head playfully -between his hands, she started up, feeling that the weather had changed; -it was not as cold and dreary in Boston as she imagined, and laying her -head on Wilford’s shoulder, she said, - -“You went out to telegraph, didn’t you?” - -He had gone out with the intention of telegraphing as she desired, but -in the hall below he had met with an old acquaintance who talked with -him so long that he entirely forgot his errand until Katy recalled it to -his mind, making him feel very uncomfortable as he frankly told her of -his forgetfulness. - -“It is too late now,” he added, “besides you could only see them for a -moment, just long enough to make you cry—a thing I do not greatly -desire, inasmuch as I wish my wife to look her best when I present her -to my family, and with red eyes she couldn’t, you know.” - -Katy knew it was settled, and choking back the tears, she tried to -listen, while Wilford, having fairly broken the ice with regard to his -family, told her how anxious he was that she should make a good first -impression upon his mother. Did Katy remember that Mrs. Morey whom they -met at Paris, and could she not throw a little of _her air_ into her -manner, that is, could she not drop her girlishness when in the presence -of others and be a little more dignified? When alone with him he liked -to have her just what she was, a loving, affectionate little wife, but -the world looked on such things differently. Would Katy try? - -Wilford when he commenced had no definite idea as to what he should say, -and without meaning it he made Katy moan piteously. - -“I don’t know what you mean. I would do anything if I knew how. Tell me, -how _shall_ I be dignified?” - -She was crying so hard that Wilford, while mentally calling himself a -fool and a brute, could only try to comfort her, telling her she need -not be anything but what she was—that his mother and sisters would love -her just as he did—and that daily association with them would teach her -all that was necessary. - -Katy’s tears were stopped at last; but the frightened, anxious look did -not leave her face, even though Wilford tried his best to divert her -mind. A nervous terror of her new relations had gained possession of her -heart, and nearly the entire night she lay awake, pondering in her mind -what Wilford had said, and thinking how terrible it would be if he -should be disappointed in her after all. The consequence of this was -that a very white tired face sat opposite Wilford next morning at the -breakfast served in their private parlor; nor did it look much fresher -even after they were in the cars and rolling out of Boston. But when -Worcester was reached, and the old home way-marks began to grow -familiar, the color came stealing back, until the cheeks burned with an -unnatural red, and the blue eyes fairly danced as they rested on the -hills of Silverton. - -“Only three miles from mother and Helen! Oh, if I could go there!” Katy -thought, working her fingers nervously; but the express train did not -pause there, and it went so swiftly by the depot that Katy could hardly -distinguish who was standing there, whether friend or stranger. - -But when at last they came to West Silverton, and the long train slowly -stopped, the first object she saw was Dr. Morris, driving down from the -village. He had no intention of going to the depot, and only checked his -horse a moment, lest it should prove restive if too near the engine; but -when a clear young voice called from the window, “Morris! oh, Cousin -Morris! I’ve come!” his heart gave a great throb, for he knew whose -voice it was and whose the little hand beckoning to him. He had supposed -her far away beneath Italian skies, for at the farm-house no -intelligence had been received of her intended return, and in much -surprise he reined up to the rear door, and throwing his lines to a boy, -went forward to where Katy stood, her face glowing with delight as she -flew into his arms, wholly forgetful of the last night’s lecture on -dignity, and also forgetful of Wilford, standing close beside her. He -had not tried to hold her back when, at the sight of Morris, she sprang -away from him; but he followed after, biting his lip, and wishing she -had a little more discretion. Surely it was not necessary to half -strangle Dr. Grant as she was doing, kissing his hand after she had -kissed his face a full half dozen times, and all the people looking on. -But Katy did not care for people. She only knew that Morris was -there—the Morris whom, in her great happiness abroad, she had perhaps -slighted by not writing directly to him but once. In Wilford’s -sheltering care she had not felt the need of this good cousin, as she -used to do; but she was so glad to see him, wondering why he looked so -thin and sad. Was he sick? she asked, with a pitying look, which made -him shiver as he answered, - -“No, not sick, though tired, perhaps, as I have at present an unusual -amount of work to do.” - -And this was true—he was unusually busy. But that was not the cause of -his thin face, which others than Katy remarked. Helen’s words, “It might -have been,” spoken to him on the night of Katy’s bridal, had never left -his mind, much as he had tried to dislodge them. Some men can love a -dozen times; but it was not so with Morris. He could overcome his love -so that it should not be a sin, but no other could ever fill the place -where Katy had been; and as he looked along the road through life he -felt that he must travel it alone. Truly, if Katy were not yet passing -through the fire, he was, and it had left its mark upon him, purifying -as it burned, and bringing his every act into closer submission to his -God. Only Helen and Marian Hazelton interpreted aright that look upon -his face, and knew it came from the hunger of his heart, but they kept -silence; while others said that he was working far too hard, urging him -to abate his unwearied labors, for they would not lose their young -physician yet. But Morris smiled his patient, kindly smile on all their -fears and went his way, doing his work as one who knew he must render -strict account for the popularity he was daily gaining, both in his own -town and those around. He could think of Katy now without a sin, but he -was not thinking of her when she came so unexpectedly upon him, and for -an instant she almost bore his breath away in her vehement joy. - -Quick to note a change in those he knew, he saw that her form was not -quite so full, nor her cheeks so round; but she was weary with the -voyage, and knowing how sea-sickness will wear upon one’s strength, -Morris imputed it wholly to that, and believed she was, as she professed -to be, perfectly happy. - -“Come, Katy, we must go now,” Wilford said, as the bell rang its first -alarm, and the passengers, some with sandwiches and some with fried -cakes in their hands, ran back to find their seats. - -“Yes, I know, but I have not asked half I meant to. Oh, how I want to go -home with you, Morris,” Katy exclaimed, again throwing her arms around -the doctor’s neck as she bade him good-bye, and sent fresh messages of -love to the friends at home, who, had they known she was to be there at -that time, would have walked the entire distance for the sake of looking -once more into her dear face. - -“I intended to have brought them heaps of things,” she said, “but we -came home so suddenly I had no time. Here, take Helen this. Tell her it -is _real_,” and the impulsive creature drew from her finger a small -diamond set in black enamel, which Wilford had bought in Paris. - -“She did not need it; she had two more, and she was sure Wilford would -not mind,” she said, turning to him for his approbation. - -But Wilford did mind, and his face indicated as much, although he tried -to be natural as he replied, “Certainly, send it if you like.” - -In her excitement Katy did not observe it, but Morris did, and he at -first declined taking it, saying Helen had no use for it, and would be -better pleased with something not half as valuable. Katy, however, -insisted, appealing to Wilford, who, ashamed of his first emotion, now -seemed quite as anxious as Katy herself, until Morris placed the ring in -his purse, and then bade Katy hasten or she would certainly be left. One -more wave of the hand, one more kiss thrown from the window, and the -train moved on, Katy feeling like a different creature for having seen -some one from home. - -“I am so glad I saw him—so glad I sent the ring, for now they will know -I am the same Katy Lennox, and I think Helen sometimes feared I might -get proud with you,” she said, while Wilford pulled her rich fur around -her, smiling to see how bright and pretty she was looking since that -meeting with Dr. Grant. “It was better than medicine,” Katy said, when -beyond Springfield he referred to it a second time, and leaning her head -upon his shoulder she fell into a refreshing sleep, from which she did -not waken until New York was reached, and Wilford, lifting her gently -up, whispered to her, “Come, darling, we are home at last.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - KATY’S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK. - - -The elder Cameron was really better, and more than once he had regretted -recalling his son, who he knew had contemplated a longer stay abroad. -But that could not now be helped. Wilford had arrived in Boston, as his -telegram of yesterday announced—he would be at home to-day; and No.—— -Fifth Avenue was all the morning and a portion of the afternoon the -scene of unusual excitement, for both Mrs. Cameron and her daughters -wished to give the six months’ wife a good impression of her new home. -At first they thought of inviting company to dinner, but to this the -father objected. “Katy should not be troubled the first day,” he said; -“it was bad enough for her to meet them all; they could ask Mark if they -chose, but no one else.” - -And so only Mark Ray was invited to the dinner, gotten up as elaborately -as if a princess had been expected instead of little Katy, trembling in -every joint when, about four P. M., Wilford awoke her at the depot and -whispered, “Come, darling, we are home at last.” - -“Why do you shiver so?” he asked, wrapping her cloak around her, and -almost lifting her from the car. - -“I don’t—know. I guess—I’m cold,” and Katy drew a long breath as she -thought of Silverton and the farm-house, wishing that she was going into -its low-walled kitchen, instead of the handsome carriage, where the -cushions were so soft and yielding, and the whole effect so grand. - -“What would our folks say?” she kept repeating to herself as she drove -along the streets, where they were beginning to light the street lamps, -for the December day was dark and cloudy. It seemed so like a dream, -that she, who once had picked huckle-berries on the Silverton hills, and -bound coarse heavy shoes to buy herself a pink gingham dress, should now -be riding in her carriage toward the home which she knew was -magnificent; and Katy’s tears fell like rain as, nestling close to -Wilford, who asked what was the matter, she whispered, “I can hardly -believe that it is I—it is so unreal.” - -“Please don’t cry,” Wilford rejoined, brushing her tears away. “You know -I don’t like your eyes to be red.” - -With a great effort Katy kept her tears back, and was very calm when -they reached the brown-stone front, far enough up town to save it from -the slightest approach to plebeianism. In the hall the chandelier was -burning, and as the carriage stopped a flame of light seemed suddenly to -burst from every window as the gas heads were turned up, so that Katy -caught glimpses of rich silken curtains and costly lace as she went up -the steps, clinging to Wilford and looking ruefully around for Esther, -who had disappeared through the basement door. Another moment and they -stood within the marbled hall, Katy conscious of nothing -definite—nothing but a vague atmosphere of refined elegance, and that a -richly-dressed lady came out to meet them, kissing Wilford quietly and -calling him her son; that the same lady turned to her saying kindly, -“And this is my new daughter?” - -Then Katy came to life, and did that, at the very thought of which she -shuddered when a few months’ experience had taught her the temerity of -the act—she wound her arms impulsively around Mrs. Cameron’s neck, -rumpling her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the coiffure of the -astonished lady, who had seldom received so genuine a greeting as that -which Katy gave her, kissing her lips and whispering softly, “I love you -now, because you are Wilford’s mother, but by and by because you are -mine. And you _will_ love me some because I am his wife.” - -Wilford was horrified, particularly when he saw how startled his mother -looked as she tried to release herself and adjust her tumbled head-gear. -It was not what he had hoped, nor what his mother had expected, for she -was unaccustomed to such demonstrations; but under the circumstances -Katy could not have done better. There was a tender spot in Mrs. -Cameron’s heart, and Katy touched it, making her feel a throb of -affection for the childish creature suing for her love. - -“Yes, darling, I love you now,” she said, removing Katy’s clinging arms -and taking care that they should not enfold her a second time. “You are -tired and cold,” she continued; “and had better go at once to your -rooms. I will send Esther up. There is plenty of time to dress for -dinner,” and with a wave of her hand she dismissed Katy up the stairs, -noticing as she went the exquisite softness of her fur cloak; but -thinking it too heavy a garment for her slight figure, and noticing, -too, the graceful ankle and foot which the little high-heeled gaiter -showed to good advantage. “I did not see her face distinctly, but she -has a well-turned instep and walks easily,” was the report she carried -to her daughters, who, in their own room over Katy’s, were dressing for -dinner. - -“She will undoubtedly make a good dancer, then, unless, like Dr. Grant, -she is too blue for that,” Juno said, while Bell shrugged her shoulders, -congratulating herself that she had a mind above such frivolous matters -as dancing and well-turned insteps, and wondering if Katy cared in the -least for books. - -“Couldn’t you see her face at all, mother?” Juno asked. - -“Scarcely; but the glimpse I did get was satisfactory. I think she is -pretty.” - -And this was all the sisters could ascertain until their toilets were -finished, and they went down into the library, where their brother -waited for them, kissing them both affectionately, and complimenting -them on their good looks. - -“I wish we could say the same of you,” Juno answered, playfully pulling -his moustache; “but upon my word, Will, you are fast settling down into -an oldish married man, even turning gray,” and she ran her fingers -through his dark hair, where there was now and then a thread of silver. -“Disappointed in your domestic relations, eh?” she continued, looking -him archly in the face. - -Wilford was rather proud of his good looks, and during his sojourn -aboard, Katy had not helped him any in overcoming this weakness, but on -the contrary, had fed his vanity by constant flattery. And still he was -himself conscious of not looking quite as well as usual just now, for -the sea voyage had tired him as well as Katy, but he did not care to be -told of it, and Juno’s ill-timed remarks roused him at once, -particularly as they reflected somewhat on Katy. - -“I assure you I am not disappointed,” he answered, “and the six months -of my married life have been the happiest I ever knew. Katy is more than -I expected her to be.” - -Juno elevated her eyebrows slightly, but made no direct reply, while -Bell began to ask about Paris and the places he had visited. - -Meanwhile Katy had been ushered into her room, which was directly over -the library, and separated from Mrs. Cameron’s only by a range of -closets and presses, a portion of which were to be appropriated to her -own use. Great pains had been taken to make her rooms attractive, and as -the large bay window in the library below extended to the third story, -it was really the pleasantest chamber in the house. To Katy it was -perfect, and her first exclamation was one of delight. - -“Oh, how pleasant, how beautiful!” she cried, skipping across the soft -carpet to the warm fire blazing in the grate. “A bay window, too, when I -like them so much. I shall be happy here.” - -But happy as she was, Katy could not help feeling tired, and she sank -into one of the luxurious easy-chairs, wishing she could stay there all -the evening instead of going down to that formidable dinner with her new -relations. How she dreaded it, especially when she remembered that Mrs. -Cameron had said there would be plenty of time to _dress_—a thing which -Katy hated, the process was so tiresome, particularly to-night. Surely -her handsome traveling dress, made in Paris, was good enough, and she -was about settling in her own mind to venture upon wearing it, when -Esther demolished her castle at once. - -“Wear your traveling habit!” she exclaimed, “when the young ladies, -especially Miss Juno, are so particular about their dinner costume. -There would be no end to the scolding I should get for suffering it,” -and she began good-naturedly to remove her mistress’s collar and pin, -while Katy, standing up, sighed as she said, “I wish I was in Silverton -to-night. I could wear anything there. What must I put on? How I dread -it!” and she began to shiver again. - -Fortunately for Katy, Esther had been in the family long enough to know -just what they regarded proper, as by this means the dress selected was -sure to please. It was very becoming to Katy, and having been made in -Paris was not open to criticism. - -“Very pretty indeed,” was Mrs. Cameron’s verdict, when at half-past five -she came in to see her daughter, kissing her cheek and stroking her -head, wholly unadorned except by the short, silken curls which could not -be coaxed to grow faster than they chose, and which had sometimes -annoyed Wilford, they made his wife seem so young beside him. Mrs. -Cameron was annoyed, too, for she had no idea of a head except as it was -connected with a hair-dresser, and her annoyance showed itself as she -asked, - -“Did you have your hair cut on purpose?” - -But when Katy explained, she answered pleasantly, - -“Never mind, it is a fault which will mend every day, only it makes you -look like a child.” - -“I am eighteen and a half,” Katy said, feeling a lump rising in her -throat, for she guessed that her mother-in-law was not quite pleased -with her hair. - -For herself, she liked it, it was so easy to brush and fix. She should -go wild if she had to submit to all Esther had told her of hair-dressing -and what it involved. - -Mrs. Cameron had asked if she would not like to see Mr. Cameron, the -elder, before going down to dinner, and Katy had answered that she -would; so as soon as Esther had smoothed a refractory fold and brought -her handkerchief, she followed to the room where Wilford’s father was -sitting. He might not have felt complimented could he have known that -something in his appearance reminded Katy of Uncle Ephraim. He was not -nearly as old or as tall, nor was his hair as white, but the -resemblance, if there were any, lay in the smile with which he greeted -Katy, calling her his youngest child, and drawing her closely to him. - -It was remarked of Mr. Cameron that since their babyhood he had never -kissed one of his own children; but when Katy, who looked upon such a -salutation as a matter of course, put up her rosy lips, making the first -advance, he kissed her twice. Hearty, honest kisses they were, for the -man was strongly drawn towards the young girl, who said to him timidly, - -“I am glad to have a father—mine died before I could remember him. May I -call you so?” - -“Yes, yes; God bless you, my child,” and Mr. Cameron’s voice shook as he -said it, for neither Bell nor Juno were wont to address him just as Katy -did—Katy, standing close to him, with her hand upon his shoulder and her -kiss fresh upon his lips. - -She had already crept a long way into his heart, and he took her hand -from his shoulder and holding it between his own, said to her, - -“I did not think you were so small or young. You are my little daughter, -my baby, instead of my son’s wife. How do you ever expect to fulfill the -duties of Mrs. Wilford Cameron? - -“It’s my short hair, sir. I am not so young,” Katy answered, her eyes -filling with tears as she began to wish back the thick curls Helen cut -away when the fever was at its height. - -“Never mind, child,” Mr. Cameron rejoined playfully. “Youth is no -reproach; there’s many a one would give their right hand to be young -like you. Juno for instance, who is—” - -“Hus-band!” came reprovingly from Mrs. Cameron, spoken as only she could -speak it, with a prolonged buzzing sound on the first syllable, and -warning the husband that he was venturing too far. - -“It is time to go down if Mrs. Cameron sees the young ladies before -dinner,” she said, a little stiffly; whereupon her better half startled -Katy with the exclamation, - -“Mrs. Cameron! Thunder and lightning! wife, call her Katy, and don’t go -into any nonsense of that kind.” - -The lady reddened, but said nothing until she reached the hall, when she -whispered to Katy, apologetically, - -“Don’t mind it. He is rather irritable since his illness, and sometimes -makes use of coarse language.” - -Katy had been a little frightened at the outburst, but she liked Mr. -Cameron notwithstanding, and her heart was lighter as she went down to -the library, where Wilford met her at the door, and taking her on his -arm led her in to his sisters, holding her back as he presented her, -lest she should assault them as she had his mother. But Katy felt no -desire to hug the tall, queenly girl whom Wilford introduced as Juno, -and whose black eyes seemed to read her through as she offered her hand -and very daintily kissed her forehead, murmuring something about a -welcome to New York. Bell came next, broad-faced, plainer-looking Bell, -who yet had many pretentions to beauty, but whose manner, if possible, -was frostier, cooler than her sister’s. Of the two Katy liked Juno best, -for there was about her a flash and sparkle very fascinating to one who -had never seen anything of the kind, and did not know that much of this -vivacity was the result of patient study and practice. Katy would have -known they were high bred, as the world defines high breeding, and -something in their manner reminded her of the ladies she had seen -abroad, ladies in whose veins lordly blood was flowing. She could not -help feeling uncomfortable in their presence, especially as she felt -that Juno’s black eyes were on her constantly. Not that she could ever -meet them looking at her, for they darted away the instant hers were -raised, but she knew just when they returned to her again, and how -closely they were scanning her. - -“Your wife looks tired, Will. Let her sit down,” Bell said, herself -wheeling the easy-chair nearer to the fire, while Wilford placed Katy in -it; then, thinking she would get on better if he were not there, he left -the room, and Katy was alone with her new sisters. - -Juno had examined her dress and found no fault with it, simply because -it was Parisian made; while Bell had examined her head, deciding that -there might be something in it, though she doubted it, but that at all -events short hair was very becoming to it, showing all its fine -proportions, and half deciding to have her own locks cut away. Juno had -a similar thought, wondering if it were the Paris fashion, and if she -would look as young in proportion as Katy did were her hair worn on her -neck. - -With their brother’s departure the tongues of both the girls were -loosened, and standing near to Katy they began to question her of what -she had seen, Juno asking if she did not hate to leave Italy, and did -not wish herself back again. Wholly truthful, Katy answered, “Oh, yes, I -would rather be there than home.” - -“Complimentary to us, very,” Bell murmured audibly in French, blushing -as Katy’s eyes were lifted quickly to hers, and she knew she was -understood. - -If there was anything which Katy liked more than another in the way of -study, it was French. She had excelled in it at Canandaigua, and while -abroad had taken great pains to acquire a pure pronunciation, so that -she spoke it with a good deal of fluency, and readily comprehended Bell. - -“I did not mean to be rude,” she said, earnestly. “I liked Italy so -much, and we expected to stay longer; but that does not hinder my liking -to be here. I hope I did not offend you.” - -“Certainly not; you are an honest little puss,” Bell replied, placing -her hand caressingly upon the curly head laying back so wearily on the -chair. “Here in New York we have a bad way of not telling the whole -truth, but you will soon be used to it.” - -“Used to not telling the truth! Oh, I hope not!” and this time the blue -eyes lifted so wonderingly to Bell’s face had in them a startled look. - -“Simpleton!” was Juno’s mental comment, while Bell’s was, “I like the -child,” as she continued to smooth the golden curls and wind them round -her finger, wondering if Katy had a taste for metaphysics, that being -the last branch of science which she had taken up. - -“I suppose you find Will a pattern husband,” Juno said after a moment’s -pause, and Katy replied, “There never could be a better, I am sure, and -I have been very happy.” - -“Has he never said one cross word to you in all these six months?” was -Juno’s next question, to which Katy answered truthfully, “Never.” - -“And lets you do as you please?” - -“Yes, just as I please,” Katy replied, while Juno continued, “He must -have changed greatly then from what he used to be; but marriage has -probably improved him. He tells you all his _secrets_, too, I presume?” - -Anxious that Wilford should appear well in every light, Katy replied at -random, “Yes, if he has any.” - -“Well, then,” and in Juno’s black eyes there was a wicked look, “perhaps -you will tell me who was or is the original of that picture he guards so -carefully.” - -“What picture?” and Katy looked up inquiringly, while Juno, with a -little sarcastic laugh, continued: “Oh, he has not told you then. I -thought he would not, he was so angry when he saw me with it three or -four years ago. I found it in his room where he had accidentally left -it, and was looking at it when he came in. It was the picture of a young -girl who must have been very beautiful, and I did not blame Will for -loving her if he ever did, but he need not have been so indignant at me -for wishing to know who it was. I never saw him so angry or so much -disturbed. I hope you will ferret the secret out and tell me, for I have -a great deal of curiosity, fancying that picture had something to do -with his remaining so long a bachelor. I do not mean that he does not -love you,” she added, as she saw how white Katy grew. “It is not to be -expected that a man can live to be thirty without loving more than one. -There was Sybil Grey, a famous belle, whom I thought at one time he -would marry; but when Judge Grandon offered she accepted, and Will was -left in the lurch. I do not really believe he cared though, for Sybil -was too much of a flirt to suit his jealous lordship, and I will do him -the justice to say that however many fancies he may have had, he likes -you the best of all;” and this Juno felt constrained to say because of -the look in Katy’s face, which warned her that in her thoughtlessness -she had gone too far and pierced the young wife’s heart with a pang as -cruel as it was unnecessary. - -Bell had tried to stop her, but she had rattled on until now it was too -late, and she could not recall her words, however much she might wish to -do so. “Don’t tell Will,” she was about to say, when Will himself -appeared, to take Katy out to dinner. Very beautiful and sad were the -blue eyes which looked up at him so wistfully, and nothing but the -remembrance of Juno’s words, “He likes you best of all,” kept Katy from -crying outright, when he took her hand, and asked if she was tired. - -“Let us try what dinner will do for you,” he said, and in silence Katy -went with him to the dining-room, where the glare and the ceremony -bewildered her, bringing a homesick feeling as she thought of Silverton, -and the plain tea-table, graced with the mulberry set instead of the -costly china before her. - -Never had Katy felt so embarrassed as she did when seated for the first -time at dinner in her husband’s home, with all those criticising eyes -upon her. She had been very hungry, but her appetite was gone and she -almost loathed the rich food offered her, feeling so glad when the -dinner was ended, and Wilford took her to the parlor, where she found -Mark Ray waiting for her. He had been obliged to decline Mrs. Cameron’s -invitation to dinner, but had come as early as possible after it, and -Katy was delighted to see him, for she remembered how he had helped her -during that week of gayety in Boston, when society was so new to her. As -he had been then, so he was now, and his friendly manner put Katy as -much at her ease as it was possible for her to be in the presence of -Wilford’s mother and sisters. - -“I suppose you have not seen your sister Helen? You know I called -there,” Mark said to Katy; but before she could reply, a pair of black -eyes shot a keen glance at luckless Mark, and Juno’s sharp voice said -quickly, “I did not know you had the honor of Miss Lennox’s -acquaintance.” - -Mark was in a dilemma. He had kept his call at Silverton to himself, as -he did not care to be questioned about Katy’s family; and now, when it -accidentally came out, he tried to make some evasive reply, pretending -that he had spoken of it, and Juno had forgotten. But Juno knew better, -and from that night dated a strong feeling of dislike for Helen Lennox, -whom she affected to despise, even though she could be jealous of her. -Wisely changing the conversation, Mark asked Katy to play, and as she -seldom refused, she went at once to the piano, astonishing both Mrs. -Cameron and her daughters with the brilliancy of her performance. Even -Juno complimented her, saying she must have taken lessons very young. - -“When I was ten,” Katy answered. “Cousin Morris gave me my first -exercise himself. He plays sometimes.” - -“Yes, I knew that,” Juno replied. “Does your sister play as well as -you?” - -Katy knew that Helen did not, and she answered frankly, “Morris thinks -she does not. She is not as fond of it as I am.” Then feeling that she -must in some way make amends for Helen, she added, “But she knows a -great deal more than I do about _books_. Helen is very smart.” - -There was a smile on every lip at this ingenuous remark, but only Mark -and Bell liked Katy the better for it. Wilford did not care to have her -talking of her friends, and he kept her at the piano, until she said her -fingers were tired and begged leave to stop. - -It was late ere Mark bade them good night; so late that Katy began to -wonder if he would never go, yawning once so perceptibly that Wilford -gave her a reproving glance, which sent the hot blood to her face and -drove from her every feeling of drowsiness. Even after he had gone the -family were in no haste to retire, but sat chatting with Wilford until -the city clock struck twelve and Katy was nodding in her chair. - -“Poor child, she is very tired,” Wilford said, apologetically, gently -waking Katy, who begged them to excuse her, and followed her husband to -her room, where she was free to ask him what she must ask before she -could ever be quite as happy as she had been before. - -Going up to the chair where Wilford was sitting before the fire, and -standing partly behind him, she said timidly, “Will you answer me one -thing truly?” - -Alone with Katy, Wilford felt all his old tenderness returning, and -drawing her into his lap he asked her what it was she wished to know. - -“_Did_ you love anybody three or four years ago, or ever—that is, love -them well enough to wish to make them your wife?” - -Katy could feel how Wilford started, as he said, “What put that idea -into your head? Who has been talking to you?” - -“Juno,” Katy answered. “She told me she believed that it was some other -love which kept you a bachelor so long. Was it, Wilford?” and Katy’s -lips quivered in a grieved kind of way as she put the question. - -“Juno be——” - -Wilford did not say what, for he seldom swore, and never in a lady’s -presence. So he said instead, - -“It was very unkind in Juno to distress you with matters about which she -knew nothing.” - -“But did you?” Katy asked again. “Was there not a Sybil Grey, or some -one of that name?” - -At the mention of Sybil Grey, Wilford looked relieved, and answered her -at once. - -“Yes, there was a Sybil Grey, Mrs. Judge Grandon now, and a dashing -widow. Don’t sigh so wearily,” he continued, as Katy drew a gasping -breath. “Knowing she was a widow I chose you, thus showing which I -preferred. Few men live to be thirty without more or less fancies, which -under some circumstances might ripen into something stronger, and I am -not an exception. I never loved Sybil Grey, nor wished to make her my -wife. I admired her very much. I admire her yet, and among all my -acquaintances there is not one upon whom I would care to have you make -so good an impression as upon her, nor one whose manner you could better -imitate.” - -“Oh, will she call? Shall I see her?” Katy asked, beginning to feel -alarmed at the very thought of Sybil Grey, with all her polish and -manner. - -“She is spending the winter in New Orleans with her late husband’s -relatives. She will not return till spring,” Wilford replied. “But do -not look so distressed, for I tell you solemnly that I never loved -another as I love you. Do you believe me?” - -“Yes,” and Katy’s head drooped upon his shoulder. - -She was satisfied with regard to Sybil Grandon, only hoping she would -not have to meet her when she came home. But the picture. Whose was -that? Not Sybil’s certainly, else Juno would have known. The picture -troubled her, but she dared not speak of it, Wilford had seemed so angry -at Juno. Still she would probe him a little further, and so she -continued, - -“I do believe you, and if I ever see this Sybil I will try to imitate -her; but tell me, if after her, there was among your friends _one_ -better than the rest, one almost as dear as I am, one whom you sometimes -remember even now—is she living, or is she dead?” - -Wilford thought of that humble grave far off in St. Mary’s churchyard, -and he answered quickly, - -“If there ever was such an one, she certainly is _not_ living. Are you -satisfied?” - -Katy answered that she was, but perfect confidence in her husband’s -affection had been terribly shaken, and Katy’s heart was too full to -sleep even after she had retired. Visions of Sybil Grey, blended with -visions of another whom she called the “dead fancy,” flitted before her -mind, as she lay awake, while hour after hour went by, until tired -nature could endure no longer, and just as the great city was waking up -and the rattle of wheels was beginning to be heard upon the pavements, -she fell away to sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - EXTRACTS FROM BELL CAMERON’S DIARY. - - - NEW YORK, December. - -After German Philosophy and Hamilton’s Metaphysics, it is a great relief -to have introduced into the family an entirely new element—a character -the dissection of which is at once a novelty and a recreation. It is -absolutely refreshing, and I find myself returning to my books with -increased vigor after an encounter with that unsophisticated, -innocent-minded creature, our sister-in-law Mrs. Wilford Cameron. Such -pictures as Juno and I used to draw of the stately personage who was one -day coming to us as Wilford’s wife, and of whom even mother was to stand -in awe. Alas, how hath our idol fallen! And still I rather like the -little creature, who, the very first night, nearly choked mother to -death, giving her lace streamers a most uncomfortable twitch, and -actually kissing _father_—a thing I have not done since I can remember. -But then the Camerons are all a set of icicles, encased in a -refrigerator at that. If we were not, we should thaw out, when Katy -leans on us so affectionately and looks up at us so wistfully, as if -pleading for our love. Wilford does wonders; he used to be so grave, so -dignified and silent, that I never supposed he would bear having a wife -meet him at the door with cooing and kisses, and climbing into his lap -right before us all. Juno says it makes her sick, while mother is -dreadfully shocked; and even Will sometimes seems annoyed, gently -shoving her aside and telling her he is tired. - -After all, it is a query in my mind whether it is not better to be like -Katy than like Sybil Grandon, about whom Juno was mean enough to tell -her the first day of her arrival. - -“Very pretty, but shockingly insipid,” is Juno’s verdict upon Mrs. -Wilford, while mother says less, but looks a great deal more, especially -when she talks about “my folks,” as she did to Mrs. Gen. Reynolds the -first time she called. Mother and Juno were so annoyed, while Will -looked like a thunder-cloud, when she spoke of Uncle Ephraim saying so -and so. He was better satisfied with Katy in Europe, where he was not -known, than he is here, where he sees her with other people’s eyes. One -of his weaknesses is a too great reverence for the world’s opinion, as -held and expounded by our very fashionable mother, and as in a quiet -kind of way she has arrayed herself against poor Katy, while Juno is -more open in her acts and sayings, I predict that it will not be many -months before he comes to the conclusion that he has made a -_mésalliance_, a thing of which no Cameron was ever guilty. - -I wonder if there is any truth in the rumor that Mrs. Gen. Reynolds once -taught a district school, and if she did, how much would that detract -from the merits of her son, Lieutenant Bob. But what nonsense to be -writing about him. Let me go back to Katy, to whom Mrs. Gen. Reynolds -took at once, laughing merrily at her _naïve_ speeches, as she called -them—speeches which made Will turn black in the face, they betrayed so -much of rustic life and breeding. I fancy that he has given Katy a few -hints, and that she is beginning to be afraid of him, for she watches -him constantly when she is talking, and she does not now slip her hand -into his as she used to when guests are leaving and she stands at his -side; neither is she so demonstrative when he comes up from the office -at night, and there is a look upon her face which was not there when she -came. They are “_toning_ her down,” mother and Juno, and to-morrow they -are actually going to commence a systematic course of training -preparatory to her début into society, said début to occur on the night -of the ——, when Mrs. Gen. Reynolds gives the party talked about so long. -I was present when they met in solemn conclave to talk it over, mother -asking Will if he had any objections to Juno’s instructing his wife with -regard to certain things of which she was ignorant. Will’s forehead knit -itself together at first, and I half hoped he would veto the whole -proceeding, but after a moment he replied, - -“No, provided Katy is willing. Her feelings must not be hurt.” - -“Certainly not,” mother said. “Katy is a dear little creature, and we -all love her very much, but that does not blind us to her deficiencies, -and as we are anxious that she should fill that place in society which -Mrs. Wilford Cameron ought to fill, it seems necessary to tone her down -a little before her first appearance at a party.” - -To this Will assented, and then Juno went on to enumerate her -deficiencies, which, as nearly as I can remember, are these: She laughs -too much and too loud; is too enthusiastic over novelties; has too much -to say about Silverton and “my folks;” quotes Uncle Ephraim and sister -Helen too often, and is even guilty at times of mentioning a certain -Aunt Betsy, who must have floated with the ark, and snuffed the breezes -of Ararat. She does not know how to enter, or cross, or leave a room -properly, or receive an introduction, or, in short, to do anything -according to New York ideas, as understood by the Camerons, and so she -is to be taught—_toned down_, mother called it—dwelling upon her high -spirit as something vulgar, if not absolutely wicked. How father would -have sworn, for he calls her his little sunbeam, and says he never -should have gained so fast if she had not come with her sunny face, and -lively, merry laugh, to cheer his sick room. Katy has a fast friend in -him. But mother and Juno—well, I shall be glad if they do not annihilate -her altogether, and I am surprised that Will allows it. I wonder if Katy -is really happy with us. She says she is, and is evidently delighted -with New York life, clapping her hands when the invitation to Mrs. -Reynolds’s party was received, and running with it to Wilford as soon as -he came home. It is her first big party, she says, she having never -attended any except that little sociable in Boston, and those insipid -school-girl affairs at the seminary. I may be conceited—Juno thinks I -am—but really and truly, Bell Cameron’s private opinion of herself is -that at heart she is better than the rest of her family, and so I pity -this little sister of ours, while at the same time I am exceedingly -anxious to be present whenever Juno takes her in hand, for I like to see -the fun. Were she at all bookish, I should avow myself her champion, and -openly defend her; but she is not, and so I give her into the hands of -the Philistines, hoping they will, at least, spare her hair, and not -worry her life out on that head. It is very becoming to her, and several -young ladies have whispered their intention of trying its effect upon -themselves, so that Katy may yet be a leader of the fashion. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - TONING DOWN.—BELL’S DIARY CONTINUED. - - -Such fun as it was to see mother and Juno training Katy, showing her how -to enter the parlor, how to arrange her dress, how to carry her hands -and feet, and how to sit in a chair—Juno going through with the -performance first, and then requiring Katy to imitate her. Had I been -Katy I should have rebelled, but she is far too sweet-tempered and -anxious to please, while I suspect that fear of my lord Wilford had -something to do with it, for when the drill was over, she asked so -earnestly if we thought he would be ashamed of her, and there were tears -in her great blue eyes as she said it. Hang Wilford! Hang the whole of -them; I am not sure I shall not yet espouse her cause myself, or else -tell father, who will do it so much better. - -_Dec. —th._—Another drill, with Juno commanding officer, while the poor -little _private_ seemed completely worried out. This time there were -open doors, but so absorbed were mother and Juno as not to hear the -bell, and just as Juno was saying, “Now imagine me Mrs. Gen. Reynolds, -to whom you are being presented,” while Katy was bowing almost to the -floor, who should appear but Mark Ray, stumbling square upon that -ludicrous rehearsal, and, of course, bringing it to an end. No -explanation was made, nor was any needed, for Mark’s face showed that he -understood it, and it was as much as he could do to keep from roaring -with merriment; I am sure he pitied Katy, for his manner towards her was -very affectionate and kind, and when she left the room he complimented -her highly, repeating many things he had heard in her praise from those -who had seen her both in the street and here at home. Juno’s face was -like a thunder-cloud, for she is as much in love with Mark Ray as she -was once with Dr. Grant, and is even jealous of his praise of Katy. Glad -am I that I never yet saw the man who could make me jealous, or for whom -I cared a pin. There’s Bob Reynolds up at West Point. I suppose I do -think his epaulettes very becoming to him, but his hair is too light, -and he cannot raise whiskers big enough to cast a shadow on the wall, -while I know he looks with contempt upon females who write, even though -their writings never see the light of day; thinks them strong-minded, -self-willed, and all that. He is expected to be present at the party, -but I shall not go. I prefer to stay at home and finish that article -entitled, “Women of the Present Century,” suggested to my mind by my -sister Katy, who stands for the picture I am drawing of a pretty woman, -with more heart than brains, contrasting her with such an one as Juno, -her opposite. - -_January 10._—The last time I wrote in my journal was just before the -party, which is over now, the long talked of affair at which Katy was -the reigning belle. I don’t know _how_ it happened, but happen it did, -and Juno’s glory faded before that of her rival, whose ringing laugh -frequently penetrated to every room, and made more than one look up in -some surprise. But when Mrs. Humphreys said, “It’s that charming little -Mrs. Cameron, the prettiest creature I ever saw, her laugh is so -refreshing and genuine,” the point was settled, and Katy was free to -laugh as loudly as she pleased. - -She did look beautifully, in lace and pearls, with her short hair -curling in her neck. She would not allow us to put so much as a bud in -her hair, showing, in this respect, a willfulness we never expected; but -as she was perfectly irresistible, we suffered her to have her way, and -when she was dressed, sent her in to father, who had asked to see her. -And now comes the strangest thing in the world. - -“You are very beautiful, little daughter,” father said, “I almost wish I -was going with you to see the sensation you are sure to create.” - -Then straight into his lap climbed Katy, _father’s_ lap, where none of -us ever sat, I am sure, and began to coax him to go, telling him she -should appear better if he were there, and that she should need him when -Wilford left her, as of course he must a part of the time. And father -actually dressed himself and went. But Katy did not need him after the -people began to understand that Mrs. Wilford Cameron was the rage. Even -Sybil Grey in her palmiest days never received such homage as was paid -to the little Silverton girl, whose great charm was her perfect -enjoyment of everything, and her perfect faith in what people said to -her. Juno was nothing and I worse than nothing, for I _did_ go after -all, wearing a plain black silk, with high neck and long sleeves, -looking, as Juno said, like a Sister of Charity. - -Lieut. Bob was there, his light hair lighter than ever, and his chin as -smooth as my hand. He likes to dance and I do not, but somehow he -persisted in staying where I was, notwithstanding that I said my -sharpest things in hopes to get rid of him. He left me at last to dance -with Katy, who makes up in grace and airiness what she lacks in -knowledge. Once upon the floor she did not lack for partners, but I -verily believe danced every set, growing prettier and fairer as she -danced, for hers is a complexion which does not get red and blowsy with -exercise. - -Mark Ray was there too, and I saw him smile comically when Katy met the -people with that bow she was making at the time he came so suddenly upon -us. Mark is a good fellow, and I really think we have him to thank in a -measure for Katy’s successful début. He was the first to take her from -Wilford, walking with her up and down the hall by way of reassuring her, -and once as they passed me I heard her say, - -“I feel so timid here—so much afraid of doing something wrong—something -countrified.” - -“Never mind,” he answered. “Act yourself just as you would were you at -home in Silverton, where you are known. That is far better than -affecting a manner not natural to you.” - -After that Katy brightened wonderfully. The stiffness which at first was -perceptible passed off, and she was Katy Lennox, queening it over all -the city belles, drawing after her a host of gentlemen, and between the -sets holding a miniature court at one end of the room, where the more -desirable of the guests crowded around, flattering her until her little -head ought to have been turned if it was not. To do her justice she bore -her honors well, and when we were in the carriage and father -complimented her upon her success, she only said, - -“If I pleased you all I am glad.” - -So many calls as we had the next day, and so many invitations as there -are now on our table for Mrs. Wilford Cameron, while our opera box -between the scenes is packed with beaux, until one would suppose Wilford -might be jealous; but Katy takes it so quietly and modestly, seeming -only gratified for his sake, that I really believe he enjoys it more -than she does. At all events he persists in her going even when she -would rather stay at home, so if she is spoiled the fault will rest with -him. - -_February —th._—Poor Katy! Dissipation is beginning to wear upon her, -for she is not accustomed to our late hours, and sometimes falls asleep -while Esther is dressing her. But go she must, for Wilford wills it so, -and she is but an automaton to do his bidding. - -Why can’t mother let her alone, when everybody seems so satisfied with -her? Somehow she does not believe that people are as delighted as they -pretend, and so she keeps training and tormenting her until I do not -wonder that Katy sometimes hates to go out, lest she shall unconsciously -be guilty of an impropriety. I pitied her last night when, after she was -ready for the opera, she came into my room where I was indulging in the -luxury of a loose dressing-gown, with my feet on the sofa. At first I -think she liked Juno best, but latterly she has taken to me, and now -sitting down before the fire into which her blue eyes looked with a -steady stare, she said, - -“I wish I might stay here with you to-night. I have heard this opera -before, and it will be so tiresome. I get so sleepy while they are -singing, for I never care to watch the acting. I did at first when it -was new, but now it seems insipid to see them make believe, while the -theatre is worse yet,” and she gave a weary yawn. - -In less than three months she had exhausted fashionable life, and I -looked at her in astonishment, asking what would please her if the opera -did not. What would she like? - -Turning her eyes full upon me, she exclaimed, - -“I do like it some, I suppose, only I get so tired. I like to ride, I -like to skate, I like to shop, and all that, but oh, you don’t know how -I want to go home to mother and Helen. I have not seen them for so long; -but I am going in the spring—going in May. How many days are there in -March and April? Sixty-one,” she continued; “then I may safely say that -in eighty days I shall see mother, and all the dear old places. It is -not a grand home like this. You, Bell, might laugh at it; Juno would, I -am sure, but you do not know how dear it is to me, or how I long for a -sight of the huckleberry hills and the rocks where Helen and I used to -play.” - -Just then Will called to say the carriage was waiting, and Katy was -driven away, while I sat thinking of her, and the devoted love with -which she clings to her home and friends, wondering if it were the -kindest thing which could have been done, transplanting her to our -atmosphere, so different from her own. - -_March 1st._—As it was in the winter, so it is now; Mrs. Wilford Cameron -is the rage—the bright star of society, which quotes and pets and -flatters, and even laughs at her by turns; and Wilford, though still -watchful, lest she should do something _outré_, is very proud of her, -insisting upon her accepting invitations, sometimes two for one evening, -until the child is absolutely worn out, and said to me once when I told -her how well she was looking and how pretty her dress was, “Yes, pretty -enough, but I am so tired. If I could lie down on mother’s bed, in a -shilling calico, just as I used to do!” - -Mother’s bed seems at present to be the height of her ambition—the thing -she most desires; and as Juno fancies it must be the _feathers_ she is -sighing for, she wickedly suggests that Wilford either buy a feather bed -for his wife, or else send to Aunty Betsy for the one which was to be -Katy’s setting out! They go to housekeeping in May, and on Madison -Square, too. I think Wilford would quite as soon remain with us, for he -does not fancy change; but Katy wants a home of her own, and I never saw -anything more absolutely beautiful than her face when father said to -Wilford that No.—— Madison Square was for sale, advising him to secure -it. But when mother intimated that there was no necessity for the two -families to separate at present—that Katy was too young to have the -charge of a house—there came into her eyes a look of such distress that -it went straight to father’s heart, and calling her to him, he said, - -“Tell me, sunbeam, what is your choice—to stay with us, or have a home -of your own?” - -Katy was very white, and her voice trembled as she replied, - -“You have been kind to me here, and it is very pleasant; but I guess—I -think—I’m sure—I should like the housekeeping best. I am not so young -either. Nineteen in July, and when I go home next month I can learn so -much of Aunt Betsy and Aunt Hannah.” - -Mother looked at Wilford then; but he was looking into the fire with an -expression anything but favorable to that visit home, fixed now for -April instead of May. But Katy has no discernment, and believes she is -actually going to learn how to make apple dumplings and pumpkin pies. In -spite of mother the house is bought, and now she is gone all day -deciding how it shall be furnished, always leaving Katy out of the -question, as if she were a cipher, and only consulting Wilford’s choice. -They will be happier alone, I know. Mrs. Gen. Reynolds says that it is -the way for young people to live; that her son’s wife shall never come -home to her, for of course their habits could not be alike; and then she -looked queerly at me, as if she knew I was thinking of Lieutenant Bob -and who his wife might be. - -Sybil Grandon is coming in April or May, and Mrs. Reynolds wonders -_will_ she flirt as she used to do. Just as if Bob would care for a -widow! There is more danger from Will, who thinks Mrs. Grandon a perfect -paragon, and who is very anxious that Katy may appear well before her, -saying nothing and doing nothing which shall in any way approximate to -Silverton and the _shoes_ which Katy told Esther she used to bind when a -girl. Will need not be disturbed, for Sybil Grandon was never half as -pretty as Katy, or half as much admired. Neither need Mrs. Gen. Reynolds -fret about Bob, as if he would care for her. Sybil Grandon indeed! - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - KATY. - - -Much which Bell had written of Katy was true. She had been in New York -nearly four months, drinking deep draughts from the cup of folly and -fashion held so constantly to her lips; but she cloyed of it at last, -and what at first had been so eagerly grasped, began, from daily -repetition, to grow insipid and dull. To be the belle of every place, to -know that her dress, her style, and even the fashion of her hair was -copied and admired, was gratifying to her, because she knew it pleased -her husband, who was never happier or prouder than when, with Katy on -his arm, he entered some crowded parlor and heard the buzz of admiration -as it circled round, while Katy smiled and blushed like a little child, -wondering at the attentions lavished upon her, and attributing them -mostly to her husband, whose position she understood, marveling more and -more that he should have chosen her to be his wife. That he had so -honored her made her love him with a strange kind of grateful, clinging -love, which as yet would acknowledge no fault in him, no wrong, no -error; and if ever a shadow did cloud her heart she was the one to -blame, not Wilford; he was right—he had idol she worshiped—he the one -for whose sake she tried to drop her country ways and conform to the -rules his mother and sister taught, submitting with the utmost good -nature to what Bell called the _drill_, but never losing that natural, -playful, airy manner which so charmed the city people and made her the -reigning belle. As Marian Hazelton had predicted, others than her -husband had spoken words of praise in Katy’s ear; but such was her -nature that the shafts of flattery glanced aside, leaving her unharmed, -so that her husband, though sometimes disquieted, had no cause for -jealousy, enjoying Katy’s success far more than she did herself, urging -her out when she would rather have stayed at home, and evincing so much -annoyance if she ventured to remonstrate, that she gave it up at last -and floated on with the tide. - -Mrs. Cameron had at first been greatly shocked at Katy’s want of -propriety, looking on aghast when she wound her arms around Wilford’s -neck, or sat upon his knee; but to the elder Cameron the sight was a -pleasant one, bringing back sunny memories of a summer-time years ago, -when _he_ was young, and a fair bride had for a few brief weeks made -this earth a paradise to him. But fashion had entered his Eden—that -summer time was gone, and only the dun leaves of autumn lay where the -buds which promised so much had been. The girlish bride was a stately -matron now, doing nothing amiss, but making all her acts conform to a -prescribed rule of etiquette, and frowning majestically upon the -frolicsome, impulsive Katy, who had crept so far into the heart of the -eccentric man that he always found the hours of her absence long, -listening intently for the sound of her bounding footsteps, and feeling -that her coming to his household had infused into his veins a better, -healthier life than he had known for years. Katy was very dear to him, -and he felt a thrill of pain when first the _toning down_ process -commenced. He had heard them talk about it, and in his wrath he had -hurled a cut-glass goblet upon the marble hearth, breaking it in atoms, -while he called them a pair of precious fools, and Wilford a bigger one -because he suffered it. So long as his convalescence lasted, he was some -restraint upon his wife, but when he was well enough to resume his -duties in his Wall Street office, there was nothing in the way, and -Katy’s education progressed accordingly. For Wilford’s sake Katy would -do anything, and she submitted to much which would otherwise have been -excessively annoying. But she was growing tired now, and it told upon -her face, which was whiter than when she came to New York, while her -figure was, if possible, slighter and more airy; but this only enhanced -her loveliness, Wilford thought, and so he paid no heed to her -complaints of weariness, but kept her in the circle which welcomed her -so warmly, and would have missed her so much. - -Little by little it had come to Katy that she was not quite as -comfortable in her husband’s family as she would be in a house of her -own. The constant watch kept over her by Mrs. Cameron and Juno irritated -and fretted her, making her wonder what was the matter, and why she -should so often feel lonely and desolate when surrounded by every luxury -which wealth could purchase. “It is _his folks_,” she always said to -herself when cogitating upon the subject. “Alone with Wilford I shall -feel as light and happy as I did in Silverton.” - -And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release from the -restraint of No.——, seeming so anxious that Wilford, almost before he -was aware of it himself, became the owner of one of the most desirable -situations on Madison Square. Of all the household after Katy, Juno was -perhaps the only one glad of the new house. It would be a change for -herself, for she meant to spend much of her time on Madison Square, -where everything was to be on the most magnificent style. Fortunately -for Katy, she knew nothing of Juno’s intentions and built castles of her -new home, where mother could come with Helen and Dr. Grant. Somehow she -never saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his wife, nor Aunt Betsy there. She knew -how out of place they would appear, and how they would annoy Wilford; -but surely to her mother and Helen there could be no objection, and when -she first went over the house she designated this room as mother’s, and -another one as Helen’s, thinking how each should be fitted up with -direct reference to their tastes, Helen’s containing a great many books, -while her mother’s should have easy-chairs and lounges, with a host of -drawers for holding things. And Wilford heard it all, making no reply, -but considering how he could manage best so as to have no scene, for he -had not the slightest intention of inviting either Mrs. Lennox or Helen -to visit him, much less to become a part of his household. That he did -not marry Katy’s relatives was a fact as fixed as the laws of the Medes -and Persians, and Katy’s anticipations were answering no other purpose -than to divert her mind for the time being, keeping her bright and -cheerful. - -Very pleasant indeed were the pictures Katy drew of the new house where -Helen was to come, but pleasanter far were her pictures of that visit to -Silverton, to occur in April. Poor Katy! how much she thought about that -visit when she should see them all and go with Uncle Ephraim down into -the meadows, making believe she was Katy Lennox still—when she could -climb the ladder in the barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the -fields to Linwood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the days -which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was not liking her as well -as of old, thinking her very frivolous and silly, for he had only -written her one short note in reply to the letter she had sent, telling -him of the parties she had attended, and the gay, happy life she led, -for to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy there was a -single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair, she said, and Morris had -replied that he was glad, “But do not forget that _death_ can find you -even amid your splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and -then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your -own soul.” - -These words had rung in Katy’s ears for many a day, following her to the -dance and to the opera, where even the music was drowned by the echo of -the words, “lose your own soul.” But the sting grew less and less, till -Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk with Morris and -convince him that she was not as thoughtless as he might suppose, that -she still remembered his teachings, and the little church in the valley, -preferring it to the handsome, aristocratic house where she went with -the Camerons once on every Sunday. - -“One more week and then it is April,” she said to Wilford one evening -after they had retired to their room, and she was talking of Silverton. -“I guess we’d better go about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I -do?” - -Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied, - -“I have been talking with mother, and we think April is not a good time -for you to be in the country; it is so wet and cold, and I want you here -to help order our furniture.” - -“Oh, Wilford!” and Katy’s voice trembled, for from past experience she -knew that for Wilford to object to her plans was equivalent to a -refusal, and her heart throbbed with disappointment as she tried to -listen while Wilford urged many reasons why she should not go, -convincing her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton, spring -was the worst; that summer or autumn were better, and that it was her -duty to remain where she was until such time as he saw fit for her to do -otherwise. - -This was the meaning of what he said, and though his manner was guarded, -and his words kind, they were very conclusive, and with one gasping sob -Katy gave up Silverton, charging it more to Mrs. Cameron than to -Wilford, and writing next day to Helen that she could not come just -then, but that after she was settled they might surely expect her. - -With a bitter pang Helen read this letter to the three women who had -anticipated Katy’s visit so much, and each of whom cried quietly over -her disappointment, while Uncle Ephraim went back to his work that -afternoon with a heavy heart, for now his labor was not lightened by -thoughts of Katy’s being there so soon. - -“Please God she may come to us sometime,” he said, pausing beneath the -butternut in the meadow, and remembering just how Katy looked on that -first day of her return from Canandaigua, when she sat on the flat stone -while he piled up his hay and talked with her of different paths through -life, one of which she must surely tread. - -She had said, “I will choose the straight and pleasant,” and some would -think she had; but Uncle Ephraim was not so sure, and leaning against a -tree, he asked silently that whether he ever saw his darling again or -not, God would care for her and keep her unspotted from the world. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - THE NEW HOUSE. - - -It was a cruel thing for Wilford Cameron to try to separate Katy from -the hearts which loved her so much; and, as if he felt reproached, there -was an increased tenderness in his manner towards her, particularly as -he saw how sad she was for a few days after his decision. But Katy could -not be sorry long, and in the excitement of settling the new house her -spirits rallied, and her merry laugh trilled like a bird through the -rooms where the workmen were so busy, and where Mrs. Cameron was the -real superintendent, though there was sometimes a show of consulting -Katy, who nevertheless was a mere cipher in the matter. In everything -the mother had her way, until it came to the room designed for Helen, -and which Mrs. Cameron was for converting into a kind of smoking or -lounging room for Wilford and his associates. Katy must not expect him -to be always as devoted to her as he had been during the winter, she -said. He had a great many bachelor friends, and now that he had a house -of his own, it was natural that he should have some place where they -could spend an hour or so with him without the restraint of ladies’ -society, and this was just the room—large, airy, quiet, and so far from -the parlors that the odor of the smoke could not reach them. - -Katy had submitted to much without knowing that she was submitting; but -something Bell had dropped that morning had awakened a suspicion that -possibly she was being ignored, and the wicked part of Helen would have -enjoyed the look in her eye as she said, not to Mrs. Cameron, but to -Wilford, “I have from the very first decided this chamber for Helen, and -I cannot give it up for a smoking room. You never had one at home. Why -did you not, if it is so necessary?” - -Wilford could not tell her that his mother would as soon have brought -into her house one of Barnum’s shows, as to have had a room set apart -for smoking, which she specially disliked; neither could he at once -reply at all, so astonished was he at this sudden flash of spirit. Mrs. -Cameron was the first to rally, and in her usual quiet tone she said, “I -did not know that your sister was to form a part of your household. When -do you expect her?” and her cold gray eyes rested steadily upon Katy, -who never before so fully realized the distance there was between her -husband’s friends and her own. But as the worm will turn when trampled -on, so Katy, though hitherto powerless to defend herself, roused in -Helen’s behalf, and in a tone as quiet and decided as that of her -mother-in-law, replied, “She will come whenever I write for her. It was -arranged from the first. Wasn’t it, Wilford?” and she turned to her -husband, who, unwilling to decide between a wife he loved and a mother -whose judgment he considered infallible, affected not to hear her, and -stole from the room, followed by Mrs. Cameron, so that Katy was left -mistress of the field. - -After that no one interfered in her arrangement of Helen’s room, which, -with far less expense than Mrs. Cameron would have done, she fitted up -so cosily that Wilford pronounced it the pleasantest room in the house, -while Bell went into ecstasies over it, and even Juno might have unbent -enough to praise it, were it not for Mark Ray, who, from being tacitly -claimed by Juno, was frequently admitted to their counsels, and had -asked the privilege of contributing to Helen’s room a handsome volume of -German poetry, such as he fancied she might enjoy. So long as Mark’s -attentions were not bestowed in any other quarter Juno was comparatively -satisfied, but the moment he swerved a hair’s breadth from the line she -had marked out, her anger was aroused; and now, remembering his -commendations of Helen Lennox, she hated her as cordially as one jealous -girl can hate another whom she has not seen, making Katy so -uncomfortable, without knowing what was the matter, that she hailed the -morning of her exit from No.—— as the brightest since her marriage. - -It was a very happy day for Katy, and when she first sat down to dinner -in her own home, her face shone with a joy which even the presence of -her mother-in-law could not materially lessen. She would rather have -been alone with Wilford, it is true, but as her choice was not consulted -she submitted cheerfully, proudly taking her rightful place at the -table, and doing the honors so well that Mrs. Cameron, in speaking of it -to her daughters, acknowledged that Wilford had little to fear if Katy -always appeared as much at ease as she did that day. A thought similar -to this passed through the mind of Wilford, who was very observant of -such matters, and that night, after his mother was gone, he warmly -commended Katy, but spoiled the pleasure his commendations would have -given by telling her next, as if one thought suggested the other, that -Sybil Grandon had returned, that he saw her on Broadway, accepting her -invitation to a seat in her carriage which brought him to his door. She -had made many inquiries concerning Katy, expressing a great curiosity to -see her, and saying that as she drove past the house that morning, she -was strongly tempted to waive all ceremony and run in, knowing she -should be pardoned for the sake of Auld Lang Syne, when she was -privileged to take liberties with the Camerons. All this Wilford -repeated to Katy, but he did not tell her how at the words Auld Lang -Syne, Sybil had turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression which -made him color, for he knew she was referring to the time when her name -and his were always coupled together. - -Katy had dreaded the return of Sybil Grandon, of whom she had heard so -much, and now that she had come, she felt for a moment a terror of -meeting her which she tried to shake off, succeeded at last, for perfect -faith in Wilford was to her a strong shield of defence, and her only -trouble was a fear lest she should fall in the scale of comparison which -might be instituted between herself and Mrs. Grandon, who after a few -days ceased to be a bugbear, Wilford never mentioning her again, and -Katy only hearing of her through Juno and Bell, the first of whom went -into raptures over her, while the latter styled her a silly, coquettish -widow, who would appear much better to have worn her weeds a little -longer, and not throw herself quite so soon into the market. That she -should of course meet her some time, Katy knew, but she would not -distress herself till the time arrived, and so she dismissed her fears, -or rather lost them in the excitement of her new dignity as mistress of -a house. - -In her girlhood Katy had evinced a taste for housekeeping, which now -developed so rapidly that she won the respect of all the servants, from -the man who answered the bell to the accomplished cook, hired by Mrs. -Cameron, and who, like most accomplished cooks, was sharp and cross and -opinionated, but who did not find it easy to scold the blithe little -woman who every morning came flitting into her dominions, not asking -what they would have for dinner, as she had been led to suppose she -would, but _ordering_ it with a matter of course air, which amused the -usually overbearing Mrs. Phillips. But when the little lady, rolling her -sleeves above her dimpled elbows and donning the clean white apron which -Phillips was reserving for afternoon, announced her intention of -surprising Wilford, with a pudding such as Aunt Betsy used to make, -there were signs of rebellion, Phillips telling her bluntly that she -couldn’t be bothered—that it was not a lady’s place in the kitchen under -foot—that the other Mrs. Cameron never did it, and would not like it in -Mrs. Wilford. - -For a moment Katy paused and looked straight at Mrs. Phillips; then -said, quietly, “I have only six eggs here—the recipe is ten. Bring me -four more, please.” - -There was something in the blue eyes which compelled obedience, and the -dessert progressed without another word of remonstrance. But when the -door bell rang, and word came down that there were ladies in the -parlor—Juno, with some one else—Phillips would not tell her of the -_flour_ on her hair; and as Katy, after casting aside her apron and -putting down her sleeves, only glanced hastily at herself in the hall -mirror as she passed it, she appeared in the parlor with this mark upon -her curls, and greatly to her astonishment was presented to “Mrs. Sybil -Grandon,” Juno explaining, that as Sybil was anxious to see her, and -they were passing the house, she had presumed upon her privilege as a -sister and brought her in. - -For a moment the room turned dark, it was so sudden, so unexpected, and -she so unprepared; but Sybil’s familiar manner quieted her, and she was -able at last to look fully at her visitor, finding her _not_ as handsome -as she expected, nor as young, but in all other respects she had not -perhaps been exaggerated. Cultivated and self-possessed, she was very -pleasing in her manner, making Katy feel wholly at ease by a few -well-timed compliments, which had the merit of seeming genuine, so -perfect was she in the art of deception. - -To Katy she was very gracious, admiring her house, admiring herself, -admiring everything, until Katy wondered how she could ever have dreaded -to meet her, laughing and chatting as familiarly as if the fashionable -woman were not criticising every movement, and every act, and every -feature of her face, wondering most at the _flour_ upon her hair! - -Juno wondered, too, but knowing Katy’s domestic propensities, suspected -the truth, and feigning some errand with Phillips, she excused herself -for a moment and descended to the kitchen, where she was not long in -hearing about Katy’s “queer ways, coming where she was not needed, and -making country puddings after some heathenish aunt’s rule.” - -“Was it Aunt Betsy?” Juno asked, her face betokening its disgust when -told that she was right, and her manner on her return to the parlor was -very frigid towards Katy, who had discovered the flour on her hair, and -was laughing merrily over it, telling Sybil how it happened—how cross -Phillips was—and lastly, how “our folks” often made the pudding, and -that was why she wished to surprise Wilford with it. - -There was a sarcastic smile upon Sybil’s lip as she wished Mrs. Cameron -success and then departed, leaving Katy to finish the dessert, which, -when ready for the table, was certainly very inviting, and would have -tempted the appetite of any man who had not been listening to gossip not -wholly conducive to his peace of mind. - -On his way home Wilford had stopped at his fathers, where Juno was -relating the particulars of her call upon his wife, and as she did not -think it necessary to stop for him, he heard of Katy’s misdoings, and -her general appearance in the presence of Sybil Grandon, whom she -entertained with a description of “our folks’” favorite dishes, together -with Aunt Betsy’s recipes. This was the straw too many, and since his -marriage Wilford had not been as angry as he was while listening to -Juno, who reported Sybil’s verdict on his wife, “A domestic little body -and very pretty.” - -Wilford did not care to have his wife domestic; he did not marry her for -that, and in a mood anything but favorable to the light, delicate -dessert Katy had prepared with so much care, he went to his luxurious -home, where Katy ran as usual to meet him, her face brimming with the -surprise she had in store for him, and herself so much excited that she -did not at first observe the cloud upon his brow, as he moodily answered -her rapid questions. When the important moment arrived, and the dessert -was brought on, he promptly declined it, even after her explanation that -she made it herself, urging him to try it for the sake of pleasing her, -if nothing more. But Wilford was not hungry then, and even had he been, -he would have chosen anything before a pudding made from a recipe of -Betsy Barlow, so the dessert was untasted even by Katy herself, who, -knowing now that something had gone wrong, sat fighting back her tears -until the servant left the room, when she timidly asked, “What is it, -Wilford? What makes you seem so——” She would not say _cross_, and so -substituted “queer,” while Wilford plunged at once into the matter by -saying, “Juno tells me she called here this afternoon with Mrs. -Grandon.” - -“Yes, I forgot to mention it,” Katy answered, feeling puzzled to know -why that should annoy her husband; but his next remarks disclosed the -whole, and Katy’s tears flowed fast as Wilford asked what she supposed -Mrs. Grandon thought, to see his wife looking as if fresh from the flour -barrel, and to hear her talk about Aunt Betsy’s recipes and “_our -folks_.” “That is a bad habit of yours, Katy,” he continued, “one of -which I wish you to break yourself, if possible. I have never spoken to -you directly on the subject before, but it annoys me exceedingly, -inasmuch as it is an indication of low breeding.” - -There was no answer from Katy, whose heart was too full to speak, and so -Wilford went on, “Our servants were selected by mother with a direct -reference to your youth and inexperience, and it is not necessary for -you to frequent the kitchen, or, indeed, to go there oftener than once a -week. Let them come to you for orders, not you go to them. Neither need -you speak quite so familiarly to them, treating them almost as if they -were your equals. Try to remember your true position—that whatever you -may have been you are now Mrs. Wilford Cameron, equal to any lady in New -York.” - -They were in the library now, and the soft May breeze came stealing -through the open window, stirring the fleecy curtains and blowing across -the tasteful bouquet which Katy had arranged; but Katy was too wretched -to care for her surroundings. It was the first time Wilford had ever -spoken to her in just this way, and his manner hurt her more than his -words, making her feel as if she were an ignorant, ill-bred creature, -whom he had raised to a position she did not know how to fill. It was -cruel thus to repay her attempts to please, and so, perhaps, Wilford -thought, as with folded arms he sat looking at her weeping so bitterly -upon the sofa; but he was too indignant to make any concession then, and -he suffered her to weep in silence until he remembered that his mother -had requested him to bring her round that evening, as they were -expecting a few of Juno’s friends, and among them Sybil Grandon. If Katy -went he wished her to look her best, and he unbent so far as to try to -check her tears. But Katy could not stop, and she wept so passionately -that Wilford’s anger subsided, leaving only tenderness and pity for the -wife he soothed and caressed, until the sobbing ceased, and Katy lay -passively in his arms, her face so white, and the dark rings about her -eyes showing so distinctly that Wilford did not press her when she -declined his mother’s invitation. He could go, she said, urging so many -reasons why he should that, for the first time since their marriage, he -left her alone, and went where Sybil Grandon smiled her sunniest smile, -and put forth her most persuasive powers to keep him at her side, -expressing so much regret that he did not bring “his charming little -wife, who completely won her heart, she was so child-like and -simple-hearted, laughing so merrily when she discovered the flour on her -hair, but not seeming to mind it in the least. Really, she did not see -how it happened that he was fortunate enough to win such a domestic -treasure. Where did he find her?” - -If Sybil Grandon meant this to be complimentary, it was not received as -such. Wilford, almost grating his teeth with vexation as he listened to -it, and feeling doubly mortified with Katy, whom he found waiting for -him, when at a late hour he left the society of Sybil Grandon and -repaired to his home. - -To Katy the time of his absence had seemed an age, for her thoughts had -been busy with the past, gathering up every incident connected with her -married life since she came to New York, and deducing from them the -conclusion that “Wilford’s folks” were ashamed of her, and that Wilford -himself might perhaps become so if he were not already. That would be -worse than death itself, and the darkest hours she had ever known were -those she spent alone that night, sobbing so violently as to bring on a -racking headache, which showed itself upon her face and touched Wilford -at once. - -Sybil Grandon was forgotten in those moments of contrition, when he -ministered so tenderly to his suffering wife, whom he felt that he had -wronged. But he could not tell her so then. It was not natural for him -to confess his errors. There had always been a struggle between his duty -and his pride when he had done so, and now the latter conquered, -especially as Katy, grown more calm, began to take the censure to -herself, lamenting her short-comings, and promising to do better, even -to the imitating of Sybil Grandon, if that would make him forget the -past and love her as before. - -Wilford could accord forgiveness far more graciously than he could ask -it, and so peace was restored, and Katy’s face next day looked bright -and happy when seen in her new carriage, which took her down Broadway to -Stewart’s, where she encountered Sybil Grandon, and with her Juno -Cameron. - -From the latter Katy instinctively shrank, but she could not resist the -former, who greeted her so familiarly that Katy readily forgave her the -pain of which she had been the cause, and spoke of her to Wilford -without a pang when he came home to dinner. Still she could not overcome -her dread of meeting her, and she grew more and more averse to mingling -in society, where she might do many things to mortify her husband or his -family, and thus provoke a scene she hoped never again to pass through. - -“Oh, if Helen were only here!” she thought, as she began to experience a -sensation of loneliness she had never felt before. - -But Helen was not there, nor coming there at present. One word from -Wilford had settled that, convincing Katy that it was better to wait -until the autumn, inasmuch as they were going so soon to Saratoga and -Newport, places which Katy dreaded, after she knew that Mrs. Cameron and -Juno were to be of the party, and probably Sybil Grandon. Katy did not -dislike the latter, but she was never easy in her presence, while she -could not deny to herself that since Sybil’s return Wilford had not been -quite the same as before. In company he was more attentive than ever, -but at home he was sometimes moody and silent, while Katy strove in vain -to ascertain the cause. - -They were not as happy in the new home as she had expected to be, but -the fault did not lie with Katy. She performed her part and more, taking -upon her young shoulders the whole of the burden which her husband -should have helped her to bear. The easy, indolent life Wilford had led -so long as a petted son of a partial mother unfitted him for care, and -he was as much a boarder in his own home as he had even been in the -hotels in Paris, thoughtlessly requiring of Katy more than he should -have required, so that Bell was not far from right when in her journal -she described her sister-in-law as “a little servant whose feet were -never supposed to be tired, and whose wishes were never consulted.” It -is true Bell had put it rather strongly, but the spirit of what she said -was right, Wilford seldom considering Katy, or allowing her wishes to -interfere with his own plans; while accustomed to every possible -attention from his mother, he exacted the same from his wife, whose life -was not one of unmixed happiness, notwithstanding that every letter home -bore assurances to the contrary. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - MARIAN HAZELTON. - - -The last days of June had come, and Wilford was beginning to make -arrangements for removing Katy from the city before the warmer weather. -To this he had been urged by Mark Ray’s remarking that Katy was not -looking as well as when he first saw her, one year ago. “She has grown -thin and pale,” he said. “Had Wilford remarked it?” - -Wilford had not. She complained much of headache, but that was only -natural. Still he wrote to the Mountain House that afternoon to secure -rooms for himself and wife, and then at an earlier hour than usual went -home to tell her of the arrangement. Katy was out shopping, Esther said, -and had not yet returned, adding, - -“There is a note for her up stairs, left by a woman who I guess came for -work.” - -That a woman should come for work was not strange, but that she should -leave a note seemed rather too familiar; and when on going to the -library he saw it upon the table, he took it in his hand and examined -the superscription closely, holding it up to the light and forgetting to -open it in his perplexity and the train of thought it awakened. - -“They are singularly alike,” he said, and still holding the note in his -hand he opened a drawer of his writing desk, which was always kept -locked, and took from it a _picture_ and a bit of soiled paper, on which -was written, “I am _not_ guilty, Wilford, and God will never forgive the -wrong you have done to me.” - -There was no name or date, but Wilford knew whose hand had penned those -lines, and he sat comparing them with the “Mrs. Wilford Cameron” which -the strange woman had written. Then opening the note, he read that, -having returned to New York, and wishing employment either as seamstress -or dressmaker, Marian Hazelton had ventured to call upon Mrs. Cameron, -remembering her promise to give her work if she should desire it. - -“Who is Marian Hazelton?” Wilford asked himself as he threw down the -missive. “Some of Katy’s country friends, I dare say. Seems to me I have -heard that name. She certainly writes as Genevra did, except that this -Hazelton’s is more decided and firm. Poor Genevra!” - -There was a pallor about Wilford’s lips as he said this, and taking up -the picture he gazed for a long time upon the handsome, girlish face, -whose dark eyes seemed to look reproachfully upon him, just as they must -have looked when the words were penned, “God will never forgive the -wrong you have done to me.” - -“Genevra was mistaken,” he said. “At least if God has not forgiven, he -has prospered me, which amounts to the same thing;” and without a single -throb of gratitude to Him who had thus prospered him, Wilford laid -Genevra’s picture and Genevra’s note back with the withered grass and -flowers plucked from Genevra’s grave, just as Katy’s ring was heard and -Katy herself came in. - -As thoughts of Genevra always made Wilford kinder towards his wife, so -now he kissed her white cheek, noticing that, as Mark had said, it was -whiter than last year in June. But mountain air would bring back the -roses, he thought, as he handed her the note. - -“Oh, yes, from Marian Hazelton,” Katy said, glancing first at the name -and then hastily reading it through. - -“Who is Marian Hazelton?” Wilford asked, and Katy replied by repeating -all she knew of Marian, and how she chanced to know her at all. “Don’t -you remember Helen wrote that she fainted at our wedding, and I was so -sorry, fearing I might have overworked her?” - -Wilford did remember something about it, and then dismissing Marian from -his mind, he told Katy of his plan for taking her to the Mountain House -a few weeks before going to Saratoga. - -“Would you not like it?” he asked, as she continued silent, with her -eyes fixed upon the window opposite. - -“Yes,” and Katy drew a long and weary breath. “I shall like any place -where there are birds, and rocks, and trees, and real grass, such as -grows of itself in the country; but Wilford,” and Katy crept close to -him now, “if I might go to Silverton, I should get strong so fast! You -don’t know how I long to see home once more. I dream about it nights and -think about it days, knowing just how pleasant it is there, with the -roses in bloom and the meadows so fresh and green. May I go, Wilford? -May I go home to mother?” - -Had Katy asked for half his fortune, just as she asked to go home, -Wilford would have given it to her; but Silverton had a power to lock -all the softer avenues of his heart, and so he answered that the -Mountain House was preferable, that the rooms were engaged, and that as -he should enjoy it so much better he thought they would make no change. - -Katy did not cry, nor utter a word of remonstrance; she was learning -that quiet submission was better than useless opposition, and so -Silverton was again given up. But there was one consolation. Seeing -Marian Hazelton would be almost as good as going home, for had she not -recently come from that neighborhood, bringing with her the odor from -the hills and freshness from the woods? Perhaps, too, she had lately -seen Helen or Morris at church, and had heard the music of the organ -which Helen played, and the singing of the children just as it sometimes -came to Katy in her dreams, making her start in her sleep and murmur -snatches of the sacred songs which Dr. Morris had taught. Yes, Marian -could tell her of all this, and very impatiently Katy waited for the -morning when she started for No.—— Fourth Street, with the piles of -sewing intended for Marian. - -It was a fault of Marian’s not to remain long contented in any place. -Tiring of the country, she had returned to the city, and thinking she -might succeed better alone, had hired a room far up the narrow stairway -of a high, sombre-looking building, and then from her old acquaintances, -of whom she had several in the city, she had solicited work. More than -once she had passed the handsome house on Madison Square where Katy -lived, walking slowly, and contrasting it with her _one_ room, which was -not wholly uninviting, for where Marian went there was always an air of -comfort; and Katy, as she crossed the threshold, uttered an exclamation -of delight at the cheerful, airy aspect of the apartment, with its -bright ingrain carpet, its simple shades of white, its chintz-covered -lounge, its one rocking-chair, its small parlor stove, and its pots of -flowers upon the broad window sill. - -“Oh Marian,” she exclaimed, tripping across the floor, and impulsively -throwing her arms around Miss Hazelton’s neck, “I am so glad to meet -some one from home. It seems almost like Helen I am kissing,” and her -lips again met those of Marian Hazelton, amid her joy at finding Katy -unchanged, wondered what the Camerons would say to see their Mrs. -Wilford kissing a poor seamstress whom they would have spurned. - -But Katy did not care for _Camerons_ then, or even think of them, as in -her rich basquine and pretty hat, with emeralds and diamonds sparkling -on her fingers, she sat down by Marian. - -“Tell me of Silverton; you don’t know how I want to go there; but -Wilford does not think it best, at present. Next fall I am surely going, -and I picture to myself just how it will look: Morris’s garden, full of -the autumnal flowers—the ripe peaches in our orchard, the grapes -ripening on the wall, and the long shadows on the grass, just as I used -to watch them, wondering what made them move so fast, and where they -could be going. Will it be unchanged, Marian? Do places seem the same -when once we have left them?” and Katy’s eager eyes looked wistfully at -Marian, who replied, “Not always—not often, in fact; but in your case -they may. You have not been long away.” - -“Only a year,” Katy said. “I was as long as that in Canandaigua; but -this past year is different. I have seen so much, and lived so much, -that I feel ten years older than I did last spring, when you and Helen -made my wedding dress. Darling Helen! When did you see her last?” - -“I was there five weeks ago,” Marian replied; “I saw them all, and told -them I was coming to New York.” - -“Do they miss me any? Do they talk of me? Do they wish me back again?” -Katy asked, and Marian replied, “They talked of little else, that is -your own family. Dr. Morris, I think, did not mention your name. He has -grown very silent and reserved,” and Marian’s eyes were fixed -inquiringly upon Katy, as if to ascertain how much she knew of the cause -for Morris’s reserve. - -But Katy had no suspicion, and only replied, “Perhaps he is vexed that I -do not write to him oftener, but I can’t. I think of him a great deal, -and respect him more than any living man, except, of course, Wilford; -but when I try to write, something comes in between me and what I wish -to say, for I want to convince him that I am _not_ as frivolous as he -thinks I am. I have _not_ forgotten the Sunday-school, nor the church -service; but in the city it is so hard to be good, and the service and -music seem all for show, and I feel so hateful when I see Juno and -Wilford’s mother putting their heads down on velvet cushions, knowing as -I do that they both are thinking either of their own bonnets or those -just in front.” - -“Are you not a little uncharitable?” Marian asked, laughing in spite of -herself at the picture Katy drew of fashion trying to imitate religion -in its humility. - -“Perhaps so,” Katy answered. “I grow bad from looking behind the scenes, -and the worst is that I do not care,” and then Katy went back again to -the farm-house asking numberless questions and reaching finally the -_business_ which had brought her to Marian’s room. - -There were spots on Marian’s neck, and her lips were white, as she -grasped the bundles tossed into her lap—the yards and yards of lace and -embroidery, linen, and cambric, which she was expected to make for the -wife of Wilford Cameron; and her voice was husky as she asked directions -or made suggestions of her own. - -“It’s because she has no such joy in expectation. I should feel so, too, -if I were thirty and unmarried,” Katy thought, as she noticed Marian’s -agitation, and tried to divert her mind by talking of Europe and the -places she had visited. - -“By the way, you were born in England? Were you ever at Alnwick?” Katy -asked, and Marian replied, “Once, yes. I’ve seen the castle and the -church. Did you go there—to St. Mary’s, I mean?” - -“Oh, yes, and I was never tired of that old churchyard. Wilford liked -it, too, and we wandered by the hour among the sunken graves and quaint -headstones.” - -“Do you remember any of the names upon the stones? Perhaps I may know -them?” Marian asked; but Katy did not remember any, or if she did, it -was not “Genevra Lambert, aged 22.” And so Marian asked her no more -questions concerning Alnwick, but talked instead of London and other -places, until three hours went by, and down in the street the coachman -chafed and fretted at the long delay, wondering what kept his mistress -in that neighborhood so long. Had she friends, or had she come on some -errand of mercy? The latter most likely, he concluded, and so his face -was not quite so cross when Katy at last appeared, looking at her watch -and exclaiming at the lateness of the hour. - -Katy was very happy that morning, for seeing Marian had brought -Silverton near to her, and airy as a bird she ran up the steps of her -own dwelling, where the door opened as by magic, and Wilford himself -confronted her, asking, with the tone which always made her heart beat, -where she had been, and he waiting for her two whole hours. “Surely it -was not necessary to stop so long with a seamstress,” he continued when -she tried to explain. “Ten minutes would suffice for directions,” and he -could not imagine what attraction there was in Miss Hazelton to keep her -there three hours, and then the real cause of his vexation came out. He -had come expressly for the carriage to take her and Sybil Grandon to a -picnic up the river, whither his mother, Juno and Bell, had already -gone. Mrs. Grandon must wonder why he stayed so long, and perhaps give -up going. Could Katy be ready soon? and Wilford walked rapidly up and -down the parlor with a restless motion of his hands which always -betokened impatience. Poor Katy! how the brightness of the morning -faded, and how averse she felt to joining that picnic, which she knew -had been in prospect for some time, and had fancied she should enjoy! -But not to-day, with that look on Wilford’s face, and the feeling that -he was vexed. Still she could think of no reasonable excuse, and so an -hour later found her driving into the country with Sybil Grandon, who -received her apologies with as much good-natured grace as if she too had -not worked herself into a passion at the delay, for Sybil had been very -cross and impatient; but all this vanished when she met Wilford and saw -that he was disturbed and irritated. Soft, and sweet, and smooth was she -both in word and manner, so that by the time the grove was reached -Wilford’s ruffled spirits had been soothed, and he was himself again, -ready to enjoy the pleasures of the day as keenly as if no harsh word -had been said to Katy, who, silent and unhappy, listened to the graceful -badinage between Sybil and her husband, thinking how differently his -voice had sounded when addressing her only a little while before. - -“Pray put some animation into your face, or Mrs. Grandon will think we -have been quarreling,” Wilford whispered, as he lifted his wife from the -carriage, and with a great effort Katy tried to be gay and natural. - -But all the while she was fighting back her tears and wishing she were -away. Even Marian’s room, looking into the dingy court, was preferable -to that place, and she was glad when the long day came to an end, and -with a fearful headache she was riding back to the city. - -The next morning was dark and rainy; but in spite of the weather Katy -found her way to Marian’s room, this time taking the —— avenue cars, -which left her independent as regarded the length of her stay. About -Marian there was something more congenial than about her city friends, -and day after day found her there, watching while Marian fashioned into -shape the beautiful little garments, the sight of which had a strangely -quieting influence upon Katy, sobering her down and maturing her more -than all the years of her life had done. Those were happy hours spent -with Marian Hazelton, and Katy felt it keenly when Wilford at last -interfered, telling her she was growing quite too familiar with that -sewing woman, and her calls must be discontinued, except, indeed, such -as were necessary to the work in progress. - -With one great gush of tears, when there was no one to see her, Katy -gave Marian up, writing her a note, in which were sundry directions for -the work, which would go on even after she had left for the Mountain -House, as she intended doing the last of June. And Marian guessed at -more than Katy meant she should, and with a bitter sigh laid it in her -basket, and then resumed the work, which seemed doubly monotonous now -that there was no more listening for the little feet tripping up the -stairs, or for the bird-like voice which had brought so much of music -and sunshine to her lonely room. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - SARATOGA AND NEWPORT. - - -For three weeks Katy had been at the Mountain House, growing stronger -every day, until she was much like the Katy of one year ago. But their -stay among the Catskills was ended, and on the morrow they were going to -Saratoga, where Mrs. Cameron and her daughters were, and where, too, was -Sybil Grandon, the reigning belle of the United States. So Bell had -written to her brother, bidding him hasten on with Katy, as she wished -to see “that chit of a widow in her proper place.” And Katy had been -weak enough for a moment to feel a throb of satisfaction in knowing how -effectually Sybil’s claims to belle-ship would be put aside when she was -once in the field; even glancing at herself in the mirror as she leaned -on Wilford’s shoulder, and feeling glad that mountain air and mountain -exercise had brought the roses back to her white cheeks and the -brightness to her eyes. But Katy wept passionate tears of repentance for -that weakness, when an hour later she read the letter which Dr. Grant -had sent in answer to one she had written from the Mountain House, -confessing her short-comings, and lamenting that the evils and excesses -which shocked her once did not startle her now. To this letter Morris -had replied as a brother might write to an only sister, first expressing -pleasure at her happiness, and then reminding her of that other life to -which this is only a preparation, and beseeching her so to use the good -things of this world, given her in such profusion, as not to lose the -life eternal. - -This was the substance of Morris’s letter, which Katy read with -streaming eyes, forgetting Saratoga as Morris’s solemn words of warning -and admonition rang in her ears, and shuddering as she thought of losing -the life eternal, of going where Morris would never come, nor any of -those she loved the best, unless it were Wilford, who might reproach her -with having dragged him there when she could have saved him. - -“Keep yourself unspotted from the world,” Morris had said, and she -repeated it to herself, asking “how shall I do that? how can one be good -and fashionable too?” - -Then laying her head upon the rock where she was sitting, Katy tried to -pray as she had not prayed in months, asking that God would teach her -what she ought to know and keep her unspotted from the world. But at the -Mountain House it is easier to pray that one be kept from temptation -than it is at Saratoga, which this summer was crowded to overflowing, -its streets presenting a fitting picture of Vanity Fair, so full were -they of show and gala dress. At the United States, where Mrs. Cameron -stopped, two rooms, for which an enormous price was paid, had been -reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Wilford Cameron, and this of itself would have -given them a certain éclat, even if there had not been present many who -remembered the proud, fastidious bachelor, and were proportionately -anxious to see his wife. _She came, she saw, she conquered_; and within -three days after her arrival Katy Cameron was the acknowledged belle of -Saratoga, from the United States to the Clarendon. And Katy, alas, was -not quite the same as she who on the mountain ridge had sat with -Morris’s letter in her hand, praying that its teachings might not be -forgotten. Saratoga seemed different to her from New York, and she -plunged into its gaieties, never pausing, never tiring, and seldom -giving herself time to think; much less to pray, as Morris had bidden -her do. And Wilford, though hardly able to recognize the usually timid -Katy in the brilliant woman who led rather than followed, was sure of -her faith to him, and so was only proud and gratified to see her bear -off the palm from every competitor, while Juno, though she quarreled -with the shadow into which she was so completely thrown, enjoyed the -éclat cast upon their party by the presence of Mrs. Wilford, who had -passed beyond her criticism. Sybil Grandon, too, stood back in wonder -that a simple country girl should win and wear the laurels she had so -long claimed as her own; but as there was no help for it she contented -herself as best she could with the admiration she did receive, and -whenever opportunity occurred, said bitter things of Mrs. Wilford, whose -parentage and low estate were through her pretty generally known. But it -did not matter there what Katy _had been_; the people took her for what -she _was now_, and Sybil’s glory faded like the early dawn in the coming -of the full day. - -As it had been at Saratoga, so it was at Newport. Urged on by Mrs. -Cameron and Bell, who enjoyed her notoriety, Katy plunged into the mad -excitement of dancing and driving and coqueting, until Wilford himself -became uneasy, locking her once in her room, where she was sleeping -after dinner, and conveniently forgetting to release her until after the -departure at evening of some young men from Cambridge, whose attentions -to the Ocean House belle had been more strongly marked than was -altogether agreeable to him. Of course it was a mistake—the locking of -the door—and a great oversight in him not to have remembered it sooner, -he said to Katy, by way of apology; and Katy, with no suspicion of the -truth, laughed merrily at the joke, repeating it downstairs to the old -dowagers, who shrugged their shoulders meaningly and whispered to each -other that it might be well if more young wives were locked into their -rooms and thus kept out of mischief. - -Though flattered, caressed, and admired, Katy was not doing herself much -credit at Newport; but save Wilford, there was no one to raise a warning -voice, until Mark Ray came down for a few days’ respite from the heated -city, where he had spent the entire summer, taking charge of the -business which belonged as much to Wilford as to himself. But Wilford -had a wife; it was more necessary that he should leave, Mark had argued; -his time would come by and by. And so he had remained at home until the -last of August, when he appeared suddenly at the Ocean House one night -when Katy, in her airy robes and child-like simplicity, was breaking -hearts by the score. Like others, Mark was charmed, and not a little -proud for Katy’s sake, to see her thus appreciated; but when one day’s -experience had shown him more, and given him a look behind the scenes, -he trembled for her, knowing how hard it would be for her to come out of -that sea of dissipation as pure and spotless as she went in. - -“If I were her brother I would warn her that her present career is not -one upon which she will look back with pleasure when the excitement is -over,” he said to himself; “but if Wilford is satisfied it is not for me -to interfere. It is surely nothing to me what Katy Cameron does,” he -kept repeating to himself; but as often as he said it there came up -before him a pale, anxious face, shaded with Helen Lennox’s bands of -hair, and Helen Lennox’s voice whispered to him: “Save Katy, for my -sake,” and so next day, when Mark found himself alone with Katy, while -most of the guests were at the beach, he questioned her of her life at -Saratoga and Newport, and gradually, as he talked, there crept into -Katy’s heart a suspicion that he was not pleased with her account, or -with what he had seen of her since his arrival. - -For a moment Katy was indignant, but when he said to her kindly: “Would -Helen be pleased?” her tears started at once, and she attempted an -excuse for her weak folly, accusing Sybil Grandon as the first cause of -the ambition for which she hated herself. - -“She had been held up as my pattern,” she said, half bitterly, and -forgetting to whom she was talking—“she, the one whom I was to imitate; -and when I found that I could go beyond her, I yielded to the -temptation, and exulted to see how far she was left behind. Besides -that,” she continued, “is it no gratification, think you, to let -Wilford’s proud mother and sister see the poor country girl, whom -ordinarily they would despise, stand where they cannot come, and even -dictate to them if she chooses so to do? I know it is wrong—I know it is -wicked—but I like the excitement, and so long as I am with these people -I shall never be any better. Mark Ray, you don’t know what it is to be -surrounded by a set who care for nothing but fashion and display, and -how they may outdo each other. I hate New York society. There is nothing -there but husks.” - -Katy’s tears had ceased, and on her white face there was a new look of -womanhood, as if in that outburst she had changed, and would never again -be just what she was before. - -“Say,” she continued, “do _you_ like New York society?” - -“Not always—not wholly,” Mark answered; “and still you misjudge it -greatly, for all are not like the people you describe. Your husband’s -family represent one extreme, while there are others equally high in the -social scale who do not make fashion the rule of their lives—sensible, -cultivated, intellectual people, of whose acquaintance one might be -glad—people whom I fancy your sister Helen would enjoy. I have only met -her twice, but my impression is that _she_ would not find New York -distasteful.” - -Mark did not know why he had dragged Helen into that conversation, -unless it were that she seemed very near to him as he talked with Katy, -who replied: - -“Yes, Helen finds good in all. She sees differently from what I do, and -I wish so much that she was here.” - -“Why not send for her?” Mark asked, casting about in his mind whether in -case Helen came, he, too, could tarry for a week and leave that business -in Southbridge, which he must attend to ere returning to the city. - -It would be a study to watch Helen Lennox there at Newport, and in -imagination Mark was already her sworn knight, shielding her from -criticism, and commanding for her respect from those who respected him, -when Katy tore his castle down by answering impulsively: - -“I doubt if Wilford would let me send for her, nor does it matter, as I -shall not remain much longer. I do not need her now, since you have -shown me how foolish I have been. I was angry at first, but now I thank -you for it, and so will Helen. I shall tell her when I am in Silverton. -I am going there from here and oh, I so wish it was to-day.” - -The guests were beginning to return from the beach by this time, and as -Mark had said all he had intended saying, he left Katy with Wilford, who -had just come in and joined a merry party of Bostonians only that day -arrived. That night at the Ocean House the guests missed something from -their festivities; the dance was not so exhilarating or the small-talk -between so lively, while more than one white-kidded dandy swore mentally -at the innocent Wilford, whose wife declined to join in the gayeties, -and in a plain white muslin, with only a pond lily in her hair, kept by -her husband’s side, notwithstanding that he bade her leave him and -accept some of her numerous invitations to join the giddy dance. This -sober phase of Katy did not on the whole please Wilford as much as her -gayer ones had done. All he had ever dreamed of the sensation his bride -would create was more than verified. Katy had fulfilled his highest -expectations, reaching a point from which, as she had said to Mark, she -could dictate to his mother, if she chose, and he did not care to see -her relinquish it. - -But Katy remained true to herself. Dropping her girlish playfulness, she -assumed a quiet, gentle dignity, which became her even better than her -gayer mood had done, making her ten times more popular and more sought -after, until she begged to go away, persuading Wilford at last to name -the day for their departure, and then, never doubting for a moment that -her destination was Silverton, she wrote to Helen that she should be -home on such a day, and as they would come by way of Providence and -Worcester, they would probably reach West Silverton at ten o’clock, A. -M. - -“Wilford,” she added in a postscript, “has gone down to bathe, and as -the mail is just closing, I shall send this letter without his seeing -it. Of course it can make no difference, for I have talked all summer of -coming, and he understands it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - MARK RAY AT SILVERTON. - - -The last day of summer was dying out in a fierce storm of rain which -swept in sheets across the Silverton hills, hiding the pond from view, -and beating against the windows of the farm-house, whose inmates were -nevertheless unmindful of the storm save as they hoped the morrow would -prove bright and fair, such as the day should be which brought them back -their Katy. Nearly worn out with constant reference was her letter, the -mother catching it up from time to time to read the part referring to -herself, where Katy had told how blessed it would be “to rest again on -mother’s bed,” just as she had so often wished to do, “and hear mother’s -voice;” the deacon spelling out by his spluttering tallow candle, with -its long, smoky wick, what she had said of “darling old Uncle Eph,” and -the rides into the fields; Aunt Betsy, too, reading mostly from memory -the words: “Good old Aunt Betsy, with her skirts so limp and short, tell -her she will look handsomer to me than the fairest belle at Newport;” -and as often as Aunt Betsy read it she would ejaculate: “The land! what -kind of company must the child have kept?” wondering next if Helen had -never written of the _hoop_, for which she paid a dollar, and which was -carefully hung in her closet, waiting for the event of to-morrow, while -the hem of her pongee had been let down and one breadth gored to -accommodate the hoop. On the whole, Aunt Betsy expected to make a -stylish appearance before the little lady of whom she stood in awe, -always speaking of her to the neighbors as “My niece, Miss Cammen, from -New York,” and taking good care to report what she had heard of “Miss -Cammen’s” costly dress and the grandeur of her house, where the -furniture of the best chamber cost over fifteen hundred dollars. - -“What could it be?” Aunt Betsy had asked in her simplicity, feeling an -increased respect for Katy, and consenting the more readily to the -change in her pongee, as suggested to her by Helen. - -But that was for to-morrow when Katy came; to-night she only wore a -dotted brown, whose hem just reached the top of her “bootees,” as she -went to strain the milk brought in by Uncle Ephraim, while Helen took -her position near the window, looking drearily out upon the leaden -clouds, and hoping it would brighten before the morrow. Like the others, -Helen had read Katy’s letter many times, dwelling longest upon the part -which said: “I have been so bad, so frivolous and wicked here at -Newport, that it will be a relief to make you my confessor, depending, -as I do, upon your love to grant me absolution.” - -From a family in Silverton, who had spent a few days at a private house -in Newport, Helen had heard something of her sister’s life; the lady had -seen her once driving a tandem team down the avenue, with Wilford at her -side giving her instructions. Since then there had been some anxiety -felt for her at the farm-house, and more than Dr. Grant had prayed that -she might be kept unspotted from the world; but when her letter came, so -full of love and self-reproaches, the burden was lifted, and there was -nothing to mar the anticipations of the event for which they had made so -many preparations, Uncle Ephraim going to the expense of buying at -auction a half-worn covered buggy, which he fancied would suit Katy -better than the corn-colored wagon in which she used to ride. To pay for -this the deacon had parted with the money set aside for the “_great -coat_” he so much needed for the coming winter, his old gray having done -him service for fifteen years. But his comfort was nothing compared with -Katy’s happiness, and so, with his wrinkled face beaming with delight, -he had brought home his buggy, putting it carefully in the barn, and -saying no one should ride in it till Katy came. With untiring patience -the old man mended up his harness, for what he had heard of Katy’s -driving had impressed him strongly with her powers of horsemanship, and -raised her somewhat in his respect. Could he have afforded it Uncle -Ephraim in his younger days would have been a horse jockey, and even now -he liked nothing better than to make Old Whitey run when alone in the -strip of woods between his house and the head of the pond. - -“Katy inherits her love of horses from me,” he said complacently; and -with a view of improving Whitey’s style and mettle, he took to feeding -him on oats, talking to him at times, and telling him who was coming. - -Dear, simple-hearted Uncle Ephraim! the days which he must wait seemed -long to him as they did to the other members of his family. But they -were all gone now,—Katy would be home on the morrow, and with the -shutting in of night the candles were lighted in the sitting-room, and -Helen sat down to her work, wishing it was to-night that Katy was -coming. As if in answer to her wish there was the sound of wheels, which -stopped before the house, and dropping her work Helen ran quickly to the -door, just as from under the dripping umbrella held by a driver boy, a -tall young man sprang upon the step, nearly upsetting her, but passing -an arm around her shoulders in time to keep her from falling. - -“I beg pardon for this assault upon you,” the stranger said; and then -turning to the boy he continued: “It’s all right, you need not wait.” - -With a chirrup and a blow the horse started forward, and the -mud-bespattered vehicle was moving down the road ere Helen had recovered -her surprise at recognizing Mark Ray, who shook the rain-drops from his -hair, and offering her his hand said in reply to her involuntary -exclamation: “I thought it was Katy,” “Shall I infer then that I am the -less welcome?” and his bright, saucy eyes looked laughingly into hers. -Business had brought him to Southbridge, he said, and it was his -intention to take the cars that afternoon for New York, but having been -detained longer than he expected, and not liking the looks of the hotel -arrangements, he had decided to presume upon his acquaintance with Dr. -Grant, and spend the night at Linwood. “But,” and again his eyes looked -straight at Helen, “it rained so hard and the light from your window was -so inviting that I ventured to stop, so here I am, claiming your -hospitality until morning, if convenient; if not, I will find my way to -Linwood.” - -There was something in this pleasant familiarity which won Uncle Ephraim -at once, and he bade the young man stay, as did Aunt Hannah and Mrs. -Lennox, who now for the first time was presented to Mark Ray. Always -capable of adapting himself to the circumstances around him, Mark did so -now with so much ease and courteousness as to astonish Helen, and partly -thaw the reserve she had assumed when she found the visitor was from the -hated city. - -“Are you expecting Mrs. Cameron?” he asked, adding, as Helen explained -that she was coming to-morrow, “That is strange. Wilford wrote decidedly -that he should be in New York to-morrow. Possibly, though, he does not -intend himself to stop.” - -“I presume not,” Helen replied, a weight suddenly lifting from her heart -at the prospect of not having to entertain the formidable brother-in-law -who, if he stayed long, would spoil all her pleasure. - -Thus at her ease on this point, she grew more talkative, half wishing -that her dress was not a shilling-calico, or her hair combed back quite -so straight, giving her that severe look which Morris had said was -unbecoming. It was very smooth and glossy, and Sybil Grandon would have -given her best diamond to have had in her own natural right the heavy -coil of hair bound so many times around the back of Helen’s head, and -ornamented with neither ribbon, comb, nor bow. Only a single geranium -leaf, with a white and scarlet blossom, was fastened just below the ear, -and on the side where Mark could see it best, admiring its effect and -forgetting the arrangement of the hair in his admiration of the -well-shaped head, bending so industriously over the work which Helen had -resumed—not crocheting, nor yet embroidery, but the very homely work of -darning Uncle Ephraim’s socks, a task which Helen always did, and on -that particular night. Helen knew it was not delicate employment, and -there was a moment’s hesitancy as she wondered what Mark would -think—then, with a grim delight in letting him see that she did not -care, she resumed her darning-needle, and as a kind of penance for the -flash of pride in which she had indulged, selected from the basket the -very coarsest, ugliest sock she could find, stretching out the huge -fracture at the heel to its utmost extent, and attacking it with a right -good will, while Mark, with a comical look on his face, sat watching -her. She knew he was looking at her, and her cheeks were growing very -red, while her hatred of him was increasing, when he said, abruptly: -“You follow my mother’s custom, I see. She used to mend my socks on -Tuesday nights.” - -“Your mother mend socks!” and Helen started so suddenly as to run the -point of her darning-needle a long way into her thumb, the wound -bringing a stream of blood which she tried to wipe away with her -handkerchief. - -“Bind it tightly round. Let me show you, please,” Mark said, and ere she -was aware of what she was doing, Helen was quietly permitting the young -man to wind her handkerchief around her thumb which he held in his hand, -pressing it until the blood ceased flowing, and the sharp pain had -abated. - -Perhaps Mark Ray liked holding that small, warm hand, even though it -were not as white and soft as Juno’s; at all events he did hold it until -Helen drew it from him with a quick, sudden motion, telling him it would -do very well, and she would not trouble him. Mark did not look as if he -had been troubled, but went back to his seat and took up the -conversation just where the needle had stopped it. - -“My mother did not always mend herself, but she caused it to be done, -and sometimes helped. I remember she used to say a woman should know how -to do everything pertaining to a household, and she carried out her -theory in the education of my sister.” - -“Have you a sister?” Helen asked, now really interested, and listening -intently while Mark told her of his only sister Julia, now Mrs. Ernst, -whose home was in New Orleans, though she at present was in Paris, and -his mother was there with her. “After Julia’s marriage, nine years ago, -mother went to live with her,” he said, “but latterly, as the little -Ernsts increase so fast, she wishes for a more quiet home, and this -winter she is coming to New York to keep house for me.” - -Helen thought she might like Mark’s mother, who, he told her, had been -twice married, and was now Mrs. Banker, and a widow. She must be -different from Mrs. Cameron; and Helen let herself down to another -degree of toleration for the man whose mother taught her daughter to -mend the family socks. Still there was about her a reserve, which Mark -wondered at, for it was not thus that ladies were accustomed to receive -his advances. He did not guess that Wilford Cameron stood between him -and Helen’s good opinion; but when, after the family came in, the -conversation turned upon Katy and her life in New York, the secret came -out in the sharp, caustic manner with which she spoke of New York and -its people. - -“It’s Will and the Camerons,” Mark thought, blaming Helen less than he -would have done, if he, too, had not known something of the Cameron -pride. - -It was a novel position in which Mark found himself that night, an -inmate of a humble farm-house, where he could almost touch the ceiling -with his hand, and where his surroundings were so different from what he -had been accustomed to; but, unlike Wilford Cameron, he did not wish -himself away, nor feel indignant at Aunt Betsy’s old-fashioned ways, or -Uncle Ephraim’s grammar. He noticed Aunt Betsy’s oddities, it is true, -and noticed Uncle Ephraim’s grammar; but the sight of Helen sitting -there, with so much dignity and self-respect, made him look beyond all -else, straight into her open face and clear brown eyes, where there was -nothing obnoxious or distasteful. Her language was correct, her manner, -saving a little stiffness, lady-like and refined: and Mark enjoyed his -situation as self-invited guest, making himself so agreeable that Uncle -Ephraim forgot his hour of retiring, nor discovered his mistake until, -with a loud yawn, Aunt Betsy told him that it was half-past nine, and -she was “desput sleepy.” - -Owing to Helen’s influence there had been a change of the olden custom, -and instead of the long chapter, through which Uncle Ephraim used to -plod so wearily, there were now read the Evening Psalms. Aunt Betsy -herself joined in the reading, which she mentally classed with the -“quirks,” but confessed to herself that it “was most as good as the -Bible.” - -As there were only Prayer Books enough for the family, Helen, in -distributing them, purposely passed Mark by, thinking he might not care -to join them. But when the verse came round to Helen he quickly drew his -chair near to hers, and taking one side of her book, performed his part, -while Helen’s face grew red as the blossoms in her hair, and her hand, -so near to Mark’s, trembled visibly. - -“A right nice chap, and not an atom stuck up,” was Aunt Betsy’s mental -comment, and then, as he often will do, Satan followed the saintly woman -even to her knees, making her wonder if “Mr. Ray hadn’t some notion -after Helen.” She hoped not, for she meant that Morris should have -Helen, “though if ’twas to be it was, and she should not go agin it;” -and while Aunt Betsy thus settled the case, Uncle Ephraim’s prayer -ended, and the conscience-smitten woman arose from her knees with the -conviction that “the evil one had got the better of her once,” mentally -asking pardon for her wandering thoughts and promising to do better. - -Mark was in no haste to retire, and when Uncle Ephraim offered to -conduct him to his room, he frankly answered that he was not sleepy, -adding, as he turned to Helen: “Please let me stay until Miss Lennox -finishes her socks. There are several pairs yet undarned. I will not -detain you, though,” he continued, bowing to Uncle Ephraim, who, a -little uncertain what to do, finally departed, as did Aunt Hannah and -his sister, leaving Helen and her mother to entertain Mark Ray. It had -been Mrs. Lennox’s first intention to retire also, but a look from Helen -kept her, and she sat down by that basket of socks, while Mark wished -her away. Awhile they talked of Katy and New York, Mark laboring to -convince Helen that its people were not all heartless and fickle, and at -last citing his mother as an instance. - -“You would like mother, Miss Lennox. I hope you will know her some -time,” he said, and then they talked of books, Helen forgetting that -Mark was city-bred in the interest with which she listened to him, while -Mark forgot that the girl who appreciated and understood his views -almost before they were expressed, was country born, and clad in homely -garb, with no ornaments save those of her fine mind and the sparkling -face turned so fully towards him. - -“Mark Ray is not like Wilford Cameron,” Helen said to herself, when as -the clock was striking eleven she bade him good night and went up to her -room, and opening her window she leaned her hot cheek against the wet -casement, and looked out upon the night, now so beautiful and clear, for -the rain was over, and up in the heavens the bright stars were shining, -each one bearing some resemblance to Mark’s eyes as they kindled and -grew bright with his excitement, resting always kindly on her—on Helen, -who leaning thus from the window, felt stealing over her that feeling -which, once born, can never be quite forgotten. - -Helen did not recognize the feeling, for it was a strange one to her. -She was only conscious of a sensation half pleasurable, half sad, of -which Mark Ray had been the cause, and which she tried in vain to put -aside. And then there swept over her a feeling of desolation such as she -had never experienced before, a shrinking from living all her life in -Silverton, as she fully expected to do, and laying her head upon the -little stand, she cried passionately. - -“This is weak, this is folly,” she suddenly exclaimed, as she became -conscious of acting as Helen Lennox was not wont to act, and with a -strong effort she dried her tears and crept quietly to bed just as Mark -was falling into his first sleep and dreaming of smothering. - -Helen would not have acknowledged it, and yet it was a truth not to be -denied, that she stayed next morning a much longer time than usual -before her glass, arranging her hair, which was worn more becomingly -than on the previous night, and which softened the somewhat too -intellectual expression of her face, and made her seem more womanly and -modest. Once she thought to wear the light buff gown in which she looked -so well, but the thought was repudiated as soon as formed, and donning -the same dark calico she would have worn if Mark had not been there, she -finished her simple toilet and went down stairs, just as Mark came in at -the side door, his hands full of water lilies, and his boots bearing -marks of what he had been through to get them. - -“Early country air is healthful,” he said, “and as I do not often have a -chance to try it, I thought I would improve the present opportunity. So -I have been down by the pond, and spying these lilies I persevered until -I reached them, in spite of mud and mire. There is no blossom I like so -well. Were I a young girl I would always wear one in my hair, as your -sister did one night at Newport, and I never saw her look better. Just -let me try the effect on you;” and selecting a half-opened bud, Mark -placed it among Helen’s braids as skillfully as if hair-dressing were -one of his accomplishments. “The effect is good,” he continued, turning -her blushing face to the glass and asking if it were not. - -“Yes,” Helen stammered, seeing more the saucy eyes looking over her head -than the lily in her hair. “Yes, good enough, but hardly in keeping with -this old dress,” and vanity whispered the wish that the _buff_ had -really been worn. - -“Your dress is suitable for morning, I am sure,” Mark replied, turning a -little more to the right the lily, and noticing as he did so how very -white and pretty was the neck and throat seen above the collar. - -Mark liked a pretty neck, and he was glad to know that Helen had one, -though why he should care was a puzzle. He could hardly have analyzed -his feelings then, or told what he did think of Helen. He only knew that -by her efforts to repel him she attracted him the more, she was so -different from any young ladies he had known—so different from Juno, -into whose hair he had never twined a water lily. It would not become -her as it did Helen, he thought, as he sat opposite her at the table, -admiring his handiwork, which even Aunt Betsy observed, remarking that -“Helen was mightily spruced up for morning,” a compliment which Helen -acknowledged with a painful blush, while Mark began a disquisition upon -the nature of lilies generally, which lasted until breakfast was ended. - -It was arranged that Mark should ride to the cars with Uncle Ephraim -when he went for Katy, and as this gave him a good two hours of leisure, -he spoke of Dr. Grant, asking Helen if she did not suppose he would call -round. Helen thought it possible, and then remembering how many things -were to be done that morning, she excused herself from the parlor, and -repairing to the platform out by the back door, where it was shady and -cool, she tied on a broad check apron, and rolling her sleeves above her -elbows, was just bringing the churn-dasher to bear vigorously upon the -thick cream she was turning into butter, when, having finished his -cigar, Mark went out into the yard, and following the winding path came -suddenly upon her. Helen’s first impulse was to stop, but with a strong -nerving of herself she kept on while Mark, coming as near as he dared, -said to her: “Why do you do that? Is there no one else?” - -“No,” Helen answered; “that is, we keep no servant, and my young arms -are stronger than the others.” - -“And _mine_ are stronger still,” Mark laughingly rejoined, as he put -Helen aside and plied the dasher himself, in spite of her protestations -that he would certainly ruin his clothes. - -“Tie that apron round me, then,” he said, with the utmost nonchalance, -and Helen obeyed, tying her check apron around the young man’s neck, who -felt her hands as they touched his hair, and knew that they were -brushing queer fancies into his brain—fancies which made him wonder what -his mother would think of Helen, or what she would say if she knew just -how he was occupied that morning, absolutely churning cream until it -turned to butter, for Mark persisted until the task was done, standing -by while Helen gathered up the golden lumps, and admiring her plump, -round arms quite as much as he had her neck. - -She would be a belle like her sister, though of a different stamp, he -thought, as he again bent down his head while she removed the apron and -disclosed more than one big spot upon his broadcloth. Mark assured her -that it did not matter; his coat was nearly worn out, and any way he -never should regret that he had _churned_ once in his life, or forget it -either; and then he asked if Helen would be in New York the coming -winter, talking of the pleasure it would be to meet her there, until -Helen began to feel what she never before had felt, a desire to visit -Katy in her own home. - -“Remember if you come that I am your debtor for numerous hospitalities,” -he said, when he at last bade her good-bye and sprang into the covered -buggy, which Uncle Ephraim had brought out in honor of Katy’s arrival. - - * * * * * - -Old Whitey was hitched at a safe distance from all possible harm. Uncle -Ephraim had returned from the store near by, laden with the six pounds -of crush sugar and the two pounds of real old Java he had been -commissioned to purchase with a view to Katy’s taste, and now upon the -platform at West Silverton his stood, with Mark Ray, waiting for the -arrival of the train just appearing in view across the level plain. - -“It’s fifteen months since she went away,” he said, and Mark saw that -the old man’s form trembled with the excitement of meeting her again, -while his eyes scanned eagerly every window and door of the cars now -slowly stopping before him. “There, there!” and he laid his hand -nervously on Mark’s shoulder, as a white, jaunty feather appeared in -view; but that was not Katy, and the dim eyes ran again along the whole -line of the cars, from which so many were alighting. - -But Katy did not come, and with a long breath of wonder and -disappointment the deacon said: “Can it be she is asleep? Young man, you -are spryer than I. Go through the cars and find her.” - -Mark knew there was plenty of time, and so he made the tour of the cars, -but found, alas, no Katy. - -“She’s not there,” was the report carried to the poor old man, who -tremblingly repeated the words: “Not there, not come!” while over his -aged face there broke a look of touching sadness, which Mark never -forgot, remembering it always just as he remembered the big tear drops -which from his seat by the window he saw the old man wipe away with his -coat-sleeve, as whispering softly to Whitey of his disappointment he -unhitched the horse and drove away alone. - -“Maybe she’s writ. I’ll go and see,” he said, and driving to their -regular office he found a letter directed by Wilford Cameron, but -written by Katy; but he could not read it then, and thrusting it into -his pocket he went slowly back to the home where the tempting dinner was -prepared and the family waiting so eagerly for him. Even before he -reached them they knew of the disappointment, for from the garret window -Helen had watched the road by which he would come, and when the buggy -appeared in sight she saw he was alone. - -There was a mistake; Katy had missed the train, she said to her mother -and aunts, who hoped she might be right. But Katy had not missed the -train, as was indicated by the letter which Uncle Ephraim without a word -put into Helen’s hand, leaning on old Whitey’s neck while she read aloud -the attempt at an explanation which Katy had hurriedly written, a stain -on the paper where a tear had fallen, attesting her distress at the -bitter disappointment. - -“Wilford did not know of the other letter,” she said, “and had made -arrangements for her to go back with him to New York, inasmuch as the -house was already opened and the servants there wanting a _head_; -besides that, Wilford had been absent so long that he could not possibly -stop at Silverton himself, and as he would not think of living without -her, even for a few days, there was no alternative but for her to go -with him on the boat directly to New York. I am sorry, oh, so sorry, but -indeed I am not to blame,” she added in conclusion, and this was the -nearest approach there was to an admission that anybody was to blame for -this disappointment which cut so cruelly, making Uncle Ephraim cry, as -out in the barn he hung away the mended harness and covered the new -buggy, which had been bought for naught. - -“I might have had the overcoat, for Katy will never come home again, -never. God grant that it’s the Cameron pride, not hers that kept her -from us,” the old man said, as on the hay he knelt down and prayed that -Katy had not learned to despise the home where she was so beloved. - -“Katy will never come to us again,” seemed the prevailing opinion at -Silverton, where more than Uncle Ephraim felt a chilling doubt at times -as to whether she really wished to come or not. If she did, it seemed -easy of accomplishment to those who knew not how perfect and complete -were the fetters thrown around her, and how unbending the will which -governed hers. Could they have seen the look in Katy’s face when she -first understood that she was not going to Silverton, their hearts would -have bled for the thwarted creature who fled up the stairs to her own -room, where Esther found her twenty minutes later, cold and fainting -upon the bed, her face as white as ashes, and her hands clenched so -tightly that the nails left marks upon the palms. - -“It was not strange that the poor child should faint—indeed, it was only -natural that nature should give way after so many weeks of gayety, and -she very far from being strong,” Mrs. Cameron said to Wilford, who was -beginning to repent of his decision, and who but for that remark perhaps -might have revoked it. - -Indeed, he made an attempt to do so when, as consciousness came back, -Katy lay so pale and still before him; but Katy did not understand him, -or guess that he wished her to meet him more than half the way, and so -the verdict was unchanged, and in a kind of bewilderment, Katy wrote the -hurried letter, feeling less actual pain than did its readers, for the -disappointment had stunned her for a time, and all she could remember of -the passage home on that same night when Mark Ray sat with Helen in the -sitting-room at Silverton, was that there was a fearful storm of rain -mingled with lightning flashes and thunder peals, which terrified the -other ladies, but brought to her no other sensation save that it would -not be so very hard to perish in the dark waters dashing so madly about -the vessel’s side. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - A NEW LIFE. - - - New York, December 16, 18—. - - ‘TO MISS HELEN LENNOX, SILVERTON, MASS: - - “Your sister is very ill. Come as soon as possible. - - W. CAMERON.” - -This was the purport of a telegram received at the farm-house toward the -close of a chill December day, and Helen’s heart almost stopped its -beating as she read it aloud, and then looked in the white, scared faces -of those around her. Katy was very ill—dying, perhaps—or Wilford had -never telegraphed. What could it be? What was the matter? Had it been -somewhat later, they would have known; but now all was conjecture, and -in a half-distracted state, Helen made her hasty preparations for the -journey of the morrow, and then sent for Morris, hoping he might offer -some advice or suggestion, for her to carry to that sick room in New -York. - -“Perhaps you will go with me,” Helen said. “You know Katy’s -constitution. You might save her life.” - -But Morris shook his head. If he was needed they might send and he would -come, but not without; and so next day he carried Helen to the cars, -saying to her as they were waiting for the train, “I hope for the best, -but it may be Katy will die. If you think so, tell her, oh, tell her, of -the better world, and ask if she is prepared? I cannot lose her in -Heaven.” - -And this was all the message Morris sent, though his heart and prayers -went after the rapid train which bore Helen safely onward, until -Hartford was reached, where there was a long detention, so that the dark -wintry night had closed over the city ere Helen reached it, timid, -anxious, and wondering what she should do if Wilford was not there to -meet her. “He will be, of course,” she kept repeating to herself, -looking around in dismay, as passenger after passenger left, seeking in -stages and street cars a swifter passage to their homes. - -“I shall soon be all alone,” she said, feeling some relief as the car in -which she was seated began at last to move, and she knew she was being -taken whither the others had gone, wherever that might be. - -“Is Miss Helen Lennox here?” sounded cheerily in her ears as she stopped -before the depot, and Helen uttered a cry of joy, for she recognized the -voice of Mark Ray, who was soon grasping her hand, and trying to -reassure her, as he saw how she shrank from the noise and clamor of New -York, heard now for the first time. “Our carriage is here,” he said, and -in a moment she found herself in a close-covered vehicle, with Mark -sitting opposite, tucking the warm blanket around her, asking if she -were cold, and paying those numberless little attentions so gratifying -to one always accustomed to act and think for herself. - -Helen could not see Mark’s face distinctly; but full of fear for Katy, -she fancied there was a sad tone in his voice, as if he were keeping -back something he dreaded to tell her; and then, as it suddenly occurred -to her that Wilford should have met her, not Mark, her great fear found -utterance in words, and leaning forward so that her face almost touched -Mark’s she said, “Tell me, Mr. Ray, is Katy dead?” - -“Not dead, oh no, nor very dangerous, my mother hopes; but she kept -asking for you, and so my—that is, Mr. Cameron sent the telegram.” - -There was an ejaculatory prayer of thankfulness, and then Helen -continued, “Is it long since she was taken sick?” - -“Her little daughter will be a week old to-morrow,” Mark replied; while -Helen, with an exclamation of surprise she could not repress, sank back -into the corner, faint and giddy with the excitement of this fact, which -invested little Katy with a new dignity, and drew her so much nearer to -the sister who could scarcely wait for the carriage to stop, so anxious -was she to be where Katy was, to kiss her dear face once more, and -whisper the words of love she knew she must have longed to hear. - -Awe-struck, bewildered and half terrified, Helen looked up at the huge -brown structure, which Mark designated as “the place.” It was so lofty, -so grand, so like the Camerons, and so unlike the farm-house far away, -that Helen trembled as she followed Mark into the rooms flooded with -light, and seeming to her like fairy land. They were so different from -anything she had imagined, so much handsomer than even Katy’s -descriptions had implied, that for the moment the sight took her breath -away, and she sank passively into the chair Mark brought for her, -himself taking her muff and tippet, and noting, as he did so, that they -were not mink, nor yet Russian sable, but well-worn, well-kept fitch, -such as Juno would laugh at and criticise. But Helen’s dress was a -matter of small moment to Mark, and he thought more of the look in her -dark eyes than of all the furs in Broadway, as she said to him, “You are -very kind, Mr. Ray. I cannot thank you enough.” This remark had been -wrung from Helen by the feeling of homesickness which swept over her, as -she thought how really alone she should be there, in her sister’s house, -on this first night of her arrival, if it were not for Mark, thus -virtually taking the place of the brother-in-law, who should have been -there to greet her. - -“He was with Mrs. Cameron,” the servant said, and taking out a card Mark -wrote down a few words, and handing it to the servant who had been -looking curiously at Helen, he continued standing until a step was heard -on the stairs and Wilford came quietly in. - -It was not a very loving meeting, but Helen was civil and Wilford was -polite offering her his hand and asking some questions about her -journey. - -“I was intending to meet you myself,” he said, “but Mrs. Cameron does -not like me to leave her, and Mark kindly offered to take the trouble -off my hands.” - -He was looking pale and anxious, while there was on his face the light -of a new joy, as if the little life begun so short a time ago had -brought an added good to him, softening his haughty manner and making -him even endurable to the prejudiced sister watching him so closely. - -“Does Phillips know you are here?” he asked, answering his own query by -ringing the bell and bidding Esther, who appeared, tell Phillips that -Miss Lennox had arrived, and wished for supper, explaining to Helen that -since Katy’s illness they had dined at three, as that accommodated them -the best. - -This done and Helen’s baggage ordered to her room, he seemed to think he -had discharged his duty as host, and as Mark had left he began to grow -fidgety, for a tête-à-tête with Helen was not what he desired. He had -said to her all he could think to say, for it never once occurred to him -to inquire after the deacon’s family. He had asked for Dr. Grant, but -his solicitude went no further, and the inmates of the farm-house might -have been dead and buried for aught he knew to the contrary. The -omission was not made purposely, but because he really did not feel -enough of interest in people so widely different from himself even to -ask for them, much less to suspect how Helen’s blood boiled as she -detected the omission and imputed it to intended slight, feeling glad -when he excused himself, saying he must go back to Katy, but would send -his mother down to see her. _His mother._ Then _she_ was there, the one -whom Helen dreaded most of all, whom she had invested with every -possible terror, hoping now that she would not be in haste to come down. -She might have spared herself anxiety on this point, as the lady in -question was not anxious to meet a person who, could she have had her -way, would not have been there at all. - -From the first moment of consciousness after the long hours of suffering -Katy had asked for Helen, rather than her mother. - -“Send for Helen; I am so tired, and she could always rest me,” was her -reply, when asked by Wilford what he could do for her. “Send for Helen; -I want her so much,” she had said to Mrs. Cameron, when she came, -repeating the wish until a consultation was held between the mother and -son, touching the propriety of sending for Helen. “She would be of no -use whatever, and might excite our Katy. Quiet is highly important just -now,” Mrs. Cameron had said, thus veiling under pretended concern for -Katy her aversion to the girl whose independence in declining her -dressmaker had never been forgiven, and whom she had set down in her -mind as rude and ignorant. - -“If her coming would do Katy harm she ought not to come,” Wilford -thought, while Katy in her darkened room moaned on— - -“Send for sister Helen; please send for sister Helen.” - -At last, on the fourth day, Mrs. Banker, Mark Ray’s mother, came to the -house, and in consideration of the strong liking she had evinced for -Katy ever since her arrival in New York, and the great respect felt for -her by Mrs. Cameron, she was admitted to the chamber and heard the -plaintive pleadings, “Send for sister Helen,” until her motherly heart -was touched, and as she sat with her son at dinner she spoke of the -young girl-mother moaning so for Helen. - -Whether it was Mark’s great pity for Katy, or whether he was prompted by -some more selfish motive, we do not profess to say, but that he was -greatly excited was very evident from his manner as he exclaimed: - -“Why not send for Helen, then? She is a splendid girl, and they idolize -each other. Talk of _her_ injuring Katy, that’s all a humbug. She is -just fitted for a nurse. Almost the sight of her would cure one of -nervousness, she is so calm and quiet.” - -This was what Mark said, and the next morning Mrs. Banker’s carriage -stood at the door of No.—— Madison Square, while Mrs. Banker herself was -talking to Wilford in the library, and urging that Helen be sent for at -once. - -“It may save her life. She is more feverish to-day than yesterday, and -this constant asking for her sister will wear her out so fast,” she -added, and that last argument prevailed. - -Helen was sent for, and now sat waiting in the parlor for the coming of -Mrs. Cameron. Wilford did not mean Katy to hear him as he whispered to -his mother that Helen was below; but she did, and her blue eyes flashed -brightly as she started from her pillow, exclaiming: - -“I am so glad, so glad! Kiss me, Wilford, because I am so glad. Does she -know? Have you told her? Wasn’t she surprised, and will she come up -quick?” - -They could not quiet her at once, and only the assurance that unless she -were more composed, Helen should not see her that night, had any effect -upon her; but when they told her that, she lay back upon her pillow -submissively, and Wilford saw the great tears dropping from her hot -cheeks, while the pallid lips kept softly whispering “Helen.” Then the -sister love took another channel, and she said: - -“She has not been to supper, and Phillips is always cross at extras. -Will somebody see to it. Send Esther to me, please. Esther knows and is -good-natured.” - -“Mother will do all that is necessary. She is going down,” Wilford said; -but Katy had quite as much fear of leaving Helen to “mother” as to -Phillips, and insisted upon Esther until the latter came, receiving -numerous injunctions as to the jam, the sweetmeats, the peaches, and the -cold ham Helen must have, each one being remembered as her favorite. - -Wholly unselfish, Katy thought nothing of herself or the effort it cost -her to care for Helen; but when it was over and Esther was gone, she -seemed so utterly exhausted that Mrs. Cameron did not leave her, but -stayed at her bedside, until the extreme paleness was gone, and her eyes -were more natural. Meanwhile the supper, which as Katy feared had made -Phillips cross, had been arranged by Esther, who conducted Helen to the -dining-room, herself standing by and waiting upon her because the one -whose duty it was had gone out for the evening, and Phillips had -declined the “honor,” as she styled it. - -There was a homesick feeling tugging at Helen’s heart while she tried to -eat, and only the certainty that Katy was not far away kept her tears -back. To her the very grandeur of the house made it desolate, and she -was so glad it was Katy who lived there and not herself as she went up -the soft carpeted stairway, which gave back no sound, and through the -marble hall to the parlor, where, by the table on which her cloak and -furs were lying, a lady stood, as dignified and unconscious as if she -had not been inspecting the self-same _fur_ which Mark Ray had observed, -but not, like him, thinking it did not matter, for it did matter very -materially with her, and a smile of contempt had curled her lip as she -turned over the tippet which Phillips would not have worn. - -“I wonder how long she means to stay, and if Wilford will have to take -her out,” she was thinking, just as Helen appeared in the door and -advanced into the room. - -By herself, it was easy to slight Helen Lennox, but in her presence Mrs. -Cameron found it very hard to appear as cold and distant as she had -meant to do, for there was something about Helen which commanded her -respect, and she went forward to meet her, offering her hand and saying -cordially: - -“Miss Lennox, I presume—my daughter Katy’s sister?” - -Helen had not expected this, and the warm flush which came to her cheeks -made her very handsome, as she returned Mrs. Cameron’s greeting, and -then asked more particularly for Katy than she had yet done. For a while -they talked together, Mrs. Cameron noting carefully every item of -Helen’s attire, as well as the purity of her language and her perfect -repose of manner after the first stiffness had passed away. - -“Naturally a lady as well as Katy; there must be good blood somewhere, -probably on the Lennox side,” was Mrs. Cameron’s private opinion, while -Helen, after a few moments, began to feel far more at ease with Mrs. -Cameron than she had done in the dining-room with Esther waiting on her, -and the cross Phillips stalking once through the room for no ostensible -purpose except to get a sight of her. - -Helen wondered at herself, and Mrs. Cameron wondered too, trying to -decide whether it were ignorance, conceit, obtuseness, or what, which -made her so self-possessed when she was expected to appear so different. - -“Strong-minded,” was her final decision, as she said at last, “We -promised Katy she should see you to-night. Will you go now?” - -Then the color left Helen’s face and lips and her limbs shook -perceptibly, for the knowing she was soon to meet her sister unnerved -her; but by the time the door of Katy’s room was reached she was herself -again, and there was no need for Mrs. Cameron to whisper, “Pray do not -excite her.” - -Katy heard her coming, and it required all Wilford’s and the nurse’s -efforts to keep her quiet. - -“Helen, Helen, darling, darling sister!” she cried, as she wound her -arms around Helen’s neck, and laid her golden head on Helen’s bosom, -sobbing in a low, mournful way which told Helen more how she had been -longed for than did the weak voice which whispered, “I’ve wanted you so -much, oh Helen; you don’t know how much I’ve missed you all the years -I’ve been away. You will not leave me now,” and Katy clung closer to the -dear sister who gently unclasped the clinging arms and put back upon the -pillow the quivering face, which she kissed so tenderly, whispering in -her own old half soothing, half commanding way, “Be quiet now, Katy. -It’s best that you should. No, I will not leave you.” - -Next to Dr. Grant Helen had more influence over Katy than any living -being, and it was very apparent now, for, as if her presence had a power -to soothe, Katy grew very quiet, and utterly wearied out, slept for a -few moments with Helen’s hand fast locked in hers. When she awoke the -tired look was gone, and turning to her sister she said, “Have you seen -my baby?” while the young mother-love which broke so beautifully over -her pale face, made it the face of an angel. - -“It seems so funny that it is Katy’s baby,” Helen said, taking the puny -little thing, which with its wrinkled face and red, clinched fists was -not very attractive to her, save as she looked at it with Katy’s eyes. - -She did not even kiss it, but her tears dropped upon its head as she -thought how short the time since up in the old garret at home she had -dressed rag dolls for the Katy who was now a mother. And still in a -measure she was the same, hugging Helen fondly when she said good night, -and welcoming her so joyfully in the morning when she came again, -telling her how just the sight of her sitting there by baby’s crib did -her so much good. - -“I shall get well so fast,” she said; and she was right, for Helen was -worth far more to her than all the physician’s powders, and Wilford was -glad that Helen came, even if she did sometimes shock him with her -independent ways, upsetting all his plans and theories with regard to -Katy, and meeting him on other grounds with an opposition as puzzling as -it was new to him. - -To Mrs. Cameron Helen was a study; she seemed to care so little for what -others might think of her, evincing no hesitation, no timidity, when -told the second day after her arrival that Mrs. Banker was in the -parlor, and had asked to see Miss Lennox. Mrs. Cameron did not suspect -how under that calm, unmoved exterior, Helen was hiding a heart which -beat painfully as she went down to meet the mother of Mark Ray, going -first to her own room to make some little change in her toilet, and -wishing that her dress was more like the dress of those around her—like -Mrs. Cameron’s, or even _Esther’s_ and the fashionable nurse’s. One -glance she gave to the brown silk, Wilford’s gift, but her good sense -told her that the plain merino she wore was more suitable to the sick -room where she spent her time, and so with a fresh collar and cuffs, and -another brush of her hair, she went to Mrs. Banker, forgetting herself -in her pleasure at finding in the stranger a lady so wholly congenial -and familiar, whose mild, dark eyes rested so kindly on her, and whose -pleasant voice had something motherly in its tone, putting her at her -ease, and making her appear at her very best. - -Mrs. Banker was pleased with Helen, and she felt a kind of pity for the -young girl thrown so suddenly among strangers, without even her sister -to assist her. - -“Have you been out at all?” she asked, and upon Helen’s replying that -she had not, she answered, “That is not right. Accustomed to the fresh -country air, you will suffer from too close confinement. Suppose you -ride with me. My carriage is at the door, and I have a few hours’ -leisure. Tell your sister I insist,” she continued, as Helen hesitated -between inclination and what she fancied was her duty. - -To see New York with Mrs. Banker was a treat indeed, and Helen’s heart -bounded high as she ran up to Katy’s room with the request. - -“Yes, go by all means,” Katy said. “It is so kind in Mrs. Banker, and so -like her, too. I meant that Wilford should have driven with you to-day, -and spoke to him about it, but Mrs. Banker will do better. Tell her I -thank her so much for her thoughtfulness,” and with a kiss Katy sent -Helen away, while Mrs. Cameron, after twisting her rings nervously for a -moment, said to Katy: - -“Perhaps your sister will do well to wear your furs. Hers are small, and -common fitch.” - -“Yes, certainly. Take them to her,” Katy answered, knowing intuitively -the feeling which had prompted this suggestion from her mother-in-law, -who hastened to Helen’s room with the rich sable she was to wear in -place of the old fitch. - -Helen appreciated the difference at once between her furs and Katy’s and -felt a pang of mortification as she saw how old and poor and _dowdy_ -hers were beside the others. But they were her own—the best she could -afford. She would not begin by borrowing, and so she declined the offer, -and greatly to Mrs. Cameron’s horror went down to Mrs. Banker clad in -the despised furs, which Mrs. Cameron would on no account have had -beside her on Broadway in an open carriage. Mrs. Banker noticed them, -too, but the eager, happy face, which grew each moment brighter as they -drove down the street, more than made amends; and in watching that and -pointing out the places which they passed, Mrs. Banker forgot the furs -and the coarse straw hat whose strings of black had undeniably been -dyed. Never in her life had Helen enjoyed a ride as she did that -pleasant winter day, when her kind friend took her wherever she wished -to go, showing her Broadway in its glory from Union Square to Wall -Street, where they encountered Mark in the bustling crowd. He saw them, -and beckoned to them, while Helen’s face grew red, as, lifting his hat -to her, he came up to the carriage, and at his mother’s suggestion took -a seat just opposite, asking where they had been, and jocosely laughing -at his mother’s taste in selecting such localities as the Five Points, -the Tombs and Barnum’s Museum, when there were so many finer places to -be seen. - -Helen felt the hot blood pricking the roots of her hair for the Five -Points, the Tombs and Barnum’s Museum had been her choice as the points -of which she had heard the most. So when Mark continued: - -“You shall ride with me, Miss Lennox, and I will show you something -worth your seeing,” she frankly answered: - -“Your mother is not in fault, Mr. Ray. She asked me where I wished to -go, and I mentioned these places; so please attribute it wholly to my -country breeding, and not to your mother’s lack of taste.” - -There was something in the frank speech which won Mrs. Banker’s heart, -while she felt an increased respect for the young girl, who, she saw, -was keenly sensitive, even with all her strength of character. - -“You were right to commence as you have,” she said, “for now you have a -still greater treat in store, and Mark shall drive you to the Park some -day. I know you will like that.” - -Helen could like anything with that friendly voice to reassure her, and -leaning back she was thinking how pleasant it was to be in New York, how -different from what she had expected, when a bow from Mark made her look -up in time to see that they were meeting a carriage, in which sat -Wilford, with two gayly dressed ladies, both of whom gave her a -supercilious stare as they passed by, while the younger of the two half -turned her head, as if for a more prolonged gaze. - -“Mrs. Grandon and Juno Cameron,” Mrs. Banker said, making some further -remark to her son, while Helen felt that the brightness of the day had -changed, for she could not be unconscious of the look with which she had -been regarded by these two fashionable ladies, and again her _furs_ came -up before her, bringing a felling of which she was ashamed, especially -as she had fancied herself above all weakness of the kind. - -That night at the dinner, from which Mrs. Cameron was absent, Wilford -was unusually gracious, asking “if she had enjoyed her ride, and if she -did not find Mrs. Banker a very pleasant acquaintance.” - -Wilford felt a little uncomfortable at having suffered a stranger to do -for Katy’s sister what should have been done by himself. Katy had asked -him to drive with Helen, but he had found it very convenient to forget -it, and take a seat instead with Juno and Mrs. Grandon, the latter of -whom complimented “Miss Lennox’s fine intellectual face,” after they had -passed, and complimented it the more as she saw how it vexed Juno, who -could see nothing “in those bold eyes and that masculine forehead,” just -because their _vis-à-vis_ chanced to be Mark Ray. Juno was not pleased -with Helen’s first appearance in the street, but nevertheless she called -upon her next day, with Sybil Grandon and her sister Bell. To this she -was urged by Sybil, who, having a somewhat larger experience of human -nature, foresaw that Helen would be popular just because Mrs. Banker had -taken her up, and who, besides, had conceived a capricious fancy to -patronize Miss Lennox. But in this she was foiled, for Helen was not to -_be_ patronized, and she received her visitors with that calm, assured -manner so much a part of herself. - -“Diamond cut diamond,” Bell thought, as she saw how frigidly polite both -Juno and Helen were, each recognizing in the other something -antagonistic, which could not harmonize. - -Had Juno never cared for Dr. Grant, or suspected Helen of standing -between herself and him, and had Mark Ray never stopped at Silverton, or -been seen on Broadway with her, she might have judged her differently, -for there was something attractive in Helen’s face and appearance as she -sat talking to her guests, with as much quiet dignity as if she had -never mended Uncle Ephraim’s socks or made a pound of butter among the -huckleberry hills. Bell was delighted, detecting at once traces of the -rare mind which Helen Lennox possessed, and wondering to find it so. - -“I hope we shall see each other often,” she said, at parting. “I do not -go out a great deal myself—that is, not so much as Juno—but I shall be -always glad to welcome you to my _den_. You may find something there to -interest you.” - -This was Bell’s leave-taking, while Sybil’s was, if possible, more -friendly, for she took a perverse kind of pleasure in annoying Juno, who -wondered “what she or Bell could see to like in that awkward country -girl, who she knew had on one of Katy’s cast-off collars, and whose -wardrobe was the most ordinary she ever saw; _fitch furs_, think of -that!” and Juno gave a little pull at the fastenings of her rich ermine -collar, showing so well over her velvet basquine. - -“Fitch furs or not, they rode with Mark Ray on Broadway,” Bell retorted, -with a wicked look in her eye, which roused Juno to a still higher pitch -of anger, so that by the time the carriage stopped at No.——, the young -lady was in a most unamiable frame of mind as regarded both Helen Lennox -and the offending Mark. - -That evening there was at Mrs. Reynolds’s a little company of thirty or -more, and as Mark was present, Juno seized the opportunity of -ascertaining, if possible, his real opinion of Helen Lennox, joking him -first about his having taken her to ride so soon, and insinuating that -he must have a _penchant_ for every new and pretty face. - -“Then you think her pretty? You have called on her?” Mark replied, his -manner evincing so much pleasure that Juno bit her lip to keep down her -wrath, and flashing upon him her scornful eyes, replied: “Yes, Sybil and -Bell insisted that I should. Of myself I would never have done it, for I -have now more acquaintances than I can attend to, and do not care to -increase the list. Besides that, I do not imagine that Miss Lennox can -in any way add to my happiness, brought up as she has been among the -woods and hills, you know.” - -“Yes, I have been there—to her home, I mean,” Mark rejoined, and Juno -continued: - -“Only for a moment, though. You should have stayed, like Will, to -appreciate it fully. I wish you could hear him describe the feather beds -on which he slept—that is, describe them before he decided to take Katy; -for after that he was chary of his remarks, and the feathers by some -marvelous process were changed into hair, for what he knew or cared.” - -Mark hesitated a moment, and then said, quietly: - -“I have stayed there all night, and have tested that feather bed, but -found nothing disparaging to Helen, who was as much a lady in the -farm-house as here in the city.” - -There was a look of withering scorn on Juno’s face as she replied, - -“Pray, how long since you took to visiting Silverton so -frequently—becoming so familiar as to spend the night?” - -There was no mistaking the jealousy which betrayed itself in every tone -of Juno’s voice as she stood before Mark, a fit picture of the enraged -goddess whose name she bore. Soon recollecting herself, however, she -changed her mode of attack, and said, laughingly, - -“Seriously, though, this Miss Lennox seems a very nice girl, and is -admirably fitted, I think, for the position she is to fill—that of a -_country physician’s wife_,” and in the black eyes there was a wicked -sparkle as Juno saw that her meaning was readily understood, Mark -looking quickly at her, and asking if she referred to Dr. Grant. - -“Certainly; I imagine that was settled as long ago as we met him in -Paris. Once I thought it might have been our Katy, but was mistaken. I -think the doctor and Miss Lennox well adapted to each other.” - -There was for a moment a dull, heavy pain at Mark’s heart, caused by -that little item of information which made him so uncomfortable. On the -whole he did not doubt it, for everything he could recall of Morris had -a tendency to strengthen the belief. Nothing could be more probable, -thrown together as they had been, without other congenial society, and -nothing could be more suitable. - -“They _are_ well matched,” Mark thought, as he walked listlessly through -Mrs. Reynolds’s parlors, seeing only one face, and _that_ the face of -Helen Lennox, with the lily in her hair, just as it looked when she tied -the apron about his neck and laughed at his appearance. - -Helen was not the ideal which in his boyhood Mark had cherished of the -one who was to be his wife, for that was of a woman more like Juno, with -whom he had always been on the best of terms, giving her some reason for -believing herself the favored one; but ideals change as years go on, and -Helen Lennox had more attractions for him now than the most dashing -belle of his acquaintance. - -“I do not believe I am in love with her,” he said to himself when, after -his return from Mrs. Reynolds’s he sat for a long time before the fire -in his dressing-room, cogitating upon what he had heard, and wondering -why it should affect him so much. “Of course I am not,” he continued, -feeling the necessity of reiterating the assertion by way of making -himself believe it. “She is not at all what I used to imagine the future -Mrs. Mark Ray to be. Half my friends would say she had no style, no -beauty, and perhaps she has not. Certainly she does not look just like -the ladies at Mrs. Reynolds’s to-night, but give her the same advantages -and she would surpass them all.” - -And then Mark Ray went off into a reverie, in which he saw Helen Lennox -his wife, and with the aids by which he would surround her, rapidly -developing into as splendid a woman as little Katy Cameron, who did not -need to be developed, but took all hearts at once by that natural, -witching grace so much a part of herself. It was a very pleasant picture -which Mark painted upon the mental canvas; but there came a great blur -blotting out its brightness as he remembered Dr. Grant. - -“But it shall not interfere with my being just as kind to her as before. -She will need some attendant here, and Wilford will be glad to shove her -off his hands. He is so infernal proud,” Mark said, and taking a fresh -cigar he finished his reverie with the magnanimous resolve that were -Helen a hundred times engaged she should be his especial care during her -sojourn in New York. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - HELEN IN SOCIETY. - - -It was three days before Christmas, and Katy was talking confidentially -to Mrs. Banker, whom she had asked to see the next time she called. - -“I want so much to surprise her,” she said, speaking in a whisper, “and -you have been so kind to us both that I thought it might not trouble you -very much if I asked you to make the selection for me, and see to the -engraving. Wilford gave me fifty dollars, all I needed, as I had fifty -more of my own, and now that I have a baby, I am sure I shall never -again care to go out.” - -“Yes,” Mrs. Banker said, thoughtfully, as she rolled up the bills, “you -wish me to get as heavy bracelets as I can find—for the hundred -dollars.” - -“Yes,” Katy replied, “I think that will please her, don’t you?” - -Mrs. Banker did not reply at once, for she felt certain that the hundred -dollars could be spent in a manner more satisfactory to Helen. Still she -hardly liked to interfere, until Katy, observing her hesitancy, asked -again if she did not think Helen would be pleased. - -“Yes, pleased with anything you choose to give her, but—excuse me, dear -Mrs. Cameron, if I speak as openly as if I were the mother of you both. -Bracelets are suitable for you who have everything else, but is there -not something your sister needs more? Now, allowing me to suggest, I -should say, buy her some _furs_, and let the bracelets go. In Silverton -her furs were well enough, but here, as the sister of Mrs. Wilford -Cameron, she is deserving of better.” - -Katy understood Mrs. Banker at once, her cheeks reddening as there -flashed upon her the reason _why_ Wilford had never yet been in the -street with Helen, notwithstanding that she had more than once requested -it. - -“You are right,” she said. “It was thoughtless in me not to think of -this myself. Helen shall have the furs, and whatever else is necessary. -I am so glad you reminded me of it. You are as kind as my own mother,” -and Katy kissed her friend fondly as she bade her good-bye, charging her -a dozen times not to let Helen know the surprise in store for her. - -There was little need of this caution, for Mrs. Banker understood human -nature too well to divulge a matter which might wound one as sensitive -as Helen. Between the latter and herself there was a strong bond of -friendship, and to the kind patronage of this lady Helen owed most of -the attentions she had as yet received from her sister’s friends, while -Mark Ray did much toward lifting her to the place she held in spite of -the common country dress, which Juno unsparingly criticised, and which, -in fact, kept Wilford from taking her out as his wife so often asked him -to do. And Helen, too, keenly felt the difference between herself and -those with whom she came in contact, crying over it more than once, but -never dreaming of the surprise in store for her, when on Christmas -morning she went as usual to Katy’s room, finding her alone, her face -all aglow with excitement, and her bed a perfect show-case of dry goods, -which she bade Helen examine and say how she liked them. - -Wilford was no niggard with his money, and when Katy had asked for more -it had been given unsparingly, even though he knew the purpose to which -it was to be applied. - -“Oh, Katy, Katy, why did you do it?” Helen cried, her tears falling like -rain through the fingers she clasped over her eyes. - -“You are not angry?” Katy said, in some dismay, as Helen continued to -sob without looking at the handsome furs, the stylish hat, the pretty -cloak, and rich patterns of blue and black silk, which Mrs. Banker had -selected. - -“No, oh no!” Helen replied. “I know it was all meant well; but there is -something in me which rebels against taking this from Wilford, and -placing myself under so great obligation to him.” - -“It was a pleasure for him to do it,” Katy said, trying to reassure her -sister, until she grew calm enough to examine and admire the Christmas -gifts upon which no expense had been spared. Much as we may ignore -dress, and sinful as is an inordinate love for it, there is yet about it -an influence for good, when the heart of the wearer is right, holding it -subservient to all higher, holier affections. At least Helen Lennox -found it so, when clad in her new garments, she drove with Mrs. Banker, -or returned Sybil Grandon’s call, feeling that there was about her -nothing for which Katy need to blush, or even Wilford, who was not -afraid to be seen with her now, and Helen, while knowing the reason of -the change, did not feel like quarreling with him for it, but accepted -with a good-natured grace all that made her life in New York so happy. -With Bell Cameron she was on the best of terms; while Sybil Grandon, -always going with the tide, professed for her an admiration, which, -whether fancied or real, did much toward making her popular; and when, -as the mistress of her brother’s house, she issued cards of invitation -for a large party, she took especial pains to insist upon Helen’s -attending, even if Katy was not able. But from this Helen shrank. She -could not meet so many strangers alone, she said, and so the matter was -dropped, until Mrs. Banker offered to chaperone her, when Helen began to -waver, changing her mind at last and promising to go. - -Never since the days of _her_ first party had Katy been so wild with -excitement as she was in helping to dress Helen, who scarcely knew -herself when, before the mirror, with the blaze of the chandelier -falling upon her, she saw the picture of a young girl arrayed in rich -pink silk, with an overskirt of lace, and the light pretty cloak, just -thrown upon her uncovered neck, where Katy’s pearls were shining. - -“What would they say at home if they could only see you?” Katy -exclaimed, throwing back the handsome cloak so as to show more of the -well-shaped neck, gleaming so white beneath it. - -“Aunt Betsy would say I had forgotten half my dress,” Helen replied, -blushing as she glanced at the arms, which never since her childhood had -been thus exposed to view, except at such times as her household duties -had required it. - -Even this exception would not apply to the low neck, at which Helen had -long demurred, yielding finally to Katy’s entreaties, but often -wondering what Mark Ray would think, and if he would not be shocked. -Mark Ray had been strangely blended with all Helen’s thoughts as she -submitted herself to Esther’s practiced hands, and when the -hair-dresser, summoned to her aid, asked what flowers she would wear, it -was a thought of him which led her to select a single water lily, which -looked as natural as if its bed had really been the bosom of Fairy Pond. - -“Nothing else? Surely mademoiselle will have these few green leaves?” -Celine had said, but Helen would have nothing save the lily, which was -twined tastefully amid the heavy braids of the brown hair, whose length -and luxuriance had thrown the hair-dresser into ecstasies of delight, -and made Esther lament that in these days of false tresses no one would -give Miss Lennox credit for what was wholly her own. - -“You will be the belle of the evening,” Katy said as she kissed her -sister good night and then ran back to her baby, while Wilford, yielding -to her importunities that he should not remain with her, followed Mrs. -Banker’s carriage in his own private conveyance, and was soon set down -at Sybil Grandon’s door. - -Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron’s there had been a discussion touching -the propriety of their taking Helen under their protection, instead of -leaving her for Mrs. Banker to chaperone, Bell insisting that it ought -to be done, while the father swore roundly at Juno, who would not “be -bothered with that country girl.” - -“You would rather leave her wholly to Mark Ray and his mother, I -suppose,” Bell said, adding, as she saw the flush on Juno’s face, “You -know you are dying of jealousy, and nothing annoys you so much as to -hear people talk of Mark’s attentions to _Miss Lennox_.” - -“Do they talk?” Mrs. Cameron asked quickly, while in her gray eyes there -gleamed a light far more dangerous and threatening to Helen than Juno’s -open scorn. - -Mrs. Cameron had long intended Mark Ray for her daughter, and accustomed -to have everything bend to her wishes, she had come to consider the -matter as certain, even though he had never proposed in words. He had -done everything else, she thought, attending Juno constantly, and -frequenting their house so much that it was a standing joke for his -friends to seek him there when he was not at home or at his office. -Latterly, however, there had been a change, and the ambitious mother -could not deny that since Helen’s arrival in New York Mark had visited -them less frequently and stayed a shorter time, while she had more than -once heard of him at her son’s in company with Helen. Very rapidly a -train of thought passed through her mind; but it did not manifest itself -upon her face, which was composed and quiet as she decided with Juno -that Helen should not trouble them. With the utmost care Juno arrayed -herself for the party, thinking with a great deal of complacency how -impossible it was for Helen Lennox to compete with her in point of -dress. - -“She is such a prude, I dare say she will go in that blue silk, with the -long sleeves and high neck, looking like a Dutch doll,” she said to -Bell, as she shook back the folds of her rich crimson, and turned her -head to see the effect of her wide braids of hair. - -“I am not certain that a high dress is worse than bones,” Bell retorted, -playfully touching Juno’s neck, which, though white and gracefully -formed, was shockingly guiltless of flesh. - -There was an angry reply, and then, wrapping her cloak about her, Juno -went out to their carriage, and was ere long one of the gay crowd -thronging Sybil Grandon’s parlors. Helen had not yet arrived, and Juno -was hoping she would not come, when there was a stir at the door and -Mrs. Banker appeared, and with her Helen Lennox, but so transformed that -Juno hardly knew her, looking twice ere sure that the beautiful young -lady, so wholly self-possessed, was the country girl she affected to -despise. - -“Who is she?” was asked by many, who at once acknowledged her claims to -their attention, and as soon as practicable sought her acquaintance, so -that Helen suddenly found herself the centre of a little court of which -she was the queen and Mark her sworn knight. - -Presuming upon his mother’s chaperonage, he claimed the right of -attending her, and Juno’s glory waned as effectually as it had done when -Katy was the leading star to which New York paid homage. - -Juno had been annoyed then, but now fierce jealousy took possession of -her heart as she watched the girl whom all seemed to admire, even -Wilford feeling a thrill of pride that the possession of so attractive a -sister-in-law reflected credit upon himself. - -He was not ashamed of her now, nor did he retain a single thought of the -farm-house or Uncle Ephraim as he made his way to her side, standing -protectingly at her left, just as Mark was standing at her right, and at -last asking her to dance. - -With a heightened color Helen declined, saying frankly, - -“I have never learned.” - -“You miss a great deal,” Wilford rejoined, appealing to Mark for a -confirmation of his words. - -But Mark did not heartily respond. He, too, had solicited Helen as a -partner when the dancing first commenced, and her quiet refusal had -disappointed him a little, for Mark was fond of dancing, and though as a -general thing he disapproved of waltzes and polkas when he was the -looker-on, he felt that there would be something vastly agreeable and -exhilarating in clasping Helen in his arms and whirling her about the -room just as Juno was being whirled by a young cadet, a friend of -Lieutenant Bob’s. But when he reflected that not his arm alone would -encircle her waist, or his breath touch her neck, he was glad she did -not dance, and professing a weariness he did not feel, he declined to -join the dancers on the floor, but kept with Helen, enjoying what she -enjoyed, and putting her so perfectly at her ease that no one would ever -have dreamed of the curdy cheeses she had made, or the pounds of butter -she had churned. But Mark thought of it as he secretly admired the neck -and arms, seen once before, on that memorable day when he assisted Helen -in the labors of the dairy. If nothing else had done so, the lily in her -hair would have brought that morning to his mind, and once as they -walked up and down the hall he spoke of the ornament she had chosen, and -how well it became her. - -“Pond lilies are my pets,” he said, “and I have kept one of those I -gathered when at Silverton. Do you remember them?” and his eyes rested -upon Helen with a look which made her blush as she answered yes; but she -did not tell him of a little box at home, made of cones and acorns, -where was hidden a withered water lily, which she could not throw away, -even after its beauty and fragrance had departed. - -Had she told him this, it might have put to flight the doubts troubling -Mark so much, and making him wonder if Dr. Grant had really a claim upon -the girl stealing his heart so fast. - -“I mean to sound her,” he thought, and as Lieutenant Bob passed by, -making some jocose remark about his offending all the fair ones by the -course he was taking, Mark said to Helen, who suggested returning to the -parlor, - -“As you like, though it cannot matter; a person known to be engaged is -above Bob Reynolds’s jokes.” - -Quiet as thought the blood stained Helen’s face and neck, for Mark had -made a most egregious blunder giving her the impression that _he_ was -the engaged one referred to, not herself, and for a moment she forgot -the gay scene around her in the sharpness of the pang with which she -recognized all that Mark Ray was to her. - -“It was kind in him to warn me. I wish it had been sooner,” she thought, -and then with a bitter feeling of shame she wondered how much he had -guessed of her real feelings, and who the betrothed one was. “Not Juno -Cameron,” she hoped, as after a few moments Mrs. Cameron came up and, -adroitly detaching Mark from her side, took his place while he sauntered -to a group of ladies and was ere long dancing merrily with Juno. - -“They are a well-matched pair,” Mrs. Cameron said, assuming a very -confidential manner towards Helen, who assented to the remark, while the -lady continued, “There is but one thing wrong about Mark Ray. He is a -most unscrupulous flirt, pleased with every new face, and this of course -annoys _Juno_.” - -“Are they engaged?” came involuntarily from Helen’s lips, while Mrs. -Cameron’s foot beat the carpet with a very becoming hesitancy, as she -replied, “That was settled in our family a long time ago. Wilford and -Mark have always been like brothers.” - -Mrs. Cameron could not quite bring herself to a deliberate falsehood, -which, if detected, would reflect upon her character as a lady, but she -could mislead Helen, and she continued, “It is not like us to bruit our -affairs abroad, and were my daughters ten times engaged the world would -be none the wiser. I doubt if even Katy suspects what I have admitted; -but knowing how fascinating Mark can be, and that just at present he -seems to be pleased with you, I have acted as I should wish a friend to -act toward my own child. I have warned you in time. Were it not that you -are one of _our family_, I might not have interfered, and I trust you -not to repeat even to Katy what I have said.” - -Helen nodded assent, while in her heart was a wild tumult of -feelings—flattered pride, disappointment, indignation, and mortification -all struggling for the mastery—mortification to feel that she who had -quietly ignored such a passion as love when connected with herself, had, -nevertheless, been pleased with the attentions of one who was only -amusing himself with her, as a child amuses itself with some new toy -soon to be thrown aside—indignation at him for vexing Juno at her -expense—disappointment that he should care for such as Juno, and -flattered pride that Mrs. Cameron should include her in “our family.” -Helen had as few weak points as most young ladies, but she was not free -from them all, and the fact that Mrs. Cameron had taken her into a -confidence which even Katy did not share, was soothing to her ruffled -spirits, particularly as after that confidence, Mrs. Cameron was -excessively gracious to her, introducing her to many whom she did not -know before, and paying her numberless little attentions, which made -Juno stare, while the clear-seeing Bell arched her eyebrows, and -wondered for what Helen was to be made a _cat’s paw_ by her clever -mother. Whatever it was it did not appear, save as it showed itself in -Helen’s slightly changed demeanor when Mark again sought her society, -and tried to bring back to her face the look he had left there. But -something had come between them, and the young man racked his brain to -find the cause of this sudden indifference in one who had been pleased -with him only a short half hour before. - -“It’s that confounded waltzing which disgusted her,” he said, “and no -wonder, for if ever a man looks like an idiot, it is when he is kicking -up his heels to the sound of a fiddle, and whirling some woman whose -skirts sweep everything within the circle of a rod, and whose face wears -that die-away expression I have so often noticed. I’ve half a mind to -swear I’ll never dance again.” - -But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once, and finding Helen -still indifferent, he yielded to circumstances, and the last she saw of -him, as at a comparative early hour she left the gay scene, he was -dancing again with Juno. It was a heavy blow to Helen, for she had -become greatly interested in Mark Ray, whose attentions had made her -stay in New York so pleasant. But these were over now;—at least the -excitement they brought was over, and Helen, as she sat in her -dressing-room at home, and thought of the future as well as the past, -felt stealing over her a sense of desolation and loneliness such as she -had experienced but once before, and that on the night when leaning from -her window at the farm-house where Mark Ray was stopping she had -shuddered and shrank from living all her days among the rugged hills of -Silverton. New York had opened an entirely new world to her, showing her -much that was vain and frivolous, with much too that was desirable and -good; and if there had crept into her heart the thought that a life with -such people as Mrs. Banker and those who frequented her house would be -preferable to a life in Silverton, where only Morris understood her, it -was but the natural result of daily intercourse with one who had studied -to please and interest as Mark Ray had done. But Helen had too much good -sense and strength of will, long to indulge in what she would have -called “love-sick regrets” in others, and she began to devise the best -course for her to adopt hereafter, concluding finally to treat him much -as she had done, lest he should suspect how deeply she had been wounded. -Now that she knew of his engagement, it would be an easy matter so to -demean herself as neither to annoy Juno nor vex him. Thoroughly now she -understood why Juno Cameron had seemed to dislike her so much. - -“It is natural,” she said, “and yet I honestly believe I like her better -for knowing what I do. There must be some good beneath that proud -exterior, or Mark would never seek her.” - -Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a strange, -unsuitable match, and Helen’s heart ached sadly as she finally retired -to rest, thinking what _might have been_ had Juno Cameron found some -other lover more like herself than Mark could ever be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - BABY’S NAME. - - -Wilford had wished for a son, and in the first moment of disappointment -he had almost been conscious of a resentful feeling toward Katy, who had -given him only a daughter. A boy, a Cameron heir, was something of which -to be proud; but a little girl, scarcely larger than the last doll with -which Katy had played, was a different thing, and it required all -Wilford’s philosophy and common sense to keep him from showing his -chagrin to the girlish creature, whose love had fastened with an -idolatrous grasp upon her child, clinging to it with a devotion which -made Helen tremble as she thought what if God should take it from her. - -“He won’t, oh, he won’t,” Katy said, when once she suggested the -possibility, and in the eyes usually so soft and gentle there was a -fierce gleam, as Katy hugged her baby closer to her and said, - -“God does not willfully torment us. He will not take my baby, when my -whole life would die with it. I had almost forgotten to pray, there was -so much else to do, till baby came, but now I never go to sleep at night -or waken in the morning, that there does not come a prayer of thanks for -baby given to me. I could hardly love God if he took her away.” - -There was a chill feeling at Helen’s heart as she listened to her sister -and then glanced at the baby so passionately loved. In time it would be -pretty, for it had Katy’s perfect features, and the hair just beginning -to grow was a soft, golden brown; but it was too small now, too puny to -be handsome, while in its eyes there was a scaled, hunted kind of look, -which chafed Wilford more than aught else could have done, for that was -the look which had crept into Katy’s eyes at Newport when she found she -was not going home. - -Many discussions had been held at the elder Cameron’s concerning its -name, Mrs. Cameron deciding finally that it should bear her own, -_Margaret Augusta_, while Juno advocated that of _Rose Marie_, inasmuch -as their new clergyman would Frenchify the pronunciation so perfectly, -rolling the r, and placing so much accent on the last syllable. At this -the father Cameron swore as “_cussed nonsense_.” “Better call it -_Jemima_, a grand sight, than saddle it with such a silly name as Rose -Mah-_ree_, with a roll to the _r_,” and with another oath the disgusted -old man departed, while Bell suggested that _Katy_ might wish to have a -voice in naming her own child. - -This was a possibility that had formed no part of Mrs. Cameron’s -thoughts, or Juno’s. Of course Katy would acquiesce in whatever Wilford -said was best, and he always thought as they did. Consequently there -would be no trouble whatever. It was time the child had a name,—time it -wore the elegant christening robe, Mrs. Cameron’s gift, which cost more -money than would have fed a hungry family for weeks. The matter must be -decided, and with a view of deciding it, a family dinner party was held -at No.——, Fifth Avenue, the day succeeding Sybil Grandon’s party. - -Very pure and beautiful Katy looked as she took her old place in the -chair they called hers at father Cameron’s, because it was the one she -had always preferred to any other,—a large, motherly easy-chair, which -took in nearly the whole of her petite figure, and against whose soft -cushioned back she leaned her curly head with a pretty air of -importance, as, after dinner was over, she came back to the parlor with -the other ladies, and waited for the gentlemen to join them, when they -were to talk up baby’s name. - -Katy knew exactly what it would be called, but as Wilford had never -asked her, she was keeping it a secret, not doubting that the others -would be quite as much delighted as herself with the novel name. Not -long before her illness she had read an English story, which had in it a -_Genevra_, and she had at once seized upon it as the most delightful -cognomen a person could well possess. “_Genevra Cameron!_” She had -repeated it to herself many a time as she sat with her baby in her lap. -She had written it on sundry slips of paper, which had afterwards found -their way into the grate; and once she had scratched with her diamond -ring upon the window pane in her dressing-room, where it now stood in -legible characters, “_Genevra Cameron!_” There should be no middle name -to take from the sweetness of the first—only Genevra—that was -sufficient; and the little lady tapped her foot impatiently upon the -carpet, wishing Wilford and his father would hurry and come in. - -Never for an instant had it entered her mind that she, as the mother, -would not be permitted to call her baby what she chose; so when she -heard Mrs. Cameron speaking to Helen of _Margaret Augusta_, she smiled -complacently, tossing her curls of golden brown, and thinking to -herself, “Maggie Cameron—pretty enough, but not like Genevra. Indeed, I -shall not have any Margarets now; next time perhaps I may.” - -The gentlemen came at last, and father Cameron drew his chair close to -Katy’s side, laying his hand on her little soft warm one, and giving it -a squeeze as the bright face glanced lovingly into his. Father Cameron -had grown a milder, gentler man since Katy came. He now went much -oftener into society, and did not so frequently shock his wife with -expressions and opinions which she held as heterodox. Katy had a -softening influence over him, and he loved her as well perhaps as he had -ever loved his own children. - -“Better,” Juno said; and now she touched Bell’s arm, to have her see -“how father was petting Katy.” - -But Bell did not care, while Wilford was pleased, and himself drew -nearer the chair, standing just behind it, so that Katy could not see -him as he smoothed her curly head, and said, half indifferently, “Now -for the all-important name. What shall we call our daughter?” - -“Let your mother speak first,” Katy said, and thus appealed to, Mrs. -Cameron came up to Wilford and expressed her preference for _Margaret_, -as being a good name, an aristocratic name, and her own. - -“Yes, but not half so pretty and striking as Rose Marie,” Juno chimed -in. - -“Rose Mary! Thunder!” father Cameron exclaimed. “Call her a _marygold_, -or a _sunflower_, just as much. Don’t go to being fools by giving a -child a heathenish name. Give us your opinion, Katy.” - -“_I_ have known from the first,” Katy replied, “and I am sure you will -agree with me. ’Tis a beautiful name of a sweet young girl, and there -was a great secret about her, too—GENEVRA, baby will be called,” and -Katy looked straight into the fire, wholly unconscious of the effect -that name had produced upon Wilford and his mother. - -Wilford’s face was white as marble, and his eyes turned quickly to his -mother, who, in her first shock, started so violently as to throw down -from the stand a costly vase, which was broken in many pieces. This -occasioned a little diversion, and by the time the flowers and fragments -were gathered up, Wilford’s lips were not quite so livid, but he dared -not trust his voice yet, and listened while his sisters gave their -opinion of the name, Bell deciding for it at once, and Juno hesitating -until she had heard from a higher power than Katy. - -“What put that fanciful name into your head?” Mrs. Cameron asked. - -Katy explained, and with the removal of the fear, which for a few -moments had chilled his blood, Wilford grew calm again; while into his -heart there crept the thought that by giving that name to his child, -some slight atonement might be made to her above whose head the English -daisies had blossomed and faded many a year. But not so with his -mother;—the child should not be called Genevra if she could prevent it; -and she opposed it with all her powers, offering at last, as a great -concession on her part, to let it bear the name of either of Katy’s -family—Hannah and Betsy excepted, of course Lucy Lennox, Helen Lennox, -Katy Lennox, anything but Genevra. As usual, Wilford, when he learned -her mind, joined with her, notwithstanding his secret preference, and -the discussion became quite warm, especially as Katy evinced a -willfulness for which Helen had never given her credit. Hitherto she had -been as yielding as wax, but on this point she was firm, gathering -strength from the fact that Wilford did not oppose her as he usually -did. She could not, perhaps, have resisted him, but his manner was not -very decided, and so she quietly persisted, “Genevra or nothing,” until -the others gave up the contest, hoping she would feel differently after -a few days’ reflection. But Katy knew she shouldn’t, and Helen could not -overcome the exultation with which she saw her little sister put the -Camerons to rout and remain master of the field. - -“After all it does not matter,” Mrs. Cameron said to her daughters, -when, after Mrs. Wilford was gone, she sat talking of Katy’s queer fancy -and her obstinacy in adhering to it. “It does not matter, and on the -whole I had as soon the christening would be postponed until the child -is more presentable than now. It will be prettier by and by, and the -dress will become it better. We can afford to wait.” - -This heartless view of the case was readily adopted by Juno, while Bell -professed to be terribly shocked at hearing them talk thus of a baptism, -as if it were a mere show and nothing more, wondering if the Saviour -thought of dress or personal appearance when the Hebrew mothers brought -their children to him. But little did Mrs. Cameron or Juno care for the -baptism except as a display, and as both would be much prouder of a -fine-looking child, they were well content to wait until such time as -Katy should incline more favorably to their Margaret or Rose Marie. To -Helen is seemed highly probable that after a private interview with -Wilford Katy would change her mind, and she felt a wickedly agreeable -degree of disappointment when, on the day following the dinner party, -she found her sister even more resolved than ever upon having her own -way. Like the Camerons, she did not feel the necessity of haste,—time -enough by and by, when she would not have so much opposition to -encounter, she said; and as Wilford did not care, it was finally -arranged that they would wait awhile ere they gave a cognomen to the -little nameless child, only known as Baby Cameron. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. - - -As soon as it was understood that Mrs. Wilford Cameron was able to go -out, there were scores of pressing invitations from the gay world which -had missed her so much, but Katy declined them all on the plea that baby -needed her care. She was happier at home, and as a mother it was her -place to stay there. At first Wilford listened quietly, but when he -found it was her fixed determination to abjure society entirely, he -interfered in his cool, decisive way, which always carried its point. - -“It was foolish to take that stand,” he said. “Other mothers went and -why should not she? She had already stayed in too much. She was injuring -herself, and”—what was infinitely worse to Wilford—“she was losing her -good looks.” - -As proof of this he led her to the glass, showing her the pale, thin -face and unnaturally large eyes, so distasteful to him. Wilford Cameron -was very proud of his handsome house,—proud to know that everything -there was in keeping with his position and wealth, but when Katy was -immured in the nursery, the bright picture was obscured, for it needed -her presence to make it perfect, and he began to grow dissatisfied with -his surroundings, while abroad he missed her quite as much, finding the -opera, the party or the reception, insipid where she was not, and -feeling fully conscious that Wilford Cameron, without a wife, and that -wife Katy, was not a man of half the consequence he had thought himself -to be. Even Sybil Grandon did not think it worth her while to court his -attention, if Katy were not present, for unless some one saw and felt -her triumph it ceased directly to be one. On the whole Wilford was not -well pleased with society as he found it this winter, and knowing where -the trouble lay, he resolved that Katy should no longer remain at home, -growing pale and faded and losing her good looks. Wilford would not have -confessed it, and perhaps was not himself aware of the fact, that Katy’s -beauty was quite as dear to him as Katy herself. If she lost it her -value was decreased accordingly, and so, as a prudent husband, it -behooved him to see that what was so very precious was not unnecessarily -thrown away. It did not take long for Katy to understand that her days -of quiet were at an end,—that neither crib nor cradle could avail her -longer. Mrs. Kirby, selected from a host of applicants, was wholly -competent for Baby Cameron, and Katy must throw aside the mother, which -sat so prettily upon her, and become again the belle. It was a sad -trial, but Katy knew that submission was the only alternative, and so -when Mrs. Banker’s invitation came, she accepted it at once, but there -was a sad look upon her face as she kissed her baby for the twentieth -time ere going to her dressing maid. - -Never until this night had Helen realized how beautiful Katy was when in -full evening dress, and her exclamations of delight brought a soft flush -to Katy’s cheek, while she felt a thrill of the olden vanity as she saw -herself once more arrayed in all her costly apparel. Helen did not -wonder at Wilford’s desire to have Katy with him, and very proudly she -watched her young sister as Esther twined the flowers in her hair and -then brought out the ermine cloak she was to wear as a protection -against the cold. - -Wilford was standing by her, making a few suggestions, and expressing -his approbation in a way which reminded Helen of that night before the -marriage, when Katy’s dress had been condemned, and of that sadder, -bitterer time, when she had poured her tears like rain into that trunk -returned. All she had thought of Wilford then was now more than -confirmed, but he was kind to her and very proud of Katy, so she forced -back her feelings of disquiet, which, however, were roused again when -she saw the dark look on his face, as Katy, at the very last, ran to the -nursery to kiss baby good-bye, succeeding this time in waking it, as was -proven by the cry which made Wilford scowl angrily and brought to his -lips a word of rebuke for Katy’s childishness. - -The party was not so large as that at Sybil Grandon’s, but it was more -select, and Helen enjoyed it better, meeting people who readily -appreciated the peculiarities of her mind, and who would have made her -forget all else around her if she had not been a guest at Mark Ray’s -house. It was the first time she had met him away from home since the -night at Mrs. Grandon’s, and as if forgetful of her reserve, he paid her -numberless attentions, which, coming from the master of the house, were -the more to be valued. - -With a quiet dignity Helen received them all, the thought once creeping -into her heart that _she_ was preferred, notwithstanding that -engagement. But she soon repudiated this idea as unworthy of her. She -could not be wholly happy with one who, to win her hand, had trampled -upon the affections of another, even if that other were Juno Cameron. - -And so she kept out of his way as much as possible, watching her sister -admiringly as she moved about with an easy, assured grace, or floated -like a snowflake through the dance in which Wilford persuaded her to -join, looking after her with a proud, all-absorbing feeling, which left -no room for Sybil Grandon’s coquettish advances. - -As if the reappearance of Katy had awakened all that was weak and silly -in Sybil’s nature, she again put forth her powers of attraction, but met -only with defeat. Katy, and even Helen, was preferred before her,—both -belles of a different type; but both winning golden laurels from those -who hardly knew which to admire more—Katy, with her pure, delicate -beauty and charming simplicity, or Helen, with her attractive face, and -sober, quiet manner. But Katy grew tired early. She could not endure -what she once did; and when she came to Wilford with a weary look upon -her face, and asked him to go home, he did not refuse, though Mark, who -was near, protested against their leaving so soon. - -“Surely Miss Lennox might remain; the carriage could be sent back for -her; and he had hardly seen her at all.” But Miss Lennox chose to go; -and after her white cloak and hood had passed through the door into the -street, there was nothing attractive for Mark in his crowded parlors, -and he was glad when the last guest had departed, and he was left alone -with his mother. - -Operas, parties, receptions, dinners, matinees, morning calls, drives, -visits, and shopping; how fast one crowded upon the other, leaving -scarcely an hour of leisure to the devotee of fashion who attended to -them all. How astonished Helen was to find what _high life_ in New York -implied, and she ceased to wonder that so many of the young girls grew -haggard and old before their time, or that the dowagers grew selfish and -hard and scheming. She should die outright, she thought, and she pitied -poor little Katy, who, having once returned to the world, seemed -destined to remain there, in spite of her entreaties and the excuses she -made for declining the invitations which poured in so fast. - -“Baby was not well—Baby needed her,” was the plea with which she met -Wilford’s arguments, until the mention of his child was sure to bring a -scowl upon his face, and it became a question in Helen’s mind, whether -he would not be happier if Baby had never come between him and his -ambition. - -To hear Katy’s charms extolled, and know that he was envied the -possession of so rare a gem, feeling all the while sure of her faith, -was Wilford’s great delight, and it is not strange that, without any -very strong fatherly feeling or principle of right in that respect, he -should be irritated by the little life so constantly interfering with -his pleasure and so surely undermining Katy’s health. For Katy did not -improve, as Wilford hoped she might; and with his two hands he could -span her slender waist, while the beautiful neck and shoulders were no -longer worn uncovered, for Katy would not display her _bones_, whatever -the fashion might be. In this dilemma Wilford sought his mother, and the -result of that consultation brought a more satisfied look to his face -than it had worn for many a day. - -“Strange he had never thought of it, when it was what so many people -did,” he said to himself, as he hurried home. “It was the very best -thing both for Katy and the child, and would obviate every difficulty.” - -Next morning, as she sometimes did when more than usually fatigued, Katy -breakfasted in bed; while Wilford’s face, as he sat opposite Helen at -the table, had on it a look of quiet determination, such as she had -rarely seen there before. In a measure, accustomed to his moods, she -felt that something was wrong, and never dreaming that he intended -honoring her with his confidence, she was wishing he would finish his -coffee and leave, when, motioning the servant from the room, he said -abruptly, and in a tone which roused Helen’s antagonistic powers at -once, it was so cool, so decided, “I believe you have more influence -over your sister than I have; at least, she has latterly shown a -willfulness in disregarding me and a willingness to listen to you, which -confirms me in this conclusion——” - -“Well,” and Helen twisted her napkin ring nervously, waiting for him to -say more; but her manner disconcerted him, making him a little uncertain -as to what might be hidden behind that rigid face, and a little doubtful -as to the expression it would put on when he had said all he meant to -say. - -He did not expect it to wear a look as frightened and hopeless as Katy’s -did when he last saw it upon the pillow, for he knew how different the -two sisters were, and much as he had affected to despise Helen Lennox, -he was afraid of her now. It had never occurred to him before that he -was somewhat uncomfortable in her presence—that her searching brown eyes -often held him in check; but it came to him now, that his wife’s sister -had a _will_ almost as firm as his own, and she was sure to take Katy’s -part. He saw it in her face, even though she had no idea of what he -meant to say. - -He must explain sometime, and so at last he continued. “You must have -seen how opposed Katy is to complying with my wishes, setting them at -naught, when she knows how much pleasure she would give me by yielding -as she used to do.” - -“I don’t know what you mean,” Helen replied, “unless it is her aversion -to going out, as that, I think, is the only point where her obedience -has not been absolute.” - -Wilford did not like the words _obedience_ and _absolute_; that is, he -did not like the _sound_. Their definition suited him, but Helen’s -enunciation was at fault, and he answered quickly, “I do not require -absolute obedience from Katy. I never did; but in this matter to which -you refer, I think she might consult my wishes as well as her own. There -is no reason for her secluding herself in the nursery as she does. Do -you think there is?” - -He put the question direct, and Helen answered it. - -“I do not believe Katy means to displease you, but she has conceived a -strong aversion for festive scenes, and besides, baby is not healthy, -you know, and like all young mothers, she may be over-anxious, while I -fancy she has not the fullest confidence in the nurse, and this may -account for her unwillingness to leave the child with her.” - -“Kirby was all that was desirable,” Wilford replied. “His mother had -taken her from a genteel, respectable house in Bond street, and he paid -her an enormous price, consequently she must be right;” and then came -the story that his mother had decided that neither Katy nor baby would -improve so long as they remained together; that for both a separation -was desirable; that she had recommended sending the child into the -country, where it would be better cared for than it could be at home, -with Katy constantly undoing all Mrs. Kirby had done, waking it from -sleep whenever the fancy took her, and in short, treating it much as she -probably did her doll when she was a little girl. With the child away, -there would be nothing to prevent Katy’s going out again and getting -back her good looks, which were somewhat impaired. - -“Why, she looks older than you do,” Wilford said, thinking thus to -conciliate Helen, who quietly replied, - -“There is not two years difference between us, and I have always been -well, and kept regular hours until I came here.” - -Wilford’s compliment had failed, and more annoyed than before, he asked, -not what Helen thought of the arrangement, but if she would influence -Katy to act and think rationally upon it; “at least, you will not make -it worse,” he said, and this time there was something deferential and -pleading in his manner. - -Helen knew the matter was fixed,—that neither Katy’s tears nor -entreaties would avail to revoke the decision, and so, though her whole -soul rose in indignation against a man who would deliberately send his -nursing baby from his roof because it was in his way, and was robbing -his bride’s cheek of its girlish bloom, she answered composedly, - -“I will do what I can, but I must confess it seems to me an unnatural -thing. I had supposed parents less selfish than that.” - -Wilford did not care what Helen had supposed, and her opposition only -made him more resolved. Still he did not say so, and he tried to smile -as he quitted the table and remarked to her, - -“I hope to find Katy reconciled when I come home. I think I had better -not go up to her again, so tell her I send a good-bye kiss by you. I -leave her case in your hands.” - -It was a far more difficult case than either he or Helen imagined, and -the latter started back in alarm from the white face which greeted her -view as she entered Katy’s room, and then with a moan hid itself in the -pillow. - -“Wilford thought he would not come up, but he sent a kiss by me,” Helen -said, softly touching the bright, disordered hair, all she could see of -her sister. - -“It does not matter,” Katy gasped. “Kisses cannot help me if they take -baby away. Did he tell you?” and she turned now partly towards Helen, -who nodded affirmatively, while Katy continued, “Had he taken a knife -and cut a cruel gash it would not have hurt me half so badly. I could -bear that, but my baby—oh, Helen, do you think they will take her away?” - -She was looking straight at Helen, who shivered as she met an expression -so unlike Katy, and so like to that a hunted deer might wear if its -offspring were in danger. - -“Say, do you think they will?” she continued, shedding back with her -thin hand the mass of tangled curls which had fallen about her eyes. - -“Whom do you mean by _they_?” Helen asked, coming near to her, and -sitting down upon the bed. - -There was a resentful gleam in the blue eyes usually so gentle, as Katy -answered, - -“_Whom_ do I mean? _His folks_, of course! They have been the -instigators of every sorrow I have known since I left Silverton. Oh, -Helen! never, never marry anybody who has _folks_, if you wish to be -happy.” - -Helen could not repress a smile, though she pitied her sister, who -continued, - -“I don’t mean father Cameron, nor Bell, for I believe they love me. -Father does, I know, and Bell has helped me so often; but Mrs. Cameron -and Juno, oh, Helen, you will never know what _they_ have been to me.” - -Since Helen came to New York there had been so much else to talk about -that Katy had said comparatively little of the Camerons. Now, however -there was no holding back on Katy’s part, and beginning with the first -night of her arrival in New York, she told what is already known to the -reader, exonerating Wilford in word, but dealing out full justice to his -mother and Juno, the former of whom controlled him so completely. - -“I tried so hard to love her,” Katy said, “and if she had given me ever -so little in return I would have been satisfied; but she never did—that -is, when I hungered for it most, missing you at home, and the loving -care which sheltered me in childhood. After the world took me into favor -she began to caress me, but I was wicked enough to think it all came of -selfishness. I know I am hard and bad, for when I was sick, Mrs. Cameron -was really very kind, and I began to like her; but if she takes baby -away I shall surely die.” - -“Where is baby to be sent?” Helen asked, and Katy answered, - -“Up the river, to a house which Father Cameron owns, and which is kept -by a farmer’s family. I can’t trust Kirby. I do not like her. She keeps -baby asleep too long, and acts so cross if I try to wake her, or hint -that she looks unnatural. I cannot give baby to her care, with no one to -look after her, though Wilford says I must.” - -Katy had never offered so violent opposition to any plan as she did now -to that of sending her child away. - -“I can’t, I can’t,” she repeated constantly, and Mrs. Cameron’s call, -made that afternoon, with a view to reconcile the matter, only made it -worse, so that Wilford, on his return at night, felt a pang of -self-reproach as he saw the drooping figure holding his child upon its -lap and singing its lullaby in a plaintive voice, which told how sore -was its heart. - -Wilford did not mean to be either a savage or a brute. On the contrary, -he had made himself believe that he was acting only for the good of both -mother and child; but the sight of Katy touched him, and he might have -given up the contest had not Helen, unfortunately, taken up the cudgels -in Katy’s defence, neglecting to conceal the weapons, and so defeating -her purpose. It was at the dinner, from which Katy was absent, that she -ventured to speak, not _asking_ that the plan be given up, but speaking -of it as an unnatural one, which seemed to her not only useless, but -cruel. - -Wilford did not tell her that her opinion was not desired, but his -manner implied as much, and Helen felt the angry blood prickling through -her veins, as she listened to his reply, that it was neither unnatural -nor cruel; that many people did it, and his would not be an isolated -case. - -“Then, if it must be,” Helen said, “pray let it go to Silverton, and I -will be its nurse. Katy will not object to that.” - -In a very ironical tone Wilford thanked her for her offer, which he -begged leave to decline, intimating a preference for settling his own -matters according to his own ideas. Helen knew that further argument was -useless, and wished herself at home, where there were no _wills_ like -this, which, ignoring Katy’s tears and Katy’s pleading face, would not -retract one iota, or even stoop to reason with the suffering mother, -except to reiterate, “It is only for your good, and every one with -common sense will say so.” - -Next morning Helen was surprised at Katy’s proposition to drive round to -Fourth street, and call on Marian. - -“I have a strong presentiment that she can do me good,” Katy said. - -“Shall you tell _her_?” Helen asked, in some surprise; and Katy replied, -“Perhaps I may, I’ll see.” - -An hour later, and Katy, up in Marian’s room, sat listening intently, -while Marian spoke of a letter received a few days since from an old -friend who had worked with her at Madam ——‘s, and to whom she had been -strongly attached, keeping up a correspondence with her after her -marriage and removal to New London, in Connecticut, and whose little -child had borne Marian’s name. That child, born two months before -Katy’s, _was dead_, and the mother, finding her home so desolate, had -written, beseeching Marian to come to her for the remainder of the -winter. - -There was an eager look in Katy’s face, and her eyes danced with the new -idea which had suddenly taken possession of her. She could _not_ trust -baby with Kirby up the river, but she could trust her in New London with -Mrs. Hubbell, if Marian was there, and grasping the latter’s arm, she -exclaimed, “Is Mrs. Hubbell poor? Would she do something for money, a -great deal of money, I mean?” - -In a few moments Marian had heard Katy’s trouble, and Katy’s wish that -Mrs. Hubbell should take her child in place of the little one dead. -“Perhaps she would not harbor the thought for a moment, but she misses -her own so much, it made me think she might take mine. Write to her, -Marian,—write to-day,—now, before I go,” Katy continued, clasping -Marian’s hand, with an expression which, more than aught else, won -Marian Hazelton’s consent to a plan which seemed so strange. - -“Yes, I will write,” she answered; “I will tell Amelia what you desire.” - -“But, Marian, you too must go, if baby does—I’ll trust baby with you. -Say, Marian, will you go with my darling?” - -It was hard to refuse, with those great, wistful, pleading eyes, looking -so earnestly into hers; but Marian must have time to consider. She had -thought of going to New London to open a shop, and if she did, she -should board with Mrs. Hubbell, and so be with the child. She would -decide when the answer came to the letter. - -This was all the encouragement she would give; but it was enough to -change the whole nature of Katy’s feelings, and her face looked bright -and cheerful as she tripped down the stairway, talking to Helen of what -seemed to both like a direct interposition of Providence, and what she -was sure would please Wilford quite as well as the farm-house up the -river. - -“Surely he will yield to me in this,” she said. Nor was she wrong; for, -glad of an opportunity to make some concessions, and still in the main -have his own way, Wilford raised no objection to the plan as -communicated to him by Katy, when, at an earlier hour than usual he came -home to dinner, and with the harmony of his household once more -restored, felt himself a model husband, as he listened to Katy’s plan of -sending baby to New London. On the whole, it might be better even than -the farm-house up the river, he thought, for it was further away, and -Katy could not be tiring herself with driving out every few days, and -keeping herself constantly uneasy and excited. The distance between New -York and New London was the best feature of the whole; and he wondered -Katy had not thought of it as an objection. But she had not, and but for -the pain when she remembered the coming separation, she would have been -very happy that evening, listening with Wilford and Helen to a new opera -brought out for the first time in New York. - -Very differently from this was Marian’s evening passed, and on her face -there was a look such as Katy’s had never worn, as she asked for -guidance to choose the right, to lay all self aside, and if it were her -duty, to care for the child she had never seen, but whose birth had -stirred the pulsations of her heart and made the old wound bleed and -throb with bitter anguish. And as she prayed there crept into her face a -look which told that self was sacrificed at last, and Katy Cameron was -safe with her. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Hubbell was willing—aye, more than that—was glad to take the child, -and the generous remuneration offered would make them so comfortable in -their little cottage, she wrote to Marian, who hastened to confer by -note with Katy, adding in a postscript, “Is it still your wish that I -should go? If so, I am at your disposal.” - -It _was_ Katy’s wish, and she replied at once, going next to the nursery -to talk with Mrs. Kirby. Dark were the frowns and dire the displeasure -of that lady when told that, instead of going up the river, as she had -hoped, she was free to return to the “genteel and highly respectable -home on Bond street,” where Mrs. Cameron had found her. - -“Wait till the _Madam_ comes, and then we’ll see,” she thought, -referring to Mrs. Cameron, and feeling delighted when, that very day, -she heard that lady’s voice in the parlor. - -But Mrs. Cameron, though a little anxious with regard to both Mrs. -Hubbell’s and Marian’s antecedents, saw that Wilford was in favor of New -London, and so voted accordingly, only asking that she might write to -New London with regard to Mrs. Hubbell and her fitness to take charge of -a child in whose veins Cameron blood was flowing. To this Katy assented, -and as the answer returned to Mrs. Cameron’s letter was altogether -favorable, it was decided that Mrs. Hubbell should come to the city at -once for her little charge. - -In a week’s time she arrived, seeming everything Katy could ask for, and -as Mrs. Cameron, too, approved her heartily as a modest, well-spoken -young woman, who knew her place, it was arranged that she should return -home with her little charge on Saturday, thus giving Katy the benefit of -Sunday in which “to get over it and recover her usual spirits,” Mrs. -Cameron said. The fact that Marian was going to New London within a week -after baby went, reconciled Katy to the plan, making her even cheerful -during the last day of baby’s stay at home. But as the daylight waned -and the night came on, a shadow began to steal across her face, and her -step was slower as she went up the stairs to the nursery, while only -herself that night could disrobe the little creature and hush it into -sleep. - -“’Tis the last time, you know,” she said to Kirby, who went out, leaving -the young mother and child alone. - -Mournfully sad and sweet was the lullaby Katy sang, and Helen, who, in -the hall, was listening to the low, sad moaning,—half prayer, half -benediction,—likened it to a farewell between the living and dead. Half -an hour later, when she glanced into the room, lighted only by the -moonbeams, baby was sleeping in her crib, whilst Katy knelt beside, her -face buried in her hands, and her form quivering with the sobs she tried -to smother as she softly prayed that her darling might come back again; -that God would keep the little child and forgive the erring mother, who -had sinned so deeply since the time she used to pray in her home among -the hills of Massachusetts. She was very white next morning, and to -Helen she seemed to be expanding into something more womanly, more -mature, as she disciplined herself to bear the pain welling up so -constantly from her heart, and at last overflowing in a flood of tears, -when Mrs. Hubbell was announced as in the parlor below, waiting for her -charge. - -It was Katy who made her baby ready, trusting her to no one else, and -repelling with a kind of fierce decision all offers of assistance made -either by Helen, Mrs. Cameron, Bell, or the nurse, who were present, -while Katy’s hands drew on the little bright, soft socks of wool, tied -the hood of satin and lace, and fastened the scarlet cloak, her tears -falling fast as she met the loving, knowing look the baby was just -learning to give her, half smiling, half cooing, as she bent her face -down to it. - -“Please all of you go out,” she said, when baby was ready—“Wilford and -all. I would rather be alone.” - -They granted her request, but Wilford stood beside the open door, -listening while the mother bade farewell to her baby. - -“Darling,” she murmured, “what will poor Katy do when you are gone, or -what will comfort her as you have done? Precious baby, my heart is -breaking to give you up; but will the Father in Heaven, who knows how -much you are to me, keep you from harm and bring you back again? I’d -give the world to keep you, but I cannot do it, for Wilford says that -you must go, and Wilford is your father.” - -At that moment Wilford Cameron would have given half his fortune to have -kept his child for Katy’s sake, but it was now too late; the carriage -was at the door, and Mrs. Hubbell was waiting in the hall for the little -procession filing down the stairs. Mrs. Cameron and Bell, Wilford and -Katy, who carried the baby herself, her face bent over it and her tears -still dropping like rain. But it was Wilford who took the baby to the -carriage, going with it to the train and seeing Mrs. Hubbell off; then, -on his way back, he drove round to his own house, which even to him -seemed lonely, with all the paraphernalia of babyhood removed. Still, -now that the worst was over, he rather enjoyed it, for Katy was free -from care; there was nothing to hinder her gratifying his every wish, -and with his spirits greatly enlivened as he reflected how satisfactory -everything had been managed at the last, he proposed taking both Helen -and Katy to the theatre that night. But Katy answered, “No, Wilford, not -to-night; it seems too much like baby’s funeral. I’ll go next week, but -not to-night.” - -So Katy had her way, and among the worshipers who next day knelt in -Grace Church, with words of prayer upon their lips, there was not one -more in earnest than she, whose only theme was, “My child, my darling -child.” - -She did not get over it by Monday, as Mrs. Cameron had predicted. She -did not get over it at all, though she went without a word where Wilford -willed that she should go, and was ere long a belle again, but nothing -had power to draw one look from her blue eyes, the look which many -observed, and which Helen knew sprang from the mother-love, hungering -for its child. Only once before had Helen seen a look like this, and -that had come to Morris’s face on the sad night when she said to him, -“It might have been.” It had been there ever since, and Helen felt that -by the pangs with which that look was born he was a better man, just as -Katy was growing better for that hunger in her heart. God was taking His -own way to purify them both, and Helen watched intently, wondering what -the end would be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. - - -Just through the woods, where Uncle Ephraim was wont to exercise old -Whitey, was a narrow strip of land, extending from the highway to the -pond, and fertile in nothing except the huckleberry bushes, and the -rocky ledges over which a few sheep roamed, seeking for the short grass -and stunted herbs, which gave them a meagre sustenance. As a whole, it -was comparatively valueless, but to Aunt Betsy Barlow it was of great -importance, as it was—_her property_—the land on which she paid taxes -willingly—the real estate, the deed of which was lying undisturbed in -her hair trunk, where it had lain for years. Several dispositions the -good old lady had mentally made of this property, sometimes dividing it -equally between Helen and Katy, sometimes willing it all to the former, -and again, when she thought of Mark Ray, leaving the _interest_ of it to -some missionary society in which she was interested. - -How, then, was the poor woman amazed and confounded when suddenly there -appeared a claimant to her property; not the whole, but a part, and that -part taking in the big sweet apple-tree and the very best of the berry -bushes, leaving her nothing but rocks and bogs, a pucker cherry-tree, a -patch of tansy, and one small tree, whose gnarly apples were not fit, -she said, to feed the pigs. - -Of course she was indignant, and all the more so because the claimant -was prepared to prove that the line fence was not where it should be, -but ran into his own dominions for the width of two or three rods, a -fact he had just discovered by looking over a bundle of deeds, in which -the boundaries of his own farm were clearly defined. - -In her distress, Aunt Betsy’s first thoughts were turned to _Wilford_ as -the man who could redress her wrongs, if any one, and a long letter was -written to him, in which her grievances were told in detail and his -advice solicited. Commencing with “My dear Wilford,” closing with “Your -respected ant,” sealed with a wafer, stamped with her thimble, and -directed bottom side up, it nevertheless found its way to No. —— -Broadway, and into Wilford’s hands. But with a frown and pish of -contempt he tossed it into the grate, and vain were all Aunt Betsy’s -inquiries as to whether there was any letter for her when Uncle Ephraim -came home from the office. Letters there were from Helen, and sometimes -one from Katy, but none from Wilford, and her days were passed in great -perplexity and distress, until another idea took possession of her mind. -She would go to New York herself! She had never traveled over half a -dozen miles in the cars, it was true, but it was time she had, and now -that she had a new bonnet and shawl, she could go to _York_ as well as -not! - -Wholly useless were the expostulations of the family, for she would not -listen to them, nor believe that she would not be welcome at that house -on Madison Square, to which Mrs. Lennox had never been invited since -Katy was fairly settled in it. Much at first had been said of her -coming, and of the room she was to occupy; but all that had ceased, and -in the mother’s heart there had been a painful doubt as to the reason of -the silence, until Helen’s letters enlightened her, telling her it was -Wilford who had built so high a wall between Katy and her friends. - -Far better than she used, did Mrs. Lennox understand her son-in-law, and -she shrank in horror from suffering her aunt to go where she would be so -serious an annoyance, frankly telling her the reason for her objections, -and asking if she wished to mortify the girls - -At this Aunt Betsy took umbrage at once. - -“She’d like to know what there was about her to mortify anybody? Wasn’t -her black silk dress made long and full, and the old pongee fixed into a -Balmoral, and hadn’t she a bran new cap with purple ribbon, and couldn’t -she travel in her delaine, and didn’t she wear hoops always now, except -at cleanin’ house times? Didn’t she _nuss_ both the girls, especially -Cather_ine_, carrying her in her arms one whole night when she had the -canker-rash, and everybody thought she’d die? And when she swallered -that tin whistle, didn’t she spat her on the back and swing her in the -air till she came to and blew the whistle clear across the room? Tell -her that Cather_ine_ would be ashamed! She knew better!” - -Then, as a doubt began to cross her own mind as to Wilford’s readiness -to entertain her at his house, she continued, - -“At any rate, the _Tubbses_, who moved from Silverton last fall, and who -are living in such style on the Bowery, wouldn’t be ashamed, and I can -stop with them at first, till I see how the land lies. They have invited -me to come, both Miss Tubbs and ’Tilda, and they are nice folks, who -belong to the Orthodox Church. Tom is in town now, and if I see him I -shall talk with him about it, even if I never go.” - -Most devoutly did Mrs. Lennox and Aunt Hannah hope that Tom would return -to New York without honoring the farm-house with a call; but, -unfortunately for them, he came that very afternoon, and instead of -throwing obstacles in Aunt Betsy’s way, urged her warmly to make the -proposed visit. - -“Mother would be so glad to see an old neighbor,” the honest youth said, -“for she did not know many folks in the city. _’Till_ had made some -flashy acquaintances, of whom he did not think much, and they kept a few -boarders, but nobody had called, and mother was lonesome. He wished Miss -Barlow would come; she would have no difficulty in finding them,” and on -a bit of paper he marked out the route of the Fourth Avenue cars, which -passed their door, and which Aunt Betsy would take after arriving at the -New Haven depot. “If he knew when she was coming, he would meet her,” he -said, but Aunt Betsy could not tell; she was not quite certain whether -she should go at all, she was so violently opposed. - -Still she did not give it up entirely, and when, a few days after Tom’s -return to New York, there came a pressing invitation from the daughter -Matilda, or Mattie, as she signed herself, the fever again ran high, and -this time with but little hope of its abating. - -“We shall be delighted, both mother and me,” Mattie wrote. “I will show -you all the lions of the city, and when you get tired of us you can go -up to Mrs. Cameron’s. I know exactly where they live, and have seen her -at the opera in full dress, looking like a queen.” - -Over the last part of this letter Aunt Betsy pondered for some time. -“That as good an Orthodox as Miss Tubbs should let her girl go to the -opera, passed her. She had wondered at Helen’s going, but then, she was -a ’Piscopal, and them ’Piscopals had queer notions about usin’ the world -and abusin’ it.” Still, as Helen did _not_ attend the theatre, and _did_ -attend the opera, there must be a difference between the two places, and -into the old lady’s heart there slowly crept the thought that possibly -_she_ might try the opera, too, if Tilda Tubbs would go, and promise -never to tell the folks at Silverton. - -This settled, Aunt Betsy began to devise the best means of getting off -with the least opposition. Both Morris and her brother would be absent -from town during the next week, and she finally resolved to take that -opportunity for starting on her visit to New York, wisely concluding to -keep her own counsel until she was quite ready. Accordingly, on the very -day Morris and the deacon left Silverton, she announced her intention so -quietly and decidedly that further opposition was useless, and Mrs. -Lennox did what she could to make her aunt presentable. And Aunt Betsy -did look very respectable, in her dark delaine, with her hat and shawl, -both Morris’s gift, and both in very good taste. As for the black silk -and the new cap, they were carefully folded away, one in a box and the -other in a satchel she carried on her arm, and in one compartment of -which were sundry papers of fennel, caraway, and catnip, intended for -Katy’s baby, and which could be sent to it from New York. There was also -a package of dried plums and peaches for Katy herself, and a few cakes -of yeast of her own make, better than any they had in the city! Thus -equipped, she one morning took her seat in the Boston and New York -train, which carried her swiftly on towards Springfield. - -“If anybody can find their way in New York, it is Betsy,” Aunt Hannah -said to Mrs. Lennox, as the day wore on and their thoughts went after -the lone woman, who, with satchel, umbrella and cap-box, was -felicitating in the luxury of a whole seat, and the near neighborhood of -a very nice young man, who listened with well-bred interest while she -told of her troubles concerning the sheep-pasture, and how she was going -to New York to consult a first-rate lawyer. - -Once she thought to tell who the lawyer was, and perhaps enhance her own -merits in the eyes of her auditor by announcing herself as aunt to Mrs. -Wilford Cameron, of whom she had no doubt he had heard—nay, more, whom -he possibly knew, inasmuch as his home was in New York, though he spent -much of his time at West Point, where he had been educated. But certain -disagreeable remembrances of Aunt Hannah’s parting injunction, “not to -tell everybody in the cars that she was Katy’s aunt,” kept her silent on -that point, and so Lieutenant Bob Reynolds failed to be enlightened with -regard to the relationship existing between the fastidious Wilford -Cameron of Madison Square, and the quaint old lady whose very first act -on entering the car had amused him vastly. At a glance he saw that she -was unused to traveling, and as the car was crowded, he had kindly -offered his seat near the door, taking the side one under the window, -and so close to her that she gave him her cap-box to hold while she -adjusted her other bundles. This done, and herself comfortably settled, -she was just remaking that she liked being close to the door, in case of -a fire, when the conductor appeared, extending his hand officially -towards her as the first one convenient. For an instant Aunt Betsy -scanned him closely, thinking she surely had never seen him before, but -as he seemed to claim acquaintance, she could not find it in her kind -heart to ignore him altogether, and so she grasped the offered hand, -which she tried to shake, saying apologetically, - -“Pretty well, thank you, but you’ve got the better of me, as I don’t -justly recall your name.” - -Instantly the eyes of the young man under the window met those of the -conductor with a look which changed the frown gathering in the face of -the latter into a comical smile, as he withdrew his hand and shouted, - -“Ticket, madam, your ticket!” - -“For the land’s sake, have I got to give that up so quick, when it’s at -the bottom of my satchel,” Aunt Betsy replied, somewhat crest-fallen at -her mistake, and fumbling in her pocket for the key, which was finally -produced, and one by one the paper parcels of fennel, caraway, and -catnip, dried plums, peaches and yeast cakes, were taken out, until at -the very bottom, as she had said, the ticket was found, the conductor -waiting patiently, and advising her, by way of avoiding future trouble, -to pin the card to her shawl, where it could be seen. - -“A right nice man,” was Aunt Betsy’s mental comment, but for a long time -there was a red spot on her cheeks as she felt that she had made herself -ridiculous, and hoped the _girls_ would never hear of it. - -The young man helped to reassure her, and in telling him her troubles -she forgot her chagrin, feeling very sorry that he was going on to -Albany, and so down the river to West Point. West Point was associated -in Aunt Betsy’s mind with that handful of noble men who within the walls -of Sumter were then the centre of so much interest, and at parting with -her companion she said to him. - -“Young man, you are a soldier, I take it, from your havin’ been to -school at West Point. Maybe you’ll never have to use your learning, but -if you do, stick to the old flag. Don’t you go against that, and if an -old woman’s prayers for your safety can do any good, be sure you’ll have -mine.” - -She raised her hand reverently, and Lieutenant Bob felt a kind of awe -steal over him as if he might one day need that benediction, the first -perhaps given in the cause then so terribly agitating all hearts both -North and South. - -“I’ll remember what you say,” he answered, and then as a new idea was -presented he took out a card, and writing a few lines upon it, bade her -hand it to the conductor just as she was getting into the city. - -Without her glasses Aunt Betsy could not read, and thinking it did not -matter now, she thrust the card into her pocket, and bidding her -companion good-by, took her seat in the other train. Lonely and a very -little homesick she began to feel; for her new neighbors were not as -willing to talk as Bob had been, and she finally relapsed into silence, -which resulted in a quiet sleep, from which she awoke just as they were -entering the long, dark tunnel, which she would have likened to -Purgatory, had she believed in such a place. - -“I didn’t know we ran into cellars,” she said faintly; but nobody heeded -her, or cared for the anxious timid-looking woman, who grew more and -more anxious, until suddenly remembering the card, she drew it from her -pocket, and the next time the conductor appeared handed it to him, -watching him while he read that “Lieut. Robert Reynolds would consider -it as a personal favor if he would see the bearer safely into the Fourth -Avenue cars.” - -Surely there is a Providence which watches over all; and Lieutenant -Reynolds’s thoughtfulness was not a mere chance, but the answer to the -simple trust Aunt Betsy had that God would take her safely to New York. -The conductor knew Lieutenant Bob, and attended as faithfully to his -wishes as if it had been a born princess instead of Aunt Betsy Barlow -whom he led to a street car, ascertaining the number on the Bowery where -she wished to stop, and reporting to the conductor, who bowed in -acquiescence, after glancing at the woman, and knowing intuitively that -she was from the country. Could she have divested herself wholly of the -fear that the conductor would forget to put her off at the right place, -Aunt Betsy would have enjoyed that ride very much; and as it was, she -looked around with interest, thinking New York a mightily cluttered-up -place, and wondering if all the folks were in the streets; then, as a -lady in flaunting robes took a seat beside her, crowding her into a -narrow space, the good old dame thought to show that she did not resent -it, by an attempt at sociability, asking if she knew “Miss Peter Tubbs, -whose husband kept a store on the Bowery?” - -“I have not that honor,” was the haughty reply, the lady drawing up her -costly shawl and moving a little away from her interlocutor, who -continued, “I thought like enough you might have seen ’Tilda, or Mattie -as she calls herself now. She is a right nice girl, and Tom is a very -forrard boy.” - -To this there was no reply; and as the lady soon left the car, Aunt -Betsy did not make another attempt at conversation, except to ask once -how far they were from the Bowery, adding, as she received a civil -answer, “You don’t know Mr. Peter Tubbs?” - -That worthy man was evidently a stranger to the occupants of that car, -which stopped at last upon a crossing, the conductor pointing back a few -doors to the right, and telling her that was her number. - -“I should s’pose he might have driv right up, instead of leaving me -here,” she said, looking wistfully after the retreating car. “Coats, and -trowsers, and jackets! I wonder if there is nothing else to be seen -here,” she continued, as her eye caught the long line of clothing so -conspicuously displayed in that part of the Bowery. “’Taint no great -shakes,” was the feeling struggling into Aunt Betsy’s mind, as with -Tom’s outline map in hand she peered at the numbers of the doors, -finding the right one, and ringing the bell with a force which brought -Mattie at once to the rescue. - -If Mattie was not glad to see her guest, she seemed to be, which -answered every purpose for the tired woman, who followed her into the -dark, narrow hall, and up the narrow stairs, through a still darker -hall, and into the front parlor, which looked out upon the Bowery. - -Mrs. Tubbs was glad to see Aunt Betsy. She did not take kindly to city -life, and the sight of a familiar face, which brought the country with -it, was very welcome to her. Mattie, on the contrary, liked New York, -and there was scarcely a street where she had not been, with Tom for a -protector; while she was perfectly conversant with all the respectable -places of amusement—with their different prices and different grades of -patrons. She knew where Wilford Cameron’s office was, and also his -house, for she had walked by the latter many a time, admiring the -elegant curtains, and feasting her eyes upon the glimpses of inside -grandeur, which she occasionally obtained as some one came out or went -in. Once she had seen Helen and Katy enter their carriage, which the -colored coachman drove away, but she had never ventured to accost them. -Katy would not have known her if she had, for the family had come to -Silverton while she was at Canandaigua, and as, after her return to -Silverton, until her marriage, Mattie had been in one of the Lawrence -factories, they had never met. With Helen, however, she had a speaking -acquaintance; but she had never presumed upon it in New York, though to -some of her young friends she had told how she once sat in the same pew -with Mrs. Wilford Cameron’s sister when she went to the “Episcopal -meeting,” and the consideration which this fact procured for her from -those who had heard of Mrs. Wilford Cameron, of Madison Square, awoke in -her the ambition to know more of that lady, and, if possible, gain an -entrance to her dwelling. To this end she favored Aunt Betsy’s visit, -hoping thus to accomplish her object, for, of course, when Miss Barlow -went to Mrs. Cameron’s, she was the proper person to go with her and -point the way. This was the secret of Mattie’s letter to Aunt Betsy, and -the warmth with which she welcomed her to that tenement on the Bowery, -over a clothing store, and so small that it is not strange Aunt Betsy -wondered where they all slept, never dreaming of the many devices known -to city housekeepers, who can change a handsome parlor into a kitchen or -sleeping room, and _vice versa_, with little or no trouble. But she -found it out at last, lifting her hands in speechless amazement, when, -as the hour for retiring came, what she had imagined the parlor bookcase -was converted into a comfortable bed, on which her first night in New -York was passed in comfort if not in perfect quiet. - -The next day had been set apart by Mattie for showing their guest the -city, and possibly calling on Mrs. Wilford; but the poor old lady, -unused to travel and excitement, was too tired to go out, and stayed at -home the entire day, watching the crowds of people in the street, and -occasionally wishing herself back in the clean, bright kitchen, where -the windows looked out upon woods and fields instead of that -never-ceasing rush which made her dizzy and faint. On the whole she was -as nearly homesick as she well could be, and so when Mattie asked if she -would like to go out that evening, she caught eagerly at the idea, as it -involved a change, and again the opera came before her mind, in spite of -her attempts to thrust it away. - -“Did ’Tilda know if Katy went to the opera now? Did she s’pose she would -be there to-night? Was it far to the show? What was the price?—and was -it a very wicked place?” - -To all these queries Mattie answered readily. She presumed Katy would be -there, as it was a new opera. It was not so very far. Distance in the -city was nothing, and it was not a wicked place; but over the price -Mattie faltered. Tickets for Aunt Betsy, herself and Tom, who of course -must go with them, would cost more than her father had to give. The -theatre was preferable, as that came within their means, and she -suggested Wallack’s, but from that Aunt Betsy recoiled as from -Pandemonium itself. - -“Catch _her_ at a theatre—a deacon’s sister, looked up to for a sample, -and who run once for Vice-President of the Sewing Society in Silverton! -It was too terrible to think of.” But the opera seemed different. Helen -went there; it could not be very wrong, particularly as the tickets were -so high, and taking out her purse, Aunt Betsy counted its contents -carefully, holding the bills thoughtfully for a moment, while she seemed -to be balancing between what she knew was safe and what she feared might -be wrong, at least in the eyes of Silverton. - -“But Silverton will never know it,” the tempter whispered, “and it is -worth something to see the girls in full dress.” - -This last decided it, and Aunt Betsy generously offered “to pay the -fiddler, provided ’Tilda would never let it get to Silverton, that Betsy -Barlow was seen inside a play-house!” To Mrs. Tubbs it seemed impossible -that Aunt Betsy could be in earnest, but when she found she was, she put -no impediments in her way; and so, conspicuous among the crowd of -transient visitors who that night entered the Academy of Music was Aunt -Betsy Barlow, chaperoned by Miss Mattie Tubbs, and protected by Tom, a -shrewd, well-grown youth of seventeen, who passed for some years older, -and consequently was a sufficient escort for the ladies under his -charge. It was not his first visit there, and he managed to procure a -seat which commanded a good view of several private boxes, and among -them that of Wilford Cameron. This Mattie pointed out to the excited -woman gazing about her in a maze of bewilderment, and half doubting her -own identity with the Betsy Barlow who, six weeks before, if charged -with such a sin as she was now committing, would have exclaimed, “Is thy -servant a dog, to do this thing?” Yet here she was, a deacon’s sister, a -candidate for the Vice-Presidency of the Silverton Sewing Society, a -woman who, for sixty-three years and a half, had led a blameless life, -frowning upon all worldly amusements and setting herself for a burning -light to others—here she was in her black dress, her best shawl pinned -across her chest, and her bonnet tied in a square bow which reached -nearly to her ears. Here she was, in that huge building, where the -lights were so blinding, and the crowd so great that she shut her eyes -involuntarily, while she tried to realize what she could be doing. - -“I’m in for it now, anyhow, and if it is wrong may the good Father -forgive me,” she said softly to herself, just as the orchestra struck -up, thrilling her with its ravishing strains, and making her forget all -else in her rapturous delight. - -She was very fond of music, and listened eagerly, beating time with both -her feet, and making her bonnet go up and down until the play commenced -and she saw stage dress and stage effect for the first time in her life. -This part she did not like; “they mumbled their words so nobody could -understand more than if they spoke a heathenish tongue,” she thought, -and she was beginning to yawn when a nudge from Mattie and a whisper, -“There they come,” roused her from her stupor, and looking up she saw -both Helen and Katy entering their box, and with them Mark Ray and -Wilford Cameron. - -Very rapidly Katy’s eyes swept the house, running over the sea of heads -below, but failing to see the figure which, half rising from its seat, -stood gazing upon her, the tears running like rain over the upturned -face, and the lips murmuring, “Darling Katy! blessed child! She’s -thinner than when I see her last, but oh! so beautiful and grand! -Precious lambkin! It isn’t wicked now for me to be coming here, where I -can see her face again.” - -It was all in vain that Mattie pulled her dress, bidding her sit down as -people were staring at her. Aunt Betsy did not hear, and if she had she -would scarcely have cared for those who, following her eyes, saw the -beautiful young ladies, behind whom Wilford and Mark were standing, but -never dreamed of associating them with the “crazy thing” who sank back -at last into her seat, keeping her eyes still upon the box where Helen -and Katy sat, their heads uncovered, and their cloaks falling off just -enough to show the astonished woman that their necks were uncovered too, -while Helen’s arms, raised to adjust her glass, were discovered to be in -the same condition. - -“Ain’t they splendid in full dress!” Mattie whispered, while Aunt Betsy -replied, - -“Call that full dress? I’d sooner say it was no dress at all! They’ll -catch their death of cold. What would their mother say?” - -Then, as the enormity of the act grew upon her, she continued more to -herself than to Mattie, - -“I mistrusted Catherine, but that _Helen_ should come to this passes -me.” - -Still, as she became more accustomed to it, and glanced at other -full-dressed ladies, the first shock passed away, and she could calmly -contemplate Katy’s dress, wondering what it cost, and then letting her -eyes pass on to Helen, to whom Mark Ray seemed so lover-like that Aunt -Betsy remembered her impressions when he stopped at Silverton, her heart -swelling with pride as she thought of both the girls making out so well. - -“Who is that young man talking to Helen?” Mattie asked, between the -acts, and when told it “was Mr. Ray, Wilford’s partner,” she drew her -breath eagerly, and turned again to watch him, envying the young girl -who did not seem as much gratified with the attentions as Mattie fancied -she should be were she in Helen’s place. - -How could she, with Juno Cameron just opposite, watching her jealously, -while Madam Cameron fanned herself indignantly, refusing to look upon -what she so greatly disapproved. - -But Mark continued his attentions until Helen wished herself away, and -though a good deal surprised, was not sorry when Wilford abruptly -declared the opera a _bore_, and suggested going home. - -They would order an ice, he said, and have a much pleasanter time in -their own private parlor. - -“Please not go; I like the play to-night,” Katy said; but on Wilford’s -face there was that look which never consulted Katy’s wishes, and so the -two ladies tied on their cloaks, and just as the curtain rose in the -last act, left their box, while Aunt Betsy looked wistfully after them, -but did not suspect _she_ was the cause of their exit, and of Wilford’s -perturbation. - -Running his eyes over the house below, they had fallen upon the trio, -Aunt Betsy, Mattie, and Tom, the first of whom was at that moment partly -standing, while she adjusted her heavy shawl, which the heat of the -building had compelled her to unfasten. - -There was a start, a rush of blood to the head and face, and then he -reflected how impossible it was that _she_ should be _there_, in New -York, and at the opera, too. - -The shawl arranged, Aunt Betsy took her seat and turned her face fully -toward him, while Wilford seized Katy’s glass and leveled it at her. He -was not mistaken. It was Aunt Betsy Barlow, and Wilford felt the -perspiration oozing out beneath his hair and about his lips, as he -remembered _the letter_ he had burned, wishing now that he had answered -it, and so, perhaps, have kept her from his door. For she _was_ coming -there, nay, possibly had come, since his departure from home, and -learning his whereabouts had followed on to the Academy of Music, -leaving her baggage where he should stumble over it on entering the -hall. - -Such was the fearful picture conjured up by Wilford’s imagination, as he -stood watching poor Aunt Betsy, a dark cloud on his brow and fierce -anger at his heart, that she should thus presume to worry and annoy him. - -“If she spies us she will be finding her way up here; there’s no piece -of effrontery of which that class is not capable,” he thought, wondering -next who the vulgar-looking girl and _gauche_ youth were who were with -her. - -“Country cousins, of whom I have never heard, no doubt,” and he ground -his teeth together as with his next breath he suggested going home, -carrying out his suggestion and hurrying both Helen and Katy to the -carriage as if some horrible dragon had been on their track. - -There was _no_ baggage in the hall; there had been no woman there, and -Wilford’s fears for a time subsided, but grew strong again about the -time he knew the opera was out, while the sound of wheels coming towards -his door was sufficient to make his heart stop beating, and every hair -prickle at its roots. - -But Aunt Betsy did not come except in Wilford’s dreams, which she -haunted the entire night, so that the morning found him tired, moody and -cross. That day they entertained a select dinner party, and as this was -something in which Katy excelled, while Helen’s presence, instead of -detracting from, would add greatly to the éclat of the affair, Wilford -had anticipated it with no small degree of complacency. But now, alas, -there was a phantom at his side,—a skeleton of horror, wearing Aunt -Betsy’s guise; and if it had been possible he would have given the -dinner up. But it was too late for that; the guests were bidden, the -arrangements made, and there was nothing now for him but to abide the -consequences. - -“She shall at least stay in her room, if I have to lock her in,” he -thought, as he went down to his office without kissing Katy or bidding -her good-by. - -Business that day had no interest for him, and in a listless, absent way -he sat watching the passers-by and glancing at his door as if he -expected the first assault to be made there. Then, as the day wore on, -and he felt sure that what he so much dreaded had really come to pass, -that the baggage expected last night had certainly arrived by this time -and spread itself over his house, he could endure the suspense no -longer, and startled Mark with the announcement that he was going home, -and should not return again that day. - -“Going home, when Leavit is to call at three!” Mark said, in much -surprise, and feeling that it would be a relief to unburden himself to -some one, the story came out that Wilford had seen Aunt Betsy at the -opera, and expected to find her at Madison Square. - -“I wish I had answered her letter about that confounded sheep-pasture,” -he said, “for I would rather give a thousand dollars—yes, ten -thousand—than have her with us to-day. I did _not_ marry my wife’s -relations,” he continued, excitedly, adding, as Mark looked quickly up, -“Of course I don’t mean Helen. Neither do I mean that doctor, for he is -a gentleman. But this Barlow woman—oh! Mark, I am all of a dripping -sweat just to think of it.” - -He did not say what he intended doing, but with Mark Ray’s ringing laugh -in his ears, passed into the street, and hailing a stage was driven -towards home, just as a down town stage deposited on the walk in front -of his office “that Barlow woman” and Mattie Tubbs! - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. - - -Aunt Betsy did not rest well after her return from the opera. Novelty -and excitement always kept her awake, and her mind was not wholly at -ease with regard to what she had done. Not that she really felt she had -committed a sin, except so far as the example might be bad, but she -feared the result, should it ever reach the Orthodox church at -Silverton. - -“There’s no telling what Deacon Bannister would do—send a _subpœna_ -after me, for what I know,” she thought, as she laid her tired head upon -her pillow and went off into a weary state, half way between sleep and -wakefulness, in which operas, play-actors, Katy in full dress, Helen and -Mark Ray, choruses, music by the orchestra, to which she had been guilty -of beating her foot, Deacon Bannister, and the whole offended -brotherhood, with constable and subpœnas, were pretty equally blended -together. - -But with the daylight her fears subsided, and at the breakfast table she -was hardly less enthusiastic over the opera than Mattie herself, -averring, however, that “once would do her, and she had no wish to go -again.” - -The sight of Katy had awakened all the olden intense love she had felt -for her darling, and she could not wait much longer without seeing her. - -“Hannah and Lucy, and amongst ’em, advised me not to come,” she said to -Mrs. Tubbs, “and they hinted that I might not be wanted up there; but -now I’m here I shall go, if I don’t stay more than an hour.” - -“Of course I should,” Mattie answered, herself anxious to stand beneath -Wilford Cameron’s roof, and see Mrs. Wilford at home. “She don’t look as -proud as Helen, and you are her aunt, her blood kin; why shouldn’t you -go there if you like?” - -“I shall—I am going,” Aunt Betsy replied, feeling that to take Mattie -with her was not quite the thing, and not exactly knowing how to manage, -for the girl must of course pilot the way. “I’ll risk it and trust to -Providence,” was her final decision, and so after an early lunch she -started out with Mattie as her escort, suggesting that they visit -Wilford’s office first, and get that affair off her mind. - -At this point Aunt Betsy began to look upon herself as a most hardened -wretch, wondering at the depths of iniquity to which she had fallen. The -opera was the least of her offences, for was she not harboring pride and -contriving how to be rid of ’Tilda Tubbs, as clever a girl as ever -lived, hoping that if she found Wilford he would see her home, and so -save ’Tilda the trouble? Play-houses, pride, vanity, subterfuges and -deceit—it was a long catalogue she would have to confess to Deacon -Bannister, if confess she did, and with a groan the conscience-smitten -woman followed her conductor along the streets, and at last into the -stage which took them to Wilford’s office. - -Broadway was literally jammed that day, and the aid of two policemen was -required to extricate the bewildered countrywoman from the mass of -vehicles and horses’ heads, which took all her sense away. Trembling -like a leaf when Mattie explained that the “two nice men” who had -dragged her to the walk were police officers, and thinking again of the -subpœna, the frightened woman who had escaped such peril, followed up -the two flights of stairs and into Wilford’s office, where she sank -breathless into a chair, while Mark, not in the least surprised, greeted -her cordially, and very soon succeeded in getting her quiet, bowing so -graciously to Mattie when introduced that the poor girl dreamed of him -for many a night, and by day built castles of what might have been had -she been rich, instead of only ’Tilda Tubbs, whose home was on the -Bowery. Why need Aunt Betsy in her introduction have mentioned that -fact? Mattie thought, her cheeks burning scarlet; or why need she -afterwards speak of her as _’Tilda_, who was kind enough to come with -her to the office where she hoped to find Wilford? Poor Mattie, she knew -some things very well, but she had never yet conceived of the -immeasurable distance between herself and Mark Ray, who cared but little -whether her home were on the Bowery or on Murray Hill, after the first -sight which told him what she was. - -“Mr. Cameron has just left the office and will not return to-day,” he -said to Aunt Betsy, asking if _he_ could assist her in any way, and -assuring her of his willingness to do so. - -Aunt Betsy could talk with him better than with Wilford, and was about -to give him the story of the sheep-pasture, in detail, when, motioning -to a side door, he said, “Walk in here, please. You will not be liable -to so many interruptions.” - -“Come, ’Tilda, it’s no privacy,” Aunt Betsy said; but _’Tilda_ felt -intuitively that she was not wanted, and rather haughtily declined, -amusing herself by the window, while Aunt Betsy in the private office -told her troubles to Mark Ray; and received in return the advice to let -the claimant go to law if he chose; he probably would make nothing by -it; even if he did, she would not sustain a heavy loss, according to her -own statement of the value of the land. - -“If I could keep the sweet apple-try, I wouldn’t care,” Aunt Betsy said, -“for the rest ain’t worth a law-suit; though it’s my property, and I -have thought of _willing_ it to Helen, if she ever marries.” - -Here was a temptation which Mark Ray could not resist. Ever since Mrs. -General Reynolds’s party Helen’s manner had puzzled him; but her shyness -only made him more in love than ever, while the rumor of her engagement -with Dr. Morris tormented him continually. Sometimes he believed it, and -sometimes he did not, wishing always that he knew for certain. Here then -was a chance for confirming his fears or for putting them at rest, and -blessing ’Tilda Tubbs for declining to enter his back office, he said in -reply to Aunt Betsy’s “If she ever marries”—“And of course she will. She -is engaged, I believe?” - -“Engaged! _Who to?_ When? Strange she never writ, nor Katy neither,” -Aunt Betsy exclaimed, while Mark, raised to an ecstatic state, replied, -“I refer to Dr. Grant. Haven’t they been engaged for a long time past?” - -“Why—no—indeed,” was the response, and Mark could have hugged the good -old lady, who continued in a confidential tone, “I used to think they’d -make a good match; but I’ve gin that up, and I sometimes mistrust ’twas -Katy Morris wanted. Anyhow; he’s mighty changed since she was married, -and he never speaks her name. I never heard anybody say so, and maybe -it’s all a fancy, so you won’t mention it.” - -“Certainly not,” Mark replied, drawing nearer to her, and continuing in -a low tone, “Isn’t it possible that after all Helen is engaged to her -cousin, and you do not know it?” - -“No,” and Aunt Betsy grew very positive. “I am sure she ain’t, for only -t’other day I said to Morris that I wouldn’t wonder if Helen and -_another chap_ had a hankerin’ for one another; and he said he wished it -might be so, for _you_—no, that _other chap_, I mean—would make a -splendid husband,” and Aunt Betsy turned very red at the blunder, which -made Mark Ray feel as if he walked on air, with no obstacle whatever in -his way. - -Still he could not be satisfied without probing her a little deeper, and -so he said, “And that _other chap_? Does he live in Silverton?” - -Aunt Betsy’s look was a sufficient answer; for the old lady knew he was -quizzing her, just as she felt that in some way she had removed a -stumbling-block from his path. She had,—a very large stumbling-block, -and in the first flush of his joy and gratitude he could do most -anything. So when she spoke of going up to Katy’s he set himself -industriously at work to prevent it for that day at least. “They were to -have a large dinner party,” he said, “and both Mrs. Cameron and Miss -Lennox would be wholly occupied. Would it not be better to wait until -to-morrow? Did she contemplate a long stay in New York?” - -“No, she might go back to-morrow,—certainly the day after,” Aunt Betsy -replied, her voice trembling at this fresh impediment thrown in the way -of her seeing Katy. - -The quaver in her voice touched Mark’s sympathy. “She was old and -simple-hearted. She was Helen’s aunt,” and this, more than aught else, -helped him to a decision. “She must be homesick in the Bowery; he would -take her to his mother’s and keep her until the morrow, and perhaps -until she left for home; telling Helen, of course, and then suffering -her to act accordingly.” - -This he proposed to his client; assuring her of his mother’s entire -willingness to receive her, and urging so many reasons why she should go -there, instead of “up to Katy’s,” where they were in such confusion, -that Aunt Betsy was at last persuaded, and was soon riding up town in a -Twenty-third Street stage, with Mark Ray her _vis-à-vis_, and Mattie at -her right. Why Mattie was there Mark could not conjecture; and perhaps -she did not know herself, unless it were that, disappointed in her call -on Mrs. Cameron, she vaguely hoped for some redress by calling on Mrs. -Banker. How then was she chagrined, when, as the stage left them at a -handsome brown-stone front, near Fifth Avenue Hotel, Mark said to her, -as if she were not of course expected to go in, “Please tell your mother -that Miss Barlow is stopping with Mrs. Banker to-day. Has she baggage at -your house? If so, we will send round for it at once. Your number, -please?” - -His manner was so off hand and yet; so polite that Mattie could neither -resist him, nor be angry, though there was a pang of disappointment at -her heart as she gave the required number, and then shook Aunt Betsy’s -hand, whispering in a choked voice, - -“You’ll come to us again before you go home?” - -With a good-bye to Mark, whose bow atoned for a great deal, Mattie -walked slowly away, leaving Mark greatly relieved. Aunt Betsy was as -much as he cared to have on his hands at once, and as he led her up the -steps, he began to wonder more and more what his mother would say to his -bringing that stranger into her house, unbidden and unsought. - -“I’ll tell her the truth,” was his rapid decision, and assuming a manner -which warned the servant who answered his ring neither to be curious nor -impertinent, he conducted his charge into the parlor, and bringing her a -chair before the grate, went in quest of his mother, who he found was -out. - -“Kindle a fire then in the front guest-chamber,” he said, “and see that -it is made comfortable as soon as possible.” - -The servant bowed in acquiescence, wondering _who_ had come, and feeling -not a little surprised at the description given by John of the woman he -had let into the house, and who now in the parlor was looking around her -in astonishment and delight, condemning herself for the feeling of -homesickness with which she remembered the Bowery, and contrasting her -“cluttered quarters” there with the elegance around her. “Was Katy’s -house as fine as this?” she asked herself, feeling intuitively that such -as she might be out of place in it, just as she began to fear she was -out of her place here, bemoaning the fact that she had forgotten her -_cap-box_, with its contents, and so could not remove her bonnet, as she -had nothing with which to cover her gray head. - -“What shall I do?” she was asking herself, when Mark appeared, -explaining that his mother was absent, but would be at home in a short -time. - -“Your room will soon be ready,” he continued, “and meantime you might -lay aside your wrappings here if you find them too warm.” - -There was something about Mark Ray which inspired confidence, and in her -extremity Aunt Betsy gasped, “I can’t take off my bunnet till I get my -caps, down to Mr. Tubbses. Oh, what a trouble I be.” - -Not exactly comprehending the nature of the difficulty, Mark suggested -that she go without a cap until he could send for them; but Aunt Betsy’s -assertion that “she was grayer than a rat,” enlightened him with regard -to her dilemma, and full permission was given for her “to sit in her -bonnet” until such time as a messenger could go to the Bowery and back. -In this condition she was better in her own room, and as it was in -readiness, Mark conducted her to it, the stern gravity of his face -putting down the laugh which sprang to the waiting-maid’s eyes at the -old lady’s ejaculations of surprise that anything could be so fine as -the house where she so unexpectedly found herself a guest. - -“She is unaccustomed to the city, but a particular friend of mine; so -see that you treat her with respect,” was all the explanation he -vouchsafed to the curious girl. - -But that was enough. A friend of Mr. Ray’s must be somebody, even if she -sat with two bonnets on instead of one, and appeared ten times more -rustic than Aunt Betsy, who breathed freer when she found herself alone -up stairs, and knew her baggage would soon be there. - -In some little trepidation Mark paced up and down the parlor waiting for -his mother, who came ere long, expressing her surprise to find him -there, and asking if anything had happened that he seemed so agitated. - -“Yes, I’m in a deuced scrape,” he answered, coming up to her with the -saucy, winning smile she could never resist, and continuing, “To begin -at the foundation, you know how much I am in love with Helen Lennox?” - -“No, I don’t,” was the reply, as Mrs. Banker removed her fur with the -most provoking coolness. “How should I know when you have never told -me?” - -“Haven’t you eyes? Can’t you see? Don’t you like her yourself?” - -“Yes, very much.” - -“And are you willing she should be your daughter?” - -Mark had his arm around his mother’s neck, and bending his face to hers, -kissed her playfully as he asked her the last question. - -“Say, mother, are you willing I should marry Helen Lennox?” - -There was a struggle in Mrs. Banker’s heart, and for a moment she felt -jealous of the girl who she had guessed was dearer to her son than ever -his mother could be again; but she was a sensible woman. She knew that -it was natural for another and a stronger love to come between her and -her boy. She liked Helen Lennox. She was willing to take her as a -daughter, and she said so at last, and listened half amazed and half -amused to the story which had in it so much of Aunt Betsy Barlow, at -that very moment an occupant of their best guest-chamber, waiting for -her cap from the Bowery. - -“Perhaps it was wrong to bring her home,” he added, “but I did it to -spare Helen. I knew what a savage Wilford would be if he found her -there. Say, mother, was I wrong?” - -He was not often wrong in his mother’s estimation, and certainly he was -not now, when he kissed her so often, begging her to say he had done -right. - -“Certainly he had. Mrs. Banker was very glad to find him so thoughtful; -few young men would do as much,” she said, and from feeling a little -doubtful, Mark came to look upon himself as a very nice young man, who -had done a most unselfish act, for of course he had not been influenced -by any desire to keep Aunt Betsy from the people who would be present at -the dinner, neither had Helen been at all mixed up in the affair. - -It was all himself, and he began to whistle “Annie Laurie” very -complacently, thinking the while what a clever fellow he was, and -meditating other generous acts towards the old lady overhead, who was -standing by the window, and wondering what the huge building could be -gleaming so white in the fading sunlight. - -“Looks as if it was made of stone cheena,” she thought, just as Mrs. -Banker appeared, her kind, friendly manner making Aunt Betsy feel wholly -at ease, as she answered the lady’s questions or volunteered remarks of -her own. - -Mrs. Banker had lived in the country, and had seen just such women as -Aunt Betsy Barlow, understanding her intrinsic worth, and knowing how -Helen Lennox, though her niece, could still be refined and cultivated. -She could also understand how one educated as Wilford Cameron had been, -would shrink from coming in contact with her, and possibly be rude if -she thrust herself upon him. Mark did well to bring her here, she -thought, as she left the room to order the tea which the tired woman so -much needed. The satchel, umbrella, and cap-box, with a note from -Mattie, had by this time arrived, and in her Sunday cap, with the purple -bows, Aunt Betsy felt better, and enjoyed the tempting little supper, -served on silver and Sèvres china, the attendant waiting in the hall -instead of in her room, where her presence might embarrass one -unaccustomed to such usages. They were very kind, and had Mark been her -own son he could not have been more deferential than he appeared when -just before starting for the dinner he went up to see her, asking what -message he should take to Helen. Mrs. Banker, too, came in, her dress -eliciting many compliments from her guest, who ventured to ask the price -of the diamond pin which fastened the point lace collar. Five hundred -dollars seemed an enormous sum, but Aunt Betsy was learning not to say -all she thought, and merely remarked that Katy had some diamonds too, -which she presumed cost full much as that. - -“She should do very well alone,” she said; “she could read her Bible, -and if she got too tired, go to bed,” and with a good-bye she sent them -away, after saying to Mrs. Banker, “Maybe you ain’t the kissin’ kind, -but if you be, I wish you would kiss Katy once for me.” - -There was a merry twinkle in Mark’s eyes as he asked, - -“And Helen too?” - -“I meant your marm, not you,” Aunt Betsy answered; while Mrs. Banker -raised her hand to her mischievous son, who ran lightly down the stairs, -carrying a happier heart than he had known since Helen Lennox first came -to New York, and he met her at the depot. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - THE DINNER PARTY. - - -It was a very select party which Wilford Cameron entertained that -evening; and as the carriages rolled to his door and deposited the -guests, the cloud which had been lifting ever since he came home and -found “no Barlow woman” there, disappeared, leaving him the blandest, -most urbane of hosts, pleased with everybody—himself, his guests, his -sister-in-law, and his wife, who had never looked better than she did -to-night, in pearls and light blue silk, which harmonized so perfectly -with her wax-like complexion. Aunt Betsy’s proximity was wholly -unsuspected, both by her and Helen, who was very handsome, in crimson -and black, with lilies in her hair. Nothing could please Mark better -than his seat at table, where he could look into her eyes, which dropped -so shyly whenever they met his gaze. Helen was beginning to doubt the -story of his engagement with Juno. Certainly she could not mistake the -nature of the attentions he paid to her, especially to-night, when he -hovered continually near her, totally ignoring Juno’s presence, and -conscious apparently of only one form, one face, and that the face and -form of Helen Lennox. - -There was another, too, who felt the influence of Helen’s beauty, and -that was Lieutenant Bob, who, after dinner, attached himself to her -side, while around them gathered quite a group, all listening with peals -of laughter as Bob related his adventure of two days before, with “the -most rustic and charming old lady it was ever his fortune to meet.” Told -by Bob the story lost nothing of its freshness; for every particular, -except indeed the kindness he had shown her, was related, even to the -_sheep-pasture_, about which she was going to New York to consult a -lawyer. - -“I thought once of referring her to you, Mr. Cameron,” Bob said; “but -couldn’t find it in my heart to quiz her, she was so wholly -unsuspicious. You have not seen her, have you?” - -“No,” came faintly from the lips which tried to smile; but Wilford knew -who was the heroine of that story; wondering more and more where she -was, and feeling a sensation of uneasiness, as he thought, “Can any -accident have befallen her?” - -It was hardly probable; but Wilford felt very uncomfortable after -hearing the story, which had brought a pang of doubt and fear to another -mind than his. From the very first Helen feared that Aunt Betsy was the -“odd woman” who had gotten upon the train at some station which Bob -could not remember; while, as the story progressed, she was sure of it, -for she had heard of the sheep-pasture trouble, and of Aunt Betsy’s -projected visit to New York, privately writing to her mother not to -suffer it, as Wilford would be greatly vexed. “Yes, it must be Aunt -Betsy,” she thought, and she turned so white that Mark, who was watching -both her and Wilford, came as soon as possible to her side, and adroitly -separating her from the group around, said softly, “You look tired, Miss -Lennox. Come with me a moment. I have something to tell you.” - -Alone with her in the hall, he continued, “I have the sequel of Bob -Reynolds’s story. That woman——” - -“Was Aunt Betsy,” Helen gasped. “But where is she now? That was two days -ago. Tell me if you know. Mr. Ray, you _do_ know,” and in an agony of -fear lest something dreadful had happened, she laid her hand on Mark’s, -beseeching him to tell her if he knew where Aunt Betsy was. - -It was worth torturing her for a moment to see the pleading look in her -eyes, and feel the soft touch of the hand which he took between both his -own, holding it there while he answered her: “Aunt Betsy is at my house; -kidnapped by me for safe keeping, until I could consult with you. Was -that right?” he asked, as a flush came to Helen’s cheek, and an -expression to her eye which told that his meaning was understood. - -“Is she there willingly? How did it happen?” was Helen’s reply, her hand -still in those of Mark, who, thus circumstanced, grew very warm and -eloquent with the sequel to Bob’s story, making it as long as possible, -telling what he knew, and also what he had done. - -He had not implicated Wilford in any way; but Helen read it all, saying -more to herself than him, “And _she_ was at the opera. Wilford must have -seen her, and that is why he left so suddenly, and why he has appeared -so absent and nervous to-day, as if expecting something. Excuse me,” she -suddenly added, drawing her hand away and stepping back a little, “I -forgot that I was talking as if _you_ knew.” - -“I do know more than you suppose—that is, I know human nature—and I know -Will better than I did that morning when I first met you,” Mark said, -glancing at the freed hand he wished so much to take again. - -But Helen kept her hands to herself, and answered him, - -“You did right under the circumstances. It would have been unpleasant -for us all had she happened here to-night. I thank you, Mr. Ray—you and -your mother, too—more than I can express. I will see her early to-morrow -morning. Tell her so, please, and again I thank you.” - -There were tears in Helen’s soft brown eyes, and they glittered like -diamonds as she looked even more than spoke her thanks to the young man, -who, for another look like that, would have driven Aunt Betsy amid the -gayest crowd that ever frequented the Park, and sworn she was his blood -relation! A few words from Mrs. Banker confirmed what Mark had said, and -it was not strange if that night Miss Lennox, usually so entertaining, -was a little absent, for her thoughts were up in that chamber on -Twenty-third Street, where Aunt Betsy sat alone, but not lonely, for her -mind was very busy with all she had been through since leaving -Silverton, while something kept suggesting to her that it would have -been wiser and better to have stayed at home than to have ventured where -she was so sadly out of place. This last came gradually to Aunt Betsy as -she thought the matter over, and remembered Wilford as he had appeared -each time he came to Silverton. - -“I ain’t like him; I ain’t like this Miss Banker; I ain’t like anybody,” -she whispered. “I’m nothin’ but a homely, old-fashioned woman, without -larnin’, without nothin’. I might know I wasn’t wanted,” and a rain of -tears fell over the wrinkled face as she uttered this tirade against -herself, standing before the long mirror, and inspecting the image it -gave back of a plain, unpolished countrywoman, not much resembling Mrs. -Banker, it must be confessed, nor much resembling the gay young ladies -she had seen at the opera the previous night. “I won’t go near Katy,” -she continued; “it would only mortify her, and I don’t want to make her -trouble. The poor thing’s face looked as if she had it now, and I won’t -add to it. I’ll start for home to-morrow. There’s Miss Smith, in -Springfield, will keep me over night, and Katy shan’t be bothered.” - -When this decision was reached, Aunt Betsy felt a great deal better, and -taking the Bible from the table, she sat down again before the fire, -opening, as by a special Providence, to the chapter where the hewers of -wood and drawers of water are mentioned as being necessary to mankind, -each filling his appointed place. - -“That’s me—that’s Betsy Barlow,” she whispered, taking off her glasses -to wipe away the moisture gathering so fast upon them. Then resuming -them, she continued, “I’m a hewer of wood—a drawer of water. God made me -so, and shall the clay find fault with the potter, for making it into a -homely jug? No, indeed; and I was a very foolish old jug to think of -sticking myself in with the china ware. But I’ve larnt a lesson,” and -the philosophic old woman read on, feeling comforted to know that though -a vessel of the rudest make, a paltry _jug_, as she called herself, the -promises were still for her as much as for the finer wares—aye, that -there was more hope of her entering at last where “the walls are all of -precious stones and the streets are paved with gold,” than of those -whose good things are given so abundantly during their lifetime. - -Assured, comforted, and encouraged, she fell asleep at last, and when -Mrs. Banker returned she found her slumbering quietly in her chair, the -Bible open on her lap, and her finger upon the passage referring to the -hewers of wood and drawers of water, as if that was the last thing read. - -Next morning, at a comparatively early hour, Helen stood ringing the -bell of Mrs. Banker’s house. She had said to Katy that she was going -out, and could not tell just when she might return, and as Katy never -questioned her acts, while Wilford was too intent upon his own miserable -thoughts as to “where Aunt Betsy could be, or what had befallen her,” to -heed any one else, no inquiries were made, and no obstacles put in the -way of her going direct to Mrs. Banker’s, where Mark met her himself, -holding her cold hand until he led her to the fire and placed her in a -chair. He knew she would rather meet her aunt alone, and so when he -heard her step in the hall he left the room, holding the door for Aunt -Betsy, who wept like a little child at the sight of Helen, accusing -herself of being a fool, who ought to be shut up in an insane asylum, -but persisting in saying she was going home that very day without seeing -Katy at all. “If she was here I’d like it, but I shan’t go there, for I -know Wilford don’t want me.” Then she told Helen all she did not already -know of her trip to New York, her visit to the opera, her staying with -the Tubbses and her meeting with Mark, the best young chap she ever saw, -not even excepting Morris. “If he was my own son he couldn’t be kinder,” -she added, “and I mistrust he hopes to be my nephew. You can’t do -better; and, if he offers, take him.” - -Helen’s cheeks were crimson as she waived this part of the conversation, -and wished aloud that she had come around in the carriage, as she could -thus have taken Aunt Betsy over the city before the train would leave. - -“Mark spoke of that when he heard I was going to-day,” Aunt Betsy said; -“I’ll warrant you he’ll attend to it.” - -Aunt Betsy was right, for when Mark and his mother joined their guests, -and learned that Aunt Betsy’s intention was unchanged, he suggested the -ride, and offered the use of their carriage. Helen did not decline the -offer, and ere a half hour had passed, Aunt Betsy, with her satchel, -umbrella, and cap-box, was comfortably adjusted in Mrs. Banker’s -carriage with Helen beside her, while Mark bade his coachman drive -wherever Miss Lennox wished to go, taking care to reach the train in -time. - -They were tearful thanks which Aunt Betsy gave to her kind friends as -she was driven away to the Bowery to say good-bye, lest the Tubbses -should “think her suddenly stuck up.” - -“Would you mind taking ’Tilda in? It would please her mightily,” Aunt -Betsy whispered, as they were alighting in front of Mr. Peter Tubbs’s; -and as the result of this suggestion, the carriage, when again it -emerged into Broadway, held Mattie Tubbs, prouder than she had been in -all her life before, while the gratified mother at home felt amply -repaid for all the trouble her visitor had made her. - -And Helen enjoyed it, too, finding Mattie a little insipid and tiresome, -but feeling happy in the consciousness that she was making others happy. -It was a long drive they took, and Aunt Betsy saw so much that her brain -grew giddy, and she was glad when they started for the depot, taking -Madison Square on the way, and passing Katy’s house. - -“I dare say it’s all grand and smart,” Aunt Betsy said, as she leaned -out to look at it, “but I feel best at _hum_, where they are used to -me.” - -And her face did wear a brighter look, when finally seated in the cars, -than it had before since she left Silverton. - -“You’ll be home in April, and maybe Katy’ll come too,” she whispered as -she kissed Helen good-bye, and shook hands with Mattie Tubbs, charging -her again never to let the folks in Silverton know that “Betsy Barlow -had been seen at a play-house.” - -Slowly the cars moved away, and Helen was driven home, leaving Mattie -alone in her glory as she rolled down the Bowery, enjoying the éclat of -her position, but feeling a little chagrined at not meeting a single -acquaintance by whom to be envied and admired. - -Katy did not ask where Helen had been, for she was wholly absorbed in -Marian Hazelton’s letter, telling how fast the baby improved, how pretty -it was growing, and how fond both she and Mrs. Hubbell were of it, -loving it almost as well as if it were their own. - -“I know now it was best for it to go, but it was hard at first,” Katy -said, putting the letter away, and sighing wearily as she missed the -clasp of the little arms and touch of the baby lips. - -Several times Helen was tempted to tell her of Aunt Betsy’s visit, but -decided finally not to do so, and Katy never knew what it was which for -many days made Wilford so nervous and uneasy, starting at every sudden -ring, going often to the window, and looking out into the street as if -expecting some one, while he grew strangely anxious for news from -Silverton, asking when Katy had heard from home, and why she did not -write. One there was, however, who knew, and who enjoyed watching -Wilford, and guessing just how his anxiety grew as day after day went -by; and she neither came nor was heard from in any way, for Helen did -not show the letter apprising her of Aunt Betsy’s safe arrival home, and -so all in Wilford’s mind was vague conjecture. - -She _had_ been in New York, as was proven by Bob Reynolds, but where was -she now, and who were those people with her? Had they entrapped her into -some snare, and possibly murdered her? Such things were not of rare -occurrence, and Wilford actually grew thin with the uncertainty which -hung over the fate of one whom in his present state of mind he would -have warmly welcomed to his fireside, had there been a dozen dinner -parties in progress. At last, as he sat one day in his office, with the -same worried look on his face, Mark, who had been watching him, said, - -“By the way, Will, how did that sheep-pasture come out, or didn’t the -client appear?” - -“Mark,” and Wilford’s voice was husky with emotion; “you’ve stumbled -upon the very thing which is tormenting my life out of me. Aunt Betsy -has never turned up or been heard from since that night. For aught I -know she was murdered, or spirited away, and I am half distracted. I’d -give a thousand dollars to know what has become of her.” - -“Put down half that pile and I’ll tell you,” was Mark’s _nonchalant_ -reply, while Wilford, seizing his shoulder, and compelling him to look -up, exclaimed, - -“You know, then? Tell me—you do know. Where is she?” - -“Safe in Silverton, I presume,” was the reply, and then Mark told his -story, to which Wilford listened, half incredulous, half indignant, and -a good deal relieved. - -“You are a splendid fellow, Mark, though I must say you _meddled_, but I -know you did not do it unselfishly. Perhaps with Katy not won I might do -the same. Yes, on the whole, I thank you and Helen for saving me that -mortification. I feel like a new man, knowing the old lady is safe at -home, where I trust she will remain. And that Tom, who called here -yesterday, asking to be our clerk, is the youth I saw at the opera. I -thought his face was familiar. Let him come, of course. In my gratitude -I feel like patronizing the entire Tubbs family.” - -And so it was this flash of gratitude for a peril escaped which procured -for young _Tom Tubbs_ the situation of clerk in the office of Cameron & -Ray, the application for such situation having been urged by the -ambitious Mattie, who felt her dignity considerably increased when she -could speak of brother Tom in company with Messrs. Cameron and Ray. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - THE SEVENTH REGIMENT. - - -Does the reader remember the pleasant spring days when the thunder of -Fort Sumter’s bombardment came echoing up the Northern hills and across -the Western prairies, stopping for a moment the pulses of the nation, -but quickening them again with a mighty power as from Maine to -California man after man arose to meet the misguided foe trailing our -honored flag in the dust? Nowhere, perhaps, was the excitement so great -or the feeling so strong as in New York, when the Seventh Regiment was -ordered to Washington, its members never faltering or holding back, but -with a nerving of the will and a putting aside of self, preparing to do -their duty. Conspicuous among them was Mark Ray, who, laughing at his -mother’s fears, kissed her livid cheek, and then with a pang remembered -Helen—wondering how she would feel, and thinking the path to danger -would be so much easier if he knew that her prayers would go with him, -shielding him from harm and bringing him back again to the sunshine of -her presence. - -And before he went Mark must know this for certain, and he chided -himself for having put it off so long. True she had been sick and -confined to her room for a long while after Aunt Betsy’s memorable -visit; and when she was able to go out, _Lent_ had put a stop to her -mingling in festive scenes, so that he had seen but little of her, and -had never met her alone. But he would write that very day. She knew, of -course, that he was going. She would say that he did well to go; and she -would answer _yes_ to the question he would ask her. Mark felt sure of -that; but still the letter he wrote was eloquent with his pleadings for -her love, while he confessed his own, and asked that she would give him -the right to think of her as his affianced bride—to know she waited for -his return, and would crown it at last with the full fruition of her -priceless love. - -“I meet a few of my particular friends at Mrs. Grandon’s to-night,” he -added, in conclusion. “Can I hope to see you there, taking your presence -as a token that I may speak and tell you in words what I have so poorly -written?” - -This note he would not trust to the post, but deliver himself, and thus -avoid the possibility of a mistake, he said; and half an hour later he -rang the bell at No.——, asking “if _Miss Lennox_ was at home.” She was; -and handing the girl the note, Mark ran down the steps, while the -servant carried the missive to the library, where upon the table lay -other letters received that morning, and as yet unopened; for Katy was -very busy, and Helen was dressing to go out with Juno Cameron, who had -graciously asked her to drive with her and look at a picture she had set -her heart on having. - -Juno had not yet appeared; but Mark was scarcely out of sight when she -came in with the familiarity of a sister, and entered the library to -wait. Carelessly turning the books upon the table, she stumbled upon -Mark’s letter, which, through some defect in the envelope, had become -unsealed, and lay with its edge lifted so that to peer at its contents -was a very easy matter had she been so disposed. But Juno, who knew the -handwriting—could not at first bring herself even to touch what was -intended for her rival. But as she gazed the longing grew, until at last -she took it in her hand, turning it to the light, and tracing distinctly -the words, “My dear Helen,” while a storm of pain and passion swept over -her, mingled with a feeling of shame that she had let herself down so -far. - -“It does not matter now,” the tempter whispered. “You may as well read -it and know the worst. Nobody will suspect it,” and she was about to -take the folded letter from the envelope, intending to replace it after -it was read, when a rapid step warned her some one was coming, and -hastily thrusting the letter in her pocket, she dropped her veil to -cover her confusion, and then confronted _Helen Lennox_, ready for the -drive, and unconscious of the wrong which could not then be righted. - -Juno did not mean to keep the letter, and all that morning she was -devising measures for making restitution, thinking once to confess the -whole, but shrinking from that as more than she could do. As they were -driving home, they met Mark Ray; but Helen, who chanced to be looking in -an opposite direction, did not see the earnest look of scrutiny he gave -her, scarcely heeding Juno, whose voice trembled as she spoke of him to -Helen and his intended departure. Helen observed the tremor in her -voice, and pitied the girl whose agitation she fancied arose from the -fact that her lover was so soon to go where danger and possibly death -was waiting. In Helen’s heart, too, there was a pang whenever she -remembered Mark, and what had so recently passed between them, raising -hopes, which now were wholly blasted. For he _was_ Juno’s, she believed, -and the grief at his projected departure was the cause of that young -lady’s softened and even humble demeanor, as she insisted on Helen’s -stopping at her house for lunch before going home. - -To this Helen consented—Juno still revolving in her mind how to return -the letter, which grew more and more a horror to her. It was in her -pocket, she knew, for she had felt it there when, after lunch, she went -to her room for a fresh handkerchief. She would accompany Helen -home,—would manage to slip into the library alone, and put it partly -under a book, so that it would appear to be hidden, and thus account for -its not having been seen before. This seemed a very clever plan, and -with her spirits quite elated, Juno drove round with Helen, finding no -one in the parlor below, and felicitating herself upon the fact that -Helen left her alone while she ran up to Katy. - -“Now is my time,” she thought, stealing noiselessly into the library and -feeling for the letter. - -But _it was not there_, and no amount of search, no shaking of -handkerchiefs, or turning of pocket inside out could avail to find it. -The letter was lost, and in the utmost consternation Juno returned to -the parlor, appearing so abstracted as scarcely to be civil when Katy -came down to see her; asking if she was going that night to Sybil -Grandon’s, and talking of the dreadful war, which she hoped would not be -a war after all. Juno was too wretched to talk, and after a few moments -she started for home, hunting in her own room and through the halls, but -failing in her search, and finally giving it up, with the consoling -reflection that were it found in the street, no suspicion could fasten -on her; and as fear of detection, rather than contrition for the sin, -had been the cause of her distress, she grew comparatively calm, save -when her conscience made itself heard and admonished confession as the -only reparation which was now in her power. But Juno could not confess, -and all that day she was absent-minded and silent, while her mother -watched her closely, wondering what connection, if any, there was -between her burning cheeks and the letter she had found upon the floor -in her daughter’s room just after she had left it; the letter, at whose -contents she had glanced, shutting her lips firmly together, as he saw -that her plans had failed, and finally putting the document away, where -there was less hope of its ever finding its rightful owner, than if it -had remained with Juno. Had Mrs. Cameron supposed that Helen had already -seen it, she would have returned it at once; but of this she had her -doubts, after learning that “Miss Lennox did not go up stairs at all.” -Juno, then, must have been the delinquent; and the mother resolved to -keep the letter till some inquiry was made for it at least. - -And so Helen did not guess how anxiously the young man was anticipating -the interview at Sybil Grandon’s, scarcely doubting that she would be -there, and fancying just the expression of her eyes when they first met -his. Alas for Mark, alas for Helen, that both should be so cruelly -deceived. Had the latter known of the loving words sent from the true -heart which longed for some word of hers to lighten the long march and -beguile the tedious days of absence, she would not have said to Katy, -when asked if she was going to Mrs. Grandon’s, “Oh, no; please don’t -urge me. I would so much rather stay at home.” - -Katy would not insist, and so went alone with Wilford to the -entertainment, given to a few young men who seemed as heroes then, when -the full meaning of that word had not been exemplified, as it has been -since in the life so cheerfully laid down, and the heart’s blood poured -so freely, by the tens of thousands who have won a martyr’s and a hero’s -name. With a feeling of chill despair, Mark listened while Katy -explained to Mrs. Grandon, that her sister had fully intended coming in -the morning, but had suddenly changed her mind and begged to be excused. - -“I am sorry, and so I am sure is Mr. Ray,” Sybil said, turning lightly -to Mark, whose white face froze the gay laugh on her lips and made her -try to shield him from observation until he had time to recover himself -and appear as usual. - -How Mark blessed Sybil Grandon for that thoughtful kindness, and how -wildly the blood throbbed through his veins as he thought “She would not -come. She does not care. I have deceived myself in hoping that she did, -and now welcome _war_, welcome anything which shall help me to forget.” - -Mark was very wretched, and his wretchedness showed itself upon his -face, making more than one rally him for what they termed _fear_, while -they tried to reassure him by saying that to the Seventh there could be -no danger after Baltimore was safely passed. This was more than Mark -could bear, and at an early hour he left the house, bidding Katy -good-bye in the hall, and telling her he probably should not see her -again, as he would not have time to call. - -“Not call to say good-bye to Helen,” Katy exclaimed. - -“Helen will not care,” was Mark’s reply, as he hurried away into the -darkness of the night, more welcome in his present state of mind than -the gay scene he had left. - -And this was _all_ Katy had to carry Helen, who had expected to see Mark -once more, to bless him as a sister might bless a brother, speaking to -him words of cheer and bidding him go on to where duty led. But he was -not coming, and she only saw him from the carriage window, as with proud -step and head erect, he passed with his regiment through the densely -crowded streets, where the loud hurrahs of the multitude, which no man -could number, told how terribly in earnest the great city was, and how -its heart was with that gallant band, their pet, and pride, sent forth -on a mission such as it had never had before. But Mark did not see -Helen, and only his mother’s face as it looked when it said, “God bless -my boy,” was clear before his eyes as he moved on through Broadway, and -down Cortlandt street, until the ferry-boat received him, and the crowd -began to disperse. - -Now that Mark was gone, Mrs. Banker turned intuitively to Helen, finding -greater comfort in her quiet sympathy than in the more wordy condolence -offered her by Juno, who, as she heard nothing from _the letter_, began -to lose her fears of detection, and even suffer her friends to rally her -upon the absence of Mark Ray, and the anxiety she must feel on his -account. Moments there were, however, when thoughts of the stolen letter -brought a pang, while Helen’s face was a continual reproach, and she was -glad when, towards the first of May, her rival left New York for -Silverton, where, as the spring and summer work came on, her services -were needed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. - - -A summer day in Silverton—a soft, bright August day, when the early -rare-ripes by the well were turning their red cheeks to the sun, and the -flowers in the garden were lifting their heads proudly, and nodding to -each other as if they knew the secret which made that day so bright -above all others. Old Whitey, by the hitching-post, was munching at his -oats and glancing occasionally at the covered buggy standing on the -green sward, fresh and clean as water from the pond could make it; the -harness, lying upon a rock, where Katy used to feed the sheep with salt, -and the whip standing upright in its socket, were waiting for the -deacon, who was donning his best suit of clothes, even to a stiff shirt -collar which almost cut his ears, his face shining with anticipations -which he knew would be realized. Katy was really coming home, and in -proof thereof there were behind the house and barn piles of rubbish, -lath and plaster, mouldy paper and broken bricks, the tokens and remains -of the repairing process, which for so long a time had made the -farm-house a scene of dire confusion, driving its inmates nearly -distracted, except when they remembered for whose sake they endured so -much, inhaling clouds of lime, stepping over heaps of mortar, tearing -their dress skirts on sundry nails projecting from every conceivable -quarter, and wondering the while if the masons ever would finish or the -carpenters be gone. - -As a condition on which Katy might be permitted to come home, Wilford -had stipulated an improvement in the interior arrangement of the house, -offering to bear the expense even to the furnishing of the rooms. To -this the family demurred at first, not liking Wilford’s dictatorial -manner, nor his insinuation that their home was not good enough for his -wife. But Helen turned the tide, appreciating Wilford’s feelings better -than the others could do, and urging a compliance with his request. - -“Anything to get Katy home,” she said, and so the chimney was torn away, -a window was cut here and an addition made there, until the house was -really improved with its pleasant, modern parlor and the large airy -bedroom, with bathing-room attached, the whole the idea of Wilford, who -graciously deigned to come out once or twice from New London, where he -was spending a few weeks, to superintend the work and suggest how it -should be done. - -The furniture, too, which he sent on from New York, was perfect in its -kind, and suitable in every respect and Helen enjoyed the settling very -much, and when it was finished it was hard telling which was the more -pleased, she or good Aunt Betsy, who, having confessed in a general kind -of way at a sewing society, that she did go to a play-house, and was not -so very sorry either, except as the example might do harm, had nothing -to fear from New York, and was proportionably happy. At least she would -have been if Morris had not seemed so _off_, as she expressed it, taking -but little interest in the preparations and evincing no pleasure at -Katy’s expected visit. He had been polite to Wilford, had kept him at -Linwood, taking him to and from the depot, but even Wilford had thought -him changed, telling Katy how very sober and grave he had become, rarely -smiling, and not seeming to care to talk unless it were about his -profession or on some religious topic. And Morris _was_ greatly changed. -The wound which in most hearts would have healed by this time, had grown -deeper with each succeeding year, while from all he heard he felt sure -that Katy’s marriage was a sad mistake, wishing sometimes that he had -spoken, and so perhaps have saved her from the life in which she could -not be wholly free. “She would be happier with me,” he had said, with a -sad smile to Helen, when she told him of some things which she had not -mentioned elsewhere, and there were great tears in Morris’s eyes, when -Helen spoke of Katy’s distress, and the look which came into her face -when baby was taken away. Times there were when the silent Doctor, -living alone at Linwood, felt that his grief was too great to bear. But -the deep waters were always forded safely, and Morris’s faith in God -prevailed, so that only a dull heavy pain remained, with the -consciousness that it was no sin to remember Katy as she was remembered -now. Oh how he longed to see her, and yet how he dreaded it, lest poor -weak human flesh should prove inadequate to the sight. But she was -coming home; Providence had ordered that and he accepted it, looking -eagerly for the time, but repressing his eagerness, so that not even -Helen suspected how impatient he was for the day of her return. Four -weeks she had been at the Pequot House in New London, occupying a little -cottage and luxuriating in the joy of having her child with her almost -every day. Country air and country nursing had wrought wonders in the -baby, which had grown so beautiful and bright that it was no longer in -Wilford’s way save as it took too much of Katy’s time, and made her care -less for the gay crowd at the hotel. - -Marian was working at her trade, and never came to the hotel except one -day when Wilford was in New York, but that day sufficed for Katy to know -that after herself it was Marian whom baby loved the best—Marian, who -cared for it even more than Mrs. Hubbell. And Katy was glad to have it -so, especially after Wilford and his mother decided that she must leave -the child in New London while she made the visit to Silverton. - -Wilford did not like her taking so much care of it as she was inclined -to do. It had grown too heavy for her to lift; it was better with Mrs. -Hubbell, he said, and so to the inmates of the farm-house Katy wrote -that baby was not coming. - -They were bitterly disappointed, for Katy’s baby had been anticipated -quite as much as Katy herself, and Aunt Betsy had brought from the -wood-shed chamber a cradle which nearly forty years before had rocked -the deacon’s only child, the little boy, who died just as he had learned -to lisp his mother’s name. As a memento of those days the cradle had -been kept, Katy using it sometimes for her kittens and her dolls, until -she grew too old for that, when it was put away beneath the eaves whence -Aunt Betsy dragged it, scouring it with soap and sand, until it was -white as snow. But it would not be needed, and with a sigh the old lady -carried it back, thinking “things had come to a pretty pass when a woman -who could dance and carouse till twelve o’clock at night was too weakly -to take care of her child,” and feeling a very little awe of Katy who -must have grown so fine a lady. - -But all this passed away as the time drew near when Katy was to come, -and no one seemed happier than Aunt Betsy on the morning when Uncle -Ephraim drove from the door, setting old Whitey into a canter, which, by -the time the “race” was reached, had become a rapid trot, the old man -holding up his reins and looking proudly at the oat-fed animal, speeding -along so fast. - -He did not have long to wait this time, for the train soon came rolling -across the meadow, and while his head was turned towards the car where -he fancied she might be, a pair of arms was thrown impetuously round his -neck, and a little figure, standing on tiptoe, almost pulled him down in -its attempts to kiss him. - -“Uncle Eph! oh, Uncle Eph, I’ve come! I’m here!” a young voice cried; -but the words the deacon would have spoken were smothered by the kisses -pressed upon his lips, kisses which only came to an end when a voice -said rather reprovingly, “There, Katy, that will do. You have almost -strangled him.” - -Wilford had not been expected, and the expression of the deacon’s face -was not a very cordial greeting to the young man who hastened to explain -that he was going directly on to Boston. In his presence the deacon was -not quite natural, but he lifted in his arms his “little Katy-did,” and -looked straight into her face, where there were as yet no real lines of -care, only shadows, which told that in some respects she was not the -same Katy he had parted with two years before. There was a good deal of -the _city_ about her dress and style; and the deacon felt a little -overawed at first; but this wore off as, on their way to the farm-house, -she talked to him in her old, loving manner, and asked questions about -the people he supposed she had forgotten, nodding to everybody she met, -whether she knew them or not, and at last, as the old house came in -sight, hiding her face in a gush of happy tears upon his neck. Scarcely -waiting for old Whitey to stop, but with one leap clearing the wheel, -she threw herself into the midst of the women waiting on the door step -to meet her. It was a joyful meeting, and when the first excitement was -over, Katy inspected the improvements, praising them all and -congratulating herself upon the nice time she was to have. - -“You don’t know what a luxury it is to feel that I can rest,” she said -to Helen. - -“Didn’t you rest at New London?” Helen asked. - -“Yes, some,” Katy replied; “but there were dances every night, or sails -upon the bay, and I had to go, for many of our friends were there, and -Wilford was not willing for me to be quiet.” - -This, then, was the reason why Katy came home so weary and pale, and -craving so much the rest she had not had in more than two years. But she -would get it now, and before the first dinner was eaten some of her old -color came stealing back to her cheeks, and her eyes began to dance just -as they used to do, while her merry voice rang out in silvery peals at -Aunt Betsy’s quaint remarks, which struck her so forcibly from not -having heard them for so long a time. Freed from the restraint of her -husband’s presence, she came back at once to what she was when a young, -careless girl she sat upon the door-steps and curled the dandelion -stalks. She did not do this now, for there were none to curl; but she -strung upon a thread the delicate petals of the phlox growing by the -door, and then bound it as a crown about the head of her mother, who -could not quite recognize her Katy in the elegant Mrs. Wilford Cameron, -with rustling silk, and diamonds flashing on her hands every time they -moved. But when she saw her racing with the old brown goat and its -little kid out in the apple orchard, her head uncovered, and her bright -curls blowing about her face, the feeling disappeared, and she felt that -Katy had indeed come back again. - -Katy had inquired for Morris immediately after her arrival, but in her -excitement she had forgotten him again, until tea was over, when, just -as she had done on the day of her return from Canandaigua, she took her -hat and started on the well-worn path toward Linwood. Airily she tripped -along, her light plaid silk gleaming through the deep green of the trees -and revealing her coming to the tired man sitting upon a little rustic -seat, beneath a chestnut tree, where he once had sat with Katy, and -extracted a _cruel_ sliver from her hand, kissing the place to make it -well as she told him to. She was a child then, a little girl of twelve, -and he was twenty, but the sight of her pure face lifted confidingly to -his had stirred his heart as no other face had stirred it since, making -him look forward to a time when the hand he kissed would be his own, and -his the fairy form he watched so carefully as it expanded day by day -into the perfect woman. He was thinking of that time now, and how -differently it had all turned out, when he heard the bounding step and -saw her coming toward him, swinging her hat in childish abandon, and -warbling a song she had learned from him. - -“Morris, oh, Morris!” she cried, as he ran eagerly forward; “I am so -glad to see you. It seems so nice to be with you once more here in the -dear old woods. Don’t get up—please don’t get up,” she continued, as he -started to rise. - -She was standing before him, a hand on either side of his face, into -which she was looking quite as wistfully as he was regarding her. -Something she missed in his manner, which troubled her; and thinking she -knew what it was she said to him, “Why don’t you kiss me, Morris? You -used to. Ain’t you glad to see me?” - -“Yes, very glad,” he answered, and drawing her down beside him, he -kissed her twice, but so gravely, that Katy was not satisfied at all, -and tears gathered in her eyes as she tried to think what ailed Morris. - -He was very thin, and there were a few white hairs about his temples, so -that, though four years younger than her husband, he seemed to her much -older, quite grandfatherly in fact, and this accounted for the liberties -she took, asking what was the matter, and trying to make him _like her -again_, by assuring him that she was not as vain and foolish as he might -suppose from what Helen had probably told him of her life since leaving -Silverton. “I do not like it at all,” she said. “I am in it, and must -conform; but, oh Morris! you don’t know how much happier I should be if -Wilford were just like you, and lived at Linwood instead of New York. I -should be so happy here with baby all the time.” - -It was well she spoke that name, for Morris could not have borne much -more; but the mention of her child quieted him at once, so that he could -calmly tell her she _was_ the same to him she always had been, while -with his next breath he asked, “Where is your baby, Katy?” adding with a -smile, “I can remember when you were a baby, and I held you in my arms.” - -“Can you really?” Katy said: and as if that remembrance made him older -than the hills, she nestled her curly head against his shoulder, while -she told him of her bright-eyed darling, and as she talked, the -mother-love which spread itself over her girlish face made it more -beautiful than anything Morris had ever seen. - -“Surely an angel’s countenance cannot be fairer, purer than hers,” he -thought, as she talked of the only thing which had a power to separate -her from him, making her seem as a friend, or at most as a beloved -sister. - -A long time they talked together, and the sun was setting ere Morris -rose, suggesting that she go home, as the night dew would soon be -falling. - -“And you are not as strong as you once were,” he added, pulling her -shawl around her shoulders with careful solicitude, and thinking how -slender she had become. - -From the back parlor Helen saw them coming up the path, detecting the -changed expression of Morris’s face, and feeling a pang of fear when, as -he left them after nine o’clock, she heard her mother say that he had -not appeared so natural since Katy went away as he had done that night. -Knowing what she did, Helen trembled for Morris, with this terrible -temptation before him, and Morris trembled for himself as he went back -the lonely path, and stopped again beneath the chestnut tree where he -had so lately sat with Katy. There was a great fear at his heart, and it -found utterance in words as kneeling by the rustic bench with only the -lonely night around him and the green boughs over head, he asked that he -might be kept from sin, both in thought and deed, and be to Katy Cameron -just what she took him for, her friend and elder brother. And God, who -knew the sincerity of the heart thus pleading before him, heard and -answered the prayer, so that after that first night of trial Morris -could look on Katy without a wish that she were otherwise than Wilford -Cameron’s wife and the mother of his child. He was happier because of -her being at the farm-house, though he did not go there one half as -often as she came to him. - -Those September days were happy ones to Katy, who became a child again—a -petted, spoiled child, whom every one caressed and suffered to have her -way. To Uncle Ephraim it was as if some bright angel had suddenly -dropped into his path, and flooded it with sunshine. He was so glad to -have again his “Katy-did,” who went with him to the fields, waiting -patiently till his work was done, and telling him of all the wondrous -things she saw abroad, but speaking little of her city life. That was -something she did not care to talk about, and but for Wilford’s letters, -and the frequent mention of baby, the deacon could easily have imagined -that Katy had never left him. But these were barriers between the old -life and the present; these were the insignia of _Mrs. Wilford Cameron_, -who was watched and envied by the curious Silvertonians, and pronounced -charming by them all. Still there was one drawback to Katy’s happiness. -She missed her child, mourning for it so much that her family, quite as -anxious as herself to see it, suggested her sending for it. It would -surely take no harm with them, and Marian would come with it, if Mrs. -Hubbell could not. To this plan Katy listened more willingly from the -fact that Wilford had gone West, and the greater the distance between -them the more she dared to do. And so Marian Hazelton was one day -startled at the sudden appearance at the cottage of Katy, who had come -to take her and baby to Silverton. - -There was no resisting the vehemence of Katy’s arguments, and before the -next day’s sun-setting, the farm-house, usually so quiet and orderly, -had been turned into one general nursery, where Baby Cameron reigned -supreme, screaming with delight at the _tin_ ware which Aunt Betsy -brought out, from the cake-cutter to the dipper, the little creature -beating a noisy tattoo upon the latter with an iron spoon, and then for -diversion burying its fat dimpled hands in Uncle Ephraim’s long white -hair, for the old man went down upon all fours to do his -great-grand-niece homage. - -That night Morris came up, stopping suddenly as a loud baby laugh -reached him, even across the orchard, and leaning for a moment against -the wall, while he tried to prepare himself for the shock it would be to -see Katy’s child, and hold it in his arms, as he knew he must, or the -mother be aggrieved. - -He had supposed it was pretty, but he was not prepared for the beautiful -little cherub which in its short white dress, with its soft curls of -golden brown clustering about its head, stood holding to a chair, -pushing it occasionally, and venturing now and then to take a step, -while its infantile laugh mingled with the screams of its delighted -auditors, watching it with so much interest. - -There was one great, bitter, burning pang, and then, folding his arms -composedly upon the window sill, Dr. Grant stood looking in upon the -occupants of the room, whistling at last to baby, as he was accustomed -to whistle to the children of his patients. - -“Oh, Morris,” Katy cried, “Baby can almost walk, Marian has taken so -much pains, and she can say ‘papa.’ Isn’t she a beauty?” - -Baby had turned her head by this time, her ear caught by the whistle and -her eye arrested by something in Morris which fascinated her gaze. -Perhaps she thought of Wilford, of whom she had been very fond, for she -pushed her chair towards him and then held up her fat arms for him to -take her. - -Never was mother prouder than Katy during the first few days succeeding -baby’s arrival, while the family seemed to tread on air, so swiftly the -time went by with that active little life in their midst, stirring them -up so constantly, putting to rout all their rules of order and keeping -their house in a state of delightful confusion. It was wonderful how -rapidly the child improved with so many teachers, learning to lisp its -mother’s name and taught by her, attempting to say “Doctor.” From the -very first the child took to Morris, crying after him whenever he went -away, and hailing his arrival with a crow of joy and an eager attempt to -reach him. - -“It was altogether too forward for this world,” Aunt Betsy often said, -shaking her head ominously, but not really meaning what she predicted, -even when for a few days it did not seem as bright as usual, but lay -quietly in Katy’s lap, a blue look about the mouth and a flush upon its -cheeks, which neither Morris nor Marian liked. - -More accustomed to children than the other members of the family, they -both watched it closely, Morris coming over twice one day, and the last -time he came regarding Katy with a look as if he would fain ward off -from her some evil which he feared. - -“What is it, Morris?” she asked. “Is baby going to be very sick?” and a -great crushing fear came upon her as she waited for his answer. - -“I hope not,” he said; “I cannot tell as yet; the symptoms are like -cholera infantum, of which I have several cases, but if taken in time I -apprehend no danger.” - -There was a low shriek and baby opened its heavy lids and moaned, while -Helen came at once to Katy, who was holding her hand upon her heart as -if the pain had entered there. To Marian it was no news, for ever since -the early morning she had suspected the nature of the disease stealing -over the little child. All night the light burned in the farm-house, -where there were anxious, troubled faces, Katy bending constantly over -her darling, and even amid her terrible anxiety, dreading Wilford’s -displeasure when he should hear what she had done and its possible -result. She did not believe as yet that her child would die; but she -suffered acutely, watching for the early dawn when Morris had said he -would be there, and when at last he came, begging of him to leave his -other patients and care only for baby. - -“Would that be right?” Morris asked, and Katy blushed for her -selfishness when she heard how many were sick and dying around them. “I -will spend every leisure moment here,” he said, leaving his directions -with Marian and then hurrying away without a word of hope for the child, -which grew worse so fast that when the night shut down again it lay upon -the pillow, its blue eyes closed and its head thrown back, while its sad -moanings could only be hushed by carrying it in one’s arms about the -room, a task which Katy could not do. - -She had tried it at first, refusing all their offers with the reply, -“Baby is mine, and shall I not carry her?” - -But the feeble strength gave out, the limbs began to totter, and -staggering backward she cried, “Somebody must take her.” - -It was Marian who went forward, Marian, whose face was a puzzle as she -took the infant in her stronger arms, her stony eyes, which had not wept -as yet, fastening themselves upon the face of Wilford Cameron’s child -with a look which seemed to say, “Retribution, retribution.” - -But only when she remembered the father, now so proud of his daughter, -was that word in her heart. She could not harbor it when she glanced at -the mother, and her lips moved in earnest prayer that, if possible, God -would not leave her so desolate. An hour later and Morris came, -relieving Marian of her burden, which he carried in his own arms, while -he strove to comfort Katy, who, crouching by the empty crib, was sitting -motionless in a kind of dumb despair, all hope crushed out by his answer -to her entreaties that he would tell her the truth, and keep nothing -back. - -“I think your baby will die,” he said to her very gently, pausing a -moment in awe of the white face, whose expression terrified him, it was -so full of agony. - -Bowing her head upon her hands, poor Katy whispered sadly, “God must not -take my baby. Oh, Morris, pray that he will not. He will hear and answer -you; I have been so bad I cannot pray, but I am not going to be bad -again. If he will let me keep my darling I will begin a new life. I -_will_ try to serve him. Dear Lord, hear and answer, and not let baby -die.” - -She was praying herself now, and Morris’s broad chest heaved as he -glanced at her kneeling figure, and then at the death-like face upon the -pillow, with the pinched look about the nose and lips, which to his -practiced eye was a harbinger of death. - -“Its father should be here,” he thought, and when Katy lifted up her -head again he asked if she was sure her husband had not yet returned -from Minnesota. - -“Yes, sure—that is, I think he has not,” was Katy’s answer, a chill -creeping over her at the thought of meeting Wilford, and giving him his -daughter dead. - -“I shall telegraph in the morning at all events,” Morris continued, “and -if he is not in New York, it will be forwarded.” - -“Yes, that will be best,” was the reply, spoken so mournfully that -Morris stopped in front of Katy, and tried to reason with her. - -But Katy would not listen, and only answered that _he_ did not know, he -could not feel, he never had been tried. - -“Perhaps not,” Morris said; “but Heaven is my witness, Katy, that if I -could save you this pain by giving up my life for baby’s I would do it -willingly; but God does not give us our choice. He knoweth what is best, -and baby is better with Him than us.” - -For a moment Katy was silent; then, as a new idea took possession of her -mind, she sprang to Morris’s side and seizing his arm, demanded, “Can an -unbaptized child be saved?” - -“We nowhere read that baptism is a saving ordinance,” was Morris’s -answer; while Katy continued, “but _do_ you believe they will be saved?” - -“Yes, I do,” was the decided response, which, however, did not ease -Katy’s mind, and she moaned on, “A child of heathen parents may, but _I_ -knew better. I knew it was my duty to give the child to God, and for a -foolish fancy withheld the gift until it is too late, and God will take -it without the mark upon its forehead, the water on its brow. Oh, baby, -baby, if she should be lost—_no name, no mark, no baptismal sign_.” - -“Not water, but the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin,” Morris said, -“and as sure as he died so sure this little one is safe. Besides, there -may be time for the baptism yet—that is, to-morrow. Baby will not die -to-night, and if you like, it still shall have a name.” - -Eagerly Katy seized upon that idea, thinking more of the sign, the -water, than the _name_, which scarcely occupied her thoughts at all. It -did not matter what the child was called, so that it became one of the -little ones in glory, and with a calmer, quieter demeanor than she had -shown that day, she saw Morris depart at a late hour; and then turning -to the child which Uncle Ephraim was holding, kissed it lovingly, -whispering as she did so, “Baby shall be baptized—baby shall have the -sign.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - LITTLE GENEVRA. - - -Morris had telegraphed to New York, receiving in reply that Wilford was -hourly expected home, and would at once hasten on to Silverton. The -clergyman, Mr. Kelly, had also been seen, but owing to a funeral which -would take him out of town, he could not be at the farm-house until five -in the afternoon, when, if the child still lived, he would be glad to -officiate as requested. All this Morris had communicated to Katy, who -listened in a kind of stupor, gasping for breath, when she heard that -Wilford would soon be there, and moaning “that will be too late,” when -told that the baptism could not take place till night. Then kneeling by -the crib where the child was lying, she fastened her great, sad blue -eyes upon the pallid face with an earnestness as if thus she would hold -till nightfall the life flickering so faintly and seeming so nearly -finished. The wailings had ceased, and they no longer carried it in -their arms, but had placed it in its crib, where it lay perfectly still, -save as its eyes occasionally unclosed and turned wistfully towards the -cups, where it knew was something which quenched its raging thirst. Once -indeed, as the hours crept on to noon and Katy bent over it so that her -curls swept its face, it seemed to know her, and the little wasted hand -was uplifted and rested on her cheek with the same caressing motion it -had been wont to use in health. Then hope whispered that it might live, -and with a great cry of joy Katy sobbed, “She knows me, Morris—mother, -see; she knows me. Maybe she will live!” - -But the dull stupor which succeeded swept all hope away, and again Katy -resumed her post, watching first her dying child, and then the long -hands of the clock which crept on so slowly, pointing to only two when -she thought it must be five. Would that hour never come, or coming, -would it find baby there? None could answer that last question—they -could only wait and pray; and as they waited the warm September sun -neared the western sky till its yellow beams came stealing through the -window and across the floor to where Katy sat watching its onward -progress, and looking sometimes out upon the hills where the purplish -autumnal haze was lying just as she once loved to see it. But she did -not heed it now, nor care how bright the day with the flitting shadows -dancing on the grass, the tall flowers growing by the door, and old -Whitey standing by the gate, his head stretched towards the house in a -kind of dreamy, listening attitude, as if he, too, knew of the great -sorrow hastening on so fast. The others saw all this, and it made their -hearts ache more as they thought of the beautiful little child going -from their midst when they wished so much to keep her. Katy had only one -idea, and that was of the child, growing very restless now, and throwing -up its arms as if in pain. It was striking five, and with each stroke -the dying baby moaned, while Katy strained her ear to catch the sound of -horses’ hoofs hurrying up the road. The clergyman had come and the -inmates of the house gathered round in silence, while he made ready to -receive the child into Christ’s flock. - -Mrs. Lennox had questioned Helen about the name, and Helen had answered, -“Katy knows, I presume. It does not matter,” but no one had spoken -directly to Katy, who had scarcely given it a thought, caring more for -the rite she had deferred so long. - -“He must hasten,” she said to Morris, her eyes fixed upon the panting -child she had lifted to her own lap, and thus adjured the clergyman -failed to make the usual inquiry concerning the name he was to give. - -Calm and white as a marble statue, Marian Hazelton glided to the back of -Katy’s chair, and pressing both her hands upon it, leaned over Katy so -that her eyes, too, were fixed upon the little face, from which they -never turned but once, and that when the clergyman’s voice was heard -asking for a _name_. There was an instant’s silence, and Katy’s lips -began to move, when one of Marian’s hands was laid upon her head, while -the other took in its own the limp, white baby fingers, and Marian’s -voice was very steady in its tone as it said, “GENEVRA.” - -“Yes, Genevra,” Katy whispered, and the solemn words were heard, -“_Genevra_, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the -Holy Ghost.” - -Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale forehead, and at their -touch the little Genevra’s eyes unclosed, the waxen fingers withdrew -themselves from Marian’s grasp, and again sought the mother’s cheek, -resting there for an instant; while a smile broke around the baby’s -lips, which tried to say “Mam-ma.” Then the hand fell back, down upon -Marian’s, the soft eyes closed, the limbs grew rigid, the shadow of -death grew deeper, and while the prayer was said, and Marian’s tears -fell with Katy’s upon the brow where the baptismal waters were not -dried, the angel came, and when the prayer was ended, Morris, who knew -what the rest did not, took the lifeless form from Katy’s lap, and -whispered to her gently, “Katy, your baby is dead!” - -An hour later, and the sweet little creature, which had been a sunbeam -in that house for a few happy days, lay upon the bed where Katy said it -must be laid; its form shrouded in the christening robe which grandma -Cameron had bought, flowers upon its pillow, flowers upon its bosom, -flowers in its hands, which Marian had put there; for Marian’s was the -mind which thought of everything concerning the dead child; and Helen, -as she watched her, wondered at the mighty love which showed itself in -every lineament of her face, the blue veins swelling in her forehead, -her eyes bloodshot, and her lips shut firmly together, as if it were by -mere strength of will that she kept back the scalding tears as she -dressed the little _Genevra_. They spoke of that name in the kitchen -when the first great shock was over, and Helen explained why it had been -Katy’s choice. - -It was Morris’s task to comfort poor, stricken Katy, telling her of the -blessed Saviour who loved the little children while here on the earth, -and to whom her darling had surely gone. - -“Safe in His arms, it would not come back if it could,” he said, “and -neither would you have it.” - -But Katy was the mother, the human love could not so soon submit, but -went out after the lost one with a piteous, agonizing wail. - -“Oh, I want my baby back. I know she is safe, but I want her back. She -was my life—all I had to love,” Katy moaned, rocking to and fro in this -her first hour of bereavement, “and Wilford will blame me so much for -bringing my baby here to die. He will say it was my fault; and that I -can’t bear. I know I killed my baby; but I did not mean to. I would give -my life for hers, if like her I was ready,” and into Katy’s face there -came a look of fear which Morris failed to understand, not knowing -Wilford as well as Katy knew him. - -At nine o’clock next day there came a telegram. Wilford had reached New -York and would be in Silverton that afternoon, accompanied by Bell. At -this last Marian Hazelton caught as an excuse for what she intended -doing. She could not remain there after Wilford came, nor was it -necessary. Her task was done, or would be when she had finished the -wreath and cross of flowers she was making for the coffin. Laying them -on baby’s pillow, Marian went in quest of Helen, to whom she explained -that as Bell Cameron was coming, and the house would be full, she had -decided upon going to West Silverton, as she wished to see the old lady -with whom she once boarded, and who had been so kind to her. - -“I might stay,” she added, as Helen began to protest, “but you do not -need me. I have done all I can, and would rather go where I can be quiet -for a little.” - -To this last argument there could be no demur, and so the same carriage -which at ten o’clock went for Wilford Cameron carried Marian Hazelton to -the village where she preferred being left. - - * * * * * - -In much anxiety and distress Wilford Cameron read the telegram -announcing baby’s illness. - -“At Silverton!” he said. “How can that be when the child was at New -London?” and he glanced again at the words: - - “Your child is dying at Silverton. Come at once. M. GRANT” - -There could be no mistake, and Wilford’s face grew dark, for he guessed -the truth, censuring Katy much, but censuring her family more. They of -course had encouraged her in the plan of taking her child from New -London, where it was doing so well, and this was the result. Wilford was -proud of his daughter now, and during the few weeks he had been with it, -the little thing had found a strong place in his love. Many times he had -thought of it during his journey West, indulging in bright anticipations -of the coming winter, when he would have it home again. It would not be -in his way now. On the contrary, it would add much to his luxurious -home, and the young father’s heart bounded with thoughts of the -beautiful baby as he had last seen it, crowing its good-bye to him and -trying to lisp his name, its sweet voice haunting him for weeks, and -making him a softer, better man, who did not frown impatiently upon the -little children in the cars, but who took notice of them all, even -laying his hand once on a little curly head which reminded him of -baby’s. - -Alas for him! he little dreamed of the great shock in store for him. The -child was undoubtedly very sick, he said, but that it could die was not -possible; and so, though he made ready to hasten to it, he did not -withhold his opinion of the rashness which had brought it to such peril. - -“Had Katy obeyed _me_ it would not have happened,” he said, pacing up -and down the parlor and preparing to say more, when Bell came to Katy’s -aid, and lighting upon him, asked what he meant by blaming his wife so -much. - -“For my part,” she said, “I think there has been too much fault-finding -and dictation from the very day of the child’s birth till now, and if -God takes it, I shall think it a judgment upon you. First you were vexed -with Katy because it was not a boy, as if she were to blame; then you -did not like it because it was not more promising and fair; next it was -in your way, and so you sent it off, never considering Katy any more -than if she were a mere automaton. Then you must needs forbid her taking -it home to her own family, as if they had no interest in it. I tell you, -Will, it is not _all_ Cameron—there is some Barlow blood in its -veins—Aunt Betsy Barlow’s, too, and you cannot wash it out. Katy had a -right to take her own child where she pleased, and you are not a man if -you censure her for it, as I see in your eyes you mean to do. Suppose it -had stayed in New London and been struck with lightning—_you_ would have -been to blame, of course, according to your own view of things.” - -There was too much truth in Bell’s remarks for Wilford to retort, even -had he been disposed, and he contented himself with a haughty toss of -his head as she left the room to get herself in readiness for the -journey she insisted upon taking. Wilford was glad she was going, as her -presence at Silverton would relieve him of the awkward embarrassment he -always felt when there; and magnanimously forgiving her for the -plainness of her speech, he was the most attentive of brothers until -Silverton was reached and he found Dr. Grant awaiting for him. Something -in his face, as he came forward to meet them, startled both Wilford and -Bell, the latter of whom asked quickly, - -“Is the baby better?” - -“Baby is dead,” was the brief reply, and Wilford staggered back against -the door-post, where he leaned a moment for support in that first great -shock for which he was not prepared. - -Upon the doorstep Bell sat down, crying quietly, for she had loved the -child, and she listened anxiously while Morris repeated the particulars -of its illness and then spoke of Katy’s reproaching herself so bitterly -for having brought it from New London. “She seems entirely crushed,” he -continued, when they were driving towards the farm-house. “For a few -hours I trembled for her reason, while the fear that you might reproach -her added much to the poignancy of her grief.” - -Morris said this very calmly, as if it were not what he had all the -while intended saying, and his eye turned towards Wilford, whose lips -were compressed with the emotion he was trying to control. It was Bell -who spoke first, Bell who said impulsively, “Poor Katy, I knew she would -feel so, but it is unnecessary, for none but a _savage_ would reproach -her now, even if she were in fault.” - -Morris blessed Bell Cameron in his heart, knowing how much influence her -words would have upon her brother, who brushed away the first tear he -had shed, and tried to say that “of course she was not to blame.” - -They were in sight of the farm-house now, and Bell, with her city ideas, -was looking curiously at it, mentally pronouncing it a nicer, pleasanter -place than she had supposed. It was very quiet about the house, and old -Whitey’s neigh as Morris’s span of bays came up was the only sound which -greeted them. In the wood-shed door Uncle Ephraim sat smoking his clay -pipe and likening the feathery waves which curled above his head to the -little soul so recently gone upward; while by his side, upon a log of -wood, holding a pan of the luscious peaches she was slicing up for tea, -sat a woman whom Bell knew at once for Aunt Betsy Barlow, and who, pan -in hand, came forward to meet her, curtsying very low when introduced by -Morris, and asking to be excused from shaking hands, inasmuch as hers -were not fit to be touched. Bell’s quick eye took her in at a glance, -from her clean spotted gown to her plain muslin cap tied with a black -ribbon, put on that day with a view to mourning, and then darted off to -Uncle Ephraim, who won her heart at once when she heard how his voice -trembled as he took Wilford’s hand and said so pityingly, so -father-like, “Young man, this is a sad day for you, and you have my -sympathy, for I remember well how my heart ached when, on just such a -day as this, my only child lay dead as yours is lying.” - -Every muscle of Wilford’s face quivered, but he was too proud to show -all that he felt, and he was glad when Helen appeared in the door, as -that diverted his mind, and he greeted her cordially, stooping down and -kissing her forehead, a thing he had never done before. But sorrow is a -great softener, and Wilford was very sorry, feeling his loss more here, -where everything was so quiet, so suggestive of death. - -“Where is Katy?” he asked. - -“She is sleeping for the first time since the baby died. She is in here -with the child. She will stay nowhere else,” Helen said, opening the -door of the bedroom and motioning Wilford in. - -With hushed breath and a beating heart, Wilford stepped across the -threshold, and Helen closed the door, leaving him alone with the living -and the dead. Pure and beautiful as some fair blossom, the dead child -lay upon the bed, the curls of golden hair clustering about its head, -and on its lips the smile which settled there when it tried to say -“mamma.” Its dimpled hands were folded upon its breast, where lay the -cross of flowers which Marian Hazelton had made. There were flowers upon -its pillow, flowers around its head, flowers upon its shroud, flowers -everywhere, and itself the fairest flower of all, Wilford thought, as he -stood gazing at it and then let his eye move on to where poor, tired, -worn-out Katy had crept up so close beside it that her breath touched -the marble cheek and her own disordered hair rested upon the pillow of -her child. Even in her sleep her tears kept dropping and the pale lips -quivered in a grieved, touching way. Hard indeed would Wilford have been -had he cherished one bitter thought against the wife so wounded. He -could not when he saw her, but no one ever knew just what passed through -his mind during the half hour he sat there beside her, scarcely stirring -and not daring to kiss his child lest he should awaken her. He could -hear the ticking of his watch and the beating of his heart as he waited -for the first sound which should herald’s Katy’s waking. - -Suddenly there was a low, gasping moan, and Katy’s eyes unclosed and -rested on her husband. He was bending over her in an instant, and her -arms were round his neck, while she said to him so sadly, - -“Our baby is dead—you’ve nobody left but me; and oh! Wilford, you will -not blame me for bringing baby here? I did not think she’d die. I’d give -my life for hers if that would bring her back. Would you rather it was -me lying as baby lies, and she here in your arms?” - -“No, Katy,” Wilford answered, and by his voice Katy knew that she was -wholly forgiven, crying on his neck in a plaintive, piteous way, while -Wilford soothed and pitied and caressed, feeling subdued and humbled, -and we must confess it, feeling too how very good and generous he was to -be thus forbearing, when but for Katy’s act of disobedience they might -not now be childless! - - * * * * * - -With a great gush of tears Bell Cameron bent over the little form, and -then enfolded Katy in a more loving embrace than she had ever given her -before; but whatever she might have said was prevented by the arrival of -the coffin, and the confusion which followed. - -Much Wilford regretted that New York was so far away, for a city coffin -was more suitable, he thought, for a child of his, than the one which -Dr. Grant had ordered. But that was really of less consequence than the -question where the child should be buried. A costly monument at -Greenwood was in accordance with his ideas, but all things indicated a -contemplated burial there in the country churchyard, and sorely -perplexed, he called on Bell as the only Cameron at hand, to know what -he should do. - -“Do just as Katy prefers,” was Bell’s reply, as she led him to the -coffin and pointed to the name: “Little Genevra Cameron, aged nine -months and twenty days.” - -“What is it, Wilford—what is the matter?” she asked, as her brother -turned whiter than his child. - -Had “Genevra Lambert, aged 22,” met his eye, he could not have been more -startled than he was; but soon rallying, he said to Morris, - -“The child was baptized, then?” - -“Yes, baptized Genevra. That was Katy’s choice, I understand,” Morris -replied, and Wilford bowed his head, wishing the _Genevra_ across the -sea might know that his child bore her name. - -“Perhaps she does,” he thought, and his heart grew warm with the fancy -that possibly in that other world, whose existence he never really -doubted, the Genevra he had wronged would care for his child, if -children there need care. “She will know it is mine at least,” he said, -and with a thoughtful face he went in quest of Katy, whom he found -sobbing by the side of the mourning garments just sent in for her -inspection. - -Wilford was averse to black. It would not become Katy, he feared, and it -would be an unanswerable reason for her remaining closely home for the -entire winter. - -“What’s this?” he asked, lifting the crape veil and dropping it again -with an impatient gesture as Helen replied, “It is Katy’s mourning -veil.” - -Contrary to his expectations, black was becoming to Katy, who looked -like a pure white lily, as, leaning on Wilford’s arm next day, she stood -by the grave where they were burying her child. - -Wilford had spoken to her of Greenwood, but she had begged so hard that -he had given up that idea, suggesting next, as more in accordance with -city custom, that she remain at home while _he_ only followed to the -grave; but from this Katy recoiled in such distress that he gave that -lip too, and bore, magnanimously as he thought, the sight of all the -Barlows standing around that grave, alike mourners with himself, and all -a right to be there. Wilford felt his loss deeply, and his heart ached -to its very core as he heard the gravel rattling down upon the -coffin-lid which covered the beautiful child he had loved so much. But -amid it all he never for a moment forgot that he was _Wilford Cameron_, -and infinitely superior to the crowd around him—except, indeed, his -wife, his sister, Dr. Grant, and Helen. He could bear to see them sorry, -and feel that by their sorrow they honored the memory of his child. But -for the rest—the village herd, with the Barlows in their train—he had no -affinity, and his manner was as haughty and distant as ever as he passed -through their midst back to the carriage, which took him again to the -farm-house. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - AFTER THE FUNERAL. - - -Had there been a train back to New York that afternoon Wilford would -most certainly have suggested going; but as there was none he passed the -time as well as he could, finding Bell a great help to him, but -wondering that she could assimilate so readily with such people, -declaring herself in love with the farm-house, and saying she should -like to remain there for weeks, if the days were all as sunny as this, -the dahlias as gorgeously bright, and the peaches by the well as -delicious and ripe. To these the city girl took readily, visiting them -the last thing before retiring, while Wilford found her there when he -arose next morning, her dress and slippers nearly spoiled with the heavy -dew, and her hands full of the fresh fruit which Aunt Betsy knocked from -the tree with a quilting rod; _her_ dress pinned around her waist, and -disclosing a petticoat scrupulously clean, but patched and mended with -so many different patterns and colors that the original ground was lost, -and none could tell whether it had been red or black, buff or blue. -Between Aunt Betsy and Bell the most amicable feeling had existed ever -since the older lady had told the younger how all the summer long she -had been drying fruit, “thimble-berries, blue-bries, and huckle-berries” -for the soldiers, and how she was now drying peaches for Willard -Buxton—once their hired man. These she should tie up in a _salt bag_, -and put in the next box sent by the society of which she seemed to be -head and front, “kind of fust directress” she said, and Bell was -interested at once, for among the soldiers down by the Potomac was one -who carried with him the whole of Bell Cameron’s heart; and who for a -few days had tarried at just such a dwelling as the farm-house, writing -back to her so pleasant descriptions of it, with its fresh grass and -shadowy trees, that she had longed to be there too. So it was through -this halo of romance and love that Bell looked at the farm-house and its -occupants, preferring good Aunt Betsy because she seemed the most -interested in the soldiers, working as soon as breakfast was over upon -the peaches, and kindly furnishing her best check apron, together with -pan and knife for Bell, who offered her assistance, notwithstanding -Wilford’s warning that the fruit would stain her hands, and his advice -that she had better be putting up her things for going home. - -“She was not going that day,” she said, point blank, and as Katy too had -asked to stay a little longer, Wilford was compelled to yield, and -taking his hat sauntered off toward Linwood; while Katy went listlessly -into the kitchen, where Bell Cameron sat, her tongue moving much faster -than her hands, which pared so slowly and cut away so much of the juicy -pulp, besides making so frequent journeys to her mouth, that Aunt Betsy -looked in alarm at the rapidly disappearing fruit, wishing to herself -that “Miss Camern had not ’listed.” - -But _Miss Camern_ had enlisted, and so had Bob, or rather he had gone to -his duty, and as she worked, she repeated to Helen the particulars of -his going, telling how, when the war first broke out, and Sumter was -bombarded, Bob, who, from long association with Southern men at West -Point, had imbibed many of their ideas, was very sympathetic with the -rebelling States, gaining the cognomen of a secessionist, and once -actually thinking of casting in his lot with that side rather than the -other. But a little incident saved him, she said. The remembrance of a -queer old lady whom he met in the cars, and who, at parting held her -wrinkled hand above his head in benediction, charging him not to go -against the flag, and promising her prayers for his safety if found on -the side of the Union. - -“I wish you could hear Bob tell the story, the funny part I mean,” she -continued, narrating as well as she could the particulars of Lieutenant -Bob’s meeting with Aunt Betsy, who, as the story progressed and she -recognized herself in the queer old Yankee woman, who shook hands with -the conductor and was going to law about a sheep-pasture, dropped her -head lower and lower over her pan of peaches, while a scarlet flush -spread itself all over her thin face, but changed to a grayish white as -Bell concluded with “Bob says the memory of that hand lifted above his -head haunted him day and night, during the period of his uncertainty, -and was at last the means of saving him from treachery to his country.” - -“Thank God!” came involuntarily from Aunt Betsy’s quivering lips, and, -looking up, Bell saw the great tears running down her cheeks, tears -which she wiped away with her arm, while she said faintly, “That old -woman, who made a fool of herself in the cars, was _me_!” - -“You, Miss Barlow, you!” Bell exclaimed, forgetting in her astonishment -to carry to her mouth the luscious half peach she had intended for that -purpose, and dropping it untasted into the pan, while Katy, who had been -listening with considerable interest, came quickly forward saying, “You, -Aunt Betsy! when were you in New York, and why did I never know it?” - -It could not be kept back and, unmindful of Bell, Helen explained to -Katy as well as she could the circumstances of Aunt Betsy’s visit to New -York the previous winter. - -“And she never let me know it, or come to see me, because—because—” Katy -hesitated, and looked at Bell, who said, pertly, “Because Will is so -abominably proud, and would have made such a fuss. Don’t spoil a story -for relation’s sake, I beg,” and the young lady laughed good-humoredly, -restoring peace to all save Katy, whose face wore a troubled look, and -who soon stole away to her mother, whom she questioned further with -regard to a circumstance which seemed so mysterious to her. - -“Miss Barlow,” Bell said, when Katy was gone, “you will forgive me for -repeating that story as I did. Of course I had no idea it was you of -whom I was talking.” - -Bell was very earnest, and her eyes looked pleadingly upon Aunt Betsy, -who answered her back, “There’s nothing to forgive. You only told the -truth. I did make an old fool of myself, but if I helped that boy to a -right decision, my journey did some good, and I ain’t sorry now if I did -go to the play-house. I confessed that to the sewing circle, and Mrs. -Deacon Bannister ain’t seemed the same towards me since, but I don’t -care. I beat her on the election to first directress of the Soldier’s -Aid. She didn’t run half as well as me. That chap—you call Bob—is he -anything to you. Is he your beau?” - -It was Bell’s turn now to blush and then grow white, while Helen, -lightly touching the superb diamond on her first finger, said, “That -indicates as much. When did it happen, Bell?” - -Mrs. Cameron had said they were not a family to bruit their affairs -abroad, and if so, Bell was not like her family, for she answered -frankly, “Just before he went away. It’s a splendid diamond, isn’t it?” -and she held it up for Helen to inspect. - -The basket was empty by this time, and as Aunt Betsy went to fill it -from the trees, Bell and Helen were left alone, and the former continued -in a low, sad tone, “I’ve been so sorry sometimes that I did not tell -Bob I _loved_ him, when he wished me to so much.” - -“Not tell him you loved him! How then could you tell him yes, as it -appears you did?” Helen asked, and Bell answered, “I could not well help -that; it came so sudden and he begged so hard, saying my promise would -make him a better man, a better soldier and all that. It was the very -night before he went, and so I said that out of _pity_ and _patriotism_ -I would give the promise, and I did, but it seemed too much for a woman -to tell a man all at once that she loved him, and I wouldn’t do it, but -I’ve been sorry since; oh, so sorry, during the two days when we heard -nothing from him after that dreadful battle at Bull Run. We knew he was -in it, and I thought I should die until his telegram came saying he was -safe. I did sit down then and commence a letter, confessing all, but I -tore it up, and he don’t know now just how I feel.” - -“And do you really love him?” Helen asked, puzzled by this strange girl, -who laughingly held up her soft, white hand, stained and blackened with -the juice of the fruit she had been paring, and said, “Do you suppose I -would spoil my hands like that, and incur _ma chère mamma’s_ -displeasure, if Bob were not in the army and I did not care for him? And -now allow me to catechise you. Did Mark Ray ever propose and you refuse -him?” - -“Never!” and Helen’s face grew crimson, while Bell continued: “That is -funny. Half our circle think so, though how the impression was first -given I do not know. Mother told me, but would not tell where she -received her information. I heard of it again in a few days, and have -reason to believe that Mrs. Banker knows it too, and feels a little -uncomfortable that her son should be refused when she considers him -worthy of the Empress herself.” - -Helen was very white, as she asked, “And how with Mark and Juno?” - -“Oh, there is nothing between them,” Bell replied. “Mark has scarcely -called on us since he returned from Washington with his regiment. You -are certain you never cared for him?” - -This was so abrupt, and Bell’s eyes were so searching that Helen grew -giddy for a moment, and grasped the back of the chair, as she replied: -“I did not say I never cared for him. I said he never proposed; and that -is true; he never did.” - -“And if he had?” Bell continued, never taking her eyes from Helen, who, -had she been less agitated, would have denied Bell’s right to question -her so closely. Now, however, she answered blindly, “I do not know. I -cannot tell. I thought him engaged to Juno.” - -“Well, if that is not the rarest case of cross-purposes that I ever -knew,” Bell said, wiping her hands upon Aunt Betsy’s apron, and -preparing to attack the piled up basket just brought in. - -Farther conversation was impossible, and, with her mind in a perfect -tempest of thought, Helen went away, trying to decide what it was best -for her to do. Some one had spread the report that _she_ had refused -Mark Ray, telling of the refusal of course, or how else could it have -been known? and this accounted for Mrs. Banker’s long continued silence. -Since Helen’s return to Silverton Mrs. Banker had written two or three -kind, friendly letters, which did her so much good; but these had -suddenly ceased, and Helen’s last remained unanswered. She saw the -reason now, every nerve quivering with pain as she imagined what Mrs. -Banker must think of one who could make a refusal public, or what was -tenfold worse, pretend to an offer she never received. “She must despise -me, and Mark Ray, too, if he has heard of it,” she said, resolving one -moment to ask Bell to explain to Mrs. Banker, and then changing her mind -and concluding to let matters take their course, inasmuch as -interference from her might be construed by the mother into undue -interest in the son. “Perhaps Bell will do it without my asking,” she -thought, and this hope did much toward keeping her spirits up on that -last day of Katy’s stay at home, for she was going back in the morning. - -They did not see Marian Hazelton again, and Katy wondered at it, -deciding that in some things Marian was very peculiar, while Wilford and -Bell were disappointed, as both had a desire to meet and converse with -one who had been so like a second mother to the little dead Genevra. -Wilford spoke of his child now as Genevra, but to Katy it was Baby -still; and, with choking sobs and passionate tears, she bade good-bye to -the little mound underneath which it was lying, and then went back to -New York. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - THE FIRST WIFE. - - -Katy was very unhappy in her city home, and the world, as she looked -upon it, seemed utterly cheerless. For much of this unhappiness Wilford -was himself to blame. After the first few days, during which he was all -kindness and devotion, he did not try to comfort her, but seemed -irritated that she should mourn so deeply for the child which, but for -her indiscretion, might have been living still. He did not like staying -at home, and their evenings, when they were alone, passed in gloomy -silence. At last Mrs. Cameron brought her influence to bear upon her -daughter-in-law, trying to rouse her to something like her olden -interest in the world; but all to no effect, and matters grew constantly -worse, as Wilford thought Katy unreasonable and selfish, while Katy -tried hard not to think him harsh in his judgment of her, and exacting -in his requirements. “Perhaps she was the one most in fault; it could -not be pleasant for him to see her so entirely changed from what she -used to be,” she thought, one morning late in November, when, her -husband had just left her with an angry frown upon his face and -reproachful words upon his lips. - -Father Cameron and his daughters were out of town, and Mrs. Cameron had -asked Wilford and Katy to dine with her. But Katy did not wish to go, -and Wilford had left her in anger, saying “she could suit herself, but -he should go at all events.” - -Left alone, Katy began to feel that she had done wrong in declining the -invitation. Surely she could go there, and the echo of the _bang_ with -which Wilford had closed the street door was still vibrating in her ear, -when her resolution began to give way, and while Wilford was riding -moodily down town, thinking harsh things against her, she was meditating -what she thought might be an agreeable surprise. She would go round and -meet him at dinner, trying to appear as much like her old self as she -could, and so atone for anything which had hitherto been wrong in her -demeanor. - -Later in the day Esther was sent for to arrange her mistress’s hair, as -she had not arranged it since baby died. Wilford had been annoyed by the -smooth bands combed so plainly back, and at the blackness of the dress, -but now there was a change, and graceful curls fell about the face, -giving it the girlish expression which Wilford liked. The soberness of -the dark dress was relieved by simple folds of white crape at the throat -and wrists, while the handsome jet ornaments, the gift of Wilford’s -father, added to the style and beauty of the childish figure, which had -seldom looked lovelier than when ready and waiting for the carriage. At -the door there was a ring, and Esther brought a note to Katy, who read -as follows: - - DEAR KATY:—I have been suddenly called to leave the city on business, - which will probably detain me for three days or more, and as I must go - on the night train, I wish Esther to have my portmanteau ready with - whatever I may need for the journey. As I proposed this morning, I - shall dine with mother, but come home immediately after dinner. - - W. CAMERON. - -Katy was glad now that she had decided to meet him at his mother’s, as -the knowing she had pleased him would make the time of his absence more -endurable, and after seeing that everything was ready for him she -stepped with a comparatively light heart into her carriage, and was -driven to No.—— Fifth Avenue. - -Mrs. Cameron was out, the servant said, but was expected every minute -with Mr. Wilford. - -“Never mind,” Katy answered; “I want to surprise them, so please don’t -tell them I am here when you let them in,” and going into the library -she sat down before the grate, waiting rather impatiently until the -door-bell rang and she heard both Wilford’s and Mrs. Cameron’s voices in -the hall. - -Contrary to her expectations, they did not come into the library, but -went into the parlor, the door of which was partially ajar, so that -every word they said could be distinctly heard where Katy sat. It would -seem that they were continuing a conversation which had been interrupted -by their arriving home, for Mrs. Cameron said, with the tone she always -assumed when sympathizing with her son. “Is she never more cheerful than -when I have seen her?” - -“Never,” and Katy could feel just how Wilford’s lips shut over his teeth -as he said it; “never more cheerful, but worse if anything. Why, -positively the house seems so like a funeral that I hate to leave the -office and go back to it at night, knowing how mopish and gloomy Katy -will be.” - -“My poor boy, it is worse than I feared,” Mrs. Cameron said, with a -little sigh, while Katy, with a great gasping sob, tried to rise and go -to them, to tell them she was there—the mopish Katy, who made her home -so like a funeral to her husband. - -But her limbs refused to move, and she sank back powerless in her chair, -compelled to listen to things which no true husband would ever say to a -mother of his wife, especially when that wife’s error consisted -principally in mourning for the child “which but for her imprudence -might have been living then.” These were Wilford’s very words, and -though Katy had once expected him to say them, they came upon her now -with a dreadful shock, making her view herself as the murderer of her -child, and thus blunting the pain she might otherwise have felt as he -went on to speak of Silverton and its inhabitants just as he would not -have spoken had he known she was so near. Then, encouraged by his -mother, he talked again of her in a way which made her poor aching heart -throb as she whispered, sadly, “He is disappointed in me. I do not come -up to all that he expected. I do very well, considering my low origin, -but I am not what his wife should be.” - -Wilford had not said all this, but Katy inferred it, and every nerve -quivered with anguish as the wild wish came over her that she had died -on that day when she sat in the summer grass at home waiting for Wilford -Cameron. Poor Katy! she thought her cup of sorrow full, when, alas! only -a drop had as yet been poured into it. But it was filling fast, and Mrs. -Cameron’s words, “It might have been better with Genevra,” was the first -outpouring of the overwhelming torrent which for a moment bore her life -and sense away. She thought they meant her baby—the little Genevra -sleeping under the snow in Silverton—and her white lips answered, “Yes, -it would be better,” before Wilford’s voice was heard, saying, as he -always said, “No, I have never wished Genevra in Katy’s place; though I -have sometimes wondered what the result would have been had I learned in -season how much I wronged her.” - -Was heaven and earth coming together, or what made Katy’s brain so dizzy -and the room so dark, as, with head bent forward and lips apart, she -strained her ear to catch every word of the conversation which followed, -and in which she saw glimpses of that _leaf_ offered her once to read, -and from which she had promised not to shrink should it ever be thrust -upon her? But she did shrink, oh! so shudderingly, holding up her hands -and striking them through the empty air as if she would thrust aside the -terrible spectre risen so suddenly before her. She had heard all that -she cared to hear then. Another word and she should surely die where she -was, within hearing of the voices still talking of _Genevra_. Stopping -her ears to shut out the dreadful sound, she tried to think what she -should do. To gain the door and reach the street was her desire, and -throwing on her wrappings she went noiselessly into the hall, and -carefully turning the lock and closing the door behind her, she found -herself alone in the street in the dusk of a November night. But Katy -was not afraid, and drawing her hood closely over her face she sped on -until her own house was reached, alarming Esther with her frightened -face, but explaining that she had been taken suddenly ill and returned -before dinner - -“Mr. Cameron will be here soon,” she said. “I do not need anything -to-night, so you can leave me alone and go where you like—to the -theatre, if you choose. I heard you say you wished to go. Here is the -money for you and Phillips,” and handing a bill to the puzzled Esther, -she dismissed her from the room. - -Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron’s, no one had a suspicion of Katy’s -recent presence, for the girl who had admitted her had gone to visit a -sick sister, with whom she was to spend the night. Thus Katy’s secret -was safe, and Wilford, when at last he bade his mother good-bye and -started for home, was not prepared for the livid face, the bloodshot -eyes, and the strange, unnatural look which met him at the threshold. - -Katy answered his ring herself, her hands grasping his fiercely, -dragging him up the stairs to her own room, where, more like a maniac -than Katy Cameron, she confronted him with the startling question, - -“Who is _Genevra Lambert_? It is time I knew before committing greater -sin. Tell me, Wilford, who _is_ she?” - -She was standing before him, her slight figure seeming to expand into a -greater height, the features glowing with strong excitement, and her hot -breath coming hurriedly through her dilated nostrils, but never opening -the pale lips set so firmly together. There was something terrible in -her look and attitude, and it startled Wilford, who recoiled a moment -from her, scarcely able to recognize the Katy hitherto so gentle and -quiet. She had learned his secret, but the facts must have been -distorted, he knew, or she had never been so agitated. From beneath his -hair the great sweat-drops came pouring, as he tried to approach her and -take the uplifted hands, motioning him aside with the words, “Not touch -me; no, not touch me till you have told me _who_ is _Genevra Lambert_.” - -She repeated the question twice, and rallying all his strength Wilford -answered her at last, “_Genevra Lambert was my wife!_” - -“I thought so,” and the next moment Katy lay in Wilford’s arms, dead, as -he feared, for there was no motion about the eyelids, no motion that he -could perceive about the pulse or heart, as he laid the rigid form upon -the bed and then bent every energy to restore her, even though he feared -that it was hopeless. - -If possible he would prefer that no one should intrude upon them now, -and he chafed her icy hands and bathed her face until the eyes unclosed -again, but with a shudder turned away as they met his. Then, as she grew -stronger and remembered the past, she started up, exclaiming, “If -Genevra Lambert is your wife, what then _am I_? Oh, Wilford, how could -you make me _not_ a wife, when I trusted and loved you so much?” - -He knew she was laboring under a mistake, and he did not wonder at the -violence of her emotions if she believed he had wronged her so cruelly, -and coming nearer to her he said, “Genevra Lambert _was_ my wife once, -but is not now, for she is dead. Do you hear me, Katy? Genevra died -years ago, when you were a little girl playing in the fields at home.” - -By mentioning Silverton, he hoped to bring back something of her olden -look, in place of the expression which troubled and frightened him. The -experiment was successful, and great tears gathered in Katy’s eyes, -washing out the wild, unnatural gleam, while the lips whispered, “And it -was her picture Juno saw. She told me the night I came, and I tried to -question you. You remember?” - -Wilford did remember it, and he replied, “Yes, but I did not suppose you -knew I had a picture. You have been a good wife, Katy, never to mention -it since then;” and he tried to kiss her forehead, but she covered it -with her hands, saying sadly, “Not yet, Wilford, I cannot bear it now. I -must know the whole about Genevra. Why didn’t you tell me before? Why -have you deceived me so?” - -“Katy,” and Wilford grew very earnest in his attempts to defend himself, -“do you remember that day we sat under the buttonwood tree, and you -promised to be mine? Try and recall the incidents of that hour and see -if I did not hint at some things in the past which I wished had been -otherwise, and did not offer to show you the blackest page of my whole -life, but you would not see it. Was that so, Katy?” - -“Yes,” she answered, and he continued: “You said you were satisfied to -take me as I was. You would not hear evil against me, and so I -acquiesced, bidding you not shrink back if ever the time should come -when you must read that page. I was to blame, I know, but there were -many extenuating circumstances, much to excuse me for withholding what -you would not hear.” - -Wilford did not like to be censured, neither did he like to censure -himself, and now that Katy was out of danger and comparatively calm, he -began to build about himself a fortress of excuses for having kept from -her the secret of his life. - -“When did you hear of Genevra?” he asked. - -Katy told him when and how she heard the story, and then added, “Oh, -Wilford, why did you keep it from me? What was there about it wrong, and -where is she buried?” - -“In Alnwick, at St. Mary’s,” Wilford answered, determining now to hold -nothing back, and by his abruptness wounding Katy afresh. - -“In Alnwick, at St. Mary’s,” Katy cried. “Then I have seen her grave, -and that is why you were so anxious to get there—so unwilling to go -away. Oh, if I were lying there instead of Genevra, it would be so much -better, so much better.” - -Katy was sobbing now, in a moaning, plaintive way, which touched Wilford -tenderly, and smoothing her tangled hair, he said, “I would not exchange -my Katy for all the Genevras in the world. She was never as dear to me -as you. I was but a boy, and did not know my mind, when I met her. Shall -I tell you about her now? Can you bear to hear the story of Genevra?” - -There was a nod of assent, and Katy turned her face to the wall, -clasping her hands tightly together, while Wilford drew his chair to her -side and began to read the page he should have read to her long before. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED. - - -I was little more than nineteen years of age when I left Harvard College -and went abroad with my only brother, the John or Jack of whom you have -so often heard. Both himself and wife were in delicate health, and it -was hoped a voyage across the sea would do them good. For nearly a year -we were in various parts of England, stopping for two months at -Brighton, where, among the visitors, was a widow from the vicinity of -Alnwick, and with her an orphan niece, whose dazzling beauty attracted -my youthful fancy. She was not happy with her aunt, upon whom she was -wholly dependent, and my sympathies were all enlisted, when, with the -tears shining in her lustrous eyes, she one day accidentally stumbled -upon her trouble and told me how wretched she was, asking if in America -there was not something for her to do. - -“It was at this time that Jamie was born, and Mary, the girl who went -out with us, was married to an Englishman, making it necessary for Hatty -to find some one to take her place. Hearing of this, Genevra came one -day, and offered herself as half companion, half waiting-maid to Hatty. -Anything was preferable to the life she led, she said, pleading so hard -that Hatty, after an interview with the old aunt—a purse-proud, vulgar -woman, who seemed glad to be rid of her charge—consented to receive her, -and Genevra became one of our family, an equal rather than a menial, -whom Hatty treated with as much consideration as if she had been a -sister. I wish I could tell you how beautiful Genevra Lambert was at -that period of her life, with her brilliant English complexion, her eyes -so full of poetry and passion, her perfect features, and, more than all, -the wondrous smile, which would have made a plain face handsome. - -“Of course I came to love her, and loved her all the more for the -opposition I knew my family would throw in the way of my marrying the -daughter of an English apothecary, and one who was voluntarily filling a -servant’s place. But with my mother across the sea, I could do anything; -and when Genevra told me of a base fellow, who, since she was a child, -had sought her for his wife, and still pursued her with his letters, my -passions were roused, and I offered myself at once. Her answer was a -decided refusal. She knew _her_ position, she said, and she knew mine, -just as she knew the nature of the feeling which prompted me to act thus -toward her. Although just my age, she was older in judgment and -experience, and she seemed to understand the difference between our -relative positions. I was not indifferent to her, she said, and were she -my equal her answer might be otherwise than the decided no. - -“Madly in love, and fancying I could not live without her, I besieged -her with letters, some of which she returned unopened, while on others -she wrote a few hurried lines, calling me a boy, who did not know my own -mind, and asking what my friends would say. - -“I cared little for friends, and urged my suit the more vehemently, as -we were about going into Scotland, where our marriage could be -celebrated in private at any time. I did not contemplate making the -affair public at once. That would take from the interest and romance, -while, unknown to myself, there was at heart a fear of my family. - -“But not to dwell too long upon those days, which seem to me now like a -dream, we went to Scotland and were married privately, for I won her to -this at last. - -“My brother’s failing health, as well as Hatty’s, prevented them from -suspecting what was going on, and when at last we went to Italy they had -no idea that Genevra was my wife. At Rome her beautiful face attracted -much attention from tourists and residents, among whom were a few young -men, who, looking upon her as Jamie’s nurse, or at most a companion for -his mother, made no attempt to disguise their admiration. For this I had -no redress except in an open avowal of the relation in which I stood to -her, and this I could not then do, for the longer it was deferred the -harder I found it to acknowledge her my wife. I loved her devotedly, and -that perhaps was one great cause of the jealousy which began to spring -up and embitter my life. - -“I do not now believe that Genevra was at heart a coquette. She was very -fond of admiration, but when she saw how much I was disturbed she made -an effort to avoid those who flattered her, but her manner was -unfortunate, while her voice—the sweetest I ever heard—was calculated to -invite rather than repel attention. As the empress of the world, she -would have won and kept the homage of mankind, from the humblest beggar -in the street to the king upon the throne, and had I been older I should -have been proud of what then was my greatest annoyance. But I was a mere -boy—and I watched her jealously, until a new element of disquiet was -presented to me in the shape of a ruffianly looking fellow, who was -frequently seen about the premises, and with whom I once found Genevra -in close converse, starting and blushing guiltily when I came upon her, -while her companion went swiftly from my sight. - -“It was an old English acquaintance, who was poor and asking charity,” -she said, when questioned, but her manner led me to think there was -something wrong, particularly as I saw her with him again, and thought -she held his hand. - -“It was evident that my brother would never see America again, and at -his request my mother came to us, in company with a family from Boston, -reaching us two weeks before he died. From the first she disliked -Genevra, and suspected the liking between us, but never dreaming of the -truth until a week after Jack’s death, when in a fit of anger at Genevra -for listening to an English artist, who had asked to paint her picture, -the story of the marriage came out, and like a child dependent on its -mother for advice, I asked, ‘What shall I do?? - -“You know mother, and can in part understand how she would scorn a girl -who, though born to better things, was still found in the capacity of a -waiting-maid. I never saw her so moved as she was for a time, after -learning that her only living son, from whom she expected so much, had -thrown himself away, as she expressed it. Sister Hatty, who loved -Genevra, did all she could to heal the growing difference between us, -but I trusted mother most. I believed that what she said was right, and -so matters grew worse, until one night, the last we spent in Rome, I -missed Genevra from our rooms, and starting in quest of her, found her, -in a little flower garden back of our dwelling. There, under the deep -shadow of a tree, and partly concealed from view, she stood with her arm -around the neck of the same rough-looking man who had been there before. -She did not see me as I watched her while she parted with him, suffering -him to kiss her hand and forehead as he said, “Good-bye, my darling.” - -“In a tremor of anger and excitement I quitted the spot, my mind wholly -made up with regard to my future. That there was something wrong about -Genevra I did not doubt, and I would not give her a chance to explain by -telling her what I had seen, but sent her back to England, giving her -ample means for defraying the expenses of her journey and for living in -comfort after her arrival there. From Rome we went to Naples, and then -to Switzerland, where Hatty died, leaving us alone with little Jamie. It -was at Berne that I received an anonymous letter from England, the -writer stating that Genevra was with her aunt, that the whole had ended -as he thought it would, that he could readily guess at the nature of the -trouble, and hinting that if a _divorce_ was desirable on my return to -England, all necessary proof could be obtained by applying to such a -number in London, the writer announcing himself a brother of the man who -had once sought Genevra, and saying he had always opposed the match, -knowing Genevra’s family. - -“This was the first time the idea of a _divorce_ had entered my mind, -and I shrank from a final separation. But mother felt differently. It -was not a new thought to her, knowing as she did that the validity of a -Scotch marriage, such as ours, was frequently contested in the English -Courts. Once free from Genevra the world this side the water would never -know of that mistake, and she set herself steadily to accomplish her -purpose. To tell you all that followed our return to England, and the -steps by which I was brought to sue for a divorce, would make my story -too long, and so I will only state that, chiefly by the testimony of the -anonymous letter-writer, whose acquaintance we made, a divorce was -obtained, Genevra putting in no defence, but, as I heard afterwards, -settling down into an apathy from which nothing had power to rouse her -until the news of her freedom from me was carried to her, when, amid a -paroxysm of tears and sobs, she wrote me a few lines, assuring me of her -innocence, refusing to send back her wedding ring, and saying God would -not forgive me for the great wrong I had done her. I saw her once after -that by appointment, and her face haunted me for years, for, Katy, -_Genevra was innocent_, as I found after the time was past when -reparation could be made.” - -Wilford’s voice trembled, and for a moment there was silence in the -room, while he composed himself to go on with the story: - -“She would not live with me again if she could, she said, denouncing -bitterly the Cameron pride, and saying she was happier to be free; and -there we parted, but not until she told me that her traducer was the old -discarded suitor who had sworn to have revenge, and who, since the -divorce, had dared seek her again. A vague suspicion of this had crossed -my mind once before, but the die was cast, and even if the man were -false, what I saw myself in Rome still stood against her, and so my -conscience was quieted, while mother was more than glad to be rid of a -daughter-in-law of whose family I knew nothing. Rumors I did hear of a -cousin whose character was not the best, and of the father who for some -crime had fled the country, and died in a foreign land, but as that was -nothing to me now, I passed it by, feeling it was best to be released -from one of so doubtful antecedents. - -“In the spring of 185— we came back to New York, where no one had ever -heard of the affair, so quietly had it been managed. I was still an -unmarried man to the world, as no one but my mother knew my secret. With -her I often talked of Genevra, wishing sometimes that I could hear from -her, a wish which was finally gratified. One day I received a note -requesting an interview at a down town hotel, the writer signing himself -as Thomas Lambert, and adding that I need have no fears, as he came to -perform an act of justice, not of retribution. Three hours later I was -locked in a room with Genevra’s father, the same man whom I had seen in -Rome. Detected in forgery years before, he had fled from England and had -hidden himself in Rome, where he accidentally met his daughter, and so -that stain was removed. He had heard of the divorce by a letter which -Genevra managed to send him, and braving all difficulties and dangers he -had come back to England and found his child, hearing from her the story -of her wrongs, and as well as he was able setting himself to discover -the author of the calumny. He was not long in tracing it to _Le Roy_, -Genevra’s former suitor, whom he found in a dying condition, and who -with his last breath confessed the falsehood which was imposed upon me, -he said, partly from motives of revenge, and partly, with a hope that -free from me, Genevra would at the last turn to him. As proof that Mr. -Lambert told me truth, he brought the dying man’s confession, written in -a cramped, trembling hand, which I recognized at once. The confession -ended with the solemn assertion, ‘For aught I know or believe, Genevra -Lambert is as pure and true as any woman living.’ - -“I cannot describe the effect this had upon me. I did not love Genevra -then. I had out-lived that affection, but I felt remorse and pity for -having wronged her, and asked how I could make amends. - -“‘You cannot,’ the old man said, ‘except in one way, and that she does -not desire. I did not come here with any wish for you to take her for -your wife again. It was an unequal match which never should have been; -but if you believe her innocent, she will be satisfied. She wanted you -to know it—I wanted you to know it, and so I crossed the sea to find -you.’” - -“The next I heard of her was in the columns of an English newspaper, -which told me she was dead, while in another place a pencil mark was -lightly traced around a paragraph, which said that ‘a forger, Thomas -Lambert, who escaped years ago and was supposed to be dead, had recently -reappeared in England, where he was recognized, but not arrested, for -the illness which proved fatal. He was attended,’ the paper said, ‘by -his daughter, a beautiful young girl, whose modest mien and gentle -manner had done much towards keeping the officers of justice from her -dying father, no one being able to withstand her pleadings that her -father might die in peace.’ - -“I was grateful for this tribute to Genevra, for I felt that it was -deserved; and I turned again to the notice of her death, which must have -occurred within a short time of her father’s, and was probably induced -by past troubles and recent anxiety for him. - -“Genevra Lambert died at Alnwick, aged 22. There could be no mistake, -and with a tear to the memory of the dead whom I had loved and injured, -I burned the paper, feeling that now there was no clue to the secret I -was as anxious to preserve as was my mother. - -“And so the years wore on till I met and married you, withholding from -you that yours was not the first love which had stirred my heart. I -meant to tell you, Katy, but I could not for the great fear of losing -you if you knew all. And then an error concealed so long is hard to be -confessed. I took you across the sea to Brighton, where I first met -Genevra, and then to Alnwick, seeking out the grave which made assurance -doubly sure. It was natural that I should make some inquiries concerning -her last days; I questioned the old sexton who was at work near by. -Calling his attention to the name, I said it was an uncommon one and -asked if he knew the girl. - -“‘Not by sight, no,’ he said. ‘She was only here a few days before she -died. I’ve heard she was very winsome and that there was a scandal of -some kind mixed up with her.’ - -“I would not ask him any more; and without any wrong to you, I confess -that my tears dropped upon the turf under which I knew Genevra lay.” - -“I am glad they did; I should hate you if you had not cried,” Katy -exclaimed, her voice more natural than it had been since the great shock -came. - -“Do you forgive me, Katy? Do you love me as well as ever?” Wilford -asked, stooping down to kiss her, but Katy drew her face away and would -not answer then. - -She did not know herself how she felt towards him. He did not seem just -like the husband she had trusted in so blindly. It would take a long -time to forget that another head than hers had lain upon his bosom, and -it would take longer yet to blot out the memory of complaining words -uttered to his mother. She had never thought he could do that, never -dreamed of such a thing, knowing that she would sooner have parted with -her right hand than complained of him. Her idol had fallen in more -respects than one, and the heart it had bruised in the fall refused at -once to gather the shattered pieces up and call them as good as new. She -was not so obstinate as Wilford began to fancy. She was only stunned and -could not rally at his bidding. He confessed the whole, keeping nothing -back, and he felt that Katy was unjust not to acknowledge his -magnanimity and restore him to her favor. Again he asked forgiveness, -and bent down to kiss her, but Katy answered, “Not yet, Wilford, not -till I feel all right towards you. A wife’s kiss should be sincere.” - -“As you like,” trembled on Wilford’s lips, but he beat back the words -and walked up and down the room, knowing now that his journey must be -deferred till morning, and wondering if Katy would hold out till then. - -It was long past midnight, but to retire was impossible, and so for one -whole hour he paced through the room, while Katy lay with her eyes -closed and her lips moving occasionally in words of prayer she tried to -say, asking God to help her, and praying that she might in future lay -her treasures up where they could not so suddenly be swept away. Wearily -the hours passed, and the gray dawn was stealing into the room when -Wilford again approached his wife and said, “You know I was to have left -home last night on business. As I did not go then it is necessary that I -leave this morning. Are you able to stay alone for three days more? Are -you willing?” - -“Yes—oh yes,” Katy replied, feeling that to have him gone while she -battled with the pain lying so heavy at her heart, would be a great -relief. - -Perhaps he suspected this feeling in part, for he bit his lip -impatiently, and without another word called up the servant whose duty -it was to prepare his breakfast. Cold and cheerless seemed the -dining-room, to which an hour later he repaired, and tasteless was the -breakfast without Katy there to share it. She had been absent many times -before, but never just as now, with this wide gulf between them, and as -he broke his egg and tried to drink his coffee, Wilford felt like one -from whom every support had been swept away. He did not like the look on -Katy’s face or the sound of her voice, and as he thought upon them, self -began to whisper again that she had no right to stand out so long when -he had confessed everything, and by the time his breakfast was finished, -Wilford Cameron was, in his own estimation, an abused and injured man, -so that it was with an air of defiance rather than humility that he went -again to Katy. She, too, had been thinking, and as the result of her -thoughts she lifted up her head as he came in and said, “I can kiss you -now, Wilford.” - -It was human nature, we suppose—at least it was Wilford’s nature—which -for an instant tempted him to decline the kiss proffered so lovingly; -but Katy’s face was more than he could withstand, and when again he left -that room the kiss of pardon was upon his lips and comparative quiet was -in his heart. - -“The picture, Wilford,—please bring me the picture, I want to see it,” -Katy called after him, as he was running down the stairs. - -Wilford would not refuse, and hastily unlocking his private drawer he -carried the case to Katy’s room, saying to her, “I would not mind it -now. Try and sleep awhile. You need the rest so much.” - -Katy knew she had the whole day before her, and so she nestled down -among her pillows and soon fell into a quiet sleep, from which Esther at -last awakened her, asking if she should bring her breakfast to her room. - -“Yes, do,” Katy replied, adjusting her dress and trying to arrange the -matted curls, which were finally confined in a net until Esther’s more -practiced hands were ready to attack them, then sending Esther from the -room Katy took the picture of Genevra from the table where Wilford had -laid it. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - THE EFFECT. - - -Very cautiously the lid was opened, and a lock of soft brown hair fell -out, clinging to Katy’s hand and making her shudder as she shook off the -silken tress and remembered that the head it once adorned was lying in -St. Mary’s churchyard, where the English daisies grew. - -“She had pretty hair,” she thought; “darker, richer than mine,” and into -Katy’s heart there crept a feeling akin to jealousy, lest Genevra had -been fairer than herself, as well as better loved. “I won’t be foolish -any longer,” she said, and turning resolutely to the light, she opened -the lid again and saw Genevra Lambert, starting quickly, then looking -again more closely—then, with a gasp, panting for breath; while like -lightning flashes the past came rushing over her, as, with her eyes -fixed upon that picture, she tried to whisper, “_It is—it is!_” - -She could not then say whom, for if she were right in her belief, -Genevra was not dead. There were no daisies growing on her grave, for -she still walked the earth a living woman, whom Katy knew so -well—_Marian Hazelton_. That was the name Katy could not speak, as, with -the blood curdling in her veins and freezing about her heart, she sat -comparing the face she remembered so well with the one before her. In -some points they were unlike, for thirteen years had slightly marred the -youthful contour of the face she knew once—had sharpened the features -and thinned the abundant hair; but still there could be no mistake. The -eyes, the brow, the smile, the nose, all were the same, and with a pang -bitterer than she yet had felt, poor Katy fell upon her face and asked -that she might die. In her utter ignorance of law, she fancied that if -Genevra were alive, she had no right to Wilford’s name—no right to be -his wife—especially as the sin for which Genevra was divorced had by her -never been committed, and burning tears of bitter shame ran down her -cheeks as she whispered, “‘What God has joined together let no man put -asunder,’ Those are God’s words, and how dare the world act otherwise? -she _is_ his wife, and I—oh! I don’t know what I am!” and on the carpet -where she was kneeling Katy writhed in agony as she tried to think what -she must do. Not stay there—she could not do that now—not, at least, -until she knew for sure that she was Wilford’s wife, in spite of -Genevra’s living. “Oh, if there was only some one to advise me—some one -who knew and would tell me what was right,” Katy moaned, feeling herself -inadequate to meet the dark hour alone. - -But to whom should she go? To Father Cameron? No, nor to his mother. -They might counsel wrong for the sake of secrecy. Would Mark Ray or Mrs. -Banker know? Perhaps; but they were strangers;—her trouble must not be -told to them, and then with a great bound her heart turned at last to -_Morris_. He knew everything. He would not sanction a wrong. He would -tell her just what was right, and she could trust him fully in -everything. There was no other person whom she could believe just as she -could him. Uncle Ephraim was equally as good and conscientious, but he -did not know as much as Morris—he did not understand everything. Morris -was her refuge, and to him she would go that very day, leaving a note -for Wilford in case she never came back, as possibly she might not. Had -Marian been in the city she would have gone to her at once, but Marian -was where long rows of cots were ranged against the hospital walls, each -holding a maimed and suffering soldier, to whom she ministered so -tenderly, the brightness of her smile and the beauty of her face -deluding the delirious ones into the belief that the journey of life for -them was ended and heaven reached at last, where an angel in woman’s -garb attended upon them. Marian was impossible, and Dr. Grant was the -only alternative left. - -But when she attempted to prepare for the journey to Silverton, she -found herself wholly inadequate to the exertion. The terrible excitement -through which she had passed had exhausted her strength, and every nerve -was quivering, while spasms of pain darted through her head, warning her -that Silverton was impossible. “I can telegraph and Morris will come,” -she whispered, and without pausing to think what the act might involve, -she wrote upon a slip of paper, “Cousin Morris, come to me in the next -train. I am in great trouble, Katy.” - -She would not add the Cameron. She had no right to that name, she -feared, and folding the paper, she rang for Esther, bidding her give the -telegram to the boy Phil, with instructions to take it at once to the -office and see that it went immediately. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - THE INTERVIEW. - - -Dr. Morris was very tired, for his labors that day had been unusually -severe, and it was with a feeling of comfort and relief that at an -earlier hour than usual, he had turned his steps homeward, finding a -bright fire waiting him in the library, where his late dinner was soon -brought by the housekeeper. It was very pleasant in that cosy library of -oak and green, with the bright fire on the hearth, and the smoking -dinner set so temptingly before him. And Morris felt the comfort of his -home, thanking the God who had given him all this, and chiding his -wayward heart that it had ever dared to repine. He was not repining -to-night, as with his hands crossed upon his head he sat looking into -the fire and watching the bits of glowing anthracite dropping into the -pan. He was thinking of the sick-bed which he had visited last, and how -a faith in Jesus can make the humblest room like the gate of Heaven; -thinking how the woman’s eyes had sparkled when she told him of the -other world, where she would never know pain or hunger or cold again, -and how quickly their lustre was dimmed when she spoke of her absent -husband, the soldier to whom the news of her death, with the child he -had never seen, would be a crushing blow. - -“They who have neither wife nor child are the happier perhaps,” he said; -and then he thought of Katy and her great sorrow when baby died, -wondering if to spare herself that pain she would rather baby had never -been. “No—oh, no,” he answered to his own inquiry. “She would not lose -the memory which comes from that little grave for all the world -contains. It is better once to love and lose than not to love at all. In -Heaven we shall see and know why these things were permitted, and marvel -at the poor human nature which rebelled against them.” - -Just at this point of his soliloquy, the telegram was brought to him. -“Come in the next train. I am in great trouble.” - -He read it many times, growing more and more perplexed with each -reading, and then trying to decide what his better course would be. -There were no patients needing him that night, that he knew of; he might -perhaps go if there was yet time for the train which passed at four -o’clock. There was time, he found, and telling Mrs. Hull that he had -been suddenly called to New York, he bade his boy bring out his horse -and take him at once to the depot. It was better to leave no message for -the deacon’s family, as he did not wish to alarm them unnecessarily. “I -shall undoubtedly be back to-morrow,” he thought, as he took his seat in -the car, wondering what could be the trouble which had prompted that -strange despatch. - -It was nearly midnight when he reached the city, but a light was shining -from the windows of that house in Madison Square, and Katy, who had -never for a moment doubted his coming, was waiting for him. But not in -the parlor; she was too sick now to go down there, and when she heard -his ring and his voice in the hall asking for her, she bade Esther show -him to her room. More and more perplexed, Morris ran up to the room -where Katy lay, or rather crouched, upon the sofa, her eyes so wild and -her face so white that, in great alarm, Morris took the cold hands she -stretched feebly towards him, and bending over her said, “What is it, -Katy? Has anything dreadful happened? and where is your husband?” - -At the mention of her husband Katy shivered, and rising from her -crouching position, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and -replied, “Oh, Morris! I am so wretched,—so full of pain! I have heard of -something which took my life away. I am _not_ Wilford’s wife, for he had -another before me,—a wife in Italy,—who is not dead! And _I_, oh Morris! -what _am_ I? I knew you would know just what I was, and I sent for you -to tell me and take me away from here, back to Silverton. Help me, -Morris! I am choking! I am—yes—I am—going to faint!” - -It was the first time Katy had put the great horror in words addressed -to another, and the act of doing so made it more appalling, and with a -moan she sank back among the pillows of the couch, while Morris tried to -comprehend the strange words he had heard, “I am not Wilford’s wife, for -he had another before me,—a wife in Italy,—who is not dead.” - -Dr. Morris was thoroughly a man, and though much of his sinful nature -had been subdued, there was enough left to make his heart rise and fall -with great throbs of joy as he thought of Katy _free_, even though that -freedom were bought at the expense of dire disgrace to others, and of -misery to her. But only for a moment did he feel thus—only till he knelt -beside the pallid face with the dark rings beneath the eyes, and saw the -faint, quivering motion around the lips, which told that she was not -wholly unconscious. - -“My poor little wounded bird,” he said, as pityingly as if he had been -her father, while much as a father might kiss his suffering child, he -kissed the forehead and the eyelids where the tears began to gather. - -Katy was not insensible, and the name by which he called her, with the -kisses that he gave, thawed the ice around her heart and brought a flood -of tears, which Morris wiped away, lifting her gently up and pillowing -her hot head upon his arm, while she moaned like a weary child. - -“It rests me so just to see you, Morris. May I go back with you, as your -housekeeper, instead of Mrs. Hull;—that is, if I am not his wife? The -world might despise me, but you would know I was not to blame. I should -go nowhere but to the farm-house, to church, and baby’s grave. Poor -baby! I am glad God gave her to me, even if I am not Wilford’s wife; and -I am glad now that she died.” - -She was talking to herself rather than to Morris, who, smoothing back -her hair and chafing her cold hands, said, - -“My poor child, you have passed through some agitating scene. Are you -able now to tell me all about it, and what you mean by another wife?” - -There was a shiver, and the white lips grew still whiter as Katy began -her story, going back to St. Mary’s churchyard and then coming to her -first night in New York, when Juno had told her of a picture and asked -her whose it was. Then she told of Wilford’s admission of an earlier -love, who, he said, was dead; of the trouble about the baby’s name, and -his aversion to Genevra; but when she approached the dinner at the elder -Cameron’s, her lip quivered in a grieved kind of way as she remembered -what Wilford had said of _her_ to his mother, but she would not tell -this to Morris,—it was not necessary to her story,—and so she said, -“They were talking of what I ought never to have heard, and it seemed as -if the walls were closing me in so I could not move to let them know I -was there. I said to myself, ‘I shall go mad after this,’ and I thought -of you all coming to see me in the mad-house, your kind face, Morris, -coming up distinctly before me, just as it would look at me if I were -really crazed. But all this was swept away like a hurricane when I heard -the rest, the part about _Genevra_, Wilford’s other wife.” - -Katy was panting for breath, but she went on with the story, which made -Morris clench his hands as he comprehended the deceit which had been -practiced so long. Of course he did not look at it as Katy did, for he -knew that according to all civil law she was as really Wilford’s wife as -if no other had existed, and he told her so, but Katy shook her head. -“He can’t have two wives living. And I tell you I knew the -picture—_Genevra is not dead_, I have seen her; I have talked with -her,—Genevra is not dead.” - -“Granted that she is not,” Morris answered, “the divorce remains the -same.” - -“I do not believe in divorces. Whom God hath joined together let not man -put asunder,” Katy said with an air which implied that from this -argument there could be no appeal. - -“That is the Scripture, I know,” Morris replied, “but you must know that -for one sin our Saviour permitted a man to put away his wife, thus -making it perfectly right.” - -“But in Genevra’s case the sin did not exist. She was as innocent as I -am, and that must make a difference.” - -She was very earnest in her attempts to prove that Genevra was still a -lawful wife, so earnest that a dark suspicion entered Morris’s mind, -finding vent in the question, “Katy, don’t you love your husband, that -you try so hard to prove he is not yours?” - -There were red spots all over Katy’s face and neck as she saw the -meaning put upon her actions, and, covering her face with her hands, she -sobbed violently as she replied, “I do, oh, yes, I do! I never loved any -one else. I would have died for him once. Maybe I would die for him now; -but, Morris, he is disappointed in me. Our tastes are not alike, and we -made a great mistake, or Wilford did when he took me for his wife. I was -better suited to most anybody else, and I have been so wicked since, -forgetting all the good I ever knew, forgetting prayer save as I went -through the form from old habit’s sake; forgetting God, who has punished -me so sorely that every nerve smarts with the stinging blows.” - -Oh, how lovingly, how earnestly Morris talked to Katy then, telling her -of Him who smites but to heal, who chastens not in anger, and would lead -the lost one back into the quiet fold where there was perfect peace. - -And Katy, listening eagerly, with her great blue eyes fixed upon his -face, felt that to experience that of which he talked, was worth more -than all the world beside. Gradually, too, there stole over her the -_rest_ she always felt with him—the indescribable feeling which prompted -her to care for nothing except to do just what he bade her do, knowing -it was right; so when he said to her, “You cannot go home with me, Katy; -your duty is to remain here in your husband’s house,” she offered no -remonstrance. Indeed, Morris doubted if she fully understood him, she -looked so sick and appeared so strange. - -“It is not safe for you to be alone. Esther must stay with you,” he -continued, feeling her rapid pulse and noticing the alternate flushing -and paling of her cheek. - -A fever was coming on, he feared, and summoning Esther to the room, he -said, - -“Your mistress is very sick. You must stay with her till morning, and if -she grows worse, let me know. I shall be in the library.” - -Then, with a few directions with regard to the medicine he fortunately -had with him, he left the chamber, and repaired to the library below, -where he spent the few remaining hours of the night, pondering on the -strange story he had heard, and praying for poor Katy whose heart had -been so sorely wounded. - -The quick-witted Esther saw that something was wrong, and traced it -readily to Wilford, whose exacting nature she thoroughly understood. She -had not been blind during the two years and a half she had been Katy’s -maid, and no impatient word of Wilford’s, or frown upon his face, had -escaped her when occurring in her presence, while Katy’s uniform -sweetness and entire submission to his will had been noted as well, so -that in Esther’s opinion Wilford was a domestic tyrant, and Katy was an -angel. Numerous were her conjectures as to the cause of the present -trouble, which must be something serious, or Katy had never telegraphed -for Dr. Grant, as she felt certain she had. - -“Whatever it is, I’ll stand her friend,” she said, as she bent over her -young mistress, who was talking of Genevra and the grave at St. Mary’s, -which was no grave at all. - -She was growing worse very rapidly, and frightened at last at the -wildness of her eyes, and her constant ravings, Esther went down to -Morris, and bade him come quickly to Mrs. Cameron. - -“She is taken out of her head, and talks so queer and raving.” - -Morris had expected this, but he was not prepared to find the fever so -high, or the symptoms so alarming. - -“Shall I send for Mrs. Cameron and another doctor, please?” Esther -asked. - -Morris had faith in himself, and he would rather no other hand should -minister to Katy; but he knew he could not stay there long, for there -were those at home who needed his services. Added to this, her family -physician might know her constitution, now, better than he knew it, and -so he answered that it would be well to send for both the doctor and -Mrs. Cameron. - -It was just daylight when Mrs. Cameron arrived, questioning Esther -closely, and appearing much surprised when she heard of Dr. Grant’s -presence in the house. That he came by chance, she never doubted, and as -Esther merely answered the questions put directly to her, Mrs. Cameron -had no suspicion of the telegram. - -“I am glad he happened here at this time,” she said. “I have the utmost -confidence in his skill. Still it may be well for Dr. Craig to see her. -I think that is his ring.” - -The city and country physicians agreed exactly with regard to Katy’s -illness, or rather the city physician bowed in acquiescence when Morris -said to him that the fever raging so high had, perhaps, been induced by -natural causes, but was greatly aggravated by some sudden shock to the -nervous system. This was before Mrs. Cameron came up, but it was -repeated in her presence by Dr. Craig, who thus left the impression that -the idea had originated with himself, rather than with Dr. Grant, as -perhaps he thought it had. He was at first inclined to patronize the -country doctor, but soon found that he had reckoned without his host. -Morris knew more of Katy, and quite as much of medicine as he did -himself, and when Mrs. Cameron begged him to stay longer, he answered -that her son’s wife was as safe in his brother physician’s hands as she -could be in his. - -Mrs. Cameron was very glad that Dr. Grant was there, she said. It was -surely Providence who sent him to New York on that particular day, and -Morris shivered as he wondered if it were wrong not to explain the whole -to her. - -“Perhaps it is best she should not know of the telegram,” he thought, -and merely bowing to her remarks, he turned to Katy, who was growing -very restless and moaning as if in pain. - -“It hurts,” she said, turning her head from side to side; “I am lying on -Genevra.” - -With a sudden start, Mrs. Cameron drew nearer, but when she remembered -the little grave at Silverton, she said, “It’s the baby she’s talking -about.” - -Morris knew better, and as Katy still continued to move her head as if -something were really hurting her, he passed his hand under her pillow -and drew out the picture she must have kept near her as long as her -consciousness remained. He knew it was Genevra’s picture, and was about -to lay it away, when the cover dropped into his hand, and his eye fell -upon a face which was not new to him, while an involuntary exclamation -of surprise escaped him, as Katy’s assertion that Genevra was living was -thus fully confirmed. Marian had not changed past recognition since her -early girlhood, and Morris knew the likeness at once, pitying Katy more -than he had pitied her yet, as he remembered how closely Marian Hazelton -had been interwoven with her married life, and the life of the little -child which had borne her name. - -“What is that?” Mrs. Cameron asked, and Morris passed the case to her, -saying, “A picture which was under Katy’s pillow.” - -Morris did not look at Mrs. Cameron, but tried to busy himself with the -medicines upon the stand, while she too recognized Genevra Lambert, -wondering how it came in Katy’s possession and how much she knew of -Wilford’s secret. - -“She must have been rummaging,” she thought, and then as she remembered -what Esther had said about her mistress appearing sick and unhappy, when -her husband left home, she repaired to the parlor and summoning Esther -to her presence, asked her again, “When she first observed traces of -indisposition in Mrs. Cameron.” - -“When she came home from that dinner at your house. She was just as pale -as death, and her teeth fairly chattered as I took off her things.” - -“Dinner? What dinner?” Mrs. Cameron asked, and Esther replied, “Why, the -night Mr. Wilford went away or was to go. She changed her mind about -meeting him at your house, and said she meant to surprise him. But she -came home before Mr. Cameron, looking like a ghost, and saying she was -sick. It’s my opinion something she ate at dinner hurt her.” - -“Very likely, yes. You can go now,” Mrs. Cameron said, and Esther -departed, never dreaming how much light she had inadvertently thrown -upon the mystery. - -“She must have been in the library and heard all we said,” Mrs. Cameron -thought, as she nervously twisted the fringe of her breakfast shawl. “I -remember we talked of Genevra, and that we both heard a strange sound -from some quarter, but thought it came from the kitchen. That was Katy. -She was there all the time and let herself quietly out of the house. I -wonder does Wilford know,” and then there came over her an intense -desire for Wilford to come home—a desire which was not lessened when she -returned to Katy’s room and heard her talking of Genevra and the grave -at St. Mary’s “where nobody was buried.” - -In a tremor of distress, lest she should betray something which Morris -must not know Mrs. Cameron tried to hush her, talking as if it was the -baby she meant, but Katy answered promptly, “It’s Genevra Lambert I -mean, Wilford’s other wife; the one across the sea. She was innocent, -too—as innocent as I, whom you both deceived.” - -Here was a phase of affairs for which Mrs. Cameron was not prepared, and -excessively mortified that Morris should hear Katy’s ravings, she tried -again to quiet her, consoling herself with the reflection that as Morris -was Katy’s cousin, he would not repeat what he heard, and feeling -gratified now that Dr. Craig was absent, as she could not be so sure of -him. If Katy’s delirium continued, no one must be admitted to the room -except those who could be trusted, and as there had been already several -rings, she said to Esther that as the fever was probably malignant and -contagious, no one must be admitted to the house with the expectation of -seeing the patient, while the servants were advised to stay in their own -quarters, except as their services might be needed elsewhere. And so it -was that by the morrow the news had spread of some infectious disease at -No. —— on Madison Square, which was shunned as carefully as if smallpox -itself had been raging there instead of the brain fever, which increased -so fast that Morris suggested to Mrs. Cameron that she telegraph for -Wilford. - -“They might find him, and they might not,” Mother Cameron said. “They -could try, at all events,” and in a few moments the telegraphic wires -were carrying the news of Katy’s illness, both to the west, where -Wilford had gone, and to the east, where Helen read with a blanched -cheek that Katy perhaps was dying, and she must hasten to New York. - -This was Mrs. Cameron’s suggestion, wrung out by the knowing that some -woman besides herself was needed in the sick room, and by feeling that -Helen could be trusted with the story of the first marriage, which Katy -talked of constantly, telling it so accurately that only a fool would -fail of being convinced that there was much of truth in those delirious -ravings. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. - - -Wilford could not forget Katy’s face, so full of reproach. It followed -him continually, and was the magnet which turned his steps homeward -before his business was quite done, and before the telegram had found -him. Thus it was with no knowledge of existing circumstances that he -reached New York just at the close of the day, and ordering a carriage, -was driven rapidly towards home. All the shutters in the front part of -the house were closed, and not a ray of light was to be seen in the -parlors as he entered the hall, where the gas was burning dimly. - -“Katy is at home,” he said, as he went into the library, where a shawl -was thrown across a chair, as if some one had lately been there. - -It was his mother’s shawl, and Wilford was wondering if she was there, -when down the stairs came a man’s rapid step, and the next moment Dr. -Grant came into the room, starting when he saw Wilford, who felt -intuitively that something was wrong. - -“Is Katy sick?” was his first question, which Morris answered in the -affirmative, holding him back as he was starting for her room, and -saying to him, “Let me send your mother to you first.” - -What passed between Wilford and his mother was never known exactly, but -at the close of the interview Mrs. Cameron was very pale, while -Wilford’s face looked dark and anxious as he said, “You think he -understands it then?” - -“Yes, in part, but the world will be none the wiser for his knowledge. I -knew Dr. Grant before you did, and there are few men living whom I -respect as much, and no one whom I would trust as soon.” - -Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris Grant, and Wilford -bowed in assent, asking next how she managed Dr. Craig. - -“That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane freak of Katy’s to -have no other physician than her cousin. It was quite natural, he said, -adding that she was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. And I was glad, -for I could not have a stranger know of that affair. You will go up -now,” Mrs. Cameron continued, and a moment after Wilford stood in the -dimly-lighted room, where Katy was talking of Genevra and St. Mary’s, -and was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of Morris, who stood -over her when Wilford entered, trying in vain to quiet her. - -She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris’s arms, she said to -him, “Genevra is not in that grave at St. Mary’s; she is living, and you -are not my husband. So you can leave the house at once. Morris will -settle the estate, and no bill shall be sent in for your board and -lodging.” - -In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being thus summarily -dismissed from his own house; but he was too sore now, too sensitive to -smile, and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy’s and -said, - -“Don’t be foolish, Katy. Don’t you know me? I am Wilford, your husband.” - -“That _was_, you mean,” Katy rejoined, drawing her hand quickly away. -“Go find your first love, where bullets fall like hail, and where there -is pain, and blood, and carnage. Genevra is there.” - -She would not let him come near her, and grew so excited with his -presence that he was forced either to leave the room or sit where she -could not see him. He chose the latter, and from his seat by the door -watched with a half jealous, angry heart, Morris Grant doing for his -wife what he should have done. - -With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking still of Genevra, -but talking quietly, and in a way which did not wear her out as fast as -her excitement did. - -“What God hath joined together let not man put asunder,” was the text -from which she preached several short sermons as the night wore on, but -just as the morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had -had during the last twenty-four hours. And while she slept Wilford -ventured near enough to see the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes which -wrung a groan from him as he turned to Morris, and asked what he -supposed was the immediate cause of her sudden illness? - -“A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand, but you have -nothing to fear from me,” Morris replied. “I accuse you to no man, but -leave you to settle it with your conscience whether you did right to -deceive her so long.” - -Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford simply bowed his head, -feeling no resentment towards one who had ventured to reprove him. -Afterwards he might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious -to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he made no reply, but -sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering if she would die, and feeling -how terrible life would be without her. Suddenly Genevra’s warning words -rang in his ear. - -“God will not forgive you for the wrong you have done me.” - -Was Genevra right? Had God remembered all this time, and overtaken him -at last? It might be, and with a groan Wilford hid his face in his -hands, believing that he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his -fancied repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been detected. -Could the last few days be blotted out, and Katy stand just where she -did, with no suspicion of him, he would have cast his remorse to the -winds, and as it is not such repentance God accepts, Wilford had only -begun to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips. - -Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron, who would suffer -neither Juno nor Bell to come near the house, waited uneasily for the -arrival of the New Haven train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her -aid. Under ordinary circumstances she would rather not have met her, for -her presence would keep the letter so constantly in mind; but now -anybody who could be trusted was welcome, and when at last there came a -cautious ring, she went herself to the hall, starting back with -undisguised vexation when she saw the timid-looking woman following -close behind Helen, and whom the latter presented as “My mother, Mrs. -Lennox.” - -Convinced that Morris’s sudden journey to New York had something to do -with Katy’s illness, and almost distracted with fears for her daughter’s -life, Mrs. Lennox could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail -or careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting off her -dread of Wilford’s displeasure, she had come with Helen, and was bowing -meekly to Mrs. Cameron, who neither offered her hand nor gave any token -of greeting except a distant bow and a simple “Good morning, madam.” - -But Mrs. Lennox was too anxious to notice the lady’s haughty manner as -she led them to the library and then went for her son. Wilford was not -glad to see his mother-in-law, but he tried to be polite, answering her -questions civilly, and when she asked if it were true that he had sent -for Morris, assuring her that it was not. “Dr. Grant happened here very -providentially, and I hope to keep him until the crisis is past, -although he has just told me he must go back to-morrow.” It hurt -Wilford’s pride that _she_, whom he considered greatly his inferior, -should learn his secret; but it could not now be helped, and within an -hour after her arrival she was looking curiously at him for an -explanation of the strange things she heard from Katy’s lips. - -“_Was_ you a widower when you married my daughter?” she said to him, -when at last Helen left the room and she was alone with him. - -“Yes, madam,” he replied, “some would call me so, though I was divorced -from my wife. As this was a matter which did not in any way concern your -daughter, I deemed it best not to tell her. Latterly she has found it -out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon her.” - -And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with Helen, who told her -the story as she had heard it from Morris. His sudden journey to New -York was thus accounted for, and Helen explained it to her mother, -advising her to say nothing of it, as it might be better for Wilford not -to know that Katy had telegraphed for Morris. It seemed very necessary -that Dr. Grant should return to Silverton, and the day following Helen’s -arrival in New York, he made arrangements to do so. - -“You have other physicians here,” he said to Wilford, who objected to -his leaving. “Dr. Craig will do as well as I.” - -Wilford admitted that he might, but it was with a sinking heart that he -saw Morris depart, and then went to Katy, who began to grow very -restless and uneasy, bidding him go away and send Dr. Morris back. It -was in vain that they administered the medicine just as Morris directed. -Katy grew constantly worse, until Mrs. Lennox asked that another doctor -be called. But to this Wilford would not listen. Fear of exposure and -censure was stronger than his fears for Katy’s life, which seemed -balancing upon a thread as that long night and the next day went by. -Three times Wilford telegraphed for Morris, and it was with unfeigned -joy that he welcomed him back at last, and heard that he had so arranged -his business as to stay with Katy while the danger lasted. - -With a monotonous sameness the days now came and went, people still -shunning the house as if the plague was there. Once, Bell Cameron came -round to call on Helen, holding her breath as she passed through the -hall, and never asking to go near Katy’s room. Two or three times, too, -Mrs. Banker’s carriage stood at the door, and Mrs. Banker herself came -in, appearing so cool and distant that Helen could scarcely keep back -her tears as she guessed the cause. Mark, too, was in the city, having -returned with the Seventh Regiment; but from Esther, Helen learned that -he was about joining the army as captain of a company, composed of the -finest men in the city. The next she heard was from Mrs. Banker, who, -incidentally, remarked, “I shall be very lonely now that Mark is gone. -He left me to-day for Washington.” - -There were tears on the mother’s face, and her lip quivered as she tried -to keep them back, by looking from the window into the street, instead -of at her companion, who, overcome with the rush of feeling which swept -over her, laid her face on the sofa arm and sobbed aloud. - -“Why, Helen! Miss Lennox, I am surprised! I had supposed—I was not -aware—I did not think you would care,” Mrs. Banker exclaimed, coming -closer to Helen, who stammered out, “I beg you will excuse me, I cannot -help it. I care for _all_ our soldiers. It seems so terrible.” - -At the words “I care for _all_ the soldiers,” a shadow of disappointment -flitted over Mrs. Banker’s face. She knew her son had offered himself -and been refused, as she supposed; and she believed too that Helen had -given publicity to the affair, fueling justly indignant at this breach -of confidence and lack of delicacy in one whom she had liked so much, -and whom she still liked, in spite of the wounded pride which had -prompted her to appear so cold and distant. - -“Perhaps it is all a mistake,” she thought, as she continued standing by -Helen, “or it may be she has relented,” and for a moment she felt -tempted to ask why her boy had been refused. - -But Mark would not be pleased with her interference, she knew, and so -the golden moment fled, and when she left the house, the -misunderstanding between herself and Helen was just as wide as ever. -Wearily after that the days passed with Helen until all thoughts of -herself were forgotten in the terrible fear that death was really -brooding over the pillow where Katy lay, insensible to all that was -passing around her. The lips were silent now, and Wilford had nothing to -fear from the tongue hitherto so busy. Juno, Bell, and father Cameron -all came to see her, dropping tears upon the face looking so old and -worn with suffering. Mrs. Cameron, too, was very sorry, very sad, but -managed to find some consolation in mentally arranging a grand funeral, -which would do honor to her son, and wondering if “those Barlows in -Silverton would think they must attend.” And while she thus arranged, -the mother who had given birth to Katy wrestled in earnest prayer that -God would spare her child, or at least grant some space in which she -might be told of the world to which she was hastening. What Wilford -suffered none could guess. His face was very white, and its expression -almost stern, as he sat by the young wife who had been his for little -more than two brief years, and who, but for his sin, might not have been -lying there, unconscious of the love and grief around her. With lip -compressed, and brows firmly knit together, Morris, too, sat watching -Katy, feeling for the pulse, and bending his ear to catch the faintest -breath which came from her parted lips, while in his heart there was an -earnest prayer for the safety of the soul, hovering so evenly between -this world and the next. He did not ask that she might live, for if all -were well hereafter he knew it was better for her to die in her young -womanhood, than to live till the heart, now so sad and bleeding, had -grown calloused with sorrow. And yet it was terrible to think of Katy -dead; terrible to think of that face and form laid away beneath the turf -of Greenwood, where those who loved her best could seldom go to weep. - -And as they sat there thus, the night shadows stole into the room, and -the hours crept on till from a city tower a clock struck _ten_, and -Morris, motioning Helen to his side, bade her go with her mother to -rest. “We do not need you here,” he said; “your presence can do no good. -Should a change occur, you shall be told at once.” - -Thus importuned, Helen and her mother withdrew, and only Morris and -Wilford remained to watch that heavy slumber, so nearly resembling -death. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - THE CONFESSION. - - -Gradually, the noise in the streets died away; the tread of feet, the -rumbling wheels, and the tinkle of car bells ceased, and not a sound was -heard, save as the distant fire bells pealed forth their warning voices, -or some watchman went hurrying by. The great city was asleep, and to -Morris the silence brooding over the countless throng was deeper, more -solemn, than the silence of the country, where nature gives out her own -mysterious notes and lullabies for her sleeping children. Slowly the -minutes went by, and Morris became at last aware that Wilford’s eyes, -instead of resting on the pallid face, which seemed to grow each moment -more pallid and ghastly, were fixed on _him_ with an expression which -made him drop the pale hand he was holding between his own, _pooring_ it -occasionally, as a mother might _poor_ and pity the hand of her dying -baby. - -Before his marriage, a jealous thought of Morris Grant had found a -lodgment in Wilford’s breast; but he had tried to drive it out, and -fancied that he had succeeded, experiencing a sudden shock when he felt -it lifting its green head, and poisoning his mind against the man who -was doing for Katy only what a brother might do. He forgot that it was -his own entreaties which kept Morris there, away from his Silverton -patients, who were missing him so much, and complaining of his absence. -Jealous men never reason clearly, and in this case, Wilford did not -reason at all, but jumped readily at his conclusion, calling to his aid -as proof all that he had ever seen pass between Katy and her cousin. -That Morris Grant loved Katy was, after a few moments’ reflection, as -fixed a fact in his mind, as that she lay there between them, moaning -feebly, as if about to speak. Years before, jealousy had made Wilford -almost a madman, and it now held him again in its powerful grasp, -whispering suggestions he would have spurned in a calm frame of mind. -There was a clenching of his fist, a knitting of his brows, and a -gathering blackness in his eyes as he listened while Katy, rousing -partially from her lethargy, talked of the days when she was a little -girl, and Morris had built the play-house for her by the brook, where -the thorn-apples grew and the waters fell over the smooth, white rocks. - -“Take me back there,” she said, “and let me lie on the grass again. It -is so long since I was there, and I’ve suffered so much since then. -Wilford meant to be kind, but he did not understand or know how I loved -the country with its birds and flowers and the grass by the well, where -the shadows come and go. I used to wonder where they were going, and one -day when I watched them I was waiting for Wilford and wondering if he -would ever come again. Would it have been better if he never had?” - -Wilford’s body shook as he bent forward to listen, while Katy continued: - -“Were there no Genevra, I should not think so, but there is, and yet -Morris said that made no difference when I telegraphed for him to come -and take me away.” - -Morris felt keenly the awkwardness of his position, but he could offer -no explanation then. He could not speak with those fiery eyes upon him, -and he sat erect in his chair, while Katy talked of Silverton, until her -voice grew very faint, ceasing at last as she fell into a second sleep, -heavier, more death-like, than the first. Something in her face alarmed -Morris, and in spite of the eyes watching him he bent every energy to -retain the feeble pulse, and the breath which grew shorter with each -respiration. - -“Do you think her dying?” Wilford asked, and Morris replied, “The look -about the mouth and nose is like the look which so often precedes -death.” - -And that was all they said until another hour went by, when Morris’s -hand was laid upon the forehead and moved up under the golden hair where -there were drops of perspiration. - -“She is saved! thank God, Katy is saved!” was his joyful exclamation, -and burying his face in his hands, he wept for a moment like a child. - -On Wilford’s face there was no trace of tears. On the contrary, he -seemed hardening into stone, and in his heart fierce passions were -contending for the mastery. What did Katy mean by sending for Morris to -take her away? Did she send for him, and was that the cause of his being -there? If so, there was something between the cousins more than mere -friendship. The thought was a maddening one. And, rising slowly at last, -Wilford came round to Morris’s side, and grasping his shoulder, said, - -“Morris Grant, you love Katy Cameron.” - -Like the peal of a bell on the frosty air the words rang through the -room, starting Morris from his bowed attitude, and for an instant -curdling the blood in his veins, for he understood now the meaning of -the look which had so puzzled him. In Morris’s heart there was a -moment’s hesitancy to know just what to answer—an ejaculatory prayer for -guidance—and then lifting up his head, his calm blue eyes met the eyes -of black unflinchingly as he replied, - -“I have loved her always.” - -A blaze like sheet lightning shot from beneath Wilford’s eyelashes, and -a taunting sneer curled his lip as he said, - -“_You_, a _saint_, confess to this?” - -It was in keeping with human nature for Wilford to thrust Morris’s -religion in his face, forgetting that never on this side the eternal -world can man cease wholly to sin; that so long as flesh and blood -remain, there will be temptation, error, and wrong, even among God’s -children. Morris felt the sneer keenly; but the consciousness of peace -with his Maker sustained him in the shock, and with the same tone he had -at first assumed, he said, - -“Should my being what you call a saint prevent my confessing what I -did?” - -“No, not the confession, but the fact,” Wilford answered, savagely. “How -do you reconcile your acknowledged love for Katy with the injunctions of -the Bible whose doctrines you indorse?” - -“A man cannot always control his feelings, but he can strive to overcome -them and put them aside. One does not sin in _being_ tempted, but in -listening _to_ the temptation.” - -“Then according to your own reasoning you have sinned, for you not only -have been tempted but have yielded to the temptation,” Wilford retorted, -with a sinister look of exultation in his black eyes. - -For a moment Morris was silent, while a struggle of some kind seemed -going on in his mind, and then he said, - -“I never thought to lay open to you a secret which, after myself, is, I -believe, known to only one living being.” - -“And that one—is—is Katy?” Wilford exclaimed, his voice hoarse with -passion, and his eyes flashing with fire. - -“No, not Katy. She has no suspicion of the pain which, since I saw her -made another’s, has eaten into my heart, making me grow old so fast, and -blighting my early manhood.” - -Something in Morris’s tone and manner made Wilford relax his grasp upon -the arm, and sent him back to his chair while Morris continued, - -“Most men would shrink from talking to a husband of the love they bore -his wife, and an hour ago I should have shrunk from it too, but you have -forced me to it, and now you must listen while I tell you of my love for -Katy. It began longer ago than she can remember—began when she was my -baby sister, and I hushed her in my arms to sleep, kneeling by her -cradle and watching her with a feeling I have never been able to define. -She was in all my thoughts, her face upon the printed page of every book -I studied, and her voice in every strain of music I ever heard. Then -when she grew older, I used to watch the frolicsome child by the hour, -building castles of the future, when she would be a woman, and I a man, -with a man’s right to win her. I know that she shielded me from many a -snare into which young men are apt to fall, for when the temptation was -greatest, and I was at its verge, a thought of her was sufficient to -lead me back to virtue. I carried her in my heart across the sea, and -said when I go back I will ask her to be mine. I went back, but at my -first meeting with Katy after her return from Canandaigua, she told me -of _you_, and I knew then that hope for me was gone. God grant that you -may never experience what I experienced on that day which made her your -wife, and I saw her go away. It seemed almost as if God had forgotten me -as the night after the bridal I sat alone at home, and met that dark -hour of sorrow. In the midst of it _Helen_ came, discovering my secret, -and sympathizing with me until the pain at my heart grew less, and I -could pray that God would grant me a feeling for Katy which should not -be sinful. And He did at last, so I could think of her without a wish -that she was mine. Times there were when the old love would burst forth -with fearful power, and then I wished that I might die. These were my -moments of temptation which I struggled to overcome. Sometimes a song, a -strain of music, or a ray of moonlight on the floor would bring the past -to me so vividly that I would stagger beneath the burden, and feel that -it was greater than I could bear. But God was very merciful, and sent me -work which took up all my time, and drove me away from my own pain to -soothe the pain of others. When Katy came to us last summer there was an -hour of trial, when faith in God grew weak, and I was tempted to -question the justice of His dealing with me. But that too passed, and in -my love for your child I forgot the mother in part, looking upon her as -a sister rather than the Katy I had loved so well. I would have given my -life to have saved that child for her, even though it was a bar between -us, something which separated her from me more than the words she spoke -at the altar. Though dead, that baby is still a bar, and Katy is not the -same to me she was before that little life came into being. It is not -wrong to love her as I do now. I feel no pang of conscience save when -something unexpected carries me back to the old ground where I have -fought so many battles.” - -Morris paused a moment, while Wilford said, “She spoke of telegraphing -for you. Why was that, and when?” - -Thus interrogated, Morris told of the message which had brought him to -New York, and narrated as cautiously as possible the particulars of the -interview which followed. - -Morris’s manner was that of a man who spoke with perfect sincerity, and -it carried conviction to Wilford’s heart, disarming him for a time of -the fierce anger and resentment he had felt while listening to Morris’s -story. Acting upon the good impulse of the moment, he arose, and -offering his hand to Morris, said, - -“Forgive me that I ever doubted you. It was natural that you should -come, but foolish in Katy to send or think Genevra is living. I have -seen her grave myself. I know that she is dead. Did Katy name any one -whom she believed to be Genevra?” - -“No one. She merely said she had seen the original of the picture,” -Morris replied. - -“A fancy,—a mere whim,” Wilford muttered to himself, as, greatly -disquieted and terribly humbled, he paced the room moodily, trying not -to think hard thoughts either against his wife or Dr. Grant, who, -feeling that it would be pleasanter for Wilford if he were gone, -suggested returning to Silverton at once, inasmuch as the crisis was -past and Katy out of danger. There was a struggle in Wilford’s mind as -to the answer he should make to this suggestion, but at last he -signified his willingness for the doctor to leave when he thought best. - -It was broad day when Katy woke, so weak as to be unable to turn her -head upon the pillow, but in her eyes the light of reason was shining, -and she glanced wonderingly, first at Helen, who had come in, and then -at Wilford, as if trying to comprehend what had happened. - -“Have I been sick?” she asked in a whisper, and Wilford, bending over -her, replied, “Yes, very sick for nearly two whole weeks—ever since I -left home that morning, you know?” - -“Yes,” and Katy shivered a little. “Yes, I know. But where is Morris? He -was here the last I can remember.” - -Wilford’s face grew dark at once, and stepping back as Morris came in, -he said, “She asks for you.” Then with a rising feeling of resentment he -watched them, while Morris spoke to Katy, telling her she must not allow -herself in any way to be excited. - -“Have I been crazy? Have I talked much?” she asked; and when Morris -replied in the affirmative, she said, “Of whom have I talked most?” - -“Of _Genevra_,” was the answer, and Katy continued, - -“Did I mention any one else?” - -Morris guessed of whom she was thinking, and answered indifferently, -“You spoke of Miss Hazelton in connection with baby, but that was all.” - -Katy was satisfied, and closing her eyes fell away to sleep again, while -Morris made his preparations for leaving. It hardly seemed right for him -to go just then, but the only one who could have kept him maintained a -frigid silence with regard to a longer stay, and so the first train -which left New York for Springfield carried Dr. Grant, and Katy was -without a physician. - -Wilford had hoped that Mrs. Lennox, too, would see the propriety of -accompanying Morris, but she would not leave Katy, and Wilford was fain -to submit to what he could not help. No explanation whatever had he -given to Mrs. Lennox or Helen with regard to Genevra. He was too proud -for that, but his mother had deemed it wise to smooth the matter over as -much as possible, and enjoin upon them both the necessity of secrecy. - -“When I tell you that neither my husband nor daughters know it, you will -understand that I am greatly in earnest in wishing it kept,” she said. -“It was a most unfortunate affair, and though the divorce is, of course, -to be lamented, it is better that she died. We never could have received -her as our equal.” - -“Was anything the matter, except that she was poor?” Mrs. Lennox asked, -with as much dignity as was in her nature to assume. - -“Well, no. She had a good education, I believe, and was very pretty; but -it makes trouble always where there is a great inequality between a -husband’s family and that of his wife.” - -Poor Mrs. Lennox understood this perfectly, but she was too much afraid -of the great lady to venture a reply, and a tear rolled down her cheek -as she wet the napkin for Katy’s head, and wished she had back again the -daughter whose family the Camerons despised. The atmosphere of Madison -Square did not suit Mrs. Lennox, especially when, as the days went by -and Katy began to amend, troops of gay ladies called, mistaking her for -the nurse, and staring a little curiously when told she was Mrs. -Cameron’s mother. Of course Wilford chafed and fretted at what he could -not help, making himself so generally disagreeable that Helen at last -suggested returning home. There was a faint remonstrance on his part, -but Helen did not waver in her decision, and the next day was fixed upon -for her departure. - -“You don’t know how I dread your going, or how wretched I shall be -without you,” Katy said, when for a few moments they were alone. -“Everything which once made me happy has been removed or changed. Baby -is dead, and Wilford, oh! Helen, I sometimes wish I had not heard of -Genevra, for I am afraid it can never be with us as it was once; I have -not the same trust in him, and he seems so changed.” - -As well as she could, Helen comforted her sister, and commending her to -One who would care for her far more than earthly friends could do, she -bade her good-bye, and with her mother went back to Silverton. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - DOMESTIC TROUBLES. - - -Wilford was in a most unhappy frame of mind. He had been humbled to the -very dust, and it was Katy who had done it—Katy, towards whom his heart -kept hardening as he thought over all the past. What right had she to go -to his mother’s after having once declined; or, being there, what right -had she to listen and thus learn the secret he would almost have died to -keep; or, having learned it, why need she have been so much excited, and -sent for _Dr. Grant_ to tell her if she were really a wife, and if not -to take her away? That was the point which hurt him most, for added to -it was the galling fact that Morris Grant loved his wife, and was -undoubtedly more worthy of her than himself. He had said that he forgave -Morris, and at the time he said it he fancied he did, but as the days -went by, and thought was all the busier from the moody silence he -maintained, there gradually came to life a feeling of hatred for the man -whose name he could not hear without a frown, while he watched Katy -closely to detect, if possible, some sign by which he should know that -Morris’s love was reciprocated. But Katy was innocence itself, and tried -so hard to do her duty as a wife, going often to the Friend of whom -Helen had told her, and finding there the grace which helped her bear -what otherwise she could not have borne and lived. The entire history of -her life during that wretched winter was never told save as it was -written on her face, which was a volume in itself of meek and patient -suffering. - -Wilford had never mentioned Genevra to her since the day of his return, -and Katy sometimes felt it would be well to talk that matter over. It -might lead to a better understanding than existed between them now, and -dissipate the cloud which hung so darkly on their domestic horizon. But -Wilford repulsed all her advances on that subject, and Genevra was a -dead name in their household. Times there were when for an entire day he -would appear like his former self, caressing her with unwonted -tenderness, but never asked her forgiveness for all he had made her -suffer. He was too proud to do that, and his tenderness always passed -away when he remembered Morris Grant and Katy’s remark to Helen which he -accidentally overheard. “I am afraid it can never be with us as it was -once. I have not the same trust in him.” - -“She had no right to complain of me,” he thought, forgetting the time -when he had been guilty of a similar offence in a more aggravated form. -He could not reason upon anything naturally, and matters grew daily -worse, while Katy’s face grew whiter and her voice sadder in its tone. - -When the Lenten days came on, oh how Katy longed to be in Silverton—to -kneel again in its quiet church, and offer up her penitential prayers -with the loved ones at home. At last she ventured to ask Wilford if she -might go, her spirits rising when he did not refuse her request at once, -but asked, - -“Whom do you wish to see the most?” - -His black eyes seemed reading her through, and something in their -expression brought to her face the blush he construed according to his -jealousy, and when she answered, “I wish to see them all,” he retorted, - -“Say, rather, you wish to see _that doctor_, who has loved you so long, -and who but for me would have asked you to be his wife!” - -“What doctor, Wilford? whom do you mean?” she asked, and Wilford -replied, - -“Dr. Grant, of course. Did you never suspect it?” - -“Never,” and Katy’s face grew very white, while Wilford continued, - -“I had it from his own lips; he sitting on one side of you and I upon -the other. I so forgot myself as to charge him with loving you, and he -did not deny it, but confessed as pretty a piece of romance as I ever -read, except that, according to his story, it was a one-sided affair, -confined wholly to himself. _You_ never dreamed of it, he said.” - -“Never, no never,” Katy said, panting for her breath, and remembering -suddenly many things which confirmed what she had heard. - -“Poor Morris, how my thoughtlessness must have wounded him,” she -murmured, and then all the pent-up passion in Wilford’s heart burst out -in an impetuous storm. - -He did not charge his wife directly with returning Morris’s love; but he -said she was sorry she had not known it earlier, asking her pointedly if -it were not so, and pressing her for an answer, until the bewildered -creature cried out, - -“Oh, I don’t know. I never thought of it before.” - -“But you can think of it now,” Wilford continued, his cold, icy tone -making Katy shiver, as, more to herself than to him, she whispered, - -“A life at Linwood with him would be perfect rest, compared with -_this_.” - -Wilford had goaded her on to say that which roused him to a pitch of -frenzy. - -“You can go to your _rest_ at Linwood as soon as you like, and I will go -my way,” he whispered hoarsely, and believing himself the most injured -man in existence, he left the house, and Katy heard his step, as it went -furiously down the steps. For a time she sat stunned with what she had -heard, and then there came stealing into her heart a glad feeling that -Morris deemed her worthy of his love when she had so often feared the -contrary. And in this she was not faithless to Wilford. She could pray -with just as pure a heart as before, and she did pray, thanking God for -the love of this good man, but asking that long ere this he might have -learned to be content without her. Never once did the thought “It might -have been,” intrude itself upon her, nor did she send one regret after -the life she had missed. She seemed to rise above all that, and Wilford, -had he read her heart, would have found no evil there. - -“Poor Morris,” she kept repeating, while little throbs of pleasure went -dancing through her veins, and the world was not one half so dreary for -knowing he had loved her. Towards Wilford, too, her heart went out in a -fresh gush of tenderness, for she knew how one of his jealous nature -must have suffered. - -And all that day she was thinking of him, and how pleasantly she would -meet him when he came home at night, and how she would try to win him -from the dark silent mood now so habitual to him. More than usual pains -she took with her toilet, arranging her bright hair in the long, glossy -curls, which she knew he used to admire, and making sundry little -changes in her black dress. Excitement had brought a faint flush to her -cheeks, and she was conscious of a feeling of gratification that for the -first time in months she was looking like her former self. Slowly the -minutes crept on, and the silver-toned clock in the dining-room said it -was time for Wilford to come; then the night shadows gathered in the -rooms, and the gas was lighted in the hall and in the parlor, where -Katy’s face was pressed against the window pane, and Katy’s eyes peered -anxiously out into the darkening streets, but saw no one alighting at -their door. Wilford did not come. Neither six, nor seven, nor eight -brought him home, and Katy sat down alone to her dinner, which, save the -soup and coffee, was removed untasted. She could not eat with the -terrible dread at her heart that this long protracted absence portended -something more than common. Ten, eleven, and twelve struck from a -distant tower. He _had_ stayed out as late as that frequently, but -rarely later, and Katy listened again for him, until the clock struck -one, and she grew sick with fear and apprehension. It was a long, long, -wretched night, but morning came at last, and at an early hour Katy -drove down to Wilford’s office, finding no one there besides Tom Tubbs -and Mills, the other clerk. Katy could not conceal her agitation, and -her face was very white as she asked what time Mr. Cameron left the -office the previous day. - -If Katy had one subject more loyal than another it was young Tom Tubbs, -whose boyish blood had often boiled with rage at the cool manner with -which Wilford treated his wife, when, as she sometimes did, she came -into the office. Tom worshiped Katy Cameron, who, in his whispered -confidences to Mattie, was an angel, while Wilford was accused of being -an overbearing tyrant, whom Tom would like to thrash. He saw at once, -that something unusual was troubling her, and hastening to bring her a -chair, told her that Mr. Cameron left the office about four o’clock; -that he had spent the most of the day in his private office writing and -looking over papers; that he had given his clerks so many directions -with regard to certain matters, that Mills had remarked upon it, saying, -“It would seem as if he did not expect to be here to see to it himself;” -and this was all Katy could learn, but it was enough to increase the -growing terror at her heart, and dropping her veil, she went out to her -carriage, followed by Tom, who adjusted the gay robe across her lap, and -then looked wistfully after her as she drove up Broadway. - -“To father Cameron’s,” she said to the driver, who turned his horses -towards Fifth Avenue, where, just coming down the steps of his own -house, they met the elder Cameron. - -Katy would rather see him first alone, and motioning him to her side she -whispered: “Oh, father, is Wilford here?” - -“Wilford be——”; the old man did not say what, for the expression of -Katy’s face startled him. - -That there was something wrong, and father Cameron knew it, was Katy’s -conviction, and she gasped out, - -“Tell me the worst. Is Wilford dead?” - -Father Cameron was in the carriage by this time, and riding towards -Madison Square, for he did not care to introduce Katy into his -household, which, just at present, presented a scene of dire confusion -and dismay, occasioned by a note received from Wilford to the intent -that he had left New York, and did not know when he should return. - -“Katy can tell you why I go,” he added, and father Cameron was going to -Katy when she met him at his door. - -To Katy’s repeated question, “Is he dead?” he answered, “Worse than -that, I fear. He has left the city, and no one knows for what, unless -you do. From something he wrote, my wife is led to suppose there was -trouble between you two. Was there?” and father Cameron’s gray eyes -rested earnestly on the white, frightened face which looked up so -quickly as Katy gasped, - -“_There has_ been trouble—that is, he has not appeared quite the same -since——” - -She was interrupted by the carriage stopping before her door; but when -they were in the parlor, father Cameron said, - -“Go on now. Wilford has not been the same since when?” - -Thus importuned, Katy continued, - -“Since baby died. I think he blamed me as the cause of its death.” - -“Don’t babies die every day?” father Cameron growled, while Katy, -without considering that he had never heard of Genevra, continued, - -“And then it was worse after I found out about Genevra, his first wife.” - -“Genevra! Genevra, Wilford’s first wife! Thunder and lightning! what are -you talking about?” and father Cameron bent down to look in Katy’s face, -thinking she was going mad. - -But Katy was not mad, and knowing it was now too late to retract, she -told the story of Genevra Lambert to the old man, who, utterly -confounded, stalked up and down the room, kicking away chairs and -footstools, and whatever came in his way, and swearing promiscuously at -his wife and Wilford, whom he pronounced a precious pair of fools, with -a dreadful adjective appended to the _fools_, and an emphasis in his -voice which showed he meant what he said. - -“It’s all accounted for now,” he said; “the piles of money that boy had -abroad, his privacy with his mother, and all the other tomfoolery I -could not understand. Katy,” and pausing in his walk, Mr. Cameron came -close to his daughter-in-law, who was lying with her face upon the sofa. -“Katy, be glad your baby died. Had it lived it might have proved a -curse, just as mine have done—not all, for Bell, though fiery as a -pepper-pod, has some heart, some sense—and there was Jack, my _oldest_ -boy, a little fast it’s true, but when he died over the sea, I forgave -all that, and forgot the chair he broke over a tutor’s head, and the -scrapes for which I paid as high as a thousand at one time. He sowed his -wild oats, and died before he could reap them—died a good man, I -believe, and went to Heaven. Juno you know, and you can judge whether -she is such as would delight a parent’s heart; while Wilford, my only -boy, to deceive me so; I knew he was a fool in some things, but I did -trust Wilford.” - -The old man’s voice shook now, and Katy felt his tears dropping on her -hair as he stooped over her. Checking them, however, he said, - -“And he was cross because you found him out. Was there no other reason?” - -Katy thought of Dr. Morris, but she could not tell of that, and so she -answered, - -“There was—but please don’t ask me now. I can’t tell, only I was not to -blame. Believe me, father, I was not to blame.” - -“I’ll swear to that,” was the reply, and father Cameron commenced his -walking again, just as Esther came to the door with the morning letters. - -There was one from Wilford for Katy, who nervously tore off the envelope -and read as follows: - - “Will you be sorry when you read this and find that I am gone, that - you are free from the husband you do not love,—whom, perhaps, you - never loved, though I thought you did. I trusted you once, and now I - do not blame you as much as I ought, for you are young and easily - influenced. You are very susceptible to flattery, as was proven by - your career at Saratoga and Newport. I had no suspicion of you then, - but now that I know you better, I see that it was not all childish - simplicity which made you smile so graciously upon those who sought - your favor. You are a coquette, Katy, and the greater one because of - that semblance of artlessness which is the perfection of art. This, - however, I might forgive, if I had not learned that another man loved - you first and wished to make you his wife, while you, in your secret - heart, wish you had known it sooner. Don’t deny it, Katy; I saw it in - your face when I first told you of Dr. Grant’s confession, and I heard - it in your voice as well as in your words when you said ‘A life at - Linwood would be perfect rest compared with this.’ That hurt me - cruelly, Katy. I did not deserve it from one for whom I have done and - borne so much, and it was the final cause of my leaving you, for I am - going to Washington to enroll myself in the service of my country. You - will be happier without me for awhile, and perhaps when I return, - Linwood will not look quite the little paradise it does now. - - “I might reproach you with having telegraphed to Dr. Grant about that - miserable Genevra affair which you had not discretion enough to keep - to yourself. Few men would care to have their wives send for a former - lover in their absence and ask that lover to take them away. Your - saintly cousin, good as he is, cannot wonder at my vexation, or blame - me greatly for going away. Perhaps he will offer you comfort, both - religious and otherwise: but if you ever wish me to return, avoid him - as you would shun a deadly poison. Until I countermand the order, I - wish you to remain in the house which I bought for you. Helen and your - mother both may live with you, while father will have a general - oversight of your affairs; I shall send him a line to that effect. - - “YOUR DISAPPOINTED HUSBAND.” - -This was the letter, and there was perfect silence while Katy read it -through, Mr. Cameron never taking his eyes from her face, which turned -first white, then red, then spotted, and finally took a leaden hue as -Katy ran over the lines, comprehending the truth as she read, and when -the letter was finished, lifting her dry, tearless eyes to Father -Cameron, and whispering to herself, - -“Deserted!” - -She let him read the letter, and when he had finished, explained the -parts he did not understand, telling him now what Morris had -confessed—telling him too that in her first sorrow, when life and sense -seemed reeling, she had sent for Dr. Grant, knowing she could trust him -and be right in doing whatever he advised. - -“_Why_ did you say you sent for him—that is, _what_ was the special -reason?” Mr. Cameron asked, and Katy told him her belief that Genevra -was living—that it was she who made the bridal trousseau for Wilford’s -second wife, she who nursed his child until it died, giving to it her -own name, arraying it for the grave, and then leaving before the father -came. - -“I never told Wilford,” Katy said. “I felt as if I would rather he -should not know it yet. Perhaps I was wrong, but if so, I have been -terribly punished.” - -Mr. Cameron could not look upon the woman who stood before him, so -helpless and stricken in her desolation, and believe her wrong in -anything. The guilt lay in another direction, and when, as the terrible -reality that she was indeed a deserted wife came rushing over Katy, she -tottered toward him for help; he stretched his arms out for her, and -taking the sinking figure in them, laid it upon the sofa as gently, as -kindly, as Wilford had ever touched it in his most loving days. - -Katy did not faint nor weep. She was past all that; but her face was -like a piece of marble, and her eyes were like those of the hunted fawn -when the chase is at its height, and escape impossible. - -“Wilford will come back, of course,” the father said, “but that does not -help us now. What the plague—who is ringing that bell enough to break -the wire?” he added, as a sharp, rapid ring echoed through the house, -and was answered by Esther. “It’s my wife,” he continued, as he caught -the sound of her voice in the hall. - -“You stay here while I meet her first alone. _I’ll_ give it to her for -cheating me so long, and raising thunder generally!” - -Katy tried to protest, but he was half way down the stairs, and in a -moment more was with his wife, who, impatient at his long delay, had -come herself, armed and equipped, to censure Katy as the cause of -Wilford’s disappearance, and to demand of her what she had done. But the -lady who came in so haughty and indignant was a very different personage -from the lady who, after listening for fifteen minutes to a fearful -storm of oaths and reproaches, mingling with startling truths and bitter -denunciations against herself and her boy, sank into a chair, pale and -trembling, and overwhelmed with the harvest she was reaping. - -But her husband was not through with her yet. He had reserved the -bitterest drop for the last, and coming close to her he said, - -“And _who_ think you the woman is—this Genevra, Wilford’s and your -divorced wife? You were too proud to acknowledge an apothecary’s -daughter! See if you like better a dressmaker, a nurse to Katy’s baby, -_Marian Hazelton_!” - -He whispered the last name, and with a shriek the lady fainted. Mr. -Cameron would not summon a servant; and as there was no water in the -room, he walked to the window, and lifting the sash scraped from the -sill a handful of the light spring snow which had been falling since -morning. With this he brought his wife back to consciousness, and then -marked out her future course. - -“I know what is in your mind,” he said; “people _will_ talk about -Wilford’s going off so suddenly, and you would like to have all the -blame rest on Katy; but, madam, hear me: Just so sure as through your -means one breath of suspicion falls on her, I’ll _bla-at_ out the whole -story of Genevra. Then see who is censured. On the other hand, if you -hold your tongue, and make Juno hold hers, and stick to Katy through -thick and thin, acting as if you would like to swallow her whole, I’ll -say nothing of this Genevra. Is it a bargain?” - -“Yes,” came faintly from the sofa cushions, where Mrs. Cameron had -buried her face, sobbing in a confused, frightened way, and after a few -moments asking to see Katy, whom she kissed and caressed with unwonted -tenderness, telling her Wilford would come back, and adding, that in any -event no one could or should blame her. “Wilford was wrong to deceive -you about Genevra. I was wrong to let him; but we will have no more -concealments. You think she is living still—that she is Marian -Hazelton?” and Mrs. Cameron smoothed Katy’s hair as she talked, trying -to be motherly and kind, while her heart beat more painfully at thoughts -of a Genevra living, than it ever had at thoughts of a Genevra dead. - -She did not doubt the story, although it seemed so strange, and it made -her faint as she wondered if the world would ever know, and what it -would say if it did. That her husband would tell, if she failed in a -single point, she was sure; but she would not fail. She would swear Katy -was innocent of everything, if necessary, while Juno and Bell should -swear too. Of course, they must know, and she should tell them that very -night, she said to herself; and hence it was that in the gossip which -followed Wilford’s disappearance, not a word was breathed against Katy, -whose cause the family espoused so warmly,—Bell and the father because -they really loved and pitied her, and Mrs. Cameron and Juno because it -saved them from the disgrace which would have fallen on Wilford, had the -fashionable world known then of Genevra. - -Wilford’s leaving home so suddenly to join the army, could not fail, -even in New York, to cause some excitement, especially in his own -immediate circle of acquaintance, and for several days the matter was -discussed in all its phases, and every possible opinion and conjecture -offered, as to the cause of his strange freak. They could not believe in -domestic troubles when they saw how his family clung to and defended -Katy from the least approach of censure, Juno taking up her abode with -her “afflicted sister,” Mrs. Cameron driving round each day to see her; -Bell always speaking of her with genuine affection, while the father -clung to her like a hero, the quartette forming a barrier across which -the shafts of scandal could not reach. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - WHAT FOLLOWED. - - -When Wilford left Katy so abruptly he had no definite purpose in his -mind. He was very sore with the remembrance of all that had passed since -baby’s death, and very angry at his wife, who he believed preferred -another to himself, or who would have done so had she known in time what -she did now. Like most angry people, he forgot wherein he had been in -fault, but charged it all to Katy as he went down Broadway that spring -morning, finding on his table a letter from an old classmate, who was -then in Washington getting up a company, and who wrote urging his friend -to join him at once, and offering him the rank of First Lieutenant. Here -was a temptation,—here an opportunity to revenge himself on Katy, -against whom he wrote a sad list of errors, making it sadder by brooding -over and magnifying it until he reached a point from which he would not -swerve. - -“I shall do it,” he said, and his lips were pressed firmly together, as -in his private office he sat revolving the past, and then turning to the -future, opening so darkly before him, and making him shudder as he -thought of what it might bring. “I will spare Katy as much as possible,” -he said, “for hers is a different nature from Genevra’s. She cannot bear -as well,” and a bitter groan broke the silence of the room as Katy came -up before him just as she had looked that very morning standing by the -window, with tears in her eyes, and a wistful, sorry look on her white -face. - -But Wilford was not one to retract when a decision was reached, and so -he arranged his business matters as well as his limited time would -allow; then, after the brief note to his father, wrote the letter to -Katy, and then followed to the Jersey ferry a regiment of soldiers who -were going on to Washington that night. Four days more and Lieutenant -Wilford Cameron, with no regret as yet for the past, marched away to -swell the ranks of men who, led by General McClellan, were pressing on, -as they believed, to Richmond and victory. A week of terrible suspense -went by, and then there came a letter to Mr. Cameron from his son, -requesting him to care for Katy, but asking no forgiveness for himself. -There were no apologies, no explanations, no kind words for Katy, whose -eyes moved slowly over the short letter, and then were lifted sadly to -her father’s face as she said, - -“I will write to him myself, and on his answer will depend my future -course.” - -This she said referring to the question she had raised as to whether she -should remain in New York or go to Silverton, where the family as yet -knew nothing except that Wilford had joined the army. And so the days -went by, while Katy’s letter was sent to Wilford, together with another -from his father, who called his son a “confounded fool,” telling him to -throw up his shoulder straps, which only honest men had a right to wear, -and come home where he belonged. - -To this there came an indignant answer, bidding the father attend to his -own business, and allow the son to attend to his. To Katy, however, -Wilford wrote in a different strain, showing here and there marks of -tenderness and relenting, but saying what he had done could not now be -helped,—he was in for a soldier’s life for two years, and should abide -his choice. - -This was the purport of Wilford’s letter, and Katy, when she finished -reading it, said sorrowfully, - -“Wilford never loved me, and I cannot stay in _his_ home, knowing that I -am not trusted and respected as a wife should be. I will go to -Silverton. There is room for me there.” - -Meanwhile at Silverton there was much anxiety for Katy, and many doubts -expressed lest something was wrong. That Wilford should go away so -suddenly, when he had never been noted for any very great amount of -patriotism, seemed strange, and Uncle Ephraim at last made up his mind -to the herculean task of going to New York to see what was the matter. - -Presuming upon her experience as a traveler, Aunt Betsy had proffered -sundry pieces of advice with reference to what it was best for him to do -on the road, telling him which side of the car to sit, where to get out, -and above all things not to shake hands with the conductor when asked -for his ticket. - -Uncle Ephraim heard her good-humoredly, and stuffing into his pocket the -paper of ginger-snaps, fried cakes and cheese, which Aunt Hannah had -prepared for his lunch, he started for the cars, and was soon on his way -to New York. - -In his case there was no Bob Reynolds to offer aid and comfort, and the -old man was nearly torn in pieces by the hackmen, who, the moment he -appeared to view, pounced upon him as lawful prey, each claiming the -honor of taking him wherever he wished to go, and raising such a din -about his ears that he turned away thoroughly disgusted, telling them— - -“He had feet and legs, and common sense, and he guessed he could find -his way without ’em. ’Bleeged to you, gentlemen, but I don’t need you,” -and with a profound bow the honest looking old deacon walked away, -asking the first man he met the way to Madison Square, and succeeding in -finding the number without difficulty. - -With a scream of joy Katy threw herself into Uncle Ephraim’s arms, and -then led him to her own room, while the first tears she had shed since -she knew she was deserted rained in torrents over her face. - -“What is it, Katy-did? I mistrusted something was wrong. What has -happened?” Uncle Ephraim asked; and with his arm around her, Katy told -him what had happened, and asked what she should do. - -“Do?” the old man repeated. “Go home with me to your own folks until he -comes from the wars. He is your husband, and I shall say nothing agin -him; but if it was to go over I would forbid the banns. That chap has -misused you the wust way. You need not deny it, for it’s writ all over -your face,” he continued, as Katy tried to stop him, for sore as was her -heart with the great injustice done her, she would not have Wilford -blamed, and she was glad when dinner was announced, as that would put an -end to the painful conversation. - -Leading Uncle Ephraim to the table, she presented him to Juno, whose -cold nod and haughty stare were lost on the old man, bowing his white -head so reverently as he asked the first blessing which had ever been -asked at that table. - -It had not been a house of prayer—no altar had been erected for the -morning and evening sacrifice. God had almost been forgotten, and now He -was pouring His wrath upon the handsome dwelling, making it so -distasteful that Katy was anxious to leave it, and expressed her desire -to accompany Uncle Ephraim to Silverton as soon as the necessary -arrangements could be made. - -“I don’t take it she comes for good,” Uncle Ephraim said that evening, -when Mr. Cameron opposed her going. “When the two years are gone, and -her man wants her back, she must come of course. But she grows poor here -in the city. It don’t agree with her like the scent of the clover and -the breeze from the hills. So, shet up the house for a spell, and let -the child come with me.” - -Mr. Cameron knew that Katy would be happier at Silverton, and he finally -consented to her going, and placed at her disposal a sum which seemed to -the deacon a little fortune in itself. - -To Mrs. Cameron and Juno it was a relief to have Katy taken from their -hands, and though they made a show of opposition, they were easily -quieted, and helped her off with alacrity, the mother promising to see -that the house was properly cared for, and Juno offering to send the -latest fashions which might be suitable, as soon as they appeared. Bell -was heartily sorry to part with the young sister, who seemed going from -her forever. - -“I know you will never come back. Something tells me so,” she said, as -she stood with her arms around Katy’s waist, and her lips occasionally -touching Katy’s forehead. “But I shall see you,” she continued; “I am -coming to the farm-house in the summer, and you may say to Aunt Betsy -that I like her ever so much, and”—Bell glanced behind her, to see that -no one was listening, and then continued—“tell her a certain officer was -sick a few days in a hospital last winter, and one of his men brought to -him a dish of the most delicious dried peaches he ever ate. That man was -from _Silverton_, and the fruit was sent to him, he said, in a salt bag, -by a nice old lady, for whose brother he used to work. Just to think -that the peaches I helped to pare, coloring my hands so that the stain -did not come off in a month, should have gone so straight to _Bob_!” and -Bell’s fine features shone with a light which would have told Bob -Reynolds he was beloved, if the lips did refuse to confess it. - -“I’ll tell her,” Katy said, and then bidding them all good-bye, and -putting her hand on Uncle Ephraim’s arm, she went with him from the home -where she had lived but two years, and those the saddest, most eventful -ones of her short life. - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - MARK AND HELEN. - - -There was much talk in Silverton when it was known that Katy had come to -stay until her husband returned from the war, and at first the people -watched her curiously as she came among them again, so quiet, so -subdued, so unlike the Katy of old that they would have hardly -recognized her but for the beauty of her face and the sunny smile she -gave to all, and which rested oftenest on the poor and suffering, who -blessed her as the angel of their humble homes, praying that God would -remember her for all she was to them. Wilford had censured her at first -for going to Silverton, when he preferred she should stay in New York, -hinting darkly at the reason of her choice, and saying to her once, when -she told him how the Sunday before her twenty-first birthday she had -knelt before the altar and taken upon herself the vows of confirmation, -“Your saintly cousin is, of course, delighted, and that I suppose is -sufficient, without my congratulations.” - -Perhaps he did not mean it, but he seemed to take delight in teasing -her, and Katy sometimes felt she should be happier without his letters -than with them. He never said he was sorry he had left her so -suddenly—indeed he seldom referred to the past in any way; or if he did, -it was in a manner which showed that he thought himself the injured -party, if either. - -Katy did not often go to Linwood, and seldom saw Morris alone. After -what had passed she thought it better to avoid him as much as possible, -and was glad when early in June he accepted a situation offered him as -surgeon in a Georgetown hospital, and left Silverton for his new field -of labor. - -True to her promise, Bell came the last of July to Silverton, proving -herself a dreadful romp, as she climbed over the rocks in Aunt Betsy’s -famous sheep-pasture, or raked the hay in the meadow, and proving -herself, too, a genuine woman, as with blanched cheek and anxious heart -she waited for tidings from the battles before Richmond, where the tide -of success seemed to turn, and the North, hitherto so jubilant and -hopeful, wore weeds of mourning from Maine to Oregon. Lieut. Bob was -there, and Wilford, too; and so was Captain Ray, digging in the marshy -swamps, where death floated up in poisonous exhalations—plodding on the -weary march, and fighting all through the seven days, where the sun -poured down its burning heat and the night brought little rest. No -wonder, then, that three faces at the farm-house grew white with -anxiety, or that three pairs of eyes grew dim with watching the daily -papers. But the names of neither Wilford, Mark, nor Bob were ever found -among the wounded, dead, or missing, and with the fall of the first -autumn leaf Bell returned to the city more puzzled, more perplexed than -ever with regard to Helen Lennox’s real feelings toward Captain Ray. - -The week before Christmas, Mark came home for a few days, looking ruddy -and bronzed from exposure and hardship, but wearing a disappointed, -listless look which Bell was quick to detect, connecting it in some way -with Helen Lennox. Only once did he call at Mr. Cameron’s and then as -Juno was out Bell had him to herself, talking of Silverton, of Helen and -Katy, in the latter of whom he seemed far more interested than her -sister. Many questions he asked concerning Katy, expressing his regret -that Wilford had left her, and saying he believed Wilford was sorry, -too. He was in the hospital now, with a severe cold and a touch of the -rheumatism, he said; but as Bell knew this already she did not dwell -long upon that subject, choosing rather to talk of Helen, who, she said, -was “as much interested in the soldiers, as if she had a brother or a -lover in the army,” and her bright eyes glanced meaningly at Mark, who -answered carelessly, - -“_Dr. Grant_ is there, and that may account for her interest.” - -Mark knew he must say something to ward off Bell’s attacks, and he -continued talking of Dr. Grant and how much he was liked by the poor -wretches who needed some one like him to keep them from dying of -homesickness if nothing else; then, after a few bantering words -concerning Lieutenant Bob and the _picture_ he carried into every -battle, buttoned closely over his heart, Mark Ray took his leave, while -Bell ran up to her mother’s room as a seamstress was occupying her own. -Mrs. Cameron was out that afternoon, and that she had dressed in a hurry -was indicated by the unusual confusion of her room. Drawers were left -open and various articles scattered about, while on the floor, just as -it had fallen from a glove-box, lay a _letter_ which Bell picked up, -intending to replace it. - -“_Miss Helen Lennox_,” she read in astonishment. “How came Helen -Lennox’s letter _here_, and from _Mark Ray_ too,” she continued, still -more amazed as she took the neatly folded note from the envelope and -glanced at the name. “Foul play somewhere. Can it be mother?” she asked, -as she read enough to know that she held in her hand Mark’s offer of -marriage, which had in some mysterious manner found its way to her -mother’s room. “I don’t understand it,” she said, racking her brain for -a solution of the mystery. “But I’ll send it to Helen this very day, and -to-morrow I’ll tell Mark Ray.” - -Procrastination was not one of Bell Cameron’s faults, and for full half -an hour before her mother and Juno came home, the stolen letter had been -lying in the mail box where Bell herself deposited it, together with a -few hurriedly-written lines, telling how it came into her hands, but -offering no explanation of any kind. - -“Mark is home now on a leave of absence which expires day after -to-morrow,” she wrote, “I am going round to see him, and if you do not -hear from him in person I am greatly mistaken.” - -The next day a series of hindrances kept Bell from making her call as -early as she had intended, so that Mrs. Banker and Mark were just rising -from dinner when told she was in the parlor. - -“I meant to have come before,” she said, seating herself by Mark, “but I -could not get away. I have brought you some good news. I think,—that -is,—yes, I know there has been some mistake, some wrong somewhere. Mark -Ray, yesterday afternoon I found,—no matter where or how—a letter -intended for Helen Lennox, which I am positive she never saw or heard -of; at least her denial to me that a certain Mark Ray had ever offered -himself is a proof that she never saw what _was_ an offer made just -before you went away. I read enough to know that, and then I took the -letter and——” - -She hesitated, while Mark’s eyes turned dark with excitement, and even -Mrs. Banker, scarcely less interested, leaned eagerly forward, saying, - -“And what? Go on, Miss Cameron. What did you do with that letter?” - -“I sent it to its rightful owner, Helen Lennox. I posted it myself. But -why don’t you thank me, Captain Ray?” she asked, as Mark’s face was -overshadowed with anxiety. - -“I was wondering whether it were well to send it—wondering how it might -be received,” he said, and Bell replied. - -“She will not answer no. As one woman knows another, I know Helen -Lennox. I have sounded her on that point. I told her of the rumor there -was afloat, and she denied it, seeming greatly distressed, but showing -plainly that had such offer been received she would not have refused it. -You should have seen her last summer, Captain Ray, when we waited so -anxiously for news from the Potomac. Her face was a study as her eyes -ran over the list of casualties, searching _not_ for her amiable -_brother-in-law_, nor yet for _Willard Braxton_, their hired man. It was -plain to me as daylight, and all you have to do is to follow up that -letter with another, or go yourself, if you have time,” Bell said, as -she rose to go, leaving Mark in a state of bewilderment as to what he -had heard. - -Who withheld that letter? and why? were questions which troubled him -greatly, nor did his mother’s assurance that it did not matter so long -as it all came right at last, tend wholly to reassure him. One thing, -however, was certain. He would see Helen before he returned to his -regiment. He would telegraph in the morning to Washington, and then run -the risk of being a day behind the time appointed for his return to -duty. - -“Suppose you have three children when I return, instead of two, is there -room in your heart for the third?” he asked his mother when next morning -he was about starting for Silverton. - -“Yes, always room for Helen,” was the reply, as with a kiss of -benediction Mrs. Banker sent her boy away. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVERTON. - - -There was to be a Christmas tree at St. John’s, and all the week the -church had been the scene of much confusion. But the work was over now; -the church was swept and dusted, the tree with its gay adornings was in -its place, the little ones, who had hindered so much, were gone, as were -their mothers, and Helen only tarried with the organ boy to play the -Christmas Carol, which Katy was to sing alone, the children joining in -the chorus as they had been trained to do. It was very quiet there, and -pleasant, with the fading sunlight streaming through the chancel window, -lighting up the cross above it, and falling softly on the wall where the -evergreens were hung with the sacred words, “Peace on earth and good -will towards men.” And Helen felt the peace stealing over her as she sat -down by the register for a moment ere going to the organ loft where the -boy was waiting for her. Not even the remembrance of the dark war-cloud -hanging over the land disturbed her then, as her thoughts went backward -eighteen hundred years to Bethlehem’s manger and the little Child whose -birth the angels sang. And as she thought, that Child seemed to be with -her, a living presence to which she prayed, leaning her head upon the -railing of the pew in front, and asking Him to keep her in the perfect -peace she felt around her now. For Mark Ray, too, she prayed, asking God -to keep him in safety wherever he might be, whether in the lonely watch, -or in some house of God, where the Christmas carols would be sung and -the Christmas story told. - -As she lifted up her head her hand struck against the pocket of her -dress, where lay the letter brought to her an hour or so ago—Bell’s -letter—which she had put aside to read at a more convenient season. - -Taking it out, she tore open the envelope, starting suddenly as another -letter, soiled and unsealed, met her eye. She read Bell’s first, and -then, with a throbbing heart, which as yet would not believe, she took -up Mark’s, understanding now much that was before mysterious to her. -Juno’s call came to her mind, and though she was unwilling to charge so -foul a wrong upon that young lady, she could find no other solution to -the mystery. There was a glow of indignation—Helen had scarcely been -mortal without it;—but that passed away in pity for the misguided girl -and in joy at the happiness opening so broadly before her. That Mark -would _come_ to Silverton she had no hope, but he would write—his -letter, perhaps, was even then on the way; and kissing the one she held, -she hid it in her bosom and went up to where the organ boy had for -several minutes been kicking at stools and books, and whistling _Old -John Brown_ by way of attracting attention. The boy was in a hurry, and -asked in so forlorn a tone, “_Is_ we going to play?” that Helen answered -good-humoredly, “Just a few minutes, Billy. I want to try the carol and -the opening, which I’ve hardly played at all.” - -With an air of submission Bill took his post and Helen began to play, -but she could only see before her, “I have loved you ever since that -morning when I put the lilies in your hair,” and played so out of time -and tune that Billy asked, “What makes ’em go so bad?” - -“I can’t play now; I’m not in the mood,” she said. “I shall feel better -by and by. You can go home if you like.” - -Bill needed no second bidding, but catching up his cap ran down the -stairs and out into the porch, just as up the steps a young man came -hurriedly. - -“Hallo, boy,” he cried, grasping the collar of Bill’s roundabout and -holding him fast, “who’s in the church?” - -“Darn yer, Jim Sykes, you let me be, or I’ll——” the boy began, but when -he saw his captor was not _Jim Sykes_, but a tall man, wearing a -soldier’s uniform, he changed his tone, and answered civilly, “I thought -you was Jim Sykes, the biggest bully in town, who is allus hectorin’ us -boys. Nobody is there but she——Miss Lennox—up where the organ is,” and -having given the desired information, Bill ran off, wondering first if -it wasn’t Miss Helen’s _beau_, and wondering next, in case she should -sometime get married in church, if he wouldn’t fee the _organ boy_ as -well as the sexton. “He orto,” Bill soliloquized, “for I’ve about blowed -my gizzard out sometimes, when she and Mrs. Cameron sings the Te Deum.” - -Meanwhile Mark Ray, who had driven first to the farm-house in quest of -Helen, entered the church, and stole noiselessly up the stairs to where -Helen sat in the dim light, reading again the precious letter withheld -from her so long. She had moved her stool nearer to the window, and her -back was towards the door, so that she neither saw, nor heard, nor -suspected anything, until Mark, bending over her so as to see what she -had in her hand, as well as the _tear_ she had dropped upon it, clasped -both his arms about her neck, and drawing her face over back, kissed her -fondly, calling her his darling, and saying to her, as she tried to -struggle from him, - -“I know I have a right to call you darling, by that tear on my letter, -and the look upon your face. Dear Helen, we have found each other at -last.” - -It was so unexpected that Helen could not speak, but she let her head -rest on his bosom, where he had laid it, and her hand crept into his, so -that he was answered, and for a moment he only kissed and caressed the -fair girl he knew now was his own. They could not talk together very -long, for Helen must go home; but he made good use of the time he had, -telling her many things, and then asking her a question which made her -start away from him as she replied. “No, no, oh! no, not to-night—not so -soon as that!” - -“And why not, Helen?” he asked, with the manner of one who was not to be -denied. “Why not to-night, so there need be no more misunderstanding? -I’d rather leave you as my wife than my betrothed. Mother will like it -better. I hinted it to her and she said there was room for you in her -love. It will make me a better man, and a better soldier, if I can say -‘my wife,’ as other soldiers do. You don’t know what a charm there is in -that word, Helen. It keeps a man from sin, and if I should die I would -rather you should bear my name, and share in my fortune. Will you, -Helen, when the ceremonies are closed, will you go up to that altar and -pledge your vows to me. I cannot wait till to-morrow; my leave of -absence expires to-day. I must go back to-night, but you must first be -mine.” - -Helen was shaking as with a chill, but she made him no reply, and -wrapping her cloak and furs about her, Mark led her down to the sleigh, -and taking his seat beside her, drove back to the farm-house where the -family were waiting for her. Katy, to whom Mark first communicated his -desire, warmly espoused his cause, and that went far towards reassuring -Helen, who for some time past had been learning to look up to Katy as to -an older sister, so sober, so earnest, so womanly had Katy grown since -Wilford went away. - -“It is so sudden, and people will talk,” Helen said, knowing, while she -said it, how little she cared for people, and smiling at Katy’s reply. - -“They may as well talk about you awhile as me. It is not so bad when -once you are used to it.” - -After Katy, Aunt Betsy was Mark’s best advocate. It is true this was not -just what she had expected when Helen was married. The _infair_ which -Wilford had declined was still in Aunt Betsy’s mind; but that, she -reflected, might be yet. If Mark went back on the next train there could -be no proper wedding party until his return, when the loaves of frosted -cake, and the baked fowls she had seen in imagination should be there in -real, tangible form, and as she expressed it they would have a “high.” -Accordingly she threw herself into the scale beginning to balance in -favor of Mark, and when at last old Whitey stood at the door, ready to -take the family to the church, Helen sat upon the lounge listening half -bewildered while Katy assured her that _she_ could play the voluntary, -even if she had not looked at it, that she could lead the children -without the organ, and in short do everything Helen was expected to do -except go to the altar _with Mark_. - -“That I leave for you,” and she playfully kissed Helen’s forehead, as -she tripped from the room, looking back when she reached the door, and -charging the lovers not to forget to come, in their absorption of each -other. - -St. John’s was crowded that night, the children occupying the front -seat, with looks of expectancy upon their faces, as they studied the -heavily laden tree, the boys wondering if that ball, or whistle, or -wheelbarrow was for them, and the girls appropriating the -tastefully-dressed dolls showing so conspicuously among the dark green -foliage. The Barlows were rather late, for upon Uncle Ephraim devolved -the duty of seeing to the license, and as he had no seat in that house, -his arrival was only known by Aunt Betsy’s elbowing her way to the -front, and near to the Christmas tree which she had helped to dress, -just as she had helped to trim the church. She did not believe in such -“flummeries” it is true and she classed them with the “quirks,” but -rather than “see the gals slave themselves to death,” she had this year -lent a helping hand. Donning two shawls, a camlet cloak, a knit scarf -for her head, and a hood to keep from catching cold, she had worked -early and late, fashioning the most wonderfully shaped wreaths, tying up -festoons, and even trying her hand at a triangle; she turned her back -resolutely upon _crosses_, which were more than her Puritanism could -endure. The cross was a “quirk,” with which she’d have nothing to do, -though once, when Katy seemed more than usually bothered and wished -somebody would hand her _tacks_, Aunt Betsy relented so far as to bring -the hoop she was winding close to Katy, holding the little nails in her -mouth, and giving them out as they were wanted; but with each one given -out, conscientiously turning her head away, lest her eyes should fall -upon what she conceived the symbol of the Romish Church. But when the -whole was done, none were louder in their praises than Aunt Betsy, who -was guilty of asking Mrs. Deacon Bannister, when she came in to inspect, -“why the Orthodox couldn’t get up some such doin’s for their -Sunday-school. It pleased the children mightily.” - -But Mrs. Deacon Bannister answered with some severity, - -“We don’t believe in shows and _plays_, you know,” thus giving a double -thrust, and showing that the opera had never been quite forgotten. -“Here’s a pair of skates, though, and a smellin’ bottle I’d like to have -put on for John and Sylvia,” she added, handing her package to Aunt -Betsy, who, while seeing the skates and smelling bottle suspended from a -bough, was guilty of wondering if “the partaker wasn’t most as bad as -the thief.” - -This was in the afternoon, and was all forgotten now, when with her -Sunday clothes she never would have worn in that jam but for the great -occasion, Aunt Betsy elbowed her way up the middle aisle, her face -wearing a very important and knowing look, especially when Uncle -Ephraim’s tall figure bent for a moment under the hemlock boughs, and -then disappeared in the little vestry room where he held a private -consultation with the rector. That she knew something her neighbors -didn’t was evident, but she kept it to herself, turning her head -occasionally to look up at the organ where Katy was presiding. Others -too, there were, who turned their heads as the soft music began to fill -the church, and the heavy bass rolled up the aisles, making the floor -tremble beneath their feet and sending a thrill through every vein. It -was a skillful hand which swept the keys that night, for Katy played -with her whole soul—not the voluntary there before her in printed form, -nor any one thing she had ever heard, but taking parts of many things, -and mingling them with strains of her own improvising she filled the -house as it had never been filled before, playing a soft, sweet refrain -when she thought of Helen, then bursting into louder, fuller tones, when -she remembered Bethlehem’s Child and the song the angels sang, and then -as she recalled her own sad life since she knelt at the altar a happy -bride, the organ notes seemed much like human sobs, now rising to a -stormy pitch of passion, wild and uncontrolled, and then dying out as -dies the summer wind after a fearful storm. Awed and wonderstruck the -organ boy looked at Katy as she played, almost forgetting his part of -the performance in his amazement, and saying to himself when she had -finished, - -“Guy, ain’t she a brick?” and whispering to her, “Didn’t we go that -strong?” - -The people had wondered where Helen was, as, without the aid of music, -Katy led the children in their carols, and this wonder increased when it -was whispered round that “Miss Lennox had come, and was standing with a -_man_ back by the register.” - -After this Aunt Betsy grew very calm, and could enjoy the distributing -of the gifts, going up herself two or three times, and wondering why -anybody should think of _her_, a good-for-nothing old woman. The skates -and the smelling bottle both went safely to Sylvia and John, while Mrs. -Deacon Bannister looked radiant when her name was called and she was -made the recipient of a jar of butternut pickles, such as only Aunt -Betsy Barlow could make. - -“_Miss Helen Lennox._ A soldier in uniform, from one of her -Sunday-school scholars,” - -The words rang out loud and clear, as the Rector held up the sugar toy -before the amused audience, who turned to look at Helen, blushing so -painfully, and trying to hold back the man in a soldier’s dress who went -quietly up the aisle, receiving the gift with a bow and smile which -turned the heads of half the ladies near him, and then went back to -Helen, to whom he whispered something which made her cheeks grow -brighter than they were before, while she dropped her eyes modestly. - -“Who is he?” a woman asked, touching Aunt Betsy’s shoulder. - -“Captain Ray, from New York,” was the answer, as Aunt Betsy gave to her -dress a little broader sweep, and smoothed the bow she had tried to tie -beneath her chin, just as Mattie Tubbs had tied it on the memorable -opera night. - -The tree, by this time, was nearly empty. Every child had been -remembered, save one, and that the organ boy, who, separated from his -companions, stood near Helen, watching the tree wistfully, while shadows -of hope and disappointment passed alternately over his face, as one -after another the presents were distributed and nothing came to him. - -“There ain’t a darned thing on it for me,” he exclaimed at last, when -boy nature could endure no longer; and Mark turned towards him just in -time to see the gathering mist, which but for the most heroic efforts -would have merged into tears. - -“Poor Billy!” Helen said, as she too heard his comment, “I fear he _has_ -been forgotten. His teacher is absent, and he so faithful at the organ -too.” - -Mark knew now who the boy was, and after a hurried consultation with -Helen, who suggested that _money_ would probably be more acceptable than -even skates or jack-knives, neither of which were possible now, folded -something in a bit of paper, on which he wrote a name, and then sent it -to the Rector. - -“Billy Brown, our faithful organ boy,” sounded through the church; and -with a brightened face Billy went up the aisle and received the little -package, ascertaining before he reached his standpoint near the door, -that he was the owner of a five dollar bill, and mentally deciding to -add both peanuts and molasses candy to the stock of apples he daily -carried into the cars. - -“_You_ gin me this,” he said, nodding to Mark, “and you,” turning to -Helen, “poked him up to it.” - -“Well then, if I did,” Mark replied, laying his hand on the boy’s coarse -hair, “you must take good care of Miss Lennox when I am gone. I leave -her in your charge. She is to be my wife.” - -“Gorry, I thought so;” and Bill’s cap went towards the plastering, just -as the last string of pop-corn was given from the tree, and the -exercises were about to close. - -It was not in Aunt Betsy’s nature to keep her secret till this time; and -simultaneously with Billy’s going up for his gift, she whispered it to -her neighbor, who whispered it to hers, who whispered it to hers, until -nearly all the audience knew of it, and kept their seats after the -benediction was pronounced. - -At a sign from the rector, Katy went with her mother to the altar, -followed by Uncle Ephraim, his wife, and Aunt Betsy, while Helen, -throwing off the cloud she had worn upon her head, and giving it, with -her cloak and fur, into Billy’s charge, took Mark’s arm, and with -beating heart and burning cheeks passed between the sea of eyes fixed so -curiously upon her, up to where Katy once stood on the June morning, -when she had been the bride. Not now, as then, were aching hearts -present at the bridal. No Marian Hazelton fainted by the door; no Morris -felt the world grow dark and desolate as the marriage vows were spoken; -and no sister doubted if it were all right and would end in happiness. - -The ceremony lasted but a few moments, and then the astonished audience -pressed around the bride, offering their kindly congratulations, and -proving to Mark Ray that the bride he had won was dear to others as well -as to himself. Lovingly he drew her hand beneath his arm, fondly he -looked down upon her as he led her back to her chair by the register, -making her sit down while he tied on her cloak, and adjusted the fur -about her neck. - -“Handy and gentle as a woman,” was the verdict pronounced upon him by -the female portion of the congregation, as they passed out into the -street, talking of the ceremony, and contrasting Helen’s husband with -the haughty Wilford, who was not a favorite with them. - -It was Billy Brown who brought Mark’s cutter round, and held the reins, -while Mark helped Helen in, and then he tucked the buffalo robes about -her with the remark, “It’s all-fired cold, Miss Ray. Shall you play in -church to-morrow?” - -Assured that she would, Billy walked away, and Mark was alone with his -bride, and slowly following the deacon’s sleigh, which reached the -farm-house a long time before the little cutter, so that a fire was -already kindled in the parlor when Helen arrived, and also in the -kitchen stove, where the tea-kettle was boiling; for Aunt Betsy said -“the chap should have some supper before he went back to York.” - -Four hours he had to stay, and they were spent in talking of himself, of -Wilford, and of Morris, and in planning Helen’s future. Of course she -would spend a portion of her time at the farm-house, he said; but his -mother had a claim upon her, and it was his wish that she should be in -New York as much as possible. - -Swiftly the last moments went by, and a “Merry Christmas” was said by -one and another as they took their seats at the plentiful repast Aunt -Betsy had provided, Mark feasting more on Helen’s face than on the -viands spread before him. It was hard for him to leave her, hard for her -to let him go; but the duty was imperative, and so when at last the -frosty air grew keener as the small hours of night crept on, he stood -with his arms about her, nor thought it unworthy of a soldier that his -own tears mingled with hers, as he bade her good-bye, kissing her again -and again, and calling her his precious wife, whose memory would make -his camp life brighter, and shorten the days of absence. There was no -one with them, when at last Mark’s horse dashed from the yard over the -creaking snow, leaving Helen alone upon the doorstep, with the -glittering stars shining above her head, and her husband’s farewell kiss -wet upon her lips. - -“When shall we meet again?” she sobbed, gazing up at the clear blue sky, -as if to find the answer there. - -But only the December wind sweeping down from the steep hillside, and -blowing across her forehead, made reply to that questioning, as she -waited till the last faint sound of Mark Ray’s bells died away in the -distance, and then, shivering with cold, re-entered the farm-house. - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE. - - -Merrily rang the bells next day, but Helen’s heart was very sad as she -met the smiling faces of her friends, and Mark had never been prayed for -more earnestly than on that Christmas morning, when Helen knelt at the -altar rail, and received the sacred symbols of a Saviour’s dying love, -asking that God would keep the soldier husband, hastening on to New -York, and from thence to Washington. Much the Silvertonians discussed -the wedding, and had Helen been the queen, she could hardly have been -stared at more curiously than she was that Christmas day, when late in -the afternoon she drove through the town with Katy, the villagers -looking admiringly after her, noting the tie of her bonnet, the -arrangement of her face trimmings, and discovering in both style and -fitness they had never discovered before. As the wife of Mark Ray, Helen -became suddenly a heroine, in whose presence poor Katy subsided -completely; nor was the interest at all diminished when, two days later, -Mrs. Banker came to Silverton and was met at the depot by Helen, whom -she hugged affectionately, calling her “my dear daughter,” and holding -her hand all the way to the covered sleigh waiting there for her. - -Mrs. Banker was very fond of Helen; and not even the sight of the -farm-house, with its unpolished inmates, awakened a feeling of regret -that her only son had not looked higher for a wife. She was satisfied -with her new daughter, and insisted upon taking her back to New York. - -“I am very lonely now, lonelier than you can possibly be,” she said to -Mrs. Lennox, “and you will not refuse her to me for a few weeks at -least. It will do us both good, and make the time of Mark’s absence so -much shorter.” - -“Yes, mother, let Helen go. I will try to fill her place,” Katy said, -though while she said it her heart throbbed with pain and dread as she -thought how desolate she should be without her sister. - -But it was right, and Katy urged Helen’s going, bearing up bravely so -long as Helen was in sight, but shedding bitter tears when at last she -was gone, tears which were only stayed when kind old Uncle Ephraim -offered to take her to the little grave, where, from experience, he knew -she always found rest and peace. The winter snows were on it now, but -Katy knew just where the daisies were, and the blue violets which with -the spring would bloom again, feeling comforted as she thought of that -eternal spring in the bright world above, where her child had gone. And -so that night, when they gathered again around the fire in the pleasant -little parlor, the mother and the old people did not miss Helen half so -much as they had feared they might, for Katy sang her sweetest songs and -wore her sunniest smile, while she told them of Helen’s new home, and -talked of whatever else she thought would interest and please them. - -“Little Sunbeam,” Uncle Ephraim called her now, instead of “Katy-did,” -and in his prayer that first night of Helen’s absence he asked, in his -touching way, “that God would bless his little Sunbeam, and not let her -grow tired of living there alone with folks so odd and old.” - - * * * * * - -“MARRIED—On Christmas Eve, at St. John’s Church, Silverton, Mass., by -the Rev. Mr. Kelly, Capt. MARK RAY, of the —th Regiment, N. Y. S. Vols., -to MISS HELEN LENNOX, of Silverton.” - -Such was the announcement which appeared in several of the New York -papers two days after Christmas, and such the announcement which Bell -Cameron read at the breakfast table on the morning of the day when Mrs. -Banker started for Silverton. - -“Here is something which will perhaps interest _you_,” she said, passing -the paper to Juno, who had come down late, and was looking cross and -jaded from the effects of last night’s dissipation. - -Taking the paper from her sister’s hand, Juno glanced at the paragraph -indicated by Bell; then, as she caught Mark’s name, she glanced again -with a startled, incredulous look, her cheeks and lips turning white as -she read that Mark Ray was lost to her forever, and that in spite of the -stolen letter Helen Lennox was his wife. - -“What is it, Juno?” Mrs. Cameron asked, noticing her daughter’s -agitation. - -Juno told her what it was, and then handing her the paper let her read -it for herself. - -“Impossible! there is some mistake! How was it brought about?” Mrs. -Cameron said, darting a curious glance at Bell, whose face betrayed -nothing as she leisurely sipped her coffee and remarked, “I always -thought it would come to this, for I knew he liked her. It is a splendid -match.” - -Whatever Juno thought she kept it to herself, just as she kept her room -the entire day, complaining of a racking headache, and ordering the -curtains to be dropped, as the light hurt her eyes, she said to Bell, -who, really pitying her now, never suggested that the darkened room was -more to hide her tears than to save her eyes, and who sent away all -callers with the message that Juno was sick—all but Sybil Grandon, who -insisted so hard upon seeing her _dear friend_ that she was admitted to -Juno’s room, talking at once of the wedding, and making every one of -Juno’s nerves quiver with pain as she descanted upon the splendid match -it was for Helen, or indeed for any girl. - -“I had given you to him,” she said, “but I see I was mistaken. It was -Helen he preferred, unless you jilted him, as perhaps you did.” - -Here was a temptation Juno could not resist, and she replied, haughtily, - -“I am not one to boast of conquests, but ask Captain Ray himself if you -wish to know why I did not marry him.” - -Sybil Grandon was not deceived, but she good-naturedly suffered that -young lady to hope she was, and answered, laughingly, “I can’t say I -honor your judgment in refusing him, but you know best. However, I trust -that will not prevent your friendly advances towards his bride. Mrs. -Banker has gone after her, I understand, and I want you to call with me -as soon as convenient. _Mrs. Mark Ray_ will be the belle of the season, -depend upon it,” and gathering up her furs Mrs. Grandon kissed Juno -affectionately and then swept from the room. - -That Mrs. Cameron had hunted for and failed to find the stolen letter, -and that she associated its disappearance with Mark Ray’s sudden -marriage, Bell was very sure, from the dark, anxious look upon her face -when she came from her room, whither she had repaired immediately after -breakfast; but whatever her suspicions were, they did not find form in -words. Mark was lost. It was too late to help that now, and as a politic -woman of the world, Mrs. Cameron decided to let the matter rest, and by -_patronizing_ the young bride prove that she had never thought of Mark -Ray for her son-in-law. Hence it was that the Cameron carriage and the -Grandon carriage stood together before Mrs. Banker’s door, while the -ladies who had come in the carriages paid their respects to Mrs. Ray, -rallying her upon the march she had stolen upon them, telling her how -delighted they were to have her back again, and hoping they should see -each other a great deal during the coming winter. - -The Camerons and Sybil Grandon were not alone in calling upon the bride. -Those who had liked Helen Lennox did not find her less desirable now -that she was Helen Ray, and numberless were the attentions bestowed upon -her and the invitations she received. - -But with few exceptions Helen declined the latter, feeling that with her -husband in so much danger, it was better not to mingle in gay society. -She was very happy with Mrs. Banker, who petted and caressed and loved -her almost as much as if she had been her own daughter. Mark’s letters, -too, which came nearly every day, were bright sun-spots in her -existence, so full were they of tender love and kind thoughtfulness for -her. He was very happy, he wrote, in knowing that at home there was a -dear little brown-haired wife, waiting and praying for him, and but for -the separation from her he was well content with a soldier’s life. Once -Helen thought seriously of going to him for a week or more, but, the -project was prevented by the sudden arrival in New York of Katy, who -came one night to Mrs. Banker’s, with her face as white as ashes, and a -wild expression in her eyes as she said to Helen, - -“I am going to Wilford. He is dying. He has sent for me. I ought to go -on to-night, but cannot, my head aches so,” and pressing both her hands -upon her head Katy sank fainting into Helen’s arms. - - - - - CHAPTER XLIII. - GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. - - - GEORGETOWN, February—, 1862. - - MRS. WILFORD CAMERON: - - “Your husband cannot live long. Come immediately. - - M. HAZELTON.” - -So read the telegram received by Katy one winter morning, and which -stunned her for a few minutes so that she could neither feel nor think. -But the reaction came soon enough, bringing with it only the remembrance -of Wilford’s love. All the wrong, the harshness, was forgotten, and only -the desire remained to fly at once to Wilford. Bravely she kept up until -New York was reached, when the tension of her nerves gave way, and she -fainted, as we have seen. - -At Father Cameron’s a telegram had been received, telling of Wilford’s -danger. But the mother could not go to him. A lung difficulty, to which -she was subject, had confined her to the house for many days, and so it -was the father and Bell who made their hasty preparations for the -hurried journey to Georgetown. They heard of Katy’s arrival, and Bell -came at once to see her. - -“She will not be able to join us to-morrow,” was the report Bell carried -home, for she saw more than mere exhaustion in the white face lying so -motionless on Helen’s pillow, with the dark rings about the eyes, and -the quiver of the muscles about the mouth. - -“It is very hard, but God knows best,” poor Katy moaned, when the next -day her father and Bell went without her. - -“Yes, darling, God knows best,” Helen answered, smoothing the bright -hair, and thinking sadly of the young officer sitting by his camp-fire, -and waiting so eagerly for the bride who could not go to him now. “God -knows what is best, and does all for the best.” - -Katy said it many times that long, long week, during which she stayed -with Helen, living from day to day upon the letters sent by Bell, who -gave but little hope that Wilford would recover. Not a word did she say -of Marian, and only twice did she mention Morris, who was one of the -physicians in that hospital, so that when at last Katy was strong enough -to venture on the journey, she had but little idea of what had -transpired in Wilford’s sick room. - - * * * * * - -Those were sad, weary days which Wilford first passed upon his hospital -cot, and as he was not sick but crippled, he had ample time for -reviewing the past, which came up before his mind as vividly as if he -had been living again the scenes of bygone days. Of Katy he thought -continually, repenting of his rashness, and wishing so much that the -past could be undone. Disgusted with soldier life, he had wished himself -at home a thousand times, but never by a word had he admitted such a -wish to any living being, and when, on the dark, rainy afternoon which -first saw him in the hospital, he turned his face to the wall and wept, -he replied to one who said to him soothingly, - -“Don’t feel badly, my young friend. We will take as good care of you -here as if you were at home.” - -“It’s the pain which brings the tears. I’d as soon be here as at home.” - -Gradually, however, there came a change, and Wilford grew softer in his -feelings, half resolving to send for Katy, who had offered to come, and -to whom he had replied, “It is not necessary.” But as often as he -resolved, his evil genius whispered, “She does not care to come,” and so -the message was never sent, while the longing for home faces brought on -a nervous fever, which made him so irritable that his attendants turned -from him in disgust, thinking him the most unreasonable man they ever -met with. Once he dreamed Genevra was there—that her fingers threaded -his hair as they used to do in the happy days at Brighton—that her hand -was on his brow, her breath upon his face, and with a start he awoke, -just as the rustle of female garments died away in the hall. - -“The nurse in the second ward has been in here,” a comrade said. “She -seemed specially interested in you, and if she had not been a stranger, -I should have said she was crying over you.” - -With a quick, sudden movement, Wilford put his hand to his cheek, where -there was a tear, either his own or that of the “nurse,” who had -recently bent over him. Retaining the same proud reserve which had -characterized his whole life, he asked no questions, but listened to -what his companions were saying of the beauty and tenderness of the -“young girl,” as they called her, who had glided for a few moments into -their presence, winning their hearts in that short space of time, and -making them wish she would come back again. Wilford wished so too, -conjuring up all sorts of conjectures about the unknown nurse, and once -going so far as to fancy it was Katy herself. But Katy would hardly -venture there as nurse, and if she did she would not keep aloof from -him. It was not Katy, and if not, who was it that twice when he was -sleeping came and looked at him, his comrades said, rallying him upon -the conquest he had made, and so exciting his imagination that the fever -began to increase, and the blood throbbed hotly through his veins, while -his brows were knit together with thoughts of the mysterious stranger. -Then, with a great shock it occurred to him that Katy had affirmed, -“_Genevra_ is alive.” - -What if it were so, and this nurse were Genevra? The very idea fired -Wilford’s brain, and when next his physician came he looked with alarm -upon the great change for the worse exhibited by his patient. - -“Shall I send for your friends?” he asked, and Wilford answered, -savagely, - -“I have no friends—none at least, but what will be glad to know I’m -dead.” - -And that was the last, except the wild words of a maniac, which came -from Wilford’s lips for many a day and night. When they said he was -unconscious, Marian Hazelton obtained permission to attend him, and -again the eyes of the other occupants of the room were turned -wonderingly towards her as she bent over the sick man, parting his -matted hair, smoothing his pillow, and holding the cooling draught to -the parched lips which muttered strange things of Brighton, of Alnwick -and Rome—of the heather on the Scottish moors, and the daisies on -Genevra’s grave, where Katy once sat down. - -“She did not know Genevra was there,” he said; “but I knew, and I felt -as if the dead were wronged by that act of Katy’s. Do _you_ know Katy?” -and his black eyes fastened upon Marian, who soothed him into quiet, -while she talked to him of Katy, telling of her graceful beauty, her -loving heart, and the sorrow she would feel when she heard how sick he -was. - -“Shall I send for her?” she asked, but Wilford answered, - -“No, I am satisfied with you.” - -This was her first day with him, but there were other days when all her -strength, and that of Morris, who, at her earnest solicitation, came to -her aid, was required to keep him on his bed. He was going home, he -said, going to Katy; and like a giant he writhed under a force superior -to his own, and which held him down and controlled him, while his loud -outcries filled the building, and sent a shudder to the hearts of those -who heard them. As the two men, who at first had occupied the room with -him, were well enough to leave for home, Marian and Morris both begged -that, unless absolutely necessary, no other one should be sent to that -small apartment, where all the air was needed for the patient in their -charge. And thus the room was left alone for Wilford, who grew worse so -fast that Marian telegraphed to Katy, bidding her come at once. - - * * * * * - -Slowly the wintry night was passing, the fifth since Marian’s message -was sent to Katy, and Morris sat by Wilford’s cot, when suddenly he met -Wilford’s eyes fixed upon him with a look of recognition he could not -mistake. - -“Do you know me?” he asked so kindly, and with so much of genuine -sympathy in his voice, that the heavy eyelids quivered for an instant, -as Wilford nodded his head, and whispered, - -“Dr. Grant.” - -There had been a momentary flash of resentment when he saw the watcher -beside him, but Wilford was too weak, too helpless to cherish that -feeling long, and besides there were floating through his still -bewildered mind visions of some friendly hand, which had ministered to -him daily—of a voice and form, distinct from the one he thought an -angel’s, and which was not there now with him. That voice, that form, he -felt sure belonged to Morris Grant, and remembering his past harshness -toward him, a chord of gratitude was touched, and when Morris took his -hand he did not at once withdraw it, but let his long, white fingers -cling around the warm, vigorous ones, which seemed to impart new life -and strength. - -“You have been very sick,” Morris said, anticipating the question -Wilford would ask. “You are very sick still, and at the request of your -nurse I came to attend you.” - -A pressure of the hand was Wilford’s reply, and then there was silence -between them, while Wilford mastered all his pride, and with quivering -lips whispered, - -“_Katy!_” - -“We have sent for her. We expect her every train,” Morris replied, and -Wilford asked, - -“Who has been with me—the nurse, I mean? Who is she?” - -Morris hesitated a moment, and then said, - -“Marian Hazelton.” - -“I know—yes,” Wilford replied, having no suspicion as to _who_ was -standing outside his door, and listening, with a throbbing heart, to his -rational questions. - -In all their vigils held together no sign had ever passed from Dr. Grant -to Marian that he knew her, but he had waited anxiously for this moment, -knowing that Wilford must not be shocked, as a sight of Marian would -shock him. He knew she was outside the door, and as Wilford turned his -head upon the pillow, he went to her, and leading her to a safe -distance, said softly, - -“His reason has returned.” - -“And my services are ended,” Marian rejoined, looking him steadily in -the face, but not in the least prepared for his affirmative question. - -“You are _Genevra Lambert_?” - -There was a low, gasping sound of surprise, and Marian staggered forward -a step or two, then steadying herself, she said, - -“And if I am, it surely is not best for him to see me. You would not -advise it?” - -She looked wistfully at Morris, the great desire to be recognized, to be -spoken to kindly by the man who once had been her husband overmastering -for a moment all her prudence. - -“It would not be best, both for his sake and _Katy’s_,” Morris said, and -with a moan like the dying out of her last hope, Marian turned away, her -eyes dim with tears and her heart heavy with a sense of something lost, -as in the gray dawn of the morning she went back to her former patients, -who hailed her coming with childish joy, one fair young boy from the -Granite hills kissing the hand which bandaged his poor crushed arm so -tenderly, and thanking her that she had returned to him again. - - * * * * * - -“Mr. J. Cameron, Miss Bell Cameron,” were the names on the cards sent to -Dr. Grant late that afternoon, and in a few moments he was with the -father and sister who asked so anxiously for Wilford and explained why -Katy was not with them. - -Wilford was sleeping when they entered his room, his face looking so -worn and thin, and his hands folded so helplessly upon his breast, that -with a gush of tears Bell knelt beside him, and laying her warm cheek -against his bony one, woke him with her sobs. For a moment he seemed -bewildered, then recognizing her, he raised his feeble arm and winding -it about her neck, kissed her more tenderly than he had ever done -before. He had not been demonstrative of his affection for his sisters. -But Bell was his favorite, and he held her close to him while his eyes -moved past his father, whom he did not see, on to the door as if in -quest of someone. It was Katy, and guessing his thoughts, Bell said, - -“She is not here. She could not come now. She is sick in New York, but -will join us in a few days.” - -There was a look of intense disappointment in Wilford’s face, which even -his father’s warm greeting could not dissipate, and Morris saw the great -tears as they dropped upon the pillow, the proud man trying hard to -repress them, and asking no questions concerning any one at home. He was -too weak to talk, but he held Bell’s hand in his as if afraid that she -would leave him, while his eyes rested alternately upon her face and -that of his father, who, wholly unmanned at the fearful change in his -son, laid his head upon the bed and cried aloud. - -Next morning Bell was very white and her voice trembled as she came from -a conference with Dr. Morris, who had told her that her brother would -die. - -“He may live a week, and he may not,” he said, adding solemnly, “As his -sister you will tell him of his danger, while there is time to seek the -refuge without which death is terrible.” - -“Oh, if I could only pray with and for him!” Bell thought, as she went -to her brother, mourning her misspent days, and feeling her courage -giving way when at last she stood in his presence and met his kindly -smile. - -“I dreamed that you were not here after all,” he said, “I am so glad to -find it real. How long before I can go home, do you suppose?” - -He had stumbled upon the very thing Bell was there to talk about, his -question indicating that he had no suspicion of the truth. Nor had he; -and it came like a thunderbolt when Bell, forgetting all her prudence, -said impetuously, - -“Oh, Wilford, maybe you’ll never go home. Maybe you’ll——” - -“_Not die_,” Wilford exclaimed, clasping his hands with sudden emotion. -“Not die—you don’t mean that? Who told you so?” - -“Dr. Grant,” was Bell’s reply, which brought a fierce frown to Wilford’s -face, and awoke all the angry passions of his heart. - -“Dr. Grant,” he repeated. “He would like me removed from his path; but -it shall not be. I will not die. Tell him that. I will not die,” and -Wilford’s voice was hoarse with passion as he raised his clenched fists -in the air. - -He was terribly excited, and in her fright Bell ran for Dr. Grant. But -Wilford motioned him back, hurling after him words which kept him from -the room the entire day, while the sick man rolled, and tossed, and -raved in the delirium, which had returned, and which wore him out so -fast. No one had the least influence over him, except Marian Hazelton, -who, without a glance at Mr. Cameron or Bell, glided to his side, and -with her presence and gentle words soothed him into comparative quiet, -so that the bitter denunciations against the _saint_, who wanted him to -die, ceased, and he fell into a troubled sleep. - -With a strange feeling of interest Mr. Cameron and Bell watched her, -wondering if she were indeed Genevra, as Katy had affirmed. They would -not ask her; and both breathed more freely when, with a bow in -acknowledgment of Mr. Cameron’s compliment to her skill in quieting his -son, she left the room. - -That night they watched with Wilford, who slept off his delirium, and -lay with his face turned from them, so that they could not guess by its -expression what was passing in his mind. - -All the next day he maintained the most frigid silence, answering only -in monosyllables, while Bell kept wiping away the great drops of sweat -constantly oozing out upon his forehead and about the pallid lips. - -Just at nightfall he startled Bell by asking that Dr. Grant be sent for. - -“Please leave me alone with him,” he said, when Dr. Morris came; then -turning to Morris, as the door closed upon his father and his sister, he -said abruptly, - -“Pray for me, if you can pray for one who yesterday hated you so for -saying he must die.” - -Earnestly, fervently, Morris prayed, as for a dear brother; and when he -finished, Wilford’s faint “Amen” sounded through the room. - -“I am not right yet,” the pale lips whispered, as Morris sat down beside -him. “Not right with God, I mean. I’ve sometimes said there was no God; -but I did not believe it; and now I know there is. He has been moving -upon me all the day, driving out my bitterness toward you, and causing -me to send for you at last. Do you think there is hope for me? I have -much to be forgiven.” - -“Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow,” Morris -replied; and then he tried to point that erring man to the Lamb of God, -who taketh away the sins of the world, convincing him that there _was_ -hope even for him, and leaving him with the conviction that God would -surely finish the good work begun, nor suffer this soul to be lost which -had turned to Him at the eleventh hour. - -Wilford knew his days were numbered, and he talked freely of it to his -father and sister the next morning when they came to him. He did not say -that he was ready or willing to die, only that he must, and he asked -them to forget, when he was gone, all that had ever been amiss in him as -a son and brother. - -“I was too proud, too selfish, to make others happy,” he said, “I -thought it all over yesterday, and the past came back again so vividly, -especially the part connected with Katy. Oh, Katy, I did abuse her!” and -a bitter sob attested the genuineness of Wilford’s grief for his -treatment of Katy. “I despised her family, I treated them with contempt. -I broke Katy’s heart, and now I must die without telling her I am sorry. -But you’ll tell her, Bell, how I tried to pray, but could not for -thoughts of my sin to her. She will not be glad that I am dead. I know -her better than to think that; and I believe she loves me. But, after I -am gone, and the duties of the world have closed up the gap I shall -leave, I see a brighter future for her than her past has been; and you -may tell her I am——” He could not say, “I am willing.” Few husbands -could have done so then, and he was not an exception. - -Wholly exhausted, he lay quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, it -was of _Genevra_. Even here he did not try to screen himself. He was the -one to blame, he said, Genevra was true, was innocent, as he ascertained -too late. - -“Would you like to see her, if she was living?” came to Bell’s lips; but -the fear that it would be too great a shock, prevented their utterance. - -He had no suspicion of her presence; and it was best he should not. Katy -was the one uppermost in his mind; and in the letter Bell sent to her -next day, he tried to write, “Good-bye, my darling;” but the words were -scarcely legible, and his nerveless hand fell helpless at his side as he -said, - -“She will never know the effort it cost me, nor hear me say that I hope -I am forgiven. It came to me last night; and now the way is not so dark, -but Katy will not know.” - - - - - CHAPTER XLIV. - LAST HOURS. - - -Katy _would know_; for she was coming at last. A telegram had announced -that she was on the road; and with nervous restlessness Wilford asked -repeatedly what time it was, reducing the hours to minutes, and counting -his own pulses to see if he could last so long. - -“Save me, Doctor,” he whispered to Morris, “keep me alive till Katy -comes. I must see Katy again.” - -And Morris, tenderer than a brother, did all he could to keep the feeble -breath from going out ere Katy came. - -The train was due at five; but it was dark in the hospital, and from -every window a light was shining, when Morris carried, rather than led, -a quivering figure up the stairs and through the hall to the room where -the Camerons were, the father standing at the foot of Wilford’s bed, and -Bell bending over his pillow, administering the stimulants which kept -her brother alive. When Katy came in, she moved away, as did her father, -while Morris too stepped back into the hall; and thus the husband and -wife were left alone. - -“Katy, precious Katy, you have forgiven me?” Wilford whispered, and the -rain of tears and kisses on his face was Katy’s answer as she hung over -him. - -She had forgiven him, and she told him so when she found voice to talk, -wondering to find him so changed from the proud, exacting, -self-worshiping man to the humble, repentant and self-accusing person, -who took all blame of the past to himself, and exonerated her from every -fault. But when he drew her close to him, and whispered something in her -ear, she knew whence came the change, and a reverent “Thank the good -Father,” dropped from her lips. - -“The way was dark and thorny,” Wilford said, making her sit down where -he could see her as he talked, “and only for God’s goodness I should -have lost the path. But he sent Morris Grant to point the road, and I -trust I am in it now. I wanted to tell you with my own lips how sorry I -am for what I have made you suffer; but sorriest of all for sending Baby -away. Oh, Katy, you do not know how that rested upon my conscience. -Forgive me, Katy, that I robbed you of your child.” - -He was growing very weak, and he looked so white and ghastly that Katy -called for Bell, who came with her father, and the three stood together -around the bedside of the dying. - -“You will remember me, Katy,” he said, “but you cannot mourn for me -always, and sometime in the future you will cease to be my _widow_, and, -Katy, I am willing. I wanted to tell you this, so that no thought of me -should keep you from a life where you will be happier than I have made -you.” - -Wholly bewildered, Katy made no reply, and Wilford was silent a few -moments, in which he seemed partially asleep. Then rousing up, he said, - -“You said once that Genevra was not dead. Did you mean it, Katy?” - -Frightened and bewildered, Katy turned appealingly to her father-in-law, -who answered for her, “She meant it—Genevra is not dead,” while a -blood-red flush stained Wilford’s face, and his fingers beat the -bedspread thoughtfully. - -“I fancied once that she was here—that she was the nurse the boys praise -so much. But that was a delusion,” he said, and without a thought of the -result, Katy asked impetuously, “if she were here would you care to see -her?” - -There was a startled look on Wilford’s face, and he grasped Katy’s hand -nervously, his frame trembling with a dread of the great shock which he -felt impending over him. - -“Is she here? Was the nurse Genevra?” he asked. Then, as his mind went -back to the past, he answered his own question by asserting “Marian -Hazelton is Genevra.” - -They did not contradict him, nor did he ask to see her. With Katy there -he felt he had better not; but after a moment he continued, “It is all -so strange. I thought her dead. I do not comprehend how it can be. She -has been kind to me. Tell her I thank her for it. I was unjust to her. I -have much to answer for.” - -Between each word he uttered there was a gasp for breath, and Father -Cameron opened the window to admit the cool night air. But nothing had -power to revive him. He was going very fast, Morris said, as he took his -stand by the bedside and watched the approach of death. There were no -convulsive struggles, only heavy breathings, which grew farther and -farther apart, until at last Wilford drew Katy close to him, and winding -his arm around her neck, whispered, - -“I am almost home, my darling, and all is well. Be kind to Genevra for -my sake. I loved her once, but not as I love you.” - -He never spoke again, and a few minutes later Morris led Katy from the -room, and then went out to give orders for the embalming. - - * * * * * - -In the little room she called her own, Marian Hazelton sat, her -beautiful hair disordered, and her eyes dim with the tears she had shed. -She knew that Wilford was dead, and as if his dying had brought back all -her olden love she wept bitterly for the man who had so darkened her -life. She had not expected to see him with Katy present; but now that it -was over she might go to him. There could be no harm in that. No one but -Morris would know who she was, she thought, when there came a timid -knock upon her door, and Katy entered, her face very pale, and her -manner very calm, as she came to Marian, and kneeling down beside her, -laid her head in her lap with the air of a weary child who has sought -its mother for rest. - -“Poor little Katy!” Marian said; “your husband, they tell me, is dead.” - -“Yes;” and Katy lifted up her head, and fixing her eyes earnestly upon -Marian, continued, “Wilford is dead. but before he died he left a -message for _Genevra Lambert_. Will she hear it now?” - -With a sudden start Marian sprang to her feet, and demanded, “Who told -_you_ of Genevra Lambert?” - -“Wilford told me months ago, showing me her picture, which I readily -recognized, and I have pitied you so much, knowing you were innocent. -Wilford thought you were dead,” Katy said, flinching a little before -Marian’s burning gaze, which fascinated even while it startled her. - -It is not often that two women meet bearing to each other the relations -these two bore, and it is not strange that both felt constrained and -embarrassed as they stood looking at each other. As Marian’s was the -stronger nature, so she was the first to rally, and with the tears -swimming in her eyes she drew Katy closely to her, and said, - -“Now that he is gone I am glad you know it. Mine has been a sad life, -but God has helped me to bear it. You say he believed me dead. Sometime -I will tell you how that came about; but now, his message,—he left one, -you say?” - -Carefully Katy repeated every word Wilford had said, and with a gasping -cry Marian wound her arms around her neck, exclaiming, - -“And you _will_ love me, because I have suffered so much. You will let -me call you Katy when we are alone. It brings you nearer to me.” - -Marian was now the weaker of the two, and it was Katy’s task to comfort -her, as sinking back in her chair she sobbed, - -“He did love me once. He acknowledged it at the last, before them all, -his wife, his father and his sister. Do they know?” she suddenly asked, -and when assured that they did, she relapsed into a silent mood, while -Katy stole quietly out and left her there alone. - -Half an hour later and a female form passed hurriedly through the hall -and across the threshold into the chamber where the dead man lay. There -was no one with him now, and Marian was free to weep out the pent-up -sorrow of her life, which she did with choking sobs and passionate words -poured into the ear, deaf to every human sound. A step upon the floor -startled her, and turning round she stood face to face with Wilford’s -father, who was regarding her with a look which she mistook for one of -reproof and displeasure that she should be there. - -“Forgive me,” she said; “he was my husband once, and surely now that he -is dead you will not begrudge me a few last moments with him for the -sake of the days when he loved me.” - -There were many tender chords in the heart of Father Cameron, and -offering Marian his hand, he said, - -“Far be it from me to refuse you this privilege. I pity you, Genevra; I -believe he dealt unjustly by you,—but I will not censure him now that he -is gone. He was my only boy. Oh, Wilford, Wilford! you have left me very -lonely.” - -He released her hand, and Marian fled away, meeting next with Bell, who -felt that she must speak to her, but was puzzled what to say. Bell could -not define her feelings towards Marian, or why she shrunk from -approaching her. It was not pride, but rather a feeling of prejudice, as -if Marian were in some way to blame for all the trouble which had come -to them, while her peculiar position as the divorced wife of her brother -made it the more embarrassing. But she could not resist the mute -pleading of the eyes lifted so tearfully to her, as if asking for a nod -of recognition, and stopping before her she said, softly, - -“_Genevra._” - -That was all, but it made Genevra’s tears flow in torrents, and she -involuntarily held her hand out to Bell, who took it, and holding it -between her own, said, - -“You were very kind to my brother. I thank you for it, and will tell my -mother, who will feel so grateful to you.” - -This was a good deal for Bell to say, and after it was said, she -hastened away while Marian went on her daily round of duties, speaking -softer if possible to her patients that day, and causing them to wonder -what had come over that sweet face to make it so white and tear-stained. -That night in Marian’s room Katy sat and listened to what she did not -before know of the strange story kept from her so long. Marian confirmed -all Wilford had told, breathing no word of blame against him now that he -was dead, only stating facts, and leaving Katy to draw her own -conclusions. - -“I knew that I was handsome,” she said, “and I liked to test my power; -but for that weakness I have been sorely punished. I had not at first -any intention of making him believe that I was dead, and when I sent the -paper containing the announcement of father’s death, I was not aware -that it also contained the death of my cousin, a beautiful girl just my -age, who bore our grand-mother’s name of Genevra, and about whom and a -young English lord, who had hunted one season in her father’s -neighborhood, there were some scandalous reports. Afterwards it occurred -to me that Wilford would see that notice, and naturally think it -referred to me, inasmuch as he knew nothing of my cousin Genevra. - -“It was just as well, I said—I _was_ dead to him, and I took a strange -satisfaction in wondering if he would care. Incidentally I heard that -the postmaster at Alnwick had been written to by an American gentleman, -who asked if such a person as _Genevra Lambert_ was buried at St. -Mary’s; and then I knew he believed me dead, even though the name -appended to the letter was not Wilford Cameron, nor was the writing his; -for, as the cousin of the dead Genevra, I asked to see the letter, and -my request was granted. It was Mrs. Cameron who wrote it, I am sure, -signing a feigned name and bidding the postmaster answer to that -address. He did so, assuring the inquirer that Genevra Lambert was -buried there, and wondering to me if the young American who seemed -interested in her could have been a lover of the unfortunate girl. - -“I was now alone in the world, for the aunt with whom my childhood was -passed died soon after my father, and so I went at last to learn a trade -on the Isle of Wight, emigrating from thence to New York, with the -determination in my rebellious heart that sometime, when it would cut -the deepest, I would show myself to the proud Camerons, whom I so -cordially hated. This was before God had found me, or rather before I -had listened to the still, small voice which took the hard, vindictive -feelings away, and made me feel kindly towards the mother and sisters -when I saw them, as I often used to do, driving gayly by. Wilford was -sometimes with them, and the sight of him always sent the hot blood -surging through my heart. But the greatest shock I ever had came to me -when I heard from your sister of his approaching marriage with you. -Those were terrible days that I passed at the farm-house, working on -your bridal trousseau; and sometimes I thought it more than I could -bear. Had you been other than the little, loving, confiding, trustful -girl you were, I must have disclosed the whole, and told that you would -not be the first who had stood at the altar with Wilford. But pity for -you kept me silent, and you became his wife. - -“I loved your baby almost as much as if it had been my own, and when it -died there was nothing to bind me to the North, and so I came here, -where I hope I have done some good; at least I was here to care for -Wilford, and that is a sufficient reward for all the toil which falls to -the lot of a hospital nurse. I shall stay until the war is ended, and -then go I know not where. It will not be best for us to meet very often, -for though we respect each other, neither can forget the past, nor that -one was the lawful, the other the divorced wife of the same man. I have -loved you, Katy Cameron, for your uniform kindness shown to the poor -dressmaker. I shall always love you, but our paths lie widely apart. -Your future I can predict, but mine God only knows.” - -Marian had said all she meant to say, and all Katy came to hear. The -latter was to leave in the morning, and when they would meet again -neither could tell. Few were the parting words they spoke, for the great -common sorrow welling up from their hearts; but when at last they said -good-bye, the bond of friendship between them was more strongly cemented -than ever, and Katy long remembered Marian’s parting words, - -“God bless you, Katy Cameron! You have been a bright, sun spot in my -existence since I first knew you, even though you have stirred some of -the worst impulses of my nature. I am a better woman for having known -you. God bless you, Katy Cameron!” - - - - - CHAPTER XLV. - MOURNING. - - -The grand funeral which Mrs. Cameron once had planned for Katy was a -reality at last, but the breathless form lying so cold and still in the -darkened room at No. — Fifth Avenue, was that of a soldier embalmed—an -only son brought back to his father’s house amid sadness and tears. They -had taken him there rather than to his own house, because it was the -wish of his mother, who, however hard and selfish she might be to -others, had idolized her son, and mourned for him truly, forgetting in -her grief to care how grand the funeral was, and feeling only a passing -twinge when told that _Mrs. Lennox_ had come from Silverton to pay the -last tribute of respect to her late son-in-law. Some little comfort it -was to have her boy lauded as a faithful soldier, and to hear the -commendations lavished upon him during the time he lay in state, with -his uniform around him; but when the whole was over, and in the gray of -the wintry afternoon her husband returned from Greenwood, there came -over her a feeling of such desolation as she had never known—a feeling -which drove her at last to the little room upstairs, where sat a lonely -man, his head bowed upon his hands, and his tears dropping silently upon -the hearth-stone as he, too, thought of the vacant parlor below and the -new grave at Greenwood. - -“Oh, husband, comfort me!” fell from her lips as she tottered to her -husband, who opened his arms to receive her, forgetting all the years -which had made her the cold, proud woman, who needed no sympathy, and -remembering only that bright green summer when she was first his bride, -and came to him for comfort in every little grievance, just as now she -came in this great, crushing sorrow. - -He did not tell her she was reaping what she had sown, that but for her -pride and deception concerning Genevra, Wilford might never have gone to -the war, or they been without a son. He did not reproach her at all, but -soothed her tenderly, calling her by her maiden name, and awkwardly -smoothing her hair, silvered now with gray, and feeling for a moment -that Wilford had not died in vain, if by his dying he gave back to his -father the wife so lost during the many years since fashion and folly -had been the idols she worshiped. But the habits of years could not be -lightly broken, and Mrs. Cameron’s mind soon became absorbed in the -richness of her mourning, and the strict etiquette of her mourning days. -To Katy she was very kind, caressing her with unwonted affection, and -scarcely suffering her to leave her sight, much less to stay for a day -at Mrs. Banker’s, where Katy secretly preferred to be. Of Genevra, too, -she talked with Katy, and at her instigation wrote a friendly letter, -thanking _Mrs. Lambert_ for all her kindness to her son, expressing her -sorrow that she had ever been so unjust to her, and sending her a -handsome locket, containing on one side a lock of Wilford’s hair, and on -the other his picture, taken from a large sized photograph. Mrs. Cameron -felt herself a very good woman after she had done all this, together -with receiving Mrs. Lennox at her own house, and entertaining her for -one whole day; but at heart there was no real change, and as time passed -on she gradually fell back into her old ways of thinking, and went no -more for comfort to her husband as she had on that first night after the -burial. - -With Mr. Cameron the blow struck deeper, and his Wall Street friends -talked together of the old man he had grown since Wilford died, while -Katy often found him bending over his long-neglected Bible, as he sat -alone in his room at night. And when at last she ventured to speak to -him upon the all-important subject, he put his hand in hers, and bade -her teach him the narrow way which she had found, and wherein Wilford -too had walked at the very last, they hoped. - -For many weeks Katy lingered in New York, and the June roses were -blooming when she went back to Silverton, a widow and the rightful owner -of all Wilford’s ample fortune. They had found among his papers a will, -drawn up and executed not long before his illness, and in which Katy was -made his heir, without condition or stipulation. All was hers to do with -as she pleased, and Katy wept passionately when she heard how generous -Wilford had been. Then, as she thought of Marian and the life of poverty -before her, she crept to Father Cameron’s side, and said to him, -pleadingly, - -“Let _Genevra_ share it with me. She needs it quite as much.” - -Father Cameron would not permit Katy to divide equally with Marian. It -was not just, he said; but he did not object to a few thousands going to -her, and before Katy left New York for Silverton, she wrote a long, kind -letter to Marian, presenting her with ten thousand dollars, which she -begged her to accept, not so much as a gift, but as her rightful due. -There was a moment’s hesitancy on the part of Marian when she read the -letter, a feeling that she could not take so much from Katy; but when -she looked at the pale sufferers around her, and remembered how many -wretched hearts that money would help to cheer, she said, - -“I will keep it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XLVI. - PRISONERS OF WAR. - - -The heat, the smoke, the thunder of the battle were over, and the fields -of Gettysburg were drenched with human blood and covered with the dead -and dying. The contest had been fearful, and its results carried sorrow -and anguish to many a heart waiting for tidings from the war, and -looking so anxiously for the names of the loved ones who, on the -anniversary of the day which saw our nation’s Independence, lay upon the -hills and plains of Gettysburg, their white faces upturned to the summer -sky, and wet with the rain=drops, which, like tears for the noble dead, -the pitying clouds had shed upon them. And nowhere, perhaps, was there a -whiter face or a more anxious heart than at the farm-house, where both -Helen and her mother-in-law were spending the hot July days. Since the -Christmas eve when Helen had watched her husband going from her across -the wintry snow, he had not been back, though several times he had made -arrangements to do so. Something, however, had always happened to -prevent. Once it was sickness which kept him in bed for a week or more; -again his regiment was ordered to advance, and the third time it was -sent on with others to repel the invaders from Pennsylvanian soil. -Bravely through each disappointment Helen bore herself, but her cheek -always grew paler and her eye darker in its hue when the evening papers -came, and she read what progress our soldiery had made, feeling that a -battle was inevitable, and praying so earnestly that Mark Ray might be -spared. Then, when the battle was over and up the northern hills came -the dreadful story of thousands and thousands slain, there was a fearful -look in her eye, and her features were rigid as marble, while the -quivering lips could scarcely pray for the great fear tugging at her -heart. Mark Ray was not with his men when they came from that terrific -onslaught. A dozen had seen him fall, struck down by a rebel ball, and -that was all she heard for more than a week, when there came another -relay of news. - -Captain Mark Ray was a prisoner of war, with several of his own company. -An inmate of Libby Prison and a sharer from choice of the apartment -where his men were confined. As an officer he was entitled to better -quarters; but Mark Ray had a large, warm heart, and he would not desert -those who had been so faithful to him, and so he took their fare, and by -his genial humor and unwavering cheerfulness kept many a heart from -fainting, and made the prison life more bearable than it could have been -without him. To young Tom Tubbs, who had enlisted six months before, he -was a ministering angel, and many times the poor homesick boy crept to -the side of his captain, and laying his burning head in his lap, wept -himself to sleep and dreamed he was at home again. The horrors of that -prison life have never been told, but Mark bore up manfully, suffering -less in mind, perhaps, than did the friends at home, who lived, as it -were, a thousand years in that one brief summer while he remained in -Richmond. - -At last, as the frosty days of October came on, they began to hope he -might be exchanged, and Helen’s face grew bright again, until one day -there came a soiled, half-worn letter, in Mark’s own handwriting. It was -the first word received from _him_ since his capture in July, and with a -cry of joy Helen snatched it from Uncle Ephraim, for she was still at -the farm-house, and sitting down upon the doorstep just where she had -been standing, read the words which Mark had sent to her. He was very -well, he said, and had been all the time, but he pined for home, longing -for the dear girl-wife never so dear as now, when separated by so many -miles, with prison walls on every side, and an enemy’s line between -them. - -“But be of good cheer, darling,” he wrote, “I shall come back to you -some time, and life will be all the brighter for what you suffer now. I -am so glad my darling consented to be my wife, even though I could stay -with her but a moment. The knowing you are really mine makes me happy -even here, for I think of you by day, and in my dreams I always hold you -in my arms and press you to my heart.” - -A hint he gave of being sent further south, and then hope died out of -Helen’s heart. - -“I shall never see him again,” she said despairingly; and when the -message came that Mark had been removed, and that too just at the time -when an exchange was constantly expected, she gave him up as lost, -feeling almost as much widowed as Katy in her weeds. - -Slowly the winter passed away, and the country was rife with stories of -our men, daily dying by hundreds, while those who survived were reduced -to maniacs or imbeciles. And Helen, as she listened, grew nearly frantic -with the sickening suspense. She did not know now where her husband was. -He had made several attempts to escape, and with each failure had been -removed to safer quarters, so that his chances for being exchanged -seemed very far away. Week after week, month after month passed on, -until came the memorable battle of the Wilderness, when Lieutenant Bob, -as yet unharmed, stood bravely in the thickest of the tight, his tall -figure towering above the rest, and his soldier’s uniform buttoned over -a dark tress of hair, and a face like Bell Cameron’s. Lieutenant Bob had -taken two or three furloughs; but the one which had left the sweetest, -pleasantest memory in his heart, was that of the autumn before, when the -crimson leaves of the maple, and the golden tints of the beech, were -burning themselves out on the hills of Silverton, where his furlough was -mostly passed, and where with Bell Cameron he scoured the length and -breadth of Uncle Ephraim’s farm, now stopping by the shore of Fairy -Point and again sitting for hours on a ledge of rocks, far up the hill, -where beneath the softly whispering pines, nodding above their heads, -Bell gathered the light-brown cones, and said to him the words he had so -thirsted to hear. - -Much of Bell’s time was passed with Katy, at the farm-house, and here -Lieutenant Reynolds found her, accepting readily of Uncle Ephraim’s -hearty invitation to remain, and spending his entire vacation there with -the exception of three days, given to his family. Perfectly charmed with -quaint Aunt Betsy, he flattered and courted her almost as much as he did -Bell, but did not take her with him in his long rambles over the hills, -or sit with her at night alone in the parlor until the clock struck -twelve—a habit which Aunt Betsy greatly disapproved, but overlooked for -this once, seeing, as she said, that - -“The young leftenant was none of her _kin_, and _Isabel_ only a little.” - -Those were halcyon days which Robert passed at Silverton but one stood -out prominently before him, whether sitting before his camp-fire or -plunging into the battle; and that the one when, casting aside all pride -and foolish theories, Bell Cameron freely acknowledged her love for the -man to whom she had been so long engaged, and paid him back the kisses -she had before refused to give. - -“I shall be a better soldier for this,” Robert had said, as he guided -her down the steep ledge of rocks, and with her hand in his, walked -slowly back to the farm-house, which, on the morrow, he left to take -again his place in the army. - -There were no more furloughs for him after that; and the winter passed -away, bringing the spring again, when came that battle in the -Wilderness, where, like a hero, he fought until, becoming separated from -his comrades, he fell into the enemy’s hands; and two days after, there -sped along the telegraphic wires to New York, - -“Lieutenant Robert Reynolds, captured the first day of the battle.” - -Afterwards came news that Andersonville was his destination, together -with many others made prisoners that day. - -“It is better than being shot, and a great deal better than being -burned, as some of the poor wretches were,” Juno said, trying to comfort -Bell, who doubted a little her sister’s word. - -True there was now the shadow of a hope that he might return; but the -probabilities were against it; and Bell’s face grew almost as white as -Helen’s, while her eyes acquired that restless, watchful, anxious look -which has crept into the eyes of so many sorrowing women, looking away -to the southward, where the dear ones were dying. - - - - - CHAPTER XLVII. - DOCTOR GRANT. - - -Morris had served out his time as surgeon in the army, had added to it -an extra six months; and by his humanity, his skill, and Christian -kindness, made for himself a name which would be long remembered by the -living to whom he had ministered so carefully; while many a dying -soldier had blessed him for pointing out the way which leadeth to the -life everlasting; and in many a mourning family his name was a household -word, for the good he had done to a dying son and brother. But Morris’s -hospital work was over. He had gone a little too far, and incurred too -much risk, until his own strength had failed; and now, in the month of -June, when Linwood was bright with the early summer blossoms, he was -coming back with health greatly impaired, and a dark cloud before his -vision, so that he could not see how beautiful his home was looking, or -gaze into the faces of those who waited so anxiously to welcome their -beloved physician. _Blind_ some said he was; but the few lines sent to -Helen, announcing the day of his arrival, contradicted that report. His -eyes were very much diseased, his amanuensis wrote; but he trusted that -the pure air of his native hills, and the influence of old scenes and -associations would soon effect a cure. “If not too much trouble,” he -added, “please see that the house is made comfortable, and have John -meet me on Friday at the station.” - -Helen was glad Morris was coming home, for he always did her good; he -could comfort her better than any one else, unless it were Katy, whose -loving, gentle words of hope were very soothing to her. - -“Poor Morris!” she sighed, as she finished his letter, and then took it -to the family, who were sitting upon the pleasant piazza, which, at -Katy’s expense and her own, had been added to the house, and overlooked -Fairy Pond and the pleasant hills beyond. - -“Morris is coming home,” she said. “He will be here on Friday, and he -wishes us to see that all things are in order at Linwood for his -reception. His eyes are badly diseased, but he hopes that coming back to -us will cure him,” she added, glancing at Katy, who sat upon a step of -the piazza, her hands folded together upon her lap, and her blue eyes -looking far off into the fading sunset. - -When she heard Morris’s name, she turned her head a little, so that the -ripple of her golden hair was more distinctly visible beneath the silken -net she wore; but she made no comment nor showed by any sign that she -heard what they were saying. Katy was very lovely and consistent in her -young widowhood, and not a whisper of gossip had the Silvertonians -coupled with her name since she came to them, leaving her husband in -Greenwood. There had been no parading of her grief before the public, or -assumption of greater sorrow than many others had known; but the -soberness of her demeanor, and the calm, subdued expression of her face, -attested to what she had suffered. Sixteen months had passed since -Wilford died, and she still wore her deep mourning weeds, except the -widow’s cap, which, at her mother’s and Aunt Betsy’s earnest -solicitations, she had laid aside, substituting in its place a simple -net, which confined her waving hair and kept it from breaking out in -flowing curls, as it was disposed to do. - -Katy had never been prettier than she was now, in her mature womanhood, -and to the poor and sorrowful whose homes she cheered so often she was -an angel of goodness. - -Truly she had been purified by suffering; the dross had been burned out, -and only the gold remained, shedding its brightness on all with which it -came in contact. - -They would miss her at the farm-house now more than they did when she -first went away, for she made the sunshine of their home, filling -Helen’s place when she was in New York, and when she came back proving -to her a stay and comforter. Indeed, but for Katy’s presence Helen often -felt that she could not endure the sickening suspense and doubt which -hung so darkly over her husband’s fate. - -“He is alive; he _will_ come back,” Katy always said, and from her -perfect faith Helen, too, caught a glimpse of hope. - -Could they have forgotten Mark they would have been very happy at the -farm-house now, for with the budding spring and blossoming summer Katy’s -spirits had returned, and her old musical laugh rang through the house -just as it used to do in the happy days of girlhood, while the same -silvery voice which led the choir in the brick church, and sang with the -little children their Sunday hymns, often broke forth into snatches of -songs, which made even the robins listen, as they built their nests in -the trees. - -If Katy thought of Morris, she never spoke of him when she could help -it. It was a morbid fancy to which she clung, that duty to Wilford’s -memory required her to avoid the man who had so innocently come between -them; and when she heard he was coming home she felt more pain than -pleasure, though for an instant the blood throbbed through her veins as -she thought of Morris at Linwood, just as he used to be. - -The day of his return was balmy and beautiful, and at an early hour -Helen went over to Linwood to see that everything was in order for his -arrival, while Katy followed at a later hour, wondering if Wilford would -object if he knew she was going to welcome Morris, who might misconstrue -her motives if she stayed away. - -There was very little for her to do, Helen and Mrs. Hull having done all -that was necessary, but she went from room to room, lingering longest in -Morris’s own apartment, where she made some alterations in the -arrangement of the furniture, putting one chair a little more to the -right, and pushing a stand or table to the left, just as her artistic -eye dictated. By some oversight no flowers had been put in there, but -Katy gathered a bouquet and left it on the mantel, just where she -remembered to have seen flowers when Morris was at home. - -“He will be tired,” she said. “He will lie down after dinner,” and she -laid a few sweet English violets upon his pillow, thinking their perfume -might be grateful to him after the pent-up air of the hospital and cars. -“He will think Helen put them there, or Mrs. Hull,” she thought, as she -stole softly out and shut the door behind her, glancing next at the -clock, and feeling a little impatient that a whole hour must elapse -before they could expect him. - -Poor Morris! he did not dream how anxiously he was waited for at home, -nor of the crowd assembled at the depot to welcome back the loved -physician, whose name they had so often heard coupled with praise as a -true hero, even though his post was not in the front of the battle. -Thousands had been cared for by him, their gaping wounds dressed -skillfully, their aching heads soothed tenderly, and their last moments -made happier by the words he spoke to them of the world to which they -were going, where there is no more war or shedding of man’s blood. In -the churchyard at Silverton there were three soldiers’ graves, whose -pale occupants had died with Dr. Grant’s hand held tightly in theirs, as -if afraid that he would leave them before the dark river was crossed, -while in more than one Silverton home there was a wasted soldier, who -never tired of telling Dr. Morris’s praise and dwelling on his goodness. -But Dr. Morris was not thinking of this as, faint and sick, with the -green shade before his eyes, he leaned against the pile of shawls his -companion had placed for his back, and wondered if they were almost -there. - -“I smell the pond lilies; we must be near Silverton,” he said, and a -sigh escaped him as he thought of coming home and not being able to -_see_ it or the woods and fields around it. “Thy will be done,” he had -said many times since the fear first crept into his heart that for him -the light had faded. - -But now, when home was almost reached, and he began to breathe the air -from the New England hills and the perfume of the New England lilies, -the flesh rebelled again, and he cried out within himself, “Oh, I cannot -be blind! God will not deal thus by me!” while keen as the cut of a -sharpened knife was the pang with which he thought of Katy, and wondered -would she care if he were blind. - -Just then the long train stopped at Silverton, and, led by his -attendant, he stepped feebly into the crowd, which sent up deafening -cheers for Dr. Grant come home again. At the sight of his helplessness, -however; a feeling of awe fell upon them, and whispering to each other, -“I did not suppose he was so bad,” they pressed around him, offering -their hands and inquiring anxiously how he was. - -“I have been sick, but I shall get better now. The very sound of your -friendly voices does me good,” he said, as he went slowly to his -carriage, led by Uncle Ephraim, who could not keep back his tears when -he saw how weak Morris was, and how he panted for breath as he leaned -back among the cushions. - -It was very pleasant that afternoon, and Morris enjoyed the drive so -much, assuring Uncle Ephraim, that he was growing better every moment. -He did seem stronger when the carriage stopped at Linwood, and he went -up the steps where Helen, Katy, and Mrs. Hull were waiting for him. He -could not by sight distinguish one from the other, but without the aid -of her voice he would have known when Katy’s hand was put in his, it was -so small, so soft, and trembled so as he held it. She forgot Wilford in -her excitement. Pity was the strongest feeling of which she was -conscious, and it manifested itself in various ways. - -“Let _me_ lead you, Cousin Morris,” she said, as she saw him groping his -way to his room, and without waiting for his reply, she held his hand -again in hers and led him to his room, where the English violets were. - -“I used to lead _you_,” Morris said, as he took his seat by the window, -“and I little thought then that you would one day return the compliment. -It is very hard to be blind.” - -The tone of his voice was inexpressibly sad, but his smile was as -cheerful as ever as his face turned towards Katy, who could not answer -for her tears. It seemed so terrible to see a strong man so stricken, -and that strong man Morris—terrible to watch him in his helplessness, -trying to appear as of old, so as to cast on others no part of the -shadow resting so darkly on himself. When dinner was over and the sun -began to decline, many of his former friends came in; but he looked so -pale and weary that they did not tarry long, and when the last one was -gone, Morris was led back to his room, which he did not leave again -until the summer was over, and the luscious fruits of September were -ripening upon the trees. - -Towards the middle of July, Helen, whose health was suffering from her -anxiety concerning Mark, was taken by Mrs. Banker to Nahant, where -Mark’s sister, Mrs. Ernst, was spending the summer, and thus on Katy -fell the duty of paying to Morris those acts of sisterly attention such -as no other member of the family knew how to pay. In the room where he -lay so helpless Katy was not afraid of him, nor did she deem herself -faithless to Wilford’s memory, because each day found her at Linwood, -sometimes bathing Morris’s inflamed eyes, sometimes bringing him the -cooling drink, and again reading to him by the hour, until, soothed by -the music of her voice, he would fall away to sleep and dream he heard -the angels sing. - -“My eyes are getting better,” he said to her one day toward the latter -part of August, when she came as usual to his room. “I knew last night -that Mrs. Hull’s dress was blue, and I saw the sun shine through the -shutters. Very soon, I hope to see you, Katy, and know if you have -changed.” - -She was standing close by him, and as he talked he raised his hand to -rest it on her head, but, with a sudden movement, Katy eluded the touch, -and stepped a little further from him. - -When next she went to Linwood there was in her manner a shade of -dignity, which both amused and interested Morris. He did not know for -certain that Wilford had told Katy of the confession made that memorable -night when her recovery seemed so doubtful, but he more than half -suspected it from the shyness of her manner, and from the various -excuses she began to make for not coming to Linwood as often as she had -heretofore done. - -In his great pity for Katy when she was first a widow, Morris had -scarcely remembered that she was free, or if it did flash upon his mind, -he thrust the thought aside as injustice to the dead; but as the months -and the year went by, and he heard constantly from Helen of Katy’s -increasing cheerfulness, it was not in his nature never to think of what -might be, and more than once he had prayed, that if consistent with his -Father’s will, the woman he had loved so well, should yet be his. If -not, he could go his way alone, just as he had always done, knowing that -it was right. - -Such was the state of Morris’s mind when he returned from Washington, -but now it was somewhat different. The weary weeks of sickness, during -which Katy had ministered to him so kindly, had not been without their -effect, and if Morris had loved the frolicsome, child-like Katy Lennox, -he loved far more the gentle, beautiful woman, whose character had been -so wonderfully developed by suffering, and who was more worthy of his -love than in her early girlhood. - -“I cannot lose her now,” was the thought constantly in Morris’s mind, as -he experienced more and more how desolate were the days which did not -bring her to him. “It is twenty months since Wilford died,” he said to -himself one wet October afternoon, when he sat listening dreamily to the -patter of the rain falling upon the windows, and looking occasionally -across the fields to the farm-house, in the hope of spying in the -distance the little airy form, which, in its water-proof and cloud, had -braved worse storms than this at the time he was so ill. - -But no such figure appeared. He hardly expected it would; but he watched -the pathway just the same, and the smoke-wreaths rising so high above -the farm-house. The deacon burned out his chimney that day, and Morris, -whose sight had greatly improved of late, knew it by the dense, black -volume of smoke, mingled with rings of fire, which rose above the roof, -remembering so well another rainy day, twenty years ago, when the -deacon’s chimney was cleaned, and a little toddling girl, in scarlet -gown and white pinafore, had amused herself with throwing into the -blazing fire upon the hearth a straw at a time, almost upsetting herself -with standing so far back, and making such efforts to reach the flames. -A great deal had passed since then. The little girl in the pinafore had -been both wife and mother. She was a widow now, and Morris glanced -across his hearth toward the empty chair he had never seen in -imagination filled by any but herself. - -“Surely, she would some day be his own,” and leaning his head upon the -cane he carried, he prayed earnestly for the good he coveted, keeping -his head down so long that, until it had left the strip of woods and -emerged into the open fields, he did not see the figure wrapped in -water-proof and hood, with a huge umbrella over its head and a basket -upon its arm, which came picking its way daintily toward the house, -stopping occasionally, and lifting up the little high-heeled Balmoral, -which the mud was ruining so completely. Katy was coming to Linwood. It -had been baking-day at the farm-house, and remembering how much Morris -used to love her custards, Aunt Betsy had prepared him some, and asked -Katy to take them over, so he could have them for tea. - -“The rain won’t hurt you an atom,” she said as Katy began to demur, and -glance at the lowering sky. “You can wear your water-proof boots and my -shaker, if you like, and I do so want Morris to have them to-night.” - -Thus importuned, Katy consented to go, but declined the loan of Aunt -Betsy’s shaker, which being large of the kind, and capeless, too, was -not the most becoming head-gear a woman could wear. With the basket of -custards, and cup of jelly, Katy finally started, Aunt Betsy saying to -her, as she stopped to take up her dress, “It must be dretful lonesome -for Morris to-day. S’posin’ you stay to supper with him, and when it’s -growin’ dark I’ll come over for you. You’ll find the custards fust -rate.” - -Katy made no reply, and walked away, while Aunt Betsy went back to the -coat she was patching for her brother, saying to herself, - -“I’m bound to fetch that round. It’s a shame for two young folks, just -fitted to each other, to live apart when they might be so happy, with -Hannah, and Lucy, and me, close by, to see to ’em, and allus make their -soap, and see to the butcherin’, besides savin’ peneryle and catnip for -the children, if there was any.” - -Aunt Betsy had turned match-maker in her old age, and day and night she -planned how to bring about the match between Morris and Katy. That they -were made for each other, she had no doubt. From something which Helen -inadvertently let fall, she had guessed that Morris loved Katy prior to -her marriage with Wilford. She had suspected as much before; she was -sure of it now, and straightway put her wits to work “to make it go,” as -she expressed it. But Katy was too shy to suit her, and since Morris’s -convalescence, had stayed too much from Linwood. To-day, however, Aunt -Betsy “felt it in her bones,” that if properly managed something would -happen, and the custards were but the means to the desired end. With no -suspicion whatever of the good dame’s intentions, Katy picked her way to -Linwood, and leaving her damp garments in the hall, went at once into -the library, where Morris was sitting near to a large chair kept sacred -for her, his face looking unusually cheerful, and the room unusually -pleasant, with the bright wood fire on the hearth. - -“I have been so lonely, with no company but the rain,” he said, pushing -the chair a little towards her, and bidding her sit near the fire, where -she could dry her feet. - -Katy obeyed, and sat down so near to him that had he chosen he might -have touched the golden hair, fastened in heavy coils low on her neck, -and giving to her a very girlish appearance, as Morris thought, for he -could see her now, and while she dried her feet he looked at her -eagerly, wondering that the fierce storm she had encountered had left so -few traces upon her face. Just about the mouth there was a deep cut -line, but this was all; the remainder of the face was fair and smooth as -in her early girlhood, and far more beautiful, just as her character was -lovelier, and more to be admired. - -Morris had done well to wait if he could win her now. Perhaps he thought -so, too, and this was why his spirits became so gay as he kept talking -to her, suggesting at last that she should stay to tea. The rain was -falling in torrents when he made the proposition. She could not go then, -even had she wished it, and though it was earlier than his usual time, -Morris at once rang for Mrs. Hull, and ordered that tea be served as -soon as possible. - -“I ought not to stay. It is not proper,” Katy kept thinking, as she -fidgeted in her chair, and watched the girl setting the table for two, -and occasionally deferring some debatable point to her as if she were -mistress there. - -“You can go now, Reekie,” Morris said, when the boiling water was poured -into the silver kettle, and tea was on the table. “If we need you we -will ring.” - -With a vague wonder as to who would toast the doctor’s bread, and butter -it, Reekie departed, and the two were left together. It was Katy who -toasted the bread, kneeling upon the hearth, burning her face and -scorching the bread in her nervousness at the novel position in which -she so unexpectedly found herself. It was Katy, too, who prepared -Morris’s tea, and tried to eat, but could not. She was not hungry, she -said, and the custard was the only thing she tasted, besides the tea, -which she sipped at frequent intervals so as to make Morris think she -was eating more than she was. But Morris was not deceived, nor -disheartened. Possibly she suspected his intention, and if so, the -sooner he reached the point the better. So when the tea equipage was put -away, and she began again to speak of going home, he said, - -“No, Katy, you can’t go yet, till I have said what’s in my mind to say,” -and laying his hand upon her shoulder he made her sit down beside him -and listen while he told her of the love he had borne for her long -before she knew the meaning of that word as she knew it now—of the -struggle to keep that love in bounds after its indulgence was a sin; of -his temptations and victories, of his sincere regret for Wilford, and of -his deep respect for her grief, which made her for a time as a sister to -him. But that time had passed. She was not his sister now, nor ever -could be again. She was Katy, dearer, more precious, more desired even -than before another called her wife, and he asked her to be his, to come -up there to Linwood and live with him, making the rainy days brighter, -balmier, than the sunniest had ever been, and helping him in his work of -caring for the poor and sick around them. - -“Will Katy come? Will she be the wife of Cousin Morris?” - -There was a world of pathos and pleading in the voice which asked this -question, just as there was a world of tenderness in the manner with -which Morris caressed and fondled the bowed head resting on the chair -arm. And Katy felt it all, understanding what it was to be offered such -a love as Morris offered, but only comprehending in part what it would -be to refuse that love. For her blinded judgment said she must refuse -it. Had there been no sad memories springing from that grave in -Greenwood, no bitter reminiscences connected with her married life—had -Wilford never heard of Morris’s love and taunted her with it, she might -perhaps consent, for she craved the rest there would be with Morris to -lean upon. But the happiness was too great for her to accept. It would -seem too much like faithlessness to Wilford, too much as if he had been -right, when he charged her with preferring Morris to himself. - -“It cannot be;—oh, Morris, it cannot be,” she sobbed, when he pressed -her for an answer. “Don’t ask me why—don’t ever mention it again, for I -tell you it cannot be. My answer is final; it cannot be. I am sorry for -you, so sorry! I wish you had never loved me, for it cannot be.” - -She writhed herself from the arms which tried to detain her, and rising -to her feet left the room suddenly, and throwing on her wrappings -quitted the house without another word, leaving basket and umbrella -behind, and never knowing she had left them, or how the rain was pouring -down upon her unsheltered person, until, as she entered the narrow strip -of woodland, she was met by Aunt Betsy, who exclaimed at seeing her, and -asked, - -“What has become of your _umberell_? Your silk one too. It’s hopeful you -haven’t lost it. What has happened you?” and coming closer to Katy, Aunt -Betsy looked searchingly in her face. It was not so dark that she could -not see the traces of recent tears, and instinctively suspecting their -nature she continued, “Cather_ine_, have you gin Morris the mitten?” - -“Aunt Betsy, is it possible that you and Morris contrived this plan?” -Katy asked, half indignantly, as she began in part to understand her -aunt’s great anxiety for her to visit Linwood that afternoon. - -“Morris had nothing to do with it,” Aunt Betsy replied. “It was my -doin’s wholly, and this is the thanks I git. You quarrel with him and -git mad at me, who thought only of your good. Cather_ine_, you know you -like Morris Grant, and if he asked you to have him why don’t you?” - -“I can’t, Aunt Betsy. I can’t, after all that has passed. It would be -unjust to Wilford.” - -“Unjust to Wilford—fiddlesticks!” was Aunt Betsy’s expressive reply, as -she started on toward Linwood, saying, “she was going after the umberell -before it got lost, with nobody there to tend to things as they should -be tended to. Have you any word to send?” she asked, hoping Katy had -relented. - -But Katy had not; and with a toss of her head, which shook the rain -drops from her capeless shaker, Aunt Betsy went on her way, and was soon -confronting Morris, sitting just where Katy had left him, and looking -very pale and sad. - -He was not glad to see Aunt Betsy. He would rather be alone until such -time as he could control himself and still his throbbing heart. But with -his usual affability, he bade Aunt Betsy sit down, shivering a little -when he saw her in the chair where Katy had sat, her thin, angular body -presenting a striking contrast to the graceful, girlish figure which had -sat there an hour since, and the huge india rubbers she held up to the -fire, as unlike as possible to the boot of fairy dimensions he had -admired so much when it was drying on the hearth. - -“I met Cather_ine_,” Aunt Betsy began, “and mistrusted at once that -something was to pay, for a girl don’t leave her umberell in such a rain -and go cryin’ home for nothin’.” - -Morris colored, resenting for an instant this interference by a third -party; but Aunt Betsy was so honest and simple-hearted, that he could -not be angry long, and he listened calmly, while she continued, - -“I have not lived sixty odd years for nothing, and I know the signs -pretty well. I’ve been through the mill myself.” - -Here Aunt Betsy’s voice grew lower in its tone, and Morris looked up -with real interest, while she went on, - -“There’s Joel Upham—you know Joel—keeps a tin-shop now, and seats the -folks in meetin’. He asked me once for my company, and to be smart I -told him _no_, when all the time I meant _yes_, thinkin’ he would ask -agin; but he didn’t, and the next I knew he was keepin’ company with -Patty Adams, now his wife. I remembered I sniveled a little at being -taken at my word, but it served me right, for saying one thing when I -meant another. However, it don’t matter now. Joel is as clever as the -day is long, but he is a shiftless critter, never splits his kindlins -till jest bedtime, and Patty is pestered to death for wood, while his -snorin’ nights she says is awful, and that I never could abide; so, on -the whole, I’m better off than Patty.” - -Morris laughed a loud, hearty laugh, which emboldened his visitor to say -more than she had intended saying. - -“You just ask her agin. Once ain’t nothing at all, and she’ll come to. -She likes you; ’taint that which made her say no. It’s some foolish idea -about faithfulness to Wilford, as if he deserved that she should be -faithful. They never orto have had one another,—never; and now that he -is well in Heaven, as I do suppose he is, it ain’t I who hanker for him -to come back. Neither does Katy, and all she needs is a little urging, -to tell you yes. So ask her again, will you?” - -“I think it very doubtful. Katy knew what she was doing, and meant what -she said,” Morris replied; and with the consoling remark that if young -folks would be fools it was none of her business to bother with them, -Aunt Betsy pinned her shawl across her chest, and hunting up both basket -and umbrella, bade Morris good night, and went back across the fields to -the farm-house, hearing from Mrs. Lennox that Katy had gone to bed with -a racking headache. - - - - - CHAPTER XLVIII. - KATY. - - -“Are you of the same mind still?” Helen asked, when three weeks later -she returned from New York, and at the hour for retiring sat in her -chamber watching Katy as she brushed her hair, occasionally curling a -tress around her fingers and letting it fall upon her snowy nightdress. - -They had been talking of Morris, whom Katy had seen but once since that -rainy night, and that at church, where he had been the previous Sunday. -Katy had written an account of the transaction to her sister, who had -chosen to reply by word of mouth rather than by letter, and so the first -moment they were alone she seized the opportunity to ask if Katy was of -the same mind still as when she refused the doctor. - -“Yes, why shouldn’t I be?” Katy replied. “You, better than any one else, -know what passed between Wilford——” - -“Do you love Morris?” Helen asked, abruptly, without waiting for Katy to -finish her sentence. - -For an instant the hands stopped in their work, and Katy’s eyes filled -with tears, which dropped into her lap as she replied, - -“More than I wish I did, seeing I must always tell him no. It’s strange, -too, how the love for him keeps coming, in spite of all I can do. I have -not been there since, nor spoken with him until last Sunday, but I knew -the moment he entered the church, and when in the first chant I heard -his voice, my fingers trembled so that I could hardly play, while all -the time my heart goes out after the rest I always find with him. But it -cannot be. Oh, Helen! I wish Wilford had never known that Morris loved -me.” - -She was sobbing now, with her head in Helen’s lap, and Helen, smoothing -her bright hair, said gently, - -“You do not reason correctly. It is right for you to answer Morris yes, -and Wilford would say so, too. When I received your letter I read it to -Bell, who then told what Wilford said before he died. You must have -forgotten it, darling. He referred to a time when you would cease to be -his widow, and he said he was willing,—said so to her, and you. Do you -remember it, Katy?” - -“I do now, but I _had_ forgotten. I was so stunned then, so bewildered, -that it made no impression. I did not think he meant Morris, Helen; _do_ -you believe he meant Morris?” and lifting up her face Katy looked at her -sister with a wistfulness which told how anxiously she waited for the -answer. - -“I _know_ that he meant Morris,” Helen replied. “Both Bell and her -father think so, and they bade me tell you to marry Dr. Grant, with whom -you will be so happy.” - -“I cannot. It is too late. I told him no, and Helen, I told him a -falsehood, too, which I wish I might take back,” she added. “I said I -was sorry he ever loved me. when I was not, for the knowing that he -_had_ made me very happy. My conscience has smitten me cruelly for that -falsehood, told not intentionally, for I did not consider what I said.” - -Here was an idea at which Helen caught at once, and the next morning she -went to Linwood and brought Morris home with her. He had been there two -or three times since his return from Washington, but not since Katy’s -refusal, and her cheeks were scarlet as she met him in the parlor and -tried to be natural. He did not look unhappy. He was not taking his -rejection very hard, after all, she thought, and the little lady felt a -very little piqued to find him so cheerful, when she had scarcely known -a moment’s quiet since the day she carried him the custards and forgot -to bring away her umbrella. - -As it had rained that day, so it did now, a decided, energetic rain, -which set in after Morris came, and precluded the possibility of his -going home that night. - -“He would catch his death of cold,” Aunt Betsy said, while Helen, too, -joined her entreaties, until Morris consented, and the carriage which -came round for him at dark returned to Linwood with the message that the -doctor would pass the night at Deacon Barlow’s. - -During the evening he did not often address Katy directly, but he knew -each time she moved, and watched every expression of her face, feeling a -kind of pity for her, when, without appearing to do so intentionally, -the family, one by one, stole from the room,—Uncle Ephraim and Aunt -Hannah without any excuse; Aunt Betsy to mix the cakes for breakfast; -Mrs. Lennox to wind the clock, and Helen to find a book for which Morris -had asked. - -Katy might not have thought strange of their departure, were it not that -neither one came back again, and after the lapse of ten minutes or more -she felt convinced that she had purposely been left alone with Morris. - -The weather and the family had conspired against her, but after one -throb of fear she resolved to brave the difficulty, and meet whatever -might happen as became a woman of twenty-three, and a widow. She knew -Morris was regarding her intently as she fashioned into shape the coarse -wool sock, intended for some soldier, and she could almost hear her -heart beat in the silence which fell between them ere Morris said to -her, in a tone which reassured her, - -“And so you told me a falsehood the other day, and your conscience has -troubled you ever since?” - -“Yes, Morris, yes; that is, I told you I was sorry that you ever loved -me, which was not exactly true, for, after I knew you did, I was happier -than before.” - -Her words implied a knowledge of his love previous to that night at -Linwood when he had himself confessed it, and he said to her -inquiringly, - -“You knew it, then, before I told you?” - -“From Wilford,—yes,” Katy faltered. - -“I understand now why you have been so shy of me,” Morris said; “but, -Katy, must this shyness continue always? Think, now, and say if you did -not tell more than _one_ falsehood the other night,—as you count -falsehoods?” - -Katy looked wonderingly at him, and he continued, - -“You said you could not be my wife. Was that true? Can’t you take it -back, and give me a different answer?” - -Katy’s cheeks were scarlet, and her hands had ceased to flutter about -the knitting which lay upon her lap. - -“I meant what I said,” she whispered; “for, knowing how Wilford felt, it -would not be right for me to be so happy.” - -“Then it’s nothing personal? If there were no harrowing memories of -Wilford, you could be happy with me. Is that it, Katy?” Morris asked, -coming close to her now, and imprisoning her hands, which she did not -try to take away, but let them lie in his as he continued, “Wilford was -willing at the last. Have you forgotten that?” - -“I had, until Helen reminded me,” Katy replied. “But, Morris, the -talking of this thing brings Wilford’s death back so vividly, making it -seem but yesterday since I held his dying head.” - -She was beginning to relent, Morris knew, and bending nearer to her he -said, - -“It was not yesterday. It will be two years in February; and this, you -know, is November. I need you, Katy. I want you so much. I have wanted -you all your life. Before it was wrong to do so, I used each day to pray -that God would give you to me, and now I feel just as sure that he has -opened the way for you to come to me as I am sure that Wilford is in -heaven. He is happy there, and shall a morbid fancy keep you from being -happy here? Tell me, then, Katy, will you be my wife?” - -He was kissing her cold hands, and as he did so he felt her tears -dropping on his hair. - -“If I say yes, Morris, you will not think that I never loved Wilford, -for I did, oh, yes! I did. Not exactly as I might have loved you, had -you asked me first, but I loved him, and I was happy with him, for if -there were little clouds, his dying swept them all away.” - -Katy was proving herself a true woman, who remembered only the good -there was in Wilford, and Morris did not love her less for it. She was -all the dearer to him, all the more desirable, and he told her so, -winding his arms about her, and resting her head upon his shoulder, -where it lay just as it had never lain before, for with the first kiss -Morris gave her, calling her “My own little Katy,” she felt stealing -over her the same indescribable peace she had always felt with him, -intensified now, and sweeter from the knowing that it would remain if -she should will it so. And she did will it so, kissing Morris back when -he asked her to, and thus sealing the compact of her second betrothal. -It was not exactly like the first. There was no tumultuous emotions, or -ecstatic joys, but Katy felt in her inmost heart that she was happier -now than then; that between herself and Morris there was more affinity -than there had been between herself and Wilford, and as she looked back -over the road she had come, and remembered all Morris had been to her, -she wondered at her blindness in not recognizing and responding to the -love in which she had now found shelter. - -It was very late that night when Katy went up to bed, and Helen, who was -not asleep, knew by the face on which the lamp-light fell that Morris -had not sued in vain. Aunt Betsy knew it, too, next morning, by the same -look on Katy’s face when she came down stairs, but this did not prevent -her saying abruptly, as Katy stood by the sink, - -“Be you two engaged?” - -“We are,” was Katy’s frank reply, which brought back all Aunt Betsy’s -visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake, and maybe a dance in the -kitchen, to say nothing of the feather bed which she had not dared to -offer Katy Cameron, but which she thought would come in play for “Miss -Dr. Grant.” - - - - - CHAPTER XLIX. - THE PRISONERS. - - -Many of the captives were coming home, and all along the Northern lines -loving hearts were waiting, and friendly hands outstretched to welcome -them back to “God’s land,” as the poor, suffering creatures termed the -soil over which waved the stars and stripes, for which they had fought -so bravely. Wistfully thousands of eyes ran over the long columns of -names of those returned, each eye seeking for its own, and growing dim -with tears as it failed to find it, or lighting up with untold joy when, -it was found. - -“Lieut. Robert Reynolds,” and “Thomas Tubbs,” Helen read among the list -of those just arrived at Annapolis, but “Captain Mark Ray” was not -there, and, with a sickening feeling of disappointment, she passed the -paper to her mother-in-law, and hastened away, to weep and pray that -what she so greatly feared might not come upon her. - -It was after Katy’s betrothal, and Helen was in New York, hoping to hear -news from Mark, and perhaps to see him ere long, for as nearly as she -could trace him from reports of others, he was last at Andersonville. -But there was no mention made of him, no sign by which she could tell -whether he still lived, or had long since been relieved from suffering. - -Early next day she heard that Mattie Tubbs had received a telegram from -Tom, who would soon be at home, while later in the day Bell Cameron came -round to say that _Bob_ was living, but that he had lost his right arm, -and was otherwise badly crippled. It never occurred to Helen to ask if -this would make a difference. She only kissed Bell fondly, rejoicing at -her good fortune, and then sent her back to the home where there were -hot discussions regarding the propriety of receiving into the family a -maimed and crippled member. - -“It was preposterous to suppose Bob would expect it,” Juno said, while -the mother admitted that it was a most unfortunate affair, as indeed the -whole war had proved. For her part she sometimes wished the North had -let the South go quietly, as they wanted to, and so saved thousands of -lives, and prevented the country from being flooded with cripples and -negroes, and calls for more men and money. On the whole, she doubted the -propriety of prolonging the war; and she certainly doubted the propriety -of giving her daughter to a cripple. There was Arthur Grey, who had -lately been so attentive; he was a wealthier man than Lieutenant Bob, -and if Bell had any discretion she would take him in preference to a -disfigured soldier. - -Such was the purport’ of Mrs. Cameron’s remarks, to which her husband -listened, his eyes blazing with passion, which, the moment she finished, -burst forth in a storm of oaths and invectives against what, with his -pet adjective, he called her “Copperhead principles,” denouncing her as -a traitor, reproaching her for the cruelty which would separate her -daughter from Robert Reynolds, because he had lost an arm in the service -of his country; and then turning fiercely to Bell with the words, - -“But it isn’t for you to say whether he shall or shall not have Bell. -She is of age. Let her speak for herself.” - -And she did speak, the noble, heroic girl, who had listened, with bitter -scorn, to what her mother and sister said, and who now, with quivering -nostrils, and voice hoarse with emotion, answered slowly and -impressively, - -“I would marry Lieutenant Reynolds if he had only his _ears_ left to -hear me tell him how much I love and honor him! Arthur Grey! Don’t talk -to me of him! the craven coward, who swore he was fifty to avoid the -draft.” - -After this, no more was said to Bell, who, the moment she heard Bob was -at home, went to his father’s house and asked to see him. - -He was sleeping when she entered his room; and pushing back the heavy -curtain, so that the light would fall more directly upon him, Mrs. -Reynolds went out and left her there alone. - -With a beating heart she stood looking at his hollow eyes, his sunken -cheek, his short, dry hair, and thick gray skin, but did not think of -his arm, until she glanced at the wall, where hung a large sized -photograph, taken in full uniform, the last time he was at home, and in -which his well-developed figure showed to good advantage. Could it be -that the wreck before her had ever been as full of life and vigor as the -picture would indicate, and was that arm which held the sword severed -from the body, and left a token of the murderous war? - -“Poor Bob! how much he must have suffered,” she whispered, and kneeling -down beside him she hid her face in her hands, weeping bitter tears for -her armless hero. - -The motion awakened Robert, who gazed for a moment in surprise at the -kneeling, sobbing maiden; then when sure it was she, he raised himself -in bed, and ere Bell could look up, _two arms_, one quite as strong as -the other, were wound around her neck, and her head was pillowed upon -the breast, which heaved with strong emotions as the soldier said, - -“My darling Bell, you don’t know how much good this meeting does me!” - -He kissed her many times, and Bell did not prevent it, but gave him kiss -after kiss, then, still doubting the evidence of her eyes, she unclasped -his clinging arms, and holding both his poor hands in hers, gave vent to -a second gush of tears as she said, - -“I am so glad—oh, so glad!” - -Then, as it occurred to her that he might perhaps misjudge her, and put -a wrong construction upon her joy, she added, - -“I did not care for myself, Robert. Don’t think I cared for myself, or -was ever sorry a bit on my own account.” - -Bob looked a little bewildered as he replied, “Never were sorry and -never cared!—I can scarcely credit that, for surely your tears and -present emotions belie your words.” - -Bell knew he had not understood her, and said, - -“Your _arm_, Robert, your arm. We heard that it was cut off, and that -you were otherwise mutilated.” - -“Oh, that’s it, then!” and something like his old mischievous smile -glimmered about Bob’s mouth as he added, “They spared my _arms_, but, -Bell,” and he tried to look very solemn, “suppose I tell you that they -hacked off both my legs, and if you marry me, you must walk all your -life by the side of _wooden pins_ and _crutches_!” - -Bell knew by the curl of his lip that he was teasing her, and she -answered laughingly, - -“Wooden pins and crutches will be all the fashion when the war is -over—badges of honor of which any woman might be proud.” - -“Well, Bell,” he replied, “I am afraid there is no such honor in store -for my wife, for if I ever get back my strength and the flesh upon my -bones, she must take me with legs and arms included. Not even a scratch -or wound of any kind with which to awaken sympathy.” - -He appeared very bright and cheerful; but when after a moment Bell asked -for Mark Ray, there came a shadow over his face, and with quivering lips -he told a tale which blanched Bell’s cheeks, and made her shiver with -pain and dread as she thought of Helen—for Mark _was dead_—shot down as -he attempted to escape from the train which took them from one prison to -another. He was always devising means of escape, succeeding several -times, but was immediately captured and brought back, or sent to some -closer quarter, Robert said; but his courage never deserted him, or his -spirits either. He was the life of them all, and by his presence kept -many a poor fellow from dying of homesickness and despair. But he was -dead; there could be no mistake, for Robert saw him when he jumped, -heard the ball which went whizzing after him, saw him as he fell on the -open field, saw a man from a rude dwelling near by go hurriedly towards -him, firing his own revolver, as if to make the death deed doubly sure. -Then as the train slacked its speed, with a view, perhaps, to take the -body on board, he heard the man who had reached Mark, and was bending -over him, call out, “Go on, I’ll tend to him, the bullet went right -through here;” and he turned the dead man’s face towards the train, so -all could see the blood pouring from the temple which the finger of the -ruffian touched. - -“Oh, Helen! poor Helen! how can I tell her, when she loved him so much!” -Bell sobbed. - -“You will do it better than any one else,” Bob said. “You will be very -tender with her; and, Bell, tell her, as some consolation, that he did -not break with the treatment, as most of us wretches did; he kept up -wonderfully—said he was perfectly well—and, indeed, he looked so. Tom -Tubbs, who was his shadow, clinging to him with wonderful fidelity, will -corroborate what I have said. He was with us; he saw him, and only -animal force prevented him from leaping from the car and going to him -where he fell. I shall never forget his shriek of agony at the sight of -that blood-stained face, turned an instant towards us.” - -“Don’t, don’t!” Bell cried again; “I can’t endure it!” and as Mrs. -Reynolds came in she left her lover and started for Mrs. Banker’s, -meeting on the steps Tom Tubbs himself, who had come on an errand -similar to her own. - -“Sit here in the hall a moment,” she said to him, as the servant -admitted them both. “I must see Mrs. Ray first.” - -Helen was reading to her mother-in-law; but she laid down her book and -came to welcome Bell, detecting at once the agitation in her manner, and -asking if she had bad news from Robert. - -“No, Robert is at home; I have just come from there, and he told me—oh! -Helen, can you bear it?—_Mark is dead_—shot twice as he jumped from the -train taking him to another prison. Robert saw it and knew that he was -dead.” - -Bell could get no further, for Helen, who had never fainted in her life, -did so now, lying senseless so long that the physician began to think it -would be a mercy if she never came back to life, for her reason, he -fancied, had fled. But Helen did come back to life, with reason -unimpaired, and insisted upon hearing every detail of the dreadful -story, both from Bell and Tom. The latter confirmed all Lieutenant -Reynolds had said, besides adding many items of his own. Mark was dead, -there could be no doubt of it; but with the tenacity of a strong, -hopeful nature, the mother clung to the illusion that possibly the ball -stunned, instead of killing—that he would yet come back; and many a time -as the days went by, that mother started at the step upon the walk, or -ring of the bell, which she fancied might be his, hearing him sometimes -calling in the night storm for her to let him in, and hurrying down to -the door only to be disappointed and go back to her lonely room to weep -the dark night through. - -With Helen there were no such illusions. After talking calmly and -rationally with both Robert and Tom, she knew her husband was dead, and -never watched and waited for him as his mother did. She had heard from -Mark’s companions in suffering all they had to tell, of his captivity -and his love for her which manifested itself in so many different ways. -Passionately she had wept over the tress of faded hair which Tom Tubbs -brought to her, saying, “he cut it from his head just before we left the -prison, and told me if he never got home and I did, to give the lock to -you, and say that all was well between him and God—that your prayers had -saved him. He wanted you to know that, because, he said, it would -comfort you most of all.” - -And it did comfort her when she looked up at the clear wintry heavens -and thought that her lost one was there. It was her first real trial, -and it crushed her with its magnitude, so that she could not submit at -once, and many a cry of desolate agony broke the silence of her room, -where the whole night through she sat musing of the past, and raining -kisses upon the little lock of hair which from the Southern prison had -come to her, sole relic of the husband so dearly loved and truly -mourned. How faded it was from the rich brown she remembered so well, -and Helen gazing at it could realize in part the suffering and want -which had worn so many precious lives away. It was strange she never -dreamed of him. She often prayed that she might, so as to drive from her -mind, if possible, the picture of the prostrate form upon the low, damp -field, and the blood-stained face turned in its mortal agony towards the -southern sky and the pitiless foe above it. So she always saw him, -shuddering as she wondered if the foe had buried him decently or left -his bones to bleach upon the open plain. - -Poor Helen, she was widowed indeed, and it needed not the badge of -mourning to tell how terribly she was bereaved. But the badge was there, -too, for in spite of the hope which said, “he is not dead,” Mrs. Banker -yielded to Helen’s importunities, and clothed herself and -daughter-in-law in the habiliments of woe, still waiting, still -watching, still listening for the step she should recognize so quickly, -still looking down the street; but looking, alas! in vain. The winter -passed away. Captive after captive came home, heart after heart was -cheered by the returning loved one, but for the inmates of No. — the -heavy cloud grew blacker, for the empty chair by the hearth remained -unoccupied, and the aching hearts uncheered. _Mark Ray did not come -back._ - - - - - CHAPTER L. - THE DAY OF THE WEDDING. - - -Those first warm days of March, 1865, when spring and summer seemed to -kiss each other and join hands for a brief space of time, how balmy, how -still, how pleasant they were, and how bright the farm-house looked, -where preparations for Katy’s second bridal were going rapidly forward. -Aunt Betsy was in her element, for now had come the reality of the -vision she had seen so long, of house turned upside down in one grand -onslaught of suds and sand, then, righted again by magic power, and -smelling very sweet and clean from its recent ablutions—of turkeys dying -in the barn, of chickens in the shed, of loaves of frosted cake, with -cards and cards of snowy biscuit piled upon the pantry shelf—of jellies, -tarts, and chicken salad—of home-made wine, and home-brewed beer, with -tea and coffee portioned out and ready for the evening. - -In the dining-room the table was set with the new China ware and silver, -a joint Christmas gift from Helen and Katy to their good Aunt Hannah, as -real mistress of the house. - -“Not plated ware, but the gen-oo-ine article,” Aunt Betsy had explained -at least twenty times to those who came to see the silver, and she -handled it proudly now as she took it from the flannel bags in which -Mrs. Deacon Bannister said it must be kept, and placed it on a -side-table. - -The coffee-urn was Katy’s, so was the tea-kettle and the massive -pitcher, but the rest was “ours,” Aunt Betsy complacently reflected as -she contemplated the glittering array, and then hurried off to see what -was burning on the stove, stumbling over Morris as she went, and telling -him “he had come too soon—it was not fittin’ for him to be there under -foot until he was wanted.” - -Without replying directly to Aunt Betsy, Morris knocked with a vast -amount of assurance at a side door, which opened directly, and Katy’s -glowing face looked out, and Katy’s voice was heard, saying joyfully, - -“Oh, Morris, it’s you. I’m so glad you’ve come, for I wanted”—— - -But what she wanted was lost to Aunt Betsy by the closing of the door, -and Morris and Katy were alone in the little sewing room where latterly -they had passed so many quiet hours together, and where lay the bridal -dress with its chaste and simple decorations. Katy had clung tenaciously -to her mourning robe, asking if she _might_ wear black, as ladies -sometimes did. But Morris had promptly answered no. His bride, if she -came to him willingly, must not come clad in widow’s weeds, for when she -became his wife she would cease to be a widow. - -And so black was laid aside, and Katy, in soft tinted colors, with her -bright hair curling on her neck, looked as girlish and beautiful as if -in Greenwood there were no pretentious monument, with Wilford’s name -upon it, nor any little grave in Silverton where Baby Cameron slept. She -had been both wife and mother, but she was quite as dear to Morris as if -she had never borne other name than Katy Lennox, and as he held her for -a moment to his heart he thanked God who had at last given to him the -idol of his boyhood and the love of his later years. Across their -pathway no shadow was lying, except when they remembered Helen, on whom -the mantle of widowhood had fallen just as Katy was throwing it off. - -Poor Helen! the tears always crept to Katy’s eyes when she thought of -her, and now, as she saw her steal across the road and strike into the -winding path which led to the pasture where the pines and hemlock grew, -she nestled closer to Morris, and whispered, - -“Sometimes I think it wrong to be so happy when Helen is so sad. I pity -her so much to-day.” - -And Helen was to be pitied, for her heart was aching to its very core. -She had tried to keep up through the preparations for Katy’s bridal, -tried to seem interested and even cheerful, while all the time a hidden -agony was tugging at her heart, and life seemed a heavier burden than -she could bear. - -All her portion of the work was finished now, and in the balmy -brightness of that warm April afternoon she went into the fields where -she could be alone beneath the soft summer-like sky, and pour out her -pent-up anguish into the ear of Him who had so often soothed and -comforted her when other aids had failed. Last night, for the first time -since she heard the dreadful news, she had dreamed of Mark, and when she -awoke she still felt the pressure of his lips upon her brow, the touch -of his arm upon her waist, and the thrilling clasp of his warm hand as -it pressed and held her own. But that was a dream, a cruel delusion, and -its memory made the more dark and dreary as she went slowly up the -beaten path, pausing once beneath a chestnut tree and leaning her -throbbing head against the shaggy bark as she heard in the distance the -shrill whistle of the downward train from Albany, and thought as she -always did when she heard that whistle, “Oh, if that heralded Mark’s -return, how happy I should be.” But many sounds like that had echoed -across the Silverton hills, bringing no hope to her, and now as it again -died away in the Cedar Swamp she pursued her way up the path till she -reached a long white ledge of rocks—“The lovers’ Rock,” some called it, -for village boys and maidens knew the place, repairing to it often, and -whispering their vows beneath the overhanging pines, which whispered -back again, and told the winds the story which though so old is always -new to her who listens and to him who tells. - -Just underneath the pine there was a large flat stone, and there Helen -sat down, gazing sadly upon the valley below, and the clear waters of -Fairy Pond gleaming in the April sunshine which lay so warmly on the -grassy hills and flashed so brightly from the cupola at Linwood, where -the national flag was flying. For a time Helen watched the banner as it -shook its folds to the breeze, then as she remembered with what a -fearful price that flag had been saved from dishonor, she hid her face -in her hands and sobbed bitterly. - -“God help me not to think I paid too dearly for my country’s rights. Oh, -Mark, my husband, I may be wrong, but _you_ were dearer to me than many, -many countries, and it is hard to give you up—hard to know that the -notes of peace which float up from the South will not waken you in that -grave which I can never see. Oh, Mark, my darling, my darling, I love -you so much, I miss you so much, I want you so much. God help me to -bear. God help to say, ‘Thy will be done.’” - -She was rocking to and fro in her grief, with her hands pressed over her -face, and for a long time she sat thus, while the sun crept on further -towards the west, and the freshened breeze shook the tasseled pine above -her head and kissed the bands of rich brown hair, from which her hat had -fallen. She did not heed the lapse of time, nor hear the footstep coming -up the pathway to the ledge where she was sitting, the footstep which -paused at intervals, as if the comer were weary, or in quest of some -one, but which at last came on with rapid bounds as an opening among the -trees showed where Helen sat. It was a tall young man who came, a young -man, sun-burned and scarred, with uniform soiled and worn, but with the -fire in his brown eyes unquenched, the love in his true heart unchanged, -save as it was deeper, more intense for the years of separation, and the -long, cruel suspense, which was all over now. The grave had given up its -dead, the captive was released, and through incredible suffering and -danger had reached his Northern home, had sought and found his girl-wife -of a few hours, for it was Mark Ray speeding up the path, and holding -back his breath as he came close to the bowed form upon the rock, -feeling a strange throb of awe when he saw the _mourning dress_, and -knew it was worn for him. A moment more, and she lay in his arms; white -and insensible, for with the sudden winding of his arms around her neck, -the pressure of his lips upon her cheek, the calling of her name, and -the knowing it was really her husband, she had uttered a wild, -impassioned cry, half of terror, half of joy, and fainted entirely away, -just as she did when told that he was dead! There was no water near, but -with loving words and soft caresses Mark brought her back to life, -raining both tears and kisses upon the dear face which had grown so -white and thin since the Christmas eve when the wintry star light had -looked down upon their parting. For several moments neither could speak -for the great choking joy which wholly precluded the utterance of a -word. Helen was the first to rally. With her head lying in Mark’s lap -and pillowed on Mark’s arm, she whispered, - -“Let us thank God together. You, too, have learned to pray.” - -Reverently Mark bent his head to hers, and the pine boughs overhead -heard, instead of mourning notes, a prayer of praise, as the reunited -wife and husband fervently thanked God, who had brought them together -again. - -Not until nearly a half hour was gone, and Helen had begun to realize -that the arm which held her so tightly was genuine flesh and blood, and -not mere delusion, did she look up into the face, glowing with so much -of happiness and love. Upon the forehead, and just beneath the hair, -there was a savage scar, and the flesh about it was red and angry still, -showing how sore and painful it must have been, and making Helen shudder -as she touched it with her lips, and said, - -“Poor, darling Mark! that’s where the cruel ball entered; but where is -the other scar,—the one made by the man who went to you in the fields. I -have tried so hard not to hate him for firing at a fallen foe.” - -“Rather pray for him, darling. Bless him as the savior of your husband’s -life, the noble fellow but for whom I should not have been here now, for -he was a Unionist, as true to the old flag as Abraham himself,” Mark Ray -replied; and then, as Helen looked wonderingly at him, he laid her head -in an easier position upon his shoulder, and told her a story so strange -in its details, that but for the frequent occurrence of similar -incidents, it would be pronounced wholly unreal and false. - -Of what he suffered in the Southern prisons he did not speak, either -then or ever after, but began with the day when, with a courage born of -desperation, he jumped from the moving train and was shot down by the -guard. Partially stunned, he still retained sense enough to know when a -tall form bent over him, and to hear the rough but kindly voice which -said, - -“Play ’possum, Yank. Make b’lieve you’re dead, and throw ’em off the -scent.” - -This was the last he knew for many weeks, and when again he woke to -consciousness he found himself on the upper floor of a dilapidated hut, -which stood in the centre of a little wood, his bed a pile of straw, -over which was spread a clean patch-work quilt, while seated at his -side, and watching him intently, was the same man who had bent over him -in the field, and shouted to the rebels that he was dead. - -“I shall never forget my sensations then,” Mark said, “for with the -exception of this present hour, when I hold you in my arms, and know the -danger is over, I never experienced a moment of greater happiness and -rest than when, up in that squalid garret, I came back to life again, -the pain in my head all gone, and nothing left save a delicious feeling -of languor, which prompted me to lie quietly for several minutes, -examining my surroundings, and speculating upon the chance which brought -me there. That I was a prisoner I did not doubt, until the old man at my -side said to me cheerily, - -“Well, old chap, you’ve come through it like a major, though I was -mighty dubus a spell about that pesky ball. But old Aunt Bab and me -fished it out, and since then you’ve begun to mend.” - -“‘Where am I? Who are you?’ I asked, and he replied, ‘Who be I? Why, I’m -_Jack Jennins_, the rarinest, redhotedest secesh there is in these yer -parts, so the Rebs thinks; but ’twixt you and me, boy, I’m the tallest -kind of a Union,—got a piece of the old flag sowed inside of my boots, -and every night before sleepin’ I prays the Lord to gin Abe the victory, -and raise Cain generally in t’other camp, and forgive Jack Jennins for -tellin’ so many lies, and makin’ b’lieve he’s one thing when you know -and he knows he’s t’other. If I’ve _spared_ one Union chap, I’ll bet I -have a hundred, me and old Bab, a black woman who lives here and tends -to the cases I fotch her, till we contrive to git ’em inter Tennessee, -whar they hev to shift for themselves.’ - -“I could only press his hand in token of my gratitude while he went on -to say, ‘Them was beans I fired at you that day, but they sarved every -purpose, and them scalliwags on the train s’pose you were put -underground weeks ago, if indeed you wasn’t left to rot in the sun, as -heaps and heaps on ’em is. Nobody knows you are here but Bab and me, and -nobody must know if you want to git off with a whole hide. I could git a -hundred dollars by givin’ you up, but you don’t s’pose Jack Jennins is a -gwine to do that ar infernal trick. No, sir,’ and he brought his brawny -fist down upon his knee with a force which made me tremble, while I -tried to express my thanks for his great kindness. He was a noble man, -Helen, while Aunt Bab, the colored woman, who nursed me so tenderly, and -whose black, bony hands I kissed at parting, was as true a woman as any -with a fairer skin and more beautiful exterior. - -“For three weeks longer I stayed up in that loft, and in that time three -more escaped prisoners were brought there, and one Union refugee from -North Carolina. We left in company one wild, rainy night, when the storm -and darkness must have been sent for our special protection, and Jack -Jennings cried like a little child when he bade me good-bye, promising, -if he survived the war, to find his way to the North and visit me in New -York. - -“We found these Unionists everywhere, and especially among the mountains -of Tennessee, where, but for their timely aid, we had surely been -recaptured. With blistered feet and bruised limbs we reached the lines -at last, when fever attacked me for the second time and brought me near -to death. Somebody wrote to you, but you never received it, and when I -grew better I would not let them write again, as I wanted to surprise -you. As soon as I was able I started North, my thoughts full of the -joyful meeting in store—a meeting which I dreaded too, for I knew you -must think me dead, and I felt so sorry for you, my darling, knowing, as -I did, you would mourn for your soldier husband. That my darling _has_ -mourned is written on her face, and needs no words to tell it; but that -is over now,” Mark said, folding his wife closer to him, and kissing the -pale lips, while he told her how, arrived at Albany, he had telegraphed -to his mother, asking where Helen was. - -“In Silverton,” was the reply, and so he came on in the morning train, -meeting his mother in Springfield as he had half expected to do, knowing -that she could leave New York in time to join him there. - -“No words of mine,” he said, “are adequate to describe the thrill of joy -with which I looked again upon the hills and rocks so identified with -you that I loved them for your sake, hailing them as old, familiar -friends, and actually growing sick and faint with excitement when -through the leafless woods I caught the gleam of Fairy Pond, where I -gathered the lilies for you. There is a wedding in progress at the -farm-house, I learned from mother, and it seems very meet that I should -come at this time, making, in reality, a double wedding when I can truly -claim my bride,” and Mark kissed Helen passionately, laughing to see how -the blushes broke over her white face, and burned upon her neck. - -Those were happy moments which they passed together upon that ledge of -rocks, happy enough to atone for all the dreadful past, and when at last -they rose and slowly retraced their steps to the farm-house, it seemed -to Mark that Helen’s cheeks were rounder than when he found her, while -Helen knew that the arm on which she leaned was stronger than when it -first encircled her an hour or two before. - - - - - CHAPTER LI. - THE WEDDING. - - -On the same train with Mrs. Banker and Mark, Bell Cameron came with Bob, -but father Cameron was not able to come; he would gladly have done so if -he could, and he sent his blessing to Katy with the wish that she might -be very happy in her second married life. This message Bell gave to -Katy, and then tried to form some reasonable excuse for her mother’s and -Juno’s absence, for she could not tell how haughtily both had declined -the invitation, Juno finding fault because Katy had not waited longer -than two years, and Mrs. Cameron blaming her for being so very vulgar as -to be married at home, instead of in church. On this point Katy herself -had been a little disquieted, feeling how much more appropriate it was -that she be married in the church, but shrinking from standing again a -bride at the same altar where she had once before been made a wife. She -could not do it, she finally decided; there would be too many harrowing -memories crowding upon her mind, and as Morris did not particularly care -where the ceremony was performed, it was settled that it should be at -the house, even though Mrs. Deacon Bannister did say that “she had -supposed Dr. Grant too _High Church_ to do anything so _Presbyterianny_ -as that.” - -Bell’s arrival at the farm-house was timely; for the unexpected -appearance in their midst of one whom they looked upon as surely dead -had stunned and bewildered the family to such an extent that it needed -the presence of just such a matter-of-fact, self-possessed woman as -Bell, to bring things back to their original shape. It was wonderful how -the city girl fitted into the vacant niches, seeing to everything which -needed seeing to, and still finding time to steal away alone with -Lieutenant Bob, who kept her in a painful state of blushing, by -constantly wishing it was his bridal night as well as Dr. Grant’s, and -by inveighing against the weeks which must intervene, ere the day -appointed for the grand ceremony, to take place in Grace Church, and -which was to make Bell his wife. - - * * * * * - -“Come in here, Helen, I have something to show you,” Mrs. Banker said, -after she had again embraced and wept over her long lost son, whose -return was not quite real yet; and leading her daughter-in-law to her -bedroom, she showed her the elegant, white silk which had been made for -her just after her marriage, two years before, and which, with careful -forethought, she had brought with her, as more suitable now for the -wedding, than Helen’s mourning weeds. - -“I made the most of my time last night, after receiving Mark’s telegram, -and had it modernized somewhat,” she said. “And I brought your pearls, -for you will be most as much a bride as Katy, and I have a pride in -seeing my son’s wife appropriately dressed.” - -Far different were Helen’s feelings now, as she donned the elegant -dress, from what they had been the first and only time she wore it. Then -the bridegroom was where danger and death lay thickly around his -pathway; but now he was at her side, kissing her cheek, where the roses -were burning so brightly, and calling still deeper blushes to her face, -by his teasing observations and humorous ridicule of his own personal -appearance. Would she not feel ashamed of him in his soiled uniform? And -would she not cast longing glances at her handsome brother-in-law and -the stylish Lieutenant Bob? But Helen was proud of her husband’s -uniform, as a badge of what he had suffered; and when the folds of her -rich dress swept against it, she did not draw them away, but nestled -closer to him, leaning upon his shoulder; and when no one was near, -winding her soft arm about his neck once, whispering, “My darling Mark, -I cannot make it real yet.” - -Softly the night shadows fell around the farm-house, and in the rooms -below a rather mixed group was assembled—all the _élite_ of the town, -with many of Aunt Betsy’s neighbors, and the doctor’s patients, who had -come to see their physician married, rejoicing in his happiness, and -glad that the mistress of Linwood was not to be a stranger, but the -young girl who had grown up in their midst, and who, by suffering and -sorrow, had been moulded into a noble woman, worthy of Dr. Grant. She -was ready now for her second bridal, in her dress of white, with no -vestige of color in her face, and her great blue eyes shining with a -brilliancy which made them almost black. Occasionally, as her thoughts -leaped backward over a period of almost six years, a tear trembled on -her long eyelashes, but Morris kissed it away, asking if she were sorry. - -“Oh, no, not sorry that I am to be your wife,” she answered; “but it is -not possible that I should forget entirely the roughness of the road -which has led me to you.” - -“They are waiting for you,” was said several times, and down the stairs -passed Mark Ray and Helen, Lieut. Bob and Bell, with Dr. Grant and Katy, -whose face, as she stood again before the clergyman and spoke her -marriage vows, shone with a strange, peaceful light, which made it seem -to those who gazed upon her like the face of some pure angel. - -There was no thought then of that deathbed in Georgetown—no thought of -Greenwood or the little grave in Silverton, where the crocuses and -hyacinths were blossoming—no thought of anything save the man at her -side, whose voice was so full and earnest as it made the responses, and -who gently pressed the little hand as he fitted the wedding ring. It was -over at last, and Katy was Morris’s wife, blushing now as they called -her _Mrs. Grant_, and putting up her rosebud lips to be kissed by all -who claimed that privilege. Helen, too, came in for her share of -attention, and the opinion of the guests as to the beauty of the -respective brides, as they were termed, was pretty equally divided. - -In heavy rustling silk, which actually trailed an inch, and cap of real -lace, Aunt Betsy moved among the crowd, her face glowing with the -satisfaction she felt at seeing her nieces so much admired, and her -heart so full of good will and toleration that after the supper was -over, and she fancied a few of the younger ones were beginning to feel -tired, she suggested to Bell that she might start a _dance_ if she had a -mind to, either in the kitchen or the parlor, it did not matter where, -and “Ephraim would not care an atom,” a remark which brought from Mrs. -Deacon Bannister a most withering look of reproach, and slightly -endangered Aunt Betsy’s standing in the church. Perhaps Bell Cameron -suspected as much, for she replied that they were having a splendid time -as it was, and as Dr. Grant did not dance, they might as well dispense -with it altogether. And so it happened that there was no dancing at -Katy’s wedding, and Uncle Ephraim escaped the reproof which his brother -deacon would have felt called upon to give him had he permitted so -grievous a sin, while Mrs. Deacon Bannister, who, at the first trip of -the toe would have departed lest her eyes should look upon the evil -thing, was permitted to remain until “it was out,” and the guests -retired _en masse_ to their respective homes. - - * * * * * - -The carriage from Linwood stood at the farm-house door, and Katy, -wrapped in shawls and hood, was ready to go with her husband. There were -no tears shed at this parting, for their darling was not going far away; -her new home was just across the fields, and through the soft moonlight -they could see its chimney tops, and trace for some little distance the -road over which the carriage went bearing her swiftly on; her hands fast -locked in Morris’s, her head upon his arm, and the hearts of both too -full of bliss for either to speak a word until Linwood was reached, -when, folding Katy to his bosom in a passionate embrace, Morris said to -her, - -“We are home at last—your home and mine, my precious, precious wife.” - -The village clock was striking one, and the sound echoed across the -waters of Fairy Pond, awakening, in his marshy bed, a sleeping frog, who -sent forth upon the warm, still air a musical, plaintive note as Morris -bore his bride over the threshold and into the library, where a cheerful -fire was blazing. He had ordered it kindled there, for he had a fancy -ere he slept to see fulfilled a dream he had dreamed so often, of Katy -sitting as his wife in the chair across the hearth, where he placed her -now, himself removing her shawl and hood; then kneeling down before her, -with his arm around her waist and his head upon her shoulder, he prayed -aloud to the God who had brought her there, asking His blessing upon -their future life, and dedicating himself and all he had to his Master’s -service. It is such prayer which God delights to answer, and a peace, -deeper than they had yet known, fell upon that newly married pair at -Linwood. - - - - - CHAPTER LII. - CONCLUSION. - - -The scene shifts now to New York, where, one week after that wedding in -Silverton, Mark and Helen went, together with Morris and Katy. But not -to Madison Square. That house had been sold, and Katy saw it but once, -her tears falling fast as, driving slowly by with Morris, she gazed at -the closed doors and windows of what was once her home, and around which -lingered no pleasant memories save that it was the birthplace of baby -Cameron. Lieutenant Reynolds had thought to buy it, but Bell said, “No, -it would not be pleasant for Katy to visit me there, and I mean to have -her with me as much as possible.” So the house went to strangers, and a -less pretentious but quite as comfortable one was bought for Bell, so -far up town that Juno wondered how her sister would manage to exist so -far from everything, intimating that her visits would be far between, a -threat which Lieutenant Bob took quite heroically; indeed, it rather -enhanced the value of his pleasant home than otherwise, for Juno was not -a favorite, and his equanimity was not likely to be disturbed if she -never crossed his threshold. She was throwing bait to _Arthur Grey_, the -man who swore he was fifty to escape the draft, and who, now that the -danger was over, would gladly take back his oath and be forty, as he -really was. With the most freezing kiss imaginable Juno greeted Katy, -calling her “Mrs. Grant,” and treating Morris as if he were an entire -stranger, instead of the man whom to get she would once have moved both -earth and heaven. Mrs. Cameron, too, though glad that Katy was married, -and fully approving her choice, threw into her manner so much reserve -that Katy’s intercourse with her was anything but agreeable, and she -turned with alacrity to father Cameron, who received her with open arms, -calling her his daughter, and welcoming Morris as his _son_, taken in -Wilford’s stead. “My boy,” he frequently called him, showing how -willingly he accepted him as the husband of one whom he loved as his -child. Greatly he wished that they should stay with him while they -remained in New York, but Katy preferred going to Mrs. Banker’s, where -she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle and confusion attending -the preparations for Bell’s wedding. It was to be a grand church affair, -and to take place during Easter week, after which the bridal pair were -going on to Washington, and if possible to Richmond, where Bob had been -a prisoner. Everything seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful -one, for all through the North, from Maine to California, the air was -rife with the songs of victory and the notes of approaching peace. But -alas! He who holds our country’s destiny in his hand changed that song -of gladness into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, rose up -to heaven in one mighty sob of anguish, as the whole nation bemoaned its -loss. Our President was dead, and New York was in mourning, so black, so -profound, that with a shudder Bell Cameron tossed aside the orange -wreath and said to her lover, “We will be married at home. I cannot now -go to the church, when everything seems like one great funeral.” - -And so in Mrs. Cameron’s drawing-room there was a quiet wedding, one -pleasant April morning, and Bell’s plain traveling dress was far more in -keeping with the gloom which hung over the great city than her gala -robes would have been, with a long array of carriages and merry wedding -chimes. Westward they went instead of South, and when our late lamented -President was borne back to the prairies of Illinois, they were there to -greet the noble dead, and mingle their tears with those who knew and -loved him long before the world appreciated his worth. - - * * * * * - -Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh green grass is -springing and the early spring flowers blooming, and where Katy stands -for a moment in the bay window of the library, listening to the patter -on the tin roof overhead, and gazing wistfully down the road, as if -watching for some one; then turning, she enters the dining-room and -inspects the supper table, for her mother. Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy -are visiting her this rainy afternoon, while Morris, on his return from -North Silverton, is to call for Uncle Ephraim and bring him home to tea. - -Linwood is a nice place to visit, and the old ladies enjoy it vastly, -especially Aunt Betsy, who never tires of telling what they have “over -to Katy’s,” and whose capeless shaker hangs often on the hall stand, -just as it hangs now, while she, good soul, sits in the pleasant parlor, -and darns the socks for Morris, taking as much pains as if it were a -network of fine lace she was weaving, instead of a shocking rent in some -luckless heel or toe. Up stairs there is a pleasant room which Katy -calls Aunt Betsy’s, and in it is the “feather bed,” which never found -its way to Madison Square. Morris himself did not think much of -feathers, but he made no objections when Aunt Betsy insisted upon Katy’s -having the bed kept for so many years, and only smiled a droll kind of -smile when he one morning met it coming up the walk in the wheelbarrow -which Uncle Ephraim trundled. - -Morris and his young wife are very happy together and Katy finds the -hours of his absence very long, especially when left alone. Even to-day -the time drags heavily, and she looks more than once from the bay -window, until at last Brownie’s head is seen over the hill, and a few -moments after Morris’s arm is around her shoulders, and her lips are -upturned for the kiss he gives as he leads her into the house, chiding -her for exposing herself to the rain, and placing in her hand three -letters, which she does not open until the cozy tea is over and her -family friends have gone. Then, while her husband looks over his evening -paper, she breaks the seals one by one reading first the letter from -“Mrs. Bob Reynolds,” who has returned from the West, and who is in the -full glory of her bridal calls. - -“I was never so happy in my life as I am now,” she wrote. “Indeed, I did -not know that a married woman could be so happy; but then every woman -has not a _Bob_ for her husband, which makes a vast difference. You -ought to see Juno. I know she envies me, though she affects the utmost -contempt for matrimony, and reminds me forcibly of the fox and the -grapes. You see, Arthur Grey is a failure, so far as Juno is concerned, -he having withdrawn from the field and laid himself at the feet of Sybil -Grandon, who will be Mrs. Grey, and a bride at Saratoga the coming -summer. Juno intends going too, as the bridesmaid of the party; but -every year her chances lessen, and I have very little hope that father -will ever call other than Bob his son, always excepting _Morris_, of -course, whom he has adopted in place of Wilford. You don’t know, Katy, -how much father thinks of you, blessing the day which brought you to us, -and saying that if he is ever saved, he shall in a great measure owe it -to your influence and consistent life after the great trouble came upon -you.” - -There were tears in Katy’s eyes as she read this letter from Bell, and -with a mental prayer of thanksgiving that she had been of any use in -guiding even one to the Shepherd’s Fold, she took next the letter whose -superscription brought back so vividly to her mind the daisy-covered -grave in Alnwick. Marian, who was now at Annapolis, caring for the -returned prisoners, did not write often, and her letters were prized the -more by Katy, who read with a beating heart the kind congratulations -upon her recent marriage, sent by Marian Hazelton. - - “I knew how it would end, when you were in Georgetown,” she wrote, - “and I am glad that it is so, praying daily that you may be happy with - Dr. Grant and remember the sad past only as some dream from which you - have awakened. I thank you for your invitation to visit Linwood, and - when my work is over I may come for a few weeks and rest in your - bird’s nest of a home. Thank God the war is ended; but _my boys_ need - me yet, and until the last crutch has left the hospital, I shall stay - where duty lies. What my life will henceforth be I do not know; but I - have sometimes thought that with the funds you so generously bestowed - upon me, I shall open a school for orphan children, taking charge - myself, and so doing some good. Will you be the Lady Patroness, and - occasionally enliven us with the light of your countenance? I have - left the hospital but once since you were here, and then I went to - Wilford’s grave. I prayed for you while there, remembering only that - _you_ had been his wife. In a little box where no eyes but mine ever - look, there is a bunch of flowers plucked from Wilford’s grave. They - are faded and withered, but something of their sweet perfume lingers - still; and I prize them as my greatest treasure; for, except the lock - of hair severed from his head, they are all that is remaining to me of - the past, which now seems so far away. It is time to make my nightly - round of visits, so I must bid you good-bye. The Lord lift up the - light of his countenance upon you, and be with you forever. - - MARIAN HAZELTON.” - -For a long time Katy held this letter in her hand, wondering if the -sorrowful woman whose life was once so strangely blended with that of -Marian Hazelton, could be the Katy Grant who sat by the evening fire at -Linwood, with the sunshine of perfect happiness resting on her heart. -“Truly He doeth all things well to those who wait upon Him,” she -thought, as she laid down Marian’s letter and took up the third and -last, Helen’s letter, dated at Fortress Monroe, whither, with Mark Ray, -she had gone just after Bell Cameron’s bridal. - -“You cannot imagine,” Helen wrote, “the feelings of awe and even terror -which steal over me the nearer I get to the seat of war, and the more I -realize the bloody strife we have been engaged in, and which, thank God, -has now nearly ceased. You have heard of John Jennings, the noble man -who saved my dear husband’s life, and of Aunt Bab, who helped in the -good work? Both are here, and I never saw Mark more pleased than when -seized around the neck by two long brawny arms, while a cheery voice -called out: ‘Hallow, old chap, has you done forgot John Jennins?’ I -verily believe Mark cried, and I know I did, especially when old Bab -came up and shook ‘young misses’ hand.’ I kissed her, Katy—all black, -and rough, and uncouth as she was. I wish you could see how grateful the -old creature is for every act of kindness. When we come home again, both -John and Bab will come with us, though what we shall do with John, is -more than I can tell. Mark says he shall employ him about the office, -and this I know will delight Tom Tubbs, who has again made friends with -Chitty, and who will almost worship John as having saved Mark’s life. -Aunt Bab shall have an honored seat by the kitchen fire, and a pleasant -room all to herself, working only when she likes, and doing as she -pleases. - -“Did I tell you that Mattie Tubbs was to be my seamstress? I am getting -together a curious household, you will say; but I like to have those -about me to whom I can do the greatest amount of good, and as I happen -to know how much Mattie admires ‘the Lennox girls,’ I did not hesitate -to take her. - -“We stopped at Annapolis on our way here, and I shall never forget the -pale, worn faces, nor the great sunken eyes which looked at me so -wistfully as I went from cot to cot, speaking words of cheer to the -sufferers, some of whom were Mark’s companions in prison, and whose eyes -lighted up with joy as they recognized him and heard of his escape. -There are several nurses here, but no words of mine can tell what _one_ -of them is to the poor fellows, or how eagerly they watch for her -coming. Following her with greedy glances as she moves about the room, -and holding her hand with a firm clasp, as if they would keep her with -them always. Indeed, more than one heart, as I am told, has confessed -its allegiance to her; but she answers all the same, ‘I have no love to -give. It died out long ago, and cannot be recalled.’ You can guess who -she is, Katy. The soldiers call her an angel, but we know her as -Marian.” - -There were great tear blots upon that letter as Katy put it aside, and -nestling close to Morris, laid her head upon his knee, where his hand -could smooth her golden curls, while she pondered Helen’s closing words, -thinking how much they expressed, and how just a tribute they were to -the noble woman whose life had been one constant sacrifice of self for -another’s good—“The soldiers call her an angel, but we know her as -Marian.” - - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - -Reasons why you should obtain a Catalogue of our Publications - -1. 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