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 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1664.F8T9 
 
 Two gentlemen of Boston,a novel. 
 
 3 1924 021 979 517 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021979517 
 
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TWO GENTLEMEN OF 
 BOSTON 
 
 ^ CMpyEL 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY 
 
 1887 
 
COPTKIGHT, 1887, 
 
 By TICKNOR & COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 {.ioliO^ 
 
 73 
 
 :'^!^ 
 
 BIKOTBOTYMB ANT PBINTDD 
 
 BY BAND AVERY OOMPAHY, 
 BOSTON. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " What each does is proper to him." 
 
 — Emebson. 
 
 SUCH a rainstorm as we were having at Hardcliffe had 
 not been known for years. The river overflowed its 
 banks, the meadows were flooded, and the mountain 
 brooks dashed cataract after cataract into the valley, with 
 the noise of a small Niagara. For five days the storm had 
 been in progress ; and stUl the low-hanging clouds shrouded 
 the surrounding hills, and the wind blew, and the rain fell 
 as if they had no present intention of ever ceasing. 
 
 We were living — my mother and my four-year-old 
 brother and I — in the old Rugg-Rivers mansion, a dilapi- 
 dated building situated on high ground, and overlooking 
 the meadows. It could scarcely be said to shelter us, for 
 the roof leaked so badly that the rain fell indoors as well 
 as out. I could hear it pattering on the rotten floors of 
 the unused north rooms ; while the wind bellowed down 
 the chimney, and tore away at the loose clapboards, as if 
 it meant to have as free access within as the rain. I had 
 been listening so many days and nights to the howling of 
 the wind, and the lashing of the rain, that the sounds 
 had become almost unendurable. It was strange that my 
 mother did not seem to mind them. I could see that she 
 cared nothing for the storm, except as it prevented her 
 daily tramps across the fields into the woods. But then, 
 she was so absorbed in her books ; besides, she was not 
 susceptible in the way I was to the influences of the 
 weather. To have her meals, and to keep warm, and 
 
 1 
 
2 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 take Iier exercise, seemed to comprise her physical needs. 
 Each morning she put on her thick cloak and stout Eng- 
 lish shoes, and walked about over the wet floors of the 
 uninhabited rooms for an hour or two, and then returned 
 to her own more comfortable apartment, and locked the 
 door behind her to make sure of no intrusion upon her 
 privacy. 
 
 JMeanwhile, I remained in the kitchen, where I had my 
 work and my own sad thoughts to keep me company; 
 and where, from the small-paned windows, I scanned the 
 heavens for some sign of returning sunshine. Sunshine 
 was as needful to my mercurial spirit as bread and milk 
 to my growing body. Bodily discomfort I could bear, 
 but mental disquietude made me nervous and feverish. 
 When the evening of the sixth day of the storm drew 
 dismally on, I could stay indoors no longer. I went out 
 under the dripping trees of the garden for awhile. I was 
 my own mistress at this hour (twilight). My evening's 
 work was done. Mother had taken her tea ; a fresh log 
 had been placed on her fire ; Jamie's gruel prepared 
 (which he, poor boy, could not drink to-night) ; the pails 
 and dishes called into requisition to catch the rain inside 
 had all been emptied, and distributed again. I was at 
 liberty to wander about the water-soaked garden, or re- 
 turn to the grimy kitchen, or go up-stairs to bed under 
 tlie leaky roof. I liked tlie gloom of the garden best : 
 here at least was space, and a remnant of daylight. I 
 did not mind getting wet : the pelting rain cooled my 
 bujning cheeks, and seemed to make my thoughts less 
 heavy. Here, if the night had been starry, I could have 
 remained till midnight ; but darkness without the stars 
 was dreadful to me. I returned to the kitchen, and laid 
 myself down on the old settle in the chimney-corner, ner- 
 vously wishing I coukl fall asleep tliere, and be spared the 
 misery of intervals of wakefulness that I was sure must 
 come to me in bed. For something worse than storm and 
 darkness troubled me at this time. My little brother was 
 sick, and it seemed to me to-day that he was failing 
 rapidlj' ; and still my mother said nothing to me about 
 him, nor would she permit me to speak of him to her. 
 And yet I could not think he would die. My fears all 
 centred upon my mother. This had been one of her 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 3 
 
 stony days, and any unusual stoniness of demeanor in her 
 had always been the precursor of some unusual act. 
 What that act might be, I could come to no conclusion. 
 I lay trembling with undefined apprehensions, till pitchy 
 darkness looked in at the kitchen windows. My imagina- 
 tion took full swing. What if my father's ghost should 
 appear at the black panes ! I sprang up, and quickly 
 lighted a bit of candle, and hurried towards my chamber ; 
 half way up the stairs, a gust of wind from some quarter 
 above extinguished the light. How the wind was blowing 
 again ! I could hear it lashing the trees of the garden, 
 as if it took a fiendish delight in bruising their budding 
 bloom. It roared among the pines at the back of the 
 house, and shook the doors and windows, and filled the 
 old north rooms with such strange noises, that I could 
 think of nothing but wailing spirits clamoring to get out. 
 In a lull of these sounds, while I stood considering 
 whether I would return to relight my candle, my mother's 
 bell rang sharply. " Something has happened," thought 
 I, for she rarely called me at this hour. Every nerve in 
 my body became tense, to meet the emergency. I groped 
 my way through the long hall to her room. She was 
 standing at the open door, a small lamp in her hand, her 
 face white as marble. 
 
 " Cordelia, you must go down to the plain, and get Dr. 
 Gray," she said. " I want him to come here to-night." 
 
 I started with sudden fear. Was she going to make 
 me go out on such a dark night, so far? Then ashamed 
 of the selfish consideration, I said eagerly, "Is Jamie 
 worse? Oh, tell me, please!" But mother, without 
 heeding my question, drew within the room and closed 
 the door. She had never yet repeated a command, nor 
 explained the reason for one. Why had I not learned 
 the fact? 
 
 I threw on my cloak, turned the hood over my head, 
 and went resolutely forth, determined not to be afraid. 
 Hardclifife plain was a mile and a half distant. The 
 road half the way led through a dense wood, shadowy 
 even at noonday, and how much more lonely in the 
 darkness and rain ! For a little while I could discern 
 nothing ; but I knew every step of the way, and stretch- 
 ing out my arms before me, to save my head from con- 
 
4 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 tact with obstacles if I made too wide a detour, I ran 
 down tiirough the woods to the hollow where a foot-bridge 
 without railings spanned a deep river, swollen now with 
 the recent rains. I paused here, uncertain of my bear- 
 ings. The chances were ten to one that I should walk off 
 it into the river. Not an hour ago I had wished myself 
 dead : here was an opportunity to consummate that wish 
 without moral responsibility. But suddenly my dreary 
 life became sweet to me, its continuance the sweetest 
 boon I could ask. And besides, if I must die, I preferred 
 with honest old Gonzalo a dry death. I whispered a 
 pra3'er, dropped on my hands and knees, and crept 
 cautiously forward. I crossed safely, the uneven edges 
 of the planks warning me when I crept too near either 
 dangerous side. With thankful heart, I ran on again, 
 till I reached the plain. This was the centre of Hard- 
 cliffe ; I knew every house here. The gleam of a lamp 
 shone through the kitchen windows of the tavern ; there 
 was also a light in JNIr. Hodgett's study at the [)arsonage ; 
 and still another in one of the corner chambers of the 
 "haunted house," once the grand house of the plain, 
 when Hardcliffe was in its prime. 
 
 Many an evening had I been beguiled into wakefulness 
 by stories of the strange family that had once inhabited 
 this ruinous old mansion. I quaked a little as I glanced 
 over my shoulder at its black silhouette ; my excited fancy 
 picturing the ghostly company that might at that moment 
 he gathering in the old ballroom, the place of their once 
 fleshly revels, when they were belles and beaux. I hur- 
 ried past the house and the long stretch of ancient burying- 
 grouud that lay between it and Dr. Gray's, glad to find 
 myself stumbling up the path to the doctor's front-door, 
 and to see a light at his bedroom window. Mrs. Gray 
 opened the door when I had knocked, and seemed much 
 astonished to learn I had come down the hill and crossed 
 the dangerous bridge safely on so dark a night. She drew 
 me into the kitchen, and took off my wet cloak and 
 placed it before the fire, plying me with rapid questionino- 
 meanwhile concerning my mother, which elicited from me 
 only the most evasive replies. 
 
 " Hello ! who's come? " called the doctor from an ad- 
 joining room, where he had just gone to bed. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 5 
 
 Mrs. Gray instantly repaired thither to inform him, 
 every word of their conversation being distinctly audible 
 in the kitchen. 
 
 " It's Cordelia Rivers. You've got to go up to the 
 Rugg place on the hill. Mrs. Rivers's boy is very sick. 
 So get up and dress, and tackle up. The girl will have 
 to ride back with you." 
 
 " Why, mother," returned the doctor deliberately in his 
 good-natured voice, "I can't go up thei-e to-night, with 
 this poultice on my leg. Tell the girl I'll be up there in 
 the morning." 
 
 " You must go to-night : the child may be dead in the 
 morning. And get your fee to-night, too, if you can 
 manage it. She pays cash for every thing, they say ; 
 and you might as well have the money down for your ser- 
 vices, as other folks. Come, come, get up." 
 
 The doctor groaned, as if the thought of getting out of 
 his comfortable bed was more than he could bear. 
 
 " This is great business," he remarked. " I can't go in 
 the sulky, — both springs are broken ; and one of the wheels 
 is off the buggy. What's the matter with the boy ? " 
 
 "That's for you to find out, and get your pay for," 
 retorted the brisk little woman, as she at last succeeded 
 in getting the slow old doctor out of bed and at the task 
 of dressing. Before dressing, he bethought him that he 
 must shave, and ordered Mrs. Gray to bring hot water 
 and the other requisite materials ; and, when a stroke of 
 his wife's tongue nipped the absurd proceeding, he de- 
 manded a clean shirt. 
 
 "A clean shirt this nasty night!" exclaimed the dis- 
 gusted wife. " What an idea ! " 
 
 "Certainly; why not, mother?" said the doctor. 
 " It's no reason I should be nasty because the night is." 
 
 " And you want your buff waistcoat and s waller-tail, 
 too, I suppose, to show off to Mrs. Rivers? And what 
 does she care for it all ! She wouldn't notice if you went 
 without a shirt. Come, come, do fly round, doctor. The 
 child will be dead or convalescent before you get there." 
 
 "Don't hurry me so, Emmeline. Rome wasn't built 
 in a day." 
 
 " It wouldn't have been built at all if you had had a 
 hand in it," she retorted. 
 
6 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I shall have to go horseback," said the doctor. 
 
 " Well, then, take off your poultice, and go horseback. 
 I guess you can manage not to hit your boil. Cordelia 
 will carry the lantern." By dint of repeated urgings, 
 the doctor was at last ready to mount his ribby nag. His 
 first ineffectual attempt to get astride the beast was 
 accompanied by several not very elegant expletives. But 
 at last, with much groaning and grunting, the disabled 
 leg was lifted into place, the umbrella was spread, the 
 lantern put into my hand, and we started, keeping the 
 slowness of a funeral procession all the way. 
 
 Of course, it was nearly midnight when we reached the 
 house. I assisted the doctor to dismount, directed him 
 to mother's room where Jamie lay sick, and then betook 
 mj'self to the kitchen, hoping, by waiting there till the 
 doctor came out, to have an opportunity to question him 
 concerning Jamie. But mother, as if she intended to dis- 
 appoint me, accompanied the doctor on his way out, and 
 remained on the porch till he remounted his horse, which 
 he did without a groan now ; then she went straight to 
 her room and shut the door, vouchsafing me neither word 
 nor look. 
 
 What was I to do now? I could not go to bed in igno- 
 rance of Jamie's condition : my anxiety was too great. 
 I was not an amiable girl altogether ; and the rebellious 
 feeling I had been harboring towards my mother, aug- 
 mented by this last cruel act of shutting me out from 
 Jamie, strained my heart almost to breaking. It gave me 
 courage, however ; and, for the first time in my life, I 
 ventured to disturb her privacy. I knocked at her door, 
 and, when no response followed, I knocked again and 
 again, until the panels rattled under m}' fist. Then sud- 
 denly remembering that this manifestation of temper 
 would avail me nothing, and disturb Jamie, I retired to 
 my room, and swallowed my indignation as best I could. 
 At last I put out my candle and went to bed ; but I could 
 not sleep. In every gust of wind that swept the house, I 
 seemed to hear the voice of my dead father reproving 
 me for my rebellious feelings ; and remembering his last 
 words, and the promise I had given to love and obey my 
 mother, I sprang out of bed, dropped upon my knees, and 
 prayed to be delivered from my own wickedness. In the 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 7 
 
 midst of my childish supplication, I heard a door close 
 below. Mother, then, was up : Jamie must be worse. I 
 stole out through the narrow spaceway that led to the 
 upper hall, and leaned over the banisters, and listened, 
 with the faint hope that mother might relent and call me. 
 But I waited and shivered and listened in vain. I heard 
 nothing but the drip, drip of the rain, and the imprisoned 
 breath of the wind in the old passages below. 
 
 I returned to my room, shivering with nervous chill. 
 Sleep was out of the question. All my senses seemed to 
 have merged into the one of feeling. I partly dressed 
 myself, and sat down by the window, and looked out into 
 the night. By and by I could discern that the sky was 
 clearing ; heavy clouds were moving eastward. But I had 
 arrived at a point beyond caring for the weather. My 
 grievance was heavy upon me. My little brother was dying ; 
 and for two weeks I had not been permitted to speak to 
 him, scarcely to look at him. Perhaps he was already 
 dead ! The anguish of that thought was stronger than the 
 fear of mother's displeasure. I would go down again to 
 her door, and beg admittance. I would remain there till 
 she let me in. Oh, I viust speak to Jamie once more 
 before he died ! I crept down in my stockings to the first 
 landing of the stairway, and waited there a moment to 
 listen. The rain and wind had ceased ; through the high 
 staircase window I saw stars shining. 
 
 Presently I heard a door open and shut quite plainly. 
 Mother was stirring again ; this gave me courage to 
 descend. I went straight to her room ; and, finding the 
 door partly open, I stepped in and looked round. 
 
 The comfortable aspect of every thing here was in strik- 
 ing contrast to the rest of the house. The clean swept 
 hearth, polished fire-irons, and heaped-up mass of bright 
 red coals ; the white matting and Deccan rugs ; the crim- 
 son covered table, shaded lamp, open books, and decorated 
 screen unfolded to shut off draughts to which my mother 
 was so keenly susceptible, — all together made a picture 
 that I could appreciate, even while my thoughts were so 
 intent upon Jamie, lying in his little crib behind the 
 screen. 
 
 But where was mother? Was Jamie dead ? I listened 
 for his breathing before I dared approach him, and was 
 
8 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 quite re-assured when I found him sleeping peacefully, 
 with no perceptible change in his features. It was 
 mother for whom I was concerned now. One of her trunks 
 was drawn out of the closet, the lid up, partly disclosing 
 a robe of blue satin ; while on a chair close by was a 
 crimson silk gown, its long train resting on some em- 
 broidered petticoats on the floor. 
 
 "While I was gazing with great astonishment at this 
 unexpected display, I heard a movement in the hall. My 
 courage forsook me immediately, and fear of discovery 
 seized me. What would mother say to find me prowling 
 in her room past midnight ? I darted at once through the 
 door and up the stairs to the broad landing, where in the 
 daylight one could get a view of the entire length and 
 breadth of the hall. Even in the darkness I was able to 
 see a strange apparition approaching from the farther end, 
 as if it had emerged from one of the old north rooms. 
 To say that I was startled, would not describe my sensa- 
 tion. Physically speaking, I was not a coward ; but of 
 late I was beginning to feel that 1 was an isolated soul 
 in a universe of vast mysterious forces, the manifestation 
 of which, in one form, I was always dreading to behold. 
 This, however, was not the expected ghost. As the figure 
 came towards me, I saw it was mj' mother, though I could 
 not discern her face distinctly. She wore a full, long 
 white garment, fashioned in a way to show her round white 
 arms and shoulders. Her long black hair fell loosely over 
 it, reaching below her knees. She moved with a queenly, 
 measured majesty ; and, when she drew nearer, I perceived 
 by the light of the candle she carried, that there was a 
 singular expression on her features. Her large black eyes 
 had a fixed stare. ' ' She is certainly walking in her sleep ! ' ' 
 I exclaimed inwardly. " She must be a somnambulist." 
 I watched her with much interest now, as she passed and 
 repassed me. I had heard somnambulists described, and 
 every movement of mother answered to the description. 
 This was a new discovery. What must I do ? Ought I 
 to go down and wake her? I considered a moment, and 
 thought it wiser to keep still. I would continue to stay, 
 however, to prevent her doing any damage to herself, if 
 she should attempt it. She did nothing at present but 
 pace the hall, talking to herself. I caught now and then 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 9 
 
 snatches of her talk, that shocked me with their import. 
 She sighed and wrung her hands, again and again, as if 
 some great calamity had befallen her, repeating the strange 
 words, "He cannot come out of his grave," over and 
 over. 
 
 " She is thinking of father," I said to myself. " She 
 remembers how, when he was dying, she was away in the 
 woods with Jamie and her lunch-basket and books ; and 
 remorse for such neglect preys upon her in her sleep." 
 Pity for her began to fill my heart. Just then a plaintive 
 cry from Jamie came to my ear. It arrested her strange 
 proceedings instantly. Before I could turn and descend, 
 she had caught up her candle and returned to her room ; 
 and a moment after I heard her talking to him in low 
 tones of endearment, and presently singing the lullaby 
 song with which she was accustomed to soothe him to 
 sleep. 
 
 My somnambulistic hypothesis was demolished by this 
 circumstance ; and before I could build another, she 
 was sweeping by me again, sighing and wringing her 
 hands, and repeating the same words as before, ending 
 all with an agonizing appeal to some invisible being to 
 come to her. Her strange words made me shiver from 
 head to foot. "What could she mean by them ? 
 
 I remained grasping the stair-railing long after she had 
 disappeared into her room. I continued to wait for 
 something further to come, till the clock in the kitchen 
 struck three. Then I concluded that mother had gone 
 to bed, and that I had better go too. I went, with the 
 burden of an added mystery heavy at my heart. 
 
10 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Either death or a friend." 
 
 — Persian Proverb. 
 
 IT was sometime past sunrise wlien I woke. John 
 Blake, the half-witted boy whom mother employed to 
 perform what drudgery I was unfitted to do, had arrived 
 with the milk and cream he was in the habit of bringing 
 every morning since winter was over. John was the 
 only person, except Dr. Gray and Calista Comery (Cal- 
 ista was a distant relative of my father's family), who 
 had entered the house since father's death, last October. 
 To be sure, old Peter Williams, Calista's uncle, had once 
 called on a matter of business. Old Peter, as he was 
 usually termed, was a craftj', hard-dealing man. The 
 house we lived in, and the hundred odd acres attached, — 
 comprising an extent of pine forest, much rocky sheep- 
 pasturage, and some arable tillage-ground and meadow- 
 land, — which had belonged to my father's family for 
 generations, were now in his possession. My father, 
 for sums of money lent him from time to time, had 
 mortgaged the place to old Peter; and through some 
 process of foreclosure, difficult for me to understand, the 
 whole farm — house, furniture, every thing belonging to 
 the place — had fallen into his covetous clutch. And he 
 had called after father's funeral, simply to say there was 
 nothing left us. 
 
 Whether the announcement that we were penniless was 
 a blow to my mother, I could not tell. She listened to 
 the old man's explanation of the matter with the cold 
 stateliness of demeanor she showed on all occasions. She 
 seemed to be braced in some mysterious way against all 
 surprises. Even when old Peter — some dregs of con- 
 science stirring in him, perhaps — offered us the house- 
 rent free for a while, she expressed no indignation by 
 word. She simply bowed, giving him at the same time a 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 11 
 
 measuring glance that I wondered did not make him 
 wince a little. But it did not : his metallic composition 
 could not be touched in that way. He departed, doubt- 
 less feeling he had been extremely generous, and was 
 justified in washing his hands of us for all time to 
 come. 
 
 Not so his niece, Calista Comery, who lived with her 
 uncle, and understood him well. Her visits to us had 
 been frequent during the winter, and were never unac- 
 companied by a gift of some kind, from barn, cellar, or 
 pantry. She was as open-handed and outspoken as her 
 uncle was close-mouthed and penurious, and would as 
 soon have thought of coming to us without her bonnet 
 as without a present. 
 
 Her last gift before departing for the wilds of York 
 State had been a tough Shanghai rooster, tough enough to 
 have been the founder of his race. The "hired man" 
 had wrung his neck, and she had plucked his feathers and 
 fetched him to us for a stew ; and I had stewed him 
 steadily for three days, and then found him too rigid to 
 dismember. It would scarcely have pleased the generous 
 Calista had she known to what base uses that ancient 
 biped was put at last. 
 
 " Dear old unique Calista! If she were only here to 
 cheer and comfort me now," I said to myself, " I should 
 not so much mind." And yet, had she been with me, I 
 could not have spoken to her of mother. I could never 
 talk about my mother to any one. Communicative enough 
 on other subjects, my lips were always sealed to any ques- 
 tion concerning her. My mind was never free of the bur- 
 den of thinking of her. After her queer behavior of last 
 night, it was no wonder I closely observed her at break- 
 fast. But I saw nothing unusual in her demeanor. She 
 read the letters John had brought up from the post-offlce, 
 and then untied some enclosed pamphlets that had come 
 with them. She lifted her finger, when I entered with 
 her coffee, as a signal to be quiet in the arrangement of 
 the table (she took her meals in her room, on a little 
 round table close to the fire) and not disturb Jamie. He 
 presently woke, however, and then I ventured to inquire 
 what the doctor had said of him. She would not answer 
 me at first. She shivered, drew her shawl closer about 
 
12 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 her shoulders, and ordered more wood put on the fire. 
 Then she sipped her coffee and looked over her books. 
 
 I was not unaware of my own contradictory and defec- 
 tive nature. I felt hard streaks in me that I used to think 
 I must have inherited from my mother. I knew I was 
 passionate and wilful, and often suffered hours of remorse 
 for giving vent to my anger in covert clinching of fists 
 and grinding of teeth. I was in one of my remorseful 
 moods this morning, and had no courage to repeat my 
 inquiry. The excitement of last night had left me 
 depressed and dependent. I looked at my mother, so 
 cold and collected in manner ; I looked at her plain dress, 
 plain to severity ; I considered her natural reserve and 
 unexcitable temper, and wondered if what I had seen last 
 night — the rich gay dresses, the strange talking, and 
 wringing of hands — had not been a dream of mine. I 
 had often looked at my mother in a penetrating way 
 while she was taking her breakfast, and never once im- 
 agined — she was so oblivious of my inspection — that I 
 was committing a rudeness. This morning I was made 
 aware of it by her turning under my scrutiny and saying 
 deliberately, — 
 
 " Leave the room, Cordelia ; I want nothing more." 
 
 " May I give Jamie his gruel first? " I asked. 
 
 "No; he can swallow no more gruel. He is much 
 worse. The doctor says that he cannot get well, that he 
 may not live a week longer." 
 
 The words were spoken slowly and in the lowest tone, 
 but the loudest peal of thunder could not have startled 
 me as they did. I went from the room with a mist before 
 my eyes ; my frame quivered ; a dark shadow seemed to 
 shut out the day. I was not prepared for such news. 
 After seeing Jamie lying so quietly and sleeping so peace- 
 fully in his little crib last night, I had taken hope that he 
 would eventually get well. I could not bear the thought 
 of his dying now. But I shed no tears. I had been 
 taught to subdue any such manifestation of emotion long 
 ago. I had been told that only babies cried ; and I could 
 scarcely remember when a tear had escaped my ej'elids. 
 So, with a tempest of grief within, I rallied and resumed 
 my work of the morning ; and when it was all done in 
 mother's room, I tremblingly approached Jamie to steal a 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 13 
 
 glance at his face. As I bent over his little bed, he 
 opened his eyes with a wan smile of recognition, and put 
 up his thin hands as a sign that he wished to come to me. 
 
 " He wants me to take him up," I said, turning to 
 mother who was still absorbed in her reading. " May I, 
 if I will be very careful? " I asked. She shook her head. 
 
 "Mamma says no," I whispered with choking voice. 
 A feeble prolonged cry from the dying boy instantly 
 reversed her decision. I was permitted to lift him gently 
 in my arms ; his lovely head, with its moist dark rings of 
 hair, drooped on my shoulder. I carried him to the win- 
 dow that looked out upon his play-ground in the garden. 
 The grass, so long undisturbed by his little feet, was 
 growing tall, and sparkling with a million raindrops in the 
 brilliant sunshine. The tender green of the cherry-trees 
 close to the window seemed to be holding out to him its 
 bursting buds of pink ; the swing under the pear-trees 
 swayed in the wind as if it were beckoning him to come 
 forth and renew acquaintance. 
 
 A brood of tailless young chickens, wild with the in- 
 toxication of new life, was running hither and thither, 
 regardless of the frantic clucking of their imprisoned 
 mother. Every thing was rejoicing in the return of sun- 
 shine. Even Jamie smiled as he looked out into the 
 world all green and glistening ; then his eyes closed 
 wearily, and he motioned with his tiny hand towards his 
 bed. He had passed too far into the shadowy valley to 
 care for earthly things. 
 
 But next day he brightened again, and talked a little, 
 quite in his old way. Once, while lying in my arms, — 
 for I was permitted to be with him now, — he opened his 
 eyes suddenly, and asked if God was good. I remem- 
 bered afterwards of having once read a little story to him 
 in which the sentence "God is good" often occurred. 
 The blessed words had remained in his memory. 
 
 As the doctor had predicted, before the week ended the 
 child was dead. His spirit took flight while I was sitting 
 beside him at midnight. A few moments previous to his 
 departure, he opened his eyes, and looked about as if 
 he saw something moving before him, invisible to me. 
 " Mamma, mamma ! " he cried, in almost his old voice, 
 "see the little babies with flowers in their hands!" 
 
14 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Mother had fallen asleep. I called her to come to him ; 
 but, when she came, he was not there. 
 
 We lived in a thinly populated district, — the nearest 
 farm-house was a quarter of a mile distant, — and only 
 two old spinsters, cousins of the sexton, knew of Jamie's 
 death till the day of the funeral. These ancient maidens, 
 who dressed in a fashion of fifty years ago, and who sel- 
 dom stirred abroad except when the occasion of a death 
 brought their services in requisition, came to the house 
 next morning. They approached mother with profoundest 
 deference ; puckering their toothless mouths till each be- 
 came the focus of a thousand wrinkles, they put out their 
 withered hands to shake mother's in token of their silent 
 sympathy. 
 
 Then they went to work. Grief is supposed to deaden 
 one's faculty of observation. It made mine more keenly 
 alive. I watched every movement of these singular old 
 women, and was filled with a kind of horror to find how 
 they made the mournful occasion a cheerful recreation for 
 their monotonous lives. I recall every incident of that 
 dreadful time, to the hard, grating tones of the minister, 
 the important air of the sexton, the covert frolicking of 
 the rude boys in the graveyard, the curious eyes turned 
 upon mother, whose sable veil made an effectual screen to 
 their observation. 
 
 Neighbors came from far and near, and filled the space 
 about father's grave in the old burying- ground, that they 
 might see the pretty boy, of whom they had been told, 
 put into his grave. The day was bright and warm, not 
 a cloud to be seen on the blue depths of the sky. The 
 air was perfume ; birds sailed and sang in it in perfect 
 joy. Over Jamie's open grave spread the low branches 
 of a fruit-tree ; a passing breeze sighed among them, 
 sending down a shower of odorous white blossoms upon 
 the little coffin, — a loving tribute of Nature to kindred 
 sweetness and purity. 
 
 Mother and myself were the onlj'- mourners. We re- 
 turned to the old house alone. No neighbor had come 
 forward with a word of sympathy. None dared, I sup- 
 pose, address mother in her sorrow. She went home and 
 shut herself into her room. I went to the kitchen . There 
 was much work to be done, and I set myself resolutely 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 15 
 
 to doing it. Till now, my grief liad been without tears ; 
 till now, by fighting desperately, I had kept my cheeks 
 dry. I struggled still to check the rising torrent : it was 
 no use. I was too exhausted to resist further. I sur- 
 rendered the citadel. The rush came, and I abandoned 
 myself to it. I flung myself down on the kitchen-floor, 
 and sobbed loud and long. 
 
 There was only a narrow spaceway dividing the kitchen 
 from my mother's room. The unusual noise disturbed 
 her. She came into the kitchen. A wild longing for 
 human sympathy possessed me. I sprang to my feet, 
 and rushed towards her, crying, " Mother, mother ! speak 
 to me, speak to me, or my heart will break ! " Without 
 a word, she took my hand and led me into her room, and 
 motioned me to sit beside her ; but I fell on my knees 
 and buried my face in her lap. 
 
 " This will never do," she said, placing her hand on my 
 head. Her simple touch had power to control my sobs. 
 "You must govern your feelings, — you must do it for 
 my sake. Do you think I suffer nothing? You see how 
 I command myself. Did no one ever teach you self-con- 
 trol?" She spoke kindly, and allowed my head to still 
 rest on her knees. 
 
 "Oh, yes'm ! But — but — I loved him so; and he 
 loved me, — I know he loved me, — and I shall never, 
 never see him any more ! " I sobbed vehemently again. 
 
 " If the boy was so much to you," she said, stroking 
 my hair, "what do you think he was to me? Yet you 
 see how calm I am. You are too selfishly absorbed in 
 your own feelings, Cordelia. You think too much of 
 being loved. It is a morbid craving that must be over- 
 come if you hope to grow up a strong woman. Do you 
 wish to be a weak character, or a strong one? " 
 
 "I want to be a strong one," I answered, lifting my 
 face, and wiping the tears from it. 
 
 " Then you must begin at once to put away all thought 
 of dependence on human love. If you lean upon it, it 
 will fail you. You see how it has dropped away from 
 you, and left you without support? It is the great illusion 
 of life." 
 
 I gazed at mother's tearless, marble face, and felt a 
 dreadful chill creeping over me. 
 
16 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Is it wrong to love anybody? Must I never care for 
 anybody again? " I asked. 
 
 "Certainly you must care for others: it is your duty 
 to do so. But you must not expect to be rewarded by 
 tlieir loving you. You must cultivate that kind of love 
 that demands no return ; and then you will never suffer 
 from disappointment. Blessed are they that expect noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " Do you expect nothing? " I asked, the words slipping 
 from my tongue without consideration. 
 
 " I expect much from you " — She stopped so sud- 
 denly that I lifted my head and looked at her. Some- 
 thing in her face frightened me. I retreated to a chair 
 some distance away. She appeared to be undergoing 
 some inward struggle, as if the latent tenderness in her 
 nature were battling with fierceness and hatred. She 
 quickly recovered herself, her face resumed its usual frigid 
 expression. "Yes, I expect much from you," she went 
 on. "I expect to see you at once begin to improve in 
 your character and deportment. I am going to be plain 
 with you, Cordelia. It is better that you should have one 
 fact settled in your mind now. You have no qualities to 
 win admiration or love. If you conduct yourself prop- 
 erly, you may win respect ; but do nothing for the sake 
 of what others may think of you. Be satisfied with your 
 own respect. Live within yourself, and be strong." 
 
 She was silent for a few moments. She seldom looked 
 at me while speaking : I was too personally unlovely for 
 her fastidious gaze. She kept her eyes turned to the 
 window, that showed her, through the pink boughs of the 
 fruit-trees, the wooded hill-side over which she would be 
 roaming, book in hand, on the morrow. Her thoughts 
 were far enough away from me. I was very unhappy at 
 that moment, though my tears were dried. A long sigh 
 escaped me which she must have heard, for she resumed 
 almost immediately, " Yes, Cordelia, I say again, learn to 
 live within yourself, and be strong. I shall regret no 
 discipline of hard circumstances that may come to you, 
 if it will prevent j-our growing up into a weak character, 
 with no ambition above the delusion of loving and being 
 loved. How old are you, Cordelia? " 
 
 " I am fourteen," I answered in low voice. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 17 
 
 "You are old enough to have some purpose in life 
 already defined in your mind. Of course I shall care for 
 you awhile longer, and see that you are properly disci- 
 plined for the work you will have to do. I intend to have 
 you thoroughly trained for some vocation. Have you any 
 choice as to the kind you would like, Cordelia." 
 
 I could answer nothing now. I felt the distance grow- 
 ing wider and wider between us. 
 
 "You must perceive yourself," my mother went on, 
 " how unpleasantly I am situated here, and how little I 
 can know about you, — about your disposition, habits, 
 tastes, inclinations. You can understand how I am, in 
 one sense, an entire stranger to j'ou " — 
 
 "But you are my mother," I broke in childishly, and 
 then was sorry I had spoken, for my mother ceased talk- 
 ing at once. She shivered, drew another shawl, lying on 
 a chair beside her, over her shoulders, turned her back to 
 me and her face to the fire. 
 
 How sorry I was for having so impulsively reminded her 
 of our relationship ! But I had learned my mother's dis- 
 position well enough to know it would be useless for me to 
 apologize. After a long silence between us, I ventured 
 to ask humbly if I should not bring in her supper. 
 
 " Yes," she answered with another perceptible shiver. 
 " Bring me a cup of coffee ; I want nothing else to-night." 
 
 " 1 can make you an omelette," I said. I knew she was 
 fond of omelette. " John found a nest of fresh eggs this 
 morning." 
 
 "Bring only what I have mentioned," she answered, 
 " and don't speak to me again to-night. 
 
 I went from her presence realizing that I was indeed a 
 stranger to my mother. How could she know any thing 
 of me when I had been taken from her at two years of 
 age? For I had seen neither of my parents, to remember 
 them, till my father returned to Hardclifife to die in the 
 old house where he was born. 
 
 How I knew that their marriage had been an unhappy 
 one, I cannot tell ; for the gossips of Hardcliffe said noth- 
 ing of either in my hearing. Even Calista Comery, the 
 ever outspoken Calista, abstained from all allusion to their 
 history. My grandmother had requested her to tell me 
 nothing until I was old enough to understand something 
 
18 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of the subject. But, for all that, I Lad divined much that 
 they wished to keep concealed. There is an inner sense 
 of hearing keener than that of the bodily ear. The soul 
 hears words unspoken by the tongue. 1 had learned that 
 my mother had been married at the age of sixteen ; that 
 she was an only child, and had come to this country from 
 England with her father, who had died soon afterwards, 
 but not till he had seen his daughter united to my father 
 — a union he much desired, my father being of good 
 family, and at that time a talented, promising young 
 man ; that the newly man'ied pair went immediately South, 
 
 and settled in the city of .where I was born; that 
 
 some tragic occurrence — the nature of which was still 
 enwrapped in mystery — had caused me to be sent to 
 Hardclitfe at two years of age, at which place I had re- 
 mained, virtually deserted by my parents, until my father 
 came home to die, as I have stated. Of course, gossip 
 revived when my father came back to Hardeliffe. All 
 sorts of rumors got afloat. There were stories about 
 my mother's eccentricities and extravagances ruining my 
 father. Some blamed her for my father's poverty and 
 death, asserting that she had a large sum of money de- 
 posited in the Darre Bank. Others defended her, and 
 declared that her husband's own irregularities had killed 
 him. But nothing definite was known about the sad 
 affair. Nobody in Hardeliffe knew any thing of my 
 mother. During the short time she had been living in the 
 town, she had not made a single acquaintance. 
 
 When I was told that my father and mother were com- 
 ing to Hardeliffe, my heart leaped With joy. I pictured 
 them taking me into their arms and kissing me, and mak- 
 ing much of me. My father did, indeed, kiss me ; but my 
 mother actually recoiled when I advanced to greet her. 
 She would not at first speak or look at me ; then, remem- 
 bering perhaps my relation to her, she touched the tips of 
 my fingers, glanced at my face and figure, and turned 
 coldly away. My father tried to explain her coldness, by 
 saying she was worn out with her journey. I felt as if 
 my heart would break sometimes, when I thought how she 
 had received me. But I tried to do all in my power for 
 her comfort, the same as for my father's. 
 
 I seldom saw my parents together. My little brother 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN' OF BOSTON. 19 
 
 was but three years old, and required my mother's con- 
 stant care. I was my father's sole nurse, and he grew to 
 depend upon me for every thing. And it was a pleasure 
 to me to be thus needed and depended upon ; it gave my 
 affectional capacity a chance to expand. Except to pre- 
 pare his meals, I scarcely left his side by night or day. 
 He liked to have me read to him, and encouraged me to 
 talk of myself, until I had told him all the little experi- 
 ences of my lonelj' childhood. Sometimes we walked 
 about the garden, his hand on my shoulder to steady him- 
 self ; and then he would look down upon me with a strange- 
 ly pathetic gaze, and tell me of his sanguine plans for the 
 future, in which my welfare was to be first considered ; 
 and I would press my lips to his hand, too contented to 
 grieve, even in thought, over his surely approacliing doom. 
 
 It was strange that in these confidential talks he never 
 reverted to the past, or spoke of his wife or boy. He 
 seemed to have forgotten them, and to live only in my 
 presence. I had gradually become all in all to him. It 
 was this fact that made his dying words so keenly remem- 
 bered by me. He had passed away suddenly, sitting by 
 the window looking out at the glory of the October sun- 
 set. He must have felt the change, and realized that he 
 was dj'ing. He called me to come to him. 
 
 "Come closer," he murmured; "the heavenly gates 
 are opening, and I am not worthy to pass in. You have 
 been good to me, Cordelia, — good to an undeserving 
 father. Your mother was my soul's idol. God forgive 
 me for the idolatry. God forgive me the great wrong I 
 did her" — A fit of coughing interrupted him. When 
 he had recovered sufficiently to speak again, he whispered, 
 " Where is my wife? I must speak to her." I hurried 
 out to find her ; but she had wandered away into the woods 
 with Jamie, and I could not leave my father to seek her. 
 I soothed him with the information that she would return 
 soon. "You must promise me, Cordelia, — you have 
 been a faithful child to me, — you must promise me to be 
 good to her, — good to your mother. — Be lenient ; don't 
 misjudge her ; trj' to win her love. Obey her wishes at 
 all times." 
 
 " I promise you that I will do my best, father," I said, 
 chafing his cold hands. 
 
20 TWO GENTLEMEN OF SOSTON. 
 
 "That is enough," he murmured. " It will atone, it 
 will atone for all. No, it will not wipe out my sin. 
 God help me to tell her ail, every thing. Cordelia, I 
 have something more to say. I am dyiug — I must — I 
 have something to — confess ; keep my secret sacredly — 
 promise me " — He began to cough again. 
 
 " Don't try to talk now, dear father," I said. " Wait 
 until you are easier; wait till to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow" — He stopped suddenly. I slipped my 
 hand under his shoulders and lifted him forward. I was 
 frantic with terror : I had no thought of his dying so 
 quickly. There was no relief : he choked, gasped once 
 or twice, and was gone. 
 
 " Obey your mother." These were the words that 
 were burned into my memory. I had done my best to 
 keep my promise thus far. I was still my mother's most 
 obedient servant, ever ready at her beck and call. I had 
 failed to win her love : she was too hard — as hard as the 
 granite in the hills about us. Yet, despite her coldness, 
 she had for me a strange fascination. I was never 
 tired of watching her graceful movements and statue-like 
 poses. She was a second Galatea, infused with life but 
 not with love. I remember the night after I had first 
 seen her, I dreamed that some one told me she was 
 made of moonlight and snow. That she was exception- 
 ally beautiful and had a singularly magnetic force latent 
 in her nature, I am aware now, although she did not 
 fill the Hardcliffe idea of good looks and ability. The 
 good people wondered how my father could have been 
 enamoured with such a long-eyed, frozen-looking, pre- 
 occupied piece of humanity. They could weave no ro- 
 mance in with such a being. They did not see her as I 
 did. If they could have lived with her, they would have 
 changed their opinion. 
 
 And yet it must not be supposed that I, a mere girl of 
 fourteen, could fathom with all my opportunity the''dei)th 
 of such a nature. Like most girls I was interested chiefly 
 in externals, and could in no wise account for the eliamro- 
 ableness of the impressions her singular character made 
 upon me. Sometimes when I came upon her in her icv 
 moods, and noted the electric flashing of her eyes, which 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 21 
 
 was the sign of some inward perturbation, I used to feel 
 a kind of awe creeping over me, as one often does in 
 watching those mysterious shifting lights streaming up in 
 the northern heavens at midnight. 
 
 Yet oftener she excited in me a feeling of bitter anger. 
 Yes, I will confess that I often wished for power to 
 combat her, and overcome her, and lay her low in J;he dust 
 at my feet. 
 
 I can understand now, knowing my own nature better, 
 that this fierce unfilial desire might have been but her own 
 feeling re-acting upon mine. Love begets love, hate be- 
 gets hate. I knew my mother did not love me ; but I did 
 not know that under her ley exterior there was a surging, 
 seething, wilful, passionate spirit which could impel her to 
 the crudest acts, and yet keep itself hidden, like the fire 
 in the centre of the earth. I believe she was incapable 
 of loving. She felt .for her own simply what any animal 
 feels for its offspring, nothing more. 
 
 I had entered her room in an agony of grief. I came 
 out of. it with the sense of sorrow benumbed. I felt as 
 if she had led me into an underground cavern full of 
 winding mysterious passages, whence I could never find 
 my way out again. 
 
 1 soon began to speculate as to what she would be 
 likely to do with me, now Jamie was dead. She had 
 intimated lately, once or twice, her intention of going 
 away. It was not lilcely she would take me with her : 
 she had said as much. She would put me to work some- 
 where, doubtless. She might possibly be intending to 
 send me back into the family where I had boarded before 
 father came, and where I had learned to work for my 
 keeping when remittances fell short. They were a well- 
 to-do family enough, kind in their way, with minds 
 bent chiefly upon work and money-getting. I felt myself 
 vastly superior to them, with their coarse manners and 
 illiterate minds. I should resist any plan that would take 
 me back to live with them. To boil potatoes for the pigs, 
 to bring home the cows and milk them, to wash, iron, 
 and scrub floors had been easy enough to do temporarily, 
 while I lived in the near expectation of something better ; 
 but to go back into a settled state of such servitude, was 
 too wretched a condition to contemplate. I could think 
 
22 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of nothing worse, except going to my aunt Beals at Sun- 
 bridge P^our Corners, wliero I had once spent a winter 
 of torture when I was seven years old. I sometimes 
 queried whether mother had heard of this half-sister of 
 mj father. I was careful not to inform her myself of the 
 relationship. I had reason to keep silent on that head. 
 
 Not a day passed now, that I was not racked with appre- 
 hensions as to what was to become of me. 
 
 " It must be true what mother said," I reflected. " What 
 qualities have I to win friends? Who will ever care for 
 me? I wonder why I was born? I seem to have come 
 into the world simply as one person more. If I were 
 pretty, I might give pleasure to the eye. But I am ugly ! 
 Nobody looks at an ugly girl', nobody cares for her." 
 
 There was a long old-fashioned cracked mirror hang- 
 ing between the two windows of my bedroom. I rarely 
 looked in it for reason of my lack of time to study my 
 own homeliness : I had too many other things to think 
 about ; and, besides, I liked to forget myself. Now, how- 
 ever, I was in the valley of humiliation. It was time I 
 should be made acquainted with the inferiority of my per- 
 "sonal appearance. I dropped the stocking I was darning, 
 and went to the mirror. I examined critically the figure 
 it reflected. I looked at the dull yellow hair, the low fore- 
 head, and big, expressionless blue eyes, the hollow, color- 
 less cheeks ; I looked at the bouy arms and sharp 
 shoulders, the lean stooping figure, — almost as stooping 
 as Mrs. Walker's, the woman I had lived with. Never 
 again would I flatter my sensitive soul I was not as homely 
 as I might have been. What a contrast was I to my 
 mother, with her large black eyes, straight nose, and 
 rounded cheeks ! It was no wonder she turned away from 
 me at first sight with disgust. It was no matter what be- 
 came of me. 1 would think no more about having new 
 clothes, which would only make my ugliness the more ap- 
 parent. If I must go back to the Walkers as a servant, 
 I would ask for nothing, hope for nothing, cate for noth- 
 ing but an early death. To die young would not be so 
 very dreadful, after all, for one who had no beauty, no 
 money, and no friends. 
 
 But one morning, about two weeks after Jamie's death, 
 I awoke in a very different frame of mind. The sense of 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 23 
 
 bereavement was still keen within, to be sure ; but the 
 crushed feeling was all gone, and with it the spirit of 
 humble submissiveness ; 1 felt myself able to resist any 
 disposal of me that seemed unjust. I should not go to 
 the Walkers, let come what might. On that point my 
 mind was made up. 
 
 Perhaps my mother divined my thoughts while I went 
 about my work in her room ; for, as I was quitting her 
 presence, she requested me to stay a few moments. " I 
 have something to say to j'ou, Cordelia," she said, point- 
 ing to a chair opposite to her own, where I sat down. 
 
 " I am intending," she went on, "to go away from 
 Hardcliffe soon, to a place where it will not be convenient 
 to have you with me ; and I wish you would tell me where 
 you would like to go, and what you would like to do." 
 She spoke as if she wished the business off her hands as 
 quickly as possible, that she might return to her books, 
 and think no more about it. 
 
 Now, my highest ambition was to teach school sometime ; 
 and, if I could only go to school long enough to fit myself 
 for a teacher, I felt I should be quite happy. Miss Hart- 
 well, my old school-mistress, — now the preceptress of a' 
 young ladies' institution in Darre, — had promised me, in 
 return for some favor I had been at great pains to do for 
 her, her assistance in securing a school, — a small district 
 school, — provided I would qualify myself for the position, 
 which she considered I might do with one year more of 
 stud}'. But father's intervening sickness and death, and 
 mother's demands upon me, and later Jamie's illness, had 
 quite shut out all consideration of school from my mind ; 
 especially after I had learned from old Peter Williams 
 there was not a penny left to us from the Rivers estate. 
 There would be no use in telling my mother that I would 
 like to go to school, when she had no means to defray the 
 expenses of my further education. But, as there was 
 nothing else I wanted to do, I concluded to venture to 
 express the wish of my heart ; though nothing would come 
 of it except the showing her that I had an ambition above 
 menial labor. So I said boldly, — 
 
 " I would like to go to Darre, and attend Miss Hart- 
 well's school. I would like to study a year there, and fit 
 myself as a teacher." 
 
24 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 It was an absurd demand, and I knew my mother would 
 consider it so. I expected no reply to it. I thought she 
 would send me from the room and say no more about it. 
 But to my astonishment she answered at once, — 
 
 " You shall go to school if you wish, Cordelia. You 
 shall go as soon as I can make the necessary arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 At first I was so bewildered with surprise at her words 
 that I could not speak. I rose from my chair, and then sat 
 down again. I could not comprehend my good fortune ; 
 but, when I did, the boundaries of my life seemed suddenly 
 to expand. I saw a wide perspective of entrancing possi- 
 bihties opening like fairyland before me. Wonder, delight, 
 gratitude, shame, and contrition were all struggling in my 
 mind together. In trying to find words with -which to 
 thank my mother, I remembered how I had misjudged her ; 
 and springing forward, I would have fallen at her feet and 
 begged her forgiveness, had she not suddenly put out both 
 hands and barred my approach. 
 
 " Spare me another wrench, Cordelia. I do not wish 
 for your thanks. Express your gratitude in some other 
 way than talking to me," said she, moving to the mirror, 
 and beginning to unbraid her long hair. " Return to 
 your work, and show me in that way your thankfulness." 
 
 I returned to my work with renewed life and vigor, 
 for I had hope in my heart. The household labor all 
 devolved upon me. Mother had never been accustomed 
 to work of any kind ; and her incapacity made the sim- 
 plest task irksome to her, while her fastidiousness ex- 
 ceeded any I had ever seen. I had been trained to do 
 my work well ; I was nimble and active, never shirking 
 the hardest duty given me to perform. And now, since 
 mother's promise to send me to school, I was ready to 
 double my energy in attendance on her numerous wants. 
 I did not mind the extra pains incurred in preparing her 
 delicate meals, nor shrink from the added toil of " doino- 
 up" her many muslin gowns and petticoats, so long as 
 she would now and then speak a word of commendation, 
 and allude to her plan of sending me to school. There 
 was magic in the very name of school ; and, but for an 
 occasional pang of remorse for having misjudged niy 
 mother, I might have been entirely happy. I felt I could 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 25 
 
 only atone for the unspoken wrong by doing my utmost 
 for her comfort. Day after day I bent over the ironing- 
 table, while every muscle in my lean body ached. And 
 night after night, too tired to sleep, I tossed in waking 
 dreams of school ; planning how I would fit up my room 
 at Darre ; (for I did not doubt that to Miss Hartwell's 
 school at Darre my mother designed to send me) pic- 
 turing my new wardrobe, and wondering how many new 
 gowns my mother would allow me ; and, above all, 
 determining that I would strive to become a distinguished 
 pupil, take the prize in every thing, and astonish Miss 
 Hartwell and the whole school, and compel my mother 
 to respect me if she could not love me. 
 
 I revelled in these delightful waking dreams sometimes 
 " till the eastern gate, all fiery red," opened and sent its 
 rosy beams across the valley to the distant mountain- 
 tops, lighting the purple cloud-like range till it looked 
 like flame against the sky. 
 
26 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Sweet is it to have done the thing we ought 
 When fallen in darker days." 
 
 —Tennyson. 
 
 MEANWHILE the weather was delightful; and 
 mother was out of doors most of the time, roam- 
 ing the woods, or sitting with her books and manuscripts 
 under the pine-trees on the knoll above the garden. 
 
 Such a succession of beautiful days can rarely have 
 been equalled. It seemed as if the season were doing its 
 utmost, in compensation for the bitter, biting winter we 
 had endured. It was scarcely past mid-May, yet the air 
 was laden with perfume ; all the hills, from base to Sum- 
 mit, were flinging out their midsummer richness in a 
 hundred shades of green. Orchards had spread their 
 canopies of pink, fields and meadows their carpets of 
 emerald and gold. May had even opened the roses, and 
 left nothing for June to bestow upon us. 
 
 It was during this spell of delicious weather, three 
 weeks after Jamie's death, that mother one morning took 
 the stage for Darre, and was gone several days. 
 
 I surmised her journey was to make arrangements for 
 my entering Miss Hartwell's school there. She could 
 have no other object in visiting the place, where all were 
 total strangers to her. The large, empty trunk she had 
 taken, I did not doubt, was to bring back the many arti- 
 cles of nice clothing which I stood so nuich in need of. 
 To dress handsomely was one of the small ambitions of 
 my weak mind. I had never had a pretty gown in my 
 life ; most of my clothing, since I could remember, had 
 been made over from my grandmother's ; and the black 
 bombazine and checked mourning muslin, bequeathed me 
 on her death-bed, were now the only garments remainino- 
 intact. I often wished they would wear out faster, and 
 never put them on without feeling they had the best of 
 me in their secret of perpetual age. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 27 
 
 Mother could not help but observe the scantiness of 
 my apparel, seeing me in my patched gowns every day as 
 she did ; but she could never know the degradation I 
 felt when I came in contact with the well-dressed girls of 
 the neighborhood. To be able to hold my liead up 
 among them once more, was one of the satisfaetidns I 
 looked forward to now. 
 
 It was a very natural feeling, and as I look back I do 
 not wonder at it in the least. 
 
 I was not left alone in the old house ; John Blake 
 brought his half-witted, crippled mother to keep me com- 
 pany. As she seldom spoke unless addressed, she was 
 no bar to the full enjoyment of my own thoughts, which 
 were keeping me in a state of perpetual elation. 
 
 The amount of sewing mother had left for me to do 
 was easy enough of accomplishment, while my fingers 
 could keep time to the music in my heart. 
 
 Mother had left Hardcliffe on Tuesday, without mention- 
 ing the day of her return. When Friday came round 
 without bringing her, I began to wonder why she did not 
 return. She must come on Saturdaj' evening I was sure. 
 Before sundown I climbed the hill above the house to 
 watch for the incoming coach, in whith she would arrive. 
 I shall never forget that night, because never again, until 
 I stand on the green hills of heaven, shall I feel such 
 joy of anticipation. Where I stood, I could look down 
 upon Hardcliffe plain. I saw the church with its belfry 
 tower, the populous graveyard, and a few scattered 
 houses, outlined clear and distinct under the crimson sky. 
 A new-born crescent was cradled in the sunset glow ; a 
 few watching stars came out around it. How peaceful 
 was the night ! The vast benignant heavens seemed to 
 embrace me. Far off in the stillness, I heard a wood- 
 thrush singing to his mate. Jamie's question, "Is God 
 good? " recurred to me. Yes, he must be, else he would 
 not have made such a beautiful world. I whispered my 
 nightly prayer to the good God ; and the next moment, 
 hearing the rattle of the coach in the distance, I flew 
 homeward, on the wings of hope: 
 
 I reached the house just as mother descended from the 
 coach. To my rapturous greeting, she answered not a 
 word. The driver carried her trunk into her room, and 
 
28 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 she followed and closed her door. I stood for a moment 
 gazing where she disappeared. I felt something going 
 out of my heart, which, like the dove from the ark, never 
 returned. It was the spirit of trust. I knew my mother 
 had forgotten my existence. Weeks passed, and there 
 was no mention of school, no hint of any purchases for 
 me, no allusion to our leaving Hardeliffe. The shock of 
 disappointment left me listless and ill. At first I could 
 hardly drag myself about the house. Then I rallied and 
 took up the burden of work again. I did my best, and 
 thought no more of my mother's promise. I anticipated 
 nothing. The future was lighted up by no gleams of hope. 
 I had learned at last, bitterly learned, that my mother was 
 not to be depended upon ; that there was no apparent 
 sequence to her acts ; that what she might do to-day had 
 no relation to what she had done yesterday, or would do 
 to-morrow. Her future movements were as inscrutable to 
 my penetration as the other side of the moon. I had no 
 longer any interest in even trying to solve them. 
 
 Occasionally I looked at my worn-out clothes, and 
 thought of my thankless service, and dispassionately con- 
 sidered whether it would be breaking my promise to my 
 father to run away. But where should 1 run to ? I might 
 possibly find my way into York State, where Calista Com- 
 ery was staying. Through her, or her relatives, I might 
 perhaps get a situation as housemaid or nurse. I was a 
 born nurse ; my father had said it more than once. If 
 I only had the money to buy me food as I travelled, I 
 might venture to set out. I could not run away without 
 money, and appear before Calista barefoot and in rags. 
 And yet, with funds provided, it was not hke me to carry 
 out so wild a project. No, I must still keep the letter 
 of my obligation to my father. And I had pride enough 
 still not to subject my mother and myself to further 
 Hardeliffe gossip. I gave up the idea entirely, and let the 
 matter pass from my mind. 
 
 Six weeks passed away ; midsummer came, and with it a 
 change in my affairs, an unthouglit of change. It was 
 a hot morning in July. I had a large ironing to do, and 
 had risen before sunrise to begin it. Later on I prepared 
 mother's breakfast, and saw her set forth, with her lunch- 
 basket and books, towards the shady hillside, where she 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 29 
 
 would probably remain till sunset. Dull books she had 
 taken with her, to my thinking, — "Julius Cffisar " and 
 " The Winter's Tale." I had glanced at the titles while 
 putting them, with the sandwiches and coffee, into her 
 basket. I watched her graceful figure till it disappeared 
 behind the trees. Then I finished scrubbing the floors, 
 put away the remainder of ironing till evening, and took 
 up some mending. I repaired with it to the south portico 
 for a little air. My fingers had become so educated to 
 the business of patchiug and darning, that they could 
 work almost as well with my eyes shut as open. I ex- 
 amined each several garment : a fair sample were they of 
 most of my underclothing, not one that did not show the 
 skill of my handiwork in darning. I smiled as I looked 
 at them, and felt a kind of satisfaction in having done my 
 work so well. I was glad now that I had not taken coun- 
 sel of my anger and indignation, which had prompted me 
 to strip the articles to pieces, and fling them into the rag- 
 bag. We are never sorry for having done our best, even 
 when doing our best rewards us with no gratifying result. 
 I had not shirked one iota of my duty to my mother. I 
 remembered my promise to my father ; and the more she 
 neglected and forgot me, the more scrupulous I became 
 not to neglect or forget her. It was an outward service, 
 to be sure ; because to believe again in my mother had 
 gone beyond my volition. My childish trust had departed 
 forever. At one fell shock I had become a woman, with 
 a heart in which pride and a distorted image of duty 
 alone remained. They had united their claims, and dic- 
 tated what sliould be done. I had done it ; and for my 
 obedience I was having now renewed ability to keep on 
 doing, with a feeling of independence, — the independence 
 of an outcast who has no particular spot, but all the 
 world, for his home. I knew I had the right to demand 
 of my mother the remuneration of at least decent clothes 
 for my labor. But, before I would ask her for them, I 
 would go barefoot and in rags. She had taught me to 
 work without expectation of reward ; and it should go hard 
 with me, but I would better the instruction. 
 
 I plied my needle and thread on the old south porch till 
 every garment was mended. It was a typical midsummer 
 day ; hot stillness brooding over every thing. The buzz 
 
30 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of imprisoned bees among the squash-vines, and the 
 occasional whetting of the mowers' scythes in a distant 
 hayfleld, were all the sounds that floated in on the swel- 
 tering air. I had no dinner to get for mother. 1 was 
 very tired, so I lay down on the long bench in the 
 shade of the porch for a noonday nap. I had scarcely 
 closed my eyes, however, when a click of the gate at the 
 foot of the lane made me open them. I got up to see 
 who was coming at this unseasonable hour, and saw a 
 tall, angular figure approaching, loaded down with bun- 
 dles and boxes and bags. As it came nearer, I sprang 
 forward. Yes, it was, it surely was Calista Comery ! I 
 ran to meet her, crying, " Where on earth did you come 
 from?" I tried to kiss her, forgetting her supreme dis- 
 gust for such demonstrations. 
 
 "Ain't it a hot one?" she gasped, bolting into the 
 kitchen before me, and dropping her bundles on the floor 
 and herself into a chair. 
 
 " Yes, but where did you come from? " was all I could 
 say, in ray utter surprise at her appearance. 
 
 "From uncle Peter's, of course; Where did j'ou 
 suppose I come from ? ' ' 
 
 " I didn't know. I supposed you were in York State. 
 I thought you were going to stay there " — 
 
 "Forever? No, sir; I've got enough of York State 
 to last me for a spell. Your kitchen's hot as blazes. 
 Hand me that palm-leaf fan." She untied and removed 
 her hat. 
 
 " When did you get home? " I asked, as I handed her 
 the required article and glanced at the boxes and bas- 
 kets. 
 
 " Week before last," she answered, plying her fan 
 swiftly. 
 
 " Week before last ! " I repeated ; " and haven't been 
 to see me during all this time." 
 
 " Haven't I been busy though ! I guess j-ou'd think 
 so if you knew what a time I've had with uncle Peter's 
 wife. 'Twixt you and me, Cordeel, she's an awful pep- 
 pery critter. She was possessed to git red of me as soon 
 as I got into the house ; and she's done it. I've left for 
 good; I'ye settled all up with uncle Peter. I sha'n't 
 live there any more. I've lugged these duds every step 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 31 
 
 of the way up here myself. My other things are comin' 
 up this evenin' ou Peeler's hay-wagon." 
 
 " Where are you going to live now? " I asked, fearing 
 she was going to leave town again, perhaps to-morrow. 
 
 "Why, here, of course, long 'er you and your mother. 
 I told uncle Peter I'd never live with his second wife." 
 
 " Here, in this house? " I demanded. 
 
 " Cerfingr-ly ! Why not? " she answered emphatically. 
 "I don't know any reason why I shouldn't live in my 
 own house if I want to." She undid one of her bundles 
 and took out a Shaker sunbonnet, half a dozen early 
 cucumbers, two or three squashes, and her knitting- work. 
 
 " Tour house ! " I exclaimed. " Is this house yours? " 
 
 "I've got a deed of it and the whole farm in my 
 pocket. I guess we'll call it mine, just for greens, you 
 know," said Calista, opening another packet, and taking 
 out some potatoes and a piece of salt pork. " I guess 
 I'll put the vegetables a-b'ilin' now," she added; and, 
 while I stood dumbfounded with amazement, she bustled 
 out and brought in kindlings and light wood, and built 
 a flre in the old fireplace behind the kitchen stove, where 
 I sometimes prepared a meal in the hottest weather. 
 She hung a kettle of water on the crane. " 1 11 have 'em 
 kicken' each other lively in about five minutes," she went 
 on, casting one of her comical side glances at my face as 
 she spoke. I could do nothing but sit down and wonder 
 at it all, as she went flying about the kitchen putting 
 away her things. 
 
 " Did you buy this house of your uncle Peter to live 
 in yourselfl Are you going to ' run the farm ' ? " I asked. 
 
 "Certingly. Ain't I capable of it, don't you think? " 
 
 "Yes — but — but — " I stammered. 
 
 "But what, now, Cordeel? Don't be afraid to speak 
 your mind to me. I ain't your mother," said Calista, dis- 
 appearing into the pantry and re-appearing again. "If 
 you don't like to have me here, just say so. I don't 
 care." 
 
 "Oh, it wasn't that I was thinking of!" I replied 
 quickly. "I was thinking that perhaps mother wouldn't 
 like it." 
 
 "I don't care what your mother likes or don't like," 
 returned Calista with unconcern. " She can stay here a 
 
32 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 spell if she beJmves herself; I sha'n't ask her any rent, 
 and I sha'n't meddle with her concerns if she lets mine 
 alone. I've brought my own provisions. I don't calker- 
 late to live on your mother. Where do you go down 
 suller? I've forgot, I vum ! " 
 
 "This is the door," I said, jumping up and opening 
 it. 
 
 "So 'tis; what a fool I am to f orgit ! Here, Cor- 
 dcel, help me carry down some of these things." She 
 handed me a tin pail. "That's a lump of butter, or 
 was when I started, — all spread out now, I persume. You 
 take that and the rosberry pie, and I'll carry the gin- 
 gerbread and turnovers. Hold it square, so 'twon't 
 bleed ; J wouldn't give a snap for a rosberry pie without 
 the juice." 
 
 "We went down into the cooler region underneath. " I 
 guess my victuals '11 keep here a spell." She sniffed the 
 air of the cellar. " Every thing smells svsreet as a nut 
 here. You keep things neat as a pin, Cordeel, I'll say 
 so much for ye," she added, as we ascended the stairs. 
 
 She drew out the kitchen-table to spread for dinner. 
 " I vum ! " she exclaimed, spying at the next instant the 
 diminishing blaze under her kettle, "I shall have to 
 borrow some more kindlin' wood of ye." She ran out, 
 brought in some sticks, replenished the fire, gave the 
 kettle a little jerk, and returned to the table, informing 
 me, as she put on the dishes, that she should have a cord 
 of wood of her own at the door next d&y, and that her 
 cow and pig and one hen were coming up with it. / 
 
 During this time I was meditating what mother would 
 say at this new state of things, and what would happen 
 when these two diverse characters came to meet. Mother 
 disliked Calista for her rough exterior and plain speech, 
 and had once forbidden me to ask her to come to the 
 house. I wished myself that she was better looking ; 
 that her cheek-bones were not so prominent, and the 
 deep color surmounting them more subdued ; that her 
 hair was finer, and her nose smaller and straighter. I 
 could not wish her eyes different. She had as tender and 
 honest a pair of blue eyes as could be found in all New 
 England. Nor could I wish her spirit kindlier. What 
 was I, that I should criticise her ? I had better look in the 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 33 
 
 glass at myself. I had reason to love her just as she 
 was. Many a time she had opened her purse to make me 
 more comfortable. It was she who had fitted me out so 
 nicely for a winter with my aunt Beate ; and it was she 
 who had received me back again from .that dreadful place, 
 with compassion and righteous indignation. People in 
 Hardcliffe respected her for her honesty and generosity. 
 Squire Percy took off his hat when he met her, and Mrs. 
 Percy had twice honored her with an invitation to tea. 
 Perhaps her money — her grandfather had left her con- 
 siderable property — had something to do with this civil- 
 ity. Hardcliffe aristocracy, like many another, could more 
 easily overlook rough manners with money, than rough 
 manners without that very necessary accompaniment. 
 But my mother was outside the influence of Hardcliffe 
 considerations. She simply detested Calista, and would 
 not endure her presence. No wonder I was pre-occupied 
 and restless, thinking what she would do when she came 
 in and found the latter established here. 
 
 Calista noticed my absent-mindedness. " What's the 
 matter, Cordeel ? What you thinkin' of that makes you 
 so down to the heel? " she asked. 
 
 . " I'm thinking what mother will do now you are 
 here," I answered, smiling rather dubiously. 
 
 " Oh, don't worry a mite about that, Cordeel ! We 
 sha'n't have enny trouble. But how poor you be ! You're 
 nothin' but a rack of bones," said Calista, noticing me 
 attentively for the first time. " Been workin' yourself to 
 death ag'in? " 
 
 " No, there hasn't been much to do since Jamie died," 
 I answered, shrinking as usual from direct questioning. 
 " I suppose you heard of his death?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle Peter wrote me about it. And he went 
 off in consumption, I s'pose, like all the rest of the 
 Riverses, didn't he? None of 'em ever had any more 
 constitution than a piece of wet paper. You look's if 
 you was goin' that way yourself," added Calista bluntly. 
 " Have you got any cough ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of one," I answered testily. I was sensi- 
 tive to any mention of my looks. " I am strong and 
 well. I take after my mother." 
 
 " You ain't a mite like your mother," said Calista. 
 
34 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I'm like her in being always well and strong," I per- 
 sisted. Calista lauglied. 
 
 " Well and strowj ! " she repeated ironically. " Any- 
 body can see it by lookin' at ye. Where is your mother? " 
 
 " Over the hill in the woods, I suppose." 
 
 "Trapses off jest as she used to, don't she? What 
 under the canopy is shea-doin' out in the woods so much? " 
 
 "Studying, 1 suppose. She always carries her books 
 with her." 
 
 "What's she studyin', I'd like to know? She's old 
 enough to stop that business," said Calista contemptu- 
 ously, as she sliced the pork and put it in the spider over 
 the coals. "I guess, 'twixt you and me, Cordeel, that 
 3-our mother is gittin' a little cracked. Joe Peeler told 
 me — you know Joe — that he met her one mornin' 
 comin' down the sled-path; and she was a-talkin' to her- 
 self, and flourishin' her arms round to kill, till she spied 
 him : then she stopped pooty quick. He bowed to her, 
 but she didn't take enny more notice than's if he's a 
 squirrel running 'crost the path. She acts some as Sail 
 Mowers used to. I can jest remember Sail. She come 
 into meetin' once, all stuck over with popple boughs and 
 meader-grass and toad-stools. She walked right straight 
 up to the pulpit, and told the minister he was a dam' fool, 
 and she could preach better'n he could enny day. She 
 rolled them great black eyes jest as I've seen your mother 
 roll hern." 
 
 " My mother isn't crazy, Calista, you know she isn't," 
 I said with some spirit. I was as ready to defend her 
 as I should have been a better parent. 
 
 " I don't say she is, but she acts mighty like it," said 
 Calista. 
 
 Much to my relief, dinner soon engrossed my compan- 
 ion's whole attention, and put a stop to her talk about 
 mother. I was glad she had not yet noticed my patched 
 gown. 
 
 After dinner she went about over the farm, and made a 
 critical examination of her newly acquired property, to 
 see what improvements would have to be made directly. 
 I remained in-doors to sew, getting more aud more ex- 
 cited as I thought about mother.' She would not be 
 likely to return till sundown, and that would not come 
 for several hours. How I dreaded to see her ! 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 35 
 
 rv. 
 
 " Turnpike is one thing, blue sky another." 
 
 — Emebbon. 
 
 CALISTA was quite elated to find the barn, and the 
 fences about it and about the fields, in such toler- 
 able repair. The farmer who had had charge of the land 
 for several years, she pronounced an honest and thrifty 
 manager. She was not so much pleased over the condi- 
 tion of the house. The old north rooms, originally the 
 main portion of the structure, — having been built dur- 
 ing the Kevolution by an old Tory, General Eugg, and 
 afterwards purchased by my great-grandfather. Colonel 
 Rivers, — she declared should be removed altogether, and 
 all the old broken furniture they contained used for fuel. 
 Calista detested ancient and rickety things ; she had no 
 respect for old persons, simply because they were old. 
 She looked with disgust at the heavy cross-beams of the 
 ceilings, and the curiously carved chimney-pieces and 
 mouldings., She had no imagination to be kindled over 
 their history. She never thought what dark passion, and 
 cruel purpose, and mean revenge had had life in these 
 rooms, the secret of which might still be imprisoned in 
 the old timbers, like Ariel in the pine. Where wild 
 romance and mystery lurked for me, she saw only dust 
 and decay. 
 
 The habitable southern portion of the house, of less 
 ancient date, displeased her with its irregularity. So 
 many juts and angles, and such queer juxtaposition of 
 big windows and little ones, suggested chaos to her 
 ■orderly mind. My mother's room was the only decent 
 one, she said. All the other " cubby- hole " partitions 
 she declared should be taken down ; the old hip-roof 
 stripped off: in short, the whole rambling structure — 
 at every corner of which a room had been added, from 
 generation to generation, regardless of all law of symme- 
 
36 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 try — should be made over square and trim ; and then it 
 should be painted white, and have green window-blinds, 
 and be enclosed with a white picket-fence. She_ declared 
 she would modernize every thing, till that wicked old 
 Tory and my equally wicked great-grandfather should 
 rise up in their graves and knock their skulls together 
 with astonishment. 
 
 At six o'clock Calista's supper was ready; and she 
 came out where I was sitting on the porch hemming ruf- 
 fles for mother's new petticoats, and requested me to par- 
 take of the hospitality of her board. And when I 
 declined, on the plea of not being hungry, she took me up 
 bodily and bore me to the tea-table. There she heaped 
 my plate with food, poured me a cup of strong tea, — the 
 best old Hyson, she averred, — and bade me eat and 
 drink and be decent. " You need filling up with good 
 victuals ; that's all you need, except rest," said Calista. 
 
 To please her I ate and drank a little, while the trem- 
 bling expectation of seeing mother glide in upon us at any 
 moment debarred me from all enjoyment of the occasion. 
 Calista, on the contrary, had quite forgotten mother ; and, 
 with an appetite that never failed, she ate heartily and 
 drained the tea-pot dry. She was tipping the last saucer- 
 full of old Hyson to her lips just as a loud clang of 
 the brass knocker on the front door resounded through the 
 house. I jumped to my feet. 
 
 " What's the matter?" said Calista coolly. 
 
 "Why, somebody is knocking at the front entrance," 
 I whispered. " Who can it be? " 
 
 " Square Percy, I persume likely," said my companion. 
 '' He said he'd call and git my deed to be recorded when 
 he went to Darre." She hastened to answer the call; 
 while I ran up-stairs to the little window that projected 
 sutBciently to give a full view of the front porch, to see 
 who had arrived. I saw a stranger, a sallow, middle- 
 aged man, standing with his back to the door, looking off 
 across the meadows, perhaps to the distant mountain- 
 range that showed blue like a cloud along the horizon. 
 There was a horse and chaise at the foot of the lane ; and, 
 by the position of the same, I judged the stranger had 
 come up on the Darre road. 
 
 The front-door, to my knowledge, had not been unclosed 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 37 
 
 since father's funeral. Calista tugged at th,e rusty bolt 
 for some moments, and then was obliged to direct the 
 stranger to the south door, where I found him a little 
 later, with his hat in his hand, inquiring in the politest 
 manner for Mrs. Rivers. 
 
 " She's'off in the woods somewhere; the Lord knows 
 where, I don't," said Calista bluntly. 
 
 "Can you inform me when she will be likely to return? " 
 asked the stranger blandly. 
 
 Calista turned to where I was standing behind her, — 
 able to see without being seen, — and inquired, — 
 
 " What time does your mother ginefally get in? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the man, stepping over the 
 threshold quickly. " Is Mrs. Rivers's daughter here, and 
 can I speak with her? " 
 
 "Certingly," said Calista; and before I could resist 
 the action she had pushed me out before her, in my 
 patched gown and ragged boots, into the gentleman's 
 sight. I was red with shame and vexation. The man, 
 however, took no notice of my attire. His dull, expres- 
 sionless eyes looked straight into mine as he asked 
 politely, — 
 
 " You are Mrs. Rivers's daughter? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you pardon me if I ask your age? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. I am fourteen." 
 
 "Your father, I suppose, is not living? I used to 
 know your father. He died in the autumn, did he 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; the 10th of last October." 
 
 "And you were fourteen in September? What day 
 of the month did you say? " 
 
 " I did not say ; but it was the 17th." 
 
 " You have no brothers and sisters? " 
 
 " No, sir. I had a brother, but he is dead." 
 
 " He died, I suppose, some time ago? " 
 
 " No, sir, only last May." 
 
 " I suppose your mother is very fond of you, now that 
 you are her only child? " The gentleman's smile became 
 more extended, showing an even set of very white teeth 
 under his brown mustache. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered, instantly crimsoning over the 
 
38 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 lie. That lie lay heavy ou my conscience for months 
 afterwards. 
 
 " How long before your mother will probably be in? " 
 
 " She usually comes in about sundown. Will you walk 
 in and wait for her? " I said. 
 
 "No, thank you," said the stranger; "I will walk 
 about the grounds till she returns." He looked at his 
 watch. " It will not be long to sunset. You have a fine 
 view to the north from here. The scenery is very wild 
 and beautiful in this part of the country." 
 
 Before he had finished speaking I saw mother emerging 
 from the pine thicket on the hill across the field. I pointed 
 her out to the gentleman. 
 
 " I will go and meet her," said he. He lifted his hat, 
 walked rapidly down the lane, out into the field, and met 
 her just as she had crossed the brook. 
 
 I watched them as they approached each other. I could 
 not tell if they were strangers ; they did not shake hands. 
 They returned slowly to the house, and sat down in the 
 chairs under the elm, where we could see them plainly. 
 He would not permit mother to occupy her chair till he 
 had brushed the leaves from it with his white handkerchief. 
 So deferential a gentleman it had never been my lot to 
 look upon. He excelled Squire Percy in politeness. I 
 told Calista so. 
 
 "He's a great sight too polite to suit me," she an- 
 swered, with some disgust. " Look at him now, Cordeel. 
 He's up scrapin' and bowin' ag'in, as sure as you're alive. 
 I should git sick 'er that man in no time." 
 
 " I wonder who he can be," I said, puzzled to under- 
 stand why he should be smiling and gesticulating, when 
 mother was not smiling at all. 
 
 " Perhaps it's some book pedler or essence feller, tryin' 
 to sell her some of his stuff," remarked Calista. 
 
 " Oh, no ! it isn't a pedler," I said. 
 
 " Mabby it's somebody wants to marry your mother," 
 she suggested again. 
 
 " How can you say that? You know mother wouldn't 
 marry. In any case, /know she wouldn't." 
 
 " Wa'al, I guess he would, by his actions. Look at 
 him, Cordeel. He's a-prancin' round her some more. 
 He acts as if he'd like to eat her up. Oh, sugar ! " with 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 39 
 
 which exclamation she turned on her heel, and went to 
 gathering up the supper dishes, too disgusted to watch the 
 stranger longer. 
 
 The gentleman did indeed seem' greatly to admire 
 mother, while she did not seem to be at all impressed by 
 his pleasant words and smiles. She had taken off her 
 broad-brimmed hat, and was listening very intently, but 
 very gravely, to what he was saying. For half an hour 
 they remained in this way. Then with a low bending of 
 his slim figure, and a gracious smile, he toolc leave of the 
 lady, and hurried down the lane. I watched him untie 
 his horse, leap into the chaise, and drive away towards 
 Darre at a rapid pace. 
 
 Mother sat awhile where the stranger had left her : 
 then she came in without seeing Calista, and rang for her 
 supper. It was soon ready for her. I carried in the 
 omelette hot from the griddle. Calista proposed to follow 
 with a plate of turnovers from her own larder, but I per- 
 suaded her to wait till I could ascertain if they would be 
 acceptable. I had no intention of mentioning the gift. 
 What I wanted was to keep Calista from mother's notice 
 as long as possible. 
 
 "Mother doesn't like turnovers," I said when I re- 
 turned to the kitchen. 
 
 "Then she doesn't like what's good," said Calista. 
 " Did you tell her I'd bought the place? " 
 
 " No ; there will be time enough to tell her to-morrow. 
 She had better not know" to-night that you are here," I 
 said. 
 
 " \^hy, what you 'fraid of, Cordeel? "We sha'n't have 
 no trouble. I'm a-goin' to speak to her now. She'll be 
 good-natured while she's eatin' her supper." 
 
 She started for the door, but I caught her by the arm. 
 "Wait, wait, please, till morning," I pleaded. At that 
 moment, mother's bell rang again sharply. 
 
 " Lord's sake ! " she ejaculated. "There's that old 
 bell again. She's rung it six times for ye. What under 
 the sun you got to do for her now ? Pick up her pocket- 
 han'kerchi'f, I s'pose, and wipe her precious nose. 
 You're a reg'lar nigger to that woman, Cordeel. Why 
 don't you let her wait on herself? " 
 
 " She's never been used to it," I said. 
 
40 T)VO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " She'd git used to it, if J was you," said Calista. 
 
 " There's your load of goods coming iuto the yard," I 
 said, as I turned by the window to obey mother's call. 
 I was trembling inwardly at the thought of what mother 
 would do when she saw it coming up to the door. But 
 she did not see it. Neither did she appear to hear any 
 thing of the bustle going on outside. When I entered 
 the room, she was standing before the old pier-glass, 
 unbraidiug her long black hair, and letting it fall all about 
 her figure : it reached almost to her feet. I saw the 
 reflection of her face in the mirror, and read excitement 
 in it. It seemed as if her drooping eyelids emitted sparks 
 of Are from under them. Something engrossed her mind 
 to the exclusion of any sense of sight and sound ; other- 
 wise she must have noticed the loud talking and laughing, 
 and running up and down stairs. She had summoned me 
 to remove the supper-dishes, but was entirely oblivious 
 of my entrance and exit. 
 
 Half an hour later she woke up from her absent-mind- 
 edness sufficiently to discover that something unusual 
 was going on in the house. She rung her bell to call me 
 to her presence. 
 
 "Who is in the kitchen?" she demanded when I 
 appeared. 
 
 "Calista Comery," I said, knowing the dreaded hour 
 had come. 
 
 " What is her business here? " she inquired. 
 
 There was nothing to be gained by keeping any of the 
 truth back now. I explained to her as concisely as I was 
 able the whole business, while she listened as unmoved as 
 if the recital had no reference to her affairs whatever. 
 
 " Tell Miss Comery to come to my room," said mother. 
 
 The haughty command sounded ominous in my ears. 
 I had reason to dread a collision between these two strong 
 characters, to each of whom I was bound in peculiar 
 fashion. 
 
 Calista obeyed the summons with alacrity. She stood 
 in no awe of Mrs. Rivers. Indeed, she stood in no awe 
 of any created being. Queen Victoria herself she would 
 have addressed with the same freedom she would use iu 
 speaking to Johnny Blake's mother. She had no favor 
 to ask of Mrs. Elvers, and she cared no more for her 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 41 
 
 moods than for the Cham's of Tartary. She had a favor 
 to confer upon the lady : she was ready to offer her a 
 home here if she chose to accept it, provided she would 
 "behave herself." It was the result of this very kind 
 offer I was dreading so much. The good Calista, so un- 
 skilled in tact, would be sure to speak too plainly, and 
 offend mother. I could not bear to think of remaining in 
 the house during their meeting ; and to be out of ear-shot 
 of Calista's loud talking, I ran, coward-like, away across 
 the field to the hollow, and lay down on the mossy bank 
 of the brook, my usual place of resort when the tension 
 of my nerves was greater than I could bear. To lie 
 there at such times, was to me like resting on the breast 
 of a tender mother. The sound of the wind among the 
 trees and the tinkle of the brook were like a soft lullaby. 
 The evening was cooler than the day had been. The ris- 
 ing breeze was gathering force, lightning played above 
 the dim mountain-tops, and ere long I heard the mut- 
 tering of thunder. Soon the sky began to darken. But 
 not till a drop of rain fell upon my face, reminding me 
 that I must go home and prepare my bedroom for the in- 
 coming shower, would I rise from my luxurious couch. 
 How I wished I might remain all night upon it, and re- 
 ceive the rain as the parched earth would do, and awake 
 in the morning, like the buttercups and daisies, refreshed 
 and strengthened ! To lie here and be drenched would be 
 idyllic ; to be drenched in bed, at home, was quite another 
 thing. I rose and turned my steps homewards ; but, be- 
 fore I reached the house, the clouds had parted, and the 
 stars were shining again. The shower had passed over 
 to the south-west. 
 
 I found the house dark and quiet enough. Calista was 
 up-stairs putting away articles of her wardrobe in the 
 empty chest of drawers she had discovered in one of the 
 unoccupied rooms, and had had removed to mj' chamber, 
 the accommodations of which slie was to share with me 
 for the present. What nice clothing she possessed ! A 
 pang of envy shot through me at the sight of the many 
 silk and cashmere gowns she was unfolding, to hang away 
 in the morning. I should have deemed myself rich witii 
 even one of them. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Calista, at first sight of me, "I've 
 
42 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 fixed things as slick as a pin with yer mother. You aud 
 she air goin' to occerpy here about six weeks longer, 
 and then you're goin' away." iShe spoke In such loud 
 voice it jarred upon me, I had been used so long to 
 mother's low tones. 
 
 " Where are we going? " I asked in a whisper. 
 
 " Oh, I douo' where you're goin' ! I b'leeve I asked 
 your mother, too, where she thought of settlin' . But she 
 didn't tell me. Come to think on't, I guess / did most of 
 the tellin'. I don't care who knows my bisness," said 
 Calista, spreading a paper in one of the old drawers, to 
 lay her laces on. " Your mother's mighty private. She's 
 a queer woman, Cordeel, — that mother of j-our'n." 
 
 " Was she pleasant with you? " I inquired. 
 
 " Pleasant as a basket of chips. I never see her so 
 pleasant before. She thanked me like a lady, when I 
 told her she could stay here till fall if she wanted to. 
 She can appear very well, when she's a mind ter, I vum." 
 
 " You didn't mention my name, I hope." 
 
 " No; but I'm goin' to in the mornin'. I'm goin' to 
 tell her she's workin' you to death." 
 
 " You mustn't do any such thing, Calista. You must 
 promise me you will not." 
 
 '• Oh, I don't never make promises ! " said she ; " 'cause 
 ef I git mad, I'm sure to break 'em." 
 
 "But you must give me your word not to say any 
 thiug to mother about me, Calista, or I shall be very 
 unhappy " — 
 
 " I can't promise," said Calista stubbornly. 
 
 "You must. If you don't, I won't go to bed to- 
 night," I threatened; "and in the morning I'll run 
 away." 
 
 At last, by dint of much entreaty, Calista consented to 
 say nothing to mother about me till I gave her permission 
 to do so ; and, with a little more talk, we fell asleep. 
 We had not slept long before a crash of thunder awoke 
 me. I sprang out of bed, lighted the candle, and tried 
 to rouse Calista. She was sleeping heavily enough. 
 
 "Wake up, wake up," I cried, "and look after your 
 dresses and things ! It's raining in torrents. We must 
 push the bed towards the fireplace, or we shall be del- 
 uged." 
 
TWO GENTLEMAN OF BOSTON. 43 
 
 "What's all this fuss for?" said Calista, cross at 
 being so summarily bidden to leave her comfortable bed. 
 "I s'posed this room didn't leak. A pooty how-de-do, 
 to be drowned out'er house and home the very fust night 
 you occerpy ! I wish Nate Eussell was ter home ; I'd 
 strip the roof off to-morrer. I shall hev to patch it up, 
 I s'pose, till he gits home." 
 
 I could scarcely hear a word she was saying, for tlie 
 rush and crash of the hail and thunder. We succeeded 
 in getting the bed removed ; and then I ran do^n-stairs 
 for something to catch the rain, which was pouring down 
 into the room in large streams, and threatening destruc- 
 tion to Calista's clothes. I secured two pails and a 
 keeler ; and, the kitchen-staircase being steep and nar- 
 row, I returned by the broader front staircase to our bed- 
 room. I carried a nearly burned-out candle in the hand 
 that held the keeler ; and, in turning at the second land- 
 ing of the stairway, said candle turned a summersault into 
 the bottom of said keeier, and went out. It was very 
 dark. The old-fashioned casement-window, lighting the 
 passage by day, was not even outlined to my gaze. I 
 was obliged to wait for the flashes of lightning, whicli 
 instantaneously followed the crashes of thunder, to guide 
 me on my way. 
 
 I wondered if mother were awake ; and, happening to 
 turn my eyes towards her door just as a vivid sheet of 
 electric flame filled the hall, I saw her standing on the 
 threshold looking up at me. I saw her as plainly as I 
 had ever seen her in my life before, as plainly as I have 
 ever seen her since. I noted, in that instant's flash, every 
 detail of her dress, — the crimson robe, the white satin 
 petticoat, the white lace over ivory arms and neck, the 
 white-plumed hat, and the long braids of black hair fall- 
 ing to her knees. It was no illusion of my brain, even 
 tliough the next flash revealed nothing of the kind. I 
 was so astonished that I forgot how I was laden, and let 
 the keeler slip from my hold, and go tumbling down the 
 stairs. Calista, who was groping her -way towards the stair- 
 case head, shouted the inquiry if I had broken my neck. 
 
 "Hush!" I said. " You'll disturb mother. My keeler 
 slipped out of my hand. Bring me a candle, please, to 
 find it. We mustn't wake mother by loud talking." , 
 
44 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Wa'al, I guess if thunder and lightning and hail- 
 stones don't disturb her, my talk won't," said Calista, 
 without lowering her tone. " Here, give me your pails : 
 the rain is comin' in kerslosh onto my things. I didn't 
 s'pose the roof was a cullender. Uncle Peter shall pay 
 every cent for fixin' up the holes, till I can get the roof 
 off. I don't see how anybody could let a place run down 
 so." She took the pails, carried them to our chamber, 
 brought back a freshly lighted candle, received the re- 
 stored keeler, and kept on with her loud scolding. She 
 spared nobody for relation's sake. " Your father's the 
 one to blame," she continued. " I never see such a shift- 
 less manager. If he'd spent his money fixin' up the 
 place here, instid er buyin' a lot of Western laud that 
 don't amount to shucks, you might have been settin' in 
 yer silks and satins now, without liftin' your fingerT;o do 
 a chore of work. Your father's money never did any- 
 body a mite of good. 'Twould er been better for all on 
 ye ef he'd had to work for a living. He wouldn't er 
 been so shiftless, mabby, then." 
 
 I felt not the least anger at her words. No one had 
 been kinder to my father during his sickness than Calista. 
 No one had defended him more stoutly against the very 
 accusations she was now uttering in her impatience of 
 the moment. Everybody knew that Calista's bark was 
 worse than her bite, and that she was too tender-hearted 
 to cut off a chicken's head, — a thing I had often done. 
 
 I could not help laughiug at the figure she presented, 
 swinging the mop I had brought up from the kitchen, 
 aggressively before her. In her single undergarment, 
 with hftr muscular arms bare, her rough hair standing out 
 in all directions, she reminded me of one of the excited 
 women I had seen in a picture of the French Revolution 
 of 17y'J, — a picture that hung in Squire Percy's front 
 hall. 
 
 It was approaching dawn when the rain ceased falling 
 and I got to bed. An ambitious young cockerel had 
 already tried his voice in an early matin-call under our 
 windows. When Calista had quenched his- ardor by drop- 
 ping her mop and a pail of water ui)on liim, she consented 
 ti_) return to her couch, where she instant!}' fell to snoring 
 at such a rate as to preclude all possibility of sleep for 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 45 
 
 me. I had enough to keep me wakeful, however, had 
 Morpheus been my bedfellow. I was thinking how my 
 mother could have come into possession of such magnifi- 
 cent dresses, and for what purpose she could have them, 
 and why she should put them on here in the old house, 
 and especially at the unseasonable hour of midnight. I 
 wondered what she would be doing next to astonish and 
 perplex me. I had not long to wait to find out. 
 
 At six o'clock her bell rang for me to come to her 
 room ; and, as never before, I found her up and dressed 
 and ready for her breakfast. She was also in complete 
 readiness for a journey, — a longer journey than to Darre, 
 I conjectured, when I saw the preparations she had mad'e. 
 Almost every thing that belonged to her was packed in 
 the three large trunks, one of which slie was to take with 
 her, she said. The other two she directed me to strap 
 and push baels; into the closet, under the shelf, where I 
 was to fold away the blankets of her bed for the time 
 she should be absent, wliich she informed me would not 
 be likely to exceed a fortnight. I was to see the post- 
 master on the plain, and direct him to retain her letters 
 till such time as she should return, or till she could in- 
 form him where they might be remailed to her. She 
 wished her room during her absence to remain closed and 
 unoccupied. 
 
 "I shall depend upon you, Cordelia, to see that my 
 wish in this respect is strictly carried out," she said 
 coldly. "Here is some money to buy what you may need 
 while I am awaj'." She handed me five dollars in Darre 
 bank-bills. 
 
 " Is it mine," I asked, " to spend as I please for my- 
 self?" I had never had so much money at once given 
 me in my life. In an instant I was thinking of the shoes 
 and stockings and print dress it would buy ; yes, and 
 perhaps too the pretty neck-ribbon I so coveted and 
 longed for in the showcase of the store at Hardcliffe 
 plain. I was dizzy with bewilderment. 
 
 " It is for your needs while I am away," she answered 
 as coldly as before. She spoke, too, with a weary air, as 
 if what she was obliged to say to me was distasteful and 
 heavy business for her. She was a strange woman in- 
 deed. I looked at her nunlike face and dress ; at the 
 
46 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 plain black bonnet and cloak she was putting on, both as 
 bare of trimming as a Sister of Mercy's ; and wondered 
 if she could be the same woman I had seen in gorgeous 
 attire but a few hours before ? 
 
 Yes, it was the same woman ; it was no dream I had 
 had. I had seen her then as really as I saw her now. 
 But oh the mystery of it, the mystery of it ! Would it 
 ever be made plain to me ? 
 
 I had put out the usual signal for the coach, and that 
 rickety vehicle was soon rattling in at the south gateway. 
 Just as mother stepped out to enter it, Calista appeared, 
 armed and equipped for a morning tramp to the " Hol- 
 low," a little neighborhood of rough people three miles 
 below the grist-mill, where she hoped to negotiate for 
 some hens, and at the same time hunt up an unemployed 
 hand to mend the roof and make it passably comfortable 
 till such time as her friend Nate Russell should appear 
 and begin repairs. She was in fine spirits. 
 
 " Good-by, Miss Rivers," she called out loudly and 
 heartily to mother. But that lady did uot appear to hear 
 her or see her. She appeared to hear and see nothing. 
 She got into the coach without turning to say farewell to 
 me ; though I kept close to her, waiting to answer her 
 good-by, till the driver climbed to his seat. I even 
 waited afterwards, thinking she might, perhaps, wave her 
 hand to me from the window. 
 
 "Well, I vum ! " said Calista, lingering also to look 
 after the vanishing coach. "She beats the Dutch! 
 Last night as perlite as you please, and this mornin' not 
 a word to fling at a hen 1 Where's she goin' so sudden 
 all-ter-once, bag and baggage? " 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," I said, turning into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "And I'm sure I don't care," said Calista, turning 
 down the lane. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 47 
 
 V. 
 
 "If you believe in Fate to your harm, believe it at least for your good." 
 
 — Bmebson. 
 
 Two hours later Calista returned and found a delicious 
 breakfast awaiting her in the kitchen, — mashed pota- 
 toes and cream, white biscuit, crisp toast, fragrant coffee, 
 and an omelette as light as a golden cloud. She surveyed 
 the tempting array with an affected frown at first ; but her 
 honest blue eyes always got the better of her attempts at 
 deception. " Now, XJordeel Rivers," she said, slapping 
 my thin shoulder, "I want you to understand that you 
 ain't goin' to be my nigger. I calkerlate to do my own 
 work, and I calkerlate you are goin' to rest. To tell the 
 plain truth, I'm glad your mother's gone. We shall have 
 a plaguey sight better time without her. New, don't you 
 think so yourself, Cordeel? How long is she goin' to 
 stay?" 
 
 " Two weeks," said I, preparing Calista's cup of coffee 
 as I always prepared mother's. 
 
 " I wish it was two months," said she, sipping a little 
 of the hot beverage to see if she liiied it. She was not 
 used to mother's kind of coffee. 
 
 " Is the omelette cooked to suit you? " I inquired, when 
 she had dulled the edge of hunger with a sample from each 
 dish, and pronounced them all good. 
 
 " First rate — just melts in my mouth. Put in cream, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 " Yes, a cupful ; all there was left after mother's break- 
 fast. 1 suppose we shall have to do without cream till 
 mother gets back, unless you engage John to bring it from 
 his grandmother's. Her butter and cream are the nicest 
 you can find in the neighborhood. John will bring both 
 every morning, if you want them," I informed her. 
 
 " What do I want of Miss Blake's butter and cream? " 
 said Calista, helping herself to more food. "I've got a 
 
48 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 cow of my own, and can make my own butter, and have 
 all the cream I want besides. But why don't you eat 
 some breakfast yourself, C'ordeel?" 
 
 "Oh, I never eat in the morning ! " I replied. 
 
 " No, nor at noon either," said Calista. 
 
 "But I'm always hungry at supper time, you know." 
 When Calista had finished her meal, I began to pick up 
 the dishes to be washed, as I was accustomed to do. 
 
 " Look here, my little woman," said Calista, grasping 
 my arm, " j'ou jest let them dishes alone. You've got to 
 mind me now. These dishes are mine, — everything in 
 this house is mine, and I'm goin' to have my say about 
 'em ; and my say is, that j'ou don't touch one of 'em, 
 that you don't do a stitch of house-work while your 
 mother's gone. You may help me take care of the critters 
 at the barn, if you want to. I aha'n't mind what you do 
 out-doors, you may roll down hill, or climb the trees, or 
 wade in the brook, or go to sleep under the pines, but 
 you ain't goin' to work : that's decided. I put my foot 
 down there." 
 
 " But, Calista, you must remember " — I began. 
 
 "I won't hear a word you say," she interrupted, pla- 
 cing her strong arms under mine and carrying me out of 
 doors ; while I laughed till I was helpless, and could not 
 do otherwise than promise to obey her. 
 
 Later in the forenoon she took me across the road to 
 the barn, to see the hens she had purchased, which had 
 just arrived ; and to the pig-pen to h^ok at the shote that 
 had come up with the cow in the early morning. 
 
 When we returned to the house, she made me lie down 
 on the old settle bj^ the kitchen fireplace, with a pillow 
 under my head, while she went briskly about her work, 
 singing the same old tunes she used to sing at grand- 
 mother's when I was a little girl ; and I went to sleep 
 hearing them, just as I used to do then. 
 
 I awoke at dinner-time with something of an appetite, 
 which pleased Calista greatly ; and nothing would sulHce 
 her, but that I should go to sleep in the afternoon again. 
 
 When I awoke from this later nap, Calista was missing. 
 I sought her everywhere, and found her at last in mother's 
 room, sitting in a large easy-chair by one of the open win- 
 dows, knitting on her " African " as she called it. They 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 49 
 
 were all the rage, she had informed me, iu York ; that 
 everybody was " dead set making Africans, sofa- Africans 
 — things to put over you when you lay down," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " Coolest place in the house, this is," said Calista as I 
 entered. She had flung open all the shutters. " I think 
 we'd better take it for our settin'-room, Cordeel. What 
 do you say to it? " I was not able to say any thing just 
 then. 
 
 " Where are the blankets that b'long to this old sofa- 
 bed, Cordeel ? ' ' she asked, rising to open another window. 
 
 "They are folded and laid away on the shelf in the 
 closet," I replied, pointing to a door that led out of the 
 alcove at the other end of the room. 
 
 " What do you say to turning the old thing over into a 
 bed, and sleepin' in here, Cordeel? We sha'n't get wet 
 here, if a shower comes up in the night. I've brought 
 all my best clothes down, and hung 'em up in the other 
 closet there. We can sleep here if it rains, anyway, 
 can't we? " 
 
 "Oh, I would rather not " — I stopped suddenly. I 
 hated to anger her, kind as she was, by saying that 
 mother had given orders not to have her room used. 
 But I must tell her, I must do my duty so far as I was 
 able by mother, cruel as she was, and kind as Calista 
 was ; not because I loved the woman that bore me, or 
 stood in servile fear of her, — in my inmost heart I 
 wished I might never see her again, — but because of a 
 morbid anxiety to keep in every particular my promise to 
 my father. " Conscience doth make cowards of us all." 
 It was fast making an idiot of me. 
 
 " Eather not? " said Calista. " Oh, I know why ! It's 
 because your father died in here. Nonsense, Cordeel! " 
 
 "No, it isn't that. I didn't tell you, did I, that 
 mother left word not to have her room occupied?" 
 
 " No, you didn't. What a pity ! " said Calista, with a 
 comical twist of her features, that always made me 
 laugh till now. " She don't want her room occerpied, 
 eh? May be you can tell me where her room is. I hain't 
 seen it yet." 
 
 " Why, you know she calls this her room, while her 
 things are in it," I timidly explained. 
 
50 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Her things!" repeated Calista angrily. "I don't 
 see any of her things here. She's got two big trunks in 
 the closet ; and that thing there, with the granther-long- 
 legs painted on it, what do you call it? " 
 
 " Screen, do you mean? " I said. 
 
 " Yes, that's her'n ; and them old rugs, I suppose." 
 
 "Those rugs are from India, very expensive ones," I 
 explained, "presents to her from an English friend. 
 She thinks a great deal of them on that account." 
 
 " She's welcome to 'em, for all me. I don't want 'em ; 
 I wouldn't take 'em as a gift," said Calista. " All I 
 want is my own things. Uncle Peter bought every identic 
 dud in this house, and I bought 'em of him when I 
 bought the house. Your father had to sell 'em, had to 
 sell every thing ; and then there wasn't enough after the 
 mortgage to pay the doctor's bill and funeral expenses. 
 This room is mine, I want you to understand ; and I 
 shall set in it, and sleep in it, and eat in it, and wash in 
 it, and iron in it, and bake in it, and turn summersaults 
 in it, if I want to, for all her ! Do you understand the 
 business now?" turning round upon me suddenly. 
 
 " Perfectlj'," I answered. 
 
 " Have you any thing to say against it? " 
 
 " Not a word. I know, Calista, that everj- thing here 
 is yours." I flung my arms around her neck, and laid my 
 head on her shoulder. Her anger subsided immediately. 
 
 " Run out behind the barn, Cordeel, and look at the 
 turkeys Uncle Peter brought up while you were asleep. 
 There's twelve of 'em. I wish I had as many ducks," 
 she said. 
 
 After this little unpleasantness, we both avoided speak- 
 ing of mother for a long time, — I, because I was morbidly 
 sensitive on the subject ; and Calista, because she wished 
 to spare me just then the infliction of pain. It was some- 
 thing new for Calista to practise self-denial of this sort ; 
 and the very fact of her doing it showed how much she 
 cared for me. 
 
 She did not abate her kindness as the days went on. 
 She kept me out of doors most of the time, doing errands 
 here and there, carrying messages to different laborers on 
 the farm, that I might have the satisfaction of serving 
 her, while at the same time I drew in health and strength 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 51 
 
 from the invigorating air of the neighborhood. And I 
 liked nothing better than to run over fields and meadows, 
 leap fences and walls, and climb ledges, and bring home 
 to my kind friend baskets laden with berries and wild 
 flowers. 
 
 The fresh air and sunshine acted upon my senses like 
 wine. I felt an elasticity of spirit thrilling every fibre of 
 my lean body. I began to have an appetite for food, 
 grew stronger, and actually gathered enough flesh to 
 cover my bones ; and so sunburned did I become, that 
 John Blake's mother mistook me for one of the gypsies 
 camping on East Hill. 
 
 Calista was out of the house a good deal herself, look- 
 ing after the interests of her farm, purchasing stock, 
 bargaining with workmen and lumber-dealers, and occa- 
 sionally riding over to Darre to consult carpenters about 
 different plans for repairing the old house. Her energy 
 seemed inexhaustible. It was her habit to take no rest till 
 after supper. Then she took her ease in her inn, — that is, 
 in mother's room, — where she opened every window and 
 door for freer access of air, and let flies, mosquitoes, and 
 other winged terrors sail in and out at their own sweet will. 
 The aspect of the room was quite changed. Mother had 
 not been away three days, before Calista had converted 
 the adjustable sofa into a stationary bed, to be ready 
 for occupancy in ease of rain, crowned the mirror with 
 peacock feathers aud illuminated eggshells, hung crayon 
 pictures — of her own drawing, in frames of her own 
 manufacture — on the walls, covered the floor-matting 
 with home-made rugs ; which, with various other little 
 changes before the fortnight went, wiped out every trace 
 of mother's individuality as if she had never been there. 
 
 At the end of the fortnight mother did not appear. 
 Another two weeks passed, and still she did not come. 
 Of course I was not surprised. No unlikely thing that 
 she might do could surprise me now. I had learned, 
 bitterly learned, that she was not to be judged by ordi- 
 nary standards, or depended on like ordinary mothers. 
 
 I was wicked enough to wish sometimes that she would 
 not come back at all, but send for her trunks, and leave 
 me to live with Calista always. For I liked this wild life 
 of absolute freedom ; this abandonment to the enchant- 
 
52 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ment of wood and stream, green fields and blue sky ; this 
 Bohemian disregard of the necessities of the morrow ; 
 and was only miserable when I thought it must come to 
 an end, when I must consider my poverty and rags, and 
 leave it to Fate no longer to do her best or her worst for 
 me. 
 
 Calista was spoiling me fast with this indulgence of 
 out-door life. I was in danger of being ruined now by 
 "too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty." I shunned the 
 habitations of men, and was glad when Calista did not 
 press me to accompany her on her afternoon visits to the 
 neiglibors, where they would have inspected my clothes, 
 and asked questions about mother, and made me unhappy 
 with their unfeeling remarks about my looks. For I did 
 not grow any the less sensitive to observations on my 
 personal appearance. I preferred the society of dumb 
 creatures, — the cows in the pastures, and the birds that 
 fed out of my hand, and the lilies of the field that nodded 
 their golden heads to me as I ran among them. They 
 never looked askance at my dress or talked about me be- 
 hind my back. I loved Nature because she took me to 
 her heart without comment or question. 
 
 Calista insisted, however, upon my obedience to one 
 requirement, — she compelled me to go to meeting with 
 her Sundays. It was a great cross to acquiesce pleas- 
 antly to this arrangement, for the reason that I must show 
 myself in my shabby attire before a whole church-full of 
 people. I had given up attending church and Sunday 
 school after father died, simply because I could not bear 
 the girls' insolent inspection of my clothes. Indulgence 
 in dress is said to foster vanity in young breasts. I 
 wonder if any thing better is engendered by forced shab- 
 biness of attire? I make no pretension of speaking 
 wisely on this subject. I can only say, that for me the 
 simplest modern costume would have been indulgence, 
 and worked well. It would have kept me from the dan- 
 gers of isolation ; it would have sweetened my temper, 
 awakened self-respect, and given me a sustaining sense 
 of Christian equality with my companions, that all the 
 pious maxims the Sunday-school library contained could 
 not have done. Children's bodies are of as much conse- 
 quence as their souls, while their souls are in them. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 53 
 
 What more ephemeral than the life of flowers ? Yet how 
 exquisitely are they clothed upon with color and odor ! 
 
 I was not envious by nature ; but alas ! when Sunday 
 came, and 1 was called in to get ready for "meeting," 
 and beheld Calista put on her fine open-work stockings 
 and number seven French kid boots, her ruffled cambric 
 petticoats, and peach-colored sUk gown, and Leghorn hat 
 wreathed with roses, and then set forth unfurling her 
 rich-fringed silk parasol, she presented such a contrast to 
 me in my rusty bombazine gown and ancient mourning 
 bonnet, which had been lent to a score of funerals before 
 I came into possession of it, that wicked Envy crept into 
 my heart and consumed every kind thought I tried to 
 cherish. No wonder I was so often told that I looked 
 like my grandmother, when I wore the very clothes she 
 had been so long familiar in. The rusty black-silk stock- 
 ings that incased my legs had been on friendly footing 
 with her years before I was born. They had been " cut 
 down" for me — if you know, luxurious reader, what 
 that phrase means. Calista now and then turned a comi- 
 cal glance on them ; and once she had inquired what the 
 initials B. C, worked in yellow silk floss on each leg, 
 stood for. She knew very well they stood for Berenice 
 Crofton, my grandmother's maiden name ; but I was 
 wicked enough in my anger to inform her that the letters 
 simply indicated their age. 
 
 The pair of kid slippers I wore over them was the only 
 modern feature of my attire ; they saved me from appear- 
 ing wholly a thing of the past ; and in order to make 
 them last as long as possible, I always carried them under 
 my arm to within a few rods of the meeting-house, 
 where, in the seclusion of a group of pines, I doffed my 
 old shoes and put on these, treading very gingerly the re- 
 maining distance of gravelly path, poorly comforted after 
 all with the conviction that they could take but little 
 from the pre-historic ensemble I presented beside Calista. 
 It was impossible to forget my shabbiness, even after we 
 got seated midway the gallery, and I knew no one was 
 observing me. From this point we could see half the 
 congregation filing into their respective pews. First in 
 interest, of course, was Squire Percy's family, — the 
 benevolent-looking squire (an appearance that was said 
 
54 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 to somewhat belie his character), his high-nosed wife, and 
 handsome daughter fresh from boarding-school. The 
 latter was the incarnation of beauty in my eyes. Her 
 tiny proportions, pink cheeks, beady black eyes, and 
 golden hair, all set off by an exquisite dress of latest 
 mode, made her appear like an animated doll which a 
 rude knock might break to pieces. Sometimes her scape- 
 grace brother, home on his college vacation, accompanied 
 her ; and sometimes some other stylish young gentleman 
 with waxed mustache and close-cropped hair, tight-fitting 
 gloves, and conscious expression, shared his hymn-book 
 with Mary. 
 
 Now and then I did forget myself watching these 
 unconscious actors in their pews. This well-fllled old 
 church was the only theatre I had yet seen, and the 
 people of Hardcliffe the only players. Dr. Gray was the 
 comedian. He seldom came in till the long prayer was 
 over ; and often the minister stood, hymn-book in hand, 
 waiting for the slow old doctor in his squeaking boots to 
 traverse the long aisle and get settled in his pew in front 
 of the pulpit. But no cessation of proceedings ever dis- 
 composed the deliberate dignity which sat upon the doc- 
 tor's long upper lip and beamed from his kindly blue 
 eyes. The sun itself might pause in the heavens, and a 
 dozen little wives press nervously at his heels : he was not 
 to be propelled faster than he chose to advance. His 
 pew reached, and his wife seated, he would glance com- 
 placently around, slowly remove the alpaca duster from 
 his rotund person, draw from the pocket of his swallow- 
 tailed, brass-buttoned blue coat a large handkerchief, put 
 it to his nose, and proceed to blow — as it seemed to me 
 — the trumpet signal for service to be resumed. 
 
 Yet nobody smiled even at this regular Sunday per- 
 formance. The part had been enacted too many times in 
 the last quarter of a century to retain any element of 
 humor. Then the choir would draw their red curtains, 
 and shroud themselves for a few moments in solemn 
 secrecy; while little sounds from coaxed wind instru- 
 ments and bass-viol issued forth, the prelude to a grand 
 flourish which was the signal for singers and congrega- 
 tion to rise. The chorus was brave. But when the two 
 tiny voices essayed a duet, and went quavering off 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 55 
 
 together, hand in hand, as it were, like babes in the 
 wood, to inaudible heights, my heart throbbed with a 
 kind of fear lest they might never find their way back 
 again. 
 
 There was little about Mr. Hodgett, the minister who 
 officiated from the high pulpit, — to which a pair of mys- 
 teriously enclosed stairs led up, — to interest my atten- 
 tion. He seemed too far removed from common mortals 
 and their affairs ; and I used to wonder how his three 
 motherless little girls, who sat with their nurse in the pew 
 opposite Dr. Gray's, ever dared to call him papa. Of his 
 dark physiognomy, I remember only his teeth ; white, 
 glistening teeth, that were never quite under cover 
 when he was not speaking. I suppose he was a scholarly 
 man ; but of his sermons I can recall only the words, 
 "Finally, my brethren," and "In conclusion, my 
 friends," which indicated, with the precision of a clock, 
 the remaining half hour to be exhausted. 
 
 The long noonings between services, when Sunday 
 school was in session, I passed in the burying-ground, 
 under the shade of some old apple-trees that grew close 
 to the dividing fence of the adjoining garden, and stretched 
 their long, thick branches liiie protecting arms over the 
 graves of father and Jamie. A rude seat had been con- 
 structed here ; and here, after the exchange of the week's 
 news with acquaintances, Calista joined me, and we ate 
 our luncheon together in the seclusion. 
 
 It was dull enough for Calista, after all the food she 
 had brought was consumed, to wander about the crowded 
 burial-place, picking checkerberries, and deciphering for 
 the hundredth time half obliterated inscriptions on the 
 moss-covered headstones. She was impatient of the 
 Sunday's inaction and repose that I so much liked. 
 Resting in this delicious shade, my fancy could paint pic- 
 tures and weave romances without check or limit. The 
 very silence that brooded here was an inspiration to my 
 inward faculties. I thought of far-off worlds, of the 
 mystery of being. I wandered along the borders of the 
 unseen ; and every breatli of wind stirring among 
 the leaves seemed like the faint harmony of an invisible 
 choir. On one side of me stood the "haunted house," 
 frowning across its strip of garden into the grave-yard 
 
56 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 like a sinister human face. In the hot sunshine outside 
 the ruinous summer-house, a turbaned negress lay asleep. 
 She was the servant of the three aged sisters, once so 
 beautiful, who had come back from their long wanderings 
 abroad, to dwell together in the old mansion bequeathed 
 them by their grandfather, Colonel Mowers, the founder 
 of the house. They were the last of the Mowers family, 
 an ancient trinity of widowhood, mere ghosts of women, 
 who were never seen outside the house, except sometimes 
 at twilight near the marble cenotaph of their husbands. 
 As for the husbands, one was sleeping at the bottom of 
 the sea, where he went down in a naval fight. The others 
 rested far apart in foreign graves. Often through a 
 whole noon I watched for a glimpse of these once beau- 
 tiful women. Each had had a strange, eventful life, the 
 history of which I longed to know. Colonel Mowers, their 
 grandfather, had inherited vast wealth, a vast appetite 
 for strong drink, and a vast temper of his own. There 
 were stories still current of his fierce cruelty ; of drops of 
 blood yet to be seen on the dance-hall floor, which no 
 soap nor sand nor energy of muscle could scour away ; of 
 a dusky face that sometimes appeared in the best bed- 
 chamber, between the faded hangings of the bed, with 
 blood oozing from a wound in the forehead. I could think 
 of these things at high noon, with Calista near, without a 
 shiver. But much as I would have liked to look into the 
 old wainscoted drawing-room, with its ebony chairs, its 
 mysterious inlaid cabinets, its tall candelabra brought 
 from France, 1 craved no permission to enter its pre- 
 cincts after the sun went down. 
 
 And thus I spent the long hour and half between meet- 
 ings, drifting in revery from the mysterious occupants of 
 the haunted house to my far-off castles in Spain. For, 
 like many another poverty-stricken wretch, I had vast 
 possessions in that country. The depressing moment was 
 when the clang of the meeting-house bell brought me too 
 suddenly back from them to the sordid reality of my posi- 
 tion. Then it was that I begged Calista to let me remain 
 here, and rejoin her after service. But such an innova- 
 tion to her Sunday programme was not to be considered. 
 To come all the way from Hardcliffe hill for half a day's 
 meeting was as shiftless, she said, as to heat up the brick 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 57 
 
 oven for one loaf of bread. So, accepting my humiliation, 
 I again entered the soporific old church, and in my 
 ancient gown and bonnet passed the array of eyes lining 
 the vestibule, and reached my seat, vaguely wondering if 
 this weekly ordeal was to keep on indefinitely, and never 
 come to an end. 
 
58 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "No man ever stated his griefs as lightly as he might," 
 
 — Emehson. 
 
 IT came to an end sooner than I expected. When 
 mother had been absent six weeks and three days, I 
 received a letter from her. It came on Sunday, the last 
 Sunday I was ever to spend with Calista inside the old 
 Hardcliffe church. 
 
 It was a very hot morning, I remember, and we started 
 early for meeting. I was in better spirits than the first 
 morning of the week usually found me. I donned the 
 garments of my dead grandmother for once without wish- 
 ing thej' had all been buried with her. I capered down 
 the hill ahead of Calista, darting under fences here and 
 thei'e for wild flowers I could not resist gathering. 
 
 "You are too coltish this mornin'," said Calista. 
 " It's a bad sign. You'll be cryin' before night." 
 
 " No, I sha'n't. I never cry. In any case you never 
 saw me cry yet, and I don't believe you ever will," I said, 
 mounting, as I spoke, a six-railed fence to reach some 
 early apples that temptingly displayed their red cheeks 
 towards the roadside. 
 
 " Don't be too sure ; I heard you cry like a baby once, 
 three or four years ago," said Calista. 
 
 " No ! What was it for? " I asked, balancing myself 
 on the top rail for a moment to look down at her. 
 
 " Because the Walkers talked of sending you down to 
 pass the winter to Sunbridge with your aunt Beals ; don't 
 you remember? " she inquired. 
 
 "Oh, please, Calista, don't mention it! It makes me 
 shiver just to hear the name of Beals." 
 
 " Don't you calkerlate to ever visit your aunt again? " 
 
 "Never, never, never! Nobody shall ever make me 
 go there again," I said determinedly. 
 
 " You'd have to have some new clothes first, I guess," 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 59 
 
 remarked Calista, taking hold of the skirt of my dress. 
 " Aunt Berry's old muslin's 'bout gone up, ain't it? It's 
 half a foot 'bove j'our ankles, Cordeel," Calista laughed. 
 " Does it look awfully ? " I asked, touched on a tender 
 point. 
 
 "Wa'al, it don't look extry scrumptious. But that's 
 nothin'," said Calista, "as long as you behave well. But 
 I don't think stealin' apples on your way to meetin' is 
 behavin' well," she added, accepting three minutes after- 
 wards a share of the stolen fruit, and pronouncing it good. 
 
 When we reached the bridge in the hollow, across 
 which I had crept one dark night, going for Dr. Gray, 
 Calista proposed stopping a while under the shade of a 
 spreading chestnut that overlooked the river, the usual 
 place for pedestrians to cool and rest themselves in hot 
 weather. "We sat down side by side. Calista removed 
 her gorgeous hat ; I took off my ancient bonnet. As I 
 did so, she caught the article in her han^l, turned it round 
 slowly, examined it critically for a few moments, and 
 then flung it on the grass. Her next movement was to 
 catch hold of the lace I had starched and ironed so care- 
 fully yesterday, in the neck of my gown. At such a sud- 
 den pull, the rotten meshes gave way, the lace lay in her 
 hand, and the next instant went floating down the river. 
 I looked at her in amazement, wondering what she could 
 mean by such extraordinary behavior. But before I 
 could speak, she had drawn from her capacious pocket a 
 beautiful lace frill, with a rich bow of blue ribbon attached 
 to it, which she proceeded to arrange about my neck. 
 
 "What are you doing?" I at length found voice to 
 whisper, as I held myself without wincing under the stabs 
 of her pins. 
 
 " Why, I'm makin' you look a little more scrumptious, 
 — that's all," she answered coolly. 
 
 "Where did you get such beautiful ribbon?" I said, 
 looking down at the long rich loops that fell almost to 
 the belt of my waist. I did not dare to touch them. 
 
 " Over to Darre. I bought it purpose for ye." 
 
 "O Calista ! " I murmured, " there was never any one 
 so good as you." I could scarcely speak the words, I 
 trembled so with delight. 
 
 " Oh, fiddlesticks ! " cried Calista, giving me one more 
 
60 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 stab to keep the ribbon in place. " There, go down and 
 look at yourself now." She gave me a little push, and 
 pointed over the slope to the river. I did as she directed. 
 The placid water was like a mirror. The reflection of my 
 homely yellow hair and thin white cheeks did not offend 
 my vision now. I saw only the charming loops of ribbon, 
 blue as the sky beneath. That they were not exactly in 
 keeping with a mourning costume, did not occur to me. 
 It was enough for me to know just then that the nice 
 appendage to my toilet, the like of which I had so often 
 coveted, was mine. I felt at once of more importance in 
 the world. I returned to Calista and flung my arms 
 about her neck. I knew how it would disturb her, but I 
 couldn't help it. 
 
 " Dear me, suz ! " she muttered, " you've jabbed my 
 earrings right inter my neck. I never see such a case as 
 you be for huggin' and kissin'." 
 
 " You deserve to be kissed a hundred thousand times," 
 I exclaimed, rushing down to the river again for another 
 look at myself before we started on. 
 
 That day in church, not being aware of the letter wait- 
 ing for me, and believing myself deserted by my mother, 
 I turned over in my mind a plan, suggested by an ad- 
 vertisement in the " Dan-e Gazette," which stated that 
 a woman in Darre would like to take a schoolgirl who 
 would be willing to work mornings and after school 
 hours for her board. That was just the place for me. 
 Why could I not secure it, and attend Miss Hartwell's 
 school? There was no reason, if Calista would lend me 
 money sufficient to pay my tuition and buy the necessary 
 books. Yes, there were my clothes. I must have 
 clothes. I thought of the five dollars mother had given 
 me, which 1 still hoarded intact. Five dollars would pur- 
 chase two calico dresses and a plain straw hat, surely. 
 Black straw hats were selling cheap now, at the end of 
 the season, in Darre, Calista had informed me. But 
 there were so many other things wanting, — stockings 
 and shoes and handkerchiefs and gloves, and every kind 
 of undergarment. Oh, dear, how much I needed ! I 
 could not ask Calista to lend me money for every thing ; 
 though I had rather be indebted to her than any one I knew. 
 I must do without some things, and borrow as little as I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 61 
 
 could contrive to get along with. If T could only go to 
 school six months, then I should be able to teach, and 
 could easily earn the money to pay her back with. The 
 very first I should receive, I resolved, should cancel the 
 indebtedness. 
 
 This plan seemed a feasible one, — much more sooth- 
 ing to my pride than the idea of doing housework, at 
 pauper's wages, in any one of the farmers' families in 
 Hardcliffe, or being a servant at any genteel place in 
 Darre. Besides, I was not strong enough, Calista said, 
 to take the brunt of continuous and heavy manual labor. 
 I should, in such case, go off with consumption in less 
 than three months. It was not fitting either, I thought 
 to myself, that the daughter of Edward Rivers, an edu- 
 cated gentleman, should descend to the vocation of a 
 house-servant in any family, so long as a possibility of 
 finding higher work, something less crushing to my pride, 
 remained. 
 
 Accordingly, when we had eaten our luncheon in the 
 usual place, under the shade of the trees in the grave- 
 yard, I opened my mind to Calista. She pronounced my 
 idea of going to school a most excellent one. " Don't 
 worry a bit about your petticoats and things," said she, 
 brushing the crumbs of ginger-cakes from her silk gown. 
 " I'll lend you the money to get every thing you want; 
 and you may give me your simple note, without se- 
 curity." 
 
 "I knew j'ou would be willing to trust me," I said 
 gratefully ; and, as she would never let me kiss her, I 
 caught hold of her ankle and squeezed it. "I shall pay 
 you back every cent, Calista." 
 
 " Of course you will," she answered, rising. " But 
 don't count your chickens till they're hatched, Cordeel. 
 Come, let's get our seats before the bell rings." She 
 stepped out into . the dazzling sunshine, and opened her 
 parasol. I can see the dear old girl now, just as she 
 looked that day, standing among the green grave-mounds. 
 I recall the long stretch of sleepy common, ending in 
 clustering elms, among which the roofs and chimneys of 
 Squire Percy's house could be seen ; the abrupt mountain 
 beyond, with its toppling crest of green against the blue 
 of the midday sky. I can see the picturesque road down 
 
62 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 which Tv-e had come to meeting, winding like a gray ribbon 
 round LLirdc4iffe hill a mile ;uk1 a half away. 
 
 Two hours later we were toiling up that steep ascent, — 
 Calista talking of supper and the possible directions in 
 which her turkeys might have strayed; I gazing off to 
 the dim line of distant hills, thinking of the letter in my 
 pocket, and wondering what mother could have written. 
 I had received my letter unobserved by Calista. While 
 she was talking with a neighbor after service, the old 
 one-eyed postmaster had come out from his store and 
 post-office, — which looked not unlike him to-day, with one 
 shutter closed, one open, — and handed me the letter ; and, 
 as Calista had asked no questions, I considered it wiser 
 to acquaint myself first with its purport, before enlighten- 
 ing her. 
 
 So eager was I to learn what was in store for me, I 
 hurried to my bedroom as soon as we reached the house, 
 and before taking off my bonnet opened and read the 
 letter. It was short enough ; merely announcing that my 
 mother would return to Hardcliffe the next Tuesday in 
 the last coach from Darre station. She requested me to 
 have her room in readiness ; her bed-clothes thoroughly 
 aired ; and, if the evening should be cool, a fire kindled on 
 the hearth. That was all she wrote ; but it was more than 
 I wished to communicate to Calista, after the long silence 
 between us concerning mother. I dreaded to tell her that 
 mother was coming back, and must have her room. I 
 knew precisely how she would receive the news, but I 
 could see no escape from the necessity of imparting it. 
 I dreaded myself to see my mother ; I wished she had 
 never thought of coming back. I felt the old trouble 
 shadowing me again. I must do my duty, however, and 
 the quicker it was done the better. So after supper I 
 went out to the porch, where Calista was sitting with the 
 kitten in her lap, and handed her the letter to read. 
 " From mother," I said. 
 
 "Well, what does she say?" inquired Calista care- 
 lessly. " Does she turn your plans about going to school 
 topsj' turvy ? ' ' 
 
 "She doesn't say any thing about me. Shall I read 
 the letter to you? " I asked, "or will you read it your- 
 self?" 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 63 
 
 " Jest as you like. I'm not particular to know any thing 
 about her," said Calista, stroking the kitten. With this 
 cool encouragement, I read aloud the letter. 
 
 " Hity tity ! " said Calista, angry at once. " She talks 
 as if she owned all creation. But she don't happen to 
 have any room in this house, I can tell her. She wants a 
 fire, does she, kindled up for her? She'd better go back 
 South where she come from, and set in the sun a spell 
 with the alligators, and get thawed out a little." 
 
 "I thought, perhaps, — I thought you wouldn't mind 
 giving up your room for two or three days — mother will 
 only stay " — I could get no farther. Calista inter- 
 rupted me. There was no use trying to persuade her to 
 listen till her angry mood had passed. 
 
 " I do mind," she said. " I won't give up my room to 
 her, and you may write and tell her so. The tavern's 
 the place for hei-. She can give all the orders she likes 
 there." 
 
 "It is too late to write to her," I said; "and, if it 
 weren't, I shouldn't know where to address her. The 
 letter has no date, and the postmark is indistinct. She 
 will have to come here now, Calista." 
 
 " Let her come, and I'll send her to the tavern, after 
 I've give her a piece of my mind for treatin' you so," 
 ejaculated the irate Calista, angry to the tips of her toes. 
 "She's got money enough to clothe you handsomely. 
 She has got money in Darre bank, and here you be 
 without a decent dud to your back ! I don't under- 
 stand how you can always give in so to her. You're 
 spunky enough with the Walkers ; you used to hoe your 
 row with them. But you hain't the pluck of a chicken 
 with your mother. You're afraid of her, I s'pose ; but 
 she can't scare me. I'll give it to her if she comes here. 
 Want a fire in her room this hot weather! " With this 
 contemptuous ejaculation, she took up the kitten, and 
 strode off down the lane. 
 
 I lay awake that night a long time, considering what I 
 should do to please both mother and Calista. It was a 
 piece of diplomacy to puzzle a longer head than mine. 
 If mother had only written to Calista, asking permission 
 to occupy her old room, — and nobody could be more 
 sweetly gracious than mother when she chose to be so, — 
 
64 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Calista would have incommoded herself to the extent of 
 sleeping in the barn to make her lodger comfortable. 
 But this haughty assumption of ownership on the part of 
 mother was the very thing to make Calista stubborn to 
 mulishness. 
 
 Yet mother must come, and I must do the best for her 
 that I could. I could have her supper ready, in any case ; 
 and circumstances would determine where she should 
 sleep. Accordingly I saw John Blake next morning, and 
 engaged him to bring butter and cream, and the nicest 
 blackberries he could pick ; and, as there was flour in the 
 house belonging to mother, I put a loaf of bread rising. 
 I found some coffee also. I could at least have a nice 
 cup of coffee ready on her arrival. 
 
 Calista must have noticed these preparations ; but, for 
 a rarity, offered no comments whatever. After dinner 
 her uncle Peter came, and drove her over to Darre to 
 inspect some lumber, and attend to other matters of busi- 
 ness in which they were mutually concerned. They were 
 scarcely out of sight before a bold project entered my 
 head ; and that was, to remove Calista's things from 
 mother's room, and then arrange it in precisely the shape 
 mother had left it. The latter would arrive at six, 
 Calista probably not until sundown ; and, when she found 
 mother quietly established in her old place, she would 
 perhaps yield the point without controversy. If trouble 
 did arise, I could avoid participation in it by running 
 away in my usual cowardly fashion across the brook, and 
 remain out of sight and hearing till the worst was over. 
 Dare I do all this? Yes, I dare, because I was not 
 afraid of Calista. I only hesitated on account of the un- 
 derhandedness, the meanness, of such an act. To com- 
 pass Calista in such way, after all her kindness, seemed 
 despicable. But the thought of mother's displeasure 
 when she should return and find no place to lay her 
 queenly head in this old house that was once her hus- 
 band's, the fear of what she migJit do, was stronger 
 than any scruple just then in my excited mood. So, 
 shutting my eyes to the meanness of the proceeding, I 
 at once went to work. In the first place, I removed 
 Calista's decorative articles ; the cotton-flannel elephants 
 and prize pigs, and ornamental eggshells, and home-made 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 65 
 
 pictures ia their pine-cone frames. My conscience smote 
 me in taking down from over the chimney-piece the crayon 
 drawing by Calista's own hand in her last quarter at 
 school in the Penfleld seminary. It was the c7ief-d'oeuvre, 
 — a mournful moonlight piece, where a young crescent 
 was hanging its horn on a tree, and a fiery animal beneath 
 seemingly making ready to perform the feat of jumping 
 over it, like Mother Goose's cow. But I could not pause 
 for conscience' sake. I transferred every thing I knew 
 . would be offensive to my mother to the adjoining room ; 
 then I swept and dusted carefully ; changed the bed to 
 its sofa-form ; spread the Deccar rugs ; unfolded the 
 screen across the corner ; emptied the vases of their big 
 sunflowers, and refilled them with delicate wild blossoms ; 
 drew out the table to its old corner, and spread it, as I used 
 to do, with the few pieces of old china ; and, when all was 
 done, put the coffee steaming on the kitchen stove. Not 
 till all was done did I fully realize the entanglement I was 
 in, and how foolishly I had acted in meddling with Calis- 
 ta's things. I should get no thanks from mother, and I 
 could not blame Calista if she never spoke to me again. 
 I had no comforting sense of having performed a duty ; 
 and, altogether, I was pretty miserable. Had there been 
 time before the arrival of the coach, I would have restored 
 every usurped article to its place again. But it lacked 
 only three minutes of six. I heard the coach rattling 
 over the hill. I watched its approach till it passed the 
 opening of the lane. Then the driver cracked his whip, 
 and, without glancing towards the house, went by ; and I 
 knew mother had not come. She would come to-morrow 
 probably. But I had no time to consider probabilities. 
 Calista might arrive any moment. I rushed into her 
 room, and began with a will to undo all I had done ; 
 scarcely breathing, it seemed to me, till I had put every 
 thing, to the last illuminated goose-egg, into its precise 
 position again. 
 
 The tea-things were scarcely transferred to the kitchen- 
 table before Calista came in. She looked all about her 
 for a moment, as if in search of some trace of mother's 
 arrival ; but she asked no questions. She was too hungry 
 for the discussion of any thing but the nice supper await- 
 ing her, — the supper that was to have been mother's. 
 
66 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "When she had appeased her appetite, she informed me 
 that she had engaged workmen to begin repairs upon her 
 house in about two weeks ; and that her cousin was com- 
 ing to superintend the business, and would bring his son 
 and daughter with him. 
 
 While she was talking, John Blake came in with a letter 
 for me, which the postmaster at the plain had given him, 
 in accordance to a written request that it be forwarded 
 immediately. It was from mother, written three days 
 after her first letter. In it she informed me that she had 
 been obliged to change her plans, and should not return 
 to Hardcliffe at all. She had arranged with the driver of 
 the Darre coach to call for her trunks ; and she wished 
 me to see that he fulfilled her orders in the matter of un- 
 packed articles, that were to be boxed and strapped and 
 sent with her other baggage. I glanced hastily over these 
 written directions, eager to find what she had communi- 
 cated concerning the disposal of myself. I soon ascer- 
 tained. Her plans for me were clearly and concisely 
 stated. There was no ambiguity of language to make 
 me hold the letter so long before my eyes. The fact was, 
 what I had read had affected me like a blow. I tried to 
 reach a chair, still clutching the letter, and gazing blankly 
 upon it. Calista noticed nothing until a low moan issued 
 from my lips ; then, turning, she beheld me tottering 
 towards her with uplifted arms. She sprang from her 
 chair, caught me, and laid me on the old settle. 
 
 "Is anybody dead?" she demanded, in a frightened 
 voice. I tried to speak, but was unable ; only dry sobs 
 came from my constricted throat. 
 
 " What under heavens is it? " she cried, alarmed. " Is 
 your mother dead? " At these words, the pent-up tears 
 burst forth ; and not till they were spent, could I tell her 
 that mother was alive and well. 
 
 "What ugly thing has she been doin', then? I know 
 it's something mean as dirt, or you wouldn't take on so. 
 'Tisn't natural for you to take on in this way." 
 
 " O Calista! " I gasped, between my sobs, "I've got 
 to go to Sunbridge. Mother says so. It's all settled." 
 And another flood of tears followed the broken explana- 
 tion. 
 
 " No, you haven't got to go either. I went to see the 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 67 
 
 woman, — the Darre woman, you know, that advertised, 
 — and she wants you to come. And you are goiu'. I 
 don't care what your mother says." 
 
 " She isn't your mother, Calista, of course you don't 
 care ; but she is mine," I said, sitting up now and trying 
 to look the matter in the face, but feeling dejected enough. 
 
 " A pooty mother she is, to send you down to them 
 hoggish Bealses without a rag to your back ! " exclaimed 
 Calista. 
 
 " Oh, I shall have plenty of rags, — a whole carpet-bag 
 full of them ! " I replied bitterly. 
 
 " Cordeel Eivers, you hain't the spunk of a baby with 
 that woman ! You've slaved and slaved, and give in to 
 her and give in to her ; and I've bore it as long as I shall. 
 I'm goin' to write to your mother myself. I'll tell her 
 you ain't a-goin' a step to Sunbridge. I've been wantin' 
 to give that woman a piece of my mind, and now I'll do 
 it." And she began to look around for pen and paper. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to write to mother, CaHsta," 
 said I, desperately calm now : " it won't do any good." 
 
 " Yes, it will ; it'll do me good, and I'm goin' to do it." 
 She found the inkstand and some paper and a pen, and 
 a book to write on, and sat down beside me. 
 
 " I sha'n't begin it with a ' dear,' now you'd better 
 believe." She began to write ; but her pen spluttered, and 
 a great drop of ink fell on the first word. She procured a 
 fresh pen, with no better result. At the end of ten min- 
 utes she had got no farther than " Miss Rivers." Out of 
 patience at last with her unsuccessful efforts, she begged 
 me to write at her dictation. 
 
 "It would be of no use," I told her. "Mother 
 wouldn't give way now. My passage is paid to Sunbridge 
 station, where uncle Beals is to meet me a week from next 
 Saturday. She has given the stage-driver the money to 
 buy my railroad-tickets. Here's the receipt for it all in 
 the letter. She's got things planned with uncle and aunt 
 Beals. I am to go to school in Sunbridge this winter. 
 I am going to work for my board ; and they are to supply 
 me with what clothes I need, after I get there. She has 
 got every thing arranged, and to write to her now would 
 only make things worse." 
 
 " Then I'll make things worse," said Calista, lighting 
 
68 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 a lamp. She gathered up her writing materials, and went 
 into mother's room. At the end of an hour, she emerged 
 thence, to show me what she had written, after great labor 
 and pains. These were the words: "Miss Elvers, I 
 think you are in great business, sending your only daugh- 
 ter down to Mr. Beals to Sunbridge, to be abused. I 
 should think jou had abused her enough yourself, without 
 sending her to them to tread on. I take my pen in hand 
 to write you a plain letter, and my opinion is that you 
 ought to at once bow your head in sackcloth and ashes, 
 as they say " — 
 
 "How does that read so fur, do you think?" said 
 Calista. " You see I aint a-goin' to mince matters." 
 
 "Oh, I beg of you," I cried, " don't send such stuff 
 to mother ! It will, it truly will, make what I shall have 
 to bear harder for me. I thank you for your kindness, 
 all the same, Calista," I added, trying to smile. 
 
 " Well, then, if you say so, we'll let her go to grass," 
 she answered, appearing to feel relieved in giving up the 
 responsibility of the letter business. Writing a letter 
 was harder for Calista than a week's housework. 
 
 By this time it was quite late ; and my kind friend pro- 
 posed that we go to bed, and forget every thing till morn- 
 ing. We went to bed, and Calista went to sleep. But 
 the " soft embalmer of the still midnight " did not touch 
 my eyelids. My grief would not let me sleep ; or rather 
 it was my anger now, to which the first feeling had been 
 gradually giving place. As I have already said, I was 
 not an amiable girl : yet never till now had I felt so de- 
 terminedly wicked ; never till now had I known what it 
 was to hate my mother, and wish that evil might befall 
 her. I omitted my usual nightly prayer, which always 
 ended with, " God bless my mother wherever she may be, 
 and make me a good girl." I did not care to be good 
 any more, if goodness consisted in complying with my 
 mother's demands. I should not go to Sunbridge. I 
 should follow out my first plan, and go to Darre. My 
 mind was made up. How could I go to my aunt Beals 
 again? It was impossible; such a compulsion would be 
 the last straw on the camel's back, the last drop in the 
 cup. No, I could not do it. That was settled in my mind 
 firmly. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 69 
 
 Still I could not sleep ; for an hour I tossed and turned 
 upon my pillow. Above the tumult of my thoughts, I 
 seemed to hear the whispered command, " Say your pray- 
 er, say your prayer." To appease this inward voice, I 
 went through the formula, purposely leaving out the name 
 of my mother. This was not enough. The monitor 
 within would not be quiet. It kept saying, " Pray for 
 your mother, pray for your mother." I stubbornly re- 
 sisted its pleading. Never again, I said, would I pray for 
 my mother so long as I lived. Then the voice grew more 
 importunate. It said, " Pray for them that despitefully 
 use you ; pray for them that despitefully use you. ' ' The 
 conflict of feeling at last became unendurable. I rose 
 from the bed, slipped on my gown, and went down into 
 the garden. I wandered about in the tall grass, till my 
 burning feet were drenched with dew. The cloudless 
 heavens were thick with stars. I laid myself down among 
 the dank weeds, and gazed up into the midst of them. 
 Those far off countless worlds had looked down on the 
 earth ages before the foot of man had trod upon it, and 
 would still look down when every trace of humanity was 
 swept away. The contemplation of their infinitude, and 
 my own littleness, had hitherto awed and subdued me. 
 But nothing in nature could soften my stubbornness now. 
 I felt as if the soul had gone out of me. I was no 
 better than the crushed weeds under my head. The 
 inward voice was silenced. I returned to my bed, and 
 soon after fell asleep. 
 
70 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Raininy the. tears of lamentation 
 For the remembrance of my father' s death-" 
 
 — Love's Labor's Lost. 
 
 I ROSE next morning with unaltered feelings. It 
 seemed, indeed, as if my sense of injustice, my bitter- 
 ness of spirit, had become augmented by rest. I found 
 Calista — wlio had risen before me and breakfasted — hard 
 at work in the kitcheu scouring tin pans. 
 
 "Well, Cordeel, how does Sunbridge look to you this 
 mornin' ? " was her first salutation. 
 
 "I'm not looking that way this morning. I am not 
 going to Sunbridge, Calista," I quietly replied. 
 
 The astonished girl stopped her work, and turning 
 round stood with her scouring-rag in one hand, and a tin 
 dish in the other, gazing silently at me for several mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " Well, well, well," found utterance then. " I'm glad 
 to see you showin' a little common-sense at last. I didn't 
 expect it, though. I thought you'd keep right on, like the 
 boy on the burning deck, and get burnt up for your obedi- 
 ence. You've been a reg'lar slave to your mother ever 
 since j'our father died, and never got a thank for it, you 
 know that. ' ' I made no reply. I was eating my breakfast. 
 " Anybody'd s'posed, by the way she's let you drudge 
 for her, that she wasn't j-our own mother. Sometimes I 
 tliiuk she ain't," said Calista, tossing a scoured dish into 
 the boiler of soap-suds. " She's one strange woman, Cor- 
 deel. I believe she killed your father " — 
 
 "O Calista," I interrupted, "you don't mean what 
 you say ! " 
 
 "Of course I don't mean that she took the butcher- 
 knife and stabbed him with it, or the gun and shot him. 
 She killed him by inches. There was some strange goin's 
 on down in Loosyanny, if what I've heard is true." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 71 
 
 " Why, you told me once yourself," I again broke forth, 
 " that you didn't believe a word of the stories about 
 mother." 
 
 "Well, but I'm begiunin' to think there's somethin' in 
 'em, since I've seen how she's treated you." 
 
 " Did you say last night that you had seen the woman 
 who advertised for a girl to work for her board? " I asked, 
 to change the subject from mother. 
 
 " Yes, I called yesterday when I was over to Darre, on 
 purpose to see her ; and she's a real nice woman. She 
 wants you to come. She's got a husband and one little 
 boy. The work won't be hard for you." 
 
 "When shall you go to Darre again, Calista?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Hannah Nubbins and I are goin' over to-morrow. 
 Tom Nubbius's goin' to drive us over. There's a colt over 
 there that I'm goin' to bargain for," she answered. 
 
 " Then you may tell the woman that I will come ; and, 
 Calista, I want you to take the five-dollar bill mother gave 
 me, and buy me a piece of delaine for a gown. I want 
 one with a drab ground and a small figure on it ; some- 
 thing like the one Hannah Nubbins had on the other niglit 
 here. It will cost three dollars. I've reckoned it up. 
 That will leave two dollars for a hat. I should like a 
 black straw hat with a drab feather, if you can buy one 
 for two dollars, trimmed. If not, buy the trimming sepa- 
 rately, and ask Hannah to select it." Hannah's taste was 
 better than Calista's. 
 
 " Is that all you want? " asked Calista. 
 
 " No, I must have ten yards of cotton cloth, two pairs 
 of stockings, and a pair of boots ; all of which will cost 
 five dollars more, and that sum I must borrow of you." 
 
 " You can have it, and ten dollars more if you want," 
 returned Calista quickly. 
 
 " No, I can get along with five dollars. I mustn't bor- 
 row any more. I want you to promise me, Calista, that 
 you won't spend a cent further for me." 
 
 " What are you goin' to do for handkerchiefs and 
 gloves, and such like? " she asked. 
 
 " There's a muslin skirt that was grandma's up-stairs ; 
 I can make some handkerchiefs out of that. I oan do 
 without gloves very well," I said cheerfully. 
 
72 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " "Well, you beat all the girls I ever see in my life for 
 makin' the most of things," said Calista, packing her 
 bright tin pans together, preparatory to placing them out- 
 side in the sun to dazzle the passers-by. 
 
 "Do you remember, Calista, what Miss Hartwell told 
 us one day, when you were in school, about Procrustes' 
 bed?" 
 
 "No: who's Procrustes? I never heard of a man or 
 woman by that name in Hardcliffe, or anywhere else." 
 
 " He was a famous highwayman of Attica, v7ho made 
 all his victims conform to the length of his iron bed. He 
 tied them on it : and, if their legs were too short, he 
 stretched them ; if too long, he cut them off. My pov- 
 erty is Procrustes' bed, and I've got to fit myself to it, 
 — fit myself to my hard circumstances in the best way I 
 can." 
 
 All that day I busied myself looking over and arran- 
 ging and mending my wardrobe. I tried not to think of 
 mother or Sunbridge or uncle and aunt Beals ; but, in 
 spite of myself, I was thinking of one or the other of 
 them continually. 
 
 Mrs. Beals was my father's half sister ; not the daugh- 
 ter of my grandmother, but of a former wife of my 
 grandfather. She had married young, and gone from 
 home while my father was a mere stripling ; settled down 
 to the inferior position of a tavern-keeper's wife at what 
 was called "The Four Corners" of Sunbridge, — now 
 known as West Sunbridge, a place widely celebrated for 
 its lovely scenery and salubrious air. Silas Beals pos- 
 sessed the Yankee faculty of making money in whatever 
 situation he found himself. "Put Sile Beals on a bare 
 rock in the middle of the ocean, and he'd contrive a way 
 to get a living and lay up mone^'," was the saying 
 among his neiglibors. I had heard much about him from 
 my grandmother, but had never seen him till the winter 
 of my eighth year, — the year when remittances for my 
 board were not forthcoming, and aunt Beals had reluc- 
 tautly consented to receive me as a three months' visitor ; 
 reluctantly, I say, for reason that Mr. Beals had not been 
 on speaking terms with my father for some years, on 
 account of a business transaction between them, in which 
 the former had lost heavily through the latter's misman- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 73 
 
 agement, — a mismanagement the enemies of my father 
 chose to call by the ugly name of dishonesty. 
 
 I had not forgotten the cold, cheerless November night 
 of my arrival at Sunbridge ; of being put down, with my 
 little box of clothes, at the kitchen-door of that small 
 hostelry, and of timidly entering the warm, fragrant 
 apartment, and waiting there a small eternity before any- 
 body discovered me ; of being found at last by my aunt, 
 a stout woman with pink cap-strings flying behind her, 
 who drew me along, past a range where a savory beef- 
 steak, cooking over a bed of red coals, made my hungry 
 mouth water with its appetizing odor, into an adjoining 
 sitting-room, where, before a freshly replenished fire, a 
 man was standing, holding in each hand his separated 
 coat-tails, that the heat might have unimpeded passage to 
 his rear. This man was Silas Beals. I knew him by his 
 portly front, his bushy eyebrows and whiskers, and big 
 nose, that seemed thrust out at me like a menacing club. 
 My grandmother had described his features many a time. 
 I had not forgotten his first coarse salutation, nor my 
 aunt's quick movement in putting up her hand as a signal 
 for him to stop, nor his persistent satirical questioning. 
 
 ' ' What is she come here for, to be sent up on to the 
 hill?" 
 
 " Why do you ask such absurd questions, Silas? " my 
 aunt had replied. " You know well enough that she has 
 come here to be taken care of ; and we must accept the 
 situation, and make the best of it." 
 
 "No must about it, mother," Mr. Beals retorted. 
 "Here, Pete," — turning to a boy piling up wood in a 
 corner, — "light your lantern, and take the girl up to 
 Patch's." Whereupon my aunt exclaimed, " Hold your 
 tongue, Silas ! Keep to your work, Peter. I'll take care 
 of the girl." And she pushed me before her into the 
 dining-room, where, hungry as I was, I could scarcely 
 swallow a mouthful of the bread and milk placed before 
 me on the long empty table. My appetite was gone when 
 I found I was not wanted there. I was not long in dis- 
 covering that " up on to the hill " and " up to Patch's " 
 meant the poorhouse. 
 
 I could not forget, either, of being thrust into a little 
 closet in the third story, and left, without a light, to 
 
74 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 scramble into bed as best I might; of feeling wild and 
 lost, and of hugging the rag-doll (Calista had made me) 
 in a paroxysm of tearless grief, as the only friend in the 
 wide world left me. Nor how, next day, that same doll, 
 with its cranberry cheeks and ink eyes, had been torn to 
 pieces by the Beals twins, Freddy and Neddy, and cast 
 into the fire. Oh, those dreadful twins ! with their open 
 grimaces, and covert pinches and pushes, yes, and blows! 
 To think of them now, to think of my aunt's cruel repri- 
 mands, of my uncle's sneers, of those fierce eyes he used 
 to fasten on me with such a look of aversion, made me 
 shiver from head to foot. I should be an idiot indeed, 
 after such an experience, if I were to be driven to seek 
 their protection again. Nothing in heaven or earth could 
 make me do it. 
 
 But that night a powerful influence, a strange one, 
 came to bear upon me, — powerful enough to change the 
 whole current of my thoughts, and put in abeyance all 
 the remembered horrors of my sojourn at Sunbridge. 
 
 A singular dream visited me, almost like a waking vis- 
 ion. I thought I stood at the lattice- window in one of 
 the old north chambers looking off to the distant range 
 of hills that lay like an undulating purple cloud along 
 the horizon, wondering, as I often did when awake, what 
 kind of life might be going on beyond them, when sud- 
 denly before my eyes appeared a tall, stately figure 
 coming up the gravelled walk to the front entrance. It 
 was wrapped in a long black garment, and strode with 
 majestic movement, and, on reaching the door, sent the 
 heavy knocker against it with such clanging force that 
 every dish in the house rattled. Then a voice called my 
 name loudly, so loudly that everj* room echoed it. I 
 thought 1 descended and opened the door, and the tall 
 figure, with shrouded face, handed me an enormous letter. 
 As he turned to depart, a great wind arose and swept 
 his cloak aside ; and then I saw that the figure had huge 
 white wiugs, which he spread on the gale, and they bore 
 him upward aliove the trees into the clouds, till he van- 
 ished in mid-heaven. Then I bethought me of my letter. 
 I tore off envelope after envelope, each diminishing in 
 size, to the last tiny one, in which I discovered a slip of 
 paper, on which were written these three words, " Obey 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 75 
 
 your mother." They struck such a deathly chill through 
 me that I awoke. There was a gale of wind shrieking 
 up the vallej', and careering round the house, rattling 
 windows and doors, and rocking our bed like a cradle. 
 But I cared for no commotion outside ; that was nothing. 
 While Calista flew about in preparation for the expected 
 rain, I lay still, pondering my dream, lost to all other 
 considerations. I was like one who had been driven 
 against a wall in the tempest of a black night, to whom 
 a sudden flash from heaven had revealed a rocky passage 
 up a sheer mountain-side that he must climb. I saw no 
 escape. " Obey your mother " had been my father's last 
 words, and this message had been sent to refresh my 
 memory of them. " Do the spirits of those who loved us 
 once on earth," I said to myself, " know what we think, 
 suffer, and enjoy ? If so, then my father must know how 
 cruelly mj' mother had treated me ; and still his command 
 was to obey her. I must not be disobedient to the heaven- 
 ly vision, let come what might. I must keep my promise, 
 — obey my mother, go to Sunbridge, and trust to the 
 possible good outlying my mortal vision." 
 
 I did not acquaint Calista with my change of purpose 
 till she was just ready to start for Darre next morning. 
 
 " Why, this beats the — Dutch ! " said she. " Do you 
 mean to say tliat you are goin' to Sunbridge? " 
 
 " Yes, I am going to Sunbridge ; and you may buy 
 me the dress I spoke of, and the hat, if you will; but 
 nothing more. I can't borrow any money of you. Now, 
 Calista, please remember that. I can't borrow money 
 with the prospect of never being able to repay it." 
 
 " But what in the world have you changed your mind 
 for? That's what I want to know. You're a reg'lar 
 weathercock, Cordeel ; there ain't any dependence to be 
 put upon ye." 
 
 " I think it best to go. I can't say any more " — 
 
 "Oh, don't mind me, Cordeel!" said Calista sooth- 
 ingly, observing my downcast head and broken voice. 
 "If you've concluded to take pot-luck with the Bealses, 
 it's none of my bread and cheese. But when are ye 
 goin' ?" 
 
 " A week from next Saturday." 
 
 " What you goin' to do for clothes? " 
 
76 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Trust in Providence." 
 
 " Like Tom Jones? He trusted in Providence instead 
 of a lantern one dark night, and drove into tlie river, and 
 drownded all his family, you know." 
 
 " He might have done better. I can't — I can't " — 
 
 " Never mind, Cordeel. I'll help you fix up your 
 things. "We shall have to fly round if you are goin' so 
 soon. I vum ! if there ain't Hannah and Tom drivin' 
 into the yard now. I didn't expect 'em for an hour. 
 But I shall be back all the earlier, Cordeel. Good-by." 
 
 But Calista did not return from Darre that night till 
 after I was in bed. The next morning she proposed 
 looking over my wardrobe. 
 
 " In the first place, have you got a trunk to put your 
 clothes in?" she asked. 
 
 "No," I said; "but there's one in the attic I can 
 have, I suppose." 
 
 "Let's see what 'tis first," said my friend. Accord- 
 ingly, we mounted to the musty garret, and found under 
 some old lumber the red wooden trunk referred to, but 
 minus one hinge. Calista dragged it down-stairs, nailed 
 on a leather hinge, and then gave it a thorough cleaning. 
 " Now, that's quite a respectable looking trunk," said 
 she. "I guess it will stand the strain of your clothes. 
 Let's see." She jerked the lid back and forth violently 
 several times to test the strength of the leathern hinge. 
 " Yes, sir, that's all right. Now bring on your silks and 
 satins." 
 
 My meagre stock of clothing was soon produced for 
 her inspection. There had been as yet no mention of the 
 gown and hat I had requested her to procure for me at 
 Darre. 
 
 "What's this?" said Calista, catching up my black 
 bombazine, and eying it with her head on one side. 
 
 " I should think you might know without asking," I 
 answered. " You've seen it times enough." 
 
 " Is this what you call a mournin' suit? " she went on. 
 " About as much mournin' to it as there is to uncle 
 Peter's old great-coat, — that yeller one he wears round 
 every day." 
 
 " I suppose it was a nice black dress in the day of it," 
 I remarked, not exactly liking the comparison. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 77 
 
 " Before the Flood you mean, I s'pose? " said Calista. 
 " That forty days' raiu rensed the color out of it, I 
 guess. Here, take the old dud, and put it in the rag- 
 bag." She flung the garment over my arm, and opened 
 the door of the closet containing her own goodly array of 
 gorgeous gowns. There were two among them that did 
 not partake of the general liveliness of pattern. One 
 was a neutral- tin ted cashmere, soft as silk ; the other a 
 dark blue thibet of heavier texture. I had often envied 
 her the possession of these gowns, which she had scarcely 
 ever worn, and often wondered why she had purchased 
 them. She confessed herself that they failed to please 
 her barbaric love for color. These two she whipped out 
 now, and flung them towards me. "There," she said, 
 " sit down, Cordeel, and rip 'em up as quick as you can. 
 I'm sick of the sight of 'em. Hannah Nubbins's comin' 
 this afternoon to make them over for you. I've hired 
 her to sew for you this week and next. I guess all of us 
 together can finish these and two calico ones besides, 
 before Saturday, if we work smart. I mean next week 
 Saturday." 
 
 "You don't — you can't mean to give me these nice 
 gowns, Calista ! " I said incredulously. 
 
 " No ; I'm goin' to swap 'em for your old bombazine," 
 she returned, again disappearing into the closet, and again 
 astonishing me by bringing forth a gray silk-lined cloak 
 with lovely silken hood and tassels. 
 
 " I don't want this any longer," she remarked, shaking 
 it briskly. " What a fool I was to buy it ! I hain't 
 worn it four times. I knew 'twas too short for me when 
 I got it, and I hate gray about as bad as 1 do black. I 
 wouldn't dress in mournin' if all Hardcliflfe give up the 
 ghost. Stand up here, Cordeel, and let's see how it fits 
 you." 
 
 I was quite unable to speak now, but stood up for the 
 cloak to be placed on my shoulders. 
 
 "I vum ! it's jest a fit; won't have to be altered a 
 mite. Ain't that lucky ? " 
 
 "But, Calista," I said, when I could find voice, "I 
 mustn't take these things ; they're too good for me ; I've 
 nothing to give for them." 
 
 " Too good for you ! Why, I was just thinkin' they 
 
78 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 wasn't good enough ; I felt almost ashamed to offer 'em 
 to you. But, if you think they're too good, I'll put 'em 
 right back in the closet and let the moths eat 'em up. 
 They won't think 'em any too good, I'll warrant." 
 
 " Oh, I thank you, I thank you a thousand times " — 
 
 " Now, Cordeel, don't you let me hear another word of 
 thanks out of your mouth, if you know what's good for 
 yourself. I don't like to be thanked for any thing, and 
 you know it : so hold your tongue. If I hadn't paid out 
 so much money lately, you would have had two whole 
 suits of new clothes. For them, likely enough, I'd taken 
 a thank. As it is, I won't hear a word. Now hand me 
 the scissors," said she, " and we'll rip up these old duds 
 in no time." 
 
 The required implement being at hand, she set to work 
 with a will. After dinner Hannah Nubbins came, — 
 Hannah was the dressmaker of the neighborhood, — and 
 by that time my feelings being under better control, I 
 also began to work as swiftly as Calista could desire. 
 
 " This is a most excellent quality of print," said Miss 
 Nubbins, testing the two pieces of calico Calista had 
 brought forward, by jerking them between her hands and 
 trying to look through them. " Of French manufacture, 
 are they not, Miss Coraery ? " She tore off the breadths. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," said Calista. " I told Nor- 
 ton to bring me the best thing of the kind he had in his 
 store, and he showed me these. I always ask for the 
 best. I never buy cheap things ; that's poor economy, 
 Hannah." 
 
 " FoM can say so, Miss Comery : you are situated dif- 
 ferently from most of us. You always have the money 
 to pay down for every thing. Shall I go to work on these 
 dresses first? It's a bad sign, you know, to begin a 
 piece of work Friday. Hadn't we better wait till to- 
 morrow before we fit them ? I've always noticed that I 
 have excellent luck when I fit Saturdays." 
 
 " All signs fail in a dry time," said Calista. " I made 
 a barrel of soap for my aunt out in York State on a Fri- 
 day ; best soap she'd had for years, she said. I guess 
 you may venture to go ahead, Hannah;" and she her- 
 self began sewing the breadths of the skirt together with 
 the speed of a locomotive. She talked as fast as she 
 
TyVO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 79 
 
 worked. Miss Nubbins was suave, pliant, cautious, and 
 deferential, more ready to receive than give any matter 
 of news. The two were as unlike as a willow-tree and a 
 rough elm. Their talk revealed their contrasting charac- 
 ters. 
 
 Our three pairs of hands worked wonders before the 
 nest day evening. Then Sunday intervened with a pour- 
 ing rain, that kept us at home from church, and made the 
 day one of absolute rest. Monday we resumed our 
 labors with renewed zeal ; and by dint of working early 
 and late, with the aid of Miss Nubbins's little sewing- 
 machine, on Thursday evening we had finished all the 
 dresses. They fitted beautifully. Miss Nubbins declared; 
 the blue merino especially, with lace in neck and sleeves, 
 and wide ribbon sash to match it, was pronounced by her 
 marvellously becoming. I thought so, too. I was de- 
 lighted with all my things. I went in now and then to 
 look at them in mother's room, where they were spread 
 about on Calista's bed and table. I could hardly realize 
 that the soft gray felt hat trimmed with gray ostrich tips 
 and pink rosebuds, the French kid boots, the three pairs 
 of gloves, the box of thick stockings, the dozen fine 
 handkerchiefs, the linen collars and cuffs, lace frills and 
 soft neckties, cologne, hair-oil, and other toilet articles, 
 together with the handsome array of finished undergar- 
 ments Calista had so thoughtfully had made at Darre, 
 could all be mine. But for the restraining thought of 
 Sunbridge, I should have been wild with ecstasy over 
 them. 
 
 That evening, Calista, when we were alone, expressed 
 the wish to see me dressed up in my new clothes. So, 
 trembling all over with a kind of subdued excitement 
 hitherto unknown, I put on the blue merino gown, boots, 
 hat, gloves, and all ; and walked back and forth before 
 her gaze, that she might have the effect of the grand tout 
 ensemble. 
 
 "Well, sir," she broke forth after a few minutes of 
 silent survey, " I shouldn't know you, Cordeel, if I met 
 you on the plain ! I never thought before you had any 
 looks to brag of. But I vum ! you ain't such a bad-look- 
 'iug girl after all !" She pushed me before the llugg pier- 
 glass. " Look at yourself now." 
 
80 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I scarcely recognized my own reflection there, such a 
 different figure did ray trim dress make of me. To be 
 sure, I was still thin and wan-looking ; but I had gathered 
 a little flesh, and there was a dawning pink in the white 
 cheeks, and something like lustre in the heavy blue eyes. 
 I was almost satisfied with mj-self . 
 
 Saturday came all too soon. I had been dreading the 
 parting with Calista. Perhaps I should never see her 
 again. I put up my lips to kiss her before stepping into 
 the coach, and for the first time she did not draw back ; 
 she kissed me in return, while her face assumed a most 
 grotesque expression in her effort to keep from tears. 
 
 " Now, don't forget to write, Cordeel," she said, when 
 she had controlled her features. 
 
 " No, indeed I shall not," I answered ; " and you must 
 remember to write to me too, now and then, if only to 
 say that you are well, Calista." 
 
 " I can't promise : it's such a job for me to write, you 
 know. If any thing happens to me worth tellin', I'll let 
 you know, of course. Good-by, good-by." 
 
 She thrust her long arm in at the coach window for a 
 last shake of the hand, and pressed a ten-dollar gold piece 
 into my palm. 
 
 " O Calista ! " I cried, leaning forward ; but she had 
 disappeared, and the coach was moving off. 
 
 Till now I had kept back the tears easily, but this 
 last proof of Calista's generosity was too much for me. 
 I sank back into the corner of my seat, that the two passen- 
 gers might not see me, and had a quiet little cry behind 
 my handkerchief. It is well that we are not permitted 
 to draw aside the curtain of the future. I was happier 
 in not knowing I was never to look upon the homely 
 face of my friend again in this world. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 81 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Cliaracter teaches above our wills." 
 
 — Emerson. 
 
 THE pleasant afternoon sun was making long shad- 
 ows of the trees that bordered the meadows, when I 
 reached the small railroad-station at Sunbridge. With 
 what a heavy heart did I step from the car and see my 
 luggage flung upon the platform ! I wished I could keep 
 on travelling indefinitely. No one appeared to have come 
 for me. I entered the empty waiting-room, wondering 
 what I liad better do. I had little time to consider, how- 
 ever, before a head was thrust in at me, and a voice called 
 out, " Passengers for the Four Corners." 
 
 " I am going there," I said, advancing into sight. 
 
 " Tills way, marm," said the man brusquely, guiding 
 me to the other side of the station, where a carriage with 
 a pair of horses stood in waiting. He pointed to the vehi- 
 cle, and I got in ; and he slammed the door after me, as 
 if I were some animal he feared might escape. I won- 
 dered if he had been sent for me, but dared not ask him, 
 he was so cross-looking. 
 
 The carriage was an easy one, quite different from the 
 lumbering old stagecoach that passed through Hardcliffe. 
 It rocked along noiselessly over the smooth road, past 
 yellow and purple grain-fields, past shorn meadows 
 green as June, level stretches of dark wood, with here 
 and there a scarlet sapling, like torches by the wayside. 
 There was no climbing of steep tills, no long descent into 
 sandy hollows ; all tJiat had been left far behind, with the 
 upland country of Darre and Hardcliffe. 
 
 And here was I in Sunbridge again — the place that 
 for eight years I had not thought of without a shudder ! 
 Nothing looked familiar as we advanced. Great changes 
 had been wrought here, or my memory was at fault. I 
 had vague recollections of old gambrel -roofed buildings at 
 
82 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 wide intervals along this winding road, of borders of 
 spreading willows, with gleams of sluggish river between, 
 and thiek woods all around. Now, in place of these old 
 houses, rose statel}' villas, with shaven lawns, dotted with 
 bright beds of flowers, and graced with marble images, 
 and groups of lofty trees. I had glimpses of Italian gar- 
 dens, — something like those I had read about iu novels, 
 and had dreamed of as belonging to my Spanish pos- 
 sessions, — with wide terraces, marble urns, and tropical 
 foliage. There was nothing of all this, that I could 
 remember, eight years ago. 
 
 "Where do you stop?" asked the driver, turning to 
 speak to me, as he drew up to a green-embowered porter's 
 lodge, behind an iron-latticed gate, to fling over a parcel. 
 
 "At Silas Beals's tavern, at the Four Corners," I 
 informed him. He looked puzzled for a moment ; then 
 said, — 
 
 "Oh, you mean the Spring Side House, I suppose! 
 That's the matter of a mile farther on." 
 
 I inwardly wished it were the matter of a hundred 
 miles farther on. We were there quite too soon. We drove 
 up to the spacious portico of an immense building, with 
 a doul)le row of wide galleries extending round it. This, 
 the driver informed me, was the Spring Side House, kept 
 by Mr. Beals. 
 
 Could it be possible ! I looked round me in bewilder- 
 ment. Where was the old tavern of my remembrance, 
 with its little third-story windows, its old-fashioned garden, 
 and its steep flight of wooden stairs, its green-painted 
 kitchen-door, where I had entered so timidly that chill 
 autumn evening j-ears ago? 
 
 The driver carried in my trunk ; and I followed him 
 into a long, wide hall, where, through an open door at the 
 farther end, I caught a glimpse of flower-bordei'cd walks 
 and rustic seats. Beyond was a vista of willow-fringed 
 river, green woods, and a gorgeous sunset sky. The 
 house seemed deserted. Where were uncle and aunt Beals 
 and the twins? None of them was forthcoming to re- 
 ceive me. 
 
 Of course, I could do nothing but patiently wait till some 
 person should appear, of whom I could inquire for my 
 aunt Beals. I went into a large room, the folding-doors 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 83 
 
 of which stood open at my right, and sat down by a French 
 window that looked out on the wide veranda. In one of 
 the many arm-chairs an old white-haired gentleman sat 
 reading, two elderly ladies in white caps were walking 
 under the trees, and a young girl was trundling a baby- 
 carriage a little distance beyond. They were the only 
 persons in sight. I was making up mj' mind to ask the 
 old gentleman where I should find Mrs. Beals, when I felt 
 the floor under my feet quiver as if from a slight earth- 
 quake shock. I looked round and saw the cause of the 
 disturbance, — an immense heavy woman approaching, 
 puffing and blowing like one who had been running a long 
 distance. She came up to me, as I rose, and put out a 
 big bloated hand. 
 
 " I sup-pose this is Cordelia — Rivers? " she gasped. 
 
 " Yes'm," I answered, without the slightest idea who 
 she was. 
 
 "I see — you don't — remember me. I don't wonder 
 — I've changed so. I'm your — aunt Beals." 
 
 She certainly had changed, if this huge mass of flesh, 
 with bloated visage, was Mrs. Beals. 
 
 I remembered her as a woman of comely proportions, 
 with a clear red and white complexion. 
 
 As soon as she gathered sufficient breath to return, she 
 bade me follow her to her rooms in the extreme southern 
 wing of the house. There were four of them opening into 
 each other, — three sleeping-rooms and a parlor. One of 
 the former she assigned me, and the porter brought in 
 my trunk and put it down there. I felt exceedingly un- 
 comfortable when my aunt ordered him to wheel her arm- 
 chair before the door, that she might observe my every 
 proceeding, while she talked to me about herself. 
 
 "It's a disease — the doctor says — this increase of 
 flesh," she went on, as soon as she could speak. " You 
 can see — yourself it is'n't — good flesh. I expect to fill 
 up — by and by — and drop off — suddenly — and then 
 everybody — will be glad — I suppose." It was with a 
 deal of effort she brought forth her words. They seemed 
 to be pumped out of her. But she would not give up 
 until she had finished the whole jerky account of her 
 sufferings. Then she bethought her that I might need 
 some refreshment. "Ring the bell," she said, point- 
 
84 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ing to a tasselled cord against the wall, " and Martin will 
 come — and show you — the dining-room." 
 
 I did as directed ; and in a moment or two au imperti- 
 nent-looking boy appeared, who grimaced once or twice 
 behind my aunt's baclj, and then led the way to the family 
 dining-room. The table had handsome appointments, 
 and was spread for six persons ; although no one but 
 myself and Eliza Stedf ast the housekeeper — she intro- 
 duced herself — sat down to it. 
 
 "You find your aunt greatly changed," Miss Stedfast 
 remarked after a long silence. 
 
 "Yes'm," was all I could think to say to this very 
 prim, precise, black-eyed lady, who poured the tea like 
 an automaton. Her manner made me feel ill at ease. 
 
 " How long since you saw her last? " she inquired. 
 
 " Eight years come November," I told her. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! That was before the Springs were dis- 
 covered. You must have been a small child." 
 
 " Yes'm. I never heard of the Springs." 
 
 " Indeed ! That is very strange. I thought everybody 
 knew of the Springs, thej' are so famous. Mr. Beals has 
 been obliged to enlarge his house twice, to accommodate 
 the large number of people who come here during the 
 summer for the benefit of the water." 
 
 "Do they bathe in it?" 1 inquired, not knowing, in my 
 ignorance, but it might be like the water of Bethesda. 
 
 " Oh, no, they drink it. It is highly medicinal ; it has 
 effected many cures." 
 
 " Are they all invalids who come here? " I asked. 
 
 " Not all ; many come for the quiet beauty of the place, 
 for its fine scenery and pure air ; and some, I am sorry to 
 saj', because it is fashionable. There are more and more 
 worldly persons coming each summer now," she said, 
 heaving a little sigh from her rigid bosom. 
 
 " Are any of these persons here still? " I asked, hoping 
 there might be. I liked to see fashionable people. 
 
 "Oh, no; the season is really over! There are only 
 two or three elderly, religious persons here at present, and 
 they will depart on Monday. The weather is getting too 
 cool to sit out of doors, and in only two or three rooms is 
 there any convenience for fires. The last of the extra 
 servants was discharged yesterday." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 85 
 
 Before I finished my meal I had ascertained from the 
 talkative, but discreet, housekeeper, indirectly, these facts ; 
 namely, that Mr. Beals was very wealthy, Mrs. Beals 
 very exacting, and the twins very learned and gifted. 
 She informed me Mr. Beals was absent that evening at 
 the Sunbridge academy, attending the graduating exer- 
 cises of the first class there, in which his sons Edward 
 and Frederic were expected to take the first prizes. Mr. 
 Cram, the principal, considered the intellectual capacity 
 of the twins something remarkable. Their essay on 
 Fabius Maximus had been greatly admired. Besides, they 
 were born portrait-painters. She referred me to the 
 numerous sketches on the dining-room walls, mostly 
 unfinished heads, but wonderfully accurate likenesses of 
 some of their summer boarders, she said. 
 
 I also learned from this lady, that, if Mrs. Beals's 
 health should permit, it was quite likely tbat I should 
 attend the winter and spring terms of the Sunbridge acad- 
 emy. My present and principal business, however, was 
 to wait upon my aunt. 
 
 I would have liked to ask if my mother had made this 
 arrangement personally, or by letter, with Mrs. Beals. 
 But I remembered that I had already made several inqui- 
 ries, and that it was not polite to ask questions. I could 
 learn about my mother at some future time. 
 
 When I returned to my aunt, she at once signified her 
 desire to be put to bed ; and Miss Stedfast coming in, I 
 took my first lesson in the task of undressing her, from 
 that lady. The process was a slow, tedious one, indeed, 
 and had to be accomplished by easy stages, that my aunt 
 might not be fretted. Her bed was raised to an inclined 
 position, b}' turning a crank at the head-board ; and it 
 was the crowning effort to get her satisfactorily adjusted 
 therein. Miss Stedfast left me to do this by myself, as 
 best I could ; and it was a long time, with many turnings 
 of the creaking crank, and shifting of pillows, and put- 
 ting off and on of blankets, before she was "cleverly 
 fixed," as she called it. 
 
 When it was all done, — when her fan and ice- water 
 and bromide were placed in reaching distance, — she 
 kindly permitted me to go to bed, — a privilege I em- 
 braced thankfully, for I was very tired. 
 
86 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I was up next morning at sunrise ; and after my usual 
 cold-water bath, and the brusUiug and braiding of my 
 " molasses-candy " hair, — as the girls at school some- 
 times called it, — I put on one of my new French print 
 gowns, a white linen collar and apron, and turned around 
 before the mirror several times, pleased enough at the 
 sight of myself iu this neat, trim modern attire. 
 
 It was Sunday, and none of the household were yet 
 astir. I proceeded to unpack my trunk ; and when I had 
 put away each article in the place where it belonged, and 
 set my room in order, I sat down by the open window, 
 aud looked out over the shaven lawn, where dewdrops 
 were sparkling like scattered diamonds under the newly 
 risen sun. Far, far away to the west, beyond these quiet 
 fields and softly winding river, was Hardcliffe aud home, 
 Calista, father's and Jamie's graves. When should I 
 ever behold them again? I thought of my mother, 
 aud then resolutely put her image from my mind. I had 
 done as she wished : that was enough. Here I was wait- 
 ing to take up the work that should come to my hands. 
 I was determined to do my best. I was determined not 
 to be unhappy. If m}' father's soul were alive in that 
 spiritual world I sometimes felt so close about me, and 
 again so far away, — the vagueness of which I could not 
 reason about, — he should have cause to say, " Well 
 done, my child." It was all the reward I looked forward 
 to ; it was all I could expect. 
 
 In the midst of these comfortless cogitations, I heard a 
 vigorous pommelling on Mrs. Beals's door. She kept a 
 sort of cudgel, instead of a bell, to rouse her near attend- 
 ants, to announce that she had risen and wished to be 
 dressed. I obeyed the call instantly. It was not so diffi- 
 cult a matter to dress as to undress her, I found this 
 morning. She was more amiable than last night, and less 
 fault-finding. I succeeded very easily in arraying her satis- 
 factorily in her finery for the day, after which we repaired 
 to the dining-room for breakfast. 
 
 1 had not as yet seen uncle Beals, or the twins. That 
 dreaded ordeal was so close at hand now, that I began to 
 feel a sensation of terror as we entered the breakfast- 
 room. They were not present, however ; and we sat 
 down to the table without them. What a Sunday break- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 87 
 
 fast was before us ! Accustomed as I was to Calista's 
 hearty meals, the amount of eatables here seemed prodi- 
 gious. Large platters of broiled chicken, and beefsteak 
 with vegetables, huge piles of buttered toast, griddle- 
 cakes, and corn fritters filled the centre of the board, 
 with outer breastworks of doughnuts, gingerbread, and 
 pie. For aunt Beals still clung to the fashion of having 
 every thing on the table at once, with no servant In at- 
 tendance. She settled herself in the large chair at the 
 head of the table, while Eliza — as Miss Stedfast was 
 familiarly called, — performed the labor of presiding at 
 one side. 
 
 We were hardly seated, when Mr. Beals entered. I 
 supposed it was he, because Mrs. Beals addressed him as 
 Silas : otherwise, I never should have known him. I ex- 
 pected only a gruff acknowledgment of my presence. He 
 surprised me by coming directly to my chair, and giving 
 me a most hearty greeting. I had risen to return his 
 salutation, and now stood looking at him in utter aston- 
 ishment. What had become of the aggressive rotunditj- 
 of person, the fierce-looking eyes, the fiercer brusqueness 
 of speech, that used to make my heart throb when he ap- 
 proached ? Where had that ferocious nose retreated ? To 
 be sure, it was a large organ still ; for the shrunken cheeks 
 had left it stranded, as it were, in greater prominence 
 than before. But the menacing look was all gone. Another 
 man stood before me ; one who had forgotten — perhaps 
 never known — that he had treated me cruelly. It was 
 all over. The cruel Mr. Beals of dreadful memory was 
 no more? He had died, and was buried; and from his 
 ashes sprang the kindly uncle, who grasped both my 
 hands cordially, and, with a pleasant twinkle of the eye, 
 said, " Glad to see you, glad to see you." He took his 
 place opposite aunt Beals, bowed his "head over his plate, 
 repeated the usual stereotyped words of thanks for the 
 bounteous repast, and then, as if the interruption had 
 been of no consequence, resumed his talk by saying in the 
 kindest tone imaginable, " It's seven or eight years, if my 
 memory serves me right, since you visited us, Miss Cor- 
 delia. But I shouldn't have known you anywhere else 
 from Adam, you've grown so." 
 
 "You mean from Eve, Silas, don't you? But I don't 
 
88 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 know why she should look like either," said my aunt, who 
 had not found occasion to speali till now. 
 
 " That's a common plirase, you know. Everybody 
 says Adam," said my uncle apologetically. " She don't 
 look like the same girl, does she, mother? " 
 
 "How can I tell?" said my aunt rather petulantly. 
 " I don't remember how she used to look." 
 
 "Your aunt has changed some, too," continued Mr. 
 Beals amiably. " You see she has grown rather fleshy 
 late years. Women are apt to at her time of life. But 
 she looks as young as she did ten years ago, as fur as I 
 can see. I don't know but younger. You can't find a 
 wrinkle in her face, /'w lost, though. I've grown old. 
 I can see it myself. I'm not near as hefty as I used to 
 to be. I don't weigh as much by fifty pound." 
 
 I looked at his shrunken figure, his furrowed cheeks, 
 his brow knotted with care, and thought he had spoken 
 truly. 
 
 " Mrs. Rivers, your mother, holds her own yet, I sup- 
 pose," he continued, "but then she can't be more'n two 
 and thirty yet. That makes the difference : wait till she 
 gets into the fifties, and let us see then. It's the fifties 
 that begin to tell on us. You've lost your brother, I hear. 
 Your mother wrote me about it, if my memory serves me 
 right." 
 
 I bowed my head in acknowledgment of the fact. 
 
 " Sad, of course. But the young have to die as well as 
 the old. Death will enter the healthiest families. We've 
 lost four children. You can't dodge Death, if you try. 
 If he don't come to-day, he will be on hand to-morrow as 
 likely as not, or next day. We ought to be prepared at 
 all times. — Pass the nut-cakes, Eliza." 
 
 While Mr. Beals talked, Mrs. Beals ate. The quantity 
 of food she stowed away in that capacious bosom of hers 
 astounded me. Yet nobody else seemed to notice it. 
 The breakfast-hour evidently was her most enjoyable one. 
 She breathed easily ; was in amiable temper ; indeed, her 
 countenance seemed to overfiow with good nature and 
 melted butter. 
 
 " Where are Edward and Frederic this morning? " she 
 inquired, as the fifth relay of toast and chicken was con- 
 veyed to her plate. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON'. 89 
 
 " They were so tuckered out last night, I told Julia not 
 to call 'em to breakfast this morning," said Mr. Beals. 
 
 "How did they get along last night, Silas, — passa- 
 bly?" 
 
 "Nobly, nobly, mother. That essay on — on — the 
 old Roman feller, what's his name? " 
 
 " Fabius Maximus," said Eliza, coming to his aid. 
 She spoke as if she had lived neighbor to that personage 
 for years. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Fabius Maximus. Their essay on Fabius 
 made the committee-men open their eyes. Cram compli- 
 mented them after the examination was over, for the prog- 
 ress they'd made ; and Pressdown came to me himself, 
 and says he, "I tell you what 'tis, Beals, you've got a 
 bright pair of twins there. They'll be heard of some 
 day.'" 
 
 " "Were their pictures, the portraits of the teachers and 
 trustees, hung up in the classroom?" inquired Mrs. 
 Beals, resting her large arms on the large arms of her 
 chair, — an indication, I thought, that she had nearly done. 
 
 " Every one of 'em, mother." 
 
 " Were they greatly admired?" 
 
 "I guess so. Everybody was looking at 'em," said 
 Mr. Beals. 
 
 " Well, I'm glad, I'm sure, if they did themselves credit. 
 — Give me another cup of coffee, Eliza," said my aunt. 
 
 " I'm glad your appetite holds so good," remarked Mr. 
 Beals, as Eliza tipped the urn over his wife's sixth cup of 
 coffee. " Your breakfast is your best meal, isn't it? Din- 
 ner and supper ain't a touch to it, be they, mother? " 
 
 " I don't think mj- breakfast is any thing great," said 
 Mrs. Beals ; " and as for my dinner and tea, they are just 
 nothing at all." 
 
 " Why, you see, your breath plagues you so by supper- 
 time, you can't enjoy any thing," said my uncle sympa- 
 thetically. "I do wish Dr. Akers could give you some- 
 thing to ease you in these spells. Seems to me he might 
 cure this difflkilty." 
 
 " I don't know what he can cure," said Mrs. Beals, 
 beginning to show some irritation. " But I do know my 
 breathing grows worse and worse. Before noon I shall 
 begin to draw hard again ; and before night — Lud ! 
 
90 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Nobody can tell any thing about it. It doesn't make a 
 mite's difference whether I stir or not." 
 
 "You don'tsuppose, do you, mother, that your breakfast 
 is a trifle too hearty for you, — just a leetle trifle too much, 
 you know?" asked Mr. Beals, with the mildest inflection 
 of voice. "How do j'ou suppose 'twould work now if 
 you should leave off, say, one plate of toast in the morn- 
 ing, — begin grad-u-ally, you know, — and by and by leave 
 off two plates and a cup of coffee, and so on, till you 
 reduced the quantity a little? " 
 
 " 'Twouldn't work at all," retorted aunt Beals, with 
 considerable show of anger. " I must have my break- 
 fast, live or die. Besides, I don't eat much. What is my 
 dinner now, Silas ? Just tell me what that is ; and my 
 supper. Why, they're just nothing at all. My breakfast 
 is all I have to keep my strength up through the day. It 
 won't be long that you'll have to provide for me, Silas. 
 When I'm gone, you can get a slimmer woman to feed, — 
 one that don't cost you so much, — forty of 'em, if you 
 like. It'll be all the same to me. I sha'n't care ! " She 
 tried to toss her head ; but, having no neck, she did not 
 succeed. 
 
 "Now, mother," said Mr. Beals meekly, "you don't 
 treat me right. You know what I mean. You know there 
 isn't a man in Suubridge, that wants his wife to die — live, 
 I mean — worse than I do. Hain't I had the doctors to 
 ye from far and near? Hain't I urged ye, time and ag'in, 
 to drink the Spring water — " 
 
 "Drat the Spring water! " interrupted Mrs. Beals an- 
 grily. "That's what's worked the mischief with me, I 
 verily believe. The nasty stuff swells folks up so ! Every 
 boarder that drinks the water gets a bloated look in a little 
 while. It's my candid opinion, that I might have been as 
 slim as that girl," — pointing to me, — "if those nasty 
 Springs hadn't been discovered." 
 
 "But you know, Mrs. Beals," said Miss Stedfast, who 
 had not spoken till now, " that you never drank enough of 
 the Springs to help or harm you. You drank of them 
 onl^' one week, and that was three years ago." 
 
 "I drank that Spring- water three times a day regu- 
 larly for three months, and gained fifty pounds in the 
 operation, madam," said Mrs. Beals with emphasis. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 91 
 
 " I beg pardon, Mrs. Beals, if I am mistaken," said Miss 
 Stedfast respectfully. "But I think it's your memory 
 that's at fault. You said yesterday, you may remember, 
 that your increasing size you considered due wholly to 
 the tendency to flesh in your family, and had nothing 
 to do with the matter of eating or drinking." 
 
 "I remember perfectly what I told you yesterday," 
 said Mrs. Beals with slow dignity, tapping the table lightly 
 with her puffy fingers. " My memory needs no refresh- 
 ing from yours. My diary will show that, madam. It can 
 show you where it records an increased weight of fifty 
 pounds after three months' trial of Spring-water ! And 
 now. Miss Eliza Stedfast, I wish you to understand that 
 you are employed here simply as housekeeper, not as the 
 custodian of my memory. It is not in your province to 
 look after my memory. My memory is perfectly able to 
 take care of itself. I desire you to understand that fact." 
 My aunt, for the moment, reminded me of a picture in 
 one of mother's books, of Sir John Falstaff administer- 
 ing kingly rebuke to wild Prince Henry. Miss Stedfast, 
 obeying a glance from my uncle, abstained from replying 
 to this reprimand, and a moment after we all rose from 
 the table. Mr. Beals assisted his wife into the kitchen ; 
 where, I learned later, she was in the habit of tarrying, 
 with some show of authority, a little while after breakfast 
 every morning. I followed them thither, and sat down 
 beside my aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Flanders, the cook, was preparing some beef to 
 roast for the Sunday's dinner ; she had a pudding in pro- 
 cess of making also. She appeared as if she felt over- 
 burdened with work. She glanced crossly at me. Desiring 
 to gain her good-will, I went forward and begged her to 
 allow me to prepare the vegetables. 
 
 " But you'll daub that nice white apron of yours, if you 
 work round here," she said curtly. 
 
 " I've a large kitchen-apron in my room," I replied. 
 " I'll run and get it. I'm used to all kinds of work." 
 
 " No, I'm obliged to ye," she said more pleasantly. 
 " Julia will pare the potatoes and such like. Perhaps to- 
 morrow I'll have something for you to do." 
 
 "Don't give her any thing heavy to do," said uncle 
 Beals, who had been hearing the conversation. "She 
 don't look strong enough to buckle into hard work." 
 
92 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I don't intend to have her work hard," interposed my 
 aunt. " She didn't come here to drudge in the kitchen. 
 She came here to wait upon me." 
 
 " And go to school," added my uncle. 
 
 " The matter of going to school," returned Mrs. Beals, 
 "is of second consideration. If I'm well enough to 
 spare her, she'll go. Otherwise, she won't. — Don't put 
 allspice in your pudding, Flanders. You know I can't 
 bear allspice." 
 
 The string of the gold necklace about my aunt's neck 
 at that moment gave way, and the yellow beads were 
 scattered over the floor. I hastened to pick them up. I 
 had scarcely recovered them, when the twins entered, — 
 a pair of slender striplings, scarcely taller than myself, 
 though two years older. Perceiving me, they grinned 
 sheo|)ishly at eacli other. 
 
 " You don't remember much about one another, of 
 course," remarked uncle Beals, as he presented them : 
 " you were such little ones when Cordelia was here." 
 
 The ghost of my martyred doll rose up immediately. 
 I wondered if these mild-mannered lads remembered dis- 
 embowelling that precious victim, and roasting her over a 
 slow fire. However, I was willing to forgive the past, so 
 long as they did not antagonize me in the present. It is 
 easy enough to forgive others ; the trouble is, to make 
 them stay forgiven. It did not take me long to perceive 
 that my cousins had outgrown the diabolical pleasures of 
 their childhood. They had improved wonderfullj' ; were 
 not unprepossessing in their personal appearance. In- 
 deed, so far as regularity of feature went, they were quite 
 good looking ; and as nearly alike as the two gold beads 
 I held in my hand. I could not tell them apart at first ; 
 but subsequently distinguished them by a droop of the 
 left eyelMow in Edward, and by a mole under the right 
 ear of Frederic. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 93 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Those who trust us educate us." 
 
 — George Eliot. 
 
 IN less than an hour's time my cousins were chatting 
 with mo as familiarly as with a sister. They talked 
 of their studies ; showed me their prizes, and wonderful 
 collection of books, which they said I might read when- 
 ever I liked ; and then they invited me to go with them 
 to the top of the house and see their studio and gym- 
 nasium. 
 
 The studio was lined with innumerable sketches of 
 ever}' type of face. One study of a rugged Venetian 
 head might have passed as a very good likeness of Ca- 
 lista. 
 
 In the gymnasium the little fellows stripped off their 
 jackets, and, springing upon the cross-bars, performed 
 such feats of agility, — such as hauging by one foot and 
 one hand from a dizzy height, — that my head swam and 
 my heart beat to look at them, and I begged them to 
 desist. They were ready, in their politeness, to comply to 
 my slightest suggestion. From the gymnasium we went 
 to the garden, where each of these Dromios gathered, and 
 presented me a bouquat of flowers, as precisely' alike as 
 themselves. We went on to the Springs, where the twins 
 became merry over the wry faces I made trying to swallow 
 a glass of the water. One carried my jacket, the other 
 my sunshade ; and both were as gallant as formerly they 
 had been rude. What one said, the other echoed ; and 
 vice versa. Their manners, movements, phraseology, 
 were exactly the same. I could not tell whether it was 
 Edward or Frederic who addressed me. And, as I knew 
 them better, I found they were alike in character and dis- 
 position, — scarcely a shade's difference to maik tliem as 
 separate beings. Nature seemed to have designed them for 
 one person, and afterwards capriciously cut them into two. 
 
94 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The first three months of my staj' at Sunbrklge were 
 exceedingly pleasant. Everybody treated me with such 
 consideration and kindness ! My aunt alone was fractious 
 and fault-finding ; but I attributed it wholly to her phys- 
 ical condition, and not to any desire on her part to give 
 me pain. My earnest wish to please her, and my pa- 
 tience under her whims, established me at once in Mr. 
 Bcals's good opinion, and at length in his affection ; from 
 which I was never excluded to his dying day. 
 
 In school I applied my energies to study. I was am- 
 bitious to I'each that level of excellence occupied by Miss 
 Ilartwell, the teacher of the youug ladies' school at 
 Darre, who had once spoken encouragingly to me. To 
 be al)le to go back and teach the higher branches in a 
 school in tjie vicinity of Hardcliffe, would be the realiza- 
 tion of my highest hopes. To dream and to hope are 
 two distinct processes. 
 
 "With this end in view, I studied every moment of time 
 not occupied in waiting upon aunt Beals. My attendance 
 upon her was not at first very arduous. I helped her to 
 bed and helped her to rise, dressed and undressed her, 
 read the daily newspapei's to her in the morning before 
 school-time, and in the evening after supper. Sometimes 
 I prepared her supper as I used to do my mother's. The 
 even tenor of this course continued for four months ; and 
 then my aunt grew worse, and there was a change. She 
 would scarcely permit me to leave her room from one 
 week's end to another. She drew upon my nervous 
 strength heavily. I studied nights, and at every odd 
 moment I could catch during the day, reciting to the 
 twins, who never ceased being uniformly kind to me, 
 vieing with each other, if such twinship can vie, in doing 
 me daily favors. Most of the long winter evenings they 
 passed witli me in their mother's parlor, helping me 
 tiu-uugh difficult problems in algebra, or listening to my 
 ri'cit-itions in French, never laughing at my blunders any 
 more than their native teacher would have done. Some- 
 times they sketched fanciful faces and figures, — any thing 
 that happened to be passing before their inward vision, — 
 to amuse themselves and please their mother. Sometimes 
 they read to her, but not often : her taste for books had 
 not extended far enough beyond what was sensational and 
 childish. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 95 
 
 For my cousins' assistance I was truly grateful, and 
 often did I long for some way to show my gratitude. 
 But they had no kites to mend, no balls to re-cover, no 
 mittens to darn, no torn trowsers to patch, no dashing 
 neckties to freshen. Their boyhood was over : they were 
 middle-aged men now, working hard in their studio, and 
 taking their recreations with a view of improving them- 
 selves, as well as of enjoying themselves, in the most 
 solemn fashion. 
 
 Yet the twins were not altogether lacking in a sense of 
 the ludicrous. Their frequent etchings of their mother and 
 me, —opposite specimens of obesity and thinness — in a 
 variety of attitudes, showed this. One of these caricatures 
 represented us in two phases of the moon, — I as the thin 
 crescent, their mother as the full-orbed luminary. It 
 was this picture, and the remark it ehcited from Miss 
 Stedfast, — whose eye it had caught, and who had said, 
 "That is Cordelia exactly, stooping shoulders and all," 
 — that put me thinking how I might straighten my figure. 
 
 " How can I do it?" I had asked the twins, after a 
 little talk on the subject. 
 
 " Establish the habit of walking with your wrists crossed 
 behind you," said Frederic. 
 
 " Establish the habit of walking with your wrists crossed 
 behind you," echoed Edward in the same voice. 
 
 "But I cannot do it," I said, getting up and trying 
 the experiment. 
 
 "Exercise mornings awhile with our dumb-bells first, 
 then," said Edward. 
 
 " Exercise mornings awhile with our dumb-bells first, 
 then," repeated Frederic. 
 
 "I'll do it," I said. And next morning I began the 
 exercises at daylight before my aunt waked, and with 
 such severity that I came near breaking my spine. I 
 persisted unremittingly in the practice of talving full inspir- 
 ations, and holding my breath as long as possible, of 
 walking on my toes with an unabridged dictionary on my 
 head, of bringing my body up from the floor without 
 touching my elbows, — hard to do — and was at last re- 
 warded bj- overhearing Flanders the cook remark to an- 
 other servant, " Something's the matter with that girl, 
 lately: she's as stiff as a corn-cob." 
 
96 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 But human nature, in the shape of a slender girl of 
 fifteen, cannot stand continual strain in all directions 
 long. I had to resign all my pleasant avocations, and 
 attend to the main business of caring for my aunt, 
 who would not leave her room now, nor permit me to 
 do so except on the briefest errands for herself. She 
 admitted no visitors. It was Z" who must entertain her, 
 I who must cook her meals, / who must soothe and 
 solace and amuse her. Being fond of cards, she kept me 
 pegging at the dismal game of cribbage day in and day 
 out, Sundays not excepted ; though Miss Stedfast, at this 
 Sabbath desecration, held up her hands in holy horror. 
 She remonstrated with uncle Beals, who in turn remon- 
 strated with his wife to no purpose. If it shocked Eliza, 
 so much the better, aunt Beals declared: "She would 
 teach Eliza to mind her own affairs, and let hers alone. 
 AVhat was Sunday to her any more than any other day? " 
 I could not tell her. I hardly knew, indeed, when Sunday 
 came. Every day was alike to me. The house filled 
 up with guests, of whom 1 knew as little as of the South- 
 sea islanders. Occasionally I heard the sound of music 
 at night from the long dining-room, and now and then 
 detected sweet and sonorous voices iu the mingled mur- 
 mur that reached me from the verandas. Sometimes, too, 
 when my aunt permitted the window curtains to be with- 
 drawn, I caught glimpses of lovely ladies under the 
 trees, groups of prettily dressed children running about, 
 with an occasional gentleman iu a garden-chair, reading a 
 newspaper or smoking a cigar. 
 
 I had no society but aunt Beals's. The twins were busy 
 with preparations for their departure to New York, where 
 they were to become pupils of the celebrated portrait- 
 
 l)ainter P , whose fame was world-wide. Mr. Beals 
 
 and liliza were too much absorbed in caring for the com- 
 fort of their guests, and looking after the new servants, 
 to ha\-e much thought for me. I received ncj letters from 
 Calista, or mother. And thus the days went on. 
 
 Oil, if it had been only the days ! for I was subject to 
 my aunt's unreasonable demands at any hour of the night. 
 Once she had aroused me from a refreshing sleep at mid- 
 night, with a demand for hot pancakes, which she wished 
 me to fry myself in the kitchen, afHrming they would go 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 97 
 
 to the right spot. At such times it exhausted all my 
 powers of persuasion to keep her from the injury of such 
 indulgence. 
 
 But the beginning of the end was at hand. I did not 
 rise one morning at my aunt's summous. I had no power 
 to do so. I seemed glued to the bed. A faint thrill of 
 ecstasy went through me at the thought of never rising 
 again. Eliza iStedfast found me in this condition. Uncle 
 Beals was called in, and many questions asked. But 
 aunt Beals assured them that nothing serious ailed me. 
 She herself had had just such spells a hundred times. 
 
 "The girl is all worn out, mother," said Mr. Beals. 
 " You must let me go to the city for a nurse. Cordelia 
 must have rest. We must send her down to sister Dar- 
 com's for a month or six weeks, and then she'll be all 
 right." 
 
 "She has been accustomed to an abundance of fresh 
 air and sunshine at home. It's the want of both that 
 ails her now," said Miss Stedfast. "The vitiated air of 
 these rooms, where the windows are never opened, would 
 prostrate a strong person, living continually in them as 
 Cordelia has done. I can't understand how you are kept 
 alive here yourself, Mrs. Beals," she added. 
 
 " There are a great many things in this world that you 
 are not capable of understanding. Miss Stedfast," said 
 my aunt, augry at once ; " and one of them is, how to 
 mind your own business." 
 
 "Mother, mother," interposed Mr. Beals mildly. 
 " You know how your breathing is affected when you ex- 
 cite yourself. What do you say to sending Cordelia for 
 a few weeks' rest to the seashore? " 
 
 " I sha'n't consent to any such arrangement. I can't 
 nor won't spare her. Cordelia just suits me. Her work 
 isn't hard. She hasn't any reason for being tired. I re- 
 quire very little of her. I wish every poor girl had as 
 easy a place," said my aunt. 
 
 "But, you see, I'll get you an experienced nurse to 
 take her place." 
 
 " I won't hear a word to it, Silas. I can't spare Cor- 
 delia. I sha'n't live long, any way. She's my niece. 
 I've a right to her, and I shall keep her with me till I 
 die, — and that time isn't far off, Silas." My aunt began 
 to shed tears. 
 
98 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "You mean till she dies, don't you, Mrs. Beals?" 
 said tlie housekeeper, with an indignant flashing of her 
 eyes. " That time will not be far off, if she doesn't go 
 away somewhere soon" — Eliza was going on, but a 
 movement of my uncle's hand stopped her. She lifted 
 me up in bed and administered a cordial. 
 
 " Tell aunt I will attend to her soon," I said. " I am 
 beginning to feel stronger." (I always dreaded dissen- 
 sion.) 
 
 "Keep quiet where you are to-day," whispered the 
 housekeeper. "I have opened the window at the foot 
 of the bed. Mr. Beals will look after his wife. Rest 
 to-day, girl." 
 
 A day's rest did do something for me. The next 
 morning I was able to rise, and, with the aid of stimu- 
 lants, kept about my usual duties. But the next morn- 
 ing succeeding, while 1 was dressing my aunt, — putting 
 on her finery for the day, her riljbons, laces, artificial 
 flowers, and jewelry, in which she resembled a heathen 
 idol bestrewn with offerings, — I suddenly swooned, not 
 wholly to unconsciousness, — tliat would have been a nir- 
 vana of blessedness, — but to that state of deathly stag- 
 nation preceding it. I was picked up and put to bed, and 
 a woman was procured at Sunbridge town to take my 
 place. Aunt Beals tolerated the new-comer the first day, 
 quarrelled with her the second, and the third sent her 
 away ; declaring that a three days' rest was enough for 
 me, — a young, strong, healthy girl like me, — and I must 
 return to my post. And I did again return to it, m}' 
 uncle managing to be present to slip into my place occa- 
 sionally and relieve me of the heaviest part of my labor. 
 My aunt did not relish his interference, and told him so 
 in plain language. 
 
 "But, mother, just look at Cordelia," said my con- 
 science-stricken uncle. "She's as thin and white as a 
 ghost. You don't want to kill her, do you? You don't 
 want to kill the goose that lays the golden egg? But you 
 are doing it. You don't realize it, I know ; but you are 
 doing it. We mustn't let her die in this way, mother : it 
 would be downright murder. She must go away to- 
 morrow. There's no other way, but you must consent 
 to it." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 99 
 
 These decisive words (for Mr. Beals, when sufficiently 
 excited, could talk decisively) sent his wife into a species 
 of fit. Her countenance became purple, and she did not 
 seem to breathe at all. Her husband was seared. " What 
 shall I do?" he cried, dashing all the water from a full 
 pitcher in her face, and rushing out for Eliza. Mrs. 
 Beals, however, was soon restored to her normal condi- 
 tion, and no more was said about my going away. 
 
 Three mornings later, while dressing my aunt, I felt a 
 strange sensation at intervals ; a kind of light-headed- 
 ness, as if I were sailing in the air. How I managed to 
 fetch her brealvfast, or whether I fetched it at all, I do 
 not remember. That I found myself in the kitchen, 
 selecting the best portions from a mass of eatables there ; 
 that the new cook, a man fiom the citj', looked at me in 
 a curious way, proposing that his assistant should carry 
 the heavy tray ; that I declined his offer, and crept back 
 with my load to the corridor, and sat down for a moment 
 in a chair there ; that a woman came out from a room 
 opposite me, and asked if I were sick as she passed on ; 
 that I smelt the odor of fresh-blown roses next instant, 
 and saw a sweet-faced lady coming in from the veranda, 
 accompanied by an elderly gentleman with iron-gray 
 hair; saw their hands full of roses, — I remember very 
 well. I remember, also, of rising with my burden, of 
 seeing the floor rise with me, the walls of the corridor 
 pitching forward, and every thing in a whirl ; and I can 
 recall nothing more. 
 
 When I awoke, I tliought it was morning, and that I 
 must get up. I wondered why my limbs did not obey 
 me. I wondered why the room should be so full of mist. 
 Faint figures were outlined in it, which receded, as I tried 
 to make them out, to an immeasurable distance ; and I 
 went down, down, down, as it were, into the very depths 
 of an under world. 
 
 I could not tell whether it were five minutes or five 
 centuries before I opened my eyes again. I could see 
 and hear now. I could move my hands and feet. I 
 could have spoken had I tried ; but I did not care to 
 make the exertion. I was disturbed by the teaspoon of 
 liquid somebody was continually putting into my mouth, 
 to be swallowed. I saw a white-headed figure about my 
 
100 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 bed, felt my hand taken, heard a voice that seemed to 
 come from a great distance say, "She's coming out of 
 it all right. She will get well fast now." 
 
 It was the doctor who pronouriced this dictum, and his 
 words proved to be correct ones. My recovery dated 
 from that morning. I gained in bodily strength ; but, for 
 some inexplicable reason, my mental powers were held in 
 abeyance. I had for a brief space no memory of the 
 past, no thought for the future. Uncle Beals and Eliza 
 came and looked at me with distress and dismay. I 
 knew them both, but could not recall their names. I did 
 not remember my own. Then an interval of sleep, 
 health-restoring sleep, succeeded this state ; and at the 
 end of it, one beautiful morning at the rising of the 
 sun, the dawn of memory returned. My mind took up 
 remote occurrences with clearness and accuracy. My 
 present condition, however, was still a mystery. When 
 I strove to penetrate it, my thoughts faded into each other 
 and became confused. I knew that two ladies were sit- 
 ting by my bed. I was cognizant of every word they 
 uttered. They spoke of me as of one who had died. 
 
 " Isn't it a pity?" said one. "The housekeeper tells 
 me that she was a very modest, capable, self-contained 
 girl, a girl of a good deal of promise." 
 
 "Yes; I hear that she was very amiable, and reli- 
 giously inclined, had a high sense of duty, and was very 
 trustworthy and self-reliant," said the other. 
 
 " She never uttered a complaining word during all the 
 time she was shut in with that mountain of flesh, but 
 waited upon her to the last, as sweet as an angel," said 
 the former voice. 
 
 "Her lovely disposition shows in her face," said the 
 second speaker, who had a low, sweet voice. 
 
 "Yes, she is well featured," said the first. 
 
 " I refer more particularly to her expression. I never 
 saw a more gentle face in my life. Mi'. Beals says she 
 came of a fine family, of old Puritan stock, was a hneal 
 descendant of one of the Mayflower Pilgrims, who landed 
 at Plymouth. I wish I had known about her before she 
 had that fall." 
 
 " Does the doctor think her mind will continue a blank? 
 She struck her head, when she swooned in the corridor, 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 101 
 
 near the base of the brain, I think you told me? He has 
 hopes of a return of mental power, has he uot? " 
 
 I did not catch the answer to this vital question ; for, 
 before the speaker had quite finished, a door opened and 
 the ladies were called out. 
 
 _ What a pity it is that we cannot, after we are dead, 
 have one ear left open to hear the pleasant things said of 
 us ! It might compensate for some of the ugly things 
 said to us when alive. 
 
 I had been told that I was a capable girl, but it did 
 not gratify me particularlj' to know the fact. It pleased 
 me more to be complimented for qualities I envied in 
 others, and longed to possess. The ladies had spoken of 
 mj' lovely disposition. Ah, me, how glad I was they did 
 not know of the unlovely thoughts 1 had so often cher- 
 ished ! — thoughts that were never put into words ; not 
 for reason of any virtue in me, but because of a weak- 
 ness of will, an incapacity of speech. 
 
 How earnestly I wished that I could possess the lova- 
 ble qualities these ladies so mistakenly attributed to me ! 
 But why did these ladies speak in the past tense ? Had I 
 been injured fatally? Was my life now ended? Or did 
 they mean that I could never learn any thing more? Oh ! 
 was I to be henceforth like Sarah Venner, the Hardcliffe 
 idiot, who grinned, and picked her gown, and drooled, and 
 stole scraps from swill-pails ? The thought sent the blood 
 tingling to my fingers' ends. I opened my eyes wide, and 
 tried to lift my head. The nurse bolstered me up with 
 pillows, and gave me something to drink. 
 
 " Am I an idiot? Am I an idiot? Tell me ! " I cried 
 excitedly, pushing away the cup. 
 
 " Not in the least," she answered with soothing voice 
 and cheerful smile. "You mustn't think of such a 
 thing." She passed her hand gently over my forehead, 
 till my excitement was quelled, and I fell asleep under her 
 touch. 
 
 When I awoke, I asked the same question again: 
 "Am Ian idiot?" 
 
 " No, indeed, you are not," said the white-haired 
 nurse. She brought a book from the table as she spoke, 
 and as I was sitting up in bed she placed it open before 
 
102 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Read me the title of this book," said she; and I 
 read as required, quickly enough, — 
 
 " The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour Jesus 
 Christ, translated out of the original Greek " — 
 
 "That will do," she said, taking away the book, and 
 at once quitting the room. 
 
 Not long after the whole family filed in to look upon 
 my improved condition. Mr. Beals was delighted. Had 
 I been his own daughter, he could not have expressed 
 greater satisfaction. But the excitement came near up- 
 setting me again. The nurse would allow no more vis- 
 itors in my room for several days, and then only for a 
 little while. 
 
 By and by I began to call things by their right names, 
 though I was troubled by ludicrous lapses of memory, 
 occasionally, still ; and some weeks had to pass before I 
 could think quite clearlj-, or talk quite as readily as 
 before. 
 
 One morning during this period, Mrs. Walters, a lady 
 who was with me a great deal now, — I had seen her first 
 the morning of my mishap, with a bunch of roses in her 
 hand, — proposed having me removed from my bed to the 
 settee on the veranda, for the benefit of the fresh air. 
 "The cool, bracing breeze, after such stagnant, dog-day 
 weather, will do her good. Do you not think so? " 
 
 She appealed to the nurse, who thought as she did ; and 
 I was at once pinned up in blankets, mummy wise. Other 
 blankets, with shawls and pillows, were transferred to the 
 gallery ; and then the nurse went in search of uncle 
 Bcals's stalwart man-of-all-work, to transfer me thither 
 too. But that factotum could not be found. 
 
 " What shall we do now? "said the nurse. " But per- 
 haps we can, both of us, get her through the window in 
 a chair," was lier added suggestion. She fetched the chair. 
 
 "My brother will carry her out," said Mrs. Walters. 
 She went to one of the French windows standing open, 
 and called, "Clifford;" and presently a gentleman an- 
 swering to the name appeared, moving slowly in, after 
 placing a lighted cigar on the raiUng of the veranda. 
 He asked what she wished of him. 
 
 " Come here and I will tell you," said Mrs. Walters. 
 The man advanced into plain view now, — a large man. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 103 
 
 " "Well, here I am, Alice. What can I have the pleas- 
 ure of doing for you ? ' ' 
 
 I gazed at him with astonishment. Such a massive, 
 magnificent young gentleman, such a specimen of Olym- 
 pian beauty, my eyes had never beheld. My native 
 bashf ulness had not yet come back upon me ; and conse- 
 quently, with no thought of self, I looked at him in pure, 
 simple, unmixed admiration. He appeared radiant 
 enough to have just breakfasted with the gods ; though 
 I could not quite remember if the twins had informed me 
 whether the gods ever breakfasted, or ever smoked cigars. 
 " I want you to carry this poor child out to the veranda, 
 to the sofa there with pillows, if you will be so kind," 
 said Mrs. Walters in her pleasant voice. 
 
 The gentleman glanced at me, surveyed my length, and 
 said, " Oh, certainly ! I shall be happy to." 
 
 With another shawl wrapped about me, so that nothing 
 was visible but a portion of mj- small face, I was bundled 
 into the arms of this grand gentleman ; and we sallied 
 forth, followed by the nurse and Mrs. Walters. 
 
 " This way, Clifford," said the latter, running before 
 us, and pointing to the couch made up of two or three 
 settees. 
 
 Instead of obeying her directions, however, the gentle- 
 man turned, and went down the broad stairs into the 
 garden. Mrs. Walters laughed. 
 
 " I didn't ask you to do that," she cried after him. 
 " No matter," I heard her add. " A few turns in the 
 garden will do her no harm." 
 
 " Aren't you rather long for your years?" asked the 
 gentleman, adjusting me, as he might a kitten, more 
 comfortably in his arms, and looking down into my face. 
 " I mean rather tall for your age," he explained. I 
 was so fascinated with his handsome visage, I forgot to 
 reply. Up and down the garden walks we went, slowly 
 at first, and then swiftl}'. I was no more of a burden to 
 him than a baby. How strong he was ! I thought of the 
 story of Samson ; I thought of Melicertes, who used to 
 pull the sun back at the solstices, and make the days 
 beautiful, and temper the heat and cold. 
 
 How unlike Mrs. Walters was this brother ! She was 
 so slender, and he so large. What a massive chin he 
 
104 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 had ! what sunny eyes ! what clustering brown hair ! what 
 handsome lips ! Yes, and what a smell of tobacco ! It 
 turned me sick, after a little while, and slightly disen- 
 chanted me. Still I greatly admired him, despite this 
 drawback. He did not seem to observe how attentively 
 I was regarding him. His eyes were with his thoughts, 
 which were far enough away from me. They must have 
 been very pleasant ones, those thoughts of his, for he 
 smiled continually ; not only with his lips, but with his 
 eyes — tender gray eyes, with a depth of seriousness 
 below the smile, that made them all the more beautiful. 
 
 By and by he looked down at me. " Do I carry you 
 comfortably? " he asked. His voice was like his sister's. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I said with a long sigh. I had scarcely 
 breathed before. 
 
 " I'm afraid you don't enjoy the exercise," he said. 
 " How long do you want me to carry you round the 
 garden? " 
 
 " All day, if you please," I answered with another 
 sigh. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! That's a reasonable length of time, I am 
 sure," said he. " Perhaps you think I should never get 
 tired. But I should. I'm tired now ; I must sit down and 
 rest upon it awhile, my little girl." He sat down in a 
 garden-chair, without relaxing his hold of me. I had not 
 taken my eyes from his face as yet. Of course, I did 
 not consider how rude it was to stare at the stranger so 
 steadily. He was not disconcerted at it, however. He 
 appeared to be amused instead ; for presently he asked, — 
 
 " What conclusion do you come to, young lady? Am 
 I good looking, do you think ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered without the slightest hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well said. That shows you have some taste. It's 
 very kind of you, too, to say it. Most young ladies think 
 lam too big and brawny. But you — you consider me 
 a nice little man, don't you? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, all but the smell," I said without embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 " Well, that is not very flattering. Do you object to 
 tobacco? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 105 
 
 ' ' Then I shall certainly leave off smoking. But it 
 strikes me you are not very grateful to hint at such a 
 sacrifice, after I have carried you all about the garden. 
 On the whole, I thiuk it's rather shabby treatment, after 
 being pressed into your service for all day. I shall 
 demand an apology." 
 
 What dreadful thing had I said? I could not recall it. 
 " Oh, I arA so sorry," I began, but could get no farther. 
 The words ended in tears. 
 
 " Oh, don't let us cry about it! " he said soothingly. 
 "I forgive you." He wiped my eyes with his handker- 
 chief. " There ; it's all right now, isn't it? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," I answered, comforted immediately. 
 
 " Then I think we had better go in, before we quarrel 
 again. If you have no hard feelings, we will take another 
 walk together to-morrow morning. Would you like it? " 
 
 I replied in the affirmative ; and he carried me up to the 
 veranda, and laid me on the settee. 
 
 "Thank you, Clifford," said his sister. "She looks 
 brighter for the exercise. — But what is this ? Tears on 
 your face ? — What have you been saying to her, Clifford ? " 
 
 " It was I. Oh, I was very rude to him !" I hastened 
 to explain. " He was very kind to me." 
 
 " Thank you, young lady. I hope you will be as truth- 
 ful when you grow to be a woman. — She was rude to me. 
 She told me I smelt disagreeably of tobacco. She ob- 
 jected to my smoking, in very plain language." 
 
 " She isn't the only one that objects to your smoking," 
 said his sister, looking round at him, as he lighted a fresh 
 cigar and went down the stairs. 
 
106 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " We had eaten fairy fruit, 
 We were quick from headto foot." 
 
 — EiiEKSOir. 
 
 MR. CLTFFOED CLOUD called for me early next 
 morning to fulfil his promise. We traversed the 
 garden walks as we had done the previous morning. The 
 dew rested like beads of pearl upon the grass. The crisp 
 air had a prophetic odor of decaying sweetness in it. 
 Whispers of wind told of autumn among the trees. There 
 was no disgusting smell of tobacco about the gentleman's 
 spic-and-span clothes this morning to offend my nostrils. 
 He was deferring the solace of his cigar till later on in 
 the day. As we went down the broad path lined with 
 seats, between the aster-beds all glowing with color, a 
 little girl emerged from behind some foliage, trundling a 
 hoop. Espying Mr. Cloud, whom it seemed she knew 
 familiarly, she cried at once, "Mr. Cloud, Mr. Cloud, 
 what's that in your arms? " 
 
 " Come and see," said the gentleman, pausing for her 
 to join us. 
 
 " What is it? " she demanded, standing on tiptoe at his 
 side, trying to get a look at my face over his arm. 
 
 " My wife," said Mr. Cloud seriously. 
 
 "Oh, what a story!" said the child incredulously. 
 " You ain't married, and never will be." 
 
 ' ■ How do you know that, my ancient miss ? ' ' asked he. 
 
 "Mamma said so," returned the child, with an air as 
 if the question were settled. 
 
 "Did she say that, now," mused the gentleman. 
 " Then you can inform her to the contrary. I was mar- 
 ried last evening, and this is my wife." 
 
 " Where are you going with her? " asked the child, half 
 ready to believe the statement he made so soberly. 
 
 " Down to the river. We are on our weddiug-tour. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 107 
 
 Keep your hoop out of the path, and you may go with us." 
 The little girl flung the hoop dexterously over her shoul- 
 der, and skipped along at our side. 
 
 " What have you got her so wrapped up for? " asked 
 the child, with piping tones, like a little bird's. 
 
 "For two reasons, my dear, — that she may not get 
 cold, and that nobody shall see her. She is too precious 
 for common eyes." 
 
 " Sha'n't you ever let folks see her? " 
 
 " I don't know. I haven't quite made up my mind yet. 
 For the present I shall keep her excellences for my own 
 enjoyment." 
 
 " Oh, how funny ! What's her name? " 
 
 " Lucy Long," said the gentleman. Here I interposed. 
 I liked the pleasant fiction well enough till it came to my 
 name. I preferred the dignity of my own name. 
 
 "It isn't Lucy Long," I said; "it's Cordelia — Cor- 
 delia" — I was in one of my momentary lapses just 
 then, and could not recall my name. Mr. Cloud helped 
 me, — 
 
 " Cordelia Long, of course. I wonder how I made the 
 mistake. Cordelia L. Cloud, — a very euphonious name." 
 
 " Why don't you call her Mrs. Cloud? " inquired the 
 little miss, in more subdued voice. 
 
 " Because she is such a timid little thing. I don't want 
 to frighten her with that dismal cognomen till I am obliged 
 to do it. You see, she only came to me yesterday, my 
 dear. One of these days I shall call her JVIrs., of course. 
 I shall say, ' Mrs. C'oud, why is it you never sew the but- 
 tons on my shirt? ' ' Mrs. Cloud, bring me my boot-jack ; ' 
 ' Mrs. Cloud, I'll trouble you for my dressing-gown and 
 slippers.' " 
 
 " Sha'n't you say ' if you please? ' Papa says so." 
 
 " No ; that isn't my way, to waste words. I shall just 
 say, ' Do this,' and she'll do it." 
 
 "Maybe she won't, though; maybe she rather not; 
 maybe she won't love you," said the little girl, dancing 
 ahead of us, as if she had the best of the argument. 
 
 "Then she will break a commandment," said Mr. 
 Cloud solemnly. "The Bible says, 'Wives, obey your 
 husbands.' " 
 
 This was a poser. The little girl was silent for some 
 
108 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 time. She felt her inability to controvert Scripture. 
 She wisely changed the subject, by remarking, — 
 
 " I don't think she's dressed very pretty, all wrapped 
 up in a blanket. She don't look one bit like a bride." 
 
 "Oh, that's all underneath the blanket, — the white 
 satin petticoat, and laces and pearls, et cetera, — you 
 know!" 
 
 " Oh, let me see, do let me see 'em ! " vociferated the 
 child, in her highest piping tones. 
 
 "Not for the world, my pet; not for the sun, moon, 
 and stars," said the gentleman, pressing her back a little. 
 " If I should show you what's under the blanket, the spell 
 would be broken, and my wife would fly away forever." 
 
 By this time we had reached the river. " There's the 
 gondola my wife came in last night," said Mr. Cloud, 
 pointing between the clumps of willows, to where a fallen 
 leaf of scarlet maple danced on the dimpling surface of 
 the water. " The fairies' gondolas are always painted red. 
 The queen of the fairies and her prime minister are lurk- 
 ing in some of their hidden palaces, among the roots of 
 the willows." 
 
 " Oh, you're telling a fib, Mr. Cloud ! " cried the child 
 esultingly. " That's Mr. Mumford's blue boat." 
 
 " I didn't mean tJiat," said Mr. Cloud, turning back 
 with his burden into the path again. " I saw a dozen 
 little fairy boats moored under the lily leaves there." 
 
 "0 Mr. Cloud, go back and show 'em to me! go 
 back and show 'em to me! " pleaded the little maiden, 
 her violet eyes wide open with wonder. 
 
 "It wouldn't be of any use," said the gentleman in 
 sorrowful tone. " I couldn't show them to you. You 
 never find them by looking for them. You can't search 
 for fairies, any more than you can for happiness." 
 
 This made the child thoughtful, — this bit of mysti- 
 cal lore. She pondered it awhile, then brightened and 
 asked, — 
 
 ' ' Where did your wife come from ? ' ' 
 
 "If I tell you, will you promise never to reveal the 
 secret, as long as you live and breathe? " whispered the 
 gentleman. 
 
 "Yes, I'll promise," said she, heaving a sacrificial 
 sigh. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 109 
 
 "Well, then, she came from Elfland." 
 
 " That's a story," interrupted the child disdainfully. 
 " Elves ain't longer than that," measuring half an inch on 
 her tiny finger. 
 
 " That was just my wife's length when she came. She 
 was one of the tiniest little fairies you can possibly im- 
 agine, — maid of honor to the queen. The king fell in love 
 with her, she was so beautiful ; which made the queen so 
 jealous, so furiously jealous, that she absolutely contrived 
 a plan to kill her, and then was persuaded by her prime 
 minister to punish her in a worse manner, — that is, by 
 changing her into a mortal and sending her to me as a 
 wife. You see, just as soon as she touched my hand, she 
 became a long-legged mortal. Don't you pity the poor 
 thing now? If 3'ou do, you may pick her a flower. Re- 
 member to keep your promise." 
 
 We were in the garden again ; and the child ran to a 
 bed of pinks, plucked one, and standing on tiptoe put it 
 to my nose. She looked at me disappointedly. 
 
 " I don't think she's a bit pretty, if she was a fairy," 
 she said, turning away. 
 
 "You won't say so by and by. One of these days, 
 when you see her again with me, if you don't say she is 
 lovely as any fairy that ever danced in a ring, I'll give 
 you a thousand kisses. Come up here and I'll give you 
 one of them now." The child climbed to his shoulder, 
 and put her cherry mouth to his, and then began to tease 
 him to cany her about the garden. 
 
 " Not to-day, my little girl," said he. "I must go away 
 as soon as I have taken my precious charge here in-doors, 
 and put her under lock and key. Good-by. Run home 
 and say good-by for me to your mamma. Tell her she 
 won't see me again for a month." 
 
 It was several weeks, before Mr. Cloud came to Sun- 
 bridge again ; and then he staid only long enough to 
 say good-by to his sister. He was to take passage in the 
 afternoon of the same day, in a steamer for China. 
 
 While he remained, I kept out of his sight ; mortally 
 ashamed now, on recovery, of the manner in which I 
 had made my acquaintance with the gentleman. That 
 escapade of the garden greatly troubled my uncle and 
 Eliza. The latter deemed it unpardonable in my nurse 
 
110 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 for having permitted such a thing ; nay uncle blamed Mrs. 
 M' alters. 
 
 Julia the chambermaid came rushing into the house- 
 keeper's room, announcing the gentleman's arrival, and 
 holding aloft a bank bill he had forgotten to give her, for 
 some special care she had taken of his room on his last 
 visit. I was with Eliza that morning, trying to assist 
 her a little in counting and sorting the piles of linen be- 
 longing to the house. Uncle Beals would not, as yet, 
 allow me to enter aunt Beals's room. 
 
 " Isn't Mr. Cloud a splendid fellow, every way? " cried 
 Julia delightedly, shaking the crisp present before Eliza's 
 eyes. 
 
 "That depends," said Eliza curtly. I felt the hot 
 blood rising to the very roots of my hair. I was in a 
 good deal of inward excitement over his arrival. Would 
 he inquire for me ? I wondered. Though I would not be 
 seen by him, it would be a great satisfaction to know that 
 he remembered me. Not a day had passed since our 
 garden walk together, that I had not wasted considerable 
 thought on the gentleman, and contrasted his fine exte- 
 rior with that of the young men I had seen in Sunbridge, 
 ever marvelling why mother Nature should make such 
 unequal distributions, in her favors of good looks. I was 
 not so foolish, however, as to really fancy he had remem- 
 bered me, any more than he had I'emembered a toad which 
 had hopped over his foot in the garden. He was a dis- 
 tant star, to be speculated over from afar ; and any knowl- 
 edge concerning him I greedily absorbed. I had heard 
 Eliza and Miss Gunning, an old-maid boarder, talk about 
 him and his sister, Mrs. Walters, several times, and had 
 learned, without questioning, how he had graduated at a 
 German university, and afterwards become a tea mer- 
 chant, and made nothing of going to China for the firm 
 of which he was a member, — a firm that had branch 
 houses in several cities in this country and abroad. His 
 father, I inferred by the tenor of their talk, had been a 
 rather singular old gentleman, who, on dying, left a will 
 dividing his personal property equally between his two 
 children, — Mrs. Walters and this brother, — but had left 
 his real estate to them undivided^ and in a way that pre- 
 vented any disposal of the same during cither's lifetime. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. Ill 
 
 " He is rich enough to make handsome presents," said 
 Eliza, when Julia had quitted the room, " and Mrs. Wal- 
 ters is verj' rich, too. Mrs. AValters is a verj- nice per- 
 son, very different from her brother. No one ever sees 
 her dancing, or flirting with gentlemen not her husband, 
 or reading novels Sundays. She goes to chapel regu- 
 larly, rain or shine. I can't say that of her brother. I 
 can't really say any good of him, that I know of," added 
 Eliza, holding a linen sheet to the light to ascertain if it 
 had reached a state of central thinness, requiring turning. 
 
 " Do you know any great harm of him? " I asked. I 
 was on familiar terms with Eliza since my sickness. 
 
 " I know this much," she answered quickly ; " that he 
 flirted a whole month here with Mrs. Atwood last sum- 
 mer, and at the same time paid such particular attention 
 to Susie Miller, that she expected he was going to marry 
 her, and almost lost her wits when she found he didn't 
 mean any thing by his attentions. Miss Gunning says 
 she has moped ever since, and her mother is very anxious 
 over her condition." 
 
 " What do you mean by flirting, Eliza? What is flirt- 
 ing? " I asked, immensely interested. 
 
 "Why, flirting, j-ou unsophisticated child, is making 
 love without any heart in it, — casting up of eyes, and 
 sweetly smiling, whispering together behind a fan, touch- 
 ing hands and heads, exchanging meaningless flattery, 
 with a lot of other senseless stuff mixed in ; the whole 
 amounting to no more than a whipped syllabub, which, 
 if you eat much of, will disorder your stomach, and leave 
 a bad taste in your mouth in the morning." 
 
 " Does Mr. ClQud do all this? " I asked, astonished. 
 
 " He helps the women to do it. He makes fools of 
 some of the married women here, by pretending to be 
 very fond of their children, to begin with, knowing it will 
 make them, the mothers, very fond of him. He is pos- 
 sessed to get every lady under middle age in love with 
 him. I've seen so much of it that I am quite disgusted, 
 I must say. Your uncle Beals doesn't like him at all." 
 "Does he like Mrs. Walters?" I inquired. 
 " Not as well as he ought. Your uncle is sometimes, 
 like a great many other men, inclined to take counsel of 
 his prejudices, and too apt to be governed and led astray 
 
112 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 by them. Mrs. Walters is a perfect lady, and very be- 
 nevolent. Miss Gunning says she is connected with 
 every charitable institution in the country, and gives away 
 thousands of dollars every year. I am knowing myself 
 to some of her private charities. She paid the board 
 here, all last summer, of two sick orphan girls from the 
 city, — girls who had been working in a shop, and had 
 no home to go to, when their health failed. She has taken 
 a great interest in you latterly, and made a great many 
 inquiries of me about you. She was standing very near 
 you the morning you fell in the corridor, you know, with 
 Mrs. Beals's breakfast in your hands. I was at my sister's 
 that day, and Mr. Beals was away too. And Mrs. Wal- 
 ters had you carried directly to her rooms, and a bed was 
 made up in her parlor for you. There she insisted you 
 should stay, and there you did stay ; and she waited upon 
 you almost as much as the nurse did. She even sent for 
 her family physician to come to see you when you were 
 at the lowest ebb of your fever, and seemed to take as 
 much interest in your case as Mr. Beals or myself. She 
 went to Mr. Beals yesterday and asked his permission to 
 take you home with her to the city for the winter. But 
 he told her he couldn't spare you. Your uncle is greatly 
 attached to you, Cordelia. He couldn't think any more 
 of you, if you were his own daughter." 
 
 " And, then, he wants me to attend to aunt Beals 
 .igain when I get strong enough, too, I suppose," I said. 
 " I wonder why he doesn't let me go in to see her? " 
 
 "The doctor has forbidden your entering her room at 
 present. By and by he says you may go," said Eliza. 
 
 " I am strong enough to go now," I insisted. " How 
 is aunt Beals this morning, Eliza? " 
 
 " She is very quiet indeed," she answered. 
 
 " Does she sleep better nights? " I asked. 
 
 " She sleeps very sound now every night." 
 
 " Doesn't she ever ask for me, now I am so much bet- 
 ter, and about the house? " 
 
 " I don't think she has mentioned your name latterly," 
 said Eliza, suddenly turning into the clothes-press to put 
 away some pillow-cases. 
 
 "How strange!" I said. "Did you tell her what I 
 asked you to do yesterday ? ' ' 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 113 
 
 "What was that?" said the housekeeper, emerging 
 from the closet with a basket of towels. "I don't re- 
 member, I'm sure." 
 
 ' ' That I would come and play cribbage with her every 
 evening, if uncle Beals would let me." 
 
 "No, I did not tell her, because she doesn't seem to 
 care for cribbage now-a-days," said Eliza. 
 
 A knock on the door put a stop to my further question- 
 ing. Martin came in to tell me that Mrs. Walters would 
 . take her morning drive a little earlier than usual to-day. 
 I went directly to my room, which was next Eliza's now, 
 and put on my outer garments, that I might not keep 
 the lady waiting. My daily drives with Mrs. Walters 
 constituted the chief delight of my convalescence. The 
 lady was remaining at the Springs long after the other 
 guests had flitted away. 
 
 She lingered, I suppose, because the first weeks of 
 autumn were so pleasant at Sunbridge, and she could 
 drive about by herself over the smootli level roads, amid 
 scenery enchanting with its peaceful loveliness. 
 
 "Take ,this thicker shawl with you," said Eliza, 
 coming after me as I descended the stairs. " It will be 
 what you'll need, driving through the woods to Norman- 
 ville this chilly morning ; and Mr. Beals is very anxious 
 lest you may take cold during your long drives." She 
 flung the shawl over my arm. At that moment, through 
 the open door, I saw Mr. Cloud talking to his sister, while 
 she waited for me in her phaeton by the portico. At 
 sight of him, I turned and rushed back to the house- 
 keeper's room, feeling an utter inability to meet the man 
 with the dignity I deemed incumbent upon me, after what 
 had happened. 
 
 " What have you forgotten? " asked Eliza. 
 
 " Nothing," I said ; " but I think I'll not go out this 
 morning. I will ring, and ask Martin to tell Mrs. Wal- 
 ters so." In crossing the room to the bell-rope, however, 
 I discovered through the window that Mr. Cloud had 
 disappeared. "Yes, I will go: it is such a pleasant 
 morning," I added, suddenly changing my mind, and 
 hurrying from the room ; leaving Eliza to believe, doubt- 
 less, that I had not, as yet, returned to a sound mental 
 state. 
 
114 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " How are you this morning? " inquired Mrs. Walters, 
 beaming upon me with her gracious smile, as I took my 
 place by her side. 
 
 I wanted to say, "Disgusted with myself;" but, as 
 courtesy did not demand the truth, I told her I was very 
 well. 
 
 "You are looking well. Your cheeks are getting 
 rounder, and you have some color in them to-day ; " and 
 then she began to talk of other things, remote from me 
 and my surroundings, till I was quite beguiled out of 
 myself. 
 
 It was strange what perfect ease I felt in Mrs. Walters's 
 presence. I had never opened my heart to any one till I 
 met her. In the warmth of her genuine goodness, my 
 shyness melted and disappeared. I trusted her instinc- 
 tively. What delight it gave me when I found I could be 
 of some service to her ! For, though her pleasant gray 
 eyes gave no indication of impaii'ed vision, there were 
 days together when she could not use them, in reading or 
 writing, and mine supplied the place of them. I read to 
 her, and wrote letters to her correspondents, — to officers 
 of charitable institutions, and lunatic asylums, and jails 
 and prisons, gaining in that way my first knowledge of her 
 character. To be sure, Eliza had told me about her kind- 
 ness to the poor and sick ; but it was something quite 
 different to know personally a woman whose principal 
 business was that of doing good, who had a passion for 
 benevolent work as one might have for music, and paint- 
 ing, and the like. Though I ever felt deeply her gracious 
 superiority, her manners were so simple and sympathetic, 
 I was conscious of no more restraint in her society than 
 in that of Calista Comery, and had long ago told her all 
 my insignificant history. Did I say all? No ; I had not 
 told her all. I had been frank on every subject except 
 that of mj' mother. To her unobtrusive questions con- 
 cerning her, I had returned decidedly equivocal answers. 
 My pride would not have her know that I was the loveless 
 child of an unnatural mother. It was a foolish pride. I 
 should have throttled it, and told the whole truth. Half 
 truths are mean things, and my new-found friend deserved 
 no half confidences from me. I felt this, and longed for 
 strength, whenever she spoke of my mother, to confess 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 115 
 
 her true character. I had just the opportunity this morn- 
 ing to make such confession. We were driving along the 
 willow-bordered causeway leading to the busy manufac- 
 turing village of Normanville, through the quietest portion 
 of the way ; and my companion was just inquiring when I 
 had last heard from my mother, and if her long silence 
 was not something unusual. Here, I might have told the 
 whole truth, had not pride again put its finger on my lip, 
 and compelled me to silence. 
 
 "Your mother's letters must have miscarried," re- 
 marked Mrs. Walters, when I had informed her that I had 
 heard nothing from her for several months. " Have 
 inquiries been made concerning them ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 " Uncle Beals may possibly have made some," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Perhaps she has not received your letters," suggested 
 my companion. " How anxious she must be in that case, 
 with such strong sympathy as must exist between mother 
 and daughter ! / have even no memory of a mother. I 
 do not know what it is to have a mother, or to be a 
 mother." A shade of sadness crossed her face for a 
 moment, but only for a moment. She took up a livelier 
 theme as we entered Normanville. She did not after- 
 wards allude to the subject of my mother during her stay 
 at Sunbridge. 
 
116 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " What is so universal as death must be benefit." 
 
 — Schiller. 
 
 PLEASANT to me were these autumn days spent in 
 Mrs. Walters's society ; aud pleasant would be the 
 rcmouibrance of them, I thought, when the winter days 
 had come, and I should once more resume my attendance 
 upou aunt Beals. For, though as yet there had been no 
 mention of my returning to her bedside, — she was con- 
 floed to hnr bed now, I was told, — I felt sure that as soon 
 as my health became permanently established, it would be 
 expected, of course, that I should take up my old line of 
 duty again. At present, however, I was permitted to 
 pass my time as I pleased ; and 1 was pleased to pass 
 most of it with Mrs. Walters. 
 
 The day of her departure from Sunbridge was a sor- 
 rowful one for me. It was not likely I should see her 
 again soon, if ever; for she did not intend to come to 
 Sunbridge the next summer. She entered my room soon 
 after dawn, before I was awake, to say good-by. She was 
 to take the earliest train, in order to visit Bran Chester, 
 where a hospital, through her agency, had been established 
 for sick children. She was to meet the " lady board of 
 visitors" there at nine o'clock, and return in the after- 
 noon to her home in the city. 
 
 She kissed me, gave me her card of address, and said, 
 " If you ever find yourself in need of a friend, Cordelia, 
 or a friend's counsel, come to me." When she went from 
 the room, the light of heaven seemed to go with her. 
 After I had risen and breakfasted, a restless loneliness 
 oppressed me. Work had once been my panacea for sor- 
 row. But there was no work for me to do now-a-daj's. 
 I bethought me of aunt Beals. It was strange I could 
 gain no definite knowledge concerning her. Everyljody 
 adroitly evaded my questioning. Could it be she had 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 117 
 
 taken the freakiof disliking me as she did Eliza? I was 
 determined to go to her room and find out. 
 
 To avoid observation, I went round and tapped at the 
 outside of one of the large French windows, which opened 
 with hinges like a door into her room. Through these 
 windows aunt Beals had now and tlien come forth for a 
 little stay on the veranda, before the fresh air had become 
 such a terror to her. Both windows were shut and 
 sln-ouded to-day. There was no answer to my knock. I 
 went back into the house, and down the corridor to her 
 parlor door, and tapped there. Receiving no answer, I 
 souglit Eliza, who was superintending the potting of some 
 plants for winter. 
 
 " Where is aunt Beals's nurse? " I asked. 
 
 " She has gone home long ago," said Eliza. 
 
 " But I saw her in the breakfast-room this morning." 
 
 " Oh, that was .Susan Sanders. Slie's been sewing here 
 for several weeks," said Eliza, selecting a few slips to 
 take u]) to her room. 
 
 " Why, I saw her come out of Mrs. Beals's parlor yes- 
 terday," I said, more and more mjstified over the secret 
 matter. 
 
 "She sews in the room you used to occupy, Cordelia. 
 JMrs. Beals gets along without any nurse now. She 
 sleeps all the time, as you might say ; ' ' and here the 
 housekeeper contracted her black brows a little as she 
 bent over some flowers. 
 
 " Some change must have come to her, then, since I 
 was taken sick," 1 said. "She didn't use to sleep in 
 the daytime but little. She's sound asleep now, I think, 
 for I've knocked at her window and her door several 
 times. I'm going in to see her when she wakes up, 
 Eliza, whether j'ou are willing or not. I wish you would 
 let me carry in her dinner to her to-day and surprise her. 
 Can I? Or doesn't she want to see me? What is it?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Wait till Mr. Beals comes home, and then he will go 
 into her room with J'OU. Wait till to-morrow morning," 
 said Eliza. " Mr. IBeals will explain every thing." 
 
 " Ver^' well," said I, not caring to know if aunt Beals 
 hated me, till they were read}' to tell me. My mind was 
 with Mrs. Walters — who had by this time reached Bran- 
 
118 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Chester — and with her brother. I wondered if he had yet 
 taken passage for China. 
 
 " Why don't you go out for a little walk, Cordelia? " 
 said the housekeeper, tiglitening the elastic of m}' muslin 
 cap, that sat too jauntily over my bald pate (I had lost 
 my hair since ray sickness). " There's a path along by 
 the river's bank, that leads directly into Mr. Dufferin's 
 grounds. Anybody is free to go there who won't meddle 
 with the flowers. It's a lovely morning." 
 
 I was ready at once to avail myself of Eliza's sugges- 
 tion. I took up my hat. "Take my shawl with you, 
 Cordelia." She placed the garment over my shoulders. 
 " We mustn't have you taking cold, and getting sick 
 again," she added. 
 
 " Will you give me something to do when I come 
 back, Eliza?" I asked, as she gently urged me on. 
 
 " Yes. Don't come back till dinner-time. It's too 
 beautiful a day for you to remain indoors," said the 
 kindly voice. 
 
 It was indeed a lovely autumn morning. A few white 
 clouds lay becalmed in the blue overhead. The maples 
 wore the color of last night's sunset. There was a fruity 
 smell in the air, as if " draughts of vintage " were being 
 passed round from " tlie deep-delved earth ; " and such a 
 warmth of sunbeam everywhere, it seemed as if Summer 
 had turned back to go hand in hand with Autumn a while 
 longer, ere she took a final farewell. I went down the 
 path where Mr. Cloud had carried me several weeks ago, 
 — several ages it seemed, — and entered the broader walk, 
 bordered with flowers, quite at the water's edge. It led 
 to a sequestered place, almost like a grotto, — a kind of 
 fernery enclosed by a high semi-circular hedge. The 
 entrance to this greenery was on the opposite side, some 
 distance round. There was an opening on the side where 
 I was standing, little larger than sufficient to admit a 
 child. Through this I pushed, much to the disarrange- 
 ment of my headgear, and went down a few marble steps, 
 and looked round. It was a secluded spot, a place for 
 lovers at noonday. I examined the many varieties of 
 ferns and mosses growing between crevices of artificially 
 arranged rocks, and in urns and hanging baskets, for a 
 while ; then I went down to the brink of the stream, and 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 119 
 
 sat down on a smooth white stone placed there for the 
 purpose. The water was like a dark mirror streaked with 
 sunshine. There was no breath of wind to break the 
 reHeetion of foliage in its depths. It was a strangely 
 silent spot, not even the rustle of a leaf to-day. The 
 distant report of a hunter's gun only made the stillness 
 about me more impressive. It was a place to meditate 
 in. I wondered if Mrs. "Walters had ever been here. I 
 got up and stooped over, and looked at myself in the 
 water. I adjusted my cap. 
 
 " I certainly am growing good looking," I soliloquized, 
 " if only my cheeks were a little fuller and redder." I 
 pinched them, grimaced to myself, showed my teeth. 
 " Yes, I am growing good looking, after all," I repeated 
 with decided satisfaction. "Bah, what a fool I am ! " 
 I exclaimed, disgusted at my silly vanity ; and, turning 
 away, I flung Eliza's shawl upon the ground, and myself 
 upon the shawl, and, clasping my hands above my head, 
 looked up into the heavens, at as much as could be seen 
 of them through the interlacing branches of the tall trees 
 that grew close to the river's brink. It was like old times 
 Ij-ing under the trees again. I had found solace for sad- 
 ness in this way many a time at Hardcliffe. 
 
 "Dear mother Earth!" I murmured, "why should 
 we not love her ? We came from her in the beginning of 
 life, she takes us to her bosom at the end of life. Oh, 
 it is such a comfort to get close again to her throbbing 
 heart!" 
 
 This sentimental effusion was cut short by the rustling 
 of foliage, and a masculine " ahem," close by. I sprang 
 to my feet, and looked swiftly round. My eyes lighted 
 on the intruder instantly ; a straight, slender, dark young 
 man, in a suit of coarse gray, somewhat the worse for 
 wear. He was clutching his cap in the deepest embar- 
 rassment, and muttering someformula of apology, to which 
 I paid no attention. I was looking for means of exit from 
 the place, — quick exit. I could not, of course, retreat 
 by the way I had come in, by crawling through the hedge 
 again. One performance of that kind should suffice for 
 the young man's amusement. Nor was I romantic enough 
 to jump into the river, to be rescued by the disagreeable 
 looking stranger. There was no way to quit the enclo- 
 
120 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 sure but through the ordinary opening of the hedge, close 
 by which the young man was standing. He moved aside. 
 "You can pass out this way, madam," he said, bow- 
 ing deferentially, and still holding his cap; "I have 
 only this moment come in." I blushed, bowed, caught 
 up my shawl and hat, and darted past him. Why I 
 should glance at his face as I did so, some tricksy spirit 
 present there must explain. But for that glance every 
 thing would have been right ; I should soon have forgot- 
 ten the young man. In the swift look, however, I gave 
 his face, I saw in it the lie to the words he had just 
 spoken ; and I knew he had been in the enclosure all the 
 while I had been there, and heard every word I had 
 uttered. The mocking expression of his face, which 
 plainly said, "You are a silly, sentimental girl," made 
 me as angry as it did ashamed. I hated him at once. 
 As I van out and down the path, I tried to recall what I 
 actually had said to myself, in his hearing. It was none 
 of his business, though, what I had spoken. Had he 
 been a gentleman, he would have discovered himself to me 
 the moment I entered the fernery. I was provolied for 
 looking back at him over my shoulder, where he had fol- 
 lowed me into the path along by the river, and stood gaz- 
 ing after me so intently. As I looked, he took off his cap 
 and gravely bowed. I returned no sign of acknowledg- 
 ment to the courtesy. I hurried on faster than ever towards 
 home. My first thouglit on entering the house was to 
 give Eliza a description of the fellow, and ask if she had 
 ever seen him. But I forgot all about the matter when 
 I met her holding up a letter for me that had just arrived. 
 The letter was from Hardcliffe, from Calista of course ; 
 yet the superscription was not in her hand, her cousin's 
 probably. How glad I was to hear from the dear old 
 giii ! Only one letter, in the long year that had gone by, 
 had I received from her. I tore off the envelope, and 
 glanced at the signature, which was written in Calista's 
 well-known hand ; all the rest in a hand quite unknown 
 to me. I saw, as I ran over the six closely written pages, 
 that the wordy, bombastic style was not at all like Calista. 
 She had never dictated it ; all the coercive power in the 
 universe could not have compelled her to do it. After 
 'several readings of the ambiguous epistle, I made out that 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 121 
 
 two important events had lately transpired in Hardcliffe. 
 I made out that old Peter Williams was dead, and Calista: 
 Comery was married! The finding of these facts was 
 like searching for "two grains of wheat hid in a. bushel 
 of chaff ; " but, unlike Gratiano's reasons, they were worth 
 the search. 
 
 Calista married ! The possibility of such a thing had 
 never entered my mind. Who, I wondered, was her hus- 
 band? He was described in the letter as a " great soul 
 with lofty purposes;" a man "of unparalleled intel- 
 lectual powers, whose moral altitude," etc., was above 
 every thing. Had Calista thrown herself away upon some 
 cracked-brained egotist — some adventurer who wanted 
 her money ? 
 
 I wrote to her immediately, before I ate my dinner, and 
 asked her to tell me in plain English, whom she had mar- 
 ried ; and I may as well say here, that an answer came 
 announcing the husband's name as Rev. David Dellman, 
 philanthropist, moral reformer, scientific investigator, etc. 
 The letter was twice the length of its predecessor, and 
 twice as unintelligible. There would be no use in writing 
 again. I should hear nothing directly- from my friend. 
 With this bombastic appendage of a husband, Calista was 
 lost to me. 
 
 Uncle Beals returned from the city in the evening. 
 After supper, I went to the gentlemen's parlor to speak 
 with him. In thinking of Calista, I had quite forgotten 
 the disagreeable stranger encountered in the morning. 
 But there he sat, talking with Mr. Beals ! I recognized 
 the close-cropped, jet black hair, the swarthy visage, the 
 careless suit of sliabby gra^', at the first glance. Who on 
 earth could he be ? He was conversing with my uncle in 
 the pleasantest fashion ; telling some funny story, it 
 seemed, for my uncle was laughing heartily, while the 
 young man himself had not the ghost of a smile on his 
 face. It occurred to me next morning to make inquiry 
 about him of uncle Beals. Then I reflected that it was of 
 no consequence who he was ; some impertinent, impecuni- 
 ous fellow, judging from his dress, doubtless, who was 
 passing through the place. Before the day was over, all 
 thought of him departed from my mind. 
 
 When Sunday came, it was arranged by Eliza that I 
 
122 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 should attend church with her and Mr. Beals, — a place 
 I had not been in for months before my sickness. 
 
 After breakfast, I went to my room to dress for the 
 occasion, and was greatly astonished to find an elaborate 
 suit of deep mourning spread out upon the bed. 
 
 " What is that for? " I asked Eliza, who had followed 
 me up-stairs. 
 
 " For you to put on, Cordelia," she replied. 
 
 " Is my aunt dead? " I whispered, the whole mystery 
 revealed now. Eliza nodded. 
 
 " Why was I not told so, then? Why did you not tell 
 me yesterday? Why was I kept in ignorance of the 
 fact?" I demanded. 
 
 " Don't blame me, Cordelia. I did want to tell you ; 
 but Mr. Beals ordered us all to keep silent on the subject 
 before you. The doctor had told him the shock might 
 unsettle you again. He was needlessly exercised over 
 the matter, I can see now." 
 
 " When did she die? " I asked calmly. 
 
 "During the second week of your illness," said Eliza. 
 " She fretted herself to death about you. She wouldn't let 
 the nurse Mr. Beals procured in the city, come near her ; 
 Mr. Beals had to attend upon her himself, when I could 
 not. She got very angry with me. The doctor said 
 excitement and constant fretting carried her off. Your 
 uncle went in with her dinner one day, and found her 
 dead in her chair. It was the very day when you weren't 
 expected to live, and you can imagine how Mr. Beals 
 must have suffered. She was a monstrous corpse. One 
 of the windows had to be enlarged to get the coffin 
 through. I have been expecting you would notice the 
 change, as you walked round the veranda. It was the 
 end window." 
 
 "I noticed nothing of it," I said. "It never oc- 
 curred to me that aunt Beals could die. I considered 
 her endowed with fleshly immortality. I wonder now I 
 did not guess the truth. Must I wear mourning for 
 her?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Eliza. "It is decidedly requisite 
 that mourning should be worn for a deceased aunt. It is 
 an elegant outfit. Mr. Beals had one of your gowns sent 
 to the city for a measure for these. See what an elegant 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 123 
 
 piece of goods. Mr. Beals thinks there is nothing too 
 nice for you now-a-days." 
 
 " I wish he did, — I mean, I wish ho would excuse me 
 from wearing mourning for his wife," I said, eying the 
 various crape-trimmed garments with dismay. " Won't 
 he, don't you think, Eliza? " I appealed to the lady. 
 
 "Oh, no; indeed, he will not," she returned. "It 
 would not be at all proper that he should. You would 
 make yourself unpleasantly conspicuous by such lack of 
 respect to your relative ; and, besides, all this expensive 
 material would go to waste." 
 
 " May I speak to him about it, Eliza? " T pleaded again ; 
 for I hated the idea of putting on a costume of mourning 
 as intensely as ever Calista Comery did. I did not feel 
 grieved enough over my aunt's death to desire to don a 
 black garment for it. Moreover, I had been wearing 
 mourning the greater part of my sixteen years, and felt 
 I deserved emancipation from the observance now, espe- 
 cially when it was so distasteful to me. I told Eliza so. 
 
 " But what would the Crosbys and the Newtons and 
 the Barkers think, Cordelia, to see you at church, the first 
 time after your aunt's death, dressed in colors? It is the 
 custom to wear black, and any breach of the same would 
 be noted and commented on." (Eliza was a great stick- 
 ler for forms.) "You must do as everybody else does 
 when a relative dies." 
 
 " But maj' I speak to uncle about it? " I persisted. 
 
 " Of course, if you wish to do so," said EHza with dig- 
 nity ; " but I know how he feels about it. He would refer 
 you to me, to be guided by my judgment. I was with him 
 when the goods were purchased, and the suit ordered. 
 He depends upon .me entirel}' to decide such matters." 
 
 " Oh, if my uncle insists, I shall wear the mourning, of 
 course ! " I said ; " but I should like to ask him myself 
 about it." 
 
 Eliza opened the door and spoke to the chamber girl, 
 who was passing. " Ask Mr. Beals to come to Miss Cor- 
 delia's room, Julia," she said. 
 
 Mr. Beals was presently on hand. He looked inquir- 
 ingly at Eliza as he entered, sat down, and put his hat on 
 the floor beside his chair. 
 
 " Have you told her? " he asked, glancing at me. 
 
124 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Yes, I've told her; but she declines to put on the 
 dress you so kindly purchased for her, unless you insist 
 upon it," said Eliza. " You, of course, will leave the 
 matter to me to decide, Mr. Beals. No one can know 
 better than I, what is suitable for her." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said my uncle, with brisk mild- 
 ness. " Don't you faucy mourning, Cordelia?" 
 
 " No, sir, not a bit. I've worn it so much in my life 
 it makes me shiver to look at any thing that has black 
 crape on it," I said ; " and I don't want to wear it unless 
 you say I must." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not particular about it, Cordelia, not a mite ! 
 I got for ye what Eliza told me to git. Slie said it was 
 the fashion ; but, if you don't want to follow it, you and 
 Eliza can fix that matter between yourselves, you know." 
 
 " I don't call it following the fashion, showing a proper 
 respect for the dead, Mr. Beals," interrupted the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " Certainly not, certainly not ; of course — I wish " — 
 
 " You wish Cordelia to wear what is here provided for 
 her, do you not? " Eliza broke in again. 
 
 Mr. Beals evaded the question. He was at a total loss 
 how to act in the matter, — whether to favor my view of 
 the matter, or Eliza's. Had he been called to settle a 
 point between two masculine members of his household, 
 he would have made a short cut to his decision. But he 
 was particularly sensitive to the influence of "women 
 folks; " and his affection for Eliza and myself being so 
 equally divided, rendered him foolishly inefficient to arbi- 
 trate any question between us. He was fond of Eliza be- 
 cause she was so faithful to his interests, so thoughtful 
 of his comfort, and such a prudent and thrifty manager in 
 every department of the household. He was fond of me 
 for — I know not what. But that ho was in fair way of 
 spoiling me with too much petting, I know very well ; and 
 that I was strongly tempted to take advantage of my posi- 
 tion in his favor, to have my will in spite of Eliza, I 
 know also. Such a course, however, I had the wit to per- 
 ceive, would cause a breach between my uncle and his 
 housekeeper. I saw by the flashing eyes of the latter that 
 she was already offended with Mr. Beals for his wavering 
 indecision, and besetting inclination to indulge me in every 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 125 
 
 whim and fancy I might be having. To be the cause of 
 esiiangement between them, was dreadful to me, even in 
 thought. 1 could put aside self at any time, for the sake 
 of harmony. So I said quickly, while uncle Beals was 
 glancing deprecatingly at his housekeeper, and twirling his 
 thumbs, unable to answer her question, — 
 
 " I shall do as you wish, Eliza. 1 ought to know that 
 your judgment is better than mine in every thing." 
 
 " That's right," said uncle Beals. " You and Eliza 
 settle the thing together j-ourselves. " And immensely 
 relieved, he caught up his tall white hat with its wide crape 
 band, and escaped from the room. 
 
 Eliza kissed me, and returned to her chamber, — en- 
 tirely mollified, — to get ready for church; while I went 
 to work and put on the mourning to join her. I would 
 have put on an iron armor, if necessary to keep the peace, 
 rather than to become the means of discord in the family. 
 Eliza was not given to flattery, but she could say sweet 
 things after achieving a victory. As we descended the 
 stairs together, she whispered, — 
 
 " You look as fair as a lily in your new clothes ; and 
 your uncle Beals is pleased enough, I'll assure you." 
 
 After service, wheu dinner was over, uncle Beals pri- 
 vately signalled me to follow him into what was so lately 
 called " Mrs. Beals's parlor," now entirely renovated 
 and refurnished. I should never have known it as the 
 ^ame room. The heavy curtains were removed, letting 
 the warm sun come freely in at the south windows, over 
 an array of flowering plants arranged on wide shelves 
 before them. A new carpet was on the floor, fresh paper 
 on the walls. A handsome Mag&re, containing a long 
 mirror, occupied the corner formerly filled by Mrs. Beals's 
 capacious reclining chair. Every familiar picture, save 
 my aunt's portrait, — taken in early life, and as unlike her 
 as possible, — had been conveyed elsewhere. That alone 
 retained its usual place above the mantelpiece, looking at 
 me, as of old, with its cerulean eyes ; and still puzzling 
 me with its power to gaze at any number of persons sep- 
 arately at the same instant, and follow each about wher- 
 ever each went. ' 
 
 " Sit down, Cordelia," said my uncle, placing a chair 
 for me before the crackling wood-fire, and drawing one 
 
126 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 for himself to the opposite corner. " I want to talk with 
 you a little. I calculate," he began, "that you feel 
 pretty much at home here now ; and that you are going 
 to stay right along with us, jest the same as if your aunt 
 was alive." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I shall be very glad to stay with you, unless 
 my mother should send for me to live with her," I said. 
 
 " Your mother ! " Uncle Beals gave me a quick glance 
 from under his bushy eyebrows. " Hasn't Eliza told you 
 about your mother? " 
 
 "No, sir. What is it? Has any thing been heard 
 from her? Has she written a letter? Did it come to me 
 while I was sick? " I asked rapidly. 
 
 "Now, don't let what I say agitate you, Cordelia; 
 but it's my opinion that your mother ain't living. "We 
 didn't have a letter ; but an Englishman stopped here two 
 or three weeks this summer, who knew a family by the 
 name of Powers in Loudon. Your mother's name was 
 Powers, 1 believe? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, — Alida Frances Powers." 
 
 " I described your mother to him as well as I could. 
 I saw her once at the South, when I went there to look 
 after some business I had with your father. I told him 
 she had married a Rivers, that Rivers was her name now ; 
 and if he would try and find out her whereabouts, and 
 let me know, 1 would be much obliged to him till he was 
 further paid. You see, it was when you were so low ; and 
 I was anxious to learn where I could find her, to write to 
 her in case of your death. He said he would take pains 
 to get me all the informatioh he could. But I never heard 
 a word from him till week before last, when he sent me a 
 uewspaper containing the notice of the death of a Mrs. 
 Rivers in England. I cut out the notice." My uncle 
 took a slip of paper from his wallet and handed it to me. 
 I read the following : — 
 
 " Died, in Dulwich, June 15, at the residence of the 
 
 late L. M. Powers, Street, Mrs. A. F. B. Rivers, 
 
 aged twenty-nine." 
 
 "The age is incorrect. Mother was thirty-three last 
 May. The initials of the name are not mother's, either. 
 They are A. F. B., instead of A. F. P.," I said. 
 
 "Mistakes like those often occur," said my uncle. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 127 
 
 " The newspapers round here had your aunt's age sixty- 
 two, instead of fifty-two. I'm inclined to thinlc, by our 
 not hearing from your mother, that the account must be 
 true. She would write to you, of course, before this 
 time, if she was alive." 
 
 I said nothing. I was busy thinking. My thoughts 
 were sad ones. They were sad because I could feel no 
 stir of emotion over the supposition of my mother's death. 
 Only a sense of freedom in the loss of a mother ! It was 
 enough to be sad over. 
 
 \ 
 
128 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 xn. 
 
 " Tliere is not one among them hut I dote on his very absence." 
 
 — Mbkchant or Vekice. 
 
 MY uncle's Sunday afternoon confidences were kept 
 up for many successive Sundays following ; and he 
 continued to assure me on each occasion, as if he had 
 not done the same thing at least a hundred times, that 
 he fully appreciated my faithful service to my aunt, and 
 that he calculated I should have a home as long as he had 
 one, with a crust of bread to divide between us. 
 
 I surmised, by his anxious manner when he alluded to 
 the subject, that he feared I might be enticed from his 
 protection by some one. I suspected it was Mrs. Wal- 
 ters, though he must have known she would do nothing 
 not entirely honorable in every particular of the case. 
 As for me, though I thought of the lady often enough, 
 and also of her brother, I really had no expectation of 
 ever seeing her again, unless some chance should bring 
 her to Sunbridge once more, which fortuitous circum- 
 stance was not likely to occur at present. 
 
 "You mustn't think of leaving us," my uncle con- 
 tinued to say. " Eliza and I ciin't spare you. There's 
 a tremenjus empty void here since your aunt died, Cor- 
 delia. And, as the twins ain't coming home this winter, 
 you'll have to keep us company. I don't want you to 
 work a mite ; and the doctor don't want you to study a 
 mite, nuther. He tells me to keep you out-doors as much 
 as possible for two or three months, and not let you look 
 at a book. And that's what I'm calculating you'll do." 
 
 I smiled to myself while he talked thus ; for I felt 
 strong enough to work, or to study, though by no means 
 was I averse to following the course marked out for me. 
 It was just what I liked, being out of doors continually 
 in the beautiful late autumn weather, driving over the 
 country roads with uncle Beals and Eliza, wherever busi- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 129 
 
 ness or pleasure chanced to take them. Sometimes we 
 went to the city together ; and, while my uncle transacted 
 his business there, Eliza and I strolled about the streets 
 and looked into the shop-windows. But I preferred the 
 country excursions. And, when the winter arrived, — an 
 open winter without snow, — it delighted me to take long 
 walks of miles over the frozen causeway; for I always 
 returned with more zest than 1 set out. 
 
 I seldom met a soul in my pedestrian excursions. Win- 
 ter was the dormant period for Sunbridge. The stately 
 residences were all closed. The lawns, uncovered by 
 snow, looked bleak and yellow ; and the white statuary 
 among the leafless shrubbery stood stark and rigid as the 
 embodiment of death. The few native residents kept as 
 closely within doors as peas in their pods. The "Cor- 
 ners" wore every whit as desolate a winter aspect as 
 Hardcliffe plain itself. My uncle's hotel, with its great 
 wings shut, looked dismal enough, when I used to return 
 to it froni my walks in the dusk of evening, for ghosts 
 to revel in. All the little life of the town gathered itself 
 in winter in the centre of Sunbridge, where the academy 
 was situated, not quite two miles distant. 
 
 Before winter was half over, 1 had become stout and 
 strong. I had more health than I knew what to do with. 
 I was all alive for a vigorous renewal of work. My ener- 
 gies seemed rusting with inaction. The blood of youth 
 throbbed in my veins. Though I managed, somehow, to 
 maintain a passably quiet exterior, I was inwardly as 
 restless as a young animal, and was continually beset 
 with longings to know something of the great world be- 
 j'ond my ken. I was like the freshened brooks among 
 the hills at Hardcliffe, that were not content to dream in 
 limpid shallows, while copious spring rains were urging 
 them on to larger life in the stream below. To sit even- 
 ing after evening', with nothing to do but watch- uncle 
 Beals taking little naps over his newspapers, or twirling 
 his thumbs and casting sheep's-eyes at Eliza ; while that 
 mature maiden fringed a towel, or knit bed-shoes, and 
 recounted for my benefit some of the dismal details of 
 the last j'oung convert's religious experience, confessed 
 at the "Wednesday's prayer-meeting in the little chapel, — 
 was tameness almost unendurable. How I used to long 
 
130 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 sometimes to share the jollities of the kitchen ! for there 
 the cook and the housemaid, the porter and the hostler, 
 passed the long winter evenings, cracking walnuts and 
 cheap jokes, eating seed-cakes, and drinking mulled 
 cider. Once I did steal in among them, to Eliza's dis- 
 gust ; and to my own, too, when I found my presence 
 stopped their mirth, and made them as mute as mice. I 
 found nowhere diversion suited to my years. I occa- 
 sionally saw a schoolmate, Amelia Winship, a giddy- 
 headed creature, who came over from the Centre, now and 
 then, to make me a flying call, and tell me the news, 
 chiefly about herself. I did not like her over well. The 
 young men of Sunbridge, "likely, steady fellers," I 
 might have seen often enough ; but I would have none of 
 them about me. A few did call upon me once separately 
 in uncle Beals's parlor, but were not encouraged by my 
 monosyllalsic utterances to venture a second visit. I 
 bowed coldly when I met them at church ; I flung their 
 badly spelled love-letters into the fire. It was not from 
 shyness that I thus treated the young men. They sim- 
 ply did not suit my fastidious taste. They were too 
 commonplace, too gawky, slouchy, bristle-haired, and 
 illiterate. The young woman who had, not two years 
 before, milked cows, fed turkeys, scrubbed kitchen-floors, 
 worn patched gowns and broken shoes, now looked down 
 from her high level of complacency, and demanded that 
 her well-to-do suitors should admire her at a respectful 
 distance. It was all very ridiculous indeed. Eliza noted 
 my growing vanity, and sought to cheek it. Uncle Beals 
 fed it by continually talking in my presence of my im- 
 proved personal appearance. 
 
 "Have you noticed," he one day said to Eliza, "how 
 plump Cordelia has grown this winter? She don't look 
 like the same girl lately. Why, when she came here, I 
 could have blown her off my thumb like a thistledown. 
 Half the folks about here don't know her, she's changed 
 80. Cram couldn't hardly believe, when I told him she 
 was the same girl that recited to him last winter. More'n 
 a dozen folks have asked me what good-looking girl it 
 was I was riding out with every day." Such talk at first 
 embarrassed and disturbed me ; but I gradually became 
 used to it, and was ready to believe that the facts in the 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 131 
 
 case justified the praise. Eliza did not in tlie least relish 
 smeh profuseness of compliment wasted upon me ; she 
 lectured uncle Beals for his foolishness and fondness, 
 with only the result of making him slyer in his expres- 
 sions when the housekeeper was in hearing. 
 
 She might have spared her anxiety. I found out that I 
 was good looking without the aid of other's eyes. "If 
 ladies be but young and fair, they have the gift to know 
 it." I had gone from the extreme of underrating my at- 
 tractions to the extreme of overrating them. I looked in 
 the long kag^re mirror as often as 1 could without being 
 observed, and liked the figure I saw reflected there, better 
 and better every time. The gaunt, stooping form had 
 become full and shapely. The arms, neck, chin, and 
 cheeks were firm and smooth now as polished marble. 
 The big eyes had lost their spectral look entirely. Even 
 the nose seemed more delicately cut and less pronounced 
 than of old. Had my hair only been black, like mother's, 
 I could have pronounced myself a beauty indeed. But 
 there it was, a fresh crop of it, as pale a yellow as ever, 
 curling close to my head in large rings, as Jamie's darker 
 hair used to do. Yet maugre the disagreeable hair, I 
 was extremely pleased with the picture of myself. I had 
 emerged from the ugly chrysalis into the butterfly estate. 
 Nobody in Hardcliffe, not even Calista herself, would 
 have known me. I doubted if Mrs. Walters or Mr. Cloud 
 would recognize me now. How glad I was to be hand- 
 
 some 
 
 Eliza, a shrewd observer, doubtless divined something 
 of the concealed delight I was experiencing over my new 
 accession of good looks ; for she talked to me daily about 
 the unreality and illusiveness of earthly things, and the 
 vanity of youth and beauty. Youth would soon be over, 
 she said, and beauty was but for a day. Some morning, 
 ere I was scarcely aware of it, I should wake up to find 
 that both had departed. She might as well have talked 
 to the June birds of December's frost and snow. I re- 
 membered her words only to disregard them. I could not 
 see why youth and beauty were not as substantial things 
 as age and homeliness. 
 
 Uncle Beals's anxiety concerning me tended in quite 
 another direction. He did not talk to me of the transi- 
 
132 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 toriness of youth and beauty. They were advantages, he 
 considered, to be enjoyed, and at the same time utilized in 
 securing me a husband. He seemed to delight, much to 
 my annoyance and disgust, in turning conversation for- 
 ever upon the subject of marriage. He could not under- 
 stand why I was so averse to receiving attentions from 
 young men. The fellow my uncle favored was the one 
 who persisted still in writing me letters, which I destroyed 
 without reading. His name was Weed. I suspected he 
 was encouraged by Mr. Beals to keep on, and not mind 
 the snubbings, and by and by he would be rewarded for 
 his persistence, and carry the day with me. 
 
 " Come, now, Cordelia," said Mr. Beals one morning 
 after he had handed me a letter from the young man, and 
 seen me glance over it, and toss it in the fire, "I wish 
 you would jest tell me what it is- you don't like in Weed? 
 Why, he's one of the likeliest fellers in Sunbridge, — 
 good-looking, good habits, and money at interest ! What 
 more can a girl ask? He's sold his f4rm, and wants to 
 go West. He's set his heart on marrying you. He's 
 bright enough to see that you would make him a good, 
 capable wife. I do wish you would try, Cordelia, to look 
 a leetle more favorably on this young man. I feel more 
 interest in the matter, because I think of going West 
 myself in the spring. You needn't say any thing about it, 
 though." He whispered the last information, and drew his 
 chair nearer mine. " I hain't mentioned it to anybody' 
 but Eliza yet. I expect I may sell out here in the spring. 
 There's a number wants this place. One man from the 
 city has made me an offer : it's not quite what the place 
 is worth. If he comes up to the scratch, — and I think 
 he will, — I shall let him have it ; and I shall start for 
 the West. I sha'n't settle right down anywheres for a 
 spell; I shall kinder look round first. I've always 
 wanted to go West, but your aunt was dead set against 
 it. Young Weed talks of going out with me. He would 
 like to have you marry him in the spring, but will wait a 
 year if you say so. I should get you a boarding-place, of 
 course, here in Sunbridge ; and you could keep right on 
 going to school, and get all the education j-ou like. I 
 shouldn't want you to go to Mrs. Walters in the city. 
 She was greatly interested in you, I know ; made lots of 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 133 
 
 inquiries about you, and your family. I didn't, know but 
 she Ivinder wanted to adopt you, or'something : she was so 
 particular to know all about you. 1 hain't any thing 
 to say against the woman. She's a nice lady enough. 
 But when she offered to pay your doctor's and nurse's 
 bill, it touched my dander a mite. I told her you was a 
 niece of my wife, and I was able to foot all the expenses 
 incurred. She apologized right away." My uncle paused 
 a moment, knotted his wrinkled forehead, whirled his 
 thumbs thoughtfully, and looked into the fire. I was 
 chafing furiously inside, but I did not say any thing. 
 
 "Perhaps she hadn't any notion," he continued, "of 
 coaxing you to go home with her ; but it looked mighty 
 like it. Perhaps if I should break up here, she might 
 write for you to come to her. I should feel bad to have 
 you do it. Not but what, as I said before, she's a nice 
 woman enough ; but she belongs to a different kind of 
 society from what we do, and has a different way of look- 
 ing at things. She oughter known better than let that 
 big brother of hers lug 30U round the garden last sum- 
 mer ; oughter known better, jest for the looks sake, if 
 nothing else. Oh, I don't blame you for it ! " observing 
 my scarlet face. " She was the one to blame. I don't 
 think much of that Cloud, myself; not that I know any 
 particular thing against him, except sitting round and 
 smoking so much. I know he's got money enough, and 
 can afford to do it. I hain't been over the world as many 
 times as he has, but I've been about enough to know my 
 man when I see him ; and I shouldn't want a daughter of 
 mine to be in his company a great deal. Now, young 
 Weed is a feller that is sound through and through. He 
 can be trusted every time. He wants to come in and see 
 you this evening. I hope you will jest see him, if no 
 more than to give him an answer to what I've told you 
 about." 
 
 " I don't want to see him ; I've given him an answer 
 already," I broke forth petulantly. I could keep in my 
 annoyance no longer. " I don't like him at all ; and, if I 
 did, I wouldn't marry him. I don't want to marry any- 
 body. I'm too young to marry." I was angry enough ; 
 and, as I was not afraid of my uncle, I showed it. 
 
 "You've got a leetle of the Elvers temper, after all, 
 
134 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 hain't you? " said my uncle mildly, uncrossing his legs, to 
 rise and belabor the lire. 
 
 "I'm ashamed to own that I have," I said, laughing 
 now. I regretted instantly having spoken so fiercely to 
 my kind friend. I tried at once to make amends. " But 
 you know, uncle, I'm quite too young to marry. I sha'u't 
 be seventeen till next .September," I said. 
 
 " For my part, I think Cordelia speaks very wisely," 
 said Eliza, who had just entered with a tray of apples. 
 
 " Not a bit too j^oung," said uncle Beals, helping liim- 
 self at once to the fruit, and taking out his pocket-knife. 
 " You are a year older than j'our mother was when she 
 got married, and only a year younger than your aunt. I 
 married m}- wife before she was eighteen." 
 
 " Eighteen is too young to get married," said Eliza. 
 
 " I suppose you think forty is about the right age, 
 don't you, Eiliza? " said Mr. Beals, raising his bushy eye- 
 brows and winking at nie, as he pared his apple. 
 
 "I think it a more sensible age than sixteen," said 
 Eliza, who was thirty-nine. 
 
 "Come, now, my little girl," said my uncle in the 
 pleasantest voice, addressing himself to me again, 
 " what impossible things do you require in a young man 
 to please you? Come, out with it." 
 
 "Would it be asking too much that he should spell 
 correctly? Mr. Weed's letters are awfully spelled." 
 
 "Spell correctly?" repeated my uncle, looking round 
 at me where I was holding some yarn for Eliza to wind. 
 "Nonsense, Cordelia! what has spelling to do with a 
 man's moral character? I can't spell very well mj'self. 
 It's a common thing enough not to spell well. Why, 
 there was a man in the office the other day writing an 
 order for some walnut timber. ' I'll be hanged,' says he, 
 ' if I can remember how to spell walnut. Is it w-o-r-n-u-t 
 or w-a-r-n-o-t, Beals? I can't tell,' says he. Says I, 
 ' Either way is correct ; ' for I didn't know myself. Well, 
 now, that man is worth a hundred thousand, and went to 
 college when he was young ; and he couldn't spell. I 
 don't s'pose but what he's jest as good a husband and 
 provider, as if he could spell walnut. I don't s'pose his 
 wife'll sue for a divorce on that ground. I guess not — 
 very soon," added my uncle. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 135 
 
 "It's a mere matter of taste, I know," I said; "yet 
 I should respect a gentleman more if he could spell cor- 
 rectly, and talk grammatically." 
 
 "You are cut out for a complete old maid, Cordelia; 
 as complete as Eliza is," said my uncle, taking another 
 apple from the tray, and smiling jocosely. 
 
 Eliza's black eyes snapped ; she gave the worsted on 
 my arm a vicious pull, and said tartly, — 
 
 " I should rather remain an old maid to the end of my 
 daj's than marry a fool." 
 
 " Would j'ou marry a wise man, Eliza? " said my 
 uncle, looking at her sideways from under his bushy brows. 
 
 " I should be a fool to do it," she replied with a con- 
 scious air. 
 
 " In that case there would be but one fool in the bar- 
 gain ; an improvement to most of the marriages made 
 now-a-days," said my uncle ; adding, "It would be the 
 wisest act a man could do, in my opinion, to marr^- you, 
 Eliza. 
 
 "I tell you what, Cordelia," pursued my uncle, who 
 had mounted a high horse, and was careering wildly just 
 then, " I must take you over to the Centre, some dancing- 
 school evening, and let 3'ou see 'em trip the light fantastic 
 toe. Ever see anybody dance?" He had turned sud- 
 denly to me, without pause, as if fearful he had been be- 
 trayed too far with Eliza. 
 
 " No, sir. I never saw anj^body dance in a ball-room," 
 I said, taking some pleasure now in the turn of conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "I want to know! "Well, well! you didn't get a 
 chance to see 'em dance in the dining-room last summer, 
 did ye? You shall go over to the next dance ; I'll carry 
 you, if it's a pleasant evening. Mabby you'll find a 
 young man there that'll suit you. There's always some 
 likely ones among a crowd. I can ginerally tell 'em the 
 minute I see 'em." My heart gave a little bound at the 
 prospect of such an amusement. Except to attend, now 
 and then, one of the semi-weekly prayer-meetings at the 
 chapel, I had not been away thus far an evening from 
 home. It was scarcely better than staying at home to 
 go to chapel and hear uncle Beals offer his stereotyped 
 prayers, and Eliza her high-voiced hymns, which, like a 
 
136 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Eoodern Madame Eglantine, she " entuned in her nose 
 full sweetly." 
 
 But my elation subsided when Eliza negatived the idea. 
 Without Eliza's consent, I could do nothing. She was 
 shocked to hear Mr. Beals, a consistent church-member 
 as he was, suggest such a proposition as attending a 
 dancing-school. She expressed her astonishment. 
 
 "But, my dear soul," argued my uncle mildly, "the 
 twins went to the dancing-school regularly ' ' — 
 
 "Not by anj' approval of yours, I am certain, Mr. 
 Beals," interrupted Eliza. " It was their mother's no- 
 tion entirely." 
 
 " I can't remember that I disapproved of their going," 
 said Mr. Beals, stroking his whiskers slowly, a reflective 
 cast in his eye. " If I had, it wouldn't have done much 
 good, probably. But, then, I never thought — I don't 
 think now — that dancing is so dreadful wicked. Why, 
 it's as natural for young folks to dance, as for kittens to 
 caper. I used to dance, myself, like a top, when I was a 
 boy ; and I can't see as it's ever hurt me any. Here's 
 Cordelia, just the age for such things. I don't see any 
 harm letting her go to the dancing-school, if she wants 
 to. She don't belong to the church, you know." 
 
 " Nor will she be likely to, under the influences you 
 propose to place her," retorted Eliza; and then, fearing 
 she had been too sharp, added more mildly, " I don't 
 consider, Mr. Beals, the mere act of dancing a sin. It is 
 the accompaniments of the act, that make it reprehensible. 
 I am perfectly willing Cordelia should dance here in the 
 parlor every evening, if she would like to." 
 
 " I'm afraid she don't appreciate the privilege you 
 offer," said my uncle, glancing across at me, as I bit my 
 lips to keep from laughing. " She couldn't dance very 
 well without music, and I don't whistle many dancing- 
 tunes now." 
 
 " It is a serious matter in my eyes, Mr. Beals, not a 
 joking one," said Eliza gravely. " The dancing-school 
 at the Centre is principally made up of Normanville mill 
 operatives, ignorant, coarse-mannered boys and girls ; 
 who, they tell me, don't conduct themselves over-modestly. 
 While Cordelia is under our charge, I shall not be willing 
 to see her mixing in with such society. The promiscuous 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 137 
 
 assemblage whirling around in each other's arms ought 
 to make a modest-minded j'oung woman blush to be- 
 hold." 
 
 " That whirling," explained my uncle, " is the present 
 fashionable dance, Eliza. It's the waltz ; they danced 
 it here in our dining-room every evening all summe)j. I 
 don't know as it's any worse for the mill-hands to dance 
 it, than for the millionnaires." 
 
 " I don't approve of it in anybody, Mr. Beals. I didn't 
 . approve of it last summer, as you very well know. But, 
 being a mere housekeeper, I could express no disappro- 
 bation, of course. My province did not extend to such 
 matters." 
 
 "Of course not. You had the good sense to keep still 
 and let 'em dance. If 'twas a sin, you haven't got to 
 answer for it. There was Foster and Ringslatc and 
 Cloud, and the Merryman girls and the Leroy sisters. 
 They were the cream of the society here last summer, 
 you know. But 1 don't see so much difference in their 
 behavior, to the cotton-mill boys and girls, myself. 
 All the difference is in the amount of money they spend. 
 One party uses expensive wines and cigars ; the other, 
 cheaper drink and tobacco. I'd trust Cordelia as quick 
 in one company as the other. The fact is, I'd trust her 
 anywhere. She-hain't shown herself so fond of menfolks' 
 company, as to make me think she ain't competent to take 
 care of her behavior. The trouble with the girl is, she 
 holds back too much. She needs a little push. Look at 
 the girls round here, and then look at Cordelia. Some 
 difference in their manners, I guess ! I should like to see 
 Cordelia well married before I leave these parts," pursued 
 my uncle. " But if she don't want to be married, why, 
 then, I must do the next best thing for her. I must give 
 her a chance -to go round a little, and see what kind of 
 folks make up the world, and get acquainted a little, be- 
 fore she's left to take care of herself." 
 
 " She ought to be counselled and directed, also ; and I 
 intend to counsel and direct her in matters spiritual 
 as well as temporal," said Eliza firmly. "Otherwise, I 
 shouldn't be doing my duty." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Beals, with a lessen- 
 ing exuberance of liveliness in his manner. " Your advice 
 
138 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 is always first-rate, Eliza. There's Dick now, with the 
 horses. I'm going over to Normanville this forenoon. 
 Any word to send to your sister? — Martin, bring me my 
 fur overcoat " (to the waiter who had just entered). 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Beals," said Eliza. " If it isn't too much trou- 
 ble, I wish you would stop and tell my sister I'll try and 
 get over to see her next week some day, — say Thursday, 
 if it's pleasant. Tell her, please, that I shall not be able 
 to stay more than one night, however." 
 
 Thursday of the next week happened to be the very 
 night of the Sunbridge dancing - school. Uncle Beals 
 informed me of the fact, as soon as he returned from 
 taking Eliza to her sister's in Normanville. " Now," said 
 he, "if you want to go, dear, be all ready at seven 
 o'clock prompt." 
 
 At seven o'clock, attired in a lustreless black silk, my 
 best mourning, with muslin frills at neck and wrists, and 
 a few white roses in my belt, I was ready to accompany 
 my uncle ; who, for reasons best known to himself, dis- 
 pensed with Dick's services as driver that evening, say- 
 ing to him , — 
 
 " Don't go to bed, Dick, till I get home. There's no 
 knowing how long business will keep me over to the 
 Centre. Shall be round before midnight, I guess." 
 
 Dancing had begun when we entered the Sunbridge 
 assembly room, as it was called, and the scene presented 
 to my eyes was novel in the extreme. I clung to my 
 uncle's arm, and looked bewilderingly around over the 
 smiling, bowing, courtesyiug, swinging, happy crowd. A 
 commingled mass of white waistcoats, fluttering ribbons, 
 bright eyes, flushed cheeks, flashing jewelry, seemed to 
 be moving in a sort of rhythmic measure, reminding me 
 of Milton's "L'AUegro," I had once read to Mrs. Wal- 
 ters as we sat in the little summer-house down by the 
 Springs. Here were the Nymphs and the Graces personi- 
 fied, and 
 
 " Jest and youthful jollity, 
 Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles." 
 
 To my unaccustomed eyes, such collective beauty and gal- 
 lantry was fascinating in the extreme ; and the rapturous 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 139 
 
 strains that issued from the three musicians, in a little 
 gallery against the wall, seemed in my ears like 
 
 " Untwistiug all the chains that tie 
 The hidden soul of harmony." 
 
 Ere long, however, I found myself analyzing the mixed 
 crowd, and discovering but three really lovely girls — 
 factory girls from Normanville, uncle Beals said — among 
 the many ugly ones present. And these, to my surprise, 
 were dancing with the most uncouth of youths, one of 
 whom was distributing among his circle sweetmeats of 
 various kinds, with wonderful prodigality. The distingui 
 figure, of course, was the dancing-master in body-coat and 
 pumps. 
 
 "Will the lady dance, Mr. Beals?" he asked with a 
 profound bow, extending the forefinger of his right hand 
 to be shaken. All the others had been cut off by an acci- 
 dent in a saw-mill, my uncle informed me in a whisper. 
 I shook my head. Then, with another low bow, he es- 
 corted us to some chairs on a platform, and went tiptoeing 
 down among the dancers, as solemn as an undertaker at a 
 funeral. I was watching him and that ubiquitous forefinger 
 of his, tapping the shoulders of a crooked girl here, and 
 menacing a slouching fellow there, when I felt a strange 
 kind of shiver passing over my frame. Was there an open 
 window at my back ? I looked round to ascertain, and 
 encountered a pair of glittering eyes that had been fixed 
 upon me probably for some moments. I knew them at 
 once, and instinctively leaned towards uncle Beals for 
 protection. They belonged to the young man who had 
 surprised and angered me so by appearing suddenly be- 
 fore me in the little " fernery," the morning of Mrs. 
 Walters's departure last autumn. All my pleasure was 
 over now. It suddenly seemed as if there were but one 
 person in the room, and that the disagreeable intruder, 
 who was looking me through and through, reading all my 
 secret thoughts, finding out all my weaknesses. I felt an 
 unpleasant impulse to turn and confront the stranger 
 angrily, and yet resolved to keep my eyes turned stead- 
 il3' away from him. All this passed in a moment ; the 
 next, he had come forward, and was shaking hands with 
 
140 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 uncle Beals in the heartiest fasliion. " I believe you 
 have never met my niece, Miss Cordelia," said the latter, 
 turning towards me to present the gentleman. " This is 
 Mr. Wyndham ; Miss Rivers, my niece." I bowed with 
 the haughtiest manner I was capable of putting on. 
 "Will j'ou dance with me. Miss EiYers?"he said, not 
 noticing my stiffness in the least. 
 
 " I guess you'd find her rather an awkward partner, Mr. 
 Wyndham," said my uncle. " She never danced a step 
 in her life." 
 
 "I don't believe Miss Rivers could do an awkward 
 thing if she tried," said the gentleman, without a smile. 
 " I wish she would make the experiment with me." He 
 bent his head, and said in lower tone, " It is only a plain 
 quadrille ; you can walk through the changes easily 
 enough." 
 
 "Try it, Cordelia," said my uncle. "After you've 
 danced one Agger, you'll be all right, and want to dance 
 a dozen more, I'll warrant. There's a set right there 
 that just needs one couple more to make it complete." 
 
 How I wished at that moment that Mr. Beals would 
 hold his tongue ! How I wished that I had — staid at 
 home ! I shook my head. The gentleman offered his 
 arm ; I drew back. I turned a pleading glance towards 
 my uncle, who still urged me forward. Oh, I did not 
 wish to daoce ! I did not know how to dance. I would 
 not have believed any thing on earth could have made me 
 attempt such a thing. Yet in spite of all this, with only 
 a feeble protestation against it, I had taken the gentle- 
 man's arm, and was standing beside him in the qua- 
 drille ! I was sore vexed at myself ; I was vexed at uncle 
 Beals ; but I was enraged with the young man, who seemed 
 to be making me do any thing he willed. Who was he? 
 Where had he come from? What right had he, a stranger, 
 to seek me out, and compel me to dance with him against 
 my inclination? It was most humiliating to feel such a 
 lack of power to resist the coercive influence of his domi- 
 nating presence. He was of quite a different order from 
 any masculine specimen I had yet encountered in Sun- 
 bridge, or anywhere else. While his hps uttered polite 
 phrases, his eyes spoke quite another language. They 
 said, with their measuring glances, " You have wonder- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTOJST. 141 
 
 fully improved in your personal appearance, young wo- 
 man, since I last saw you. I wonder what sort of mmd 
 you've got. It seems a very sillj^ frivolous one to me ; 
 but I shall soon find out. I will disturb its complacency 
 a little." 
 
 Such assumption of superiority, while it made me wince, 
 made me also determined to show nothing of disturbance 
 in my manner, to gratifiy the conceit of my disagreeable 
 companion. I turned my head towards him, and bowed 
 with composed hauteur to his words, wishing myself at 
 home, meanwhile, again and again. Eliza was right. This 
 was no place for a young girl like me. 
 
 The young man was putting on a pair of fresh gloves 
 while the dancers waited, talking as he did so. I glanced 
 at his dark face and at his figure, and was forced to admit, 
 against my desire, that he was not by any means so very 
 ill-looking. His features were not only regular, but alive 
 with force and expression. It was the intangible some- 
 thing — something I could not understand or comprehend, 
 that might be a kind of fascination to those who liked 
 him — that made me hate him near me, that would always 
 make him disagreeable to me under any and all circum- 
 stances, lie seemed to be strangely unique at every point, 
 extending even to his dress. I wondered why, when his 
 lineh was so immaculate, his feet so nicely shod, his hands 
 so neatly gloved, ho should be otherwise so coarsely clad. 
 However, neither himself nor his clothes concerned me in 
 the least. My chief thought was, that, if I survived the 
 ordeal through which I was passing, I would never, never 
 be caught in a like predicament again so long as I lived. 
 I promised myself that. 
 
 " You have not been living long here in Sunbridge, Mr. 
 Beals informs me," said Mr. Wyndham, in a pause of 
 the music. 
 
 "I came to Sunbridge a year ago last September," I 
 replied, my voice sounding hard in contrast to his softer 
 tones. 
 
 " Mr. Beals is your uncle? I think he told me." 
 
 " Yes ; my aunt was his wife." 
 
 " You have no nearer relatives, I understand? " 
 
 " None to my knowledge.' ' (Had this young man been 
 talking of me to uncle Beals? It made me shiver anew.) 
 
142 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I am much in the same condition as yourself," he 
 went on :, " I haven't a near relative in the world, except 
 half a dozen nephews and nieces left on my hands." 
 
 Here came the clash of the music, and the dance began. 
 With my partner's assistance,! managed to walk through 
 the intricacies of the figure without many blunders ; but I 
 breathed a sigh of relief when the quadrille was finished 
 and he conducted me to my place beside my uncle. Had 
 he quitted me then, I would not have minded what 1 had 
 just gone through. But he continued standing by my 
 chair — the restraint of his presence keeping me from all 
 further enjoyment of looking on, — till my sphinx-like 
 silence, at last, later in the evening, drove him to seek 
 more congenial society among the Normanville girls ; the 
 prettiest of whom I saw him whirling around in a waltz, 
 her head almost touching his shoulder. 
 
 While he was thus engaged, I took occasion to ask uncle 
 Bcals to retire from the hall with me, hoping to escape all 
 further encounter with the young man. Yet, before we had 
 reached the foot of the staircase, he was beside me again ; 
 and beside me did he stay till uncle Beals came round with 
 the carriage. Then, after a few words with my uncle, 
 that I did not hear, he bade me good-night, and went to- 
 wards the tavern opposite, where he was probably staying, 
 as he was not a resident of Sunbridge. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 143 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Alas, that Love, lohose view is muffled still, 
 miwuld, witlwut eyes, see pathways to his will! " 
 
 — RoMKO AND Juliet. 
 
 THAT young W3'ndham is as smart as a trap," re- 
 marked my uncle, on our homeward way. " Don't 
 you think so, Cordelia? Isn't he as keen as a razor, 
 say?" 
 
 Now, I had been talking as fast as I could on subjects 
 quite remote from the evening's entertainment, in hopes 
 of diverting my uncle from any mention of Wyndham's 
 name. But I had my labor for my pains. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I should think he might be. I'm sure I 
 think it is a very good comparison, — a trap," I said. 
 
 " He's got some snap to him ; he means business every 
 time ; he made all the other young men there seem as 
 tame as chickens," said my uncle. "And what an eye 
 he's got!" he added. "Did you notice his eye, 
 Cordelia?" 
 
 " Not particularly," I said. I could lie with some 
 facility now, and not be troubled about it. 
 
 "That's strange; I don't see how you could help 
 noticing his ej-es. Why, they are as keen and clear as a 
 kingfisher's. What he don't see with them eyes ain't 
 worth seeing, now I tell you." 
 
 " Do you expect Eliza home in the morning? " I asked, 
 hoping to switch him on to another track. 
 
 " Did 5'ou notice how straight he is, and how well he 
 could dance?" pursued my uncle, totally unmindful of 
 my question. " Did you notice his step? " 
 
 " I don't remember that I did. I only remember that 
 I didn't like him very well, for some reason," I said, 
 wishing something could make the man drop the subject. 
 
 "Well, he appeared to like you. It's my opinion," 
 lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, as if he 
 
144 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 feared somebody might be concealed in the back of the 
 carriage on purpose to hear, " it's my opinion that he's 
 talcen a real shine to you. I watched him. It talces an 
 old feller like me to see through these young fellers' 
 manoeuvres. I've been acquainted with Wyndham some 
 time. He was out here last summer, for a week or more, 
 on his vacation. Cram knows him well. He was a class- 
 mate of Cram's in college. Cram told me he was the 
 leading man in his class, a first-rate scholar, — I presume 
 he could spell to suit you, — and a fellow of excellent 
 habits. That's saying a good deal after a boy's been to 
 college. He'll be a prize for some girl to draw, and no 
 mistake." 
 
 " She can draw him, for aught I care," thought I ; but 
 abstained from making the remark aloud. 
 
 " You needn't mention to Eliza where we have been 
 to-night," said uncle Beals, as I stepped from the car- 
 riage on reaching home. "Not that I think we have 
 done any thing wrong, of course ; but only because she 
 might feel troubled, you know. She's one of the best 
 women in the world, and I wouldn't trouble her on any 
 account." 
 
 " I'll not mention it, you may depend upon it, uncle," 
 I said. And Eliza probably has never heard of that esca- 
 pade of Mr. Beals's to this day. 
 
 The next evening, after Eliza's return, who should be 
 ushered into the parlor where we were sitting, but Mr. 
 Wj-ndham ! He came in like an old acquaintance, and sat 
 down with us, and talked with uncle Beals on the Irish 
 question, the hard times, the business fluctuations, and 
 failures in the city, and various other matters to interest his 
 hearer. He seemed to have a wide knowledge of every 
 thing. He said nothing to me, however. I was busy 
 over some crocheting Eliza had taught me to do, and 
 which she now kept motioning me to put aside, deeming 
 it the height of impoliteness not to give an undivided 
 attention to a caller. But I clung to the employment as 
 a sort of refuse from the gentleman's occasional glances 
 in my direction. I would have liked to quit the room, 
 but found myself quite unable to do so. I was compelled 
 to stay against my will, and listen to this strange young 
 man, who would not permit the attention of his auditors 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OP- BOSTON. 145 
 
 to wander. When Jie talked, people perforce must listen. 
 At the next occasion of his visit, I was happily in my 
 room ; and, when Julia came to summon me to appear in 
 the parlor, I resorted to that always convenient subter- 
 fuge, the headache, and actually undressed and went to 
 bed to carry out the deception. 
 
 " Mr. Wj-ndham is certainly the most agreeable young 
 man I have seen in a long time," said Eliza next morn- 
 ing. " I'm sorry your headache prevented him 'from see- 
 ing you. He seemed much disappointed. He talked a 
 little while with your uncle, and then went away. He 
 returns to the citj' this morning." 
 
 A month later the gentleman made his appearance again 
 in Sunbridge, and was often at the house. His frequent 
 calls delighted Mr. Beals and Eliza. His entrance of an 
 evening into the parlor was like a strong breeze, stirring 
 their dormant wits into new life. It was plain to be seen 
 that he was not a habitual talker, that some unwonted 
 pressure had launched him into the flow of agreeable 
 speech, and that all his agreeableness was for my bene- 
 fit. It was strange I did not like him for taking so much 
 pains on my account, but I did not. I antagonized his 
 every movement, and kept on the alert to resist all tend- 
 ency towards being pleased. It did not gratify my vanity 
 a bit to know that he was in love with me ; or, rather, that 
 he wished me to think so. He felt himself vastly superior 
 to everybody in general, and to me in particular, I was 
 sure. It was this sense of his superiority that galled 
 me. I could not cope with him ; I had no intellectual 
 weapons at command for the purpose. I had always felt 
 my own superiority with all the other young men in Sun- 
 bridge, and I had made them feel it, too. To snub them, 
 and make them know their places, was easy enough. But 
 here was a young man who did not care a straw for my 
 snubbings. If he chose to make love to me, he was going 
 to do it, and in a way to humiliate me, besides. The 
 tables were turned against me. The discarded William 
 Weed, if he only knew it, was having his revenge. 
 
 One Sunday evening, after dining with us, he seemed to 
 be making himself more than usually agreeable, selecting 
 a new variety of topics to delight uncle Beals, and pleas- 
 ing Eliza, too, with his ready sympathy in matters dear to 
 
146 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 her heart. I should myself have enjoyed the conversa- 
 tion of one who possessed so large a stock of general 
 information, and was so generous in imparting it, had 
 I been sure of no ulterior design underneath it all, of 
 inveigling my regard. He seemed to me to be one with 
 
 "Many baits and guileful spells, 
 To inveigle and invite the unwary sense." 
 
 That suspicion, coupled with continual tiresome praise of 
 his virtues from Eliza and uncle Beals, not only kept all 
 interest from awakening in my breast, but actually made 
 me detest the young gentleman more and more. How- 
 ever, I was forced by self-respect to be uniformly polite 
 to him, because he was thus far so extremely polite to 
 me. Accordingly, when uncle Beals and his housekeeper 
 adroitly betook themselves to the evening prayer-meeting, 
 to pray and sing with an added triumph in their hearts, 
 leaving me to entertain the visitor alone, or rather to be 
 entertained by him, I continued to sit where they had left 
 me, in the chimney-corner, Huldy fashion, looking into 
 the fire and saying nothing. 
 
 My vis-^-vis, however, was no rustic 'Zekle : he was a 
 masterful, merciless piece of masculine will and power. 
 He appeared as if the parlor were his own, and talked 
 coolly and collectedly for awhile on light matters suited 
 to mj' inferior capacity ; then, finding my monosyllabic 
 utterances rather dull, he got up and strolled about the 
 room, looking at the pictures on the wall, the books on 
 the shelves, and the various ornaments on mantel and 
 itagire. I was confident he intended to make love to 
 me in some way ; and the apprehension made me feel 
 weak enough — as aunt Beals used to say before the 
 refreshment of a meal — to be knocked down with a 
 feather. Had he been an ordinary young man, I could 
 have settled his prospects in a trice. But he was decid- 
 edly extraordinary. I didn't know what to do with him. 
 In his wanderings about the room, he came at last be- 
 hind m}' chair, ostensibly to look at a large oil painting 
 Mr. Beals had purchased at an auction sale in the city, 
 and remained standing before this picture till chills ran 
 down my back. I turned my head suddenly, and found 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 147 
 
 him looking at me steadily, and not in the least disturbed 
 at being canglit in the act. I rose at once, crossed the 
 hearth, and stood facing him. He turned also, and stood 
 exactly opposite. There was an aggressiveness about him 
 that made me gather up my forces for defence. 
 
 "Your uncle tells me that you are fond of study," he 
 remarked, in the lowest, pleasantest voice. 
 
 " Now for a little self-assertion," thought I. 
 
 " I don't know that I am particularly fond of study," 
 I said flippantly, looking into the fire. There was such 
 silly insincerity in the words, that I was ashamed the mo- 
 ment I uttered them. I tried to mend them by adding, 
 " Perhaps I am, though. Yes, I do like study. I like it 
 very well indeed." Altogether, it was a vapid utterance 
 enough, and my self-esteem went down to zero. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Miss Rivers," he went on. 
 " Teachers, you know, get into the disagreeable habit of 
 asking direct questions." I afterwards learned he had 
 never taught school at all. " How old are you? " 
 
 " It is none of his business how old I am," thought I. 
 I deemed it an impertinent question. 
 
 " The reason I ask," he continued, " is that j'our ap- 
 pearance gives no indication of your age. You must be 
 fifteen?" 
 
 " I shall be eighteen a year from next September," I 
 said quickly, not at all relishing his estimation of my age. 
 
 Mr. Wyndham laughed. I had never seen him laugh 
 before. A smile on his dark face was like the sun break- 
 ing through a thunder-cloud. There was a brief gleam of 
 strong white teeth ; another external point in his favor, 
 if he didn't bite too hard with them. 
 
 " I see time goes on crutches with you," he said. 
 " When you are as old as I, it won't go at a lame pace. 
 How old do you think I am. Miss Rivers? " 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," I said ; and I wanted to add, 
 " that I didn't care, either." 
 
 " How old do I look? " continued my persistent inter- 
 locutor, looking at me earnestly. 
 
 " I couldn't tell at all. I'm a poor judge of one's age," 
 I replied, without risking another glance at his face. 
 
 " I was twenty-six the twenty-first day of October last. 
 I don't mention the circumstance," he went on, " because 
 
148 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I think it is of interest to j'ou . Yet I should like you 
 to know that what happened to me that day I consider 
 the greatest misfortune of my life. I was seized with a 
 malady the nature of which 1 knew nothing about. I 
 don't understand it now. The symptoms are alarming ; 
 something like those attending softening of the brain. 
 I'm told the disease is a very common one ; and that some 
 have it light, and some have it hard, according to the indi- 
 vidual temperament. I think I'm having it pretty hard. 
 I've been trying this and that remedy, and growing worse 
 all the time. I was all right when I left the city. I had 
 been to Normanville to see a friend ; stopped on my 
 way home at Dufferin's, to call on a classmate who was 
 visiting the family ; and there I found myself a prisoner, 
 under bonds, with no hope of — Do you remember 
 what a lovely day it was, the twenty-first of last October, 
 Miss Eivers ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 I could not have spoken, had my life depended upon one 
 word, it seemed to me. Oh, if only uncle Beals would 
 come in now and stop this young man's further talk ! Oh, 
 if the hearth would only give way, and let me down 
 into the ash-pit beneath ! Why had I no tact to avert 
 the impending declaration? Why could I not say some- 
 thing to turn him from his purpose, instead of standing 
 like an idiot, with my head hanging, my hands clasped 
 before me, and the hot blood rising to the very roots 
 of my hair? He went on, — 
 
 " That day marked the turning-point of my destiny. 
 Since then the whole current of my thoughts and feelings 
 has changed. Every thing looks different to me. What 
 was once of great value in my eyes is of little acconnt 
 now. I am greatly changed personally. 1 used to be 
 proud and overbearing ; now I am docile and humble." 
 
 " Docile and humble!" thought I. "If he is docile 
 and humble now, what could he have been before,' " 
 
 " I have always been in the habit," continued my vis- 
 itor, " of controlling circumstances, when they opposed 
 my will. Now circumstances control me. That is why 
 I am in Sunbridge to-day ; that is why I am to take Cram's 
 place as teacher in the school here." 
 
 " Cram's place as teacher," thought I, a perceptible 
 shudder passing over me at the words ; " and I must see 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 149 
 
 him every day, and perhaps recite to him ! I'll never 
 do it," I inwardly exclaimed. " I'll study at home, and 
 engage one of the assistant teachers to hear my recita- 
 tions." I was too much disturbed to take further notice 
 of what the gentleman was saying. I tried to arrange in 
 mind some way of telling him that I did not care for him, 
 and that it was impossible I ever should. Knowing this, 
 he would probably quit Sunbridge, and I should be at 
 liberty again. But I could think of no form of words 
 which would be a suitable answer to his strange talk. I 
 could only lean my head against the jutting chimney-piece, 
 and appear more idiotic than ever. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Wyudham stopped talking, and I knew 
 he was looking at me with a puzzled expression. " Please 
 sit down. Miss Eivers," he said, pushing a chair towards 
 me. Observing that I did not obey his suggestion, he 
 began to walk about the room as if something fretted him. 
 At last he placed his hand on the back of the chair, and 
 said again, " Sit down, please; you have been standing 
 a long time." I obeyed him instantly, and he stood by 
 my side several minutes without speaking ; during which 
 time I felt I was growing weaker and weaker, and less 
 and less able to say any thing for myself. " Oh, I am a 
 fool truly ! " thought I. " If he asks me to promise to 
 marry him, I know I shall say, ' Yes, sir, if you please, 
 sir.' " My feeling at that moment was less a dislike of 
 him, than a thorough detestation of myself. 
 
 " Hasn't your uncle mentioned to you the factof Cram's 
 illness, and my agreement to take his place in the school 
 while he went South for two or three months' rest, Miss 
 Rivers? " inquired the gentleman after another silence. 
 
 I shook my head. I wouldn't attempt to speak. 
 
 " I supposed he had done so. I am quite surprised to 
 find that he hasn't. You are not to be my pupil, I under- 
 stand," pursued the gentleman, "during school-hours: 
 you will recite to Miss Cross and Miss Marver. But 
 your uncle wishes me to come here one evening in the 
 week, and hear your lessons. He tells me you wish to fit 
 yourself to teach. In that case I shall be able to assist 
 you greatly in many ways, if you will grant me the privi- 
 lege of so doing. It remains for you to decide the matter. 
 Miss Rivers. Will it be agreeable to you? Would 
 
150 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 you like to have me come to the house here one evening 
 in the week, and help you in your studies? " 
 
 Now, it was the very thing I did not want him to do. 
 Why did I not say " no," then, and end the business, in- 
 stead of murmuring, " You are very kind. I shall be glad 
 to — to recite to you if my uncle wishes," and other simply 
 polite phrases? I could be decided enough, on occasion, 
 to everybody else. Why could I not say no to him, when 
 I liked him less than anybody else ? 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 151 
 
 xrv. 
 
 " How he jets under his advanced plumes ! " 
 
 — Twelfth NianT. 
 
 ON Monday morning, long before the nine-o'clock bell 
 rang, a crowd of pupils gathered in the schoolroom, 
 ready to inspect the new teacher, and pass judgment upon 
 him, the moment he should set foot inside the place. 
 
 Among the crowd was the usual sprinkling of wild 
 boys and giddy girls, the ringleaders in mischief, who, 
 with their followers, were in no great good-humor over 
 the idea of a change of masters. They much preferred 
 the stooping, easy-going Cram, who granted most of the 
 privileges they demanded, to this slender, compact, deter- 
 mined looking interloper, who came in, after devotional 
 exercises — conducted by Misses Cross and Marver, the 
 assistants — were over, and took his place at the upper 
 end of the room, and turned the measuring glances of his 
 eyes upon them. 
 
 There was something in his erect and forceful bearing 
 that at once extinguished the prospective fun which had 
 been looming up in their lawless imaginations. 
 
 One or two unimpressible lads hazarded at first a little 
 bravado in their manner and speech ; but they never ven- 
 tured a second offence of the same. They saw, perhaps, 
 what I saw, — a kind of smouldering heat behind the black- 
 ness of the teacher's eyes, indicating the flame that might 
 leap out and consume them. 
 
 In less than three days' time, the disturbing elements 
 that were always in ferment with Cram were reduced to 
 perfect order under the rigime of his successor. What 
 the former would have talked about to no purpose, the 
 latter effected by a movement of the hand, a glance of 
 the eye. There was no more jolly interchange of pleas- 
 antries between teachers and pupils, no more strolling 
 about from desk to desk on pretence of necessity, no 
 
152 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 more little conversation parties in the recitation-room, no 
 more love-making and passing of amatory notes. All 
 such diversifying recreations had departed with the depart- 
 ing Cram. The new teacher — as uncle Beals had said — 
 meant business, and nothing else ; and many were the 
 noses turned up behind books, and fists clinched under 
 desks, in consequence. 
 
 Of course, such forced obedience did not tend to waken 
 much affection, among the mischief-loving boys and girls, 
 for their teacher. They hated him at first, in the same 
 proportion that they were compelled to comply with his 
 stringent regulations. During the long morning" inter- 
 missions, when the teachers repaired to their apartment, 
 the leading malcontents made chaos of the study-room, 
 and united their forces in heaping revilement on the new 
 master. The boys cudgelled their brains for original 
 epithets that would keep pace with the girls' sarcastic 
 utterances. One among the latter dubbed him Mephis- 
 topheles ; another, Freischutz, declaring he had ehtered 
 into compact with the Devil. Some abused him in bad 
 French, ridiculing his olive skin, and proposing to advise 
 him to wash his face in lemon-juice, etc. Such a climax 
 was reached at last, ,that Amelia Winship herself cried 
 " Shame ! " and took up her weapons of rollicking speech 
 in his defence. Yet the moment Wyndham came in, all 
 was decorous silence and respectful attention. He de- 
 manded no more. He did not care for the love of his 
 pupils. Once out of the schoolroom, they were no more 
 to him than a flock of wild geese sailing northward over 
 his head. 
 
 As for myself, he took no notice of me whatever in the 
 schoolroom, and very little out of it. The two consump- 
 tive sisters, whose cough often interfered with their reci- 
 tations, claimed his frequent attention ; and he often 
 fetched an extra shawl from the clothes-room to wrap 
 about their shoulders on raw mornings when the school- 
 room was cold. But no healthy girl was the recipient of 
 a single favor at his hands. In vain Amelia Winship 
 coquetted to attract his notice. He passed her with a 
 grave bow, as he did all the rest of us. Indeed, he did 
 not bow to me at all if he could help it. He came reg- 
 ularly every Wednesday evening to hear me recite, as 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 153 
 
 previously agreed upon, but took no advantage of the 
 occasion to say a word outside tlie strict line of the order 
 of my lessons. Such a sudden excess of reserve on his 
 part puzzled me, and uncle Beals and Eliza complicated 
 the mystery by dropping all mention of Wyndham's name. 
 
 Not even after he had become popular with his pupils 
 did they praise the young man, or make a comment, or 
 ask a question. I half suspected it was a plot to punish 
 me, but could not tell. I was determined, however, to 
 make no inquiries, but keep the same frigid demeanor 
 towards the gentleman, lest the abatement of my coldness 
 might serve as an excuse for love-making in the future. 
 
 But uncle Beals and Eliza had business enough of their 
 own at this time to attend to, without troubling themselves 
 about my small affairs. The hotel, with all the real 
 estate attached, had been advertised for sale ; and one 
 morning, four weeks afterwards, it was sold, and every 
 thing belonging to Silas Beals passed out of his possession. 
 
 The Sunday following the sale, mj' uncle confided to 
 me what he supposed was a secret, — his engagement to 
 Eliza Stedfast. It was no news to me. I had seen sun- 
 dry tender demonstrations on the part of Mr. Beals, and 
 heard slips from Eliza's tongue, that could tend to no 
 other conclusion. I congratulated him heartily ; and, 
 when he inquired if I saw any great impropriety in their 
 man-ying before the year of mourning had expired, I 
 told him I saw none whatever, though I could not help 
 inwardly querying how Eliza's scrupulous devotion to 
 conventional rules had been so easily set aside. As I 
 looked at my uncle's shrunken figure, clad iu his melan- 
 choly Sunday suit, I could feel no tender recollection of 
 aunt Beals, who had fretted the meat off his bones, on 
 purpose, it would almost seem, to swell her own avoirdu- 
 pois. I was not to be shocked at any abridgment of 
 time between funeral solemnities and marriage festivities, 
 not I. It did my heart good to see the whirligig of Time 
 bringing in his revenges in this way. I had no selfish 
 consideration in the matter. I liked Eliza ; and, if she 
 could make my uncle happy, I had nothing to say but 
 God speed them. It did not occur to my mind what I 
 was to do when my uncle had departed, and no place re- 
 mained in the wide world that I could call home. That 
 
154 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 was something to be thought of afterwards, when I had 
 nothing better to consider. 
 
 The month that followed was a busy one with Eliza ; 
 and all the time I could spare from my studies was em- 
 ployed in assisting her to pack the household articles that 
 had been reserved from the sale, to take away with them. 
 Her wedding outfit was making in the city. When that 
 came home one evening, with uncle Beals's new clothes, 
 every preparation for the marriage was complete. 
 
 Accordingl}-, next morning, Mr. Silas Beals and Miss 
 Eliza Jane Stedfast walked across the lawn to the minis- 
 ter's house, and were quietly married ; nobody witnessing 
 the ceremony but the minister's family and myself. 
 
 The newly wedded couple started at once on their 
 bridal journey. My parting with Eliza did not affect me 
 like parting with uncle Beals. I had come to Sunbridge 
 two years before, — how long it seemed! — expecting 
 nothing but ill-treatment at his hands ; and I had received 
 nothing but kindness. The cloud 1 had so much dreaded 
 had broken in blessings on my head. All his fatherly 
 affection for me rushed into memory, and I turned away 
 to wipe the tears from my cheeks. 
 
 "Don't feel gloomy, Cordelia," said he cheerfully. 
 " You'll find somebod}^ when I'm gone to look after your 
 interests. You didn't think I'd leave you without being 
 sure of that, did you? I feel just the same for you as I 
 do for the twins. When we get settled next fall, I shall 
 send for you, if you don't get married and have a home 
 of your own before then. There's something in case you 
 need a little money now and then." He placed a bank- 
 book in mj' hand, bj* which I learned, when he had gone, 
 that he had deposited five hundred dollars in the savings- 
 bank at Norman ville in my name. 
 
 I threw my arms about his neck and kissed him, the 
 first and last time in my life. I had a premonition that I 
 should never look upon his face again. 
 
 I could not attend school that day. When I reached 
 the door of the study-room, I found myself weeping : so 
 I turned back to my new boarding-place, — a Mrs. 
 Proctor's, a widow with a little son, — and shut myself 
 into my room, and had my grief to myself, apart from 
 every human eye. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 155 
 
 In the evening Mrs. Proctor came up to inform me 
 that Mr. Wyndham was in the parlor and wished to see 
 me. But I returned word that I was not well, and he 
 must please excuse me. 
 
 The next day I attended school as usual, and Mr. 
 Wyndham neither looked nor spoke to me, which was 
 nothing uncommon. But when the week had passed and 
 he did not come, and the "Wednesday following went by 
 and he did not fulfil his appointment in hearing my les- 
 sons, I began to think it somewhat strange. 1 supposed 
 1 must have offended him. I did not wish to do that, 
 and promised myself when I met him again to infuse a 
 little more cordiality into my manner and speech. For I 
 appreciated his kindness, and often acknowledged to my- 
 self that he was helping me on most successfully in my 
 studies. 
 
 Not long after, an incident occurred that brought me 
 at once upon the most friendly footing with my teacher. 
 While coming from the post-ofHce one afternoon, I met 
 Amelia Winship, who informed me, with great gusto, that 
 she had a piece of iews to communicate, but I must 
 promise to keep it to myself. 
 
 " Is it bad news? " I asked. " If it is, don't tell me : 
 I am not in a state of mind just now to want any bad 
 news to keep me company." 
 
 "It's good or bad, according to the way you look at 
 it," returned Amelia. " I call it good. We've just 
 found out that the teacher is in love ! ' ' 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " I answered as carelessly as I could, 
 though mj' heart beat, and my face reddened. "Is it 
 Miss Cross or Miss Marver ? ' ' 
 
 "Cross and Marver!" said Amelia with disgust. 
 " No, indeed. What business have they to fall in love? 
 It's old Wyndham, of course. And who do you think he 
 is in love with? " 
 
 " I'm sure I cannot tell," I said, trying to look uncon- 
 cerned, though the blood would pour into my face. 
 
 " Well, it isn't with you, Miss Ugly, so you needn't 
 blush any more. It's a beautiful, golden-haired, ravish- 
 ing she-angel over at Normanville ; a great heiress living 
 with an old dragon of a mill-owner, who threatens to tote 
 her off to Siberia if she has any thing more to do with 
 
156 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Wj'ndham. The waj' I found it out was this : Jack Gray 
 picked up a letter that Wyndham dropped in the school- 
 room ; and he read it — just like the mean fellow — 
 before returning it to the teacher, who asked him point- 
 blank if he had read it. Jack told him he hadn't, of 
 course : he'd rather lie any time than tell the truth ; and 
 the next day he told me every thing there was in it, and 
 that the writer told Wyndham he was a fool for staying 
 in this little one-horse place, just for the sake of being 
 near a pretty-faced girl in Normanville, who wouldn't 
 sacrifice the first thing for him. He advised him to come 
 home and leave the haughty jade, and attend to his legiti- 
 mate calling like a sensible man, and so forth. It seems 
 he's so dead in love with the girl that he can't leave her, 
 and goes over every week for stolen interviews when the 
 old dragon is away. Isn't it romantic, now? I only 
 wish I had found it out without Jack's help. We mustn't 
 say a word to bring Jack into disgrace, for Wyndham 
 considers him the very soul of honor. But there's three 
 weeks of school still left for me to study the indicative 
 mood of a man in love. Wyndham in love is the droll- 
 est idea ! I should as soon think of Julius Caesar turn- 
 ing summersaults." 
 
 " I don't see any thing very droll about it," I said, not 
 liking to hear him ridiculed, now 1 had found he was not 
 in love with me. " He has the same rights of any other 
 young man. For my part, I think he is very nice, every 
 waj' ; and I hope he will succeed in his love-affair, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 " But he doesn't know how to succeed," cried Amelia. 
 " I wish he'd let me show him. I'd teach him in one les- 
 son, if he'd only give me a chance. But he never speaks 
 to a girl outside the school. In any case, he never speaks 
 to me. Does he to you? " 
 
 " I don't see him outside the schoolroom now-a-days," 
 I answered evasively, "and can't know much about him." 
 
 " Well, I know enough to know that he doesn't know 
 any thing about girls; else he wouldn't order us in the 
 way he does. He'd let us do as we pleased, if he knew 
 any thing ; and then we should all love him, just as we 
 love old Cram." 
 
 " You haven't half the respect for Mr. Cram that you 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 157 
 
 have for Mr. Wyndham. You know you haven't," I 
 said. 
 
 " I don't want to respect a man. I want to love him. 
 Love is the fulfilling of the law, the Bible says," ran on 
 this rattle-brained Amelia. " But oh, why couldn't I have 
 known of this affair at the beginning of the term ? I could 
 have attacked him then, and carried the day. But now 
 he's got the upper hand entirely. ' Everybody is wise 
 after the event,' you know." 
 
 "And I'm glad of it in this case," I said. "It 
 wouldn't have been wise for you to meddle with Mr. 
 Wyndliam's affairs. You would have been worsted 
 badly." 
 
 " I would have taken my chance. Oh, I'm pining for 
 revenge on that man ! " cried Amelia, as we parted at her 
 aunt's door. " Revenge is sweet ! I live in hope." 
 
 Nothing could have occurred to make me so light of 
 heart as did the piece of news Amelia had just told con- 
 cerning Wyndham. I felt disburdened of a heavy load, 
 relieved of a long discomfort. How could I have been so 
 stupid, so vain, so egotistic, as to mistake Mr. Wynd- 
 ham's friendly feeling for love ! It. was all plain now, 
 what he had tried to say that Sunday evening weeks and 
 weeks ago. I remembered that he had once mentioned 
 something about a lady in Normanville that he wished I 
 could know. He wanted to tell me that he was in love 
 with her. He wanted to confide in me. Smitten young 
 men sometimes did such things, as well as smitten young 
 women, though more rarely, I had heard. ' And how like 
 a fool had I conducted myself ! How coldly I had treated 
 him since ! Why, I had been as blind as a bat ! I must 
 make amends immediately. I would not wait for him to 
 meet me half way ; I would go the whole of the way my- 
 self. Uncle Beals must have known about it, and kept 
 quiet to punish me. I richly deserved punishment. He 
 must have meant Wyndham, when he spoke of leaving me 
 with a friend ; and Wyndham should know now that I 
 looked upon him as a friend. He should know how much 
 I had appreciated his friendly assistance in my studies. 
 I would go directly to him, in the most cordial manner, the 
 very next morning. 
 
 And I carried out my resolution. The next day I 
 
158 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 waited at the outer door for him to come down ; and when 
 he came, and was going to pass me with only a cold bow, 
 I smiled in the most friendly manner, put out my hand, 
 and said, — 
 
 "Please shake hands with me, Mr. Wyndham. I 
 haven't seen you for so long ! I've missed you greatly. 
 I wished last night that you would come in. I looked for 
 you a little after nine o'clock, even." 
 
 " Did you? " he said. " I'm glad of it." But he only 
 touched the tips of my fingers. 
 
 "Yes, I wanted to see you very much, to — to offer 
 some apologies," I went on impulsively. " I was — I've 
 been very stupid of late — rather lonely, too, since my 
 uncle went away. I am sorrj' I couldn't see you the other 
 night when you called, but I was really too homesick to 
 see anybody. I hope you are not offended with me?" 
 I had never uttered so many words, in all I had ever said, 
 to the man before. He was not one to show any sudden 
 surprise, let what might happen. But I saw a change in 
 his dark face. A friendly warmth of expression, succeed- 
 ing the searching look, came into it, and made it almost 
 radiant. 
 
 ' ' Offended with you ? " he said. ' ' If you knew me better, 
 you wouldn't say that." 
 
 " Well, I want to know you better, very much. Will 
 you come to Mrs. Proctor's to-night and hear my lessons? 
 I'll try and thank you then for all your past kindness. 
 But, if you won't come, take my thanks now;" and I 
 again put out my hand. 
 
 He grasped it cordially this time ; gave me another 
 searching look ; but his voice was as grave as ever. 
 
 " Oh, don't think but that I'll come! It will give me 
 pleasure to do so. We shall have to make up for omitted 
 lessons. It is history night, is it not? " 
 
 "Yes; and I've got over seven pages, as far as the 
 peasant revolt, and can say it all by heart." 
 
 "Good," said Mr. Wyndham. "You never give me 
 a chance to find fault with you. Miss Rivers." 
 
 He lingered a moment by my side, and then bowed and 
 turned away. I smiled very wisely to myself, as I looked 
 after him, crossing over to the little tavern where he 
 boarded. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 159 
 
 " My dignified sir," thouglit I, " you little dream that 
 I am in possession of your secret. When you give me 
 your confidence again, I shall know how to receive it." 
 
 But he did not give me his confidence again. He came 
 evening after evening to Mrs. Proctor's, and listened to 
 my twaddle very patiently, — I took the initiative in our 
 interchange of common talk now, — yet stubbornly ignored 
 all my adroit allusions to the young lady of Normanville, 
 meanwhile. Sometimes he looked at me in a very strange 
 way ; as if he were bent on finding how much I knew of 
 the matter, without committing himself by a word. By and 
 by his manner became fitful and uncertain ; genial now 
 and communicative, and anon taciturn and gloomy, as the 
 mood was on him. His love-affair did not run smoothly, 
 I was convinced. I pitied him, while I was quite at my 
 ease witli him, feeling happy in my entire independence 
 of any connection with his inner life. 
 
 His friendship, however, was invaluable to me. It 
 seemed the strangest thing in the world that I had ever 
 been afraid of him, or that he had ever been disagreeable 
 to me. It was my intention to teach a school the coming 
 autumn, and I did not hesitate to ask Mr. Wyndliam to 
 aid me in securing one. He w&s a successful teacher him- 
 self. He had an original method of imparting knowledge. 
 The principles of the text-books were so thoroughly incor- 
 porated in his mind, that he could leave the beaten track, 
 and make the dullest lesson attractive and impressive; 
 never failing to give his pupils something to think about 
 when the oral exercises were ended. 
 
 It was at the close of the term that I appealed to him 
 to use his influence in my behalf. It was the last day of 
 the school, when he had come in to say good-by. He was 
 in one of his silent moods. But I would not mind it ; I 
 spread out my plans before him. 
 
 " Your highest ambition, then, is to take a school of a 
 score or more of unruly boys and girls somewhere in the 
 outskirts of Sunbridge, is it? I can imagine you presiding 
 over them in some little isolated schoolhouse, in the depth 
 of winter, with the snow lying five feet deep about you. 
 You desire to board around, of course ? " I had never seen 
 him in such sarcastic mood. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Wyndham," I said, " your talk isn't to the 
 
160 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 purpose at all. I wish you would be candid with me. 
 Are you willing, or not, to speak a word in my favor to 
 the school committee this evening, before you return to the 
 city?" 
 
 " Go to the committee yourself, Miss Rivers. You will 
 have as much influence with them as I," said he. 
 
 "You don't think I am qualified for a teacher, per- 
 haps, Mr. Wyndham," I suggested, determined not to be 
 offended with his sarcasm the last evening of his stay. 
 It was very evident that something lay heavily on his mind. 
 
 "I don't think you are physically qualified. No; you 
 would be fagged out in a week. Don't think of taking an 
 ungraded school anywhere for the present, Miss Rivers. 
 Take m}' advice. I'm candid now." 
 
 " But I must do something before long. I can't always 
 depend upon tlie bounty of my uncle. You told me only 
 last week, if you will remember, that I was far better 
 equipped than the greater number of common-school 
 teachers. It would be foolish enough for me to turn 
 seamstress and go from house to house, or find a place 
 as a servant in somebody's kitchen, when it is so much 
 easier to teach, and I feel myself amply fitted for the work. 
 Now, wouldn't it, Mr. Wyndham?" 
 
 " I know of something that would be much better for 
 you than teaching school ; much better, in my view." 
 
 "What is it? Do tell me," I demanded eagerly. 
 
 " I'm afraid you won't look at it in the same light 
 that I do," he answered, walking to the window, and 
 looliing out at the green vines that were clambering above 
 the veranda. 
 
 "Please tell me, and then we shall know," I said, 
 laughing. " I shall be glad to take your advice. I want 
 to earn my own living, independent of ever3-bod3'." 
 
 Suddenly his manner changed. He turned and took 
 up his hat. "I promised j-our uncle," he said, "to 
 look after your welfare to the best of my ability, and I 
 mean to keep my promise, with your permission. You 
 said the other day, that you hoped I should always be a 
 brother to you. Why not let me play the rdle of a fatlier, 
 too ? I can be a brother and a father at the same time 
 as easily as to be one of them. Wliy not? What kind 
 of a husband do you think I should make, Miss Rivers? 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 161 
 
 You haven't ever thought of me in that light, now, I 
 dare say," he added, laughing, or trying to look as if he 
 were laughing. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have, a good many times, Mr. Wyndham ! " 
 I said cheerfully. " 1 think you will make a capital 
 husband, and I hope somebody else thinks so, too." 
 
 He flung his hat into a chair, and turned to the window 
 again. He was truly in an aggravated mood this morn- 
 ing. His love-affair at Normanville was souring him fast. 
 He was pleasant, however, in a few moments. 
 
 " We'll talk over this matter of the school next time I 
 come," he resumed. " You had better keep on with your 
 studies as usual, and I will hear you recite once a week. 
 I shall have occasion to come here every Saturday, on 
 my way to Normanville ; and I can stay till Sunday morn- 
 ing and hear your lessons as well as not. You may con- 
 sider your time engaged to me, then, every Saturday 
 evening, if you please." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Mr. Wyndham," I said ; but, 
 before I could put out my hand for good-by, he was gone. 
 
162 TWO GENTLEMEN OF, BOSTON. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " All mankind love a lover." 
 
 — Bmebson. 
 
 I FOLLOWED Mr. Wj^ndham's advice, remained with 
 Mrs. Proctor, kept on with my studies, and recited 
 to him every Saturday evening, as previously arranged. 
 It was very pleasant to look forward to his weekly vis- 
 its, and very enjoyable were the conversations we had 
 over my lessons. He promised to secure a school for me 
 in Normanville, — a private school of a dozen young ladies, 
 under the patronage of a wealthy resident, a Mrs. Cum- 
 mings, a most charming woman, he said, and one who 
 would be verj'^ kind to me. 
 
 Such an outlook was enough to make me happy, if 
 every thing else failed to do so. Altogether, that last 
 summer of mine at Sunbridge was a very pleasant one. 
 
 I heard from uncle Beals regularly. The twins wrote 
 me at intervals ; they had a studio of their own now, and 
 were meeting with much success. Calista, poor Calista, 
 I heard nothing from ; though I wrote her several times 
 in the course of the summer. And my mother — ah, 
 where was she? Mystery still shrouded her whereabouts. 
 Once the dominating factor of all my movements, she 
 seemed to have dropped out of my life as entirely as if 
 the ground had opened and swallowed her up. My way 
 of life with Mrs. Proctor would have been stupid, no 
 doubt, to a gayer-minded girl. But it did not seem dull 
 to me. Every moment of my time was occupied. I 
 rose early and studied hard for three hours ; then I as- 
 sisted Mrs. Proctor in her household labors a while, — 
 much to her surprise, for my board was paid in advance 
 to December. After dinner I was busy with my sewing ; 
 and after tea I took long walks, 'usually to the Corners, 
 along the road by the river, the associations of which 
 were so pleasant to me. I followed this programme as 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 163 
 
 regularly as the sun rose and set. I was in perfect phys- 
 ical health, and I flattered myself that my mind was 
 growing stronger under constant cultivation of my intel- 
 lectual faculties. I was quite sufficient unto myself, and 
 felt DO need of intimate friend or lover. With no strong 
 will of another near to oppose me in any thing, I no 
 longer deemed myself, as I had once done, " a waxen 
 image 'gainst a fire," but imagined I was able to meet 
 exigencies in any shape they might appear. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon in August Mr. "Wyndham ar- 
 rived earlier than usual. He had just come over from 
 Normanville, he said ; and, by his happy looks and man- 
 ner, I inferred his affaire d'amour was progressing favor- 
 ably at last. The impulse was again, as it had been many 
 times before, upon my lips, to inquire if it were not so. 
 But the same delicacy that had always held me back would 
 not let me even now, on longer acquaintance, knock at 
 the door of his heart too boldly. I still hoped he would 
 open it of his own accord, and speak of the lady himself. 
 
 For the first time he accepted Mrs. Proctor's invitation 
 to stay to tea, and afterwards accompanied me on my walk 
 to Sunbridge Corners. Everybody seemed to be out that 
 lovely evening, walking, driving, or playing croquet, or 
 taking tea under the trees. After a little walk by the 
 river, we went up through the garden to the hotel, and sat 
 on the veranda, once so familiar to me, but now occu- 
 pied by strangers, with children running about in hilari- 
 ous fashion. I looked in vain for one familiar face. At 
 my right a French window stood open, leading into the 
 room made memorable to me by my sickness and the dear 
 presence of Mrs. Walters. Through that window it was 
 that the hero of my dreams had borne me forth in his 
 arms, as Porphyro had borne Madeline on St. Agnes' eve 
 ages ago ; with the difference, however, that my gaunt 
 frame was pinned up in unromantic bed-blankets, and 
 there was no porter lying 
 
 " In uneasy sprawl 
 With a huge empty flagon by bis side," 
 
 and my bearer bore me by special request, and no pleas- 
 ure of his own. How long ago it seemed ! What would 
 
164 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Mr. Cloud say to me now if he were here, I wondered. I 
 could not forget that he had called me his fairy wife. 
 How he and his sister had come and gone, like a vision 
 in a dream ! I should never see them again, probably. 
 Nobody with whom I had ever been connected seemed to 
 have any substantial existence, except Mr. Wyndham. I 
 looked at him sitting beside me. He was caressing a 
 dripping spaniel, that had followed some children from 
 the river, and had stopped in an impetuous way to leap 
 against Mr. Wyndham's shoulder. 
 
 " You are fond of dogs, it seems," said I, glanci^ig at 
 tlie sprinkling of mud flung from the creature's feet on 
 the skirt of my gown. 
 
 " Not particularly," he answered, still keeping his hand 
 on the head of the one in question. 
 
 "They are fond of you, then," said I, with another 
 downward glance at my soiled garments. 
 
 " Go ! " said Mr. Wyndham, in a tone that struck me 
 as very peculiar. The dog instantly obej'ed the com- 
 mand, shrank away to a little distance, dropped down 
 quivering, and gazed- back at the speaker with imploring 
 ej-es. That little word, as he uttered it, thrilled me for 
 a moment most unpleasantly. I could not help feeling, 
 had he spoken it to me, I should have obeyed with the 
 same alacrity shown by the animal. I was reminded of 
 my first impressions of Mr. "Wyndham, — the disagreeable 
 sensation that he was reading my thoughts, and divining 
 the inmost stirrings of my soul. It flashed through my 
 mind that he might have been cognizant of what I had 
 been thinking a few moments ago. His mood seemed sud- 
 denly changed. " Pshaw, what a silly superstition to in- 
 dulge in now ! " thought I. I would not suffer it to affect 
 mo again : I knew and liked JNIr. W3-ndham too well. 
 
 " Shall we go?" he said, rising at once, and leading 
 the way through the hall to the front portico. 
 
 " If you please," I answered, following him. 
 
 "What a glorious evening!" I' exclaimed, as we 
 emerged from the shaded veranda into the outer light. 
 Day had melted into night without the intervention of 
 twilight ; and through the dewless atmosphere the round 
 moon's rays fell so vividly I could read the printed letters 
 in the little book of poems Mr. Wyndham had just given 
 
Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 165 
 
 me while walking by the river. But my companion did 
 not seem inclined to share any delight with me in the ex- 
 ceptional beauty of the night. Was he offended, I won- 
 dered. He had been so cheerful, so genial, only a little 
 while ago, his protracted taciturnity seemed all the more 
 unaccountable. 1 had done my best at being agreeable, 
 without getting one word or smile of encouragement. 
 Such unreasonable conduct piqued me at last ; and I said, 
 half playfully, half petulantly, — 
 
 '' Are you displeased with me, Mr. "Wyndham? " 
 
 He turned and looked at me with a singularly quick 
 movement ; his face was in shadow, and I could not read 
 its expression. He said nothing. 
 
 " It can't be any thing I ha\e said to you," I went on 
 impulsively, and a little irritably. "It must be j'ou are 
 displeased at something I have been thinking." 
 
 "At something you have been thinking?" said he. 
 " How should I know of what you have been thinking? " 
 
 " Don't you — can't you read a person's thoughts? " 
 
 "I can't read yours," he answered brusquelj-. "I 
 wish I could. I've been wanting to know them a long 
 time. Please tell me what they are." 
 
 " About what? " I asked. 
 
 " About any thing ; about me, for instance. It seems 
 to me that you must have, by this time, eitlier a very 
 high opinion of me, or a very low one. Which is it, 
 Cordelia?" 
 
 "You know what I think, without asking." 
 
 " Do you ascribe to me a devilish or divine power? " 
 
 " I believe you are trying to make me say something 
 foolish, that I shall be thoroughly vexed over when you 
 are gone," I answered. 
 
 " Now I know your opinion of me exactly, and I don't 
 feel in the least flattered. Miss Rivers." 
 
 " I must say, Mr. Wyndham, that you puzzle me some- 
 times. I don't think I quite understand what you mean 
 always, by what you say. I've thought sometimes — I 
 heard last spring — I used to think last spring, I mean, 
 that you — that you had some trouble, something on your 
 mind. You remember you began to tell me about it once. 
 Perhaps you don't recall it now. It was when I first 
 knew you. You talked quite freely with me then ; now 
 
166 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 you won't say any thing about it. I suppose longer 
 acquaintance witli me doesn't inspire your confidence." 
 
 " You liave hit the truth exactly : the more I see of you, 
 the less inclined am I to open my heart to you," said Mr. 
 Wyndham, as we reached the gate of Mrs. Proctor's front 
 yard. "I'm afraid you wouldn't have the least sym- 
 pathy for me. I'm afraid you would think my aspira- 
 tions altogether above my deserts, and be disgusted, and 
 cut my acquaintance." 
 
 "O Mr. Wyndham," said I, "how mistaken you are 
 in such an idea of me ! It's my turn not to feel flattered 
 now, at 3'our opinion of me. I think I know what trou- 
 bles you, and you have my sympathy without the asking." 
 It was a bold and unwise thing to say, I knew. 
 
 " Thank you, Cordelia. Continue to think the best j'ou 
 can of me. I don't think very highly of myself. Good- 
 night." He lifted his hat, and hurried away towards his 
 tavern. 
 
 I speculated a good deal over Mr. Wyndham and his 
 affairs during the week that followed the foregoing con- 
 versation. I felt that I had been very selfish hitherto, in 
 considering simply what pertained to me, in our positions 
 as teacher and pupil, and giving no thought as to how he 
 might be situated. 
 
 After a deal of inward debating of the matter, I came 
 to the conclusion that he was in want of money. He 
 must be poor, I thought, by his style of dressing. His 
 clothes, though scrupulously neat, were of the most ordi- 
 nary material. I had never seen him wear any thing but 
 tlie "rough and ready" suit of gray on any occasion. 
 He had told me once of the half dozen nephews and 
 nieces left on his hands. Perhaps they were dependent 
 upon him for support. He had been very kind to me, 
 luul taken great pains in instructing me in the most 
 thorough manner ; for which service, uncle Beals, he told 
 me once, had paid him in advance. Still I would like to 
 •offer him something more on my own account. I was rich 
 with five hundred dollars in the Normanville bank. I 
 could spare a part of it as well as not.. The lady who had 
 his affections was rich. Her guardian was opposed, no 
 doubt, to her receiving attentions from an indigent young 
 man. I was sure there could be no other objection to 
 
■ TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 167 
 
 him whatever. A little money to use just now might 
 give him more heart. In what way coold I offer it to 
 him? — as a loan, as a gift? It was a delicate matter to 
 adjust satisfactorily. I should have to be guided by cir- 
 cumstances when next I saw him. In any ease, I would 
 offer to assist him. He had no mother or sisters to look 
 after his clothes. He probably had to darn his own 
 stockings, and mend his gloves, and supply the missing 
 buttons of his shirts. I wondered if it would seem to him 
 an unfeminine proceeding to offer to do that kind of work 
 for him. 
 
 The nest Saturday, after I bad recited my lessons, I 
 risked the proposition. He must have been quite sur- 
 prised, for he gave an audible laugh. 
 
 "You are very kind," he said, "but my servant at- 
 tends to all such matters." His servant! His servant 
 was a myth, of course. His face wore the oddest ex- 
 pression, and he laughed again. " Excuse me," he said, 
 " but I was thinking what Mrs. Wyndham would say to 
 j'our offer of doing my mending." 
 
 " Mrs. Wyndham ! " said I, starting back in astonish- 
 ment. " You are not married, are you? " 
 
 " Would it please you if I were? " he asked quickly. 
 
 "I don't know. Why, yes, of course, if it pleases 
 you, Mr. Wyndham," I answered, not quite relishing 
 that all the romance respecting him should end so sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Of course I'm not married. It would be a little 
 queer to be visiting you, and keeping up such an inter- 
 est in all that concerns you, if I were married, wouldn't 
 it?" 
 
 "I don't know that it would. I hope you will con- 
 tinue to care for me and be my friend after you are 
 married, just as you are now. I can't see why you 
 shouldn't, I'm sure. I should like to see your intended 
 wife, and make her my friend too," I said. 
 
 The gentleman had turned while I was speaking, to 
 open a window, for the room was very warm. As he did 
 so, I discovered a rent in the sleeve of his coat. It was 
 a nice opportunity for me to say, "I'm afraid, sir, that 
 your servant doesn't attend to his duty. Your coat-sleeve 
 wants mending. Take off your coat and let me do it. I 
 
168 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 can mend it so neatly that you'll have hard work to find 
 the place again." 
 
 "But I must sit in my shirt-sleeves meanwhile," said 
 he, with a little laugh ; to which I gayly answered, — 
 
 " Oh, I will excuse that ! " 
 
 He took off the garment with no further objection, and 
 my work-basket being at hand, I set about the work at 
 once, while he drew up a chair to overlook the process. 
 
 " Who taught you to mend in that way ? " he inquired, 
 after watching me awhile. 
 
 "I don't remember. I think I must have taught 
 myself." 
 
 " I should think it would require long practice to do it 
 so skilfully," he remarked, with his eyes still on my dex- 
 terous fingers. 
 
 " Oh, I served an apprenticeship of years to the busi- 
 ness before I became perfected in it ! " I explained. 
 
 " For the purpose of teaching you to be thrifty? " he 
 asked, glancing up at my face. 
 
 "Not at all," I said. "It was because I was too 
 poor to buy new clothes. I was obliged to mend my old 
 ones." 
 
 "Were you ever in such straitened circumstances?" 
 said he, rising and walking about the room with his hands 
 in his pockets. He was quite regardless of his dignity for 
 the nonce. 
 
 "Yes, I was always poor till I came to Sunbridge. 
 But I'm rich now," I added. " Uncle Beals gave me five 
 hundred dollars before he went away, to do just what I 
 pleased with ! It is in the savings bank at Normanville, 
 and it isn't of the slightest use to me in the world. I 
 sha'n't need it by and by, either, after I begin teaching 
 school." 
 
 jNIr. Wyndham laughed again in a very queer way. He 
 was not acting at all like himself. He resumed his seat 
 at my side, drawing his chair a little nearer mine. I 
 was in hopes, his manner was so confidential, that he was 
 goiug to confess his poverty, and give me a chance to 
 offer him some of my money. But he didn't. 
 
 " I suppose you think," he said, " that I'm a very 
 careless fellow, and I mn. I never give a thought to my 
 clothes. Of course I put on fresh clothes after my bath 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 169 
 
 ever}' morning ; but the rest of my costume takes care of 
 itself. I often forget to buy myself a new coat. I 
 economize, you see, in that way." 
 
 I glanced at his linen. It was of exceedingly fine tex- 
 ture, and of unmistakable freshness. " He certainly 
 does not economize in that direction," was my inward 
 decision. 
 
 " Do yourstockings need mending?" I inquired frankly, 
 as the gentleman put on his coat. He was evidently 
 highly amused at the question, and the way I had been 
 going on, but preserved an outward sedateness. I did 
 not care a scintilla what he thought of me. I felt my- 
 self just then quite superior to him ; for I had acknowl- 
 edged my poverty, and he wouldn't acknowledge his. 
 Besides, I enjoyed looking after a friend's needs. I had 
 always been accustomed to such kind of responsibility. 
 He doubtless thought it a most singular wa}' to entertain 
 a young gentleman, by askipg leave to mend his coat 
 and darn his stockings. Let him think so. Let him 
 laugh inside at my rustic simplicity and audacity. He was 
 welcome to all the fun it gave him. He needed cheering up. 
 
 He took oi¥ his shoes without hesitation, as he had 
 taken off his coat. He examined each small foot with 
 the gravity of a judge. 
 
 "My stockings are all right," he said, repressing a 
 smile that began to creep over his face again. " I thought 
 they were. I look out for that mj'self. When I come to 
 a holey pair, I fling 'em into the waste-basket ; and Jerry 
 carries them off." 
 
 " Do you call it economy to keep a servant to fling 
 away your stockings? " I inquired. '■ You ought to hear 
 Mrs. Beals, nde Stedfast, lecture on economy. She says 
 a man's idea of saving is to burn a candle in the daytime, 
 and sit in the dark in the evening." 
 
 " "What is a woman's idea? " he asked. 
 
 I told him that I could speak with authority on the 
 subject. 
 
 "What an excellent wife you would make a poor 
 man! " said he. "You would patch up his fortunes in 
 no time." 
 
 " I should prefer spending my time mending my own," 
 I answered. 
 
170 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Don't you expect to marry sometime? " 
 
 " I have no such expectations," I said. 
 
 " How old are you? Did you ever fall in love in your 
 long life?" 
 
 " You are not my father confessor. I sha'n't tell 
 you." 
 
 " I know you never did." 
 
 " And I hope I never shall." 
 
 " Why ? Tell me why, please." 
 
 " Because persons in love are always in trouble, un- 
 happj-, and disagreeable, — at least, two-thirds of the 
 time." 
 
 " You speak as if you had been studying special cases. 
 How many have j'ou known in your day ? ' ' 
 
 "I've known one certainly" — 1 stopped suddenly, 
 the remaik was so pointed. 
 
 " Of course, it was a case of unrequited affection, 
 wasn't it? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know. He seemed at times very 
 moody." 
 
 " Oh, it was a he, then ! and he was in love with your- 
 self ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, he wasn't ! He was the most inconsist- 
 ent "— 
 
 " Of course, he was inconsistent if he didn't love you ; 
 and 1 don't care to hear about him, for that reason. Now, 
 I can mention some one, if you will permit me " — 
 
 " I shall not permit you." 
 
 "But 1 feel for tlic young man. He is in my confi- 
 dence. He has commissioned me to speak to you. Won't 
 you listen while I advocate his cause? " 
 
 " I had rather not." 
 
 ' ' You will permit me to enumerate his good qualities. 
 He has some. Miss Rivers." 
 
 "I do not care to know them." 
 
 " You ought to feel some interest in the poor fellow, he 
 cares so much for you. Of course, he feels it is presump- 
 tuous folly to imagine you can ever care for him ; aud he's 
 been delaying speaking to j'ou, lest the blow of your 
 refusal might crush him. He's nearly desperate now, he 
 tells me, and is determined to know the worst. He will 
 come here to-morrow." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 171 
 
 " No, no ; no, no ! Don't let him come. Advise him 
 not to, Mr. Wyndliam. I know who he is. It's Will 
 Weed. He's very disagreeable to me. I'll not see him, 
 if he comes." 
 
 " Will you take a walk with me?^" suddenly proposed 
 Mr. Wyndham. "I shall not go' to Normanville till 
 Monday morning. We have not had a walk together for 
 a long time." 
 
 I readily assented ; and we were soon crossing the 
 meadow to the bank of the river, where a huge fallen 
 tree, covered with moss, and nearly spanning the shallow, 
 pebbly stream, served as a rustic bridge in crossing to the 
 meadows beyond. The shady seclusion of this spot, 
 with its bit of blue sky overhead and the tiny murmur of 
 the stream, was usually charming enough; but to-night 
 the presence of a throng of mosquitoes made it almost 
 unendurable. I would not complain, however, while Mr. 
 Wyndham seemed so oblivious to the annoyance. I sur- 
 mised he had sought this place to open his heart to me ; 
 but, when we were seated on a branch of the fallen tree, 
 he appeared to have fallen into moody silence again. As 
 usual, I was the first to speak. " Is Normanville a pleas- 
 ant place to live in? " I inquired. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know : I never lived there," said he, 
 clasping his knees, and glancing up to the strip of tinted 
 sky overhead. 
 
 "But you go there every week, — almost like living 
 there, I should think," I said. 
 
 " Yes, I go there ; but I know only one family in the 
 place, — Mr. Cummings and his wife." 
 
 "And a beautiful j'oung lady," I added, slapping a 
 a mosquito that had fastened on my arm. 
 
 "A beautiful young lady?" he repeated. " What do 
 you mean, Cordelia? " He gave me a searching glance. 
 
 " There was a rumor last spring — Amelia Winship told 
 me — How thick the mosquitoes are here ! I'm being 
 eaten alive. Let's go up into the field," I said. He 
 parted the low branches for me to pass through ; and we 
 went up on to a knoll, where he spread my shawl over 
 the stubbly grass, and we sat down again. 
 
 "There was a rumor about me, you say?" he began. 
 "Go on, please, Cordelia." 
 
172 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Yes : Amelia Winship told me you were in love with 
 a young lady in Normanville." 
 
 A sudden gleam shoue from his eyes, as if a flash of 
 lightning had revealed a secret to his gaze. 
 
 " What Miss Winship told you is mainly true, Cordelia. 
 I am in love, but not with any girl in Normanville. I go 
 up to Normanville to see a sick classmate, an incurable 
 invalid. He had his leg amputated three months ago. 
 He's not doing well. Poor fellow ! he's got to die." 
 
 I now wished I had not spoken at all. Mr. Wyndham 
 had risen, and was standing before me with folded arms, 
 gazing down at me with a most sorrowful expression. 
 " You never guessed it yourself, I suppose," said he. 
 
 " Guessed what? " I asked. 
 
 " That I was the unhappiest of blissful wretches, revel- 
 ling in intoxicating, sweet madness ; in a continual state 
 of exalted depression, with hope and despair and adora- 
 tion at loggerheads inside ; half the time in heaven, and 
 half the time in hell ; and keeping school in Sunbridge? " 
 
 I moved back a little while he was speaking. I 
 actually began to fear that he was getting insane. There 
 was probably insanity in his family. And here I was 
 alone with liim in the gathering twilight ! 
 
 " I'll tell you about the girl," he went on. " That will 
 interest you : girls hke to hear descriptions of themselves, 
 don't they? She is just your age, and very much like 
 you, in fact, — the same figure, eyes, hair, complexion. I 
 met her first last summer. iShe was staying at the Corners, 
 at Mr. Bcals's hotel." 
 
 "At uncle's hotel? "I asked, surprised. "I never 
 saw any such girl there. She must laave come while I 
 was sick. Where is she now? " I inquired, beginning to 
 be interested again, and not afraid while he talked com- 
 posedly. 
 
 " In Sunbridge. I see her everj- week." 
 
 " Doesn't she care for you now, don't you think? " 
 
 " I can't exactly tell. I'm afraid not." 
 
 " Why don't you ask her? " 
 
 " I haven't the courage yet. If she should say no, I 
 should go away at once and forever. I should never see 
 her again. While I have a bit of hope, I can linger here, 
 you perceive ; and it is a great pleasure to be near her. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 173 
 
 I'm not half good enough for the girl ; but I'd try to im- 
 prove, — I'd try to be a better man." 
 
 The tones of his voice touched me ; and I said, " I don't 
 believe she's a bit better than you. I don't believe she's 
 half as good, now." 
 
 " You are not competent to judge clearly under the cir- 
 cumstances," he answered, wrapping my shawl round me. 
 (We were walking towards home now.) " She's as much 
 better than I, as yonder stream is better than a mud-pud- 
 dle. You don't know how lovely she is. She is like a 
 June morning when the birds are singing and the east is 
 rosy. Her very soul is fragrant like the air. ' ' 
 
 I could scarcely keep from laughing outright at such a 
 singular comparison.' 
 
 " I'd give up every thing for her, Cordeha. Cram will 
 tell you that I have some talent, that I am not a fool. 
 I haven't much treasure laid up in heaven yet, but I've 
 some earthly possessions. I've always had a steady pur- 
 pose to guide me, and a determination to rise in the world. 
 I expect to be a practising physician another year with 
 one of the oldest practitioners in the city. I've been 
 doing hospital work all summer. I should have gone 
 abroad last spring, — to Vienna, — but for this affair. Yet 
 now I'm ready to give up every thing utterl}-, if the sac- 
 rifice could win the girl's heart. Yes, for her I would 
 become a day-laborer. I can't think of any thing I 
 wouldn't do, unless it were to commit a crime. What do 
 you think of such love as that, Cordeha? " 
 
 " Why don't you go to the girl at once, and talk to her 
 just as you are talking to me now? I don't think she 
 would hold out long against such an appeal. I'm sure I 
 couldn't. You may be entirely mistaken as to her feel- 
 ings. She is, perhaps, only waiting for you to speak. 
 I'm sure I wouldn't tell a man I cared for him till he 
 asked me. He might wait till doomsday first. Will you 
 come in? " I said, as we reached Mrs. Proctor's gate. 
 
 " No, but I'll sit with you on the veranda, if you tliink 
 Mrs. Proctor will consider it the correct thing." 
 
 "Certainly, Mrs. Proctor doesn't care," I said. He 
 brought two chairs forward, and we sat down. I hoped 
 he was going to talk about my studies a little now. I 
 was tired of\ listening to this exclusively personal matter 
 
174 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of his. I hoped it would soon be settled, and the man 
 would be himself again. But I would try and be patient 
 with him, for I truly liked him. I lilied him very much 
 indeed. 
 
 " Do you know," he began again, " that the strangest 
 thing about this strange affair is, that, though I've seen 
 the girl every week and talked to her, she hasn't the 
 slightest suspicion tliat I care for her." 
 
 "She must be very stupid, begging your pardon," I 
 said. " And yet I can understand how it may be your 
 fault that she doesn't know. Is she so far above you in 
 social position as to make j'ou afraid? " 
 
 Mr. Wyndham passed his handkerchief over his face 
 for an instant. " It is her inaccessibility that bothers 
 me," he said. "Do you ever pray?" he asked in low 
 voice. 
 
 " Why, yes, of course I do," I said. 
 
 " I wish you would pray for me, then." 
 
 " Why don't you pray for yourself?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, I never dare to pray! My prayers wouldn't be 
 heard. But a petition of yours, I think, would." Mr. 
 Wyndham's voice took the smoothest inflections to-night. 
 It was usually the lowest and smoothest when he was 
 most excited. I had heard it, however, when it was 
 exasperatingly harsh. 
 
 " I am going to see my heart's love to-morrow," he 
 went on. " I am going to take your advice, and open my 
 heart to her. I want you to pray that I may succeed ; 
 for, if I don't succeed, I shall leave the country, and you 
 will never see me again. You would be sorry never to 
 see me again, wouldn't 3'ou? " 
 
 "Indeed I should," I said. "I should cry my eyes 
 out, if 3'ou were to go away. But you need have no fears. 
 I know you will succeed. You deserve to succeed, and 
 you will." 
 
 He took both my hands in his own, and kissed them 
 fervently. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" thought I. "You are indeed very 
 much in love." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 175 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ?' Our affections are but as the tents of a night." 
 
 — Embkson. 
 
 I ATTENDED church with Mrs. Proctor and her little 
 boy, next morning, as placidly unconscious of what 
 was hanging over my head, as a summer lake of an im- 
 pending thunder-storm. I had under my charge a class 
 of small boys in the Sunday school ; and, when that was 
 dispersed, I went home and wrote a long letter to uncle 
 Beals. telling him of various matters specially interesting 
 to himself, and of the school I expected to teach in 
 Normanville, and how liind Mr. Wyndham had beeu to me 
 in many other ways besides getting me the school. I as- 
 sured him I was very happy. 
 
 After tea Mrs. Proctor suggested my accompanying 
 her on a walk to her sister's house, half a mile distant, 
 which invitation I should have been pleased to accept had 
 I been quite certain that Mr. Wyndham would not arrive 
 during my absence. The matter was decided for me al- 
 most immediately by little Berty, who came running in to 
 tell me that my "beau" was coming. "My beau!" 
 thought I. " The child has heard his mother allude to Mr. 
 Wyndham as my beau, it seems." I smiled at the idea, 
 while at .the same time I could riot help feeling it a dis- 
 agreeable notion for her to entertain. "Mr. Wyndham 
 is not my beau, child, he is my teacher," I said; "and 
 you may run down and ask him into the parlor, and tell 
 him I'll be down presently." The little fellow obeyed 
 me, and then set off with his mother. I was glad Mr. 
 Wyndham had come ; I wanted to ask him one more ques- 
 tion about the school, before sealing my letter to uncle 
 Beals. I remained up-stairs only long enough to exchange 
 my church dress for a thinner gown. The evening was 
 sultry. I put on the blue muslin I had finished making 
 
176 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 but yesterday, — fori had discarded mourning after my 
 uncle's marriage. 
 
 I found Wyndliam alone on the veranda, apparently 
 watching the swift rising of two black clouds from the 
 north-west and south-west, threateningly approaching each 
 other. 
 
 "If those clouds meet, I fear we shall have a terrific 
 tempest," I remarked, as he turned to greet me. He did 
 not appear to be heeding any thing I said. He looked at 
 me in a strange manner. "A lily last night," he ex- 
 claimed, " and to-day a violet ! You dazzle me with your 
 loveliness." He folded his arms and gazed at me. His 
 swarthy face wore au unusual expression. I could not 
 make it out. I did not relish this sort of flattery from 
 Mr. Wyndham. It was so foreign to any thing I knew 
 in his character, it affected me unpleasantly. His looking 
 at me so steadily embarrassed me. I wondered if he had 
 not been on a visit to the young lady, and got worsted. 
 He appeared very much like it. We did not remain on the 
 veranda. It began to rain, and we went in. The parlor 
 was so dark as we entered it, that I proposed getting a 
 lamp. 
 
 " Don't get a lamp," he said, clasping my arm to stay 
 me. " Kerosene lamps are an abomination." His grasp 
 on my arm was such an unusual proceeding, that I looked 
 round at him for an exjjlanation. He was acting like a 
 man slightly intoxicated ; and had I not been sure that 
 ho never indulged in drink, I could have sworn that he 
 was under its influence. For he took me by my two 
 shoulders, and held me back from him, the better to see 
 my face, and said boldly, deliberately, and coolly, "It is 
 you I love, Cordelia." I sprang from him to the other 
 side of the room in utter blank amazement. The whole 
 truth had been flashed in upon me with the vividness 
 of the lightning at the windows. I sank into a chair, 
 overwhelmed by it. There was no need of any explana- 
 tion from Mr. Wyndham. But he was beside me, explain- 
 ing, pouring out his protestations, like one gone wild. I 
 did not heed a word he said, my mind was in such a 
 tumult. It seemed as if the world had rolled from under 
 my feet, and left me tumbling in space. When the shock 
 had passed a little, I began to realize my position. It 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 177 
 
 seemed too trite to call myself a fool. Language af- 
 forded no word strong enough just then to express my 
 self-contempt. I could say nothing to Wyndham's pas- 
 sionate words. I seemed to be stunned into silence. 
 
 " Why don't you speak to me? " he demanded. " Why 
 do you shrink from me? Am I quite obnoxious? " 
 
 I shook my head. I couldn't speak. What, indeed, 
 had I to say to him? Ah, the time was at last come to 
 test the strength of character of which I had so lately 
 prided myself ! Here was the parting of two ways. I 
 could not take both of them ; nor could I halt long in 
 making choice, with the pressure of Wj'ndham's impetu- 
 ous nature to hurry my decision. Why did I halt at all? 
 I did not love Mr. Wyndham. Why could I not tell him 
 so plainly, and have done with the matter? I seemed to 
 have lost the use of my tongue. 
 
 The man at last got exasperated at my stolid quietness. 
 It must have seemed like heartlessness to him. He 
 brought a chair and sat down facing me. 
 
 " Cordelia," he said, " you are the most singular girl I 
 ever saw. Are all girls like you? I don't know much 
 about them." 
 
 I had no answer to make to him even then. 
 
 " Miss Rivers," he began again in his smoothest tones, 
 " will you please favor me with the sound of your voice 
 before I say good-night? " He got up and took his hat. 
 
 Then it was that I began to liave a clearer sense of 
 what was due him. I must tell him in some way that I 
 did not love him, that I never could marr}- him. I hadn't 
 the strength to do it in a straightforward manner. If I 
 had disliked him thoroughly, it would have been easy 
 enough. But I did not dislike him. I liked him. I 
 liked him very much. But I did not love him. To my 
 mind there was a wide difference between the two senti- 
 ments. The thought of marrying him was not agreeable. 
 Yet the thought of losing him as a friend, I could not 
 entertain. I wanted to eat my cake, and keep it too. If 
 I told him I could never love him, I should never see him 
 after to-night. I knew this, and it turned me cold. 
 
 The gentleman moved to the door, put his hand on the 
 knob, and looked back at me. "Good-night, and fare- 
 well, Cordelia," he said mournfully. 
 
178 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 This inspired me with a lame sort of utterance. 
 
 " Come back, come back, Mv. Wyndham," I pleaded. 
 "You liave been the kindest friend to me; I couldn't 
 respect any one more highly. You are noble, you are 
 generous ; you have all the qualities — I like you very 
 much " — 
 
 " Do you like me well enough to marry me, Cordelia? 
 That is the question," he said, flinging down his hat. 
 
 "I like you very much as a friend. I never saw — 
 I never met a gentleman — I think you are very noble, 
 very generous " — 
 
 "Oh, pshaw!" he interrupted, with a gesture of 
 impatience at the inane repetition of what I had just 
 uttered. He turned on his heel, and muttered something 
 that sounded like swearing. He made for the door again. 
 It was certainly a unique love-scene for a third person to 
 have witnessed. Then he came back once more, and 
 stood before me calmly. 
 
 " Cordelia," he said, " I don't blame you in the least 
 for not caring for me. I hope you will never blame your- 
 self because I have flung my life awaj' upon you. It is 
 nothing you can help if you don't love me. I don't say, 
 either, that you have no heart, because I have failed to 
 touch it. Good-by." 
 
 Before I could utter a word, he was gone. Oh, why, 
 why did I not let him go? But the thought of never see- 
 ing him again became instantly insupportable. I sprang 
 into the hall just as he was passing through the outer 
 door. I caught both his hands, and drew him back into 
 the parlor. I made him sit down beside me. I cannot 
 recall what I said. I was impelled to talk by an intense 
 desire to retain him as a friend. I imagined, weak girl 
 that I was, that the affair might be adjusted in a way for 
 a return to our old friendly relations again. But all I 
 could say on that head made him angrier than ever. 
 
 '_' What kind of man do you think I am, Cordelia?" 
 he inquired. " I want you to marry me, if you love me. 
 If you don't love me, say so, and let me go. Don't trifle 
 with me any longer. Do you love me? " 
 
 I could not say yes, and lie. I was equally unable to 
 say no, and lose him forever. I wanted to compromise 
 the matter still. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 179 
 
 " Why do you torture me in this wa}-, Cordelia? Do 
 you want to make it easy for me to leave you ? I never 
 thought you were a coquette. I hate a coquette ; I don't 
 want to hate you." 
 
 " You want to hear the truth, don't you? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, that is just what I want to hear. What is the 
 truth, Cordelia?" 
 
 " That I like you very much. I want you to be my 
 friend." 
 
 " But you don't love me? You won't marry me? " 
 
 " If I didn't love you, would you wish me to marry 
 you?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Would you ask a man, who had given 
 all he was worth for a gem, to be content with the setting 
 of the jewel ? I want your love ; that is what I am after. 
 The simple possession of — of yourself, of your physical 
 charms, is not what I crave. There are plenty of women 
 equal to, — yes, superior to you in that respect. I don't 
 want them, because I love you. Don't misunderstand me. 
 You are my soul's love, and I am not satisfied with any 
 thing less than that in return." 
 
 "Perhaps I should learn to like you — to love you — 
 after 1 got a little more used to thinking about you in 
 that light, — I mean, as a lover. It seems so strange to 
 me now. If you would only give rhe time to consider. 
 Perhaps next week I could ' ' — 
 
 " Don't you love me a little now? " he whispered, put- 
 ting his arms gently around me. 
 
 " A little." (It would have been impossible just at 
 that moment to say any thing in the negative, — as im- 
 possible as for a child to resist the allurement of a rare 
 kind of sweetmeat.) 
 
 "And a little more now?" bringing my face to his 
 breast. 
 
 " Yes, I think I do," after considering a moment. 
 
 " And entirely now? " covering my face with kisses. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Absolutely and devotedly? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Tell me so, then. Say, 'Henry, I love you.' " 
 
 Like Mary's little lamb, I did as I was told, and then 
 every thing seemed satisfactory to the gentleman. By 
 
180 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 and by, however, he demanded a re-afflrmation of the 
 statement, and bestowed caresses in payment, which I en- 
 dured without much flinching, in the passiveness of my 
 will, and, on the whole, rather liked, if my memory is 
 correct on that point. 
 
 It was very inconsistent conduct on my part, I must 
 confess. I could not plead afterwards, in extenuation, 
 that I was unaware of it. The power of keen discrimina- 
 tion was in abeyance, to be sure. I did not choose 'any 
 longer to try to feel the difference between liking and lov- 
 ing him. If to feel glad not to lose him as a friend, not 
 to be separated from him, was loving him, then I had told 
 no lie. If to feel bound to him, and contented to submit 
 to his guidance, was loving him, then I had told no lie. 
 I quieted what little conscience was left me by vaguely 
 reasoning in that style. 
 
 " Is there any good reason why you should remain longer 
 in Sunbridge?" he asked. "There is nothing to keep 
 you here, is there, my darling? " 
 
 " Nothing," 1 said. 
 
 " Then you must go to town with me Monday of next 
 week. I shall come out again Saturday, if I succeed in 
 staying away from you so long. I certainly couldn't, 
 were it not for the work I have to do." And here he 
 began to explain some surgical operations that were to 
 take place during the week, in which he was greatly inter- 
 ested, and considered of vital importance to attend upon. 
 They were dreadful to hear about ; it made me shudder a 
 little to listen to him, as he coolly talked about them. I 
 did not like to think of him as a doctor, cutting up bodies 
 to find out what diseases they died of. My ideal lovers 
 had always been Sir Galahads, carving the casques of live 
 men with jewelled swords. 
 
 "I want you to go to Longsbury for a month," Mr. 
 Wyndham continued, " till we can be married. I have 
 a place there, a picturesque, roomy old house close by 
 the sea, — a charming location, with fine views from most 
 of the windows. My brother's widow, with her children, 
 of whom I am guardian, is living there ; and she will be a 
 highly proper hostess and chaperone for you, although I 
 shall take care that she does not interfere .too much with 
 your movements. Does such an arrangement coincide 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 181 
 
 with your wishes? Can you thinlf of a better plan, dar- 
 ling?" 
 
 "I shall leave every thing with you, Mr. Wynclham," 
 I said. " I shall be satisfied with what you think is best." 
 
 " Did you know," he said, after alittle silence, — " but 
 you couldn't know, of course, — that I took the school here, 
 last spring, simply because I wanted to be near you, and 
 see you every day? That was the only reason. I aiii not 
 obliged to teach school, as you suppose. I am not poor. 
 But I wanted you to think so. I had a reason for it. 
 Cram knows I have money, and so does your uncle. I 
 made them both promise not to mention the fact here. 
 My mother and my grandfather, each, left me a good deal 
 of money. I own a large business-block in the city, and 
 two handsome dwelling-houses, besides two country-places, 
 and I have something invested in stocks. You like me 
 just as well as if I were poor, don't you? " he asked. 
 
 " I like you better. I don't know how it will seem, — 
 I have always been poor," I said. 
 
 " I like to hear you talk, Cordelia : you are always so 
 frank, outspoken, and truthful. I can rely on you." 
 
 I winced a little at this remark ; I felt that his knowl- 
 edge of my character was not very thorough. I thought 
 how I had deceived Mrs. Walters in regard to my mother, 
 and several other prevarications I had been guilty of. But 
 1 could not confess to him now. It was not a suitable 
 occasion. 
 
 " How much money have you in the world, Cordelia? " 
 he asked, after another little silence. 
 
 " I have the sum in the savings bank I mentioned to 
 you the other day (I was glad enough I had made no 
 verbal offer to enrich him with it ; I felt he was a trifle 
 ostentatious) , and fifty dollars that my uncle gave me, in 
 my purse, besides." 
 
 " Don't use it, Cordelia. Let me have the pleasure of 
 supplying you. I don't care for money myself. My 
 habits are inexpensive. I never spend a tenth part of my 
 income. But you may spend the whole of it, if you like. 
 You shall have every thing you wish, — dresses, jewels, 
 carriages, servants ; carte-blanche to purchase any thing 
 you please.' Why are you so silent, dearest ? Talk to me 
 a little." 
 
182 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I am sure yon aio very kind. I presume I shall en- 
 joy having every thing nice, except — except jewelry and 
 "servants. I don't lilce jewelry, and I am afraid of ser- 
 vants." Oh me, to what was I drifting? 
 
 " You mustn't object to my mother's jewels, Cordelia. 
 She left them for you. They are to be my wife's. _ You 
 will wear them when we are married. Diamonds will be- 
 come your fair beauty. I hope you will like what I have 
 for you here." He produced a costly bracelet, with a 
 cluster of large diamonds around the clasp. They spar- 
 kled under the dim lamplight like a constellation of 
 stars. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot wear any thing so magnificent ! " I pro- 
 tested. " That rich ornament is not in keeping with any 
 thing I possess." 
 
 "It is in keeping with you," he returned, clasping it 
 round my arm. He took a tiny key from a bit of tissue- 
 paper, and, after touching it to his lips, inserted it in the 
 tiny lock of the bracelet'; I heard a little ominous click, 
 and the circlet was fast upon my arm. 
 
 "A betrothal ceremony of my own," said he play- 
 fullj-. " When we are married, I will unlock it, and give 
 you the key. I must keep it at present, as a talisman 
 against evil coming between us." He lifted my hand and 
 looked at the bracelet with its glittering gems ; eyes thej' 
 seemed to me — eyes of Argus guarding lo. In spite of 
 my passivity, I felt another tightening of the invisible 
 cord, binding me hand and foot. 
 
 "You say you enjoy every thing nice," hewenton. "I 
 wish j'ou would tell me what you would like, Cordelia. 
 Enumerate every thing, that I may know." I said nothing. 
 " You shall have a princess's surroundings. You want nice 
 dresses, don't you? handsome furniture, painted china, 
 I'ersian rugs, rare pictures, bronzes and mirrors, car- 
 riages and horses? Wouldn't you like a carriage and a 
 pair of horses, darling ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, yes," I said, brightening at the ludicrous thought 
 that crossed my mind. " I should like a pair of jet-black 
 horses with milk-white manes and tails ; and, if you are 
 very rich, gold harnesses to put on them. I can have 
 them, can't I? " 
 
 " Certainly, darling, when I have some patent medicine 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 183 
 
 to advertise. Yet I think a pair of ponies would be in 
 better taste for you." 
 
 " And can I drive tbem? " 
 
 " Yes, I will teach you. A neat phaeton and a pair of 
 ponies will be just the thing for you." 
 
 " And can I have a man in livery, in a little coop 
 behind, like Miss Simmons at the Corners last summer? 
 I shouldn't care if he weren't a live man ; half of them 
 don't look alive, j-ou know. I should rather have adummy, 
 on second thought ; for then he couldn't be watching all 
 that I did, and hearing all I said. And it wouldn't cost 
 any thing to keep him : he could be folded up and put 
 under the seat when I didn't want him for show. I wish 
 all servants could be dummies, and put away when their 
 work is done. I don't like servants. They make me 
 uncomfortable. Shall I have to have servants? " 
 
 " Yes, my precious, if we keep house. You must learn 
 to manage them. I will teach you." 
 
 " You are very kind ; but I fear I could never learn. 
 I had rather do the work myself. I know how to do every 
 thing. I can cook, wash, iron, and milk cows, and take 
 care of a garden. I made a barrel of soft soap before 
 I was fourteen. I never told you of my accomplish- 
 ments, did I ? " 
 
 "No, but I saw one of them when j'ou mended my 
 coat. I rank your mending among the fine arts." 
 
 "You are not sorry I can do all these things, are 
 you?" 
 
 " Why, no, dearest, I am glad. It is a real romance, 
 — a practical fellow like me falling in love with a milk- 
 maid ! You see, my head stands ' so tickle on mj^ shoul- 
 ders, that a milk- maid can sigh it off.' I think I will 
 leave my profession, and retire to a farm, and read Shake- 
 speare, so long as my wife can do all the work." 
 
 " Oh, I can teach you to work ! I ought to be able to 
 teach you something, you teach me so much. It would 
 not take long to show you how to milk a cow, and tend a 
 garden, if you are not dull." 
 
 "I shall like to be taught by you, Cordelia. I want 
 to make you very happy. I am ready to do any thing to 
 please you." 
 
 " Would you not do any thing to please me ? — I mean, 
 
184 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 would you refrain from doing sometliing, to please me?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Any thing that is reasonable, or not absolutely un- 
 reasonable, darling. You are too sensible to demand im- 
 possible things." 
 
 " I was going to ask you not to be a doctor; I never 
 liked doctors, since the time I can first remember, when 
 one pinched my nose to make me swallow a disgusting 
 draught he poured into my mouth. It must be dreadful 
 to be a doctor. I should rather you would not be one." 
 
 "But, dearest, I am one already. I was born to the 
 profession, and am more and more in love with it every 
 day. I am riding with Dr. Bray to see his patients every 
 morning. I don't mind the drudgery of work in it at all. 
 I have been in the hospital all summer. That was the 
 reason I came so late Saturdays to see you, Cordelia. 
 The work I did kept my mind from dwelling too much on 
 you. It was good for me. I thought of you often enough. 
 There was a patient in the hospital this summer, that re- 
 minded me of you. She had the same cast of features ; 
 much the same expression of the eyes. Do you know 
 that you have the loveliest eyes in the world ? She was 
 a very sick woman" — He broke off abruptly, and 
 something in his look made me feel that the subject was 
 one he could not pursue. 
 
 " Did the girl die? " I asked in subdued whisper. 
 
 "Yes. It was a hopeless case from the first. But it 
 is one I shall not tell to my innocent darling. You will 
 make a different man of me, Cordelia." 
 
 It was past twelve o'clock when Mr. Wyndham quitted 
 the house that night. The rain had been falling heavily 
 all the time, save for a little space at nine o'clock, during 
 which interval^ Mrs. Proctor and her child had returned 
 and gone to bed without entering the parlor. It was still 
 raining slightly, as I stood on the veranda with my lover ; 
 and the lightning was still flashing from every quarter of 
 the heavens, indicating that the storm had been more 
 widespread in its track, than we had imagined. 
 
 " I shall be off before you are up, Cordelia," said Mr. 
 Wyndham as he bade me good-by. " Exi)ect me early 
 Saturday. I pray God that the world may not come to 
 an end before that time. Good-night." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 185 
 
 I had scarcely closed the door behind him, before it 
 was opened again, and Mr. Wyndham re-appeared 
 
 " I've just thought of something I want to say to you," 
 he exclaimed. We re-entered the parlor. 
 
 " We must be married Saturday. It's a much better 
 plan than the first we considered. We don't care for the 
 conventionalities of the thing. They can come after- 
 wards. Let us be married in this little parlor, with no- 
 body present but Mrs. Proctor and the clergyman. I will 
 . come out early enough to attend to all necessary prelimi- 
 naries. You shall go to Longsbury with me as my wife, 
 and then every question will be settled. What do you 
 say to the plan, Cordelia? " 
 
 I knew not what to say. I felt something of re-action 
 already ; for the space of a moment, a wild impulse seized 
 me to demand my liberty. I moved the bracelet on my 
 arm ; it seemed to tighten like a living clutch. 
 
 But the strange, fierce feeling passed, leaving me too 
 weak to even say that I thought he was pushing matters 
 with unnecessary haste. 
 
 "It will suit you, will it not, dearest?" pursued my 
 impetuous lover. 
 
 "Make any arrangement that pleases you best, Mr. 
 Wyndham," I answered. " I leave every thing with you." 
 
 " God bless you, mj^ precious darling ! " he whispered, 
 enclosing my face with both his hands. I looked into his 
 eyes. There was such a depth of tenderness in them 
 that I was touched, and half believed at the moment that 
 I loved him. 
 
 " Good-by, Cordelia," said he, still holding me fast. 
 
 " Good-by," I answered. 
 
 "I don't like your form of leave-taking. I'm not 
 satisfied with it. Don't you know it is more blessed to 
 give than to receive? Kiss me, Cordelia." 
 
 He bent his head, — he was taller than I, — and I kissed 
 him for the first thiie. 
 
 ' ' You give me your whole heart, do you not ? " he 
 inquired. " I have given you mine for all eternity." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I give it you. I — I truly want 
 you to have it. I want to do what Is right." 
 
 "And you will do what is right, Cordelia. I would 
 stake my soul's salvation on your faithfulness." 
 
186 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " She left the web, she left the loom, 
 She made three paces through the room. 
 She saw the loater lily bloom,, 
 She saw the helmet and the plume. 
 She looked down to Camelot." 
 
 — Tenntson. 
 
 IT would naturally be supposed that a young girl, whose 
 dull, gray prospects of life had suddenly changed into 
 something bright and bewildering, must have had too 
 many exciting thoughts to fall asleep immediately after 
 her good fortune had become known to her. 
 
 Not so with me. The hard pillows of my cot seemed 
 that night to have taken, for my benefit, a slumber-giving 
 property. The moment my head touched them, 1 sank 
 into dreamless sleep, and did not awake from it till the 
 butcher's boy's shrill call, coming up through my open 
 window in the early morning, roused me. I awoke singu- 
 larly clear beaded and disenchanted. Somewhere in that 
 mysterious land where I had wandered in the deepest 
 hours of slumber, I had slipped the bondage of Mr. 
 Wyndham's dominant personality, and stood forth alone ; 
 seeing things in their true relations, as clearly as if it 
 had been the judgment morn. Every cobweb was swept 
 from my mind. My last night's inexcusable conduct 
 appeared before me in bare and -ugly realitj-. It was a 
 new kind of wretcheduess I felt, quite different from any 
 thing I had ever experienced before. I had no self-pity to 
 make it bearable now. " Oh," thought I, " if I had only 
 perjured myself to some purpose ! then might I, perhaps, 
 have found a ray of comfort in the little self-respect that 
 would have been left to me." There was nothing to 
 plead in extenuation of my misdoing. I had no patience 
 with myself when I thought of the imbecile wish I had 
 had to retain him as a friend. I did not want him as a 
 friend now. The more I thought of how I had bound 
 
TWO' GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 187 
 
 myself, the deeper became the revulsion of feeling. I 
 seized the bracelet on my arm, and tugged at it in the 
 vain endeavor to slip it over my hand. But it seemed to 
 have contracted its circle since last evening. The flashing 
 gems darted defiance at me. It clung like an accusing 
 conscience, and seemed to say, " You and 1 will not part 
 at present." 
 
 I could eat no breakfast that morning. Mrs. Proctor 
 slyly insinuated that having a beau usually took away a 
 girl's appetite. I had never noticed before what a dis- 
 agreeable laugh she had. I shut myself in my room, and 
 tried to study, in vain. I took up some sewing. Alas ! 
 Neither hand nor brain would execute my bidding. I 
 went out into the open air and sunlight, hoping to feel 
 freer ; and even there I could do nothing but struggle 
 with the iron bars of the cage, in which I Ijad enclosed 
 myself. I had no power to decide what I should do. 
 "Oh, I cannot marry him, I cannot marry him! I 
 must break the engagement," I kept repeating to myself, 
 till the iteration made me faint. With evening came 
 milder thoughts, and less selfish ones. In the considera- 
 tion of Wyndham's feelings, I had almost a mind to let 
 the affair drift. Were it not for the dreadful prospect of 
 having to tell him continually that I loved him, when I 
 did not love him, I would sacrifice my feelings, and let 
 the marriage take place. Mr. Wyndham was a brilliant, 
 even fascinating man, unexceptionable every way. Where 
 was there one other homeless, friendless girl, among a 
 thousand, with the prospect of having every thing that 
 money could buy, with the absolute devotion of such a man 
 as Wyndham, who would refuse to take him as a husband 
 on the score of not loving him? Such an excuse would be 
 generally called, by sensible persons, silly and sentimental. 
 Yet, after all my reasoning, it still remained impossible 
 that I could marry Wyndham. I could not live a lie, 
 however easily I had, now and then, yielded to the tempta- 
 tion of telling one. 
 
 For, with all my girlish ignorance, and foolish fancies, 
 and romantic longings, was the ever present desire, nay, 
 the resolution, to do right. It struggled to keep upper- 
 most in every battle with m^-self. I declared I would do 
 what was right at once. The obligation of love in a 
 
188 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 marriage contract was as binding upon mo as upon him. 
 It was a pity I had not perceived this fact before, for I 
 could not undo what my weak will had made past all 
 undoing. But I could do my duty now : I could tell Mr. 
 Wyndham plainly that I did not care for him, that I could 
 iiot marry him. How should I make known to him my 
 decision? To see him again would only be to repeat 
 Sunday night's folly. I must not trust myself to the 
 magnetism of his presence again. I must write to him, 
 and then at once leave Sunbridge. I saw no other course. 
 I rose in the middle of the night, and began several 
 letters, one after the other, none of which satisfied me. 
 To say, "Mr. Wyndham, sir," was too cold and un- 
 friendly. "My dear Mr. Wyndham," was too flippant, 
 too heartless. "My dear," in any form, seemed hypo- 
 critical. I was not going to be a hypocrite any longer. 
 In this initial difficulty, I tore up a dozen abortive mis- 
 sives, and then was unable to put into proper shape what 
 I wished to tell him. At last I penned the following, 
 tears streaming down my cheeks, and blotting the ink as 
 I wrote the letter : — 
 
 My Good Friend, — I am so grieved — you can never know 
 how it pains me — to say that I cannot marry yon. Wlien I was 
 with you Sunday evening, I thought I loved you; but I awolie next 
 morning, and found it was not true. If I loved you, you would 
 be as dear to me absent as you would be present. I think tliat 
 a sufficient test. You will remember saying to me, that, if I had no 
 love to give yon, you did not wish to marry me; and I have none. 
 It would not be right to marry you, and let you discover this fact 
 when it was too late. Oh, do not think that I am not grateful for 
 all yoin- kindness ! I shall bless you for it till my dying day. I 
 wish I could return the bracelet to you with this letter; but you 
 have the key, and it will not slip over my hand. I will try to 
 name a place, before long, where the key can be sent; and then I 
 will return both to you. Do not try to see me again. Before you 
 read this, I shall be far away from Sunbridge. I am very unhappy. 
 
 COKOELIA ElVEES. 
 
 When daylight came, I got up, and began packing my 
 trunk. I had made up my mind to go at once to Ilard- 
 cliffe, visit Calista, then go to Darre to see Miss Hartwell, 
 my old teacher, who had owv. promised her assistance in 
 procuring me a school as soon as I was ready to teach. 
 I had thought of my uncle, but he had not yet settled into 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 189 
 
 any permanent home. Besides, I was unwilling he should 
 know, as yet, any thing of this wretched business. I had 
 thought also of Mrs. Walters. I will not deny that I had 
 thought of her first of all. I had " looked down to Came- 
 lot," while my mind was in piteous indecision. I had 
 looked at her card of address, and remembered her words, 
 " If j-ou ever need a friend, Cordelia, or a friend's coun- 
 sel, come to me at once." It had seemed, at first, like a 
 very heaven of retreat to fly to her. But now I shrank 
 ■with acute sensitiveness from appealing to her assistance. 
 I could no more avail myself of her invitation, than I could 
 walk to a queen's palace, and demand admittance there. 
 
 I finished packing my trunk before breakfast, and 
 then went out to bespeak a conveyance to take me to the 
 station. When that was secured, I went to the little 
 post-offlce to deposit the letter I had written. The old 
 postmaster, with his spectacles dropped to the very tip of 
 his long red nose, handed me a letter that had arrived in 
 last night's mail. I knew the handwriting at once. I 
 would not trust myself to open it. I asked for pen and 
 ink, and re-addressed it, like my own letter, to Mr. Wynd- 
 ham. I grew faint with excitement ; a dreadful sinking 
 of the heart overcame me, as the letters slipped from 
 my fingers into the box. Something seemed to say in my 
 ear, plainer than words, " You have pronounced his doom 
 and your own." The bracelet hidden under my sleeve 
 seemed to give a spasmodic clutch, as much as to say, 
 "Take the letter back, and read it." 
 
 "It is all my excited imagination," thought I, a mo- 
 ment afterwards. "Have I not reasoned the whole mat- 
 ter thoroughly? Were it all to do over again, could I 
 act otherwise ? Certainly I could not." Yet the impres- 
 sion still remained, that something of vital import to me 
 was contained in the unread letter. 
 
 When I returned to the house, Mrs. Proctor met me 
 with a distressed forehead. She had discovered my 
 strapped trunk at the head of the stairs. 
 
 " What does this mean," she asked, pointing to it. 
 
 " It means that I am going away, Mrs. Proctor," I 
 said with a smile. " I am going to visit a friend." 
 
 "And never told me about it!" she said reproach- 
 fully, tears standing in her eyes. 
 
190 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "I did not know about it myself till last night, Mrs. 
 Proctor. Will jou give nie a cup of tea? The carriage 
 comes in a few minutes." 
 
 " Where are you going? When are you coming back? 
 Of course, you are coming back in a week or two, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "I am unable to tell," I answered. "Don't expect 
 to see me at all. When I get ready to return, I will 
 write you." 
 
 " But you have three months' board paid in advance." 
 Mrs. Proctor looked dismayed at thought of refunding the 
 sum. 
 
 " Never mind that," I said. " When I come back to 
 Sunbridge, I shall come to you. This will be my home." 
 
 "Then you ivill return ? You are not going for good ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, you may expect to see me again, sometime ! and 
 then I will tell you the reason why I go away now." 
 
 " What shall I tell the schoolmaster when he calls? " 
 
 " I don't think he will call." 
 
 "Is it all done Ijetween you? Is that the reason you 
 are going away? " she demanded, her forehead lifted into 
 anxious wrinkles. 
 
 " I will tell you about it when I see you again. Here 
 comes the carriage." I kissed her, and put on my hat. 
 " Where is Berty ? " I asked. " I must bid him good-by, 
 too." Little Berty came in in his nightgown, sprang into 
 Diy arms, and clung about my neck, as if he did not mean 
 to let me go. Mrs. Proctor kissed me again. Her tears 
 fell abundantly. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know what I shall do without yon 
 when I have my lieadaches," she said. "I never saw 
 but one person who was so good a nurse as you are, and 
 she was a Sister of Charity that used to come to our 
 house in the city. You make me think of her a sight. 
 You've been kinder to me than my own sister ever was. 
 You will write to me, won't you? " 
 
 "Perhaps so. I cannot promise, Mrs. Proctor." 
 
 She came down to the gate to see me off. Little Berty, 
 half -dressed, perched on one of the posts. I saw the child 
 still aloft, waving his mother's handkerchief, as the car- 
 riage passed from their sight at the turn of the road. 
 
 It was sad, returning to Hardcliffe under such depress- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 191 
 
 ing and unexpected circumstances. I had no idea how 
 Calista, with a husband, would be situated to receive me. 
 That she would be glad to see me, I did not doubt. It 
 seemed long ago that I had parted from her. I felt 
 almost as if I were returning to my childhood's home 
 after the vicissitudes of a lifetime. 
 
 It was a six-hours' journey to Hardcliffe, including 
 various stoppages and changes of conveyance, including 
 a stage-coach, where I found myself the companion of 
 two country women and a very peculiar man, whom I at 
 first took to be a maniac, but finally discovered, by his 
 conversation with the ladies, to be a "reformer, a phi- 
 lanthropist, and seer." His name I discovered to be 
 Dellmau, and I afterwards found more interest in the fact 
 than I at the time supposed possible. But, on reaching 
 Darre, my companions left me ; and I waited two hours at 
 the Darre station before the regular coach that passed 
 through Hardcliffe to Penfleld came round to take me. 
 I made several inquiries, meanwhile, to learn if Miss Hart- 
 well was still teacher at the girls' seminary in Darre. I 
 could elicit nothing definite enough to satisfy me. It was 
 a long two miles to the school-building ; and I came to 
 the conclusion it would be better to wait seeing her per- 
 sonally until after my visit to Calista. 
 
 It was all up hill to Hardcliffe ; and the driver walked 
 his horses till within a mile of the plain, and then we 
 began to descend. How familiar every thing looked to 
 me as we came into the town ! The old square meeting- 
 house, with its double row of big windows without blinds ; 
 the weather-stained tavern and store ; the post-offlce, 
 where I had so often carried and brought letters for 
 mother; the haunted house and the long graveyard, — all 
 seemed as if I had left them but yesterday. Nothing had 
 changed but myself. The postmaster, "old Cyclops" 
 as he was called, came out when we stopped at his store, 
 and took the mail-bag. He looked at me through the 
 same old goggles, but without a sign of recognition. 
 
 "Where do you wish to stop?" asked the driver, a 
 tall, green, bashful fellow, nephew of the former driver I 
 had known. Though he had eyed me occasionally, he 
 had not spoken to me till now. 
 
 " I am going to the Hill," I told him, " the old Rugg 
 
192 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON, 
 
 place, where Calista Comery lives, or she that was Callsta 
 Comery. I hear she is married now." 
 
 "She dou't live there now," said the youth. "They 
 moved away from that place more'n six months ago. 
 Nathan Comery lives there now. He bought the place." 
 
 " Do you know where she does live? " 
 
 " No ; but I can find out by asking old Cyclops." He 
 stepped into the store for a minute, returned, and said, — 
 
 " She was livin' over to Darre the last he knows about 
 'em. They're livin' somewheres in the middle o' the town, 
 I guess." 
 
 1 considered a moment or two. I had not expected to 
 find Calista gone. Should I keep on up the hill, and go 
 to Mr. Walker's, where I had boarded when I went to 
 school? No; I couldn't go there, even for one night. 
 They had never cared for me, except as I brought them 
 money for my board. I was no more to them, in their 
 absorption of gain, than a piece of furniture they had 
 stored ; and they were to me as strangers. No, I wouldn't 
 go to them. 
 
 "You may leave me at the tavern, if you please," 
 I said. Mrs. Potter, the tavern-keeper's wife, had been 
 my Sunday-school teacher. I remembered her very pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 I alighted at the tavern, and went into the traveller's 
 room, so called, though a traveller seldom entered it from 
 one year's end to another. It was not quite sundown, 
 but the place was as dark as the blue paper curtains 
 at the two windows could make it. I rolled them up, 
 and looked about me in the light that entered. I saw a 
 long, narrow hair-cloth sofa against the wall, four cane- 
 bottomed chairs, and a rocker. The carpet was home- 
 woven. On the centre-table, without a cover, was a 
 kerosene-lamp without oil, keeping company with a plioto- 
 graph-album without clasps. I touched the sheet-iron 
 stove. There was no fire in it to make it look so red. I 
 wished there were. It was chilly here. The weather had 
 suddenly changed. I had heard a man at the Darre 
 station predicting a heavy frost before morning. With 
 a little fire, I could open one of the windows, and drive 
 out the ancient odor of fried meat in the close atmos- 
 phere. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 193 
 
 The landlord had put down my large trunk in the low- 
 ceiled entry, and now came in to look at his guest. I 
 saw at once it was not Mr. Potter. It was Harmon Old- 
 ton, that used to live on the hill ; a freckled, sandy-haired, 
 round-shouldered man, with one hip larger than the other. 
 He had a peculiar gait, which Calista used to ridicule. I 
 knew him instantly. He had worked haying for Calista, 
 and I had carried out his luncheon to him many a time. 
 I wondered if he would recognize me. I bowed, and asked 
 for Mr. Potter. He did not catch my question ; he was 
 somewhat deaf. 
 
 " Doesn't Mr. Marble Potter keep tavern here now? " 
 I inquired more loudly. 
 
 " Oh, law, no ! Marb's been dead this two year," said 
 he. 
 
 "^ Is his wife living?" I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, law, no ! She was took with the bilerous colic right 
 after he died, an' didn't live but tliree days. Both on 
 'em over there together," indicating the graveyard with a 
 sideways nod. " Would you like a little fire touched off 
 in here? " he asked, taking but one step, seemingly, from 
 the door to the stove, which he opened and looked into. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I would, if you please," I said. "A fire 
 would be very acceptaljle indeed. It's a cool night." 
 
 " Yis, that's so. The grapes '11 ketch it to-night," he 
 said, taking another step out of the room, and returning 
 with a basket of wood and kindlings. 
 
 " Was you acquainted with Marb's folks? " he asked, 
 as he stuffed the stove with shavings, and struck a match 
 under his leg. 
 
 " Yes, sir," I said. " Mrs. Potter was my Sunday- 
 school teacher." 
 
 " I want ter know ! " giving another side-long glance 
 at my face, and striking another match. " Did you live 
 on the plain here, then? " 
 
 " No, sir, I lived on the hill, the other side of the school- 
 house from you. You are Mr. Oldton. I used to go over 
 to your house sometimes, at recess, for a drink of 
 water." 
 
 He shut the cover of the stove, slipped the damper with 
 the toe of his boot, and then sidled up to me. " I don't 
 know you," he said, after eying me a moment or two. 
 
194 ril'O GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Can't you guess who I am ? You used to see me often 
 enough," said I, turning my face for his better inspec- 
 tion of it. 
 
 He rolled up his larger hip, cocked his head this way 
 and that, trying to make out, who, among all the persons 
 he had ever seen, I could be. 
 
 "Wa'al, I give it up!" said he. "You hain't the 
 leastest look of ennybuddy I know. What's your name ? " 
 
 " Cordelia Rivers. You remember Mr. Edward Rivers 
 that died three years ago at the old Rivers farm ? He was 
 my father." 
 
 "I snore! You ain't that spindle-legged, humbly, 
 bashful critter that used to board at Tom Walker's, be ye? 
 Why, she used to jump the furtherest of enny gal I ever 
 sot eyes on ! You ain't that one, ueow? " He was truly 
 astonishetl. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am the same," I said, wincing a little at 
 the doubtful compliment he was paying me. 
 
 "Wa'al, wa'al, I snore! You've packed consid'ble 
 meat on yer bones sence I see ye ; makes ye look like 
 another gal. You're more'n twice as hefty as ye use to 
 be, ain't ye? How much do you weigh neow, for cur'os- 
 ity?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I haven't been weighed lately." 
 
 " I shud set ye 'long up with Sereny, — 'bout a hundred 
 an' forty odd." 
 
 " How is your wife's health now?" I inquired. 
 
 " Fust-rate ; tough as a knot." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it. She used to be so poorly," I 
 said. 
 
 " You're thinkin' of the fust woman. She was pindlin ; 
 she died a year ago last December. Persume you've 
 heard how I happened to marry Sereny. You used ter 
 know Sereny Adams, didn't ye? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, very well indeed ! " I might have added, 
 " and I used to hate her, too ; " for she was the girl that 
 exceeded all the others in making fun of my clothes. 
 
 'J Wa'al, I war'n't in no hurry about gitten' merried 
 ag'in ; but a lot on us went up to cattle-show last fall, 
 an' I took Sereny. Dumbdest rainy day you ever see ! 
 an' we was all shet up together in the tavern, carryin' on 
 like all possessed. We got to stumpin' one nuther to git 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 195 
 
 merried. I stumped Sereny to merr}' me; never thinkin' 
 she'd liev a chap so much older'ii she was. She vowed 
 she would, though. She said she warn't goin' to back 
 out on a stump 'er that kind. An' three couples on us 
 went right over to the parson's up there an' got merried ! 
 There was some talkin' an' starin' when we got home, an' 
 went up to tell the old folks. But the thing was done. 
 I guess Sereny ain't sorry yet. I know /ain't." 
 
 " Is your wife about home?" I asked, dreading to meet 
 her even now, when she could not hurt me. 
 
 " Yeer. Don't say a word : I want ter see ef she'll 
 know ye." He went to the door and called " Sereny," 
 but she was not forthcoming. He went out to find her ; 
 presently returning to tell me she had gone across to 
 parson Hodgett's to see how his old mother was " gittin' 
 along." 
 
 "You are the landlord here now, I suppose?" I said. 
 
 "Yeer, I bought every thing clean out when Marb's 
 estate was settled." He was looking out of the window 
 to see if Sereny was coming. 
 
 " I should like to stay here a few days, Mr. Oldton, if 
 it is convenient and agreeable. Can you give me a room 
 up-stairs?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, law, yis ; three, four of 'em, ef you want," said 
 he. " Serenj''ll be back in a minute, an' she'll go up 
 with ye. You can lay yer things right off here till yer 
 room's ready, and you've had some supper. Is there 
 enny thing extry you'd like cooked? Slapjacks or turn- 
 overs, or ennj- thing? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " I said, " get just what you have for your- 
 selves. I am not particular what I eat. Hike any thing." 
 
 " It's 'bout time Sereny was a-gittin' home," he said, 
 taking another look out of the window, and sweeping the 
 deserted distance with his eye. The whole common to 
 Squire Percy's could be seen from the windows ; there was 
 no person moving on it. 
 
 "Do you know whereabouts in Darre Calista Comery 
 and her husband are living ? " I inquired. I had been 
 dreading to ask about Calista lest I should hear some 
 dreadful news concerning her. I was sure now that the 
 Dellman I had seen in the stage-coach was her husband. 
 I recalled to mind the strange letter I had received an- 
 
196 TWO GENTLEMMN OF BOSTON: 
 
 nouDcing her maniage. It was written in the same strain 
 as he had talked. The more I thought about it, the truer 
 seemed my suspicion. 
 
 " She don't live in Darre neow, Calisty don't ; she went 
 to York State two months ago with her cousin," said he. 
 " Pooty sad case of Calisty's ! " he added, with another 
 excursion of his eyes down the common. 
 
 "What do you mean, Mr. Oldton?" I demanded. 
 ' ' Has Calista left her husband ? Is she sick ? Is she 
 dead?" 
 
 "She had ter leave him. She was a fool for hevin' 
 him in the fust place ; but she was one 'er them ole maids 
 that won't hear to ennybody, — awful sot in her ways. 
 She lived with him till he fooled away abeout three thou- 
 san' dollars for her ; an' then, when she wouldn't give 
 him enny more, he begun to 'buse her. Some say" he 
 kicked her down-stairs, an' broke her hip ; some say he 
 knocked the sewin'-machine on to her. He don't look's 
 ef be could knock a chip over ; but he's a narvy devil, 
 an' when he's riled he'll handle most ennybody." 
 
 " And then did she leave for York State? " I inquired. 
 
 " No: she was sick a spell, an' her cousin come on to 
 take care on her ; but he acted so, couldn't do nothin' 
 with him. An' finally Calisty left one day for good, — 
 went home 'long with her cousin ; an' I ha'n't hecrd enny 
 thing 'beout her sence. She'd lost the use 'er one leg, they 
 said, when she went away." 
 
 " In what place in York State is she, Mr. Oldton? " 
 
 " Couldn't tell ye. 1 never heerd say." 
 
 " Where should I be likely to find out? " 
 
 " Couldn't tell that nuther. Dunno as ennybuddy 
 knows." 
 
 " Did he spend all her money? " I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, law, no ! She's rich, Calisty is. Her uncle, Peter 
 Williams, left her pooty much the hull of his property, 
 after the widder's thirds. She's got all the money she'll 
 ever want ter spend, ef she never doos step a step ag'in in 
 her life." 
 
 " What did Mr. Dellman do with so much of Calista's 
 money, — three thousand dollars? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, fooled it away on lecturin' towers all over the 
 kentry ; buyin' up lottery tickets, and a mess of stuff to 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 197 
 
 make folks run after him ! He went inter tliem what-.you- 
 call it? gift enterprises; hitched 'em on to his leeters, 
 like tails to kites, to make 'em go. They say he's got 
 trunksful of bogus watches, an' jewelry, an' such stuiJ. 
 Here comes Serene!" And my host of the Hardcliffe 
 tavern betook himself away to meet his wife, leaving me 
 to ponder over the news he had communicated. 
 
 Half an hour later he re-appeared to announce supper, 
 and escort me to the dining-room. The clerk from the 
 " store " was washing himself at the kitchen-sink as we 
 entered. Another young man was combing his hair at the 
 little mirror that hung by a string beside the open door 
 that led into the kitchen from the dining-hall. Another 
 was taking down his shirt-sleeves. They were the " plater 
 boys," who worked in a little shop, plating harnesses, at 
 the rear of the tavern. Mr. Oldton introduced them 
 with much gusto. He introduced his wife bj' asking her 
 to guess who I was. " You won't guess right in twenty 
 times, I'll bet," he said. He had not mentioned my 
 name distinctly to the young men. He seemed to be too 
 much pleased over the fun to please his wife. I smiled, 
 and put out my hand, which she held for an instant slackly, 
 in a very ungracious manner. She glanced coldly at my 
 plain gray dress, linen collar and cuffs. There was some- 
 thing in my appearance not agreeable to her. 
 
 "Come, Serene, did you ever see this girl afore?" 
 Her husband's smiling visage contrasted noticeably with 
 her sour, unsmiling one. The young men were all looking 
 at us. 
 
 " Cordeel Rivers?" she answered brusquely, whirling 
 her teapot on to the tray. 
 
 " Wa'al, I snore! You're smarter 'n I was. Serene. 
 It's euri's you shud know her so quick. I " — 
 
 " Nothing curious about it," said his wife coldly. " She 
 hasn't altered much, as I can see ; grown a little fleshy, 
 that's all." And without a word of notice of my gracious 
 salutation, she began talking with the young men in the 
 liveliest fashion, ignoring my presence altogether. I would 
 not have believed beforehand I should care for the slight. 
 I deemed myself impervious to such things. Y'et I did 
 feel it acutely, without showing it. I talked with Mr. 
 Oldton, asking questions about everybody I had known 
 
198 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 in Hardcliffe ; and then, after finishing nij' tea, I retired 
 to the parlor to wait for the mistress of the house to show 
 me my chamber. I waited some time ; and, finding she 
 was not coming, I put on my hat and sliawl, and went 
 across to the burying-ground. I entered the little gate 
 close to the " haunted house " of the three sisters. One 
 of the old ladies had just died, the landlord had informed 
 me, at the age of eighty-six. The others were too feeble 
 to leave their rooms, and the "last scene of all" would 
 soon end their "strange, eventful history." I knelt down 
 in the pale twihght beside my father's and brother's 
 graves. I pressed my lips to the cold marble, and laid 
 my cheek against the grassy mounds. It was too chilly 
 to linger long in pensive reverie. I wrapped my shawl 
 about me, and walked round among the graves. Hard- 
 cliffe had been my home. I had come hack to it, and 
 found no one to welcome me. I should never think of it 
 as home again. With tearful eyes I looked about me 
 over the deserted place. A faint smoke was curling up 
 from one of the chimneys of Squire Percy's house. Just 
 beyond rose Mount Bess. A pallid moon swam in the 
 watery sky above its top. In the stillness I could hear 
 the wind hushing itself among the trees at its base. It 
 was loneliness unspeakable. Oh, should I never live in 
 pleasant Sunbridge again? Should I never again look 
 upon my home there? never see my uncle, or Eliza, or Ca- 
 lista? It was too sad to dwell upon such thoughts. I 
 went back to the desolate tavern. 
 
 During mj- absence I found my trunk had been removed 
 to a narrow little bedroom leading out of the parlor, — the 
 sleeping-place assigned me by the lady of the house. 
 There was a window at one end, divided into numberless 
 little panes of bluish glass, through which the craggy 
 mountain landscape appeared distorted into a variety of 
 grotesque shapes. Water and towels had been brought 
 in, the lamp filled and trimmed, the stove replenished. I 
 lighted the lamp, and, drawing a chair to the table, sat 
 down and looked at the pictures in the photograph-album, 
 — the counterfeit presentments of the families of Oldton 
 and Adams. It was a short-lived amusement ; and hav- 
 ing nothing to do when it was over, no sewing or read- 
 ing, I concluded to go to bed. But to go to bed is one 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 199 
 
 thing, to go to sleep is another. An unnerved condition 
 of body, and an undecided purpose of mind, are not the 
 handmaidens of repose. I tossed upon my musty feather 
 couch till five o'clocli in the morning ; then I fell into pro- 
 found slumber, and woke in the middle of the forenoon. 
 I was dismayed at the thought of appearing before my 
 reserved hostess at so late an hour with a demand for 
 breakfast. To fortify myself for facing her, I looked 
 into the bar-room for a pleasant word from Mr. Oldton, 
 as I passed to the dining-room. He was in a cosey angle 
 behind the bar, compounding something in a tumbler for 
 an aged, blear-eyed man, in a ragged coat, who leaned 
 tremblingly upon his cane, waiting in pitiful expectancy 
 to receive the steadying cordial. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Oldton," I said. " I have over- 
 slept myself this morning. I had thought somewhat of 
 going to Darre in the early stage, but that must have 
 passed three hours ago. I want to see Miss Hartwell, 
 the teacher in the girls' seminary at Darre. I suppose 
 she is there still, is she not? " 
 
 "I dunno," said the landlord, emerging from behind 
 the bar on the departure of his customer. He rolled up 
 his hip and rested his hand on it. "I dunno 'bout Miss 
 Hartwell ; seems to me I heerd she was raerried. I don't 
 quite 9-ecollect. Sereny'll know all abeout it." 
 
 " Could j-ou drive me over to Darre this forenoon? " I 
 asked. " I have a little business with the lady, if she is 
 there." 
 
 " I snore, Cordely, I can't ! I hain't any thing but the 
 colt neow, an' she's gone over to Turner's Mills this 
 mornin'. She'll be in by noon, tliough ; an' Serene'll 
 take 3'e over, ef that'll dew. The mare is a leetle skit- 
 tish yit, but you needn't be a might afraid with Serene 
 behind her. She ken manage enny piece 'er boss flesh 
 that I ken." 
 
 " Very well," I said, and passed on to the kitchen. I 
 found the feminine manager of "boss flesh" in a long 
 calico wrapper, before the looking-glass at the sink, doing 
 up her hair. Breakfast was over, and the moruing work 
 all completed. For my tardiness I made at once a very 
 humble apology. She was in a pleasanter mood than the 
 evening previous, and quite ready to be conciliated. 
 
200 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Oh, 'tisn't any matter if you did oversleep yourself. 
 You was tired travelling, I s'pose," she said. " What'll 
 you have for breakfast? " 
 
 I assured her I would take any thing handy, — a bowl 
 of bread and milk, if she pleased. 
 
 " Oh, sho! I guess we can treat our customers better 
 than that ! There's ham and eggs and sausage and tripe 
 and potatoes, all hot in the oven for you." She placed 
 the breakfast on the table when she had finished her 
 toilet, and then sat down beside me while I ate it. She 
 seemed so softened towards me, that I was encouraged to 
 inquire of her concerning Miss Hartwell. As the land- 
 lord had said, Sereny knew all about her. The lady, she 
 informed me, had married and gone to Pennsylvania. 
 She and her husband had opened a school in some place 
 there, the name of which place' my informant was unable 
 to remember. 
 
 By the time the meal was over, Mrs. Oldton had 
 waxed into such friendly familiarity that she showed me 
 in an adjoining room a new silk gown just arrived from 
 the dressmaker's at Penfield. She desired me to guess 
 what the whole thing had cost her ; and, on my mention- 
 ing a sum twice as large as she had paid, she was so grat- 
 ified that she took me up-stairs and exhibited her entire 
 wardrobe. I was as pleased as herself. It was one of 
 the weaknesses of my weak character to be unable to 
 endure the dislike of another with equanimity. Before 
 dinner-time came, she had tried on my hat and jacket, 
 looked into my trunk at the various dresses folded there, 
 examined my ribbons and laces, and pronounced her dic- 
 tum upon each and all. A handsome necktie Eliza had 
 given me, which I had never worn, was her especial admi- 
 ration. I begged her to accept it as a gift. She was 
 delighted. She threw her buxom arms around my neck, 
 and gave me a smacking kiss. Every shadow of ill-will 
 had vanished. During the remainder of my stay there 
 was nothing in her power that she did not do to make 
 me comfortable. I had won her by a little gift. 
 
 " Dumb jewels often in their silent kind, 
 More than quick words, do move a woman's mind." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 201 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restored, and sorrows end." 
 
 — Shaespeabe. 
 
 WHAT shall I do now?" I said, when left alone. 
 " Has not every thing I planned failed me ? Can 
 I not conscientiousl3- appeal to Mrs. Walters? If ever I 
 needed a friend, or a friend's counsel, it is at the present 
 time. Yes," I answered, after an hour's deliberation, 
 " I can and I will do it. I will write to Mrs. Walters, 
 and ask her to secure a school for me in the city. I need 
 tell her nothing of my trouble with Wyndham. I am not 
 called upon to disclose my private affairs to any one. 
 Oh, that I could forget them myself ! " 
 
 I at once brought writing materials into the parlor, and 
 penned what I deemed a very sensible letter to the lady. 
 I directed it according to the card of her address, and 
 then hurried across with it to the one-eyed postmaster, 
 — he did not yet recognize me, — and asked him to send 
 it in the next mail going east. I expected no answer 
 before Monday, and therefore was surprised when tlie 
 driver of the Darre stage brought a telegram from Mrs. 
 Walters on Friday evening. It contained but five words. 
 " Come to me at once," it said. 
 
 " Yes, I will come, indeed," I soliloquized, as I began 
 to put back what things I had taken from my trunk. 
 " Circumstances have determined my destiny. I did not 
 think I should take this step. I did not plan it : so it 
 must be for the best." But an ugly force within would 
 disturb my complacent reasoning. " Your destiny is 
 determined by yourself," it said. " What your character 
 is, your destiny will be. Half your pleasure in seeking 
 Mrs. Walters is in the thought of seeing Mr. Cloud. 
 Take care, take care, or it will not be for the best, my 
 
202 , TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 girl." I strangled the morbid uprisings as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 The next morning I took the train at Darre ; I passed 
 Sunbridge station at two o'clock. As I approached the 
 city, a terror seized me, lest I might come face to face 
 witli my discarded lover. Every dark head in front of 
 me in tlio closely crowded car, I feared was Wyndliam's, 
 till some movement of the same disclosed a different cast 
 of features. 
 
 Tlie bustle and noises of the city were not altogether 
 new to me. I had occasionally come here with my uncle 
 and Eliza, as I have said elsewhere. But we had never 
 been in such cool, wide, airy streets as these through 
 which the hackman was now driving me, in one of which 
 he presently stopped. 
 
 " Is this Beacon Street? " I inquired, when he opened 
 the carriage-door. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. This is the number, ma'am." He car- 
 ried my trunk up the wide steps, and left it on the upper 
 landing of the pillared porch. It was a comfortable look- 
 ing house before which I stood, rather than a stately one, 
 comparing it with the palace-like structures on either side, 
 which were separated from it by strips of verdure bor- 
 dered with flowers ; a brick house of three stories, evi- 
 dently an old place that had been modernized from time 
 to time. The site was commanding. Before it stretched 
 a magnificent park, crossed with walks, and thickly shaded 
 with luxuriant elms ; giving the appearance of a lovely 
 country place, while in reality it was the very heart of tlie 
 city. Away in the distance could be seen roofs and city 
 spires ; and far beyond a trace of horizon, marked with 
 the faint purple of autumn hills. I touched the bell, and 
 the massive door swung open as if by magic. The attend- 
 ant in waiting informed me that Mrs. Walters was not at 
 home. I told him I would come in and wait for her. 
 
 He showed me the drawing-room, and I entered and sat 
 dfjwn. It was a unique apartment, — at least to me, — 
 panelled with mirrors, wherein the dun magniflccncc about 
 me was multiplied, till all sense of the limit of the jjlace 
 was lost. A nude marble figure with her finger on her Hp, 
 leaning towards me from a dusky background of drapery, 
 was reflected so repeatedly on all sides, I began to feel 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 203 
 
 as if surrounded by dumb white beings of another world. 
 Their roystery of mien oppressed me. 1 tried to dissipate 
 the feeling by turning my attention upon less strange 
 objects. I looked at the rich cabinets of bric-a-brac, the 
 quaint figures of bronze scattered about the carpeted floor, 
 the graceful pictures on wall and easels. Yet still would 
 my gaze wander back to those mj-sterious marble images 
 with fingers on their lips, frozen into silence ; yet ever 
 suggestive of something unknown and awful, too awful 
 to be spoken. The fascination of watching them created 
 weird fancies in my brain. I left my chair again, and 
 looked at a bright bit of Italian sky, which glowed with 
 deeper intensity for its proximity to a colder picture, rep- 
 resenting the twilight of a polar winter. I was trying to 
 make out the meaning of another picture, — a grouping of 
 Arcadian shepherds, — when a woman's voice in the hall 
 close by took m^- attention. It was a thin, shrill, incisive 
 voice, that might have emanated from a high-strung, over- 
 worked Yankee woman in a New-England kitchen. The 
 first sound of it made me start slightly, it so much resem- 
 bled the voice of Mrs. Walker — the woman I had lived 
 with at Hardcliffe — when she was in ill-humor. 
 
 " Giuseppe," it said. " take that box from the portico 
 down to the servants' hall." 
 
 " Signoriua, I cannot take it: it is too high," said the 
 Italian. 
 
 " Call John to carry it down, then." 
 "John is away with the carriage, signorina." 
 " Well, then, as quick as he gets home, do you attend 
 to it. Now, don't you forget it," said the rasping voice. 
 The box alluded to with such emphasis was my nice 
 sole-leather trunk, given me by uncle Beals. "If she calls 
 that a box," thought I, " what would she say to the little 
 red truuk I brought my clothes in the first time I came 
 to Sunbridge?" Just then I heard a silken rustle at the 
 drawing-room door, and perceived a woman of decided 
 step entering. She did not observe my presence at first. 
 With a nervous jerk she adjusted the cover of a little 
 table that stood in her way ; and then, catching sight of 
 me, she stepped forwaid and looked me over deliberately 
 from top to toe. I bowed, and turned as red as fire under 
 her searching gaze. She looked at me as if she thought 
 
204 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I was a thief. She was a woman of middle age, thin, 
 angular, with a face shaped like an inverted cone, a high, 
 wide forehead, and pointed chin. She had a pinched nose 
 and thin lips. Her complexion was dark as Wyndham's ; 
 but her ej-es, strangely enough, were a dull blue, as dull as 
 a leaden button, and as devoid of expression. There were 
 dense black brows above them, however, and a black 
 mustache on her upper lip ; or was it only the shadow 
 cast by her eyebrows, that resembled a mustache? 
 
 " Are you waiting to see Mrs. Walters? " she demand- 
 ed. 
 
 " Yes'm," I answered tremblingly, resuming my seat. 
 
 "Well, then, unless you have plenty of leisure, and 
 your business is important, you'd better not wait. You 
 can call again." 
 
 I did not like to say I had no place in the city from 
 which I could come again. I simply told her I preferred 
 to wait, if she pleased. 
 
 "Oh, certainly," she said, "if j'ou want to wait, you 
 can wait ! I can't tell j'ou when Mrs. Walters will be 
 at home. If she is out making calls, she may come 
 within an hour. If she has gone to the State Prison, or 
 the Children's Hospital, or the Thieves' Den, there's no 
 knowing when she'll get back. Are you the new servant 
 she is expecting to-day? " 
 
 "Perhaps so. I don't know," I answered confus- 
 edly, feeling my self-esteem falling away from me rapidly. 
 My vapid reply to her rude question seemed to irritate 
 her. 
 
 " Don't know? " she repeated in her high voice. "Are 
 you from some asylum?" I was so crushed by her sar- 
 casm, I could make no reply. " Or are you one of the 
 teachers of the ragged-schools that Mrs. Walters sup- 
 ports? What is your business with Mrs. Walters? You 
 can tell me, and then I can direct you what to do." 
 
 From being crushed, I suddenly became indignant. I 
 said, " It is Mrs. Walters who has business with me. My 
 name is Cordelia Rivers. I am from Sunbridge. Mrs. 
 Walters sent for me, and I am here ; and here I think I 
 will stay till she returns." I had never in ray life before 
 spoken to any one with such decided dignity. I was for 
 the moment frightened at my own temerity ; yet pleased, 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 205 
 
 ■withal, with the rising power I felt to defend myself 
 against the sharp woman. 
 
 " Now, that is to the point," said my interlocutor, with- 
 out the slightest change of expression in her dull e3es. 
 " I like directness. I like the shortest cut to every thing. 
 Speech wasn't given us to play hide and seek in. When 
 I ask direct questions, I want direct answers. I thought 
 you didn't look exactly like a cook's assistant. I under- 
 stand now what you are. You are a protegie of Mrs. 
 Walters. She generally has one or more on hand." 
 
 With this parting fling, she left me. I looked after the 
 retreating, slender figure, with the head set stifily back, 
 wondering who she could be. She seemed to be much at 
 home here. Some ill-natured relative, probably. She 
 was no lady, I was sure ; else she would not have spoken 
 to me as she did of Mrs. Walters. How I wished the 
 latter would make her appearance ! I was tired and hun- 
 grj', so hungry that a crust of bread would have tasted 
 sweet to me. I heard a slight movement again in the 
 hall. "Oh, she has come!" thought I, springing up. 
 But no : it was the rude woman re-appearing, and doubt- 
 less re-primed for a fresh cannonade of questioning. I 
 was happily disappointed. She was this time followed by 
 a servant bearing a tray, on which was a cup of tea, a 
 sandwich, and a bunch of grapes. 
 
 ' ' You look tired and faint : I have ordered you some 
 lunch," said she, motioning the man to place the tray on a 
 little Canton table beside me. 
 
 " Thank j'ou ; you are very thoughtful," I returned. 
 
 " Certainly I am thoughtful. It is one of my faults. 
 If I could stop being thoughtful, I should be better 
 pleased with myself," said this strange woman, as she 
 quitted the room. 
 
 She did not again return. The Italian, who spoke Eng- 
 lish plainly, removed the tray ; and soon after Mrs. Walters 
 came in. She embraced me warmly. 
 
 "Why, where is the slender, delicate girl I left at Sun- 
 bridge a year ago?" she exclaimed with much surprise. 
 " You are as rosy and plump and dimpled as a Hebe. 1 
 never thought of finding you so different ; and I'm not 
 quite sure as j'et that I am pleased with the alteration, — 
 except so far as you are stronger in health," she added, 
 
206 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 a shadow flitting across her face, while she smiled and still 
 held my hand. "But come with me to luncheon, Cor- 
 delia. You must be tired and faint after ti-avelling so 
 far." I told her I had just taken lunch, that a lady had 
 kindly sent in to me. She appeared greatly surprised. 
 
 "What! did Edith send you something to eat?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " It was a lady in a crimson silk gown, a slender 
 lady," I said. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! You may consider yourself highly favored, 
 Cordelia," returned Mrs. Walters, laughing. " She is 
 not usually attentive to my friends in that way. But j'ou 
 would like to go to j'our room, I know. Your trunk has 
 already been taken up. — Giuseppe, show this lady to the 
 blue room." 
 
 The handsome Italian turned from admiring himself in 
 the mirror he was polishing, bowed low, and led the way 
 up-stairs. I followed, past open doors that revealed rich 
 interiors of bedrooms, corresponding in elegance with the 
 rooms below. The blue bedroom, a third-story front 
 room, was neatly furnished, with windows overlooking 
 the park. The view was delightful. I could see, away 
 over the city roofs, Charles River sparkling in the sun, 
 and all around the green and enchanting country-like 
 places of the city suburbs. 
 
 After unstrapping my trank, the servant bowed him- 
 self out, saying, " Dinner at six, signorina." 
 
 I was now in an undisturbed and complacent frame of 
 mind. The moment I felt Mrs. Walters's protecting arms 
 about me, my burdens slipped from me and I was at rest. 
 I did not know till now how much 1 loved my benefactress. 
 I was not tired ; but I took a bath, and afterwards fell 
 asleep on the chintz-covered sofa in the corner of the 
 room, awaking just as the city clocks were striking four. 
 I made a leisurely toilette, putting on my best gown, the 
 soft gray silk with real lace in neck and sleeves, that I 
 had worn to my uncle's wedding. I deemed it no more 
 than proper respect to Mrs. Walters to don my best for 
 dinner while I was a guest with her. What troubled me 
 was to devise a wa}' to conceal the bracelet on my arm, 
 which my short sleeve insisted on exposing. What a 
 torment was that bracelet I I wound a velvet ribbon 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 207 
 
 about it now, and secured it with a pearl brooch aunt 
 Beals had given me. It lacked an hour to diuner-time 
 when I had finished dressing. I wondered if it would be 
 a breach of etiquette to descend to the drawing-room ; 
 or must I remain in my room till I was summoned to din- 
 ner ? I was solicitous that every thing 1 did should be 
 according to rule. The matter was decided for me by a 
 knock on the door, and the entrance of Mrs. Walters, 
 who, it seemed, had come in for a little talk with me be- 
 fore dinner. She opened the subject of my letter with- 
 out preliminary, and by deUcate questioning drew from 
 me all of importance that had occurred in connection with 
 myself since last she saw me. I told her in as few words 
 as possible about my affair with Wyndham. It was too 
 sore and humiliating a subject to wax communicative upon, 
 even with my dearest friend. She did not ask the name 
 of my lover, and I did not reveal it. The delicacy of 
 withholding any mention of his name, I felt was due Mr. 
 Wyndham, especially after the treatment he had received 
 at my hands. 
 
 Mrs. Walters smiled at the earnestness with which I 
 tried to justify myself in the course I had taken. 
 
 " You will get over your romantic notions one of these 
 days, Cordelia," she said. " But about the school you 
 wish me to secure for you. Are you sure you would like 
 teaching better than any other vocation? " 
 
 " I have always thought I should. Yes," I said. 
 
 "There are so many disagreeable things connected 
 with school-teaching, I think it would be better for you 
 to stay with me. How would you like to work for me, 
 Cordelia?" 
 
 "I should like it above every thing!" I exclaimed 
 delightedly. 
 
 "I shall be glad to employ you, then. My eyes are 
 not yet strong enough to use in reading or writing. The 
 oculist has forbidden me to use them for six months to 
 come, and I shall be glad for the use of your vision for 
 that length of time, at least." 
 
 I think I must have seemed too delighted, for she im- 
 mediately subjoined, — 
 
 "Staying with me will mean work, Cordelia. I shall 
 not require of you exactly what I did of my last aman- 
 
208 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 uensis, but I shall keep you busy six hours of the day 
 writing or reading to me. I shall pay you a monthly 
 salary." She named the sum. "Will it be enough?" 
 
 "O Mrs. Walters," I cried, "it is too much! My 
 services, I'm afraid, won't be worth half that amount." 
 
 " We will consider the bargain closed, if you please," 
 said she. "By and by I will show you my Work-room. 
 Come with me now down-stairs." 
 
 The dinner was a ceremonious affair, quite unlike any 
 thing I had ever seen iu my uncle's hotel. I wondered 
 if it were always the same. If it were, I shouldn't look 
 forward to the dinner hour with much pleasure hereafter. 
 
 Mrs. Walters had company to dinner, — two old ladies 
 and an elderly gentleman ; the latter a very august per- 
 sonage, and all persons of distinction, I surmised. Mr. 
 Walters was not at home ; nor did the eccentric woman 
 — whoever she was — that Mrs. Walters called Edith ap- 
 pear. Giuseppe stood behind the chairs with the solem- 
 nity of a hired mourner. Conversation was carried on, 
 and every thing conducted, as if some one lay dead, or 
 was at the point of dissolution In the house. The very 
 dishes seemed muffled against sound. There was nothing 
 of Mrs. Walters's usual vivacity in her deference to her 
 distinguished guests. I was myself in a petrifying state 
 of anxiety, lest every thing should not be correct on my 
 part. I spoke but once, and my voice sounded in my 
 ears like the baying of a dog in a holy temple. I con- 
 cluded it was better taste to hold my tongue. Yet a few 
 moments afterwards, when everybody was mute as a fish, 
 as the French say, a piece of bread stuck in my throat, 
 sending me into a coughing-flt of such violence, that my 
 fork and spoon fell to tlie floor, and I sank into a state 
 of embarrassment, that even Giuseppe's look of pity 
 could not extricate me fi-om. 
 
 I was glad when dinner was over, and we had repaired 
 to the library, where the talk was more on a level with my 
 understanding. Yet here I was vexed with myself for 
 blushing and trembling at the casual mention of Mr. 
 Cloud's name. It seemed he had returned from China 
 some time ago, and was now at the mountains, with a 
 party of New-York friends. I gathered from Mrs. Wal- 
 ters's remarks, that she expected him, with one or two of 
 
Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 209 
 
 these friends, sometime during the coming week. But 
 dear me ! what had Clifford Cloud's whereabouts, or his 
 present or future movements, to do with me? Nothing at 
 all. I tried to impress that fact deeply in my mind. I 
 had not come here on his account. Oh, no ! I was here 
 for quite another purpose, and from that purpose I must 
 exclude every thought of him. To keep my thoughts 
 within bounds, I began to look over a volume of Hogarth. 
 It was of no use : my imagination would break without 
 the bounds of common-sense. And even later on, in the 
 starry depths of night, it banished sleep from my eyes. 
 Every hour, as the solemn tones of the city bells died 
 away one by one, a winged Ariel seemed to float in on the 
 charmed silence, and whisper to my fluttering heart, " He 
 is coming, he is coming, he is coming ! " 
 
210 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Who Tcnows if he be dead ? 
 
 Whether I need have fled f 
 
 Am I guilty of blood ? " 
 
 — Tekntsov. 
 
 THE next day was Sunday. When I rose in the morn- 
 ing, and loolced out into the pure sunlight, I felt 
 ashamed of my last night's thoughts and feelings. I 
 called them at once to order. It was not enough that my 
 acts should obey my will : my thoughts and feelings should 
 also, in the future, be under my control, and my too excur- 
 sive imagination kept strictly within the limits of sense. 
 My mind was made up. 1 would have my inward, like 
 my outward life, something I could respect. 
 
 It was late in the morning when Mrs. Walters came up 
 from her room to mine, and we went down-stairs together. 
 Miss Edith Walteis — who, I now learned, was a sister 
 of Mr. Walters — had breakfasted ; and consequently we 
 took our morning meal by ourselves, in a delightfully 
 pleasant little room overlooking a strip of garden. After 
 breakfast we went to church together. On my way thither, 
 I was in constant apprehension of meeting my discarded 
 lover. His rooms, he had told me, were on Berkeley 
 Street. I had sent my letter to his address there. I in- 
 quired, as carelessly as I could, if there were such a street 
 in the vicinity. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Mrs. Walters. "Berkeley Street is 
 close by ; only one or two blocks above us. Do you know 
 any one in that street? " she asked. 
 
 I told her I had heard some one in Sunbridge speak of 
 a Dr. Bray living there. 
 
 "Yes," said she, " he is a surgeon of great reputa- 
 tion, — one of the best, if not the best, in the city. I 
 know him very well." 
 
 The information that Wyudham was living so near me 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 211 
 
 was not comforting. I should not be able to set foot out 
 of doors without danger of meeting him. To encounter 
 him in his rage and disgust, aud perhaps despair, I felt 
 would be more than I could endure. It really seemed to 
 me that the mere sight of him would make me faint away. 
 I must wait a while longer, before designating the place 
 for the key of the bracelet to be sent. But I was spared 
 the ordeal of confronting him that day. I went and came 
 unmolested by any sight of him. 
 
 After dinner Mrs. Walters — to pass away the time, 
 perhaps, which she deemed miglit be lonely to me — took 
 me over the house from top to bottom. We first entered 
 the workroom, in the second story, at the extreme rear of 
 the house, — a small room, containing a good-sized escri- 
 toire, a long, baize-covered table, a smaller writing-table, 
 and a chest of small drawers. There was a tiny fireplace 
 at one end ; at the other, were two windows looking down 
 into quite a garden below. A door opened into the corri- 
 dor, another into Mrs. Walters's dressnig-room, and thence 
 into her bedroom at the front of the building. The 
 room and its belongings possessed much interest for me, 
 because on the morrow I was to begin my work in it ; 
 I was to spend most of my time within its walls. It was 
 to be my home. 
 
 Directly opposite the workroom, across the coriidor, 
 was a larger chamber, where Mrs. Walters showed me 
 some curious foreign bric-a-brac, belonging to her brother. 
 " Poor fellow ! " said she, with a sigh. "• He never occu- 
 pies the room long at a time. He will be here, I suppose, 
 however, in the course of a week or so, with the Cooleys 
 of New York, — perhaps duly for a day or two, and then 
 be off agam for a year." 
 
 It puzzled me to understand why she should call such 
 a hearty Hercules of a brother a " poor fellow." But I 
 made no inquiries. I was going to stick to the resolution 
 I had made not to mention his name. The exercise of 
 my will, even now, was showing itself in the steadier nerve 
 with which I listened to what she had to say concerning 
 him. By and by, I felt, I should become indifferent, quite 
 indifferent. There was much to look at in the room, which 
 contained mauy elegant appointments, arranged without 
 much regard to taste, after the I'ashiou of a man. Yet 
 
212 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I noted nothing particularly, until Mrs. Walters, lighting 
 the gas-jets and closing the drapery at the windows, called 
 my attention to a life-sized oil portrait against the chimney- 
 piece, — the portrait of a beautiful brunette. The dusky 
 glow of the cheeks had the bloom of flesh ; and the tender, 
 expressive eyes, — it almost seemed they were real eyes, 
 and not painted ones ! 
 
 " That Is one of P 's portraits," said Mrs. Walters. 
 
 " Is it not beautiful? " 
 
 "Very," I said. I was much interested. It was 
 
 P with whom the twins had been studying, a master 
 
 in portrait-painting. "Do you kpow the original?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " I have never chanced to see her since her return from 
 abroad, where she has been at school for several years. 
 1 only remember her as a little girl. She is Mrs. Cooley's 
 daiigliter. She may come here with her mother when 
 Clifford comes. I am not at all sure about it, however ; 
 for my brother, I am sorry to say, is not over-particular 
 in keeping his promises to his sister." We passed out 
 and on to the next chamber. " This," said Mrs. Walters, 
 " is Edith's room." She tapped on the door. 
 
 "I am not in," was the decisive response that followed 
 the knock. 
 
 " She means that she is not in the mood for visitors," 
 said Mrs. Walters, laughing. "She believes in implicit 
 obedience to her every mood. She is probabl}' engaged 
 in writing." 
 
 " Is she a literary lady? " I inquired, as we passed on. 
 
 " She writes a great deal ; has several articles in manu- 
 script, not yet printed. She showed me two of them 
 one day. One was entitled, ' Physiological Influence of 
 Color; ' the other was ' Shams,' — not pillow-shams, but 
 society shams. Perhaps you have noticed that she is 
 peculiar." 
 
 "I noticed that she did not speak during dinner," I 
 said. 
 
 " She did not speak, because there was nothing to 
 draw her out," explained Mrs. Walters. " She has to be 
 kindled with opposition. When Clifford comes, she will 
 take fire at the least word. I am sorry she cannot treat 
 his faults more kindly. You will learn not to heed what 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 213 
 
 she says to or of any one. She has strong prejudices, 
 and rather singular views of life, and is addicted to a 
 kind of plain speaking, which is exceedingly unpleasant 
 at times to us all ; but you need not be shocked by it. 
 She is a kind woman in the main, and harbors no ill-will 
 towards any one except Clifford. She had a misunder- 
 standing with my brother a few years ago, which has 
 somewhat imbittered her. For reason of her real good- 
 ness, her eccentricities are overlooked by her friends. 
 She has really one remarkable trait that most impertinent 
 individuals lack : she never resents being paid back in her 
 own coin. For my part, I never answer her sarcasms. 
 I have no time or inchnation to cultivate the faculty of 
 sharp speech. I speak thus frankly of Edith, because 
 this is of necessity her home. It is also your home for 
 the present, and 1 wish you to be prepared for her eccen- 
 tricities." 
 
 By this time we had passed through the handsome 
 guest-chambers, fitted in crimson and gilt, and were look- 
 ing out of the windows of the billiard-room in the third 
 story to the distant sea, blue as the horizon, where the far- 
 off ships looked like mere specks on its surface. 
 
 Monday morning I began work. Mrs. Walters was 
 a gentle taskmistress, — patient and reasonable in her 
 demands. Her noble and tender qualities were kindling 
 a fresh fervor of friendship in my heart for this dear 
 woman, which was to prove as lasting as it was strong. 
 I began bj' copying important portions of a long article 
 on " Tenement- Houses for the Extreme Poor ;" then 
 followed an hour's reading ; and after that, she ordered 
 the carriage, and took me with her on a business drive to 
 several hospitals, none of which would I enter with her, 
 for fear of meeting Wyndham. He might be at any one 
 of them, and I could run no risk. I preferred to remain 
 in the carriage. 
 
 We returned to the house in time for dinner. We 
 found Mr. Walters and his sister Edith in the library, 
 — the former having come back, after several days' ab- 
 sence, from attendance on a law case in an interior 
 county. I had never seen Mr. Walters till now. He 
 was a stout, dark man, with iron-gray hair, pale blue 
 eyes like his sister's, but with more expression in them. 
 
214 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 He seemed the senior of his wife by a dozen years. He 
 bowed courteously wlien Iiis wife presented me, and then 
 immediately forgot my existence. His sister did not 
 recognize me at all. 
 
 We all went in to dinner. My place was at the right 
 of Mrs. Walters, Miss Edith's at the end of the table, 
 Mr. Walters's directly opposite his wife. I little dreamed 
 what surprise was awaiting me. I was thinking of the 
 moiTow's work, already laid out for me in the little study 
 up-stairs, and giving no heed whatever to the conversa- 
 tion on matters of no moment to me between Mr. Walters 
 and his wife, until a name was mentioned that made me 
 all attention at once, — all my senses seemingly merging 
 into the one of hearing. 
 
 "I should have come home to luncheon, Alice, at 
 one," said Mr. AValters, in reply to something his wife 
 had remarked, " but I went down to see Henry off." 
 
 "Henry off?" said his wife. "What Henry do you 
 mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Henry Wyndham — cousin Henry," exclaimed the 
 gentleman. " He sailed to-day at noon in 'The Wilming- 
 ton,' for Paris. Did he mention to you his intention of 
 going to Elurope this autumn, Alice? " 
 
 "Not a word of it," said Mrs. Walters, "and I saw 
 him only two weeks ago. What could have taken him 
 away so suddenly, I wonder? His old ambition, I sup- 
 pose," she added, " tliat never lets him rest in any present 
 attainment. How long did he say he should be absent? " 
 
 "He didn't know, he said, whether he should be home 
 again in three months, or six ; or whether he should 
 come liack at all. He seemed to lie very mucii depressed ; 
 looked worn and haggard, as if some heavy trouble was 
 pressing on him. But I could draw nothing out of him ; 
 lie is never communicative, you know. He left some 
 papers with me," continued Mr. Walters, " in case of 
 his death, and asked me to go over and see Mrs. Wynd- 
 ham and the children when I could, and write him how 
 they were getting on. He spoke cheerfully enough ; and 
 nobody but me, 1 suppose, would have noticed any thing 
 wrong. But I know Henry so well, I could easily see the 
 effort he was making to appear like himself." 
 
 " Well, I must say 1 am puzzled. I supposed he was 
 
Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 215 
 
 fairly settled with Dr. Bray," said Mrs. Walters. " Dr. 
 Wickoff was speaking of him to-day, — of his remarkable 
 ability. He considers him the most thoroughly equipped 
 young man in the profession. I hope he isn't growing- 
 erratic. Time ought to be precious to him now." 
 
 " Well, you see, it is quite different with him than with 
 a poor young man. With his means, he can afford to 
 indulge any expensive freak that strikes his fancy," said 
 Mr. Walters. " If he has had a blow, he has taken the 
 very best way to recover from it ; and he will come back 
 all right, you may depend upon it." 
 
 " A blow? What do you mean b}' his having a blow? " 
 asked Mrs. Walters. "I can think of no trouble that 
 would be likely to touch Henry." 
 
 " Well, something has touched him, and I suspect he 
 has got scorched. Some girl has jilted him, Alice." 
 
 "Impossible!" said Mrs. Walters. "No sensible 
 girl would refuse Henry, and I am sure he would not 
 offer himself to any other." 
 
 " Henry Wyndham is just as likely to make a fool of 
 hin;self as other young men," said Miss Edith, snapping 
 the bracelets on her lean wrists, and helping herself to 
 the grapes Giuseppe was placing on the table. " I don't 
 consider him the faultless young gentleman that you do, 
 Alice. He has needed a lesson in humility for a good 
 while, and I should like to shake hands with the girl 
 who has given hiin one. — Who is she, John? " 
 
 "That is the question Mrs. Pease, the housekeeper at 
 Longsbury, would like to have answered satisfactorily," 
 said Mr. AV alters, laughing. " *S/2e would like to meet 
 the girl, too ; not to shake hands with her, but to shake 
 her head off her shoulders." 
 
 "Have you been over to Longsbury, Mr. Walters?" 
 asked his wife the moment Giuseppe retired. " If you 
 have, do tell us what you know about the affair. Oh, I 
 am so sorry for the poor fellow ! ' ' 
 
 " You had better keep your sympathy for the poor girl," 
 said Miss Edith. "She will probably turn up one of 
 these days, and give another side of the story." 
 
 "Did you go Longsbury?" repeated Mrs. Walters, 
 unmindful of her sister-in-law's remark. 
 
 "No," replied her husband. "I saw Mrs. Pease in 
 
216 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 town. She and Isabel came over to take leave of Henry : 
 I saw tbem crossing the gangway, and spoke with them 
 on the dock after the steamer was gone. His going away 
 was a surprise to all the family. Isabel was sobbing, 
 and Mrs. Pease had tears in her eyes. I had but a few 
 moments' conversation with her. She said Henry came 
 out to Longsbury Monday, and told her he was going to 
 be married. He had an upholsterer and some workmen 
 with him, who went to work at once re-furnishing the 
 suite of rooms in the southern wing of the house. She 
 said he came out every day to superintend the arrange- 
 ments till they were finished. The last time he came, 
 they observed that something had happened. He told 
 them then that he was not going to be married, but was 
 going to leave the country. He ordered his trunks 
 packed, locked up the newly furnished rooms, and went 
 away. None of them, she says, knew any tiling further 
 in the matter. They surmise, however, tliat the gii-1 was 
 living in the country, and that he had been engaged to 
 her for several months, and that she either must have 
 died suddenly, or married somebody else. They ai;e a 
 good deal stirred up over the affair, and are likely to be, 
 until they ascertain the whole truth." 
 
 While this conversation was proceeding, I sat quietly 
 in my chair, fingering the fruit on my plate, and now and 
 then mechanically carrying a grape to my lips, which I did 
 not taste. But my thoughts were by no means quiet. 
 Wlien the first shock of surprise at learning that Wynd- 
 ham was an intimate friend of the Walters, a relative even, 
 had passed, and left me less rigid, thoughts began to 
 flash across my brain with the rapidity of lightning. As 
 in half sleep, we sometimes, in the passing of a sound, 
 dream a dream of a lifetime, so my mind worked in the 
 excitement of those passing moments witli wondrous swift- 
 ness. It took up plan after plan of what I had best do, 
 examining and rejecting, till it came to the available one ; 
 or what seemed the available one of all others. 
 
 'My first impulse, on seeing myself as others saw me, 
 was to confess that I was the culprit. Then the instinct 
 of self-preservation rose up, and declared that I could not 
 live, even for a moment, under the shadow of Mrs. Wal- 
 ters's displeasure. To disclose my secret, would result in 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 217 
 
 my being sent from the house in disgrace. I would leave 
 it of myself by and by, but not till I had shown Mrs. 
 Walters that 1 could be faithful to her. Oh, how quickly 
 I was reaping what I had sown ! This place which I had 
 looked to as a haven, and had run into blindly, was the 
 one of all others I should have avoided. Oh, I could see 
 now how the infirmity of my will, in one foolish act, had 
 brought sorrow to a whole household, and sent my lover 
 into exile ! Now that the ocean was widening between 
 us, I would have called my lover back, and in the pity of 
 my heart fallen on my knees and begged his forgiveness. 
 But it was too late. The bracelet hidden beneath my 
 sleeve seemed to grasp my arm, like an angry haud, as if 
 it would say, " It is too late, indeed, you misguided girl." 
 
 " Come into the library," whispered Mrs. Walters, as 
 I turned up the stairway after dinner to go to my room. 
 " Edith is in her musical mood," — she was running her 
 fingers over the kej'S of the piano, — " and will give us 
 something worth hearing to-night. She is a fine perform- 
 er." 
 
 But I pleaded the necessity of writing some letters, and 
 went up to my room, where I did write two, according 
 to the plan decided upon in my mind at table,— one to 
 Mrs. Proctor, giving her my address, and asking her to 
 have remailed what letters might come to Sunbridge for 
 me ; and one to ray uncle, telling him I had been disap- 
 pointed in securing the school at Normanville, and conse- 
 quentlj' was staying with Mrs. Walters, who employed me 
 in copying, but that I wished to go to him, and would be 
 ready at a day's notice to do so, whenever he and Eliza 
 were ready to receive me. I got a reply from Mrs. Proc- 
 tor within the week, but heard nothing from my uncle for 
 a month. Then a letter came by the way of Sunbridge, 
 with the information that he had moved, had gone farther 
 west ; had purchased a ranch, and thousands of acres of 
 rolling prairie ; was well and happy himself, and that 
 Elizawould be the same when she got the better of her 
 homesickness. He was anxious to know how I was get- 
 ting on ; asked about my school in Normanville, and the 
 place where I was boarding, which showed he had not 
 received my letter. 
 
 Again I wrote him, but this time with less stress on 
 
218 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 the idea of going to him. I was beginning to get wonted 
 to my situation. Nothing latterly had been said of Wynd- 
 ham in my presence ; except on one occasion, when Mr. 
 Walters remarked to his wife, in my hearing, that Henry 
 was well, and that she need not expect to see him till 
 another autumn. This made me less anxious, and I be- 
 gan to have a feeling of dread for the time when my 
 uncle might send for me. I was growing to love Mrs. 
 Walters more and more, as the weeks went on. She had 
 that comljination of lovable qualities to attach one of my 
 temperament to her, as with hooks of steel. Though firm 
 as a rock, and systematic as the sun, she was sympathetic 
 to the last degree, and absolutely without moods. She 
 came out of her chamber every morning with radiant face, 
 as if she had been passing the night in some region of the 
 blest. If one, in cold criticism, might say, with truth, 
 that she was not a hrilliant woman, he could not say that 
 she was not one of the best that was ever born in this 
 wicked world. She had the diamond quality that saints 
 and martyrs are made of. She only needed the oppor- 
 tunity, to perish at the stake. She had a genius for 
 charital)le enterprises, and conducted her part in them 
 systematically. Her happy optimism made her a cheerful 
 worker in scenes of huddling wretchedness that would 
 poison my comfort for weeks afterwards. She diagnosed 
 moral diseases, and applied remedies, with all the patience 
 and gentleness and considerateness a faithful physician 
 would bestow on bodily ailments. Her official eye always 
 balanced her ej'e of pity. She would study hours over 
 hard cases, and, though worsted again and again, would 
 never give them up. She looked forward to building 
 some model tenement-houses for the wretched poor, with 
 her own money, which should combine perfect drainage, 
 ventilation, warmth, and convenience. She often kept 
 me bus3' for hours, putting her ideas upon paper. Some 
 of these drawings were shown me by her husband not 
 a month ago, carrying me back to the period of which 
 I am writing, so vividly that it seemed but yesterday I had 
 seen her. 
 
 Yet, with all her absorption in benevolent work, Mrs. 
 Walters found time to drive about the beautiful suburbs, 
 to visit art-rooms and lecture-rooms, and other quiet 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 219 
 
 places of entertainment. Her brother, Clifford Cloud, did 
 not appear, according to promise, with the Cooley ladies 
 of New York. He came, liowever, three months later, 
 one morning, alone ; which was a signal for a holiday in 
 the Walters household. Old John the coachman — who 
 had been in the service of the Cloud family before the 
 birth of Clifford — limbered himself sufficiently to sweep 
 the stable and scour the harnesses twice over. Then, 
 scrubbing himself, he put on his best black satin " stock," 
 while his wife arrayed herself in her best cap and her 
 broadest black silk apron. Giuseppe wore on the occasion 
 an extra tuberose in his button-hole. All the familj', 
 except Edith, put an added touch to their costume, to do 
 honor to the gentleman who had not been home for a year. 
 Edith, however, would not so much as consider that other 
 company was present, and take the pains to dress as for 
 an ordinarj' dinner. She appeared in a black dress, with- 
 out an ornament upon her person, or a smile upon her 
 face. She meant something, I was sure, by such a novel 
 departure from the ordinary custom of greeting a return- 
 ing member of the family after long absence. But, as 
 nobody appeared to mind her eccentricities, I forgot to 
 wonder at them ; although I could not help obsci-ving the 
 sneer on her shaded lip and in her eye, as she glanced at 
 the flowers on sideboard and table, and the wine Giuseppe 
 had brought up from the cellar. 
 
 I was hesitating whether to go to tlie drawing-room, or 
 informally linger in the dining-room, when Mr. and ]\Irs. 
 Walters entered with tlie guests. Mrs. Walters came first, 
 and after her, Mr. Walters with Mrs. Akers on his arm. 
 Mrs. Akers was a stout, handsome matron from Lima, 
 Peru, who, with her children and nurse, was passing a few 
 weeks with Mrs. Walters. Her husband was a kind of 
 railroad magnate, whose bounteous hospitality Mr. Cloud 
 had enjoyed one winter when he was in South America. 
 The elder of the children remembered Mr. Cloud well ; 
 and now the younger one was making his acquaintance, 
 as he bore her in upon his shoulder to her place at table. 
 
 There was certainly no stiff ceremoniousness to awe one 
 at dinner to-day. No stiffness of any sort could exist 
 long in Clifford Cloud's vicinity, and Mrs. Akers was not 
 conventional. I had seen her at dinner almost every day 
 
220 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 since her visit, and once had passed an evening in the 
 library, where she tallied with me in the most affable way. 
 
 I did not dare to look at Mr. Cloud, till Mrs. Walters 
 mentioned his name with mine, in a careless introduction. 
 Then I glanced up at his face, and saw that he did not 
 remember me. He bowed, and gave, as he did so, an in- 
 stant's survey of my dress ; a pale blue cashmere, made 
 high at the throat, and finished with a Marie Stuart ruff. 
 I had combed my hair straight back, and fastened the wavy 
 knot with a turquoise dagger, low at the neck, — a fashion 
 that Mrs. Walters had once pronounced becoming. 
 
 Mr. Cloud had not changed in the least. His figure 
 retained the same grand proportions. There was the same 
 clean-shaven face, with complexion as clear, and eyes as 
 sunny, as the little girl's looking over his shoulder. His 
 hair, parted in the middle, " clustered about his temples 
 like a god's." 
 
 " What a handsome man he is ! " thought I, with a kind 
 of disturbed movement of the heart, which I immediately 
 called to order, as we sat down at table. There were no 
 silent intervals in tlie talk and laughter, as the dinner 
 proceeded. Though I took no apparent observation of 
 Mr. Cloud's easy sayings and doings, I suffered nothing 
 of either really to escape ear and eye. After some lively 
 discussion as to which of the two little girls should sit 
 beside him, he had placed himself between them, and, when 
 dessert was brought in, began to devote himself wholly 
 to their entertainment. 
 
 After dinner the talk turned upon the theatre, where an 
 English actress, new to this country, was to make her 
 deliut that evening, as Lady Macbeth. Riviei-a was the 
 name of the new star just risen in the theatrical heavens. 
 
 Mr. Cloud was going with Mrs. Akers to witness her 
 opening performance. 
 
 " An actress of some power and originality, I'm told," 
 said he, " but does not rank with the greatest," 
 
 " I have never heard of her till now," said Mrs. Akers. 
 
 " Neither have I," said Mrs. Walters. " Riviera is an 
 Italian name, is it not? — her stage name, I presume. Or 
 is she really an Italian actress?" asked Mrs. Walters. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said Mr. Cloud. " She is a mediocre Eng- 
 lish woman, with some talent and beauty. Riviera is her 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 221 
 
 stage name. She met with no success in London, and 
 has come over here to try her luck. The critics have l^een 
 handling her severely." 
 
 I listened to this conversation and more that followed 
 indifferently. I had never seen the inside of a theatre, 
 and knew nothing of actresses, good or otherwise. When 
 we rose from table, I went directly to my room, and sat 
 down to do some sewing for myself. I was somewhat 
 saddened with thinking how little I had been noticed by 
 Mr. Cloud. After all, I did not belong in the same world 
 in which he moved. How glad I was that nobody but 
 myself knew how much 1 had thought and dreamed of 
 one, who not only had no remembrance of me in the past, 
 but who had no notice to bestow on me in the present ! 
 What could be the cause, I wondered, of such coldness 
 between Mr. Cloud and Miss Edith. He had bowed to 
 her pleasantly enough ; and she had returned his saluta- 
 tion with an icy nod, and had not once spoken during 
 dinner. Their quarrel, however, was of no more conse- 
 quence to me than the gentleman was. I would never 
 give him another thought. I would keep to my caste, and 
 be self-respecting. 1 began at once to try to put the new 
 resolution in practice. ' 
 
 The next morning Mr. Cloud was not at breakfast. I 
 heard him, however, during the day, frolicking with the 
 children as they passed the study door, or rather came 
 near it in the corridor, on their way to the billiard-room 
 above. In the evening he dined at his club, and after- 
 wards came in ; and I heard him enter his room, opposite 
 the one in which I was writing, — for I wrote now occasion- 
 ally in the evening, — and I heard him an hour later de- 
 scend to the library, where some gentlemen Mr. Walters 
 had invited were playing whist. 
 
 It was very singular, I thought, that Mr. Cloud did not 
 dine with his sister again for a whole week. When he 
 did do so, Mrs. Akers and the children had departed. 
 Miss Edith was also absent, confined to her room with a 
 heavy cold, where for an interval of days her meals were 
 carried to her. And now, when I least expected it, Mr. 
 Cloud began to turn his attention to me. Oh the delight- 
 ful dinners that followed ! for Mr. Cloud was present at 
 all of them ; the only time when I saw him with no com- 
 
222 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 pany, except an occasional liarmless professional gentle- 
 man brought in by Mr. Walters. There was apparently 
 nothing to mar the perfection of the time ; and the mem- 
 ory of it stands out like an entrancing picture, as I write. 
 It was the depth of wiuter ; but from the dining-room, as 
 from the drawing-room, we could look into the long, sunny 
 conservatory, where warmth, and greenness, and luxury 
 of color, with song from mocking-birds, made a bit of the 
 tropics for us, shut in from the polar whiteness outside. 
 
 What Mr. Cloud said to me, as our acquaintance pro- 
 gressed, I am unable to recall. The subject-matter of 
 conversation — almost all of which was on his side — 
 was of too thistle-down a character to be retained. Ac- 
 quaintanceship, in some cases, ripens faster without 
 words. It was the smile, the manner, the tone of voice, 
 the delicate flattery of respectful deference paid to the 
 " airy nothings " of my responses, that took my untutored 
 fancy captive. They made me in love with myself as 
 well as with him. For it is the subtle nature of flat- 
 tery to stimulate self-love. All the wise resolutions I had 
 made, not to allow my affections to be captured by this 
 man, were now as if they had never been. Mrs. Walters 
 must have understood the situation ; for after dinner each 
 evening, instead of passing an hour or two in lively talk 
 in the library, where Mr. Cloud, I knew, was lingering 
 awhile before going out, she carried me off to the work- 
 room, or her room, on pretext of arranging some copying 
 for the morrow. It was at this time I began to notice a 
 shadow now and then passing over her sweet face, and an 
 occasional troubled look in her eyes. 
 
 By and by, however, in spite of Mrs. Walters's best 
 management, or perhaps because of it, I began to see 
 more of Mr. Cloud, and have the benefit of viewing other 
 phases of his character. Miss Edith, after a fortnight's 
 imprisonment in her room, recovered from her indisposi- 
 tion one day, and came to the family table. She showed 
 the effect of illness : her sallow skin seemed more opaque, 
 her brows heavier, the line of shadow on her thin lip 
 more marked. Her mood was aggressive ; even the rustle 
 of her red silk gown was threatening ; and the garnet 
 bracelets on her thin wrists had a sound when she snapped 
 them together — for they troubled her by unfastening — 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 223 
 
 like the click of a pistol. I sat opposite her, not far from 
 Mr. Cloud ; and to me it appeared as if the sparring be- 
 gun between them waxed dangerous, now and then. 
 
 "It seems to me," she said, directly after some 
 allusion to Mr. Cloud's future movements, by Mr. Walters, 
 "that you are getting uncommonly domestic in your 
 habits, Mr. Cloud. Your stay here is beyond precedent, 
 alreadj-." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear Edith," said Mr. Cloud with his 
 most genial smile. " I have made longer visits here many 
 times before." 
 
 " I remember only one occasion when you staid longer," 
 she replied. " It was when the Casey girl and her mother 
 went to Europe." 
 
 Mrs. "Walters sent a quick, appealing look towards her 
 sister-in-law, which she might as well have sent towards 
 the north star. 
 
 " How long ago was that? " coolly inquired the gentle- 
 man, refilling his wine-glass. 
 
 "You ouglit to know better than anybody else," said 
 Miss Edith, with a vicious snap of her bracelet again. 
 
 "I haven't much memory for dates, Edith," he an- 
 swered, in the pleasantest tone of his pleasant voice. ' ' You 
 will have to consult some of your old diaries, and tell me." 
 
 "It was three years ago last September, the twenty- 
 fifth of September ; a year and one month before the Ca- 
 sey girl died," promptly returned Miss Edith. 
 
 " Why, you are as good as an old Etlmanac," said Mr. 
 Walters, laughing. " I couldn't have told whether it was 
 five or ten years ago that we knew the Caseys." 
 
 Mrs. Walters lifted her eyes, full of troubled meaning, 
 to her husband. It was evident there was something un- 
 pleasant associated in her mind with the Casej' family. 
 
 "Did you meet the Wagners while you were at Nice, 
 Clifford?" she asked suddenly, as if determined on a 
 change of conversation. 
 
 "I saw the Wagner girls several times, I believe," he 
 replied. " I remember, too, of seeing the mother. It was 
 at the Casino. She was beside a withered old woman, 
 waiting her turn at the roulette table." 
 
 " You don't mean that Mrs. Wagner was gambling? " 
 said Mrs. Walters, greatly shocked. 
 
224 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Why, ceitainlj' ; there's no harm in gambling, if you 
 don't lose. I saw a New-England clergyman's wife one 
 day scooping up some mouej- she had won, while her hus- 
 band looked on smiling. He was pleased, I suppose, to 
 have his salary increased in that way," said Mr. Cloud. 
 
 " You are romancing a little," said Mrs. Walters. 
 
 " Not a bit. I made the acquaintance of both of them, 
 Their name was Gray, I think. She was a very energetic, 
 straightforward, plain-spoken little woman. She reminded 
 me of you, Edith. She wasted no time in circumlocu- 
 tion. Her questions were point-blank. She was a very 
 cool calculator, one could see at a glance. She left off 
 always as soon as she began to lose." 
 
 " She must have had brains to be able to do that," said 
 Mr. Walters. 
 
 " Yes," said his brother-in-law, " she had brains and 
 a beard. I have often noticed that combination in women. 
 It is natural, I suppose, that the two should go together." 
 
 "Come, come, Clifford; don't say any more that's 
 untrue," said Mrs. Walters, trying to speak playfully. 
 " Give us something authentic." 
 
 " If you expect to get an authentic statement from your 
 brother, you'll have to wait and question him on his death- 
 bed," said Miss Edith. "And even then, / should want 
 his word corroborated." 
 
 " There is nothing improbable in what Clifford has told 
 us," said Mr. Walters. "You can't calculate on what 
 the staidest people will be tempted to do abroad, some- 
 times, when they get reckless " — 
 
 " Oh, there was nothing reckless about the Grays ! Mrs. 
 Gray was a perfectly correct person in every respect," 
 said Mr. Cloud indifferently, shrugging his shoulders 
 slightly. " She tried her luck at the game, like many 
 another, and, unlike many another, succeeded in winning. 
 It was all above-board. — Have you tried the new tea I 
 brought j'ou, Alice? " 
 
 " Y'es ; and it is very nice," said Mrs. Walters. 
 
 " Do you ever drink tea. Miss Rivers? " he asked. 
 
 " Sometimes," I said, " not often." I felt myself 
 blushing. 
 
 " Please drink with me a cup of flowery pekoe, as it is 
 drank in China. I will prepare it," said he. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 225 
 
 He took from the quaint canister Giuseppe brought 
 forward, at his request, the proper amount of precious tea 
 for each cup ; had each filled with boiling water, and then 
 covered for several minutes. 
 
 "Will you have a cup, Edith?" he asked, when the 
 beverage was prepared. " You will find it like nectar." 
 
 She shook her head savagely. " I never took poison but 
 once and called it nectar," said she, rising at once and 
 retiring. 
 
 "This is no poison, Miss Rivers," said he, turning to 
 me without the slightest show of disturbance. " You 
 drink no decoction of China clay, or Prussian blue, or 
 tumeric, or gypsum, or indigo in this cup," placing it be- 
 side my plate. 
 
 " Perhaps a description of the process of packing tea in 
 China may interest you," continued Mr. Cloud, as the 
 cups were finished and we rose from the table. " If you 
 will come into the library, I will tell you all about it." 
 
 " I have some writing up-stairs for Cordelia to do this 
 evening," said Mrs. Walters, drawing my arm under her 
 own. 
 
 "Good-night, then. Miss Rivers," said her brother, 
 extending his handsome hand. But, before I could give 
 him mine, Mrs. Walters had stepped quickly between us, 
 and was pressing me gently before her up the stairway. 
 1 gave a half-glance backward, and met his smiling eyes. 
 Giuseppe was bringing him his hat and coat. In the 
 momentary glance, I thought I saw a covert kiss of his 
 hand thrown upward. I might have been mistaken. I 
 hoped I was. For with all my weakness of will, in spite 
 of the giddiness of delight I felt at Mr. Cloud's notice of 
 my humble self, there was something in me, something 
 lying at the foundation of my character, a kind of dig- 
 nity, that was instantly disturbed at the slightest lack of 
 respect in his manifestation of interest in me. I had 
 seen gentlemen fling kisses to Julia, the pretty chamber- 
 maid at my uncle's hotel.' I was very much in love ; 
 but not enough so, as yet, to forget that I was not a 
 chambermaid. 
 
226 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " As new as foam, and as old as the rock." 
 
 — Emerson. 
 
 ""VTEXT morning, for a rarity, Mr. Cloud breakfasted 
 INI with the familj', and was, as usual, charmingly en- 
 tertaining. After breakfast, a pouring rain set in, and 
 prevented anybody from leaving the house. Mrs. Wal- 
 ters's intended visit to the Industrial School had to be 
 postponed. She came up to the workroom, — as we called 
 the study now, — where I was copying some prison reports 
 for the newspapers, and seated herself opposite me at 
 the writing-table. She placed before me a dozen letters, 
 tlie morning mail had brought her, to be read and an- 
 swered. The first I opened was from some eccentric 
 individual, who had spread his Utopian ideas, concerning 
 a paradisiacal house of refuge for fallen women, over ten 
 pages. Mrs. Walters put it away with others requiring 
 no immediate answer. I broke the seal of another, a 
 dainty little note, and began to read, when a knock at 
 the door interrupted me. Mr. Cloud looked in. 
 
 " Are you busy, Alice dear?" he inquired, entering. 
 
 " Very busy," said his sister. 
 
 "Don't let me interrupt you, then," said he. "I 
 have only come in to look over the list of books here. 
 I am trying to find Malone's notes on Shakespeare. It is 
 not in the library. Here it is," he added, taking a book 
 from the little case above the escritoire. He sat down 
 facing me on the other side of the long table, and was 
 soon, apparently, deeply absorbed in his reading. 
 
 Mrs. Walters was not of a temperament to be disturbed 
 by trifles. Still I could see that she was not quite at her 
 ease, even while her brother quietly pursued his reading, 
 and did not interfere with the progress of our work. But 
 she allowed him to remain, and said nothing. 
 
 When, however, he became weary with half an hour's 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 227 
 
 steadj' application to his book, — during which time I had 
 resisted the temptation to lift my eyes from my writing, 
 — and began to make ironical observations touching the 
 futility of our indefatigable labors, she politely requested 
 him to descend to the librarj'. 
 
 "Are you always busy in this way?" he demanded, 
 paying no heed to her gentle request. 
 
 " Just now it happens to be a busy season for us," said 
 his sister, " and we are almost always at work in the 
 forenoon." 
 
 "When are you going to be at liberty to entertain 
 me?" he inquired, rising grandly, and standing beside 
 his sister's chair in an attitude that implied he was him- 
 self aware that his fine proportions were not unworthy of 
 admiration. 
 
 " I am unable to say," replied Mrs. Walters evasively. 
 
 Mr. Cloud fixed a steady, amused look on his sister's 
 face for some moments. She looked up at him at length. 
 
 " Well," said she, " what is it? " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, bowed low, after the man- 
 ner of a polite Frenchman, and remarked something in 
 broken English too rapidly for me to understand. But 
 altogether it was very funny, and I laughed in spite of 
 Mrs. Walters's gravity. 
 
 "Mrs. Thoman inquired for you yesterday, Clifford," 
 said Mrs. Walters, as her brother turned to address me. 
 " She wonders why she has not seen you of late." 
 
 " Does she? " he answered, stepping back a moment. 
 He came to his sister's chair, and, stooping over, kissed 
 his sister's forehead. "By the way, Alice," he said, 
 "have you noticed that Miss Rivers 's hair is the true 
 Titian color?" 
 
 Mrs. Walters made no reply. Her face assumed a 
 kind of marble-like fixedness, — an expression quite new 
 to me. Mr. Cloud did not seem to mind it in the least. 
 "I'll call upon Mrs. Tlioman at once," he said gayly. 
 " Good-morning, Miss Rivers. I will do myself the pleas- 
 ure of looking in upon you again by and by," he added, 
 quitting the room. 
 
 He did look in upon us again many times, in the course 
 of the weeks that followed, and whenever he chose, in 
 spite of Mrs. Walters's best management to keep him out. 
 
228 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The captivating graciousness with which he took his 
 rebuffs, and the ready tact he showed in overcoming his 
 sister's objections and carrying his point, made his infor- 
 mal visits to the workroom a kind of rare entertainment 
 for me ; even the while I knew it was greatly annoying to 
 Mrs. Walters, to have this iraperturlKible brother of hers 
 distracting a moment of my time. Why she did not turn 
 the key against the handsome intruder, and effectually 
 shut him out, puzzled me to understand. When I became 
 better acquainted with both, however, I saw plainly enough 
 why she did not resort to that measure. 
 
 Mr. Cloud's daily visits gave me ample opportunity for 
 acquaintance with him. And, though I found he was no 
 Sir Galahad in search of the Holy Grail, the charm of 
 his personality was in no sense diminished thereby. In 
 every thing he did there was a fascination for me, and he 
 pleased with his very carelessness of pleasing. He was 
 unlike Mr. Wyndham in every respect. He did not greet 
 me with tropical fervor one day, and pass me like an ice- 
 berg the next. There was no mental criticism of my 
 faults. He had the agreeable trait of always seeing me 
 at my best, and of making me feel that my defects of 
 character were too small to be noted ; were, indeed, of no 
 consequence whatever. To remember Wyndham — and I 
 could not forget him, though an ocean lay between us — 
 was to remember the measuring glances of his eyes, that 
 seemed to see all that was weak and foolish in my poor 
 self, even while he confessed that he loved me. " Oh," 
 thonglit I, sometimes, " if Mr. Wyndham had only pos- 
 sessed Mr. Cloud's charm of manner, I believe I could 
 have married him!" There seemed as much difference 
 to me between them, as between a wide outlook in the free 
 air, and a bit of vertical sky seen through a dungeon 
 window. 
 
 One morning, about six weeks after the advent of Mr. 
 Cloud, as I was about to resume my copying, after a little 
 respite of a few minutes, Mrs. Walters came into the 
 workroom, and asked me to put aside my work for an hour 
 or two and read to her. Her eyes had been troublesome 
 of late, and for a week she had not been able to use 
 them at all in reading. 
 
 I was in no mood for reading. I was a trifle depressed. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 229 
 
 Mr. Cloud had gone .iway for a few days, and something 
 Mrs. Walters had said regarding him had touched me 
 keenly. But I assumed a sprightliness of fcH'liug, and 
 began to read the part of the play of King Riclianl Tliird 
 she had selected for me, with the best grace possible. I 
 did not read far, however, before she stopped me, by 
 saying, — 
 
 "Are you out of sorts this morning, Cordelia? oris 
 the trouble with me ? I never heard you read so mechan- 
 ically. Your mind seems pre-occupied. Has — is any 
 thing occurring to trouble you? " 
 
 " Nothing," 1 said, sighing a little. 
 
 " I'm afraid there is. I wish you would tell me what 
 it is. We must let no shadow come between us," she 
 said. 
 
 '" I think it is simple stupiditj'^ that ails me this morn- 
 ing," I answered. I could not tell her how my thoughts 
 would wander, in spite of me, to her absent brother. I 
 did not mean she sliould know how much I cared for him. 
 
 She beckoned me to draw my chair beside her; and, 
 when I had done so, slie clasped my hand between hers 
 and said nothing for several minutes. But I was afraid 
 she was going to say something presently that 1 did not 
 care to hear. And she did. She said, after live minutes' 
 silence, — 
 
 " Cordelia, would you like to leave me, and go to teach- 
 ing a scliool that I can secure for you? " 
 
 " O Mrs. Walters ! " I exclaimed, " you are not going 
 to send me away, are j'ou? I don't want a school. I'd 
 rather stay with you. I should be very unhappy away 
 from you. Don't you like my work? I ti'y to do my 
 best." I was clasping her hands tightly in mine, now. 
 I anticipated a dismissal. 
 
 " I have no fault to find with you, whatever. It would 
 be a sacrifice to me to let you go, Cordelia, I am so de- 
 pendent on your services. But I must tliink of your wel- 
 fare first. I regret, for your sake, that your mother is not 
 living. You are now at the very age of girlliood to need 
 a mother's counsel and protection. Has your uncle men- 
 tioned any thing new about your mother since her reported 
 death? " Mrs. Walters held my arm lovingly against her 
 heart while she spoke. 
 
230 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I have not heard from my uncle for a long time," I 
 said ; " and no one has heard from him at Sunbridge, 
 Mrs. Proctor says. She will write me when any news 
 reaches her concerning him." 
 
 " I suppose there is no doubt, now, but that your 
 mother is really dead," said Mrs. Walters presently. 
 " Do you remember what place in England it was reported 
 she had died ? ' ' 
 
 "Dulwich, I think. My uncle did not give me the slip 
 of paper containing the notice of her death ; but I re- 
 member that the name of the place is Dulwich." 
 
 " How glad I should be, for your sake, if it should turn 
 out that she is still living! " said Mrs. Walters, after a 
 moment's pause. " We may hear from her yet. Stran- 
 ger things have happened. It would give me much relief 
 to see you safely under her tender care again." She put 
 her soft hand against my cheek caressingly as she spoke. 
 
 What could I say? I wished Mrs. Walters would not 
 so often allude to my mother ; it brought to mind such 
 unpleasant recollections. I wished more than ever now, 
 that I had confessed the whole truth respecting her to 
 this dear friend. It would have been the better way. To 
 speak of her faults when she was dead, would be ungen- 
 erous, ignoble, mean, and must sound strangely in Mrs. 
 Walters's ears. Besides, I could not bear to revive the 
 memory of her injustice, which I had so earnestly prayed 
 might be buried with her in her grave over the sea. 
 
 " I think it is not possible that my mother can be alive," 
 I said, " or I must have heard from her. And perhaps 
 my uncle is dead, too. It is strange enough he doesn't 
 write." 
 
 "How long since you heard from him?" asked Mrs. 
 Walters. 
 
 " Three months, and longer. In his last letter he spoke 
 of sending for me as soon as he and Eliza " — I was 
 interrupted here bj' a knock on the door. My ear at once 
 recognized the well-known sound ; and my heart gave an 
 answering knock against my ribs, so audible to me that it 
 seemed Mrs. Walters must hear it, too. 
 
 At sight of Mr. Cloud's handsome face, all sense of 
 stupidity vanished. I forgot every thing disagreeable. I 
 even flattered myself that he had returned earlier than 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 231 
 
 expected, on my account. A delightful assurance to hug 
 to myself, poor fool ! 
 
 " I hope I am not an intruder," he said, advancing to 
 greet us in his own charming, cordial way. 
 
 " I am afraid you are," said his sister. " Cordelia is 
 going to read aloud to me. She had just begun, a few 
 moments before you entered. You have come back 
 early." 
 
 " Let me have the pleasure of listening to her with you," 
 he pleaded. " The music of her voice is as good for me 
 as j'ou. Why not? " 
 
 " For several reasons," said Mrs. "Walters. 
 
 " Lame me with some of your reasons," said her 
 brother. 
 
 "What good would that do? " she asked, laughing. 
 " You would come in again on crutches." 
 
 "Don't be selfish, Alice. I am going to hear Miss 
 Rivers read." 
 
 " Why won't you read to us yourself? " suggested she. 
 " Come now, if you will, you may stay. Or is it too 
 much to ask ? You never gratify us with that pleasure 
 now-a-days, Clifford." 
 
 " I'll tell you whati will do, if you will let me remain and 
 listen to Miss Rivers," said Mr. Cloud, — " if she doesn't 
 think I am assuming too much in the offer, — I will cor- 
 rect her faults, if she has any, after I have listened ; 
 her faults of reading, of course I mean," bowing cour- 
 teously to me. " Would that please you? " he asked. 
 
 " I should like to have my faults corrected," I said, 
 while I felt that I should not be able to utter a word while 
 my heart was in such tumult. I tried to still its beatings. 
 
 "Good," he said; "let us begin. I sliall delight to 
 give you a few lessons in reading. I am a better teacher 
 than reader ; though I was called, I believe, something of 
 an elocutionist when I was in college. Let me see what 
 you are reading this morning." He took up my book. 
 "What portion had j'ou begun?" he asked. I showed 
 him. " Very well, we will begin where you left off, — at 
 Clarence's dream," said he : " ' Oh, I have passed a mis- 
 erable night ! ' Go on, please." I held the book before 
 my eyes, but did not speak a word ; not that I was so 
 much afraid of Mr. Cloud, but I was not quite sure that 
 
232 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 his offer to correct my faults was not volnnteerecl as a 
 joke, and I did not liite to make myself ridiculous. I 
 looked at Mrs. Walters, to see how she was taking it. 
 J could not see her eyes ; a green shade was over them. 
 She sat with her elbow resting on the arm of her chair, 
 and her cheek in her hand. She appeared to be thinking 
 intently. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot," said Mr. Cloud, " that a few prelimi- 
 nary exercises are necessary to open the throat ! Please 
 repeat after me the vowel sounds." He said the words 
 in such sober earnest, seemingly, that I obeyed him as 
 well as I could. 
 
 " Quite good, Miss Rivers. Have you ever taken les- 
 sons before in reading? " he inquired. 
 
 I informed him that I had, at Sunbridge academy. 
 
 " Of whom? " he asked. 
 
 I was going to say " Mr. Wyndham," but bethought 
 me instantly that that name must not be spoken here. So 
 I said, " One of the teachers in the school." 
 
 "You have an exquisite voice," he went on. "The 
 lower tones are especially strong, sweet, and clear. Your 
 breathing is a little wrong. You have not yet been 
 taught how to economize your breath. Your articulation 
 and pronunciation I will attend to by and In'. Let us 
 have a few examples of the aspirate now." He went 
 through the non-vocal consonants for my benefit, but I 
 would not follow him. "Please try," he gently urged, 
 lifting my hand to his lips. " Well, then," he resumed, 
 when he found I was not to be persuaded to imitate him, 
 " if you do not care for these essentials, we will begin 
 with the reading. You may take the part of Clarence, 
 and I will be the murderers. By the way, just let me 
 hear you go over the vowels once more. Lift your tongue 
 a little higher, that your E may be more distinct and clearer 
 cut." He was going to take my hand again ; but at that 
 moment Mrs. Walters, observing perhaps that I drew back 
 suddenly, lifted the shade from her eyes, and looked at 
 her brother. She said, — 
 
 " We won't have any more nonsense this morning, 
 Clifford. We have no time to waste. Unless you will 
 read yourself, Cordelia may return to her writing again." 
 
 "Oh, very well, then ! I will read if you wish, and give 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 233 
 
 Miss Rivers her lesson another day," said her brother, 
 opening the book, and beginning at once with the part he 
 had apportioned me to read. For an hour we sat en- 
 tranced under the spell of his fine rendering of the differ- 
 ent characters that came into the scene. There was no 
 straining for effect : he read easily and naturally, giving 
 a distinct individuality to each personage ; using tones 
 and gestures with a delicate, consummate skill, that could 
 onl^- have been acquired by long practice and careful 
 study. 
 
 " Thank you, Clifford," said Mrs. Walters, when he 
 Lad finished. "You have given us a rare pleasure, and 
 now we must go to work again." 
 
 " By the waj', Alice," said her brother, as if the 
 thought had just struck him. " Do you know that For- 
 rest plays Richard to-night at the Boston ? I wish you and 
 Miss Rivers would go witii me and see him." 
 
 " Thank you ; it is quite out of the question attending 
 such a place," said Mrs. "Walters. "The glare of the 
 lights would affect my eyes so badly, I shouldn't be able 
 to use them again for a month probably." 
 
 "But that is no reason for keeping Miss Rivers at 
 home," said Mr. Cloud, turning to me. " You will go, 
 will you not? " 
 
 I looked towards Mrs. Walters for some sign of encour- 
 agement to an affirmative answer. But she left me to 
 speak for myself ; whereupon I assured him I should 
 like to go very much. 
 
 "Good," said he. "John will bring the carriage 
 round at quarter to eight. As I don't dine at home, I 
 will go down and speak to him now." He bowed and 
 went out. For a long time after her brother's exit, no 
 word passed between Mrs. Walters and myself. Just 
 before luncheon, however, when all my copying for the 
 day was over, and I was about to go up to my room, she 
 said very gently, " Would it disappoint you greatly, not 
 to attend the theatre to-night ? ' ' 
 
 " Not if you don't wish me to go," I replied ; while my 
 sinking heart, and my whole demeanor, I fear, gave the 
 lie to my words. 
 
 " Ihave no scruples," she wenton, " of course, touching 
 the propriety of your witnessing a dramatic performance. 
 
234 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I should enjoy having you see Forrest in his great part 
 of Eichard Third, if you could go in some other way than 
 the one arranged. As it is, I have good reason that you 
 should not go." My eyes opened wide at this announce- 
 ment, and I waited in no little trepidation for what was 
 to follow. But she said no more ; and, although I vs'ished, 
 I did not dare to ask for plainer explanation of the mean- 
 ing of her words. I understood them sufficiently to know 
 that I must give up my anticipated pleasure of the even- 
 ing. For to do any thing in the face of Mrs. Walters's 
 disapproval, would be simply impossible for me. I loved 
 her too well. 
 
 But it turned out that I was not to be denied my en- 
 joyment, after all. Just before dinner Mrs. AValters 
 surprised me by expressing an entire willingness that I 
 should attend the theatre with her brother. She gave no 
 reason for her change of mind ; but I discovered the secret 
 of her compliance, when I learned that Miss Edith had 
 returned during the afternoon, — she had been visiting an 
 aunt, — and was to accompany us. 
 
 No arrangement could have pleased me better ; for it 
 not only relieved Mrs. Walters's misgivings, but my own 
 perplexity as to how I should conduct myself solus in 
 Mr. Cloud's company at a place so novel to me as a 
 theatre. I was very anxious that my ignorance of the 
 etiquette of such places should not be made too manifest 
 to the gentleman, and make him smile. Miss Edith's 
 presence, I was sure, would render any slight mistake on 
 my part less noticeable. I had no opportunity to tell her 
 how glad I was with the prospect of her company, until 
 I encountered her on the stairs as we descended to enter 
 the carriage. Then I said, believing she was in pleasant 
 mood, " How good of you to consent to go with us, Miss 
 Edith ! I shall thank you for the pleasure I receive. 
 I've been fearing I shouldn't know how to behave prop- 
 erly. I was never in a theatre in my life." 
 
 "Oh, yes," she answered sarcastically, "it is very 
 good of me to be willing to take the curse off a doubtful 
 proceeding ! I hope I shall get from the evening's per- 
 formance satisfaction enough to pay me. Clifford is 
 vexed over the arrangement, 1 am happy to see. If he 
 were pleased about it, I wouldn't go a step." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 235 
 
 " I don't know why he shouldn't be pleased," I said. 
 
 " Yes, you do know why he shouldn't be pleased. 
 Why do you say what you know is not true?" she re- 
 sponded angrily. She was fast lapsing into a vicious 
 mood, I saw to my dismay. I ought to have known that 
 I could not count on her good-nature any length of time. 
 "Speak the trutR when you address me, or keep silent," 
 she added. 
 
 " I am not aware of speaking an untruth, madam," I 
 replied, feeling a little of her savage influence upon me 
 for the moment. " How should I know that Mr. Cloud is 
 not pleased at your going? I'm sure he looks glad." 
 (He had just crossed at the foot of the stairway into the 
 library, while we stood fastening our gloves on the lower 
 landing) . 
 
 " Oh, yes! That smiling mask of his deceives every- 
 body but me. Because he doesn't chafe like an angry 
 Gascon, is no sign that he wouldn't like to run a rapier 
 through my bod3' to keep me at home. He would smile 
 just the same if we all lay dead in the house. ' One may 
 smile, and smile, and be a villain.' " 
 
 Her words had no weight with me. Mrs. Walters had 
 instructed me not to give ear to any thing she said in 
 dispraise of another. I looked upon her in a kind of 
 pity, as she stood talking to me under the lighted globe at 
 the large stairway landing. She was elegantly dressed 
 in black velvet, with diamonds in her ears, and clustering 
 pink plumes above her jet-black hair. But her elcgaut 
 attire could not offset the dulness of her eyes, or the sharp- 
 ness of her face and voice, or the C3'nieal expression that 
 had become habitual to her. I was glad I was not she. 
 
 "There is no more heart in Clifford Cloud," she went 
 on, " than there is in a waxen image " — 
 
 At that instant the gentleman in question came out 
 from the library, his handsome face and grand figure 
 wonderfully set off by his sombre evening dress. We 
 descended and joined him. He was in excellent good- 
 humor, showing himself in charming antithesis to what 
 Miss Edith had pictured to me. His manner towards 
 herself, I thought, must put her to shame for the unkind 
 things she had spoken of him : it was so courteous and 
 considerate. 
 
236 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The theatre was not far distant. We entered it by a 
 private way, and presently I found myself in one of the 
 proscenium boxes, and was handed by Mr. Cloud to a chair 
 close at the front, where I sat down, facing an assem- 
 blage of hundreds of richly arrayed people, whose united 
 gaze seemed centred upon us. I was so overwhelmed 
 with bashfulness, that I could not lift my eyes for a long 
 time. By and by, however, as the play advanced, and I 
 observed the careless ease with which Miss Edith and 
 Mr. Cloud occasionally looked about over the vast audi- 
 ence, I gathered courage to venture a little glance out- 
 ward, and discovered, to my great relief, that nobody had 
 been looking at us, after all. Every eye was turned on 
 the stage, where a stout, red-faced man, uninteresting 
 enough to me, was enacting King Richard. His motions 
 and mouthings and mutterings appeared to have some 
 mysterious power to create a continual commotion of 
 a|)jilause. It was distressing t<j watch them. I preferred 
 to look at the gay auditorium, which seemed to my ima- 
 gination like a kind of flower-garden, dazzling and gor- 
 geous, with golden terraces circling to the very roof. 
 Here and there, among the full-blown roses, the poppies 
 and pinks, I saw iladonna faces, like pale pure lilies ; 
 maidens like daisies and half-opened rosebuds. It was 
 a scene altogether fascinating to my novice ej'es. I could 
 easily fancy that the lovely women and noble-looking 
 men before me had descended from some higher world, 
 to witness for a little while with innocent eyes an idealized 
 picture of vice and crime and despair, all unknown to 
 them in the happier order of existence from which they 
 had just come. 
 
 While my imagination was thus engrossed ; while I was 
 intently engaged, picturing what possible relationship a 
 singularly fine-looking lady and gentleman sitting near 
 me might hold to eacli other, — I suddenly felt a ciiill pass- 
 ing over my frame, and at the same time a tightening 
 of the hidden bracelet on my arm. It seemed as if some 
 one had pressed my arm. It was very strange, I thought. 
 But what was stranger, the next instant my glance was 
 irresistilily drawn to a place I had not noticed before, 
 just behind the musicians ; where among a party of gen- 
 tlemen, unobserved ))y me till now, I encountered a pair 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 237 
 
 of black, flashing eyes, that caused my heart to give a 
 bound as if it were going out of my body. A succes- 
 sion of chills seized me, almost like an ague fit ; and it 
 was some minutes before I could control them. The in- 
 voluntary shivering attracted the attention of Mr. Cloud, 
 who at once inquired if I felt a draught, and placed my 
 wrap about my shoulders. My enjoyment was now over 
 for the remainder of the evening. I kept my eyes fixed 
 upon the stage, where I saw and heard nothing. I was 
 cognizant of the existence of only two beings in the world, 
 — my former lover and mj'self . I felt his eyes upon me 
 continually. Once, just before the play ended, I gave a 
 swift glance in his direction, which became a prolonged 
 stare. There was no Henry Wyndham in the place where 
 I had seen him, and no one was missing out of the group 
 of gentlemen. Was it possible I had been mistaken? 
 It could not be. If those dark orbs did not belong to 
 Henry Wyndham, then my own blue ones did not belong 
 to me. Their searching expression, the peculiar turn of 
 the head, the firm set of the shoulder, — could belong to 
 no other human being. And yet I had heard nothing of 
 his return. Not two weeks ago Mr. Walters had told his 
 wife, in my presence, that Henry had gone to the South 
 of France, which would delay his return till late in the 
 spring. Yes, hard as it was to believe, it must have boon 
 an optical illusion. One of those ordinary looking men 
 must have, for the moment, put on, to mj^ excited imagi- 
 nation, an expression like my lost lover's. Mistakes of 
 identity were of frequent occurrence, and I was as likely 
 as another to be deceived in that way. It was a disturb- 
 ing question to settle in my mind, and rendered me quite 
 oblivious to the brilliant sparring going on between Mr. 
 Cloud and Miss Edith as we returned home, — a sparring, 
 which, as usual, was all good-natured on the part of the 
 gentleman, and acrid enough on the part of the lady. I 
 remember I thought it very ill-mannered in Miss Edith, 
 after receiving Mr. Cloud's polite attentions through the 
 evening, to repay him with such scornful bitterness. I 
 noticed she did not even condescend to say good-night 
 when we had reached home. I could not myself omit to 
 pay so small courtesy to my worst enemy, to say nothing 
 of a gentleman who had behaved with such admirable pro- 
 
238 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 priety as Mr. Cloud had done. I turned, as I followed 
 Miss Edith up the stairs, and thanlced him heartily for 
 the evening's enjoyment. Then I bade him good-night. 
 " Stop a moment, please," he said. "I want to speak 
 with you." He came where I was standing on the lower 
 stair, and asked in a low voice, for Giuseppe was close by, 
 sleepily waiting to put out the lights, — 
 
 " Have you really enjoyed the evening? " 
 
 " Very much, thank you," I said. There was a little 
 pause. 
 
 " I suppose I must believe you," he answered. " Alice 
 tells me you are a very truthful young lady. But I 
 thought you looked a little troubled, as if you were not 
 pleased. Why don't you ask how I enjoyed the evening ? ' ' 
 
 "It hasn't occurred" to me to ask so absurd a question," 
 I said. 
 
 " Absurd? " he repeated. " Why absurd? " 
 
 " Because you appear to be always enjoying yourself," 
 I answered quickly, for I felt uneasy standing there with 
 him. Edith had disappeared to her room, and I ought to 
 be going to mine. 
 
 " Do you believe in that fallacy? " said he. " I am a 
 very unhappy man to-night, because I have had so little 
 of your society. I feel as if I had been rolibed of my 
 just dues. Come into the library a few minutes. I want 
 to show you where I think Forrest's reading is open to 
 criticism. There are certain passages, that |you will re- 
 member as I read them, that I consider faulty. 1 want 
 your opinion of them." 
 
 My first impulse was to accept his invitation. Then I 
 remembered Mrs. Walters, and what she had said to me 
 about him ; and I would not go. I shook my head. I 
 told him it was so late, he must excuse me. 1 started to 
 go up-stairs. ' 
 
 "You are afraid of offending Alice, I suppose?" he 
 said, walking slowly up beside me, to go to his own room. 
 " The burden of her advice weighs on you to my disad- 
 vantage." 
 
 " Her advice? " I repeated. 
 
 " Yes. She has advised you to avoid me. I am well 
 acquainted with that dear old sister. Come now, hasn't 
 she?" 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 239 
 
 " No, indeed. She has said nothing of the sort to 
 me," I answered. 
 
 "Then she will, before long. You may tell her that 
 I say so, if you wish. Tell her we have both fulfilled her 
 injunctions to the letter to-night." He laughed. 
 
 "She gave me no injunctions to fulfil," I said, won- 
 dering what might be coming next. 
 
 " She gave me enough of them, but I'm not bound to 
 regard them any longer. I have practised self-denial a 
 good while. Don't you think so? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know any thing about it," I said, not under- 
 standing what he meant. I was unversed in such a style 
 of talk. 
 
 " Don't you think I deserve a little praise for beliaving 
 so well to-night, under the circumstances?" 
 
 " Oh, j'es, certainly, I think you do!" said I, under- 
 standing now that he alluded to Miss Edith's acrimony. 
 
 " Why don't you praise me, then? " he asked. 
 
 "Because your own approval is worth so much more 
 than any thing I can say," I answered. We had reached 
 the staircase head, where I was to turn to go up another 
 flight to my chamber. Mr. Cloud's room was straight on 
 at the end of the corridor. 1 bade him good-night again. 
 "I don't approve of myself at all. A word from you 
 would be dearer to me than all the rest of the world's 
 opinion. Shall I tell j'ou why?" He stooped towards 
 me, put out his hand, and whispered something which I 
 did not quite understand. The blaze of the gas-jet shone 
 full in his face. I had scarcelj- touched his fingers, when 
 some instinct made me draw back,, and enclose both my 
 hands tightly under my wrap. It was a look I saw cross- 
 ing his face, that repelled me, — an indescribable expres- 
 sion, as swift as it was subtle, transforming his handsome 
 features, for the twentieth part of an instant, almost to 
 disfigurement, and making it seem as if I were standing 
 besicle an utter stranger and one dangerous to touch. I 
 was too young to speculate much on the mysteries of ex- 
 istence that so thickly surround us. I did not know that 
 our souls are sometimes seen, unconsciously to ourselves, 
 looking out of the windows of our fleshly habitations. I 
 had had, without knowing it, an instantaneous glimpse of 
 the soul of the man, — the interior Clifford Cloud ; totally 
 
240 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 unlike what I saw next instant, — the smiling, courteous 
 outvTard gentleman, that made the passing glimpse but the 
 shadow of a memory. 
 
 All this had passed while Mr. Cloud was speaking half 
 a dozen words. 
 
 "Good-night and good-by for the present," he said. 
 " I am going to New York in the morning.- I shall write 
 to you." He again put out his hand to be taken, which 
 for some unaccountable reason, even while I was flattered 
 by his notice, I would not touch. I darted up the stairs. 
 
 " Good-by. A pleasant journey to you," I said. 
 
 "Don't leave me in this way," he pleaded. "I shall 
 not see you again for a long time, perhaps." 
 
 But 1 would not, though my inclination prompted, turn 
 back. I kept on through the unlighted corridor, to mj"^ 
 own room, entered it, bolted the door, flung off my bonnet 
 and wrap, and sat down, half pleased and half dissatisfied 
 with myself, to think over the occurrences of the evening, 
 and to severely ask myself if I had not committed a great 
 piece of impropriety in lingering so long with Mr. Cloud. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 241 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ? 
 Why, every fault's condemned ere it be done." 
 
 — Measure for Measure. 
 
 I WAS dissatisfied with myself for my inability to rid 
 my mind of the thought of Wyndham ; for I had been 
 thinking of him even while Mr. Cloud talked to me on 
 the stairs. Was I then, indeed, doomed to have some 
 dominant, interposing influence ever mixing bitter with 
 the sweet of the enjoyment I would taste ? Once it had 
 been my mother who tormented my thoughts ; now it was 
 my old lover who was interfering with my happiness. 
 AVhat troubled me most deeply, however, was Mrs. Wal- 
 ters's dislike of her brother's attentions to me. She had 
 some reason which I could not understand for wishing to 
 keep me out of his company. She had told me one day, 
 that Clifford was in the habit of saying a great many 
 things to young ladies that he did not mean ; and her 
 words were causing a little distrust to mingle with my re- 
 gard for him. The least shadow of distrust works mis- 
 chief in love. Altogether, the seed of suspicion Mrs. 
 Walters had sown regarding her brother, and the disgust 
 I felt at the tremor of fright I had been thrown into by 
 the mere sight of a face that resembled Wyndham 's, took 
 awaj' much of the pleasure of my reflections as I slowly 
 undressed before the mirror. Mr. Cloud, it seemed, had 
 noticed my troubled looks at the theatre. Should I never 
 have any self-command to save me in such exigencies? 
 Was it impossible that I should ever gain poise and digni- 
 ty sufficient to guard me against surprises ? I longed for 
 strength of mind now, as I had once longed for beauty. 
 1 envied the ruggedest faces I met at church or on the 
 street, for the strength they showed. I was tired of my 
 own physiognomy, — the low forehead, the mild blue eyes, 
 the pale hair, the milky skin, combined with nothing ex- 
 
242 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 pressive of force or will. Possessed with the spiritual 
 power which gives balance and symmetry to outward acts 
 in rare natures, I should command respect ; I should be 
 looked up to, rather than looked after. Mrs. Walters 
 would no longer be troubled about me ; Mr. Cloud would 
 defer to me as to a queen. I liked deference and respect, 
 rather than familiarity in love. Yet I found no reason to 
 complain of undue familiarity in Mr. Cloud's manner thus 
 far. It was absence of conventionality, and not lack of 
 respect, which he had sometimes shown in his talks with 
 me. As I analyzed his past behavior, I became sure I 
 was right in my estimate. It was his future course that 
 gave me now some uneasiness. Perhaps that was the 
 reason I was not more sorry that he was going away in 
 the morning. Perhaps it was because he had promised 
 to write to me, that I felt almost glad in thinking of his 
 absence. 
 
 .Supposing he should write and ask me to marry him? 
 "What then ? I could tell better when such a letter had 
 been written, and received, and shown to Mrs. Walters. 
 What would she say to such a possible declaration of his 
 love ? That he did not mean any thing by it ? And what 
 would Edith say? The same, I suppose. And Henry 
 Wyudham, — how would he bear it? How would it affect 
 him to learn of my engagement to Mr. Cloud? Oh, I 
 hoped he would never come back from Europe ! The very 
 thought of his returning here was terror to my soul. And 
 this betrothal gift, the bracelet, crowded back under my 
 sleeve out of sight, — I must contrive some way to be rid 
 of it. The thing seemed to be tightening about my arm, 
 like the coil of a serpent. 
 
 I did not "enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber" that 
 night. A most fantastic and distressing dream broke my 
 rest. I dreamed it was my marriage-day. I thought I 
 was standing alone in the middle of a small circular room, 
 where I had been placed to wait for the bridegroom, the 
 priest, and wedding guests. As I looked around me, 
 I suddenly discovered that the dimensions of the room 
 were expanding ; the roof over my head was resolving 
 itself into a midnight sky, and the solemn light of the 
 stars was sliining down upon me. Without, I heard the 
 moan of the sea, and the music of a funeral-march ; and 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 243 
 
 presently a procession of dark figures moved in, bearing 
 cotBns, which were placed on biers around me. The lid 
 of one was removed, and I saw the face of uncle Beals. 
 There was no mistaking the preponderant nose, the line 
 of shaggy eyebrow overhanging the hollow sockets " where 
 eyes did once inhabit." The hands were clasped in the 
 old familiar way, as I had seen them a thousand times, 
 the once-twirling thumbs stilled forever. There was. an- 
 other coffin close beside me, a closed one ; and on the 
 gleaming plate, that seemed to shine by some light of its 
 own in the dimness of the room, I read the words, "Alice 
 Cloud, wife of John Walters, aged 31." 
 
 And then, as if b}' magic, the scene changed again. 
 The dark, shadowy beings became familiar persons. 
 There was Calista Comery in her shot orange silk gown, 
 leghorn hat, and striped satin shawl. A hectic glow was on 
 each high cheek-bone of her rugged face. My mother, 
 too, was near me, impressing me, as when a child, with 
 her statuesque figure and colorless face ; and beside her 
 was the strange gentleman who had come to the old 
 Hardcliffe house the night before her final departure 
 thence. He wore a priest's surplice, and held a book in 
 his hand. He was to solemnize the marriage. But 
 where was the bridegroom ? I still stood waiting, in 
 bridal dress, for his appearance. Suddenly he appeared, 
 looking precisely as 1 had seen him at the theatre. He 
 took his place by my side, and the stranger began to read 
 the marriage service. As he proceeded, he gradually 
 changed into a huge bat ; and my mother, the command- 
 ing figure there, ordered him to move away. Like a Lady 
 Macbeth, she ordered all the guests to depart, nor stand 
 upon the order of their going. The bridegroom and 
 every guest vanished ; and she and I stood alone together, 
 — she in gorgeous dress, and I in one of the old patched 
 Hardcliffe gowns, my bare feet shivering on the ice-cold 
 floor. She seemed about to pronounce some doom upon 
 me, when the figure of Henry Wyndham flashed between 
 us, his eyes like flames of fire. He looked at my mother, 
 till she shrank and shrivelled, and disappeared. Then he 
 caught me in his arms, and in frantic haste ran hither and 
 thither to escape from the apartment, which was fast resolv- 
 ing itself into a prison, with iron doors fastened with 
 
244 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 heavy bolts and bars. The circular room was contracting 
 visibly about us ; there was no escape ; it grew less and 
 less in circumference, until we were at last enclosed in an 
 iron ring. Then came a struggle for breath, and I awoke. 
 For several moments I could not realize where I was. 
 Wyudham's voice was in my ear ; the pressure of his arms 
 about my waist. 
 
 In the midst of my bewilderment, I heard a knock on 
 the door, and a voice pronouncing m^' name. The voice 
 brought back my scattered wits, and I recognized it as 
 Miss Edith's. Wondering what could have happened to 
 take that eccentric woman from her bed at such late hour 
 (the clocks were striking one), I rose, lighted the gas, 
 and opened the door to my visitor, who, in a red embroid- 
 ered dressing-gown over her night apparel, darted in, 
 remarking, — 
 
 "Your capacity for sound sleep exceeds that of the 
 just. I've been thumping on your door for the last three 
 minutes, and calling your name as loud as I dared." 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" I asked. "Is any one 
 sick?" 
 
 " No ; put out the light and get back to bed. I'm go- 
 ing to sleep with you to-night." She ensconced herself 
 at once under the blankets. 
 
 I did as she directed, wondering what such an unpre- 
 cedented invasion portended. I soon found out. 
 
 "I want to tell you something," she began, "and I 
 take this opportunity because I'm afraid I sha'n't have 
 another soon enough. I expect to be off again in a few 
 days. And besides, if I waited till to-morrow, it mi^ht 
 bring the determination not to meddle with your affairs. 
 Good impulses should ])e obeyed on tlio moment. Tliey 
 never come the second time with the first strength. Do 
 you know why I am troubled about you, young woman? " 
 she asked in softened voice. 
 
 " No, I'm sure I don't ; I can't possibly think," I said, 
 lying down beside her. 
 
 "Well, then, it is because you have touched me; 
 touched my heart, wlicn I thought I hadn't any. Others 
 care for j'ou because you are lovely, sweet, aud good. I 
 love you because you are weak. Weakness appeals to 
 strength. I want to iufuse some of my strength into you, 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 245 
 
 that you maj- be able to resist an influence tliat I see bear- 
 ing down upon and closing in around you. I have come 
 to show you a ilangerous spot of ground that your in- 
 nocent feet must not tread upon. It is surfaced with 
 flowers, but is all quicksand underneath ; and once you 
 step there, you are lost. 1 am warning you in season, 
 am I not? " 
 
 " I am not quite sure yet that I understand what you 
 are talking about," I said, wishing heartily that she had 
 staid in her own bed. 
 
 " Then you shall understand," said she. " I will leave 
 the labyrinthine paths of speech I adopted to please you, 
 and be more expUcit. I like direct speech. You are 
 beginning to love Clifford Cloud " — 
 
 " I don't know what you have seen in me to make you 
 say that," I said with some spirit, interrupting her. 
 
 "Oh, you are as proper as possible in your behavior, 
 young woman ! I'm not here to criticise your deportment. 
 Surface matters don't interest me. You are beginning to 
 be in love with Clifford, and you know the statement is 
 true. We won't discuss that point. The one I wish to 
 impress upon you is, that he is not in love with you. You 
 think he is, — oh, yes, you imagine you know it! — for 
 that selfish man's capacity to make women believe in him 
 is simply prodigious. How he gets his knowledge of ways 
 and means to so many tender hearts, passes me. The 
 gastric quality of the man is powerful. I have known 
 of his disposing of four beautiful young girls, in quick 
 succession, each meekly waiting her turn to be swallowed, 
 and taking no warning from the fate of her predecessor " — 
 
 "O Miss Edith," I interrupted, " you are doing Mr. 
 Cloud injustice ! I — he could not — I do not believe he 
 would be basely dishonorable." 
 
 " I am telling you thre simple truth," said Miss Edith. 
 " Clifford Cloud had no more love for those girls than a 
 hunter has for the birds he kills. - He loves but one being 
 in the world, — the being he sees reflected in his looking- 
 glass. I hope some time he will be punished for his 
 misdeeds. I hope some woman, some Jievd of a woman, 
 will get him in her toils, and make him as unhappy as he 
 has made others unhappy. But he is too wary, 1 fear, to 
 ever be taken in by a woman." Miss Edith had risen up 
 
246 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 in bed as she spoke, and was beating her pillow for a 
 better reception of her head, with such vehemence,— 
 while her whole frame trembled with excitement, — that it 
 flashed into my mind that she herself might have been 
 one of the girls made unhappy through Clifford Cloud's 
 fascinations. I was almost convinced it must have been 
 so, and the idea took away much of the wreight of her 
 rancorous words. A disappointed lover is not apt to 
 speak dispassionately of the being who has made her 
 wretched. 
 
 "Clifford calls himself a man of honor!" she went 
 on, " and yet will not hesitate at any means to rob a girl 
 of her affections. The more beautiful and sensitive and 
 conscientious his victims are, the better they suit his 
 palate. He is as dainty as he is heartless, and cool, and 
 calculating, and refined. It is this dainty fastidiousness 
 that makes him all the more cruel and dangerous. Do 
 you understand me now? " 
 
 " I don't understand how he can be cruel, and still love 
 children so well. You know he loves children," I said, 
 by no means ready, as yet, to take her word for the total 
 depravity of the man. 
 
 " Oh, yes, children are like kittens to him ! He likes 
 to see them frisk and play, and rehearse their little 
 pranks. But, mind you, when they get a bit tiresome ; — 
 some persons have no compunction in hanging stones 
 about the necks of superfluous kittens, and drowning them. 
 Clifford would treat women in the same way, if usage sanc- 
 tioned it. A beautiful girl is a mere kitten to him ; three 
 or four of them on his hands make each the more piquant 
 and graceful, and entertaining to him. But they must 
 not grow old or troublesome, or put forth any special 
 claim to permanency in his regard. When that point is 
 reached, he disposes of them, so quietly and gingerly, no- 
 body has cause for outward accusation, however strong 
 a reason there may be for inward cursing. Nobody can 
 attack another because he leaves his sucked oranges 
 in the same shape as the undrained fruit. The most 
 bitterly disappointed among us are generally the quiet- 
 est." 
 
 " How wise you must be. Miss Edith, to understand 
 things so well ! " I said with a sigh, though still uncon- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 247 
 
 vinced by her words. " Do you enjoy analyzing people 
 so, and finding out tlie worst in them? " 
 
 " No, I hate it," she answered, in a high, shrill voice. 
 " It makes me sick, — sick at heart a good share of the 
 time. If it were not for the few genuine men and women 
 m the world, — though I seldom meet them, — I should 
 wish I had never been born. When I find a lovely, unself- 
 ish human being, I find my own heart, too, and am glad 
 to be alive to save, as far as I am able, one simple soul 
 from falling into the pit of despair. I could not sleep 
 to-night till I had talked with you. I saw plainly enough, 
 at the theatre, how Clifford was managing with you, his 
 new victim. I thought of Mary Casey, who died in the 
 South of France ; of the little ballet-girl packed off to 
 England with her aunt, and a generous sum of money ; 
 of Lucy Percival, wheedled into marrying an old man she 
 did not love, because she was hopeless of marrying Clif- 
 ford whom she did love. Poor woman ! She sometimes 
 comes here now when Clifford is at home, for she contin- 
 ues to be infatuated with him. She called last week, — 
 perhaps you saw her, — a small brunette, no larger than 
 I, all covered with diamonds. Her husband is a million- 
 naire." 
 
 "No," I said, with a little shiver of disgust, despite 
 tlie admonition I had had from Mrs. Walters, not to be 
 influenced by what Miss Edith might say of another, "I 
 never see Mrs. Walters's visitors." 
 
 "• She was a most unhappy being, when she found that 
 Clifford had no thought of marrying her. I believe I 
 could have spared her some of her anguish, by a timely 
 forewarning ; but I felt no impulse to speak to her as I 
 am speaking to you. She was not of genuine material ; 
 not crystal clear inside. Besides, she had some wit of her 
 own, and must have been wilfully blind in most respects. 
 But you are warned in season, young woman. You know 
 what tlie danger is : now look out for it. ' ' 
 
 I made no reply ; and after a few moments she added, 
 "You don't thank me for this revelation. I understand 
 how you feel, precisely." 
 
 "I shall thank you for it sometime, may be," I said, 
 more from politeness than any conviction of the truth of 
 her communication. 
 
248 Tn'O GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " When you find out that I am not a liar, as he would 
 make you believe I am, if you were to give him the 
 opportunity of five minutes' talk about me. He hates me. 
 But I am going back to my own bed now. I see you 
 don't want me here. I have no -more I wish to say to 
 you. I have discharged my duty. I have done with the 
 subject. Good-night." She came round to my side of 
 the bed, and put her thin hand on my forehead ; it felt 
 cold and clammy and tremulous on my warm skin. She 
 appeared to be trembling all over with suppressed excite- 
 ment. She stooped and kissed me. Never before had 
 she shown the slightest tender regard for me. 
 
 " Kiss me, Cordelia," she said in a half -pleading, pas- 
 sionate, though querulous voice. She put her thin lips 
 to mine, from which I slightly recoiled at first. Then I 
 kissed her heartily, and the next moment she had darted 
 from the room. 
 
 "Poor woman," thought I, "how I do pity you!" 
 For it was plain to be seen that she had suffered, and was 
 still suffering, on account of Mr. Cloud. I could not see, 
 however, that he was to blame for not loving her. She 
 had no more right to blame him for being attractive, than 
 herself for being repulsive. " None of us can help our 
 natural qualities," I reflected. "Mr. Cloud is very at- 
 tractive ; and because he could not return her affection, 
 she hates him now, and looks at every thing he does in 
 the worst light. I understand it all perfectly." And 
 Miss Edith had effected nothing by her bitter warning. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Cloud left the city, and the day 
 following Miss Edith went also. A very busy time ensued 
 with Mrs. Walters, in the many re-unions and conference 
 meetings of benevolent societies which she was continually 
 attending at this period. She kept me very busy, too, at 
 home, copying and compiling articles from miscellaneous 
 documents and written papers. She was requiring of me 
 double the amount of my usual work. All the leisure I 
 found from my pen, she filled up l)y giving me garments 
 to baste, and needlework to outline, for the poor women, 
 whose sole dependence seemed to rest on Mrs. Walters's 
 activity in finding them employment. I had no time 
 whatever to myself, to go out, or read or write, or even 
 to be sad and disappointed when the two weeks went by 
 
TWO GENTLEilEN OF BOSTON. 249 
 
 bringing no letter from Mr. Cloud. I could not under- 
 stand why Mrs. "Walters kept me so hard at work all day, 
 and then would permit me no rest in the evening. But I 
 asked no questions ; I worked with all mj' might to accom- 
 plish my tasks, thoroughly satisfied when I pleased her, 
 and she would lay her hand on my head and say, " Well 
 done, Cordelia." 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding her daily assurance that I was 
 invaluable to her, I began to suspect she was thinking of 
 sending me awaj', which made me moi-e solicitous than 
 ever to please her. I loved her too well not to discern, 
 under the uniform sweetness of her manner, that some- 
 thing disturbed her, that she was in some way anxious 
 about me. I saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, in 
 the kiss she left on my forehead each morning and even- 
 ing. I could not bear to think of the possibility of part- 
 ing with her. I clung to her as I had never clung to any 
 human being. I loved her better than I had loved my 
 father, or my uncle, or Calista, — dear old Calista who 
 had been so good to me. 
 
 At the end of ten days of absence, Miss Edith returned. 
 I was looking forward now to being on the most friendly 
 terms with her, since her manifestation of interest in me 
 and familiar talk had occurred. But, when I met her at 
 the dinner-table, I found she was just as she had been. 
 Her manner was as cold and cynical as ever. She recog- 
 nized me only with a nod, and an indifferent " How do you 
 do?" 
 
 Mr. Cloud had been absent not quite three weeks, when 
 he announced by letter that he should return the next 
 Monday, and bring his friends Mrs. and Miss Cooley — 
 whose visit had been so long deferred — with him. 
 
 Of course, I was in a fever of curiosity to behold the 
 beautiful girl who had been educated at a school in Paris, 
 and who must be a finished lady in all respects. I won- 
 dered why I was not more racked with jealousy, in reflect- 
 ing that Mr. Cloud could probably have no eyes for me 
 while the original of the beautiful portrait, which was 
 still hanging in his bedroom, remained liere, and con- 
 eluded that my lack of feeling was the result of early 
 training in bearing disappointment, and accepting the 
 half loaf of pleasure when I could not get the whole. 
 
250 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The visitors arrived on the day appointed, accompanied 
 by Mr. Cloud, a waiting-maid, a poodle, and four large 
 trunks. They found every thing in lovely readiness for 
 them, — a smiling host and hostess, rooms aglow and 
 fragrant with flowers. I did not see them until dinner- 
 time, and should not have then, had not Mrs. Walters 
 insisted on my appearing at dinner. Knowing I must go, 
 I dressed and went down earl}' to the dining-room, before 
 the company assembled there. In passing tln-ough the 
 hall, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Cloud in the library. He 
 saw me, too, and followed directly to speak to me. He 
 greeted me with such cordiality, that I quite forgot the 
 dignified manner I had arranged to put on when I met 
 him. He was about to select some flowers from the 
 abundance on the side-board, to offer me, when the visitors 
 came sailing in, — Mr. Walters with Mrs. Cooley, Mrs. 
 Walters with the younger lady. Miss Edith came in last, 
 and, happening to be standing near me as the party sepa- 
 rated, presented me to the strangers. And then all sat 
 down to dinner. 
 
 The conversation that followed was extremely informal 
 and lively, if not of the high order which I had anticipated. 
 Had I been a participant, I might perhaps have been less 
 critical. But nobody took the slightest notice of me, 
 except Mr. Cloud, who occasionally spoke to me in a way 
 that showed he was solicitous I should not feel neglected 
 by him, if the others seemed to forget me. I was truly 
 grateful for his notice at such a time ; and in spite of all 
 the hearsay of his character, in spite of all the hints and 
 warnings to beware of him, that I had received, I found 
 that his mere presence and the sound of his voice were 
 making the occasion one. of delight to me. 
 
 The sumptuous appearance of the visitors had at first 
 quite overawed me ; but, when they began to talk, I was 
 surprised to find how commonplace they were. The elder 
 lady was a lessened image of aunt Beals ; but, by dint of 
 squeezing her fat figure into French corsets, she present- 
 ed a more comely aspect. The usurped flesh, however, 
 revenged itself in her rolling hips, immenselj- protruding 
 bust, and triple chin. Her mahogany-tinted ponderous 
 cheeks, .Jewish nose, and worldly eyes made her face no 
 more attractive than rny aunt's had been. She was robed 
 
T]VO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 251 
 
 in black velvet, with jewels m ears, on bosom, and all 
 her fat fingers. She had a very small voice for so big a 
 woman, and uttered her words rapidly, with little hitches, 
 as if she were short-breathed. The slender, vivacious 
 daughter did not look, physieallj-, as if she could have 
 sprung from such a mother. She was a handsome bru- 
 nette, with fine, large, black eyes, which would have been 
 the loveliest in the world, but for the manifest determina- 
 tion in them to attract and take captive every masculine 
 beholder of their beauty. The self-conscious way in 
 which she rolled about those luminous orbs told plainly 
 where her vanity lay. She was dressed in the height of 
 the fashion, and wore perched on the coil of her black 
 hair a marvellous French head-dress, not unlike a small 
 bonnet without strings. Her external loveliness was un- 
 deniable ; but her insipid conversation showed little mind, 
 character, or innate cultivation. I attended to very little 
 of the talk till the elder lady addressed Miss Edith, who 
 sat opposite, in her best gown and her worst mood. 
 
 " I am so happy to meet you at last, Mrs. Adeth," she 
 began. " Mr. Cloud has so often spoken of Mrs. Adeth., 
 that the name really sounds very familiar." 
 
 " It was Mrs. Akers I spoke to you about," said Mr. 
 Cloud. " I supposed we were to meet her here." 
 
 " She is coming on Friday," remarked Mrs. Walters. 
 
 "I beg pardon," said Mrs. Cooley. "I suppose I 
 misunderstood the name. This lady is " — 
 
 " My sister," explained Mr. Walters, " the only sister 
 I have, or ever had." 
 
 "What name did you say?" asked the lad3', with a 
 very affected upward inflection of her small voice. 
 
 " Edith Walters, single, and .thirty-five," answered 
 Miss Edith sharply, before her brother could speak. 
 
 " A plain-speaking sister, you perceive, Mrs. Coolej'," 
 said Mr. Walters, somewhat mortified. " She wouldn't 
 have you suppose for an instant that she was not unmar- 
 ried." Everybody but Miss Edith laughed. She looked 
 as if she thought the humor of the thinnest kind. 
 
 "How I admire such frankness!" said the younger 
 lady with a simper. " We live in such a world of shams 
 that it is really refreshing to hear Miss Walters tell her 
 age so fearlessly. Isn't it, mamma?" The beautiful 
 
252 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 eyes were first lifted to her mother's face, and then rolled 
 over to Mr. Cloud. 
 
 " Yes, darling — extremely refreshing — very much so 
 — yes, indeed," responded Mrs. Cooley. 
 
 " I wish it were the universal fashion to tell one's age 
 in that frank way. Wouldn't it be funny if everybody 
 were obliged to do it? "Would you be willing to tell your 
 age, mamma? " inquired the daughter archly. 
 
 But mamma was just then more interested over the age 
 of some old china that she and Mrs. Walters were dis- 
 cussing. She did not appear to hear her lovely offspring's 
 remark. 
 
 "Mamma is really taken for my sister among stran- 
 gers," continued the younger lady, who appeared to have 
 been accustomed to take the lead in conversation, and 
 to have everybody hang upon her words. " How old do 
 you think mamma is, Mr. Walters?" She flashed her 
 brilliant ej-es, brimming with mischief, on her smiling 
 host. 
 
 ' ' If you were not her daughter, I should say twenty- 
 eight," returned the gentleman, trying his best to be 
 agreeable to the beauty. I had never seen the usually 
 silent man so talkative and smiling. 
 
 "Oh, you are just like all the rest of the flatterers, 
 Mr. Walters! " cried the young lady gayly. "You are 
 not a bit like your sister. She never flatters anybody, I 
 know. I'll appeal to her. — How old does mamma look 
 to you. Miss Walters? " 
 
 Miss Edith turned her dull blue eyes with a calculating 
 look upon the elder lady ; while Mr. Walters with covert 
 motion tried to make her look at him, and, not succeeding, 
 began to push the talk with much vigor into new direc- 
 tions, and mentioned abruptly the great political question 
 of the day, and the last exciting measure of Congress. 
 Mr. Cloud came to his aid, and a lively discussion fol- 
 lowed, in which all joined except Miss Edith, who was still 
 coveting the opportunity to reply disagreeably to Miss 
 Cooley's question, — a question already forgotten by the 
 volatile young ladj', who was now glilDly advancing her 
 ideas on poUtical subjects, and skimming along the sur- 
 face of them as easily as a little sail-boat in a favorable 
 wind skims along the surface of a summer sea. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 253 
 
 I would not have gone down to dinner the third even- 
 ing, but for the note sent up early by Mrs. "Walters re- 
 questing me to do so. I had lost all interest in the Cooleys, 
 and was intending to take a walk while they were dining. 
 The truth was, I had passed the ladies, coming out of 
 their room, that morning ; and, being accustomed to po- 
 litely recognizing persons that I met, I had made them a 
 deferential bow, which was returned with a stony stare. 
 I could not understand Mrs. Walters's motive in compel- 
 ling me to appear at table with visitors, who, on leai'ning 
 my position in the family, considered me worthy of no 
 more notice than the commonest domestic animal. It was 
 not my place to question, however: it was my place to 
 obey. I went down, and took my seat at the table, as I 
 had done yesterday. Every thing was the same as yester- 
 day. Mr. Cloud addressed me in the same gracious man- 
 ner ; but, somehow, my eyes were open to the hollowness of 
 his remarks, and I took no pleasure in them. There was 
 a look in his smiling eyes I did not like. My wits, some- 
 how, had become sharpened ; I was not feeling like my- 
 self. The conversation during to-day's dinner, except for 
 the part Edith Walters sustained in it, would not be worth 
 transcribing. The ladies had been talking of Van Belk- 
 ingham, the distinguished pianist, who was now in this 
 country. It seemed he had praised Miss Cooley's voice 
 on one occasion, (she was an amateur of some note in her 
 immediate circle, I discovered by the talk) and afterwards 
 had made the acquaintance of the young lady and her 
 • mother. 
 
 " Didn't Van Belk. promise to see us in Boston?" in- 
 quired the younger lad}' of her mother. 
 
 "Certainly, he did, — yes, I remember, — yes, cer- 
 tainly', — he positively promised to see us," returned her 
 mother, who seemed to think any simple first statement 
 of hers unable to stand alone. 
 
 " Well, I hope the dear old fellow's memory won't fail 
 him, as usual," said Miss Cooley, who seemed to be on 
 as familiar terms with the musical celebrity as a Ilard- 
 cliffe farmer with bread and cheese. " Have you heard 
 Van Belk., Mrs. Walters, since he came to the country 
 this time ? " 
 
 " No, I have not," said Mrs. Walters. "Perhaps his 
 
254 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 engagements may be such, he can come to us on Thurs- 
 day evening. — Clifford, will you find out ? " 
 
 " Let me send him a note," said Miss Cooley. "He 
 is just charming, Mrs. Walters. New York would have 
 been dull without him indeed, this winter ; wouldn't it, 
 mamma ? ' ' 
 
 " It would certainly ; yes, it certainly would, my dear." 
 
 " Such thin-voiced prime donne as we had were an 
 imposition," continued the young lady. " The opera sea- 
 son was a complete failure ' ' — 
 
 "Would you like to visit one of the theatres to-night, 
 Mabel?" inquired Mr. Cloud. 
 
 " Who is playing here at present? " she inquired. 
 
 "Forrest at the Boston, Riviera at the Globe. No- 
 body of note, I think, at the other theatres," said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I do not care to see either of the two j'ou mention, Clif- 
 ford," returned the j'oung lady with an affected languor. 
 "Forrest tears passion to tatters, and Eiviera is only 
 graceful dulness." 
 
 "Now, 1 like Forrest," said Mrs. Cooley. "He re- 
 spects the traditions of the stage, I think, more than any 
 actor now-a-days. The insipid naturalness — is it not 
 called naturalness, darling? — so much commended at 
 present in acting, is not — is not — what — is not at all 
 what suits me. I see enough of the natural in real life, 
 you know, and want a change when I go to the theatre. 
 I like the ranting and the stage-strut better than the com- 
 monplace talk one can hear at any time in one's drawing- 
 room at home." 
 
 "Who is Riviera?" asked Mrs. Walters. "I have 
 heard her spoken of before. What is her style of act- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Oh, very mediocre! She is one of the mushroom 
 order lately springing up," said Miss Cooley. " She 
 came out first in London. — Did we not see her in London 
 first, mamma? " 
 
 "Yes, darling, yes — T think so — yes, it was in Lon- 
 don, I am quite sure. We thought her, I remember, very 
 handsome, but not very great." 
 
 "And yet we must admit, mamma, that she is really 
 great in one play," said Miss Cooley, sipping at the third 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 255 
 
 glass of wine Mr. Cloud had poured for her, " although 
 little enough in every other. She is great as ' Hermione ' 
 in ' The Winter's Tale,' you know. And then she is tlie 
 most graceful person I ever saw on the stage. She has a 
 romantic history, I'm told." 
 
 "To be sure," said Mr. Cloud. " Every actress has 
 more or less of the same, to serve in the place of talent." 
 
 " But, with Riviera, it is a true historjN" said Miss 
 Cooley. " My friend met her in London before she went 
 on the stage, — Miriam Fairbanks, you know, — and her 
 unhappy marriage was talked about there, Miriam said." 
 
 Mr. Cloud laughed, and refilled his own wine-glass. 
 The quantity of wine he was drinking dismaj'ed his sis- 
 ter. She glanced, with a troubled eye, at him several 
 times. It was scarcely more, however, than the ladies 
 had consumed. 
 
 "Almost all the prominent actresses are unhappily 
 married," he said. "It is a necessary adjunct to a ris- 
 ing artist's success." 
 
 Mrs. Walters asked a question as to Riviera's age, and 
 from that point the talk turned upon the longevity of 
 actors, and thence drifted into the subject of the early 
 fading of American women. Mr. Cloud remarked that 
 it was difficult for him to tell the age of an American 
 woman after she had passed thirty, with any hope of 
 approximating the truth. 
 
 "Especially if she is thin," said Miss Cooley inno- 
 cently. 
 
 Perhaps the wine she had drunk made her forget that a 
 very thin lady sat opposite her, listening critically to all 
 she said. 
 
 "Thin persons get wrinkled and old early. Is it the 
 fault of our climate, I wonder? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Mr. Walters. "It is the fault of 
 the individual temperament. A sharp temper tends to 
 angularity and wrinkles. An amiable, easy temper is the 
 fountain of youth." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the reason mamma looks so youth- 
 ful ! " exclaimed Miss Cooley. " She is rarely taken to 
 be over thirty-five." 
 
 "I should put her much j'ounger," remarked Mr. 
 Cloud. " Should not you, Edith ? " 
 
256 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "I have nothing to say," she answered curtly. 
 
 "O Miss Walters! " exclaimed Miss Cooley, her eyes 
 dancing with merriment over the suppressed sneer in Miss 
 Edith's manner, " you did not tell me how old you thought 
 mamma yesterday. Please tell me." 
 
 " Since you insist upon my opinion, I suppose she is 
 between fifty and sixty," returned Miss Edith with sharp 
 directness. 
 
 Miss Cooley gave a little musical shriek. 
 
 " Why, my grandmother hasn't turned sixty yet," she 
 cried. "Do you hear, mamma, what Miss Walters is 
 saying?" She leaned back to reach beyond Mr. Cloud's 
 chair, and touch with her fan her mother's massive 
 shoulder. 
 
 Mrs. Cooley, who was deep in the subject of music with 
 Mrs. Walters, and, at the same time, planning the even- 
 ing's entertainment witli Van Belkingham, had heard 
 nothing of the foregoing conversation. 
 
 "What is it, Mabel, darling?" she asked. "What 
 are you so amused about? " 
 
 " Your age, mamma. You are considered by one per- 
 son to be ten years older, instead of ten years younger, 
 than you are. Miss Walters estimates j'ou high up in the 
 fifties. What do you think of that? " 
 
 Mrs. Cooley's red face took a purplish hue, and she 
 darted an angry glance, first at her daughter, and then at 
 Miss Edith ; but in a moment controlled herself, and re- 
 plied with a forced laugh, — 
 
 " Think ? Why, I think nothing at all about it. What 
 does it signify just how many years one has lived in this 
 world? " 
 
 " Nothing whatever if one is married, but every thing 
 if one is not," returned the daughter flippantly, and turn- 
 ing her beautiful eyes on Mr. Cloud, who sat looking pre- 
 ternaturally grave, but who now seemed to see his way 
 clear towards punishing the enemy, who had carried dis- 
 may into the camp of his allies. So he replied to the 
 appeal of the beautiful eyes, by saying, with a glance at 
 Edith, — 
 
 " Oh, not always ! Here is Miss Walters, who is cer- 
 tainly unmarried, and yet upon whose face Time leaves 
 no trace — as yet." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 257 
 
 " Please don't be personal, Clifford, or indulge your 
 powers of sarcasm in my direction," retorted Miss PMith 
 angrily. " The most disagreeable truth is better than a 
 sneering compliment." ' 
 
 "Is Mr. Cloud both false and sarcastic, then. Miss 
 "Walters? " asked Miss Cooley, with an evident desire for 
 a passage-at-arms ; but Mr. Clifford, no doubt feeling that 
 the restraints of decent society had already been suffi- 
 ciently defied, interposed smoothly yet decidedly, — 
 
 " Oh, don't ask Edith about my character, Mabel! It 
 is a subject upon which she exercises her vivid imagination 
 very freely. — Give me the evening paper, Giuseppe." 
 The paper was handed him. " I want to see," he added, 
 " what play is on at the Globe to-night. Yes, it is the 
 Winter's Tale, with Riviera as Hermione." 
 
 "I have seen her in the part four times," said Miss 
 Cooley, " and do not care to go again at present." 
 
 " Here is a concert advertised at the Hawthorne Rooms, 
 with Miss Coombs and Whitman in the cast. Let us go 
 there, then." 
 
 " Very well, I will go ; but mamma doesn't wish to," 
 said Miss Cooley. " She is going to have a game of 
 whist with Mr. Walters to-night." 
 
 The gentleman alluded to, who had seemed quite dis- 
 gusted at his sister's ill-timed rudeness, and had looked 
 angry enough at one moment to order her from the table, 
 looked up and smiled again as Miss Cooley addressed him. 
 But he had not forgiven his sister as yet. For, when, 
 after a little more general talk on indifferent matters, the 
 company rose from the table, and Miss Cooley had rushed 
 towards Miss Walters and inquired, her eyes dancing with 
 fun, "Do you really always speak the absolute truth, 
 Miss Walters? " Mr. Walters answered, — 
 
 " Yes, Miss Cooley, she speaks the truth, in season and 
 out of season, and shames his satanic majesty." 
 
 "And my brother John," amended Miss Edith; "I 
 speak the truth, and shame the Devil and my brother 
 John." 
 
258 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Our acts our angels are ; and, good or ill, 
 Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." 
 
 MES. WALTERS had given me sortie copying to fin- 
 ish before noon the next day ; and I went directly 
 to my room and began to write. I was not going to stog^, 
 to think about any thing. Reflection, so pleasing to some 
 persons, always left me unhappy. Work — oh, blessed 
 work ! we can never guess from what evil it keeps us 
 sometimes ; from what frivolity, crime, despair. It comes 
 next to religion in the salvation of souls. How thankful 
 I was that I had work to do ! I was beginning to copy 
 with all my might, when a knock on the door interrupted 
 me. Miss Edith walked in. She came directly to my 
 chair, and put her two thin hands on my shoulders, and 
 looked down into my face, which I made as blank of 
 expression as it was possible for me to do. It seemed 
 to me at that moment that I disliked her more than ever 
 before. 1 hated her analytical turn of mind. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of the Cooleys ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I'm not thinking of them," I said. " I'm writing." 
 
 " I see you are trying not to think ; but you do think, 
 and you have an opinion. Put aside your writing, and 
 tell me what it is." 
 
 " I beg pardon. Miss Edith, but this long document 
 must be finished tiefore noon to-morrow for the printer." 
 
 " There's nothing binding in your work, girl ; you 
 know there isn't. Alice knows there isn't. She gives it 
 to you to keep you busy. It's for a purpose, — a right- 
 eous purpose, I know. My dear sister Alice is a good 
 woman." She took away the inkstand as she spoke, and 
 put it on the top shelf of the little bookcase. "Now," 
 she said, " give me your opinion of the Cooleys. You 
 can't keep on writing, without ink." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 259 
 
 " I haven't any opinion worth expressing," I said. 
 " You have a gift of understanding persons at sight. 
 It's for you to give me an opinion. I thinlc Miss Cooley 
 is very beautiful, and I thinlc perhaps she has a Ifind 
 heart." 
 
 "About as much heart as a wisp of straw. I've been 
 studying her. Do yon wish to Itnow the result of my 
 research?" asked my companion. 
 
 " Do as you please about telling me," I said. 
 
 " That answer shows that you want to know, and I 
 will tell you. But you might have said ' yes,' and been 
 more straightforward. I find the young woman about 
 three-fourths vanity, and one-fom-th duplicity." 
 
 "She seems to me, now," I said, "to be quite frank 
 and outspoken. I should not call her double-minded." 
 
 "The fninke^t appearing persons are often the most 
 deceitful, '^said Miss Edith. "Miss Mabel Cooley is a 
 very wily young woman. She is almost a match for 
 Clifford. They play a pretty even game ; and when one 
 gets ahead of the other, the other has the skill to catch up. 
 I understand now how they have been friends so long." 
 
 " How can you tell what persons are so quickly? 
 You never saw these ladies before. How do you do it? " 
 I said, trying to appear sufHciently interested, yet calmly 
 indifferent, — indifferent enough to mislead her as to my 
 own mind. I could not bear the thought of her finding 
 me out so easily. 
 
 " I can't tell you how I know the difference in persons. 
 How does a musician detect the difference in musical 
 sounds ? It is a gift I have. I have a genius for under- 
 standing people. I'm a natural-born character-reader." 
 
 "But character is so complex, you must be liable to 
 mistakes sometimes. There is so much hidden good in 
 persons." 
 
 " I have never found myself mistaken when I trusted 
 wholly to my intuition. That Cooley girl is as easily 
 tested as a piece of muslin. I know the quality of her 
 as well as if she had been born and bred under the same 
 roof with me. Her vanity has been fed till it has grown 
 prodigious." 
 
 " What of the mother?" I asked. "Have you ana- 
 lyzed her? She seems like a good-hearted woman." 
 
260 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " No. She isn't worth analyzing. And as for her 
 heart, — if there were many such women in the world, I 
 should agree with Bonaparte, that the heart is only one 
 of the entrails. Clifford may have full sweep in the 
 Cooley family. There are no hearts to be broken there." 
 Miss Edith got up, went to the dressing-glass, and looked 
 at herself ; while in my mind arose the question, whether 
 it had ever occurred to her to analyze her own self, to 
 search for flaws in her own character, to take to pieces 
 her own motives, and try to ascertain to what acts they 
 were influencing her, and to what end they might lead her 
 at last. I wondered if she ever considered how she must 
 seem to other persons. 
 
 " You have a very expressive face, Cordelia," she said, 
 resuming her seat beside me. " I have been studying 
 it in the mirror, and read your thoughts. You passed 
 severe judgment on me. Don't deny it now," she went 
 on, as I began to say something. " It cuts me to the quick 
 to hear i/oh lie. Y'^ou said to 3-ourself , as I looked in the 
 glass, ' She ought to see her own defects, instead of fer- 
 reting out other people's ; to correct her own faults, rather 
 than talk about Miss Cooley's.' "Wasn't that true, young 
 woman? Do you believe now that I am a mind-reader 
 of the highest order? My own faults — what are they? 
 I don't know that I have any faults. I can't see them 
 msyelf. You see them, I suppose. Now, what are they? 
 Tell me frankly." 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't ! " I said. " I have too many of my 
 own to attend to." I went and took down the inkstand, to 
 resume writing. It was hot a polite thing to do ; but her 
 own example had taught me to waive all forms with her. 
 
 " I know what you think they are," she went on. " I 
 know exactly what you think of me. You think I am 
 rude, hard, cruel, altogether unlovely" — 
 
 "Oh, no, not so bad as that! " I said, arranging my 
 paper for writing. 
 
 " How bad, then? Tell me exactly." She bent over, 
 and peered up into my face, looking for the moment like 
 an ancient sorceress. I could not resume writing with 
 her near me. 
 
 "I think 3'ou are unjust sometimes," I ventured to 
 say, " and rather cold-hearted." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 261 
 
 "Cold-hearted?" she repeated. "I am just the re- 
 verse, girl. I am a person of the strongest affections. 
 I ha\'e twice the capacity for loving that you have. The 
 more I see of you, the more I am convinced that your 
 heart hasn't been very deeply touched, as yet. It is your 
 fancy that is easily captivated. But my heart — / cold- 
 hearted ! " 
 
 "You don't appear to love anybody," I said. "It 
 seems as if you — you hated everybodj^ sometimes." I 
 vras goaded into the freedom of this speech, by the singu- 
 lar and very disagreeable look she was giving me. I could 
 not but hate the leaden duluess of her analyzing gaze. 
 What business had she with the history of my inner life? 
 
 " You are certainly no reader of character. I knew that, 
 when I first saw you. It is well there is a Providence 
 that looks after such as you, as well as children and fools. 
 I never hate anybody, young woman," said she. 
 
 "You act as if you hated Mr. Cloud," I said un- 
 guardedly. " Perhaps, though, I shouldn't call it exactly 
 hate ' ' — 
 
 "Oh, call it any name you please! It does not alter 
 the nature of a tiling, the name you call it. It doesn't 
 alter the fact, that what you call hate is something born 
 of love. Cordelia, I loved that man once! " She was on 
 the verge of a confession that I did not wish to hear. 1 
 was in no condition of mind to listen to a description of 
 Mr. Cloud's hcartlessness and duplicity. (She would 
 " speak poniards," and " every word would stab." 
 
 " Oh," I broke out suddenly, to take her attention from 
 the immediate subject, " you have such a gift at read- 
 ing character, I wish you could have seen m}' mother ! 
 I think you would have found her difficult to read. She 
 was the greatest living puzzle I ever saw." The instant 
 I mentioned my mother's name, I was sorry. But I was 
 in for it now. Miss Edith was surprised. She said, — 
 
 "Your mother! I supposed she died when you were 
 an infant. I have never heard you speak of her before." 
 
 " She was alive three years ago," I said, wishing again 
 that I had not spoken of her to Miss Edith. 
 
 " Is she dead now? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes ; she died in England more than a year ago." 
 
 " Indeed ! How did I get the impression tliat she died 
 
262 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 when you were born, I wonder? Somebody must have 
 told me. fSo many persons are making statements, the 
 truth of which they know notliing about. Who could 
 have told me? It was uot Alice certainly, and no one 
 else knows any thing about you here. It is strange 
 enough." Miss Edith sat in deep thought for several 
 minutes, her dull blue eyes fixed steadily on the opposite 
 wall. "There are some things that puzzle me in con- 
 nection with you, Cordelia," she resumed. "I must 
 have dreamed it ; but I could almost have sworn that 
 somebody told me you were found asleep on your dead 
 mother's arm, an infant of a few days. That picture has 
 come up before me, has been in my mind often, when I 
 have seen you." She stopped to think again. It was 
 something quite new to see Miss Edith stumbling at any 
 thing in her line of thought or speech. She usually made 
 such direct cuts to conclusions. And long afterwards I 
 shuddered in recalling this vision, so real to her then, so 
 incredible to me. Is there really a gift of second-sight, 
 such as the Highland seers claim ? 
 
 " Did you say," she resumed again, " that your mother 
 was a great puzzle to you? What do you mean? " 
 
 ' ' I mean that she was very — very eccentric iu many 
 things. I did uot understand her, I suppose." 
 
 " Describe some of her salient points," said Miss 
 Edith, looking at me earnestly. 
 
 " I am not good at description," I said, dipping my pen 
 in the ink ; and I abruptly began to write, hoping she 
 would go. 
 
 "Can't you tell me something about her?" she de- 
 manded: " wliether she was handsome or ugly, weak or 
 strong, gi^ntle or forceful, a society or domestic woman, 
 or fond of study. Was she intellectual? " 
 
 "~Yes," replied I reluctantly. " She was always study- 
 ing. 1 scarcely ever saw her without a book in her hand. 
 She was a very striking looking woman. I don't know 
 whether she would be called beautiful. She was certainly 
 handsome." 
 
 " Do you look like her? " she asked. 
 
 "Oh, no, entirely unlike! She had black hair, and 
 wonderfully brilliant black eyes, and her skin was like 
 marble. I resemble my father. My mother's manners 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 263 
 
 were stately, queenly. Every stranger who saw her at 
 once inquired who she was." 
 
 " Every straBgef inquires who you are, too," said Miss 
 Edith. " Mrs. Stedman was asking about you the other 
 day, in the drawing-room. She thought you a very strik- 
 ing_girl." Miss Edith looked at me steadily. 
 
 " Kilt my mother's manners were so different from 
 mine or anybody's ; they captivated, and still kept every 
 one at a distance. She never forgot herself to say im- 
 pulsive things, as I do. Her manners were perfect. It is 
 a pity I never could learn them," I said with a sigh. 
 
 " You are not old enough yet to be veneered with man- 
 ners," said Miss Edith in a high, shrill voice; "and 
 until you are veneered, you will never get on in the 
 world. You have no style, it is true. You appear some- 
 times like a child of ten ; sometimes hke a woman of 
 eighty. Your childish simplicity is touching ; your show 
 of wisdom, amusing." She bent forward, and kissed me 
 suddenly, so suddenly that I started a little, and blotted 
 my paper. I wished she would quit the room. I should 
 never like this strange woman, if I should live with her a 
 hundred years. 
 
 " Your mother must have loved you very much? " she 
 said, laying her hand on my head. I made no reply. 
 " I am sorry she is dead, because you need a mother 
 just now. But J will be a mother to you, Cordelia. I'm 
 wise enough and loving enough, if I am not quite old 
 enough and good enough. AVhat little goodness I have 
 runs in the direction of saving you from every ill in my 
 power. Dor/t be alarmed. I sha'n't interfere with your 
 individual independence at all. I shall only advise like 
 a discreet mother. There must be no concealment on 
 your part, however, — no circumlocution, no evasion, no 
 lying. You must be open as the sunlight. Look at me, 
 young woman." 
 
 Eeddening with vexation, I lifted my face for her inspec- 
 tion. " Ah," she said, " already trying to build a parti- 
 tion-wall between us? It will be of no use; for I shall 
 make a hole through it, and see every thing. Good-by. 
 Don't forget that I am henceforward your mother." 
 
 I was glad when the door closed behind her. She had 
 taken up a whole half-hour of my precious time. " A 
 
264 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 mother to me ! " thought I. " She may give me all the 
 advice she pleases : she shall never know one item of my 
 affairs." I recommenced writing. I wrote an hour be- 
 fore I discovered the many mistakes I had made. There 
 was no use in trying to work, till my mental current ran 
 clear again. That woman had unsettled me thoroughly. 
 The very air of the room was stifling. I longed to get 
 out of doors. I caught my hat and shawl, and went out 
 through the corridor to the servants' stairway, and de- 
 scended to the kitchen, and thence to the garden, a strip 
 of ground grown soft and green under the April sun and 
 showers. The earthy smell reminded me of the ploughed 
 fields at Hardcliffe. I wished I might lie down on the 
 velvety turf, as I used to do on the green edges of the 
 brook over the knoll, in the wooded hollow at home. I 
 longed to hear the voice of the wind in the trees. But I 
 ooukl not walk in the park at so late an hour. I contented 
 myself, or tried to clo so, with pacing round and round 
 the square of imposing buildings, thinking ever of home, 
 and ever asking myself if it would not have been better 
 to have disobeyed my mother, and never come to Sun- 
 bridge ; but gone to Darre as Calista wished me to, and 
 been teaching now some little sch<jol in the outskirts of 
 Hardcliffe, and never have known Mr. Wj-ndham, or Mr. 
 Cloud, or Mrs. Walters? 
 
 The next day was given me as a holidaj'. In the 
 morning Mrs. Walters came into the workroom, where I 
 had been writing since daylight, and bade me put aside 
 my work, and take a day's outing with Miss Edith. I 
 would much have preferred to stay at lioiiiU and work, 
 but accepted her kindness with seeming gratefulness ; 
 and, having dressed, went down to join Miss Edith, who 
 was waiting for ine in the little vestibule of the rear door 
 that led through the garden, and we went out into the 
 street by tliat way. She whisked me ever3'where that 
 day. I suppose it was her way of showing herself a 
 mother to me. It was a very lively way certainly, not to 
 say a reckless one. But so long as she did not talk about 
 Mr. Cloud, or the Coolej'S, or my shortcomings, I did not 
 mind. I rather enjoyed it. We had no time to talk. 
 She darted with me into unheard-of places, and out again 
 before 1 had time to look round. We rode on every line 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 265 
 
 of the horse-cars ; tumbled about in omnibuses ; rushed 
 tlirough the public gardens ; climbed monuments for 
 bird's-eye views ; visited the Navy Yard, and went aboard 
 a ship-of-war ; besides going through every dry-goods 
 shop of note in the city, and all the picture-galleries and 
 art-rooms. Where we could not ride, we walked, until 
 my feet were blistered. In all these places, my compan- 
 ion was as startlingly original in her behavior, as in her 
 talk at home. She would stop in the midst of a crowd, 
 on the principal thoroughfares, to point out to me some 
 architectural defect in a public building, and explain how 
 it might have been avoided if the builder had had half 
 an eye. As we rushed on, she would occasionally halt 
 suddenly, to administer rebuke to a street-urchin sitting on 
 the curbstone smoking the stump of a cigar he had picked 
 up from the gutter. She would rap with the handle of 
 her parasol every impertinent boy who got in her way, 
 causing sometimes sufficient commotion to attract the 
 attention of passers-by, who would stop to listen to the 
 droll colloquy that always ensued, and who would some- 
 times offer yet droller remarks themselves, which no more 
 disturbed Miss EdTfli than the passing of the vehicles in 
 the street. 
 
 We did not get home at night until after dinner. I 
 went to my room almost dead with fatigue ; but Miss 
 Editli was, apparently, as fresh as when she sallied forth 
 in the morning. She went out again direct!}', to see a 
 sick friend, and remained with her all night. The secret 
 of her unexhausted energies was, that she had been in her 
 element all day, while I had been quite out of mine. I 
 was too tired to taste the food Giuseppe brought up to 
 me. I dropped upon the sofa, without removing mj^ 
 jacket, and fell sound asleep. It was ten o'clock when 
 I woke. I heard music below stairs ; and, soon after, a 
 message was sent up for me to come down to tiie drawing- 
 room, if I would like to hear Mynheer Van Belkingham 
 perform on the piano. I was rested enough to dress mj-- 
 self and go, but I hesitated some ^time before doing so. 
 Finally I overcame my bashf ulness sufficiently to descend ; 
 and once in the hall, so many persons were moving about, 
 that I was able to slip into the drawing-room unobserved. 
 There was only a small party present ; a score of ladies, 
 
266 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 perhaps, and half that number of gentlemen. Espying 
 a vacant chair, half hid by the portiere of the conserva- 
 tory, I drew it farther into the corner, behind a large 
 easel ; and, comfortably concealed myself, was able to see 
 every thing. The long apartment was lighted with in- 
 numerable candles, and was filled with the perfume of 
 flowers. The marble figure of Silence, with its finger on 
 its lip, lost all significance in the soft murmur of sweet 
 and lively voices. The toilettes were very elegant. I 
 thought of myself as a little sparrow hidden away in a 
 forest of tropical birds. Mrs. Cooley wore a silver-gray 
 satin robe, with a necklace of magnificent diamonds. I 
 did not recognize her daughter for some time, on account 
 of the blonde wig she wore, which gave another expres- 
 sion to her face. Her tall, graceful figure was robed in 
 a pink gown with a long, undulating train, which she 
 adjusted and managed as gracefully and easily as a cat 
 takes care of her tail. Her neck and arms were^Pare, 
 frightTirlly hare ; there seemed to be no sleeves whatever 
 to her pink velvet corsage. They were very lovely arms and 
 shoulders, and it was doubtless the fashion to show them 
 in such way ; but I could not help my face turning scarlet 
 when I first looked at her. It seemed to me I would not 
 have worn such a corsage for a queen's ransom. But 
 then, my notions of propriety were unsophisticated and 
 rustic. 1 saw Mr. Cloud nowliere until Mynheer Van 
 Belkingham, a tall, long-haired, long-armed, keen eyed 
 man, sat down before the piano, and began to lash the 
 key-board from end to end. Then I perceived Clifford 
 in the midst of a group of ladies, listening as reverentially 
 as the others. 1 had no ears for the music — only eyes 
 to watch his movements. 1 wondered what he would think 
 of Miss Cooley's style of dress. I soon saw that he did 
 not mind it at all, or no more than he minded the other 
 ladies' dresses. ^~ - - ■ 
 
 When Van Belkingham concluded his brilliant fantasia, 
 and the applause was over, Mr. Cloud led Miss Cooley to 
 the piano ; and she sang a song, playing her own accom- 
 paniment. Her singing stirred my inmost soul. I had not 
 imagined her possessed of such a divine gift of voice. I 
 might scorn her lack of knowledge in practical things, her 
 frivolous talk, her ultra fashionableness ; but I could not 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 267 
 
 scorn her singing. For when she sang she seemed to be 
 another person, quite apart from her frivolous self, and 
 possessed of a passionate longing for excellence, with a 
 sweet humility and grace that took no pride in present 
 attainment. I saw thfs in her face, her manner. I 
 heard it in her voice. I wished Miss Edith we^e present 
 to see and hear her nowT^Hd feel rebuked for not reserv- 
 ing her judgment. I felt humbled myself as I listened, for 
 I too had thought her insincere and shallow. Now I saw 
 that she had a noble ambition, a divine quality of soul, 
 that carried her far above such ordinary beings as myself. 
 Darts of jealousy and envy pierced me, the while I felt 
 and acknowledged to myself her superiority. Oh, if I 
 could but soar away on the wings of song as she did, and 
 sometimes rest above every thing earthy and base ! I had 
 no gifts : and j'et how proud I was — proud over nothing ; 
 and dissatisfied with Mr. Cloud's attentions unless accom- 
 panied with the deference due to a queen. Dear me, it 
 seemed as if I should never think highly of myself again ! 
 Miss Cooley was encored repeatedly ; and each time 
 she gracefully complied, I was more and more impressed 
 with her sweet simplicity and forgetfulness of self. Her 
 voice was a pure, sweet, strong soprano, and showed a 
 long course of vigorous and thorough training. It is a 
 base nature that cannot forgive excellences. It was mean 
 in me to be envious and jealous of her attainment ; and I 
 tried to divest mjself of every feeling but pure admira- 
 tion. " She knows of 
 
 ' Things more true and deep ' 
 
 than I ever dreamed of," thought I, "or she could never 
 send forth such 'a rain of melody.' How proud Mr. 
 Cloud must be of her in the midst of his assembled 
 friends ! " I looked at his face when he turned it in my 
 direction, and was surprised to see no change from its 
 ordinary expression. He was looking as handsome as 
 Saint Just to-night, and making every other man look 
 homely beside him. I hoped he would not discover me. 
 I was in that kind of humble mood just then, that makes 
 one desire to remain unnoticed. 
 
 But he did discover me, as he was passing with a gentle- 
 man into the conservatory, and a few minutes afterwards 
 
268 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 came and sat down in the vacant chair beside me. Van 
 Belkingham was at the piano, deeply absorbed in another 
 improvisation ; coaxing the quivering strings of the instru- 
 ment into giving forth the grandest tones of harmony. 
 Mr. Cloud did not speak till the crash of the magnificent 
 finale had died away. Then he said, — 
 
 " That was a wonderful performance, — wonderful." 
 
 "I suppose so," I said, "but I know nothing about 
 it." I was not going to appear to understand, when I 
 didn't. 
 
 " I am surprised," said he, " at your lack of apprecia- 
 tion. All the other ladies, you see, are going into ecsta- 
 sies over it." " 
 
 " I suppose they have cultivated ears," said I, " and a 
 knowledge of music, to fit them to appreciate it." 
 
 " A few may, perhaps," he returned ; " the rest are as 
 deficient in musical knowledge as you. But they like to 
 listen, and applaud. It is the fashion, you see. Why 
 don't you follow it? " 
 
 "Because I had rather not cover up my ignorance in 
 that way. It doesn't seem honest to me," I, returned. 
 
 Mr. Cloud laughed. " That sounds like Miss Edith," 
 said he. "It is what we all do, — cover up our ignorance. 
 It is easier to pretend to know, than to say we don't 
 know, and have some bore prime himself to enlighten us. 
 Ignorance is a safe foundation to stand on, if j-ou keep 
 quiet, and avoid all questioning. It's the questions that 
 floor us. But you must feel such music, if you don't 
 understand it : a person of your temperament can't help 
 it." 
 
 " I didn't feel it at all," I said. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mr. Cloud, with a little affected clasp 
 of his hands, that I knew was in mimicry of the elderly 
 lady just then talking with the great musician. " 7' feel 
 it to my inmost soul. Really, Miss Rivers, I know noth- 
 ing about music," he added, turning to look at me, and 
 placing his handsome hand lightly on the back of my 
 chair ; " yet I detected under all that rush of ' harmonious 
 madness ' a thread of melody, suggestive of what you 
 must be familiar with, — the murmuring of summer brooks, 
 the rustling of leaves, the whisperings of lonely forests, 
 the sighings of the autumn wind through deserted valleys. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 269 
 
 Do you never think of such things when you hear fine 
 music ? never think of the long crimson twilights of your 
 early home, and all that? " 
 
 " I don't remember that I ever did," I said. 
 
 "You are not a sentimental young woman, I plainly 
 perceive," said Mr. Cloud, smiling again. 
 
 At that moment Van Belkingham began another musical 
 rhapsody, and Mr. Cloud ceased talking, to listen. "As 
 soon as it is over," thought I, " I will slip away unnoticed, 
 and go up to my room to bed." But, as soon as the music 
 stopped, Mr. Cloud began to talk again, and gave me no 
 chance to quit the room unobserved. 
 
 " Now, can you say with truth," he began, " that you 
 were not moved by the wild music of that nocturne, Miss 
 Rivers? Did it not touch you, not speak to you in some 
 way?" 
 
 " I liked it a good deal better than the first piece he 
 played," I said, " because it was not so noisy." 
 
 "O Miss Rivers, you are 'only fit for treasons, strat- 
 agems, and spoils !"^ Shall I tell you what I heard in 
 the music? I heard the sweetest voices speaking to me 
 from infinite distances, yet so near as to be in here, — in 
 my heart, my soul." He tapped his waistcoat. " They 
 must have been spirit-voices reading from the ' Book of 
 Wisdom.' Such a thiug is possible, I'm told. They 
 seemed to say, ' Let us crown ourselves with rose-buds be- 
 fore they be withered. ' Sensible advice, I call it. What 
 do you think of the ladies present, Miss Rivers?" I 
 glanced at him. He had put this question without the 
 slightest pause. Could it be that he had taken too much 
 wine? 
 
 " I think they are beautifully dressed," I said. 
 
 "Dressed?" he echoed softly. "I don't mean as to 
 their clothes. I care nothing for a woman's clothes. If 
 I were compelled to decide who is the best-dressed lady 
 present, I should say it is you. I mean what do you 
 think of them as women? I suppose they all seem to 
 you like goddesses, don't they? " 
 
 " No, indeed," I answered. " I'm sure I don't know 
 what goddesses are." 
 
 "I know," said Mr. Cloud, "for I have seen one. 
 None of these women are like her in the least. Please 
 
270 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 look at the lady talking with the bald-headed Darwinian 
 by the piano, — the lady in the old-gold satin gown, with 
 her hair powdered, who seems to be speaking so sincerely 
 and earnestly. "Well, she is a heartless coqnette. The 
 fifty-thousand-dollar diamond necklace glittering on her 
 bosom, she preferred to me. She had her choice between 
 us ; and she took the necklace, with an old contemporary 
 of m3' father thrown in, as a husband, to boot. The 
 diamonds and the old man kicked the beam, and broke my 
 heart, — not so badly but I have it mended again, though." 
 
 " He certainly must have been drinking too much 
 wine," thought I again. The company were moving into 
 the supper-room. Mr. Cloud offered his arm, which I 
 declined lest it might bring me into too marked notice. 
 I was afraid, too, of displeasing Mrs. Walters. To please 
 her was the strongest wish of my heart now. 
 
 The next day was Friday, and after lunch the Cooleys 
 departed ; and Mrs. Akers and her little girls arrived. 
 Other guests also came later in the day. 
 
 At five o'clock Mrs. Walters came into the workroom, 
 and I read to her for half an hour. Then she bade me 
 put away my writing and dress for dinner. " Put on your 
 prettiest gown, Cordelia," she said lightly. "Put on 
 your blue one ; and, when you are dressed, come down to 
 tlie library." She seemed in bright spirits; every trace 
 of anxiety was gone from her face. 
 
 I would have much preferred to be bidden to undress 
 and go to bed. Perhaps it was the over-fatigue of yes- 
 terday's outing, that made me so nervously depressed. 
 A strange uneasiness pervaded me. Everj' thing I had 
 tried to do since morning seemed to have gone wrong. 
 The sleeves of my blue cashmere were too short ; I could 
 not easily keep the bracelet on my arm out of sight. The 
 ribbon with which I sometimes concealed it, I could not 
 adjust satisfactorily to-night. I tore it off again and 
 again, and finally flung it aside altogether, and crowded 
 the bracelet back up my arm, and fastened it with a thread 
 to the lining of my sleeve. I wanted to secure it from 
 danger of slipping into sight ; but it was so troublesome, 
 I half made up my mind to go to a goldsmith next day, 
 and have it cut off. My arm ached, and I went down- 
 stairs in a singular mood. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 271 
 
 When I reached the lower landing, I caught a glimpse 
 of two gentlemen entering the library. Something in the 
 movement of one of them seemed familiar ; still, it did not 
 occur to me that it was anybody I had ever known. I 
 was thinking of Mr. Cloud. I had not seen him through 
 the day. Perhaps he had gone away with the Cooleys. 
 I should soon know if he had. 
 
 As I entered the library door, Mrs. Walters came for- 
 ward with one of her guests, the gentleman whose back 
 I had caught sight of a moment ago in the hall. 
 
 " This is a dear friend of ours, Dr. Wyndham, Cor- 
 delia ; Miss Rivers, Dr. Wyndham," said she pleasantly, 
 and with a few added words left us facing each other. 
 Mr. Wyndham's presence of mind served him well. He 
 gave a slightly perceptible start, as one might in suddenly 
 coming upon a snake in his path, tlien bowed low, turned 
 deliberately away, and began to talk to a. Miss D wight, — 
 a cousin of Mrs. Akers, who had come to dinner once 
 before, during Mrs. Akers's former visit. 
 
 As for myself, I neither bowed nor uttered a word. I 
 was too completely dazed. I could not even think for a 
 few moments. Then I felt my knees giving way, and 
 feared I was going to faint. Except when I was sick 
 at Sunbridge,~I had never fainted in my life. I did hope 
 I was not going to do so now, and make a scene to 
 attract the attention of these strangers. Of all things 
 to be dreaded, was the publicity of such a thing ! There 
 was a sofa behind me ; and I sat down, struggling as 
 bravelj' as I could with the sickening sensation that shook 
 me from head to foot. When I recovered a little, and 
 looked up, I saw Mr. Cloud standing not far off gazing 
 at me. Perhaps he had been cognizant of my move- 
 ments ! The thought sent the blood to my face again, 
 and helped me to come to myself rapidlJ^ Nobody else, 
 I was sure, had observed me. I rose, and passed with the 
 others into the dining-room. Wlien no one was looking, 
 I pressed my hand hard against my heart, to stop its 
 furious beating. Cruel fate led Mrs. Walters to place me 
 next Mr. Wyndham at table. On the other side of him 
 was Miss Dwiglit, — a rather pretty girl, almost as dark as 
 Wyndham himself, — and he kept his head turned from 
 me in conversation with her. I saw he did not intend to 
 
272 TIVO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 look or speak to me. Once lie looked my way to answer 
 a lady's qnestion, and I saw his face: it was worn and 
 tUin, and there were premature lines across his forehead. 
 I was putting a glass of water I had just lifted to my 
 lips — for I could swallow no food, just then, without the 
 aid of drink — down upon the table at the moment, when, 
 as if Fate had not yet done her worst for me, the brace- 
 let broke from its fastening, and, like a living thing that 
 knew its owner was near, slipped to my wrist directly 
 under his eyes. I saw him glance at it, and compress his 
 lips. The next instant I had thrust my arm under cover 
 of the table, and pressed the thing up my arm into the 
 flesh, till it pained me. Nobody but Wyndham had noted 
 the incident. I was glad of that. 
 
 Before dinner ended, I began to come to a realizing 
 sense of my position, and to speculate as to what should 
 be my future course now Wyndham had returned. The 
 talk and laughter goinwon around me for once escaped 
 my ear, I was so absorKecTin thought. In the first place, 
 I must have the key of the bracelet. But, if he were 
 not going to speak to me, how should I manage to get 
 it? Wj-ndham, doubtless, had the same wish I had, that 
 no one should learn the fact of our former acquaintance. 
 Alas ! I had no courage, or ingenuity, or tact, or strength 
 of will, to address him as I might a stranger, and, under 
 the cover of a few polite words, ask him for the key. 
 My one look at his face had sent a pang of remorse 
 througli me, and made me as weak as a lost child. Was 
 it possible he had cared so much for me, — me, an obscure, 
 untaught, inferior-minded girl, who had nothing but her 
 face to commend her? I could not understand it. But 
 I understood he would never forgive me for doing what I 
 considered to be right. P'or I had done right. Oh, why 
 could I not take more comfort in that thought? No, he 
 never would forgive me, let me humble myself in the dust 
 at his feet as much as I might. He hated me now. I 
 could see that plainly. I could not speak to him. I would 
 write my request, and give it to Giuseppe to hand to 
 him. Giuseppe would think nothing of doing it. And, if 
 he did, he was judicious : he would ask no questions, and 
 tell no tales. 
 
 Accordingly, when dinner was over, I went directly to 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 273 
 
 my room, and wrote in pencil, on a slip of paper, simply 
 these words : " If you have with you the key of the brace- 
 let, please intrust it to Giuseppe ; I will return both to 
 any place you may assign." 
 
 I enclosed it in a blank envelope, and went down-stairs 
 at once, lest Dr. Wyndham might depart, and I should 
 lose the opportunity of ridding myself of the humiliating 
 reminder of my folly. 
 
 Fortunately, Giuseppe was standing in the hall by the 
 staircase, with no one by. I beckoned him nearer. 
 
 " Please hand this to Dr. Wyndham," I whispered, 
 giving him the note, " the first opportunity you have 
 when he is not engaged. You know him, do j'ou not? 
 The straight, dark man, with close-cut hair and black 
 mustache. Don't interrupt him if he is talking, but give 
 it as quickly as you can. You understand? " 
 
 " Yes, mees," said the Italian, hurrying away. 
 
 I lingered in the hall several minutes, then I went 
 through the dining-room to the conservatory. Mrs. Wal- 
 ters was just returning thence with Miss Dwight, who 
 passed on as Mrs. Walters stopped to speak to me. 
 
 "I was wondering where you had gone," said the 
 latter. " I just came down from your room. I want you 
 to know Dr. Wyndham. He is a very pleasant young man. 
 You have heard us speak of him. He is a distant relative 
 of ours, just home from Vienna. He is one of the finest 
 young men in the city, and is already becoming distin- 
 guished among the j'ounger surgeons, by his marked 
 abilitj' and promise. Come with me into the drawing- 
 room." 
 
 " I wonder what will become of me now," thought I, 
 as she drew my arm within hers, — for I had no wit to 
 make an excuse. "Mr. W3'ndham will be compelled 
 to speak to me, and what shall I say ? ' ' 
 
 There were but few persons in the drawing-room. 
 Most of the other visitors were in the library, where an 
 animated discussion was going on over the exciting politi- 
 cal topic of the day. 
 
 Mr. Cloud and Mr. Wyndham, however, were in the 
 room we entered ; the former sitting midway the apart- 
 ment, with Mrs. Akers's little girls playing about his 
 chaii', and Mrs. Akers not far off looking over a portfolio 
 
274 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of engravings. Wyndham was standing at the extreme 
 end oftlie room, talking witli Miss Dwight and her brother, 
 a tall, overgrown bo}', whose face, in spite of its intelli- 
 gent look, reminded me of the half-witted John Blake, 
 our chore boy at Hardcliffe. 
 
 Mrs. Walters was making her way with me directly to 
 the latter group, and I was trembling with apprehension 
 lest she should discover in something my former relations 
 with Wyndham ; when greatly to my relief Giuseppe met 
 us, and presented to his mistress the card of a visitor 
 just arrived, — some distinguished philanthropist whom she 
 had long wished to see. Without a thought of my posi- 
 tion in the middle of the drawing-room, among strangers, 
 she hurried away, and left me standing dheetly opposite 
 Mr. Cloud. 
 
 Fortunately there was a small table, with two or three 
 illustrated books lying open upon it, near me. I availed 
 myself of the chair close by, and began to look at the 
 pictures, as a cover to the embarrassment I felt, and which 
 I feared was being noticed by Mr. Cloud. I could hear 
 Mr. Wyndham's voice, and I strained my ear to catch 
 the words he was saying ; feeling the strong personality 
 of his presence just as I used to at Sunbridge. I was so 
 intent with thinking of Mr. Wyndham, that I soon forgot 
 Blr. Cloud's proximit}', until one of the little girls upset 
 a bronze figure, causing some commotion, during which 
 Mrs. Akers declared the children must be sent to bed, 
 and attracted my attention. The nurse was sent for to 
 convey the children from the room ; and then a lively 
 scene ensued, in the midst of which I saw Mr. Wynd- 
 ham disappearing into the hall. I wondered if Giuseppe 
 had given him my note ; and, if so, whether he would hand 
 me the key of the bracelet himself, or leave it with the 
 servant. While the children were vociferating shrilly, 
 and Mr. Cloud and Mrs. Akers were trying to still their 
 cries, I sat, with a book upside down before mj^ face, 
 watching with great inward excitement for Mr. Wynd- 
 ham's re-appearance in the drawing-room. I waited a 
 long time, until I was quite sure he must have quitted the 
 house. I rose from my chair to go to my room, thinking 
 that Giuseppe would bring to me there whatever was 
 intrusted to him ; but the next moment I saw Wyndham 
 
TWO GKNTLEMEN OF BOSTON^. 275 
 
 re-entering. He came directly to where I was standing. 
 As he approached, 1 felt my face growing pale, my knees 
 giving way ; and when he bowed, and loolced straight into 
 my eyes, I lost my presence of mind entirely. As he 
 bowed, he extended his hand, and I saw a slip' of paper 
 between his fingers. I held out my hand involuntarily ; 
 and he dropped the note into it, which I quickly put in 
 my pocket. I was too much excited to assume the dignity 
 due the occasion, or to have a care whether or not Mr. 
 Cloud was looking at us. Wyndham did not turn away 
 at once. He paused and took up a book, and examined 
 it, as if he had come to the little table for that purpose. 
 He did not glance at me again. I hoped he would go 
 away without speaking. I stood tremblingly before him, 
 unable to speak myself. 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Cloud quitted his chair, and, com- 
 ing slowly forward, joined us. My first thought was 
 that he wished to speak to Dr. Wyndham ; and perhaps 
 they would go out together, and give me the chance to 
 return to my room. He did indeed wish to speak to my 
 companion, but not in the way I had imagined. There 
 was a look in his face which I had never seen before. 
 Yes, I had had an instantaneous glimpse of that look 
 once, — on the stairway, in the gaslight. I had forgotten 
 it ; but my mind ran back to the time instantly now. His 
 faced changed, however, quickly to its usual expression ; 
 and he said coollj-, — 
 
 "I would like to speak with you in the billiard-room 
 above, Wyndham." 
 
 Mr. Wyndham did not look up. Mr. Cloud repeated 
 the request ; and, even then, he would not look up from 
 the book he was examining. I wondered at his dis- 
 courtesy. Mr. Cloud, unmoved by it, kept his place. 
 
 " Perhaps," he said, " you are not aware that it is my 
 privilege to protect this lady from insult." Mr. Wynd- 
 ham lifted his face then, and confronted the speaker 
 scornfully. A dull yellow flame seemed to burn in his 
 black eyes, showing the strength of the intense anger he 
 was trying to hold in check. As for myself, I was stupe- 
 fied with astonishment. Each was looking steadily at the 
 other, and in a way that makes me shudder to recall. Mr. 
 Cloud repeated his words slowly and emphatically. 
 
2Y6 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " God pity her, if she has no other protector than you," 
 retorted Wyndham, iu a very low voice. 
 
 "What has the man been saying to you, Cordelia?" 
 inquired Mr. Cloud, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " He lias said nothing to me," 1 answered, bewildered. 
 
 " What has he done, then?" he continued, looking at 
 my pale face, and noting my agitated manner. " Some- 
 thing has happened to greatly disturb 3'ou." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," I whispered. I put out a beseech- 
 ing hand between them, as if that could keep them apart. 
 They seemed like two electric clouds ready to crash to- 
 gether the next instant. 
 
 "Again I ask, will you go up to the billiard-room with 
 me, sir?" demanded Mr. Cloud contemptuously. 
 
 "No," said Wyndham coolly, his anger now in check 
 somewhat. " I'll not go anywhere in your company. I 
 have nothing to say to you. I wish to speak with Miss 
 Elvers." 
 
 " What you have to say to Miss Rivers must be said in 
 my hearing," said Mr. Cloud, resting his shapely hand on 
 the back of the carved, tall chair where I had been sitting. 
 " What have you to say? " 
 
 " It is not your business," said Mr. Wyndham. 
 
 "It is my business," said Mr. Cloud determinedly. 
 " You have insulted the lady in my presence " — 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" I found voice to say hurriedly. 
 " You are greatly mistaken, Mr. Cloud. Mr. Wyndham 
 has done nothing of the kind ; he could not do such a 
 thing. I beseech you both to forbear. I beg of you, of 
 each of you, to go away." They would not mind my 
 words. 
 
 "You know what I mean, sir," began Mr. Cloud 
 again, in a low tone. Both had spoken so low that no 
 one two feet away could have understood a word they 
 were saying. 
 
 " I don't care what you mean," interrupted Mr. Wynd- 
 ham, "so long as I know what your are. And I only 
 abstain from saying what you are, for your sister's sake." 
 He laid down the book he was holding, and took up 
 another. He was almost as cool as Mr. Cloud himself. 
 
 " You are no gentleman," said the latter, " or you would 
 not carry on a quaiTci in the presence of a lady. If you 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 277 
 
 choose to take advantage of viy being one, you can do 
 so, I suppose. Unfortunately there is no statute against 
 boors." 
 
 " You a gentleman!" retorted Wyndham in scornful 
 voice. " God save the mark, if you are one ! " 
 
 " It is what you never were, and never will be," said 
 Mr. Cloud with his old imperturbable smile. 
 
 " Not of your style. I prefer to be an honest man," 
 said Wj'udham with the utmost indifference. 
 
 "I shall call you to account for what you say here, 
 sir," said Mr. Cloud angrily. 
 
 "I don't care what you may do, or what you may 
 think," returned Wyndham. "You can pursue any course 
 that pleases j'ou, provided you don't cross my path. I 
 have nothing to explain to you here or elsewhere. I said 
 all I had to say in the letter I sent you ten months ago. 
 You are at liberty to show that letter to any one. There 
 is nothing obscure in it. It is in plain English, and you 
 understand it perfectly. I now wish to speak to Miss 
 Rivers." 
 
 "You will speak to her in my presence," said Mr. 
 Cloud. " Miss Rivers is a stranger to you, and it is fitting 
 and proper that she have some one by to hear what you 
 have to say." 
 
 " Is this man, Clifford Cloud, any thing to you, Corde- 
 lia?" inquired Mr. Wyndham, suddenly turning, and fix- 
 ing his full gaze on my face. There was no anger in his 
 look. His worn face had almost an appealing, pathetic 
 expression. I was touched by it. "I mean any thing 
 more than an ordinary acquaintance?" he went on, quite 
 oblivious of Mr. Cloud, who was really surprised, and 
 stepped back a pace or two, at hearing my name pro- 
 nounced so familiarly. " He assumes to be your 
 protector. Have you given him special right to be such ? 
 Answer me, yes or no." 
 
 " No," I said. " I have not." 
 
 "/ have a question to ask also," said Mr. Cloud, 
 stepping forward. 
 
 "Please, Clifford, won't you look at this cherub's 
 head?" broke ia Mrs. Akers's high soprano at this 
 point. She came towards us, holding up an engraving. 
 " Isn't it a perfect picture of Constance, Mr. Cloud ? 
 
278 Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The eyes and hair and lips, — the very shape of the nose, 
 — are all perfect. I should think it was taken for the 
 child." 
 
 ]Mr. Cloud examined the picture as placidly and coolly 
 as if be had just been discussing some theory of the 
 planets. It was a timely interruption, for which I could 
 have thanked the lady. She took him away with her to 
 look at another engraving she had selected from the col- 
 lection, and Mr. Wyndham and I were left alone a few 
 moments. 
 
 He said no more to me, however, although he looked at 
 me once as if he were going to speak ; but finally bowed, 
 turned abruptly, and walked straight out of the room, 
 and soon after left the house. 
 
 The strength that had sustained me during the scene I 
 have described deserted me the moment 1 was left alone, 
 and I dropped into the chair again to recover myself. I 
 had one thing to be thankful for, — Mrs. Walters had not 
 heard the conversation. She came into the hall as I was 
 passing up-stairs to my room, and paused to inquire how 
 I liked Dr. Wyndham. " Mrs. Akers said you were talk- 
 ing with him. You found him agreeable, did you not?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Yes, very," I replied. 
 
 "I thought you would," she continued. "He is a 
 refined fellow, and thoroughly informed. I consider him 
 quite delightful in conversation, he has such a richly 
 stored mind and retentive memory. Please take these 
 papers to the workroom as you go up. I have had a long 
 talk with President Garver, who is to make the address at 
 the national conference of charities next week. He and I 
 are in hearty sympathy as to the classification of crimi- 
 nals. We will finish the article on ' Penalties ' in the 
 morning, Cordelia, and then we will go over ' The Neces- 
 sity of Daily Occupation for the Insane,' and ' Criminal 
 Codes for Incorrigibles.' Be up at seven, please, and I 
 will join you directly after. Good-night." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 279 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 "lam God in nature ; lama weed by the wall." 
 
 — Emekson. 
 
 I ACTUALLY felt disappointed when I opened the bit 
 of paper Dr. Wyndham had handed me, and found no 
 written word ; only the tiny key of the bracelet. I ex- 
 pected he would mention some place to send the article. 
 I expected too, perhaps, a few friendly words. I hardly 
 knew, indeed, what I did expect. But I was very glad 
 to be able to free myself of an incumbrance that had tor- 
 mented me for seven long months. I took off the bracelet, 
 and laid it all by itself in one of the little compartments 
 of my dressing-case. I felt relieved, and I felt sorry, — 
 more than sorry. I felt something as a mother feels, 
 who lajs a wretchedly deformed child in the grave. The 
 ugly thing had been my constant companion, and I had 
 often imagined it endowed with sensibility. I had im- 
 agined I felt its pressure on my arm when the giver's 
 name had been spoken ; and sometimes it had seemed to 
 me it knew my inmost thoughts, and counted the varying 
 pulsations of my heart. 
 
 The different states of emotion through which I had 
 passed left me nervous and wakeful. I thought over the 
 singular events which had happened iu ray life of late, 
 and the strange positions in which I had suddenly found 
 myself placed on several occasions. There had never 
 been a time since my remembrance, that I did not have 
 some mystery to ponder over. How queerly things had 
 come round ! Every week I was making some new dis- 
 covery. Here was Wyndham, back from Europe before 
 I knew it. He had cared for me only a little while ago ; 
 now he hated and despised me. Here was Clifford Cloud, 
 whom I had thought so nice, caring nothing for me, if 
 what his sister and Miss Edith had told me was true, 
 although he pretended to be interested in all my move- 
 
280 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ments. And each the sworn enemy of the other ! What 
 could be the cause of their bitter antagonism, 1 wondered? 
 I tossed and tumbled, and tried to go to sleep and forget 
 it all. It was no use. I missed tlie bracelet from my 
 arm. Yes, strange and inconsistent being that I was, I 
 felt lost without it. I missed its comradeship ; I could not 
 go to sleep lacking it. I got up at last, and took it from 
 its hiding-place, and clasped it once more about my arm. 
 I felt ashamed of myself for doing it. I thought of the 
 homeless released prisoners of whom I had read, stealing 
 back to their old quarters again. I was like them. They 
 had hated their prison, no doubt; but, while hating it, it 
 had become home to them. We are strange creatures of 
 habit. The renewed clasp of the old shackle, the touch of it 
 against mj' flesh, brought me quietude, and at last slumber. 
 
 The next morning 1 hid the thing away in the bottom 
 of my trunk, resolving not to look at it again till I could 
 return it to the giver. But when night came, and I found 
 myself in the midst of fresh excitement, I still missed 
 the bracelet, and was forced to put it on, although I hated 
 the slavish habit I had not the strength to overcome. 
 
 The morning following my unexpected meeting with 
 Henry Wyndham, I rose at dawn, and began some new 
 copying that kept me busy till noon. After lunch Mrs. 
 Walters insisted on my attending a matinie performance 
 at the Globe Theatre, where Riviera was playing in The 
 Winter's Tale. She had arranged that John should drive 
 me to Miss Dvvight's house, with a note of invitation for 
 that lady to accompany me, and that afterwards we should 
 call for Miss Edith, who was still staying with her sick 
 friend, to chaperone us. 
 
 I was delighted with the arrangememt, and was just 
 going from tlie workroom to my bedroom to get ready, 
 when Mr. Cloud came down from the billiard and smok- 
 ing room, where he had been passing the morning in com- 
 pany of an old sea-captain, with whom he had taken several 
 voyages, and said he wished to speak to me. He held a 
 newspaper in his hand. 
 
 " Cordelia has no time to spare just now, Clifford," in- 
 terposed Mrs. Walters, looking at her watch. "She is 
 going out at my request, and ought to have been on her 
 way half an hour ago." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 281 
 
 " But, my dear sister, I won't detain her five minutes," 
 said the gentleman. " It is a matter of some impor- 
 tance." 
 
 I looked for permission from Mrs. Walters to remain ; 
 but she shook her head, and motioned me towards my 
 room. '^ You will have to wait, Clifford. She really has 
 not one minute to give to j'ou now." 
 
 " Very well, then, I will wait," said Mr. Cloud, with a 
 gesture so dignified and so graceful, that I felt a fresh 
 thrill of admiration as I looked at him. " I will ask you 
 to see me after dinner, at eight o'clock, in this room, if 
 you please. Miss Rivers. — Let your affection for your 
 young friend, Alice," added he, turning to his sister, " for 
 once inspire you with a little trust in me." I left the 
 brother and sister looking at each other, and went up- 
 stairs. I could easily imagine that Mr. Cloud wished to 
 speak to me of last night's affair with Wjmdham. Possi- 
 bly he desired to make some apology for intruding himself 
 upon us as he had done. It was more likely, however, 
 that he expected me to explain my position with a gentle- 
 man who had been familiar enough to address me by my 
 Christian name. Of course, he suspected a previous ac- 
 quaintance with Mr. Wyndham, and perhaps it was about 
 that he wished to make some inquiries. A^hatever it was, 
 it made the visit to the theatre of secondary importance 
 now. 
 
 We found Miss Dwight at home, and in readiness for 
 the afternoon's pleasure. Miss Edith was out on some 
 errand for her sick friend. We had to wait so long for 
 her return, that, as we took our chairs in the parquet 
 near the orchestra, the closing scene of the third act was 
 upon the stage. 
 
 It quite disappointed Miss Dwight that we should lose 
 the first portion of the play. We were not now, it seemed, 
 to have the pleasure of seeing Riviera until the statue 
 scene in the concluding act. Miss Dwight criticised the 
 other performers rather severely, pronouncing them in- 
 adequate support for Riviera ; who, she said, was not a 
 strong actress herself, if what the dramatic critics said 
 about her was correct. She inquired of Miss Edith what 
 she thought about the performance ; but Miss Edith was 
 in one of her noncommittal moods, and vouchsafed no 
 
282 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 opinion. For my part, I did not know whiether the acting 
 was good or poor, and quite disgusted Miss Dwight with 
 my ignorance. I was more interested by the actors in the 
 audience just before me, than with those on the stage. To 
 say truth, none of us was strictly attentive to the play till 
 the last scene, when everybody became expectant. All 
 eyes were turned to witness the unveiling of the statue. 
 The house grew painfully silent. My mind waked up 
 sympathetically ; I expected to behold something grander 
 than I had ever witnessed in my life. Pauline advanced. 
 I can see her now, — a large, tall, powerfully framed 
 woman, with a clear, sonorous voice like a man's. I re- 
 member distinctly a portion of her words. 
 
 " As she lived peerless, 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels whatever else you looked upon, 
 Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare 
 To see the life as lively mocked, as ever 
 Still sleep mocked death. Behold, and say 'tis well." 
 
 She drew aside the curtain. Leontes the king, and 
 Perdita the daughter, approached and gazed upon the re- 
 vealed likeness. The assembled actors drew near, and 
 grouped themselves behind and about these personages, 
 in various attitudes of surprise. A hush ran over the 
 crowded auditorium, like the dying away of a summer 
 wind ; quickly succeeded, however, by burst after burst 
 of tumultuous applause. It was no wonder that the audi- 
 ence grew enthusiastic over the exhibition of such com- 
 manding power. The statue was perfect. No more sign 
 of life could be detected under the folds of drapery, than 
 as if the form itself had been cut from stone. And the 
 immovable head, with its Greek contour, — save for the 
 blackness of the eyes, and the ebon crown of hair above 
 them, — might also have been chiselled from white mar- 
 ble. "What an intensely quiet posture!" "What 
 wonderfully grand repose ! " " What a stately figure ! " 
 " How does she command herself so? " " What a pity 
 she can't act as well in any other part! " " They say 
 she really hasn't any blood in her now ; do you believe 
 that?" "Look at her! She hasn't moved a muscle 
 yet," — were the comments on every side of us. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 283 
 
 I gazed upon the figure steadily, closely. I was not 
 far from the stage. I was oblivious to the other actors. 
 My entire vision concentrated itself on the face of the 
 image, till I began to feel as cold as the marble it repre- 
 sented. I saw in the features of the face something 
 familiar; something that made me breathe rapidly, and 
 my limbs shake. What could it be? I saw next mo- 
 ment. Yes, the figure reminded me of mother. The 
 countenance was like hers, the pose, — that strange, that 
 indescribable something, that makes each person distinct 
 and separate from every other person in the world, was 
 hers. Does each soul move with its atmosphere as the 
 globe does? Pauline bade the music awake, and the 
 statue was at once infused with life. It turned slowly, 
 paused a moment majestically, and then, with measured 
 steps, descended and approached the king. Great Heaven ! 
 was I dreaming, or did I see my mother moving bodily 
 before my eyes? I pinched each gloved hand, each arm, 
 to see if I were really awake. Yes, I was in my right 
 senses. I was wide awake. It was she. It ivas my 
 mother ! I saw her as clearly now, as when she parted 
 from me without faiewell that summer morning, at the 
 south doorway of the old house at Hardcliffe. She spoke : 
 the familiar tones removed the last shadow of doubt. 
 My mother was not dead, then : she was alive ; she had 
 come back ; she was an actress. My mother was an 
 actress ! The mystery of her strange beha\ior in tlie old 
 house at Hardcliffe was all explained now. Her continuous 
 and absorbing study ; her strange communings with her- 
 self ; her isolated habits, which had kept the Hardcliffe 
 gossips so busy ; her daily forest rambles ; her midnight 
 masqueradings, all of wliicli had so puzzled and perplexed 
 and worried me, — were all resolved in the flash of an 
 instant, in the twinkling of an eye. As I looked at my 
 mother, and listened to her voice, all that had happened 
 to me in the interim of her absence seemed the vagary of 
 a dream. The old sensation that used to beset me in her 
 presence came back upon me in full force. 1 felt pre- 
 cisely as when, a child, I used to tremble when she spoke 
 to me. The words she addressed the elderly painted 
 woman who represented her daughter, the beautiful Per- 
 dita kneeling at her feet, struck through me with a sort 
 
284 T)VO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of terror. I shuddered from head to foot, when, in her 
 deep contralto voice, she said slowly, — 
 
 " You gotls, look down, 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's bead. Tell me, mine own, 
 Where hast thou been preserved ? — where lived ? how found? 
 Thy father's court ? For thou shalt bear that I — 
 Knowiug by Paulina that the oracle 
 Gave hope thou wast in being — have preserved 
 Myself to see the issue." 
 
 The mockery of her words, with her own long-deserted 
 daughter sitting so near to hear them, did not strike me 
 till some time afterwards. I listened like one in a dream, 
 an ugly dream, who is just sufficiently awake to struggle 
 to escape from its disagreeableness by waking wholly and 
 driving tiie imjH'ession away. 
 
 The vague, prevailing thought that succeeded the first 
 shock of surprise was, that my mother would seek me out 
 now, and make me live with her again, on the same old 
 footing of a servant as at Hardcliffe ; and that I must 
 hasten to hide myself where I could not be found. My 
 recollections as to wiiat followed this discovery are very 
 confused. I think I must have appeared like one who is 
 intoxicated, and wishes to conceal the fact, and has just 
 sense enough left to carry himself very carefully, and 
 keep very still. The desire uppermost in m}- mind was 
 to keep the knowledge of her return from Mrs. Walters. 
 I planned also to keep myself secluded till my mother 
 should leave the city ; and, if she should make earnest 
 search for mc, I would escape her by slipping away to 
 the sea-coast town where my uncle Beals had a sister 
 living. I could hide securely there. The only drawback 
 would be my separation from Mrs. Walters ; and to con- 
 template even a transient absence from her side, made 
 me feel like a lost being. 
 
 Looking back now upon this period, 1 keenlj' feel the 
 duplicity and ingratitude I practised towards this dear 
 friend, in thus deceiving her ; but I was young, timid, 
 and not only very fond of Mrs. Walters, but very much 
 in awe of her. I realU' could not bring myself to tlie 
 point of confessing at last that 1 had so long allowed her 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 285 
 
 to remaiu in error. It was wrong, very wrong, and I can 
 see it now ; can see, too, liow much trouble I might have 
 spared myself, by a little more courage, a little more 
 honesty. But now 1 hastily resolved to go on as I had 
 begun, to keep my secret, and avoid my mother; for I 
 felt that I could not live with her again. I was older 
 now, and I had a keener realization of my mother's inex- 
 orable power over me. I remembered all I had suffered 
 with her. Remembered is too weak a word. I felt all I 
 had suffered, over again, to the very marrow of my bones. 
 Yet if she should find me, and command me to live with 
 her, I should have to yield ; and then farewell to all hap- 
 piness for me in this world. In this unsettled state of 
 mind, I reached home at five o'clock, and found Mrs. 
 Walters in travelling dress, her bonnet on, giving some 
 rapid orders to Giuseppe. 
 
 " Go to your room at once, Cordelia," she said, on see- 
 ing me, "and put up what articles of clothing you may 
 need for a fortnight's absence. I have been summoned 
 to Winsgate, and must take j-ou with me. Be as expe- 
 ditious as possible ; the train goes in half an hour. — Tell 
 John, Giuseppe, to take down my trunk now ; Miss Cor- 
 delia's will be ready in a few moments." She gave her 
 directions as calmly as usual, but I saw she did not pro- 
 pose to tolerate the least delay. 
 
 I hurried up to my room without asking a single ques- 
 tion. I was past feeling any surprise. Had she met me 
 with the information that she had been summoned to the 
 moon, and that I must accompany her, I should have 
 obeyed her orders to get ready with the same celerity I 
 was using now. I could only think of my mother, and 
 congratulate myself th«t circumstances had combined to 
 call Mrs. Walters from the city, and to take me with her. 
 A happier escape I could not have wished or planned. I 
 was so full of thankfulness for this turn of the tide of 
 affairs in my favor, that I quite forgot Blr. Cloud's appoint- 
 ment with me at eight o'clck, tUl we were far on our 
 journey. 
 
 In ten minutes from the time I entered the house, I was 
 in suitable garb for travelling. I had flung two or three 
 dresses into my trunk, with other needful articles ; and 
 now John locked it for me, and took it down to the car- 
 
286 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 riage. A hamper of food was strapped in with our lug- 
 gage. Giuseppe had a luncheon-basliet, also, prepared 
 for our accominodation, as we should not reach our place 
 of destination, in all probability, till long past our usual 
 hour for dinner at liorac. 
 
 AVitli the basket, Giuseppe presented me a letter, which 
 had arrived while I was absent at the theatre. The 
 superscription was in Eliza's hand. For six long months 
 I had not heard from my uncle. Had I received it only 
 yesterday, how quickly, in my impatience, I should have 
 torn the envelope open to get at the contents ! Now I 
 deliberately put it in my pocket, to wait till a more con- 
 venient season for its perusal. 
 
 My mother's return made every other event — past, 
 present, and future — seem of minor importance, and 
 almost insignificant. My mind v^as full of lier, to the ex- 
 clusion of every other idea. Not till we were miles away 
 from the city did I think of the letter, and then found it 
 contained but ill news ; and I was grieved to learn that 
 my uucle had been thrown from one of his wild horses, 
 and |)ermanently injured, — his right arm henceforth for- 
 ever useless. The accident, Eliza wrote, had occurrecl 
 only three days after the biitii of her baby, a little girl 
 that tlipy had already named Coidelia. The nervous 
 shock to my uncle, she feared, had unsettled him men- 
 tally. He had previously fretted a good deal because I 
 hud answered none of his letters, none of which I had 
 received; and now he worried continually, Eliza said, 
 lest 1 were sick, without a home, and no one to care for 
 nie. She bi-ogcd aie to answer her letter at once, if I 
 were well, and relieve the fears of her husban<l, who had 
 sent several letters to Sunbridge irptrying to learn of my 
 whereabouts, and even written to Mr. Wyndham concern- 
 ing me. She said my uncle wished daily that I were with 
 them to nurse him, instead of the ignorant Swede, who 
 could not prepare a dish of gruel even that he could relish. 
 They were living on a ranch, she informed me, miles and 
 miles from any other human ha))itation, in the midst of a 
 wild tract of rolling prairie. It would make me open my 
 lyes with wonder, she said, to look into the corral with 
 its lunidreds of beautiful horses, to sec no hills anywhere ; 
 only, as far as the eye could reach, on all sides a wide 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 287 
 
 stretch of prairie land undulating like a green sea. If I 
 would only come to them now, they — my uncle espe- 
 cially — would be so happy to receive me. They never 
 needed my society so much as now. The twins were ex- 
 pected the ensuing week, and would most likely pass the 
 summer with them. Could I not come to them also? 
 Eliza desired me to write at once, and send my present 
 address, when full directions regarding the journey sliould 
 be forwarded; and they would meet me at the nearest 
 station, thirty miles distant from the ranch. The letter 
 had been sent to Suubridge, to the care of Mrs. Proc- 
 tor, who had forwarded it to me. I returned it to my 
 pocket, promising myself to answer it that very night 
 before I slept. 
 
 But what should I write to my uncle and Eliza? 
 Should I say yes to their kind invitation, and at once go 
 to them, and find complete refuge in their distant home 
 from all fear of my motlier ? It seemed the course that 
 Providence had opened forme, and yet I lacked the power 
 to decide at once in favor of it against my inclination to 
 remain with Mrs. Walters. I had no more strength of will 
 to leave her, than a two-year-old baliy to leave its mother. 
 For my uncle's misfortune, I felt pity. I wished he were 
 nearer, that I miglit go and nurse him. I would gladly 
 do it ; my sense of gratitude for his mauy kindnesses was 
 not dead within me. Only my love for Mrs. Walters held 
 me back. That love was the strongest tie 1 had ever 
 known ; and the tliought of quitting her service, of volun- 
 tarily becoming of no accoimt to her, was like the con- 
 templation of death. 
 
 We arrived at Winsgate — a good-sized sea-coast town 
 — in the dusk of evening. Our desti'uation, however, 
 was three miles farther on, which we reached by coach. 
 It was an evening in early May. The season had not yet 
 donned its full robe of green. Many of the dwarfed, 
 shrub-like trees we passed still remained in winter bare- 
 ness. There was a chill like the last of autumn in the 
 air. Some hardy violets showed their tiny blue blossoms 
 on the sunny side of the roadway. There was no arbutus 
 in this part of the State, a fellow-passenger had informed 
 me. I thought of its trailing sweetness, lying, ungathered 
 by my hands, under beds of pine-needles and patches of 
 
288 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 snow, in the Indians' burying-ground, along the margin 
 of the forest, below the ledges of HardclifTe hill. Many 
 au apron full of that hiding flower, in times past, had I 
 found under sodden leaves, and brought home to deck 
 the grimy kitchen of the old house, and fill it with odor. 
 
 It was quite dark when we reached our stopping-place, 
 close by the sea. We alighted before the door of a 
 small cottage with a little gallery in front, many hooded 
 windows and balconies about its gable roof, and other 
 architectural projections common to seaside cottages. I 
 looked arouud me while the coachman unstrapped our lug- 
 gage, seeing dimly, by the light of the stars, several other 
 cottages at various distances, modelled in similar style, 
 unoccupied as yet, I judged, by the absence of lights at 
 the windows. I saw, however, the twinkle ol' a lamp at the 
 window of the little domicile nearest us ; and Mrs. Walters 
 informed me that the Tomsons were living there. Had the 
 Tomsons sent for Mrs. Walters? I queried. Their cottage 
 showed the only sign of life in the seemingly deserted 
 place. No, it was not likely that they had summoned 
 her so peremptorily : they were mere objects of charity, 
 mere recipients of her bounty ; surely for them she would 
 not have hurried so precipitately away. It puzzled me to 
 guess her reason for rushing hither at this season of the 
 year. Perhaps she required a week or two of absolute, 
 unbroken rest after the fatigue of much companj'. Per- 
 haps she desired to accomplish an amount of work that 
 could not so easily be done in the given time at home. It 
 ne\er occurred to me for a moment that she could have 
 been driven here on mj' account. I was too stupid then 
 to divine the motives which influenced that good woman 
 regarding myself. ' I never dreamed I could lie of so much 
 consequence to her. O Mrs. Walters, where now in the 
 wide universe does thy pure spirit dwell? I could be con- 
 tent to stay a thousand years 'mid this world's trials and 
 sorrows, with God's promise that I should live with thee at 
 last beyond the grave. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 289 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "Happy is the house tfiat shelters a friend." 
 
 — EMEBSOir. 
 
 MRS. WALTERS unlocked the door of the cottage, 
 and showed herself familiar with the place by her 
 directions to the driver as to where he should carry our 
 separate trunks. Mine he conveyed to a chamber la the 
 south gable, where, under the balcony of the low win- 
 dows, the wash of the sea could be plainly heard. Mrs. 
 "Walters had brought some candles ; she lighted two of 
 them in the tiny parlor. There were three rooms beyond 
 the parlor ; in the last one the driver set down our hamper 
 of food. 
 
 "You must be maid-of-all-work here, Cordelia," said 
 Mrs. Walters. " This room is our kitchen ; there is the 
 pantry, with shelves of dishes for your accommodation in 
 cooking ; there is the dining-room with its table and 
 chairs ; you will find also a beaufet with sufficient china 
 for our table appointments. In the morning you shall put 
 things in order, and we can settle here at once. We shall 
 stay here at least two weeks, — to give you an opportunity 
 to exercise your talent in housekeeping," added Mrs. 
 Walters, laughing, " and me a little — repose." 
 
 "This is my room," continued she, as I followed her 
 into a larger apartment, leading from the small parlor. 
 It was the largest room in the house, containing cane 
 furniture, with a straw matting on the floor. From her 
 large trunk Mrs. Walters produced sheets and pillow- 
 cases for the beds, and towels for the washstands ; and 
 I proceeded to arrange the rooms for occupancy. 
 
 Meanwhile, we were shivering, with our outer garments 
 not yet removed. I lighted two more candles. Their 
 united blaze could not warm, of course : they served, 
 however, as light, by which I read the newspapers of the 
 day's issue to Mrs. Walters, who, wrapped in her fur- 
 
290 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 lined cloak, asked, when I had finished, if a fire could 
 not be lighted in the kitchen. 
 
 "It is an oil stove," I said. "I have examined it. 
 ' Aunt Seals used to have one precisely like it, to heat her 
 coffee by in the night. " 
 
 " Never mind for to-night, then," said Mrs. Walters. 
 " There is a little parlor-stove put away somewhere in 
 the house. Perhaps the Tomsons have taken it. If they 
 haven't, it can be found in the morning, and French 
 Tomson can put it up for us. French comes down here 
 every Saturday, he tells me, to stay over Sunday with his 
 mother and Sophy. I hope they are not lonely here. 
 Come and sit beside me, Cordelia. That moaning sound 
 is the sea," she explained, as I obeyed her. " The tide 
 is coming in. I am glad it is a clear night, and no storm 
 brewing. An east wind, with a three days' rain, would 
 not be pleasant here." 
 
 For half an hour we sat close together, my hand in 
 hers, without speaking. Then we bade each other good- 
 night, and repaired to our separate beds. 
 
 The moaning of the sea in my ears that night seemed 
 like the wind in the pine forest at home. Once I woke and 
 thought I was at home at Hardcliffe, and that a great storm 
 was coming on. Then I remembered where we were, and 
 again I wondered ivhy we had come. It was for some 
 reason, — Mrs. Walters did not act without a purpose, — 
 some wise reason, doubtless, which she did not choose to 
 explain. That was enough for me to care to know. 
 
 I rose before the sun in the morning, and wrote a long 
 letter to uncle Beals and Eliza. I told them I was not 
 quite ready to visit them as j'et, but would soon let them 
 know what time they might expect me, if I concluded to 
 leave Mrs. Walters's service. After my letter was fin- 
 ished, I took an outward survey of my surroundings before 
 entering the little kitchen. Our cottage was situated on 
 the highest ground in the vicinity, a little eminence of 
 rocks, that quite overlooked the sandy level of the place. 
 Around me I could count a dozen residences, scattei'ed 
 about at wide distances, here and thei-e. Not far away 
 I discerned what seemed to me a post-offlce and store ; 
 and nearer by, a little church or chapel. Half a mile 
 distant was the hotel, which, two months later, would be 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 291 
 
 overrun with guests. The view landward was flat and 
 uninteresting. But seaward the vision was enchanting. 
 I had never seen the great Atlantic so near before, — so 
 near, and yet stretching so far away to the dim sky-line, 
 dim with mists of early morning. It made me tremble to 
 contemplate it. It awoke thoughts I could not put into 
 words ; vague thoughts, of God's mightiness and infinity, 
 and my own littleness and insecuritj-. 
 
 Great thoughts and little ones meet on common ground 
 in some minds. While I stood gazing on those vast cold 
 blue waters, and thought how many thousands of years 
 they had ebbed and flowed, before any eye but God's had 
 looked upon them, I suddenly felt a pang of hunger, 
 and bethought me of our unopened hamper of food in the 
 little kitchen. Though my life was but the momentary 
 one of an insect, it must be sustained. I went in to pre- 
 pare breakfast. 
 
 It was quite like old times to be bustling about, the 
 mistress of a kitchen again ; and I should have been quite 
 happ3' here alone with Mrs. Walters, but for the occa- 
 sional shivering apprehension that my mother was search- 
 ing for me. It was an unreasoning fear, as unreasoning 
 as that which sometimes seizes an animal. Her long de- 
 sertion and silence ought to have been surety against the 
 terror of further molestation. But it was not. Only in 
 Mrs. Walters's immediate presence could I overcome my 
 fret and inward terror, and forget the impression, still 
 uppermost, that my mother was searching for me. 
 
 To be alone with Mrs. Walters, to feel that nobody for 
 the time being could call her away from my side, was my 
 chief pleasure here. It seemed as if I had not realized 
 till now Mrs. Walters's true character. With what a 
 world of active sympathies she surrounded herself, and 
 how pure the atmosphere was, in which she so unselfishly 
 lived and moved and had her being ! I certainly had 
 never realized till now my own contrasting character, 
 with its selfish, sordid, narrow tendencies. To note how 
 she used life as a divine gift, occasionally woke in me the 
 desire to do good to somebody ; but the flame caught from 
 her mind was sure to go out when I left her presence. I 
 could not fashion myself after such a pattern as this : the 
 imperfections of my character were too inborn, I was 
 
292 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of a lower order of being from Mrs. Walters. The real 
 desire of my heart was for earthly happiness, not heavenly 
 blessedness. I wanted to be a happy human being, not a 
 glorious angel. I liked to crawl close to the earth, in the 
 warm sunshine, undisturbed. A worm can have its own 
 happiness in living, though its life is only in the soil out 
 of which the beautiful flower springs forth. To escape 
 being trod upon, or being impaled on hook for the mouth 
 of a fish, constitutes its bliss, I suppose. I was of 
 earthly mould, like the worm ; Mrs. Walters was half 
 heavenly, like the flower. 
 
TIVO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 293 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " I have had ford enough ; I was throion into the ford ; I have my 
 belly full of ford." " 
 
 — Mebbt Wives or Windsor. 
 
 OUR fortnight's sojourn at Winsgate Beach passed 
 quicklj-, and not until three days before its close 
 was it marred by a single unpleasant incident. Thus far 
 it had been an interim of entire rest of mind and body to 
 both Mrs. Walters and mj'self . I had no letters to write, 
 no copying to do, no benevolent acts to perform, no 
 wretchedness of any kind whatever to look after. 1 
 was only asked, contrary to my expectations, to read to 
 Mrs. Tomson occasionally. My work consisted in keep- 
 ing the little house in order, and arranging our meals. 
 It was work I enjoyed, and it took but little of my 
 time. 
 
 Mrs. Walters seemed very happy. She put aside for 
 the nonce her charitable enterprises, and interested her- 
 self in other matters. She was as gay as a young girl. 
 She laughed and sang, and clambered about with me over 
 the rocks, and seemed to take a girl's enjoyment in each 
 day's measure of ordinary occurrences and sensations. 
 She received a letter from her husband every morning, 
 and answered it each evening. It was the only writing 
 done in the cottage. 
 
 During the second week of our stay, the deserted place 
 began to show signs of its coming life. One day, two 
 cottages below us received their summer inmates. The 
 next, the big hotel was opened ; a boat came in, and 
 brought a few early boarders there. We watched the 
 stir in the distance through a field-glass left in Sophy 
 Tomson's care by one of the last summer occupants of 
 her chambers. We were like children in our eager inter- 
 ests and activities and enjoyments. But the Friday be- 
 fore our return home brought a change to us. Something 
 
294 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 happened that day to put a stop to all further enjoyment 
 of our seclusion. It was a lovely morning, warmer thau 
 its predecessors. I had taken a long walk under the soft 
 sunshine. The august purity of sea and sky was uplift- 
 ing. It stirred my sense of the sublime to the forgetful- 
 ness of my own petty troubles. " The weariness and the 
 fever and the fret of life " could not be remembered long 
 here, in such daily communion with the grand in nature. 
 I forgot everybody's selfishness and sins, including my 
 own, and drank in the elixir of a divine atmosphere, till 
 my soul seemed expanded and uplifted, almost to the 
 casting off the material altogether. 
 
 But such ecstatic moments are brief, — fortunately so, 
 perhaps ; else we might be lifted out of ourselves too far 
 to be put back again into what is termed our " right 
 minds." On returning from my walk, I called at the 
 little post-office, — which was only open an hour in the 
 forenoon during the dull season, — and was greatly sur- 
 prised to receive, with Mrs. Walters's usual letter, one 
 directed to myself, in Mr. Cloud's elegant chirography. 
 I was surprised, because Mrs. Walters had told me that 
 no one except her husband knew of our present where- 
 abouts. She had good reasons, she said, for keeping 
 other members of her family in ignorance of her doings. 
 This remark set me wondering how her brother was tak- 
 ing our absence. I was not thinking, however, quite so 
 continuously of Mr. Cloud of late. To tell the truth, 
 since his interview with Mr. Wyndham, in my presence, 
 a slightly disenchanting process, independent of my will, 
 hadbeen going on in my mind. I felt, in spite of me, 
 a little diminution of respect for the man, and conse- 
 quently a little less glow of devotion to his idea. Yet 
 this slightly different attitude of miud towards him did 
 not mafie me in any degree indifferent as to the state of 
 his mind towards me. A vain person does not feel his 
 diminishing respect for another so acutely, as he feels 
 another's diminishing respect for himself. I was as de- 
 sirous as ever to stand high in Mr. Cloud's esteem. I 
 hoped he was not offended for my inability to keep my 
 appointment with him. I opened the letter somewhat 
 anxiously, on my way home, to ascertain. These were 
 his words : — 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 295 
 
 "I suppose Alice thinks, ostrich like, that she has effectually 
 hidden you in the sandy hole of Winsgate Beach. She happens, 
 as usual, to be mistaken. Enli2;hten her not, however, to the 
 contrary. I shall be at the Beach House — the hotel in plain 
 sight of your cottage — Friday noon, perhaps before you receive 
 this. I go there expressly to see you ; and it is not best, on Alice's 
 account, that I should call at the cottage. It is important that I 
 should see you somewhere, though, before Monday, when I sail for 
 England, — as important for you as for me. You are advertised in 
 the newspapers. An explanation is needed. I must see you ; and, 
 as the mountain cannot go to Mahomet, Mahomet must come to 
 the mountain. You will notice the big pile of rooks, with a flag- 
 staff on the topmost one, lying between the Beach House and 
 Alice's cottage. Meet me there, if the tide is out, Friday after- 
 noon at four o'clock. If the tide is in, come to the hotel; it is 
 only a mile away. I shall be sitting on the piazza, looking out for 
 you. Remember, Friday, four of the clock, at the rocks with the 
 flagmast, or at the hotel. Do not disappoint me. If you do, you 
 will regret it. Nothing of this to Alice, if you please. Au revolr." 
 
 I put the note in my pocket, and went home quickly. 
 I gave Mrs. Walters her letter, spread the table for our 
 noon meal, and then repaired to my chamber to consider 
 what course to pursue. 1 was strongly impressed that 
 the best way would be to show the letter to Mrs. Walters. 
 I had long ago resolved to have no future secrets from her. 
 
 But hero I was spoken of as advertised! It was my 
 mother's work, of course ; she had taken that way to 
 search for me. Mrs. Walters would at once desire to in- 
 vestigate the matter, and then every thing would come out. 
 No, I would not show her the note. But I must see that 
 advertisement. I must meet Mr. Cloud as he desired. I 
 need not explain about my mother to him. He could keep 
 the affair to himself, without explanation. I was so alive 
 with curiosity to learn how my mother was proceeding in 
 her endeavors to discover me, and so eager to know how 
 to avoid her search, that 1 quite forgot to consider the pro- 
 priety of Mr. Cloud's request. Ordinarily I should have 
 shrank from such clandestine meeting with any gentleman. 
 I should have decided at once, that, if he wished to see 
 me, hejamstcomejvhere I was. My natural reserve would 
 have prevenleSr any step being taken to bring me regret, 
 or make me blush to look back upon. And, above all, I 
 should have resented the assured and peremptory tone in 
 which he commanded my attendance, as if I were at his 
 beck and call. 
 
296 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 But now meeting Mr. Cloud was a matter of secondary 
 importance ; to see that advertisement was of the first. I 
 decided, without further conflict of feeling, to meet the 
 gentleman. At three o'clock the tide was out sufficiently 
 to warrant my setting forth. The rocks loomed up naked 
 and frowning across the sands two-thirds of a mile dis- 
 tant. I took a small basket in which to gather some sheila 
 on my way there, for the beach was unusually rich in them 
 at this season. 
 
 The huge bowlders looked to me, on closer view, like 
 an impregnable fortress. The hither side of the mass 
 was almost perpendicular ; but the opposite side revealed 
 several easily accessible points, and I began at once to 
 climb them. Half way up I found a comfortable place 
 for sitting, on a shelving projection at the outer edge of 
 the rock, though not a very safe one. Here I could look 
 down a sheer descent of twenty feet, and more, to the 
 base of the bowlder, which was seamed by the sea, as by 
 the work of a chisel. On this side I had a good view of 
 the hotel and the long stretch of beach leading to it, down 
 which Mr. Cloud would soon be coming. I was too un- 
 easy in mind to linger in one place. I climbed up higher, 
 finding innumerable little pools of water, like miniature 
 seas, holding their small life as the larger seas hold theirs. 
 I discovered also deep chasms dividing the rocks ; so deep, 
 that a single misstep in leaping them would be certain 
 death. I shuddered at the idea of making my way over 
 the gaping fissures in the night-time. 
 
 Four o'clock must have passed, I judged ; but no Mr. 
 Cloud was in sight. I tried to forget my impatience, in 
 still searching for sea-treasures, cast up by the waves into 
 crevices of the rocks. It never occurred to me that I 
 should have some thought of the returning tide. I ab- 
 sently imagined it was still ebbing. My mind was in that 
 stupid condition which makes every thing vague but the 
 dominant idea. I noticed, however, when I had filled my 
 basket, that the afternoon was waning, and no appearance 
 as yet of Mr. Cloud. I was indignant now ; and my in- 
 dignation was not allayed, when, a few moments later, I 
 perceived the gentleman — a dark figure in the distance — 
 leisurely sauntering down the beach. My first impulse was 
 to go straight home, and compel him to come after me. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 297 
 
 The question was, should I take counsel of my pride, and 
 lose the present opportunity of discovering mother's doings, 
 or swallow my indignation and remain and meet the gentle- 
 man? I chose the latter alternative, simply because I 
 knew Mr. Cloud was to sail on Monday, and no time 
 would be given me to communicate with him by writing. 
 But I was not amiable enough to overlook altogether the 
 gentleman's indolent disregard of the time. It was to- 
 wards sunset now ; and I would punish him a little, even 
 if I punished myself more. He, doubtless, had seen me 
 moving about the rocks ; I would compel him to search for 
 me awhile, and believe that I had returned home. A few 
 feet below was a sort of alcove, between two juts of 
 stone. I crept down into it, and concealed myself until 
 I deemed it was full time for the delinquent to arrive. I 
 remained longer than I should, had I not been aware that 
 minutes at such times stretch themselves into hours. I 
 strained my ear to hear the calling of my name, resolving, 
 in my chagrin, that I would not answer till the call had 
 been half a dozen times repeated. 
 
 I lingered, unmindful of the swirl of the waves, until a 
 larger one than common flung itself against the base of 
 the bowlder, like a clap of thunder. Then I sprang up, 
 and, clambering to my former place, gazed below and 
 around, in astonishment and dismay. Of what had I been 
 thinking? The tide was in. Such stupidity as mine had 
 been here was not to be accounted for. I had indeed 
 punished myself. Here was I imprisoned on all sides by 
 a depth of water higher than my waist, and its green vol- 
 ume was increasing momently. My first impulse was to 
 trust myself to it, and attempt to wade to the shore ; then, 
 observing the strong undercurrent, I drew back timidly. 
 I remembered Sophy Tomson's account of a young girl, 
 an expert swimmer, who had been drawn in by this same 
 treacherous undercurrent, to her death. 
 
 But what else should I do ? Nobody was in sight any- 
 where. The world, at that instant, looked to me as 
 empty of human existence as it had looked to Noah 
 after the Deluge. I could not see our cottage. The 
 middle point of rock, holding the flagstaff, hid it from 
 my view. But I could see the waves careering in its 
 direction, like a hundred wild horses abreast, tossing their 
 
298 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 white spray up the beach, as if in an ecstasy of delight 
 over the mischief they were doing. If I could only climb 
 up and around to the other side of tlie middle rock, and 
 swing m}' white shawl, some one in the cottages might 
 see it, and send a boat to my rescue. Mrs. Walters must 
 be wondering where I had gone, and would be looking for 
 me. By dint of much careful effort, 1 at last succeeded 
 in getting round the perpendicular rock to the other side. 
 It was a perilous position in which I stood. Only a few 
 inches from where 1 clung was a straight, sheer descent 
 into the water. But I managed, by holding on to a pro- 
 jection of rock with one hand, to wave my shawl with the 
 otlier. This I did several times, to my imminent peril, 
 straining my eyes at tlie same time, in search of some 
 visible being in the vicinity of our cottages. I hoped 
 Sophy might be sitting in the window looking seaward, 
 and catch sight of me. But I soon felt it was hopeless 
 to expect any one would be looking this way for me. It 
 would never occur to Mrs. Walters, that I could have 
 taken a walk into the sea ! There was no use risking such 
 danger longer. Mj- muscles were cramped and aching. 
 I must move back before 1 should lose control of them, 
 and tumble into the water. I got safely back, in some 
 way, to mj- former place. There was a fisherman's cot- 
 tage under the cliff below the hotel. I swung my shawl 
 vigorously with both hands towaixls it. There was a pos- 
 sibility somebody there might chance to sec it. I calmed 
 myself, however, with the fact, that, if nobody did per- 
 ceive me, there was no danger of drowning here. These 
 rocks could never be wholly submerged in the highest tide. 
 It would be disagreeable to wait here, to be sure, till the 
 water receded again, which might not occur till midnight. 
 " I shall certainly have ample leisure now to contemplate 
 the power and grandeur of the sea," thought I, with a 
 little shiver of disgust, as a topmost wave, riding in just 
 then, sent its particular dash of spray in mj- face. 
 Another rejoicing wave beiiind it washed my visage a 
 second time. After the thu'd ablution, I could face the 
 enemy no longer. I retreated to the highest and dryest 
 place I could conveniently reach, and sat down to " con- 
 sider, old cow, consider." The whole thing was ridicu- 
 lous enough to make me laugh, if I had not been so angry. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 299 
 
 My ludicrous position was what exasperated me. If 
 ClilTord Cloud had designed to revenge himself on his 
 sister and me by this practical joke, he had succeeded in 
 carrying it out to his heart's content. " Oh, if I can but 
 live to see him ! " thought I ; " ' with six Anfidiuses, or 
 more,' I'll use my right to make a clean breast of him 
 to Mrs. Walters." He had not intended to come here to 
 meet me, probably ; and though he had not calculated, of 
 course, on my imprisonment upon the rocks, through my 
 own stupidity, he might glory in it all the more. I was 
 in too incensed a mood to be just. I would not consider 
 how he might have been unexpectedly detained by some 
 accident or other. I accused him, in my anger, of being 
 capable of planning a mean revenge upon his sister. I 
 almost was ready to believe what Miss Edith had said 
 about him was true. He certainly had none of Mrs. 
 Walters's nobleness. Oh, when, I asked myself, should I 
 see that dear woman again? And what should I say to 
 her when I did see her? I would vindicate myself by no 
 lies. If the worst came to the worst, I would confess the 
 whole truth about my mother. But perhaps I should 
 never see her again ! Perhaps I should be swept off into 
 the sea ! There were evidences among the rocks above 
 me of the visitations of previous tides. I could not climb 
 much higher. I thought of the darkness that would soon 
 be coming on. The moon was new-born, and would fol- 
 low the sun to bed. I prayed God some stars might be 
 shining, to light my perilous way down these rocks when 
 the waters should subside. While the still rising sea 
 flung itself with thunderous violence into the chasm below 
 my feet, and recoiled only to rush in again with renewed 
 force, I scanned the heavens with trembling apprehen- 
 sion. Dark, rainy clouds rolled up from the north. They 
 betokened a stormy night. In respect of a black night, I 
 was no braver at seventeen than I had been at seven. 
 To think of a starless sky hanging black above me, with 
 perhaps a tempest of wind and rain, thunder and light- 
 ning, conjoining with the forces of an angry sea beneath 
 me, — with my little life as nothing in their midst, — thrilled 
 me with a present terror I could not bear. The thought 
 of perishing here was beyond any thing I had ever con- 
 ceived of the fear of death. I tried to calm myself by 
 
300 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 remembering that the Almighty was behind these forces, 
 and stronger than the mightiest of them ; that I was as 
 safe here, with Him, as elsewhere ; and, if I must die, 
 as safe in death as in life. I tried to recall all I had heard 
 about the sensation of drowning, and to comfort mj'self 
 with the fact that it was a painless mode of departure ; 
 to believe that, out of the darkness, I should emerge into 
 a bright world, where father and Jamie would be first to 
 greet me. But, soothing as this last theory had often 
 been to me in past times of depression, my mind could be 
 brought into no state now for such spiritual consolation. 
 Oh, I could not think of dying, of going so suddenly 
 from the full glow of warm, abundant life, into still, pallid, 
 cold death ! 1 was not ready to die. My earthly affairs 
 were not settled. I must say good-by to Mrs. Walters. 
 I must return the bracelet to Henry "Wyndham, and ask his 
 forgiveness. I could not die unforgiven by him. Surely 
 some one must come to save me. I strained my eyes 
 again over the waters, — indeed, I had never ceased strain- 
 ing them, — hoping still for some chance of rescue. Still 
 nobody in sight anywhere, anywhere. The sun was sink- 
 ing in a bank of cloud, and would soon go down. I longed 
 for power to stay his beams ; for, while there was light, 
 there was hope. I was drenched to my knees already. 
 My soaked dress clung to my shivering limbs ; my teeth 
 chattered with cold and terror. Suddenly the sky above 
 me grew brighter ; the glory of the sunset was spreading 
 abroad ; a pink light suffused half heaven ; it deepened 
 into a crimson glow. I could see the fisherman's cottage, 
 and the strip of yellow sand before it, plainly. No 
 "sweet fields beyond the swelling flood" ever charmed 
 the eyes, and thrilled the heart, of an expiring martyr, 
 as that before unnoticed strip of yellow terra Jirma, 
 brought into clear relief by the crimson glow of the even- 
 ing sky, charmed my eyes, and thrilled my heart. For I 
 perceived three moving human beings upon it. As near 
 as I could make out, they were pushing along a boat. I 
 took off mj' shawl, and waved it as best I could with the 
 ends of it dripping with salt water. And, oh, joy, they 
 saw me ! The cheering sight of somebody's while hand- 
 kerchief was waving towards me in response. Two min- 
 utes later two of them were coming towards me in a boat. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 301 
 
 It is astonishing, the pliability of the human organ- 
 ism, and its facility in settling back, after great strain, to 
 its normal condition again. Not five minutes before, I 
 was insanel}' considering, in my terror, the impossible 
 feat of scaling the dizzy peali of the central rock. Now, 
 after one great cry of thanks to Whom thanks were due, 
 I was coolly calculating how I should reward these fisher- 
 men, the long sweep of whose oars was bringing the boat 
 visibly nearer. For fishermen I doubted not they were. 
 If they refused money, I thought I could give to one 
 aunt Beals's gold chain, lying in a box of cotton-wool at 
 the bottom of my trunk. I never wore it. It was worth 
 nothing to me as a memento : I should not forget aunt 
 Beals without it. But what should I give to the other 
 muscular fellow ? 
 
 I presently discovered, however, that the other muscu- 
 lar fellow was no fisherman. It was Clifford Cloud, im- 
 maculately dressed, sitting in the stern of the boat, giving 
 directions to a brawny, brown-faced man in a red shirt, 
 and waving his hand to me with the easy grace and 
 unconcern he ordinarily exhibited. He seemed to consider 
 my predicament of very little account. " Good-after- 
 noon," cried he gayly, as the boat approached and came 
 alongside. I was too incensed at his indifference to answer 
 a word. I siraplj' bowed, crowding as much dignity into 
 my manner, as my drenched and clinging clothes and 
 clattering teeth would not make ridiculous. I was deter- 
 mined he should not know that I had been one whit con- 
 cerned about my safety. 
 
 "This is too bad," he said smilingly, as I scrambled 
 into the boat, and sat down opposite him. He spoke 
 precisely, I thought, as he would have done, had my dead 
 body been hooked up into the seat before him. I deigned 
 no reply. 
 
 " Too bad, too bad," he kept repeating. " Pray how 
 did you happen to stay so long here ? I am sorry enough 
 I was detained." He smiled again; and I tried, angry 
 as I was, to smile too, and appear indifferent, when I 
 said, I fear with a very ill grace, " It is no matter at all. 
 Give yourself no concern." 
 
 "You are cold," he said, and took off his coat, and 
 passed it along for me to put over my shoulders. 
 
302 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I am not in the least cold," I replied, declining tlie 
 proffered garment. "You had better put your coat on 
 again. You will be likely to catch cold without it." 
 My teeth chattered so, I could scarcely speak ; and my 
 auger was showing itself, in spite of my efforts to conceal 
 it. 
 
 "I am rather cold," he answered, resuming his coat. 
 " I am glad you are warm, however. It relieves me of 
 considerable anxiety. Did you stay among the rocks on 
 purpose to be drowned?" 
 
 " No, I staid for the pleasure of it," I answered, wring- 
 ing the water from my skirts ; " for the pleasure of being 
 romantically rescued by some eligible young man." 
 
 " Do you look upon me in that light? " he asked. 
 
 " Not at all. I was not thinking of j'ou." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! I hope you are grateful to me. I have 
 probably saved you from a watery grave." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. There was a very comfortable 
 place near the highest rock, where I should have been 
 safe till ebb-tide ; and then 1 could have walked home." 
 
 " You can be taken back to that comfortable place." 
 
 " Thank you, no. I will put on dry clothes first, if 
 you please." I jturned my indignant face towards the 
 fading sunset. 
 
 "Perhaps in dry clothes you will be more willing to 
 acknowledge your gratitude, " said he, still smiling. 
 
 That perpetual smile kept my anger at white-heat ; and 
 I said, " You may be sure, when I feel any gratitude, I 
 sliall not be backward in expressing it." I was sorry, the 
 moment after, that I had uttered the words so sharply. I 
 was sorry I could not keep my ire better concealed. But 
 I felt I had been made the victim of a practical joke. 
 Why else, then, did not Mr. Cloud explain his non-appear- 
 ance at the time appointed ? He said he had been detained. 
 Why could he not say how, and at least show some regret, 
 and not keep smiling at my misfortune? That smile of 
 his, which goaded me on to speak as I had, irritated me 
 still ; and I vowed to myself I would not ask him a word 
 concerning the precious communication in store for me. 
 He might keep it till doomsday first. My curiosity and 
 anxiety about mother were in abeyance now ; both could 
 wait. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 303 
 
 "There is Alice coming to meet us," said Mr. Cloud, 
 laughing. " She has been half beside herself, doubtless. 
 She will be glad to see you." 
 
 The momeut the boat went aground, and I saw Mrs. 
 Walters, — saw her white face, white as the scarf which 
 wrapped her head and shoulders, — my anger gave way, 
 and all my assumed dignity deserted me. The stern ex- 
 pression of her countenance, so unlike any thing I had 
 ever seen in it, frightened me. When I approached her, 
 and put out my hands appealingly, and she did not look 
 at me, I felt as if I had received a blow. As I staggered 
 in my wet clothes to my chamber, — leaving her brother 
 to explain what he chose of the affair, — I saw nothing 
 before me but the desolation of her lost friendship. It 
 seemed to me I could not survive even one hour of her 
 displeasure ; and yet, when I had exchanged my dripping 
 garments for dry ones, I lingered in my room, too timid to 
 descend and attempt an explanation. A second repulse 
 I felt would kill me. I got so depressed at last, that I 
 could bear it no longer. It was dark now. I heard no 
 movement below. I groped my way down into the little 
 kitchen, ate a piece of bread, and then knocked at the 
 parlor door. There was no response ; and, when I opened 
 the door, I found no light there. Mrs. Walters, after her 
 fright and excitement, must have gone to bed, I thought. 
 I approached the bedroom door, which opened from the 
 parlor, and said softly, " May I come in, please? " She 
 gave me no answer. It was simply impossible for me 
 to go back to my chamber until I had felt the clasp of 
 her hand in restored friendship. I went forward and 
 flung myself on my knees beside the bed, only to find 
 there was nobodj' in it. 
 
 "She has gone over to tjie Tomsons," I said; 
 " Sophy will be all in all to her now." I broke out cry- 
 ing. 
 
 Before I could rise from my knees, the outer door 
 opened, and Mrs. Walters entered. Some one was with 
 her. It was Sophy, doubtless. I would not be seen by 
 her with eyes reddened with weeping ; and, as there was 
 no way out of the bedroom but by the parlor, I sat down 
 in a chair in an angle of the wardrobe, to wait till she 
 went away. Mrs. Walters lighted the lamp on the table, 
 
304 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 and then said, as if in continuance of some previous con- 
 versation, — 
 
 " I hope you will do as I wish, Clifford, and go back to 
 the city in the morning." 
 
 It was her brother, it seemed, instead of Sophy. I 
 supposed he had gone back to the hotel. What should 
 I do now? I could face him in my anger, but not in my 
 humiliation. I did not wish in any case to see him again, 
 at present ; my preference for his society was diminish- 
 ing fast. I felt that my affection for him would not be 
 increased by another interview to-night. But how could I 
 stay here and listen to their conversation? They would 
 be sure to say something about me I did not wish to hear. 
 I was no eavesdropper. I put my fingers in my ears, and 
 then heard Mr. Cloud say plainly, — 
 
 " No, I shall not go back in the morning. I shall stay 
 here till Monday. The steamer does not leave till 
 Wednesday." 
 
 " You must not come here again, then, to say any thing 
 to Cordelia," said Mrs. Walters. " It is not best." 
 
 I flung my overskirt over my head now, and held my 
 hands over my ears, but with no avail. I must remain 
 an unwilling listener to something which I was confident 
 would make me still more unhappy. 
 
 "That depends," returned Mr. Cloud, who had sat 
 down close to the bedroom door. " I may, or I may not, 
 come here. Most likely I may. I want to see the girl 
 again, and I intend to see her again. I have something 
 I wish to tell her." 
 
 "1 am aware of it," said Mrs. Walters; "and I am 
 aware, also, that you are doing an unwise and cruel thing." 
 
 Mr. Cloud laughed. " The unwisdom and crueltj-, if 
 you could see things in a common-sense light, are on your 
 side. You don't consider my feelings in the matter," 
 said he. 
 
 "I do consider them very deeply," said his sister, 
 " and I deplore them, too. If you have forgotten Mary, 
 and Maud, and Constance, I have not ; and to prevent 
 Cordelia from becoming another in that category, I shall 
 continue to d(j every thing that lies in my power. I may 
 as well be plain with you, Clifford, now." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble yourself, Alice, to be plainer ! Y''our 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 305 
 
 designs have been plain enough to me for some time past. 
 You have stood between me and the girl a good while. I 
 propose now that the cards be shuffled, and we have a 
 new deal." 
 
 "Clifford," said Mrs. Walters solemnly, " it seems to 
 me, sometimes, as though you were morally blind. Eight 
 and wrong seem to be words left out in your vocabulary, 
 judging by the way you have lived half your life. With- 
 out one consideration of the consequences, you have 
 - deliberately and systematically been at work to attract 
 Cordelia and win her love " — 
 
 " Now, Alice, look here : you are talking of what you 
 know little about," interrupted her brother. "I have 
 never in any manner tried to attract your protigie. On 
 the contrary, I have been very guarded in my manner 
 towards her. In all I have said and done in her presence, 
 I have been extremely careful, I assure you ; quite over 
 scrupulous, in fact." 
 
 "Then continue to be so," urged his sister. "Go 
 away from Winsgate to-morrow morning, and do not see 
 her again." 
 
 " It is too late now, Alice, to do that. I like her too 
 uncommonly well." 
 
 " Clifford, you will force me, by persisting in your atten- 
 tions to Cordelia, to inform her of some things in your 
 past life which I had much rather be silent about." 
 
 "Come, now, what if I intend to marry the girl?" he 
 asked, laughing lightly. " What do you say to that?" 
 
 " I say that I don't believe it." 
 
 " Haven't you any faith in your only brother? " 
 
 "Not much, I am sorry to acknowledge. And yet I 
 won't criticise your intentions, Clifford, only your acts. 
 Your past intentions may have been good, in one sense, 
 but your acts have not. I must do in this case what it is 
 my duty to do. Duty is as potent a factor in my life, as 
 pleasure is in yours. And, though I maj' not live long in 
 this world, I intend to leave no duty undone in it, to make 
 me wish to come back from a better one to finish my work, 
 when coming back is no longer possible. Cordelia is 
 very dear to me. I love her as I love my own flesh and 
 blood." (" God bless you for those words, Mrs. Wal- 
 ters ! " I cried inwardly, with clasped hands.) "I un- 
 
306 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 derstand her perfectly, too. Her whole nature is pure, 
 and good, and transparent as a sunbeam," she continued. 
 I winced here, and hung my head, again in humility and 
 shame. "And she has " — 
 
 " What I should call a quiet sense of humor, that is very 
 charming also," broke in Mr. Cloud, "and some natural 
 shrewdness, likewise. She knows a hawk from a hand- 
 saw ; and she has some pride with the rest, and some tem- 
 per, and not a little vanity. / understand her thoroughly, 
 too, and I like her ; I like her immensely. Her simple 
 ways please me. I like her better than — I like her better 
 every time I see her. Cordelia is just the name for her. 
 Like Cordelia in 'Lear,' she is proud and stubborn, diiti' 
 fill and kind. You will not effect any thing with Cordelia 
 by talking against me. She is too much in love with me, 
 and has been from the first." I sprang from my chair 
 angrily ; and, but for Mrs. Walters, I would have rushed 
 out and faced him with a denial. 
 
 "Your egotism regarding women, Clifford, I believe 
 grows more insufferalile every year. Cordelia is not so 
 much in love with you as you imagine, sir. I can't speak 
 for what may have happened to-day, or for what may 
 happen in the next three days, if you persist in following 
 her ; but, up to last night, 1 can vouch for your having 
 touched only her fancy. She never speaks of you, or 
 but seldom. Tiiat shows she is not very deeply in love." 
 
 "Oh, I see she has blinded your keen eyes pretty suc- 
 cessfully ! She's a shrewd one ; but I read her better 
 than j'ou can. She is as fleryand proud as Lucifer, but I 
 like her just as well for all that. And she's an ambitious 
 creature. I really believe she is trying to lead me on to 
 make her an offer of marriage. It looks very much like 
 it," said Mr. Cloud. 
 
 " I think, Clifford, you had better return to your hotel 
 now. The evening is getting late," said Mrs. Walters, in 
 a tone of weariness. 
 
 " AVill you consent to my seeing Cordelia here to-mor- 
 row?" he asked, — " seeing her alone?" 
 
 " No, I will not. You may depend upon no permission 
 of mine to trifle with her," returned his sister. 
 
 " I'm not going to trifle with her ; I'm going to marry 
 her. You needn't look so incredulous, Alice. 1 know 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 307 
 
 what a mesalliance it will be. I know what I shall have 
 to face in marrying one so much beneath me. But the 
 girl is bright, and will improve ; and she loves me so de- 
 votedly, I shall be able to mould her into any thing I 
 desire. She will make a charming woman by and by, with 
 a little training. She is pretty now, and has the finest 
 figure, for a girl of her age, I ever saw. I noticed it this 
 evening on the rocks. She has a wonderfully taking way 
 with her. Did you ever notice how she turns her neck 
 when she is spoken to ? I tell you I like her ; I never came 
 so near being in love, as I am with her. Yes, I believe 
 I'll really marry her. Don't look so serious over the 
 thing, Alice. More unequal marriages are happening 
 every day." 
 
 "I doubt, Clifford, if you mean what you saj-," said 
 Mrs. Walters. " I have this to say to your proposition, 
 however, if it is a sincere one. It is Cordelia who will 
 stoop in marrying you. She is infinitely your superior in 
 every quality of mind and heart ; and her superiority is of 
 the kind, which, by the necessity of your nature, you can 
 never appreciate. I should mucli prefer seeing Mabel 
 Cooley your wife : there would be nothing unequal iu such 
 a marriage." 
 
 Mr. Cloud laughed more heartily than ever. " What 
 an unpractical way 3'ou have of looking at things, Alice," 
 he said. " A\"ith your knowledge and experience, you 
 ought to have more acumen. You look at every thing iu 
 a transcendental light. If you could read human nature 
 as I do, you would readily see that all girls are pretty 
 much the same. Really, strictly speaking, Cordelia is 
 much more commonplace than Mabel ; and it's the stran- 
 gest thing in the world that I should like her so much 
 better — should like her well enough to marry her: now, 
 isn't it? Where is the girl this evening?" 
 
 " In bed, I suppose," said Mrs. Walters curtly. 
 
 "Are you certain? I would like to say good-night to 
 her. She will expect it." 
 
 " I will not have her disturbed to-night." 
 
 " Then I will come to-morrow all the earlier. Eemem- 
 ber, Alice, I am to see her by herself." 
 
 " If you wish to make her an offer of honorable mar- 
 riage, Clifford, and will consent that it take place immedi- 
 
308 Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ately, before you go to England, you have my permission 
 to see her as you desire," said Mrs. Walters. 
 
 Mr. Cloud laughed. " I shall make no promises," he 
 said, " till I have talked with Cordelia. She may not 
 care to be married at present. I will let her decide the 
 matter. ' ' 
 
 " Good-night, Clifford," said Mrs. Walters with a sigh, 
 which 1 plainly heard in the bedroom. "It is getting 
 late, and I am very tired. Though you are made of iron, 
 you must remember that I am flesh and blood." She 
 had risen, as a sign for him to rise and depart ; but he 
 would linger still for a word or two more. At last she 
 took the lamp and lighted him down the gallery stairs ; 
 while I stole through the darkened parlor, and went up to 
 my room, unobserved. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 309 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Thus musl I from the smoke into the smother." 
 
 — Aa TOU LIKE IT. 
 
 THE old saying, that listeners never hear any good 
 of themselves, was not verified in my case. I had 
 heard too much praise of myself. With the comforting 
 assurance of Mrs. Walters's continued friendship to malte 
 me happy was a modicum of uneasiness at her over- 
 appreciation of my merit. As for Mr. Cloud, it seemed 
 as if I had providentially been led to find out his "true 
 inwardness." I remembered now all that Miss Edith 
 had said of him ; I recalled my uncle's and Eliza's con- 
 tempt of his character ; and adding to their testimony 
 what I had learned in his previous conversations with 
 me, — the drift of which I had not had the wit to per- 
 ceive till now, — I came to the conclusion that he was 
 a vain, conceited, selfish egotist. To-night's revelation 
 made my disenchantment complete. Every vestige of 
 romantic regard that might have lingered in the corners 
 of my heart was swept out, and consumed in the fire of 
 my indignation. It was not possible now to care for his 
 good opinion. He might thiult of me as he pleased ; but 
 he would find on the morrow that I was not the joung 
 woman he had supposed me to be. To his proposal of 
 marriage, which he thought I so much desired, I had the 
 answer at my tongue's end, already. It would not miss 
 fire, but go straight to the mark, like a bullet from a gun. 
 I was quite impatient for the morrow to arrive, that I 
 might confront with my little word the man whose fasci- 
 nations had laid so many other poor girls low at his feet. 
 I slept tranquilly enough that night, and rose next 
 morning with no ill effect of the previous evening's fright 
 and fatigue upon me. Mrs. Walters met me in precisely 
 her usual manner ; and after breakfast and our walk to- 
 gether was over, she requested me to come into the parlor. 
 
310 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 She wished to speak with me, she said, on a matter of 
 some importance. 
 
 Of course, I was not surprised when she opened the 
 subject, b}' saying, — 
 
 " Clifford came to Winsgate, yesterday, on purpose to 
 eee you, Cordelia; or that is what he tells me he came 
 for. An accident to a freight-train, on the Pomfret 
 branch of the railroad, hindered his arrival at the time 
 you expected him." 
 
 I bowed in answer to this piece of intelligence, and 
 asked if she knew that her brother had sent a letter 
 requesting me to meet him at the rocks. 
 
 "Certainly," she answered. "Clifford explained 
 every thing. I had a long talk with him last night. 
 He professes to be very much interested in you : so much, 
 that he wishes to marry you." 
 
 An angry feeling instantly flashed up within me like a 
 flame. But I forbore giving any expression to it, of 
 course, before my dear friend. 
 
 " I wish to be candid with you in this, as in all matters," 
 she went on ; " and I must say I am sorry enough you 
 ever met my brother. The blame, if any there be, must 
 rest wholly with me. I ought to have known what the 
 consequence was likely to be, in keeping you as a 
 companion in my house, with Clifford at home so often. 
 However, there is no use in looking back regretfully at 
 this late day. We must look forward now, and get ready 
 to face wliat the future has for us. Are you very much 
 in love with Clifford, Cordelia?" 
 
 It was well that I bit my tongue on the instant, else 
 I should have betrayed myself by retorting an iniwisc 
 answer. 
 
 "I ask the question," she continued, "from no idle 
 curiosity. You will need to have an immense deal of 
 affection for my brother, if you marry him, to help you 
 overlook his many imperfections. His faults are radical 
 ones. Under no circumstances would he ever become a 
 good husband. Marriage with him will bring you no true 
 happiness. It pains me to speak of him in this way ; but 
 I know Clifford better than any other human being, and I 
 should not be doing my duty to withhold the truth when 
 your welfare is at stake. If you consent to marry him, it 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 311 
 
 must be with your eyes open. My brother is a man of 
 the world ; he lives according to the code of a man of the 
 world. He is more than twelve years your senior. His 
 income, a large one, has hitherto been wholly expended 
 on his own pleasures. His habits are too confirmed to be 
 likelj' to change for so small a circumstance (to him) as 
 marrying a wife. To find yourself irrevocably bound to 
 a man who would most likely, in less than three months' 
 time, look upon your affectionate devotion with the utmost 
 indifference, if he did not regard it as a bore ; who would 
 answer your tenderest appeals with heartless utterances, 
 stabbing you continually with the certain knowledge that 
 he was finding elsewhere a more congenial companionship 
 than you could bestow, — would be dreadful to one of 
 j'Our sensitive nature, I am sure. Do you not think so?" 
 
 "I do decidedly think so," I answered. "I should 
 much prefer to live and die an old maid." 
 
 Mrs. Walters darted a swift glance at my face. 
 
 " You think, I suppose, that this is pretty hard talk 
 about an only brother. But it is true, Cordelia ; and there 
 is much more that I could tell you, which is true also. I 
 should feel condemned, if I could, while holding myself 
 responsible for this state of affairs, be influenced by any 
 consideration to be less sincere." 
 
 Her deep, earnest tones and pale face distressed me. 
 
 "O Mrs. Walters," I exclaimed, "you need say 
 nothing more on the painful subject. I shall not marry 
 your brother. ' ' 
 
 "Have you the strength to give him up? to conquer 
 your love for him? " she asked eagerly. 
 
 " I have no love for him to conquer; I don't care for 
 him at all, not the least in the world," I told her. 
 
 Mrs. Walters gave me another searching look. "Do 
 j-ou really mean what you say, Cordelia? " she demanded. 
 
 " Yes, indeed! I wouldn't marry your brother under 
 any conditions whatever." 
 
 Mrs. Walters's face cleared. She grasped both my 
 hands. " Have you been so quickly influenced by what I 
 have told you just now ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 " No, madam. I have, heard his faults discussed sev- 
 eral times before." 
 
 " But you used to care for him ? " she said. 
 
312 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Yes, I used to like him very much. I used to think 
 he was very nice. But yesterday — since yesterday — 
 1 dou't care for him at all," I replied. 
 
 Mrs. Walters was actually delighted. She embraced 
 me half a dozen times. " Your words make me happier 
 than you can. think, Cordelia. Thank God, there is one 
 girl he has tried his arts upon that doesn't care any thing 
 about him ! " she said. "When he comes to-day, be as 
 direct and plain in your refusal of his offer, as 3'ou have 
 been with me, Cordelia. Don't have the least scruple on 
 account of hurting his feelings. Tell him plainly that you 
 do not care enough about him to marry him. He needs 
 the lesson for his own good " — 
 
 At that moment a tap on the door diverted our atten- 
 tion. " He has already come," thought I. But no: it 
 was Sophy Tomson who came hopping in, with her small 
 hands full of unreceipted bills, the payment of which de- 
 volved on Mrs. Walters. 
 
 The intrusion broke up our further conversation on the 
 matter. Mrs. Walters produced her purse ; and Sophy 
 ran over the items of the bills, comparing them with her 
 own, wliich she had scrupulously kept. As for me, I re- 
 turned to the kitchen, and busied myself with preparations 
 for our dinner; arranging in my mind, at the same time, 
 exactly what I would say to Mr. Cloud wiien he should 
 appear. 
 
 Sophy Tomson remained to dinner, carrying some of 
 my cookery afterwards to her mother. At two o'clock 
 Mrs. Walters and I took a stroll on the beach, keeping 
 in plain view of the cottage, however, that her brother's 
 arrival should not be overlooked and missed. She did 
 not speak of him again that day, not even wlien he did 
 not put in appearance ; but I knew she was thinking of 
 him all the afternoon and evening. I wondered if she 
 knew any tiling concerning the advertisement, which puz- 
 zled and perplexed me still, and which I wanted explained 
 as anxiously as ever. Though she said he had told her 
 every thing, he must, I thought, have omitted mentioning 
 the advertisement ; otherwise, Mrs. Walters would have 
 alluded to it in her conversation of the morning. 
 
 My high disdain of Mr. Cloud underwent no change 
 during Saturday. The little word of refusal to his offer 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 313 
 
 of mamage was still upon my tongue, as ready as ever 
 to be pronounced, when the right moment should arrive. 
 But the right moment was destined not to arrive for some 
 time to come. Evening brought no gentleman to be re- 
 fused. He had gone off, we afterwards learned, with a 
 party of gentlemen from the city, on a fishing excursion, 
 and did not return till Sunday afternoon. Towards even- 
 ing of that day, while Mrs. Walters and I were sitting 
 on the gallery facing the sea, — it was a warm evening, 
 almost like July, — Mr. Cloud appeared. He alighted 
 from a carriage on the beach below, and then came up to 
 join us in the galler3', with as leisurely and unconcerned a 
 manner as usual, as if he had no important purpose what- 
 ever on his mind. He gi'eeted me cordially, as was his 
 wont, with an added inquiry as to how I found myself 
 after the fatigue and anxiety of Friday evening. 
 
 " Well, Clifford," said Mrs. Walters, " you have come 
 at last. I began to think we should not see you at all." 
 
 "I began to think so myself, this morning," returned 
 her brother. " We went out fishing yesterday, and got 
 becalmed. We only came in an hour ago." 
 
 There was some further explanation, and a little ex- 
 change of pleasantries between the brother and sister ; 
 and then the latter left us, making some excuse that she 
 must go to the Tomsons. As she turned away, she 
 glanced at me with a look in her face that seemed to say, 
 "■ I have confidence in you. You will speak and act in 
 just the right way." 
 
 I had no such confidence in myself, however. My 
 temper, in spite of me, was cooling rapidly ; and in this 
 lower temperature of feeling, I began to frame in my 
 mind a politer form of refusal than mj- indignation had 
 first suggested, and one more befitting the lady I deemed 
 myself to be. Not that the glamor was not all removed 
 from my ej'es. As I glanced at the gentleman sitting 
 opposite me at the end of the gallery, in a large arm- 
 chair, I wondered to myself how I could ever have been 
 so charmed by him. He did not seem even physically 
 attractive to-day. The redness of his face — from expo- 
 sure to the sun on the water, or from some other cause — 
 robbed his features of their usually refined expression, 
 and gave to his massive chin, especially, a kind of gross- 
 
314 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ness, unobserved by me before. His figure was undeni- 
 ably majestic, but suggested a little too much of Henry 
 the Eighth style of outline, and gave altogether too rich 
 a promise of increasing dimensions for the future, to be 
 pleasing to my eyes ; but the interior qualities of my com- 
 panion were engrossing my mind now. How could I 
 have been so taken with this man ? was the wonder of 
 the moment, as I glanced at him. I could not even feel 
 angry now, in reviewing what he had said of me. In 
 spite of myself, indignation gave place to an utter indif- 
 ference ; and I was already weai-y of the interview which 
 had scarcely begun. I heartily wished he would make 
 his proposal at once, let me answer it, and retire. 
 
 But it proved that he had come without the remotest 
 intention of making a proposal of any kind. He enter- 
 tained me awhile with an account of his comical ill luck 
 at fishing ; commented on the exceptional beauty of the 
 weather ; and then branched off into indifferent subjects, 
 until twilight deepened into dusk, and the revolving 
 lamps of the distant light-houses shone forth, looking 
 like eyes winking at each other, as if in mutual under- 
 standing of the whole ridiculous business. The only 
 direct allusion he made to any thing connected with me 
 or his sister, was to ask when we intended to return to 
 the city ; and, when I informed him we should quit 
 Winsgate in the afternoon of the next day, he simply 
 remarked that he should leave in the morning, but would 
 see us to say good-by before he sailed. I went to bed 
 that night feeling slightly sheepish, and without the least 
 desire to rehearse in mind a word the gentleman had 
 said. I hoped Mrs. Walters would ask me no questions, 
 and my hope was realized. She did not mention the 
 name of her brother, till he suddenly appeared to us 
 again, just as we were entering the railway station at 
 Winsgate, to wait for the last train to the city. He had 
 changed his mind, it seemed, and was to return with us. 
 He took charge of our luggage, found us comfortable 
 seats when the train arrived, and, after we were well 
 advanced on our journey, took pains to bring from the 
 smoking-car some newspapers for my perusal. The very 
 first one I glanced over, carelessly and indifferently, my 
 eye was arrested by a broad dash of ink marking an item 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 315 
 
 which he head evidently made conspicuous in this way for 
 my especial notice. It was the advertisement to which I 
 had given so much thought, dated a fortnight back, and 
 worded as follows : — 
 
 " If Cordelia Kivers, formerly of Hardclifte, lately of Sunbridge, 
 will call at No. 4 Eudolf Place, between the hours of three and six 
 on any afternoon except Sunday, she will not only confer a favor 
 upon a friend, but hear something to her own advantage. No 
 communication to any one, except Miss Elvers in person." 
 
 I immediately decided that this was not from my 
 mother: the whole tenor of it was so unlike her. Be- 
 sides, I suddenly remembered, what I had not had the wit 
 to think of before, that she had no need to resort to this 
 method to ascertain my whereabouts. She had only to 
 go to Sunbridge, be directed to Mrs. Proctor's, who would 
 give her my address without hesitation. That she might 
 have done so, and already visited Beacon Street during 
 my absence, was a suggestion that sent a thrill of dismay 
 through me. I should soon know, however, if it were 
 true. Another hour's ride would bring us to the city. 
 
 " No," thought I, as I tore out the notice to preserve 
 for future use, " this is not my mother's work ; it is Mr. 
 Windham's. He wants me to leave the bracelet with 
 some trusted friend there, of course ; and his wish shall 
 be complied with, as soon as possible." I began to look 
 over the dramatic notices in the different papers, hoping 
 to learn that my mother had left the city. I soon came 
 to an item concerning Eiviera, which said she had can- 
 celled her engagements for the summer on account of ill- 
 health, and. had leased a beautiful villa, called Prescott 
 Manor, on the Hudson, a few miles above New York City. 
 She had chosen this place, the writer said, for its proxim- 
 ity to the young ladies' school kept by the Misses Man- 
 ners, under whose judicious care she had just placed her 
 young, beautiful daughter — 
 
 I paused here, and re-read the sentence, thinking I had 
 made some mistake. No ; there was the name in full, 
 " Riviera." Could it be that my eyes' had been deceived 
 by some close resemblance to mj' mother? " Her young 
 and beautiful daughter ! To be near her, she had chosen 
 this place." Was it possible that the woman I had seen 
 
316 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 at the theatre was not my mother? Oh, if it could be 
 proved so, how happy I should be ! But no ; it was not 
 possible I could be mistaken. It was the writer's inaccu- 
 racy of statement. Not every thing we read in news- 
 paper-reports could be relied on. Riviera was my mother ; 
 I was her daughter, her only daughter. I satisfied my- 
 self with that conclusion ; and when I reached home, and 
 learned through Giuseppe that no one had been inquiring 
 for me, I settled down to the conviction, that, so long as 
 she had left the city without troubling herself concerning 
 me, she would most likely continue to let me alone, and 
 perhaps forget me altogether. 
 
 I took now a little comfort of mind again. I gradually 
 ceased thinking of the subject ; and after a few days it 
 passed from my mind entirely, and I was at rest. 
 
 Nearly two weeks elapsed before I found an opportu- 
 nity to answer the advertisement, and return the bracelet 
 to the place assigned, without involving the necessity of 
 explanation for my absence. For 1 still believed Mr. 
 Wyndham had inserted the notice. 1 had seen and 
 heard nothing of him, of course, during this time, to make 
 me think otherwise. Since the evening he had dined with 
 us, Mrs. Walters had not spoken his name. Neither had 
 Mr. Cloud mentioned him by any allusion during the short 
 evening he spent with us previous to his departure. I say 
 Its, though 1 was only present during the few minutes in 
 which he said farewell. What passed between him and 
 his sister previously, I had no means of Icnowing ; nor 
 did I care to know. Mrs. Walters merely said next 
 morning, that she had yet to learn not to be surprised at 
 his singular behavior ; which led me to understand that 
 she knew that he had said nothing to me of marriage. 
 
 It was now the first of June. Mr. Walters was away 
 from the city on business. Miss Edith was still tarrying 
 with her friend, and the Beacon-street house was as quiet 
 as the Winsgate cottage. Mrs. Walters had mentioned 
 taking me with her on a little trip to the mountains, and 
 had gone out one day, after lunch, to see an invalid lady 
 who was to accompany us, giving me an opportunity — my 
 first one — to slip out unobserved, and find my way to 
 lludolf Place. I improved it. By dint of much inquiry, 
 and retracing of steps, I stood in the dingy little court at 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 317 
 
 last, on the steps of number four, waiting for the third 
 ringing of the door-bell to be answered. It was a dismal, 
 lonesome place, where no sunlight could enter, a high 
 brick wall on one side, a row of back entrances on the 
 other. The door opened at last narrowly, and a small 
 voice inquired my business. 
 
 "I am Cordelia Eivers," I said, "come to answer a 
 notice in the 'Journal' of April 23." At tliis an- 
 nouncement, the door opened wider ; and I was invited to 
 enter, and descend a dark, steep stairway, which I would 
 not consent to do at first, until the boy assured me (a 
 slight stripling, apparently of feeble intellect) that his 
 mother was unable to ascend the stairs, ai^d she must 
 question me to find if I was the right person, before giv- 
 ing up what was intrusted to her keeping. It seemed a 
 dozen persons by my name had been there before me. I 
 hesitated a little, even after receiving this information, 
 but at last plucked up courage to follow the boy down 
 into a dim kitchen in tlie basement of the building. It 
 was a very old place, but neat, every thing in it having 
 the appearance of being scoured to the whiteness of bone. 
 A little old woman, with big red' hands, was ironing in 
 the centre of the room, surrounded with innumerable dry- 
 ing-bars, containing richly trimmed underwear, with laces, 
 flutings, and frillings of every variety, freshly laundered, 
 and conspicuously spread out to he aired. She did not 
 look up as I entered. Her whole mind seemed to be given 
 to the hot iron, which she was pressing in adroitly among 
 the embroidered mysteries of a lady's night-robe. Her 
 wrinkled face had a singular look given it by the jet-black 
 wig she wore, pulled down almost to her eyebrows. 
 
 The boy handed me a chair behind a clothes-horse, and 
 I sat down, discovering as I did so another woman, big 
 and corpulent, sitting by an open window, looking out. 
 I waited several moments for her to turn her gaze inward, 
 and address me. I saw through the closed window by 
 which I sat tliat her eyes were fixed on a refuse barrel in 
 the back j-ard. She was a more singular object than her 
 companion, Jiaving a most wondrously transparent com- 
 plexion, and such puffy skin that her hands resembled 
 white satin pincushions. Her ponderous cheeks quivered 
 like globes of pale jelly. There was no trace of eye- 
 
318 TIVO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 brow or eyelash on her face. The few hairs of her head, 
 gathered at the nape of her big neck, were twisted into 
 a linob no bigger than a horse-chestnut. 
 
 I spolie to her at last, and made known my errand ; but 
 her attention was not yet to be diverted from the back 
 yard. She had become intensely excited, and now caught 
 up a cane, and swung it towards some object outside, 
 unseen by me ; while at the same time she made hissing 
 noises between her teeth, that made my flesh creep to 
 hear." 
 
 The cause of her anger was presently seen, in the shape 
 of a tiny, ragged urchin, who darted up out of the scrap- 
 barrel with his hands filled with rinds of decaj-ed vegeta- 
 bles. Before the heavy woman could reach out to apply 
 her cane to the infant marauder, he had made off with 
 his forage, like a frightened rat. Such bold depreda- 
 tion, under her very nose, quite upset the woman. She 
 uttered several long sighs, like groans ; and, taking up a 
 large water-pitcher, drank at it till I became alarmed. 
 Not till she had drained it, did she turn her attention to 
 me, and ask who I was ; adding that she hoped I wasn't 
 another bogus one, but she would soon find out if I were. 
 She rummaged in the portable pocket tied on between her 
 gown and petticoat, till she found a crumpled bit of paper, 
 on which it seemed were some questions written to be 
 asked me. When they were answered satisfactorily, she 
 screamed to the deaf woman, ironing, — 
 
 " Betty — get the letter — she's gen-u-wine." 
 
 The deaf woman put aside her flat-iron, took the key 
 handed her, mounted a chair, and, unlocking a tiny 
 closet above the fireplace, produced a leather-covered 
 hymn-book, from between the leaves of which she ex- 
 tracted a big letter. It was addressed to me, with a writ- 
 ten request that I should open and read it in the presence 
 of these women. To my utter consternation, I found the 
 writing not in Mr. Wyndham's hand, but in my mother's. 
 I opened the letter, and found a fifty-dollar bank-note 
 inside. Yes, it was from my mother. She wrote that 
 she had been seeking me ever since her return from 
 England, and thus far could only learn that I was some- 
 where in Boston. She wished me to leave my address 
 with these women, one of whom — Betty Armstrong by 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OE BOSTON. 319 
 
 name — had once been a trusted servant of hers at the 
 South. She requested me tg purchase, with the money 
 enclosed, whatever comfortable clothing I might need, 
 and be ready to accompany her at the shortest notice to 
 New York, in which vicinitj' she was now resting and 
 recuperating, and where she should probably pass the 
 summer. She spoke of having been ill, but said nothing 
 of her vocation. She wrote that she hoped to be better 
 in health when I was with her permanently once more, 
 adding that she would defer any explanation of her long 
 silence until she saw me. 
 
 With one reading of the letter, mj' mind was made up ; 
 but I re-perused the same, to glean something of the spirit 
 with which it had been written. There was an appealing 
 sadness in the lines, that touched me at once. But, as 
 far as it practically concerned me, the letter had arrived 
 three years too late. I carefully replaced the bank-bill 
 within the letter, and the letter in the envelope, and 
 returned it to the deaf woman, with a piece of money 
 for her trouble. Then, with a good-evening, I turned 
 towards the stairway. 
 
 " Look 'er here, girl," called out the big woman, " you 
 hain't left word where the lady can find ye." 
 
 " I have no word to leave," I said, beginning to grope 
 up the stairs. 
 
 " Is that all we shall tell the lady? " she screamed. 
 
 "That is all," I answered, making my way through 
 the door the boy opened for me, as quickly as possible. 
 
 I was glad to get up and out into daylight again ; and 
 partially succeeded, as I hurried homeward, in shaking off 
 the nervous fear that had beset me in that underground 
 kitchen. 
 
 When I entered the house, Giuseppe informed me that 
 Mrs. Walters had returned, and was but a moment ago 
 inquiring for me. But I could not meet that dear woman 
 face to face until I had been to my own room and recov- 
 ered myself a little. I wanted to think what I must do ; 
 and though I knew there was but one course to take to 
 escape from my mother, and that was to go directly to my 
 uncle, — set out early on the morrow, — the thought of 
 wrenching myself from Mrs. Walters, and voluntarily 
 turning my back on hope, happiness, and home, pierced 
 
320 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 me like an agonizing pain. Yet it must be done ; tiiere 
 was no alternative. I could never live with my mother 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Walters was still looking for me, when I reached 
 the top of the stairs ; she opened her dressing-room door, 
 and bade me come in. I entered. 
 
 " Lay off your shawl and hat here," she said in an agi- 
 tated voice. " You have been taking a long walk; you 
 look pale; rest a little while." She made an effort to 
 smile, and speak calmly ; but her own face was pale, and 
 I noticed a slight quivering of her lips. 
 
 " What can be the matter ! " thought I. My eyes fall- 
 ing the next moment on a black-bordered letter unopened 
 upon the table, I asked if any friend of hers was dead? 
 
 "The letter is for j'ou," she said; "it came in an 
 hour ago." She put it into my liand. 
 
 "Uncle Beals is dead! " I exclaimed, as I looked at 
 the address, in Eliza's hand-writing. Tearing open the 
 envelope, 1 found my presentiment verified. But it was 
 some moments before I could trace any consecutive word- 
 ing of the intelligence : I was in such a tumult of blinding 
 inward trouble and amaze. 
 
 When I could read the letter calmly, I learned that a 
 shock of apoplexy had carried off my uncle ; and that 
 Eliza, as soon as all business-matters could be settled, was 
 coming East with her bab}^ to join her own relatives in 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 "This is sad indeed," said Mrs. Walters, after a rush 
 of tears had relieved my pent-up feelings a little; " but 
 I have a more startling piece of news than your uncle's 
 death to communicate to you, Cordelia. Do you recall 
 how I once told you there was a possibility that your 
 mother might come back and claim you?" 
 
 I shot a frightened glance at Mrs. Walters. " Try and 
 be calm, now, Cordelia, and not let sudden joy overcome 
 you. That possibility has come true. Your mother is 
 living. You will soon be restored to her." 
 
 I groaned aloud, and dropped face downwards among 
 the pillows of the sofa on which I was sitting. 
 
 "Forgive me, Cordelia," said Mrs. Walters, sitting 
 down beside me, and stroking my hair; "I meant to 
 break this intelligence less abruptly " — 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 821 
 
 " Oh, I can bear it!" I said, feeling more poignantly 
 the shame of the deceit I had practised, than any thing 
 else just then. " Tell me every thing ; I can bear it." 
 
 "Well, then," saidMrs. Walters, "yourmother is in the 
 city. I have seen her. She has been here, to the house, 
 this afternoon ; she waited nearly an hour for you to come 
 in. She knows about the report of her death : she was 
 very sick, and was supposed to be dead. She will tell 
 you all about it, and why you have never heard from 
 her." 
 
 "How did she know I was here?" I asked, without 
 lifting my face. 
 
 " She went to Sunbridge last week, to make closer in- 
 quiries, and saw Mrs. Proctor," said Mrs. Walters. 
 
 The joyful calmness of Mrs. Walters's tone caused me 
 a few moments' mental torture, such as I had never before 
 experienced. I was reaping now what my lack of truth- 
 fulness had sown ; and a full harvest I was having, too. 
 My grandmother's trite moralizing came to mind with 
 much force just then. "Always speak the truth," she 
 had said. " The truth, if ever so hard at first, is easj', 
 you'll find, in the long-run. Plausible lies never leave any 
 comfort behind them." I realized it now. 
 
 " There is one thing that puzzles me," resumed Mrs. 
 Walters, when I had lifted my head, and was sitting up 
 once more. " You went to the theatre the other after- 
 noon, — a month ago it was, however, — and you saw 
 Riviera, did you not? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw her," I answered, burying my face in the 
 pillows of the lounge again. 
 
 ' ' Did you observe any resemblance in the actress to 
 your mother ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " It didn't occur to you, of course, that she was j'our 
 mother? You have been separated from her so long, and 
 doubtless she has changed somewhat, and j'ou were by no 
 means prepared to meet her in such a place." I made 
 no reply. "But she is your mother. Riviera is your 
 own mother, Cordelia. She told me so this afternoon." 
 
 " Yes," I said, again resuming an upright position, and 
 trying hard to control the fit of trembling that had seized 
 me. " I understand it all now." 
 
322 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Mrs. Walters looked troublerl. "The sudden news, 
 as I feared, is too much for yon." She poured out 
 some cordial into a glass, and made me drink it. " Your 
 motlier is truly a lovely woman," she continued. I per- 
 ceived at once those points you once described to me. 
 You have no idea what a surprise it was, when Giuseppe 
 brought up her card, and I learned that she was your 
 mother ! I was almost overcome thinking how it might 
 affect you. She certainly has a very charming way of 
 conversing with one. Her manners are quite perfect. 
 You don't know how glad I am on your account. She 
 asked me a great many questions about you, and seemed 
 exceedingly grateful for the interest I felt in you. I 
 assured her you would receive with great satisfaction and 
 delight the news of her return, and be quite overjoyed 
 at the prospect of being re-united to her. Your mother 
 wishes you to return to New York with her to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! So soon? Oh, I cannot go with her ! " 
 I groaned. " Indeed, I cannot, Mrs. "Walters. Please 
 tell her so. I cannot be separated from you. Tell my 
 mother you cannot spare me ; beg of her to let me remain 
 here." 
 
 "You forget, Cordelia, in your present excitement, 
 how improper it would seem in me to make such an 
 appeal to your mother, after her long separation from 
 you," said Mrs. Walters. "It is not my place to assume 
 the right to make such a request. It will pain me to part 
 with you ; but not as it would, did I not know that this 
 affectionate impulse springs from ^-our tender apprecia- 
 tion of my feelings, rather than from any actual desire to 
 remain with me. Your real wish must be to go with your 
 mother." 
 
 "Oh, no, no! My real wish is to stay with you 
 always. I don't ask an}' other happiness than to live 
 with you." I uttered these passionate words with such an 
 accompaniment of dismal sighs, and repeated with such 
 energy of emphasis the fact that I loved her better than 
 anybody else in the world, that Mrs. Walters's eyes filled, 
 although she smiled at the same time. 
 
 " And I love 3'ou," she said ; " but we mustn't let our 
 own feelings govern us in this matter. I appreciate the 
 sincerity of your words. I understand it all, dear. You 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 323 
 
 will find j'ourself feeling, in a little while, quite differ- 
 ently. Your mother is your natural guardian ' ' — 
 
 " I don't love my mother ! I never did, and I never 
 shall," I burst out impetuously. " I never said so before, 
 but it is true. I love you, Mrs. Walters. You have been 
 trulj' kind to me. I love you better than I love myself." 
 
 " One reason for your lack of feeling for your mother," 
 said Mrs. Walters, ignoring the appealing gesture of my 
 outstretched hands, while the tears began to fall from her 
 eyes, in spite of her efforts to prevent, "one reason is, 
 that you have never lived with her, as other daughters 
 have lived with their mothers. But she is going to make 
 up for what you have both missed, as far as she can. 
 She is going to do a great deal for j-ou, Cordelia. She 
 intends that you shall have as thorough an education 
 as a woman can have in this country, by keeping j'ou in 
 school for the next five years. She has come into the 
 possession of considerable wealth recently, and will spare 
 no expense in doing the best for you. Of course, tlie 
 best of things do not come to us in this world unalloyed ; 
 and it is well they do not. And you see how foolish it 
 would be, under the circumstances, for you to remain 
 with me. If you do not see it now, you will by and by. 
 You will be allowed to visit me occasionally, of course. 
 I have no doubt your mother will consent to your spend- 
 ing your vacations with me : so, you see, we shall not be 
 really separated, after all. And then you can write to me 
 as often as you wish. I shall be glad to get letters from 
 you every week." 
 
 "And somebody else will fill my place here, and read 
 them to you," I moaned. "I shall be forgotten, — I 
 shall be nothing to j'ou after a little while." 
 
 "You mustn't say that, Cordelia," said Mrs. Walters, 
 "because you don't believe any such thing. I have a 
 peculiar tenderness for you, unlike any I shall ever feel 
 for another. Take that truth to your heart, and keep it 
 there, if it will comfort you. Nobody will ever fill your 
 place in my affections." 
 
 I was sobbing now at a gi'eat rate, aud Mrs. Walters 
 did not attempt to check me. I had my cry out, but I 
 felt no relief when it was over. I felt doubly dejected, 
 broken down, and powerless. 
 
324 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Now, I think," said Mrs. "Walters, after she had 
 talked another half hour to me soothingl3', " j'ou had 
 better go to your room, and commence preparations for 
 your journey. Camille is waiting to assist you. You 
 won't like to be hurried in the morning. Your mother is 
 to be here at an early hour. Besides, I shall want you 
 all to myself after dinner, to look over Mrs. Eldridge's 
 plans for the proposed epileptic ward in the Children's 
 Hospital, you know." 
 
 " Y''es, ma'am," I answered, and went up to the sacri- 
 ficial task. 
 
 Camille was already in my room, folding my dresses in 
 the nicest manner. She brought every thing belonging 
 to me from closets and bureau, and placed them in little 
 piles around my trunk, for me to pack as I chose. It 
 seemed to me like bringing fagots to the stake to which I 
 was to be bound and burned ; for I was bj' no means ready, 
 as yet, to submit to the ordeal of going with my mother. 
 
 Various plans of escape were continually suggesting 
 themselves. I so far resolved on one, as to pack a hand- 
 bag with a change of clothing, half believing I would 
 steal away in the dusk of dawn, take the earliest train to 
 Sunbridge, and conceal myself at Mrs. Proctor's until 
 my mother got tired of searching for me. Nothing but 
 the after reflection, that so doing would lower me in Mrs. 
 Walters's regard, kept me from carrying out the plan. I 
 could bear any thing better than the loss of her respect. 
 
 With Camille's help, I was soon in readiness for the 
 morrow's journey. There was nothing further to be done 
 but to subdue my spirit. I had imagined this same ex- 
 citing event, and how I would act in it, many times since 
 my visit to the theatre. I had imagined I should be 
 strong enough to adhere to the resolution not to consent 
 to live with my mother again, — to utterly refuse to do 
 it. But, in the real event, I sunk to my natural level. I 
 could rise no higher than my source. I had neither the 
 ingenuity of mind, nor power of will, to make a place for 
 myself in the world, unaided and alone. With all the 
 freedom of expansion my egotism had indulged in, encir- 
 cled by Mrs. Walters's protection, I now found myself a 
 very dependent creature. I kept close to Mrs. Walters 
 all the little time that I'emained to me now ; feeling e^ery 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 325 
 
 hour that brought nearer my mother's coming an accu- 
 mulation of dread, too peculiar to be expressed. 
 
 Each knock on the study door, next morning, took 
 the blood from my cheeks, and all strength from my 
 limbs ; yet strange to say, when the real announcement 
 of my mother's arrival came, I found myself compara- 
 tively calm and collected. I went down to the drawing- 
 room to meet her alone. She was seated midway the long 
 room ; and before I reached her, I had ample opportunity 
 to view well the toiU ensemble of her person. She rose 
 when she saw me; and the fur-lined wrap, — which she 
 always wore on cool days in summer, — slipping from her 
 shoulders, showed me how fragile her figure had become, 
 though it was still graceful and commanding as ever. 
 Her face, too, was much worn, making the large, brilliant 
 eyes more noticeable, if possible, than ever. There was 
 a perceptible movement and look of surprise on her part, 
 when she greeted me. 1 had not once thought, of late, 
 how the change in my person might affect my mother. 
 Now, I saw, as she surveyed me, that my altered appear- 
 ance was agreeable to her. But it did not inspire me with 
 confidence. I approached her precisely as I used to do 
 at Hardcliffe, when I had been summoned to her presence 
 to receive orders for the day's meals ; and I half expected 
 to hear her say, in the old weary tone, " Bring in my tea 
 and toast, Cordelia." She did not let go my hand until 
 she had gently drawn me to the sofa from which she had 
 risen, and I had sat down beside her. After a little 
 pause, she began to talk, in that smooth contralto of hers 
 which had once been so effectual in controlling my emo- 
 tional tendencies, but which did not touch me in the least 
 now. She did not mention the letter slie had intrusted 
 to her laundress in Rudolf Place. She did not speak of 
 old times, or allude to the destitute condition in which she 
 had left me at Hardcliffe. She simply confessed that her 
 lack of means to provide me a better place had obliged 
 her to send ma to Sunbridge. " But," she added, " there 
 is this consolation, after all. Past evils have contributed 
 to present good. I am now able to fulfil my promise, 
 Cordelia, to send you to school. You will enter next week 
 one of the finest young ladies' schools in the country." 
 
 While she went on to describe the institution of learn- 
 
326 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 ing in which I was to enjoy the high privilege of being a , 
 pupil, I experienced no thrill of pleasure or gratitude. 
 The fulfdment of her promise had come — like many 
 other deferred blessings — too late ; three years too late. 
 I did not desire to go to school now. 
 
 "I trust," she went on, "that you feel no disinclina- 
 tion to accompany me at once to New York? " 
 
 Without waiting for an answer to the question, she glided 
 off at once, with consummate tact, into another theme, 
 which I saw, as she proceeded, contained the real motive 
 that had influenced her earnest search of me. It had 
 become necessary to her happiness that I should be found. 
 It seemed some special intelligence concerning an old 
 transaction of my father had reached her in England, 
 and hastened her departure to this country. The missing 
 link in a chain of evidence, which had been the means of 
 keeping my father for so many years under a cloud of sus- 
 picion, had now come to light to exonerate him from dis- 
 honorable doing. Lost papers, or documents of some 
 kind, had been discovered, which proved, or were said to 
 prove, that my father had not so grossly wronged my 
 mother as she had so long believed him to have done. 
 She did not explain what this wrong had been ; but I had 
 so often, when a child, heard my father's business man- 
 agement denounced, it was easy to surmise that it was 
 something in connection with the wild speculations in 
 which he had sunk thousands of dollars in Western 
 lands. I concluded that these same Western claims were, 
 perhaps, turning up at this late day as a source of wealth 
 to my mother. But why her sudden interest in me should 
 be kindled by the fact, if it were a fact, I did not attempt 
 to consider. I let it go with other inexplicable things in 
 my history which I had long since ceased to ponder. 
 
 When my mother again questioned my willingness to 
 go with her, I was ready to answer at once, that I should 
 prefer staying awhile longer, if she pleased, with Mrs. 
 Walters. 
 
 " I should be very glad to indulge you in your wish, 
 Cordelia," she returned, "but for this reason: a gen- 
 tleman from the South is waiting to see you in New York. 
 He was an acquaintance of j-our father. He has an 
 invalid daughter, and is anxious to reach his destination 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 327 
 
 for the summer. I have made an appointment with him 
 to meet us to-morrow. You were fond of your father, 
 were you not, Cordelia ? ' ' she added, observing my 
 downcast face. 
 
 "Indeed I was," replied I earnestly. 
 
 " Then you will be able to cheerfully put aside all pri- 
 vate preferences," she said with a touch of her old stoni- 
 ness, " in the interest you must feel in having your father's 
 memory cleared of the stain of dishonor." 
 
 "I will do as you wish," I said submissively, feeling 
 ashamed of my selfish request, and yet angry that my 
 mother had got such hold of me so quickly. I was weighed 
 down also with the hopeless conviction that I should never 
 have any will of my own again. 
 
 At this point Mrs. Walters entered. How I longed to 
 turn to her for comfort, direction, and help ! But it was 
 too late now : a gulf divided us. She smiled across it 
 upon me ; for she saw only the sunshine in my onward 
 path, while I felt myself about to penetrate the deepest 
 shadows. 
 
 A few conventionalities were exchanged between the 
 ladies, and then I was bidden by my motlier (for a silent 
 transferment of authority had already taken place) to 
 make myself ready for our journey. 
 
 The news of my great good fortune in the discovery of 
 a long-lost mother, who was not only rich and beautiful, 
 but distinguished, caused much excitement among the 
 servants. When my mother's carriage arrived, they all 
 assembled in the hall to say good-b}- to me, and get a 
 look at my exceptional parent, — allbut Eunice, (John's 
 wife) and I ran down to the kitchen to say farewell 
 to her, little dreaming under what circumstances I should 
 look upon her kindly, benevolent, deeply pitted face 
 again. On returning, I met Mrs. Walters in the corridor. 
 She wished to take leave of me in private. She put her 
 arms about me ; I clasped her neck, and laid my cheek 
 against hers : neither uttered a word. We stood thus for 
 several moments ; then, without a look backward, I rushed 
 through the hall, and down the steps, entered the car- 
 riage, and sat down beside my mother. The door was 
 closed, the driver mounted his seat, we moved noiselessly 
 away, and my Beacon-street home was lost to me forever. 
 
328 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " A man's fortunes are the fruit of his character." 
 
 — Emeeson. 
 
 WE arrived in New York about midnight, and were 
 driven to an imposing looking hotel, and conducted 
 to a long suite of rooms, reserved for my mother, in one 
 of which I went to bed, and lay awake till daybreak. 
 Then, for an hour, I fell into such deep slumber, that, 
 when I awoke from it, I could not comprehend for several 
 minutes who or where I was. A plump body in a scarlet 
 bodice, laced to a point behind, and wearing a tiny white 
 cap atop her coils of black hair, was bobbing up and down 
 at the foot of the bedstead, busy overhauling the contents 
 of my trunk. I soon saw it was my mother's own maid, 
 to whom yesterday I had taken an instantaneous dislike. 
 She was tossing my wearing apparel unceremoniously 
 about, in her eager haste to "inspect the lowest stratum 
 of my luggage. 
 
 " Quil est magnijique," she muttered, on discovering 
 Wyndham's bracelet. She dropped the hd of the trunk, 
 and sat down to admire at her leisure the precious article ; 
 examining with much curiosity the little key attached to 
 it by a narrow ribbon. Until now my intense homesick- 
 ness had made me indifferent to every thing. But when 
 I caught sight of her endeavoring to fasten the circlet 
 upon her own arm, my irritation was beyond words ; and 
 it was well that it was, for words would have signified 
 nothing between us. Obeying my first impulse, I sprang 
 out of bed, snatched the bracelet from her hands, and 
 thrust it into the pocket of my nightgown. 
 
 The woman — • for she was middle-aged — was at first 
 greatly startled ; then she grew angry, and rattled off a 
 string of words in French (or I judged it to be French ; 
 for, although' I had studied that language diligently at 
 Sunbridge, I could scarcely understand a word of it 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 329 
 
 spoken by a native) with great volubility, nodding her 
 head violently, and facing me boldly the while. 
 
 " You are very impertinent to meddle with my things 
 at all, " exclaimed I hotly ; " and, if there is any more of 
 it, I shall complain to my mother." 
 
 I stopped suddenly then, because I saw she understood 
 my English as little as I understood her French, and that 
 I was wasting my breath. 
 
 When she quitted the room, I hoped it was not to return 
 , again ; but she presently re-appeared, sent back by my 
 mother, she informed me by gestures, to assist me in 
 dressing. I tried to make her understand that 1 required 
 and desired no assistance. But it was useless. She 
 caught up the brush and comb, and attacked my head at 
 once ; and I submitted in a desolation of spirit, such as 
 I had not experienced since donning my rags in the old 
 leaky bedroom at Hardclifife hill. 
 
 The apprehension that she would malign me to my 
 mother made my fierce resistance soon die out ; and I 
 meekly permitted her to pommel my head, pour a sticky 
 liquid over my curls, and plaster them down to my very 
 eyebrows, in a way hideous to feel, if not to behold. 
 
 When she had punished me to an extent she deemed 
 her due, for my audacity in snatching the bracelet from 
 her, she ushered me into my mother's breakfast-room, 
 where a servant was spreading the table, and arranging 
 npou it an exquisite breakfast service of Sevres china. 
 
 In a happy frame of mind, I should have enjoj'ed these 
 elegant and artistic surroundings. The walls of the room, 
 and the coverings of the furniture, were crimson, making 
 a royal setting for my mother's pale, statuesque beauty, 
 as she sat in her white silk gown at the end of the table, 
 opening and reading and casting aside the many morning 
 letters the servant had brought in to her. Behind her 
 chair, between the crimson folds of the portiere, I discov- 
 ered another room, upholstered in various shades of green 
 and gold, reminding me of the depths of a summer dell 
 with the first touch of autumn upon it. Golden-rod, 
 purple asters, feathery clematis, the bursting globes of 
 thistles, were represented with such naturalness upon the 
 panels, and intermingled with such life-like painting of 
 green and yellow grasses, and tangled blackben-y-vines, 
 
330 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 my eyes were at first lured to believe that they actually 
 sprang from the mossy border of the carpet, and had 
 root beneath it. 
 
 Beyond this parlor, through another curtained door- 
 way, was a vista of mother's boudoir, with walls, dra- 
 peries, couches, gleaming in hues lilje a soft sunset. 
 
 In contrast to all this elegance and luxury, my mind 
 instantly reverted to the old house, with its low, grimy 
 ceilings and big fireplaces ; beside one of which I had 
 so often seen my mother, wrapped in her thiclc cloak, 
 with an outer covering of double blankets, sit and shiver, 
 through the dismal days of a long cold winter. " Surely," 
 thought I, " she must have become very rich to be able to 
 live here amid such grand appointments, and use them as 
 the common things of life." For my mother was not the 
 least changed in her manner. Every movement was as 
 imperious as of old ; and it seemed for the moment, when 
 she put out her slender, marble-like hand to touch mine, as 
 if I, too, was unaltered, — as if all I had gained in experi- 
 ence at Sunbridge, and with Mrs. Walters, had been but 
 borrowed stuff, the memory of which was slipping away 
 from me like a dream. 
 
 I stood before my mother that morning just as I used 
 to do. I looked at her in the same waj'. Her presence 
 affected me as of old. A few sprays of the lily-of-the- 
 valley were fastened at her throat. To-day, as I write, 
 the perfume of that delicate flower brings back the whole 
 scene. She pointed to the chair I was to occupy beside 
 her at table. I sat down in it. A colored servant stood 
 behind my mother's chair ; and presently I discovered 
 another at my elbow, who I thought, as I had not ob- 
 served his entrance, must have risen up out of the floor. 
 He presented, obsequiously, a bill of fare, at which I 
 shook my head. I was too homesick to eat. My mother 
 then ordered ray breakfast, which the servant brought 
 in, and arranged with such solicitude over details, that I 
 began to be half afraid that he intended to convey what 
 he was preparing to my mouth with his hands, and was 
 greatly relieved to find him contented to simply watch 
 how little I mechanically swallowed of it. 
 
 I can hardly tell which made me the more uncomfort- 
 able, the eyes of the servants or the close presence of my 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 331 
 
 mother. She ate little or nothing herself. She seemed 
 to be waiting for some one to come in. Her large eyes 
 were continually turning towards the door, which pres- 
 ently unclosed, admitting a gentleman, who came forward 
 with easy, but deferential air, and paid his respects to 
 her as to a queen. She returned his courteous greeting 
 somewhat absent-mindedly, I thought, glancing again at 
 the door, as if she expected some one else to appear ; 
 introducing me, meanwhile, by saying simply, "My 
 daughter, Mr. Clough." 
 
 The gentleman bowed, went through the usual formality, 
 and then briskly seated himself opposite us at the tablet 
 and did not look at me again during the meal. But I 
 stole an occasional glance at him. Where in the world 
 had I seen this man before ? It presently occurred to me 
 that it must be the same who had called upon my mother 
 at the old house, the night before she left Hardcliffe, — 
 the man into whose presence Calista had thrust me so 
 unceremoniously, and before whom I had stood, with my 
 toes, like Christopher Sly's, looking out through the over- 
 leather of my broken shoes. Yes, it was the very same 
 pale-eyed, polite man ; a trifle more stooping in figure 
 perhaps, a trifle more sallow, a trifle more husky-voiced. 
 I saw now, however, or rather I felt, what I was too young 
 to take note of three years ago, — that the man had a 
 great deal of reserved power of some kind or another, 
 and as much force of will as he had politeness of manner. 
 
 "Why doesn't Mr. Clark come in?" inquired my 
 mother, as the gentleman looked over the bill of fare. 
 "I left an invitation below for him to breakfast with 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Clough did not answer at once ; and she said, 
 " You can speak freely, Mr. Clough. The matter is not 
 strictly private, I suppose, regarding Mr. Clark's where- 
 abouts." Mr. Clough did not answer until the servants 
 retired. Then he said, — 
 
 " Clark isn't here, — he has gone." 
 
 "Gone!" said my mother with that peculiar down- 
 ward inflection that expresses disbelief. " He would not 
 go, surely, before fulfllliug his promise to me." 
 
 " I am sorry enough to say that he has," returned Mr. 
 Clough; " all the more sorry, that I could do nothing to 
 
332 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 prevent it. Yet, after all, it is a sliglit matter to which 
 he could testify with certainty. I should advise you to 
 let him go." 
 
 " No, I shall not do that. The smallest item in this 
 business is of consequence to me. I had counted on 
 having every thing settled this morning," said my mother, 
 rising and walking to a window that looked down upon 
 the street. " In my present state of health," she added, 
 "it seems hard to bear the slightest strain of lingering 
 doubt. Why could he not have delayed his going one 
 day for my sake? " 
 
 - "I will tell you why," said Mr. Clough, as my mother 
 resumed her place at table. " His daughter was worse; 
 the physician ordered her departure." 
 
 "One day could have made no difference with her," 
 said my mother almost contemptuously. 
 
 " But the next boat does not sail for a fortnight," said 
 Mr. Clough. " He was compelled to go." 
 
 There was further talk carried on in a blind way, on 
 account, I suspected, of my presence. When breakfast 
 was over, I would have returned to my bedroom. I 
 wanted to indulge my heavy heart with a good long fit of 
 crying. But mother motioned towards the parlor ; and I 
 followed her there, where she gave me for diversion some 
 illustrated books to look over. I felt a sense of humilia- 
 tion in being thus treated. She seemed to forget that I 
 was no longer a child, and had developed some capacity 
 of mind along with the growth of my body. 
 
 But I saw plainly that the time would never come when 
 my mother would consider me otherwise than a child, — an 
 inferior. The same miserable feeling of restraint I had 
 always had with her would, under all circumstances, no 
 doubt, continue to hedge me in. I turned my head, while 
 I pretended to look at the books, that the homesick tears 
 might fall unobserved. All my heart, my soul, my life, 
 was still with Mrs. Walters, and the dear home so far 
 removed. Oh, I was sure I was never to behold it again ! 
 
 My mother and her companion still continued to talk 
 of Mr. Clark ; and her disappointment was so strongly 
 expressed, that I began to wonder, at last, how he could 
 have connected himself with her affairs so closely as to 
 make his presence, or absence, of so much consequence 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 333 
 
 to her. " The question now remains," said my mother, 
 after the matter had been discussed at some length, " how 
 soon, and where I can be permitted to see the gentleman, 
 
 — or rather the paper he holds in his possession. For it 
 is the date of that woman's death, I wish to know, rather 
 than any verbal statement he can make. The difference 
 of a day in the date will make the misery of a lifetime 
 with me. He might at least have left the paper in your 
 care," added she gloomily. 
 
 "I saw the paper," said Mr. Clough ; " and, as I told 
 you, the date was so indistinct, by reason of the figures 
 being placed in the worn-out folds of the paper, that no 
 one, I think, could exactly determine whether it was the 
 10th or the 19th of November. I should say it was some- 
 where between the two numbers. Yet Mr. Clark is strong 
 in the belief that her death must have occurred before the 
 10th, on account of a circumstance which was closely 
 connected with himself." 
 
 " It is of that circumstance that I wish to hear," said 
 my mother. ' ' Do you know if he is to return here again ? ' ' 
 
 " Ido not," said Mr. Clough. " But he mentioned his 
 intention of being in Boston some time during September, 
 
 — the first part of September, I believe." 
 
 " Then I have nothing to do but wait," said my mother, 
 
 — " submit, and wait." 
 
 "I should advise j'ou, for j'our own peace of mind," 
 suggested Mr. Clough, " to accept tlie evidence you have, 
 as final and satisfactory. Clark will be able to tell you 
 little more than I have done. It will be painful to him, 
 and of little satisfaction to you, to revive unpleasant 
 associations connected with the private love-affair of his 
 you*h. I doubt if he can be made to speak of it at all. 
 It is better for you not to think of him again. Take my 
 word as truth for what I saw. She must have died on the 
 15th ; and, even if it were a day later, — three days later, 
 — your way is clear." 
 
 "• If I had been certain it was later," said my mother, 
 
 — rising and walking about the room, and diffusing the 
 scent of hlies as she moved, — " the ocean would be Ijing 
 between this girl and myself, to-day." 
 
 As she spoke, she placed her hand lightly on my shoulder, 
 thrilling me with an unpleasant sensation, and making me 
 
334 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 vaguely apprehensive of some coming misery for both of 
 us. I had been listening to the conversation, anticipating 
 some mention of my father's name, and half dreading, 
 half hoping, to gain a clew that would help me unravel the 
 mystery of the great wrong he had done my mother. But 
 the talk progressed, and I got no key to tlie enigma. 
 
 "There is no use in considering adverse possibilities," 
 said Mr. Clough at length, as he rose to depart. "It is 
 better to take the good that comes to our hands, than to 
 cast it away in a search for the evil. As far as I can 
 see, you have no cause for apprehension. You can settle 
 down to the study of your new play without anxiety." 
 The gentleman pronounced these assuring words with a 
 demeanor and smile almost attractive, and I could ima- 
 gine how one, who cared less for external qualities than 
 for vigor and force of mind, might be easily drawn to 
 him ; and I was quite surprised that my mother could 
 bow, and turn away from him, with such severity of 
 countenance. 
 
 "You can go to jour room, Cordelia," said she, the 
 moment the door closed upon the visitor. "Annette is 
 there, doubtless, looking over your wardrobe. 1 shall 
 order some new dresses for you to-day." 
 
 I went at once to my bedroom ; finding, however, to 
 my great relief, no Annette there. Here I was left 
 solely to myself for several hours; and, being quite too 
 low-spirited to read, I continued to sit at the window and 
 gaze into the thronged street, which was a solitude to me, 
 lonelier than the wildest forest tracts of IJardeliffe had 
 ever been. 
 
 Towards evening I was summoned to the parlor, where 
 my mother condescended to inform me that she should 
 leave New Y'ork in a few days, and go to a country house 
 she had rented, on the banks of the Hudson, close to the 
 school she had selected for me to attend. 
 
 I cared nothing for this information, and did not mind 
 when she permitted a fortnight to pass, before carrying 
 out her plan. The weather was so delightfully cool, that 
 she lingered day after day, passing the mornings in her 
 boudoir, where she received her visitors, — artists, authors, 
 actors, journalists, and other distinguished persons, of 
 whom I knew nothing, and for whom I cared less. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 335 
 
 After dinner, she sometimes retired to her room to 
 study, but generally attended some one of the theatres, 
 where she studied the style of the notable actors, with a 
 view of perfecting her own. Annette, my mother's ser- 
 vant, so repulsive to me, was a blessing to her. She was 
 always up at any hour of the night, ready to put her 
 mistress to bed, and would afterwards drone her to sleep 
 with a few pages of a French novel. 
 
 Meanwhile, the terrible homesickness I suffered in- 
 creased upon me, ratlier than diminished ; and, to say 
 truth, I made not the slightest effort to cast it off. I am 
 ashamed to confess liow helplessly I lay down, as it 
 were, in the path of the torrent, and let the floods sweep 
 over me. I have no patience with myself, when I remem- 
 ber what a luxury of woe I revelled in, and what buckets- 
 ful of tears I wasted, and what long letters I wrote to 
 Mrs. Walters, which, as I afterwards learned, were never 
 received by her, thanks to my mother. 
 
 I certainly had no occasion, at this period, to find fault 
 with my mother's treatment of me. She supplied me 
 with abundant and rich clothiug. She talked with me 
 now and then, and occasionally took me to drive with her 
 about the city. Yet, in my perverseness, I would not try 
 to love her again, or trust her. Nor could I even feel 
 grateful. Behind my murmured thanks was the ever 
 aggressive thought, and the whisper, " Too late, three 
 years too late." When a bitterer hour came, I regretted 
 this lack of effort, and felt that some genuine return for 
 my motlier's kindness should have been tendered either 
 by word or act on my part. 
 
 After the first hot day, we quitted the city by steamer, 
 and, sailing some miles up the river, landed at a pictur- 
 esque spot under a steep bank, where we took a carriage 
 and wound around the green acclivitjs over an excellent 
 road, until we reached " Prescott Manor." The house — 
 built by an artist of the erratic order, who was now trav- 
 elling in Europe — was of stone, with peaked turrets, 
 much like those of Normandy chateaux I had seen in 
 pictures. The views from it surpassed any I had ever 
 beheld. I was quite lifted out of my excessive homesick- 
 ness, for the time, by their exceptional beauty and grand- 
 eur. The wondrous variety of hills, gorges, and wooded 
 
336 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 snmirfits ; the picturesque glimpses of tlie softly rippling 
 river, lying so far below, and dotted with sails ; its ter- 
 raced banks, its white escarpments , the grand outline of 
 near and distant mountain ranges, lit up with the golden 
 fire of a gorgeous sunset, — made a picture altogether too 
 glorious to describe. 
 
 The school, which my mother had detei-mined I should 
 attend, was half a mile from this house ; and thither my 
 mother went the morning after our arrival, for the pur- 
 pose of a private consultation with its principal, the elder 
 Miss Manners. 
 
 It was decided, after some delay, that, inasmuch as the 
 present term of the school was to close shortly, it would 
 be better to place me under private instruction for a few 
 weeks, preparatory for entrance into one of the higher 
 classes, when the succeeding term should open, in the 
 middle of September. 
 
 Accordingly, a governess was procured, and domiciled 
 at once in the house ; and the process of making me over, 
 and moulding me into the required shape for admittance 
 to this genteel school for rich young ladies, was speedily 
 begun. 
 
 Miss Bender was the name of my elderly teacher. She 
 had the reputation of being extraordinarily thorough, 
 efficient, and faithful ; and of never failing to give satis- 
 faction in handling the rawest material, in the shape of a 
 young girl, that was ever put into her hands. 
 
 My mother committed me wholly to her care, and she 
 became at once the mistress of all mj- actions. Her mode 
 of treatment of her subjects varied according to their indi- 
 vidual temperament, and with me she began the unlearn- 
 ing process. 
 
 To describe how she cleared my mind of its rubbish, 
 making it blank, and then receptive, — capable of being 
 fertilized with the overflowing richness of her own men- 
 tality, —would be altogether too tedious. ] wish to be 
 done with her as soon as possible, and will only say, that 
 she taught me mathematics, moral philosophy, gymnas- 
 tics, politeness, and every kind of embroidery ; attending 
 punctiliously to that branch of physical development 
 which tended to make me slender and graceful, after the 
 Bender model. 
 
TWO GENTLEMElf OF BOSTON. 337 
 
 She never forsook me for a day, in eight long weeks, 
 except when she had neuralgia ; for she had her days 
 of neuralgia, — red-letter days tor me, — or I might pos- 
 sibly have died under her hands. She overlooked me in 
 my bath, superintended my toilet, and even went so far 
 as to attend to the filing and trimming of my finger-nails. 
 She looked forward to having me under her minute super- 
 vision for the next five j^ears at least ; and, in order to 
 keep me from sending out a twig's growth in any other 
 direction than that specified in her plan, she exchanged 
 her sleeping-room for one next mine, insisting that the 
 door between us should be kept open, that she might, I 
 suppose, superintend my dreams. In spite of my age, 
 she anticipated fine results. 
 
 Such fidelity was praiseworthy in itself, no doubt, and 
 pleasing enough to my mother, who was too deeply en- 
 grossed in the study of her new play, to note its damaging 
 effect upon me. 
 
 The self-imposed silence I maintained in yielding obedi- 
 ence to such ridiculously rigid regimen, with the continu- 
 ous breathing of an atmosphere of disgust and weariness, 
 showed its effect quickly in the dark circles under my eyes, 
 and in my languid motions. My appetite was all gone ; 
 my flesh dwindled. 
 
 Nobody but Mr. Clough observed my changed appear- 
 ance. He came to the house occasionally, and one day 
 seemed greatly struck by my altered looks, and drew my 
 mother's attention to me, I suppose ; for after he had 
 gone, one evening, she sent for me to come to her room, 
 to ask what was the matter with me. 
 
 I had no answer prepared for her question. I knew 
 my mother too well not too understand that she would 
 have no sympathy with any foolish longing springing from 
 the affectional part of my nature. There was no senti- 
 ment of weak pity in her breast. 
 
 " Is there any thing you desire in the way of new 
 clothes?" she asked, at length, after repeated attempts 
 to draw some statement from me, as to the source of the 
 discontent that she said was expressed in my every move- 
 ment. " Among the dresses, and scarfs, and sashes, 
 and laces, and hats I have given you, is there any thing 
 that fails to please you in texture, style, or fit? " 
 
338 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Such sarcastic inquiry from any other person would 
 have stirred me to indignation. But I answered her 
 meekly, that I was pleased with them all. 
 
 " Perhaps," she added, " the contrast of your old con- 
 dition, if you could go back to it, might make you con- 
 tented. I am sorry to find that you are so continually in 
 an unappreciative mood. I am doing the best in my power 
 for you. I am fulfilling my promise, — I am doing even 
 more than your father demanded. What would you like 
 further, child? For what are you pining? Speak freely." 
 
 Something in her tone touched a tender chord. Tears 
 came ; and with them the desire, long unuttered, but keenly 
 felt, burst forth. 
 
 "I would — I would like to see Mrs. Walters," I 
 sobbed childishly. " I would like to go back to her." 
 
 " It is out of the question, your returning to live with 
 Mrs. Walters, Cordelia," said my mother, unmoved ; " I 
 shall not deviate from the plan marked out for you, unless 
 circumstances change, which they are not likely to do. I 
 hope you appreciate the discipline you are receiving under 
 the exceptionably careful tuition of Miss Bender, — which 
 is of the kind essential for your peculiar temperament. I 
 could not have found a governess to excel her in develop- 
 ing in you a firm and uniform habit of mind and charac- 
 ter. Yet her efforts will prove valueless, unless seconded 
 by your own exertions. Try to be happy, Cordelia. Show 
 me that you can be so ; and next month, when I return to 
 Boston, 30U shall accompany me, and pass a week with 
 Mrs. Walters." 
 
 These last words were uttered so earnestly that I knew 
 the promise was sincere, and I felt the stimulus of hope 
 like new life stirring in my veins. 
 
 " 1 will do my best," I said quietly, well knowing that 
 any lively demonstration of gratitude would be received 
 with disapproval. " I will do my best." 
 
 And I did do my best. During the week that followed, 
 I made strenuous efforts to put away inward repinings, 
 and stifle all disgust at Miss Bender's daily dogging of 
 my every movement, to put self aside, and think only 
 of my mother's wishes. I tried to remember that her past 
 life had not been a happy one, and that, despite her dra- 
 matic passion, her present existence was not altogether 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 339 
 
 satisfaetorj' ; for I felt sure that some unpleasant com- 
 bination of circumstances, in which I was innocently in- 
 volved, still disturbed her. Was it wholly a question of 
 property that perplexed her? I wondered. From occa- 
 sional words dropped in her conversation with Mr. Clough, 
 who was her business manager, 1 thought not. There 
 were allusions, now and then, to the date of my birth, to 
 letters that had been discovered, and to a will that had 
 been unearthed. 
 
 As I have said, my father had been a recliless pur- 
 chaser of large tracts of Western lands ; and sometimes it 
 occurred to me, that gold, or silver, or lead mines might 
 have been found upon them, occasioning litigation as to 
 possession of title. But these gleanings, when put to- 
 gether, had no central fact upon which to base any theory. 
 
 Still my mother must be in receipt of an income from 
 some source, I was eoniident. Her present style of living 
 here at Prescott Manor, employing half a dozen servants, 
 — with the added expense of retaining at the same time 
 her elegant rooms in the city, — must represent, I was 
 sure, more income than she could earn by her profession. 
 Sometimes I thought it possible that her newly awakened 
 interest in me might be by reason of some expected per- 
 sonal profit to herself, coming through me. She had 
 hinted one evening at the possibility of my coming into 
 a fortune, when I should arrive of age. She was not at 
 liberty, she said, to inform me as j-et how it was to come, 
 nor explain the particulars warranting such a likelihood ; 
 but she assured me that new phases of life would soon be 
 opened before me, and she wished me to be fully prepared 
 for whatever might come. 
 
 I remembered this talk clearly, for it occurred sopn 
 after our arrival at Prescott Manor, — one evening after 
 one of Mr. Clough's visits, — while she was taking me 
 with her for a drive about the vicinity. 
 
 But I built no dreams on the possibility of inheriting 
 riches. Young as I was, I had already passed the age of 
 dreams ; I demanded reality, I demanded affection. In 
 my hunger for affection, I would have sold all my chances 
 of coming wealth for one simple touch of Mrs. Walters's 
 hand, one pressure of her cheek against mine. One day 
 of my dear friend's precious society seemed to me, in this 
 
340 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 period of loneliness and homesickness, of more value than 
 the birthright of a princess. I thought of her every hour 
 of the day, and dreamed of her every night. She was my 
 mother, my sister, my lover, my friend ; and whenever 
 the blessed neuralgia, attacking and making prisoner of 
 my governess, set me free, I roamed tlie country by my- 
 self, walking miles and miles, and counting the days until 
 my mother should fulfil her promise, and take me once 
 more to Boston, and to my friend. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 341 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 " Speak as you think ;. be what you are ; pay your debts of all kinds." 
 
 — Emerson. 
 
 ONE morning, four days before the close of Miss 
 Bender's private instruction, she appeared to my 
 waiting eyes with her face in a bandage again. Neural- 
 gia had come in through an open window in the night, 
 and given me one more holiday. She struggled through 
 the first recitation painfully, and then, much as she hated 
 to release me, was forced to retire to bed, leaving me to 
 the exercise of any Bohemian tendency that might be 
 uppermost in my dreadful nature. Being treated like a 
 girl of twelve, caused me to act like one, I verily believe. 
 I flung my Kensington embroidery under the table, and 
 rushed at once into the garden. This unexpected freedom 
 from Miss Bender was exhilarating enough ; and with the 
 added prospect of soon being with Mrs. Walters, it be- 
 came an ecstasy. I could have hugged the servant whom 
 I saw gathering vegetables in the garden. I louged for 
 wings with which to fly, that would never tire, never 
 pause. I ran down into the orchard, where the trees were 
 bending low with their weight of ripening fruit ; and see- 
 ing the neglected and rather dirty two-year-old babj- of 
 one of the under-servants of the establishment, trying to 
 reach the big red apples hanging a few inches above her 
 tiny fingers, I caught her up as I passed, and ran on 
 with her in my arms, leaping the fence into the adjoining 
 field, and never stopping till I came to the enclosure where 
 some deer were feeding. Thence we went out into the 
 avenue, where I paused again to take breath, and pluck 
 a flower or two for the child, before taking another run 
 over the lawn to the arbor and the boat-house. After we 
 had danced a jig or two to the tune of Yankee Doodle, 
 we returned to the house ; and, my mother and her maid 
 being absent for the day, I took my new plaything to the 
 
342 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 bathing-room, and scrubbed her well. I combed out the 
 tangled locks of her hair, and improvised a clean dress 
 from one of my overskirts, telling her stories meanwhile ; 
 and afterwards amazing her with the manufacture of 
 paper dolls, and other wonderful creations that can take 
 shape from between the blades of a pair of scissors in 
 ingenious hands. 
 
 Nowise subdued in spirit when mj' little charge had 
 fallen asleep, and been conveyed to her mother, 1 stole 
 into my chamber, and wrote a letter to Mrs. Walters, 
 which the suffering Bender, lying prone upon her bed in 
 the next chamber, did not for once peruse. 
 
 Then donning my hat, I ran out again to carry my 
 letter to the post-office, a mile away ; and having posted 
 it, I continued to walk on through the little village, until I 
 struck into a picturesque pathway, and following it gaiued 
 a wider outlook, and the most perfect view of river and 
 landscape I had yet seen. I sat down upon a I'ock to 
 gaze mj' fill, feeling my feverish eagerness quieted and 
 rebuked by the tranquil loveliness of the scene. The 
 glare of the day was tempered by broken masses of white 
 cloud, through which the sky showed deep bine. The 
 river lying so far below was softly rippling under a touch 
 of air : ever changeful it was, ever beairtiful, in the 
 shifting sungleams and shadows ; as were also the hills 
 it broadly lay between. I wondered if heaven itself could 
 show to saintly eyes a lovelier landscape, than this earthly 
 one presented to mine. While I sat there thinking, 
 wishing that Mrs. Walters could be present to share my 
 enjoyment of the scene, two persons came up through the 
 ravine at ray left, and, before I had quite seen their faces, 
 turned their backs towards me to look at the beautiful 
 prospect. They were a little distance away ; and in the 
 pre-occupation of my mind, I noted only that one was a 
 large man, and the other a slender woman, who leaned 
 affectionately and rather languidly upon her companion's 
 arm. When they turned, however, and came towards me, 
 I looked at the richly dressed lad^-, whose remarkable 
 beauty was sufficient excuse for a longer stare. Such a 
 delicate, fair face, and such a sweep of long thick black 
 eyelashes, made a combination peculiarly striking. It is 
 strange that, never seeing that face again, it should be so 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 343 
 
 clear in my memory, while the faces of my most familiar 
 frieuds cannot be recalled. 
 
 As they passed, 1 glanced at the gentleman, and started 
 slightly, his movements were so much like Clifford Cloud. 
 "Why, it is he ! " I exclaimed to myself, on looking 
 again. " But no, it cannot be : Mr. Cloud is in England. 
 It is simply one of those curious resemblances I am 
 always seeing." I thought no more of the matter, and in 
 a few moments rose to pursue my homeward way. My 
 high spirits had all effervesced. I began to be almost 
 depressed over the likelihood of the lecture I should be 
 forced to hear, if Miss Bender had sufficiently recovered 
 to note my absence. I had proceeded but a few steps, 
 when I heard my name pronounced, and, turning, beheld 
 Clifford Cloud face to face ! I had not been mistaken, 
 after all. But I was greatly surprised to meet him here, 
 and told him so. " Why, I supposed you were in Eng- 
 land," I said. 
 
 " I was there two weeks ago," he answered ; " I only 
 landed on Thursday. But how does it happen that you 
 are in this part of the country? " he asked. " Is Alice 
 summering on the banks of the American Rhine?" 
 
 I told him I had not seen Mrs. Walters since carlj- in 
 June, but expected soon to see her, for I anticipated going 
 to Boston in about two weeks. 
 
 " But will you pardon me if I ask with luhom and where 
 you are staying here? " said Mr. Cloud, glancing at my 
 dress, which was of a style quite too juvenile for my years. 
 I was mortified to be seen by him in such a gown. 
 
 " I am staying with my mother at Prescott Manor for the 
 present," I said. " You can see the turrets of the house 
 over yonder through the trees." 
 
 "But I thought your mother was dead. I certainly 
 got that impression from some one," said Mr. Cloud. 
 
 "She was reported dead," I explained. " She had a-- 
 long illness in England, from which she hasn't quite recov- 
 ered yet. She will go back to England before long." 
 
 " And take you with her?" he inquired with a some- 
 what puzzled expression. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I expect to go to school in this vicinity, at a 
 place called ' The Oaks ; ' a seminary for young ladies, 
 kept by the Misses Manners. One of the teachers has 
 
344 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 been spencling her vacation at Prescott Manor, trying to 
 prepare me for entrance there. It is an advanced school 
 where girls finish their education." 
 
 I was unconscious of any tone of irony in my words ; 
 but he must have perceived some dissatisfaction on my 
 part, for he said immediately, with peculiar emphasis, " I 
 supposed you had finished your education," and ran his 
 eye over my child's costume again, while I reddened. 
 ■' At least, 1 supposed you had done going to school," he 
 added with a laugh. 
 
 " But 1 am not quite eighteen yet," I said. 
 
 "You look even younger than that," returned Mr. 
 Cloud. " You have grown much slighter ; so much so, I 
 scarcely knew you at first, till a movement of your head 
 betrayed you. May I have the pleasure of calling upon 
 your mother and you at Prescott Manor ? I shall remain 
 in this vicinity for a week or two, and shall be glad to see 
 you sometimes." 
 
 I was quite taken aback at such a request, but could do 
 no less than reply to it with courteous assent. We had a 
 few moments' further talk about Mrs. Walters, from whom 
 he expected to hear, he said, in a few days ; and then, with 
 a gracious bow, he returned to the lady he had left sitting 
 a little below us. I could see the feathers of her hat 
 under the lace of her white parasol, as she leaned against 
 the back of the rustic seat she occupied. I felt no jeal- 
 ous pang at her remembered loveliness, as Mr. Cloud 
 doubtless thought I did, and scarcely any sense of pleas- 
 ure in thus encountering him. There could be no resur- 
 rection of a fancy dead, buried, and turned to dust. Still, 
 I felt the stirrings of my old pride, and I grew more and 
 more sensitive as I thought of his prospective call at Pres- 
 cott Manor. I knew very well that I should not be al- 
 lowed to receive him by myself, or simply in my mother's 
 presence, but that my duenna would take upon herself to 
 overlook the interview, and note each word and look for 
 subsequent comment ; and my face burned at the very 
 thought of Mrs. Walters's brother finding me reduced to 
 such a strait. Oh, if some kind circumstance would only 
 interpose to prevent his coming, how thankful I should 
 be! 
 
 But nothing occurred to prevent. Three days after- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 345 
 
 wards, as we were dressing for dinner, a servant brought 
 me Mr. Cloud's card ; but Miss Bender at once took pos- 
 session of it, and began to question me in her usual style. 
 She wished to know all about the gentleman. Inasmuch 
 as she was to have the charge of my education for the next 
 three years, at least, it was requisite she should understand 
 exactly who and what the persons were who came to see 
 me. My reply, sullen as it was, seemed to satisfy her tol- 
 erably. 
 
 "A brother of the lady to whom you are so much at- 
 tached, is he? You can receive him, in my presence. Put 
 on your green tissue gown, Cordelia," she added, turn- 
 ing into her chamber to make some changes in her own 
 toilette. 
 
 I stood a moment in dismay at her order. The green 
 tissue was the shortest skirted of all my gowns ; and 
 though I did not mind wearing it here at Prescott Manor, 
 where my antecedents were unknown, to appear in it be- 
 fore Mr. Cloud, who had met me as a dignified woman, I 
 could not, and I would not. I shut my teeth tight on that 
 determination. I said nothing, however. I could carry 
 no point through argument, or entreaty, or show of wil- 
 fulness, with such a woman as Miss Bender. Only by tlie 
 subtlest cunning could she be compassed ; and, hitherto, I 
 had scorned to stoop to that. Now, however, I felt ray- 
 self coming down to it without the slightest compunction. 
 As I have said,, 1 uttered no protest ; but in removing 
 the diaphanous green robe, fashioned after the style of a 
 little girl's, I managed to tear it so badly it could not be 
 worn, at least that day. I flung it on the bed, and sub- 
 stituted one of the dresses Mr. Cloud had been accus- 
 tomed to see me wear. The change was noted the instant 
 Miss Bender emerged from her room ; and she inquired, 
 with some asperity, why I faacl not obeyed her directions. 
 
 " The dress is torn," I said, holding it up for her in- 
 spection. 
 
 " How did it get torn, Cordelia?" she inquired sharply, 
 as she examined the delicate material. 
 
 " I did it in taking it down from the hook in the closet. 
 Somehow it got caught," I explained. " But I can mend 
 it, if you wish," I added. 
 
 "It is too late to i-epair the mischief before dinner," 
 
346 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 she said, rebuking my carelessness. " But you may take 
 off that black silk you have on ; it is altogether unsuitable 
 for your years. It is mature enough for your grandmother, 
 indeed ; the skirt absolutely touches the floor. Put on 
 your gray gown instead." 
 
 " This can be pinned up under the overskirt," I meek- 
 ly suggested ; and I began to insert the pins along the 
 front breadths, to show her how easily it could be done. 
 My assumed submissiveness mollified her somewhat ; and, 
 as much time had been consumed in talking over the mat- 
 ter, she finally fell in with my suggestion, and lent her 
 assistance in pinning up the back breadths of the skirt, 
 till it was shortened to her liking. This done, she un- 
 coiled my braid of hair ; and after arranging it down my 
 back, and tying a ribbon at the end of the braid, she per- 
 mitted me to follow her down-stairs to the reception-room. 
 I was by this time in a temper that seldom calculates con- 
 sequences. As I walked behind her, I extracted all the 
 pins from the skirt of ray gown, and with a celerity I dare 
 avouch has never been equalled, snatched off the ribbon 
 flapping at my back, wound the braid of hair into a coil 
 again, and fastened it with the comb I had concealed in my 
 pocket. 
 
 When we reached the reception-room door, my gown 
 hung at its accustomed length ; and, as far as dress was 
 concerned, I had the same appearance I used to have at 
 Mrs. Walters's. 
 
 The reception-room opened into the library, where Mr. 
 Cloud was waiting beside an open window, gazing upon 
 the glorious scenery of the Hudson, — that scenery we 
 Americans so proudly and so justly claim to equal, if not 
 surpass, that of the storied Rhine. Prescott Manor, as 
 I have said, was in the heart of this famed region, and 
 the view from the library was perhaps the best upon the 
 whole river. 
 
 Mr. Cloud turned from the window as we entered, and 
 came forward to meet me ; but Miss Bender advanced, 
 precisely as if she were giving me a lesson in deportment, 
 and, having permitted me to exchange a few words of 
 greeting with my guest, she, as it were, snuffed me out, 
 and took the onus of entertaining him upon herself. Mr. 
 Cloud, outwardly, was a gentleman and a good listener. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF SOSTON. 347 
 
 He looked straight at the lady who was talking to him in 
 such choice language, and never let his eyes wander, or his 
 expression of sympathetic interest relax, for the twentieth 
 part of an instant ; and Miss Bender was quite incapable 
 of reading the satirical smile, creeping about the corners 
 of his mouth. Flattered by his close attention, and al- 
 ways delighted to have the lion's share of conversation, 
 she continued to talk. She talked of social science, of 
 the lost arts, of the different religions of the world, until 
 even she was exhausted ; and then she descended to per- 
 sonal matters. 
 
 "I hear," she said, "that you have just come home 
 from England. Dear old England, once my home, how 
 I long to go back there!" she sighed. "It is possible 
 you may know my friends there, the Tagenets. Lord 
 Tagenet is in Parliament ; his daughter Lady Yellowcreme 
 is, or was, my intimate companion. I correspond with her 
 still. You may have met her in society? " 
 
 " No, madam, " said Mr. Cloud gravely : " my calling 
 is of a kind to debar me from any personal acquaintance 
 with the nobility of England. I am a tea-merchant, — 
 simply one of a firm that has a branch business in Lon- 
 don." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! ' ' said Miss Bender, with a slight gathering 
 of more dignity in her manner. "I have never had the 
 pleasure of meeting a tea-merchant before. Tea is my 
 favorite beverage. I suppose you understand all about 
 the cultivation of the tea-plant? " 
 
 " Something, madam," said Mr. Cloud, intensely bored 
 by this time, though not appearing in the least to be so. 
 
 " I suppose tea is not so largely adulterated as it is 
 reported to be," remarked Miss Bender, reduced now to 
 the necessity of learning something from her listener. 
 
 "Much more so," returned the gentleman. "The 
 Chinese tax their ingenuity in the business of adulter- 
 ation." 
 
 Here a gap in the conversation — the first one — gave 
 Mr. Cloud an opportunity to escape. He rose at once, 
 and went through the formula of leave-taking. Miss Ben- 
 der followed him to the door. I was close at her heels, 
 eager to learn if he had yet heard from Mrs. Walters, and 
 if she would be at home by the 5th of September, the day 
 
348 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 appointed for my mother to meet Mr. Clark in Boston. 
 But Miss Bender adroitlj^ prevented my asking a question. 
 Tlie door sliut on the visitor, and I had not uttered a word. 
 I hesitated a moment, then darted past my governess, who 
 stood sternly contemplating the change effected in my 
 dress, opened the door, and ran out and down the lawn, 
 where Mr. Cloud had paused a moment to examine a rare 
 plant which the gardener was removing to the greenhouse. 
 
 "O Mr. Cloud," I said, "I forgot to ask you if you 
 have yet heard from Mrs. Walters ! ' ' 
 
 " I have not heard directly from her," he said, coming 
 eagerly to meet me, and smiling at my evident escapade ; 
 " but I saw Mr. Walters two days ago in New York, on 
 his way to California. Alice had arranged to accompany 
 him, he told me, but gave up the idea at the last moment, 
 for some reason ; perhaps because she did not feel quite 
 strong enough for the trip, perhaps because you were com- 
 ing to see her. She is truly fond of you, I know," he 
 added. 
 
 " I have not heard from her for a long time," I said, the 
 tears coming to my eyes as I spoke. 
 
 " You will find her the same as ever," said Mr. Clond. 
 " There is never any shadow of change in Alice. You will 
 find her attending to all the sick wretches in the city, as 
 usual. She returned from the mountains a month earlier, 
 on account of the death of that dreadful Miss Torhson 
 whom she was always running after." 
 
 " Is Sophy Tomson dead? " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Either she or her mother; I don't remember which 
 John said it was," returned Mr. Cloud indifferently. 
 "When will Alice have the delight of seeing you at 
 Boston?" he resumed. 
 
 "The 5th of September, I hope. My mother has de- 
 cided to meet a friend there on that day," I replied. 
 
 "Then I, also, shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
 there," said Mr. Cloud, smiling. "I shall be with Alice 
 about that time. The Beacon-street house is my home, 
 you know, and 1 wish it were still yours. By the way," 
 continued he, without pausing, "your mother is — a 
 very learned woman, isn't she? She had me at disadvan- 
 tage this morning. I feel deplorably depressed, just now, 
 over my ignorance." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 349 
 
 "My mother!" I broke forth. "You haven't seen 
 my mother this morning ; she's out driving. That was my 
 governess, Miss Bender, whom you saw with me just now. 
 I didn't mention her name distinctly, I suppose. My 
 mother's name is Rivers, — Frances Alida Powers Rivers. 
 Her stage name, of course you know, is Riviera." 
 
 Mr. Cloud, although considered by his acquaintances a 
 second Talleyrand in the matter of self-control and sur- 
 prise, was really quite astonished, and did not attempt to 
 disguise the fact. He looked at me for a moment, as if 
 he did not quite understand my words. " What did you 
 say of Riviera? " he asked. 
 
 "That she was my mother," I explained. " I sup- 
 posed Mrs. Walters had told you all about it." 
 
 " I have not seen Mrs. Walters, or heard from her, for 
 more than two months. How long has she known it? " 
 he inquired, after a moment's musing. 
 
 "Almost as long as I have. / didn't know that my 
 mother was an actress till I saw her at the theatre, the 
 afternoon Mrs. Walters and I went to Winsgate, you 
 remember." 
 
 Mr. Cloud said no more, but his whole manner changed ; 
 he seemed pre-oecupied. At last he turned slowly, and 
 putting out his hand, inquired, almost abruptly, " When 
 may I come to pay my respects to your mother? " 
 
 "I don't know," I faltered. "I cannot tell 
 whether" — 
 
 " Whether she would wish to see me, do you mean?" 
 he interrupted. " But I wish to see her for an especial 
 reason. I have a request to make to her ; and will you 
 please tell her that I shall do mj'self the honor of calling 
 upon her to-morrow evening? Good-morning." He lifted 
 his hat, smiled in his old complacent way, and then turned 
 down the avenue. 
 
 " Well, well," thought I, as I loitered back to the 
 house, "I've got myself into a tangle now ! What shall 
 I say to my mother ? And what will Miss Bender say to 
 me? I must face reproof on all sides. How idiotic, 
 after eight weeks' yielding to every whim of that woman, 
 to spring up and defy her the last day before her depart- 
 ure ! Yet the rupture may as well come now, as farther 
 on," I reflected. " Two years under the rule of Miss 
 
350 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Bender ! I could never bear it ; and more I will not bear 
 it ! 1 will not submit longer to such delegated authority, 
 for which I have not a particle of respect, for which I 
 ouly feel a sense of loathing. I am readj' to confomn to 
 my mother's requirements so far as they are based upon 
 justice and right, but no farther. My promise to my fa- 
 ther shall no longer be a stumbling-block. Henceforth, 1 
 will use no underhand means to carry my point. I will 
 show myself exactly as I am ; and, let the consequences 
 be what they may, I will face every question boldly with 
 the truth. I have made resolutions before, and broken 
 them. This shall stand. ' ' 
 
 Having come to such decision, I fortified myself with a 
 long breath, and went in to dinner. Miss Bender sat at 
 the table, looking as unbending as a figure-head, and pre- 
 serving an ominous silence. She did not speak to me 
 through the remainder of the day. I interpreted it as a 
 sign of her intention to tell my mother of my misdoings, 
 and leave to her the mfliction of such punishment as she 
 might deem proportionate to the offence. 
 
 I was not mistaken. Miss Bender went directly to my 
 mother on her return, and was closeted with her an hour. 
 Soon afterwards I was requested to go to my mother's 
 room. I obeyed the call, tremblingly ; for I knew my 
 weakness, and feared lest my courage might fail me, yet 
 determined withal to speak the truth. My mother received 
 me with a weary air, as she used to do at Hardcliffe some- 
 times, when affairs did not move to her mind. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear of the trouble you have caused Miss 
 Bender to-day," she began. " She has given me lately 
 such a good account of you, that I did hope she might 
 have reason to continue to do so. But she says she must 
 decline having further charge of your education, and must 
 also decline recommending you to the Misses Manners. 
 Your disobedience and duplicity to-day have shown her 
 your entire unfitness for a place in their school. Your 
 influence and example there, she considers, would be det- 
 rimental. It is very trying to me in my state of health 
 — and especially after all I have been striving to do for 
 you — to hear such reports." 
 
 " It is very trying to me, too," I answered, the words 
 almost choking me. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 351 
 
 "You can have little to complain of, Cordelia," said 
 my mother, with a tone of voice as if she wished all re- 
 sponsibility and care of the matter were shifted from her 
 shoulders. " Miss Bender has devoted every moment of 
 her time to your improvement. She is a most faithful and 
 painstaking teacher." 
 
 " And that is the very thing I complain of ," I answered. 
 " She has treated me as if I had no mind, or will, or 
 choice, or sense of my own ; as if I were a little girl, and 
 couldn't take care of myself." 
 
 " If not a little girl, you are certainly a young girl," 
 said my mother severely ; " and young girls need looking 
 after." 
 
 " You told me at Hardcliffe, when I was only fourteen, 
 that I was almost a woman. I am eighteen now, or shall 
 be in a few days," I returned quickly, yet striving to 
 emulate her in coolness of manner at the same time. 
 
 "Circumstances are changed since then, Cordelia. 
 What was said or done at Hardcliffe has no relation to the 
 present time. You have changed also. You are less 
 trustworthj-. You have scarcely half the self-reliance 
 now you had then. The influence you have been under, 
 during the intervening j-ears, has not been strengthening, 
 but deleterious. But we need not speak of Hardcliffe," 
 she subjoined. " It brings back what I most desire to 
 forget, — the sorrow and privation I endured there so long. 
 Let us keep to the present subject. Now you may tell 
 me who the gentleman is that called to see you to-day." 
 
 " Mr. Cloud, Mrs. Walters's brother," I answered. 
 
 " Why did he call to see j-ou? " 
 
 "Because — simply because he is acquainted with me, 
 I suppose," said I, wondering how far her questions 
 would go. 
 
 "Is he any thing more to you than an ordinary ac- 
 quaintance?" she demanded. 
 ' " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Does he wish to be any thing more? " 
 
 "Not that I know of." 
 
 " Is he to call again? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; he wished me to say, that, if agreeable, 
 he would come to-morrow evening, and pay his respects 
 to you." 
 
352 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 My mother made no reply to the announcement. She 
 rang for Annette, and, when she appeared, gave her an 
 order in French. The woman brought her case of jewels, 
 and retired. My mother unlocked the casket, and took 
 from it a circular crimson box, the sight of which made 
 me start involuntarily from my chair. It was the ease of 
 Wyndham's bracelet ; and in a moment she held the 
 bracelet up before my eyes. 
 
 ' ' Is this 30ur property ? ' ' she asked. 
 
 " No, ma'am ; it belongs to — another person," I said. 
 
 " How came it in jour possession, then? " 
 
 The question angered me ; for however reasonable it 
 would have been from a mother who had played a moth- 
 er's part towards me, or even from a friend like Mrs. 
 Walters, I felt that, never having claimed or even allowed 
 a child's confiding affection from me, mj- mother had now 
 no right to make this severe and formal examination into 
 my affairs, and to demand a confidence she had never 
 won. Moreover, I resented my trunk having been exam- 
 ined, and the bracelet taken from its hiding-place. 
 
 " It was given me," I replied, determined to resist the 
 temptation to speak angrily, "given me by one of the 
 teachers at Sunbridge Academy ; but I do not consider it 
 mine. I shall return it to the giver, if I can find oppor- 
 tunity, when we return to Boston." 
 
 My mother fixed her large black eyes penetratingly 
 upon my face, and said, " The bracelet has been examined 
 by a lapidary, who pronounces the stones genuine, and of 
 great value. A teacher in a school at Suubridge would 
 hardly be making, to his most favored pupil, a present 
 costing more than thrice the sum of his yearlj- salary. 
 Your answer, Cordelia, is not satisfactory. You must 
 tell me the truth." 
 
 My indignation, reaching its height, gave me a sense of 
 power. 1 had felt, while she was speaking, her spiritual 
 grasp (or whatever it may be called) loosening its hold 
 upon me. I seemed to mvself, in some inexplicable 
 manner, all at once my mother's equal, and able to with- 
 stand, single-handed and alone, a regiment of Miss Ben- 
 ders. I returned her gaze steadily, and said calmlj', — 
 
 " I have told you the truth. The bracelet was a present 
 to me from a teacher in Sunbridge ; his name is Henry 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 353 
 
 Wyndham. He asked me to marry him, and I consented. 
 The bracelet was the engagement-gift. I afterwards 
 found that I did not wish to marry him, and brolie the 
 engagement. I have as j-et had no opportunity to return 
 the present." 
 
 " Only a person of large means could afford to make 
 such a gift," said my mother, looking at the article closely, 
 and then replacing it in the box. 
 
 " He is a person of large means," I replied. 
 
 " Whj' did he teach school, then ? " inquired my mother. 
 " Teachers are proverbially poor, and usually occupy their 
 positions for the pay they receive." 
 
 " He taught school simply to be near me," I said 
 proudly, and without a blush. 
 
 I rose, and reached out my hand for the box ; but my 
 mother returned it to her jewel-case. " I do not wish," 
 she said, "to doubt your word. I had rather, much 
 rather, accept it ; but unfortunately I cannot. If, how- 
 ever, when we arrive in Boston, your statement is cor- 
 roborated, the bracelet shall be returned to your keeping. 
 Sit down, Cordelia ; there is yet something more I wish to 
 say. It is my desire," she resumed, "to retain Miss 
 Bender as your teacher, and that you should enter the 
 school at 'The Oaks.' But this cannot be done unless 
 you humblj' confess your sorrow for your disobedience 
 to-dajs and promise strict obedience in the future. With 
 no apology from you, no entreaty from me will avail with 
 Miss Bender. Remember, it is for your good I ask you 
 to do this, — simpl}' for your advantage, that I take upon 
 myself so much care and responsibility ; the burden of 
 which, you can yourself see, is affecting my health seri- 
 ously. If I were less unselfish in tlie matter, it would 
 be different." 
 
 I sat directly opposite my mother ; and somehow it 
 suddenly seemed, as I looked at her, languidly reclining 
 in her chair, her large liquid eyes tragically upturned, that 
 a new power of vision was given me, that some glamor 
 was removed from my eyes, that I saw my mother in her 
 true character, precisely as she was. She could fascinate 
 me no longer. All the misty romance enshrouding her 
 person, and her every act at Hardeliffe, had dissolved 
 and vanished. " Were ever mother and daughter," 
 
354 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 thought I, "so unlike as we? so singularly and utterly 
 dissimilar?" Impossible for one of her nature to ever 
 understand mine ! For her I had left my dearest friend, 
 with whom I could have lived always. 1 had uttered no 
 complaint to annoy anybody. I had been docile and 
 obedient under a petty despotism that would have stirred 
 to show of resistance a less spirited girl than I ; and, 
 when catechised by my mother just now, I had proved to 
 her, or at least tried to do so, that I could be self-respect- 
 ing, truthful, and outspoken, and as much of a woman 
 as herself. And what was the result? Why, I must go 
 down on my knees to Miss Bender ! For the venial 
 offence of wearing a gown my teacher did not like, I must 
 humbly ask her forgiveness ! 
 
 At Hardcliffe my mother had treated me as her ser- 
 vant. She had no more affection for me now than she 
 had then ; but circumstances compelling her at last to 
 do her duty by me in the way of education, she was 
 soothing her conscience, and, at the same time, gratify- 
 ing her dislike of me, — conceived at my birth, no doubt, — 
 by the very benefits that would most make me feel my infe- 
 riority. Perhaps I misread my mother. Perhaps she was 
 really striving to do well by me, striving to do the best 
 she could ; and having no sense of humor in her compo- 
 sition, saw nothing ridiculous in putting me — a woman 
 almost as tall as herself — into a child's clothes, and 
 forcing me to comply with Miss Bender's most trivial 
 and whimsical demands. I did not desire to view 'my 
 mother and her acts in an unfavorable light. I did not 
 wish to defy Miss Bender ; but I should endure her disci- 
 pline no longer, nor would I enter the seminary at " The 
 Oaks," if any act on my part could prevent it. And as 
 I stood before my mother, receiving her orders, I again 
 resolved, that, while my demeanor should always be per- 
 fectly respectful, my obedience should go only so far as 
 my own sense of right dictated. She had herself de- 
 stroyed in my heart that instinct of blind and loving 
 submission which should bind the child to the parent, 
 and now she must take the consequences. Was I wrong- 
 headed and unnatural in thus throwing off the obligations 
 of childhood? Looking back to-day, I cannot approve 
 my own course ; but at seventeen I had no doubts. I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 355 
 
 said nothing, however, but accepting the dismissal of my 
 mother's weary gesture, went baclf to my own room. 
 
 The door between Miss Bender's bedroom and mine 
 I found closed when I returned, — a mute sign tliat our 
 relations were severed forever. She was probably getting 
 read}' for her departure in the morning. I felt a touch 
 of regret, in spite of me, that our companionship had not 
 been more congenial. I hated to be disliked by any one, 
 
 — another wealcness to be overcome. I would say 
 good-by to her pleasantly in the morning, whether she 
 replied to it or not. I would at least so far assert my 
 undiminished self-respect. 
 
 Accordingly next morning, as she passed through my 
 room in her travelling pelisse and hat, I kindly bade her 
 farewell, and wished her a pleasant journey. My tone 
 and manner were both respectful. I rose from my chair, 
 
 — where I had been sitting mending the gown I had torn, 
 and also planning how I could lengthen the skirt, — and 
 bowed politely as she passed. She had not intended to 
 speak to me ; but she turned when I addressed her, and 
 coming back said sharply, — 
 
 " It is not proper or becoming in you to accost me in 
 this way, until you have made some apology for your mis- 
 conduct yesterday. You deceived me : you tore the gown 
 you are trying to repair, on purpose to deceive me. 1 have 
 a right to demand an apology." 
 
 " I am sorry I deceived you, Miss Bender," I said with 
 composure, " and I am sorry I tore the gown. It was a 
 stupid thing to do, I must confess ; and I don't believe I 
 shall ever do such a childish thing again." 
 
 "It is too late now to express your contrition, Cordelia. 
 I shall not commend you to anybody." 
 
 " It is not too late for my self-respect to commend me," 
 returned I coldly, a Uttle angry that she should pretend to 
 think I was making an apology* and then, really ashamed 
 of my duplicity in the matter of the gown, I added, " I 
 am sorry I was not frank with you " — 
 
 "You can be sorry at your leisure," she interrupted. 
 " I shall not promise to speak one good word for j'ou. I 
 never had under my charge before — I never saw before 
 — a girl who had so much duplicity, so much cover." 
 
 "I am sorry," I went on, curbing my growing anger. 
 
356 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 and speaking very slowly, " that I resorted to underhand 
 means to have my way. I ought to have done openly as 
 1 pleased, and worn whatever I liked best. I am sorry I 
 did not assume, at the beginning of our acquaintance, the 
 right to dress as I pleased, without tlie least reference to 
 you as an authority in the matter. I am sorry, too, that 
 1 did not insist upon choosing my own studies, as a girl 
 of eighteen ought to have the privilege of doing. I am 
 sorry I did not tell you, at the first, that I preferred my own 
 comijany to yours after study-hours. I am sorry I did not 
 keei) my trunk locked from your daily inspection of its 
 private compartments. I am sorry that I did not " — 
 
 But Miss Bender did not wait for the whole list of my 
 regrets. She flouted from the room in a perfect rage, and 
 went directly to my mother, to repeat to her all I had said ; 
 leaving me to exult over the victory 1 had won in keeping 
 my own temper, and yet getting the better of Miss Bender. 
 "Mother will be deeply displeased," thought J, " but I 
 have forced Miss Bender to remember me with a little 
 respect." My exultant mood did not last long. At din- 
 ner-time I was given to understand that my out-spoken- 
 ness must cost me something. But, though my mother's 
 icy demeanor made me quite uncomfortable, I was not 
 sorry for having expressed my mind. Tliere is no royal 
 road even to pleasing one's self. I found I must fight my 
 way. 
 
 Mr. Cloud called that evening, as he had proposed, and 
 was told by the footman that the ladies were not at home. 
 Tiiat he subsequently had an interview with my mother, I 
 was not aware, till he informed me of the fact himself, 
 months afterwards. 
 
 Mr. Clough, who came often to the house now, was as 
 cordial to me as my mother was cold; and, when I met 
 him in my walks about the grounds, he sometimes joined 
 me, taking special pains to be agreeable and show his inter- 
 est in me. He was extremely non-committal in his con- 
 versation, and rarely mentioned my mother's name. He 
 told me one day, however, that it was her intention to re- 
 turn to England in the late autumn, and begin an engago- 
 ment with hei' new play at one of the provincial theatres 
 there. I fell to wondering at once if she did not mean to 
 take me with her, and put the ocean between me and my 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 357 
 
 dearest friend. It was not likely, however. She did not 
 love me well enough to carry me to another country. She 
 never sent for me to come to her room now. She was so 
 absorbed in her new play, that I doubt if she thought of 
 me at all. She left me absolutely free the remainder 
 of our stay at Prescott Manor. Our relations seemed to 
 be, except for my hard work then, very much as they used 
 to be at Hardcliffe. But how differentl3' situated we were 
 outwardly ! At Hardcliffe I went, so to speak, barefoot 
 and in rags. I was hard-worked and of no consequence 
 to any anybody. Here I could, if I chose, live idly and 
 luxuriously, and have all my worldly wants supplied with- 
 out the asking. Yet here was the same loneliness of mind 
 that oppressed me there, modified only by my three added 
 years of experience, and the new insight I had gained into 
 my mother's character. 
 
 But I was not so miserable now ; and what with the 
 sewing I chose to do for myself, in refashioning my juve- 
 nile wardrobe, and the making of little frocks for the 
 half-naked child before mentioned, and the teaching of 
 her mother to read, and to write her name, I had no leisure 
 to brood over my own troubles. I had two reasons for 
 being glad, indeed ; namely, I was soon going to Mrs. 
 Walters, and I was not going to school at " The Oaks." 
 
358 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Did I, Charmian, ever love Ccesar so ? " 
 
 Antony and Cleopatha. 
 
 THE evening of the 4th of September found us — my 
 mother, her maid, and myself, in the city of Boston, 
 quietly installed in an elegant family hotel, not far from 
 Mrs. Walters's house. I had intended on arriving to rush 
 there at once ; but the rain was pouring in torrents, and 
 continued to pour, without intermission, until midnight. 
 Then it cleared, and the morning dawned as bright and 
 beautiful as it ever dawned in the Garden of Eden. I 
 got up early and dressed. I had slept scarcely' at all, in 
 the excitement of planning how I would surprise Mrs. 
 Walters by being in her dining-room, at her own table, 
 when she came down to breakfast. I put on my dark- 
 green silk walking-dress, and knocked at my mother's 
 door, and found her taking a cup of chocolate in bed. 
 As I was yet unable to make Annette understand any 
 communication of mine in linglish, or mangled French, 
 I put her aside, and addressed my mother. 
 
 " I am going to take a walk," I said. " I wish to see 
 Mrs. Walters before having my trunk removed to her 
 house. 1 shall probably stay some hours with her." 
 
 " It is too early, Cordelia, to call upon any lady ; be- 
 side, I wish you to remain here till Mr. Clough comes." 
 
 My mother spoke in her usual quiet, low voice ; but I 
 could see by the flashing of her half-closed eyes, and the 
 deepened p.'illorof her face, — for she never flushed under 
 excitement like the generality of women, — and the stony 
 set of her lips, that she was trying to get the better of 
 some nervous agitation. There would be no use, I very 
 well knew, in urging my desire : she would say no to me 
 if I talked all day. I must either go back to my room, 
 take off my hat, and wait patiently for Mr. Clough's 
 arrival, or go without her permission. I was strongly 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 359 
 
 tempted to take the latter course ; but not feeling ready 
 to openly rebel against my mother, especially in the matter 
 of a few hours' detention, I concluded to wait. 
 
 Two hours later, 1 sat down to breakfast with her. 
 Neither of us spoke. She seemed to become paler and 
 more frigid with every passing minute. An ordinary ob- 
 server would have noticed no change ; but I knew she was 
 dreading something in connection with the Southern gen- 
 tleman, whom she was to meet for the first time to-day. 
 "Why she should desire, and at the same time dread, his 
 coming, I could not understand. He might be in some 
 way concerned with her theatrical ventures ; perhaps he 
 was mixed up with my father's business affairs ; possibly 
 he had some property of my mother's in his possession. 
 He was to bring papers, I knew, to settle some question, 
 over which there was legal dispute. So much I had heard 
 talked over between mother and Mr. Clough. 
 
 But my mind was too intent with thinking of my own 
 affairs, to be greatly disturbed with the affairs of others. 
 I kept thinking of the bracelet in mother's possession 
 still, and how she had promised to return it to me, when 
 we arrived at Boston ; and after breakfast I reminded her 
 of her promise. 
 
 " Do you wish to return the bracelet to the gentleman 
 to-day? " she inquired, after a moment's thought. I told 
 her I would like to do so, if I could. " It is too valuable 
 an article to be placed in the hands of an irresponsible 
 person," she went on. " When Mr. Clough comes, I will 
 give it to him ; and he shall, if you will furnish him with 
 Mr. Wyndham's address, return it himself." 
 
 While she was speakiug, Mr. Clough was ushered in. 
 He greeted mother, as was his custom, with profound 
 respect, inquired sympathetically as to the state of her 
 health, and then, after exchanging a few words with her 
 about some business arrangement, announced that Mr. 
 Clark had arrived, and would be ready to see her in an 
 hour. " Yon wish, of course, to see him alone?" sug- 
 gested Mr. Clough. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " but I would like first to speak with 
 you a few moments in private. —Cordelia, you mny go to 
 your room." She motioned to Annette, who left the 
 room. But I was not going till I had seen the bracelet 
 
360 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 given to Mr. Clough. I had a bit of paper in my pocket, 
 and with the pencil on my chatelaine I wrote Wyndham's 
 address. 
 
 "What are you waiting for, Cordelia?" said mother. 
 
 "For the bracelet to be given to Mr. Clough, if you 
 please," said I, sticking sturdily to my chair. 
 
 She looked at me a moment or two, as if she would like 
 to send me away without further annoyance ; then, as if 
 reconsidering the matter, she rose languidly, and went into 
 her bedroom, re-appearing a few minutes afterwards with 
 the required article. She approached Mr. Clough, who 
 was looking over some papers he had taken from his coat- 
 pocket, and said, " Will you do me the favor, Mr. Clough, 
 to give this, with your own hands, to tlie person whose 
 address Cordelia has just written? " I came forward at 
 once with the slip of paper. Mr. Clough took it, looked 
 at it, bowed, and put it with the box into his pocket. 
 
 Satisfied now, I went at once to my room. There was 
 nothing to prevent my going directly to Beacon Street, 
 for my mother had only bidden me remain in till Mr. 
 Clough came. He had come, and there was no necessity 
 of speaking again to her about the matter. She had 
 promised me a week's visit with Mrs. Walters ; I could 
 return in the evening, pass the night here at the hotel, and 
 have my trunk taken over in the morning. To make 
 every thing secure, I put back what articles I had taken 
 from my trunk, locked it, put on my hat again, and taking 
 my wrap on my arm, was about to open the door, when a 
 rap came against it. I supposed it was a servant. I 
 found it was Mr. Clough. He held the package contain- 
 ing the bracelet which mother had given him, in his hand. 
 
 "This is something, I know, that you prefer to take 
 care of yourself," said he. " It is your business and 
 nobody else's. Take it and return it yourself." 
 
 " No, there is no one to whom I could trust it so well 
 as to you, Mr. Clough. I wish it could be given to the 
 gentleman to-day. I would like the business done with," 
 I said. 
 
 "Then it shall be," said Mr. Clough. "But, as this 
 address is at some distance, I will order a carriage, aud 
 ask you to go with me." 
 
 But with all my new-found independence, I hesitated 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 361 
 
 at this new proposition. "Would my mother like it? 
 Would it be proper for me to go with you?" I stammered. 
 
 "Perfectly," said Mr. Clough. " You need not leave 
 the carriage. I have a reason for wishing you to accom- 
 pany me. In fact, I cannot go without you." 
 
 "Very well," said I, "I will go then," and followed 
 him down-stairs to wait for the carriage. He gave his 
 order to a servant, and then took me into a little room, 
 where a gentleman sat at a baize-covered table writing a 
 letter. The gentleman looked up as we entered. Mr. 
 Clough stepped forward, and said in clear, distinct voice, 
 " This is Miss Rivers, Mr. Clark." He rose and bowed. 
 "The very man," thought I, "whom my mother is expect- 
 ing. Surely she has no reason to be afraid of such a 
 person." He was very distinguished looking, and had the 
 pleasantest face imaginable ; a man about sixty, I judged, 
 tall and straight, with a kind of leonine head, — hair and 
 beard snow-white. His hands were as handsome as Mr. 
 Cloud's. As he bowed, he bestowed upon me a keen 
 glance, and a lingering one, from his fine dark eyes. Plis 
 erect bearing and vivid expression were in such contrast 
 to Mr. Clough's personal appearance, that it made the 
 latter seem quite insignificant. The gentlemen passed 
 out of the room together; then, after a few moments, 
 returned ; and Mr. Clark came and spoke to me, where I 
 was standing by the fireplace, watching a blazing log on 
 the tiled hearth, and wondering why no sparks came from 
 it, and no ashes fell. 
 
 He inquired after Mrs. Eivers's health, spoke of the 
 beauty of the day and the season, and then, after a little 
 pause, said abruptly, " I used to know your mother. Miss 
 Rivers. You look precisely as she did at your age." 
 
 I was surprised at his words. I had often heard it 
 remarked how unlike I was to my mother. The gentleman 
 rtlust have forgotten how my mother looked. 
 
 " I perceive a strong resemblance to her father in Miss 
 Rivers," remarked Mr. Clough, with a slight emphasis on 
 the word " father," accompanied with the ghost of a smile. 
 Mr. Clark paid no notice to the allusion. 
 
 "You are about sixteen, I should think," said the lat- 
 ter, again addressing me. 
 
 "I am eighteen," I replied. 
 
362 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I beg pardon, will you speak a little louder?" said 
 the gentleman. " I am somewhat deaf." 
 
 " I am eighteen," I repeated more distinctly, feeling 
 that the statement was of too little importance to be 
 shouted. 
 
 "Just the age to be a companion to her mother," said 
 Mr. Clough. " They are like two sisters together." 
 
 Again I was surprised. " Mr. Clough must know," 
 thought I, "that he is not telling the truth." I began 
 to believe that, what some one had said, about speech 
 being given us to conceal our thoughts, must be true. No 
 one seemed to me, latterly, to wish to have his inmost 
 thoughts known. 
 
 " And your name is Cordelia? " continued the stranger,' 
 keeping his grand face turned towards mine even when 
 he was not speaking. "You were not named for your 
 mother?" I felt the piercing glance of his e^'es upon 
 me. "You ought to have been given her name. Your 
 resemblance to her is really wonderful, — the same voice, 
 manner, ej'es, complexion, shape. She was a very amia- 
 ble, innocent girl. I used to know your mother well." 
 
 "How singularly the man talks !" thought I. "He 
 must be laboring under some grand mistake." I was puz- 
 zled to know what to think of him. 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Clough interposed. "The car- 
 riage is waiting," he said. " I have no time to lose. 
 Y'ou shall see Miss Rivers again this evening, Mr. Clark." 
 The gentleman bowed, followed us to the carriage, and 
 put me into it in the most fatherly fashion. 
 
 " The old gentleman is really quite taken with you, Miss 
 Cordelia," said Mr. Clough, as we drove away. I red- 
 dened with embarrassment at the idea. It was not a pleas- 
 ant one. "The fact is," continued my companion, "he 
 was very much enamored of your mother, and expected to 
 marry her ; nothing strange, then, that he should fall in 
 love with yon who look so much like her." Mr. Clough 
 smiled in a peculiar way, as if he thought the gentleman 
 a trifle too sentimental for his years. " 'Twould not be 
 a bad match, though, Cordelia, on second consideration. 
 He is a liandsorae man, and a widower of large wealth. 
 His daughter is very sickly." He smiled again. 
 
 1 was too much confused, or rather disgusted, to reply 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 363 
 
 to this jocoseness. It was the first time Mr. Clough 
 had ever spoken to me disagreeably ; but, before I made 
 up my miud how to replj', the carriage stopped before 
 Dr. Bray's residence. Mr. Clough went up the steps and 
 rang the bell, and, when the door was opened, spoke for 
 a moment with the servant ; and then, coming back to the 
 carriage, he told me that Mr. Wyndham no longer lived 
 here, but had removed some time ago to another part of 
 the city. 
 
 " I shall not have time to go with you there this morn- 
 ing," said he. "It is past one o'clock. Will to-mor- 
 row morning suit you as well? We will go early." 
 
 I assured him that it would please me quite as well, 
 and we drove back to the hotel. On alighting he put the 
 box containing the unlucky bracelet — how much trouble 
 it had given me ! — into mj^ hand. 
 
 "You had better take charge of it j-ourself," he said. 
 " To-morrow at ten o'clock, remember, I am at your ser- 
 vice." 
 
 I thanked him, and we separated. But I did not re- 
 turn to my room. I went from the " Ladies' Entrance " 
 of the house where I had been left, directly across to a 
 street that led out into the upper portion of Beacon Street. 
 I was impatient of every moment now that kept me from 
 Mrs. Walters. I skimmed the intervening distance be- 
 tween us with winged feet. How familiar every thing 
 began to look as I went on ! There was the dear old 
 park, green as in June, crossed with the well-remem- 
 bered walks ; there were the same old trees, the same 
 blue sky above them, dappled with white clouds. At 
 sight of the house where I had been so happy, my heart 
 gave a succession of bounds. I grew giddy with expec- 
 tation. Perhaps Mrs. Walters would not be at home. 
 I rather hoped she wouldn't be, that I might surprise her 
 when she did come. I planned having her come up to 
 the workroom, and find me writing there. I imagined 
 how surprised and delighted she would be. I ran up the 
 steps in the greatest eagerness. I rang the bell ; I rang 
 it again and again : was nobody at homo? Surely Eunice 
 the cook was never absent at this season. I went down 
 the steps to the basement entrance, and rang the bt'U 
 there, also, in vain. The house seemed deserted. 1 vvcul 
 
364 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 across the strip of garden to a door that led through a 
 small passage to the kitchen. As I reached it, 1 saw 
 John just disappearing down the alley-way leading to the 
 stable. He was too far off to hear me. Fortunately he 
 had left the door, from which he had just issued, unloclced 
 and partly open. He was doubtless coming back pres- 
 ently. I entered, and made a tour of the basement, with- 
 out discovering anybody anywhere. The kitchen, how- 
 ever, showed signs of recent habitation. There was a 
 lire in the range, and some unwashed dishes on tlie table. 
 Eunice's apron hung over a chair-back, as if hastily 
 thrown off. But where was Eunice herself ? I passed on 
 up-stairs to the first story, and went through every room 
 there. Nobody to be found. Where were Giuseppe and 
 Camille, I wondered. Could it be that all the family 
 were away on vacation, except John? The library and 
 drawing-room windows were darkened ; and the shrouded 
 pieces of furniture in the latter place, multiplied by the 
 mirrors, looked like a company of ghosts grotesquely 
 gathered together. I was about to turn back to the 
 kitchen, to wait for John to come in, when I thought I 
 heard a door shut np-stairs. Eunice was probably attend- 
 ing to some duty there, in the absence of Camille. I 
 went up to find her. As I reached the toi) of the back 
 staircase, I saw, through the ai'chway at the opening of 
 the main hall, a man whom I had never seen, coming from 
 the front staii'case directly towards pie. 1 halted and 
 looked at liim, wondering who he could be. His face was 
 haggard, with deep furrows in his cheeks. He did not 
 see me ; he looked neither to the right nor left, but went 
 straight to the workroom door, took a key from his 
 pocket, inserted it in the lock, opened tlie door, and dis- 
 appeared within. I heard him lock the door behind him. 
 1 was more amazed than ever. I went across to Mrs. 
 "Walters's chamber-door and listened ; and, hearing a slight 
 movement inside, I knocked. After a moment or two the 
 door was opened a little way, and Eunice's pock-marked 
 face looked out. "Who are j-ou, and how came you 
 here?" she demanded in a wliisper. 
 
 " Why, Eunice, don't you know me? I'm Miss Rivers, 
 Cordelia Rivers. Where is Mrs. Walters? What is the 
 matter? Is anybody sick in there?" And, forgetting 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 365 
 
 politeness, I pushed the door back and looked in. It was 
 but a momentary glance 1 had ; for Eunice pressed me 
 back instantly, and bolted the door against me. I only 
 saw that the floor was bare, the bed in the middle of the 
 room, and a covered figure upon it. I detected a mixture 
 of odors, fumigatory and disinfectant. It came over me 
 in a moment, that Mrs. Walters was dreadfully sick. De- 
 termined to know the worst, I put my lips to the keyhole. 
 " Eunice," I said, " is Mrs. Walters sick or dead? Don't 
 be afraid to tell me. You must tell me. I shall stay 
 here till you do." I waited some minutes, then I called 
 to her again. This time I got an answer. " Go to the 
 dressing-room door," she said. I went. The door was 
 opened a finger's width, and through the aperture she bade 
 me again go away ; told me Mrs. Walters was very sick, 
 and nobody was allowed to come into the house. She was 
 going to shut the door upon me again ; but I was stronger 
 than she at that moment ; I held it back. " What is the 
 matter with her? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, miss, she's got the small-pox of the worst kind, 
 and she's going to die," said Eunice bluntly. " We are 
 trying to keep it secret. Nobody knows it but the doctor 
 and the nurse, and John and me. The nurse has gone 
 home, sick ; and you'd better be vaccinated when the doc- 
 tor goes out. There, go into the bucket-room and be fumi- 
 gated, and go home and say nothing about it." 
 
 "O Eunice," I beseeched, "let me come in and help 
 take care of her ! I'm not a bit afraid. I'm a good nurse, 
 — everybody says so. I've taken care of the sick a great 
 deal. You must be tired. I can help " — 
 
 " No, you can't. The doctor's to get a new nurse to- 
 night. "Why, j'ou don't want to have the small-pox, do 
 you, and die with it? or have your face spoiled as mine 
 is? You can't be any use to us. You don't know any 
 thing about what you want to undertake," she interrupted. 
 
 " O Eunice, just let me come in and speak to her!" 
 I pleaded. 
 
 " Speak to her, child ! Why, she wouldn't know you 
 if you did ! She's out of her head. She don't know any- 
 body. She can't open her eyes now. Do as I have ad- 
 vised you. The doctor'll come out of the farther door, 
 where you used to write. You cau wait for him there." 
 
366 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 She locked the door, and bolted it in addition. She was 
 not going to let me in, under any circumstances. Eunice 
 Lad a will of her own. 
 
 But love is stronger than locks, or bolts, or human wills. 
 It is fertile in resources ; its ingenuity exceeds human 
 skill ; its knowledge of ways and means is infinite. Love 
 is born of the spirit, and can overcome material impedi- 
 ments. It is an elemental power, — the foundation of all 
 things, the creator of all things. Love — is God. 
 
 I realized now the strength of mj- affection for Mrs. 
 Walters. The shock I had just received, instead of pros- 
 trating me, roused me into new vigor. To shut me out 
 from Mrs. Walters, was like shutting out a loving mother 
 from her dying offspring. Go away and leave her ! Wild 
 horses could not drag me away. The danger of conta- 
 gion, disfigurement, death, I never thought of. A friend- 
 ship that considers risks is not worthy the name. A love 
 that will not give its life, if need be, is not love. 
 
 To take Eunice's advice, in one respect, I considered 
 would be wise. I had never been vaccinated, to my knowl- 
 edge. I went and sat down by the workroom door to 
 wait for the doctor. He presently came out, and was go- 
 ing away without noticing me, when I called to him. " If 
 j'ou are the doctor, sir," I said, " I would like to be vac- 
 cinated." 
 
 He turned in surprise, and surveyed me from head to 
 foot. He was evidently very tired and very cross. 
 
 " Who the devil are you? " he demanded. 
 
 " I am a nurse, come to take care of Mrs. Walters." 
 
 " A nurse, eh? I haven't heard any thing about a nurse 
 coming," he said, looking me over again. 
 
 " Very likely," I answered; "but a nurse is needed 
 here, I understand. I have come unexpectedly." I took 
 off my jacket, and waited for further directions, which he 
 gave abruptly. 
 
 "Are you used to small-pox patients? " he asked, ap- 
 plying the lancet to my bared arm. 
 
 " I am used to taking care of the sick," I replied. " I'm 
 a born nurse. There are born nurses as well as born 
 poets and painters, you know." 
 
 " Do you know what confluent small-pox is ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, sir, but I can imagine what it is." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 367 
 
 The seams in the doctor's cheeks deepened with a smile. 
 " You'd better let your imagination suffice you, then," he 
 said, pressing the bit of plaster to my arm. " Have you 
 come far? " 
 
 " From a long distance. I'm here to nurse Mrs. Wal- 
 ters, and I'm not going away. I shall understand what 
 to do after I'm once told. I never forget any thing in a 
 sick-room. I shall obey your instructions implicitly," I 
 said. 
 
 " Are you thoroughly well every way? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am well and strong ; able to do any thing 
 required of me. When I have changed my dress, I wish 
 to begin my duties at once. How shall I get into the sick- 
 room? All the doors are locked." 
 
 " The woman inside will let you in," he said. 
 
 " Not without your permission. Shall I tell her you 
 say I may go in? " I asked boldly, and surprised at my 
 own strength. 
 
 " Yes, if you wish." He wrote a few words on a tablet 
 he took from his pocket, tore off the leaf, and, handing it 
 to me, said, " Give her this when you go in." Then, he 
 bade me good-morning, and went away. 
 
 So much gained, my next move was to write a note to 
 my mother. I went down to the library, but the desk 
 there was locked. I found half a sheet of paper between 
 the leaves of a book lying on the table ; and on this I wrote 
 in pencil, telling her how I was situated, and that I should 
 return to her when I could do so with safety. I w6nt 
 down to the kitchen to give the note to John to drop 
 into the nearest letter-box. He came in presently, and 
 appeared much surprised. From him I learned every thing 
 I was desiring to know about the terrible state of affairs 
 here. He told me a telegram had been sent to Mr. Wal- 
 ters, who was on the Pacific coast, to return immediately. 
 All the other absent members of the household, except 
 Master Clifford, had been written or telegraphed to, to 
 stay away. Master Clifford, old John said, had had the 
 disease in a mild form' when he was only twelve, and 
 Eunice had nursed him. He was expecting Master Clif- 
 ford to arrive any day. 
 
 "Master Clifford will not come near the infected house," 
 thought I ; and my prophecy proved to be true. 
 
368 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The nest thing to do was to find a suitable dress to put 
 on. I remembered there used to be in a cedar closet 
 behind the billiard-room a large box containing various 
 garments for poor women, ready-made woollen and cotton 
 wrappers of various sizes, to fit all shapes. In this 
 chest I found a loose gown that I could wear, and a pair 
 of felt slippers. I put both on ; and then fortifying my- 
 self with a baker's roll and a glass of milk, which I had 
 brought up from the kitchen, I was equipped for my work. 
 The last thing in preparation was to get into the sick- 
 room. So far my way had been cleared as I went for- 
 ward. My old habit of indecision at momentous crises 
 seemed to have dropped away from me. I felt a thorough 
 confldeuce in myself ; a singular strength and coolness 
 was upon me. I did not despair of Mrs. Walters's recov- 
 er}', so much depended in extreme cases, like hers, on 
 superior nursing. 1 determined I would not leave her, 
 night or day, till she was better. 
 
 In this resolute frame of mind I went again to the door 
 of the sick-room, and tapped lightly ; but Eunice did not 
 answer it. I spoke to her through the keyhole : "I 
 have something here the doctor wants me to give you." 
 
 " Hand it to me through the dressing-room door, then," 
 she said. I went to the door designated ; and the moment 
 she opened it, I gave a sudden push against it, and 
 entered. Eunice was dismayed at this, and appeared as 
 if she intended to eject me bodily. Her thirty years of 
 faithful service in the Cloud family had given her a sense 
 of responsibility ; and she felt a trust imposed upon 
 her at such a time as this, to which she could not be faith- 
 less. But, on reading the doctor's note, she forebore fur- 
 ther comment. She was obliged to permit me to remain. 
 I followed her into the sick-room, which was as bare as a 
 hermit's cell. Through artiflcial means, the air was kept 
 here at a very low temperature, — so cold that it sent a 
 succession of chills over me. I advanced straight to the 
 bedside. I had imagined I was prepared for the worst. 
 The patient was in the intermediate stage of the disease. 
 I looked at the unconscious, restless figure moaning in 
 delirium, at the swollen, crimson spotted visage a moment, 
 and then the room began to spin round. The unexpected 
 sight, with the nauseous odor, the chill, were too much 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 369 
 
 for me. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. 
 The spirit prevailed, however, after bravely grappling 
 with the situatiou. I was not going to give proof of dis- 
 qualification for the self-assigned post quite so soon. 
 Pride, one of the chief ingredients of my nature, came 
 to the rescue, and I recovered myself. But the situation 
 was too dreadful to imagine. 
 
 " Give me the cup," I said to Eunice, who was admin- 
 istering some stimulant to the patient. " I will attend 
 to her now ; and you can go back to the kitchen, and do 
 j'our work there. The principal thing to do here is to 
 allay the fever as much as possible, and keep the strength 
 sustained by nourishing drinks. I will tell you how to 
 make a most nourishing broth." 
 
 " We have every thing of that kind brought to the 
 kitchen-door," said Eunice. "Dr. Bray sees to that," 
 and she left me with a look on her face expressive of dis- 
 trust and apprehension. It was a wonder to her, doubtless, 
 how Dr. Bray should have allowed a young, inexperienced 
 girl like myself to take so responsible a charge. Ere 
 long, however, she perceived that I had ability in the line 
 of nursing. She was amazed at my skill. " Where did 
 you learn to take care of the sick?" she asked. "I 
 never saw an old nurse handle a patient better." 
 
 "In some pre-existent state, I suppose," I said. 
 ' ' My father and my aunt used to say I was born with the 
 gift." 
 
 Eunice had reason to express her surprise as the days 
 went on. For, though the new nurse came as expected, 
 I insisted upon sharing with her the hardest offices ; more 
 trying for my inability to realize that it was Mrs. Walters 
 for whom they were performed. It was impossible for 
 me to feel that the swollen, corrupted image I so faith- 
 fully attended could be the fair-faced lady against whose 
 cheek I had pressed my last good-by kiss. 
 
 Let me say as little as possible of this period of my 
 story. I remained five days by Mrs. Walters's bedside"; 
 and not an interval of a moment, during the time, did she 
 seem to know that I was near her. 
 
 On the sixth day, and the eleventh of the malady, she 
 died. Like her divine Master, she gave her life up to the 
 cause of humanity. 
 
370 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 An elaborate monument to her memory can be seen 
 in the beautiful burial-place, near the city of Boston. 
 Whether her dust reposes beneath it, I have never been 
 told. Nor do I care to know. 
 
 " Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 371 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Affliction may one day smile again." 
 
 Love's Labob's Lost. 
 
 ~^rOT till some days after the death of his wife did 
 1 >1 Mr. Walters arrive. I did not see him. I was 
 prostrate iu bed, suflfering the re-action of an overstrain 
 of the nervous system ; but I was told that he was quite 
 beside himself with grief. As for me, I could not yet 
 realize that Mrs. Walters was dead. She had never 
 seemed so near to me as now. I felt her presence con- 
 tinually. Every time I fell asleep I saw her beside me. 
 She appeared in radiant health, and talked to me precisely 
 as if she were alive. She told me she loved me better 
 than ever, because she knew me better than ever. She 
 spoke of her own death as something to rejoice over. " I 
 see now," she said, " that my work was done, and I did 
 not know it ; that, if I had lived to grow old on the earth, 
 I should have become worldly and selfish. It was better 
 to wake into new life in the way I did, or the dross of my 
 nature might not have been left behind. I am needed 
 here ; new work is ready at my hand. And oh, Cordelia, 
 such faculties as are mine now, such renewal of strength 
 into which I have wakened, such far-seeing vision that is 
 given to me, can never be described in earthly language ! 
 Glorious fields of labor, such as I loved on earth, are 
 opening wide before me ; and I can work, and work, and 
 work, and never be tired ! " 
 
 This vision of Mrs. Walters was so clear to me in my 
 dream, that, on awaking, I stretched out my hand to clasp 
 hers. No wonder that I could not realize she was dead ! 
 
 Meantime the days went on, and at length the morning 
 arri\'ed when the doctor told me I might return to my 
 mother. I had passed the critical point. Vaccination had 
 done its work, in protecting my system from invasion of the 
 small-pox, even in its mildest form. I should not have to 
 
872 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 be carried away to a pest-house, and be nursed by a hire- 
 ling. Tlie doctor congratulated me. " A little mothering 
 for a few weeks is all you need now," said he. " Go home, 
 and keep quiet, and busy your mind with ordinary mat- 
 ters, and obey your mother like a good girl. You have 
 done a heroic thing ; now we must look out for re-action. 
 Your mother's care is better than any doctor's." He 
 shook hands with me, and bade me good-morning. He had 
 much more feeling than his appearance indicated. I 
 smiled at the idea of being " mothered." He, doubtless, 
 pictured my mother as a kind-hearted, elderly, broad- 
 backed, easy woman in cap and spectacles. I had often 
 myself wished that she was just that. What would he have 
 said, had he known that no answer had come to the note I 
 had written her, and nobody been sent to find how I was 
 getting on ? Yet what did it matter ? I was going back to 
 her with very different feelings from which I had come. I 
 had no desire to antagonize her. Her plans for me seemed 
 of little account. I was ready to go to England with her, 
 or to any other place. She might do with me as she 
 chose ; it was in her power no longer to separate me from 
 Mrs. Walters. 
 
 It fatigued me not a little to get ready for my return. 
 But I was dressed at last. I had said good-by to John 
 and Eunice ; I had toiled up three flights of stairs to take 
 a last look from the windows of my old room ; and now I 
 went in to the library to take leave of Mr. Walters, but 
 he was not there. He had gone out, unaware of my in- 
 tention to quit the house so soon. I was glad of it. I 
 had dreaded saying farewell to him. 
 
 I walked slowly back across the park, whispering " fare- 
 well " to every familiar thing as I passed. It was most 
 likely I should never pace these walks again. Some bright 
 leaves from the crimsoning maples were falling along my 
 path ; one, brighter than the others, lodged upon my 
 shoulder, and clung there, and was carried on in the 
 meshes of the lace scarf I wore, and was folded away in it. 
 One may smile to know I have preserved that leaf till now. 
 
 I was very tired when I reached the hotel. It seemed 
 strange that every small exertion should make me so 
 weary. I was not surprised to find that mother had de- 
 parted. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 373 
 
 The clerk, a civil, but very pompous young man, con- 
 descended to hand me two letters ; and also to notify me 
 that two trunks, belonging to Miss Cordelia Elvers, were 
 in the baggage-room waiting to be taken away. I received 
 my letters, and went into the little room where I had seen 
 Mr. Clark, the Southern gentleman, and sat down to read 
 them. I glanced at the superscription of each. One was 
 in my mother's handwriting ; the other in a hand un- 
 known to me. Somehow, I dreaded opening these letters, 
 and waited a few moments to gather heart to do so. 
 
 How cold and unhomelike every thing seemed here ! 
 The same unconsumed gas-log was blazing on the hearth, 
 — as much like a real fire as a waxen image is like a liv- 
 ing person. An artificial-looking woman entered, with a 
 shaggy lap-dog in her arms. The gentleman with her 
 went to the table and sat down to write. I withdrew from 
 their observation at once, and in the recess of one of the 
 windows, opened mother's letter, and read the follow- 
 
 " You are at liberty, Cordelia, to remain with Mrs. Walters as 
 long as you wish. You are mistress of your own acts henceforth, 
 — at least so far as I am concerned. You are nothing to me, and 
 I do not wish to exercise further autliority over you. Our connec- 
 tion, such as it was, is severed. Think of me as one dead. 
 
 A. F. Powers Riveks. 
 
 Breathless with dismay, I tore off the envelope of the 
 other letter, unfolded it, and looked at the signature. It 
 was from Mr. Clough — Richard Clough. The letter con- 
 tained several closely written pages. I read the first one ; 
 then went back and re-read it. It explained Mrs. Rivers's 
 strange communication, by the astounding information 
 that I was not her daughter! This startling statement 
 was, of course, if true, the key to all the mystery that had 
 gone before. But I could not realize at first so unthought 
 of and undreamed of a thing. I thought the writer had 
 made some mistake in placing his words, or that my dull 
 brain did not take in their true meaning. " You are not 
 Mrs. Rivers's daughter." I repeated the sentence a dozen 
 times ; and then, attempting to go on, I found the words 
 were melting into each other, and becoming indistinct to 
 my gaze. I was faint and dizzy. Another woman, who 
 
374 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 had entered the room and taken a seat opposite, was looking 
 at me curiously. I bethought me then where I was. This 
 public apartment was no place for me. I must go some- 
 whore where I should be free from curious e^'es. I could 
 not think of staying in so public a place as this hotel. I 
 must find some boardirlg-house where I should have a room 
 in which I could remain unnoticed, read over mj' letters, 
 and thi/ik undisturbed. "Why not go back to Beacon 
 Street? " suggested itself. At that thought, the full sense 
 of my great bereavement came over me. I realized that 
 Mrs. Walters was dead. I longed then more than ever for 
 some covert hiding-place where I could give way to my 
 grief. Holding it in check now as bravely as I could, I 
 again approached the clerk, and inquired faintly if there 
 were any quiet boarding-houses in the vicinity. I had to 
 be sparing of my words, lest what little force of mind and 
 body I was trying to keep together might suddenly aban- 
 don me. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " there are quite a number close by." 
 He referred me to the directory lying near, and returned 
 to his novel, and troubled himself no more about me. 
 
 The lady who had been looking at me curiously was 
 passing at the moment, and hearing my question, and the 
 clerk's indifferent reply, — and noting also my pale face, 
 I suppose, — stopped, and asked if 1 were sick. I told 
 her 1 had just recovered from a short illness, and would 
 like to find a quiet boarding-place. 
 
 She informed me that she had just come from one her- 
 self, — one that she could i)articularly recommend. It 
 might be an objection, however, that it was quite at the 
 other end of the city. 
 
 J shook my head. She wrote the address, " 77 Oldbury 
 Street," on a card, and gave to me. 
 
 I ordered a carriage at once, and went directly to the 
 place. I found a more imposing-looking house than I had 
 expected, and was quite sure that the terms would not be 
 suited to my purse. I requested the driver to wait for 
 me, and not remove my luggage, till I had had an inter- 
 view with the raistiess of the establishment. I looked at 
 the, card: the name was Ross. Fortunately JMrs. Koss 
 was crossing the hall as I entered, and I was si)ar('d the 
 tedium of waiting. She informed me there were but two 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 375 
 
 rooms vacant in her house just then. She showed them 
 to me. One was a large, handsomely furnished parlor on 
 the first floor, at fifty dollars a week, with board ; the 
 other, an attic chamber at fifteen dollars. The lady 
 glanced at my dress, and recommended the parlor. I 
 told her I could not afford to take it, but I would engage 
 the upper room. I paid her a week's rent in advance. 
 There was considerably less deference in her manner after 
 my choice was made, and mytrunks came up. 
 
 "Dinner from one to three; tea from six to eight; 
 breakfast, seven till nine," said she glibly and coldly. 
 
 "I shall not take my meals here at present," I said. 
 For, while the lady was speaking, it suddenly occurred to 
 me that I would go to Suubridge that very afternoon — 
 to Mrs. Proctor's. Why had I not thought of her before? 
 With her I should not be bound to observe any rules of 
 etiquette, the very thought of which burdened me here. 
 I looked at my watch (Mrs. Walters's last gift), and 
 found that the afternoon train to Sunbridge would not go 
 for four hours. 
 
 " I am going out of town for a few days," I resumed ; 
 " shall not return for two or three days at least." 
 
 " You wish to retain the room?" The lady hesitated. 
 She began to wonder who I could be, I suppose. 
 
 " For the present week, — how much longer, I cannot 
 say. My trunks will I'emain here, till I come or send for 
 them." I was growing faint again. Chmbing three 
 flights of long stairs had quite exhausted mj' strength. 
 
 " Do you go away before dinner? " asked the lady. 
 
 ' ' No, but I do not care for dinner ; a piece of bread 
 and a glass of milk, if you will send it here, is all I wish 
 for." 
 
 " We charge extra for meals sent to rooms," said the 
 lady. " Will you have nothing else? " 
 
 " Nothing. What shall I pay you? " I said. 
 
 " One dollar, if you please." I handed lier the required 
 sum, and asked that the food might be brought at once. 
 I felt a sensation of sinking. I feared I might lose con- 
 sciousness. If I gave way utterly here, what loould be- 
 come of me ! I unloosened my diess, and \ay down on the 
 hard bed. When the bread and milk came, I swallowed 
 a few mouthfuls ; and, feeling stronger presently, I uu- 
 
376 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 locked my smaller trunk, and laid out what few articles I 
 might need at Sunbridge, in case I found Mrs. Proctor at 
 home. The effort tired me ; but with another half hour's 
 rest, another drink of the milk (the bread choked me ; I 
 could not swallow it) , I felt I could read mj' letter. I put 
 the tray outside ; locked the door, and removed the key, 
 that it might be supposed I had gone. I did not want 
 to be interrupted in my reading and thinking again. I 
 had i)ut off botli till I could be away from every human 
 creature. Now 1 wanted to thinJc. But I must first peruse 
 my letter ; I could think afterwards. What a long letter 
 it was ! I began to read. 
 
 Hotel Maxwell, Sept. 17, 18—. 
 
 My dear Miss Ttivers, — Just eighteen years ago to-day you were 
 born in Cuba. Through this interim you have been kei^t in entire 
 ignorance respecting your parentage. I propose now to enlighten 
 you. In my opinion, it is quite time you should know that you are 
 not Mrs. Rivers's daughter. Until six years ago, she — the woman 
 you have called mother — did not know of your existence. You 
 can imagine, perhaps, her state of mind on learning from her hus- 
 band's own lips that he had a living daughter twelve years of age. 
 But I must spend no time over imaginary scenes. It is my business 
 to state facts and only facts. I have them from reliable sources. 
 
 Just before his death at Hardcliffe, Mrs. Rivers promised your 
 father that she would never tell you she was not yotu- mother. The 
 secret has been well kept. Under ordinary circumstances, it would 
 not have become known to me. I discovered it in seaching for evi- 
 dence to prove the legality of the present Mrs. Rivers's marriage. 
 During the last two or three years of his life, your father was deeply 
 involved in debt. He had been speculating largely in Western lands, 
 and had met with heavy losses. A valuable tract of territory — 
 more valuable than he knew — was still in his possession. This he 
 wished to transfer to his wife. It was all he could leave her, and 
 he wished her to be able to hold it in her own right after his death. 
 He accordingly made and executed a deed with legal formality, 
 conveying the property to a trusted friend, with the understanding, 
 of course, that it would be at once conveyed to his wife. But this 
 friend proved faithless to the trust reposed in hira. Instead of ful- 
 filling his obligation, by conveying to Mrs. Rivers, he disappeared, 
 and when sent for could not be found. Your father was suffering 
 at the time from a severe hemorrhage of the lungs, quite too ill to 
 attend to the business of looking up the scoundrel. Mrs. Rivers 
 knew nothing of the affair until after her husband's death. Then 
 she put the matter into my hands, and I at once instituted a bill 
 in equity to compel a reconveyance of the properly to her. Before 
 commencing suit, I was told it would be well to have satisfactory 
 evidence of the validity of Mrs. Rivers's marriage. The marriage 
 certificate was lost. I went to South Carolina, the place where Mrs. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 377 
 
 Rivers's father had purchased a residence just previous to his daugh- 
 ter' s marriage, and found the necessary proofs, and was about to 
 return with them, when a letter came to me from Mr. John C. 
 Clark, — the gentleman you met here, — by which I learned that 
 Edward Rivers had had a wife living at the time of his marriage with 
 Miss Powers (the present Mrs. Rivers), and that a child by this wife 
 was still living. I did not credit the statement; but a search in 
 the registry of another town — in another State — proved it to be 
 true. I subsequently saw Mr. Clark, who gave me in detail the 
 whole history of the complicated affair. This Mr. Clark was very 
 much in love with your mother, and engaged to be married to her. 
 The wedding was announced to take place Jan. 1, 18 — . But 
 just four days before that time, the bride-elect was missing; and it 
 was soon ascertained that she had run away and married Edward 
 Rivers; that the ceremony had been performed by a Baptist clergy- 
 man, tlie Rev. Leroy Herrick, in his own house on the 28th of 
 
 December, at Middlepoint, Langland County, State of . The 
 
 date of the marriage I found at Middlepoint, and I have a copy of 
 the certificate. 
 
 Your mother's name was Cristina Anderson. She was of 
 Swedish extraction, an orphan not quite twenty years old at the 
 time of her marriage. At twenty-one, she expected to come into 
 possession of considerable money. She lived with her only brother, 
 a single man, many years older than herself; a man of fiery temper 
 and most determined character, who allowed nothing to come be- 
 tween him and his will. He was your mother's guardian, and he 
 ruled her with a rod of iron. By his influence she had been forced 
 into the engagement of marriage altogether distasteful to her. 
 Mr. Clark was old enough to be her father; and loving him almost 
 like a father, as she did, it was not strange she did not desire him 
 for a husband. She lacked, however, the firmness to tell him so, 
 even after she had fallen in love with a younger and more fascinat- 
 ing man. She was a timid creature, living in almost abject fear of 
 her brother, from whom, after her marriage, when she learned he 
 was in hot pursuit of her, she fled from town to town, persuading 
 her liusband to hide with her in the most secluded places, to elude 
 his search. In spite of their utmost caution, however, they were 
 discovered at last. Six weeks after her marriage, while her husband 
 was absent for an hour or two, her brother rushed in upon her, 
 dragged her away, put her aboard a steamer, and the next day 
 sailed with her out of the country. Your father could gain no 
 clew to her whereabouts. Nobody could tell him any thing about 
 his wife. She had been last seen, every one assured him, with him- 
 self. It seemed to him as if the ground had opened and swallowed 
 her up. For a while, in an almost frenzied state, he scoured the 
 country in the vicinity of her old home. Then the news came that 
 she had died of yellow-fever in Cuba, and the notice of her death 
 went the rounds of the Southern newspapers. Your father at 
 once visited Mr. Clark, to learn the authenticity of the rumor. The 
 latter showed him a letter from Anderson — the brother — an- 
 nouncing that his sister was lying at the point of death with yellow- 
 fever, and that she would, by the time the letter reaclied the 
 steamer, in all probability, be no longer among the living. This 
 
378 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 seemed to be enough to satisfy all doubt in the matter. Your 
 father settled down to the conviction that slie was really dead. He 
 mourned for her several months, as sincerely, no doubt, as one of 
 his nature could do. Then he took to himself another wife, — Miss 
 Alida Frances Powers, a girl of sixteen, and a dignified lady even 
 at that age, whom he had met during his mourning period in an 
 adjoining State. For reasons of his own, he did not confide to 
 her the fact of his previous marriage. What motive he had for 
 his secrecy, 1 cannot say. Perhaps he wished her to believe she 
 was his first and only love. But it is plain to be seen now that he 
 feared his second beautiful wife rather than loved her. It was 
 certainly not a happy tmion. Their tastes, their habits of think- 
 ing and living, were totally unlike; and after they had removed to 
 New Orleans, and taken up their abode in a fasliionaijle hotel, they 
 drifted farther apart than ever. Your father's business at this 
 time began to take him long distances from home. It was nothing 
 unusual for him to be away from his wife for a period of months. 
 She did not mourn his absences. Her whole mind, young as she 
 was, was absorbed with a passionate study of Shakspeare's trage- 
 dies, and their representations on the stage. She was beginning to 
 act herself at private theatricals. Your father did not like these 
 things, but, being naturally of a reserved disposition, said nothing. 
 He came and went as he pleased, and his wife forebore comment. 
 He could not arraign her for similar independence of movement, 
 much as he would have liked to do it sometimes, had he dared. 
 Her indifference exasperated him; but her dignity awed him, and 
 kept him silent. 
 
 Two years passed in this way, and then something occurred to 
 quite change the state of affairs for your father. He had come 
 home one evening, after one of his long absences in the West, and, 
 finding that his wife was away at the theatre, had gone out to sit 
 in the gallery of the hotel to watch for her return. The attention 
 his wife's beauty and talent were attracting, perhaps, caused him 
 to be somewhat jealous. Whatever his feelings might have been, 
 he was startled out of them, on observing, among the arrivals from 
 a steamer that had just come in, a lady in deep mourning, accom- 
 panied by a negi'o niirse hearing a child. This lady was the per- 
 fect image of his former wife. She wan his former wife, and the 
 child was yourself. She registered her name as Mrs. Rivers, child 
 and servant, , Cuba." What ensued when your father dis- 
 covered the fact that his wife was really alive, and was in search 
 of him, or what ingenuity he employed to keep the same from 
 coming to public notice, I cannot say. I only know that the lady 
 in mourning, with her child and servant, and numerous trunks, 
 quitted the hotel next morning, acconjpanied by your father. 
 Where they went, nobody knew nor cared. Kobody suspected for 
 a moment that the gentle-mannered, modest, sweet-faced lady was 
 the real wife of your father, and that she had wakened all his old 
 love for her. The fact of her having the same name tended to 
 repress any remark among those who were in the knowledge of 
 your father's gallantries. The present Mrs. llivers remembers 
 being told by her husband that the lady was the widow of his 
 cousin, who had died in Cuba ; and that your father's attentions 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 379 
 
 to her, in her unprotected state, caused no surprise whatever among 
 their friends. 
 
 I am sorry that I must, if I go on to relate what followed this 
 re-union of your father and motlier, present the former to your 
 view in a very unfavorable light. I knew your father slightly at 
 this period, and it did not surprise me to learn what course he pur- 
 sued in tlie matter. It quite agreed with what I remembered had 
 been my judgment of his character. He began to live a dual life. 
 1 may as well state the matter plainly, — he became a bigamist, 
 living iirst with one wife and then with the other. No blame can 
 be imputed to your mother. She knew she was the real wife, and, 
 being trustful and imsuspecting, never doubted her husband's 
 words, when he told her that the second marriage was to him, as 
 it was in the law, null and void. She was a tender-hearted, sim- 
 ple woman, and gave the matter little thought, except as her pity 
 prompted her to remember the second Mrs. Rivers, obliged to 
 forego a husband lilfe her darling Edward. She was very happy 
 with your father; her brother was dead, and there was nothing in 
 the world now to molest or make her afraid. But her happiness 
 was destined to be brief. Before eleven months came round, she 
 died in child-bed, and you were sent to Hardcliffe to be cared for 
 among your father's kin. The very recklessness of your father's 
 acts, it would seem, protected him even at this time from suspi- 
 cion. 
 
 A few months previous to your mother's decease, she executed a 
 will giving all her property, including that left to her by the death 
 of her brother, into her husband's hands, trusting implicitly to his 
 promise to have a portion of it invested for your benefit, when you 
 should come of age. The making of the will necessitated the open- 
 ing of communication with Mr. Clark, who had some deeds and 
 mortgages belonging to the late Mr. Anderson in his possession. 
 Surprised beyond measure to learn that Cristina Anderson was still 
 among the living, he came at once to see her. Despite his disap- 
 pointment and chagrin, caused by her treatment of him, his regard 
 for her was of that tender and true quality that can overlook slights, 
 and think only of the loved one's happiness and welfare. His 
 affection for her had so much of the fatherly element in it, that it 
 begat a confidence in your mother's trustful nature, and she told 
 him every thing. She told him ho* she had come upon her hus- 
 band as soon as she landed from the steamer; how she had found 
 him married ; how the marriage had been annulled ; and ended by 
 assuring him that the only drawback to her happiness was the 
 thought of the second wife's wretchedness, and the longing she 
 oftentimes felt to comfort her in some way. What your mother 
 so innocently confided to Mr. Clark, he kept as a sacred trust. 
 
 After your mother's death, your father's affairs became less com- 
 plicated and less troublesome to him. He was the husband of but 
 one wife now, or rather of no wife ; for the marriage, of course, was 
 not valid. To have taken steps to make it so, would have been a 
 revelation of his guilt. To a man like your father, it was easier to 
 let things drift, and trust that the secret might never become known. 
 So he let things drift, and after six or seven years a boy was born 
 to him. The birth of a child developed in Mrs. Rivers a more 
 
380 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 domestic turn of mind. She relinquished her studies for a while 
 to attend upon her Infant's wants. About this time your father's 
 health failed rapidly. Successive hemorrhages brought him almost 
 to death's door. Believing himself that he must die, he confessed 
 to his wife that he had a daughter living in Hardclifte, that he 
 longed to see once more before he died. He confessed no more, 
 however, than was barely sufficient to aid him in carrying his point. 
 His tendency to deceit was as strong in death as in life. Mrs. 
 Kivers being a proud, reticent woman, as well as a passionate one, 
 asked him no questions. Even after they reached Hardcliffe, she 
 demanded no explanations. I doubt if she cared to know her hus- 
 band's antecedents. She understood, of course, that the child was 
 illegitimate; and a child born out of wedlock was, to a woman of 
 her chai-acter, an object of scorn rather than of pity. From her 
 husband's passionate appeals to her to care for and educate you as 
 her own daughter, she turned away with a feeling of mingled dis- 
 gust and indifference. Do not blame her greatly for the feeling. 
 She softened afterwards, and promised your father to do what she 
 could. You know better than 1 whether she kept her promise. 
 But, if she did not, you can forgive her now. You can think of her 
 coming directly from a life of ease and luxury in a gay Southern 
 city, to settle down in wretched isolation and poverty in a cold 
 Northern home, without the sympathy of a single soul vouchsafed 
 to her. But for the one idea that engrossed her, namely, that of 
 becoming a great actress, her wretchedness would have been com- 
 plete. After her boy's death, she went to England, and began to 
 study for the stage, — with what success, you,already are aware. 
 
 While there, a rumor of her husband's first marriage reached her. 
 Some enemy of her peace sent her a letter inquiring where Mr. 
 Rivers's daughter by his first wife might be found. She enclosed 
 the letter at once to me, and asked for explanations. I answered it 
 by telling her all I knew of the affair, except that part pertaining to 
 the return of the wife, and the invalidation of her own marriage. 
 " Why," I said to myself, " should I reveal what would serve only 
 to make her unhappy 'f " She was famous now, or comparatively 
 so. She was rich, also; having inherited, by the death of an uncle 
 in England, a large estate. It seemed to me wicked to unsettle 
 her peace of mind by a revelation that would be worse than useless. 
 I perceive now that I acted unwisely. In half revelations, there is 
 often a loophole through which suspicion can find its way. It 
 was so in this case. In my letter to Mrs. Rivers, I had inadvert- 
 ently alluded to Mr. Clark as my authority for some statement; 
 and back, directly, came a letter demanding Mr. Clark's address. 
 I did not send it to her; and, lest she might be able to learn it 
 through some other person, I wrote to Mr. Clark, instructing him 
 to communicate no information on the subject till he should hear 
 from me. I feared for the result of her learning that she had been 
 living so many years of her life with a man, not her husband. Hear- 
 ing nothing from me, she came at once to New York. She was 
 urgently desirous of discovering your whereabouts, and also of 
 learning the exact date of your mother's death. You were of much 
 consequence to her now. There was a vast difference in her eyes 
 between what should be done for a child bom in wedlock, and one 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 381 
 
 born out of it. She wished to write to Mr. Clark herself, to learn 
 more about your mother and her kinsfolks; but the principal fact 
 to be established was tlie time of your mother's decease. She dwelt 
 upon this point, until I began to deem it unwise to withhold longer 
 from her the means of correspondence with Mr. Clark. Before 
 giving her his address, I wrote to the gentleman begging him for 
 her sake, for yours, yes, and for mine, — for 1 will confess to you 
 that I love Mrs. Rivers, and did hope to make her my wife, — to 
 tell her nothing to make her unhappy. In consequence, he did not 
 answer her letter. She wrote him again and again, and at last con- 
 cluded to go herself to see him. Sucli a course would take the 
 matter entirely out of my control; and I considered it best, at this 
 juncture, to arrange for a meeting between them. After deferring 
 the appointment as long as possible, I sent for Mr. Clark, and he 
 came on the 5th of September to see Mrs. Rivers, as he had prom- 
 ised. He brought with him, as I had directed, an old newspaper 
 notice of your mother's death. I stated the case plainly to liim, 
 coacliing him in every particular as to wliat he must say to her 
 inquiries. I found him rather difficult of management. He had 
 some nice scruples that could not be put aside. Supposing, he 
 said, Mrs. Rivers should require him to state, upon his honor, the 
 truth of what he knew regarding the time of your motlier's death, 
 what then? He would promise me nothing. 1 trusted, however, 
 that Mrs. Rivers's natural reserve and reticence, and Mr. Clark's 
 good sense, would carry the matter along safely enough. But it 
 proved to be quite otherwise. Contrary to Mrs. Rivers's habit, she 
 plied him with questions till she learned the whole truth. There 
 was nothing to be done with her, then. Slie started for New York 
 that very evening. I saw her but a few moments before her de- 
 parture. She would have nothing whatever to say to me. She 
 seemed to have turned into stone. Through her maid, I learned 
 her intention of returning at once to England. You will probably 
 never see her again, for she will never return to this country. I 
 am hoping, however, that time will soften her feelings towards me, 
 and that we shall be friends once more. 
 
 I shall return to New York myself to-night. You know my ad- 
 dress there; if I can serve you at any time, please command me. 
 Hoping that this unexpected communication will be received by 
 you in the same friendly spirit with which it is made, and that you 
 may continue to find a pleasant home with your kind friend Mrs. 
 Walters, 
 
 I am very sincerely yours, 
 
 RiCHAKD ClOUGH. 
 
382 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " The simple, silent, selfless man 
 Is worth a world of tonyuesters," 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 WHAT my thoughts were after reading the letter, or 
 what my feelings were, I cannot clearly remember. 
 I onlj' know that the exciting information I had received 
 acted upon me in my weak state in a very singular manner. 
 I lapsed into a condition to take no note of time. I must 
 have sat in one position for hours : for, when I roused from 
 my stupid state, the dusk of evening had begun to darken 
 the little bedroom ; and, when I attempted to rise from my 
 chair, I found myself so benumbed and heavy it seemed as 
 if iron weights were attached to every limb. It occurred 
 to me theu that 1 had missed the train to Sunbridge. Of 
 what had 1 been thinking? I could not remember. I was 
 too weak to be angry with myself for my stupidity. Only 
 the fear of being sick in a strange boarding-house gave me 
 sufficient strength to undress and get into bed. I must in 
 any case go to Sunbridge in the morning ; and a night's 
 rest, I was sure, would restore sufficient force to enable 
 me to do so. Once at Sunbridge, I should have no further 
 anxiety for myself : Mrs. Proctor would care for me. I 
 dropped upon the bed, feeling sure of falling asleep at 
 once. I was mistaken. My nerves seemed to have lost 
 the power of relaxation ; and though with excessive lassi- 
 tude my eyes closed, and I was unequal to the task of 
 opening them again, it seemed to me, the moment my head 
 touched the pillow, that I was never so wide awake in my 
 life. Every sense grew strangely alive, as if my soul had 
 partly emerged from my body, and was taking on life out- 
 side its prison-house of clay. While I lay inert, with no- 
 wish to ever move again, I was still possessed with an un- 
 pleasant sense of ability to do all things, and to know all 
 things, and to fly from star to star. When towards morn- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF liOSTON. 383 
 
 ing I passed out of this condition, and touched the border- 
 land of sleep, a sense of suffocation forced me to spring up 
 in bed ; and, though I sank back again in utter weakness, 
 the painful process was repeated until broad day looked in 
 at the sky-window over my bed. Then I passed into the 
 land of dreams, where, hungry and footsore, I found my- 
 self in spacious banquetting-halls, where innumerable tables 
 were spread with untasted feasts, while I, like the con- 
 demned Phrygian king, was powerless to reach them. 
 
 I awoke, chilled and confused, with every bone in my 
 body aching. For some time I could not remember where 
 I was. The truth dawned upon me, at length, that I was a 
 prisoner in an attic bedroom of Mrs. Ross's genteel board- 
 ing-house. The misfortune I had so dreaded had come 
 upon me. 1 was sick among strangers, unable even to 
 rise, and with no one to put a glass of water to my lips ! 
 ■I must have fallen asleep again, for my next conscious- 
 ness was that somebody was beside me. I felt something 
 warm placed about my cold feet. By dint of much en- 
 deavor, I opened my eyes, and saw a tall woman holding 
 a cup of hot milk, which she put to my mouth. When 
 I had swallowed it, she turned and spoke to some one 
 behind her, who came forward, and then I saw it was 
 Henry Wyndham. The sight of him brought a delicious 
 sense of security, a feeling of utter trust. It never oc- 
 curred to me to wonder how he chanced to be there. I 
 heard the woman remark, " How fortunate, doctor, that 
 you happened to be in the house when the poor girl was 
 found ! " And when he answered, though I could not hear 
 the words of his reply, the sound of his voice was like 
 music in my ears. Then it was that something happened, 
 stranger than any thing I had ever known. While he 
 spoke, I felt my whole heart go out to him in unutterable 
 love. I have never been able to understand how, at that 
 exact moment, I should know I loved him, and had always 
 loved him. I was like a converted sinner, whose every 
 longing turns suddenly towards holiness. Henry Wynd- 
 ham had forgiven me. He had taken me to his heart 
 again. He was once more my dear friend and lover. I 
 fell asleep hugging the illusion to my soul. 
 
 When I woke, I looked to see his face beside my bed. 
 I longed to feel the pressure of his hand once more, and 
 
384 TII'O GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 to hear the sound of his voice. But I could discover in 
 tlie dim lamplight only the tall woman with the high fore- 
 head and blacli hair, who inquired how I was feeling. I 
 was too disappointed to answer her. A greater disap- 
 pointment, however, came next morning, when, instead of 
 Dr. Wyndliam, an older medical man appeared. When 
 several days passed, and the former did not revisit me, I 
 began to believe I had not seen him at all, and had only 
 dreamed of his presence. So much of what was unreal 
 was mixed up with the actual in my life, of late, I was 
 sorely at loss how to detach the two. That Mrs. Walters 
 was dead, and that Mrs. Rivers was not my mother, and 
 that I was lying ill among strangers, were the facts that 
 filled my mind, to the exclusion of smaller matters. 
 
 It was uo small matter at present, however, whether or 
 not I had seen Henry Wyndham. It seemed to me a 
 matter of life and death. If this new feeling for him had 
 been born of a dream or illusion, to cherish it in my heart, 
 to let it live and grow, would be the sheerest folly. Yet 
 how was I to strangle and cast it away from me, even if it 
 were not born of reality ? Where was Henry Wyndham ? 
 had I seen him in this very room ? did he love me again ? — 
 were questions that haunted the waliing hours of my days 
 and nights. I felt at last that I must know the truth about 
 Iiim. 
 
 I gathered courage one day to ask the black-haired 
 lady — Mrs. Tudor by name — if some other doctor than 
 tlie present one had not visited me at first. I was faint 
 with the inward agitation the question cost me. 
 
 " Why, yes, to be sure," she answered carelessly. She 
 was directing the girl who had charge of me, in spreading 
 up my bed. " Dr. Wyndham chanced to be in the house 
 when the chamber-girl discovered you, and we called him 
 up." 
 
 "Why did he not continue to come?" I ventured 
 further. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose he has too many other patients on his 
 hands, more serious cases, and so he gave yours into Dr. 
 Blake's care ! Will you lie down again now? " 
 
 " Has he patients in the house? " (I could not let the 
 subject drop.) " And does he come here every day? " 
 
 " Yes, he has several patients here ; and sometimes he 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 385 
 
 comes twice a clay to see the j'oung lady on the second 
 floor. She was thrown from a carriage about a fortnight 
 ago, and severely injured ; it was supposed at first fa- 
 tally. But she is recovering rapidly. Dr. Wyndham is 
 the best surgeon in this part of the citj'." 
 
 " Is she — is she a married lady? " I asked faintly. 
 
 " No, indeed ! She's a beautiful young lady, only nine- 
 teen years old," said Mrs. Tudor, adjusting my thin pil- 
 lows, " aud as lovable as she is beautiful." And here 
 she began to expatiate on the many charms possessed by 
 this exceptional being, and was only prevented from con- 
 tinuing the theme by the entrance of Dr. Blake, who 
 came forward smiling as broadly as usual, and as usual 
 quite out of breath. He took a chair close beside me, 
 felt my pulse a few moments, patted the back of my hand, 
 made me stick out my tongue, and then, having regained 
 his breath, assured me I was getting along very well, con- 
 sidering the disadvantages of close air, and absence of 
 sunlight in the room. " If you wish to get well faster," 
 he added, "you must consent to be removed to a sunny 
 room on a lower floor." 
 
 " I wish to be able to leave the house by another week. 
 I am very desirous of doing so. But I cannot think of 
 changing rooms," I told him. The jealous pangs I was 
 suffering at the moment made my voice sound irritable. 
 
 "Yon will not be in proper condition to leave the 
 house, young lady, for four weeks, at least ; and, if you 
 don't care j'ourself for better surroundings, you ought to 
 consider my comfort and convenience a little, I think," 
 said the doctor. " I'm a fat man, with an affection of the 
 heart, and to be climbing three long flights of stairs every 
 day tells upon me. Why, I had scarcely wind enough 
 left in me, when I came in, to ask how you are. It's 
 pretty hard for me, 1 can tell you." 
 
 I begged him not to mount the stairs again on my 
 account. I was sure I did not require further medical 
 attendance. 
 
 "You are not in a condition at present to know what 
 you require," he answered. "You iiave given mo no 
 reason why you object to change of rooms." 
 
 "The reason is, I cannot afford it," I answered 
 quickly. " The room below is fifty dollars a week. This 
 
386 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 one costs me only fifteen ; all I am able to pay, how- 
 ever," I added. 
 
 Mrs. Tudor, who had been listening to the talk be- 
 tween the doctor and myself, now explained that it was 
 not to the large parlor on the first floor the doctor wished 
 me to be removed, but to the bedroom adjoining her 
 own room, just vacated by her sister for a two months' 
 visit in Washington. "And if you would like to occupy 
 it till you are strong enough to go away," she continued, 
 " you shall have it for the same price you are paying for 
 this close dark closet. The bargain is in my hands en- 
 tirely. Mrs. Ross has nothing to do with it." 
 
 I needed no further urging. I said, if no added ex- 
 pense was to be incurred, I was ready to go down at once. 
 
 The doctor and Mrs. Tudor immediately arranged 
 things for my removal, and it was soon accomplished. 
 1 went directly from the dark, meagrely furnished attic 
 chamber to a luxuriously appointed room, where the 
 bright October sunshine shone in through the large-paned 
 windows all day long. I liked the soft bed with its fleecy 
 blankets and silk coverings. How restful it seemed after 
 lying on a hard mattress for so many days and nights ! 
 I had been accustomed for the two years past to comfort- 
 able surroundings, and it seemed quite like home to get 
 back oncG more in the midst of them. 
 
 Yet all that was done for me could not restore my 
 ease of mind. With every thing to make me physically 
 comfortable, I found it impossible to bring myself into a 
 correspondiug mental state. Not that it was at all hard 
 to recover from the depression caused by Mr. Clough's 
 letter ; not that I refused to be comforted regarding 
 Mrs. Walters's death. Oh, no, death sunders no friend- 
 ships between loving hearts ! My faith was strong that 
 she lived and loved me still. The bitterness of being 
 forgotten by Jam I loved, and who had once loved me, 
 caused me to moan and grieve inwardly night and day. 
 And the conviction that I richly deserved my fate was an 
 added sting. What right had I to complain if Dr. Wynd- 
 ham did pass my door daily without once stopping to ask 
 how I was getting on ? 1 had promised to be his wife, 
 and then refused to fulfil my promise, causing him great 
 sorrow and disappointment. Was it any thing strange that 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 387 
 
 he should despise and reject me now ? any thing surprising 
 that he loved another worthier than I ? Such reflections 
 kept me continually irritated, restless, and unhappy. 
 Mrs. Tudor's attempts to cheer me were without avail. 
 She read me funny stories, aud laughed and joked, and 
 mimicked the peculiarities of people in the house, till she 
 got tired. Then she asked me, point blank, the reason of 
 my gloom and discontent. I told her I was anxious to 
 get well and be at work ; that I was used to having my 
 hands and brain employed. I often thanked her for her 
 kindness, yet as often wished she would leave me to my- 
 self. She must have surmised my thoughts, for she at 
 once began to desert me through the mornings. It was 
 ungrateful in me to be glad of it. Though she was totally 
 unlike Mrs. Walters, and seemed to be quite the oppo- 
 site of a tender-hearted person, and altogether indifferent 
 to suffering humanity in general, yet she had interested 
 herself in me a poor girl, a friendless stranger she had 
 never seen before. I had lived long enough to learn that 
 my feelings were no criterion by which to determine a 
 person's character. Doubtless I ought to have confided 
 in her, told her all my troubles, instead of questioning 
 her motives for befriending me, and feeling so ill at ease 
 when she was by. She was probably the kindest of 
 women, notwithstanding my impression to the contrary. 
 Yet I was glad when she was silent, and I could think my 
 own thoughts undisturbed. When I got able to walk 
 about the room, and sit up most of the day, I used to 
 crouch by her parlor-door during her absence, and listen 
 for Dr. Wyndham's step along the corridor. I knew it 
 well. I had heard it too many times on the veranda at 
 Mrs. Proctor's, not to be able to detect it from every 
 other on the tiled floor. How I wished I could but speak 
 with him, could tell him that my uncle was no more, and 
 how lonely the world seemed to me since Mrs. Walters's 
 death ! If I could but speak to him for five minutes, 
 perhaps I might win back his friendship, though I could 
 never hope now to regain his love. The passionate long- 
 ing to look upon his face grew more intense as the days 
 went on. I was humbled to the degree in thinking of his 
 past kindness and devotion, that I could have fallen at 
 his feet, and kissed the ground he walked on. There 
 
888 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 was one way by which I could see him — only one. The 
 bracelet was not returned. I had been planning various 
 effective ways of placing it in his hands, when the time 
 should come for me to quit the house. I was going to do 
 it with deliberation and dignity. But that was all forgot- 
 ten one morning, when, feeling more forlorn than usual, 
 as I heard him come in, I sprang to my trunk, and, 
 catching up the caslcet containing the bracelet, with a 
 desperate inward cry, "Oh, I must see him, let him 
 despise me as he will ! " rushed out into the corridor, and 
 confronted him just as he was passing by. 
 
 He did not appear to see me at first. He kept straight 
 on, without turning his head, though he must have been 
 aware of my standing by the door, holding out my hand. 
 He did not want to see me ! Oh the bitterness of that 
 thought ! I was turning to re-enter the room, when he 
 suddenl}' looked round, came towards me ; but it was too 
 late now. I felt mj' strength going. I could not see him 
 for the mist before mj' eyes. 1 could not speak. Neither 
 of us spoke. I put the bracelet into his hands ; and, 
 staggering back through the open door, I shut it behind 
 vme, giving him no further opportunity of saying a word, 
 even had he desired it. 
 
 " It is all over," I moaned. "I can never speak to 
 him again." It was like the thud of earth on the coffin- 
 rid of a dead friend, those words in my ears. I dropped 
 upon the bed ; and there I remained for two days, sob- 
 bing most of the time when nobody was b^' to hear me. 
 
 Yet, in spite of this prostrating disappointment, I got 
 stronger pliysically every day, and was soon able to leave 
 the house, had I chosen to do so. But I put off going 
 from time to time, weakly hoping that some chance en- 
 counter would bring me face to face again with Dr. Wynd- 
 ham. I did not realize to what pass such idiotic indulgence 
 of feeling was leading me, till one morning, on awaking 
 before daylight, as I used so often to do at llardcliffe, the 
 whole thing in all its absurdity passed in re\'iew before 
 me. Then, for the first time since coming liere, I was 
 thoroughly ashamed of myself. Common-sense showed 
 me how like a fool I had been acting. It took me in hand, 
 as it were, and spoke with stern rebuke. "Go away at 
 once," it said. "Find some work to do; take the first 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 389 
 
 that comes to your hand. Time is precious. It is a costly 
 waste of it, bewailing the past. Despise yourself no longer 
 for having done what you believed was right, though it 
 may seem foolish enough to you now. Fling to the winds 
 your silly longings and imaginings. Cultivate a habit of 
 independence, so that you will enjoy yourself alone. You 
 were born for the distinct purpose of making the most 
 of yourself, and the kind of person you are to be will be 
 determined by your own efforts. Poverty, and sickness, 
 and loss of friends, are the purposely assigned means for 
 the enlargement of your capacity for growth. Don't 
 make them hinderances. Go to Sunbridge to-morrow ; and 
 whatever luck comes to you, make it serve you in some 
 way, to the bettering of your condition. You can do it, 
 if you but keep your mind stubbornly turned towards the 
 practical. You must live in the practical now. You have 
 been swayed by the sentimental long enough." 
 
 " I'll do it," I said. " I'll go to Sunbridge to-morrow ; 
 I'll do the best I can to redeem myself." And, with this 
 determination fixed in my mind, I fell asleep. 
 
 I rose next morning, strong in my determination to quit 
 Boston at once, and go straight to Mrs. Proctor's at Sun- 
 bridge ; and, to keep my mind to my purpose, I went to 
 work packing my trunk. Mrs. Tudor entered before I had 
 finished. She was equipped for her usual morning visit to 
 her daughter, who lived in another part of the city, and 
 who was just recovering from the birth of a child. " You 
 are better," she exclaimed at first sight of me. She 
 turned me towards the window, and examined my face. 
 " You are certainly better ; you look like a different girl." 
 
 "Yes, I am so well," I answered, "that I am going 
 away after breakfast. I paid my doctor's and nurse's bills 
 last week, and now I would like to cancel my indebtedness 
 to you, if you please." I produced my purse. 
 
 " Wait till I return," she said. " I shall not be gone 
 long. My daughter is able to sit up now. Be sure now 
 to wait, for I have something important to tell j'ou on my 
 return. I've been waiting for you to get well enough, and 
 now you'll do." She glanced at me with a droll look, and 
 went out. 
 
 I did not care to know what she might have to tell me. 
 It was probably something about Dr. Wyndham's young- 
 
390 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 lady patient, up-staiis. Perhaps she thought I should lie 
 pleased to learn that thej' were engaged. Oh, how could I 
 bear to hear such news ! My heart sank at the very thought. 
 Then, remembering my resolution, I turned away from all 
 thought of Dr. Wyndham, and finished packing my trunk. 
 
 While I was resting after this exertion, Mr. Walters's 
 card was brought into me. I wondered, as I went down to 
 receive the gentleman, how he had discovered my where- 
 abouts. I soon ascertained. Dr. Wyndham had informed 
 him, not only where I was staying, but that I had been 
 sick, and would probably soon go away. Mi's. Tudor, it 
 seemed, had reported my progress to the doctor ; and he 
 could do no less than give some information to Mr. Wal- 
 ters, who had Ijeen searching for m^' address. Perhaps 
 he considered it his duty to remind others of ray exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Mr. Walters's call was a short and silent one. He had 
 come expressly to bring me a picture of his wife, a speak- 
 ing likeness, which he had had copied and put in a pearl 
 locket, as a present for me. I thanked him, and then I 
 could say no more. I had never exchanged twenty words 
 with him during all the time we had lived under the same 
 roof ; and now, strange to say, our mutual grief seemed 
 to have increased the poverty of speech between us. 
 How could 1 speak of his bereavement, when I saw him 
 striving to cover his emotion with conventional phrase? 
 
 On departing, he expressed the hope of seeing me when 
 next I came to the city with my mother. I did not tell 
 him that my mother had been dead sixteen years ! His 
 knowledge of the fact would avail nothing to either of us. 
 
 Mr. Walters had scarcely departed, when Mr. Cloud was 
 announced. I dreaded to meet him ; for I was so changed 
 in my feelings, that any neglect from him would have 
 pleased me better. It wearied me to think of listening to 
 his smooth accents and artificial sentiments, even for five 
 minutes. I had learned, by experience, that his fascinat- 
 ing manners and flattering language covered an insincere 
 heart. I was too deadly in earnest myself, just at this 
 time, to tolerate other than candid and straightforward 
 speech. I had grown in the last three months twelve years 
 older. My pride had a different base of operations. Yet 
 I lacked the courage to refuse to see him. I went down. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 391 
 
 He met me at the door with profuse congratulations on 
 my personal appearance. 
 
 " How sorry I am that I did not know you were here 
 before to-day ! " he said with much fervor. " To dis- 
 cover you just as I am on the way to New York is pro- 
 voking. I am going now to take passage in the boat, 
 and can only stay a few minutes. Tell me aU about 
 yourself, Miss Rivers." 
 
 " I have nothing to tell," I replied, " but what you 
 know already, doubtless. I have been ill; I have got 
 well, and now I am going away." 
 
 "To England with your mother, I suppose. I saw in 
 last evening's ' Journal ' the notice of her engagement at 
 one of the London theatres, I don't remember which." 
 
 " No, I am not going to England." 
 
 " Ah, I do remember now, you spoke of attending 
 school this winter, near the place where you were stay- 
 ing, — Prescott Manor, I think it was called. I saw you 
 there with your governess, you will recollect." 
 
 "Yes, I remember; but I am not going back there 
 again. I am not going to school any more. I am my 
 own mistress now ; I am going to Sunbridge." 
 
 "Not to remain, of course? not to pass the winter 
 there?" he said. 
 
 "I shall remain there for a while. I have no plans 
 j'et for the winter. Possibly I may teach ; I cannot 
 tell." 
 
 Something in my reply seemed to strike Mr. Cloud 
 with a new idea. He glanced at me, then away, and 
 finallj', drawing his chair close to mine, took my hand, 
 and said in low voice, for a young lady sat at the other 
 end of the room, " Why not go back to Beacon Street, 
 Cordelia? Perhaps you do not know that the house is 
 now mine ; it was left to my sister only for her lifetime, 
 and Mr. Walters has already quitted it. Eunice, who likes 
 you so much, is left in charge, and will be delighted to 
 make you comfortable in every way ; you will be abso- 
 lutely mistress of the house ; and, when I am at home, I 
 shall be more than glad to do every thing in my power for 
 your happiness. Do me this pleasure, Cordelia, and be- 
 come my guest." 
 
 I looked at him steadil^s and was happy to see a 
 
392 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 slight tinge of red cross his cheek, and a shamed expres- 
 sion steal into his ej'es. He was not utterly hardened. 
 
 " You must be aware, Mr. Cloud," said I very quietly, 
 " that such an offer is a mere piece of folly, if it is not 
 an insult. I do you the credit of believing that you would 
 not offer an insult to the friend who stood beside your 
 sister's death-bed in that very house, and I know you for 
 too much a man of the world to suspect you of a stupid- 
 ity. I shall therefore regard your proposition as unsaid, 
 and wish you good-morning." 
 
 I rose, loowed gravely, and left the room. He followed 
 me ; and in the hall, before I could be aware of his inten- 
 tion, he threw an arm about my waist, and kissed me upon 
 my mouth. Before I could draw breath, he was gone. 
 
TyVO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 393 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Good now, play me one scene of excellent dissembling, and let it look 
 like perfect honor." 
 
 — Antony and Clbopatka. 
 
 MRS. TUDOE did not keep her promise to return 
 early. It was past three o'clock, and she had not 
 come in. The last train which stopped at Suubridge left 
 the station at four ; and I had not yet engaged a carriage 
 to take me, with my luggage, across the city. T became 
 impatient, and put on my pelisse and hat, and, counting 
 out the money I owed Mrs. Tudor, was about to intrust it 
 to Mrs. Eoss, when the former came in. 
 
 " Hat and cloak on already ! " she exclaimed, flinging 
 her own aside. "But I am early enough. Now, where 
 are you bouiiS? Sit down and rehearse your plans." 
 
 "I am going to Sunbridge ; and, if I can get a school 
 there, I am going to teach. I must go now and engage a 
 conveyance for my trunks," I said. 
 
 " Sit down," said Mrs. Tudor, laughing. "There is 
 time enough ; I will carry you wherever you wish to go. 
 My carriage will be back presently." I sat down. 
 
 "Where is Sunbridge?" she asked. "I never heard 
 of the place." 
 
 That seemed strange enough to me ; I had supposed 
 everybody must be cognizant of a place so closely con- 
 nected with my own experience. I f elt depressingly insig- 
 nificant for a moment. To find that the town you come 
 from, of much importance to you, has never been heard 
 of by a person living within fifteen miles of it, strikes you 
 with peculiarly belittling effect. 
 
 "It is a summer resort of considerable importance, 
 about fifteen miles distant, ' ' I told her. ' ' People from 
 New York go there every summer, and many from this 
 city. Some have built residences there. Dufferin's gar- 
 dens have visitors from the citj' daily in the summer." 
 
394 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " I have been tliere myself," said Mrs. Tudor, laughing. 
 "Strange I should forget the name of the town. There 
 is some kind of medicinal springs there, I now recollect. 
 But why do you go to a summer resort at this season? " 
 she inquired. " Have you friends there? " 
 
 " I used to live there. I know a Mrs. Proctor at the 
 Centre ; I boarded with her the last term I went to the 
 academy. I am going to her house ; and, if it isn't too 
 late, I shall try to get a place as teacher in one of the pub- 
 lic schools." 
 
 " Why not teach here in the city?" she asked; "or 
 in one of the nearer suburban towns ? ' ' 
 
 " Because I have no one to get me the position. I 
 couldn't secure a place here myself," I said. "I must 
 have some one to recommend me." 
 
 " You can have a place at Greenridge, four or five miles 
 out on the seacoast, if you wish," said she. " It is not 
 a school, strictly speaking, nor a governess's position ex- 
 actly. An acquaintance of mine, a widow with five or six 
 children, is living tliere ; and she wants a teacher to come 
 into her family, — one who will be a sort of companion to 
 herself, I take it. Here is her note. I wilHread you what 
 she says on that point, and you may judge for yourself 
 what she requires." Mrs. Tudor put on her eye-glasses, 
 raised her eyebrows till her forehead lay in a mass of 
 wrinkles, and read in a high-pitched, whining voice, with 
 a drawling cadence at every pause. She was mimicking 
 some one : she was in the gayest spirits to-day. " Don't 
 send me an inefficient teaclier ; nor one who is quick tem- 
 pered, and will cuff the children for every little inadver- 
 tency ; nor one whe is very pretty, and always looking 
 for admiration ; nor one who is so homely, that it will be 
 a pain to look at her through the long evenings that we 
 shall have to be mewed up together, this winter ; nor one 
 who has a harsh voice. I have the headache so much, that 
 I must have a person about me with a low, sweet voice. 
 I shall expect her to read to me evenings whenever I 
 wish." Mrs. Tudor dropped her glasses, and, resuming 
 her own physiognomy and voice, said, — 
 
 " Now you have seen and heard the lady, how do you 
 like her? Will she suit 3'ou, do you think?" 
 
 " It is for me to consider whether / shall suit her," I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 395 
 
 said. Mrs. Tudor laughed, flung the note aside, and 
 said, 
 
 " It will be rather lonelj-, at first, for you atGreenridge, 
 no doubt, as you know nobody there. But the place has 
 one advantage over Sunbridge. You can come into town 
 any hour of the day or evening. There's a junction of 
 railroads at Greenridge, and every train is obliged to stop. 
 Yon will find other things advantageous, I dare say," 
 added Mrs. Tudor with a meaning emphasis. 
 
 " I will try the place, if you think I am likely to meet 
 the lady's requirements," I said. " I will do my best to 
 please her. What is her name ? And how shall I reach 
 Greenridge? I would like to go at once " — I stopped 
 suddenly. 
 
 " What is it? " said Mrs. Tudor. 
 
 " I must have some kind of a written recommendation, 
 I suppose. You can't give me one, because you don't 
 know me " — 
 
 " Oh, that will be all right!" interrupted the lady. 
 " Dr. Wyndham will vouch for your efficiency and respect- 
 ability. He told me that he knew of you, through some 
 friends of his. You once lived with some relative of his, 
 I think he said. He will be in, presently." 
 
 " I would rather not ask him ; I would rather not give 
 him the trouble." I feigned to be buttoning my boot at 
 the moment, that the sudden flush to my face might be 
 attributed to stooping. 
 
 " He will not consider it a trouble, I am sure. It will 
 be a pleasure to him," said Mrs. Tudor. "But, if you 
 don't wish to see him, I can arrange the matter satisfac- 
 torily enough by myself, of course," she added. 
 
 " I think I would rather not," I said faintly. And then, 
 inconsistent being that I was, I felt a kind of disappoint- 
 ment that she did not press the matter. 
 
 " Well, then, I will take you over to see the lady at 
 once," said Mrs. Tudor. " You had better let your 
 trunks remain here until you have seen the place, and 
 know what privileges you are to have, and what salary 
 she will pay." 
 
 " No," I said, " I must take my trunks with me. I am 
 not particular as to privileges ; and, if the salary is not 
 niggardly, I shall not mind. If the lady isn't pleased 
 
396 TWO- GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 with me, I can go from there to Suabridge as well as from 
 here." 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Tudor. "Then your luggage 
 shall go over by express, and we will take the carriage. 
 1 can certainly recommend you as having a mind of your 
 own," she added, laughing. 
 
 Half an hour later we were on our way. We went in 
 a direction and over a road I had never travelled before. 
 It was a cloudy afternoon in late November. The trees 
 were bare ; the ground frozen ; the east wind chill, threat- 
 ening to bring the sleet with it ere long. Mrs. Tudor en- 
 livened the way with descriptions and anecdotes of the 
 people living in the houses we passed. She knew every- 
 body of note in the suburb, having but lately resided there 
 herself. 
 
 We were not long on the way. Mrs. Tudor was an 
 expert driver, and enjoyed, as well as any jockey, getting 
 over the road swiftly'. After leaving the city limits, we 
 made a rapid ascent of country road till we reached Green- 
 ridge, — a park-like place, that seemed, at first sight, to 
 contain only churches. I could see no ordinary dwelling- 
 houses ; only villas with towers, placed about at regular 
 distances from each other. 
 
 "We are not going to stop here," said Mrs. Tudor. 
 " Your destination is farther on, at Longsbury, which is 
 a part of the township of Greenridge." 
 
 " Longsbury, Longsbury," 1 repeated to mj'self ; " why, 
 that is the very place Wyndham mentioned taking me 
 when we talked of being married ! It is his home. Dear 
 me, what a curious coincidence my coming here is ! I 
 hope the house where I am going will not be near his. 
 To encounter me here, would not be pleasant for him. 
 And if he should really be married, and bring his wife 
 home, it would not bo pleasant for me." 
 
 " What is the name of the lady to whom I am going?" 
 I asked. " I think you did not tell me." 
 
 " Didn't I?" said Mrs. Tudor. " That is singular, I'm 
 sure. Her name is Mrs. John ; and I will show you her 
 house presently." I looked to see it with much interest 
 revived. I wondered if Mrs. Tudor knew that Dr. Wynd- 
 ham's home was in the vicinity. I had almost a mind 
 to ask her. Then, remembering that I had no business to 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 397 
 
 be talking or thinking of Mm, now, I put the question 
 from my thoughts. 
 
 "That is her house, there, at the end of the marsh 
 where the ridge of firs rises up between," said Mrs. Tudor, 
 pointing to a rectangular gray edifice, with a massive tower 
 at one end, exactly harmonizing in color with the dead 
 gray of the sky above it. The sea lay blue and cold be- 
 yond. 
 
 " She must be a woman of considerable wealth to live 
 in such a great house," I remarked. " I had pictured her 
 as living in a snug cottage, and a Mansard roof, of per- 
 haps half a dozen comfortable rooms." 
 
 " I don't imagine she has a great deal of money," said 
 Mrs. Tudor. " Her children will have something when 
 they come of age, I am told." 
 
 " The house looks like a chateau. I should think there 
 must be fifty rooms in it, at least," I I'emarked. 
 
 " Have 3'ou seen many chateaux?" inquired my com- 
 panion. 
 
 " I have seen pictures of a good many," I said, a little 
 nettled at the lady's tone and the amused expression of 
 her face ; for I thought I had especially avoided, what, 
 with her, was the seeming to be pretentious in word or act. 
 The suspicion was strong in my mind that she mimicked 
 me behind my back. 
 
 " This is the old homestead of the family, where Mrs. 
 John's husband was born," said Mrs. Tudor, as we turned 
 to enter the gates. " The place looks quiet enough ; some- 
 body must be at home, however." 
 
 The whole surrounding country looked quiet enough to 
 me. Away across the marshes, against the misty skj-, I 
 could discern the dim outline of city spires. The sea lay 
 at our right ; but at our left, a rising stretch of woodless 
 hill, studded with substantial-looking summer dwellings, 
 shut us in from any view of the western horizon. The 
 clean-looking little railroad station we had passed lay 
 below, out of sight ; and the whir and whistle of continu- 
 ally passing trains seemed rather to augment than disturb 
 the silence. 
 
 The sweep of drive within the gates, through the leaf- 
 less shrubbery, gave me ample opportunity for a survey 
 of three sides of the mansion, before reaching it. The 
 
398 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 structure was of stone and brick, with stately entrances at 
 each end. There was also another entrance midway the 
 front of the building, where a capacious portico seemed 
 to have walked out, as if to offer us its many vacant 
 lounging chairs, — if we wished on so cold an afternoon to 
 recline in them and look at the sea, — and could step back 
 again without disturbing the symmetry of architecture, on 
 the outside at least. 
 
 "Just think," continued my companion, "this house 
 was the only one in the vicinity a few years ago, and old 
 Mr. John owned all the land as far as you can see. He 
 had two wives, both handsome and both rich ; and two 
 sons, — one by each wife. The elder was Mrs. John's 
 husband, who inherited the estate ; but he afterwards sold 
 it to his younger half-brother, in order to have more 
 money to put iuto a mining corporation, which proved a 
 failure after swallowing the greater part of his wealth. 
 The 3'ounger brother had just entered college when the 
 elder died. As soon as he left college, he took upon him- 
 self the care of looking after his brother's children, and 
 brought them all here about two years ago. He is rich 
 enough to keep the place up in fine stj-le, you see. He 
 probably gives Mrs. John a home here with the children. 
 She was something of a belle in society once. I am told 
 that she is a little cracked and out of tune now, in her 
 enforced dependence and widow's weeds. You will be 
 obliged to listen to her everlasting sighings and complain- 
 ings. I imagine her brother-in-law doesn't give them 
 much ear. He looks like that kind of a man. I saw him 
 once. I believe he is a physician in one of the hospitals 
 in the city. Dr. Wyndhara will know. I'll ask him about 
 him." 
 
 " Dr. Wyndham's home is somewhere in this vicinity, 
 is it not? " I asked, as carelessly as I could. 
 
 " In this vicinity?" repeated Mrs. Tudor, stopping her 
 horse before the north entrance, and looking about for 
 some shelter for the animal. " Dr. Wyndliam lives in the 
 city. Where can the way to the stable be, I wonder? " 
 
 " But he owns a house in Longsbury, I am sure. I 
 heard Mr. Walters speak of it several times," I said. 
 
 " Very likely- he may. I shouldn't be at all surprised," 
 returned Mrs. Tudor absent-mindedly. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 399 
 
 We drove round into a sort of court-yard or covered 
 enclosure, that appeared to connect the main building 
 with a large conservatory, in which tropical, plants and 
 fruit-trees were growing. Nobody was in sight ; but, 
 hearing children's voices somewhere, I alighted and went 
 through the archway before us, and came upon a number 
 of small boys dressed as Indians, and all screaming and 
 screeching to the extent of their capacity. An older 
 boy, of fourteen or thereabouts, was seated in a garden- 
 chair in a very lordly way, cracking a long whip at the 
 smaller fry when they chanced to dance past him. He 
 was muffled up in a fur-skin robe, out of which his long 
 legs seemed to protrude for yards. That portion of his 
 face which was visible was pimpled and ugly enough. He 
 saw me, and yelled to the boys " to stop their noise," but 
 did not come forward, nor even leave his chair. 
 
 As soon as the children ascertained that there was a 
 horse in the court-yard, they flocked into the enclosure 
 pell-mell ; and one little Indian — the ugliest among them, 
 in war-paint and feathers — gave a loud yell, and dashed 
 under the horse's bell}^ not only to his own imminent 
 peril, but to that of Mrs. Tudor, whose frightened animal 
 was backing and turning, and tilting the carriage on two 
 wheels, almost to overturniilg it. 
 
 " You little rascal ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tudor, when she 
 had succeeded in quieting her horse. " If you try that 
 again, I will take you in hand to some i^urpose." 
 
 At that moment a girl of twelve, large of her age, with 
 bright black eyes and olive skin, came out of the conser- 
 vatory with a few cut-flowers in her hands ; and, hearing 
 Mrs. Tudor's threat, she sprang forward, regardless of 
 her blossoms, and seizing the offending boy, shook him 
 roundly. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jack- 
 son," she ejaculated. " You're a naughty, ugly, vicious 
 boy ; and I shall tell uncle Henry all about you when he 
 comes to-morrow. I shall,, and you needn't think I 
 sha'n't." The boy appeared used to the threat, and kept 
 up his struggling and kicking so vigorously, the girl was 
 obliged to let him go. 
 
 " Is that boy your brother? " inquired Mrs. Tudor, when 
 he had darted away from her, with all the others at his 
 heels. " I didn't know there was a Jackson in the family." 
 
400 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said the girl, picking up her scattered 
 geraniums, and sticking them in her belt. " His name is 
 Andrew Jackson." 
 
 "A very appropriate name for him, indeed," said Mrs. 
 Tudor. " Is there a George Washington in the family? " 
 
 " No, ma'am," said the girl, unsmilingly. "There's 
 only Harry and Jack and Mason and Maud and me." 
 
 " Then the other nine little Injuns are not your broth- 
 ers?" 
 
 "No, ma'am" (still without a smile). "They are 
 boys from the Cove. Mamma doesn't like to have them 
 here ; but Jack teases 'em to come up every Saturday. 
 Jack behaves awfully bad sometimes ; cau't anybody 
 make him mind but uncle Henry." 
 
 " Does uncle Henry come over often? " 
 
 " He comes over Sundays, almost always," said the girl. 
 " He stays to dinner, and sometimes all the evenng." 
 
 " Where are the rest of you, — Harry and Mason and 
 Maud? You are Isabel, I suppose, and the oldest." 
 
 " No, ma'am, I'm not so old as Harry. Harry is the 
 oldest; he's fourteen. I'm twelve." 
 
 " Where is Harry? " inquired Mrs. Tudor. 
 
 "Out at the stable, I guess. Mason and Maud have 
 gone down to the Cove with Mike. Mike takes care of 
 the horses." 
 
 "Will you ask your brother to take my horse to the 
 stable-yard, and tie and cover him?" said Mrs. Tudor. 
 
 "I can do it better than Harry can. Let me do it," 
 said Isabel, leaping into the carriage before permission 
 was given her, and grasping the reins. "I help Mike' 
 harness and unharness every day ; and I've driven down 
 to the Cove lots of times alone. I used to drive papa's 
 colt when I was the least little girl." 
 
 "Well, then, go along with liim," said Mrs. Tudor, 
 descending at once from the carriage; "but don't let 
 any wild Injuns come near him again. Is your mother at 
 home ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Ring the bell right there by your hand, 
 and Sarah'll come," said Isabel, turning into the drive to 
 the stable. 
 
 Mrs. Tudor did as directed ; and we were presently 
 shown across a square hall, where thei'e was a fireplace 
 
T]rO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 401 
 
 almost under the staircase, into the library, — a long, high- 
 studded, stiff-looking room, the walls of which were lined 
 with books, to the top of the ceiling. Two old-fashioned 
 high-backed, cushioned sofas, that seemed to be fitted 
 into the wall, stood on each side of the fireplace. An 
 oblong table, covered with faded baize, was in the middle 
 of the room, with a desk near by, and a folded step- 
 ladder, and two or three leather-bottomed chairs. No 
 pictures nor bric-^-brac, and dust over every thing, — a 
 most cheerless place. 
 
 The servant placed chairs for us before the grate, 
 which was heaped up witli blazing coal ; and when Mrs. 
 Tudor had written my name in pencil on her card, to be 
 given to Mrs. John, we sat down to wait. 
 
 Till now I had succeeded in keeping my homesick 
 feeling in check, and m}- thoughts in one direction. But 
 this strange, unhomelike place, and the idea that I must 
 force myself to stay in it, as the best that I could do for 
 the present at least, the doubtful prospect of succeeding 
 here by doing my utmost, made my heart fail me. I felt 
 weak and uncertain ; all the- trust of the morning in myself 
 and my own powers seemed utterly gone. I was downcast 
 enough. 
 
 "I know," said Mrs. Tudor, who seemed to be read- 
 ing my thoughts, " how like a kind of prison it seems to 
 you here ; but by and by you will get used to it. Pluck 
 up some spirit ; believe in yourself, and have things as 
 you want them. You have seen two of your precious 
 pupils. Isabel seems a very decent sort of a child ; 
 Andrew is not so pleasing a specimen. But take him in 
 hand, and discipline him thoroughly a month or two, and 
 he will come out all right. If I were you, I should open 
 my school Monday morning by giving that boy a sound 
 thrashing. You'll find it a more salutarj' exercise, for a 
 while, at least, than reading the Scriptures to him, or 
 teaching him the Lord's Prayer. I had rather see a 
 mannerly child than a pious one," continued Mrs. Tudor. 
 "Gentle suasion won't effect any thing with these chil- 
 dren. The field has got to be ploughed and harrowed 
 before the seed can be sown, you know. You will have 
 to thrash them into good behavior, to begin with, and 
 give them their books afterwards." 
 
402 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Mrs. Tndor's pleasantry fell on a dull ear. A rush of 
 heart-sickness was returning upon me. I got up and 
 went to one of the windows, and looked out across the 
 marshes toward the city. The dimness of a cloudy au- 
 tumn evening was gathering over the landscape. A shrill 
 east wind swept round the house, bending the naked 
 shrubbery, and twisting the tops of the firs. Its doleful 
 voice woke memories inexpressibly mournful. My first 
 consciousness of sound in my babyhood had been the 
 melancholy wailing of the wind. It had sung to me in 
 my cradle, crossed lonely fields with me at twilight, and 
 woke me with its loud voice in the middle of the night, 
 rocking my bed till I rose trembling with fear. We had 
 been homeless companions together. 1 felt like an exiled 
 wanderer listening to a familiar strain. As I listened, 
 with closed eyes, and forehead pressed against the pane, 
 a faint sound of bells stole in upon my ear, as if borne 
 on the wind from beyond the sea ; and for a moment it 
 seemed I was at some magic casement — 
 
 " opening on the foam 
 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn." 
 
 The entrance of a servant brought back my wits. She 
 was informing Mrs. Tudor of Mrs. John's inability to 
 appear. " Yes, mum," I heard her say. " She has an 
 .extry-hard headache, mum, and begs to be excused. She 
 says the housekeeper will attend to the teacher." 
 
 " Send Miss Isabel to me first," said Mrs. Tudor. The 
 servant went out, and Isabel presently appeared. 
 
 " This lady, Isabel, is your new teacher, Miss Rivers," 
 began Mrs. Tudor impressively. " She has come here at 
 my special request ; and I shall expect to hear, when she 
 visits me next Saturday, that you are doing the very best 
 you can to make things pleasant for her. She will not stay 
 long unless you try to please her ; and, if she goes away, 
 you will never find such another teacher. I leave you 
 to introduce her to Mrs. Pease and to your mother. That 
 is all, I believe. Will you please send my horse round 
 to the door ? ' ' 
 
 Isabel, who had been looking me over while my friend 
 was talking, now disappeared, and Mrs. Tudor soon fol- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 403 
 
 lowed. I expected she would return to say good-by, but 
 I did not see her again. Isabel soon came In, and with 
 her, Mason and Maud, the two children I had not seen. 
 Maud was screaming vociferously, because her drive with 
 Mike could not keep on ad infinitum. Mason strutted 
 beside his sister. My eyes were instantly riveted upon 
 him, and I smiled in spite of my gloom. I should have 
 smiled had I been breathing my last. For the ridiculous 
 little eight-year-old fellow was dressed in the complete style 
 of a grown man, — coat, waistcoat, trousers, and boots, 
 with gold studs in his shirt-front, and gold sleeve-buttons 
 in his wristbands, and a silver watch-chain dangling from 
 his fob. He sat down, without deigning to notice me, in 
 the chair opposite that which Mrs. Tudor had just vacated, 
 his short legs sticking straight out to the fire. 
 
 " Take that squalling young one to the nursery, Sarah," 
 he commanded, with the air of an irate father. I was so 
 absorbed in watching this singular specimen of childhood, 
 I did not observe the entrance of another figure, until it 
 stood near me. Then, looking up, I saw a thin-faced, 
 blonde-haired, pale-eyed woman, in a long white wrapper. 
 Her mouth curved downward, with a grieved expression ; 
 her forehead was lifted into anxious wrinkles. This, I was 
 sure, was Mrs. John. When she spoke, I had no doubt 
 of the fact. Mrs. Tudor had imitated her tone exactly. 
 
 "You are Miss Rivers, the teacher, I suppose?" she 
 said. 
 
 I got up, and informed her that I was. 
 
 "I am sorry not to have seen Mrs. Tudor," she went 
 on ; " but my head was aching to such an extent when her 
 card came up, I was obliged to excuse myself. Nothing 
 but the fear lest the housekeeper might be away enabled 
 me to dress and come down now." 
 
 " I am sorry that you should, on my account, make any 
 exertion to give you pain," I said. 
 
 " It is no matter," she returned : " some one else would 
 have disturbed me, if you hadn't. — What is the matter 
 with Maud, Sarah?" she inquired sharply. " Carry her 
 straight to the nursery, and take off her things. What in 
 the world did you bring her in here for? " 
 
 " Miss Isabel told her the new teacher was in here, and 
 she would come in to see her," explained the tired Sarah. 
 
404 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 Hearing this, I turned to speak to tlie eliild, and would 
 have caressed her ; but she struck at me with her little fist, 
 and theu buried her face on her nurse's shoulder. 
 
 " How old is she? " I inquired. 
 
 " Can't you tell the lady how old you are ? " said Sarah, 
 lifting the child's face towards me again. 
 
 " No, I can't," she answered with pouting lips. 
 
 "Oh, please now; do, now; there's a nicey little 
 Maud! " 
 
 " I won't ! I won't ! I won't ! " screamed the child. 
 
 "She was four last August. She was a posthumous 
 child. She was not born till six months after her father's 
 death," said the mother. " Sarah," continued she, " do 
 you know which room the doctor has had arranged for Miss 
 Rivers? " 
 
 " No, mum, I don't know, mum. Mrs. Pease didn't tell 
 me," answered Sarah. 
 
 " I suppose you would like to go to your room? " turn- 
 ing to me again. " Your trunks have been taken up." 
 
 " I should, if you please," I said. 
 
 " Go and see if Mrs. Pease is in her room, Sarah ; and, 
 if she is, ask her to come here. — And you may go with 
 her. Mason," said the mother, addressing her little son. 
 
 The little man did not stir. Both he and Isabel were 
 intently listening to every word that was said. / 
 
 " You may go with Sarah, I say," repeated Mrs. John ; 
 "do you hear?" Still Mason did not stir. "You 
 needn't wait, Sarah. Isabel will take him out," said the 
 mother. 
 
 Isabel sprang forward and grasped the child ; but he 
 slipped from her hands like an eel, and came to his moth- 
 er's side. " It ain't half-past five yet," lie said, pulling 
 out a large silver watch, and holding it up to her. 
 
 " I don't care if it isn't," said Mrs. John petulantly. 
 " You are going out. I wish to speak with Miss Rivers 
 alone. — Isabel, carry him out." 
 
 Isabel sprang forward again. She gave chase to him 
 round the room, overturning the library steps and several 
 chairs ; while Mrs. John held her haucls to her head, and 
 groaned. 
 
 " If you'll give me five dollars, I'll go," shouted Mason, 
 still eluding his sister. " Say, will you, mother, will you 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 405 
 
 give me five dollars?" he repeated several limes, while 
 dodging about the overturned furniture. 
 
 " Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Mason?" exclaimed 
 Isabel. " You are the worst boy I ever saw," and at the 
 same instant she caught him by the tail of his coat. 
 
 " Children, children ! I shall go distracted," cried Mrs. 
 John. 
 
 " Make Isabel leave go my coat: she'll tear it," said 
 the boy. " Make Isabel leave go my coat, I say ! " 
 
 "O Mason, Mason! You promised if I would dress 
 you like a man, you would behave like a man," groaned 
 Mrs. John. " Isabel, let go his coat. You will tear it, 
 I fear." 
 
 The moment her clutch loosened, the boy, with a dex- 
 terous movement, planted the top of his head in the small 
 of his sister's back, and with the aid of his two hands pro- 
 pelled her out of the room so quickly she had no breath 
 to cry for help. 
 
 Mrs. John shut the door after them, and rang for a 
 servant to light the wax-candles on the mantel. Then 
 she sank into a chair, pressing her hand to her forehead. 
 
 "You are suffering severe pain, I fear," said I, as 
 sympathetically as I could. 
 
 " The care of my children is killing me," she responded. 
 " I am completely used up with their continual demands. 
 We have, to be sure, a housekeeper and two servant- 
 women. But, dear me ! what are they worth to me in 
 caring for the children? I used to have five servants 
 when poor John — my husband — was living. Now you 
 are come, I shall have them taken off my hands, I hope. 
 They are not bad children, by any means. I don't like 
 to be severe with them. They were never struck a blow 
 in their lives. It seems so brutal to strike a child." 
 
 The housekeeper's entrance cut off her further talk. 
 I was not sorry, for I felt wretchedly worn and depressed. 
 
 " I sent for you, Mrs. Pease," said Mrs. John apologet- 
 ically, " because nobody else knows where Miss Rivers's 
 room is. I was not consulted when the matter was talked 
 over between you and the doctor, you will recollect." 
 
 Mrs. Pease made no reply, neither did the pleasant ex- 
 pression of her motherly face change in the least. She 
 was a woman, I judged about sixty years old, of comely 
 
406 TWO GENTLEilEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 size, and with a countenance expressive of good nature, 
 good sense, and much decision. She greeted me in a 
 respectful, but kindly manner. I liked her at once, and 
 the liking grew upon me every moment. " Please come 
 with me," she said ; and I followed her into the hall, up 
 the stairway, and through a wide, long passage, past 
 many closed doors on each side, to the farther end of the 
 house. " This is your room," she said, pausing before a 
 door at the end of the corridor, and taking a key from 
 a number hanging at her belt. She turned the lock. 
 " You can stay here quietly by yourself as often as you 
 please. The doctor will arrange it with his sister-in-law, 
 no doubt." There was so much sympathy expressed in 
 the tone and manner of this stranger, that I came near 
 flinging my arms about her neck, and indulging my pent- 
 up feelings in a little cry. The next moment, however, 
 I had controlled the hysterical impulse, the indulgence of 
 which would have lessened me in her respect ; and respect 
 was worth more to me than pity. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 407 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " But let detei-mined things to destiny 
 Hold unbewailed their way." 
 
 — Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 SUMMER warmth and summer odor pervaded the room 
 we entered. I could discern through the dimness large 
 vases of freshly cut roses on the draped mantel, and on 
 a table near by. Mrs. Pease lighted the lamps on each 
 side the long mirror, and I looked round. What a con- 
 trast was this room to the shabby, dusty one I had just 
 left below ! So much azure and gold all about me was 
 bewildering, — azure-tinted walls, with pictures in deep 
 frames against them ; azure-lined draperies at doors and 
 windows, azure-lined delicate laces, and silken fringes in 
 profusion everywhere, even to the coverings of the bed. 
 This room mine ! I could not comprehend, — there must 
 be some mistake. It was probably the guest-chamber for 
 distinguished visitors, which I was to occupy simply for 
 the night, no other being just then available. It was 
 grand enough for the reception of a princess. " Here is 
 a large and convenient closet for your use," said the 
 housekeeper, opening the door, and calling my attention 
 to the number of slielves and cedar drawers ranging one 
 above another on either side the wide space allotted for 
 the hanging of garments. "And here," opening another 
 door, and still another, "are the bathing and dressing- 
 rooms. I am glad they are so warm and comfortable, 
 although the steam furnace was only lighted at this end 
 of the house to-day. I hope you will find every thing 
 to your comfort and convenience." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed ! But you do not mean that this is 
 to be my permanent sleeping-room?" I said, almost as 
 bewildered as Christopher Sly when he woke in the lord's 
 bedchamber. 
 
 " Certainly, it was fitted up for you expressly, by order 
 
408 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 of the gentleman who owns the house," said the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " The gentleman is very kind," I began, and stopped. 
 It was an embarrassment of luxuries. " But I don't 
 quite — I can't really understand why — I never saw the 
 gentleman, you know," I continued ; " he never saw me. 
 Mrs. Tudor was the lady who engaged me the place." 
 
 "He is the uncle and guardian of the children," ex- 
 plained the housekeeper, " and has the sole direction of 
 their education." 
 
 " But am I not, then, to go to Mrs. John for instruc- 
 tions concerning my duties ; and should I wait for direc- 
 tions from the gentleman? " I inquired. 
 
 " You mean the mother of the children, I suppose?" 
 said the housekeeper, giving me a keen and steady look. 
 " If you are equal to the task of following her instruc- 
 tions, you are at liberty to ask them. There is nothing 
 binding in the gentleman's requirements from you as a 
 teacher. I think he would rather you would consult your 
 own judgment in regard to the children's studies, and 
 would like to have you please yourself as to the arrange- 
 ment of the time j-ou devote to them. Five hours a day 
 for five days in a week, or less time, spent with them, will 
 be satisfactorj' to him. The rest of the time, he wishes 
 you to consider absolutely your own, to do with as you 
 like, of course. If you wish to ask the gentleman any 
 thing concerning the children, or to communicate with him 
 on other business, you can do so through me ; or I will 
 give you his address, if you prefer." 
 
 "But does he not visit here occasionally?" I asked. 
 " Mrs. Tudor told me he resided in the city." 
 
 "Certainly; he comes usually once or twice a week. 
 He is a physician in the city," she replied. " Tea will be 
 ready at six. Miss Rivers," she added, as she turned to 
 go out. " If you will come down then to the library, 
 Sarah will show 3'ou the tea-room. I should think you 
 had better lie down for a little while before tea ; you look 
 pale and tired." With these words the housekeeper disap- 
 peared. I was tired ; but where could I lie down ? The 
 luxuriously wide lounge was of delicate blue silk and lace ; 
 the deep, roomy chairs, with their gilded tops, were of the 
 same material ; the bed, with its still more delicate satin 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 409 
 
 coverlet and wonderful confections of satin and lace pil- 
 lows, was less available. I feared to touch them. It 
 seemed as if the cleanest hand might leave a stain. The 
 deep pile of the carpet was soft enough for a couch. I 
 folded my shawl for a pillow, and dropped down upon it. 
 But, instead of napping, I took to thinking. 
 
 " Dear me ! " thought I, " what a strange place I have 
 stumbled into ! How singular that I should be assigned 
 such a gorgeous bed-chamber ! Fitted up expressly for me, 
 too ! There's some mystery about it ; something back of 
 it all, that hasn't been told. What can it be? I remember 
 now that Mrs. Tudor acted queerly in bringing me here. 
 Am I going to be caught in some trap? Can it be that 
 the guardian of the children, who designed these luxuries 
 for me, and wishes me to have so much time to myself, 
 has ever seen me at Sunbridge or at Mrs. Walters's 
 house? Can it be that he is some one who has — 
 Bah ! what a ridiculous idea ! " I blushed all by myself, at 
 the egotism of conceiving it ; yet went on wondering 
 still. 
 
 " But what difference does it make to me what the mys- 
 tery is? " I reasoned at last. " I shall not stay here, of 
 course ; I shall go back to the city Monday morning, early, 
 and take the first train for Sunbridge. I wouldn't attempt 
 to teach such children for the price of a king's ransom. 
 A school of sixty at Sunbridge would be less of a respons- 
 ibility. I wish I had followed my own plan, and gone 
 there in the first place. No," I continued to repeat, "I 
 can not, I will not stay ! " 
 
 "Stay with them, teach them, care for them, love 
 them," was the answer that flashed across my mind ; 
 the words had come to me on my first entrance here. 
 " Stay with them, care for them, love them," kept repeat- 
 ing themselves, till the words seemed audible to my hearing ; 
 and I pressed both hands to my ears, to shut them out. I 
 could not bear their iteration. I sprang up, shuddering 
 at the rush of cold air I felt enveloping me. It seemed 
 as if some invisible presence was near me. Impatient at 
 such superstition,' I thi-ew off my pelisse, and went into 
 the dressing-room to arrange my hair. That done, I 
 passed out into the corridor to find my way down-stairs, 
 still striving to overcome the feeling that something was 
 
410 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 near me, — something tliat seemed to whisper, "Here is 
 your work : take hold of it, and do your best." 
 
 All the children, except Jackson, were in the tea-room 
 when I entered. Jackson had run away to the " Cove," 
 — whatever important place that might be, — and Mike had 
 been sent to fetch him home. I inferred from the con- 
 versation that delinquencies of this sort were not of infre- 
 quent occurrence among the children. Mrs. John was not 
 present. Mrs. Pease, the housekeeper, took her place at 
 the head of the table. Harry, the eldest, the boy I had 
 seen with the whip in the garden, and Mason, sat down ather 
 right, Isabel at her left. Baby Maud had already climbed 
 to her place, and, having upset a pitcher of milk over the 
 table, was sulking in her chair. My place was at the foot 
 of the table, opposite Mrs. Pease. The children were 
 none of them embarrassed by the presence of their pro- 
 spective teacher. As soon as I was seated, the house- 
 keeper bowed her head to say grace : there was a moment's 
 silence, and she began ; but the solemnity of the occasion 
 was instantly broken by a sharp, protracted, maddened 
 cry from Mason. The housekeeper kept on, undisturbed 
 by it, however ; and, wlien grace was over, she calmly 
 requested tlie boy to exchange his seat for Jackson's, and 
 sit by Isabel. 
 
 " Harry run a pin into my leg," cried the boy. " I'll 
 go and tell mother." He started for the door. 
 
 "Come back," said Mrs. Pease with a peculiar mild- 
 ness of tone. " Come here and sit by Isabel. Your 
 mother is sick with the headache." The boy waited a 
 moment, and then obeyed her. 
 
 "Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Harry?" said Isabel, 
 spreading her bread with butter, — "sticking pins into 
 folks!" 
 
 " I didn't stick no pin in his leg," said Harry, grin- 
 ning. 
 
 " Yes, you did. There, you own it yourself! " inter- 
 rupted Isabel triumphantly. "Two negatives arc equal to 
 an affirmative." 
 
 "I jest touched him to see how tiglit his pantaloons 
 was. I wanted to see if they was lined. I jest touched 
 him." 
 
 " You didn't, either; you lie ! " retorted the still mad- 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 411 
 
 dened Mason. "You run the pin into my leg clear up 
 to the head. Damn it ! " 
 
 Such talk could not be passed unnoticed. Mrs. Pease 
 rose calmly from her chair, and, taking the profane young 
 man by his shoulder, walked with him to a door leading 
 into another room, opened it, pushed him in, shut and 
 locked it. There was no word said. Mrs. Pease was a 
 very erect woman. Mason was very little. There was 
 something irresistibly comical in seeing them walk off 
 together, — he in his man's clothes, stiff shirt-bosom, 
 collar, and necktie, marching to prison for having used a 
 word he deemed in manly keeping with his shirt-studs, 
 long boots, and silver watch. 
 
 I looked at Harry, wondering if he felt no shame at 
 being the cause of so much disturbance. He showed 
 none. He was swallowing his food in great mouthfuls, 
 and washing each down with audible gulps of drink from 
 his goblet. Mrs. Pease, on returning to her chair, ad- 
 dressed him as if he were a perfect gentleman. 
 
 "•Does your teacher give his. scholars a week's vacation 
 at Thanksgiving, Harry?" she inquired with a cheerful 
 look. 
 
 " No ; don't give 'em but two days," he answered with 
 his mouth full, and his head down. 
 
 " He is not, thank God ! he is not to be my pupil ! — 
 if I conclude to remain," I inwardly ejaculated. "The 
 others " — I began to think it might be possible to en- 
 dure the others. 
 
 Before tea was over, a message came that Mrs. John 
 would like to see me in her parlor, which was just over the 
 tea-room, up a short flight of stairs. "She is not very 
 solicitous for my comfort," thought I, "to send forme 
 before I have finished my tea, and when she knows, too, 
 that I am very tired." 
 
 I went at once, however, and found the lady wrapped 
 in shawls, and reclining in an easy-chair, her smelling- 
 bottle at her nose. Her headache was mucli worse, she 
 informed me ; and she wished I would, if it were not too 
 soon to require of me such service, read to her for a little 
 while. There were magazines on her table, from which I 
 might select some pleasing story, that would be most like- 
 ly to divert her mind from her acute suffering. 
 
412 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I looked over the books pointed out to me ; and, finding 
 a short humorous sketch, I begau to read, bringing out 
 the funny points to the best of my ability. I had read 
 but a little way, however, when she requested me to desist. 
 She hoped I would excuse her, but she had no taste for 
 that style of literature. But It was no matter of conse- 
 quence, just now, if I didn't look up anj' thing different, 
 for the children would be up soon, — they always came in 
 before going to bed, — and, while they staid, there would 
 be no quiet for me to go on. 
 
 " I hope you will like the place well enough to remain," 
 she continued. " I am pleased with your voice : it doesn't 
 jar upon my ears, as the last teacher's did ; and, then, 
 your manner is quiet. Miss Roberts talked so loud, and 
 blustered about so, and sent such rude answers back when 
 I required any small service of her, that, although she 
 got along without any trouble with the children, I felt 
 1 must send her away. The next teacher staid only a 
 month ; and I had to let her go, because she Insisted 
 upon having every evening to herself, and would go to the 
 city every Saturday and stay all day. You may be lone- 
 some at first here ; I presume you will be. Longsbury is 
 a dreary place in the winter. Last winter the snow piled 
 up round the house feet thick ; and we never saw anybody 
 from the outside, except the grocery man, for six weeks 
 in succession. Still the doctor thinks it is just the place 
 for me and the children. The doctor I speak of Is the 
 children's guardian, — my husband's half-brother. He 
 wants Isabel and Jackson sent to the public school at the 
 Cove, but I will not consent to their mingling with all sorts 
 of common children. I tliink a mother should have some- 
 thing to say regarding her children's education, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, what could I do but assure her it was 
 no more than right, in my view? 
 
 "The doctor has queer notions about children," she 
 went on. " He isn't married, you know. He is a singu- 
 lar sort of a man, as you will find out when you get ac- 
 quainted with him, if you ever do. The other teachers 
 didn't see him at all, after he sent them here. He tries 
 me fearfully : he has such a strong will, and insists on 
 managing every thing exclusively. He isn't a bit like my 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 413 
 
 husband, who was very indulgent. I was used to a great 
 deal of society when my husband was alive. When one 
 loses a kind husband, one loses the whole world, so to 
 speak." Mrs. John pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 " A poor widow " — she began again, but was interrupted 
 by the rushing in of Isabel, excited and pantiug. 
 
 " O mamma, don't you think, Jack can't be found 
 anywhere ! He isn't at the Cove, nor down on the skat- 
 ing-ground, nor anywhere round the station." 
 
 Mrs. John sprang up, with both hands clasped on her 
 forehead. "Isabel Wyndham ! " she cried. " Why do 
 you come in, in this way, to shock me ? Wait till you know 
 whether he is drowned, or not, before you tell me " — 
 
 " He can't be drowned," said Isabel : " the water isn't 
 a foot deep under the ice. Uncle Henry wouldn't have it 
 flooded only just above the grass." 
 
 " He may have gone off in a boat, and got drowned ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. John. "And oh, how it would sliatter 
 my poor nerves to have him brought home to me dead ! 
 Call Sarah, Isabel, to comb my hair. I must be soothed." 
 
 Sarah soon appeared. "Jackson has come, mum," 
 said she calmly, " and is eating his supper." 
 
 Isabel rushed down again, to find out the reason of his 
 lengthened absence. The girl took down her mistress's 
 hair. 
 
 As for me, I was having a little private excitement of 
 my own. I had caught the name Wyndham the moment 
 it was uttered. "■ Isabel Wyndham ! " Was it the girl's 
 middle name ? Oh, I must know at once ! My thoughts 
 were in a whirl. 
 
 "Is Wyndham JsaheVs middle name, Mrs. John? " I 
 took occasion to inquire as soon as I could do so with an 
 appearance of composure. She did not bear. I repeated 
 the question. 
 
 "Oh, no ! Isabel and Maud have no middle names," she 
 answered languidly. The girl had given her some sooth- 
 ing drops, which were taking effect. " Simply Isabel 
 Wyndham, — Maud Wyndham. I had but one name, — 
 Marina, given me because I was born on the sea. My 
 name is now double, of course, — Marina White Wynd- 
 ham. When my daughters get married, Wyndham will 
 be their middle name, then, to be sure." 
 
414 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I did not attend to any thing more slie was saying. I 
 was too absorbed with tliinliing. " This, then, is Dr. 
 Wyndham's place," thought 1. "And all the time that 
 I have been wondering where it could be, I have been in 
 it. And these disagreeable, barbarous young ones are 
 his nephews and nieces. He once told me about them. 
 But why did Mrs. Tudor use artifice in getting me here ? 
 Dr. Wyndham must have known it all. Dear me, how 
 much of my history can she know ? Dr. "Wyndham is not 
 the kind of man to tell her of his affairs. And why 
 should he wish to have me here ? He passed my door 
 daily for six long weeks without so much as an inquiry 
 after my health. He wishes to avoid me, and yet brings 
 me here to his own house ! Strange inconsistency ! Is it 
 to punish me, I wonder? No, it is not his nature to be 
 so hard and mean. Ah, I have it ! Dr. "Wyndham is one 
 who holds a promise sacred. He promised my uncle, 
 when the latter quitted Sunbridge, that he would look after 
 me, and care for my welfare to the best of his ability. He 
 has probably been informed of ray uncle's death; and, 
 though he loves me no longer, he knows I am poor and 
 friendless. He remembers, doubtless, my old aspiration to 
 be a teacher ; and, wishing to fulfil the spirit as well as the 
 letter of his promise, he has put aside his own feelings, 
 and brought me here to instruct the offspring of his dead 
 brother. The question for me to determine now is, shall 
 I stay or go? I must think about it first." 
 
 I passed the night in the gilded sk^'-blue chamber, 
 debating it ; and when I rose in the morning I had de- 
 cided to stay. I had come here by no will of my own, 
 but I would stay. I would stay and show Henry Wynd- 
 ham that I was not the frivolous girl, nor so unstable of 
 purpose, as he believed me to be. I would stay and do 
 mj' best by these dreadful children, or die in the attempt. 
 And while I remained, he should not put eyes on me, if 
 by any stratagem I could keep out of his presence. If 
 he desired to renew his old friendship with me, on him 
 should rest the onus of bringing it to pass. I would never 
 take a step forward again. He must now come all the 
 way to me, and of his own accord. 
 
 I was almost happy, as the weeks went on, that I was 
 able to stick to this resolution, especially when I found he 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 415 
 
 was taking the utmost precaution to avoid me, and timing 
 his visits to Longsbury adroitly : so that instead of com- 
 ing, as was his wont, Sunday afternoon to dinner, and 
 passing th'e evening with the children, he came on Sunday 
 morning, while I was at church with the housekeeper ; and 
 his arrivals on week-days were always just after scliool 
 lessons, when he knew I was most likely to be in my 
 room. 
 
 With such due carefulness on both sides, half the win- 
 ter passed before we met face to face. 
 
416 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 ■" His honor, 
 Clock, to itself, knew the true minute when 
 Exception bid him speak." 
 
 — All's Well that endb Well." 
 
 MEANWHILE I got on with the children in a pass- 
 able fashion ; if passable means no great improve- 
 ment on their part, and no lessening of effort on mine to 
 reach and influence them. Had they been- outwardly 
 attractive, I have no doubt — though I am ashamed to 
 confess it — I should have looked upon their disagreeable 
 ways and naughty acts with less repugnance than I did. 
 Prettiness in children usually purchases indemnity for 
 their faults. But with the exception of Isabel, who bid 
 fair, with her full black eyes and regular features, to be- 
 come a beauty sometime, all the children were noticeably 
 plain, resembling their mother, who had a disagreeable 
 countenance. 
 
 Still, though I could not love them, I felt an interest 
 in them, and strove, by every ingenious method I was 
 capable of inventing, to get some hold of their diverse 
 natures, and bring them under rule. At first I had no 
 control of them whatever. They would not stay in their 
 places in the schoolroom, except as I read or told them 
 some exciting story to keep them there. In spite of all 
 my coaxing and urging them to attend to the lessons I 
 gave out, Mason would strut about in and out of the 
 room as he pleased ; and Jack would spend his time cov- 
 ering the fly-leaves of his books with hideous pictures ; 
 while Isabel, a lazy delinquent herself, would scold at 
 her brothers, and ask if they were not ashamed of them- 
 selves. As for baby Maud, though too young to be 
 under my teaching, she Insisted upon staying with me 
 beside my table, where she spread her tiny tea-set, com- 
 pelling me to take imaginary cups of tea with her, under 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 417 
 
 threats of blows, and actually slapping me in the face 
 when I did not comply. 
 
 Of course I was not going to tolerate such a state of 
 things long. But where was the remedy? The house- 
 keeper suggested none. Mrs. Wyndham was not the 
 mother to co-operate with me in forcing her children to 
 obey. The evenings I passed with her were harder, if 
 possible, than my day-struggles with her offspring. I 
 was left to find my way out of the diflflculties besetting 
 me, as best I might, alone ; and had it not been for a 
 ceaseless excitement that kept my mind buoyed above 
 weariness and depression, and the secret motive sustain- 
 ing and spurring me on to continual fresh endeavor, I 
 should have, before the month ended, resigned my situa- 
 tion, and left Longsbury for more congenial service else- 
 where. 
 
 I found, at last, that I should never succeed with these 
 strange children, till I could overcome the habit of keep- 
 ing myself mentally aloof from them. I saw that I must 
 learn to like them, and make their improvement the single 
 purpose of my mind ; that I must enter sympathetically 
 into each of their individual lives, and find out the secret 
 of their different dispositions, and the bent of their facul- 
 ties. It was hard for me to do this, unknowing where to 
 begin ; as hard as for a young lady to put her jewelled 
 fingers, with their delicate pink nails, to the work of 
 scraping pots and kettles in a kitchen-sink. 
 
 But I resolved to do it ; and, as soon as I had entered 
 body and soul into the work, I was rewarded by a faint 
 prospect of success. I found Jackson's strong tendency 
 was in an artistic direction ; and, though I was myself 
 ignorant of the first rudiments of the art of drawing, I 
 procured him some lesson-books, with which he was so 
 delighted, and over which he became so absorbed, that 
 he needed no other inducement to study his ordinary les- 
 sons, than the anticipation of sketching a tree, with a rock 
 in the foreground, or a house with a fence around it, or 
 a castle with the drawbridge lowered, to be placed as 
 something precious in my portfolio. 
 
 In Mason I discovered a dramatic passion, and often 
 found him seated at the top of the step-ladder in the 
 library, poring over Shakespeare's plays. By degrees he 
 
418 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 permitted me to enter into his enjoyment of " King Rich- 
 ard ; " and though but nine j-ears of age, and scarcely 
 that, he showed an appreciative understanding of the 
 text and dramatis personce, not often exhibited by an 
 ordinary grown person. 
 
 Isabel had a decided taste for out-door life. It was im- 
 possible for her to concentrate her mind upon her studies 
 while her thoughts were flying in all directions outside, 
 like leaves before a wind. She had never been taught 
 any feminine employment, and was as awkward with 
 thimble and needle as a boy. She had much natural affec- 
 tion, and was fonder of her mother than the other chil- 
 dren ; and through this feeling I incited her ambition to 
 learn to cut out and make some garment as a Christmas 
 present to her parent. But the task was undertaken 
 only to be completed by her teacher ; and a pair of silk 
 mittens — after I had taught her to crochet — was the 
 extent of her handiwork in this direction. 
 
 In this way, laboring first with one child and then with 
 another, I passed ray whole time from early morning till 
 late afternoon. I entered into their sports, as I did into 
 their studies ; driving and walking with them, and skating 
 also, when, after many ludicrous downfalls and bumps, I 
 had learned the graceful accomplishment, never failing to 
 accompany them to the glazed meadow on moonlight 
 evenings till the snows came and spoiled the pastime. 
 And, to tell the truth, I actually enjoyed mj'self, accept- 
 ing as a pleasure, at last, what I had taken up as a 
 burden. 
 
 I cannot, as yet, sa}' that I loved the children, or that 
 I ceased to think of Dr. Wyndham altogether for the sake 
 of giving my whole mind to his young kin. There was 
 only one person in the house towards whom I felt any 
 affection, and that was the housekeeper. She said little to 
 me at any time, and never attempted to give me advice : 
 yet I knew by the way she looked at me, and by the cor- 
 dial grasp of her hand when I went to her door to say 
 good-night, — as I always did, — that I had her sympa- 
 thy, and stood well in her esteem ; and that satisfied me. 
 My enforced visits to Mrs. Wyndham, night after night, 
 were my greatest trials. To enumerate my efforts, and 
 their failures to please her, would be quite too tedious in 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 419 
 
 these pages. It will be suffleient to say that I got on with 
 her no better at the close of winter than when I first began ; 
 and that I grew at last to have the courage to tell her, 
 after a hard day's work, that I was too tired to entertain 
 her satisfactorily with ray reading, — which, by the way, 
 was always less of a reading than a device that gave her 
 the coveted opportunity to pour her stream of petty com- 
 plaint in my ear, and extract from me the sympathy I did 
 not feel. 
 
 Christmas holidays at Longsbury were gay ones for 
 the children. The large old-fashioned drawing-room was 
 warmed and lighted on Christmas eve. A tree of ever- 
 green that Griffin, the head gardener, had procured, and 
 set up there, was loaded with presents, and illuminated ; 
 and as uncle Henry was expected to be present to dis- 
 tribute the presents among the little ones, they were wild 
 with anticipation. 
 
 " But would he come?" was the question that agitated 
 my mind. And, if he did, what should /do? Would it 
 not excite comment to keep myself in my room on such 
 a festive occasion, even though I might be supposed to 
 have the most raging of headaches? It certainly would, 
 I reasoned ; while, in my inmost heart, I longed more 
 than I dreaded to see him. I prayed God I might be 
 able to appear composedly under the trying ordeal. When 
 night arrived, I dressed myself as becomingly as possible, 
 and descended to the drawing-room with a wildly beating 
 heart. I imagined I heard his voice before I entered. 
 But he was not present, nor did he arrive later. The 
 children were compelled to soothe their disappointment 
 with the gifts he sent them, among which was found a 
 note of excuse for his absence. As for myself, I received 
 nothing to take the edge from my disappointment. But I 
 was determined nobody should see a cloud upon my face. 
 I joined in the children's games, with no abatement of 
 zest. I played to them a few roundelays learned on aunt 
 Beals's old piano at Sunbridge, over and over, that they 
 might dance till they were tired. Then I told them sto- 
 ries, — and, in short, attended to all and each of their 
 particular wants, as if I had been a machine manufac- 
 tured and wound up and set going on purpose for the 
 occasion. And when all was over, and every light put 
 
420 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 out from end to end in the old stone house, sleep fell upon 
 me like a benediction. 
 
 December, January, and part of February passed away ; 
 and, strange to say, Dr. Wyndham and I had not yet seen 
 one another. Towards the last of February, however, an 
 unexpected event brought us together. 
 
 One afternoon, while Isabel was in town receiving her 
 music-lesson. Mason in the library poring over some old 
 play. Jack conning his arithmetic lesson in the dining- 
 room, and I trying to rest, poor little Maud fell down a 
 flight of icy steps, and dislocated her shoulder. Mike 
 brought her in screaming, and laid her on the dining-room 
 sofa. The housekeeper and Mrs. Wyndham were sum- 
 moned by the nurse, and all was excitement and commo- 
 tion, when Mike pronounced his opinion that her arm was 
 broken, and that some one should be despatched for the 
 doctor. "Go yourself, at once, Mike," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Pease, " and bring the doctor back with you as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 The faithful man-servant did not wait for further in- 
 structions ; he set off on a run for the station ; while the 
 child continued to scream, and cling to me, and would 
 permit no one else to undo the fastenings of her dress, 
 that the extent of the injury might be determined. I 
 tried to still her cries, and take her thoughts from herself, 
 by telling her fairy stories, and had pumped my brain 
 dry of them, when the doctor arrived. It was no time to 
 think of ceremony. He bowed to me when he entered, 
 as if he had seen me but yesterday, and drawing a chair 
 close up in front of us, for the child still would stay in 
 my arms, gave his whole attention to his little niece, who, 
 the moment she saw her uncle, burst out with the shrill 
 announcement that she had broken her arm. 
 
 "If that is all the matter," said the doctor, handling 
 the limb tenderly, while he made the necessary examina- 
 tion, " I can mend it for j-ou in a jiffy." 
 
 " Oh, you'll hurt me ! you'll hurt me ! " screamed Maud. 
 
 "But there aren't any broken bones here," added the 
 doctor cheerfully. " You've knocked your shoulder out 
 of place, Maud, that's all. I can put it right back again 
 in two minutes. — Miss Rivers, will you help me? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered bravely, though in reality I was 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 421 
 
 as weak as a straw. I looked around for Mrs. Pease or 
 Mrs. "Wyndham to take my place. Both had disappeared ; 
 the former for something the doctor had ordered, and the 
 other to her room, I suppose. The child renewed her 
 cries, in the anticipation of pain. 
 
 "No, I will only hurt you a little, Maud," said her 
 uncle soothingly, preparing to place her in position. "Be- 
 fore you've counted ten, it will be all over." 
 
 " Won't it hurt me any more than the prick of a pin ? " 
 she inquired with a white face, while she trembled nerv- 
 ously. 
 
 " About as much as a dozen pricks altogether," said the 
 doctor. " My little girl is brave enough to stand that, I 
 know." 
 
 " No, no ! I can't, I can't truly, uncle Henry ! Don't, 
 don't, it will hurt! Let me go. I won't have it fixed." 
 And her unreasoning cry was repeated over again. 
 
 " Do you never give ether in such cases? " I whispered. 
 " It can't hurt her, can it? " I suppose my utterance was 
 indistinct ; for the doctor bent his head towards me, till 
 his lips almost touched my cheek, to hear the question re- 
 peated. " Why not give her some ether? " I asked again. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I would," he answered, " but for her mother ; 
 she would make a mighty fuss about it." 
 
 However, the doctor, after consulting Mrs. Pease, 
 who had now come in, administered the anesthetic, till the 
 little tense figure grew relaxed and motionless. Then I 
 performed the part required of me as deftly as I could, 
 and the next moment the bone in the armpit was pushed 
 back into place. 
 
 Mrs. Wyndham, who had detected the odor of the ether, 
 or whatever preparation it might be, came in just as the 
 child was regaining consciousness, and demanded to know 
 why the doctor had, regardless of her disapproval, given 
 her daughter a mixture of chloroform and ether. 
 
 " Because I thought it was best," he answered. 
 
 " If her father had been alive, you wouldn't have done 
 it." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the doctor, with a swift glance at 
 my face. " But, Marina," he added, " you needn't give 
 yourself the least uneasiness about it. Maud is all 
 right." 
 
422 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Oh, I am of no account among my children now! I 
 have no authority in the smallest thing that concerns 
 them," said Mrs. Wyndham, in a high, excited voice. 
 
 The doctor made no repl}'. Maud was calling him all 
 sorts of endearing names. Finding she had really suffered 
 no pain in the operation, and having not quite recovered 
 her balance as yet, her gratitude to her uncle was ex- 
 pressed in little maudlin protestations, that quite disgusted 
 her mother. 
 
 " I love uncle Henry ; don't j-ou, mamma?" she cried. 
 
 "That is a very silly remark," said Mrs. Wynd- 
 ham. 
 
 " Now, you mustn't move your arm about to-day or to- 
 morrow, Maud," said the doctor, stooping to say good-by 
 to his little niece. " Now, remember what I say." 
 
 " Don't go, uncle Henry," pleaded Maud, grasping his 
 coat-collar, and repeating her request. 
 
 " I must go now ; but I shall come over again to-mor- 
 row," said her uncle. "Now, don't forget about your 
 arm. Mind every thing that Mrs. Pease tells you, Maud." 
 
 " No, you mustn't go. I won't let you," cried the 
 child. " I love you best of anj'body in the world, and 
 so does mamma, and so does Teesj' " (Teesy was the 
 name of the Maltese cat, seated on the window-sill, watch- 
 ing the movements of a veteran fly staggering across the 
 pane), " and so does Miss Rivers; don't you, Miss Eiv- 
 ers?" 
 
 I was at that moment adjusting the window-shade. 
 
 " I shall be satisfied if you love me, Maud," returned 
 the doctor with a confused movement. " Where did I 
 leave my hat and coat, I wonder? Oh, in the farther hall, 
 I remember now ; I came in at the north door. Where is 
 Sarah? " he asked. 
 
 " Let me bring them to you," I said, glad to disappear 
 at the awkward moment. 
 
 The farther hall, as he called it, was opposite the 
 drawing-room, and extended half the length of the house. 
 It contained a large fireplace, piled up with huge logs, a 
 billiard -table, two sofas, and a cabinet of curiosities. The 
 skins of animals were spread about on the floor, for rugs ; 
 and the walls were decorated with old firelocks and swords 
 and various pieces of armor, interposed with some old. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 423 
 
 dull-looking portraits of men and women in ruffs. The 
 place was lighted by a large stained-glass window above. 
 
 Dr. Wyndham followed me into the hall. 
 
 " Why haven't I seen you till to-day, Cordelia?" he 
 asked, as he put on his overcoat. 
 
 " I didn't suppose you would like to see me," I said, 
 ha\'ing no time to frame a more indirect reply. 
 
 " Not like to see you ! How can you think that? " he 
 said. " I have been disappointed in not seeing you. You 
 . have been here almost three months ; and, until to-day, I 
 haven't had a glimpse of you." 
 
 " I supposed you were offended with me ; and I didn't 
 lilie to come down, when you — when you were here," I 
 explained. 
 
 " Offended with you ! " coming nearer. " Why, I have 
 been thinking all the time that you were offended with 
 me." 
 
 " I thought you hadn't forgiven me," I went on. 
 
 ' ' O Cordelia ! Come, now, have you forgiven me ? That 
 is the more important question," he said, taking both my 
 hands in his, while I leaned against the billiard-table for 
 support. 
 
 " I haven't anj' thing to forgive," I said. 
 
 " Certainlj^ you have," he said. " I took a very mean, 
 underhanded way of bringing j'ou here, into my house, 
 against your will." 
 
 "It wasn't — or it wouldn't have been against ray 
 will, if I had known you wanted me to come," I said 
 frankly. '■ So, you see, I've nothing to forgive, but 
 something to thank 3-ou for." 
 
 " I wish I had " — He stopped. " But really now," 
 he began again, " are you contented here?" 
 
 "Yes, I — I am contented," Ireplied aftera little pause. 
 
 " And not a bit homesick? " 
 
 I shook my head. " I haven't an}' home to be sick for, 
 you know," I said, as he released my hands. 
 
 " No? I thought quite the contrarj'," he remarked. 
 
 " You have heard of my uncle's death, I suppose, and 
 Mrs. Walters's?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I am sure Mr. Walters told me you had a 
 mother living." 
 
 " No ; my mother died when I was two years old. He 
 
424 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 told you that Mrs. Rivers, the actress Riviera, was my 
 mother, I suppose. She is not. She is my father's 
 widow. She was his second wife. She has no interest in 
 me whatever." 
 
 Dr. Wyndham stood with his hat in his hand, and his 
 eyes cast down, several moments after I had done speak- 
 ing. Then he suddenly asked, — 
 
 " Does Mrs. Wyndham annoy you? " 
 
 " Oh, no, not in the least ! " 
 
 "And yet I suppose she talks about me a good deal?" 
 
 " Yes ; sometimes." 
 
 " Complimentary? " 
 
 "Very." 
 
 " I hope you don't lay much stress in her praise of me. 
 It might prove worthless, in case you come to know me by 
 personal acquaintance." 
 
 ' ' I make due allowance for her partiality, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " Good. You are a sensible girl. Is Jack trouble- 
 some?" 
 
 " Not at all. He is behaving very well indeed." 
 
 " Glad to hear it. They're all a lot of unwhipped cubs. 
 And, truly, you are not sorry you came? " 
 
 " No, Dr. Wj'ndham, 1 am glad I came." 
 
 " Thanks, Cordelia. You relieve my mind of a bur- 
 den. Perhaps you don't know that I promised Mr. Beals 
 I would look after your interests, as far as it was possible 
 for me to do so. Mrs. Tudor told me you were depressed 
 and unhappy, and determined to go to teaching school 
 somewhere. Not wishing to bring myself disagreeably to 
 your notice, — for I understand perfectly how you feel 
 towards me, — I got her to act for me in bringing you here. 
 I sha'n't annoy you very often, Cordelia. Let me see you, 
 now and then, with the children, if it isn't too much of a 
 favor for you to grant. You must tell me if auy thing 
 comes up to make it unpleasant for you here. I'm bound 
 to have things to your liking while you are under mj' roof. 
 I understand the cause of your disappointment, and what 
 you are suffering. No further ill of the kind shall come 
 to you, if I can prevent it. I hope you will trust me as 
 a friend. Good-evening." When I looked up, he had 
 gone. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 425 
 
 He drove over the nest afternoon, and arrived while I 
 was out with the children, helping them construct a snow 
 image on the plat of ground encircled by the drive. 
 
 The moment Isabel espied the horses coming into the 
 court-yard, she ran towards them with a scream of delight, 
 and hardly waited till her uncle could vacate his seat, be- 
 fore she was in it, beside the colored driver, who was grin- 
 ning, and ready to give the reins into her hands. Jack 
 and Mason were tumbling over each other to get into the 
 back seat of the sleigh. 
 
 " Look after the horses, John, and come back in half an 
 hour ; I must be in town at four," said the doctor, as Isa- 
 bel drove off. ' ' How is Maud this evening ? " he inquired, 
 as I turned to go in at another entrance nearer my room. 
 I told him she was quite. comfortable. 
 
 " Won't you go in this way with me to see her? " he 
 asked, with a gentleness of tone — so unlike what he used 
 to have in his school at Sunbridge — that seemed almost 
 an entreaty to come. I could not, if I would, resist it. 
 
 "With pleasure," I said, turning back at once, and 
 accompanying him up the steps, into the square vestibule, 
 where he laid off his outer coat, hat, and gloves. I felt 
 awkward enough, though very happy. Neither of us 
 spoke while we remained there ; and then, before I knew 
 how it happened, we were walking hand in hand, like two 
 children, through the long passage leading to Mrs. Pease's 
 room, where Maud was in bed. 
 
 "I hope you are not working too hard, Cordelia," he 
 said, when we reached the door. " You are looking 
 paler and thinner than you used to ; I noticed it yester- 
 day." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I'm not working hard at all. I just enjoy 
 being here. I am very much changed in every way from 
 what I used to be. I know my own mind now perfectly ; 
 I suppose it is because I am so much older." 
 
 " Do I seem different, Cordelia? " he asked hurriedly. 
 
 " Indeed you do," I answered. " I thought — I thought 
 when I was at the boarding-house — you were alwa3's 
 good to me, when I — when I didn't appreciate you. I 
 think about your goodness every day ' ' — 
 
 The doctor put a timely stop to this disjointed effusion, 
 by rejoining quickly in a whisper, — 
 
426 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " No, you mustn't say that, because I am going to 
 give you pain by and by ; I'm going to be cruel to you ; 
 I am cruel now, if you only knew it. Cordelia, j'ou have 
 given your love to an unworthy man. I understand all 
 about it now, 1 shall " — 
 
 The opening of the door upon us cut off the whis- 
 pered sentence. Sarah, the nurse, came out, and we 
 entered. 
 
 Maud was in no loving mood to-day ; she was cross 
 and petulant. But the sight of the new toys her uncle 
 had brought her restored her good humor in a little time. 
 The tiny dancing figures she liept me winding up con- 
 tinually for her amusement ; while I was so agitated at 
 what the doctor bad been saying to me, I scarcely knew 
 what I was doing. I had been so happy over the return 
 of his friendship, I had scarcely felt myself separated 
 from him since yesterday ; his face had been before my 
 eyes, his voice in my ears, his words in my heart. And 
 now all was going to be changed. What could he mean 
 by being cruel to me ? 
 
 When the doctor's half-hour expired, and he rose to 
 take leave, I did not offer to fetch his hat and coat, as 
 I had done yesterday. He went out alone. I remained 
 to amuse Maud a while longer. 
 
 "There, I forgot to ask the doctor about giving the 
 baby her medicine!" exclaimed the housekeeper, after 
 he had disappeared. " Will you please ask him, Miss 
 Risers, before he gets awa}', if it is to be taken to-night, 
 or in the morning?" She hurried me out in search of 
 him. I found him just quitting the hall. The children 
 had returned. I heard tlie clamor of their voices outside ; 
 and Isabel the next moment came bounding in, her oUve 
 cheeks touched by exercise with a faint color. 
 
 "O uncle Henry!" she cried, "mayn't John take us 
 over to Watson's farm? They are going to stick a pig 
 there, and I want to see the fun." 
 
 "Nice fun pig-sticking mast be for a young lady of 
 your refinement," said her uncle. "Is that the kind of 
 recreation you encourage in my niece?" he inquired, turn- 
 ing to me. "Go into the parlor, Isabel, and practise 
 your music-lessons for fun." 
 
 "I hate music-lessons," said Isabel. "Oh, wouldn't 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 427 
 
 I like to see 'em do it ! Miss Eivers will go with us. 
 Slie likes such fun as well as we do." 
 
 " Ah, is that so? " returned the doctor, without smiling. 
 " In that case, you will have to get Mike to take you over. 
 I can't wait so long." 
 
 " Can't you wait till we go to grandma's grave, uncle ? " 
 exclaimed Isabel, clapping her hands together ecstatically. 
 " The snow is all melted in the cemetery, and Griffin's 
 cut off a big basket full of rosebuds. I'll ask him for 
 some of them to put on our graves." 
 
 "They are designed for another purpose, Isabel," said 
 the doctor. " I am going to give them to a young lady." 
 
 "What, all those roses!" cried Isabel. "Can't I 
 have some of them ? ' ' she pleaded. 
 
 " Not one," said the doctor tantalizingly. " They are 
 for a young lady in town. I promised she should have 
 them at four o'clock, and it is past the hour already, — and 
 beginning to rain, too. — John, is there an umbrella in 
 the sleigh?" 
 
 " Yes, sah," answered John. 
 
 "I shall be over to-morrow again, Isabel," said her 
 uncle, kissing her. He turned to bow to me ; but I had 
 gone indoors, where I could see him from the window, 
 but where he could not see me. 
 
 "For a young lady in town," I soliloquized bitterly; 
 " for his beautiful patient at Mrs. Ross's, doubtless, — 
 the lovely girl Mrs. Tudor is always praising. I thought 
 she had gone away. Mrs. Tudor told me, when last I 
 saw her, that she had recovered sufficiently to be able to 
 go home. Perhaps she has not gone, however. The idea 
 of Dr. Wyndham carrying flowers to her was torture to 
 me. Why could not the girl have died of her accident ? 
 Oh, what an atrocious wretch I am getting to be, to have 
 such a wish ! His talk to me this morning is all explained 
 now. He is cruel, indeed ! Yes, I was brought here to 
 be punished. But he shall never know that I suffer an 
 iota, if my heart weeps blood. How glad I am I did 
 not say to him all I began, and was longing to utter ! 
 How sorry I am that I spoke at all ! Shall I never learn 
 to be self-contained with those I love ? Must I cut out 
 my tongue to keep from being so weakly demonstrative? 
 I can do it if it is necessary." 
 
428 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I did not choose that evening to find excuse for shun- 
 ning Mrs. Wyndham's company. I felt like doing pen- 
 ance for having given rein to my imagination, after the 
 severe experience I had had at Mrs. Eoss's boarding- 
 house ; and I could think of no harder expiation than to 
 spend the evening with Mrs. Wj-ndham. The madness 
 I had been indulging deserved the "dark house and the 
 whip." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 429 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale." 
 
 — MiDSUMMEB NiOHT'S DkEAM. 
 
 ACCORDINGLY, when evening arrived, and Mrs. 
 Wyndham sent for me, I obeyed the call at once. 
 It was a stormy evening, and the children had gone to 
 bed early. I found their mother, as usual, in her white 
 dressing-gown, her hair unbound, her jewelled hands fold- 
 ed in her lap, and her figure reclining in a soft-cushioned 
 easy-chair, out of which she seldom stirred when she could 
 help it. She was in a most fretful, irritable mood. 
 
 "Well," said she, as I entered, "you saw fit to come 
 directly up to-night, it seems. What a lonesome night 
 it is! I don't expect to sleep at all, — not a wink. I 
 never do when the wind blows so. I'm always thinking of 
 my brother Horace, of whom I told you the other night. 
 These dark, windy nights always excited him. I wish I 
 could know how he is oared for at the hospital. I don't 
 imagine Henrj^ had any more reason or right to put him 
 there than he has to put me there. Did you notice what 
 an ugly mood he was in yesterday? — Dr. Wyndham, I 
 mean. Just think of his giving my child ether and chloro- 
 form after I had forbidden him, or requested him rather, 
 not to do it ! And when he knows, too, exactly how it 
 affects all of my family. Why, Miss Rivers, my sister, 
 my only sister, died while inhaling the dreadful stuff! 
 Maud might have never come out of it." 
 
 "You must blame me, Mrs. Wyndham," I said, "if 
 blame is to rest upon anj'body in the matter. I don't 
 think Dr. Wjmdham would have administered ether if I 
 hadn't suggested it." 
 
 Mrs. Wyndham laughed sarcastically. "What an ab- 
 surd idea ! " she said. "Do you imagine. Miss Rivers, 
 that Henry Wyndham would do any thing he did not 
 intend to do, because you suggested it? You don't know 
 
430 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 him ; j'ou have only seen him a few times. When yon do 
 know him, — if you are so unfortunate, — you will find he 
 has a will, yes, and a won't of his own. He gave Maud 
 chloroform simply because he wished to cause me anxiety." 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Wyndham ! " I said. "Dr. Wyndham 
 wouldn't be influenced by such a motive. He is above 
 resorting to petty malice, or any thing of the kind, I 
 know ; at least, I think so." 
 
 "Perhaps your superior wisdom enables you to judge 
 of his character by meeting him once or twice ; perhaps 
 you can understand him better than I can, after an ac- 
 quaintance of fifteen years," remarked Mrs. Wyndham 
 with cutting sarcasm. 
 
 " No, not at all ; I haven't as much natural insight as 
 most people," 1 replied. " I speak of how he seems to 
 me, siinply. I have been told he is a careful physician, 
 and a skilful one. He strikes me as a man that can be 
 trusted, too." 
 
 "You don't know any thing about him. Miss Rivers," 
 said Mrs. Wyndham, lifting her fan in her lap to shade 
 her ej'es from the glare of the lamp. ' ' He's got an ugly 
 temper. His mother had it before him. If you have 
 noticed her portrait in the drawing-room, you must have 
 seen how precisely Henry's eyes are like hers. She ruled 
 the old gentleman completely. She died when Henry 
 was a year old. The boy was never properly brought up. 
 Mrs. Pease had the care of him, and he always had his 
 own way. She coaxes and coddles him now. He will 
 get mad and swear, and she will put her arms around his 
 neck and kiss him : that's the way they do it." 
 
 " I am surprised to hear it," I said, wincing a little. 
 "I am surprised, because I have often noticed how re- 
 spectful his manner seems to the housekeeper." 
 
 "Oh, he can be a gentleman when he chooses!" said 
 Mrs. Wyndham ; " when it is for his interest to be one. 
 I don't mean, of course, that he swears habitually, or gets 
 angry every day. He'd have the boys whipped, I dare 
 say, if he could, for using a profane word. He hasn't 
 the kind heart John had. John, my husband, had a very 
 mild disposition. He was as mild as a lamb. Anybody 
 could manage him. He never would have had the heart 
 to shut my brother up in an asylum, because he acted a 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 431 
 
 little strange among the children. Horace is no more 
 crazj' than I am. But the doctor got his pay directly for 
 the unjust advantage he took in the case of Horace. And 
 he richly deserved it, too. I've a good mind to tell you 
 a secret, Miss Elvers, — something, probably, he wouldn't 
 have you know for worlds ; and I wouldn't reveal it if 
 he hadn't trampled on my feelings so cruelly yesterday. 
 Did you ever notice the three closed doors in the long 
 passage that leads to your room in the tower? They 
 open into a suite of rooms that would dazzle j'our eyes to 
 look at, the furnishing is so magnificent. Two years ago 
 he fell in love ; was overwhelmed in it, you might say. 
 You never saw any thing like the change that came over 
 him" — 
 
 "Sha'n't I read to you a little while now?" I inter- 
 rupted, springing up to go for a book. "You can tell 
 me the story some other time, you know. It is very ro- 
 mantic, no doubt," I added; "but perhaps it will tire 
 you to tell it. ' ' 
 
 " I am in no mood to-night to hear reading : I must talk 
 to somebody ; and, knowing how close-mouthed you are, I 
 want you to hear the story, — I want you to know just 
 what a time we had with the doctor. There was such a 
 change in him, we couldn't imagine what had happened 
 to him. Instead of ordering us round, as he does now, 
 he spoke and acted as gently and sweetly as can be. 
 Who the girl was, and where she lived, is a mystery un- 
 solved to-day. All we have ever found out is, that she 
 lived in the country, not far off. There were several 
 months in which he used to go away Monday morning, 
 and nobody saw him again till Saturday night. Nobody 
 could find out what he was doing, or even where he went. 
 In any case, the girl jilted him. It was a terrible blow, 
 and nearly sent him crazy. If it hadn't been for his 
 strong will, he might have landed in the very asylum where 
 he had been the means of placing my brother. I shouldn't 
 have had the least pity for him." 
 
 By this time I had grown so nervous, that my hands 
 shook over the work I was doing. I could sit in my chair 
 no longer ; I got up and went to the window, and looked 
 out across the darkness to the distant rows of lights span- 
 ning the bridges in the outskirts of the city. I could hear 
 
432 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 quite plainly the roar and break of the sea, half a mile 
 away ; and mingling with the sullen sound, came the cry 
 of the wind sweeping up the lonely marshes, and shriek- 
 ing past, as if it were bearing on its" wings the anguish of 
 a lost world. 
 
 I returned to my chair, and tried to change the course of 
 Mrs. Wyndham's talk, by alluding to the children. But 
 it was of no avail. She kept on with her story, like the 
 ancient mariner ; and, perforce, I must listen, whether I 
 would or no. 
 
 " You ought. Miss Rivers," she continued, " to have a 
 peep at the interior of the rooms I was telling you about. 
 Such an idiotic disregard of expenditure as he exhibited 
 in furnishing them — all for that miserable flirt he was 
 so iu love with — is worth noting, because it will give you 
 something of an idea what a strange, peculiar character 
 he is. Nobody but Mrs. Pease is allowed to go into them. 
 But once in a while, when she goes to town, she forgets to 
 take the kej's with her ; and then I never hesitate to use 
 them, and take a look inside myself. And besides these 
 rooms, if you will believe it, he proposed to set up for 
 her an elegant establishment in the city. He talked the 
 matter over with Mrs. Pease ; and such a hurry and skurry 
 and bustle as we were in for several days, with decorators, 
 aud upholsterers, and other work-folks, you never saw ! 
 He opened the cedar chests containing his mother's things, 
 and selected such of the richest as he wanted for the 
 boudoir, — pearl-embroidered silk cushions, and the like, 
 "and silk hangings, so rich and heavy, and thick with 
 embroidery, they would stand alone. There are four rooms 
 in all, — parlor, boudoir, and two bedrooms. You ought 
 to have seen him during that time. Miss Rivers. Oh, he 
 was so pleasant to us all, and so lavish with his money 1 
 He fah-ly put ' Timon of Athens ' in the background, with 
 the gifts he made his friends, especially those who came 
 over to congratulate him on his coming marriage. Of 
 course we were on the tip-toe of curiositj' to see what sort 
 of girl it was, who was working such a change in the 
 man. We understood they were to be married at the 
 girl's father's house, and then come here, at once, to a 
 wedding-breakfast, which a caterer in the city was to 
 undertake. It was to be an exclusive, private affair, — 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 433 
 
 only a half-dozen of his college friends^ and a few other 
 gentlemen, with their wives, were to be invited. And, oh 
 dear me, imagine, if you can, the consternation we were 
 in, when he came home and told us the whole affair had 
 fallen through, and he was not to be married after all ! 
 What a night that was ! At first I thought the girl was 
 dead ; and then that he had met with some accident, some 
 mortal injury or other, he looked so dreadful. You know 
 he is very dark ; all the De Witts are, — his mother was a 
 DeWitt. He was as white as a corpse, and had that 
 sunken look dead persons have, you know. And he was 
 so quiet; he would answer no questions from anybody 
 but Mrs. Pease. He told her he wanted his trunks 
 packed ; that he was going abroad. He wouldn't look at 
 me at all, and scarcely spoke to the children. I saw him 
 going into the yard when his trunks were carried out, and 
 I couldn't stand it any longer, — the suspense I was in. 
 I just ran out after him, and put the question direct. 
 ' Now,' said I, ' Henry Wyndham, where on earth are 
 you going? ' It was my business to know, of course, on 
 account of the children. ' Do you really want to know 
 where I am going?' he said, turning quickly, and flashing 
 his eyes upon me. ' If you do, I'll tell you : / am going to 
 hell.' Yes, Miss Eivers, he really said it; and you may 
 imagine I was frightened, not only at his words, but yet 
 more at his voice and manner. I ran in to find Mrs. 
 Pease, but Henry had got into her room before me ; he 
 was bidding his old nurse good-by, with his arms round 
 her neck, and his head on her shoulder, like a boy of ten. 
 He seemed to be broken all down ; and though I pitied 
 him, of course, I thought he was only getting his pay for 
 treating my brother in the waj' he did." 
 
 Mrs. Wyndham paused ; a movement of mine attracted 
 her attention. " What is the matter? " she asked. "Are 
 you sick? " 
 
 " Yes, I do feel somewhat so. If you will excuse me, 
 I will go to my room," I said, rising. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! You are looking very pale. You ought 
 to have spoken of it. I think it must be the flish we had 
 for dinner. I have been feeling a trifle of nausea myself 
 this evening. You had better ask Mrs. Pease for some- 
 thing to take. She has every kind of medicine in her closet. ' ' 
 
434 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I thanked her, and went straight to my own room. I 
 passed the three locked doors, which opened into apart- 
 ments still adorned and still waiting for the expected 
 bride, — for her, who was destined never to enter them. 
 Another lovelier and more beautiful bride would soon, 
 doubtless, be domiciled there. Now the place was inhab- 
 ited only by the ghosts of what " might have been." I 
 hurried by with a nervous shudder, glad to be within my 
 own room, away from the sight of everybody, where I 
 could relax from the strain I had been under for so many 
 hours, and think my own thoughts undisturbed. 
 
 I was not exactly ill next morning, but I felt quite too 
 spiritless to keep my promise to go to church with Isabel 
 over at Greenridge. In the evening I did not go down 
 to meet Dr. Wyndham, who had come over rather later 
 than was his wont, for Sunday ; but I went softly out to 
 the staircase head when he went away, to hear him say 
 good-night to the children. 
 
 He came again Monday, and several days following, 
 until Maud was quite well, and equal to her usual mischief 
 about the house. I met him, when he came in my waj', 
 with a quiet manner, an inteuseh' quiet manner, — accept- 
 ing none of the many opportunities he gave me of seeing 
 him alone. It was the hardest self-denial I ever prac- 
 tised, but I was always glad that I never gave way under 
 it. I felt it was giving me strength for the approaching 
 crisis, which I was sure must take place ere long. 
 
 After baby Maud's restoration to health, the doctor's 
 visits were less frequent. When he came now, it was 
 usually in the evening, at the time, or just before, the 
 children were ready for bed. He arrived one evening a 
 little earlier, I remember. I remember it well, because it 
 was the last he spent with us, while I remained as govern- 
 ess there. He came straight up to Mrs. Wj'ndham's par- 
 lor, where we were ail assembled, — Harry, Isabel, Jack, 
 and I, at one table, playing cribbage ; Mason and his 
 mother at the other, the latter skimming the columns of 
 a society journal, while the first named nine-year-old, in 
 his long trousers and stiff shirt, was deep in the middle of 
 one of Shakespeare's plays. 
 
 It was not often we had the pleasure of Harry's com- 
 pany of an evening. He preferred the society he found in 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 435 
 
 tlie grocery store at the " Cove," where he could smoke 
 with the flshermen, and listen to their sea-stories, till he 
 got ready to come home. Since learning to play cribbage, 
 however, — I had taught him the game, in return for his 
 kindness in teaching me to skate, — he would occasionally 
 condescend to fold up his long shanks under a table at 
 home, and would sit there at the game as long as I would 
 consent to play ; sometimes till my eyes closed of them- 
 selves, from sheer fatigue. 
 
 The doctor, after speaking a moment with Mrs. Wynd- 
 ham and Mason, brought a chair and sat down between 
 Harry and Isabel, to watch the progress of the game. I 
 happened, at the moment, to be trying to settle a little 
 controversy between the two, caused by Harry's inaccu- 
 racy in counting the pegs. Both appealed at once to their 
 uncle. 
 
 " Has Harry any right to countf sixteen, when he only 
 got a double sequence of three? " demanded the aggrieved 
 Isabel. ~^ 
 
 " Miss Rivers is the one to tell you,'' said the doctor, 
 flashing a look at me across the table. " I don't know 
 the game." 
 
 " But you can count, uncle," said Isabel, snatching up 
 Harry's cards, and spreading them out before him. ' ' Look, 
 one, two, three ; one, two, three, — that makes six. And 
 here, one, two, three ; one, two, three,— six more, twelve. 
 Now, Where's his sixteen, I'd like to know? Oh, Harry 
 just cheats all the time ! " said the disgusted Isabel. 
 
 " No, I don't, either," said Harry doggedly. " I told 
 you where I got sixteen. Here, you ninny, a double run 
 makes twelve, don't it? And two pairs four more, don't 
 it? You're a great one to count, you are ! There's no 
 fun playing cards with girls that don't know anything ! " 
 
 Isabel's silence, in perceiving her mistake, made 
 Harry triumphantly voluble. His tongue wagged with 
 uncomplimentary allusions to his sister's obtuseness, and 
 could not be made to stop. 
 
 " Come, be magnanimous, Harry," said his uncle at last. 
 
 " But I hate to be bullied by a girl," continued the irate 
 Harry. " When a boy hits me, I can hit him back again ; 
 but a girl can strike you all she wants to, and cry baby ! 
 I hate girls." 
 
436 T]rO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " You don't hate Sallie Spooner, do ye ? " inquired Jack. 
 
 " You just shut up," said Harry, with a slight menacing 
 motion of the hand towards his slow-speaking brother. 
 Jack east up his round blue eyes to his brother's belliger- 
 ent ones, and then, concluding that discretion was the 
 better part of valor, said no more. 
 
 " I wish you would teach me the game. Miss Elvers," 
 said the doctor, bringing his chair beside mine. " Will 
 you?" 
 
 " Certainly," I said, rising and giving him my place at 
 the table. 
 
 " O mamma ! " exclaimed Isabel, " uncle Henry is going 
 to play cards with us!" The astonished girl, who had 
 never known her uncle to join with them in any game, 
 repeated the announcement. 
 
 "Is he?" said her mother languidly, and turned the 
 paper in her hands for the inside news. 
 
 " You will have to instruct me in every point, Corde- 
 lia," said the doctor, " for I am not easily taught." 
 
 His addressing me by mj' Christian name, which I knew 
 was a slip of the tongue, surprised the children. 
 
 I found, indeed, that he was not easily taught. At the 
 end of an hour, with constant telling, he knew no more 
 than at the beginning. He must have become aware that 
 the children would be taking note of his utter indifference 
 to the game ; for he sprang up suddenly, and looked at his 
 watch. " Is it past nine? " he said, surprised. " My watch 
 must be fast. What is your time. Mason?" he asked, 
 approaching his youngest nephew, deep in the story of 
 " As you like it." 
 
 Mason, with some effort, drew from his fob a silver time- 
 piece about the size of Captain Cuttle's, and announced 
 the hour as six minutes past nine, and then fell to his- 
 book again. 
 
 " What time, Mrs. Wyndham, do you put your children 
 to bed?" asked the doctor, with his hand on Mason's 
 head. He asked the question al)sent-mindedly. 
 
 " I don'tput them to bed," she answered. " They are 
 old enough to go of themselves, I hope." 
 
 " I should like to see them goof themselves," said their 
 uncle, looking round upon them coolly and deliberately. 
 
 Jack, always as meek as a lamb when his uncle was 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 437 
 
 present, rose at once, took his little lamp, and retired. 
 Isabel lingered to tease for something her mother had 
 promised her. Then she said " good-night," stopping to 
 lift her face to her uncle's for a kiss, and at the same 
 time revealing, what I had not observed before, a strong 
 resemblance to him in feature and complexion. 
 
 ' ' Why don't you go to bed like the others, Mason ? ' ' said 
 the doctor. Harry had gone out some half-hour previous. 
 " Because I wish to finish this act, sir, first," answered 
 the little man. 
 
 " What are yon reading? " asked the doctor. 
 " ' As you like it,' sir." 
 
 " What, Shakespeare?" said his guardian, surprised. 
 " Do you teach the children Shakespeare, Miss Rivers? " 
 
 "He took it up of himself, I believe, before I came 
 here. — I think you told me so, Mrs. Wyndham? " 
 
 "Certainly I did," said Mrs. Wyndham, in a high- 
 pitched voice. " He has always read it ; and his quota- 
 tions are the most apt and accurate I ever heard. ' ' 
 
 The doctor smiled. "Perhaps he will give us one 
 now," he remarked. " Can't you recite a little Shake- 
 speare to us. Mason? " he asked. 
 The boy was too absorbed to hear the request. 
 " Entreat him. Miss Rivers. He is fond of his teach- 
 er, I am told," added the doctor. 
 
 "Can't you give us a quotation, Mason?" I said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "' Come, come, you're a fool, and turned into the 
 extremity of love,' " said the boy, so quickly and in such 
 a natural tone, that the sentence seemed rather his own 
 than a quotation. I must have winced perceptibly ; my 
 face became a bright scarlet. The doctor turned and 
 looked at me gravely, every vestige of the smile gone 
 from his face. Its expression was something almost like 
 disgust. I made some excuse, I cahnot remember what, 
 and got out of the room as best I could. 
 
 " I'm an idiofc to stay here a day longer," I said to 
 myself next morning. " What could have made Henry 
 Wyndham look at me as he did ? He must have guessed 
 my secret, and will despise me now, I am sure. Yes, I 
 will go away. In three weeks the term will end ; and then 
 I will resign, and quit Longsbury forever." 
 
438 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Mercy is not itself that oft looks so ; 
 Pardon is still the nwse of second woe." 
 
 — Measure tor Measure. 
 
 DR. WYNDHAM did not visit Longsbury again till 
 the three weeks were ended, and the children's vaca- 
 tion had begun. There was a great deal of speculation 
 regarding his prolonged and unusual absence. To the 
 children's inquiries, Mrs. Wyndham returned answer that 
 it was one of their uncle's freaks, simply, that kept him 
 away. She was as ready now to complain of his neglect 
 of her family, as she had previously been of his officious- 
 ness in it. 
 
 Mrs. Pease was the only one who did not allude to the 
 unusual circumstance. I spent most of my time with her, 
 now that my school had closed ; accompanying her on her 
 visits, as I used to Mrs. Walters, among the poor and sick 
 in the neighborhood. 
 
 There was one poor, pitiable woman, living a mile away 
 in a little Cabin, under the ridge of pines close to the sea, 
 that I had visited by myself occasionally during the win- 
 ter, when Mrs. Pease was too busy to take the basket of 
 provisions which she was in the habit of sending or carry- 
 ing to her weekly, and with whom, since the birth of her 
 baby, I had watched one night, for the sake of giving her 
 over-tired sister the benefit of a whole night's rest. I had 
 promised to pass another night there ; and accordingly, on 
 Wednesday evening following the close of my school, I 
 notified Mrs. Pease of my intention, and then set forth to 
 fulfil my promise. To tell the truth, the sick woman was 
 little in my thoughts. My mind was principally engrossed 
 with my own selfish concerns. I had, as yet, said nothing 
 to any one of my intention of g^ing away. I wanted to 
 see Dr. Wyndham first ; it seemed to me I could not go 
 away without seeing him. Besides, I did not deem it 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 439 
 
 honorable or courteous to leave during his absence. The 
 propriety of tendering to him my resignation, instead of 
 to Mrs. Wyndliam, became apparent too. But when 
 would the gentleman come ? I continually asked myself, 
 as the days went on. I grew restless for the sight of 
 him, as I used, at Prescott Manor, for the sight of Mrs. 
 Walters. To get rid of this feverish unrest, it was, that 
 I set out that evening for a visit to the sick woman. I 
 thought that the vigorous exercise of my limbs, in the walk 
 of a mile or so, might relieve my strained heart. 
 
 It had been a day of sun and shower ; but now, at sun- 
 set, the clouds were dispersing eastward, in silvery masses, 
 leaving the sky overhead clear and blue. I crossed 
 the garden to the little gate that opened on the crest of the 
 ridge, down which a long flight of steps descended to a 
 narrow walk, a private one, and a short cut to the station. 
 As I passed through, T espied Henry Wyndham coming 
 up the stairs. He had just arrived on the train, that a 
 moment before had gone whizzing by. Oh, how glad I was 
 to see him ! My heart fairly knocked against my ribs with 
 delight. He saw me, and hurried forward, his overcoat on 
 his arm, — for it was a warm evening for the first of April, 
 — and I waited for him, forgetful of every thing except 
 that he had come once more. After all, what better friend 
 in the world had I ever known than he ? 
 
 " Where are you going? " he asked cheerily, as he came 
 up to where I stood. 
 
 " Nowhere in particular," I answered, mentally decid- 
 ing at once to defer my visit to the sick woman. " I was 
 thinking of a walk round the curve of the hill, to get a 
 view of the sea from that point." 
 
 " May I go with you ? " he asked. 
 
 "I shall be very glad of your company, " I answered. 
 
 " Good. But where are the children? This is the first 
 time I have seen you without them since you came here. 
 Are they all dead? I think they must be, if they are not 
 following you." 
 
 "They are all alive and well, and gone to Greenridge 
 with Mike. It is their vacation, now, yqu know," I said. 
 
 " Ah, is it? I had forgotten. But I am glad they are 
 all away, because — because I came on purpose to see 
 you. I have something to tell you." 
 
440 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " What can it be? " thought I, and my heart began to 
 throb again. He plunged into the subject at once, with a 
 kind of desperate energy, it seemed to me. He said, — 
 
 " I'm going to send the children away from Longsbury, 
 Cordelia. I'm going to send them up to New Hampshire 
 
 to stay awhile. I have a farm in , with a big house 
 
 and barn ; and I think it will do the children good to live 
 among the hills for a year or two. There's a school near, 
 in the neighborhood, which will serve for their present edu- 
 cational needs. As to their mother, she will go with them, 
 of course." 
 
 " You wish me to consider this a notice, I suppose, that 
 my services are no longer needed here? " I said with rather 
 an unsteady voice. 
 
 " I expected you would take it as such," he answered, 
 after a moment's silence. "The truth is," he went on, 
 " I am designing to make some changes and improvements 
 in the place here, as soon as I can get the children and 
 their mother away. I would like to have you remain until 
 they do go ; they will leave probably some time during the 
 next week, — perhaps not till Saturday. When they are 
 gone, I will find a school for you in this vicinity, if you 
 desire ; though I am unable to guess if that would be to 
 your liking." 
 
 " Please don't trouble yourself in the least about me," 
 I said, scarcely able to speak distinctly, in my effort to 
 appear indifferent. " I shall go to Sunbridge." 
 
 " Can I do any thing for you there? " 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you ! You have been too kind already." 
 
 " I believe you used to have a passion for school- 
 keeping ? " the ghost of a smile rising to his face, as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Yes ; but I haven't now. I don't think I shall ever 
 wish to teach again," I said, looking away from him. 
 
 " What do you propose to do? " he inquired, not curi- 
 ously, only in the kindest way. 
 
 " I have no settled plans," I said. " I think perhaps 
 I may learn to be a nurse. There's a training-school for 
 nurses in New York, that I may conclude to apply to ; I 
 can't say. At present*! shall stay with Mrs. Proctor at 
 Sunbridge. She owes me for three months' board. I 
 promised her I would come back sometime." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 441 
 
 " Was it when you went away so suddenly, a year and 
 a half ago, that you promised her to return? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, it was at that time," I answered, my face crim- 
 soning at the allusion. 
 
 " Then you were kinder to her, than you were to me," 
 he said. A long silence followed this remark. My com- 
 panion appeared to be thinking intently. 
 
 " You must pardon me," he at length broke out. " I 
 have no more desire to refer to the past than you have. 
 That and its keenest sorrows are over. We have to do 
 with the present now. Don't think me obtrusive, Cor- 
 delia, when I teU you that I have learned your secret ; and 
 that I am well aware how unhappy j'ou have been made by 
 your misplaced affection. For how can I call it anj^ thing 
 else than misplaced? You are loving an unworthy man. 
 I have reason to consider him so. I thought if you came 
 here it might be — Oh, I don't know what I thought! 
 It was a bad move, I see now. I wish I had " — 
 
 " I beg that you will cease thinking of me," I inter- 
 rupted vehemently. " What I feel isn't of enough conse- 
 quence to give you anxiety. I'm not so far gone, but that 
 I can recover." 
 
 "You are of more consequence to me than j^ou ima- 
 gine," he replied. " It is your happiness, not mine, I am 
 considering. When you came here, I had a plan in my 
 mind which I was determined to carry out. Though I 
 knew I should give you pain, I thought you would thank 
 me for it sometime. It was simply for your good. But I 
 find 1 cannot take the course I contemplated. I find my- 
 self compelled to be kinder to you " — 
 
 " Pray do not hesitate," I interrupted again, the indig- 
 nant blood mounting to my cheeks, " from any feeling of 
 kindness, to carry out your original intention. Punish me 
 as much as you think I deserve. You brought me here, it 
 seems, for the purpose of humiliating me : don't let any 
 scruple deter you now. Your lack of delicacy in speaking 
 of the matter has already done me good. You can bring 
 the young lady to Longsbury to-morrow, without giving 
 me pain." 
 
 " What do you mean, Cordelia? " he asked sternly. 
 
 " I mean, that, while you have been learning my secret, 
 I have been learning yours," I returned. 
 
442 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "My secret!" he exclaimed. "I don't understand 
 you now. Bring a young lady to Longsbury ! I can't 
 see what the bringing of a dozen young ladies to Longs- 
 bury has to do with the matter in hand. Your sarcasm 
 is all lost there." 
 
 " I suppose you imagine I have not heard of the beauti- 
 ful patient at Mrs. Eoss's boarding-house," I said, " but 
 I have ; Mrs. Tudor told me all about her : so you need 
 not be afraid to tell me you are going to be married." 
 
 "/married! " said the doctor, laughing unpleasantly. 
 " Do you think, after the experience I have had, I should 
 make myself a " — 
 
 " But you cannot deny you are in love," I interrupted ; 
 " because I know of the fact through " — 
 
 " Then if you know it," broke in the doctor, " I may 
 as well own up to it. Yes, it is true, Cordelia, as true as 
 it is strange, that I am foolish enough to be in love again. 
 But I shall not be likely to again appoint the marriage-day, 
 until I have indisputable proof that the object of my affec- 
 tion loves me. I'll not have my wife ' like a German clock, 
 still a-repairing.' Oh, I beg pardon. Miss Rivers, this is 
 not what I came to say to you ! I have something of more 
 interest for your ear, than the tiresome subject of piy love- 
 aifairs ; something it will cheer and brighten you to hear. 
 I was in New York last Sunday, and I met Clifford Cloud 
 there. I have not, as you may perhaps know, been on 
 speaking terms with the gentleman for some time ; but, 
 for your sake, I put aside all personal feeling, and con- 
 versed with him as with an ordinary acquaintance. Mr. 
 Walters was present when we met ; and, although your 
 name was not mentioned at the time, I had previously 
 received a communication from Mr. Walters concerning 
 you ; and, as he had informed me of his brother-in-law's 
 intention of marrying you, I instructed him to make 
 known to Mr. Cloud — who, by^^he way, has been trying 
 all winter to discover your place of abode — where you 
 were staying ; and that if he wished to call upon you, 
 he would find you here at Longsbury- on any day he 
 chose to come, during next week. I did this, Cordelia, 
 not for his sake, but for yours. Perhaps you understand 
 now what I mean by being kind." He looked at me 
 steadily. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 443 
 
 " I think I do understand perfectly, sir," I broke forth, 
 with eyes flashing and cheeks burning, and my anger 
 roused to a pitch that made me utterly regardless of my 
 words. ^ "I understand, that, not being content with your 
 own private enjoyment of my humiliation, you sought out 
 such others as you deemed would give me most mortifica- 
 tion, to share it with you. You invite Mr. Cloud, whom 
 you know 1 neither like nor respect, whom I was glad to 
 be at Longsbury to escape from ; you invite him to ob- 
 trude his presence upon me, knowing he has no wish to 
 marry me, and that I'do not wish to marry him. If you 
 do 7iot know it, let me tell you here, that I would not see 
 him if he came twenty times to Longsbury ; and let me 
 tell you, too, that you have stooped to a meaner act than 
 I could have believed you capable of doing. You said, 
 when I first saw j'ou here, that you were going to be cruel. 
 You have kept your promise well : you are cruel, and you 
 are — contemptible ! " 
 
 I did not wait for any reply to these passionate words. 
 We had reached a turn of the road, where a path diverged 
 down through the thicket of firs, to the beach below. I 
 sprang into it, and, without looking behind me, rushed 
 down the descent and ran on, giving no thought, in my 
 anger, as to whither it might lead me, or for what pur- 
 pose I was pursuing it, till perceiving, at a short distance 
 before me, the little cabin for which I had originally set 
 out, I remembered I was to watch with the sick woman 
 living there. I was glad of any circumstance that would 
 keep me from the necessity of returning and meeting Dr. 
 W3ndham again that night. I went up to the little house, 
 knocked at the door, and was let in by the small boy, whose 
 face was as smutty as usual, and whose normal condition 
 seemed to be dirt and rags. The atmosphere inside the 
 domicile was reeking with odors of fried onions and boiled 
 cabbage. I could have entered no place better calculated 
 to calm my excitement. " How is your mother? " I asked 
 the small boy. 
 
 " I'd no," was his vacant answer. 
 
 " Light the lamp. Bub, and give the lady a cheer," said 
 a gruff voice ; and then I discovered, in the semi-darkness 
 of the kitchen, the stalwart husband of the sick woman, 
 tilted back in his chair against the chimney, with his pipe 
 
444 TWO GENTLEMAN OF BOSTOW. 
 
 in his mouth, and his feet on the suppei'-table, — at least, 
 1 supposed it was her husband. 
 
 " How is your wife to-day ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Hullo in there? " he called out roughly, without mov- 
 ing from his position. " How's the woman to-night? " 
 
 " She ain't nearly's well," answered a meek voice from 
 the next room. 
 
 " Go right in and see her, miss," said the man, poking 
 the tobacco in his pipe with the tip of his little finger ; 
 " and you go in. Bub, and set her a cheer." 
 
 I went in, and found the object of my inquiry sitting up 
 in bed, suckling the lusty infant lately arrived, and looking 
 much more emaciated than when I saw her last. A broken 
 chair bolstered her back ; her matted hair hung about her 
 shoulders ; and the sleeves of her nightgown were crusted 
 with dirt, thickly enough to be seen even in the twilight. 
 
 I asked her how she was feeling. 
 
 " Oh, I'm feelin' better ! I guess I am better, ain't I, 
 Seraphine? "' she inquired of her sister, who was sitting 
 by the bed, meekly wrinkling her forehead till her eye- 
 brows nearly touched her hair. 
 
 " No, Malviny," answered the sister, turning to me a 
 most absurdly distressed countenance. " You ain't near- 
 ly's well ; you know you ain't, Malviny." 
 
 Strangely enough, the poor, sick creature seemed gi-ati- 
 fied by the answer. " I wish you'd fling up the curtain, 
 Seraphine," she said, smoothing with her thin hand the 
 bald head of the stout baby pulling at her breast: " it's 
 gittin' dark in here." 
 
 The woman addressed went to the one window in the 
 room, gave the coarse cotton curtain before it a twist, and 
 tossing it up on a projecting nail above, revealed without, 
 a strip of gravelly ground before the cabin, some large 
 bowlders at the right, and the dark surface of the sea just 
 beyond. More desolate surroundings can scarcely be im- 
 agined. They were quite in keeping with the feeling in 
 my heart. 
 
 " I have come to stay with you to-night, if I can be of 
 any service," I said, with an agonizing endeavor to smile, 
 and bring my mind to the duty I had voluntarily under- 
 taken. 
 
 " Much obleeged to ye," said the tired sister. " It'll 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 445 
 
 seem good, I tell ye, to git a whole night's sleep ag'in. 
 'Tain't such a hard job as you'd s'pose, watchin' with 
 Malviny, neow. She's a drefful easy sick person to take 
 care of. All you've got to do 's to give her some drops 
 once in three hours. The baby's worrysome." 
 
 " He don't git nuss enough," said the mother. " We 
 hev to feed him considerbul." And here the nurse took 
 occasion to^show me how to mix the infant's food, and 
 to give directions how it should be administered, and the 
 like ; and then, after considerable more unnecessary in- 
 formation, and some interchange of affection between the 
 sisters, she crept up a short flight of stairs to her bed 
 under the roof. An hour later, the stalwart husband 
 and his four-year-old Bub went to their bed in an adjoin- 
 ing closet ; and I was left to my duties of the night. I 
 was not physically timid. I had no thought of being 
 afraid here. I did not even think to drop the curtain, as 
 I went about the work of making the patient more com- 
 fortable ; that is, placing her in easier position, combing 
 out and braiding her tangled locks, sponging the dry skin 
 with warm water, and gently bathing the clammy feet in 
 the same, till she was sent into restful sleep. Not even 
 after the infant was fed, and his cries stilled b3' slumber, 
 and I sat down by the window to look out into the night, 
 did it occur to me that any harm might come to one in 
 such an out-of-the-way place. The tumult of distressing 
 thoughts made me oblivious to fear. As I looked out 
 to the sea, and the star-lighted firmament above it, I 
 thought only of my own feelings. Anger had died away, 
 leaving in my bruised heart disappointment, disgust, weari- 
 ness. "All interest in life is over for me," thought I, 
 " — "over before I am nineteen. When my mother — or 
 the woman I supposed was my mother — deserted me, 
 even when Mrs. Walters died, I could find something to 
 live for. But now I should be glad if there were to be 
 no dawn for me again in this world ! " 
 
 It was well I was roused from such hopeless ponderings, 
 by the crying of the infant. I took him up, and fed him 
 again ; and then, lest he might waken his mother, I paced 
 the room with him in my arms, till he fell asleep once 
 more. ; 
 
 " Yes, I am, as my father said, a born nurse," I solilo- 
 
446 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 quized. "I must take nursing as my life-work. The 
 most unhappj' people have to live, I have often noticed. 
 It is the happy ones who die. I shall live to be old, I 
 fear. Yes, I will be a nurse. Yet it is not the work 
 I have much heart in ; but I can try — I can try to like 
 it, because it will please Mrs. Walters." This dear 
 dead friend — no, not dead — was my only solace now. 
 As I stood thinking of her at the window, the waning 
 moon rose with ragged disk, and glimmered on the shim- 
 mering waters. The welkin above was "throbbing and 
 panting with stars." As 1 gazed upon the unchanging 
 order of the universe, a kind of peace stole into my heart ; 
 and I felt at the moment, somehow, the comforting as- 
 surance that Mrs. Walters knew and approved of my 
 decision. 
 
 Little things disturb us at such moments. I heard a 
 crunching of gravel outside the window ; and, directing 
 my vision nearer home, I saw emerging from the shadow 
 of the big rock, a few feet away, the figure of a man in 
 a long overgarment and slouched hat. He came out into 
 the moonlight, and approached the window. As I said 
 before, I was not physically timid. But the sight of this 
 midnight prowler startled me into the recollection of the 
 fact, that I was here alone with persons whose character 
 I knew little of, that I was a mile away from any other 
 habitation, and that I had in my girdle a valuable watch, 
 and in my pocket a small purse of money. I was thank- 
 ful I had placed the lamp on the floor of the next room, 
 and closed the door ; so that the person outside could not 
 see me. As he came forward, my hand involuntarily 
 sought the window-fastening, and found it secure. I 
 dropped the curtain at once ; and, gliding noiselessly into 
 the kitchen, I found window and door fastened there. 
 The knowledge that I was as secure as could be, did not 
 quiet ray anxiety, however. So long as I heard footsteps 
 on the sands, I kept constant ward and watch, ready to 
 call the man of the house whenever window or door 
 should be meddled with. After four o'clock the footsteps 
 ceased, and I sank into my chair, and fell asleep. 
 
 Morning found the sick woman apparently much re- 
 freshed ; though, on first waking, she seemed a trifle 
 dazed. I had been out in the kitchen preparing her 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 447 
 
 breakfast. "Are you one of the Sisters?" she whis- 
 pered, as I entered with it. She looked at mj' plain black 
 dress, and the black scarf tied about my head. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am only the governess up at Mrs. Wj-nd- 
 ham's, you remember. I told you when I was here be- 
 fore," I said. 
 
 " Yes, I do recollect now. You're a fust-rate watcher, 
 I declare. How good I've slept ! Why, I never waked 
 up once all night! And my feet are jest as warm. I 
 never had ennybody wash my feet as you did last night. 
 It put me right off to sleep before I knew it. I hain't 
 slept so sence the baby was born. I vum ! I feel as ef I 
 was a-goiu' right off ag'in, your hands are so kinder 
 soothin' like. Did you say you worked, up to Miss 
 Wyudham's?" 
 
 " Yes. I have been teaching the children there," I 
 again told her, as I put back her hair preparatory to her 
 eating her breakfast. 
 
 "Do you ever see Henry Wyndham up there?" she 
 asked, startling me with the question. Where could she 
 have ever known him? I wondered. 
 
 "Yes; I have seen him," I said. "He owns the 
 place." 
 
 " So I've heerd," she answered, a faint blush stealing 
 into her thin cheeks. " They say he's a doctor now. I 
 don't s'pose he'd know me, I've altered so ; but I used 
 to go to school with him over to the Harbor. That was 
 when my father worked in his father's greenhouse, before 
 he was killed on the railroad. Henry used to come in 
 after flowers sometimes when I was there ; and once he 
 gave me a basket and a bird-cage. He always treated me 
 fust rate. I guess he'll remember my name, Vaughn, — 
 Malviuy Vaughn. He licked a boy once for throwing a 
 stone at me. It hit me here over the eye ; you can see 
 the scar now." 
 
 Just then the baby waked, and began to fret; and 
 when he was put to the breast, and stilled, Seraphine, his 
 aunt, appeared, and I prepared to return home. 
 
 As I went out into the misty chill of the morning, last 
 night's occurrences seemed a long time ago, and Dr. 
 Wyndham's biting words almost like a dream. But they 
 came back fresh enough before I reached the house. 
 
448 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 I walked in unobserved to my room, took a bath, and 
 went to bed, lying awake there till the breakfast-bell 
 sounded. Then I dressed as usual, and descended to 
 the breakfast-room. It was Thursday, the 7th of April, the 
 day set apart by the governor for fasting, humiliation, and 
 prayer. But the day was not observed in that fashion at 
 Longsbury. It was a holiday with the children, and after 
 breakfast they all had a ride to the Cove. Maud returned 
 alone with Mike at one o'clock. She was in tears because 
 she could not remain with the others to witness the ball- 
 game on the common, and was scarcely comforted with 
 Sarah's promise to dress her in her best clothes after din- 
 ner, because there was a beautiful lady coming to see her 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 "Will she play with me?" inquired Maud. "Is she 
 coming on purpose to see me ?" 
 
 " She is coming to see you and mamma and Mrs. 
 Pease," said Sarah. 
 
 "Doesn't she want to see Miss Eivers?" said Maud, 
 quickly observing the omission of my name. 
 
 "Oh, yes; I presume so. But she's not acquainted 
 with Miss Rivers, you know," remarked Sarah, leading the 
 child away to the bath-room to be washed and dressed. 
 
 As I entered the parlor, where a Are was kindled, Mrs. 
 Pease met me with the announcement that a lady was 
 expected to tea that afternoon. She said no more, and 
 I took it for granted the lady was some elderly friend who 
 was coming for a quiet visit with the housekeeper. I took 
 a magazine from the table, and sat down by the fire, 
 almost falling asleep before I had read a column. I did 
 not deem it an occasion of sufficient importance to require 
 a change of dress. If it were, I was sure Mrs. Pease 
 would have informed me. Maud presently entered, and 
 climbed into my lap. She was in good humor, for a rarity. 
 Dressed in her best white gown, and pink sash, with her 
 coral necklace and comb, she looked as pretty as a pink, 
 in spite of the many freckles on her round little face. 
 She at once demanded a story, — a " made-up " story. I 
 unclosed my eyes, and tried to amuse her by showing the 
 pictures in the magazine. ,The pleasure from them was 
 soon extracted. She must have a story. So I began in 
 the usual way, " Once there was a little boy " — 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 449 
 
 " Oh, you are going to sleep ! " cried Maud, trying to 
 lift my eyelids with her thumb and finger. 
 
 " No. I'm only tired — that's all. Once there was a 
 little boy" — 
 
 " Was it your brother Jamie? " inquired Maud. 
 
 "Yes. You would like to hear about him, wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 " No. Give us a rest on him," said the child, who was 
 a ready learner of Harry's slang. 
 
 "Very well, then," I said. "Once there was a little 
 girl " — But I got no farther ; for the door opened, and 
 the next instant Maud sprang from my lap, screaming, 
 " Uncle Henry's come, uncle Henry's come ! " 
 
 I looked up ; and, surelj' enough, there was Dr. Wynd- 
 ham entering, with a very handsome young lady beside 
 him. She was shaking out the folds of her silken train 
 on the carpet behind her. Mrs. Wyndham and Mrs. Pease 
 led the waj'. I apprehended the case at once. Dr. Wynd- 
 ham had taken advantage of my suggestion, and brought 
 the young lady to Longsbury ! 
 
 They had been at a wedding in Greenridge, as I after- 
 wards knew, aud had taken the occasion to come to 
 Longsbury before returning to the citj'. Both were in 
 full evening dress. Maud was in ecstasies over her uncle, 
 because he was "dressed up." She looked at his coat, 
 his low-cut waistcoat, white satin necktie, and fashion- 
 able trousers, — fashionable enough to make locomotion 
 somewhat uncomfortable for him, I thought, — wonder- 
 ingly : she had never seen her guardian in other than his 
 morning suit. He seemed to her quite like another man. 
 
 The lady laughed heartily at the child's astonishment ; 
 but the doctor's brows met in a scowl for an instant, 
 immediately clearing when the laugh became general, and 
 he perceived that I was present. There was a touch of 
 bravado in his manner, as he came forward with the lady, 
 and mentioned our names simply as a form of introduc- 
 tion. Oh, how I wished for some power just then to make 
 myself invisible ! But, having no fern-seed in my pocket, 
 I was obliged to rise, bow, and sit down again, and there 
 remain till such time as I could escape from the room 
 without breach of politeness. 
 
 The doctor was all attention to his guest, and she ac- 
 
450 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 cepted his homage as if she were proudly secure of his 
 love. 
 
 On entering the room, she had taken off her wrap, and 
 handed it carelessly to him. Now she removed her plumed 
 hat, and drew off her long gloves, and put them also into 
 his hands, to be laid aside. She was undeniably beautiful, 
 
 — tall, shapely, with magnificent dark hair, and bright, 
 soft eyes, and a most winning smile. Had she been less 
 beautiful, and the tones of her voice less thrilling and 
 fascinating, I should not have felt such keen jealousy 
 piercing my heart as I looked at her. Her hands, glitter- 
 ing with jewels, were exquisitely shaped. I noticed them 
 particularly, because my own digital extremities had been 
 formed for service rather than beauty. 
 
 "He cannot choose but love so beautiful a woman," 
 thought I, "I suppose no man could." But her man- 
 ners were not so pleasing. She was quite too gaj' ; there 
 was a forced liveliness about her that seemed artificial. 
 She talked too fast, with too much freedom of expression. 
 Perhaps, however. Dr. Wyndham admired that style of 
 manners ; perhaps my idea of how a lady should appear 
 
 — that she should have just a little reserve to temper her 
 vivacitj', enough to keep her familiarity from breeding 
 contempt, at least — was quite too old-fashioned. The 
 abandon of all her movements, seemingly so well studied; 
 doubtless pleased her lover, if it did not please me. She 
 appeared as much at home as if she had lived here every 
 day of her life. She called her companion Henry, and 
 he addressed her occasionally as Mary. Her name was 
 Mary Dunlap. 
 
 " I'm sure I think it is perfectly lovely here ! " she ex- 
 claimed, as they walked together from window to win- 
 dow. " The views are much more picturesque than I had 
 any idea of. I can't for my life understand, Henry, your 
 motive for disparaging the place to me." 
 
 " Perhaps it was to make you agreeably disappointed," 
 observed Mrs. Wyndham, who was following them about, 
 and occasionally putting in a word. Miss Dunlap inno- 
 cently ignored the remark, and continued to ignore all 
 that Mrs. Wyndham said, till that lady's offended dignity 
 was something ludicrous to behold. 
 
 Of Maud, who was capering beside her uncle, she took 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 451 
 
 little notice, too. Dr. "Wyudham's arrangement to send 
 tlie children and their mother away, I saw, was a very 
 judicious one, — a very judicious one, indeed. 
 
 Mrs. Wyndham, angry as she was, felt it still her duty, 
 as the lady of the house, to follow the couple about, and 
 comment on every thing the visitor admired ; though I 
 could plainly see she was bottling up her wrath to pour 
 out to me at the first opportunity. 
 
 The old-fashioned furniture in the drawing-room greatly 
 pleased the beautiful Miss Dunlap. Nothing ought to be 
 changed, she said, in the drawing-room ; but in the smaller 
 family parlor, she thought, a bay window looking towards 
 the sea would be an improvement. 
 
 "A bay window in that place," remarked Mrs. "Wynd- 
 ham, " would make the room very cold in winter." 
 
 "But I shall not be here in the winter," said Miss 
 Dunlap, addressing Mrs. Wyndham directly for the first 
 time. " I shall only see the house in summer." 
 
 "Do you think of any other changes you would like 
 made?" inquired the doctor with a glance at me, as they 
 passed between the fluted pillars that divided, in an old- 
 fashioned way, the extreme length of the big drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " Not any, Henry. Now show me the portraits," said 
 the beauty. " Whose picture is that, pray?" 
 
 " My mother's, at twenty years of age." 
 
 "I might have known it without asking," said she, 
 approaching nearer tlie likeness. " You have her features 
 exactly, — eyes, forehead, nose ; as to your mouth, I can- 
 not say, having never seen it. I imagine it is not as 
 handsome as this in the portrait. I suspect you have au 
 ugly mouth, Henry. I have always observed that men 
 with ugly mouths wear your style of mustache," added 
 the lady with a ringing laugh. 
 
 The doctor did not seem to be attending to the lady's 
 last remark. He was talking with Mrs. Pease, who had 
 entered the room, and she presently brought forth some 
 precious bits of old china for the visitor's inspection. 
 
 "I wish Mrs. Wyndham and you would show Miss 
 Dunlap through your crockery closets," said the doctor, 
 lifting Maud to his shoulder, and putting her down 
 again. 
 
452 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mrs. Wyndham, leading the way. 
 Mrs. Pease followed behind. 
 
 " Aren't you coming with us? " demanded the visitor of 
 her lover. 
 
 " No. I am going to the conservatory ; you had better 
 come round and meet me there. Mrs. Pease will show 
 the way. — Maud, you may go with them," said the doc- 
 tor, motioning the child along, as she showed an inclina- 
 tion to remain with him. " You can show the lady the 
 silver candlesticks." He closed the door on the party, 
 and then came and stood before me. But I would not 
 look up. 
 
 "You were pretty severe on me last night, Cordelia," 
 he said. I made no answer. " As sure as God lives, I 
 did only what I thought you would like. "Won't you for- 
 give me? " 
 
 I did not speak then, knowing that the first word would 
 come with a sob. 
 
 " Haven't you a word to say to me, Cordelia? " he went 
 on. "Are you sick from last night's vigil? Have you 
 had any sleep? I know you haven't. Neither have I. 
 While you watched inside the hut, I watched outside, that 
 no harm might come to you. I was angry with Mrs. 
 Pease for allowing you to go to such a place. Do j'ou 
 know what I wish, Cordelia ? I wish you were a little more 
 like a woman, and a little less like a saint. I suppose 
 you will never speak to me any more. I suppose you will 
 hate me worse than ever. I don't blame you, Cordelia ; 
 with your nature, you can do no other way." 
 
 I could bear such talk no longer ; and still unable to 
 speak without a rush of tears, I put up both hands as a 
 sign for him to desist. 
 
 ' ' I shall do no such thing. I must tell you now what 
 I have to say," he went on recklessly : " it may infuse a 
 little warmth into your cold blood ' ' — 
 
 He was interrupted by the opening of the door. Mrs. 
 Pease entered. I had risen from my chair, wondering 
 how I might escape the returning party. 
 
 "They are going this way to the conservatory," said 
 Mrs.' Pease, with a meaning look at the doctor. Miss 
 Duulap was behind her. 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed, "such a quantity of lovely old 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 453 
 
 things as you have in this house, I never saw before ! 
 The porcelain, the old candlesticks, the glass — they all 
 are perfect gems. Those Buonaparte vases are simply 
 magnificent ! What else have you to show me, Henry? " 
 
 " Mrs. Pease knows ; I don't," said the doctor. " Will 
 you go to the conservatory? or will you go up-stairs 
 first? " 
 
 " Let us go up-stairs," gayly returned the lady. "I 
 want to see the view from the tower. It must be especially 
 fine to-day, under such a changeable April sky." 
 
 " Come on," said the doctor, in merry voice, leading 
 the way. They all followed ; and, when the door was shut, 
 I escaped to my room. 
 
454 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " She found me roots of relish sweet, 
 And honey wild, and manna dew ; 
 And sure in language strange she said, — 
 I love thee t7-ue." 
 
 — Keats. 
 
 I DID not go down to tea when Mrs. Pease sent forme. 
 I returned word that I was not feeling well. And 
 after tea, when the visitors were gone, and Sarah came to 
 say that Mrs. Wyndham desired my company in her room, 
 I tendered the same excuse to her, and said I would see 
 her in the morning. 
 
 But Mrs. Wyndham was too much excited to care 
 whether I was feeling well or not. She had a piece of 
 news to communicate, that would not keep till morning ; 
 and, when she found I would not come to her room to hear 
 it, she left her easy-chair, and came to mine. 
 
 "Just think of it!" she burst forth as soon as she 
 entered. " Henry Wyndham is going to be married on 
 Saturday, day after to-morrow ; and he is going to bring 
 his wife — the disagreeable woman you saw to-day — di- 
 rectly here. I and the children are to be packed off to 
 New Hampshire, and you are to receive notice to quit. 
 He says the children are learning nothing of real value to 
 them under any private teacher, and that they must ' rough 
 and tumble ' it in a public school now, for a year or two. 
 Pretty time of day to find fault with you, I told him, when 
 they had never been taught half so thoroughly. But he 
 would listen to nothing I said in your favor. We shall all 
 have to pack. Nobody will be left here but Mrs. Pease ; 
 and she feels so badly about his sudden marriage, that she 
 has been crying ever since he went away." 
 
 Mrs. Wyndham, observing now that I was pressing my 
 hands to my head, inquired if it ached badly. 
 
 I told her I was not feeling well ; that I had not been 
 strong for some time, and that I should be glad to go away. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 455 
 
 " But you don't care to be turned away, do yon, after 
 you have done your best, and succeeded so well with the 
 children?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind!" I said. "Don't speak of it again, 
 please. I don't mind it in the least. All I am thinking 
 of now is to get to bed. I am very tired." 
 
 _ " But I mind it," she answered. " I am perfectly in- 
 dignant at his treatment of you. I don't care so much 
 about myself, you know. To tell the truth, I sha'n't be 
 sorry to go, now that woman's coming. She's a widow, 
 Mrs. Pease says, with one child. The idea of his marry- 
 ing a widow, after all the fuss he made about that girl 
 only a year or so ago, is perfectly ridiculous. I think he 
 will have all he can manage in her, — the bold piece ! she 
 actually kissed him right in my presence, — and I sha'n't 
 pity him a particle." 
 
 In this way Mrs. Wyndham continued to run on, till, 
 from very weariness, my chin dropped upon my breast. 
 Then, perceiving how pale I was looliing, she betook her- 
 self to her owu room, and left me to go to bed. 
 
 I rose next morning early, packed my trunks, put the 
 chamber in the same order I had found it, and then went 
 down to look for Mike, to ask him to take my luggage to 
 the station in season for the next earliest train to the city. 
 I found him eating his breakfast in the kitchen ; and, 
 refusing Bridget's earnest offer to laj' breakfast for me in 
 the dining-room, I bade her give me a cup of coffee, and 
 drank it standing beside the range, much to her and Mike's 
 discomfiture. 
 
 As for eating, it was an impossibility at that moment. 
 On returning up-stairs, I met Mrs. Pease in the corridor, 
 and she returned with me to my room. She saw the 
 preparations I had made, and asked why I was leaving 
 Longsbury so suddenly. 
 
 Till now it had been easy enough to keep my trouble to 
 myself. Turning my face away while I put on my pelisse, 
 I prayed for strength to still keep silent ; but the effort 
 was more than I had calculated. When Mrs. Pease put 
 her arms around me, and pressed her lips to my cheek, I 
 could restrain feeling no longer. I laid my head on her 
 shoulder, and broke forth into passionate weeping. 
 
 "Tell me the cause of this," she said. "You can 
 
456 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 confide in me with perfect safety : my heart is with you. 
 Have you had any trouble with the doctor? Are you go- 
 ing away because you are offended with him? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " I said, as soon as I could find utterance. " I 
 am going away because — because I love him. It would 
 kill me to stay here a day longer. My heart would break 
 before — before to-morrow came." ConTulsive sobs 
 shook me from head to foot. She drew me to the sofa ; 
 and, again encircling me in her arms, she questioned me 
 as a mother would question a grief-stricken child, in sooth- 
 ing words and tones, till I felt no shame in telling her 
 every thing, — in opening my whole heart to her. 
 
 She evinced neither disgust nor surprise when I as- 
 sured her I was the same girl who had brought so much 
 needless trial and trouble to Dr. Wyndham. She even 
 sympathized with me, by saying she thought I had acted 
 conscientiously ; adding, " I have observed your conduct 
 here closely. I had reason for doing it. And I can say, 
 with truth, that I think you a conscientious, sensible, pa- 
 tient, modest girl ; and you have the gift of touching the 
 hearts of all who come in contact with you. You are 
 already as dear to me as a daughter." 
 
 Her words did me a work! of good. I was soon quite 
 myself again, with the desire strong within to keep my 
 standing in her estimation, by behaving sensibly still. 
 
 " I wish I could persuade you," she said, after con- 
 sidering awhile, " to remain here, at least till next week. 
 I think I may say, without any breach of trust, that Dr. 
 Wyndham feels very differently towards you from what 
 you suppose. It is my opinion that he loves you still." 
 
 " Oh, no, it cannot be true ! " I sighed. " If it were, 
 he would have told me. He would not marry if he cared 
 for me ; and he is going to be married to-morrow. I 
 suppose I shall live to be old ; but I shall never, never 
 marry ! " 
 
 " You must make no such vow," returned Mrs. Pease, 
 smiling. " Time works great changes, and we cannot 
 foretell what we shall do. These are your salad days ; 
 and what is of no pleasure to you now, may be your com- 
 fort by and by." 
 
 She talked to me till it lacked but a few minutes to 
 train-time. Then she accompanied me as far as the little 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 457 
 
 gate which opened on the stairs leading to the station. 
 Mrs. Wyndham and the children had not yet risen ; and 
 we kissed each other there, and I departed. 
 
 I had two hours to wait in the city ; plenty of time, 
 after purchasing a present for Mrs. Proctor, and also one 
 for little Berty, to go to Beacon Street to see Eunice. 
 But I dared not go, lest I might encounter Clifford Cloud. 
 I preferred to pass the intervening time in the company 
 of my own sad thoughts at the station. 
 
 I arrived at Mrs. Proctor's at eleven. She did not 
 recognize me when I entered the house. I had grown, 
 she said, so thin and pale since she last saw me. 
 
 And after dinner, when I went into the kitchen, to help 
 her in some light matter of work, as I used to do, she be- 
 gan to question me as to the cause of my changed appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Had I had a fit of sickness, or had I experienced reli- 
 gion, or been " disappointed," or what was it that made 
 me look ten years older than when I went away ? To ask 
 questions was as natural as breathing, for Mrs. Proctor. 
 I told her I had been ill ; and that, since I had written her 
 last, both my uncle and Mrs. Walters had died. 
 
 " And what have you been doing since Mrs. Walters 
 died? " she continued. 
 
 " I have been teaching some children in a family at 
 Longsbury," I told her. " My school finished only a week 
 ago. I am very tired," I added. 
 
 " And now what are you going to do? " she asked. 
 
 " I will tell you ray plans to-morrow, Mrs. Proctor," I 
 said. " I am really too worn out to talk now. I watched 
 with a sick woman Wednesday night, and got no sleep. 
 Last night I was sick myself ; but to-morrow I shall be 
 well, and then I will tell you what I mean to do " 
 
 "I hope you mean to stay with me a spell," she said, 
 " whatever you are calculating to do afterwards." 
 
 " I shall make up my mind to-morrow," I told her ; and 
 she said no more. 
 
 I went to bed that night with the sun, and slept soundly 
 till morning. I slept the sleep of youth. I rose also with 
 the sun, and found myself exceedingly refreshed. I really 
 felt — barring a little sadness — quite like my old self. 
 
 It was Saturday, —Dr. Wyndham's wedding-day, and 
 
458 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 also Mrs. Proctor's baking-day. I tied on an apron and 
 went into the kitchen, and insisted upon helping her at her 
 week's cooking. Nothing pleased her like a helping hand 
 at such work. But oh, how hard for me, to trim lamps, 
 wash dishes, watch pies in the oven, taste of doughnuts 
 and cuke mixtures, while I longed to be moping by myself, 
 and devouring my own heart ! 
 
 JMrs. Proctor narrated that morning every thing that 
 had happened in Sunbridge during my absence from the 
 town. She not only told me all the particulars of who 
 had died, and were now sick unto death ; but who had got 
 married, who had failed to get married, and who were 
 expecting to get married. Marriage was the happy sub- 
 ject of her talk the year round ; but not a happy one for 
 me just then, while struggling to keep my imagination from 
 picturing Dr. Wyudham, as a happy bridegroom, coming 
 to Longsbury with his bride that evening. 
 
 " By the way," said Mrs. Proctor, "I must tell you 
 that a gentleman came about three months ago here, at 
 the house, and inquired for you. He was as handsome a 
 man as I ever put my eyes on, — a grand figure ; very fair 
 complexion ; sweet blue eyes ; and light hair, parted in 
 the middle ; and the pleasantest, smilingest look when he 
 spoke, that I ever saw." 
 
 " What name? " I asked. 
 
 " I can't remember ; but I have it on a card up-stairs, 
 with Jiis addiess. You see, he wanted me to notify him, 
 as soon as I learned of your whereabouts." 
 
 " He was a large gentleman, you say? Was his name 
 Cloud?" I asked. 
 
 " That is his name," said Mrs. Proctor. " Now, who 
 is lie?" 
 
 " Jlrs. AValters's brother," I answered. 
 
 " And your beau? " she incpiired eagerly. 
 
 " No, indeed, he is not," I returned with emphasis. 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, you can't dislike him for his 
 looks," said Mrs. Proctor. "He's a much handsomer 
 man than that Mr. Wyndbam, — that dark fellow, who 
 used to keep school here, you know, and you recited to so 
 often. Where is that man now? " she asked carelessly. 
 
 Before the question could be answered, to my great 
 relief, the front-door bell rang. Mrs. Proctor slipped oflf 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 459 
 
 her apron, unrolled her sleeves, and went to answer it. 
 She was gone a long time, some ten minutes. Little 
 Bertie, who had followed his mother, returned to report 
 that she was talking with a pedler in the parlor. I was 
 taking out the last pies from the oven, when she came 
 back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with laughter. 
 
 " Who do you think, Cordelia, is in the parlor, waiting 
 to see you?" she whispered with suppressed excitement. 
 
 " I can't imagine, I'm sure," I said. " Nobody knows 
 me here now, except Amelia Winship ; and you said she 
 wasn't at home." 
 
 " The Devil is always near when you are talking about 
 him, you know," said Mrs. Proctor. " It's a gentleman." 
 
 " Is it Mr. Cloud? " I asked with a sinking heart. 
 
 " Go in and see," said Mrs. Proctor, looking mysteri- 
 ous. She untied my apron, and pushed me towards the 
 door. "It's some one you know. I've started a Are in 
 the air-tight for you ; shut the damper when you go in, if 
 it's getting too hot." 
 
 I went with lagging step. " It is Mr. Cloud, without 
 doubt," thought I ; " and what shall I say to him? " The 
 gentleman's hat stood on the table in the hall. It was a 
 new hat, with no name in it. It told nothing. 
 
 After pausing a moment at the parlor door, to collect 
 my thoughts, I lifted the latch and went in. The closed 
 blinds made the parlor somewhat dim : and I could not 
 at the first glance perceive who the gentleman was, rising 
 to greet me. At the next moment I recognized Heury 
 Wyndham, and, with an involuntary exclamation, started 
 back to escape from the room. Instantly-, however, I 
 turned, bowed, and dropping into a chair, remarked that 
 he was the last person 1 expected to see. 
 
 " You didn't expect me after you quite so soon, I sup- 
 pose," he answered, looking perfectly radiant with good- 
 nature. "But I should have come last night, if Mrs. 
 Pease's note, stating you were gone, had reached me 
 earlier. As it was, I got to the station only in season 
 to see the last train to Sunbridge going out of sight. You 
 don't seem glad to see me, Cordelia." He spoke with an 
 assured and cheerful tone. 
 
 "I don't understand why you have come," I replied. 
 "And yet, I think I can guess; and, if my guessing is 
 
460 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 true, I don't understand why you should expect me to be 
 glad." 
 
 " I have come to ask you" — he hesitated — "to go 
 back to Longsbury. The house is lonely without you." 
 
 " You are exceedingly kind, Dr. Wyndham, I am sure, 
 if you came, at this time of all others, simply for that 
 purpose. But, considering what 1 know of your affairs 
 just now, I can't believe you did come simply for that 
 purpose ; and I must say that I prefer to remain here, for 
 the present. Mrs. Proctor is pleased to have me with 
 her once more." 1 spoke as firmly as my quivering lips 
 would permit. 
 
 " But Longsbury is j'our home for all time, if you 
 choose to accept it, Cordelia," he said, coming forward. 
 
 " I do not choose to accept it," I answered, rising, and 
 trying to keep back the tears that grief and wounded 
 pride sent up to my eyes. ^^ Home means a great deal 
 more to me than it does to you, Dr. Wyndham ; and you 
 quite mistake my feeling, if you think I could be induced, 
 under the circumstances, to return to Longsbury with 3'ou, 
 and call your house my home. I never had a home ; I 
 never expect one ; but I know better than you what the 
 word means." 
 
 " Your home is in my heart," he said. " Come to it." 
 He lield out his arms. But I stepped back, and persisted 
 in keeping aloof from him. 
 
 "1 understand now, perfectly, why you have come 
 here," I remarked hoarsel}'. 
 
 " Oh, what an incomprehensible, inconsiderate, incon- 
 sistent, wilful, ridiculous girl you are, Cordelia ! I am here 
 because I love you, because I have never ceased to love 
 you since the first moment I saw you, because I cannot 
 live without you. Do you believe me now? " 
 
 " No, I do not. And I think those adjectives you just 
 applied to me will best describe your own conduct. You 
 c;iu have no reason, but a very cruel one, to say that j'ou 
 love me, when in a few hours you are going to marry 
 some one else. You must have a curiously revengeful 
 disposition if you can't be happy, on your wedding-day, 
 without seeing me miserable. You are to be married, I 
 understand, at three o'clock this afternoon?" I turned 
 my face away. 
 
Tiro GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 461 
 
 " Yes, if you will many me, Cordelia. Will you? " 
 "You are mocking me. Mrs. Wyndham told me — 
 and she had it from your own lips — you are to marry 
 Miss Dunlap, the lady I saw with you Thursday." 
 
 "Mrs. Dunlap has one husband. She doesn't want 
 another," said he gently. Indeed, he was all gentleness 
 now. 
 
 " Miss Dunlap, I said, not Mrs." 
 " I don't know any Miss Dunlap," said the doctor. 
 " Didn't you," I began solemnly, " didn'tyou tellMrs. 
 Wyndham you were to be married to-day? " 
 
 "I can't say; perhaps so. I remember she followed 
 me about the other evening, demanding to be informed 
 when that interesting occasion — mj^ marriage — was to 
 come off. She has reason to be interested, I know, on 
 account of the will of mj' father, who gave his personal 
 property to his grandchildren. My children, if I have 
 any, she understands, of course, must share equally with 
 hers ; and she doesn't relish the idea of my being married. 
 I don't know what answer I made her, I'm sure. But, if I 
 did tell her that Saturday was to be my wedding-day, 
 I'll make good mj' word, if you say so, Cordelia." He 
 took both my hands in his. " Shall we be married to- 
 day, here in this little room, where we were to have been 
 married so long ago ? " he demanded passionately. 
 
 I was unable to speak just then, in my effort to conceal, 
 by an outward steadiness, the tumult of agitation I was 
 in ; and the nest moment he was holding me so tightly 
 in his arms, that I could not answer had I had voice to 
 do so. 
 
 " I know the clergyman across the way," he went on. 
 " He was a good friend of mine when I kept school here. 
 Mrs. Proctor will not object ; and, if she does, we will go 
 to the church. There will be only a license to procure 
 from the town clerk. What do j'ou say, Cordelia?" 
 
 But all my forced calmness had given way. I was 
 weeping hysterically on his shoulder, as I had done yes- 
 terday on ]\Irs. Pease's ; only now I was crying for joy 
 instead of grief. No homesick wanderer, returning after 
 long exile to his native land ; no shipwrecked voyager, 
 beholding succor near, — could have felt happier than I. 
 But my happiness had come too suddenly ; 1 was utterly 
 
462 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 unprepared for it, and my too full heart found vent in an 
 overflow of tears. 
 
 A weeping woman is not an attractive object to most 
 men. Dr. Wyndbam bore with me very patiently for a 
 while, kindly lending me his handkerchief when mine be- 
 came past using ; but at last, getting tired, doubtless, 
 of such childish exhibition, and wishing to put a stop to 
 it, he said, " Look here, Cordelia, 1 want to tell you some- 
 thing. ' ' He lifted my face from his shoulder, and wiped 
 the tears from it. " It's an unsentimental thing for a man, 
 so deeply in love as I am, to say, I know. But the fact 
 is, Cordelia, I'm hungry ! I ate no supper at all last night, 
 and precious little breakfast this morning. I hope you 
 will excuse me. My heart is full of love, but my stomach 
 is — awfully empty. Do you think our good Mrs. Proctor 
 would permit me to lunch with you here ? I wish you 
 would suggest the idea to her. I'm your visitor, you know." 
 
 " Certainly I will," I said, " and I am sure she will be 
 glad to have you remain to dinner. I'll go and speak to 
 her about it." 
 
 " Wait a few minutes, till your eyes are dryer : I don't 
 want her to think I've been abusing you, darling. I sup- 
 pose I could go to the tavern to dinner," he went on; 
 " but the remembrance of the meals I used to get there, 
 when I kept the academy, makes me dread entering the 
 dining-room of that little hostelry. I didn't so much mind 
 the tough beef put before me then : I was in the first 
 stages of love, and didn't care for eating. One glance 
 of your tender, violet eyes used to serve me in the place of 
 food, for a week at a time. By the way, what a funny 
 courtship ours has been ! " he added. " Your part in it 
 has been especially ridiculous, Cordelia." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I said, roused from the thought 
 that was troubling me a little just then. 
 
 " Why, scarcely more than a year and a half ago, you 
 ran away from this little house, because you didn't love 
 me ; and yesterday you ran back to it again, because you 
 did love me. Could any thing be more absurd? " 
 
 " Yes : your conduct last Thursday with Miss Dunlap." 
 
 '■^ Mrs. Dunlap, you mean," he interrupted. "She is 
 Mrs. Tudor's married daughter ; and her husband is an 
 intimate friend of mine, an old classmate in college." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN- OF BOSTON. 463 
 
 " Your conduct with her last Thursday was perfectly 
 scandalous, and I can't understand the meaning of it." 
 
 " I'll explain it," said my companion. " Last Thurs- 
 day was the first time that the possibility you might care 
 for me suggested itself to my mind. I had not thought 
 of it before" — 
 
 " What prevented your thinking of it before? " I inter- 
 rupted rather uncivilly. " You saw me every day, almost, 
 for two weeks in succession." 
 
 " Yes, I saw you, as I see the north star; and I had, 
 besides, the letter you wrote me nineteen months ago, cer- 
 tifying to the feeling you cherished for me. I had also 
 the fact placed before me, that you loved another man. 
 Perhaps all this doesn't seem enough, in your eyes, to 
 prevent my thinkmg of it before. It seems enough to 
 me." 
 
 " You certainly ought to have known I didn't care for 
 Clifford Cloud. Don't let us mention his name again, 
 please," I said. 
 
 " I had John "Walters's statement that you did. It was 
 when you were at Boss's boarding-house, that he informed 
 me how infatuated you were with his brother-in-law " — 
 " Mr. Walters had no reason to believe such a thing, " 
 I broke in again, indignantly. 
 
 " He had his precious brother-in-law's word for it, Cor- 
 delia. You can imagine how I felt, loving you as I did, 
 and knowing the man so thoroughly, too. I was determined 
 that I would, if by any possible management I could do 
 it, keep you out of his way. I held to this resolution, 
 even after I saw you growing thin, and pale, and sadder 
 every day. And then, all at once, I weakened, as you 
 know. And when I heard, through Walters, that Cloud 
 had made up his mind to offer himself to j-ou, I concluded 
 I would stand between you no longer. You never can 
 know the relief I felt when I heard you declare so vigor- 
 ously that you despised him. I didn't care what uncom- 
 plimentary names you called me in your anger, so long as 
 I could hear you say you didn't like him. I was happy 
 enough to attend a wedding at Greeuridge, with the Dun- 
 laps, next day. And, as Mrs. Dunlap had never visited 
 Longsbury, I invited her to drive over with me, and look 
 at my teak cabinets and the old crockery ware. She is a 
 
464 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 lively woman, as any one can see ; always ready to engage 
 in any innocent fun. She knows of Mrs. Wyndliam's 
 aversion to any thing suggesting my marriage, and pro- 
 posed, as we were entering the house, to pass herself off 
 as my fianc&e. I seconded the scheme, for the sake of 
 finding out how much you cared for me. I thought, ' Now, 
 if I can detect the least show of jealousy in her, I shall 
 take courage.' But you were just as cold, and distant, 
 and unmoved as ever. I went home desperate that night, 
 and rose next morning with the determination to ask you 
 to marry me, even if you didn't love me. I felt that you 
 must have some one to look after you. I put the subject 
 from my mind, of course, while I was making my round 
 of visits among my patients ; and when I returned to 
 my room took it up again, and then — You know the 
 rest, Cordelia," he added, renewing his endearments and 
 caresses. 
 
 " No, I don't know how you found out I cared for you," 
 I said. "How was it?" 
 
 " It came by inspiration." 
 
 " Mrs. Pease told you." 
 
 " I haven't seen Mrs. Pease since Thursday night." 
 
 "She wrote to you " — 
 
 " There were only six words in her note," he inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 " She could tell you that I loved you in three words." 
 
 " You wanted her to tell me, didn't you? " embracing 
 me. 
 
 "No, I never thought of such a thing. I made her 
 promise not to tell you till I was dead." 
 
 " Till you were dead ! A pretty time to tell me, when 
 you were dead, and the knowledge could do me no good." 
 
 " I didn't want it to do you good. I wanted you to be 
 made miserable by it." 
 
 " What a vicious temper you have, Cordelia ! Indeed, 
 I found that out last Wednesday, when you gave me a 
 piece of it." 
 
 " I will give you a piece of it every day, if you wish, 
 or rather if I wish. I shall have cause enough, I dare 
 say." 
 
 " No, I prefer not to take your temper from you in such 
 fashion. I will rid you of it by a thorough training. I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 465 
 
 am thinking I can makq a well-ordered woman of vou, in 
 time." 
 
 " You shall never make me say the sun is a rush can- 
 dle, Signor Petruchio, if you train me till I die. I am 
 not a bit afraid of you. I will not be killed in my own 
 humor ; nor will I go fasting, either." 
 
 "No, that you shall not. You shall go feasting, till 
 you get your color and your dimples back again. How 
 thin you have grown in the last month, Cordelia ! Have 
 you lost your appetite?" 
 
 "A little. Shall you send the children off now?" I 
 asked, to divert his attention. I did not like him to notice 
 me so closely. 
 
 " Certainly I shall, l^ou are not going to be a ser- 
 vant to the children any longer. That business must be 
 stopped. If 1 don't send them somewhere, you will be 
 giving yourself away to them again, body and soul, as 
 you do to everybody you wish to serve. You are my 
 wife now, please recollect, or will be after dinner. By 
 the by, does Mrs. Proctor dine on the stroke of twelve ? It 
 lacks but a quarter to the hour." 
 
 "I will attend to your dinner at once, sir," I said, 
 hurrying away after a low courtesy. 
 
 " Don't be gone long, Cordelia. Your eel-like capacity 
 for slipping from me makes me feel uncertain about you. 
 I shall be compelled, I expect, to lock j'ou up, and put 
 Mrs. Proctor on guard, while I'm away for the marriage 
 license and the minister ; else there will be no surety of 
 finding you when I return. Come back a moment before 
 you go, darling. There's no hurry about dinner, you 
 know." 
 
 " No, I'll not come back. Y''ou shall have your dinner, 
 first. You'll be asking after supper next, I presume to 
 say." The doctor laughed. He was a handsome man 
 when he laughed ; he was not aware of the fact, probably, 
 or he would have laughed oftener. "Yes," he said, 
 " and if the servants are in their new fustian, the ruslics 
 strewed, the cobwebs swept, and every thing in order? 
 Come here, Cordelia." 
 
 "No, sir. ' I'll see thee hanged on Sunday- first.' I 
 can quote Shakespeare more accurately than you." 
 
 "We shall sup at iiome, my sweet Kate, — at Longs- 
 
466 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 bury. I shall telegraph Mrs. Pease from the station here. 
 "What do you thiuk Mrs. Wyndham number one will say 
 to Mrs. Wyndham number two ? ' ' 
 
 " I'm sure I cannot tell. I dread seeing her more than 
 any thing in going back ; don't you? " 
 
 " No, I don't dread it in the least, Cordelia. I expect 
 to get a good deal of satisfaction out of it." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 467 
 
 xxxvin. 
 
 " Of all wit's uses, the main one 
 Is to live well with who has none." 
 
 — Emeeson. 
 
 I DECLARE, how Mr. Wyndham has changed since 
 he was principal in the 'cademy here ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Proctor, when the gentleman had disappeared after 
 dinner, and we were " doing up " the dishes at the kitchen- 
 sink. " He scarcely used to talk at all ; and now he's a 
 great talker, and an agreeable one too. I wonder if he 
 has come up to see the trustees about taking the school 
 again ? They've been wanting to get rid of the present 
 teacher for some time. I guess Wyndham's here on that 
 business. Did he say any thing about it to you, Cor- 
 delia?" 
 
 Here was the favorable opportunity I had been waiting 
 for, to make known to Mrs. Proctor why the gentleman 
 was in Sunbridge ; and so I said, — 
 
 " Oh, no ! He is here for quite another purpose. He 
 doesn't teach school nowadays : he is a physician ; he has 
 an office in the city." 
 
 " I want to know ! " said Mrs. Proctor. " Then, may 
 be, he is here to doctor somebody. But I shouldn't sup- 
 pose anybody would want such a young man. If I was 
 going to send to the city for a physician, I'd have the 
 best there was. Probably he hasn't much to do yet, in the 
 way of practice, and has come here to see some friend." 
 
 " Yes," I said, anxious to have the matter done with, 
 " he came here to see me." 
 
 " Why, dear me ! Are you so poorly as that? Do3'-ou 
 think your lungs are affected ? You ought to consult an 
 older physician, if you are at all alarmed about yourself, 
 and put your case entirely under 7as care." 
 
 " Oh, I am not an invalid ! Dr. Wyndham isn't here 
 professionally. I am engaged to be married to him." 
 
468 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 The abrupt announcement caused Mrs. Proctor to drop 
 the many plates she held into the dish-pan with a thud. 
 
 " Why, of all things, I ever thought of! " she ex- 
 claimed. "How long ago did that happen? 1 always 
 had the idea you didn't like him very well ; though I 
 remember, now, he used to come here to see you pretty 
 often. I thought you went away, when you did, to get 
 rid of him." 
 
 " I didn't like him very much, perhaps, at that time," 
 I said. " But Mr. Wyndham is one who improves on 
 acquaintance. I like him very much now." 
 
 " How soon do you expect to be mai-ried? Is the time 
 set? " she inquired, rinsing her dishes, and putting back 
 the tea-kettle on the stove. 
 
 "Yes. I expect to be married to-day at three o'clock." 
 
 Mrs. Proctor dropped her dishcloth, and gazed at 
 me. . 
 
 " For mercy's sake! Do you mean this afternoon?" 
 she cried. " Why, it's past one o'clock already ! Where 
 are you going to be married, my goodness gracious? " 
 
 " Here with you, if you are willing, Mrs. Proctor. Mr. 
 Wyndham is now attending to the necessary arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 "Why, I'm willing enough," she answered, still in a 
 maze. " I shall be glad to have you married in my house. 
 But why do you hurry up the business in this way? " 
 
 " We are not hurrying," I said. "We were engaged 
 more than a year and a half ago. I have no home, now 
 Mrs. Walters is not living ; and we prefer being married 
 here, to going to the church ; that is all." 
 
 "Well, if this don't beat all! I uuderstand now why 
 you wanted me to wait till to-day to hear your plans. 
 Have you got your wardrobe all finished? " 
 
 " I have a trunk full of nice things ; more than I can 
 wear out in ten years," I informed her. 
 
 "You earned a good deal working for Mrs. Walters, I 
 suppose? She paid you good wages?" 
 
 " She was very generous indeed," I said. 
 
 " What is your wedding dress? " 
 
 "Gray cashmere, plush-trimmed, — a walking suit. 
 We are going back to the city directly after the ceremony. 
 In the evening we shall go to Longsbury, about four miles 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 469 
 
 out on the seacoast. I have been teaching Mr. Wynd- 
 ham's brother's children at Longsbury the past winter." 
 
 " Are you going to board in his brother's family, or 
 shall you keep house?" asked the thoroughly interested 
 Mrs. Proctor. 
 
 " We expect to keep house." 
 
 "You are wise there. It won't cost you nearly as 
 much as to board, you'll find," said she. " You under- 
 stand how to do all kinds of work. But don't try to do 
 .your washings, Cordelia, even if Mr. Wyndham hasn't 
 much laid up yet ; you'll save more in the long-run by 
 economizing your strength, rather than your money. 
 Take my advice : have a wash-woman come to the house 
 once a week ; it will be cheaper than putting your clothes 
 out by the dozen. Dear me, how surprised I am ! But 
 it's time we were getting ready for the occasion. I'll go 
 and put the parlor in order, and you had better go up and 
 dress. What minister is coming? " 
 
 " Mr. Vinton of the Methodist church. Mr. Wyndham 
 is acquainted with him." 
 
 " There's that money I owe you, Cordelia, — the board 
 money your uncle Beals paid in advance. I mustn't for- 
 get to give you that. I haven't it all by me, to be sure ; 
 but I can borrow what is lacking of Mrs. Jenkins." 
 
 Mrs. Proctor had a slight cast in one eye, which gave 
 her a very calculating expression whenever she spoke of 
 money. She was reputed to be " well off," but always 
 referred to her means as being extremely limited. , She 
 seemed much relieved when I assured her that I preferred 
 not to take the money, but come and board with her a 
 few weeks in the summer season, from time to time, till 
 it was all made right. 
 
 Dr. Wyndham came in while we were settling the mat- 
 ter; and at three o'clock the minister arrived, accompa- 
 nied by his sister, — a tall, elderly lady, primly dressed, 
 and wearing black mits, — who was to witness the cere- 
 mony. Mrs. Proctor in her best gown, and Berty in his 
 Sunday suit, were already seated in the parlor ; and in the 
 presence of these four persons we were married. A few 
 quiet congratulations and a little pleasant chat followed 
 the marriage service, and then the carriage came and took 
 us to the station. 
 
470 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 On parting with Mrs. Proctor, I put into her hand the 
 bank-bill my husband had given me for the purpose. 
 "A present," I said, "from Mr. Wyndham," and then 
 hastened to the carriage to escape her questioning and 
 her thanks. 
 
 In consequence of several professional calls awaiting 
 Dr. Wyndham on his arrival in the city, we did not reach 
 Longsbury till late in the evening. Mrs. Pease and 
 Sarah, whom I met as I passed through the corridor to 
 my room, were the only persons up in the house. The 
 housekeeper had been notified by telegraph of our mar- 
 riage, and was waiting, with a table spread with viands, 
 to receive us. After we had left the table, she came in to 
 consult the doctor concerning various household changes 
 requiring immediate attention, by reason of Dr. "W"3'nd- 
 ham's sudden marriage. After some discussion, it was 
 decided that a wedding reception should be given at 
 Longsbury, in the course of a week or ten days. Mrs. 
 Pease thought, considering the amount of care taken off 
 her shoulders by the florist and caterer, with an added 
 servant, all things might be made ready in less time. 
 The doctor left every thing to her care. She could have 
 as many new servants as she pleased, provided / was not 
 bothered with any of the details of the affair. " And the 
 children," he added, "must be made to understand that 
 Cordelia is no longer a teacher, but my wife. I'll not 
 have them coming near her." 
 
 I was, however, permitted to make next morning the 
 formal announcement of my relationship to them and their 
 mother ; and, with my usual impetiiositj' in the perform- 
 ance of a dreaded task, I knocked at Mrs. Wyndham's 
 door before breakfast, and was bidden by herself to come 
 in. 
 
 The lady was putting on her breakfast-shawl to go down- 
 stairs. The children had already descended. 
 
 " I am glad you came back last night," she said. She 
 was not aware that I had taken my luggage to Sunbridge. 
 " I want you to stay till we go away. Miss Rivers. D^ 
 you know if the doctor brought his wife home last night? 
 Sarah said she saw you, and caught a glimpse of the 
 doctor." 
 
 I began to laugh, as a cover to my embarrassment. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 471 
 
 " Yes, the doctor brought his wife with him " 
 
 " Did you see her? " she interrupted. 
 "Yes, I" — 
 
 " You came out on the same train with them, did you 
 not? What are you smiling at so curiously? Is there 
 any mystery about the matter? There is some joke afoot, 
 1 know. I can't believe he is married, after all. He just 
 told me he was going to be, to send me worrying, — the 
 ugly fellow ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, yes, he is married ! " I said. 
 "And is his wife here ? Have you seen her? " she de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Yes, and you have seen her too. You see her now. 
 7 am his wife. We were married at Sunbridge yesterday. 
 I trust you will consent to receive me as your sister? " 
 I held out my hand. " I hope you are not displeased," I 
 added falteringly, observing her corrugated brow, and 
 drooping mouth, and quickened breathing. 
 
 " I am displeased," she said, turning away, " and I am 
 disgusted with the doctor's actions. He and Mrs. Pease 
 have drawn you into their conspiracy against me, it seems. 
 I am a continual victim to their machinations. I'll not 
 detain you any longer here. Miss Rivers. — Sarah," she 
 added, as that poor victim of caprice entered at the mo- 
 ment, " you may bring up my breakfast. I shall not go 
 down." 
 
 " I've told her," I said, as I joined my husband going 
 down-stairs. " I have just come from her room." 
 
 "And what did you get for. your pains?" he asked, 
 kissing my hand. "Did she receive the news with her 
 usual angelic graciousness ? " 
 
 " She doesn't believe it ; she thinks it all apian of ours, 
 designed to disturb and perplex her. When she finds out 
 the truth, I'm afraid she will be verj' angry." 
 " No matter if she is, dearest." 
 
 " But I thought she would be better pleased to have me 
 for a sister-in-law than the one she supposed would be 
 yQur wife." 
 
 "Her pleasure or displeasure is of no consequence 
 whatever, darling. Don't think of her again." 
 
 But I could not help thinking of her, especially when I 
 learned that she considered me a selfish, mercenary, and 
 
472 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 designing girl, and would not come to the table except 
 when I was absent with Mrs. Pease or my husband. It 
 troubled me exceedingly that she would not speak or bow, 
 or even look towards me, when I chanced to meet her in 
 the corridors or on the stairs ; and it seemed sometimes 
 as if I had no right to the happiness that made another so 
 unhappy. It troubled me to such extent, that I resolved 
 I would go and have a talk with her, and ask her reasons 
 for treating me so unkindly. 
 
 Accordingly, one day after mj^ return from the city, — 
 where I had been summoned to give directions concerning 
 the trousseau, that, in my case, was prepared after, instead 
 of before, marriage, — I knocked at her door again, and 
 was admitted. She evidently expected to see no one but 
 the servant. She was standing by the sofa, examining 
 something spread over it, which, by a dexterous move- 
 ment, the moment she saw me, she concealed with the 
 afghan ; not so quickly, however, but that I caught a 
 glimpse of lavender silk, and black lace embroidered with 
 jet. I appeared to see nothing whatever. I told her it 
 was such a rainy afternoon, that I feared she might be 
 lonely ; and I had come in for a little talk with her, or, if 
 she preferred, 1 would read to her as I used to do. 
 
 "I do not wish for your company," she said frankly, 
 throwing her lean form into the reclining chair. 
 
 " Are you willing to tell me the reason why? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, I. am perfectly willing. The reason is, because 
 you deceived me so grossly. Under pretence of teaching 
 the children, you worked yourself into the good graces 
 of Mrs. Pease, that you might the more easily attract the 
 doctor. He would never have thought of marrj'ing you 
 if Mrs. Pease hadn't suggested it." 
 
 " Neither did I think of marrying Jiitn, when I left 
 Longsbury, Saturday morning," I said calmly. 
 
 " I do not believe the statement. What do you sup- 
 pose Henry Wyndliam married you for? " she demanded 
 in high, shrill tones. 
 
 " It could not be for money, or station, or influence, 
 or for my beautj^," I answered, laughing. " It must be 
 because he loves me." 1 sat down on the cushioned 
 window-seat. 
 
 " He does not love you," she returned, in still higher 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 473 
 
 voice. " He loves the girl who jilted him ; and I know 
 Henry Wyndham too well, not to believe he will never 
 love any other woman. He married you to have children, 
 and cheat my poor little ones out of half their inheritance ; 
 that is why he married you." 
 
 " I am sorry jou persist in such unjust suspicions," was 
 all 1 could say. 
 
 " He had no business," she went on, — "Henry Wynd- 
 ham had no business to get married. His father did not 
 expect him to marry ; neither did John. And he has 
 always known that it was my wish he should remain 
 single. He was in duty bound to consider my children's 
 welfare, and to consult me, before taking such a step to 
 gratify his own selfish propensities. And then to think 
 of his taking up with the children's teacher, for the sake 
 of having children and spiting me. It is more than I can 
 bear!" 
 
 I had no reply to make, of course, to such unreason- 
 able accusations, and was about to leave the room, when 
 Isabel came rushing in, full of the excitement of some- 
 thing she had just heard down-stairs. She did not notice 
 me at first, sitting in the recess of the window. 
 
 " O mamma," she screamed, " uncle Henry is going to 
 have the grandest party that was ever given ! The stair- 
 cases arc all going to be covered with flowers, and the 
 mantlepieces, and the walls too ; and the drawing-room 
 is to be a perfect bower of roses, Griffin says. Aunt 
 Cordelia is going to wear a white surah silk and Spanish 
 lace embroidered with pearls. I heard the new girl tell 
 Sarah so ; and Sarah said you were going to wear a pale 
 lavender with Spanish lace embroidered with jet. Can't 
 I have a new gown, too, mamma? And oh, Mrs. Beres- 
 ford is coming ! Will she bring us presents, do you 
 think?" 
 
 After delivering all this in one breath, Isabel suddenly 
 discovered me ; and, rushing forward, flung her arms about 
 my neck, and begged I would intercede in her behalf for 
 a new gown. 
 
 "Poor Isabel!" said her mother, lifting her brows 
 still higher, and drooping the corners of her mouth still 
 lower. "You little realize what your uncle's marriage 
 means for you. You don't know what is going to " — 
 
474 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 " Yes, I do know, too," interrupted Isabel impatiently. 
 "I'm going to have a new gown like Nannie Marsh's ; and, 
 if 3011 don't buy it for me, uncle Henry will. He lets 
 us ha\e any thing we ask for now. The first of Ma3' he's 
 going to let us all go to New Hampshire, where there 
 are lots of checkerberries and huckleberries, and green 
 pine apples, and sheep and cows ; and we haven't got to 
 go to school till June. And then Mike is coming up with 
 the horses, and I'm going to help him make the hay " — 
 
 At this point, Mrs. W3-ndham sank back in her chair 
 with a moan ; she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, as 
 if she were shedding tears. Isabel sprang to clasp her, 
 and kiss her ; and I, taking advantage of the occasion, 
 slipped from the room, satisfied that I had done all in my 
 power to reinstate myself in her favor ; and, if she chose 
 to indulge her feeling of animosity still, she could do so 
 as long as she pleased, without causing me, in the future, 
 one moment of unhappiness or anxiety. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 475 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " The tears live in an onion, that should water this sorrow." 
 
 —Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 I SAID nothing to my husband of the unsuccessful 
 interview I had had with his deeplj' injured and suf- 
 fering sister-in-law. Nor did I mention another disturb- 
 ing circumstance, occurring previously, — on Tuesday, 
 three days after my marriage, — the effects of which were 
 still lingering about me, in the disagreeable feeling that I 
 had not acted with the dignity I ought ; and that if the 
 same thing were to happen again, I should do very differ- 
 ently. 
 
 The annoying incident occurred, as I have mentioned, 
 Tuesday morning. I had remained at home to write some 
 letters to mj' cousins, the Beals twins, and to Eliza their 
 stepmother, and to Mr. Clough. I did not feel it incum- 
 bent on me to inform Mrs. Eivers of the fact of my mar- 
 riage ; Mr. Clough could do so, if he chose. And, when 
 they were finished, I went down to the library, where some 
 workmen were frescoing the walls, and otherwise reno- 
 vating and improving the place. After watching their 
 progress awhile, I strolled through the long hall into 
 the drawing-room, and lingered there, examining the flo- 
 riated old furnishings, so unlike the modern elegance of 
 my rooms up-stairs. I had scarcelj'^ noticed before what 
 a brilliant glow of vivid colors was cast upon everything, 
 through the rich cathedral glass lighting the hall-way, and 
 streaming in between the pilasters of the drawing-room ; 
 or how black the polished floors had become, by age and 
 constant rubbing. I had scarcely noticed, till now, the 
 queer, quaint style of the furniture, — the sofas, ottomans, 
 chairs, — arabesqued and upholstered in the large-flowered 
 stuff, so fashionable in the time of my husband's grand- 
 mother ; and the immense size of the fireplaces, with their 
 gleaming brass fire-dogs, almost as tall as I ; and the faded 
 
476 TWO GENTLEMEN' OF BOSTON. 
 
 Eastern rugs and silk curtains, and precious old lace 
 flounces on table-covers and cushions, and various curious 
 ornaments on cabinet and shelf. I had not felt interest 
 enough to look at these things, while I had been a servant 
 in the house. And even now, that I was mistress here, 
 with such a blissful sense of contentment and security 
 and rest pervading my whole being, with eyes and heart 
 open to see and appreciate every thing of great or little 
 value connected with Longsbury, I could look about with 
 no feeling of ownership. It was impossible to make my 
 sudden happiness seem any thing but a dream. The more 
 I tried to realize the blessed change in my condition, 
 the more unsubstantial ever3' thing became. There were 
 moments when nothing seemed real, but the old times at 
 Hardcliffe. I thought of the cows I had driven home 
 from pasture, when I lived with the Walkers. Each indi- 
 vidual face of the collective kine was clear in my mind's 
 eye. I thought of the cream I had churned, the cheeses 
 I had greased, the many twilight hunts after nomadic 
 turkeys. I thought of the bitter winter nights I had 
 spent, half frozen, feeding the fire on mother's hearth, — 
 and dozing between whiles, — that she and Jamie might 
 not perish in their beds. 
 
 My mind was again, this morning, reverting to the old 
 scenes, as I walked about the drawing-room, surveying 
 my possessions. I was thinking of Calista Comery and 
 her great kindness to me, and planning a pilgrimage in 
 search of her, at the very moment the new servant ushered 
 in a caller at the farther end of the drawing-room, to 
 disturb my musings. 
 
 "Oh, tfearyme!" I groaned inwardly, on perceiving 
 that the stately, elegant, massively handsome figure ap- 
 proaching was Mr. Cloud. For it instantly recurred to 
 me he had come in pursuance of the plan, the bare men- 
 tion of which, last Wednesday evening, had made me so 
 angry. 
 
 Then I remembered that he must have heard of my mar- 
 riage, ere this, through Mr. Walters, and that the knowl- 
 edge of the fact must have utterly changed his sentiments 
 regarding me ; and that I could, under such circumstances, 
 afford to be gracious, and even cordial, in my reception 
 of the gentleman. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 477 
 
 Accordingly I put on the pleasantest smile that could he 
 macufactured in an instant, and went forward to greet his 
 lordship, who returned me, for my effort, a smile of equal 
 sincerity, and a lingering pressure of his hand. 
 
 This last tolven of his warm regard somewhat discon- 
 certed me, and for a few minutes I scarcely heard what 
 he was saying. He had placed his chair close to mine, 
 and was now talking about the death of his sister, the 
 gloom of his house, the impaired health of his old ser- 
 vants, and his own distressing loneliness. Some subtle 
 allusion to myself convinced me he had not heard of 
 my marriage ; and an instant later he informed me he 
 had come straight from New York, without seeing Mr. 
 Walters. 1 must, I saw, to spare myself embarrassment, 
 make known to him the fact, in some way, before he 
 committed himself further ; and so, while he was merging 
 into a deeper sentimental strain, I began mentally muster- 
 ing my feeble forces, to keep back his advances in a way 
 that would not appear ridiculous. I was not endowed 
 with the blessed gift of tact. No facile words were ever 
 forthcoming with me at any crisis, where a lapse was sure 
 to bring me into some entanglement or other. I could 
 not, of course, get up, courtesy, and say, " Look at me, 
 Mr. Cloud : I am married ! " It would give him too good 
 an opportunity to utilize the scene for a laugh behind my 
 back. I had seen him, more than once, ridicule the very 
 women he had professed to love. That he loved me, or 
 thought of making me an offer of marriage, I did not 
 believe. I had no faith in the man who had once so fas- 
 cinated my imagination. The truth was, — though I have 
 never mentioned it, and hate now to confess it, — I had 
 always been afraid of committing some solecism in his 
 presence, and was even weak enough still to let this same 
 foolish fear keep me silent as to any direct mention of my 
 mamage. I resolved, instead, to let him finish his call, 
 unaware of the circumstance, go away, and learn about it 
 afterwards. 
 
 " Do you remember, Cordelia," he began again, in ten- 
 der tone, — while I took occasion to move my chair a trifle 
 farther away from his, — " how I carried you once about 
 the garden of the hotel at Sunbridge? " 
 
 " I remember being ill, and that Mrs. Walters could 
 
478 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 find nobody else strong enough to take me out for a little 
 airing," I said ; adding a moment after, as I fingered tlie 
 lace flounce on the spider-legged table at my side, "you 
 were very kind, I am sure." 
 
 " It is singular enough," he continued, " how that cir- 
 cumstance, which I had entirely forgotten, should come to 
 me so suddenly as it did, while I was in the counting-room 
 of the firm last week, talking on a matter of business. 
 Perhaps it was because the unopened letter of John Wal- 
 ters lay on the table at the time, directly under my hand, 
 — the letter informing me you were here. It puzzles 
 me to know how my hand should convey to my brain a 
 reminder of you, — unless you were thinking of me at the 
 time. You must have been thinlsing of me last Wednesday 
 evening, about half-past six, Cordelia," he said, placing 
 his handsome hand over mine, where it rested on the little 
 table. " Were you not, now? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Cloud, I was thinking of you, and also 
 speaking of you to Dr. Wyndham, about that time " — 
 
 " Is Wj'ndham at home here? " he asked. " Walters 
 told me, and I think I heard him say himself, he was to 
 start for the West last week." 
 
 "He is not going West, that I know of," I said. 
 
 " You have been teaching John Wyndham's stupid chil- 
 dren, I understand ; been shut up with them here all 
 winter? " 
 
 " Yes, I have been a sort of governess for Mrs. Wynd- 
 ham's children ; they are not stupid, though, only pecul- 
 iar," I returned. 
 
 " They must be both, if they have their father's order 
 of mind," remarked Mr. Cloud, imprisoning my hand 
 still closer. "You can't be happy or contented here, I 
 know." 
 
 " I am perfectly contented, and very happy, let me 
 assure you," I answered, wondering how much longer the 
 man would staj'. He had been here already half an hour. 
 
 "Then your looks don't agree with j-our statement," 
 said he. " You are much slighter than I ever saw you. 
 Yet what you have lost in robustness, you have gained 
 in expression. You are a perfect Saint Cecilia now. I 
 remember well the first time I sawj'ou, after j-ou left Sun- 
 bridge. Your complexion, to use a common term, was 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 479 
 
 like roses crushed on marble. You wore a blue dress, and 
 had your Titian hair arranged d. la Pompadour. I liked 
 you uncommonly well. I liked the turn of your thoughts. 
 I was immensely flattered with what I read in them." 
 
 " Are you a mind-reader, Mr. Cloud?" I said, rising 
 and going to the window, and drawing back the drapery 
 to let in the sunshine. " I am quite interested in the sub- 
 ject of mind-reading." 
 
 " I have some power of divination in that line," he said, 
 joining me at the window. " ' In nature's infinite book 
 of secrecy, a little I can read.' " 
 
 "I shall be more afraid of you than ever, then," I 
 answered, laughing ; adding, " Is this your first visit to 
 Longsbury, Mr. Cloud? It is very pleasant here in sum- 
 mer, I am told." 
 
 '' I read your thoughts quite plainly, Cordelia, quite 
 easily," he said, passing over my question. " And how 
 could I help being delighted when I saw how you regarded 
 me ? I never was so happy in my life as when I divined 
 that j'ou cared for me." 
 
 " It was nothing but a girlish fancy, Mr. Cloud, which 
 died out as soon as I knew you better, ' ' I said as carelessly 
 as I could, slipping by him to the other window. 
 
 " I understand," said he, "I understand perfectly why 
 you wish to conceal from me the true state of your feel- 
 ings. But, to quote again, ' a murderous guilt shows not 
 itself more soon, than love that would seem hid.' Don't 
 you think any longer, Cordelia, that I have no love for 
 you. I regard you with more interest than I ever felt for 
 any other woman." He came forward majestically. "Of 
 course, I didn't at first think of you exactly as you thought 
 of me. Men's thoughts — in matters of the heart — are 
 not, I suppose, ever quite like women's." 
 
 " Is that so? I didn't know it, I am sure," I said, too 
 frightened now, at what was impending, to mind what I 
 was saying. For the man, conceited as he was, actually 
 appeared to be in earnest. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said gravely, as I moved 
 away quickly from the arm he extended to encircle my 
 waist. " I appreciate your womanly modesty. I would 
 not have less of it in you. Yet, after what I have said, 
 you ought to feel that my regard for you is grounded on 
 
480 TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 
 
 respect, and that there is no further necessity of your being 
 over-scrupulous in avoiding my toucli. 1 am intending to 
 marry you, Cordelia. I roade up my mind three months 
 ago, that I ought to marry, and that I would marry. I 
 love you, Cordelia ; and I am here to-day purposely to tell 
 you so, — to tell you that I love you as well as you love 
 me, and to offer you my hand and heart." He paused 
 an instant. " Isn't ' heart and hand ' the right term to 
 employ?" he asked, observing the smile creeping over 
 mj' face during his singular declaration. " You will have 
 to excuse what is not correct, for I never offered myself 
 to anybody before." 
 
 By this time, my fright was all over ; the affair was pre- 
 senting such a broadly comical view. The smile he had 
 seen on my face merged into open laughter. Whether 
 he considered it the outburst of long-restrained joy, I 
 could not tell ; but he caught the contagion, and laughed 
 with me. I was never more at my ease in my life. The 
 excessive assurance and egregious conceit of the handsome 
 fellow, who believed it impossible that any woman could 
 look upon his comel}' proportions without loving him, made 
 him, at the moment, more ridiculous in my eyes, than 
 ever I could have been in his, with all my solecisms, and 
 mistakes, and ignorance of rules of his conventional 
 world. 
 
 " "Will you condescend to accept me as a husband? I'll 
 put the question that way, if it pleases you better," he 
 said, bowing very low. 
 
 " Oh, don't put it that way, when the condescension is 
 all on your side! " I said, laughing immoderately again. 
 " Don't trouble yourself, please, to mention the matter 
 farther, Mr. Cloud," I added, more soberly. " I thank 
 you exceedingly for your preference, and the honor you 
 do me, and all that ; but I am so situated I must decline 
 your proposal." 
 
 " You are in a playful mood, Cordelia. I like you bet- 
 ter, though, when you are serious," said the gentleman, 
 resuming his old imperturbable smile. " Sincerity is 
 your role ; you shouldn't say no, when you mean yes." 
 
 " I am perfectly sincere, Mr. Cloud, in what I say. I 
 truly cannot marry you," I answered. 
 
 " Now, Cordelia, you are thinking of objections that I 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF BOSTON. 481 
 
 put away long ago," he said, lifting my hand to his lips, 
 and drawing me gently towards him. "If /don't think 
 of them, you certainly need not. You love me ; you 
 can't seriously say you don't love me. I know you love 
 me" — 
 
 " That's exactly where your mistake lies, sir. The 
 truth is, I'm in love with another man, and that other 
 man " — 
 
 " Come, come, Cordelia, please pardon me for inter- 
 rupting your pleasantry. Let us be serious now." 
 
 " I am serious, sir. I am in sober, dead earnest. I 
 never loved you a moment in my life ! I do not love you 
 now ; and, if I did, I could not marry you, because " — 
 I hesitated, his face was undergoing such a singular trans- 
 formation. 
 
 " Because what? " he said. " Speak on." 
 
 " Because I am married already." 
 
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 characters of these stories have become household words in thousands of 
 American families ; and the publication of a worthy and comely edition of 
 BO delightful a classic will be hailed with joy by many old friends and new. 
 
Tichnor and Company, 21 
 
 MURAL PAINTING. By Frederic CEOWNrysHiELD. 1vol. Square 
 8vo. With numerous diagrams and full-page illustrations. §3.00. 
 
 This series of papers has escitea great interest and attention in " The 
 American Architect ; " and in its present enlarged and amended form, with 
 many new illustrations, is still more valuable. 
 THE VIRGINIA CAMPAIGN OF GENERAL POPE IN 1862. 
 Being Volume II. of Paiiers read before the Military Historical Soci- 
 ety of Massachusetts. With Maps and Plans. 1 vol. 8vo. $3.00. 
 
 A careful and dispassionate account of the great retreat from the Rapidan 
 to the Potomac, with the stories of its terrible battles, prepared by prom- 
 inent military officers, and dealing with the Second Bull-Run campaign, the 
 Pitz-John Porter affair, and other interesting matters. 
 
 SONGS AND SATIRES. A volume of poems. By James Jeffrey 
 KocHB. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00. 
 
 The range and versatility of these poems add to their other attractions , and 
 make the volume a very popular one. Mr. Roche's vers de socicte, printed 
 in " Life," and other publications, are of singular delicacy and originality, 
 and the best of them are incorporated in this volume, together with many 
 heretofore unpublished poems. 
 
 GENIUS IN SUNSHINE AND IN SHADOW. By M. M. Ballou, 
 author of "Edge-tools of Speecli." 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 Mr. Ballon has for many years been known as one of the most industrious, 
 accurate, and entertaining of American scholars. The present volume (his 
 latest work) is a peculiarly intere.'^ting one, full of anecdotes and memora- 
 bilia, which set forth the intimate inner lives of the world's heroes and 
 notables. They have been gathered from the most recondite sources, and 
 skilfully mas?ed in attractive array , forming a great collection, that is at 
 ODce valuable and interesting. 
 
 A WONDERFUL WORK OF ART. 
 
 Mrs. Browning's liOve Sonnets. 
 SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. By ELIZABETH BAE- 
 KETT Browkisg. Illustrated by Ludvig Sasdoe Ipsen. 1 vol. 
 Oblong folio (pages 13 x 16 inclies), beautifully bound, gilt top. $16.00 | 
 full tree-calf, $30.00. 
 
 This magnificent work has been a labor of love for years with the artist, 
 who is the prince of decoratora, and has lavished upon it all the resources of 
 his imagination and skill. The result is a magnificent monument to the 
 / poems that are enshrined therein, and a series of designs, the equals of 
 which as a mere treasury of decoration and invention, apart from their sig- 
 nificance in illustrating the immortal verse of Mrs. Browning, have never 
 been issued in America. Each sonnet is prefaced by a richly ornamental 
 half-title, on a fall page, and is surrounded by a hand.iome border, emble- 
 matic in its design and composition. Mr. Ipsen has for many years been 
 recognized as the foremost leader of art-decoration for books, both inside 
 and outside, and has set more fashions for imitation than any other artist. 
 This book is his crowning work, and will afford an inexhaustible treasury of 
 decoration for sludcnts of art, and a life-study for all lovers of beauty and 
 symmetry Mrs. Browning's sonnets are among the noblest productions 
 of ancient or modern literature ; and their literary excellence and incom- 
 parable beauty of diction insure for them certain immortaUty. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF EMINENT MEN, and Other Papers. 
 
 Bv Edwin Pekcy Whipple. 1 vol. Crown 8vo. With new steel 
 portrait of the author, and preceded by the Memorial Address de- 
 livered by the Eev. Dr. C. A. Baetol. $1.50 ; in half-calf, $3.00. 
 
22 A List of Boohs Published hy 
 
 A new book by Mr. "Whipple is a literary eTcnt ; and so many years have 
 elapsed .since his last publication, that the interest Tvill be more intense in 
 the present volume, which contains some of his most charming and char- 
 acteristic papers, including monographs on Sumner, Motley , Agassiz, Choate, 
 and George Eliot. 
 
 STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS. By ClarA Erskihe Clem- 
 
 E.NT. 1 vol. 870. Profusely illustrated. In cloth, $4.00; in half 
 parcliment cloth, $4.50. 
 
 This work, historical and descriptive, gives a complete r6sum^ of the His- 
 tory of Art, with ivccounts of the various schools, sketches, and anecdotes 
 of all the great artists, with portraits and reproductions of their workp. The 
 author is well known as a charming writer and an acknowledged authority 
 on art criticism and history. 
 PERSIA AND THE PERSIANS. By Hon. S. G. W. BEKJAMm, late 
 U. S. Minister to the Court of Persia. 1 vol. 8vo. With portrait 
 and many illustrations. Beautifully bound. $5.00. Half calf, $9.00. 
 
 Tbe author is, perhaps, the best living authority on Persia,and this book 
 embodies the results of his observation and experience during the years of 
 his residence as United States Minister, combining novel and entertaining 
 adventures and der^criptions, with political and other observations of great 
 value. His rare Bkill as a landscape painter has availed to give many choice 
 pictures of the gruat Asiatic realm, with its stores of poetry and legend, its 
 strange customs, and its romantic scenery and architecture. 
 CONFESSIONS AND CRITICISMS. By JuLiAi^ Hawthorne. 
 1 vol. 12mo. "With portrait. $1.25. 
 
 A series of very delightful essays and papers, with reminiscences and 
 other memorable papers, prepared by one of the most skilful and interesting 
 of American authors, and calculated to attract and keep the attention of all 
 readers. It includes a great variety of valuable miscellany, and several 
 papers that have already become classic among people of cultivation and 
 acumen 
 THE HOUSE AT HICH BRIDGE. By EdgaR Fatv^cETT. 1 vol. 
 12mo. $1.50. 
 
 The announcement of an entirely new novel from the pen of the writer of 
 " Adventures of a Widow," etc. , is sufficient to pique the curiosity of many 
 readers, who find in this author the best traits of modern literature. " The 
 House at High Bridge "' is an entirely new work, not having been published 
 serially. 
 NORA PERRY'S NEW SONGS AND BALLADS. 12mo. Gilt 
 top and rough edges. $1.50. 
 
 A new volume of poems by Nora Perry is now ready, and its publication 
 will be welcomed with great interest by the thousands of admirers of this 
 brilliant and piquant writer. 
 AFTER THE BALL, HER LOVER'S FRIEND, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. By KORA Pkrry. New edition. Two volumes in one. 
 $1.75. 
 
 A re-issue of the entire collected poetical works of Nora Perry, previous 
 to the publication of " New Songs and Ballads." They were formerly 
 published in two volumes, but arc now made into one. 
 RANKELL'S REMAINS. A Novel. By Barrett Wjskdell, author 
 of " The Duchess Emilia." 1 vol. 12mo. $1.00. 
 
 '* Powerfully and wonderfully done a-s a piece of characterization, . . . 
 The book has deserved its success because more than any other of its kind 
 it is comprehensible, forcible, and readable." — Commercial Bulletin. 
 
 '* The telling is remarkably well done. It is full of power and the inten- 
 sity of underlying tragedy," says Nora Perry, in The Independent. 
 
 *' A bitter, caustic, stinging satire, a book of power." — Chicago Times. 
 
Tichnor and Company. 23 
 
 A MURAMASA BLADE, A Story of Feucialism in Old Japan. By 
 Louis WKRTHKiMBEit. 1vol. 8vo. BeautilulJy illustrated by Jap- 
 anese artists. ^3.00; in red Japanese brocade, 5f 5.00. 
 
 Mr. Wertheimljcr, of a Fcholarly Austrian family, went to Japan about 
 the year 1870, siud .'■pent many years there, in the eervice of the Jiipanefe 
 GovernnuDt. lie was an extensive traTeller among the inland districts and 
 villages ; and contributed many articles and feries to the Japan Mail., and 
 other publications. The present boolt is a romance of the sword, foil of 
 charming local color, true to life as it is in Japan, aud full of deep and en- 
 chaining interest. Its mechanical make-up is sumptuous in every respect. 
 
 ACNES SURRIACE. A Novel. By Edwin Lassettek Bynkeb, 
 author of " Damen's Ghost," " Penelope's Suitors," etc. ffil.50. 
 
 Founded upon a romantic episode in early Massachusetts history, intro- 
 ducing by name prominent people of the day, with descriptions of their 
 characters and appearance, weaving in historical events, such as the Louis- 
 burg Kxpedition, Church Squabbles, and the Spinning Craze, and giving a 
 realistic picture of life under the royal governors, — a book which, apart 
 from the thrilling interest of the story, is of permanent value as a pains- 
 taking study of an historical epoch. 
 
 SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS CF NOTED PERSONS. By Hon. 
 Justin S. Mobkill. SI 50. 
 
 The well-known and erudite Senator from Vermont has, in this work, 
 condensed the fruits of years of curious research in a strange and unfamiliar 
 field. The result is a rarely entertaining volume of great value to all 
 scholars and public men, and interesting to all readers. A small edition 
 was privately printed some time since, and met with such praise aud appre- 
 ciation that Senator Morrill has since carefully revised and materially 
 augmented it for publication. 
 
 THE MINISTER'S CHARCE. By W. D. HOWELI..S, author of "The 
 Rise of Silas Lapham," " Indian Summer," etc. $1.60. 
 
 " In this great novel of the people Henry James finds that Mr. Howells 
 touches high-water mark ; and sees an important and valuable woik in this 
 minute and subtle registering of the heavy-witted countryman's slow de- 
 velopment under city conditions. However that may be, Howells's pure, 
 inimitable fun is enough to carry any story he may write. Like all true 
 fun this has a most searching pathos all the time just at hand; and never 
 is the real dignity of character of this actual Yankee forgotten or trifled 
 vith." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 COUNT XAVIER. By Hekkt GEi:viLLE. 1vol. 16mo. $1.00. 
 
 This is the latest and one of the best of the novels of the author of 
 " Dosia," the most popular and famous of Parisian novelists. 
 
 LIBER AMORIS. By Hekkt Bernard Carpenteb. 1vol. ICmo. 
 Gilt top and rough edges. $1.75. 
 
 A brilliant and picturesque romance in verse, dealing *tith the period of 
 the Minnesingers, in the Rheinland, Padua, and Auvergne. Mr. Carpenter 
 has long been known as one of our most spirited and vigorous poets. 
 MARY MACDALENE, AND OTHER POEMS. By Mrs. KiCHAKD 
 Grftkough. -With photograph of Greenough's statue of the 
 Magdalen on the side of the cover. 60 cents. 
 
24 A lAst of Boohs Published by Ticknor Sr Co. 
 
 THE 
 
 MEMORIAL HiSTORY OF BOSTON, 
 
 In Four Volumes. Quarto. 
 
 With more tliaii 500 Illustrations by famous artists and engravers, all 
 made for this work. 
 
 Edited by JUSTIN WINSOR, Libkakian of Hakvakd University. 
 
 Among the contributors are : — 
 
 Gov. John D. Long, Dr. 0. W. Holmes, 
 
 Hon. Charles Francis Adams, John G. Whittier, 
 
 Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D., Rev. J. F. Clarke, D.D., 
 
 Rev. E. B. Hale, D.D., Rev. A. P. Peabody, D.D., 
 
 Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, Col. T. W. Higginson, 
 
 Hon. J. Hammond Trumbull, Professor Asa Gray, 
 
 Admiral Q. H. Preble, Gen. F. W. Palfret, 
 Henry Cabot LodGe. 
 
 Volume I. treats of the Geology, Fauna, and Flora ; the Voyages and Maps of 
 the Northmen, Italians, Captain John Smith, and the Plymouth Settlers ; 
 the Massachusetts Company, Puritanism, and the Aborigines ; the Lit- 
 erature, Life, and Chief Families of the Colonial Period. 
 
 Vol. II. treats of the Royal Governors ; French and Indian Wars ; Witches 
 and Pirates ; The Religion, Literature, Customs, and Chief Families of the 
 Provincial Period. 
 
 Vol. III. treats of the Revolutionary Period and the Conflict around Boston ; 
 and the Statesmen, Sailors, and Soldiers, the Topography, Literati^re, and 
 Life of Boston during that time ; and also of the Last Hundred Years' 
 History, the War of 1812, Abolitionism, and the Press. 
 
 Vol. IV. treats of the Social Life, Topography, and Landmarks, Industries, 
 Commerce, Railroads, and Financial History of this Century in Boston ; 
 ■with Monographic Chapters on Boston's Libraries, Women, Science, Art, 
 Music, Philosophy, Architecture, Charities, etc. 
 
 ^* Sold by subscription only. Send for a Prospectus to the 
 Publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.