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Rutledge

by Miriam Coles Harris · English · Gutenberg #40385 · 917,118 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Rutledge

Author: Miriam Coles Harris


        
Release date: August 1, 2012 [eBook #40385]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40385

Credits: Produced by Clare Graham & Joyce McDonald at http://www.girlebooks.com, Marc D'Hooghe


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTLEDGE ***
RUTLEDGE

By

MIRIAM COLES HARRIS


NEW YORK:

DERBY & JACKSON, 498 BROADWAY.

1860.




CHAPTER I.


  "Heavily hangs the broad sunflower,
    Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
  Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
    Heavily hangs the tiger lily."

TENNYSON.


It was the gloomy twilight of a gloomy November day; dark and leaden
clouds were fast shutting out every lingering ray of daylight; and the
wind, which moaned dismally around the house, was tossing into mad
antics the leaves which strewed the playground. The lamps were not
lighted yet; of visible fires the _pensionnat_ of St. Catharine's was
innocent; a dull black stove, more or less gigantic, according to the
size of the apartment, gloomed in every one, and affected favorably the
thermometer, if not the imagination. We paced untiringly up and down the
dim corridor--Nelly, Agnes and I--three children, who, by virtue of our
youth, ought to have been let off, one would have thought, for some
years yet, from the deep depression that was fast settling on our
spirits. In truth we were all three very miserable, we thought--Nelly
and Agnes, I am afraid, more so than I, who in common justice ought to
have participated deeply in, as I was the chief occasion of, their
grief.

My trunk was packed and strapped, and stood outside the door of my
dormitory, ready for the porter's attention. In it lay my school-books,
closed forever, as I hoped; and souvenirs innumerable of school
friendships and the undying love of the extremely young persons by whom
I was surrounded.

From them I was to be severed to-morrow, as was expected, and

  "It might be for years, and it might be for ever,"

as Nelly had just said, choking up on the last sentence. I _did_ feel
unhappy, and very much like "choking up" too, when I passed the great
windows, that looked into the playground, and remembered all the mad
hours of frolic I had passed there; when I took down my shawl from the
peg where it had hung nightly for five years, and remembered, with a
thrill, it was "the last time;" when the lid of my empty desk fell down
with an echo that sounded drearily through the long school-room; when I
thought "where I might be this time to-morrow," and when Agnes' and
Nelly's arms twined about me, reminded me of the rapidly approaching
hour of separation from those who had represented the world to me for
five years--whom I had loved and hated, and by whom I had been loved and
hated, with all the fervor of sixteen. The hatreds now were softened
down by the nearness of the parting; all my ancient foes, (and they had
not been few), had "made up" and promised forgiveness and forgetfulness
entire; and all ancient feuds were dead. All my friends now loved me
with tenfold the ardor they had ever felt before; all the staff of
teachers, who had, I am afraid, a great deal to forgive, of impatient
self-will, mad spirits and thoughtless inattention, were good enough to
forget all, and remember only what they were pleased to call the truth
and honesty and courage, that in the years we had been together, they
had never known to fail.

They little knew how their unlooked for praise humbled me; and how far
more deeply than any reproach, it made me realize the waste of time and
talents that I had to look back upon.

So, most unexpectedly to myself, I found that I was going off with
flying colors; that all were joining to deplore my departure and laud my
good qualities; and that, from being rather a "limb" in the eyes of the
school, and a hopeless sinner in my own, I was promoted, temporarily, to
the dignity of heroine at St. Catharine's.

It was with a very full heart that I remembered all this; and deeper
feelings than I had known since my childhood were stirred by the
kindness I was certain was as undeserved as it was unexpected. But such
a future dawned before me, that tender regret struggled hard with giddy
hope for the mastery. In almost every girl's life, leaving school is a
marked and important event; and imagination has always a wide, and
generally well-cultivated field for its powers, even when home and
future are as certain as things mundane can be. But in my case there was
so much room for dreaming, so much raw material for fancy to work up,
that a tamer and less imaginative child than I was, would have been
tempted into castle-building. The sad event that five years before had
placed me, a stunned, bewildered, motherless child, in the midst of
strangers, had largely developed the turn for dreaming that such
children always possess. The sympathy and love that God provides for
every child that is born into the world, withdrawn, they turn "not
sullen, nor in scorn," but from an instinct He has himself implanted,
inward, for their sympathy and counsel. So it happened, that though
Nelly and Agnes, and a dozen merry girls beside, were my sworn friends
and very firmest allies, none of them knew anything of the keen wonder
and almost painful longing with which I pictured the future to myself.
They knew, of course, the simple facts, that as I had no father or
mother, I was to go and live with my aunt, who had been in Europe until
this summer and whom I had not seen since my mother died; that she had
three daughters, one older, two younger than myself; that she had sent
me some pretty things from Paris, and was, probably, very kind, and I
should have a very nice time.

They knew only these bare beams and framework of the gorgeous fabric I
had reared upon them; they little knew the hours of wakefulness in which
I wondered whether I should be happy or miserable in that new home;
whether my aunt would love me as I already most ardently loved her;
whether the new cousins were at all like Nelly and Agnes; and whether
they were prepared to value the wealth of affection I had in reserve for
them. But time would soon settle all this into certainty; and my aunt's
last letter, containing all the final arrangements for my journey, I at
present knew by heart. The only possible shade of uncertainty about my
starting, lay in the chance of the gentleman who was to be my escort,
being detained by business a day or two longer at C----, and not
arriving to-night, as had been considered probable.

Nelly built greatly upon this possibility, and as the twilight deepened,
and the moaning wind and growing darkness pressed more and more upon us,
we turned to that as our only chance of comfort. Nelly had said, for the
twentieth time, "I am sure he will not come till to-morrow, it is too
late for him now," when a sharp ring at the bell made us all start, and
sent the blood swiftly enough through _my_ veins, and, I suppose, no
less swiftly through my young companions'; for Nelly convulsively
clasped me round the neck and burst into tears, while Agnes said, in a
choking voice, "I'm certain of it!" And for three dreadful minutes of
suspense we stood motionless, holding our breath, and watching for the
first token of the approach of the messenger who should confirm or
confute our forebodings.

At last, steps echoed along the hall, and bearing a dim candle, which
blinked nervously at every step, appeared the Biddy who officiated as
waiter at St. Catharine's. She had a card in her hand, and our end of
the corridor seemed her destination, and our party the party she was in
search of.

"Well?" said Agnes, making a distracted effort to break the silence, as
Biddy groped stupidly and slowly toward us. "A gentleman," she said, "a
gentleman to see you, miss," and she handed me the card. "I knew it,"
said Agnes, with a deep sigh, as, per favor of the blinking candle, the
three heads, clustered over the card, made out the name, "Mr. Arthur
Rutledge."

"Oh, I am so frightened!" I said, sitting down on the lowest step of the
stairs. "Girls, what shall I do?"

Nelly shook her head; she did not wonder I was afraid; for five years I
had encountered no gentlemen more alarming than the professors, and no
strangers more intimidating than occasional new scholars; and knew no
more how to conduct myself on this occasion, than if I had not received
Miss Crowen's valuable instructions on deportment. I had been taught to
swim, theoretically, on shore, and now was to be pushed suddenly out
into deep water, to make the best use I could of my scientific
knowledge. As was to be supposed, I found myself not much the better for
it.

"He's not a young gentleman though," said Agnes, "and I shouldn't mind
it much if I were you."

"Oh, of course he's not young, or Aunt Edith would not have had me go
with him. He's as old as the hills, I know but that makes it so much the
worse; and then, he was abroad with my aunt and cousins, and knows them
all so well; and Aunt Edith calls him 'an accomplished gentleman of high
standing;' and oh! I am sure I shall blush and act like a fool, and
disgrace myself; and aunt is so particular."

Nelly condoled, Agnes counselled, and I stood shivering in an agony of
apprehension and dismay, when the heavy tread of Miss Crowen on the
stairs, gave an impetus to my faltering steps, and sent me parlor-wards
with emphasis.

"If you don't hurry," whispered Agnes. "Miss Crowen will drag you in,
and make one of her horrible speeches about educational advantages and
mental culture, and put you through a course of mathematical problems,
and make you show off on the piano, if not sing."

The wily Agnes had touched the right chord. Threatened with this new
horror, I grew reckless, and without a moment more of hesitation, bolted
into the parlor, and stood confronting the object of my terror, before I
had had time in the least to prepare my line of conduct. I stood for a
moment with burning cheeks and downcast eyes, unable to articulate a
word, and saw nothing, heard nothing, till I found myself seated on the
sofa, and being talked to in a kind manner by the dreaded stranger, who
sat beside me. If my "Yes sir," and "No sir," came in in the right
places, I can claim no sort of credit for it; for neither then nor now,
had or have I the faintest apprehension of anything he said. By and by,
however, under the influence of that steady unmoved voice, my alarm
began to subside, and my scared senses, after fluttering hopelessly
about, like a dislodged brood of swallows, began at last to collect
themselves again, and resume their proper functions. By degrees I began
to comprehend what he was talking about, and in process of time,
commanded my voice sufficiently to answer him audibly, and before the
interview was over, had the courage to raise my eyes, and satisfy myself
as to the personal appearance of this my destined protector in the three
days' journey we had in prospect.

And the result of this investigation was, the instant establishment,
upon a firm basis, of ease and confidence. For few men or women, much
less children or girls, ever looked into Mr. Rutledge's face, without
feeling that they saw their master, but withal so firm and kind a
master, that all thought of resistance to his will, or stubborn
maintenance of their own, together with all foolish vanity and
consciousness, vanished at once and forever, or returned but seldom, and
was soon conquered. If I had cherished any romantic hope that this
"accomplished gentleman" might prove anything out of which I could make
that dearest dream of schoolgirl's heart, a lover, I likewise
relinquished that most speedily, for nothing in the person before me,
gave encouragement to such an idea. Rather below than above the medium
size, and of a firm, well-proportioned figure, Mr. Rutledge gave one,
from his commanding and decided carriage, the impression of a much
larger man. His dark hair was slightly dashed with grey, his eyes were
keen and cold, the lines of care and thought about his brow were deep
and strong. If his face could be said to have an attraction, it lay in
the rare smile that sometimes changed the sternness of his mouth into
winning sweetness and grace. But this was so rare that it could hardly
be called a characteristic of his habitually cold stern face. That it
wore it that evening however, I knew then as now, was because I was a
child, and a miserable, frightened one besides. I never doubted that he
knew how I felt, and read me thoroughly.

The interview was, according to the prim little clock on the
mantelpiece, by no means a long one; and after introducing (with but
indifferent grace) Miss Crowen, who entered the room with elephantine
tread, to my visitor, he took leave, having arranged to come for me the
next morning at six.

That last evening, with its half-strange, excited novelty of
leave-taking, and last messages and last thoughts, is still distinct in
my memory; and the start with which I answered Biddy's call in the
darkness of the November morning, the dressing with cold hurried hands
that were not half equal to the task, the wild way in which everything
came dancing through my mind, as I tried to say my prayers, the utter
inability to taste a mouthful of the breakfast Miss Crowen herself had
superintended, the thrill with which I heard the carriage drive up to
the door, are as vivid as recollections can well be. And I am in no
danger, either of forgetting the moment, when, with half a dozen of my
schoolfellows who had been allowed to see me off, I descended the steps
toward the carriage, the door of which Mr. Rutledge was holding open.
The kind good bye of Miss Crowen, the warm embraces of the girls,
Nelly's tears, Agnes' wistful look, are memories I cannot part with if I
would.

The carriage door shut to with a snap, the horses started forward at a
brisk pace, and we were off, and I had left school and childhood behind
me forever. I did not cry at all, though I felt desperately like it; but
the consciousness that Mr. Rutledge looked sharply at me to see how I
took it, made me struggle harder to keep back my tears, and seem womanly
and composed. In this I succeeded beyond my hopes, and before half an
hour had passed, the bracing air of the fine autumn morning, the rapid
pace at which we rolled along, and the new delight to my cloistered
eyes, of farms, and villages, woods rich in the many colors of the fall,
and meadows and uplands basking in its sunshine, made me feel as if I
had been months away from school, and as if the melancholy of last night
were some strange distant dream. Seventeen never dreamed more fantastic
dreams than I did that morning, however, as I leaned back in the
carriage and idly watched the gay landscape past which we were hurrying.
It was quite a relief to me that my companion, after attending to my
comfort in every necessary way, settled himself in his corner of the
carriage, and taking a book from his valise, devoted himself to its
perusal, and left me to my own thoughts the entire morning. He did not
put it up till we reached the town where we were to dine and wait for
the cars.

Dinner did not prove a very animated meal; my companion, after asking me
about school, and whether I felt sorry to leave it, and a few more
questions of the same nature (such as people always put to school-girls,
and by which they unconsciously give great offence), seemed to consider
his conversational duty performed, and fell into a state of abstraction,
which made his face look harder and colder than ever; and as I
stealthily regarded him from under my eyelashes, some of last night's
alarm threatened to return. But I tried to overcome it, and endeavored
to reassure myself by remembering how kind he was when I was so much
embarrassed, and how well he had helped me through the interview that he
might have made so terrible; and that he did not talk to me--why,
certainly it was not strange that a gentleman of his age should not have
much in common with a girl of mine.

By and by the cars came tearing through the town with a whoop and a
shriek, that seemed to excite everybody wonderfully, considering the
frequency of the occurrence. Passengers, porters, newsboys, in one mad
crowd, rushed toward the depot, each emulating in his own proper person,
the noble rage of the snorting, impatient monster, upon whose energy we
were all depending. The only individual entirely unexcited, was my
escort, who never for a moment lost the appearance of sang froid and
indifference that an earthquake would not have startled him out of, I
was convinced. Though we did not hurry, we were, before many of our
fellow-voyagers, in possession of the best seats, and most commodiously,
because most deliberately, settled for the journey. Mr. Rutledge was
emphatically a good traveller, carrying the clear-sighted precision and
deliberation of his mind into all the details of travel, and thereby
securing himself from the petty annoyances that people often think
unworthy of attention, but which do more than they suspect, toward
marring pleasure and destroying comfort. I aptly followed his manner,
and was a marvel of unconcerned deliberation in the matter of securing
my seat and arranging my shawls, books and bags; which drew from him the
remark, with an approving glance, that he perceived I was used to
travelling. That observation, either from the fact of its being so
absurdly incorrect in its premises, or from the stronger fact of its
being the only one addressed to me until 7 P.M., when we stopped at
F---- for purposes of refreshment, impressed itself very much upon my
mind.

After the wretched meal, called by compliment tea, which we were allowed
twenty minutes to partake of, had been dispatched, and we were again
settled in the cars in which we were to travel all night, commenced the
trials of the journey--to me, at least, for I was an entire novice, not
having been twenty miles away from St. Catharine's since I was first
taken there, and having but a dim recollection of that, my first and
last journey till the present time. Being also subject to the most
unbearably severe headaches upon any unusual excitement, it is not very
wonderful that on this occasion I was attacked with one, and before
night had actually set in, was as completely miserable, as in the
morning I had been completely happy. Excitement and weariness began to
tell most painfully upon me. Not a bone but ached, not a nerve in my
whole body but throbbed and quivered. It was as impossible to think
quietly as to sit quietly. Homesickness, for the home I had been longing
to get away from for five years--all the miserable things I had ever
suffered or dreaded--all the fancied and real trials of my life, then
and there beset my aching head, and made sleep or composure an
impossibility.

If there had been a soul to speak to, a human voice to say a single word
of sympathy, however commonplace, I thought it would have made the night
endurable. But among the sleepy, senseless crowd around, the only one I
had a right to expect attention from, or to whom I was entitled to
address a word, was as regardless of my existence as any of the rest.
Mr. Rutledge occupied the seat before me, and the imperfect light of the
lamp that rattled and flickered above us, showed me more plainly than
any other object, his fixed, unsympathizing face, as he leaned against
the window of the car, his lips compressed and his brow knit. He did not
sleep any more than I did, nor do I think he was a whit more
comfortable; but he had his impatience under better control, and never
moved a muscle or uttered a sound for hours together.

It was the most torturing thing to watch him, so entirely unmoved by the
discomforts that were, I was firmly convinced, driving me mad; and in my
jaundiced eyes, his profile took a thousand wizard shapes. It would have
been a relief if he had moved in ever so slight a degree to one side or
the other; but a painted face upon a painted window could not have been
more rigid than the one before me. I was dying of thirst, was smothering
for want of air, ached in every limb, and there were hours yet to
morning! The monotonous motion of the cars, and their accompanying
noises, harsh and shrill, made to my perfectly unaccustomed ear a
frightful combination of discord; and this all coming upon my excited
and sensitive nerves, worked me up into a state of wretchedness that
naturally resulted in that climax of woes feminine, a fit of crying.

I could no more have helped it than the wind could have helped blowing,
and never having learned to control myself, could not suppress the
indulgence of an emotion which, an hour afterward, I remembered with
acute mortification. I tried to smother my sobs, but they reached at
last the ear of my silent companion, who started, and turning toward me,
asked, with a shade of impatience in his tone, what was the matter? Was
I ill?

That question, so put, in the indescribable tone that shows to a
sensitive ear a want of sympathy the most galling, was the best cure
that could have been devised for my tears. They were done, altogether;
but in their place, the angry blood flew to my face, and I inly vowed,
in accordance with school-girl notions of right, never to forget or
forgive the insult. Angrily averting my head, I declined any assistance
or attention whatever, and pride having thus stepped in to the rescue,
I was able to maintain as rigid a demeanor as Mr. Rutledge himself. For
a moment he looked at me with an expression that I could not quite make
out, then with the slightest possible shrug of the shoulders, turned
away, and seating himself again in the corner, resumed his former
attitude. That was enough; all my spirit was roused; I had always been
good at hating, but the present crisis brought out powers I had never
been aware of before; and there was a great deal in the fact of my
having made a fool of myself in the presence of Mr. Rutledge, to help me
along in detesting him; and not being in a particularly reasonable or
well-governed frame of mind, the aversion I had conceived increased with
alarming rapidity. It was wonderful how powerful my resentment was to
keep my weariness and impatience in check. I did not move an inch nor
utter a single word; I would have borne the rack and torture rather than
exhibit, after that shrug, another shade of emotion.

When at last, morning being broadly awake, we were released from our
prison for an hour to breakfast and rest at a way-station that seemed
most utterly repugnant to those two ideas, Mr. Rutledge asked me if I
would not prefer, on account of my fatigue, waiting there till the next
train, which would arrive at noon?

I answered, "_Decidedly_ not," with so much emphasis, that he only bowed
and turned away; with what opinion of my temper it is not pleasant to
think. Before the day was over, he had, I presume, concluded, that he
had taken under his charge about as willful and disagreeable a young
miss as ever tried the patience of parent or protector.

The day wore on, much after the manner of yesterday. That night at
twelve, we expected to arrive at C---- where we were to rest till
morning; and thence taking the boat, were to reach our journey's end
about noon.

It was toward evening of that weary day; I was sitting listlessly
looking out upon the dreary suburbs of the town which we seemed
approaching, and thinking, by way of diverting myself, of Nelly and
Agnes and school, and what they were doing now, and whether they missed
me; when there came a sudden jar, then a horrid crash, a shriek that
rent the air, a blow upon my head that made a hideous glare of light,
then darkness absolute, and I knew no more.




CHAPTER II.


  "The brightest rainbows ever play
  Above the fountains of our tears."

MACKAY.


How long after it was that consciousness returned, I cannot tell; if
indeed that bewildered dizzy realization of things present that
gradually forced itself upon me, can be called consciousness. I was
lying on the ground, and looked, upon opening my eyes, up at the clear
evening sky. It could not have been long after sunset, and all the scene
around me, when at last I tried to comprehend it, was distinct enough.
Some distance from where I lay, there was a bridge and an embankment,
perhaps thirty feet high. Between that and me, a horrid mass loomed up
against the sky, black and shapeless, one car piled above another in an
awful wreck. Dark figures lay around me on the ground, some writhing in
agony, others motionless and rigid; groans and cries the most appalling
smote my ear. But my ear and all my senses were so stunned and
bewildered, that to see and hear was not to feel alarm or awe or pity,
only dull stupor and discomfort. I did not feel the least desire to move
or speak, the least solicitude about my fate. Half unconsciously I lay
watching the fading light in the sky, and the dark figures that soon
were swarming around, bending over and raising up the wounded, and
thrusting lanterns into the faces of such as lay stiff and still and did
not heed their ejaculations.

At last two men came up to where I lay, and one, from the exclamation of
recognition he made as they bent over me, I knew to be Mr. Rutledge. The
effect of the lantern glaring so suddenly in my face, was to make me
start up, with some broken exclamation; but the words had hardly left
my lips, when an acute pain and then a giddy blindness rushed over me,
and I sunk back, and with a horrible sensation of falling down, down, to
unfathomable darkness, I was again insensible.

I suppose I must have remained in that state all night, for it was
daylight when I was again sufficiently conscious to know what was going
on around me. Mr. Rutledge was sitting by me and was saying to the
physician, whose entrance had, I think, first aroused me, that he
considered me doing very well, the fever was evidently abating, and that
he thought the doctor would agree with him that I might soon be moved to
more comfortable quarters.

"If any such can be found," the doctor answered; "but every house in the
town, as well as both the hotels, are crowded with the sufferers, and I
think your chance of comfort is as good here as it will be anywhere
else; for, sir, it is a wretched little town at the best. I wish we
could boast better accommodations for strangers."

"Then doctor," said Mr. Rutledge, "I am sure you will consent to what I
have been thinking of as the most feasible plan. You know it is but
eight miles to Norbury, and my country place is only three miles beyond.
The house, to be sure, is closed for the winter; I little expected to be
visiting it so soon. But there are several servants in it, and it can
quickly be made comfortable, and Mrs. Roberts, my housekeeper, is an
excellent nurse. Don't you agree with me that any or all of these
reasons are sufficient to make it wise to try to get there as soon as
possible? For it is not going to be any joke to stay in this dingy place
for a fortnight, and that child will not be fit to travel any sooner;
and this arm of mine does not feel much like bearing the motion of those
accursed cars again very soon."

Mr. Rutledge's arm was bound up, and an occasional expression of pain
crossed his face, though that was the only time he alluded to it. The
doctor made an unequivocal opposition to Mr. Rutledge's proposition, and
raised innumerable objections to it, all of which he quietly put aside
and overruled. It was easy to see who would carry the day; but the
doctor did not give over for a long while. When at length he had been
unwillingly brought to say that it _might_ do no harm to be moved in the
course of the morning to Rutledge, he started another unanswerable
objection--a suitable vehicle could not be obtained in the town for love
or money, he declared.

"I will manage that," said Mr. Rutledge, and left the room.

The doctor shook his head as the door closed, and said, partly to
himself, and partly to the woman who seemed to be officiating as nurse:

"He goes at his own risk; it may do or it may not."

"He's a gentleman what's used to doing as he wants to, I guess,"
remarked the woman, "and don't think any too much of other people's
opinions."

"You are very correct," said the doctor, with importance. "A little
learning is a dangerous thing, and Mr. Rutledge knows just enough of
medicine to be confident of his own judgment. I only hope his imprudence
may not be visited upon this poor child. So young!" he continued,
shaking his head.

The woman shook hers, and looked at him with reverence, while he went on
to describe my case at great length, and in such alarmingly long words,
that I was in danger of being frightened back into a high fever, had not
the return of Mr. Rutledge saved me from any further display of Dr.
Sartain's scientific knowledge.

Mr. Rutledge saw in a moment the state of the case, for he looked at me
attentively as he came in, and I heard him mutter in a low tone as he
felt my pulse, "This won't do." Then aloud, he told the doctor that the
carriage he had been fortunate enough to engage would be at the door in
about an hour and a half, and that he would not detain him any longer
at present, but would recommend his taking a little rest, for he should
be obliged to ask him to accompany his patient during the drive; it
would be safer, he thought, and as he could return in the carriage, it
would involve no great loss of time; though he well knew Dr. Sartain
could hardly spare a moment from the demands of his extensive practice,
etc.

The doctor, somewhat mollified, consented and retired. Mr. Rutledge then
sent the woman off, and telling me, cheerfully and kindly, that I was
doing very nicely, and that he thought a little sleep would strengthen
me for the journey, darkened the windows, and throwing himself into an
easy-chair, seemed inclined to set me the example. The lounge or settee
on which I was placed, had been made as comfortable as the circumstances
would permit, but still was painfully far from easy; and I tossed about,
excited and restless, for some time. But, gradually reassured by Mr.
Rutledge's quiet composure and cheerfulness, and soothed by the
stillness of the room, I fell into a very refreshing sleep.

It was about noon when we started, the doctor being in the carriage with
me, Mr. Rutledge, I am sorry to remember, going in a much less
comfortable vehicle. It did not trouble me seriously at the time,
however. Dr. Sartain's opinion to the contrary notwithstanding, I was by
no means injured by the ride, and when we drove under the gateway that
conveyed to my listless intellect the knowledge that we had reached
Rutledge, besides a little increased languor and weariness, I felt no
worse than when we left the town.

Mr. Rutledge, who was in advance, reached the house first, and in a
moment the excitement that our arrival had produced became apparent; two
or three maids rushed out from a side-door as Mr. Rutledge ascended the
steps, and, overcome with alarm at the sight of two carriages, and their
master with his arm in a sling, rushed back again wringing their hands,
and displaying many symptoms of consternation. Mr. Rutledge in the mean
time had entered the house, and soon appeared at the door accompanied by
a tall, elderly woman, in a black bombazine dress, and a lace cap with
white ribbons, to whom he was explaining, in a concise and forcible
manner, the state of affairs, and what was to be done. They came down to
the carriage, and Mr. Rutledge introduced "Mrs. Roberts" to the doctor
and to me, and then assisting me to alight, we ascended the broad stone
steps to the piazza, and thence into a wide hall.

Mr. Rutledge told the housekeeper that it would, he thought, be best for
me to go immediately up to her room, where I could lie on the sofa till
my apartment could be made ready.

Accordingly I went upstairs, and took possession of Mrs. Roberts' sofa
and Mrs. Roberts' room, both sombre and stiff enough, but infinitely
more easy and prepossessing than the lady herself. I cannot imagine that
at that very early stage of our acquaintance, she could have entertained
any personal resentment toward me, and yet I was entirely possessed of
that belief from the first moment that I saw her. But I have since
discovered that she invariably impressed all strangers with a similar
conviction, and from that, and from subsequent knowledge of her
character, I have concluded that it was merely "a way she had," and was
by no means to be regarded as an expression of her sentiments toward any
one. Unhappily, I did not have this light upon her, and soon began to
feel myself in the hands of a grim tyrant, whose only motive in
exertions made ostensibly for my benefit, was to get possession of me,
soul and body, and render, me, if possible, more wretched than she found
me.

I lay quietly on the sofa where she had placed me, with no ungentle hand
to be sure, but without the slightest relaxing of her blue lips, or the
smallest indication of pity in her uncompromising eyes; and watched her
as she pursued her plan of operations, steadily and energetically. She
certainly knew what she was about, and for precision and promptness must
have been a treasure in Mr. Rutledge's eyes. There was an incredible
amount of work accomplished in that house within the next hour; rooms
were opened, fires were lighted, beds were aired; sounds of sweeping and
dusting and beating of mattresses, filling of pitchers, and crackling of
fires, reached my indolent ears. Mrs. Roberts, standing before a huge
open wardrobe, dealt out sheets, pillow-cases, towels, table-cloths and
napkins to the maids, who bustled about with distressing activity, not
unfrequently goaded on by a few sharp words from their mistress, who
ruled them, I could see, with a rod of iron. The threat, however, that
stirred up their flagging energies most effectually, seemed to be, the
wrath of Mr. Rutledge. I began to feel myself drawn sympathizingly
toward the maids, and could not help wondering whether they were as much
afraid of the master, and as much averse to the mistress of the house as
I was, and whether they wished themselves away as much; and if they did,
why they didn't go; or whether, indeed, people ever got away who once
came in it. The gloom of the great hall, with its broad, stone
staircase, on which the servants' steps echoed drearily, and the dark
glimpses of shut-up rooms that I had caught on my way up, seemed to
favor this latter idea--I would write for my aunt to come for me
immediately; I would ask the doctor to take me back with him. I should
die if they left me in this gloomy place. Perhaps I might die here--who
could tell? The doctor had said I was very ill.

Tears came but too easily in those foolish days, and burying my
throbbing temples in the pillow, I cried as if my heart would break, or
as if it had indeed broken. My emotion was none the lighter because it
was imaginary, nor none the easier to bear because it was absurd.
Children's troubles and terrors are only less severe than those of
maturer minds, as they are shorter lived; while they last they are, if
possible, more violent and less bearable. And at that time I was, to
all intents and purposes, a child, and a sick, nervous, excited one
besides.

By and by Mrs. Roberts came up to where I lay motionless with my face
hidden in the pillows, and, leaning over me, said in her chilling tones,
"Are you comfortable? Will you have anything?"

I did not move. She listened for a moment, then going to the door said
to some one outside:

"She's asleep, sir, and doing well. You had better take some rest
yourself."

The door closed, and I suppressed my sobs to listen. In a few minutes
Mrs. Roberts came again to look at me, then noiselessly left the room. I
could endure it no longer, and throwing back the blankets, raised myself
and sat upright. I cried for a long while; every minute the prison
feeling seemed to grow stronger, till at last it drove me to that climax
of desperation which, in actual prisoners, results in knocking down
turnkeys, and (according to the newspapers) doing many frantic and
atrocious acts, to reach "the blessed sun and air," from which they have
been "banned and barred."

I had reached that climax, I say; I had dried my tears, and sat still,
with clenched hands, some wild plan of escape arranging itself in my
brain, when the door suddenly opened, and Mrs. Roberts reappeared.

"Oh, you're awake, are you? I'll call the doctor; he's got through
setting Mr. Rutledge's arm, and was just going."

I hurriedly pushed the hair from my flushed face, and tried to look
composed as the doctor entered with Mrs. Roberts, and followed soon by
Mr. Rutledge, who came, he said, to get the doctor's directions, and to
see if Mrs. Roberts was doing everything for me that I required. The
doctor sat down by me, and taking hold of my wrist, asked me if I felt
better for my sleep.

Mr. Rutledge, looking at me, said, "Not much sleep, I am afraid. How is
it?"

I pressed my lips very tight together to keep from crying, and shook my
head. Mrs. Roberts, who did not probably notice the gesture, said, "Oh,
yes, she's slept nicely for three-quarters of an hour."

Then she and the doctor talked about me as if I were in the next room,
and no way interested in the affair. After many directions given and
received, and many injunctions and much emphasis, the doctor rose to go,
saying that he should not be able to come again until the day after
to-morrow (unless, of course, I should be taken with any unexpected
symptoms); in the mean time he hoped he left me in safe hands (with a
look direct at Mrs. Roberts). Mr. Rutledge smothered a smile,
accompanied him to the door, and parted from him very courteously, then
returned to me. He hoped, he said, that I did not mind trusting myself
to him during the doctor's absence, and Mrs. Roberts would, he knew,
take as good care of me as the doctor himself could. He then went on to
say that he had telegraphed my aunt last evening to prevent her feeling
any alarm on hearing of the accident, and that he had written to her
more fully by mail to-day, telling her of my improvement, and assuring
her that it would not be necessary for her to come on, as I could have
every care here.

"In two or three weeks," he continued, "I trust you will be perfectly
well and entirely fit to travel."

Two or three weeks! The thought was too dreadful and bursting into
tears, I exclaimed:

"I am well enough to go now! I had rather go home with the doctor!"

Mr. Rutledge was silent for a moment, then sitting down beside me, in
the doctor's vacated seat, said, as if he were speaking to a very little
child:

"You are not well enough to start now; it might do you a great deal of
harm. Possibly you may be able to go much sooner than the doctor thinks;
only be patient a day or two, and depend upon it, I will let you go the
very minute you can bear it."

I shook my head and sobbed convulsively.

"My dear little girl," he said, "you are too nervous now to be
reasonable, but you must try and be quiet and not cry, for that is the
very worst thing for you, and will keep you here longer than anything
else. Your head aches, doesn't it?"

"Yes, dreadfully," I sobbed.

"Well, the more you cry, the more it will ache, and the more it aches,
the more fever you will have, and that is just what you must get rid of
before you can be fit to start for home. You will feel very differently,
I assure you, to-morrow morning, after you have had a good night's
sleep."

"I can't sleep!" I exclaimed.

"Oh yes, you can! The doctor has left you some powders that will make
that all right, and I will give you one now."

He mixed it in a glass that Mrs. Roberts had brought for the purpose,
and I drank it, then followed his advice and lay my hot and throbbing
head on the pillow. He sat down again, and continued, speaking
soothingly, and in a manly, kind voice, still as if I were about eight
years old.

"Your room will be ready in a few moments, and I think you will be more
comfortable there than in this old-fashioned retreat of Mrs. Roberts'.
Hair-cloth and mahogany are rather dismal for sensitive nerves, it must
be acknowledged," glancing with a smile around the apartment. "The room
you are to have is on the other side of the hall, and looks out on the
park, and is quite cheerful and pleasant. And if you do not like to be
alone, Mrs. Roberts shall come and sleep on the sofa by you."

The expression of my face was probably unmistakable; much as I dreaded
solitude, I dreaded Mrs. Roberts more, and was immensely relieved when
my companion added, "Perhaps, though, on the whole, Kitty had better
come and wait on you. Kitty is one of the maids, and is very pleasant,
and I think you will like her. I will send her to you now. She will give
you your medicine, and sit by you for company. You must send her to me
if there is anything more I can do for you to night. I hope the headache
will all be gone by to-morrow morning."

And with a few more kind words the master left me, and the maid soon
appeared, whose bright face and cheerful care helped along very
considerably the cure that was already begun. It was a pleasure to be
waited on by Kitty; it was a pleasure to hear her clear young voice and
to be served by her strong young arms. She must, I think, have had
strict orders not to leave me; for after everything in the way of
arranging the pillows and smoothing the blankets, and adjusting
everything in the neighborhood of the sofa, had been accomplished, she
still lingered beside me, asking if I was comfortable, if she shouldn't
get me a glass of water, if I wouldn't like the curtains drawn back a
little, etc.

Mrs. Roberts, who had returned, was sitting by the window, a huge basket
of work beside her, over which she was straining her eyes, economical of
every ray of the rapidly fading daylight. She was too utilitarian in her
turn of mind to submit quietly to the sight of Kitty's idleness, and
very soon suggested to her that she had better go downstairs to her
work. Kitty said, "Yes ma'am," but didn't go. Again Mrs. Roberts
suggested, and again Kitty cleverly evaded. The third time, the mistress
laid down her work, and any one less stout-hearted than the young person
before her would have trembled at the sharp tone in which she repeated
her order. If it had been addressed to me, I am sure I should have
submitted in trepidation; as it was, I trembled for Kitty, who, however,
was nothing daunted, and turning round, said, in a tone just one remove
from pert:

"Mr. Rutledge, ma'am, sent me up, and told me to stay with the young
lady, and to wait on her; and, also, he says that's to be my duty while
she's here, ma'am."

A genuine thundercloud lowered on Mrs. Roberts' face, but a portentous
"Umph" was all the rejoinder she made to this decisive speech. Kitty
reassured me with a little nod, and I quite rejoiced in our apparent
victory.

Before long, a servant knocked at the door, and announced that my room
was ready. Then succeeded a pleasant bustle and excitement incident to
my removal to it. Kitty insisted upon considering me a perfectly
helpless invalid, and would have carried me, if I had not remonstrated,
and Mrs. Roberts had not sneered at the idea. As it was, she wrapped me
up so that I could hardly move, and supporting me with her arm, preceded
by Mrs. Roberts, we crossed the hall, and stopped at the door of the
apartment assigned to me.

"Oh, what a pretty room!" I exclaimed, as we entered it. Kitty was
charmed that I liked it, and proceeded with great satisfaction to do the
honors. Wheeling toward me an easy-chair, and settling me in it before
the bright fire that blazed on the hearth, she said with animation:

"Isn't it a pretty room, miss? I've always said, that though the others
were bigger and finer, there wasn't one that had such a sweet pretty
look about it as the blue room had. It's just fit for a young lady like
you."

Kitty was not wrong about its being a pretty room; I never saw a
prettier myself. It was not large, but well-proportioned and airy.
Opposite the door there was a bay window, with white curtains trimmed
with blue, and the same at the other two windows. The bed at the end of
the room stood in a recess, curtained in the same manner. The walls were
papered with a delicate blue paper, the wood-work about the room was
oak, and all the furniture was oak and light blue. The carpet, which was
in itself a study, was an arabesque pattern of oak upon a light-blue
ground. The slender vases on the mantel, the pictures in their carved
oak frames, had an inexpressible charm for eyes so long accustomed to
the bare walls and wooden presses of a boarding school dormitory. And
even to a maturer taste, I think it would have been pleasing; for I do
not remember ever to have seen a room more entirely in keeping, and in
which there was less out of place and inharmonious. Indeed, this
impression was so strong, that I involuntarily begged Kitty to put away
my dark plaid shawl, the sight of which, upon the delicate blue sofa,
annoyed me exceedingly; and I thought with satisfaction of a certain
blue morning dress in my trunk, that I could put on to-morrow, by way of
being in keeping with the room. And the white lava pin and earrings,
Agnes' parting gift, which I had never worn yet, and admired beyond
expression, would come in play exactly.

While Kitty made herself delightfully busy in unpacking my trunk, which
stood in the little dressing-room at the right, and bestowing my modest
wardrobe in the drawers and closets thereof, I lay nestling in the soft
depths of that marvellous Sleepy Hollow of a chair, that holding me
lovingly in its capacious arms, seemed to perform every office of a good
old nurse, even to the singing of lullabies. Though that kind attention,
I think, really emanated from the glowing, merry fire, which sung,
crackled, and blazed most hospitably at my feet.

The headache that an hour ago had seemed so insupportable, had now
subsided to a dull throbbing that was comparatively ease and comfort;
and to lie there, and look at the fire, and think about nothing, and
speak to nobody, and be sure that Kitty was near me, and Mrs. Roberts
and "the master" very far away, was all I asked or desired.

This negative sort of bliss found a temporary interruption in the
necessary departure of Kitty to the kitchen, to procure my tea and bring
up candles. I felt rather babyishly about it, and nothing but shame kept
me from telling Kitty that I had rather do without my tea, and go to bed
by firelight, than have her leave me. She did not stay away very long,
however, and the nice cup of tea and crisp thin slice of toast, that
she brought back with her, quite compensated me for the self-denial I
had had to exercise in letting her go. These edibles, Kitty, with all
the pomp and circumstance of war, arranged upon the little table beside
me, placing the tall wax candles in the centre, and distributing the
diminutive pieces of the dainty little tête-à-tête set in the most
advantageous manner. The tea tasted very nicely out of the thin china
cup, that felt like a play-thing when I lifted it, accustomed as I was
to the heavy bluish-white crockery of boarding-school, and though I
lacked the vigorous appetite, that had made the primitive meals of that
establishment enjoyable, still, the delicate food before me had a
decided relish. Kitty very much enjoyed my appreciation of it, and was
very sorry she could not go down and bring me another slice of toast,
but Mr. Rutledge had said I must not have any more.

"I couldn't eat any more, thank you," I said, rather haughtily, though
Mr. Rutledge, and not the kind Kitty, inspired the hauteur. Mrs. Roberts
made us a call soon after this, and said it was high time I went to bed,
and told Kitty sharply, she knew it was her work, keeping me up so long,
and hurried up the preparations for retiring, with energy. Kitty looked
saucy, but did not dare to rebel, and only indulged in defiance after
the door was closed behind the intruder. She again returned, however, on
a final tour of inspection, after I was comfortably arranged in the fair
white delicious bed, that seemed to be a special partner of tired
nature's sweet restorer, who was good for any amount on its demand. She
"poked in every corner" as Kitty expressed it, and found a dozen things
to object to in her arrangements, pulled open drawers, and set Kitty
poutingly at work to settle them properly, and made my temples throb
again with alarm lest she should find something objectionable among my
clothes, some rent in my school frock, or an undarned stocking smuggled
through the vigilant scrutiny of last week's wash. She sent Kitty for
her mattress and blankets, and superintended the arrangement of them,
though I could see she did not enter cordially into the plan; but as Mr.
Rutledge had ordered that Kitty should sleep beside me, I was sure she
would not dare to oppose it.

At last there was no excuse for a longer tarry, and she withdrew; Kitty,
with a triumphant gesture, slid the bolt upon her, and we "settled our
brains for a long winter's nap." A nap not altogether uninterrupted on
my part, by troubled dreams, and sudden starts, and foolish fears; but
my waking was always met by Kitty's ready care and soothing sympathy;
and toward morning quieted into a long refreshing sleep.




CHAPTER III.


  "O Time! thou must untangle this, not I,
  'Tis too hard a knot for me to untie."


When I awoke, it was to the pleasant reality of morning and sunshine,
that had found their way through the light curtains of my pleasant room,
and made it pleasanter than ever. Kitty was at my side in an instant,
and a brighter fresher face to greet one's waking vision could not be
desired. She managed, by prompt and clever measures, to keep off Mrs.
Roberts till I had had my breakfast, and risen and been dressed. It was
matter of great astonishment to me to find myself so absurdly weak, my
strength and spirits at school having passed into a proverb. This sudden
illness had reduced me extremely, however, as I found whenever I
attempted any exertion, and all Kitty's services were required.

While she was dressing me, she chatted very confidentially, though
always with a tone of deference that counterbalanced the liberty she
took in talking at all. Our distaste for Mrs. Roberts was potent in
putting us on as good terms as young lady and young lady's maid could
well be, and there is a sort of freemasonry in youth that sets at
defiance the restrictions of rank, and that drew us, the two youngest
things in the stately old house, together, naturally and irresistibly.

I call it an old house, because it impressed me at first as such. It was
solid and dark, and excepting my room and one or two others on the same
floor, had very little that was light and modern-looking about it. It
had been built, Kitty said, in the time of Mr. Rutledge's father, and
was called the finest house in the country. Loads of money, she
informed me, he had spent upon it; workmen had been sent for, hundreds
of miles, to do the carving and paint the walls, and no money and no
labor was spared to make it a fine place, and indeed there was none like
it anywhere around; and now to think of its being shut up like a prison
half the year, and sometimes all the year; it was a shame, Kitty
thought, upon her honor it was.

I asked her why Mr. Rutledge did not live there?

She did not know; she supposed it was lonesome; he never stayed home for
over a couple of months, and then would be off, for no one knew how
long. Sometimes he went to Europe, and was gone two or three years at a
time. And such dull times as it was _then_ at Rutledge, if you please!
Nobody but Mrs. Roberts, and the cook, and dairy-woman, besides the farm
hands. Nothing to do but stand Mrs. Roberts' preaching from morning till
night. She only wished she'd lived in the old times that her father
talked about, when Rutledge was the gayest of the gay. (Her father, she
explained, had been gardener there for thirty years, and had lived on
the place from a boy.) Such fine doings! Ah! if Mr. Rutledge would only
take it into his head to have such times now! It was when he was very
young, and Mr. Richard and Miss Alice, and there was nothing but balls
and picnics and pleasure-parties all the time, company staying in the
house, and visitors from the neighborhood for miles around. Ah! it was
mighty different now!

"What has become of the others? Is Mr. Rutledge the only one left?"

Mr. Rutledge, Kitty told me, was the youngest of the three. Mr. Richard
died when he was just twenty-four--a month after his father--and so Mr.
Rutledge came into the property when he was a mere lad.

"But the daughter, Alice, what became of her?"

"I don't know exactly," said Kitty, lowering her voice, and looking
anxiously toward the door. "They never talk about her; something must
have happened very strange, for there's always a mystery about Miss
Alice. The old servants on the place will never say a word about her;
and though I've teased father again and again, I never could get
anything out of him."

"But, Kitty," I exclaimed eagerly, my curiosity thoroughly excited,
"what makes you think she isn't dead?"

"Oh! that much I know, that she didn't die then, and that she didn't die
at home in this house, and isn't buried there below in the churchyard by
the others; and I know she was away when old Mr. Rutledge died; because
once father said it was an awful thing, when he lay so ill, and out of
his head, to hear him call upon her to come home. All that night before
he died, he would call 'Alice! Alice!' till you could hear it all over
the house. And father says," continued the girl, in a still lower tone,
"that sometimes of wild dark nights, when he's coming past the house
late from his work, he could swear for all the world that he hears the
old man still calling 'Alice! Alice!' till it makes his blood freeze to
listen to it. And then, when I say 'Where was she, father, all the time,
and why didn't she come to him?' he always says, 'that's not for the
like of you to hear about; it's none of your business, child, nor mine,'
and sends me off about something else."

"But, Kitty," I persisted, "is that all you know of her? Tell me all
you've ever heard; was she pretty?"

"Oh, so pretty! You can't think how white her skin was, and her eyes
like violets, so large and blue, and curls all over her head--loose,
shiny curls."

"How do you know," I said quickly; "surely you never saw her, did you?"

Kitty blushed and stammered, and said, "No, not exactly; but there was
something she had seen she'd never told anybody about; she didn't know
whether she ought to;" but the result was, she at last imparted to me
the following:

When Kitty was about twelve years old, it appeared, from her account,
the demon of curiosity was stronger in her even than it was now, and her
keen young eyes had detected long before that time, what had escaped
many maturer observers, viz., that at the end of the upper hall there
was a room, that was ignored in all descriptions of the house, and might
well, indeed, have been overlooked. A huge wardrobe stood in the middle
of the space between the corner room on the east, and the corner room on
the west, of the hall; and none but a very inquiring mind like Kitty's
would have investigated the exact dimensions of these rooms, whether
they met and were separated but by a partition, or whether a distinct
room, the width of the hall, and corresponding to Mr. Rutledge's
dressing-room at the opposite end, existed between them. Kitty crept
down on the lawn and looked up on the outside, and discovered a large
window, the shutters of which were closed and dusty; and on exploring
the corner rooms, they corroborated her suspicions--they did not extend
across the hall. Behind that wardrobe, Kitty knew, then, existed a door;
and night and day the insane desire to penetrate beyond it, haunted the
child.

At length, circumstances seemed to favor the fulfillment of her wishes.
It was a beautiful, mild May day, and the untiring energy of Mrs.
Roberts was enjoying a full swing in the pursuit of her favorite
_divertissement_ of house-cleaning. Doors and windows were thrown open;
all manner of scouring and scrubbing was going on in all parts of the
house. Step-ladders and water-pails graced the hall; the odor of
soap-suds and lime filled the air. Serene amid the confusion, Mrs.
Roberts applied herself to the overlooking and rearranging the identical
wardrobe in the hall, that had so long been the fascination and torment
of little Kitty, who, it may well be supposed, was "on hand" during the
operation. Demure and useful, she made herself very officious in
assisting Mrs. Roberts in her labors, standing, for hours together, to
be loaded with the heavy piles of rich old curtains from the shelves,
faded long ago, and antiquated table-covers, heavy Marseilles coverlets,
that must have made the sleepers of old time ache to turn over under;
great packages folded up in linen, through the ends of which Kitty's
eager eyes caught glimpses of satin and brocade, and the tarnished
buttons of military clothes. Kitty never thought of her aching arms, or
her tired little feet; she never took her eyes away, and never lost a
movement of Mrs. Roberts, nor a sight of anything before her; and after
dinner, following like a kitten at the housekeeper's heels, came back to
the fascinating business of disinterring the faded glories of the past.

By three o'clock, the shelves were all emptied and the drawers all taken
out; and Mrs. Roberts was just beginning the important business of
dusting and wiping them, and restoring their precious contents, when a
man from the fields came posting up to the house in the greatest haste,
with the intelligence that a pair of the farm-horses had run away, and
done no end of damage to themselves and to the man who was driving them,
who was now lying below the barn in a state of insensibility, and Mrs.
Roberts' assistance was instantly required. It was not a case that
admitted of a demur, and the housekeeper bustled off, leaving Kitty with
orders to stay where she was, and take care of the things left about
till she came back, and, taking the only woman who was upstairs with
her, left Kitty in possession of the field.

She did not mean to move the wardrobe, but it was so natural just to try
how heavy it was, and if it would really stir! And to her surprise and
guilty pleasure, the wardrobe, lightened of its weighty contents,
yielded to her touch, and moved a little--a very little--way forward;
but enough to show to her eager eyes, in the dark wood-work, a door,
over which generations of painstaking spiders had spun their webs
unchecked, and where the scourge of Mrs. Roberts' eye had failed, or
feared to penetrate. Kitty, holding her breath for fear, turned the
knob; it resisted; it was locked, of course, possibly on the outside,
and the key might have been taken out. An expedient struck the child's
fertile brain; and she darted across the hall, and, possessing herself
of the key of the corresponding room, darted back again and applied it
to the lock. It fitted, and turned in it; the knob yielded to her eager
grasp, and, too near the completion of her wishes now to pause, she
wound her lithe figure through the narrow aperture, and pushing open the
door, stood within the mysterious room! For a moment, Kitty's heart beat
quick; an awe crept over her; for a moment she longed to be out in the
sunshine again. But her elastic spirits and indomitable curiosity soon
triumphed over the transitory dread inspired by the darkness and
solemnity of the deserted chamber, and the close, dead atmosphere, and
the unearthly stillness; and, gaining courage every moment, she made her
way, with what caution she might, toward the window, undid the
fastening, and, pushing up a very little way the heavy sash, turned the
blind, and let in a ray of God's blessed sunlight, dim and dull enough,
though, through the dusty panes, into this strange room, deserted these
many, many years, it would seem, both of God and man. Kitty was a bold
child, little given to nervousness or timidity, or she would have shrunk
in terror from the weird, fantastic shadows that the dim light showed
about the room. But that was not Kitty's way; and, sitting down on a
divan by the window, she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin
upon her hands, in contemplative fashion, and proceeded to look about
her.

What a strange sight it must have been! the slow sunbeam creeping over
the faded carpet, and lighting up the dust-covered furniture and the
dusky walls. Kitty's glance first turned, naturally enough, to the bed,
which, richly curtained and spacious, stood on the left of the door. The
curtains were swept back and the bed was made, but it was apparent that
some one had occupied it, lying on the outside; the pillows were
displaced and crushed, and the coverlet was deranged. That, since the
occupation of that _some one_, the room had never been arranged or
touched, seemed evident, from the confusion and disorder that prevailed.
The door of the wardrobe on the right was partly open, and a dress was
hanging out from it. A shawl, faded beyond recognition, hung upon the
chair near Kitty, and at her feet lay a slipper--such a slim, pretty
little slipper! while on the toilette table, you could have sworn, a
hasty hand had just dropped the stopper in that odor-bottle, and pushed
back the glove-box that stood open under the glass.

Pins rusted in the embroidered cushion; dust inch thick on the mirror
and over all, told of a dreary space since any human face had been
reflected there. Upon a little table by the window stood a work-box and
some books, and in a slender vase, the ghosts of some flowers that fell
to dust at Kitty's touch. But what most excited her wonder, was a
picture, that, with its face to the wall, was placed on the floor near
the door. It evidently did not belong to the furniture of the room, and
had been put there hastily, and to be out of the way. Kitty surveyed it
from her seat curiously, and at last crept up to it, and turned it
around, then slipping down on the carpet before it, was soon lost in
admiration of the lovely face it presented to her.

The lustre of the dark-blue eyes, and the delicate outline of the oval
face, from which large wavy curls of fair hair were pushed back with
girlish freedom, stamped themselves indelibly upon Kitty's retentive
memory. It must have been an odd sight; the eager child, in that dark,
uncanny room, upon her hands and knees before the picture, watching it
in utter fascination, forgetful of the passing moments, and of all save
the sweet face so strangely banished from the light.

But the heavy shutting of the hall door, and the sound of voices in the
hall below, put a sudden period to these fancies, and brought her to
her feet with a desperate start and a pang of genuine fear. This was a
tangible terror, and as such, Kitty's common sense succumbed to it. With
nervous haste, she restored the picture, flew across the room and drew
down the window, and made the best of her way back toward the door. But
in her haste, her feet became entangled in something, and tripping up,
in an instant she lay at full length on the floor. She disengaged her
feet from the impediment that had caused her fall; it was a long ribbon,
and a locket was attached to it; hastily thrusting them into her bosom,
she picked herself up, and sprang toward the door. Steps were already
mounting the stairs; a voice she knew too well was already audible; the
unused lock grated and creaked cruelly under the nervous hands that
struggled with it; but, with the strength of terror, she mastered it at
last--locked it, dropped the key in her pocket, slipped through the
narrow space between the wall and the wardrobe, with an eager push
restored the latter to its place, and before Mrs. Roberts reached the
landing, stood, a pallid, trembling, but undetected culprit, among the
piles of valuables she had been left to guard. The habitual darkness of
that end of the hall, increased by the near approach of twilight,
screened her white cheeks from the scrutiny of Mrs. Roberts' searching
eyes, and the haste that lady was in to restore the wardrobe to its
ancient and uninterrupted order, further favored her escape.

But she fully paid the penalty of her crime--she acknowledged, in the
dread she felt lest it should be discovered, and the unaccustomed alarm
she endured, when on dark nights, her ruthless mistress sent her
candleless to bed; and she, with suspended breath and strained ear,
would creep past the mysterious chamber to her own little loft above, to
lie whole hours awake and trembling. Her fertile imagination had
supplied the wanting links in the chain of fact; and the fair-haired
Alice, the banished daughter of the house, was her dream of beauty by
day and her haunting terror by night.

"But Kitty," I exclaimed, breathlessly, "does no one else know of the
room? Does no one ever go in it?"

"Oh yes! Mrs. Roberts must know of it, for she lived here long before
the present Mr. Rutledge was master; she knows all the family secrets,
I'll warrant. But neither she nor any one else ever troubles _that_
room, I'm pretty sure. I've watched it close enough, and the wardrobe
never has been stirred since that day I did it, six years ago last
spring. Hardly any one goes to that end of the hall; the corner rooms
are shut up and not used, and Mr. Rutledge's own rooms, and Mrs.
Roberts', and this one for visitors, being all on this side of the
house, there's very little occasion for anybody to go near the others in
the rear."

"What was in the locket you picked up?" I asked.

"It was a miniature, tied by a long narrow blue ribbon, and that night,
when I got upstairs, I bolted the door and looked at it; it was the
picture of a gentleman, young and so"----




CHAPTER IV.


  "The deeds we do, the words we say--
  Into still air they seem to fleet:
    We count them ever past--
      But they shall last--
    In the dread judgment they
      And we shall meet!"

LYRA INNOCENTIUM.


But our antiquarian researches were brought to a sudden conclusion by
the appearance of Mrs. Roberts at the door, whose cold eye seemed to
say, she comprehended at a glance that we were in mischief, and no
effort should be wanting on her part to thwart our further confidence.
That much she _looked_, the following she said:

"Mr. Rutledge desires to know how the young lady is, and whether she is
ready to see him?"

"She'll be ready in one minute," said Kitty, hurrying nervously the
retarded business of arranging my hair. Mrs. Roberts stationed herself
at the fire, and threefold increased Kitty's nervousness, and my
trepidation, by the stony gaze she fixed upon us. At last, however, the
operation was concluded, and Kitty helped me to the sofa, and regulated
the light from the window, put away my dressing-gown, and gave the last
touches to the room; while Mrs. Roberts looked on sardonically, and then
told Kitty to go and call her master. I had hoped this order of things
would have been reversed, and that Mrs. Roberts herself would have gone
to summon my dreaded visitor, leaving me a moment's time to recover my
composure, under the genial influence of Kitty's sturdy courage, which
to do her justice, she had not long been disarmed of. As it was, the
housekeeper's efforts at conversation were not of an enlivening
character, her first remark being, "that Kitty was much of a
chatter-box, and she should speak to the master to give her altogether
downstairs work to do, where there would be nobody to be hindered or
bothered by her tattle."

I tried to remonstrate, but, for my life, could not say an audible word,
and nervous and trembling to an absurd degree, I listened for the
approaching footsteps in the hall. The door opened, and Mr. Rutledge
entered. Walking up to me in his firm quick way, he said, extending his
left hand:

"Well, my young friend, and how's the headache?" I stammered something
about its being better, while he sat down beside me, and with wonderful
tact and patience, tried to amuse and draw me into conversation.

Now it was an inexplicable thing to me at that time, that I, who had
never known the first emotions of awe before, in presence even of the
imposing dignitaries of St. Catharine's--I who had pulled the wool alike
over the eyes of governesses and professors--I, who had enjoyed, if ever
any did in that establishment, the privilege of doing as I pleased, by
reason of the inability of anybody to prevent me--that I should, I say,
be so utterly subdued and humble, before this quiet stranger, was an
inexplicable thing to me.

I had yet to learn, that those, clothed in a little brief authority, and
holding temporary sway over young minds and wills, are not always and
inevitably so far exalted, in intellect and in character, above those
they are supposed to govern, as were to be wished, and as they sincerely
desire to appear. Narrow-minded pedantry and injudicious ignorance often
rush in, to responsibilities and duties that angels might well tremble
to assume--the moulding for good or evil, the flexile souls of children
during the most vital years of their lives.

Be this as it may, I quailed for the first time before a superior, and
not without a stubborn feeling of resistance, owned myself in the
presence of one I feared. I suppose I must have looked very childish,
with my hair brushed down simply and knotted low on my neck, and a tiny
linen collar turned over my plain blue merino frock; the lava pin and
earrings having been unavoidably omitted in the hasty completion of my
toilette. These circumstances of dress, I comforted myself, might
account in part for the manner in which Mr. Rutledge continued to treat
me, and which was very galling to my pride, for being at the most
sensitive period of adolescence, nothing could have been more humbling
than to be regarded as childish and immature. Such considerations did
not add to my ease of manner, or grace of deportment, and all Mr.
Rutledge's well-selected topics of conversation fell to the ground for
want of a sustaining power on my side. At last relinquishing the
attempt, he turned to Mrs. Roberts, and gave her minute instructions in
regard to my medicine and diet, felt my pulse, and pronounced me very
much improved; but he judged it, he said, very much better for me to lie
on the sofa pretty quietly all day. Perhaps by to-morrow, I might be
well enough to come downstairs for a little while, he continued, looking
attentively at me, to see, I suppose, how I bore the intelligence of my
prolonged captivity. He did not see any expression of impatience in my
face, however, firstly, because I did not feel any, and secondly,
because, if I had, I would have concealed it to-day. He rose to go,
first turning toward the bay window, where he stood for some minutes
thoughtfully, attracted by the beauty of the landscape it overlooked.

"After all," he said at length, addressing Mrs. Roberts more than me,
and his own thoughts, perhaps, more than either, "the view of the lake
is finer from this window than from any other in the house. The slope of
the lawn is beautiful, and that opening in the pine grove on the left,
through which you see up to the head of the lake, is very fine. Mrs.
Roberts," abruptly, "do you remember when that opening was cut?"

"Yes sir," said Mrs. Roberts (she was never known to have forgotten
anything), "it was during Mrs. Rutledge, your mother's last illness; she
sat a great deal in that window, and your father had it cut to suit her
fancy. I remember the very morning that the workmen began it; she was so
interested, and quite tired herself with watching them, and sending them
orders."

"Ah! I think I remember something of it. I must have been"----

"Just eight years old, sir," said Mrs. Roberts with precision. "She died
the next spring, when Mr. Richard was in his sixteenth year; there was
just four years between you and"----

"Yes, I know."

A dark frown contracted his brow; a forbidding compression of the lips
renewed the dread that had begun to lessen under his patient kindness.
During the five minutes that he stood thus by the window, we were, I
suppose, as entirely forgotten as one of us, at least, desired to be.
The trivial Present fell back into insignificance and oblivion before
the iron domination of some stern memory, that touched with ruthless
hand, his tenderest affection, that humbled his pride, and baffled his
indomitable will. This much I could see, in the restless light of his
dark eye, as it wandered over the familiar scene; child as I was, I
could not but see the suffering in his face. At last, with an effort, he
threw off the tyrant memory, and abruptly turning, quitted the room.
Something almost as human as a sigh escaped from Mrs. Roberts' blue
lips, as his steps echoed across the hall, and his door closed heavily.

With me, the day passed quietly and pleasantly enough; Mrs. Roberts took
the precaution to leave Kitty alone with me as little as possible,
always managing to come in, when Kitty had got nicely fixed with her
sewing at the furthest window, and find some excuse to send her away for
half an hour or so. But as Kitty had brought me some books from the
library, and as I felt too lazy and indifferent to object to anything, I
did not much mind her surveillance.

The chicken soup that Kitty brought me for my dinner, was the very
nicest ever administered to hungry convalescent; and after the meal was
concluded, and the afternoon sun shut out, I made up for all
deficiencies in last night's repose by a very satisfactory sleep; from
which I awoke with a start, to find that I had slept "the all-golden
afternoon" quite away, and that twilight was stealing over the quiet
lake, and the rich autumn woods. I smoothed back the tumbled hair from
my face, and leaning against the window, looked thoughtfully out. The
sun had but just gone down, and left the horizon still glowing with his
light, without a single cloud to break the unruffled calm of sky and
lake. Not a breath of wind stirred the dead leaves that lay thick
beneath the trees in the park--not a sound broke the stillness. How
hushed and silent the dark house was! How much more to the past did it
seem to belong, than to the living actual present. And turn my eyes or
thoughts whichever way I might, they still reverted to some thing that
would remind me of the strange story I had heard that morning, still
brought before me the desolate room, where the dust of years lay on all
traces of her, who, banished, or wronged, or fled, had darkened forever
the home she left. With her, it seemed, had vanished the gaiety, the
life of the house; following fast upon her absence had come death and
desolation; and the sole survivor of this, her ancient race, grew stern
and silent at the merest allusion to her.

My young brain grew feverish and impatient at the baffling mystery, and
refused to entertain any other thought or interest. A vague dread and
superstitious awe crept over me as the twilight waxed dimmer and greyer,
and the dying fire smouldered on the hearth, and the stillness remained
unbroken. Where was everybody; or had I slept over a few years, and were
they all dead? And was I the only living thing in the great
house--another Princess in another Day-dream, only wakened without the
kiss, and the prince gone off in a huff?

I laughed aloud, but my laughter had a very hollow sound, and only made
the succeeding silence more ghastly; it was very foolish, but I was
exceedingly uncomfortable. Why didn't Kitty come? I could not find a
bell. I searched in vain for matches; the fire was past service, and
could not for its life, have raised flame enough to light a candle.
Every minute the room grew darker and chillier, every minute the silence
grew more and more oppressive. I began to think of what Kitty had said
of the voice that still called "Alice" through the vacant halls; and
then I wondered whether this were not the very room in which the father
died; and then I tried not to listen or hear anything, and the next
moment found myself with strained ear, watching for the lightest sound.

At last I could endure it no longer, and groping my way to the door,
opened it, and held my breath, as I listened for some sound to indicate
that I was not the only thing that breathed and lived within the gloomy
walls. But such sound was wanting; a more vacant, drearier silence
reigned without than within the room; through the long hall and distant
corridors, not a footfall, not a motion; the rustle of my own dress
awoke the only echoes. I dared not look toward the end of the hall that
I had learned so much to dread; but starting forward and leaning over
the balusters I called "Kitty," in a voice that would fain have been
stentorian, but was in actual fact a whisper. No answer, of course, and
the faltering whisper seemed to float down the dreary vacancy with
mocking lightness and unconcern. I called again, this time desperation
overcoming the choking terror.

Then there was a sound of some one moving, a door opened on the opposite
side of the hall, a light appeared, and Mr. Rutledge's voice said, "What
is it?"

What was it, indeed; it would have been difficult to say just what it
was, and so I found it.

"Oh! it is you. I beg your pardon. Do you want Kitty?"

I said yes, and that I had been asleep, and just waked up a little while
since, and could not find any matches. My white cheeks told the rest.
Mr. Rutledge explained that Kitty had been sent to the post-office, and
had not returned yet; he was very sorry she had not been at hand to
attend to me, and coming across the hall, brought a light to my door.
Very much ashamed of my fears, I went in to get my candle.

"Why," he said, looking in; "your fire is all out, it looks dreary
enough; I am afraid you will take cold. You had better come down to the
library and have tea with me. How will that do?"

"It will do very well," I said decidedly; for as to staying up there all
alone till Kitty came back, it was not to be thought of, and folding my
shawl around me, I stepped out into the hall, and with great
satisfaction, shut the door of my room, and followed Mr. Rutledge
through the hall and down the stairs. I kept pretty close to him, as we
descended into the vast chilly-looking lower hall, but the coldness of
its marble pavement, and the darkness of its heavy panels, only made the
library, as we entered it, doubly attractive. The fire that would have
made any other room uncomfortable at that season of the year, only
warmed pleasantly the wide and lofty apartment. As Kitty said, "those
great windows let in no end of air, and it took a power of wood to make
it fit to stay in." And a "power of wood" now lay, "a solid core of
heat" upon the hearth, casting a warm glow over the book cases that
lined the walls, and the huge windows with their crimson drapery. The
room delighted me; there was such an air of comfort and elegance about
it, and the warm fire and bright lamp took from it the look of
old-fashioned grandeur that is so comfortless, but so universal, in
houses that have remained unchanged for a generation or so.

"What a delightful room!" I could not help exclaiming, as my eyes
wandered eagerly over the long rows of books, that stood one above
another, from floor to ceiling, in every variety of binding, from the
dusky calf of a hundred or so years ago, to the elegant morocco and gilt
of to-day.

"Yes, it is quite a delightful room for any one who likes books," said
Mr. Rutledge, seating himself by the fire; "do you like them?"

"That's rather a general question, sir," I said, walking up to the case
on the right side of the fireplace, where some more modern-looking
volumes tempted my curiosity.

"So it is," answered my companion, pushing his chair a little further
from the fire, and leaning back, shading his eyes with his hand. "It
_is_ rather general, I admit; but to reduce it to a more particular and
answerable shape, are you fond of reading?"

"Some sort of books I like to read, sir."

"What is the sort you like?"

"Why," I said, rather puzzled, "I like--why I can't tell you
exactly--but I like books that amuse me, that are not dry and stupid."

"There are so many different criterions of dryness and stupidity," said
Mr. Rutledge with an amused smile, "that your answer, I must confess,
doesn't give me much light; some people might consider as highly
interesting, you know, what you and I might look upon as hopelessly dry
and stupid."

I thought, as Mr. Rutledge said, "you and I," that it was very polite in
him to put it so, but that he probably knew as well as I, that we had
very different tastes, and that my favorite books were as unknown and
indifferent to him, as his literary proclivities were, in all
probability, elevated above, and incomprehensible to me.

"For instance," he said, "I like natural history. Now, a great many
persons think it very dull. How is it with you?"

"That's just a case in point," I answered, with an effort not to care
what he thought of me, "I never could get interested in it at all."

"I am not surprised; it is not very often attractive to those of your
age and sex. Now, leaving off the 'natural,' perhaps you're fond of
history?"

I reflected a moment; but while "White's Universal," and "Esquisses
Historiques" were so vividly fresh and hateful, how could I honestly say
I liked history? Yet I knew there were some historical works that I had
as soon read as novels, but I did not know how to explain it; so I said,
"I don't like all history, by any means."

"Neither do I," said Mr. Rutledge; "we agree on that point, and I am
certain we shall on many others, if we can only get at them. Suppose you
take any shelf, for instance, the lower one on your right, and let us
see what we think of the contents. What's the first volume this way?"

I stooped down and read off the name, "Hallam's Middle Ages."

"Ah!" exclaimed my interlocutor, "we have stumbled upon history in
earnest. How do you stand affected toward 'Hallam's Middle Ages'?"

"I like it exceedingly, sir." I responded very concisely, very much
afraid of being pressed to give my reasons, which would have involved me
in utter dismay and confusion, for in common with most very young
persons, I liked because I liked, and disliked upon the same
discriminating principle.

"What comes next?" asked Mr. Rutledge, to my great relief.

"'Goldsmith's Animated Nature.'"

"Ah! you don't like that. What follows?"

"A long row of 'Buffon,' sir, and then 'Tytler's Universal History.' I
haven't read 'Buffon,' and I think Tytler--well--very nice, but
tiresome, you know."

"Try the shelf above."

"The first book, sir, is 'Irving's Goldsmith.'"

"Did you ever read it?"

I said Miss Crowen had given it to me to read, last vacation.

"You found it tiresome?"

"Tiresome! why, sir, I think it is the nicest book in the world. I can't
help thinking how Goldsmith would love Mr. Irving, if he knew about it!
Next, sir, comes a very pretty copy of 'Macaulay's Roman Lays,' and five
volumes of his 'Essays.'"

"Did Miss Crowen give you Macaulay to read?"

"I took it from the library, and she did not make any objection."

"And what do you think of him as a writer?"

I did not need to look in his face to know how much diverted he was at
the idea of extracting a criticism of the great historian from such a
chit as I; and summoning all my courage to the aid of my pride, I
answered steadily.

"If one of my 'age and sex,' sir, can be considered to have an opinion,
I should say, that though Mr. Macaulay is probably the most brilliant
writer of the century, he is the one who has done the least good. I
don't think any one who has the least faith, reverence, or loyalty, can
read him except under protest."

"Which means," said Mr. Rutledge, "that you and Mr. Macaulay are so
unhappy as to differ on some points of politics and theology, _n'est ce
pas?_"

"I know very little about politics, and less about theology; I only know
how I feel when he calls King Charles the First 'a bungling villain,' 'a
bad man,' and says even prettier things about Lord Stafford; I know it
vexes me when he elevates Cromwell 'into a man whose talents were equal
to the highest duties of a soldier and a prince,' and never omits an
opportunity of sneering, with a mixture of contempt and pity, at that
slow old institution, the Church of England."

"And you do not agree with him?"

"Agree with him!"

"What sentiments," exclaimed Mr. Rutledge, "what sentiments for a young
republican! Do you mean to tell me that _you_ don't look upon the
death-warrant of Charles as the 'Major Charta' of England? Do you mean
to say that you don't regard it as the first step in that blessed march
of liberty that is regenerating the world?"

"A blessed march indeed!" I cried indignantly, "over the dead bodies of
honor and obedience, faith and loyalty! A blessed march, to the tune of
the Marseillaise and murder!"

"But, my young friend, how do you make that view of the subject agree
with your patriotism as an American, and your veneration for Washington?
Were there no carcasses of deceased obedience and loyalty under his
chariot-wheels?"

"_Grâce à Dieu_!" I cried, eagerly, "it was Liberty, but Liberty with a
different cap on, and marching under very different colors, that
Washington fought for; no more the same deity that Cromwell and
Robespierre acknowledged, than the idol of the Hindoo is the God we
worship!"

Mr. Rutledge shrugged his shoulders, and begged me to explain the
difference to him. And with a vehement mixture of enthusiasm, ignorance
and anger, I tried to explain my meaning to him, but, as was not
difficult to foresee, made but little headway in my argument, every
moment adding to my adversary's coolness and my own impatience. I
altogether forgot my diffidence and alarm; I was too angry and excited
to think who it was I was talking to; I only knew he was opposing and
tripping me up, and saying the most hateful things in the coolest way,
and exasperating me to the highest degree, and not being a bit
exasperated with all my saucy replies; and it was not till I had
exhausted all my combined wrath and logic, that I caught a lurking
smile about his mouth, that flashed upon me the conviction that I was
entirely the victim of his wit, and that he had just been arguing on the
wrong side for the sake of argument and amusement.

"After all," I exclaimed, "I believe you think just as I do, and have
only been talking so, to draw me out!"

"Why, mademoiselle! How can you suspect me of such duplicity?" he said,
with his peculiar short laugh.

And seizing a book, I sank down on the sofa to hide my burning cheeks
behind its pages. How angry, frightened and mortified I felt, no words
can tell, and every stealthy glance I obtained of my neighbor but added
to my vexation. Wholly absorbed in his paper, he seemed to have
forgotten all about me and my indignation; and having furnished him with
half an hour's amusement, I was to be pushed aside to make way for a
more serious train of thought, such as was now knitting his brow, and
fixing his attention over some political debate or Congressional
transaction. I might smooth my ruffled temper at my leisure; no danger
of interruption or observation; I might solace myself with what
consolation was to be found in the reflection, that whatever I had said
savoring of exaggeration or absurdity, was by this time doubtless
entirely forgotten by my companion. But it was a slim comfort, and could
not displace the angry thought--what business had he to catechise me so;
make me stand there, and tell him what books I had read, and then lead
me on to say all manner of foolish things? My cheeks glowed at the
recollection. There was one comfort; I knew enough now, never to let him
have the amusement of making me angry again; he should never hear
anything but monosyllables from me henceforth; I would be ice and marble
when he was by.

Presently there came a low knock at the door, and Kitty appeared, very
fresh and rosy from her walk, and entering, laid upon the table some
papers and a couple of letters.

"Ah!" said the master, in a tone of satisfaction, reaching out his hand
for them, "the mail is late to-night. You may send tea up; we will take
it here this evening."

Kitty looked in great astonishment to see me downstairs, but the
etiquette of the place forbade anything more on my part than a glance of
recognition, and Kitty retired to order tea sent up. Till that
refreshment arrived, and was arranged upon the table, Mr. Rutledge
devoted himself to the newly-arrived papers, of whose contents he
possessed himself with surprising celerity; and before the servant
announced that tea was ready, I had watched his eyes scan rapidly every
column of every paper; and looking up from the last one as Thomas made
his announcement, he laid it aside, and turned toward the table, asking
me, with a smile, if I should mind the trouble of pouring out tea. It
was an attention, he said, that he was generally obliged to pay to
himself, but it would make it much more agreeable if I would take the
trouble.

I took my place behind the heavy silver service, and with fingers that
trembled very visibly, proceeded, for the first time in my life, to fill
that womanly office. Mr. Rutledge looked on silently, and without note
or comment received and drank his tea. The toast and cake were
unpatronized; Mr. Rutledge, I am inclined to think, forgot them, so
absorbed did he appear in his own thoughts; and I, for my part,
shrinking behind the urn, considered myself sufficiently taxed in
swallowing a cup of tea, which almost choked me, as it was. It was not
till the tea-things were removed that Mr. Rutledge allowed himself to
open his letters, doing this, as everything else, at great disadvantage,
and with some effort, with his left hand. I resumed my book, and did not
raise my eyes, till some time having elapsed, Mr. Rutledge, rising,
handed me a letter, which he said had come inclosed to him in one he had
just received from my aunt. I opened it with considerable interest, and
looking up from the reading of it with a smile, met Mr. Rutledge's eye,
who said:

"Mrs. Churchill seems to be very much alarmed about you. I think it's
quite lucky that she was prevented from coming on in person, for she
would have considered herself basely deceived, I am afraid, if she had
dropped in upon us this evening; the two objects of her solicitude
taking tea comfortably downstairs, in the apparent enjoyment of
uninterrupted health. My bandaged arm, I believe, is the only visible
reminder of the accident."

"How is it to-day, sir?" I asked, rather faintly.

He looked a little inclined to smile, remembering, no doubt, that this
was the first time I had vouchsafed an inquiry concerning it; but he
answered very civilly, that it was rather painful: whether old Sartain
had made some blunder in setting it, or whether he had not kept it
sufficiently quiet, he could not tell. However, he had no doubt it would
soon be all right, etc.

Therewith he dismissed the subject; but I could not dismiss so easily, a
little feeling of remorse for my selfishness and thoughtlessness; and he
had been so careful of _my_ comfort, too! Perhaps from that reflection,
I was very prompt to drop my book in my lap, and be very attentive to
his first remark, as, pushing away the pile of letters and papers, he
leaned thoughtfully back in his chair, and said:

"You have not seen your aunt for a long time, have you?"

"It is rather more than five years, sir, since I have seen her."

"Have you been at school all that time?"

"Yes, sir; I have been there vacations and all. Aunt Edith went away the
year after I was put there, and only came back last spring."

"Josephine is considerably older than you, is she not?"

"Just two years, sir; Josephine was nineteen last month, and I shall be
seventeen the 28th of December, and Grace is eighteen months younger."

"I suppose you remember them quite well?"

"Not very, sir; I have never seen a great deal of them. We lived in the
country, and excepting when we went to town for a visit, we were not
together. You met them abroad, did you not, sir?"

"Yes; we travelled through Switzerland together, and I saw them very
frequently last winter in Paris."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, eagerly, quite forgetting my dignified resolutions,
"do tell me about them. Is Josephine taller than I, and is she pretty?
They say she sings so beautifully! Does she?"

"Where shall I begin?" he said, with a smile. "Such an avalanche of
questions overwhelms me. First, as to height; well (thoughtfully), let
me consider. It is difficult to judge. Stand up, and let me see how tall
you are."

I sprang up, in perfectly good faith, and stood erect before him for
three full minutes, while, with a critical eye, he surveyed me from head
to foot.

"I should say," he continued very deliberately, while I resumed my seat,
"I should say that there was not the difference of an eighteenth of an
inch between you."

"Really?" I exclaimed. "Why, isn't that odd! It's very nice, isn't it,
for us to be so near alike?"

"I did not say you were near alike."

"Oh, but in size I mean. I know we don't look alike. Josephine used to
be such a thin, dark, old-looking little girl, that I cannot imagine her
tall and grown-up."

"I think," continued Mr. Rutledge, "that she is still rather slighter
than you are; though your additional shade of health and robustness
will, I fancy, soon be lost, under the influence of town habits and
constant dissipation."

"Are they very gay? Does my aunt go a great deal into society?" I asked.

"They did in Paris, and I fancy it will be the same in New York. In
fact, there is little doubt of it."

"I wonder," I said, leaning my cheek on my hand, and looking
thoughtfully into the fire--"I do so wonder whether I shall like it."

"Ah! my child," he said rather sadly, "you need not waste much wonder
upon that; you will like it but too well. Wonder, with a shudder and a
prayer, how you will bear the ordeal."

He sighed, and pressed his hand for a moment before his eyes; then
catching my wistful look, he continued in a lighter tone:

"But I do not mean to frighten you; people, you know, are very apt to
preach against what they are tired of, and inveigh against the world
after they have 'been there,' and have seen its best and its worst, and
tasted eagerly of both; and have spent years in its service, and are
only disgusted when they find that it will yield them no more. They have
no right to discourage you young things, just on the threshold, eager
and impatient for you don't know what of glory and delight."

"Why, yes; I'm sure they have a right to warn us, if they see our
danger. I am sure it is their duty."

"Oh!" he said, with one of his quick laughs, "it would be a thankless
task; they would not be heeded. You all have to go through it, and how
you come out is only a question of degree--some more, and some less
tainted--according to the stuff you're made of."

"I don't want to believe that."

"You want to believe, I suppose, that you can go into the fire and not
be burned; that you can go into the world and not grow worldly; that you
can spend your youth in vanity, and not reap vexation of spirit; that
you can go cheek by jowl with hollowness, and falsehood, and corruption,
and yet keep truth and purity in your heart! You want to believe this,
my little girl, but you must go to some one who has seen less, or seen
it with different eyes from me, to hear it."

"I want to believe the truth, whether it's easy or hard, and I had
rather know it now, at the beginning, if I've got to know it, than when
it is forced upon me by experience."

"Wisely said, _ma petite;_ self-denial, hard as it is, is easier than
repentance; but there are few of us who would not rather take our
chances for escaping repentance and 'dodge' the self-denial, too. Is not
that the way?"

"I don't know; I suppose so. But, if the world is really as dangerous as
you say, why should kind mothers and friends take the young girls they
have the charge of, into it? Why should my aunt, for instance, take
Josephine into society, the very gayest and most brilliant?"

An almost imperceptible smile flitted across my companion's face at my
question, but he answered quite seriously:

"A great many different motives actuate parents; the principal, I
suppose, are such as these: The children, they reason, are young, and
they must have enjoyment; and so they cram them with sweets till they
have no relish for healthier food. Sorrow, they say, comes soon enough;
let them be happy while they may; and so they fit them for bearing it by
an utter waste of mind and body in a mad pursuit of pleasure. And then,
they must be established in the world; their temporal interests must be
attended to. And the myriads offered up on that altar, it would freeze
your young blood to know of! And then," he continued, with an amused
look at my perplexity, "then there is another very potent reason why
they cannot be kept in the nest--for before they are well fledged, the
willful little brood will try their wings, and neither law nor logic
will suffice to keep them back. Now, even you, sensible and
correctly-judging young lady as you have this evening discovered
yourself to be, would, I fear, not bear the test of a trial; I am afraid
your courage would droop before the self denial of the first ball or
two, and you would soon be drawn into the vortex without a struggle."

"I don't think so," I said. "I am pretty sure that if I resolved not to
go into society--being convinced that I ought not--I should be able to
keep my resolution. And even if I should see that it was best for me
not to go out till I am older, but to stay at home and study and improve
myself, this winter, at least, I know I could do it. If I thought that
balls and parties were wrong, I am certain I should never go to one."

"That would be carrying the thing too far. Do not suppose that I mean
anything like that. What I condemn is the wholesale worldliness--the
unwearied career of folly that I have seen so much of, utterly excluding
all cultivation of heart or intellect--utterly ignoring all beyond the
present. That's the snare I would warn you of, my little friend. I know
perhaps, better than you do, the trials that lie before you; so when I
tell you that you will have need of all the courage, and self-denial,
and resolution that you are mistress of, to keep you from that darkest
of all lives--the life of a worldly woman--you must remember, I have
seen many plays played out--have watched the opening and ending of more
careers than one, the bloom and blight of more than one young life."

A pause fell--a long and thoughtful one--while my companion, shading his
eyes from the firelight, gazed fixedly upon vacancy, and some time had
passed before he shook off the momentary gloom, and resumed, in a
lighter tone:

"That accident was a miserable business, was it not? Keeping you a
prisoner in this dull old place, and knocking I don't know how many
plans of mine in the head. And it is impossible to tell how many days it
may be before I am able to travel, even if you should be. Perhaps,
however, I may succeed in finding an escort for you, as I suppose you
are impatient to be in New York."

"Oh, I beg you will not take any trouble about it; I like it here very
well. I am not in the least hurry, and I hope you will not go a moment
before you are fit, on my account."

My effort at civility was rewarded by a smile to which no one could be
indifferent; and in reply, Mr. Rutledge said that he was glad to find
me so philosophical; that I must amuse myself as well as I could, and he
should tell Mrs. Churchill, when he wrote, that I was in a fair way of
being made a strong-minded woman; between Mrs. Roberts' austere example
in the conduct of the household, and his own invaluable moral lectures,
my mind would be in no danger of rusting during my captivity. "Not to
mention," he added gravely, "very able and improving mental exercise in
the criticism of the most eminent living historians."

I hung my head at this last cut, administered, however, so daintily,
that it was impossible to resent it; and being on the rack till he
should get away from the subject, I quickly reverted to his letter to my
aunt, asking when he should write, and desiring permission to inclose a
note to her at the same time. He should probably write to-night, he
said, glancing up at the bronze clock, which pointed to nine.

"Writing, however, with my left hand, is a business requiring much time
and application, and possibly I may not attempt it till to-morrow
morning."

Blushing very much, I said I wished I could be of service in writing
that or any other letters for him; it would give me great pleasure. He
thanked me for the offer, but considered it, he said, entirely too much
to ask of me. I must remember I was still an invalid. I laughed at the
idea, and the result was, that in five minutes I was seated at the
library table, with a portfolio before me, writing a letter to my aunt
at Mr. Rutledge's dictation.

I was in high spirits at the idea of being useful, and the pen flew over
the paper almost as fast as the words were uttered. I rather writhed
under the necessity of writing without demur of myself as "the little
girl," and "your young niece;" but there was nothing to be said, and
after finishing it, and adding a few lines of my own, I enveloped and
directed it. I asked if there was any other I could write for him.

He said there was one he was anxious to dispatch in the morning; so
taking another sheet of paper, I began another letter. It was one on
business, full of law terms and dry details, but fortunately not very
long, and writing it as rapidly as possible, in my boldest, freest hand,
I soon laid it ready for dispatch beside the other.

"What else?" I inquired, taking a fresh sheet of paper.

"You are not tired?"

"Not in the least, sir," and I rapidly wrote the date, and with my pen
suspended over the paper, awaited his dictation.

Without a word of explanation, he began to dictate as quickly as before,
in French. For a moment my heart failed me, as the teasing French verbs
rushed on my bewildered ear; but rallying instantly, without raising my
eyes or giving the least evidence of my discomfiture, I began to write.

Thanks to Mademoiselle Céline's drilling, I was pretty ready at
"dictée," and after the first surprise, got along very well. It was
quite a severe exercise to keep pace with his rapid language, feeling
all the while as if an error would be irreparable. I would not appear to
read it over, of course, for purposes of correction, any more than I
would have done the English ones. I managed, however, while looking for
an envelope, and wiping my pen, to glance hurriedly and anxiously
through it, and was somewhat comforted to meet no fault apparent, at
least, on such a rapid scrutiny. I folded and addressed it, not, though,
without some misgivings, and after receiving thanks, and a refusal of
further services, glanced at the clock, and rose to go upstairs.

Mr. Rutledge lit my candle, and as he handed it to me, said I must do as
I found it most agreeable about coming downstairs to my meals. He should
be most happy to have a companion whenever I felt well enough to come
down; but Kitty, he hoped, would make me comfortable whenever I
preferred remaining upstairs.

I bowed, and said, "Yes sir," rather unmeaningly, and passed out of the
door, which he held open for me, and which he was charitable enough not
to shut till I was safe in my own room.

Kitty, active and pleasant as ever, awaited me there, and I threw myself
in the easy-chair before the fire, while she unbraided and combed my
hair, with a feeling of great comfort and complacency. She congratulated
me upon going downstairs; and indirectly and respectfully endeavored to
ascertain whether I had found master as formidable as I had anticipated.
I did not wish to commit myself on this point; but finding that Kitty
herself stood in a little wholesome awe of him, I was tempted to
acknowledge that I did not feel altogether at ease downstairs; upon
which she said, she guessed I wasn't the only one; nobody on the place,
from Mrs. Roberts down, dared say their souls were their own when Mr.
Rutledge was by.

"But then, he's a kind master, is he not?" I asked.

"Oh, yes! None better; that everybody knows. He's as liberal as can be;
but then he expects everything to go on _just so;_ and every man on the
place knows that he won't put up with a bit of laziness or shirking. And
so, whether he's here or not, things go on like clock-work, and the
Rutledge farm is a perfect garden, everybody says. Better a good deal, I
guess, than it used to be in old Mr. Rutledge's time, though there were
twice as many men on it then, and twice as much money spent on it; but
there was too much feasting and company for anybody to attend much to
work, and I suppose the old gentleman was what they call a high liver,
and cared more for his hounds and horses, and dinner-parties and wine,
than for looking after his farm."

"How old was Mr. Arthur Rutledge when his father died?"

"Oh, a mere lad, sixteen or so; and for a time, I've heard them say,
things went on bad enough, nobody to look after anything, the farm just
going to destruction. For, the trouble all coming together, his father's
and Mr. Richard's death, and whatever it was about Miss Alice, it was
too much for Mr. Arthur, and brought on a dreadful fever, and for weeks
they couldn't tell how it would go with him. Mrs. Roberts nursed him day
and night; I guess she was the best friend he had, for he was the last
of the family, you see, and hadn't a relation in the world, and though
he had plenty of fine folks for his acquaintance, fine folks don't seem
to think they're needed when people are in trouble and come to die; and
I don't know but what they're right; they would be rather in the way.
However, they didn't have much to do for Mr. Arthur that time; and at
last the fever turned, and he began to get better."

Kitty had an attentive auditor, and she only too willingly talked on,
and gave me all the facts she was possessed of. I had nothing else to
think about just then, and so it was not to be wondered at that I made
the most of them, and gave many an hour to the working up and
embellishing of Kitty's story. I pictured to myself the lonely boy,
coming back to life with no one to welcome him in the changed house. I
fancied him pale and melancholy, wandering through the deserted halls
and empty rooms, finding at every turn something to remind him of his
grief. I could not blame him when, as my informant said, he grew to be
morose and gloomy, and to hate the very name of home; for, going abroad,
he did not come near it for years, and seemed to have lost all interest
in it. The estate, during this time, was managed by an agent, who
neglected it shamefully, and in whose charge it was fast going to ruin.

But suddenly, the young master returned, and to the surprise of all,
took things into his own hands; dismissed those who had been living in
idleness at his expense so long, only retaining such as were willing to
conform themselves to the new _régime_, and by industry and faithfulness
to regain what had been lost during this long period of neglect. It was
a reform which required great energy and perseverance, but these the
young heir possessed, and before a year was over, things wore a very
different aspect; the house was repaired and the grounds put in order;
the farm began to show the presence of a master. The reform did not stop
here, however. For more than fifty years, there had been no church
nearer than Hilton, a distance of six miles, which the family at
Rutledge nominally attended, when the weather was fine; but, unhappily,
Sunday and Sunday duties were by no means of paramount interest at
Rutledge; and, naturally, master and tenantry fell into a criminal
neglect of all the outward duties of religion. In the village which lay
about a mile to the south of Rutledge, there had once, before the
Revolution, been a church edifice, but long since it had fallen into
ruins, and only a neglected graveyard remained to attest its former
site. Here, Mr. Rutledge had built a church, and repairing a cottage
that lay at the southern extremity of his farm, and not a quarter of a
mile from the church, had turned it into a parsonage, where he had
established a clergyman, who had labored very faithfully and very
successfully among the almost heathenish inhabitants of the place, and
had immeasurably improved its character.

"But still you say, Kitty, Mr. Rutledge does not live here much of the
time. I should think he would be happy in a place where he had done so
much good."

Kitty shook her head. "There is too much to remind him of old times, I
suppose, for him to like it here; besides, it's very lonesome. He does
his duty by it, but I don't believe he'll ever stay here more than he
thinks he has to, to keep things straight."

I reminded Kitty, by and by, of the miniature of which we had been
talking when Mrs. Roberts interrupted us in the morning.

"Should you like to see it?" Kitty asked.

"Of all things," I replied; and Kitty, laying down the brush, said she
would run up to her room and get it. She stopped a moment, after she had
cautiously opened the door, to listen if Mrs. Roberts was still awake,
then leaving it ajar, stole quietly up the stairs. My heart beat
guiltily as I listened to her retreating footsteps. What business had I
to be prying into family secrets? I was involuntarily ashamed of myself,
but how could I help it? How could I resist the temptation? It could do
no harm; I should only just look at it, and should be no wiser after
all. It seemed an age before Kitty's returning footsteps rejoiced my
ear, and I did not feel safe till, again within the room, she slid the
bolt behind her, and put into my hand the old-fashioned locket, with its
faded blue ribbon. I started up, and going to the light, bent down to
examine it.

"It's like none of the family," Kitty said. "Their pictures are in the
dining-room, and I've compared them all."

It certainly, I saw myself, was not in the least like Mr. Rutledge. It
was a face I could not altogether understand. The eyes were dark, and
perhaps tender in their light, but about the mouth--and a handsome well
cut mouth, too--there was a something I could not define, that suggested
coldness and insincerity; something that repelled me when I first
looked, but seemed to disappear after a longer scrutiny. The features
were regular and strikingly handsome, the skin a clear olive, the hair
dark and wavy. As far as my limited knowledge of these things went, what
was visible of the uniform appeared to me to be that of a French
officer, and the letters, in tiny characters, engraved on the back, "à
Paris, 1830," seemed to confirm the probability.

"Twenty-four years ago," I said.

"That was the year before old Mr. Rutledge died," said Kitty.

I kept it in my hand while she undressed me, and only returned it to her
as she was leaving me for the night. But she said,

"You'd better keep it, Miss, if you will, to-night. I am afraid to go
to my trunk to put it away, for Dorothy, the cook, sleeps in the room
where we keep our trunks, and she's just gone upstairs."

I consented, and for safety put it under my pillow. I wished it anywhere
else, however, after the door had closed; and Kitty departing,

----"Left the world to darkness and to me."




CHAPTER V.


  "Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive,
  Half wishing they were dead to save the shame.
  The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow
  They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats.
  And flare up bodily, wings and all. What then?
  Who's sorry for a gnat--or girl?"

E.B. BROWNING.


The question, whether I should breakfast downstairs or alone, was
settled by the ringing of the bell before Kitty had half done my hair,
and as I would not for worlds have been two minutes late at any meal
that Mr. Rutledge was to share, I determined to "take the benefit of the
act," and remain an invalid till dinner-time.

"What a dismal day, Miss!" remarked my maid, as she made herself busy in
removing my breakfast from the table. "How shall you manage to amuse
yourself?"

"I don't mind the rain in the least," I answered, wheeling my admired
chair up to the window, and throwing myself into it, with a lapful of
books and work. "I think a rainy day is splendid."

And so, indeed, I found it for a while. I read till I had extracted all
the honey from the pile of reviews and magazines before me, and then
pushed them away, and leaning against the window, gazed out on the
dreary landscape. A sheet of rain and mist hid the lake, the pine grove
looked black and sullen, the trees in the park tossed mournfully about
their naked branches, as showers of yellow leaves fell in gusts upon the
ground; the wind moaned dismally around the house, and dashed the rain,
by fits and starts, against the windows with a heavy sound. It was very
nice to feel that it could not get in, and that there was stout glass
and stone between me and the pitiless autumn storm, and a snug and cosy
shelter from its fury. But by and by I grew rather tired of watching the
rain and the leaves, and yawning, began to cast about for some more
attractive occupation. This I found for a short time in my worsted work,
which I disinterred from the depths of my trunk, and applied myself to
in great earnest for half an hour. But the motive for exertion was
wanting; I could not help thinking wearily, that there was not the least
hurry about finishing it, and those roses would blow, on demand, any
time during the next six years, with as much advantage as at present.

And so I laid it down and took to the window again, wondering, with a
sigh, whether all young ladyhood were like this; and if it were, how it
happened that we did not hear of more early deaths--deaths from utter
ennui and exhaustion. I had for so long been used to having every half
hour in the day filled up with some unavoidable exercise of mind or
body, that I felt entirely lost without the routine, and firmly
resolved, as soon as I should be settled at my aunt's, to begin a course
of study which should fill up all these idle moments, and give some
vigor to my faculties. "I should die of this in a month," I thought; and
seizing one of the rejected Reviews, the only literature at hand, I
resolutely set myself to read the longest, driest paper in it. And
really, after the task was accomplished, though I am sorry to say I was
not by much the clearer in my views on the particular branch of science
of which it treated, still I felt decidedly better satisfied with myself
for the effort, and experienced less compunction in taking, after lunch,
a short nap.

Kitty had been absent all the morning, having been detailed for some
pressing laundry work by the practical Mrs. Roberts, for which I was
still owing her a grudge, when, just as I awoke from my nap, she walked
in, and accepting the chair I offered her, made me quite a little
visit. I exerted myself to appear amiable, and was congratulating myself
on the success of my efforts, and on the absence of all disagreeable
topics, when, just as she was going, her keen eyes having made the
circuit of the room many times, she detected something amiss in the bed,
and walking across to the recess where it stood, began to examine the
manner in which it was made.

"That Kitty," she said, "was not to be trusted to make even a bed by
herself. She was sure I did not lie comfortably."

And stooping down, she began to dissect it. My heart gave a spasmodic
thump, and then stood "stock-still for sheer amazement," not to say
consternation, when it flashed across me that I had left the guilty
miniature between the mattresses, where, in the sleepless nervousness of
last night, I had put it, in order to have it as far out of the way as
possible. It was the strangest thing that I should never have thought of
it since I waked up. "And now," I thought, with a cold chill, "now it is
probably under Mrs. Roberts' very nose, and Kitty and I are undone." I
hardly breathed as I watched her throwing back blanket and sheet, and
making sad havoc among the bolsters and pillows, giving the one a
contemptuous shake, and the other an indignant poke; all the while most
animatedly anathematizing the the unlucky Kitty. I had already pictured
Kitty and myself dragged by the hair of our guilty heads, before Mr.
Rutledge, for judgment, and terrified into confession by that awful look
of his, when to my unspeakable relief, Mrs. Roberts stopped just short
of the mattress, and coming indignantly across the room, rang for Kitty,
who promptly answered the bell. She looked somewhat blank to find that
the summons was not to dress me, but to stand one of Mrs. Roberts'
tirades.

Mrs. Roberts was, I believe, troubled with rheumatism, "the worst kind,"
and the cold storm and east wind had aggravated these long-tried enemies
to an unbearable pitch, and it was well known in the house that there
was but one remedy that succeeded in the least in allaying the
irritation of her nerves, but one soothing panacea, and that was, a
thorough and satisfactory "blow-out" or scolding; the raking
fore-and-aft some adversary's craft with the unerring fire of her
indignation, the entire annihilation, soul and body, for the time being,
of the victim that happened first to cross her path. And tradition
pointed to Kitty as the favorite scape-goat on these occasions. She knew
her fate, I am certain, from the moment she caught the dull glare of
Mrs. Roberts' eye, and doggedly tossing her pretty head to one side,
stood ready to confront her.

Did she call that bed _made_, Mrs. Roberts would like to know? Kitty
considered it made--yes.

She did, did she? Then she would please to come across the room and try
if she could do it as well the second time.

I made Kitty an agonized gesture, which she promptly understood, but
which Mrs. Roberts also caught sight of, and was at her elbow in an
instant. It was a pretty severe contest of skill between the veteran
rat-catcher and the keen little mouser; Mrs. Roberts knew there was
_something_, and inly vowed to scent it out; Kitty was as determined to
elude her vigilance, and as is not unusual, youth and dexterity
triumphed. From under the very eyes of Mrs. Roberts, Kitty, under cover
of a zealous shake of the mattress, bore off the miniature, and
smuggling it in her apron, passed by where I was sitting, and threw it
into my lap. I thrust it down to the lowest depths of my pocket, and
looked with admiration at Kitty's unshaken composure, as she continued
her work under the galling fire of Mrs. Roberts' sarcasms.

The bed at last was made irreproachably; even Mrs. Roberts could find no
fault with its unruffled exterior; though to my unpractised eye, it had
looked much the same before its revisal. It seemed a long time before
the antagonists withdrew, and a longer still before my tranquillity of
temper was restored. How I wished the miniature safely back in Kitty's
trunk, in the furthest corner of the attic! That came of doing what I
was ashamed of! I did not feel as if I could look any one in the face
till it was out of my hands. I did not venture to ring for Kitty, for I
felt certain Mrs. Roberts stood with the door of her room ajar, ready to
pounce upon her if she came in sight again; so I exerted myself to
perform the duties of my _toilette_ unaided. They were not arduous, and
I was soon dressed, and vainly trying to interest myself in my
embroidery till the bell should ring. It was still an open question
whether I should go downstairs; I half inclined to playing invalid a
little longer, and taking this one more meal in my room. But then the
dreary prospect of my solitary dinner, and the long dull twilight, with
nothing but my own thoughts for entertainment, and the longer, duller
evening, with nothing to amuse but what had failed of that object during
the day, weighed down the balance in favor of a change of scene, and I
was on my feet in an instant, as my watch pointed to three, and the bell
announced dinner, simultaneously. I pushed the worsted into my workbox,
and putting the miniature hastily into a drawer, essayed to lock it, but
the key was defective, for some cause, and would not turn, and not
daring to run the risk of being late, I again put it into my pocket, and
hurried down.

As I reached the lower hall, I remembered that I had not the least idea
which door led into the dining-room, and so had to try three or four
which gave no evidence of being inhabited, furniture being covered and
windows closed, before I hit upon the right one. I entered hesitatingly,
not discovering, till I was fairly in the room, that I was the only
occupant of it. The table was laid for two, and the dinner was already
served, but the master was not yet down. As some minutes passed and he
did not appear, I had time to look around, and get acquainted with the
_salle à manger._ It was a fine room, old-fashioned though it was; and
modern architecture has still to produce its rival in my eyes. The
ceiling was very high, the fireplace wide, with tiled jambs; the
wood-work carved in stiff but stately patterns; the windows were deep,
with enticing window-seats, and the walls were covered with pictures.
Pictures, I imagined, of people who had once owned Rutledge: some of
them, perhaps, lived in this very house, ate and drank in this very
room. There were several portraits, that I rather hurried over, of
pompous-looking people in very old-time style, but I knew in a moment
the handsome picture over the mantelpiece. It was the late Mr. Rutledge,
like Mr. Arthur, but infinitely handsomer, on a larger scale, with a
jovial, pleasant face, but I thought, less intellectual in the
expression. Then I was certain that the picture on the right represented
Richard, the heir, who had died so soon after his father. Ah! But, I
thought, what a handsome, gentle face! What soft eyes! If Mr. Arthur had
only looked like him, what a nice, thing it would be to be dining
_tête-à-tête_ with him. _Quel dommage!_ If he had only lived! But I felt
inclined to laugh when I remembered that his younger brother might
easily, as far as age was concerned, have been my father, and the
handsome Richard himself could almost, well, yes, quite, have stood to
me in the relation, more reverend than romantic, of grandfather.

So, with a wistful look at the pensive, delicate face that never had
grown, never could grow old, I glanced at the empty panel that
intervened between this picture and the the next. That space surely once
had held a portrait, and with a rapid transition of fancy, I thought of
the picture with its face to the wall, in the deserted room upstairs.
That was it, I made no manner of doubt, that had once hung here. Beyond
it was the mother's portrait, fair, gentle, and sad: beneath this
picture, and depending from its frame, hung a little crayon sketch, that
I examined with interest, thinking to find it identical, possibly, with
the miniature, which I pulled from my pocket to compare. But a glance
refuted that idea; not the faintest likeness between them, nothing in
common but human features. It represented (the sketch I mean) a boy of
about my own age, with such a fine, glowing, ardent face as made "new
life-blood warm the bosom," only to look into his truthful eyes, only to
catch the merry smile that lingered about his handsome mouth. It had,
however, such a likeness to Mr. Rutledge, that I should, despite the
difference that time had wrought have imagined him to be the original of
the picture, had I not found, written hastily and faintly in one corner,
"Obit. 1830," and some words in Latin that I could not make myself
mistress of.

I was so intent upon it, that I did not notice Mr. Rutledge's entrance
till he stood beside me. I pocketed the miniature, which I still held in
my hand, in hot haste, and turned to meet his inquiring eyes.

"Are you making acquaintance with my ancestors?" he asked.

I answered that I had been looking at the pictures. "But this," pointing
to the crayon head, "this is not an ancestor, is it?"

"No," he said, with a half smile, "not exactly an ancestor; a relation."

I asked him if it was not considered like him.

He had been told, he said, that there was some resemblance. I looked at
it with a critical eye, and then remarked that the resemblance lay, I
thought, in the contour of the face, and perhaps something about the
eyes; but the expression was as different from his as it was possible
for an expression to be.

"That's true," he said looking at it sadly; "that face expresses what no
man's face can express after thirty: hope and courage, and an unshaken
confidence in the honesty of his fellows."

I did not fancy that doctrine very much, so I began talking of the
other pictures. Of the older ones, Mr. Rutledge gave me some slight
sketches, passing briefly by those that I knew he could have told me
most about. But I turned admiringly back to the sketch that had so much
taken my fancy.

"After all," I said, "this is the finest face among them."

Mr. Rutledge shook his head dissentingly, and looked sadly up at
Richard's portrait.

"No indeed," I exclaimed, "that's not near so good a face as this;
handsomer, perhaps, dreamy and poetical, but not so brave and spirited.
Look at the impatient fire in those eyes! And his smile is truth itself.
There is something so determined in the attitude too."

"He was, I believe, an honest, truthful lad," said Mr. Rutledge,
unenthusiastically.

"He was more than that I'm sure," I exclaimed, "or would have been, if
he had lived. With that high spirit he would have made everything bend
to him; and if fair fortune hadn't smiled upon his humble birth (which,
however, I suppose she did, being a Rutledge), he would have conquered
her, you may be sure. I am certain he wouldn't have known the meaning of
the words despair and doubt; but come what might, would have hoped and
believed to the end."

"But perhaps," said my companion, "perhaps a hand of ice might have been
laid upon his youth; a cruel blow might in one day have dashed from him
all that feeds hope and faith; perhaps disgrace, grief, illness, coming
all together, might have crushed out of him all energy and spirit. What
would have become of your hero then? Would he have hoped, when death and
the grave had all that he loved? Would he have believed, when what from
his cradle he had most trusted in had proved false and worthless?"

I was a little startled at the bitterness of his tone, but persisted,
"All that wouldn't have happened to him. 'Fortune favors the brave.'"

"Not always, _petite_, not always," he said, with an ironical laugh.

"Nevertheless, I wish he had lived," I said; "I am sure he would have
been my hero."

"Why," said Mr. Rutledge, looking at me, "why, if, as you say, that boy
had lived, he would have been--let me see--nearly forty years old: and
that, you know, would have made it out of the question for you to love
him."

"I never thought of that," I said naively. "Well then, I wish I had
lived when he did, and been born thirty years ago."

"What! Your youth all over? No, little simpleton, whatever you wish,
don't be wild enough to wish that! Make the best of your youth, and
freshness, and spirit, for they'll take themselves off some fine day,
and leave you nothing to do but to look back."

"That's according to the use I make of them, I suppose," I answered, a
little ungraciously. "I am not at all afraid that I shall be bitter and
misanthropical when I am old, if I spend my youth as I ought."

Mr. Rutledge laughed very much as if he thought I meant it for him; yet
the laugh was not altogether a happy one, and he continued:

"See to it then, child, that you use them right. I do not mean to
discourage you. I have no doubt you will be very happy and contented
when forty comes around on the string of birth-days. Always being and
provided, of course, that the hero, or one as near like him as possible,
has come in at the right time to realize your dreams."

"But I don't believe," I said, perversely, "that I shall ever have any
lover that I shall like as much as I should have done this one."

"He would have made you an earnest lover, certainly, if that would have
won you, with perhaps a dash of impetuosity and tyranny in his love; but
that is what you women like, is it not?"

"How can I tell?" I said, very demurely.

"I forgot," he answered, laughing, "I forgot that you were just out of
school, and could not be supposed to know anything about love and
lovers."

"Of course not," I said, putting my hands in the pockets of my basque,
and looking at the ground over my left shoulder, after the manner of a
French print I had seen in Mademoiselle Céline's room. "Of course not."

Mr. Rutledge seemed to take in such good part my saucy ways, that I
began, to feel much more at my ease, and laughed quite like myself, when
on going to the table we found the soup very unattractively cold;
"glacée," Mr. Rutledge said it was.

"While people moralize they are very apt to forget the realities; and so
we have let the soup get cold, and the dinner get burned, very likely,
and shall have to wait for it as it has been waiting for us."

Mr. Rutledge rang, and a servant and hot soup promptly appeared, and
dinner was soon in progress, and a very pleasant dinner it proved. For
the time, my companion forgot abstraction, and I forgot timidity, and
both forgot the dismal storm without. Mr. Rutledge condescended to be
entertaining, and I deigned to forget all former slights, and be
entertained. Unluckily, however, at dessert, I made some allusion to the
loneliness in which he usually took his meals, and that seemed to raise
some disagreeable recollection, for his face darkened, and he said,
after a short pause:

"Yes, young lady, it is long since I have seen any face, and most of
all, a woman's face, opposite me at this solitary table."

Then he fell into a fit of musing that made me feel uncomfortably sorry
for my mal-à-propos speech. I could not help wondering who had last sat
where I did, and the thought was anything but genial; my eyes wandered
involuntarily to the empty panel; and it was with a feeling of relief
that I arose from the table and followed my host toward the library. As
we passed the crayon picture, however, I paused a moment, and Mr.
Rutledge, turning, said:

"You're not tired of it yet?"

I said no, I liked it better all the time, and to-morrow I meant to
bring my drawing materials down and make a copy of it, if he was
willing.

"You are welcome to the picture itself, if you'll accept it," he said,
indifferently, proceeding to unhook it from the frame of the picture
above, to which it hung.

I was mute with amazement for a moment, and hardly found breath to
exclaim:

"How strange that you do not value it!"

He replied that there were two or three sketches of the same face about
the house, and he did not care particularly for this one. It gave him
great pleasure to give it to me, if I fancied it.

I hope I thanked him, but I am not at all certain that I did. I seized
the picture with great _goût_, and ran into the library, and up to the
lightest window, to enjoy it by myself.

Mr. Rutledge threw himself into a chair, and his hand being before his
eyes, I could not see whether he slept or not. I looked long and
earnestly at my favorite in every light, and from every point; then got
up on a chair and reached down a Latin Dictionary to help translate the
sentence written below the date. But I could not get it right; and gave
up in despair.

That amusement exhausted, and no other presenting, in the course of time
the unavoidable weariness, and want of elasticity consequent upon my
three days' confinement to the house, began to make themselves felt, and
at last, I thought, to become utterly unbearable. I conceived the mad
plan of getting my shawl and hood, and escaping to the piazza for a
little exercise, though the rain had beaten furiously upon almost every
part of it. I got up, and was stealing noiselessly toward the door, when
Mr. Rutledge, whom I had fancied asleep, said uneasily, without
altering his position:

"Why do you go away?"

"I am so tired of the house, sir, I am going to wrap up and walk up and
down on the piazza for a little while. It will not hurt me," I
continued, pleadingly; "mayn't I?"

"On no account," he said decidedly; "it would be absurd, after the fever
you have had."

"I am positive it would not hurt me, sir."

"And I am positive it would."

As Mr. Rutledge had not turned toward me at all, I suppose he did not
see how very angry I looked, and how very red my face was. Perhaps his
thoughts had gone off to something else, for he did not say anything
more; and I stood drumming on the table, waiting for him to continue;
determined, _determined_ not to go back and sit down, till, exasperated
beyond patience by his silence, I said, moving toward the door:

"I suppose then, sir, you have no objection to my going to my own room."

"Why, yes," he said, "I have, decidedly. I think it would be much more
sensible for you to amuse yourself down here."

"I've failed in doing that, sir, already."

"Well, then, stay and amuse me."

"That's entirely beyond my power, I am afraid; sir," I answered,
shrugging my shoulders.

"You cannot tell till you have tried," he said; "I have a wretched
headache. Don't you feel sorry for me?"

"Of course, sir, exceedingly. But unluckily, I don't see how I can help
you."

"Oh, it's of no importance. Pray go."

I stood irresolute and very uncomfortable.

"If there's anything you'll have for your head, sir"----

"No, there's nothing, thank you."

This was the way in which I repaid his indulgence and attention! This
was a nice return for the care he had taken of me during my illness. I
would have given worlds for a good excuse to stay, but Mr. Rutledge
seemed determined not to give me any. At last, after everything else had
failed, I said, hesitatingly:

"Would it annoy you to have me read aloud to you, sir?"

He would not trouble me on any account, he said.

"But," I answered eagerly, "it is not the slightest trouble. I should
like to do it, I assure you."

He would not think of putting such a task upon me.

"But do say," I exclaimed, "whether or not you like reading aloud."

He liked it very much, but begged me not to trouble myself.

That was enough, and in a moment I was by the fire.

"What shall I read, sir?"

"Anything you fancy."

"You are the most provoking man," I thought, as I looked up and down the
shelves in search of a book. I shrewdly concluded that I might as well
please myself in the choice, as it was not probable that Mr. Rutledge
would attend to three words of what I read, even if he did not go to
sleep. So recognizing an old friend in "Sintram," I took it from the
bookcase, and sitting down in the window-seat, opened its familiar pages
with some pleasure. Familiar, that is, they had been to my childhood,
but it was some years since I had seen the book. It was not long,
however, before I forgot myself and my auditor over the strange, wild,
touching story. The dreary storm without, the growing gloom within, all
added to the charm of its wild pathos. I read on, bending forward to
catch the last grey light from the window, till, baffled by the
rapidly-deepening twilight, I left it, and sitting down on a low seat by
the fire, read on by its flickering light. If I had not been sure that
no one was attending, I should have stopped for shame at the trembling
of my voice, which I could not control, as I read the lines that tell to
Sintram his release from terror and temptation:

  "Death comes to set thee free--
  O meet him cheerily
     As thy true friend;
  And all thy fears shall cease,
  And in eternal peace
     Thy penance end."

A low, quick-drawn sigh told me that I was not alone in my interest in
the tale. I finished it, and dropping the book in my lap, sat resting my
head on my hand, and gazing dreamily into the fire. Presently steps in
the hall interrupted my revery, and I rose to put the book away. As I
passed Mr. Rutledge, he held out his hand, and, as I laid my own in it,
he said, "thank you," and looked at me with the most mournful expression
in his eyes. The tears rushed involuntarily into mine as I met his
glance; I did not know which to pity most, Sintram or my companion. He
saw the pity in my look, and remembered it, long after the emotion had
passed.

A servant entered at that moment, with the brightest of cheerful lamps;
Mr. Rutledge ordered more wood on the fire, which presently blazed and
crackled genially; the curtains were drawn, and the conquered twilight
and moaning wind were banished from the room.

Mr. Rutledge roused himself from his abstracted mood, and I said to
myself, "What can I do to keep him from thinking of the things that
trouble him?" And, woman enough to like the task, I set myself to make
the evening a pleasant one, and to keep all dullness and ennui away. And
it was a very happy evening to me, and not a dull one, I am certain, to
my host. I made tea with much less trepidation than on the evening
before, and it proved almost magical in curing Mr. Rutledge's headache.
I could hardly believe the clock was right when it struck ten, the
evening had seemed so short. I took my picture from the mantelpiece, and
bidding my companion good night, ran upstairs two steps at a time, not
remembering till I reached the top, that Miss Crowen had condemned the
practice as unladylike. "I hope Mr. Rutledge wasn't listening," I
thought with mortification. If Mr. Rutledge wasn't, Mrs. Roberts was,
though, for I heard her door shut softly soon after I had reached my
room, and presently she found an excuse for coming in upon me, which she
did rather suddenly, as I was standing before the new picture, looking
at it very earnestly, as I leisurely unbraided my hair. I went over to
the glass, however, very quickly upon her entrance; and after her errand
was over, she quite inadvertently, it would seem, glanced up at the
picture, but _I_ knew she had seen it the first thing when she came in.

"Why," she exclaimed, looking surprised, "how came Mr. Rutledge's
picture up here? It has always hung under his mother's in the
dining-room. There must be some mistake," she continued, looking
inquiringly at me.

An alarming truth began to dawn on my mind, a vivid blush spread over my
face, and Mrs. Roberts never once took her eyes off me.

"I fancied it, and Mr. Rutledge said I might have it," I stammered. Mrs.
Robert's blue lips parted for an instant in a contemptuous curl; then,
looking stonier than ever, she said:

"Yes, it is a good likeness; or was, at least, when he was a young man;
he's sadly changed since then; he's an old and an altered man now, is
Mr. Arthur Rutledge."

The housekeeper, saying this with emphasis, and having no excuse for
staying longer, was obliged to withdraw.

"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, as I locked the door after her, "I know he's
an old man, I know he's nearly forty years old: who better? for he told
me so himself." And my cheeks scorched with blushes, as one by one, I
recalled my foolish speeches. How stupid, how blind I had been. Why, as
I looked at the picture now, there wasn't a feature in the face that
could possibly have been mistaken for any one else, not a shade nor
outline that was not characteristic. I could have cried with vexation.
How should I ever dare to look him in the face again? "My hero!" And I
covered my face with my hands, and started up guiltily, and put it out
of the way before I unlocked the door for Kitty.




CHAPTER VI.


     "The Sundays of man's life
  Threaded together on time's string,
  Make bracelets to adorn the wife
  Of the eternal glorious King.
  On Sunday, heaven's gate stands ope;
  Blessings are plentiful and rife;
        More plentiful than hope."

HERBERT.


"Mr. Rutledge's compliments, Miss, and he begs you will breakfast
without him this morning; he isn't well enough to come down," said the
servant, as I entered the dining-room next morning.

"Is his arm worse?" I asked.

"It pains him a good deal, Miss; and he's had a very bad night. Michael
has ridden over to get the doctor." That was bad news, certainly; I
wished very much I could do something for him; but as I couldn't, the
next best thing was to eat my breakfast; which, however, was rather
choky and unpalatable in all that grand solemnity, with the tall Thomas
(Mr. Rutledge's own man, temporarily supplying the post of waiter)
looking down at me. I broke down on the second slice of toast, and
concluded to give it up and go into the library.

It seemed incredible that it had stormed yesterday; such splendid
sunshine, such a clear sky, I thought, I had never seen before. I would
have given anything for a race down the avenue in that keen, bracing
wind, but I determined heroically that I would not stir out of the house
till Mr. Rutledge gave me permission. But about eleven o'clock my
reading was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Kitty, who, with her
face all aglow with pleasure, announced to me that Mr. Rutledge had
ordered the carriage for me to take a drive, if I felt like it; and sent
word, that if I was willing, he thought Kitty had better accompany me. I
tossed away my book, exclaiming, "it was grand," and, followed by Kitty,
ran upstairs.

"How odd," she said, as in breathless haste she prepared me for the
drive, "how odd that Mr. Rutledge shouldn't have sent word for Mrs.
Roberts to go with you, miss, isn't it?"

"Odd, but very nice, Kitty," I answered, with a grimace that made her
laugh; and as the carriage drove to the door, we ran down the stairs,
Kitty putting on her bonnet and shawl as we went. I am sure it would
have eased for a moment Mr. Rutledge's pain, if he could have known the
extent of the pleasure he had conferred on the two children who so
delightedly occupied his carriage that morning. All Kitty's knowledge of
it, I suspect, had hitherto been speculative, and I think one of the
dearest wishes of her heart was gratified when she tried experimentally
the softness of its new dark green cushions, and in her own proper
person occupied the front seat, an honor whereof she had only dreamed
before.

It was a perfect autumn day; the air was exhilarating, the sunshine
brilliant, the scenery picturesque, and a great deal less than that
would have sufficed to make me happy in those days; and before we
reëntered the park gate, three hours had slipped away in the most
unsuspected manner. Kitty having gathered, at my request, an armful of
the few gay autumn leaves remaining after yesterday's storm, I
entertained myself, during the drive home, with arranging them in a
bouquet. The glossy dark laurel leaves, and the varied and bright hues
of the maple and sumac, with some vivid red berries, name unknown, made
quite a pretty and attractive combination. As we reached home, I was
seized with an audacious intention, which I put into execution before
allowing myself time to "think better of it."

"Kitty," I said, "take this to Mr. Rutledge's door, and give it to
Thomas for him, and say I hope he is better, and I am very much obliged
to him for sending me to drive, and that I enjoyed it very much."

I was rather alarmed when Kitty had accomplished her errand, but it was
too late to retract. That evening was a very long one; I went upstairs
at nine o'clock, wondering at its interminable length.

The next day was Sunday. Mr. Rutledge was no better, and I went to
church alone in the carriage, with only Kitty to attend me, Mrs.
Roberts, she said, not being able to leave "the master." It was a
beautiful little church, Gothic, and built of stone, with nothing
wanting to render it church-like and solemn. When I looked at the
tablets on the wall, that recorded, one after another, the deaths of
Warren Rutledge, and Maria, his wife, and Richard, their son, I could
not help thinking it must be sad for him to come here, Sunday after
Sunday, and see that; but then it's easier to think of such things in
church than anywhere else; somehow, quick and dead do not seem so far
separated there.

Why, I could not tell, but there I remembered a great deal more
thoughtfully and thankfully than I had done before, the evening, not a
week ago, when I had lain, living and unhurt, among the dead and dying.
It was strange, in the humored nervousness of the first day or two, and
the returning health and spirits of the following, how little I had
thought of it. And when Mr. Shenstone read his text: "Were there not ten
cleansed? But where are the nine? There are not found that returned to
give glory to God, save this stranger," my heart smote me. I indeed had
forgotten, and had taken carelessly, and without much thought, my
preservation from a terrible death. I indeed had gone on without giving
glory to God, without acknowledging the mercy by which I yet lived.

Mr. Shenstone's sermon was one that those who recognize only as
eloquence, pathos and fire and passion, would have pronounced very far
from eloquent. His manner was quiet, and not particularly impressive,
his language simple and unostentatious. But he possessed the true kind
of sermon eloquence--keen perception of spiritual things, and the
clearest knowledge of the Christian life. He had learning and talents;
but it was not by them alone that he gained so deep a reverence from his
humble parishioners, so strong an influence over them. It was because
his own hope was high, that he could elevate theirs. It was because
learning and talents and fame were things indifferent to him, save as
aids in the service he had entered, that he could descend to their
level, to raise them more nearly to his own. They could grasp what he
taught them, for it was "a reasonable religious and holy hope," a rule
of life, sober, practical, and simple, that led to high things, but
began with low. It was because his heart was in his work, that his work
prospered; because the World, the Flesh, and the Devil, were his sworn
and baffled enemies, and not his half encouraged and secret allies, that
in his little flock he made such headway against them; because "through
faith and prayer" he kept his own heart and life pure, he could see more
clearly to guide them.

Thus it was, that though Mr. Shenstone hardly took his eyes from his
notes, and used very few gestures, and those few awkward ones--though he
preached quietly and unenthusiastically--though there were no ornaments
of rhetoric, no efforts at oratory, it was a sermon that, to this day, I
distinctly remember, and never, I fancy, shall forget. Keen, pithy,
conclusive, no one could help acknowledging its power; kind, earnest,
sincere, no one could doubt its spirit; full of a devotion the purest, a
faith that pierced to heaven itself, a love that cast out all fear and
slothfulness, no one could listen and not be better for the listening.
He put old truths in new lights, and gave to the familiar Gospel story a
vivid interest, that often reading had made tame and unimpressive. He
brought distinctly before the imagination the Samaritan village,
through which the Saviour was passing on his way to Jerusalem; the sad
company of leprous men, cut off from the sympathy and society of their
fellows, who attracted his notice. That they "stood afar off," not
daring to approach him, was no obstacle to him; no distance could put
them beyond the pity of that watchful eye, beyond the attention of that
ear, ever open to the prayers of his people. They were marked,
miserable, suffering men, and as such they cried with all their hearts
and humbly, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!"

It was their one chance for restoration to home and kindred, no doubt
they cried with all their hearts. They were considered beyond the reach
of human aid; no doubt they cried humbly. And He "who hath never failed
them that seek Him," had mercy on them and heard their cry and helped
them. Sending them simply and unostentatiously to the ordained means of
cure and cleansing, they, obeying eagerly and unquestioningly, were
cured and cleansed. On their way to the priests, the hated disease left
the bodies it had so long degraded and afflicted, and with the glow of
returning health, they felt they were men once more, men without a curse
and a reproach upon them. And with returning health came the pride, the
self reliance that had been only slumbering, not dead, under the weight
of the punishment laid on them. Without a thought of Him to whom they
owed the power to do it, they hurried forward, one perhaps to his farm,
another to his merchandise, long denied, absent, but unforgotten idols.
Among the crowd, but one remembered to be thankful, but one returned to
give glory to God. And he was a Samaritan, but another name to Jewish
ears, for infamy and contempt. No doubt he had been in a good school to
learn humility among these proud Jews, who, even in their degradation,
had probably never forgotten to revile and to persecute. And on him
alone, of all the ten, rested the blessing and commendation, beside
which the bodily cure was but a paltry gift. These things were written
for our admonition; they had called for mercy in their extremity, they
had been heard and their prayer granted, and they had forgotten whence
came the mercy, and had used it only to harden themselves in worldliness
and sin. Had this case no parallel in Christian times? Was Jewish
ingratitude the last that had been offered to Divine love? Were there
none, among the Congregation of Christ's flock, who in time of peril and
temptation, had with all their hearts and humbly cried for mercy, which
when sent they had forgotten to be thankful for? The vows made in a time
of terror and despair, fade in the sunshine of returning prosperity, the
blessing is used, the Giver is forgotten. Must not such a sin look black
to Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity? Will it not provoke
Him more surely than any other, to leave the ingrate forever to the
idols of his choice, to let him see, when next comes peril and
perplexity, how worthless and how frail they are, and how fearful a
thing it is, to forfeit forever the protection of a God that can save.

If any such there were, let them repent while there was yet time, let
them wash out the ingratitude that stained their souls, with penitential
tears, and purify themselves with prayer and fast, and daily
self-denial. Let them remember that mercy was not yet withdrawn, that a
period was not yet put to His forgiveness; but how near the time might
be, how short the term of their probation, none could tell, not even the
angels in heaven.

Ah! I thought, as we passed out of church, If I could always come to
this little church, and hear Mr. Shenstone preach, there would not be
much danger of my caring more than I ought for that wicked world Mr.
Rutledge talks about.

I had not yet learned that there is not much merit in doing well when
there is no temptation to do evil, and that, though there was no harm,
but great propriety, in wishing to be kept away from all chance of
temptation, still, if my station in life lay in the world, the safest
prayer would be, not to be taken out of the world, but to be kept from
the evil.

In the afternoon, I went to church alone, and this time on foot, Kitty
pointing me out a path across the fields that shortened the distance
very considerably. I recognized Mrs. Roberts in the pew in front of me;
and began to feel somewhat ashamed of my unreasonable aversion, as I
caught sight of tears on her wrinkled cheeks, and heard a slight
trembling in her usually harsh voice. Who knows, I thought, how much she
may have suffered, and what heavy cares may have worn those wrinkles so
deep, and made her so harsh and exacting? I really determined to be more
charitable and patient, and that very evening, by way of bringing good
desires to good effects, I went softly to Mrs. Roberts' door and
knocked. Now it was one thing to feel the beauty and power of Christian
charity and forbearance, under the influence of Mr. Shenstone's earnest
voice, and in the solemn stillness of the dusky church, and another to
realize it brought down to fact, before the door of Mrs. Roberts'
sitting-room, and under the influence of her grim "come in."

My courage was beginning to fail, and I felt tempted to make a
precipitate retreat, letting the good resolutions evaporate as good
resolutions too often do, in pretty sentiment. But remembering how very
contrary this was to Mr. Shenstone's practical directions, after a
moment's hesitation, I opened the door and entered. Mrs. Roberts was
sitting by a small table with a small lamp upon it, reading a Bible,
which, upon my entrance, she shuffled away, very much as if she were
ashamed to be caught at it; then turned toward me with a look of
surprise that was anything but agreeable. She could not avoid asking me
to sit down, which I did, slipping into the first chair I reached, and
stammering out something about thinking she was lonely, and that she
might be glad of company for a little while. She stiffly replied she was
too much used to being alone, to mind it at all, and thereupon ensued an
awkward silence. The mahogany and haircloth looked dismaller than ever
by the feeble light of the little lamp, and Mrs. Roberts' face looked
colder and harder. How I wished myself out again! What possible good
could my coming do? What could I talk about? Mrs. Roberts did not make
any attempt to relieve my embarrassment, but sat rigidly silent,
wondering, in her heart, I knew, what brought me. I at last hit upon
what seemed an unexceptionable topic, and said, what a nice day it had
been.

Rather warm for the season, it had appeared to Mrs. Roberts. Then I rung
the changes upon the lateness of the fall, the beauty of the woods, my
admiration for the little church, the goodness of Mr. Shenstone, but all
without producing the slightest unbending in my auditor. She simply
assented or dissented (always the latter, I thought, when she
conscientiously could), and beyond it I could not get. By and by, I said
quite warmly, feeling sure that I should strike the right chord this
time:

"What a fine old place this is! I like it better every day."

She gave me a quick, suspicious look, and replied quite snappishly:

"I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant to a young lady of your
age."

"What does she mean by being so cross about it?" I pondered. "Is she
afraid I am going to put it in my pocket and carry it away with me when
I go. Really I think I've done my duty; she won't let me be kind, and
now I can, without any scruple, say good night."

As I rose to go, my eye fell on a book on the table, the title of which
I stooped to read.

"Ah!" I cried, "'Holy Living and Dying;' how familiar it looks!"

And with a mist of tears before my eyes, I turned over its
well-remembered pages. Rutledge, Mrs. Roberts, were all faded away, and
I was in a dim sick-room, where, on a little table by the bed a Bible
and Prayer-book and Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying," had lain day after
day, and week after week, the guides and comforters of a dying saint.
Again I was a child, half frightened at I knew not what, in that
tranquil room, half soothed by the placid smile that always met me
there. Again the choking sensation rose in my throat, the nameless
terror subdued me, as when longing to do something loving, I had read
aloud, till my tears blinded me, in this same book. I had never seen it
since then; since I had been away at school; but those five years of
exile were swept away at a breath as I opened it. I sat down, and,
shading my eyes with my hand, glanced over paragraphs that I knew word
for word, and that made my heart ache to recall. After a while, however,
the bitterness of the first recognition passed away, and it became a
sort of sad pleasure to read what brought back so vividly the love and
grief of my childhood.

"Shall I read aloud to you?" I said, looking up.

"I shall be very glad to hear you," she answered, in a softened tone.

I do not know whether she divined the cause of my unsteady voice, but it
is not unlikely that she did, or the book may have had some similar
association for herself, for after I had read nearly an hour, and closed
it, she said, with a voice not over firm:

"I am very much obliged to you, young lady; that is a book that, for
whatever cause we read it, is good for young and old."

"I shall be very glad to read in it again to you whenever you would like
to hear me, Mrs. Roberts," I said, as I rose to go. She accompanied me
to the door, and held the light till I had crossed the hall to my own
room.

If I had not done her any good by the effort I had made, at least I had
done some to myself.




CHAPTER VII.


  "He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
  Now let him speak; 'tis charity to shew."


It was a lovely afternoon, milder than November often vouchsafes, and
perfectly clear. The sun was pretty low, and its slanting beams lighted
the smooth lake and threw long shadows across the lawn and over the
garden, through the winding paths of which I was now sauntering. The
last two days having been marked by no improvement in Mr. Rutledge, he
had, of course, not been out of his room, and I had been left pretty
much to myself, and had improved the time in perfecting my knowledge of
the out-door attractions of the place, and from stable to garden, I now
knew it thoroughly. Delightful days those were, saving the occurrence of
a little loneliness and ennui that would creep over me as evening
approached; delightful days, when, without a thought of care for present
or future, I wandered unchecked over the loveliest spot I had as yet
seen. A long avenue led from the house to the gate; the lawn on the
right sloped down to the lake, a lovely sheet of water surrounded on
three sides by woods; and around as far as the eye could reach,
stretched wide fields, rich with cultivation, and woodlands where one
could almost fancy the axe had never resounded. Further, however, than
the gate, and the lake, and the boundaries of the lawn, I had never
dared to venture. Dared, though, is not exactly the term; for if I had
even thought of the word in that connection, I should probably have gone
miles in an opposite direction, to prove that, as to that, I _dared_ go
anywhere. But I had a sort of chivalrous respect for what I was certain
would be the wishes of my protector, now _hors de combat_, and
determined, therefore, to stay within the grounds.

Which were ample enough to satisfy any reasonable young person,
certainly, and picturesque enough, and well kept enough for the most
fastidious. That particular afternoon, as the declining sun lighted up
the dark massive house, and the fine old trees, nearly bare though they
were, and the winding paths of the garden and broad fields beyond,
Rutledge seemed to me the realization of all I had ever dreamed or read,
of beauty and of stateliness. I walked slowly down the garden; the faint
smell of some lingering grapes on the arbor overhead perfumed the air;
the dead leaves rustled under my feet, alone breaking the stillness
peculiar to an autumn afternoon, unprofaned by the many murmurs of
insect-life, or the animating song of summer bird. You might listen for
hours, and a nut dropping off the tree among the dry leaves, or the
tinkling of a cow-bell, acres off across the fields, or the letting down
a pair of bars somewhere about the farm, would be all the sounds that
would break the serene silence.

But just when I was speculating on this, I heard another and a very
distinct sound, and looking whence it proceeded, discovered it to be the
shutting of the hall door, and presently some one descended the steps
and walked leisurely toward the garden. "Hurrah!" I exclaimed aloud,
"it's Mr. Rutledge!" And I ran down the path, followed closely by a
little terrier, who had introduced himself to my notice at the barn, and
not being unfavorably received, had attended my movements ever since. It
was not till I was within a few yards of Mr. Rutledge, that the
recollection of that unlucky "hero" business brought me to a sudden
stand-still, and took all the cordiality out of my greeting. He had seen
me coming, and was waiting for me, evidently, however, somewhat at a
loss to account for my sudden shyness, putting it down, it is probable,
though, to the score of childishness and folly along with the rest of
my shortcomings and absurdities.

"I see," he said, extending his hand, "that you've been getting better
as industriously as I have been getting worse. You begin to look quite
like the little girl I brought away from St. Catharine's."

"I am as well as possible, sir. How is your arm?"

"It isn't _my_ arm! it is Doctor Sartain's. I don't take any of the
responsibility of it. I do not think, however, it could possibly be much
worse, as far as I can be supposed to judge."

He spoke lightly, but I perceived in a moment that he was looking very
much paler than when I had last seen him.

"Ought you to be out, sir, if you still suffer from it?"

"I suppose not," he answered, as we walked slowly down the path; "but to
tell you the truth, I was tired of the house, and _coûte qui coûte_,
determined to get a breath of fresh air."

I couldn't help remembering a certain scene in the library not many days
ago, and giving him rather a wicked look, made him remember it too.

"I had nobody, however, you see, to make me stay in and by showing a
little firmness at the risk of putting me in a bad temper, keep me from
doing an imprudent thing."

"I should have supposed, sir, that Mrs. Roberts would have been in her
element on such an occasion. I thought she always adopted the opposition
ticket."

"By the way," he said, laughing, "how do you and Mrs. Roberts get on?
You weren't very much charmed with her at first sight, were you?"

"I do not adore her yet, sir, but I don't think she's quite as dreadful
as I did."

"You thought, poor child," he continued in the same tone, "that you were
in a dreary prison. Absurd as it was, I could not help feeling
dreadfully sorry for you; and ought to feel so yet, I suppose, only
I've had no time lately to feel sorry for anybody but myself."

"Indeed, sir, I think you are the fittest subject," I said a little
nettled. "I am as contented as possible, and shouldn't mind staying here
a year."

"You like Rutledge, then?"

"Yes," I returned, "but I hardly dare say so, after the way in which
Mrs. Roberts snapped me up about it the other night."

"How was that," he asked, with some curiosity.

I related the peculiar manner in which she had received my admiration of
it, and ended by asking him if he could imagine what was the cause of
it.

"Oh," he said, carelessly, "you must not mind what she says, and make
all excuses for her. She has had a great deal of trouble, and is
naturally of a nervous and irritable disposition, and living here alone
has increased all her peculiarities in a very great degree."

"In a very uncomfortable degree," I said; and Mr. Rutledge was
continuing, when his further remarks were cut short by the desertion of
two of the party, to wit, the terrier and myself. Now I had no intention
of being rude, but looking down at that moment, I discovered that Tigre
had possessed himself of one of my gloves, and was gnawing and shaking
it with unspeakable _goût_. I made a motion to take it from him, whereon
the rascal darted away down the path, then paused an instant, and before
I could reach him, was away again toward the barn. I could not surrender
so, and forgetting everything but the chase, tore after him at the top
of my speed. To see the way in which that little object "streaked"
along, looking back at me out of the corners of his eyes! Four legs
naturally get over the ground faster than two, and Tigre had the start
of me besides, but I had graduated in running at St. Catharine's, and
was not to be beaten by such an antagonist as this. It was a steeple
chase of no unexciting character.

  "We staid not for brake, and we stopped not for stone."

A ditch intervened, but proved no obstacle, and on we tore, till we
reached the low fence that separated the grounds from the outbuildings.
Tigre shot under it--I took it at a flying-leap. He was making for the
barn, and once there, he would baffle me; some favorite hole or
inaccessible cranny would shelter him from my pursuit, and hide forever
from human gaze my ill-fated glove. This goading thought sustained my
flagging energy in the same proportion that the nearness of the goal
reanimated that of Tigre. On, on, with desperate resolve! Stephen leaned
on his spade to witness the issue of the race, Michael paused, the
currycomb in his suspended hand, to see the result; and both
involuntarily ejaculated, "Pretty well done!" as on the very threshold
of the barn, I sprang upon my opponent and wrested the glove from his
determined teeth! And in a frantic romp, we rolled together over and
over on the hay, Tigre's active paws and nose in my very face, his
excitement carrying him beyond all bounds of decorum, and mine, alas!
making me as forgetful of all proprieties; till an approaching footstep
recalled me to my senses.

Throwing down Tigre, I sprang up, and hastily shaking the hay from my
dress, and pushing back my disordered hair, prepared myself for the
lecture I knew I deserved, and "cut and dried" a very impertinent
rejoinder. I might have saved myself the trouble; Mr. Rutledge did not
take any more notice of me than if I had been Tigre's four-legged and
shaggy compatriot. Passing through the barn, he called up one of the
men, and gave him orders about the storing of some grain; sent for
another upon the question of supplies; talked with Stephen about the
state of the grape-vines; with Michael about the condition of the colts;
inspected the poultry-yard; pronounced upon the cattle; equally a
connoisseur, and thoroughly at home on every point.

During this time, I leaned thoughtfully against the barn door, and
reviewed my own conduct, and that of Mr. Rutledge. Of course, I had been
unladylike and all that--I knew it as well as anybody; but then, I was
old enough to do as I liked, and who had a right to reprove me? Well,
nobody _had_ reproved me. But then, I knew just as well what he thought
of me; I knew he considered me rude, disrespectful, childish; and it
would have been ten times less hateful of him to have been angry and
done with it, than to have taken no notice of me in any way, just as if
he had at once dropped me out of his esteem, consideration and
recollection altogether. Angry, humbled, but rebellious, I lingered a
long while near him, with a hope that he would say something that I
could resent, but no such chance was afforded me. Mr. Rutledge's whole
mind was given to his business; and sullenly enough, I called to Tigre
and turned toward the house. It was unlucky that I did not know how to
whistle--I longed to whistle a tune, and put my hands in my pockets with
a jaunty and defiant air as I passed Mr. Rutledge on my way to the
house. As it was, I was obliged to content myself with the significant
attitude alone, that was meant to convey tones of don't-care sauciness
and indifference.

I did not feel at all like going indoors when I reached the house,
though it was growing dark very rapidly; and with Tigre at my heels,
paced for a long while up and down the stone walk before the steps of
the piazza. The sound of Mr. Rutledge's approaching footsteps, far from
checking my walk, quickened it considerably, and calling to Tigre, just
as he reached the terrace, I started at a brisk pace down the avenue.
Mr. Rutledge stopped and called me; I went on, pretending not to hear.
He called again, and this time there was no avoiding it. I turned
sharply round and said:

"Did you speak, sir?"

"It is too late for you to be out; you will take cold."

"I am not afraid, sir, I shall soon be in;" and I turned away.

"But it is too late," repeated Mr. Rutledge, in a voice I could not
mistake. "You must excuse my interference, but I should prefer your
coming in now."

I looked down the avenue, the moon was just rising, though day had not
quite faded in the west; I wondered what would be the result if I dared
rebel; I almost determined I would. But I glanced toward the house; Mr.
Rutledge stood holding the door open for me with a resolute quietness
that made resistance impossible. With a bad enough grace I turned back,
ran up the steps, and passed through the doorway without raising my
eyes, and never stopped till I had gained the second story, and locked
myself into my own room. Most bitter and most extravagant tears I shed
of course, very angry and very implacable resolves I made; and finished
off by a violent fit of contrition and humility under the influence of
which I started to my feet, and remembering that it was long past
tea-time, hastily smoothed my hair, and followed by my little favorite,
ran quickly down the stairs and paused a moment at the library door. All
contrition, I half opened it, and looking in, with a most April-like
face, whereon smiles and tears contended, said humbly:

"May Tigre and I come in, sir?"

Mr. Rutledge sat reading by the fire; tea was on the table. He looked up
a moment, then resumed his book.

"Without doubt; tea is waiting."

I came up to the fire, and stood leaning against the mantelpiece. If he
would only look up, and not be so hopelessly cold and indifferent! My
penitent speeches fled at the sight; I could never tell him how ashamed
and sorry I felt, while he looked so. He did not look any otherwise,
however, all through the uncomfortable meal, that I thought never meant
to end; nor during the uncomfortable hours that succeeded the
uncomfortable meal, that seemed to stretch out, like a clown's leg,
indefinitely and interminably.

I had time to realize and become very well acquainted with the fact,
that I had forfeited the newly-acquired position of companion, and had
sunk to the capricious child again. He had just begun to treat me like a
reasonable creature, and to talk to me for something besides the
kindness of amusing me, and now by my own folly, I had made an end to
all this, and compelled him to see in me nothing but childishness and
self-will.

Mr. Rutledge, after tea, had taken up his book again, and pushed across
the table to me some new reviews that had come that day, saying, perhaps
I might find something amusing in them. That meant I was to amuse
myself. That meant there was to be no talking, no reading aloud, no
dictating of letters.

"It's all Tigre's fault, the little villain!" I ejaculated, mentally,
pushing him angrily down from my lap, as I took up the literature
assigned me. The discarded favorite uttered a low whine, looked
pleadingly up in my angry face, then walked over to his master, and
putting his paws on the arm of his chair, wagged his tail, and looked
imploringly for permission to spring up. But an impatient "Off, sir!"
made him withdraw abashed, and, standing on the rug between us, he gazed
wonderingly from one to the other. If it had not been for the precedent
of "the dog in the manger," and the proverbial comparison of all cross
people to "Hall's dog," I should have been certain that such scenes were
entirely new to Tigre, and that in the bosom of his family bad tempers
were unknown. As it was, he looked very much mystified and considerably
shocked; and at length concluded to lie down where he was, at an equal
distance from both antagonists, to whose movements, however, he lent an
attentive eye and ear. But there was not much to repay his watchfulness;
for beyond an occasional symptom of fatigue on my part, and the
periodical turning of the leaves of Mr. Rutledge's book, dire and
entire quiet reigned.

At last, at half past nine, I sprang up, determined to put an end to
such an evening; and with a firm resolution not to say more than the one
necessary word, "good night," I looked furtively toward my companion. He
had closed the book, and leaning his face on his hand sat looking into
the fire. Just so he had looked the other night when I had felt so sorry
for him; and perhaps I felt the least bit sorry now. To my good night,
he replied, carelessly, "Good night;" then, looking up at the clock,
said:

"It is early yet."

"But I am very tired," and I moved toward the door. "I forgot to ask
you, sir," I said, turning back, "whether you had any letters you would
like to have answered?"

"No, thank you; none of any importance. You need not stay."

Contrition, pity, good resolutions, etc., all rushed over me; making
three steps back into the room, and swallowing down the rebellious pride
and temper, I came out with--

"If I am a child, sir, I am old enough to know when I have done wrong,
and not too old to be willing to acknowledge it. I am very well aware
that I have been rude and disrespectful to you, and I hope you will have
the goodness to excuse it."

He looked at me for a moment with a puzzled air, as if he had not quite
expected the sudden humiliation; though I am not sure that my attitude
implied so much of humiliation as it did of determined conscientiousness.
After a moment's quiet scrutiny, which I bore unflinchingly, he said:

"I am not quite sure that I understand to what you allude, nor how I
come to be entitled to pass judgment on your conduct. Pray explain."

The blood mounted to my temples as I answered:

"I acknowledged my faults to you, because they were committed against
you; because to you I owed respect, attention, and courtesy, which I
failed to show. I owed this to you as my elder, my host, and the person
who, in a manner, had charge of me."

"You seem to have analyzed your duty pretty thoroughly, I must
acknowledge! You have stricter views of duty than most persons of your
age."

"I don't resent the sarcasm, sir; I know it is well merited."

"I did not intend it sarcastically. I say again you have shown a habit
of mind, that, if persevered in, will lead you to a high standard of
excellence."

"My failures in duty, since I came here, sir, have been too conspicuous
to let me understand you literally."

"You judge yourself severely; I cannot recall any very flagrant
offences."

"They would not," I said, as steadily as I could, "be likely to make the
same impression on you as on me; with me they were matters of
conscience; with you they were, I hope, only occasion of momentary
surprise, or better, of indifference and inattention."

"On the contrary," said Mr. Rutledge, "I have watched you attentively
since you came here, and have taken quite a strong interest in all you
have said and done."

"You are kind," I exclaimed, nettled more at the tone than the words.
"Then I shall have to be doubly careful while I have the honor to be
under your eye."

He went on, as if he had not heard me: "It has appeared to me that you
are in most respects"----

"I must beg," I exclaimed, with an impatient gesture, "that you will
defer your summary till I am in a better frame of mind to bear it. Just
now, it wouldn't be as profitable as you, no doubt, desire to make it."

"I should be sorry," he replied, "to spoil the humility you have taken
such pains to get in order for the occasion, and will not say a word to
interfere with it."

"Do you know humility when you see it, sir?" I could not help saying
under my breath.

"I learned a good deal about it when I was young," he answered, "and
thought, till I came to years of discretion, that I knew all that could
be taught in regard to it. But I have since discovered that there is
more spurious coin bearing that stamp than almost any other; false
pride, wounded vanity, morbid self-love, all get themselves up under the
title of humility, and pass current very readily."

I bowed. "Wounded vanity fits me, I think. May I retire, sir, if you
have nothing further to say?"

"But I have," he exclaimed, suddenly changing his tone. "I have a great
deal more to say." And, taking my hand, he drew me down into the chair
beside him, and looking at me with a mixture of kindness and mirth, he
said:

"So you are beginning to feel ashamed of yourself, are you? You are such
an absurd child, it is impossible to be angry with you, or tired of you,
for you are never two minutes alike. Upon my word you're quite a study!"

He did not let go my hand, and though I turned my face away, I could not
escape his eyes.

"The uncertain glory of an April day," he exclaimed. "Why, a minute ago
you were angry, then you were pleased, now you are frightened, and I
suppose you will wind up with a burst of tears. How is one to take you?"

For this style of lecture I had not any retort ready, so I only hung my
head, and was silent.

"One moment you are a woman, intelligent and sensible, the next a
pettish child. One day you show a sympathy, a tact, a depth of feeling,
that go to one's very heart; the next, capricious, silly, and childish,
you destroy it all. Sometimes you amuse yourself with Tigre, sometimes
with me. And," he continued, after a pause, "sometimes you talk too
much, and sometimes, as at present, for instance, too little. Well?" he
went on, interrogatively, having elicited no reply. "Well? Have you
nothing to say for yourself? Then go!" he exclaimed, throwing my hand
from him. "I am tired of you; you've been one thing too long; you've
been silent exactly two minutes."

I got up very quickly, and retreated toward the door.

"What?" said Mr. Rutledge, rising and standing by the fire. "You are
going? Why, we have but just made up."

"I am not quite positive that we have," I answered, lighting my candle.
"It's rather a one-sided make-up, it strikes me."

"How so? You surely haven't any complaint to make of me, after all my
unexampled goodness to you?"

"Of course not!" I exclaimed; "nothing to say about your treating me
like a baby, and expecting me to behave like a woman, making me talk to
make you laugh, and putting my French and my temper to the hardest tests
you could think of; and then, after I've vexed you by a little
inattention, pushing me aside, as if I weren't capable of understanding
a reproof, and turning your back on me for a whole evening. _I_ have
nothing to complain of, of course! Good night, sir."

"Stay a moment! You take away my breath with all that catalogue. _I_
tease you! _I_ laugh at you! Impossible!"

"So I said, sir; and now, if you please, good night."

"Ah! I see I must get you away to your aunt; I shall spoil you if I keep
you here much longer. You are getting very saucy; Miss Crowen wouldn't
own you."

"I am afraid you are right there," I said, with a little sigh; "I don't
think I am improving very much."

"Well, then," he said, seriously, "suppose we determine to do better for
the future, and instead of trifling and teasing, be good sensible
friends. Will that suit you?"

"I think it would be about as one-sided a friendship as the
reconciliation was."

"Why? Are you not willing to be my friend?"

"Of course I am; but friendship implies equality, and all that sort of
thing, and the power to help each other. Now, you know the absurdity of
my being your friend, as well as I know it, and you are laughing at me."

"Do I look as if I were laughing at you?" And indeed he did not.

"Well, but," I continued, "you know perfectly well I like you, and would
do anything in the world to serve you, but that cannot make up for my
inability to do it, you see."

"You can do a great deal to help me," he answered. "There are a hundred
ways in which you can prove yourself my friend."

I laughed incredulously.

"You doubt it?" he said. "Listen, little girl. I have not many friends.
I do not choose to believe in many people. I choose to believe in you;
therefore you can do me a kindness by keeping alive in my heart a little
faith in human nature. I have many cares to harass me in the present;
much that is sad to remember of the past. By your youth and cheerfulness
you can brighten the one; by your gentleness and sympathy you can soothe
the recollections of the other. Youth is gone from me forever, but you
can be the link between it and me, and keep it in sight a little longer.
You can show me what I once was, earnest, hopeful, and trusting, and so
keep me from forgetting what I should be. Above all, you can be honest,
and never deceive me; and faithful, and never withdraw from your
allegiance. This is what you can do for me: now, what can I do for you?"

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come, so he helped me to them.

"You find it difficult to enumerate my duties? Something like this,
perhaps, is what you will require of me. I must be careful not to wound
the sensitiveness of one naturally much more susceptible to unkindness
than myself. I must bear patiently with childish faults, and not forget
the indulgence due to youth. I must be just and unflattering, and when
my maturer judgment suggests amendment, it is my duty, is it not, to
point it out? For having been over the same ground that you are to
travel, I can give you many hints that will make your path an easier
one, if you will but receive them. And finally, I am to have your
interest always at heart, and to observe the same faith and truthfulness
toward you that I expect you to maintain toward me. Will you subscribe
to that? Is it what you would require of me?"

"Yes, that is fair, I think."

"Well, then, give me your hand upon it, and remember the compact is
sealed; we are friends henceforth! Stay, what shall we have as a
reminder of this promise? Some pledge, some security is necessary, for
we might forget, in the lapse of years, you know."

He went up to an escritoire in a distant corner of the room, and
unlocking it, took from a secret drawer two or three little boxes, and
from these selecting one, replaced the others, turned the key, and came
back to the table. The box contained a bracelet of curious foreign
coins, handsomely mounted--a very unique and elegant ornament. This Mr.
Rutledge proceeded to fit around my wrist, and with my assistance
(having the use of only one hand) clasped.

"Are you willing to wear it always," he said, "_in memoriam_?"

"Yes."

"Well, then good bye to liberty!" and he turned a tiny gold key that I
had not noticed in the clasp, and took it out. I must confess to a
feeling not unlike bondage when the lock was snapped and the key
withdrawn; and involuntarily exclaimed:

"But what if I want to take it off?"

"You must not want to, the thing is irrevocable," he said coolly,
fastening the key upon his watch-chain, "help me with this. I have but
one hand, you know."

"I don't altogether like the idea," I said obeying him nevertheless, and
arranging the little key on his chain.

"You should have thought of that before," he said with a laugh. "It is
too late to retract. You may well look serious," he continued noticing
my expression. "You forgot, when you made it, what a solemn thing a
promise was; but now you'll have something to remind you of its weight,
and of the impossibility of getting rid of it. There's no danger now
that you'll forget you promised to be my friend; you are bound,
irrevocably, solemnly, forever!"

"I thought you weren't to tease," I exclaimed shaking my arm. "It's a
very pretty thing, but I shall hate it if I feel that I must wear it
always, and that I can't take it off when I want to."

"That's exactly what I meant to guard against. If you could take it off
whenever you were tired of it, you would of course soon throw it aside,
and there would be an end of compact, friendship and all. I hope you
know me better than to suppose I would be satisfied with such an
arrangement! _Now_, no matter how many little obstacles in the way of
oceans, mountains, and other imbecile contrivances of Nature for the
separation of friends, intervene, I shall feel as if I had a check upon
your conduct, a guardian of my place in your affections that will make
me quite easy about it. For you know of course, the legends that are
related of such gifts. I hope you are not superstitious, but you
remember the power attributed to them; how such a pledge will surely
take the giver's part, and grow tighter and tighter till the pain is
unendurable should the wearer, in her inmost heart, harbor a thought of
treachery or faithlessness."

"I suppose, sir, having my arm amputated in case I changed my mind,
would free me from the obligation of wearing it, would it not?"

Mr. Rutledge shook his head gravely.

"I am not of the opinion that it would; but I hope we shall not have to
proceed to any such extreme measures."

"Oh, it's my left arm, I shouldn't mind very much. You manage so well
with one, that I should feel encouraged by your example, if my handcuff
should grow too unbearable."

"Still there are advantages in possessing the use of both, that I would
not advise you to give up unnecessarily. For instance, if you wanted a
cigar from the case on the top of that étagère, which cannot be reached
down without two hands, your temper would be severely tried in having to
ring for Thomas to get it for you, or having to depend upon the
uncertain charity of a most capricious friend who might or might not, be
in the humor to serve you."

"But I shouldn't be likely to want a cigar," I said as standing in a
chair I lifted down the case, and took out one.

"There are matches on the mantelpiece," he said nonchalantly as I handed
it to him. I brought the matches, drew one, and held it for him, as he
lit his cigar.

"Anything more sir?"

"Nothing but the evening paper, which you interrupted me in reading,
half an hour ago."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but you haven't had a paper in your hand since
tea," I said, hunting among the piles of books and papers on the table
for it. "Here it is. Good night."

"Doesn't common kindness suggest your staying to read it for me."

"No sir, it hasn't suggested it as yet," I replied as I took up my long
neglected candle. "It suggests 'good-night,' sir," and the door closed
between us before he could answer.

The moon was making my room so bright, that I soon put out the candle as
superfluous, and wrapping my dressing gown about me, sat in the bay
window for a long, long while, watching the soft shadows on the lawn,
and the silvery smoothness of the lake. Ah! how hateful it would be to
leave this quiet place, and go among strangers again! The idea of city
life had never been altogether attractive, but now seemed most
distasteful. Altogether, my new home in New York did not to-night
attract my errant fancy, neither did the old school life draw it back
regretfully, from a Present so sufficing that I did not ask myself why
it was better than Past or Future; nor why my fancy, usually so eager on
the wing, should lie so contentedly in so calm a nest.






CHAPTER VIII.


  "Be good, sweet child, and let who will be clever,
     Do noble things, not dream them, all day long
  So shalt thou make life, death, and that vast forever,
     One grand, sweet song."

KINGSLEY.


"No one who aspires to the honor of writing my letters," said Mr.
Rutledge, as I entered the breakfast-room, "can indulge in such late
hours as these. Twenty minutes to eight, Mademoiselle, and the mail goes
at ten. You are getting in shocking habits."

"Why sir!" I exclaimed, "I've been up two hours at least."

"And what have you been doing all that time, I should like to be
informed?"

"I've been to the barn and fed the kittens, and to the stable and fed
the dogs; and then I went to the garden for some flowers, but the frost
had been there before me and there wasn't one worth pulling. So to get
warm (it's very chilly out this morning) I ran down the avenue, and
across to the chestnut wood, and so home by the lake. And here are all
the chestnuts those rascally village boys have left!" I exclaimed,
throwing a couple of handfuls on the table. "I do wonder, sir, you allow
them to commit such trespasses, so near the house too. I would keep at
least that grove for my own use. I never saw finer trees, and a week ago
they were loaded, Stephen says. Yesterday morning there were two boys up
threshing one of the largest trees; I heard them, just as I came under
it; the nuts were falling down nicely, so I began to pick them up as
unconcernedly as possible, and got my pockets and apron full, while the
young vagabonds up in the tree didn't dare, of course, to breathe, for
fear of being discovered and had to see me carrying off their precious
nuts without a word. I didn't leave a shell, I assure you; I never
enjoyed anything more and went down this morning in hope of another
adventure."

"I hope," said Mr. Rutledge very seriously, "that you will never do such
an imprudent thing again. You should never go into the woods without
taking Kitty with you, least of all, when there are such marauders
about."

"I took Solo and Dash with me, and I would have kept them up there till
noon, if I had caught them at it again, the rascals."

"You are very thoughtless, not to be aware of the danger of provoking
such lawless fellows."

"I cannot see the danger; not half a mile from the house, and with two
great dogs to back me. And 'if the worst came to the worst,' I know I
could outrun the longest-legged loafer among them."

The words were hardly out of my mouth, when I remembered that this
latter accomplishment had not appeared to win me any favor from Mr.
Rutledge in the unlucky affair of the glove yesterday; and, with a
blush, I hastily, by way of effacing the impression, continued:

"But if you don't approve, of course I will not do so again; and when
Kitty can't be spared to go with me, I will stay nearer the house."

"Kitty always can be spared, and though I am sorry to insist upon your
taking her, I shall be much better satisfied to know you are not alone."

"Very well, sir. May I trouble you for another biscuit?"

"You have a fine color this morning. Rutledge agrees with you."

"Famously," I replied, applying myself with great satisfaction to my
breakfast; "and as I have so much to do before ten o'clock, there's no
time to lose."

"Not a minute; but I should be uncomfortable to think you were starved;
don't hurry so frantically."

"There! I'm ready now," I exclaimed, in a few minutes following him into
the library with a light step, and singing snatches of a gay tune.

"I see you do not dread work," he said, as I sat down before the
writing-table, and took up a pen with alacrity.

"Not when I can see daylight through it, sir, and a reasonable prospect
ahead of getting it done. Now, sir."

And Mr. Rutledge dictated, and I wrote for an hour, without the
slightest intermission. At the end of that time he said:

"Do you think you are equal to the task of answering those two letters
by yourself, of which I will give you a general idea, while I look over
those accounts with Maurice and Ruthven, to be added to the New Orleans
letter? It is important that they should all be dispatched to-day."

"If you are willing to trust me, I am willing to try."

And I immediately began the task. It was by no means an easy one; but by
referring to the letters to be answered, and by keeping before my mind
the synopsis Mr. Rutledge had briefly given me, I was able to finish
them to his satisfaction; added the memoranda he had been making to the
other letter, sealed and addressed them all, and had the package ready
for Michael when he appeared at the door at ten o'clock.

"You have worked pretty well for two hours," said Mr. Rutledge, as for a
moment I leaned my head on my hand. "I am afraid you are tired."

"Not in the least," I said bravely, looking up.

"Then get your bonnet and come out with me. It is too fine a day to stay
in the house."

As I followed him through the hall, Mrs. Roberts encountered us at the
dining-room door. Her greeting to me was stiffer than ever. To Mr.
Rutledge she said:

"If you can spare the time, sir, you would oblige me very much by
looking over the 'household expenses' this morning; Dorothy has got her
account with the grocer in a great snarl, and hasn't done much better
with the butcher, and I can't make them all come out right."

"My good friend," said Mr. Rutledge, "if you had appealed to me any
other time, I might have helped you, but I have been doing quite as much
this morning as I think prudent; to-morrow I will attend to the books."

"I am sorry," said Mrs. Roberts, uneasily; "but to-day is the day the
grocer brings in his account, and I don't like those sort of people to
suppose there's any irregularity in the accounts we keep. They're always
ready enough to take advantage."

"Couldn't I help you, Mrs. Roberts?" I asked. "I should be very willing
to."

She gave me a look which plainly said, "_You_ help _me!_" but she merely
answered:

"Thank you, Miss, but Mr. Rutledge understands the books better than any
one; and if he felt able"----

"But he doesn't," said the gentleman in question. "The grocer can come
to-morrow with his bill. It will not signify for once."

Still Mrs. Roberts demurred, and I saw there would be no peace till she
worried Mr. Rutledge into it, so I renewed my offer of assistance. This
time it seemed to strike her in a more favorable light.

"If I didn't mind the trouble, perhaps I might help her reckon it up.
She wasn't as quick at figures as she used to be."

I would do my best, I said, untying my bonnet. But Mr. Rutledge
peremptorily interfered.

"By no means, Mrs. Roberts. She has been writing two hours already for
me; she must have nothing more at present," and he walked on toward the
door.

But the housekeeper was by no means vanquished, and clung tenaciously to
my offer. She was sure, she said, the young lady would be glad to
oblige an old woman. And duty so plainly pointed that way, that I
wavered no longer. I had made up my mind to be kind to Mrs. Roberts;
here was the chance to carry my good resolutions into effect. Throwing
my bonnet into a chair, I said:

"If you will excuse me from walking with you, Mr. Rutledge, I will see
what I can do to help Mrs. Roberts."

"I cannot excuse you," he replied, with decision. "I do not think it
best for you to be confined to the house any longer at present."

"Oh," I exclaimed, while Mrs. Roberts looked on anxiously, "I have been
used to studying and writing nine hours out of the twenty-four at
school, and this morning's business has been mere play. I shall not
think of feeling tired for hours yet, so please do not make any
objections. Come, Mrs. Roberts," I continued, going toward the stairs,
and giving her a little nod.

She hesitated, and I saw her glance uneasily at Mr. Rutledge. I now
perceived that he was more than vexed; but I was strong enough to dare
even that, when I was as certain as I now was about what I ought to do.
He naturally, I thought, didn't like to have his wishes interfered with;
but that could not alter the right for me, "and he cannot help but see
that when he thinks it over." So again summoning Mrs. Roberts, I excused
myself to him, and ran upstairs, followed lumberingly by the
housekeeper, while the hall door closed, with no gentle emphasis,
between us and the sunny autumn morning.

I am only doing Mrs. Roberts justice, when I say that on that particular
occasion, she manifested diplomatic talents, which, in another sphere of
life, would have won her no inconsiderable place. I had not given her
credit for the tact and acuteness that developed themselves that
morning, and which, added to her well-known decision and unalterable
devotion to the one idea that happened to be uppermost, formed the
elements of a character I had not sufficiently looked up to. This, of
course, I did not appreciate at first, and went at my task with the
kindest desire to get Mrs. Roberts out of her perplexity, and unravel
the tangled threads of Dorothy's arithmetical inaccuracies.

It was the greatest effort of self-denial that I could well have
attempted, for besides the heroism required to give up my walk with Mr.
Rutledge, on this splendid day, and spending the morning instead with
the only person I sincerely disliked in the house, and in the room of
all others that I was most averse to, was added my unconquerable
detestation of mathematical calculations of all kinds. From the
multiplication table up, I held all such exercises in abomination. But
Miss Crowen, with her usual discrimination, having detected this weak
point in my character, bent her whole mind to the strengthening of it,
and night and day, labored to instill into my unwilling brain the rules
and methods it was constitutionally unfitted to receive. Other studies
were made to bend before it; favorite pursuits were sacrificed to this
one object; passionate tears had washed the distracting figures from the
hated slate; high tragedy had been enacted before the blackboard, and
stormy scenes in the study had only strengthened Miss Crowen in her
determination to enforce obedience, and her pupil in resistance to what
she looked upon as tyrannical injustice. The result of this continued
struggle was, that after nearly five years of drilling in that branch of
study, to the exclusion of more congenial pursuits, I left St.
Catharine's with about the amount of mathematical knowledge usually
acquired by girls of ordinary application in a year and a half. I was
too fresh, however, from such exercises, not to be quite competent to
master the difficulties presented in the Rutledge "Household Expenses,"
and before an hour had passed, had reduced the "snarl" to a very
comprehensible state, and calling to Mrs. Roberts to come and look over
it, I began to explain the errors I had found, and the manner in which
I had corrected them, in as lucid language as I could command.

But Mrs. Roberts was hopelessly obtuse; she put on her glasses and
fumbled among the loose papers on which Dorothy registered her financial
transactions, with agonizing bewilderment. In vain I assured her I had
copied them off on the book, and they would give her no light on the
subject; she could not give them up, and again and again looked them
over, and bemoaned Dorothy's inaccuracy and her own stupidity. She hoped
I would excuse her, but she could not really get her mind quite clear
about that last column; would it be asking too much of me to run it over
again aloud. I tried to be patient, and again went over it, and
explained the case in all its bearings. I resolutely kept my back to the
window, and would, if I could, have forgotten that there was such a
thing as sunshine in the world; but, however I may have succeeded in
that attempt, I could not help hearing Mr. Rutledge's step on the stone
walk outside, as he returned from the direction of the stables; nor
could I help being aware that he entered the house, paused a moment in
the library, then came upstairs. The fragrance of an Havana penetrating
the keyhole, told he had passed this door, and gone into his
dressing-room. My fingers flew over the columns; in proportion as my
patience diminished Mrs. Roberts' dullness increased; she fretted, she
groaned, she bewildered me with questions, and almost crying with
vexation, I exclaimed, as I heard the horses coming up fr

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