Vashti by Augusta J. Evans Wilson

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CHAPTER I.

"I can hear the sullen, savage roar of the breakers, if I do not see
them, and my pretty painted bark--expectation--is bearing down
helplessly upon them. Perhaps the unwelcome will not come to-day. What
then? I presume I should not care; and yet, I am curious to see
him,--anxious to know what sort of person will henceforth rule the
house, and go in and out here as master. Of course the pleasant,
peaceful days are at an end, for men always make din and strife in a
household,--at least my father did, and he is the only one I know much
about. But, after all, why borrow trouble?--the interloper may never
come."

The girl stood on tip-toe, shading her eyes with one hand, and peering
eagerly down the winding road which stretched at right angles to the
avenue, and over the hills, on towards the neighboring town. No moving
speck was visible; and, with a sigh of relief, she sank back on the
grassy mound and resumed the perusal of her book. Above and around her
spread the wide branches of an aged apple-tree, feathered thickly with
pearly petals, which the wind tossed hither and thither and drifted
over the bermuda, as restless tides strew pink-chambered shells on
sloping strands; and down through the flowery limbs streamed the
waning March sun, throwing grotesque shadows on the sward and golden
ripples over the face and figure of the young lounger. A few yards
distant a row of whitewashed bee-hives extended along the western side
of the garden-wall, where perched a peacock whose rainbow hues were
burnished by the slanting rays that smote like flame the narrow pane
of glass which constituted a window in each hive and permitted
investigation of the tireless workers within. The afternoon was almost
spent; the air, losing its balmy noon breath, grew chill with the
approach of dew, and the figure under the apple-tree shivered
slightly, and, closing her book, drew her scarlet shawl around her
shoulders and leaned her dimpled chin on her knee.

Sixteen years had ripened and rounded the girlish form, and given to
her countenance that indefinable charm which marks the timid hovering
between careless, frolicsome youth, and calmly conscious womanhood;
while perfect health rouged the polished cheeks and vermillioned the
thin lips, whose outlines sharply indexed more of decision than
amiability of character.

There were hints of brown in the heavy mass of waveless dusky hair,
that was elaborately braided and coiled around the well turned
head, and certain amber rays suggestive of topaz and gold flashed
out now and then in the dark-hazel iris of the large eyes, lending
them an eldritch and baleful glow. Fresh as the overhanging
apple-blooms, but immobile as if carved from pearl,--perhaps it
was just such a face as hers that fronted Jason, amid the clustering
boughs of Colchian rhododendrons, when first he sought old AEetes'
prescient daughter,--the maiden face of magical Medea, innocent as
yet of murder, sacrilege, fratricide, and plunder,--eloquent of
all possibilities of purity and peace, but vaguely adumbrating all
conceivable disquietude and guilt.

The hushed expectancy of the fair young countenance had given place to
a dreamy languor, and the dark lashes drooped heavily, when a long
shadow fell upon the grass, and simultaneously the peacock sounded its
shrill alarm. Rising quickly the girl found herself face to face with
one upon whose features she had never looked before, and for a moment
each eyed the other searchingly. The stranger raised his hat, and
inclining his head slightly, said,--

"Permit me to ask your name?"

"Salome Owen. And yours, sir, is--"

"Ulpian Grey."

For a few seconds neither spoke; but the man smiled, and the girl bit
her under-lip and frowned.

"Are you the miller's daughter?"

"I am the miller's daughter; and you are the master of Grassmere."

"It seems that I come home like Rip Van Winkle, or Ulysses, unknown,
unwelcomed,--unlike the latter,--even by a dog."

"Where is your sister?"

"Not having seen her for five years, I am unable to answer."

"She went to town two hours ago, to meet you."

"Then, after all, I am expected; but pray by what route--balloon or
telegraph?"

"Miss Jane went to the railroad depot, but thought it possible you
might not arrive to-day, and said she would attend a meeting at the
church, if you failed to come. I presume she missed you in the crowd.
Sir, will you walk into the house?"

Perhaps he did not hear the question, and certainly he did not heed
it, amid the clamorous recollections that rushed upon him as he gazed
earnestly over the lawn, down the avenue, and up at the ivy-mantled
front of the old brick homestead. Thinking it might impress him as
ludicrous or officious that she should invite him to enter and take
possession of his own establishment, Salome reddened and compressed
her lips. Apparently forgetful of her presence, he stood with his hat
in his hand, noting the changes that time had wrought: the growth of
venerable trees and favorite shrubs, the crumbling of fences, the
gathering moss on the sun-dial, and the lichen stains upon two marble
vases that held scarlet verbena on either side of the broad stone
steps.

His close-fitting travelling suit of gray showed the muscular,
well-developed form of a man of medium size, whose very erect carriage
enhanced his height and invested him with a commanding air; while the
unusual breadth of his chest and shoulders seemed to indicate that
life had called him to athletic out-door pursuits, rather than the dun
and dusty atmosphere of a sedentary, cloistered career.

There are subtle countenances that baffle the dainty stipple and line
tracery of time, refusing to become mere tablets, mere fleshy
intaglios of the past, whereon every curious stranger may spell out
the bygone, and, counting their footprints, cast up the number of
engraving years. Thus it happened that if Salome had not known from
the family Bible that this man was almost thirty-five, her eager
scrutiny of his features would have discovered little concerning his
age, and still less concerning his character. Exposure to the winds
and heat of tropic regions had darkened and sallowed the complexion,
which his clear deep blue eyes and light brown hair declared was
originally of Saxon fairness; in proof whereof, when he drew off one
glove and lifted his hand it seemed as if the marble fingers of one
statue were laid against the bronze cheek of another.

Looking intently at this grave yet benignant countenance, full of
serenity, because calmly conscious of its power, the girl set her
teeth and ground her heel into the velvet turf, for _frangas non
flectes_ was written on his smooth, broad brow, and she felt fiercely
rebellious as some fiery, free creature of the Kamse, when first
confronted with the bit and trappings of him who will henceforth
bridle and tame the desert-bred.

Waking from his brief reverie, the stranger turned and extended his
hand, saying, in tones as low and sweet as a woman's,--

"Will you not welcome a wanderer back to his home?"

She gave him the tips of her fingers, but the "Imp of the Perverse"
dictated her answer,--

"As you saw fit to compare yourself, a few moments since, to certain
celebrated absentees, I am constrained to tell you that I happen to be
neither Penelope nor Gretchen, nor yet the illustrious dog referred
to."

He smiled good-humoredly, and replied,--

"I am not very sure that there is not a spice of Dame Van Winkle
somewhere in your nature. True, we are strangers, but I believe you
are my sister's adopted child, and I hope you are glad to see her
brother at home once more. Jane is a dear kind link, who should make
us at least good friends; for, if you are attached to her you will in
time learn to like me."

"I doubt it,--seeing that you resemble Miss Jane about as nearly as I
do the Grand Lama of Larissa, or the idol Bhadrinath. But, sir,
although it is not my office to welcome you, I presume you have not
forgotten the front door, and once more I ask, Will you walk in and
make yourself at home in your own house?"

As she led the way to the steps, the arched gate at the end of the
avenue swung open, a carriage entered, and Salome retreated to her own
room, leaving unwitnessed the happy meeting between an aged, infirm
sister, and long-absent brother.

Locking the door to secure herself from intrusion, she drew a low
rocking-chair to the hearth, where smouldered the embers of a dying
fire, and dropping her face in her palms, stared abstractedly at the
ashes. As she swayed slowly to and fro, her lips parted and closed,
her brows bent from their customary curves of beauty, and half
inaudibly she muttered,--

"The sceptre is departing from Judah. My rule is well nigh ended; the
interregnum has been brief, and the old dynasty reigns once more.
Just what I dreaded from the hour I heard he was coming home. I
shall be reduced to a mere cipher, and made to realize my utter
dependence,--and the iron will soon enter my soul. We paupers are
adepts in the art of reading the countenance, and I have looked at
this Ulpian Grey long enough to know that I might as well bombard
Gibraltar with boiled peas as hope to conquer one of his whims or
alter one of his purposes. There will be bitterness and strife between
us. I shall wish him in his grave a thousand times before it closes
over him,--and he, unless he is too good, will hate me cordially. I
cannot and will not give up all my hopes and expectations, without a
long, fierce struggle."

Salome Owen was the eldest of five children, who, by the death of both
parents, had been thrown penniless upon the world, and found a
temporary asylum in the county poor-house. Her mother she remembered
merely as a feeble, fractious invalid; and her father, who had long
been employed as superintendent of large mills belonging to Miss Jane
Grey, had, after years of reckless intemperance, ended his wretched
career in a fit of mania a potu. His death occurred at a season when
Miss Grey was confined to her bed by an attack of rheumatism, which
rendered her a <DW36> for the remainder of her days; but the first
hours of her convalescence were spent in devising plans for the
education and maintenance of his helpless orphans. In the dusty,
cheerless yard of the poor-house she had found the little group
huddled under a mulberry tree one hot July noon; and, sending the two
younger children to the orphan asylum in a neighboring town, she had
apprenticed one boy to a worthy carpenter, another to an eminent
horticulturist in a distant State; and Salome, the handsomest and
brightest of the flock, she carried to her own home as an adopted
child. Here, for four years, the girl had lived in peace and luxurious
ease, surrounded by all the elegances and refining associations which
though not inherent in are at the command of wealth; and so rapidly
and gracefully had she fitted herself into the new social niche, that
the dark and stormy morning of her life had become only a dim and
hideous recollection, that rarely lifted its hated visage above the
smooth and shining surface of the happy present.

Fortuitous circumstances constitute the moulds that shape the majority
of human lives, and the hasty impress of an accident is too often
regarded as the relentless decree of all-ordaining fate; while to the
philosophic anthropologist it might furnish matter for curious
speculation whether, if Attila and Alaric had chanced to find
themselves the pampered sons of some merchant prince,--some Rothschild
or Peabody of the fifth century,--their campaigns had not been purely
fiscal and bloodless, limited to the leaves of a ledger, while the
names of Goth and Hun had never crystallized into synonyms of havoc
and ruin; or had Timour been trained to cabbage-raising and
vine-dressing, whether he would not have lived in history as the great
horticulturist of Kesth, or the Diocletian of Samarcand, rather than
the Tartar tyrant and conqueror of the East? How many possible Howards
have swung at Tyburn? How many canonized and haloed heads have barely
escaped the doom of Brinvilliers, and the tender mercies of Carnifex?

Analogous to that wonderful Gulf Stream, once a myth and still a
mystery, the strange current of human existence, four score and
ten years long, bears each and all of us with a strong, steady sweep
away from the tropic lands of sunny childhood, enamelled with verdure
and gaudy with bloom, through the temperate regions of manhood and
womanhood, fruitful and harvest-hued, on to the frigid, lonely shores
of dreary old age, snow-crowned and ice-veined; and individual
destinies seem to resemble the tangled drift on those broad
bounding gulf-billows, driven hither and thither, strewn on barren
beaches, scattered over bleaching coral crags, stranded upon blue
bergs,--precious germs from all climes and classes; some to be
scorched under equatorial heats; some to perish by polar perils; a
few to take root and flourish and triumph, building imperishable
land-marks; and many to stagnate in the long, inglorious rest of a
Sargasso Sea.

For all helpless human waifs in this surging ocean of time, there is
comfort in the knowledge that the fiercest storms toss their drift
highest; and one of these apparently savage waves of adversity had
swept Salome Owen safely to an isle of palms and peace, where, under
the fostering rays of prosperity, the selfish and sordid elements of
her character found rapid development.

In affectionate natures, family ties serve as cords to strangle
selfishness; for, in large domestic circles, each member contributes a
moiety to swell the good of the whole--silently endures some trial,
makes some sacrifice, shares some sympathy and sunshine, hoards some
grief and gloom, and had Salome remained with her brothers and
sisters, their continual claims on her time and attention would have
healthfully diverted thoughts that had long centred solely in self.
Finding that fortune had temporarily sheathed in velvet the goad of
necessity, the girl's aspirations soared no higher than the
maintenance of her present easy and luxurious position, as a petted
dependent on the affection and bounty of a weak but generous and
lonely old lady. Having no other object near, upon which to lavish the
love and caresses that were stored in her heart, Miss Jane had turned
fondly to Salome, and so earnestly endeavored to brighten her life,
that the latter felt assured she was selected as the heiress of that
house and estate where she had dwelt so happily; and thus sanguine
concerning her future prospects, the strong will of the girl
completely dominated the feebler and failing one of her benefactress,
through whose fingers the reins of government slipped so gradually,
that she was unconscious of her virtual abdication.

From this pleasant dream of a handsome heritage and life-long plenty,
Salome had been rudely aroused by the unwelcome tidings that a young
half-brother of Miss Jane was coming to reside under her roof; and
prophetic fear whispered that the stranger would contest and divide
her dominion. A surgeon in the United States navy, he had been absent
for five years in distant seas, and only resigned his commission in
consequence of letters which informed him of the feeble condition of
his only surviving relative. Those who have eaten the bread of charity
learn to interpret countenances with an unerring facility that
eclipses the vaunted skill of Lavater, and the girl's brief inspection
of the face which would henceforth confront her daily, yielded little
to dispel her gloomy forebodings. The sound of the tea-bell terminated
her reverie, and rising, she walked slowly to the dining-room,
throwing her head as erect as possible, and compressing her mouth like
some gladiator summoned to the fatal arena of the Coliseum.

The dining-room was large and airy, with lofty wide windows, and
neatly papered walls, where in numerous old-fashioned and quaintly
carved frames hung the ancestral portraits of the family. Although one
window was open, and the mild air laden with the perfumed breath of
spring, a bright wood fire flashed on the hearth, near which Miss Jane
sat in her large, cushioned rocking-chair, resting her swollen
slippered feet on a velvet stool, while her silver-mounted crutches
leaned against the arm of her chair. An ugly and very diminutive brown
terrier snarled and frisked on the rug, tormenting a staid and aged
black cat, who occasionally arched her back and showed her teeth; and
Dr. Grey stood leaning over his sister's chair, smoothing the soft
grizzled locks that clustered under the rich lace border of her cap.
He was talking of other days,--those of his boyhood, when, kneeling by
that hearth, she had pasted his kites, found strings for his tops,
made bags for his marbles, or bound up his bleeding hands, bruised in
boyish sports; and, while he read from the fresher page of his memory
the blessed juvenile annals long since effaced from hers, a happy
smile lighted her withered face, and she put up one thin hand to pat
the brown and bearded cheek which nearly touched her head. To the
pretty young thing who had paused on the threshold, watching what
passed, it seemed a peaceful picture, cosy and complete, needing no
adjuncts, defying intruders; but Miss Jane caught a glimpse of the
shrinking figure, and beckoned her to the fire-place.

"Salome, come shake hands with my sailor-boy, and tell him how glad we
are to have his sunburnt face once more among us. Ulpian, this is my
dear child Salome, who makes noise and sunshine enough in an otherwise
dark and silent dreary house. Why, children, don't stand bowing at
each other, like foreign ministers at court! Ulpian, you are to be a
brother to that child; so go and kiss her like a Christian, and let us
have no more state and ceremony."

"_Sans ceremonie_ we introduced ourselves this afternoon, under the
apple-tree, and I presume Salome will accept the assurance of my
friendly intentions and fraternal regard, and decline the seal which
only long acquaintance and perfect confidence could induce her to
permit. Notwithstanding the very evident fact that she is not entirely
overwhelmed with delight at my return, I gratefully acknowledge my
indebtedness to one who has so largely contributed to my sister's
happiness, and shall avail myself of every opportunity to prove my
appreciation of her devotion."

Dr. Grey stepped forward, took Salome's hand, and touched it lightly
with his lips, while the grave dignity of his manner forbade the
thought that affectation of gallantry or idle persiflage suggested the
words or action.

Disarmed by the quiet courtesy which she felt she had not merited, the
girl's ready wit and nimbly obedient tongue for once proved
treacherous; and, conscious that the flush was deepening on cheek and
brow, she moved to the oval table in the centre of the floor, and
seated herself behind the massive silver urn.

"Ulpian, take your place yonder, at the foot, and excuse my absence
from the table this first evening of your return. I always have my
meals here, close to the fire, and Salome presides in my place. Child,
put no cream in his tea, but a bountiful share of sugar. You see, my
boy, I have not grown too old to recollect your whims."

As he obeyed her, Salome was preparing to pour out the tea; but,
catching his eye, she paused, and Dr. Grey bowed his head on his hand,
and solemnly and impressively asked a blessing, and offered up fervent
thanks for the family reunion. In the somewhat fragmentary discourse
that ensued between brother and sister the orphan took no part; and, a
half hour later, when the little party removed to the library and
established themselves comfortably for the evening, Salome drew her
chair close to the lamp, and, under pretence of examining a book of
engravings, covertly studied the features and mien of the new-comer.

His quiet, low-toned conversation was of other lands and distant
nations, and, while there was an entire absence of that ostentatious
braggardism and dropsical egotism which unfortunately attacks the
majority of travellers, his descriptions of foreign scenery were so
graceful and brilliant, that despite her ungracious determination and
premeditated dislike, she became a fascinated listener; and, more than
once, found herself leaning forward to catch his words. Her own vivid
fancy travelled with him over the lakes and isles, temples and
palaces, he had visited; and, when the clock struck eleven, and a
brief silence succeeded, she started as from some delightful dream.

"Janet, shall we have prayers, or have I already kept you up too
late?"

Dr. Grey stooped and pressed his lips to his sister's wrinkled
forehead, and her voice faltered slightly, as she answered,--

"It is never too late to thank God for all his goodness, especially in
bringing my dear boy safely back to me. Salome, get the large Bible
from the cushion in the parlor."

As the orphan placed the book in Dr. Grey's hand it opened at the
record of births, where on the wide page appeared only the name of
Ulpian Grey, and from the leaves fluttered a small bow of blue
ribbon.

He picked it up, and, considering it merely a book-mark, would have
replaced it, but Miss Jane exclaimed,--

"It is the blue knot that fastens that child's collar. Give it to her.
She lost it yesterday, and has searched the house for it. How came it
in that old Bible, which I am sure has not been used for fifteen
years?"

Whatever solution of the mystery Salome might have deigned to offer,
remained unuttered, for Dr. Grey kindly obviated the necessity of a
reply by requesting her to bring him an additional candle from an
adjoining room; and the superfluous celerity with which she started on
the errand called a twinkle to his eye and a half-smothered smile to
his lips. She felt assured that he was thoroughly cognizant of the
curiosity which had prompted her researches among the family records,
and inferred that he had either no vanity to be flattered by such
trifles, or was dowered with too much generosity to evince any
gratification at the discovery of an interest she would have
vehemently disclaimed.

It was the first time she had ever bowed before the family altar, and,
notwithstanding her avowed aversion to "Puritanic ceremonials and
Pharisaical practices," she was unexpectedly awed and deeply
impressed by the solemnity with which he conducted the brief services;
while, despite her prejudice, his grave courtesy toward her, and the
subdued tenderness that marked his treatment of his sister, commanded
her involuntary respect. When she stood before the mirror in her own
room, unbraiding her heavy hair, a dissatisfied expression robbed her
features of half their loveliness, and discontent ploughed distorting
lines about the scarlet lips which muttered,--

"I wonder if, in one of his evil fits, my father sold and signed me
away to Satan? I certainly am _bon gre mal gre_ in bondage to him;
for, from my inmost heart I hate 'good, pious, sanctified souls,' such
as that marble man upstairs, who has come back to usurp my kingdom,
and lord it over this heritage. After to-day a new regime. The
potter's hands are fair and shapely, courteous and deft, but potter's
hands nevertheless. Tough kneading he shall find it, and stiffer clay
than ever yet was moulded, or my name is not Salome Owen. After all,
how much better are we than the lower beasts of prey? In the race for
riches there is but one alternative,--to devour, or be devoured;
consequently that was an immemorial and well tested rule in the
warfare that commenced when Adam and Eve found themselves shut out of
Eden. 'Each for himself,' etc., etc., etc. Since I must _ex
necessitate_ prey or be preyed upon, I shall waste no time in
deliberation."

CHAPTER II.

When fifty-two years old, Daniel Grey amassed a handsome fortune
by speculating in certain gold and coal mine stocks, which not
only relieved him from the necessity of daily toil in his dusty
counting-room, but elevated him to that more than Braminical caste,
dubbed in Mammon-parlance--capitalists; whose decrees outweigh
legislative statutes, and by feeling the pulse of stock-boards and
all financial corporations, regulate the fiscal currents of the
State. A few months subsequent to this sudden accession of wealth,
his meek and devoted wife--who had patiently shared all the trials
and hardships of his early impecunious career, and brightened an
humble home which boasted no treasure comparable to her loving,
unselfish heart,--was summoned to the enjoyment of a heritage beyond
the stars; and Daniel Grey, capitalist, found himself a florid
handsome widower, with two children, Enoch and Jane, to remind him
continually of the pale wife over whose quiet ashes rose a costly
mausoleum, where rare exotics nodded to each other across gilded
slab and sculptured angels. That he profoundly mourned his loss no
charitable mind could doubt, notwithstanding the obstinate fact that
ere the violets had bloomed a twelvemonth over the dead mother of
his children he had provided them with one who certainly bore her
name, usurped her precious privileges, walked in her footsteps, but
wofully failed to fill her place.

Mrs. Daniel Grey, scarcely the senior of the step-daughter whose lips
most reluctantly framed the sacred word "mother," was a fresh fair
young thing, whose ideas of marriage extended no further than
diamonds, white satin, reception cards, and bridal presents; and whose
regard for her worthy husband sought no surer basis than his
bank-stock and insurance dividends. Dainty and bright, in tasteful and
costly apparel, the pretty child-wife flitted up and down in his house
and over the serene surface of his life, touching no feeling of his
nature so deeply as that colossal _parvenu_ vanity which exulted in
the possession of a graceful walking announcement of his ability to
clothe in fine fabrics and expensive jewels.

Perhaps the mildew that stained the ghastly gaunt angels who kept
guard over the dust of the dead wife, extended yet further than the
silent territory over which sexton and mattock reigned, for one dreary
December night, instead of nestling for a post-prandial nap among the
velvet cushions of his luxurious parlor, Daniel Grey, capitalist,
slept his last sleep in a high-backed, comfortless chair before his
desk, where the confidential clerk found him next morning, with his
rigid icy fingers thrust between the leaves of his check-book.

According to the old Arab proverb,--

  "The black camel named Death kneeleth once at each door,
  And a mortal must mount to return nevermore."

And, past all peradventure, having borne away one member of the
household, the "Last Carrier" from force of habit hastens to perform
the same thankless service for the remainder;--thus ere summer
sunshine streamed on the husband's grave, another yawned at its side,
and a wreathed and fluted shaft shot up close to his mausoleum, to
tell sympathizing friends and careless strangers that the second wife
of Daniel Grey had been snatched away in the morning of life.

Her infant son Ulpian was committed to the tender guardianship of his
maternal grandmother, in whose hands he remained until the close of
his fourth year, when her death necessitated his return to the home of
his only relatives, Enoch and Jane. At the request of his sister, the
former had sold the elegant new residence in a fashionable quarter of
the town, and removed to the old homestead and farm, hallowed by
reminiscences of their mother, and invested with the magic attractions
that early association weaves about the spots frequented in youth.

Manifesting, even in boyhood, an unconquerable repugnance not only to
curriculum, but the monotonous routine of mercantile pursuits, Enoch
sullenly forswore stock-jobbing and finance, and declared his
intention of indulging his rural tastes and becoming a farmer. Fine
cattle and poultry of all kinds, heavy wheat-crops, and well-stored
corn-cribs engrossed his thoughts, to the entire exclusion of abstract
aesthetic speculation, of operatic music, and Pre-Raphaelitism; while
the sight of one of his silky short-horned Ayrshires yielded him
infinitely more pleasure than the possession of all Rosa Bonheur's
ideals could possibly have done, and the soft billowy stretch of his
favorite clover-meadow was worth all the canvas that Claude or Poussin
had ever . While Enoch had cordially hated his fair blue-eyed
young step-mother, not from any personal or individual grounds of
grievance, but simply and solely because she dared to occupy the
household niche, sanctified once and forever by his own meek
gentle-toned mother, he nevertheless tenderly loved her baby-boy; and
as Ulpian grew to manhood he became the idol, at whose shrine the
brother and sister offered their pure and most intense affection.

Neither had married, and when the youngest of the household band
completed his studies, and decided to accept a naval appointment, the
consternation and grief which the announcement produced at the
homestead, proved how essential the presence of the half-brother had
become to the happiness of the sedate stolid Enoch, and equable
unselfish Jane. But the desire to travel subordinated all other
sentiments in Ulpian's nature, and he eagerly embarked for a cruise,
from which he was recalled by tidings of the death of his brother.

A brief sojourn at the homestead had sufficed to arrange the affairs
of the carefully-managed estate, and the young surgeon returned to his
post aboard ship, in distant oriental seas. The increasing infirmity
of his sister had finally induced the resignation of his cherished
commission, and brought the man of thirty-five back to his home, where
the "old familiar faces" seemed to have vanished forever; and, in lieu
thereof, legions of cold-eyed strangers carelessly confronted him.

Emancipated from all restraint, and early consigned to the guidance of
his boyish caprices and immature judgment, Ulpian Grey's character had
unfolded itself under circumstances peculiarly favorable for the
fostering of selfishness and the development of idiosyncrasies. As a
plant, unmolested by man and beast, germinates, expands, and freely
and completely manifests all its inherent tendencies, whether
detrimental or beneficial to humanity, so Dr. Grey's matured manhood
was no distorted or discolored result of repeated educational
experiments, but a thoroughly normal efflorescence of an unbiassed
healthful nature.

Habits of unwavering application and searching study, contracted in
collegiate cloisters, tightened their grasp upon him, as he wandered
away from the quiet precincts of _Alma Mater_ and into the crowded
noisy campus of life; and even the gregarious and convivial manners
prevalent aboard ship failed to divert his attention from the
prosecution of scientific researches, or to <DW44> his rapid progress
in classical scholarship.

For the treasures of knowledge thus patiently and indefatigably
garnered through a series of years, travel proved an invaluable polyglot
commentator, analyzing, comparing, annotating, and italicizing, and had
converted his mind into a vast, systematically arranged pictorial
encyclopaedia of miscellaneous lore, embellished with delicate etchings,
noble engravings, and gorgeous illuminations,--a thesaurus where
_savants_ might seek successfully for _data_, and whence artists
could derive grand types, and pure tender coloring.

Reverent and loving appreciation of the intrinsically "true, good,
and beautiful" was part of the homage that his nature rendered to its
Creator, and instead of flowering into a morbid and maudlin
sentimentality which craves low-browed, long straight-nosed,
undraped statuettes in every nook and corner,--or dwarfs the soul and
pins it to the surplice of some theologic _dogmata_ claiming
infallibility--or coffins the intellect in cramped, shallow,
psychological categories,--it bore fruit in a wide-eyed, large-hearted,
liberal-minded eclecticism, which, waging no crusade against the various
Saladins of modern systems, quietly possessed itself of the really
valuable elements that constitute the basis of every ethical,
aesthetic, and scientific creed, which has for any length of time
levied black-mail on the credulity of mankind.

Breadth of intellectual vision promotes moral and emotional
expansion--for true catholicity of mind manufactures charity in the
heart; and toleration is the real mesmeric current which brings the
extremes of humanity _en rapport_,--is the veritable ubiquitous
Samaritan always provided with wine and oil for the bruised and
helpless, who are strewn along the highway of life; and those who
penetrated beyond the polished surface of Dr. Grey's character,
realized that no tinge of cynicism, no affectation of contempt for his
country and countrymen lurked in his heart, while erudition and
foreign sojourning seemed only to have warmed and intensified his
sympathy with all noble aims--his compassion for all grovelling ones.

That his compulsory return to the uneventful routine of life at the
homestead, involved a sacrifice which he would gladly have avoided, he
did not attempt to deny; but having invested a large amount of
earnest, vigorous faith in the final conservatism of that much-abused
monster which the seditious army of the Disappointed anathematize as
"Bad Luck," he went to work contentedly in this new sphere of action,
and waited patiently and trustfully for the slow grinding of the great
mill of Compensation, into whose huge hopper Fate had unceremoniously
poured all his plans.

His advent produced a very decided sensation not only in the quiet
neighborhood in which the farm was located, but also in the adjacent
town where the memory of Daniel Grey's meteoric ascent to pecuniosity
still lingered in the minds of the oldest citizens, and pleasantly
paved the way for a cordial reception of the fortunate son who
inherited not only his mother's comeliness but his father's hoarded
wealth.

Living in the middle of the nineteenth century, and in a hemisphere
completely antipodal to that in which Utopia was situated, or
"Bensalem" dreamed of, the appearance of a good-looking, well-educated,
affluent bachelor could not fail to stir all gossipdom to its dreg;
and society, ever tenderly concerned about the individual affairs of
its prominent members, was all agog--busily arranging for the
_ci-devant_ United States Surgeon a programme, than which he would
sooner have undertaken the feats of Samson or the Avatars of Vishnu.

His published card, announcing the fact that he had permanently
located in the city and was a patient candidate for the privilege of
setting fractured limbs and administering medicine, somewhat dashed
the expectations of many who conjected that the Grey estate could not
possibly be worth the amount so long reputed, or the principal heir
would certainly not soil his fingers with pills and plasters, instead
of sauntering and dawdling with librettos, lorgnettes, meerschaums,
and curiously-carved canes cut in the Hebrides or the jungles of
Java.

Over the door of that office, where the Angel of Death had smitten his
father thirty-five years before, a new sign swung in the breeze, and
showed the citizens the name of "Dr. Ulpian Grey. Office hours from
nine to ten, and from two to three."

The members of the profession called formally to welcome him to a
share of their annual profits, and collectively gave him a dinner; the
"best families" invited him to tea or luncheon, croquet or "German,"
and thus, having accomplished his professional and social _debut_,
Ulpian Grey, M.D., henceforth claimed and exercised the privilege of
selecting his associates, and employing his time as inclination
prompted.

In the comprehensive course of study to which he had so long devoted
his attention, he had not omitted that immemorial stereotyped
volume--Human Nature--which, despite the attempted revisions of sages,
politicians, and ecclesiastics, remains as immutable as the
everlasting hills; printing upon the leaves of the youngest century
phases of guilt and guilelessness which find their prototypes in the
gray dawn of time, when the "morning stars sang together,"--yea, busy
to-day as of yore, slaughtering Abel, stoning Stephen, fretting Moses,
crucifying Christ. Finding much that was admirable, and more that
seemed ignoble, he gravely and reverently sought to possess himself of
the subtle arcana of this marvellous book, rejecting as equally
erroneous and unreliable the magnifying zeal of optimism and the
gloomy jaundiced lenses of sneering pessimism,--thoroughly satisfied
that it was a solemn duty, obligatory upon all, to study that complex
paradoxical human nature, for the mastery of which Lucifer and Jesus
had ceaselessly battled since the day when Adam and Eve were called
"to dress and to keep" the Garden by the Euphrates,--that heaven-born,
heaven-cursed, restless human nature, which now, as then,--

  "Grasps at the fruitage forbidden,
  The golden pomegranates of Eden,
  To quiet its fever and pain."

A few days' residence under the same roof, and a guarded observation
of Salome's conduct, sufficed to acquaint Dr. Grey with the ungenerous
motives that induced her chagrin at his return; and, without
permitting her to suspect that he had so accurately read her
character, he endeavored as unobtrusively as possible to bridge by
kindness and courtesy the chasm of jealous distrust which divided
them.

Indolent and self-indulgent, she neither brooked dictation, nor
gracefully accepted any suggestions at variance with the reigning
whim; for, since she became an inmate of Miss Jane's hospitable home,
existence had been a mere dreamy, aimless succession of golden dawns
and scarlet-curtained sunsets--a slow, quiet lapsing of weeks into
months,--an almost stagnant stream curled by no eddies, freighted with
few aspirations, bearing no drift.

The circumstances and associations of her early life had destroyed her
faith in abstract nobility of character; self-abnegation she neither
comprehended nor deemed possible; and of a stern, innate moral heroism
she was utterly sceptical; consequently a delicately graduated scale
of selfishness was the sole balance by which she was wont to weigh men
and women.

Her irregular method of study and desultory reading had rather
enervated than strengthened a mind naturally clear and vigorous, and
left its acquisitions in a confused and kaleidoscopic mass, bordering
upon intellectual salmagundi.

One warm afternoon, on his return from town, as Dr. Grey ascended the
steps he noticed Salome reclining on a bamboo settee at the western
end of the gallery, where the sunshine was hot and glaring,
unobstructed by the thin leafy screen of vines that drooped from
column to column on the southern and eastern sides of the building. If
conscious of his approach she vouchsafed not the slightest intimation
of it, and when he stood beside her she remained so immovable that he
might have imagined her asleep but for the lambent light which rayed
out from eyes that seemed intently numbering the soft fluttering young
leaves on a distant clump of elm trees, which made a lace-like tracery
of golden glimmer and quivering shadow on the purple-headed clover at
their feet.

Her fair but long slender fingers carelessly held a book that
threatened to slip from their light relaxing grasp, and compressing
his lips in order to smother a smile under his heavy moustache, Dr.
Grey stooped and put his hand on her plump white wrist, where the blue
veins were running riot.

"So young,--yet cataleptic! Unfortunate, indeed," he murmured.

She shook off his touch, and instantly sat erect.

"I should be glad to know what you mean."

"I have an admirable, nay, I venture to add, an almost infallible
prescription for catalepsy, which has cured two chronic and apparently
hopeless cases, and it will afford me great pleasure to try the third
experiment upon you, since you seem pitiably in want of a remedy."

"Thank you. Were I as free from all other ills that 'flesh is heir
to,' as I certainly am of the taint of catalepsy, I might indeed
congratulate myself upon an immunity which would obviate the dire
necessity of ever meeting a physician."

"Are you sure that you sufficiently understand the symptoms, to
recognize them unerringly?"

The rose tint in her cheeks deepened to scarlet, as she haughtily drew
herself up to her full height, and answered,--

"Dr. Grey himself is not more sagacious and adroit in detecting them;
especially when open eyes discover unwelcome and disagreeable objects,
which, wishing to avoid, they are still compelled to see. I hope you
are satisfied that I comprehend you."

"My meaning was not so occult as to justify a doubt upon that subject;
and moreover, Salome, lack of astuteness is far from being your
greatest defect. My motive should eloquently plead pardon for my
candor, if I venture to tell you that your frequent affectation of
unconsciousness of the presence of others, 'is a custom more honored
in the breach than the observance,' and may prove prolific of
annoyance in coming years; for courtesy constitutes the keystone in
the beautiful arch of social amenities which vaults the temple of
Christian virtues. Lest you should take umbrage at my frankness, which
ought to assure you of my interest in your happiness and improvement,
permit me to remind you of the oriental definition of a faithful
friend, that has more pith than verbal polish,--

  "The true friend is not he who holds up Flattery's mirror,
    In which the face to thy conceit most pleasing hovers;
  But he who kindly shows thee all thy vices, sirrah!
    And helps thee mend them ere an enemy discovers."

Rising, Salome swept him a profound courtesy, and, while her fingers
beat a tattoo on the book she held, she watched him with a peculiar
sparkle in her eyes, which he had already learned to understand was a
beacon flame kindled by intense displeasure. Dr. Grey seated himself,
and, taking off his hat, said gently and winningly, as he pushed aside
the hair that clustered in brown rings over his forehead,--

"Here is ample room for both of us. Sit down, and be reasonable; and
let me catch a glimpse of the amiable elements which I feel assured
must exist somewhere in your nature, notwithstanding your persistent
endeavor to conceal them. Your Janus character has hitherto breathed
only war--war; but, my young friend, I earnestly invoke its peaceful
phase."

The kindness of tone and evident sincerity of manner might have
disarmed a prejudice better founded than hers; but wrath consumed all
scruples, and, recollecting his forbearance with various former acts
of rudeness, she presumed to attempt further aggressions.

Waving her hand in tacit rejection of the proffered share of the
settee, she answered with more emphasis than perspicuity demanded,--

"Does your reading of the book of Job encourage you to believe that
when those self-appointed counsellors--Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad
the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite--returned to their respective
homes, they had cause to congratulate themselves upon their cordial
welcome to Job's bank of ashes, or felt bountifully repaid for their
voluntary mission of advice?"

"Unfortunately, no. My study of the record of the man of Uz renders
painfully patent that humiliating fact--old as humanity--that sanctity
of motive is no coat-of-mail to the luckless few who bravely bear to
the hearts of those with whom they associate the unwelcome burden of
unflattering truths. Phraseology--definitions--vary with advancing
centuries, but not so the human impulses they express or explain; and
friendship in the days of Job was the identical 'Mutual Admiration
Society,' which at present converts its consistent servile members
into Damon and Pythias, but punishes any violation of its canons with
hatred dire and inextinguishable. Were I blessed with the genius of
Praxiteles or of Angelo, I would chisel and bequeath to the world a
noble statue,--typical of that rare, fearless friendship, which,
walking through the lazaretto of diseased and morbid natures, bears
not honied draughts alone, but scalpel, caustic, and bitter tonics."

The calm sweetness of voice and mien lent to his words an influence
which no amount of gall or satire could have imparted; and, in the
brief silence that ensued, Salome's heart was suddenly smitten with a
humiliating consciousness of her childish flippancy,--her utter
inferiority to this man, who seemed to walk serenely in a starry plane
far beyond the mire where she grovelled.

Ridicule braced and exaggerated her weaknesses, and the strokes of
sarcasm she could adroitly parry; but for persistent magnanimity she
was no match, and recoiled before it like the traditional Fiend at
sight of the _Santo Sudario_. Watching her companion's quiet
countenance, she saw a shadow drift over it, betokening neither anger
nor scorn, but serious regret; and involuntarily she drooped her head
to avoid the eyes that now turned full upon her.

"Since I became a man, and to some extent capable of discriminating
with reference to the characters of persons with whom I found myself
in contact, I have made and invariably observed one rule of
conduct,--namely, never to associate with those whom I cannot
respect. Ignorance, want of refinement, irritability of temper, and
even lack of generous impulses, I can forgive, when redeemed by candor
and stern honesty of purpose; but arrogance, dissimulation, and
all-absorbing selfishness I will not tolerate. In you I hoped and
expected better qualities than you permit me to find, and I trust you
will acquit me of intentional rudeness if I acknowledge that you have
painfully disappointed me. It was, and still is, my earnest wish to
befriend and to aid you,--to contribute to your happiness, and
cordially sympathize in any annoyances that may surround you; but thus
far you have rendered it impossible for me to esteem you, and while I
do not presume that my good opinion is of any importance to you, our
present relations compel me to request that our intercourse may in
future be characterized by more urbanity than has yet graced it. My
sister has been much pained by the feelings with which you evidently
regard me, and since you and I are merely guests under her roof, a due
deference to her wishes should certainly repress the exhibition of
antipathies towards those whom she loves. It is her earnest desire (as
expressed in a conversation which I had with her yesterday) that I
should treat you as a young sister; and, for her sake, I offer you
once more, and for the last time, my hearty assistance in any
department in which I am able to render it."

"The folds of your flag of truce do not conceal the drawn sword
beneath it; and let me tell you, sir, it is very evident that
'demand' would far better have expressed your purpose than the
word 'request.'"

"At least you should not be surprised if I doubt whether you regard
any truce as inviolable, and am inclined to suspect you of latent
treachery."

"Your accusation of dissimulation is unjust, for I have openly,
fearlessly manifested my prejudice--my aversion."

"That you dislike me is my misfortune, but that you allow your
detestation to generate discord in our small circle is an error which
I trust you will endeavor to correct. That I have many faults I shall
not attempt to deny; but mutual forbearance will prove a mutual
blessing. For Jane's sake, shall there not be peace between us?"

Standing before her, he looked gravely down into her face, where flush
and sparkle had died out, and saw--what she was too proud to
confess--that he had partially conquered her waywardness, that she was
reluctantly yielding to his influence; but he understood her nature
too thoroughly to pause contented with this slight advantage in a
contest which he foresaw must determine the direction of her aims
through life.

"Salome, I am waiting for your decision."

Her lips stirred twice, but the words they framed were either too
haughty or too humble, for she refused them utterance; and, while she
deliberated, two tears settled the question by rolling swiftly over
her cheeks, and falling upon the cherry ribbon at her throat.

Accepting it as a tacit signature to his terms of capitulation, and
satisfied with the result, Dr. Grey forbore to urge verbal assurances.
Taking the book from her hand, he said, pleasantly,--

"Are you fond of French? I frequently find you poring over your
grammar."

"I have never had a teacher, nor have I conquered the conjugations;
consequently, I know comparatively little about the language."

"Are you studying it with the intention of familiarizing yourself with
French literature, or merely to enable you to translate the few
phrases that modern writers sprinkle through novels and essays?"

"For neither purpose, but simply because it is the court language of
the old world; and, if I should succeed in my hope of visiting Europe,
I might regret my ignorance of the universally received medium of
communication."

"Have you, then, no desire to master those noble bursts of eloquence
by which Racine, Bossuet, Fenelon, and Cousin have charmed the
intellects of all nations?"

"None, whatever. I might as well tell you at once, what you will
inevitably discover ere long if you condescend to inspect my meagre
attainments, that for abstract study I have no more inclination than
to fondle some mummy in the crypts of Cyrene, or play 'blind man's
buff' with the corpses in the Morgue. My limited investments of time
and thought in intellectual stock have been made solely with reference
to speedy dividends of most practical and immediate benefits; and
knowledge _per se_--knowledge which will not pay me handsome
interest--has no more value in my eyes than a handful of the dust of
those Atures found in the cavern of Ataruipe. Doubtless you think me
pitiably benighted, and possibly I might find more favor in your sight
if I affected a prodigious amount of literary enthusiasm, and
boundless admiration for scholarship and erudition; but that would
prove too troublesome an imposture,--for I am constitutionally,
habitually, and premeditatedly lazy."

She saw a smile lurking under his heavy lashes, and half ambushed in
the corners of his mouth; and, vaguely conscious that she was
rendering herself ridiculous, she bit her lip with ill-disguised
vexation.

"Salome, I am afraid that under the garb of a jest you are making me
acquainted with a very mournful truth. You have probably never heard
of Lessing,--Gotthold Ephraim Lessing."

"Oh, I am not quite as ignorant as a Pitcairn's Islander; and I think
I have somewhere seen that such a person as Lessing lived at
Wolfenbuettel. He once said, 'The chase is always worth more than
the quarry.' And again, 'Did the Almighty, holding in his right hand
Truth, and in his left Search after Truth, deign to proffer me the
one I might prefer,--in all humility, but without hesitation, I
should request Search after Truth.' When you have nothing more
important to occupy your attention, give ten minutes' reflection to
his admonition, and perhaps it may declare a dividend years hence.
Last week I found your algebra on the rug before the library grate,
and noticed several sums worked out in pencil on the margin. Are
you fond of mathematics?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"What progress have you made?"

"My knowledge of arithmetic is barely sufficient to take me through a
brief shopping expedition."

"Have you no ambition to increase it?"

"Dr. Grey, I have no ambition. That 'last infirmity of noble minds'
has never attacked me; and, folding my hands, I chant ceaselessly to
my soul, 'Take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.' The rapture of
the mathematician, who bows before the shrine of his favorite science,
is to my dull intellect as incomprehensible as the jargon of
metaphysics or the mysteries wrapped up in Pali cerements. Equations,
conic sections, differential calculus, constitute a skull and
cross-bones to which I allow as wide a berth as possible."

The weary dissatisfied expression of her large, luminous eyes, belied
the sneer in her voice and the curl of her thin lip, and it cost her
an effort to answer his next question.

"Will you tell me what rule you have adopted for the distribution of
your time, and the government of your life?"

"Yes, sir; you are heartily welcome to it: 'Yet a little slumber, a
little folding of the hands to sleep.' _Laissez nous faire_. Moreover,
Dr. Grey, if you will courteously lend me your ears, I will favor you
with a still more felicitous exposition of my invaluable organon."

Stooping suddenly, she raised from the floor a small volume which had
been concealed by her dress, and, as it opened at a page stained with
the juice of a purple convolvulus, she smiled defiantly, and read with
almost scornful emphasis,--

                         ... "'Ah, why
    Should life all labor be?
  Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
    And in a little while our lips are dumb.
  Let us alone. What is it that will last?
    All things are taken from us, and become
  Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
    Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
  To war with evil? Is there any peace
    In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
    All things have rest, and ripen towards the grave
  In silence; ripen, fall, and cease:
  Give us long rest or death; dark death or dreamful ease.'

There, Dr. Grey, you have my creed and method,--_Laissez nous
faire_."

With a degree of gravity that trenched on sternness, he bowed, and
answered,--

"So be it. I might insist that the closing lines of 'Ulysses' nobly
refute all the numbing heresy of the 'Lotos Eaters'--

           ... 'But something ere the end,
  Some work of noble note may yet be done.
  That which we are, we are:
  One equal templer of heroic hearts,
  Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
  To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'

But I would not rouse you from a lethargy, which, knowing it to be
fatal to all hopes of usefulness, you still deliberately prefer. Take
care, however, lest you bury the one original talent so deep that you
fail to unearth it when the Master demands it in the final day of
restitution. I have questioned you concerning your studies, because I
desired and intended to offer my services as tutor, while you
prosecuted mathematics and the languages; but I forbear to suggest a
course so evidently distasteful to you. Unless I completely misjudge
your character, I fear the day is not distant, when, haunted by ghosts
of strangled opportunities, you will realize the solemn and painful
truth, that,--

  'There is nothing a man knows, in grief or in sin,
  _Half so bitter as to think, What I might have been_!'"

CHAPTER III.

"Salome, you look so weary that I must insist upon relieving you. Give
me the book and run out for a breath of fresh air--a glimpse of blue
sky."

Dr. Grey laid his hand on the volume, but the girl shook her head and
pushed aside his fingers.

"I am not at all tired, and even if I were it would make no
difference. Miss Jane desires me to read this sermon aloud, and I
shall finish it."

The invalid, who had been confined to her bed for many days by a
severe attack of rheumatism, partially raised herself on one elbow,
and said,--

"My dear, give him the book, while you take a little exercise. You
have been pent up here long enough, and, moreover, I want to talk to
Ulpian about some business matters. Don't look so sullen, my child; it
makes no difference who reads the sermon to me. Kiss me, and run out
on the lawn."

The orphan relinquished chair and book, but there was no relaxation of
her bent brows, and neither warmth nor lingering pressure in the firm,
hardly drawn lips, which lightly touched the old lady's sallow,
wrinkled cheek. When she had left the room, closing the door after her
with more force than was requisite to bolt it securely, Miss Jane
sighed heavily, and turned to her brother.

"Poor thing! She is so jealous of you; and it distresses me to see
that no friendship grows up between you, as I hoped and believed would
be the case. If you would only notice her a little more I think you
might win her over."

"Leave it to time, Janet. I 'have piped unto her and she would not
dance; I have mourned unto her, and she has not lamented,'--and
concessions only feed her waywardness. If there be a residuum of good
sense and proper feeling in her nature, they will assert themselves
after a while; if not, all extraneous influences are futile. I will
resume the reading, if agreeable to you."

Moody and rebellious, Salome stood for some moments on the threshold
of the front door, staring vacantly out over the lawn; then, snatching
her hat from a hook in the hall, she swiftly crossed the grounds,
climbed over a low lattice fence at the foot of the declivity, and
followed a worn but neglected path leading into the adjoining forest.

The sanctity of the Sabbath afternoon rested like a benison over the
silent glades, where sunshine made golden roads along the smooth brown
pine straw, and glinted on the purple flags that fluttered in the mild
west wind. Even the melancholy plaint of sad-eyed dun doves was
hushed, as they slowly swung in the swaying pine-tops; and two young
lambs, neglected by the wandering flock, lay sleeping quietly, with
their snowy heads pillowed on clustering violets,--far from the fold,
forgotten by their mothers, at the mercy of strolling dogs, watched
only by the Great Shepherd.

Salome's rapid pace soon placed a mile between her and the fence that
bounded the lawn; and, pushing through the dense undergrowth which
betokened the proximity of a stream, she stood ere long on the margin
of a wide pond which supplied the broad, shining sheet of beryl water
that poured over the rocky dam, close to the large irregular building
called "Grey's Mill."

Piles of lumber were bleaching in the sunshine, but the machinery was
at rest, the workmen were all absent, and not a sound broke the
stillness, save the steady, monotonous chant of the water leaping down
into the race, where a thousand foam-flakes danced along towards the
huge wheels, and died on the soft green mosses and lush-creepers that
stole down to bathe in the sparkling wavelets. The knotted roots of an
old beech tree furnished a resting-place, and Salome sat down and
leaned her head against the scarred trunk, where lightning had once
girdled and partially destroyed it,--leaving one-half the branches
leafy, the remainder scorched and barren.

Overhanging willows darkened the edges of the pond; and, in the
centre, one tall, venerable cypress, lonely as some palm in the
desert, rose like a gray shaft tufted with a fine fringe of fresh
green; and occasional clusters of broad, shining leaves, spread
themselves on the surface of the water, cradling large, snowy lilies,
whose gold-powdered stamens trembled ceaselessly. Now and then a trout
leaped up, as if for a breath of May air, and fell back into the
circle that widened until it touched either bank; and not far from a
cow who stood knee-deep in water, browsing on a wild rose that
clambered over the willows to peep at its pink image in the pond, a
proud pair of gray geese convoyed a brood of yellow younglings that
dived and breasted the ripples with evident glee.

With her arms clasped around her knees, Salome sat watching the blue
tendrils of smoke that rose from a clump of elms beyond the mill and
curled lazily upward until they lost themselves in air; and, though
the arching elm boughs hid mossy roof and chimney, she nevertheless
felt that she was looking on the old house where she was born, and
where ten dreary years of sorrow and humiliation had embittered and
perverted her nature.

Those elms had seen her mother die, had heard her father's drunken
revelry, and bent their aged heads to listen on that wild wintry
night, when in blood-curdling curses his soul rent itself from the
degraded tenement of clay. Apparently peace brooded over earth, sky,
and water; but to that lonely figure under the riven beech, every
object within the range of vision babbled horrible tales of the early
years, and memory pointed to a corner of the lumber-shed adjoining the
mill where she had often secreted herself to avoid her father's
brutality,--always keeping her head in the moonshine, because she
dreaded the darkness inside, which childish fancy filled with ghostly
groups. She hated the place as she hated the past, and this was the
second time she had visited it since the day that consigned her to the
poor-house; for it was impossible for her to look at the pond without
recollecting one dark passage in her life, known only to God and
herself. To-day she recalled, with startling vividness a dusky,
starlit June evening, when, maddened by an unmerited and unusually
severe punishment inflicted by her father, she had resolved to drown
herself, and find peace in the mud at the bottom of the mill-pond.
Placing her infant sister on the grass, she had kissed her good-by,
and selecting the deepest portion of the water, had climbed out on a
willow branch and prepared for the final plunge. Putting her fingers
in her ears that she might not hear the bubbling of the murderous
water, she shut her eyes and sprang into the pond; but her long hair
caught the willow twigs, and, half strangled and quite willing to
live, she scrambled up into the low limbs that seemed so anxious to
rescue her from a watery grave; and, dripping and trembling, crept
back to the house, comforting herself with the grim assurance that
whatever else might befall, she certainly was not foreordained to be
either beaten to death or drowned. The impulse which had brought her
on this occasion to a scene so fraught with harrowing memories, was
explicable only by the supposition that its painful surroundings were
in consonance with the bitter and despondent mood in which she found
herself; and, in the gloom that this retrospection shed over her
countenance, her features seemed to grow wan and angular. For several
days she had been sorely disquieted by the realization of Miss Jane's
rapidly failing strength; and the probability of her death, which a
year ago would have been entirely endurable as an avenue to wealth,
now appeared the direst catastrophe that had yet threatened her
ill-starred life.

It was distressing to think of the kind old face growing stiff in a
shroud, but infinitely more appalling to contemplate the possibility
of being turned out of a comfortable home and driven to labor for a
maintenance. Salome had a vague impression that either Providence or
the world owed her a luxurious future, as partial compensation for her
juvenile miseries; but since both seemed disposed to repudiate the
debt, she was reluctantly compelled to ponder her prospective
bankruptcy in worldly goods, and, like the unjust steward, while
unwilling to work she was still ashamed to beg.

Although she strenuously resisted the strong, steady influence so
quietly exerted by Dr. Grey, the best elements of her nature, long
dormant, began to stir feebly, and she was conscious of nobler
aspirations than those which had hitherto swayed her; and of a
dimly-defined self-dissatisfaction that was novel and annoying.
Unwilling to admit that she valued his good opinion, she nevertheless
felt chagrined at her failure to possess it, and gradually she
realized her utter inferiority to this man, whose consistent Christian
character commanded an entire respect which she had never before
entertained for any human being. Immersed in vexing thoughts
concerning her future, she mechanically stretched out her hand to
pluck a bunch of phlox and of lemon-hued primroses that were nodding
in the sunshine close to her feet; but, as she touched the stems, a
large copper- snake slowly uncoiled from the tuft of grass
where they nestled and, gliding into the water, disappeared in the
midst of the lilies.

"I wonder if throughout life all the flowers I endeavor to grasp will
prove only Moccasin-beds! Why should they,--unless God abdicates and
Satan reigns? I have found, to my cost, that existence is not made
entirely of rainless June days; but I doubt whether darkness and
storms shut out the warm glow and perpetually curtain the stars.
Obviously I am no saint; still, I am disposed to believe I am not
altogether wicked. I have committed no capital sins, nor grievously
transgressed the decalogue,--and why should I despair of my share of
the good things of life? I am neither Cain nor Jezebel, and therefore
Fates and Furies have no warrant to dog my footsteps. Moreover, how do
I know that Destiny is indeed the hideous, vindictive crone that
luckless wretches have painted her, instead of an amiable, good soul,
who is quite as willing to scatter blessings as curses? Because some
dyspeptic Greek dreamed of three pitiless old weavers, blind to human
tears, deaf to human petitions, why should we wise and enlightened
people of the nineteenth century scare ourselves with the skeleton of
Paganism? I have as inalienable a right to brocades, crown-jewels, and
a string of titles, as any reigning queen, provided I can only get my
hands upon them; and, since life seems to be a sort of snatch-and-hold
game, quick keen eyes and nimble fingers decide the question. I have
never trodden on the world's tender toes, nor smitten its pet follies,
nor set myself aloft to gaze pityingly on its degradation, therefore,
the world honors me with no special grudge. But one thing is
mournfully certain,--my path is not strewn with loaves and fishes
ready baked and broiled, and I must even go gleaning and fishing for
myself. Almost everybody has some gift or some mission; but I really
do not see in what direction I can set to work. Work! How I hate the
bare thought! I have not sufficient education to teach, nor genius to
write, nor a talent for drawing, and barely music enough in my soul to
enable me to carry the church tunes respectably. Come, Salome Owen!
Shake off your sloth, and face the abominable fact that you must earn
your own bread. It is a great shame, and I ought not to be obliged to
work, for I am not responsible for my existence, and those who brought
me into the world owed it to me to provide for my wants. I cannot and
will not forgive my father and mother; but that will not mend matters,
since, nevertheless, here I am, with a body to feed and clothe, and
God only knows how I am to accomplish it. I find myself with youth,
health, some beauty, an average share of intellect, and all the wants
pertaining thereunto. If the worst comes to the worst I suppose I can
contrive, like other poverty-stricken girls, to marry somebody who
will support me comfortably; but that is rather an uncertain
speculation, and meantime Miss Jane might die. Now, if the Bible is
true, it must indeed be a blessed lot to be born a brown sparrow, and
have the Lord for a commissary. I am a genuine child of old Adam, and
labor is the heaviest curse that could possibly be sent upon me."

Once or twice during this profitless reverie she had paused to listen
to a singular sound that came from a dense group of willows not far
from the spot where she sat, and now it grew louder, swelling into a
measured cry, as of a child in great distress.

"Somebody in trouble, but it does not concern me; I have enough and to
spare, of my own."

She settled herself once more quite comfortably, but the low,
monotonous wail, smote her heart, and womanly sympathy with suffering
strangled her constitutional selfishness. Rising, she crept cautiously
along the edge of the pond until she reached the thicket whence the
sound proceeded, and, as she pushed aside the low branches and peeped
into the cool, green nook, her eyes fell upon the figure of a little
boy who lay on the ground, rolling from side to side and sobbing
violently.

"What is the matter? Are you sick or hungry?"

Startled by the sound of her voice, the child uttered a scream of
terror, and whirled over, hiding his face in the leaves and grass.

"For Heaven's sake, stop howling! What are you about,--wallowing here
in the mud, ruining your clothes, and yelling like a hyena? Hush, and
get up."

"Oh, please, ma'am, don't tell on me! Don't carry me back, and I will
hush!"

"Where do you live?"

"Nowhere. Oh!--oh!" And he renewed his cries.

"A probable story. What is your name?"

"Haven't got any name."

"You have no name, and you live nowhere? Come, little fellow, this
will never do. I am afraid you are a very bad boy and have run away
from home to escape being punished. Hush this instant!"

He had kept his face carefully concealed, and, resolved to ascertain
the truth, Salome stooped and tried to lift him; but he struggled
desperately, and screamed frantically,--

"Let me alone! I won't go back! I will jump into the pond and drown
myself if you don't let me alone."

He was so hoarse from constant crying that she could recognize no
familiar tones in his voice, but a great dread seized her, and,
suddenly putting her hands under his head, she forced the face up, and
looked at the flushed, swollen features.

"Stanley! Is it possible? My poor little brother!"

The equally astonished boy started up, and stared half wistfully, half
fearfully, at the figure standing before him.

"Is it you, Salome? I did not know you."

"How came you here? When did you leave the Asylum?"

"I ran away, three days ago."

"Why?"

"Because I was tired of living there, and I wanted to come back
home."

"Home, indeed! You miserable begger, don't you know you have no home
but the Orphan Asylum?"

"Yes, I have. I want to come back yonder. Don't you see home yonder,
among the trees, with the pretty white and speckled pigeons flying
over it?"

He pointed across the pond to the old house beyond the mill, whose
outlines were visible through the openings in the elms; and, as he
gazed upon it with that intense longing so touching in a child's face,
his sobs increased.

"Stanley, that is not your home now. Other people live there, and you
have no right to come back. Why did you run away from the Asylum? Did
they treat you unkindly?"

"No,--yes. They whipped me because I cried and said I hated to stay
there, and wanted to come home."

Salome looked at the soiled, torn clothes, and sorrowful face; and,
bursting into tears, she bent forward and drew her brother to her
bosom. He put his arms around her neck, and kissed her cheek several
times, saying, softly and coaxingly,--

"Sister Salome, you won't send me back, will you? Please let me stay
with you, and I will be a good boy."

For some minutes she was unable to reply, and wept silently as she
smoothed the tangled hair back from the child's white forehead and
pressed her lips to it.

"Stanley, how is Jessie? Where did you leave her?"

"She is well, and I left her at the Asylum. She had a long cry the
night I ran away, and said she wanted to see you, and she thought you
had forgotten us both. You know, Salome, it is over a year since you
came to see us, and Jessie and I are so lonesome there, we hate the
place."

"What were you crying so bitterly about when I found you, just now?"

"I am so hungry, and the man who lives yonder at home drove me away.
He said I was prowling around to steal something, and if he saw me
there any more he would shoot me. I ate my last piece of biscuit
yesterday."

"Why did you not come to me instead of the miller?"

"I was afraid you would send me back to the Asylum; but you won't,--I
know you won't, Salome."

"Suppose I had not happened to hear you crying,--what would have
become of you? Did you intend to starve here in the swamp?"

"I thought I would wait till the miller left home, and then beg his
wife to give me some bread, and, if I could get nothing, I was going
to pull up some carrots that I saw growing in a field back of the
house. Oh, Salome, I am so hungry and so tired!"

She sat down on a heap of last year's leaves, which autumn winds and
winter rains had driven against the trunk of a decayed and fallen
sweet-gum, and, drawing the weary head with its shock of matted yellow
curls to her lap, she covered her own face with her hands to hide the
hot tears that streamed over her cheeks.

"Salome, are you very mad with me?"

"Yes, Stanley; you have behaved very badly, and I don't know what I
ought to do with you."

He tried to put aside one of her shielding hands, and failing, wound
his arms around her waist, and nestled as close as possible.

"Sister, please let me stay and live with you, and I promise--I
declare--I will be a good boy."

"Poor little fellow! You don't in the least know what you are talking
about. How can you live with me when I have no home, and not a
dollar?"

"I thought you stayed with a rich lady, and had everything nice that
you wanted."

"I do not expect to have even a shelter much longer. The lady who
takes care of me is sick, and cannot live very long; and, when she
dies, I don't know where I shall go or what I may be obliged to do."

"If you will only keep me I will help you work. At the Asylum I saw
wood, and pick peas, and pull out grass and weeds from the strawberry
vines, and sometimes I sweep the yards. Just try me a little while,
Salome, and see how smart I can be."

"Would you be willing to leave poor little Jessie at the Asylum? If
she felt so lonesome when you were there, how will she get along
without you?"

"Oh, we could steal her out some night, and keep her with us. Salome,
I tell you I don't mean to go back there. I will die first. I will
drown myself, or run away to sea. I would rather starve to death here
in the swamp. Everybody else can get a home, and why can't we?"

"Because your father was a drunkard, and left his children to the
charity of the poor-house; and, God knows, I heartily wish we were all
screwed down in the same coffin with him. You and I, Jessie, and Mark,
and Joel are all beggars--miserable beggars! Hush, Stanley, you will
sob yourself into a fever! Stop crying, I say, if you do not want to
drive me crazy! I thought I had trouble enough, without being
tormented by the sight of your poor, wretched face; and now, what to
do with you I am sure I don't know. There--do be quiet. Take your arms
away; I don't want you to kiss me any more."

In the long silence that succeeded, the child, spent with grief and
fatigue, fell into a sound sleep, and Salome sat with his head in her
lap and her clasped hands resting on her knee.

The afternoon slowly wore away, and the dimpled pond caught
lengthening shadows on its surface as the sun dipped into the forest.
The measured tinkle of a distant bell told that the cows were wending
quietly homeward; and, while the miller's wife drove her geese into
the yard, the pigeons nestled in their leafy coverts high among the
elm arches, and the solemn serenity of coming summer night stole with
velvet tread over the scene, silencing all things save the silvery
barcarolle of the falling water, and the sweet, lonely vesper hymn of
a whippoorwill, half hidden in the solitary cypress.

Although tears came very rarely to her eyes, the orphan had wept
bitterly, and, surprised at finding herself so completely unnerved on
this occasion, she made a powerful effort to regain her composure and
usual stolidity of expression. Shaking the little sleeper, she
said,--

"Wake up, Stanley. Get your hat and come with me, at least for
to-night."

The child was too weary to renew the conversation, and, hand in hand,
the two walked silently on until they approached the confines of the
farm, when Salome suddenly paused at sight of Dr. Grey, who was
crossing the pine forest just in front of them. Pressing his sister's
hand, Stanley looked up and asked, timidly,--

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Hush! I have not fully decided."

She endeavored to elude observation by standing close to the body of a
large pine, but Dr. Grey caught a glimpse of her fluttering dress,
and came forward rapidly, carrying in his arms one young lamb and
driving another before him.

"Salome, will you be so good as to assist me in shepherding this
obstinate little waif? It has been running hither and thither for
nearly half an hour, taking every direction but the right one. If you
will either walk on and lower the bars for me or drive this lamb while
I go forward, you will greatly oblige me. Pardon me,--you look
distressed. Something painful has occurred, I fear."

The girl's usually firm mouth trembled as she laid her hand on the
torn straw hat that shaded Stanley's features, and answered,
hurriedly,--

"Yes. We have both stumbled upon stray lambs; but mine, unfortunately,
happens to prove my youngest brother, and, since I am neither Reuben
nor Judah, I could not leave him in the woods to perish. Stanley, run
on and pull down the bars yonder, where you see the sheep looking
through the fence."

"How old is he?"

"About eight years, I believe, but he is small for his age."

"He does not in the least resemble you."

"No; pitiable little wretch, he looks like nothing but destitution!
When a poor man dies, leaving a houseful of beggarly orphans, the
State ought to require the undertaker who buries him to shoot or hang
the whole brood, and lay them all in the Potter's Field out of the
world's way."

"Such words and sentiments are strangely at variance with the
affectionate gentleness and resignation which best become womanly
lips, and I pity the keen suffering that wrings them from yours. He
who 'setteth the solitary in families' never yet failed in loving
guardianship of trusting orphanage, and certainly you have no cause to
upbraid fate, or impiously murmur against the decrees of your God."

He stood before her, with one hand stroking the head of the lamb that
nestled on his bosom; but his face was sterner, his voice far more
severe, than she had ever known either before, and her eyes fell
beneath the grave and sorrowful rebuke which looked out from his.

"Your brother ran away from the Asylum, three days ago."

"How did you ascertain that fact?"

"About an hour after you left the house, the matron of the Asylum sent
to inquire whether you were aware of his absence, and to notify you
that your little sister Jessie is quite ill. I was searching for you,
when I accidentally found these lambs, deserted by their mother. Thank
you, Stanley; I will put up the bars, and you can go to the house with
your sister. Salome, the carriage is ready, and if you desire to see
Jessie immediately I will take you over as soon as possible. There is
a full moon, and you can return with me or remain at the Asylum until
morning. Confer with my sister concerning the disposal of this little
refugee."

He patted the boy's head, and entered the sheepfold, while Salome
stood leaning against the fence, looking vacantly down at the bleating
flock.

Catching her brother's hand, she hurried to the house, bathed his
face, brushed his disordered hair, and gave him a bountiful supper of
bread and milk; after which, Jane Grey ordered the little culprit
brought to her bedside, where she delivered a kind lecture on his
sinful disobedience. When Dr. Grey entered the room, Salome was
standing at the window, while Stanley clung to her dress, hiding his
face in its folds, vowing vehemently that he would not return to the
Asylum, and protesting with many sobs that he would be the best boy in
the world if he were only allowed to remain at the farm.

"Salome, do quiet him; he will fret himself into a fever," said Miss
Jane, whose nerves began to quiver painfully.

"He has it already," answered the girl, without turning her head. She
did not observe Dr. Grey's entrance, and when he approached the
window, where the mellow moonshine streamed full on her face, he saw
tears stealing over her cheeks, and noticed that her fingers were
clenched tightly.

"Salome, do you wish to see Jessie to-night? She has had convulsions
during the day, and may not live until morning."

She looked up at his grave, noble countenance, and her lips fluttered
as she answered, huskily,--

"I can do nothing for her, and why should I see her die?"

"To whose care was she committed by her dying mother?"

"To mine."

"Have you faithfully kept the sacred trust?"

"I did all that I could until Miss Jane placed her in the asylum."

"Does your conscience acquit you?"

She silently dropped her face in her hands, and for some seconds he
watched her anxiously.

"Have you and Janet decided what shall be done with Stanley?"

"No; the longer I ponder the matter, the more confused my mind
becomes."

"Will you leave it in my hands, and abide by my decision?"

"Yes, gladly."

"You promise to be satisfied with any course upon which I may
resolve?"

Looking up quickly, she exclaimed,--

"Oh, yes; I trust you, fully. Do what you think best."

Dr. Grey put his hand under Stanley's chin, and, lifting his face,
examined his countenance and felt his pulse.

"He is only frightened and fatigued. Put him to bed at once in your
room, and then let me take you to see little Jessie. If you fail to
go, you might reproach yourself in coming years."

It was nine o'clock when the carriage stopped at the door of the
Asylum, and Salome and Dr. Grey went up to the "Infirmary," where the
faithful matron sat beside one of the little beds, watching the deep
slumber of the flushed and exhausted sleeper.

The disease had almost spent its force, the crisis was passed, and the
attending physician had pronounced the patient much better; still,
when Salome stooped to kiss her sister, the matron held her back,
assuring her that perfect quiet was essential for her recovery.
Kneeling there beside the motherless girl, Salome noted the changes
that time and suffering had wrought on the delicate features; and, as
she listened to the quick, irregular breathing, the fountain of
tenderness was suddenly unsealed in her own nature, and she put out
her arms, yearning to clasp Jessie to her heart. So strong were her
emotions, so keen was her regret for past indifference and neglect,
that she lost all self-control, and, unable to check her passionate
weeping, Dr. Grey led her from the room, promising to bring her again
when the sick child was sufficiently strong to bear the interview.

During the ride homeward he made no effort to divert her thoughts or
relieve her anxiety, knowing that although severe it was a healthful
regimen for her long indurated heart, and was the _renaissance_ of her
better nature.

When they arrived at home, the moon was shining bright and full, and,
as they waited on the gallery for a servant to open the door, Dr. Grey
drew most favorable auguries from the chastened, blanched face, with
its humbled and grieved expression.

"Salome, I shall for the present keep Stanley here; and, until I can
make some satisfactory arrangement with reference to his education, I
would be glad to have you hear his recitations every day. Have you the
requisite leisure to superintend his lessons?"

"Yes, sir. I have not deserved this kindness from you, Dr. Grey; but I
thank you, from my inmost heart. You are good enough to forgive my
many offences, and I shall not soon forget it."

"Salome, you owe me no gratitude, but there is much for which you
should go down on your knees and fervently thank your merciful God. My
young friend, will you do this?"

He extended his hand, and, unable to utter a word, Salome gave him
hers, for a second only, and hastened to her own room, where Stanley's
fair face lay in the golden moonlight, radiant with happy dreams of
white pigeons and pet lambs.

CHAPTER IV.

"Don't strangle me, Jessie! Put down your arms, and listen to me.
Sobbing will not mend matters, and you might as well make up your mind
to be patient. Of course I should like to take you with me, if I had
a home; but, as I told you just now, we are so poor that we must live
where we can, not where we prefer. Because I wear nice pretty clothes
do you suppose I have a pocketful of money? I have not a cent to buy
even a loaf of bread, and I can't ask Miss Jane to take care of you as
well as of Stanley and myself. Poor little thing, don't cry so! I know
you are lonely here without Stanley, but it can't be helped. Jessie,
don't you see that it can not be helped?"

"I don't eat so very much, and I could sleep with Buddie and wouldn't
be in the way,--and I can wear my old clothes. Oh, please, Salome! I
will die if you leave me here."

"You will do no such thing; you are getting well as fast as possible.
Crying never kills people,--it only makes their heads ache, and their
eyes red and ugly. See here, if you don't stop all this, I shall quit
coming to see you! Do you hear what I say?"

The only reply was a fresh sob, which the child strove to smother by
hiding her face in Salome's lap.

The matron, who sat by the open window, looked up from the button-hole
she was working, and, clearing her throat, said,--

"Better let her have her cry out,--that is the surest cure for such
troubles as hers. She was always manageable and good enough until
Stanley ran away, and since then she does nothing but mope and bite
her finger-nails. Cry away, Jessie, and have done with it. Ah, miss,
the saddest feature about Asylums is the separation of families;
and if the matron had a heart of stone it would melt sometimes at
sight of these little motherless things clinging to each other. I'm
sure I have shed a gallon of tears since I came here. It is a
fearful responsibility to take charge of an institution like this,
for if I try to make the children respect my authority, and behave
themselves properly, outsiders 'specially the neighbors, says I am
too severe; and if I let them frolic and romp and make as much din
and uproar as they like, why, then the same folks scandalize me
and the managers, and say there is no sort of discipline maintained.
I verily believe, miss, that if an angel came down from heaven to
matronize these children, before six months elapsed all the
godliness would be worried out of her soul by the slanders of the
public and the squabbles of the children. Now I don't confess to be
an angel, but I do claim a conscience, and God knows I make it a
rule to treat these orphans exactly as I treated my own and only
child, whom I buried three years ago. Do you suppose that any woman
who has laid her first-born in its coffin could be brutal enough to
maltreat poor little motherless lambs? I don't deny that sometimes I
am compelled to punish them, for it is as much my duty to whip them
for bad conduct as to see that their meals are properly cooked and
their clothes kept in order. Am I to let them grow up thieves and
liars? Must I stand by and see them pull out each other's hair and
bite off one another's ears?"

"Of course not, Mrs. Collins. You must preserve some discipline."

"Must I? Well, miss, I will show you how beautifully that sounds and
how poorly it works. There is your brother Stanley (I mean no offence,
miss, but special cases explain better than generalities),--there's
your brother Stanley, who ran away--for what?"

"Because he was homesick and wanted to see me."

"No such thing, begging your pardon. Perhaps he told you that, but
remember there are always two sides to every tale. The truth of the
matter is just this: Stanley has an ugly habit of cursing, which I
will not tolerate; and, twice when I heard him swearing at the other
children, I shamed him well and slapped him soundly. Last week I told
him and Joe Clark to shell a basket of peas, while the cook was making
some ginger-bread for them, and before I was out of the room they
commenced quarrelling. They raised such an uproar that I came back and
saw the whole fray. Stanley cursed Joe, who expostulated and tried to
pacify him, and when he finally threatened to tell me that Stanley was
cursing again, your brother snatched a hatchet that was lying on the
dresser and swore he would kill him if he did. He aimed a blow at
Joe's head, but slipped on the pea-hulls, and the hatchet struck the
boy's right foot, cutting off one of his toes. Now what would you have
done, under the circumstances,--allowed the children to be tomahawked
in that style? You say I must have discipline. Well, miss, I tried to
'discipline' Stanley's wickedness out of him by giving him a whipping,
and the end of the matter was that he ran away that afternoon. That is
not the worst of it,--for the children all know the facts, and since
they find that Stanley Owen can run away and be sustained in his
disobedience, of course it tends to demoralize them. So I say that if
I do my duty I am lashed by the tongues of people who know nothing of
the circumstances; and if I fail to perform my duty I am lashed by my
own conscience,--and between the two I have a sorrowful time; for I
declare to you, miss, that Stephen's martyrdom was a small affair in
comparison with what I pass through every week. I love the children
and try to be kind to them, but I can't have them cursing and swearing
like sailors, and scalping each other. I must either raise them like
Christians, or resign my situation to some one who is 'wise as
serpents and harmless as doves.' It is all very fine to talk of
'proper discipline' in charitable institutions; but, miss, in the name
of common sense, how can I get along unless the friends of the
children sustain me? Did you punish Stanley, and send him back? On the
contrary, you countenanced his bad conduct and kept him with you, and
it is perfectly natural that little Jessie here should be dissatisfied
and anxious to join him. I can't scold her, for I know she misses her
brother, who was always very tender and considerate in his treatment
of her."

"I appreciate the difficulties which surround you, and believe that
you are conscientiously striving to do your duty towards these
children; but I knew that if I compelled Stanley to return it would
augment instead of correcting the mischief."

At this juncture the matron was summoned from the room, and, during
the silence that ensued, Jessie climbed into her sister's lap, wound
her thin arms around her neck, and softly rubbed her pale cheek
against the polished rosy face, where perplexity and annoyance were
legibly written.

"Salome, don't you love me a little?"

"Of course I do; Jessie, don't be so foolish."

"Please let me go with you and Stanley."

"Do you want to starve,--you poor silly thing?"

"Yes; I would rather starve with Buddie than stay here by myself."

"I want to hear no more of such nonsense. You have not tried starving,
and you are too young to know what is really for your good. Now,
listen to me. At present I am obliged to leave you here,--come, don't
begin crying again; but, if you will be a good girl and try not to
fret over what cannot be helped, I promise you that just as soon as I
can possibly support you I will take you to live with me."

"How long must I wait?"

"Until I make money enough to feed and clothe you."

"Can't you guess when you can come for me?"

"No, for as yet I know not how I can earn a dollar; but, if you will
be patient, I promise to work hard for you and Stanley."

"I will be good. Salome, I have saved a quarter of a dollar that the
doctor gave me when I was sick,--because I let the blister stay on my
side a half hour longer; and I thought I would send it to Buddie, to
buy him some marbles or a kite; but I reckon I had better give it to
you to help us get a house."

She drew from her pocket a green calico bag, and, emptying the
contents into her hand, picked out from among brass buttons and bits
of broken glass a silver coin, which she held up triumphantly.

"No, Jessie,--keep it. Stanley has plenty of playthings, and you may
need it. Besides, your quarter would not go far, and I don't want it.
Good-bye, little darling. Try to give Mrs. Collins no trouble, and
recollect that when I promise you anything I shall be sure to keep my
word."

Salome drew the child's head to her shoulder, and, as she bent over
and kissed the sweet, pure lips, Jessie whispered, "When we say our
prayers to-night, we will ask God to send us some money to buy a home,
won't we? You know he made the birds feed Elijah."

"But we are not prophets, and ravens are not flying about with bags of
money under their wings."

"We do not know what God can do, and if we are only good, He is as
much bound to take care of us as of Elijah. He made the sky rain manna
and partridges for the starving people in the desert, and He is as
much our God as if we came out from Egypt under Moses. I know God will
help us, if we ask Him. I am sure of it; for last week I lost Mrs.
Collins' bunch of keys, and, when I could not find them anywhere, I
prayed to God to help me, and, sure enough, I remembered I left them
in the dairy where I was churning."

Jessie's countenance was radiant with hope and faith, which her sister
could not share, yet felt unwilling to destroy; and, checking the
heavy sigh that rose from her oppressed heart, she hastily quitted the
house.

In the midst of confused and perturbed reflections, rose like some
lonely rock-based beacon in boiling waves her sacred promise to the
trusting child, and ingenuity was racked to devise some means for its
prompt fulfilment. Consanguinity began to urge its claim vehemently,
and long dormant tenderness pleaded piteously for exiled idols.

"If I were only a Christian, like Dr. Grey! His faith, like strong
wings, bears him high above all sloughs of despond, all morasses of
moodiness. People cannot successfully or profitably serve two masters.
That is eminently true; not because it is scriptural, but _vice
versa_; because it is so obviously true it could not escape a place in
the Bible. Half work pays poor wages, and it is not surprising that
neither God nor Mammon will patiently submit to it. I suppose the time
has come when I must bargain myself to one or the other; for,
hitherto, I have declared in favor of neither. I am not altogether
sanctified, nor yet desperately wicked, but I hate Satan, who ruined
my father, infinitely more than I dislike the restrictions of
religion. I owe him a grudge for all the shame and suffering of my
childhood,--which, if God did not interfere to prevent, at least there
is strong presumptive evidence that he took no pleasure in witnessing.
I don't suppose I have any faith; I scarcely know what it means; but
perhaps if I try to serve God instead of myself, it will come to me
as it came to Paul and Thomas. I wonder whether mere abstract love of
righteousness and of the Lord drives half as many persons into
Christian churches as the fear of eternal perdition. I don't deny that
I am afraid of Satan, for if he contrives to smuggle so much sin and
sorrow into this world what must his own kingdom be? If there be any
truth in the tradition that every human being is afflicted by some
besetting sin that crouches at the door of the soul, lying in ambush
to destroy it, then my own 'Dweller of the Threshold,' is love of mine
ease. Time was when I would have bartered my eternal heritage for a
good-sized mess of earthly pottage, provided only it was well spiced
and garnished; but to-day I have no inclination to be swindled like
Esau. Idleness has well-nigh ruined me, so I shall take industry by
the horns, and laying thereon all my sins of indolence, drive it
before me as the Jews drove Apopompoeus."

She walked on in the direction of the town, turning her head neither
to right nor left, and keeping her eyes fixed on the blue air before
her, where imagination built a home, through whose spacious halls
Stanley and Jessie sported at will. On the principal street stood a
fashionable dress-making and millinery establishment, and thither
Salome bent her steps, resolved that the sun should not set without
having witnessed some effort to redeem the pledge given to Jessie.

Panoplied in Miss Jane's patronage, she demanded and obtained
admission to the inner apartment of this Temple of Fashion, where
presided the Pythoness whose oracular utterances swayed _le beau
monde_.

What passed between the two never transpired, even among the
apprentices that thronged the adjoining room; but when Salome left the
house she carried under her arm a large bundle which furnished work
for the ensuing fortnight.

Evening shadows overtook her, while yet a mile distant from home, and
as she passed a small cottage, where candle-light flared through the
open window, she saw Dr. Grey standing beside the bed, on which,
doubtless, lay some sufferer.

Ere many moments had elapsed, she heard his well-known footstep on
the rocky road, and involuntarily paused to greet him.

"What called you to old Mrs. Peterson's?"

"Her youngest grandchild is very ill with brain fever; so ill that I
shall return and sit up with him to-night."

"I was not aware that physicians condescended to act as mere
nurses,--to execute their own orders."

"Then I fear you have formed a very low estimate of the sacred
responsibilities of my profession, or of the characters of those who
represent it. The true physician combines the offices of surgeon,
doctor, nurse, and friend."

"Mrs. Peterson is almost destitute, and to a great extent dependent on
charity; consequently you need not expect to collect any fee."

"Knowing her poverty, I attend the family gratuitously."

"Is not your charity-list a very long one?"

"Could I divest myself of sympathy with the sufferings of those who
compose it I would not curtail it one iota; for I feel like Boerhaave,
who once said, 'My poor are my best patients; God pays for them.'"

"Then, after all, you are actuated merely by selfishness, and remit
payments in earthly dross,--in 'filthy lucre,'--in order to collect
your fees in a better currency, where thieves do not break through nor
steal?"

"'He that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker; but he that
honoreth Him, hath mercy on the poor.' If a tinge of selfishness
mingle with the hope of future reward, it will be forgiven, I trust,
by the great Physician, who, in sublimating human nature, seized upon
its selfish elements as powerful agencies in the regeneration of
mankind. An abstract worship of virtue is scarcely possible while
humanity is clothed with clay, and I am not unwilling to confess that
hope of eternal compensation influences my conduct in many respects.
If this be indeed only subtle selfishness, at least we shall be
pardoned by Him who promised to prepare a place in the Father's
mansion for those who follow His footsteps among the poor."

She looked up at him, with a puzzled, searching expression, that
arrested his attention, and exclaimed,--

"How singularly honest you are! I believe I could have faith if there
were more like you."

"Faith in what?"

"In the nobility of my race,--in the possibility of my own
improvement,--in the watchful providence of God."

"Salome, there is much sound philosophy in the eighty-seventh and
eighty-ninth maxims of cynical Rochefoucauld, 'It is more disgraceful to
distrust one's friends than to be deceived by them. Our mistrust
justifies the deceit of others.' My opportunities have been favorable
for studying various classes of men, and my own experience corroborates
the truth of Montaigne's sagacious remark, 'Confidence in another
man's virtue is no slight evidence of a man's own.' Try to cultivate
trust in your fellow creatures, and the bare show of faith will
sometimes create worth."

"Did Christ's show of confidence in Judas save him from betrayal?"

"Let us hope that he was the prototype of a very limited class. You
must not expect to find mankind divided into two great castes--one all
angels, the other comprising hopeless demons. On the contrary, noble
and most ignoble impulses alternately sway the actions and thoughts of
the majority of our race; and the saint of to-day is not unfrequently
tempted to become the fiend of to-morrow. Remember that the conflict
with sinful promptings begins in the cradle--ends only in the
coffin,--and try to be more charitable in your judgments."

They walked a few yards in silence, and at length Salome asked,--

"Were you not kept up all of last night?"

"Yes; I was obliged to ride fifteen miles to set a dislocated
shoulder."

"Then you must be exhausted from fatigue, and unfit for watching
to-night. Will you not allow me to relieve you, and take charge of
Mrs. Peterson's grandchild? I admit I am very ignorant; but I will
faithfully follow your directions, and I think you may venture to
trust me."

Confusion flushed her face as she made this proposition, but in the
pale, pearly lustre of the summer starlight, it was not visible.

"Thank you heartily, Salome. I could implicitly trust your intentions,
but the case is almost hopeless, and I fear you are too inexperienced
to render it safe for me to commit the child to your care. I
appreciate your kindness, but am too much interested in the boy to
leave him when the disease is at its crisis, and a cup of coffee will
strengthen me for the vigil. You have been to the Asylum this
afternoon; tell me something about little Jessie."

"She is still rather pale, but otherwise seems quite well again. Of
course she is dissatisfied since Stanley has left, and thinks she
ought to be allowed to follow his example; but I finally persuaded her
to remain there patiently, at least for the present. It is well that
the poor have their sensibilities blunted early in life, for they are
spared many sorrows that afflict those who are pampered by fortune and
rendered morbidly sensitive by years of indulgence and prosperity."

A metallic ring had crept into her voice, hardening it, and although
he could not distinctly see her countenance, he knew that the words
came through set teeth.

"Salome, I hope that I misunderstand you."

"No; unfortunately, you thoroughly comprehend me. Dr. Grey, were you
situated precisely as I find myself, do you suppose you would feel
your degradation as little as I seem to do? Do you think you would
relish the bread of charity as keenly as one, who, for courtesy's
sake, shall be nameless? Could you calmly stand by, and with utter
_sang froid_ see your brothers and sisters--your own flesh and
blood--drift on every chance wave, like some sodden crust or withered
weed on a stormy, treacherous sea? Would not your family pride bleed
and die, and your self-respect wail and shrivel and expire?"

"You have so grossly exaggerated and overcolored your picture that I
recognize little likeness to reality."

"I neither gloze nor mask; I simply front the facts, which are,
briefly, that you were nurtured in independence and trained to abhor
the crumbs that fall from other people's tables, while all heroic
aspirations and proud chivalric dreams were fed by the milk that
nourished you; whereas, I grew up in the wan, sickly atmosphere of
penury; glad to grasp the crust that chance offered; taught to
consider the bread of dependence precious as ambrosia; willing to
forget family ties that were fraught only with humiliation and
wretchedness; coveting bounty that I had not sufficient ambition to
merit; and eager to live on charity, as long as it could be coaxed,
hoodwinked, or scourged into supporting me comfortably. Yesterday I
read a sentence that might have been written for me, so felicitously
does it photograph me, 'Temperament is a fate oftentimes, from whose
jurisdiction its victims hardly escape, but do its bidding herein, be
it murder or martyrdom. Virtues and crimes are mixed in one's cup of
nativity, with the lesser or larger margin of choice. _Blood is a
destiny._' You, Ulpian Grey, are what you are because your father was
a gentleman, and all your surroundings were luxurious and refined; and
I, the miller's child, am what you see me because my father was coarse
and brutal; because my body and soul struggled with staring
starvation,--physical, mental, and moral. Be just, and remember these
things when you are tempted to despise me as a pitiable, spiritless
parasite."

"My little friend, you have most unnecessarily tortured yourself, and
grieved and mortified me. Have I ever treated you with contempt or
disrespect?"

"You evidently pity me, and compassion is about as welcome to my
feelings as a vitriol bath to fresh wounds."

"Are you not conscious of having more than once acted in such a manner
as to necessitate my compassion?"

She was silent for some moments; but as they entered the avenue, she
said, impetuously,--

"I want you to respect me."

"If you respect yourself and merit my good opinion, I shall not
withhold it. But of one thing let me assure you; my standard of
womanly delicacy, nobility, gentleness, and Christian faith is very
exalted; and I cannot and will not lower it, even to meet the
requirements of those who claim my friendship. Thoroughly cognizant of
my opinions concerning several subjects, you have more than once,
premeditatedly and obtrusively outraged them, and while I can and do
most cordially overlook the offence, you should not deem it possible
for me to entertain a very lofty estimate of the offender. When I came
home you took such extraordinary pains to convince me that not a
single noble aspiration actuated you that I confess you almost
succeeded in your aim; but, Salome, I hope you are far more generous
than you deign to prove yourself, and I promise you my earnest respect
shall not lag behind,--shall promptly keep pace with your deserts. You
can, if you so determine, make yourself an attractive, brilliant,
noble woman; an ornament--and better still--a useful, honored member
of society; but the faults of your character are grave, and only
prayer and conscientious, persistent efforts can entirely correct
them. I am neither so unreasonable nor so unjust as to hold you
accountable for circumstances beyond your control; and, while I warmly
sympathize with all your sorrows, I know that you are still
sufficiently young to rectify the unfortunate warping that your nature
received in its mournful early years. To ask me to respect you is as
idle and useless and impotent as the soft murmur of this June breeze
in the elm boughs above us; but you can command my perfect confidence
and friendship solely on condition that you merit it. Salome,
something very unusual has influenced you to-day, forcing you to throw
aside the rubbish that you patiently piled over your better self until
it was effectually concealed; and, if you are willing to be frank with
me, I should be glad to know what has so healthfully affected you. I
believe I can guess: has not little Jessie wooed and won her sister's
heart, melting all its icy selfishness and warming its holiest
recesses?"

At this moment Stanley bounded down the steps to meet them, and,
bending over to receive his kiss and embrace, Salome gladly evaded a
reply. That night, after she had taught her brother his lessons for
the next day and made him repeat the prayer learned in the dormitory
of the Asylum,--when she had read Miss Jane to sleep and seen the
doctor set out on his mission of mercy, she brightened the lamp-light
in her own room, and, opening the parcel, drew out and commenced the
dainty embroidery which she had promised should be completed at an
early day.

The night was warm, but the sea-breeze sang a lullaby in the trees
that peeped in at her window, and now and then a strong gust
blew the flame almost to the top of the lamp-chimney. Stanley
slept soundly in his trundle-bed, occasionally startling her by
half-uttered exclamations, as in his dreams he chased rabbits or
found partridge-eggs. Oblivious of passing hours, and profoundly
immersed in speculations concerning her future, the girl sewed
on, working scallop after scallop, and flower after flower, in
the gossamer cambric between her slender fingers. Stars that looked
upon her early in the night had gone down into blue abysms below
the horizon, and the midnight song of a mocking-bird, swinging in
a lemon-tree beneath her window, had long since hushed itself with
the chirp of crickets and gossip of the katydids.

A tap on the facing of her open door finally aroused her, and she
hastily attempted to hide her work, as Dr. Grey asked,--

"What keeps you up so late? Are you dressing a doll for Jessie?"

"What brings you home so early? Is your patient better?"

"Yes; in one sense he is certainly better; for, free from all pain, he
rests with his God."

"What time is it?"

"Half-past three. Little Charles died about an hour ago, and, as I
shall be very busy to-morrow, I came upstairs to ask if you will
oblige me by going over to Mrs. Peterson's and remaining with her
until the neighbors assemble in the morning. It is an unpleasant duty,
and unless you are perfectly willing I will not request you to perform
it."

"Certainly, sir; I will go at once. Why should I hesitate?"

"Come down as soon as you are ready, and I will make Harrison drive
you over in my buggy. As it is only a mile I walked home."

When she stood before him, waiting for the servant to adjust some
portion of the harness, Dr. Grey wrapped her shawl more closely around
her, and said,--

"What new freak keeps you awake till four o'clock?"

"It is no freak, but the beginning of a settled purpose that reaches
in numberless ramifications through all my coming years. It does not
concern you, so ask me no more. Good-night. I suppose I ought to
tender you my thanks for deeming me worthy of this melancholy mission;
and if so, pray be pleased to accept them."

CHAPTER V.

"Jane, have you heard that we shall soon have some new neighbors at
'Solitude'?"

"No; who is brave enough to settle there?"

"Mrs. Gerome, a widow, has purchased and refitted the house,
preparatory to making it her home."

"Do you suppose she knows the history of its former owners?"

"Probably not, as she has never seen the place. The purchase was made
some months since by her agent, who stated that she was in Europe."

"Ulpian, I am sorry that the house will again be occupied, for some
mournful fatality seems to have attended all who ever resided there;
and I have been told that the last proprietor changed the name from
'Solitude' to 'Bochim.'"

"You must not indulge such superstitious vagaries, my dear, wise
Janet. The age of hobgoblins, haunted houses, and supernatural
influences has passed away with the marvels of alchemy and the weird
myths of Rosicrucianism. Because many deaths have occurred at that
place, and the residents were consequently plunged in gloom, you must
not rashly impute eldritch influences to the atmosphere surrounding
it. Knowing its ghostly celebrity, I have investigated the grounds of
existing prejudice, and find that of the ten persons who have died
there during the last fifteen years, three deaths were from hereditary
consumption, one from dropsy, two from paralysis, one from epilepsy,
one from brain-fever, one from drowning, and the last from a fall that
broke the victim's neck. Were these attributable to any local cause,
the results would certainly not have proved so diverse."

"Call it superstition, or what you will, no amount of coaxing,
argument, or ridicule, no imaginable inducement could prevail on me to
live there,--even if the house were floored with gold and roofed with
silver. It is the gloomiest-looking place this side of Golgotha, and I
would as soon crawl into a coffin for an afternoon nap as spend a
night there."

"Your imagination invests it with a degree of gloom which is
adventitious, and referable solely to painful associations; for
intrinsically the situation is picturesque and beautiful, and the
grounds have been arranged with consummate taste. This morning I
noticed a quantity of rare and very superb lilies clustered in a
corner of the _parterre_."

"Pray, what called you there?"

"A workman engaged in repairing some portion of the roof, slipped on
the slate and broke his arm; consequently, they sent for me."

"Just what he might have expected. I tell you something happens to
everybody who ever sleeps there."

"Do you suppose there is a squad of malicious spirits hovering in
ambush to swoop upon all new-comers, and not only fracture limbs, but
scatter to right and left paralysis, epilepsy, and other diseases?
From your rueful countenance a stranger might infer that Pandora's box
had just been opened at 'Bochim,' and that the very air was thick with
miasma and maledictions."

"Oh, laugh on if you choose at my old-fashioned whims and superstition;
but, mark my words, that place will prove a curse to whoever buys it
and settles there! Has Mrs. Gerome a family?"

"I believe I heard that she had no children, but I really know little
about her except that she must be a woman of unusually refined and
cultivated tastes, as the pictures, books, and various articles of
vertu that have preceded her seem to indicate much critical and
artistic acumen. The entire building has been refitted in exceedingly
handsome style, and the upholsterer who was arranging the furniture
told me it had been purchased in Europe."

"When is Mrs. Gerome expected?"

"During the present week."

"What aged person is she?"

"Indeed, my dear, curious Janet, I have asked no questions and formed
no conjectures; but I trust your baleful prognostications will find no
fulfilment in her case."

"Ulpian, I had some very fashionable visitors to-day, who manifested
an extraordinary interest in your past, present, and future. Mrs.
Channing and her two lovely daughters spent the morning here, and left
an invitation for you to attend a party at their house next Thursday
evening. Miss Adelaide went into ecstasies over that portrait in which
you wore your uniform, and asked numberless questions about you; among
others, whether you were still heart-whole, or whether you had
suffered some great disappointment early in life which kept you a
bachelor. What do you suppose she said when I told her that you had
never had a love-scrape in your life?"

"Of course she impugned the statement, which, to a young lady framed
for flirtations, must indeed have appeared incredible."

"On the contrary, she declared that the woman who succeeded in
captivating you would achieve a triumph more difficult and more
desirable than the victory of the Nile or of Trafalgar. I was tempted
to ask her if she might be considered the ambitious Nelson, but of
course politeness forbade. Ulpian, she is the prettiest creature I
ever looked at."

"Yes, as pretty as mere healthy flesh can be without the sublimation
and radiance of an indwelling soul. There is nothing which impresses
me so mournfully as the sight of a beautiful, frivolous, unscrupulous
woman, who immolates all that is truly feminine in her character upon
the shrine of swollen vanity; and whose career from cradle to grave is
as utterly aimless and useless as that of some gaudy, flaunting
ephemeron of the tropics. Such women act as extinguishers upon the
feeble, flickering flame of chivalry, which modern degeneracy in
manners and morals has almost smothered."

His tone and countenance evinced more contempt than Salome had known
him to express on any former occasion, and, glancing at his clear,
steady, grave blue eyes, she said to herself,--

"At least he will never strike his colors to Admiral Adelaide
Channing, and I should dislike to occupy her place in his estimation."

"My dear boy, you must not speak in such ungrateful terms of my
beautiful visitor, who certainly has some serious design on your
heart, if I may judge from the very extravagant praise she lavished
upon you. I daresay she is a very nice, sweet girl, and you know you
told me once that if you should ever marry your wife must be a beauty,
else you could not love her."

"Very true, Janet, and I have no intention of retracting or
diminishing my rigid requirements, but my definition of beauty
includes more than mere physical perfection,--than satin skin,
pearl-tinted, fine eyes, faultless teeth, abundant silky tresses, and
rounded figure. It demands that the heart whose blood paints lips and
cheek, shall be pure, generous, and holy; that the soul which looks
out at me from lustrous eyes shall be consecrated to another deity
than Fashion,--shall be as full of magnanimity, and strength, and
peace, as a harp is of melody; my beauty means meekness, faith,
sanctity, and exacts mental, moral, and material excellence. Rest
assured, my dear, sage counsellor, that if ever I bring a wife to my
hearthstone I will have selected her in obedience to the advice of
Joubert, who admonished us, 'We should choose for a wife only the
woman we would choose for a friend, were she a man.'"

"You expect too much; you will never find your perfect ideal walking
in flesh."

"I will content myself with nothing less--I promise you that."

"Oh, no doubt you will believe that the woman you marry is all that
you dream or wish; but some fine morning you will present me with a
sister as full of foibles and vanities and frailties as any other
spoiled and cunning daughter of Eve. Of course every bridegroom
classes as 'perfect' the blushing, trembling young thing who peeps
shyly at him from under a tulle veil and an orange wreath; but, take
my word for it, there is a spice of Delilah in every pretty girl, and
the credulity of Samson slumbers in all lovers. Nevertheless, Ulpian,
I would sooner see you in bondage to a pair of white hands and hazel
eyes,--would rather know that like all your race you were utterly
humbugged--hoodwinked--by some fair-browed belle, whose low voice
rippled over pouting pink lips, than have you live always alone, a
confirmed old bachelor. After all, I doubt whether you have really
never had a sweetheart, for every schoolboy swears allegiance to some
yellow-haired divinity in ruffled muslin aprons."

Dr. Grey laid his hand gently on the shrivelled fingers that were
busily engaged in shelling some seed-beans, and answered, jocosely,--

"Have I not often told you, that my dear, old, patient sister Janet,
is my only lady-love?"

"And your silly old Janet is not such an arrant fool as to believe any
such nonsense,--especially when she remembers that from time
immemorial sailors have had sweethearts in every port, and that her
spoiled pet of a brother is no exception to his race or his
profession."

He laughed, and smoothed her grizzled hair.

"Since my sapient sister is so curious, I will confess that once--and
only once in my life--I was in dire danger of falling most desperately
in love. The frigate was coaling at Palermo, and I went ashore. One
afternoon, in sauntering through the orange and lemon groves which
render its environs so inviting, I caught a glimpse of a countenance
so serene, so indescribably lovely, that for an instant I was disposed
to believe I had encountered the beatific spirit of St. Rosalie
herself. The face was that of a woman apparently about eighteen years
old, who evidently ranked among Sicilian aristocrats, and whose
elegant attire enhanced her beauty. I followed, at a respectful
distance, until she entered the garden of an adjacent convent and fell
on her knees before a marble altar, where burned a lamp at the feet of
a statue of the Virgin; and no painting in Europe stamped itself so
indelibly on my memory as the picture of that beautiful votary. Her
delicate hands were crossed over her heart,--her large, liquid, black
eyes, raised in adoration,--her full, crimson lips parted as she
repeated the '_Ave Maria_' in the most musical voice I ever heard.
Just above the purplish folds of her abundant hair drooped pomegranate
boughs all aflame with scarlet blooms that fell upon her head like
tongues of fire, as the wind sprang from the blue hollows of the
Mediterranean and shook the grove. The sun was going swiftly down
behind the stone turrets of a monastery that crowned a distant hill,
and the last rays wove an aureola around my kneeling saint, who,
doubtless, aware of the effect of her graceful attitudinizing, seemed
in no haste to conclude her devotions. As I recalled the charming
tableau, those lines wherein Buchanan sought to photograph the
picturesqueness of the Digentia, float up from some sympathetic cell
of memory,--

  'Could you look at the leaves of yonder tree,--
  The wind is stirring them, as the sun is stirring me!
    The woolly clouds move quiet and slow
  In the pale blue calm of the tranquil skies,
    And their shades that run on the grass below
  Leave purple dreams in the violet's eyes!
    The vine droops over my head with bright
  Clusters of purple and green,--the rose
  Breaks her heart on the air; and the orange glows
  Like golden lamps in an emerald night.'

My Sicilian Siren finally disappeared in a gloomy arched-way
leading into the convent, and I returned to the hotel to dream of
her until the morning sunshine once more bathed Conca D'Oro in
splendor,--when I instituted a search for the name and residence of
my inamorata. Six hours of enthusiastic investigation yielded me
the coveted information, but imagine the profound despair in which
I was plunged when I ascertained from her own smiling lips that
she was a happy wife and the proud mother of two beautiful children.
As she rose to present her swarthy husband, I bowed myself out and
took refuge aboard ship. Here ends the recital of the first and last
bit of romance that ever threw its rosy tinge over the quiet life of
your staid and humble brother--Ulpian Grey, M.D."

"Ah, my dear sailor boy, I am afraid thirty-five years of experience
have rendered you too wary to be caught by such chaff as pretty girls
sprinkle along your path! I should be glad to see your bride enter
this door before I am carried out feet foremost to my final rest by
Enoch's side."

"Do not despair of me, dear Jane, for I am not exactly Methuselah's
rival; and comfort yourself by recollecting that Lessing was forty
years old when he first loved the only woman for whom he ever
entertained an affection--his devoted Eva Koenig."

Dr. Grey bent over his sister's easy-chair, and, taking her thin,
sallow face tenderly in his soft palms, kissed the sunken cheeks--the
wrinkled forehead; and then, laying her head gently back upon its
cushions, entered his buggy and drove to his office.

"Salome, what makes you look so moody? There are as many furrows on
your brow as lines in a spider's web, and your lips are drawn in as if
you had dined on green persimmons. Child, what is the matter?"

Miss Jane lifted her spectacles from her nose, and eyed the orphan,
anxiously.

"I am very sorry to hear that 'Solitude' will be filled once more with
people, and bustle, and din. It is the nearest point where we can
reach the beach, and I have enjoyed many quiet strolls under its
grand, old, solemn trees. If haunted at all, it is by Dryads and
Hamadryads, and I like the babble of their leaves infinitely better
than the strife of human tongues. Miss Jane, if I were only a pagan!"

"I am not very sure that you are not," sighed the invalid.

"Nor I. I have lost my place,--I am behind my time in this world by at
least twenty centuries, and ought to have lived in the jovial age of
fauns and satyrs, when groves were sacred for other reasons than the
high price of wood,--when gods and goddesses were abundant as
blackberries, and at the beck and call of every miserable wretch who
chose to propitiate them by offering a flask of wine, a bunch of
turnips, a litter of puppies, or a basket of olives. Hesiod and Homer
understood human nature infinitely better than Paul and Luther."

"Salome, you are growing shockingly irreverent and wicked."

"No, madam,--begging your pardon. I am only desperately honest in
wishing that my salvation and future felicity could be secured beyond
all peradventure, by a sacrifice of oatcakes, or white doves, or black
cats, instead of a drab- life of prayer, penance, purity, and
patience. I don't deny that I would rather spend my days in watching
the gorgeous pageant of the_ Panathenaea_, or chanting dithyrambics to
insure a fine vintage, or even offering a _Taigheirm_, than in running
neck and neck with Lucifer for the kingdom of heaven. I love kids, and
fawns, and lambs, as well as Landseer; but I should not long hesitate,
had I the choice, between flaying their tender flesh in sacrifice and
mortifying my own as a devout life requires."

"But what would have become of your poor soul if you had lived in
Pagan times?"

"What will become of it under present circumstances, I should be
exceedingly glad to know. 'The heathen are a law unto themselves,' and
I sometimes wish I had been born a Fejee belle, who lived, was
tastefully tattooed, and died without having even dreamed of
missionaries,--those officious martyrs who hope to wear a whole
constellation on their foreheads as a reward for having been eaten by
cannibals, to whom they expounded the unpalatable doctrine that,
'this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men
loved darkness rather than light.' Moreover, I confess--"

"That is quite sufficient. I have already heard more than I relish of
such silly and sacrilegious chat. At least, you might have more
prudence and discretion than to hold forth so disgracefully in the
hearing of your little brother."

Miss Jane's cheek flushed, and her feeble voice faltered.

"He has fallen fast asleep over the bean-pods; and, even if he
had not, how much of the conversation do you imagine he would
comprehend? His sole knowledge of Grecian theogony consists of a
brief acquaintance with a bottle of pseudo Greek fire which
burnt the pocket out of his best pantaloons."

"Salome, you distress me; and, if Ulpian had not left us, you would
have kept all such heathenish stuff shut up in your sinful and wayward
heart."

"Dr. Grey is no Gorgon, having power to petrify my tongue. I am not
afraid of him; and my respect for your feelings is much stronger than
my dread of his."

"Hush, child! You are afraid of him, and well you may be. I fear
that all your Sabbath-school advantages--all your Christian
privileges--have been wofully wasted; and I shall ask Ulpian to talk
to you."

"No, thank you, Miss Jane. You may save yourself the trouble, for he
has given me over to hardness of heart and 'a reprobate mind,' and his
patience is not only 'clean gone forever,' but he has carefully washed
his hands of all future interest in my rudderless and drifting soul.
Let me speak this once, and henceforth I promise to hold my peace. I
do not require to be 'talked to' by anybody,--I only need to be let
alone. Sabbath-schools are indisputably excellent things,--and I can
testify that they are ponderous ecclesiastical hammers, pounding
creeds and catechisms into the mould of memory; but these nurseries of
the church nourish and harbor some Satan's imps among their
half-fledged saints; and while they certainly accomplish a vast amount
of good, they are by no means infallible machines for the manufacture
of Christians,--of which fact I stand in melancholy attestation. I
have a vague impression that piety does not grow up in a night, like
Jonah's gourd or Jack the Giant-killer's beanstalk; but is a pure,
glittering, spiritual stalactite, built by the slow accretion of
dripping tears. Do you suppose that you can successfully train my soul
as you have managed my body?--that you can hold my nose and pour a
dose of faith down my throat, like ipecac or cod-liver oil? In matters
of theology I am no ostrich, and, if you afflict me _ad nauseam_ with
religious dogmas, you must not wonder that my moral digestion rebels
outright. I shall not dispute the fact that in justice to your
precepts and example I ought to be a Christian; but, since I am not, I
may as well tell you at once and save future trouble, that I can
neither be baited into the church like a hawk into a steel-trap, nor
scared and driven into it like bees into a hive by the rattling of tin
pans and the screaking of horns. Don't look at me so dolefully, dear
Miss Jane, as if you had already seen my passport to perdition signed
and sealed. You, at least, have done your whole duty,--have set all
the articles of orthodoxy, well-flavored and garnished, before me;
and, if I am finally lost, my spiritual starvation can never be
charged against you in the last balance-sheet. I am not ignorant of
the Bible, nor altogether unacquainted with the divers creeds that
spring from its pages as thick, as formidable, as ferocious, as the
harvest from the dragon's teeth; and, thanking you for all you have
taught me, I here undertake to pilot my own soul in this boiling,
bellowing sea of life. I doubt whether some of the charts you value
will be of any service in my voyage, or whether the beacons by which
you steer will save me from the reefs; but, nevertheless, I take the
wheel, and, if I wreck my soul,--why, then, I wreck it."

In the magic evening light, which touches all things with a rosy,
transitory glamour, the fresh young face with its daintily sculptured
lineaments seemed marvellously and surpassingly fair; but, like
_morbidezza_ marble, hopelessly fixed and chill, and might have served
for some image of Eve, when, standing on the boundary of eternal
beatitude, she daringly put up her slender womanly fingers to pluck
the fatal fruit. Her large, brilliant eyes followed the sinking sun
as steadily--as unblinkingly--as an eagle's; but the gleam that rayed
out was baleful, presaging storms, as infallibly as that sullen, lurid
light, which glares defiantly over helpless earth when to-day's sun
falls into the cloudy lap of to-morrow's tempest.

A heavy sigh struggled across Miss Jane's unsteady lips, as, removing
her glasses, she wiped her eyes, and said, slowly,--

"Yes; I am a stupid, unsuspecting old dolt; but I see it all now."

"My ultimate and irremediable ruin?"

"God forbid!"

Salome approached the arm-chair, and, stooping, looked intently at the
aged, wan face.

"What is it that you see? Miss Jane, when people stand, as you do,
upon the borders of two worlds, the Bygone fades,--the Beyond grows
distinct and luminous. Lend me your second sight, to decipher the
characters scrawled like fiery serpents over the pall that envelops
the future."

"I see nothing but the grim, unmistakeable fact that my little,
clinging, dependent child, has, without my knowledge, put away
childish things, and suddenly steps before me a wilful, irreverent,
graceless woman, as eager to challenge the decrees of the Lord as was
complaining Job before the breath of the whirlwind smote and awed him.
Some day, Salome, that same voice that startled the old man of Uz will
make you bend and tremble and shiver like that acacia yonder, which
the wind is toying with before it snaps asunder. When that time comes
the clover will feed bees above my gray head, but I trust my soul will
be near enough to the great white throne to pray God to have mercy on
your wretched spirit, and bring you safely to that blessed haven
whither you can never pilot yourself."

Nervous excitement gave unwonted strength to the feeble limbs; and,
grasping her crutches, Miss Jane limped into her own room and closed
the door after her.

For some moments the girl stood looking out over the lawn, where
fading sunshine and deepening shadow made fitful _chiaroscuro_ along
the primrose-paved aisles that stretched under the elm arches,--then,
raising her fingers as if tracing lines on the soft, gold-dusted
atmosphere that surrounded her, she muttered doggedly,--

"Yes; I am at sea! But, if God is just, Miss Jane and I will yet shake
hands on that calm, surgeless, crystal sea, shining before the throne.
So, now I take the helm and put the head of my precious charge before
the wind, and only the Almighty can foresee the result. In His mercy I
put my trust. So be it.

  'Gray distance hid each shining sail,
    By ruthless breezes borne from me;
  And lessening, fading, faint, and pale,
    My ships went forth to sea.'"

CHAPTER VI.

"Mother, I am afraid Mrs. Gerome does not like this place, or the
furniture, or something, for she has not spoken a kind word about the
house since she came. She looks closely at everything, but says
nothing. What do you suppose she thinks?"

Robert Maclean, the gardener at "Solitude," paused abruptly, as his
mother pinched his arm sharply and whispered,--

"Whist! There she comes down the azalea walk; and no one likes to
stumble upon their own name when they are not expecting the sound
or sight of it. No; she has turned off towards the cedars, and does
not see us. As to her likes and dislikes, there is nothing this side
of heaven that will content her; and you might have known better
than to suppose she would be much pleased with anything. No matter
what she thinks, she seldom complains, and it is hard to find out her
views; but she told me to tell you that she approved all you had
done, and thanked you for the pains you have taken to arrange things
comfortably."

Old Elsie tied the strings of her white muslin cap, and turned her
back to the wind that was playing havoc with its freshly fluted
frills.

"Mother, I heard her laugh yesterday, for the first time. It was a
short, quick, queer little laugh, but it pleased me greatly. The cook
had set some duck-eggs under that fine black Spanish hen; and, when
they hatched, she marched off with the brood into the fowl-yard, where
they made straight for the duck-pool and sailed in. The hen set up
such a din and clatter that Mrs. Gerome, who happened to get a glimpse
of them, felt sorry for the poor frightened fowl, and tried to drive
the little ones out of the water; but, whenever she put her hand
towards them to catch the nearest, the whole brood would quack and
dive,--and, when she had laughed that one short laugh, she called to
me to look after them and went back to the house. You don't know how
strangely that laugh sounded."

"Don't I? Speak for yourself, Robert. I have heard her laugh twice,
but it was when she was asleep, and it was an uncanny, bitter
sound,--about as welcome to my ears as her death-rattle. Last night
she did not close her eyes,--did not even undress; and the hall clock
was striking three this morning when I heard her open the piano and
play one of those dismal, frantic, wailing things she calls 'fugues,'
that make the hair rise on my head and every inch of my flesh creep as
if a stranger were treading on my grave. When she was a baby, cutting
her eye-teeth, she had a spasm; and seeing her straighten herself out
and roll back her eyes till only the white balls showed, I took it for
granted she was about to die, and, holding her in my arms, I fell on
my knees and prayed that she might be spared. Well, now, Robert, I am
sorry I put up that petition, for the Lord knew best; and it would
have been a crowning mercy if he had paid no attention to my
half-crazy pleadings and taken her home then. What meddling fools we
all are! I thought, at that time, it would break my heart to shroud
her sweet little body; but ah! I would rather have laid my precious
baby in her coffin, with violets under her fingers, than live to see
that desperate, unearthly look, come and house itself in her great,
solemn, hungry, tormenting eyes, that were once as full of sparkles
and merriment as the sky is of stars on a clear, frosty night. My son,
we never know what is good for us; for, many times, when we clamor for
bread we break our teeth on it; and then, again, when we rage and howl
because we think the Lord has dealt out scorpions to us, they prove
better than the fish we craved. So, after all, I conclude Christ
understood the whole matter when he enjoined upon us to say, 'Thy will
be done.'"

The old nurse wiped her eyes with the corner of her black silk apron,
and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, crossed her arms comfortably
over her broad and ample chest, while Robert busied himself in
repotting some choice carnations.

"But, mother, do you really think she will be satisfied to stay here,
after travelling so long up and down in the world?"

"How can I tell what she will or will not do? You know very well that
she goes to sleep with one set of whims and wakes up with new ones.
She catches odd freaks as some people catch diseases. She said
yesterday that she had had enough of travel and change, and intended
to settle and live and die right here; but that does not prove that I
may not receive an order next week to pack her trunks and start to
Jericho or Halifax, and I should not think the world was upside down
and coming to an end if such an order came before breakfast to-morrow.
Poor lamb! My poor lamb! Yonder she comes again. Do you notice how
fast she walks, as if the foul fiend were clutching at her skirts or
she were trying to get away from herself,--trying to run her restless
soul entirely out of her wretched body? Come away, Robert, and let her
have all the grounds to herself. She likes best to be alone."

Mother and son walked off in the direction of the stables, and the
advancing figure emerged from the dense shade where interlacing limbs
roofed one of the winding walks, and paused before the circular stand
on which lemon, rose, white, crimson, and variegated carnations,
nodded their fringed heads and poured spicy aromas from their velvety
chalices.

The face and form of Mrs. Gerome presented a puzzling paradox, in
which old age and youth seemed struggling for mastery; and "death in
life" found melancholy verification. Tall, slender, and faultlessly
made, the perfection of her figure was marred by the unfortunate
carriage of her head, which drooped forward so heavily that the chin
almost touched her throat and nearly destroyed the harmony of the
profile outline. The head itself was nobly rounded, and sternly
classic as any well authenticated antique, but it was no marvel that
it habitually bowed under the heavy glittering mass of silver hair,
which

Question: Summarize the above passage in exactly 500 words and give a brief outlook on it.