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 wound in coil after coil and was secured at the back by a comb
of carved jet, thickly studded with small silver stars. The
extraordinary lustrousness of these waves of gray hair that rippled on
her forehead and temples like molten metal, lent a weird and wondrous
effect to the straight, regular, rigid features,--daintily cut as
those of Pallas, and quite as pallid. The delicate and high arch of
the eyebrows was black as ebony, and in conjunction with the long
jetty lashes formed a very singular contrast to the shining white
tresses, which lay piled like freshly fallen snow-drift above them.
The brow was full, round, smooth, and fair as a child's; and more than
one azure thread showed the subtle tracery of veins, whose crimson
currents left no rosy reflex on the firm, gleaming white flesh,
through which they branched.

Beneath that faultless forehead burned unusually large eyes, deep as
mountain tarns, and of that pure bluish gray that tolerates no hint of
green or yellow rays. The dilated pupils intensified the steel color,
and faint violet lines ran out from the iris to meet the central
shadows, while above and below the heavy black fringes enhanced their
sombre depths, where mournful mysteries seemed to float like corpses
just beneath the crystal shroud of ocean waves. The pale, passionless
lips,--perfect in their pure curves, but defrauded of the blood which
resolutely refused to come to the surface and tint the fine satin
skin,--were lined in ciphers that the curious questioned and wondered
over, but which few could read and none fully comprehend. The
beautiful, frigid mouth, where all sweetness was frozen out to make
room for hopelessness and defiance, would have admirably suited some
statue of discrowned and smitten Hecuba; and no amount of sighs and
sobs, no stormy bursts of grief or fierce invective, could rival the
melancholy eloquence of its mute, calm pallor.

The wan face, with its gray globe-like eyes, and the metallic glitter
of the prematurely silvered hair, matched in hue the pearl-
muslin dress which fluttered in the wind; and, standing there, this
gray woman of twenty-three looked indeed like Pygmalion's stone
darling,--

  "Fair-statured, noble, like an awful thing
  Frozen upon the very verge of life,
  And looking back along eternity
  With rayless eyes that keep the shadow Time."

Her frail, white hands, with their oval nails polished and opalescent,
were exceedingly beautiful; and, where the creamy foam of the fine
lace fell back from the dimpled wrists, quaintly carved jet serpents
with blazing diamond eyes coiled around the throbbing thread-like
pulses of sullen _sang azure_.

Bending over the carnations, she examined the gorgeous hues,--toyed
with their fragile stems,--and then, glancing shyly over her shoulder
like a startled fawn half expectant of hounds and hunter, she glided
rapidly to an artificial mound crowned with a mouldering mossy plaster
image of Ariadne and her pard, and stood surveying her new domain.

"Solitude" filled a semicircular hollow between low wooded hills,
which ran down to lave their grassy flanks in the blue brine of the
Atlantic, and constituted the horns of a crescent bay, on whose
sloping sandy beach the billows broke without barrier.

The old-fashioned brick house--with sharp, peaked roof, turreted
chimneys, and gable window looking down in front upon the clumsily
clustered columns that supported the arched portico--was built upon a
rocky knoll, of which nature laid the foundation and art increased the
height; and, around and above it, towered a dense grove of ancient
trees that shut out the glare of the sea and effectually screened the
mansion from observation. The damp walls were heavily draped with the
sombre verdure of ivy, whose ambitious tendrils clambered to the cleft
chimney-tops, and peered impertinently over the broad stone
window-sills, whence the indignant housemaid remorselessly sheared
them away as often as their encroachments grew perceptible.

In the rear of the house, and toward the west, stretched orchard,
vegetable garden, vineyard, and wheat-field, whose rolling green waves
seemed almost to break against the ruddy trunks of cedars that clothed
the hillside. To the left and north lay low, marshy, meadow land,
covered with rank grass and frosted with saline incrustations; while
south of the building extended spacious grounds, studded here and
there with noble groups of deodars, Norway spruce, and various
ornamental shrubs, and bounded by a tall impenetrable hedge of osage
orange. Before the house, which faced the ocean and fronted east, the
lawn sloped gently down to a terrace surmounted by a granite
balustrade; and just beyond, supported by stone piers on the golden
sands, stood an octagonal boat-house, built in the Swiss style, with
red-tiled roof, and floored with squares of white and black marble,
whence a flight of steps led to the little boat chained to one of the
rocky piers. Along the entire length of the terrace a line of giant
poplars lifted their aged, weather-beaten heads, high above all
surrounding objects,--ever on the _qui vive_, looking seaward,--trim
and erect as soldiers on dress parade, and defiant of gales that had
shorn them of many boughs, and left ghastly scars on their glossy
limbs.

Tradition whispered, with bated breath, that in the dim dawn of
colonial settlement a rude log hut had been erected here by pirates,
who came ashore to bury their ill-gotten booty, and rumors were rife
of bloody deeds and midnight orgies,--all of which sprang into more
vigorous circulation, when, in laying the foundations of the
boat-house piers, an iron pot containing a number of old French and
Spanish coins was dug out of the shells and sand.

Melancholy tales of stranded vessels and drowned crews, of a
slaver burned to the water's edge to escape capture, and of charred
corpses strewn on the beach, thickened the atmosphere of legendary
gloom that enveloped the spot,--where the successive demise of
several proprietors certainly sanctioned the feeling of dread and
superstitious distrust with which it was regarded. That the
unenviable celebrity it had attained was referable to local causes
generating disease, appeared almost incredible; for, if miasmatic
exhalations rose dank and poisonous from the densely shaded humid
house, they were promptly dispelled by the strong, invincible
ocean-breeze, which tore aside leafy branches and muslin curtains, and
wafted all noxious vapors inland.

A committee of medical sages having cautiously examined the place,
unanimously averred that its reputed fatality could not justly be
ascribed to any topographical causes. Whereupon the popular nerve,
which closely connected the community with supernaturaldom, thrilled
afresh; and all the calamities, real and imaginary, that had afflicted
"Solitude" from a period so remote that "the memory of man runneth not
to the contrary," were laid upon the galled shoulders of some
red-liveried, sulphur-scented Imp of Abaddon, whose peculiar mission
was to haunt the "piratical nest;" and, in lieu of human victims, to
addle the eggs, blast the grape crop, and make night hideous with
spectral sights and sounds.

To an unprejudiced observer the hills seemed to have gleefully clasped
hands and formed a half-circle, shutting the place in for a quiet
breezy communion with garrulous ocean, whose waves ran eagerly up the
strand to gossip of wrecks and cyclones, with the staid martinet
poplars that nodded and murmured assent to all their wild romances.

Such was the pleasant impression produced upon the mind of the lonely
woman who now owned it, and who hoped to spend here in seclusion and
peace the residue of a life whose radiant dawn had been suddenly
swallowed by drab clouds and starless gloom.

The Scotch are proverbially credulous concerning all preternatural
influences; and, had Robert Maclean been cognizant of half the ghostly
associations attached to the residence which he had selected in
compliance with general instructions from his mistress, it is scarcely
problematical whether the house would not have remained in the hands
of the real-estate broker; but, fortunately for their peace of mind,
Elsie and her son were as yet in blissful ignorance of the dismal
celebrity of their new home.

Resting her folded hands on the bare shoulders of the Ariadne, which
modest lichens and officious wreaths of purple verbena were striving
to mantle, Mrs. Gerome scanned the scene before her; and a quick,
nervous sigh, that was almost a pant, struggled across her lips.

"Unto this last nook of refuge have I come; and, expecting little,
find much. Shut out from the world, locked in with the sea,--no
neighbors, no visitors, no news, no gossip,--solitary, shady, cool,
and quiet,--surely I can rest here. Forked tongues of scandal can not
penetrate through those rock-ribbed hills yonder, nor dart across that
defying sea; and neither wail nor wassail of men or women can disturb
me more. But how do I know that it will not prove a mocking cheat like
Baiae and Maggiore, or Copais and Cromarty? I have fled in disgust and
_ennui_ from far lovelier spots than this, and what right have I to
suppose that contentment has housed itself as my guest in that old,
mossy, brick pile, where mice and wrens run riot? Like Cain and
Cartophilus, my curse travels with me, and I no sooner pitch my tent,
than lo! the rattle and grin of my skeleton, for which earth is not
wide enough to furnish a grave! Well! well! at least I shall not be
stared to death here,--shall not be tormented by eye-glasses and
sketch-books; can live in that dim, dark, greenish den yonder,
unobserved and possibly forgotten and finally sleep undisturbed in the
dank shade of those deodars, with twittering birds overhead and a
sobbing sea at my feet. How long--how long before that dreamless
slumber will fall upon my heavy lids,--weary with waiting? Only
twenty-three yesterday! My God, if I should live to be an old woman!
The very thought threatens insanity! Ten--twenty--possibly thirty
years ahead of me. No; I could not endure it,--I should go mad, or
destroy myself! If I were a delicate woman, if I only had weak lungs
or a dropsical heart, or a taint of any hereditary infirmity that
would surely curtail my days, I could be tolerably patient, hoping
daily for the symptoms to develop themselves. But, unfortunately,
though my family all died early, no two members, selected the same
mode of escape from this bastile of clay; and my flesh is sound, and I
am as strong and compact as that granite balustrade, and--ha!
ha!--quite as hard. _Au pis aller_, if the burden of life becomes
utterly intolerable I can shuffle it off as quickly as did that proud
Roman, who, 'when the birds began to sing' in the dawn of a day
heralded by tempestuous winds laden with perfume from the vales of
Sicily, shut his eyes forever from the warm sparkling Mediterranean
billows that broke in the roads of Utica, and pricked the memory of
inattentive Azrael with the point of a sword. Neither Phaedo, family,
nor fame, could coax Cato to respect the prerogative of Atropos; and
if he, 'the only free and unconquered man,' quailed and fled before
the apparition of numerous advancing years, what marvel that I, who am
neither sage nor Roman, should be tempted some fine morning when the
birds are sounding _reveille_ around my chamber windows, to imitate
'what Cato did, and Addison approved'? After all, what despicable
cowards are human hearts, and how much easier to die like Socrates,
Seneca, and Zeno, than stagger and groan under the load of hated,
torturing years, that are about as welcome to my shoulders as the 'old
man of the sea' to Sinbad's! How long?--oh, how long?"

The gloomy gray eyes had kindled into a dull flicker that resembled
the fitful, ghostly gleam of sheet lightning, falling through painted
windows upon crumbling and defiled altars in some lonely ruined
cathedral; and her low, shuddering tones, were full of a hopeless,
sneering bitterness, as painfully startling and out of place in a
woman's voice as would be the scream of a condor from the irised
throats of brooding doves, or the hungry howl of a wolf from the
tender lips of unweaned lambs. In the gloaming light of a soft gray
sky powdered by a few early stars, stood this desolate gray woman,
about whose face and dress there was no stain of color save the blue
glitter of a large sapphire ring, curiously cut in the form of a
coiled asp, with hooded head erect and brilliant diamond eyes that
twinkled with every quiver of the marble-white fingers.

Impatiently she turned her imperial head, when the sound of
approaching steps broke the stillness; and her tone was sharp as that
of one suddenly roused from deep sleep,--

"Well, Elsie! What is it?"

"Tea, my child, has been waiting half-an-hour."

"Then go and get your share of it. I want none."

"But you ate no dinner to-day. Does your head ache?"

"Oh, no; my heart jealously monopolizes that privilege!"

The old woman sighed audibly, and Mrs. Gerome added,--

"Pray, do not worry yourself about me! When I feel disposed to come in
I can find the way to the door. Go and get your supper."

The nurse passed her wrinkled hand over the drab muslin sleeves and
skirt, and touched the folds of hair.

"But, my bairn, the dew is thick on your head and has taken all the
starch out of your dress. Please come out of this fog that is creeping
up like a serpent from the sea. You are not used to such damp air, and
it might give you rheumatic cramps."

"Well, suppose it should? Does not my white head entitle me to all
such luxuries of old age and decrepitude? Don't bother me, Elsie."

She put out her hand with a repellent gesture, but Elsie seized it,
and clasping both her palms over the cold fingers, said, with
irresistible tenderness,--

"Come, dearie!--come, my dearie!"

Without a word Mrs. Gerome turned and followed her across the lawn and
into the house, whose internal arrangement was somewhat at variance
with its unpretending exterior.

The rooms were large, with low ceilings; and fire-places, originally
wide and deep, had been recently filled and fitted up with handsome
grates, while the heavy mantelpieces of carved cedar, that once
matched the broad facings of the windows and the massive panels of the
doors, were exchanged for costly _verd antique_ and lumachella. The
narrow passage running through the centre of the building was also
wainscoted with cedar and adorned with fine engravings of Landseer's
best pictures, whose richly carved walnut frames looked almost cedarn
in the pale chill light that streamed upon them through the
violet- glass which surrounded the front door and effectually
subdued the hot golden glare of the sunny sun. The old-fashioned
folding doors that formerly connected the parlor and library had been
removed to make room for a low, wide arch, over which drooped lace
curtains, partially looped with blue silk cord and tassels, and both
apartments were furnished with sofas and chairs of rosewood and blue
satin damask, while the velvet carpet, with its azure ground strewn
with wreaths of white roses and hyacinths, corresponded in color.
Handsome book-cases, burdened with precious lore, lined the walls of
the rear room; and on either side of a massive ormolu _escritoire_,
bronze candelabra shed light on the blue velvet desk where lay
delicate sheets of gossamer paper with varied and _outre_ monograms,
guarded by an exquisite marble statuette of Harpocrates, which stood
in the mirror-panelled recess reserved for pen, ink, and sealing-wax.
The air was fragrant with the breath of flowers that nodded to each
other from costly vases scattered through both apartments; and, before
one of the windows, rose a bronze stand containing china jars filled
with pelargoniums, in brilliant bloom. An Erard piano occupied one
corner of the parlor, and the large harp-shaped stand at its side was
heaped with books and unbound sheets of music. Here two long wax
candles were now burning brightly, and, on the oval marble table in
the centre of the floor, was a superb silver lamp representing Psyche
bending over Cupid, and supporting the finely-cut globe, whose soft
radiance streamed down on her burnished wings and eagerly-parted sweet
Greek lips. The design of this exceedingly beautiful lamp would not
have disgraced Benvenuto Cellini, nor its execution have reflected
discredit upon the genius of Felicie Fauveau, though to neither of
these distinguished artificers could its origin have been justly
ascribed. In its mellow, magical glow, the fine paintings suspended on
the walls seemed to catch a gleam of "that light that never was on
sea or land," for their dim, purplish Alpine gorges were filled with
snowy phantasmagoria of rushing avalanches; their foaming cataracts
braided glittering spray into spectral similitude of Undine tresses
and Undine faces; their desolate red deserts grew vaguely populous
with mirage mockeries; their green dells and grassy hill-sides,
couching careless herds, and fleecy flocks, borrowed all Arcadia's
repose; and the marble busts of Beethoven and of Handel, placed on
brackets above the piano, shone as if rapt, transfigured in the mighty
inspiration that gave to mankind "_Fidelio_" and the "_Messiah_."

On the sofa which partially filled the oriel window, where the lace
drapery was looped back to admit the breeze, lay an ivory box
containing materials and models for wax-flowers; and, in one corner,
half thrust under the edge of the silken cushion, was an unfinished
wreath of waxen convolvulus and a cluster of gentians. There, too,
open at the page that narrated the death-struggle, lay Liszt's "Life
of Chopin," pressed face downwards, with two purple <DW29>s crushed
and staining the leaves; and a small gold thimble peeping out of a
crevice in the damask tattled of the careless feminine fingers that
had left these traces of disorder.

The collection of pictures was unlike those usually brought from
Europe by cultivated tourists, for it contained no Madonnas, no
Magdalenes, no Holy Families, no Descents or Entombments, no Saints,
or Sibyls, or martyrs; and consisted of wild mid-mountain scenery, of
solemn surf-swept strands, of lonely moonlit moors, of crimson sunsets
in Cobi or Sahara, and of a few gloomy, ferocious faces, among which
the portrait of Salvator Rosa smiled sardonically, and a head of
frenzied Jocasta was preeminently hideous.

As Mrs. Gerome entered the parlor and brightened the flame of the
Psyche lamp, her eyes accidentally fell upon the bust of Beethoven,
where, in gilt letters, she had inscribed his own triumphant
declaration, "_Music is like wine, inflaming men to new achievements;
and I am the Bacchus who serves it out to them_." While she watched
the rayless marble orbs, more eloquent than dilating darkening human
pupils, a shadow dense and mysterious drifted over her frigid face,
and, without removing her eyes from the bust above her, she sat down
before the piano, and commenced one of those marvellous symphonies
which he had commended to the study of Goethe.

Ere it was ended Elsie came in, bearing a waiter on which stood a
silver _epergne_ filled with fruit, a basket of cake, and a goblet of
iced tea.

"My child, I bring your supper here because the dining-room looks
lonesome at night."

"No,--no! take it away. I tell you I want nothing."

"But, for my sake, dear--"

"Let me alone, Elsie! There,--there! Don't teaze me."

The nurse stood for some moments watching the deepening gloom of the
up-turned countenance, listening to the weird strains that seemed to
drip from the white fingers as they wandered slowly across the keys;
then, kneeling at her side, grasped the hands firmly, and covered them
with kisses.

"Precious bairn! don't play any more to-night. For God's sake, let me
shut up this piano that is making a ghost of you! You will get so
stirred up you can't close your eyes,--you know you will; and then I
shall cry till day-break. If you don't care for yourself, dearie, do
try to care a little for the old woman who loves you better than her
life, and who never can sleep till she knows your precious head is on
its pillow. My pretty darling, you are killing me by inches, and I
shall stay here on my knees until you leave the piano, if that is not
till noon to-morrow. You may order me away; but not a step will I
stir. God help you, my bairn!"

Mrs. Gerome made an effort to extricate her hands, but the iron grasp
was relentless; and, in a tone of great annoyance, she exclaimed,--

"Oh, Elsie! You are an intolerable--"

"Well, dear, say it out,--an intolerable old fool! Isn't that what you
mean?"

"Not exactly; but you presume upon my forbearance. Elsie, you must not
interrupt and annoy me, for I tell you now I will not submit to it.
You forget that I am not a child."

"Darling, you will never be anything but a child to me,--the same
pretty child I took from its dead mother's arms and carried for years
close to my heart. So scold me as you may, my pet, I shall love you
and try to take care of you just as long as there is breath left in my
body."

She ended by kissing the struggling hands; and, striving to conceal
her vexation, Mrs. Gerome finally turned and said,--

"If you will eat your supper, and stay with Robert, and leave me in
peace, I promise you I will close the piano, which your flinty Scotch
soul can no more appreciate than the brick and mortar that compose
these walls. You mean well, my dear, faithful Elsie, but sometimes you
bore me fearfully. I know I am often wayward; but you must bear with
me, for, after all, how could I endure to lose you,--you the only
human being who cares whether I live or die? There,--go! Good night!"

She threw her arms around Elsie's neck, leaned her wan cheek for an
instant only on her shoulder, then pushed her away and hastily closed
the piano.

Two hours later, when the devoted servant stole up on tip-toe, and
peeped through the half-open door that led into the hall, she found
the queenly figure walking swiftly and lightly across the room from
oriel to arch, with her hands clasped over the back of her head, and
the silvery lamp-light shining softly on the waves of burnished hair
that rippled around her pure, polished forehead.

As she watched her mistress, Elsie's stout frame trembled, and hot
tears streamed down her furrowed face while she lifted her heart in
prayer, for the dreary, lonely, lovely woman, who had long ago ceased
to pray for herself. But when the quivering lips of one breathed a
petition before the throne of God, the beautiful cold mouth of the
other was muttering bitterly,--

  "Yea, love is dead, and by her funeral bier
  Ambition gnaws the lips, and sheds no tears;
  And, in the outer chamber Hope sits wild,--
  Hope, with her blue eyes dim with looking long."

CHAPTER VII.

"Ulpian, why do you look so grave and grieved? Does your letter
contain bad news?"

Miss Jane pushed back her spectacles and glanced anxiously at her
brother, who stood with his brows slightly knitted, twirling a
crumpled envelope between his fingers.

"It is not a letter, but a telegraphic dispatch, summoning me to the
death-bed of my best friend, Horace Manton."

"The man whose life you saved at Madeira?"

"Yes; and the person to whom, above all other men, I am most strongly
and tenderly attached. His constitution is so feeble that I have long
been uneasy about him; but the end has come even earlier than I
feared."

"Where does he live?"

"On the Hudson, a few miles above New York City. I have no time to
spare, for I shall take the train that leaves at one o'clock, and must
make some arrangement with Dr. Sheldon to attend my patients. Will it
trouble or tire you too much to pack my valise while I write a couple
of business letters? If so, I will call Salome to assist you."

"Trouble me, indeed! Nonsense, my dear boy; of course I will pack your
valise. Moreover, Salome is not at home. How long will you be
absent?"

"Probably a week or ten days,--possibly longer. If poor Horace
lingers, I shall remain with him."

"Wait one moment, Ulpian. Before you go I want to speak to you about
Salome."

"Well, Janet, I lend you my ears. Has the girl absolutely turned
pagan and set up an altar to Ceres, as she threatened some weeks
since? Take my word for the fact that she does not believe or mean
one half that she says, and is only amusing herself by trying to
discover how wide her audacious heresies can expand your dear
orthodox eyes. Expostulation and entreaty only feed her affected
eccentricities and skepticism, and if you will persistently and
quietly ignore them, they will shrivel as rapidly as a rank
gourd-vine, uprooted on an August day."

"Pooh! pooh! my dear boy. How you men do prate sometimes of
matters concerning which you are as ignorant as the yearling calves
and gabbling geese that I suppose your learned astronomers see
driven every day to pasture on that range of mountains in the
moon--Eratosthenes--that modern science pretends to have discovered,
and about which you read so marvellous a paper last week."

Miss Jane reverently clung to the dishonored remnants of the Ptolemaic
theory, and scouted the philosophy of Copernicus which she vehemently
averred was not worth "a pinch of snuff," else the water in the well
would surely run out once in every twenty-four hours. Now, as she
dived into the depths of her stocking-basket, collecting the socks
neatly darned and rolled over each other, her brother smiled, and
answered, good humoredly,--

"Dear Janet, I really have not time to follow you to the moon, nor to
prove to you that your astronomical doctrines have been dead and
decently buried for nearly three hundred years; but I should like to
hear what you desire to tell me with reference to Salome. What is the
matter now?"

"Nothing ails her, except a violent attack of industry, which has
lasted much longer than I thought possible; for, to tell you the truth
without stint or varnish, she certainly was the most sluggish piece of
flesh I ever undertook to manage. Study she would not, keep house she
could not, sewing gave her the headache, and knitting made her
cross-eyed; but, behold! she has suddenly found out that her pretty
little pink palms were made for something better than propping her
peach-bloom cheeks. A few days ago I accidentally discovered that she
was sitting up until long after midnight, and when I questioned her
closely, she finally confessed that she had entered into a contract to
furnish a certain amount of embroidery every month. Bless the child!
can you guess what she intends to do with the money? Hoard it up in
order to rent a couple of rooms, where she can take Jessie and
Stanley to live with her. Ulpian, it is a praiseworthy aim, you must
admit."

"Eminently commendable, and I respect and admire the motive that
incites her to such a laborious course. At present she is too young
and inexperienced to take entire charge of the children, and I know
nothing of your plans or intentions concerning her future; but, let me
assure you, dear Jane, that I will cordially cooperate in all your
schemes for aiding her and providing a home for them, and my purse
shall not prove a laggard in the race with yours. Recently I have been
revolving a plan for their benefit, but am too much hurried just now
to give you the details. When I return we will discuss it _in
extenso_."

"You know that I ascribe great importance to blood, but strange as
it may appear, that girl Salome has always tugged hard at my
heart-strings, as if our proud old blood beat in her veins; and
sometimes I fancy there must be kinship hidden behind the years, or
buried in some unknown grave."

"Amuse yourself while I am away by digging about the genealogical
tree of the house of Grey, and, if you can trace a fibre that
ramifies in the miller's family, I will gladly bow to my own blood
wherever I find it, and claim cousinship. Meantime, my dear sister,
do keep a corner of your loving heart well swept and dusted for your
errant sailor-boy."

He hastily kissed her cheek and turned away to write letters, while
she went into the adjoining room to pack his clothes.

When Salome returned from town, whither she had gone to carry a
package of finished work and obtain a fresh supply, she found Miss
Jane alone in the dining-room, and wearing a dejected expression on
her usually cheerful countenance.

"Did Ulpian tell you good-by?"

"No, I have not seen him. Where has he gone?"

"To New York."

The long walk and sultry atmosphere had unwontedly flushed the girl's
face, and the damp hair clung in glossy rings to her brow; but, as
Miss Jane spoke, the blood ebbed from cheeks and lips, and sweeping
back the dark tresses that seemed to oppress her, she asked,
shiveringly,--

"Is Dr. Grey going back to sea?"

"Oh no, child! An old friend is very ill, and telegraphed for him. Sit
down, dear,--you look faint."

"Thank you, I don't wish to sit down, and there is nothing the matter
with me. When will he come home?"

"I can not tell precisely, as his stay is contingent upon the
condition of his friend."

"Is it a man or woman whom he has gone to see?"

The astonishment painted on Miss Jane's face would have been ludicrous
to a careless observer, less interested than the orphan in her slow
and deliberate reply.

"A man, of course."

"Did he tell you so?"

"Certainly. He went to see Mr. Horace Manton, with whom he was
associated while abroad. But suppose it had been some winsome,
brown-eyed witch of a woman, instead of a dying man, what then?"

"Then you would have lost your brother, and I my French pronouncing
dictionary,--that is all. Did he leave any message about my grammar
and exercises?"

"No, dear; but he started so hurriedly--so unexpectedly--he had not
time for such trifles. Where are you going?"

"To put away my bonnet and bundle, and look after Stanley, who is
romping with the kittens on the lawn."

The old lady laid down her knitting, leaned her elbows on the arms of
her rocking-chair, and, clasping her hands, bowed her chin upon them,
while a half-stifled sigh escaped her.

"Mischief,--mischief, where I meant only kindness! I sowed good seed,
and reap thistles and brambles! My charity-cake turns out miserable
dough! But how could I possibly foresee that the child would be such a
simpleton? What right has she to be so unnecessarily interested in my
brother, who is old enough to have been her father? It is unnatural,
absurd, and altogether unpardonable in Salome to be guilty of such
presumptuous nonsense; and, of course, it is not in the least my
fault, for the possibility of this piece of mischief never once
occurred to me! True, she is as old as Ulpian's mother was when father
married her; but then Mrs. Grey was not at all in love with her
white-haired husband, and had set her affections solely on that
Mercer-Street house, with marble steps and plate-glass windows. How do
I know that, after all, Salome is not in love with Ulpian's fortune
instead of the dear boy's blue eyes, and handsome hair, and splendid
teeth? However, I ought not to think so harshly of the child, for I
have no cause to consider her calculating and selfish. Poor thing! if
she really cares for him there are breakers ahead of her, for I am
sure that he is as far from falling in love with her as I would be
with the ghost of my great-grandfather's uncle. Thank Providence, all
this troublesome, mischievous, Lucifer machinery of love and marriage
is shut out of heaven, where we shall be as the angels are. Ah,
Salome! I fear you are a giddy young idiot, and that I am a blind old
imbecile, and I wish from the bottom of my heart you had never
darkened my doors."

The quiet current of Miss Jane's secluded life had never been ruffled
by a serious _affaire du coeur_; consequently she indulged little
charity towards those episodes, which displayed what she considered
the most humiliating weakness of her sex.

While puzzling over the best method of extricating her _protegee_ from
the snare into which she was disposed to apprehend that her own
well-meant but mistaken kindness had betrayed her, she saw an unsealed
note lying beneath the table, and, by the aid of her crutch, drew it
within reach of her fingers. A small sheet of paper, carelessly folded
and addressed to Salome, merely contained these words,--

  "I congratulate you, my young friend, on the correctness of your
  French themes, which I leave in the drawer of the library-table.
  When I return I will examine those prepared during my absence;
  and, in the interim, remain,

  "Very respectfully,

  "ULPIAN GREY."

Miss Jane wiped her glasses, and read the note twice; then held it
between her thumb and third finger, and debated the expediency of
changing its destination. Her delicate sense of honor revolted at the
first suggestion of interference, but an intense aversion to
"love-scrapes" finally strengthened her prudential inclination to
crush this one in its incipiency; and she deliberately tore the paper
into shreds, which she tossed out of the window.

"If Ulpian only had his eyes open he would never have scribbled one
line to her; and, since I know what I know, and see what I see, it is
my duty to take the responsibility of destroying all fuel within reach
of a flame that may prove as dangerous as a torch in a hay-rick."

Limping into the library, she took from the drawer the two books
containing French exercises and laid them in a conspicuous place on
the table, where they could not fail to arrest the attention of their
owner; after which she resumed her knitting, consoling herself with
the reflection that she had taken the first step towards smothering
the spark that threatened the destruction of all her benevolent
schemes.

Up and down, under the spreading trees in the orchard, wandered
Salome, anxious to escape scrutiny, and vaguely conscious that she had
reached the cross-roads in her life, where haste or inadvertence might
involve her in inextricable difficulties.

She was neither startled, nor shocked, nor mortified, that the
unceremonious departure of the master of the house stabbed her heart
with pangs that made her firm lips writhe, for she had long been
cognizant of the growth of feelings whose discovery had so completely
astounded Miss Jane.

The orphan had not eagerly watched and listened for the sight of his
face--the sound of his voice--without fully comprehending herself;
for, however ingeniously and indefatigably women may mask their hearts
from public gaze and comment, they do not mock their own reason by
such flimsy shams, and Salome could find no prospect of gain in
playing a game of brag with her inquisitive soul.

In the quiet orchard, where all things seemed drowsy--where the only
spectators were the mellowing apples that reddened the boughs above
her, and her sole auditors the brown partridges that nestled in the
tall grass, and the shy cicadae ambushed under the clover leaves--her
pent-up pain and disappointment bubbled over in a gush of passionate
words.

"Gone without giving me a syllable, a word, a touch! Gone, for an
indefinite period, without even a cold 'good-by, Salome!' You call
yourself a Christian, Dr. Grey, and yet you are cruel, now and then,
and make me writhe like a worm on a fish-hook! He told Stanley he
would return in two or three weeks, perhaps sooner,--but I know
better. I have a dull monitor here that says it will be a long, dreary
time, before I see him again. A wall of ice is rising to divide
us--but it shall not! it shall not! I will have my own! I will look
into his calm eyes! I will touch his soft, warm, white palms! I will
hear his steady, low, clear voice, that makes music in my ears and
heaven in my heart! It is three months since he shook hands with me,
but all time cannot remove the feeling from my fingers; and some day I
can cling to his hand and lean my cheek against it,--and who dare
dispute my right? He says he never loved any woman! I heard him tell
his sister he had yet to meet the woman whom he could marry,--and, if
truth lingers anywhere in this world of sin, it finds a sanctuary in
his soul! He never loved any woman! Thank God! I can't afford to doubt
it. No one but his sister has touched his lips, or his noble,
beautiful forehead. How I envied little Jessie when he put his arm
around her and stooped and laid his cheek on hers. Oh, Dr. Grey,
nobody else will ever love you as I do! I know I am unworthy, but I
will make myself good and great to match you! I know I am beneath you,
but I will climb to your proud height,--and, so help me God, I will be
all that your lofty standard demands! He does not care for me
now,--does not even think of me; but I must be patient and merit his
notice, for my own folly sank me in his good opinion. When these
apples were pale, pink blossoms, I dreaded his coming, and hoped the
vessel would be wrecked; now, ere they are ripe, I am disposed to
curse the cause of his temporary absence and think myself ill-used
that no farewell privileges were granted me. Now I can understand why
people find comfort in praying for those they love; for what else can
I do but pray while he is away? Oh, I shall not, cannot, will not,
miss my way to heaven if he gets there before me!"

In utter abandonment she threw herself down in the long yellow
sedge-grass,--frightening a whole covey of gossiping young partridges
and a couple of meek doves, all of which whirred away to an adjacent
pea-field, leaving her with her face buried in her hands, and watched
by trembling mute crickets and cicadae.

On the topmost twig of the tallest tree a mocking-bird poised himself,
and sympathetically poured out his vesper canticle,--a song of
condolence to the prostrate figure who, just then, would have
preferred the echo of a man's deep voice to all Pergolese's strains.

After a little while pitying Venus swung her golden globe in among the
apple-boughs, peeping compassionately at her luckless votary; and,
finally, in the violet west,--

  "Two silver beacons sphered in the skies,
  Eve in her cradle opening her eyes."

Two weeks dragged themselves away without bringing any tidings of
the absent master; but, towards the close of the third, a brief
letter informed his sister that the invalid friend was still alive,
though no hope of his recovery was entertained, and that it was
impossible to fix any period for the writer's return. Salome asked
no questions, but the eager, hungry expression, with which she
eyed the letter as it lay on the top of the stocking-basket,
touched Miss Jane's tender heart; and, knowing that it contained no
allusion to the orphan, she put it into her hand, and noticed the
cloud of disappointment that gathered over her features as she
perused and refolded it. Another week--monotonous, tedious, almost
interminable--crept by, and one morning as Salome passed the
post-office she inquired for letters, and received one post-marked
New York and addressed to Miss Jane.

Hurrying homeward with the precious missive, her pace would well-nigh
have distanced Hermes, and the dusty winding road seemed to mock her
with lengthening curves while she pressed on; but at last she reached
the gate, sped up the avenue, and, pausing a moment at the threshold
to catch her breath and appear _nonchalant_, she demurely entered Miss
Jane's apartment. The only occupant was a servant sewing near the
window, and who, in reply to an eager question, informed Salome that
the mistress had gone to spend the day with a friend whose residence
was six miles distant.

The girl bit her lip until the blood started, and, to conceal her
chagrin, took refuge in the parlor, where the quiet dimness offered a
covert. Locking the door, she sat down in one of the cushioned
rocking-chairs and looked at the letter lying between her fingers. The
gilt clock on the mantel uttered a dull, clicking sound, and a little
green and gold- bird hopped out and "cuckooed" ten times. Miss
Jane would not probably return before seven, possibly eight o'clock,
and what could be done to strangle those intervening nine hours?

The blood, heated by exercise and impatience, throbbed fiercely in her
temples and thumped heavily at her heart, producing a half-suffocating
sensation; and, in her feverish anxiety, the doom of Damiens appeared
tolerable in comparison with the torturing suspense of nine hours on
the rack.

The envelope was an ordinary white one, merely sealed with a solution
of gum arabic, and dexterous fingers could easily open and reclose it
without fear of detection, especially by eyes so dim and uncertain as
those for which it had been addressed. A damp cloth laid upon the
letter would in five minutes prove an _open sesame_ to its coveted
contents, and a legion of fiends patted the girl's tingling fingers
and urged her to this prompt and feasible relief from her goading
impatience. Secure from intrusion and beyond the possibility of
discovery, she turned the envelope up and down and over, examining the
seal; and the amber gleams lying _perdu_ under the shadows of her
pupils rayed out, glowing with a baleful Lucifer light, as infallibly
indicative of evil purposes as the sudden kindling in a crouching
cat's or cougar's gaze, just as they spring upon their prey.

It was a mighty temptation, cunningly devised and opportunely
presented, and six months ago her parley with the imps of Apollyon who
contrived it would not have lasted five minutes; but, in some natures,
love for a human being will work marvels which neither the fear of
God, nor the hope of heaven, nor yet the promptings of self-respect
have power to accomplish.

Now while Salome dallied with the temper and gave audience to the
clamors of her rebellious heart, she looked up and met the earnest
gaze of a pair of sunny blue eyes in a picture that hung directly
opposite.

It was an admirable portrait of Dr. Grey, clad in full uniform as
surgeon in the U.S. Navy, and painted when he was twenty-eight years
old. Up at that calm, cloudless countenance, the girl looked
breathlessly, spell-bound as if in the presence of a reproving angel;
and, after some seconds had elapsed, she hurled the unopened letter
across the room, and lifted her hands appealingly,--

"No,--no! I did not--I cannot--I will not act so basely! I must not
soil fingers that should be pure enough to touch yours. I was sorely
tempted, my beloved; but, thank God, your blessed blue eyes saved me.
It is hard to endure nine hours of suspense, but harder still to bear
the thought that I have stooped to a deed that would sink me one iota
in your good opinion. I will root out the ignoble tendencies of my
nature, and keep my heart and lips and hands stainless,--hold them
high above the dishonorable things that you abhor, and live during
your absence as if your clear eyes took cognizance of every detail.
Yea,--search me as you will, dear deep-blue eyes,--I shall not shrink;
for the rule of my future years shall be to scorn every word, thought,
and deed that I would not freely bare to the scrutiny of the man whose
respect I would sooner die than forfeit. Oh, my darling, it were
easier for me to front the fiercest flames of Tophet than face your
scorn! I can wait till Miss Jane sees fit to show me the letter, and,
if it bring good news of your speedy coming, I shall have my reward;
if not, why should I hasten to meet a bitter disappointment which may
be lagging out of mercy to me?"

Picking up the letter as suspiciously as if it had been dropped by
the Prince of Darkness on the crest of Quarantina, she stepped upon a
table and inserted the corner of the envelope in the crevice between
the canvas and the portrait-frame, repeating the while a favorite
passage that she had first heard from Dr. Grey's lips,--

  "'God meant me good too, when he hindered me
  From saying "yes" this morning. I say no,--no!
  I tie up "no" upon His altar-horns,
  Quite out of reach of perjury!'"

Young though she was, experience had taught her that the most
effectual method of locking the wheels of time consisted in sitting
idly down to watch and count their revolutions; consequently, she
hastened upstairs and betook herself vigorously to the work of
embroidering a _parterre_ of flowers on the front breadth of an
infant's christening dress which her employer had promised should be
completed before the following Sabbath.

Stab the laggard seconds as she might with her busy needle, the day
was drearily long; and few genuine cuckoo-carols have been listened to
with such grateful rejoicing as greeted those metallic gutturals that
once in every sixty minutes issued from the throat of the gaudy
automaton caged in the gilt clock.

True, nine hours are intrinsically nine hours under all circumstances,
whether decapitation or coronation awaits their expiration; but to the
doomed victim or the heir-apparent they appear relatively shorter or
longer. At last Salome saw that the shadows on the grass were
lengthening. Her head ached, her eyes burned from steady application
to her trying work, and laying aside the cambric, she leaned against
the window-facing and looked out over the lawn, where Time seemed to
have fallen asleep in the mild autumn sunshine.

How sweet and welcome was the distance-muffled sound of tinkling
cow-bells, and the low bleating of homeward-strolling flocks, wending
their way across the hills through which the road crawled like a dusty
gray serpent.

A noisy club of black-birds that had been holding an indignation
meeting in the top of a walnut tree near the gate, adjourned to the
sycamore grove that overshadowed the barn in the rear of the house;
and Stanley's pigeons, which had been cooing and strutting in the
avenue, went to roost in the pretty painted pagoda Dr. Grey had
erected for their comfort. Finally, the low-swung, heavy carriage,
with its stout dappled horses, gladdened Salome's strained eyes; and,
soon after, she heard the thump of Miss Jane's crutches and her
cheerful voice, asking,--

"Where are the children? Tell them I have come home. Bless me, the
house is as dark as a dungeon! Rachel, have we neither lamps nor
candles?"

The orphan stole down the steps, climbed upon the table in the parlor,
and, seizing the letter, hurried into the dining-room, where, quite
exhausted by the fatigue of the day, the old lady lay on the sofa.

She held out her hand and drew the girl's face within reach of her
lips, saying,--

"My child, I am afraid you have had rather a lonely day."

"Decidedly the loneliest and longest I ever spent, and I believe I
never was half so glad to see you come home as just now when the
carriage stopped at the door."

Ah, what hypocrisy is sometimes innocently masked by the earnest
utterance of the truth! And what marvels of industry are accomplished
by self-love, which seeks more assiduously than bees for the honied
drops of flattery that feed its existence!

Miss Jane was pardonably proud that her presence was so essential to
the happiness of the orphan whom she fondly loved, and gratification
spread a pleasant smile over her worn features.

"Where is Stanley? The child ought not to be out so late."

"He went down to the sheep-pen to count the lambs and look after one
that broke its leg yesterday. Miss Jane, are you too much fatigued to
read a letter which I found this morning in your box at the
post-office?"

"Is it from Ulpian? I was wondering to-day why I did not hear from
him. Dear me, what have I done with my spectacles? They are the
torment of my life, for the instant I take them off my nose they seem
to find wings. Give me the letter, and see whether I left my glasses
on the bed where I put my bonnet."

Salome went into the next room and unsuccessfully searched the bed,
bureau, table, and wardrobe; and in an agony of impatience, returned
to the invalid.

"You must have lost them before you came home; I can't find them
anywhere. Let me read the letter to you."

"No; I must have my glasses. Perhaps I dropped them in the carriage.
Send word to the driver to look for them. It was very careless in me
to lose them, but I am growing so forgetful. Rachel, do hunt for my
spectacles."

Salome ground her teeth to suppress a cry of vexation; and, to conceal
her impatience, joined heartily in the search.

Finally she found the glasses on the front steps, where they had
fallen when their owner left the carriage; and, feeling that adverse
fate could no longer keep her in suspense, she hurried into the house
and adjusted them on Miss Jane's eagle nose.

Conscious that she was fast losing control over the nerves that were
quivering from long-continued tension, Salome stepped to the open
window and stood waiting. Would the old lady never finish the perusal?
The minutes seemed hours, and the pulsing of the blood in the girl's
ears sounded like muttering thunder.

Miss Jane sighed heavily,--cleared her throat, and sighed again.

"It is very sad, indeed! It is too bad,--too bad!"

Salome turned around, and exclaimed, savagely,--

"Why can't you speak out? What is the matter? What has happened?"

"Ulpian's friend is dead."

"Thank God!"

"For shame! How can you be so heartless?"

"If the man could not recover I should think you would be glad that
he is at rest, and that your brother can come home."

"But the worst of the matter is that Ulpian is not coming home. Mr.
Manton wished him to act as guardian for his daughter, who is in
Europe, and Ulpian will sail in the next steamer for England, to
attend to some business connected with the estate. It is too
provoking, isn't it? He says it is impossible to tell when we shall
see him again."

There was no answer, and, when Miss Jane wiped her eyes and looked
around, she saw the girl tottering towards the door, groping her way
like one blind.

"Salome,--come here, child!"

But the figure disappeared in the hall, and when the moonlight looked
into the orphan's chamber the soft rays showed a girlish form kneeling
at the window, with a white face drenched by tears, and quivering lips
that moaned in feeble, broken accents,--

"God help me! I might have known it, for I had a presentiment of
terrible trouble when he went away. How can I trust God and be
patient, while the Atlantic raves and surges between me and my idol?
After all, it was an angel of mercy whose tender white hands held
back this bitter blow for nine hours. Gone to Europe, and not one
word--not one line--to me! Oh, my darling! you are trampling under
your feet the heart that loves you better than everything else in the
universe,--better than life, and its hopes of heaven!"

CHAPTER VIII.

"Salome, where did you learn to sing? I was astonished this morning
when I heard you."

"I have not yet learned,--I have only begun to practise."

"But, my child, I had no idea you owned such a voice. Where have you
kept it concealed so long?"

"I was not aware that I had it until a month ago, when it accidentally
discovered itself."

"It is very powerful."

"Yes, and very rough; but care and study will smooth and polish it.
Miss Jane, please keep your eye on Stanley until I come home; for,
although I left him with his slate and arithmetic, it is by no means
certain that they will not part company the moment I am out of
sight."

"Where are you going?"

"To carry back some work which would have been returned yesterday had
not the weather been so inclement."

In addition to the package of embroidered handkerchiefs, Salome
carried under her arm a roll of music and an instruction-book; and,
when she reached the outskirts of the town, turned away from the main
street and stopped at the door of a small comfortless-looking house
that stood without enclosure on the common.

Two swart, black-eyed children were playing mumble-peg with a broken
knife, in one corner of the room; a third, with tears still on its
lashes, had just sobbed itself to sleep on a strip of faded carpet
stretched before the smouldering embers on the hearth; while the
fourth, a feeble infant only six months old, was wailing in the arms
of its mother,--a thin, sickly woman, with consumption's red autograph
written on her hollow cheeks, where the skin clung to the bones as if
resisting the chill grasp of death. As she slowly rocked herself,
striving to hush the cry of the child, her dry, husky cough formed a
melancholy chorus, which seemed to annoy a man who sat before the
small table covered with materials for copying music. His cadaverous,
sallow complexion, and keen, restless eyes, bespoke Italian origin;
and, although engaged in filling some blank sheets with musical notes,
he occasionally took up a violin that lay across his knees, and, after
playing a few bars, laid aside the bow and resumed the pen. Now and
then he glanced at his wife and child with a scowling brow; but, as
his eyes fell on their emaciated faces, something like a sigh seemed
to heave his chest.

When Salome's knock arrested his attention he rose and advanced to the
half-open door, saying, impatiently,--

"Well, miss, have you brought me any money?"

"Good morning, Mr. Barilli. Here are the ten dollars that I promised,
but I wish you to understand that in future I shall not advance one
cent of my tuition-money. When the month ends you will receive your
wages, but not one day earlier."

"I beg pardon, miss; but, indeed, you see--"

He did not conclude the sentence, but waved his hand towards the two
in the rocking-chair and proceeded to count the money placed in his
palm.

"Yes, I see that you are very destitute, but charity begins at home,
and I have to work hard for the wages that you have demanded before
they are due. Good morning, madam; I hope you feel better to-day.
Come, Mr. Barilli, I have no time to waste in loitering. Are you ready
for my lesson?"

"Quite ready, miss. Commence."

For three-quarters of an hour he listened to her exercises, which he
accompanied with his violin, and afterwards directed her to sing an
air from a collection of songs on the table. As her deep, rich
contralto notes swelled round and full, he shut his eyes and nodded
his head as if in an ecstacy; and, when she concluded, he rapped his
violin heavily with the bow, and exclaimed,--

"Some day when you sing that at _Della Scala_, remember the poor devil
who taught it to you in a hovel. Soaked as those old walls are with
music from the most famous lips the world ever applauded, they hold no
echoes sweeter than that last trill. After all, there is no
passion--no pathos--comparable to a perfect contralto crescendo. It is
wonderful how you Americans squander voices that would rouse all
Europe into a _furore_."

"I am afraid your eager desire for pupils biases your judgment, and
invests my voice with fictitious worth," answered Salome, eyeing him
suspiciously.

"Ha! you mean that I flatter, in order to keep you. Not so, miss. If
St. Cecilia herself asked tuition without good pay, I should shut the
door in her face; but, much as I need money, I would not risk my
reputation by praising what was poor. If one of my children--that
miserable little Beatrice, yonder--only had your voice, do you think I
would copy music, or teach beginners, or live in this cursed hole?
You have a fortune shut up in your throat, and some day, when you are
celebrated, at least do me the justice to tell the world who first
found the treasure; and, out of your wealth, spare me a decent
tombstone in the Campo Santo of--of--"

He laughed bitterly, and, seizing his violin, filled the room with
mournful _miserere_ strains.

"How long a course of training do you think will be necessary before
the inequalities in my voice can be corrected and my vocalization
perfected?"

"You are very young, miss, and it would not do to strain your voice,
which is well-nigh perfect in itself; but, of course, your execution
is defective,--just as a young nightingale cannot warble all its
strains before it is full-feathered. If you study faithfully, in one
year, or certainly one and a half, you will be ready for your
engagement at Della Scala. Hist! see if you can follow me?"

He played a subtle, chromatic passage, ending in a trill, and the
orphan echoed it with such accuracy and sweetness that the teacher
threw down his bow, and, while tears stood in his glittering eyes, he
put his brown hand on the girl's head, and said, earnestly,--

"There ought to be feathers here instead of hair, for no nightingale,
nestled in the olive groves of Italy, ever warbled more easily and
naturally. Don't go out to the world as Miss Owen,--make it call you
_Rosignuolo_. Take the next page in the instruction-book for a new
lesson, and practise the old scales over before you touch the
new,--they are like steps in a ladder, and save jumps and jars. God
made your voice wonderful, and, if you are only careful not to undo
his work, it will develop itself every year in fresh power and depth.
Ha! if my poor squeaking Beatrice only had it! But there is no more
music stored in her throat and chest than in a regiment of rats. Good
day, miss. Your lesson is ended, and I go to buy some wood for my
miserable shiverers."

He seized his hat and walking-stick and quitted the house, leaving his
pupil to gather up her music and conjecture, meanwhile, whether the
wood-yard or a neighboring bar-room was his real destination.

His dissipated habits had greatly impaired her faith in the accuracy
of his critical acumen touching professional matters, and, as she
rolled up the sheet of paper in her hands, Salome approached the
feeble occupant of the rocking-chair, and said, rather abruptly,--

"Madam Barilli, you ought to know when your husband speaks earnestly
and when he is merely indulging in idle flattery, and I wish to learn
his real opinion of my voice. Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes, miss, I will. I am no musician, and never was in Europe, where
he studied; but he talks constantly of your voice, and tells me there
is a fortune in it. Only last night he swore that if he could control
it, he would not take a hundred thousand dollars for the right; and
then, poor fellow, he fell into one of his fierce ways and boxed my
little Beatrice's ears, because, he said, all the teachers in the
_Conservatoire_ could not put into her throat the trill that you were
born with. Ah, no, he flatters no one now! He has forgotten how, since
the day that I was coaxed to run away from my father's elegant home
and marry the tenor singer of an opera troupe and the professor who
taught me the gamut at boarding-school. Miss, you may believe him, for
Sebastian Barilli means what he says."

"One hundred thousand dollars! I promise him and you that if one-half
of that amount can be 'trilled' into my pocket you shall both be
comfortable during the remainder of your days."

"Mine are numbered, and will end before your career begins; and, when
you sing in Della Scala, I trust I shall be singing up yonder behind
the stars, where cold and hunger and heart-ache and cruel words cannot
follow me. But, miss, when I am gone, and Sebastian is over at the
corner trying to drown his troubles, and my four helpless little ones
are left here unprotected, for God's sake look in upon them now and
then, and don't let them cry for bread. My own family long ago cast me
off, and here I am a stranger; but you, who have felt the pangs of
orphanage, will not stand by and see my darlings starve! Oh, miss,
the poor who cannot pity the poor must be hard-hearted indeed!"

The suffering woman pressed her moaning babe closer to her bosom, and,
taking Salome's hand between her thin, hot fingers, bowed her
tear-stained face upon it.

Grim recollections of similar scenes enacted in the old house behind
the mill crowded upon the mind of the miller's daughter, hardening
instead of melting her heart; but, withdrawing her fingers, she said
in as kind a tone as she could command,--

"The poor are sometimes too poor to aid each other, and pity is most
unpalatable fare; but, if your husband has not grossly deceived
himself and me with reference to my voice, I will promise that your
children shall not suffer while I live. For their sake do not despond,
but try to keep up your spirits, else your husband will be utterly
ruined. Gloomy hearthstones make club-rooms and bar-rooms populous.
Good-by. When I come again, I will bring something to stimulate your
appetite, which seems to require coaxing."

She stooped and looked for a minute at the gaunt, white face of the
half-famished infant pressed against the mother's feverish breast, and
an irresistible impulse impelled her to stroke back the rings of black
hair that clustered on its sunken temples; then, snatching her music
and bundle, she hurried out of the close, untidy room, and, once more
upon the grassy common, drew a long, deep breath of pure fresh air.

Autumn, with orange dawns, and mellow, misty moons, when

  "Sweet, calm days, in golden haze
    Melt down the amber sky,"

had died on bare brown stubble-fields and vine-veined hill-sides,
purple with clustering grapes on leafless branches; and wintry days
had come, with sleety morns and chill, crisp noons, and scarlet sunset
banners flouting the silver stars in western skies, where the
shivering, gasping old year had woven,--

  "One strait gown of red
    Against the cold."

None of the earlier years of Salome's life seemed to her half so
drearily long as the four monotonous months that followed Dr. Grey's
departure; and, during the intervals between his brief letters to his
sister, the orphan learned a deceptive quietude of manner, at variance
with the tumultuous feelings that agitated her heart; for painful
suspense which is borne with clenched hands and firmly-set teeth is
not the more patient because sternly mute.

Which suffered least, Philoctetes howling on the shores of Lemnos, or
the silent Trojan priest, writhing in a death-struggle with the
serpent folds that crushed him before the altar of Neptune?

If any messages intended for Salome found their way across the ocean,
they finally missed their destination, and reached the dead-letter
office of Miss Jane's vast and inviolate pocket; and, while this
apparent neglect piqued the girl's vanity, the blessed assurance that
the absent master was alive and well proved a sovereign balm for all
the bleeding wounds of _amour propre_.

In order to defray the expense of her musical tuition, which was
carried on in profound secrecy, it was necessary to redouble her
exertions; and all the latent energy of her character developed itself
in unflagging work, which she persistently prosecuted early and late,
and in quiet defiance of Miss Jane's expostulations and predictions
that she would permanently impair her sight.

Paramount to the desire of amassing wealth that would enable her to
provide for Jessie and Stanley rose the hope that the cultivation of
her voice would invest her with talismanic influence over the man who
was singularly susceptible of the magic of music; and, jealously
guarding the new-found gift, she spared no toil to render it perfect.

Fearful that her suddenly acquired fondness for singing might arouse
suspicion and inquiry, she rarely practised at home unless Miss Jane
were absent; and, having procured a tuning-fork, she retreated to the
most secluded portion of the adjoining forest and rehearsed her
lessons to a mute audience of grazing cattle, sombre pines, nodding
plumes of golden-rod, and shivering white asters, belated and
overtaken by wintry blasts. Alone with nature, she warbled as
unrestrainedly as the birds who listened to her quavering crescendos;
and more than once she had become so absorbed in this forest
practising, that twinkling stars peeped down at her through the fringy
canopy of murmuring firs.

In fulfilment of a promise given to Stanley, with the hope of
stimulating him to more earnest study, Salome one day took a piece of
sewing and her music-book, and set off with her brother for the
sea-shore, where he was sometimes allowed to amuse himself by catching
crabs and shrimps. The route they were compelled to take was very
circuitous, since strangers were now forbidden to stroll through the
grounds attached to "Solitude," which was the nearest point where land
and ocean met. Following a cattle-path that threaded the bare brown
hills and wound through low marsh meadows, Salome at length climbed a
cliff that overhung the narrow strip of beach running along the base
of the promontory, and, while Stanley prepared his net, she applied
herself vigorously to the completion of a cluster of lilies of the
valley which she had begun to embroider the preceding night.

It was a mild, sunny afternoon, late in December, with only a few
flakes of white curd-like cirri drifting slowly before the stiffening
south wind that came singing a song of the tropics over the gently
heaving waste of waters--

  "Where the green buds of waves burst into white froth flowers."

Two glimmering sails stood like phantoms on the horizon; and a silent
colony of snowy gulls, perched in conclave on a bit of weed-wreathed
drift floating landward, were the only living things in sight, save
the childish figure on the yellow beach under the bleaching rocks, and
the girlish one seated on the tallest cliff, where a storm-scarred
juniper, bending inland, waved its scanty fringe in the fresh salt
breeze.

No note of human strife entered here, nor hum of noisy business marts;
and the solemn silence, so profound and holy, was broken only by the
soft, mysterious murmur of the immemorial ocean, as its crystal
fingers smote the harp of rosy shells and golden sands.

Clasped in the crescent that curved a mile northward lay the house,
and grove, and grounds of "Solitude," looking sombre in the distance,
as the shadow of surrounding hills fell upon the dense foliage that
overhung its quiet precincts, and toned down the garish red of the
boat-house roof, which lent a brief dash of color to the peaceful
picture. Beyond the last guarding promontory that seemed to have
plunged through the shelving strand to bathe in blue brine and cut off
all passage along its base, a strong well-trained eye might follow the
trend of the coast even to the dim outlines and thread-like masts,
that told where the distant town hugged its narrow harbor; and, in the
opposite direction, low, irregular sand hills and brown marshes crept
southward, as if hunting the warmth that alone could mantle them with
living verdure.

As the afternoon wore away, the sinking sun dipped suddenly behind a
wooded eminence, which, losing the warm purples it had worn since
noon, grew chill and blue as his rays departed; and, weary of her
work, Salome put it aside and began to practise her music lesson,
beating time with her slender fingers on the bare juniper-roots, from
which wind and rain had driven the soil. Running her chromatic scales,
and pausing at will to trill upon any minor note that wooed her
vagrant fancy, she played with her flexible voice as dexterous
violinists toy with the obedient strings they hold in harmonious
bondage to their bows.

Finally she pushed the exercises away, and began a _fantasus_ from
"Traviata," which she had heard Mr. Barilli play several times; and so
absorbed was she in testing her capacity for vocal gymnastics that she
failed to observe the moving figure dwarfed by distance and pacing the
sands in front of "Solitude."

The rich, fresh tones which seemed occasionally to tremble with the
excess of melody that burdened them played hide-and-seek among the
hills, startling whole choruses of deep-throated echoes, and attending
and retentive ocean, catching the strains on her beryl strings, bore
them whither--and how far? To palm-plumed equatorial isles, where
dying auricular nerves mistook them for seraphic utterances? To
toiling mariners, tossed helplessly by fierce typhoons, who, pausing
in their scramble for spars, listened to the weird melody that
presaged woe and wreck? To the broken casements of fishermen's huts,
on distant shores, where anxious wives peered out in the blackening
tempest, and shrank back appalled by sounds which sea-tradition
averred were born in coral caves, mosaiced with blanching human
skulls? What hoary hierophant in the mysteries of cataphonics and
diacoustics will undertake to track those trills across the blue bosom
of the Atlantic or the purplish billows of the Indian Ocean?

The wind went down with the sun; silver-edged cirri lost their
glitter, and swift was

                     ... "The spread
  Of orange lustre through these azure spheres
  Where little clouds lie still like flocks of sheep,
  Or vessels sailing in God's other deep."

In that wondrous and magical after-glow which tenderly hovers over the
darkening face of the dying day, like the strange, spectral smile that
only sheds its cold, supernatural light on lips twelve hours dead,
Salome's fair face and graceful _pose_ was as softly defined against
the western sky as some nimbussed saint or madonna on the golden
background of old Byzantine pictures. Her small straw hat, wreathed
with scarlet poppies, lay at her feet; and around her shoulders she
had closely folded a bright plaid flannel cloak, which tinted her
complexion with its ruddy hues, as firelight flushes the olive
portraits that stare at it from surrounding walls, and the braided
black hair and large hazel eyes showed every brown tint and topaz
gleam.

Leaning her arms on the top of her music-book, she rested her chin
upon them, and sat looking seaward, singing a difficult passage, in
the midst of which her nimble voice tripped on an E flat, and, missing
the staccato step, rolled helplessly down in a legato flood of melody;
whereupon, with an impatient grimace she shut her eyes, weary of
watching the wave-shimmer that almost dazzled her. After a few
seconds, when she opened them, there stood just on the edge of the
cliff, as if poised in air, a woman whose face and form were as
sharply cut in profile on the azure sea and sky as white cameo
features on black agate grounds.

Around the tall figure shining folds of silver poplin hung heavy and
statuesque, and over the shoulders a blue crape shawl was held by a
beautiful blue-veined hand, where a sapphire asp kept guard; while a
cluster of double violets fastened behind one shell-like ear breathed
their perfume among glossy bands of gray hair.

  "There was no color in the quiet mouth,
  Nor fulness; yet it had a ghostly grace,
  Pathetically pale,"

and wan, and woful--the still face turned seaward, fronting a round
white moon that was lifting its full disk out of the line where air
and water met--she stood motionless.

Lifting her head, Salome shivered involuntarily, and grew a shade
paler as she breathlessly watched the apparition, expecting that it
would fade into blue air or float down and mingle with the waters that
gave it birth. But there was no wavering mistiness about the shining
drapery; and, presently, when she turned and came forward, the orphan,
despite her sneers at superstition, felt the hair creep and rise on
her temples, and, springing to her feet, they faced each other. As the
stranger advanced, Salome unconsciously retreated a few steps, and
exclaimed,--

"Gray-eyed, gray-haired, gray-clad, gray-faced, and rising out of that
gray sea, I suppose I have at last met the gray ghost that people tell
me haunts old 'Solitude.' But how came such a young face under that
drift of white hair? If all ghosts have such finely carved, delicate
noses and chins, such oval cheeks and pretty brows, most of us here in
the flesh might thank fortune for a chance to 'shuffle off this mortal
coil.' Say, are you the troubled evil spirit that haunts 'Solitude'?"

"I am."

The voice was so mournfully sweet that it thrilled every nerve in
Salome's quivering frame.

"Phantom or flesh--which are you?"

"Mrs. Gerome, the owner of 'Solitude.'"

"Oh, indeed! I beg your pardon, madam, but I took you for a wraith!
You know the place has always been considered unlucky--haunted--and
you are such an extraordinary-looking person I was inclined to think I
had stumbled on the traditional ghost. I am neither ignorant nor
stupidly superstitious; but, madam, you must admit you have an
unearthly appearance; and, moreover, I should be glad to know how you
rose from the beach below to the top of this cliff? I see no feathers
on your shoulders--no balloon under your feet!"

"I was walking on the sands in front of my door, and, hearing some
very sweet strains that came floating down from this direction, I
followed the sound, and climbed by means of steps cut in the side of
this cliff. Since you regarded me as a spectre, I may as well tell you
that I was beginning to fancy I was listening to one of the old
sea-sirens, until I saw your rosy face and red lips, far too human for
a dripping mermaid or a murderous, mocking Aglaiopheme."

"No more a siren, madam, than you are a ghost! I am only Salome Owen,
the miller's child, waiting for that boy yonder, whose sublimest idea
of heaven consists in the hope that its blessed sea of glass is
brimming with golden shrimp. Stanley, run around the cliff, and meet
me. It is too late for us to be here. We should have started home an
hour ago."

"Who taught you 'Traviata'?"

"I am teaching myself, with what small help I can obtain from a
vagabond musician, who calls himself Signor Barilli, and claims to
have been a tenor singer in an opera troupe at Milan."

"You ought to cultivate your voice as thoroughly as possible."

"Why? Is it really good? Tell me, is it worth anything? No one has
heard it except that Italian violinist; and, if he praises it, I
sometimes fear it is because he is so horribly dissipated that he
confounds my _bravura_ runs with the clicking of his wine-glasses and
the gurgling of his flask. Do you know much about music?"

"I have heard the best living performers, vocal and instrumental, and
to a finer voice than yours I never listened; but you need study and
practice, for your execution is faulty. You have a splendid
instrument; but you do not yet understand its management. Where do you
live?"

"At 'Grassmere,' a farm two miles behind those hills, and in a house
hidden under elm and apple trees. Madam, it is very late, and I must
bid you good-evening. Before I go, I should like to know, if you will
not deem me unwarrantably impertinent, whether you are a very young
person with white hair, or whether you are a very old woman with a
wonderfully young face?"

For a moment there was no answer; and, supposing that she had offended
her, the orphan bowed and was turning away, when Mrs. Gerome's calm,
mournful tones arrested her:

"I am only twenty-three years old."

She walked away, turning her countenance towards the water, where
moonlight was burnishing the waves; and, when Salome and Stanley had
reached the bend in their path that would shut out the view of the
beach, the former looked back and saw the silver-gray figure standing
alone on the silent shore, communing with the silver sea, as desolate
and as hopeless as Buchanan's "Penelope,"--

  "An alabaster woman, whose fixed eyes
  Stare seaward, whether it be storm or calm."

CHAPTER IX.

"Doctor Sheldon, do you think she is dangerously ill?"

"I am afraid, Salome, that she will soon become so; for she is
threatened with a violent attack of pneumonia, which would certainly
be very dangerous to a woman of her age. It is a great misfortune that
her brother is absent."

"Dr. Grey reached New York three days ago."

"Indeed! I will telegraph immediately, and hasten his return."

Dr. Sheldon was preparing a blister in the room adjoining the one
occupied by Miss Jane, and the orphan stood by his side, twisting her
fingers nervously over each other, and looking perplexed and anxious.
He returned to his patient, and when he came out some moments later,
and took up his hat, his countenance was by no means reassuring.

"Although I know that you are very much attached to Miss Jane, and
would faithfully endeavor to nurse her, you are so young and
inexperienced that I do not feel quite willing to leave her entirely
to your guardianship; and, therefore, shall send a woman here to-night
who will fully understand the case. She is a professional nurse, and
Dr. Grey will be relieved to hear that his sister is in her hands, for
he has great confidence in her good sense and discretion. I shall stop
at the telegraph office, as I go home, and urge him to return at once.
Give me his address. Do not look so dejected. Miss Grey has a better
constitution than most persons are disposed to believe, and she may
struggle through this attack."

The new year was ushered in by heavy and incessant rains, and, having
imprudently insisted upon superintending the drainage of a new
sheepfold and the erection of an additional cattle-shed, Miss Jane had
taken a severe cold, which resulted in pneumonia.

Assiduously and tenderly Salome watched over her, and even after the
arrival of Hester Dennison, the nurse, the orphan's solicitude would
not permit her to quit the apartment where her benefactress lay
struggling with disease; while Miss Jane shrank from the stranger, and
preferred to receive the medicine from the hand of her adopted child.

When Dr. Sheldon stood by the bed early next morning, and noted the
effect of his treatment, Salome's keen eye observed the dissatisfied
expression of his face, and she drew sad auguries from his clouded
brow. He took a paper from his pocket, and said, cheerfully,--

"Come, Miss Jane, get up a smile to pay me for the good news I bring.
Can you guess what this means?" holding an envelope close to her
eyes.

"More blisters and fever mixtures, I suppose. Doctor, my poor side is
in a dreadful condition."

As she laid her hand over her left lung, she winced and groaned.

"How much would you give to have your brother's hand, instead of mine,
on your pulse?"

"All that I am worth! But my boy is in Europe, and can't come back to
me now, when I need him most."

"No, he is in New York. You have been dreaming, and forget that he has
reached America."

"No, I never knew it. Salome, is there a letter?"

"No letter, but a dispatch announcing his arrival. I told you; but you
must have fallen asleep while I was talking to you."

"No such thing! I have not slept a wink for a week."

"That is right, Miss Jane; scold as much as you like; it will do you
no harm. But, meantime, let me tell you I have just heard from Dr.
Grey, and he is now on his way home."

Salome was sitting near the pillow, and suddenly her head bowed
itself, while her lips whispered, inaudibly,--

"Thank God!"

The invalid's face brightened, and, stretching her thin, hot hand
towards the orphan, she touched her shoulder, and said:--

"Do you hear that, my child? Ulpian is coming home. When will he be
here?"

"Day after to-morrow evening, I hope, if there is no detention and
he makes all the railroad connections. I trust you will prove
sufficiently generous to bear testimony to my professional skill, by
improving so rapidly that when he arrives there will be nothing
left to do but compliment my sagacity, and thank me for relieving you
so speedily. Is not your cough rather better?"

She did not reply; and, bending down, he saw that she was asleep.

"Doctor, I am afraid she is not much better."

He sighed, shook his head, and beckoned Hester into the hall in order
to question her more minutely concerning the patient.

That night and the next she was delirious, and failed to recognize any
one; but about noon on the following day she opened her eyes, and,
looking intently at Salome, who stood near the foot of the bed, she
said, as if much perplexed,--

"I saw Ulpian just now. Where is he?"

"He will be here this afternoon, I hope. The train is due at two
o'clock, and it is now a quarter past twelve."

"I tell you I saw him not ten minutes since."

"You are feverish, dear Miss Jane, and have been dreaming."

"Don't contradict me! Am I in my dotage, think you? I saw my boy, and
he was pale, and had blood on his hands, and it ran down his beard and
dripped on his vest. You can't deceive me! What is the matter with my
poor boy? I will see him! Give me my crutches this instant!"

She struggled into a partially upright position, but fell back upon
her pillow exhausted and panting for breath.

"You were delirious. I give you my word that he has not yet come home.
It was only a horrible dream. Hester will assure you of the truth of
what I say. You must lie still, for this excitement will injure you."

The nurse gave her a powerful sedative, and strove to divert her
thoughts; but ever and anon she shuddered and whispered,--

"It was not a dream. I saw my dear sailor-boy, and he was hurt and
bleeding. I know what I saw; and if you and Hester swore till every
star dropped out of heaven, I would not believe you. If I am old and
dying, my eyes are better than yours. My poor Ulpian!"

Despite her knowledge of the feverish condition of the sick woman, and
her incredulity with reference to the vision that so painfully
disturbed her, Salome's lips blanched, and a vague, nameless, horrible
dread seized her heart.

Very soon Miss Jane fell into a heavy sleep, and, while the nurse
busied herself in preparing a bottle of beef-tea, the orphan sat with
her head pressed against the bedpost, and her eyes riveted on the face
of the watch in her palm, where the minute-hand seemed now and then to
stop, as if for breathing-time, and the hour-hand to have forgotten
the way to two o'clock.

For nearly six months Salome had counted the weeks and days,--had
waited and hoped for the hour of Dr. Grey's return as the happiest of
her life,--had imagined his greeting, the bright, steady glow in his
fine eyes, the warm, cordial pressure of his white hand, the friendly
tones of his pleasant voice; for, though he had failed to bid her
good-by, fate could not cheat her out of the interview that must
follow his arrival. Fancy had painted so vividly all the incidents
that would characterize this longed-for greeting, that she had lived
it over a thousand times; and, now that the meeting seemed actually at
hand, she asked herself whether it were possible that disappointment
could pour one poisonous drop into the brimming draught of joy that
rose foaming in amber bubbles to her parched lips.

In the profound silence that pervaded the darkened room, the ticking
of the watch was annoyingly audible, and seemed to Salome's strained
and excited nerves so unusually loud that she feared it might disturb
the sleeper. At a quarter to two o'clock she went to the hearth and
noiselessly renewed the fire, laying two fresh pieces of oak across
the shining brass andirons, whose feet represented lions' heads.

She swept the hearth, arranged some vials that were scattered on the
dressing-table, and gave a few improving touches to a vase filled with
white and orange crocuses, then crept back to the bedside and again
picked up the watch. It still lacked fifteen minutes of two, and,
looking more closely, she found that it had stopped. Tossing it into a
hollow formed by the folds of the coverlid, and repressing an
impatient ejaculation, she listened for the sound of the railroad
whistle, which, though muffled by distance, had not failed to reach
her every day during the past week.

Presently the silence, which made her ears ache, throbbed so suddenly
that she started, but it was only the "cuckoo! cuckoo!" of the painted
bird on the gilded clock. That clock was fifteen minutes slower than
Miss Jane's watch; and Salome put her face in her hands, and tried to
still the loud thumping sound of the blood at her heart.

The train was behind time. Only a few moments as yet, but something
must have happened to occasion even this slight delay; and, if
something,--what?

Hester came in and whispered,--

"Dinner is ready, and Stanley is hungry. Has Miss Jane stirred since I
went out?"

"No; what time is it?"

"Half after two."

"Oh, nonsense! You are too fast."

"Not a minute,--begging your pardon. My brother stays at the depot,
and keeps my watch with the railroad time."

Salome went to the dining-room, gave Stanley his dinner, and, anxious
to escape observation, shut herself in the dim, cold parlor, where she
paced the floor until the cuckoo jumped out, chirped three times, and,
as if frightened by the girl's fixed eyes, fluttered back inside the
clock. More than an hour behind time! Now, beyond all hope or doubt,
there had been an accident! Loss of sleep for several consecutive
nights, and protracted anxiety concerning Miss Jane, had so unnerved
the orphan that she was less able to cope successfully with this
harrowing suspense than on former occasions; still the sanguine
hopefulness of youth battled valiantly with the ghouls that
apprehension conjured up, and she remembered that comparatively
trivial occurrences had sometimes detained the train, which finally
brought all its human freight safely to the depot.

The day had been very cold and gloomy; and thick, low masses of
smoke- cloud scudded across the chill sky, whipped along their
skirts by a stinging north-east blast into dun, ragged, trailing
banners. Despite the keenness of the air, Salome opened one of the
parlor windows and leaned her face on the broad sill, where a
drizzling rain began to show itself. She had read and heard just
enough with reference to the phenomena of _clairvoyance_ to sneer at
them in happy hours, and to recur helplessly to the same subject with
a species of silent dread when misfortune seemed imminent. To-day, as
Miss Jane's delirious utterances haunted every nook and cranny of her
excited brain, permeating all topics of thought, she recalled many
instances, on legendary record, where the dying were endowed with
talismanic power over the secrets of futurity. Could it be possible
that Miss Jane had really seen what was taking place many miles
distant? Reason shook her hoary head, and jeered at such childish
fatuity; but superstitious credulity, goaded by an intense anxiety,
would not be silenced nor put to the blush, but boldly babbled of
Swedenborg and burning Stockholm.

Once she had heard Dr. Grey tell his sister, in answer to some inquiry
concerning the _arcana_ of mesmerism, that he had bestowed much time
and thought upon the investigation of the subject, and was thoroughly
convinced that there existed subtle psychological laws whose
operations were not yet comprehended, but which, when analyzed and
studied, would explain the remarkable influence of mind over mind, and
prove that the dread and baffling mysteries of psychology were merely
normal developments of intellectual power instead of supernatural or
spiritual manifestations.

This abstract view of the matter was, however, most unsatisfactory at
the present juncture; and the current of Salome's reflections was
abruptly changed by the sound of the locomotive whistle,--not the
prolonged, steady roar, announcing arrival, but the sharp, short,
shrill note of departure. Soon after, the clock struck four, and, ere
the echoes fell asleep once more in the sombre corners of the quiet
parlor, Dr. Sheldon drove up to the front door and entered the house.
Springing into the hall, Salome met him, and laid her hand on his
arm.

"Salome, your face frightens me. How is Miss Jane? Has she grown worse
so rapidly since I was here this morning?"

"I see little change in her. But you have locked bad news behind your
set teeth. Oh, for God's sake, don't torture me one second longer!
Tell me the worst. What has happened?"

"The down-train was thrown from an embankment twenty feet high, and
the cars took fire. Many lives have been sacrificed, and it is the
most awful affair I ever heard of."

He had partially averted his head to avoid the sight of her whitening
and convulsed features; but, laying her hands heavily upon his
shoulders, she forced him to face her, and her voice sank to a husky
whisper,--

"Is he dead?"

"I hope not."

"Speak out,--or I shall go mad! Is he dead?"

"Calm yourself, Salome, and let us hope for the best. We know nothing
of the particulars of this dreadful disaster, and have learned the
names of none of the sufferers. I have little doubt that Dr. Grey was
on the train, but there is no certainty that he was injured. The
regular up-train could not leave as usual, because the track was badly
torn up; but a locomotive and three cars ran out a while ago with
several surgeons and articles required for the victims. Pray sit down,
my poor child, for you are unable to stand."

"Where did it happen?"

"Near Silver Run water-tank,--about forty miles from here. The
accident occurred at twelve o'clock."

Salome's grasp suddenly relaxed, and, tossing her hands above her
head, she laughed hysterically,--

"Ha, ha! Thank God, he is not dead! He is only hurt,--only bleeding.
Miss Jane saw it all, and he is not dead, or she would have known it.
Thank God!"

Dr. Sheldon was a stern man and renowned for his iron nerves, but he
shuddered as he looked at the pinched, wan face, and heard the
unnatural, hollow sound of her unsteady voice. Had care, watching, and
suspense unpoised her reason?

Something of that which passed through his mind looked out of his
eyes, and interpreting their amazed expression, the girl waved her
hand towards the door, and added,--

"I am not insane. Go in, and Hester will explain."

He turned away, and she went back to the dusky room and threw herself
down on the sofa, opposite to the portrait of the U.S. surgeon.

Of what passed during the following two hours, she retained, in after
years, only a dim, confused, painful memory of prayers and promises
made to God in behalf of the absent.

Once before, when Miss Jane's death seemed imminent, she had been
grieved and perplexed by the possibility that Dr. Grey would inherit
the estate and usurp her domains; but to-day, when the Great Reaper
hovered over the panting, emaciated sufferer, and simultaneously
threatened the distant brother and sole heir of the extended
possessions which this girl had so long coveted, the only thought that
filled her heart with dread and wrung half-smothered cries from her
lips was,--

"Spare his life, oh, my God! Leave me penniless--take friends,
relatives, comforts, hopes of wealth--take all--take everything, but
spare that precious life and bring him safely back to me! Have mercy
on me, O Lord, and do not snatch him away! for, if I lose him now, I
lose faith in Christ--in Thee--I lose all hope in time and eternity,
and my sinful, wrecked soul will go down forever in a night that knows
no dawning!"

For six months she had been indeed,--

  "A faded watcher through the weary night--
  A meek, sweet statue at the silver shrines,
  In deep, perpetual prayer for him she loved;"

but patience, dragging anchor, finally snapped its cable, and now,
instead of an humble suppliant for the boon that alone made existence
endurable, she fiercely demanded that her idol should not be broken,
and, battling with Jehovah, impiously thrust her life down before Him
as an accursed and intolerable burden, unless her prayers were
granted. Ah, what scorpions and stones we gather to our boards, and
then dare charge the stinging mockeries against a long-suffering,
loving God! Ten days before, Salome had meekly prayed, "Thy will be
done," and had comforted herself with the belief that at last she was
beginning to grow pious and trusting, like Miss Jane; but, at the
first hint of harm to Dr. Grey, she sprang up, utterly oblivious of
the protestations of resignation that were scarcely cold on her lips,
and furious as a tigress who sees the hunter approach the jungle where
all her fierce affections centre. God help as all who pray orthodoxly
for His will, and yet, when the emergency arrives, fight desperately
for our own, feeling wofully aggrieved that He takes us at our word,
and moulds the clay which we make a Pharisaical pretense of offering!

A slow drizzling rain whitened the distant hills, that seemed to
blanch in their helplessness as the wind smote them like a flail; and
it wove a grayish veil over the leafless boughs of bending, shivering
elms, on the long, dim avenue. The wintry afternoon closed swiftly,
and, in its dusky dreariness, Salome listened to the tattoo of the
rain on the roof, and to the _miserere_ that wailed through the lonely
chambers of her soul. The chill at her heart froze her to numbness and
oblivion of the coldness of the atmosphere, and, when a servant came
in to close the window against the slanting sleet, she lay so still
that the woman thought her asleep, and stole away on tip-toe. The room
grew dark; but, through the half-opened door, the light from the hall
lamp crept in and fell on the gilded frame and painted face of the
portrait, tracing a silvery path along the gloomy wall. As the night
deepened, that wave of light rippled and glittered until the handsome
features in the picture seemed to belong to some hierarch who peeped
from a window of heaven, into a world drenched with unlifting
darkness.

That oval piece of canvas had become the one fetich to which Salome's
heart clung in silent adoration, defiant of the iconoclastic touch of
reason and the adverse decree of womanly pride; for natures such as
hers will always grovel in the dust, hugging the mutilated fragments
of their idol, rather than bow at some new, fretted shrine, where
other images hold sway, commanding worship. Looking up almost
wolfishly at that tranquil, shining countenance, she said to her
sullen, mourning heart,--

"There are no more like him, and, if we lose him, there is nothing
left in life, and all hope is at an end, and _finis_ shall be printed
on the first page of the book of our existence; and ruin, like a
pitiless pall, shall cover what might have been a happy, possibly a
grand and good, human career. We did not intend to love him,--no, no;
we tried hard to hate him who stood between us and affluence and
indolent ease, but he conquered us by his matchless magnanimity, and
shamed our ignoble aims and base selfishness, and put us under his
royal feet; and now we would rather be trampled by Ulpian, our king,
than crowned by any other man. Let us plead with Christ to spare the
only pilot who can save us from eternal shipwreck."

Lying there so helpless yet defiant in her desolation, some subtle
thread of association, guided, perhaps, by the invisible fingers of
her guardian angel, led her mind to a favorite couplet often quoted by
Dr. Grey,--

  "I heard faith's low, sweet singing, in the night,
  And, groping through the darkness, touched God's hand."

If the painted lips in the aureola on the wall had parted and audibly
uttered these words, they would scarcely have impressed her more
powerfully as a message from the absent; and, rising instantly, the
orphan prayed in chastened, humbled tones for strength to be patient,
for ability to trust God's wisdom and mercy.

How often, when binding our idolized Isaacs upon the altar, and,
meekly submissive to what appears God's inexorable mandates, we
unmurmuringly offer our heart's dearest treasure, the sacrificial
knife is stayed, and our loathed and horrible Moriahs, that erst smelt
of blood and echoed woe, become hallowed Jehovah-jirehs, all aglow,
not with devouring flames, but the blessed radiance of God's benignant
smile, and musical with thanksgiving strains. But Abraham's burden
preceded Abraham's boon, and the souls who cannot patiently endure the
first are utterly unworthy of the rapture of the last.

As the girl's mind grew calmer under the breath of prayer--which
stills the billows of human passion and strife as the command of Jesus
smoothed the thundering surf of Genesareth,--she recollected that she
had absented herself from the sick-room for an unusually long time.
How long, she could not conjecture, for the face of the clock was
invisible, and she had ceased to count the cuckoo-notes; but her limbs
ached, and a fillet of fire seemed to circle her brow.

With a lingering gaze upon the radiant portrait, she quitted the
parlor, and went wearily back to renew her vigil.

Hester Dennison was cowering over the hearth, spreading her bony hands
towards the crackling flames, and, walking up to the mantelpiece,
Salome touched the nurse, and whispered,--

"Hester, what did the doctor say? Is there any change?"

"Hush!" The woman laid a finger on her lip, and glanced over her
shoulder.

There was only a subdued light of a shaded lamp mingling with the
flicker of the fire, and, as Salome's eyes followed those of the
nurse, they rested upon the figure of a man kneeling at the bedside,
and leaning his head against the pillow where Miss Jane's white hair
was strewn in disorder.

A cry of delight, which she had neither the prudence nor power to
repress, rang through the silent chamber, startling its inmates, and
partially arousing the invalid. Salome forgot that life and death were
grappling over the prostrate form of the aged woman,--forgot
everything but the supreme joy of knowing that her idol had not been
rudely shattered.

Springing to the bedside, she put out her hands, and exclaimed,
rapturously:

"Oh, Dr. Grey! Were you much hurt? Thank God, you are alive and here!
Indeed, He is merciful--"

"Hush! Have you no prudence? Quit the room, or be quiet."

Dr. Grey lifted his haggard face from the pillow, and the light showed
it pallid and worn by acute suffering, while a strip of plaster
pressed together the edges of a deep cut on his cheek. His clothes
glistened with sleet, and bore stains that in daylight were crimson,
though now they were only ominously dark.

The stern tones of his voice, suppressed though it was, stung the
girl's heart; and she answered, in a pleading whisper,--

"Only tell me that you are not severely injured. Speak one kind word
to me!"

"I am not dangerously hurt. Hush! Remember life hangs in the
balance."

"Oh, Dr. Grey! will you not even shake hands with me, after all these
dreary months of absence? This is hard, indeed."

She had stood at his side, with her hands extended imploringly; and
now he moved cautiously, and, silently holding up one hand swathed in
linen bands, pointed to his left arm, which was tightly splintered and
bandaged.

The mute gesture explained all, and, sinking to the carpet, she
pressed her lips to the linen folds, and to the coat-sleeve, where
sleet and blood-spots mingled.

He could not have prevented her, even had he desired to do so; but at
that instant his sister moaned faintly, and, bending forward to
examine her countenance, he seemed for some minutes unconscious of the
presence of the form crouching close by his side.

After a little while he looked down, sighed, and whispered,--

"My child, do go to bed. You can do no good here, and too much
watching has already unstrung your nerves. Go to your room, and pray
that God will spare our dear Janet to us."

Was this the welcome for which she had waited and longed--of which she
had dreamed by day and by night? Not a touch, barely a brief,
impatient glance, and a few reproving, indifferent words. She had
rashly dared fate to cheat her out of this long-anticipated greeting,
and the grim, grinning crone had accepted the challenge, and now
triumphantly snapped her withered fingers in the face of the
vanquished.

When coveted fruit that has been hungrily watched through the slow,
tedious process of ripening finally falls rosy and mellow into
eagerly uplifted fingers, and breaks in a shower of bitter dust on the
sharpened and fastidious palate, it rarely happens that the
half-famished dupe relishes the taste; and Salome rose, feeling
stunned and mocked.

In one corner of the room stood a chintz-covered lounge, and, creeping
to it, she laid herself down; and, shading her features with her hand,
looked through her fingers at the pale, grieved face of the anxious
brother. Sometimes he stood up, studying the placid countenance of the
sufferer, and now and then he walked softly to the fire-place, and
held whispered conferences with Hester relative to the course of
treatment that had been pursued.

But everywhere Salome's eyes followed him; and finally, when he
chanced to glance at the couch, and noticed its occupant, whom he
imagined fast asleep, he pointed to a blanket lying on a chair, and
directed Hester to spread it over the girlish figure. The thoughtful
act warmed the orphan's heart more effectually than the thick woollen
cover; and when he sat down in an easy-chair close to the bed, and
within range of Salome's vision, she yielded to the comforting
consciousness of his presence. And, while her lips were moving in
thanks for his preservation and return, exhausted nature seized her
dues, and the girl fell asleep and dreamed that Dr. Grey stood by the
lounge, and whispered,--

  "No star goes down, but climbs in other skies;
  The rose of sunset folds its glory up
  To burst again from out the heart of dawn,
  And love is never lost, though hearts run waste,
  And sorrow makes the chastened heart a seer;
  The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope,
  And Faith can trust her heaven behind the veil."

CHAPTER X.

"Yes, Hester, the danger is past; and, if the weather continues
favorable, my sister will soon be able to sit up. My gratitude
prompts me to erect an altar here, where the mercy of God stayed
the Destroying Angel, as in ancient days David consecrated the
threshing-floor of Araunah."

"Dr. Grey, if you can possibly spare me, I should like to go back to
town to-day as Dr. Sheldon has sent for me to take charge of a patient
at his Infirmary."

"You ought not to desert me while I am so comparatively helpless; and
I should be glad to have you remain, at least until I recover the use
of my hands."

"Miss Salome can take my place, and do all that is really necessary."

"The child is so inexperienced I am almost afraid to trust her;
still--"

"Don't speak so loud. She is standing behind the window-curtain."

"Indeed! I thought she left the room when I entered it. Of course,
Hester, I will not detain you if it is necessary that you should be at
the Infirmary; but I give you up very reluctantly. Salome, if you are
at leisure, please come and see how Hester dresses my hand and arm,
for I must rely upon your kind services when she leaves us. Notice the
manner in which she winds the bandages. There, Hester,--not quite so
tight."

"Dr. Grey, I never had an education, and am at best an ignorant,
poor soul: therefore, not knowing what to think about many curious
things that happen in sick-rooms, I should be glad to hear what you
have to say concerning that vision of your sister. Remember, she
saw it at the very minute that the accident happened. I don't
believe in spirit-rapping, and such stuff as dancing tables, and
spinning chairs, and pianos that play tunes when no human being is
near them; but I have heard and seen things that made the hair rise
and stand on my head."

"The circumstance that occurred three days since is certainly rather
singular and remarkable, but by no means inexplicable. My sister knew
that I was then travelling by railroad,--that I would, without some
unusual delay, reach the depot at a certain hour, and, being in a
delirious condition, her mind reverted to the probability of some
occurrence that might detain me. Having always evinced a peculiar
aversion to railroads, which she deems the most unsafe method of
travelling, she had a feverish dream that took its coloring from her
excited apprehension of danger to me; and this vision, born of delirium,
was so vivid that she could not distinguish phantom from reality. In
ninety-nine cases out of every hundred similar ones, the dream
passes without fulfilment, and is rarely recollected or mentioned;
but the hundredth--which may chance by some surprising coincidence to
seem verified--is noised abroad as supernatural, and carefully preserved
among 'well-authenticated spiritual manifestations.' If I had escaped
injury, the freaks of my sister's delirium would have made no more
impression on your mind than the ravings of a lunatic; and, since I was
so unfortunate as to be bruised and burned, you must not allow
yourself to grow superstitious, and attach undue importance to a
circumstance which was entirely accidental, and only startling because
so exceedingly rare. Presentiments, especially when occurring in cases
of fever, are merely Will-o-the-wisps floating about in excited,
diseased brains. While at sea, and constantly associated with sailors,
whose minds constitute the most favorable and fruitful soil for the
production of phantasmagoria and _diablerie_, I had frequent
opportunities of testing the fallacy and absurdity of so-called
'presentiments and forebodings.' I am afraid it is the absence of
spirituality in the hearts of the people, that drives this generation
to seek supernaturalism in the realm of merely normal physics. The only
true spiritualism is that which emanates from the Holy Ghost,--conquers
sinful impulses, and makes a Christian heart the temple of God."

Here Miss Jane called Hester into the adjoining room; and turning to
Salome, Dr. Grey added,--

"Notwithstanding the vaunted destruction of the ancient Hydra of
superstition by the darts and javelins of modern rationalism, and the
ponderous hot irons of empirics, it is undeniably true that the habit
of 'seeking after a sign' survived the generation of Scribes and
Pharisees whom Christ rebuked; and manifests itself in the middle of
the nineteenth century by the voracity with which merely material
phenomena are seized as unmistakable indications of preternatural
agencies. The innate leaven of superstition triumphs over common sense
and scientific realism, and men and women are awed by coincidences
that reason scouts, but credulity receives with open arms. Salome, I
regret exceedingly that I am forced to trouble you, but there are some
important letters which I wish to mail to-day, and you will greatly
oblige me by acting as amanuensis while I dictate. My present disabled
condition must apologize for the heavy tax which I am imposing upon
your patience and industry. Will you come to the library?"

She made no protestations of willingness to serve him, and confessed
no delight at the prospect of being useful, but merely bowed and
smiled, with an expression in her eyes that puzzled him.

Seated at the library-table, and writing down the sentences that he
dictated while pacing the floor, Salome passed one of the happiest
hours of her life; for it brought the blessed assurance that, for the
present at least, he acknowledged his need of her.

One of the letters was addressed to Mr. Gerard Granville, an _attache_
of the American legation at Paris, and referred principally to
financial affairs; and the other, directed to Muriel Manton, contained
an urgent request that she and her governess would leave New York as
speedily as possible and become inmates of his sister's house.

When she had folded the letters and sealed them with his favorite
emerald signet,--bearing the words, "_Frangas non Flectes_,"--Salome
looked up, and asked,--

"How old is your ward, Miss Manton?"

"About your age,--though she looks much more childish."

"Pretty, of course?"

"Why 'of course'?"

"Simply because in novels they are always painted as pretty as
Persephone; and the only wards I ever knew happen to be fictitious
characters."

"Novels are by no means infallible mirrors of nature, and few wards
are as attractive as my black-eyed pet. Muriel will be very handsome,
I hope, when she is grown; but now she impresses me as merely sweet,
piquant, and pretty."

"Did you know her prior to your recent visit?"

"Yes; her father's house was my home whenever I chanced to be in New
York, and I have seen her, occasionally, since she was a little girl.
For your sake, as well as mine, I am glad she will reside here,
because I hope she will prove in every respect a pleasant companion
for you."

"Thank you; but, unfortunately, that is one luxury of which I never
felt the need, and with which, permit me to tell you, I can readily
dispense. I have little respect for women, and no desire to be wearied
with their inane garrulity."

She leaned back in her chair, and tapped restlessly with the end of
the pen-staff on the morocco-covered table.

Dr. Grey looked down steadily and gravely into her provokingly defiant
face, and replied very coldly,--

"Were I in your place, I think I should jealously guard my lips from
the hasty utterance of sentiments that, if unfeigned, ought to bring a
blush to every true woman's cheek; for I fear that she who has no
respect for her own sex bids fair to disgrace it."

A scarlet wave rolled up from throat to temples, and the lurking
yellow gleamed in her eyes, but the bend of her nostril and curve of
her lips did not relax.

"Which is preferable, hypocrisy or irreverence?"

"Both are unpardonable, in a woman."

"Where is your vast charity, Dr. Grey?"

"Busy in sheltering that lofty ideal of genuine female perfection
which you seem so pertinaciously ambitious to sully and degrade."

"You are harsh, and scarcely courteous."

"You will never find me less so when you vauntingly exhibit such
mournful blemishes of character."

"At least, sir, I am honest, and show myself just what God saw fit to
allow misfortune to make me."

"Hush, Salome! Do not add impiousness to the long catalogue of your
sinful follies. I hoped that there was a favorable change in you
before I left home, but I very much fear that, instead of exorcising
the one evil spirit that possessed you, you have swept, and garnished,
and settled yourself comfortably with seven new ones."

"And, like R. Chaim Vital, you come to pronounce _Nidui!_ and banish
my diabolical guests. If cauterization cures moral ulcers as
effectually as those that afflict the flesh, then, verily, you intend
I shall be clean and whole. You are losing patience with your
graceless neophyte."

"Yes, Salome; because forced to lose faith in her inclination and
capacity to sublimate her erring nature. Once for all, let me say that
habitual depreciation of your own sex will not elevate you in the
estimation of mine; for, however fallen you may find mankind, they
nevertheless realize amid their degradation that,--

  ''Tis somewhat to have known, albeit in vain,
    One woman in this sorrowful, bad earth,
  Whose very loss can yet bequeath to pain
    New faith in worth.'"

There was no taunt, no bitterness, in his voice; but grievous
disappointment, too deep for utterance; and the girl winced under it,
though only the flush burning on cheek and brow attested her
vulnerability.

"Remember, sir, that humanity was not moulded entirely from one
stratum of pipe-clay. Only a few wear paint, enamelling, and gold as
delicate costly Sevres; and, while the majority are only coarse
pottery, it is scarcely kind--certainly not generous--in dainty,
transparent china, belonging to king's palaces, to pity or denounce
the humble Delft or Wedgewoodware doing duty in laborer's cottages."

"Very true, my poor little warped, blotched bit of perverse pottery;
but of one vital truth permit me to assure you: the purity and
elevation of our race depend upon preserving inviolate in the hearts
of men a belief that women's natures are crystalline as that
celebrated glass once made at Murano, which was so exceedingly fine
and delicate that it burst into fragments if poison was poured into
it."

"Then, obviously, I am no Venetian goblet; else long ago I should have
shattered under the bitter, black juices poured by fate. It seems I am
not worthy to touch the lips of doges and grand dukes; but let them
look to it that some day, when spent and thirsty, they stretch not
their regal hands for the common clay that holds what all their
costly, dainty fragments can never yield. _Nous verrons!_ 'The stone
which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner.'"

Dr. Grey had resumed his walk, but the half-suppressed, passionate
protest, whose underswell began to agitate her voice, arrested his
attention, and he came to the table and stood close to the orphan.

"What is the matter with my headstrong young friend?"

She made no answer; but her elfish eyes sought his, and braved their
quiet rebuke.

"This is the last opportunity I shall offer you to tell me frankly
what troubles you. Can I help you in any way? If so, command me."

"Once you could have helped me, but that time has passed."

"Perhaps not. Try me."

"It is too late. You have lost faith in me."

"No; you have lost all faith in yourself, if you ever indulged
any,--which I very much doubt. It is you who are faithless concerning
your own defective character."

"Not I, indeed! I know it rather too well, either to set it aloft for
adoration or to trample it in the mire. When your faith in me expired,
mine was born. Do you recollect that beautiful painted window in
Lincoln Cathedral which the untutored fingers of an apprentice
fashioned out of the despised bits of glass rejected by the
fastidious master-builder? It is so vastly superior to every other in
the church that the vanquished artist could not survive the chagrin
and mortification, and killed himself. My faith is very strong, that,
please God, I shall some day show you similar handiwork."

"You grow enigmatical, and I do not fully understand you."

"No; you do not in the least comprehend me. The girl whom you left six
months ago has changed in many respects."

"For better, or for worse?"

"Perhaps neither one nor yet the other; but, at least, sir, 'my future
will not copy fair my past.'"

"Since my return, I have noticed an alteration in your deportment,
which, I regret to say, I cannot consider an improvement; and I should
feel inclined to attribute your restless impatience to nervous disease
were I not assured by your appearance that you are in perfect health.
Remember, that quietude of manner constitutes a woman's greatest
charm; and, unfortunately, you seem almost a mimic maelstrom. But,
pardon me, I did not intend to lecture you; and, hoping all things, I
will patiently wait for the future that you seem to have dedicated to
some special object. I will try to have faith in my perverse little
friend, though she sometimes renders it a difficult task. May I
trouble you to stamp those letters?"

He could not analyze the change that passed swiftly across her face,
nor the emotion that made her suddenly clinch her hands till the rosy
nails grew purple.

"Dr. Grey, don't you believe that if Judas Iscariot had only resisted
the temptation of the thirty pieces of silver, and stood by his master
instead of betraying him, that his position in heaven would have been
far more exalted than that of Peter, or even of John?"

"That is a question which I have never pondered, and am not prepared
to discuss. Why do you propound it?"

She did not answer immediately; and, when she spoke, her glittering
eyes softened in their expression, and resembled stars rising through
the golden mist of lingering sunset splendor.

"God gave you a nobler heart than mine, and left it an easy, pleasant
matter for you to be good; while, struggle as I may, I am constantly
in danger of tumbling into some slough of iniquity, or setting up
false gods for my soul to bow down to. Because it is so much more
difficult for me to do right than for you, it is only just that my
reward should be correspondingly greater."

"I am neither John nor Peter, nor are you Judas; and only He who knows
our mutual faults and follies, our triumphs and defeats in the
life-long campaign with sin, can judge us equitably. I am too
painfully conscious of my own imperfections not to sympathize
earnestly with the temptations that may assail you; and, moreover, we
should never lose sight of the fact,--

  'What's done we partly may compute,
  But know not what's resisted.'"

"Dr. Grey, you have great confidence in the efficacy of prayer?"

"Yes; for without it human lives are rudderless, drifting to speedy
wreck and ruin."

"If I ask a favor, will you grant it?"

"Have I ever denied you anything that you asked?"

"Yes, sir,--your good opinion."

"I knew that had you really desired that, you would long since have
rendered it impossible for me to withhold it. But to the point,--what
is your petition?"

"I want you to pray for me."

"Salome, are you serious? Are you really in earnest?"

"Mournfully in earnest."

"Then rest satisfied that henceforth you will always have a place in
my prayer; but do not forget the greater necessity of praying for
yourself. Now, tell me how you have been employed during my long
absence. Where are the accumulated exercises which I promised to
examine and correct when I returned?"

"Promised whom?"

"You."

"You forget that I did not see you the day you left, and that you did
not even bid me good-by."

"I referred to your French exercises in a brief and hurried note that
I left for you."

"Left where? I never received--never heard of it."

"I laid it upon your plate, where I supposed you would certainty
notice it when you came home to dinner."

"Why did not you give it to Miss Jane?"

"Simply because she was not in the room when I wrote it. It is rather
surprising that it escaped your observation, as I laid it in a
conspicuous place."

She did not deem it necessary to inform him that on that unlucky day
she had suddenly lost her appetite, and failed to go to the table; and
now she put her fingers over her eyes to conceal the blaze of joyful
light that irradiated them, as he mentioned the circumstance,
comparatively trivial, but precious in her estimation, since it was
freighted with the assurance that at least he had thought of her on
the eve of his unexpected departure. What inexpressible comfort that
note might have contributed during all those tedious months of silence
and separation! While she sat there thinking of the dreary afternoon
when, down in the orchard-grass she lay upon her face, Dr. Grey came
nearer to her, and said,--

"I hope you have not abandoned your French?"

"No, sir; but I devote less time than formerly to it."

"If agreeable to you, we will resume the exercises as soon as I can
wield my pen."

"If you can teach me Italian, I should prefer it; especially since I
have learned to pronounce French tolerably well?"

"What use do you expect to have for Italian,--at least, at present?
French is much more essential."

"I have a good reason for desiring to make the change, though just now
I do not choose to be driven into any explanations."

"Pardon me. I had no intention of forcing your confidence. When in
Italy, I always contrive to understand and make myself understood;
but my knowledge and use of the language is rather too slip-shod to
justify my attempting to teach you idioms, hallowed as the medium
through which Dante and Ariosto charmed the world. Miss Dexter,
Muriel's governess, is a very thorough and accomplished linguist, and
speaks Italian not only gracefully but correctly. I have already
engaged her to teach you whatever she may deem advisable when she
comes here to live."

"You are very kind. Is she a young person?"

"She is a very highly cultivated and elegant woman, probably
twenty-five or six years old, and has been in Florence with Muriel."

Involuntarily and unconsciously the orphan sighed, and the muscles in
her broad forehead tangled terribly.

"Salome, please put your hand in the right pocket of my vest, and take
out a key that ought to be there. No,--not that; a larger steel one.
Now you have it. Will you be so good as to open that trunk which came
by express yesterday (it is in the upper hall), and bring me a box
wrapped in pink tissue-paper? I would not trouble you with so many
commissions if I could use my hands."

Unable longer to repress her feelings, the girl exclaimed eagerly,--

"If you could imagine what pleasure it affords me to render you the
slightest service, I am very sure you would not annoy me with
apologies for making me happy."

In a few moments she returned to the library, bearing in her hand a
small but heavy package, which she placed on the table before him.

"Please open it, and examine the contents."

She obeyed him; and, after removing the wrapping, found a blue velvet
case that opened with a spring and revealed a parcel enclosed in
silver paper. Dr. Grey turned and walked to the window; and, as Salome
took off the last covering, a watch and chain met her curious gaze.
One side of the former was richly and elaborately chased, and
represented Kronos leaning on his scythe; the other was studded with
diamonds that flashed out the name "Salome." Astonishment and delight
sealed the orphan's lips, and, in silence, far more eloquent than
words, she bowed her head upon the table. After a few moments had
elapsed, Dr. Grey attempted to steal out of the room; but, being
obliged to pass close by her chair, she put out her hand and arrested
his movement.

"It is the most beautiful watch I have ever seen; but, oh, sir! how
shall I sufficiently thank you? How can I express all that is
throbbing here in my proud, grateful heart? Although the costly gift
is elegant and tasteful, I hold still more precious the fact which it
attests,--that during your absence you thought of me. How shall I
begin to prove my gratitude for your kindness and generosity?"

"Do not thank me, my little friend; for, indeed I require no verbal
assurances that my _souvenir_ is kindly received and appreciated. Wear
the watch; and let it continually remind you not only of the sincerity
of my friendship, but of the far more important fact that every idle
or injudiciously employed hour will cry out in accusation against us
in the final assize, when we are called upon to render an account of
the distribution of that invaluable time which God allows us solely
for the accomplishment of His work on earth. It is so exceedingly
difficult for young persons to realize how marvellously rapid is the
flight of time, that you will, I trust, forgive me if I endeavor to
impress upon you the vital importance of making each day fragrant with
the burden of some good deed, the resistance of some sore temptation,
some service rendered to God or to suffering humanity which shall make
your years mellow with the fruitage that will entitle you to a
glorious record in the golden book of Abou Ben Adhem's angel. Let this
little jewelled monitress of the fleeting, mocking nature of time,
this ingenious toy, whose ticking is but the mournful, endless knell
of dead seconds, remind you that,--

  "This life of ours, what is it? A very few
  Soon ended years, and then--the ceaseless psalm,
  And the eternal Sabbath of the soul."

As Salome looked up into his tranquil, happy face, two tears glided
across her cheeks, and fell upon the pretty bauble.

"You will find a key in the case, and can wind it up, and set it by
the clock in the parlor."

"Dr. Grey, are you willing that my watch shall bear daily testimony of
something which I hold far above its diamonds,--that you have faith in
Salome Owen?"

"Perfectly willing that you should make it eloquent with all friendly
utterances and sympathy. Hester has bound my arm so tightly that it
impedes the circulation, and is very painful. Please loosen the
bandage."

She complied as carefully as possible, though her hands trembled; and,
when the ligature had been comfortably adjusted and the arm restored
to its sling, she stooped and pressed her lips softly and reverently
to the cold, white fingers, that protruded from the linen bands. He
endeavored ineffectually to prevent the caress, which evidently
embarrassed him; but she left two kisses on the bruised hand, and,
snatching her watch and chain from the table, hastily quitted the
room.

In after years, when loneliness and disappointment pressed heavily
upon her heart, she looked back to the three weeks that succeeded Dr.
Grey's return as the halcyon days, as the cloudless June morning of
her life; and, in blissful retrospection, temporarily found Elysium.

She wrote his letters, read aloud from his favorite books, dressed and
bandaged his blistered hand and fractured arm, and surrendered her
heart to an intense and perfect happiness such as she had scarcely
dared to hope would ever be her portion.

CHAPTER XI.

"Bring her into my office. Steady, men! There may be broken bones, and
jarring would be torture. Don't stumble over that book on the floor.
Lay her here on the sofa, and throw open the blinds."

"Dr. Grey, is she dead?"

"No, only badly stunned; and the contusion on the head seems to be
very severe. Stand back, all of you, and give her air. When did it
happen?"

"About twenty minutes ago. She is a stout, heavy woman, and we could
not walk very fast with such a burden. Ah! you intend to bleed her?"

"Yes, I fear nothing else will relieve her. Mitchell, hold the arm for
me."

"How did she receive this injury?" asked Dr. Mitchell, who had been
holding a consultation with Dr. Grey relative to some perplexing
case.

"Those gray ponies which we were admiring a half-hour since, as they
trotted by the door, took fright at a menagerie procession coming up
from the depot to the Hippodrome,--and ran away. In steering clear of
the elephant, who was covered from head to foot, and certainly looked
frightful, the horses ran into a mass of lumber and brick at the
corner of Fountain and Franklin streets, where a new store is being
erected, and the carriage was upset. Unfortunately the harness was
very strong, and did not give away until the carriage had been dragged
some yards among the rubbish, and one of the horses finally floundered
into a bed of mortar, and broke the traces. The driver kept his hold
upon the reins to the last, but was badly bruised, and this woman was
thrown out on a pile of bricks and granite-caps. The municipal
authorities should prohibit these menagerie parades, for the meekest
plough-horse in the State could scarcely have faced that band of
musicians, flanked by the covered elephant and giraffe, and the cages
of the beasts,--much less those fiery grays, who seem snuffing danger
even when there is no provocation."

"Who is this woman?"

"She is a total stranger to me," answered Dr. Grey, bending down to
put his ear to the heart of the victim.

A bystander seemed better informed, and replied,--

"She is a servant or housekeeper of the lady who lives at 'Solitude.'
But here comes the driver, limping and making wry faces."

Robert Maclean approached the sofa, and his scratched and bleeding
face paled as he leaned over the prostrate form of his mother.

"Oh, doctors, surely two of you can save her! For God's sake, don't
let her die! Does she breathe?"

"Yes, the bleeding has already benefitted her. She breathes regularly,
and the action of her heart is better. Sit down, my man,--you look
ghastly. Mitchell, give him some brandy, and sew up that gash in his
cheek, while I write a prescription."

"Never mind me, doctor; only save my poor mother. She looks like death
itself. Mother, mother, it is all over now! Come, wake up, and speak
to me!"

He seized one of her cold hands, and chafed it vigorously between both
of his, while tears and blood mingled, as they dripped from his face
to hers.

"Doctor, tell me the truth; is there any hope?"

"Certainly, my friend; there is every reason to believe she will
ultimately recover, though you need not be surprised if she remains
for some hours in a heavy stupor. Remember, a pile of brick is not
exactly a feather pillow, and it may be some time before the brain
recovers from the severity of the contusion. What is your name?"

"Robert Maclean."

"And hers?"

"Elsie Maclean. Poor, dear creature! How she labors in her breathing.
Suppose I lift her head?"

"No; let her rest quietly, just as she is, and I trust all will be
well. Come to the table, and allow me to put some plaster over that
cut which bleeds so freely. Trust me, Maclean, and do not look so
woe-begone. I am not deceiving you. There may be serious internal
injuries that I have not discovered, but this stupor is not alarming.
I can find no fractured bones, and hope the blow on the head is the
most troublesome thing we shall have to contend with."

Dr. Grey proceeded to sponge the bruised and stained face and, hoping
to divert the man's anxious thoughts, said, nonchalantly,--

"I believe you are in Mrs. Gerome's employment?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long have you been at 'Solitude'?"

"I came here, sir, and bought the place, while she was in Europe. Ah,
doctor, if my mother should die, I believe it would kill my
mistress."

"You are old family servants?"

"My mother took her when she was twelve hours old, and has never left
her since. She loves Mrs. Gerome even better than she loves me--her
own flesh and blood. I can't go home and tell my mistress I have
nearly killed my mother. She would never endure the sight of me again.
Her own mother died the day after she was born, and she has always
looked on that poor dear soul yonder as her foster-mother."

Robert limped back to the sofa, and, seating himself on a chair,
looked wistfully into his mother's countenance; then hid his face in
his hands.

"Come, be a man, Maclean; and don't give way to nervousness! Your
mother's condition is constantly improving, though of course it is not
so apparent to you as to me. What has been done with the carriage and
horses?"

"Oh, the carriage is a sweet pudding; and the grays--curses on
'em!--are badly bruised. One of them had his flank laid open by a saw
lying on a lumber-pile; and I only wish it had sawed across the
jugular. They are vicious brutes as ever were bitted, and it makes my
blood run cold sometimes to see their devilish antics when Mrs. Gerome
insists on driving them. They will break her neck, if I don't contrive
to break theirs first."

"I should judge from their appearance that it was exceedingly unsafe
for any lady to attempt to control them. They seem very fiery and
unmanageable. What has been done with them?"

"The deuce knows!--knocked in the head, I trust. I asked two men, who
were in the crowd, to take them to the livery-stable. Mrs. Gerome is
not afraid of anything, and one of her few pleasures is driving those
gray imps, who know her voice as well as I do. I have seen them put up
their narrow ears and neigh when she was a hundred yards off; and
sometimes she wraps the reins around her wrists and quiets them, when
their eyes look like balls of fire. But Rarey himself could not have
stopped them a while ago, when they determined to run over that
menagerie show. My mistress will say it was my fault, and she will
stand by the gray satans through thick and thin. Hist, doctor, my
mother groans!"

"Would it not be best for you to go home and acquaint Mrs. Gerome with
what has occurred?"

"I would not face her without my mother for--twenty kingdoms! You have
no idea how she loves her 'old Elsie,' and I couldn't break the news
to her,--I would sooner break my head."

"This is not a proper place for your mother, and I advise you to
remove her to the hospital, which is not very far from my office. She
can be carried on a litter."

"Oh, my mistress would never permit that! She will let no one else
nurse my mother; and, of course, she could not go to a public place
like a hospital, for you know she is so dreadful shy of strangers."

After many suggestions, and much desultory conversation, it was
finally decided that Elsie should be placed on a mattress, in the
bottom of an open wagon, and carried slowly home. A careful driver was
provided, and when Dr. Grey had seen his patient comfortably arranged,
and established Robert on the seat with the driver, he yielded to the
solicitations of the son, that he would precede them to "Solitude,"
and acquaint Mrs. Gerome with the details of the accident.

Although ten months had elapsed since the latter took possession of
her new home, so complete had been her seclusion that she remained an
utter stranger; and, when visitors flocked from town and neighborhood
to satisfy themselves concerning the rumors of the elegant furniture
and appointments of the house, they were invariably denied admittance,
and informed that since her widowhood Mrs. Gerome had not re-entered
society.

Curiosity was piqued, and gossip wagged her hundred busy tongues over
the tormenting fact that Mrs. Gerome had never darkened the
church-door since her arrival; and, occasionally, when she rode into
town, wore a thick veil that thoroughly screened her features; and,
instead of shopping like other people, made Elsie Maclean bring the
articles to the carriage for her inspection.

The servants seemed to hold themselves as much aloof as their
mistress, and though Robert and his mother attended service regularly
every Sabbath, they appeared as gravely silent and ungregarious as
Sphinxes. The ministers of various denominations called to pay their
respects to the stranger, but only the clerical cards succeeded in
crossing the threshold; and, while rumors of her boundless wealth
crept teasingly through Newsmongerdom, no one except Salome Owen had
yet seen the new-comer.

Cases of books and pictures occasionally arrived from Europe, and
never failed to stir the pool of gossip to its dregs; for the wife of
the express-agent was an intimate friend of Mrs. Spiewell, whose
husband was pastor of the church which Elsie and Robert attended, and
who felt personally aggrieved that the Rev. Charles Spiewell was not
welcomed as the spiritual guide of the mistress of "Solitude."

Finally, a morbid, meddling inquisitiveness goaded the chatty little
woman beyond the bounds of ministerial decorum, and, having rashly
wagered a pair of gloves that she would gain an entrance to the
parlors (whereof the upholsterer's wife told marvellous tales), she
armed herself with a pathetic petition for aid to build a "Widow's
Row," and, with a subscription-list for a "Dorcas Society," and
confident of ingress, boldly rang the bell. Unfortunately, Elsie
chanced that day to be on post as sentinel, and, though she
immediately recognized the visitor as the mother of the small colony
of Spiewells who crowded every Sunday morning into the pew of the
pastor, she courtesied, and gave the stereotyped rebuff,--

"Mrs. Gerome begs to be excused."

"Ah, indeed! But she does not know who has called, or she would make
an exception in my favor. I am your minister's wife, and must really
see her, if only for two minutes. Take my card to her, and say I call
on important business, which cannot fail to interest her."

Not a muscle of Elsie's grave face moved, as she received the card,
and answered,--

"I am very sorry, madam, but Mrs. Gerome sees no visitors, and my
orders are positive."

Mrs. Spiewell bit her lip, and reddened.

"Then take these papers to her, and ask if she will please be so good
as to examine their claims to her charity. In the meantime I will wait
in the parlor, and must trouble you for a glass of water."

She thrust the petitions into Elsie's hand, and attempted to slip into
the hall, through the partial opening of the door which the servant
held during the parley; but, planting her massive frame directly in
the way, the resolute woman effectually barred entrance, and, pointing
to an iron _tete-a-tete_ on the portico, said, decisively,--

"I beg pardon, madam, but you will find a seat there; and I will bring
the water while Mrs. Gerome reads your letters. If you are fatigued, I
will hand you luncheon and some wine."

Mortified and enraged, Mrs. Spiewell grew scarlet, but threw herself
into the seat designated, resolved to snatch a glimpse of the interior
the instant the servant had disappeared.

Very softly Elsie closed and securely latched the door on the inside,
knowing that at that moment her mistress was sitting in the oriel
window of the front parlor.

In vain the visitor tried and twisted the bolt, and, completely
baffled, tears of chagrin moistened her eyes. She had scarcely time to
regain her seat, when Elsie reappeared, bearing on a handsome salver a
wine-glass, silver goblet, and an elegant basket filled with cake.

"Mrs. Gerome presents her compliments, and sends you this fifty dollar
bill for whatever society you represent."

Too thoroughly discomfited to conceal her pique and indignation, Mrs.
Spiewell snatched letters and donation, and, without lingering an
instant, swept haughtily down the steps, "shaking off the dust of her
feet" against "Solitude" and its incorrigible owner.

An innocent impertinence once coldly frustrated soon takes unto itself
a sting and branding-irons, and thus, what was originally merely idle
curiosity, becomes bitter malice; and henceforth the worthy minister's
gossiping wife lost no opportunity of inveighing against the
superciliousness of the stranger, and of insinuating that some very
extraordinary circumstances led her "to

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