+ +

THE
DESERTED WIFE.

+ +

EMMA D. E. NEVITT SOUTHWORTH,

AUTHOR OF

“RETRIBUTION, OR THE VALE OF SHADOWS.”

+ +

+      “Various the ways in which our souls are tried;

+      Love often fails where most our faith relied;

+      Some wayward heart may win without a thought,

+      That which thine own by sacrifice hath bought;

+      Whilst thou, forsaken, grieving, left to pine,

+      Vainly mayst claim his plighted faith as thine;

+      Vainly with forced indulgence strive to smile

+      In the cold world, heart-broken all the while,

+      Or from its glittering and unquiet crowd,

+      Thy brain on fire, thy spirit crushed and bowed,

+      Creep home unnoticed, there to weep alone,

+      Mocked by a claim that gives thee not thine own,

+      Which leaves thee bound through all thy blighted youth

+      To him whose perjured soul hath broke its truth;

+      While the just world beholding thee bereft—

+      Scorns—not his sin—but thee, for being left.”

+      Mrs. Norton’s Dream.

+

+ +

NEW YORK:

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.

PHILADELPHIA:

GEO. S. APPLETON, 164 CHESNUT-STREET.

M DCCC L.

+ +

MARRIAGE.

In no other civilized country in the world is +marriage contracted, or dissolved, with such +culpable levity as in our own. In no other +civilized country (except, perhaps, in France, +just at present), can divorce be obtained with +such facility, and upon such slight grounds. +And it may be the very ease with which the +sacred bond may be broken that leads many +people into forming it so lightly. An obligation +so easily annulled may be carelessly contracted. +I remember an anecdote in point:—“Take care—this +contemplated marriage of yours is a hasty +affair—and when consummated, it is for life, +you know—‘’Till death do you part,’” said a +young man to his friend, who was about to enter +into the “holy state.” “Oh, no! not necessarily—there +are such things as divorces, recollect,” +laughingly replied the perspective bridegroom—a +handsome hero, of black eyes and +white teeth—and his black eyes flashed, and his +white teeth gleamed, as though he had been +saying the wittiest thing in the world. The +youth was in love—therefore his speech could +not be taken seriously. He was jesting. Still +his words betrayed—that even then, in the heyday +of his passion, a future contingency was +present to his mind. That future contingency +arrived—would never have arrived—had he not +known beforehand of its remedy. He married—lived +with his young bride eighteen months. +She became the mother of a little girl—fell into +ill health—lost her beauty and attractions. He +left her—to travel in Europe—he said—but +years passed, and he never returned or wrote. +He left her broken in heart; broken in health, +injured in reputation; exposed to the misconstructions +of the world; to the miseries of +poverty; to the temptations of youth, of isolation, +and of warm affections; to the pursuit of +the licentious; to the calumny of the wicked or +the thoughtless; and worse than all to bear up +against—the doubts and suspicions of the good. +She was destitute of mental resources—in delicate +health—morbidly sensitive, and she sank—sank—under +the accumulating miseries of her position—and +died—in the twenty-second year of +her age, and in the fourth of her wretched +marriage.

I was about to cite another case—a second +case—when the memory of a third; a fourth; a +fifth; a dozen aggravated instances of desertion, +presented themselves to my mind, and pressed +upon me, and, reader, I cannot trouble you with +the whole of them. The evils of misalliance +are irremediable, at least by foreign interference; +and the miseries of desertion are well nigh +incurable, or, “the cure is worse than the disease.” +Let us look at the causes and the means +of prevention, of unhappy marriages. Yet, if +you read only for the story, just skip the whole +of this chapter, and commence at the next, which +opens the drama.

To go back to the beginning—a primary cause +of unhappy marriage is a defective moral and +physical education. In our country intellectual +education is on a par with that of other enlightened +nations of the earth—not so moral +and physical education. Prudence, fortitude, +truth, reverence, and fidelity, are not inculcated +here as they should be. Industry, activity, and +enterprise are our national good points of character, +and these are impressed upon children by +example, rather than by admonition; and our +virtues, generosity, hospitality, courage, and +patriotism, are the virtues of constitution and of +circumstance, rather than of education.

We fail to impress the duty of PRUDENCE upon +our children, and hence rash and culpable mercantile +speculation, ending in insolvency—and +hence hasty, inconsiderate marriages, ending in +bankruptcy of heart, home, and happiness. We +fail to impress the duty of FIDELITY upon our +6children, and hence irregularity and unfaithfulness +in business, embezzlement of funds, &c., +and hence broken marriage faith and deserted +families.

We fail to inculcate the duty of FORTITUDE, +and hence, when obligations, professional or +matrimonial, become painful, they are too often +abandoned.

But it is PHYSICAL EDUCATION, in its relation to +the happiness of married life, that I wish to +discuss. We are still more thoughtlessly neglectful, +and I was about to say, fatally neglectful +of physical, than of moral education. Fatally, +because no moral education can be completely +successful, unless assisted and supported by a good +physical training.

An instance—preach patience for ever, yet a +dyspeptic will be ill-tempered.

Another—preach industry for ever, yet the +weak and languid will be lazy and idle.

A third—inculcate the necessity of courage, +presence of mind, by eloquent precept, and by the +example of all the heroes and heroines of history, +yet the nervous will start if a door claps.

A defective physical education is one of the +primary causes of unhappiness in the marriage +relation. A girl cannot be a useful or a happy +wife, and she cannot make her husband and her +children happy, or even comfortable, unless she +be a healthy woman. In Great Britain, a girl +in delicate health never expects to be married, +and her friends never desire it for her. American +girls are proverbially delicate in organization, +and frail in health, and their mothers were +delicate before them, and their children will be +still more delicate after them, unless there is a +great reform in physical cultivation. Such a +reform is happily beginning in the North. It +is yet unthought of here, and in the West and +South. Daily exercise by walking, skipping +rope, calisthenics, horseback riding, which bring +all the limbs and muscles into play; daily +bathing in cold water on first rising in the +morning; fresh air, simple, plain food, the disuse +of coffee and tea, comfortable clothing, the +disuse of tight ligatures, corsets, tight-waisted +dresses, tight shoes, &c., are the best features of +this excellent system of physical training. I +believe that a young person with a good constitution +to commence with, faithfully following +these means for the preservation of health, with +the blessing of God, will not fade or break until +she is fifty, nor die until she is an hundred years +old. I believe that youth, health, beauty, +strength, and life can be greatly prolonged beyond +their present average, and that we were all +intended to live twice or three times as long as +with our sad mal-treatment we do live.

American children (with the exception of a +very few, whose parents know and practise +better) grow up drinking hot tea and coffee, +eating hot meats and rich gravies and pastries, +never bathing, taking little exercise, confined in +crowded school-rooms or close house-rooms, +and become narrow-shouldered, hollow-cheeked, +pale, sickly, nervous, and fretful; they marry +early companions as pale, sickly, nervous, and +fretful as themselves, and have children twice as +pale, sickly, nervous, and fretful as their parents, +and discord and other domestic miseries are +such inevitable results that we must pity, and +can scarcely blame the victims. They cry out +in their agony for separation, divorce, for reform +in social laws, when the truth is, no reform +would cure their evils without a reform in their +personal habits; such a reform as would give +health, consequently good humor, and lastly, +happiness.

Few people consider how much our moral as +well as our physical health depends upon exercise, +cleanliness, and temperance. How much +our happiness depends upon a free circulation, +unobstructed perspiration, and a good digestion. +How much domestic discomfort is caused by the +querulousness of ill health. Many a man of +weak and unsettled principles is driven to dissipation +and vice, and it may be to crime, by the +discomforts of his home, of his sickly and +nervous wife, fretful and troublesome children.

Another prominent cause of unhappy marriages, +is the too unguarded and unrestrained +association between young persons of opposite +sexes in the same rank of society. If the dress +and address of a young man are passable, if his +conduct is unimpeachable, and his prospects fair, +however otherwise unknown and untried, he +may be admitted at once to the intimacy of a +young lady, and after a brief courtship, too brief +to give either a knowledge of their own or each +other’s hearts, take the last irrevocable step—marriage. +And this youth of fair manners, fair +appearance, and fair conduct, may turn out to +be, if not positively depraved, yet weak, unstable, +untried, possessing the best reputation, based +upon the morality of externals, rather than the +tested, sound integrity of heart; with the most +defective character, totally unfit to guide himself, +still less another, through the shoals and +quicksands of life.

In the old times of chivalry, a knight must +have proved his prowess before he could successfully +aspire to the hand of his lady love. +The days of knight-errantry are long past, but +in the age of man, or of the world, the days of +moral warfare are never over; never over with +the world while it exists; never over with man +until death; and I would have some better proof +of moral force in an untried young man, than a +few weeks of acquaintance, popularity, and mere +amiability of manners would give, before I could +trust the temporal and eternal welfare of my +daughter to his keeping. When a young girl’s +heart is lost and won, it is too late for these +prudential considerations; in this case, as in +every other, the old proverb holds good—Fidarsi +è bene, e non fidarse e meglio. The +conversational acquaintanceship should be prevented +from maturing into the dangerous intimacy. +Yet do not misunderstand me; I would not +have you pain or repulse a young heart by the +coldness of suspicion. I would not have you +shut yourselves up in a dark distrust, and close +your doors, and guard your girls with Eastern +jealousy; far from it, one need not run upon +Scylla in avoiding Charybdis. “Moderation is +the golden thread that holds together the bead-roll +of the virtues.” I would have you take the +middle course—“the golden mean” between jealous +surveillance and dangerous neglect. In all +other civilized and enlightened society in the +world, young ladies are carefully guarded and +guided, chaperoned through the mazes of life. +In countries of the Eastern continent this system +7of surveillance is excessive; here, it is reprehensibly +deficient; in England it is perfect. I +confess I would have our manners resemble the +English in this respect.

Still another primary cause (I speak only of +primary causes here, deeming discord, tyranny, +drunkenness, infidelity, and desertion so many +effects), still another primary cause of unhappiness +in the marriage state, is that marriage is +contracted too early in life. American girls are +proverbially married too young; at an age at +which even a hearty robust Englishwoman +would scarcely be permitted to enter upon the +responsibilities of marriage. How much more +improper then must it be for an American girl, +with her national extreme delicacy of organization, +to take upon herself the heavy burdens and +onerous duties of matrimony, before her feeble +constitution is mature, or her frail strength confirmed. +But our girls, with all these natural +disadvantages, are married early, and hence the +early (proverbially again) wasting of health and +life; the failing of beauty, decline of grace, and +loss of attractions in the women; and hence the +vexatious, nervous irritability so common in +young mothers, so destructive to domestic +harmony and happiness. How can it be otherwise +with the continued tax of a young and +increasing family upon the immature strength of +the youthful wife and mother? Our girls are +extremely fragile at best, and will ever be so, +aye and will grow more so, unless a better +system of physical education is generally adopted. +When these delicate girls prematurely assume +the cares and burdens of a family, they break +down under it, become thin, pale, sickly, nervous, +and fretful; no longer attractive, almost repulsive; +and the husband, father, if his disposition +be benevolent and protective, as is the nature of +most American men, suffers martyrdom, devotes +himself a living sacrifice to his sickly wife and +large family. I know hundreds of such devoted +men, all unconscious of their self-devotion, +passing their lives in dull counting-houses, dark +stores, dingy offices, dirty work-shops, or +crowded school-rooms, so cheerfully! to provide +a comfortable or a luxurious home where +their wives and children ever live, but where +they only come to snatch a hasty meal, or late +at night to sleep. This, I think, is what Dr. +Dewey calls “The Religion of Toil.” But if +on the other hand this husband of the sickly +wife, this father of the peevish children, this +victim of early marriage and other abuses, +happens to be selfish and unprincipled, he becomes, +more or less, tyrant or reprobate, or he +sometimes quietly leaves, goes to the West or +South, to sea, or to parts unknown, and is never +heard of again. If he be licentious as well as +selfish, his wandering fancies fix upon some +younger, fresher, fairer, or some new form; then +comes the thought of the possibility, the probability, +the almost certainty, if he pursues it, of getting +a legal enfranchisement from his matrimonial +bonds. And this is naturally suggested by the +facility with which divorces are granted; true, +he cannot legally repudiate his wife while she +remains faithful, but he can oblige her to release +him, or break her neck, or her heart, or desert +and starve her into compliance with his measures; +or he can wrest her children from her, +and make their restoration to her bosom the +price of his release. I am not exaggerating, +reader; if you live in a city, and will look about +you, you will find that I speak truly. But to +conclude, I reiterate, and insist upon this point, +that the fundamental causes of unhappiness in +married life, are a defective moral and physical +education—and a premature contraction of the +matrimonial engagement.

The character of the first settlers of Maryland +and Virginia is known to have been very different +from that of the Pilgrim Fathers—as opposite +as the idle, gay, and dissolute cavalier to the +stern, laborious, and self-denying Puritan. Their +purpose in seeking the shores of the Western +World was also widely different from that of the +first settlers of New England—the object of the +latter being spiritual liberty; the end of the +former, material wealth. And their history since +the first settlement of the country has been as +broadly diverse. The children of the Pilgrim +Fathers have reached the highest seats in the +temples of Fame and Fortune—the descendants +of the first aristocratic settlers of Maryland and +Virginia have seen themselves outstripped in the +path of success and honor by the children of the +very menials of their father’s house. This is +emphatically the case in Maryland. Among the +friends and partizans of Lord Baltimore, who +sought with him an Eldorado among the rolling +hills and lovely vales, and beside the broad and +beautiful rivers of Maryland, came many younger +sons of the decayed old English nobility and +gentry, who thought out of the wealth of the +New World to found a name and a family here, +that should rival, in power and splendor, the +house from which they sprang. They seemed +to overlook the fact that this coveted wealth +was as yet unreclaimed from the wilderness—that +nothing but energy, labor, and perseverance +could receive and appropriate it; and even if at +first they had observed this, it would have +availed them little, for unlike the Pilgrim +Fathers, they were deplorably destitute of these +natural and necessary qualifications for success +in a new and unsubdued world.

With all their old ancestral pride, they also +brought to these shores those habits of idleness, +dissipation, and reckless expenditure which had +been so destructive to their fortunes in the old +country. Many succeeded in securing from the +wilderness large estates, and upon them they +erected handsome edifices,—the bricks, glass, and +other materials for which were mostly imported +from England to Baltimore, and brought down +the Potomac or Patuxent rivers to the site +selected for building (so little available then to +these settlers were the fine resources of the +country). Some of these old mansion houses +are yet standing,^[1] but like the families that own +them, much decayed, and remaining merely as +memorials of past grandeur. The descendants +of these first settlers of Maryland and Virginia +are the proudest, and some of them, alas! the +poorest of the citizens of these States. These +people are sui generis—unlike any other people +I ever saw or read of. Each planter on his own +estate, great or small, productive or barren, is +prouder, and more thoroughly convinced of his +own immense personal importance, than any +throned, crowned, and sceptred monarch in +Christendom or Heatheness. With all this, they +are brave, generous, gallant, and hospitable, even +to extravagance. It has been entered as a complaint +against the older counties of Maryland +and Virginia, that the taverns are wretched, and +how can it be helped? Tavern-keeping is a +poor business there, because the doors of every +planter’s house fly open to receive the traveller +who passes near his gates—and a welcome is +extended to him with the cheerful, genial warmth +of a country gentleman to whom the exercise of +hospitality is a delight as well as a duty. It is +a very common thing to see a perfect stranger +ride up to the gate of a Maryland or Virginia +planter’s farm yard, with the purpose of remaining +all night—or a week, if his convenience +requires it—and he is sure of a welcome, as long +as he pleases to stay—for him the “fatted calf” +is killed, for him the butt of cordial broached.

Northern and Western men who occasionally +happen to travel through the lower counties of +these States, put up at poor taverns, and go +away to abuse the half savage state of society +there. They should rather present themselves +at some planter’s house, where they would be +received with the best, as a matter of course, and +invited, if it were spring, to a fish feast upon the +banks of the nearest river, or, if it were autumn, +to a deer hunt. Let idlers who are ennuyés to +death with the common-places of their daily life, +just take a country road tour through the lower +counties of Maryland and Virginia, and they will +find themselves transported to the associations of +two centuries ago, among the oldest-fashioned +people, with the oldest-fashioned houses, furniture, +and manners in the world.

Down on the western shore of Maryland is a +heath containing about five hundred acres—upon +which stands an old mansion-house, in ruins, +10both of which I wish to describe. This heath is +bounded on the North by the river P., on the +South by Sachem’s Creek, on the West by a +deep, dense forest, and on the East by the +Chesapeake Bay. The heath rises gradually +from the bay, and is relieved by clumps of pine +and cedar trees, standing between the swells of +ground as it rolls back from the water towards +the forest, while towards the North the ground +rises and sharpens into a steep promontory, +sticking out between the junction of the river +with the bay. Crowning the summit of this +promontory, is a large, square, red brick old +mansion-house. Around this house wave tall, +gloomy old Lombardy poplars—like sable +plumes around a hearse. Around the shores of +the promontory runs a half-ruined low brick +wall, inclosing the garden attached to the mansion. +This garden is grown up with weeds and +thistles. This estate was known by the name +of The Heath, or Heath Hall, and had continued +in the possession of the Churchill family +since the first settlement of Maryland.

On the opposite point of the mouth of the +river was the struggling little village of Churchill +Point,—a great colonial seaport town, withered +in the germ—now only an occasional depot for +tobacco raised in the immediate neighborhood, +and shipped thence to Baltimore by the little +packets that traded up and down the river, and +sometimes stopped there to take in freight. A +large old barn of a storehouse, where produce +was left till carried away—a large, old, white-framed +tavern, half-furnished, where passengers +went to meet the packets, a blacksmith’s shop, a +country merchant’s store, a post-office, kept by +the widow of the late post-master, a few cottages, +tenanted by wool, cotton, and flax dyers, by +domestic counterpane and carpet weavers, and +other country laborers, made up the staple of +the village. About a quarter of a mile back +from the village, in a clearing in the forest, stood +the Episcopal Church of the Crucifixion. Divine +service was performed here only once a fortnight, +as the pastor had two parishes under his +charge.^[2]

To return to Churchill Hall. This estate +had once been highly valuable, both as to size +and productiveness. Running over its natural +boundaries, it extended beyond the river and +creek, and for miles into the forest behind—and +for fertility it was called the garden spot of +Maryland. But many acres had passed from +the possession of the family, and what was left +was worn out by that wretched system of agriculture +which has ruined the once highly productive +lands of Maryland. I mean the continual +drain upon the resources of the soil, without +ever giving it rest or food; sowing a field +years at a stretch, without giving it the repose +of a single season, or the nutriment of a single +bushel of manure. All that was left of the once +beautiful farm was the sterile heath and ruined +Hall I have described, when the estate, by the +death of his father, passed into the possession of +Ignatius, the last heir of the Churchills, who, +and his two sisters, Sophie and Rosalie, were +the only remaining members of the family. His +poverty and his incumbrances did not prevent +him from loving and marrying a beautiful girl in +his neighborhood, Agatha Gormon, who left a +luxurious home to share his poverty in the +ruined Hall at the Heath; nor could his love +save her from death, when, in the second year +of her marriage, she passed away, leaving an infant +daughter of a day old. He had loved her +with an exclusive, absorbing passion, and from +the hour of her sudden death he pined away, and +in less than a year thereafter was laid in her grave—opened +to receive him. The orphan heiress +of a ruin and a desert, the infant Agatha—or, +as from her wild, dark beauty, she was nicknamed, +Hagar—was left in charge of his sisters. +These ladies, though poor, were quite comfortable. +The lower rooms of the old house were +kept in tolerable order. Their table was supplied +by the garden, the dairy, and the river, +which afforded excellent fish, crabs, and oysters—while +their pocket money was supplied by the +hire of several negroes owned by them. The +girls were beautiful—and, poor as they were, it +was thought not impossible that they might marry +well. The elder sister, Rosalie, was a merry, +plump, golden-haired, blue-eyed lassie, with a +complexion that the country beaux compared to +strawberries and cream—she was the first to fulfil +the happy auguries drawn for her. She was +seen by a young merchant of Baltimore, who +happened to have business at Churchill’s Point, +and after rather a short courtship, she was +wedded and carried off to the city home of her +husband. Sophie Churchill, now bereaved and +alone at seventeen, devoted herself with all the +enthusiasm of her ardent, loving nature, to the +care and education of her infant niece, and little +Hagar grew passionately fond of her aunt. Her +sole domestic was an old woman, a pure Guinea +negress, who, seventy years before, in her childhood, +had been torn from her native coast, +brought to this country, and sold. She had +served the Churchill family for three generations, +and was nearly eighty years old—yet with the +strong tenacity of life distinguishing the native +African, she still kept up and at work, seemingly +in all her mid-life vigor. Now, reader, I am +telling you no invented story—so do you not +think that there was something slightly romantic +about the position of this young girl, left with +the charge of an infant, living in an old ruin, on +a bleak shore, and having no other companion +or attendant but the old Guinea negress? Real +life is full of the picturesque and the romantic. +I have never yet needed to cull flowers from the +fields of imagination. The gardens of memory +and tradition will furnish materials for a life of +romance writing.

Sophie Churchill was a pretty girl of round +petite form, of clear pale olive complexion, large, +11soft brown eyes, and dark chestnut hair. Had +her position been different she would have been +much admired and courted—as it was she was +neglected and even slandered—yes, slandered—after +the death of her brother, and the marriage +of her only sister, she had, in pure ignorance of +the world, kept up exactly the same manner of +life as before. Instead of engaging some respectable +elderly female as housekeeper and companion +(which indeed her limited means did not allow), +she preferred remaining alone, and continued to +receive the visits not only of ladies, which of +course was in perfect propriety, but of gentlemen—that +is to say, of her own and her father’s +familiar friends—the sons and brothers of their +near neighbors, who testified their remembrance +of the dead, and their respect for the living, by +sometimes calling to see Sophie and her little +charge, and by sometimes bringing her a brace +of wild fowl, a pair of pigeons, or some other +such game from their morning sport upon the +moor; until at last they found that their well meant +kindness to the young and pretty orphan +was subjecting her to the invidious remarks of +all the thoughtless or the malicious gossips of +the neighborhood. Then their occasional visits +were discontinued, and the poor girl was left +almost entirely alone, especially as the advancing +winter and the increasing severity of the +weather precluded the visits of ladies to that desolate +heath. And desolate indeed it was upon +this first winter that Sophie passed alone at the +Hall.

As early as the first of December the river +was frozen over. With the thoughtlessness of a +young girl upon whom the cares of housekeeping +were exclusively and suddenly thrown, she +had neglected to provide for the exigencies of +the severe winters of that particular locality. +She had even from delicacy omitted to send for +the wages of the few negroes out on hire—and +the first of December, when the ground was two +feet deep in snow, and the river was a solid block +of ice, and even the bay near the shore was +crusted over, found Sophie Churchill destitute of +the common necessaries of life. To augment +the evils of her position, the old negress—who +in health was in herself a host—was laid up +with the rheumatism. At this time Sophie was +so poor that her little charge (now three years +old) possessed but one suit of clothes; and every +night, after putting the little one to bed, would +Sophie go, up to her knees in snow, away off to +the forest, a quarter of a mile distant, to collect +brush, to supply the fire the next day—her little +arms and moderate strength serving to bring so +small a quantity at a time that she would have +to make this trip half-a-dozen times a night before +a sufficient quantity was collected. Then +she would have to take the bucket and go +to a dell in the same forest to bring water, and +after coming home would take the sleeping +Hagar’s only suit of clothes and wash and iron +them for the next day, solaced while at her +work by the mutterings of the old negress, who, +with the irritability of sickness, would growl +from her lair—

“Oh, ho! kin tote water, kin you—thought +how you was to deleky an’ saft (delicate and +soft) to tote water from de spring,” &c., &c.

Sophie never paid the slightest attention to +this ill-temper; she seemed not to hear it. It +was remarkable that Sophie never once in the +whole course of her life was heard to utter a +complaint, lay a charge, or make a reproach; +and that she was perfectly unconscious of the +moral beauty of her own patience. She merely +acted out her own nature without thinking +about it.

Sophie had one faithful friend in the aged +pastor of the parish—but he, with his multifarious +duties, could seldom find time to visit her. The +Rev. Senex May, with his young wife and only +child, lived in a pretty cottage on the other side +of the river, in a grove half way between the +village and the forest. His youthful wife, +Emily Wilde, had been an orphan, a governess +from New England, living in the family of a +wealthy planter in the neighborhood. Weary +of her friendless, homeless, and unsettled life, +she had given her hand where her deepest +reverence had long been bestowed, and was very +happy as “the old man’s darling.” One child, +a boy, had blessed this singular union.

Mr. May and Emily did not surmise the deep +destitution into which Sophie Churchill had +fallen. The deep snow and severe cold had +prevented them for several weeks from crossing +the river to see her.

At last the weather moderated, the snow +melted, the ice-bound river was freed, a mild +dry wind from the South sprang up and dried +the ground, the roads became passable, and the +long confined and dreadfully wearied country +neighbors geared up their vehicles of various +sorts, from the ox-cart to the coach and pair, +and from the ass’s colt to the high bred courser, +and went “a-visiting.”

It was about ten o’clock in the morning of a +beautiful winter’s day, that Sophie caught a +glimpse through the window of the old parson +on his old horse, with Emily seated on a pillion +behind him, with her arms around his waist. +Sophie sprang to meet and greet them—and—

“I knew you’d come! I knew you would,” +she said, as she held up her hands to assist +Emily, who sprang from the pillion into her +arms. And she burst into tears as she received +her.

After greeting Mr. May, she drew Emily’s +arm within her own and led the way to the +house, while the old parson ambled leisurely up +to the horse-block, alighted, and followed them. +When they were seated in the parlor, and Emily +had taken Hagar upon her lap and filled her +apron with the home-made cakes she had +brought, Mr. May turned to Sophie, and +stroking her brown hair, inquired—

“How has my little partridge contrived to +live through this long, hard winter?”

Sophie Churchill was thoroughly ingenuous, +and in reply she gave a simple narrative of her +life since the setting in of the winter.

It was beautiful to observe, that during her +narrative she had uttered no one word of reflection +or reproach against the friends and neighbors +who had so cruelly neglected her. She +merely told without complaint, the simple story +of her sufferings as a duty, in answer to her +venerated pastor’s question. He heard with +emotion—and—

12“Poor ‘stricken deer’—poor shorn lamb—aye! +shorn to the very ‘quick,’” he said.

“The Lord loveth whom He chasteneth, and +scourgeth every child whom he receiveth,” he +said, reverently. And then he arose and walked +soberly and thoughtfully up and down the floor +with his hands clasped behind his back.

He was a round, stout old gentleman, wore +short breeches and silk stockings, and had his +grey hair parted over his venerable brow, +smoothed back and plaited in a queue behind; so +you may readily fancy him as he paced up and +down the floor with his hands clasped behind +him and his head bowed upon his chest, while he +seemed to be revolving some plan.

While he walked, Emily sat and played with +Hagar on her lap; at last turning to Miss +Churchill she said,—

“Do you know, Sophie, that I am not contented +at all—that I am very discontented? I +want a little girl!—I want a little girl so bad! +I want one to dress, and to fix, and to play +with. My boy is eight years old, and far too +big to be dressed in trimmed clothes—too much +of a man, in his own and his father’s opinion, to +wear anything but a plain broadcloth jacket +and trousers. And I do so love to make and +trim children’s clothes. I never go into a dry +goods store and see remnants of pretty calico or +merino, but I think what sweet frocks for a +little girl they would make. Last fall I bought +some pretty remnants of crimson merino and +orange-colored bombazine, and a bunch of narrow +black worsted braid to trim with, just for a +notion—don’t laugh at me, Sophie; and so this +winter, while confined to the house by the +dreadful weather, I passed some of the dreary +evenings pleasantly in making and trimming +some little dresses, and as I had no little girl to +wear them I made them to fit your little girl, +Sophie. Here they are—try one of them on +her—please try one of them on her—I want to +see how they look so much!”

And opening her travelling satchel she produced +with glee four beautiful little dresses suitable +for winter—a crimson, and a green merino, +and a blue, and an orange bombazine.

“And that ain’t all,” said she, diving into her +satchel; “I have made half-a-dozen nice little +petticoats, and half-a-dozen pair of pantalets, +and I have trimmed them with thread edging, +and, to complete the wardrobe, I bought four +pairs of little shoes to match in colors each of +the four dresses; and I have half finished at +home a little black velvet pelisse and a little +black plush hat, into which I intend to stick a +small white plume. Won’t our little girl be +nice, Sophie?”

Emily’s black eyes were dancing as she dashed +back the black ringlets that kept falling over +her face, while she stooped over the basket and +looked up for a reply.

It was just Sophie Churchill’s character to receive +this favor with all the simple, artless frankness +with which it was offered. She expressed +no surprise—spoke no thanks; she only passed +her hand around Emily’s neck, turned her face +around to meet her own, bent forward, and +kissed her lips.

“There! Now, Sophie, let us go into your +chamber and dress her,” said Emily, setting Hagar +off her lap, and beginning to replace the +articles in the satchel, and rising to go upstairs. +But her husband now approached her, and laying +his hand affectionately on the top of her +head, pressed her down into her seat, and took +the chair by her side, saying,—

“Emily, how would you like to have your +friend Miss Churchill always with you?”

Sophie was at the side-board, taking out some +apples. She replaced them, however, and went +up to her pastor.

“Sophie,” said the old man, “I have to ask +your forgiveness, child. I have sadly neglected +my duty as your pastor. I should have seen +that you were comfortably provided for. Do +you forgive me, child?” said he, passing his +arm around her waist, and drawing her up to +him.

Sophie looked at her pastor with embarrassed +surprise, and blushed up to her eyes. It seemed +to her such an inversion of all order for her venerated +pastor to ask her forgiveness. She only +raised his hand to her lips in silent reverence, +then stood before him waiting his further communication.

He passed his hand once or twice across his +brow, and looked at Emily with imploring embarrassment; +but Emily could not or would not +come to his assistance, when he said,—

“Sophie Churchill, my dear, it is neither +proper for you to live in this ruined old house in +this sterile heath, nor is it christian in me to +permit it. And now you say that people have +been speaking ill of you—and you tell me this, +without excitement, as though it were the most +natural thing in the world, and you tell me that +in consequence you are quite neglected, without +resentment, as though it were the justest fate +on earth. This must not go on so—Sophie, will +you come and live with us? I do not ask you +in any way to become dependent upon me, for, +alas! I know too well the unconquerable pride +of the Churchills of Heath Hall!” and he smiled +with a half reproving, half caressing air. “This +property well-managed is quite enough to support +you and your little charge very handsomely. +But you cannot manage it! Now, Miss +Churchill, what I wish is, to unite the little +families of Heath Hall and Grove Cottage. You +and Hagar shall come and live with us at Grove +Cottage nine months in the year. I will repair +and re-furnish a part of this old Hall, and we +will all come down here for sea-bathing during +the three summer months. I will also beg the +privilege of catching fish, crabs, and oysters from +your fishing landing here—and of shooting wild +fowl on your moor. I will take upon myself +the collection of all your out-standing debts, +paying them into your own hands. Come, Miss +Churchill! what say you to this plan of uniting +our families? Though just now, for the first +time, proposed to Emily—the project is very near +to her heart. She needs a companion near her +own age and of her own sex, and will be +delighted to have you with her, especially as she +can then have a ‘little girl to dress and fix,’” +said he smiling—

“Yes, my darling! I heard that. Well, +13Sophie,” he said, turning anxiously to Miss +Churchill.

He need not have beat about the subject so +long, as fearing difficulty with Miss Churchill. +Sophie was too natural, too simple, frank, and +entirely unworldly to feel any doubts, fears, or +scruples upon the subject. Her pastor proposed +the plan—and that fact carried with it a weight +of authority that would have constrained her +acceptance of a much less agreeable proposition—for +in her heart she liked this project—the only +drawback being her dislike to leave as her home, +the Hall of her own and her fathers’ nativity. +She expressed her glad acquiescence in the plan—and +Emily sealed the contract with a kiss on +her brow. “Now, Emily, my darling, we will +hurry home—the sooner that we may begin to +fit up the rooms for Miss Churchill. This is +Monday—by Saturday, Miss Churchill, we shall +be ready for you—and on Saturday morning +Emily shall drive over and fetch you and Hagar, +so that we may all go to church together on +Sunday. As for this old hall, it can be shut up +for the present and left in charge of old Cumbo, +who, Guinea nigger like, is never half so happy +as when left entirely alone. You will like our +little lad, as well as Emily loves your little girl, +Miss Churchill—you could not help it if you +were to try, my dear—and you and Emily and +the children will be very happy—if I can make +you so—for I love to see happy faces about me.”

The old man smiled gravely and sweetly as +he said this, and arose to take leave.

“Mind, dear Sophie,” said Emily, “we shall be +ready—do you be ready also—for I will be sure +to be at your door early on Saturday morning.”

“Always say it then, my dear—somehow or +other my heart sank within me as I heard you +promise so confidently to be here on Saturday +morning. Alas! who can tell? Some of us +may be in our graves Saturday morning!” A +shadow had fallen on his brow. The two young +women felt serious. He recovered himself with an +effort, saying, “I must not darken young hearts +with my gloom! Come! smile, Emily. Bid +your friend good-by—and know that every event +is ordered by infinite wisdom and love.” And +they took leave and rode away.

The pastor’s home was a pretty little white +cottage, with green blinds, nestled among the +trees from which it took its name. A piazza ran +all around it. In summer, vines were trained to +run above the window of the cottage and around +the post of the piazza—and whole parterres of +white lilies (Emily’s favorite flower) filled the +air with fragrance. Just at this season the scene +was rather bleak. The surrounding trees and +overhanging vines but added by the nakedness +of their branches to the dreariness of the aspect. +The cottage was of one story—consisting of a +middle building with two wings. In the middle +part, first was an entry parallel with the front of +the house. At each end of this entry was a +door leading into the little wings, each of which +contained a bed-chamber. These chambers had +each a large bow window fronting on the piazza. +The left hand room was occupied by the pastor +and his wife, and the right hand one was fitted +up for the reception of Sophie Churchill and her +little charge. Behind each of these chambers +was a little closet—that communicating with +Emily’s room was occupied by her son; that +opening from the room prepared for Sophie, was +assigned to the use of their only domestic, a +mulatto girl. The centre building contained, +first in front a parlor, back of that a dining-room, +then a kitchen. Behind the house was a +vegetable garden, and a poultry yard—and still +further behind an orchard of various fruits. In +front of the cottage was a flower yard, and a +grape walk extended from the front of the piazza +quite down to the gate. Bee-hives were standing +under the locust trees that were scattered +over the lawn.

Emily was a great housekeeper—and her +parlor was a model of comfort. There were no +framed pictures. The walls were covered with +a landscape paper (engraved, not colored) +representing the neighborhood of Jerusalem and +scenes in the life of the Saviour. On the wall, +on one side of the fire-place, was Christ blessing +little children—on the other Christ at the marriage +at Cana—the figures were nearly as large +as life. Emily loved them like familiar friends—and +this paper was a favorite with the old man +because its grave hue, assisted by the slate-colored +moreen curtains at the windows, and the +slate-colored coverings of the lounges and easy +chairs, shed a sober clerical sort of air over the +room. The mantel-piece was of dark grey marble, +and the very andirons, fender, &c., had no glaring +brass about them, but were made of polished +steel. A large and well filled book-case stood +at the end of the room opposite the fire-place—a +bronze bust of John Huss stood upon the top of +it. That was the old man’s hero. On Friday +morning succeeding their visit to Heath Hall—this +parlor was in its highest state of perfection—everything +glittered with a sober polished steel +sort of brilliancy—like a “friend’s” wit and +humor. They were ready for Miss Churchill. +Sophie at the Hall was preparing for her +removal—all her small effects and Hagar’s +slender stock of clothing were put in order and +packed. On Friday morning they were quite +ready. On Friday morning Mrs. May’s maid +rode over on a side-saddle and carried a note to +Sophie Churchill. The note was from Emily, +of course, and ran thus—

“Come, my little partridge, are you ready to fly?—your +nest in the grove is quite ready—the sweetest +little nest you ever saw. I have put up white muslin +curtains to your bed and windows, laid down a new +home-made carpet on your floor, whitened your hearth, +and hung your favorite picture of the Madonna and +child over the chimney-piece. Kitty and I have made +some seed cakes to-day—and Mr. May has just received +from Baltimore Scott’s new novel of ‘Ivanhoe.’ I +14await your arrival to cut the leaves—shall we not be +happy to-morrow? I have borrowed Mrs. Gardiner +Green’s carryall and shall be at your door by seven in +the morning. I design that you shall breakfast with us, +so be ready for migration, my bird.

That night Emily retired to rest so full of +thoughts of the morrow that she could not sleep. +For one thing she feared that she should not +wake early enough—her very bonnet and cloak +were laid out ready to be put on when she +should first get up; and then she was afraid her +buckwheat cakes might not rise well on account +of the cold, and terribly afraid lest the cloud +that obscured the moon should bring rain the +next morning. At last she fell asleep, and it +seemed to her that she had but just lost herself when +she was aroused by a soft hand laid on her face. +She threw up her own hand, half unconsciously, +to remove it, when she heard her husband say, +in feeble tones, “Emily, I am dying; get up, +child.” She started up in vague alarm, for she +was yet but half awake, struck a light, and passing +around to the other side of the bed, let it +shine in his face. His features were frightfully +drawn and haggard, as though by a recent fit of +agonizing pain—his voice was quiet, as he +said,—

“Blow out the candle, child, and open the +window-shutters to let the moonbeams in, and +come and sit by me, Emily.” She was wide +enough awake now, and trembling in every +limb, while she gazed upon that contorted countenance, +and marked while he spoke the frightful +ruin an hour had made of it.

“You are ill—very ill!—let me call up Kitty +and send for a physician,” said she, setting down +the candle, and running to the door. He recalled +her.

“My Emily, come here—let Kitty sleep—do +not disturb the household—send for no one, I +insist—a college of doctors could not save me. +My Emily, blow out the candle—it hurts me; +there—now open the shutters so that I can see +out into the free sky. Thank you, child. Now, +Emily, wrap yourself in your cloak, and come +and take this seat by my side.”

Trembling with grief and terror, she did all +that he requested, and finally, as she took the +chair at the head of the bed, said,—

“Oh, do give me leave to send for a physician—you +have been in a fit or in agonizing +pain, and may be so again; do let me send for +a physician.”

“My child, whom would you send? Dr. +Howe lives fourteen miles off; can you send +Kitty at night so far?”

“Oh! I could send her over to the village to +knock up Mr. Green or some of the men, who +will saddle a horse and go—do let me!”

“Emily, before a messenger could go, much +less return with the doctor, it would be too late. +Stay—do not leave me! I charge you do not +leave me!”

He grasped her hand convulsively, as a spasm +beginning in his left shoulder and arm shook fearfully +his whole person. Emily gazed, pale and +cold as lead, and twice started up to call assistance, +when both times the hand of the convulsed man +tightened upon her wrist, and retained her in her +seat. The fit at last was over, and he was +looking into Emily’s face.

“Oh! what can I do for you?” she cried, +“do—do—do let me try something.” She was +too much shocked for tears.

“No, no! not dying, but ill—very ill. Oh, +what is the matter with you?”

“Control yourself, Emily—you can do it. +This is my disease, angina pectoris. I have +been threatened with it long—it will do its office +to-night. One or two more such convulsions +as that and my soul will be released—released! +Only think of that! Free to traverse +the boundless realms of air! Stupendous it +seems to me—I cannot fully realize it. One +hour convulsed and agonizing here, the next beyond +the most distant star we see. One moment +your pale face fades from my eyes, the +next the divine glory of the Saviour’s countenance +bursts upon my vision!”

A terrible convulsion now seized and shook +his frame; he held Emily’s hand as before—the +fit passed.

“You will weep for the old man a few days, +Emily, and only a few days. At first you will +feel very desolate and helpless, but you will +soon recover from that, and find an absorbing +object in your son for a time—that may also +pass, for you are young.”

“No, child. Do not let him look, young as +he is, upon the terrors of a death like this—a +death of physical anguish. I looked over him +as he lay in his cot to-night and blessed him in +his sleep. That is sufficient.”

The muscles of his face and hands began to +twitch—he struggled and writhed in another +strong spasm. When that was over, and he +had grown quite calm, he raised his feeble +hands, and parting the soft dark hair from her +white forehead, he said,—

“I bless you, Emily—I bless you and you +shall be blessed—blessed in your son, blessed in +your friends, blessed in yourself, and blessed in +your God.”

A convulsion stronger and longer in continuance +than any that had preceded it threatened +his immediate dissolution. When, at last, it slowly +and interruptedly subsided, his features settled +into the fixity of death. He did not speak again, +his respiration was labored and painful, and +only when Emily attempted to move would +he give any sign of consciousness by feebly trying +to tighten his hold upon her hand; at last +that hold relaxed, the respiration ceased, and the +freed soul “migrated to the Great Secret.” +Emily was calm and quiet now. She laid the +venerable hands together over his bosom, composed +the limbs, closed the eyes, and straightened +the white coverlet of the bed. Then she resumed +her seat and her watch until the morning +dawned, then dressing herself, she went into the +sleeping closet of Kitty, aroused her, told her +what had happened, and sent her to the village +to procure assistance. By sunrise the cottage +was half-full of sympathizing neighbors. The +pastor’s funeral took place on the fourth day +after his death. The successor of the pastor +had arrived in time to perform the funeral ceremonies, +and after that was over remained as a +temporary guest at the Grove. All plans of removing +15thither were for the present abandoned +by Sophie Churchill.

The Rev. John Huss Withers. He had been +recommended to the parish as his successor in +case of his own demise by Mr. May. He had +been a student some twenty years back with +the old gentleman—within the last eight or ten +years he had had charge of a congregation in +one of the Northern cities. Very lately his +charge had been resigned—and, in reply to a +letter written by Mr. May, inquiring his reason +for his resignation, he alleged the cause to be—domestic +affliction—the loss of his wife. The +old pastor wrote back a letter full of sympathy, +and attempted consolation, and then the correspondence +was suffered to drop. There was no +telling how much the mere circumstance of his +given name, “John Huss,” affected the partiality +of the old man in his favor.

Certainly when he appeared at the grove, there +was nothing very winning in his looks. During +the funeral ceremonies, Mrs. May and Miss +Churchill had scarcely observed him, absorbed +as they were in thoughts of the dead. After the +return from the burial ground—after Emily and +Sophie had laid off their bonnets in Miss +Churchill’s room, Emily said—

“You must stay with us at least a week or +two, Sophie—and we must share together this +room that I proposed for you—I will have the +crib brought down from the loft and put by the +side of our bed for little Hagar. One room +must be given up to the use of our boarder, Mr. +Withers, and I prefer to let him have mine, for +its distressing associations affect my nerves +dreadfully.”

“Yes, my love, for many good, very good +reasons—first, he was my husband’s friend, and +then I am afraid to live here by myself, or I +mean without a man about the place; and then +the old ladies all tell me that I must receive +him because it is so convenient to the church.”

For her life, Sophie Churchill could not have +explained the cause of the oppression that +settled upon her heart, or the deep sigh that +revealed the burden on her spirits without throwing +it off. They went into the parlor, that was +unoccupied, but glittering with its sober, +polished steel lustre, and took seats; Emily, in +the slate-colored damask easy chair, and Sophie +upon the lounge of the same grave hue. By +nothing could you have guessed the late presence +of so gloomy a visitor as death in that sober but +cheerful room.

Emily, by the expressed wish of her late +husband, wore no mourning—her dress was that +she always wore in-doors—a soft and full white +muslin wrapper, descending from her full bust, +and gathered around her slender waist by a cord +and tassel. Her soft, silky black hair was +parted over her forehead, and hung in thick +ringlets that scarcely reached her bosom—she +leaned back serenely with her hands resting on +the arms of the slate-colored chair. Sophie +Churchill’s clear olive complexion looked almost +fair, contrasted with her smoothly braided brown +hair, her large, melancholy brown eyes, and her +brown silk dress. Sophie leaned over the elbow +of the lounge towards her friend, whose chair +was near that end. Kitty came in to lay the +cloth for tea, and soon a round table stood on +the floor covered by a snow-white damask cloth, +white china tea service, and the nice light bread +and hard golden-hued butter, and clear honey, +with the seed cakes of Emily’s preparation. +The tea was placed upon the table and their +boarder summoned from the piazza, where he +had been promenading. He came in.

He came in, lifting his hat from his head, and +placing it upon a side stand, slowly and gravely +assumed the seat at the foot of the table where +Emily and Sophie were already seated. They +raised their eyes simultaneously to look at him, +and at once the whole aspect of the room seemed +changed—a funeral solemnity gathered over it. +Sophie, attracted by one of those strange spells +exercised by objects of terror over us, could not +keep her large startled eyes off him—at last he +raised his head and looked her full in the face—her +eyes fell, and a visible shudder shook her +frame—a just perceptible smile writhed the +corner of his mouth as he withdrew his gaze +from her. Sophie did not open her mouth to +speak during the meal; Emily dispensed her +hospitalities with her usual graceful ease. At +the end of tea they arose, Kitty entered and +cleared the table, and Mrs. May, making an +apology, left the room to attend to some +domestic matters. Sophie was now alone with +the new preacher. She resumed her seat at the +end of the lounge, he took the easy chair just +vacated by Emily, and drawing it closer to the +side of Miss Churchill, he stooped forward and +inquired in his singularly sweet tones—

“Yes, sir,” she said, and her eyes dropped, +and the blood mounted to her brow, and +receding, left it pale—again that singular smile +curled the corner of his lip.

“Ah! and nearly quite alone, Miss Churchill, +with only one aged female domestic and an +infant—”

“And God!” said Sophie, raising her eyes +confidently to meet his; but the brilliant, basilisk, +greenish grey eyes seemed to freeze her eyeballs, +and she dropped their sheltering lids again—yet +she felt the glance of those glittering, cold, +keen eyes entering her heart, and a chill, an icy +chill, ran through all her veins. She started up +and sought Emily.

Emily was in the next room, the dining-room, +where, seated in two little chairs at a little child’s +table, covered with a white cloth, appeared the +16children, Gusty and Hagar, eating their supper +of milk and sweetmeats. The children were +at each end of the table, and Emily was kneeling +at the side with an arm lightly clasped +around each—she had just thus embraced the +orphans, and a tear was glistening in her eye. +She arose as Sophie entered, and said—

“Because I don’t like to stay with him—do +you? How do you like him, Emily?”

“Well, dear, I don’t know. I have scarcely +had an opportunity of seeing yet—he is grave, +grave to austerity, yet that, though it may awe +young maidens, can scarcely be deemed a fault +in the Pastor of the Crucifixion Parish.”

“I could not tell you! You wouldn’t understand! +He has never looked at you—never +spoken to you.”

“My dear, you are hysterical—I must give +you some morphine.” She went to a cupboard. +But the wild fluttering of Sophie’s startled heart +subsided—she refused the morphine, and at last +they returned to the parlor.

The next day was Good Friday, and of +course there was service at the church, and the +Rev. John Huss Withers was to preach his first +sermon. Reader, do you happen to know what +a great event the arrival of a new preacher is in +a country neighborhood? Not only does the +parish over which he is installed as minister, but +every surrounding parish, forsake their own +especial minister to flock to hear him.

At an early hour two horses stood saddled at +the gate of Grove Cottage, and the minister, +Sophie, Emily, and her son, sallied out to mount +them. When Sophie saw but two horses +saddled, and knew that there were four persons +to go to church, she looked with embarrassment +at Emily.

“You are to ride on a pillion behind Mr. +Withers, Miss Churchill—and Gusty is to ride +behind me.”

The parson was already mounted, and before +Sophie had time to reply, he rode up to where +she was standing on the horse-block, stooped +his giant arm, and lifting her lightly to the pillion, +drew her arms around his waist and cantered +off. Earth and sky swam together in Sophie’s +vision as they went. Emily was in her saddle, +and Kitty lifted up and set her boy behind her, +and then taking the infant Hagar in her arms +went into the house. Emily paced soberly +along—Master Gusty was quarrelling all the +way, asserting that it was his right to ride and +his mother ought to sit behind him, like the +parson and Miss Sophie. Mr. Withers was +waiting for them in the shadow of the forest just +at its entrance. At another time Emily could +scarcely have suppressed a smile at seeing the +cold, dead white face and dilated eyes of +Sophie Churchill, with her fingers, which spellbound +she scarcely durst withdraw, stiff and +pale as tallow candles thrown into strong relief +upon the black broadcloth of the parson’s +coat.

“I had not drawn them on, and I lost them +on our ride. I want to get down and go back +and get them,” said Sophie, in an imploring +voice.

“Mrs. May—ride forward, madam, and I +will canter back with Miss Churchill in search +of her gloves!”

“No, no, no! no, I thank you!—it will be +too late,” gasped Sophie—but even while she +spoke he had wheeled his horse and was going +back.

“You should not have named your wish to +get down and return then,” said he, in his sweet, +dear tones. They had ridden back about an +eighth of a mile when Sophie, anxious to rejoin +her other companions, said—

Mr. Withers alighted, and placing the reins +and his riding-whip in the hands of Miss +Churchill, favored the poor girl with a look full +in the face that froze the blood in her veins. +She thought of the long ride they would now +have to take through the forest alone, and her +heart died within her. She watched him, +nervously saw him pick up the gloves and turn +to approach, she looked at him with the eyes +of a startled fawn ready for flight—she met the +same basilisk gaze—it maddened her—suddenly +jerking the bit and putting whip to her horse, +she sped from the spot like an arrow from a +bow, and fled across the common with a vague +idea of reaching her own home—he shouted:

“The horse is running away with you! rein +up your horse,” and flew after her. She reached +the banks of the river—gave one frightened look +behind, and madly urged her steed down the +bank and into the rushing water swollen by the +recent thaw. The water was deep, and her +steed floundered and struggled with the waves +just as Withers appeared at the top of the bank—sped +down—dashed into the water and seizing +the rein swayed the horse around—drew him to +the beach, and led him dripping and struggling +up the bank. When they were once more on +firm, high ground, he paused to breathe the +horse; the water was dripping from the dress of +Sophie, and her wet clothes were clinging tightly +about her limbs. He leaned upon his elbow +upon the pommel of her saddle and said, gravely,

“You are an interesting young lady, Miss +Churchill; your feats of horsemanship are surprising.”

Sophie’s sudden plunge-bath, and the real +danger she had passed, had somewhat restored +the tone of her nervous system by putting to +flight her imaginary terrors. The horse had +now recovered his wind and they set forward, +the preacher leading the horse—they reached the +cottage gate—he assisted Sophie to alight—as +she reached the ground she said—

“You had better push forward to church, Mr. +Withers; you will be too late.”

“See, it wants a quarter to nine o’clock; if +you hurry and change your dress we can get +there in time.”

“Then I shall stay home to take care of you—you +need care after this morning’s adventure,” +17and so saying, he quietly began to unsaddle the +horse.

“Stop, I will go,” said Sophie, choosing the +lighter evil, and she hurried in to change her +dress.

Sophie now returned arrayed in a black silk, +and was lifted tremblingly into her seat. They +then set off at a brisk canter and soon entered the +forest. Reader, do you like a dark forest road? +If so, you would have been delighted with the +forest road leading to this church, winding now +through a deep dell where the branches met +over head, and now up a steep hill over which +the trees were thinly scattered. They had just +entered a dark walk from which the thick overhanging +branches excluded nearly every ray of +light when Sophie, turning her head aside, her +eyes fell upon some object couched in the underwood, +her gaze was riveted, her eyes dilated, +her lips fell apart, her face became ashy pale, +and then a half-suppressed cry burst from her lips. +The parson halted—turned around in his saddle—

“Your heart is beating as though it would +break its prison—you are shaking like an ague. +Was it a bear?”

“And yet you can scarcely keep your seat. +Are you nervous, Miss Churchill?”

“I should think so; you should have medical +advice,” and touching his horse, they galloped +forward.

They soon entered an open forest glade in +which stood the church, a red brick building, +having the form of a cross. Many broken tombstones +were all around it, and scattering trees to +which were tied numerous horses, and nearly +filling up the glade were hundreds of vehicles of +every description, from the ox-cart to the splendid +coach and pair. Alighting near a horse-block, +he fastened his horse, and lifting her from +the pillion, led her into the church, which was +already crowded, and up the long middle aisle +to the pew of Emily, which was the top pew on +the right hand facing the pulpit; he opened the +door, saw her seated, and passed on to his reading-desk. +Emily observed the pale face and +trembling frame of her friend, but had no opportunity +of inquiring the cause, which she naturally +associated with her delay in overtaking +her. Nor was this opportunity afforded after +church, when the congregation all crowded +around to speak to their new minister. Mr. +Gardiner Green, a wealthy planter, the nearest +neighbor of Emily, performed the part of master +of ceremonies. It is true that all had seen Mr. +Withers at Mr. May’s funeral, but upon such an +occasion as that, of course there could be but +few introductions. It was an hour before the +congregation were all in their saddles or their +vehicles, and ready to disperse.

When our little party were mounted and had +entered the forest, the pastor said,

“Your young friend, Miss Churchill, is a celebrated +horsewoman, is she not, Mrs. May?”

“Very. Sophie is the best rider of all the +ladies of this county,” said Emily, unsuspiciously, +“but what detained you so long?”

“While I was hunting for Miss Churchill’s +gloves, her horse suddenly started and ran off +with her; dashed down the bank and into the +river. She kept her seat like a heroine, and so +was saved.”

“I have known Sophie Churchill to ford that +river on horseback when a mere child.”

“She is. Her good horsemanship is merely +habit—she has been accustomed to ride from infancy; +but to-day Sophie certainly is nervous—what +is the matter with you, Sophie, my love?”

Sophie spoke of her fright in the forest, yet +persisted in refusing to explain it. They +reached home. Dinner was ready, the ladies +laid off their bonnets, and all sat down to the +table. Immediately after dinner the minister +arose and retired to his chamber, and Sophie +drew a long free breath, as though a stricture +were removed from her chest.

“Come into our bedroom, and let’s put on +our loose wrappers and lie down, Sophie; it is +really fatiguing these long rides to church and +back.”

And she arose, and Sophie followed her. +Emily assisted her off with her dress, and taking +a bottle of cologne, washed her face and head +until she looked better; and then, as they +rested on the bed, she said,—

“Now, Sophie, tell me about this forest +fright, for there is more in it than you would +confess to any one but me.”

“Perhaps you will think it imagination, or +nothing, yet, as we entered the deep dell, just a +quarter of a mile behind the church, I happened +to turn my head, and low, crouched down to +the ground, I saw—”

“The wannest, most spectral face that could +be conceived, with wild eyes and streaming +hair.”

“I tell you no! The face was whiter than +snow—the eyes blue, and blazing in their steady +gaze upon me; the hair golden, streaked with +silver. The skeleton hand was like a bird’s +claw with emaciation, and the finger pointed to +the minister.”

“A figure conjured up by imagination, Sophie—a +mere creature of your disordered +nerves. You should read Sir Walter Scott’s +letters on Demonology, and then you would +understand. But, dear, how do you and the +minister get on? Do you know I think you are +a favorite with him.”

“Oh! I have such an antipathy to him—such +a sickening, deadly antipathy to him; when +his eyes meet mine, or his hand falls upon mine, +18a cold chill runs all through me, and I grow +blind and faint.”

“Well, my love, fortunately you are not +obliged to like him. Yet he will be very popular, +Sophie. Did you observe the even unusual +respect paid him by his congregation to-day? +His sermon made a marked impression. All +the widows and girls will be setting their caps +for him, but you, I think, will win the prize.”

“I do not like to stay here; I do not like +Mr. Withers, and I do not like the tone of your +conversation so soon after your husband’s +death.”

“I am wrong—I am wrong, to forget for a +moment the loss of so kind a friend; and yet, +Sophie, death never did make me gloomy. +Sickness does, suffering does, but I quite as often +envy as regret the departed. Think, Sophie, he +has rejoined in heaven the wife of his youth and +middle life, ‘the Michal of his bloom,’ whom he +loved as he never could love me, ‘the Abishag +of his age.’ She was his companion for time +and for eternity; I, only a fellow-passenger for +a short stage—the end of his journey, the beginning +of mine.”

Here a summons to tea broke up their conference. +They dressed and went out; the minister +was there before them. They sat down +to tea.

The next morning Sophie Churchill made an +effort to return home, but she was overruled. It +was Saturday, Emily said, and she must stay to +attend church the next day, Easter Sunday. +She complied, and attended church with the family, +without meeting with another adventure +of any sort. On Easter Monday Sophie mounted +on Emily’s horse, and carrying little Hagar on +her lap, set out for her home at Heath Hall, attended +by Master Gusty Wilde May as escort, +who fancied his manhood greatly accelerated by +the honor of his office.

I told you that the house at the Heath was +large and square. It faced the bay, and a wide +hall ran from the central front entrance through +to the back—from the middle of this hall, and +facing the entrance, arose the wide staircase, +whose balustrades turned off in a scroll on each +side of the bottom steps. Under these stairs was +a large closet where household utensils were +kept. On each side of this wide hall were +opposite doors—the left hand door letting into +the parlor, the right hand door into the ruinous +drawing-room. The dim old parlor, with the +sleeping-room above it, and the kitchen near it, +was the only habitable part of the house, and +even these rooms leaked in rainy weather. One +evening, about a week from the day of her +arrival at home, Sophie Churchill sat alone +before the smouldering fire in the wide arched +fire-place; a lamp burned on the little old spiderlegged +workstand; the moonlight streamed +through the branches of the old poplar trees +that swayed against the four gothic-arched and +curtainless front windows. The room was +nearly bare of furniture; no carpet was on the +floor; and the once bright-colored landscape +paper on the walls illustrating Fox’s Christian +Martyrs was torn and faded. It was a weird +scene enough. The figures of the Martyrs were +large as life. Upon the wall opposite the fire-place, +and beside the door leading into the hall, +was the representation of a Christian suffering +the baptism of fire; and as the ray of the lamp +flickered upon it, the form of the martyr seemed +to writhe and quiver—seemed to dip and rise +from the flames, and the features of his tormentors +to grin and leer. Sophie was there knitting, +and her large brown eyes were somewhat +larger, with a vague terror that had fallen upon +her spirits as soon as she was left alone. And +well might she feel this; except the infant and +the beldam, there was not a soul within half a +mile of her, and the forest behind was known to +be the refuge of a runaway negro—a gigantic +fellow, whose depredations in the neighborhood +were violent and frequent.

At the time I write of, the most heinous crimes +were sometimes perpetrated by fugitive slaves in +their desperation; their motives—revenge, impending +starvation, or a passionate desire for liberty. +They are the banditti of the Southern States. +The forests of Maryland and Virginia contain +caves, once the resort of runaway negroes, from +whence at night they issued and fell upon the +unwary traveller or the unprotected house to +levy their contributions.

“Jim Hice,” the man whose depredations now +spread terror through the neighborhood, was a +fugitive not only from slavery, but from justice. +Impelled by starvation, he had once, after +watching a long time outside of the window to +know that the coast was clear, entered the +kitchen of an old friend and begged “a mouthful +to save me from starving.” This friend gave +him a can of whiskey, which he swallowed at a +draught, and which, from the emptiness of his +stomach, immediately intoxicated him; and then +offered him a hunk of corn pone and a herring, +which he began to devour like a wild beast. +But before he could finish it, the door opened +and the overseer of the estate appeared. The +negro recognised him—his eyes flew wildly +around. He sprang to the window, but was +seized by the hands of the overseer before he +could pass through it. They struggled for life +and death—but the struggle was unequal. Soon +the gigantic negro had hugged his captor to his +bosom with one strong arm, while with the +other hand he drew from his pocket a butcher +knife and plunged it to the handle into his chest—then +dropping him, sprang over his body, +cleared the door, and fled to the woods.

The officers of justice were soon in pursuit—a +price was set upon his head—volunteering parties +set out in search of him, and he was traced to +the forest behind Heath Hall. There, in spite of +the most vigorous hunt with horses and hounds +in the deep dells and dense thickets of the forest, +he remained concealed.

It was a week since they had lost trace of +him there—and old Cumbo had just brought the +news to Sophie that day—hence Sophie’s +dilating eyes and starting nerves at every sound. +At last, though but eight o’clock, she could bear +it no longer—so wrought up had her nerves +become that as the lamp flickered against the +walls, the old figures in the landscape paper, +Fox’s Martyrs, seemed to dance and jibber in +their flames. The rattling branches against the +windows seemed the breaking, crushing crossbar +19of the burglar, while the glancing of the +moonbeams between them seemed like the +gliding about of spirits from another world. +Sophie arose with a cautious tread, as though +stealing from enemies, and opened the door of +the great hall from the centre of which the staircase +ascended. She held her lamp in one hand, +her knitting in the other, and her heart was +beating and her eyes half starting as she opened +the door and prepared to bound up the stairs to +her own, and little Hagar’s room. Somehow all +her vague imaginary terrors gave way, while she +held little Hagar in her arms, as though there +was safety in the presence of infant innocence. +She opened the door, and there before her, joining +her, stood the gigantic negro, with wild, +haggard face, and bloodshot eyes! With a +piercing scream, Sophie dropped her candle, +which was extinguished in the fall, and fled back +into the parlor.

The negro stood before her again, and extending +one talon-like hand, exclaimed—

“I am not going to hurt you, Miss Sophie—give +me some victuals—I am starving!”

But Sophie only gazed at him with a startled +and stony eye—her senses petrified.

Sophie was dying, or seemed to be—her head +had fallen back against the chair—her chin had +dropped, and her stony eyes, started from her +chalky face, were riveted upon her fearful visitor.

His eyes were hollow and fiery, and his giant +frame was trembling in every limb. He dropped +on the floor before her, and said—

“Miss Sophie, Miss Sophie, look at me. I +won’t hurt you—how could I hurt you when I +can scarcely stand! Give me some victuals—I +have not tasted food for four days. Give me +some, Miss Sophie!—Oh don’t be scared at me—not +at me—who used to ride you on my +shoulder when you were a baby—how could I +hurt you?”

Just then the door opened, and Sophie, with a +scream of joy, bounded from her chair, sprang +over the prostrate negro, and flew into the arms +of old Cumbo and fainted.

The pastor was behind the old woman. The +negro seeing her, started up, ran and shook the +window sash—it resisted his efforts to raise or +break; sprang to the opposite side, tried another +window in vain—then attempted to dart past +the minister who stood in the door. Mr. +Withers extended his arm, intercepted and +captured the fugitive. He struggled—Mr. +Withers was cool, strong, and determined—held +him fast by the wrists—trying to get them +together that he might bind them. He stood +firm, while the negro—his eyes glaring like flame +in a dark night, his teeth set, his thick neck +swollen, his starting muscles, like knotted cords +in his sinewy arms, fell violently from side to +side in his desperate efforts to escape.

He had been starving, and the factitious strength +lent by despair soon failed—his struggles became +fainter and fainter—and ceased as Mr. Withers +bore him down to the floor, placed his knee upon +his breast, crossed his wrists, and hallooed to the +old woman to bring a cord to bind him.

Old Cumbo, in a distant part of the room, was +bathing her young mistress’s face with water—Sophia +Churchill was recovering from her faint. +The old woman hobbled up, shaking her hand +in the face of the captive as she passed him, +exclaiming, “You gallows face vilyun you!” +went into the hall, opened a dark closet under +the stairs, and drew out a clothes line, which she +brought to Mr. Withers. He bound his prisoner +securely, and then stood up from his labors to +breathe; his eyes fell on the drooping form of +Sophia Churchill, he walked up to her and stooping +over her spake softly,

“You have been in some danger and very +great alarm, Miss Churchill; I thank God who +inspired my visit to you this evening. I just +chanced to knock at your hall door, as your old +servant, aroused by your screams, had come +down to your assistance; she opened the door +and admitted me.”

Sophia was still trembling in every limb, and +the tears were trickling down her cheeks.

“And now, Miss Churchill, I must leave you +immediately to proceed to the village and procure +an officer; the miscreant must be lodged in +jail to-night. Don’t feel any more alarm; he is +perfectly secure, or if it would relieve you, we +can lock him up; have you a room?”

“It would be altogether a work of supererogation, +I think. Well, Miss Churchill, I will +leave you now, and return within two hours.”

So saying the minister took his hat and withdrew. +Sophia remained leaning her cheek upon +her hand. The old woman stood stooping over +the negro with her hands resting on her knees, +peering down in his face.

“Kik—kik—kik!” (laughing), “you ready +trussed for hanging up now, ain’t you? kik—kik—kik—kik! +how you feel when git rope roun’ +neck, hey? Mind, I gwine see you hang, hear?”

“Cumbo, come away,” commanded Miss +Churchill, as sternly as she knew how to speak.

The old woman did not move nor take off her +eyes from her fallen foe, but answered, “Oh, he +one gran’ rascal, Missy, one gallows face vilyun +as ever lib—use to drive me ’bout ’mong corn +hills, when he great man, when he Massa Churchill +oberseer—black oberseer—black gemmun—black +Massa! kik—kik—kik!” And the old +woman snapped her fingers under the nose of +the prisoner.

The harshness of black overseers, who are +often selected for their greater vigilance and +severity, and the hatred the negroes feel towards +them, is notorious in the Southern States.

The old woman continued her abuse, the +negro suffered it without reply. Sophia Churchill +watched him

Sophia looked at the poor wretch tied like a +beast for slaughter, and thought of the dreadful +death hanging over him, until pity overcame +terror and conquered reason. She arose, and +drawing near him stealthily as one would approach +a bound tiger, she said gently:

“Very sorry for you. Oh! Jim, why did you +20run away, and why did you break into houses and +rob, and why, why did you stab the overseer?”

“No, Jim, he is not dead, he has recovered, +so you are free from blood-guiltiness.”

“But, poor wretch, your fate in this world +will be the same as though you were. You +made an assault upon the life of an overseer in +his attempt to re-capture you; not just to see +what you have brought yourself to.”

“But I did not come over here to reprove +you, Jim. Jim, if I were to cut your bands and +let you go, what would you do?” He half +started up, gazed intently on her and said,

“I would go down on my knees and bless +you; I’d learn to pray, so I could pray for you.”

“There, I knew you wouldn’t, Miss Sophia, +you couldn’t if you were to try,” and he sighed +heavily.

“Jim, I will let you go. I don’t know whether +I am doing right or wrong, but I cannot bear +the thought of your wretched condition, and the +awful fate that too surely awaits you, if you are +imprisoned to-night. Listen, Jim. I have a +strong fishing-boat, moored at the beach, at the +foot of the promontory; two oars and some +fishing tackle are in it—in the little fishing-shed +under the brow of the rock there is a sail. When +I cut these cords, fly, take the boat, the oars, +and the sail, put out into the bay, keep near the +coast, and up the bay, until you reach the Susquehanna; +go a few miles up that, and then +land. You will be in Pennsylvania, and you +will be safe. And oh, listen! Go to work—steal +no more, for every future crime you commit +will rest upon my head for permitting you +to escape.” Sophie was now trembling at the +responsibility she was assuming. “Look you, +Jim, resolve upon amendment, pray God to help, +and I,” said she sternly, “I shall pray too. I +shall pray God to help you to reform, and I +shall pray God to grant you a safe termination +to your highly dangerous voyage, if you are +going to reform; if not, if he sees your heart is +hardened, I shall pray him in that case to let +you drown or fall into the hands of your pursuers, +that my mercy to you may not turn out +cruelty to others.”

She went into the kitchen, got a pone of cornbread +and a knife, returned and cut his cords. +He sprang upon his feet, and scarcely waiting to +receive the pone she gave him, fled from the +house.

Sophie sat down trembling in her seat. She +had been afraid of him even while talking to +him and setting him at liberty; now she drew a +long breath, with an inexpressible feeling of relief. +But soon came other thoughts; her doubtful +act of mercy had been a matter of feeling +entirely, and by no means of judgment, and she +did not now feel altogether assured of its prosperity; +besides she feared that she had made herself +in some way amenable to the laws, by assisting +a felon to escape. Sophie was really +growing sick at heart; she resolved to avoid an +explanation and seek her rest. She went to her +chamber, undressed and retired to bed, where, +with little Hagar clasped in her arms, she tried +to forget in the presence of innocence the scene +of horror she had lately witnessed. Presently +she heard the officers enter the room below; +exclamations of surprise and regret (oaths were +spared in the pastor’s presence), and then she +heard old Cumbo hobbling up the stairs. She entered +her room, exclaiming in tones of extreme +indignation—

“Ha! hi! What do you think, Miss Soph, +do you think that gallows-faced vilyun ain’t +broke loose and gone!”

Sophie raised herself on her elbow and looked +at the old woman without speaking.

“Yes, indeed! broke loose and gone! There’s +no tellin’ what he wouldn’t do, the ungrateful +wretch, to break loose and go! after Massa +Widders con’cendin’ tu him too! Oh! he’d ’ny +his Saviour—he’d do anything.”

“Cumbo, will you be kind enough to go down +to Mr. Withers, and tell him that I am sick—very +sick—and ask him to excuse my absence!”

“An’ nuff to make you! an’ nuff to make +you! I’m sick myself; I did hope to see that +gran’ rascal hang. I did that, and now jes see +what a ’spointment.”

And the old woman hobbled away, and soon +she heard her visitors leave the house, speaking +their regret and sympathy as they went. Old +Cumbo came up, and spreading a pallet near her +young mistress’s bed, lay down to sleep, or +rather to talk.

The next morning early Emily May was over +at the hall. She rode her own saddle-horse and +little Gusty rode another, behind which was fixed +a pillion, upon which Sophie was to return to +the Grove—at least, so said Mrs. May, for she +persisted that Heath Hall was neither a safe nor +a proper place of residence for Miss Churchill. +But neither coaxing threats nor arguments would +have prevailed with Sophie to leave the Heath—her +antipathy to Emily’s boarder was undiminished. +Emily spent the day with her, and at +nightfall left, disappointed.

That evening, after the beldam and the infant +were asleep, Sophie as usual sat alone in her +large old parlor. She felt a sense of security +and peace, and plied her knitting-needles diligently—her +thoughts occupied with no heavier +matter than the heeling and toeing of little +Hagar’s red worsted stockings, or at most, the +well-being of her cow and calf, or her vegetable +garden, for already upon the maiden had +descended matronly cares. She sat there knitting, +and presently a rap—a calm, self-possessed +rap was heard at the hall door; she glanced at +the old clock in the corner, it was seven +o’clock; she passed to the door and reached it +21just as the rap was repeated; she opened it, and +Mr. Withers, the minister, stood before her; his +thin dark figure looming up in the moonshine.

“Good evening, Miss Churchill,” said he, +stepping in, taking her hand and pressing it +gently. “You have quite recovered your fright, +I trust?”

“Quite, sir,” replied Sophie, laconically, as +she reluctantly led the way into the room and +set a chair for her minister on the opposite side +of her workstand. He dropped himself into it, +and extending his long legs towards the little +fire, he said,—

“You were not at church last Sabbath, Miss +Sophie, and it was with a view of inquiring the +reason of your absence that I came here—may +I make that inquiry now?”

“The distance is considerable; that, in Summer, +would be no objection, but during the Winter +and Spring the roads are nearly impassable +to a foot passenger, and I have no conveyance.”

“Ah!” said the minister, a gleam of pleasure +lighting up his dark countenance, “then I am +very happy in possessing the means of obviating +that objection; having just purchased a gig, I +shall be very happy in making a small circuit in +my ride, for the purpose of taking you to +church.”

Sophie’s eyes were fixed upon her knitting. +She appeared to be counting the stitches. He +found it very difficult to support a conversation +with her, but he persevered, questioning her with a +pastor’s privilege with a young parishioner, upon +the state of her affairs in general, her income, +the number of slaves on hire, the resources of +her farm, her fishing landing, her moor, her +garden, and her dairy. She gave him laconic, +but straightforward answers, and at the end of +the colloquy he mused, and, half to himself, +said, that the place had been very much abused, +that with ease it might yet be reclaimed, and a +handsome property made of it; and then, at the +end of an hour, he arose and took leave.

Sophie rejoiced that his visit was at an end. +Throughout his whole stay she had not once +raised her eyes to his countenance.

Two evenings from that, at the same hour, +and in the same place, Sophie sat alone, a rap +was heard at the door, and again she arose, +opened it, and admitted the minister; again he +found a seat at the opposite side of her workstand; +and again he freely used his pastoral +privilege of questioning her; but this time it was +not upon external circumstances, but upon the +operations of her mind and heart; and how +adroitly he did it—with his pastoral privilege—and +but for her antipathy, how easy had been +his task, with one of Sophie’s naiveté. Yes, +she admitted, in reply to his searching questions, +that even she, young as she was, sometimes felt +life to wane and sink as though her very soul +was dying in her bosom, that sometimes life appeared +to have no object worth pursuing.

“You suffer from ennui then, Miss Churchill, +perhaps you would not feel this so much in the +company of your friend, Mrs. May, would +you?”

“Do you suffer from ennui when busied in +your garden, your dairy, or at your needle-work?”

“Yes, sir, for it seems to me sometimes a sad +waste of life to pass it only in feeding the +stomach and clothing the back.”

Sophie was certainly beginning to be more +communicative; the pastor was drawing her out. +He looked at her now with more interest than +ever, as he said—

“And yet, Miss Churchill, there is your friend, +Mrs. May, who finds her happiness in her daily +life and household duties. How do you account +for her habitual cheerfulness; or do you suppose +that she is ever a victim to ennui?”

“Never! But then Emily May is a ‘fine +woman,’ every one says so—‘an excellent manager’—the +best housekeeper in the county, and +she is happy, busy and happy, because she deserves +to be. I am, or if I could afford it, +should be idle, for I am not as fond of household +work as Emily is, and I am discontented, +and as idleness and discontent are sin, and sin is +misery, therefore I am sometimes miserable, it is +quite plain.”

“‘And re-resolve,’ and will be likely to ‘die +the same,’ if you do not get to the root of your +malady and understand it. Your explanation” +(and the pastor smiled a slightly cynical smile) +“is an orthodox piece of theology enough, as +far as it goes. Idleness is certainly sinful and a +fruitful cause of discontent, because it is opposed +to the principles of our organization; there is no +atom in the universe idle for a single instant, nor +are we, even our bodies, ever idle, even when +sleeping, for the heart, lungs, and brain continue +to perform their functions, even when dead; for +when the dust returns to dust, its particles, +through a thousand ramifications, perform a +thousand services in the universe. And the +mind? Is the mind ever idle? Has the course +of thought been once really arrested since it first +began? It has flowed in countless millions of +courses; it has been suddenly turned aside, but +has it ever stopped? Your heart has beaten, your +brain worked for twenty years, to what purpose? +No, Miss Churchill, by idleness you mean misdirection +of energies; and by discontent the pain +that naturally follows therefrom. Listen to me, +Miss Churchill.”

Sophie was listening to him with interest—these +thoughts, however old, were to the unopened +mind of the young girl new and striking.

“Listen, I can explain your friend’s happiness +and your own misery, better and more satisfactorily +than you have done—and by doing so, +illustrate the lesson I wish to give you; and +further and more completely to illustrate my +theory, I must bring in another acquaintance of +ours, Mrs. Gardiner Green; what is her character, +Sophie?”

“An elegant woman, all the neighbors say, +but always in a bustle, always overheated about +something, always anxious.”

22“I thought so! she will do for an illustration +of my first class à merveille.

“Listen then, Miss Churchill—the secret of +happiness is this: the striking of a just balance +between the desires and the faculties; if the +desires are greater than the faculties, they will +goad you on to efforts beyond your strength, and +anxiety will destroy happiness, as in the case of +Mrs. Gardiner Green, whose desires Heaven +knows are low enough—being only to shine as +the bright particular star of a country neighborhood—to +have the best house, the best equipage, +to wear the best dresses, and give the best dinners; +grovelling as these wishes are, they yet +exceed her faculties for accomplishing them—hence +her eternal fret. I can further illustrate +this class of unfortunates by a notorious name, +Aaron Burr; brilliant as were his faculties his +desires yet transcended them—he wished to rule +alike despotically over the hearts and minds of +men and women, and over the nations of the +earth. In both these cases that I have cited, +one from the highest, the other from the lowest +grade of mind, the evil was the same—the +balance between the faculties and the desires was +not struck. Well, Miss Churchill, you are +musing—upon what?”

“I was thinking, had Aaron Burr had the +power of accomplishing his ambitious desires, or +had Mrs. Gardiner Green the ability to carry +out her vain ones, would either be any happier?”

“That involves another question of moral +philosophy to which we have not arrived, and +which we will not discuss just now. We are +speaking of present and positive causes of unhappiness, +and not of future contingencies, +Sophie—I beg your pardon, Miss Churchill.”

“Call me Sophie, I am more accustomed to +that name,” said she, rather timidly. Truly +Miss Churchill was “coming round,” and the +minister felt it, for he replied gently,

“And I am more accustomed to hear you +called Sophie—and,” added he softly, “to think +of you as Sophie.”

She avoided meeting his eyes, which she felt +fixed upon her, and a strange pain, dissipating +all the intellectual pleasures she was beginning +to receive from his society, crept into her heart—she +blamed herself for having spoken in the +manner she did.

“You, Sophie, belong to the second class of +my unfortunates, the class whose faculties transcend +their desires, whose peculiar torment is +ennui. You, Sophie, have some noble faculty +or faculties unemployed, and they are corroding +in your bosom, and you call your suffering discontent. +Your remedy is to discover these latent +faculties (for very often these are as unknown or +unsuspected by their possessor, as is some obscure +physical disease), and develope and cultivate +them—it is their suppressed life that is torturing +you now—bring them out, use them, give them +a field and you will be happy.”

“I will teach you by-and-by. Pass we now +to the third class, or those whose faculties and +desires are fairly balanced, who suffer neither +from ennui on the one side nor anxiety on the +other. Your friend, Mrs. May, is a perfect +example of this happy organization; her whole +soul is in her house and family; she has no wish +beyond the well ordering of her dwelling, the +propriety of her dress, her table, her manners +and conversation, and the education of her son, +and her faculties are fully equal to, and not +greater than her wishes; thus she is always +calmly busy and serenely happy.”

He now arose to take leave, and Sophie took +the lamp to light him to the door. When they got +there he held out his hand to bid her good night; +he caught her hand, held it a moment while his +glance sought her eyes, met them, and he murmured +in a low earnest voice, “Sophie.”

She withdrew her hand, dropped her eyes, and +a chill crept over her frame. He whispered +“good night,” set his hat upon his head, and +walked off. His tall thin figure was soon seen +stalking up and down the undulating hills that +descended to the river.

Two or three days passed and Miss Churchill +saw no more of the minister. “I wonder if he +will come to-night,” had been the secret thought +of Sophie as evening approached each day; and +half with dread, half with hope, she listened for +his knock. His last visit had been on Wednesday. +Saturday evening came. Sophie had completed +her week’s work, and was sitting at the +window with her hands folded on her lap, and +looking out into the moonlit scene. The moon +was now full, and the broad river and the boundless +bay were reflected in its light and seen between +the clumps of intervening trees. At last upon +the path issuing from the clump of trees on the +left, was seen the tall figure of the minister. +Sophie withdrew from the window, and soon +after Mr. Withers was admitted by old Cumbo, +who had not yet retired to bed.

“Well, Miss Churchill,” said he, advancing to +her side, “have you succeeded in discovering +those faculties, whose corrosion in idleness is +giving you so much distress?”

“I cannot flatter myself, sir, with the idea of +possessing any faculties above the simple discharge +of plain duties.”

“Then you are quite happy in knitting, sewing, +and watching old Cumbo milk the cows and +weed the garden; and you never wish these occupations +varied except by rest and recreation?”

Sophie was silent. He had now taken a seat by +her side on the settle under the window. Sophie’s +eyes were riveted abstractedly on the opposite +wall, papered with the martyrdom of St. Petronella +and the four noble Roman ladies who suffered +with her; the scene represented the martyrdom +at the moment when life was offered the +young saint as she stood upon the scaffold, on condition +of her recantation. She stood in the centre +of the scaffold arrayed in a scant white tunic, her +white and slender limbs exposed, her hands +clasped upon her bosom, and her fine blue eyes +raised to heaven, her golden locks rolling to her +waist; behind her, leaning on his axe, whose end +rested on the block, stood the executioner; on +her left hand stood the group of imperial officers, +with their offer of mercy; on her right knelt her +aged father with his grey locks streaming on the +wind, his face upturned to hers in the anguish of +supplication, holding towards her a babe of a +few days old—her babe, of which she had been +delivered in prison—appealing to her by the +venerableness of his own grey hairs, the innocence +of its infancy, and the helplessness of both, +to avoid death, to recant her faith, and to live for +23them; but the eyes of the saint never fell from +their high glance, the look alike above the terror, +the bribe, and the love below her.

“Well, Miss Churchill, when you have contemplated +that saint, which the painter has martyred +worse than the Pagans, to your heart’s +content, you will give me an answer, perhaps, or +is it so familiar that you never see it?”

“It is very familiar, sir, but it never wearies +me; and now that you remind me of it, I sometimes, +when I have nothing to do in the house, +and when the weather is too inclement for me +to go out, reproduce these scenes with a pencil +and paper, and sometimes,” said she, blushing +deeply, “illustrate them with pen and ink.”

“You draw, and write poetry; will you permit +me to see some of your productions?”

“I try, but fail in both, sir; and if you will +pardon me, I would prefer not to expose my folly +further.”

But at this moment old Cumbo, who had hobbled +out of the room, hobbled back, and before +Sophie suspected her purpose, thrust into the pastor’s +hands a dilapidated old portfolio, grumbling +out,

“I telled her so—wouldn’t b’lieve ole nigger, +how de church would be down on top ob her for +make de image ob ebery ting in heaben above, +in de earf beneaf, an’ de waters under de earf. +I telled her how ’twould be.”

The minister examined the contents of the +portfolio with a critic’s eye; it was filled with +very mediocre drawings, and very common-place +versicles; in vain did the pastor look for one +single stray gleam of genius; no more flashes of +the fire divine were to be seen in her work than in +her own soft brown eyes. The minister returned +the papers to the portfolio, and handed it back +to the old negress, who stood leaning over her +stick in chuckling expectation of hearing her +young mistress soundly lectured upon breaking +the first commandment.

“This is idleness, this is play, this is not your +vocation, Miss Churchill,” and looking upon +Sophie’s round face, large soft eyes, and pouting +lips, he said,

“I think after all, those strong faculties that +want expression reside in your heart, not in your +head, Miss Churchill.” Then, as though he had +regretted his speech, he was suddenly silent.

The next morning he called in his vehicle. +He found Sophie seated at the window with little +Hagar on her lap. She was teaching her to read, +and her whole countenance was irradiated with +the love of her work. The child’s little wild +dark face was sparkling, too; she had succeeded +in arousing and riveting her mind. As the eyes +of the minister fell through the open window +upon this scene he made two silent comments: +“Her vocation is that of a teacher,” and “That +child has far more genius than her instructress;” +and then he passed by the window into the house.

“Good morning, Miss Churchill. Come, we +are waiting for you. Mrs. Gardiner Green has +been kind enough to ride over with me.”

Sophie gave little Hagar into the charge of +old Cumbo, and went away to put on her bonnet. +She was surprised that Mrs. Gardiner +Green, who had scarcely ever condescended to +notice her, should have been so kind upon this +occasion; had Sophie Churchill known a little +more of the world she would have seen nothing +strange in this change. Even when seated by +her side the affability of the lady became almost +oppressive.

The minister had discovered Sophie Churchill’s +vocation by the subtle sympathy that existed between +the instructress and the pupil, in the little +scene he had witnessed. He was not backward +in improving his discovery.

“We are very much in need of a parish-school, +Miss Churchill,” said he one evening as +he sat with her. “I do not mean by that a +free-school, but a school for the instruction of +the younger children connected with the congregation. +I have conversed with several of my +parishioners, and they all favor the plan of establishing +one. The circumstances of the surrounding +neighborhood point to Heath Hall +as its locality, and to the young lady of Heath +Hall as its mistress. This has also been named +and approved, and I come on the part of the +vestry, who will resolve themselves into a board +of school trustees, to lay the subject before you +for consideration. What do you think of it, +Miss Churchill?”

“You are the most proper person for it that I +know. The faculty of teaching is a natural +gift, like painting or poetry, and it is your gift; +you can infuse into the mind of a tolerably intelligent +child all your own knowledge, and not +only so, but if you possess the faculty in its perfection, +as I think you do, you can arouse the +mind of a dull child, and inspire that of a darkened +one with intelligence.”

“That is a matter of secondary importance—knowledge +can be acquired. You possess the +first requisite, that which never can be acquired, +the natural adaptation for the profession. Why, +Sophie, I have known men of the finest talents +and the highest attainments in science and literature, +fine classical and mathematical scholars, +who could not for the soul of them convey into +a child’s mind the reason why you sometimes +borrow ten and carry one in the rule of subtraction; +and I have known such men at the head +of large academies, or filling professors’ chairs +in colleges, advanced to their post of responsibility +upon account of their vast acquirements in +knowledge and their unimpeachable morality. +Now this would seem to be all that is required, +24yet people never take into account the attractions +a profession should have for its votary. +So these men of unimpeachable morality and +unexcelled intelligence pass their time and spend +their energies in beating the air, while their +pupils are unimproved, except, perhaps, by the +instruction of others.”

“You think it is. So a musical genius of +acute ear wonders, until he understands how +another of no ear can sing out of tune.”

“I can certainly teach easily and quickly +everything that I know thoroughly, and some +things that I do not know thoroughly, for sometimes +when trying to explain to little Hagar a +subject whose boundaries are indistinct to me, a +gleam of light breaks into my mind, and all is +clear to my vision—clear to its fullest extent, +and my little pupil, at the end of her lesson, knows +more than her teacher did at its commencement.”

“Yes, and yet you, Sophie, stand merely +upon the threshold of the temple of knowledge, +and can do what some of the high priests of the +altar would fail in attempting. Thus a teacher’s +efficiency should be judged not by his own reputation +for natural intelligence or acquired +knowledge, but by his ability to convey the +same to his pupils, to be tested by the actual progress +of his pupils. If people would only follow +the natural bent of their faculties, how +much swindling, cheating, idleness, humbuggery, +hypocrisy, misery would be saved; had I done +so how much—”

“Your pupils at first will be the youngest +children of the congregation who are old enough +to attend school. While instructing them you +will be cultivating your own mind and adding +to your stores of information; in this latter +part of the plan I shall assist you, Miss Churchill. +It will give me pleasure to be your teacher, for +though I have no particular vocation for the +profession, yet as it is so much easier to teach a +grown person than a child, for in the former +case the pupil meets one more than half way, +and in the latter case one has to go all the way +and charm the pupil out and on, I shall have +no great trouble with you. And by next year +you will be able to take a more advanced class +of young ladies.”

Then with Sophie he explored the ruinous +apartments on the other side of the hall, selected +the old disused drawing-room as the future +school-room, and saying that he would send +carpenters and plasterers over in the morning, +he withdrew.

The next morning a carpenter, a plasterer, +and a glazier came, and they came every day +for a fortnight, and at the end of that time the +boarded up, close, dark old drawing-room looked +large, lightsome, and clean. In another week +the school furniture arrived—a nice little mahogany +desk for the teacher, and a dozen stained +and varnished pine forms for the pupils.

And now behold Sophie Churchill in her favorite +sober brown silk dress, with her smoothly braided +brown hair, seated at her desk presiding +over her school, her large soft brown eyes floating +serenely over the scene. Now no more +ennui, now quickly fled the day, now pleasantly +passed the week—the month. Is it a wonder +that Sophie cherished in her heart a warm sentiment +of gratitude towards the man who had +wrought this favorable change in her life? The +circle of her existence was vastly enlarged. +Every Friday evening a horse and side-saddle +would be sent by some one of her patrons to +convey her to their house, where she was ever +warmly welcomed, a loved and honored guest, +to remain until Monday morning recalled her to +her school duties. Once or twice during the +week Emily May would accompany Gusty to +school, and remain all day assisting Sophie at +her labor. Nearly every evening now the pastor +came, and gave her lessons in Greek and +mathematics. Sophie felt so little “vocation” +for these severe studies that nothing but the implacable +will of her minister could have kept +her to it. Worse than anything in her experience +she dreaded his frown and his sure and +stern rebuke when she had not accomplished +her task—worse than anything except the +steady searching gaze of his coldly brilliant +green-grey eyes. This froze the blood in her +heart. And yet she felt grateful towards him; +she blamed herself for her antipathy—her reason +assured her that the fault was not in him, +but the folly in herself. Her reason approved +the pastor, the philosopher, the teacher—her instincts +shrank from the man. With all this +there was sometimes something strangely fascinating +for her, even in his coldness, hardness, +and harshness—a feeling, that if some element, +she knew not what, were absent from his character, +she might then meet his friendship—that +something in utter discord with her own soul—that +something that, speaking through his green-grey +eyes, chilled and repelled her. Affairs were in +this state when one Friday morning, early in +June, Master Gusty May, on entering the school-room, +marched up to the teacher’s desk with an +air of importance, and handed her a note. It +was from Mrs. May, and ran thus:—

“Dearest Sophie, do return with Gusty this evening. +I have sent a pillion, and you can ride behind him. +There are to be grand doings at Grove Cottage this evening. +Kitty is beating eggs; and I am stoning raisins—all +this in honor of the expected arrival of Lieutenant +Augustus H. Wilde, United States Navy. My dear +brother Gusty, his ship has arrived at the Navy Yard at +Norfolk—he has received his promotion, and writes +that he will be with me this evening. Wear your new +brown silk dress, Sophie, for I want you to make a +conquest of Master Gusty, Senior, so that we can keep +him here while he is on shore. And I want him to cut +the minister out, too, although the whole country says +it will be such a ‘marvellous proper’ match—that is, +between you and the minister. Come.

There was another horse and side-saddle +brought by another pupil to carry Sophie home +with him that evening, but when school was +dismissed, Master Gusty (junior, as we must +call him now) marched up to the bringer of the +rival nag, and told the “fellow” that Miss +Churchill was going home with him, and that he +had better carry his “beast” back again.

During their ride to the Grove, Gusty informed +Miss Churchill that he was named after his +uncle, Augustus Wilde, that the latter was just +made a lieutenant, and that he was going to try +to procure a midshipman’s warrant for him when +he was a little bigger. They arrived at the +Grove at sunset. Lieutenant Wilde was already +there, and came out gallantly to lift Sophie from +her horse—she had never seen him before, and +as he came from the cottage door down the +25long grape-vine covered walk to the gate where +her horse stood, she thought he was strikingly +like his sister, the same silky black hair, the same +dark grey eyes—he approached, addressed her +freely and cheerfully as his sister’s familiar +friend, and in lifting her off the pillion their eyes +met—their eyes met, their souls met. The soul +more or less plainly speaks through the eyes, +and I believe that ever the truest, purest, +strongest, and most lasting love begins with the +first meeting of the eyes, in a sort of mutual +recognition. Involuntarily his voice softened to +its lowest, sweetest tones in addressing her, and +tenderly, most tenderly he arranged her riding +habit as he stood her on the ground, and then +drawing her arm through his own, he gently led +her up the grape walk to the house. Emily +received her at the door with a hearty kiss, and +telling her that she looked unusually charming, +led her into the house. The pastor was within, +of course. Emily’s parlor glittered with its +clean, sober, drab-colored glory. The evening +passed delightfully, between Emily’s music, +Sophie’s songs, and the young lieutenant’s sea-stories, +anecdotes, and adventures. The pastor +alone was silent and moody. Never had Sophie +Churchill passed so delightful an evening. With +strangers generally, Sophie was as shy as the +wild fawn of her native woods, and her large +eyes would startle and dilate if she was addressed +by any one, yet now those wild shy eyes were +ever roving after another pair. As yet she was +utterly unconscious of this truantism. At last +they met that other pair, and she—blushed, and +looked down? No! That belongs to a more +sophisticated, a more conventional being than +our wild fawn of the Heath. No—a glad, +innocent, unconscious smile broke over her face. +There was one present who watched her with a +dark and lowering brow. Happily Sophie did +not perceive the evil eye glowering under it. +The evening closed. She retired to rest with an +elevated and happy heart. She and Emily slept +together in the same old room—the minister +occupied his own chamber alone, for Emily did +not like to thrust her brother in upon him. So +after everybody was gone to rest, Emily prepared +a sofa bed in the parlor for her brother.

“Emily! Emily! she is charming, charming!” +said the young man, as his sister stooped to +receive his good night kiss.

“He loves you, darling—he loves you dearly, +sweet darling,” said Emily, hugging her friend +to her bosom, “and I am so glad.”

It was such a beautiful morning, such a holiday +seeming morning—the green foliage all +sparkling with dew in the rays of the early sun, the +air vocal, noisy with all sorts of merry sounds, +cheerful household sounds, gay woodland music, +the crowing of roosters, the cackling of hens, and +above all, the merry, merry, merry bursts +of melody from the birds. Augustus Wilde and +Sophie Churchill sat in the vine-clad porch of +Grove Cottage. (Emily was in the dining-room +washing up her breakfast things, and the +minister was writing his sermon in his room.)

“Do you know, Miss Churchill, that I am +perpetually in danger of offending against the +rules of etiquette, and calling you Sophie, as my +sister calls you. Whenever I turn to address +you, ‘Sophie’ springs to my lips. I warn you +of it that you may not be offended when it +comes—why, ‘Sophie’—it just suits you—such +a little shy fawn as you are—in every soft wave +of your brown hair, in every floating beam of +your tender eyes, in every fold of your sober +dress ‘Sophie’ is revealed. I must call you +Sophie.”

They were sitting on the bench with their +backs against the open window of Emily’s bedroom +(the little chamber on the left front, +that I have described). He now felt his ears +grasped from behind and his head well shaken. +Sophie raised her eyes and saw the white dress, +black curls, and merry face of his sister stooping +from the window over him.

“Sophie, is it? Impudence! Well, Sophie, +let him call you what he will—but don’t you call +him Augustus—there is nothing august about +him, call him ‘Gusty,’ or ‘Gusty Wilde,’ for +look you!” said she, pulling back his head, and +kissing his brow, “there is so much latent +strength and fire in this young man’s veins that +it is extremely apt to break out in storms—just +watch him in controversy with Mr. Withers—the +sudden anger will dart from his eyes like a +spring lancet from its sheath!” She shook him +again, and let him go.

“Oh! the atrocious medical simile!—like +‘lightning from a mountain cloud,’ you meant.”

“Like a pea from a pop-gun, more likely. +Now, Miss Churchill, he said your air and manner +revealed ‘Sophie’—very well—every glance, +and start, and spring, every interjection and +exclamation in his looks, gestures, and conversation +exposes ‘Gusty Wilde.’”

“Now, Miss Churchill, do you believe that?” +inquired he, with mock seriousness.

“You are sure of nothing—he is on his good +behavior now; wait and see. But that is not +what I broke in upon you for, Mr. Wilde—I +have come to invite you and Miss Churchill to +ride with me this morning. We will borrow +the parson’s gig, and come, I will be good. +You shall drive Sophie, and I will ride FireFly, +my pony. Come, run, Sophie, smoothe +your hair, it is a little blown about by the breeze, +and put on your bonnet. And you, Master +Lieutenant, be so kind as to don your undress uniform +at least—what is the good of having a brother +in the Navy, if he dress like an undertaker at a +funeral? Come! I want to show you off; +I want to get half the girls in the neighborhood +in love with you. Dear me! Am I not rich +just now? Two beaux—the best of beaux for +a country neighborhood—a preacher and an +officer. Mercy! I shouldn’t wonder if my +26house became the resort of all the merry maidens +and manœuvring mammas in —— county.”

They made many calls that day before returning +to a late dinner. The last house they +called at was Mrs. Gardiner Green’s, where +they were received and entertained by that lady +and her pretty daughter Rose.

The next day was Sunday, and they all went +to church. Lieutenant Wilde sat between his +sister and Miss Churchill in the front pew; +there was an expression of serious joy upon the +faces of the youth and maiden never seen there +before—the minister, perhaps, never was less +happy in his written sermon or its delivery, than +upon this occasion. He had brought Sophie to +church in his gig; at the close of the service he +took her home to the Grove.

The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly. +Early the next morning Sophie returned to +Heath Hall, to recommence her school duties. +That day passed as usual; in the evening after +tea, Sophie sat by the open window; it was a +beautiful starlight night, and she delayed ordering +lights, preferring to enjoy the cool night air, +and listen to the pleasant night sounds by the +open window. Presently a tall dark figure +passed before the window, and in another moment +the minister had entered and was by her +side.

He took a seat by her side, and sat with his +head bowed upon his hands that rested upon the +top of a stick held between his knees; he was +silent a long time; at last Sophie arose to order +lights.

“Ah! that is very candid. But do you think, +Miss Churchill, that I can altogether approve of +the marked preference shown by a young lady +in your circumstances for a young gentleman?”

Sophie looked bewildered, dismayed. The +poor girl, naturally timid, had been made quite +cowardly by the misconceptions, misconstructions, +and misrepresentations of others; she +grew pale, and replied with a faltering voice—

“I—I did not know—I knew—I know that +my profession would seem to require more +steadiness, gravity, and circumspection than I +possess—but I was unconscious of any—”

Her voice faltered, broke down, and she stopped +short, and burst into tears. He answered +sternly—

“You know very well, Miss Churchill, that +it is not your ‘profession’ I speak of. What +can that be thought to have to do with your +preferences? No, Miss Churchill, you know +very well that I allude to the relations subsisting +between us.”

“You certainly cannot successfully affect +ignorance of a fact with which the whole county +is acquainted, though it may now seem convenient +for you to attempt it.” He paused. +“Well, Miss Churchill?”

“Then all the county understands and have +understood for two months past, that we are to +be married soon, Miss Churchill.”

“Oh, my God, no! You never dreamed—I +never dreamed of that! Oh, no! I had rather +die! Oh! God knows I had!” exclaimed +Sophie, wildly, clasping her hands and rising.

“Your aversion to me is certainly flattering—very +flattering, Miss Churchill—but it is rather +late now to express it. You have received my +visits nightly for three months past—and now, +to-night, for the first time, you express a strong +and utter aversion to me.”

“Oh, because I couldn’t help it! How could +I help your coming here—how can I help this +aversion I feel—pardon me if I have expressed +it strongly. I have a high respect for you, and +I ought to feel honored by your preference—any +woman in the parish would. You are too good—too +wise for me, believe me you are! I am a +child—a fool! Oh! don’t think of it! pray +don’t think of it! Consider how many ladies—ladies +of family and fortune—would be proud +to wed the minister; who would throw himself +away upon a poor, lone girl, without connexions, +and without influence!”

Sophie had risen in her earnestness, and stood +before him with her clasped hands.

He closed his eyes and smiled; he stretched +forth his hand, and taking hers, drew her again +to her seat, and passed his arm around her waist +and whispered—

“My little Sophie, my little fawn, you shall +be Mrs. Withers in three weeks, just as sure as +you live!”

She shrank from the clasp of his arm, as +though it had been the clammy coil of a serpent.

“I will not! cannot! durst not! Mr. Withers, +why don’t you marry Rose Green? She would +have you; or Mrs. Somerville, or Mrs. Slye, or +Mrs. Joshua Eversham, or Miss Polly Mortimer—any +of them would have, would be proud to +marry the minister of the parish.”

Sophie was wounded and became silent—she +attempted to withdraw herself from the embrace +of his arm, but every attempt was punished by +a tighter fold.

“Miss Churchill, do you know that there is +an instinct in human nature—to speak more correctly, +in man’s nature, or in speaking most correctly, +perhaps I should say in my own nature—to +pursue that which flies? Why, Sophie, when +I was a lad, I always preferred to play with +kittens that were scarey and spiteful, that would +kick, scratch, and bite, that would resist to the +death rather than with one that would cosily +and quietly nestle down in my lap—the latter I +should have shaken off.”

“But how,” said Sophie, “if the poor kitten +27neither resisted nor caressed you—shrank and +shivered and died in your hands?”

“I should not give the weak thing a chance, +Sophie; when the shrinking and shivering commenced, +I should throw it heavily upon the +ground, and thereby kill it.”

“What day, Miss Churchill, between this and +the first of next month will it please you to bestow +upon me the honor of your hand?”

“No day! no day! Don’t look at me so, +Mr. Withers, pray don’t; it makes me ill—pray +don’t—I am a mere girl, a mere child; it frightens +me, this idea of marrying you—indeed, believe +me, it does!”

“Come! Miss Churchill, come! This will +not do—this fickleness and unfaithfulness on +your part will not answer; I cannot permit it. +I thought the footing we stood upon in relation +to each other well understood; you certainly +could not have misinterpreted the meaning of +my visits here; no one else has misconceived +them. Mrs. Gardiner Green inquired of me to-day +when our marriage was to come off. I told +her that it would take place some time this +month, that I would apprise her of the exact +day to-morrow. It is for the purpose of ascertaining +your day that I have called this evening. +Come, Sophie, satisfy me upon this point.”

“I cannot! I cannot! God knows I cannot! +Oh! Why do you persist in this? Why! +why love a girl who is in no respect, of age, +mind, education, or wealth, your equal?”

“Fiddlestick! have I said I loved you? No, +Sophie, thank God I have never yet been, never, +I trust, shall be, under the influence of that most +weak and puerile passion.”

“Then, in the name of reason and of mercy, +why seek to marry a girl whom you do not +love, and who hates—no, does not hate, but +who fears and recoils from you?”

“I will not marry you, then! I will not +marry you then! please God to give me strength. +Surely I am a free girl; no one has a right, or +will attempt, or could succeed in forcing my inclinations. +Come, I will be firm, and nothing +can compel me!”

“But destiny. You are in a net of circumstances +from whence there is no escape, Sophie +Churchill. Do not struggle, you will lacerate +your limbs and waste your strength only to entangle +yourself the more.”

Again silence ensued. Sophie continued from +time to time to try to extricate herself from his +grasp, each attempt but serving to rivet his arm +about her waist—at last he said—

“The embrace of my arm is an emblem of +the surrounding of your fate; you can as easily +escape the one as the other.”

Sophie burst into tears, and wept long and +freely. He did not attempt to soothe or even to +speak to her. At last her fit of grief and terror +exhausted itself, and she became calm. Then +she said—

“Oh, I might have guessed all this sorrow +from the first time I ever met your eye!”

“I have given you the only one I can give—take +it again. I cannot give myself to you.”

“Then I can take you, that’s all, Sophie. +Mrs. Gardiner Green will call upon you to-morrow,” +and so saying, he arose and took his +leave.

When left alone Sophie paced uneasily up +and down the floor, saying, as she clasped her +temples—

“Am I mad or going mad? am I dreaming? +Under a spell? Oh, what is this? What is +this closing around me like irresistible destiny? +Why cannot I awake, arouse from this? I know +I’m free; why can’t I use my freedom? What +a spell, what a mystery, what a horror! Oh! +my Heavenly Father! If I could awake! I +lose my free will! Oh, fate! fate! fate! thy hand +is on me, and there is no resisting it!”

Thus the pinions of her weak will fluttered +in the iron grasp of a strong and implacable +one.

Scarcely was the school dismissed the next +evening, before the carriage of Mrs. Gardiner +Green drew up before the door. The liveried +footman of Mrs. Gardiner Green descended from +behind and opened the door and let down the +steps, and Mrs. Gardiner Green hereby alighted +and entered the hall. Sophie received the pompous +lady at the door; Mrs. Gardiner Green +took the poor girl in her arms and kissed her, +then conducted rather than followed her into +the parlor. They sat down. After a little +preliminary conversation the lady began:

“My dearest Miss Churchill, I have come at +the suggestion of our mutual friend and reverend +pastor, Mr. Withers, to offer you any aid or +advice that the present crisis of your circumstances +may demand. Now no blushing, my +dear Miss Churchill; look upon me as a mother—as +a sister,” said the lady, quickly correcting +herself. “In short, Miss Churchill, I have +come to propose that you be married from our +house.”

Now this was said so coolly, taking the premises +so much as a matter of course, that Sophie, +poor cowardly Sophie, had nothing at first to +say.

The lady went on with her proposals, entering +into all the details of wedding dresses, bridesmaids, +brides-cake, and a vast deal of matronly +information and advice. At last Sophie could +bear it no longer; she arose nervously from her +seat and turned to the window, every limb trembling, +and her voice faltering as she said—

“I am not going to be married to Mr. +28Withers, Mrs. Green—I am very sorry everybody +seems to think so—it is not true—will you +do me the favor to contradict it wherever you +may hear it?” And now she turned towards +her. Mrs. Gardiner Green looked perfectly +aghast; she evidently knew her part.

“Then, Miss Churchill, as your mother’s +oldest friend, may I ask,—what is the meaning +of the minister’s nightly visits to you?—for +know, Miss Churchill, that unless they portend +marriage, not even his sacred cloth will prevent, +but rather augment the scandal that will ensue. +Miss Churchill, I would not for the world that +any thoughtless or malicious person should hear +you say what you have just said; but, Miss +Churchill, again I ask you—why have you permitted +his nightly visits for three months past?”

“I could not help it—how could I help it?—should +I have thought of telling our minister to +keep away? I thought whatever our minister +said or did was right, and could not be misconstrued, +or I am afraid, I am sure, that until now, +I never thought about it.”

“No, Sophie, that is it—you never thought +about it—your thoughtlessness in permitting the +visits of gentlemen in your unprotected condition +had already nearly mined you, when the kindness +and candor of Mr. Withers rescued you +from the neglect and obscurity into which you +had fallen; and now his very kindness will +through your thoughtlessness be converted into a +greater misfortune to you and himself, that is, if +you do not marry him; but of course you will +do so, Sophie.”

Sophie Churchill was sitting before her; the +palms of her hands pressed together; her eyes +raised imploringly to the countenance of the +lady.

Sophie was utterly unconscious of this attitude +of supplication. It was the involuntary +appeal of a weak will to a stronger one.

“Oh! I never can—I never can marry that +man—death—death would be better.”

“Yet, Miss Churchill, you have seemed to +speak sometimes as if you took pleasure in his +society.”

“When he reads or converses I like to hear, +or have liked—I shall never like it again; but +if his eye runs from his book and fixes on my +face—I—oh!—I can’t tell you, but at the very +idea of marrying him I grow deadly sick and +faint.”

Mrs. Gardiner Green, with her obtuse sensibilities, +did not understand this, but she answered +coldly—

“There is no one to compel you to do justice +to Mr. Withers, Miss Churchill—no one to force +your inclinations in any way; still, as your mother’s +friend, I must advise you to bring no reproach +upon her memory by your lightness of +conduct; as your brother’s friend I must entreat +you not to injure the prospects of his young +daughter by your selfishness; and as the friend +of Mr. Withers, I must conjure you not to destroy +his usefulness by your fickleness and unfaithfulness.”

She continued to talk, using all the arguments +of a hard woman of the world, with a +nervous, sensitive, and somewhat visionary girl, +and at the end of two hours more, left Sophie very +well prepared to receive, or rather, very incapable +of resisting her destiny and her master. It was +near sunset when the lady’s carriage rolled +away from the door. When she was gone Sophie +sank down on the steps of the piazza, and +resting her elbows on her knees, dropped her +face into the palms of her hands, and gave herself +up to despair. She sat there until the sun went +down—she sat until the stars came out—she sat +there until she felt a light hand fall upon the top +of her head. She looked up, and the phantom +of the forest dell stood before her, the same +wan, spectral face—the same large, intense, +blue eyes, blazing in their hollow sockets, surrounded +by their livid, bluish circle—the same +streaming yellow hair, with its streaks of grey—the +same emaciated claw-like fingers. Her intense +gaze sought and met Sophie’s eyes, and +she knew that her visitor was a denizen of +earth. She remained gazing into Sophie’s eyes +a minute, and then she broke forth with terrible +energy:—

“Do not marry him!—risk—suffer anything +but that! Do not marry him! Be true to your +instincts—they warned you at your first meeting, +they warn you now! Be true to your instincts! +They were given you of God for your +protection; it is a sin—it is a sin to disregard +them, and the punishment—the punishment will +be more than you can bear!—a broken heart!—a +maddened brain!—at least—at least a +blighted life! Look at me!”

She tore the mantle from her breast and displayed +a skeleton form, to which the tight skin +clung.

Sophie raised her eyes just in time to see the +tall figure of the minister near the shadowy woman, +and his strong hand fell upon her shoulder. +He had approached unperceived. She shrieked—sprang +from under his grasp, and fled towards +the river. He looked after her in dismay, apparently +with an impulse of pursuit. When she +had disappeared over the cliff, and down the +bank, he turned to Sophie.

“You were always a little brainsick, Miss +Churchill, but really this—or perhaps you are +only jesting.”

“Then you are clearly insane—moon-struck +as your lunatic visitor. Pray can you tell me +what put such an extravagant idea into your +head?”

“At least, Mr. Withers, you will not think +of pressing your suit, or even renewing a single +visit, after such a revelation.”

“Will I not? I have two urgent duties to +perform now—one is to seek that lunatic, and +have her taken care of; the other to hasten our +marriage, Sophie, that everything seems to endanger, +from naval officers to strolling maniacs.”

“She is your wife!—I know she is! Every +glance into your face deepens the conviction I +feel.”

“You lost her, but how?—by death? Possessions +and persons are lost sometimes, and +found again. Nothing but the grave is inexorable. +Come, has the grave inclosed your +wife?”

“Insulting! insolent! Take care, Sophie, +you are heaping up wrath against a day of +wrath.”

“You would be laughed to scorn for your +credulity. Nonsense, Sophie! Were the letters +I brought here of so little weight?—was the +approbation, the warm friendship of the venerable +and sainted May, of such little worth, that +the fancies of a moon-struck woman should be +able to injure me, or should change my views +and purposes towards you? Come, Sophie, it +is best that you understand me. I have no +wife. I assure you, upon my honor—my untarnished +truth, Sophie, that I have no wife, and +I must have you! Your hand is the one thing +that I wish on earth, and I must, must have it—will +have it.”

Sophie was weeping bitterly. He stooped +down, took her chin in his hand, and raised her +tearful face, then sat beside her, and said, more +gently than he had yet spoken—

“Come, Sophie Churchill, I am no hypocrite, +no villain, and God knows it. I have been the +most unfortunate and the most injured man, +perhaps, that ever lived; and some day, when +you are prepared for it, you shall know it. As +for the woman, poor creature, she must be cared +for; and now, lest you should perchance cherish +in your heart another suspicion, which yet +you would never breathe, I will volunteer to +say that I have never wronged that woman—never, +so help me Heaven! Dismiss her from +your mind, Sophie, and tell me, has Mrs. Gardiner +Green been to see you?”

“Thank you, Sophie!” and he sealed his +thanks upon her lips, arose, and bidding her +good night, left the spot.

“Sophie, your cheeks are pale, and a livid +blue circle surrounds your eyes; you do not look +like yourself—you are ill; do not keep school +to-day—give a holiday and rest.” These were +the words addressed by Mrs. May to her friend +on the day succeeding the events related in the +last chapter. She had ridden over, attended by +Augustus Wilde, to spend the day with Sophie +and help her to teach. They were standing in +the school-room just before calling the pupils.

“Yes, Miss Churchill, do give a holiday to-day +for my sake, as well as for your own,” said +Lieutenant Augustus, setting his cap and riding-whip +down upon the desk. “On Thursday my +week’s leave of absence expires. This is the +last day I shall have an opportunity of spending +with you, and you look weary from confinement +and work; everything points to a holiday—come!”

“But I do not think so, and I never believe a +smile unless the eyes smile, too,” said Emily; +“now I am going to give a holiday;” and so +saying, she went into the yard, called the children +together by a bell, and told them to go +home, for there was to be no school that day. +Sophie Churchill was ever too yielding, and +now, in the languor of dejection, she made no +opposition.

“Now, Sophie, we will go a fishing,” said +Mrs. May, as she returned after dismissing the +children, “the fresh air off the bay will revive you.”

“And I, Miss Churchill, feel very anxious for +a forenoon’s frolic on the waters, if that is any +argument,” said Lieutenant Gusty, and he sought +Sophie’s eyes; but they were bent upon the +ground, or, when raised, their intelligence, their +light, their sympathy for him was gone. He +felt this, and his heart sank. Had he offended +her? and how? He wished to speak to her, or +to his sister apart, and ask the reason, but he +could not speak to either upon the subject, in the +presence of the other. It is a feature in human +sympathy, that one may be in company with +two equally loved and trusted friends, to either +of whom apart, one would confide the secret +that oppresses—for there is a feeling of security, +exclusiveness, sacredness, between two friends +conversing, that is lost when a third, however +equally dear to both, enters in—the electric cord +of full sympathy and confidence has but two +ends. The Jesuits understand this, for by a +statute of their order it is forbidden that less +than three members go apart, or converse +together. Now, Augustus Wilde felt this without +reasoning upon it.

Miss Churchill put on her bonnet, and they +were soon down upon the beach under the +promontory; the gravelly beach was clean and +cool, and the waters blue and clear, and +sparkling in the beams of the early sun, and all +the golden clouds were reflected on their bosom. +The little skiff was soon unmoored and they +were out upon the bay; as they receded from +the shore, Lieutenant Wilde stood up and turned +to look upon the promontory, or rather peak, +surmounted by the old hall; his eye rested a +moment upon the towering object, and then +wandered down to where the promontory +descended into the heath, and further on, where +the heath flattened into the moor. He had just +said, while gazing on the scene, “I am no agriculturist, +Miss Churchill, yet I never saw what +30I think to be so fine an estate in all the gifts of +nature as this—the moor with its wild fowl, the +river and the bay with their fish and their oyster-banks, +the forest in the background with its wood +and its game—it is inconceivable how the +property has been suffered to—” and then he +stopped, started, and gazed at an object on the +water between them and the land—

“What is the matter, Augustus?” said Emily, +attempting to rise. He pushed her down into +her seat again, while he continued to gaze upon +the floating object as it was borne upon the +waves towards the beach.

“What is the matter, Augustus? What are +you looking at; one would think you saw a +shark.” And now Sophie’s brown eyes were +raised in silent inquiry.

Augustus sat down, muttering “Nothing, +nothing,” and pulled for a distant part of the +shore, about midway the heath, between the +promontory and the moor.

“Be quiet, will you,” muttered he, pinching +her arm and glancing at Sophie, who had +relapsed into her abstraction.

Not until they had nearly reached the beach, +had Sophie noticed their altered course; then +she looked up and inquired, “Where are you +going? Why this is not a good place to fish.”

Lieutenant Wilde answered, “We think we +have made it too late in the morning—that the +sun is too high and too hot for you, Miss +Churchill; and we think we will return to the +hall.”

Sophie remonstrated, declared she felt no ill +effects from the heat, &c.; but was overruled as +usual. Emily now asserting that she felt the +rays of the sun too strong, they landed and +walked to the hall. When they reached the +parlor, Emily purposely removed her bonnet and +scarf there, and Sophie taking them, carried +them up stairs to put away. When she had left +the room,

“Now, I followed your lead in coming home—tell +me why you came; what was the matter +with you—what did you see on the water?”

“You told me that Miss Churchill was very +nervous and sensitive, did you not?”

“Heavenly Father! some poor negro, out +fishing, drunk perhaps, fell overboard.”

“No; a woman scantily clothed, with streaming +yellow hair clinging wet around her swollen +limbs. I am sure the body is by this time cast +upon the beach.”

“A woman with streaming yellow hair,” said +Emily, as the memory of Sophie’s vision in the +dell crossed her mind. “Can we, Augustus, +get away from Sophie in any way, and go down +to the beach?”

His purpose was forestalled—for at that +moment the handsome blue carriage and grey +horses of Mrs. Gardiner Green stopped before +the door; and the lofty lady alighted and +entered the house. “How do you do, Mrs. +May—and Lieutenant Wilde—well, this is +delightful. I am so happy to see you. I must +positively have you at the Glade to-morrow +evening, to meet a few friends—quite an improvised +little affair; but where is Miss Churchill? +I am enacting ‘mamma’ to that young lady +just at the present crisis; and this morning I +wish a private interview with her.”

Emily seized this chance—and calling to +little Hagar, sent her for Miss Churchill. When +Sophie entered the room, she arose, and leaving +Mrs. Green to explain her departure, took her +brother’s arm, and saying that she would return +in half an hour, threw her handkerchief over her +head and strolled out into the yard; then +quickening their steps, they hastened towards the +peak. Descending the cliff by a circuitous path, +they reached the beach; and there, immediately +under the point of the promontory, they decried +an object that, upon nearer approach, they found +to be the dead body of a woman. Emily May, +pale with awe, knelt down to examine the +body—her brother stood in silence by her +side. From its extreme emaciation, the body, +unlike those of most drowned persons, was not +much swollen, but lay slender and extended at +length—the arms confined to the waist, and the +slight limbs bound together by the winding and +clinging of the long yellow hair, that in beating +about the waters had got twisted around her. +With trembling fingers Emily removed the tress +of hair that, wet and sticking to her face, partly +concealed the features. She gazed earnestly and +sadly upon the extinguished lamp of that dead +countenance—the blue-white complexion, the +thin sharpened features, the round forehead +polished and shining, from very emaciation, the +ultra-marine blue eyes, stony and swollen—the +small elegant nose, with its delicate and half-transparent +nostril—the short and beautifully +curved upper lip, drawn up now blue and stiff, +and exposing the little pearly teeth—and lastly, +the long fine golden hair with its few commingling +threads of silver—the extremely small and +slender hands, thin now as birds’ claws—the +little naked foot, with its curved hollow and +proud high instep.

His sister shook her head; she was thinking +of the vision seen by Sophie in the forest dell, +but she deemed it best to be silent upon that +subject at present. There was a small house +under the shadow of the promontory, in which +sails, fishing-nets, and rods, &c., were kept; +into this house, for the present, Lieutenant Wilde +conveyed the body, and locking the door, took +possession of the key, and advising Emily to +return to the hall, he went off to Churchill +Point to summon the coroner.

“Ridiculous, my dear! absurd, preposterous! +utterly preposterous! A crazy woman wandering +through the country, and saying that she is +our minister’s wife! and you to believe it! I +shall grow thoroughly ashamed of you, Miss +Churchill. Why, don’t you know, my dear, that +is always the way with these lunatic vagrants, +to fancy themselves some great personage, always; +31all I wonder at, is that your maniac was +so moderate—they are generally queens, nothing +less will serve them; even old Suke Ennis, you +know, is the President’s wife—and carries her +bosom full of waste papers that she says are his +letters. A strolling lunatic suddenly appears +before you, in the full of the moon, announces +herself as the wife of the most important man she +knows of, flees away at his approach,—and you, +upon the strength of her moon-struck madness, +believe, or more probably affect to believe her +insane statement; you grow ridiculous. Oh! +do not, for your own reputation for good sense, +mention this to any one else. I am mortified at +you, alarmed for you.”

This was the manner in which Mrs. Gardiner +Green received the news of Sophie’s strange +visitor from Miss Churchill’s lips, when they had +been left alone together.

“I do not think that she was a lunatic,” said +Sophie, seriously. “I thought she spoke sense, +truth, sad, sorrowful truth.”

“‘Sense,’ ‘truth,’ the maddest of them can +speak sense and truth sometimes; but her very +statement proves her lunacy—do not we all +know better—don’t we know that the wife of +Mr. Withers died two years ago?”

“I think that is an impression that has been +generally received, but I think that the opinion +has no good foundation in fact; now that my +mind fixes itself upon the subject, I remember +that in his letter to Mr. May, he speaks of the +‘loss,’ never of the death of his wife.”

“Oh! I have no patience with you! ‘Loss,’ +what could it have been but death! Think of +Mr. May’s warm regard—but I will not argue +with you upon this most injurious suspicion—it +is an insult to Mr. Withers to hear or reply to +such—pshaw! No, Miss Churchill, you have +seized this, as the drowning catch at straws, to +save you from fulfilling an engagement, which +only since the arrival of this gay young officer +has grown distasteful to you. But I tell you +plainly, Sophie—Miss Churchill, I should say—that +if you break this engagement, as you +will not, I think, venture to do—I shall be +obliged, however unwillingly, to abandon you. +I have a daughter,” here the proud lady drew +herself up,” and I must consult her interest +before anything else. Rose Green loves you, +Sophie Churchill, but if you wantonly trifle with +your good name, I must sever you. Mrs. May, +also, I think, could scarcely defy public opinion, +by continuing her friendly intercourse with you.” +Sophie Churchill was sitting with her face pale, +her features rigid, her eyes fixed unconsciously +upon her cold white fingers idly locked together +on her lap; one or two large tears gathered in +her set eyes, and slowly rolled down her cheeks. +“Do not weep, Miss Churchill, if I talk to you +plainly; it is to set things in a proper light before +you; I speak to you as I would speak to Rose, +under like circumstances. Your duty is very +plain; the day of your marriage is fixed, go forward +with the preparations for your wedding. +I am here to lend you assistance, not to tolerate +weakness, vacillation, and infidelity.”

Sophie remonstrated now no more; unresistingly +she suffered the circle of destiny to close +around her. More than the force of circumstances—more +than the strength of others—more +than our own weakness does our indolence +leave us at the mercy of fate. Adverse +external powers are at work upon us, surrounding +us, contracting their circle upon us; we feel +an inward reposing strength that, aroused, might +struggle and overcome; but we are inert, we yield +to their influence, they close upon us; we sigh, +and call it fate. It was thus with Sophie +Churchill. In vain the whisper of her true interests +arose from the deeps of her soul, saying—“Speak! +and break through this enchanted circle—you +are right, she is wrong. Have faith in God, +believe yourself, trust in the candor and friendship +of Emily, in the intelligence, goodness, and +love—yes, love of Augustus; awake! arise! and +save yourself.” Alas! the voice was heard in +vain. It could not be stilled, but it was not +obeyed. Still sat she there with cold clasped +hands and rigid features, letting fate encompass +her, but feeling in her profoundest soul the painful +consciousness that she herself, and not another, +was making her own misery.

Emily May now entered, but Sophie was too +much absorbed in her sorrow, Mrs. Green too +much interested in the subject on hand, to notice +the absence of Lieutenant Wilde, or the unusual +seriousness of her countenance and manner. +Emily silently took her seat, without mentioning +the occurrence of the hour. With an instinctive +fear of leaving Sophie alone with Emily then +and there, Mrs. Gardiner Green dismissed her +carriage and announced her intention of remaining +the day, and of returning in the afternoon +with Mrs. May. Emily observed the dejection +of Sophie, but silently attributed it to ill health, +weak nerves, &c., and dwelt slightly upon +the circumstance, her thoughts being engaged +with the drowned woman then lying in the fish-house.

That morning Mr. Withers had been requested, +upon account of the sparse population, to form +one of a coroner’s jury, to sit upon the case of a +drowned person, at four o’clock in the afternoon, +at Heath Hall. The hasty summons conveyed no +further information. With a strange abstraction +of mind he had not looked deeply into the subject +of the note—and penning a hasty answer, he +promised to be on the spot at the appointed +hour.

The dinner-table had been cleared away at +Heath Hall. Mrs. Gardiner Green had sustained +the chief burden of the conversation all +day. Lieutenant Wilde had not returned; and +to the inquiry of Mrs. Green relative to his +absence (which, by the way, she rejoiced in), +Emily had replied that sudden business had recalled +him to the village, and there the subject +dropped. She still refrained from mentioning +the occurrence of the morning. Then Mrs. +Gardiner Green, taking advantage of the momentary +absence of Miss Churchill, informed Mrs. +May that the marriage day of her dear young +friend Sophie Churchill with Mr. Withers, was +fixed for the fifteenth of the current month; that +thus it would take place in little more than a +week from that day—that the ceremony would +be performed at her house, &c., &c. Emily +received this information with pain and surprise, +but was prevented replying by the re-entrance of +Sophie. She was no longer at a loss to guess +32the reason of Miss Churchill’s ill looks; she +turned her head away, for her heart was swelling +and her eyes were filling with tears. They were +engaged then, she thought. Well! well! she +had hoped it would have been otherwise, but +they were engaged—the marriage near at hand. +As Emily looked from the window she started +on observing a small cavalcade approaching the +house, and muttering to herself—“Oh! how +thoughtless, how careless of Augustus,” went out +to meet it. It was the dead body of the drowned +woman borne along on a litter. “Oh, why have +you done this, Augustus?” she asked of her +brother, as the litter was set down in front of the +piazza.

“Why, I could not very well prevent it,” said +he, pointing to the two or three old country +magistrates in the train, “besides Miss Churchill +cannot be shocked at what she is prepared to +see—you have surely informed her?”

“No, I have not; I should have done so, +could I have guessed that they would have +brought the body here.”

“Why, dearest Emily, this was the nearest +house, the coroner’s inquest was appointed to +meet here, also.”

Emily May requested them to pause with the +body until she could go in and announce their +arrival to the mistress of the mansion. She need +not have feared for Sophie’s nerves then. When +we are in deep trouble we are in excellent order +to receive bad news; it does not shock us, little +can shock us when in sorrow, except joy. Let +me illustrate, when we are already cold we +can bear a cool draught. Sophie gave her consent +almost indifferently for the corpse to be +brought in, and the three ladies withdrew to the +upper story. In another quarter of an hour it +was laid out in the parlor. Emily had dropped +no hint to Sophie of her suspicion of the identity +of the drowned woman with the wanderer she +had seen in the forest dell, and Miss Churchill +was entirely without suspicion as to who it could +be. Mrs. Gardiner Green was full of exclamations +of wonder, grief, and horror. Four o’clock +drew near, and the jury summoned by the coroner +began to assemble; many other persons impelled +by curiosity also came. When the room +was nearly full, and the hour appointed for holding +the inquest arrived, it entered the head of the +coroner to request the attendance of the lady of +the house as well as of Mrs. May, whose testimony, +as one present at the finding of the body, +was required. A message was sent upstairs, +and Mrs. May and Miss Churchill, accompanied +by Mrs. Gardiner Green, entered the room. The +corpse was laid out upon boards in the centre of +the room; it was covered by a black velvet pall—the +body had not been uncovered since the +assembling of the jury. The ladies entered and +took their seats.

At this moment Mr. Withers entered, and the +inquest began. The coroner, going to the head +of the bier, turned down the pall, and summoned +Mr. Wilde to give in his evidence. At the first +uncovering of the corpse, many had bent forward +to obtain a glimpse of the face, Mr. Withers +among the rest; he had been standing near Sophie, +whom he had not omitted to greet, and now he +leaned forward. By reason of his height, he +obtained a good view, for a single instant, then +covering his face with his open palms, he +groaned forth in tones of bitter anguish—

“God! Oh, God! Fanny,” and dropped like +a lifeless mass into his chair. The intense curiosity +of all present directed to the corpse prevented +the agitation of the minister being observed. +Lieutenant Wilde identified the corpse +as the body found by himself in the morning. +Emily was then summoned, and corroborated the +statement of her brother. When she was about +to leave the stand she was asked—

“Yes—no—yes!—no, I never—” said Emily, +confused between fact and fancy. Her confused +answer drew upon her a close cross-examination, +during which she alluded to the +vision seen in the dell by Miss Churchill. She +was then dismissed, and Sophie Churchill called +to the stand. Sophie had been sitting in a remote +part of the room—she had not bent forward +as others had to view the corpse—hence +she had not seen it at all; to the examination of +the witnesses she had paid slight attention. Not +one word of Emily’s testimony had she heard, +by reason of the low tone in which Emily +spoke. She arose when called, approached the +bier, and when told to look upon the body, and +say whether she had ever seen it before, she +languidly cast her eyes down upon it, and recognised +the apparition of the dell—the moonlight +visitor of the Hall—started—tottered—and +with a smothered cry sank back in the arms of +the coroner in a swoon. All the company +looked dismayed. Augustus Wilde sprang forward +to receive her, took her from the coroner’s +hold, and telling him angrily that he had exceeded +his authority, bore her into the air, and +sitting down with her on the steps of the piazza, +hastily loosened her dress and fanned her with +his cap. Emily was by his side, she had followed +them; Sophie opened her eyes, and then +resigning her to Emily’s care he returned to the +hall, meeting Mrs. Gardiner Green bustling out +to look after her protegée.

The verdict, “death by drowning,” was rendered, +and the jury broke up. The coroner and +magistrates had decided that the body should be +buried from the Hall in the family burial ground, +with the consent of Miss Churchill. The magistrates +were taking their hats and preparing to +depart, when the figure of Sophie Churchill, +pale and haggard as though newly arisen from +the grave, appeared among them.

The magistrates looked surprised, the company +eager—Mrs. Gardiner Green, frowning, +sat down. Emily, pale and expectant, stood by +Sophie’s side.

“The inquest is over,” said Mrs. Green at +last. “Your testimony will be supererogatory, +Miss Churchill.”

“Miss Churchill is not now of sound mind, +33she is ill, her testimony cannot be taken,” persisted +the proud lady.

Sophie Churchill was now standing by the +side of the corpse—all eyes were turned towards +her—her eyes were bent straight forward across +the room upon the bowed and shuddering figure +of the minister; he felt her gaze, he raised his +head; her eyes full of deep reproach and dire +determination encountered his—no longer cold +and glittering like ice, and freezing the blood in +her veins—oh, no! the anguish of a tortured +soul groaned through their glance—“Mercy! +Sophie.” That glance inspired Sophie’s heart +with pity, but it was too late now, or she +thought it was too late to retract. The magistrate +commenced his examination. To his +question—

“When did you first see this woman?” she +replied by relating the adventure in the dell. +“And her finger pointed at the—at the Rev. Mr. +Withers?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sophie, turning her head +to avoid looking at the tortured countenance of +the minister.

“Gazing intently at me, and pointing to the +minister, she said, ‘shun him!’”

The minister arose, and collecting and composing +himself with an effort, approached the +table—all conversation was suspended—all eyes +were fixed upon him—he felt it.

“Will Mr. Withers oblige us by telling all he +may know of this unfortunate young person—of +course we have no sort of right, now, to ask it—we +appeal to the courtesy of Mr. Withers to +satisfy an interest that we all feel in this most +unfortunate young stranger?”

Mr. Withers bowed, and declared himself +ready to answer any question upon the subject.

“We have no intention or desire to subject +Mr. Withers to a legal examination,” said the +first speaker, “we merely wished, that if it were +not unpleasant, Mr. Withers would oblige us +by volunteering such information as might be in +his possession.”

“Is she your wife, Mr. Withers?” chucklingly +inquired an old country squire, who did not believe +what he asked, but whom neither time, +place, nor circumstance could debar from his +jest. “Is she your wife?”

“No, sir,” answered Mr. Withers, with dignity, +“she is not my wife, gentlemen. I do know +this young woman, have known her from a +child; her life for the last three years has been +full of passion, sin, suffering, and sorrow that +eventuated in insanity, and has ended as you +may see in suicide. For the last year she has +been my pensioner, and an inmate of the —— +lunatic asylum. A few months ago I was informed +by letter that she had escaped; yesterday +evening I discovered that she was in this +neighborhood, by coming upon her suddenly +while she was conversing with Miss Churchill. +I believe she followed me to this neighborhood, +yet at my approach she fled. That was last +night, her body was found this morning. This +is all I have to tell, sirs.” He made a ceremonious +bow, and retired from the table. The +company gathered in groups to converse upon +the singular event—the strange statement of the +wanderer, given in the evidence of Miss Churchill, +was scarcely noticed—just set down as the raving +of a maniac. Withers approached Sophie, +and, stooping, hissed in her ear, “Most cruel +girl! do you deem what you have made me suffer? +I have been stretched upon the rack, but +you—you—you are piling up wrath against a +day of wrath. Mark that, Sophie Churchill!”

The poor girl, after her extraordinary effort, +had relapsed into utter languor, but she raised +her languid eyes, and murmured,—

“What do you mean, Sophie? Do you +think that I have ever wronged a hair of that +poor creature’s head? No, Sophie, no—no, as +I hoped to be saved, never!”

“My dear madam, I wish you to take Miss +Churchill home with you this evening, and keep +her there for the next two weeks; her health is +sadly shaken by these exciting events. As for +the school we must procure a substitute, or it +must for the present be disbanded. I will remain +here and attend to this interment.”

The company were getting into their saddles +to depart. Mrs. May, Mrs. Green, Lieutenant +Wilde, and Mr. Withers, remained to tea.

The golden beams of the setting sun that were +shining through the foliage of the shade trees, +making their leaves glisten like emeralds, and +falling upon the piazza, were somewhat intercepted +by the figure of Lieutenant Gusty as +he walked up and down the piazza, ruminating +to this effect, “Shall I now, or shall I not? I +wonder if it is too early. I have known her +only a short time, it is true, but then, how dearly +I love her, and how wisely, the regard of my +excellent sister proves. I am going away in a +day, to stay three years; if I don’t speak now +some one else may speak before I have another +chance.” The entrance of Sophie from the +house decided him by inspiring a sudden impulse. +She had come out, and not seeing him, +walked slowly up to the further end of the +piazza, hung her head over the railing, and +remained fixed in that attitude. Gusty walked +rapidly up to her, and then back, and then up +again, and then back. The third time approaching +her, he said, while standing behind her,—

“Hem! Sophie, you know you rather like +me! and I know it too, because Emily says so. +And I, Sophie—well, never mind about me! +So, Sophie, when I come back from sea again in +three years from this, will you—will you—will +34you have me? Now consider the circumstances, +and don’t say, my own dear Sophie, that my +proposal is too soon.”

“It is too late—too late, dear Gusty,” she +said, turning round; her eyes were fixed and despairing.

“Too late,” she repeated; “I am betrothed. +Even your sister—my dear sister Emily, thinks +that there is no escape now. I have just had a +conversation with her.”

He walked up and down the piazza with +folded arms, chin bowed upon his bosom, eyes +bent to the ground. At last he paused before +her—bashfulness was gone now.

“Look at me, Sophie! oh, my soul’s love, +look at me!” She raised her eyes to his fine +countenance—he had a fine countenance. Curls +black, silky, and shining, clustered around a +brow fair, round, and polished as a woman’s—his +dark eyes, now full of Heaven’s own love +and wisdom, were bent upon hers.

“My own loved sister—my own heart’s darling, +we are betrothed. Oh, believe it, Sophie!—believe +it! We are betrothed, Sophie! Listen! +You have never loved before?”

“And mine also is a virgin heart; beyond a +general kindliness of feeling towards all women, +I have never loved before. Oh! Sophie, +are we not betrothed by God himself? Break +through this other engagement forced upon you +by circumstances, and give me your hand. Let +us marry this evening, Sophie, and let me leave +you with my sister until I come back—my own +dear Sophie, do this. I would not for my soul’s +salvation do anything or advise you to anything +wrong, but indeed, my Sophie, I feel such a right +to you, such a claim upon you, such a property +in you, that I should feel myself wronged and +ruined by any one who should wrest you from +me.”

She gazed unconsciously, entranced, up to his +pure clear brow—to her it seemed the brow of +an angel, and into his beautiful eyes, full of earnest +strength, half pleading, half commanding, +fixed upon her own. With an hysterical gasp +and sob she fell forward; he caught her, strained +her to his bosom. Her form was convulsed +with emotion, her breast heaved strongly, heavily, +and then her tears broke forth in floods; she +wept abundantly upon his bosom. At last her +emotion subsided. As the rain expends the +clouds, clears the atmosphere, and refreshes the +face of nature, so do tears relieve the heart, clear +the brain, and renovate the system. Sophie’s +emotion subsided, and then she quietly rose and +said,

“There, Gusty, it is over. Oh, my dear brother—my +brother, let us be calmly wise. We +may meet in heaven, but here, upon this earth +below, we must never meet again, Gusty; we +must never see each other’s face—hear each +other’s voice again.”

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of +Emily, who came to tell Sophie that Mrs. Green +was preparing to go. Sophie extended her +hand to Augustus, who caught and pressed it to +his lips. Then she re-entered the house.

“No more of that, Augustus,” said Emily, +“you must think of her no more; she is to be +married in nine days to Mr. Withers.”

The young man turned around hastily, and, +with the occasional impetuosity of his nature, replied,

“Think of her no more! Confound you, +Emily! you talk as lightly, as composedly, of +thinking of her no more, as though you spoke of +a new coat—a visit. ‘Think of her no more!’ +why, in the name of Heaven, did you throw us +together—tell me that?”

“Why? because I wished you to love and +marry. Alas! I did not know, though it was +rumored in the neighborhood, that Withers seriously +thought of her, and could not have believed +that they were engaged.” The young +man groaned. “You will get over this when +you are once more at sea. Come, Gusty, get +up our horses, we must return home.”

Mrs. Green, with Miss Churchill and Mrs. +May, attended by her brother, left Heath Hall, +and rode on to the point where three roads +parted in company. Then Emily and her +brother rode up to the carriage door and took +leave. Augustus took Sophie’s hand in his own, +their eyes met—their souls met, in one intense +and agonizing gaze, and parted. He left the +neighborhood the next morning.

A wedding was Mrs. Gardiner Green’s delight. +In Maryland and Virginia, a country +wedding promises festivity for weeks to come. +The marriage ceremony takes place at night, in +the presence of the élite of all the neighboring +counties. Visitors from a distance remain all +night. The breakfast next morning is a state +affair; it is followed by a dinner-party and ball, +given at the house of the bridegroom’s parents +or that of some of his friends. Then the nearest +relations give balls in succession; then the +most intimate friends. Generally the bride and +bridegroom, with their attendants, remain all +night at the house where the dinner and the ball +are given. Thus a marriage in high life in the +country throws a quiet neighborhood into convulsions +for weeks, making it resemble a city in +the height of the “season.” It is a downright +windfall to the young men and girls, and it is a +country proverb that “One marriage makes +many.” In the approaching marriage of Miss +Churchill and Mr. Withers there was one serious +drawback to the pleasant anticipations of +the young men and maidens. The bridegroom +was a clergyman; therefore there could be no +balls, only the wedding and dinner parties. Mrs. +Green was in her glory—her preparations for +display were magnificent; the wedding dresses, +confectionery, &c., had been ordered from Baltimore +35and were arrived. And Sophie, she was +now quite resigned; she had been the guest of +Mrs. Green since the day of the inquest. Mr. +Withers had recovered his composure, and was +with her, as usual, a part of every day. Sophie’s +brain and heart were in an apathy. The only +action of her mind was an indolent surprise at +the indifference she felt for everything going on +around her, the deadness of all sensibility, the +stillness of her nerves; even the frigid and formal +kiss of Withers imprinted on her hand at +meeting, or at parting, no longer sent an ague +thrill through all her veins—the contentment of +despair had come.

The evening of the marriage arrived; the +handsomely furnished house of Mrs. Gardiner +Green was elegantly decorated and thrown open +from attic to cellar to the numerous expected +visitors. Mrs. Green herself, elegantly attired, +was superintending the bridal toilet of Sophie in +the dressing-room of the latter. The dress of +Miss Churchill, prepared by the taste of Mrs. +Green, was a white satin skirt, and over that a +white gauze embroidered all over with silver +flowers, a large white lace veil, looped up above +her brow by a single small diamond star, leaving +room to the slight elegant wreath of orange buds +that lightly rested on her smoothly braided hair. +Rose Green and another young lady of the +neighborhood attended her as bridesmaids. A +murmur of admiration ran through the crowded +parlors as Sophie was led in by Mr. Withers, and +the bridal party took their stand in the centre of +the room. The bishop of the diocese, summoned +from Baltimore, was in attendance to perform +the ceremony. He wore the usual full wide +black gown of an Episcopal clergyman. The +bridal party stood before him cheerily; the young +bridesmaids and groomsmen stood in reverent +attitude, their eyes bent upon the ground, but +the corners of their lips full of dimples, scarcely +repressing their smiles—stern and solemn stood +the tall thin figure of the dark bridegroom, and +cold and pale and quiet Sophie waited. Once +she raised her eyelids, but her glance fell on the +black gown and solemn countenance of the clergyman +before her, and she quickly dropped them +again. He seemed to her the incarnation of +darkest doom. She felt a dreary sinking of the +heart as the first words of the ritual fell upon +her ear, as the sentence of death falls upon the +criminal hearing. It was over. It was over—friends +and neighbors crowded around her with +their congratulations. First, Emily May drew +her to her bosom, and imprinting a kiss upon her +brow, whispered hastily—

“Courage, love! nothing is so illusory as the +emotions of a bride; many a reluctant bride has +become a loving and happy wife, many a hopeful +and joyous bride has seen her happiness decay +and die—courage, love.”

Sophie scarcely knew who spoke these hasty +words, or how she at last found herself seated +with her husband and attendants by her side. +Refreshments were served around, and that occupied +the company for the next hour; then a low +hum of suppressed gaiety was heard all over the +room, among the lively young people brought +together in the expectation of enjoyment, and +now growing uneasy under the restraint put upon +their gaiety. The young people voted the parson’s +wedding a stupid affair—a disappointment—quite +a failure. At last, Miss Rogers, the +second bridesmaid of Sophie, a merry little +maiden, not overladen with veneration, jumped +up from her seat, and standing before the solemn +bridegroom, said—

“Now, Mr. Withers, you are very happy, or +you ought to be, as folks call the bridegroom +‘the happy man,’ and you ought to be willing +for other people who are not ‘happy’ at least to +be merry, poor souls. Now we young folks who +are not brides and bridegrooms want to console +ourselves by dancing—there! and you are worse +than ‘the dog in the manger’ if you don’t let us +dance.”

“There is a higher authority than my own, +present, Miss Rogers; I refer you to the bishop.”

The girl’s head slightly started back, and her +eyes opened in an awe-struck gaze an instant, +as she turned to look upon the high dignitary of +the church. To Sophie’s sorrowing vision he +had seemed the dark minister of a dark fate; to +the merry maiden as she now looked at him, he +appeared a jolly old gentleman enough, so she +smiled merrily, and tripped up to him, and said +with saucy shyness,

“I say, Dr. Otterback, we all—we girls—want +to dance; Solomon danced, you know; now +have you any objection?”

The old gentleman took her chin in his fat +hand and made her little teeth chatter like a +pair of castanets, while looking down in her +young face with a merry, genial kindness, he +said—

“Oh! Dr. Otterback, now, I don’t believe it; +what is it? David danced, you know, and I +never feel so happy, or thank God so much for +making me, as when I am dancing; now, Dr. +Otterback, what objection can you have?”

“A very serious one, my child, I tell you—this—the +sound of a fiddle plays upon my feet +and legs like the fingers of little Miss Rogers +upon the piano keys—sets them in motion; +can’t help it; the merriment and the wickedness +bubbles up from the bottom of my heart, and the +old man Adam grows too strong for me; now +you wouldn’t have me pirouetting and pigeon-winging +it all around this room, would you?”

“Wouldn’t I? I should love churches and +bishops better all my life after,” laughed the +maiden.

The rooms were crowded and close, though +all the windows and doors were open; the +night was warm, and the moon was shining +brightly out of doors. At last one and then +another couple began to stroll out into the lawn +and garden. As a matter of etiquette the bridal +party kept their seats much longer; all, except +the little bridesmaid, Miss Rogers, who never +minded etiquette; she mingled with the company +on the lawn, until Mrs. Gardiner Green +seeing her said—

Then the little maiden ran up the marble +steps in front of the house, and there she paused, +unwilling to enter the warm rooms. The company +on the lawn had wandered off into the +grove, and she stood there watching their departed +36footsteps. Her eyes wandered over the +scene, and at last were fixed by a figure on the +gravel walk approaching from the gate towards +the house. The figure hurried nervously forward, +sprang up the steps, and stood before her +taking breath. He was a youth of perhaps +seventeen, with a broad fair forehead and golden +hair. He caught her hand and inquired anxiously,

“No, indeed, thank Heaven, I am not Miss +Churchill,” replied the maiden, wondering.

“I will take you in and present you with +great pleasure, if,” laughed the young lady, +“you will favor me with your credentials.”

“Miss Rogers, my name is Raymond—no, I +cannot tell you now; will you be kind enough +to go to Mrs. Withers, and tell her that one +wishes to see her for a moment at the door.”

The maiden looked at him keenly, and saying +to herself, “Such a boy can have no evil +design,” replied, hesitatingly, “Yes,” and turned +slowly to do his bidding, looking back, once or +twice, suspiciously. She found Sophie alone +with Mrs. Green. Mr. Withers was in conversation +with the bishop in a distant part of the +room.

“My dear Sophie,” said she, “there is a +young man out in the piazza that asks to see +you.”

Sophie arose and passed into the piazza, and, +except her cold pale face, like a radiant visitant +from the skies she looked, as her dazzling +raiment of white and silver flashed in the moonbeams. +At the further end of the piazza, the +moonlight fell upon a slight boyish figure clad +in deep mourning, and leaning upon the balustrade. +Sophie approached him; he raised his +head and stepped forward; she met his eyes and +started, suppressed a scream, and trembling +violently, leaned against the parapet, as she +recognised the slender form and wan face, the +intense gaze, the ultra-marine blue eyes, and the +floating golden locks of the wanderer, and—

“Have you, indeed, unhappy one, risen from +the grave to reproach, to warn me?” involuntarily +escaped her lips.

“Be calm, Miss Churchill; I do not know +what you mean by your question, since I have +never been dead, and do not remember even to +have seen, far less reproached or warned you.”

“Who are you, then; I—I do not know +whether I am sane or not. I am afraid my brain +is reeling; who are you?”

“Dear young lady, I have startled you; why +I do not see; will you give me an interview in +some place where we cannot be interrupted?”

“No—oh, no; but I wish, of course, to know +the name and business of one who calls me out +at night for a private interview.”

“My name is Frank Raymond Withers; I +am the only son, the only child of the Reverend +John Huss Withers, and Fanny Raymond.”

There was a dash of bitterness in the mock +ceremonious manner with which he announced +himself. Sophie heard him with clasped hands +and earnest downcast brow. She remained in +deep thought a moment; then suddenly catching +his hand, she said,

“Yes, I must have an interview with you, +where none can overhear us. Come with me,” +and retaining his hand and drawing him after +her, she passed up the piazza, down the central +marble steps, across the lawn, and taking a narrow +path through the grove, led him down a +deep dell, into a rustic arbor built over the spring, +dropping into a seat, she said,

“Dip me up some cold water, that I may drink, +and grow strong for this interview.”

He performed her bidding. She bathed her +fevered hands and brow, she drank a deep draught +of the lifegiving beverage, and then she composed +herself, and said, as he stood before her,

“To save you from a marriage that could result +in nothing but wretchedness and ruin.”

“Gracious heavens! Oh, yes! I see it all—all +now!—that fearful light in his eyes!”

“And you will withdraw yourself from him +before it is too late; you will reveal this fact and +demand an immediate separation?”

“Stop, stop,” said Sophie, raising her hand to +her brow, “Stop, I am dizzy, bewildered; how +came this about? how has he so successfully +concealed it for the months that he has been +with us? and is it hereditary? Tell me all +about it.”

“The malady is not hereditary; no member +of the family was ever known to have lost his +or her reason; severe domestic affliction—trials, +oh! trials that would have—that might have +riven the strongest, firmest heart in two, that +might have shaken into chaos the best regulated +mind, clouded the clearest reason. Listen, Miss +Churchill. Mr. Withers, my father, was morbidly +proud, his pride was brought to the dust; +he was delicately sensitive; he was stricken to +the heart; his health gave way; his reason +failed. With the strange cunning of a lunatic, +and under the favor of circumstances, he has +succeeded in concealing this malady from the +world. In his first one or two attacks, I was +his keeper by chance; after the first two or three, +he learned by the premonitory symptoms when +to seclude himself; and so, no symptom, no +effect of his malady has yet appeared but this: +the burning eloquence, the super-human power +of intellect revealed in his occasional sermons; +37and, as long as it properly could be kept, in fact +up to this moment, I have kept his secret; believing +that if he knew it to be revealed, his proud +and sensitive nature would be so shocked and +wounded that the last light of reason would go +out; that he would become a raving maniac. +But, Miss Churchill, when I saw another person, +a young girl, about to be sacrificed to him (for +my father wrote to me, at college, of his approaching +marriage, not deeming that I would interfere), +I deemed it my duty to reveal his secret, +at least, to his affianced bride. Now, Miss +Churchill, you have your own fate and his in +your power; reveal his secret, save yourself. No +one in the world could blame you for separating +yourself from him.”

Sophie remained with her hand pressed upon +her brow, so still she might have been taken +for a statue.

“I am ready Miss Churchill, to aid your +release by my testimony. Your marriage can +be dissolved in a few days, by legislative action; +do not be cast down.”

“Oh! stop, hush!” said Sophie, “let me think—let +me think. My God! help thy child!”

“Say! you think the revelation of this secret +would affect him very seriously?”

“You say that this malady is accidental, +circumstantial, and not hereditary?”

Sophie sighed deeply; “It is hard to ask a son +to criminate his father; yet justice—tell me, +were these afflictions brought about by his sin?

The youth paused, looked down, groaned +heavily, and at last hesitatingly replied;—

“No; not by his sin; that were too harsh a +term; by his error, or rather his mistake.”

“Young man, you are the son of Fanny Raymond; +who was Fanny Raymond, your mother?”

The youth abruptly turned and hurried from +the arbor, walked distractedly up and down the +plat before it for some minutes, then returning, +said in faltering tones to Sophie—

“Do not ask me—do not ask me, I beg of you—be +at ease—you are the bride of Mr. Withers, +but you need not be his wife. Come, Sophie +Churchill, I am ready to go with you to the +house and say all, and if really needful, more, +to the assembled company there than I have +said to you. Come!”

“No,” said Sophie, passing her hand thoughtfully +before her brow; “Stop—stop,” then after +awhile she held out one hand behind her to +where the youth was standing, and said, “Raymond, +come to me—sit beside me—unlock your +inmost heart to me, poor boy. Come—I am +your friend; tell me now why do you wish to +save me by exposing your father?”

“That I might not be accessary to your +misery, Miss Churchill. I have kept his secret +and borne the risk of concealment myself; I had +no right to suffer the life of another to be risked +by my silence.”

“Yes, for days, when no one knew where he +was; for in his reserve he would not reveal his +business, and no one durst ask him.”

“Ah! at such times, warned by the premonitory +symptoms of his disease, he secluded himself—perhaps +in the depths of the forest—perhaps +threw himself on board of a packet and +slipped up to Baltimore.”

“Oh! how wretched, how wretched he must +have been, must still be, with no one here to +whom he dare trust his dreadful secret.”

“And is it possible, Miss Churchill, that no +one suspected it here—that no eccentricity +of manner threatened to betray him to those +that were about him every day?”

“Raymond, do not call me Miss Churchill, +or speak to me as a stranger, or as an indifferent +acquaintance; I am so no longer; you must +love me, and confide in me, Raymond; you and +I have a mutual and a holy duty to perform.”

“Yes,” said he, with a bitter sigh, “we must +go and make this known. Oh, my unhappy +father!”

“Poor boy, you have misunderstood me; did +you think,” she said, passing her hand over his +troubled brow, smoothing away the golden +ringlets, and looking kindly in his face, “did +you think that I was going selfishly to expose +and abandon your father? No, Raymond—no, +poor boy—I am weak, and sometimes cowardly, +but never cruel or selfish—I never wantonly +destroyed the smallest insect, or wounded, purposely, +the worst or the lowest human being; +and since I have been sitting here, Raymond, I +know not what sort of a strange strength has +entered my soul! Yes, your arrival just now +is providential, and with your words the spirit +of God has descended upon me. The Lord +has given me something to do for His sake, and +endowed me with strength to do it. And you +are my co-laborer, Raymond. To dress the +wounds of this poor warrior, beaten and bruised, +bleeding and fainting on the field of the battle +of life; to raise and nurse him back to life and +health—this is our work.”

How beautiful she looked in her young devotion,—the +moonlight fell upon her fair, pure +brow, clothing it with an angelic radiance.

“Strange! but I do not feel it as such; I feel +lifted up, elevated, strengthened, filled with +light and a strange joy.”

“Come,” said Sophie, rising, “let us return to +the house, I shall be missed; did your father +expect you?”

38“He wrote that I might come if I pleased; +but has he never mentioned me, Miss Churchill?”

“Oh, Miss Churchill—gentle Sophie—do you +feel no inward resentment towards my unhappy +father, for the marriage into which he has led +you?”

“None in the world. Is not his reason clouded, +his thoughts all jarred and out of tune? No, +I feel that he was led by, to him, a blind impulse, +really by Providence, to the only one who could +nurse him back to health of mind and body. +Raymond, we can cure this sick heart, clear this +clouded brain, restore this ruin. Come!”

During the interview, a revolution had taken +place in Sophie’s soul; all her deep religious feeling, +her latent passion for self-devotion, her enthusiasm, +her benevolence, had been called forth. +Thus softened by pity, and inspired by her own +high ideal of duty, she determined to devote +herself to the tranquility of his shrunken and +tortured life, with one purpose—his restoration +to mental and physical health. She passed from +the arbor no joyous or reluctant bride, but a high-souled +devotee, in possession of duty for which +she must live. An hour before, she had seemed +a trembling, shrinking, suffering victim, offered +in useless, objectless sacrifice; now, she was a +cheerful, self-possessed human soul, who had +solved the problem of her life, and held the +answer in her hands.

Among the passions of the human soul is one +not often, if ever, mentioned as such by moralists +and metaphysicians: the passion of self-devotion. +Yet, that this certainly exists, and deserves to be +classed with the others, is proved by the large +number of human beings acting under its influence. +It acts in religion, in love, in benevolence, +in philanthropy, and patriotism—but it is totally +distinct from and independent of each—a separate +passion, sometimes acting alone.

This passion, in its right motion, inspires the +highly beneficial devotion of the Sister of Charity—in +its perverted action, kindles the barren +enthusiasm of the nun. A philanthropist, a patriot, +under the rational influence of this passion, +becomes as the Sister of Charity, one of the +greatest benefactors of his race; under its irrational +influence, becomes as the secluded nun or +monk, lost; or as the fanatic, mischievous or +dangerous to society.

They returned to the house. Meeting Mrs. +Green first, Sophie led the youth up to her, and +presented him as the son of Mr. Withers, just +arrived from college. The lady received him +with much courtesy, asked him where she should +send for his trunks, and whether he would not +prefer being shown into a dressing-room before +being introduced into the drawing-room. Expressing +his thanks with a gentle grace, he +named the village tavern as the place where his +baggage lay, and declining the use of a chambre +de toilette, bowed his leave, and giving his +arm to Sophie, passed into the room; the rooms +were thinned out considerably, most of the company +had strayed out into the garden and groves.

Mr. Withers was standing near the window in +conversation with the bishop. Sophie, leaving +Raymond at a short distance behind, walked up +to him, and laying her small hand upon his arm, +said gently and cheerfully—

Withers started, more at the cheerful, genial +tone in which these words were spoken, than at +the news they conveyed. The bishop, also, +whose kindly affectionate nature scarcely let a +young person pass him without a caressing +word or gesture,—the bishop turned around, and +patting her chin, said archly:—

“You have got over your terror, little lady; +you seemed to think I was going to hang you +when you stood up before me.”

“How do you do, Raymond? This is my +son, Dr. Otterback,” were the only words of +greeting or of introduction bestowed upon the +youth by his father. Dr. Otterback immediately +addressed his conversation to the young man, +and Withers turned and looked in Sophie’s face; +her countenance was serene, cheerful, kindly; +what could be the reason? he was at a loss to +account for it; yet he felt the shadow and the +weight lifting from his own heart, passing from +his own brain. Love, charity, the very sun of +the moral atmosphere when it shines out, how +the vapors are lifted, how the clouds disperse, +how all nature rises and smiles in its beams.

“All our friends are out upon the lawn—it is +pleasant there. Will you come out, Mr. +Withers?” she asked.

For the first time since she had known him, +with an air of graceful self-possession and +gallantry, he lifted her fair hand to his lips, drew +her arm within his own, and led her forth. +They sat down upon the bench in the piazza. +At first she talked cheerfully of the nearest topics +of conversation, the company, the night, the +weather, the moon; but seeing that he relapsed +into silence and dejection, she thought he felt +compunction for all the ill he had wrought her, +and that this compunction was awakened by her +own kindness to him. She was not sorry that +he felt this; yet now she wished to dissipate the +gloom. Laying her hand timidly, gently, upon +his brow, and raising from it the heavy mass of +black hair that seemed to rest there like a cloud, +she said:—

“Come, clear your brow, Mr. Withers, or you +will make me fear that you regret taking under +your wing a little girl like me.”

“And I do regret it, Sophie—I do regret it!” +he said, and sighing heavily, he arose and paced up +and down the piazza several times, and then threw +himself into a seat far from her. She watched +him there; at first from natural feelings of +delicacy she hesitated to approach him; but +when he dropped his head between his hands, +and sigh after sigh and groan after groan rent +his bosom, she paused no longer, but arising, +crossed the piazza, and taking the seat by +his side, and taking his hand, she pressed it +between her own. He turned and gazed +inquiringly into her eyes, his gaze no longer cold, +brilliant, and chilling, but still piercing, and full +of anguish. Suddenly he shut his eyes, and +groaning “Oh Sophie!” turned away his head +39and attempted to withdraw his hand. She +retained and pressed it, and again passing her +soft, cool hand over his hot brow, she said, +gently—

“Come, Mr. Withers, cheer up, have faith in +me. I love you.—I do—not, indeed, with the +glad love of a young bride for the young husband +of her choice, but with a feeling that will stand +you in better stead—that will perhaps last +longer and bear more—with the serious, thoughtful +love one earnest human soul that has known +isolation and sorrow can feel for another, desolated, +tortured, suffering, yet worthy in its +anguish, of admiration and respect.”

“Sophie! I do not understand you; what is +the meaning of this? What has brought about +this strange, this—ah! but for one fact—blessed +change in your feelings towards me?”

“That very fact you allude to—that very +fact!” then dropping her voice to its softest, +gentlest tones she murmured—“You have a +secret that corrodes and burns your heart out—a +dreadful suffering that being suppressed has +gained depth, and strength, and intensity—a +fearful malady that being concealed has increased +in power; let it be so no longer; relieve your +overladen breast; pour all your sorrows into +your wife’s bosom—she will never betray or +forsake you. Oh! believe it. She partly knows +your secret—she knows that sometimes—under +some influences—a storm drives in your fine +mind—that the clouds gather thick and black—the +thunder roars and the lightnings flash, and +that all is confusion, danger, and terror for a +space—she also knows that when this storm has +passed through your soul, the sun of reason +shines out calm and bright. She knows all +this, and she loves you for these sufferings.”

He had grown as pale as death while she +spoke, his features wearing the expression of +deepest despair; he dropped his head upon his +hands, his elbows resting on his knees, and +groaned.

“Then it is all at an end, this masquerade. +When was it discovered—when did I betray +myself, Sophie, and who knows of this besides +yourself?”

“Except your son, no one besides myself; and +it is indispensable that I should know it.”

“I did not wish you to know it, Sophie; I +was merciful, or selfish, or proud, and firm and +cunning enough to keep it from you, Sophie, as I +have kept it from every one else.”

“Yes, and increased your own suffering and +danger, and diminished the chances of cure. +And, Mr. Withers, you would have suffered +more in concealing your illness from me than +from any one else. You would have found +more difficulty in it, and dreaded more the +consequences of the constantly threatened discovery. +Now you have a friend and confidant—now +you will be at peace, will you not?”

He drew her to his bosom and blessed her. A +summons to supper now called all the company +in. He arose, and drawing her arm through his +own, entered the house.

Let me pass briefly over the events of the +next few years. Four or five weeks of solemn +merry-making, dull dinners, and duller evening +parties, completed the wedding festivities of the +minister. An agreeable change had passed over +the appearance of the minister—his countenance +had lost somewhat of its gloom—his manners +of their austerity, and his tones their hard curtness. +Sophie’s demeanor revealed the sober +cheerfulness befitting a clergyman’s bride. Raymond +accompanied them everywhere, and everywhere +was the delicate beauty, and gentle grace, +and pensive air of the boy admired. Little +Hagar also accompanied them. Sophie and +Hagar had been so united—her care and attention +had been so exclusively devoted to Hagar, +that now that another claimed a larger share of +her time and thoughts, and now that she felt the +keen eyes of the sprite-like child jealously following +her every motion closely, she loved +Hagar with a remorseful tenderness—strange +but natural. Mothers sometimes feel the same +for the children to whom they have given even +a good and beloved step-father. This is an illusion, +and grows out of the false idea that our +love is like any material and mortal thing, +limited in quantity, and that what is given to one +is necessarily withdrawn from another. Sophie +took Hagar with her wherever they went, even +to evening parties, where the child, with the obstinacy +of spoiled children in general and her +own nature in particular, refused to go to bed as +long as Sophie sat up.

There she would sit—the only child in a +room crowded with grown people—alone, in a +corner, quite neglected, her glittering eyes glancing +around the room, and springing off in aversion +when they fell upon the figure of Mr. +Withers. She was beginning to hate him intensely, +merely because he occupied so much +of the time and attention of Sophie, whom she +passionately loved. Her first interview with +Raymond Withers is worthy of relation as characteristic +of both. It was the night after the +wedding, and a large party were crowded in the +sober-hued parlor of Emily May. Hagar had +been staying at the cottage for the last few days—and +this night she first rejoined Sophie after +her marriage. Here she was sitting, as I have +described, neglected and apparently forgotten in +a corner. Sophie could not well approach her, +and Emily, ever thoughtful as she was, this +evening had overlooked her, in her attention to +her guests. The child’s wild eyes were gleaming +brightly, fiercely, under her sharply projecting +brows; her preternaturally developed perceptive +faculties were at work. Refreshments +had been carried around twice or thrice by the +servants, and they had overlooked her. At +last she saw, it was the first time she had seen +him, a delicate, golden-haired youth, in deep +mourning, enter the room. He went directly up +to Sophie and remained by her side. The keen +eyes of the child were immediately riveted upon +40him. There was a pensiveness, a thoughtfulness +upon his fair young brow that seemed to isolate +him even among the crowd. He stood by the +side and a little behind Sophie’s chair, and except +when he stooped to catch an occasional word +from her, he stood unmoved and almost unobservant +in the room. Once his eyes were raised, +and their sad gaze chanced to meet the wild eyes +of the little girl fixed with interest on his face. +He bent down, and pointing to Hagar spoke to +Sophie. Sophie’s glance followed the indication +of his finger, then raising her countenance +to his she answered him. He immediately separated +himself from the party, passed into the +supper room, and returning, walked up to the +child, spread her handkerchief over her lap, +poured into it a plateful of cakes and sweetmeats, +and took a seat by her side.

“Because it is true; she used to keep me always +by her side, or on her lap; now for two +or three days she has left me here with Mrs. +May, and now that she has come, she scarcely +speaks to me!” exclaimed the child, and her +black eyes flashed under her sharp brows, and +her white teeth gleamed under her upturned lip +as she spoke.

A soft smile hovered an instant around the +beautiful lips and under the golden eye-lashes of +the youth, as he said—

“You look so like a little playful, spiteful, +black kitten, that I am almost afraid of your +teeth and claws—however—” and stooping +down he daintily lifted the child and set her on +his lap. Then he said, “I think you are a jealous +little girl.”

“I don’t know what ‘jealous’ is, but I don’t +like to be robbed of what is mine.”

He caressed her straight black hair, adjusted +her somewhat disordered dress, and began to +crack nuts for her, but her eyes were fixed upon +the group at the opposite end of the room, and +suddenly she said—

“Oh! horror!” said the young man, now +really shocked. “Revengeful, too, Hagar! +Mr. Withers is my father.”

“Is he? I did not know that—I am so sorry—but, +oh! he has taken Sophie away from me, +and now I am so lonesome,” and the child burst +out crying.

sang little Miss Rogers, dancing up to them—“Come, +Raymond! or I beg your pardon—Mr. +Raymond Withers—for you hobble-de-hoys are +awful punctilious about your dignity—are you +going to stay here nursing that spoiled brat all +night? We are forming a round game at +forfeits in the other room, and we want you.”

Raymond set her off his lap, arose, and +apologizing to Miss Rogers, gracefully declined +her invitation. The maiden pouted, smiled, +threw up her head, and tripped away.

“Ain’t you good, to stay with me, instead of +going with her? take me up again,” and she held +out both her arms to him.

He smiled gently, and raised her, and how +beautifully broke the glad smile over her dark, +wild countenance, as she looked up in his face. +From that hour the youth and infant were companions, +confidants, and friends.

At this time it was that the germ of a passion, +fraught with much evil to the whole of Hagar’s +life, took root in her heart—a passion destined +by mal-cultivation to be fostered into monstrous +growth—JEALOUSY; and this grew out of +Sophie’s thoughtless concentration of mind upon +her new duty, just at this juncture; it is true +that this mood of mind lasted but a few days, +but in these days the seed of evil was sown.

They were settled at Heath Hall. The time +occupied by them in the wedding festivities +while they were inmates of the Glade—the guests +of Mrs. Gardiner Green—was also improved at +the Heath. Workmen had been sent thither, +and the house put in some repair. The negroes +had been called home from hire, and set to work +in clearing up the grounds—piling the weeds, +briers, and rubbish up—drying and burning them +for manure—in repairing old and putting up new +fences, &c. The brick wall inclosing the garden, +and running round the very edge of the +promontory, had been mended, the garden put in +order, and the wild and desolate aspect of the +whole place somewhat ameliorated. On the +day of their return to Heath Hall, a dinner and +an evening party of course, had been given, and +that was the last. The next day they were left +quietly in possession of their own home.

There, reader! Northern reader, and city +reader, you have now some idea of country +weddings in middle life in Maryland and Virginia,—very +different, you will admit, from city +weddings. Raymond remained with them until +the first of September, when his college term +commencing, he returned to the North. Hagar +grieved wildly after him, and threw herself upon +her face when the packet in which he sailed +disappeared up the river. His return to college +had been doubtful, but was decided by an event +that had occurred about two weeks after their +return to the Heath. Up to the day of their +return, the health and spirits of Mr. Withers had +continued to improve. In a few days after their +arrival, however—after the new moon, and as it +increased to its full, the sleep of Withers became +disturbed, his nights were uneasy, and his days +gloomy—a deadly pallor settled on his face—his +features became haggard, his cheeks hollow, +and his eyes sunken and glowing in their deep +sockets. Now Sophie’s heart trembled with +uneasiness, now palpitated with alarm. Raymond +was now ever at her side with words of +gentle affection and cheerful encouragement—the +41boy seemed old and wise beyond his years, +by the preternatural development by suffering;—he +requested Sophie not to permit his father to +perceive her knowledge that the terrible crisis of +his malady was at hand, and they both redoubled +their attentions to him. Daily his manner +became more eccentric and alarming; he would +sit at the table gloomy and glowering without +uttering a word during the meal—then rising up +he would walk off to the forest, or the beach—Raymond +following him at a safe distance. +Sometimes he would look back before leaving +the house, remorsefully at Sophie, would return, +take her hand, and then with a sudden change +of mood—his green eyes scintillating sparks of +fire—fling it from him with violence, and hurry +off. Raymond grew hourly more wretchedly +anxious on Sophie’s account. Day and night +she was exposed, alone, to the danger of his +violence. One morning when Sophie had come +down to prepare breakfast, she found Raymond +already in the breakfast-room—he advanced to +meet her.

“Sophie! I wish to say this to you—there is +a malignity in his madness now that I have +never seen before—it is a new feature, and it +excites my fears for you. Sophie, leave him +here in my care, and go and visit your friend, +Mrs. May, for a few days—do, Sophie.”

“How, Raymond! was my pledge given, my +mission undertaken only for easy and safe duty—was +there any proviso made that as soon as it +became onerous, or dangerous, it should be +abandoned? No, Raymond, I will be firm +through these dark days—they will soon be +past, and I shall feel repaid.”

“‘Life’—why, Raymond, of what great value +is my life, that it should not be risked in a good +cause?”

“I do believe, Sophie, that it was your being +brought up in that room papered with the martyrs, +that has given this singular bias to your +character—why, Sophie, the world knowing +your history in connexion with my father, would +consider you the most insane of the two.”

They were standing side by side at the window, +looking out upon the bay—its rippling +waves glittering in the morning sun, its dark +green bosom relieved by the white sails of a +packet moving up the river. They had not +heard the entrance of Withers, who approached +and stood behind them—his face pale, his livid +lips compressed, his eyes drawn in and glowing +in their deep sockets.

“But, dear Sophie,” continued the youth, +“we must think of some place for securing your +safety.”

“Perfidious son of a perfidious mother!” he +exclaimed, shaking him violently, “her image +in heart and mind, as well as in person—traitor +and reprobate! would you wile the love of my +bride away from me? would you teach her your +vile mother’s sin?”

The delicate youth was but as a reed in his +grasp. Sophie sank pale and helpless into a +chair. Now another figure appeared upon the +scene—little Hagar stamping and screaming, +upon the floor.

“Let Raymond! let my brother alone! Let +him go, I say! you old Satan, you. I—I’ll kill +you—I’ll scratch your eyes out,” and clambering +upon a chair, and then upon a table, she +sprang cat-like upon the back of his neck. Now +he was obliged to drop his hold of Raymond a +moment to shake off the little wild-cat—he seized +her, and pulling her off, hurled her flying through +the open window! With a cry of anguish, +Raymond sprang from the spot—from the room, +and hurried around into the yard. The fall +was not deep—the turf was soft—and the lithe, +agile child had lighted on her feet and hands. +She sprang up as Raymond came, and running +to meet him asked anxiously,

He lifted her in his arms, and hurrying around +the back way, ran up stairs with her.

“Oh, your poor neck—only see the marks of +his wicked claws on your pretty white neck!” +exclaimed the child, and she kissed and closely +clasped him, and wept as if her heart were +broken up and gushing through her tears. Then +raising her head with eyes flashing through her +tears, as the lightning gleams through the rain, +she said,

“But I do wonder—I’m sure I wouldn’t let +him stay here if I could help it.”

“You must not think such wicked thoughts,” +said the youth; but he himself was excited and +anxious, and setting Hagar down on the foot of +her little bed said,

“Now, Hagar, you must stay here—you must +not come near him again to-day—”

“No, you have the fire and courage of a +young tigress; but you would not make him +angry, and so endanger Sophie’s peace, would +you?”

“No—he shan’t hurt Sophie; if he tries, the +next time I’ll get my claws in his eyes and +scratch them out—right out! and then see who +he can hurt!”

“But you are talking of my father, Hagar,” +said the young man, reproachfully.

“Yes—I will do anything in the world you +want me to do, Raymond, just see if I don’t!”

“Well, then, I am going to look after Sophie, +and I will be back as soon as I can.”

He found Sophie extended in a swoon upon +the floor. Withers was gone. He raised her +and bathed her face—she revived—he set her in +the deep arm-chair.

“Is not hurt—has neither scratch nor bruise; +she is in my chamber; I thought it best that she +should keep out of sight of my father for the +present.”

“No—no—no—I will stay here; I think I +42understand now why his lunacy takes this malignant +character towards you; you remind him +of—but no matter—but you, poor bereft boy, +you must return immediately to your college—I +can deal with him better alone, I am sure.”

“But, Sophie, you are nervous, unfit for this; +the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh, the +flesh is weak; you swooned just now—you have +not even the firmness and courage of little +Hagar.”

“No, not the firmness, or the fierceness; but +I have the courage. It must be as I say; you +must leave here; you are too much like—poor +boy, I did not mean to wound you, indeed I did +not—you must return to your college, and by +the time you have finished your course there, +the absence of exciting causes, tranquillity, and +sympathy will have restored your unfortunate +father to health; then you will return and we +shall all be happy together—courage, Raymond! +God is at the helm! we must not forget that. +He will yet guide us safely through this rough +sea and starless night; now, Raymond, go and +seek him, watch him, but keep out of his sight.” +He left her to do her bidding.

By a natural reaction the madness of Withers +now assumed another aspect. Late in the afternoon +he returned and entered not his own, but +Raymond’s chamber. Sophie was in their room, +and heard him come slowly up the stairs, enter +the adjoining chamber, and throw himself upon +Raymond’s bed. She determined to go to him, +though her every nerve from heart to extremities +was trembling and quivering. She arose and +entered the room; the white wrapper that she +wore was not whiter than her cheek, as she sat +down by the bedside, where his long thin figure, +in its black suit, lay extended upon the white +counterpane. But what a change had come +over him! never even in his most rational moments +had she seen him in such a mood; his +manner was subdued, the expression of his +countenance pensive, his tones gentle. No one +that had seen him in his ordinary manner, hard, +stern, harsh, and bitter, would have recognised +him now—alas! this mood was as unnatural to +him and as much a feature in his lunacy as was +the other of the morning; it was but the reaction +of his phrensy. He held his hand out to +her, she took it and pressed it between her own.

“I would not go into your room, Sophie, for +fear of disturbing you, and you come to me. +Alas! and you are so pale, you tremble so +much, poor girl, I have nearly killed you, you +will give me up now!” and an expression of +anguish convulsed his countenance.

“No, no, I will not; my paleness, trembling, +swooning, is a matter of nerves, not of will; I +cannot help it, but I will not upon that account +leave you; my flesh shrinks, but my reason does +not convince me of any personal risk.”

“And there is none to you, none to you, Sophie, +believe it: in my maddest moments I could not +hurt you.”

At this moment, Raymond, not knowing who +was in the room, entered, started slightly on +seeing his father on the bed with Sophie sitting +by him, but quickly recovering himself, walked +up to the bed, and inquired, as though nothing +had happened,

“Better, calmer, my boy—but oh! Raymond, +my son, why had you not kept out of my way? +You know, you know the risk you run; think if +in my phrensy I were to do you a fatal injury, +what would my after life be? Sophie, you see +how fair and wan he is: he was more robust +once, but in my first fit of phrensy while he was +trying to save me from rushing into the street +and exposing my madness, I dealt him a heavy +blow upon the chest, injured his lungs, and he has +never been well since.”

“But he will be well,” said Sophie, as, with +her eyes full of tears, she turned and laid her +hand caressingly on Raymond’s shoulder, “he +will get well when he has finished his studies +and returns home and finds his father restored +to health.”

“Oh, yes, I am sure of it,” she said. “Why, +though I do not know much about such things, +yet it appears to me so reasonable that a malady +concealed as yours was, should increase and +strengthen, instead of subside, and that it should +darken your mind, I am not at all surprised; +and I believe that now, relieved by communication +and sympathy, it will gradually leave you.”

This mood also changed in a few hours. As +the moon waned he relapsed into the gloom and +reserve of his habitual manner. By the vigilance +of Sophie and Raymond, little Hagar had +been kept carefully out of his sight for some +days, and now when she came into his presence, +in his abstraction he scarcely observed her. Sophie +felt uneasy as the Sabbath approached. +From the relaxed nerves of the lately overstrained +brain, Sophie knew that he could not +prepare a sermon, and knew not what excuse +could be made, and wondered what had been his +course in former emergencies of this kind. She +knew not, that during the very fervor and exaltation +of insanity he had prepared a sermon, which +when delivered on the next Sabbath would electrify +the whole congregation with its soul-thrilling +eloquence. That sermon was the talk of +the whole county for weeks. This, the reader +knows, is not an uncommon feature in the exalted +stages of mania. The “Song of David,” +written during a fit of insanity by Christopher +Smart, a poet of the last century, with a rusty +nail on the walls of his cell in the madhouse, is +one of the most elevated and sublime strains of +sacred poetry I ever read.

The first of September arrived. Raymond +was gone, and the disbanded school of Sophie +Churchill, or as we must now call her Mrs. +Withers, re-assembled. It was continued for a +few months until the end of the year, when +Sophie found that she would have to give it up. +In one respect a healthful change had passed over +Mr. Withers. The violence of his periodical +attacks of lunacy gradually subsided, but with +this change grew another feature—an exclusive, +absorbing, and constantly increasing affection +for his gentle young wife. This, from his +idiosyncrasy, became daily more jealous and +exacting; he could not endure to have her out +of his sight; he grew jealous, not only of the +child who occupied a portion of her time, but of +43the very business by which at least half their +income was provided.

At the commencement of the Christmas holidays, +Sophie broke up her school. Soon after +this she received a severe shock in the news of +the sudden death of her sister Rosalia and her +husband, both of whom were carried off by a +prevailing epidemic. This news was communicated +by a letter from a lawyer of Baltimore, +which letter also informed her that Mr. Withers +and herself had been appointed guardians of the +person and property of Rosalia Aguilar. This +letter happened to come when the mind of Mr. +Withers was in its least disturbed state, and +therefore in a few days from its reception, Sophie +left the Hall for Baltimore, with the purpose of +bringing home the little Rosalia Aguilar, the +second orphan niece committed to her charge.

“Mind, Hagar, you must be attentive to your +uncle, he is not well, my love, and you must do +nothing to annoy him—now, will you promise +me, Hagar?” had been the earnest injunction +and question of Sophie as she was taking leave +of little Hagar the morning of her departure for +Baltimore. The child was silent and sulky. +This argued ill.

“Oh, Hagar! will you let me depart in +anxiety of mind when I may never see you +again?”

Now it must not be inferred from this that +there was unmitigated antagonism between the +wild child and her solemn uncle-in-law, but there +was that which was far more exasperating, a +capricious and fretful attraction. Sometimes +highly amused or deeply interested in the child’s +strong, keen, and original genius, he would take +her into great favor for days together, keep her +always with him in his study, open to her +hungry and greedy mind stores of food, win her +affections, and then, at some fancied irreverence +or impropriety on her part, would shake her +from his hand as though she had been a viper, +and drive her from the room.^[3] And she would +fly from the house, stung and suffering, to take +refuge in the dark woods, among the grey rocks, +or on the gravelly beach of the surging bay. +The wild child took to the wild scenes of nature, +as naturally as the squirrel takes to the trees, the +bird to the air, or the fish to the water; and +soon she was at home there, soon she learned to +climb a tree with the swiftness and agility of a +monkey; soon she learned, alone, to launch the +boat, and wield the oar with a skill and grace +that nothing but instinct could have taught, and +in the very spirit of adventure she would make +long voyages of discovery up and down the +shores of the bay. And if a storm was brewing, +if the sky was darkened and the thunder muttering +in the distance, if danger was ahead, so +much the more tempting and exciting was the +voyage to the fearless child. The same spirit +of adventure and inquiry would lead down a +darksome forest-path, into the deepest dells, and +most tangled thickets, and far away into the +wildest solitudes of the wilderness; and the close +hiss of a serpent, or the distant growl of a wolf, +would only send color to the lips and cheeks, +and light to the eyes of the girl, whose ardent +soul panted for excitement. Do you ask where +she got her fiery blood from? I do not know +exactly, perhaps the spark was transmitted from +some Egyptian long since. All I can tell is, +that the same wild spirit of adventure had +incited several of her ancestors from time to +time to rebellion against church and state, had +sent the founder of the American branch into the +new country, and now occasionally broke out +in a solitary member of the house, as in Hagar. +And where was Sophie while her little charge +roamed over river, creek, and bay, forest, moor, +and rock, at large? Absorbed in the care of her +lunatic husband, fancying Hagar safe at play, +she remained in total ignorance of the child’s +woodland sports and salt-water voyages.

Sophie had fallen into that dangerous error so +common to enthusiasts—the exclusive absorption +in one duty, to the neglect of others. Sophie’s +self-devotion would have been good as it seemed +beautiful, had it been governed by moderation. +It has been ingeniously said by Hassler that +“from its position in the solar system, neither +too close nor too far removed from the centre +of light and heat—moderation would seem to +be the peculiar virtue appropriate to our earth”—and +when one thinks of it, it would seem the one +thing needful for a better reason than mere +locality. Moderation is the moral gauge, the +moral regulator, and should be president of the +debating society of the passions, propensities, +sentiments, and virtues. Moderation is to +the heart what reason is to the head. Moderation +is just precisely that hair line, erroneously +said to be invisible, that divides the right from +the wrong, good from evil, and virtue from vice. +For see: courage is a good thing, but carried +beyond the bounds of moderation it becomes +rashness—which is a bad thing. Cautiousness is +also good, but beyond moderation it becomes +cowardice—which is bad. Liberality on the +other side of the line of moderation is prodigality. +Even religion, piety, which is most excellent, +stretched beyond the line of moderation +becomes fanaticism, superstition—which is anything +but worship and honor to the Creator. I +can quote Scripture for that, “Be not righteous +over much.”

Poor Sophie was “over much,” and hence +her self-sacrifice was not, as it might have been, +productive of unmingled good. To Hagar it +brought much evil, not only by leaving her to +the pursuit of her own wild pleasures, but in +subjecting her before she could understand it to +44the caprices of an unimpaired intellect excited +by a nervous and bilious temperament. Her +sentiments towards her uncle were at the time +of Sophie’s departure a singular and most exasperating +blending of affection and anger, if not +of positive love and hatred. He would take +her into favor for weeks, and just as she was +growing confident and easy in his affection, he +would throw her off without a cause, and treat +her with freezing coldness for other weeks; her +first feeling would be a mixed emotion of sorrow +and anger, and that would subside into a +cold dislike, fostered by his unkind manner; +and then just as she was getting to hate him +comfortably, feeling quite justified in entertaining +the sentiment and quite independent in consequence, +lo and behold, some unexpected, and as +it would seem to her, some undeserved act of +kindness or tenderness would melt the iceberg +in her bosom, and she could weep in very penitence +for all the coldness she had felt and +shown.

When Sophie left the Hall, Hagar, according +to her promise, tamed her heart of fire and gave +every gentle attention to her provoking uncle, +who was now in one of his morose fits by reason +of Sophie’s absence, and therefore was very +hard to be satisfied. A week passed away, +during which Hagar’s short stock of patience +was nearly exhausted by receiving in return for +all her attention cold looks, short replies, and +half-suppressed grumblings—the dark sky and +muttering thunder of an approaching storm.

Affairs were in this state at the Hall when +the day of Sophie’s expected return arrived. +The packet usually put out a little boat and +landed passengers for the Hall upon the beach +under the promontory. Early in the afternoon, +Hagar’s falcon eye descrying a sail upon the +bay, she ran down to the promontory, sped +down the rocky declivity with the agility and +swiftness of a kid, and stood upon the sunny +beach to await its approach. The packet +swiftly approached, stopped opposite the promontory, +and a boat put out from her side, and +was swiftly rowed to the beach.

Hagar sprang to meet her aunt, who stepped +upon the sand, leading a little girl of about +three years of age, dressed in deep mourning. +Hagar had sprang up into Sophie’s arms and +given her a quick embrace, when the latter putting +her down, said—“Kiss your cousin, Hagar.”

“Yes, kiss me, Hagar,” said the little one, +“kiss me, love me—I’ve got no mother.” And +the large bright tears rolled down her rosy +cheeks. Hagar caressed her as a kitten might +caress a young dove, with its claws out. And +the soft sensitive pet half evaded her wire-like +clasp. “Oh! she is a city baby, used to be +nursed by white nurses, and to step her little +soft feet upon pavements, and to play with dolls +in dressing-rooms; she shrinks from me, whose +play-grounds are the forest, rocks, and waters—and +whose toys are bows, arrows, and guns.” +And Hagar bent forward and gazed with her +keen eyes into the face of the timid child as +they walked side by side towards the ascent of +the cliff. Here even Sophie’s hand afforded little +assistance to the unpractised feet of the +infant as she toiled up the steep and dangerous +cliff, glancing with terror at the sharp projecting +points of the rocks sticking up ready to impale +her soft form if she missed her footing. Hagar +gazed at the little frightened toiler, half in pity, +half in amusement, until suddenly the devil +leaped into the eyes of the wild child, and seizing +her cousin, she swung her upon her shoulder, +and springing from the spot with the bound of a +kid, scarcely touching the points of the rocks +with her light feet, she flew up the steep knobs +of the cliff—while Rose clung to her neck in +deadly terror, and Sophie raised her hands in +awe-struck astonishment. Arrived at the top +safe, she set her down, panting, and tenderly as +she knew how soothed her alarm. But from +that moment through all her after life, Rosalia +feared and shrank from Hagar.

Mr. Withers received Sophie with visible +pleasure and affection; drawing her to his bosom +and pressing a kiss upon her lips. But +when he stooped to welcome her little charge +Rosalia, he suddenly drew back, shaded his +eyes with his hands, and gazed at her; then recovering +himself, he welcomed the orphan with +a few words of encouragement and re-assurance.

After the children were in bed that night, and +while Withers and Sophie sat by the parlor fire, +he said, as if half musing, “The same intense +blue eyes, the same golden hair, except that +both are softer.” Then suddenly turning to Sophie, +and speaking earnestly, he said—“Tell +me, my guardian angel, is it an illusion of my +wayward imagination, or does Rosalia resemble—resemble—?”

“Yes, she does resemble Raymond—but that +may be from her having the same colored hair +and eyes, and the same delicately fair skin—which +she takes from her mother, my sister Rosalia, +who was of that complexion.”

“Yes—but the features, the expression, that +peculiar arch of the delicate upper lip, that +sweeping curve of the upper lids falling over +‘eyes whose light might fix the glance of any +seraph gazing not on God,’ and the elegantly +carved hand and arm, and foot—the very form +and features of—of—” he paused and sighed +deeply—“of Fanny Raymond. Yes, of Fanny +Raymond, as I knew her when a child—except +that this child has more softness, tenderness—more +lymph, if one might use the expression.”

“Why do you not tell me all about it, Mr. +Withers; then you would feel better, then there +would be freer conversation between us; no +starts, broken sentences and misapprehensions.”

“Why do you wish to pry into my secrets?” +asked he angrily, and rising, paced the floor +with moody air and a dark brow. After a while +he returned and sat down. Sophie went and +sat beside him—and obtaining possession of his +hand caressed it as she said gently,

“I do not wish to pry into your secrets, +believe me I do not—I only wish to give you +peace; after so long a time, do you not know +me for your friend?”

“Well, then, Sophie, do not exasperate me +by questions of my past life; at some periods I +have very little self-control, as you very well +know.”

His moroseness increased from this hour, +until a day or two after his disease broke out +in phrensy. His attack had reached its crisis, +45passed it, and declined into gloom as before. +Sophie had successfully guarded him from +public exposure. Again as before, a sermon +written during the exalted stage of his insanity, +had electrified the whole country. It seemed +strange, but it was not unprecedented in the +annals of insanity, that one who had well nigh +lost his reason, should at some periods perceive +the points of his subject with microscopic distinctness, +and argue them with mathematical +closeness and precision. It was less strange, +that into this perfect body of logic, his burning +imagination should cast a soul of eloquence, fire, +and life. His fame was spread all through the +neighboring counties, and crowds flocked to +hear him preach. Could they at some seasons +have seen his heart, or even entered his home! +And yet they knew as much, and judged as +correctly of him, as many of us know and +judge of some around and near us every day. +Still he accomplished much good. Sophie felt +this, and took heart amid her troubles. Truth, +pure truth, loses none of its force and point +by any mode of conveyance through which it +reaches its object. Truth diluted with falsehood, +comes weak and faint through any medium.

It would be vain to try to give you any fair +idea of the winning beauty and gentle grace of +the little Rosalia Aguilar, whom but to look +upon was to love. She soon became the +favorite of the whole house, from its solemn +master down to old Cumbo in the kitchen. +Hagar loved her at first, and tried to teach her +to make and use little bows and arrows, and to +coax her off to her forest haunts, or out on the +bay; but when, after her repeated efforts, she +found the gentle and timorous child still shrank +from her offers of entertainment, she left her +alone—and afterwards, when she felt that the +loving little beauty was winning from her the +little hold she had upon the affections of the +household, her heart became bitter, and the +jealous trait in her character grew and strengthened. +More than ever she took to the desolate +scenes about her native hall. She made wider +excursions upon the bay, and deeper inroads into +the forest—in the wild wantonness of her nature +she would scale the most difficult rocks, and +skim along the very edge of the most fearful +precipices, or climb the tallest trees, and letting +herself out upon the frailest branches, rock up and +down between earth and sky, delighted to +tamper with danger; or if the branch beneath +her broke, save herself, monkey-like, by an agile +spring and catch at the nearest bough. Thus +the keen perceptive faculties of the child were +only employed in perfecting her animal strength +and agility. And Sophie? had Sophie quite +abandoned her? No; but occupied with her +unhappy and exacting husband, and with her +younger and more helpless niece, Sophie seeing +Hagar always well, left her very much to herself. +And indeed the wild child was always +rather beyond the control of her gentle relatives. +Thus passed the winter.

The close intimacy that had subsisted between +the little families of Heath Hall and Grove Cottage, +had been considerably interrupted since the +marriage of Sophie. She wished to preserve the +secret of her husband, and therefore rather discouraged +the continuance of the hitherto almost +daily intercourse between the families. Emily +also felt an aversion to the minister that had an +influence in severing the close intimacy of the +friends. And Augustus, too, being in daily +attendance upon a school three miles in the +opposite direction, found little chance to visit +his old playmate Hagar. Emily, however, +though her visits were few and far between, still +felt in all its devotion her warm affection for +Sophie. Other neighbors, mere acquaintances, +came occasionally to the Hall, and sometimes +spent a day there, or a day and night after the +manner of country neighborhood visiting, but from +these careless and uninterested observers Sophie +succeeded in keeping her misfortune secret. The +two children were objects of considerable attention +from these visitors, and the striking contrast +of their persons, manners, and characters, noted +and commented upon, in their presence. The +winning beauty and sweet confiding sociability +of the fair cherub, and the wild shy reserve of +the dark child, were compared, and sagely commented +upon—and conclusions very disparaging +to Hagar, drawn by these superficial critics who +did not understand her. Indeed the contrast +between these two children was so striking, that +they were never passed by strangers or servants +without some such remark as this—“Rosalia is +beautiful, lovely—but that other child is very +homely.” It is very wrong to make remarks on +the personal beauty or ugliness of children in +their hearing. The effect is invariably injurious. +It is highly reprehensible to draw invidious comparisons +between the beauty of children, especially +before their faces. This thoughtlessness +is fraught with the direst consequences. When +you say so carelessly in their presence, that +“Anne is prettier than Jane,” and look at Anne +as though her accidental beauty were a virtue, +and look at Jane as though she were in fault—think +that into the fertile soil of the children’s +hearts you have dropped the seeds of evil—the +seed of vanity in the heart of Anne, the seed of +envy into that of Jane, and the germ of discord +into both. Upon Rosalia and Hagar these +thoughtless remarks were producing the worst +effects. Rosalia, loved, petted and praised, by +the family, the servants and visitors, with all her +gentleness and sweetness, was growing vain, +selfish, and sensual—and loved best of all things +to lie in some old lady’s soft lap and suck sugarplums, +while the said old lady caressed and +praised her. And she was a most endearing +child; unlike other spoiled and petted children, +she never gave way to temper—she was much +too gentle for that. She was penetrable, sensitive, +not high spirited. Sometimes in his wilful moods +Mr. Withers would repulse her, though never +with the asperity with which he drove Hagar +from his presence; and she would weep, and +come back, and coax and caress him until the +madman, subdued by the power of love, would +take her to his bosom—where nestling herself +cosily, she would fall into the deep sleep—the +reaction of her excitement; while his own +stormy soul, mesmerized, would subside into +calmness. And daily his love for her and his +aversion to Hagar increased. Upon Hagar, too, +these influences were producing the worst effects. +Jealousy and suspicion of the few she loved, +scorn and contempt for the opinions of others—neglect +of her person as little worth attention, +and a morbid desire to be loved exclusively—these +46were some of the evil fruits of her +mal-education.

One more circumstance, patient reader, and I +have done tiring you with the squabbles of children. +It was one that more particularly introduced +Hagar to the notice of Mrs. May, and +saved her from degenerating quite into a savage. +It occurred some time after the events recorded +in the last chapter. But just let me briefly sum +up the history of the intervening time. The disease +of Mr. Withers had changed in these +respects—he was no longer subject to violent +outbreaks; but his malady, wanting that vent, +had only deepened into gloom and moroseness. +He had lost his eloquence and power in the +pulpit to that degree, that a curate had to be +appointed to assist him, and his pay deducted +from the minister’s small salary. This curate +boarded with Emily. The farm, only partly reclaimed, +had been suffered to relapse into desolation. +The income arising from Sophie’s +school had been, of course, cut off at its discontinuance; +and the family at Heath Hall found +themselves in straitened circumstances. This +was felt more heavily, as the continued exactions +of Mr. Withers upon the time and attention of +his gentle and complying wife, left her little +opportunity for those economies and contrivances +by which a thrifty housekeeper makes the most +of a narrow income. Raymond had not once +visited the Hall, though he frequently wrote. +Emily May, repulsed by what she supposed the +coldness of Sophie, altogether absented herself.

Gusty was absent on a voyage with his uncle, +Lieutenant Wilde, who had made one visit to +Grove Cottage, but without calling upon or +even inquiring after Sophie.

It was just before the expected return of +Gusty, near the close of the winter, when Hagar +was driven in from her rambles by the arising of +a furious storm. She betook herself to the +garret, her place of refuge in times of trouble. +Poor little Rose, repulsed by the gloom and ill-temper +of “uncle,” had already hidden herself +there; and the children sat before the fireless +hearth—the desolate children in the desolate +scene. It was a large, low, square room, with +two deep dormer windows facing the east, and +looking far out upon the bay—with a dark +cuddie under the eaves of the western wall—with +a rude fire-place on the south, and opposite +on the north, the door leading from the room +into the narrow passage and down the stairs. +The walls were very dark, and the plastering +broken here and there. Between the two dormer +windows, and close to the floor, was a large +crevice in the wall, through which you might +look into the long dark space between the +wall and the edge of the roof, a space corresponding +to the cuddie on the opposite side. +Strange sounds were sometimes heard in this +place, and through the crevice. Hagar, that +child of shadows, would look with mysterious +awe—for with its boundaries lost in obscurity, +to her it seemed a dark profound sinking through +the house down to the centre of the earth, while +her imagination loved to people it with ghosts, +gnomes, and all the subterranean demons she +had read of in her favorite book, the Arabian +Nights. “Listen! listen to the spirits,” she +would sometimes whisper in wantonness to her +little cousin.

“I hear nothing but the rats in the cuddie,” +would the matter of fact Rose reply. The +floor of the attic was bare, the planks rude and +rough, and worn apart in some places, leaving +dark apertures, down which Hagar would look +as into an interminable abyss, the haunt of her +favorite gnomes. There was no furniture in this +room except an old trunk without a top, that +sometimes served Rosalia for a baby-house, and +sometimes reversed, for a seat. Upon this trunk +the children were now seated. The storm still +raged around the old house-top—the shingles +were reft off, whirled aloft, and sent clattering +like hail-stones to the ground; the wind howled +and shrieked about the walls, and the old +windows and rafters writhed and groaned in the +blast, like the wail of lost souls, and the laugh +of exultant fiends. The rain was dashed in +floods against the crazy windows, and the +children sprinkled through their crevices. The +water began to stream from the leakages in the +ceiling, and to collect in puddles in the corners +of the room. These puddles enlarging and +approaching each other, threatened to overflow +the floor. The children drew their trunk upon +the fireless hearth. Rose’s little chubby arms +and legs were red with cold.

“Oh! how the wind’s a-blowing. I am +almost frozen,” wept Rose. And they were. +“Let’s go into the parlor,” suggested Rose.

Hagar looked at her with astonishment, that +she should propose to “beard the lion” in his +present mood.

“Yes, into the parlor,” persisted the child. +“I’ll bet you anything that uncle will let us stay +in the parlor this evening, and warm ourselves +at the fire; it is so very cold, you know.”

“Well! it is my house, anyhow, and so for +your sake, Rose, we will go down.”

And hand in hand the shivering children left +the attic, passed down four flights of back stairs, +and went to the parlor door, and Rosalia peeped +timidly in. It was the same old parlor, papered +with the Christian martyrs that I have before +described; and there sat the tall thin figure of +Mr. Withers, dark, solemn, and lowering; and +opposite sat Sophie, with her soft brown eyes +bent over her knitting. And, oh! sight of +luxury to the half-frozen child,—there was a +glorious, glowing hickory fire, crackling, blazing, +and roaring in the chimney. The children +opened the door and passed in, carefully closing +it after them; they approached the fire, Hagar +with an air of defiance, Rose with a look of +deprecation. Sophie looked at the children with +remorseful tenderness, and made room for them, +unluckily, between herself and Withers, thereby +attracting his attention. He turned, and knitting +his brows until they met across his nose, and +fixing his eyes sternly on the children, he asked, +in a rough tone—

“Warming ourselves!” exclaimed Hagar, +raising her eyes, flashing, to his face.

He frowned darkly on her, and half started +from his seat, while Rose cowered at her side, +and Sophie grew pale.

Hagar planted her feet firmly on the ground, +while Rosalia slunk away. Sophie arose, and +saying, in a low tone, “Take Rose to the kitchen +fire, dear Hagar,” prepared to follow them.

“Come back, Sophie!” exclaimed Withers, +in an excited tone. And she sat down with a +patient, despairing look, merely motioning to +Hagar by an imploring gesture, to leave the +room.

“Well! let’s go into the kitchen and warm +ourselves at Aunt Cumbo’s fire,” suggested the +ever hopeful Rosalia.

They left the parlor by a back door that led +through a sort of closet into the kitchen. The +storm was still raging, but a good fire was burning +on the kitchen hearth, and the tea-kettle was +singing over the blaze, and old Cumbo was +standing at a table kneading dough.

“Are you going to have biscuits for supper, +Aunt Cumbo?” asked Rosalia, in a coaxing tone, +as she approached the table.

“Now, what you comin’ out here botherin’ +arter me for, when I am gettin’ supper—go ’long +in de house wid you.”

“But, Aunt Cumbo, we are cold—we want to +warm ourselves,” coaxed Rose. “Mayn’t we +warm ourselves by your fire?”

“No, no, no! kitchen ain’t no place for white +children, no how you can fix it, so go ’long in +wid you.” And the rough old woman came +bustling up to the fire-place, drove the little girls +away, and began to set her spider and spider lid +to heat.

“No; this is no place for us,” said Hagar, +who disdained a controversy with a menial; and +the children left the passage.

Rosalia’s teeth were chattering, and she felt +as though the cold had reached her heart.

“I don’t,” said Hagar, looking half in pity, +half in scorn, at the wailing child. “Nor must +you. You must live. You are to marry the +President of the United States, you know.”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the vain child, suddenly +brightening up, “so I am! Cumbo, when +she ain’t cross, says I’m pretty enough to marry +him or his betters! And then, Hagar! oh, +Hagar! then I am going to have a good fire all +the time, in every room in the house; and I will +wear whole shoes and stockings every day, and +always have biscuits for supper. And—never +mind, Hagar, you shall live with me, too; and +when I think of that, oh, Hagar! When I +think of that, I have such a—such a—what do +you call it, that keeps people up, and keeps ’em +alive?”

“Yes! ‘never give up.’ You know Gusty +Wilde says ‘never give up,’ and I am agoing to +‘never give up.’ I am going down into the cellar, +now, to pick up chips. Tarquins has been +down there sawing wood, and I know there must +be chips there; and we can pick up enough to +make us a fire, and we can make a nice fire and +tell stories.”

And with the elasticity of childhood she led +the way down to the cellar. It was a large, +dark, musty old place, with an area partitioned +off, in which milk, butter, fresh meat, &c., were +kept in summer; in winter it was usually two +feet deep in water; now, however, it was nearly +dry. It was originally intended for a kitchen, and +was built in the old-fashioned English style, with a +large grate in the fire-place, with ovens each side, +having heavy iron doors. These deep ovens, the +bounds of which were out of sight in the darkness, +seemed to Hagar like the entrances to subterranean +caverns, the abode of ghosts. To +Rose they were merely brick closets, that smelt +very musty and unpleasant. The brick pavement +of the cellar was decayed away, and green +with mould. It was, however, a favorite resort +with the children, for there they were free from +persecution. They entered, and Rosalia began +to fill her apron with chips, when Hagar spied an +old worn-out flag basket, and drew it towards +them. They both went to work, and soon filled +the little basket, and Rosalia, taking it up in her +chubby arms, began to toil up stairs with it. +Hagar would have taken it from—but “No, +Hagar,” said she, “I am afraid to go into the +kitchen again. I’ll carry this, and you go and +steal a coal of fire, and bring the broom, so that +we can sweep up the slop.”

Hagar went into the kitchen, which she found +vacant. Cumbo had gone to the spring. +Taking a coal of fire in the tongs, and seizing +the broom, she fled up stairs into the attic, where +little Rose was already busied in clearing the +damp rubbish from the fire-place. She received +the coal from Hagar, and kneeling down, placed +it on the hearth, collected around it the smallest +chips, and blew it. A little blaze soon flickered +on the hearth. She continued to add more chips +as the weak flame would bear it. In the meantime +Hagar had swept up the room. The storm +had subsided. The little fire was burning cheeringly. +The children drew the old trunk before +it, and sat down, their arms around each other’s +waist; their little toes stretched out to the fire; +their countenances wearing that satisfied consciousness +of having toiled for and won the +comforts they were enjoying. And after all, it +was but a little fire in a dreary old attic. They +were not permitted to enjoy this long. Steps +were heard approaching their retreat. The door +opened, and Tar, or as he called himself, Tarquinius +Superbus—the colored boy of all work—entered. +Rose ran to her basket of chips, and +placed herself before it.

“What you dem do wid dat broom you stole +from de kitchen, you little thieves, you? Nex’ +time you gim me trouble for come up here arter +you dem’s nonsense, I tell Mrs. Widders, an’ ef +dat don’t do I tell Mr. Widders—you see!”

With that he espied the broom, and in going +around to take it, his eyes fell upon the little fire, +and the small basket of chips. Poor Rose +looked guilty and dismayed, but held desperately +on to her property. Hagar watched him with a +steady eye.

“My good gracious ‘live—did any soul ever +see de like? What will Mr. Widders say? +48A-wastin’ all de wood! Here’s chips enough to +kindle all de fires in de mornin’.”

And with a perspective glance at his morning’s +work, when the basket of chips would be very +convenient, the rude boy stooped down to take +possession of the prize. Rosalia held tight her +treasure. He jerked it from her, and in doing +so, tore her little tender arms with the rough +flags of the old basket. Having lost his temper +in the struggle, the boy then went to the chimney, +and taking the tongs, scattered the blazing +chips, and raking the damp rubbish from the corners, +extinguished the fire. Then with his prize +he marched out of the room. Rose was sobbing +and wiping the blood from her wounded arm. +Hagar was still and silent, but the fire was +kindling in her dark eyes; her gipsy blood was +rising; at last she started after him, overtook +him half way down the stairs, and seized the +basket; he pulled it from her hold and fled, she +pursuing him into the kitchen. To end the matter, +he went up to the chimney, turned up the +basket, and shook down the chips into the fire. +Her gipsy blood was up! She ran to him as he +was stooping over his work of wanton cruelty, +and giving him a sudden push, sent him into the +fire. The basket was crushed under his hands, +and saved them from being badly burnt. He +struggled, recovered himself, and arose. Just at +this moment Cumbo re-entered the kitchen, and +Rosalia, who had followed her cousin, came in.

Tar gave an exaggerated account of the whole +affair, as he brushed the smut and ashes from his +sleeves. He dwelt particularly on the waste +with which “de childer had burned up all de +light wood for kindlin’.”

“It was only a few little chips that we picked +up, and they were damp; and see how he +scratched my arms!” said Rosalia, holding them +up to view.

Cumbo having sent in supper, felt herself in a +better humor; and thought herself prepared to +render judgment with marvellous impartiality +and wisdom, which, seating herself, and resting +her hands on her knees, she did to the following +effect:

“Tarquinus Perbus, you go right in house an’ +wait on table. Massa Widders, he callin’ for +you. An’ Rose, you putty little angel, you come +here an’ sit on old mammy’s lap, and toast your +poor little footy toes before dis nice fire; mammy’s +got a warm biscuit for you in her bosom, +too. An’ Hagar, you ugly, bad ting, go long +right trait out dis here kitchen wid yourself. +You’re so bad I can’t a-bear you—but ugly people +always is bad.”

Now, if she had said bad people always are +ugly, she might have come nearer the truth, or +at least taught a better lesson.

“He didn’t! he never made anything half so +ugly and bad! De debil made you. He made +my beautiful, lovely, good little Rose. Some +ob dese days she shall be de Presiden’s wife, and +you—you shall be her waitin’ maid, cause nobody’s +ever gwine to marry you—you’re too +ugly and hateful. Go long straight out dis here +kitchen now, I don’t want nuffin ’tall to do wid +you.”

Hagar left the kitchen, casting back a look of +inquiry at Rosalia; but the little girl was petted, +coaxed, flattered, and tempted by the warm fire, +and the prospect of the nice biscuit, and preferred +to keep her seat.

Hagar took her lonely way up the four flights +of stairs that led to the attic. Arrived there she +sat down moodily upon the trunk, resting her +elbows upon her knees, and holding her thin face +between the palms of her hands; her black elf +locks were hanging wildly about her shoulders, +and her eyes were wide open, and fixed upon the +floor in a stare. She was bitterly reflecting that +with a really kind-hearted aunt she was suffering +all the evils of orphanage, abused by menials, +pinched with hunger, and half frozen with cold. +She was wondering, too, how it was that the +good God had made her so ugly that she could +not be loved, and therefore could not be good. +Poor child, she never dreamed of general admiration, +she only wished to be loved; and she had no +one to tell her that the beauty which wins permanent +affection is the beauty of goodness; that +goodness will soften the hardest, and intellect +light up the dullest features; that though physical +beauty may excite passion, and intellect attract +admiration, only goodness can win everlasting +love. Within the last few months, such scenes as +I have described were constantly occurring, and +their evil influence fell on all the children’s after +life. Some of the most serious defects in their +characters, some of the most deplorable errors in +their conduct, and the most dreadful misfortune of +their lives, might be traced back to the injudicious, +careless remarks of visitors, and the capricious +blame or praise of servants, to whose care or neglect +they were so much left. When I recollect +the strong and decided bias given in childhood to +my own character by people and circumstances +over which I had no sort of control, and against +whose evil influence I could make no sort of +resistance; when I suffer by the effect of impressions +received in infancy, which neither time, +reason, nor religion have been able to efface—which +only sorrow could impair by bruising +the tablet; knowing as I know the tender impressibility +of infancy, feeling as I feel the indelibility +of such impressions, I tremble for the +unseen influences that may surround my own +young children—aye, even for the chance word +dropped by stranger lips, and heard by infant +ears; for that word may be a fruitful seed that +shall spring up into a healthful vine, or a upas +tree, twenty years after it is sown. Infancy is +a fair page upon which you may write—goodness, +happiness, heaven, or—sin, misery, hell. +And the words once written, no chemical art +can erase them. The substance of the paper +itself must be rubbed through by the file of suffering +before the writing can be effaced. Infancy +is the soft metal in the moulder’s hands; he may +shape it in the image of a fiend, or the form of an +angel—and when finished, the statue hardens into +rock, which nothing but the hammer of God’s +providence can break; nothing but the fire of +God’s providence can melt for re-moulding.

There she sat motionless. The only sounds +were the beating of the rain against the windows, +and the racing of the rats through the cuddies. +At last the noise of footsteps tearing up the +stairs, and a voice shouting a sea-song startled +the wild girl—she looked up just as Gusty Wilde +burst into the room, and running up to her, +caught her around the neck, and gave her a +boisterous salute, exclaiming breathlessly,

“I just got home last night, Hagar! and have +been wanting to run over and see you so much, +but mother detained me this morning, and I +couldn’t, but you see as soon as the storm subsided +a little I ran over here, ’specially as mother +gives me a tea-party this evening in honor +of my coming home. She has baked a plum +cake, and I have brought you home a monkey; +so, Hagar, you must return with me. I came +on purpose to fetch you; you won’t be afraid to +cross the swollen river.”

He was a fine, noble looking boy, stoutly +built, with a full face, rosy complexion, clear +merry blue eyes, and an abundance of soft yellow +curls clustering thick around a brow of almost +feminine whiteness. He wore a sailor’s +blue jacket, white trousers, and tarpaulin hat. +He looked at Hagar for her answer. Observing +now for the first time the girl’s disconsolate +air, he sat down beside her, pulled off his tarpaulin +hat, and placing it between his knees, put +his arm quietly around the neck of the child, +and kissing her dark brow gently, inquired,

She did not reply, but remained in her first +posture with her elbows on her knees, her chin +propped up by her hands, and her black elf +locks streaming down each side of her face. He +gently put her hair back from her face, and +tucking it behind her ears, asked kindly,

“Where is Rosalia, Hagar, and why are you +up here in this cold, damp room alone?”

“I met Tarquinius in the entry as I came in +the house, and inquiring for you the first one, he +told me you were here—then I ran in, upset +Father Withers in my haste, kissed Sophie, and +breaking away ran up here to find you. But +where is Rosalia? I expected to find her with +you?”

“Rosalia is in old Cumbo’s lap warming herself +before the kitchen fire, and eating biscuits—and +I—am I not always alone—when storms +and floods drive me to the house; but they,” +added she, “shall not send me in again; the +wild beasts bear their raging, and so will I.”

“In the parlor?” laughed the girl, bitterly; +“Mr. Withers’s mastiffs and bulldogs stay in the +parlor, the old tabby cat reposes on the rug before +the parlor fire, and Aunt Sophie’s pet rabbit +has its cushion in the corner, but I, I am a parlor +ornament, ain’t I?”

“Oh! Hagar, don’t do so! it is so very ugly +in a little girl to act that way, laughing and jibing +and jeering with so much scorn and bitterness. +Now tell me why you are banished from the +parlor, if you are banished.”

“Look at me! this is the best suit of clothes +I have in the world; do you think Mr. Withers +is going to let me stay in the parlor looking like +this, strict as he is?”

Gusty glanced down at her torn and rusty +calico dress—and at her, and at her little feet +protruding through her old stockings and shoes. +Then he said seriously, as he looked at her,

“Lord, Hagar, I don’t know now how I shall +take you in that trim. But why, child, did you +not stay at the kitchen fire with Rose? That +would have been far more comfortable than this +wet, cold garret.”

“I was driven from the kitchen, Gusty—driven +from the kitchen because I paid Tarquin well +for hurting Rosalia—and only think, Gusty, just +think, Rosalia, who should have stuck to me, +remained with the old woman who drove me +off for protecting her,” and the girl turned her +eyes flashing with scorn and bitterness towards +the boy, who remarked—

“Rose did that, Hagar? It was not like Rose +to do that. I shall not love Rose if she becomes +mean and selfish; but it can’t be so; something +remains to be explained.”

“Oh, yes,” laughed the wild child, “something +remains to be explained—she was hungry +and cold—and Cumbo offered to feed and warm +her.”

How unusual and how frightful is a sneer on +a child’s countenance, and oh! what a tale of +perverted nature it tells! After a while her +countenance relapsed into its serious cast, and +she said,

“Since you left, Gusty, I have been quite +alone; everybody has fallen away from me and +gone to Rosalia. Every one dislikes or forgets +me, and every one loves Rosalia.”

“No dear Gusty, you have not—perhaps you +will, though, when you see more of Rose—” +added she, sadly and doubtingly.

There was springing in her bosom the germ +of that doubt of all things and all persons that +in after life became a distinguishing and fatal +trait in her character. Children are born with +trust. The confidingness of childhood is proverbial, +but like all other childish instincts, it is +young and delicate, and easily crushed to death. +Children feel before they can reason, and the +impressions of childhood being well nigh ineffaceable, +the deceived and betrayed child is often +parent to the sceptical and scoffing man or woman.

“I will never fall away from you, Hagar, nor +can I see how Rosalia can draw me away. +Can’t I love you both? And now, little Hagar, +you must let me comb your hair and take you +over to mother’s to tea. I should like to take +Rose, too, but she is too tender to brave the +weather this evening.”

And in all simplicity he took from his pocket +a little comb, and began to comb out Hagar’s +elf locks. With wondrous skill he smoothed +and arranged her long hair into a simple knot +behind her head, and passing his hands two or +three times over the surface of her hair, said +cheerfully,

50“There, now, you little thing, why don’t you +take pains with yourself? You look so much +prettier, now that your hair is shining like blue-black +satin, so that I can see my face in it. +And, oh, Hagar! how I wish that they would let +you come and live with my mother; mother +wants a little girl so much, especially if I get +my midshipman’s warrant and go to sea again. +Oh, if you were only with mother, how good +and happy she would make you—and you would +grow pretty, too, for good girls always grow +pretty. There, you are smiling! do you happen +to know that you have the most beautiful smile +in the world, Hagar?”

“Yes, Rose has a sweet, soft smile, like summer +sunbeams on flowers; pretty enough, and +common enough; but your smile, Hagar—I’ll +tell you what your smile is like. I have been at +sea, near a wild coast full of frightful breakers, +shelving rocks, dark cliffs, and murky caverns, +with a stormy sea, a blackened sky, the whole +landscape dark, gloomy, and terrible, until suddenly +out breaks the sun, lighting up the scene +which then becomes wild, grand, sublime! +Such is your face, and such your smile, Hagar. +I gaze breathless at the wild beauty of both.”

Just at this moment, into the room broke Rosalia, +and running up to Hagar threw her arms +about her neck, exclaiming, breathlessly, while +she thrust a biscuit into her hands,

“Here, here, Hagar! I only just waited till +she gave me the biscuit she promised, and then +I came away and brought it to you! Here, +here, take it, Hagar! I ain’t hungry—no, not a +bit.”

Thus would the sweet child’s native goodness +sometimes break through the shell of selfishness +that was crusting over it. Hagar, with one of +her quick revulsions of feeling, burst into tears, +and pressed the little one to her bosom, and +Gusty, snatching her up in his arms, gleefully +exclaimed while he ran around the room with +her,

“There, there, there! Hurrah! I knew it. +I could have sworn my soul away upon the +soundness of my little Rosebud! I knew there +was not a really selfish drop of blood in little +Rose’s tender heart!”

Then returning and setting her down, he said, +“Come, the rain has quite ceased, the sun is setting +in golden glory, mother’s cake is done, and +her tea is ready, and she is waiting for me, I +know. Come, Rose shall go, too. I will carry +her in my arms. And Hagar, you little savage, +you can trip on before, and when I have got you +both safe at the cottage, I can send word to Sophie, +and keep you all night.” So saying he +led the children from the attic.

Emily May was seated in the sober glory of +her neat parlor, awaiting the return of Gusty. +The round tea-table was covered with a white +damask cloth, and graced by a little silver tea +service. The plum cake stood in the centre. +It was with surprise and pain that she received +the children. Ignorant of the cause of Sophie’s +neglect of them, she blamed her in her heart for +it, and determined upon the next day to ride +over, and use an old friend’s privilege of speaking +to her upon the subject. The next day that +visit was made, and Emily saw the wasted, sorrowing, +patient look of her friend, the truth was +partly guessed, and she proposed to take the +children, and especially Hagar, under her own +surveillance. To this proposition, Sophie tearfully +and gratefully acceded. Encouraged by +having gained this point, and incited by her love +of children, she went a step further and proposed +that both the children should be sent to the cottage +as pupils, and share with Gusty the instructions +of the young curate, her boarder. This +plan was submitted to the decision of Mr. +Withers, and having received his acquiescence, +was immediately carried into effect. Soon the +most favorable change was apparent in the +children. Rosalia’s beauty bloomed like her +type, the rose, refreshed by showers and sunbeams. +Hagar’s black hair no longer hung rusty +with exposure, in tangled elf locks over her +shoulders, but was banded in satin-like folds. +Their characters also seemed to undergo modification. +Hagar retained all her individuality, +her brave, free, wild spirit, her rather amazonian +tastes, but lost the harshness and bitterness that +made no part of it. Rosalia retained all her +delicacy, her tenderness, yes, and sensuality, but +lost the selfishness not native to her gentle character, +or at least these things seemed so. The +evils growing in the children’s hearts were cut +down; whether they were uprooted or not is +doubtful. Seeds of evil once taking root in +children’s hearts are almost ineradicable. Years +pass away.

There are times when the current of existence +frets and boils along the rocky channel of +anxiety, among the rugged crags of care, grief, +and wrong; there are times when it dashes +thundering over the precipice of some awful +crime or calamity—times when it stagnates in +the fœtid marshes of indolence and despair—times +when it winds on between the verdant +banks of peace and amid the blooming isles of +pleasure—and times when, scarce marked by +ragged crag or verdant isle, it flows on without +joy or sorrow, straight towards the ocean of +eternity. Even thus calmly flowed the lifestream +of Sophie. Relieved from gnawing +anxiety upon the children’s account, she was +able to give a more cheerful attention to her +husband, and soon the more happy effects were +apparent. The gloom into which he had fallen +was dissipated by the sunshine of her smiles. +She now became conscious of a calm, pure, and +holy affection for him, such as angels may be +supposed to feel for sorrowing man—such as we +feel for objects we have nursed and cherished. +This sentiment deepened into tenderness as she +saw—what she could not fail to see—that as +the rays of intellect emanated clearer and clearer +from his brain, they but served to reveal the +blackness of the shadow of death gathering +thick and thicker around him. And it was +beautiful yet sorrowful to see how as the sun of +reason shone forth, all those clouds and fogs of +selfishness and suspicion vanished from his +mind. This is not strange or even unusual in +the history of mental disease. It is a well +51known fact that insanity frequently entirely reverses +the natural character; thus, under its influence +the disinterested grow selfish and exacting, +while the selfish become generous, the timid +bold, and the bold timid, and most frequently +the gentle and sensitive grow harsh and violent. +His gloom softened into sadness, into seriousness, +into resignation, which soon brightened +into gentle cheerfulness, which but one thing in +the world could ruffle, the sight of Rosalia +Aguilar; then indeed the tide of memory, +laden with bitterness, would flow over his soul +filling it with sorrow. Upon this account Rosalia +became a permanent inmate of Grove Cottage; +while Hagar, no longer repulsed by the caprices +of his disease, became his most assiduous, +and next to Sophie his best beloved nurse and +companion. Thus they “brightened the links +of love, of sympathy;” and this returning +confidence and affection of her uncle, gave Hagar +the antidote for the poison of her soul. +Thenceforth in Hagar’s vision “anger, hatred, +and malice, and all uncharitableness,” were +greater or less degrees of moral insanity.

It was near the close of a day late in the +month of October. The level rays of the setting +sun glanced across the green waters of the bay, +tinting their rippling waves with emerald and jet—across +the brown waste of the heath, mottling +its rugged surface with gold and bronze upon +the decayed edifice of the old Hall, painting its +rusty walls in strongly contrasted colors of red +and black, while its tall windows flashed back in +lines of shining light the dazzling beams—and +upon the distant forest whose variegated foliage +reflected in topaz and in ruby light the day’s +declining glory. It was a still, refulgent scene, +the good night smile of nature. Presently the +still life of the landscape was enlivened by two +equestrian figures, descending the slope of the +heath from the Hall, while their shadows +stretched lengthening behind them over the dry +and burnished turf. The figure on the right +hand side was that of a youth of some eighteen +years, clad in the undress uniform of a midshipman—whom +on near view we recognise as our +old acquaintance, Gusty Wilde May. By his +side rode a beautiful girl of about fourteen years +of age, in a graceful riding habit of blue cloth. +She was rather full formed, very fair, with deep +blue eyes, and wavy hair of pale gold floating +about a forehead of transparent whiteness, with +a soft, gentle manner, and a pleading air in the +curve of her rosy lips and the downward sweep +of her snowy eyelids.

The youth and the maiden each rode a bay +horse. They—the youth and maiden—not the +bay horses—were conversing in a low tone as +they ambled over the heath—

“Rosalia, what do you suppose were my +emotions as I sailed down the bay this morning +towards Churchill Point?”

“No—every mile added more anxiety to the +weight oppressing my heart as I drew near home, +reflecting on the many and dreadful changes +that might have passed over those I loved in +these long three years, and now I am happy, for, +thank God,” said he, raising his cap reverently, +“nothing but agreeable changes have passed +over Grove Cottage and its inmates. I find you +the sweetest little turtle-dove that ever folded its +wings in a nest, domesticated with my mother, +and forming a large portion of her happiness. I +find my dear mother at thirty-five looking young +and fresh as Hebe—and about—I am very much +inclined to think—tell me, Rosalia, is my +mother going to be married to Mr. Buncombe?”

“Yes, Rosalia, it disturbs me—with joy! +Dear mother—how devoted she has been to us, +Rosalia! And now that we are all grown up, +and do not need her constant care, and now +that it may naturally be expected that before +long we will all be getting mar——be getting +separate establishments of our own—I am glad +that there is no prospect of mother’s spending +her life alone. And then to see how long the +curate has waited for her! Ever since the first +winter of his boarding with her while we were +his pupils—now that is what I call genuine +affection—very few men would have done +that!”

“Well, but, Gusty, he boarded with her all +the time—he had her society all the time—so +what odds?”

“True—I do suppose that was the secret of +his patience. And now, Hagar, this singular +girl, where are we to find her?”

“She is out on the moor somewhere, with +horse and hounds—she has been out all day.”

Just as they spoke the sunset rays were intercepted +by another equestrian figure. The slight, +elegant figure of a dark complexioned young +girl clad in a dark green riding habit, cap and +plume, mounted on a jet black courser, came +pricking over the heath, followed by a couple +of beautiful pointers. In her hand she held a +light fowling-piece, and at her saddle’s pommel +hung a game bag filled with birds. As her +falcon eye descried the youth and maiden, she +bounded forward to meet them—she was at their +side—and “Hagar!” “Gusty!” were the joyful +words of recognition that simultaneously broke +from their lips, as their horses nearly met in a +shock, and he bent from his saddle, caught her +to his bosom, and gave her a hearty kiss. It +was a brother’s greeting to the sister of his babyhood. +And—“How you have grown, Hagar!” +“How tall you are, Gusty!” were the next +words of surprise and pleasure that broke from +their lips as they backed their horses and gazed +at each other delightedly—“What a sportsman +you are, Hagar!” “When did you come, +Gusty?” were the next cross-question and remark +spoken in the same breath by both.

“Yes, Rosalia and myself rode over to the +Hall to see you—hearing that you were out, +and we being impatient, could not await you +there, so we rode out in search of you—but +what a sportsman you are, Hagar! have you +bagged anything? or only scared the birds and +shot yourself?”

“Enough for your supper, Master Gusty—and +I guess that it will not be unwelcome—I +rather think, it is some time since you have enjoyed +the luxury of a canvas-back duck!” said +the girl, with a dash of pique in her tone. Then +raising her eagle eye to the sky, she quickly +touched Gusty, and pointing immediately over +head, exclaimed, “Quick, Gusty! look! do +you see that speck—like a speck of ink in the +dark blue zenith?”

“Why, no! Who could see a speck in the +zenith of such a dark sky as this—none but +you, Hagar, whose gaze would make the sun +bat his eyes!”

She raised her fowling-piece, took aim, fired, +and in another instant a rush and whirr of +wings swooped down through the air, and a +white pigeon, the hapless laggard, or perhaps +the pioneer of some flock, dropped bleeding at +their feet.

The wild girl’s dark eyes flashed under their +long lashes, and her white teeth gleamed between +her smiling lips as she noticed his surprise. +But Rosalia gazed in tearful sorrow at +the wounded and fluttering bird—and—

“Poor, poor thing!” she said, “it was going +home, thinking of no harm or danger!” and +her tears fell mingling with and diluting the +blood that crimsoned the white feathers of its +bosom.

“Ah! it was cruel in Hagar to kill the +pigeon, wasn’t it?” inquired Gusty, derisively, +relapsing into boyish rudeness.

“No! I do not say it was cruel in Hagar +because she didn’t stop to think; but it was +cruel to the bird, poor, dear thing! Can’t you +do anything for it, Gusty?”

Now this was asked so naively through her +tears, that Gusty, rude hobble-de-hoy, burst +into a loud laugh, and at its end assumed gravity +and answered,—

Rosalia alighted cautiously from her horse, +and kneeling down on the turf gazed mournfully +at the glazing eyes of the bird—it fluttered violently +once or twice, and then grew still. She +burst into tears and sobbed convulsively.

“Why, Rose!” “Why, what a baby!” exclaimed +Hagar and Augustus in the same +breath.

“Oh! but, poor thing, what harm had it +done? It was sailing so blithely through the +sky, and now it is quite dead—not even gone to +Heaven, where I wish it could go. I am sorry +for you, too, Hagar, for I know you feel so bad +about shooting the poor bird, now that it is +done.” And suffering herself to be lifted into +her saddle by Gusty, who had alighted for the +purpose, she ambled up to the side of Hagar +and held out her hand—“I know you are sorry, +Hagar! are you not?”

“No, my little white dove,” she answered, +“not at all; and as for your bird, though its +spirit is not probably yet in Heaven, it may be +on its way there!”

“Pooh! this that I hold in my hand is dead, +but the life—the life—where is that?”

“Thank you! perfectly satisfactory,” said +Hagar, and her wild eyes flashed, and her white +teeth gleamed with suppressed mirth.

“Tell me—tell me, Hagar!” said little +Rosalia, “do you think, sure enough, that birds +do go to Heaven? Sometimes I think so, too; +they are so beautiful and good, you know! But +then the Holy Bible says,—‘The beasts that +perish,’ therefore, of course, they must perish.”

“Your first expressed thought may be not unscriptural, +little angel—the beasts perish; their +forms perish; but their life, through other transmigrations, +may reach Heaven in the human +form!”

“Not exactly, or rather, it is more than that; +for instance, I think that life continually ascends, +never descends. It looks to me very stupid to +suppose that a soul can relapse into the form of +a beast. No, life is never lost, but it continually +changes its locality, always ascending; the +various forms of life being the steps by which it +reaches humanity—then Heaven. I have lived +so much in the wildest solitudes of nature; I +have seen so much more, so much stronger life-spirit +below, than on a level with humanity; +I have felt it struggling up, through water, stones, +and clay; through lichen, herb, and tree; +through insects, birds, and beasts; up to its +highest visible form, humanity; and I have +grown to dream that life-spirit is elaborated from +matter; or if not so, that in the union of spirit +with matter, spirit may be first incarnated in the +lowest form of matter, and passing through its +various stages rise to human, to angelic nature. +I believe there is one life-God, and many lives; +the souls created in His image—that these souls +might not each have been created at a word, in a +moment—but created, or elaborated through long +ages. I believe that each soul retains its separate +existence, its separate features, its individual +self, unmixed as undivided through all its incarnations; +for instance the spirit of a rose in +ascending the scale of being will never enter the +form of an eagle, or a lion. To illustrate nearer +home—here is my gentle Rosalia, whose pure +spirit, ages ago, might have slept in the pale light +of a seed pearl; then, in the lapse of centuries, +lived in the fragrance of the wood violet; then, +through many transmigrations, reached the form +of the dove, then a lamb, and lastly, is incarnated +in the beautiful child before us.”

53“Then, if that were so, why can I not remember +when I was a violet, and when I was a +dove?” pertinently inquired Rosalia.

“You cannot even recollect when you were +an infant, little one—you cannot recollect all +that happened last year, or last month; how +should you be able to look back through a vista +of past lives that the doors of many deaths have +closed behind you. Perhaps at the close of your +present life the whole vista may be thrown open, +and you may be able to look back to the beginning. +Oh, Rosalia! I remember that in the +earliest years of conscious human existence, in +infancy, my mind struggled as much backward +for recollection, as forward for new knowledge.” +She was silent awhile, and then pursuing the +train of thought, she said,—“The analogy between +material and spiritual nature seems to me +to be perfect in all its particulars. I never saw +a human being who had not his type in the minerals, +in the vegetables, in the insects, in the birds, +and in the beasts.”

“You, Gusty, are so much modified by education—the +widow’s petted child—that the stamp +is nearly effaced, or at least smeared over; however, +I can fancy you ascending the scale of +being by these steps: mineral, bloodstone; vegetable, +mustard; bird, the turkey; animal, the +mastiff. There is, with all your strength, spirit, +and courage, so much homeliness, domesticity +about you, dear Gusty.”

“An agate—the sober-hued stone of which +rosaries are made—then balm, so fragrant and +refreshing in sickness, then the brown partridge, +then the timid fawn, then Sophie.”

“And oh!” said Hagar, “I tell you what +character I admire—a spirit that has ascended +through iron ore, oak, the elephant, into the +form of some square-built, strong-minded, large-hearted, +great-souled man!”

“Heaven send you such an one!” exclaimed +Gusty, dismounting to assist them from their +saddles at the gate of the Hall. A servant +approached to take charge of the horses, and +leaving them in his care, our little party entered +the house. Sophie received them at the door +and conducted them into the parlor.

It was just dusk, yet Mr. Withers, exhausted +by illness, had retired to bed. It is years since +we have seen Sophie, and she is somewhat +changed—yet what her face had lost of infantile +roundness and freshness, it had gained in intelligence +and interest. She took her seat smilingly +at the head of the tea-table and called the +young people to seat themselves around her. +When they were seated and served each with a +cup of tea, she informed them that she had just +written, at Mr. Withers’s request, to recall +Raymond to the Hall, from the Theological +college at the North, the preparatory school +of which had been for two years under his +charge.

“And is it possible that he has never been at +the Hall since he left it, the summer of your +marriage, Mrs. Withers?”

“Never, Gusty. He remained at college +until he took his degree, and then passed immediately +into his present business.”

“Yes,” said Hagar, “he loved me, he never +forgot or neglected me; even after he went away, +in his letters to my aunt he always sent me a +message until I learned to write, and we have +corresponded ever since.”

“No,” said Hagar. “Rose did not arrive +until after he had left us, and, as we have just told +you, he has never been here since.”

“And Rose will not see him now,” said +Sophie, “for she leaves in one week for Boston +for Mrs. Tresham’s school.”

After further desultory conversation, they +finished tea and arose from the table. Rosalia +and Augustus remained all night, and early the +next morning departed for the Grove Cottage. +All the next week was occupied by Emily May +in preparations for Rosalia’s departure, and, if it +must out, in preparations for her own marriage +with the Rev. Mr. Buncombe, the curate of the +parish, the tutor of Hagar, Rosalia, and Gusty, +and the boarder and suitor for many years of +Emily May. It was for the purpose of getting +her dear son’s consent and presence that she had +waited these last three years, and it was for the +sake of gratifying her pet child, Rosalia, that she +now determined that the marriage should take +place before her departure to the North. Captain +Wilde, whose ship now lay at Norfolk, had +also been summoned to attend the wedding, and +arrived in due season. Of course Mr. Withers +and Sophie had been solicited, and were +expected to attend. Upon the evening of the +marriage day, however, as Rosalia was performing +for Emily the affectionate service of dressing +her for the ceremony, a note was handed the +latter, which on being opened and read was +found to be an apology from Sophie for nonattendance. +“Mr. Withers,” she said, “was +very much worse, and required her constant +care.” If there was another motive for her +absence it was not acknowledged to her own +mind, scarcely recognised by her own heart.

The quiet wedding was over, the routine of +the quiet cottage scarcely disturbed by its occurrence, +and the quiet bride and bridegroom had +returned, the one to his studies, the other to her +household affairs, as though nothing had happened. +Captain Wilde had returned to his ship, +and the pleasant intercourse between the Hall +and the cottage resumed. The last night before +the departure of Rosalia was at hand, and at the +earnest request of Sophie, Mr. and Mrs. Buncombe +had agreed to bring her over and spend +it at the Hall. Augustus May was also of the +party. Rosalia’s trunks had been packed and +sent over early in the day, and in the afternoon +the family from Grove Cottage rode over. It +had been settled that Augustus May should +54attend Rosalia to the North. The packet that +was to convey them to Baltimore lay at anchor +under the shadow of the promontory.

It was late in the afternoon when the carryall +containing Mr. and Mrs. Buncombe, Rosalia, +and Augustus, drew up before the gate of the +Hall. Sophie met and conducted the party into +the dining-room, where a feast had been prepared +in honor of Rosalia’s departure. Mr. +Withers, pale and emaciated, and propped up in +a chair, was also present. It was her last evening +at the Hall for some time to come, and so +they sat up late. Mr. Withers, from extreme +fatigue, retired early, but it was midnight before +the remaining members of the party were in bed. +Morning dawned, breakfast was over, adieux +were wept and kissed, and as the first ray of the +rising sun gilded the waves of the bay, Augustus +handed and followed Rosalia into the packet for +Baltimore.

The disease of Mr. Withers daily advanced—his +health so rapidly declined that he became +exceedingly anxious for the arrival of Raymond, +who was now hourly expected.

“Well, Sophie, my gentle nurse,” said he one +day, as she sat by his bedside, “your probation +is drawing to a close. You have devoted yourself +to me for eight long years, my guardian +angel—to what purpose?”

“To what purpose?—you have done more +good in this parish than any minister who has +preceded you for many years; for even Mr. +May, with all his excellences, lacked that eloquence—that +power of persuasion—that profound +knowledge of and potent sway over the +human heart, that nothing but sorrow can lend +to intellect. Hearts have been moved and elevated, +minds aroused and inspired by your wisdom. +A spirit has been invoked in this dull +neighborhood that may never be still again. I +have often thought how infinitely productive is +one good word, or thought, or act, its influence +extending down generations, still augmenting +for ever.”

“Ah! Sophie, but while all the light was +shed abroad, the shadow was cast black and +thick at home; and how it has darkened our +home and your young life, Sophie!”

“No!—oh, no!—I was thinking of your suffering, +not of my own, and I thought aloud.”

While she spoke, Hagar entered from a ride, +and brought a letter from Rosalia. When it had +been read, and Hagar had left the room to +change her riding habit, he said,—

“How much that girl—I mean Rosalia, writes +like one I know—her very spirit speaks through +Rosalia’s pen, as her form is again before me in +Rosalia’s person.”

“Yes, I mean Fanny. You have never, until +this moment, mentioned her name to me since +the night of Rosalia’s arrival, when I angrily +forbade your doing so. Often since that I have +wished that you might, thus affording me the opportunity +of telling you our sad story. I will +tell you now, but first, will Hagar be occupied +for the next hour?”

“Give me a cordial, Sophie?” She did so, +and revived by the stimulant, Withers commenced +his story.

“I was the only son of my mother, and she a +widow, Sophie. She supported and schooled +me by her own exertions until I was eighteen +years old, when I fell under the notice of the +Rev. Lenox May, who received me into his +house to read theology with him. Subsequently +I entered college, and soon after taking +orders, I had the misfortune to lose my mother. +She had lived to see the desire of her +heart, however—her beloved son in holy orders. +She had seen the ceremony of his ordination, +heard him preach his first sermon, heard it universally +praised as a miracle of eloquence, thoroughly +believed it herself, and was ready to +exclaim—‘Now let thy servant depart in peace.’ +Sophie, I never was intended for a minister of +the Gospel. If I have made a tolerable one it +is because the hard blows of circumstances have +hammered me into shape. Accident and my +mother’s wishes made me one. However, soon +after my ordination, I was called to the charge +of a parish in a village on the Hudson, and the +adulation I there received reconciled me to the +profession. I was called handsome and eloquent. +The church certainly flourished under +my ministry. I was flattered by the circumstance +then; now I know such is ever the case +when a young clergyman of tolerable ability is +installed in a parish. But, Sophie, I was foster-nursed +by the old ladies of the parish, and +out of that grew all my sorrows. South of the +village, on an eminence overlooking the river, +stood the white granite villa of my wealthiest +and most important parishioner, General Raymond. +He was a widower, with one child—the +child of his old age—Fanny, the sole heiress +of his property. Religion, or rather, evangelical +theology, was his passion. How sonorous +rang his full-toned responses through the +church, as standing, his stout form erect, his +broad shoulders thrown back à-la-militaire, his +chest expanding with self-importance, he called +himself a ‘miserable sinner.’ On the first Sunday +of my installation he invited me home to +dinner with him, and with stately, old-fashioned +courtesy conducted me to his carriage that stood +waiting at the church-door, and there, as I +stepped in, I first saw Fanny Raymond, then a +child of twelve years of age, a lovely, little, +shrinking creature, who squeezed herself quite +into the corner as I took the seat by her side, +as you have often seen a playful white kitten +draw herself up between fear and defiance, and +I instantly felt the same impulse to catch the +lovely, shy thing to my bosom that you would +55have felt to play with the said kitten. So +strong was this impulse that it must have spoken +through look and gesture, and might have been +obeyed but that the pompous old general followed +me immediately into the carriage, and +announced, “My daughter, Miss Raymond,” +with as much ceremony as though the sweet +child had been a woman of five-and-twenty. +She sat there, watching me furtively, her sweet +eyes flashing their soft shy light under the shadowy +lashes, and quickly averted when met by +mine, while rose clouds would roll up over her +snowy cheeks. That sweet, shy spirit, whether +in the violet, in the fawn, or in the timid girl, +always attracted me, Sophie. It was your eyes, +that meeting my glance, would startle and dilate +in beautiful haze that provoked your fate, Sophie. +I would have given anything—my parish—the +world, then and there to have caught the +shrinking child to my bosom, and hugged, and +kissed, and romped with her to my heart’s content. +From that day I was a frequent, and +always a welcome and an honored guest at the +villa. Time passed, and I rose in popularity, +winning golden opinions from all sorts of people, +and especially from women. As long as a +young minister remains unmarried, unappropriated, +unmonopolized, he is sure to be popular; +so my popularity continued to increase for three +years. While watching the development of +the child, Fanny Raymond, I had sought the +society of no woman. When Fanny was about +fifteen years of age, I was sent for one day to +the villa. It was to be put in possession of an +attested copy of General Raymond’s will, by a +clause of which I was appointed sole trustee of +the estate, until Fanny should come of age. It +was during this visit, and in the presence of one +of the old ladies of the parish, that General Raymond +remarked, ‘I am now upwards of eighty +years old—I am failing fast; I should like to +see Fanny married before my departure, but, +alas! that is a comfort for which I dare scarcely +pray.’ Up to that time I had not thought of +aspiring to the hand of General Raymond’s +heiress. It was my lot that evening to drive the +old lady, my fellow-visitor, back to the village +in the General’s carriage. It was during our +ride home that the old lady, one of my foster-mothers, +suggested to me the plan, the propriety +of my paying my addresses to Miss Raymond, +‘For,’ said she, ‘it is the duty of a young pastor +to consider in his marriage the welfare of his +parish.’

“I took her advice. I wooed Fanny Raymond—did +I love her? No; but her extreme youth, +her beauty and graceful shyness strongly attracted +me—through that idiosyncrasy that lured +me to the pursuit of such. I wooed her, but +she avoided, fled from me. That added zest to +the chase. I had her father’s interest, and I +married her. I married her, despite of her reluctance, +or rather because of her reluctance, and +despite of tears, prayers, and resistance. (Here +notwithstanding the chastening of illness and +sorrow, his eye and lip glowed as with the +recollection of piquant joy.) I married her. +The wild shy creature, full of emotion as a +harp is of music, was in my power—in my +grasp. Oh! the wild beating of my heart, when +I had caught and held the fluttering bird! Did +I love her now? Yes! as the fire loves the +fuel it consumes. And then she loved me, Sophie! +or rather no, I will not profane the word +that expresses your pure affection for me, Sophie. +But she grew passionately, insanely fond +of me—she loved me as the drunkard loves the +bowl he feels is his destruction—as the moth +loves the flame that must consume it. And then, +Sophie! then, she lost all attractions for me! +From indifference I grew almost to loathe her. +I struggled against this growing disgust, but it +overmastered me. Poor Fanny! if she had not +been the simplest child on earth, if she had +possessed the slightest speck of coquetry, this +aversion might have been delayed. Poor Fanny!” +(Here, overcome by his feelings, he covered +his brow with his hand. How quickly varying +emotions chased each other through his heart; +but this belonged to the high action of his disease.) +“We lived with her father. Fanny +became a mother at sixteen. General Raymond +lived to bless his grandson, and then was gathered +to his fathers. We continued to reside +at the villa. I utterly neglected her. At the +slightest display of fondness on her part, I grew +freezingly cold. This was real, this was a feeling +it was useless to struggle against, as I had +found, and as at last she understood. Fanny +grieved, suffered, and sought solace in her child. +As years passed, she became calm, grew accustomed +and reconciled to her lot; and how beautiful +she grew as her day advanced from its +morning freshness towards the noonday glory it +was destined never to reach. How beautiful! +At least all the parish said so. I could not feel +her beauty. Years slid serenely, imperceptibly, +over us. We were prosperous. I had the +largest property, the most elegant house, and the +most beautiful wife in the parish. Besides which +I had a growing celebrity. I was vain-glorious, +Sophie, not proud. There is this difference between +pride and vainglory: pride does not depend +upon the external circumstances of rank, +wealth, fame; vainglory does. We sometimes +speak of mortifying pride; pride is never mortified; +it is impossible—it holds itself grandly +above all such influences; vanity, self-love, is +often humbled. I was vain-glorious, not only +of my wealth, of my celebrity, of my admired +wife—but most of all, of the intact propriety +of all things appertaining to me. Years slid +smoothly over us. I never saw so beautiful a +woman as Fanny was at thirty. Few of our +women bloom into the full flower—most of +them are withered in the bud. Fanny at thirty +was the perfect rose of beauty. Why, Sophie, +when I took her to New York city, or into any +strange company, there was always a half-suppressed +murmur of irrepressible admiration. +Though I was no longer proud of her, yet now +that for long years she had ceased to worry me +with her unwelcome caresses, there had grown +up a calm friendship and confidence between us—she +understood me, and I thought that I understood +her. I never guessed the latent force +of passion, augmenting while it slumbered in +her heart (sleep is the time for growth), or suspected +the burning lava, burning more fiercely +for suppression under the snowy exterior of that +volcanic bosom! As little dreamed I of impending +ruin as the city under the shadow of +Vesuvius! About this time the whole country +rang with the name of one man. A man distinguished +56alike for the splendor of his genius, +the audacious flight of his ambition, the godlike +beauty of his person, and the satanic power +of fascination that neither the honor of man nor +the purity of woman ever withstood. You cannot +fail to identify the man—but one such is +born in a cycle of centuries. One day I received +an invitation to preach an ordination sermon +upon the next Sabbath, in the city. I had, +during the years of my ministry, received several +calls to take charge of large city parishes; +but always declined them, because our large +property and our home lay near our village. +Frequently I was invited to preach in the cities, +and then wherever I went crowds gathered. I +always took Fanny with me, for the beauty of +the woman attracted quite as much attention as +the genius of the man. Upon receiving this invitation +to preach the ordination sermon, therefore, +I procured a substitute to fill my pulpit, and +taking Fanny, stepped aboard a steamboat on +Saturday morning, and the afternoon of the +same day reached the city.

“It had been advertised that I was to preach +at that church, and at an early hour it was +crowded, packed. As I entered the church and +led Fanny up the aisle, I do not know whether I +was most vain of her or of myself. I know +that my heart was swelling with vainglory as I +opened the door of one of the front central pews +under the pulpit, handed her in, and passed within +the altar to my place. I saw from my high +post that Fanny divided attention with me from +the few who, packed into the end pews, could +obtain a view of her. In the end pew nearest +the pulpit, on my right hand, I was surprised and +flattered to recognise the celebrated B. I had +never had him for an auditor before. I observed +that he did not seem to see Fanny, who sat immediately +in the angle of his vision, notwithstanding +her eyes were ever furtively raking him. +I was not surprised at this, for to say nothing of +his celebrity, he was by far the most distinguished +looking man present, both for the striking +beauty of his person and the grace and dignity +of his attitude and demeanor; but I was +slightly surprised that he had not seemed to +have seen the vision of loveliness and light that +was dazzling all other eyes. These were not +proper thoughts for a minister of the gospel in +the pulpit, but they were mine; and they produced +their bitter fruits, brought about their own +punishment.

“At the close of the sermon, a few minutes +after I had left the pulpit, B. came from his pew, +and a mutual friend introduced him to me. My +wife was hanging on my arm at the time of this +introduction. B. spoke of our village, of General +Raymond as having been a valued friend, +&c., and of his own intention soon to visit the +village. I, like every one else he ever set his +eyes upon, was fascinated by his looks and +manners. I pressed him to come—and soon—and +entreated him to come at once to the villa, +instead of stopping at a hotel, and to make our +house his home, while he should find it convenient +or agreeable to honor us with his presence.

“Well, Sophie, I returned home on Monday. +In the course of the week, B. visited us. He +remained with us an honored guest for two +weeks, and in those two weeks, Sophie!——His +manner rather than his words seemed to reveal +a warm admiration for me and everything +about me. Our elegant house, well-chosen library, +our busts and pictures, our tastefully +planned grounds, everything seemed to give him +a quiet and graceful delight. His manner to me +seemed (for all was seeming) to reveal a charming +mixture of reverence and affection. I was +fascinated—drawn in. His manner seemed distant +to my wife, so distant that I never inclined +to jealousy, but often to vanity; felt piqued that +he did not appear to appreciate the merits of her, +my most brilliant appendage. He visited little +while he remained at our house; the charms of +our house seemed to rivet him to the place. +Parochial duty called me frequently from home; +he was left to the hospitable care of my wife. +They were much together.

“The last day of his stay approached. And +up to that day I was utterly unsuspicious of the +cloud lowering black and heavy over my house! +utterly unprepared for the descent of the thunderbolt +that blasted my hearth! The day of +his departure dawned. It had been arranged +between us that I should drive him down to the +village, in the carriage, to meet the steamboat +that would pass in the evening. But early in +the afternoon I was summoned to attend the +bedside of a dying parishioner, at an opposite +point of the village. I was constrained, therefore, +to leave him, promising, however, to meet +him at the steamboat hotel, before his departure.

“I left him with Fanny—Oh! let me recall +her image, as the last time I saw her in purity +and peace: She sat in a chair by the open window, +arrayed in a beautiful robe of light blue +silk; her air and attitude I noticed then was +pensive; her elbow rested on the window-sill, +and her arm, her beautiful arm, encircled by a +diamond bracelet, emerged from its sleeve of +silk and lace; her hand supported her drooping +head, from which her ringlets hung like spiral +curls of glittering gold. The other gemmed +and snow-like hand hung listless by her side. +Strange! I was then inspired with a warmth of +affection towards her I had not felt for years. I +stepped back as I was about leaving the room, +and lifted the snow-flake hand to my lips, and +then left the room and the house, for the first +time for years, with the wish that I might be +able to dispatch my business quickly and return +soon. This caprice pursued me, strengthening +every inch of the way, as I journeyed from her, +until at the solemn bed of death, it was interrupted +by the sight of my dying parishioner and +his weeping family. I administered the last consolations +of religion to the dying man, or at +least I read the service for the sick by his bedside, +and gave him the sacrament. I soon after +took leave, and rode towards the village, where I +expected to find B., awaiting the steamboat. I +found him in the parlor of the hotel. As the +hour of the boat’s passing had not quite arrived, +I ordered supper, and we supped together. Yes! +we sat down once more and broke bread together! +Oh! the power of duplicity in that bad +man! Had I been the most jealous, as I was +then the most unsuspicious of human beings, by +no sign in his countenance or manner could I +have detected a consciousness in him of the +blasting ruin he had wrought in my home! His +conversation was as brilliant, his manner as entertaining +as ever; and his eyes sought mine +57with the same earnest sweetness that had ever +lived in their expression. At the end of half an +hour, the boat stopped at the landing, and I took +leave of him with more regret than I had ever +felt at parting with mortal man before or since. +I pressed him to repeat his visit soon, and make +it longer—and he promised! and bade me bear +his best wishes and his adieux to Mrs. Withers! +I mounted my horse and rode towards home, +my thoughts strangely haunted with Fanny—how +lovely she seemed in my thoughts! I hastened +onwards. I drew near the house.

“That ride home! How distinctly, how indelibly +is every circumstance attending it imprinted +on my memory! That ride home through +the dark, cool woods, with the moonlight shimmering +down through the leaves, with the merry +chirp of insects in the trees, with the fresh dew +on the grass; with my heart warmer, lighter, +gladder, than it had been for years; nothing, +nothing to warn me of the ruin before me! I +was, except the stirring of a new and glad +emotion, as calm as Pompeii under the shadow +of Vesuvius. I passed through the iron gate in +front of our house—it swung to with a loud +clang behind me. To this day the clang of a +gate sends a pang to my heart. I passed up the +gravel walk between rows of violets whose +fragrance filled the air. I recollect it so distinctly. +To this hour the smell of violets makes +me ill. I jumped from my horse, and throwing +the bridle to a servant who came to take it, I +hastened up the marble stairs, and into the +house. The lamps were not lighted. ‘She is +enjoying the moonlight of this cool hour,’ I +said, and I passed into the parlor. The moon +was shining through the two large front windows +shaded with foliage, and shining in two +bright square patches, variegated with the black +shadows of the leaves on the carpet; and the +leaves in the window and their shadows on the +floor trembled in the rising breeze. At first I +thought the room was vacant, but looking +around, I presently discerned the form of Fanny +on a sofa in the back of the room. She lay +partly on the floor, partly on the sofa. Her +dress disordered, her hair dishevelled, her face +down, her arms thrown over her head in an +attitude of the uttermost despair—of the last +abandonment. Surprised, I approached her, +thinking her sick, or perhaps sleeping. I spoke +to her—she did not reply. I stooped, raised, +and kissed her. Then she bounded like a shot +from under my embrace, and sank cowering in a +distant part of the room. Wondering, I followed +her, but she raised, turned away her head, +grinding her face into the corner, while she +threw up both arms towards me in a frantic, +abjuring gesture! I now really fancied that in +the dubious light, I had mistaken some one else +for Fanny; that this could not be she, but +was probably some poor mad stroller. I +hastened into the hall and called for lights. +They were brought, set upon the mantel-piece, +and the servant retired. I turned towards her. +God! what a thing met my view! Ashy pale, +with a wild blaze in her blue eyes, haggard and +shuddering, she cowered in the corner, her hands +clasping her head, her gaze riveted in phrensied +despair upon me! I spoke to her, but she +changed not her attitude. I caressed her, and +she broke forth in raving madness. God! oh +God! Sophie, how can I describe to you the +grief, horror, distraction, with which I gathered +from her raving, the shameful story of her fall +and of my dishonor! Though earth and hell +swam together in my reeling reason, every fact +of the loathsome story betrayed in her phrensied +remorse struck distinctly on my ear. How the +snake had glided nearer to her every day, fascinating +her imagination by his brilliancy, stealing +into her bosom by his sweet tenderness, lulling +her fears and disarming her resistance by his +gentle mesmerism, winding coil after coil of his +serpent fold around her, and delaying until the +last hour—the tender parting hour, the safe hour +of sorrowful, tearful adieux, and non-resistance—the +unguarded hour, to strike his venomed fangs +deep in her heart! How sudden was her fall—how +quick her recovery! How terrible her remorse! +And I, Sophie! I!—I said that earth +and hell swam together in my reason! I felt a +rushing and roaring in my head and ears like +the coming of many waters; the earth rocked +under my feet, and I thought the end of all +things was at hand. I suppose I fell. **** +The next link in memory was a slow, feeble +returning to consciousness—more like a weak +babe’s first coming into existence than like a +man’s revival. The first glimmering of sensibility +found me extended prostrated on my bed, +unable to lift or turn; aye, even to move a limb. +The only fluttering life seeming to linger in my +languid eyes, and in the weak breath hovering +in my bosom and on my lips like a soul ready +for flight. A dreary, dreary weight that I could +then neither understand, nor throw off, lay heavy +on my soul. A sorrowful, shadowy face, like a +dream of Fanny, floated past my vision. It was +the face of Raymond, my son, my constant +attendant. Too slowly dawned reason and +memory on the night of my intellect to endanger +a shock and a relapse. Day by day, and hour +by hour, I picked up and restrung the broken and +scattered links in the chain of circumstances; +and in a few days, before my physical powers +were recovered sufficiently to allow me to speak +a consecutive sentence, or utter a word above +my breath, I understood the height and depth—the +full extent of my ruin. But she! where +was she? I saw nothing of her—heard nothing +of her. For many days I dared not inquire. +At last one day when Raymond was sitting by +me with his shame-bowed head leaned upon his +hands, my anxiety, by intense thought of her, had +become insupportable.

“‘Raymond! tell me! how far is this dreadful +tragedy known—how far has her frantic +remorse, my phrensied despair exposed us?’

58“He was silent, and when I repeated and pressed +the question he bowed his young face upon his +hands and wept. The tears trickled between +his fingers. I understood by his silent grief that +our shame was not hidden. After a while, +‘Raymond!’ said I. He raised his tearful face. +‘You loved your mother?’ He sobbed aloud.

“‘Go and seek and save your mother, lodge +her in a place of safety, and then return to me.’

“‘Raymond! now I cannot rest until I know +she is found and safe, or dead, and so it is with +you, boy. Raymond, do you sleep at night?’

“He shook his head mournfully—so mournfully. +Ah! if our betrayer could have seen our +sorrow, his heart—even his heart, would have +been melted in repentance for all the wreck he +had made.

“‘Raymond,’ said I, ‘she has severed the tie +that bound her to me, but she is your mother +still—that tie nor life nor death can sever. I +may not—must not see her again; you must go +and seek her, find her, and find a distant, secluded +asylum for her. You must tend and +care for her, and make her life as tolerable as, +with her keen sensibilities, the memory of her +awful sin will permit it to be. I give her up to +you. To-morrow morning you must set out on +your search.’

“He no longer opposed my wish, perhaps it +was his wish too, in fact. Utterly exhausted by +the conversation, I sank into silence.

“The next morning I renewed my charge to +him, and, with some difficulty, got him off. +Now you will be surprised that I charged one so +young, for he was but fourteen, with such a mission, +but before any other would I have chosen +that lad. Raymond was ever an earnest, thoughtful, +and now a sorrow-stricken boy. He left +me the second day.

“Upon my first return to consciousness, when I +was so weak, I would sometimes recognise a +neighbor, or a parishioner, by my bedside, +but, unwilling to meet his or her eye, I would +close mine, and lie still; and after that I gave +orders that no one should be admitted to my +chamber. Many days passed. At last Raymond +returned, with news of my poor fugitive. +Wandering towards the south, she had been arrested. +Her rare beauty, her insanity (for she +had lost her reason), the mystery that enveloped +her, excited interest. She had been lodged in +the —— Asylum for the insane, and there she +had been left.

“Was it strange that I felt no resentment towards +her? Perhaps had I loved her more this +would have been otherwise; perhaps all feeling +of anger was drowned in humiliation. At +length I got down stairs. It was impossible +then to refuse myself to my visitors. They were +my oldest and gravest parishioners. They were +a long time in breaking the ice of the subject +congealing around my heart, but when at length +it was broken, the waters of sympathy flowed +freely. ‘Cut off this abomination from your +house!’ ‘Amputate this polluted—this putrid +limb, though it were your right hand!’ This +was their advice, and I followed it. The necessary +steps occupied me some time. The necessity +of settling my chaotic household and arranging +my future plan of living kept me busy +for some weeks. Still even then, between the +pauses of practical duty, my mind would suddenly +fall into stagnation, when neither memory +nor reason could be aroused, when only instinct +kept me silent or sententious, lest I should expose +myself; into that terrible state when the +mind hovers on the shadowy boundary of madness—the +twilight hour between the day of reason +and the night of insanity—upon the awful +line dividing conscious from unconscious madness! +But madness affects the whole system. +The blood was sent in rushing force and choking +volume to my heart, and forth again with +lightning speed, in lava streams, down my veins, +impelling me to leaping phrensy! Oh! how I +dreaded when this chained demon would burst +the weak fetters of my will! This dread!—this +dread! I dared not confide it to any one—dared +not consult a physician. I furtively +read all the books I could upon the subject, and +took all the means I could to avert the impending—the +hourly—the momentarily impending +horror! Oh, Sophie! on God’s earth there is +not a grief or terror like this; bearing a fiend +in your bosom, bound by the feeblest threads of +consciousness and will—threads that you fear +and feel may be burst asunder at any moment. +I walked with reeling brain upon the slippery +edge of a dizzy precipice!—I walked, as it were, +upon a mine that threatened every instant to +explode! Everywhere—at home, abroad, walking, +riding, in the full glory of noonday, in the +dark watches of the night, I bore this grenade +of the bosom! In the pulpit, Sophie—in the +midst of the most closely reasoned argument, +suddenly the blood would rush through my +veins, and into my head, impelling me to leap, +shouting, over the pulpit-top, and throttle some +of the people before me. This impending horror—the +constant dread of it, accelerated the +hour of its fall upon me. One day, late in the +evening, I was riding home with Raymond. +We were, as usual, silent, for oh, Sophie! we +sat together long hours at home in silence—we +rode together long miles without exchanging a +word. The forest-path through which we rode +was the same one I had passed in going home +upon the evening of my household wreck. The +shadows were as dark in the woods, the dew +was as fresh on the grass, the chirps of the insects +as blithe in the trees, and the silvery beams of +the moonlight shimmered as brightly through +the overhanging leaves. It was the same scene—the +same! Every instant the excitement was +rising higher in my bosom, growing irrepressible—uncontrollable; +until, as we emerged from +the forest-path, and passed into our yard—as the +iron gate swung to with a clang—as the perfume +of violets met me—as the dark front of the +house loomed up in the moonlight,—everything +reproducing the scene of that fatal evening, +insanity broke forth in phrensy, and I became a +raving maniac!

“I recovered my reason to learn the value of +poor Fanny’s son. I awoke one day from a +deep sleep—I awoke refreshed, with cooler +blood, calmer nerves, and clearer brain, than I +had known for weeks, and with a full consciousness +59of all that had passed up to the hour of +my loss of self-control. Raymond was sitting +by me.

“‘I have been MAD!—I know that right well, +my boy—but tell me, how long did it last? +what did I do? and who was with me?’ This +last was the most important question—my heart +stopped its pulsations until he answered:

“‘Your attack spent its fury in half an +hour, father—you hurt no one but yourself—and—no +one witnessed your—your illness but +myself and the waiter who assisted me in getting +you up to bed.’

“‘Nothing, father; nature did everything, +and did it well—art nothing. Your fury spent +itself as a storm spends itself—-by raging—and +then it subsided, as a storm subsides, into perfect +calmness; you fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion, +which lasted all last night and all to-day, +from which you have but just awaked; and you +feel better for the attack, do you not, father? +It has expended the gathering vapors and gloom +of many weeks, and you feel better?’

“‘Yes, yes, quite well, calm and clear-headed; +but, Raymond, with this interregnum in my +memory, and this great change in my feelings, +it seems to me that a long, long time, has intervened +since my attack; how long has the time +really been?’

“‘No, sir, none know of this except myself +and the waiter, who does not more than half +comprehend it, and who, besides, is no gossip.’

“‘I understand that perfectly, my father; +and it shall be my care to guard your secret.’

“It was some time after this that I found how +much I had hurt Raymond by a furious blow +on the chest dealt in my phrensy.

“From that time, Sophie, my disease became +periodical; Raymond was my constant attendant. +These repeated attacks of lunacy impaired +my temper; I became gloomy, irascible, misanthropic. +My attacks of phrensy became less +frequent and violent, but my gloom deepened as +a natural consequence; for unless I could have +been cured it was even better that these regular +storms should disperse the unwholesome vapors +of my mind. There is a wonderful analogy between +the soul and the atmosphere—storms +clear both—though in storms, both mental and +atmospheric, there is sometimes much damage +done. Well! the storms had well nigh ceased, +but the gloom gathered thicker and thicker in my +mind, and working up through it was one irrational +wish—a desire to re-marry; and with +this returned in all its former force my idiosyncrasy—of +seeking the reluctant—pursuing the +flying—catching the resisting—and in the darkening +of my gloom this deepened into the desire +of torturing the victim! You shudder, Sophie! +but this was insanity. Every passion in +its excess is moral insanity—-every exaggerated +idiosyncrasy is mental insanity; and in madness, +brought about by any other external cause, +the master passion, or the distinguishing idiosyncrasy, +if not entirely reversed, is exaggerated to +phrensy. My idiosyncrasy was exaggerated—because +morbid. I had left my pulpit fearing +that if I did not my pulpit would eject me. I +had shut myself up in the villa, and brooded +over my wish, and the readiest way of accomplishing +it. At this time I received a letter +from Mr. May, inquiring the reason of my resignation +of my pulpit—a notice of which he had +seen in the ‘Church Organ.’ I replied ‘domestic +affliction,’—‘the loss of my wife,’—she was +lost—but need I blazon my dishonor by revealing +the manner of her loss? He understood, +simple old man! that she was dead, and there +he left it. The correspondence ceased. A few +months from that time I received at the same +moment the news of his death and a call to fill +his pulpit. I accepted it, glad to escape from +my neighborhood. I sent Raymond off to college—shut +up the villa, leaving it in charge of +old Jupiter, who lived at a porter’s lodge at the +gate, and I came down here, full of my purpose +of finding another wife. You, Sophie, at first +sight, struck my fancy; as usual with my peculiar +mood of love, your shrinking from me but +lured me to the chase—but added zest to the +idea of catching you; your avowed dislike and +shuddering antipathy but served to intensify the +desire to seize and torture you—forgive me, Sophie! +this was insanity. Though constantly +threatened with an attack of phrensy, I had not +one single one after leaving the scene of my sorrows. +I married you, Sophie, as I had married +Fanny—in spite of your tears and prayers—in +defiance of your antipathy and against your will. +When I had thought it was safe to let him +know it, when he could no longer interfere, or +at least when I thought that there was no time +left for him to reach here in season,—I wrote +and told Raymond—paying him the compliment +of the form of an invitation—and telling him in +the same letter of the escape, flight, and suicide +of his mother. He did not come in season, as +you know—though he grazed the edge of ‘the +nick of time.’

“Now, Sophie, for another revulsion of feeling. +From the time I first saw you, as I said, +the idea of marrying you interested and amused +me—your aversion stimulated my stagnant blood +agreeably. I lived in the thought of getting you +into my power—life came and waned with this +thought. As the day of our marriage approached +your antipathy thoroughly aroused me—I gloated +over the idea of tormenting and torturing you. +But when our marriage day drew very near, you +fell into apathy! That disappointed me. I +thought you were going to die on my hands. +My interest in you waned with your non-resistance. +The wedding-day, the evening came, +and I married you. You were then so still in +your despair—so cold—so dead!—I felt swindled +out of my enjoyment, and half regretted +my bargain. I felt as the tyrant must feel when +his victim on the rack expires before half the +exquisite torments or the crowning torture is +tried and suffered. Don’t shudder now, Sophie! +I was insane!

“Well, Sophie, I left your side to have a conversation +with Dr. Otterback. I left you almost +expiring. When I saw you again, life and light +60had returned to you. When you came up to me +and laid your fair hand on my arm, so softly, +and spoke to me so kindly, I gazed in wonder +on your face; and, Sophie, the angel looking +through your eyes subdued me. Your after +kindness melted me into penitence. Still there +were adverse influences at work. A mind shaken +to its foundation, as mine had been, was not to +be calmed soon, or stay calm long. The sudden +sight of Raymond, the image of his mother, in +her perfect beauty, connecting the present with +the past so painfully, affected me more than the +sight of Fanny herself had done. Alas! poor +Fanny had been scarcely recognisable. I could +scarcely realize the identity of that haggard wanderer +of the heath with the resplendent beauty of +the Villa. But her image lived again in Raymond. +Never had the extraordinary resemblance +struck me so forcibly, as when, after a long absence +from both, I again saw Raymond. The associations +conjured up, brought on that violent attack +of phrensy that seized me at the Hall. Well, +Sophie! my guardian angel, you have known +all my moods since then. You know how your +love has subdued my hate—your heaven redeemed +my hell—your angel converted my demon. +Enough, Sophie! your probation is almost over. +My earthly life is drawing near its close. When +I am gone, Raymond will be as a brother to you. +Raymond is wealthy. Never since her separation +from me have I appropriated a dollar of the +fortune that came with his mother. I could not +bear to do it. Now, dear Sophie! I am very +tired; close the shutters, draw the curtains and +leave the room, that I may sleep while you take +some relaxation and refreshment.”

Hagar had gone to her chamber to write a +letter. Hagar’s room was on the third floor +front, at the angle of the old hall. Its front +and east windows overlooked the bay for many +miles up and down. Its north windows, the +bay, the moor, and forest. It was like the wild +girl to choose this eyrie! She selected it because +its lofty height commanded the bay,—because +it was far above the inhabited parts of the +house, no soul, except herself, occupying or +ever coming near that floor, or even the one beneath +it. Then it was very large and airy, and +furnished or unfurnished, to suit the singular +girl’s fancy. The walls were papered with a +German landscape paper, representing parts of +the Black Forest, and the exploits of the Wild +Huntsman. The floor was painted dark green, +and the paint had been worn off here and there +in patches; so that in the dusky light the room +looked not unlike a wild and darksome forest +glade, the scene of some weird revel, shown in +silent pantomime. A tent bedstead, with hangings +of faded green damask, stood at the furthest +extremity of the room; the windows were also +curtained with the same material. Between the +front windows stood an old-fashioned escritoire, +full of innumerable drawers, closets, and +pigeon-holes, which, with one or two heavy old +chairs, completed the original furniture of the +room. With Hagar’s varying mood, her dark +and dreamy, or her free, wild mood, the singular +girl would close all the shutters, and draw +all the curtains, converting the room into a +shadowy scene of woodland romance, from +which the demon figure of the Wild Huntsman +would glimmer out in the gleam of some stray +ray of sunlight flickering through a crevice in +the closed shutters; or, throwing open the four +windows to the day, she would let in a flood of +light and air, and the prospect of half a hemisphere +of blue sky and salt water. Her room +now, as she sought it, was light, free, and exposed +as the highest peak of the promontory; +and the rising wind rushed through it in a strong, +fresh current, swelling and flapping the heavy +curtains like the heavy sails of a ship. She entered +her room, and before sitting down to write, +laid off and put away her riding habit in one of +the dark closets, and went to the windows and +drew aside, looped up and confined the curtains, +to keep them from flapping in the wind; reefed +them, as a sailor would say. Then she gazed +anxiously out upon the boundless bay, where the +freshening gale was rolling up the waves against +the advancing tide, and upon the darkening sky +where clouds were piled like ink-hued mountains +from horizon to zenith, and upon the distant +sail of a wave-tossed packet that gleamed +like a snow-flake on the black bosom of the water +an instant, and then, like a snow-flake, would +melt and disappear in the rise of an intervening +wave.

“God! if Raymond should be in that bark!” +she cried, as her falcon glance descried it.

Seizing her small telescope (one of her toys +when a child, one of her jewels when a woman), +she levelled it at the distant bark. She gazed +eagerly. On struggled the frail vessel between +wind and wave, tacking from side to side, now +driven forward by the gale, now thrown back by +the tide. She gazed anxiously. The thunder +muttered in the distance. The gale quickened, +and now stronger than the tide, drove on the +fragile bark before it, reeling and pitching like a +drunken man. She left the window and the +room, and hurrying down stairs, hastened from +the house, fled to the promontory, and stood +upon the extreme point of the peak gazing out +upon the waters.

The sky was black as night. The bosom of +the bay heaved like a strong heart in a strong +agony. On came the vessel bounding and rebounding +before the wind, until it was brought +up suddenly by the strong current of the waves +that whirled around the point of the promontory; +and then it heaved and tossed between leaping +and flashing waters and buffeting winds! +There on that maelstrom it heaved and set like +a guilty wish in an ardent soul, driven on by +the gale of passion and opposed by the tide of +conscience, and nearly wrecked between them. +There it heaved and set, vainly struggling to +round the promontory, and enter the harbor of +Churchill’s Point. There it rolled and writhed +61and groaned; now raised by a towering wave, +now thrown down a yawning ocean cavern, +while the lightning glared, and the thunder +breaking overhead rolled rumbling down the +abyss of distance! Upon the extreme point of +the peak, like the spirit of the storm, stood Hagar, +her hair and raiment flying in the gale +around her, her eyes fixed upon the writhing +vessel. Suddenly with a sharp cry, scarce +touching with her light foot the points of the +crags that served her for steps, she sped down +the dizzy precipice; she had recognised Raymond, +just at the moment when the slight vessel, +lifted by an uprearing giant wave, was pitched +upon the rocks at the base of the promontory! +Shot from the deck into the air by the sudden +concussion, three or four men dropped into the +sea at the distance. Hagar’s eyes with a rapid +glance traversed the bosom of the waters. She +saw one or two sturdy sailors rise, buffeting the +waves and struggling to reach the shore. But +she saw not Raymond, though with pausing +brain, breathless lungs, and bursting heart, she +watched the surface of the now subsiding waters. +At last at some distance up the coast she +saw him rise, struggle, catch at the air, half leap +from the water, fall, turn over and disappear +under the wave, that was colored with his blood! +She bounded forward and sprang upon her boat. +Unmooring it and casting the ropes behind her, +she seized the oar and dashed into the midst of +the boiling sea. Urging on her boat between +flashing foam and brine, she passed the eddy +around the point, and rode rocking forward +upon the rising and falling waves towards the +spot she had seen him sink at. Keeping her +eyes down the current where she supposed he +would be whirled, she again saw him rise and +struggle. She pulled swiftly for the spot, +reached it, while he, lashing the waves with his +arms, seized the side of the boat, and turned +himself suddenly and heavily in, his weight +pitching the light skiff upon one end. Hagar, +with her skill and presence of mind, threw her +whole weight upon the oar at the other end, and +thus righted the boat. With a look of earnest +gratitude to Hagar, Raymond seized the other +oar, and they pulled for the shore. The sudden +storm had spent its fury. It was now passing +off, like a woman’s fit of anger in a passion of +tears, in a heavy shower of rain. They pulled +for the shore, but Raymond pulled painfully. +They reached the beach where the captain, mate, +and two men that composed the whole crew of +the small craft, were waiting under the drenching +rain.

“But you, Raymond, you are wounded!” +said Hagar, laying her hand upon a bloodstained +rent on the shoulder of his jacket. +Even at her light touch he involuntarily shrank +slightly as he replied—

“But you are,” said she, speaking rapidly, +“you are pale and weak, you were thrown upon +a sharp rock, your shoulder was struck and +wounded; you have lost much blood; it +crimsoned the wave when you first rose, though +now it has been staunched by the cold water, +and the stains are almost effaced—come home! +oh, come! lean on my arm, Raymond, it is +strong if it is a little one,—for once let me assist +you as you have heretofore sustained me. +Come, Raymond! come, brother! come!” and +her wild eyes softened into gentleness, and her +proud eyes into pleading, as, standing on a point +of rock above him, she held down her hand +imploringly, to assist in the ascent. He smiled +gently, and man-like, scorned, while he could do +without it, to receive from her the help he so +much needed. Turning to the sailors, he told +them to seek the Hall, pointing out the shortest +path of ascent. They were quick in following +his direction, and had reached the top of the +heath and carried the news of the wreck, the +preservation of the crew, and announced the +arrival of Raymond Withers, while the latter +was yet toiling, pale and nearly fainting, at the +side of the cliff. Hagar climbed or waited, +beside him. At length they reached the top, +and paused. Raymond was breathless and +reeling—his wound, started by his toil, was +bleeding afresh.

“My brother, why will you not let me help +you?” pleaded Hagar, again offering her hand. +He shook his head mournfully,—he was too +faint to talk, and signed for her to lead the way +to the hall, where he followed, painfully.

In the closed and curtained chamber Mr. +Withers slumbered. The noise of the storm +faintly murmured through that inner room, only +lulling him into deeper sleep. Sophie, in her +reveries, had not thought of the possibility of a +packet exposed to the storm, far less of +Raymond’s danger; so that before she had +thought of peril, the shipwrecked sailors stood +before her, claiming shelter.

Hagar and Raymond slowly approached the +Hall, and entered it. “Now, dear Raymond, your +father is sleeping, I think; go and change your +clothes, and lie down and rest before you present +yourself to him; your clothes are lost, I suppose; +but come with me and I will show you into your +father’s dressing-room; you can furnish yourself +from his wardrobe.” Then seeing how pale +he looked and noticing his bleeding wound, she +hastily said;—“But oh! of what am I thinking? +Let me call Sophie to dress your wound.” And +conducting him into a dressing-room, she turned +to leave him to summon Sophie. He had sunk +exhausted into a deep chair, and holding out his +arms, said, very calmly—

“Come, Hagar, my little sister, you have +given me no kiss of welcome since I came. +Come, Hagar!” She started, turned, made one +step towards him, paused, the blood rushed to +her brow, then recovered herself, waved him a +smiling denial, and left the room. And yet she +had met the kiss of Gusty May with saucy +cordiality.

Autumn had deadened into winter. The +brilliant foliage of the autumn woods had been +hurtled off and whirled away in the winter wind. +The trees were bare, their branches like black +ink tracings against a background of white. +The river was frozen over, the creek was frozen +over, the bay near the shore was crusted with +ice. The ground was covered with snow—the +sky was misty-white with clouds. In very pale +colors was the winter landscape drawn—in very +pale colors, like the white, wan face, and the +blue-grey hair of a very old man. The pale +cloud-mottled grey sky above; the pale green +frozen bay and river, and the snowy ground with +its black ink tracery of bare trees and forests, +and its dark red square old Hall on the promontory. +The white snow-clouds thickened in the +air as the night fell on the 18th of December. +The wind arose, and a driving snow-storm came +on. And through the gathering darkness on the +heath shone one beacon—a light in an upper +chamber window of the hall. And towards it, +through the driving storm, toiled one traveller,—a +fat old gentleman on a fat old horse. It was +Dr. Otterback on his way to the sick bed of Mr. +Withers. The bishop had been on a tour of +confirmation through his diocese, and was at +that time sojourning over a Sabbath at Churchill’s +Point. In a quarter of an hour more he was at +the Hall, he was in the sick room. This was +the scene. It was a large room, carpeted with +a thick carpet that gave no sound to the footfall. +The windows were curtained with dark heavy +curtains, lined, that let no noise through them +from without. A dim lamp sat on the hearth, +and cast up high monstrous shadows to the +ceiling, that loomed black through the dimmer +darkness like shadows through the night, and +swayed to and fro, and up and down, in the flare +of the lamp. Without was softly heard the +smothered sough of the wind and snow, like the +sob of lost spirits wailing to enter. At the +furthest end of the room from the windows, stood +a tall, square, canopied bedstead, with the +heavy curtains looped back to the head-posts. +Upon it lies a dying man, and around him are +gathered his family. Draw near, though it is a +sight of anguish to see the death of a life that +has been much error, and all bitterness. Draw +near. His sallow face in its wreath of uncut +black hair and whiskers, is drawn in strong +relief against the pile of snow-white pillows that +support his head. His sallow hands are laid +out at length upon the dark coverlid. His eyes, +small and black in the death intensity, now burn +in the countenance of the bishop, who stands at +the foot of the bed, repeating at intervals, in +answer to that anguished gaze, such texts of +Scripture as promise redemption by faith. On +his right hand, within the shadow of the curtain, +sits Sophie, very pale and still, her hands clasped +with awe. On his left hand stands Raymond, +leaning his elbow on the head-board and bowing +his face upon his open hand, while the heave and +fall of his chest silently betray the son’s sorrow +for the father. By the side of Raymond, and +with her fingers clasped in his hand, which he +presses from time to time as a surge of emotion +agitates him, stands Hagar; but her crimson +cheek and glittering eye display more excitement +than awe, in the death scene she witnesses.

“You love him, Hagar!” at last very low +whispered the dying man. Hagar’s cheek paled, +while her fingers quivered slightly in the hand +of Raymond. “Love him—gently, Hagar,” +then he said, and turned his eyes on Sophie, +while his sallow hand crept by the fingers towards +her. She saw and raised the hand, rubbed it, +pressed it between her own, but it grew colder +in her clasp.

“Good-bye, my guardian angel,” he said very +softly, and turned his troubled eye again upon +the bishop. Sophie saw that troubled glance, +and silently prayed that the perturbed spirit +might pass in peace. At last at a motion from +the bishop all sank upon their knees. But Sophie, +while she knelt, could not withdraw her gaze +from the eyes that still hopeless sought comfort +in her eyes. The prayers for the dying were +commenced, and as they progressed Sophie loved +to see the anguish of expression soften away +from his face—his brow grew calm, his eye +steady, and she felt that at last his soul had +found peace in believing. It was in a smile his +eyes faded away from hers—in a smile that his +spirit passed away, as sometimes after a stormy +day the sun glances out beneath a bank of clouds, +and smiling a good night, sinks. When they +arose from their knees, the clay was vacant. +The bishop closed the empty eyes, and then by a +motion marshalled the family all from the room. +Raymond at once sought his own chamber. +The bishop followed Sophie into the parlor. +Hagar went out into the dining-room to assist +Mrs. Buncombe, who was now at the Hall, +taking charge of its housekeeping just at this +crisis. The tea-table was being set in great +style under her direction—this was in honor of +the bishop’s presence in the house. Hagar at +once lent her a cheerful assistance. She began +powdering some delicate tarts with loaf sugar. +Thus life and death, luxury and decay, the table +and the coffin, the most awful event of a lifetime, +the most trivial occurrences of the moment, +jostle each other, nor may either be entirely +crowded off the stage of existence. Mrs. Buncombe +looked very grave, and at last she said +half reprovingly to Hagar,

“You seem very cheerful, Hagar, while your +uncle lies in the agonies of death!”

“I should not be cheerful if he were in the +agonies of death—he is released, and there was +no agony. I could not have believed that a +spirit could have been withdrawn from the body +with so little pain to either!”

“And so he is gone!” said Emily, in a tone +of pity. “So he is gone. Well, ‘after life’s +fitful fever he sleeps well!’ peace be with him!”

“Yes, peace be with him. May his cradle be +soft—may his nurses be tender—may his parents +be gentle and wise, and may his present life—the +life just commenced—be happier than his past +pilgrimage, the life just closed!”

“Why, what in the name of heaven are you +talking of, Hagar?” asked Emily, in astonishment.

“I believe you are crazy, Hagar!—at least +any one who did not know you as well as I +know you, would believe so. What do you +mean by such language?”

She had finished setting the table, and had +now sat down by the fire. Hagar was standing +by her, leaning with her back against the side +of the mantel-piece.

“This is what I mean: there is no death, but +only change. I do not see death. I cannot find +death anywhere in the world. I see change, but +no destruction—no, not even loss of identity. +See how one principle—any principle in chemistry, +for instance, will pass through a thousand +media, assuming a thousand forms, but not losing +itself, not changing its own individuality. +Yes, one principle will pass through the mineral, +vegetable, and animal kingdoms, and pass again +circulating for ever without losing itself. And +so with our spirit, as it struggles up through +hardest, seemingly deadest forms of existence, +to its human form; and from the lowest human +nature up to the highest; from the savage to the +civilized man; and from a common-place civilized +man, up to a Howard or a Fenelon; and +from a Howard, perhaps, to an angel, but always +with more or less speed—up! up!—never falling, +never losing, never retrograding, relapsing. +Thus, a soul that has passed through the schooling +of civilization, never, never in its transmigrations, +relapses into the body of a savage. I +stood by and watched the passing away of uncle’s +spirit, and wondered to see Christians looking +so sad, as though it were annihilation and +not a journey; as though they did not see that +God was wise enough, and good enough, and +potent enough to take care of the soul He had +brought thus far in its course. I stood by, thinking +that around some other bed some other people +were gathered, awaiting the arrival of a newborn +infant, and that when the wail of sorrow +arose in this room for the dead, the voice of rejoicing +would be heard in that room for the +newborn! And I watched in eagerness, in +excitement, but not in sorrow, not in regret. +Could I regret that his spirit was withdrawn +from its present racked and ruined home? No, +I am glad!” she said, with dancing eyes.

“And you really believe that, Hagar? I +mean your theory of transmigration?”

“Believe—believe,” said she, musing; “no, it +does not amount to belief, and yet it is more. It +is not a belief, a creed; it is a feeling, an impression, +and a very strong conviction. To me, +spiritual intuitions are more convincing than +rational deductions. Heart convictions stronger +than brain convictions.”

“Alas! Hagar, the neglect of your infancy +will never, never be made up to you. Poor girl, +your mind strays off into the wildest vagaries. +Hagar, you should read your Bible more.”

“I do read my Bible,” said Hagar, “but no +commentaries on it; the Bible itself is my commentary +on nature; it interprets myself and the +universe to me.”

“Yes, I will, and I can talk to you myself; +‘There is an appointed time for man to die, and +after death the judgment;’ mind, it does not +say, after death a transmigration.”

“No,” said Hagar, “it says, ‘after death—the +judgment’—that very judgment may remand +the soul back to earth for another probation!”

“You horrify me, when you tell me that for +the sins, or errors, or mistakes even, of some +sixteen or sixty years, my soul must wail in perdition, +through the countless ages of eternity—no, +no!—no, no! My Father!” said the wild +girl, kindling into enthusiasm, “Thou never +did’st create a soul to let it drop into the abyss—lost! +It may take a long time to teach—a +long time to redeem that soul—to perfect that +soul—many times may it be remanded back to +the clay—many weary pilgrimages may it make +on earth, but the work will never be abandoned; +the work will be accomplished. Christ did not +live, and teach, and suffer, and die in vain—His +lesson will be learned at last.”

“My poor Hagar,” said Emily, fervently, +“may you yet learn His lesson! He who came +to light up that darkness of the grave which the +eye of man could not penetrate—to substitute for +the thousand wild fancies, such as yours, of +Heathenism, the holy Truth of God—He, whom +you so rashly invoke, has said—do you not +remember it, Hagar?—

“‘Then shall the King say unto them on the +right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, +inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the +foundation of the world.

“‘Then shall He also say unto them on the +left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting +fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.

“‘And these shall go away into everlasting +punishment; but the righteous into life +eternal!’

“Ah, my poor, dear Hagar, how little these +wild fancies of yours will bestead you in the +trials and temptations of life. Oh! what an untrimmed +vine you are, Hagar! May the pruning +knife of God’s providence gently, very gently, +remove all this bad over-growth.”

Hagar’s fierce eyes flashed defiance at her +monitress; but just then a vision of Raymond, +in his lonely grief—of Raymond, the only heart-stricken +mourner for the dead, passed before her +mind’s eye; the fierceness softened in her eyes, +and she glided from the room. Just at that +moment tea was brought in, and Mr. Buncombe +and Dr. Otterback summoned to the table, and +with Emily, gathered around it.

Hagar glided like a spirit up the long staircase. +The storm had passed, and the moon +was shining through the windows. She passed +into an upper room. A dark figure intercepted +at the window the rays of the moon. A dark +figure sitting alone, with head dropped upon the +arms that, folded, rested on the window-sill. +Very softly she approached, and stood by him +in silence. He felt her approach, however, and +64turning around, passed his arm around her waist, +and, drawing her up to his side, murmured—

“My own dear Hagar, you have come to me +at last; you are here at last; why did you not +come before?”

“Because then, Raymond, I was in no condition +to give you comfort in the mood you then +were; my mind was excited, enthusiastic. I +could not feel this passing away as anything but +a relief—a glory—could not think of it as anything +to mourn for, but rather to rejoice at. +Why, Raymond, death has been called a ‘leap +in the dark,’ but to me it seems a bound in the +light!”

“Ah, but Hagar,—the flesh—the flesh—I +loved my father so much; I loved him for all +his sorrows, and because he found favor in no +other heart. I suffered so much at the banishment +endured for his sake, and now I come +home only to light him down to the grave.”

“Raymond, when you left here, some years +ago, you left your cast off raiment in your chamber, +and they packed it down in a trunk. When +you stepped aboard the boat that carried you to +the packet, I, impatient child! threw myself +down, and screamed in anguish, at parting from +my brother, or stretching out my arms beseechingly, +called you to come back. Now, Raymond, +according to your creed, I had better +have gone and cast myself across your trunk—the +grave of your cast off dress, and howled for +Raymond, coffined within.”

Raymond again answered her, for his was not +after all that deep, deep grief which plunges its +victim into silence.

“I loved that soul-raiment—I loved that thin +and wrinkled hand, that lately deprecated harsh +judgment while it caressed me—I loved that +tortured face, traversed as it was by its thousand +seams of thought or suffering, and that slow +pausing step. I loved it all—but you, Hagar, a +woman—a girl, a young girl, and yet you have +so little tenderness—the falcon, not the dove!”

Hagar, at once spirited and delicate, did not +repel this charge, nor did her mind fly back to +the many nights of sleeplessness she had passed +in the sick chamber of his father while Raymond +slumbered soundly in his bed; nor did she know +that though she had felt very tenderly she had +acted kindly, while the son who really loved his +father so tenderly loved himself as well, and +took his rest.

“No, no; I am not sensitive—not very tender +of myself any more than of others. No, +you do not understand me—that I feel life so +much more than death—so much life everywhere. +Why, Raymond, my feeling about my +own death is that of escape, flight, revel in liberty +and light. I stand upon the banks of our river +sometimes, and feel like gathering myself up for +a leap across the flood; yet there I stand, fast +fettered by flesh. I stand some mornings at +early dawn at my chamber window, and, gazing +rapturously at the morning star, my spirit +uneasily flaps its wings for a flight! Yet there +I stand fast tied to the body; so wild and strong +is the spirit, and so heavy and fast its chains.”

Yes, she spoke truly—so wild, and strong, +and fierce was the spirit, whose fire was to be +quenched in tears of blood dropped slowly from +the heart.

“Ah! it is right for you to be here, my love; +we have a common sorrow, and I feel that I +should not have gone apart;” and she sat down +with them.

The funeral of John Huss Withers took place +on the fifth day from his death. Dr. Otterbuck +remained to officiate. Mr. Buncombe of course +succeeded him in the rectorship of the parish of +the Crucifixion. It was during this visit of the +bishop that the Parish Church, enlarged and repaired, +was re-christened and dedicated under the +name of the Ascension. This was done through +the suggestion of Mr. Buncombe and the vestry. +A year passed away.

The forest rang with the cry of the hounds +and the shout of the huntsmen. And now the +sounds would die away and now peal out upon +the air as the chase still kept up the winding +course of the river towards its head. One foremost +in the chase drew rein upon the brink of +an awful chasm, a deep rocky gorge full of +pointed crags, among which the torrent roared +and whirled in an agony of haste to escape from +the torture. It was Hagar, who, with wild +heart, fierce eye, and crimsoned cheek, drew up +upon the brink. Behind her thundered the +steed of one, whom hearing, she looked behind, +reined back her hunter on his haunches, and +giving him a cheer and shout, cleared the chasm +at a bound. It was an awful leap. The hoofs +of the horse just grazed the edges of the rocks as +he planted them firmly and struggled up the +bank.

The other rider, who was no other than our +friend, Gusty May, paused breathless on the +rocky ledge and gazed at her. Her steed was +dancing on the opposite bluff, her form was exultant, +her eye flashing. Raising her riding cap +above her head, she waved it in the air, and, +with a joyous shout of defiance, shot down the +ravine and disappeared.

“Devil fetch that girl!—God bless her!—she’ll +break my heart or her own neck, or both, +yet!—I know she will! Now what the deuce +is to be done? My horse can never take that +leap—never!—the attempt would be certain +death to both. But then if I shirk it, she will +say—I know she will—the little limb of Old +Scratch!—that I was afraid.” Gusty was in a +perfect puzzle. “If there were an equal chance +now of life and death one might venture, but as +it is—pshaw!” And so muttering, he turned +his horse’s head, and rode up the course of the +65stream to where the chasm was narrow, and +over which a rude bridge had been constructed.

Hagar was the first in at the death—down in +the dark ravine. Other hunters approached +rapidly from other points, and last, upon account +of his delay at the gorge, up rode Gusty May, +just in time to see the hunters separate, and to +attend Hagar to Heath Hall.

Seeing the intense mortification depicted in his +countenance, she turned her wild eyes on him +kindly, and said,

“You must get a better hunter, Gusty; I +could not have spurred that steed to the leap.”

They rode on up the dark ravine until it emerged +into the sunlight, then they ambled over the +heath towards the Hall; many clumps of trees +diversified the rolling surface of the heath, and +as they emerged from these, Gusty suddenly laid +his hand upon Hagar’s bridle and, growing very +red in the face, dropped it again, sighing like a +sough of wind in the main-sail. Surprised, Hagar +looked at him, which look did not recompose +his nerves at all. He stopped his horse. Hagar +shot on before. He set spurs to his horse and +bounded after her. With a sudden freak the wild +girl gave rein to her horse and fled over the +heath. Piqued, Gusty drew up and ambled along +at dignified leisure. After racing to the end of +her course, Hagar whirled about and came galloping +back. Gusty awaited her, and then they +paced on together in silence, until at length +Gusty spoke out with the air of a youth who had +made up his mind to speak, let the consequences +be what they might.

“Yes, I will speak, Hagar! You must hear; +though you cut so many shines, it is very difficult +to get the chance to say a word. Hem! +Hagar!”

“Well, but I’m not joking—I do—I do indeed. +I be whipped if I don’t!”

“Yes, I do, Hagar. Oh! don’t look at me, +you wicked witch! I like you so—so much! +God Almighty knows I do! better than I like +my ship!”

“Come!” said Hagar, seriously, almost sadly, +“tell me what is there you like about me? +liking is not to be lightly thrown away, if it be +well based—come!”

“Well, there is a—a—an attraction—a something +in your face that fascinates—that—that +draws, that pulls, that nails, that rivets, as it +were!”

The girl turned her sparkling face up to the +sun, to hide the smile that was breaking through +it, while she said,

“Pshaw! Hagar, be serious—I love you—by +my soul’s honor I do, Hagar!—truly, deeply, +fervently! Look at me, Hagar; let me see your +face. You are silent—you turn it quite away!” +and he suddenly wheeled around and confronted +her. “You are laughing, hard, hard girl! +Kite’s-heart, you are laughing!”

“I don’t know how it is that I always laugh +when other people would cry. I believe I am a +lineal descendant of the laughing philosopher. +Now, Gusty, my childhood’s friend, I am laughing +at your phantasy. You do not love me; it +is a mere illusion of the imagination. Your heart +is cheating itself with the semblance of love, in +default of the substance.”

“By my own heart. Love, love is always +mutual! and in my heart lives no love for you +beyond the sisterly affection I must ever feel; +but that, Gusty, is deeper and stronger than often +sisters feel for brothers. But when you talk to +me of other love, you shock and repulse me; +and that, Gusty, teaches me that you do not +really love me, but are only self-deceived by +‘the strong necessity of loving,’ that ‘strong necessity +of loving’ that leads so many impatient +hearts to ruin. Listen, Gusty. Marriages are +made in heaven, but most marriages are seldom +consummated. God, who doeth all things well, +places on earth the mutual instincts of attraction +in such souls as are intended for each other. In +the whirl and jostle of this world, it is often that +these souls never meet, but it is oftener that the +impatience of the heart to love and to be loved, +leads it into the delusion that it does love and is +loved. Wait, Gusty; do not add to the confusion +by marrying when you only fancy you +love. Wait, and your chance of meeting your +own will be greater!”

“Oh, your heart, your heart! Still the wailing +of the spoiled child if you can, but do not let +it have the serpent it cries for—illusory love!”

The color deepened to crimson on the girl’s +dark cheek, and touching her horse, she rode +forward. He followed, and again overtaking +her, said,

“Hagar, you have talked a great deal of nonsense. +You say that love is always mutual?”

“How comes it, then, that this one-sided love, +this illusion, is sometimes so strong as to drive +its victim to madness or suicide?”

“In the first place, Gusty, all that appears to +be one-sided love, is not so. Love is often +returned where it is not acknowledged—often +proffered where it is not felt; there is so much +false semblance in the world; and then again, +Gusty, the fact of the one-sided love being an +illusion is the great cause of its eventuating in +insanity. Moral illusions, mental illusions, are +only other names for insanity.”

They rode on towards the Hall in silence; then +suddenly out spoke Gusty with energy, and said

“Hagar, this is all phantasy of yours, not of +mine. I love you—I wish to pass my life with +you—now do not tell me that my case is hopeless. +Hagar! do not—I will be so patient, +although mother used to say that I was Gusty +by name and Gusty by nature. Come, Hagar, +let me hope, and I will be so—”

She wheeled her horse suddenly around, and, +confronting him, said, very earnestly,

66“Gusty, you must never think of me as a wife, +for I can never love you as a wife.”

“Try!” exclaimed the wild girl, and her laugh +rang out upon the air, awaking the echoes, “Try!—there, +I said you knew nothing about love—Try!”

“Then you know something of it, you have +given your heart to another. Come, Hagar, if +you want to put me out of my misery by one +stunning blow, say that! say that!”

But Hagar sprang from his side, and trotted +quickly into the yard of the Hall, kissing her +hand to him as she went. He looked after her, +doubting whether to follow her in or not. Finally, +he slowly turned aside, and slowly paced +his horse off to his mother’s cottage.

Grove Cottage was lighted up, and the lights +glimmered through the intervening trees, as he +rode up the grape walk, towards the door. Dismounting, +and giving his horse in charge of a +boy, he passed through the parlor into his own +room immediately, scarcely noticing by a bow +the rector or his mother, who were seated there. +But the eyes of his mother saw his disturbance. +She arose and followed him into the room. +Gusty was sitting down on the foot of his bed, +holding his temples together between his two +hands.

“What is the matter, Gusty?” again she inquired, +stooping down near him till the ends of +her ringlets (for she still wore her hair in ringlets) +brushed his cheek.

“Gracious goodness! my dear, I never heard +of such a thing at this season of the year! You +must have your feet bathed, and ice on your +head,” and she was hurrying off to get the requisites.

“Come back, petite maman, the coup-de-soleil +flashed from Hagar Churchill’s eyes of +fire, and struck my heart; bring ice for my heart, +dear mother, or rather no, she administered +enough of that,” said he, in a lachrymose tone. +Emily Buncombe had stopped, turned round and +stood still to hear him. When he ceased, she +set the candle down on his dressing-table, and +sitting down by his side, she said,

“Indeed, I really was afraid of this—so you +have lost your affections to Hagar?”

“Gusty! you know I love you.” Gusty +looked up inquiringly. “I am the best friend +you have in the world, am I not?”

“And I would not call upon you to make a +sacrifice for my sake, or for anything except +duty, and your own happiness?”

“Oh!” said the mother, with maternal pique, +“as to her rejecting you, Gusty, that was a +girlish air—nine girls out of ten reject their +lovers at first to try them—you must resign her.”

But Gusty heard nothing but the first part of +the speech—jumping up, he caught his mother +around the neck and gave her a boisterous kiss, +caught her up in his arms, ran around the room +with her, set her down, exclaiming,

“Jupiter Tonnerre! mother, you have given +me so much life, strength, force—what shall I do +with it till to-morrow when I can carry it to +Heath Hall and lay it at Hagar’s feet, say, +mother! have you got a cord of wood to cut, a +forest to fell—a—a—Lord! mother, if I could +get hold of this earth I feel strong enough to +hurl it through space!”

Now he was walking up and down with +glowing cheeks and dancing eye, swinging his +arms and bringing his hands together with a clap, +and turning off impatiently where the walls of +the short room arrested him, just as you have +seen a wild beast chafe in his cell. And Emily +walked up and down uneasily behind him. At +last he threw himself heavily in a chair. Emily +came to him.

“So, mother, girls mean ‘yes’ when they say +‘no,’ you can vouch for that by your own +experience, hey, mother?”

Emily had seen her mistake in having suggested +this, and it added to her uneasiness.

“Gusty,” she said, “whatever Hagar might +have meant by her ‘no,’ that ‘no’ has fully exonerated +you, if your rather emphatic attentions +had raised hopes in her bosom. You must give +up all attentions to her for many reasons.”

“And how coolly you say that! Great God! +how coolly you say that! As if you had spoken +of the mere bagatelle of giving up my life, of +the mere trifle of losing my soul. Hagar! +Stop, mother, let me hold my head tightly—there! +so! now perhaps it won’t divide through +the top—now, mother, tell me why must I give +up Hagar?”

“First and least, you are not rich, and Hagar +is poor. Miss Churchill is the sole heiress of +Heath Hall and the contiguous estate; that +sounds very grandly, but just consider that Heath +Hall is a ruin that daily threatens to topple down +upon and entomb alive its proprietor, and that +the Heath itself is now an irreclaimable desert.”

“Dearest mother, that is not like you—Hagar’s +poverty! I wish—I wish she was nameless +as well as penniless, and I wish I was commander-in-chief +of the American army, so that I +might have everything to give her, and she +everything to receive from me.”

“But it is not so, you see, Gusty; for though +she may have plenty of need, you have nothing +to bestow, you also are poor!”

“Poor! me poor! Mother, where am I poor +at?” exclaimed Gusty, starting up and stretching +himself—“me poor! with all this strength to +struggle, and the world to struggle against! +Oh! for God’s sake, stand out of my way everybody! +give me room! swing! sweep! lest I +hurt some one unintentionally! I feel like +67Strong-back in the fairy tale, and I wish some +one would commission me to take an island up +out of the Atlantic and carry it across the +American continent to the Pacific; or, mother, +would you like an iceberg for a butter-cooler, or +mother, say the word and I’ll bring you the North +pole for a churning stick. And then, mother, I have +so much faith. Hurrah! Hallelujah! haven’t +I faith! God bless you, mother, I have ‘the +faith to move mountains,’ for look you, mother, +when I say to the mountain, ‘Be thou removed +and be thou cast into the midst of the sea,’ I lay +right hold of the mountain bodily and hurl it +into the water myself, to put life into faith, for +‘faith without work is dead,’ and ‘God helps +those who help themselves.’”

“That is from Hagar, that wild perverted +spirit will ruin you! Oh you irreverend boy, +what would your sainted father say if he could +see you and hear you.”

“I hope he watches over you. I hope his +spirit will stand between you and that wild dark +girl.”

“That Hagar of the lightning! That electric +Hagar whose touch might kindle a statue to +life! Talk of a galvanic battery! Why, +mother, everything that passes from her hands +to mine is galvanized! That magnetic Hagar! +why, mother, everything of hers is magnetized +so that it sticks to my fingers, and I am obliged +to carry it off—her glove, her tiny shoe, the eagle +feather she wore in her riding cap. I shall be +taken up for petty larceny yet. Hagar the magnet! +Hagar the North star, who draws me +involuntarily, inevitably after her!”

“She did not draw you across Devil’s Gorge +this afternoon,” said Emily, maliciously. Gusty +wilted down all of a sudden.

“Why everybody, it is all over the neighborhood, +how in our woods the witch didn’t pursue +Tam O’Shanter, but Tam O’Shanter the witch, +and how she carried all his courage with her +when she swept across the gorge. Come, Mr. +Gusty, you have been talking very grandly, sublimely, +about strength, and force, and impetuosity, +and irresistibility, but I have heard very +loud thunder before now that did very little +damage!”

“So! but you never heard very loud thunder +that did not do a great deal of good! Ha! I +have you there, maman! but never mind, +mother, next time I ride a hunt with Hagar I’ll +follow her through fire and blood, now mind if +I don’t. I’ll purchase a hunter, then see!”

“Then see you’ll break your neck; but I +have a worse fear for you than that, Gusty, a +far worse fear for you than that. This Hagar, +she is the talk of the whole neighborhood; her +eccentricity, her improprieties, expose her to severe +animadversions.”

“Her originality you mean; her independence; +her free, strong, glorious spirit! Oh! +Hagar is a chamois! you cannot expect her to +trot demurely to the music of her own grunting, +from trough to straw, like any pig! Hagar is +an eagle! you must not look to find her waddling +lazily and feeding fatly with barnyard +ducks and geese.”

“Well, then, let them let Hagar alone! Mother!” +said Gusty, drawing in his breath hard +between his teeth, “the anger heats and swells +in my heart like kindling fire in a bombshell, till +it tears and splits and flashes, until I feel the +fire and see the lightning, and some of these +days it will explode and blow myself and some +others up! when I hear these domestic animals +sitting in sage judgment on my wild deer of the +mountains! these barn-door poultry cackling +their comments on my falcon sailing towards +the sun! Pish! pshaw! tush! tut!” exclaimed +Gusty, jumping up in a heat, and walking the +floor.

“Well, then, let them let Hagar ALONE!” +thundered Gusty, bringing his hand down on the +table like a hammer on the anvil. “Beg your +pardon, mother, I did not mean that to you, but +of them; and if that old gander Gardiner Green +don’t make his goose and gosling stop cackling +about Hagar, he’ll get his neck twisted for him!”

“Poor Gardiner Green, it would be a sin and +a shame to persecute him for what he has no +hand in and can’t help. Don’t you know how +he fears his wife?”

“Does—does he? very well, I’ll meet fear +with fear; he shall fear something else worse +than his wife!”

“Now, very seriously, Augustus, you will +afflict me very much, if you commit any folly +for the sake of Hagar Churchill.”

“Pity! pity! did I say pity, mother? pity +Hagar Churchill! pity that proud, free, glad +spirit!”

“Yes, pity her! that ‘proud, free, glad +spirit’ is clothed with woman’s deep affections, +prisoned in woman’s fragile form, environed by +woman’s circumstances, and chafes against +them all—would break through them all! +will break through them all! and then, +high as that proud spirit soars, though her +wings should glance in the atmosphere around +the sun’s disk, she will be beaten back and down—down! +Glad as that high heart throbs, it +will yet beat sobs that throw out tears for +blood! Wide as that wild spirit wanders, it will +yet cower, moaning upon the waste hearth of +home.”

“Good God, mother, what makes you talk +so? If I thought that, I would scale the eyrie +of the eagle, and carry off Hagar to some sweet +South sea summer isle, where she should reign +another Queen Eve over another Eden.”

“Are we to have any supper to-night, +Emily?” sang out Mr. Buncombe from the parlor.

“But, mother,” interrupted Gusty, “why do +you have such dreadful forebodings for Hagar?”

“I judge her fate by herself, her future by her +past and present, and I say that, unless Providence +interposes to save her as by fire, Hagar’s +68fierce, strong spirit will break her own heart and +destroy her own soul! Come to supper.”

“Destroy her own soul—come to supper—that’s +a pretty brace of subjects to tie together, +is it not now?” said Gusty.

It must not be supposed that Emily had any +unfriendly feelings towards Hagar. She did not +love Hagar less, but Gusty more. And acting +like a sober, prudent mother, she did not choose +to permit Gusty to marry a girl who was fully +as much censured as admired in the neighborhood.

After supper she talked with him again, talked +earnestly and for a long time, until Gusty rising, +said,—

“Seriously, mother, you ask too much—too +much of me; you, with your cool, temperate +nature, cannot sympathize with my ardent heart. +Alas! how should you?—you, who at eighteen +could marry a man of sixty (no disrespect, mother—I +venerate my sainted father’s memory—I +talk reason, but not disrespect)—you, I say, who +could at eighteen wed a man of sixty, and be +happy with him—you who at twenty-five, in +your young widowhood, could keep a young +lover waiting ten years, until your son grew up—you +with your cheerful, serene temperament, +how can you conceive my sufferings if severed +from Hagar? My love for Hagar, if die it +must, will die hard—dreadful will be its death throes; +but you, mother, how can your quiet +heart conceive of this—sympathize with this?”

“A still heart is not always a cold heart, +Gusty, or even a quiet heart. I have tamed my +heart to the will of Providence—I have learned +in His school, and thrown down in impatience +no task that He has set me—rebelled against no +discipline He has ordained for me; and my +life has gone smoothly, pleasantly, happily. I +have gained some calm wisdom; I am thirty-six +years old, yet my face is as smooth, my eye +as clear, my hair as black and moist as in girlhood. +I have minded God for my father, and +He has very gently led me up the steeps of life. +Believe me, Gusty, it is our rebellion against +Him that makes all our troubles. God’s will is +paramount, absolute, its end is our good, and He +will keep us in our path if it be by ‘a hedge of +thorns;’ seek to escape God’s providence and in +your struggle you break and bruise yourself, and +lose your strength. If, in the words of Scripture, +you ‘kick against the pricks,’ you will be +wounded. It rests with us, Gusty, to go God’s +way willingly and pleasantly, or to go in it rebelliously +and painfully, for go God’s way we +must. The further we stray from it the longer +and more fearful will be the forced journey back +to it and the more we wrestle against God’s +laws and will, the more fatigued and bruised we +will be, of course without the glory and the anguish +of coming off victors. Now, Gusty, my faith in +God was only lip-acknowledged, before a slight +circumstance made it heartfelt. It was this:—You +were an infant of six weeks old. You +had a tumor rising under your ear. It grew +very large and painful. When I had to dress +it it put you in an agony, and you would struggle +violently and look up into my face with an +imploring, reproachful expression, as though +you would inquire why I tortured you—I whom +you depended upon and whom you loved, and +who loved you—why I, your mother, tortured +you. That was your expression—I read it +plainly in your countenance, Gusty, and I wept +at your silent reproach. Your father was standing +by me, and he said, ‘Emily, what is it?’ I +replied, ‘I weep—I weep because this child cannot +understand that I must do this—that I +pain him to cure him.’ But while I spoke, +Gusty, darted down this truth into my heart-strings +from Heaven. And so God, the pitiful +father, wounds to heal His children, and would +make them understand, but that they are querulous +and still cry ‘why, why suffering? since +God has power and love?’ Alas! we cannot +understand, the dulness is ours, or we must not +understand, for the probation is ours, for some +reason that will one day be revealed. It may be +not from the deficiency of God’s power or will +to reveal, but from a deficiency of our ability +now to receive the revelation of the secret of +suffering; and we wait or rebel—struggle against +or reproach Providence for suffering, even as the +tortured, writhing, and screaming child silently +reproached its loving and grieving mother for +her tender dressing of its tumor. God doeth all +things well; that truth has calmed my heart, +made my life serene and happy.”

They sat under the shed of the piazza at +Heath Hall—Raymond and Hagar—in the same +piazza that had been the stage of so many scenes +of selfishness, tyranny, and violence—of weak +resistance, or of weaker compliance—across the +floor of which the long shadow of Withers had +been thrown as he passed in his ghostly wooing +of Sophie; before the steps of which the pale +wanderer had paused to warn in her flight +towards death—through which the corpse of the +sinner, sufferer, and suicide, had been borne to +the inquest—in which the declaration of love +and despairing parting had occurred between +Sophie Churchill and Augustus Wilde—through +which Raymond had flown to pick up Hagar, +when in maniac violence Mr. Withers had hurled +her through the open window—lastly, through +which the corpse of the poor lunatic had been +carried, the shadow seeming to pass from the +house at the same time. All was very quiet +now. It was Spring, and the moon was shining +down through the trellis work and vines, and the +moonlight, agitated by the shadows of the leaves +that quivered in the breeze, trembled on the floor. +They sat together on the bench at one of the +extremities of the piazza. Hagar sat erect—leaned +back against the balustrade; her fingers +were slightly clasped, and her fierce eyes burning +into the opposite vines. Yet the wild girl +was very gentle now; the brave girl timid; her +venture was—not life and limb—that Hagar +would at any time risk, with a kindling, not a +69smouldering cheek; her venture was—her affections!—that +heart, once so keenly sensitive—that +heart which in infancy had been stung and +embittered until it had at last grown stiff as +any other muscle under the action of any other +bitter tonic poison! that among the forest rocks +and streams had grown so healthy! so joyous! +It was such a free, brave, leaping heart, that its +prison-chest would scarce contain it!—it would +leap, though, and soar to the clouds!—it did send +its owner on horseback bounding over awful +chasms, leaping five-barred gates, thundering +down frightful descents, and sing with gladness +when the feat was done! But now this jubilant +heart was slowly trembling like a balloon in its +descent to earth, or a wounded bird that slowly +flapping its wings falls, and falls. Its wild liberty +was going—gone. Yes, her liberty of thought +and action was gone; no one ventured to advise, +to reprove, to oppose the young mistress of Heath +Hall; yet she felt reproof, opposition, powerfully. +There were no substantial fetters of steel +or iron on her slender wrists and ankles, yet the +fetters encircled her free limbs notwithstanding! +Listen, dear reader, while I tell you how Hagar—queen +of woods and waves—Hagar, là lionnesse +de chase, discovered that though no one +rebuked her by word, gesture, or glance, she +was no longer her own mistress; that she had +to contend for her freedom, not “with flesh and +blood,” but with powers and principalities of—something +or other! There had been a high +day at the Heath; under the auspices of Master +Gusty May the hounds had met early. There +had been a great chase, quite a steeple chase; a +neck-or-nothing affair; and all day long, over +hill and dale, rock and brake, the hunting had +thundered, and still Hagar, the slight agile girl, +on her flying black steed, had kept the advance; +and still, with wild mirth and fearless defiance, +she had cheered them forward! down the most +precipitous steeps, through the most violent torrents, +over the most frightful chasms, until the +brush was taken. The hunters dispersed, and +many of them rode over to Heath Hall, in company +with Gusty May and Hagar. And there +when all lips were carelessly, mirthfully speaking +of her feats of horsemanship that day, and the dark +girl’s cheek kindled more with the proud consciousness +of power than with pleasure at their admiration, +she sought Raymond’s face. Raymond +never joined these hunts, his tastes did not lie +that way. She sought Raymond’s countenance +at the very moment that some one spoke of her +leap across “Devil’s Gorge.” She sought Raymond’s +countenance half in doubt. He heard—she +felt he did, although his eyes were fixed upon +the book before him. He disapproved—she felt, +with a strange pain, a strange sense of loss that +he did, although no glance, gesture, or frown +betrayed rebuke. And somehow, all Hagar’s +gladness escaped in a long drawn sigh! She +felt not quite so much of a young lioness as she +had a moment since; and the presence of the +company annoyed her, and she wished from her +soul that they would eat their suppers and go +along home; she wished to hear Raymond +speak to her alone, that she might know how +much she had lost, and perchance recover it. +Well, at last they did go, and Hagar, after, in +the Maryland manner, seeing the last guest to +the door herself, came back in her riding habit, +which she had not yet had time to change—she +came back, that slight, dark girl, looking so +elegant in her graceful black habit, her shining +blue-black ringlets glittering down her crimson +cheek; her gleaming eyes and teeth were veiled +and covered, one by the purple lips, the other by +the long black fringes; how gentle she seemed +now, gentle as the half-dozing leopardess, with +her tusks and claws covered with the softest fur. +And she was gentle just now, she glided softly +near Raymond and stood by him, so humbly! +He did not see her attitude or expression as she +stood a little behind and on one side of him, but +he felt her there, turned softly, and passing his +hand gently around her shoulders drew her down +to his side. They were on the sofa between the +two windows, and the light of the candles on +the mantel-piece fell upon the picture—he drew +her small and elegant head down upon his bosom +with the radiant face turned towards him, and he +gazed down on it as though his soul would +escape through breath and glance, and die upon +it. She could not meet those tender deep blue +eyes, fixed so earnestly on her face; her black +eye-lashes fell upon her crimson cheeks, and her +brow burned; he stooped till his golden curls +mingled with her black ringlets, and pressed his +lips to hers. Quickly she whirled her head from +under his arm, but continued to sit by him; he +was silent, thoughtful, while he held her hand +and pressed it from time to time.

“Why, dearest Raymond, you are grave, +unusually grave—will you tell me the reason?”

“If my Hagar, in her deepest heart, is conscious +of having given me cause for pain, is not +that enough?”

The girl turned her glowing cheek and heaving +bosom away from him; her heart was struggling +violently with its chains, she did not speak +for some time. At last he said—

“No—no—neither—you are too gentle and +generous to do either, but I have hurt myself in +your estimation.”

He drew her to his bosom in the gentlest embrace, +and bowed his soft cheek upon her face +so slowly, tenderly; but she broke from his +loving hold with a strangled sob and escaped to +her eyrie. Yes, it was too true, her liberty was +gone. The caress of love had riveted the chain +of bondage about the maiden’s will—the kiss of +love had left the mark of ownership upon the +maiden’s cheek. Yes, the wild falcon was +caught in the jesses. True, hers was the most +gentle captor in the world, it was the gentleness +that disarmed her, the tenderness that subdued +her; still she was caught, disarmed, subdued, +and she did not like it—she could have reproached +her own heart as though it had been a +traitor, sitting up before her. Why, she softly +inquired of herself, why should Raymond’s good +or ill opinion bring her joy or pain who utterly +defied all other opinion? She could not tell, +she could neither break her fetters nor understand +how they came to be riveted so fast—verily, she +was like the young wild horse of the prairie +struggling with the lasso around her neck, unknowing +how it came there, unable to shake it +off. This feature in love was new to her; this +70subjugation of the will, this thorn in the rose, +and it rankled not a little. She would do as +she pleased, she said to herself. Sophie had +never controlled her; Emily had never controlled +her; and her horse’s hoofs had naturally +and very unconsciously spurned dust and defiance +in the faces of those who had pursued her +with blame. Now comes this power stealing +into her bosom, and gently, so gently, yet so +tightly, winding round and round her free heart, +so that in its wild throbs it bruised itself against +the pressure. Yes, she would do as she pleased; +she would ride another hunt if only to convince +herself that she might do so. And she did so; +yet when flying over the moor or heath, when +thundering down some declivity, or spurring her +horse to some fearful leap, a hand of air would +seem to fall upon her wrist arresting it, a voice +of air fall on her ears forbidding her, and impatiently, +like a young courser throwing up his +head and champing the bit, she would shake off +the hand and voice of air, and take the leap; +but then—a pain would drop and sink heavily, +more heavily, upon her spirits, weighing them +utterly down—no more glad triumph! no more +waving of the cap, or if the cap was waved it +was in defiance of the heart sinking like a +plumb-weight through the bosom. “I will do +as I please,” many times she would say to herself. +“Well, who hinders you?” “herself,” +would say to her; “not Raymond, certainly, he +never attempts such a thing, he only suffers +when he sees you thus.” So Hagar struggled +against the power that was subduing her. It +was when this struggle was nearly over that +Hagar and Raymond sat in the piazza under the +moonbeams, shining through the trellis work. +Hagar, as I said, with her slight form erect, and +her glittering eyes fixed upon the opposite end +of the trellis. Raymond holding her small hand +that quivered in his palm like the heart of a captured +bird—Raymond with his graceful head +bowed to catch her words.

“But, Hagar, love, why, what now hinders +our marriage? Just see, dearest, how you have +put me off! bethink you, from the time of my +arrival at the Heath before my father’s death, I +began to love you, would have married you, my +father wished particularly to unite us and bless +our union before he died, but you, Hagar, came +daily with your ‘not yet’ weekly, monthly; +with your ‘not yet’ until the old man died without +seeing the desire of his eyes. Was that +kind, wild Hagar? Well! and since his death, +you have said ‘not yet, do not let us join our +hands over a scarcely closed grave,’ and I +agreed with you. I took leave of you and +returned to the charge of my preparatory school. +A year passed, and procuring a substitute to +take care of my school, I came again—again +renewed my entreaty, and again Hagar with +paling cheek insisted ‘not yet,’ and again I left +the Hall alone. Believing, although you would +not confess it, that your reluctance arose from an +unwillingness to leave your native place, without +consulting you I abandoned my business and +came down here; here I have lingered weeks, +and still Hagar pales and flushes and tells me +‘not yet.’ Now what am I to think of this, Hagar? +why not yet, do you not love me, will not +my love make you happy?”

Most tenderly he raised that little dark and +fluttering hand to his lips, most gently he spoke +as he said—

“Not insist, oh! not insist, Raymond—plead—I +plead this delay—your love make me happy? +oh! yes, so happy I am afraid to stir for fear of +disturbing it. I feel like a dreamer who has +fallen asleep in foreign lands, and dreams that he +is standing in his own garden—afraid to stir lest +I wake up—not yet, dear Raymond—do not let +us wake yet, do not break this dream, dispel this +illusion, spoil this love yet!”

“I mean that we are so happy as we are, +Raymond—now that I have partly tamed my +wild heart to your gentle hand—now that I no +longer grieve or wound you, or ride steeplechases, +or shock the neighborhood into electric +life by some galvanic feat of desperation; now +that I am winning ‘golden opinions from all +sorts of people,’ and no longer mortifying you—why +we are so happy, this is such a fairy-land, +dream-like happiness. Think, we are under the +same roof, sit daily at the same table, ride to +church together every Sunday, visit together, read +together, ramble together, my twin-brother,” said +she, suddenly yielding herself to his embrace with +affectionate abandonment. “So we are so +happy! alas! don’t spoil it, don’t let us become +a humdrum Mr. and Mrs. Withers yet—a +tobacco-planting, corn-growing, butter-churning +Mr. and Mrs. Withers! don’t! the very idea +‘withers’ my heart,” and the wild girl, wild +still! laughed like the explosion of a squib.

Raymond folded his long fair hands together +and fell into thought; at last he said:

“Hagar, I have always heard, read, and +dreamed much about the confiding love of +woman, but I see little of it in you; how is this, +Hagar?”

“Have I want of confidence—is it that? +Perhaps it is,” said the girl seriously. “I who +neither fear to risk life, limb, nor good opinion; +I fear, oh! how I do fear to lose the affection +of one who loves me; I fear to be too much +with them, to ask anything of them; I feel as +though I would always rather serve them than +receive service from them. Raymond, young as +I am, I have already suffered so much from +wounded sensibilities; I know you would not +readily believe this, but oh! listen—the first +thing I loved in this wide world was Sophie; the +first thing I remember was sleeping on her bosom +every night with her sweet breath on my cheek; +I do suppose she spoiled me, I was always with +her, she was devoted to me, absorbed in me, +until a new enthusiasm seized her, and she—oh! +but, Raymond, forgive me, I suppose it was all +right, only I did not comprehend it, and when I +was suddenly severed from Sophie, I wept all +night, screamed all day, and then when she +continued to neglect me, and when after the +arrival of Rosalia, all the child spoilers in the +house and in the neighborhood left me altogether, +and clustered around Rosalia like bees around a +clover blossom; well, Raymond! perhaps it was +my nature after all, I took to the forest for my +home, and to animals for my companions; I +consoled myself at first for the want of affection, +71and, afterwards, I grew really independent +of it! my heart was so high and strong, I did +not care for love—not I! I loved others in a +half contemptuous right royal way, but I asked +no sort of return; indeed, I think, it would have +annoyed me; but now, Raymond! now I love +you, and I have your love, and I tremble—I +tremble lest I lose that also; no heart has been +steady to me, no human heart I mean, up to this +time (it remains to be seen whether yours will +be, Raymond)—no human heart, I said—my +pointers, Remus and Romulus, have been, and +dog-like always will be. Do you know, Raymond, +by the way, why I called my two +favorites Remus and Romulus?”

“I guess you thought, bitter girl, that the +fate of the poor twins cast out to the wolf to +be nursed was not unlike that of little Hagar +rocked upon the tree tops.”

“My dear Hagar, you must forget these +things; it were unmerciful to remember them +against my unhappy father, most cruel to remember +them against dearest Sophie, whose mild life +has been one offering for others.”

“I do not remember them ever. I only +recall them when forced to the recollection, and +when I have to account to myself, or to you, for +some strange trait foreign to a young girl’s +character, and then I recall them without bitterness +as facts, not as injuries.”

“Then, Hagar, love,” said he, “I am now +perfectly serious in what I am about to say, I +must either marry you very soon or tear myself +away from you. Hagar, through the influence +of one of my father’s old friends, I have been +offered the situation of attaché to the new +embassy to the Court of Madrid; they sail in +three weeks from Brooklyn. Come, Hagar, +shall I go?”

“Listen, Hagar,—if I go it is probable I shall +remain three or four years—shall I go?”

“Hagar, I am very weary of entreaty, hear +me! I must either marry you or tear myself +away from you! one or the other! and soon! +Come! which shall I do, Hagar?”

“We are very happy as we are; remain with +us, this is your home, stay, you shall have as +much of my company as you wish, the more +the better; I will give up all my out-door +amusements when you cannot accompany me, I +will do anything in the world to gratify you—except +get married—oh, not yet.”

He jumped up—it was strange to see the +gentle and graceful Raymond exhibit so much +emotion.

“‘Not yet.’ Oh! for heaven’s sake do not +ring the changes on those two odious syllables +any longer, Hagar; I am getting restive under +it.”

“Bear with me; Hagar, it is not often that I +lose patience, but indeed, my wild love, you are +a trial! now hear me, Hagar. I shall write +and accept that situation, I shall make preparations +for my journey, and in two weeks from this +night I shall leave Heath Hall to join the embassy +that will sail in one week from that time. +I shall, unless dearest Hagar in that time places +her little hand in mine and trusts me with the +care of her future happiness—well, Hagar?”

“Perhaps too ungentle, too unwomanly to +be able to make you happy, Raymond!”

“What way? I beg you to remain with us; +I promise you to do everything to make you +happy, except marry you; and you should rest +content, especially as I wish to marry no one +else.”

And then she arose, and wishing him good +night, hurried into the room. As she passed in, +a pale figure intercepted her further progress—

“I have been here for half an hour. I passed +right through the piazza, but you and Raymond +were too deeply engaged in conversation to hear +me. Perceiving your absorption, I would not +interrupt you; I came in here, and borne down +with fatigue, and stunned with despair (for, +Hagar, the first words of your conversation betrayed +the state of affairs between you and Raymond) +I threw myself upon the sofa and there I +lay until I heard you arise and enter the house—don’t +be disturbed, Hagar, I only heard the few +words as I passed through the piazza. I would +not, you may be assured, have heard one word +that I could have avoided hearing, and the words +I heard were providential—they have been good +for me, they have stunned, benumbed my senses +into a sort of peace. Well, Hagar, when is it +to come off?”

But Hagar, wafting him a good night, fled up +the stairs to bed. And Gusty, to avoid Raymond, +whom he had not the power just now to +meet in a friendly manner, Gusty having ascertained +that Sophie was not visible, slunk out +through the back way and disappeared.

Days passed at Heath Hall, and Gusty was +not seen. Raymond had written his letter of +acceptance, had gone to Hagar’s eyrie in the +fourth story, and leaning over the back of her +chair, had read it to her. She had heard it with +little visible emotion.

“Now, Hagar, I am about to seal it. +Tarquinius is mounted in the yard ready to take +it to the post-office;—tell me, Hagar, shall I +send it, or not?”

“I cannot—yet I implore you to stay—do not +leave us—I—I shall be very unhappy when you +are gone.”

He took a wafer from her writing-desk, and +sealing the letter, directed it; then going to the +window, he beckoned Tarquinius. The boy +dismounted, and coming into the house ascended +the long flight of stairs, and in time entered the +room. Raymond looked at Hagar as he slowly +gave the letter into the hands of the boy. Hagar +did not offer to interfere. Tarquinius left the +room, and five minutes after she saw him ride +out of the yard, letter in hand. Their eyes met +then; there was sadness in the expression of +both—the sadness of reproach upon Raymond’s +face, the sadness of deprecation on Hagar’s. +Indeed either of them could have wept, but that +Raymond for his manhood, and Hagar for that +early in her brave childhood she had made a sort +of silent pledge of total abstinence from tears, +refrained. He left the room very soon.

Sophie entered it. She paced it in her soft, +slow manner, and sinking down in one of the old +leathern chairs by the window at which Hagar +stood looking out upon the bay, she said—

“Hagar, my love, I have come to have a talk +with you: my dear child, what is the matter +between you and Raymond? why have you +grieved and repulsed him again? and, if I am +not very much mistaken, permitted him to make +arrangements for that foreign mission?”

“Of course not, my love; I met him coming +down, I saw his face overshadowed, and I had +seen just before that, the superscription of the +letter in the hand of Tarquinius; now, what is it +all about? Trust me, Raymond looks distressed +to death.”

Hagar ran her slender, dark fingers, through her +glittering blue-black ringlets, and looked down +in perplexity into the soft brown eyes of Sophie, +raised to hers with their old look of pleading +love. Then turning her eyes quickly away, she +looked from the window; she did not wish to +speak upon the subject.

“I never saw one so young as you with so +little confidence, so little trust as you have—your +distrust is more like a hardened man or +woman of the world than a simple girl, a maiden +not yet eighteen.”

“But I am not a simple girl—love, hope, +trust, faith, were crushed out of me while I was +yet an infant, and you know it; or perhaps you +do not know it, Sophie; though you had some +hand in the work.”

“Nothing! nothing! I will explain nothing! +account for nothing! investigate, analyse +nothing! I will accuse no one! I did not mean +to hint at a wrong! I was betrayed into it!”

“This is growing very serious by your energy +of manner, Hagar—have I injured you in any +way?—my own dear child, do not turn away, +but answer me.”

“No, no; never lifted your finger, or raised +your voice, to hurt me the least. Oh! nonsense, +my dearest aunt! I am a scamp to make you +sad—nothing! only this, that my experience +has so schooled me, young as you think I am, +that I am afraid to launch my happiness in the +uncertain seas of other hearts.”

“You want faith, Hagar. Ah! Hagar, I +partly guess now what you mean; but if you +had known how much I loved you, all the time +you thought I was neglecting you! Have faith, +Hagar. Good Heavens!” said she, speaking +with unaccustomed energy, “have faith! the +world could not go on without faith. There is +a great deal of faith in the world—social faith, +and commercial faith; political faith, and domestic +faith, and Christian faith, which embraces +all the others; but there is not faith enough anywhere—and +you, Hagar, are deplorably deficient; +cultivate that small speck of faith that is +in your heart until it grows strong and gives you +happiness. You cannot live without faith—with +it you have all things, without it you have +nothing. Have faith first in God, in His wisdom, +goodness, power, and love, in His all-surrounding +con”—

“Oh, I do! you know I do, Sophie, and all +the sin and suffering I see on earth does not in +the least shake my faith in God—but—”

“But you have little or no faith in your fellow creatures; +cultivate that little then, Hagar. +Oh! trust, and its opposite, mistrust, how powerful +they are; the one for evil, the other for +good. Trust! why, Hagar, it is the moral +philosopher’s stone, that transmutes, not base +metals to gold, but better, evil to good. Believe +me; I think, Hagar, the story of the philosopher’s +stone was an allegory, and meant this same +faith. Why faith will convert the unfaithful by +the very appeal it makes to their better nature. +Faith plunges straight through all that is ill in +a heart, and seizes on that which is good, +though half smothered in sin, brings it out into +life and action, cherishes it until it is strong and +able to struggle with and perhaps to overcome +the evil. Why, Hagar, just take a case: suppose +a person whose interests are jostled with +yours in the conflict of this world becomes your +opponent, seems your enemy, gives you a great +deal of trouble, perhaps works you much woe +in one way or another, yet have faith in him, +believe that his heart is not all selfishness, +nor treat it as though it were; believe that +in that soul watches a conscience that speaks +for you, if it could be heard; in that heart a human +sympathy that still suffers for you, if it +could be felt; a spark of divine and human +love, in a word, that, however covered up and +crusted over by sin and selfishness, still lives, +may still be nursed into a healthful and regenerating +flame by your love. Have faith in the +human feeling, even of the selfish. Believe that +somewhere down in the deeps of their souls, +buried though it be, there lives some good that +your goodness might elicit; some love that +your love might arouse; some faith that your +faith might sustain; some conscience that your +forbearance or forgiveness may awaken. And +on the other hand, Hagar, mistrust of good, +doubt of good, how fraught with evil it is; +doubt chains the sinner to his sin, keeps the +weak man on his couch of weakness. Trust is +health, life; mistrust is illness, death.”

73“But, aunt, if you had been robbed by a +person, for instance, would you trust that person +with your purse?”

“I do not mean superficial trust,” said Sophie; +“no, perhaps I would not leave my purse +in the way of a proved thief, unless I had some +guarantee of his reformation; but I would have +trust in his capabilities for reformation, and I +would run some risk of loss, if necessary, in advancing +his reformation.”

“But you are mistaken, Sophie, if you think +that I doubt or mistrust Raymond; it is not exactly +that, it is a vague, undefined fear—dread.”

“It is the same thing, arises from the same +thing, Hagar; but conquer it, my dear. Come, +Hagar, you love Raymond—long months ago +you promised him your hand—you were miserable +whenever he left the Hall, even for his +northern school; you will be wretched when +once he has left the shores of the United States—you +will nearly die. I know something of +that despair, Hagar,” said she, trembling; then +suddenly stopped, as though frightened at her +own words.

“Come, Hagar, let me recall Raymond—he +loves you, he deserves you—come, Hagar,” said +Sophie, laying her hand on the dark girl’s arm +and looking up into her face pleadingly, as +though she were the child, and Hagar the woman. +But the girl shook her head; that last +incident in the conversation, as she understood +it, was not a propitious one.

A few days rapidly slid away, and the morning +of Raymond’s departure arrived. It was a +very rainy day. His trunks had been corded, +and were carried down to the beach, to await +the passing of the packet in which he was to +sail.

Breakfast was over; and Sophie, Hagar, and +Raymond were standing at the window that overlooked +the bay. Raymond held a spy-glass in +his hand, which Hagar would sometimes take +from him and level at a distant object, and Raymond +would watch, momentarily hoping, expecting, +that she would drop a whisper, even at +this last moment, and say, “Stay, Raymond.” +But she did not. He thought her fingers quivered +slightly as she returned him the spy-glass, +and that her voice faltered as she said, “There +is the vessel in sight, Raymond; look and see if +it be not.”

“Good-by, dearest Sophie, petite belle mère,” +said he, drawing Sophie to his bosom, and kissing +her brow with an assumption of gay indifference.

“God bless and prosper you, Raymond—God +send you back to us, healthful in body, soul, and +spirit—good-by, poor, dear Raymond—I am so +sorry you are going again!” and Sophie sank +down in the corner of the sofa, bowed her head, +and sobbed.

“Now she will relent,” smiled Raymond to +himself, as he went to Hagar, held out his arms, +and said, “Farewell, love! farewell, dear, hard +Hagar!”

And then Raymond smiled more to himself, +and again pressing the hand of the weeping +Sophie, he drew Hagar’s arm within his own, +and left the house. Hagar had thrown a large +cloak over her head and shoulders, and Raymond +hoisted a large umbrella—Tarquinius Superbus +strutting before them with his arms full of small +packets, &c. They arrived at the beach—stood +upon the sand, with the rain pouring down from +above, and the tide hurrying against their feet +below as the boat from the packet was rowed +towards them. He turned and looked in her +face—all its expression was turned inwards, it +was so pale, cold, blank. “Ah! I said so,” +thought Raymond, “relenting little queen!” He +could not take a lover’s leave of her there—not +before the rough boatmen, who were devouring +them with their eyes—but he took her hand and +pressed it; oh! it was so cold and clammy! +pressed it to his lips—

“Hagar, I did not think that you would have +held out so firmly thus long; now! quick! in +mercy to me—in mercy to yourself—tell me to +stay—it is not too late—put your hand in mine—that +will be enough!”

He caught her—he could not help it then—he +strained her to his bosom, and kissed her—the +boatmen might laugh, he did not see them—and +tore himself away, stepped into the skiff, and +was rowed to the packet. Soon the packet had +resumed its course down the bay; and the rain +poured down as she stood there, with Tarquinius +holding the umbrella over her head. How +pale, and cold, and still she stood, with all the +fire of her temperament concentrated in her gaze, +which burned upon the sails of the receding +packet, until it was lost, even to her falcon +glance, while the rain poured down around her, +and the waves washed up to her. At last, +“just to see the obstinacy of men!” she said; +and turning, wandered listlessly home.

The packet wended its way down the bay, it +was bound for the port of New York; the weather +was bad, and grew worse; contrary winds +kept it back, and it was many days longer than +usual on the voyage. At last it anchored in +the port of New York. Raymond went to a +hotel and called for paper, pen, and ink, with +74which to write to his friends at Churchill Point. +Having finished his letters, he took them to the +Post Office, and after mailing them, ran his eye +down the published list of letters, as if by hundredth +hazard his name might be there. It was +not. Indeed he did not expect to see it. It was +an idle thing, he thought, but still he would ask +the clerk if there was a letter there for him.

He seized the letter—just as you seized that +letter of yours, you know, reader. It—Raymond’s +letter, and not yours—was from Sophie, +and ran thus—

“Come home, dear Raymond. Hagar has been nearly +delirious since you have been gone, yet I believe she +would expire before she would recall you herself; however, +come home; I will engage to say that we will +have a bright little wedding at Heath Hall, yet; indeed, +so certain am I of that fact, that I have engaged extra +assistance, and have commenced preparations.”

The other part was in a different hand—a dear, +familiar, light, airy hand, that seemed to skim, +scarce touching the paper; it ran thus—

“I have come to Sophie’s writing-desk, and read +over her shoulder what she has just written—I, too, +say—Come home, Raymond!—I place my ‘little hand’ +in yours.”

In ten minutes Raymond had written an answer, +being an avant courier of himself; in ten +more he had penned a letter of resignation of +his appointment; and in an hour he had removed +his baggage from the packet to another bound +by the bay to Baltimore viâ Churchill Point.

Just a week after sailing from New York, and +three weeks from the date of his leaving Churchill +Point, Raymond stepped from a boat upon +the beach under the promontory, and as true as +you live, reader, it was pouring rain just as fast +as it rained upon the day of his departure. And +there stood a slight dark girl, muffled in a black +cloak, and behind her, with the whites of his +eyes and teeth conspicuous, stood Tarquinius +Superbus, holding an umbrella over her. It +seemed to Raymond that he had only dozed a +minute, and dreamed the last three weeks. He +was by her side in an instant, had pressed her +hand and drawn it through his arm, and walking +on with her was bending forward and downward, +looking into her dark and sparkling face with an +expression, half affection, half triumph, on his +superb brow and beautiful lips; but the mirth +sparkling up from Hagar’s face defied him.

“Do you know—does your little highness happen +to know, Princess Hagar, what inconvenience +you have put me to—what an agreeable +three weeks I have passed—two weeks confined +in the close cabin of a little sea-tossed packet, +drenched with rain and beset with easterly winds +which were of course contrary; then one week’s +voyage back, in weather a little worse than the +other, except that the wind was favorable; to +say nothing of the seeming folly of resigning +my appointment at the moment the embassy was +to sail. You have inconvenienced the administration +also, Hagar! think of their having to improvise +a successor for me at the last moment.”

“But who would have thought that you would +have been so stubborn?” laughed Hagar.

“Stubborn! it was you who were stubborn, +Hagar. Good heavens! I never encountered +such a will in my life!”

“And I wished you to yield. Where is that +boy? Where is Tarquinius? Oh, immediately +behind us; I thought so. Come, Tarquinius! +come, Superbus! hurry home and get tea in—you +waited tea for me, Hagar?”

Tarquinius toiled with all his might and main +ahead; but hurrying home, up that steep, +slippery cliff, was not such sure and expeditious +work, and Tarquinius kept near them perforce, +while poor Raymond, still bending forward, +looked down into Hagar’s liquid eyes and lips, +like Tantalus looked at the spring that was +sparkling, leaping, and laughing invitation and +defiance in his face.

In reply to which Raymond stooped down, +and lifting her lightly in his arms, ran up the +steep with her, and set her down upon the top, +then smilingly drew her arm again within his +own, and they went to the house. How cheerfully +the firelight and the candle-light glowed +from the two windows under the shed of the piazza!

“I love to see a light within the house at +night so much!” said Raymond, “and I like it +better even in cities than in the country—it looks +so very cheerful; and then to go through long +streets at night, in which the houses are closed +up from top to bottom, and you only guess life +within through a chink in the shutter—it has to +me the most ungenial, unsocial, selfish look in +the world. I always kept the windows of my +lodgings open until I went to bed, would you +believe it of me, Hagar, just to add a little to +the cheerfulness of our dark back street.”

Sophie came out to meet them smiling, with +her brown eyes looking so loving, and conducted +them in.

Raymond had changed his clothes, and tea +was over, and they gathered around the fire, +Sophie with her needle-work, Hagar, the idle +one, with a spiteful black kitten on her lap, +whose antics amused her, and distressed Remus +and Romulus, who were couchant at her feet.

“I love a chill, rainy evening just at this +season of the year,” said Sophie, “because it +makes it necessary to have a fire, and to gather +around it with our work.”

“What is it, Raymond?” exclaimed both +ladies in a breath,—(those were not the days of +cheap literature, reader, nor was that the neighborhood)—in +those days, and in that country, +all “books” were “books.” “What is it, +Raymond?”

75Both read in a breath—“Childe Harold,”—and +both exclaimed in a breath, “Read to us, +Raymond.”

And Raymond opened the book, while Hagar +pulled her kitten’s ear, and made it spit and +bite, and Sophie counted the stitches of her knitting, +and commenced reading, and there we will +leave them for the present.

Poor Gusty had walked about several days +in a stupor, “stunned by a sockdologer,” he said, +into a stupor from which nothing could arouse +him; he longed for the time when he should be +ordered to sea, but alas! that time was very +distant yet, he feared. He had never been at the +Hall since what he called “that fatal evening.” +Emily was happy that an end was put to his +hopes of Hagar at any cost of present pain to +him.

“Gusty,” said she one morning, “do you +know Hagar is to be married week after next?”

“Do you know that Sophie wants very much +to get Rosalia home to the wedding?”

“Yes—but unluckily no one seems to be +travelling down in this direction from the neighborhood +of her school, so that she cannot get +an escort; Sophie cannot leave home to go after +her, and she has no one she can send.”

“Let me go! I carried her to school, you +know; let me go and bring her home!” exclaimed +Gusty, jumping up, very glad of a job +that would stir his blood into a little circulation.

“Then as soon as dinner, which is just ready, +is over, go to Heath Hall, and offer your services +to Mrs. Withers, Mr. May. God bless +this poor boy!” said she, taking his head between +her hands, “he thinks his sun has set, and +left his world in darkness, and he thinks that his +life is made a ‘howling wilderness,’ and he +thinks a great many horrible poetical things besides, +and he has a slight suspicion that if he +could put all that he feels upon paper, he +would make a great poet. Well, now, let me +advise you to improve the time, master poet; it +will be short—write while the fire is blazing in +the heart, and the brain boiling over it like a pot—do, +Gusty, for presently the fire will all be +out, and the brain quiet, and the clouds will +clear away from your sky, and the sun will rise +upon your stormy night and convert it into a +very humdrum forenoon, unsuggestive of anything +but dinner.”

Sophie and Hagar were in conversation together +in the chamber of the former, as Gusty +rode into the yard. Sophie was trimming the +white satin boddice of a beautiful dress that lay +over the bed.

“And now I shall not wear that!” said Hagar. +“I do not like it, it does not suit me. I +shall feel in borrowed plumes if I wear that; it +no more suits me than the white feathers of the +dove would suit the kite.”

“But, Hagar, my love, you would not wear +anything else than white, would you? I never +heard of a bride, a young bride, wearing colors +in her bride dress.”

“Black! mercy, Hagar, you would make +yourself so conspicuous, you would shock the +whole neighborhood!”

Hagar laughed wildly, “You know very well +that that is my besetting sin, Sophie; when this +inane neighborhood is falling into an apathy, I +feel a propensity to shock it into a little life!”

“Oh! you will think more rationally of this, +I know it, for I know you would not willingly +shock Raymond—but tell me, does he seriously +intend writing to Dr. Otterback to come down?”

“Very seriously, for he has gone to his room +for that purpose now. You see, dear Sophie, +that I wished it myself. I am like that poor +fellow who was hanged at Churchill Point a +year ago; who, you recollect, would not receive +the services of a Jack Ketch in the arrangement +of his toilet, but insisted that the high sheriff +should officiate, exclaiming, with an expiring +flash of self-respect, ‘If I am to be hanged, I’ll +be hanged by a gentleman!’^[4] Now if a halter +must be tied about my neck it shall be tied by a +bishop!”

The girl’s manner was full of wild gaiety. +Sophie gently rebuked her for speaking of sad +and grave subjects with wanton lightness. But +the girl’s eyes flashed more mirth and fire than +before, as she said—

“Dear Sophie, how can you expect of me +pity for others who have now none at all for +myself—when I have made up my mind to be +hanged or married I can do it; if hanging were +the dish, I should not think of the horror, the +agony, the death—my mind would leap straight +through that dark, quick passage to the light! +the joy! the immortality!”

“Oh, Hagar! and you say that not reverently, +but triumphantly! oh, Hagar! what a heart you +have to break down. A young bit of a maiden, +yet with no gentleness, no tenderness, no sympathy—a +little, slight, dark creature, yet with the +fire, courage, and fierceness of a young panther. +Oh! Hagar, how much I fear for you!”

Just at this moment a light rap was heard at +the door; Sophie arose and opened it. It was a +servant come to say that Mr. May was below +stairs and requested to see Mrs. Withers. Sophie +followed the messenger. She found Gusty +waiting in the parlor. Sophie was not unacquainted +with the secret that the poor fellow’s +despair had betrayed to all his friends, but this +was the first time, be it remembered, that he had +visited the Hall since the destruction of his hopes. +Sophie’s manner was unusually gentle and affectionate +to him, so much so that poor Gusty +76whose heart was sadly suffering for sympathy, +said to her suddenly at the close of their interview, +and after all the arrangements relative to +his mission had been agreed upon,

“Nothing—it is too much, I suppose! but may +be it is not, as I am sure I am a great deal taller +and twice as broad shouldered, and sun-burnt +and all that, so that I am sure I must look as +old as you?”

“Be hanged if you do look more than a very +gentle little girl after all, not half so self-sustained +and womanly as Hagar!”

“I mean, Sophie, will you marry me? I am +very steady of my years—all to taking care of +mother—and I shall behave myself better than +you think for, indeed I shall.”

“Sophie, you’ll think it strange after all that +phrensy of mine for Hagar, that I now offer you +my hand, a boy’s hand; but, Sophie, I always +did love you and like to stay with you, and now +that Hagar has thrown me away, I feel weak, +suffering, as if I wanted some one to love me +protectingly, to nurse me, to pet me—you are +the very one, Sophie! I am so lonesome, so +miserable, feel so unnecessary in the world. I +am first person singular, nominative case to nothing +under the sun just now! I want some one +to love so much! some dear gentle girl that will +love me with all her heart and soul, and not feel +jealous of this anguish I must suffer for the loss +of Hagar. Come, Sophie, pity me—my manhood, +strength, spirit, impetuosity is all melting +out of me. I feel like a poor dog that has no +owner!”

“Oh! mother, has not she a husband, as well +as Hagar a lover? Come, Sophie, you spent +the first years of your youth in nursing a sick +brain—spend the rest in nursing a sick heart—love +me, Sophie. Oh, if you knew how I suffered, +you would love me,” and Gusty fairly +dropped his head down upon Sophie’s shoulder +and almost wept. She let it lie there—nay she +caressed that young grief-bowed head, as she +said,

“I always have loved you, Gusty, and always +shall, and will do anything in the world I can to +make you happy.”

“Thank you, dear Sophie. I thought you +were too good to be proud because you happened +to be the eldest; now, Sophie, how long will it +be first, for I want to live with you, and lay my +head upon your little shoulder, just so, while I +talk to you of my troubles and you soothe me—when +shall it be, Sophie?”

“Nonsense, dear Gusty, never. You are mad +to think of such a thing, Gusty!”

“Certainly not—-you were never surely serious +in such a strange proposition! no, of course +you were not! I was silly to give you a serious +reply!”

“As the Lord in Heaven hears me, I am serious—I +must be loved—love me, Sophie.”

“I do love you, and will love you, how can I +help it? but as to marrying you, Gusty! nonsense! +Why, see here, when I was a little girl of eight +years old, you were a babe of a few weeks, and +I used to carry you in my arms all over the +house, and have helped to nurse and educate you +from infancy up, at least you knew I did until +of late years,” said Sophie, correcting herself; +“now do you feel as if you still would like to +marry your nurse, your little mother?”

“No, Gusty, you will get over this in a few +days, you will see some one else. I know by +your professions to me that it is not love, but the +want of love, that makes you miserable—your +journey will help your cheerfulness, too. You +must set out to-morrow.”

“Sophie, won’t you come over to mother’s +and spend the evening this evening?—do, +Sophie, it is lonesome over there, and mother +and yourself can talk over the hundred thousand +subjects of interest you have in hand.”

“And, Sophie, mind, don’t let mother know +what a fool I have been making myself.”

Gusty had to call at Churchill’s Point, it was +mail-day; and Gusty, though his correspondence +was far from extensive, always made a point of +being present at the opening of the mail.

“Here is a letter for your ma, Mr. May,” +said the little old widow, who was post-mistress +for Churchill Point.

“From my Uncle Augustus,” exclaimed +Gusty, as he received it, “postmarked Boston—ha! +his ship is in port—wonder when he is +coming down.” So musing, Gusty quickened his +horse’s pace, and rode on towards the cottage.

“A letter from uncle, mother,” said he, as he +laid it on the stand by her side, “and Sophie has +accepted my escort for her niece, and I am to set +off in the morning. Sophie will be here with us +to tea.”

Emily nodded and nodded assent to everything +he said, though she heard not half while +devouring her brother’s letter.

“How is he—what does he say, mother?” +exclaimed Gusty, when she had finished reading.

“To a young lady, he says, whom he has +known for a long time, and who has his warmest +affections and his highest respect.”

“He married, too! well everybody gets +married but me—lend me the letter, mother, let +me see all about it,” and she handed him the +letter. While he was reading the letter, Emily +looked out, and exclaimed:—

“There is Sophie now! go and help her +from her saddle, Gusty!” and Gusty went. +Emily followed more at leisure, and received +her friend with her accustomed affection, whispering +in confidence, “I have made a cream +cake for your tea, darling,” and led her in, took +off her bonnet, and seated her near the pleasantest +77window. When she had carried away her +things, and returned, sitting by her, she said +suddenly, in the midst of a gossipping conversation:—

“Well, it has. Came in port nine days since—he +is coming down to visit us very soon—how +long has it been since you saw him, Sophie?”

“Let’s see, I can tell, he has only been here +three times since, and that was while you were +so taken up, that you never came near us—let’s +see, it will be exactly eight years next Tuesday +week since you met, and next Tuesday week I +am to give a party to our bride, Hagar. He +will be here on that day, and I fancy there will +be another bride. Why, Sophie, what a color +you have this evening—he is going to be married, +and will probably bring his wife down—no, +Sophie, it must have been the reflection of the +sunset, for now I see you are quite pale, paler +than usual—are you sick?”

“A little fatigued, I suppose. (Gusty rang +for tea.) Yes! a young lady to whom he has +long been attached—she’s fainted. I wonder +when Sophie will ever have any nerves?”

“How easily she swoons! Sophie never was +strong,” exclaimed Emily, as she raised and set +her back, reached a tumbler of water, and +bathed her temples. As Sophie opened her +eyes she met those of Emily, looking kindly, +sweetly, and with a new expression, into hers. +“How do you feel, love?” was Emily’s first +question.

I once told you, reader, of Sophie’s deep +veneration for truth, that would never permit her +even to prevaricate. She was silent, and Emily +looking again into her eyes, refrained from +asking her any more questions, but smiled to +herself, as in a few minutes she said to Sophie:—

“Now, my love, I have got to answer my +brother’s letter by return mail; will you excuse +me? I will not leave your side, but draw the +stand to me, and write it here; it will not occupy +me more than fifteen minutes.” She drew her +writing-desk before her, and, selecting her paper, +commenced writing, while Kitty brought in the +tea-things. At last, looking up from her work, +she said:—

“I have told Augustus that you are sitting by +my side while I write; now what shall I tell +him from you?” Sophie was still silent. “Come, +Sophie!”

“Fiddle-sticks! why did you not send your +duty at once, like a school-girl to her papa? +your respects!” but then she looked at Sophie +and saw her still so pale, so tremulous, that she +turned and quietly resumed her writing.

If you had been looking over her shoulder, +you might have read the following lines:

“Dearest brother—dearest Augustus—welcome! first +to your native shores, and then soon, very soon, I hope, +to your sister’s home and bosom. Now concerning the +subject of your letter, I must write cautiously, as I perceive +that you recollected to do—because our worthy +old post-mistress takes the liberty of peeping in at the +ends of all private and confidential letters that pass and +repass through her hands.^[5] She will get something +indigestible if she pries into this; no matter for her! +About this other affair—yes, come! I have no doubt of +it, never have had from first to last, though nothing in +her manner, no look, word, or gesture, ever revealed +the fact to me until this afternoon; nay, I believe the +poor thing was unconscious herself, for you know I +think she is one of the excellent of the earth, one of +God’s peculiar favorites; and through all these dark +days I always had a faith in her eventual happiness +even in this world, for the promise, Augustus, is both +for this world and the next; hear it, ‘Godliness is profitable +unto all things, having the promise of the life +that now is, and of that which is to come;’ and listen +again! for I don’t think that you attend to these things +as much as you ought to: ‘No man hath left house, +or parents, or brethren, or wife, or children, for the +kingdom of God’s sake, that shall not receive manifold +more in this present time, and in the world to come life +everlasting;’ and her martyrdom, poor girl, was so sincere, +however mistaken—so sincere and complete, for +she thought it for life! It was all rayless darkness to +her; the future illumined only by her Christian love +and faith. And she is so beautiful, Augustus; so much +more beautiful now at twenty-five, than she was at +seventeen, when you saw her last; her health and +spirits have suffered somewhat, but that has only lent +the inexpressible charm of delicacy and pensiveness to +her beauty. I rejoice in you both, Augustus! I rejoice +in you both, and I bless you from my full heart! I rejoice +in the ‘more than Roman virtue’ with which you +died to each other, fully believing it eternal separation—with +which you ever sternly wrested your thoughts +from the other. I, the friend of both, have never once +been made the medium of the slightest communication, +the slightest inquiry or message such as acquaintances +might interchange. You died to each other, believing +it for ever, and that was right. But this is not right; +it is not right that you should bind me to secresy about +the subject of this letter, upon the ground that you do +not know the state of her mind, or how she might receive +it. Come and see for yourself—and even now +she is looking up at me with her patient brown eyes, +and believing—Heaven forgive me!—no matter. +Come soon

“Please, madam! the tea will get cold,” exclaimed +Kitty, and Emily hastily sealed and directed +her letter, and they sat down to the table.

The wedding-day of Hagar and Raymond +dawned. They were anxiously awaiting the +packet, which they expected would bring Rosalia +and Gusty, and perhaps, also, Dr. Otterback, +who was to come down from Baltimore. Afternoon +came, and Hagar, trying girl! instead of +secluding herself in the mystery of her own +room until it was time to dress, Hagar was +down on the beach with a telescope, watching +the approach of a distant vessel. While she +was intently gazing, she felt her arm twitched, +and looking back saw Blanche Rogers, who had +been domesticated for several days at the Hall, +employed in assisting Sophie with the bridal millinery +and confectionery.

“Come, you torment! Come, you trial! it is +time to dress! time!—high time! both rooms are +full of company; and now I shall have to steal +you into the house through the back way! +Come!”

78Blanche Rogers was fully her equal in social +position, besides being several years older than +Hagar, yet not for this would the wild, proud +girl, permit the familiarity of her address—lowering +her telescope, she said with spirit,—

“The evening dews are chill, Miss Rogers; +perhaps you had better not expose yourself to +their influence, as you are not so well accustomed +to them as myself. I watch the approach of +yonder packet, and must see whether it contain +passengers for the Hall, before I leave the +beach.”

“Yes, but my little self-willed, headstrong +bride, it is late; the company are assembled; +we have determined not to await the arrival of +the bishop, or of the laggards, Rose and Gusty; +we have settled that the ceremony shall proceed; +we cannot wait much longer for anybody.”

“I rather think you will have to wait some +time longer for the bride!” said the girl, “unless, +indeed, you could fancy the ‘tragedy of Hamlet, +with the part of the Prince of Denmark omitted.’”

While they spoke, the vessel bore down rapidly +towards the point—stopped—a boat was +put out and rowed towards the beach, and old +Dr. Otterback alone stepped upon the sand. +The old man came smilingly forward, rubbing +his hands and holding them out. Blanche +stepped forward to welcome him.

“Hey, Miss—Miss ——, I remember you, you +monkey, though I don’t remember your name, or +know if you have changed it.”

“La! no, Dr. Otterback, I was waiting for +you! Ain’t you a single man? You looked +so much at your ease, I really thought you were, +anyhow?”

“And you would put me out of my ease, +hey? No, I’ll tell you the reason you are not +married; the young men are afraid of you, that +is it.”

“Not so, Dr. Otterback; I have twelve +beaux, but I should be afraid to marry one of +them for fear that eleven of them would hang +themselves.”

“Twelve would hang themselves, my lady, +you may be sure of that! But, this is Miss +Churchill, if I am not mistaken,” said he, going +up to Hagar.

Hagar curtsied, blushed with all her spirit; +she was embarrassed, abashed, as well as much +disappointed. This meeting Dr. Otterback alone, +under such circumstances, was not what she had +anticipated; not what it would have been, +covered with the shower of welcomes that would +have attended the reception of the whole party, +had Gusty and Rosalia been with him. One +thing, however, if Dr. Otterback recognised her +as the bride of the evening, he did not appear to +do so. They reached the Hall. The whole +yard and surrounding grounds of the Hall were +filled with carriages tied to the trees. Hagar +reached her room without encountering any of +the guests—though as she passed up the long +wide staircase, and through the passages, she +could hear the half-suppressed hum of voices in +the bed-rooms; the hushed voices of ladies who +had arrived late and were re-arranging their +toilet after their ride.

Hagar did not wear the threatened black lace +dress; she wore just what she should have worn, +just what, with little variety, all brides wear; +viz. a white Mechlin lace over white satin; +pearls on her arms and neck, and a wreath of +orange blossom buds twined irregularly in and +out among her glittering blue-black tresses. But +she was the most fidgety little bride you ever +saw; her bosom rose and fell convulsively, and +her little dark fingers twirled and twitched spasmodically, +as the party stood before the bishop, +in the midst of the assembled company; and +more than once Raymond’s soft hand pressure +and reassuring whisper were needed.

“God bless you, my own dear child, my foster +child, my nursling. God make you happy.”

And then Hagar’s wild eyes flew off from +Sophie’s face to light on Raymond’s countenance, +to meet his eyes; and then her expression +changed—tragedy and comedy, deep joy, foreboding +fear, comic humor and earnest affection +were blended in the blushing and sparkling face +she raised to meet his self-possessed and loving +smile. It was strange, queer—a few words had +been pattered over by a fat old gentleman in a +gown; and, lo! all their relations were changed. +It was curious; her very name and title were gone, +and the girl, two minutes since a wild, free +maiden, was now little better than a bondwoman; +and the gentle youth who two minutes since might +have sued humbly to raise the tips of her little dark +fingers to his lips, was now invested with a lifelong +authority over her. Yes, it was so curious! +and the spirited girl was in doubt whether to +laugh or cry; and the expression of mingled +emotions on her face blended into one of intense +interest and inquiry as she met his gaze and +smile, which she could not help fancying patronizing +and condescending, as well as protective and +loving! A new, extremely provoking feature in +his smile! but perhaps she only fancied it. But +this new relation, this new position, this new +owning and being owned—it was very unique! +very piquant! and Hagar felt it so! and her +wild dark face gleamed and sparkled more and +more all the evening; and every once in a while +she would furtively look at Raymond as though +he had been suddenly metamorphosed into something +very awful; and if Raymond caught her +stolen glance at such a time, her face and neck +would be dyed with crimson.

I do not mean to weary you with a description +of this wedding, nor tell you how the chambers +of Heath Hall were crowded with guests that +night, nor how old Cumbo fretted and fumed +over the preparation of the state dinner the next +day; nor how the dancing party came off in the +evening; nor how disappointed Sophie was at +the still prolonged absence of Rosalia and Gusty; +nor how her thoughts occasionally wandered—but +I will not even hint at that. None of +these things will I trouble you with—but come +to the Tuesday upon which Mrs. Buncombe was +to give her sober, clerical-like evening party to +the newly married pair—premising that Rosalia +and Gusty had not yet arrived. It was a beautiful +evening, and our party from Heath Hall +rode over to Grove Cottage by moonlight. +79Emily’s rooms were well lighted and well filled—and +Emily herself, with her quiet gaiety moving +about, diffusing cheerfulness around. The +bridal party, as usual there, sat at the extremity +of the room opposite the entrance. Sophie sat +with them; her small soft hands folded lovingly +together on the lap of her brown satin dress, +and her large eyes bent in reverie upon them. +Very far from the scene must her thoughts have +wandered, as she did not hear the slight agitation +around the front door of the room, or see +the entrance of an officer in the full dress uniform +of a captain in the United States Navy, +who, conducted by Emily, approached, bowing +and smiling recognition on either side; she did +not even look up until a light finger dropped +softly on her hand, and she raised her large eyes +to behold Emily, and—

“My brother, Captain Wilde, United States +Navy—Mrs. Withers!” said Emily, presenting +him with mock gravity. And Sophie mechanically +arose, curtsied, and sank into her seat +again, as though she had never set eyes upon +him before. She did so involuntarily, and without +again raising her eyes; a weight like destiny +seemed to weigh down the eyelids. Captain +Wilde looked right and left in search of a seat, +but found none, until a youth, one of Raymond’s +groomsmen, who was sitting by Sophie, politely +relinquished his seat, which was as politely +accepted by Captain Wilde. Emily moved off, +leaning on the arm of the boy. Captain Wilde +glanced all around the room—no! no one was +minding him—old men were talking politics and +agriculture, and old women gossipping scandal and +housewifery, and young men were courting seriously +or flirting flippantly, and young women +were being courted; no one was minding him—no +one seemed at all interested in the sayings and +doings of Captain Augustus Wilde, United States +Navy, in full dress uniform though he was. He +turned to look at Sophie; she was looking +straight down at a ring upon the third finger of +her left hand—he followed her eyes and looked +at it, too; and now, losing her presence of +mind, growing very much confused, and blushing +deeply, she began unconsciously to twist it +round and round—while he watched the operation. +At last, while apparently in doubt how to +address her, he made a remark, startling in its +profundity—

“Yes, the neighborhood is sparse and not increasing +in population, I think; no new settlers +coming in, while a considerable number of the +old families are moving off. Is it not so?” said +he, stooping forward, and looking intently upon +Sophie’s varying cheek, as though life and death +were in the answer.

“One thing I know to be, the deterioration +of land here, owing to their dreadfully destructive +system of agriculture—the contrast between +New England and the Southern States is so +striking in this feature of agriculture; don’t you +think so?”

“Oh, you are not at all a fermière. Yes, the +contrast is very striking; the New Englanders +have raised, by the labor of their own hands, a +naturally ungenial soil to a high state of productiveness, +while your Maryland planters have, +even with the aid of their troops of negroes, exhausted +the fertility of a soil naturally very productive. +Why, Mrs. Withers, I am informed +that your planters, instead of manuring their +ground, plant one third of their land in rotation +every year, leaving two thirds to recover itself. +This must exhaust land very soon.”

“Warm climates and rich soils, where little +labor is required to gain a subsistence, engender +habits of indolence; now, though your climate +is not very warm, yet I think that the original +richness of your soil and the convenience of your +gangs of negroes, first seduced your planters into +their slovenly habits of cultivation—do you not +think so?”

Sophie burst into tears. Her soft heart had +been filling for the last half hour, and it ran over +in tears! First a start of surprise, then a bright +smile, then a quick glance around the room, and +a bowed head and a low whisper in Sophie’s ear.

“Sophie! the rooms are close and crowded, +come, walk in the grapery with me!” and drawing +her arm through his own, he led her forth +into the yard, down that long shaded grape walk +that led from the cottage porch through the yard +to the cottage gate. They paused at the gate, +separated, turned and looked at each other; the +moon was shining full upon their faces, they +could see each other serenely and distinctly. It +was no longer Captain Augustus Wilde, bristling +in his new uniform, and with a long string of U. +S. N.’s at the end of his name, and it was no +longer Mrs. Withers; but no—she had never +changed, or even seemed to change. It was the +Sophie and Gusty Wilde of eight years before! +and as he gazed at her, the light kept leaping in +his eyes, and,

“Oh, Sophie! my Sophie!” and opening his +arms he caught her to his bosom and kissed! +oh! he kissed her forehead, eyes, and lips, as +though his lips would have grown there! and +then holding her head a little off upon his arm, +the better to gaze upon her, he looked down +delightedly into her happy, smiling face, for it +was a happy, smiling face now, and he said,

“Oh, my dear Sophie! this is deep joy, this +is charming comicality, too! It is, you little +brown-eyed witch! To think that scarcely five +minutes ago, you and I were sitting in yonder +crowded drawing-room, talking of farming and +agriculture, and calling each other ‘sir’ and +‘madam,’ ‘Mrs. Withers’ and ‘Captain Wilde,’ +with our bursting hearts covered over with conventional +trivialities, as people might cover a +mine with straw and stubble, with a paper wall +between us, which your flood of tears washed +down. God bless those tears! God bless those +eyes that had no single glance—those lips that +had no single tone for pride or deception, my +own dear Sophie! You are more affectionate, +more tender, more gentle, more natural than I +am, my own sweet-lipped, gentle-eyed Sophie!” +80and he drew her closely and kissed her again, +but there was less ardor, more tenderness, and +less passion and more affection in this caress.

“Oh, this is sweet, it is sweet, Sophie! Sophie! +Why, her very name is something to breathe +one’s soul away upon; let us sit down, my +Sophie—this meeting, this fast-flooding joy overpowers +me!” and he sank down upon one of the +long benches that ran on either side of the whole +length of the walk, and he opened his arms again +and said,

“Come, gentle Sophie, come sit beside me; +lay your dear head under my arm, against my +bosom, and let me talk to you. I am growing +dizzier every moment; I thought I was prepared +for this meeting, but, oh! my Sophie, I am as +much stunned as though the thunder cloud of +joy had but just broken over me! Say something +rational to me, Sophie—do, dear child! +You cannot? No, you cannot; you are as silly +this moment, my gentle dove, as I am myself. +But why do not you talk to me, darling? Your +soft eyes are shining with love and joy, but you +have not a word for me—why?”

“I am thinking of you so much,” said Sophie, +softly; “I am thinking, dearest friend, of the +long, long years you have passed in desolation +of heart, without a home, except your ship and +quarters, without a fireside of your own, without +a family circle, without affection; coming in +and going out of port, alike unblessed, unwelcomed, +and unwept, and all for me! for me! I +am thinking of that, and wondering if life and +soul could repay such love!”

“Understand me, dearest; it was not all for +you—it was not, God knows, in the hope of ever +possessing you! that would have been criminal, +Sophie. No, dearest, when I parted with you +at the carriage door upon that memorable evening, +I carried with me, it is true, a desperate +hope! but what am I talking of? I beg your +pardon, Sophie; I said I was dizzy! yet this +one thing permit me to say, dear Sophie; when +I received a letter from my somewhat coolheaded +sister, telling me that your marriage was +over, and all about it, I as completely, as +unreservedly, resigned you, as ever martyr at +the stake resigned the life that was forced from +him, without the least expectation of ever seeing +you again, far less of this, of this!” and Captain +Wilde went off into raptures again, kissing +her again at “this” and “this.”—“No, Sophie, I +made up my mind to turn you out of my heart. +I found it hard work; though I resolved to +banish the thought of you, I struggled with it in +vain! Struggling with a subject of thought—banishing +a subject of thought, is a contradiction +in terms; for while you have it by the head +and shoulders, trying to put it out, you are more +intertwined with it than ever, and it holds you +fast. And I found, Sophie, that the only way +to be rid of an inconvenient and intrusive image, +was to fly from it, and I wrenched my attention +off and riveted it upon another subject. It is a +great thing, this free will of ours; I just had +resolved to consider you as dead. I never +inquired after you; and Emily, soon guessing my +wish, never mentioned you in one of her letters. +I studied the ancient languages, and soon, in the +intervals of professional duty, I became quite +absorbed in digging out Greek roots. It is +an important duty, this government of the +thoughts; they are the avenues by which good +or evil approaches the soul. Only three weeks +since, Sophie, it was that I learned that you had +been free for nearly eighteen months. Only three +weeks since, when coming into Boston harbor, I +found a letter in the Post Office, long waiting +from Emily.” He fell into a reverie for a few +minutes, from which he started, exclaiming:—

“Eight years! just think of it, Sophie! +Eight years! and you are so much more beautiful +and lovable—though once I did not think +that could possibly be—but you are so beautiful, +Sophie! Ah! indeed, I think that sorrow and +thought and time are sometimes great beautifiers. +You are so lovely—and I, Sophie! +Sophie, I am thirty years old, how do you find +me?”

She replied with her eyes! Her head was on +his bosom, and her face upturned to his. His +arm was around her waist, and his hand fondly +nestling over both of hers. How long they sat +thus, and into what deep silence they would fall +while their spirits mingled! At last he said +slowly, gently breaking the holy silence, reverentially:—

“My Sophie, I have but two or three days to +remain in this neighborhood. My leave of absence +was for three weeks. I was nine days in +coming from Boston. I have twelve days left +for my visit and voyage back. I must allow +myself ten days for my return to insure punctuality. +Now, it is demonstrated that I have but +two days, to-morrow and the next day, to +remain here.”

“But why?” inquired Sophie, tearfully, +“why? I always thought officers in returning +from a voyage had a long leisure before +them?”

“Yes, but, my dear, I have just been appointed +to take command of a store-ship lying in Boston +Harbor.”

“Yes. So that I must leave. Let us see—this +is Tuesday—I must leave Friday morning. +You are not attending to me, Sophie?”

“Perhaps you think it an unlucky day. Will +you go with me Thursday morning?”

She raised her head, but did not reply. He +drew it back upon his bosom, and looking down +upon her blushing face, where the tear-drops lay +like dew on the red rose, he said gently:—

“I know where the trouble is, my Sophie; +you are thinking what your neighbors will be +likely to say if you marry so suddenly, to them +so strangely—is not that it? But, Sophie, you +will surely never weigh my affection and comfort +against the gossip of a set of thoughtless +neighbors? you will never do so,” said he +earnestly, alarmed at her continued silence, and +pressing her closely to his bosom,—“You will +not weigh our happiness with etiquette!”

81“No,” she said, quietly, “not with etiquette +will I weigh it, for I wish to go with you, Augustus; +nor with duty must I weigh it.”

“Only this—there are some preliminaries to +be arranged, that cannot be settled without you.”

“Then, whatever they may be, they are settled—just +consider them settled, Sophie,” said he, +earnestly.

“But hear them; these are not things that can +be despatched and forgotten; they may attend +us some time. I would have you make no rash +vows about them, Augustus.”

“They are settled, I tell you, Sophie! settled! +Your will, your wishes, are enough—are +paramount! Have I not confidence in you, +dearest Sophie? More, far more, than I have +in myself; they are settled!” exclaimed he, impetuously.

“Very well; upon that account, I will listen, +darling; but first, mind you, Sophie, I am to +understand, am I not, that when I have settled +all these preliminaries, we are to be united, and +leave together on Thursday morning—ha! say, +Sophie?”

“Yes, yes!” said Sophie, blushing scarlet, +with the tears in her eyes, “I said ‘yes.’”

“Yes! Ah! stop, let me take time to take +in all this idea of ‘yes.’ Thursday morning, +Sophie my wife! There is a point at which joy +stuns one! Speak to me, Sophie!”

“Oh, the preliminaries! any that I have anything +to do with? Never mind them, Sophie; +but you are sure that you will not disappoint +me Thursday morning? are you sure you will +not put me off—tell me about dresses to be made, +or a wedding party to be got up, or at least +make a delay about breaking up housekeeping +at Heath Hall? Ah, yes! certainly, I see now; +these are the very preliminaries of which you +speak; and how, alas! can we settle them in +two days!”

“Dear Augustus!” said Sophie, “do you think +me so unconscious of the worth of your regard, +and so ungrateful for it, as to think of trifling +with it, or deferring our”—

“Oh, dear, dear, dear! what is it, then, Sophie; +let us hear it quick! I listen, darling, +punctilious little brown-eyed darling!”

“I am when I think of her! Oh, she is the +very soul of love! My life became brighter, +warmer, richer, when she came to me. That +beautiful and loving child! her love bathes +everything she looks upon in light and heat, as +the sunbeams flood the landscapes! You will +love her so much! She, the sweet child, loves +all things—pities, spares, or ministers to all +things, from the broken rose-tree that wants +binding up, to the old negro toiling home at +noon from his hard day’s work. I have seen +the sweet child run and dip up a gourd of water +from the bucket at the well, and carry to such a +one, looking up so reverentially in his face, as +though old age, toil, and suffering in any form, +awoke her veneration. She is delicate and sensitive, +too; she cannot bear the least unkind +word or look; nor the least excess of cold or +heat. This susceptible temperament, I think it +is, that gives her such warm sympathies.”

Captain Wilde was looking up with ardent +admiration into the eloquent face of Sophie.

“Ah, I see,” she continued, “that you admire +her; and you will love her, oh! so much; your +soul will go forth and bathe her with love as +mine does. Oh, your soul will warm over her, +glow over her, live around her. Your life will +brighten into refulgence for loving Rosalia. Ah, +yes! I see you will love her—you do love her. +I see it in your speaking face.”

“My own dear Sophie! I love you—you—my +life brightens into refulgence in the light of +your love—yours, my Sophie, of the loving heart +and eloquent lip.”

“People have blamed me for loving Rosalia, +but how can I help it? You will see how impossible +it will be.”

“Well, my beautiful Sophie (how radiant +your face becomes in the praise of one you love), +my beautiful Sophie! what has this little Rosalia +to do with the postponement of our union?”

“Merely this—Rosalia is my ward. She is +now daily expected. If she should not arrive +to-day, or to-morrow, I could not leave the +neighborhood finally, of course, without seeing +her—being assured of her safety—indeed, I +should not like to leave her with Hagar?”

“Hagar is dangerous to one so tender as +Rosalia. Would you put a dove in the guardianship +of a young eagle? Hagar has a fine, high +spirit—she would go through fire or flood to +serve one she loved—but, mark you! she would +cast that one she loved back into fire or flood +if they should offend her. Therefore, with your +consent, dear Augustus, I should wish to await +Rosalia here, and take her with us to Boston.”

Captain Wilde left her side and walked up and +down the grapery for awhile. Then coming to +her, he said,

“I will write to the Department to-night for +an extension of my leave of absence, Sophie.”

“I suppose so—well, if you do—I was about +to say that we shall have the company of Hagar +and Raymond, as well as that of Rosalia, on our +journey. Raymond is appointed assistant professor +at —— College, and they leave here in +ten days.”

“I do not know, my dearest; I think I prefer +your undivided company. So, Hagar and Raymond +are going North?”

“It was to have been the residence of Rosalia +82and myself; now, I suppose, it is to be shut up +and left so. We do not like to sell it. Indeed, +it would bring but little; and some of us may +like to come back some time to live in it. However! +you know it will depend entirely upon the +will of Raymond, for the property is now his, in +right of his wife.”

They had arisen now from their seats, and +were sauntering slowly towards the house. The +evening was beautiful, and the house was +crowded, and spilling its company all over the +piazza and yards. They separated and mingled +with the guests. Once in her meandering about, +Sophie felt herself enfolded by a pair of gentle +arms and pressed to a soft, warm bosom. +She was in Emily’s embrace—who stooped and +murmured in her ear, “My sister! my sweet +sister at last!” and let her go. Next she met +Hagar’s wildly glancing eyes with a “Who’d +have thought it?” sort of smile on her crimson +lip, and then her hand was raised by Raymond +and softly pressed to his lips, while his gentle +eyes revealed the heartfelt congratulations it +was yet premature to speak. And at last she +rejoined Captain Wilde just as Hagar was giving +him a pressing invitation to breakfast and dine +at Heath Hall the next day, and just as he +smiled and bowed acceptance.

There was going to be another great day at +Heath Hall; a breakfast, dinner, and ball. +Such was Hagar’s will, and of course no one +thought of opposing a bride in her honey-moon. +Only old Cumbo swore in her wrath that before +she would stay and cook for another such a +“weddin’,” she would be “sold to Georgy;” +which, in negro thought and dialect, expresses +the very extremity of perdition. It was a great +day at Heath Hall; the breakfast-table was set +out under the shade between the rows of poplar +trees, and it was loaded with the delicacies of +the season, the peculiar delicacies of that favored +neighborhood, game killed the day before, fresh +fish, oysters, and soft crabs, caught that morning, +&c., &c., &c. All the county, and—Captain +Wilde were there, and after breakfast +the company dispersed, and wandered over the +house or grounds, or rowed out upon the bay at +will.

Hagar, Raymond, Sophie, and Captain Wilde +were grouped upon the point of the promontory. +The captain occasionally swept the whole expanse +of the bay within range of the telescope +he held to his eye, and dropped it with a sigh +and a shake of the head. There was no sail in +sight.

“No,” said Sophie, “not since Gusty left—we +did not expect that; we expected them to +hurry home with all possible expedition; oh, I +grow so uneasy.”

“Nay, do not be anxious, Sophie,” exclaimed +Hagar, “if anything had happened you know +that Gusty would have written.”

“That is one reason why I am not anxious,” +said Hagar. “We have just had a wreck—such +things do not occur frequently; that wreck +will do for the next three or four years.”

While she spoke, Tarquinius Superbus was +seen strutting up the promontory from the hall; +he came up to Sophie, and ducking his head by +way of a salutation, said—

“Mrs. Widders, madam, dere is an ’rival at +de Hall, and Mrs. Buncombe, she ’quests you to +come down.”

“Rosalia and Gusty! why did you not say so +before, you stupid fellow!” exclaimed Hagar, +“how could they have come, Sophie? They +must have dropped from the sky. How did they +come, Tarquin?”

“Ah, that was it,” said Hagar, “I knew it +was some of Rosalia’s cowardice and selfishness +that has given you all this uneasiness, +Sophie!”

“Where is Rosalia? Where is she?” inquired +Sophie, anxiously hurrying along in front +of her party.

“In her chamber, changing her travelling +dress—go to her—I will attend her,” said Emily, +as, at the same moment starting from her side, +Gusty May sprang forward with strange gaiety +in his manner, considering what we know of his +then recent love-crosses, and grasped Sophie’s +hand, and then Hagar’s, and then Raymond’s, +and then Captain Wilde’s, shaking them all emphatically, +joyously, as asking after everybody’s +health, and explaining that he and Miss Aguilar +had had a delightful overland journey in a post-chaise, +because Rosalia was afraid of the water, +&c., &c.

Sophie passed on up stairs, and Hagar was +about to follow her, when Emily laid her hand +on her shoulder, and murmured close to her +ear—

“Do not both of you leave your guests at the +same time again, Hagar; you should remember +the punctilious etiquette exacted by Mrs. Gardiner +Green, and others present.”

The spring of Hagar’s upper lip started as the +spring of her foot was arrested; and with a +“Mrs. Gardiner Green,” repeated in no very reverential +tone, she stood still, especially as Raymond’s +hand very softly fell upon her own just +then.

Sophie passed up stairs, and opened the door +of Rosalia’s chamber, catching for a single instant +a glimpse of this beautiful picture. The +lovely girl reposed in a large, easy chair; her +pale gold wavy hair, parted above her fair brow +floated down her blue-veined temples, down her +83faint rose-tinted cheeks, down the tender undulations +of her dove-like throat and bosom, and +flowed upon the soft, white muslin that covered +her form. As the door opened and Sophie flew +towards her, she arose and dropped in her embrace; +the gentle arms were around Sophie’s +neck, the golden hair overflowing her, her soft +form folded to her bosom, the warm heart throbbing +against her heart, the warm lips pressed to +her lips, and tears of joy slowly falling.

“My love, my baby, my dove-eyed darling, +welcome! welcome!” sobbed Sophie, pressing +her again and again to her bosom. “Oh! is it +possible that now I shall have you always with +me, to see you as much as I please, to love you +as much as I please, to kiss you! oh! my dove! +my beauty! as often as I must. How have you +been, Rose? how do you feel, Rose? are you +well? are you much tired? what will you have, +Rose? Come to the window and let me take a +good look at you;” and Sophie drew her to +the window, held her off and gazed upon her +beauty as though she could have quaffed it up, +and opening her arms, folded her again in an +embrace, murmuring “oh! my child, my nursling, +you are so fair. Look at me, Rose; look +at me, my darling! bless those dove eyes, with +their brooding tenderness!” Then she sat down +on the lounge, and drawing Rose to her side, +passed her arms around her waist and said, looking +down in her face lovingly, “I am going to +be married soon, Rosalia; to be married to one +whom I love, and who loves me above all +things.”

Rosalia’s eyes started, dilated, and then softened +as she murmured, “And he loves you?”

They were both silent, because Rose was bending +forward before her, holding both her hands +and gazing lovingly up into her face. At last +she inquired,

“Why, no it is not, darling—except in the estimation +of ‘sweet sixteen.’”

“And Hagar is married—how funny!—and—how +serious. What makes me feel so differently +about your marriage and about Hagar’s, Sophie? +Your marriage—the idea of it fills me with still +religious joy, like church music swelling from +the deep-toned organ, echoing through the lofty +arches and filling one’s soul full of love and awe, +tempered by faith. But Hagar’s marriage affects +me like martial music that attends the troops in +their embarkation—inspiring, animating, but sad, +but painful. Now, why is this, why does my +heart fill and overflow my eyes, when I think of +Hagar’s being a wife; surely it is a happy destiny; +and why, tell me why, when I kneel down +night and morning to say my prayers, it comes +into my head to pray so earnestly for Hagar’s +happiness—why do I weep now that Hagar is a +happy bride? she is a happy bride, is she not?”

“I do not know, my love; possibly you feel +that Hagar is too wild to make a quiet wife, too +fierce to make a loving one, and too self-willed +to become a complying one; while on the other +hand you rest in the assurance that I am sober +and common-place enough to make a quiet fireside +comfortable.”

“No, that is not it, I never studied that much +in my whole life. But how do you feel about it, +Sophie?”

“My love, I had some of your forebodings, +but I had a better reason than instinct for them, +and now they are about dissipated. Hagar is +naturally wild, fierce, self-willed, and scornful—but +she has the very companion I should have +selected for her happiness. Raymond is wise, +gentle, and firm, or he impresses me in that way. +You have never seen Raymond?”

“There! dear Sophie, now please send Hagar +to me. I want to see Hagar so much—but +stay! perhaps Hagar might think I ought to go to +her; she is so proud. But tell her, Sophie, that +I am not dressed yet, and that I want so much +for her to hug and kiss me here, before I go +down to all those strangers.”

Soon after the door was thrown quickly open, +and Hagar sprang upon her cousin’s neck, half +cutting her soft shoulders in the wire-like embrace +of her slender arms, while the dark brow +bent over the fair one, the blue-black ringlets +glittered over the pale golden hair, and the deep +carnation cheek met the pale, rose-tinted face an +instant, and then she was released.

“So, Hagar, you are married! dear me, how +queer! is it not? Why, Hagar, you don’t look +at all different, not a bit like a married woman.” +And Rose got up and stood by her, and took +her hand affectionately and looked up merrily in +her face, “dear me, no! not at all like a married +woman; Mrs. Withers! goodness! do they +call you ‘Mrs. Withers,’ Hagar? and do you +always remember to answer to that name—and +how do you like being married, sure enough, +Hagar—Mrs. Withers, I mean? Don’t turn +your head away and crimson and darken so, +while scorn and mirth gleam and flash from +under your eye-lashes and upper lip; and don’t +laugh—don’t you laugh if I do; it is no laughing +matter; I feel it so most of the time when I +think of it. Oh, Hagar, my only sister that I +ever knew, I do pray for your happiness morning +and evening!”

“Now tell me about Raymond, he is young, +handsome, graceful, accomplished, and all that; +but tell me, is he gentle?”

“Gentle! why do you ask, Rosalia? Gentle! +84I gave him my hand—that is your fit answer, +dear.”

“Yes, I know—I asked because—I may say +it to you without blame now, Hagar—because +his father was not gentle, you know—and—and +we sometimes love those who are not gentle +with us, Hagar,” and her soft eyes were suffused.

“Yes,” exclaimed Hagar, “and then there is +even in seeming gentleness, sometimes gentle +strength, gentle force, gentle firmness, more irresistible, +more inevitably enslaving, than rudeness, +roughness, violence could be,” and the dark +girl’s soul half gleamed from her countenance +like a dagger half-drawn from its sheath.

“Nothing! I mean that it is time for you to +dress and come down—and I mean that you +must not ask me any more questions. Come, +let me be your dressing-maid for once, and—but +no matter, I fear I should make a failure in the +essay,” and taking up a hand-bell, she rang it at +the door. A negro girl came in, and with her +assistance the toilet of Rosalia was soon made. +Her golden hair was arranged in ringlets; her +dress was a light blue silk; her fair neck and +arms were bare, and adorned with a pearl necklace +and bracelets. Hagar wore a black lace +dress. Now, as Hagar clasped the last bracelet +on her arm (she did that for her), standing with +her before the mirror, nothing could have been +more unlike in feminine beauty than these two +girls. Hagar, so small, straight, dark, and sparkling—Rosalia +so fair, soft, and gentle.

“But see here, dear Hagar, I must go in the +kitchen, and see Aunt ^[6] Cumbo first; I know +she wants to see me so much, so do I her.”

“Oh, but please let me, dear Hagar; for poor +old Cumbo, you know, we must not slight her, +because she is old and—no, we must not slight +her;” and looking pleadingly at Hagar she +passed out slowly before her, and stole down the +back stairs. Hagar followed her. They went +through an end door, and making a circuit to +avoid meeting any one, reached the kitchen. +The old woman was busy, and grumbling over +her culinary operations before the fire, as Rose +stood in her blooming loveliness in the door.

“Aunt Cumbo, how do you do?” said she, +approaching. At the sound of her voice the old +woman dropped ladle and pan, and turning +around, gazed at her through bleared eyes.

“Oh, Aunt Cumbo, don’t you know me? +It’s me—Rose,” said she, going and taking the +black old withered hand in her own.

“Oh, it’s my baby! it’s my baby! it’s my +sweet, lovely baby come back to its old mammy +again!” and the old creature fell weeping over +her shoulders.

“Oh, no! would you hurt her poor old feelings +about a dress? her poor old feelings!” said +Rose, raising her hands and stroking her withered +cheeks, and looking kindly into the dim face.

“My baby! Oh, de little soft cotton wool +hands!—bress Gor A’mighty for lettin’ old nigger +lib to see her baby once more ‘fore she go—see +if old mammy ain’t got anoder biscuit in her +bosom for it—no, dey ain’t bake yet; nebber +min’ she’ll save one, and you set down dere, on +dat ‘tool, while mammy roas’ a sweet tatoe for +you;” and the old creature put her gently down +on a stool, and went to rummaging under an old +locker. Again Rose’s eyes were full of tears, +and she said in a low tone to Hagar—

“She is in her second childhood, Hagar; you +did not prepare her for this; poor old human +being; nothing at all left of her but the loving +heart. They tell me that it is the first thing that +lives, and the last that dies.”

“Mechanically—we do not wish her to work; +but I believe she would die if she had not the +privilege of cooking and grumbling; and Rose, +don’t be a fool—she is well enough; you know +it is so with all these Guinea negroes; they have +such tenacity of vitality, that their strength of +body outlives for years the decay of their mental +faculties; besides, she is seldom so confused as +this. Your sudden arrival has startled her, and +jostled past and present together in her apprehension; +but come now, Rosalia, you must +come into the house;” and Rosalia went up to +the fire and said—

“Aunty!—mammy!—you will let me go into +the parlor with the other ladies; you know—”

“But, honey, de tatoe ain’t roas’ yet!” replied +the old woman, as she raked the ashes over the +sweet root.

“Well, aunty, when the potatoe is done you +send Tarquinius for me, and I’ll come out here +and eat it.”

“Yes, honey! yes, my baby! and when you +go in house you jes speak to Miss Sophie ’bout +’Quinius ’Perbus; he too much mun—don’t min’ +nuffin ‘tall I say, till I have to switch him some +ob dese days; you min’ now.” And they left +the kitchen.

Rosalia Aguilar had come home to no very +near relations, to no mother, father, sister, or +brother; yet never did any child returning to +idolizing parents meet with a more tender and +enthusiastic reception, from Sophie down to old +Cumbo, and thence down to the cat that ran +between her feet, crossing before them, rubbing +her sides against them, and impeding her steps +as she walked into the drawing-room. A low +murmur of irrepressible admiration saluted her +as she entered—old friends then crowded around, +and new acquaintances were introduced to her, +and it was half an hour before the beauty and +the pet was left in quiet possession of her +sofa. Sophie sat on one side of her, Captain +Wilde on the other. At this moment Raymond +Withers entered the room bowing and smiling, +and passing up to Hagar, who stood by one of +the open windows, he said—

“Have you not?—I will present you, then,—but +first,” said Hagar, covertly watching his +countenance, “look at her and tell me what you +think of her. There, now you have a good +opportunity of observing her without attracting +her notice; there she is, seated between +85Sophie and Captain Wilde, talking with the +latter.”

Raymond’s eyes followed the indication of her +glance. Rosalia’s form was slightly bent +towards Captain Wilde, and her face was softening +and glowing under the inspiration of their +conversation. Raymond slightly started—his +gaze became fixed—absorbed—Hagar’s eyes +burned into his countenance, but he did not feel it.

He did not reply—his eyes were riveted upon +the group on the sofa. Hagar’s eyes were fixed +on his face—her lips compressed until the blood +left them pale.

“Well,” she said, again, speaking very slowly +and distinctly, “what do you think of Rosalia?”

He did not seem to hear her; his soul was +absorbed. Now all the fire seemed to have left +Hagar’s lips and cheeks, and to be concentrated +in the intensely glowing eyes that burned into +the face of her husband, and he did not feel it!

At last a motion, a change of attitude, a raising +of Rosalia’s eyes, dissolved the spell, and he +turned to Hagar.

“She is beautiful! beautiful! the most perfectly +beautiful living thing I ever saw. In all +my dreams of beauty, I never saw a vision of +loveliness like that! Do but see, Hagar!—the +heavenly love and tenderness in her air and +manner; one looking at her, fears that she may +fade into air like a vision of poetry.”

He might have observed—must have observed, +the painful constraint of her manner, but that his +attention was so concentrated.

“No, no, love! not yet—I wish to observe +her from this point a little longer.”

She bit her lips until the blood started—her +eyes seemed drawn inwards in their intense +burning.

“No, love! no! I cannot spare you—you +have been away from me too long this morning +already,” and he closed his hand firmly upon +hers, while he still poured his gaze upon the sofa +group.

At last she spoke again—“Raymond,” and +pressed his hand to call his attention,—“Raymond!”

“Nothing—nothing—I had better not—see! +they are looking over here—come! now let me +introduce you.”

“I must know what you mean, Hagar, but +here we are,” he whispered, as they paused before +the sofa.

Hagar presented him, and Rosalia arose, in +her simple, affectionate way, and offered her rosy +cheek to the kiss of Raymond, as her relative. +Captain Wilde, starting from his seat, exclaimed,

“Come, Withers, I will do the magnanimous, +although it costs some self-denial, I assure you, +yet you shall have my place—come, Mrs. +Withers, senior!”

And going round to Sophie he drew her arm +through his own, and walked her away to the +piazza, leaving her place to Hagar, who immediately +assumed it.

“Now!” said Sophie, her brown eyes dilated, +blazing with light and joy, “what do you think +of my Rose—is she not beautiful?—is she not +sweet, blooming, fragrant?”

“Beautiful!—stop, Sophie! don’t set me off!—you +know I am ‘gusty’ (stormy), when I get +an imposing subject! Beautiful!—why she +radiates beauty—no one can sit by her or talk +with her without catching beauty! growing +beautiful! Did you observe that poor old +Gardiner Green, how, as he talked with her, all +the latent goodness and gladness that were +smouldering in the bottom of his heart, was +kindled up and broke through his face, lighting +up his winter-apple cheeks and black eye-brows +until they glowed with beauty, as an autumn +landscape glows in the sunbeams!”

“Love her! dearest Sophie! I was prepared +to love her for your sake; now I love her for her +own!”

“And I knew you would, as I said, and now +I rejoice to feel it; now, then, you feel the same +pleasure that I do in the thought of having the +sweet girl with us?”

“Have her with us! Yes, that is the best of +it—we shall have her with us—by our fireside +in winter, and about our piazza in summer, and +all around us—so we can see her always, and +caress her as much as we please, and love her +as dearly, and make her beautiful being as happy +as possible—have her with us—see here, Sophie, +I am afraid I should be tempted to kick any +fellow who should come courting her—yet of +course it must come to that, and it will come +very soon to that. Beauty and sensibility and +susceptibility like hers will not long remain unwooed, +unwed, in a naval station full of gay and +romantic young officers; and even now I am +afraid Hagar will be wanting her, and that +Rosalia will prefer to go with the companion of +her childhood—and that chap, Raymond, will +take sides with them, and we shall lose the dear +girl after all.”

“You need not be afraid of that. Hagar +does not want her. Hagar loves no human +being, neither man, woman, nor child, no one +except Raymond. Hagar’s affections are very +concentrative. She has never loved any creature +but Raymond, and she has loved him +intensely from childhood, and indeed I fear +86there is as much tyranny as tenderness in her +affection for her husband.”

“Oh! well! never mind them, Sophie; let +them torture and transport each other in turn, +as young lovers of their temperament must for a +while; only let them leave this charming +Rosalia to light our sober, quiet home. What +are you laughing at, you partridge?”

“Thinking how very sober any home is going +to be that calls such a boisterous fellow as you +are, master.”

“Humph! but, Sophie, but it will be you that +will make it quiet, my love! my dove! you, +Sophie—come! does not my boisterousness subside +into gentle joy by your side? Say, am I +not quiet enough?—I can get quieter!”

“No, don’t—I—I think—perhaps I like you +all the more for being just what you are.”

“Are you really contented with me, Sophie?—I +have been so much afraid, sometimes, that +my ‘boisterousness’ should shock and alarm you—now +does it, ever?”

“Never—never—it is never rude or violent, +you know, Gusty, and it only lifts my own +sober cheerfulness into agreeable gaiety.”

You do not care to hear all that was said by +the partners in this “mutual admiration” firm—they +walked and talked, as long as you walked +and talked, with you remember whom—or as +long as you expect to walk and talk with, perhaps +you do not know whom. They did not +return to the house until summoned to dinner. +A large company sat down at table. A dancing +party in the evening closed the day, and the +guests dispersed.

“Mother! is not Rosalia to stay with you?” +asked Gusty May, as he lingered over a late +breakfast with his mother.

“Why, mother, it came there naturally +enough, as Rose lived with us many years before +she went to school, and as you always seemed +so fond of her, and she also seemed so necessary +to you, I thought, of course, you would like to +have her again.”

“But you know, my dear, why Rose lived +with us; that reason no longer exists, and Rose +goes with her natural guardians.”

“And, mother, who are her natural guardians? +Two new brides, quite lost in the glory of their +bridehood; have they thought or care for Rosalia?”

“Yes, but Sophie! Sophie is so innocent. +Sophie is going to live—didn’t you know it? on +board the store-ship.”

“Lord bless you, yes, mother! aboard the +store-ship uncle commands. There is an elegant +cabin, furnished luxuriously as any city drawing-room, +and far beyond anything you see down in +this neighborhood. Well, as I was saying, +Sophie will live there—now is that a desirable +home for a young girl like Rosalia, among all +those gay, young officers, with a chaperone no +wider awake than Sophie is, with a guardian +merry and wild as Uncle Gusty?—and I tell +you, mother, those young officers are devils of +fellows—you know I know them.”

“Sophie is indeed very abstracted, and my +brother, as you say, is wild; but then there is +Hagar; I think that it were better she resided +with Hagar.”

“What, mother, with Hagar! don’t you know +that Raymond proposes to board the first year? +and with the narrow salary of an under professor, +will Raymond be able to take her? Besides, +a girl dependent, as she is, should be made +to feel that she has quite a choice of homes, that +many hearts and doors are ready to fly open to +her.”

“You know that I should love to have her +with me, Gusty. I will invite her, press her to +come. I do not think, however, that either +Sophie or my brother will be willing to resign +her.”

“Thank you, dear mother! thank you!” exclaimed +Gusty, jumping up and kissing her, “oh! +thank you—‘willing!’ no, I don’t indeed suppose +they will be willing to resign her—who could, +in fact? nevertheless, we must try to overrule +them.”

“You run quite enthusiastic upon the subject, +Master Gusty!” exclaimed Emily, looking at +him attentively.

“Enthusiastic, mother! Gracious Heavens, +mother! one must be cold, dead, yes, a corpse—a +corpse! I mean a statue—one must never +have had life—a statue! I should rather have +said a block of marble—one must never have +had form not to be inspired with enthusiasm by +that girl—that seraph!”

“Speak low, mother! Oh! breathe her name +in flute-like tones—for, mother! when I speak +of enthusiasm, I mean the rapt enthusiasm of the +adoring saint for his guardian angel! the silent +enthusiasm with bended knees, clasped hands, +and upraised eyes, mother!”

“Humph! not the enthusiasm for instance that +Hagar inspired some weeks ago—a passion that +was going to compel you to send the planets +whirling against each other!” archly smiled +Emily.

“Why, mother,—of course,” said Gusty, +assuming a look of shocked propriety, “of course—you +did not suppose I was going to keep on +loving her now, did you?”

“Certainly you are, my love! I am very sure +of that—nevertheless, Master Gusty, I cannot +really give you credit for the exertion of +any great moral power in this affair. I think +that your passion has been conquered as the +Indians conquer danger when pursued by the +flames of a burning prairie—fire by fire—love +by love.”

“Stop, mother! be just—despair and conscience +did much for me even before I left +her.”

“And yet that was a great infatuation of +yours, and now here is another quite as great—I +am afraid you are fickle, Gusty! Have you +really quite ceased to regret Hagar?”

“Oh! stop—yes, I care a great deal about +her in—in a brotherly way, you understand! in +fact, just as I always did, until I had to go mad +about her, you know. Care about Hagar? yes! +I guess I do! Let any fellow crook his finger +at Hagar, and see if he don’t get his neck +twisted, that’s all? It is singular that I should +have got into such a delirium, is it not, though? +and more singular that I should have got out of +it—don’t you think so, mother?”

“No, indeed—it is perfectly natural—the +‘harder it storms the sooner it is over’ is an +acknowledged atmospherical fact, and by all that +ever I have seen, it is as true of passionate as it +is of atmospheric storms. I hope that you will +never marry during the raging of any phrensy +of passion—for, if you do, you will be very apt +to make yourself and another miserable for the +rest of your lives.”

“You may well call it a phrensy—a storm, +mother! Gracious Heavens! yes! That intoxicating +Hagar! I used to reel away from +her whirling, spinning, tipsy! That electric +Hagar! she would flash into my soul blaze after +blaze, like the lightning of a dark, tempestuous +night, dazzling, blinding, stunning me!”

“And this other—oh! stop, mother; put a +long pause between that and—‘this other,’ and +sink your voice low, like you were whispering +in a church—this other dawns on my soul like a +soft, rosy morn, faintly, gently, sweetly, and +bright and brightening! Hagar broke the silence +of my heart as with a laugh, a shout, a whoop, +a halloa! ‘This other’ steals upon the ear like +a soft note of music, rising and swelling into +harmony and volume!”

“No, mother, not your poet; I feel more like +your apostle—I feel when I think of her more +like saying my prayers—I feel while sitting by +her as if I were doing a meritorious thing; my +heart is hushed into a holy content and calm, +such as one feels when taking a seat in the +church while the organ is pealing ‘gloria in +excelsis,’ or the preacher is reading ‘The Lord +is in His holy temple—let all the earth keep silence +before Him.’”

“Oh, I am not, mother; indeed, so far from +it, that I never thought of the Lord so much, +worshipped the Lord so much, felt the Lord’s +presence in all the beautiful sights and sounds of +nature so much, as during that heavenly journey +with Rosalia. Let me tell you about it, mother—good, +best mother, you know I tell you +everything—always did ever since I was a boy.”

“Well, yes—that is—almost everything. +Well, you know after I set out from here, I tried +not to think of Hagar, but the more I struggled +with the image, the more intensely I thought of +her.”

“Of course; you should have fled from the +subject, fixed your attention on something else—never +let your thoughts struggle with a sinful +subject—fly from it.”

“Yes. Well, I was a little shy of meeting +Rose—she always was delicate, sensitive, and +refined—and I thought two years in a boarding-school +had educated and refined her tastes and +manners up to the highest fine lady standard. +Well, when I got to Boston, and when I reached +the outskirts of the town, and when I passed the +gate in front of Mrs. Tresham’s marble and +stuccoed mansion, I felt embarrassed. I had to +recollect that I was an officer in the United +States Navy, mother! I had to turn all the way +back to my hotel, wait half a day to get a card +engraved, put on my best new uniform, get a +pair of lavender-colored gloves, and a cambric +handkerchief—throw myself into a carriage and +ride there (I had walked before), and all for fear +Miss Aguilar should think me rough, countryfied. +Well, I made coachee get down and ring +the bell, take in my card, ‘Augustus W. May, +U. S. N.’ Come, I thought, that would do—that +was going it en grand seignior. Presently +I alighted, and was shown into the parlor. Magnificent, +mother! precisely like a wealthy merchant’s +drawing-room; and while I was waiting +there—sitting on a fine crimson velvet seat, lolling +back with one arm grandly thrown over the +back of the chair, throwing back my shoulders, +expanding my chest; in fact, enlarging and dilating +generally and sublimely! telling myself +all the time that I was Aug. W. May, U. S. N.,—the +door swung noiselessly open, and a tall +lady, in stiff black satin and a turban, entered, +followed by a lovely girl, with golden ringlets +flashing down upon her light blue silk dress. +While I arose and was flourishing my grandest +bow, and the lady elaborating her profoundest +curtsey, Rosalia, the dear girl! floated towards +me, holding out her dear white arms, and warbling, +‘Gusty, Gusty!’ just as when she was a +baby, and I a lad. I forgot that I was Aug. W. +May, U. S. N. I forgot Madam Tresham—and +Gusty Wilde started—sprang—clasped Rosy in +his arms, to his bosom, and kissed her eyes, and +nose, and mouth, while the room spun round for +joy! and he was just about to whirl Rosy all +around the room in a reel, when he was arrested +by the sight of her Royal Highness, Madam +Tresham, sinking superbly into a chair, elevating +her double chin with slow haughtiness; then he +dropped Rose, and blushed, and bowed and sat +down.

“‘Your brother, of course, I presume, Miss +Aguilar?’ she said, elevating her chin sublimely.

“See here, mother, can I help it? When my +88blood gives one jump from my heart to the top +of my head and the tips of my fingers!”

“She said, ‘Oh, no, dear madam, he is not +my brother; but we were brought up together,’ +and the old lady said ‘Ah!’ and then I handed +my credentials, Sophie’s letter requesting the +presence of Miss Aguilar. I swear madam did +not seem inclined to comply! however, next +day we set off by stage for New York, because +Rose was afraid of water, and we travelled by +coach as far as Baltimore, and then, as no stage +runs this route, we were obliged to take a chaise, +and oh! was not that a delightful journey,—a +glimpse of Heaven, mother! a specimen of life +in Paradise, those three days’ journey in the +chaise! I and Rose alone; the dear girl, how +many times she would get out to rest the horse +and walk by my side while I led him up the +hill! Now, mother, don’t forget; you’ll invite +Rose, won’t you?”

Rosalia was in demand. That same morning +Raymond Withers stood by the mantel-piece, +his elbow resting upon the top, his head leaned +upon his hand, his eyes bent down upon the +slight figure of Hagar, whom he held in a half +embrace with the other arm.

“I want you to invite her to accompany us—to +live with us, in fact,—to make one of our +family.”

“Will you invite her to-day, Hagar? we +have but a few days left, and the child should +know where she is going. Invite her to-day, +Hagar—now!”

“You do not reply, Hagar: perhaps you +would rather I should speak to her myself, and +yet methinks it would beseem you more; shall +I invite Rosalia, or you?”

“You speak coldly, I had almost said sullenly, +Hagar. Do you not like this plan?”

“Do not press me for a reason, Raymond; +why should you be so anxious for Rosalia to become +an inmate of our family?”

“First, because it is only common kindness to +a young relative who is depending upon some of +us to offer her a home; and secondly, because I +am very much pleased with Rosalia, and think +that she will be quite an acquisition to our fireside.”

Her hand was in his as she stood by his side; +but her forehead was bent forward against the +lower part of the chimney-piece, so that her long, +extremely long blue-black ringlets hung down +below her stomacher, like a veil concealing her +face, hiding the corrugating brow, gleaming +eyes, flushed cheek, and quivering lips.

“Miss Aguilar is not dependent for a home—her +father left her a small property.”

“I do not say and did not mean that she was +dependent for a roof to shelter her fair head, or a +board to sit at, but if she has ever such a fortune +she is a young, delicate, sensitive girl, and she is +dependent on some of us for a home, for kindness, +tenderness, affection.”

“Nevertheless let her feel that she is encompassed +with affection—poor girl, she has no parents, +let her feel that she has friends.”

“We are going to board, as I understand, and +so we have after all no home of our own to offer +her.”

“Since my tenant moved out of my house on +the Hudson!” replied Raymond, coldly.

“Probably not! you have no means of knowing—you +have just learned that fact for the first +time, as you will soon learn others, my love!”

“No matter now—invite Rosalia to come +with us as I requested you, my dear, will you?”

“I am—I could not tell you how much +charmed with her—she is a seraph!”

“Raymond!” she spoke huskily now, “suppose +you had met Rosalia before our marriage, +even before our engagement?”

“Do you not think that you would have +rather loved and wooed her than me—that you, +even now, were we free, would prefer her?”

“Prefer her to me—could you not love +Rosalia better than Hagar?” said she, speaking +with great rapidity. “She is fair, full formed. +I am small, thin, and dark. She is soft, gentle, +sensitive. I am wild, fierce, and proud, proud to +every one but you, Raymond. She is tender. I +am hard. She is graceful. I am rude. She is +all that is lovely, fascinating in form, features, +temper, and manners. I am all that is repellent +in person, character, and deportment—every +one loves her—all dislike me.”

“Tell me, Raymond, have you not followed +89the stream in this general, this inevitable admiration +and love?”

“Have you not claimed my hand too hastily? +Do you not now regret it, wishing that you had +waited longer and looked further—lamenting +that you had not seen Rosalia while you were +yet disengaged?”

“You do not deny it! You only echo and +re-echo, ‘Hagar!’ ‘Hagar.’ Yes, Hagar! that +is my name, my fit name—what strange prophetic +inspiration was it that made them drop +my proper name of Agatha and call me +‘Hagar?’ Alas! I might have known it, Raymond! +Oh! did I not beg you to defer our +marriage? Alas! what forebodings were mine! +Truly coming events cast their shadows before! +Oh! Raymond, I might have known—Rosalia +has won in succession every heart from me—first +Sophie’s, then Mr. Withers’s, the servants’, +the neighbors’, Mrs. May’s, and lately, think of +it! I was really glad of that, not knowing +what an omen it was! lately, Gusty’s. A +month ago Gusty was perfectly infatuated with +my poor face, raved, talked of blowing his +brains out. Well! two weeks ago he set out +for Rosalia, met her again, brought her home, +and now he raves more about Rosalia’s shoe or +glove than he ever did about my whole being! +And then! and then! oh! God, you, Raymond, +you! If you could have seen yourself when I +first pointed her out to you, as I saw you, drunk +with her beauty!”

Her blood was kindling in her veins, while +her bosom heaved and set with the motion of +the hidden fire that blazed and died and blazed +upon her cheeks, as you have seen a red flame +in the night rise and fall waved by the wind—while +her eyes scintillated sparks.

“I wish,” she said, “that as I am so much +smaller, I were soft and weak like other women! +that I had more lymph, and so could easily +melt! could weep! I can not—I am hard—my +muscles are like tempered steel—they imprison +a strong grief that rages, burns, and rends, finding +no escape, no vent, no expression! I wish +that I could weep! could die! like other women.”

During all this rhapsody, Raymond had been +looking down on her with the greatest calmness +of attitude and expression—his head still supported +by the arm that rested on the mantel-piece—his +eyes quietly observing her. Now he +took her hot and quivering hand and led her to +the window—there were two chairs facing each +other at this open window. He motioned her +into one, dropping into the other himself—he +took both of her hands into his own and gazed +into her agonized countenance a minute, and +then said:

“Hagar! look me in the face, look me +straight in the eyes, come!” and as she raised +her eyes piercing with anguish to his eyes, there +was a sedative influence emanating from his +manner that acted upon her nerves, reducing her +to quiet, she knew not how or wherefore. He +held her hands thus, looking straight into her +fascinated eyes thus for a few moments, and +then his flute-like tones gently stole on the +silence as he said,

“Hagar! I love peace, quietude, repose, +benign repose. I love low tones, soft footsteps, +gentle manners, sweet smiles, and complying +tempers around me, and I must have them—look +straight in my eyes and see if you do not +feel that I will have them? So, Hagar, no +more of this tragic acting, if you please, my +love.”

Her eyes were fixed full on his, in a vague +but painful surprise; she did not attempt yet to +reply.

“Then why,” she murmured at last, “why +were you ever attracted to one so every way +opposite as myself?”

“Because you can be made every way better; +one don’t want a character all cotton wool; a +good steel spring that rebounds from pressure is +not unpleasant in your organization. I like to +know that there is a strength, force, energy in +you when required, but I like it—latent—under +perfect command—do you mark! and you are +not, because you happen to have a whole magazine +of artillery and ammunition, to fire and flame +and blaze away at such a rate! or in the least +degree; you must grow tame, my wild love.”

“My peculiarities, then, are not altogether +repulsive to you; you love me, despite of them +all!”

“I love you because of them all, my Hagar; +and—but mind!” and here his voice sank to a +lower key and deeper tone than she had ever +heard, and his gaze was steadily fixed on hers, +“You must place confidence in me; that I demand! +without that your love is worthless to +me; mine to you. I love Rosalia, but not in +the way you imagine, foolish girl. I would not +marry her if I could. You spoke of my admiration +of her last evening. I was ‘drunk’ with +gazing on her beauty—a delicate word for a lady, +by the way—never let me hear it from your lips +again, Hagar! I was ‘entranced,’ &c.—now +observe, I will illustrate—last week you and I +rode out together; it was a beautiful evening, +and the sun was sinking like a world in flames, +lighting up into flashing splendor half a hemisphere +of crimson purple and gold sky, of blue +water, and green hills and vales; and you, +drawing rein upon the brink of a lofty cliff, gazed +rapt upon the scene until your face was as a +small mirror reflecting all the glow of the sunset—your +soul seemed pouring from your eyes, +until the sun sank behind a bank of clouds that +lay like a low range of blue mountains immediately +on the horizon, and then the spell that +bound your revery was dissolved.” Oh! how +intensely her eyes burned into his eyes while he +spoke; he continued speaking slowly. “As +you, upon the brow of the cliff gazed, gazed on +the sun-set’s glory; so I gazed upon the young +girl’s beauty!”

“Ah! ah!” said she, with wild energy, “but +I was upon the brow of the cliff! the brink of +destruction, where a single mis-step would have +precipitated me into ruin; and I was pouring my +soul out through my eyes, I was entranced +until the glory was lost in clouds, the light +in darkness. Alas! wail for your illustration, +Raymond!” and suddenly springing from him +she fled up the stairs to her eyrie. He stood +looking after her a moment, and then followed +her leisurely. He found her in an excited stillness, +90gazing “too earnestly for seeing” out upon +the bay. He went up to the window, and leaning +his arm upon the flap of the escritoire, looked +down at her, looked steadily at her—and spoke:

She started, turned, impatiently exclaiming, +“Can I not escape your eye and voice anywhere, +anywhere?”

“I do not exactly know, and I do not want +to calculate now; it seems to me much longer +than it really is—a long, long time!”

“Something less than six weeks? Is not this +a promising beginning?” Hagar suppressed a +groan. He drew her away to a lounge, and they +sat down. “Hagar, do you remember the night +of our first meeting? when I was a youth and +you an infant?”

“Your first words to me—it was at Sophie’s +wedding party, you recollect—your first words +to me formed a jealous question, and I knew +that you were strong and fierce and jealous, +though so little even for your years; and your +first question was a jealous question.”

“I have! therefore do not store it with facts +that will be likely to injure you in my estimation. +Well, to go back to that evening—I loved +the little, fierce child—it was piquant to see so +much intense fire concentrated in so small a +space. I felt that it would be interesting to subdue +this fierceness into gentleness. I was called +away from home; but I never forgot the +interest she gave me. I returned, and the +little girl had become a little woman—and +was wilder, fiercer, more piquant than ever; +she interested me, attracted me more than +ever—and I wished to possess her—I do possess +her. I wanted her for interest, amusement, +occupation, use—not for torture! I wish her +esprit malin to stop just when and where it +ceases to be agreeable—do you hear, love? For, +Hagar, I have extremely keen nerves and senses; +as most people of my complexion enjoy a moderate +degree of any sort of pleasure thrillingly, +but do not like to be shocked and stunned; +things that would scarcely act upon a lower +organization put me in pain. And now another +picture, Hagar. Do you remember the monkey +Augustus May brought you from sea, when you +were a little girl? You kept it years until my +return; you had educated it almost up to human +intelligence; and showed it to me with so +much pride and pleasure. I was so amused with +its antics—not so much with what you had taught +it as with its own primal nature, breaking +through all. Yes, look at me, Hagar! keep +your eye so—for I want you to read all in my +soul that you find upon my tongue. You +remember the day we stood upon the point of +rocks between the river and bay, on the other +side; you remember you had your monkey in +your arms; you set it down, and I made it bound +and bound for a chestnut, while we both laughed +at its antics, until the thing, exasperated to anger, +sprang upon my chest and set its teeth and claws +into my flesh, and then! Ah! you grow pale, +proud one! what then, Hagar?”

She answered, and spoke low and slowly, as +though the words were drawn from her involuntarily. +“You tore it from my bosom by the +heels, and dashed its brains out on the rocks.”

“It was an involuntary impulse, Hagar, deplored, +perhaps, the moment after; nevertheless, +Hagar, you monkey!” and here he smiled a +strange smile,—“be as spirited, fiery, and piquant +as you please, but never set your teeth and nails +into my flesh again—and Hagar!”

“I want a mark of confidence from you. Invite +Miss Aguilar to stay with us—do you hear?”

He kissed her forehead, arose, and sauntered +out of the room. And Hagar sprang upon her +feet with a snap of her teeth, exclaiming, +“Powers and principalities of darkness! is this +I? is this I? What is this? am I bewitched, +enslaved? I—I—I! pale, and tremble, and +obey—I! Come, Hagar!” said she, to herself, +“let us go to the glass and see if we have +changed as much in person as we have in manner +during the last ten minutes!” and she went +to the glass and glared at herself. “Would I +submit to this, if I did not love him, if I did not +want him to love me? Raymond! oh! you +who looked so gentle, so fair—who could think +that under those golden lashes, in those soft eyes, +lurked such spring lancets! And Rosalia! +Was he sincere? or was he self-deceived? or +perchance am I mistaken?”

The dinner bell rang, and hastily arranging +her dress, she descended the stairs and entered +the dining-room. Raymond came forward to +meet her, and led her to her seat at the table, +whispering as he went,

“Your cheek is flushed, love, and your ringlets +a little dishevelled. I am sorry to see that; +take time in future, love, even though you should +keep people waiting a few minutes; take time to +compose yourself and arrange your toilet.”

That afternoon Rosalia Aguilar had three distinct +invitations to make her home under the +room of three distinct friends. She gratefully +declined two—that is Emily’s and Hagar’s, in +favor of Captain Wilde and Sophie.

The next Sabbath, the whole family from +Heath Hall attended divine service at the parish +Church of the Ascension—Rev. Mr. Buncombe +in the pulpit. It was to be the last Sunday of +their stay. Mrs. Withers’s pew, in which sat +Hagar, Raymond, Rosalia, Sophie, and Captain +Wilde; and Mrs. Buncombe’s pew, occupied by +herself and Gusty, were the two front pews of +the middle aisle, immediately under the pulpit. +After the morning service was over, the benediction +pronounced, and the congregation had +retired, the occupants of these front pews filed +out, and placed themselves before the altar in +the following order: Captain Wilde, with Sophie +on his left hand, and next to her Rosalia; on his +right hand, Gusty, while Emily, Hagar, and Raymond +were grouped near. The preacher opened +his book, and in the holy stillness of the empty +church, commenced the marriage rites that were +to unite for life Sophie and Augustus; he went +on, finished them, the names of bride, bridegroom, +91and attendants and witnesses were affixed +to the register; kisses were given and received; +heartfelt, low-toned congratulations breathed, +and the little party slowly left the church, got +into their saddles, and rode over to Heath Hall, +where a small party were assembled to dinner.

Dear girls, have I given you love, courtship, +and marriage enough in this and the last? Whatever +you may think, there is “more truth than +poetry” in the story I am telling you, and more +sadness than either.

Gusty rode by the side of Rosalia Aguilar—Rosalia +was in one of her softest moods, and +tears and smiles and blushes chased each other +over her cheeks. She was thinking of “dearest +Sophie,” and sympathizing with her happiness. +Gusty was sighing like the wind in the main-sail. +His mother’s invitation, backed by his own eloquence, +had been inefficient in persuading Rosalia +to remain in the neighborhood.

“No, dearest Gusty,” she had said, “I should +love so much to have you all with me; it grieves +me to part with any of you, but you know, +Gusty, that I must mind what Sophie says, and +Sophie says that I must go with her; besides, +as I cannot stay with all, I prefer to stay with +Sophie and with Captain Wilde, who loves me +also.”

“Don’t cry, Gusty, don’t cry—I will write to +you every week, and can’t you come and see +me?”

“Cry! am I crying?—it’s—it’s the wind +blowing in my eyes that makes them water—pshaw! +fiddle-de-dee! me cry, indeed!—but, +Rosalia—stop—don’t ride so fast; let the folks +get along before.”

“Oh! because—because—because it will tire +the horse, you know, poor fellow.”

“Yes, to be sure it will, walk him slow,—there!” +and then he rode up close to the side +of Rosalia, and said, “Rose, stop, little darling,” +and she stopped, and turned her gentle face towards +him. “Rose, look at me, darling,” and +she looked straight in his face, with her large +innocent eyes. “How do you like me, altogether, +Rose?”

“But, loving darling! you love everybody!—Raymond +and Augustus included.”

“But I love you better than them, Gusty—oh, +ever so much better. You know I have known +you all my life, and never knew them until last +week; so good as they are, dear Gusty, and +much as I love them, I love you the most!”

“Love! love! love! Ah, my little angel, I +am afraid you do not love me as I would have +you. Do you love me well enough to marry me—now—soon? +My pay is enough to support +us, and mother has consented. Sophie has a +good opinion of me, and—and—well! what do +you say, my Rosalia?”

“Why, it would be too curious! too queer! +so funny. Sophie would laugh at us, and all the +girls would make fun of us. You know I am +nothing but a child yet—but oh! I know you +are only joking.”

“As the Lord in heaven hears me speak, I +never was more in earnest in my life.”

“As the Lord lives I am, Rosalia—come, Rosalia! +I see you will not drive me to despair—you +will give me your hand, and instead of +going North, you will just cosily settle down +here, with mother. Come, put your hand in +mine, and I will take that for yes!”

“Oh, I am sorry to vex you, Gusty; indeed +I am, dear Gusty, but I can’t get married, it is +too funny!”

“So! Gusty, I had just as soon marry you as +any one else, only I do not like to marry one—”

“Good heavens!—oh, gracious Providence, +hear her!—she had as lief have me as anybody +else!” roared Gusty, striking spurs to his horse +and making him bound in the air.

“Well, well! maybe if I was obliged to +marry, I would rather have you than anybody. +Oh! don’t scare me so, Gusty! you make me +weak all over, and—and—I feel like falling +from my saddle!”

And he saw, indeed, that his violence had +nearly overwhelmed the delicate girl, who was +trembling very much. He rode to her saddlebow, +and said gently,

“Rosalia, I beg your forgiveness; I have +startled you by my rudeness; the fact is, Rosalia, +I have been accustomed to Hagar, who, with +reverence be it said, is as rough as an unripe +persimmon, as sour as a lime, and as bitter as an +aloe, and she has spoiled me for such gentle society +as yours; now compose yourself, Rosalia, +and hear me, and believe me when I say that if +you refuse my hand—if you leave me here and +go to the North—I—well! perhaps I shall not +go mad, or blow my brains out, or break my +heart, and die, but I shall be utterly wretched, +and make every one miserable around me, I +know I shall! I begin to feel it now. So, Rosalia, +I have to propose to you to break this +matter to Sophie, or let me do it, and to beg +you, if she shall see no improper haste in the +project of our marriage, that you will accept +me; Rosalia, you make me talk so much, darling!—now, +Rosalia, what do you say?”

“Wait, Gusty, till I talk to Sophie; but, oh! +no, I do not like to, either—it is too queer. You, +Gusty, you may talk to her.”

“Do you, do you say that, Rose! Tell me! +92tell me over again, Rose! I may ask your hand +of Sophie and Wilde?”

“Oh, glory, hallelujah! God bless you, Rose! +God Almighty bless you, Rose. Hey! stop, +Lightning!” said he, suddenly jerking the bit, +though in fact it was not the horse but Master +Gusty that was bounding. “There, I am +frightening you again, Rose! Be easy, Lightning!”

“Yes! yes! my angel Rose,” and they cantered +on through the forest-path. It was the +same forest-path leading from the village to the +church so often mentioned in this story. They +overtook Sophie Wilde and their party. Sophie +was buried in thought; she was in fact just passing +the spot where she had, eight years before, +seen the apparition of the wanderer, and now +passing the road for the last time, and under her +peculiar circumstances, the fact was forcibly recalled +to her mind. Rosalia paced up lovingly +to her side, and kept there during her ride home.

Soon after dinner Gusty May found an opportunity +of taking Sophie aside and making known +his wishes. His embarrassment under all the +circumstances of which we are cognisant, you +know, was very natural and amusing. Sophie +Wilde (I love to call her Sophie Wilde) was not +perhaps the person of all others to consult in +such a case; it did, however, vaguely dawn +upon her mind that a little delay might not be +unadvisable in the proposed marriage of a youth +of nineteen with a girl of fifteen and a half; so +she said dreamily that she would “Talk with +Captain Wilde.”

“‘Talk with Captain Wilde!’ ‘talk with +Captain Wilde;’ yes! that’s it! that’s the tune! +‘talk with Captain Wilde.’ What’s Captain +Wilde to do with it? I asked you, because she +insisted you should be consulted, and you are +her little mamma. Seems to me that you have +quite unnecessarily elevated him to the throne. +‘Captain Wilde!’ he’s a great fellow, isn’t he? +Captain Fiddlestick’s end! I should just like to +hear him object—I just should. Shouldn’t be +surprised though if he didn’t. ‘Talk to Captain +Wilde!’ oh! de-cidedly. She said ‘Talk to +Sophie,’ you say, ‘Talk to Captain Wilde,’ he’ll +‘talk’ to Parson Buncombe; and while you are +all ‘talk’-ing, my prospect of getting a pair of +white kid gloves grows

exclaimed Gusty, ranting up and down the piazza, +and flinging his coat-tails about. “I was +born under the lost pleiad! I know I was! to +be always crossed in love! to be hammered into +a poet or something by hard blows! I be hanged +if I will. I’m to be put in the still as roses +are, and the essence of soul, the double extract +of soul distilled from me by fire, while flesh and +muscle, life and health shrivel up like rose leaves +in the heat! No, I be hanged if I will. Cast +me into the furnace and see if I don’t turn out +to be gunpowder, and blow somebody up! or +spirit-gas, and set some one on fire! that’s all!” +and blowing, he sat down.

“Look here, my dear Gusty,” said our bride, +“don’t talk nonsense. You have a long leave +of absence; come! go with us North. You indeed +have the best excuse; you may be said to +be in duty bound to go, as our groomsman, and +in that capacity you must constantly attend +Rosalia, and who knows, you may be appointed +to our ship; the set of officers is not yet complete.”

“So I may! oh, God bless you, Sophie, it +took just you to think of that! though you may +not be as sensible as mother, or as brilliant as +Hagar—yet you are better. I wish the comparative +had been gooder than either of them! anything +that is to make anybody happy, dear +Sophie! I shall not leave it to ‘who knows’ +and ‘perhaps,’ I shall beg uncle to get me +appointed to his ship, if he can—where is he? +I am going to him! in the meantime consider +me enlisted for this Northern bridal cruise,” and +off he went to seek Captain Wilde.

I leave it to any gentleman or lady present +whether it was in Captain Wilde’s power just +that day to look rationally, sensibly, coldly, +upon a young lover’s passion.

“Why, Gusty, my boy,” he said, “you know +very well that I have very little influence; however, +I will exert that in procuring your appointment +to my ship, and Gusty, in the meantime +come on with us and remain until you receive +orders somewhere. Rosalia is a treasure, and if +I had the power of bestowing her, I do not +know to whom I could give her with so much +pleasure as yourself. But you must wait, +Gusty, for a year or two—you are both somewhat +too young to think of this marriage yet a +while.”

“Why, uncle, this ‘wait’-ing might be endurable +if the time were passed with you all, and in +daily company of Rosalia, to be sure.”

This arrangement was finally concluded. +And Emily, who loved Rosalia, and preferred +her above all others as a future daughter-in-law, +readily consented to forego the society of her +son for the present, merely saying—

“When you marry, if you ever marry Rosalia, +you must bring her home here and leave her +with me while you are at sea, Gusty, and that is +the only condition upon which I can consent to +part with you, Gusty, for this term.”

“And so, my little dove-eyed darling is +scarcely out of school, before she is betrothed—do +you know the meaning of your vows, my +little love?” asked Sophie, very seriously, the +same afternoon as Rosalia nestled on a stool at +her feet. And Rose dropped her blushing face +in the lap of Sophie, and was silent. “Do you?—tell +me, Rose?”

“Dear Sophie, I had rather not get married—only, +you know, poor Gusty, it would be a pity +to hurt his feelings!”

“But, Sophie, I am not—not betrothed, as +you suppose—no indeed, I gave no positive +answer until I could hear what you would have +to say.”

“You did not!” said Sophie, suddenly. “Oh, +then, my dear Rose, I beg—I entreat that you +93will bind yourself by no rash vows now—wait—you +are heart-whole yet—wait—Gusty is going +on with us—you will see more of him—he of +you—and you will both find out whether you +are fitted for each other. Will you promise me +not to engage your hand ever without my consent, +Rose?”

“Dear Sophie, to be sure I will—I never +once thought of doing otherwise.”

This was perfectly easy for Rose, for her +own inclinations were uninterested in the matter.

Breaking up an old home, the home of many +years—I had nearly said centuries, is not like a +modern city May day flitting. A home like old +Heath Hall, with its accumulations, its secretions +of many years and many hearts, with its innumerable +old closets, cupboards, wardrobes, escritoires, +and “old oak chests,” with their inexhaustible +treasures, relics, and curiosities—from +the doublet and hose that the founder of the +American branch of the family wore—with his +point and ruffles and bonnet and plume—to the +cocked hat and rusty sword of great-great-grandfather, +and the hooped petticoat and high +heeled shoes of his wife—from the first baby cap +that the first American Churchill baby wore, to +the lock of grey hair that was cut from his +coffined head just before the lid was screwed +down—from the veil that fell around the maiden +at her bridal to the cap the grandmother died in—from +the bullet extracted from the fiery-hearted +son who had perished in battle, to the clerical +black silk gown his gentle bosomed brother had +worn in his ministry when he married, christened +or blessed. Truly the organ of veneration must +be largely developed in these old Maryland and +Virginian families—all things linked with family +associations are relics it would be little short of +sacrilege to destroy. The cast off bridal wreath +and veil that a northern or a city belle would +generously and properly bestow upon some +young sister or cousin, is gently lifted from her +daughter’s brow by a Maryland mother—reverentially +lifted as you have seen a minister raise +the cloth from a communion table, and laid +away a sacred treasure, a relic to be handled +with awe and love by the children in future ages. +The wardrobe of the dead that many northern +and city families send to the proper destination, +the backs of the ragged living, in Maryland and +Virginia is carefully collected and packed away +in chests and locked, and hermetically sealed as +it were to moulder away to dust in long years. +These old houses—how the very smell of their +musty mysterious old closets and closely shaded +rooms, for dreaming carries us back to the days +when people did not understand that ventilation +was necessary to health, to the days when we +lay across grandmother’s soft lap, watching +through our winking eyes grandmother’s dear +good face, and, vibrating between angel dream +land and her capped and spectacled face, dimly +wondered what we were, and slipped from this +vague feeling into sleep. These old houses +have no antiquities carrying us back to the very +ancient feudal times, it is true; but they have that +which comes more warmly, so warmly! home +to the heart, all the signs of long inhabitedness. +The old windows may creak in the wintry blast, +and the wind whistle up from crevices at the very +foot of the old mantel-pieces beside the blazing +hickory fire, yet the heart is all the warmer for +its old age, because grandfather and grandmother +lived there and their grandparents before them. +These old houses scattered at wide intervals up +and down the shores of the Chesapeake Bay and +its tributaries, and under the Easterly shadow of +the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in and out among +the hills and through the forests between them—these +old houses, spotting the verdure of new +settlements like iron-mould—these old houses, +many of them still inhabited by the old families, +while both decay together, still blossoming out +occasionally with young life, young children, remind +me strongly of old mouldering tombs from +which fresh blooming flowers are springing.

“Let’s leave all things just so, Hagar, love,” +said Sophie, as the two were making a tour of +the old Hall, opening and examining old closets +and chests with a view of determining what +should be taken, what left, what burnt and what +given away. “We will lock up all the rest +without examination. I have not nerves for it, +Hagar. It is like dissecting a heart, to explore +the treasures and memorials and relics of the +long ago dead. Let us leave them so.”

“Let’s make a general bonfire of them,” said +Hagar, “I never like these relics, they come +across me unpleasantly, very—why should +people accumulate them—storing up pangs +against some day of pangs. ‘Let the dead past +bury its dead;’ en avant is my motto.

“Perhaps you are right after all—these relics +awaken mournful, not to say maudlin feelings +that might sleep but for their sight; nevertheless, +I could not destroy these things, neither can I +consent to their destruction.”

It was finally agreed in consultation that all +things should remain just as they were, that the +Hall should be closed, and left in charge of old +Cumbo and Tarquinius.

“Where are you going, Hagar?” said Raymond, +as she sauntered from the breakfast-room +off into the yard.

“To see Starlight. I have not seen him +since our marriage, and I was accustomed to go +to his stall every morning when Tarquinius carried +his oats.”

“Why did you not ask me to attend you?” +inquired Raymond, as he drew her hand under +his arm.

“Because, Mr. Raymond,” flashed Hagar’s +eyes and teeth, “I love to shake you off some +time! when you set like a trammel—besides you +do not like Starlight.”

Raymond replied by drawing her arm closer +and holding her hand tighter, while her pointers, +Remus and Romulus, seeing her, sprang to her, +bounded around her, and she stopped to caress +them with her free hand. Raymond an instant +looked annoyed, then raising the loaded end of +his riding-whip, struck them away. Hagar +snatched her hand from his arm, and all the fire +of her race and nation was burning in the indignant +gaze she flashed upon his brow that still +remained unfurrowed by a frown in its superb +calmness.

“Well, Hagar, I am not scathed, blasted +by that lightning stroke, am I? Nonsense, Hagar, +94do you suppose I am going to permit a hand +I love to kiss to be licked over by those two +curs?—pooh! go wash it.”

“They are not curs, they are fine splendid +pointers! Look at their shining black coats and +eyes like coals! and their love has more generous +disinterestedness than—” And here she paused, +her expiring flash of spirit died out beneath the +steady inquiring gaze of the soft, deep blue eyes, +striking up through which came a will, a purpose, +the strength of which was dimly guessed +from the depths from which it seemed to come.

“Nothing!” said Hagar, as her high heart-throbbing +subsided. He drew her arm again +within his own, and they proceeded to the +stables. At the sight of his mistress, Starlight +neighed loud for joy, and breaking away, cantered +up to meet her, pawed the ground, stretched +out his head, and couched it in the open palms +she held to receive it. Hagar smiled in his eyes, +full of the earnestness she could not speak, and +stroking his jet black neck, let him lay his chin +upon her shoulders alternately, and rub his +mouth upon her neck and cheek, snorting with +joy between times.

“See, Raymond! see,” she said, with her +momentary anger all conjured away. “See +how the very want of the gift of speech makes +his eyes and motions so eloquent! See how +glad he is to see me! don’t I understand you, +Starlight? and don’t you know every word I am +saying?” said she, caressing him.

But now her eyes fell upon Raymond, who +was standing with folded arms, curling lip, and +scornful eyes, regarding her.

“You have no refinement, no delicacy. Your +dress pawed over and soiled by your canine pets—your +ringlets snuffed at, and your neck rubbed +by the nose of your pony. I am glad that in a +few days I shall be able to remove you from all +these things.”

“But I wish to take Starlight and Remus and +Romulus with me,” said Hagar, as she turned +away from the stable, and they sauntered on.

“I do not like dogs and horses myself, and I +very much dislike your attachment to them, and +I utterly disapprove of your use of them; when +you cannot walk there are carriages to be had!”

“I had no right to express it before, and yet +you learned it from my silence, and now I say it +explicitly, and expect that my tastes be consulted +in the matter.”

“And you have no right to express it now! +sir,” exclaimed the mad girl, with the fire flaming +in her eyes. “No right to express it now! +what right have you now, more than you ever +had over me? None that I acknowledge! +None that I will bear to have you assume! +None, Raymond! none! All love! all compliance +that I yield you now I would have +yielded you before! and you know it! you +know it! of my own free will! of my own +glorious free will!—not from constraint! God +in Heaven! you exasperate—you madden me—by +attempts at constraint! Raymond! what do +you mean by this? I do not like it. No! I +will turn away, I will not look at your cold, +spirit-killing eyes. I will not let your cold, +damping, implacable will extinguish my life and +soul as the rain puts out the fire. I have a will! +and tastes, and habits, and propensities! and +loves and hates! yes, and conscience! that all +go to make up the sum total of a separate individuality! +a distinct life! for which I alone am +accountable, and only to God! How weak and +worthless would my obedience to God be if it +were fettered through a submission to any lower +will. No, I will not bear to have you assume +any right over my freedom of action, and I shall +take my favorites with me to the North.”

A sarcastic smile fluttered around the beautiful +lips and gleamed under the golden eye-lashes +of Raymond Withers as he slightly raised +his hat from his head with a mock bow, and +sauntered away from her side, quoting for her +benefit the very last clause of Genesis iii. and 16. +It only needed his sarcasm to exasperate the +girl to phrensy. She snapped and ground her +teeth together, and stamped with both little feet, +springing to the ground as though they would +take root there—while anger rocked and flamed +to and fro in her bosom like a sea of fire lashing +its shores. Suddenly—veiling her flashing eyes +and setting her gleaming teeth with a look of +resolution, she went to the stables and calling +Tarquinius, bade him saddle Starlight.

“We will have another day together, my old +friends,” said she, as the horse neighed joyously, +and the dogs bounded around her each in intelligent +anticipation; and in ten minutes from this +Hagar was flying over the heath towards the +forest attended by her favorites.

The sun was setting in golden glory as Hagar +rode into the yard at Heath Hall, sprang from +her horse, and throwing the reins to Tarquinius +walked leisurely towards the house, smiled and +bowed salutation to the company assembled to +enjoy the evening air in the piazza, and passed on +into the Hall—Sophie followed her, and with +the tears welling up to her eyes exclaimed,

Hagar threw up her little glittering head of +ringlets and replied with laughing defiance,

“I have been taking one of my old days +among the hills! I wished to feel my freedom +a little, that is all! I have been galled by the +too close pressure of my chains lately, and have +broken them through for once, that’s all.”

“Be quick, dear, trying Hagar, tea is nearly +ready,” said Sophie, gazing earnestly after her—then +with a second thought, inspired by this second +and closer glance, Sophie went up stairs to +her room, found her standing leaning her elbow +on her dressing-table, while her forehead rested +upon the palm of her hand, and her long glittering +ringlets fell half way to her girdle—her little +figure was visibly throbbing with emotion. +Sophie went and took the hand that was hanging +down; it was burning, hot, and dry.

“You are wretched, poor child, and indeed I do +not wonder. Hagar, will you take my advice?”

“Tell your husband when you meet him that +you are so—you have sinned, Hagar, and you +must atone for your sin; lay your small hand +gently on his arm, and look into his face, catch +his eyes, and ask him to forgive you.”

“What!” snapped the proud girl, bounding +like a little bombshell; “hold out my wrists +humbly for the gyves, and ask my master please +to fasten them on again! No! may I die if I +do!”

“Oh! don’t look at it in that light, Hagar; +you have wronged, outraged, insulted Raymond.”

“Can I not see it, Hagar? No, he did not tell +me so—do you not know enough of Raymond’s +proud and fastidious nature to see that he could +not tell me so, Hagar? No, poor misguided +child, your day’s absence was enough. Come, +Hagar, seek a reconciliation with him—you +have been wrong—say so to him at once. You +will have not a moment’s peace until you are +reconciled to your husband—seek that reconciliation +at any price of your own sinful pride.”

“Alas! look at you, the very flame of mental +fever flickering through your cheeks and eyes—the +freshness of your lips scorched by the dry +heat of your breath. What a day you have had +to-day, Hagar! how much your defiance has +cost you! Come, come, bathe your eyes; after +tea I will, if I can, talk with you again. You +will be wise.”

The supper bell rang, and Sophie, with a +hasty charge to Hagar to make her toilet +quickly, arose and left the room. And Hagar +sprang to her feet with a determination to look +very regal, happy, and defiant. She bathed her +burning eyes and brow, but without cooling their +fever. She smoothed her long glittering ringlets, +and collected them under a jewelled comb. +She changed her black riding-dress for a crimson +satin, with full and falling sleeves, fastened +a ruby bracelet on her slender but rounded arm, +and descended the stairs, trying to draw her +heart up blithe and high; she entered the drawing-room +with head erect, expanded brow, and +elastic step, and was passing on proudly alone, +behind the company, who were going to the +supper room, when quickly and softly at her side +was Raymond, his graceful head, with its wavy +golden hair, bending forward, smiling up into +her face; his soft eyes radiant under their +golden lashes, and his delicate hand seeking +hers, to draw it through his arm, just as if nothing +had happened. Her own Raymond!—her +pride was disarmed in a moment. Sunbright +was the smile of surprise, joy, love, and +gratitude she flashed up in his gentle face, and +suddenly it softened into tenderness; how could +she have defied a gentle soul like his?—in truth, +she would have given everything she possessed +on earth, except Remus, Romulus, and Starlight, +to have blotted out for ever the offence of the +day. She had not expected this; she had prepared +herself to defy the storm, not the sunshine, +and her defences were all melted off. She was +subdued, and quietly and generously resolved in +her own mind not to shock and wound his fastidious +delicacy again, and so they sat down to +supper. The neighborhood gossip of a tea-table +occupied the company. But Hagar continued +to watch Raymond with a new feeling, new interest; +it seemed his character was now constantly +unfolding itself to her; new leaf after leaf was +turned; she watched him covertly but closely. +His manner was just precisely as usual; and, +though she often caught his full eyes, not the +slightest consciousness of remembering that anything +unpleasant had occurred was to be detected +in their glance. His countenance and manner +wore their usual air of graceful self-possession +and elegant repose, and she would have thought +that, indeed, the occurrence of the day had +dropped from his memory, but that once, quickly, +under his breath, he had said, “Your restlessness +of manner, your anxiety of expression, will +draw attention—be at ease.”

“Be at ease”—these words, though spoken in +the softest key, and with the sweetest smile, +somehow did not set her at ease; and “You +will draw attention,” raised an anxiety that she +had not felt before. Was it the dislike of drawing +attention?—but she would wait. Oh, how +she longed for the stupid evening to be over; it +is so hard to bear calmly, cheerfully, a toothache +or a heart-ache in company. It was long +before they left the tea-table, and then it was +long before they got ready to go home, and after +they were all in their saddles and in their carriages +on the road, it was long before Sophie’s +smiling good night broke up the family circle +for the evening. Sophie left the room with a +congratulatory smile to Hagar, happy in the +thought that their quarrel was made up. Raymond +followed her, smiling, to the door, opened +it, bowed her out, closed it, and returned; then +with a sudden impulse went back, re-opened it, +and passed out.

Hagar awaited his return half an hour, and +then sought her chamber. She expected him +joyously, yet with a little undefinable anxiety. +At last she heard his steps ascending the stairs, +he opened the door, and came in; she turned +quickly, and going to meet him, holding out +both hands, exclaimed,

“Dearest Raymond, I am so glad that we are +alone, together at last, my heart has been ready +to burst all the—” She stopped short, and +gazed in surprise at him. How changed his +aspect! was it the same Raymond that an hour +ago was smiling, bowing, glancing, gliding +through the lighted drawing-rooms? He stood +with folded arms and curling lip; his cold eye +crawling over her from head to foot, yet so fascinating +in his beautiful scorn, that she could +have uttered a death-cry of anguish, as love and +pride tugged at her heart-strings. He passed +her and threw himself upon a lounge. She had +been prepared for this scorn and anger three +hours before, but she was not now—not after +having been subdued by soft smiles, sweet words, +and gentle tones, that she had received in all trust—no, +not now—the touch of the soft fingers +that had sought and pressed her hand in drawing +it through his arm; the touch of those soft fingers +was yet quivering on her fingers; the rays +of those gentle eyes were yet beaming in her +eyes; the tones of that low, love-pitched voice yet +96breathing in her ear—no, she could not believe +in this harshness, at least she could not bear it. +He was now sitting on the lounge, making entries +in a note-book, with his usual air of elegant +ease. She looked at him an instant, and then +going up to him she stood before him; he continued +his writing, without looking up; the flame +flickered in and out upon her dark cheek; soon +she dropped both hands upon his shoulders, and +dropped her proud head until the long glittering +ringlets fell each side of his cheeks, and sitting +down beside him and dropping her face upon his +bosom, she whispered softly,

“Raymond, make friends with me! I will do +anything in the world you wish me to do—come! +I will leave undone all you wish me so to +leave, if you will make friends with me again;” +and a tearless heart-sob breaking from her lips +showed how great had been the pang of her +vanquished pride.

He lifted her head from its resting-place, +smoothed back the ringlets of her hair, and holding +her face between the palms of his hands, +gazed smilingly into her eyes, with a look, half +of love, half triumph, and said,

“You will? but then your ‘separate soul—will—individuality’—what +are you to do with it +all? Answer me—I want a literal reply, in +words—”

“I don’t know!—how do I know?—don’t +seek to humble me, dear Raymond—I am tortured!—tortured!—tortured!”

“Who tortures you, my piquant little love, my +little vial of sal-volatile?” said he, condescendingly, +caressing her.

“Yes, Raymond, understand me, and help +me to understand myself. I only lately began +to know myself. I am a strange blending of +pride and aspiration!—and of love, and through +love, fear!—the eagle and the dove!—alas, +bear with me!—hold my throbbing temples between +your cool hands, Raymond—your hands +are always cool—so!—now calmly, I do not +know that there is anything to make me wild, +or angry, just now—yet these clashing and conflicting +elements do so war in my nature—listen, +Raymond! when you angered me this +morning, and left me, the aroused passion of +my soul heaved and set like the sea in a storm, +leaping from its bed and lashing the shores! I +could not have believed it possible that you +could have angered me so—or being angered so, +that I could have got over it so; and now that +is gone, and—never wound my poor dove because +my eagle has stuck her beak and claws into +you—”

“No, love, the dove shall never be wounded, +but the claws and wings of the eagle shall be +clipped,” said he, looking steadily in her anguished +eyes. “Don’t reply to me yet, Hagar, you +are about to say something that will make more +trouble between us.”

Then with a dry sob and gasp, Hagar’s heart +shrank into silence, and he smiled to see it, and +all this while he was lightly caressing her—running +his fair fingers through her glossy hair, and +kissing her lips from time to time. At last she +said—

“I have been thinking what to do with my +favorites, Starlight and the pointers.”

“Yes, I will leave them here, in the care of +Tarquinius, for a while; then, perhaps, after a +while, when we get settled, you will not object +to have them.”

“I am sorry, love, that our thoughts did not +happen to run in the same channel, very sorry. +I made a sale of the horse and dogs to Gardiner +Green, this morning, while you were taking your +last ride with them, and to-night, after you came +home, I sent them over to his farm by Tarquinius.”

He held her tightly, gently compressing his +arm about her waist, and replied, softly,

“Yes, love—nay, do not start and struggle, +I cannot spare you, yet—yes, love, they are +sold.”

“My horse!—mine?—my own!—my dear +Starlight!—and my dogs—and without my +leave!”

“Come, come!—come, come! be still, Hagar, +no phrensy,” said he, smilingly, tauntingly +caressing her, while a gentle, cruel strength +struck out from the pressure of the soft arms +that held her in a fast embrace; “if your +eagle flaps its wings and beats its cage so +violently, I am afraid clipping its pinions and +claws will not be enough—I am afraid I shall +have to crush it altogether,” said he, looking +down into her eyes.

She ceased to struggle, and dropped her hands +clasped upon her lap—dropped her head upon +her chest, while the color all faded from her +cheeks, and the light from her eyes.

“What you please shall be the matter!” exclaimed +she, laughing bitterly, while light and +color suddenly flashed back into her sparkling +face.

“Come, love, you are a spirited little thing, +but you will be docile by and by, and then—”

The family met at breakfast the morning succeeding +the events of the last chapter. The +family—that is, with the exception of Rosalia, +who had been spending a week at Grove +Cottage, consoling Emily for the disappointment +of losing her company for the winter, by remaining +with her as long as possible, and indeed up +to the day of the proposed departure. Hagar +entered the breakfast-room, escorted, as usual, +97with the gentle and assiduous attention always +given her, in public, by her husband. He led +her to her place, and seated her with a graceful +bow and sweet smile, and then assumed his own +chair—smiling the morning salutation to Captain +Wilde, who just entered the room. But Sophie +looked at Hagar,—looked at her in astonishment. +The spirited, springy little figure was +almost languid, though she sat erect; the +healthy crimson glow of her dark complexion +had concentrated in a circumscribed purple spot +on her cheek, leaving her contracted brow and +quivering lip pallid; her strained glance expressed +a mingled anguish and defiance. And +then Sophie’s glance turned off from Hagar to +Raymond; but his fine brow was perfectly +smooth, his eyes smiling and his lips composed +as he received the cup of coffee from the waiter +held by Tarquinius. Sophie was so disturbed, +upon the whole, that she could not eat her +breakfast. This was the last day of their stay +at Heath Hall. The packet that was to convey +them to Baltimore was moored under the +shadow of the promontory. Immediately after +breakfast, both gentlemen left the house to +superintend the removal of their baggage. Hagar +arose from the table and went into the large old +drawing-room, Sophie’s whilom school-room. +Sophie, leaving her table in charge of the +servants, followed her. She was walking +uneasily about the floor, and seeing Sophie +enter, she paused before the window. Sophie +stole gently to her side, and passing her soft +arms over the girl’s shoulder, stooped forward +and looked seriously and lovingly into her anguished +face, as she murmured in her low, sweet +voice,

“I must not ask you now, Hagar, my former +question of ‘What is the matter between you +and Raymond?’ but let me comfort you in some +way. Oh, it is dreadful, indeed, my love, that +you, a wife of scarcely two months—but I will +say nothing of that—only I see,” said she, dropping +her voice very low, “it is your pride, +Hagar—don’t start, love, or repulse me, for you +know we shall be separated very soon—it is +your pride, love, that rebels against a rule every +way gentle, just, and reasonable. Subdue it, +Hagar. Your husband has been educated +among the refinements of cultivated city society. +He, himself, perhaps, among the most fastidious +of that class. His taste is offended, his delicacy +shocked by your wildness.”

“Hush! hush! Hagar! Never think such +thoughts—ask such questions. He loves you, +Hagar—has loved you long with a constancy I +have never seen equalled but in one instance. +He loved you—let me speak plainly, Hagar, for +your sake and his—he loved you when you were +a very unlovely child—at least to every one but +me.—Well, he loved you, and sought and +gained your love. You gave yourself away to +him, and now he very naturally expects you to +conform your manners to his tastes. Hagar, if +liberty were dearer to you than love, you should +never have given yourself to a husband. But +that is not so—you know it—it is only your +struggle, now—and, Hagar, this struggle, this +resistance of your pride, must cease. Listen! +Oh, Hagar!” said she, with unaccustomed energy, +“listen to me—to me. I love you, and +have no possible interest except your own welfare, +in what I say to you. Your pride must be +subdued—it must!—must! If you do not subdue +it yourself, he will, with cruel pain to you. +Raymond’s demands are all reasonable; such +requirements are usual—in your case any man +would make them—but in one thing Raymond +differs from most men that I know—in the possession +of an indomitable WILL. In my long +acquaintance with him, when my faculties were +mature, and yours in the green bud, I have had +an opportunity of seeing and knowing this. I +am afraid you have mistaken him—with all his +fair complexion and golden hair; in that beautiful +form lives calmly an immensity of force, an +eternity of purpose, almost omnipotent in its repose, +and that it would be vain to look for in +more impetuous, seemingly stronger natures; a +power that is calmly, silently surrounding you. +You feel it—do not struggle against it—you +cannot overcome it, cannot escape from it, and +it will never be withdrawn—it will close around +you.—Yield gracefully to it! To your submission +it will be a loving embrace—to your proud +resistance it will be a galling chain; cease the +struggle, Hagar, and be still.”

“Never! never! never!” exclaimed the proud +girl, while her brow flushed to crimson as by the +smite of shame.

“But you have a traitor in your bosom that +continually betrays you; or rather, I should say, +your husband holds your heart-strings in his +hand. You love him—yes, Hagar, him only, +of all the world! You do not love me, or anybody +else. From infancy the stream of your +affections has run in one deep and narrow channel. +Let that be checked, and the waves, turned +to flame, will roll back upon your heart consuming +it. Why, see, Hagar, see! when your wills +clash, your pride is in arms—you oppose him, +defy him, and he meets such defiance with a +calm, quiet strength, not yielding an inch, and +you suffer, as you are suffering now. Why +suffer, Hagar? Tame that wild heart of yours. +Hagar, the great secret of the power he possesses +over you is this: he is calm, while you are impetuous—he +can control himself, and thereby +you—he can stifle, as you can not, that ‘mighty +hunger of the heart,’ that craves a return of love—he +can look coldly, sternly on you for days, +weeks, while his very soul wails for your love. +You cannot do this yourself, or bear it from him +long; in a word, dear Hagar, you have neither +might nor right on your side.”

During all this speech Hagar had been standing +with her face to the window, with her eyes +burning and burning through the glass, and +Sophie had been standing by her side with her +arm around her waist caressingly.

“Come, Hagar!” she whispered low, “let me +confide to you some of my own feelings,” and +while she spoke she slightly smiled, her voice +slightly quivered as with bashfulness or happiness, +and the rose clouds rolled up over her +cheeks, and even flushed her brow,—“I love my +husband so much, so much, so much, with a fulness +of tenderness that it seems to me could not +be expressed, except by suffering something—sacrificing +something for his sake. I am sure +sometimes I wish he would ask me to do something +naturally repugnant to my feelings, that I +98might have one opportunity of showing him how +much I do love; to give up my very dearest +wish for his pleasure would give me exquisite +joy—a joy that I crave. I do not comprehend +this, dear, but so it is.”

“Oh, I comprehend it, Sophie, perfectly; it is +the very same principle that led the saints +ages ago to scourge and starve themselves to +testify their love to God—God forgive them the +blasphemy! You, Sophie, have a propensity to +worship, and a very decided vocation for martyrdom, +which, unfortunately, under existing circumstances, +I have not!” sneered the scornful +girl.

Sophie’s brow was crimson now, and the tears +swam in her eyes an instant, and she remained +silent. At last she said,

“Hagar, I must go away now; I have some +arrangements to make for old Cumbo before we +go. But before I leave you, Hagar, let me say +again, you love your husband, and he loves you; +he can stifle his affection, you cannot yours; his +will is strong and fixed, yours impulsive and +erratic. Your tastes and habits are in some +respects opposed, and he requires you to conform +yours to his; and, Hagar, you will have to yield—to +love now, or to force, without love, hereafter. +Yield now, dear, yield. There is no +degradation in making a sacrifice to love.”

The high-spirited girl turned flashing around +upon her—pride and scorn seemed sparkling, +scintillating from face and figure, by glance and +gesture.

“Yes, there is degradation in sacrificing freedom +to love—freedom to anything but God’s +law!”

Sophie paused, as if in doubt whether to go +on, or to return and speak again. Finally she +went out.

Rosalia returned that evening, accompanied +by Gusty and the Buncombes. The family expected +to leave Heath Hall the next morning, +after an early breakfast. The Buncombes were +to remain all night to see them off, and to shut +up the house after their departure. Rosalia +happened soon to perceive the cloud upon Hagar’s +brow, and watching her attentively, saw +that there was something wrong between her +and Raymond; and the simple girl, remarking +that her brow was angry and his serene, assumed +immediately that he was the injured party, and +so, through her benevolence, it happened quite +naturally that her voice and smile softened into +more than kindliness, into sisterly affection as +she frequently addressed him. What a contrast +to Hagar’s dark brow, curled lip, and bitter +tones! It was morning and midnight, sunshine +and storm, discord and harmony, fierceness and +gentleness, scorn and reverence, hate and love—I +had nearly said Heaven and Hell contrasted.

That evening! To Hagar it was an evening +to remember, to date from. While she sat +there watching the innocent, the childlike maiden, +with her gentle beauty and winning grace, +smiling so sweetly, kindly, in Raymond’s face, +lighting his countenance up with real and not +conventional smiles, her mind flew back to the +past, and all her childhood came before her; +she recalled the day of Rosalia’s arrival at the +Hall, and recollected how, from that day, she +had drawn away all the love of the household +from herself; she remembered that lately +Augustus May had well nigh adored her, until +the beauty and tenderness of Rosalia stole his +heart away—and now! now! now!—oh “that +way madness lay”—she watched them covertly +through her tortured eyes, and with a gnawing +pain at the heart—distinct as any physical pain, +sharp as though a scorpion living there stung it +to agony. Thus the seeds of evil, sown in her +heart ten years before, were springing up into a +thorn tree, that, lacerating her own bosom, +should wound all near her. And Rosalia, too, +with all her sweet, endearing qualities, she was +vain, and often selfish. It was difficult to perceive +this in the dear girl whose caressing hands +and tender eyes seemed always pleading for +your love.

The next morning early the family assembled at +the breakfast-table for the last time at Heath Hall. +And that last breakfast was over, and they arose +and went down to the beach under the promontory, +where the packet lay already laden with +their personal effects. They reached the water’s +edge, took an affectionate leave of Emily and +Mr. Buncombe, entered the boat that lay waiting +to receive them, and were rowed to the +packet. As soon as she had seen them safely +embarked, and the vessel on her way, Emily +took her husband’s arm, saying,

“Come, let us return; we have enough to do +to close up everything at the Hall, for one day.”

The packet wended on her way, in time reaching +Baltimore, where another vessel, bound for +New York, received them.

At the end of a week from leaving Churchill’s +Point, they arrived safely in New York harbor, +where the U. S. store-ship Rainbow waited to +receive Captain Wilde and his party.

Before entering upon the new scenes and +deeper life of our story, let me recall distinctly +the facts of history, and daguerreotype a set of +pictures upon which the sun shone on Saturday, +the 28th of September, 18—. First:

On Saturday, the 28th of September, the sun +shone down on the waters of the Chesapeake +Bay, as they washed sleepily up towards the +shore; on the lazy and shabby little village of +Churchill’s Point, with its steep-roofed old houses, +with its small interests and dead-alive look; +upon the burnished surface of the heath bronzing +under the dry heat; upon the changing foliage +of the distant forest dropping its leaves—and the +sun shone down warm and still upon the dark red +crumbling walls, the closed doors and boarded +windows of the old Hall, and the tall dark poplar +trees that waved like funeral plumes around it. Old +Cumbo sat in the kitchen door, with the accustomed +red handkerchief tied over her white and +woolly hair, while her face, black, hard, and +seamed with wrinkles, like an Indian walnut, +was bent over her work, the tying up of dried +herbs—fit guardian of such a desolation. It +was a still, deserted scene, filled with low sad +music—the waters moaned as they washed the +shore—the wind sighed in the distant forest, and +99rushing over the heath, wailed through the poplar +trees that rocked to and fro round the deserted +house. Nature seemed to mourn the loss of the +joyous worshipper, the exultant young life that +had vanished from the scene. Keep this picture +in your mind for a while, for years passed and +brought no change, but change of seasons, to it.

The same morning the sun shone upon the +Grove, refulgent in its still autumn glory, and +falling upon the dry leaves and red berries of the +rose trees, stole into the quiet parlor of the Cottage, +still glittering in its sober, polished steel-like +splendor, and smiled a morning smile upon +the parson and his calm wife, sitting within. +They were seated at opposite sides of a round +table. The parson with his manuscript upon a +small portable writing-desk, busy in correcting +his sermons for the next day, while he carried on +a desultory chat with his wife. Emily with her +work-box before her, embroidering a very minute +cap, and sustaining at her leisure her part in the +quiet conversation. There they sat with no +children to bind them together, yet loving and +contented as a pair of partridges. They could +not work apart, and the parson had abandoned +his well appointed study and handsome writing-table, +and Emily had forsaken her elegant workstand, +and he had brought his manuscript, and +she had brought her sewing to the small, round +table, large enough, though, for the convenience +of loving partners. And every day as soon as +he arose, the sun looked full through the front +window and laughed good morning, and every +evening he glanced obliquely through the end +window and smiled good night, with a promise +to return. Remember this picture also, dear +reader; for years passed away and brought no +change to the Buncombes, except a baby to Emily, +a little girl, born when she was thirty-seven, and +two grey hairs to the parson, which Emily +kissed when she saw them.

The sun arose the same day upon the harbor, +shipping, and city of New York, upon Brooklyn +and its Navy Yard, and upon the store-ship Rainbow +stationed there, and shining down upon the +snowy sails, the well polished deck, the varnished +tarpaulin hats and blue jackets of the sailors, the +red coats and glittering bayoneted muskets of +the marines, upon the flashing epaulets of the +officers, at last stole down the gangway into +the captain’s cabin, where around an elegantly +appointed breakfast sat our party from Heath +Hall, in the following order: Sophie at the +head of the table, blushingly doing the honors +of the coffee and tea—on her left sat Hagar, +with Raymond by her side—on her right sat +Rosalia, and next below her Gusty; then came +several young officers of the crew, and at the +foot of the table Captain Wilde presided over +the dish before him. It was a novel sight and +scene for our visitors. Hagar’s lightning eyes +and apprehension had taken in all the wonders +of the ship at a glance, and she had no more to +learn and nothing to wonder at. Sophie seemed +to defer her curiosity and govern her glances, +until the absence of her guests and the settlement +of herself and effects, gave her full opportunity +of satisfying it. But Rosalia seemed as though +her eyes would never weary of wandering over +the strange new scene. Captain Wilde was in +the finest spirits, as well he might be; Raymond +serene as usual—but poor Gusty looked cloudy. +A disappointment had overshadowed him. +Another passed-midshipman was appointed to the +Rainbow, and he was ordered to sea, and to +sail in five weeks, for a voyage of three years. +So Gusty was cast down, as well he might be. +Rosalia, with her sweet benevolence, was doing +all that in her lay to soothe and comfort him. +She promised to marry him when he came +back; she would have promised anything in the +world to have raised his spirits; and she continued +to remind him that at least they had five +weeks to spend together yet—a long, long time, +she said; and at last Gusty got over the first +shock of his disappointment, and became cheerful. +Forget this picture as quickly as you +please, for it changed and vanished like the +shifting combinations of the kaleidoscope, and +was never re-produced.

Immediately after breakfast, Raymond and +Hagar took leave of their friends, and entered a +steamboat bound up the river.

The sun was setting on the evening of the +third day from their departure from New York, +as Mr. and Mrs. Withers stood upon the deck +of the steamboat Venture, and watched the +approach of a village on the eastern bank of the +Hudson. It was a village of considerable +importance as to size, and of great beauty of +locality. Nearly all the houses were painted +white, and nestled in and out among the trees +and hills. Many of their windows faced the +river, and flashed back the golden fire of the +setting sun. While Hagar watched the distant, +but fast approaching village, Raymond called +her attention to a mansion-house on the same +side of the river, and which being some quarter +of a mile below the village, was now quite +opposite to them. Hagar turned and gazed +with all a rustic’s admiration, at the splendid +mansion. Let me describe it as she then saw it. +It stood half way up a forest-covered hill, which +formed a background to the oblong square front +of white freestone, with its eight upper windows +and four lower windows separated by the handsome +marble portico, and blazing in the sunbeams, +presented to the view.

“It is called ‘The Rialto,’ and belongs to a +gentleman who is now travelling.”

“It has been shut up a long time, and left in +100the care of a porter who lives at the gate, but +at the time I was last in this neighborhood, +which, Hagar, was when I was returning, +recalled by you, the house was undergoing +repairs, cleaning, painting, &c., preparing for +the reception of the owner, who was about to be +married and bring home his young bride. I +suppose by this time the coverings are all +removed from the furniture, pictures, &c., that +everything is in perfect readiness for the reception +of the master.”

While he spoke the sun sank below the horizon, +and the blaze faded from the long windows of +the villa just as the boat shot past. In ten more +minutes she had reached the village of W——.

Mr. Withers conducted his wife to the nearest +hotel, and leaving her there, returned to attend +to his baggage.

Hagar sought a bed-chamber with a view of +arranging her dress and smoothing her hair, that +had been ruffled by the river breeze.

What were Hagar’s feelings now that she was +launched alone with her husband, out into a +strange new scene? With one who was to be +her constant companion for perhaps fifty or +sixty years—for Hagar was but eighteen, and +Raymond twenty-eight. High spirited, but +forgiving, her fiery anger had expended itself long +since, and her pride was quiet, as nothing new +occurred to alarm it. But another feeling was +alarmed and aroused—her latent and deep-seated +jealousy—in a silent but deadly fear of losing +value in his estimation by comparison with the +beautiful and gentle Rosalia, she had lost something +of her proud self-confidence. Besides, +severed from the home and friends of her childhood, +from all early habits and associations; in +a new and untried scene, a stranger and alone +with him, she felt her dependence upon him—all +this, and the deep, strong, and exclusive love +she bore him, conspired with another circumstance +to soften the fierceness of her spirit, and +tame the wildness of her manners. Hagar +arranged her travelling dress, and smoothed her +glossy ringlets, and sat down by the window to +watch the coming of Raymond. Could you +have seen her then you would have loved her for +the new and strange tenderness shining softly +in her eyes, and blushing faintly through her +cheeks and lips as she leaned her face upon her +hand, while her elbow rested on the window-sill. +At last the quick light step of Raymond was +heard upon the stairs, and he entered, saying—

“Yes, and impatient to see our little home, +dear Raymond—for a sweet little home I +suppose it will be, to accord with your salary.”

He smiled and drew her arm in his, led her +down stairs, and through the principal entrance +to where a carriage stood before the door. A +coachman sat upon the box; a footman in livery +stood holding the door open; Raymond handed +her in, followed her, and took a seat by her side. +The footman put up the steps, closed the door, +and sprang up behind. The carriage was driven +off. It rolled through the village, and leaving +its lights behind, entered a broad but dark forest +road.

He drew her head down upon his bosom, and +smoothing back her hair, kissed her forehead and +then her lips; he seemed more inclined to caress +than to converse, so she asked him no more +questions then. He seemed to love her so tenderly +and truly now, that she no longer defied +him. And she was sinking into a sort of luxurious +repose—which, we hope, may last. The +carriage had been winding up a wooded hill, +where the branches of the tall trees met overhead, +so that Hagar, looking out, could scarcely +see the stars glimmer through the foliage; at +last it emerged from the woods and stopped; the +steps were let down, the door opened. Raymond +sprang out and held his hand to assist Hagar; +then conducted her through a wide gate. It was +dark, and she could see only trees, with glimpses +of sward between them; and off to her left flitting +in and out glimpses of a white house, whose +size and shape it was impossible to detect. Their +path formed a half circle and ascended; presently +emerging from it, they stood before a large and +elegant mansion, whose appearance corresponded +with that of the villa she had so much admired on +her way up the river. He led her up the broad +marble stairs that led to the front door—opened +the door, from which a flood of light poured, +letting go her hand, stepped in before her, +turned, opened his arms, and said, in a voice of +deep emotion,

“Come, dear Hagar! Let me welcome you +to your long, future home—welcome! welcome! +dear wife, to arms, and bosom, and home.”

Hagar threw herself into his embrace, and then +he led her through a door opening from the left +into a superb drawing-room, furnished in the old, +gorgeous style, with a rich Turkey carpet “that +stole all noises from the feet,” with crimson velvet, +gold fringed curtains hanging from the windows, +and opposite from the lofty arch that divided +the front from the back room; with heavy +chairs and sofas, whose crimson coverings harmonized +with the curtains; with crystal mirrors +reaching from ceiling to floor; with rare paintings +from the old masters; with costly and curious +lamps, whose light glowing through the stained +glass shades upon the crimson appointments of +the room, diffused a rich, subdued refulgence +through the scene. Raymond led Hagar to one +of the deep arm-chairs, and seating her, pulled +the bell-rope. The door opened, and the footman +who had attended them, stood a step within +the room.

The man bowed and withdrew. Soon the +door again opened, and a small, elderly woman, +in a black silk dress and a neat cap, made her +appearance.

“My dear Hagar, this is our housekeeper—the +excellent Mrs. Collins—she will show you your +dressing-room; you will find your trunks all +there, or near at hand, and will have ample time +to change your travelling dress before supper, +and we have still a long evening before us. To-morrow +I will take you over the house,” said +he, in a low voice, as Mrs. Collins approached +them—then, “Be so good as to show Mrs. +101Withers to her rooms, Mrs. Collins,” he said +aloud, and the nice little woman smiled, withdrew, +reappeared with a lamp, and conducted +our Hagar, silently wondering, through the passage +and up the broad staircase to a front room +immediately over the drawing-room. It was a +large, light, airy room, with two tall front windows +curtained with white dimity, between which +stood a dressing-table with a tall, swinging mirror. +At the opposite end of the room was a +mahogany door leading into her bed-chamber, +and on each side of the door stood two large, +tall mahogany wardrobes; the coverings of the +lounge, easy chair, &c., were white, and the +walls were covered with paper of a white ground, +over which ran a vine of green leaves, with here +and there a small, scarlet flower. The carpet +on the floor was of the same cheerful pattern; +the room had an inexpressibly clean, pure, and +fragrant character. Placing her keys in the +hands of Mrs. Collins, Hagar requested her to +unpack, and arrange her wardrobe, and then proceeded +to make her toilet. And Hagar resolving +to look her best, to do honor to the first evening +passed with her husband in their own home, +arranged her beautiful ringlets in their most becoming +fall, arrayed herself in rich amber-colored +satin, and clasped topaz bracelets on her arms—rubies +and topazes were the only jewels Hagar +owned—the only ones in fact that her Egypt +complexion would bear. Her present dress and +ornaments harmonized beautifully with her dark +complexion, while her jetty brows, black eyes +and eye-lashes, and long, black, glittering ringlets, +relieved the amber-hued complexion and +dress from sameness. She descended to the +drawing-room, at the door of which Raymond +received her, led her smiling to the sofa, and +took a seat beside her, just as the crimson curtains +were drawn each side from the centre of the +arch, exposing a small, but elegant supper-table, +with covers for two. Raymond arose, and offering +his arm again with a smile, said—

“You see I have to do all the honors of reception +and introduction, dear Hagar;” and +passing to the other room, placed her at the head +of the table, before a glittering tea service of +elegantly-chased silver, and of Sevres porcelain. +“I see that you are wondering, Hagar, to find +me in possession of a comfortable home; suspend +your curiosity, dearest, until after supper, +when I will make the very simple explanation.”

And after supper, when they were seated together +in the drawing-room, he said—

“I am not wealthy, which is the second mistake +which you have made about me; neither +am I poor, as you supposed when you married +me, dear girl. This house, just as it is, was the +country-seat of my grandfather, General Raymond, +who, holding a high office under the +Government, was in the receipt of an ample +income that enabled him to keep up this style of +living. This income of course died with him. +This house, with its grounds of about twenty-five +acres, and a small amount of bank stock, was +left to me. That money was withdrawn and +profitably invested, and its proceeds bring me an +annual amount equal to the salary I receive for +conducting the Newton School. It is true that +it will take every cent of my salary to support +this style. And if you ask me, Hagar, why I, a +young professor, choose to live in a princely +house, with a complete establishment of servants, +I tell you that it is not from ostentation—you +know me to be too really proud for that—but +from a constitutional love and necessity of luxury. +I told you before that my senses were keen +and delicate—I had almost said intellectual—not +strong, or gross. Forms and colors must be +agreeably contrasted, or harmoniously blended +and grouped for my eye; sounds must be music, +or those that are not must come subdued through +the hushings of soft carpets and velvet curtains; +all scents, but the scent of fresh and growing +flowers, must be kept far from the rooms I occupy; +my table must be supplied with food delicate +and nutritious; and lastly, nothing but soft or +elastic substances must come in contact with my +touch—at least in my home.”

“But how, with your delicate tastes, can you +bear your school-room?” asked Hagar.

“My school-room, lecture rooms, hall, &c., +among which I pass just five hours a day, are +each large, airy, clean, and bare; that is, bare +of every article of furniture not strictly necessary; +so that if there is nothing to delight, there is +nothing to offend—for the rest, you know that +teaching is my vocation, my passion. I give +myself fully up to it during the hours of instruction, +and when they are over, I return with revived +relish for the luxuries of home—enjoyments +that would pall upon the taste if they were not +relieved by their absence during the hours of intellectual +labor, which goes on in another place, +and which is itself another keen enjoyment of a +different and higher order; as it is, each relieves +and enhances the other.”

“But why,” asked Hagar, “keep so many +and such expensive servants, to wait on two +young people who are not rich?”

“For many reasons, Hagar; for one thing it +requires all of them, each in his or her appropriate +place, to keep the house in the perfect order we +wish, and in the second, I like to receive the +services and veneration—not of Colonel A, B, +and C, or Judge D, E, or F, but of people who +live with me—by the way, remember that, love.”

“But then,” persisted Hagar, “why keep Mrs. +Collins, whose salary must be large?”

“But you shall not, dear Hagar. You are +the lady of the mansion; but forget the house. +I could not bear to see your brow corrugated by +the thousand and one cares of housekeeping, or +to have you come near me with the odor of pantries +or stove-rooms hanging about you, for I +should be sure to detect it through any disguise +of perfume; and that is the great reason why I +keep Mrs. Collins. You have nothing to do +with the house, love. Cultivate your beauty, +Hagar; refine it; you have nothing else to do, +except to take lessons on the harp, which lessons +and practice will help to fill up the hours of my +absence, Hagar; for indeed, love, I think it would +give me a brain fever to hear your unpractised +fingers strumming discord in my ears.”

“Will you permit me to inquire,” asked Hagar, +“why, with your sensitive, delicate, and +luxurious tastes, you could fancy”—

He raised her from the sofa, and turning +102around, faced the full length mirror that occupied +the space between the two windows behind +it.

“Look at your reflection, Hagar,” her eyes +and color raised at the same moment. “You +are a little dark, sparkling creature, your effect +is exhilarating. A languishing beauty in these +languishing rooms would have been softness to +flatness. Are not the perfumes more piquant +when conveyed through the medium of spirits of +wine? You are just l’esprit that gives life to all +this soft luxury; and look again, Hagar—survey +yourself—see, this amber dress and amber complexion +suit well together; and this is harmony. +Suppose your hair was of the same hue, then the +tout ensemble would be dull, flat, wearisome. +But your ringlets fall black and glittering upon +the amber-hued neck and bosom, and this is +contrast. Thus contrast and harmony form +the perfection of your toilet.”

“I am sure I never thought of that,” said +Hagar, “when wishing to do honor to your fine +house I put on a fine dress: but now I suppose—though +I do not care to have my mind skewered +down to such trifles—I must think a little more +of it, as I suspect that in this grand house you +receive grand company sometimes.”

“Never, Hagar; how do you suppose I could +afford it? for if I received grand company I +should be invited to grand dinners, and have to +give them in return, and that would disturb the +luxurious repose of our house and life—no, Hagar, +I am too self-indulgent to be ostentatious, +or even hospitable. I like everything upon +velvet, all downy, reposing, silent, or breathing +low music”—

“Not always excepting you—I like your spirit +tempered a little—thus—look again into the mirror, +Hagar; I said your glittering blue-black +ringlets, smoothed and gemmed as they are, form +an agreeable contrast to the harmony of your +dress; but now suppose that black hair hung in +the wild elf locks of the little savage of the +heath, as I first knew her—would that be agreeable +any way?—no—well! govern—as it were, +smoothe and gem your piquancy; in a word, use +your wildness as you do your hair,” and they +turned and reseated themselves.

The next morning, after breakfast, Raymond +took her all over the house; there were two +floors besides the basement and attic—on each +floor four large rooms handsomely furnished. +Through the middle of each floor ran a hall, +from front to back, dividing the rooms in pairs; +on the lower floor on the left hand side of the +hall were the drawing-room and dining-room we +have seen them use on the first evening of their +arrival; on the right hand side was a large saloon, +once used for balls, but now closed as useless. +He took her through the grounds, all +handsomely laid out; a vineyard on the right, a +kitchen garden in the middle, and an orchard on +the left, occupying the ground behind the house, +and further behind ascended the wooded hills. +A smooth lawn descending the hill towards the +river, was dotted here and there with trees, which +were now dropping their leaves. The orchard +was laden with the finest fruit—apples, peaches, +pears, &c., under the highest cultivation; the +vineyard rich in clustering grapes, brought to the +nearest possible state of perfection. This was +Wednesday; on the following Monday Raymond +resumed his professional labors, and Hagar wandered +up and down the fine house, with every +part of which she was now quite familiar, very +weary and lonesome. She felt confined, restrained, +and oppressed by her new state. True, +she was still in the country, but not on her wild +heath, with her horse and dogs. This country +was thickly settled, well cultivated, and closely +studded with gentlemen’s seats.

Our dear Sophie, with her quiet adaptiveness, +had easily and gracefully passed from rustic life +into city life, into naval life, without losing any +of her individuality. Her country every-day +dress of brown stuff was now changed for a +brown satin, her seal-skin shoes for patent +morocco slippers, and her muslin collar for one +of fine lace. Her smooth brown hair, instead of +being knotted into a neat twist behind her head, +was arranged in a beautiful braid.

The inevitable knitting-needles had to be +plied, in sad old hall or in gay new state room; +they were a part of Sophie, and she could as +well have dispensed with her fingers; they were +necessary to keep time with the music of +Sophie’s serene temperament—only now they +knit silken nets and purses instead of woollen +socks. This was all the change you could +perceive in Sophie, looking at her half across +the cabin; but if you went and sat down beside +her, you would then see that her eye was bright, +her cheek lively, and her lip fresh, with an +inward and emanating joy. She sat quiet +enough in her cabin, with Rosalia seated on a +cushion by her side. Rosalia loved cushions +and low seats, where she could sit and loll upon +Sophie lazily and lovingly, like a petted baby-girl, +as she was. And Sophie loved to have her +there with her golden hair floating over her lap. +Sometimes, tired of repose, Rosalia would bring +out her portfolio or sketch book, embroidery +frame or guitar, or pursue some of the thousand +occupations by which girls contrive to destroy +time. These were during the morning hours +before it was time to dress for dinner, where +Captain Wilde received daily, several of the +officers. They (Sophie and Rosalia) were quiet +enough, yet Captain Wilde seemed to be haunted +with a fear that some hour he should wake from +a dream, and find his happiness vanished into +thin air, by the number of times while on deck, +that he would come to the gangway, and looking +down upon his treasures, exclaim gladly, “Oh! +you are there!”

Most frequently Gusty May made a third in +the cabin, his impetuous mirth rattling along like +thunder, and then suddenly smothered with a +sigh like a big sough of wind in the sails, and +sometimes darkened by great clouds between his +103eyes and nose that threatened rain; nay, sometimes +as he looked at Rosalia’s serene joy +the rain-drops would gather in his eyes—though +I have an idea that Gusty would have challenged +any man who would have told him so.

Sometimes when the weather was inviting, +Sophie and Rosalia, attended by Captain Wilde +or Gusty May, or both, would visit the city.

Time glided swiftly away. Two weeks of +Gusty’s visit were over, but three weeks remained +before he would have to go to sea, and the +clouds daily gathered thicker over the Gusty sky, +when one day the young midshipman who had +been appointed to take the post poor Gusty +coveted so much, came on board for the first +time. It was not in Gusty’s large, generous, and +trusting soul, to be easily jealous, neither was +it in his human nature to look indifferently upon +the young officer, who, during his own absence, +was to fill a post near the person of his beloved, +so ardently desired by himself. The staff of +officers on board the ship was small, consisting +of Captain Wilde, Lieutenant Graves, a married +man, solemn and repulsive as his name, a little +freckle-faced midshipman, and now this new +officer, this young passed-midshipman, this +Misther Murphy, as Gusty maliciously emphasized +his title, what was he going to look like? +Gusty wished in his heart that he might be +knock-kneed and cross-eyed. Alas for Gusty! +Mr. Murphy, Mr. Patrick Murphy O’Murphy, a +Southerner of Irish descent—stood six feet six +inches in his boots! had the handsomest leg, the +broadest shoulders, the fullest chest, the blackest +whiskers, and the whitest teeth, in the service. +Alas for Gusty! it was too much! he filled right +up! he could have sobbed, gushed out, liquidated, +deliquesced, fallen upon and overflowed +the shoulders of the first friend that came in his +way, but for his self-esteem that striking up +through all this softness, stiffened and sustained +him! Poor Gusty! he was in the briers until +he could hear what Rosalia thought of “Mister +Murphy,” yet he had an invincible repugnance to +name him to her, and to ask her in so many +words, what she thought of “Mr. Murphy”—no! +thumb-screws would not have wrung such +a question from him! nevertheless he must arrive +at her opinion of “Mr. Murphy,” or die. Mr. +Murphy had been presented to the ladies about +half an hour before dinner, and had dined with the +Captain. After the ladies had retired from the +table and while the gentlemen still lingered over +their wine, Gusty slipped away and followed +them into the cabin. Sophie was away somewhere. +Rosalia was alone. He went up to +her, sat down, and drew her on a seat by his +side. After all sorts of a desultory, wild, and +nonsensical conversation, he suddenly said to her:

“Pshaw! that is just like you. Who is the +handsomest man now you ever saw in your life, +Rosalia?”

“Oh! Captain Murphy, certainly—far the +handsomest person I ever saw in all my life!”

“Oh, he looks like a prince, a king, an emperor, +a demi-god, don’t he? Ain’t he like +Apollo Belvidere, now?”

“Yes, I think he is,” said Rose, quietly, “just +my idea of the Apollo.”

“Oh! don’t swear—please don’t”—pleaded +Rose. “Why do you not like him, dear Gusty? +I do, I like him, and I am sure you ought to +like him because I do—and you ought to be +kind to him because, poor fellow! look at his +melancholy blue eyes—”

“But this is too trying! I be whipped if it +ain’t! I do believe the devil has taken my +affairs under his own particular care! but I won’t +put up with it! I be whipped if I do! I’ll call +this fellow out!”

“Call him out! fight him! thrash him! jump +through him—crush him—grind him—down into +an ink spot, and then erase him!”

“What has he done to you, Gusty, that you +hate him so, and he so beautiful, too?”

This was too much for Rosalia—she had been +growing softer every instant, and now melted +into tears. Then Gusty’s indignation turned +upon himself, called himself a barbarian, a brute, +a monster, and begged Rosy to knock him down. +Rose dried her morning dew tears and smiled +again just as Sophie entered. A week passed +away, and now but two weeks remained of the +visit. A week, during which Gusty had contrived +to circulate around his sun so rapidly and +constantly as to prevent the comet Murphy from +crossing his orbit. Still he was very unhappy +in the idea of leaving his treasure unguarded—had +serious thoughts of throwing up his commission—when +one day on deck the young passed-midshipman, +whom, by the way, he had treated +very coldly at all times, placed himself by his +side, and drawing his arm within his own, began +to promenade the deck, saying,

“Come, my fine fellow! I know all about it, +and may be can do something for you. Wilde +told me all about it—your love—and hopes, and +disappointments, and everything. Now, I am +going to perpetrate a real Irish blunder—going—what +do you think—to sea in your place, and +to let you stay here with this sweet girl—easy—easy, +man! steady! so! hear me out. My +father is a senator from the state of ——, is a +particular friend of the Secretary of War. I +have written to him to get our appointments +reversed. Hush! hush! no gratitude, my dear +fellow, it is all selfishness—Irish selfishness!” +and his blue eyes and white teeth shone radiantly +in the kind smile he turned upon Gusty, and +Gusty, oh! his emotion, his joy, gratitude, and +remorse, is unreportable!—no, not to be set +down against him! At last, to moderate the +raptures of his gratitude, blue eyes and white +teeth assured him that he wished (blue eyes, &c.,) +particularly to visit the port of ——, whither the +ship to which Gusty had been appointed, was +bound, and that therefore he had a selfish reason +104for his seeming generosity. Later in the week, +Gusty became the repository of a love-confidence +from Midshipman Murphy. At the end of the +week the appointments were reversed. Mr. +Murphy was ordered to the Mediterranean, and +Mr. May appointed passed-midshipman of the +good ship Rainbow.

These orders were received early one morning. +In the afternoon Gusty and the young +Irishman were on deck together. They were +great friends, you may rest assured. The following +conversation occurred. Rosalia had +just left them. She had been conversing with +Gusty with all her usual calm and guileless +affection.

“It does me good to think that you will remain +here with that sweet girl, May.”

“Happy! yes, by Jove! I only wish you +knew how devilish ‘happy’ I am,” said Gusty, +with a bitter sneer.

Gusty had one great failing, an inability to +keep his troubles to himself, a propensity to melt +like a snow-drift in the sun at the first sympathy +that shone on him.

“Oh! for the Lord’s sake don’t make fun +of me! don’t! It is no jesting matter!”

“Poor fellow! how he is to be pitied because +a sweet girl annoys him with her love.”

“See here! now don’t! I can’t stand it. +Love me? Yes, she does. She loves her old, +poor blind nurse Cumbo—uncle’s Newfoundland +dog, Juno, and me about in the same proportion, +and in the same manner.”

“Fact I am telling you—listen now again. I +have watched her—have I not? She will +caress me right before her aunt’s face, freely and +calmly as though I were her grandmother—then +dropping her arms from around my neck, she +will call Juno and caress her with equal affection! +and then my uncle, she always runs to +meet him and throws herself in his arms when +he comes! and yourself, you remember how she +received you, with a gentle affectionate welcome, +as though you were an accredited candidate for +a share of her universal love.”

“Certainly, these many weeks, and when I +talk of marriage she blushes and smiles, it is +true, but not with love! only with a bashful +repugnance to make herself a prominent object +of attention as a bride. Yet she tells me she +loves me! Oh, yes, she loves me! and the next +minute she will throw her arms around Juno’s +neck and tell her she loves her! and with equal +fervor. And if ever I complain to her that she +does not love me, she weeps as though I did her +an injury. Nearly three months have I spent +in trying to kindle one spark, to touch one chord +of responsive passion in her bosom. I have +poured my whole soul forth at her feet, and she +looks at me with her calm, sweet eyes, and +wonders at me, I know she does, for a sort of +Orlando Furioso, and drives me nearly distracted +by insisting that she does love me, when +I feel that she does not, or even know what she +is talking about. I would give my commission +to see her blush, tremble, shrink when I caress +her—the devil of it is that she loves me like a +baby loves her grandmother, nor does she dream +of, nor can I awaken her to any other love! +Her affections, her caresses are freely bestowed +upon man, woman, child, or beast alike. I have +never seen her shrink with averted eyes from the +eye or conversation of but one man, and that +was not in the first part of their acquaintance, it +was only just before they parted, and now that I +recall it, great God! it comes up before me in a +new light,” said Gusty, in his impetuosity forgetting +to whom he was talking—“they were +standing where we now stand. I was near +them. He was speaking to her of unimportant +matters, the names of the ships, &c., he was +looking at her. I being on the other side of him +could not see his eyes, but suddenly she raised +her eyes. I felt that she met his—her color +came and went, her bosom rose and fell, then +turning around she held her hand out to me, +with her face averted. I drew it through my +arm and carried her off for a promenade. That +hour I quietly ascribed her disturbance to bashfulness +or fear, but now that I recall it in connexion +with the subject of our conversation, a +new, a dreadful light seems to break over it, but +no! Oh, God! that would be too dreadful!”

Gusty had suddenly grown quite white, and +now the color rushed into his face, crimsoning +his brow, and swelling the veins like cords.

“What man was it, then, that possessed the +power of agitating this calm beauty?”

“Don’t ask me!” broke forth Gusty, “I am +mad! Oh, it is just madness now for me to +dream such horrors! stay, let me hold my +head! Murphy, don’t mind me,—I am crazy! +the girl’s coldness has just set me beside myself!”

They were silent some time, and then Gusty, +suddenly seizing Murphy’s arm, exclaimed,

“Murphy, forget all my raving, will you? I +am a fool! I shall be jealous next of her embroidery +frame!”

It was not so easy to forget his agitation during +the half-confiding of the slight suspicion. +The friends soon after separated.

Gusty went into the cabin. He found Rosalia +happy over a pair of doves, a parting present +left for her by Mr. Murphy.

“Oh, Gusty,” she said, “come look at my +beautiful young doves—this white one is a boy, +and his name is Snowflake, and this silver-grey +one is a girl, and her name is Dewdrop!”

“Umph! two new claimants for a few of the +infinitesimal atoms of your divided heart,” said +Gusty, sitting down beside her. He was indisposed +for conversation,—he was feeling too bitterly +that the profound heart of the beautiful +and gentle girl was still unmoved.

Girls who virtually pledge their affections +where they cannot love, do not so often commit +this grievous error from the authority and +commands of parents or guardians, from the persuasion +of friends, from ambition, or for convenience, +105as from a different, a more amiable, yet +still more improper set of motives, inspired by +benevolence and love of approbation—thus: A +young girl, with the deeps of her heart yet undisturbed, +becomes the object of an ardent admiration—her +vanity is stimulated and gratified—she +may even mistake this pleasure for affection, and +from pure ignorance of her own and her lover’s +nature, and of the misery she may bring upon +herself and others, she continues to receive and +encourage his attentions. His admiration deepens +into love, then her pity is moved, and though +she cannot return the affection, she cannot resist +the suit, and the hand is bestowed without the +heart. As far as my limited experience extends, +I have reason to believe that benevolence, love +of approbation, together with a want of firmness, +mislead more girls into the formation of ill-considered +engagements than any other set of causes +whatsoever.

Something less than a year had passed since +the settlement of Mr. and Mrs. Withers in their +new home. It was now early autumn. Let me +introduce you into that large, beautiful, and fragrant +dressing-room into which Mrs. Collins had +conducted our Hagar upon the first night of her +arrival. The room wears the same pure and +elegant appearance that it presented nearly a +year since—nothing is changed, except by the +addition of one article of furniture—near the +right hand front corner of the room stands a +large rose-wood crib, with beautifully embroidered +thin white muslin curtains drawn around +it. Let us draw back the curtains and look +within—upon a downy pillow, covered with the +finest, smoothest lawn, repose two babes of a +few weeks old; we can only see their beautiful +heads and faces, for their tiny forms are lightly +covered by the white silk eider down quilt. But +look at their sleeping faces, and tell me who +they resemble—their fine blue-black hair looks +like floss silk—we may be sure that their eyes +are black by the slender eye-brows traced like a +black pencil curve, and by the long black lashes +that repose upon the crimson cheeks; look at +the noble foreheads, at the elegant features; look +at the delicate crimson lips, with the spirited +curve of the upper one. They are our Hagar’s +children! would you not have recognised and +claimed them if you had found them in the +wilderness? They are our Hagar’s twins—duplicate +miniatures of herself—and now her bedroom +door opens and she comes in, pacing slowly +in an India muslin wrapper, with her ringlets +glittering down as we used to see them; she +comes and pauses softly, bending over the infant +sleepers. Now, whether it is the reflection of +the white muslin curtains, together with her +white dressing robe, or whether her many months +sedentary in-door life, and her recent illness had +bleached her into a blonde, is not known; but +certainly she is many shades fairer, and much +thinner than when we saw her last; her carnation +cheek has faded to a pale rose tint, her eyes +are not so wild and bright, they are larger, sadder; +instead of a lightning glance, they have +now an earnest gaze; and see while she stoops +over them till the ends of her bright ringlets rest +upon the counterpane, her bosom heaves, her +cheek flushes, her lips glow and open, her eyes +grow bright and brighter, and her soul, pouring +from her countenance, bathes the sleepers in a +libation of love and blessing. How earnest her +eyes are! how devotional her whole air, as her +lips move in silent heart-worship! Now the +passage door opened, and Raymond enters, going +up to his wife’s side; he stood contemplating +the children in silence, until she took his hand, +and drawing his arm around her waist, turned +and buried her face passionately in his bosom, +while her ringlets fell over his circling arms. +Then raising her head, she pointed to the sleeping +infants, and exclaimed with enthusiasm,

“Yes, love, yes—but you have asked me that +question every few days for the last month, and +I have always answered you in the same words; +when they grow ugly, love, I will tell you.”

Hagar’s eyes were again turned on her children—her +soul was again bathing them with love.

“Shall I not have to grow jealous of these +little girls, who take up so much of your time +and thoughts, love?”

“Jealous of these children? of these children +who make me love you?” exclaimed Hagar, +embracing him fervently. “Oh! my husband! so +much more than ever I loved you before! they +have deepened and widened my love. Ah, my +own! my own Raymond—try my love now, +and see how much stronger its texture is—it will +bear a great deal of pulling now, Raymond—ask +me to give up anything now, Raymond, and +see if I make a fuss about my pride and dignity—my +pride! as if I could set up a separate establishment +of pride—and my dignity, as if I could +not trust it in your keeping, Raymond, dear Raymond!—as +if I could have a separate interest or +a separate will—but you loved the unblessed +maiden—will you not love more, a great deal +more, the blessed mother—say, Raymond! say!” +Her ardent soul, inspired by her passionate affections, +was kindling into exalted enthusiasm, and +glowing through all the features of her beautiful +face; breaking through and bearing down all +screens of reserve or pride. “Say, Raymond! +say! oh, I love you so much now—I crave such +a fulness of return—say, Raymond! say, how +much more than the unblessed maiden do you +love the doubly blessed mother?”

“My Hagar!” said he, softly, “try to be calm, +love; moderate your enthusiasm, get used to +your joy; these children have been with you +long enough for that.”

“Ah! but every time I look at them again a +new joy breaks up from the bottom of my heart—just +as though they were newly given me. +And then to think that there are two—so perfectly +beautiful—two! God not satisfied to give us +one, gives us two. Oh, blessed be God! When +I forget to thank, to worship Him, may these +dear ones forget me. Two!” said she, panting, +and taking breath, while her color came and +106went—“two love-angels!—and so perfectly beautiful—and +so perfectly alike—and so loving! +look, Raymond!” and she turned down the +counterpane, “see, lay them as I will, in a few +minutes they are sure to attract each other, to +subside together, as it were, until shoulder touches +shoulder and cheek meets cheek.” And then +she placed their little hands together softly, without +waking them, her lips parted and glowed +over them an instant, she kissed them lightly +and covered them again. “And oh, what a +charge! God has given me two pure angels to +guard from contamination! I must pray more; +I must pray a great deal; I must get the Lord +to take me into his confidence about these children, +these cherubs. Oh, thank, dearest, thank +the Lord for the gift of these two spotless angels, +and pray, pray that we may be enabled to present +them before his throne, pure as we received +them from his hands.” Her face was inspired, +was radiant with love, awe, and worship, as she +continued, “I receive these babes as the deposit +of a special trust from God; he has given me +two of his own most beautiful children, shall I +not try to be worthy of his confidence? Yes! +yes! my two angels,” said she, bending over +them again. “How beautiful are the works of +his hands! Raymond, do but look how perfectly +beautiful they are! These little black, silky +heads; these fine brows and delicate features.”

“They are duplicate copies. I cannot tell +one from the other by the closest examination.”

“Can you not, indeed, now—oh ! it is easy—I +never made a mistake about them; this is Agnes +and this is Agatha, you know.” And then she +began to point out some infinitesimal marks of +distinction, that none but a mother’s eye could +possibly have detected. “Now do you not +see?”

“Or tie some badge upon the eldest, that I +may know them apart,” smiled Raymond, shaking +his head with all its golden waves.

“And you are so handsome, Raymond!” exclaimed +she, clasping his form, and burying her +face again in his bosom. “And, oh! are we +not happy? are we not God-blessed—are we not +so entirely united—can we have an interest or a +wish apart now? Oh, dearest Raymond, through +all the ages of eternity you and I—are we not +one?”

“Dear love, be quiet, you talk so much,” +said he, softly and smilingly lifting her head from +his bosom.

“Talk! oh! how can I help it, dearest Raymond, +when my God-given life and love grows +too strong for suppression? I have seen the +emotions of other women escape in quiet tears +of joy, but I am not given to tears, you know; +there is too much fire in my composition—oh! +how can I help talking, Raymond? I must +speak or consume, Raymond! Does not the +horse neigh for joy when he feels his strong life—and +what volumes of music, filling earth and +sky, the little bird throws from his tiny chest for +joy; the flowers bloom for joy; the trees wave +for joy; the streams run for joy; the cataract +leaps over its rocky precipice with a shout of +joy; nay, the earth—the earth whirls around +the sun in a reel of joy; and shall I, shall I with +all this God-given life, this love, this joy, this +gladness, this glory, kindling, burning, and glowing, +striking up from my bosom—shall I suppress +it? turning back to cold silence and ingratitude? +No, Father. No, angels. No, husband. No, +children. You shall hear how happy I am in +the worship of joy!—in the worship of joy!”

You might see the fire of her ardent soul, as +the flame glowed upon her lips, wavered over +her crimson cheek, and shot in radiant glances +from her eyes, as she spoke; now gazing with +rapt inspiration on her children; now turning, +and fervently embracing her husband, with a +pure, though passionate love!

“Oh, Raymond, now I understand the enthusiasm +of camp-meetings; the ecstasy of conversion. +Say they sometimes fall, or seem to fall, +from grace, from bliss; why that is human, that +is natural; the spring sometimes backslides into +winter for days, yet we do not upon that account +deny the presence of spring, or the approach of +summer; both seasons, summer to the year, +sanctification to the soul—with all impediments, +all relapses and collapses; all weaknesses and +falls; all wanderings and retrogradings—still +advance—on! and up! under the guidance of +Divinity.”

“You are strangely changed, Hagar—not in +your individuality, but in your proportions—from +the positive of wild to the superlative of +wildest.”

“I am not wilder. Oh, Raymond! my life is +deeper, higher, broader, fuller—for these children, +for these messengers from Heaven. Let my +heart sing its song of joy. Oh, Raymond! when +we are unhappy, even when we ourselves have +brought the unhappiness upon us, the calmest of +us cry out in tones of grief, bitterness, and reproach, +‘God! God!’ and no one complains of +its extravagance! Shall we not, when we are +blessed and happy, sing in tones of grateful rapture, +‘God! God!’”

“You must be quiet, love! be calm. I just +looked in to bid you good morning before going +out. Shall you be able to come down into the +drawing-room this evening?”

The lamps were lighted in the drawing-room. +Hagar was seated at her piano, practising a piece +of new music. She was attired with taste and +elegance in a crimson satin, that the coolness of +the evening rendered appropriate at this season. +Her hair was gemmed and braided so that the +long ringlets held away from her cheeks and +brow fell behind. In the first months of their +marriage it had been Raymond’s pleasure to have +her elegantly attired to receive him in the evening, +and of late, it had grown into a habit and +a necessity to herself. She sat now awaiting +him. Presently he entered softly, and she arose, +sprung, and then, with a sudden thought, controlled +her eagerness, and went quietly to meet +him. When he had saluted her, and they were +seated, she blushingly unrolled a piece of manuscript +music, and said,

107“See here, dear Raymond! I have got something +here for you, something that you will like, +something that you will glory in. I did not know +until to-day that I could compose music; did +not even suspect that I could; but to-day my +soul has been so full of music, so bursting with +music, that it has found expression! The hallelujahs +of Christopher Smart, the very poet of +worship, were resounding through my spirit ears; +I wished to sing them, had to sing them. I +came down here, and seating myself before the +piano, struck the keys, and in a fit of inspiration, +set them to music—here is the music. I could +not do it again; and now the music is infinitely +inferior to the words. Oh! the words are sublime—a +splendid pageant—a magnificent march +of grand and gorgeous imagery, that nothing but +an intellect inspired by love, and exalted by +worship to a power of conception and expression +that men call insanity, could have produced. +They called him mad! and shut him up in the +narrow cell of a lunatic asylum, debarring him +the use of books, pens, and ink; but even there +the jubilant soul found expression. With a rusty +nail upon the white-washed walls of his cell, he +wrote his glorious ‘Song of David,’ worthy to +be bound up with the psalms of David. It is +from this song that I have taken out these words +that I have set to music. Oh! how I wish some +great master would set them. Hear my attempt, +Raymond, and worship with me through the +words.”

She went and seated herself at the piano. He +followed and stood leaning over her chair. She +played an inspiring prelude, and then her voice +broke forth in sudden rapture that filled with +volume as it soared, until the very atmosphere +seemed inspired with life, became sentient and +vocal, and shuddered with the burden of the +grand harmony it bore!

The music shuddering, fell into silence. She +remained rapt in ecstasy long after the last notes +subsided, and until Raymond, laying his hand +softly on her head, said,

“Hagar! this will not do, love; you excite +yourself too much—the action is too high—your +system is getting to be all blood—fever—fire.”

“Oh! is it not grand, this song? Does any +psalm of David transcend it; does any hymn of +Watts come up to it?”

“It is grand, sublime, stunning—and I do not +like to be stunned, you know, love! Besides, I +am afraid you are not very far from the state +and fate of its author, wild Hagar! wild in your +love, wild in your worship, and wild in your devotions, +as once in your mad revels. Will you +never grow tame? Never, I believe unless your +heart be broken.”

“And must the poor heart be knocked on the +head, before it can behave itself to please people? +That was the song of boding ever sung to me by +Sophie and by Emily, when I grew too happy to +contain myself. Now, why must my heart be +broken? What harm has it done that it must +be broken? The Lord will not break it, I feel +sure; nay, if my fellow creatures in their error +break it, my Father will bind it up again. But +now, then, dear Raymond, what does it all +mean?”

“It means, Hagar, that by a happy exemption +from illness, grief, or temptation, in fact from +all the common miseries of human nature, you +have grown arrogant in your joy, and hence your +jubilant spirit.”

“Have I been so exempted! ‘The heart +knoweth its own bitterness;’ but I will not recall +past human wrongs, in the midst of present Divine +blessings.”

“Your past wrongs, like your present blessings, +are greatly exaggerated by imagination, +Hagar—but here is supper,” said he, arising and +giving her his arm, just as the crimson curtains +were noiselessly withdrawn from the arch, displaying +the glittering service awaiting them.

This was the last day of Hagar’s Worship of +Joy. The Baptism of Grief—the Worship of +Sorrow—did she dream that such could be?

The next evening when Raymond returned +home, he placed in the hands of his wife an open +letter, addressed to herself in Sophie’s hand-writing. +A year ago, Hagar would have fiercely +resented this cool violation of her seal—now her +soul was too large and joyous to cavil about her +personal dignity, or even to think about it at all. +Pressing and kissing the hand that brought her +the letter, she sat down to read it. It was +short. Our dear Sophie was no scribe. It ran +thus:

“Dearest Hagar,—We, Augustus and myself, wish +you and Raymond much joy of your young daughters. +We gladly accept your affectionate invitation to visit +you, and shall be with you on the first of November. +Not, however, as you kindly insist upon our doing, to +remain with you for any length of time. The fact is, +that Captain Wilde is ordered to the Mediterranean; +and as I have no babies to prevent me, I am going out +with him: it is his wish, and mine. We cannot take +Rosalia with us, because being still ‘afraid of the water,’ +she refuses to go. Gusty has been ordered to the +same service, and will sail of course at the same time. +He will accompany us on our visit to you, as also of +course will Rosalia. If you can keep Rosalia, we wish +to leave her with you—if not, we shall be compelled to +take the dear girl to the South, and place her in charge +of her future mother-in-law, Emily Buncombe. In +either case, Captain Wilde wishes to be held responsible +for her board and all other expenses—as we have +108resolved to leave her small patrimony untouched, to +accumulate at compound interest. Once more accept +our heartfelt congratulations, and believe me always

Hagar’s hands, with her letter, dropped upon +her lap, and she fell into thought.

“You will write by the return mail, and accept +the charge of your cousin, Hagar?”

He did not observe it, or appear to observe it, +and continued, “And when you write, Hagar, +give them gently to understand that their hint +concerning the payment of board was a little +impertinent, to say the least, even if it were not, +as I hope and wish to believe it was not, a piece +of intentional arrogance on the part of Captain +Wilde.”

“I can tell them it was unnecessary. But I +am sure no arrogance was meant or felt—how +could they be arrogant towards us! If they +spoke to us of payment, they made the mistake +in the simple, straightforward spirit of their +hearts, unsuspicious of the chance of giving offence; +but,” said she, pondering, “I wonder +when Rosalia and Gusty are to be married. +Sophie has not given me the least idea of the +time.”

“Rosalia is yet too young, not quite seventeen, +I believe; and Gusty not yet twenty—both are +too young; three years from the time of their +engagement, that is two years hence, was the +period assigned for their marriage, was it not?”

“Yes,” said Hagar, and then, suddenly, she +exclaimed, “You recollect these details better +than I do; you have a good memory, Raymond.”

Hagar fell deeper into thought, then sank into +gloom. Was it the natural reaction of so much +and such great excitement? Was it the rational +sorrow at the thought of soon parting with +Sophie, knowing her to be bound for a long and +perilous sea voyage? Was it either or all these +causes combined, that oppressed her heart and +darkened her countenance?

Reader, it was none of these things. A +dread of the winsome beauty’s approach, a dread, +not reasonable enough to justify her in opposing +the measure—a dread for which she blamed +herself, yet a dread that she could not shake off—a +dread that fell dark on her brow, and struck +cold to her bosom. A deep, up-piercing instinct; +will it rise through the stages of doubt, suspicion, +to jealousy in all its phrensy? The sin sown +and nurtured by the wrongs of her neglected +infancy, her besetting sin and sorrow—not dead, +but long coiled in serpent-torpor in the bottom +of her heart now revives, now rears its head.

“Come, love, write your letter now before +tea, so that it may go out in this evening’s mail,” +were the words that aroused her from her abstraction, +and she arose and left the room to do his +bidding.

Immediately on rising the next morning, Hagar +had, as usual, thrown on her dressing-gown and +gone to the side of the crib to gaze upon her +sleeping beauties. She bent over them in her +morning beauty, with her black hair escaping +from the little lace coiffe de nuit, and dropping +in shining rings around her—she bent over them +breathing her morning blessing, when her husband, +having completed his toilet, came in and +sank into an easy chair on the opposite side. He +sat there looking at her very intently some +minutes; at length he said,

“No, you never thought of it, mind and body +are alike absorbed, entirely absorbed by one object—the +nursing of your children; flesh and +beauty, health and life are leaving you unnoted, +these children are killing you.”

“These! these dear children, Raymond? Oh, +do not bring such a charge against these sleeping +innocents. They give me life and joy, the +angels!”

“There, love! do not go off into raptures this +morning, I do implore you. Yes, Hagar, they +are killing you; you are very delicate, always +were, and within the last few weeks you have +lost flesh and color very rapidly; the nursing +of these two children is too great a draught +upon your strength, it will break down your +health.”

“But, dear Raymond, you are mistaken. I +am well and strong! thank God! indeed I am. +It is true that I am thin, I always was. I never +was calm enough to get fat, but I do not think +that want of flesh argues want of health always—in +me I know it does not. I have sound, unbroken +health. I never had an ache or a pain +in all my life—oh! except once,” she said, laughing +and blushing—“nor even a feeling of +languor. Fatigue after violent and long-continued +exercise has only been a slight weariness +soon agreeably lost in repose. God clothed my +spirit in a good strong garment, and I have +treated it well; though I have worn it every +day, it is as fresh and new as a Maryland girl’s +best Sunday frock.”

“They are killing you, nevertheless, Hagar, I +say! Your features are growing sharp, your +hands,” and he took her delicate hand in his +own, “your hands are nearly transparent, amberlike, +and indeed the knuckles are growing prominent—come! +Hagar, dear, you are growing +ugly as well as ill, and, Hagar, it will not do. +There is a feverishness in your manner also that +is not healthful. Your devotion to these children +is destroying you, and it must be moderated.”

She looked at him with an expression of +anxiety striking up through her brilliant eyes +piercingly. He continued,

“Put them—put my two babies out to nurse—away +109from me,” faltered the young mother, +growing very pale.

“Yes, love, it is not an unusual thing among +ladies in this section of the country—ladies especially +of delicate organization as yourself; and +in this case of two children, Hagar, it is too +much for you, and must not be thought of. Do +not look so distressed, dear, it will be better for +you, and better for them. Mrs. Collins will find +some healthy and reliable woman who will be +willing to take charge of them at a reasonable +compensation, and who can be required to bring +them often to see you. She must attend to it +to-day. Come, Hagar, do not look so dejected; +in a day or two you will grow accustomed to it, +and be contented with knowing that they are +well.”

And he arose and was sauntering away. Now +all the blood rushed back to her face, and starting +up she caught his hand and drew him back +to the side of the crib. Her bosom was heaving +and setting, the color flashing in and out upon +her cheek, but she controlled herself by a great +effort, as, pointing to the children, she said,

“You do not love babies, Raymond; no, not +even your own, not even these beautiful cherubs; +alas! I have not that to learn now! but, Raymond, +I love them as the tigress loves her young, +and as the soul loves her angels, and soul from +body could be severed with less of pain and less +of regret than these children from my bosom. +Raymond, I know your indomitable strength of +will; alas! I have not that to learn either! I +know your persevering inflexibility of purpose, +and the power of carrying your purpose into +effect. I know that when you make a proposition, +or express a wish, you virtually give a command! +and one you mean to have obeyed. I +know all this, and I know, Raymond, your +power of torturing me, do I not? I know that +this hour is opened a controversy between us in +which you will never yield, never to my opposition, +never to my prayers; never, unless I can +awaken your parental love. Oh! Raymond, +where in your soul slumbers this parental love—sleeps +your parental love in such a death-like +sleep that the innocence and beauty of these +children cannot awaken it—look at your children, +Raymond, and withdraw your proposition, +your command rather!” pleaded Hagar, with +clasped hands and straining eyes. “Do not +separate this beautiful little family, this perfect +little family that we four form.”

He composedly resumed his seat, looking +quietly at her while she spoke; when she had +ceased, he said,

“Hagar, I make you a proposition, give you +what I think a sufficient reason, and you answer +me with a torrent of sentimental rhapsody; now +have you said all that you have to say in opposition +to my wishes? Come, I await your reply.”

“‘Said all I have to say!’ Oh, I could talk +a month, a year, until time exhausted the subject, +if it would convince you.”

“But it will not, as you rightly guess, my love, +for now what does it all amount to, after all that +you may have to say, is said? The question +simply resolves itself into this: whether you will +comply with my wishes, or defy the consequences +of a non-compliance.”

She dropped her head upon the side of the crib, +and remained silent for some moments, and then, +without raising it, she said,

“Raymond, please tell me why, give me some +reason for your wish to have the children sent +away?”

“But they are not!—they are not! You are +utterly mistaken. God knows that you are!”

“Come, love! contradict me in everything I +say, of course. There is one thing, however, too +harassingly plain to be covered; it is this—your +suite of private apartments is converted into a +nursery, of which you have constituted yourself +chief nurse. I have borne with this for five or +six weeks, Hagar, and now it is growing insufferable, +and I must have a change, will have a +change, love! So reconcile yourself to the temporary +loss of these children as well as you +can. They are to be sent away for their own +sakes as well as for yours. They must have a +stout, hearty nurse, and you must be relieved +of their care; you must get flesh and beauty +again.”

Oh, the immense power of resistance that was +rising and throbbing as though it would break +through Hagar’s chest! Yet she suppressed its +violent outbreak; she wished now, above all +things, to secure her place in her husband’s affections; +she would have yielded anything on +earth to his wishes now, except this; nor did she +understand his apparent indifference to their +children.

With a sudden impulse she threw herself in +his arms, and amid kisses and caresses implored +him to spare her the anguish of this trial. Smilingly +he returned her caresses, smilingly he refused +her prayer, and smilingly withdrew himself +from her clasp, and was sauntering away, leaving +her pale and trembling, when again she recalled +him with a gesture. He returned.

“To charge Mrs. Collins with this same business +of procuring a nursing-place for the children.”

“Do not so misconceive me, Raymond; if I +am now pale and weak, it is by a foretaste of +all I know that I must suffer in opposing your +wishes—for, Raymond, I must oppose them—I +have no choice; none! I cannot put these +children from my bosom—can not; you must +know it.”

“We shall see, love!” said he, with a beautiful, +but mocking smile, as he left her side.

“Ah, I know your power of torturing me, +Raymond—know it too well—but I must brace +myself to bear it in this instance.”

Half an hour after she met him at breakfast. +He wore his usual air of elegant ease. He did +not resume the conversation of the dressing-room, +and when he saw that she was about to speak of +the subject, he arrested her by saying, emphatically,

“Hagar, love, I will not have one word of +controversy with you upon this or any other +subject—I dislike conflict. You either will or +will not comply with my wishes; without being +subjected to any action in the matter yourself +you will, in the course of the week, have an opportunity +110of submitting to, or rebelling against, +my will in this matter.”

And Hagar was silenced. A few days passed, +with no perceptible change in Raymond’s manner, +and the subject was not again mentioned +between them. Hagar’s secret uneasiness was +perpetually betraying itself, and its expression +continually repressed by the will of Raymond.

At length she grew to hope that this project +was abandoned, when one day a respectable-looking +woman presented herself at the door, inquiring +for Mrs. Withers. She was shown up +into Hagar’s dressing-room. She introduced +herself as Mrs. Barnes, the person Mr. Withers +had engaged to take the charge of the twins, if +Mrs. Withers should approve her. Hagar received +the woman with kindness, but told her +that she had no intention of parting with her +children now, or as long as her life and health +held out. The woman assured her that she possessed, +and could produce, the highest credentials +of respectability, capacity, &c. Hagar assured +her that her objection was not particular, but +general; that she could never resign the children +to the care of any one; that Mr. Withers’s too +great care for her health had induced him to +mention the plan to her, but that she had declined +it. Mrs. Barnes seemed difficult to be +convinced that Hagar’s refusal did not arise from +personal objections to herself; but at last took a +reluctant leave. With her knowledge of his +character and disposition, Hagar dreaded the +return of Raymond that evening. With the wish +to please him, and to disarm his resentment, she +arrayed herself charmingly, and had everything +prepared agreeably to his tastes and wishes, and +awaited him in the drawing-room as usual. He +came in, smiling, with his usual graceful saunter, +just as the servants brought in the tea; the curtains +were up from the arch, so that the two +rooms were thrown into one. He met her as +usual, and they sat down at the table apparently +with their usual cheerfulness and affection. He +seemed more than usually attentive to her wants. +At last she said,

This was said in a tone of cheerful content +that entirely dissipated Hagar’s anxiety; her spirits, +rebounding, arose, and she was happy.

The servants were, however, in attendance, +and further conversation on the subject ceased. +Presently they arose from the table and passed +into the drawing-room.

“Shall I give you some music?” said Hagar, +taking up her guitar. “I have been practising +one of those low, lulling strains that I know +you like—shall I give it you?” and she sank +into a velvet chair and began to tune the instrument.

“You shall give me nothing—not a song, not +a caress, not a word, when we are alone, until +you give me your will. If I have condescended +to answer your questions at table, it was to prevent +servants from talking.”

He was standing before her in his dazzling +beauty, looking down upon her with an audacious +assertion of invincible power of attraction +and torture striking up through the brilliant softness +of his eyes, hovering around the beautiful +curves of his lips, and irradiating his whole countenance. +Hagar turned away, veiling her eyes +with her jewelled fingers, while she rested her +head upon her hand. When she looked up +again he was gone. He did not reappear that +evening. It was the first evening they had spent +apart. Unwilling to give him any new cause +of offence she had remained in the drawing-room +until their usual hour for retiring, when she at +length sought her own chamber. He came up +after a while with his usual gay and graceful +nonchalance of manner, but without noticing +her by word or look until she spoke to him; +then he turned and flashed upon her a smile, +beautiful even in its taunting scorn, that called +the indignant blood in flames to her cheeks and +brow, and she became silent. Thus days passed. +He knew how to torture her. At table—at the +time the embargo was taken off their conversation—ostensibly +to deceive the servants, really +to afford him an opportunity of tantalizing her +by the fascination, he assumed his usual manner +of affection. Thus weeks passed, until the time +approached for the arrival of their visitors. One +evening he came home and threw a letter in her +lap; it was directed in the hand-writing of Sophie. +This seal was not broken; she almost +wished it had been; she opened it. It contained +but a few lines from Sophie, informing her that +their party would be at The Rialto the next +morning. She held her letter out to her husband, +but he, with a taunting smile and graceful +gesture of the hand, declined her confidence. A +sickening faintness came over her. An unwillingness, +nay, a strong and growing repugnance +to the idea of meeting any of her friends—for +whom, indeed, she had never possessed any very +strong affection—just at the time she was suffering +mortal anguish by this estrangement from +her husband—a dread of the approach of the +fair and gentle girl—her rival from infancy—a +fearful presentiment of falling still lower in his +esteem by the side of the loving and love-winning +Rosalia, these causes all conspired to tempt, +to overpower her; she arose, and falling upon +his shoulder, with her hair dropping all over him, +with a bursting sob, exclaimed,

“Raymond! oh, do make up with me! I +suffer so much! so much from the loss of your +love! If I could weep and expend a portion of +my grief—if I could swoon and lose consciousness +of it—sleep and forget it—die and leave it—go +mad and defy it—I should suffer less! I can +do neither—since I am not soft and weak! I am +strong and hard—and the strong live through and +suffer tortures that the weak would die under, and +so escape! Yet the weak have all the sympathy, +while the sufferings of the strong are not credited +because not manifested. Raymond! oh, +make up with me. I shall—not die—but suffer +more than death if you do not! I am exiled—take +me home to your bosom—to my home in +your bosom again, Raymond!”

He supported her on his arm, and smiled +down a flash of triumphant love into her face, +lighting a smile in her countenance, too! She +raised her hand, passing it gently around his +neck to the back of his golden head, and drew +his face down to meet hers; but with a quick +and graceful toss, waving all his curls, he released +his head, and smilingly inquired,

“And so you lay down your arms, and strike +111your colors, my beautiful rebel? You subscribe +to all required articles in my treaty of peace? +In a word, you will place confidence in my +ability to take care of you, and follow my advice +in the management of our children?”

“You will place our children where they can +receive better care than you can possibly bestow +upon them.”

She opened her mouth to speak—he arrested +her purpose by placing his hand softly and +smilingly on her lips, as he whispered,

“Stop!—no more arguments—no more controversy—no +more talk about health, strength, +and ability—about maternal love and duty—not +one word, dearest! I did not bring you here, +my beauty, for debate and opposition, but for +harmony, love, and joy. So, in one word, +Hagar, do you yield or maintain your opposition?—yes, +or no.”

He raised his arm, slowly stretching it out +from the shoulder, while he turned away his +head, and gently, but firmly and steadily repulsed +her, pushing her quite away, saying, +calmly, as she sank upon the sofa—

“Any overtures for a reconciliation, Hagar, +must in future be prefaced by the unconditional +surrender of this point.” And he leisurely sauntered +from the room. Not one word was exchanged +between them, from that moment until +the next morning at the breakfast-table, when +he said—“If you are not going to use the carriage, +Hagar, I will send it to meet your relatives—it +is nearly time for the morning boat to +pass.”

He soon after left the house, merely mentioning +as he went out, that he should be home to +dinner at four. In half an hour from this the +carriage was dispatched to the steamboat landing—at +the same time that Hagar went into her +room attended by Mrs. Collins, to dress her +twins for exhibition to her expected relatives.

Following the bent of her delicate poetic +fancy she would never dress them in anything +but white, of the finest and softest material—nor +ever place about them coral, amber, or gold, or +any hard or heavy substance; and when she +had dressed them, very lovely they looked with +their little black, silky heads, and small features +full of soft repose, as she laid them to sleep in +the crib, so that they might wake up bright and +beautiful when Sophie should arrive. But a +deep-drawn sigh chased the smile from the +young mother’s face, as she looked upon her +treasures, writhing in the thought that the duties +of the wife and mother should ever be supposed +to conflict—that the happiness of the wife and +mother should ever be placed in opposition.

Then Hagar arranged her own dress, and +sighed again to observe by her mirror how haggard +she was looking—knowing this to be the +effect not of her maternal devotion, as Raymond +insisted, but of wasting anxiety caused by his +tantalizing alternate affection and coldness—by +her nights without sleep, and days without appetite, +and consequently without nourishment. +She had even to gather away from her face her +beautiful ringlets; their falling, long and black, +each side of her pale thin face, increased its +pallor by contrast, while they gave it a hatchetlike +sharpness. She had just completed her +unsatisfactory toilet, when the roll of carriage +wheels on the gravel walk leading to the house, +the ring of the street-door bell, and soon the +hushed sound of several softly mingling voices +in the hall, announced to her the arrival of her +guests. She hurried down to receive them. To +receive them! They received her in their full +affection rather! for soon as gliding down the +broad staircase, she saw the group advancing +in the amber-hued light of the hall, she felt herself +caught to the soft bosom of Sophie, while +the arms of Rosalia were folded around her.

“Run here, uncle! give us your hands,” exclaimed +Gusty May, holding out both his hands +to Captain Wilde, who caught them, and they +laughingly formed a ring round the three women, +clasping them all together in a close embrace. +Sophie smilingly loosened the knot, dispersing +the group; and Hagar giving her hand to Captain +Wilde, and then to Gusty, opened the +drawing-room door, showing them in—begging +them to excuse her absence and amuse themselves, +while she showed Sophie and Rosalia to +their rooms. Then as she turned to attend +them, Rose’s arms were around her again, and +she said as they went up stairs,

“And so you have two babies, Hagar! dear +Hagar! Show them to us quickly. I do want +to see them so much. I shall love them so +dearly. I have done nothing but embroider +caps and frocks for them since you wrote to us +about them; so glad I was to have two dear, +dear baby-cousins to sew for. Now I have +come to be your nursery maid, Hagar, dear Hagar; +not a useless parlor-figure, but your little +nursery maid.” So warbled the affectionate girl +in her bird-like tones, while Hagar, won by her +loving enthusiasm, turned and caressed her.

I said the house on each floor was divided by +a broad central hall. The rooms on the right +hand, first floor, were those of Hagar and Raymond, +those on the left hand had been fitted up +for the reception of their visitors. Hagar conducted +them into their apartments; and when +they had laid off their bonnets, brought them into +her own room, to see the children. Their little +nap was over, and the babies had waked up fresh +and bright. Rose raised one, softly, tenderly, +as though she were afraid of its falling to pieces +even in her gentle hands; and Sophie took up +the other. Rosalia went into her gentle love +ecstasies over them, and even our serene Sophie +was enthusiastic in her admiration of the children’s +remarkable beauty.

“But I should never be able to know the one +little black-haired darling from the other,” said +Sophie.

“Put your finger on the cheek of Agnes—now +upon the cheek of Agatha; don’t you perceive +that Agnes has firmer muscle, and, therefore, +I think a stronger constitution than her +sister.”

Rosalia declared that she could, and that she +should never make a mistake between the babies.

Raymond returned at four in the afternoon. +He met his relatives with his habitual air of +112graceful gaiety. The evening passed in social +festivity and cheerfulness. Captain Wilde and +Mr. Withers were, or seemed very gay. Sophie +and Rosalia serenely joyous. Gusty, boisterous. +Hagar’s manner was restless and gloomy. Sophie +at last perceived this, and lost her own +cheerfulness; and soon after, as they were +grouped around a table, examining some fine +prints, Hagar felt her arm grasped tightly from +behind, and Raymond’s voice in her ear, muttering +low and quickly,

“You are making your well merited wretchedness +apparent to Sophie—be more natural; +for as God in Heaven hears me, if by word, look, +or gesture you reveal your miseries, making me +a subject of speculation to these people—you +shall suffer for it in every nerve of your body to +the last day of your life,” and he let go her arm.

Her cheek flushed, and her eye brightened with +pleasure,—yes, with pleasure. To hear him +break the death-like silence that even amidst +general conversation reigned in her heart—to +hear him speak to her alone, close to her ear, +even harsh words, seemed like a renewal of +their confidential relations—seemed the more so +because they were harsh words, because they +expressed a command at last with which she +could comply—conveyed a threat which implied +a position, a right not yet abandoned; it +was more husband-like, and she nestled closer +under his shoulder, and taking the hand, the very +hand that had grasped her arm, she stole it behind +her, around her waist, as she whispered,

“Dearest Raymond, how could you think that +I would willingly betray uneasiness—have I been +gloomy? I will be so no longer—you shall see—dear +Raymond, smile on me—say one gentle +word to me; my heart has been starving—even +the bitter bread was welcome—give me a sweet +word, Raymond!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” were the sweet words +granted to her prayer, as he withdrew his arm, +and turned gaily to make a remark about a picture +to Rosalia, fascinating the gentle girl’s attention +by his brilliant smiles and glances. Hagar +observed this, and her evil in ambush, her strong +waylaying foe, began to give her trouble; nevertheless +she struggled against its manifestation, and +strove to assume cheerfulness, feeling that now +was not the time to alienate him by offence. +Her manner changed—flashing fitful lightnings +of forced mirth across the dark gloom of her +prevailing mood. Hagar was no actress—this +was worse than before! and soon she caught the +eyes of Raymond fixed upon her—a dire menace +striking out through their softness, and perceiving +her failure, she grew alternately more gloomy +and excited as the evening advanced—so that +every one, even the simple-hearted Rosalia, +noticed it, and turning her dove eyes on Raymond +to read the explanation on his face, saw +there the calmness of his superb brow, and set +him down as the blameless and injured party.

The family party broke up at an early hour. +The ladies left the room first, and Hagar, +accompanied by Sophie, attended Rosalia to the +chamber appropriated to her use, and after seeing +the timid girl in bed, and promising that the +housemaid should sleep on a pallet in the room +with her, because she was afraid “to stay in the +dark alone,” they passed out into the next room, +the front room, which was Sophie’s chamber. +Hagar setting the candle upon the dressing-table, +was about to bid her good night, when +Sophie, taking her hand, detained her, looked +earnestly, steadily, in her haggard face, and +passing her arm around her waist, drew her up +in a close but sad embrace, and said,

“Hagar, my poor girl, what is the matter; are +you ill in body or mind, or both?”

“Yet I never saw you look so wretchedly, +act so strangely in my life; what is the cause? +Do tell me, and let me see if I can aid you by +sympathy or advice.”

“You can do me no good,” said Hagar, +pausing in perplexity a moment, as Sophie still +held her hand and gazed pleadingly in her +anguished countenance, “and Sophie, do not, if +you please, take any further notice of my looks; +is it not natural, by the way, that I should look +rather thin after my illness, and with the care of +two infants?” and coldly returning Sophie’s embrace, +she bade her good night and left the +room. Several days passed in this manner.

The next Sabbath the family all went to +church—all except Sophie, who stopped at home +with the headache, Hagar, who stayed to keep +her company, and Raymond, who remained for +some purpose of his own. They were sitting in +Hagar’s dressing-room, grouped near one of the +front windows. The babies were awake; Sophie +held Agnes, and Hagar kept the other, Agatha, +whom she fancied to be the more delicate, on +her lap. Hagar was looking very attentively at +her child. It seemed to her that for days the +children, especially this little one, had been declining +in flesh; she was beginning to believe +that the disturbance of her own health was reacting +upon the children, and so maternal anxiety +was added to her other causes of uneasiness.

At this moment, Raymond entered the room, +and throwing himself into an easy chair, inquired +after Sophie’s headache, and then looking at +Hagar, who, sitting in the cross-light, looked +ten degrees thinner and ghastlier than ever, he +said—

“Sophie, will you look at your niece, and then +at her children, and will you inform her of the +fate to which she is dooming them, to say +nothing of herself, by her obstinacy?”

Sophie’s large eyes started, dilated, and turned +in apprehension from Raymond to Hagar, from +Hagar to the children, and she remained silent +from perplexity. Then Raymond put her calmly +in possession of the disputed point between himself +and Hagar—keeping Hagar silent, meanwhile, +by an occasional menace piercing through +his gentle eyes; at ending, he said—

“Now, ever since you have been here, Sophie, +do you not perceive that all three have declined +in health?”

“Your health, and consequently your children’s +health, is suffering, my dear Hagar.”

“It is from anxiety,” began Hagar, when, +meeting her husband’s eye, and recollecting herself, +she ceased.

“From whatever cause, dear Hagar,” said he, +“your health is sinking, and you will have at +length to succumb to circumstances.”

113A message now summoned Raymond from the +room, and the two ladies were left alone.

“Yes, dear Hagar, for the children’s sake you +will have to give them up.”

All mothers love their children, of course; +Hagar’s love for her babies was fired with all the +natural fierceness of her temperament; she would +as soon have died as have had them severed +from her. She answered,

“You do not know what you are talking +about, Sophie; if you were a mother, you would +know that between my heart and these children +is an invisible cord, and the nearer I am to them, +the more natural and comfortable it feels; the +further I am off from them, the tighter and more +painful becomes the tension. It is uneasiness +one room off—anxiety one flight of stairs off—I +know it would be agony one street off. In short, +I cannot bear to be severed from them.”

“But Raymond does not like that idea; he +does not want the fuss of a nurse in the house; +he wishes me to put them out.”

“Then Raymond is cruel and unnatural, and +his plan is not to be thought of for a moment,” +said Sophie; then she suddenly stopped, as +though she regretted her hasty speech—a speech +that Hagar immediately and indignantly took up, +however.

“Sophie, it is not like you to be so very unjust +and harsh. Raymond is not cruel!—could +not become so, and you know it! If he does not +love these children very tenderly yet, why he +will love them, when they are old enough to +notice and respond to his love; besides, I never +did see a man who cared much about very +young children, as we do. No! you must do +him justice, Sophie; Raymond has very delicate +and sensitive nerves; he cannot bear roughness, +discord, or any other jar of the nerves that more +obtuse senses could brave. He is not like me, +who have nerves and sinews strung for endurance +rather than for enjoyment. He is an epicurean +by constitution and temperament, and I +do not know that there is any vice in that!”

“No? Do you not think that when the indulgence +and cultivation of these delicate and luxurious +habits are made the study and object of +life, to the neglect, and perchance to the positive +violation of high duties, that it is vice, and may +be crime; already you see it has made him forget +not only his children’s welfare, but your +happiness.”

“It has not!” replied Hagar, indignantly; +“how often must I tell you, Sophie, that he does +not see how much he makes me suffer—at least +that he cannot see a just reason for my suffering, +because he is utterly blind in this—how can he +be expected to sympathize in a feeling in which he +does not as yet participate? You must excuse +my warmth, Sophie, when you exasperate me!”

“Forgive! I sympathize with your warm +partizanship, dear Hagar; besides, to put you in +a good humor, I will say, I fully believe that +half smothered in this down of effeminacy is a +spirit of goodness that will never be wholly +quenched, if you knew how to get at it. Now I +can, always could, elicit this good spirit. You +shall see.”

Hagar did not altogether like Sophie’s insinuation +of possessing the ability to manage her +husband; it seemed to impair the prestige of +dignity by which her love had surrounded him; +nevertheless she permitted her to leave the room, +Sophie saying as she left,

“I am his mamma, you know, Hagar! I +have a right to interfere, especially since he has +honored me with his confidence this morning; +besides, he loves me dearly, and always did, ever +since he knew me, and always will as long as +we both live.”

This was true; from the first moment of their +acquaintance, Sophie, by her serene temperament, +disinterested affections, and quiet wisdom, had +gained, not an ascendency over his mind exactly, +but a modified influence in his heart. She sought +him out, and going to work in her calm, matronly +manner, arranged the difficulty.

The room occupied just now by herself and +Captain Wilde was, after their departure, to be +converted into a nursery, both upon account of +its separation by the wide, central hall, from the +apartments of Hagar and Raymond, and from its +communication with the chamber of Rosalia, +whose fear of sleeping alone, and whose love for +the near neighborhood of the children and their +nurse, combined to make the arrangement agreeable +to her, as well as to others.

The visitors remained a week after this. Gusty +May had kept so close to his little lady love, in +view of the impending separation, as to give +others very little opportunity of cultivating her +friendship. And as Rosalia was strongly attracted +to the babies, and as Gusty was as strongly +attracted to Rosalia, much of their time was +passed in Hagar’s dressing-room.

You should have seen them there in their +innocent affection and familiarity, blending childlike +frolic with droll, old-fashioned solicitude in +their care of Hagar’s children. There Gusty +would sit with Agnes across his knees, and a silk +handkerchief spread over his arm, for fear the +rougher broadcloth would irritate her cheek, +chirruping to the infant, and calling himself “its +Uncle Gusty;” and there Rosalia, with Agatha, +whom she always would hold on her own lap, +because she persisted that this babe was the more +delicate—yes! you should have seen her, with +her beautiful Virgin Mary face, brooding over the +babe.

And Gusty again! what an old granny he did +make of himself! feeling the baby’s fingers and +toes, to see if they were warm enough, or cool +enough, &c., &c., &c. One day Gusty’s heart +was filling with a jest that was bubbling up to +the corners of his mouth and eye, and leaking +out of every crevice of his countenance. Agnes +had gone to sleep in his arms—at last as he laid +her in the crib, and while he was covering her +up, his joke overflowed as he looked at the serene +little madonna before him.

“Yes, I do so wish they were our babies—God +love them! they are so sweet,” said Rosalia, +raising her large eyes to his and looking him +straight through the head, with her vague azure +gaze!

Up sprang Gusty stamping and dancing about +the floor and swearing—no, exclaiming,

“You are a baby yourself! a snow baby you +are! or, a fool! or both! why don’t you get +114mad? why don’t you box my ears? will nothing +arouse you? do you know I have been saying +something very impudent to you?”

“Oh! you go to Guinea! ‘have you.’ Yes, +I have! You don’t love me, Rose—no, not a +bit!”

“You don’t,” thundered Gusty, “and I +wouldn’t have you to save your life.” Then he +came and fell into a chair, and looking at her +wrathfully, said, “See here, Rose; I won’t have +you! I’ll court the first pretty girl I come +across. Why don’t you answer me? what do +you say to that? I say I’ll court the first pretty +girl I come across!”

“Yes, I will; and I know several pretty girls—you +need not think I don’t! sweet girls! that +would give their eyes for me! And one lives at +Havana, and one at Rio, and one at Genoa, and +one at Havre, and one at Marseilles, and one at +Mahon, and one at Gibraltar, and one at Constantinople, +besides several others! Come! +Now! What do you think of that?”

“Humph! is it? Well, I am going to court +and marry one of them before I come home! +What do you think of that?”

“Yes, dear Gusty, if you were happy; I should +be so contented; and if you would move over to +this country and come to see us very often—for, +Gusty, I should weep if you should go away to +live for ever!”

“Oh! my God! this—this—this—creature +will be the death of me!” then suddenly he +dropped down upon the carpet by her side, dropped +his face in her lap, spread up his arms over +her shoulders, and sobbed, “oh! Rosalia—darling +rose! I would not marry a princess +while you remained on earth! my pure angel! +Oh, Rose, love me! love me! please love me!”

“You don’t—don’t—DON’T! you little fool, +you don’t love me a bit better than you love old +Cumbo!”

“Ah, ha! there it is; you say that in the +same key with which you would say ‘Poor +young Gusty!’ if a cannon ball should carry off +my head next month! Love me! no, that you +don’t! Oh, Lord! oh, dear!” groaned Gusty, +getting up and sinking into a chair, “oh, Lord! +oh, dear!”

“You shut up!” snapped Gusty, so loud as to +wake both the babies, that immediately set up a +squall of alarm.

Hagar came in, broke up the conversation, and +quieted the children. Hagar was recovering her +good looks, she was fully reconciled with her +husband. So full, so complete was their reconciliation,—so +happy was she in their renewed +love, that her latent jealousy withdrew itself +out of sight, away down in the deep caves of her +spirit, until she nearly lost consciousness of its +existence. Sophie had informed her that the +marriage of Gusty and Rosalia would take place +immediately after his return, and that circumstance +gave her pleasure. And the last ashes +were thrown upon the smouldering fire of her +jealousy, by her observation of the full and free +manifestations of mutual admiration and affection +between Captain Wilde and Rosalia, and +the loving sympathy of Sophie with both. Hagar +would now have made a strenuous effort to cast +out the devil from her soul, but that the wily +demon withdrew itself into the deeps, until a +more convenient season.

The period of their visit drew to a close. +Gusty and Rosalia had a long parting talk the +evening previous to their separation, and the +usual amount of vows of eternal fidelity were +exchanged. The next day, Sophie, Captain +Wilde and Gusty took leave of their friends, embarked +on board the steamboat, and in a few +hours arrived at New York. In a week from +their arrival at that city they sailed from its harbor +for a cruise on the Mediterranean. The +routine of the Rialto was resumed. The nursery +was established upon the plan arranged by +Sophie, and a woman engaged to take sole +charge of the children. Rosalia wept a week +for the loss of her friends, and then installed herself +a self-constituted nursery governess in her +chamber next the children. Everything went +smoothly, harmoniously; Hagar’s serenity was +restored—Rosalia’s tears dried—Raymond’s +gaiety returned now, and everything “upon +velvet.”

Reader, do but look at this family; the members +of which were beautiful in their kind as the +hand of God pleased to make them, each one, +from the youthful father to the children. Raymond, +with his elegant form, charming face, and +graceful and fascinating manners, Hagar, with +her brilliant beauty and wit, and Rosalia, with +her tenderness, formed a group an artist or an +angel would have loved to contemplate. Alas! +that the angel sentinels could not prevent the +passage of the evil spirit to their Eden! Satan, +wishing to enter Paradise, took the form of a +“stripling cherub,” and so deceived Uriel, the +Archangel himself; deceived “Uriel, one of the +seven,” that stood before the throne of God.

From a strong reluctance to take you into the +deep caves of the soul, where evil is forged, I +115have paused with my pen for hours. One can +scarcely descend into the deep hell of passion +and guilt without becoming saturated with the +brimstone, scorched in the flames. As we enter +the mystery of iniquity let us invoke the angels +to guard us.

There is no meaner passion than jealousy. +Exclusive, concentrated, intense love does not +always and necessarily include jealousy, and +very ill does that base emotion accord with the +high spirit, dashing pride—the pride of strength +that distinguished Hagar. Yet, reader, have you +never seen a fine man or woman with one physical +deformity, infirmity? and have you never +been told that such a blemish on God’s perfect +work was the effect of injury sustained in infancy. +I have seen a man—a Hercules in strength, an +Apollo in beauty and grace—crippled—from an +injury sustained in infancy through the thoughtlessness +of parents. I have seen a woman beautiful +as Venus, graceful as Euphrosyne—blind—from +an injury sustained in infancy through the +carelessness of nurses. How ill the shrunk and +halting limb accorded with the handsome and +manly figure! how ill the extinguished eye harmonized +with the beautiful face! These misfortunes +were not the faults of the sufferers, yet the +effects of these wounds were felt through life, +their scars were carried to the grave.

And, reader, there are mental and moral deformities, +infirmities—the effects of injuries sustained +in infancy! more baleful than any physical +calamity can be, for they are the cause not +only of much sorrow and suffering—as physical +ills may be—but of much sin, as moral and mental +wounds and scars must be, whose fatal influence +pursues through life unto death and beyond +the grave. Thus a spark of jealousy is dropped +into an infant’s heart, it smoulders through long +years, and finally bursts out into a destructive +flame in the woman’s bosom.

A little, dark, wild, shy child, whose peculiar +organization demanded that her shyness should +be conquered by kindness, her wildness tamed by +gentleness, her self-distrust reassured by confidence, +is disparaged and neglected, while her +more beautiful companion and playmate, whose +extreme tenderness and sensibility required the +bracing process of a sterner training, is flattered +and caressed; until wounded by the loss of love, +the slighted child grows doubtful of herself, distrustful +of others, and jealous of her more attractive +rival, hard, proud and defiant to all she +did not love, suspicious and exacting towards the +only one she adored; and the favored child, +enervated by indulgence, grows more and more +dependent on the love of those about her, more +and more incapable of resisting any temptation +that appeals to her through her affections; and +these evils have grown with the growth, and +strengthened with the strength of the children, +of the girls, of the women. Alas! who can +see the end of the interminable evil resulting from +one small mistake in education; and from what +wanton carelessness, even in well meaning parents +and teachers, these mistakes are made; +and sometimes how intentionally and in what +good faith they are committed! Heaven knows +there would seem to be enough to do to eradicate +hereditary evil, the roots of sin indigenous +in the hearts of children, without laboring to sow +there the seeds of errors foreign to the soil. The +low vice of jealousy was foreign to the high +temperament of our Hagar; yet how it had been +planted, sunk, trodden deep, and stamped into +the bottom of her heart. The mean sins of indolence, +selfishness, and vanity were not native +to the pure soil of our Rosalia’s bosom, yet how +sedulously they had been cultivated there!

Rosalia, the petted favorite, whose soft nature, +while it pleaded for indulgence, really needed +the hardening process of a strict training—Rosalia, +still further enfeebled by fondness, has grown +softer and weaker year by year; softer and +weaker, until from very tenderness she is rendered +incapable of resisting the solicitations of +any evil that may tempt her through her sympathies. +Rosalia has grown up gentle, tender, +lovely, but vain, infirm, and unprincipled. Hagar, +whose wild and shy temper needed to be +wooed and won, and ameliorated by tenderness—Hagar +still further repulsed, hardened, and +alienated by neglect, harshness, and caprice—Hagar +is still high spirited and faithful, but inclined +to entertain envy, suspicion, and jealousy; +foul blots on a fine character.

Her jealousy of Rosalia was especially natural, +and logical—I had nearly said inevitable—not +only from the fascinating beauty of her rival +from infancy up to womanhood, but from the +very character of her ONE affection.

Rosalia, then, the beauty, the pet, and the rival, +is domesticated with Hagar, the jealous and the +slighted girl—and with Raymond, the poetic and +the artistic epicurean—Rosalia equally fascinating +in her extreme beauty, in her artless grace, +and in the affectionate tenderness of her manner +and her tone, soon won the warm friendship of +Raymond Withers as she had won the affection +of every man, woman, child, and beast, that fell +in her way. She would have been a delightful +addition to the circle at the Rialto, a delightful +fireside companion in the autumn evenings, could +Hagar have rid herself of the vulture of jealousy +gnawing in the bottom of her heart. Yet do +not mistake Hagar, do not think more meanly +of her than she deserves—she was not generally, +but only particularly envious of Rosalia; thus, +had they both been in general society together, +Hagar could have sympathized with, could have +rejoiced in the highest success of her lifelong +rival, could have been contented to be obscured +by, to be lost under the glory of Rosalia’s +charms and conquests; but here in her own domestic +circle, here where she had “garnered up +her heart,” she could brook no intrusion, no +partnership, no rival; and as in this boundless +universe, there was but ONE, there ever had +been but ONE whom her whole soul worshipped—God—so +on this wide earth there was but +one, there had been but one whom her whole +heart adored—her husband. This was Hagar’s +religion and her love. In almost every respect +she was as opposite to Rosalia in mind and heart +as she was in person and appearance. Rosalia, +with a generous benevolence, radiating from +her heart as the beams from the sun, knew no +exclusive affection, was “innocent of the knowledge” +of any particular love. Hagar’s soul, +nearly destitute of general benevolence, was absorbed +in one intense passion. Had a city been +swallowed by an earthquake, overflowed by the +boiling lava thrown from the crater of a burning +116volcano, carried away by an inundation of the +sea, or reduced to ashes by a general conflagration; +had a nation been exterminated by war, +pestilence, or famine, the news would have impressed +Hagar very slightly. But! had the +lightest sabre cut but marked the fair and regal +brow of her loved one, her very heart would +have dropped blood. Yet much as she desired +his happiness, much she desired his affections +more! she could have borne his death better +than the loss of his love! she wished to be all +in all to the man who was everything to her. +Her jealousy was morbid as her love was extravagant. +For her, his broad and high white forehead, +in its superb amplitude and repose, expressed +more majesty than the wild expanse of +heaven itself—for her, his soft and deep blue +eyes revealed more spiritual life than the purest +dreams of her own soul—for her every expression +of the face, every gesture of the figure, +every tone of the voice revealed more poetry, +religion, love, than the whole universe besides. +Often when he would be writing or reading, or +in any other manner occupied so as to prevent +conversation, she would sit upon the corner of +the sofa, and veiling the splendid fire of her +eyes under their long lashes, gaze upon his form +or face, watching its varying expression with all +the enthusiasm of an artist, with all the inspiration +of a poet, with all the adoration of a devotee, +with all the love of a woman, a silent and +unnoticed but enraptured worshipper! At such +times, carried away, she would not think of herself +at all—at other times a painful feeling or +fancy of self-deficiency would torture her. All +who love, who worship, think more or less +humbly of themselves—this feeling is often morbid +in excess or irrationality, and often itself +engenders jealousy. In Hagar this was natural—she +was not in her own estimation a tithe so +handsome or accomplished as Raymond, and in +the same proportion that she adored his perfections +she depreciated her own attractions. For +him she desired to possess all the gifts of beauty +and genius, that she might meet and supply the +wants of his being at every avenue, that she +might be the whole world to him, as he undoubtedly +was the whole universe to her. To her +every face looked mean, expressionless, or sensual, +compared to his glorious countenance, in +which every passion, malign or benign, became +godlike! to her every tone was harsh and +rough, or flat and dull, compared to his love-tuned +voice—he was her music, her poetry, her +love, her religion, her life, soul, and final destiny—her +spirit sought unison with his spirit, +ardently, impetuously; she knew in heaven, their +redeemed souls would blend in one—in heaven +they would be—one angel. Call this morbid, +call this extravagant, reader, yet acknowledge +that it was no sudden passion, that this intense +love of one ardent soul had been growing from +the moment that the beautiful youth had lifted +the little ugly infant to his knee, and thenceforth +become her adoration, her idol, her dream of +heaven. This passion had increased with years, +every circumstance had only served to augment +it, association and absence, meeting and parting, +until their marriage, and then all the requirements +of his regal will, all the sacrifices of her +own wishes, all the struggles of her independence +before it was subdued, all the death throes +of her mighty pride before it was annihilated, +served but to draw tighter, to rivet faster the +chains that bound her heart to his; her separate +soul, will, individuality of which she had boasted +in her haughtiness, fled to him, cleaved to him, +seemed blissfully, divinely lost in him—in heaven +they would be one angel, that was her love, +hope, faith, religion, her conception of heaven. +Call it insanity, reader! many minds that pass +for sane have in a greater or a less degree their +insanity, in other words their master passion, or +their besetting sin, or both in one.

Her conjugal love was her master passion—jealousy +her besetting sin—and her jealousy was +morbid as her love was extravagant. In losing +her very soul in his heart, she wished to FILL +that heart to the exclusion of every other object. +I repeat it here, she wished to be everything to +the being who was everything to her—she wished +for matchless beauty, peerless genius, not that +she might be generally admired, but that she +might meet and supply every demand of his soul. +But now! but now! here was one more richly +and rarely endowed by nature with the power +of pleasing than herself, one who charmed all +the world, and who must, she fancied, charm her +world, her universe away from her life. She +wished to be—oh! not from vanity, but from +love to please his poet-mind—she wished to be +the fairest in her husband’s sight—but here was +one fairer, oh, how much fairer than herself—she +wished to be the most graceful, yet here was +one whose every movement was the very “poetry +of motion”—she wished that her voice in +household cadences, or in song, might fall the +sweetest on his ears; yet here was one, whose +artless tones were melodious as the fall of +waters or the notes of birds.

Rosalia would sit at the piano singing the +low, sweet melodies he loved, while he stood at +the back of her chair, turning over the music, +bending above her, smiling benignly on her, forgetful +of everything but of her and her song, +sometimes joining his voice to hers—and she! +how often at the end of a song she would turn +around and give him a soft, beaming smile of +affectionate pleasure, when she felt that she had +pleased him. How little the innocent girl +dreamed of the mischief she was doing—how +indeed should she have suspected it? Had she +not played and sung for Captain Wilde every +evening on the Rainbow, and had she not always +been rewarded by smiles, praises, caresses, and +kisses, from Sophie and from Captain Wilde, +too? No, she did not guess the evil she was +causing—she did not guess it even when she saw, +evening after evening, that Hagar withdrew herself +from the instrument and buried herself in a +distant deep arm-chair, or left the room. +There was one who observed and defied her +displeasure—Raymond, who occasionally raising +himself from his recumbent posture over +Rosalia’s chair, would turn, and darting his eyes +fiercely into the obscurity of Hagar’s retreat, and +fixing them sternly upon her, would bring her by +a look back to his side, sighing, trembling, dejected—then +smiling sweetly on her, and passing +his arm around her little waist, would hold her +there, and look supremely blessed while thus +caressing her and listening to Rosalia’s music.

Alas! that Hagar was not wise! Alas! for +117the mental cripple, for the moral blind, for the +injury received in infancy, for the faith crushed +out! Hagar was not wise, did not understand—she +continued, whenever she was permitted, +sullenly to withdraw herself from the group, +making the trio a couple, and oh! fatal sign, at +last she was more and more frequently allowed +to absent herself. Hagar was insane—yes, +reader, in recalling the circumstances of this +period of her life, in trying to understand them, +I am constrained to say that Hagar was insane, +not to have seen that her presence, her sympathy, +together with Rosalia’s perfect innocence +and artlessness, would have been the immediate +antidote to any poison that might have crept +into the intercourse of these two friends—the +antidote! it would have prevented the most +distant approach of an evil thought.

Jealousy seldom or never prevents, frequently +suggests and causes, the very infidelity it fears. +No evil passion is stationary, it must increase or +decrease. Hagar’s disease was growing. At +first she had only been jealous of his admiration, +of his affection—now she was growing doubtful +of his faith. Now, because wearied out by her +sullenness, indignant at her unjust suspicions, +even while obstinate in the pursuit of the pleasures +and gratification of the tastes that excited +her envy, he permitted her to withdraw from his +side and isolate herself in a distant corner. As +yet Rosalia’s bosom was at perfect peace—the +slight shadow of the evil thought, the thought +now ever gnawing at Hagar’s heart, ever by her +insane jealousy kept before Raymond’s mind, +had not darkened its brightness, had not breathed +on its purity. Will the evil retrograde, or will +it advance until it shall overwhelm the gentle +girl? Hagar, deeply as she cherished this envy, +this jealousy, was yet too proud to breathe it to +her rival; besides, it was Raymond upon whom +her doubts fastened, not as yet upon Rosalia. +The perfect simplicity, the maidenly frankness, +the childlike affection of Rosalia, was too apparent +and transparent to expose her to doubt or +suspicion.

Reader, how I loathe this part of my work! +this analisation of an evil passion is as detestable +a task as I should judge the dissection and +anatomy of a putrid heart to be. If you dislike +to read it as I to write it, you will skip it all.

Sometimes Hagar would arouse herself, and +throwing off at least all manifestation of gloom +or sullenness, would make an effort to regain +her fast ebbing power of pleasing; she also +cultivated her rare talent for music; but she +could seldom succeed in giving Raymond +pleasure. He loved melody, and her forte was +grand harmony. The grand anthems of Haydn, +Handel, and Beethoven, lost none of their +grandeur in her apprehension and expression. +But her soul was strung upon too high a key, to +give out sweetly the low breathing music of the +melodies he loved. Thus he luxuriated in the +bright, soft shower of Rosalia, full of melody, +and writhed when the sublime storm of Hagar’s +grand harmony flashed and thundered around +him. Hagar saw this with anguish, oh! and +this very anguish gave inspiration, gave additional +force and expression to her passionate, to her +gorgeous, to her awful conceptions of music! +At last, however, she gave up the hope of ever +inspiring him with admiration of her fierce +tempests of harmony, and tried her voice and +her touch upon the airs he loved, but here she +failed—failed entirely. This was not her proper +forte, and she had, as yet, too little control over +her voice to manage it mechanically—to reduce +it to the minor keys—she depended for much of +her grand performance upon inspiration, and she +had no inspiration for those low breathing melodies. +Even suffering did not give it her; for in +her hours of anguish her soul found its only expression +in the sharp cry, the deep roar, the +thunder of the grand harmony,—not in the sob +and wail of melody. So Hagar abandoned the +seemingly vain attempt to make her music +agreeable in the drawing. She cultivated the +art—her art now by vocation and adoption—with +all the passionate enthusiasm of her ardent +nature; it became her solace, her soul’s expression. +Her days were divided between her music +and her children. At length, not being able to +find sufficient expression, her soul began to +struggle for freer, fuller utterance—for the revelation +of its own individual life and love, poetry +and music—and Hagar became a poet and a +musician by these steps; first she set the finest +passages of her best loved poets to the sublimest +strains of her most admired composers wherever +they could be adapted; where they could not, +she essayed to set the poetry to music of her +own composition, as in the instance of Smart’s +song; and then to compose words to her favorite +strains of harmony. At last she attained +the power of revealing her own poetry—breathing +her own music. She was but nineteen. +Her music and her poetry were all impromptus +of sudden, irresistible inspiration—the expression +of her life at the moment—the electric flash of +soul, bright and gone in an instant—they were +unwritten, inspired, expressed, and forgotten. +They would come, these spasms of inspiration, +as the blast comes, and go as it subsides; come +as the tide comes, and go as it ebbs; come, +waking the stillness of her soul as the thunder +comes, and go as it rolls into silence; come, +lighting up the blindness of her mind as the +lightning comes, and go as it flashes out into +darkness; come as the storm comes, and pass as +it passes. They would come at first unexpected, +unbidden, impetuous, and irresistible,—nor could +she send them away till a more convenient season, +nor could she at will summon them. At +length she found the spell to call these

She found her power, though now she played +with it only for her pleasure. The pent-up fire +of her soul—that burned in her bosom, rocking +to and fro, lashing its shores as a sea of flame in +storm—the soul that blazed in and out upon her +cheek, and flamed through her eyes until their +gaze seemed to scorch you; the soul found vent +in poetry and in music.

in the grand diapason of her life was one broken +chord, that left a blank, or gave out discord—her +jealousy.

One evening, as usual, Rosalia was seated at +the piano, playing and singing one of Moore’s +melodies. Raymond was seated near her, and +his very soul seemed floating out upon the waves +118of the music; presently he arose and went to +the back of her chair where he stood bending +over her, unconsciously half embracing her. +She raised her eyes and welcomed him by a +beaming smile, without pausing in her music. +Soon, however, he turned and looked for Hagar; +she was sitting in a distant part of the room, +buried in the shades of a deep arm-chair—her +head bent forward and resting on her hand, +while her profile was concealed by the veil of +her ringlets. She did not look up or +notice his glance. He spoke to her; she raised +her eyes—he beckoned her to come, but with a +bitter smile, she shook her head in refusal; then +his eyes fastened on her with a fierce anger, +piercing through their tenderness, which now for +the first time she did not heed; then with a +quick and threatening nod, he turned away and +gave his attention up to the music. Not one +whit of this dumb show had Rosalia noticed. +At last her song was over, and rising she left +the piano.

An hour after, Raymond Withers entered the +dressing-room of his wife. She had thrown herself +upon the lounge, and her head was drooped +over one end, while all her ringlets falling down +shaded her face. He approached—and standing +over her with folded arms, he said—

“Nothing!—do not speak falsely, Hagar! +tell me at once, what is the matter?”

She smiled a haggard smile, and rising, went +to her dressing-glass and began to unclasp her +bracelets. He followed, and taking her hand, +led her back to the sofa, seated her, and stood +before her, folded his arms, and looking steadily +at her, said, sternly,

“This folly must be ended just at this point; +and when I ask you a question, Hagar, you are +to reply, and not evade it. Tell me, now, the +cause of your gloom—tell me at once, without +prevarication, for I will know it.”

“You do know it,” said she, looking up +through her anguished eyes at his calm, stern, +yet beautiful face. “You do know it.”

“I am not given to suspicion,” sneered Raymond, +“and I want to hear the cause of your +sullenness from your own lips. Come, reply!”

“Alas! why do you press the question? I am +gloomy, I cannot conceal it, but I do not complain—do +not wish to complain.”

“‘Nothing!’—false, again! for though it is +true, in fact, that you have nothing of which to +complain, it is false on your lips.”

She did not repel this charge, but sat with +head bowed, with chin rested on her breast, with +clasped hands on her lap, he still standing before +her with folded arms.

“You ‘did not wish to come’—insolent! but +passing over the impertinence of your reply, Hagar, +why did you ‘not wish to come?’”

“And I am not a slave, to come at your +beck!” flashed Hagar, suddenly raising her eyes, +blazing with defiance, to meet his steady gaze.

“No, you are not a slave, Hagar; you are a +proud, fierce woman—yet Hagar, to-morrow, +when I call you to my side, you will come!” +and his hand dropped heavily upon her shoulder.

The next evening they were grouped around +the piano again, Rosalia was singing her evening +song, Raymond Withers standing at the back of +her chair, a little on the right, and Hagar stood +on the other side, leaning with her elbow on the +end of the piano, her forehead bowed upon the +palm of her hand. Rosalia, without raising her +eyes from her music, moved the light so that its +beams fell more directly upon her notes—its +beams fell also upon the countenance of Hagar, +exposing a face so ghastly in its pallor, eyes so +fierce in their anguish, that Raymond, evidently +fearing lest Rosalia should notice her agony of +expression, brought her, by a look and gesture, +out of the light and into the shade of the background +by his side; and passing his arm around +her waist, drew her up to him, smiling down in +her face, as he whispered, quickly, under his +breath—

“Be gentle, tender, complying, Hagar, and +you shall be happy; be the reverse, be rude, +angry, rebellious, and you shall be wretched. +Yet I love you, Hagar, and would prefer to +make you happy; do not, while I love you, constrain +me to deeds of hate.”

She did not reply; she stood still and pale +within the embrace of his arm, and remained +there all the remainder of the evening, until Rosalia +had finished her songs.

As the girl shut down the lid of the instrument, +arose and turned towards them, she noticed +Hagar, and starting, exclaimed,

“No”—began Hagar, but Raymond, by a +tight pressure of her arm, arrested her speech, +and answered for her.

“Yes—she is indisposed, but a night’s rest +will restore her; go to your chamber, love,” and +taking a lamp from a side-table he gave it to her, +and opening the door, held it for her to pass out. +She went. Rosalia, springing up at the same +moment, exclaimed,

“No! I am going with her. Good-night, +dear Rosalia,” said Raymond, suddenly starting +up to follow his wife. Rosalia looked distressed, +perplexed, and finally paced slowly and thoughtfully +119away to the chamber next the nursery, +where she slept.

“I kept my room with a headache, with a real +headache, the first I ever had in my life.”

“She went to town shopping with Mrs. Collins +in the forenoon, and drove out with the children +in the afternoon.”

“No; I said I had the headache, and so I +really had; and when I kept my room she understood +it to be from a slight indisposition.”

“But now her suspicions are excited—she sees +that your misery rises from a deeper source than +a slight physical indisposition—take care, Hagar, +that she does not see the cause. She sees that +there is trouble between us; be sure that you do +not betray the reason, or, rather, the unreason of +this trouble, my lady.”

Hagar did not reply to this covert threat. She +was not herself; a heaviness, a stupor, weighed +down her spirit; a reaction of the excitement of +her ardent temperament, an ebb in the high tide +of her life, left her weak and powerless. She +lay there upon the lounge in her dressing-room; +it was yet too early to think of retiring, and +Raymond, taking advantage of the temporary +torpor of her faculties, perhaps mistaking her +apathy for utter submission, sat down by her +side, and said,

“Hagar, I am very tired of this, very thoroughly +worn out with this; we have been beating +the air long enough, let us come to something +substantial. I will probe this wound of +yours—extract the bullet that is festering in your +bosom; tell me now, in so many words, of what +have you to complain?”

“You do; not in words, certainly, but in +manner; now what is it all about—why are you +growing more sullen, ugly, and repulsive every +day?”

“Do not ask me! Alas! have I not tried to +be patient? I have kept my thoughts and feelings +down, like wronged, suffering, and desperate +captives in the hold of a slave ship, fearing +to lift the hatches even, lest they should break +forth, spreading pestilence and death!”

She looked so unutterably wretched as she +lay there, with her small hands pressed tightly +upon her brow, and as her lips, quivering, sprang +apart and closed; that Raymond, pitying her, +stooped, and placing his hands under her arms, +raised her up, and laid her head upon his bosom, +looking kindly in her face all the while, as he +said,

“Hagar, I do love you—always shall, always +did, Hagar, from the first instant that my eye +fell upon you and caught yours—from the first +moment that I, a youth, singled you, an infant, +out from all the world as my own—for life, past +death, and through eternity, recognising you for +my own, knowing you for my own—claiming +you for my own, preferring you, a little, ugly, +perverse infant, to all the fair and gentle maidens +of my own age, because I knew that into your +little bit of a body was crowded and pressed the +soul and life, the fire and spirit of twenty women—claiming +you for my own, and waiting +until you should grow up to womanhood, and +never fearing or dreaming that any one would +ever cleave my life down through the middle, +and bear off the other half of it—my Hagar—for +when was ever I jealous, Hagar?”

She clasped her arms tightly around his neck, +and buried her face in his bosom as she answered,

“But my own, own—you know that I was +not attractive,—that no one would wish to dispute +your claim to me.”

“On the contrary, I knew that you were +attractive, and that Gusty May set up a very +clamorous claim to you, and that you only +needed to be further known, to raise many +aspirants to your hand among superficial and +impetuous young men like Gusty, who, if their +eye is pleased and fancy tickled, believe themselves +in love. No, Hagar! I trusted in you—not +out of you—IN YOU, for the security of our +love and life.”

“My own! my own! you might well have +trusted in me—may well trust in me.”

“I did, and shall always. I married the +little infant when I raised her on my knee at +that wedding party given to Sophie and my +father; I found my little wife then, and knew +that she acknowledged my claim, saw in her +splendid eyes, fascinated to my own, that she +felt and acknowledged me.”

“Oh, I did! I did! Looking up into your +face I saw a soul radiating there that seemed to +draw my spirit up to meet it! and I felt, Raymond, +I felt that I had for the first time met a +spirit that I had neither the power nor the will +to resist in anything long; for see, Raymond! I, +who defied Sophie and your father, told you +the same moment, with my face in your bosom, +that I would do anything in the world you +wished me to do. Don’t you remember?”

“And I, who laughed and shouted defiance +to society in following my wild tastes,—I, who +so desperately resisted the growing and surrounding +influence of your will, how I permitted it to +close upon me at last.”

“You did not permit it: you had no choice +of permitting. You could not help it, love; +that makes you my own, and my own for ever, +Hagar!”

“You love me—you say so—will you tell, +then, since this is an hour of tender reminiscences, +of confidences, and explanation—will +you tell me why, since you love me, you torture +me so much; tell me why, when loving me, you +make me suffer so much, and I will forgive it—indeed, +I have forgiven it—could not help forgiving +it!”

“You have nothing to forgive, love, and you +must not use the word in reference to me. Yes, +I will tell you, Hagar, for just now I am loving +you very much, my own especial Hagar, and +120perhaps I may never be in a mood to tell you +again. Listen, then: I believe I am naturally, +or rather apparently, very gentle and tender, am +I not?”

“At least! I have very keen and sensitive +nerves, delicate features, fair complexion, and +all that go to make up the idea of softness and +sensibility?”

“And shall never mention her again—hush! +let us resume—I have sensibility, sensitiveness—but! +away down in the deeps of my soul have +a perverse spirit of great strength, power, and +malice—where it came from I do not know; +how it got there I do not know—but, Hagar, +you are rather apt to arouse it—this spirit +aroused, oppresses, seeks to subdue even those +I love, when they resist me—this spirit in its +awakened strength takes pleasure in its calm force +of resistance, of overbearing and bearing down +opposition, and the stronger and fiercer the opposition +the greater the pleasure of the victory. +It was that spirit that incited me last night, but +it is not always in the ascendant—there, Hagar! +that is the secret of the attraction your strong, +fierce, proud nature had for me! it gives me +plenty of employment, life, you see. Yet, Hagar, +I love you.”

While he spoke, Hagar’s face had changed—one +might say she was transfigured before him! +her countenance grew radiant in inspiration as +an angel’s, and her voice was softer, sweeter +than you ever heard it, as she said,

“I am glad you told me, Raymond, it has +saved me and you—it is well you have told me. +That spirit! it is, as you say, a perverse spirit, +an evil spirit, a spirit from hell; and I will give +it no further employment, no further life, Raymond—no +more food; I will not nurture it by +pride or anger. It is a spirit of hate; I will +meet it by a spirit of love; when it comes to +war with me it shall find so little resistance, so +little to do, that it shall fall into death from inactivity.”

“You, too, have your bosom’s foe, Hagar—but +it is not now, as you would say, ‘in the ascendant.’ +Yes! you are jealous! jealous of +Rosalia! Oh! shameful, Hagar!”

“Alas! it is true; I wish it were not; how +can I help it?” said she, as the cloud came over +her face, obscuring its glory—“how can I help +it? It is gone now, the jealousy—but it will +come back again, and nearly madden me! I +know it will; and how can I help it, when I see +that I cannot give you any pleasure, by all my +efforts; you do not like my singing nor my +playing—you hang over Rosalia’s chair all the +evening, and forget my very existence.”

“I do not, Hagar! I never forget you for a +single instant; how can I ever forget you, when +your spirit clings so closely about me always?”

“Does it?” smiled Hagar. “I know it does, +and I am glad you feel it, Raymond—glad you +feel it, even at her side.”

“Nonsense, Hagar! I love Rosalia—or +rather I should say I like Rosalia, the fair, +gentle girl, as I like her soft music, as I like a +summer prospect, as I like the fragrance of +growing flowers—as she loves her pet doves. I +like her because, like all other fair, sweet, and +melodious things, her presence gives me pleasure—a +pleasure that I do not choose to give up for +your jealousy, Hagar! So I charge you, love, +if you cannot exterminate the ‘green-eyed monster,’ +do not let him appear before Rosalia, and +frighten the poor girl away from me. God! +Hagar, if it comes to that, you will exasperate +me to phrensy.” He spoke with unwonted +energy, but quickly controlling himself, he said +in a more gentle tone, “Be on your guard, love—be +on your guard; this is extremely absurd, +very ridiculous, not to say unjust to me; how +you worry yourself and me! Kiss me, my +Hagar.”

“‘Kiss’ you, Raymond! a thousand, thousand +times!” exclaimed she; all her natural +wildness rebounding in the spring of her spirits, +“a thousand times, dear Raymond; and I will +try never to doubt you again,” and she clasped +her arms about his neck, and drawing down his +head, caressed him freely and gladly as a joyous +child might. Her jealousy seemed gone for +the time—a weight was lifted off, and that evening +and the next day she went about with +dancing eyes and with an exultant step, as if +the spring of her little foot impelled the earth +forward in its orbit! It was the first time Raymond +had fully opened his heart to her, and she +felt grateful for the confidence; she understood +many things that had before been dark to her, +she thought she understood all.

Had he indeed opened and revealed his whole +heart? and if so, what had induced him, with his +proud reserve, to be so communicative? Reader, +had Raymond Withers spoken what we have +heard him speak, two weeks before, it would +have been “the truth, the whole truth, and +nothing but the truth;” now, however, in the recesses +of his bosom lurked a sentiment as yet +revealed in words to no one, as yet unrecognised +by himself; but yet a sentiment that was growing +stronger day by day, that was already beginning +to betray itself in unguarded moments.

I repeat it, jealousy seldom prevents, frequently +suggests the very infidelity it fears. It has been +said that “Unjust suspicion is apt to lead to that +which is well founded. It is often very dangerous +to hint an evil, though to warn against it: +for constant suspicion of harm puts an idea into +the head that otherwise might never have occurred; +and this idea once fairly in is not so +easily got out. Thus it is that unjust jealousy +gives rise to real unfaithfulness. Can there be +a stronger argument against too ready suspicion?”^[7]

Poor Hagar! through her besetting sin, through +her unjust suspicion, she had kept the evil before +his eyes until he had grown familiar with it. +This was the more dangerous, not only from his +peculiar temperament, and from the extreme +beauty, grace, tenderness, and artlessness of the +rival she dreaded; but also from the fact of their +isolation from the moderating and correcting influence +of general society. But incited by a vague +consciousness of this scarcely acknowledged +sentiment, he had opened his heart to Hagar, +exposing “almost” all its secrets, and now +could she have continued to trust him, her faith +121might have saved his fidelity—could she have +continued to trust him! but she could not—her +waylaying sin could not be so promptly driven +away for ever. Could an evil thought be dismissed, +a guilty wish repressed, or a sinful passion +crushed by one effort of the will, by one fell +blow, many a moral victory we should see, +many a moral hero hail, and the road to perdition +be no longer paved with good intentions; +but when blow after blow has been struck upon +the waylaying foe, when after each repulsion it +has retired only to rest, to gather force, to renew +the attack, nothing but the highest moral courage +and perseverance can keep up the warfare, can +insure the victory. Hagar’s waylaying foe had +only been beaten back for a time; a few days +passed and it returned in power, in ferocity, with +violence; for now Hagar’s doubts of her husband’s +fidelity of heart were becoming but too +reasonable!

Reader, shall I shock you, and distress myself, +by a recital of some of the scenes that disgraced +the next two or three weeks? Hagar’s confirmed +suspicions, anguish, and terror? Raymond’s +stern, calm, implacable repression of her passion? +The death throes of her suppressed and smothered +rage? The indomitable strength of will by +which he held her down—so that through all +this, for many weeks, the innocent and artless +Rosalia had no suspicion of his guilty passion, +or of her racking jealousy! The poor girl +wandered distressed and perplexed over the +house, wondering in vain at a sorrow and an +anger of which she could see no reasonable +cause. If she inquired of Raymond, he would +smile gaily and give her a light or an indifferent +answer, and ask her for a song. If she inquired +of Hagar, she would turn from her with a burning +cheek and heaving bosom, without reply; if +she pressed the question, Hagar would exclaim, +in an agony,

“Nothing! nothing! don’t ask me, Rosalia,” +and leave the room; for Raymond had said to +his wife, while his hand, talon-like, grasped her +little shoulder, and his eye struck fiercely into +hers,

“Alarm this girl, give her one single inkling +of the diabolical suspicions you cherish, and, as +Heaven hears me, I will never see or speak to +you thenceforth!” and she saw and felt that he +would have kept his word. Yet, though she +concealed the cause of her sorrow from Rosalia, +she could not act the part of a hypocrite; she +could not bring herself to feel kindly, or to act +kindly, towards the girl who, however unconsciously, +was wiling away her husband’s affections.

Rosalia grew daily more dejected—pining for +the love, the tenderness, the sympathy and confidence, +the free and affectionate intercourse with +her friends, to which she had been accustomed; +which was the great necessity of her life; without +which she could not exist. She confined +herself as much as possible to the nursery, and +to Hagar’s two children, who were just beginning +to notice and to love her. She longed for +Sophie and Captain Wilde, and for the sweet +home like feeling she enjoyed with them. She +was beginning to dream of them frequently, and +to wake weeping for them. She was beginning +to regret the tears that prevented her accompanying +them, to wonder whether it were possible +now to go to them. She was very unhappy +here. She felt herself in an atmosphere of coldness +and vague censure, that chilled and depressed +her. She felt strange and lonesome +now, yet she tried to make herself agreeable to +all, exerted herself to cheer Hagar when she +saw her depressed, to amuse Raymond when he +was grave.

One evening, after a particularly unsuccessful +attempt to disperse the gloom of the drawing-room +by her sweet music, she had sought her +own chamber in despair; finding Mrs. Collins +there engaged in sorting linen, she fell weeping +bitterly upon the bed, and exclaiming through +her sobs,

“It is not my place to tell you, Miss Aguilar, +and perhaps I even do not know.”

“But what do you think, then, Mrs. Collins? +oh! please tell me, it is not from idle curiosity, +but because, because I do love Hagar and Raymond +so much, and they are both so unhappy, +especially Hagar, and they will not either of +them give me a bit of satisfaction, and I want so +much to know if I can do anything to mend it; +tell me what is the matter, Mrs. Collins?”

“Young ladies should be very particular, Miss +Aguilar; they may give trouble where they little +think it.”

“‘Particular,’ why, I am particular, am I not? +I dress myself carefully and practise my music +every day, and that is all Sophie and Captain +Wilde required of me; and, lo! if I were ever so +slovenly and idle, I should not think that would +make so much trouble; and even if it did, I +should think that they would tell me of it—but +it can never be that.”

“I mean young ladies should not make too +free,” said the old lady, looking solemnly +through her spectacles at the girl. “No, they +should not make too free.”

“Too free with gentlemen! who is too free +with gentlemen? You don’t mean me, do you, +Mrs. Collins; oh! no, you can’t mean me, because +I do not see any gentlemen to be free +with, you know! No, of course you don’t mean +me; what do you mean, Mrs. Collins?”

“I mean you, Miss Aguilar; I mean that you +must not be too free with gentlemen.”

“No, indeed! to be sure none—oh! except +Raymond, but then I love him because he is dear +Hagar’s husband and my relative, and because +he is always good to me; so good! so gentle! +so tender always! but of course you do not +mean him, oh no! and I should like to know +what you do mean, dear Mrs. Collins?”

“You had better write to Mrs. Buncombe to +come for you, and you had better return and remain +with her until your people come back from +foreign parts.”

“But now that I come to think of it, I cannot +leave Hagar either; poor Hagar! while she is +so sad, it would be a sin.”

“Miss Aguilar, your cousin would prefer you +to go, I am sure, and you had better take my +advice.”

“I am sure I should be glad to go if I thought +Hagar could spare me, and I will see about it.”

“Why not, Mrs. Collins, why must I not? I +don’t love secrets, I never keep secrets—now +why must I not say that you told me?”

“Well! say so then, my dear, and say at the +same time that I think you sickly and weak, very +weak, and that I think a visit South would +benefit your health.”

The old lady had finished folding and packing +away her bed and table linen, and locking the +clothes press she took up her candle and bidding +Rosalia good night, left the room.

Poor Rosalia! by the miserable failure of her +education she had been sent into the world, into +life, beautiful, fragrant, tempting, and defenceless +as the conservatory exotic. Nurtured in the +warm atmosphere of an enervating tenderness, +she lived only in the love of those around her, +and pined when it was withdrawn as the flowers +languish in the cold. Rosalia was drooping—winter +was approaching, yet the face of nature +was not fading, withering from the withdrawal +of the sun’s direct rays, faster than was Rosalia’s +heart in the surrounding atmosphere of coldness. +The whole house was a chill clime, in which +there was but one spot of warmth, the crib of +Hagar’s children. The whole day was a dreary +blank, until the evening hour of music came, +when she would try to please and cheer by her +little songs. The whole family seemed strange, +cold, or indifferent to her with one exception, +Raymond Withers. His manner was always +affectionate, his glance always fell gently on +her eye, his tones smoothly, softly on her ear, +his hand tenderly on her arm, and the doomed +girl began, if not to love him only of all the +family, at least to find return only in his love. +As yet this affection of Rosalia was as pure as +the maiden’s love for all others.

Had Rosalia’s intellect and conscience, her +moral accountability for the use of time and +talent, been cultivated in the same proportion as +her sensibilities and affections, she would not +have been thrown thus helpless upon the tenderness +and sympathy of others; she would have +possessed a self-sustaining principle, would have +found occupation in mental resources. But this +was not so; she had been fondled, praised, and +spoiled, until intellect was half drowned in sensibility, +mind enervated nearly to fatuity.

Days passed. Raymond Withers now too +surely, terribly felt that his love for Rosalia was +no longer pure brotherly affection. It was an +intense and an absorbing passion. He began to +struggle against its nearly overwhelming power—he +began to avoid the charming girl. Now +could Hagar have trusted him; could she have +believed in the power of redeeming qualities that +really existed in his heart; the solid substratum +of good that lay beneath all this superficial alluvion +of wilfulness and effeminacy; her faith +might yet have saved him; saved herself from +much anguish. As it was, Raymond Withers +struggled on alone against the advancing power +of his great temptation. He might have struggled +longer, he might have struggled successfully, +but that the very means he took accelerated the +crisis, the catastrophe. He began to avoid Rosalia; +declined her music; evaded her questions; +repulsed her gentle attentions, until the guileless +girl, utterly unable to comprehend her position, +grew wretched, more wretched every day, in +the thought that her last friend, her only present +friend, as in her heart she began to style +Raymond, had fallen from her; and by the +fatality that makes us set a higher value upon a +possession that is passing away, Rosalia began +to prize his affection exceedingly—to desire its +continuance more than all things—to lament its +seeming loss passionately—to strive to win it +back. “The clouds came on slow—slower;” +the clouds whose vapors had been collected in, +and evolved from their own bosoms, and raised +to gather black and heavy in their sky, to break +in thunder on their heads!

Three circumstances combined to bring on the +catastrophe of this household wreck, three circumstances, +reader, that I wish you to notice, as +I desire particularly to call attention here, and +now, to the great importance of the formation of +character in childhood and youth, and to the +awful truth that the blackest treachery, the deepest +guilt, the direst misery, the utmost perdition +of men and women may sometimes be traced to +the smallest, seemingly the most harmless mistakes +in the education of boys and girls. Perhaps +I have already been tedious upon this subject; +perhaps I have dealt “in vain repetitions;” +yet, in tracing the rise and progress of a guilty +passion, can I be too emphatic in forcing the +causes that produced this upon attention? These +causes, then, I said there were three that conspired +to bring down this impending thunderbolt.

First, Hagar’s jealousy. We have seen how +inevitably that jealousy sprang from a want of +the faith that had been chilled to death in her +heart by the coldness and neglect of her guardians +in infancy. We have seen how that jealousy, +by its violence, exasperated the anger of +her husband; by its injustice (for in its commencement +it was unjust), alienated his affections; by +its pertinacity, suggested and kept before him the +evil thought until it grew familiar. So much for +the baleful effect of her jealousy upon Raymond. +Its influence upon Rosalia may be summed up +in a very few words—by manifesting itself in +coldness and aversion, it threw the tender-hearted +and guileless girl upon the ready sympathy and +affection of Raymond for consolation. Do you +now see the madness of this jealousy, and its +powerful agency in bringing on the desolation +of heart and home it feared and dreaded?

Second, Rosalia’s tenderness—tenderness unsupported +by strength of principle, heart unprotected +by mind. We have seen that this softness +was no more nor less than the feebleness of a +character enervated by fond and foolish indulgence +in her infancy. We have seen that this +weakness made her dependent upon the love of +those around her as the very breath of life; we +have seen that when repulsed by Hagar’s coldness, +it threw her for sympathy upon the affections +of the only friend at hand; one whom, of +123all others, just at this crisis she should have been +guarded against.

Third, the self-indulgence of Raymond. A +delicacy cultivated and refined for years into an +effeminacy that seemed harmless enough, yet +that, as time passed, insidiously undermined his +moral strength, rendering him daily more averse +to self-denial, until he became incapable of self-resistance.

Could either of several good principles now +have been brought into exercise, it would have, +even now, arrested the impending catastrophe; +could Hagar, by prayer, by effort, have thrown +off her jealousy, have practised faith, candor, +charity—could she have shown kindness to Rosalia, +who was, as yet, entirely innocent in +thought, word, and deed—could she have pitied +and forgiven Raymond, who, as yet, was guiltless +in act or intention. Or, could Rosalia have +sought aid from heaven, and balanced her gentleness +by self-sustaining strength upon its feet. +Or, lastly, could Raymond have awakened and +aroused his great latent moral strength from the +bathos of luxury in which it was half drowned; +could he have risen and shaken himself like a +lion in his strength, throwing off the moral +lethargy stealing upon him; could he have +risen as Samson arose in his might, breaking the +fetters that bound him, they might yet have been +saved.

Alas! They seemed all under a spell, while +the cloud of destiny came on, and on. A gloom +settled on their hearth that nothing could dispel, +a deep darkness stole through the house that +neither sunlight nor firelight could brighten, a +coldness gathered in their home that neither sun +heat nor fire heat could warm, a silence fell +around them that music itself could not break—moral +gloom, moral darkness, moral cold, moral +silence. The darkness, the shadow of the overhanging +cloud of impending fate; the silence, +the stillness that precedes the earthquake, while +the fires rage and leap beneath; the awful stillness +of the coming typhoon.

It was the first of November; a Sabbath +day; it had rained all night; the dawn of +morning found the rain still pouring down in +torrents; it was a dark, dark day; so dark that +a twilight gloom hung over all the rooms; so +cold and wet that a damp chill pervaded the +house. The family met at breakfast in the back +drawing-room; a good fire had been kindled, +but neither the cheerful fire nor the exhilarating +coffee, could raise the spirits of the little party. +Hagar was wretchedly pale and haggard; +Raymond’s gaiety was so evidently assumed as +not to be mistaken, even by the unsuspicious +Rosalia. Rose looked from one to the other in +unconcealable distress. Seeing that Raymond +tried to make himself agreeable, while Hagar +fully indulged her gloom, Rose again, as usual, +settled it in her own mind that Hagar was the +offending, and Raymond the suffering party. +When they arose from the table, when Raymond +walked to the front drawing-room window and +stood there looking out upon the black sky and +pouring rain, and when Hagar rising withdrew +from the room and went up stairs, Rose looked +around in perplexity, in a sort of sad lostness, +not knowing what to do with herself, scarce +feeling able to keep her feet, for loneliness and +dreariness. At length with sudden inspiration +she ran up stairs to seek Hagar. She entered +her bed-chamber without knocking, and found +her seated alone by the window, in an attitude +of deep dejection. She went up to her, and +throwing her arms around her neck, burst into +tears, weeping freely over her shoulder. Hagar +quietly disengaged her arms, and gently pushed +her off. Rosalia sank upon a cushion at her +feet, and dropping her head upon her lap, sobbed +out—

“Hagar! oh! what is the matter? Hagar! +tell me, what is the matter? Oh! dear me! +The house grows more sorrowful every day! +Time passes like a funeral train leading shortly +to the grave. Oh! I feel faint, sick, dying of +gloom, of coldness and darkness in seeing your +sorrow and not being admitted to share it, and +not being able to do anything to alleviate it. +Hagar! tell me; perhaps I can do something for +you; I love you so much, dear Hagar! and +surely love can help sorrow to bear her burden. +Oh! Hagar! let me do something for you!”

She was looking so beautiful! so winsome! +with her pleading, coaxing attitude and expression, +with her soft white fingers pressed together, +with her blue eyes raised floating in tenderness +and love to her face. She was looking so +beautiful! so graceful! so irresistibly charming +in her childlike humility and gentleness! Hagar +thought of her husband’s heart, and looked at +Rosalia. The fire flamed in and out upon her +cheeks, burned on her lips, and shot lightning +through her eyes;—rising, she pushed Rosalia +off, and walked away.

“Oh! it is I! It is I, who have offended +you somehow! what have I done, Hagar? dear +Hagar!” exclaimed Rose, following her, weeping.

“Rosalia! leave the room this moment when +I tell you; haven’t I said that I would not be +questioned?”

“Hagar! yes, I will go. One word, let me +say one word, and then I will go. Hagar, I +suppose it is Raymond—you are angry with him. +Hagar! oh! do not treat him so badly, cruelly; +make up with him; please do; see how unhappy +he is! see how hard he tries to be pleasant; but +he cannot disguise his sorrow. Oh! dear me! +what does make you two fall out so? Oh! dear +me! I do wish I was in Heaven—all I love here +do make me suffer so much! so much!” and she +fell sobbing into a chair, while the dark clouds +124lowered, and the rain pattered heavily upon the +window.

At last Rosalia arose and left the chamber, +crossed the hall, and entered the nursery. Mrs. +Barnes and the housekeeper were both engaged +dressing the children; they were now nearly five +months old, and when they saw Rosalia enter, +both began to bound in their nurse’s arms, to +crow and laugh, and hold out their hands joyously +to Rosalia. The clouds fled from the young girl’s +face before the morning sun of their innocence +and love, and a tender smile softened her gentle +countenance as she floated towards them, murmuring +in low music—

“God bless my darlings! God love my +angels! they are glad to see me always!”

As the children were now dressed she sat +down in a large chair, and received them both +into her arms, saying, as they fondled on her—

“Now, Mrs. Collins, and Mrs. Barnes, both +of you go down to breakfast together—you must +breakfast together sociably such a dreary day as +this; I will mind the babies till you come back.”

It was the custom for one of the two matrons to +remain in the nursery while the other took her +meals. This morning, glad to be relieved by +Rosalia’s kindness, they set the room in order, +mended the fire, making it blaze cheerfully, and +then, while Rose stood up with the children, they +wheeled the easy chair in front of it, and left the +room together. Rose resumed her seat in front +of the blazing fire; it was a large, deep, soft +chair, whose wide arms held the maiden and the +babies very comfortably. Rose loved luxury, +and she revelled with the babies in that easy +chair, while the fire glowed before her, and the +rain pattered without.

Let me strike out a bird’s-eye view of this +family as they now stood. It is but daguerreotyping +the sky before the descent of the thunderbolt. +Raymond walked gloomily up and down +the dim vista of the two drawing-rooms, pausing +now and then at the windows to look out upon +the dense, dark clouds that hung like a pall over +all things, and to listen to the beating rain. +Hagar sat gloomily in her dressing-room, gloomily +as we once saw her sit in her childhood in the +attic of Heath Hall. Her elbows propped upon +her knees, her pale face dropped in the palms of +her hands, while her hair fell out of curl all over +her; it was an attitude and expression of utter +desolation.—The blackened sky, the beating +rain, were unheeded in the deeper darkness of her +own heart, in this deep darkness where was +gathering the lightning, was lurking the thunderbolt. +Rosalia still sat in the large chair playing +with the babies, fondled by them, talking that +sweet baby-talk, melodious, but unintelligible as +a bird-song to any one but women and children.

Then the door was thrown widely back, and +Hagar stood within it, with her thin face thrown +out in ghastly relief by her black hair and black +dress; she came towards Rosalia and paused, +gazing with an expression of anguish striking +fiercely through her set eyes. Rosalia looked up +in surprise and distress.

“Give me the children, Rosalia! give them +to me! they are mine! they are like me! they +are all mine! Give them here! You shall not +wile their love from me also! Give! give +them to me! they are my only consolation. +Why don’t you give them to me?” exclaimed +she, wildly holding out her arms. Rosalia, in +fear and bewilderment, gazed on her with dilated +and dilating eyes, scarcely distinguishing, certainly +not comprehending, one word of her wild +appeal. “Give! give them to me!” again +exclaimed Hagar, snatching the children to her +bosom, “and go, Rosalia! go! go! go!”

Rosalia got up from the chair, and pressing +both small hands upon her white temples, stood +in amazement.

Rosalia dropped her hands, clasping them +together, and so left the room, passed down stairs +in a dreary, bewildering sorrow, and entered the +dusky drawing-room. Raymond Withers was +reclining with veiled eyes, in a day-dream on +the lounge. Seeing him she went and sank +down on the carpet by his side, dropping her +head upon the side of the lounge in childlike +sorrow and humility, exclaiming—

“Oh! Raymond, my heart is broken, broken! +I am chilled to death in this cold, cold place—oh! +Raymond, where on the wide sea are my +friends? Send me to them—do, Raymond; I +shall die if I stay here—die—die! I shall!” +and heart-breaking sobs burst from her lips +between every sentence. Up sprang Raymond +from his recumbent position, exclaiming as the +fire shot through his spirit-piercing blue eyes—

“Has Hagar! has that kite, that wild-cat of +mine been teasing you, poor dove?”

“Don’t! hush! no!—oh, don’t call her ill +names! don’t—it is so dreadful in you two to +quarrel so!” He was looking straight in her +face. “It kills me to see it, Raymond! Oh! +do send me to Captain Wilde and Sophie. I +cannot please you two, though I have tried so +hard to be good—oh! haven’t I? But you +don’t love me, and you don’t seem to love each +other; and you make each other suffer so much—you +two! and you make me suffer so much—and +great God! what is it all about?” Her +tears gushed forth again, she buried her face in +the cushions of the lounge, and sobbed as though +her heart were struggling in its death throes. +His manner changed; he governed himself, or +rather he resumed his usual tranquillity of attitude +and expression, leaning over her fair head, while +his elbow rested on the end of the lounge, and +his moist and dishevelled golden locks trailed +over the delicate white hand that supported his +cheek; with the other hand he stroked her hair, +stroked it down and down, while her bosom rose +and fell, and sobbed itself into quietness. She +was at rest—sweetly at rest. It seemed as if, +baby-like, she had wept herself sleepy there, +kneeling on the carpet by his side, with her face +upon the cushions of his lounge, his delicate hand +stroking her head. She was going to sleep; the +sobs and sighs came deeper and at long and +longer intervals; at last they ceased entirely, +her head gradually turned upon its side, and she +lay there in the sweet, deep slumber of a child +that has cried itself to sleep. How beautiful she +was in her unconscious innocence! Her hands +lay folded one over the other upon the cushion, +and her side face rested upon them; tear-drops +sparkled on her drooping eye-lashes and on her +glowing cheeks like bright dew on the red rose; +her fresh lips were slightly apart, revealing the +small pearly teeth, and her golden hair fell in +moist and tangled ringlets over her.

125He had tranquillized her passion of grief, but +now as he gazed down on her sweet face, watching +the color deepen in her cheeks, watching the +regular rise and fall of her beautiful bosom, and +the quiver of her crimson lip, moved by her +breathing, an emotion arose swelling, heaving in +his breast, like the mighty power of the subterranean +fire rising in the volcano. It was +advancing upon, it was overwhelming him; he +must escape—he called her—

“Rosalia! Rosalia!” She started out of her +slumber, and gazed up bewildered for a moment. +“You must go to your own room, Rosalia; you +are not well,” said he, looking away from her.

“Alas! are you angry with me too? You, +Raymond? Every one drives me away, every +one! Oh! Father in heaven, what have I done? +Hagar sent me away from her, and then from +the children, and now you send me off.”

“Go to your room, Rose, go,” exclaimed +Raymond, rising and walking away in strong +agitation.

“Oh! Raymond, you! you, too! to grow cruel +to me! Oh, Raymond, what have I done that +every one should repulse me—every one that I +love!” she cried, following him; “oh, Raymond, +if I have done anything wrong, scold me; +I had rather stay here with you and be scolded, +than go away by myself; tell me what I have +done, that you all should repulse me so much, +that all I love should drive me from them?”

He waved her a gesture of desperate rejection +as he still walked away, until he reached the +window, where he stood, setting his teeth sternly, +folding his arms in a strong rivet, bracing every +nerve, and staring with set eyes unconsciously +through the panes; she followed him, stood by +his side, pleading, cooing in her dove-like tones.

“Tell me! just tell me how I have offended +you all, Raymond? Oh! I am so unhappy! so +lonesome—no one loves me now! tell me why?” +She laid her soft hand upon his arm, and, bending +forward, looked up in his face with her tender +and coaxing gaze.

The effect was electrical! Turning, he suddenly +caught and strained her to his bosom, exclaiming, +“My flower! my dove! my lamb! +my angel! Rose! oh, Rose!” and pressing +burning kisses upon her brow and lips between +every breath and word. “Love you! I love +you; more than life, soul, Heaven, God! Love +you! my joy, my destiny! love you! let me +have you and die! give yourself to me, and the +next hour let me die, die!” His arm encircled +her beautiful and shuddering form like a chain +of fire, and hot kisses rained upon her face.

And she! Tides of blood rolled up and over +bosom, cheek, and brow, like flame, and passed, +and then she grew faint and weak in his grasp, +the color all paled in her cheeks, leaving them +snowy white; the light fled from her eyes, leaving +them dim and heavy with drooping lids—aye, +the very brightness seemed to fade from her +golden ringlets, leaving the pale yellow hair +falling away from ashy brows and temples—she +seemed fainting, dying in his embrace; alarmed, +he looked at her—his reason returned—he bore +her to the sofa, and laying her on it knelt by her +side, gazed mournfully at her, half believing her +to be expiring.

“Rosalia! oh, God! what have I done!” +She shuddered from head to foot. “Rosalia! +oh, I am so sorry, so sorry, Rose!” She raised +her heavy eyelids languidly, and fixed them +sorrowfully on his face, then dropped them as a +quick flush spread over her face, faded, and left +her pale, paler than ever. “Rose! Rose! forgive +me, I was mad, mad.” Again she looked +at him mournfully, her pale lips moved, but no +sound came thence. “Rosalia! oh, Rosalia! +speak to me—say that you forgive me, or put +your hand in mine in token of forgiveness!” +She raised one pale hand feebly, but it fell heavily +upon the sofa again. “You do forgive me, +Rosalia, my pure angel! my holy angel! you +do forgive me!” Rosalia shook her head sadly—Raymond +dropped his face into his hands and +groaned; soon he felt his hands touched by a soft +hand that struck the whole “electric chain” of his +being; dropping his hands he saw Rosalia looking +sadly, lovingly at him, murmuring very faintly,

“Forgive me, the fault was mine—mine first, +mine only; the sin of ignorance—alas! I have +nothing to forgive! forgive me!”

“Rose! my Rose!” She sighed deeply. He +knelt by her side and gazed mournfully in her +face. She could not bear that gaze; raising her +hands feebly she spread them over her face. He +groaned “God! my God! why do I love you +so! she was right after all—poor Hagar!” +Deep sighs broke from Rosalia’s bosom; she +made many feeble attempts to rise and go away; +he did not attempt to prevent her; but an overpowering +weakness overcame her; she yielded +to the spell that held her enchained, and so she +lay—her face concealed by the veil of golden +curls she had dragged across it; her frame shuddering +from time to time until she sank in the +collapse of exhaustion. And there he knelt—reproaching +himself bitterly, yet sinning on—gazing +eagerly with his lips struck apart at her +pale cheek through its glittering veil of hair, +watching, silently praying for a responsive +glance. At last, he said, “Rosalia! darling +Rose, go to your room, love; it is not safe or +well to stay here—go, Rose,” she gave him her +hand, and he raised her up.

He raised her up—she stood pale, trembling, +bewildered, weak; and walked with tottering +steps towards the door. He went and opened it—held +it open for her—she passed; and as she +passed, raised her eyes to his face, met his eyes +full of anguish looking down upon hers, turned, +and threw herself in his arms, exclaiming,

“Oh, Raymond! Raymond! you are so unhappy!—I +am so miserable to see you thus! Oh! +Raymond, is it I? is it I that have made you so? +Tell me! tell me! can I dissipate it?—can I +drive your sadness away? Would my death do +it, Raymond? I would die for you! Oh! Raymond, +it does not seem to me to be wrong to +love you, love you so!—to love you so!” She +hung heavily upon his bosom.

“Go! go! go! go, Rose!—go, mad girl!” +he cried, tearing her away from his bosom, and +almost fiercely pushing her through the door, +and shutting it abruptly upon her—then walking +wildly up and down the floor, like a chafed tiger +in his cage, grinding together his teeth, and exclaiming,

126“She loves me!—loves me!—loves me!—me +first!—me only!—as she never loved before!”

Rosalia crept slowly up the stairs—reached +her own room, and threw herself upon her bed, +her senses whirling in a bewildered maze. The +sound of the pouring rain became painfully distinct +in the dead silence. The dinner hour +arrived. The servants came in to lay the cloth. +Raymond Withers walked to the window to +conceal his still unsubdued agitation. When all +was ready, the ladies were, as usual, summoned +by a message. Soon Hagar entered. Raymond +met her at the door, with a troubled, gloomy +look, and giving her his arm, conducted her to +the table. He looked around, and uneasily +watched the door, but did not inquire for Rosalia. +She, also, waited for the entrance of the girl, +expecting her every instant. At last she said to +the servant in attendance,

They raised their eyes, and met each other’s +gaze of inquiry at the same moment, but neither +asked a question, or made a comment upon her +absence—each was silent from a private motive +of his or her own. Hagar supposed that her +harshness had deeply wounded the sensitive girl +(as it really had), and that that was the reason +of her absence—while Raymond, of course, +knew the real cause.

The dreary meal was over—they arose from +the table—Hagar was preparing to leave the +room. Raymond went after her, and took her +hand, looking with a troubled expression into her +face—she met that strange look with a sad, inquiring +gaze.

“Ah! for want of more attractive company!” +exclaimed she; and laughing bitterly, threw off +his hand, and left the room.

Hagar, half repenting her harshness to Rosalia, +and entirely ignorant of the scene that followed, +went to the girl’s room, to inquire concerning +her health. She entered it. Rosalia +was lying on the bed, with both open hands +spread over her face—pressed upon her face—she +did not remove them as Hagar entered. This +Hagar attributed to resentment. She went and +stood by her bed in silence an instant, and then +called to her—

Hagar went up to her, and drew her hands +away from her face. The hands were icy cold—the +face snowy pale. To avoid Hagar’s +glance, she closed her eyes, while a shudder ran +all over her frame. Hagar went into her own +room, poured out a glass of wine, and brought it +to her. She waved it off, and turned her face to +the wall. After some further fruitless attempts +to aid her, and after finding that all her efforts +increased the girl’s distress, Hagar left the room, +thoroughly persuaded that Rosalia was sulking +with her, and determining to send Mrs. Collins +in to her. The housekeeper entered—there was +a sternness about the expression of her shut +mouth and solid-looking chin, that we have +never seen there before, as she looked at the +languid girl.

Rose uncovered her face, and looking up +with an agonized, an imploring expression, +said—

“I do not know much of these things, Miss +Aguilar, but I should think it were quite out of +the question.”

“I mean—oh! I mean—that I am crazy—and +have no one to love me and take care of +me till I come to my senses!” said Rose, pressing +her temples. “I am done to death—done +to death!”

“I do not understand you, Miss Aguilar,” +said the old lady, seating herself, and looking +steadily and severely at the pale girl.

“Don’t look so hard at me, Mrs. Collins, +please don’t—oh! I am crazy!—yes, I must be!—yes, +I must be! Oh! Mrs. Collins, I have +been delirious—delirious within the last hour, +and I am insane still!—Insane still! I—oh! +my God!—I did not know before that people +could be crazy and know, and not be able to +get well!”

“Oh! don’t call me ‘Miss Aguilar,’ every +time, and don’t look so hard at me!” cried +Rose, covering her face with her hands.

“God is looking at you, Miss Aguilar, and +you cannot cover your face from Him!” said +the old lady, severely.

“I do not wish to, indeed,” replied Rose, +meekly, uncovering her face again, “I do not +wish to; but I do wish He would take me away—would +catch me up from the earth—would +send my angel mother to fetch me!”

Mrs. Collins did not reply to this; she sat +the bed, seemingly unwilling to converse with +her. At last she said—

127“Did you ever mention to your cousin your +wish to return to Maryland, Miss Aguilar?”

“I have made several attempts, but Hagar +gives me no opportunity of speaking to her at +all!”

“Oh, to-day—to-day—I could not talk to +her—could not look at her or bear her look!”

The old lady now grew positively pale, and +shrank away from the side of the girl. Rosalia +followed the gesture with deprecating eyes.

“You spoke, Miss Aguilar, of your wish to +follow your friend, Mrs. Wilde; as that is quite +impossible, why not now go back to Maryland +to your future moth—to Mrs. Buncombe?”

“Go now and do it; let it all be arranged +during these rainy days, so that as soon as the +bad weather is over I shall be able to set out; +it is no use to put off the journey until we can +write to Emily and she can reply to our letter or +come after me; that would make the interval +too long. Some one will be travelling down to +Washington just at this season. Yes, members +of Congress will be going soon, and Hagar can +send me with some gentleman’s family; or, at +all events, I can travel alone—I am not afraid +of water now! not now! My God! not of +death in any shape or form. Go now! go to +Hagar, Mrs. Collins!”

The old lady arose and left the room, full of +the darkest suspicions; she found Hagar in the +nursery. After a little desultory conversation, +she remarked, as composedly as she could—

“I have just come from the chamber of Miss +Aguilar; I think there is nothing as yet the matter +with her health of body; her mind seems +disturbed, disordered, depressed.”

Hagar, of course, knew that; but attributed it +to the wounded spirit—wounded by her own recent +harshness. The old lady continued—

The color was coming back to Hagar’s cheek, +and the light to her eye. The old lady went on +to say—

“Her health is delicate, I think, and our climate +is severe—very severe—and if I might +venture, I should advise that she be sent down +without delay to Maryland, to spend the winter.”

Hagar was sitting in an attitude of aroused and +hopeful thought, with her elbow resting on the +crib, finger on her lip and eyes raised, while life +and light were tiding back, till face and ringlets +flashed bright again.

“N-no, not exactly—certainly she complains +of no one—so far from that, she speaks as usual +with the utmost affection of all.”

Mrs. Collins, noticing the eloquent expression +of returning hope upon Hagar’s face, ventured to +remark—

“And there are other reasons why this journey +should be hurried, Mrs. Withers”—

“No matter for other reasons, Mrs. Collins; +you have given enough. I will write immediately +to Mrs. Buncombe, and you will be so +kind as to go to Miss Aguilar’s room, and tell +her that every arrangement shall be made for her +journey without delay; tell her I should like to +see and converse with her as soon as she feels +well enough to receive me; and as you go, send +the housemaid in to me.”

“Sarah, go to Miss Aguilar, and tell her that +you are ready to assist her in preparing her +wardrobe for her journey—she is going to make +a visit.”

Raymond received the news of Rosalia’s intended +departure in gloomy silence. It was a +strange thing to see Raymond Withers gloomy—he +who had borne himself through all scenes +with such gay nonchalance. Rosalia appeared +at the breakfast-table next morning, looking pale +and pensive, and withdrew from it as soon as +she possibly could.

“That girl looks badly,” remarked Raymond, +making an effort at conversation.

“Have you taken it into consideration that +she cannot travel alone down South?”

“I will do so,” said he, and turned to receive +the packet of letters and papers from the servant, +who had just brought them from the Post-office. +He opened one or two letters, ran his eyes over +them, and carelessly threw them aside. One, +however, caught his particular attention; he +started on seeing it—he read it with great care. +Hagar arose to leave the room, but he arrested +her by a gesture; she returned and sat down; +he continued his reading carefully to the end, +folded the letter, and holding it in his hand, fell +into thought, lost consciousness of his wife’s presence, +and was only aroused from his lethargy +by her rising a second time to leave the room.

“But wherefore? I wish to go to the children, +and you seem quite absorbed in thought; no bad +news I trust, though indeed there is no one from +whom it is likely we should hear bad news.”

“No, there is no bad news—but this is rather +an important mail,” said he, laying the letter on +the table before her. “You may remember that +Wilde has been teasing me for a long time to +accept his influence in procuring me a post under +the present administration, with which his political +friends have considerable influence. I laughingly +accepted his kind offer when he was here +128last fall, and permitted him to write his friends, +Secretary ——, and Judge ——, about me. +Here is the result. I need not say that it was +wholly unexpected by me.”

He handed her the letter—it was a notification +of his appointment to the post of Consul at the +port of ——, in the Mediterranean.

“By no means, love—what should I do with +you and the children on the voyage? in your +present condition of nervous irritability too? It +is not to be thought of for an instant!”

“Oh! Raymond,” she pleaded, involuntarily +clasping her hands and raising her eyes imploringly +to his face; “oh! Raymond!”

“Oh, nonsense, love! no extravagance, now, +I beg of you—not one word, Hagar! I cannot +bear it, cannot be annoyed, cannot!”

“But, Raymond!” she persisted, laying her +small hand gently on his arm, and looking up in +his face seeking to catch his eye—“but, Raymond!”

“But folly, Hagar! do not trouble me; I will +have no controversy about this—I hate controversy, +as you very well know—I will do what I +think best for us all—and you must be content +with that—or appear content, and stop troubling +me!” said he, averting his face.

She was standing by his side, leaning over his +arm, and now she passed her hand up around his +head, and trying gently to turn it around, said, +“Raymond, look at me; please look in my face.” +He looked down in her eyes inquiringly. She +said lowly, gently, “I have a secret to tell you, +Raymond; before you come back, I shall be a +mother again,” and dropped her head upon his +bosom too soon to see the slightly startled eye +and the frown of vexation that contracted his +smooth brow as he held her there; presently he +led her to a chair and seated her—stood by her +half embracing her shoulder, stroking her head. +“Now you will not go, Raymond; or if you go, +you will take us with you, will you not?”

He did not reply for some time, and then he +replied gently, “Be reasonable, Hagar, always. +I am sorry, Hagar, for this—yet you know, love, +that men frequently have to leave their wives +under such circumstances; men of the army and +navy all have this trial to bear.”

“But it is their profession, their duty, they +cannot avoid it; but you can, can you not, dear +Raymond? You can, at least, take us with +you; a privilege which, with very rare exceptions, +is not enjoyed by those in the professions +you name.”

“Dear Hagar, you try my patience! Come, +you are taking advantage of my sympathies at +this moment, to worry me; have done with it—listen +to me! this administration is in its third +year—I shall probably hold this office nearly +two years; if the same party remain in power, +I shall probably continue to hold it—in which +case I shall send for you and your children.”

“And it will be rather more than a year, +nearly two years, before you return or send for +us?”

“Yes, love, but what is that? Officers commonly +leave their wives for three years at a time. +Come, Hagar! do not be selfish, brace yourself +to bear a little trial that is not an unusual one +among your sex.”

“Oh! but this is so sudden! Great God!” +and Hagar, clasping her hands, left the drawing-room +and went to the nursery. Raymond Withers +walked up and down the two rooms, with +his hands clasped behind his back, with a fixed +eye and a curdled cheek, not noticing the boy +who entered to clear the table, and who was +watching him attentively, and who on going to +the kitchen, remarked in a suppressed whisper to +the cook,

“Well! I never did see any man look so +much as though he were making a sale of himself +to the devil, as our Mr. Withers does!”

The preparations for Rosalia’s departure for +Maryland went on rapidly. A letter had been +received from Emily Buncombe, in reply to the +one written by Hagar, in which she expressed +the great degree of pleasure with which she +should expect the arrival of her dear adopted +daughter Rosalia. Rose had wept over the letter—there +was none of the pleasure expressed in +her countenance, that might naturally have been +expected. Raymond observed it, but he appeared +fully occupied with the winding up of his +business, and with making arrangements for a +visit to Washington, to receive his credentials +previous to his departure on his foreign mission. +It seemed the most natural thing in the world, +that Raymond Withers should propose to take +his young ward and cousin under his escort for +the journey, and to see her safe in the house of +her future mother-in-law—so perfectly natural +and proper, that Hagar could find no word to +say in objection—and Rosalia—but when did +Rose ever object to any course proposed for her +by another? She went on sorrowfully with her +quiet preparations, and in a few days these were +completed. The day of their departure drew +near, and Hagar sank deeper into despair, that +sometimes broke out into expressions of wildest +anguish. Raymond wore a dark cloud of +gloomy abstraction, of morose determination, +from which the lightnings of a sudden anger +would sometimes flash, when he would be exasperated +by the wild and passionate grief and resistance +of Hagar—sudden outbreaks of phrensied +opposition to the overwhelming destiny +coming on, slowly coming on, surely coming on—she +felt it.

“It is unreasonable, Hagar, this wild grief at +the thoughts of an absence of but two weeks, +Hagar, only two weeks. I shall be back again +in even less time, probably, and remain with you +a month before my final departure.”

“I cannot! cannot shake off this avalanche +of cold horror from my soul—it seems like direst +doom bearing me down and down to perdition; +it seems as though the end of all things were at +hand.”

“Hagar, it is your health, morbid nerves—you +will get over this in a few days, after I am +gone.”

“After you are gone—yes, after you are gone, +when all is silent for want of your voice, when +all is dark for want of your glance, when my +whole soul will starve for your presence—but +you will no longer see my paleness, hear my +moaning, or be troubled with my heart’s sorrow!” +she would exclaim wildly and bitterly.

“No more of this! you SHALL NOT excite +yourself thus in my presence. I WILL NOT have +it, you selfish and absurd woman! bah! why do +you compel me to speak to you in this manner? +be easy, love! go play with the babies, sing a +song, take a ride, practise a piece of music, +swallow an opiate, read a novel—do anything, +rather than cling about and around me so +tightly, that I shall have to hurt you in shaking +you off. Go! go lie down, read a play.”

“Well, go hang yourself, then!” exclaimed +he, savagely, breaking from her, flinging himself +out of the room, and slamming the door +after him.

Hagar stood where he had left her, transfixed +with astonishment; this was the first occasion +upon which she had ever seen him depart from +the Chesterfieldian propriety of his usual self-possession. +Slowly she recovered her senses; +slowly left the room and sought her children. +A death-like calmness settled on her pallid brow, +she made no further opposition to his plans, +asked no further questions of his purposes.

The night before the parting came. Their +trunks were all down in the piazza—the carriage +was even packed with the small bundles, so that +there should be as little delay as possible in the +morning, as they wished to reach the village in +time to meet the morning boat, which passed +about the break of day. Supper was served an +hour earlier, so that they might all retire to rest +sooner, and be up in time. At that supper and +during that evening, Hagar’s manner was quiet—quiet +as death, except that from under her heavy +pallid eyelids, flamed out a gloomy, baleful fire, +as she would fix her eyes upon Rosalia; in her +cheek came in and out a flickering fire; her bosom +would heave, her teeth snap with a spring, +and her hand clinch convulsively, while a spasm +would convulse her form. Raymond watched +her with visible anxiety, sought to catch her now +murky and fiery eye; in vain—he could not +control or affect her in any way. They arose +from the table.

“Give us one more song in this room, +Rosalia, before you leave it,” said Raymond +Withers, leading her to the instrument—at the +touch of his hand, waves of blood bathed the +girl’s bosom, neck, and face, as a fire bath, and +then receding, left her ashy pale—and tottering +on the verge of a swoon, she sank into the +music-chair, ran her fingers feebly and mechanically +over the keys, striking a faint prelude, +opened her lips to sing, stopped, dropped her +head upon the music, and burst into tears—then +rising suddenly, left the room. Neither Raymond +nor Hagar attempted to prevent her—they +looked at each other.

“I want a ride, an opiate, or a novel!” laughed +she, sardonically, then suddenly she sank into a +chair, and subsided into the gloom of her former +manner—an excited gloom like a smouldering +fire—he watched her uneasily.

“Yes! but to-night I put them to sleep an +hour earlier, that I might spend the evening—your +last evening, Raymond, with you!” exclaimed +she, sarcastically.

“Hagar! there is a lurking phrensy in your +look and manner that annoys me.”

He caught her burning hands and held them +with the strength of a vice, trying to catch her +fiery and flying glances; at last they fell and +struck into his own, quenching their fire in the +cold, calm, liquid gaze of his mesmerizing eyes, +then—

“Hagar!” he said, very softly, “why, what a +temperament you have—will nothing quiet +you?”

She kept her gloomy eyes fixed upon him, +and was about to reply, when the door opened +softly, and Rosalia re-entered the room. Hagar +started violently, and shuddered at her sudden +apparition, but Raymond continued to hold one +hand to prevent her moving, as Rosalia passed +up to the piano, and resuming her seat, with an +air of forced calmness, said—

“I have come back to sing you the song, as +this is the last evening of my stay.”

There was an air of effort, of painful effort, +about her singing and her deportment generally, +very distressing to see, as if the poor girl had forced +herself to a measure exceedingly repugnant to +herself, for the sake of giving pleasure, or of +deprecating blame. Raymond did not approach +her while she sang; indeed he dared not yet +leave the side of Hagar, who was now looking +more like a half mesmerized maniac than anything +else. By the time Rosalia had ceased +singing, a servant entered with the chamber +lamps on a waiter, and accepting that as a signal +for breaking up, Raymond handed one to Rose, +and bidding her good night, opened the door +and dismissed her. Hagar, with wild eyes, +sprang suddenly past him, and arresting Rose by +grasping her arm, exclaimed,

“Rosalia! secure your door on the inside to-night! +130do it!” and letting fall her arm she +returned to the room, and sank into her seat. +Raymond was standing before her with folded +arms and severe brow.

“Raymond! I am mad! I am terrified! I +am in the power of a passion I cannot control! +a fiend I cannot resist! All this evening! all +this evening! I have been impelled by an almost +irresistible impulse! attracted by a terrible fascination! +to a crime! to a CRIME! hold me, hold +me, Raymond! keep me away from myself—I +am going mad! I am! I am!” her eyes were +fiercely blazing wide, and every vein and nerve +visibly throbbing. He went to the side-board, +poured out and handed her a large glass of water, +which she immediately drained. Then he +leaned his elbow on the table, and bending forward, +spoke to her—

“See here, Hagar, you are not mad, and you +shall not go mad! Listen to me, and I will +bring you to your reason very soon, and very +thoroughly. You give way to all sorts of wild +impulses—always did, always will—extravagant +in every emotion, frantic in every passion; from +the love of your children to the hatred of your +fancied rival; from the adoration visited upon +me to the worship tendered God; from your +taste for horses, to your talent for harmony; all, +all extravagance; I naturally expect it from +you; but there is a limit to your license, mistress; +you are not to grow malignant or dangerous in +any way; harmless and quiet lunatics may go at +large; phrensied, mad women must be confined; +harmless lunatics may be permitted to remain in +the house with children, maniacs must be kept +away from them. I am going to leave the +country. I cannot think of leaving my children +within reach of a woman, subject to visitations +of irresistible impulses and terrible fascinations +to deeds of blood—I must see her calm. You +are calm now, I think, Hagar! quite cooled +down, are you not? Say, Hagar?”

She was. The color had all faded away +from her face, and she sat with haggard eyes +fixed upon her clasped hands.

She arose and walked quietly to her room—he +followed her after a while. She did not sleep +all night, but lay quietly with her fingers pressed +around her forehead. Before the first faint grey +of morning dawned, Mrs. Collins rapped at their +door to say that breakfast was ready. In half +an hour from that the travellers had dressed, +breakfasted, and stood grouped in the chilly hall, +while the carriage was rolling up to the door. +It stood still—the driver jumped down, opened +the door, let down the steps, and remained waiting +by its side.

“Hagar!” said Raymond Withers, turning +pale, as he went to her and opened his arms.

“You last—you last!” she exclaimed, hastily +kissing Rosalia, and turning, throwing herself into +his arms.

“Come, Rosalia,” said he, and drawing her +arm through his own, and descending the stone +stairs, he handed the pale and trembling girl into +the carriage—she turned around to take a last +view of her late home, and her eye fell upon this +picture, a picture ever after distinctly present to +her mind—the portico, with its slender white +marble pillars visible in the grey of the morning, +the front door partly open, revealing the +lamplight in the passage-way, which struck +across the stone floor and fell upon the haggard +form and face of Hagar, as she stood there in her +desolation, as she stood there leaning against the +pillar, with her pale countenance struck out into +ghastly relief by the dishevelled black hair falling +down each side of her cheeks, and meeting the +black boddice of her dress; but one glimpse Rosalia +caught of that death-like face seen through +the cold grey morning light, and against and intercepting +the glancing and oblique rays of the +gleaming lamplight, but one glimpse as the carriage +door closed upon her, yet that despairing +look was never absent from her mind; it went +with her on her journey, pursued her through +life, and unto death. The carriage rolled away, +and Hagar, turning, fell lifeless upon the threshold +of her own door!

“You are weeping, Rosalia; why do you +weep?” asked Raymond Withers, taking the seat +by her side as soon as the carriage door was +closed upon them; “why do you weep so, dear +Rosalia?”

“Can she suffer, Rosalia? can her fierce, high +nature suffer at all, Rosalia?”

“I can see she is angry and defiant; but for +the rest, Rosalia, I never saw her shed a tear in +my life; did you?”

“Very well then, Rose; when you see or hear +that Hagar Withers weeps, believe that she sorrows, +and not till then; you are weeping still; +weep on my bosom, Rose!” and he drew her +within his arms and laid her head against his +breast.

The carriage stopped at the steamboat hotel +upon the river’s side, the boat had not yet arrived, +though day was breaking fast, and the +Eastern horizon already looking rosy. Raymond +Withers took Rosalia into the parlor of +the hotel, and having seated her, went out and +dismissed the carriage, and returning to her, said,

“Remain here, dear Rosalia, until I step to +the Post-office to see if there be any letter come +131in last night’s mail for any of us. I will return +in five minutes.”

He went out. The Post-office was near at +hand; he reached it, and had just received a +packet of letters and papers, when the sound of +the approaching boat warned him to hurry on. +Giving orders to a porter to carry their baggage +on board, he hurried in, took Rosalia under his +arm, hastened down to the beach, went on board, +and the next moment they were carried rapidly +down the river. Rosalia went into the ladies’ +cabin to put off her bonnet, and Raymond retired +to read his letters. One letter fixed his attention; +it was directed in a well known hand, and postmarked +Norfolk; he walked up and down the +guards of the boat buried in deep thought; at +length he went to the door of the ladies’ cabin, +and calling the stewardess, told her to request +Miss Aguilar to throw on her shawl and come +up. Rosalia soon appeared at the head of the +gangway. He offered her his arm and carried +her up to the hurricane deck, that was at this +hour vacant; they sat down on one of the rude +benches (steamboats were not the floating palaces +then that they are now), the sun was just rising, +and lighting up into flashing splendor the gorgeous +glories of the landscape, the river flowed +like liquid gold between high banks of agate and +of emerald; but it was not upon the magnificent +river scenery that he looked.

“Probably, my sweet girl; but they have +been in an engagement and taken a prize—captured +a slave ship!”

“But, my gentle girl, Sophie is well—but they +have captured a prize, and Gusty May has been +intrusted with the command of the vessel, and +has brought it home—that is, to Norfolk!”

“Yes; and he writes that just as soon as he +can obtain leave of absence, he is coming to see +you”—

Rosalia trembled so much that he had to pass +his arm around her waist to keep her in her seat.

“He says that he intends to call at Churchill’s +Point to see his mother on his way to see us”—

Rosalia seemed upon the verge of a swoon; +he tightened his hold around her waist and went +on speaking—

“He incloses this letter to you,” and opening +his own envelope, Raymond Withers took out a +delicately folded letter and handed it to her; she +received it with a trembling hand, broke the seal, +glanced over the contents, the letter dropped +from her stiffening fingers, her face grew white +as death, her lips paled and fell apart, her eyes +closed, and she sank into a swoon upon his bosom. +He held her there without alarm or embarrassment; +he stooped and picked up the letter +she had let fall. He glanced over it—it was +full of the youthful lover’s exultant young life; +one page was filled with glowing accounts of the +battle, the victory, the prize; another with passionate +protestations of love, fervent aspirations +after a speedy re-union, &c., &c.; but upon the +page upon which her eyes had been fixed when +she swooned, was an expression of a hope that +she would bestow her hand upon him during his +present visit, assuring her that he bore with him +letters to that effect from Captain Wilde and +from Sophie. Rosalia opened her eyes just before +he finished reading it. He raised her partly off +his arm, and said,

“Well, Rosalia, I have read your letter or the +greater part of it, do you care?”

“Well, Rosalia, you will probably meet your +betrothed at the house of your intended mother-in-law.”

“Oh, I had! I had a thousand times rather +die than meet him! much less marry him!”

She started violently—again the blood rushed +in torrents to her face, and passing, left it pale as +marble. She did not attempt a reply in words—he +continued,

“Captain Wilde is cruising in the Mediterranean. +Sophie is either with him or residing with +the family of some English or American Consul +at some convenient seaport. I can easily +find out. I can very easily take you to them, +to Captain and Mrs. Wilde, if you would prefer +that to living with Mrs. Buncombe.”

“Oh, yes, indeed I should so prefer it, greatly +prefer it, but could it be done? is it right that it +should be done? Will Mrs. Buncombe think it +proper? and will Hagar approve of it? I wish +this letter had come a day sooner, so that we +might have consulted Hagar!”

“Whatever Mrs. Buncombe may say or think, +I do not imagine that Hagar will be much surprised, +or that Sophie Wilde will fail to give +you a most enthusiastic welcome when she sees +you!”

“If I thought it were possible, that is to say, +convenient and agreeable all around, and perfectly +right and proper in every respect, I—oh, I +should be so happy to go! but though I do not +know why, indeed, I am afraid it is not right.”

“Would I suggest a measure to you, Rosalia, +that is not right?” he asked, reproachfully.

“No, no—oh, certainly not—I did not mean +that.” He looked at her steadily.

“And yet I don’t know! I don’t know! +Why do you look at me so? Why do you look +at me so—growing beautiful and more beautiful +every instant—growing bright and brighter until +you seem, not a man, but a star, a sun flashing +into my very brain, bewildering, making me +dizzy! striking me blind with light! Ah! I am +delirious again! Save me, Sophie! save me, +mother!” and with a sharp cry, half laugh, half +shriek, she fell into his arms. He stooped his +head and whispered,

“You are mine, mine, MINE! Rosalia, I have +manœuvred, intrigued, and waited for this hour. +I have brought a high heart to the earth, trodden +132a proud heart to the dust, crushed a strong heart +to death in pursuit of this hour. You are mine, +MINE, girl! I have bought you with a price, a +high price! I have given up country, home, +wife, and children; resigned integrity, pride, and +ambition, and risked fair fame. Ah, God! I +pay dearly for you, Rosalia!”

Three weeks from this day Rosalia sat alone +in a private parlor in one of the principal hotels +in Washington. It was mid-winter, yet the +room was warm, and she reclined in a snowy +white muslin robe upon a crimson sofa that was +drawn up in front of the glowing coal fire; her +head rested on her arm upon the end of the +lounge. She was changed even in these three +weeks. The round, elastic rosy cheeks, whose +bloom was shaded faintly and fairly off towards +the transparent and azure veined temples, and +the snowy chin and brow were changed, all +were changed—the beautiful faint rose glow that +had overspread her lovely baby-face, had now +withdrawn and collected itself in one burning +fever spot in either cheek, leaving her brow and +temples pallid; and the liquid and floating light +of her soft blue eyes, had now concentrated in +one intense fiery spark in the centre of either +pupil. Her attitude was still as death, yet an +air of suppressed excitement was visible in every +feature. The door opened, and she started up into +a sitting position, as Raymond Withers entered; +he had changed back again, having regained all +his old accustomed ease and eloquence; he +wheeled a large easy chair to the fire and sank +down among its cushions.

“Rosalia, we leave Washington in the Norfolk +boat at six o’clock to-morrow morning.”

“No, not a word—she is sulking, never mind +her, Rose,” replied he, an expression of pain traversing +his countenance, nevertheless. “Why +recall her?”

“I do not—she is ever, ever, ever before me! +her pale face! oh! pale like that of a victim +strained upon the rack! I believe Hagar is dead +and haunts me! Oh, let me go away, Raymond! +let me leave you!” and her face suddenly +grew sharp and white in anguish. He looked at +her uneasily.

She raised her eyes to his beautiful and resplendent +countenance, and her own softened. +He went and sat down by her side, and caressing +her gently, said,

“Rose, dear, I am no kidnapper, no pirate. I +will take with me no unwilling companion. +Speak, Rose, you shall have your will in this. +Listen, dear, the Arrow steamboat in which we +embark to-morrow morning, the boat that is to +take me to Norfolk where the brig Argus awaits +to convey me across the Atlantic to my destination +on the Mediterranean—that boat you will +recollect passes immediately by Churchill Point—how +easy, Rose, to put you ashore there, where +you are already expected—where Mrs. Buncombe +already looks for you with impatience.”

“Where your betrothed, who has, no doubt, +already reached there on his way to the Rialto, +and who, having heard of your hourly expected +arrival, awaits you with all a lover’s ardor, will +meet you with all a lover’s enthusiasm—come, +what do you say, Rose? come, Rose, come? I +have a letter to write in which I must be guided +by your decision! Come, Rose! come! Shall +I put you on shore at Churchill Point?”

“To Hagar!” she gasped, as a sharp spasm +convulsed her features. “To Hagar! great +God! death, death rather.”

He waited until her fearful excitement subsided, +and then, while he gently and softly caressed +and soothed her into quietude, he murmured in a +low, sedative tone,

“I know it all, dear—I know how utterly impossible +it is for you to go to either. I only set +the plans before you, that you might feel the +impossibility as deeply as I knew the impracticability +of either project—and now you do feel +it! and now, my gentle dove, be quiet—nestle +sweetly in the only bosom open to you in the +whole world;” and he drew her within his arms +and kissed away her tears. Presently, arising, +he said, “Now I must leave you, to write a +letter, love.”

And going to his chamber he sat down and +penned a short missive to Hagar. It was as +follows:—

Yes, mine only Hagar—there is but one Hagar, can be +but one Hagar in the world—after all. I shall be obliged +to disappoint you and myself cruelly, by leaving the +country without being able to see you first. The truth is +this—for the last three weeks I have been dancing daily +attendance between the President’s mansion and the +State Department, in daily expectation of receiving my +credentials—they were at last placed in my hands only +four days ago—and I am to go out in the Argus, that sails +from Norfolk within a week; so you see, love, the utter +impossibility of our meeting again before my departure—best +so, perhaps—I do not like parting scenes. I wrote +to you that your cousin, Miss Aguilar, had decided to +embrace the opportunity offered by my escort, to go out +and rejoin her friends, Captain and Mrs. Wilde. Now, +Hagar, do not take any absurd fancies about this, I do +implore you. I have taken the greatest care of the +proprieties, love, I assure you. The day after we arrived +in this city, I happened to meet Lieutenant Graves, +who was formerly on the store-ship Rainbow with Captain +Wilde—we met him there, you will recollect—well, +now he is stationed at the Navy Yard in this city, +where he has a comfortable private residence, with his +wife; he invited me to his house, knowing that his +wife had been an almost daily companion of Mrs. +Wilde and Miss Aguilar while they were in Boston +harbor; I mentioned the presence of Rosalia in this +city, and her intention of going out to the Mediterranean +under my protection, to rejoin her friends. As I +expected, the next day brought Mrs. Graves to our hotel +to see Miss Aguilar, whom she invited home with her +to spend the weeks of her sojourn in this city; nothing +could have been more proper, more conventional, more +completely comme-il-faut than this arrangement; nothing +could have been more fortunate, in fact. I bade +Rosalia accept the courtesy, which she did at once, and +Mrs. Graves carried Miss Aguilar home, within the walls +of the Navy Yard, where she has remained up to this +day. This evening Lieutenant Graves brought her back +to our hotel, because we leave at a very early hour to-morrow +morning. Rosalia is the bearer of many letters +and presents from Mrs. Graves to Mrs. Wilde. All right. +Now, Hagar, again—indulge no absurd fancies about +this! Do not make me savage! you have not answered +any of my letters—are you putting on airs, mistress? +Well, you will get out of them. I am exasperated into +writing sharply to you, by knowing instinctively what +you will think, how you will feel, perhaps what you +will say; but hold there, Hagar. Do not make me a +133by-word, by giving language to your suspicions. Whatever +may be the broodings of your insanity, do not let +it break forth in ravings that will subject us to calumny. +You know my fastidiousness upon this point—please +remember it, Hagar; and remember, too, that your +eccentricities and wildness leave your sanity questionable +to some minds; that your jealousies will be the +ravings of madness, and that mad women are not to be +trusted at large, or with the care of children! So, for +your own sake, Hagar—for the sake of all you hold +most dear, be reasonable, cautious, and calm. It distresses +me to write to you so, love, just upon the eve of +my departure, but you are so crazy—and I want you to +try and retain the possession of your senses. Rouse +yourself, love! go into society, cultivate and indulge all +your favorite tastes; repurchase your little Arabian, +and be again the gay, glad Hagar you were at the +Heath; cultivate your music, give concerts, in which +you shall be the prima donna—collect a congenial +circle around you—purchase all your favorite books, +and everything that suits your fancy—exhaust the little +fund I have in bank, and let me know when it is gone. +When you are weary of everything else, go and visit +Mrs. Buncombe, at Churchill Point. Come, love, you +have enough to occupy you during my absence. Take +care of the babies. Rosalia sends her love to you—you +know her aversion to writing, or any other work that +requires mental application, and will therefore excuse +her. Do you write to me immediately—direct your +letters to Port Mahon, and send them through the State +Department. Why do you not write to me?”

In an hour from the moment of closing and +mailing his letter, Raymond Withers placed +Rosalia in a hack, drove to the steamboat-wharf, +and embarked upon the Arrow, which left for +Norfolk the next morning at six.

“But this is expensive and inconvenient, +please to remember, Mr. Gusty, and we are not +rich.”

“Not rich—oh! mother, I wish you would +take something from me—which you never will.”

“No, Gusty, I had rather be extravagant with +my own funds than with yours. I wish you to +accumulate property, Gusty—that is to say only +this—spend as little of your limited income as +possible, lay by the balance until you get enough +to purchase a piece of land and build a house. +I do think that every young man should do that—I +mean every young man with a fixed salary—of +course men engaged in commerce may use +their money to better advantage by investing it in +trade. But, oh, Gusty, I do wish to see you +have a house of your own so much; a home +that you can improve and beautify to your own +taste; and I do wish to see your Rosalia presiding +over it. Come and kiss me, dear Gusty! +dear fellow, don’t you think that I sympathize +with your hopes?”

Gusty laughingly sprang to his mother, and +catching her around the neck, kissed her uproariously, +saying—

“Ah, mais, maman maligne, you will not +make a feast for Rose, this evening!”

“Oh! but, Gusty, see here! we have been +making feasts every evening for a week past, and +she has not come to eat them—and may not +come this evening—and, Gusty, besides, if I take +this little bride of yours here, and wish to keep +her for four or five years, to save some hundred +dollars of your salary annually, I must not make +her too expensive to Buncombe. Dear Buncombe, +he is so wise! so good! and so unobtrusive +in his wisdom and goodness—I have already +too much overlooked his interests and comfort +in my economies and sacrifices for you and Rosalia—I +must”—

“Come, Gusty, nonsense—no high points of +honor with the woman that brought you into the +world, or with her husband either—Buncombe +suffers many privations that you know nothing +of, and could not sympathize with, if you did +know—he wants certain books, scientific and +mathematical instruments, &c., that he can never +purchase, because he spills his money all over +the parish; lavishing his slender means upon the +poor, instead of influencing the rich to relieve +them from their ample store—for Buncombe can +give, but he cannot beg, even for others—that +requires a high moral heroism in a sensitive +heart like his. I have had to pick his pockets +before he goes out, every day, else they would +come home empty. He never economizes; +never thinks of expense—not he—and when Rosalia +is seated by our fireside, he will never think +whether she costs us a hundred cents or a hundred +dollars a year—the blessed soul!—nonsense, +Gusty,” said she, with tears in her eyes, “you +will break my heart if you get upon your dignity +with Buncombe.”

“Getting upon my impertinence, it would be, +mother,” said Gusty, seriously, “only—well!—yes, +I am sure, mother, I can leave it all to you—must +do it, in fact—for until my marriage, I +have no right to object, and after my marriage, +there is no place where I would leave Rosalia +but here with you; and if you will not receive +any compensation, it cannot be helped for the +present.”

“Oh! I do, mother, I do! I think he is an +admirable—Crichton, or Christian—which is it, +mother?—I do, indeed—I really do—your appreciation +and affection endears him, mother! +But now, mother, indeed it is almost four +o’clock, and there is no certainty about these +evening boats—they pass any time between five +and ten—come, mother, tell Kitty to make a +nice little supper, and not to forget the rice +cakes, with honey sauce, that Rose likes, and +134then, mother, get your shawl and muff, and do +come along with me to the cliff, to watch for +the boat—come, mother, oh, do come!”

“Mothers with marriageable daughters make +heavy complaints—the egotists!—but a mother +with a marriageable son—a great loblolly boy, +in love, who is always melting over her!—has +not she a trial? As for those rice cakes, Mr. +Gusty, they are very well once in a long time, +but we have had them prepared every week for +your Rosalia, who has not appeared to partake +of them; and we have had to eat them all up +ourselves, to keep them from being wasted, and +we are all getting the dyspepsia, and I am losing +my complexion from indigestion, and whatever +you may think, I assure you, Master Gusty, that +I value the beauty of my complexion for the +sake of my good man, quite as much, and perhaps +more than your Rosalia values hers, for +the sake of you—and as for this trip to the +beach, Master Gusty, every afternoon, through +the cold, and over the snow, it does not help to +counteract the ill effects of the cakes quite as +much as I could wish, because, Master Gusty, I +have to stand upon the wet beach, in the current +of wind too long, Master Gusty—and so, Master +Gusty, you will please to be a trifle more +reasonable in your love, if love and reason ever +can coalesce in you—but, however, Master +Gusty, I will once more take cakes and cold for +your sake,” and going out into the kitchen, she +gave the necessary orders, and returned enveloped +in a large hood, shawl, and muff. Gusty +buttoned up his great coat, and they set out. +The walk from Grove Cottage to the promontory +was rather long. The afternoon was clear, +bright, and cold, and the snow, slightly crusted, +crackled under their feet as they pursued their +way towards the cliff. They reached its summit, +and stood upon the extreme point of the +peak. Emily took out her watch to note the +time, gaily grumbling at its waste, while her son +adjusted his pocket-telescope, and took sight up +the river.

“It is five o’clock, Gusty, and nearly dark +besides, or would be, if it were not for the full +moon, helping the twilight.”

“It is coming, mother—the boat is coming!” +exclaimed Gusty, still keeping his telescope +pointed up the river. “It is the Arrow, mother, +I can see the name.”

The boat bore down rapidly. They turned +to descend the steep and slippery sides of the +cliff, and stood upon the frozen beach as the +boat flew swiftly on. His heart paused as it +neared—stood still as it passed. Let me pause +here. Reader, notice this party on the cold +beach, and now cast a magician’s glance into +the cabin of the boat that is passing. In a +small state room opening from that cabin, upon +the floor by the side of the berth, kneels Rosalia +Aguilar, with her face pressed down upon the +pillow, with the ends of the pillow held up +against her head, to shut out every sight and +sound of the shore and home she is passing, +which is yet distinctly and fearfully present to +her mind’s eye and ear. She sees the village, +the dividing river, the heath, with its forest in +the background; the promontory, the old Hall, +with its broken garden wall and poplar trees; +lastly, the beach, and the party on the beach. +Emily and Gusty—she knows, she feels, that +they are there waiting her—she knows, she feels, +that they were there yesterday, and that they +will be there to-morrow. She knows, she feels, +how they will both wait and wonder—how one +will sicken and suffer with “hope deferred”—and +ah! reverting to another home upon the +banks of a Northern river,—another desolated +home, desolated by herself, she sees another +bleeding heart and burning brain, as she presses +the pillow closer about her ears to shut out +sights and sounds that her spirit-eyes and ears +must see and hear—how long? Rosalia was +not one to enjoy a single hour’s impunity in +singing—yet she went on.

Behold the insanity of passion that, through all +the accumulating anguish of remorse, perseveres +in sin!

“Yes, and again many times, perhaps, my +dear boy! Something detains her; perhaps we +shall hear by to-night’s mail,” and they turned +to leave the cliff.

Gusty saw his mother home, and, without +stopping to take supper, hurried off to Churchill +Point, to await the arrival of the evening’s mail. +He returned in two hours—there was no letter. +The next night, and the next, and every night +for a week longer, Emily and her son watched +for Rosalia in vain. The mail came in twice a +week, and every mail-day Gusty was waiting a +letter at the post-office, and Emily waiting him +at home. At last, one night, Gusty hurried +in with a letter. Throwing it in his mother’s +lap, he exclaimed,

“It is for you; open it quick, mother, do; +there is something odd about it; a letter addressed +in Raymond Withers’s hand, and postmarked +Norfolk. What can it mean? Do read +it, mother!”

Emily glanced her eyes over it, while Gusty +stood pawing and champing in his impatience. +It was merely a formal announcement from Raymond +Withers of the change in Miss Aguilar’s +plans; of her determination to go out under his +protection and rejoin Captain Wilde and Sophie, +&c., &c. Emily handed him the letter in silence, +and watched him as he read it. Fearful was the +picture of passion presented by Gusty! his bosom +heaved in fierce convulsions—the blood rushed +to his head, his face grew scarlet, the veins on +his temples and forehead swelled like cords, his +teeth ground together, his eyes glared and +flashed. Crushing the letter in his hand, he +raised it above his head, threw it hard upon the +floor, set his foot upon the paper as though he +would grind it to powder, and strode up and +down the room shaking his clenched fist, gnashing +his teeth, and exclaiming, as he foamed at +the mouth,

“Villain! wretch! dastard! God! oh, God! +that months, that days, that even minutes should +pass before my heel is on his neck! my sword’s +point in his heart!”

Amazed, alarmed at his terrible excitement, +Emily followed him up and down the room.

135“If I had him here! If I had him here, with +my foot upon his chest, my hands around his +throat—he would be but as a reed in my grasp—a +fox’s cub in a lion’s claws! Oh! if I had him +here beneath my feet! Oh! if I had him here! +Oh! if I could get at him now! Why can I +not clear the distance between us at a bound!—spring +upon him! bear him down to the ground!—God! +oh, God! I shall dash my desperate +brains out before I can get at him!”

Emily had sunk pale and trembling into her +chair, quite overwhelmed by his frightful passion, +while, like a man in a fit of hydrophobia, like a +maniac in the height of his phrensy, like a wild +beast maddened in his cage, he raved, and shook, +and foamed!

Passions, like tempests, by their own fury, +soon exhaust themselves. Fits of passion, in +some natures, spend their last fury in tears as +the storm passes off in rain. He raged until the +exasperating image of Raymond Withers was +replaced by the subduing form of Rosalia, and +anger was drowned in sorrow for the time. He +dropped heavily upon the sofa, and burying his +face in its large cushions, sobbed—yes, sobbed—

Emily, much wondering at, and alarmed by, +the great degree of emotion raised by a seemingly +insufficient cause, arose, and tottering, came and +sat beside him. He remained unconscious of +her presence. She sat there half an hour, waiting +for him to look up, before he seemed to observe +her; at length he turned over, and revealed +a face pale and ghastly, as by a recent fit of illness. +He looked up, with an appeal for sympathy +straining through his bloodshot eyes, piercing +up to the gentle face of his mother.

“In the name of Heaven, now, Gusty, what +does all this mean?” she inquired, anxiously.

“Surely, Gusty, it is extravagant to manifest +all this frightful passion at this disappointment. +I own that it was rather unkind in Rosalia to go +off to Sophie when we were expecting her, and +that it was thoughtless in Raymond to omit +writing until the last hour, very thoughtless; but”—

“Thoughtless! the calculating, forecasting +demon! it was just the contrary—it was thoughtful +of him!”

Could he reveal to her the fearful light that +had broken upon his mind? the terrible truth +that had overwhelmed him? Oh, no! at least +not now; he remained silent, and she continued +to misunderstand him. She went on to say—

“Your disappointment blinds you—makes +you unjust, Gusty; it was thoughtlessness, or +much occupation, that prevented Raymond +Withers from writing, to give you an opportunity +of seeing Rosalia before their departure; and for +the rest, if you can only get over the present disappointment, +this arrangement will be better for +your pleasure, whatever it may be for your +purse; for look you, Gusty: suppose Rose had +really come, as she promised, and you had married +her, and, at the expiration of your leave of +absence, left her here, as arranged; you would +have spent only a fortnight with her, and then +been separated from her for two or three years. +Now, by this new plan, you are for the present +disappointed, but then you will soon go out, +meet her and be near her all the time. Nonsense, +dear Gusty! You have nothing really to +regret.”

And so, in her happy blindness, she continued +to talk to the despairing boy before her; and so, +uninterruptedly, he let her talk on, while he lay +there with his hands clasped upon his corrugated +brow. At last, aroused by the laughing and +crowing of a wakening baby in the next room, +she went and brought her little girl out and sat +down with her by Gusty’s side, thinking the glee +of the babe, of whom he was very fond, would +enliven him. On the contrary he became very +much agitated. Presently he said—

“Mother, dear, if it will not be too much inconvenience, +put a shirt or two, and a pair of +socks, &c., into my valise; I’m off by the morning’s +boat for the North.”

Without replying, Gusty arose and walked +the floor with his arms folded and his chin +bowed upon his breast.

“Is it not natural that I should wish to see +Hagar after so long an absence?”

“Well, besides, mother, finding now that it is +useless to try to see Rosalia—for that was a +ship-letter dated at Hampton Roads, and brought +in by the pilot, you know—I wish to dissipate +my chagrin, mother; is not that natural?”

“Dearest Mother:—Come to Hagar. Yes, come. +Whatever you may have in hand, put it down, pack up, +and come to Hagar. You will do so when I have told +you all I have to tell you—alas! the worst you will +not know until you reach this place. I arrived at —— +on the 15th of the current month, early in the morning, +and proceeded at once to The Rialto, reached the house +at about eleven o’clock, was ushered into the drawing-room, +136and inquired after the health of the family. I +was told by the servant who admitted me, that Mrs. +Withers had been extremely ill for the last six weeks, +but that she was now better, and able to leave her +room. I sent up to know if she could receive me—the +man returning told me that Mrs. Withers would be +down in a few minutes. Well, mother! I waited perhaps +half an hour, at the end of which time the door +opened, and a figure—as Heaven hears me, mother, I +did not recognise it for Hagar! the once elegant and +brilliant Hagar! a figure shrouded in a black wrapper, +with the hair all pushed back under a sharp cornered +muslin cap, that marked the outline of a countenance +never to be forgotten!—the pallid forehead was doubled +in a dark fold between the eye-brows, and above eyes +strained out into such startling and piercing brightness, +that I shuddered and dropped my gaze before them! +she came on slowly, trembling, tottering, and sank into +a chair, in such utter feebleness; she attempted to +speak, to greet me, but the words died on her white +lips. To see Hagar thus! our beautiful, resplendent +Hagar! our strong, proud, exultant Hagar! Mother, I +have seen death in all its phases, the soldier struck +down in battle, the criminal swung off from the yardarm, +the old man give up the ghost in his bed, and the +infant fall into its last sleep in its mother’s arms, yet I +never realized DEATH; never! until I saw this high +soul brought low, this fiery soul quenched, this eagle +of the sun lying wounded on the earth, weltering in +blood and dust. My proud sister Hagar! my high-souled +Hagar! would that I had suffered alone! would +that I could have died to have saved her! You do not +comprehend her grief, or my deep sympathy, mother—alas! +you will understand it but too well by-and-bye. +Oh! well, I went to her, sat beside her, took her hand—I +felt that I was her brother—I pitied her, loved her, +would have soothed her, caressed her as when she was +a little girl; but with a haggard look and an adjuring +gesture she repelled me, as she murmured, in a hollow, +church-yard voice, ‘I have been ill—ill.’ ‘I know it, +dearest Hagar; dearest sister, I know it all—everything—I +am a fellow sufferer, but no matter for that; what +is my grief to your great sorrow! Hagar, I am your +friend—your brother for life and to death! I will do +anything you wish me to do—I am at your command—I +will even throw up my commission and come and live +near you, if, by doing so, I can be of any use to you. +Yes, Hagar, I will do that, even if I have to mend clocks +for a living.’ She looked at me and faltered a reply; +but, oh! the words fell from her ashen lips unnatural +and unintelligible, like those from an automaton, and +few as they were, they seemed to have exhausted the +small remnant of her strength, for she sank back in her +chair in a swoon. I flew to the bell and rung it violently, +and Mrs. Collins came in—seeing the state of +Hagar, she immediately summoned a female domestic, +and bore her back to her chamber. I followed them +up stairs. I could not, would not stay away. I followed +them into her room—saw them lay her upon her +bed—waited until they had recovered her—saw her +open her eyes, and then, and not till then, I withdrew +and left her to repose. She was worse the next morning—the +agitation occasioned by our interview had +caused a relapse—and, mother, that very next day, the +day succeeding my arrival, while she lay at the point +of death, an execution was brought into the house, and +everything swept off! all that splendid furniture, together +with the valuable library, and rare collections of +pictures, statuary, and virtue accumulated by the late +General Raymond—all went! I repurchased the furniture +of her suite of private apartments; but she shall +not know that; she will naturally think, and I shall +permit her to think, that they were spared by creditors—and, +mother, if you come on here, take care that you +do not undeceive her. It seems that for the last two +years, Mr. Raymond Withers—curse him! has been +living far above his income, and that as soon as his +creditors knew him to have left the country, they came +down upon his property. Hagar does not yet know the +new misfortune that has fallen upon her, as she was +lying insensible when the sheriff’s officer took the inventory +of her bed-chamber, and I took the precaution +that none of its furniture should be disturbed. Mother, +come quickly to Hagar. The servants are all leaving +the house, because there is no money to pay them their +wages. I have exceeded my furlough. I do not know +what will be the consequence, and cannot help it. I +am cited to appear before a court martial—cannot do it, +of course. The devil himself would not leave Hagar in +her present situation. Thank God! I have got a few +thousand dollars in bank, and that will keep the wolf +from Hagar’s door for some years to come, any how! +Oh, mother! do come quickly. Hagar is still confined +to her bed—she wants a lady with her—a friend with +her. Mrs. Collins, the housekeeper, and Barnes, the +nurse, leave at the first of March; that is close at hand, +so do not delay.

“You are mad, unlucky boy! I have just this moment +got your letter—and I am exactly horrified to +death at its contents. Gusty! is this the way in which +you repay all my care of you? Return immediately to +your post, as you value my blessing. Do you not know, +wretched boy, that you run the risk of having your +commission taken from you? Do you not know, oh! +dolt of a child, that you will be scandalized to death, if +you remain a day where you are? and all the servants +leaving the house, too! Oh, Heavens, Gusty! am I +who never risked the chance of a breath of calumny, +am I now to suffer through the imprudence of my son? +What would your blessed father say if he were here +to know of this? If you have not already left the +house, leave it immediately on the receipt of this letter. +I command you, Gusty! return to your post, and write +me that you have done so, as you value my blessing, +Gusty! Nay, dear Gusty, I withdraw the command; +I have no right to make it to a grown up man—and, I +entreat, Gusty, that you will return immediately to your +post, as you value my peace, Gusty.

“As to my coming to Hagar, it is not possible just now; +Buncombe has the rheumatism, and baby is cutting her +eye-teeth; besides which, Kitty has scalded her hand +so badly as to be nearly useless—so that you see I am +the sole dependence of the family.

“As for Hagar’s anguish, it is as inexplicable as your +past fury was. I can well imagine her regret at parting +with her husband, but as for the rest, it is all mystery, +and you know it has been said by them of old time, that +where there is mystery it is fair to presume guilt, or at +least some grave error. This unhappy Hagar had ever +possessed the unenviable gift of drawing down upon +her head the ban of society—but she must not pull +others down with her. It is all inexplicable to me—I +do not understand it in the least; but I fear all is not +right. Write to me immediately, Gusty, and tell me +that you are off. I am so uneasy that I have no appetite +for my dinner.

“Dear Mother:—I received your letter to-day. I +am here yet, you see. In all things that are right I will +obey you always, if I get as big as Goliath and old as +Methuselah. But! when I forsake Hagar in her utmost +need, may God forsake me then and for ever +Amen—so be it. Selah. Hagar is still too ill to leave +her room; still ignorant of the execution. Collins, +Barnes, and the rest have left the house—all have left +except a maid-of-all-work, whose wages I have engaged +to pay. A second execution at the suit of another +creditor has been levied, and a second time I have had +to redeem from confiscation, the furniture of her rooms. +As soon as Hagar is able to travel, I must get her away +from this; I cannot stay here for ever, paying that infernal +fellow’s debts, as I am now obliged to do, to keep +poor Hagar from being shocked to death.

“Well, mother! it is as you feared—I am cashiered! +dismissed the service! Well, what of it? The service +has lost more than I have, by the arrangement! The +service has lost a gallant officer! a noble fellow! a +whole hearted man! I say it! Moreover, they cannot +cashier my bones and muscles, my heart and brain, +my faith, hope, and energy! Besides, the blow Rosalia +dealt me, has stunned, numbed me into a sort of insensibility +to all wounds inflicted upon myself. I am +vulnerable now only through Hagar.

“Dear Mother:—I wrote to you a week ago, but I +137cannot await your answer, as I am in great haste. In +naming this homestead ‘The Rialto,’ I presume they +merely had an allusion to its locality above the river—but +it is appropriate in its sadder association, too. This +is, indeed, a ‘bridge of sighs.’ The house was sold to-day +for taxes. Poor Hagar is up at last—but oh! such +a wreck; her beautiful hair that I thought concealed +under her cap, has been all cut off. She bears her new +trials better than I expected. Like me, her one great +sorrow has rendered her insensible to minor griefs. +She wishes to return to her own home, Heath Hall. It +is upon this matter that I write to you. Do, mother, +have it made comfortable for her reception. She has +sold all her own jewels to defray the expenses of her +journey. There is a balance to the credit of Raymond +Withers—perdition catch his soul!—at the bank, but +Hagar will not draw it. Prepare to receive the stricken +one kindly, mother, I entreat you, as you value my +peace, mother!

The 20th of March, 182-, was a day to be +remembered for the terrible storm of wind, snow, +and hail that visited the earth, and raged through +these latitudes all that tremendous day and +night!

It was in the height of this furious tempest, +that a packet might not have been seen as it +toiled against wind and tide, on its way down +Chesapeake Bay,—might not have been seen, for +it was as difficult to see through the dense fall +of snow, as it was to breathe against the driving, +piercing sleet that struck into every pore of the +skin and thorax like millions of needle points.

Could you have discerned that packet boat +through the shrouds of falling snow, you would +have looked upon a bark apparently carved in +ice. The deck was blocked up with drifting +snow, freezing as it fell, and still increasing +against all the efforts of the crew. The masts +struck up like shafts of ice, between which the +crossing ropes formed a crystal lattice-work. +The sails were stiff, stark, and glittering with +sleet. And all—ropes, masts, and sails, grew +thicker every instant,—losing their distinctness +of form as the snow fell fast, congealing on +them, until the bark seemed the nucleus of an +avalanche, or the skeleton upon which the body +of an iceberg was being formed.

The cabin of that little packet was small, +deep, and dark, and lighted even in the day by +a tiny lamp nailed against the wall. In this +low cabin, by the side of the narrow coffin-like +berth, sat a pale and ghastly little woman, +clothed in a black dress and simple cap, whom +you would never recognise to be Hagar. Upon +the berth lay two sleeping infants, of nearly +twelve months old. She leans heavily with both +elbows upon the side of the berth, and supports +her drooping head upon her hands. She has sat +thus for hours, while the tempest has raged above +and around her. She will probably sit there for +hours longer unless the children wake, or some +one enters to rouse her from her dreamy trance. +She does not hear the howling wind, though it +beats among the ice-bound and rattling sails and +ropes, a thundering accompaniment to its fierce +song. She does not see the snow, though it has +nearly blocked up the narrow gangway leading +down into her cabin. She does not feel the +penetrating and piercing cold, though her hands +are purple, stiff, and numb. Towards the evening, +Gusty May entered the cabin.

“How are you now, Hagar, and how are the +children?” inquired he, coming up to her side.

She did not seem to see or hear him. He +repeated his question earnestly. She raised her +pallid brow and straining glance, and answered, +mechanically,—

“Do the children fatigue you, Hagar? You +look so weary; why do you not call me to help +to take care of them when they tire you?”

“Have they brought you any dinner, Hagar? +I really do not believe they have. No!—and +your fire has been suffered to go out, while I have +been on deck all day helping to work the vessel +or clear the deck. What a thing it is to see a +poor, dear sick girl, with two children, on the +water in such a scuttled tub as this bark, without +even a female attendant!”

So lamenting, Gusty bustled about, replenished +the fire, and going to a locker, brought out a glass +of cordial and a cracker, which he compelled +her to swallow, saying,

“It is a ‘round, unvarnished’ truth that, if I +were not here to kindle your fire and to hold a +morsel to your lips, you would starve to death, +Hagar! I wonder how long this dreadful apathy +is going to last!”

Then setting away the glass and plate, he +went to shovelling away the snow from the +gangway.

Gusty dropped the shovel and rushed up on +deck. Hagar, her children, and himself, were +certainly the only passengers for Heath Hall. +After an absence of five minutes he returned.

“Hagar! rouse yourself, now, dear Hagar, +and answer me; we are nearly opposite to +Heath Hall!”

“Speak on, Gusty, I am neither dead, deaf, +asleep, nor crazy, Gusty, though I must often seem +to you to be one or the other. Well, what were +you saying about Heath Hall?”

“We are nearly opposite to the promontory, +Hagar, and we must now go ashore, or keep on +down the bay to the Capes.”

“What? Poor thing, you know nothing! It +is a frightful night to go on shore, Hagar. We +stand out a mile from the land, and cannot even +see the shore through thick and driving hail and +sleet. Then, the beach must be covered knee-deep +with snow, and the ascent to the promontory +nearly impracticable from ice—that is to +say, for you, Hagar.”

“For me—you forget, Gusty, overwhelmed, +as you see me, by mental troubles, you know +that I am nearly invincible before physical ills +138and obstacles. I can see my way through the +darkest night that ever shrouded earth—keep my +footing firm in the ascent of the most slippery +and dangerous precipice in the world. Thank +God! my physical powers are not destroyed +yet.”

“Oh, they are, they are, to be under the +shadow of my old Hall again! I think that I +shall no sooner step upon my native heath, than +I shall feel life and spirits strike up through my +feet, filling my whole frame with strength and +power.”

“Come, Hagar, get the children and yourself +ready quickly, while I see the trunks lowered to +the skiff.”

“But, oh! these children! these children! +after all, perhaps we had better stay here, than +expose them to the storm.”

“They shall not suffer from exposure to the +storm; I will carry the babies, and take care of +that—so if you think that you can get along and +keep your footing ascending the cliff, we had +better go ashore notwithstanding all I have said; +for it threatens to be a horrible night, and God +Almighty only knows what may be the fate of +the packet before day.”

Hagar said no more, and Gusty left the cabin. +Hagar wrapped her children up in their little +warm light blankets and long cloaks, and then +put on her own close travelling dress, and had +scarcely completed her preparations when Gusty +came down again, and assisted her with the children +by taking charge of one while she insisted +on keeping the other on deck. And what a +deck it was! She toiled up the gangway knee-deep +in snow, while the sharp and driving sleet +cut into her face, nearly blinding and smothering +her; it was almost impossible to see a foot in +advance; in an instant her whole dress was +covered white and stiff with snow, that froze as +it fell. It was only her warm breath that kept +mouth and nostrils free for breathing, and saved +her from a freezing suffocation. Gusty kept +hold of one hand; drawing her through the snow-drifts +beneath, and the falling avalanche of sleet +around, he guided her to the edge of the vessel, +lowered the two children half smothered in their +wrappings, to the oarsmen in the skiff, handed +Hagar down, and descended after her; while +the sleet whirling thick around them threatened +to convert the little boat with its freight into a +huge snowball. The two oarsmen pulled swiftly +through the white tempest for the shore—providentially +wind and tide were in their favor; they +soon reached the beach—but, oh! what a howling +wilderness of a shore it was upon this tremendous +night! On their left the promontory, like +some huge ice-peak of the arctic regions, loomed +horribly through storm and darkness; while +towards the right the white shore stretched away +in a dim horizontal line—a half-guessed vague +terror like the shores of the frozen ocean seen +through the night. Using their oars as poles +they pushed the boat through the rushing water +and crusted ice, and landed it upon the beach +immediately under the promontory. Pausing a +moment to gather breath after their great exertions, +the two men took each of them a child, +and Gusty drew Hagar’s frost-crusted arm within +his own, and they stepped from the boat, and +struggled on through the deep snow and against +the driving storm to the little fishing-house +against the side of the promontory. The wind +and sleet were in their face, blowing from behind +the other side of the promontory. As they toiled +on towards it they found the snow less and less +deep, until coming under its cover they trod upon +bare though frozen ground, and reaching the +fishing-house found it perfectly dry, as the +ground was for many yards around it; a better +protected place than was the cabin of the ship +they had left. Taking away the prop that fastened +the door, they entered. The men stood +holding the children. Hagar dropped upon an +upturned fishing-tub; while Gusty, taking a small +wax candle and tinder-box from the pocket of +his great coat, struck a light, and holding it +about surveyed the premises, as the men, giving +the children to Hagar, returned to the boat to +fetch the trunks. It was a small but tight and +well-finished, weather-proof little place, built +against the side of the promontory of rocks +cut from its bosom; the walls were plastered, +the floor paved, and an ample fire-place on the +right of the entrance, faced a large window on +the left. It had been built as a place of deposit +for fishing tackle, and as a kitchen for dressing +the freshly caught fish, crabs, and oysters, when +the Churchills varied their hospitality by an improvised +fish feast upon the beach.

Gusty surveyed the capabilities of the place, +poked the candle and his nose into holes and +corners, among broken fishing-rods, old flag-baskets, +staves of fallen down tubs, footless pots, +and topless kettles, &c., and then sticking the +candle against the side of the chimney, he collected +some of the old flag-baskets, and breaking +them up, piled them in the fire-place and set +fire to them—they blazed and roared delightfully +up the chimney, diffusing agreeable light and +warmth. Then drawing a rude stool to the +chimney-corner, and going up to Hagar, he took +the two children from her arms, and told her to +pull off her snow-covered riding habit and sit +there. She did so, and held out her arms to +receive the children back. He set them in her +lap, and going to the pile of staves, brought and +threw them on the burning embers of the flag-baskets, +making a great fire, whose light glowed +all over the small room, heating it pleasantly. +Then he hung up her riding habit to dry, and +digging out an old tea-kettle from the pile of +rubbish, he clapped his hat upon his head and +went out to fill it at a spring that bubbled from +the rock by the side of the house; returning he +set it on the fire, just as the voices of the men +were heard approaching the cabin. They came +in, each with a large trunk upon his shoulder, +and bearing another by the handles between +them. They came in and setting down their +burdens prepared to depart and return to the +packet—but Gusty, with a gesture, detained them, +as he knelt at the side of one of the trunks, and +opening it, took out a bottle of brandy, some +spices, and a mug, and gave “something to protect +them against suffering through the inclemency +of the weather.”

They then departed, leaving Gusty, Hagar, +and the children, sole occupants of the cabin.

“It is vain to think of trying to reach the Hall +139to-night, Hagar,” said Gusty, as he pulled off +his greatcoat and hung it near the fire to thaw and +dry. “And we must just stay here till morning,” +he continued, and turning a tub bottom upwards +he drew it up to the fire and seated himself, +watching and tending the kettle as it progressed +towards boiling. “If the men could possibly +have stopped and lent us their assistance in carrying +the children, I might have helped you, and—but, +no! even then it would have been impossible +on this frightful night! We should have +got lost, and floundered about in snow-drifts +until morning, if we had not perished before +then; the snow is so much deeper than I had +any idea of before leaving the packet,” and +Gusty, taking a stick, and passing it through the +handle, lifted the boiling kettle from the fire, and +set it on the hearth, saying, “I am going to +make you some spice tea, Hagar, to restore your +circulation and send out a perspiration; you are +chilled to death, your hands are livid,” and putting +some cloves into the mug, he poured some +of the boiling water upon it and set it down to +steep.

All this time, Hagar had heard his remarks +without replying to them—seen his efforts for her +comfort without acknowledging them; because, +after her sudden rise of spirits, she had again +sunk into apathy. Soon he took a little rude +table—once used in cooking operations—and +turning it bottom upwards, and gathering all their +outside coverings that were now dried, he made +a little warm bed for the babies, and begged Hagar +to lay them in it. She did so, covered them +up snugly, and resumed her seat.

“I wish, Hagar,” said he, as he handed her the +mug of spice tea, “I do wish that there was a +place where you could lie down and take some +sleep.”

“I know now what to do,” he said, receiving +the empty mug from her hand and setting it on +the hearth; “yes, I know what to do now,” and +taking her riding habit, he hung it from the corner +of the mantel-piece down against the wall +behind her, and said, “Now, adjust your stool +comfortably, Hagar, and lean upon that; you +will rest better, and perhaps you will sleep. I +shall sit here in front of the hearth, and watch to +keep the fire going.”

And so the party remained through all that +stormy night. But! Hagar had better have +braved the fearful ascent of the precipice through +that terrible storm—had better have perished in the +snow—on that horrible night, than have lived to +defy the more fatal tempest of calumny raised by +her lodging in the fishing-house, and that soon +roared and raved around her, striking thunderbolts +upon her devoted head.

All night the children slept on their rude +pallet, lulled by the howling of the storm, as it +came dulled through the thick walls of the fishing-house. +All night Hagar slumbered a fitful +and uninterrupted slumber, more like a succession +of fainting fits than a natural sleep, for overpowered +by fatigue, she would fall into a state +of deep insensibility, from which she would often +start in terror, aroused by a sudden consciousness +or dream of wrong, danger, or censure, of a terrible +and impending destiny. All night Gusty +sat upon the inverted tub drawn up between the +fire-dogs, guarding his charges and keeping up +the fire. Gusty, in whom the animal so largely +predominated, found it very hard to keep awake—yet +Gusty, who had never lost a meal’s victuals +or a night’s sleep for any grief or disappointment +he had ever suffered—Gusty, now that the health +and comfort of others made it necessary for him +to do so—propped his eyes open with heroic perseverance. +Every one knows how difficult it is +to keep from going to sleep, alone, in a quiet +room over a good fire; there is something soporific +in its genial heat, even in the day time. +Gusty could have sworn he had not closed his +eyes the whole night, yet by some inexplicable +magic he had, or dreamed he had taken up a stick +to mend the fire—at deep, dark, stormy midnight—and +when he put it down, or when it fell +from his hand—the instant after—it was broad, +bright, glorious daylight! with the sun beaming +a blinding light through the window, whose form +was traced in amber radiance upon the opposite +wall, near which Hagar stood in her travelling +dress, ready for a walk, with the two babies +standing clinging to her skirts, and gazing with +baby wonder upon the strange scene in which +they found themselves.

“Lord!—yes!—well!—I declare!—so it is!” +exclaimed Gusty, starting up.

“I never SLEPT!” averred Gusty, with his eyes +still wide open with astonishment, thinking himself +bewitched.

Gusty arose, and shook himself, like a great +honest dog roused from slumber, and walking to +the door opened it and looked out.

She went up to his side. It was indeed a gorgeous +scene! The heath and hills were covered +with crusted and brilliant snow, glittering with +diamond dust. The forest trees carved in ice, +with icicles for foliage. From every bough and +bud dropped millions of pendent jewels. Earth +wore a gorgeous bridal dress, bedecked with +diamonds, and the morning sun kindled up into +dazzling splendor the icy glories of the scene, +until the snow flashed back to heaven, in lines +of blinding light, a glory brilliant as the sun +himself. Gusty shaded his eyes from the blinding +radiance. Hagar gazed unwinking with her +eagle eyes upon the landscape, until the fire +kindled in her cheek and burned on her lips. +When they had breathed the pure air, and enjoyed +the prospect a few minutes, Gusty said,

“You must remain here an hour, Hagar, until +I go to the Hall and fetch a horse—it is almost +impossible for you to get over these slippery and +mountainous snow-drifts yet.”

“Yes, just now it will, but in an hour or two +the crust will be melted. Oh! this snow, deep +as it is, will not last long; it comes too late in +the season; the last offering of old winter, who +turned back to make it. Yes, there is a great +change since last night, I should think the +thermometer had risen thirty degrees. I declare +the sun begins to feel warm on my shoulders. +Well, Hagar, stay here till I come. Oh! there +are some crackers in my trunk, if you want +them for the children, here are the keys,” and +throwing them to her, he buttoned up his great +coat, drew on his gloves, clapped his hat upon +his head, and set out. He might have been gone +an hour, but she heard no trampling of horse +feet upon the snow, and so was unconscious of +their approach until Gusty opened the door, and +stood smilingly with his broad good-humored +face within it. Behind him—standing on tiptoe, +to look over his shoulder, was Tarquinius, +grinning with delight from ear to ear, and breaking +past them, yelping defiance like fire and +sword, sprang two pointers straight upon Hagar, +whom they overwhelmed with welcome caresses! +She started with brightening eyes, and returned +their honest fondling. Then how they bounded, +leaped, and fell into convulsions of joy! or lay +their muzzles out upon her lap, every hair +vibrating with a still delight.

“Come, Mrs. Withers, are you quite ready?” +said Gusty, drawing off his gloves and putting +them into his pocket.

“How do you do, Tarquinius?” said she, +kindly holding out her hand to the man that had +been standing smiling and bowing his reverential +welcome (making his obedience, he called it), +through all this scene. “How is old Cumbo—how +is your grandmother, Tarquin?”

“Yes, ma’am, but her ages does not get any +wusser, but commiserably better.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am! she deforms de cookinary +boderations as well as ever she did,” and making +two or three deep bows, Tarquinius Superbus +retired from the conference.

There was an unusual kindliness in Hagar’s +manner while inquiring after the welfare of her +old nurse; one of the blessed influences of sorrow +was beginning to manifest itself—her heart +was softening, becoming capable of being impressed +by the afflictions of others.

“Hagar, come!” said Gusty, lifting up a child +in each arm, and preceding her from the door.

Hagar followed, and no sooner had she +emerged into the dazzling sunlight upon the +crusted snow, than with a neigh of joy her little +jet black pony Starlight, bounded to meet her. +She fell upon his neck, caressing him, as if he +had been her brother, too surprised and glad to +ask an explanation of his arrival. She patted, +talked to him, and laying her hand upon his +mane, sprang into the saddle with something of +her former agility and gladness. She had +thought the coming of the dogs accidental, she +thought that Gusty had met them on an early +hunt, and that they had naturally recognised an +old friend and followed him to the house; but +now that she felt herself again upon Starlight’s +back, with the dogs at her feet, she wondered +how it came so.

“Sit Agatha here before me, Gusty, I can +hold her with one hand, and guide Starlight with +the other. I mean to accustom the children +early to riding.”

“And which is Agatha, and which is Agnes?—hang +me if I can tell, though I have a preference! +for this little one on my left arm loves +me the most, presses close to me, looks up in my +face, and seeks my eyes; and if I turn away my +head, she puts up her little dimpled hand upon +my chin, and turns my face around again, till +she can see my eyes. God love her! God bless +her! the loving darling! while this other child +sits perched upon my arm, as if it were a high +chair, with closed lips and level gaze, with all +the composed dignity of an infant princess. +Now, which is Agatha, and which is Agnes? +If my loving darling is Agatha, I won’t give +her up.”

“No, your favorite is Agnes—the other is +Agatha; hand her to me; and, Gusty, I wish +you would not manifest the slightest preference +for one child above the other—it is a fatal +cruelty. Agatha is still, because she has less +vitality than her sister; she is more delicate, +dear child. I discovered it the first moment I +had an opportunity of comparing them.”

Gusty placed the sedate infant in her mother’s +care, and seemed very well pleased to be relieved +from the burden, and at liberty to devote his +whole care to the “loving darling” in his arms. +And so the party set out over the brilliant snow, +under the glorious sunshine. They reached the +old Hall in twenty minutes’ ride. Agatha had +fallen asleep on her mother’s bosom. They entered +through the broken gate, and Hagar rode +quite up to the piazza, and handing the sleeping +babe to Tarquinius, she sprang from her saddle, +took back the child, and entering the doorway, +stood one moment in silent prayer, and passed +on into the parlor, where stood old Cumbo leaning +on her stick, with a red handkerchief on her +head, tied under her chin, and forming a brilliant +red frame around a face, black, wrinkled, and +shining as a dried prune. Awed by the memory +of Hagar’s pride and hardness, the old woman +did not advance to welcome her, but when Hagar +approached and spoke to her gently and +kindly, she fell to crying and calling her dear +“piccaninni.” Hagar looked around upon the +scene; it appeared to her strange that everything +had remained unchanged during the long century +that her two years’ absence seemed to be. It +was the same old parlor papered with the +martyrs—with the shadows of the same poplar +trees intercepting the sun at the windows that +looked out upon the piazza. A good hickory +fire was burning on the ample hearth, and a +good breakfast smoking on the table. Hagar +set her child down upon the carpet, and began +to take off her travelling dress, just as Gusty +entered, followed by Tarquinius, bearing a dish +of fine white perch, fried, which he had just +brought from the kitchen, and now set upon the +table. They sat down to breakfast.

“These are very nice, Tarquin—did you +catch them?” asked Gusty, placing a perch upon +the plate before him.

141“Yes, sir! I did, sir; I most in general confuses +my ledger hours by angulating in the bay, +whenever the perdition of the hemisphere commits.”

“Ah, that’s right; has my mother—has Mrs. +Buncombe been over at the Hall to give any +directions?”

“No, sor, but de reverend gen’lem’n, sir, he +come ober, and dejected us to have ebery ting +impaired, and all the molestic confairs deranged +for Mrs. Widders, an’ so we have conveyed his +ardors to de best of our debility.”

“I shall have to take leave of you immediately +after breakfast; I must see my mother—she +is uneasy, I know—perhaps sick. Say, are +they all well over to the Grove, Tarquin?”

“Yes, sir, de reveren gen’lem’n, he has got +over his room-atism, and goes all over the +house; but he is inflicted with a dog-matism in +his ear, owing to Mr. Green’s big dog, Silver, +jumpin’ up and bitin’ him.”

“Speaking of dogs, will you tell me, Gusty, +how Starlight, and Remus, and Romulus came +here?”

“In the first place, the dogs would not stay +anywhere else. Gardiner Green tied them up, +but they gnawed their rope in two and fled to +the Hall; and then he caught them and chained +them, but they kept such a dismal howling—”

“That Mrs. Green, who is very superstitious, +insisted on their being set at liberty, and they +immediately returned to the Hall!”

“Yes, Starlight! he was worse, it was a regular +conspiracy. Star behaved like a comet—like +a devil let loose. Gardiner Green mounted him +on Sunday to ride to church, but no sooner was +he prisoned on the saddle, than Star shot forward +like a meteor, while Green fell upon his neck and +grasped his mane; Star fled across the meadow, +making the turf fly beneath his digging feet, fled +towards the river, plunged in, swam it, climbed +the opposite side, and took the way towards the +forest. Soon the pointers came baying behind +him. On fled Star, with Green clinging in +deadly terror to his neck, bent on a regular +steeple chase, bounding over the hills, tearing +through the forest, springing over gates, leaping +across chasms, till at last reaching and clearing +Devil’s Gorge at a bound, he sent Gardiner +Green spinning from his back like a shot from a +pop-gun! and keeping on his course, arrived in +a somewhat excited state of mind at his own stall +at Heath Hall, where the pointers soon overtook +him. Gardiner Green was picked up by those +who went to look for him, battered, bruised, and +terrified nearly to death, but not lamed, dead, or +otherwise injured. The next morning they sent +over and had Starlight led back; and Starlight +stepped statelily forth with the indignant air and +threatening eye of a captive king led in triumph, +who expects yet to rise and crush his enemies.”

“Oh! he was a hero—he was not born to be +a slave, or to serve any master except for +love.”

“Like his mistress,” thought Hagar, and her +brow grew dark with recollection.

“Well, they carried him home and geared him +up into Mistress Green’s gig—but he ran away +with that, threw Mrs. Green out, spoiling her +beauty but not seriously injuring her—kicked the +gig to flinders, and brought the remnant of his +gearing as a trophy home to the stables of Heath +Hall that very evening. Then they put him in a +cart, which he served in the same manner. Then +they put him in a plough with another horse.”

“Exactly! but his highness, Prince Starlight, +the Black Prince, would not stand it—he kicked, +and reared, and plunged, and tried to excite his +comrade to run away. And when his small-souled +comrade would not, he bit him severely +on the neck, as a punishment for helping to keep +him prisoner. And then Gardiner Green offered +‘the black fiend’ to any one for half the price +he gave for him. It was just at this juncture of +affairs that I had run down here to see mother +again before going the voyage I expected to sail +on, and hearing of this, I gladly purchased the +horse at half-price, and returned him to the +stables at Heath Hall, for the use of Hagar if +ever she should return—for, Hagar, it is demonstrated +that he will not serve man, woman, or +child, but you.”

“I know that,” said Hagar, “and Gusty, I +thank you, very sincerely—but I must repay +you.”

“Be hanged if you shall! I will give him to +you, but as for selling him to you! I’d cut his +throat first! I was very willing to pay a good +price for him, only I was enraged with that old +brute, Gardiner Green, for having the atrocious +assurance to buy your horse and dogs without +your consent; for, of course, Hagar, I knew perfectly +well that you would never have agreed to +the sale, and so I would not be generous! I was +too glad to punish his fault through his tenderest +point, his pocket.”

“But,” said Hagar, choking with the unavailing +effort to speak a name that had not passed +her lips since its owner was lost to her sight, “he +sold them, and of course my consent was understood +or unnecessary.”

This was the first occasion upon which even +the most distant allusion was made between +Hagar and Gusty to the party that was nevertheless +ever present to the minds of both. Gusty +soon after arose from the table, and in taking +leave of Hagar, promised that if it were possible +for his mother to venture through the deep snow, +he would bring her over in the afternoon.

The family of Grove Cottage had just arisen +from breakfast. The parson had just buttoned +up his greatcoat, set his hat upon his head, and +was drawing on his wool-lined gloves for a walk +to the village, when the door opened, and Gusty +entered.

“Oh! how do you do?” exclaimed Mr. Buncombe, +slightly starting back with surprise, and +then cordially shaking his hand. Gusty, returning +his salute, passed on to where his mother sat +at the head of the table. Emily arose with tears +142in her eyes. Gusty caught and folded her warmly +to his bosom.

Mr. Buncombe returned, and laying his hand +upon his step-son’s shoulder, said—“Gusty, my +boy, I am called to the sick bed of one of my +parishioners, and must leave you. I am sorry, +but I shall meet you here at dinner?”

The parson departed, and Gusty releasing his +mother, snatched up his infant sister, Rose, and +began to cover her with caresses and praises by +way of diverting the storm of maternal grief and +resentment, that he felt too ready to break over +his head. Emily was weeping bitterly, until, seeing +his grief and embarrassment, she arose and +fell upon his shoulder, exclaiming,

“Oh, Gusty! Gusty! you have destroyed the +labor and the hopes of many years and cares. +You have nearly broken my heart—but you are +welcome, nevertheless! Welcome, welcome, my +boy!”

“Mother! don’t, now don’t—don’t make me +feel like a brute, when I know I have behaved +like a man!” said Gusty, setting down the child, +and returning his mother’s embrace. “I have +not merited this misfortune, mother; and I know +that therefore, sooner or later, it will turn out +well!”

“Ah! but, Gusty, it is such a blow! and you +did nothing to avert, and will do nothing to +remedy it! Why did you not, why do you not, +even now, hasten to Washington, and petition to +be reinstated?”

“I would see the whole United States Navy +swamped first, mother! No, much as I honor +my flag, I honor myself more! and God most!”

“Ah, Gusty! ‘God helps those who help +themselves,’ is a very true proverb.”

“May be so—but I’ll improve upon that, ‘God +helps those who help their neighbors!’ I have +Scripture for that, mother; ‘Cast thy bread upon +the waters, and after many days it shall return, +and whoso giveth, lendeth to the Lord.’ Come, +mother, I lost my commission by doing a higher +duty than any I owed my flag, and so I am not +uneasy; but, mother, you have not once inquired +after Hagar, who landed last night in the midst +of the storm, and who is now at the Hall.”

“Well! how should I be able to think of +Hagar, when I have so many anxieties on your +account, unfortunate boy? but how is Hagar, +then?”

“Recovering slowly, but very slowly; will +you not go over to see her, then, this afternoon?”

Emily was silent and thoughtful, and sooth to +say, rather displeased at the proposition.

“Will you not, mother? Come, mother; when +you see Hagar, so wretched, so ill, so changed, +your unjust displeasure with her will be dissipated; +you should not indeed feel angry with +her because she was the involuntary, the unconscious +cause of my misfortune, which she does +not even know of yet—thinking I am on furlough—and +do not tell her, mother.”

“Yes, but I see no reason for all this wretchedness. +I knew that Hagar madly loved her +husband, but I do not see why his leaving her +for two years should cause her to lose the power +of directing her own life, and so cause you to +lose all the hopes and prospects of yours.”

Gusty mused. Could he, he thought, enlighten +his mother as to the real state of affairs? After +some minutes’ reflection, he determined to keep +the secret of the elopement, veiled as it was by +the foreign mission; both because, though his +suspicions came as near truth as suspicions could +come, yet they were not fully proved—he might +feel very sure himself, yet he might not he able +to assure another mind—and because he did not +wish to inflict upon his mother another sorrow, +in addition to the one she was now almost sinking +under. He felt sure that she would never +receive a hint from Hagar, whom self-esteem, as +well as her continued and inevitable love for her +husband, would keep silent upon the subject of +his perfidy, and her own wrongs and sufferings.

When Gusty May had left the breakfast-table +for his walk to Grove Cottage, Hagar took her +two children up to her own chamber—to her old +eyrie in the third story. This room also was +unchanged—except—yes! there sat her children’s +little rose-wood crib, with all its furniture, +just as it was before it had been sold at the third +execution. There could be but one to whom she +was indebted for this delicate attention, and +though her morbid pride was at first startled, yet +her affections were touched by this instance of +disinterested friendship.

Without any pretensions, Gusty was doing +everything to sanctify the uses of adversity to +the heart of Hagar. It was impossible not to +be softened by the kind offices of a friendship +that gave everything without hope or even +thought of return. This was Hagar’s first, her +very first experience of disinterested affection—the +love of Raymond was intensely selfish, craving +only the possession of its object, regardless +of her affections or her happiness—and Hagar +had felt that bitterly through all her married life, +and most bitterly in her desertion. The effect +of this selfish and cruel abandonment on the +character of Hagar’s mind and heart, must have +been most deleterious, fatal, but that the antidote +was provided in a new phase of human sympathy +revealed to her in the disinterested affection +of one—an alien by blood—a rejected and humbled +lover of her girlhood, a sufferer by the same +treachery that laid her own hopes in the dust; +one who, without pretending to any fine feelings, +or expressing any fine sentiments, had quietly +suppressed and concealed his own griefs, in ministering +to her wants, in trying to alleviate her +sorrows. Hagar’s maternity had first inspired +her deepest prayer—her children had been the +angels sent to conduct her heart to God—to +whom, ever since, with an almost hearing, seeing, +touching faith, she had offered all her joys, +gratitudes, and praises, and where, alas! she had +also impiously carried all her fears, complaints, +and reproaches. But now she must ask a boon +of Providence, that He would bless and prosper +the kind soul that she was unable to benefit. +This was the silent prayer—the silent fragrance +rising from the bruised heart to heaven—while +she loosened her babies’ clothes, and laid them +in the crib to take their forenoon nap. And +then she looked around the pleasant room with +its agreeable associations, the extensive prospect +from the windows of the broad river, the village +143with its little stir and bustle on the opposite side, +the boundless bay with its occasional passing +packet, all inspiring the feeling of life, liberty, +and strength. If God is a kind father, as all his +children devoutly feel and acknowledge, Nature +is a good nursing mother, and under the care of +both, Hagar was even now beginning to feel her +torpid life stir again. She was at home, under +her own roof; what if the house were half a +ruin—it was HER OWN. She was upon her own +land, and though it was only a desert heath, it +was HER OWN. There was a sense of independence +in that, and of pride in the thought that +for this home she was not indebted to Mr. +Withers—for, though she still must love him, in +her high self-appreciation she now felt an unconquerable +reluctance to receive anything from him +who had withdrawn his love and personal protection. +And then there was a sense of returning +power in the new life that was tiding in and +filling all her veins. Turning from the window, +from which she had been gazing, her eye fell +upon her own image in the glass; that glass +which had so often reflected the slight dark figure +of the high-spirited maiden, whose long blue-black +ringlets glittered down a crimson cheek +blushing with pride, now gave back the form of +the matron, whose fair, wan, spiritual face was +faintly flushed with returning life, and softly +shaded by the tiny black ringlets of the young +hair just visible under the delicate lace border +of her little cap. Hagar scarcely knew herself. +It was so strange to see that changed picture in +that frame.

Returning and looking again at her children, +she drew the light muslin curtain around them, +and left the room to take a look through the +house. She went into the large, old drawing-room +hall, as it was called in those days, and +there the first thing that met her eyes was her +grand piano, and her harp, from the Rialto. +Hagar started in surprise and embarrassment—the +burden of obligation was beginning to feel +oppressive—she called Tarquin in.

“They ’riv’ ’tother day, ma’am, by the packet +‘Future,’ Cap’n Hope, who sent ’em up to the +Hall by two sailors.”

“No, ma’am, freight paid in advance—dinner +is ready, Mrs. Withers,” said the man, throwing +open the parlor door with all the ceremonious +observance of “better days.” Hagar passed in +and sat down to her solitary meal. It was a +well served, delicate little repast, purveyed by +the affectionate care of Cumbo and Tarquin from +the rich resources of the Heath and bay, which +were always abundantly supplied with wild +game, water fowl, fish, crabs, oysters, &c., in +their respective seasons. There was no danger +of our Hagar starving, and that was one comfort; +nor of her freezing, as long as the forest stood +behind the Heath, and that was another consolation. +Her dinner was scarcely over and the +things removed from the table, when looking +through the window, she saw Emily on her little +mare with her little girl before her, and Gusty +riding by her side. This of course was the first +sight she had had of Emily for two years past; she +hastened out to meet her. Gusty had dismounted, +and was lifting his little sister from his mother’s +lap, previous to assisting her from the saddle. She +greeted Hagar with as much cordiality as could +be expected under the circumstances. Hagar +immediately ran, and lifting, caressed the little +girl that was but a few months older than her +own children. Emily’s sullen anger was somewhat +softened by witnessing the sincere interest +manifested by the youthful mother in her child, +and so they went into the house. Soon Hagar +led her babies, who could now walk, into the +room, and the two women for a time forgot—the +one her pride, the other her anger, and both their +antagonism, in comparing and admiring the three +babies as they toddled about. Emily remained +to tea, and forgot her displeasure so far as not +only to suppress the fact of her son’s having +been cashiered, but also to invite Hagar to come +and spend a week at Grove cottage, as soon as +she should be able to go out.

The next morning, directly after breakfast, +Gusty came over to Heath Hall to inquire after +Hagar and the babies, and to know if she wanted +anything.

“Yes, Gusty, I want to speak to you. Come +in here, Gusty,” and taking his hand she drew +him into the drawing-room and pointed to the +piano and harp.

“Ah, yes! certainly! give me a tune!” said +Gusty, blushing and stammering with embarrassment.

“Only this, Gusty, that you are very good, too +good for your own sake—but, Gusty, dear friend, +you must not lavish such presents upon me.”

“Oh! nonsense! oh, pshaw! they were sold +at auction, and I bought them in for a mere +trifle.”

“Yes, but, dear friend, there are many reasons +why you should not offer and I receive costly +presents like these. Much as I dislike to do it +I shall have to draw—upon—upon his banker +and pay you for them as well as for the horse +and dogs.”

“Dear Gusty, now listen to me quietly, it +must be so; and moreover, dear Gusty, you must +not get into the habit of visiting me every day as +you appear inclined to do. You must never +come to see me, Gusty, except in company with +your mother.”

“Thunder!” roared Gusty. “Hagar, how +have I deserved that sentence? I can’t stand +that!”

“Listen, Gusty! when I was a girl you know I +did not care at all what people said or thought of +me. I cared for nothing but to keep my Maker’s +laws, because no one cared for me then.”

“No—but I care for others! I care for the +honor of one whose honor is more vulnerable +through me than through himself! Once I was +unconnected, and if society had misunderstood, +judged, and condemned me, I should have fallen +alone! and so I had courage to do as I pleased +and defy the fate! now I am closely entwined +with others, who, when I am struck down, fall +with me. I am weak, fettered, enslaved through +them, Gusty. I cannot do as I please, and +though I esteem and respect you beyond all +other people in the world with one exception, +144and though your society would be the greatest +solace in my reach, yet I must forego it, dear +Gusty.”

“You have no faith in my honor, in your own +purity, or in God! that is just the amount of it,” +growled Gusty, straightening himself up with +tears in his eyes as he buttoned up his greatcoat. +“It seems to me you are not yourself; you are +weak.”

“And do you, Hagar, really hope to propitiate +the gossips of —— county by this course? and +do you, a deserted wife!—there it’s out! well! +it has been in both our minds continually, so it +had as well come out. I say, do you expect to +be let alone? Do you not know that the old +grudge against your wild girlhood will be +remembered, and now that an opportunity is +offered, will be visited with fury on your head. +You will be cast forth from here, Hagar; a +ground-swell of slander and persecution will lift +and lift you, Hagar, until you take wing. Did +you think when I brought you to be nursed into +health and strength by the bracing air of your +native heath, that I thought that YOU would stay +here? No, Hagar! I could prophesy more +for you, but I will not now. I will leave you to +the force of circumstances; to the inspirations of +your own genius—to God in fine. But you are +wrong to discard me. I have not deserved it. +I say it! But I charge all this weakness of +yours upon bodily ill health. Good morning, +Hagar;” and shaking her hand affectionately, +he clapped his hat upon his head and went out.

It happened as Gusty had predicted. Hagar +remained weeks, months at Heath Hall, and no +one visited her—not a soul had come to welcome +her back to her native neighborhood except the +Buncombes. All sorts of evil reports got into +circulation against her. She was, as Gusty said, +a rich waif for the gossips of —— county. +Some were contented with repeating that her +husband had left her, that “of course he had +good reason,” asserting that they “had always +expected it.” Others declared that she had +eloped from him, and averred that they had +“said so long ago.” Some said positively that +he had left her upon account of the intimacy +subsisting between herself and Lieutenant May—others +had discovered that Lieutenant May had +been cashiered upon her account, &c., &c., &c. +Many other and more fatal rumors got into +circulation, and though they never reached the +ears of Hagar, she felt them in the utter abandonment +and solitude into which she was +suffered to fall; for even Emily’s visits became +shorter and colder, and “few and far between,” +until they ceased altogether, and Hagar Withers +was left alone! And it was under these +circumstances, and when her twins were little +over a year old, that her third child was born. +It was a little, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, golden-haired +boy—with the very soul of Raymond +Withers reposing on his features; and Hagar, if +she could not love the babe more upon that +account, was happier in her love, because the +face of the baby gave her back the features of +her absent and lost one.

Rosalia Aguilar was not one to enjoy an +hour’s impunity in sinning. From the time of her +passing Churchill’s Point—through all the days +of her passage down the bay to Norfolk—up to +the time of her embarkation—and through all +the weeks of her long sea voyage, she had +remained in a sort of horrid waking dream—with +her life broken off in the middle, and its +innocence and happiness wafted away—receding +with the receding shores of her native country. +Raymond vainly waited for the struggle to cease, +when she might repose calmly in his power. +The struggle had ceased, but the issue had not +been what he hoped and expected. The struggle +had ceased—passion was conquered, and remorse +was the victor, the judge, and the executioner. +Her health declined daily; her features +grew sharp, and her complexion of a blue transparent +paleness. She became so feeble at last +as to be almost unable to go upon deck. Every +day she expressed an earnest wish to reach the +end of her voyage. Every hour she besought +Raymond when he should land, to place her in +some quiet, obscure retreat, and leave her for ever—leave +her to die alone—to die in peace. And +Raymond would endeavour to soothe her, while +evading her despairing entreaties. At last +Rosalia ceased to make them, and seemed +resigned to her destiny. And Raymond deceived +himself with the fond belief that she was content, +and pleased himself with the hope that once upon +the shores of sunny Italy her health and spirits +would return, especially when towards the end +of the voyage, and after they had entered the +Mediterranean, she revived so much as to be able +to come on deck every morning and evening. +In this seemingly promising state of affairs, they +arrived at Genoa—the post of Raymond Withers’s +consulship. On the voyage out Miss +Aguilar had passed for what she really was—the +ward of Captain and Mrs. Wilde—going out +under the protection of the new Consul, to +rejoin them. It had been the design of +Raymond Withers, on reaching the shores of +Italy, to find some convenient and obscure, but +beautiful palazzo, buried in some fragrant grove +by the side of some lovely stream—furnish and +adorn it to please his own luxurious taste, and +enshrine his idol there, where the privacy of the +retreat would prevent exposure for some time. +How he expected to meet the further difficulties +that make “the way of the transgressors so hard” +does not appear.

They landed at Genoa. Raymond Withers +took his ward at once to a hotel, saw her +comfortably ensconced in her own apartment, +and promising to meet her at dinner, left her for +the purpose of presenting his credentials in the +proper quarter.

It was about three o’clock when he left the +hotel—it was five when he returned, sought his +own chamber, changed his dress, and sent a +waiter to the apartment of Miss Aguilar, to +145know if she were ready for dinner. The man +returned after some time, saying that he supposed +the young lady was sleeping, as he had knocked +loudly but received no answer. Raymond +settled it in his own mind that she was taking an +afternoon’s nap, and waited patiently for an hour, +then touching the bell, he sent the waiter that +answered it again to the chamber of Rosalia, +and again the man returned in a few minutes, +with the information that the young lady was +still sleeping. Raymond thought that Rosalia +was taking a very long sleep, and hoped she +might awake refreshed and cheerful, and be able +to spend the evening pleasantly with him. He +ordered dinner and ate it alone. Then selecting +a delightful little private parlor, which contained, +among other luxuries, a grand piano, he +took possession of it, giving directions that an +elegant little supper should be prepared and set +on the table there at ten o’clock.

And there he sat waiting, promising himself an +evening of delight, with Rosalia’s society, and +his long lost luxury—music. At nine o’clock +he sent a third time to the chamber-door, and a +third time the waiter returned to say that no +answer was given to his knock. Now, for the +first time, a feeling of uneasiness arose in +Raymond Withers’s bosom; and reluctant as he +was to violate any of the external proprieties of +life, whatever he might do with its moralities, he +determined to go to her room and see what was +the matter. He went, rapped at her door, +received no answer—rapped a second time and +louder, and waited, listening with his ear to the +lock; all was silent as death! Then he tried +the lock and found it fast. In real alarm now +he knocked loudly, beating and shaking the door, +and calling on the name of Rosalia—then +suddenly stopping while the sounds died away +in silence, he put his ear to the key-hole and +listened—the stillness of the grave was within! +Terrified now, he hastened from the door to the +nearest bell-rope, jerked it down, and broke the +wires with his energetic pull, sending peals of +alarm through the house that brought the landlord +and half the servants in the establishment +to his presence.

“Are you sure that this is the room in which +the young American lady was placed?” he +inquired of the host.

“Then I must have the door forced—the +young lady entered this chamber at three o’clock, +and though summoned both to dinner and to +supper, has not made her appearance or replied +to the call, or given, in fact, the slightest sign of +her presence, or even of her existence! and it is +now ten o’clock. I am extremely anxious concerning +her, and must have the door forced. +Clear away all these people, signor landlord; +I did not want the whole establishment about my +ears—and bring an instrument to force this lock. +I tell you that I am consumed with anxiety!”

“Si, Signore; what does Signore think may +be the matter?” inquired the host, as with a wave +of his hand he dismissed all his attendants and +took a master key from his girdle.

“Matter! how can I tell? the lady may be +ill, dead, in a lethargy; open the door; do! +without more delay.”

The landlord placed the key in the door, +turned it, and throwing open the door, bowed, +and was about to withdraw, when Raymond +Withers recalled him by a gesture, and both +entered the chamber. The room was unoccupied, +the bed empty, and its perfectly smooth and +neat appearance proved that it had not been +slept in. Yet Rosalia’s trunks were on the floor; +her pet doves, released from their cage, were +perched upon the top of the dressing-glass; and +even her dark blue velvet travelling dress and +close beaver bonnet, lay upon the white Marseilles +counterpane that covered the bed. Raymond +gazed around in perplexity and distress. +There was no other mode of exit from the room +except the door by which they had entered, and +the windows; he went to one and raised it; +pshaw! the fall to the ground was fifty feet; a +bird would have risked its neck in taking the +flight; and Raymond turned away from the +window in despair, to detect the landlord’s smile, +which was quickly drawn in as he met his guest’s +anxious gaze of inquiry, and replied to it by +saying—

“The young lady could only have left the +room by the door at which we entered, sir—and +she must have locked her door, and taken the key +with her; and to prove it, see—there is no other +means of exit from the room; and when we +came we found the door fastened, the room +vacant, and the key gone,” said he, pointing to +the lock. Raymond Withers was half stupified +with astonishment at her absence, and alarm for +her fate.

“Do, and be quick, will you?” said Raymond +Withers, lifting the lamp from the dressing-table, +where he had set it at first entering the room. +As he raised up the light, his eyes fell on a small +white note that, lying upon the white cover of +the table, had escaped his first glance, so that he +had set the lamp down upon it and concealed it +until this instant. Snatching it up now, he saw +that it was directed to himself in the hand-writing +of Rosalia; he tore it open and read—

“Good-bye, Raymond—I am gone. Forgive me, Raymond, +all the sin I have caused you to commit—all the +suffering I have made you undergo—and when I dare to +pray, I will implore the God of Mercy to bless and heal +you. I have left you in this abrupt manner, Raymond, +because I knew that you would not have suffered me +to depart had you suspected my intentions; nor, to tell +the truth, had I the courage to brave the anguish of a +parting scene. I had long resolved on this. Indeed, +had it not been for this resolution, I should never have +lived to reach the land, Raymond. This resolution was +the secret of my recovery at sea; a temporary recovery +only, I begin now to think it was, Raymond, for to-night +a mortal languor overpowers me; I can scarcely raise +myself from my chair, or draw one weary foot after the +other; yet must their last strength be spent in bearing +me away from you, as surely as my last breath shall be +spent in praying for you, Raymond. I do not know +where I am going—towards what point of the compass +my failing steps will stray—to some quiet spot where I +can lie down and go to sleep—I have not been to sleep +since that day!—that day when I kneeled down by the +side of your lounge, and, with my head upon your +cushion, sobbed myself to sleep, while you looked gently +in my face and stroked my hair, soothing into stillness +146the tempest in my bosom. Ah, that day, when waking +up, I, unfortunate! became your Eve, tempting you to +sin! No more, alas! I have not slept since then; for +though I have laid down and shut my eyes, I have never +lost myself—never lost consciousness of my sin—my +remorse—and never lost sight of one image—the image +of Hagar! oh! I feel it sacrilege for me to trace the letters +that form her name!—of Hagar, as she stood pale +in the grey morning light, with her black hair streaming +down her wan cheeks. In that form her spirit always +stands before me night and day, and I cannot shut it +out and sleep. I shall escape this image in leaving you, +Raymond, and so I shall be permitted to go to sleep and +die; for it was you she followed, cleaved to, not me; +and this is the reason, I know it, she never looks indignant +and reproachful as she used to look at me, even +when I did not understand her look—but deprecating, +loving, imploring, and most wretched as she used to +look at you when in her anguish she forgot that other +eyes than yours were on her. Good-bye, Raymond! +my tears are falling fast—thank God, they can flow once +more! they have been scorching up in their fountains +so long! Ah, now I understand poor Hagar’s dry sobs! +and the untold agony breaking forth through them! as +much more awful than the grief of tears as the burning +sirocco of the desert is more terrible than the April +shower. Well, I can weep now, thank God! Come, I +shall be able to sleep soon; perhaps I shall even grow +calm enough to die. Good-bye—take care of my doves; +I would like to take them with me, but they would +perish where I shall go to sleep. Give them to Hagar’s +children—there! now the tears are raining from my +eyes again. Oh, Raymond, I would lose my soul to +save, to redeem yours! would descend into hell to purchase +you a place among the archangels! Good-bye! +good-bye! Alas! I shall write all night; I cannot tear +myself from the paper that yet connects me with you. +Good-night, Raymond! I pour my whole heart and +soul, my life and immortality in one blessing, and +breathe it in the words, Good-Night!

“Why has a revolution passed through my soul +within the last minute, and since writing the last good night? +Why do I feel now as though it were a sin to +leave you? Am I going crazy again? Oh, my God! +Let me escape while a ray of reason is left to light my +path! Good-night, again, and yet again! Bless, bless +you, Raymond! Oh, if I could dissolve my being into a +fragrance of blessing, and envelope you in it!—into a +halo of blessing, and crown you with it!—that I could +do what I please with my own soul, and lose it in your +heart to give you fuller life! Yes, I would annihilate +myself and give my spirit to enlarge your life; and yet +I cannot do a less thing—I cannot, cannot break the +heart of a sister woman—of Hagar—even for you. Raymond! +Cannot! do you hear and understand, Raymond? +For though I would give my body to be burned, +and my soul to perdition for your sake, I have NO RIGHT +TO SACRIFICE ANOTHER! and that truth has been thundered +in my ears until my very brain is stunned. My +senses are reeling, whirling. I scarcely know where I +am, what I write, where I go; I only feel, oh God! that +I leave you for ever—that my whole soul sobs forth in +bitterest anguish its wail—Good-Night!”

The first part of this passionate and incoherent +letter was nearly illegible with the marks of +tears; the last sentences were traced wildly and +scrawlingly.

Seeing the excitement, the insanity under +which this letter must have been written, and in +the deepest grief for her loss, and the utmost +alarm for her safety, he hastened from the room, +and caused the strictest inquiries to be set on +foot, that resulted, however, in nothing satisfactory. +The chambermaid who had attended her +on her first arrival was questioned, but could only +say that just as soon as she had assisted the +young lady in removing her travelling dress, she +had been dismissed by her. The porter was examined, +but had seen no one pass answering to +the description of the young American lady. So +all the people about the establishment were interrogated +without any information being elicited. +A fruitless search was kept up through all the +night—no trace of the fugitive could be discovered. +This was perhaps the very first night’s +rest that Raymond Withers, the systematic voluptuary, +had ever lost. Towards sunrise, after +having given directions for the search to be kept +up, he threw himself upon his bed, and overcome +by anxiety, watching, and fatigue, slept the sleep +of exhaustion. Late in the day he awoke, with +that dreary sense of vague weight that oppresses +the head and brain at the first awakening after a +great sorrow. It was some minutes before the +fact was clear before his eyes. Rosalia fled—Rosalia +lost—wandering, and exposed, in all her +tenderness and delicacy, to all the horrors of unsheltered +life. This was the first time that the +benevolence of Raymond Withers had been +awakened for his victim. Her mental and moral +throes and struggles he had not pitied, because +he had not understood them; but the epicurean +fully comprehended and greatly exaggerated the +importance of the physical sufferings she might +have to endure. He dressed in haste, and going +out inquired anxiously if news had been received +of Miss Aguilar. He was told that no clue had +been found by which to trace her course. All +that day was spent in a vain search through the +city and its suburbs—all that week was devoted +to sending messengers down all the public roads, +and to the neighboring villages seeking the lost +one; but the end of the week—the end of the +month, found them as far from the attainment of +their object as they were at its commencement. +Once or twice it had occurred to Raymond +Withers that she might have fled to Captain +Wilde and Sophie, “her young heart’s cynosure,” +but then he quickly recollected that Captain and +Mrs. Wilde were a thousand miles off, at Constantinople. +At last he determined on sending +off the letters and packets that had been intrusted +to Rosalia for Sophie, to write to Captain +Wilde, and to mention merely the facts that Miss +Aguilar had come out under his protection with +the purpose of joining them at Constantinople—that +immediately upon landing at Genoa she had +mysteriously disappeared, and that though the +most vigilant search had been instituted, and kept +up even to the present moment, no clue to her +retreat had been found.

It has been said by some philosopher that +“Without disease and pain, we should never +know that we have a body—and without sin and +remorse, never feel that we have a spirit.” Raymond +Withers could have controverted the first +part of this proposition by his own experiences—he +was deliciously conscious of his bodily existence +through its perfect health and keen enjoyments; +but he could have endorsed the latter +clause with a pen dipped in tears of blood. +Through all its downy coverings of soft voluptuousness, +his spirit had been reached and +wounded to the very quick; and the method of +his remorse was quite characteristic.

By his own agony at the loss of Rosalia, he was +enabled for the first time to understand and +sympathize with the just and the greater anguish +of Hagar at his desertion, and to comprehend in +a word, the enormity of his offence. He might +have gone on in his luxurious self-indulgence +and self-enjoyment for years, had he not yielded +to a strong temptation, and wounded his spirit +with sin. Now all luxury palled upon his +senses—he turned, sickened, from the choicest +viands of his table—despairing from the most +delightful prospects of nature, and from the most +beautiful specimens of art—music was torture, +147and even in the deepest repose of his body the +wounds of his spirit were most keenly felt, until +the sensitive epicurean, who would have shrunk +from the slightest abrasion of his delicate skin—invoked +bodily pain as a relief from spiritual anguish.

Was this illicit love cured, then? Ah, no! +not when just as the cup of guilty pleasure had +been raised to his lips, it had been dashed untasted +to the ground—not when just as the prize +was within his grasp it had been snatched away. +Nay, that very disappointment of his hopes at +the moment of their expected realization +sharpened and intensified his desire, while the +sin—the sin, as well as the remorse he suffered, +gave power and depth to his passion! The +boon for which he had bartered his soul, defied +God, and lost Heaven, became by the costly +purchase a priceless treasure.

There is a crisis in the rise and progress of +an evil passion, when its victim becomes morally +insane, I had nearly written morally irresponsible.

It is the period described in the beautiful +language of Scripture, as the time when the +Spirit of God ceases to strive with the heart of +man—when he is given over to reprobacy of +mind—when Ephraim, joined to his idols, is left +alone—when the prodigal son receives his portion +and is suffered to go forth and seek the +desire of his heart, and find by bitter experience, +that forbidden things may be bright to the vision +but scorching to the touch—as the restless and +eager infant permitted at last to catch at the +coveted flame of the candle, learns by its own +suffering that pain follows the contact of fire—in +a word, when the unbeliever is suffered to prove +for himself the bitterness of sin. Is this utter +abandonment then? Ah, no! The heart that +has sinned, suffered, and repents, is forgiven. +The babe has burned its fingers, and learned +that the flame is not to be touched with impunity, +and we may be sure it will not be touched +again. The returning prodigal is received half +way without a single reproach for the past, +without the exaction of a single pledge for the +future; is received upon his experience and his +penitence. Ephraim turning from his idols, is +accepted; and the Spirit of God comes again +to dwell in the heart that is opened to receive +him. I say again, when a violator of the moral +law suffers, it is not by the vengeance of a God +of infinite love and mercy—but it is by a pain he +finds in the sin itself. But this by the way.

The downward progress of evil has been +aptly called a gently inclined plane, of so +gradual a descent that the sinner believes himself +to be walking on level ground all the while. +“Easy is the descent to hell,” said Horace, and +doubtless such is most frequently the case; but +there are instances in which the downward +course is very rapid; where the sinner has started +in a run, and after a while—and this answers to +the crisis, the insanity of passion—gets an impetus +that makes a pause impossible, until he falls +prostrate at the bottom of the abyss.

Such was the case with Raymond Withers—he +had reached the crisis of his moral disorder—the +insanity of passion—when he was scarcely +responsible for his acts; yet not upon this +account shall he enjoy impunity for he could, +by a little timely self-discipline, have saved himself +from moral mania.

He is answerable for the loss of his moral +sanity, if not for acts of his phrensy. But to +those acts: With the fatuity of passion, he +fancied that were he free to seek the hand of +Rosalia, her conscience would be quieted, her +reluctance overcome, and that she would give a +cheerful response to his love. He brooded over +this idea of freedom from his matrimonial bonds +with the pertinacity of monomania, until it +seemed possible—next probable—then every way +natural, proper, and desirable—finally inevitable. +A savage resolution, by fair means or foul, to +divorce his wife,—or, what was more feasible in +his apprehension, to compel her to divorce him—a +morose determination to recover and marry +Rosalia, at any cost of his own integrity and +peace, and others’ rights and happiness, occupied +his whole thoughts. It was just at this crisis +that he received a letter from Hagar. It was +dated from Heath Hall, just after the birth of +her son. It announced that fact, and gave a +short but full account of all that happened since +he left home, as well as of all her plans for the +future, as far as she had laid them out. Could +you have seen the succession of quick, short, +self-congratulatory nods with which he read +this letter, the smile of fiendish inspiration with +which he folded it up and placed it in his desk, +you would have given him up for lost, though +you had been his very guardian angel!

With this diabolical grimace still upon his +face, Raymond Withers took pen and paper, sat +down and wrote a reply, sealed and sent it off +that same day by a homeward-bound vessel.

The spring and summer had passed, and +autumn was at hand, yet Hagar had received no +letter, or message, or news of her husband. +True, the foreign mail was very irregular, interrupted, +and uncertain, for those were not the +days of steamships, and Emily had not heard +from her brother for several months. Hagar +bore the slow torture of suspense as well as she +could, occupying herself with the care of her +three children. She was abandoned to a life +that would have been utter solitude, but for the +society of her children and the attendance of +her servants. At first coming home, she had +regularly attended divine service at the parish +church; but seeing that her presence there merely +drew off the attention of the congregation +from their ritual to gaze her out of countenance, +148as though she had been a monster, and feeling, +besides, a difficulty in worshipping among a set +of people, who, from malice or thoughtlessness, +had slandered and forsaken her, she discontinued +her attendance upon the preaching, thereby +giving occasion for fresh calumny. The hours +not occupied with her family cares were occasionally +spent in the pursuits of her old and favorite +pastimes, her forest hunts with horse and +hounds, or her fishing excursions in a light skiff +propelled by one oar. But she liked best her +exhilarating woodland sports with their lifegiving +power. The resumption of these healthful but +half savage habits, gave additional offence to the +conventional autocrats of —— county. In her +rides she seldom met any one, because her excursions +were confined to the Heath and woodlands +of her own ruined plantation; so seldom, +that when it happened, the person who had seen +her would say, “I have met Hagar Withers,” +in much the same tone that you might exclaim, +“I have encountered the sea-serpent.” And the +hearer would cry “Indeed! where?” with as +much astonishment in the first case as they +might be supposed to feel in the last. It happened +that the first person who had met her in +her riding costume was that princess of propriety, +Mrs. Gardiner Green, who, taking a hasty inventory +of her short, black, boyish looking curls +clustering around her forehead and under her +little riding cap, and the rolling collar, steel +buttons, and coat-sleeves of her habit, had gone +away and reported as follows: “She has cut off +her hair, and dresses like a man!” In her perfect +isolation, Hagar heard nothing of all this +latter talk.

I said that God was a kind father and Nature +a tender, nursing mother; and that our Hagar +was getting well under their care. And so it +was. In spite of all her past wrongs, griefs, and +sufferings, in defiance of all her present regrets, +suspense, and anxieties, her spirits had rebounded +from their long pressure; health, strength, and +life were tiding back. The first of October +found her form erect and robust, her limbs full +and rounded, her cheeks crimson, and her eye +brilliant with high health; and Hagar, in her +returning joy, blessed her native air, woods, and +waters; praised nature, and worshipped God for +her resurrection from the dead, her restoration to +the young exultant life of her glad childhood. +And what were her plans for the future, and +what were her thoughts of her husband? Perhaps +wearied with the weight of the incessant +thoughts, her mind had thrown off the burden; +perhaps rebounding from the long and heavy +pressure, her spirits had sprung away from the +painful subject; perhaps with the natural wildness +of her character she had yielded herself up +with childish carelessness to the enjoyments of +the present moment. She was disturbed in the +midst of her enjoyments by the arrival of a letter +bearing a foreign stamp. She found it lying +on her plate when she took her seat at the breakfast-table +one morning. It had been brought by +Tarquinius from the Post Office late on the previous +night, after she had gone to rest. She +snatched the letter hastily, and tearing open its +seal, read—why do Hagar’s cheeks flush, her +eyes blaze with indignation? The letter conveyed +a gross and degrading charge, a humiliating +and cruel proposition, and a startling and +alarming threat! yet withal, so cautiously written, +as were it produced in any court, it would be +difficult to convict the writer of any more serious +offence than outraged affection and injured confidence. +It ran thus:

“Hagar:—I have just received your letter, with its +strange communications—confessions, I should rather +call them; had such a blow fallen on me a year ago, +when I did not know you so well, when I esteemed and +loved you, it would have gone nigh to destroy me! even +now when I can esteem you no longer, it has given me +the deepest pain, more for your sake than for my own, +and more upon our children’s account than either. +Hagar, was it that Satan, after having tempted you to +evil, abandoned you to idiocy; was it fatuity? or, was +it the goading of a wounded conscience that drove you +to make these shameful revelations to me? Or, as is +most likely, did you hope by being the first to tell me +of what was inevitable, that with or without your +communications, I must soon hear, and by giving your +own version of the doings at the Rialto, you could thus +blind me as to the real state of the case? If you thought +so, Hagar, you yourself were the victim of gross self-deception. +I will not reproach while judging and condemning +you, Hagar; that were vain and unworthy, but +before pronouncing sentence, I will sum up the evidence +of your guilt as given in your own unconscious confession, +and out of your own mouth condemn you, for, +however you may attempt to glaze over the facts, they +stand thus: No sooner has your husband quitted his +home, upon his official duties, than lo! his place in +your house is filled by the lover of your girlhood, Lieutenant +May, who, without delay, hastens over five hundred +miles of sea and land to join you: he remains +with you domesticated under your roof for weeks, and +until the house is sold over your heads, while every +respectable female servant quits the premises. He takes +you from the neighborhood where I had left you, and +where I expected when I should return to find you, and +carries you off to Maryland. On the night of your arrival, +under favor of the storm, you pass the night alone +together in the old fishing-house, within an eighth of +a mile of Heath Hall, which you might have reached in +ten minutes. Then your neighbors, shocked and justly +indignant at the audacious effrontery of this shameless +disregard of public sentiment, have very properly abandoned +you.

“Now, then, Hagar, hear me! Since your betrayal +of these disgraceful circumstances to my knowledge, I +feel a re-union between us to be impossible. You must +see and feel this also—nay, you yourself could not desire +it. Our marriage must be annulled. I could do it +by widely exposing your guilt, and bringing you to open +shame. I am unwilling to take this course, unless by +rejecting the only alternative that I have to offer, you +leave me no other. This alternative will veil your +guilt from the general eye—it is a self immolating proposition +on my part, as I prefer to suffer in myself the +unmerited condemnation of society, rather than have +the mother of my children, however well she may deserve +the fate, consigned to ignominy. My proposition, +in a word, is this—that you yourself annul our marriage—that +you divorce me—you can do it upon the plea of +my desertion of you—suppose that plea was false when +I left the country, it is true now that I have detected +your infidelity—urge that plea—your suit will not be +rejected, for the reason that I shall not oppose it—Do +it, Hagar! and in return, after it is done, I will bind +myself to leave you in quiet possession of your home +and children for the remainder of our lives—Refuse to +do it, Hagar! and I will return to the United States, +and with the terrible array of circumstances that can +be marshalled against you, I will overwhelm you, +divorce and degrade you, and when that is effected, +remove my children from the care of a dishonored woman, +whom private experience, public sentiment, legal +justice, and legislative wisdom shall have alike condemned, +as unworthy of their charge. I await your +reply, Hagar.

I wish you could have seen Hagar as she read +this letter—how much more courageous she was +in the endurance than in the anticipation of this +evil. You would have felt how strong she had +grown in her sorrows, how nobly she had struggled, +and how grandly she had soared above +them. How, after the first start and flash of +indignation, she had read the letter through, and +holding it open on her lap, looked straight before +149her with that air of calm superiority, of +grave rebuke, with which one regards the ravings +of intoxication.

“I will not reply to this just yet,” said Hagar, +to herself—and folding the letter, she put it in +her pocket and fell into a reverie. It was during +this reverie that Hagar was inspired with a +resolution, and formed a highly important plan, +which, in a few weeks, she prepared to carry into +effect.

From the time of his sending the letter to Hagar, +Raymond Withers had renewed his search +after Rosalia Aguilar with augmented hope and +zeal. For the result of his proposition to her he +scarcely felt a doubt. Over that high and proud +nature, which had bowed before no will beneath +the Supreme, he had, through the power of her +strong affections, ever held despotic sway. Now +indeed he had undertaken a more difficult task, +to set in antagonism the two strongest, fiercest +passions of her soul, to oppose her motherly love +to her wifely affection; and though even by her +maternal fears he should fail to extinguish her +conjugal love, at least to silence the cry of its +claims—to subdue the wife by the mother. But +Raymond Withers was soon to learn that he had +not sounded the depths, measured the extent, or +tested the strength of the soul he wished to subdue; +and how a few months of peace and +stormy struggle and suffering had revolutionized +her nature; that the tempest into which he had +lashed her strong soul had only revealed from +what an abyss the waves rolled up in their +mighty power, and then subsided into passionless +and profound calm; that the conflagration he +had kindled in her high heart had only served to +consume the dross and leave it pure and cool.

It was while waiting with great impatience to +receive letters from two opposite quarters of the +world, namely, from Hagar at the Heath, and +from Captain Wilde at Constantinople, and +while expecting with extreme anxiety to hear +news from that terra incognita, the retreat of +Rosalia, that he received in a packet of despatches +from the State Department, a letter from +Hagar.

“Now then!” exclaimed Raymond Withers, +as he hastened to his own chamber, and shutting +himself up in its privacy, broke the seal of the +letter, running his eyes eagerly over its contents—they +were as follows:

“Dearest Raymond:—Your letter, with all its insanities, +is lying before me. I received it two weeks +since at Heath Hall, I reply to it from my present residence, +Washington City. Yes, I have left Heath Hall +for many years’ absence and wanderings perhaps, and +this city is only my transient home: passing over the +reasons and the objects of this course, I will come at +once to the subjects more interesting to your heart than +any chance of time or tide that may happen to me can +be now, unless indeed such chance should remove me +from the world, which would be ‘a consummation devoutly +to be wished,’ you think, in your present state +of mind. Passing also over all that is false in your letter, +through all that is superficial in your nature, I lay +my hand upon your naked heart and assert that it does +not cherish one single suspicion of my purity, that no +man in earth or in hell could infuse there one single +doubt of my fidelity, because I am true—that is truth—real +in your convictions as in my experience, and that +truth will bind us together, that truth will bring you +back to me. You once told me that during your long +and frequent absences before our marriage, you trusted—to +me—the spirit that even in the form of an infant +attracted, fascinated, and delighted you—and until passion +subverted my reason, and your soul was drowned +in voluptuousness, raised us both as one almost to +Heaven. How high, how godlike you appeared to me +then, Raymond; aye, in very truth the image of God; +your tone could still the wildest tumult, your glance +subdue the fiercest tempest that ever arose in my stormy +bosom.

“You told me that then you had trusted in me, not +out of me; in me, for our future union and joy. I quote +your own words to assure you that you may now trust +not out of me, but in me, for our final reunion and happiness. +Your faith in me will save you, Raymond; +will make you whole, will redeem you, will bring you +back. Does this seem strange language to you, and wide +of the subject of your letter? So must ever the words +of truth and soberness seem to one bereft of his reason—as +you are now—and how can one reply satisfactorily +to the ravings of insanity! You are insane, Raymond, +as ever your father was in a different way; his insanity +was derangement of the brain, yours a disorder of the +heart; his madness was mental aberration, yours is +moral illusion. Ah, Raymond! how much more frequent, +how much more horrible, how much more dangerous +is moral than mental insanity! and how much +more heavily visited of man, however it may be met by +God! You are insane, Raymond! yes, brainsick, as +well as heartsick now; and in your delirium you would +exact that which I must not give you, and you threaten +to visit an awful vengeance on my head if I do not +comply with your demands. I am smiling, Raymond! +smiling to recall a scene between a slight and fair-haired +youth and his father in one of his fits of lunacy; the +figure of the lunatic stood up, tall, dark, and threatening; +the youth had dispossessed him of a razor, with which +he was about to cut his own throat, ‘Give it me! or I +will tear your heart out!!’ yelled the madman, stamping +and shaking with fury, while flakes of foam started +from his lips. The beautiful boy stood before him pale, +calm, and resolute; with that spirit of indomitable firmness, +of invincible courage, piercing strongly, steadily +through the soft fire of his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed +upon the lunatic, until the mighty force of his sane soul +cast out the devil, and subdued the ‘embodied storm’ +before him! Do you remember that scene, Raymond? +I was an infant of seven years old then; but, oh! how +my soul worshipped that sublime boy! How my spirit, +that soared proudly above every other sublunary authority, +bowed before that godlike boy! But now that +lofty soul is itself struck down, that fine spirit wounded, +that great heart inflamed, fevered, delirious, and soars +in its phrensy for a weapon of self-destruction, which I +will as soon give, Raymond, as you would have yielded +to the demands and threats of the madman the razor +that you withheld at the imminent peril of your life. +Ask me for a divorce a year hence, when you are sane, +Raymond, and I will give it to you—for I would not +hold an unwilling mate—no, my God! my whole soul +recoils from the idea; but I cannot now obey you, +Raymond; painful and humiliating as it is to me, as it +must be to me to refuse you this! and more than that, +disregard your alleged reasons, and addressing myself +to your consciousness, reply to your real motives.—You +do not wish to be free from your matrimonial engagements +for the cause you have expressed; namely, a +doubt of my fidelity—no, Raymond! you trust in my +honor as you believe in God!—No, Raymond; there +was an even stronger motive, if such could be, for your +wish. In the whole course of your letter you did not +once mention the name of your compagnon-du-voyage, +Rosalia Aguilar; yet was she the Alpha and Omega of +your thoughts? Come! I can think, speak, and write +150of her very calmly now. You wish to marry Rosalia. +Why, Raymond, you will tire of her in a year, even if +she lives. She is a sweet and lovable girl, yet you do +not love her as you have loved and will love me. You +will sicken of her sweetness as a child sickens of a +surfeit of honey. You will loathe her very charms and +graces, her lovely and artless smiles and tones and gestures—that +very melody of motion which entrances +you now—as only a voluptuary can loathe the poor +beauty that he has humbled and grown sick of. And +were you married to her then, why then there would +be another deserted wife, and where would it stop? +Forgive me that I speak to you so, Raymond—it costs +me much pain—much more pain than it costs you. To +take this tone towards you humbles me in my own +estimation, more than it can you. I cannot bear to look +at you with any but an upraised glance. Alas! to see +you now, I have to look down with veiled eyes. Rise, +Raymond, rise! I want to see you aloft! my heart +needs to worship, as it must always love—must, Raymond! +annihilate my soul, and the last spark that will +go out will be its love.

“I said that you would tire of that poor girl in a year +if she lives, but she will not live, Raymond; the tempest +of passion that you have raised in her tender bosom, the +hell of remorse that you have kindled in her gentle soul +will destroy her; she will not survive the loss of her +purity one year. I do not know what she feels, how +she looks now, but I know that she had frightfully +changed even before she left the Rialto, before she +guessed what I even then knew. But you know how +she looks, you, perhaps, see the rose you have plucked +and bruised for its fragrance, withering in your hands. +You see her dying before you, and you fancy that if you +could marry her she would be at peace, get well and live. +You think you could cure a conscience-stricken soul by +satisfying a conventional law. But such would not be +the case, nor can I now obey you in this matter of a +divorce. Ask it of me this day twelve months, or any +day thereafter, and I will do it. I pledge myself to that. +Ask it of me sanely, honestly, dispassionately, and I +will do it. Could I then hold you bound, if you wished +to go? No! though my heart-strings are your only +fetters, I will snap them to free you.

“But you will not ask me to do this when you come +to yourself. I look for this result, confidently, as I +expect the storm now beating against my windows to +cease, and the moon to shine out; quietly, as I watch +for the night now hanging over the earth to vanish +before the rising sun; patiently, as I wait for this cold, +dreary winter to pass away and the spring to come back. +The storm in my bosom has subsided, the night also of +my soul is passed. I have suffered and outlived the +greatest sorrow a human heart could feel, the worst is +over, and my existence is now a winter day,

I am very quiet now; do you wonder at this, and that +I write to you so calmly—I who was an embodied +whirlwind, so coolly—I whom you called incarnated +lightning! Listen, Raymond—the carriage wheels that +carried you away, seemed to have rolled over my bosom, +crushing it nearly to death. I felt the crush distinctly +as any other physical agony—the dividing crush of +flesh and muscle, nerve and sinew, while with a sharp +cry I rolled over like a divided and quivering worm. I +was picked up by Mrs. Collins, who asked me what +was the matter. I told her that, lying in your path, an +obstruction, your carriage had passed over my body, +cutting it in two; that one half, with my heart, was +dragged away with the wheels. They put me to bed, +and said that I was delirious—sent for a doctor, who +bled, blistered, and drugged me. I was ill a very long +time. I moaned and laughed, prayed and blasphemed +by turns; they said that I was mad, but I was not, not +for one moment. Ah! if I had been mad, I should not +have raved so! for what in all the imaginings of +insanity could equal the horrors of my real experience, +my sane consciousness? When my veins seemed running +fire—when I burned and burned, and held up my +hands to see why they did not fall to pieces in cinders +and white ashes, consuming as they were in a dry heat. +That ‘lake of fire and brimstone!’ it was within and +around me! Often I threw myself out of the bed as out +of a pit of coals, and in my strong agony grasped and +tore at the floor like one shot through the heart might +do. Oh! what a rack existence was then! I wished +to take vengeance on all who had a hand in giving me +life-God and my parents. Suddenly in the midst of +that horrible feeling, I was struck with its awful blasphemy, +penetrated with the truth of God’s goodness +and mercy—lastly of his omnipotence; and then falling +again out of my bed, I rolled upon my face on the carpet +and implored God in mercy to take back the life He had +given, the life that was consuming fire—to give me the +profound repose of non-existence—and if this prayer +was sinful, at least to annihilate the hell in my heart. +And now, Raymond, for a strange experience. As I +prayed all things seemed changing around me—the air +seemed stirred with angel wings, I could hear their +hushed flapping as they waved a delicious cold dampness +that seemed to cool my fevered and burning frame +while it solicited sleep; and all this time my heart’s +wild hot throbs were subsiding coolly, while it filled +and filled as a reservoir with peace; and every influence +around me said gently, lovingly, ‘Sleep, sleep,’ and the +hot stringency of my eyelids was loosened, and they +fell cool and moist over the burning balls. And I slept +and dreamed, a dream of infancy—it seemed to me that +I lay across grandmother’s dear, soft lap, that it was +summer and she was fanning me, while a delicious +coolness ran through all my veins, and filtered through +all my flesh, exhaling vapor-like from the pores of my +skin, as I felt myself luxuriously sleeping, breathing, and +growing. Then came unconsciousness—and then I +woke up renewed, the fever and the agony were gone, I +was so cool, so quiet, that but for an aching, throbbing +nerve in the centre of my heart I should have thought +that I was happy; some element was gone, the fangs +of the serpent seemed to have been withdrawn, the +vulture had taken wing and left my heart to grow; this +was only a pause in the torture, like an interval of +repose in travail. Soon your letter came; and, your +letter written just on the eve of departure, and it +cast me back into the fire, and the same suffering was +undergone again. But the same relief came at last. I +was getting well. I was up, though scarcely able to +stand or to speak, and quivering all over like the +recoiling muscles of a torn off limb, when Gusty May +came to see me, and the shock of his arrival threw me +back a third time into death and hell, for I saw that he +knew all! that killed the last faint lingering hope I had. +It was during this third and worst relapse, that the +executions were levied on your property. Well, Raymond, +I recovered of this attack also! but it was not +until I reached Heath Hall, and until after my third child, +our boy, was born, that my health was fully re-established. +I am in high health, now, Raymond! and cool, +composed, cheerful, strong, and mistress of myself. The +storm of hail and snow that was raging with fury when +I commenced this letter, has passed, and the moon is +shining bright, full, and clear as a mammoth diamond, +and glistening on the silvery snow, its beams fall on my +paper and around my head like a halo, a benediction of +God, a promise of happier and holier days. Farewell +for the present, Raymond; my home and heart are ever +open for your return. I do not love you too fiercely +now, Raymond, for I have all eternity to love you in. +You are not just now my Raymond, but I am now and +ever thy

It was curious—the effect of this letter upon +Raymond Withers. The first page he had perused +with a frowning brow—opening the sheet +with a twitch, the second page he read with +many a “pish!” and “pshaw!”—the third was +conned over with a softening countenance, and +at the end of the fourth and last he exclaimed—“What +the devil sent that infernal temptation +across my path?—poor Hagar!” And then +holding the letter behind him, he paced slowly +up and down the room, with his head bowed +upon his chest, while remorse, tenderness, disappointment, +and regret, mingled in the expression +of his once serene countenance. This was +strange in the fact, but natural in the circumstances. +His affection for Hagar had engaged +his whole soul. She was one to be loved long, +as well as deeply; her unique beauty, brilliant +intellect, and high spirit, from her very childhood, +had supplied to him an inexhaustible subject of +occupation, interest, and amusement—she had +met and satisfied every want of his nature. It +was impossible, with her strong and ardent temperament +and ever-varying emotions, that she +could become flat and uninteresting. His passion +for Rosalia was another matter, a mere delirium +of the senses, a moral insanity, as Hagar had at +last understood and described it to be, and as he +151himself now knew it to have been—to have been—for +this passion, stimulated and increased as it +had at first been by her flight, by her continued +absence, was already receding into the past. +Raymond Withers was too much of a sensualist, +and his love for Rosalia too much an affair of +the senses to last long after she was lost to sight +and hearing; therefore for many weeks past his +passion had been declining, slowly, almost imperceptibly, +but it was reserved for Hagar’s letter +to reveal to him the true state of his heart. Now +he felt that his search for Rosalia had of late +been conducted from the habit of looking for her +until he should have found her, from a fear that +she was lost, had perished by exposure, and from +a remorse not to be shaken off while her fate +was enveloped in mystery. He was conscious +now, especially after reading Hagar’s letter, that +he was more anxious to hear of Rosalia’s safety +than even to see her—and the more he pondered +upon this subject, the more convinced did he feel +that he no longer desired her presence. A +strongly setting-in tide of returning affection for +Hagar filled his bosom to the expulsion of every +other love—an affection purified by repentance, +softened by pity, and elevated by respect. It +was strange how slowly, imperceptibly, but how +thoroughly he had come to his senses. He read +Hagar’s letter over again, and sighed many times +during its perusal, and sometimes paused and +held it on his knee while he tried to recollect +the atrocities of his letter to her, and endeavored +to persuade himself that it was not quite so diabolical +as he knew it to have been. He arose +and walked up and down the floor, with his +hands holding the letter clasped behind him, and +his head bowed upon his breast—deeply perplexed; +and then he went up to the full length +mirror that stood at one end of his luxurious +dressing-room, and contemplating his elegant +figure and really dazzling style of beauty, wondered +impulsively if Hagar would not be very +glad to get him back upon any terms; and then +feeling ashamed of his thought, he resumed his +walk, deeply congratulating himself that they +had been preserved from the last degree of guilt, +and that at least the door was at all times open +for a man’s return to duty, however sternly it +might be barred against a repenting woman, and +at that thought, again he thanked God that +Rosalia Aguilar had been snatched from him, +before she had fallen to the lowest stage of +crime. But where was Rosalia? Ah! that +was the thorn that rankled most; but there were +others—how should he write to Hagar until she +was found? and in what terms should he write?—how +apologize for that “infernal letter,” as he +called it, as he tried to recollect that it was not +quite so bad as he remembered it to have been, +and then, whither should he direct his letter? +Where would it be likely to find her? Hagar +was on the wing; at this last thought, he experienced +a satisfaction in the reflection that here +was something at last on her part to find fault +with—she had no right to roam up and down +the world without having previously informed +him of her views and intentions, and obtained +his approbation and consent. He tried to convince +himself that this was an infringement of +his rights, a rebellion against his authority; it +was a useless effort—his heart and reason acquitted +her of all blame, and he was left to support +his own load of guilt, remorse, and shame, +unsustained by any counterbalancing sin on her +side.

He was conscious of a vague but strong desire +that Hagar might fall into some imprudence, +misery, or disgrace, from which he might have the +honor of rescuing her, so that he might be entitled +to her gratitude and respect, and so approach her +with some remnant of self-respect. The idea of +going to her in any other character than that of +protector, benefactor—to receive her love upon +any other terms than those of honor, esteem—oh! +this was too humiliating, and not to be thought +of. He did not want her generosity, magnanimity, +forgiveness; oh! nothing of the kind—the +idea repulsed, revolted him—he would do nothing +of the sort—no, he must have her love, coupled +as it had been with the high respect reaching +almost to adoration, such as she had yielded him +as his due even from her infancy up. He felt +that it was no small thing to have held the +sovereignty over Hagar’s high spirit, and that it +was no small humiliation to have lost it by his +folly.

There was now a strong attraction and as +strong a repulsion about the idea of Hagar—the +most tantalizing that could be conceived, and +that chained him to the rack. Her letter had +struck away, as by the stroke of a strong arm, +all that stood between them, and he saw her in +all her beauty, in her fearful but fascinating +beauty!—he desired of all things on earth to +seek her, and could scarcely restrain his impatience; +but he could not go, it seemed impossible. +True, she had written, “My heart and +home are ever open for your return,” and though +no word of penitence might be spoken by him, +no tone of pardon breathed by her, yet the +thought—the fact, would exist in the experience +of both, and the humiliation for him—he could +not dare it, or bear it! The difficulties that obstructed +his return to Hagar, all growing out of +his own bosom as they did, only provoked by +opposition his strong desire to see her. He +might now with more truth than formerly have +written her down, “Hagar, mine only one;” for +now it seemed that there was but “one Hagar +in the universe.” After the manner of all +awakened sinners, how he deplored his sin!—after +the manner of all restored maniacs, how he +cursed his folly!—yea, after the manner of all +sobered drunkards, how he blushed for his degradation! +And could he appear before Hagar in +that guise? before Hagar in her recovered and +greatly increased strength and pride? Days +passed, and the strongly turning stream of feeling +was increased in force and volume by every +circumstance and every thought. Still he continued +uneasy upon the account of Rosalia; still +extremely desirous of hearing from Captain +Wilde; but, higher, deeper, and broader—covering +all these, was the thought of Hagar. Ah, +God! the more he contemplated it, the more +alarming it became.

Hagar, not quite twenty years old, young, yet +strong, high spirited, audacious, proud of herself, +apart from social position or the estimation of +others—of Hagar, beautiful, piquant, and provoking +beyond every other woman he ever saw—of +Hagar, ardent, enthusiastic, and impulsive—but, +no! he could not receive the idea suggested by +this last circumstance; he could not conceive +152that his high-souled Hagar could become the victim +of her ardent temperament. No, he believed +as she had said, in her honor, as he believed in +God. But some other man’s sacrilegious eyes +might covet her as he had coveted Rosalia—and +she was human and might be tempted. At this +thought Raymond sprang up from the sofa, upon +which he had been reclining, with a sudden love +and anger striving in his heart, as Hagar’s irresistibly +charming face, with its crimson cheeks +and lips and eyes of splendid fire, flashed in upon +his brain, as in the days of her highest glory.

“After all, she is mine—my own—I have not +given her up yet! and never will—never! I +will resist to the death any effort that may be +made to tear her from my possession! Yes, +Hagar, I may lose your heart, but I will even +slay, rather than give you up. What right has +she to leave her home and travel over the world +exposing herself in this manner? and where +does she find the means? I know that she travels +with her family, for she would die rather than be +severed from one of her children, and above all, +what is her object? I should fancy that she +were seeking me—God grant it!—I could face +her, if she humbled herself to seek me—but no, +she will never do that. No, if I ever hope to +possess Hagar again, I shall have to woo her +again.”

He was interrupted in the midst of his confused +thoughts by the entrance of his page, who +brought him the post-bag: emptying it, his eye +fell upon a letter directed in the hand-writing of +Sophie Wilde. The letter bore date two months +back; it had evidently been detained on its passage. +It was short, nearly illegible, and evidently +written in the most excruciating anguish +of mind. It ran thus:—

“Dear Raymond:—The receipt of your letter, with +its most terrible intelligence, made me ill; so ill that for +three weeks I have not been able to rise from my bed, +and so could not, before this, answer it. Captain Wilde +was not with me at the time of its receipt, and is not +here now. I had no one but foreigners around me—so +that there was none to act as my amanuensis, even +had I been capable of dictating. In the name of God, +where is Rosalia? I have been looking, and am still +looking with anxiety, daily, for another letter from you, +telling me that she is found. A thousand fears and +anxieties torture my breast. Tell me, did she form any +ill-judged attachment on her voyage out?—and was +any one else missing when she went? Tell me why +did you not write daily to keep me advised of your progress +towards the discovery of her fate? Raymond, I +can scarcely hold you blameless! I require her at your +hands! never face me again without Rosalia’s insured +safety! Yet, how cruel in me to write to you thus; to +you, who must be severely afflicted at her loss. Oh, +Raymond! you do not know how much right you have +to be so! You are the nearest, the only relative, she +has on earth! I have lately received, and now possess, +incontestable proof of what I am about to reveal to +you:—Rosalia Withers is your own sister, Raymond!—the +daughter of both your parents——”

He read no further; the paper fell from his stiffening +fingers; a mortal sickness, nausea, seized +him, horror swam in upon his brain, and barely +murmuring—

“Oh, my God! what a sink of crime and infamy +I have narrowly escaped!” he fell forward +upon his face!

I must remind you that Hagar, after reading +her husband’s letter, had fallen into a reverie +that terminated in a resolve. It was inspired by +a reflection upon her position and circumstances. +She had three children, be it remembered, and +all under three years old. She had no visible +means of supporting herself and these children, +for whom especially she wished to procure every +comfort and every luxury that was desirable. +She had drawn out the little balance left with his +banker by Raymond Withers, and had used the +greater part of it in paying her debts contracted +with Gusty May; and what remained went to +defray the expenses attending her last accouchement. +She had nothing left. Winter was approaching, +and the winters at Heath Hall, from +its remarkably bleak and exposed situation, as +well as from the ruinous state of the building, +were felt very severely. Her own and her children’s +wardrobe was becoming very much the +worse for wear, and it was highly necessary that +it should be replenished. In fact, poverty, absolute +want, was staring Hagar in the face. It +was proper that something should be done to +supply her necessities before they became importunate. +It was too late in the season now to +apply to her husband for relief, even if she could +have bowed her pride to do so. A letter could +not reach him and its reply come to her before +the spring. What should she do? To remain +at Heath Hall through the winter was impossible. +Little as the place looked to be changed, +every cold and windy day and every rainy day +proved that no room in the house was weather-tight. +When it rained the water streamed down +into the very best room, as though it would set +the carpet afloat. In cold weather it was even +worse—the air poured in from all quarters, and +no quantity of fire could warm the rooms. Tarquinius +asserted with great truth, that to make a +fire in the parlor was like trying to heat “all +out of doors.” I should say, that from the +bleakness of its situation the winter came a +month sooner and remained a month later at the +Heath, than at any other place within the same +latitude.

On that particular morning, when Hagar sat +at the breakfast-table cogitating, it was cold and +frosty everywhere, but it was very cold and +bleak at Heath Hall; and the old lady whom +Hagar had engaged as a companion, leaving the +table and seating herself before the immense +blazing hickory fire, declared that while her +knees were scorching off, her back “friz.” Hagar +153at first thought of disposing of some of her +most salable property—these were her piano and +harp; they might be sold in the neighborhood at +about a tenth of their value; but how long +would the money hold out in supplying the necessities +of her family? and what was to be done +when it was gone? Hagar next wondered if +there were nothing she could herself do for a +living; but she was forced to reject every plan +that presented itself. Was it needle-work? +How should she live by her needle, who had not +sufficient knowledge of that branch of industry +to serve her in making and repairing her own +wardrobe? Teaching? Ah! that was even +worse. If to live by needle-work was difficult, +to live by teaching was impossible. Hagar’s +intellect was like her own favorite forest haunts, +strong, vigorous, and brilliant, but wild, tangled, +and uncultivated. She had especially laughed +Lindley Murray’s grammar out of countenance, +asserting that she could never comprehend it, and +as for arithmetic, she refused to try—so that in +these two highly “important branches of a good +English education,” Hagar was wofully deficient, +but far too honest to attempt to teach what she +did not know. Still her thoughts recurred to +her piano and harp, and it was while thinking +of their sale that it occurred to her that she was +in possession of one splendid and unemployed +talent—and the sudden thought sent a thrill of +joy through her heart, as she blessed God for +the gift and for the present inspiration.

She recollected hearing Raymond often say +that her voice was admirably suited for concert +practice—that he had heard all the celebrated +singers of the day, and had never heard a voice +or an execution like hers. She recollected to +have heard that professional singers frequently +made large fortunes. She remembered also +hearing that several of these artistes were deeply +respected for the virtue and even for the piety of +their private lives. There was nothing in Hagar’s +pride to prevent her from embracing this +career—her pride was strictly personal. She +could not have been proud of her descent, of +wealth, had she possessed it, of social position, +or of any other external circumstance whatever—but +she was proud of herself, that self that +came alone into the world, and would go alone +out of it. Hagar quickly decided upon her +course. She was not one to renounce all the +comforts, refinements, and elegances of life that +had grown into a habit and a necessity, without +an effort to retain them, and which she must +resign without this or some equally lucrative +plan of life. To this career she was drawn by +her peculiar taste and genius; this would give +her an opportunity of seeing that “world” so +attractive to her eager and inquiring mind, and +hitherto so completely hidden from her. In five +minutes from the first inspiration of the idea, +Hagar had laid out and matured all her plans. +She determined, on her own responsibility, to +have a sale and dispose of all her personal +property that could be got rid of at any price, +and with the proceeds to take her children and +remove to Washington or Baltimore, and in one +or the other of those cities to employ her musical +talent in the most profitable manner. While +thinking over these matters, and before rising +from the table, she was startled by a rap at the +door, apparently given with the butt-end of a +riding-whip. To her quick “Come in!” Gusty +May opened the door, looking half savage in his +shaggy, white, box greatcoat, leather leggings, +and foraging cap, and carrying in his hands a +brace of canvas-back ducks. This was the +first time he had been at the Hall since his +banishment thence. She started up gladly to +welcome him.

“Oh, yes, dear Gusty!—I am so delighted to +see you!” exclaimed she, with brightening eyes, +extending both hands to him.

“Yes, indeed, Gusty, my best friend, why +have not you been to see me all this dismal long +time?”

“Why have not I been to see you?—come, +that will do. What did you tell me the last +time I was over here!”

“True! I recollect—I told you not to come +again, unless you came with your mother, and I +was right, Gusty; it was proper, both for your +sake and for mine that this should be so; only +just now, Gusty, surprised and pleased at seeing +you, I forgot myself for an instant.”

“Yes! well! I came over here this morning, +and took the liberty, Hagar, of shooting a pair +of ducks on your moor. The bishop has come +down to confirm at the church next Sunday, to-morrow, +you know, and I thought that I would +like to carry mother a pair of ducks to help out +with the dinner, as the old bishop is very fond +of our canvas-back ducks, and so, Hagar, having +bagged my game, I could not pass the Hall +like a poacher, without looking in.”

“I am glad to see you, Gusty, notwithstanding +all that I have said—do not I look so?”

“Oh! yes, dear Hagar,” said Gusty, now for +the first time seating himself in a chair near the +fire, and setting his hat upon one side, and the +pair of ducks on the other.

“We caught—at least Tarquinius did—a fine +drum yesterday evening; it is more than we shall +use in a week, won’t you take half of it over to +the cottage, Gusty?”

“No! I be hanged if I do, Hagar! You are +very good, and I thank you, but the inmates of +Grove Cottage have used you too badly, Hagar! +God forgive me for remembering and repeating +it; but they have not deserved the slightest favor +from your hands, Hagar!—I do not know how +you can forgive them!”

“See here, Gusty!” said she, laying her small +hand affectionately on his arm, “they acted as +their nature made it necessary for them to act, +and their conduct does not grieve or anger me +in the least; perhaps it inspires some contempt—but +no, I take that back, for your sake, Gusty, +and I assure you that their treatment gives me no +pain. It is only those whom I love that possess +any power over me, to torture me! if you, +Gusty, had turned rascal on my hands, that circumstance +would have caused me some suffering—but +people I care little about! nonsense!”

“Yes, it is your mother, poor boy! Never +mind, Gusty, take heart; she is an excellent woman +for all; and not the less so because she +cannot comprehend me!”

154“Don’t let us talk any more about it, please!” +said Gusty, with a look of deep humiliation.

After a few minutes Gusty arose to go, saying, +in an imploring voice, as he put on his hat +and took up his ducks—

“Hagar, if I can ever be of any sort of service +to you, for the Lord in Heaven’s sake, do +let me know, will you?”

“Ah! can I? Tell me how? where? +when?” exclaimed Gusty, gladly, dropping his +ducks, doffing his hat, and reseating himself.

“Not now, this is Saturday; come over and spend +Monday evening with me, and I will tell you.”

“Thank you, Hagar, thank you for this mark +of confidence. I will certainly come. Good-by, +dear Hagar.”

He caught her hand, shook it heartily, and +left the house. Even that day Hagar employed +with the preliminaries of her preparations. +Gusty May was faithful to his appointment, and +Monday afternoon found him at Heath Hall. +Hagar’s tea-table was waiting, and the old lady, +her companion, was with her. She invited +Gusty to take a seat at the board, and immediately +after tea, when they had turned their chairs +to the fire, and the old woman had left the +room to put the children to bed, Hagar imparted +her plan of public singing to Gusty. He was +surprised, even to astonishment. Not understanding +the nature of Hagar’s pride, he had +deemed her too proud for this career, and even +ventured to hint that such had been his impression. +Hagar smilingly disabused him of this +erroneous idea; and then he hastened to say +that as far as he himself was concerned he +heartily approved of her plan, and pledged himself +to do everything in his power to promote +her object. The assistance she required from +him was very slight, being only to act as her +agent in the sale of several articles of her property. +She requested him also not to reveal to +any one her purpose in leaving the neighborhood. +“Not that I care a great deal about it, +Gusty, though I do not wish for ever to be on +the lips of the gossips of Churchill’s Point, but, +because,” said she, smiling archly, “it will be +such a charity to afford Mrs. Gardiner Green +and her clique a subject of speculation, that will +keep their tongues for some time off some poor +unfortunate, who might otherwise have been +their next victim, and also, because this racking +and unsatisfied curiosity will be such a well +merited punishment of their slandering propensities!”

Gusty freely promised that he would not betray +her confidence, and soon after took his +leave. In a fortnight from this time, Hagar’s +preparations were all complete. It was a glorious +day in October, when, with her three children, +she stepped aboard a packet bound up the +bay to the mouth of the Potomac River and to +Washington City. She had left Heath Hall as +she had found it—namely, in the care of Cumbo +and Tarquinius. She had not engaged a nurse +or a waiting maid in the country, because she +wished to cut off for the present all trace of her +course, and to sink for at least a year or two to +come, her old in her new existence. After mature +deliberation she decided that Washington +and Baltimore were both too near home for the +commencement of her professional labors. An +invincible repugnance kept her from the North, +where she had taken her first lessons in suffering. +Merely staying long enough in Washington to +procure a nurse and a travelling maid, she +turned her steps southward. It was under a +nom de guerre that Hagar Withers commenced +her brilliant professional career at New +Orleans in the year 182-. Every one who lived in +that city at that time remembers the splendid concerts +of Mrs. ——, a lady as remarkable for the +stern asceticism of her private manners as for +the brilliant success of her public career. Hagar’s +greatest motive in entering upon this profession +had been to achieve by the only means in her +power an independence, and she had made a +stern resolution of reserve, self-denial, and solitude, +as the only way of preserving her from +falling into her besetting sins of wildness and +reckless gaiety, and towards which everything in +her present life would conspire to draw her.

Once or twice before taking the final step that +was to place her so conspicuously before the +world, while doubtful of the light in which her +extremely fastidious husband might look upon +this when it came to his knowledge, and while +an instinct of family pride, a rare thing with +Hagar, prompted her, she thought, that she +would do better to become a private teacher of +music; but the idea was so repulsive that she +quickly shrank from it. Her personal pride, her +independence, would suffer too much in this latter +position. Her prejudices, the very few with +which her mind was trammelled, were all +against the profession; and that circumstance, +taken with her unprotected condition, and the +experience she had gained by the gossipping propensities +of her old neighbors at Churchill’s +Point, had fixed her firmly in the resolution she +had formed, namely, of isolating herself with +her young family during the hours not devoted +to her public professional duties. Her winter at +New Orleans was one chain of splendid successes, +each more brilliant than the last. In the +spring of 182-, she, still accompanied by her +babies as a guard of cherubim, sailed from New +Orleans for Havre, intending to make a professional +tour of Europe for one year before returning +to her native country.

“Mother!” said Gusty May to Mrs. Buncombe, +as they sat together in the parlor at +Grove Cottage, a few days after Hagar’s departure +from Heath Hall, “what do the good folks +about here say of Hagar now?”

“All that I have heard speak upon the subject, +say that they are very glad she is gone to her +husband—if he can receive her. And I am +glad also. It has been a grief to me to absent +myself from Hagar; but, really, you know, +Gusty, she had cost me already too much, in +your misfortunes.—I could not risk compromising +my own position by her.”

“It was not her fault, mother. But I am +thinking of the wonderful charity of the folks in +putting such a kind construction upon Hagar’s +journey; strange they had not thought of accusing +her of eloping with the captain of the packet +in which she sailed! ’Pon honor, I shall +begin to have some hope for the people of +Churchill’s Point yet!” said Gusty, really surprised +155at the explanation they had given of her +journey.

“Hagar has given room for talk by getting +into an anomalous position; why should people +find themselves in inconceivable situations? I +never did, yet I was an unprotected girl.”

Gusty looked at her in grave perplexity, +divided between his wish to defend Hagar and +his reverence for her; at last he said, smiling +sadly—

“Dear mother, Lewis Stephens, poor fellow! +was drowned last summer, in a gale of wind!—Now, +why should people be drowned in a gale +of wind? I never was, and I have been in a +gale of wind!”

“And if I am to talk differently, I hope to +God I may never live to be an old one.”

“I deserve this from you, Gusty!” said his +mother, with the tears welling up to her eyes.

“Dear mother, forgive me! I meant no disrespect +to you, indeed; but it is so trying to see +one of your excellent heart, so uncompromising +to Hagar, for whom I have, God knows, a +higher respect, deeper esteem, than for the whole +world besides.”

While they were conversing thus, the door +opened, and Mr. Buncombe entered the parlor, and +throwing a letter into his wife’s hand, exclaimed—

It was a letter bearing a foreign stamp, and +directed in the hand of Captain Wilde. Emily +opened it hastily. Soon as she read, her face +grew pale in consternation.

“Lost! fled!” gasped Emily, still gazing on +the sheet before her; “fled no one knows +wherefore or whither!”

“Fled, Gusty!” sobbed Emily, “fled, my +poor, dear, unfortunate boy!—fled—fled from +the protection of Mr. Withers the very afternoon +of their landing at Genoa!”

Gusty jerked the letter out of his mother’s +hand impulsively, and forgetting to apologize, +ran up stairs with it, while Mr. Buncombe set +himself to soothe and comfort Emily, and to win +from her an account of the flight of Rosalia, +with which the reader is already acquainted. +Both were thrown into the utmost consternation +by the news. To them it was a mystery of rayless +darkness, for so far from having cast any +light upon the subject of the flight it had announced, +Captain Wilde’s letter expressed a +faint hope that Emily might possess some clue +to the fate of her adopted daughter.

At last Emily thought of Gusty, and was preparing +to go and try to soothe the anguish she +believed he must be suffering, when the door +was suddenly thrown open, and Gusty ran in +with his countenance and manner highly excited +as by a strange joy, exclaiming, screaming, as he +waved the letter in circles above his head—

“Hip! hip! hur-ra-a-a-a-a-a, mother! three +times three now, mother! and special thanksgiving +next Sunday, for this good, this great, this +glorious news! Hurrah!”

“Good News! oh, my God, he is mad!” exclaimed +Emily in extreme terror; “hold him, +Buncombe!”

“Yes, hold him, Buncombe! hold him, Buncombe! +lest in his joy he bound like a cannon +ball through the roof of the house! Hold him, +Buncombe!” yelled Gusty, jumping into the +arms of the reverend gentleman, seizing him +about the waist, and whirling him round and +round the room in a brisk gallopading waltz! +Shriek after shriek burst from Emily’s terrified +bosom, and brought all the household (being +Kitty and a horse-boy) running into the room, +just as Gusty had dropped the startled parson, +and was standing panting with exertion, weeping +for joy, and laughing for fun at the same time.

“Take him into custody! secure him! before +he hurts himself or somebody else!” exclaimed +Emily, palpitating.

“Take who into custody?” exclaimed Gusty, +looking round, “what’s done?”

“Oh, heaven! will nobody bind him?” +sobbed Emily, edging towards her son, cautiously.

Gusty caught her to his bosom, and kissed her +heartily, as he stooped and whispered breathlessly, +his brain sobered a little by the alarm he +had caused, but his heart still wildly throbbing +with ecstatic joy—

“Mother! pshaw—you know me! I’ll—I’ll—perhaps +I’ll tell you why I’m overjoyed just +presently; send all these gapers and starers +away, and go and reassure his reverence, who, +not being a fighting man, is bolstering himself +up against the wall, not knowing what I am +going to do next; there, do, mother! my blood +is so unmanageable, it is getting up again! yes, +here it comes! it’s going to boil over! I declare +it is! I can’t help it! get out of my way! +I won’t hurt anybody! hip! hip! hurrah!” and +with that he bounded forward into the air, cut +four or five capers more extravagant than the +others, and ran from the room, leaving the assembled +family dumb with astonishment.

Having reached his own room, Gusty began to +empty his drawers, wardrobe, &c., and to pack +his clothing into a sea chest with great haste and +zeal. While he was employed in this manner +his mother came in, and tearfully sat down by +him; seeing his occupation, a deeper shade of +perplexity and anxiety came over her countenance, +as she inquired:—

Gusty took his hand out of his chest, and +still resting upon one knee, assumed a look of +profound composure, thinking doubtless that by +this time his character for sanity was in serious +danger, and replied,

156“Ahem! hem! Mother, as it is now near +the opening of the session of Congress, and +many of my own and my uncle’s professional +and political friends are in Washington City, I +think of going thither, and while they are on +the spot, getting them to use their influence with +the President to procure my reinstatement. You +know, mother, this is the first good chance, because +personal solicitation is so much more +powerful than epistolary application.”

Struck with the rationality of this reply, Emily +was a little staggered in her opinion of his madness: +however, she would try him further.

“Oh! I had been thinking of it for some days +past, and the arrival of uncle’s letter, and the +reminiscences of our naval life that it awakened, +you know, suddenly inspired me with a strong +desire to return to it—wasn’t that natural?”

“Oh, yes! and I am glad! I had feared +that you would have held to your resolution, +never to apply for reinstatement.”

“Ah! that resolution was one of my hasty +impulses, mother! times and motives have changed +since then!” exclaimed Gusty, and he resumed +his packing with renewed zeal.

“Why, mother, if I am reinstated, as I shall +be, for my case is very strong, and the Hon. +Chevy Chase, of New York, who lives near +the Rialto, the scenes of my labors and sorrows, +knows all about it, and is a friend of the +President—if I am reinstated, of course, as usual, +I shall immediately be ordered on active service, +and shall need to be all ready.”

“Nonsense, Gusty! take a change of linen in +your valise, and go to Washington. I will +prepare and pack your wardrobe and send it to +you in a day or two, or as soon as you want it.”

“Yes! that will be better! thank you, mother!” +said Gusty, rising and seating himself on +his trunk.

“And Rosalia!” sighed Emily, looking in his +face, “what can have become of her, and how +do you feel about her, Gusty?”

Gusty mused. He felt glad that he had never +breathed to his mother a word of the elopement +he had suspected; and now that its object had +been defeated by Rosalia’s flight, he could not +bring himself to mention it. He felt very little +fear of Rosalia’s fate now. Her unexpected deliverance +from evil at the last moment greatly +strengthened his faith in her guardian angel, and +Gusty had a great deal of faith, as we have seen. +That Rosalia was somewhere in safety, and +that she would make her retreat known as soon +as she should hear of the arrival of any of her +friends at Genoa, he fully believed; and it was +his determination, in case of his being reinstated, +to solicit orders on the Mediterranean service, +and in any other case, to go out privateering in +a search for the lost girl.

“I am thinking, mother, that Rosalia is safe, +and that we shall soon hear that she is so!” +said he.

The next morning Gusty May set out for +Washington City, where he arrived within the +week. After a few weeks’ petitioning, struggling, +and delaying—during which Gusty’s hopes +fell and anger rose a dozen times at least—and +during which his friends persevered while his +own patience gave out—at “long last,” Gusty +May was duly authorized to mount the anchor +and eagle buttons and epaulette, and empowered +to write himself down, Lieut. Aug. W. May, U. +S. N. He ran down to Churchill’s Point to +hug and kiss his mother upon this good news, +and to get his chest, for he was ordered to join +his old ship, the Rainbow, about to sail from +Boston for the Mediterranean.

The good ship Rainbow weighed anchor on +the 1st of January, and bore away from Boston +harbor before a fair wind. The voyage across +the Atlantic ocean was rather tempestuous, but +in due time the vessel passed through the Straits +of Gibraltar, and entered the Mediterranean, +where she continued to cruise for some months, +stopping at almost every other port but that +Gusty May was so anxious to enter, namely, +Genoa. Gusty had deluded himself with the +fond idea that once in the Mediterranean he +must come upon Rosalia Aguilar somewhere. +He had written to Captain Wilde, and had also +swallowed his rage and compelled himself to +write to Raymond Withers. He had not received +a line in reply from either of them up to +the 1st of April, at which time his ship was +ordered to Constantinople. On the 15th of +April they entered the Archipelago, on the 25th +passed through the straits of the Dardanelles, +and on the 1st of May entered the straits of +Constantinople, and anchored among a thousand +other ships of all nations before the City of +Mosques and of the Sultan.

He inquired and found that Captain Wilde’s +ship, the Cornucopia, was still there, though expected +to sail in a few weeks.

As soon as he could obtain leave of absence, +he hastened in search of it. The ship lay opposite +the lower part of the city. He found it and +hurried on board. Captain Wilde was on deck, +and hastened to receive his nephew—they met—clasped +each other in a warm, fraternal embrace, +and both exclaimed, in one voice,

“Rosalia! have you heard from Rosalia?” +and each looked blankly and sadly at the other, +as he murmured,

“No—I was in hopes that you could have +given me news of her,” and then the final answer +was simultaneously spoken by both,

“Well in health; but dreadfully anxious +about Rosalia, of course, as we all are,” replied +Gusty, with a deep sigh, “and Sophie—how is +Sophie?”

“Not well—indeed very far from it; the +157sudden news of Rosalia’s flight, or abduction, +for we do not know which to suppose it, threw +her into a fit of illness, from which she has +never fully recovered?”

“Yes—do you not know that the Turkish +Government will not permit a foreigner to reside +in the city?”

“None, even in favor of ministers of friendly +nations; they are not permitted to reside within +the walls of the city.”

“Wait, my dear Gusty, a few minutes; I +must prepare her for your visit,” and so saying, +Captain Wilde went down into the cabin, whence +he returned in a few minutes, saying,

“Come, Gusty! Sophie expects you, and she +has a strange story for your ear also.”

Gusty followed his uncle down the gangway +into a large cabin, fitted up in the most luxurious +style. The berth or sleeping apartment, at +the upper end, opposite the entrance or gangway, +was concealed by curtains of purple velvet, +fringed with gold, and festooned with golden +cord. The side walls were wainscoted with +mahogany, and the floor covered with a Turkey +carpet, of colors so brilliant and life-like, and +texture so yielding, that you seemed to be stepping +upon flowers. In the centre of the cabin +stood a rose-wood table made fast to its place, +and above it hung a splendid chandelier of cut +glass and gold. Ottomans covered with purple +velvet and fringed with gold, like the curtains, +were ranged around the walls upon the carpet.

A beautiful spring-bottomed sofa, whose upper +cushions were of down, covered also with purple +velvet to match the other hangings, was placed +against the walls on the left hand as you entered, +and facing it upon the opposite side, hung a large +cheval mirror. About upon the walls hung +several rare oil paintings in rich frames, and the +rose-wood table was littered with books.

“This is Sophie’s own particular retreat,” said +Captain Wilde, as he introduced Gusty, and +pointed him to a seat on the sofa. In a few +seconds the purple velvet curtains opened, and +Sophie entered. The very same Sophie, whom +time seemed to forget to mar. The same little +round looking figure, in its sober dress of brown +satin, the same little sedate head with its simply +braided, glossy brown hair, the same soft, pale +face with its large, tender brown eyes, the same +pensive countenance, and gentle manners, the +same low sweet voice, the same every way +except—yes! there is a tone of deep, deep +sorrow in her whole bearing as she approaches to +greet Gusty, who rises and meets her more than +half way. She offers her cheek to Gusty, who +kisses it as he embraces her, and they look in +each other’s face with a heart-broken expression +of countenance, and sit down without a word +spoken on either side! At last, trying to utter +the name of Rosalia, Sophie chokes and bursts +into tears, and weeps convulsively.

“Ah! well—yes—this is it!” exclaimed Captain +Wilde, sitting down and taking her in his +arms, forgetting or disregarding the presence of +Gusty, and muttering sotto voce as he soothed her, +“I sometimes wish we could hear that this poor +girl was dead, for then Sophie would know that +she was in Heaven, and cease to break her heart +about it.”

Sophie wept abundantly, and, as a fit of free +weeping always acts, it subsided and left her +heart clear, her mind refreshed, and her nerves +calm—temporarily—just as an April shower +leaves, for the time, the sky bright, and the +earth refreshed. Then as she recovered, she +recounted all the little she knew from Raymond +Withers of Rosalia’s flight, and ended by reiterating +that no news had been heard of her; nor +the slightest clue had been found to her fate or +her retreat.

Gusty saw that neither Captain Wilde nor +Sophie had the slightest suspicion of the elopement, +well veiled as it had been; and he, on his +part, determined not to enlighten them. On his +inquiring when they had last heard from Raymond, +he was informed that they had received +but one letter from him, namely, the letter +announcing Rosalia’s flight, but that they had +lately heard, by a vessel direct from Genoa, that +the American Consul was lying extremely ill of +a brain fever, and that his life was despaired of.

“And I suppose that is why he has not replied +to my letter, either,” observed Gusty.

Then Sophie asked her thousand and one +questions about Emily and her family, about +Heath Hall and its inmates, and about Hagar +and her children. To all these questions Gusty +gave satisfactory replies. When she inquired +about Hagar he merely told her that she was in +high health and beauty, and the mother of a fine +boy, thus revealing only what was agreeable in +the truth, without afflicting Sophie by saying one +word of the sorrow of which it was evident that +she had not the slightest idea. If this partial concealment +was not ingenuous, it was at least +ingenious; but I am not defending Gusty.

“I have something strange to tell you about +our poor dear Rosalia, but I am not able to tell +you to-day, Gusty,” said Sophie.

“Yes—and—no,” said Sophie,” but I am not +strong enough for the task now. Come to-morrow, +Gusty, and I will tell you—I must lie +down now.”

And indeed she looked so languid, so much as +if about to faint, that Gusty, mentally reproaching +himself for having stayed so long, arose to take +leave.

“Come and dine with us to-morrow at five, +if you can leave the ship,” said Captain Wilde.

“I will, certainly, with great pleasure, if I can +get off,” replied Gusty; and raising Sophie’s pale +and languid hand to his lips he turned and left +the cabin, accompanied by Captain Wilde.

“Come in the morning for the story, however, +Gusty, for Sophie is too feeble to be worried +later in the day.”

The next morning as soon as he was off duty, +Gusty hastened on board the Cornucopia. Captain +Wilde met him as before, and telling him +that Sophie was ready to receive him, conducted +158him into the cabin. Sophie reclined upon the +sofa, but arose, and greeting Gusty, pointed him +to the seat by her side. He took it, and after +making several kind inquiries about her health, +he awaited the revelation she had to make him—his +interest and his curiosity whetted up to the +keenest edge. At length she said—

“Yes, dear Sophie, with as much impatience +as I dare to feel, seeing you so feeble.”

“I am much stronger in the morning—well—dear +knows, I hardly know where to commence, +for I am no narrator. I suppose, Gusty, you +always thought that Rosalia—poor Rose!—was +my niece, did you not?”

“The daughter of my late husband, Mr. +Withers, by his first wife—Fanny Raymond, and +the sister of Raymond Withers!”

Gusty turned all colors, and lost his voice for +a time; at last seeing that Sophie remained +silent, he exclaimed—

“And how long has he known it?” asked +Gusty, with a strange joy breaking over his face.

“And how did you discover it?—who told +you?—and why has the fact been kept concealed +so long?”

“Stay, Gusty, it was to tell you the whole +story that I requested your visit this morning. I +am about to do so.”

“In the first place, I do not wish to enter +further upon the details of the early life of Mr. +Withers than is absolutely necessary to make +this story clear.”

“Of course not,” winced Gusty, with a countenance +expressive of having bitten an unripe +persimmon.

“You will understand, then, why it is unpleasant +to me to allude to her dark story.”

“Then these are the facts lately revealed to +me by my deceased brother-in-law’s attorney—and +this was the manner of it. We had been +out here something like four or five months, +when I received a packet of letters and papers +from Mr. Linton, my late brother-in-law’s +attorney, and my colleague in the guardianship +of Rosalia and her little property. With +this packet of letters came one letter, sealed +and superscribed in a hand-writing, the sight +of which made my heart leap to my throat—the +hand-writing, in fine, of my only sister—my +dead sister, Rosalia. In truth, it seemed +like a missive from the grave. It was directed +‘To Sophie Withers—care of T. Linton, attorney +at law—to be delivered according to its address, +on the 1st June, 182-.’ That was Rosalia’s +eighteenth birthday.”

Sophie paused. Gusty waited in breathless +impatience. She seemed strongly disinclined +to recommence the recital that she had abandoned +at the very outset.

“Alas! why have I to tell this story—I do +so revolt from it, Gusty! I walk around and +around it, fearing to approach it!”

“Don’t then, Sophie,” said Gusty, with an +effort at magnanimity, but looking very anxious.

“Yes, I shall have to tell it—and may as well +brace myself to the task now as at any other +time. Listen then, Gusty, and I will endeavor +to condense the story that was revealed to me +through some half-a-dozen long letters, and +proved by some half a score of tedious documents. +You remember my sister Rosalia, +Gusty?”

“Yes, she was gloriously beautiful—of your +Rosalia’s complexion and style of beauty, but +with a sparkling vivacity, flashing like sunlight +through every look, and tone, and gesture—Rosalia +Churchill’s first effect upon a stranger +was electrical. Well! soon after we were left +alone by the death of our brother, Mr. Aguilar, +a young merchant of Baltimore, came down to +make or finish a large contract for tobacco, from +Mr. Gardiner Green—he saw Rosalia at church +on Sunday; on Monday got himself presented +to her by Mr. Green, who brought him to the +Hall. He came every day to see us. At the +end of a week he returned to Baltimore, but +came back in a few days. At last he proposed +for Rosalia, married her, and carried her off to +his city home. Rosalia was very young and +very thoughtless, and perhaps her husband was a +little selfish, and did not wish to be troubled +by the poor country relations of his beautiful +but penniless young wife—at least that is the +only way in which I can account for the +estrangement between us that followed her +marriage. I wrote to my sister frequently, and +at first her replies were copious, her letters filled +with vivacious descriptions of gay city life—of +159dress, visiting and receiving company—of balls, +plays, and concerts, &c., &c., &c. This continued +a few months, and then our correspondence +began to die out. Her letters were short +and few, and filled with apologies. I never +remonstrated against this, because, you know, +that is not my disposition. At last—and this +was near the close of the second year—a longer +interval of silence than usual followed my letter +to her. I felt a diffidence in troubling her with +two letters at a time, for I felt that she was a +fine, fashionable lady, and just then I was almost +a pauper.”

“I am no moral philosopher, and I do not +know whether it was pride or humility that prevented +me for some time from writing a second +letter to her; but at last I grew so restless about +her—I felt so interested in her domestic affairs—she +had been married more than a year, and I +was anxious to know whether she had a baby. +Sometimes I thought she had, and that the care +of it prevented her writing to me, so I wrote and +asked her in so many words. Her reply came, +after a long time. She told me she had a little +snowy-skinned, golden-haired, sapphire-eyed girl, +who was said to be the picture of herself. Of +course I thought, naturally enough, that the +child was her own. I could think nothing else. +She had not said so, but could I infer anything +else, Gusty?”

“You see she entered into no details except +very minute ones about the baby’s beauty, dresses, +habits, and christening. This revived our correspondence +for a little while—only for a little +while—it died out, and finally ceased altogether. +It was a year from this that I was married to +Mr. Withers; and it was in the second year of +my marriage that I was so unfortunate as to lose +my only sister and her husband by the then prevailing +epidemic. I was appointed by will, +guardian, in conjunction with Mr. Linton, of the +infant orphan, Rosalia, and was summoned to +Baltimore, to receive her into my care. I went, +and brought home the baby, Rosalia, without a +single suspicion of who she really was. I was +attracted to the child; I loved her, but not for +anything of my sister that I saw in her, for there +was really nothing. Superficial observers might +fancy a likeness, because they both had the same +snowy skin, tinged with a faint rose-color on +the cheeks; the same glittering gold hair, and +the same azure eyes; but to my searching eyes +there was not a single look of my sister about +her. There was a startling likeness to another—an +unfortunate, whose strange sad fate was +as incomprehensible to me as this child’s alarming +resemblance of her. Still—so far was I +from suspicion—so little given, as you know, +Gusty, to marvellousness or romancery, that I +considered this extraordinary likeness as mere +fancy in me, until Mr. Withers also remarked it, +in great agitation, and even then, I set it down +as accidental. Mr. Withers grew very fond of +her, and she of him. She was the only one +who could subdue the tiger in his heart during +his fits of phrensy. You know we brought her +up as our niece, and loved her so much that had +we heard that she was the child of the bitterest +enemy in the world, we could not have loved her +less. The panic caused by the extraordinary +likeness passed away with years, because, in +fact, as she grew up this resemblance declined, +and her air and manner became assimilated to +mine, so much so that people saw, even through +the marked difference of complexion—what they +called ‘a family likeness’ between two of no kin. +Children do thus grow to resemble those who +bring them up—in case they love them. I believed +her to be my niece, and only regretted that +she had not been my daughter. You may judge, +then, with what surprise I received this packet +of papers from my coadjutor, Mr. Linton, accompanied +by his own letter—shall I read it to +you, or tell you of its contents?”

“Well then, listen; it appears that a few +days before the death of Mr. Aguilar, he sent +for his lawyer, T. Linton, and requested him to +draw up a will, in which he left the remnant of +his wrecked property to his wife Rosalia. Within +a fortnight after the funeral of her husband, +my sister was struck down by the epidemic to +which he had fallen a victim. On the day previous +to her decease she requested an interview +with Mr. Linton. He obeyed her summons, and +at her desire, drew up a second will, by which +she bequeathed to her daughter, Rosalia Aguilar, +all the property so lately devised to herself. +She signed this will, and returning it to him, +requested him to keep it for exhibition to her relatives, +and to draw her up a copy, substituting +the name of Rosalia Aguilar Withers, and to +keep this in reserve, for, said she,

“‘The first will, will not give her any +right to the bequest, because she is not my +daughter.’

“‘Because I do not wish to send the orphan, +orphaned into the world. As my own child, +my relatives will naturally receive Rosalia with +affection—the prestige of family will be about +her. As my adopted daughter, they may possibly +look upon her with aversion as an interloper, +who has deprived them of an inheritance. I do +not say that it will be so, but I do say that this +is so natural, so human a possibility, that I do +not wish to risk it. I wish to cover my baby, +my child; she is my child in affection, if not in +love—I wish, I say, to shelter her with love +during the years of her infancy and childhood, +and during these years you must only produce +the first will, unless the discovery of her real +parentage makes it necessary to produce the +second, which will secure to her the property +under all circumstances. I have prepared a +letter, in which I have given the history of my +adoption of Rosalia Withers, and which I shall +confide to you, to be delivered to my sister on +Rosalia’s eighteenth birth day, or before, if unexpected +circumstances should make it proper to +do so.’ Well, she intrusted him with both wills, +the real and ostensible one, and with the letter +explanatory of the whole matter. Gusty, I am +exhausted; shall I give you the letter to read, +while I take a little repose?”

“Oh! I am a brute! a brute! not to have +noticed your fatigue; but I was so interested in +160Rosalia—give me the letter, Sophie, and lie +down.”

“It will tell you all that you wish to know, +Gusty,” said she, rising, and handing him the +letter.

He received it, and left the cabin, saying to +himself, “Sophie is not so strong to endure as +she was—her heart is breaking under reiterated +blows.” Passing Captain Wilde, and promising +to be back to dinner, Gusty hastened to his own +ship, and retired to read his letter, which, with +its revelations, reader, shall be reserved for the +next chapter.

Gusty found himself in his own “caboose,” +and opened the letter. Its contents were as +follows:

“My Dear and Only Sister:—Long before your +eye follows these lines, the hand that now traces them +will have moulded into dust. I write now propped up +in bed, and my pen drops from my hand, and my hand +falls from the paper every instant—ah! how difficult to +write with the life in my bosom palpitating, sinking, fluttering +into death! yet I must write. There is a secret that +I must leave revealed for you, although for awhile it will +yet be kept from you. Hear my confession. There is +a little child whom never having seen, you yet love +from my description, and from her supposed relationship +to you. And you must, for years to come, still believe +in her kindred claim. That little girl is no child of +mine—no relative of yours. Listen! this is her history.

“From the first year of my married life, I wished +above all things for a child—but when, in the passage +of time, I knew that Heaven had written me childless, I +wished to adopt an infant—one without parents, friends, +or relatives—an orphan from its very birth, whom I +would make all my own—whom I could pass, not only +upon the world, but upon my relatives, as my own; for +I was morbidly sensitive upon the subject of my childlessness, +and felt my misfortune to be a mortification of +which I wish to keep even you ignorant. (Now, if I +continue to keep even you in ignorance, it is from a less +selfish motive, namely, the welfare of my adopted +daughter.)

“Well, Sophie! such a child as I wished to find was +not so easily to be discovered; but the more difficult +the attainment, the more desirable was the object. I +brooded over the plan continually. I used to drive in +my carriage to alms-houses, orphan asylums, &c., and +became a sort of amateur baby-fancier; only I never +saw a baby that struck my fancy. I never betrayed +even to the matrons of these institutions my secret purpose +in visiting them so frequently. I thought it was +quite time enough to make known my wishes when +their object, namely an eligible child for adoption, should +be found. I was in the habit of visiting these asylums +at least once a fortnight, and I got the name of being +very charitable, for I had to give alms to account for +my visits. I grew quite into the confidence of the +matrons and directors, although, living as I did, quite at +the opposite end of the city, they knew nothing of me +beyond my ‘charities,’ as they called them. One day, +however, the matron of the almshouse met me at the +door, and conducting me into the parlor, told me that +she had a singular circumstance to reveal, and then +gave me the following particulars. ‘That late on the +preceding night, a woman had been seen wandering +bare-footed, and with wild eyes, streaming hair, +tattered dress, and frantic manners, through the streets +of the city. When accosted by passengers she would +answer wildly, or turn and flee. At last, that morning, +she was brought before a magistrate, who, seeing her +lunacy, had her sent to this asylum.’

“‘She was brought here about eleven o’clock,’ continued +the matron; ‘she is a very remarkable looking +young person, and I should think within a very +few days of her confinement. Will you see her?’ I +assented, and followed the matron to the ward in which +the stranger was placed. We entered a small room +apart, and there I saw such a wreck of a human being! +an extremely emaciated figure sitting doubled up on the +foot of the low bed—from her thin limbs hung tattered +raiment, bearing the marks and stains of much travel +and exposure. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her +talon-like hands supported her wan, white face, which +formed a death-like contrast to the brilliant hair of +mingled gold and silver threads that streamed down +each side. Her eyes were strained out straight before +her, but fell as she saw us. She was now enjoying—no, +not enjoying, suffering a lucid interval. I saw it in +the set despair—the too rational despair of those terrible +eyes. I felt strongly and most painfully interested in +her—I fully believed her to be one of the too numerous +victims of trust and perfidy. I wished to talk to her—to +learn, if possible, something of her history—to do, if +possible, something to alleviate her sufferings. I could +not, somehow, bring myself to speak to her confidentially +in the presence of the matron. I fancied that if I +were left alone with the poor stranger, I might win +some information from her, and learn if I could in any +manner ameliorate her condition. I requested the +matron aside, to withdraw for a few minutes, to give me +this opportunity. She did so, and I went after her, +closed the door behind her and returned, drew the only +chair in the room to the side of the bed, and sat down +in it very near her. She was sitting in the same attitude—her +side face was towards me—she did not notice +me.

“‘I am very sorry to see you looking so unhappy,’ +said I, softly as I could speak, and watching her face +steadily.

“She did not reply, but I saw the blue lips spring +quivering apart, and the white teeth glisten between +them.

“I immediately regretted my indiscreet question +when I saw her turn her gaze haughtily upon me, +while something like scorn kindled on her cheeks, +writhed on her lips, flashed from her eyes, as she answered, +in a low and measured tone,

“I felt humbled—like a repulsed intruder—still I did +wish so much to benefit her that I ventured again.

“‘I will do so,’ said I, ‘certainly, as I do not wish, +upon any account to add to your discomfort,’ and rising, +I left the chamber.

“The matron met me in the gallery, and in commenting +upon my account of my interview, she informed +me that no one had been able to gain the +slightest intelligence of her past life, her friends, or her +condition, from her.

“I felt distressingly concerned for this woman. I +drove over every day to see her. She became accustomed +to my visits—somewhat reconciled to me—though +her moods were variable; sometimes bitter and sullen, +as I had found her in my first interview; sometimes +so wild and frantic as to make restraint necessary; +sometimes she was calm and rational. For several +days I made no further effort to elicit from her the +story of her sins, wrongs, or misfortunes. It was evident +from every lineament of her classic face and form, +beautiful even in their extreme emaciation, and from +every tone and gesture in her voice and manner—free +from coarseness even in her sullenest or fiercest mood—that +she was a woman of high breeding—that she had +fallen from a lofty place.

“But it was not until my pity for the poor creature +was changing into love, and she saw it, that I could get +her to take anything from me, or accept any, even the +most delicate, personal service.

“‘No,’ she would say, with a sardonic smile, ‘I will +accept nothing; I have a right to my place in this almshouse, +because I have helped to build and support these +institutions.’

“Pity is allied to love on the one hand, and to contempt +on the other; and in proportion as it approaches +love, it recedes from contempt. When she saw that +the arrogant and offensive element in my pity was +gone, she began to grow a little more grateful for the +care I was bestowing upon her. Once she said to me, +in one of her few lucid intervals—

161“‘For months I have been a wanderer on the face of +the earth; for months I have never slept under a roof, +or eaten anything cooked—the forest has been my home—its +bed of grass or under-growth my couch, its foliage +my curtains, the overhanging sky has been my roof, and +its millions of stars my lights: nuts and wild berries +my food, water my drink, and the side of some brook +my dining-room. I had fled from the cold pity and the +colder alms of society to wild nature, the rough but +honest mother. And it was the coming on of winter, +severe winter, and the approach of the period of my +accouchement, that drove me again into the haunts of +civilization for assistance.’

“The ‘mind and heart diseased’ might be detected +in her most lucid conversation. She was not one to +reason with—I could only love her into calmness and +sanity. I brought over some of my own clothing, and +after soothing, coaxing, and caressing, administered with +the most delicate tact of which I was capable (for it +was dangerous to let her think that I considered her a +child, or a fool who was to be wheedled), I prevailed on +her to take a bath, have her hair combed, and put on +comfortable clothing. It was a light blue, soft, warm, +French merino that I had brought her, and she looked +so beautiful after I had dressed her, that then I first +conceived the idea of bringing her home to my house. +It was almost a selfish feeling in me—she would occupy +and interest me—nay, she had done so to the extent of +exorcising my familiar demon, ennui. Mr. Aguilar had +sailed for Liverpool, on mercantile business, a few weeks +previous—it was too late to consult him—I thought I +would take this poor forlornity home, and ask his permission +when he returned. Fearful of alarming her +morbid pride, and her hatred of dependence, I did not +name my project to her then, but returned home full of +it. I went busily to work and prepared a chamber next +to my own—I was so happy and interested in fitting it +up—I said to myself, as I superintended the arrangement +of the furniture, ‘Her emaciated and wearied +limbs will repose so nicely on this white, clean, downy +bed; she will sit so nicely in this deep, soft chair,’ and +my own heart filled with a sort of delicious emotion, +that flowed through every vein, breathing through +every pore, dilating as a sponge filling with water, or a +child growing as it sleeps. I became deeply interested +in preparing baby-linen, just as if it were for myself. +‘Come,’ said I to myself, ‘I will be Pharaoh’s daughter, +and she shall be the mother of Moses.’ In the midst +of these occupations an evil thought came to me, and +said, ‘You are doing all this for—whom?—a fallen and +guilty woman—a degraded outcast!’ And I stopped in +the middle of the floor aghast at the sudden recollection, +and terrified at the question of what Mr. Aguilar might +say to this contemplated act when he should hear of it. +And as I stood, these lines, read in my school days, came +into my head—

“Yes, I had got to the pitying stage! I was in danger! +in the whirl of the maelstrom! I turned giddy, and +dropped into the very easy chair I was preparing for +her. You used to say, Sophie, that I never prayed to +God until I got into trouble—which was as true then as +it is now. I was now in trouble—I did not wish to be +disappointed of my benevolence—my amusement, then, +if you will call it so; and I did not wish to see that +poor creature suffer in the bleak chamber of the +wretchedly unprovided almshouse. I was broken upon +a wheel of conflicting opinions and emotions. And I +prayed to God, that if a baleful, moral miasma was +evolved from the presence of this poor fellow-creature, +His grace might be the purifying antidote to save +me, and I got up from this prayer loathing myself for a +self-righteous pharisee, standing afar off from the poor +publican, and I saw how far above the authority of the +poets, philosophers and moralists, whom I consulted +and worshipped, was the perfect law of love—the law +of Christ that I had forgotten. Later in the day when +this fervor had subsided, as all fervor must, and when +I looked at the rationale of the affair, it was suggested +to me that if the poor creature were guilty, she appeared +impenitent—but I replied, ‘She is outcast, +beggared, and crazed—that is all I know—if she is +guilty, it is known to God; if she is also impenitent, +she is mad; and has most likely been driven so by +cruelty and despair, and I will try to love her back to +sanity and to penitence. And in this case I have no +right to judge her—to pronounce her guilty. Still, Sophie, +I must say, that between old prejudices and new +sympathy, between ill-regulated feelings and unsettled +opinions, I was very much in doubt as to the propriety +of what I was about to do in my husband’s absence. +Inclination, as is but too usually the case with me, +weighed down the scale, and I went to bring my +protegé. I had some difficulty with her. I found her +in a very lucid state of mind. I congratulated her upon +her calmness, and she smiled a sad, strange smile, and +said,

“‘Ah! you think me sane, rational now! But when +I rave, rant and scream! when I tear my hair and +clothes! throw myself with violence on the ground! +call on God to strike me dead! and blaspheme because +He does not do it! then you call me mad! phrensied! +Alas! then only am I sane, then only conscious of my +situation, of all I have been, am, and shall be; of my +past, present, and future, in their horrid reality; and my +raving is but too reasonable! No, madam!’ she said, +with sorrowful bitterness, ‘it is now, now that I am +dull, stupid, collapsed, calm as you call it, that I am +really insane, for I am now insensible to my condition +in all its woe.’

“I asked for no explanation. I had given up that +habit long ago. But after a while I proposed my plan +to her. She hesitated even when I urged her with +tears of sympathy.

“‘If I become an inmate of your house, it is right that +you should know my whole story, yet that I will never +divulge.’

“‘No! no!’ said I, impatiently, alarmed, ‘I wish to +hear nothing, will hear nothing—I have nothing to do +with your past—your future only concerns me,’ for I +was now beginning to fear her story as a revelation of +horrors that I should not have the courage to face.

“In short, Sophie, I took her home with me that +very evening to the chamber where I had had a fire +already made for her reception, and I spent the evening +there with her.

“I kept her there two months. She grew calmer +every day under my nursing. At the end of two +months her child was born, and from that time it +seemed to me that she sank every day. It is true that +she recovered from her accouchement, and was able to +leave her room, but I could see that a hectic fever had +taken a deep hold of her system. I was expecting Mr. +Aguilar home every day literally with fear and +trembling. I devised a thousand excuses to make for +what I had done, and in the end hoped that the joy of +meeting me again would lead him to pardon the indiscretion +of which I felt that he would accuse me. Fanny +Raymond (that was the name of my protegé), sometimes +with her quick, unusually quick perceptions, +noticed my anxiety, and questioned me about it. But +I would smile and tell her that my sources of uneasiness +were like hers, incommunicable. In the midst of +this, Mr. Aguilar arrived. It was night when he came +home. He did not see Fanny that night. Early the +next morning before we arose, I told him all about it. +He was deeply displeased; nothing but the circumstance +of our having just met, after an absence, could have +saved me from a very severe rebuke. He said that she +must leave the house immediately. I pleaded with +him that it was the depth of winter—that she was dying +of consumption, or a broken heart, for they are often +synonyms. He was inexorable. I arose and dressed +myself and wept very much, and then I went to Fanny’s +room and took up her child in its soft, white night +dress, and returning to my own chamber, went up to +the bed and laid the babe upon his bosom.

“‘What am I to do with the brat? Do you expect +me to nurse it?’ said he, as he rose up on his elbow.

“I was not afraid of his throwing it out of the window. +He was passionately fond of children. It was +his weakness. He could not pass a babe in its nurse’s +arms in the street. That was one reason why I was so +anxious for children.

“‘It is a beautiful baby,’ said he, smoothing out its +hair, that looked like bright, pale yellow floss silk. +‘But here, take it! Why do you bother me with it?’

“‘Because,’ said I, ‘its mother is dying—it has no +relatives, I suspect, and no one will claim it—you will +adopt it I think—and I hope, I pray, I do implore that +you will let its poor heart-broken mother pass the few +days of life that remain to her under this roof with her +baby.’

“Useless all my prayers and tears. He was sternly +determined to send her off with the child back to the +almshouse, he said. He admitted that were the mother +out of the question he would cheerfully keep the child. +At last I raised the infant and carried it into the next +room. Fanny was standing before the dressing-glass +writing on the table. She looked up as I came in. I +never shall forget the expression of her face in this +world or the next, it was whiter than chalk, sterner +than marble. She came to me, took the child from my +arms and laid it on the bed without a word said, then +162turning to me she embraced me, kissed my hands, +pressed me to her bosom, and opening the door pushed +me gently out of her own, into my own room. That +was the last time I ever saw Fanny Raymond. An hour +after that Mr. Aguilar and myself sat down to the +breakfast-table. I sent up word for Fanny to come +down. The servant returned with the news that she +was out. I breakfasted without any presentiment of +what had occurred. After breakfast Mr. Aguilar went +to his counting-room and I ran up stairs to see Fanny +and her child. Fanny was not to be seen. The child +lay in her cradle. Going up to look at her I saw a +folded note pinned to her bosom and directed to me. I +took it off, opened and read it, as well as I could read +the scrawl. It was as follows:

“‘Mrs. Aguilar, your partitions are thin, or my senses +very acute—at all events, lying in my bed this morning, +I have heard without intending it, every word of your +conversation with your husband. I heard his stern but +well meant decision, your generous defence and benevolent +pleading, and I blessed and bless you, kind angel, +from my breaking heart. “If the mother were dead +‘he’ would take the child,” very well, so be it, the mother +will die to secure a home for her child—no weak +hesitation or weaker regrets now. I go and leave you +my child. Take her, Mrs. Aguilar, and give her to your +husband as his daughter. Like the Jewish matron +whom the Lord had written childless, take the child of +your handmaiden and rear it as your own. She was +born under your roof, she is yours. I will never return +to see or reclaim her. Do you know how much it has +cost me to write that? But I will not think! bear on, +heart, a few days or hours more. This child—you have +been fearing all this time that she was the offspring of +guilt and shame, she is not. I said that I would not tell +you my story, and I will not, because it would involve +others. If I were guilty would I be likely to reveal my +own shame? If I were to say that I am innocent, +should I be likely to obtain credence? But this baby, +I must tell the truth of her, she is my husband’s child, +for I have a husband, though I do not know how long +I may have one, nor is he in a condition to claim or +take care of his daughter or even of himself; nor does +he suspect the existence of this child, for I have been +a fugitive from his house five months before she was +born. Therefore keep her yourself, she will be a loss +to no one but me who resign her. Give her your name, +it will make her more your own. Call her Rosalia +Aguilar Withers. Why Withers, do you ask? Well, +no matter why, perhaps, because she is the bud of a +wither-ed tree.’”

“That was all! The mother had given up her child +and fled, apparently without a single regret, at least you +would judge so from the words of her letter; but that +letter was nearly illegible with wild and scrawling characters, +and almost blotted out with tears. A lock of her +babe’s hair was cut off from its forehead, and one of its +little socks taken away, nothing else was missing. The +poor mother had left bareheaded and without outside +covering, for her bonnet and shawl were left behind. I +was nearly wild with distress, and the poor forsaken babe +was wailing dismally for its mother, and I could not comfort +it. You know, Sophie, that though I am rather gentle, +yet when other people’s cruelties to their fellow creatures +have very much distressed and grieved me, that I +end in getting very angry. Well, I sent a footman to +the counting-house for Mr. Aguilar, who answered my +summons immediately. It was the first time in all our +married life that I had ever had occasion to send for him, +and he was alarmed. He came running up stairs. I +thrust the note into his hands, and it was my turn to look +daggers at him while he read it, and it was his turn to +cower before me.

“‘We must have her pursued, looked up, and taken +care of,’ said he, in a trembling voice.

“‘Oh, yes!’ said I, ‘now that she is drowned—you +could find no room in the house for her dying form, perhaps +you will be able to find some spot on God’s earth +for her grave.’

“In short, Sophie, I went on in the insolent way in +which, when I became excited and reckless of consequences, +I sometimes indulged myself towards him, +and which he always met with a dignified forbearance +that at last quite disarmed me.

“‘Do you take care of the child, my dear,’ said he, +‘while I take measures to recover the unhappy mother,’ +and he left the room.

“All search proved unavailing—we heard nothing of +her for several days, and then we heard that a person answering +to her description had been seen walking wildly +on the bridge across the river, and the next morning a +handkerchief and a shoe were found floating, that when +brought to me I recognised as having belonged to her. +These created a suspicion that she perished by her own +act. Well, Sophie, Mr. Aguilar fell into very low spirits +about it, and we redoubled our care of the infant. We +procured a wet-nurse, and spared no pains or expense +in her nurture and education. She is now four years +old; she has been reared in the very lap of love and +luxury; but, Sophie, death is near me, at least I fear so, +and I must leave my poor dove, my delicate little hothouse +rose, to the rough ground and rude blast that make +the life of the orphan so hard. And, Sophie, I dare not +yet let you know that she is not my child in the flesh, +as she is my child by adoption and by an affection that +could not be deeper than it is, had I brought her into +the world. She was born in my bed, reared in my lap, +from the time she was weaned she has slept with me +every night. She is the delight of my eyes, the rapture +of my heart, she is so beautiful, so angelic! But, Sophie, +you will, perhaps, see none of this unless you +think she is your niece, you will see only a little interloper +who has feloniously entered your sister’s home +and heart and carried away her affections and your +inheritance, and so, Sophie, I will not for some years +permit you to know who she is. Not until her loveliness +has won a home in your love, of which prejudice +and injustice cannot deprive her. Oh, may God forgive +me if this is sin.

“It occurs to me now, Sophie, that as your husband +is named Withers, there may be some connexion between +the circumstance and the wild fancy name of +Withers bestowed by Fanny Raymond on her child. +Still it is not likely that there is, at least circumstances +forbid me now to investigate it.

“Sophie, this letter has been the work of a week, it +has been written in pain of body and pain of mind. +To-morrow I must make my will. I shall at the same +time place this letter in the hands of Mr. Linton, to be +forwarded to you upon the date of the superscription, +which will be the eighteenth anniversary of Rosalia’s +birthday, and before that if necessary.

“Sophie, all is done—and the sands of life run very +low. How much I would give to die on your bosom, +my only sister! but it may not be. Stranger faces are +around me—menial hands wipe the death dew from my +brow.

“Well! to-night perhaps my spirit may be freed and, +cleaving the distance between us, hover over your head +as you sit chatting merrily by your fireside, thinking of +your gay city sister, dancing in some brilliant ball-room. +Then I will whisper to your spirit, a dream of our loving +infant years, and you shall fall into a sweet pensive +trance that shall last until your husband asks,

“And you will reply, ‘I was thinking of my sister +Rose.’ And I shall disappear in the thick facts around +you. Shall it be so? Yes, Sophie! if my freed spirit +shall be indeed free, it will seek you before it seeks +Heaven.

“I stopped, because weak tears blinded me—but a +little child is sitting on my bed, close to my pillow, and +she is wiping with her little dimpled hands, the damp +dew from my brow, and her soft lips kiss away the fast +falling tears from my eyes—let these tears be the only +draughts of sorrow that she drinks! Love my child, +Sophie! Oh, God, Sophie! if you want a guardian +angel in heaven, love my child!

Gusty had finished the perusal of this letter. +Gusty was no moralist—he was given to emotion +rather than to reflection. Yet Gusty fell into +deep thought, and the fruit of his reverie dropped +in these words,

“Behold the great tangled thicket of sin and +misery springing from one small seedling of error. +Behold the terrible consequences of one small +deception—consequences so nearly fatal! FATAL! +Oh, Heaven, is there a word in earth’s, or in +hell’s vocabulary, strong enough to express the +horror of the fate into which this deception had +nearly plunged its victim!”

And in deep thought, and with a brow of +gloomy gravity, Gusty went over to the Cornucopia, +to keep his appointment to dine. He did +not get an opportunity of speaking to Sophie before +dinner, for the officers were already assembled +and waiting. As he entered one door, +Sophie came in at another, and they sat down +to the table. Sophie was the only lady at the +163board, and she was looking very pale and languid. +Captain Wilde mentioned that this was +her first appearance at the table since her long +illness. Immediately after the dessert was placed +upon the table, she arose and withdrew to her +cabin. Lieutenant May made an apology, and +followed her.

“I regret that Rosalia made any concealment +from me. I do not know myself very well, but +I do not think the knowledge of the facts would +have affected my feelings towards Rosalia. The +child that my sister loved as her own, would +have been very dear to me for my sister’s sake +as well as for her own, being as lovely as Rosalia.”

“Yes, I am very sure of that, Sophie; and I +also exceedingly regret this concealment; it +might have led to the most horrible end.”

“No, perhaps not; still it strikes me as having +been very wrong, and wrong doing is always +dangerous, and sooner or later it brings its retribution.”

“It was wrong. I do not defend it. Still her +motive was affection; her intention good. She +judged me by the known characters of our neighbors, +who are proverbially clannish—who intermarry, +who have strong family prejudices, who +would be likely to hate an alien by blood, where +property is concerned, and that alien has been +the means of disinheriting the family; it was the +fear that I would look upon the child with dislike, +which induced my sister to conceal her +origin until now.”

“Still, I say people ought not to be so concerned +for the results of things—people ought to +do right, and leave the event to God. I am +learning and proving the good of that every day. +Why, Sophie! that’s what I did when I got +into a scrape for doing good. I said ‘God is +above all,’ and I grabbed right hold of the promises! +with a good will, and held on to them! +and you see the upshot! Why, I’m reinstated.”

“Oh, nothing! nothing! only the devil got +me into a cursed scrape, and the Lord got me +out of it, that’s all!”

“It strikes me, Gusty, that you are irreverent +in your faith and gratitude.”

“Lord! just hear you! do you suppose now +the Lord wants to be worshipped all the time +with tears, and groans, and prayers, with long +faces, drawling voices, and melancholy psalms? +No! I believe He likes variety, or we should +not see so much of it in His works. Besides, I +think the cheerful incense of a jolly good fellow’s +faith and worship must refresh the angels sometimes! +See, Sophie! remember how David +danced before the Ark. Listen! the Jewish historian +says, ‘he danced with all his might.’ +And one can still better imagine the antics he +cut, when they read that Michal, Saul’s daughter, +‘saw King David leaping and dancing before the +Lord, and she despised him in her heart!’ met +him with scorn and biting sarcasm—exclaiming +with provoking irony, ‘how glorious was the +King of Israel to-day!’ &c., &c.; you know +the rest. Nonsense, Sophie, the Lord don’t +want to be always worshipped with a solemn +physiognomy; at least it is not my ‘gift’ so to +worship Him. Listen, Sophie! this is my theory +and practice:—If any fellow-creature wrongs +or outrages me, I walk right on board of him! +thrash him like a man! and then forgive him +like an angel! If any inevitable misfortune falls +upon me without human agency, I blame the +devil liberally! And if any good befalls me, +I praise the Lord with all my soul! There, +that’s my orthodoxy—and if any heretic don’t +like it, he needn’t subscribe to it. Dear me, +Sophie, when I am thankful, I am thankful sure +enough; my bosom is a jolly big ball-room, +and my heart dances a tarantula all over it.”

“I do not know how you can be so thoughtlessly +gay while the fate of Rosalia remains +shrouded in mystery!”

“God love your gentle sober bosom, Sophie; +I have been in the deliriums, in the agonies, in +the blues, the horrors, and the dumps, about +Rosalia, for six months past, until—I got your—never +mind—well, anyway, now it is all +changed, and I feel such a faith, such a profound +and joyful conviction of her safety, that I cannot +be anxious from doubt, but only from impatience! +Cheer up, Sophie! I wish I could infuse some +of my own confidence into you! Go or send to +Genoa. I wish I could get leave of absence! +Rosalia will turn up soon! She is not dead: +if she had been—much inquiry as has been made +for her, large rewards as have been offered for +information about her, it would have been known. +She has found friends somewhere! and they +help to conceal her, that is all! God is above +all!”

“There it is again! I shall let the cat out of +the bag, if I stay here another minute. Good-bye, +Sophie.”

I do not know how you feel, but I am fatigued +with chasing up and down the world, from Maryland +to the Mediterranean, and from the Balize +to the Bosphorus, my eccentric set of people, who +have exploded in their passion and blown themselves +to the four winds of Heaven! I feel like +an admiral at sea with a squadron, in which +each ship is in a mutiny, and all in a storm—or +like a shepherdess with a very short crook, a +very wild watch-dog, and a very unruly flock.

And now I must leave the ninety-and-nine in +the wilderness, and go after the one that is lost—our +pet-lamb, Rosalia—who, if she has escaped +the wolf, has withal wandered too far from the +fold in going out of sight.

164Upon the evening of her arrival at Genoa, +Rosalia had been shown into her chamber, had +been assisted off with her travelling dress by the +chambermaid, had been supplied with some warm +water for bathing; and then, at her own request, +had been left alone. Finding herself in solitude, +she had taken a pencil and paper, and traced the +lines of her farewell letter to Raymond Withers. +Then like one in a dream, driven by one force, +the instinct of flight from Raymond, led by one +attraction, the wish for distance and sleep, she +began her hasty preparations for escape. Selecting +from her wardrobe a dress that Raymond +had never seen her wear, and therefore would +be unable to describe, one also that would attract +the least possible attention, and in which +she would be able to glide, spirit-like and unobserved, +through the gloaming—namely, a +black velvet pelisse, black beaver bonnet, and +black lace veil—she arrayed herself, and taking her +guitar, with a vague idea of its being serviceable +to her, she opened her door and looked cautiously +out. It was the hour of dinner throughout +the house, and the servants were all away from +this division of the establishment. She hurried +cautiously down the stairs, watching her opportunity, +and eluding observation now by passing +vacant galleries, now by gliding through a crowd +of busy and hurrying waiters, she escaped from +the house and stepped out into the street—into +a broad, grand, spacious street, built up on either +side with princely palaces, so magnificent that +any one of them might have been considered +the chief ornament of any other city. Terrified, +almost crushed by the stupendous magnificence +around her, the timid girl hurried through the +stately streets of the gorgeous city, “Genoa the +Proud,” as it has been styled for its grandeur. +Hurrying along under the shadows of the palaces, +gliding through the crowds of lazzaroni, the poor, +frightened girl approached the north-western +rampart. She met many country people coming +through the gates, with tall baskets of fruit upon +their heads, and in the crowd that was passing +into the city, she passed out unchallenged and +unnoticed. She found herself upon the high +road leading through the plains, through the +forest, and lastly through a defile of the Appenines +to the city of Parma. She went on.

The sun had set before she had emerged from +the city, and now as she went up the pleasant +road, bordered by beautiful herbage and fragrant +flowers, by citron and orange groves, the soft +and purple evening of Italy, with its clear sky +and brilliant stars, was around her. The delicious +coolness of the atmosphere stole all the +heat from her veins as she wandered on. There +seemed something in the air, or the ground, that +strengthened her, for as she walked, her faintness +and languor left her, and peace fell into her heart +and all around her. Oh, yes! it must have been +the pure air,—the fresh earth,—the hum of insects,—the +hushed flutterings of birds’ wings, +as they settled on their nests,—the distant murmur +of the bay, and the nearer whisper of the +breeze—in other words, the influence of nature, +the mercy of God that was quieting her excited +nerves, cooling her burning fever and composing +her stormy bosom. True that she knew she was +a delicate, a houseless, friendless, penniless, and +helpless wanderer in a strange country—she +knew this, but somehow she could not feel it! +She only felt the delicious influence of the evening +air. A great deal of the anguish she had +experienced at parting with Raymond had been +expended in the passionate letter she had written, +in the passionate tears she had shed. The gathered +force of the storm had burst and was +over! She was now refreshed. Instead of +fainting on the road at every step she took, +coolness and strength seemed to strike up from +the living earth through her feet, passing into +all her limbs. And it seemed to her childish +fancy that in the low music of the insects, of +the waters and the winds, she heard the angels +whisper, “Come along! come along! be a good +girl! we are with you!” and she toiled on, led +on, not knowing where, until the road declined +and narrowed into a deep, cool, green forest +dell, when, overpowered by a delicious drowsiness, +she lay down to sleep. She did not feel +alone or wretched—it was strange, but she did +not. Nature seemed to embrace her in a loving, +maternal, conscious embrace; God seemed +bending over her in blessing. She lay down in +the green and growing leaves that seemed to +close over her like kindred arms. She fancied +in her dreamy, sleepy half-consciousness, that +the leaves which kissed her cheek knew what +they were doing—that the large, bright, solitary +star that gazed at her through the overhanging +foliage, loved as it watched her; only half +awake, she stretched her hand up towards it, +gratefully smiled, dropped her arms, and fell +asleep!—into a sweet, healthful sleep, and +dreamed a heavenly dream. She saw the Heath, +the bay, and the river. The heath no longer a +desert, but covered with fields of waving grain +and pastures, that fed flocks of sheep and +droves of kine. She saw the forest glittering +green in morning dew, and the river flowing +brightly on to the bay that flashed in the morning +sun. She saw the Hall, no more a ruin, but +rebuilt upon the old model—an imposing, yet +beautiful villa of white freestone, with verandas +running all around it; with vines twined +about its pillars; with birds singing in their +leaves, and children sporting under their shade. +She saw Hagar in the high, bright bloom of +health and happiness. She saw Raymond seated +at his wife’s side, with one arm enfolding her +form; she saw or felt herself seated at their feet, +her head reposing upon Hagar’s lap, and Raymond’s +sedative, white fingers running through +her ringlets; and she knew that she loved them +both well enough to give her life for them, nor +could she distinguish any difference in the affection +she bore to either. Her heart was filling +and rising with a strange joy; she awoke. What +was before her? The sky of Italy still bent +above her—the bright star still looked down +through the foliage upon her,—the flowers and +herbs of Italy still bloomed around her—the +high road to Parma lay before her,—but what +was on that road? A group of men with torches, +bending over her. She gazed in startled wonder +for a moment,—she was awake and conscious +again!—an unpardoned sinner—a fugitive and a +wanderer far from her native country. Were +these grim-looking men with torches come in +pursuit of her, and would they carry her back +to Genoa? or were they a band of the dreadful +banditti that, inhabiting the fastnesses of the Appenines, +sometimes poured down in hordes, +scourging the country with fire and sword, even +to the city gates? Quick as lightning all this +165flashed through her brain, and she fainted from +terror before the tones of a very sweet voice +from a carriage on the high road could reassure +her, in the following question, apparently addressed +to the men around her—

“I’m afraid so, madam! I am nearly sure +that the carriage wheels passed over her limb, +and that she has fainted from the pain.”

“Oh, I am very sorry!—but how could she +have come there? and how very careless to +drive over her. Signora Morchero, will you +have the kindness to alight and examine into the +extent of the mischief done?”

A lady now descended from the carriage, and +stepping up to the recumbent form of the fainting +girl, stooped and examined her—noticing the +richness of her dress, the rareness of her beauty, +the delicacy of her hands and feet, and the highbred +expression of every lineament while trying +to discover where she might have received injury.

“Will you not examine her limbs, to see if they +have been fractured, Signora?” again inquired +or rather commanded the voice from the carriage.

“Her limbs are not fractured, madam, I think, +and the obstruction that the wheels passed over +may have been only her guitar; still she is in a +swoon.”

“Signor Guillio, give me your hand—I wish +to alight,” said the lady in the carriage.

The gentleman, who held a torch, passed it +to a page, and went up to the vehicle, reverently +assisting the lady to descend from her carriage. +Leaning on his arm, she approached the prostrate +girl; bidding the page hold the torch lower +and nearer her face, the lady examined her features +attentively. She seemed struck,—deeply +interested. Indeed, it was a strange, beautiful +picture, upon which no one could look with +indifference; the lovely, snowy face, with its +delicate Grecian profile, half-shaded by the luxuriant +tresses of bright golden hair, and both +thrown out into strong relief by the black velvet +dress and the dark green pillow of leaves.

“Lift her up, Signor Guillio, and place her in +the hindmost carriage, with our page and tirewoman; +lift her gently,” said the lady, “we +cannot leave her here.”

The gentleman obeyed; but just as he raised +her in his arms, Rosalia opened her eyes; she +shuddered and closed them again in fear; but +the lady addressed her in a soothing tone, and +she looked up once more.

Rosalia looked up into the lady’s gentle face—she +understood Italian imperfectly, so she answered +in the affirmative, not knowing what +else to say.

“Then we can take you there,” said the lady, +and turning again to the gentleman whom she +had addressed as Signor Guillio, she said—

“Put her into the carriage with the Signora +Bianca, and let us proceed on our journey; it is +late, and the air is chill.”

Signor Guillio assisted the girl to arise, and, +lifting her guitar, led her on to a plain, dark carriage, +that, standing some yards behind the foremost +one, was out of sight from the spot on +which she had been lying. Lifting and placing +her in it, he merely said to the occupant already +there—

“A traveller, Signora, whom the Grand Duchess +has picked up, and intends carrying on with +her to Parma,” and handing in the guitar, he +closed the door, and returned to the carriage of +the lady, who had already resumed her seat. +The party moved on.

The carriages rolled on. Rosalia seemed to +herself to be still sleeping, still dreaming. Nay, +this position seemed more unreal than the dream +from which she had been awakened. At length +she said to her silent, and sulky, or weary companion—

“Will you have the goodness to inform me, +Signora, to whom I am indebted for this kindness?”

“Indeed, I do not. I seem to myself to be +dreaming, and have only a dim notion of how I +came here; who was the benevolent lady who +spoke so kindly to me?”

“You are a very new comer into this neighborhood, +as well as a foreigner, if you do not +recognise Her Royal Highness, Maria Louisa, +Grand Duchess of Parma, who has been spending +some weeks at the sea side, and is now +returning to her own capital.”

It was near midnight when the carriages +entered the gates of a fortified city, and rolling +through the streets, at length paused before a +magnificent palace. The party entered its portals. +Rosalia was provided with a lodging within +its precincts, by the woman who had been her +fellow-passenger.

It was about eleven o’clock the next day +when she was summoned to the presence of the +Grand Duchess. Maria Louisa was in her +dressing-room under the hands of her ladies, +who were arranging her morning toilet. Rosalia +entered the sumptuous apartment and the +august presence with downcast eyes and hands +simply folded upon her bosom; her golden ringlets, +parted above her high, pure brow, fell glittering +down upon the black velvet boddice of +her dress. Everything in her looks and motions +repelled suspicion and disarmed prejudice as she +floated gracefully on and paused meekly before +the Grand Duchess.

“Who and what are you—whence come you, +and whither are you going, young girl?” inquired +Maria Louisa.

Rosalia raised her gentle lids to meet the noble +but haughty eyes of the Grand Duchess, and, +inspired by a sudden impulse, in meek accents +begged permission to tell her little tale.

Maria Louisa, seeing her languid appearance, +pointed to a low ottoman at her feet, bade her +166seat herself and proceed. But how to proceed +without deeply inculpating Raymond, she did +not know; at last she thought—

“This great lady is so far above us, and so +far away from us, that the full knowledge of the +facts put in her possession cannot hurt Raymond—and +at least, if I speak at all, I must tell +the truth,” and then Rosalia, in her imperfect +Italian, “broken music,” told her story, told it +truly, weeping and blushing, but not concealing +her own errors, or sparing her own feelings. +Maria Louisa listened with close attention and +deep interest. Now, whether it was that, by +reason of the narrator’s broken language, the +Grand Duchess did not understand her errors, +or whether because of her ingenuous confession, +Maria Louisa was inclined to overlook or forgive +them, is not known; but it is certain, that +having fully ascertained the perfect destitution +of the friendless young stranger, and her entire +willingness to enter her service, the Grand Duchess, +in rising to leave her dressing-room, said—

“I appoint the Signora Rozzallia second assistant +to my lady of the wardrobe,” and dismissed +her. Later in the day, Her Royal Highness +was heard to say,—“That young maiden +has a perfect cherub’s face. Truth and goodness +radiate from it.” Later in the week, Rosalia +was called to sing and play before Maria +Louisa; and later in the month, she became the +favorite attendant of the Grand Duchess.

A strange, vague fear and doubt kept Rosalia +from writing to any of her friends at present. +After the lapse of some weeks, she began writing +to Sophie; but a strong dislike to expose +the vice of Raymond to any of his own friends, +caused her to destroy the letter on finding it to +be impossible to give any true account of herself +without compromising him with his family.

Thus months elapsed, while she remained in +the service of Maria Louisa, Grand Duchess of +Parma, where we will leave her for the present.

Two months have passed since the arrival of +Gusty May at the “City of the Sultan,” and +Captain Wilde is ordered to take command of +the Rainbow, and carry her home—Gusty May +remaining attached to the ship as third Lieutenant; +and they sail from Constantinople, intending +to touch at Genoa, to bring away the +American Consul, who is recalled to Washington. +It was on the first of June that the Rainbow +cast anchor in the Gulf of Genoa, before +“the City of Palaces.” Gusty’s heart was throbbing +with anxiety to prosecute in that city and +neighborhood his search for Rosalia, of whom +they had not as yet received one word of intelligence. +The first man that came on board to +greet him on his arrival, was—who but Lieutenant +Murphy, who was attached to the Phœnix, +then at that port.

“Well, my finest fellow in the service, how +does the world treat you nowadays? Got +struck from the navy list, for running away with +a pretty widow, hey? You miserable sinner for +getting found out! Well, where is this new +Cleopatra, for whom this modern Marc Antony +lost the world? And beyond all the rest, where +is the ‘golden girl?‘—aye, where is she? D—l +burn me if I don’t court her myself if you have +failed. I’ll see if I can’t wake her up just a little +bit—for—

“May I be court-martialed, keel-hauled, and +dismissed the service, if I don’t make her Mrs. +Patrick Murphy O’Murphy, and place her at the +head of one of the handsomest establishments in +fair Louisiana, if you don’t prevent me quickly, +my boy!—for—

“‘Saint who,’ just hear him! where have you +been all these months that all Europe has been +sung into ecstasies, trances, hallucinations, heavens, +by a new Orpheus—by St. Cecilia—by +Hagar, the Egyptian!”

“Whither?—why?—wherefore?—come, go +on, give us the whole list of interrogatories, and +when you get through, I’ll begin to answer. I +said, Hagar, the Egyptian—the Spirit of Music—the +Queen of Song—Hagar of the Lightning, +as her admirers call her—Hagar, the Gipsy—Hagar, +the Indian—the Miser—the Prude, as her +mortified lovers call her. If you have not seen +her you must go to see her to-day; she has been +in the city only twenty-four hours. I who saw +her at Venice and at Paris, and was introduced +to her as a countryman, I have the entrée, and +will present you—but where the devil have you +been all this time, never to have heard of +Mrs. ——, for that is her name?”

Gusty was divided between his joy and surprise +at finding his old friend Hagar so near him, and +hearing of her success, and his perplexity in untangling +the wisp of illusions with which Mr. +Murphy’s perceptions were fettered. They were +now standing on the deck—Gusty being on duty +could not leave the ship; Gusty looked around—sailors +were passing about—this was no spot +for a confidential communication, so he remained +silent.

“When I told you that I had the entrée to this +lady’s apartments, Gusty—I mean to say, that +I called on her once in Paris, once in Venice, +and that I have left my card at her door to-day; +she was out. She sings this evening, and the +Grand Duchess of Parma, now on a visit to this +city, is expected to honor her concert to-night +with her presence. I will take you to her house +this afternoon, if you wish it.”

“Surely—yes. One does not need to ask +permission of a lady in a foreign land to present +a respectable countryman of her own to her.”

“A countrywoman of ours,” said Gusty, willing +to draw him out without divulging any truth +there; “how is that?—have I ever heard of her?”

“No, I suppose not—this is something like her +167career though:—last fall she suddenly appeared +in New Orleans, gave a concert which succeeded +brilliantly, and which was followed by a succession +of splendid musical entertainments, each +more astonishing than the last; and just as +people began to inquire and ferret out her history, +she withdrew herself from the city, suddenly +and quietly, as though she had sunk through +the ground—which she probably did. She arose +to the surface again in the midst of the city of +Paris—threw the musical world there into ecstasies, +and passed on to Vienna, Venice, Naples, +Genoa, tracking her way with music, light, and +glory. She has avoided England, as she is +said to have avoided the Northern states of her +native country. She has tended southward, +towards the sun.”

“You seem to be strongly interested in this +lady,” suggested Gusty, with a view of setting +him off again, for he had paused, and fallen into +a reverie.

“Well! yes, and no—that is, I admire her—wonder +at her—get absorbed in her—but it is an +emotion of terror, awe, and admiration—such as +one may feel in a grand storm, in the midst of +sublime scenery, or, at best, under the canopy +of a splendid starry night—but—as for what I +call being interested in a woman—that is to say, +in love with her—I, or, in fact, anybody else, I +suppose, should as soon get in love with Vesuvius +burning.”

“Calling her ‘the miser,’ ‘the prude,’ ‘the +Indian,’ &c., &c.,—yes, but man! they were +not lovers of anything else but themselves. The +truth is, this lady’s private life is one of utter +seclusion and exclusion, and all the petits maitres +in the world are piqued at the caprice bizarre +that shuts up this divine cantatrice with her +children, when she should be giving petits-soupers +to their elegancies—and the vanity of +each is interested in constituting himself an +exception to this rule, and he is proportionately +wounded and indignant when his overtures of +acquaintanceship are rejected.”

“Then the life of this singular woman is +divided between her professional labors and her +children?”

“No—not her whole life—she is, among other +extraordinary things, ‘a mighty hunter before the +Lord’—and when she was in Germany last +spring, is said to have achieved wonders in that +line. But I am tired of this—where in thunder +is the Captain? and are you to be pinned to the +main-mast all day?”

“Gone on shore to have a conference with +Raymond Withers, the American Consul, who +you know, or perhaps you do not know, is a +family connexion, worse luck!”

“No, I did not know that, but I do know +that the new administration has recalled him.”

“Yes, and we are to take him home—d—l +fetch me if I think it is safe—doubt if the ship +can reasonably be expected to go safe into port +with such a load of sin and misery aboard!”

“Oh, nothing, only I hate the fellow, and +cannot be expected to speak well of him.”

“Well, about this American nightingale; will +you be off duty, and shall I come to fetch you +this afternoon?”

And the friends separated—the rattle-pated +Murphy returning to his own ship, the Phœnix, +then preparing to sail from the Gulf of Genoa—and +Gusty, remaining where he was left, pacing +the deck, chafing and fuming, and cursing the +delay that kept him chained to the spot, when he +was dying to go on shore and seek Hagar. It +was late in the afternoon before the return of +Captain Wilde released him from duty, and +merely pausing long enough to hear that Raymond +Withers was still suffering from the effects +of his long illness, as well as from severe anxiety +to hear tidings of his lost sister, to whose strange +fate no clue had as yet been obtained—

“Yes—that is, he said that it had been some +time since he had heard from her, and wished +particularly to know whether we had received a +letter from her lately; of course I told him +that we had not—that in fact we never heard from +her at all—that she seemed to have dropped us—”

“No—I inquired, but he said, vaguely, that +he could not be precise to a day—that it had +been—something over a month.”

“Oh, nothing! only it has been something +over a month since mother wrote to me, and +women seem to be lazier with their pens than +with their tongues, that is all.”

The truth is that now Gusty was in the Mediterranean, +Emily Buncombe wrote to him only, +making him the medium of her affectionate messages +to the rest of her absent relatives, and +Gusty, in “giving her love,” always suppressed +any allusion to Hagar, or merely said “Hagar +is well,” leaving it to be inferred that she was +still at the Rialto. Raymond Withers had, as +has been seen, so artfully avoided the subject of +his domestic affairs as to leave Captain Wilde +still ignorant of the estrangement between himself +and his family. The streets were bathed in +moonlight, as Gusty May passed through them +on his way to that quarter of the city in which +he had ascertained the residence of Hagar to be +situated. She occupied a suite of apartments in +an old palazza inhabited by a venerable Genoese +couple. Gusty knocked loudly at the porter’s +lodge before he could make himself heard. At +last a grey-haired man opened the door.

“Can I see Mrs. ——?” inquired he, giving +the nom de guerre by which she was professionally +known.

The old man shook his head, and was about +to close the door in Gusty’s face, when he took +out his card and placing it in the hands of the +aged servitor, requested him to take it up to the +lady. He did so; and in a few minutes returned +and bidding Gusty follow him, led the way up +the paved walk to the main entrance into the +hall of the palazza, and throwing open a door +on the right showed him in, and retired. The +room was empty, and Gusty had ample time to +notice its lofty ceiling, spacious extent, and the +decayed splendor of its old-fashioned hangings +and furniture before a door at the upper end +opened, and a regal looking woman, that he +scarcely recognised for Hagar, entered. She +168was evidently arrayed for the evening’s exhibition. +Her dress of black velvet was thickly +embroidered with gold; her tresses, grown out +rich and beautiful again, were held back from +her brow by a serpent whose scales were formed +of overlapping emeralds, and whose eyes were +rubies, and fell in long, glittering, blue-black +ringlets far below her waist; her arms were bare, +but serpent bracelets twined around them. Over +her whole figure and costume, except that it +was thrown back from her face, depended a +large, black lace veil wrought with gold. She +advanced towards the middle of the floor, and +Gusty, starting up to meet her, held out his hand.

“I am so happy to see you, Gusty, my dear +friend, it is such a joyful surprise. How long +have you been at this port?”

Gusty followed her example, and turned to +note the change that had passed over her pale +but noble features.

“Gusty, I have been highly successful in my +art since I left home, as, perhaps, you have +heard. I have made a professional tour of Europe, +and have only been twenty-four hours in +this city. To-night I sing, and the Grand +Duchess of Parma will honor the concert with +her presence. I tell you all this, my dear friend, +because I know you will care as much as I do +for my little victories. I was about completing +my toilet when you sent up your card, Gusty, +and I had given orders that all persons should +be denied. I would have admitted no soul but +yourself, Gusty, and in very truth I am not +pleased that you should see me tricked out in +this way, but to-night I bring out Athenais, a +composition of my own, and have to sustain the +principal part, that is it! Come to me to-morrow, +Gusty, and you shall see me, myself, you +shall see my children, they are both with me; +my little girls,—they are three years old, you +know,—can sing better than they can talk, they +are in bed now, and I am obliged to leave the +house in half an hour to go to the music-rooms. +I am usually attended by a matron who is my +children’s nurse, and my own maid, but on this +occasion will you make one of the party, Gusty?”

“With great pleasure, dearest Hagar! but it +is so strange to meet you thus; and if one may +ask, why do you come to Genoa of all cities in +the world?”

“For the reason for which you would suppose +that I would keep away, Gusty, namely, +because—”

“Then what was your object in coming +here—but—pardon me, Hagar; the interest that +I feel in you makes me impertinent, I fear.”

“No, dear Gusty, not impertinent. Well! I +will tell you,” she said, turning, and looking away +from him, as a shadow overswept her forehead +and her voice choked. “It was—unseen by him—to +look upon his face and form once more, unheard +by him, to hear his voice once more, there! +that is it—condemn, despise me if you please—but +that was my motive in coming to Genoa.”

Gusty looked upon her high, pale brow, and +remained in silent thought for the space of several +minutes, and then he said,

“I suppose you have heard very little from +your friends during your travels, Hagar?”

“Oh! for God’s sake, hush! exclaimed Hagar, +as a spasm contracted her whitening features.

“I must finish if it knocks you down, Hagar! +so brace yourself! I say that you have not +heard that Rosalia is the own sister of Raymond +Withers!”

“Hush! stop! be easy, listen. Rosalia is +innocent—do keep still, Hagar! innocent. I address +myself to your thought, not to your word! +Rosalia is pure! she fled the day of her arrival +at Genoa, and has hidden herself ever since!”

“And where is she? And what has put it +into your head that she is Raymond’s sister, for +that part of the story I cannot believe?”

Gusty looking at his watch and finding that +there were at least twenty minutes to spare, began +and told her the whole story, promising to +bring her the documents that would prove it +true the next day.

“Say nothing, however, to Captain Wilde or +Sophie of my presence in the city.”

Gusty promised that he would not, and they +soon left the house for the concert-rooms, which +they reached in ten minutes’ drive.

The concert hall was crowded—crammed. +It is with only a few of the large and elegant +audience that we have to do. The Grand Duchess +of Parma and her suite occupied a box near +the stage, and at her feet sat her favorite attendant, +Rosalia, fanning her with a fan of ostrich +feathers. The blue silk curtains of her box +were closely drawn, concealing her party from +the eyes of the audience, while they left a good +view of the stage. Gusty May had a motive of +his own for what he did upon arriving at the +Hall, namely: he accompanied Hagar in at the +side door, to the rooms in communication with +the stage, and concealing himself behind the +curtain, took a sheltered view of the audience. +He wished to see if the American Consul was in +the house. His eye fell upon Raymond Withers, +seated in the most distant part of the house. +He was the sole occupant of the box. With a +quick nod of his head, Gusty retired, and meeting +169Hagar, who was seating herself before the harp, +preparatory to the rising of the curtain, he said,

“Mr. Withers is in the house, Hagar, but +perhaps you anticipated this contingency?”

“I thought of it—where does he sit? for I +must not turn my eyes towards that quarter of +the house.”

“I took pains to ascertain, Hagar, so that I +might inform and prepare you, for I know that +with all your strength and self-possession, the +sudden and unexpected sight of Raymond Withers—if +it did not overwhelm you, would at +least endanger your success this evening.”

Hagar thanked and dismissed him. He turned +at the wing to note Hagar. The pallor of death +was on her brow, and the arm that half embraced +the harp trembled visibly.

“Oh, this will never do,” he said, “Hagar! +let me bring you a glass of wine, or that curtain, +now about to rise, will fall upon your failure.”

“No, no, not wine, my heart and lungs are on +fire now!—bring me ice-water—a large glass of +ice-water; it is the only sedative for my feverish +temperament.”

Gusty departed, and returned with the desired +restorative, and stood by her while she quaffed +it,—stood by her until she was calm.

“Now,” thought Gusty, as he left her presence, +and took his way around to the boxes, +“I will go and take the vacant place by Mr. +Raymond Withers’s side. It will be interesting +to notice how he will look when that curtain +rises, and gives to his view one whom he as little +expects to see—as I expect to see my poor hidden +dove, Rosalia.”

As Gusty said this, he passed behind a curtained +box, between the fluttering silken drapery +of which, he caught a glimpse of golden ringlets, +flashing down the sweet, low forehead of a +quickly averted Grecian profile, that shocked +his heart into stillness an instant, then muttering +to himself—“Why what a fool I am! That is +the box of Her Royal Highness Maria Louisa,” +passed on, and entered the box occupied by Raymond +Withers. Gusty had not told Hagar so, +but he had observed that the Consul was fearfully +changed—his beautifully fair complexion +was now sallow; his elegantly carved profile +was now angular; from weakness or depression +of spirits he had contracted a stoop. His dress +was still elegant—for it was habitually so—of +black throughout, relieved only by wristbands +and collar of the most delicate linen, by a very +minute but pure diamond pin, and by a glimpse +of a watch chain that crossed his bosom. He +was looking straight before him, towards the +curtain, as though a strange attraction drew his +eyes and thoughts there. Gusty entered without +arresting his attention, until he said—

The Consul turned and greeted him with his +habitually elegant self-possession, as though +they had but parted an hour before, and nothing +had occurred in the interval, and then gave his +attention again to the curtain.

“Very well, my prince of self-possession, sustain +the character, but if the rising of that curtain +don’t ruffle the down of your serene highness, +I shall be in despair.”

Gusty thought he would try him a little, and, +as by way of opening a conversation with his +quiet neighbor, he observed, carelessly—

Raymond Withers did not reply to this observation, +and the attention of both was arrested +by the rising of the curtain.

Gusty looked first quickly, anxiously, upon the +stage. Hagar was commencing her song with +perfect self-possession; he next covertly glanced +at Raymond Withers. He, with face pale as +white ashes, set teeth, knitted brow, and fiery +eye, was gazing at the songstress, who never +turned her eyes towards him. The vast room +was filling with music. The song was rising, +swelling into a fierce tempest of grand harmony, +like the rushing of many waters; then receding +like the memory of a murmuring rivulet heard +in infancy; now thundering on like the storm of +battle “hurtling on the plains;” then dying away +and away, distant, but yet distinct, like the retiring +steps of spirits gliding down the steeps of +space. The song was ended; a dead stillness, +a long pause followed. The audience had forgotten +the artist in her art—had forgotten to +applaud until some one, perhaps really the least +affected of all, recollected to break the tranced +silence, and an avalanche of applause falling, +shook the house to its foundation. But Gusty +May looked at the Consul. He was sitting still +and pale as an image carved in marble. Silence +again fell upon the scene.

The cantatrice had retired. Now a gentleman +presenting himself before the audience bowed +and waited to be heard. He announced that the +sudden indisposition of Mrs. —— had for the +moment, arrested the progress of the oratorio, +but that she hoped to have the honor of appearing +before them on the next evening—that +in the meantime the entertainment would proceed +without her. The gentleman bowed and retired. +Many of the audience arose to leave the house, +among the rest the American Consul, accompanied +by Gusty May—whose proximity, whose +very existence he seemed to have forgotten in +the absorption of his thoughts. Raymond Withers, +still followed by Gusty May, took his way +round towards the stage door. Passing the box +of the Grand Duchess Maria Louisa, he found +it empty—and heard one lounger tell another, +that the party had retired because one of the +ladies of her Royal Highness’ suite had fainted. +They reached the saloon at the back of the stage. +Raymond Withers, going up to the gentleman +who had announced the illness of the chanteuse, +inquired for Mrs. —— (giving her professional +name).

“She has just this moment left the house, +signore,” replied the gentleman, courteously.

Strongly suspecting some deception, Raymond +Withers prosecuted his inquiries further without +success. Beginning to feel ashamed of his position +as a self-constituted spy, Gusty May now +withdrew, leaving the Consul to pursue his investigations +alone.

170Gusty hurried at once to the Palazzo Marinelli, +the temporary abode of Hagar.

“I do not know, signore, but she gave orders +that you should be admitted when you called; +will il signore follow me?” said the old man in +Italian, as he preceded him to the palazzo, into +the hall, and throwing open a door that led into +a private room, retired.

“Where is Mrs. ——?” again inquired +Gusty, of the matron that came to meet him.

“She was summoned from the concert, in +haste, to the hotel of the Grand Duchess, and +has gone thither. She merely stopped here an +instant to say that if you called, I was to ask +you to have the goodness to come again to-morrow +morning.”

The room was littered all over with trunks +and boxes and disordered wearing apparel, that +seemed to have been hastily thrown out of +presses, bureaus, wardrobes, etc. Gusty thought, +“This looks like a sudden journey, a flight,” +but he said nothing, deferring his curiosity until +the next day.

“She told me that you would like to see her +children, and that I was to show them to you,” +said the woman.

Gusty assented, and at her request followed +her to the upper end of the room, where, withdrawing +a white lace curtain that draped a large +crib, she revealed the three sleeping cherubs. +Gusty looked at them with a tender and growing +interest, and then drawing back the curtain with +his own hands, he breathed a sigh and a silent +prayer for their welfare, and left the room and +the house.

It was late, very late, when Gusty returned to +his ship, so that he found a difficulty in hiring a +boat to take him thither. On his way, while +gliding among the numerous shipping, he saw +one small craft so remarkable for its elegance, +that he could not fail to notice it; he saw the +sailors very busy on the deck.

“Si, signore; she is the Compensation, bound +for Baltimore, with the first tide to-morrow; +they say a lady had her built; and that she +carries away a band of German emigrants.”

They were now by the side of the Rainbow, +and Gusty, who in his relapse of abstraction had +perhaps missed the latter clause of the boatman’s +speech, paid his fare, and hastily sprang on board.

Very early the next morning Gusty May arose +and dressed. He came on deck, resolved to ask +leave to go on shore immediately. The first +object he saw was the Compensation getting under +weigh. He stopped and watched her until, +flowing before a fair wind, she was out of sight. +Then, meeting Captain Wilde, he named his wish +to go on shore, obtained leave, and hurried away.

“Will you inform Mrs. —— that I have called, +and let me know if she can receive so early?”

“Mrs. —— has left the city with all her family, +signore, and desired me to hand you this,” replied +the porter, placing a thick letter in his hand.

Gusty looked at his letter, hastily opened it, +and caught two smaller letters that fell from out +of the large one, as he devoured its contents +with his eyes and brain:

“Dear Gusty:—Meet me this day two months, at +eight o’clock in the evening, at Heath Hall. Bring with +you Captain Wilde and Sophie, and come prepared to +receive from my hand, the hand of Rosalia Withers, +whose best praise is, that she is worthy of you—whose +best testimonial of that fact is, that I offer her to you. +You bring out the late Consul: I charge you, Gusty, as +you value my friendship, to make peace with him; nay, +Gusty, as you value the blessing of God, giving a long +future of halcyon days, extend to your brother the right +hand of fellowship. I inclose two letters that I request +you to deliver to their respective addresses. Au revoir, +dearest Gusty. I shall precede you to Heath Hall only +by a very few days.

The two inclosed letters were directed, one +to F. Raymond Withers, Esq., American Consul +for the city and port of Genoa—the other simply +to Sophie Wilde.

Divided between astonishment, joy, and regret, +Gusty stood rooted to the spot for the space of +five minutes after reading this letter. Then it +flashed upon him like lightning that he had seen +the ship that carried Hagar and her family from +the shores of Italy, and such indeed was the fact, +as upon a further investigation he proved. He +hurried away to deliver the letter at the hotel of +the American Consul, murmuring to himself,

“Rosalia safe, found; well, I said so!—I positively +did, the Lord knows it, although no one +else would believe what a prophet I am!”

Gusty gave the first letter to the porter at the +hotel of the Consul, and carried the other on +board the Rainbow.

“F. Raymond Withers, Esq., American Consul +for the port and city of Genoa,” had upon the +previous evening returned, disappointed, fevered, +and weary, to his sumptuous lodgings. Hastily +divesting himself of his raiment, he fell exhausted +upon his bed, and sank to sleep with a determination +to find Hagar, and take possession of her +early in the morning—a resolution which he carried +out—in his dreams. At dawn the next day +Raymond Withers arose, and only paused to +arrange his toilet and to breakfast, because it was +impossible to find anybody or any place one +had to look for at such an early hour of the +morning. Immediately after breakfast he hastened +to the music-rooms to renew his inquiries; +there he met the same gentleman who had answered +his questions in such an unsatisfactory +manner on the previous evening, but who now +hastened to say that he had been so fortunate as +to ascertain the address of the signora—she lived +in the Palazzo Marinelli, in the north-western +quarter of the city. The Consul, bowing his +thanks, hastened thither. He was met by the +old porter, who, in reply to his inquiries, informed +him that the lady, with her whole family, had that +morning sailed for the United States. Stunned +with disappointment, nearly overwhelmed by +despair, Raymond Withers returned to his hotel, +there to find a present consolation and a future +hope in the note addressed in the hand of Hagar, +that had been left during his absence by an officer +in uniform, as his page said. He tore the +note open; it ran thus:

“Dearest Raymond:—Meet me this day two +months, at eight o’clock in the evening, at Heath Hall. +Come prepared to meet a new found relative—your own +and only sister, Rosalia,—and to unite with me in +bestowing her hand on one who loves her and is worthy +of her. Measure my wish to be reconciled with you, +by your own anxiety to meet me. If you ask why I +have now fled your presence, and appoint a meeting of +some weeks’ distance—I reply, that under all the circumstances, +171it is best. We must all be prepared by anticipation +for our general re-union, and I prefer to receive +you in our own home, and under the happiest +auspices.

For three months previous to the events recorded +in our last chapter, the gossips of Churchill’s +Point and its environs were thrown into a +state of feverish conjecture as to the meaning of +the new doings at Heath Hall.

At first those who passed in sight of the old +ruin, observed that a part of it had been pulled +down, or had at last, as long predicted, fallen +down, and went on their way without giving the +circumstance a second thought. Then, as the +season advanced, those who were in the habit +of shooting water fowl on the moor belonging +to the estate, or drawing a net for fish upon its +beach, passing very near the Hall, noticed +workmen engaged in pulling down the building. +Upon being questioned, these men replied in a +foreign language unintelligible to the inquirers. +This news being carried straight to the village +post-office, the country store, the tavern, and +other resorts of male gossips, arrested the discussion +of agricultural, commercial, and political +subjects for the space of an hour. Conveyed +thence to the tea-tables at home, it did not tend +to quiet the nerves or incline to sleep the ladies +of Churchill’s Point. There could be no intercommunication +among neighbors that evening; +but early the next morning every one went +“a-visiting.” The disappointment was, that +everybody having gone abroad in search of +everybody else, nobody was at home to receive +anybody. They missed each other. There +could be no comparing of notes that day. In +their rising excitement, they tried it next day +without much better success, and dodged about +the remainder of the week like two persons +getting out of each other’s way on the pavement, +and missing their object. At church, on Sunday, +however, the neighbors assembled. Mrs. Buncombe +was beset with questions that she could +not answer. Mrs. Buncombe had a nervous +dread of being supposed to be implicated in anything +that might be going on at Heath Hall; +and begged her friends to recollect that the +family of that estate were not her blood relations, +though every one seemed to be under the illusion +that such was the case. In very truth the +character of Emily had sadly degenerated since +the death of the good and wise old parson, and +since her marriage with a weaker, if not a worse +man. But Mrs. Gardiner Green gave an improvised +verbal invitation to “the ladies” to meet +at tea at her house on the next evening. Sewing +circles and other useful and agreeable Yankee +inventions, had not then, and have not yet, +travelled down to Maryland and Virginia. The +Southern States are far behind the “Far West” +in this respect. But to Mrs. Gardiner Green’s +tea-drinking! par parenthèse, Mrs. Gardiner +Green now calls her evening assemblies “re-unions,” +“at homes.” The ladies began to drop +in at an hour that would be considered too early +for dinner now a days. Emily Buncombe went, +in mood as nearly approaching the irascible as +her indifferent nature would permit. I am not +about to tell you of a Maryland tea-party with +the tea-equipage of chased silver, upon which +the crest and initials of the English ancestry +have been religiously or pretendingly engraved, +or of the inconceivable amount of substantial +confectionery (none of your vaporish cakes and +spiritual ices), all prepared under the eye of the +mistress—no, nor of the baked canvas-back +ducks, devilled crabs, fried oysters as large as +the palm of your hand, or anything else, that made +the ladies’ tea-drinking look like a public dinner +given to a board of aldermen. I will not, because +the bill of fare would run to the end of +the chapter, and besides, it would make me +hungry and I should have to stop to eat, and +then I could not write. But I will proceed to +the proceedings of the party. The “mysteries +of Udolpho,” and Heath Hall were talked over, +and it was decided that the one was as deep as +the other. Emily Buncombe’s voice grew loud +and sharp in disclaiming the least knowledge of +the subject. Finally, as the weather was genial, +it was agreed that the neighbors should get up a +fishing festival upon the beach, and that being +on the spot, they could take notes. Fish feasts, +picnics, etc., at Heath Hall, were liberties that +the neighborhood took without the slightest +hesitation or compunction in the absence of the +proprietor.

The last of the week was fixed for the projected +festival, and upon the day appointed the +company assembled. They passed, in going to +the beach, immediately through the grounds inclosed +around the Hall. So rapid had been the +progress of the work, that they looked upon the +once damp cellars, now no longer damp, but +excavated, cleaned, paved, and built up—and +the foundations of the house relaid anew. Some +half-dozen foreign looking men were at work +under the direction of one in authority, who +seemed to be an experienced architect. To all +inquiries these workmen replied in a torrent of +civil but unintelligible jargon. Tarquinius Superbus +issued from the building covered with +plaster and sawdust, and seeing the company, +hastened away, donned his Sunday clothes, and +went down to the beach to render assistance to +the visitors that had honored Heath Hall with +their presence. He had always been accustomed +to do this at the command of the ever-hospitable +and courteous proprietors of the Hall. When +Tarquinius appeared, bowing and smirking his +“obedience” to the company assembled upon +the beach, he presented a fine opportunity to those +in “pursuit of knowledge under difficulties.”

He was inundated with inquiries. Tarquinius +stood perplexed, bewildered. Tarquinius knew +as little as any one on the ground; but it did not +suit the self-conceit of Superbus to seem ignorant. +Tarquinius mused—he thought of several +lies to tell, but discarded one after the other as +inadmissible. He seriously thought of telling +the gaping listeners that “Mrs. Withers was +drowned in the irruption of a whirlwind, and +that Mr. Withers had married the daughter of +the Pope of Rome, who had a gold mine for a +172dowager, and that they were coming to keep +house at Heath Hall.” But he was afraid this +tale might be soon disproved, and substituted a +more credible story—namely, that a large fortune +had been left to Mr. Withers, and that Mr. +and Mrs. Withers were about to return to Heath +Hall, and had sent a staff of workmen under a +German architect to rebuild the house. This, +divested of its absurdly pompous mistakes of +language, was about the amount of information +gleaned by the picnickers. And this story in +fine obtained credence, implicit credence. Everything +confirmed it. Were not the workmen +there? and was not the Hall being rebuilt in +more than its pristine magnificence? With +every circumstance that marked the progress of +the redemption of the Heath and the rebuilding +of the Hall, the esteem and respect of the +neighbors for its proprietor increased. Every +one began now to say what a sin it was to have +slandered Hagar so—Hagar, too, who in her +whole life had never been known to retail an +item of scandal. This was not unnatural; +calumny is more frequently the result of +thoughtlessness than of malice. It was singular +that each one now forgot that himself or herself +had been most ingenious in his or her +suspicions and explanations, and loudest in condemnation. +There was a little “leaven of unrighteousness” +in the “envy, hatred, and malice” +of the few whose nature made them jealous of +their friends’ prosperity; but upon the whole, the +tide of popular feeling was setting in strongly in +favor of the expected family at Heath Hall. +The work progressed rapidly. At the end of +three months you would not have recognised +the place. From the foundation stones to the +chimney summits, the Hall was entirely rebuilt +of fine red sandstone, a beautiful dark, purplish +red stone found in Maryland and Virginia. The +walls around it were rebuilt, and the walks +paved of the same material. The yards and +gardens were cleared up, the trees trimmed, and +the grass shaved down until it looked like velvet. +The Heath was metamorphosed into a beautiful, +clean, green sward, upon which children +might roll and play with delight; the tangled +thickets crowding here and there among the +rolling hills were converted into beautiful groves; +the muddy brooklets at their roots were changed +into clear fountains or limpid springs, and seats +were fixed there for the convenience of the +weary or the contemplative passenger. At the +Hall, the out-buildings were of the neatest and +most convenient form, and every minutia of use +or elegance received its due meed of attention. +In a word, the ruin, the desolation, was redeemed, +the wilderness reclaimed and “bloomed +and blossomed like the rose.” People came +from “far and near” to see the delightful change, +and “Alto Rio,” the new name of the estate, +cut in old English characters and half concealed +in the oak foliage carved under the eaves of the +house, became the synonyme for elegance and +comfort through the whole neighborhood.

It was three months from the first appearance +of the workmen to the morning upon which a +beautiful little bark was discovered moored under +the shadow of the promontory. Her snowy +sails were reefed, and a few neatly dressed sailors +were engaged in removing a portion of the cargo +from her polished deck to the boat that was to +carry it to the beach, where a cart and horse +waited to transport it by a circuitous path to the +Hall. The sailors seemed to be foreigners. A great +part of the cargo appeared to consist of elegant +furniture, statuary, pictures, and articles of virtue, for +many of the boxes, for convenience, were opened +upon the beach. All day the little crew and +the assistants from the Hall were engaged in +unloading the vessel and conveying its freight +on shore, and in conveying and arranging furniture +in the Hall. From the moment that the +first sight of these proceedings had been caught, +a crowd of all the idlers and gossips of Churchill’s +Point began to gather on the brow of the +cliff to watch the operations of those upon the +beach below, and many “Oh’s” and “Lords!” +were ejaculated with gaping wonder as one +splendid article after another was revealed to +their view by the knockings up of the boxes upon +the beach. But they were watching, if perchance +Mr. and Mrs. Withers, with their family, were +to be seen, or if they had come, or when they +were coming. They watched and waited in +vain. There was a lady down in the luxurious +cabin of that little craft, in which she was as +much at home as in her native halls, but this +lady waited patiently an opportunity of landing +quietly after the crowd of gapers and starers +should have dispersed. Day declined. The +cargo was all disembarked, and even carried +away. The beach was clear—the clean looking +sailors resting on their nice deck. All was +silent, still. There was nothing more to be +seen, and the loungers began to think of their +suppers and the marvels they had to relate +thereat, and to disperse.

The next morning at dawn, a little boat was +brought around to the side of the vessel, and a +lady assisted to descend into it. Then a maiden +and three children were lowered one after the +other into the skiff. Two sailors entered it, and +taking the oars, rowed swiftly to the beach. +The lady stepped upon the sand, the children +dancing around her for joy to be released. +Sending the youngest child, the little golden +haired boy, before her to insure his safety, and +leading the little dark-browed girls, the lady, +followed by the maiden, began to ascend the +side of the promontory by a flight of stone steps +recently cut for the convenience of passengers. +As the lady, with her children, reached the top +of the flight of stairs, and stepped upon the +highest point of the promontory, the first rays +of the rising sun fell upon the head of Hagar +like a blessing! a salutation! that her countenance +flashed back in gratitude, in joy, as she +bowed her head and knee, and reverently returned +thanks.

Let no one sneer. It was the overflowing +love and worship of a profound soul deeply +grateful for past sufferings as for present happiness. +She arose and led the children on to +the Hall.

What a different return was this to her landing +in the stormy winter’s night more than two years +before!

All that day was occupied in a delightful +review of the house and the grounds. The +arrangements seemed to give Hagar the utmost +pleasure. All the next day was spent in her +elegant library, and devoted to business, looking +into the accounts of her workmen, paying their +wages, and so on. She gave up the third day +of her arrival to pleasure, or rather to the preparation +173and anticipation of it; and while the +children were left in the care of the maiden who +loved them, Hagar employed herself in writing +some hundred cards of invitation to all her old +neighbors of the three nearest counties, to a +festival to be given at Heath Hall on the evening +of that day week.

All these invitations were written in pale, blue +ink, upon silver edged paper, and sealed with +white wax by a seal of two doves. This is the +Maryland fashion of announcing a marriage.

“Now, tell me, dear Rosalia; are you quite +satisfied—happy?” inquired Hagar of the gentle +girl, who had looked in upon her occupation a +moment.

“Dearest Hagar! my saviour! I will call +you my sister, when I dare! dearest Hagar! I +have given myself to you, do with me as you +please—make me your waiting maid—anything! +I am in your hands—I am yours. I accept any +destiny from you.”

“But, Rose—Gusty—do you not love him as +he loves, and as he deserves to be loved?”

“Dearest Hagar, I love you, wish to love you +only, to worship, to serve you: dearest Hagar, +what can I do for you?”

“Oh, yes! yes! I always did, you know—Hagar—” +the child paused, trembled, grew pale; +then lowering her voice, whispered, “Hagar, +stoop down; there is something I have been dying +to say to you, and never found courage to +say it—” she paused again; Hagar’s brow grew +crimson, and,

“But I must, I must; it is a rankling thorn +that must be plucked out,” said the girl, in a +suffocating voice, paling and fainting.

Hagar laid down her pen, and drawing the +child upon her lap, laid her head upon her bosom, +and whispered, soothingly,

“There! now say what you wish, Rosalia; +as though you spoke to your mother, or—”

“My guardian angel! You give me courage, +dear Hagar! Well, listen! I loved—everybody +and everything—indeed I did! the poor +old negroes coming from their work, the blind +old horses, and the crippled chickens, just as +warmly as I loved you, beautiful Hagar! and +Gusty, and Sophie—and—and—”

“Yes, I loved everybody and everything, because—because—I +don’t know why.”

“You loved the poor, ugly, and wretched, because +you pitied them; and the beautiful and +happy because you admired them, my child!”

“May be so—I do not know—I only love. +Well, I loved Gusty and Raymond both, and +both alike—God knows I did! until—oh! Hagar, +now listen—everybody seemed to forsake, +or to hate me, and then I loved him only—until—oh, +now it comes—now listen!”

The girl buried her burning face in Hagar’s +bosom, and lost her voice. Hagar stooped and +caressed her. Rosalia resumed, whispering very +low,

“Until one day on the boat, very beautiful and +bright he looked, and I threw myself in his arms, +thinking no evil, only loving him dearly, and—he +kissed me—it was not a good kiss, like Captain +Wilde’s and Sophie’s; it was a dreadful +kiss—it burned down through my cheek to the +very centre of my spirit—it hurt me to the very +heart—to the very quick of my soul! I got +away and felt sick and guilty; felt changed and +fallen. I was dizzy, reeling, and kept feeling at +my cheek with my fingers, as if there was a scar +there. I seemed to feel it. I was ill, and possessed +with a mysterious fear and aversion of +Raymond; yet when I saw my distance wounded +him, I felt remorseful, and conquering my aversion, +forced myself to keep near him. Wretched +as I was, I could not bear to give him pain; +and so, Hagar, I remained with him, and he +kissed me so, again and again! and each kiss +seemed to sink me lower and lower in a pit of +infamy, until I could not bear the thought of +ever facing any of my friends again. I was already +fallen—lost in my own eyes. Oh! Hagar, +listen! listen, my sister Hagar! I might +have been insane, but I do not urge that in extenuation +of my weakness. I was drawn in, +and drawn in, like one in the whirl of a maelstrom—feeling +the danger, the fatality—yet unable +to stop myself—yet, Hagar, it was all suffering—all, +Hagar! all. I felt already fallen +below redemption. I was in the power of a +will stronger than my own—and, oh! worse +than all, I was afraid to pray; afraid to touch +the bible, for fear something dreadful would happen +to me as a judgment. I felt so sinful, so +sinful. I felt ill on the voyage out. And then +I thought of Mary Magdalen, and I said, ‘If +God, the Father, is of too pure eyes to behold +iniquity, Christ will surely pity and deliver me.’”

“But you should not have lost faith in God, +dear Rosalia. You are the work of His hands, +and you could not have fallen so low that the +Father’s arm was not long enough to reach you, +the Father’s hand strong enough to lift you, the +Father’s love great enough to redeem you! +Never, never doubt it! The Father’s love is +the greatest reality of my experience. Oh, +Rosalia! to doubt the love of God is to grieve +the heart of God—believe it!”

“Well, I prayed—I prayed!—and then it +came into my head to run away when I should +get to Genoa—and even if I perished from want +indeed, Hagar, I was willing to perish! But +then—now here is a strange thing. After taking +this resolution to leave him secretly, I felt a remorse +at the idea of deceiving him, and giving +him pain, and I could not bear to look on his +confiding face. I knew I was doing right in +leaving him, yet felt as if I were doing wrong!—explain +this to me, Hagar—was I crazy?”

“No, dear Rosalia; you were sane—your +love for him was pure and holy—his passion for +you was an illusion, an insanity. Your love +for him would have blessed and elevated him to +heaven; his passion for you would have drawn +you down to hell. Yours was divine love—his +was fiendish passion. All powers of good and +evil were striving in your bosom, poor Rosalia; +but your angel saved you! But, Rose; do you +still love your brother?”

“That is well, Rose—he is your only brother—he +does not love you in any sort just now, I +know; because sinful thoughts killed his love—but, +Rose, you must love him back to purity, to +health and life, and then he will love you rightly. +This will be difficult at first, but it will grow +174more easy every day. And Gusty, Rose! that +noble man. Just give your whole heart, soul, and +life, up to him, and think the gift—not enough!”

“Ah, Hagar! Do I not esteem, reverence +him for all you have told me of his goodness and +greatness—only I am not worthy of him.”

“Well, now, dear Hagar, I have told you all—and +you do not reproach me; alas! if you +were to drive me away I could not complain.”

Hagar caressed her fondly but gravely, and +remained silent, continuing to write, fold, and +seal her cards. At length they were all finished, +and she requested Rosalia to ring the bell. Tarquinius +answered it. Hagar collected her cards +into a packet, and giving them to Tarquinius, +gave orders that he should saddle a horse and +ride to deliver to their address as many as could +be forwarded that day—and to resume his circuit +with the morning, until all should be disposed +of. Then rising and calling Rosalia to follow +her, she went into her chamber and sat down +with the maiden to work on a beautiful white +satin dress.

Tarquinius Superbus mounted the most superb +horse in the stable, and sat forth upon his mission. +Never did a highland runner with the crois-taradh +kindle a greater excitement among the rocks +and glens of Scotland, than did Tarquinius with +his missives. The first card was delivered at +Mrs. Gardiner Green’s plantation. Mrs. Buncombe +was taking tea with her (Emily had not +called on Hagar since her arrival; but then, be +it known, Hagar had given her no intimation of +her return). The card was sent in and the messenger +called in. He obeyed the summons, and +stood, hat in hand, bowing and smiling, at the +parlor door, where Mrs. Green and her guests +sat at table.

“A wedding at Heath Hall—and who is to +be married?” was the question addressed to him +by three or four ladies in a breath.

Tarquinius did not know. He said he believed +“that Mr. Withers had been killed in a +duel with the King of Camshatka, and that Mrs. +Withers was going to be married to the Prince +of Patagonia;” and seeing several of the ladies +for whom he had cards, present, Tarquinius, in +a very unconventional manner, proceeded to deliver +them, to save himself some miles of travel. +Seriously doubting Tarquinius’ report and explanation +of the mystery, the ladies all determined +to accept the invitations to le mariage inconnu +to come off at Alto Rio.

Rosalia was awakened from her morning’s +dream by a soft kiss dropped on her forehead, +and she raised her lids to see Hagar standing by +her bedside, with brilliant eyes, arched brows, +and smiling lips.

“Good morning, dear Rosalia! Good morning! +Rise! it is a glorious day—see! the sun +is smiling a salutation through your windows.”

Rosalia, putting her two white arms up from +the bed, lovingly drew down Hagar’s head and +embraced her.

“Come,” said Hagar, assisting her to rise and +leading her to a window. “Look forth! It is +an auspicious morning! All nature smiles upon +your bridal day.”

It was indeed a glad, jubilant morning! The +sun had risen in cloudless splendor, tinting with +a golden radiance the gauze-like vapor that rested +as a veil over forest, heath, and Hall, river, cliff, +and bay! The scene was full of freshness, light, +and music!

“Oh! look and listen, Rosalia, woods and +waters sing and the birds pause to hear! listen!”

“But, dearest Hagar,” said Rose, gazing forth +upon the bay—“after all, suppose our friends do +not come; a meeting appointed two months beforehand +in a foreign country! So many things +may have happened!”

“Look, Rosalia!” replied Hagar, holding a +letter, “they were in Baltimore a week ago; +this letter is from Gusty, it came late last night. +I did not get it until this morning; it is an +avant-coureur of our party. They will be with +us by this evening’s boat.”

“Listen again, Rosalia, my darling—Emily +will be over this morning to breakfast with us. +Shame kept her and pride kept me from making +any advances towards a renewal of friendly intercourse—but +this morning I arose in a better +mood. I could not feel resentment (that, however, +I never felt), but I could not feel indifference +towards the mother of my dear, noble +Gusty, and the future mother-in-law of my +Rosalia. So, love, I wrote her a kind letter, +explaining the whole affair. I told her that +Gusty would be here this evening to fulfil an appointment, +and begged her to come over this +morning. Could we cherish a cold feeling towards +any one to-day, love! She wrote me a +line back to say that she would come with pleasure, +and to say—what do you think, Rosalia?—that +she would have been to see us before—wished +to come, but doubted if her visit would +be welcome? Come! I sent Tarquin immediately +back with the carriage to bring her over to +breakfast, for you know, love, that Emily has +no conveyance but her horse—I expect her every +minute—so dress yourself quickly, Rose, for +breakfast.”

Rosalia threw her arms around Hagar’s neck +and thanked her. She was soon ready, and left +her chamber accompanied by Hagar, and descended +the stairs in time to see through the front +door, Emily Buncombe alight from the carriage. +Rosalia went timidly to meet her. Emily folded +her to her bosom in a warm embrace, and then +turned to receive Hagar’s offered hand. They +went in to breakfast; but when Emily would +have pushed a thousand questions as to Rosalia’s +flight or abduction, and Hagar’s absence, the +latter gravely replied that Rosalia had passed +the whole of her time, from her landing at Genoa, +first in the service of the Grand Duchess Maria +Louisa, and afterwards with herself, and ended +with the announcement that Rosalia was the +sister of Raymond. In the stupor of astonishment +into which this news threw Emily, she +forgot to push her investigations about the flight +any further; but made many inquiries concerning +Rosalia’s newly discovered relationship. Hagar +gave her all the information in her possession, +and ended with announcing the fact, that Rosalia’s +fortune, left to accumulate at compound interest +as it had been, now amounted to the snug little +sum of twenty-five thousand dollars; no plum, +certainly, but still enough, taken with his income, +to give Gusty a fair start in the world, at least +to purchase that small estate, and build, ornament, +175and furnish that beautiful little home Emily was +so anxious to secure for her son. These matters +Hagar freely discussed with her, because she admitted +that Emily had a personal interest in them. +But when Mrs. Buncombe would have pried into +her own private matters, Hagar gravely waived +all interrogation, and Emily, in default of better +information, was forced to take Tarquin’s account +of matters and things—namely, the great fortune +left to Mr. Withers in England. Notwithstanding +this, the day was spent pleasantly, very +pleasantly, in preparing for the evening; and +Hagar, our Hagar! how can I describe her +waiting for the evening! and how, as the hours +passed, her brow became more and more arched +and expanded, until it was open as the brow of +hope! and how her steps became lighter and +more light, until the spring of her little foot +seemed to impel the earth upon its orbit!

Day declined. Twilight was falling cool and +purple over the forest, heath, and bay, as a packet +boat wended its way down the Chesapeake, +drawing near to Churchill’s Point. A party of +passengers were collected on the deck—a party +consisting of Captain and Mrs. Wilde, Lieutenant +May and Raymond Withers. They were +conversing gaily. The boat neared Churchill’s +Point. The village was nearly dark and deserted; +doubling Churchill’s Point they came in sight of +Alto Rio, the new Heath Hall. It was brilliantly +illuminated from attic to cellar. The +lights streamed from its many windows—streamed +across its lawn, revealing scores of carriages +filling up the space between it and the water’s +edge,—and streamed across the bay, throwing a +flood of light upon the spot where the boat at +last anchored, close by the side of another +beautiful little craft, the Compensation, moored +under the promontory. The travellers landed, +and taking their way up the new stone steps that +led up the ascent of the promontory, proceeded +on their way towards the house, struck with +admiration and astonishment at the marvellous +changes they everywhere witnessed. It is true +that Raymond Withers and Gusty May knew +perfectly well the source of this sudden wealth, +and even Captain Wilde and Sophie, since +Hagar’s letter to the latter, divined it. The +emotions of Raymond Withers were soon all +merged in one strong feeling—a heart-burning +impatience to clasp Hagar to his bosom. He +thought that were he about to meet her in poverty, +ill health, and humiliation, he should embrace +her with as much affection and with more self-respect—upon +the whole, however, he was not +anxious to have his disinterestedness submitted to +this test. He had, before leaving the boat, bestowed +the utmost attention upon his toilet, and +his dress was now the very ideal of taste and +elegance, as his person was of manly beauty. +In the grand diapason of the reconciliation was +trilling this one little absurd note.

The lights from the Hall streamed from every +window over the scene; the grounds in front of +the Hall were blocked up with carriages. The +verandas running around the Hall were crowded +with coachmen and footmen, the attendants of +the guests; the lower rooms of the Hall superbly +furnished, beautifully ornamented, and brilliantly +lighted, were filled with splendidly dressed company. +An upper chamber of the house was +occupied by three ladies; one, a young maiden, +sat upon a dressing stool in front of a full length +mirror, and two stood, one on each side, adorning +her for the altar. Emily Buncombe looked very +fine—in a straw-colored satin, with a pretty lace +cap, trimmed with white snowdrops; our Hagar +looked the princess that she was, in her delicate +white lace, over a rich white satin, with her +brilliant black ringlets collected at the back of +her head by a diamond-set comb, and dropping +gracefully upon her crimson cheeks, undulating +neck and bosom. Diamond bracelets flashed +upon her rounded arms, and a diamond necklace +encircled her throat. It was Hagar who looked +like a royal bride. But she was decking a bride. +Not a jewel would Hagar permit to desecrate +the maiden’s beauty. A chaste and simple dress +of white silk, trimmed with narrow lace, leaving +the full, rounded, and snowy neck and arms +bare, and a very slight wreath of young orange +blossom buds crowning her golden ringlets, completed +her beautifully simple toilet.

Two young girls from the neighborhood—young +girls of twelve years old, selected that +evening from the company below, were waiting +to attend her. Her toilet was only just completed +when a rap was heard at the chamber-door, and +Hagar’s housekeeper entering said—

“Mrs. Withers—Captain Wilde, Lieutenant +May, Mr. Withers, and their party, have arrived.”

Hagar had supposed that she would be prepared +for this meeting, anticipated for two +months past, and momentarily expected now. +She had thought to have received him there, in +her beauty, glory, and pride, with her regal self-possession,—but +when the words “Mr. Withers +has arrived” fell on her ear, her heart sank down—stopped—the +hand of death seemed on her! +Intense frost burns like fire in contact—extreme +joy is so like pain as to be undistinguishable.

“Ask him to come up,” said Hagar in a +dying voice, as she stood leaning upon the +shoulder of Rosalia for support—Rosalia still +sitting on her dressing stool.

Hagar felt that life and death were striving in +her bosom—nay, she thought that death had come—and +only prayed that her last breath might +flow past Raymond’s cheek and hair, with her +head upon his breast—as she leaned more heavily +upon Rosalia, until her long black ringlets overswept +and half concealed her form. Now she +thought to receive him there! dying there! But +lo! a light, quick footstep is on the stairs!—each +footfall strikes a chord that vibrates to the +centre of her heart! shocking all her nerves into +electric life!—she started—sprang—color flowed +richly back to her cheeks—light radiantly to her +eyes! Like lightning she flashed from the room +out into the dark passage.

He was coming up the stairs, wondering how +he should present himself before her, when, as he +reached the landing, he saw a brilliant white-clad +spirit gleam out across the darkness, and the next +instant the angel was in his arms—her arms +about his neck—pressed to his bosom—her heart +throbbing warmly, humanly against his own.

No word was spoken yet. They had met +unpremeditatedly—in silence and darkness—in +that pure, though passionate embrace!

What to them was all the wrong and woe of +the last two dreadful years? Forgotten! as it +had ever been. A dark background, only throwing +out into stronger light the rapture of the +present meeting—for an instant—but ah! when +176recollection came to one! He stooped over her +and whispered—

“Hagar! I have not one word to say for myself! +not one excuse to offer for my weakness! +not one syllable to breathe in palliation of my +fault! Hagar, I am bankrupt!”

But she drew him to a seat, for emotion was +overpowering her, dropped upon his lap, her +arms around his neck, her head upon his shoulder, +her ringlets sweeping over him, and wept! +wept!—she, from whose proud eyes of fiery light, +bitterest grief had never wrung one tear—wept!—as +though the fountains of her life were broken +up and gushing through her eyes! For joy, +reader?—Not altogether; was not her king—her +king, discrowned before her? and though she +loved him! loved him! as only high hearts like +hers can love—no worship mingled with that love!

But a bride was waiting to be led before the +bishop. Rising, Hagar took his hand, and conducted +him silently into the room, led him +silently to Rosalia’s side, and laying her hand +upon her shoulder, said softly,

She arose, blushing, trembling, and Raymond +Withers opening his arms, folded in one embrace +his wife and sister to his bosom.

Ten minutes after this a bridal party stood up +in the middle of the gorgeous drawing-rooms +below. Bishop Otterback performed the ceremony. +Raymond Withers gave away the +bride. Sophie Wilde removed the veil from the +maiden’s head at the conclusion of the rites.

The wedding was the most splendid festival +ever given in —— county. Many of the +guests from a distance remained all night. It +was near the dawn of day before the visitors, +those who left the house at all, dispersed, and +those who remained had retired to rest.

The sun was rising when Hagar, followed by +her husband, entered the nursery. She led him +to one little bed where the twin girls were still +sleeping in loveliness. He stooped and kissed +each brow without waking either. And then she +drew him off to a crib, where slumbered the boy +he had never seen. She stepped ahead of him, +and lifting this child up from his morning sleep, +stood him upon the floor in the sunlight to +waken up in his beauty! And how sparklingly +beautiful he looked with his pink feet on the rich +carpet, and his golden curls falling in rippling, +glittering disorder about his temples and throat, +and flashing in the sunlight, as he stood there +waking up, with his graceful head stooped sideways +like a bird’s looking archly, shily, and half +loving, half afraid at the handsome stranger +standing near his mother. Raymond stooped and +lifted him in his arms, and then the child, with +a shout of clear, sweet laughter, recognised the +father he had never seen before, expressing his +delight in these words,

With infants love and beauty are synonyms—everything +they love is beautiful, and everything +that is beautiful they love.

“Raymond! but for distinction sake, as well +as that because he is a sunbeam, we will call him +Ray!”

The little girls now waking, and hearing +their mother’s voice, arose and ran to greet her, +and they too shared the caresses bestowed upon +their infant brother.

Later in the day, Hagar gave her husband an +explanation that the reader must also have—she +said,

“You have not asked me, Raymond, about +the foreigners around us; yet you must have +wondered why I employed a dozen foreigners +rather than my own country people—I will tell +you in a very few words. All the money we +possess was made in Europe, from ministering +to the luxury of the wealthy aristocrats. But +I saw numerous wretchedly poor and suffering +peasants—many of them I found upon inquiry to +be excellent artisans and agriculturists, who +would work if they could obtain employment, +and I said to myself, I am about to spend the +money I have made here in rebuilding a ruin, +and in reclaiming a wilderness. It will be a +great labor, and it will only be justice to give +this work to a few of the people among whom +I made this money. I thought that if I could +bring a dozen workmen over to this country, and +give them employment for a while as a start, it +would be but right. I had a little vessel built out +there—I called it the ‘Compensation.’ I got a +skipper and one or two experienced seamen—the +rest of the crew consisted of the artisan emigrants +I was to bring out. I paid them some +money in advance to leave with their families, +until they got settled in this country, and rich +enough to send for them. I had previously sent +out half-a-dozen mechanics under an architect, +to rebuild the Hall; and in three months from +the day of their sailing, and only one week ago, +I arrived with my emigrant agriculturists. They +are at work. I know this was right, Raymond, +and I hope you think so.”

Alto Rio is now the most fertile and productive +plantation in Maryland. The Hall is the +seat of elegant hospitality. Hagar is now in the +meridian of her life, and of her well preserved +beauty. Her daughters, Agnes and Agatha, are +grown up; they are called the twin beauties; +her son is a noble boy, he is a cadet at ——; +they have no other children.

Not very far from Alto Rio is another handsome +villa, it is the residence of Captain Augustus +W. May, U. S. N., and is presided over by +a lady who would be thought surpassingly beautiful +and elegant in any neighborhood not +adorned by the presence of Hagar Withers. +They have a numerous family of girls and boys.

Sophie is again in the Mediterranean, with +Captain Wilde. They have no family, and +assert that they are contented that such is their +lot, and I thoroughly believe them, for they love +each other devotedly, and are never separated, +Sophie going with him on all his voyages.

Our old friend, Blanche Rogers—have you +forgotten her?—is now at last the Right Rev. +Mrs. Otterback; she got the bishop at last. It +was at Gusty and Rosalia May’s wedding that +the final blow that brought him to her feet was +struck.

Emily Buncombe is still mistress of Grove +Cottage, and Mr. Buncombe is still pastor of +the Church of the Ascension.

+ +

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

+ +

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Page	Changed from	Changed to
6	Tidarsi è bene, e non fidarse e meglio	Fidarsi è bene, e non fidarse e meglio
19	But Sophie only gazed at him with a started	But Sophie only gazed at him with a startled
45	found the gentle and timorous child still shrink	found the gentle and timorous child still shrank
55	or rather became of her reluctance, and	or rather because of her reluctance, and
73	Raymond, standing at the window that overlooked	Raymond, were standing at the window that overlooked
79	their slovenly habits of cultivatic.—do you not	their slovenly habits of cultivation—do you not
84	brother; yet never did only child returning to	brother; yet never did any child returning to
97	on her sheek, leaving her contracted brow and	on her cheek, leaving her contracted brow and
139	Nessum maggior dolore,	Nessun maggior dolore,
151	idea repulsed, revolted him—he would nothing	idea repulsed, revolted him—he would do nothing
152	does find the means? I know that she travels	does she find the means? I know that she travels
163	and yon see the upshot! Why, I’m reinstated	and you see the upshot! Why, I’m reinstated
unchanged	protegé	protegé

+ +

Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + +
Used numbers for footnotes. +

+ +

THE DESERTED WIFE.

INTRODUCTION.

MARRIAGE.

CHAPTER I. THE OLD MANSION HOUSE.

CHAPTER II. THE MINISTER.

CHAPTER III. DEATH.

CHAPTER IV. THE STRANGER.

CHAPTER V. THE PHILOSOPHER.

CHAPTER VI. THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT.

CHAPTER VII. YOUNG LOVE.

CHAPTER VIII. THE PHANTOM’S WARNING.

CHAPTER IX. THE WANDERER’S DEATH.

CHAPTER X. AN UNEXPECTED EVENT.

CHAPTER XI. HAGAR.

CHAPTER XII. ROSALIA.

CHAPTER XIII. THE ATTIC.

CHAPTER XIV. GUSTY.

CHAPTER XV. THE MOOR.

CHAPTER XVI. THE STORY OF FANNY RAYMOND.

CHAPTER XVII. THE STORM.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEATH CHAMBER.

CHAPTER XIX. THE CHASE.

CHAPTER XX. THE LOVERS.

CHAPTER XXI. HAGAR’S BRIDAL.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE BRIDE’S PARTING.

CHAPTER XXIV. THE FORSAKEN HOUSE.

CHAPTER XXV. THE RIALTO.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE LOVE ANGEL.

CHAPTER XXVII. AGNES AND AGATHA.

CHAPTER XXVIII. CLOUDS.

CHAPTER XXIX. JEALOUSY.

CHAPTER XXX. TREACHERY.

CHAPTER XXXI. THE LONE ONE.

CHAPTER XXXII. THE TEMPTED ANGEL.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE DESOLATED.

CHAPTER XXXIV. CHANGES.

CHAPTER XXXV. THE RETURN.

CHAPTER XXXVI. HAGAR AT HEATH HALL.

CHAPTER XXXVII. REMORSE.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE WOUNDED EAGLE.

CHAPTER XXXIX. A REVELATION.

CHAPTER XL. HAGAR’S RESOLVE.

CHAPTER XLI. CONSTANTINOPLE.

CHAPTER XLII. THE LETTER.

CHAPTER XLIII. ROSALIA’S WANDERINGS.

CHAPTER XLIV. THE QUEEN OF SONG.

CHAPTER XLV. AN EVENING AT HEATH HALL.

THE
DESERTED WIFE.

CHAPTER I.
THE OLD MANSION HOUSE.

CHAPTER II.
THE MINISTER.

CHAPTER III.
DEATH.

CHAPTER IV.
THE STRANGER.

CHAPTER V.
THE PHILOSOPHER.

CHAPTER VI.
THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT.

CHAPTER VII.
YOUNG LOVE.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE PHANTOM’S WARNING.

CHAPTER IX.
THE WANDERER’S DEATH.

CHAPTER X.
AN UNEXPECTED EVENT.

CHAPTER XI.
HAGAR.

CHAPTER XII.
ROSALIA.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE ATTIC.

CHAPTER XIV.
GUSTY.

CHAPTER XV.
THE MOOR.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE STORY OF FANNY RAYMOND.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE STORM.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE DEATH CHAMBER.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE CHASE.

CHAPTER XX.
THE LOVERS.

CHAPTER XXI.
HAGAR’S BRIDAL.

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE BRIDE’S PARTING.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE FORSAKEN HOUSE.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE RIALTO.

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LOVE ANGEL.

CHAPTER XXVII.
AGNES AND AGATHA.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
CLOUDS.

CHAPTER XXIX.
JEALOUSY.

CHAPTER XXX.
TREACHERY.

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE LONE ONE.

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE TEMPTED ANGEL.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE DESOLATED.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHANGES.

CHAPTER XXXV.
THE RETURN.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
HAGAR AT HEATH HALL.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
REMORSE.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE WOUNDED EAGLE.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
A REVELATION.

CHAPTER XL.
HAGAR’S RESOLVE.

CHAPTER XLI.
CONSTANTINOPLE.

CHAPTER XLII.
THE LETTER.

CHAPTER XLIII.
ROSALIA’S WANDERINGS.

CHAPTER XLIV.
THE QUEEN OF SONG.

CHAPTER XLV.
AN EVENING AT HEATH HALL.