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George IVashington Flowers 
 Memorial Collection 
 
 DIKF. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ESTABLISH ED BY THE 
 
 FAMILY OF 
 
 rOl.ONKI. Kl.OWl.RS 
 
^; 
 
 T7^ 
 
 ^; 
 
 tlio acticin 
 
ACARIA; • 
 
 OR, 
 
 ALTARS OF SACRIFICE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " BEULAH." 
 
 " Wo bn70 al'i to bo iaii upon an altar; we hayo all, &s it were, to bo ju..j-ictc-l to tho a?ti;>B 
 
 of fire." — Meltit.l. 
 
 RICHMONI) ': 
 
 WEST & JOHNSTON, Ur, MAIN STKHET. 
 
 1864. 
 
UTARS & CoORWELL, PRIXTBBS, 
 COLCMDIA, S. C. 
 
#2 5a> 
 
 TO TUE 
 
 ARMY OF THE SOUTEERN CONFEDERACY, 
 
 :0 i:.\VK DKLIA'EUED TUK SoUTII FJJOM DESl'OTISM, AND WHO HAVK WON' I'OR 
 CrFN-VRATIOXS YKT UNBORN TUK TKECIOUS GUKIJOOX OK 
 CONSTITUTIONAT. Rk PUBLICAN LiBEKTV: 
 
 TO THIS VAST LlilCMOJN OF HONOR, 
 
 AVHKTHKR LIMIMNG ON CRUTCHKS THROUGH 
 
 THE LAND THEY HAVE SAVED AND IMMORTALIZED, 
 
 OR SURVIVING UNINJURED TO SHARE THE BLESSINGS THEIR 
 
 v;NirXAMPLED HEltOISM BOUGHT, OU SLEEPING DREAMLESs?LY IN XAMI.I.KSa 
 
 MART V:;-(;n AYES on HALLOAYED BATTLE-FIELDS AVUOSK • 
 
 HISTORIC MEMORY SHALL rEKISlI ONLY WITH 
 THE UE'MNANTS OK OUR LANGUAGE, 
 THESE PAGES ARIC 
 
 (i ;ATEFUi.LY AND REVERENTLY DEDICATED 
 
 • BY ONE WHO, ALTHOUGH DEBARKED FROM THE 
 
 fiANOEUS AND DEATHLESS GLORY OF THE "TENTED IMEI,D," 
 
 WOULD FAIN OFFER A WOMAN'S INADEQUATE TRIBUTE TO TIIK NORI.IC 
 
 PATRIOTISM AND SUBLIME SELF-ABNEGATION OF III'.R 
 
 DEAR AND DEVOtED COUNTRYMEN. 
 
ERRAT'A. 
 
 Page 7, first column, Ijxst Hue— rFor ''knew" read '• hnon-." 
 Page 12, first column, fourth lino — For "queen" read "queer." 
 Fagc 29, first column, thirty-second line — For " back " read "brink." 
 Page ."7, first column, forty-fifth lino — For " Jlivbarda" rc.a<l " Kabarda." 
 Pr>gc 4S, first column, fifty-cigbtli line — For "pomps" road "pomp." 
 P.igo 52, second column, nineteenth line — For "having premonition " 
 
 i-ead " having given premonition." 
 Page 54, second column, fourth line from bottom — For " Jolo" rc.-d " lole." 
 Page 55, t;cco!jd column, thirty-third lino — For "willingly " read " wittingly.' 
 P.%ge 57, first cohimn, fifteenth line — For " cniMque" read " cujutqite." 
 Page 73, second column, third line — For "prizes" read " friezes." 
 P;ige 80, first column, fifty-fourth line — For " aleyon " rcjd "Alcyone." 
 T;»ge 95, ?.rst column, thirty-sixth lino — For " llhdian " read " llholian."' 
 Piige 111, second column, forty-eighth lino— For "drippling" read " if rip ping 
 
M A C A R I A. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Tlie. toM-n-clock was on tlic last stroke of 
 twelve, the solitary candle measured but two 
 inches from its socket, and, as the summer 
 wind rushed through the half-closed shutters, 
 the melted tallow dripped slowly into ^e 
 brightly-burnished brazen candlestick. The 
 flickering light fell upon grim battalions of 
 figures marshalled on the long, blue -lined 
 pages of a ledger, and flashed fitfully on the 
 face of the accountant, as he bent over his 
 work. In these latter days uf physical degen- 
 eration, ftich athletic frames as his are rarely 
 seen among the youth of our land. Sixteen 
 years growth had given liim unusual height 
 and remarkable breadth of chest, and it was 
 diflicult to realize that the, stature of manhood 
 had been attained by a mere boy in years. A 
 gray suit (evidently home rna<le), of rather 
 coarse texture, bespoke jioverty ; and, owing 
 to the oppressive heat of the atmosphere, the 
 coat was thrown partially off. He wore no 
 vest, and the loosely -tied black ribboh suf- 
 fered the snowy white, collar to fall away 
 from the throat and expose its well-turned 
 outline. The head Avas large, but faultlessly 
 proportioned, and the thick black hair, cut 
 short and clinging to the temples, added to its 
 massiveness. The lofty forehead, white and 
 smooth, the somewhat heavy brows matching 
 the hue of the hair, tlip straight, finely-formed 
 nose with its delicate but clearly-defined nos- 
 tril, and fell, firm lips unshaded by mustache, 
 combined to render the face one of uncommon 
 beauty. Yet, as he sat absorbed by his fig- 
 ures, there was nothing pVepossessing or win- 
 ning in his appearance, for though you could 
 not carp at the moulding of his features, you 
 luvoluntarily shrank from the prematurely 
 grave, nay, austere expression which seemed 
 habitual to them. He looked just what he 
 was, youthful in months and years, but old in 
 trials, sorrows, and labors, and to one who 
 anilvze 1 bis countenance, the conviction was 
 inevitable that his will was gigantic, his am- 
 bition unbounded, his intellect wonderfully 
 acute and powerful. It is always sad to re- 
 mark in young faces the absence of that 
 beaming enthusiasm which oidy a joyous 
 heart imparts, and thougii in ' this instance 
 there was nothing dark or sinister, you couW 
 not fail to be awed by the cold, dauntless res- 
 
 olution which said so plainly: "I struggle, 
 and shall' conquer. I shall mount, though the 
 world defy mo." Although he had labored 
 sinc^ daAvn, there was no drooping of the 
 muscular frame, no symptom of fatigue, save 
 in the absolute colorlessness of his face. Pirm 
 a,s some brazen monument on its pedestal, he 
 sat aud worked on, one hand wielding the 
 pen, the other holding down the leaves which 
 fluttered, now and then, as the breeze passed 
 over them. 
 
 " Russell, do you know it is midnight?" 
 He fro^^ned, and answered without looking 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *' How much longer will yoii sit up ?" 
 
 " Till I finish my work." 
 
 The speaker" stood on the thresliold, leaning 
 against the door-facing, and, after waiting a 
 few moments, softly crossed the roorfi and pat 
 her hand on the back of his chair. She -was 
 two years his junior, and though evidently 
 the victim of recent and severe illness, even 
 in her feebleness she was singularly like hiin. 
 Her presence seemed to annoy him, for he 
 turned round, and said hastily : " Elcctra, go 
 to bed. I told you good -night three hoiin 
 
 ago-" 
 
 She stood still, but silent. 
 
 " What do you want ?" 
 " Nothing." 
 
 He wrote on for some ten minutes longer, 
 then closed the ledger and put it aside. The 
 candle had burned low ; h^ took a fresh one 
 from the drawer of the table, and, after light- 
 ing it, drew a Latin dictionary near to hun, 
 opened a worn copy of Horace, and began to 
 study. Quiet as his own shadow stood the 
 fragile girl behind his chair, but as she watch- 
 ed him a heavy sigh escaped her. Once more 
 he looked up, with a finger still in the diction- 
 ary, and asked impatiently: 
 
 " Why on earth don't you go to sleep?" , 
 " I can't .sleep ; I have tried my Iwst." 
 "Arc you si'K again, my poor* little cousin?" 
 He stretched out his arm, and drew her (^oae 
 to him. 
 
 " No ; but I know you arc up, hard at work, 
 and it keeps me awake. If you would only 
 let me help you." 
 
 " But you can't help me; I have told yon 
 so time and again, lou only interrupt aad 
 hinder me." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 She colored, and bit her lip; then answered 
 •orrowfully : 
 
 " If I thought I ahould be •vreak and sickly 
 all my life, 1 would rather die at once, and 
 burdfn you and auntie no Innfier." 
 
 "Electra, who- told you that you burdened 
 me ?" 
 
 " Oh, Russell ! don't I know how hard you 
 have to work ; and how diflirult it is for you 
 to got even bread and clotho.";. Don't I sec 
 how auntie labors day r.flor day, and month 
 after month ? You are pood and kind, but 
 does that prevent my foelin<; the truth, that 
 vo" fire workinjT for mc too ? If I could only 
 help you in .<»omc way." She kn«'U down by 
 his chair and leaned her head nn his kneo, 
 holding his hands between botli hers. 
 
 " Eleitra, you do help mc ; all day long 
 when I am at the store your face haunts me, 
 strengthens me; I feel that I am striving to 
 give you comforts, and when at night you 
 meet mc at the gate, I am repaid for all I 
 have done. You must put this idea out of 
 your head, little one ; it is altogether a mistake. 
 Do you hear what I say? Get up, and go to 
 ilc^p like a good child, or you will have an- 
 other \vrct<hed headache to-morrow, and ran't 
 bring me my lunch." 
 
 He lifted her from the floor, and kissed her 
 hastily. She raised her arms as if to w^nd 
 them about his neck, but his grave face gave 
 her no encouragement, and turning away she 
 retired to her room, with hot tears rolling over-l 
 her cheeks. Russell had scarcely read half a 
 dozen lines after his cousin's departure when 
 a soft hand swept back the locks of hair on 
 his forehead, and wiped away the heavy <lrop8 
 tJiat moistened them. 
 
 "My son, you promised me you would not 
 iit up late tonight." 
 
 "Well, mother, I have almost finished. Re- 
 member the nights are very short now, and 
 twelve o'clock comes early." 
 
 "The better rea«>n that you should not be 
 up ho fate. My son, I am afraid you will ruin 
 jour health by this unremitting application." 
 
 " Why — look at me. I am as strong as an 
 athlete of old." He shook his limVw and smiled, 
 proud of hi.-i great physical strength. 
 
 "True, Russell, but, robust as you are, you 
 can not stand such toil without detriment Put 
 up jour books." 
 
 "Not yet; I have more laid out, and you 
 know I invariably finish all I set apart to do. 
 But, mother, your hand is hot; you are not 
 well." He rairied the thin hand, and pressed 
 it to his lips. 
 
 "A mere headache, nothing more. Mr. 
 Clark was here to-day; he is very impatient 
 about the rent; I told him we were doing all 
 we could, and thought that by September we 
 should be able to pay the whole. He spoke 
 of going to sea you, which I urged him not 
 to do, as you were exerting yourself to the 
 utmost." She scanned his face while she spoke, 
 
 and noted the compression of his mouth. He 
 knew she watched him, and answered with a 
 forced smile: " Y'^e.--, he came to the store this 
 morning. I told him we had been very un- 
 fortunate this year in losing our only servant; 
 and that sickness had torced us to incur more 
 expense than usual. However, I drew fifty 
 dollars, and paid him all I eovdd. True, 1 
 anticipated my dues, but Mr. Watson gave rae 
 permission. So for the present you need not 
 worry about rent." 
 
 " \\'hat is the amount of that erocery bill 
 you would not let me sec last week?" 
 
 "^ly dear mother, do not trouble yourself 
 with lliese little matters; the grocery bill will 
 very soon be paid. I have arranged with Mr. 
 Hill to keep his books at night, and therefore 
 you may be easy. Trust all to me. mother; 
 only take cfue of your dear self, and I ask no 
 more." 
 
 " Oh, Russell ! my son, my son !" 
 
 She had drawn a chair near him. and now 
 laid her head on his "shouMer, while tears 
 dropjx'd on his hand. lie had not seen her 
 so unnerved for years, and as he looked down 
 on her grief- stained, yet resigned face, his 
 countenance underwent a marvellous change; 
 and, folding his arms .'ibout her, he kissed her 
 pale, thin cheek repeatedly. 
 
 "Mother, it is not like you to repine in this 
 way; you who have suffered and endured so 
 niueh must not despond, when, alter a long, 
 starless night the day begins to dawn." 
 
 "I fear 'it dawns in clouds, and heralds only 
 storms.' For myself I care not, but for you, 
 Russell — my pride, my only hope, my brave 
 boy I it is for you that I sulTer. I have been 
 thinking to-night that this is a doomed place 
 for you, and that if we could only save money 
 enough to go to California, you might take 
 the position vou merit: lor there none woold 
 know of the blight which fell upon you; none 
 could look on your brow and dream it seemed 
 sullied. Here you have such bitter prejudice 
 to combat; such gross Injustice heaped upon 
 you." 
 
 lie lifted his mother's head from his bosom 
 and rose, with a haughty, defiant Smile on hia 
 lip. 
 
 "Not so; I will stay here, and live down 
 their hate. Mark me, mother, I will, live it 
 down, so surely as I am Russell Aubrey, the 
 
 despised son of a Let them taunt and 
 
 sneer! let them rake up the smouldering ashes 
 of the miserable past, to fling in my face and 
 blind me ; let them, and welcome ! I will gather 
 up these same ashes, diy and bitter, and hide 
 them with sacred zeal in a golden urn; and I 
 will wreathe it with ehaplcts that never die. 
 Aye! the Thcenix lies now in dust, but one 
 day the name of Aubrey will rise in more 
 than pristine glory; and mine be the hand to 
 resurrect its ancient splendor. ^ Mens cuj tu- 
 que is eat quisqueJ' MenzikofT, who ruled the 
 councils of the Kremlin in its palmiest days, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 once sold pies for a living in the streets of 
 Moscow. ^ Mens cuj usque is est qnisque!' I 
 will owe no man tlianks; none shall point to 
 me and say, 'He was drowning in the black, 
 seething gulf of social prejudice, r.nd I heltl 
 out a finger, and clinging to it he lived.' Not 
 so ! dollar for dollar, service for service, I will 
 pay as I rise. I scorn to ask favors, I am glad 
 none are tendered me. I have a grim satis- 
 faction in knowing that I owe no human being 
 a kindness, save you, my precious mother. 
 Go to California! not I! not I. In this state 
 will I work and conquer; here, right here, I 
 will plant my feet upon the necks of those 
 that now strive to grind me to the dust. I 
 swore it over my father's coffin ! I tell you, 
 mother, I will trample out the stigma, for, 
 tliank God! 'there is no free -trade measure 
 which will ever lower the price of brains.'" 
 
 " Husli, Russell, you must subdue your fierce 
 temper; you must! you must! rememlier it was 
 this ungovernable ragc'which brought disgrace 
 upon your young, innocent head. Oh! it 
 grieves me, my son, to see how bitter you 
 nave grown; it wrings my heart to hear you 
 challenge fate, as you so often do. Once you 
 were gentle and forgiving; now scorn and de- 
 fiance rule you." , 
 
 " I am not fierce, I am not in a rage. Lay 
 your hand on my temples — here on my wrist ; 
 count the pulse, slow and steady, mother, as 
 your own. I am not vindictive; ain no Indian 
 to boar about a secret revenge, ready to con- 
 summate it at the first propitious moment. If 
 I should meet the judge and jury who doomed 
 my father to the gallows, I think I would serve 
 them if they needed aid. But I am proud; I 
 inherited my nature; I writhe, yes, mother, 
 writhe under the treatment I constantly re- 
 ceive, r defy fate? Well, suppose I do : she 
 has done her worst. I have no quarrel with 
 her for the past ; but I will conquer her in the 
 future. I am not bitter; would I not give my 
 life for you ? Are you not dearer tq me than 
 my own soul ? Take back your words, they 
 hurt me ; don't tell me that I grieve you, 
 mother." 
 
 His voice faltered an instant, and he put 
 his arms tenderly rounfl the drooping form. 
 
 •' We have troubles enough, my son, with- 
 out dwelling upon wiiat is past and irremedi- 
 able. So long as you seem cheerful, I am 
 content. I know that Cod will not lay more 
 on me than I can bear ; • as my day, so shall 
 my strength be.* Thy will be done, oh ! my 
 God." 
 
 There was a briefpause, and Russell Aubrey 
 passed his hand oiAhis eyes and dashed otF 
 a tear. His mothfl^atched him, and said, 
 cautiously : ^fw 
 
 " Have you notic^ that my eyes are rapid- 
 ly growing woree ?" 
 
 '* Yes, mother, I hftvi^en anxious for some 
 weeks." ™ 
 
 " You knew it all, then V" 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " I shall not murmur ; I have become re- 
 signed at last ; though for many weeks I have 
 wrestled for strength, for patience. It was so 
 e.xceedingly bitter to know ihat the time drew 
 near when I should see you no more ; to feel 
 that I should stretch out my hands to you, and 
 lean on you, and yet look no longer on the 
 dear face of my ghild, my boy, my all. But 
 my prayers were heard ; the sting has paissed 
 away, and I am resigned. I am glad we have 
 spoken of it; now my mind is calmer, and I 
 can sleep. Good-night, my son." 
 
 She pressed the customary good-night kiss 
 on his lips, and left him. He closed the dic- 
 tionary, leaned his elbOw on the table, and 
 rested his head on his hand. His piercing 
 black eyes were fixed gloomily On the floor, 
 and now and then his broad chest heaved as 
 dark and jiainful thoughts crowded up. 
 
 ]Mrs. Aubrey was the only daughter of 
 wealthy and ambitious parents, who refused 
 to sanction her marriage with the object of 
 her choice ; and threatened to disinherit her 
 if she persisted in her obstinate course. Mr. 
 Aubrey was poor, but honest, hiixhly cultivat- 
 ed, and, in every sense of that much-abused 
 word, a gentleman. His poverty was not to 
 be forgiven, however, and when the daughter 
 left her father's roof, and wedded the maa 
 whom her parents detested, tlie die was cast ; 
 she was banished for ever from a home <^ 
 affluence, and found that she had indeed for- 
 feited her Ibrtune. For this she wa.« prepar- 
 ed, and bore it bravely ; but ere long severer 
 trials came upon her. Unfortunately, her 
 husband's temper was fierce and ungovern- 
 able ; and pecuniary embarrassments rarely 
 have the effect of sweetening such. He re- 
 moved to an inland town, and embarked in 
 mercantile pursuits; but misfortune followed 
 him, and reverses came thick and fast. One 
 miserable day when from early morning every- 
 thing had gone wrong, an importunate cred- | 
 itor, of wealth and great influence in the 
 community, chafed at Mr. Aubrey's tardiness 
 in repaying some trifling sum, proceeded to 
 taunt and insult him most unwisely. Stung 
 to madness, the wretched man resented the 
 insults ; a struggle ensued, and at its close Mr. 
 Aubrey stood over the corpse of the creditor. 
 There was no mode of escape, and the arm of 
 the law consigned him to prison. During the 
 tedious weeks that elapsed before the trial his 
 devoted wife, strove to cheer and encourage 
 him by every effort which one human being 
 can make for another. Russell was about 
 eleven years of age, and, boy though he was, 
 realizeii most fully the horrors of his parent's 
 situation. The days of the trial came at la.'rt; 
 but he had surrendered him.self to the demon 
 Rage, had taken the life of a fellow-creature; 
 what could legal skill accomplish? The afl'air 
 produced great and continued e-xcitement ; 
 the murdered man had been exceedingly pop- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 ular, and the sj-nipatbios of the citizens were I scrupulous honesty, still his nafrow mind and 
 enlisted in iK^haH of liis family. Although penurious habits stranded every generous im- 
 clearly a case of manslaughter only, the vio- pulsi?, and, without being absolutely cruel or 
 lent prejudice of the community and the ex- unprim-ipled, he contrived to gall the boy's 
 ertions of influential frit-nds so hix^sed the I proud sjjirit an<l render his position one of 
 jury that, to the astonishment of the counsel almost pur<j;atorial severity. The machinery 
 on both sides, the cry of '* blood for blood " of human wdl is occult and' complicated ; very 
 w*nt out from that crowded court-room, and in few rigidly analyze their actions and discern 
 defiance of precedent. Mr. Aubrey was un- I the motives that impel them, and if any one 
 justly sentenced to be hung. When the ver- i had told .lacob Wat.son that envy wa.s the 
 
 €i>ct was known, llusscll placed his insensible 
 mother on a couch from which it .seemed prob- 
 able she would never rii^e. But there is an 
 RFtonishing amount of endurance in even a 
 feeble "womaii's frame, and after a time she 
 
 fieeri't .spring which prompted his unfriendly 
 course toward his young clerk he would prob- 
 ably have indignantly denied the accusation. 
 The blessingof an education had been with- 
 held from him; he grew up illiterate and de- 
 
 went about her house once more, doing her ^ void of refinement; lortune favoreil him, he 
 ■duty to her chihl and learning to " .sulVer and ] amassed wealth, and determined that hia ehil- 
 •nrow strong." Fate had ordained, however, ! dren .should enjoy every advantage which 
 that Russell's father should not die upon the ] money could command. His eldest son was 
 
 gallows ; and soon after the verdict was pro 
 nonneed, when all Mr.s. Aubrey '.s eflbrts to 
 procure a pnrdon had proved unavailing, the 
 
 just KusseU's age, had been sent to various 
 sclionld from his infancy, was imlolent, self-in- 
 dul^rent, and tliorouslilv dissipated. Having 
 
 proud and desj)erale man, in the solitude of his j been a second time expelled from school for 
 cell, with no eve b-it Jehovah's to witness the j most disgraceful misdemeanors, he lounged 
 awful deed, tlie consummation of his wtjoj-, ' away his time about the store or pa.-(sed it still 
 took his own life — with the aid of a laiy.-et j more disreputably with reckless companions, 
 launched his guilty soul into eternity. On The daily contrast presented by Cecil and 
 the floor of the cell' was found a Idurred sheet, Russell irritated the lather,, and hence his 
 Kprlnkled with blood, directed to his wife, bid- I settled dislike of the latter. The faithful dis- 
 ding her farewell, and committing her and ! charge of duty on the part of the clerk 
 her boy to the care of an outraged and insult- i allbrded no plausible occasion for invective; 
 ed God. Such was the legacy of shame which I he felt that he was narrowly watched, and 
 Russell inherited; was it any marvel that at resolved to give no ground for fault-finding; 
 fixteen that boy had lived ages of sorrow ? | yet during the long summer iLays, when the 
 Mrs. Aubrey found her husband's financial i intense heat prevented customers from throng- 
 affairs so involved that she relinquished the | ing the store, and there was notliing to be 
 hope of retaining the little .she posses-scfK and ! done, when Russell, knowing that, the books 
 retired to a small cottace on the outskirts of > were written up and the counters free from 
 the town, where she endeavored to support 1 goods, took iiis Latin grammar nm\ inij)rovcd 
 herself and the two dependent on her by tak- ! every leisure half-hour, he was not ignorant 
 ing in .*ewing. Electra Grey was the orphan ' of tlie fact that an angry scowl darkened hif» 
 child of Mr. Aubrey's only sister, who dying in employer's visage, and understood why he 
 poverty betjueathed tiie infant to her brother, was constantly interrupted to perform most 
 He had loved her as well as lii.s own Russell; j unnecessary labors. But in the same propor- 
 and his wife, who cradled her in her arms and tiou that ol)staeles thickened his energy and 
 taught her to walk by clinging to her finger, ' resolution doubled; and herein one Jiuman 
 would almost as soon have p'arted with her I s.nd dilfers from another in strength of will, 
 eon as the little Electra. For five years the I which lurnlshes powers of endurance. What 
 widow had toiled by midnight lamps to feed | the <lay denied iiiin he reclaimed iVoui night, , 
 these two; now oitpress.d nature rebelled, the j and succeeded in uccpiiring a tolerable knowl- 
 long over-taxed eyes refused to perform their | (.-^Ige of Greek, besides reading several Latin 
 oihee; fiiiny catarai:t.s stole over them, veiling j books. Finding that his small salary was 
 their siulness and their unshed tears — blind- j inailefjuate, now that his mother's laillng sight 
 ness was creejjing on. At his father's death, j prevented lier from acconiplisliing the usual 
 Russell was forced to quit school, and with ' amount of sewing, he solici'^^ed and obtained 
 some didiculty he succeed id in obtaining a ^ pennissioa to keep an additional .set of books 
 
 situation in a large dry-goods store, wheic his 
 labors were onerous in the extreme, and his 
 wages a mere pittance. To domineer over 
 those whom adverse fortune places under their 
 control is by no means unconnnon among ig- 
 norant and selfisii men, whose industry has 
 acquired independence, and though Russell's 
 employer, Mr. Watson, shrank from eomiiiit- j ment of rent due 
 
 ibr the grocer who furnished his family with 
 
 provision-*, though by 
 
 hours rimained for 
 
 protra'.ted illness a 
 
 faithful servant, togi 
 
 dious sickness, bringin 
 
 medical aid, had p; 
 
 ting a gross wrong, and prided himself on his I tage, and Russell w» compelled to ask for a 
 
 arrangement few 
 ssary sleep. The 
 lath ol' an aged and 
 with Eieelra's te- 
 he c.Ktra expense of 
 ted the prompt pay- 
 three-roomed cot- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 poi'tion of his salary in advance. His mother 
 little dreamed of the struggle which took 
 place in his heart ere he could fon'e himself 
 to make the request, and he carefully con- 
 cealed from her the fact that at the moment 
 ot receiving the money he laid in Mr. Wat- 
 sou's hand by ■way of pawn the only article of 
 any value which he possessed, the watch his 
 father had always worn, and which the coroner 
 took from the vest-pocket of the dead, dabbled 
 with blond. The gold chain had been sold 
 long before, and the son wore it attached to a 1 
 simple black ribbon. His employer received 
 the watch, locked it in the iron safe, and 
 llusscU fastened a small weight to the ribbon, 
 and kept it around his neck that his mother ' 
 might not suspect the truth. It chanced that ' 
 Cecil stood near at the time ; he saw the 
 watcii deposited in the safe, whistled a tune, 
 fingered tiis own gold repeater, ai'id walked 
 away. Such Avas Russell Aubrey's history; 
 such his situation at the beginning of. his 
 seventeenth year. Have I a reader whose 
 ibnd father lavishes on him princely advan- 
 tages, whose shelves are filled with valuable, 
 but unread volumes, whose pockets are sup-' 
 plied with more than necessary money, and 
 who yet saunters thi-ough the precious season 
 of youth failing utterly to appreciate his privi- 
 leges? Let him look into that little room 
 where Russell sits, pale, wearied, but unbend- 
 ing, pondering hisK dark future, planning to 
 protect his mother from want, and racking his 
 brain tor some feasible method of \procuring 
 such books as he absolutely needs ; books 
 which his eager, hungry eyes linger on as he 
 passes the book-store every morning going to 
 his work. Oh, young reader! if such I have, 
 look at him struggling with adversity as a 
 strong swimmer with the murderous waves 
 tU^t lash him, and, contrasting your oAvn for- 
 tunate position, shake ofi' the inertia that 
 clings to you tenacionsly as Sinbad's burden, 
 and go to work earnestly and bravely, thank- 
 ing God for the aids he has given you. 
 
 '• Dis.ippoiiituitnt's dry and bitter ruot. 
 Jbluv> s harsh Ijcrries, and the choking poM 
 Uf iho wurlJ'd sturn, ar» the right inuthcr'-milk 
 'to tlic IcUgli bi-T-its th:ii pionttr thuir kind." 
 
 cnArTi:R ii. 
 
 ".Irene, your father will bc displeased if he 
 nees you in that plight." 
 
 " I'ray, what is wrong about me now ? You 
 seem to glory in finding fautt. What is the 
 matter with my 'pliglit' as you call it?" 
 
 "You kn6w vfiffj' well your, father can't 
 boar to see you carrying your own .satchel 
 and basket to school. He onlcred Martha to 
 take them every morning and evening, but 
 she says you will not let her carry them. It is 
 just sheer ob.stinaey in you." 
 
 " There it is agaun | because I don't choose 
 
 to be petted like a baby or made a wax-doll 
 of, it is set down to obstinacy, as if I had the 
 temper of a heathen. See here, aunt Mar- 
 garet, I am tired of having Martha tramping 
 eternally at my heels as though I were a two 
 year old child. There is no reason in> her 
 walkii\g after nic when I am strong enough to 
 carry my own books, and I don't intend she 
 shall do it any longer." 
 
 " But, Irene, your father is too proud to 
 have you trudgilig along the road like any 
 other l^t'ggar, vath your books in one arm and 
 a basket swinging on the other. Just suppose 
 the Carters or the i-f;irrisses ^70u!tl meet you ? 
 Dear me! they would hardly believe you 
 belonged to a wealthy, aristocratic family like 
 the Huntingdons. Clillil, I never carried my 
 own dinner to school in my life." . 
 
 "And I expect that is exactly the reason 
 why you arefor ever complaining, and scarcely 
 see one well day in the three hundred and 
 sixty-tive. As to what people think, 1 don't 
 care a cent; as to whether my ancestors did 
 or did not carry their lunch in their own aris- 
 tocratic hands is a mattcn- of no consequence 
 Avhatever. I despise all this ri<liculous non- 
 sense about aristocracy of family, and I mean 
 to do as I please. I thought that really well- 
 bred persons of high standing and birth could 
 afford to be silent on the subject, and that 
 only parvenus, coarse, vulgar people wit!i a 
 little money, put on those kind of airs, and 
 protended to be shocked at what they had 
 been accustomed to in early life." 
 
 " I do not see where you get snch plebeian 
 ideas; yoii positively make me ashamed of you 
 sometimes, when fashionable, genteel persons 
 come to the house. There is such a want of 
 refinement in your notions. You are anything 
 but a Huntingdon." 
 
 "I am wliat (Jod made me, aunt Margaret. 
 If the Huntingdons stand high, it is because 
 they won distinction by their own eH'orts; I 
 don't want the stepping-stones of my dead an- 
 cestry; people must judge me for myself, not 
 from what my graudmotiier was." 
 
 Irene Huntingdon stood op the marble steps 
 ' of, her palatial home, and talked witli the 
 ! maiden aunt who governed her father's house- 
 hold. The <{irl was about fourteen, tall for 
 her age, straight, llnely-formed, ."lender. The 
 broad straw ha^haded, but by ao means con- 
 cealed her feaWVes, anil as she looked up at 
 her aunt the sunshine fell upon a face of «x- 
 ; traordinary beauty, such as is rarely seen, save 
 I in the iil, alized heads of the old masteV.s. Her 
 I hair was of an uncoininon shade, neither au- 
 burn nor brown, but between gold and bronze; 
 and as the sun shone on it the rippling waves 
 fl;u>hed, until. their burnished glory seemed a 
 very aureola. It was thick and curlilig; she 
 ! wore it parted on her pale,, polished forehead, 
 I and it bung around ]ier like a gilded veil. 
 1 The face was an oval ; you might measure it 
 1 by all the rules of art {fud no imper(eetion 
 
10 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 could bo found, unless the heijht of the brow 
 were (.-onsidered out of proportion. The nose 
 v/as delicate and clearly cut, au'l in outline 
 resenvbled that in the anti(jue niou il? of Olym- 
 pias, the wife of Piiiiip of Mactdoiiia. The 
 upper lip was short, and curved like a bow; 
 the lower, thin, firm, and straijjht. Her eyes 
 were stran<rely, marvellously beautiful; they 
 were larorel- tlian usual, and of that rare shade 
 of purj)Iish blue which borders the white velvet 
 jMitals of a ch'matis. WIren the eyes were uj>- 
 lifted, as on this occasion, lonii, curling iashes 
 of the bronze l;^c of her hair rested against 
 her brow. ' Save rhe scarlet lines which marked 
 her lips, her fa.;e was of that clear colorless- 
 ness which can be likened only to the purest 
 ivory. T!i«ngh there was an utter absence of 
 the rosy hue of health, the transparency of 
 the eomj)lexinn seemed characteristic of her 
 typ?. and precluded all thought of disease. 
 People are powerfully attracted by beauty, 
 eicher of ibrm, color, or acombination of both; 
 and it frequently happens that something of 
 jiain mingles with the sensation of pleasure 
 thus excited. Now, whether it be that this 
 arises from a vague apjirehensjon engendered 
 by the evanescent nature of all sublunary 
 things, or/rom the inability of earthly types 
 to satisfy the divine ideal w||iich the soul en- 
 shrines. I Tshall not here attempt to decide; 
 but tho.'-'c who e.xamined Irene's countenance 
 were fully conscious of this complex emotion ; 
 and strangers v/bo y>assed her in the street felt 
 intuitively that a -noble, unsullied soul looked 
 out at them Irom tUe deep, calm, thoughtful 
 eyes. Miss Margaret muttered somethino; in- 
 audible in reply to her last remark, and Irene 
 walked on to sirhool. Her father's residence 
 was about a mile Irom the town, but the wind- 
 ing road rendered the walk somewhat longer; 
 and on one si<le of this road stood the small 
 house oceupie<l by Mrs. Aubrey. As Irene 
 approached it she saw Electra Grey coming 
 from the opposite direction, and at the cottage 
 gale they met. Both pau.sed; Irene h'jld out 
 her hand cordially — 
 
 " Good-morning. I have not seen you for a 
 fortnight. I thought you were coming to school 
 again as soon as you were strong enough ? " 
 
 "No; I am not going back to«chool." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because auntie can't aflFord to send me 
 any longer. You know her eyes are growing 
 worse every day, and she is not able to take 
 in sewing as she used to do. I am sorry ; but 
 it can't be helped." 
 
 '■ How do you know it can't be helped ? 
 Russell told me he thought she had cataracts 
 on her eyes, and they can be removed." 
 
 "Perhaps so, if we had the means of con- 
 sulting that celebrated physician in New Or- 
 leans. Money removes a great many things, 
 Irie, but unfortunately we have' n't it." 
 
 " The trip would not cost much ; suppose 
 you speak to Russell about it." 
 
 "Much or little, it will ^-equire more than 
 we can possibly spare. Everything is so high 
 we can liarely live as it i.s. But I must go in, 
 my aunt is waiting for me." 
 
 •• Wliere have you been so early, Electra? 
 I hope you will not think me impertinent in 
 asking such a question." 
 
 '• I carried this waiter full of bouquets to 
 Mr. Carter's. There is to be a grand dinner-, 
 party t'.ierc to-day, and auntie promised as 
 many flowers as she could furni.sh. However, 
 bouquets pay poorly. Irie, wait one minute; 
 I have a little border of mignonette all my 
 owu, and I should like to give you a spray." 
 
 She hurried into the gaiden, and returning 
 with a few delicate sprigs fastened one in her 
 friend's belt and the remainder in the ribbon 
 on her hat. 
 
 "Thaf'k you, Electra; who told you that I 
 love mignonette so well ? It will not do for 
 you to stay away from scTiool; I miss you in 
 my class, and besides, you are losing too much 
 tiu\e. Something should be done, Electra. 
 Good-by." 
 
 They shook hands, and Irene walked on. 
 " Something should be done," she repeated, 
 looking down fi.xedly yet vacantly at the sandy 
 road. Soon the brick walls oT the academy 
 ro.-;e grim and uninviting, and taking her place 
 at the desk she applied herself to her books. 
 When school was dismissed in the afternoon, 
 instead of returning home as usual she walked 
 down the principal street, entered Mr. Wat- 
 son's store, and put her books on the counter. 
 It happened that the proprietor stood near the 
 front doov, and he came forward instantly to 
 wait upon her. 
 
 "Ah, ML<s Irene! happy to see you. What 
 shall I have the pleasure of showing you?" 
 
 " Il;issell Aubrey, if you please." , 
 
 TJie merchant stared, and she added: 
 
 '•1 want some kid gauntlets, bat Russell can 
 get them ibr me." 
 
 The young clerk stood at the desk in the 
 rear of the store, with his back toward the 
 counter; and Mr. Watson called out: 
 
 " Here, Aubrey, some kid gauntlets for this 
 young lad}-." 
 
 He laid down his pen, find taking a box of 
 gloves Irom the shelves placed it on the coun- 
 ter beibro her. He had not noticed her par- 
 ticularly, and when .she'puslied back her hat 
 and looked up at him he started slightly. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Huntingdon. What 
 number do yon wish ?" 
 
 Perhaps it was from the heat of the day, or 
 from stooping over his desk, or perhaps it was 
 from .something else, but his cheek was flushed, 
 and gradually it grew pale again. 
 
 " Russell, I want to speak to you about 
 Electra. She ought to be at school, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes." • • 
 
 " But she says ygnr mother can't afford the 
 expense." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 11 
 
 " Just now she can not ; next year things 
 will be better." f 
 
 " What is the tuition for her ?" 
 " Five f'oliars a month." 
 " Is that all ■>" 
 
 He selected a delicate fawn-colored pair of. 
 gloves and laid them before her, while a faint 
 smile passe/1 oyer his face. 
 
 " Russell, has anything happened ?" 
 " What do you mean V" 
 " What is troubling you so?" 
 " Nothing more than usual. Do those gloves 
 suit you ? ' 
 
 " Yes, they will fit me, I believe." She 
 looked at him ve^-y intentlv. 
 
 \li\ met her gaze steadily, and for an instant 
 his liice brightened; then she said, abruptly: 
 " Your motlicr's eyes arc worse ?" 
 " Yes, much worse." 
 
 " Have you consulted Dr. Arnold about 
 them V" 
 
 " He says he can do nothing for her." 
 " How much would it cost to take her to 
 New Orleans and have that celebrated oculist 
 examine them ?" 
 
 "More than we can afford just now; at 
 least two hundred dollars." 
 
 '• Oh, Ruisell 1 that is not much. Would 
 not Mr. "Watson lend you that little ?" 
 " 1 shall not ask him." 
 " Not i.'ven to restore your mother's sfght?" 
 " Not to buy my own life. Besides, the ex- 
 periment is a (.loubtful one." 
 " Siill it is worth m.aking." 
 " Yes, under different circumstances it cer- 
 tainly would be." 
 
 " Have vou talked to Mr. Campbell about 
 it?" 
 
 " No, because it is useless to discuss the 
 matter." 
 
 " It woukl be dangerous to go to New Or- 
 leans now, I suppose?" 
 
 " October or November would be better." 
 Again she looked at him very earnestly, 
 then stretched out her little hand. 
 
 " Ciood-by, Russell ; I wish I could do some- 
 thing to help you, to make you less sorrowful." 
 He held the slight waxen fingers, and his 
 mouth trembled as he answered. 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Huntingdon. I am not 
 son-owful, but, my path in life is not quite so 
 flowery as jours." 
 
 " I v.'ish you would not call me ' Miss Hun- 
 tingdon,' in tliat stiff, far-off way, as if we 
 were notv friends. Or maybe it is a hint that 
 you desire me to address you as Mr. Aubrey. 
 It sounds strange, unnatural, to say anything 
 but Russell." 
 
 She gathered up her books, took the gloves, 
 and went slowly homeward, and Russell re- 
 turned to his desk with a light in his eyes 
 which, for the remainder of the day, nothing 
 could quench. As Irene ascended the long 
 liill on wliich.Mr. Huntingdon's residence 
 stood she saw her father's buggy at the door. 
 
 and as she approached the steps he came out, 
 drawing on his gloves. 
 
 " Y'6u are late, Irene. What kept you ?" 
 " i have been shopping a little. Are you 
 going to ride ? Take me with you." 
 " Going to dine at iNIr. Carter's." 
 " Wiiy, the sun is almost down now. What 
 time will you come home ? I want to ask you 
 something." 
 
 " Not till long after you are asleep." 
 He took his seat in the buggy, and the 
 spirited horse dashed down the avenue. A 
 servant came forward to take her hat and 
 satchel and inform her that her dinner had • 
 waited some time. Miss Margaret sat crotch- 
 eting at tiie front window of tiie dlniiig-roora, 
 and Irene ate her dinner in silence. As she 
 rose and approached her aunt the door swung 
 open and a youth entered, apparently about 
 ' Rus.sell's age, though really one year older. 
 
 " Irene, 1 am tired to death waiting for you. 
 What a provoking girl you are. The horstis 
 have been saddled at least one hour and a 
 half. Do get on your riding-dress. I am out 
 of all patience." 
 
 He rapped his boot-heavily with his whip 
 by way of emphasis, and looked hurriedly at 
 his watch. 
 
 " I did not promise to ride with you this 
 evening, Hugh," answered his cousin, seating 
 herself on the window-sill and runjiing her 
 fingers lightly over the bars of a beautiful 
 cage, where her canary pecked playfully at 
 the fair iiand. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Suppose you did n't prom- 
 ise ; I waited for you, and told Grace Harriss 
 and Charlie that we would meet them at the 
 upper beiid of the river, just above the fac-, 
 tory. Charlie's new horse^has just arrived 
 from Vermont — Green Mountain Boy, he calls 
 him — and we have a bet of a half-dozen pairs 
 of gloves that he can't beat my Eclipse. 
 Do come along ! Aunt Margaret, make hei" 
 come." 
 
 " I should like to see anybody qiake her 
 do what she is not in the humor for," said 
 his aunt, looking over her glasses at the lithe, 
 graceful figure on the window-sill. 
 
 " Hugh, I would rather stay at home, for I 
 am tired, but I will go to oblige you." 
 
 Miss ^largaret lilted her eyebrows, and 
 as his cousin left the room Hugh Seymour 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Is n't she the greatest beauty in the United 
 States V" 
 
 " She will be a belle when she is grown ; 
 just such a one as your mother was, only she 
 lacks her gayety of disposition. She is full 
 of strange notions, Hugh; you don't know the 
 half of her character — her own father does 
 not. Frequently I am puzzled to understand 
 her myself." 
 
 " Oh I she will come out of all that. She 
 is curious about some things now, but she will 
 outgrow it." 
 
12 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 "I am afraid she -will not, for it is as much 
 a part of Lcr as the color of her hair or 
 the sha;pe of her nose. She has always been 
 queen." 
 
 Irene appeai'wl at the door with a small 
 sihf^r po}-te-moni>aie iu hir hand. Sheeounted 
 the contents, put it into her pocket, and, 
 'gathering up the Molds of her habi^, led the 
 way to the front door. Hugh adjusted the 
 reins, and laying one hand on his she sprang 
 lightly to her saddle, then stroked her horse's 
 silky mane and said : 
 
 •'Erebu^ can leave Green Mountain Boy so 
 far behind that Charlie would find it no easy 
 matter to count the plumes in my hat. Are 
 you ready V" 
 
 The beautiful, jetty creature, as if conscious 
 of her praise, tossed his head and sprang 
 oif in a canter, but wheeling round she called 
 to the groom who stood watching them; 
 
 " Uuehain Paragon !" 
 
 Five minutes later the cousins were gallop- 
 ing on, with a superb greyhound ibllowing 
 clo<e at Erebus' heels, and leaping up now 
 and then in obedience to the motion of Irene's 
 hand. The road ran through a hilly country, 
 now clad iu stern, ancestial pines, and now 
 skirttd with oak and hickory, and about a 
 mile beyond the town it made a sharp angle, 
 and took the river bank. The sun iiad set, 
 but the western sky was still aglow ; aud near 
 the bank, where the current was not per- 
 ceptible, the, changing tints ,of the cfouds 
 v/erc clearly mirrored, but in the middle of 
 the stream a Ici^e of rock impeded lis course, 
 and the water broke over with a dull roar, 
 churniag itself into foam and spray as it 
 dasilied trom shelf to shelf of the etony bar- 
 rier. Just opposite the l<'all, Irene checked 
 her horse, and paus<jd to Udmire the beauty 
 of tiie scene ; but in another moment the 
 • quick tramp of hoofs fell on her ear, and 
 Hugh's young friends joined them. Green 
 Mountaiu Boy was flecked with foam, aud 
 as irene measured his perfections at one 
 hasty glance she jjatted her favorite's head 
 and chaliengjd C'iiarlie for a trial of speed. 
 
 ^' No, Charlie uud 1 must, have the race. 
 Miss Grace, you and Irene can take care of 
 yourselves for a few minutes. We will wait 
 for you on the edge of town, at the grave- 
 yWd. Now, Cliarhe, I am ready." 
 
 They took their places in front, and were 
 Boon out of sight, as the road followed the 
 curves of the river. Erebus plunged vioUmt- 
 ly at first, not being accustomed to lag behind 
 Ki.lipse, but by much persuasion and frequent 
 kind touches on his head, Irene managed to 
 reconcile him to the temporary disgrace. 
 
 (iraee looked at his antics rather fearfully, 
 aud observed tliat no amount of money could 
 tempt her to moimt him. 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " He will break your neck yet.". 
 I •' He is very spirited, but as gentle as Para- 
 
 gon. Come, Grace, it is getting late; they 
 will be waiting for u«. Quicken your sober, 
 meek little brownie." 
 
 " So Electra is not coming back to school. 
 It is a great pity she can't have an education." 
 
 " Who told you anything about herV" 
 
 '• Oh,, everybody knows how poor her aunt 
 is; and now to mend matters she is going 
 blind. I would go to see Electra occasionally 
 if the family had not been so disgraced. I 
 like her, but no genteel person recognizes 
 Mrs. Aubrey, even in the street." 
 
 " That is very unjust. She is one of the 
 most refined, elegant women I have ever seen. 
 Slie ought not to be blamed for her husband's 
 mistbrtune. Poverty is lio crime." 
 
 If she had been treated to a Hindostanee 
 proverb, Grace could not have looked more 
 stujiidly surprised. 
 
 '• Wliy, Irene! Mrs. Aubrey wears a bit- 
 calico to church." • 
 
 "Well, suppose she does? Is people's 
 worth to be determined only by the cost or 
 the quality of their clothes? If I were to 
 give your cook a. silk dress exactly' like that 
 one your uncle sent you from Paris, and pro- 
 vide her with shawl and bonnet to match, 
 would she be your equal, do you think? I 
 imagine you w^ould not thank me or anybody 
 else who insinuated that Mrs. Ilan-iss' negro 
 cook was quite as genteel a,nd elegant as Mifs 
 Grace herself, because she wore exactly the 
 same kind of clothes. I tell you, Grace," it iSn' 
 all humbug ! this everlasting talk about fash- 
 ion, and dress, iuid gentility! Pshaw I I am 
 sick of it. When our forefathers were fighting 
 for freedom, for a national existence, I won- 
 der whether their wives measured each other's 
 respectability or gentility by their lace collars 
 or the number of flounces on their dresses?' 
 Grace Harriss, your great-grandmother, and 
 mine, and probably everybody's else, spun the 
 cotton, and wove the cloth, and cut and ma^le 
 their homespun di'esses, and were thankful to 
 get them. And these women who ha,d not 
 even bit-calicoes were the mothers, and wives, 
 and sisters, and daughters of men who estab- 
 lished the most glorious government on the face 
 of the broad earth ! The way the women of 
 America have degenerated is a crying shame. 
 I tell you, I would blush to look my great- 
 grandmother in the face." 
 
 Grace shrugged her shoulders in expressive 
 silence, and, soon after, they reached the spot 
 where the boys were waiting to join them. 
 
 " Eclipse made good his name !" cried Hugh, 
 tiiunq)!u»ntly, while Charlie bit his Hp with 
 cha<i;nn. 
 
 '%ever mind, Charlie, Erebus can distance 
 Eclipse any day." 
 
 "N!5t so easily," muttered Hugh. 
 
 " I will prove it the next time we ride. Now 
 for a canter as far as Grace's door." 
 
 On they went, through the main street of 
 the town: Erebus ahead, Paragon at his heels, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 13 
 
 then all the others. The wind blew Irene's 
 veil over her eyes, she endeavored to put it 
 back, and in the eifort dropped her whip. It 
 was ousk ; they were near one of the cross- 
 ings, and a tall well-known form stooped, 
 found the whip, and handed it np. Erebus 
 shied, but the hand touched Irene's as it in- 
 serted the silver handle in the slender finger?. 
 
 " 'J'iiank you, Russell, thank you verymueh." 
 
 lie bowed fornnlly, drew his straw hat over 
 bis brow, and walked on with two heavy ac- 
 count-books under his arm. 
 
 " I can't endure that boy," said Hugh, at 
 the distance of half a square, flourishing his 
 whip eni'.i'gctieally as he sjioke. 
 
 " Nor I,'' chimed in Charlie. 
 
 " Wliy not ? I have known him along time, 
 and I like him very much." 
 
 " He is so confoundedly proud and saintly." 
 
 '* That exists entirely in your imagination, 
 ilugh. You don't know half his good qoali- 
 ties," returned Irene, a little quickly. 
 
 " Bah I — " began her cousin ; but here their 
 companions bade them good-night, and, as if 
 disinclined to continue the subject, Irene kept 
 in ailvance till they reached home. Tea wAs 
 waiting ; Miss Margaret and Hugh talked of 
 various things ; Irene sat silent, balancing her 
 spoon on the edge of her cup. Finally, tired 
 of listening, she glided to the front door and 
 seated herself on the steps. Paragon followed, 
 and laid down at her feet. Everything was 
 ({uict, save the distant roar of the river as it 
 foamed over its rocky bed ; bolow, hanging on 
 the bank of the stream, lay the tow". From 
 her elevated position she could trace the wind- 
 ing of the streets by the long rows of lamps ; 
 and now and then a faint hum rose on the 
 breeze, as it swept up the hill and lost, itself in 
 tlie forest behind the house. Very soon Hugh 
 came out, cigar in hand, and threw himself 
 down beside her. 
 
 " What is the matter, Trie ?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " What are you moping here for ?" 
 
 " I am not moping at all ; 1 am waiting for 
 ftxther." ^ • 
 
 "He will not be here for three hours yet. 
 Don't you know that Mr. Carter's dinners 
 always end in card-parties ? He is famous 
 for whist anjl euchre, and doubtless his din- 
 ners pay him well. What do you want with 
 uncle ?" 
 
 " Hugh, do throw away your cigar. It is 
 ridiculous to see a boy of your age pufting 
 a%vay in that style. Betting and smoking 
 seem to be the only things you have learneil 
 at; Yale. By the way, when do you go back ?" 
 
 " Are ,you getting tired of me ? I go back 
 in ten days. Irene, do you know that I am 
 not coming home next vacation ? I have 
 promised a party of merry fellows to spend it 
 with them in C:\nada. Theu the next sum- 
 mer I go to Europe, for two years at least. 
 Are you listening '! Do you understand that 
 
 it will be four years before I see you again ?" 
 
 " Yes, I understand." 
 
 " I dare say the time will seem longer to rae 
 than to you." 
 
 " I hope when you do come back we shall . 
 not be disappointed in you." 
 
 He took ber hand, but she withdrew her 
 fingers. 
 
 " Irene, you belong to rae, and you know it." . 
 
 " No ! I belong to God and mvselt'." 
 
 She rose, and, retreating td the library, 
 opened her books and began to study. Th« 
 night passed very slowly ; she looked at the 
 clock again and again. Finally the house be- 
 came quiet, and at last the cru'sli of wheels ou 
 the gravel-walk announced her father's return. 
 He came into the library for a cigar, and, with- 
 out noticing her, drew his ch<air to the open 
 window. She approached and put her hand 
 on his shoulder. ' 
 
 " Irene! what is the matter, child?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir ; only I want to ask you some- 
 thing." 
 
 " VV'ell, Queen, what is it ?" 
 
 He drew her tenderly to .his knee, and 
 passed his hand over her floating hair. 
 
 Leonard Huntingdon was forty years old;, 
 tall, spare, with an erect and martial carriage. 
 He had been trained at West Point, andper- 
 haps early education contributed somewhat: to 
 the air of unbending haughtiness which many 
 found repulsive. His black hair was slightly 
 sprinkled with gray, and his features were still 
 decidedly handsome, though the expression of 
 mouth and eyes was, ordinarily, by no means 
 winning. He could seem very fascinating, but 
 rarely deigned to be so; and an intimate n«- 
 quaiiitance was not necessary to teach people 
 that he was proiid, obstinate, and thoroughly 
 selfish — loving only Hugh, Irene, and himself. 
 She was his only child; her mother had died 
 during her infancy, and on this beautiful idol 
 he lavished all the tenderness of which hi« 
 nature was capable. His tastes were culti- 
 vated, his house was elegant and complete, 
 and furnished magnificently; every luxury 
 that money could yie'ld him he possessed, yet 
 there were times when he seemed moody and 
 cvnical, and no one could surmise the cause of 
 his aloom. To-night there w;\s no shvlow on 
 hi; face, how^ever; doubtless the sparkle of the 
 I wine-cup still shone in his piercing blue eye, 
 and the girl looked up at him fearing no denial. 
 I " Father^ I wish, please, you would give mc 
 i two hundred dollars." ^ 
 
 I " What would you do with it, .Queen ?" 
 I " I do not want it for myself; I should like 
 I (o have that much to enable a poor woman to 
 j recover her sight. She has cataracts on her 
 eyes, and there is a physician in New Orleans 
 who can relieve her. Slie is poor, and it v.ill 
 cost about two hundred dollars. Father, won't 
 you give me the money?" , 
 
 He took the cigar from his lipy, shook oil 
 ' the ashes, and asked indillerently : 
 
14 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " What is tlie -nroman's name ? Has she no 
 husband to take cary of her ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Aubrey ; she — ." 
 
 "Whit!" 
 
 The cigar fell from his (injior?, he put her 
 from his knee, and rose instantly. Ilis swarthy 
 cheek slowed, and she wondered at the ex- 
 pression of his eyes, so different from anything 
 shQ had over seen there before. 
 
 " Father, do you know her V" 
 
 "Whatdo')'ou know of her? What busi- 
 ness is it of yours, whothcr she croes blind, or 
 not? Is it possible Margaret allows you to 
 visit at that house ? Answer mc ; what do 
 you know about her ?" 
 
 " I know that she ie a very gentle, unfor- 
 tunate woman ; that she has many bitter 
 1/ials; that she works hard to support her 
 family; that she is noble and — ." 
 
 " Who gave you permission to visit that 
 house ?" 
 
 " Xo permission was necessary. I go there 
 because I love her and Ele(!tra, and because 
 I like Russell. Why should n't I go there, 
 sir V Is poverty disgrace V" 
 
 " Irene, mark me. You are to visit; that 
 house no more in future ; keep away from the 
 whole family. I will have no such associa- 
 tion. \ Never let me hear their names again. 
 Grt) to bed." 
 
 " Give me one good reason, and I will obey 
 you." 
 
 " Reason ! ]\Iy will, my command, is suffi- 
 cient reason. What do you mean by eate- 
 chising mc. in this way ? Implicit obedience 
 is your duty." 
 
 Thecalm hoi}' eyes looked wonderingly into 
 his : and as he marked the startled expression 
 of the girl's pure face his own eyes drooped. 
 
 " Father, has Mrs. Aubrey ever injured 
 you ?" 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " If she has not, you are very unjust to 
 her; if she hjus, remember she is a Tvoman, 
 bowed down with many sorrows, and it is un- 
 manly to hoard up old diiferences. Father, 
 please give mo that money.' 
 
 " J will bury my last dollar in the Red sea 
 first ! Now are you answered V" 
 
 • She put her hand over her eyes, as if to 
 sliut out some painful visioir; and he saw th.j 
 slight form shudder. In perfect silence she 
 took her l)ooks and went up to her room. Mr. 
 Iluutingilon reseated himself as the door 
 closed behind her, and the lamplight showed 
 a sinister smile writhing over his dark features. 
 In the busy hours of day, in the rush and din 
 of active life, men can drown remorseful 
 whispers, and shut their eyes to the panorama 
 which memory strives to place before them ; 
 but there come still hours, solemn and inexo- 
 rable, when struggles are useless, and the 
 phantom-recollections of early years crowd 
 up like bannel-ed armies. He sat there, 
 staring out into the starry night, and seeing 
 
 by the shimmer of the setting moon only the 
 graceful form and lovely face of Amy' Au- 
 brey, as she had appeared to him in other 
 days. CouM he forget the hour when she 
 wrenched her cold fingers from his clasp, and, 
 in defiance of her father's wishes, vowed she 
 would never be his wife ? No ; revenue waa 
 sweet, very sweet ; his heart had swelled with 
 ( xultation when the verdict of death upon 
 the gallows wa»pronounced upon the husband 
 of her choice ; and now, her poverty, her 
 humiliation, her blindness gave him deep, uu- 
 utterable joy. The history of the past was a 
 sealed volume to his daughter, but she was 
 now for the first time conscious that her 
 father regarded the widow and her son with 
 unconquerable hatred ; and with strange, fore- 
 boding dread she looked into the future, Icuow- 
 iiig that forgiveness was no part of his nature ; 
 that insult or injury was never forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Whether the general rule of implicit obe- 
 dience to parental injunction admitted of no 
 exceptions, was a problem which Irene read- 
 ily solved ; and on Saturday, as soon as her 
 father and cousin had started to the plantation 
 (twenty-five miles distant), she put on her hat, 
 and walked to town. Wholly absorbed in 
 philanthropic schemes, she hurried along t^io 
 sidewalk, ran up a flight of steps, and knocked 
 at a door, on which was written in large gilt 
 letters " Dr. Arnold." 
 
 ". Ah, Beauty ! come In. Sit down, and 
 tell me what brought you to town .^o early." 
 
 He was probably a man of fifty ; gruff in 
 appearance, and unmistakably a bachelor. 
 Ills thick hair was grizzled, ^so was the heavy 
 beard ; and shaggy gray eyebrows slowly un- 
 bent, as he took !iis visitor's little hands and 
 looked kindly down into her grave face. From 
 her infancy lie had petted and fondled her, 
 and she stood as little in awe of him as of 
 Paragon. 
 
 " Doctor, are you busy this morning?" 
 
 " I am never too busy to attend to you, 
 little one. "WHiat is it ?" 
 
 " Of course you know that IMrs. Aubrey is 
 almost blind." 
 
 " Of course I do, having been her phy- 
 bitian."' 
 
 " Those c^vtaraets can be removed, how- 
 ever." 
 
 " Perhaps they can, and perhaps they can't.'' 
 
 " But the probabilities are that a good ocu- 
 list can relieve her." 
 
 " I rather think so." 
 
 " Two hundred dollars would defray all the 
 expenses of a trip to New Orleans for this 
 purjiose, but she is too poor to afford it." 
 
 " Decidedly too poor." 
 
 Ills gray eyes twinkled promisingly, but ho 
 would not anticipate her. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 15 
 
 "Dr. Arnold, don't you think you could 
 spare tliat small sum without much incon- 
 venience ?" 
 
 " Really ! is that what you trudged into 
 town for ?" 
 
 "Yes, just that, and nothing else. If I had 
 had the money I should not have applied to 
 you." 
 
 " Pshaw ! your father could buy me a dozen 
 times." 
 
 " At any rate, I have not the necessary 
 amount at my disposal just now, and I came 
 to aslf you to lend it to me." 
 
 " For how long, Beauty ?" • 
 
 " Till I am of age — perhaps not so long, I 
 will pay you the interest.-' 
 
 "You will climb Pojjocatapell, won*t you ? 
 Hush, child." 
 
 He went into the adjoining room, but soon 
 returned, and resumed his seat on the sofa by 
 her side. 
 
 "Irene, did you first apply to your father? 
 I don't relish the idea of being a dernier 
 ressart." 
 
 " What diflerence can it make to you 
 whether I did or did not ? That I come to 
 you at all is sufficient proof of m3' faith in 
 your generosity." 
 
 Iliram Arnold was an acute and practised 
 physiognomist, but the pale, quiet face per- 
 plexed him. 
 
 " Do you want the money now V 
 
 " Yes, if you please ; but befoi-e you give it 
 to me I ought to tell you that 1 want the 
 ma*tter kept secret. No one is to know any- 
 thing about it — not even my father." 
 
 " Irene,, is it right to inveigle vxft' into 
 schehies with which you are ashamed to have 
 your own father acquainted ?" 
 
 ''You know the whole truth, therefore you 
 are not inveigled; and moreover. Doctor, I 
 am not ashamed of anj thing I do. ' 
 
 She looked so unembarrassed that for a 
 moment he felt puzzled. 
 
 " I knew Mrs. Aubrey before her mari'iage." 
 lie bent forward to watch the effect of his 
 wwds, but if she really knew or suspected 
 {'.uglit of the past, there was not the slightest 
 intimation of it. Putting back her hail", she 
 looked up and answered : 
 
 " That should increase your willingness to 
 aid her in htr misfortunes." 
 
 " Hold out your hand ; fifty, one hundred, 
 a hundred and fifty, two hundred. There, 
 will that do 'i" 
 
 " Thank you 1 thank you. You will not 
 need it soon, I hope?" 
 
 " Not until you are ready to pay me." 
 
 " Dr. Arnold, you have given me a great dca! 
 of pleasure — more than 1 can express. I — ." 
 
 " Don't try to exjjress it, Q;ieen. You have 
 given me infinitely more, I assure you." 
 
 Her splendid eyes were liAed toward him, 
 and with some sudden impulse she touehed 
 her lips to the hand he had placed on her 
 
 shoulder. Something like a tremor crossed 
 the doctor's habitually stern mouth as he 
 looked at the marvellous beauty of the girl's 
 countenance, and he kissed her slender fin- 
 gers as reverently as though he touched some- 
 thing consecrated. 
 
 " Irene, shall I take you home in my buggy?" 
 
 " No, thank you, I would rather walk. Oh! 
 Doctor, I am so much obliged to you." 
 
 She drew her hat over her face, and went 
 down the steps. Dr. Arnold walked slowly 
 across the office -floor with his hands behind 
 him ; the grim face was placid now, the dark 
 furrows on his brow were not half so deep, 
 and as he paused and closed a ponderous 
 volume lying on the table, a smile suddenly 
 fiiited over his features, as one sees a sun- 
 beam struggle through rifts in low rain-clouds. 
 He jiut the book in the case, and locked the 
 glass door. The " Augustinian Theory of 
 Evil " - was contained in the volume, which 
 seemed by no means to have satisfied him. 
 
 " All a maie worse than that of Crete ! I 
 will follow that girl; she shall be my Ariadne 
 in this Egyptian darkness. Pshaw ! if His 
 Highness of Hippo were right, what would 
 become of the world ? All social organiza- 
 tions are based (and. firmly too) on man's 
 faith in man ; establish the universal de- 
 pravity, devilishness of the human race, aftd 
 lo ! what supports tlic mighty social fabric ? 
 Machiavelism ? If tliat queer little untrained 
 freethinker, Irene, is not pure and sinless, 
 I then there are neither seraphim nor cheru- 
 j bim in higb Heaven J Cyrus, brln^ out my 
 buggy." 
 
 In answer to Irene's knock, Electra opened 
 
 I the cottage -door and ushered her into the 
 
 j small room which served as both kitchen and 
 
 dining-room. Everything was scrupulously 
 
 , neat, not a spot on the bare polished lloor, not 
 
 a speck to dim the purity of the snowy 
 
 dimity curtains, and on the table in tiie 
 
 I centre stood a vase filled with fresh fragrant 
 
 ■flowers. \n a low chair before the open 
 
 I window sat the widow, netting a blue and 
 
 I white nubia. She glanced round aa Irene 
 
 entered. 
 
 '• Who is it, Electra ?" 
 " Miss Irene, aunt." 
 
 " Sit down, Miss Irene ; how are' you to- 
 day ?■' 
 
 ■ She spoke rapidly, and for a moment 
 
 ; seemed confused, then resumed lier work. 
 
 Irene watched her pale, delicate fingers, and 
 
 1 the long auburn lashes drooping over the 
 
 colorless cheeks, and, when she looked up for 
 
 I an instant, the visitor saw that the mild, meek 
 
 ' brown eyes were sadly blurred. Jf ever resig- 
 
 I nation enthroned itself on a woman's brow, 
 
 one might have bowed before Amy Aubrey's 
 
 I sweet, placid, subdued face. No Daniel was 
 
 [ needed to interpret the lices which sorrow 
 
 bad printed around her patient, tremulous 
 
 ! mouth. 
 
10 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 «' Klictra, come to school l^Ionday. The 
 
 enclosed will pay your tuition for two moiitlis 
 
 your kind pympatby.' My .longer. Pluase 'don't hesitate to accept it, if 
 
 *you really love 
 
 ' Your friend 
 
 Ikexk." 
 
 " Jlrs. AuLrcy, I am sorry to hear you 
 eyes are no better." 
 
 '• 1 iiank you for } 
 sipht irrows more dim every day." 
 
 " I f>liould think n«;t(ing would be "injurious 
 td you now." 
 
 " It h purely mechanical ; I use my eyes 
 very little. Kledra arranges the colors for 
 mc, and I find it easy work." 
 
 Irene knelt down before her, and, folding j stole up from the mouUlcring, dusty crypts of 
 one of the hands in both hers, said eagerly: by-cone years; and jtutting the note in lier 
 
 " You sliau't sufler much longer; these veils , porket, Kiettra leaned her head against the 
 sh.all be taken cfl'. Here is the money to window and tlianked God for the gift of a 
 enable you to go to New Orleans and consult true friend. Tliinking of the group she had 
 that phxsician. As soon as the weather turns just left, Irene approached the gate and saw 
 cooh-r you must start." I that Ilussell stood holding it open for her to 
 
 " Mi.-^s Irene, I can not tax your generosity : pass. Looking up she stopped, for the ex- 
 
 Mrs. Aubrey sat with her face in her hands, 
 listening to the mournful, solemn voice tliai 
 
 pres.>^!on ol" his fa.e friglitencd and pained her. 
 •' KiK"».sclI, what is the matti'r V oh ! tell me." 
 A scornful, defiant smile distortwd his blood- 
 less lips, but he made no answer. IShe took 
 his hand ; it was cold, and the lingers were 
 
 so heavily ; I have no cl^im on your goodness. 
 Indeed I—." 
 
 " Please don't refuse the money ! You will 
 distix-ss me very much if you do. Why should 
 you hesitate V if it makes me happy and bene- 
 fits you, why will you decline it V Do you clenched* 
 think if my eyes were in the condition ofj " Musscll, are you ill?" 
 yours that J would not thank you to relieve^! She shuddered at the glare in his black 
 me V" ' *l eves. 
 
 The widow had risen hastily, and covered 
 her lace with her hands, while an unwonted 
 flush dyed her cheeks. She irembled, and 
 L-ene saw teare stealing throuiih the fingers 
 
 "Mrs. Aubrey, don't you think it is your 
 duly to recover your sight if possible :" 
 Yeji, if I could command the means.' 
 
 " I am not ill." 
 
 ."Won't you tell your friend what ails you ?" 
 
 " I have no friend but my mothei"." 
 
 " Oh, Russell, Russell !" 
 
 Her head drooped, and tha glittering hair 
 swept as a veil between them. The low llute- 
 like, pleading voice stirred his heart, and the 
 
 "Yeu have the means; you must emploj- bjood surged over his pallid Ibrehcad. 
 
 them. There, I will not take back the money ; 
 it is yours." 
 
 " Don't refuse it, antie, you will wound 
 Irie," pleaded Klectra. 
 
 How little they understood or apprecfated 
 the struggle in that gentle sufierftr's heart ; 
 how impossible for them to realize the humil- 
 iation she endured in accepting such a gift 
 from the child of Leonard llumingdon V" 
 
 With a I'altering voi(;e she asked : 
 
 " Did your lather send me this money ?" 
 
 " No," 
 
 It was the first time she hnd ever alluded 
 to bim, and Irene saw that some painful mcni- 
 ory linked itself with her father. Whatvould 
 it he 'i* There was silence for a few seconds; 
 tliei^ Mrs. Aubrey took the hands from her 
 face and .said: " Irene, I will accejjt your gen- 
 erous ofl'er. If my sight is restored, I can 
 repay you some day ; if not, I am not too 
 jtroud to be under this great obligation to 
 you. Oh, Irene ! I cant tell you how umeh 
 I thank you; my heart is too full for. words." 
 She throw her arm round the girl's waist and 
 strained her to her bosom, and hot tears fell 
 fast on the wa^•es of golden hair. A moment 
 after, Irene threw a tiny envelope into Elec- 
 tra's lap, and without another wo:-d glided out 
 of the room. 'Jhe orj)iian broke the seal, 
 and as she opened a sheet of note pajer a 
 ten- dollar bill slipped out. 
 
 I have been injured and insulted. Just 
 now I doubt all people and all things, even 
 the justice and mercy of God." 
 
 " Russell, ' shall not the righteous Judgo of 
 all the earth do right V" 
 
 ^' Shall tlie rich ;vnd llie unprimiplcd eter- 
 nally trample upon the poor opid the untbrtu- 
 nate':'" 
 
 "Who has injured you ?" 
 
 " A meek looking man who passes for a 
 Christian, who turns pale at the sound of a 
 violin, who e.xhorts to missionary labors, and 
 iaiks ollen about widows and orphans. Silch 
 a man, knowing the circumstances that sur- 
 rounc- me, my ])overty, my mother's allliction, 
 on bare and most unwarrantable su^^picion 
 turns me out of my situation as clerk, and en- 
 deavors to brand my name with infamy. To- 
 day I stand disgraced in the eves of the com- 
 munity, thanks to the vile slanders of that 
 pillar of the church, Jacob \N atson. Four 
 liours ago, I went to my work quietly, hope- 
 fully ; but now another spirit has entered and 
 posses.'^ed me. Irene," I am desperate. Do 
 you wonder ? It seems to me ages have rolled 
 over me since my mother kissed me this morn- 
 ing; there is a hissing serpent in my heart 
 which I have no power to expel. I could 
 bear it myself, but my mother ! my noble, 
 patient, suffering mother! 1 must go in, and 
 add a yet heavier burden to those already 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 17 
 
 orushinf:; out ber life. Pleasant {iflliiff?, these 
 I bring lier : that her son is disgraced, branded 
 as a rogue !" 
 
 There was no moisture in the keen eye, no 
 tremor in the metallic ring of" his voice, no re- 
 laxation of the curled lip. 
 
 " Can't you prove your innocence ? "Was it 
 money?" 
 
 " No, it was a watch ; my watch, which I 
 gave up as security for drawing a portion of 
 my salary in advance. It was locked up in 
 the iron safe ; this morning it was missing, and 
 they accuse nie of having stolen it." 
 
 He took olV his hat as if it oppressed him, 
 and lo.ssed back his hair. 
 
 *' What will you do, Russell ?" 
 
 " I don't, know yet." 
 
 " Oh ! if I could only help you." 
 
 She clasped her hands over her heart, and 
 for the first time since her infancy tears rush- 
 ed dowrt her cheeks. It was painful to see 
 that quiet girl so moved, and Russell hastily 
 took the folded hands in his, and bent his face 
 close to hers. 
 
 " Irene, the only comfort I have is that you 
 are my friend. Don't let them influence you 
 against me. No matttu" what you may hear, 
 believe in me. Oh, Irene, Irene ! believe in 
 me always !" 
 
 lie held her hands in a clasp so tight that it 
 
 f)ained her, then suddenly dropped them and 
 eft her. As a pantomime all this passed be- 
 fore Electra's eyes ; not a Avord reached her, 
 but she knew that something unusual had oc- 
 curred to bring her cousin home at that hour, 
 and felt that now he was but the avant-coXi- 
 rier of a new sorrow. She glanced toward her 
 aunt's bowed form, then smoUiered a groan, 
 and sat waiting for the blow to fall upon her. 
 Why spring to meet it? He went to his own 
 room first, and five, ten, fifteen minutes rolled j 
 on. She listened to the faint sound of his 
 lUjts, and' knew that he paced up and down 
 the floor; five minutes more of crushing sus- i 
 peiist, and he came along the passage and I 
 •tood at the do<ir. She looked at him, pale, I 
 irect, and firm,*and shuddered in titnking of j 
 the struggle wliich that calm exterior had cost , 
 bim. Mrs. Aubrey recognized th« step, and ■ 
 lOoked round in surprise. { 
 
 " Klectra, I certainly hear Russell coming." | 
 He drew near and touched her cheek with | 
 lis lips, saying tenderly : i 
 
 " How is my mother ?" 
 
 " Russell, what brings you home so early?" i 
 " That is rather a cold welcome, mother, 
 rat I am not astonished. Can you bear to 
 lear «omething unpleasant? Here, put your j 
 land.s in mine ; now lisUn to mc-. "You know , 
 dnw fil'ty dollars of my salary in advance, to j 
 )ay (;iark< At that time I gave my watch to 
 dr. Watson by way of pawn, he seemed so ; 
 elm tant to let me have thy money; you un- j 
 ersfand, mother, why I did not mention it at I 
 he time. He locked it up in the iron safe, to i 
 
 which no one ha-s access except him and my- 
 self Late yesterday I locked tlie safe as 
 usual, but do not remember whether the Avatch 
 was still there or not; this morning Mr. Wat- 
 son missed it; we searched safe, desk, .store, 
 could find it nowhere, nor the twenty-dollar 
 gold pii'ce deposited at the same time. No 
 other money was missing, though the safe con- 
 tained nearlya thousand dollArs. The end of 
 it all is that I am accused as the thief, and ex- 
 pelled in disgrace for-^ " 
 
 A low, phiintive cry escaped the widow's 
 lip.«, and her head sank heavily on the boy's 
 shoulder. Passing his arm fondly around 
 her, he kissed her white face, and continued 
 in the same hushed, passionless tone, like one 
 speaking under his breath, and stilling some 
 devouring i-age: 
 
 " Mother, 1 need not assure you of my in- 
 nocence. You know that I never could be 
 giiilty of what is imputed to me ; but, not 
 having it in my power to prove my innocence, 
 I shall have to surt"er the disgrace for a season. 
 Only for a season, I trust, mother, for in time 
 -the tiuth must be (^iseovered. I have been 
 turned out of my situation, and, though thejr 
 have no proof" of my guilt, they- will try to 
 brand me with the disgrace. But they can't 
 crush me ; so long as there remains a drop of 
 blood in my veins, I will scorn their slanders 
 and their hatred. Don't cry, mother; your 
 tears hurt me more than all my wrongs. If 
 you will only be brave, and put entire confi- 
 dence in me, I shall bear all this infinitel/ 
 better. Look at the bitter truth, f"ace to fiioe; 
 we have nothing more to lose. Poor, afllicted, 
 disgraced, there is nothing else on earth to 
 fear ; but there is everything to hope for ; 
 w.ealthi^ name, fame, influence. This is my 
 comfort; it is a grim philosophy, born of de- 
 spair. I go forward f"rom to-day like a man 
 who comes out of some fiery furnace, and, 
 blackened and scorched though he be, looks 
 into the future without apprehension, feeling 
 assured that it can hold no trials comparabfe 
 to those already past. Herein I am strong; 
 but you should have another and far brighter 
 hope to rest upon ; it is just such ordeals as 
 this for which religion promises you strength 
 and consolation. Mother, I have seen you 
 supported by Christian faith in a darker hour 
 than <his. Take courage, all will be weH 
 some day." 
 
 For a few momenta dt>ep silence reigned ia 
 the little kitchen, and only the Infinite eye 
 pierced the heart of the long tried sufferer. 
 V>'hen she raised her head from the boy's 
 bosom, the face, though tear-stained, waa 
 serene, and, preaeing her lips twice to his, she 
 said slowly : 
 
 " ' Beloved, think it not strange concerning 
 the. fiery trial wliich is to try you; as thougn 
 some strange thing happened unto you. For 
 whom the Lord iovelU he chasteneth, and 
 scourgelh e»ery son whom he receiveth.' I. 
 
18 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 will wail natienUv. my M)n, hopinc for proofs 
 which shall convmci- the world of yoiir inno- 
 oencc. I wii^h I rould tak«; the whole burden 
 on my shoulders, and n licvc you, my dear 
 
 «« You have, mother : it ceases to crush me, 
 now tliHt yiiu are voursolf once more." He ^ 
 fpokc -ivith dlffirultj-, however, as if something • 
 stifled him, and, rising, hastily poured out and 
 drank a ulass of water. 
 
 »• And now, Russell, sit down and let me tell , 
 Tou H lit Lie that is plejisant and sunshiny, 
 'rhero i-- still a l.ri|.'ht spot leR to look upon." ] 
 St« iilinp her hand into his, the mother in- 
 formed him of all that had wcurred during 
 IremV visit, and coneluded by laying the 
 mont V in his palm. 
 
 j:i,'(lia sat opposit*?, watclnng the change 
 that ' auK' over the faoe ?he loved best on 
 earth. Her large, eager, midnight eyes noted 
 the (lui A flush" and glad light which over- 
 spread his features; the deep joy that kiudh-d 
 in his tortured soul; and un.-.onsciously she 
 cluKhi d her fingers till the nails grew purjjle, 
 a» tlinuuh striving to strangle some hideous 
 objcti "thrusting itself before her. Her 
 breat!iin.g became labored and painful, her 
 »»aze miire concentrated and searehij)g, and 
 when her cousin exclaimed: "Oh, mother! 
 she i^ an angel! I have always known it. She 
 is Hiniktt everylx)dy else!" Eleetra's heart 
 £iceni< d to stand still; and from that moment 
 a sonil'r© curtain fell between the girl's eyes 
 and (Vl's sunshine. She rose, and a silent 
 yet terrible struggle took plac«5 in her pas- 
 sionate Boul. Justice and jealousy wrestled 
 bri-fly ; she would be just, though every star 
 fell from her skv, and with a (juick, unti-rtaiu 
 step she reached Kuatjell, thrust Irene's note 
 into his fingers, and fled into solitude. An 
 hour later, Russell knocked at the door of an 
 oflice which bore on a square tin pkitc ihese 
 words, " Robert Campbell, Attorney at Law." 
 The thxjr was oidy partially closed, and as he 
 entered au elderly man looked uj» from a 
 desk, covered with loose papers and oi)en 
 volumes from which he was evidently m^iking 
 extracts. The thin hair hung over his fore- 
 head as if resth:85 fingers had ploughed care- 
 lessly through it, and, as he kept one finger on 
 a halt-iopied paragraph, the cold blue eye 
 said very plainly, " this is a busy time with me ; 
 de6i»;itch your errand at once." 
 
 " (iOO<l- morning, Mr. Campbell; arc you 
 parti, ulurlv eugaged V" 
 
 "How-d'y-do, Aubrey. 1 am generally 
 engaged; confoundedly busy this morning. 
 Whal <lo you want "/ ' 
 
 His pen resumed its work, but he turned his 
 head as if to listen. . „ 
 
 " 1 will call again when you are at leisure, 
 said Russell, turning away. 
 
 " 'J'iat will be— next month— next year ; in 
 fine, postponing your visit indefinitely. Sit 
 down — somewhere — well — clear those books 
 
 into a corner, and let 's ho.ir your busine.<«a. 
 I am at your service for ten minutes — talk 
 fast." 
 
 He put his pen behind his ear. crosicd 
 his arms on the desk, and looked expectant. 
 
 " I came here to ask whether you wished to 
 employ any one in your oflice." 
 
 "And what the deuce do you suppose I 
 want with an ofhee-lad like yourself? To put 
 the very books I need at the bottom of a pile 
 tall as'the tower of Babel, and tear up my 
 brit;fs to kindUi iJie fire or light your cigar? 
 No, thank you, Aubrey, I tried that experi- 
 ment to my perfect satisfaction a few months 
 ago. Is that all?" 
 " That is all, sir." 
 
 The boy rose, but the bitter look that 
 crossed his face as he glanced at the well- 
 filled book-shelvejj arrested the lawyer's at- 
 tention, and he added: 
 
 "Why did you leave Watson, young man'/ 
 
 It is a ba<l plan to change about in this style." 
 
 " I was e.\i>elled from my situation on a foul 
 
 and most unjust accusation. I am seeking 
 
 employment from necessity." 
 
 " Expelled is a dark vvord, Aubrey; it will 
 hardlv act as a passport to future bituations. 
 Expelled clerks are not in demand." 
 
 " Still, I must state the truth nnreservedly." 
 " Let 's hear the whole business; sit down." 
 AVithout hesitation he narrated all tlie cir- 
 cumstances, once or twice pausing to stiil the 
 tempest of passion that flashed. from his eyes. 
 While he spoke, j\lr. CampbeH's keen eyes 
 seaiched him from head to loot, aud at the 
 conclusion he asked sharply: 
 
 " Where is the watch, do you suppose ?" 
 " Heaven only knows. I have a • UKpicion, 
 I but no right to utter it, since I might thereby 
 I inflict a wrong equal to that from which I now 
 ' sufl'er." . ^^ 
 
 " It is a dark piece of business as it stands.' 
 " Yes, but time will clear it up." 
 " See here, Aubrey, 1 have noticed you two 
 or three times in the court-house listening 
 to .some oi" mv harangues. I knew your father, 
 and I should" like to help you! It seems to me 
 you might make better use of your talents 
 tlian you are doing. And yet, if you rise it 
 will be over greater obstacles than most men 
 Burmuunt. Do you understand me ? ' 
 
 " I do ; lor I am too painfully aware of the 
 
 preju<iic(^ against which I have to contend. 
 
 hut if I live, I suall lift myself out of this 
 
 pool where malice and hate have thrust me." 
 
 " What do you propose to doV" 
 
 " Work at the plough or before the anvil, if 
 
 nothing else can be done to support mv mother 
 
 and cousin; imd as &oon as I possibly can 
 
 8tu«ly law. This is my plan, ami for two 
 
 years I have been pursuing my Latin and 
 
 Greek with an eye to accomplishing the 
 
 scheme." . . 
 
 " I see fate has thumped none of your ongi- 
 
 ! nal obitiuacy out of you. Aubrey, suppose 
 
MACARI.-i. 
 
 19 
 
 I shut my eyes to the watch transaction, and 
 take vou into my office ?" 
 
 " If so, I shall do my duty faithfully. But 
 you said you did not need any one here, and 
 though I am anxious to find work I do not 
 expect or desire to be. taken in from charity. 
 I intend to earn my wages, sir, and from your 
 own a<?connt I should judge you had very 
 little use for an assistant." 
 
 " Humpli ! a bountiful share of pride along 
 with prodigious obstinacy. Though I am a 
 lawyer, I told you the truth ; I have no 
 earthly use for such assistants as I have been 
 plagued with for several years. In the main, 
 office-boys are a nuisance, comparable only to 
 the locuBts of Egypt ; I washed my hands of 
 the whole tribe months since. Now, I have a 
 negro to attend to my office, make fires, etc., 
 and if I could only get an intelligent, am- 
 bitious, honorable, trustworthy young man, 
 he would be a help to me. I had de- 
 .spaircd of finding such, but, on the whole, 
 I rather like you ; believe you can suit me 
 exactly if you will, and I am disposed lo give 
 you a trial. Sit down here and eopy this ])ar- 
 agraph } let me see what .sort of hieroglyphics 
 I shall have to decipher if I make you my 
 copyist." 
 
 Russell silently complied, and after a care- 
 ful examination it seemed the chirography 
 was satisfactory. 
 
 " Look there, Aubrey, does that array fright- 
 en you ?" » ' " 
 
 He pointed to the opposite side of the room, 
 where legal documents of every shape and size 
 were piled knee-deep for several yards. 
 
 " Thoy look formidable, sir, but nothing 
 would afford me more pleasure than to fathom 
 their mysteries." 
 
 "And what security can you give me that 
 the instant my back is turned you will not 
 quit my work and go off to my books yonder, 
 which I notice you have been Cying very 
 greedil}-." 
 
 " No seenrity, sir, but the promise of an 
 honest soul to do its work faithfully and un- 
 tiringl)'. Mr. Camphill, I understand my po- 
 sition thoroughly; I know only too well that I 
 have everything to make, an honorable name, 
 an unblomi'hed reputation, and, relying only 
 on myself. I expect to help myself'. If you 
 ireally n<(Ml nn assistant, and think me trust- 
 worthy. I will be very glad to serve you, and 
 shall morit your confidence. I come to you 
 wnder adverse circumstaneos, with a tarnished 
 character, ami of course you feel some hesi- 
 tancy in employing me. "I have eon'^ealed 
 nothing; you are acquainted with all the facts, 
 ami must decide accordingly." 
 
 There was nothing pleadin'g in his tone or 
 mien, but a proud, desperate calmness, unu- 
 sual in one o( his ago. When a truly honest, 
 noble soul meets an equal, barriers of*^ position 
 and age melt like snow-flakes in sunshine, all 
 extraneous circumstances fall aw3y, and, di- 
 
 vested of pomp or rags, as the case may be, 
 the full, undimirled maieety of spirit greets 
 spirit, and clear-eyed sytt^thy, soaring above 
 the dross and dust of worldly conventional- 
 ities, knits them in bonds lasting as time. 
 Looking into the resolute yet memncholy face 
 before him, the lawyer forgot the poverty and 
 disgrace clinging to his'^'name, and leaning 
 forward gi-asped his hand. 
 
 "Aubrey, you and I can work peacejibly to- 
 gether ; I value your candor, I like your, reso- 
 lution. Come to me on Monday-, and in the 
 matter of salary you shall find me liberal 
 enough. I think you' told me you had a 
 cousin as well as your mother to "support ; I 
 sLall not forget' it. Now, good-raorning,^and 
 ppave me unless you de.^© to accumulate >vork 
 for yourself." ' * / 
 
 People called Mr. Campbell "miserly," 
 "egotistie," and "selfish." These are harsh 
 adjectives, and the public frequently applies 
 them with culpable haste and uncharitable- 
 ness, for there, is an astonishing proclivity in 
 human nature to detract, to carp, to spy out, 
 and magnify faults. If at all prone to gener- 
 ous deeds, Mr. Campbell certainly failed to 
 platrard them in public places; he had never 
 given any large amount to any particular 
 church, institution, or society, butthe few who 
 knew him well indignantly denied the charge 
 of penuriousness preferred by the community. 
 A most unsafe criterion is public estimation ; 
 it canonizes many an arch-hjpocrite, and mar- 
 tyi'5 many a saint. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 From early childhood Irene had experi- 
 enced a .sensation of loneliness. I)oubtle»i 
 the loss of her mother enhanced this feeling, 
 but the peculiarity of her mental organization 
 would have necessitated it even under happier 
 aurpices. Iler intellect was of the masculine 
 order, acute and logical, rather deficient in 
 the imaginative faculties, but keenly analyti- 
 cal. It is an old predicate that women are de- 
 ductionists, that womanly intuitions are swift 
 and infallible. In richly - endowed female 
 minds it not unfrequently happens that tedi- 
 ous, rcfiective processes are ignored; but Irene 
 was a patient rathei; than brilliant thinker, 
 and with singular perseverance searched i.'\cry 
 nook and cranny, and sifted every phase of 
 the subject presented for investigation. Her 
 conclusions were never hasty, and eonscqu'ent- 
 ly rarely unsound. From the time her baby- 
 fingers first grasped a primer she became « 
 .student: dolls and toys such as constitute the 
 happiness of most children had never po.^sessed 
 any attraction for her, and before she was 
 eight years old she made the library her favor- 
 ite resort. Shi' would climb' upon" the moroc- 
 co-covered table where stood two globes, one 
 celestial, the other terrestrial, and spend hours 
 
to 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 in decip}i»»nng the strange, heatln.ni'^h figures i well known that Jlr. ITuntlngtlon had pledged 
 twiued among the stars. When weary oflnH daughter's hand to his sister's son. The 
 Biudying the ludexdBfithe thornioinrter and | age of infant betrothals has i).-i5<!ed away, 
 barometer, and wont^iftig why tlie quiik.«ilver ' consecjucntly thi.i rare instanee gave rise to a 
 varied with sunshine and shower, she would- deal of gossiping comment. How the matter 
 throw henHj^^wn on the floor and fall asleep beeame public he never knew ; "probably 
 over the quanK pictures in an old Knglish en- Sparrowgrasse's "carrier pigeon " migrated 
 cjclopaodia, nnmlxriMj thirty volumes. She southward, for it is now no pneommon thing 
 haunted this room, anfT'grew uj) among books to find one in onr cities and country towns; 
 centuries old. Thus untiWier tenth year there and at all event* Mr. Huntingdon soon found 
 was no authority exerted over her, and the , that hi.s private domestic ailairs were made an 
 strongjir^flective tendency of her mind rapid- ; ordinary topic of conversation in social circles, 
 ly developed itself. Tliis was an almorHial j Irene liad never been oflicialiy appri.^ed of 
 condition, and indisputably an unfortunate I her dextiny, but surmised very accurately the 
 training, and perhaps in after years it might ' true .state of the case. Uetwcen the two 
 Hrvc been better had she spent the sea.son ' cousins tiicre exisleii not the rtlightest con- 
 of careleso, thoughtliM, childliood in ehildisl|^ceniality of taste or dispo.«ition ; not a sympa- 
 sjK)rfs and childl)oo<lV'wonted ways, for anx- thetic link, save the tie of relationship. On 
 ions inquiry an<l tedious investigations come \ her j)art there was a nioderat(*.shaie of cousin- 
 soon enough with maturity. ' ly alFcction ; on his, as much love and tender- 
 She was not an enthusiastic, impulsive nat- , ness as his .seUi.'h nature was capable of fecl- 
 nre, fitful in moo<]ineis or ecstacy, inclined to ing. They rarely quarrelled as most children 
 pas.-ionatc demonstrations of any kind; but do, for when (as frccpivntly happened) he 
 from int'aney evinced a calm, equable temper- | flew info a rage and tried to tyrannize, sho 
 ament, uniformly generous and unselfish, but scorned to retort in any way, and generally 
 most thoroughly firm, nay obstinate, in any locked him out of the library. . What she 
 matter irivolTing principle, or conflit!ting with thought of her father's intentions concerning 
 her opinions of pi epriety. How she obtained herself, no one kijew ; slie never alluded to 
 these notions of right and wrong in minor de- the subjwt, and if in a frolicsome mood Hugh 
 tails, was a subject of some mystery. Thev ' broai hcd it, she invariably cut the discussion 
 were not the result of education in the ordi- siiort. When he went to college in a distant 
 nary acceptation of that term, for they had state, she felt infinitely relieved, and during 
 never been .in.sti!led by anybody; and like a his vacations secluded herself ax mucl* as j)o*- 
 wood-flow^r in some secluded spot, she lived, ' sible. Yet the girl's heart was >7arm and 
 rrew, and expanded her nature, without any clinging; she loved her father devotedly, and 
 influences to bias or color her views. In her . loved most intensely IClectra <^ilruy, whom she 
 iiromis'uous reading she was quite as apt to had first met at school. They were nearly 
 imbibe poisonous as healthy sentiments, and the same age, clasiinates, and firm iViemis. 
 knowing that she had been blessed with few ; Tiiat .she was beautiful, Irene of course knew 
 religious instructions, her fatlii;r often wonder- i quite as well a.s her father or any one else; 
 cd at the rigidness of her code for seif-regu- 1 how could she avoid knowing itV Froni her 
 lation. Miss Margaret considered her " a . cradle she had been called " Queen " and 
 strange little thing," and rarely interlered j " licauty ;" all her accpiaintances llattered her 
 with her jilans in any respect, while her father — strangers commented on her loveliness ; she 
 seemed to take it for nrranted tliat she requir- no more doubted it than the fact of her exist- 
 ed no looking after. He knew that her beauty i ence ; and often stopped before the large par- 
 was extraordinary; ho was proud of the i'act; lor mirrorx and admired her own image, just 
 and having provided her with a good mlisic as she would have, examined and admired and 
 ma.ster, and sent hei- to the best school in the , enjoyed one of the elegant azalca.i or j)clar- 
 connty, he left her to employ her leisure as i goniums in the gi-eenhouse. I repeat it, sho 
 in; lin'ation pro']q)ted. Occasionally her will j prized and enjoyed her Iovclinc$«, imlohe was 
 conflicted with his, and more than once he not vain. iSlie was no more .spoiled by adula- 
 found it impossible to make her yield assent to tion than a meek and snowy camclia, or one of 
 Lis wishes. To the outward oliserrances of those immense golden-eyed pansies which a»- 
 obediciiee and respect she submitted, but i tonish and deliglit visitors at the hot-houses on 
 
 wheiv^'ver these difl'ercnces occurred he felt 
 that in the end .she was uneon(juercd. Incon- 
 sistent as it may appear, though fretted for the 
 time by her firmness, he loved her the more 
 for her "wilfulness," as he termed it; and 
 despotic and exacting though he certainly 
 was in many respects), he stood somewhat in 
 awe of his pure-hearted, calm - eyed child. 
 His ward and nephew, Hugh Seymour, had 
 resided with him for sercral years, and it was 
 
 Long Islanil. God conferred marvellous beauty 
 on her, and she was grateful for the gift — but 
 to the niiserable weaknesses of rauity, she was 
 a stranger. In the midst of books and flowers 
 bhe was happy, and sei'ined to ilesiro' no com- 
 panions but Jm-cIius and Paragon. She rode 
 every day when the weather permitted, and 
 tlie jetty horse with its graceful yOung rider, 
 followed by the slender, silky greyhound, was 
 a familiar spectacle in the vicinity of her home. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 21 
 
 She knew every hill and ralley within ten 
 s miles of tho town ; could tell where the rich- 
 est, rrirest honeysuckles grew, wliere the yel- 
 low jasmine clambered in greatest profusion, 
 Rnd always found the earliest sprays of gray- 
 ' beard that powilered the forest. Often Mr. 
 Huntingdon had ordered his hor:'o, and gone 
 Out in the dusky twilight to search .for her, 
 fearing that some disaster had overtaken his 
 darling ; and at such times met Erebus laden 
 with her favorite flowers. These were the 
 things she, loved, and tlius independent of so- 
 ciety, yet conscious of her isolation, she grew 
 up what nature intended her to be. As' 
 totally different in clmracter as appearance 
 was Electra Grey. Rather smaller and much 
 thinner than Irene, with shining purplish 
 black hair, large, sad, searching black eyes, 
 from which there was no escape, a pale olive 
 complexion, and full crimson lips that rarely 
 smiled. The forehe;vl was broad and promi- 
 nent, and rendered very peculiar by the re- 
 markable width between the finely -arched 
 brows. The serene purity characteristic of 
 Irene's features was entirely wanting in tl\is 
 face, which woijld have seemed Jewish in its 
 contour, but for the Grecian nose; and the 
 melancholy yet fiuseinating eyes haunted the 
 beholder with their restless, wistful, far-reaeli- 
 ing expression. Electra was a dreamer, richly 
 gifted ; di.-^satisfied because she could never 
 attain that unreal world which her busy brain 
 kept constantly before her. The child of 
 genius is rarely, if ever, a happy one — 
 
 '• Heaven lies about ug in our infancy." 
 
 If so, its recollections cling tenaciously to 
 those who, like Ele-i:tra, seek continually for 
 the airy castles of an ideal realm. Her vivid 
 imagination .shaped and painted, but, as too 
 often happens, her eager blood and bone 
 fingers could not grasp the glories. The thoh- 
 saud cares, hards'.iips, and rough handlings of 
 reality struck cold and jarring on her sensi- 
 tive, highly-strung nature. She did not com- 
 plain; murmuring words had never crossed 
 her lips in the hearing of any who knew her; 
 she loved her aunt ti>o well to speak of sor- 
 row or disappointment. Fourteen years had 
 taught her an unusual amount of stoicism, 
 but sealed lips can not sepulchre grief, and 
 trials have a language which will not be rb- 
 pres.«cd when the mouth is at rest. She 
 looked not gloomy, nor yet quite unhappy, 
 but like one who sees obstacles mountain-liigh 
 loom between her and the destined goal, and 
 asks only permission to press on. lies was 
 a passionate nature ; fierce blood beat in her 
 ▼eins, and would not always be bound by 
 icy fetters. There was no serene plateau of 
 feeling where she could repose ; she enjoyed 
 keenly, ra[)turously, and suffered acutely, fear- 
 fully. Unfortunately fcr her. she had only 
 IJimalayan solitudes, sublime in their dazzlinrf 
 height, or valleys of Tophet, appalling with 
 
 She knew whejgin she 
 "patl»- 
 
 flame and. phantom, fcihe knew wh^i 
 was gifted, she saw whither her nan**^" 
 way led, and panted to set her littJe feet m 
 the direction of the towering steeps crowned 
 with the temple of art. To be an artist; to 
 put on canvas the grand and imperijikble 
 images that crowded her braiiT, and Iflftost 
 maddened her because she could not give 
 them tangible form ; this was the clay-dream 
 spanning her life like a how of proraise,but 
 fading slowly as years thickened o'er her head, 
 and no helping hand cleared the choked path. 
 " P.overty ! poverty!" Many a night she buri<?d 
 her face under the pillow, and hissed the 
 word through closed teeth, fearful of disturb- 
 ing the aunt, who slumbered at her side. 
 Poverty ! poverty I What an intolerable chain 
 it binds around aspiring souls ! And yet 
 the world's great thinkers have felt this iron 
 in their ficsh, and, bursting the galling bonds, 
 have carved their way to eminence, to im- 
 mortality. It is a lamentable and significant 
 truth tiiat, with a few honorable, noble ex- 
 ceptions, wealth is the Cannae of American 
 intellect. Poverty is a rigid school, and the 
 sessions are long and bitter; but the men 
 and women who graduate therein come forth 
 with physical frames capable of enduring all 
 hardships, with hearts habituated to disap- 
 pointment and fortified against the rcbufls of 
 fortune, with intellectii trained by patient, 
 laborious, unbending application* The ten- 
 derly-nurtured child of wc'dth and luxury 
 very naturally and reasonably shrinks from 
 difiicultics; but increase the obft^les in the 
 path of a son or daughter of penury, inured 
 to trial, and in the same ratio yon strengthen 
 his or her ability and determination to sur- 
 mount them. 
 
 Electra's love of drawing had early dis- 
 played it.self; fii-st, in «trange, weird figures 
 ou her slate, then in her copy-book, on every 
 slip of paper which she could lay her hands 
 upon ; and, finally, for want of more suitable 
 material, she scrawled all over the walls of 
 the little bed-room, to the great horror of her 
 aunt, who spread a coat of whitewash over 
 the child's frescos, and bogged her to be guilfy 
 of no such conduct in future, as Mr. Clark 
 might with great justice sue for damages- In 
 utter humiliation, Electra retreated to the 
 garden, ;uid here, after a shower had left the 
 sandy walks trhite and smooth, she would 
 sharpentejbit of pine, and draw figures aod 
 faces oflffeill^conceivable and inconceivable 
 shapes. Chaffing to find hH|ldius engaged 
 one Sunday afternoon, Ru^^^Lpplied her 
 Avith a package of drawing-i^^HLnd pencils. 
 So long as these last<?d shflPwas perfectly 
 happy, but unluckily their straightened cir- 
 cumstances admitted of no such expenditure, 
 and before many weeks she was agam without 
 materials. She would not tell Rus)»ell that 
 £.ho had exhausted his package, ^ml passed 
 slei'pfcss nights trying to devise some method 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 bj which she could aid herself. It was posi- ; charge of her, and the day of departure was 
 tiT^Mtture for her to sit in 8choi->l and see j fixed. Klectra packed the little trunk, saw it 
 the TTOwinpf-master go round, pivinj: lessons : de|K)sited on the top of the stajiC, in the 
 on this side and that, skipping over her e>\'ry \ dawn of an Oetoher morninji saw her aunt 
 time, be<au3e her aunt could not aflbrd the , comfortably seated beside Mr. Ilill, and in 
 exU;^ thn-ti dollars. How l()n)i;i..ply (lie eyes another moment all had vaui.>hed. In the 
 foptarf-d the ma«t»r's form, how liun;;rily they afternoon of that day, on returning from 
 d«M>lt Tipoii, tlie sketches hi; leani d over to s«liool. Klectra went to the bureau and, un- 
 examine ifffi retoueh V J*'re(juently during lorkiiig a drawer, took out a small paper box. 
 drawing-hohrshe would sit with lier head bent [t coiilained a miniature of ber father, set in 
 down pretending to studv, but the pages of a hand5ome gold frame. She knt w it had 
 the book were generally \)listired with tears, been her- motht-r's most valued trinket; her 
 which no eye but the Fatlier's looked upon. , .lunl had carefully kept it for her, and as 
 There was, however, one enjoyment which often as the temptation assailed her she had 
 nothing could steal from her; the town eon- resisted; but now the longing for money 
 lained two book-slores, and here she was wont triumjihed over every other fceiirg. Having 
 to Jinger over tlie numerous engravings aiid touched the spring, she took a knife and cau- 
 oeca.sional oil paintings they boasted. The tiously removed the bit of ivory beneath the 
 proprietors and deiks seemed rather pleased ght<s, then deposited the two last in the bo.\, 
 than otherwise by the silent homage she j)aid i put the gold frame in her j)ovket, and went 
 their pictures, and, except to tender her a I out to a jewelry store. As several persons 
 seat, no one ever interfered with her exami- , had preceded her, she leaned against the 
 nations. One engraving interested her jiar- : counter, and, while waiting, watched with 
 ticularly; it represented St. John on Patmos, some curiosity the movements of one of the 
 writing B^velations. She went as usual one , gold, miths, who, with a glass over one eye, 
 Saturday morning for another look at it, but , was engaged in repairing watches. Some 
 a different design hung in its place ; sho j had been taken from their cases, others were 
 glanced around, and surmising the object of | untouched ; and as her eyes p.assed swiitljr 
 her search, tiie proprietor told her it had j ovei- the latter, they were suddenly riveted to 
 been sold the day before. An expression of! a massive gold one lying .somewliat apart. A 
 sorr.iw crossed her face, as though she had ■ half-.smothered e.\clamation caused thework- 
 aM.stAincd an irreparable lo.^s, and, drawing i man to turn round and look at her; but in an 
 her bonne^|»wn, she went .>«lowly homeward. . instant she calmed herself, and, thinking it a 
 Amid all JSese yc'arnings and aspirations .•<he mere outbreak of impatience, he resumed his 
 turned cMJbantly to Ku.sscU, with a worship- ; employnieht. Just tlion one of the proprie- 
 
 tiing lovo^HRt knew no bounds. She loved ; tors approached, and said politely, " 1 am 
 ler meek, affectionate aunt, as well as most I sorry we have kept you waiting, miss. What 
 natures love their mothers, and did all in her ! can I do for ypu V" 
 power to lighten her labors, but her affectiou i '• What is this worth ?' 
 for Russell bordered On adoration. lu a char- | She laid the locket down on the counter, 
 acter so exacting and pa.'^.sionate as hers there i and looked up at liim with eyes that sparkled 
 in necessarily much of jealousy, and thus it • wry joyouslv he tIiou:rht. lie examined it a 
 
 Oame to pass tliat, on the day of Irene's visit 
 to the cottage, the horrible suspicion took 
 possession of lier that he loved Irene better 
 than herself. True, she was very young, but 
 childish hearts fee! as keenly as those of ma- 
 turer years; and Elecira endured more agony 
 during that <lay than in all of her past life. 
 Had Irene been other than she w;us, in every 
 raspect^ she would probably have hated her 
 cordially; as matters stood, she buried the 
 guspicion deep in her own heart, and kept 
 M much out of cvei-ybody** way ^jftossiblt. 
 Days and weeks passed very weWly ; sin- 
 busied herselLwith her text-boql^B, tmd, when 
 the les.sons-hM*bccn r»!cit"d, drew all over 
 the margins — hoie a hand, there an entire 
 arm, now and then a face, .•sad-eyed as Fate. 
 
 Mrs. Aubrey's eye becauie so blurred that 
 finally she could not leave the house without 
 having some one to guide her, and, as cold 
 weather had now arrived, preparations were 
 made for her journey. Mr. Hill, who was 
 going to New Orleans, kindly offered tc^take* 
 
 moment, and said lathe.r drily : 
 
 " It is worth little or nothing to us, though 
 you may prize it." 
 
 " If I were to buy another just like it, would 
 you charge me ' little or nothing ?' " 
 
 He smiled good-humorcdly. 
 
 '* liuying and selling are different things, 
 don't you know that? Come, tell me what 
 you want to sell this for?" 
 
 " liecause I want some money." 
 
 " You are Mrs. Aubrey's uiccc,\I believe ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, how do I know, in the first place, 
 that it belongs to you ? Jewellers have to 
 be very particular about what they buy." 
 
 She crimsoned, and <lrcw herself proudly 
 away, from llie, counter, then smiled, and held 
 out her hand for the locket. 
 
 " It is mine ; it held my father's miniature, 
 but I took it out because 1 want a paint-box, 
 and thought I could sell this case for enough 
 to buy one. It was my mother's once ; here 
 are hor initials on the back, II. G., Harriet 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 2S 
 
 Grey. But of course you don't know whether 
 I am tellinii; the truth ; I will bring my cousin 
 with me, he can prove it. Sir, are you so 
 particular about everything you buy?" 
 
 '♦ We try to be." 
 
 Again her eyes sparkled; she bowed, and 
 left the store. 
 
 Once in the street, she hurried to .Mr. 
 Campbell's office, ran up the stejjs, and rapped 
 loudly at the door. 
 
 *• Come in !" thundered the lawyer. 
 
 yiie stoj)pcd oji the tlu-eshold, glanced 
 round, and said timidly: 
 
 " I want to see Russell, if you please." 
 
 " Russell is at the post-olBce. Have you 
 any particular spite at my door, that you 
 belabor it in that style ? or do you suppose I 
 am as deaf as a gate-post ?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon; I did not mean to 
 startle you, sir. I was not thinking of either 
 you Or your tloor." 
 
 3he sprang down the stops to wait on the 
 sidewalk for her cousin, and met hijn at the 
 entrance. 
 
 " Oh, Russoll ! I have found your watch." 
 
 A raj- of light seemed to leap Irom his eyes 
 as he seized iier hand. 
 
 - Where V" 
 
 " At ]\Ir. Brown's jewelry store." 
 
 " Thank (;od !" 
 
 He W( nt up the stairway, delivered the 
 letters, and came back, accompanied by Mr. 
 Campbell. 
 
 " This is my cousin, Electra Grey, Mr. 
 Campbell." 
 
 " So I inferred from the unceremonious 
 . assault she made on my door just now. How- 
 ever, sljake hands, little lady ; it seems there is 
 some reason for your haste. Let 's hear about 
 this precious watch business." 
 
 She simply told what she had seen. Pres- 
 ently Russc'li said : 
 
 " But horf did you happen there, Electra ?" 
 
 " Your gooil angel sent me, I suppose ; — " 
 and ahe added in a whi.-iper, " I will tell you 
 some other tinif." 
 
 On re-entering the store, she walked at 
 once to the workman's 'orner, and pointed 
 out the watch. 
 
 " Yes, it is mine. I wouliMCnow it among a 
 thousand." 
 
 " How can you identify it, Aubrey?" 
 
 He immediately gave the number, and 
 name of the manufactur r. and described the 
 interior tracery, not oniittiug the quant iiv of 
 jewels. Mr. Campbell turned to the I 
 tor (the same gentleman with whofla i i 
 had conversed), and briefly recapUralat^^d the 
 circumstances which had oeeurreJ in connec- 
 tion with the watch. Mr. Brown listened at- 
 tentively, then requested Russell to point out 
 the parlienlar one that resembled his. He did 
 so, and on examination, the number,date. name, 
 and all the marks corresponded so exactly that 
 no doubt rSmaiued on the jeweller's mind. 
 
 " Young man, you say you were accused of 
 stealing your own watch ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I will trv' to clear your name. This 
 watch was brought here several weeks since, 
 while I was absent. I am veiy guarded in 
 such matters, and require my young men here 
 to take a certificate of the name and place of 
 residence of all strangers who offer articles for 
 sale or exchange. I once very innocently 
 bought some stolen property, and it taught me 
 a lesson. This watch was sold for ninety dol- 
 lars by a man named Rufus Turner, who lires 
 
 in New Orleans, No. 240 stre<>t.. 1 will 
 
 write to him at once, and find out, if possible, 
 how it came into his possession. I rather 
 think he had some horses here for .sale." 
 
 "Did he wear green glasses?" inijuired 
 Russell of the young man who had purchased 
 the watch. 
 
 " Y'es, and had one arm in a sling." 
 
 " I saw such a man here about the time my 
 watch wa^ mis.sing." 
 
 After some directions from Mr. Campbell 
 concerning the proi)er course to be pursued, 
 Electra drew out her locket, saying — 
 
 " Now, Russell, is not this locket mine ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but where is the miniature ? What 
 are you going to do with it?" 
 
 " The miniature is at home, but I want to 
 sell the frame, and Mr. Brown docs not know 
 but that it is another watch case ?" 
 
 '• If it is necessary, I will swear that it be- 
 longs lawfully to you ; but Avhat do you want 
 to sell it for? I should tliink you would 
 prize it too highly to be willing to part with 
 it." 
 
 " I do prize the miniature, and would not 
 part with it lor any consideration ; but I want 
 something fixr more than a gold case to keep 
 it in." 
 
 " Tell me what you want, and 1 will get it 
 for you," whispered her cousin. 
 
 " No, I am going to sell this frame." 
 
 " And I am going to buy it from you," said 
 the kind-hearted merchant, taking it from her 
 hand and weighing it. 
 
 Russell arid. .Mr. Campbell left the store, 
 and soon after Mr. Brown paid Electra sev- 
 eraj dcliars for the loeket. 
 
 In halt an hoiu' she had purchased a small 
 box of paints, a supply of drawing-paper and 
 peneils, and returned home, happii-r and 
 proudttr than many an empress, whose jewels 
 1,.,,,. o,,,,-,ll, J those of the Bcgiims of Oude. 
 Russell's charact<'r, and her 
 
 . I sp^l over her heart to still its 
 
 rapturous throbbing. Happy a.s an uneagcd 
 bird, she arranged the tea-table and sat down , 
 tu wait for him. He came at last, later than 
 usual, and then she had her reward ; he took 
 her in his arms and kissed her. -Yet, while 
 his lip rested on hers, Irene's image rose be- 
 fore her, and ho felt her shiver as she clnng to 
 him. He was her idol, and the bare sugges- 
 
24 
 
 MACAPJA. 
 
 tion of his loving ano'.her better cliilled the I and gloried in an opportunity of injurinnf me. 
 Wood in her Tcins. He spoke little of the | Do you suppose I shall shield your unirrinci- 
 watch, appeared to miss his motht r. and soon pK*d sou for your sake? You showed me no 
 went to his room aud began to stu-iT. How ; mercy, you mav expect as little. The stow of 
 ignornnt lie wa« of what passed in hi* lousin'a j the watch shall miice its way wherever we^^ — " 
 heart: how little he husnccted iJie intensity of i He paused suddenly, for the imaure of his 
 her feeling''. Con^'antly Ofuupi-d during the [ gentle, forgiving mother rose before, liim, and 
 day, he rarely thi^ujjht of her away from he knew that she would be grieved at the 
 home; and, though a! ways kind and con.sider- j spirit he evinced. There was an awkward 
 ate, he failed to understand her natur<<, or ( silence, broken by Mr. Watson, 
 fully a^ipreeiafe her affection for him. Many I " If I retract all that I have said agr»vnst 
 davK elapsed before Mr. Turner's answer ar- | you, and avow your innocence, will it sati^lV 
 rived. He stated that he had won the watch ^ you ? Will you In; silent about Cecil V" 
 from Cecil Watson, at a liorse-race, where "No!" rose peremptorily to his lip< but he 
 both Were betting; and proved the correct- i cheeked it; and the patient teaching of year^. 
 ness of his a.ssertion by reference to several his mother's precepts, ami hi.s mother's prayers 
 persons / •" o were nn-scnt, and who resided in I brouL'ht forth their first fruit, crolden charity, 
 the town, llussi.'ll had suspected Cecil froip I " You merit no forbearance at my Iiands, 
 the moment of it.s disappearance, and now, and I came here intending to show you none; 
 provided with both letter and watch, and ac- 'but, on rcllection, I will not f<;llow yourcxam- 
 companied by Mr. Brown, he repaired to Mr. ; i)ie. * Clear my name before the public, and I 
 Watson's sto:e. Russell had been insulted, leave the whole affair with you. There has 
 hLs nature was stern, and now he e.xulteil in | never been any love betwei n us, because you 
 the power of disgracing the son of the man were always despotic and ungenerous, but I 
 who had wronc;ed him. There was no flush am sorry for yo>i now, for you have taught me 
 on hii facr", but a cold, triumphant glitter in * how heavy is the bunlen you have to bear in 
 luti ryes as he apy)roachcd his former employ- ! future. CJood-uiorning." 
 er, and laid watch and letter before him. | Afraid to trust himself, he turned away and 
 
 "What business have you here?" growled joiued Mr. Campbell in the ofKce. jj 
 
 the merchant, trembling before the expression ' In the afternoon of the same day came a 
 of tin- boy's countenance. J letter from Mr. Hill containing sad news. 
 
 "My business is to clear my character which ' The oculist had operated on Mr.s. Anbrey's 
 you have slandered, ainJ to fi.'^ the disgrace j eyes, but violent inflammation had ensued; he 
 vou intended for me on your own .son. I had done all that .scientific skill coulil prompt, 
 briog you the proofs of his not my villany." ! but feared .='lie would be hopelessly blind. At 
 
 " Come into the back-room, I will see Brown . the close of the letter ilr. Hill staUul that ha 
 another time," said Mr. Watson, growing j)aler would bring her home the following week, 
 each moment. '■ One November evening, just before dark, 
 
 " No, sir, you were not so secret in your \ while Russell was cutting wood for the kitch- 
 dcaliiigs with me. Here where you insulted j en-fire, tlie stage stop])cd at the cottage-gate, 
 
 and he hurried forward to reciMve his mother 
 iu his arms. It was a melancholy reunion; 
 
 me you sliall hear the whole truth. Read 
 that. I suppose tlie twenty -dollar gold piece 
 
 followed the watch." I for a moment the poor sufferer's fortitude for 
 
 Ttie unfortunate father perused the letter ^ok ^er, and she wept. Bjit his caresses 
 slowly, and smothered a groan. Ru>seil w.ilcli- : soothed her, and she follov/ed P^lectra into 
 ed him with a keen joy whi(!h he might bavu i the house while lie brought in the trunk, 
 blushed to acknowledge had lie analyzed his When .--liawl aud bonnet ha<l been removed, 
 feelings. Writhing under l.i.; empaling eye, and 1".! •( tra placed her in the rocking-chair. 
 
 Mr. Watson said : 
 
 " Have you applied to the irltnCBses refer- 
 red to ?" 
 
 " Yi'S, they are ready to swear that they 
 saw Cecil bet Turner the wateh." 
 
 the light fell on face and figure, and the (Cous- 
 ins started at the change that had taken p^iee. 
 She was .so '^liastly pale, so very much reduced. 
 She told them all that had occurred tluring 
 the tedious weeks of absence ; how much she 
 " You did not tell them the circuujktftanccs, ' regrette<l having gone since the trip proved so 
 did vou V" v(y^ unsuccessful; hriw. much more she deplored 
 
 "Ao." ' the afllietion on their acrount than her own; 
 
 " Wt 11, it is an unfortunate affair; I want and theu from that hour no allusion was ever 
 it drop|)ed as quietly as possible. It will made to it. 
 
 never do to have it known far, and wide." — 
 
 "Aha ! you can feel th6 stitig now. Buy|^^^^| 
 remember you took care to circulate the ^ISuKt/tKr CirAPTER V. 
 
 der on my name. I heard of it. You did BMJ^^^^ 
 
 spare me, yoa did not spare my mother; <(h'dd' ,j|iVccks and months slipped away, and total 
 Jacob Watson, neither will I spare you. Yott4.t!arkness came down on the widow. She 
 aever believed me guilty, but you hated me] groped with some difficulty froil! room to 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 25 
 
 room., and Electra ■was compelled to remain at 
 home and watch oyer her. Rus«!(dl had be- 
 booio a great favorite with his crusly employ- 
 er, and, .when the labors of the oilice wore 
 ended, brouslit home such book<< as ho needed, 
 and spent his evenings in s'udy. His powers 
 of appliention and endin-ancft were extraordi- 
 nary, and his progress was in the same ratn. 
 As he became more and more absorbed in 
 these pm'suits his reserve and taciturnity in- 
 03:eased, and liis habitirally hasty step and ab- 
 straftftd ex[iros»ion of countenance told of a 
 strong nature straining its powers to tlie ut- 
 most to atf^iiin some distant, glimmei'ing goal. 
 His employer was particularly impressed by 
 the fact that he never vohiuteered a remark 
 on any subject, and rarely opened his lips ex- 
 cept to ask some necessar.y information in 
 connection with h\s ])usiiie3K. Sometimes the 
 'silence of the ofhi-e was unbroken lor hours', 
 save by the dull ."scratching of pens, or an 
 •im]).»tic.nt exclani'ition fi-om Mr. Campbell. 
 Respectful in deportment, attentive to his du- 
 ties, neverpreenming upon kindness, constant- 
 ly at work from morning until night, yet with 
 atv unmistakable sorrow printed on his face — 
 a sorrow never obtruded on.anv one, never 
 ;^uded to — he won fir.'it the rigid scrutiny of 
 the lawyer, then his deepest, most abiding 
 alfectiou. Naturally cold and undemonstra- 
 tive in manner, Mr. Campbidl gave little evi- 
 dence of feeling of any kind, yet the picrfing 
 blue eye lost its keeaness when resting on the 
 tall, stahyart form of the clerk, and once or 
 twice the wrinkled hand sought his broad 
 shouhler almost caressingly. -He had pot mar- 
 ried ; had neither mother nor sisters to keep 
 his nature loving and gentle, and, though he 
 occasionally visited his brother, who was a 
 minist^T in the sailie town, he was hehl in awe 
 by the m(>nibers of that brother's family, lie 
 comprehended Russell's character, and quiet- 
 ly facilitated his progi'ess. There wa^ no syc- 
 ophancy on the part of the young man, no 
 patronage on that of the eniplo} er. 
 
 One afternoon Irene tapped lig'htly at the 
 cottage-door, and entered the kitchen. Tilrs. 
 Aubri-y s'.t in a low chair close to the fireplace, 
 engaged in knitting; lier smooth, neat calico i 
 dress and spotless linen collar told that "care- j 
 ful, hands tended her, and the soft auburn 
 hair lirushcd over her temples showed broad 
 bands of gray as the evening sun shone on it. 
 She turned her brown, .'nglitle.'is eyes toward 
 the door, and asked in a low voice : 
 
 "WiioisitV" 
 
 " It is only me, ISIrs. Aubrey."" 
 
 Irene bfnt down, laid her two hands on the 
 ■widow's, and kissed her forehead. 
 
 "I am glad to hear your voice, Irene; it 
 has been a long time since yon were here." 
 
 " Yis, a good many •weeks, I know, but I 
 could not come." 
 
 " Are yod well ? Your hands and face aie 
 cold." > i 
 
 "Yes, thank you, very well. I am' alwaj'rt 
 cold, I believe. Hugh says 1 am. Here are 
 some flowers from the greenhouse. I brought 
 them b(>cause they are so fragrant : and here, 
 too, are a few oranges from the same plare. 
 Husli ! don't thank me, if you please. 1 wish 
 I could come here oftener. I always i'v.vl bet- 
 ter after being with you ; but I can't always 
 come when I want to, do so." 
 
 " Wliy not, Irene ?" 
 
 " Oh, because of various tilings. Between 
 school and music^ find riding and reading, I 
 have very little time; and besides,'^' father 
 wants me with him when he is at home. I 
 play chess with him, and sometimes we are 
 three or four days fmisliing one game. Some- 
 how, Mr.«i. Aubrey, tliough I don't mean to be 
 idle, it seems to me that 1 do very little. Ev- 
 erybody ought to be of some use in this world, 
 but I i'ecl like a bunch of mi-stletoe, growing 
 on somebody else, and doing nothing. I don't 
 intend to sit down and hold my hands all iny 
 life, but what can I do? Tell me how to 
 begin." 
 
 She lifted a large tortoise-colored cat from 
 a small stool, and drew it near the hearth, just 
 at the widow's feet, seating hersell', and re- 
 moving her hat. 
 
 " Tluit is more easily asked than answered; 
 you are a great heiress, Irene, and in all hu- 
 man probability -vvill never be obliged to do . 
 anything. For ivhat is generally denomin.ated 
 work you will have no occasion ; but all whc 
 wish to be really happy should be cmj^loyed 
 in some way. You will liot have to labor for 
 your food and clothes, like my Russell and- 
 Elcctra; but you will have it in your power 
 to do a vast deal more good. In cultivating 
 your mind do not forget your heart; it is nat^ 
 urally full of very generous, noble impulses; 
 but all human beings have faults; what yours 
 may be you know best, and you should con- 
 stantly strive to correct them. Read your 
 Bi])le, dear child; not now and then, but 
 daily and prayerfully. Oh, Irene ! I have had 
 some bitter, bitter sorrows, and frequimtly I 
 thought that they would crush out my life, 
 lu, those times of triab if 1 had not had my 
 Bible and my God I believe I shouhl have lost 
 my reason. But I read and was eomfor(,ed. 
 His promises sustained me ; and in looking 
 back 1 see many place.* which should be called" 
 Jehovah Jiri.h, for the Lord saw ruid provided. 
 Your Bible will teach you your duty much 
 better than I possibly can. You owe your 
 father a great deal ; his hopes and joys centre 
 in you,- and through lif^.' lu- will look to you 
 for his happiness. VVIumi you are grown, soci- 
 ety, too, will clailh you; you will be sought 
 after anil flattered; and, Irene, undvf these 
 circumstances — with your remarkable beauty 
 and wealth — you will find it a diffieult matter 
 to avoid hoJug spoiled. Yxjur influence will 
 be very great, and a fearful respon^iiiility 
 must attend its employment. Let it be for 
 
36 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 !]jooi1. Try to keen your heart free from all | erected to promulgate some particular dogma, 
 > Ifi^h or Ignoble n-eJings; pray to God for ! to magnify and exalt as all-important some 
 •guidance, that you may be enabled through trilling dllTerenee in the form ol church gov- 
 Ilis gra<e to keep youreelf 'unspolted from , ernmcnt. Once established, the mrmbora of 
 the vorld; ' those wonL; contain the wliole: ■ each 5ect apply thcuisclves to the agg.audize- 
 ' uusj")fril from tfie tvorlil.' You have not ' ment of their peculiar church ; and thus it 
 been s] "•'<(1 thus far by luxury and life-long ! conies to pass that instead of (in«' va^tbrother- 
 jK'ttiiig, aril I hope and believe that you never hood, united against sin and infid^'lity, they 
 will be; but rcnvmber, we must be continu- \ are disgracefully wrangling about sectarian 
 aily on the watch against temptation. Irene, ' matters of no coiisfqucnce whaU-ver. In all 
 !»avc I spoken too plainly V" ' this there is much totally antagonistic to the 
 
 *' No. I thank you for your candor. I want ■ princij>les inculcated by our Saviour, who 
 you to advise me just as you would Electra. \ expressly denounced the short-si:^hlcd bigotry 
 I <lonlt read my IJible as ol'tcn as I ought, but of those who magnified external observances 
 there arc so many thing's in it which I do not , and non-essentials ht the expense of the gen- 
 undei stand that 1 hardly ever open it now. nine spirit of their religion. I wish most ear- 
 I have nobody to explain the difliculties." nestly that these denominational b:irri; rs and 
 
 " It is very clear on the subject of our duty ;; distinctions could bo swept away, that the 
 Go<V left not the slladow of mystery in his laws , names of i\Iftho<list and Episcopal, Presby- 
 for the government of the heart and regula- ' terian and Baptist could be obliterated, and 
 tion of the lift;. lie commands us to receive ' that all tlie members were gatl;iied l.armoni- 
 certain rules, to practise certain principles, i ously into one world-wide pale, tho Protestant 
 
 and to abstain from certain sinful things, all ot 
 which are specified, and not to be mistaken 
 by even the niyst obtuse. Melvill has said in 
 one of his beautiful and comforting sennons: 
 ' CJod breathed h'uiiself into the composition? 
 
 Church of our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 " Mrs. Aubrey, do you belong to any 
 
 jhundi '.'" 
 " Yes, ■ Irene, because Christ .founded a 
 
 church, and I think every man and woman 
 
 of i)rophets and apostles and evangelists, and should belong to some religious organization, 
 there, as in the mystic recesses of an cverlast- Moreover, unless a member of .some one of 
 ing sanctuary, he still resides, ready to dis- i the denominations, you can not commune; 
 clo.-e himself to the humble, and to be evoked and, a? the sacrament particularly established 
 by tiie prayerful. ]*ut in legard to every by our Saviour, all ought to be able to par- 
 other book, however fraught it may be with , take of it. I think it a matter of little coa- 
 the maxims of piety, however pregnant with j scqueuec which of the CTangelical sects one 
 momentous truth, there is nothing of this slirin- < selects. , Do not imagine that I believe people 
 ing himtelf of Deity in the depths of its mean- ' can only be saved by entrance into some 
 ing. Men may be instructed by its pages, and } church; I think no such thing ; the church is 
 draw from tliem hope and con.solalion, but | a valuable instvuuient, but God who estab- 
 never will they find there* the burning She- ' lished it can work without it. Still, it is 
 kinah which proclaims the actual presence of very ivasonable to suppose that regular at- 
 God; never hear a voice as from the solitudes tendance on divine service fosters piety, and 
 of an oracle pronouncing the words of jmmor- i keeps the subject of our duty more constanti); 
 Ulity.' " ' before us." 
 
 " How then docs it happen, Mrs. Aubrey, | She had finished her knitting, and sat with 
 that diHerent churches teach such conflicting \ her thin hainls folded in her laj) — the nu'ek 
 doctrines? Why are there so many denouu- ' face more than usi^jilly serene, the sightless 
 nations? If the ti'a<.'hings of the Bible are so ! eyes directed toward her visitor. Sunshine 
 plain, how can such various creeds arise ?" , (lucked the b/ire boards under the window, 
 
 "Because poor human nature is. so full of | flashed on the tin vessels ranged on the 
 foibles; because charity, t^e fundamental doc- 1 shelves, and lingered like a halo around 
 trine of Christ, is almost lost sight of by those I Irene's head. Her hair swept on the floor, 
 churches; it has dwindled into a mere speck, j and the cat played now and tl^'U with the 
 in conntarison with the trifles which they have j gohlen rings so softly as not to attract notice, 
 magnified to usurp its place. Instead of one I as though conscious the new toy was jireeious. 
 great Christian church, holding the doctrines 1 The countenances of the group contrasted 
 of the New Testament, practising the true j vividly : the sweet resignation of the blind 
 8j)iriL of tiie Saviour, and in gonuine c|iarity ] gufferer, the marble purity of Irene's face, 
 allowing its members. to judge for themselves ! and, just in the rear, KIcctra's bi-oad," pule 
 in tiif. minor cpiestions relating to religion ; I brow and restless, troubled, midnight eyes, 
 such for instance as the mode of bapti.sm, the The latter had been drawing at tlie table ia 
 privilege of believing presbyters and bishops I the miildlc of the room, and now sal leaning 
 equal in dignity, or otherwise', as the ca.se ( on her hand, watching the two at the fire, 
 may be, the necessity of ministers wearing i Presently Irene approached and began to ex- 
 surplico, or the contrary, as individual taste j amine the drawings, which wertj fVagiuenlary, 
 dictates, we have vai-ious denominations, all I except one or two heads, and a sketch taken 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 27 
 
 from Uic bank op()Osite the Fail8. After some 
 moments passed in looking over them,- Irene 
 addressed the quiet little figm*e. 
 
 " Have you been to Mi-. Clifton's studio ?" 
 
 " No ; who is he ?" 
 
 " An artist fi'om New York. His health is 
 poor, and he is spending the ^vinter south. 
 Have n't you heard of hira ? Everybody is 
 having portraits taken. He is painting mine 
 now — latker would make me sit again, liiough 
 he has a likeness which wits painted four 
 years ago. I am going down tu-morrow for 
 my last silling, and should like vory much lor 
 you to go witii me. Perhaps ]Mr. Ciitlon can 
 give you some valuable hints. Will you go ?" 
 
 " With great pleasure."' 
 
 '' Then 1 will call for you a little before ten 
 o'clock. Here ara some t:rayon.s I bought for 
 you a week ago. Good-by." 
 
 She left (he room as quietly as she had 
 entered, and. found Paragon waiting for her 
 at the door. He gambolled before her all the 
 way — now darting oif, and as suddenly re- 
 turning, to throw himself at her feet, and 
 wonder why she failed to earess him as usual. 
 Other thoughts engaged her now ; she could 
 see nothing but the form' of t/ie widow, and 
 to-day she realized more than ever before how 
 much she needed a motlier. Low, sweet, gen- 
 tle tones rarely fell upon her ear, and; except 
 her father and Dr. Arnold, no one h.ad ever 
 attempted to earess her. She wearied of the 
 fourteen years of isolation, and now on enter- 
 ing her fifteenth looked about her for at least 
 one coiigenial spirit. She knew of none but 
 Electra and Mrs. Aubrey who in any degree 
 eympatliized with her, and from tliese she was 
 debarred by 'parental interdict. Miss Mar- 
 garet, seconded Ijy Mr. Huntingdon, now 
 constantly prescribed a course of conduct 
 detectable to tin-, girl, who plainly perceived 
 that as she grew older these diflerences in- 
 creased. Was it her duty to submit unhesi- 
 tatingly to their dictation? Did the command 
 of filial obedience cmbraco all such matters, 
 or was it modified — limited by the right of 
 individual conscience V This consultation was 
 long and patient, and the conclusion unalter- 
 able. She would do what she believed to be 
 E roper, v/hatever she thought her duty, at all 
 azards. She had no one to guide her, and 
 must rely only on God and her own heart. 
 
 Tlie (bllowing day Miss Margaret accom- 
 panied her to the studio. As the carriage 
 approaclied th(* cottage - gate Irene directed 
 the driver to slop. 
 
 " For wjiat?" asked her aunt. 
 
 " Eleefra Grey is going with mc; I prom- 
 ised to call for her. She has au extraordinary 
 talent for ilrawing, and I waut to introduce 
 her to Mr. Clilton. Open the door, Andrew." 
 
 " Irene, are. you deranjjed ! Your father 
 never would furgivo yoil if he knew you asso- 
 ciated with those people. I can't think of 
 * allowing that girl to enter this carriage. 
 
 Drive on. I must really speak to Leonard 
 about your obstinacy in visiting at that — " 
 
 " Stop, Andrew ! If you don't choose to 
 ride with Electra, aunt ]\Iargaret, you may 
 go on alone, for either she shall ride or I will 
 walk with her." 
 
 Andrew opened the door, and she was 
 stepping out, when Electra appeared in the 
 walk'and immediately joined her. Miss Mar- 
 garet was thoroughly aroused and indignant, 
 but thouifht it best to submit for the time, 
 and when Irene introduced her friend .she 
 took no notice of her whatever, except by 
 drawing herself up in one corner and lower- 
 ing her veil. The girls talked during the 
 remainder of the ride, and when they reached v 
 Mr. Clifton's door ran np tiie steps together, 
 totally unmindful of the august lady's ill 
 humor. 
 
 The artist was standing before an easel 
 which held Irene's unfinished portrait, and as 
 he turned to greet his visitors Electra saw 
 that, though thin and ])ale, his face was ono 
 of rare beauty and benevolence. Ilis brown, 
 curling hair hung loosely about his sliouUlers, 
 and an iniconnnonly long beard of the same 
 silky texture desceinled almost to his waist. 
 He shook hands with Irene, .and looked in- 
 quiringly at her eonij)anion. 
 
 "Mr. Clifton, this is Miss Electra Grey, 
 whose drawings I mentioned to you last week. 
 I wish, if you jjlease, you wouUl examine some 
 of them when you have leisure." 
 
 Electra looked for an instant into his large, 
 clear gray eyes as he took her drawings 
 aud said he would be glad to assist her, and 
 knew that henceforth the tangled path Avould 
 be smoothed and widened. She stood at the 
 back of Ilis chair during the hour's sitting, and 
 with peculiar interest watched tiie strokes of 
 his brush as the portrait grew undei\iiis prac- 
 tised hand. When Irene rose, the orphan 
 moved away and began to scrutinize the nu- 
 merous pictures scattered about the room. A 
 great joy filled her heart and illumined her 
 face, and she waited for the words of en- 
 couragement that she felt assured would be 
 spoken. The artist looked over her sketches 
 .slowly, carefully, and his eye went back to 
 her brilliant counttjnanie, as if to read there 
 answers to ciphers which perplexed him. But 
 yet more balfliug cryptography met him in 
 the deep, flashing, appealing eyes, on the crim- 
 son, quivering lips, on the low, full brow, with 
 its widely-separated black arches. Evidently 
 the fact possessed far more attraction than 
 the drawnigs, and he maile her sit down 
 beside him, and passed his hand over her 
 head and temples, as' a professed phrenologist 
 might preparatory to rendering a chart. • 
 
 " Your sketches arc Tery rough, very crude, 
 but they also display great power of thought ; 
 some of them singular beauty of conception ; 
 and I S(!C from your countenance that you are 
 dissatisfied because the execution falls so fw 
 
iS 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 iliort of the {'•ncc'ption. l>ct me t.ilk to you 
 candidly; you havf, uncommon talont, but the 
 most exalted gonius ran not disp"i;?e with la- 
 borious study. Michael Anpolo ntudi^d anat- 
 om}- for twelve years; you will require lonpr 
 and rarnest application brfore you can possi- 
 bly aeoomjilish anytliingVf importance. . The 
 study of Art is no mere pastime, as some people 
 sup[iost.' ; an artist's life is an arduous ont* at 
 best. I have been told somitliinjr of your his- 
 tory; you are. verv poor, and wish to nuke 
 paiiit.in<r a profession. Tiiink well before 
 you decide this njatter; rcnicnilxM- that longr, 
 tedious months must elapse before you. can 
 hojie to execute even an ordinary portrait. 
 You must acjpiaint yourself with the anatomy 
 of the human system before you undertake 
 anythinfi. I thouL'ht I hsd finished my course 
 seven yenrs 330, but I went to Italy and soon 
 saw th.U I had only l>eiiin to iearn my profe.-- 
 sion. Think well of all this." 
 
 *' I have thoucrht of it ; I am willing to work 
 any number of years: I have decided, and I 
 am not to be frijihtened from my purpose. I 
 am poor, I can barely buy the necessary ma- 
 terials, mucli less the books, but I will be an 
 artist yet. I have decided, sir; it is no new 
 whim: it has been a bri</ht dream to me all 
 my life, and I am determined to realize it." 
 
 "Amen; so let it he, then. I shall remain 
 here some weeks lonL'cr ; come to me every 
 day at ten o'clock, and I will instruct you. 
 You shdl have such books as you need, and 
 with j)crs(.'venince you have notliinfj to fi-ar." 
 
 lie wiMit into the adjoinincr room, and re- 
 turned with a small volume. As he ;j;ave it to 
 her, with .^ome directions concerning the con- 
 t<}nts, she caught his hand to her lips, saying 
 hastily: 
 
 "My guardian ani'el certainly brouj^ht you 
 here to spend the winter. Oli, sir! I will 
 prove my piatilude for your <joodness by show- 
 ing that I ai!i not unworthy of it. 1 thank 
 you from the >^'ry dejjths of my glad heart." 
 
 As she released his hand and left the studio 
 he found two bright drops on his fingers, drops 
 called forth by the most intense joy she had 
 ever known. Having some commission from 
 hev aunt, she did not re-enter the carriage-, 
 and, after thanking Irene for her kindness, 
 walked away. The riilc home was v^ry silent; 
 Miss Margaret sat stilV and icy, looking quite 
 insulted, while her niece was too much en- 
 trrossed by other reflections to notice her. 
 The latter spent the remainder of the morn- 
 ing in writing to Hugh and correcting her 
 French exercises, and \frhen summoned to 
 dinner she entered the room expecting a 
 storm. \ glance sufliced to show her that 
 Miss Mnrgaret had not yet spoken to ber 
 father; though it was evifient from her coun- 
 tenance that she was about to make what she 
 considereii an . important revelation. The 
 meal passed, however, without any alltision 
 to the subje4.'t, and, knowing what sht had to 
 
 expect. Irene immediately withdrew ^o the 
 liJ)rary to give her aunt an opportunity ot 
 unburdening her mind. The straggle must 
 come some time, and she longed to have it over 
 as soon as possible. She tlirew up the sash, 
 seated herself on the broad cedar window-sill, 
 and began to work out a sum in algebra. 
 Nearly a half-hour passed; the slaimning o^ 
 the dining-room door was like the first line of 
 toam, curling and whit^'ning the sea when the 
 tempest sweeps forward; her fatluT stauijied 
 intg tlie library, and the storm broke over her. 
 
 "Irene! did n't I positively order you to 
 keep away from that Aubrey family ? What 
 do you mean by setting mo. at d fiance in this 
 way, yoij wilful, spoiled, hard-headed piece? 
 Do you suppose I intend tn put up with your 
 obstlnaiy all my life, and let you walk rough- 
 shod over me and my <ommauds ? You have 
 queened it long enough, my lady. If I don't 
 rein you up, you will turn your aunt and me 
 out of the house next, and invite that precious 
 Aubrey crew to take possession, "lour con- 
 founded stubbornness will ruin you yet. You 
 deserve a good whipping, miss ; I can hardly 
 keep my hands oflT of you." 
 
 He did not; rough hands seized her shoul- 
 ders, jerked her irom the window-sill, and 
 shook her violently. Down fell book, slate, 
 and pencil with a i^rash ; down swept the 
 heavy hair, blindinir her. She put it back, 
 folded her hands behind her as if tor support, 
 and, looking up at him, said in a low, stt-ad)*, 
 yet grieved tone : 
 
 " I am very sorrj' you arc angry with mc, 
 father." 
 
 " Devilish sorry, I dare say ! Don't bo hyp- 
 ocTitcal ! Did n"t I tell you to keep away 
 from tho.sc people ? Don't stand there like a 
 block of stone ; answer me !" 
 
 "Yes, sir; but I diil not promise to do so. 
 I am not hypocritical, father." 
 • " You did not promise, indeed ! What do I 
 care for promises V It was your •Jul v to obey 
 me." 
 
 " I don't think it was, father, when you re- 
 fused to give me any reason for avoiding Mrs. 
 Aubrey or her family. They are unfijrtunate, 
 but honorable people; and, being very poor 
 and atllicted, I felt sorry for them. I can't 
 see how my going there occasionally harms 
 you, or mi", or .mybody else. I know wry 
 well that you dislike, them, but you never told 
 me why, and I can not inir^gine any good 
 reason tor it. Father, if I love them, why 
 should not I associate with them ?" 
 
 " Because I say you sliant ! jou tormenting, 
 headstrong little imp !" 
 
 " My^father, that is no reason.' 
 
 " Reason ! I will put you when; you will 
 hf-vve no occasion for ■ reasons. Oh ! I can 
 match you, you perve..-:? little wretch ! I am 
 going to send you to a boarding-school, do you 
 hear that? send you where you^ill have no 
 Aubreys to abet your obstinacy and di.'iobo- 
 
MACAPJA. 
 
 29 
 
 dience ; where that temper of yours can be 
 curbed. How will you relish getting up be- 
 fore (lay, kindling your own fire, if you have 
 any, making your own bed, and living on 
 bread and "water? I will take you to New 
 York, and keep you there till'^-bu are grown 
 and learn common sense. Now get out of my 
 8igl)t!" 
 
 "With a stamp of rage, he pointed to the 
 door. Hitherto she had stood quite still, but 
 
 anxious, like all weak natures, to hang on 
 something sturdy. Irene usually revelled amid 
 this wealth of floral beauty, but now she 
 could not enjoy it. She looked at her favor- 
 ites, and understood what was meant by the 
 M'ords — 
 
 •■ T seo them all so exceriontl.v fair, 
 1 SCO, not feel, li«w beautiful they are.'' 
 
 The first groat grief of her life had fnlleii 
 
 now 'an expression of anguish passed swiftly oxx her; heretofore all had been so serene, so 
 over her face, and fhe put out her hands ap- Howory, that she could not, ea.^dy understand 
 oealiii'dv ' t or endure the crushing weight on her heart. 
 
 pe 
 
 " Fatlicr ! my father ! don't send me away ! 
 Please let me stay at home." 
 
 " Not if I live long enough to. take you. 
 Just as c^^rtainly as the sun shines in heaven, 
 yon will go as soon as your ch)tiiC3 can be 
 made. Your aunt will have you ready in a 
 week. Don't open your mouth to me ! I 
 don't want to he.ar another word from you^ 
 Take yourself oftV 
 
 She picked up her slate and book and left 
 thg'i-oum. Her hat hung on the rack in the 
 dia'.'i, and, taking it down, she passed out 
 through the rear piazza. Paragon leaped 
 and wiiined at sight of her; she unchained 
 him, and, leaving the yard, turned into a nar- 
 row zigzag path, leading in an opposite direc- 
 tion from' the front of the house. The build- 
 ing stood on (juite a hill, one side of which 
 sloped down to the back of a cj-eek that emp- 
 tied itself into the river a^ mile above the 
 town. This declivity was thickly wooded, 
 and, on the 0])posite side of the stream, a 
 dcn.se swamp stretched away. Cypress, pine, 
 beech, magiiolias towered far as the eye could 
 I'each, and now, in the gathering gloom of 
 ovening, looked sombre and solemn. This 
 was a favorite haunt of Irene's ; she knew 
 erery nook of the forest and bend of the 
 orcck as well €as the shy rai)bit« that flitted 
 •way at her approach; and, on this occasion, 
 »he sought a rude, seat, formed by the inter- 
 lacing of two wild grape-vines. At her feet 
 thf. channel ran deep and strong, and the 
 ro<.'ky bed was distinctly seen ; nut a few 
 
 Reared in seclusion, the thought of being sent 
 from her beautiful, lu.Kuriuus home, and thrust 
 among utter strangers, startled and tilled her 
 with dread. She was astonished, ])aincd, and 
 mortified by her father's har.-jh language ; and, 
 loving him very sincerely, she shrank from the 
 long separation he threatened ; yet, amid all 
 these complex emotions, she felt not the slight- 
 est regret for the course she had pursued ; 
 under similar circumstances she would again 
 act just as she ha<l done. Then came the re- 
 meinbrance that she might meet her unfor- 
 tunate friends no more. j\Irs. Aubrey waa 
 evidently declining rapidly, and what woidd 
 become of .Electra and Russell ? They n-.ight 
 move away; they, too, might die; nay, sh« 
 might «ever come back to the honn; of her 
 birth ; death's harvest was in all season.s, and, 
 looking upon the lakelet, she shudJered and 
 moaned. The snowy water-lilies glanctnl up 
 a; her, and seemed to say, as they trembled 
 unceasing:ly in the current far below the sur- 
 face, " bend ! bend 1" A pa.s3agc in Dante. 
 which she had read the week belbre, crossed 
 her mind now, as she noted the constant 
 swaying of the fragile flowers, so impotent to 
 resist that under-current sweeping their root*: 
 
 ■ No other plant. 
 
 Covered with leoves, or bardoned in its silaik, 
 Th«?re lives, not banding w> Iho water' i< sway." 
 
 He had selected reeds a^ a type of paticniio, 
 but the pale, pure, quivering lilies were to her 
 a far more" impressive symbol of resignation. 
 An aged gnarled i-ypress towered above hor, 
 
 yards ofT the stream widened into a small j and from the knotted limb."! drooped long 
 ]ake, and there, on its dark, still surface ! funeral wreaths of gray moss, thittering mourn- 
 luasses of wal^r-lilies spread out their broad, j fully in tho evening wind, like badges of crapn 
 green, flossy leave*. It was a lonely place; , in houses of death. From amid this sombro 
 even in the day owls hooted one to another, \ drapery came the lonely hoot of an owl, and, 
 and siraftgf, harsh T;rie9 were heard from birds I with a strange sensation of desolation, tene 
 that never forsook the swamp. It was April, j fell on her knees and committed herinMf to 
 early April, and from the hill-siile, fringed with the care of the Great Shepherd. Darknesj 
 honcy.«u<klcs of varied huu, and festooned with closed around, but as she prayed the silver 
 yellow jasmine that clambered in wild luxuri- rays of the evening «tar peered down through 
 ance over tree and shrub, the southern breeze ' the trembling streamers of mcMS, and glQained 
 wafted spicy, intoxicating aromas. Redbuds on the upturned face. Slic broke one of the 
 
 lifU'd their rosy limbs again.st dark, polished 
 inHgnolia.s, and here and there masses of snow 
 
 liUes, and, fastening it among her curls, ibll.)i 
 
 iUes, 
 
 cd Paragon up the hill-.sidri. The week which 
 
 told where the dogwoods grew. Clusters of succeeded was wretched to the girl, for her 
 TJoleta embroiflrreJ the hill-sfide, and crimson ' father's sun^eillaucc jircvcnted her from visit- 
 woodbine trailed over the ground, catching at ' ing the cottage, wven to say adieu to it.- in- 
 eTery droojtlng bough, and alimbing stealthily, mates ; and no altcrnatiTo presented itself bul 
 
30 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 to leave for them (in the hanrls of Nellie, her 
 devoted nurse) a note containinj a few part- 
 ing words and as.snrani-e.'? of unfadintr friend- 
 ship and reun-mhranfe. The day of di-parture 
 dawnrd rainy, gloomy, .and the wind sobbed 
 and waikd down tlie avenue as Irene stood at 
 her window, looking out on the lawn whx^re 
 her life had been passed. Although Nellie 
 was weeping bitterly at her side, she had not 
 she.d a tear; but the face was full of grief, and 
 her little hand.< were clasped tiglitly as the 
 faithful nurse pressed them aile tionatcly in 
 her palms. Disengaging h(;rself, Frene took 
 an umbrella and went to the stable for a last 
 look at Erebus. This tried her sorely, and 
 her Hp was unsteady wiien she left him and 
 sought Paragon. The Jatter, little su.''pecting 
 the true state of afTains, gambolled and whined 
 lis joyou.sly as ever at Iht approaeh: and, 
 when the <TOwned head went down moaning- 
 ly on his silky neek, he bark<-d and frisked in 
 recognition of the caress. The breakfast-bell 
 fiummoned her away, and, a half-hour after, 
 she saw the lofty colinnns of the old house 
 fad(! from view, and kiie\r that many months, 
 perhai>s years, mu?t elapse before the ancestral 
 trees of the long avenue would wave^a^ain 
 over the head of their young mistress. Her 
 father sat beside her, moody and silent, and, 
 when the brick wall and arched iron gate 
 •vanished from her sight, she sank back in one 
 corner, and, covering her face witli her hands, 
 smothered a groan, and fought desperately 
 with her voiceless anguish. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Youth is hopeful, beautifully hopeful, and 
 fresh, pure hearts rebound ivmn sorrow with 
 wonderful elasticity. When cloud.s lower and 
 the way seems dark and tangled hope (lies 
 forward, pioneer-like, to clear away all obsta- 
 cles. Huge barriers frowaeil between Electra 
 and the lieightK she strained tivery nerve to 
 reach, but never for an inslant did" she doubt 
 the success of the strug^ile. J.ike Orpheus 
 seeking Eurydice, to look back was fearful 
 and liazardous; and fixing h(!r eycis steadily 
 on the future, she allowed herself no haunting 
 foreboding. 
 
 "Cry, fiiint not! cliiiili Ihn mimniil's slope 
 Hityoiifl the fiirthcBt OiKlitu of liope. 
 AVnipt in Ueuse cloud fiyuj bime to copo." 
 
 What human powers can , endure and^ ac- 
 complish is to be measured only by the neces- 
 sity which goads, and all heivulean trophies 
 are won by desperate needs. 'I'he laws which 
 govern our moral and intellectual natures arc 
 as rigid and inevitable in their operation as 
 those v,-hose workings we constantly trace in 
 the physical world; of which truth the histoiy 
 of nations and memoirs of great men furnish 
 innumerable exempli/ications. Consequently, 
 
 j it is both unjust and illogical to judge of the 
 probability of this or that event' or .series of 
 j event.s. or the naturalness of this or that char- 
 j acter, whether in authenticated history or fic- 
 titious works, without a thorough acipiiintance 
 I with all antecedents, and the various relations 
 : surrounding the actor. Reader, as you walk 
 ' side by side with these whose lives I am nar- 
 rating, bear this in mind — the .«ilvcr-winged 
 , pigeons that flath in and out of the venerable 
 j trees shailing the old homi-stead, and coo and 
 ! flutter amid the raiiibow spray of the fountain, 
 J would dmoj), shiver, and die' on bald, awful 
 [ Aljjine pinnacles, where in tht fierce howl 
 and scourging of temjiests eagleti' wheel in 
 [ triumph, and scream defiantly; and tender pet 
 lambs, coaxed into flowery," luxuriant mead- 
 ows, would soon make their graves in the 
 I murderous snow over which young chamois 
 ] bleat and skip in wild glee, fearless as the 
 ' everlasting hills. 
 
 j Day after day Electra toiled over her work ; 
 I the (lelicate frame learned its destiny, sighed 
 ! at its future, but grew strong; and c'ompTain- 
 ^ iiig nerves, catching some of her iron resolve, 
 ! endured patiently — became finally thoroughly 
 inured to their arduous duties. Her aunt 
 constantly claimed her attention for the vari- 
 ous little offices so grateful to an invalid, but 
 by an extraordinary alchemy ^he contrived to 
 convert every interruption into an occasion 
 of profit. If lending her arm to support the 
 (hooping form in a »hort walk around the 
 little garden, she would describe the vary- 
 ing tints of sky. a« the clouds shilVed their gor- 
 geous curtains oi' purj^e and scarlet and gold, 
 until thoroughly familiarized with the varied 
 chameleon hues and strange, grotesque out- 
 lines traced by every rifl. Nature was a 
 vast storehouse of inatchle»s, unapproachable 
 beauty to that eager, thirsty soul — a boundless 
 studio, filled with wonderful creations, open to V 
 her at all times— in the rosy, opaline flush of 
 niormng, the blazing splendor of full-orbed 
 noon, the silver gray of twilight, peopled with 
 dusky phantoms, wcinl and shifting as Fata- 
 Morgana— the still sublimity, the solemn, sa- 
 cred witchery of •star-erowned, immemorial 
 Night. She answered the first hoarse call of 
 thunder by stationing herself at the window to 
 watch the stormy panorama sweep over the 
 heavens; and not Ruysdael, nor Vaudcrvelde, 
 iior Turner ever gazed with more intense de- 
 light on the hurrying masses of vapor than that 
 fragile girl, as sh'e stood with the forked light- 
 ning glaring luridly over her upturned, enrap- 
 tured face. Favored ones of fortune lean ' 
 against marble pillars in royal museums, to 
 stufly the imperishable; works of earth's grand- 
 est ol<l artists; but she lived in a cosmopolitan 
 temple, whose skyey frescos were fresh from 
 the hands of Jeliovah himself. The rapidity 
 of h<!r progress astonished Mr. Clifton. Ho 
 (juestioned her concerning the processes she 
 employed in some of her curious combinations. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 31 
 
 but the frnjimentary, abstracted nabire of her 
 conversation during the hours of instruction 
 gave him little satisfactory information. His' 
 interest in her increased, until finally it be- 
 came absorbinji;, and he gave her all the time 
 that she could spare from home. The eager- 
 ness with which she listened to his directions, 
 'the facility witli which she applied his rules, 
 fully ^repnid him ; and from day to day he post- 
 poned his return to the North, reluctant to 
 leave his indefatigable pupil. Now and then 
 the time of departure was fixed, but ere it ar- 
 rived he wavered and procrastinated. 
 
 Electra km^w that his stay had been pro- 
 longed beyond his original intention, and she 
 dreaded tiie hour when she should be de- 
 prived of his aid and advice. Though their 
 acquaintance had been so short, a strangely 
 strong feeling had grown up in her heart 
 toward Inm ; a feeling of clinging tenderness, 
 blended with earnest, undying gratitude. She 
 knew that he understood iicr character and 
 apprc(;iatod her struggles, and it soothed her 
 fierce, proud heart, in some degree, to receive 
 from him those tokens of constant remem- 
 brance which she so yearned to have from 
 Russell. She felt, too, that she was not re- 
 garded as a stranger by the artist ; she could 
 see his sad eyes brighten at her entrance, and 
 detect the tremor in his hand and voice when 
 he spoke of going home. Plis health had 
 improved, and the heat of summer had come; 
 why did he linger? His evenings were often 
 spcut at the (!ottage, and even Mrs. Aubi-ey 
 learned to smile at the sound of his step. 
 
 One morning as Electra- finished her lesson 
 and rose to go, he said slawly, as if watching 
 the efl'ect of his words : 
 
 " This is the last hour I can give you. In 
 two days i return to New York. Letters of 
 importance came this morning; I have waited 
 here too long already." 
 
 " Are you in earnest this time ?" 
 
 " I am ; it is absolutely Ui^essary that I 
 should return home." 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, what shall I do without you ?" 
 
 " Suppose you had never seen me '/" 
 
 " Tiien I should not h;ive had to lose you. 
 Oh, sir ! I need you very much." 
 
 " Electra, child, you will conquer your difS- 
 cultic without as.sistance from auy one. You 
 have notiiiug to fear." 
 
 " Yes, I know I shall conquer at last, but 
 the way would bo so much easier if you were 
 only wilii me. I ghall m^ss you i^orc than I 
 can titW you." 
 
 He pas>;ed his hand over her short shining 
 hair, and mused 'for a moment as if laying 
 confll'ting I motions in the balance. She heard 
 his de.^p, labored breathing, and saw the 
 working of the muscles in his pale face; when 
 he spokH, his voice was husk}': 
 
 " Voii .'re right; you need me, and I want 
 you always with me; we must not be parted. 
 Electra, 1 ;--^y we shall not. Come to me, put 
 
 your hands in mine — promise me that you 
 will be my child, my pupil ; I will take you to 
 my mother, and we need never be separated. 
 Y'^ou require aid, such as can not be liad here ; 
 in New York you shall' have all that you 
 want. Will you come with me?" 
 
 He held her hands in a vice-like grasp, and 
 
 [ looked pleadingly into her astonished counte- 
 nance. A uifst gathered before her, and she 
 closed her eyes. 
 
 " Electra, will you come ?" 
 " Give me ten minutes to think," she an- 
 swered .'<liivcringly. He turned away and 
 walked \ip and down the floor, taking care 
 to conceal hi.s facr. She sat down before a 
 table and dropped her- forehead in her palms. 
 
 I What slight things often shap<; human des- 
 
 I tiny ; how little people realize the conse- 
 quences of seemingly trivial words, looks, or 
 actions ? The day before Electra would un- 
 hesitatingly have declined this proposition; 
 but only that morning, as she passed Rus- 
 sell's door before breakfast,' she saw him with 
 Irene's farewell note in his hand ; saw him 
 
 j press his lips hastily to the signature. Her 
 jealous heart was on fire; the consciousness 
 of his love lor another rendered her reckless 
 and indescribably miserable. In this mood 
 she reflected ; 'Mr. Clifton seemed to have 
 
 I become warmly attached to her, and could 
 help her to attain the eminence she had in 
 view ; she was poor, why not accept his gen- 
 erous olTer? Russell would not miss her — 
 would not care whether ghe left him or re- 
 mained. If she were far alway, at least she 
 would not be tormented by his coldness and 
 indiifcrcnce. Tiie future (barring her ambi- 
 tious dreams) was dim, joyless ; she had to 
 earn a support, she S(!orned tM h<; dep*'ndent 
 on her cousin, fame lured her on. Y\'.s, she 
 wonld go.' Mr. Clifton took out his watch 
 and paused beside her : 
 
 " Ten minutes have passed ; Electra, will 
 you com(^ ?" 
 
 She raised her bloodless face, stamped with 
 stern resolve, and ere the words were pro- 
 nounced he read his answer in the d"fiant 
 gleam of her eyes, in the hard, curved lines of 
 the mouth. 
 
 "Mr. Clifton, I can not go with you just 
 now, for at present I can not, ought not, to 
 lea.ve my aunt. Helpless as she is, it would 
 be cruel, ungrateful, to desert her ; but things 
 can not continue this wa}' much longer, and I 
 promise you that as soon as I can I will go to 
 you. I want to be with you; I want somc- 
 lindy to care for me, and 1 know you will be a 
 kind friend always. Most gratefully will I 
 accept your gentrous ofler so soon as I feel 
 that I can do .so." 
 
 He stooped, and touched her forehead with 
 his lips. 
 
 "My dear Electra,! will shield you from 
 
 ' trials and difficulties; I will prize you above 
 everything on earth ; I know you are making 
 
32 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 a firoat sacrifice to Ix* with mc 
 
 hani it i>i tor you to leave home and relatives 
 
 But, ID}' fJiild, your aunt li.u only a short folds of 
 
 I know how I drn d lo t;ie anjiraachinj^ shores of another 
 rcahn, and she thanked (nxl that thou£ih tliick 
 
 darkness shrouded earth, the veil 
 time to live; she is failing very fast, r.nd your ' dropped from her soul and the ypirirualaigion 
 duty to her w 111 not keep you here lon;j;. You j;rew elear and piereinp. If faith and resijj- 
 are lijjht to lemain witii her, but when she i nation could be tauj^ht like niussie or .uith- 
 needs you no Miora I ^IJall expert yoii to eomti ■ metie, tlien had Eleetra learned the <:randest 
 to me in New York. Aleauliine, I yhall write | truths of Christianity; but it is a mournful 
 to you fre<iuently, and sujiply you with uneh ; faet that the bloody Heal of Experience raust 
 books and materiab as you require. My i stamp the lesson ere deep thinker.* or strong 
 pupil, 1 long to have you in my own home, nalure.s receive it, and as she watclied that 
 k<:uu'.mber, no matter what happens, you have precious life fade, like the purple li;iht of 
 proutised yourself to me." summer in evening skies, the only fceliu" she 
 
 '•I shall not forget;" but he saw her shud- knew was that of }j;ricf for the impending 
 der. ' ' loss-r-undefined apprehension of commg iso- 
 
 " Shall I s]«cak to your aunt about this lation. If Mrs. Anbrey could have seen the 
 matter before J go ?" I countenance which bent over her pillow, her 
 
 *• No, it would only distress her; leave it all .serene soul would have been painfully dis- 
 with nw. It is late, and 1 must go. Good.- turbed. She felt hot tears fall on herhands 
 by. sir." ' and cheeks, and knew that the lips which 
 
 He promised to sec her again before his de- pressed hers often tiembled; but this seemed 
 
 Eariure, anrl she walked home witk her head natural enough uiider the cireumslances, and 
 owed and a sharp continual pain gnawing at she sank quietly down to the edge of the 
 Uer heart. tomb ignorant of the sorrows that racked the 
 
 In the calm, peaceful years of ordinary i girl's heart. One juorning when Mv. Cam{>- 
 chiljliood, the .foul matures slowly; but a bell, the pastor, had spent some time in the 
 vol< auie nature like Electra's, subjected to | sick-room praying with the suflerer, and ad- 
 galllng trials, rapidly hardens, and answers I ministering the sacrament of the Lord's j<up- 
 every stroke with the metallic ring of age. ; per, Electra followed hipi to the door, leaving 
 Keen susceptibility to joy or pain taught her llussell with his mother. The gentle pastor 
 early what less impressive characters are took her hand kindly, and lookeil at her with 
 yeais in learning, and it was lamentably true filling eyes. 
 
 that, while yet a mere girl, she sulFered as " You think niy aunt is worse ?" 
 .acutely as a woman. The battle of life must " Y'es, my child. I think that very sum 
 be" I'uught, and if one begins .skirmishing in she will be with her God. She will siarcely 
 the ( r.idle, tactics are soon learned, and the survive till night — " 
 
 conllict. ends more speedily. But Electra She turned abruptly from him, and threw 
 had also conned another less^on: to lock her j herself down across the foot of the bed, biiry- 
 troubles in her own heart, voicing no com- i ing her face in her arms. Jiussell sat with 
 piainL, and when she sought her aunt, and \ his mother's hands in his, while she turned her 
 r^Kid aloud the favorite chapters in the Bible, , brow.n eyes toward him, and exhorleti him to 
 or led her up and down the garden-walk, \ eonunit himself and his future to the hands of 
 talking of various things, telling of the growth j a mei'cilul GfKl. She told him how the prom- 
 of pet plants, there was no indii;ation what- ! ises of the Saviour had supported and <,heer»>d 
 eve'- oi' any unusual strife or extraordinary ' her in limfts of great need, and inqilored him 
 occurrence. ' Russell knew that a change had to dedicate his energies, his talents, iiis life, t« 
 come over his lou.^in, Lut was to6 constantly [ the service of his Maker. El'-etra was not 
 eiig.igeil, too entirely absoi^jed by his studies, i forgotten ; she advised her to go to a cousin of 
 to ask or analyze the cause. She never i her mother residing in Virginia. Long before 
 watched at the gate lor him now, never i she had written to this lady, inlbrnung her of 
 sprang with outstretched arms to meet him, !4ier own fi'cbleness and of the girl's lielplcM 
 never hung over the back of his chkir and I condition ; and a kind answer had b(!en re- 
 eare!-?ed his hands as formerly. When not j turned, cordially inviting the or]'l)an to sliar« 
 wailing upon her aunt she was as intent ' her home, to become an inmate of her house, 
 on her books as he, and, though invariably : Kd.ssell could take llir to these relatives as 
 kind aad unselfish in her conduct toward j soon as possible. To all this no reply waa. 
 him, slie was evidently constrained in his pres- j made, and, a few moments later, when llus- 
 ence. As the summer wore on Mrs. Aubrey's ■ sell kissed her tenderly and raised her pillow, 
 health failed rapidly, and she was confined to 
 her cou<li. There, in a low chair close to the 
 pillow, .sat Electra reading, talking, exerting 
 herstif to the utmost to cheer the widow. 
 She Tilled the thin fingers with dewy 
 
 she said faintly- 
 
 " W I could look upon your face once more, 
 my son, it would not be hard to die. Let me 
 see you in heavwi, my dear, dear boy." These 
 were the last words, and soon af^er a stupor 
 
 and expatiated on the glories of the outer I fell upon her. Hour after hour passed; Mrs. 
 
 world, while the thoughts of the invalid wau- | Campbell came and sat beside the bod, and 
 
 roses. 
 
 \ 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 SS 
 
 the three remained silent, now and then lift- 
 ing bowed heads to look at the sleeper. Not 
 a sound broke the stillness save the occasional 
 chirp of a cricket, and a shy niouse crept 
 twice across the floor, wondering at the 
 silence, fixing its twinkling bright eyes on 
 the motionless figures. The autumn day died 
 slowly as the Avidow, and when the clock 
 dirged out the sunset hour Russell rose, and, 
 putting back the window -curtains, stooped 
 and laid his face close to his mother's. Life is 
 at best a struggle, and such perfect repose as 
 greeted liim is found only when the marble 
 hands of Death transfer the soul to its guar- 
 dian angel. No pulsation stirred the folds 
 over the heart, or the soft bands of hair on 
 the blue-veined temples; the still mouth had 
 breathed its last sigh, and the meek brown 
 ej'es had opened in eternity. The long, fierce 
 ordeal liad ended, the flames died out, and 
 from smouldering ashes the purified spirit 
 that had toiled and fainted not, that had been 
 faithful to the end, patiently bearing many 
 crosses, heard the voice of the Great Shep- 
 herd, and soared joyfully to the pearly gates 
 of the Everlasting Home. The day boi'e her 
 away on its wings, and as Russell touched the 
 icy cheek a despairing cry rolled thi-ough the 
 silent cottage — 
 
 " Oh, mother! my own precious dead moth- 
 er !" 
 
 Falling on his knees, he laid his head on 
 her pillow, and when kind friendly hands bore 
 her into the adjoining room, he knelt there 
 still, un(;onscious of what passed, knowing 
 only that the keenest of many blows had 
 fallen, that the last and bitterest vial of sor- 
 rows had been emptied. 
 
 Night folded her starry curtains around the 
 earth ; darkness settled on river and hill and 
 valley. It was late September; autumn 
 winds rose, eager for their work of death, 
 and rushed rudely through the forests, shaking 
 the sturdy primeval monarchs in token of 
 their mission and mastery ; and shivering 
 leaves rustled down before them, drifting into 
 tiny grave-like hillocks. Gradually the" stars 
 caught the contagious gloom, and shrank be- 
 hind the cloud-skirts sweeping the cold sky. 
 It was a solemn, melancholy night, full of 
 dreary phantom*, presaging a dark, dismal 
 morrow. Amy Aubrey's still form reposed on 
 the draped table in the kitchen, and the fitful 
 candle-light showed only a dim, rigid outline 
 of white linen. Mr. Campbell and his wife 
 sat together in the next room, and the two 
 young mourners were left in the silence of the 
 kitchen. Russell sat at the open window, 
 near the table ; his head leaned on his hand, 
 tearless, mute, still as his mother. At the op- 
 posit(! window stood Electra, pressing her face 
 against the frame, looking out into the moan- I 
 ing, struggling night, striving to read the 1 
 mystic charact-ers dimly traced on the asli-grav i 
 hurrying cloadK hm the recklew winds parted 1 
 S 
 
 their wan folds. The stony face of her mer- 
 ciless destiny seemed to frown down at her, 
 cold, grim, Sphinx-like. Hitherto she had 
 walked with loved ones; now a vast sepulchre 
 yawned to receive them ; a tomb of clay for 
 the quiet sleeper, one of perhaps final separa- 
 tion for Russell, and over this last hideous 
 chasm Hope hovered with drooping wings. 
 To leave him was like inurning her heart and 
 all the joy she had ever known ; and then, to 
 crown her agony, a thousand Furies hissed 
 " Irene will come back, and loving her he will 
 forget that you toil among strangers." 
 
 She crushed her fingers against each other 
 and stifled a groan, while the chilling voice of 
 Destiny added : " trample out this weakness, 
 your path and his here separate widely ; you 
 are nothing to liim, go to work earnestly, and 
 cease repining." She shrank away from the 
 window, and approached her cousin. For two 
 hours he had not changed his position ; as far 
 as she knew, had not moved a muscle. She 
 sat down at his feet and crossed her arms over 
 his knees ; he took no notice of her. 
 
 " Oh, Russell ! say something to me, or I 
 shall die." 
 
 It was the last wail she ever suffered to 'es- 
 cape her in his j)resence. He raised liis head 
 anil put his hand on her forehead, but the trem- 
 bling lips refused their office, and as she looked 
 up at him tears rolled slowly down and fell on 
 her cheek. She would have given worlds to 
 mingle her tears with his, but no moisture 
 came to her burning eyes; and there these 
 two, so soon to separate, passed the remaining 
 hours of that long wretched night of watch- 
 ing. The stormy day lifted her pale, mourn- 
 ful face at last, and with it came the dreary 
 patter and sobbing of autumn rain, making it 
 doubly harrowing to commit the precious form 
 to its long, last resting-place. Electra stood 
 up beside her cousin and folded her arms to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Russell, I am not going to that cousin in 
 Virginia. I could owe my bread and clothes 
 to you, but not to her. She has children, and 
 I do not intend to live on her charity. I know 
 you and I must part ; the sooner the better. 
 I would not be willing to burden you a day 
 longer. I am going to fit myself to work prof- 
 itably. Mr. Clifton ^ofTered me a home in his 
 house, said his mother was lonely, and would 
 be rejoiced to have me ; that letter which I 
 received last week contained one from her, 
 also urging me to come ; and, Russell, I am 
 going to New York to study with him as long 
 as I need instruction. I did not tell aunt of 
 this, because I knew it would grieve her to 
 think that I would be thrown with strangers ; 
 and having fully determined to take this step, 
 thought it best not to distress her by any allu- 
 sion to it. You know it is my own affair, and 
 I can decide it better than any one else." 
 
 His eyes were fixed on the shrouded table, 
 and he answerud without lookiu'; at bar : 
 
 • / 
 
34 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " No, Electra, you must go to Mrs. Harden ; 
 she seems anxious to have you; and as for 
 being dependent on charity, you never shall 
 be, so long as I live. You will merely re.side 
 imder her roof, and shall not cost her a cent; 
 leave this with me." 
 
 " I can not leave it with any body ; I must 
 depend upon myself. I have thought a great 
 deal about it, and my resolution is not to be 
 shaken. You have been very kind to me, 
 Russell, all my life; and only God knows how 
 I love and thank you. But I Avill not accept 
 your hard earnings in future ; I should be mis- 
 erable unless at work, and I tell you I must 
 and will go to Mr. Clifton." 
 
 He looked at her now, surprised and pained. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Electra V 
 Have I not sorrovTs enough, that you must try 
 to add another by your obstinacy ? What 
 would she think of you V" 
 
 He rose, and laid his hand on the pure 
 smooth brow of the dead. 
 
 " There is nothing new the matter with me. 
 1 have determined to go; nobody has any 
 right to control uie, and it is worse than use- 
 less for you to oppose me. We have but little 
 time to spend together, do not let us quarrel 
 here in her presence. Let there be peace be- 
 tween us in these last hours. Oh, Russell I it 
 is hard enough to part, even in love and kind- 
 ness ; do not add painful contention." 
 
 " So you prefer utter strangers to your rela- 
 tives and friends ?" 
 
 " Ties of blood are not the strongest ; stran- 
 gers step in to aid where relatives sometimes 
 stand aloof, and watch a fatal struggle. Re- 
 member Irene ; who is nearer to you, she or 
 your grandfather? Such a friend Mr. Clif- 
 ton is to me, and go to him I will at all haz- 
 ards. Drop the subject, if you please." 
 
 He looked at her an instant, then turned 
 once more to his mother's face, and his cou&in 
 left them together. 
 
 The day was so inclement that only Mr. 
 and Mrs. Campbell and Russell's emi)loyer 
 attended the funeral. These few followed the 
 gentle sleeper, and laid her down to rest till 
 the star of eternity dawns; and the storm 
 chanted a long, thrilling requiem as the wet 
 mound rose above the cofFm. 
 
 Back to a deserted home, whence the crown 
 of joy has been borne. What a hideous rack 
 stands at the hearth-stone whereon merciless 
 memory stretches the bereaved ones. In hours 
 such as this, we cry out fiercely : " The sun of 
 our life has gone down in starless, everlasting 
 night; earth has no more glory, no more 
 bloom or fragrance for us ; the voices of glee- 
 ful children, the carol of summer birds, take 
 the mournful measure of a dirge. We hug 
 this great grief to our hearts; we hold our 
 darling dead continually before us, and refuse 
 to be glad again." We forget that Prome- 
 theus has passed from the Avorld. Time bears 
 precious healing on its broad pinions; folds 
 
 its arms compassionately about us as a pitying 
 father; sortly binds up the jagged wounds, 
 drugs memory, and though the poisonous sting 
 is occasionally thrust forth, she soon relapses 
 into stupor. So in the infinite mercy of our 
 God, close at the heels o!" Azrael, follow the 
 winged liours laden, like Sisters of Charity, 
 with balm for the people. 
 
 The kind-hearted pastor and his wife urged 
 the orphans to remove to their house for a 
 few days at least, until the future could be 
 mapped ; but they preferred to meet and bat- 
 tle at once with the spectre which they knew 
 stood waiting in the desolate cottage. At 
 midnight a heavy sleep fell on Russell, who 
 had thrown himself upon his mother's couch ; 
 and, softly spreading a shawl over him, Elec- 
 tra sat down by the dying fire on the kitchen 
 hearth and looked her future in the face. A 
 few days sufiiced to prepare for her journey ; 
 and a gentleman from New York, who had 
 met her cousin in Mr. Campbell's office, con- 
 sented to take charge of her, and commit her 
 to Mr. Clifton's hands. The scanty furniture 
 was sent to an auction-room, and a piece of 
 board nailed to the gate-post announced that 
 the cottage was" for rent. Russell decided to 
 take his meals at a boarding-house, and oc- 
 cupy a small room over the office, which Mr. 
 Campbell had placed at his disposal. On the 
 same day, the cousins bade adieu to the only 
 spot they had called " home " for many years, 
 and as Russell locked the door and joined 
 Electra, his melancholy face expressed, far 
 better than words could have done, the pain 
 it cost him to quit the house where his idolized 
 mother had lived, suffered, and died. Mr. 
 Colton was waiting for Electra at the hotel, 
 whither the stage had been driven for pas- 
 sengers ; and as she drew near and saw her 
 trunk among others piled on top, she stopped 
 and grasped Russell's hand between both 
 hers. A livid paleness settled on her face, 
 while her wild black eyes fastened on his 
 features. She might never see him again; 
 he was far dearer to her than her life; how 
 could she bear to leave him, to put hundreds 
 of miles between that face and her own ? 
 An icy hand clutched her heart as she gazed 
 into his decj), sad, beautiful eyes. His feel- 
 ing for her was a steady, serene affection, 
 such as brothers have for dear young sisters, 
 and to give her up now filled him with genu- 
 ine, earnest sorrow. 
 
 " Electra, it is very hard to tell you good- 
 by. You are all I have left, and I shall( be' 
 desolate indeed %vhen you are away. But 
 the separation will not be long, I trust ; in a 
 few years we shall be able to have another 
 home; and where my home is, yours must 
 always be. Toil stretches before me like a 
 sandy desert, but I shall cross it safely ; and. 
 then, Electra,' my dear cousin, we shall be 
 parted no more. I should feel far better sat- 
 isfied if you were with Mrs. Harden, but yoa 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 35 
 
 determined otherwise, and, as you told me a 
 few days ago, I Lave no right to control you. 
 Write to me often, and believe that I shall do 
 all that a brother could for you. Mr. Colton 
 is waiting; good-by, darling." 
 
 He bent down to kiss her, and the strained, 
 tortured look that greeted him he never for- 
 got. She put her arms around his neck, and 
 clung to him like a shivering weed driven by 
 rough winds against a stone wall. He re- 
 moved her clasping arms, and led her to Mr. 
 Colton; but as the latter offered to assist her 
 into the stage, she drew back, that Russell 
 might perform that office. Wliile he almost 
 lifted her to a seat, her fingers refused to 
 release his, and he was forced to disengage 
 them. Other passengers entered, and the door 
 was closed. Russell stood near the window, 
 and said gently, pitying her suffering : 
 
 " Electra, wont you say good-by ?" 
 
 She leaned out till her cheek touched Iiis, 
 and in a hoarse tone uttered the fluttering 
 words : 
 
 "Oh, Russell! Russell! good-by! May 
 God have mercy on me !" 
 
 And the stage rolled swiftly on ; men 
 laughed, talked, and smoked ; an October sun 
 filled the sky with glory, and gilded the trees 
 on the road-side ; flame-colored leaves flashed 
 in the air as the wind tossed them before it ; 
 the deep, continual thunder of the foaming 
 falls rose soothingly from the river banks, and 
 a wretched human thing pressed her bloodless 
 face against the morocco lining of the coach, 
 
 Id stared down, mute and tearless, into the 
 ic grave of her all — 
 
 "Fresh as the first be.tm glittering on a sail, 
 That brings our friends up fri)ni the under world; 
 Sad as tlie last which reddens over one 
 That ginks with all wo lovo below the verge, 
 So gad, 80 fresh, the days that are no more." 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 As tall tyrannous weeds and i-ank unshorn 
 grass close over and crush out slender, pure, 
 odorous flowerets on a hill-side, so the defects 
 of Irene's character swiftly strengthened and 
 developed in the new atmosphere in which 
 she found herself. All the fostering stimulus 
 of a hot-bed seemed applied to them, and her 
 nobler impulses were in imminent danger of 
 being entirely subdued. Diogenes Tenfels- 
 drtickh's " Crim Tartary Enclosure of a High 
 Seminary" is but the prototype of hundreds, 
 scattered up and down through Christendom ; 
 and the associations which surrounded Irene 
 were well calculated to destroy the native 
 purity and unselfishness of her nature. The 
 »'hool wns on an extensive scale, thoroughly 
 fashionable, and thither pupils were sent from 
 every section of the United States. As re- 
 garded educational advantages, the institution 
 was unexceptionable ; the professors were con- 
 
 sidered unsurpassed in their several depart- 
 ments, and evpry provision was made for 
 thorough tuition. But what a Babel reigned 
 outside of the recitation-room. One hundred 
 and forty girls to spend their recesses in envy, 
 ridicule, malice, and detraction. -The homely 
 squad banded in implacable hatred against 
 those whom nature had cast in moulds of 
 beauty ; the indolent and obtuse ever on the 
 alert to decry the successful efforts of their 
 superiors ; the simply-clad childreh of parents 
 in straightened circumstances feeding their 
 discontent by gazing with undisguised envy 
 at the richly-apparalled darlings of fortune ; 
 and the favored ones sneering at tliese unfor- 
 tunates, pluming themselves on wealth, beauty, 
 intellect, as the case might be ; growing more 
 arrogant and insufferable day by daV. A 
 wretched climate this for a fresli, untainted 
 soul; and it is surprising how really fond 
 parents, anxious to promote the improvement 
 of their daughters in every respect, hasten to 
 place them where poisonous vapors wreathe 
 and curl about them. The principals of such 
 institutions are doubtless often conscientious, 
 and strive to discharge their duty faithfully ; 
 but the evils of human nature are obstinate, 
 diflicult to subdue under even the most favor- 
 able auspices; and where such a mass of un- 
 trained souls are turned into an enclosure, to 
 amuse themselves at one another's expense, 
 mischief is sure to follow. Anxious to shake 
 off the loneliness which so heavily oppressed 
 her, Irene at first mingled freely among her 
 companions ; but she soon became disgusted 
 with the conduct and opinions of the majority, 
 and endeavored to find quiet in her own room. 
 Maria Ashley, who shared the apartment, was 
 the spoiled child of a Louisiana planter, and 
 her views of life and duty were too utterly 
 antagonistic to Irene's to allojv of any pleasure 
 in each other\s society. To cheat the profes- 
 sors by ingenious stratagems, and to out-dress 
 her companions, seemecl the sum total of the 
 girl's aspirations ; and gradually, in lieu of the 
 indifference she evinced toward her room- 
 mate, a positive hatred made itself apparent 
 in numberless trifles. Feeling her own supe- 
 riority, Irene held herself more and more 
 aloof; her self-complacency grew amazingly, 
 the graceful figure took a haughty, unbending 
 posture, and a coldly contemptuous smile 
 throned itself on her lip. The inevitable con- 
 sequence was, that she became a target for 
 the school. Thus the months crept away, her 
 father wrote rarely, and !Miss Margaret's let- 
 ters contained no allusion to the family that 
 had caused her banishment. Finally she 
 wrote to Dr. Arnold, incjuiring concerning 
 Mrs. Aubrey, but no reply reached her. Early 
 in winteira new pupil, a "day scholar," joined 
 her class ; she resided in New York, and very 
 soon a strong friendship sprang up between 
 them. Louisa Young was about Irene's age, 
 very pretty, very gentle, and winning in her 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 •hildren as 
 
 parents who strove to rear tln.-ir cli 
 Christian i)arents should. Ix)uis.V!i 
 menta were very warm anil lastinjr, and ore 
 long she insisted that her friciul should visit 
 Weary of the s<'hool, the latter gladlj- 
 
 manners. She was the daui»htcr of an aflluent | asked you whether it was snowing out of 
 merchant, and was blessed in the posscapion oflj doors." 
 
 " Which is certainly the fact ; the first 
 (lakes fell as I reached home." 
 
 He stepped to the window and looked out, 
 saying carelessly — 
 hen Weary of the s<'hool, the latter gladly I " Go to your friend, and when you are at a 
 availed herself of the invitation, and one Fri- | loss for conversation, bring her to my study to 
 day afternoon she aci'orapanied Louisa home. I see tho.se sketehos of Palmyra and Haalbee." 
 The man.sion was almost j)alatial, and as Irene I lie passed on to his work, and she to the 
 entered the splendidly-furnished parlors her i sitting - room. Tiie study was simply thu 
 own Southern home rose vividly iK'fore her. library, handsomely fittcil up with choice old 
 " Mother, this is Miss Huntingdon." I books in richly-carved rosewood cases, and 
 
 Mrs. Young reii-ivfil her cordially, and a,s I antique bust« peering down from the tops of 
 she held the gloveil hand, and kindly e.xiiress- | each. Crimson damask curtains swept from 
 ' ' " " the ceiling to the carpet, and a luxurious arm- 
 
 chair sat before the glowing coal fire. The 
 table was covered with books, and loose sheets 
 of paper were scattered around, as if the oc- 
 cupant had been suddenly called from his 
 labor. The gas burned brightly; all things 
 beckoned back to work. He sat down, 
 glanced over the lulf-written sheets, number- 
 ed the pages, laid them away in the drawer, 
 and opened a volume of St. Chrysostom. As 
 the light fell on liis countenance, it was very 
 ajiparent that he had been a student for years; 
 that his mind was habituated to patient, labor- 
 ious investigation. (Jravity, uttt-rly free from 
 keeps bimV There he is now, in the hall," I sorrow or sternness, marked his face; he might' 
 answered the mother, i i have pa.ssed all his days in that (juiet room, 
 
 A moment after, he entered and took his I for any impress which the cares or joys of out- 
 seat. He was tall, rather handsome, and look- \ door life had leflon his features ; a strong, clear 
 ed about thirty. His* sister presented her i intellect, a lolly, earnest soul; a calm, unruffled 
 friend, and with a hasty bow he fastened his i heart, that knew not half its own unsounded 
 eves on her fac* Probably he was u neon- ' abysses. He rea<l industriously for some time, 
 ecious of the steadiness of his gaze, but Irene | occasionally pausing to annotate; and once 
 became restless under his fixed, earnest eye, , or twice he raised his head and listened, fan- 
 
 cd her pleasure at meeting her dat^iiter's 
 friend, the girl's heart gave a quick bound of 
 joy. 
 
 " Come up stairs and put away your bon- 
 net." 
 
 In Loui.'^a's beaTiliful room the two sat talk- 
 ing of various things till the tea -bell rang. 
 Mr. Young's greeting was scarcely less friendly 
 than his wife's, and as they seated themst-lves 
 at the table, the stranger felt at home lor the 
 first time in New York. 
 
 " Where is brother ?" asked Louisa, glancing 
 at the vacant seat opposite her own. 
 
 " He has not come home yet ; I wonder what 
 
 and perceiving her embarrassment, Mrs. 
 Y^oung said — 
 
 " Harvey, where have you been ? Dr. Mel- 
 ville called hare for you at four o'clock ; said 
 you luui made some engagement with him." 
 
 •' Yes, mother ; we have been visiting to- 
 gether this afternoon." 
 
 Withdrawing his eyes, he seemed to fall 
 into a reverie, and took no part in the conver- 
 sation that ensued. As the paijty adjourned 
 to the sitting-room, he pjiused on the rug, and 
 leaned his elbow on the mantle. Louisa lin- 
 gered, and drew near 
 aroun<l her shoulders, and looked aft'ectionate- 
 ly down at her. 
 
 " Well, what is it V" 
 
 •' Come into the sitting-room and help me 
 entertain Irene, instead of going olF to your 
 tupid study; do, Harvey." 
 
 " A very reasonable request, truly ! I 
 
 eying iootsteps in the hall. Finally he pushetl 
 the book away, took a turn across the floor, 
 and resumed his seat. He could not rivet 
 his attention on St. Chrysostom, and folding 
 his arms over his chest, he studied the red 
 coals instead. Soon after, unmistakable steps 
 fell on his ear, and a light tap at the door was 
 followed by the entrance of the two girls. 
 Irene came very reluctantly, fearful of intru<l- 
 ing ; but he rose, and placed acliair for her 
 ^(•lose to his own,as.suring her that he was glad 
 to see her there. Louisa found the portfolio. 
 He j)as8ed his arm I and, bringing it to the table, begcan to exhibit 
 its treasures. The two leaned over it, and as 
 Irene sat resting her cheek on her hand, the 
 beauty of her face and figure wa.s clearly re- 
 vealed. Harvey remaine<l silent, watching 
 the changing expression of the visitor's coun- 
 tenance ; and once he put out his hand to 
 touch the hair floating over the bai-k and 
 must quit my work to talk* to one of your! arms of her chair, (iradually his still heart 
 schoolmates ; nonsense ! How old is she y" '■ stirred, his brow flushed, and a new liiiht 
 
 " Fifteen. Is not she a beauty?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, Harrey ! you arc so cold ! I thought 
 you would admire Irene prodigiously ; and 
 now you say 'yes' just exactly as il' I Lad 
 
 burned in the decp<'lear eyes. 
 
 " Louisa, where did you get these ?" 
 " Brother brought them home when 
 
 came from the East." 
 Irene lifted her eyes to his and said : 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 87 
 
 " Did you visit all these ])laccs ? Did you 
 J go to that orumbling Temple^ of the Sun?" 
 I He told her of his visit to the old wor Id, of 
 its mournful ruins, its decaying glories ; of the 
 lessons he learned there ; the sad, but precious 
 memories lie brought back, and as he talked 
 time passed unheeded — she forgot her embar- 
 rassment, they were strangers no longer. The 
 clock struck ten ; Louisa rose at once. 
 
 " Thank you, Harvey, for giving us so much 
 of your time. Father and mother will be 
 waiting for you." 
 
 " Yes, I will join you at once." 
 
 She led the way back to the sitting-room, 
 and a few moments afterward, to Irene's great 
 surprise, the student came in, and sitting 
 down before the table, opened the Bible and 
 read a chapter. Then all knelt and he prayed. 
 There was a strange spell on the visitor; in 
 all this there was something so unexpected. 
 It was the first time she had ever knelt around 
 the family altar, and, as she rose, that sit- 
 ting-room seemed suddenly converted into a 
 temple of worship. Mutual "good -nights" 
 were exchanged, and as Irene turned toward 
 the young minister, he held out his hand. She 
 gave him hers, and he pressed it gently, say- 
 ing : 
 
 " I trust this is the first of many pleasant 
 evenings which we shall spend together." 
 
 '" Thank you, sir. I hope so too, for I have 
 not been as happy since I left home." 
 
 He smiled, and she wmlked on. His moiher 
 looked up as the door closed behind her^ and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "What a wonderfully beautiful face she 
 has ! Louisa often rhapsodized about her, 
 and now -I am not at all surprised at her 
 enthusiasm." 
 
 " Yes, such perfection of features as hers is 
 seen but once in a lifetime. I have travelled 
 over the greater part of the world; I have 
 looked upon all types of beauty, from the 
 Andalusians, whom Murillo immortalized, to 
 the far-famed Circassians of Habarda, but 
 never before have I found such a marvel of 
 loveliness as that girl. In Venice I spent a 
 morning studying one of Titian's faces, which 
 somewhat resembles hers ; there is au approx- 
 imation to the same golden hair — forming a 
 nimbus, as it were — tiie same contour of fea- 
 tures, but Titian's picture lacked her pure, 
 unsearchable, indescribable eyes. Have you 
 notic<Hl what a rare, anomalous color her hair 
 is ? There never was but one other head 
 like it; the threads of fine gold in that cele- 
 ' brated lock of her own hair, which Lucretia 
 Borgia gave Cardinal Bombo, match Irene 
 Huntingdon's exactly. Well and truly has it 
 been said of that glittering relic in the Am- 
 brozian library, ' If ever hair was golden, it is 
 this of LucretiatBorgia's ; it is not red, it is 
 not yellow, it is not auburn ; it is golden, and 
 nothing else.' I examined it curiously, and 
 wondered whether the world could furnish 
 
 a parallel ; consequently, wJien that girl's head 
 flashed before me, I was startled. Stranger 
 still than her beauty is the fact that it has not 
 spoiled her thus far." 
 
 lie folded his ai-ms over his chest as if 
 crushing out something. 
 
 His mother laughed. 
 
 " Why, Harvey I What a riddle you are. 
 Take care, my son ; that child would never do 
 for a minister's wife." 
 
 " Of course not;' who ever dreamed that 
 she would ? Good-night, mother; I shall not 
 be at home to breakfast ; do not wait for me, I 
 ffm going to Long Island Avith Dr. Melville." 
 He bent down to receive her customary kiss, 
 and went to his own room. 
 
 " Louisa, how came your brother to be 
 a minister V" asked Irene, when they had 
 reached their apartment. 
 
 " When he was a boy he said he intended 
 to preach, and father never dissuaded him. I 
 was quite young when he went to the East, 
 and since his return he has been so engrossed 
 by his theological studies that we arc rarely 
 together. HarA-cy is a singular man — so silent, 
 so equable, so cold in his manner, and yet he 
 has a warm heart. He has declined two calls 
 since his ordination ; Dr. Melville's health is 
 very poor, and Harvey frequently fills his 
 'pulpit. Sometimes he talks of going West, 
 where ministers are scarce; thinks he could do 
 more good there, but mother will not consent 
 for him to leave us. I am afraid, though, he 
 will go — he is so determined when he once 
 makes up his mind. He is a dear, good 
 brother ; I know you will like him when you 
 know him well ; everybody loves Harvey." 
 
 The inclemency of the weather confined 
 the girls to the house the following day. Har- « 
 vey was absent at breakfast, and at dinner the 
 chair opposite Irene's was still vacant. The 
 afternoon wore away, and at dusk Louisa 
 opened the piano and began to play Thal- 
 berg's " Home, Sweet Home." Irene sat on 
 a sofa near the window, and as she listened, 
 visions of the South rose before her, till she 
 realized — 
 
 "That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is romomberlng happlAr 
 tilings." 
 
 She longed inexpressibly for her own home, 
 for her father, for the suffering friends of the 
 cottage, and, as she thought of his many trials, 
 Russell's image was more distinct than all. 
 She closed her eyes, and felt again his tight 
 clasp of her hands ; his passionate, pleading 
 words" sounded once more: "Oh, Irene! be- 
 lieve in me ! believe in me always ! " It 1^ 
 seemed to her so unnatural, so cruel that they 
 should be separated. Then came the memory 
 of Mrs. Auiirey's words of counsel: "Pi-hn' 
 constantly ; keep yourself unspotted from l.ic 
 world." What would the blind woman think 
 if she knew all the proud, scornful, harsh feel- 
 ings which were now in her heart "r" A seasa- 
 
3$ 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 tion of deep contrition and humiliation came ' 
 upon her; she knew she was fast losinc the 
 best imi)ulsc8 of her nature, and experienced , 
 keen regnt that she had yielded to the evil 
 associations and temptations of the school. | 
 How could she hope to prow better under such ; 
 einumstanees ? What would become of her V [ 
 The snow drift<>d ajrainst the panes, making 
 fairy fretwork, and ihmugh the feathery | 
 flakes the paslipht at the corner burned stea«l- 
 ily on. " So ought the lipht of conscience to 
 burn," thought ihc ; "so oupht I to do my 
 duty, no matter how I am situated. That 
 light is all the more necessary because it is 
 stormy and dark." 
 
 Somebody took a scat near her, and though 
 the room was dim she knew the tall form and 
 the touch of Lis hand. 
 
 "Good-evening, Miss Irene; we have had 
 a gloomy day. How have you and Louisa 
 spent it V" 
 
 "Not very i)rofitably I daresay, though it 
 has not appeared at all gloomy to me. Ilavc 
 you been out in the snow ?" 
 
 " Yes ; my work has been sad. I burleil a 
 mother and child this afternoon, and have just 
 come from a home of orphanage and grief 
 It is a dilficult matter to realize how man} 
 aching hearts there are in this great city. 
 Our mahogany doors shut out the wail that 
 hourly goes up to God from the thousand suf- 
 ferers in our midst.'' 
 
 Just then a servant lighted the chandelier, 
 and she saw th^t he looked graver than evci-. 
 i^ouisa came up and put her arm around his 
 neck, but he did not return the caress; saiil a 
 few kind words, and rising, slowly paced tlic 
 floor. As his eye fell on tlie pi^no lie paused, 
 saying, " Come, Louisa, sing th»t song for me." 
 
 She sat down, and began " Comfort ye my 
 people ;" and gradually the sadness melted 
 from his features. As Irene listened to the 
 solenm strains she (bund it dilficult to control 
 her feelings, and l)y degrees her head sank 
 until it touched tlu; arm of the sofa. The 
 minister watched the eflect of the music, and, 
 resuming his seat, said gently — 
 
 "It is genuine jihilosophy to extract <*om- 
 fort and aid front every possible source. There 
 is a vast amount of strength needed to combat 
 the evils and trials which necessarily occur in 
 even the sunniest, happiest lives ; and I find 
 that sometimes I derive far more from a song 
 than a lengthy sermon. We are curioui bits 
 of mechanism, and frecjuently mu.sic efl^ects 
 what learned disputation or earnest exhorta- 
 H tion could not taccornplish. I remember once, 
 when I was a child, I had given my mother a 
 great deal of trouble by my obstinacy. She 
 had entreated me, reasoned with me, and 
 finally nuni.shed me, but all to no i»urpo.se ; ; 
 my wickedness had not been concpiered. I 
 was bitter and rebellious, anil continued so all | 
 day. That evening she sat down to the piano i 
 and sang a hymn for ny father. The instaat I 
 
 the strains fell on my car I felt softened, crept 
 down stairs to the parlor-<ioor. and before she 
 ha<l finished was crj-ing heartily, begging her 
 forgiveness. When a sublime air is made the 
 vehicle of a noble sentiment there is no com- 
 puting the amount of goo«l it accomplishes, if 
 ]>roperly directed. During uiy visit to Lon- 
 don, I went to hear a very celebrated divine. 
 I had just lo«t a dear friend, the companion 
 who travelled with me to Jerusalem and Me- 
 roe, and I went to church full of sorrow. The 
 sermon was able, but h.ail no more effect in 
 comforting me than if I ha<l not listened to 
 it. lie preached from that text of Job treat- 
 ing of the resurrection, and at the conclusion 
 the very words of his text, ' I know that my 
 Redeemer liveth,' were sung by the choir. 
 When the organ rolled its solemn tones under 
 the dim arched roof, and I heanl the voices of 
 the choir swelling deep and full — 
 
 'Throb tliro\i(;h tho ribliiHl Htono,' 
 
 then, and not till then, I appreciated tho 
 grand words to which I had listened. The 
 organ spoke to my soul as man could not, and 
 I left the chiinh calmed and comforted. All 
 things are capable of yielding benefit, if prop- 
 erly api)lied, though it is a lameiUable truth 
 that gross abuse has involved many possible 
 sources of good in disrepute; and it is our 
 duty to extract elevating influences from all 
 <lepartments. Such an alchemy is especially 
 the privilege of a Christian." 
 
 As he talked she lifted her beautiful eyes 
 and looked steadily at him, and he thought 
 that, of all the lovely things he had ever seen, 
 that face was the most pet'rless. She drew 
 closer to him, and said earnestly : 
 
 " Then you ought to be haypy, Mr. Young." 
 
 " That implies a doubt that 1 am." 
 
 " You do not seem to nic a very happy 
 man." 
 
 " There you mistake me. I presume there 
 are few happii'r persons." 
 
 " Countenance is not a faithful index, then; 
 you look so exceedingly grave." 
 
 " Do you Suppose that gravity of face is in- 
 compatible with sunshine in the heart?" 
 
 " I think it reasonable that the sunshine 
 should sparkle in the eyes and gleam over the 
 features. But, sir, I should like, if you please, 
 to talk to you a little about other things. May 
 IV" 
 
 " Certainly ;Npeak on, and speak freely; 
 you may trust me, I think." 
 
 He smiled encouragingly as he spoke, and 
 without a moment's thought she laid her deli- 
 cate hand in his. 
 
 " Mr. Young, I want somebody to advise 
 me. Very oft(!n I am at a loss about my duty, 
 and, having no one to consuls eUher do noth- 
 ing at all or that which I sffould not. If it 
 will not trouble you too much, I shonlii like to 
 bring my ditricultics to you sometimes, and 
 get you to direct me. If you will only talk 
 
MACARIA, 
 
 89 
 
 frankly to me, as you do to Louisa, oh ! I will 
 be very grateful." 
 
 He folded his hands softly over the white, 
 fluttering fingers. 
 
 " Louisa is my sister, and therefore I do not 
 hesitate to tell her unwelcome truths. But 
 you happen to be a perfect stranger, and 
 might not relish my counsel." 
 
 " Try me." 
 
 " How old are you ? Pardon my inquisi- 
 tiveness." 
 
 " Fifteen." 
 
 "An age when young ladies prefer flattery 
 to truth. Have you no brother ?" 
 
 " I am an only child." 
 
 " You would like a brother, however V" 
 
 " Yes, sir, above all things." 
 
 *' Take care ; you express yourself strongly. 
 If you can fancj' me for a brother, consider me 
 such. One thing I can promise, you will 
 have a guardian sleepless as Ladon, and un- 
 tiring in his efforts to aid you as if he were 
 in truth a Briareus. If you are not afraid of 
 espionage, make me 3'our brother. What say 
 you ?" 
 
 " I am not afraid, sir ; I believe I need 
 watching." 
 
 " Ah, that you do !" he exclaimed with un- 
 usual emphasis. 
 
 " He can be very stern, Irene, gentle as he 
 looks," suggested Louisa. 
 
 " If he never found fault with me I should 
 not need his friendship. 
 
 When Monday morning came, and she was 
 obliged to return to schopl, Irene reluctantly 
 bade farewell to the new friends. She knew 
 that, in conformity to the unalterable regula- 
 tion of Crim Tartary, she'Could only leave the 
 institution once a mouthy and the prospect of 
 this long interval between her visits was by 
 no means cheering. Harvey assisted her into 
 the carriage. 
 
 " I shall send you some books in a day or 
 two, and if you are troubled about an)'thing 
 before I sec you again, write me a note by 
 Louisa. I would call to see you occasionally 
 if you were boarding anywhere else. Good- 
 morning, Miss Irene; do not forget that I am 
 your brother so long as you stay iq New York, 
 or need one." 
 
 The books were not forgotten; they arrived 
 the ensuing week, and his selection satisfied her 
 that he perfectly understood what kind of aid 
 she required. Her visit made a lasting im- 
 pression on her mind, and the Sabbath spent 
 in Loui.sa"s home often recurred to her in after 
 years, as the memory of some green, sunny 
 isle of rest haunts the dreams of weary, tem- 
 pest-lashed mariners in a roaring sea. Maria 
 Ashley was a sore trial of patience, and occa- 
 sionally, aft<>r a fruitless struggle to rise above 
 the temptations presented almost hourly, Irene 
 looked longingly toward Louisa's fireside as 
 one turns to the last source of support. Fi- 
 nally she took r«fug« in iil«nce, and, except 
 
 when compelled to do so, rarely commented 
 upon anything that occurred. The days were 
 always busy, and when the text-books were 
 finished, she had recourse to those supplied 
 by her new friends. At the close of the next 
 month, instead of accompanying Louisa home, 
 Irene was suffering with severe cold, and too 
 much indisposed to quit the house. This was 
 a grievous disappointment, but she bore it 
 bravely and went on with her studies. What 
 a di-eary isolation in the midst of numbers of 
 her own age. It was a thraldom that galled 
 her; and more than once the implored her 
 father's permission to return home. His re- 
 plies were positive denials, and after a time 
 she ceased to expect release, until the pre- 
 scribed course should be ended. Thus an- 
 other month dragged itself away. On Friday 
 morning Louisa was absent. Irene felt anx- 
 ious and distressed ; perhaps she was ill, some- 
 thing must have happened. As the day-pupils 
 were dismissed she started back to her own 
 room, heart-sick because of this second disap- 
 pointment. " After all," thought she, " I may 
 as well Accustom myself to being alone. Of 
 course, I can't have the Youngs always. I 
 must learn to depend on myself" She put 
 away the bonnet and cloak laid out in readi- 
 ness for departiire, and sat down to write to 
 her aunt Margaret. A few minutes after, a 
 servant knocked at the door and informed her 
 that a gentleman wished to see her in the 
 parlor. 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 "I am so glad to see you, Mr. Young. 
 Louisa is not sick, I hope ?" 
 
 "I came for you in Louisa's place; she is 
 not well enough to quit her room. Did you 
 suppose that I intended leaving you hero for 
 another month ?" 
 
 " I was rather afraid you had forgotten me; 
 the prospect was gloomy ten minutes ago. It 
 seems a long time since I was with you." 
 
 She stood close to him, looking gladly into 
 his face, unconscious of the effect of her words. 
 
 " You sent me no note all this time ; why 
 not ?" 
 
 "I was afraid of troubling you; and, be- 
 sides, I would rather tell you what I want you 
 to know." 
 
 " Miss Irene, the carriage is at the door. I 
 am a patient man, and can wait half an hour 
 if you have any preparation to make." 
 
 In much less time she joined him, equipped 
 for the ride, and took her place beside him ia 
 the carriage. As they reached his father's 
 door, and he assisted her out, she saw him 
 look at her very searchingly. 
 
 " It is time that you had a litlla fresh air. 
 You are not quite yourself. Louisa is in her 
 room ; run up to her." 
 
 She founil bar friend luffering with soro 
 
40 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 throat, and -was startled at the appearance of 
 her Hushed cheeks. Mrs. Youn^r gat beside 
 her, and after most cordial trrretings the lat- ' 
 ter resigned her seat and left theiu, enjoininji 
 u])on her daughter the necessity oY remaining 
 (juiet. I 
 
 " Mother was almost afrjud for j'ou to come, | 
 but I tea/ed and coaxed for permission ; told 
 her that even if I had scarlet fever you had 1 
 already had it, and would run no risk. Har- j 
 vey says it is not scarlet fever at all. and he ' 
 persuaided mother to let him go after you. j 
 He alwaws has things his own way, though he t 
 brings it about so (juietly tiiat nobody would • 
 ever suspect him ol' being self-willed. Har- | 
 vey is a good friend of yours, Irene." | 
 
 "I am very glad to hear it; he is certainly 
 very kind to me. But recollect, you are not ' 
 to talk much ; let me talk to you." j 
 
 Mrs. Young sent up tea for both, and about | 
 nine o'clock Mr. Young and his son both en- 
 tere<l. Louisa had fallen a.^leej) holding Irene's 
 hand, and her father cautiously felt the pulse ' 
 and examined the countenance. The fever ' 
 had abated, and, bending down, Harvey said 
 softly : I 
 
 " Can't you release your hand without 
 waking her V" 
 
 ".I am afraid not ; have prayer without me 
 to-night.". I 
 
 After the gentlemen withdrew, Mrs. Young 
 and Irene watched the sleeper till midnight, 
 Avhen she awoke. The following morning 
 found her much better, and Irene and the 
 mother spent the day in her room. La(e in 
 the afternoon the minister came in and talked 
 to his sister for .some moments, then turned to 
 hi.-^ mother. 
 
 "Mother, I am going to take this visitor of 
 yours down to the library ; Louisa lias mo- 
 nopolized her long enough. Come, Miss Irene, 
 you shall join them again at tea." 
 
 He. led the way, and she followed him very 
 willingly. Placing her in a chair before the 
 fire, h(* drew another to the rug ; and, seating 
 himself, said just as if speaking to Louisa : 
 
 " What liave you beijn doing these two 
 months? What is it that clouds your face, 
 my little sister?" 
 
 " Ah, sir ! I am so weary of that school. 
 Yon don't know what a relief it is to come 
 here." 
 
 " It is rather natural that you should feel 
 liomefiick. It is a fierce orde;ll for a child 
 like you to be thrust so far from home." 
 
 " I am not homesick iio\m, I believe. I have 
 in some, degree become accustomed to the 
 separation from my father; b.it I am growing 
 so ditleient from what I used to be ; so dilfer- 
 ent from what I expected. It grieves me to 
 know that 1 am changing for the worse; but, 
 somehow, I can't hclj) it. I make good reso- 
 lutions in the morning before I leave my 
 room, ami by noon I manage to break all of 
 them. Th«* girls try me, and I lose my pa- 
 
 tience. When I am at home nothing of this 
 kind troubles me. I know you will think me 
 very weak, and I cfere say I am ; still I trj' 
 much harder than you think I do." 
 
 " If you never yielded to temptation you 
 would be more than mortal. We are all 
 prone to err ; and. Miss Irene, <lid it never 
 occur to you that, though you may be over- 
 come by the evil prompting, yet the struggle 
 to resist strengthened you ? So long as life 
 lasts this conflict Avill be waged ; though you 
 have not always succeeded thus far, earnest 
 prayer and faithful resolve will enable you 
 to con<[uer. Look to a merciful and watchful 
 (lod for assistance ; ' ilivine knowledge took 
 the measure of every human necessity, and 
 divine love and power gathered into salvation 
 a more than adecpiate provision.' Louisa has 
 told me the nature of the trials that beset 
 you, and that you still strive to rise superior 
 to tlicm ought to encourage you. '1,'he books 
 which I .sent were calculated to aid you in 
 your efforts to be gentle, forgiving, and char- 
 itable under adverse circumstances. I use 
 the word charity in its broad, deep, true sig- 
 nificance. Of all charities mere money-giv- 
 ing is the least; sympathy, kind words, gentle 
 'judgments, a friendly pressure of weary hands, 
 an encouraging smile, will frecjucntly out- 
 weigh a mint of coins. Bear thiii in mind, 
 selfishness is the real root of all the evil in 
 the world; people are too isolated, too much 
 wrapped up in their individual rights, inter- 
 ests, or enjoyments. I, Me, Inline, is the God 
 of the age. There are many noble excep- 
 tions ; philanthropic associations abound in 
 our cities, and individual instances of gener- 
 ous self-denial now and then Hash out upon 
 us. But we ought to live more for others 
 than we do. Instead of the narrow limits 
 which restrict so man^", the whole family of 
 tlie human race should possess our cordial 
 sympathy. lu proportion as wc interest our- 
 selves in promoting the good and happiness 
 of others our natures become elevated, en- 
 larged ; our capacities for enjoyment are de- 
 vi'loped and increased. The happiest man I 
 ever knew was a missionary in Syria. He 
 had abandoned home, fiienils, and country; 
 but, in laboring for the weal of strangers, 
 enjoyed a peace, a serenity, a deep gladness, 
 such as not the wealth of the Rotlisrhilds 
 could purchase. Do not misapprehend me. 
 All can not be missionaries in the ordinary 
 acceptation of that term. I believe that very 
 few arc really called to spend their lives 
 under inclement skies, in dreary by-cornerg 
 of the (>arth, amid hostile tribes. But true 
 missionary work lies at every man's door, at 
 every woman's ; and, my little sister, yours 
 waits for you, staring at you daily. ^ Uo the 
 work that lies nearest to thef.' Let me give 
 you the. rule of a j)rofbund thinker, wiio might 
 have accomplished incalculable good had he 
 I walked the narrow, winding path which he 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 41 
 
 stood afar off and pointed out to others ; 
 ' know what thou canst work at, and work at 
 it like a Hercules ;' and, amid the holj'- hills 
 of Jerusalem, the voice of Iiis])iration pro- 
 claimed : ' AVhatsoever thy hand fiudeth to do, 
 do it with thy might.' " 
 
 His low voice fell soothingly oji her ear; 
 new energy kindled, new strength was in- 
 fused, as she listened, and she said Imstily: 
 
 " It would be an easy matter to do all this, 
 if I had somebody like you always near to di- 
 rect me." 
 
 " Then there would be no glory in conquer- 
 ing. Every soul lias trials which must be 
 borne without any assistance, save that which 
 the Father mercifully bestows. Remember 
 the sublime words of. Isaiah : ' I have trodden 
 the wine-press alone ; and of the people there 
 was none with me. And I looked, and there 
 was none to help, and I wondered that there 
 was none to uphold ; therefore mine own ami 
 brought salvation unto me.' Miss Irene, you, 
 too, must ' tread (he loine-press alone.'" 
 
 She held her breath and looked up at him; 
 the solemn emphasis of his words startled her; 
 they fell upon her weighty as prophecy, adum- 
 brating weary years of ceaseless struggling. 
 The firelight glowed on her sculptured fea- 
 tures, and lie saw an expression of vague 
 dread in her glance. 
 
 " Miss Irene, yours is not a clinging, de- 
 pendent disposition ; if I have rightly UHder- 
 stood your character, you have never been 
 accustomed to lean upon otiiers. After rely- 
 ing on yourself so long, why yield to mistrust 
 now ? With years slioidd grow the poAver, 
 the determination, to do the work you find 
 laid out for you." 
 
 "It is precisely because I know how very 
 poorly I have managed myself thus far that I 
 have no confidence in my own powers for fu- 
 ture emergencies. Eitlier I have lived alone 
 too long, or else not long enough ; I rather 
 think the last. If tliey had only suffered me 
 to act as I wished, I should have been so much 
 better at home. Oh, sir ! I am not the girl I 
 ^ was eight months ago. I knew how it would 
 be when they, sent nic here." 
 
 Resting her chin in her hands, slxe gazed 
 sadly into the grate, and saw, amid glowing 
 coals, the walls of the vine-clad cottage, the 
 gentle face of the blind woman groping her 
 way, the melancholy eyes of one inexpressibly 
 deat- to her. . 
 
 " We can not always live secluded, and 
 at some period of your life you would have 
 been forced to enter the world and com- 
 bat its troubles, even had you never seen 
 New York. It is comparatively easy for an- 
 chorites to preserve a passionless, equable 
 temperament ; but to ignore the very circum- 
 stances and relations of social existence in 
 which God intended that we should be puri- 
 fied and innobled by trial is both sinful aad 
 cowardlv." 
 
 Taking a small volume from the table, he 
 read impressively : 
 
 '•■\yiiat aro we set on cmth for? Say to toil; 
 Nor spclc to loavo tli.v tetuliiis of the vines, 
 For aU tlm keat o' tlic day. till it declines, 
 And death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. 
 (iod did anoint theo with his odorous oil, 
 
 To wrestle, not to reign so others shall 
 
 Take patience, labor', to their heart and hand, 
 I'roni thy hand, and thy heart, and thy hrave cheor, 
 And Oud's grace frnclify through thee to all." 
 
 " Some portentous cloud seems lowering 
 over your future. What is it? You ought 
 to be a gleeful girl, full of happy hopes." 
 
 She sank farther back in her chair to es- 
 cape his searching gaze, and drooped her face 
 lower. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know I ought, but one can't 
 always slnit their eyes." 
 
 " Shut their eyes to what ?" 
 
 "Various coming troubles, Mr. Young." 
 
 His lip curled slightly, and, replacing the 
 book on the table, he said, as if speaking 
 rather to himself than to her: 
 
 " Tiic heart knoweth his own bitterness, 
 and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his 
 
 " You are not a stranger, sir." 
 
 " I see you are disposed to consider me such. 
 I thought I was your brother. But no mat- 
 ter; after a time all will be well." 
 
 She looked puzzled ; and, as the tea-bell 
 summoned them, he merely added : 
 
 "I do not wonder. You are a shy child; 
 but you will soon learn to understand me;- you 
 will come to me with all your sorrows." 
 
 During the remainder of this visit she saw 
 him no more. Louisa recovered rapidly, and 
 when she asked for her brother on Sabbath 
 evening, Mrs. Y'oun^ said he was to preach 
 twice that day. INfonday morning arrived, 
 and Irene returned to school with a heavy 
 heart, fearing that sh.e had wounded kim ; but 
 a i'evf (lays after, Louisa brought her a book 
 and brief note of kind words. About this 
 time slie noticed in her letters from home allu- 
 sions to her own future lot, which increased 
 her uneasiness. It was very palpable that her 
 father expected her to accede to his wishes 
 regarding a union with her cousin; and she 
 knew only too well how fierce was the con- 
 test before her. Hugh wrote kindly, affec- 
 tionately; and if she could have divested her 
 mind of this apprehension, his letters would 
 have comforted her. Thus situated she turn- 
 ed to her books with redoubled zest, and her 
 naturally fine intellect wr:s taxed to the ut- 
 most. Her well-earned pre-eminence in her 
 classes increased the jealou,sy, the dislike, and 
 ceusoriousness of her less studious companions. 
 Months pas-sed ; and though she preserved a 
 calm, impenetrable exterior, taking no heed 
 of sneers and constant persecution, yet the 
 worm gnawed its slow way, and the plague- 
 spot sj)read in that whilom pure spirit. O^e 
 Saturday morning she eat quite alone in her 
 
42 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 small room; the week had been specially 
 painful, and, wi-arii'd in soul, the jrirl laid her 
 head down on her folded arms, and thought of 
 her home in the far South. The spicy fra- 
 grance of oranjre and majrnolia eame to her, 
 and Erebus and Paragon haunted her recol- 
 lection. Oh ! for one ride througli the old 
 pine-woods. Oh ! for one look at the water- 
 lilies bending over the creek. Only one 
 wretched year had passed, how could she en- 
 dure those which were to come. A loud rap 
 startled lier from this painful reverie, and ere 
 she could utter the stereotyped " come in," 
 Louisa sprang to her side. 
 
 " I have come for you, Irene ; have obtained 
 permission from Dr. — for you to accompany 
 us to the Academy of Design. Put on your 
 bonnet; Harvey is waiting in the reception 
 room. We shall have a eliarniing day." 
 
 " Ah, Louisa ! you are all very kind to rec- 
 ollect me so constantly. It will give me great 
 pleasure to go." 
 
 When they joined the minister Irene fan- 
 cied he»rcceived her coldly, and as they walk- 
 ed on he took no i)art in the conversation. 
 The annual exhibition had just opened ; tlie 
 rooms were thronged with visitors, and the 
 hushed tones swelled to a monotonous hum. 
 Some stood in groups, expatiating eagerly on 
 certain pictures; others occupied the seats 
 and leisurely scanned now the paintings, now 
 the crowd. Furnished with a I'atalogue, the 
 girls moved slowly on, while Mr. Young point- 
 ed out the prominent beauties or defects of tlic; 
 works exhibited. They made the cir<?hit of 
 the room, and began a second tour, when their 
 attention was attracted by a girl who stood in 
 one corner, witli her hands clasped behind her. 
 She was gazing very intently on an Ecce- 
 Homo, and, tliough lier face was turned toward 
 the wall, the posture bespoke most unusual 
 interest. She was (Iressed in black, and, liav- 
 ing removed lier straw hat, the rippling jetty 
 hair, cut shwt like a boy's, glistened in ,the 
 mellow light. Irene looked at her an instant, 
 and held her breath ; she had seen only one 
 other head which resembled that — she knew 
 the ])urplisli waving hair. '' What is the mat- 
 ter?" asked the minister, noting the change 
 in her countenance. She made no answer, 
 but leaned forward to catch a glimpse'of the 
 face. Just then the black figure moved slight- 
 ly; she saw the jjrofile, the beautiful straight 
 nose, the arched brow, the clear olive cheek ; 
 and gliding up to her she exclaimed : 
 
 " Electra ! Electra Gr^y !" 
 
 The orphan turned, and they were locked 
 in a tight embrace. 
 
 " oh, Irie ! I am so glad to see you. I hav« 
 been here so long, and looked for you so 
 often, tkat I had almost despaired. Whenever 
 I walk down Broadway, whenever I go out 
 anywhere, I look at every face, peep into 
 every bonnet, hf)piug to fmd you. Oh ! I am 
 so glad." 
 
 Joy flushed the cheek* and fired the deep 
 oj'cs, and people turned from the canva* on 
 the walls to gaze upon two faces surpassing in 
 beauty aught that the Aca<lemy contained. 
 
 " But what are vou doing in New York, 
 Electra? Is Russell with you? How long 
 have you been here ?" 
 
 " Since October last. Russell is at home ; 
 no, he has no home now. When my aunt 
 died we separated; I came on to study under 
 Mr. Clifton's care. Have you not heard of 
 our loss ?" 
 
 " 1 have been able to hear nothing of you. 
 I wrote to Dr. Arnold, inquiring after you, 
 but he ]irobably never receive<l my letter." 
 
 " And your father ?" queried Electra proud- 
 ly- 
 
 " Father told me nothing." 
 
 " Is the grare not deep enough for his 
 hate ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 "You don't probably know all that I do; 
 but this is no place to discuss such matters; 
 some time we will talk of it. Do come and 
 see tne soon — soon. I must go now, I prom- 
 ised." 
 
 " Where do you live ; I will go home with 
 you now." 
 
 "I am not going homo immediately. Mr. 
 
 Clifton's house is No. 85 West street. 
 
 Come this afternoon." 
 
 AVith a long, warm pressure of hands they 
 parted, and Irene stood looking after the 
 graceful figure till it glided out of sight. 
 
 "In the name of wonder, who is that? 
 You two have bec'n the ' observed of all ob- 
 servers,' " ejaculated the impulsive Louisa. 
 
 " That is my old schoolmate and friend of 
 whom I once spoke to you. I had no idea 
 that she was in New York. She is a poor 
 orj)han." 
 
 " Are you ready to return home ? This 
 episode has evidently driven pictures out of 
 your head for to-day," said Mr. Young, who 
 had endeavored to screen her from obser- 
 vation. 
 
 " Yes, quite ready to go, though I hare 
 enjoyed the morning very much indeed, thanks 
 to your kindness." 
 
 Soon aftwr they reached home, Louisa was 
 called intx) the parlor to see a young friend, 
 and as Mrs. Young was absent, Irene found it 
 rather lonely up stairs. She thought of a 
 new volume of travels which slrfe had noticed 
 on the hall-table as they entered, and started 
 down to get it. About half-way of the flight 
 of steps slie caught her foot in the carpeting 
 where one of the rods chanced to be loose, 
 and despite her efforts to grasp the railing 
 fell to the floor of the hall, crushing one arm 
 under her. The library -door was thrown 
 open instantly, an(' the minister came out. 
 She lay motionless, and he bent over her. 
 
 " Irene ! where are , you hurt ? Speak to 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 43 
 
 He raised her in his arms and placed her 
 on the sofa in the sitting-room. The motion 
 produced great pain, and she groaned and 
 shut her eyes. A crystal vase containing 
 some exquisite perfume stood on his mother's 
 work-table, and, pourijig a portion of the 
 contents in his palm, he'bathed her forehead. 
 Acute suffering distorted her features, and 
 liis face grew pallid as her own while ht 
 watched her. Taking her hand, he re- 
 peated : 
 
 " Irene, mv darling ! tell me how you are 
 hurt ?" ' 
 
 She looked at him, and said with some 
 difficulty : 
 
 " My ankle pains me very much, and I 
 believe my arm is broken. I can't move it." 
 
 " Thank God you were not killed." 
 
 He kissed her, then turned away and des- 
 patched a servant for a physician. He sum- 
 moned Louisa, and inquired fruitlessly for his 
 mother; no one knew whither she had gone ; 
 it would not do to wait for her. He stood by 
 the sofa and prepared the necessary bandages, 
 while his sister could only cry over and caress 
 the sufferer. When the physician came the 
 white dimpled arm was bared, and he discov- 
 ered tliat the bone was broken. The setting 
 was extremely painful, but she lay with closed 
 eyes and firmly compressed lips, uttering no 
 sound, giving no token of tlie torture, save in 
 the wrinkling of her forehead. They bound 
 the arm tightly, and then the doctor said that 
 the ankle was badly strained and swollen, 
 but there was, luckily, no fracture. He gave 
 minute directions to the minister and with- 
 drew, praising the patient's remarkable forti- 
 tude. Louisa would talk, and her brother 
 sent her oh' to prepare a room for her friend. 
 
 " I think I had better go back to the Insti- 
 tute, Mr. Young. It will be a long time 
 before I can walk again, and I wish you would 
 
 have me carried back. Dr. will be so 
 
 uneasy, and will prefer myreturning, as father 
 left me in his charge." She tried to ris6, but 
 sank back on the pillow. 
 
 " Hu.sh ! hush ! You will stay where you 
 are, little cripple. I am only thankful you 
 happened to be here." 
 
 He smoothed the folds of hair from her 
 temples, and for the first time played with the 
 curls ho had so often before been tempted to 
 touch. She looked .so slight, so childish, with 
 her head nestled against the pillow, that he 
 forgot she was almost sixteen, forgot every- 
 thing but the beauty of the pale face, and 
 bent over her with an ex])ression of the ten- 
 derest love. She was suffering too much to 
 notice hi.s countenance, and only felt that he 
 was very kind and gentle. Mrs. Young came 
 in very soon, and heard with the deepest 
 solicitude of what had occurred. Irene again 
 requested to be taken to the school, fearing 
 that she would cause too much trouble during 
 httr long confim«ni«nt to th« h«usa. But M*^. 
 
 Young stopped her arguments with kisses, 
 and would listen to no such arrangement ; she 
 would trust to no one but herself to nurse 
 "the bruised Southern lily." Having seen 
 that all was in readiness, she insisted on car- 
 rying her guest to the room adjoining Louisa's, 
 and opening into her own. JNIr. Young had 
 gone to Boston the day before, and, turning to 
 her son, she said — 
 
 " Harvey, as your father is away, you must 
 take Irene up stairs ; I am not strong enough. 
 Be careful that you do not hurt her." 
 
 She led the way, and; bending down, he 
 whispered — 
 
 " My little sister, put this uninjured arm 
 around my neck ; there — now I shall carry you 
 as easily as if you were in a cradle." 
 
 He held her firmly, and as he bore her up the 
 steps the white face lay on his bosom, and the 
 golden hair floated against his cheek. If she 
 had looked at him then, she would have seen 
 more than he intended that an}' one should 
 know ; for, young and free from vanity though 
 she was, it was impossible to mistake the ex- 
 pression of the ej^es riveted upon her. She 
 never knew how hfs great heart throbbed, nor 
 suspected that he turned liis lips to the stream- 
 ing curls. As he consigned her to his mother's 
 care she held out her hand and thanked him 
 for his great kindness, little dreaming of the 
 emotions with which he held her fingers. He 
 very considerately offered to go at once to the 
 principal of the school, and accjuaint him with 
 all that had occurred; and, ere long, when an 
 anodyne haiTbeen administered, she fell asleep, 
 and found temporary relief Mrs. Young 
 wrote immediately to Mr. Huntingdon, and 
 explained the circumstances which had made 
 his daughter her guest for some weeks at 
 least, assuring him that he need indulge no 
 apprehension whatever on her account, as she 
 would nur-e her as tenderly as a mother could. 
 Stupefied l)y the opiate, Irene took little notice 
 of what passed, except when roused by the 
 
 £ain consequent upon dressing the ankle, 
 ouisa went to school as usual, but her mother 
 rarely left their guest; and after Mr. Yonng's 
 return he treated her with all the affectionate 
 consideration of a parent. Several days after 
 the occurrence. of the accident Irene turned 
 toward the minister, who stood talking t6 his 
 mother. 
 
 " Your constant kindness emboldens me to 
 ask a favor of you, which I think you will 
 scarcely deny ini'. I am very anxious to see 
 the friend whom I so unexpectedly met at the 
 Academy of Design ; and if she knew the cir- 
 cumstances that prevent my leaving the house, 
 I am very sure she would come to me. Here 
 is a card containing her address; will you 
 spare me the time to bring her here to-day ? 
 I shall be very much obliged to you." 
 
 " I think you ought to keep perfectly quiet, 
 and see no company for a few days. Can't 
 you wait pKtiantly ?" 
 
44 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " It will do me no harm to see her. I feel 
 as if I could not wait." 
 
 " Very well. I will go after her as so^n as 
 I have fulfilled a previous engagement. What 
 is her name ?" 
 
 •• Electra Grey.- Did you notice l}er face ?" 
 
 " Yes; but why do you ask V" 
 
 " Because I think she resembles your moth- 
 er." 
 
 " She resembles far more an old portrait 
 hanging in my room. I remarked it as soon 
 aa I saw her." 
 
 He seemed lost in thought, and immediately 
 after left the room. An hour later, Irene's 
 listening ear detected the opening and closing 
 of the hall-door. 
 
 '•Thire is Electra on the steps; I hear her 
 voice. "Will you please open the door." 
 
 ]ilrs. Young laid down lier work and rose to 
 comply, but Harvey ushered the stranger in 
 and then retired. 
 
 The lady of the house looked at the new- 
 comer, and a startled expression came instant- 
 ly into her countenance. She made a step 
 forward and paused irresolute. 
 
 "I\Irs. Young, allow me- to introduce my 
 friend, ^liss Electra (4rey." Electra bowed, 
 and Mrs. Young exclaimed — 
 
 "Grpy! Grey I Electra Grey; and so like 
 Robert ? Oh ! it must bo so. Child, who are 
 you ? Where ar*? your parents V" 
 
 SIio ajjproachcd and put her hand on the 
 girl's shoulders, while a hopeful light kindled 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " I am an orphan, madam, from the South. 
 My father died before my birtli, my mother 
 immediately after." 
 
 " W^as your father's name Robert? Where 
 was he from V" 
 
 "His name was Enoch R. Grey. I don't 
 know what his middle name was. He came 
 originally from Pennsylvania, I believe." 
 
 " Oh ! I knew that I could not be mistaken ! 
 My brother's child ! Robert's child !" 
 
 She threw her anus around the astonished 
 girl, and strained her to her heart. 
 
 " There must be some mistake, madam. I 
 never heard that I had relatives in New York." 
 
 " Oh, child! call me aunt; I am your father's 
 sister. We called him by his middle name, 
 Robert, and for eighteen years have heard 
 nothing of him. Sit down here, and let me 
 tell you tlie circumstances. Your fcither was 
 the youngest of three children, and in his 
 youth gave us great distress by his wildness; 
 he ran away from college and went to sea. 
 After an absence of three years he returned, 
 almost a wreck of his former self. My mother 
 had died during his long voyage to the South 
 Sea islands, and father, who believed him to 
 have been the remote cause of her death (for 
 her health failed soon after he left), upbraided 
 him most harsldy and unwisely. His re- 
 proaches drove poor Robert to desperation, 
 and without giving us any clew, ho left home 
 
 as suddenly as before. Whither he went we 
 never knew. Father was so incensed that he 
 entirely disinherited him ; but at his death, 
 when the estate was divided, my brother Wil- 
 liam and I decided that we would take only 
 what we considered our proportion, and wo 
 set apart one-third for Robert. We adver- 
 tised for several years, but could hear nothing 
 of him ; and, at the end of the fifth year, 
 William divided that remaining third. We 
 knew tliat he must have died, and I have 
 
 [)assed many a sleepless night weeping over 
 lis wrctehod lot. mourning tliat no kind words 
 reached him from us; that no monumental 
 stone marked his unknown grave. Oh, my 
 dear child ! 1 am so glad to find you out. But 
 where have vou been all this time ? Where 
 did Robert die ?" 
 
 She held the orphan's hand, and made no 
 attempt to conceal the tears that rolled over 
 her checks. Electra gave her a detailed ac- 
 count of her life from the time when she was 
 taken to her uncle, Mr. Aubrej-, at the age of 
 four months, till the death of her aunt and 
 her removal to New York. 
 
 "And Robert's child has been in want, while 
 we knew not of her existence ! Oh, Electra! 
 you shall have no more sorrow that we can 
 shield you from. I loved yom- father very de- 
 votedly, and I shall love his orphan quito as 
 dearly. Come to me, let mc be your mother. 
 Let me repair the wrong of by-gone years." 
 
 She folded her arms around' the graceful 
 young form and sobbed aloud, while Irene 
 iiaund it diilicult to repress her own tears of 
 sympathy and joy that her friend had found 
 .such relatives. Of the three, Electra was 
 calmest. Tliough glad to meet with her 
 father's family, she knew better than they 
 that this circumstance cQiild make little alter- 
 ation in her life, and therefore, when Mrs. 
 Young left the room to acquaint her husband 
 and son with the discovery she had made, 
 Electra sat down beside her friend's sofa just 
 as she would hav(^ done two hours before. 
 
 " I am so glad for yoiu- sake that you are to 
 come and live here. Until you know them 
 all as well as I do, you can not properly ap- 
 preciate your good fortune," said li-ene, raising 
 herself on her elbow. 
 
 " Yes, I am very glad to meet my aunt," 
 returned Electra evasively, and. then she 
 added earnestly : 
 
 " But I rather think that I am gladder still 
 to see you again. Oh, Irene! it seems an age 
 since 1 came to this city. We have both 
 changed a good deal; you look graver than 
 when we i)arted that spring morning that you 
 took me to .see the painter. I owe even his 
 acijuaintance to your kindness." 
 
 " Tell mc of all that happened after I left 
 home. You know that I have heard noth- 
 ing." 
 
 The orphan nan-ated the cireumstances 
 connected with her aunt's last illness and 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 45 
 
 death ; the wretchedness th^t came upon her 
 and Russell ; the necessity of their separa- 
 tion. 
 
 " And where is Russell now ?" 
 
 " At home — that is, still with Mr. Campbell, 
 who has proved a kind friend. Russell writes 
 once a week; he seems tolerably cheerful, and 
 speaks confidently of his future as a lawyer. 
 He studies very hard, and I know that he 
 will succeed." 
 
 " Your cousin is very ambitious. I wish he 
 could have had a good education." 
 
 "It' will be all the same in the end. He 
 will educate himself thoroujihly ; he nec^ls 
 nobody's assistance," answered Electra with a 
 proud smile. 
 
 " When you write to him again don't forget 
 to tender him my remembrances and begt 
 wishes." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 A slight change came over the orphan's 
 countenance, and her companion noted with- 
 out understanding it. 
 
 " Electra, you spoke of my father the other 
 day in a way that puzzled me, and I wish, if 
 you please, you would tell me what you 
 meant." 
 
 " I don't know that I ought to talk about 
 things that should have been buried before 
 you were born. But j^ou probably know 
 something of what happened.' We found out 
 after you left wh.v you were so suddenly sent 
 off to boarding-school, and you can have no 
 idea hoAv much my poor aunt was distressed 
 at the thought of having caused your banish- 
 ment. Irene, your lather hated her, and of 
 coin-se you know it ; but do you know why ?" 
 
 " No ; I never could imagine ^ny adequate 
 cause." 
 
 " Well, I can tell you. Before aunt Amy'g 
 marriage your father loved her, and to please 
 her j)arcnts she accepted him. She was mis- 
 erable, because she was very much attached to 
 my uncle, and asked Mr. Huntingdon to re- 
 lease her from the engagement. He declined, 
 and finding that her parents sided with liim 
 she left home and manied against their 
 wishes. They adopted a distant relative, and 
 never gave her a cent, lour father never 
 forgave her. He had great inlluence with the 
 governor, and she went to him and entreated 
 him to aid her in procuring a pardon for her 
 husband. He repulsed her cruelly, and used 
 hid influence against my uncle. She after- 
 ward saw a letter which he wrote to the 
 governor, urn^ng him to withhold a pardon. 
 Oh, Irene 1 if you could have seen Russell 
 when he found out all this. Now you have 
 the key to his hatred ; now you understand 
 Avhy he wrote you nothing concerning us. 
 Not even aunt Amy's coffin could shut in his 
 hate." 
 
 She ro.se, and, walking to' the window, 
 pressed her face against the panes to cool 
 her buruint; checks. 
 
 Irene had put her hand over her eyes, and 
 a fearful panorama of coming years rolled 
 before her in that brief moment. She saw 
 with miserable distinctness the parallelism 
 between Mrs. Aubrey's father antl her own, 
 and, sick at heart, she moaned, contemplating 
 her lot. A feeling of remorseful compassion 
 touched the orphan as she hoard the smoth- 
 ered soun^, and, resuming her seat, she said 
 gently : • 
 
 " Do not be distressed, Irene ; ' let the 
 dead past bury its dead ;' it is all over now, 
 aud no more harm can come of it. I shall be 
 sorry that I told you if you let it trouble 
 
 yo"-" 
 
 Irene knew too well that it was not over ; 
 that it was but the beginning of harm to her; 
 but she repressed her emotion, and changed 
 the subject by inquiring how Electra pro- 
 gressed with her painting. 
 
 " Even better than I hoped. Mr. Clifton is 
 an admirable njaster, and does all that he can 
 to aid me. I shall succeed, Irene ! I know, 
 I feel that I shall, and it is a great joy to 
 me." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it ; but now you 
 will have no need to labor, as you once ex- 
 pected to do. You are looking nnich better 
 than I ever saw you, and have grown taller. 
 You are nearly sixteen, I believe ?" 
 
 " Yes, sixteen. I am three months your 
 senior. Irene, I must go home now, for they 
 will wonder what has become of me. I will 
 see you again soon." 
 
 She was detained by her aunt, and present- 
 ed to the remainder of the f;\mily, and it was 
 arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Young should 
 visit her|the ensuing day. While they talked 
 over the tea-table of the newly-fbund, Harvey 
 went slowly up stairs and knocked at Irene's 
 door. Louisa was chattering delightedly about 
 her cousin, and, sending her down to her tea, 
 he took her seat beside the sofa. Irene lay 
 with her fingers over her eyes, and he said 
 gently — 
 
 "You see that I am wiser than you, Irene. 
 I knew that it would do you no good to have 
 company. Next time be advised." 
 
 " It was not Electra that harmed me." 
 
 " Then you admit that you have been 
 harmed V" 
 
 " No ; I am low-spirited to-night ; I believe 
 that is all." 
 
 "You have not studied dialectics yet. Peo- 
 ple are not low-spirited without a cause ; tell 
 me what troubles you." 
 
 She turned her face to the wall, and an- 
 swered — 
 
 " Oh I there is nothing which I can tell 
 you, sir." 
 ^" Irene, why do you distrust me?" 
 
 " I do not ; indeed I do not. You must not 
 believe that for one moment." 
 
 " You are distressed, and yet will not con- 
 fidti in me. ' 
 
46 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " It is something -which I ought not to tell 
 even 'my friend, my brother." 
 
 " You are sure that it is something I could 
 not remedy ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; perfectly sure." 
 
 " Then try to forget it, and let me read to 
 
 TOU." 
 
 He opened the " Rambler," of which she 
 T.-as particularly fond, and bccan to read. 
 For a while she listened, and in her intere«t 
 forgot her forebodings, but after a time the 
 long gillcy lashes swept her cheeks, and she 
 slept. The minister laid down the volume 
 and watched the pure girlish face ; noted all 
 its witching loveliness, and thought of the 
 homage which it would win her in coming 
 years. A few more ileeting months, and she 
 would reign the undisputed queen ot society. 
 Wealth, intellect, manly beauty, all would 
 bow before her ; and slie was a woman ; 
 would doubtless love and marry, like the ma- 
 jority of women. He set this fact before him 
 and lo.jki .i it in the face, but it would not 
 answer; lie could not realize that she would 
 ever be other than the trusting, noble-hearted, 
 iMjautiful child whicli she was to him. He 
 knew as he sat watcliing her slumber that he 
 loved her above everything on earth; that 
 she wielded a power none bad ever possessed 
 before — that his heart was indissolubly linked 
 with lier. He had wrestled with this infatufj- 
 tion, had stationed himself on the platform of 
 sound common sense, and railed at and ridi- 
 culed tliis piece of folly. His clear, cool reason 
 gave solenm verdict against the fiercely-throb- 
 bing heart, but not one pulsation had been 
 restrained. At his age, with his profession 
 and long-laid plans, this was arrant madness, 
 and he admitted it; but the long down-trodden 
 feelings of his heart, having gained momentary 
 freedom, exultingly ran riot and refused to be 
 reined in. He might just as well, have laid 
 his palm on the whitened crest of surging bil- 
 lows in stormy, tropical seas, and bid tiiem 
 sink softly down to their coral jiavements. 
 Human passions, hatred, ambition, revenge, 
 love, are despots; and the minister, who for 
 thirty years had struggled lor mastery over 
 these, now found himself a slave. He had 
 studied Irene's countenance too well not to 
 know that a shadow rested on it now ; and it 
 "■rieved and perplexed him that she should 
 (•onceal this trouble trom him. As he sat 
 looking down at her, a mighty barrier rose 
 between them. His future had long been de- 
 termined — duty called him to the rude huts of 
 the far West; thither jxtinted the finger of 
 destiny, and thither, at all hazards, he would 
 go. He thought that he had habituated him- 
 self to sacrifices, but the spirit of self-abnega- 
 tion was scarcely equal to this trial. Reason 
 taught him that the tenderly-nurtured child 
 of southern climes would never suit him for a 
 companion in the pioneer life which he had 
 marked out. Of course, he must leave her ; 
 
 hundreds of miles would intervene ; hismemory 
 would fade from her mind, and for him it only 
 remained to bury her image in the prairies of 
 his new home. He folded his arms tightly over 
 his chest, and resolved to go promptly. 
 
 The gas-light flashed on Irene's hair as it 
 hung over the side of the sofa ; he stooped, 
 and pressed his lips to the floating curls and 
 went down to the library, smiling grimly at 
 his own folly. Without delay he wrote two 
 letters, and was dating a third, when his 
 mother came in. Placing a chair for her, he 
 laitl flown his pen. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, mother ; I want to 
 have a talk with you." 
 
 " About what, Harvey ?" — an anxious look 
 settled on her face. 
 
 " About my leaving you, and going west. 
 I have decided to start ne.xt week." 
 
 " Oh, my son ! how can you bring such 
 grief upon me V Surely there is work enough 
 lor you to do here, without your tearing your- 
 self from us." 
 
 " Yes, mother, work enough, but hands 
 enough also, without mine. These are the 
 sunny slopes of the Vineyard, and laborers 
 crowd to till them ; but there are cold, shad- 
 owy, barren nooks and corners, that equally 
 demand, cultivation. There the lines have 
 fallen to me, and there I go to my work. 
 Nay, mother ! don't weep ; don't heighten, by 
 your entreaties and remonstrances, the bar- 
 riers to my departure. It is peculiarly the 
 province of such as I to set forth for this field 
 of operations ; men who have wives and chil- 
 dren have no riglit to subject them to the pri- 
 vations and hardships of pioneer life. But I 
 am alone — shall always be so — and this call I 
 feel to be imperative. You know that I have 
 dedicated myself to the ministry, and what- 
 ever I firmly believe to be my duty to the 
 holy cause I have espoused, that I must do — 
 even though it separate me from my mother. 
 It is a severe ordeal to me — you will probably 
 never know how severe ; but we who profess 
 to yield up all things for Christ nmst not 
 shrink from sacrifice. I shall come back now 
 and then, and letters are a blessed medium of 
 communication ;wid consolation. I have de- 
 layed my departure too loug already." 
 
 " Oh, Harvey ! have you fully determined 
 on this step ?" 
 
 "Yes, my dear mother, fully determined to 
 
 " It 13 very hard for me to give up ray only 
 son. I can't say that I will reconcile myself 
 to this separation ; but you are old enough to 
 decide your own future ; and I suppose I 
 ought not to urge you. For months I have 
 opposed your resolution, now I will not longer 
 remonstrate. Oh, Harvey ! it makes my heart 
 ache to part with you. If you were married, 
 I should be better satisfied ; but to think of 
 you in your loneliness !" She laid her head 
 on his shoulder, and wept. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 The minister compressed his lips firmly an 
 instant, then replied : 
 
 " I always told you that I should never mar- 
 ry. I shall be too constantly occupied to sit 
 down and feel lonely. Now, mother, I must 
 finish my letters, if you please, for they should 
 go by the earliest mail." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The artist stood at the window watching 
 for his pupil's return ; it was the late afternoon 
 hour, which they were wont to spend in read- 
 ing, and her absence annoyed him. As he 
 rested carelessly against the window, his 
 graceful form was displayed to great advan- 
 tage, and the long brown hair drooped about 
 a classical face of almost feminine beauty. 
 The delicacy of his features was enhanced by 
 the extreme pallor of his complexion, and it 
 was apparent that close application to his pro- 
 fession had made serious inroads on a consti- 
 tution never very rdbust. A certain listless- 
 ncss of manner, a sort of lazy-grace seemed 
 characteristic ; but when his pupil came in 
 and laid aside her bonnet, the expression of 
 ennui vanished, and he threw himself on a 
 sofa, looking infinitely relieved. She drew 
 near, and without hesitation acquainted him 
 with the discovery of her relatives in Ne^T 
 York. He listened in painful surprise, and, 
 ere she had concluded, sprang up. " I un- 
 derstand ! they will want to take you ; will 
 urge you to share their home of wealth. But, 
 Electra, you won't leave me ; surely you won't 
 leave me ?" 
 
 He put his hands on her shoulders, and she 
 knew from his quick, irregular breathing, that 
 the thought of separation grpatly distressed 
 him. 
 
 " My aunt has not explicitly invited me to 
 reside with her, though I inferred from her 
 manner that she confidently expected me to 
 do .so. Irene also spoke of it as a settled 
 matter." 
 
 " You will not allow them to persuade you ? 
 Oh, child ! tell me at once that you will never 
 leave me." 
 
 "Mr. Clifton, we must part some dJvy; I 
 cannot always live here, you know. Before 
 very long I must go out and earn my bread." 
 
 " Never ! while I live. When I offered 
 you a home, I expected it to be a permanent 
 one. I intended to adopt you. Here, if you 
 choose, you may work and earn a reputation ; 
 but away from me, among strangers, never. 
 Electra, you forget; you gave yourself to mo 
 once.'' 
 
 She shuddered, and tried to release herself, 
 but ^ip hands were relentless in their grasp. 
 
 " iQectra, you belong to me, my child. 
 Whom have I to love but you, my dear pupil ? 
 What should I do without you V" 
 
 " I have no intention of living with my 
 aunt ; I desire to be under obligations to no 
 one but yourself. But I am very proud, and 
 even temporary dependence on you galls me. 
 You are, I believe, the best friend I have on 
 earth, and until I can support myself I will 
 remain under your care ; longer than that, it 
 would be impossible. I am bound to you, my 
 generous, kind master, as to no one else." 
 
 " This does not satisfy me; the thought that 
 you will leave me, at even a distant day, will 
 haunt me continually — ^marring all my joy. 
 It can not bo, Electra ! You gave yourself to 
 me once, und I claim you." 
 
 She looked into his eyes, and, with a wo- 
 man's quick perception, read all the truth. 
 
 In an instant her countenance changed 
 painfully; she stooped, touched his hand 
 with her lips, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Thank you, a thousand tiaies, my friend, 
 my father ! for your interest in, and your un- 
 varying, unparalleled kindness to me. All 
 the gratitude and affection which a child 
 could give to a parent I shall always cherish 
 toward you. Since it annoys you, we will say 
 no more about the future ; let the years take 
 care of themselves as they come." 
 
 " Will you promise me, positively, that you 
 will not go to your aunt ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I have never seriously entertained 
 the thought." 
 
 She escaped from his hands, and, lighting 
 the gas, applied herself to her books for the 
 next hour. 
 
 If Irene had found the restraint of boarding- 
 school irksome, the separation from Russell 
 was well nigh intolerable to Electra. At first 
 she had seemed plunged in lethargy ; but 
 after a time this mood gave place to restless, 
 unceasing activity. Like one trying to flee 
 from something painful, she rushed daily to 
 her work, and regretted when the hours of 
 darkness consigned her to reflection. Mrs. 
 Clifton was quite aged, and though uniformly 
 gentle and affectionate toward the orphan, 
 there was no common ground of congeniality 
 on which they could meet. To a jiroud, ex- 
 acting nature like Electra's, Mr. Clifton's con- 
 stant manifestations of love and sympathy 
 were very soothing. Writhing under the con- 
 sciousness of her cousin's indifference, she 
 turned eagerly to receive the tokens of affec- 
 tion showered upon her. She knew that his 
 happiness centred in her, and vainly fancied 
 that she could feed her hungry heart with his 
 adoration. But by degrees she realized that 
 these husks would not satisfy her ; and a sin- 
 gular sensation of mingled gratitude and im- 
 patience arose whenever he caressed her. In 
 ins house her fine intellect found ample range ; 
 an extensive library wooed her, when not en- 
 gaged with her pencil, and with eager curi- 
 osity she plunged into various departments of 
 study. As might ea>^ily have been predicted, 
 from the idealistic tendency of her entire 
 
48 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 mental conformatioo, she early selected the 
 imivginative realm as peculiarly her own. 
 Over moth-eaten volumes of mytliologic lore 
 she pored continually; tffett; theogonies and 
 cosmogonies seized upon her fancy, and 
 peopled all space with ihc go<is and heroes of 
 most ancient days. She lived among weird j 
 phantasmagoric creations of Sagas and Pura- j 
 nas, and roamed from Asgard to KinkaduUe, 
 having little sympathy or care for the realities ' 
 that surrounded her. IMr. Clifton's associates \ 
 were ])rin(ipally artists, and the conversations , 
 to whirl) vlu> listened tended to increase her ! 
 enthusiasm for the proft'ssiou she had chosen, j 
 She had no lemale companion, except Mrs. | 
 Clifton, and little leisure to discuss the topics : 
 which ordinarily engage girls of her age. The 
 warm gusliings of her heart were driven back i 
 to their springs, and lojked from human gaze ; I 
 yet she sometimes felt her isolation almost in- ' 
 tolerable. To escape from lierself, she was , 
 goaded into feverish activity, and, toiling i 
 to-day, shut her ejes to the to-morrow. j 
 
 She counted the days between Russell's let- i 
 ters ; when they arrived, snatched them with ' 
 trembling fingers, and hastened to her own ' 
 room to devour them. Once read and folded ! 
 away, this thought fell witii leaden weight | 
 upon her heart : " There is so little in this letter, I 
 and now 1 must wait another long week lor j 
 the next." He never surmised half her i 
 wretchedness, for she proudly concealed her j 
 discontent, and wrote asif happy and hopeful, j 
 The shell of her reserve was beautifully jiol- 
 ished and painted, and it never occurretl to 
 him that it enclosed dark cells, where only 
 wailings echoed. In figure, she was decidedly 
 pe/it, but faultlesjly symmetrical and grace- 
 ful ; and the picjuant beauty of her face won 
 her the admiration of those who fretjuented 
 the studio. 
 
 Among the artists especially, she was a well 
 established pet, privileged to inspect their 
 work whenever she felt disjiosed, and always 
 warndy welcomed. They encouraged her in 
 her work, stimulated her by no means dor- 
 mant ambition, and predictecl a brilliant antl 
 successful career. Mrs. Clifton was a rigid 
 Roman Catholic, her son a free-thinker, in the 
 broadest significance of the term, if one might 
 judge Irom the selections that adorned his 
 library shelves. But deep in his soul was the 
 germination of a mystical creed, which gradu- 
 ally unfolded itself to Electra. The simple 
 yet sublime faith of her aunt rajjidly faded 
 from the girl's heart ; she turned from its se- 
 vere simplicity to the gorgeous accessories of 
 other systems. The pomps of ceremonial, the 
 bewildering adjuncts of another creed, wooed 
 her overweeuing, excited fancy. Of doctrine 
 she knew little, and cared less ; the bare walia 
 and <(uict service of the old church at Rome 
 had tor her no attraction ; she revelled in dim 
 cathedral light, among mellow, ancient pic- 
 tures, where pale wreaths of incense curled, 
 
 and solemn organ tones whispered through 
 marble aisles. She would sit with folded 
 arms, watching the forms of devotees glide in 
 and out, and prostrate themselves before the 
 images on the gilt altar; and fancy wafted 
 her, at such times, to the dead ages of imperial 
 Greece, when devout hearts bore oflTcrings to 
 1 )elphi, Delos, Dodona, and Eleusis. An arch- 
 idolatress she would have been in the ancient 
 days of her Mycen.fan namesake — a priestess 
 of Demeter or Artemis. At all hazards this 
 (hiinty fancy must be pampered,- and she 
 gleaned aliment from every source that could 
 possibly yield it, Ibstering a despotic tendency 
 which soon towered above every otlier ele- 
 ment of her being. The first glimpse of her 
 teacher's Swedenborgian faith was sufficient 
 to rivet her attention. She watched the ex- 
 jiansion of his theories, and essayed to follow 
 the profound trains of argumentation, based on 
 physical analogies and correspondences, which 
 led him so irresistibly to his conclusions. But 
 dialectics formed no j)ortion of her intellectual 
 heritage, and her imagination, seizing, by a 
 kind of secret alHnity, the spiritualistic ele- 
 ments of the system, turned with loathing from 
 the granite -like, scientific fundamentals. 
 Irene would have gone down among the mor- 
 tar and bricks, measuring the tbundations, but 
 Electra gazed upoii the exquisite acanthus 
 wreathings of the ornate cajntals, the glowing 
 frescoes of the mighty nave, and here was con- 
 tent to rest. Mr. Clifton never attempted to 
 restrain her movements or oppose her incli- 
 nations ; like a bee she roved (.easelessly from 
 book to book, seeking honey, and, without the 
 safeguard of its unerring instinct, she fre- 
 quently gathered poison from lovely chalices. 
 Ah, Amy Aubrey I it was an evil day for your 
 orphan charge, when Atropos cut the tan- 
 gled thread of your life, and you left her to 
 follow the dictates of her stormy temperament. 
 Yet otherwise, nature could never have fully 
 woven the pattern ; it would have been but a 
 blurred, imperfect design. It was late at night 
 when Electra retired to her room, and sat 
 down to collect her thoughts after the unex- 
 pected occurrences of the day. 
 
 More than one discovery had been made 
 since the sunrise, which she awoke so early 
 to study. She had found relatives, and an 
 opportunity of living luxuriously ; but, in the 
 midst of this beautiful houi/uet of surprises, a 
 serpent's head peered out at her. Once be- 
 ibre, she thought she had cauglit sight of its 
 writhing folds, but it vanished too instantane- 
 ously to furnish disquiet. Now its glittering 
 eyes held her spell-bound ; like the Pentagram 
 in FaustT, it kept her in "durance vile." She 
 woulil lain have shut her eyes, had it been pos- 
 sible. Mr. Clifton loved her; not as a teacher 
 his pupil, not as guardian loves ward, not as 
 parent loves child. Perhaps he had not intend- 
 ed that she should know it so soon, but his eyes 
 had betrayed the secret. She saw perfectly 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 4»- 
 
 how matters stood. This, then, had prompted 
 him, frgm the first, to render her assistance ; 
 he had resolved to make her his wife ; nothin^q 
 less would content him. She twisted her 
 white ilngers in her hair, and <i;azed vacantly 
 down on the carpet, and gradually the rich 
 crimson blood sank out of her face. She held 
 his lif« in the hollow of her hand, and this she 
 well knew; death hung over him like the 
 sword of Damocles ; she had been told that 
 any violent agitation or grief would bring on 
 the hemorrhage which he- so much dreaded, 
 and although he seemed stronger and better 
 than usual, the insidious nature of his disease 
 gave her little hope that he would ever be ro- 
 bust. To feign ignorance of his real feelings 
 for her, would prove but a temporary strata- 
 gem ; the time must inevitably come, before 
 long, when he would put aside this veil and 
 set the truth before her. How should she 
 meet it — how should she evade him ? Accept 
 the home which Mrs. Young would offer her, 
 and leave him to suffer briefly, to sink swiftly 
 into the tnnib ? No; her father's family had 
 cast him most unjustly off, withholding his pa- 
 trimony ; and now she scorned to f-Sceive one 
 cent of the money which his fatlier was un- 
 willing that he should enjoy. Beside, wivo 
 loved her as well as Henry Clifton ? She 
 owed more to him than to any livijig being; it 
 would be the part of an ingrate to leave him ; 
 it was cowardly to shrink from repaj'ing the 
 debt. But the thought of being his wife froze 
 her blood, and heavy drops gathered on her 
 brow asS' he endeavored to reflect upon this 
 possibility. 
 
 A feeling of unconquerable repulsion sprang 
 up in her heart, nerving, steeling her against' 
 his affection. With a strange instantaneous 
 reaction, she thought with loathing of his 
 words of endearment. How could she endure 
 them in future, yet how reject without wound- 
 ing him? One, and only one, path of escape 
 presented itself — a path of measureless joy. 
 She lifted hor hands, and murmured : 
 
 " Russell ! Russell ! save me from this." 
 
 AVhen Mr. and Mrs. Young visited the stu- 
 dio the following day, and urged the orphan's* 
 removal to their house, she gently but reso- 
 lutely declined their generous offer, expres- 
 sing an affectionate gratitude toward her 
 teacher, and a determination not to leave him, 
 at least for the present. Mrs. Young was 
 much distressed, and arlduccd every argument 
 of which she was mistress, biit her niece re- 
 mained firm; and, finding their entreaties 
 fruitless, Mr. Young said that he would im- 
 mediately take the necessary steps to secure 
 Robert Grey's portiojiL of the estate to his 
 daughter. Electra sat with her hand nestled 
 in hor aunt's, but when this matter was alluded 
 to iJie rose, »nd said proudly : 
 
 " No, sir ^ let the estate remain just as it is. 
 I will never accept one cent. My grandfather 
 on bit death-bed e.^cluded my father from any 
 4 
 
 portion of it, and since he willed it so, even so 
 it shall be. I have no legal claim to a dollar, 
 and I will never receive one from your gene- 
 rosity. It was the will of the dead that you 
 and my uncle, William, should inherit the 
 whole, and, as far as I am concerned, have it 
 you shall. I am poor, I know ; so were my 
 parents ; poverty they bequeathed as my 
 birthright, and even as they lived without aid 
 irom my grandfather, so will I. It is very 
 noble and generous in you, after the expira- 
 tion of nearly twenty years, to be willing to 
 divide with the orphan of the outcast ; but I 
 will not, can not, allow you to do so. I fully 
 appreciate and most cordially thank you both 
 for your goodness ; but I am young and strong, 
 and I expect to earn my living. Mr. Clifton 
 and his mother want me to remain in his 
 house until I finish my studies, and I grate- 
 fully accept his kind offer. Nay, aunt ! don't 
 let it trouble you so ; I shall visit you very 
 frequ,ently." 
 
 " She has all of Robert's fierce obstinacy. 
 I see it in her eyes, hear it ringing in the 
 tones of her voice. Take care, child ! it ru- 
 ined your father," said Mrs. Young sorrow- 
 fuUy.^ 
 
 " You should remember, Electra, that an 
 orplian girl needs a protector ; such I would 
 fain prove myself." 
 
 As Mr. Young spoke, he took one of her 
 hands and drew her to him. She turned 
 quickly and laid the other on the artist's arm. 
 
 " I have one here, sir ; a protector as true 
 and kind as my own father could be." 
 
 She understood the flash of his eyes and his 
 proud smile, as he«a"ssured her relatives that 
 he Avould gfi'ard her from harm and want so 
 long as he lived, or as she remained under his 
 care. She knew he regarded this as a tacit 
 sealing of the old compact, and she had no in- 
 clination to undeceive him at this juncture. 
 
 Urging her to visit them as often as possible, 
 and extending the invitation to Mr. Clifton, 
 the Youngs withdrew, evidently much disap- 
 pointed ; and, as the door closed behind them, 
 Electra felt thAt the circle of doom was nar- 
 rowing around her. Mr. Clifton approached 
 her, but averting her head she lifted the dam- 
 ask curtain that divided the parlor from the 
 studio and effected her retreat, dreading to 
 mvet his glaftce — putting off the evil day as 
 long as pojjsible — trying to trample the ser- 
 pent that trailed after her from that hour.. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " You arc better, to-day, mother tells me." 
 
 " Yes, thank you, my foot is much better. 
 You have not been up to see me for two days." 
 
 Irene sat in an eaiiy chair by the open win- 
 dow, and the minister took a seat near her. 
 
 " I have not forgotten you in the inttrim, 
 
50 
 
 MACAIUA. 
 
 liowever." As he spoke he laid a bouquet of 
 choice flowers in Iwr lap.. She bent over 
 them wiili cagL-r delight, and held out one 
 band,,8ayinj: : , 
 
 " Oh, thank you ; how very kind you are. 
 These remind me of the p-een-honse at home; 
 they are the most beautiful I have seen in 
 New York." 
 
 '* Irene, the man or woman who is imp'ervi- 
 ou9 to the subtle, spiritualizinp influence of 
 flowers, may feel assured that tin re is some- ; 
 thing lamentably amiss in <'ither his or her ■ 
 organization or habits of life. They weave i 
 rosy links of assoriation more binding than ' 
 steel, ami sometimes of imali-ulable value. ! 
 Amid the awful solitude of Aljiinc gl.ieiers, I j 
 recoUoct the thrill of pleasure whieh the blue j 
 gentians caused me, as I noted the fragile i 
 petals shuddering upon the very verge of 1 
 fields of eternal snow ; and among cher- 
 ished memories of the far East ai^ its .icacias , 
 and rhododendrons; tlie scarlet poppies waving j 
 like a 'mantle of blood' pver Syrian valleys, and 
 the oleander* fringing the grey, gloomy crags 
 and breathing their exquisite fragrance over I 
 the silent desolation of that grand city of rock ] 
 — immemorial Petra. I liave remarked your I 
 fondness for flowers ; cultivate it always; they 
 are evangels of purity and faith, if we but un- • 
 lock onr hearts to their ministry. Callous and 
 sordid indeed must be that soul who fails in 
 grateful appreciation of gifts designed especi- 
 ally to promote the happiness and adorn the 
 dwellings of our race ; lor, in attestation of this 
 truth, stand the huge, hoary tomes of geology, 
 proving that the pre-Adamic ages were com- 
 paratively barren of the gorgeous flowers 
 which tapestried the earth so munificently 
 just ere man made his appearance on the stage. 
 A reverent student of the rocks, whosp«'nt his 
 life in lisfenirtg to the solemn, oracular whispers 
 of their grand granite lips, that moved, Mem- 
 non-like, a« he flashed the light of Revelation 
 upon them, tells us : ' The poet accepte^l the 
 bee as a sign of high significance ; the geolo- 
 gist, also, acce])ts hvr as a sign. Ilcr entomb- 
 ed remains testify to the gradual fitting up of 
 our earth as .1 place of habitation for a (crea- 
 ture cjcstined to seek delight for the mind and 
 eye as certainly as for the grosser senses, and 
 in especial mark the inlnxluction of stately 
 forest trees and the arrival of the delicious 
 flowers.' A profound thinker and eloquent 
 writer, who is now doing a noble work for his 
 generation by pointing it to unstained sources 
 of happiness, has said of flowers : ' They are 
 chalices of Divine workmanship — of purple, 
 and scarlet, and liquid gohl— from which man 
 is to drink the j)ure joy of beauty.' There is, 
 Tou know, a graduated scale of missionary 
 work for all created things; man labors for 
 God and his race througii deep, often tortu- ■ 
 ons, channels, and nature, all animate and in- 
 animate nature, ministers in leebler yet , still 
 heavon-appointcd processes. The trouble is, ' 
 
 that, in the rush and din and •whirl of life, we 
 will not pause to note these sermons; and 
 from year to year the whispen'd precepts 
 ot' faith, hope, and charity fall on deaf cars. 
 Nature is so prodigal of refining, elevating 
 influences, and man is so inaccessible in his 
 isolating, inflated egotism." 
 
 lie paused, and busied himself in cutting the 
 leaves »tf a new book, while Irene looked into 
 his calm, noble face, pondering his words; 
 then her eyes went back to the bomjuet, and 
 his dwelt once moix* upon her. 
 
 " Irene, you look sober to-day ; come, cheer 
 up. I don't want to carry that grave expres- 
 sion away with me. I want to remember 
 your face as I fir.st saw it, unshadowed." 
 
 " What do you mean V Are you going to 
 leave home ?" 
 
 "Yes ; day after to-morrow I bid farewell to 
 New Y^ork lor a long time. I am going to 
 the West to take charge of a church." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Young! surely you are not in 
 earnest V You can not intend to separate 
 yourself from your family ?" 
 
 She dropped her flowers, and leaned for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Y''es, I have had it in contemplation for 
 more than a year, ami. recently, 1 have de- 
 cided to remove at once." 
 
 lie saw tlie great sorrow written in her 
 countenance, the quick ilnttcr of her lip,- the 
 large drops that dimmed the violet eyes and 
 gathered on the long, golden lashes, and far 
 sweeter than Eolian harps was the broken 
 voice : 
 
 " AVhat shall I do without you ? who will 
 encourage and advise me when you go?" 
 
 She leaned her forehead on her hands, an<l 
 a tear .«lid down and rested on her chin. The 
 sun was setting, and the crimson light flooding 
 the room bathed her with glory, sprea<iing a 
 halo around her. He hehl his breath and 
 gazed upon the drooping figure and bewitch- 
 ing face; and, in after years, when his dark 
 hair had grown silvery gray, he remembered 
 the lovely sun-lit vision that so entranced him, 
 leaving an indelible image on heart and brain. 
 He gently removed the hands, and holding 
 them in his said, in the measured, low tone «0 
 indicative of suppressed emotion : 
 
 '• Irene, my friend, you attach too much 
 importance to the aid which I might render 
 TOU. You know your duty, and I feel assured 
 will not require to be reminded of it. Hence- 
 Ibrth our paths diverge widely. I go to a 
 distant section of our land, there to do my 
 Father's work ; and, ere long, having con- 
 eluded the prescribed course, you will return 
 to your Southern home and take the position 
 .'issigned you in society. Thus, in all human 
 prohability, we shall meet no more, for " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! don't say that ; you ^v'ill come 
 back to visit your family, and theu^I shall see 
 you." 
 
 '* That is scarcely probable, but we will not 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 51 
 
 discuss it now. There is, however, a channel 
 of communication for separated fi'icnds, and 
 of this we must avail ourselves. I shall write 
 to you from western wilds, and letters from 
 you will most pleasantly ripple the monoto- 
 nous life I expect to lead. This is the last 
 opportunity I shall have to speak with you ; 
 let me flo so freely, just as I would to Louisa. 
 You are yoiing, and rather peculiarly situated; 
 and sometimes I fear that, in the ijreat social 
 vortex awaiting you, constant temptation and 
 frivolous associations will stifle the noble im- 
 pulses nature gave to guide you.' As^ou grow 
 older you will more fully comprenend my 
 meaning, and find that there are social prob- 
 lems which every true-hearted man and wo- 
 man should earnestly strive to solve. These 
 will gradually unfold themselves as the web of 
 time unravels before you. You will occupy 
 an elevated stand-point of vicAv, and you must 
 take care that, unlike the great mass of man- 
 kitid, you do not grow callous, turning a deaf 
 ear to the cry ' the lahorem are few.^ ' It is 
 not woman's place to obtrude herself in the 
 pulpit or harangue from the rostrum ; such an 
 abnormal course levels the distinctions which 
 an all-wise (iod established between the sexes, 
 but the aggregate of her usefulness is often 
 greater than man's. Irene, I want you to 
 wield the vast influence your Maker has given 
 you nobly and for His glory. Let your un- 
 obtrusive yet tconsistent, resolute, unerring 
 conduct leave its impress for good wherever 
 you are known. I would not have you debar 
 yourself from a single avenue of pure enjoy- 
 ment ; far from it. Monkish asceticism and 
 puritanic bigotry I abhor ; but there is a 
 happy medium between the wild excesses of 
 so-called fashionable life and the strait-laced 
 rigidity of narrow-minded phariseeism ; and 
 this I would earnestly entreat you to select. 
 To discover and adhere to this medium path 
 is almost as difficult as to skip across the 
 Arabic Al-Sirat, of which we read last week. 
 Ultraism is the curse of our race, as exempli- 
 fied in all departments of society ; avoid it, 
 dear child ; cultivate enlarge.d views of life, 
 suppress selfishness, and remember that charity 
 is the key-st^ne of Christianity." 
 
 •' I have not the strength wiiich you impute 
 to me." 
 
 " Then seek it from the Everlasting source." 
 
 " I do, but God does not 1 
 
 "You are too easily dishti strive to 
 
 be faithful and He will aid vou, brace you, up- 
 hold you. Will it be any comfort for you to 
 know that I remember y6u in my prayers, 
 that I constantly bear your natne on my lips 
 to the throne of grace 'i" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! very great comfort. Thank you, 
 thank you ; will you always pray for me ? If 
 I thought so it would make me happier." 
 
 "Then rest a.ssured that I always shall; 
 and, Irene, when sorrows come upon you, for 
 come they must to all, do not forget that you 
 
 have at least one firm, faithful friend, waiting 
 and anxious to aid you by every means in his 
 jjower." 
 
 Disengaging her fingei*s, which still clasped 
 his tightly, ho moved his chair backward and 
 took a small blank book from his pocket, sayijig : 
 
 "You once asked me to give you a cat- 
 alogue of those works which I thought it. ad- 
 visable' for you to study, before you plunged 
 into miscellaneous reading. Such a ]ist you 
 will find here, and my experience has enabled 
 me to classify them so as to save you some of 
 the trouble which I had at your age. In 
 examining it, you will see that I have given 
 prominence to the so-called 'Natural Sci- 
 ences.' As these furnish data for almost all 
 branches of investigation now-a-day (there 
 .being a growing tendency to argm'. from the 
 analogy of physics), you can not too thorough- 
 ly actpiaint yourself with all that appertains 
 to the subj^'ct. The writings of Humboldt, 
 Hugh Miller, Cuvier, and Agassiz constitute 
 a thesaurus of scientific information essential 
 to a correct appreciation of the questions 
 now agitating the thinking world; and -as 
 you proceed, you will find the wonderful 
 harmony of creation unfolding itself, proclaim- 
 ing, in unmistakable accents, that the works 
 of God ' are good.' As time rolls on, the great 
 truth looms up colossal, ' Science and Christi- 
 anity arc hand-maids, not antagonists.' Irene, 
 remember : 
 
 • 
 
 •'A pagan kissing for a Btop of Pnn. 
 The wiLJ goal's hoof-print on tlio loauiy down, 
 ExccimIs our nioilein thinker who tnrns back 
 Tlie strata — granite, limestone, coal, anil clay, 
 Concluding coldly with 'Here "s liiwl irheru 's God f" 
 
 "Can't you stay longer and talk to me ?" 
 said Irene, as he gave the blank book to her 
 and rose. 
 
 "No, I promised lo address the Street 
 
 Sabbath school childVen to-night, and must 
 look over my notes before I go." He glanced 
 at his watch, smiled pleasantly, and left her. 
 
 The following day was dreary to all in that, 
 dwelling ; Mrs. Young went from room to 
 room, collecting various articles belonijinn' to 
 her soi>, making no effort to conceal the 
 tears tiiat rolled constantly over her cheeks ; 
 and now and then Louisa's sobs broke the 
 sad silence. Harvey was engaged in the 
 library pacJcing his books, and Irene saw him 
 no more till after tea. Then he came up 
 with his mother, and kindly inquired concern- 
 ing her arm. He saw that she .shared the 
 distress of the family, and, glancing over his 
 shoulder at his mother, he said, laughingly : 
 
 " She looks too doleful to be left here alone 
 all the evening. Can't we contrive to take 
 her down stairs to the sitting-room? What 
 think you, mother?" 
 
 " Let her decide it herself. Shall Harvey 
 take you down, my dear ? It is his last even- 
 ing at home, you know." Her voice faltered 
 as she spoke. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 ''I should liko to join you all at prayer once 
 more, and I think I could walk down slowly, 
 with a little lielj). Suppose you let me try V 
 I walke^l a few steps yesterday, by pushing a 
 chair before me." 
 
 "JBc very careful not to strain your foot." 
 She wrapped a liiiht shawl around the girl's 
 shouhlers, and k*aninfx on the minister's arm, 
 she limped to the head of the stairs; but he 
 saw, fropi the wrinkle on her forehead, that 
 the elT'oht pave her pain, and takintr her in his 
 arms as if she were an infant, he replaced her 
 in the chair. 
 
 "I .see it will not do to carry you down yet. 
 You arc not strong enough, and, beside, you 
 ought to be asleep. .Irene, would you like for 
 me to read and pray with you before I say 
 good-by /" 
 
 "Yes, sir; it would give me great pleasure." 
 
 Mrs. Young drew the candle-stand and 
 bible from its corner, and taking a seat near 
 the arm chair, Harvey turned over the 
 leaves and slowly read the sixty-tliird and 
 sixty-fourth chapters of Isaiah. His voice 
 was low and sweet as a woman's, and the 
 calm lofty brow on which the light gleamed 
 was smooth and fair as a child's, bearing no 
 foot-prints of the thirty years that had crept 
 over it. When the reading was concluded, 
 he knelt and prayed fervently for the girl who 
 sat with her face hidden in her arms; prayed 
 that she might be guided by the Almighty 
 hand into paths of peace and usefulness; that 
 she might be strengthened to do the work 
 required of Iier. There was no unsteadi- 
 ness in his tone, no trace of emotion, when 
 he cniled his ])rayer and sTood uj) before 
 her. Irene was deeply moved, and when 
 she essayed to thank him, found it impossible 
 to pronounce her words. Tears were gliding 
 down her cheeks; lie put back the hair, and 
 taking the face softly in his palms, looked 
 long and earnestly at its fascinating beauty. 
 Tlie great glistening blue eyes gazed into his, 
 and the silky lashes and rich scarlet lips 
 trembled. He felt the hot blood surging like 
 a lava-tide in his veins, and his heart rising in 
 fierce rebellion at the slen interdict whirh 
 he saw fit to lay upon it ; but no token of all 
 this came, to the cool, (;ahu surface. 
 
 " Good-by, Irene. May God bless you, my 
 dear little friend !" 
 
 He drcnv the face close to his own as though 
 he would have kissed her, but forbore, and 
 merely raising her hands to his lips, turjied 
 and left the room. Verily, greater is "he that 
 ruletii his own spirit than he that taketh a 
 city." He left before breakfast the ensuing 
 morning, bearing his secret with him, having 
 (»iTen no intimation, by word or look, of the 
 struggle which his resolution cost him. Once 
 his mother had fancied that he felt more than 
 a friendly interest in their guest, but the ab- 
 solute repos(i of his lountenance and grave se- 
 renity of his manner duri ^ the last week of 
 
 his stay dispersed all her su-^pioions. From a 
 luxurious home, fond friends, and the girlish 
 face he loved better than his life, the, minister 
 went forth to his distant post, oftering in sacri- 
 fice to God, u)>on the altar of duty, his throb- 
 bing heart and hopes of earthly hajtpiness. 
 
 A cloud of sadness settled on the household 
 after his departure, and scarcely less than 
 Louisa's was Irene's silent grief. The con- 
 finement grew doubly irksome when his voice 
 and step had passed from the threshold, and 
 she looked forward impatiently to her release. 
 The sprain proved more serious than she had 
 at first imagined, and the summer vacation set 
 in before she was able to walk with ease. Mr. 
 Huntingdon had been apprised of her long ab- 
 sence from school, and one day, when she was 
 j-autiously trying her strength, he arrived, 
 without having premonition of his visit. As 
 he took her in his arms and marked the altera- 
 tion in her thin face, the listlessness of her 
 manner, the sorrowful gravity Of her counte- 
 nance, his fears were fully aroused, and, hold- 
 ing her to his heart, he exclaimed : 
 
 " My daughter ! my beauty ! I must take 
 you out of New York." 
 
 " Yes, father, take me home ; do take me 
 home." She clasped her arms round his neck 
 and nestled her face close to his. • 
 
 " !Not yet, queen. We will go to the Cats- 
 kill, to Lake George, to Niagara. A few 
 weeks travel will invigorate you. I have 
 written to Hugh to meet us at ]\iontreal ; he ia 
 with a gay party, and you shall have a royal 
 time. A pri'tty,j)iece of business, truly, that 
 you can't anmse yourself in any other way 
 than by breaking half the bones in your body." 
 
 " Father, I would rather go home. Oh ! I 
 am so tired of this city, so sick of that board- 
 ing-school. Do, please, let me ga back with 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, Irene. Lift up your sleeve 
 and let me see your arm; stretch it out; all 
 right, I believe ; straight enough. You were 
 walking just now ; how is your foot ?" 
 
 "Almost well, I think; occasionally I have 
 a twinge of pain when 1 bear my whole weight 
 on it." 
 
 " IJe sure you do not over-tax it for a while. 
 By Monday you will be able to start to Sara- 
 toga. Your aunt sc-nt a trunk of clothing, 
 and, by the way, here is a letter from her and 
 oui^ from Arnold. The doctor worries con- 
 siderably about you ; is afraid you will not be 
 properly attended to." » 
 
 'J'lius the summer programme was determin- 
 ed without any reference to the wishes of the 
 one, most concerned, jind, knowing her father's 
 disposition, she siK-ntly acquiesced. After 
 much persuasion, Mr. Huntingdon prevailed 
 on Louisa's parents to allow her to accompany 
 them. The mother consented very reluctant- 
 ly, and on the ap|)ointed day the party set off 
 for .Saratoga. The change was eminently 
 beneficial, and before they reached Canada 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 5S 
 
 Irene seemed perfectly restored. But licr | 
 father was not satisfied. Her unwonted taci- i 
 tih-nity annoyed and puzzled him ; he knew \ 
 that beneatli the calm surface some strong | 
 under-current rolled swiftly, and he racked his 
 brain to discover what had rendered Tier so re- j 
 served. Louisa's joyous, elastic spirits proba- j 
 bly heighttined the effect of her companion's i 
 gravity, and the contrast daily presented could 1 
 not fail to arrest Mr. Huntingdon's attention. 
 On arriving at Montreal the girls were left for 
 a few moments in the parlor of the hotel, while 
 Mr. Huntingdon went to register their names. 
 Irene and Louisa stood by the window looking 
 out into the street, when a happy, ringing 
 voice exclaimed : 
 
 " Here you are, at last, Irie ! I caught a 
 glimpse of your curls as you passed the dining- 
 room door." 
 
 She turned to meet her cousin and held out 
 her .hand. 
 
 " Does your majesty suppose I shall be sat- 
 isfied with the tip.'' of your fingers? Pshaw, 
 Irie ! I will have my kiss." 
 
 He threw his arm round her shoulder, drew 
 down the shielding hands, and kissed her twice. 
 
 " Oh, Hugh 1 behave youi-self ! Miss Lou- 
 isa Young, my cousin, Hugh Seymour." 
 
 He bowed, and shook hands with the stran- 
 ger, then seized his cousin's fingers and fixed 
 his fine .eyes affectionately upon her. 
 
 " It seems an age since I saw you, Irie. 
 Come, sit down and let me look at you ; how 
 stately you have grown, to be sure ! More 
 like a queen than ever; absolutely two inches 
 taller since you entered boarding-school. Irie, 
 I am so glad to see you again I" He snatched 
 up a handful of curls and drew tliem across 
 his lips, careless of what Louisa might think." 
 
 " Thank you, Hugh. I am quite as glad to 
 gee you." , 
 
 " Oh, humbug ! I know better. You wouh I 
 rather sec Paragon any day, ten to one. j 
 will kill that dog yet, and shoot Erebu?, too ; 
 see if I don't! then maybe you can think of 
 somebody else. When you are glad you show 
 it in your eyes, and now they are as still as vio- 
 lets under icicles. I think you might love 
 me a little, at least as much as a do^." 
 
 " Hush I I do love you, but I dffn't choose to 
 tell it to everybody in Montreal." 
 
 Mr. Huntingdon's entrance diverted the 
 conversation, and irene was glad to escape to 
 her own room. 
 
 " Your cousin seems to We very fotfd of you," 
 observed Louisa,, as she unbraided her hair. 
 
 " He Is very impulsive and demonstrative, 
 that is all." 
 
 " How handsome he is !" 
 
 " Do you think so, really ? Take care, Lou- 
 isa ! I will tell him, and, by way of crushing 
 his vanity, add ^de (justibus, etc., etc., etc." " 
 
 " How old is he?" 
 
 "In his twentieth year." 
 
 From that time tho cousins were thrown 
 
 constantly together ; wherever they went 
 Hugh took charge of Irene, while Mr. Hun- 
 tingdon gave his attention to Louisa. But the 
 eagle eye was upon his daughter's movements ; 
 he watched her countenance, weighed her 
 words, tried to probe her heart. Week after 
 week he found nothing tangible. Hugh was 
 gay, careless ; Irene equable, but reserved. 
 Finally they turned their faces homeward, 
 and in October found themselves once more 
 in New York. Mr. Huntingdon prepared to 
 return South and Hugh to sail for Europe, 
 while Irene remained at the hotel until the 
 morning of her cousin's departwre. 
 
 A ])rivate parlor adjoined the room she oc- 
 cupied, and here he c;tuic to say farewell. 
 Siie knew that he had already had a long con- 
 versation with her father, and as he threw ■liim- 
 self on the sofa and seized one of her hands, 
 she instinctively shraidc from him. 
 
 "Irene, here is my miniature. I wanted, 
 ygu to ask for it, but I see that you won't do 
 it. I know very well that you will not value 
 it one-thousandth part as much as I do your 
 likeness here on my watch-chain ; but perhaps 
 it will remind you of me sometimes. How I 
 shall want to see you before I come home ! 
 YovC know you belong to m$. LTncle gave you 
 to me, and when I come back from Europe we 
 will be married. We are both very young, I 
 know ; but it has been settled so long. Irie, 
 my beauty, I wish you would love me more ; 
 you are so cold. Won't you try '?" 
 
 He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned 
 her face hastily away and ansvvered, resolutely : 
 
 " No, I can't love you other than as my 
 cousin ; I would not, if I could. I do not 
 think it would be right, and I won't promise to 
 try. Father has no right to give me to you, or 
 to anybody else. I tell you now I belong to 
 myself, and only I can give myself away. 
 •Hugh, I don't consider this settled at all. You 
 ijiiglit as well know the truth at once ; I have 
 some voice in the matter." 
 
 Mr. Huntingdon had evidently prepared 
 him for something of this kind on her part, 
 and, though his face llushed angrily, he took no 
 notice of the remonstrance. 
 
 " I shall write to you frequently, and I hope 
 that you will be punctual in replying. Irie, 
 give me your left hand just a minute ; wear 
 this ring till I come back, to remind you that 
 you have a cousin across the ocean." 
 
 He tried to force the flashinj; jewel on her 
 slender finger, but she resisted, and rose, strug- 
 gling to withdraw her hand. J 
 
 " No, no, Hugh ! I can't; I won't. I know 
 very well what that ring means, and I can not 
 accept it. Release my hand ; I tell you I won't 
 wear it." 
 
 " Come. Hugh; you have not a moment to 
 spare ; the carriage is waiting." Mr. Hnn- 
 tmgdon threw open the door, having heard 
 every word that^assed. Hugh dropped the 
 ring iu his vest-^itkw^ and rose. 
 
34 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 " Well, Irie, I suppose I must bid you fare- 
 well. Two or three years will chanjre. you, 
 my dearest liftle cousin. Gootl-by ; think of 
 me now and then, and learn to love me by the 
 time I come home." 
 
 She suHered him to take both her bands 
 and ki«s her terderfy, lor her fatlier stood 
 there and she could not refuse ; but the todcb 
 of his lips burned lonj; after he Had gone. 
 She puton her bonnet, and, when herfatherre- 
 turned from the steamer, they entered the car^ 
 riage which was to convey her to tlie dreary, 
 dreaded school. As th(M" rolled alon"; Broad- 
 way Mr. Huntinjrdon coolly took her hand and 
 placed Hugh's ring upon it, saying, authorita- 
 tively : 
 
 " ilugh told me you refused to accept his 
 parting gift, and seemed much hurt about it. 
 There is no reason why you should not wear 
 it, and in future I do not wish to see you 
 without it. Reniembcr this, my daughter." 
 
 " Father,, it is wrong lor me to wear it, un- 
 less I expected to ." 
 
 "I understand the whole matter perfectly. 
 Now, Irene, let me hear no more about it. I 
 wish you would learn that it is a child's duty 
 to obey her parent. No more words, if you 
 please, on the subject." 
 
 She felt that this was not the hour •for re- 
 sistance, and wisely forbore; but he saw re^ 
 bellion written in the calm, fi.\ed eye, and read 
 it in the curved lines of the full up])er lip. 
 She ha<l entreated him to take her home, and. 
 ipnly the night before, renewed her pleadings. 
 But his refusal was positive, and now she went 
 back to the hated school without a visible to- 
 ken of regret. She saw her trunks consigned 
 to the porter, listened to a brief conversation 
 
 between Dr. and her fatlier, and, after 
 
 a hasty embrace and half-dozen words, watch- 
 ed the tall, soldierly form re-enter the <-ar- 
 riage. Tljcn she went slowly up the bros»* 
 8tairw*y to her cell-like room, and with dl^* 
 eves unpa(.'ked her clothes, locked up the ring 
 in her jewelry-box, and prepared to resume 
 her studies. 
 
 The starry veil concealing the Holy of Ho- 
 lies of her Futurity had swayed just once, and 
 as (juickly swejit back toils wonted folds ; but 
 in that one swift glan(,'e she saw, instead of 
 hovering Cherubim, gaunt spectres, woful, ap- 
 palling as Brimo. At some period of life all 
 have this dim, transient, tantalizing glimpse 
 of the inexorable Tin-ee, the mystic Moine, 
 weaving with steely fingers the unyielding 
 web of human destiny. Some grow cowardly, 
 jjtriving to wend their way bcliind or beyond 
 the out-spread net- work, tripping, at last, in 
 the midst of the snare; and some, with set 
 teeth and rigid limbs, scorning to dodge the 
 issue, grapple with the Sisters, resolve<l to 
 wrench the cunniug links asunder, trusting 
 solely to the palla<iium of Will. Irene's little 
 feet had become entangled in the fatal threads, 
 and, with no thought of flight, she meiisured 
 
 the length and breadth of the web, nerving 
 heruelf to battle till the death. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A halo seems to linger around the haunts « 
 of Genius, a.s though the outer physical world 
 shaped itself in likeness to the Ideal, and at 
 the door of Mr. Clifton's studio, crude, matter- 
 of-fact utilitarians shouhl have " put off their 
 shoes from their feet" befjare treatling pre- 
 cincts sacred to Art. It was a long, lofty, 
 narrow room, with a grate at one end, and 
 two windows at the other, opening on the 
 street. The walls wercstaineil of a pale olive 
 htTe, and the floor was covered with a carpet- 
 of green, embroidered with orange sheaves of 
 wheat. In color, the morocco -cushioned 
 chair;^ and sofas matched it well, and from 
 the broad, massive cornice over the windows 
 — cornice representing writhing serpents in 
 clusters of oak leaves — folds of golden-llowered 
 brocatel hung stiil" and stately to the floor. 
 The ceiling rose dome-like in the centre, and 
 here a skylight ])oured down a flood of radi- 
 ance on sunny days, and furnished a faintW 
 tattoo when rain-drops rattled oTcr its ])anes. " 
 Crowdijd as the most ancient catacombs of 
 Thebes was this atelier, but with a trille less 
 ghostly tenants. Plaster statues loomed up in 
 the corners, bronze busts and marble .v.'a/Me//es 
 crowned mantle and sundry tables and wood- 
 en pedestals; (juaint antique vasis of china, 
 crystal, alabaster, terra-cotta, and wood dark 
 as ebony with age and j)olished like glass, 
 stood here and there in a sort of well-estab- 
 lished regular irregularity, as if snatched from 
 the ashy shroud of Hercnlaneum and put 
 down hastily in the jirst convenient place. 
 An P^truscan va,se, time and lichen-stained, 
 ■"was made the base for an untrained piece of 
 canvas, which leaned back against thi; wall ; 
 and another, whose handles were Medusa- 
 heads, and before which, doubtless, some 
 Italian maiden, in the palmy days of Rome, 
 had stood twining the feathery sprays of blos- 
 .sonis whose intoxicating perfume might still 
 linger in ita marble depths, was now the des- 
 ecrated ' receptacle of a meerschaum and 
 riding-whip. The walls were tapestried with 
 ])aintings of all sizes, many richly framed, one 
 or two covered with glass, and so dark as to 
 l)ass, without close examinatioB, for a faithful 
 representation of Pliaraoh's ninth • plague ; 
 some lying ludplessly on the olive back-ground, 
 others leaning from the wail at an acute angle, 
 looking tin-eatening, as if fiery souls had en- 
 tered and stirred ui)tht,> figures — among which 
 Deianira, bending forward with jealous rage 
 to scan the lovely Jole, destined to prove the 
 Ate of her house. Where a few feet-of pale 
 green would have peered forth between large 
 pictures, crayon sketches were suspended ; 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 56 
 
 and on the top of more than one carved frame 
 perched stuiFed birds of trorireous tropical 
 hues, a mimic aviary, motionless and silent as 
 if Perseus had stepped into a choral thron|x 
 and held upithe Gorgon's head. lu the centre 
 of the room, under the skylight, stood the 
 artist's easel, holding an unfinished picture, 
 and over its face was drawn a piece of black 
 silk. Farther otT was anotlier easel, smaller, 
 and here "VMfis the dim outline of a female 
 head traced by the fair, slender fingers of a 
 tyro. It was late October; a feeble liame 
 flickered in tlie grate; on the rug crouched cin 
 English spaniel, creeping closer as the heat 
 died out and the waning liglit of day grad- 
 ually receded, leaving the room dusky, save 
 where a slanting line of yellow quivered down 
 from the roof and gilt the folds of black silk. 
 At one of the windows stood Electra, half 
 concealed by the heavy green and gold dra- 
 pery, one dimpled hand clinging to the cur- 
 tains, tiie other pressed against tlie jianes, as 
 she watched the forms hurrying along the 
 street below. The gas was already ligiited 
 on the crowded higliways of the- great city, 
 and the lamp just beneath the window glared 
 up like an electric eye. She was dressed in 
 half-mourning, in sober gray, with a black 
 crape collar at the tliroat. " There is no ex- 
 quisite beauty without some strangeness in 
 tlie proportions," says Baron Verulam ; and 
 the strangeness of Eleetra's countenance cer- 
 tainly lay in the unusual width between the 
 eye-brows. Wliatever significance leai'ned 
 phrenologists or physiognomists attacli to this 
 peculiarity, at all events it im])arted piquancy 
 to the features tliat I am striving to show you 
 by that flaming gas-light. Her watching at- 
 titude denotetl anxiety, and the bloom on her 
 cheek had faded, leaving the whole face color- 
 less. The lower lip was drawn under and 
 held hard and fight by the pearly teeth, while 
 the wide-strained eyes — 
 
 "Sliiniiigr ejfi like antique Jewels set in Parian statuc- 
 •toiio" — • 
 
 searched every face that passed the window 
 " That hope deferred makethUhe heart sick,'' 
 she stood there in attestation ; yet it was not 
 passive sorrow printed on her countenance — 
 rither the momentary, breathless exhaustion 
 of a wild bird beating out its life in useless 
 conflict with the unyielding wires of its cage. 
 The dying hope, the despairing dreads in that 
 fair young face, beggars language, and as the 
 minutes <rept by the words burst from her 
 lips : *' Will he never, never come ! ' 
 
 For three weeks she had received no letter 
 from Russell; he was remarkably ])un<'tual, 
 and this long, unprecedented interval filled 
 her, at first, witli vague uneasiness, which 
 grew finally into horrible foreboding. For 
 ten days slie liid stood at tin's hour, at the 
 same window, waiting for Mr. Clifton's return 
 from tlie post-oflicc. Ten times the words 
 
 " No letter" had fallen, like the voice of doom, 
 on her throbbing heart. '-No letter!'' — she 
 heard it in feverish dreams, and fled continu- 
 ally from its hissing. Only those who have 
 known what it is to stake their hopes on a 
 sheet of letter-paper; to wake at dawn, count- 
 ing tlie hours, till the mail is due, workitig 
 diligently to murder time till 'that hour rolls 
 round; to send a messenger, in hot haste, to 
 Avatch the clock, giving him just so many 
 minutes to go and come; to listen for the 
 sound ef returning stjps, to meet him at the 
 door with outstretched hands, and receive 
 — "no letter;" only those who have writhed 
 on this rack know tlie crushing thought with 
 which thdy pressed cold hands to aching 
 hearts; "anotlier twenty-four hours to be en- 
 dured before the next mail comes in; what 
 shall I do till then?" These art>. the trials 
 that plough wrinkles in smooth girlish brows; 
 that harden the outline of soft rosy lips; that 
 sicken the -weary soul, and teach women 
 deception. Electra knew that ]Mr. Clifton 
 watched her narrowly, suspiciously; and be- 
 hind the mask of gay rapid words, and ring- 
 ing mirthless laughter, she tried to hide her 
 suli'ering. Ah! God pity all who live from 
 day to day hanging upon the brittle thread of 
 hope. On this eleventh day suspense reached 
 its acme, and time seemed to have locked its 
 wheels to lengthen her torture. Mr. Clifton 
 had been absent.longer than usual; most un- 
 willingly we are sometimes grand inquisitors, 
 loitering by the way when waiting hearts are 
 secretly, silently dropping blood. At last an 
 omnibus slop])ed, and Mr. Clifton stepjied 
 out, with a bundle of papers under his arm. 
 Closer pressed the jiallid face against the glass; 
 firmer grew the grasp of the icy fingers on the 
 brocatcl ; she hatl no strength to meet him. He 
 closed the door, hung up his hat, and looked 
 into the studio; no fire in the grate, no light 
 in, the gas-globes— ^everything cold and dark 
 save the reflection on that front window. 
 
 "Electra!" 
 
 "I am here." 
 
 "No letter." 
 
 She stood motionless a moment; but tho 
 brick walls o]i])osite, the trees, the lamp-posts 
 spun round, like maple leaves in an autumn 
 gale. 
 
 " My owlet ! why don'f^you have a light and 
 some fireV" ' 
 
 He stumbled toward her, and put his hand 
 on her shoulder, but she shrank away, and, 
 lighting the gas, rang for coal. 
 
 "There is .something terrible the matter; 
 Ru.ssell is either ill or dead. .1 must go to him." 
 
 "Nonsense! sheer nonsense; he is busy, 
 that is all. Your cousin has forgotten you for 
 the time; after a while he will write. You 
 are too exacting; young men sometimes find 
 constant, regular correspondence a bore; a 
 letter every week is too much to expect of 
 hiiu. Don't be childish, Electra." 
 
&t> 
 
 MACAIUA. 
 
 As she noticed the frown-on his face, a dark [ 
 Buspicion seized her; "perhaps he had inter- \ 
 cepted her letters." Could he stoop to such 
 an artifice V 
 
 " Elcctra, I would try to divert my mind. 
 After all, his letters are short, and, I should 
 judge, rather uusatisfaetory." 
 
 " What do you know ol" the length or con- 
 tents of his lettereV" 
 
 "I know they are brief, because I occasion- I 
 ally see them open in your hand; I judge that 
 they are unsatisfactory from the cloud ^n your 
 face whenever they come. But I have no 
 disposition to contest the value of his corre- 
 spondence with you. That article on chiaro- ' 
 scuro has arrived at last; if ycyii feel inclined, i 
 you can begin it at once." j 
 
 Chiaro - scuro, forsooth! Mockery! She 
 had quite chiaroscuro enoufrh, and to spare ; ' 
 but the smile on the artist's lips sUiug her, 
 and, without a word, she took a seat at his j 
 side and began to read. Page after page was 
 turned, technicalities slipped through her lips, | 
 but she understood as little of the essay as if 
 the language had been Sanscrit instead of 
 Saxon; for, likt? the deep, undying murmur of 
 the restless sea, there rang in her ears, "No 
 letter! no letter!" As she finished the pam- 
 phlet and threw it on the table, her hands 
 dropped listlessly in her lap. Mr. Clifton was 
 trying to read her count'inanee, and, in\p;v- 
 tient of his scrutiny, she rose to seek her own 
 room. Just then the door-bell rang sharply; 
 she supposed it was some brother-artist com- 
 ing to spend an hour, and turned to go. 
 
 .•• Wait a minute; I want to -;" he paused, 
 
 for at that instant she heard a voice which, even 
 amid the din of Shinar, would have been un- 
 mistakable to her, and, breaking I'rom him, she 
 sprang to the" threshold and met her cousin. 
 
 " Oh, Ruaseli ! 1 thought you had forgotten 
 me." 
 
 " What put such a ridiculous thought into 
 your head i My last letter must have pre- 
 pared you to expect me." 
 
 " What letter ? I have had none for three 
 weeks." 
 
 "One in which I mentioned Mr. Campbell's 
 foreign appointment, and the position of sec- 
 retary which he tendered me. Electra, let 
 me speak to Mr. Clifton." 
 
 As he advanced and greeted the artist she 
 heard a quick, sna])ping sound, and saw the 
 beautiful Bohemian glass ])a|)cr-cutter her 
 guardian had been using lying, .shivered to 
 atoms, on the rug. The lluted handle was 
 crushed in his fingers, and drops of blood oozed 
 over the left hand. Ere she could allude to 
 it he thrust his hand into his pocket and de- 
 sired Russell to be seated. 
 
 " This is a pleasure totally unexpected. 
 What is the appointment of which you spoke ?" 
 
 " Mr. Camj)bell has been appointed Minister 
 to : , and sails next week. I am sur- 
 prised that you have not haard of it fi'om the 
 
 public journals; many of them have spoken of 
 it, and warmly commended the selection. I 
 accompany, him in the capacity of secretary, 
 and shall, meanwhile, prosecute my studies 
 under his direction." 
 
 The gray, glittering eyes of the artist sought 
 those of his pupil, and for an instant hers 
 quailed; but, rallying, she looked fully, stead- 
 lastly fit hint, resolved to play out the game, 
 siorning to bare her heart to iiis scrutiny. 
 She had fancied that Russell's afl'ection had 
 prompted this visit ; now it was apparent that 
 hk came to New York to take a steamer, not 
 to see her ; to put the stormy Atlantic between 
 them. The foaming draught which she had 
 snatched to her lips so eagerly, so joyfully, 
 was turning to hemlock as she tasted; and 
 though she silently put the cup from her, it was 
 done smilingly; there were, no wry faces, no 
 gestures of disgust. 
 
 " New York certainly agrees with you, Elec- 
 tra ; you have grown and improved very much 
 since you came North. I never saw such color 
 in your cheeks before ; 1 can scarcely believe 
 that you a,re the same fragile child 1 put into 
 the stage one year ago. This reconciles mo 
 to having given you up to Mr. Clifton ; he is a 
 better guardian than I could have been. But 
 tell me something more about these new rela- 
 tives you spoke of having found here." 
 
 Mr. Clilton left the room, and the two sat 
 side by side for an hour, talking of the gloomy 
 past, the flitting present, the uncertain future. 
 Leaning back in his chair, with his eyes fixed 
 on the grate, Russell said, gravely : 
 
 " There is now nothing to impede my suc- 
 cessful career ; obstacles are rapidly meltin<j 
 away; every day brings me nearer the goal 1 
 long since set before me. In. two years at 
 farthest, perhaps earlier, I shall return and 
 begin the practice of law. Once ailmitted, I 
 ask no more. Then, and not till then, I hope 
 to save you from the necessity of labor ; in the 
 interim, Mr. Clifton will prove a noble and 
 generous friend; and believe me, my cousin, 
 llie thought of leaving you so long is the only 
 thing which will mar the pleasure of my Eu- 
 ropean stijourn." 
 
 The words were kind enough, but the tone 
 I was indiilerent, and the countenance showed 
 her that their approaching separation disqui- 
 eted him little. She thought of the sleepless 
 I nights and wretched days she had passed 
 j waitinij for a letter from that tafl, reserved, 
 cold cousin, and her features relaxed in a de- 
 risive smile at the folly of her all-absorbing 
 love, liaising his eyes accidentally he caun[ht 
 the smile, wondered what there was to call it 
 forth in the plans which he had just laid before 
 her, and, meeting his glance of surprise, she 
 said, carelessly : 
 
 " Are you not going to see Irene before you 
 sail V" 
 
 His clieek flushed as he rose, straightened 
 himself, and answered : >■ 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 61 
 
 " A stranj^e question, truly, from one who 
 knows me as well as you do. Call to gee a 
 girl whose father sent her froni home solely to 
 prevent her from associating with my family ? 
 Through what sort of raetfiiaaorphosis do you 
 suppose that I have passed, that-every spark 
 of self-respect has been crushed out of me ?" 
 
 " Her father's tyranny and selfishness can 
 never nullify her noble and ail'ectionatc re- 
 membrance of Aunt Amy in the hour of her 
 need." 
 
 " And when I am able to repa}^ her every 
 cent we owe her, then, and not till then, I 
 wish to see her. Things shall change ; rnens 
 cuiuaque is est quisque ; and the day will com^ 
 when Mr. Huntingdon may not think it •de- 
 grading lor his daughter to acknowledge my 
 accpiaintance on the street." 
 
 A brief silence ensued, Ilussell drew on his 
 gloves, and finally said, hesitatingly : 
 
 " Dr. Arnold told me she had suffered very 
 much from a fall." 
 
 "Yes; for a long time she was confined to 
 her room." 
 
 " Has she recovered entirely ?" 
 " Entirely. She grows more beautiful day 
 by day." 
 
 Perhaps he wished to hear uaore concern- 
 ing her, but she would not gratify him, and, 
 soon after, he took up his hat. 
 
 " Mr. Clifton has a spfii-e room, Russell ; why 
 can't vou stav with us while you are in New 
 York'?" 
 
 " Thank you ; but Mr. Campbell will expect 
 me at the hotel ; I shall be needed, too, as he 
 has many letters to write. I will sec you to- 
 morrow, and indeed every day while I remain 
 in the city." ' 
 
 " Then pay your visits in the morning, for I 
 want to take your portrait with mv own hands. 
 Give me a sitting as early as possible." 
 
 " Very well ; look for me to-morrow. Good- 
 night." 
 
 Tlie week that followed was one of strau"fe- 
 ly-mingled sorrows and joys; in after years it 
 served as a prominent land-mark to wliich she 
 looked back and dated sad changes in her 
 heart. Irene remained ignorant of Russell's 
 presence* in the city, and at last the day 
 dawned on which the vessel was to sail. At 
 the breakfast table Mr. Clifton noticed the 
 colprlessness of his pupil's face, but kindly ab- 
 stained from any allusion to it. He saw that, 
 contrary to habit, she dranb a cup of coffee, 
 and, arresting her arm as she requested his 
 mother to give her a second, he said, gently : 
 
 " My dear child, where did you suddenly find 
 such Turkish taites ? I thought you disliked 
 coffee V" 
 
 " I take it now as medicine. My head aches 
 horribly." ' 
 
 " Then let me prescribe for yoii. We will 
 go down to the iteamor with Russell, and after- 
 ward take a long ride to Greenwood, if you 
 like." 
 
 -" He said he would call here at ten o'clock 
 to bid us farewell." 
 
 " N'iinporte. The carriage will be ready, 
 and Ave will accompany him." 
 
 At the appointed hour they repaired to the 
 vessel, and, looking at its huge sides, Electra 
 coveted even a deck passage ; envied the 
 meanest who hurried about, making all things 
 ready for departure. The last bell rang ; 
 people crowded down on the planks ; Russell 
 hastened back to the carriage and took the 
 nerveless gloved hand. 
 
 " I will write as early as possible ; don't bo 
 uneasy about me ; np accident has ever hap- 
 pened on this line. 1 am glad I leave you 
 with such a friend as Mr. Clifton. Good-by, 
 cousin; it will not be very long before we meet 
 again." 
 
 He' kissed the passive lips, shook hands with 
 the artist, and sprang on board just as the 
 planks were withdrau-n. The vessel moved 
 majestically on its way ; friends on shore Avaved 
 handkerLhiefs to friends departing, and hands 
 Avere kissed and hats lifted, and then the 
 crowd slowly dispersed — for steamers sail every 
 week, and people become accustomed to the 
 spectacle. But 'to-day it Avas freighted Avith 
 the last fond hope of a deep and passionate 
 nature ; and as Electra gazied on the line of 
 foam Avhitening the dull surface of the Avater, 
 the short-lived billoAvs and deep holloAvs be- 
 tAveen seemed newly -made graves, whose 
 hungry jaws had closed for ever over the one 
 bright lingering hope Avhich she had hugged 
 to her heart. 
 
 " Are you ready to go now ?" asked Mr. 
 Clifton. 
 
 "Yesy.ready, quite ready — for GreenAvood." 
 
 She spoke in atone Avhich had lost its liquid 
 music, and Avith a Avintry smile that lied over 
 the ashy face, lending the features "no light, 
 no AA'armth. 
 
 He tried to divert her mind by calling at- 
 tention to various things of interest, but the 
 utter exhau.stiou of her position and tlie mono- 
 syllabic character of her replies soon dis- 
 couraged him. Both felt relieved Avhen the 
 carriage stopped before the studio, and as he 
 -led her up the steps he said, affectionately : 
 
 " I am afraid my prescription has not cured 
 your head." 
 
 " No, sir ; but I thank you most sincerely 
 for the kind effort you have made to relieve 
 me. I shall be better to-morrow. Good-by, 
 till then." 
 
 " Stay, my child. Como into the studio, and 
 let me read something light and pleasant to 
 you." 
 
 " Not for the universe ! The sight of a book 
 would give me brain-fever, I verily believe." 
 
 She tried unavaifingly to shake off his hand.. 
 
 " Why do you shrink from me, my pupil ?" 
 
 " Because I am sick, weary ; and you Avatch 
 me so, that I get reatlcsa and nervous. Do 
 Ut me go ! I want to ileep." 
 
58 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 An impatient stamp cjnphasized the words, : 
 a»d, as lie relaxed his cla^p ofher finorprs, she 
 hastened to her room, aud locked the door to , 
 prevant all intrusion. Takinij; olV her bonnet, i 
 she drew tke heavv stiawl closely around her 
 shoulders and threw herself across the foot of 
 the bed, buryiiifr her face in her hands lest 
 the bare walls should prove witnesses of her ' 
 agony. Six hours later she lay there still, 
 Avith pale finirera pressed to burning, dry eye- 
 lids. ■" , 
 
 Oh, bigotry of human nature! Bj' what 
 hifrh eommissiou,. by what royal patent, (to 
 men and women essay to judge of fellow-men : 
 and sister-women by one stern, inexorable 
 standard, unyielding as the measure of Da- 
 mastes V The variety of emotional and intel- 
 lectual types is even greater than the physical, ' 
 and, as the ages roll, we need oihor criteria. ■ 
 Wiio shall dare lay finger on fellow-creature \ 
 and audaciously jjroclaiui : " I have gone down 
 among the volcanic chambers of this soul and 
 groped in its adytum, amid the dust and ruins 
 of its overturned altars and crumbling idols; ' 
 have fathomed its mystciies, and will !ell you, ' 
 by infallible plummet, the. depths thereof."^ 
 There are sealed cells, where, veiled from ' 
 scrutiny and sacred as Eleusinia, burns the 
 God-given shechinah of the human soul. As ' 
 the myriad shells that tcssellate old ocean's ; 
 pavements, as the vast army of innumerable 
 clouds which ceaselessly shift their coloring 
 and their forms at the presto of wizard winds; 
 as the leaves of the forest that bud and wane 
 in the flush of summer or the howl of wintry 
 storms, so we differ one from another. Liu- 
 najus and Jussien, with niicroscopic aid, have 
 classified and christened ; but now and then 
 new varieties startle modern suvdns, and so i 
 likewise new tyj)es stalk among men and wo- 
 men, whose elements will neither be lopijcd 
 ofi" nor elongated to meet the established 
 measure. I 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Once more the labors of a twelve-month 
 had been exhibited atthe Academy of Design — ' 
 some to be classed among things " that were l 
 not born to die ;" others to fall into nameless ; 
 graves. Many, who had workcMl faithfully, re- ' 
 cognizing the sacredness of theii" commission, 
 had climl)c(l higher in public estimation; and ; 
 a few, making mere pastime, or resting upon 
 reputation already earned, had slipped back, j 
 Mr. Clifton was represented by an exquisite , 
 Qiinone, and on the same wall, in a massive ] 
 oral frame, hung the first finished "production I 
 of his pupil. For months after Russell's de- i 
 parture she sat before her easel, slowly filling | 
 up the outline sketched whih; his eyes watched | 
 ht^r. She lingered over her work, loath to put ; 
 the final stroke, calling continually upon I 
 Memory to furnish the necessary' details; and | 
 
 frequently, in recalling transient smiles, the 
 curl of his lip, or bending of his brow, palette 
 and brush would slip from her fingers, while 
 •she sat weaving the broken yet priceless 
 threads of a hallowed Past. Application some- 
 times trenches so closely upon genius as to be 
 mistaken for it in its results, and. where both 
 arc happily blended, the bud ot Art expands in 
 immortal per^^i^tion. Electra spared no toil, 
 and so it came to pass that the faultless head 
 of her idol excited intense and universal ad- 
 miration. In the catalogue it was briefly men- 
 sioned as " No. 17; — a portrait ; first effort of 
 a young female ai'tist." Cotinouscurs, who IxAd 
 conmiitted themselves by extravagant praise, 
 sni*ered at the announcement of the catalogue, 
 and, after a few iiKjuiries, blandly asserted that 
 no tyro could have produced it : that the mas- 
 ter had wfo'.ight out its perfection, and gene- 
 rously allowed the i)upil to mono{)olize the en- 
 comiums. In vain Mr. Clifton disclaimed the 
 merit,- and asserted that he had never touched 
 the canvas; that she had jealou.sly refused to 
 let him aid her. Incredulous smiles and un- 
 mistakable motions of the head were the sole 
 results of his expostulation. Little mercy has 
 a critical world for novices^ particularly those 
 clad in woman's garments ; few helping hands 
 are kindly stretched toward her trembling fin- 
 gers, few strengthening words find her in her 
 seclusion ; and when these last do come in 
 t'ricndly whispers, are they not hung up "as 
 api)les of gold in pictures of silver" along the 
 checjuered walls of memory? Cold glances 
 generally greet her earliest works ; they are 
 handled suspiciously, the beauties are all ex- 
 tracted, set in a row, and labelled "plagiar- 
 isms ;" the residue, like dross in crucibles, is 
 handed back as "original, and her undoubted 
 property." Or, perchance, the phraseology 
 varies, and >«he hears " This book, this statue, 
 this picture, is no unpracticcd woman's work ; 
 wc speak advise<lly and pronounce" the fact, 
 that ])cn, or rasp, or chisel, or brush, bejongs 
 unmistakably "to a master — an experienced 
 writer or veteran artist." . It is this bent of 
 human nature to load with chaplets well-es- 
 tablished lavorites of fame, to "whitewash" 
 continually with praise, to Jealously withhold 
 the meed of beginners, rendering grudgingly 
 " CiPsar's things to Cajsar," ^v-iiich tips many 
 a ]wn with gall, and shadows noble pictures 
 with unseemly clouds. Electra was indignant 
 at tiie injustice meted out to her, and, as 
 might have been expected, rebelled against 
 the verdict. Very little consolation was de- 
 rived from the argument by which her master 
 strove to mollify lier — that the incredulity of 
 the critics was the highest eulogy that couhl 
 have been pronounceil upon her work. Some 
 weeks after the close of the exhibition, the 
 GiJiione was purchased and the portrait sent 
 home. Electra placed it on the easel once 
 more, and stood before it in rapt contempla- 
 tion. Down from the arched roof flowed bil- 
 
IVJACARTA. 
 
 59 
 
 lows of light, bathing her rounded form as in a 
 sea of molten topaz, and kindling a startling, 
 almost-unearthly, beauty in the canvas. What 
 mattered the brevity and paucity of Russell's 
 letters now ? — what though three thousand 
 miles of tempestuous sea roared and tossed be- 
 tween them 'i — she had his untarnished image 
 in her heart, his life-like features ever before 
 her. To this shrine she came continually, and 
 laid thereon the offering of a love passionate 
 and worshipping as ever took entire possession 
 of a woman's heart. Coldness, silence, neg- 
 lect, all were forgotten when she looked into 
 the deep, beautiful eyes, and upon the broad, 
 bold, matchless brow. 
 
 " . . . . Lovo is not lovo 
 Which altere, when it. alteration finds, 
 .Or bends with the remover to remove ; 
 Oil, no ! it is an evei-lixed mark, 
 Tliat looks on tempests and is never sh.aken." 
 
 She had not the faintest hopi that he would 
 ever cherish a tenderer feeling for her; but 
 love is a plant of strange growth : now lifting 
 its head feebly in rich, ;5unny spots, where 
 every Ibstering influence is employed; and 
 now springing vigorous from barren, rocky 
 cliffs, clinging in icy crevices, defying every 
 adverse element, senchng its fibrous roots 
 deeper and deeper in ungeuial soil ; bending 
 b'efbre the fierce breath of storms, only to 
 erect itself more firmly; spreading its delicate 
 petals over the edges of eternal snow, self-sus- 
 taining, invincible, immortal. A curious plant, 
 truly, and one which will not bear transplant- 
 ing, as many a luckless experiment has proved. 
 To-day, as Electra looked upon her labors, the 
 coils of Time seemed to fall away; the vista 
 of Eternity opened before -her, peopled with 
 two forms, which on earth walked widely sepa- 
 rate paths, and over her features -stole a se- 
 rene, lifted expression, as if, after painful scal- 
 ing, she had risen above the cloud-region and 
 caught the first rays of perpetual sunshine. 
 
 Time, like a weaver, made strange, dim, Con- 
 fused masses of woof and warp ; but in Eterni- 
 ty the earth-work would be turned, and deli- 
 cate tracery and marvellous coloring, divine 
 gobelins, would come ■ to light, raticnce ! 
 Away from the loom — let the shuttle tly ! 
 " What I do thou knowest not now, .but thou 
 shalt know hereafter." Hence to tliy barren 
 fields, and till them until thi; harvest. 
 
 Mr. Clifton had watched her for some mo- 
 ments, with lowt-ring brow and jealous hatred 
 of the picture. Apjjroaching, he looked over 
 ber shoulder, and asked : 
 
 " How much longer do you intend to stand 
 here ? Pygmalion was not more captivated 
 by his ivory image than you are by your head. 
 Were it Antinous or Apollo, I doubt whether 
 your admiration would be enhanced." 
 
 " It is more than Antinous and Apollo" she 
 answered, ilrawing the folds of silk over the 
 portrait and turning toward him. 
 
 " Child, vou are an idolatress." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but, at least, I am in a goodly 
 company. Many bow down before shrines of 
 their own handiwork ; some bring libations to 
 Mammon, some to Fame, some to Ambition, 
 some to Love. Nature intended us to kneel, 
 which is preferable to standing, statue-like, 
 exacting obeisance from others. Which , is 
 nobler?. But how am I an idolatress ? Shall 
 I not prize the features of my cousin, my earli- 
 est friend and playmate? Would you have 
 me tear off and cast away the kindly emotions, 
 the warm aftections Avherewith God clothed 
 me, as badges of humanity V" 
 
 "By no means. But would you have a 
 second Ixion's wheel ?" 
 
 " Aye, sir, when T am weak enough to wor- 
 ship a cloud. Mr. Clifton, I believe I have 
 shaken hands with my rosy-checked, sunny- 
 eyed, siren-charmed childhood ; and, to-day, 
 standing here a woman, with few ties to bind 
 me to my fellow-creatures, I hold this one 
 jewelled link of the past in the hollow of my 
 hand, and pet it. Wliy not? Oh, why not ? 
 1 am but seventeen ; this is all that I have left 
 to caress, and soon the waves of coming years 
 will wash this, too, through my fingers. Would 
 you, less merciful than time, snatch it from me 
 prematurely ?" 
 
 " I would, that in exchange I might heap 
 your hands with untold treasure and joy." 
 
 " I thinlc I am less grasping, then, than you. 
 Leave me the little I value ; I ask no more, 
 wish no more, will have no more." 
 
 She would have left him, but his hand fell 
 heavily on hers. 
 
 " Electra, I must speak to you ; hear me. 
 You hug a phantom to your heart ; Russell 
 does not and will not tove you, other than as 
 his cousin." 
 
 The blood desert«»d her face, leaving a gray- 
 ish pallor, but the eyes sought his steadily, 
 'and Jhe rippling voice 4ost none of its rich 
 cadence. 
 
 " Except as his cousin, I do not expect Rus- 
 sell to love me." 
 
 " Oh, child ! you deceive yourself; this is a 
 hojie that you cling to with mad tenacity." 
 
 She wrung her hand from his, and drew her 
 figure to its utmost height. 
 . " You transcend your privilege, sir! when 
 you attempt to catechise me thus. I deny the 
 right of any on earth to put such questions to 
 me — to make such assertions." 
 
 " pjlectra, I did not mean to offend you, but 
 the time has come when we must understand 
 each other ." 
 
 " You did not mean to offend me-»-well, 
 let that pass; another day we will disctfssit, if 
 you please," she intcrrujjted, waving him off 
 an<l turning toward the door. 
 
 " No ; you must hear me now. I have a 
 right to question you — the right of my long, si- 
 lent, faithl'ul love. You may deny it, but that 
 matters little ; be still, and listen. Did you 
 suppose that J was simply a generous man, 
 
60 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 when I ofTcred to puard and aid you — when I 
 took you to my house, placed you in my moth- 
 er's care, and lavished airection upon you ? 
 Did you dream that I was disinterested in 
 what 1 have done to entourage and assist you? 
 Did you imajrine I was merely an amiable 
 philanthropist, anxious to help all in.difliculty 
 and sorrow ? If so, put away the hallucina- 
 tion. Consider me no Ioniser your friend ; 
 look at me as I am, a jealous and selfishly ex- 
 actinir man, who stands before you to-day and 
 tells you he loves you. . Oli, Electra! From 
 the mprninz when you first showed me your 
 sketches, you have been more than my life to 
 me. An unconijuerable love spranp up then, 
 and it has grown with the mouths and years, 
 takiui sole possession of a heart which nerer 
 bowed before any oilier woman. Every hope 
 I have centres in you. I have not deceived 
 myseif ; I knew that you loved Russell. Nay, 
 don't deny it; I hav6 watched you too long not 
 to probe your mask. I knew that he had your 
 pirlish love, but I waited, and hoped my de- 
 votion would win you. You were but a child, 
 and I thought the depth and fervor of my 
 airection would out-weigh a cliildish fancy. 
 When he came here, I saw that the old fasci- 
 nation still kept its hold upon you; but 1 saw, 
 too, what you saw quite as plainly — that in 
 ]lusjell Aubrey's heart there is room for noth- 
 ing but ambition. I knew how you sulT'ered, 
 and I believed it was the death-struggle of 
 your love. But, instead, I find you, day by 
 day, before that easel — oblivious of me, of 
 ever3ihiug but the features you cling to so 
 insanely. Do you wonder that I hate that 
 ]iortrait ? Do you wonder that I am growing 
 desperate ? ^\'here is your womanly pride, 
 that you lavish your love on one totally indif- 
 ferent id you y Strange paradox that you 
 are ! — proud, passionate, exacting, and yet 
 clinging madly to a memory. Have you n(J 
 mercy, that you doom me to live for ever on 
 the rack? Sliall yonder piece of canvas al- 
 ways stand between your heart »nd mine ? if 
 he loved you in return, I could bear it better; 
 but as it is, I am tortured beyond all endurance. 
 I have spent nearly three years in trying to 
 gain your heart ; all other aims have faded be- 
 fore this one absorbing love. To-day I lay it at 
 your feet, and ask if I have not earned some 
 reward. Oh, Electra ! have you no gratitude?" 
 
 A .scarlet spot burned on his pale cheeks, and 
 the mild licjuid gray eyes sparkled like stars. 
 
 It was no startling revelation to her ; long 
 before siie hail seen that this hour of trial fnust 
 comcuto both, and now, desi)ite her resolution, 
 his words unnerved her. She dared not look 
 at him; the hollow voice told her too well what 
 effect tliis excitement was working on his 
 feeble frame. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Clifton ! I am grateful; God, who 
 sees my heart, knows that I am. No child 
 ever loved a parent better thas I love you." 
 
 " It iii uot filial afTection that I aak af you 
 
 now. I beg you to lay your de.ir hands in 
 mine, and>promise to be my wife. I ask this, 
 of you in the name of my devotion. You gave 
 yourself to me years ago, and to-day I beseech 
 vou to seal the comjjact by a final promise. 
 Electra, beware how you finswer ! Bridge the 
 gulf between us. Give me your hand." 
 
 He stretclied out his hand, but she drew 
 back a step. 
 
 " God forgive me ! but I have no such love 
 for you." 
 
 A ghastly smile broke over his face, and, 
 after a moment, the snowy handkerchief he 
 passed across his lips was stained with ruby 
 streaks. 
 
 " I know that, and I know the reason. But, 
 once more, I ask you to give me your hand. 
 Electra, dearest, do not, 1 pray you, refuse mc ^ 
 this. Oh, child I give me your hand, and in 
 time you will learn to love me." 
 
 He seized Iter fingers, and stooped his head 
 till the silky brown beard mingled with her 
 raven locks. 
 
 '' Mr. Clifton, to marry without love would 
 be a greivous sin ; I dure not. We would hate 
 each other. Life would be a curse to both, 
 and death a welcome release. Could you en- 
 dure a wife who acce|»ted your hand from 
 gratitude and pity ? Oh ! such a relationship 
 would be horrible beyond all degree. I shud- 
 der at the thought." 
 
 " But you would learn to love me." 
 
 The summer wind shook the window-ciir- 
 tains and rustled, the folds of black silk till 
 the drapery slid from the portrait and left it 
 fully exposed to view. She gave one quick 
 glance at the beloveil countenance, and, fall- 
 ing on her knees before the easel, raised her 
 clasped hands passionately, and exclauned : 
 
 " Imi)0ssiblc ! impossible! You have said 
 that he' is my idol, and you make no mistake. 
 He fills my heart so entirely, that I have 
 nothing but reverence and gratitude to offer 
 you. I am young, I know, and you think that 
 i this is a girlish fancy, which will fade with com- 
 j ing years. I tell you, sir, this love has become 
 I part of mc. When he went to Europe I said, 
 I • I will tear it out of my heart, and forget him; 
 I will give every thought to my noble art.' 
 Faithfully I strove to do so ; but a little moun- 
 tain stream, once raergeil in the pathless ocean, 
 might as well struggle to gather back its tiny 
 waveletu and return to its pebbly channel. I 
 am proud ; it humiliates me to acknowledge 
 all this; and nothing on earth could wring it 
 from me but my desire to convince you that 
 it is utterly impossible I can ever love you, as 
 you ask. 
 
 " I lift luy lieary heart up iuUmnly, 
 .^i onrs lilectra li«r lopulclinvl urn. 
 Ami, loDliing in tliine •>•(•$, 1 overturn 
 The ftshci «t tliy fcft. Hfliold, and set 
 What a great heap of grief lay hid in me. 
 And liow the red wild iparklea dimly burn 
 Thrnugh the avhen (jrayneis. If tlir foot in tsAl'U 
 Caulii tread tht-ni out tcdurkneiis utloily, 
 It lulght bv well, )i*rbap«." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 61 
 
 "But you can not take Russell's place. None" 
 can come between him and my heairt." 
 
 The yellow light dripped down on iier 
 purplish hair, crj'stalizing into a nimbus, as 
 she knelt before the portrait, lifting her hands, 
 like saints in medieval pictures, fleeing from 
 martrydom. Shame dyed her cheeks, but a 
 desperate, reckless triumph flashed in the up- 
 raised eyes, revealing fully the aversion 
 ■which his suit had inspired. Unfortunate, 
 de])lorabIe as was her love for a cousin, il 
 seemed for the moment to glorify her, and 
 Mr. Clifton put his hand over his eyes to shut 
 out the vision. 
 
 " Electra Grey, you are unwomanly in your 
 unsought love." 
 
 She turned her head, and, looking over her 
 shoulder at him, smiled derisively. 
 
 '• Unwomanly ! If so, made such by your 
 nnmanliness. Unwomanly! I deny it. Which 
 is most womanly — to yield to the merciless 
 importunity of one to whom I am indebted; 
 to give my hand to hira whose touch chills the 
 blood in my veins ; to promise to become his 
 "wife, when the bare thought sickens my soul; 
 to dare to stand before God's altar and take false 
 vows on my lips, or to tell the simple truth ? 
 to shield myself from his entreaties, under the 
 holy mantle of a deep, undying love for anoth- 
 er V I volunteered no confession ; you taxed 
 and taunted me with my aflection. Sir, it 
 should have made me sacred in your eyes. 
 Unwomanly ! Were you more mdnly, I had 
 never shocked your maudlin sentiments of 
 propriety." 
 
 " An(l this is my reward for all the tender- 
 ness 1 have lavished on you. When Istooped 
 to beg your hand, to be repulsed with scorn 
 and loathing. To spend three years in faith- 
 
 iul ellbrt to win your heart, and reap 
 
 conteiypt, hatred." 
 
 Staggering back, he sank into his arm-chair 
 and closed his eyes a moment, then continued : 
 
 " If it were possible that you could be hap- 
 py,'! would not complain ; but there is no hope 
 of that. You might as well kneel to my mar- 
 ble Hermes yonder, as to Russell. Stranger 
 infatuation never possessed a woman." 
 
 *' I am not blind ; I neither ask nor expect 
 anything from hira. Unless you betray my 
 confidence he will never suspect the truth, 
 and I woidd sooner endure the tortures of 
 Torquomada than that he shoidd know it. 
 But by what process will you demonstrate 
 that, since a rare and royal banquet is for ever 
 shut bt;yond my reach, it is ray duty to sit 
 down in the dust and try to content myself 
 with husks? Sir, my (iod never intendeiime 
 to live, on crumbs, and I will not. T will he 
 true to^ny heart ; if tlic vast host of my fel- 
 low-creatures should pass away from .earth, I 
 will stand alone, and comiuer solitude as best 
 I may. ' Not 'one jot, not one tittle* of my na- 
 ture will I yield for companionship. No raesi 
 . of pottagu will I have, in litu of my birthright. 
 
 All, or none ! Marriage i? holy ; God, in His 
 wisdom, instituted it with the seal of love ; 
 but its desecration with counterfeits makes 
 Tophets, Golgothas, instead of Edens. I know 
 what I have to expect ; on my own head be 
 my future. If quarrel there be, it is between 
 fate and me ; you have no concern in it." ' 
 
 " I would not have troubled you long, Elec- 
 tra. It was because I knew that my life must 
 be short at best, that I urged you to gild the 
 brief period with the light of your love. I 
 would not have bound you always to me ; and 
 when I asked your hand a few minutes since, I 
 knew that death would soon sever tlie tie and 
 set you free. Let this suffice to palliate my 
 'unmanly' pleading. I haye but one rccjuest 
 to make of you now, and, weak as it may seem, 
 I beg of you not to denV me. You are prepar- 
 ing to leave my house; this I know; I see if 
 in your face, and the thought is harrowing to 
 me. Electra, remain under my roof while I 
 live ; let me sec you every day, here, in my 
 house. If not as my wife, stay as my friend, 
 my pupil, my child. I little thought I could 
 ever condescend to ask this of any one ; but 
 the dread of separation bows nic down. Oh, 
 child ! I will not claim you long." 
 
 She stood up before him wilh the portrait 
 in her arms, resolved, then and there, to leave 
 him for ever. But the ghastly pallor of his 
 face, the scarlet thread oozing over his lips 
 and saturating the. handkercliief with which 
 he strove to staunch it, told her that the .re- 
 quest was preferred on no idle pretext. In 
 swift review, his kindness, generosity, and un- 
 wavering affection passed before her, and the 
 mingled accents of rertiorse and compassion 
 ;whispered : " Pay your debt of gratitude by 
 sacrificing your heart. If you can make hiin 
 happy, you owe it to him." 
 
 Without a word she passed him and went 
 up to her own room. It was an hour of sore 
 tcanptation for one so young and inexperienced, 
 but placing the pprtrait on the low mantle, 
 she crossed her arms before it, and tried to lay 
 matters in the scale. On one side, years of de- 
 votion, the circumstances of the artist's life, 
 his mother's infirmity, confining her sometimes 
 to her bed, often to her room, preventing her 
 from nursing him ; the weary season of his te- 
 dious illness, the last hours gloomy and misera- 
 ble, unsoothed by gentle words or tender 
 offices. On the other, stern adherence, uner- 
 ring obedience to the dictates of her heart, the 
 necessary self-abnegation, the patient attend- 
 ance at the couch of prolonged sull'ering, and 
 entire devotion to him. For a time the scales 
 balanced ; she could not conqueV* her repug- 
 nance to rcmainincr in Uis home ; then a grave 
 and its monumental stone were added," and, 
 ■vyith a groan, she dropped her face in her 
 Irands. At the expiration of two hours she 
 locked the portrait from vicM', and went slow- 
 ly back to the studio. The house was very 
 (juiut ; the ticking of the cloek was distiautl^ 
 
62 
 
 MAC ARIA- 
 
 heard as she pushed the door open and glided 
 in. Involuntarily she dr^^vf a lone, deep 
 breath, for it was like leaving freedom at the 
 threshold, and taking upon herself grievous 
 bonds. The arni-eliair was vacant, but the 
 artist lay on one of the sofas, with his face tow- 
 ard the wall, and on a small table beside him 
 stood a crystal bowl of cracked ice, a stained 
 wiue-glass, and vial containing some dark 
 purple liquid. Approaciiing softly, she scan- 
 ned the countenance, and tears gathered in 
 her eyes as she saw how thin and hollow were 
 the now tlushec] cheeks ; how the lips writhed 
 now and then, as if striving to suppress bitter 
 words. The beautiful brown liair was all 
 tossed back, and she noticed that along the 
 forehead clustired many silver threads. One 
 hand was thrust within his vest, the other 
 thrown up over the head, grasping a fresh 
 handkerchief. Softly she took this hand, aiul, 
 bending over him, said, in a low, thrilling 
 tone : 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, I was passionate and hasty, 
 and said some unkind things which I would 
 fain recall, and for which I beg your pardon. 
 I thank you for the honor you would have con- 
 ferred on me, and for the unmerited love you 
 offered me. Unless it were in my power to 
 return that love, it would be sinful to give you 
 my hand ; but, since you desire it so earnestly, 
 I will promise to stay by your side, to do what 
 I can to make you happy ; to prove, by my de- 
 votion, that I am not insensible to all your 
 kindness, that I am very grateful for the affec- 
 tion you have given me. i come and oiler 
 you this, as a poor return for all that I owe 
 you ; it is the most my conscience will permit 
 me to tender. My friend, my master, will you 
 accept it, and forgive the pain and sorrow I 
 have caused you ?" 
 
 He felt her tears falling on his fingers, and," 
 for a moment, neither spoke ; then he drew 
 the hands to his lips and kissed them tenderl}-. 
 
 " Thanjc you, Electra. I know it is a sac- 
 rifice on your part, but I am selfish enough to 
 accept it. Heaven bless you, my pupil." 
 
 " In future we will not allude to this day of 
 trial — let it be forgotten ; ' let the dead ])ast 
 bury its dead.' I will have no resurrected 
 phantoms. And now, sir, you must not allow 
 this slight hemorrhage to depress you. In a 
 few days you will be stronger, quite able to 
 examine and find fault with my work. Shall 
 I send a note to Dr. LeRoy, asking him to call 
 and see you this evening ?" 
 
 " He has just left me. Say nothing of the 
 hemorrhage to mother ; it would only distress 
 Eer." 
 
 He released her hands, and, stooping over liis 
 pillow, she smoothed the disordered hair, and 
 for the first time pressed her lips to his forehead. 
 
 Thus she bowed her neck to the yoke, and, 
 with a fi.xed, unalterable will, entered on the 
 long, dreary ministry to which she felt that 
 duty called. 
 
 We shade our eyes, and peer into the dim 
 unknown, striving to see whither we are tend- 
 inir, and a sudden turn in the way, a sharp 
 angle, brings us face to face with huge, frown- 
 ing obstacles, that grimly bar all progress in 
 the direction to which our inclinations point. 
 Strange devious paths stretch out at our feet, 
 baffling all our ^ise conjectures, setting at de- 
 fiance all our ])lans and prudential machina- 
 tions. From breath to breath, from step to 
 step, from hour to hour, is man's sole empire. 
 " Boast not thyself of to-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII.' 
 
 " Cities give not the human senses room 
 enough," says a latter-day seer, and Electra 
 Grey sometimes felt that her heart and soul 
 were in the stocks, or ironed down to a stake, 
 leaving only a periphery of a few feet. Brick 
 walls and paving-stones uttered no kindly 
 message; hurrying foot-passengers and crowcl- 
 :ed omnibuses told of the din and strife of life, 
 but whispered no word of cheer, no lesson of 
 uncomplaining fortitude, no exhortation to be 
 strong and patient. She saw colossal selfish- 
 ness crushing along its .Tuggernautic way ; 
 wealth jostled poverty into the gutter, and 
 beauty picked a dainty crossing to give a wide 
 berth to deformity; hard, stern, granite-like 
 faces passed her Avindow day by day; princely 
 equipages, with haughty, supercilious occu- 
 pants, rolled -along the street, and bridal trains 
 anfcl funeral processions mingled in their wind- 
 ings. If man be, indeed, a " microcosm," to 
 what shall I liken that great city wherein 
 dwelt the painter and his pupil ? Isis, the 
 great nursing-mother — genial Nature, teeming 
 with soothing influences, and missals of joy 
 and strength, seeme'd sepulchred — and in her 
 place, a ilint-featured, miserly, and most in- 
 tolerable step-mother, frowned upon the luck- 
 less young artist. City life! City starvation, 
 rather, she found it, until a long and painful 
 apprenticeship taught her the priceless alche- 
 my whereby smiling Plenty beamed upon her. 
 Reared on the outskirts of a country-town, she 
 longed for the freedom and solitude of the old 
 pine-woods at home,, and sickened at the 
 thought of spending her life within walls of 
 brick and mortar. She had selected an attic 
 room, with dormer windows looking eastward, 
 and here she daily watched the pale gray 
 dawn struggle with the vapors and shadows of 
 night. " Quiet fields of crimson cirri," fieecy 
 massijs of restless, glittering cumuli, or the 
 sweep and rush of " inky-fringed," lowering 
 rain-clouds, alike charmed her. Long before 
 the servants stirred below she was seated at 
 the window, noting the waning shimmer of 
 the Morning-Star as the waves of light rolled 
 up and crested the horizon, whitening the 
 deep dark blue with their sparkhng spray 
 
MA 3 ARIA. 
 
 63 
 
 The peculiarities of each sunrise and sunset 
 ■were jotted down assiduously ; 
 
 " Clond-wnlls of the morning's grey 
 Faced with amber column, 
 Crowned with crimson cupola 
 From a sunset solemn." 
 
 were sketched with great care, and put aside 
 for future use ; and it rarely happened that, on 
 a dull, rainy mornino-, she came down to break- 
 fast looking other than moody and disappoint- 
 ed, as though her rights liad been infringed, 
 her privileges curtailed. Constituted with 
 kteen susco])tibility to impressions of beauty or 
 sublimity, whether physical, moral, or intellec- 
 tual, Nature intended her as a thing for sun- 
 shine and holidays, as a darling to be petted ; 
 but Fate shook her head," and, with a grimace, 
 set the tender young soul on a bleak exposure, 
 to be hardened and invigorated. 
 
 With the characteristic fitfulness of con- 
 siunption, Mr. Clifton rallied, and, for a time, 
 seemed almost restored ; but at the approach 
 of winter the cough increased, and dangerous 
 symptoms returned. Several months alter the 
 rejection of his suit, to which no allusion had 
 ever been made, Electra sat li^ifore her easel, 
 absorbed in work, while the master slowly 
 walked up and down the studio, wrapped in a 
 warm plaid shawl. Occasionally he paused 
 and looked over her shoulder, then resumed 
 his pace, olforing no comment. It was not an 
 unusual occurrence for them to pass entire 
 mornings together without exchanging a word, 
 and to-day the silence had lasted more than 
 an hour. A prolonged fit of coughing finally 
 arrested her attention, and, glancing up, she 
 met his sad gaze. 
 
 " TJiis is unpropitious weather for vou, Mr. 
 CHfton." 
 
 " Yes, this winter offers a dreary prospect." 
 
 "There is the Doctor now, passing the win- 
 dow. I will come back as soon as his visit is 
 over." Slie rose hastily to quit the room, but. 
 he detained her. 
 
 " Do not go — I wish j'ou to remain, and fin- 
 ish your work." 
 
 Dr. Le Hoy entered, and, after (juestioning 
 his patient, stood on the rug, warming his 
 fingers. 
 
 " The fact is, my dear fellow, this is not the 
 place Ibr you. I sent you south four years 
 ago nearly, and saved vour life ; and, as I told 
 you last week, you wilfhave to take that same 
 prescription again. It is folly to talk of spend- 
 ing the winter here. I can do nothing for 
 you. You must go to Cuba, or to Italy. It is 
 of no us(^ to try to deceive you, Harry ; you 
 know, jasfas well as I do, that your case is get- 
 ting xlesperate, and change of climate is your 
 last hope. ' I have told you all tliis before." i 
 
 Electra laid down her pallette, and listened -, 
 for the answer. i 
 
 " I am sorrv you think so, but I can't leave | 
 New York. ' " ! 
 
 " Why not ?" I 
 
 " For various good reasons." 
 
 " My dear fellow, is your life of any value ?" 
 
 " A strange question, truly." 
 
 " If it is, quit Ncav York in thirty-six hours ; 
 if not, remain, ' for vai'ious good reasons.' Send 
 to my ollice for an anodyne. Better take my 
 advice. Good-day." 
 
 Passing by the easel, he whispered: 
 . " Use your influence ; send him south.' 
 And then the two were again alone. 
 
 Resting her chin in her hands she raised 
 her eyes, and said : 
 
 " Whv do you not follow the Doctor's ad- 
 vice V A winter south might restore you." 
 
 He drew near, and, leaning his folded arms 
 on the top of the easel, looked down into her. 
 face. 
 
 " There is only one condition upon which I 
 could consent to go ; that is in your hands. 
 Will you accompany me V" 
 
 lShe understood it all in an instant, saw the 
 new form in which the trial presented itself, 
 and her soul sickened. 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, if I were your sister, or your 
 child, I would gladly go ; but, as your pupil, I 
 can not." 
 
 " As Electra Grey, certainly not; but, as 
 Electra Clifton, you could go." 
 
 " Electra Grey will be carved on my tomb- 
 stone." 
 
 " Then you decide my fate. I remain, and 
 wait the slow approach of death." 
 
 "No, before just Heaven ! I take no such 
 responsibility, nor shall you thrust it on me. 
 Y''ou are a man, and must decide your destiny 
 for yourself; I am a poor girl, having no claim 
 upon, no power over you. It is your duty to 
 preserve the life which God gave you, in the 
 way prescribed by your^physician, and I have 
 no voice in the matter. It is your duty to go 
 south, and it will be both weak and wicked to 
 •remain ht're under existing circumstances." 
 
 " My life is centred in you ; it is worthless, 
 nay, a burden, separated from you." 
 
 " Y^our life should be centred in something 
 nobler, better ; in your duty, in your profes- 
 sion. It is suicidal to fold your hands listless- 
 ly, and look to me, as you do." 
 
 " All these things have I tried, and I am 
 weary of their hoUowncss, weary of life, and 
 the world. So long as I have your face here, 
 I care not to cross my own threshold till ftiend- 
 ly hands bear me out to my quiet resting 
 place under the willows of Greenwood. 
 Electra, my darling, think me weak if you 
 will, but bear with me a little while longer, 
 and then this, my shadow, shall flit from your 
 young heart, leaving not even a memory to 
 haunt you. Be patient ! I will soon pass away, 
 to another, a more peaceful, blessed sphere." 
 
 A melancholy smile lighted his fair waxen 
 features, as waning, Rickly sunshine in an au- 
 tumn evening flickers over sculptured marble 
 in a .silent church-yard. 
 
 How she compassionated his great weak- 
 
64 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 nesa, as he wiped away the moisture which, 
 even on thut cold day, glistened on his fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Oh ! I beseech yon to go to Cuba. Go, 
 and pet strong once more." 
 
 " Nothing will ever help me now. Sunny 
 skies and soft. breezes bring no healing for 
 me. I want to die here, in my home, where 
 your hands will be about me ; not among 
 strangers, in Cuba or Italy." 
 
 lie turned to the fire, and, springing up, she 
 left the room. The solemn silence of the 
 house oppressed her ; she put on her^hickest 
 wrappings, and took the street leading to the 
 nearest park. A steel-gray sky, with slowly- 
 trailing clouds, looked down on her, and the 
 keen, chilly wind wafted a fine snow-powder 
 in her face as ."ihe pressed against it. The 
 trees were bare, and, the sere grass grew hoary 
 as the' first snow-flakes of the season came 
 down softly and shroud-like. The walks were 
 deserted, save where a hurrying form crossed 
 from street to street, homeward-bound ; and 
 Electra passed slowly along, absorbed in 
 thoughts colder than the frosting that gath- 
 ered on shawl and bonnet. The face and fig- 
 ure of the painter glided spectrally before her 
 ■at every step, and a mighty temptation follow- 
 ed at its heels. AVhy not strangle her heart ? 
 "Why not m^rry him and bear his name, if, 
 thereby, she could make his few remaining 
 months of existence happy, and, by accompa- 
 nying him south, prolong his life even for a 
 few weeks ? She shuddered at the sugges- 
 tion, it would be such a miserable lot. 'But 
 then the question arose : " Who told you that 
 your life was given for happiness ? Do you 
 imagine your Maker set you on earth solely 
 to hunt your own enjoyment ? Suppose duty 
 costs you pain and struggles ; is it any the loss 
 duty ? Nay, is it not all the more urgent 
 duty '!" She knew that she could return to 
 the artist, and, with one brief sentence, pour 
 the chrism of joy over his suffering soul ; and her 
 great compassion, mild-eyed, soft-lipped, ten- 
 der-hearted, whi.spered : Why not? why not ? 
 
 " Nature owns no man who is- not a martyr 
 withal." If this dictum possessed any value, 
 did it not point to her mission ? She could 
 no longer shut her eyes and stumble on, for 
 right in her patli stood an awful form, with 
 austere lip and iiery eye, demanding a parley, 
 defying all escape ; and, calmly, she stood face 
 to face with her Sphinx, considering her rid- 
 dle. A young, motherless girl, without the 
 girding of a holy religion, a free, untamed soul, 
 yielding allegiance to no creed, hearkening 
 only to the dictates of her tempestuous nature, 
 now confronting the riiost ancient immemorial 
 Destroyer who haunts the highways of society 
 Self-immolation, or a poisoning of the spring 
 of joy in the heart of a fellow-creature ? Was 
 duty a Moloch, clasping its scorching arms 
 around its deyotees V — a Juggernaut, indeed, 
 whose iron wheels drank the life-blood of its 
 
 victims ? "Will you see your btnefactor sink 
 swiftly into an early grave, and, standing by 
 with folded arms, pecsuade yourself that it is 
 not your duty to attempt to save him, at all 
 hazards? Can nothing less than love ever 
 sanction marriage ?" Such was the riddle 
 hurled before her, and, as she pondered, the 
 floodgates of her sorrow and jealousy were 
 once more lifted — the rush and roar of bitter 
 waters drowned, for a time, the accents of con- 
 science and of reason. 
 
 But out of these fierce asphaltic waves arose, 
 Aphrodite-like, a pure, radiant, heavenly 
 form — a child of alf climes, conditions, and ages 
 — an immortal evangel ; and, as the piercing, 
 sunny eyes of womanly intuition looked upon 
 the riddle, the stony lineaments of the Sphinx 
 melted into air. If •v^omanly eyes rest on this 
 page the answer need not be traced her«, 
 Jbr in every true woman's heart the answer 
 is to be found engraved in God's own charac- 
 ters ; and, hpwever the rubbish of ignoble mo- 
 tives may accumulate, it can never obliterate 
 the divine handwriting. In the holiest orato- 
 ry of her nature is enshrined an infallible 
 talisman, an segis, and she requires no other 
 panoply in the long struggle incident (^ trials 
 such as shook the stormy soul of the young ar- 
 tist. Faster fell the snow-flakes, cresting the 
 Avaves of hair like foam, and, setting her teeth 
 firmly, as if thereby locking the door against 
 all compassionating compunctions, Electra left 
 the park and turned into a c;ro3S-street, on 
 which was situated an establishment where 
 bouquets were kept for sale. The assortment 
 was meagre at that late hour, but she selected 
 a' tiny bunch of delicate, fragrant, hot-house 
 blossoms, and, shielding them with her shawl, 
 hastened home. The studio was brilliant with 
 gas-glare and warm with the breath of anthra- 
 cite, but an aspect of dreariness, silence, and 
 sorrow predominated. The figures in the 
 pictures shrank back in their frames, the stat- 
 ues gleamed mournfully white and cold, and 
 the emaciated form and face of the painter, 
 thrown into bold relief by the dark green 
 lining of the easy chair, seemed to belong to 
 realms of death rather than life. On the edge 
 of the low scroll-sculptured mantle, supported 
 at each corner by caryatiden, percl^ed a large 
 tame gray owl, with clipped wings folded, 
 and wide, solemn, oracular eyes fastened 
 on the countenance of its beloved master. 
 A bronze clock, of exquisite workmanship, oc- 
 cupied the centre, and represented the Angel 
 of Revelations " sioearing by Him that liveth for 
 evi^r and ever, that Time should h« no longer." 
 One hand held the open book, the other a 
 hammer, which gave out the hours with clear 
 metallic ring; and along the base, just under- 
 neath the silver dial-plate, were carved, in 
 German characters, the words of Richter : 
 " And an immeasurably extended hammer was 
 to strike the last hour of Time, and shiver the 
 universe asunder." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 65 
 
 With swift, noiseless steps Elcctra came to the 
 . red grate, and, after a moment, drew an otto- 
 man close to the easy chair. Perhaps its oc- 
 cupant slept; perchance lie wandered, with 
 closed C3-ei!, far down amon;^ tlie sombre, dank 
 ciypts of memory. She laid her cool fi niters 
 on his hand, and held the bouquet before him. 
 
 " !My dear sir, here are your llowers ; they, 
 are not as pretty as usual, but sweet enough 
 to atone for lack of beauty." 
 
 He lingered them -caressingly, laid them 
 against his hollow cheeks, and hid his lips 
 ^ among their fragrant petals, but the starry 
 eyes were fixed on the features of the pupil. 
 
 *' It is bitter weather out ; did you brave it 
 for these '? Tliank you, but don't expose 
 yourself so in future. Two invalids in a house 
 are quite enough. You are snow-crowneil, 
 little one ; do you kno'w it? The frosting 
 gleams right royally on that black hair, of 
 yours. Nay, child, don't brush it off; like all 
 lovely things it fades rapidly, melts away like 
 ilie dreams that flutter around a boy in the 
 witchery of a long, still, sunny sunmicr day." 
 
 His liiin hand nestled in her shining hair, 
 and she submitted to the touch in silence. 
 
 " My dove soared away from this dreary 
 ark, and bathed her silver wings in the free 
 air of Heaven ; returning but to bring me some 
 grateful memorial, an olive-branch, where- 
 with to deck this gloomy ark of mine. Next 
 time she will soar farther, and find a more 
 tempting perch, and gladden Noah's eyes no 
 more." 
 
 '• If so, it will be because the high and dry 
 laud of God beckons her ; and when the deluge 
 is ended, she will be needed no longer." 
 
 " For, tlien, Elcctra, Noahs haven of rest 
 ■will be the fair still fields of Eternity." 
 
 In tliis semi-metaphorle strain he often in- 
 dulged of late, but she felt little inclination to 
 humor the whim, and, interlacing her slight 
 fingers, she answered, half impatiently : 
 
 " Your simile is all awry, sir. Most unfortu- 
 nately, 1 have nothing dove - like iu my 
 nature." 
 
 " Originally you had, but your character 
 has been warped." 
 
 " By what, or whom ?" 
 
 •' Priniatily, by unhappy extraneous circum- 
 stances, influences if you will, which contribut- 
 ed to a diseased development of two passions, 
 that now preponderate over all other elements 
 of your character." 
 
 " A diagnosis which I will not accept." 
 
 •' A true one, nevertheless, my child." 
 
 " Possibly ; but we will waive a discussion 
 just now. 1 am, and always intend to be, true 
 to the nature which (iod gave me." 
 
 " A dangerous dogma that. Eleetra» how 
 do you know that the ' nature' you fondle and 
 plume yourself upon, emanated from your 
 Maker V" 
 
 " How do you know, sir, that God intended 
 that willows should droo]), and trail their slen- 
 
 der boughs earthward, while poplars, like 
 granite-shafts, shoot up, lifting their silver- 
 shimmering leaflets ever to the clouds ? Who 
 fingered their germs, «and directed their 
 course ?' 
 
 " The analogy will not hold between the 
 vegetable kingdom and the moral and intel- 
 lectual sphe/es. Men and women are not east 
 in particular moulds, bound by iron laws, and 
 
 labelled, like plants or brutes. Genus , 
 
 Species . Moreover, to man alone w<is 
 
 given free agency, even to the extent of 
 uprooting, crushing entirely the original im- 
 pulses implanted by God in the human heart 
 to let as motive power. I have known peo[ite 
 insane enough to pluck out the wheat,, and 
 culture, into rank luxuriance, the tares in 
 their nature. '^ Child, do you ever look ahead 
 to the coming harvest-time '.'" 
 
 " If I do, it contents me to know that each 
 soul binds up its own sheaves." 
 
 " No; angels are reapers, and make up the 
 account fjr the Lord of the harvest." 
 
 " I don't believe that. No third party has 
 any vo.ice in that last, long n-ckoning. God 
 and the creature Ofily see the balance-sheet." 
 
 She rose, and, leaning against the mantle, 
 put out her hand to caress tiie solemn-eyexl 
 solitary pet of the studio. How he came to be 
 tke solace and companion of the artist she had 
 never been told, but knew that a strange fel- 
 lowship linked the gray old favorite with the 
 master, and wondered at the almost human 
 vxpression witii which it sometimes looked 
 from its lofty pedestal upon the languid 
 movements of the painter. " Muniu" was 
 the name he ever recognized and answered 
 to, and, when she one day repeated it to her- 
 self, puzzling over its significance, Air. Clifton 
 told her that it meant "memory," in Scandina- 
 vian lore, and belonged to one of the favorite 
 birds of Odin. It was one of his many strange 
 whims, fostered by life-long researches among 
 the mythologies of the Old World; andElectra 
 struggled to overcome the undefinable ixcnsa- 
 tion of awe and repulsion which crept over 
 her whenever she met that fascinating stare 
 fixed upon her. As little love had the bird for 
 her, and, though occasionally itsettled upon the 
 cross-beam of her easel, and watched the slow 
 motion of her brush, they seemed to shrink 
 from each other. Now, as her soft hand 
 touched liis feathers, they rumpled, bristled, 
 and he flitted to the artist's knee, uttering a 
 hoarse, prolonged, most melancholy note, as 
 the master caressed him. 
 
 " Why are not you and Muniu better 
 friends ':"' 
 
 " Because I am not wise enough, or evil-bod- 
 ing in appearance, or sufhciently owIit;b to 
 suit him, I sujipose. He chills my blood some- 
 times, when I come here, in twilight, before 
 the gas is lighted. I would ^Imost as soon 
 confront Medusa." 
 
 Shu took from the curious oval mosaic table 
 
66 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 a new book containing her mark, and reseaXed 
 herst^lf. As she did so, Munin flapped his 
 dasky wings and disappeared through the door 
 opening into the hall, and, shading her face 
 ■with one hand, she read aloud a passage 
 heavily underlined by a pencil. 
 
 '' ' But this poor, miserable Me ! Is thh, then, 
 all the book I have got to read about (iod in ?' 
 Yes, truly so. No other book, nor fragment 
 of book, than that will you ever find — no vel- 
 vet-bound missal, nor frankincensed manu- 
 script : tjolln'ng hieroglyphic nor cuneiform ; 
 papyrus and pyramid are alike .-ilent on this 
 matter ; nothing in the clouds above, nor in the 
 earth beneath. That llesh-bound volume is the 
 only revelation that is, that was, or tliat can 
 ne. In that is the image of God painted ; in 
 that is the law of (Jod written ; in that is the 
 promise of God revealed. Know thyself; lor 
 through thyself only thou canst know God. 
 Through the glass darkly ; but, excej)t through 
 the glass, in no wise. A tremulous crystal, 
 waved as water, poured out upon the ground ; 
 you may defile it, despise it, pollute it at yonr 
 pleasure, and at your peril: for on the peace 
 of those weak waves must all the heaven you 
 Khali ever gain be first seen, and througji such 
 purity as you can win for those dark waves 
 must all the light of the risen Sun of Bri<:;ht- 
 ruess be bent down by faint refraction. Cleanse 
 them, and calm them, as you love your life." 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, this epitomizes my creed. 
 There is nothing new in it ; I grant you it is old 
 as the Delphian inscription. Two thousand 
 years ago .Socrates preached it in the Agora 
 at .\thens. Now it shakes off its Greek appa- 
 rel, and comes to tiiis generation encumbered 
 in loosely-fitting English garments — immemo- 
 rial Truth peering through modern masks." 
 
 lie regarded her with an expression of" sor- 
 rowful tenderness, and his hand trembled as he 
 placed it upon her head. 
 
 " This darling creed, this infallible egotism 
 of yours, will fail you in the day of fierce trial. 
 Pagai^ that you are, I know not what is to 
 bceoiii3 of you. Oh, Electra ! if you would 
 only be warned ia time." 
 
 The warmth of the room had vermilioned 
 her chcek.s, and the long black lashes failed to 
 veil in any degree the flash of the eyes she 
 raised to his face. Removing the hand from 
 her head, she took it in both hers, and a cold, 
 dauntless smile wreathed her lips. 
 
 "Be easy on my account. 1 am not afi-aid 
 of my future. Why sliould I be? (jod built 
 an arsenal in every soul belbre he launched it 
 on the stormy sea of Time, and the key to mine 
 is Will! I am young and healthy ; the rich 
 purple blood bubbles through my veins like 
 Chian wine ; and, with my heritage of poverty 
 and obscurity, I look fortune's favorites in the 
 eye, and dare them to retard or crush mo. A 
 vast caravan of mighty souls, ' Whose distant 
 footsteps echo down the corridors of Time,' 
 have gone before me ; and step by step I tramp 
 
 ' after. What woman has done, woman may 
 do; a glorious sisterhood of artists heckou 
 I me on ; what Elizabeth Cheron, Sibylla Me- 
 I rian, Angelica Kauffman, Elizabeth Le Brun, 
 j Felicie Fauveau, and Rosa Bonheur have 
 j achieved, I also will accomplish, or die in the 
 j effort. These travelled no royal road to im- 
 ' mortality, but rugged, thorny paths ; and who 
 shall stay my feet V Afar olf gleams my rcst- 
 ' ing place, but ambition scourges me unflag- 
 ; gingly on. Do not worry about my future ; I 
 i will take care of it, and of m^-selt'.'' 
 j " And when, after years of toil, you win 
 fame, even fame enough to" satisfy your large 
 I expectations, what tiieu ? Whither will you 
 I look for happiness ?" 
 
 '' I will grapple fame to my empty heart, 
 j a-s women do other idols." 
 
 " It will freeze you, my dear child. Re- 
 I member the mournful verdict which Dante 
 ! gave the world through the lips of Oderigi : 
 
 j .... . . " Cimahue tliouglit 
 
 I To loiil it over painting's field; niul now j 
 
 The cry is Giotto's, and liis name enlipsed. 
 Thus liath oiicOuido from tlio othor bnatc^hed 
 The lettered i)rl7.e: an<i he, perhiipg, ia born, 
 Who shall drive either from tlieir nest. Tlie noise 
 Of wordly fame is but a blast of wind, 
 That blows n-om divers points and shifts its name, 
 ijhifting the point it blows from." 
 
 " And, Electra, that chill blast will wail 
 throuch your lonely heart, chanting a requiem 
 over the trampled, dead hopes that might have 
 garlanded your life. Be warned, oh I daugh- 
 ter of Agamemnon ! 
 
 " Tlie earth hath bubbles as the water hath, 
 And this is of them.' " 
 
 " At all events, I will risk it. Thank God ! 
 whatever other faults I confess to, there is no 
 taint of cowardice in my soul." 
 
 She rose, and stood a moment on . the rug, 
 looking into the red net-work of coals, then 
 turned to leave him, saying : 
 
 " I nmst go to your mother now, and pres- 
 ently 1 will bring your tea." 
 
 " You need not trouble. I can go to the 
 dining-room to-night." 
 
 " It is no trouble ; it gives mc great pleasure 
 to do something for your comfort ; and I know 
 you always enjoy your supper more when 
 you have it here." 
 
 As she closed the door, he pressed his face 
 against the morocco lining and groaned un- 
 consciously, and large glittering tears, creep- 
 ing from beneath the treml)ling lashes, hid 
 themselves in the curling brown beard. 
 
 To see that Mrs. Clifton's supper suited her, 
 and then to read aloud to her lor half an hour 
 from the worn family bible, was part of the 
 daily routine which Electra permitted nothing 
 to interrupt. On this occasion she found the 
 old lady seated, as usual, before the fire, her 
 crutches leaning against the chair, and her 
 fWorite cat curled on the carpet at her feet. 
 I\Iost tenderly did the aged cripple love her 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 G7 
 
 son's proterjp'p., and tbe wrinkled sallow face 
 lighted up with a smile of pleasure at her en- 
 trance. 
 
 *' I thought it was al^out time for you to 
 come to mc. Sit down, dear, and touch the 
 bell for Kate. How is Harry V" 
 
 "No stronger, I am afraid. You know this 
 is very bad weather lor him." 
 
 " Yes ; when he came up to-day I thought 
 ho looked more feeble than I had ever seen 
 him ; and, as I sit here and listen to liis hollow 
 cough, every sound seems a stab at my heart." 
 She rocked herself to and fro for a moment, 
 and "added, mournfully : 
 
 " Ah, child ! it is so hard to see my young- 
 est boy going down to the grave before me. 
 The last of five, I hoped lie would survive me, 
 but consumption is a terrible thing ; it took my 
 husband first, then, in quick sncce.ssion, ray 
 other 'children, and now Harry, my darling, 
 my youngest, is the last prey." - 
 
 Anxious to divert her mind, Electra adroitly 
 changed the conversation, and, when she rose 
 to say good-night, sometime after, had the sat- 
 isfaction of knowing that the old lady iiad 
 fallen asleep. It was in vain that she arranged 
 several tempting dishes on the table beside 
 the painter, and coaxed him to partake of 
 them ; he received but a cup of tea from her 
 hand, and motioned the remainder away. As 
 the servant removed the tray he looked up at 
 his pupil, and said : 
 
 " Please wheel the lounge irearer to the 
 grate; I am too tired to sit up to-night." 
 
 She complied at once, shook up the pillow, 
 and, as he laid his head upon it, she spread 
 his heavy plaid shawl over him. 
 
 " Now, sir, Avhat shall I read this evening '?" 
 
 '■'■Arcana Cwlestia" if you please." 
 
 She took up the volume, and began at the 
 place he designated; and, as she read on and 
 on, her rich Jlexible voice rose and fell upon 
 the air like waves of melody. One of her 
 liands chanced to hang over the arm of the 
 chair, and as .she sat near the lounge, thin 
 hot fingers twined about it, drew it caressingly 
 to the pillow, and held it tightly. Her first 
 impulse was to withdraw it. and an expression 
 of annoyance crossed her features ; but, on 
 second thought, she suffered her fingers to rest 
 passively in his. Now and then, as she turned 
 a leaf, she met his luminous eyes fastened upon 
 iier ; but after a time the quick breathing at- 
 tracted her attention, ami, looking down, she 
 saw tiiat he, too, was sleeping. She closed the 
 book and remained quiet, fearful of disturbing 
 him ; and as she studied the weary, fevered 
 face, noting the march of disease, the sorrow-, 
 ful drooping of the mouth, so indicative of 
 grievous disappointment, a new and holy ten- 
 derness awoke in her heart. It was a feeling 
 analogous to that of a mother for a suffering 
 child, who can be soothed onlj' by her presence 
 and caresses — an afl'ection not unfre^uently 
 kindled in haughty natures by the entire de- 
 
 pendence of a weaker one. Blended with 
 this was a remorseful consciousness of the 
 coldness Avith which she had persistently re- 
 jected, repulsed every manifestation of his 
 devoted love ; and, winding her fingers through 
 his long hair, she vowed an atonement for the 
 past in increased gentleness for the remainder 
 of his waning life. As she bent over hinj, 
 wearing her compas.sion in her face, he opened 
 his eyes and looked at her. 
 
 " How long have I slept?" 
 
 "Nearly an hour. How do you feel since 
 \T)ur nap V" 
 
 He made no reply, and she put her hand on 
 his tbrehead. Tbe countenance lighted, and 
 he said, slowly : 
 
 " Ah! yes, press your cool soft little palm 
 on my brow. It seems to still the throbbing 
 in my temples."' 
 
 " It is late, Mr. Clifton, and I must leave 
 you. William looked in, a few minute* since, 
 to say that the fire burned in your room, but I 
 would not wake you. I will send him to vou. 
 Good- night." 
 
 She leaned down voluntarily and kissed 
 him, and, with a quick movement, lie folded her 
 to his heart an instant, then released her, 
 murmuring, huskily: - 
 
 " God bl(!ss you, Electra, and reward you for 
 your j)atient endurance. (Jood - night, my 
 precious child." • 
 
 She went to her own room, all unconscious 
 of the burst of emotion which shook the feeble 
 frame of the painter, long after she had laid 
 her head on her pillow in the sound slumber 
 of healthful vouth. 
 
 CHAPTER xry. 
 
 The year that ensued proved a valuable 
 school of patience, ami taught the young artist 
 a gentleness of tone and quietude of man- 
 ner at variance with the naiural impetuosity 
 of her character. Irksome beyond degree 
 was the discipline to which she subjected "her- 
 self, but, with a fixedness of purpose that knew 
 no wavering, she walked through the daily 
 dreary routine, keeping her eyes upon tlie end 
 that slowly but unmistakably approached. In 
 mid-summer Mr. Clifton removed, for a few 
 weeks, to the Catskill, and occasionally he 
 rallied for a few hours, with a tenacity of 
 strength almost miraculous. During the still 
 sunny afternoons hosts of gay vi.iitors, sum- 
 mer tourists, ofYen paused in their excursions' 
 to Avatch the emaciated form of the painter 
 leaning on the arm of his beautiful pupil, or 
 reclining on a lichen-carpeted knoll while she 
 sketched the surrounding scenery. Increased 
 feebleness prevented Mrs. Clifton from joinin<^ 
 in these out-door jaunts, and early in Septem- 
 ber, when it became apparent that iier mind 
 was rapidly sinking into imbecility, they re- 
 
68 
 
 MACAIIIA. 
 
 turned to tlic city. Wcmory scemod to have 
 deputed its tlironi.' ; slio knew neither her son 
 nor I'Jeetra, and tlielast j-park of intcllijjencc 
 mani.'osted itself in a senii-recoinition of her 
 favoiie eat, whirli spranjj to welcome her 
 l>ack iiS friendly hands bore lier to the cUara- 
 Imt^Iu- was to (juit no more till death released 
 the crii lii'd spirit. A letter was found on the 
 ntclier iiantle, directed to Klectra in familiar 
 charact' ■ -, wiiieh slie had not seen for months. 
 Very i\\\'.' tly she put it in her pocket, and in 
 the soiitii ii: of her room broke the seal; found 
 t!iat Ku:-si il had returned durin;: her absence, 
 had spent a morning in the studio looking over 
 her work, and had gone south to establish 
 himself in his native town. Ah ! the grievous, 
 grievous disappointment. A hitter cry rolled 
 iiom her lips, and the hands wrung each other 
 «lespairingly ; but an hour later slie stood be- 
 side the artist, with unrnlUud brow and a 
 serene mouth, that bore nosurlace-token of the 
 Forrow gnawing at her heart. Winter came 
 on earlier than usual, with unwonted severity ; 
 and, week after week, Klectra went continu- 
 ally from one sufferer to another, striving to 
 alleviate pain, and to kindle a stray beam of 
 sunshine in the, darkened mansion. As one 
 living thing in a cliarnei-house she Uitted from 
 room to room, sometimes shrinking trom her 
 own shadow, that glided before her on the 
 ]iolished wall as she went up and down stairs 
 in the dead of night. Unremitted vigil set its 
 pale, infallible signet on her face, but Mr. Clif- 
 ton either could not or would not see tlie pain- 
 ful alteration in her aj)pearancc ; and when 
 Mrs. Young remonstrated witii her niece upon 
 the ruinous eflects of this tcilious confineu>ent 
 to the house, she only answered, steadily : '" I 
 will nurse him so long as I have strength left 
 to creep from one room to another." 
 
 During Christmas week he grew alarmingly 
 worse, ami Dr. Leltoy counted the waning lite 
 by hours; but on New Year's eve he declared 
 himself aluiost well, and insisted on being 
 carried to the studio. Tlie whim was humor- 
 ed, and, wrapped in his silken rube de chaiubrc, 
 he was sealed in his large cushioned chair, 
 smiling to find himself once moie in the midst 
 of his treasures. Tuining back the velvet 
 cufl' from his attenuated wrist, he lifted his 
 Hushed face toward the nurse, and said, eager- 
 ly: "Uncover my easel; make \\'iUiam draw 
 it close to me; 1 have been idle long enough. 
 Give me my palette;! want to retouch the 
 forehead of my hero. It needs a high light." 
 
 " You are not stroni; enoujih to work. Wait 
 till to-morrow. 
 
 " To-morrow ! to-morrow ! You have told 
 me that fifty times. Wheel up the easel, I 
 say. The spell is upon me, and work 1 will." 
 
 It-was the 'ruling passion strong in death,' 
 and Eleetra acquiesced, arranging the colors 
 on the palette as he directed, and select- 
 ing the brushes he required. Keating his feet 
 upon the cross-beam, he leaned forward and 
 
 gazed earnestly upon his master-picee, th« 
 darling design which had haunted his brain 
 for yeans. '-Theta" he called this piece of 
 canvas, which was a large square painting 
 representing, in the foreground, the death of 
 So-rates. Around the reclining form of the 
 philosopher clustered Apollodorus, Cebcs, 
 .Simmias, and Crito. and through the window 
 of the prison came the last slanting, quiver- 
 ing ray of the setting sun, showing the street 
 beyond, whrre, against the stom* wall, near a 
 gleaming guardian Hermes, huddled a moutn- 
 lu! group — Xantippeand her weej)i;ig children. 
 The details of the piiture were finished witli 
 pre-li;iphaelite precision and minuteness — the 
 sweep and folds of drapery about the couch, 
 the emptied hemlock cup — but the central 
 figure of the Martyr lacked something, and to 
 ihesc last touches Mr. Clifton ess:\yed to ad- 
 dress himselt'.v Slowly, feebly, the transparent 
 hand wandered over the canvas, and Klectra 
 heard with alarm the labored breath that 
 came panting from his parted lips. She saw 
 the unnatural sparkle in his sunken eyes 
 almost die out, the:i leap up again, like smould- 
 ering embers swept by a sudden gust, and, in 
 the clear strong voice of other years, he re- 
 peated to himself the \ktTy words of IMato'u 
 I'hffido : "Fori have heard that it is right to 
 die with good omens, lie (juiet, therefore, and 
 bear up." 
 
 Leaning back to note the cfFect of his 
 touches, a shiver ran through his frame, the 
 brush fell from his tremulous fingers, and he 
 lay motionless and exhausted. 
 
 Klectra threw up the sash, that the wintry 
 air migiit revive him ; and as the red glare of 
 declining day streame(,l down from the sky- 
 light upon the group, she looked from thc'eq.sy 
 eliair to the canvas, and mutely (juestioned : 
 " Which is most thanatoid — painter or paint- 
 ed V" 
 
 Folding his hands like a helpless, tired child, 
 he raised his eyes to hers and said, brokenly: 
 
 "1 be(jueath it to you; finish my work. 
 You uiulerstand me — you know what is lack- 
 ing; finish my ♦ Theta,' and tell the world 1 died 
 at work upon it. Oh ! for a fraction of my old 
 strength ! One hour more to complete my So- 
 crates ! Just one hour 1 1 would ask no more." 
 
 She tried to persuade him to return to hiii 
 own room, but he obalinately refused, and 
 when she insisted, he answered, pleadingly : 
 '• No, no ; let me stay here. Do let me bo quiet 
 here. I hate that gloomy, tomb-like room." 
 
 She gave him a powerful cordial which the 
 physician had left, and having arranged the 
 l^illows on the lounge, drew it close to th« 
 easel, and prevailed on him to lie down. 
 
 A servant was desj)atched for Dr. Le lloj, 
 but returned to say that a dangerous case de- 
 tained him elsewhere. 
 
 " Mr. Clifton, would you like to have your 
 mother brought down stairs and placed besido 
 you for a while ?" 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 69 
 
 " No ; I want nobody but you. Sit down 
 here close to me, and koep quiet." 
 
 She lowered t'le lieavy curtains, shaded the 
 gas-globe, and, ph-icing a bunch of sweet violets 
 on his pillow, sat down at liia side. His favor- 
 ite sjjaniel nestled at lier feet, and occasion- 
 ally threw uj) liis head and gazed wistfully at 
 his master. Thns two hours passed, and as 
 ithe rose to administer the medicine he waved 
 it off, saying: 
 
 , " Give me no more of it. I won't be drug- 
 jffed in my last hours. I won't have my intel- 
 lect clouded by opiates. Throw it into the 
 fire, and let me rest." 
 
 " Oil, sir! can I do nothing for you ?" 
 ^"Yes; read to me. Your voice lulls me. 
 Kead me that letter of lambtichus to Agatho- 
 des, which I marked last summer." 
 
 She read it, and, without questioning, laid 
 *he book aside and took up a volume of Jacob 
 Behnien, of which he was very fond, selecting, 
 here and there, passages designated by pencil 
 marks, lie had long revelled among the echo- 
 iess abysses of dim, medieval mystical lore, and, 
 strange as it may appear, the quaint old books 
 preserved their epell and riveted the wander- 
 ing mind, even on the verge of dissolution. 
 8he knew that CorneHus- Acrippa, Theo- 
 phrastus Paracelsus, anrl Swedenborg held" 
 singular mastery over him; but she shrank 
 from all these now, as though they had been 
 bound in flames, and a yearning to comfort 
 him from the sacred lips'of Jewish prophets 
 and apostles took possession of her. Passages 
 ^•liich she had read to her blind aunt came 
 back to her now, ringing trump(;t-toned in her 
 ^i;s, and she rose to bring a bible from Mrs. 
 <^itton's room. 
 
 \V 
 
 iiere are vou jroinj ?' 
 
 " To your mother's room, for a moment 
 onily.^ I want a book which I left there." 
 
 "Sit still. Do not leave me, I beg of you." 
 He drew her -back to the seat, and after a 
 •hort silence said, slowly : 
 
 " Klectj:a, are you afraid of death 7" 
 
 ** No, sir." 
 
 •♦ Do you know that T am dying ?" 
 
 **! have .seen you as ill several times be- 
 fcre." 
 
 " You are a brave, strong-hearted child ; 
 
 fef^azed eyes and stiffened limbs will not 
 righten you. I have but few hours to live ; 
 put your hand in mine, and promise me that 
 you will sit here till my soul quits its clay 
 jrison. Will you watch with me the deatii of 
 he year V Are you afraid to stay with me, 
 Mid 8ee me iVw V" 
 
 She would not trust herself to speak', but 
 aid her hand in his and clasped it firmly. He 
 ^iled, and added : 
 
 "Will you promise to call no one ? I want 
 10 eyes but yours to watch me as I die. J.,et 
 here be only you and me." 
 
 " I pronii.se." 
 I For Bomc moments he laj motionlcs«, but 
 
 the intensity of his gaze made her restless, 
 and she shaded her fiice. 
 
 " Electra, my davliug, your martyrdom 
 draws to a close. I have been merciless in my 
 exactions, I know ; you are worn to a shadow, 
 anil your face is sharp and haggard ; but you 
 will forgive me all, when the willows of Green- 
 w^ood trail their boughs across my head-stone. 
 You have been faithful and uncomplainin"'; 
 you have been to me a light, a joy, and'^a 
 glory ! God bless you, my pupil, 'i'here waa 
 a time when, looking "at the future that 
 stretched before you, rshuddere,d on your ac- 
 count. Since then I have learned to know 
 you better ; I feel assured your nature will be 
 equal to its trials. You can conquer difficul- 
 ties, and, better still, you can work and live 
 alone ; you can conquer your own heart. I 
 am passing to a higher, purer, happier sphere; 
 but my spirit will hover constantjy around 
 you here, in the midst of your work, overlook- 
 ing you continually, as in the days that have 
 gone by. I have one request to make of 
 you, and unliesitatingly I make it: remain in 
 this house, and watch over my poor mother's 
 last hours as you watched over and cheered 
 mine. It is a heavy burden to lay upon you ; 
 but you have patiently borne as heavy, and I 
 have no fear that you will desert her when 
 the last of her sons sleep under marble. She 
 ^yill never know that I have gone before her 
 till we meet in another world. In my vest- 
 pocket is the key of my writing-desk. "There 
 you will find my will ; take charge of it, and 
 put it in Le Roy's hands as soon as possible. 
 Give me some water." 
 
 She held the glass to his lips, and, as he sank 
 back, a bright smile phiyed over his face. 
 
 " Ah, child ! it is such a comfort to have you 
 here — you are so inexpressibly dear to me." 
 
 She took his thin hands in hers, and hot 
 tears fell upon them. An intolerable weight 
 crushed her heart, a half- defined, horribly 
 dread, and she asked, falteringly: 
 
 " Are you willing to die ? Is your soul at 
 peace with God ? Have you any fear of Eter- 
 nity ?" 
 
 *' None, my child, none." 
 " Would you like to have Mr. Bailey come 
 and pray tor you ?" 
 
 " 1 want no one now but you." 
 A long silence ensued, broken only by the 
 heavily drawn breath of the sufferer. The 
 memory of her aunt's trancjuil death haunte<l 
 the girl, and, finally, the desire to direct hi.< 
 thoughts to God triumphcil over every other 
 feeling. She sank on her knees beside the 
 lounge, and a passionate^ prayer leaped from 
 her pale lips. She had not prayed for nearly 
 four years, and the petition went up to Go«l 
 framed in strange, incoherent language — a 
 plaintive cry to the Father to release, painless- 
 ly, a struggling human soul. His fingers (dun(» 
 spasmodically to hers, and soon after the hea<i 
 i sank on his chest, and she saw that he slept. 
 
70 
 
 MACAKIA. 
 
 The plitterlnpr cortene of const<'lIations mov- 
 ' 1 solemnly on in their c-t<Tnal march through 
 the fields of heaven, aii<l in mi<l-5ky hunjj a 
 moon of almost Fup rnatural brijrlitness, glar- 
 ing down t! -ky-li;iht like an inquis- 
 itorial eye. . ..- elapsed ; the measured 
 melancholy li;.k ol the clock marked the ex- 
 piring moments of the old year; the red coals 
 of the L'rate put on their rohe of ashes; the 
 ga.«-li;.'ht burned dimly, and flickered now and 
 then as the wind surged through the partially 
 opened window; and there by the couch sat 
 the moti(»nIess watcher, noting tlie. indescriba- 
 ble but unmistakable change cree[)ing on, lik(> 
 thesiiadow which slowly-sailing .summer clouds 
 cast down njxjn green meadows or Howery 
 hill-sides, darkening the landscape. The fee- 
 ble, thread-like puls<> fluttered irregularly, but 
 the breathing became easy and low as a babe's, 
 and occajionally a gentle sigh heaved the 
 chest. Once his lips had moved, and she 
 caught the intlistinct words — "Discreet de- 
 
 gr^'es." , "influx ," " type-crea- 
 
 . ture," S!i(t knew that the end was at hand, 
 and a strained, frightened expression came 
 into her large eyes as she glanced nervously 
 round the room, weird and awful in its gloomy 
 surroundings. The damp masses of hair dung 
 to her temples, and she felt heavy drops gath- 
 ering on her forehead, as in that glam-e she 
 met the solemn fascinating eyes of Munin 
 staring at her from the low mantle. She 
 caught her breath, and the deep silence was 
 broken by the mctallictongue that dirged out 
 " twelve." The last stroke of the bronze 
 hammer echoed drearily ; the ohl year lay stark 
 and cold on its bier; ^lunin flapped his dusky 
 wings with a long, sejJuUrhral, blood-iurdlini^ 
 hool, and the tlying man opened his ilim, fail- 
 ing eyes, and fixed them for the last time on 
 his pupil. 
 
 " Electra, my darling." ' 
 
 " My dear master, I am here." 
 
 She lilted his head to her bosom, nestled her 
 fingeis into his cohl palm, and leaned her 
 cheek against his brow. Pressing his fin-e 
 close to hers, the gray eyes closed, and a smile 
 throned 'itself on the parted lips. A slight 
 tremor shook the limbs, a soil shuddering 
 breath swept across the, watcher's face, aiul 
 the " golden-bowl " was shivered, the " silver 
 cord " was loosed. 
 
 She sat there till the iciness of the rigid 
 (form chilled her, then laid the head tenderly 
 down on its pillow, and walked to the manlle- 
 piece. The Angel of Time lifted the hammer 
 and struck " one ; ' and as she glanced acci- 
 dentally at the in.'<cription on the base, she 
 remembered a favorite quotation which it had 
 oflcn called from the cold lips of the dead 
 » paint4;r : ' . ^ 
 
 " Time \t my fair scpj-flold, of Time I 'm lie ir." 
 
 The seed-time had ended ; the calm fields of 
 eternity stretched before hiai now ; the fruits 
 
 of the harvfst were required at his hand.'i. 
 
 Were they full of ripe golden sheaves, or . 
 
 She shrank from her own questioning, atKl 
 looked over her shoulder at the dreamier, 
 smiling sleeper. 
 
 "It; 
 
 T 
 
 1m. 
 
 ITie vigil .was over, tlic burden was lifted 
 from her shouldrrs, the w«'ary ministry here 
 endeil ; and, shrouding her face in her acuis, 
 the louely woman wept bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Four years had wrought material changes 
 
 in the town of W ; new streets had been 
 
 opened, new buildings erected, new forms tnxl 
 the side-v/alks, newVaces looked out of shop- 
 windows and flashing equipages, and new 
 shafts of granite ami marble stood in the cem(>- 
 tery to tell of many who had been gatherefl to 
 their forefathers. The old red school-houi»e, 
 where two generations had been tutored, was 
 swept away to make, place for a railroad de- 
 pot ; and, instead of the venerable trees that 
 once overshailowed its precincts, bristling walls 
 of brick and mortar rang with the shrill whis- 
 tle of the engini!, or the sharp continual click 
 of repairing-sliops. The wild shout, the rip- 
 pling laugh of carele.ss, childish glee were 
 banished, and the frolicsome flock of by-gone 
 years had grown to manhood and womanhood, 
 were sedate business men and sober matrons. 
 If inqiortant revolutions had been etlected in 
 her early home, not less decided and apparent 
 was the change which had taken place in the 
 heiress of Iluutingdon Hill ; and having been 
 eyed, questioned, scrutini/i'd by the best fami- 
 lies, and laid in the soeial scales, it was found 
 a diflicnit matter to determine her weight iw 
 accurately as seemed desirable. In conunou 
 parlance, " her education w.us finisiied" — she 
 was regularly and unmistakably " out." Eve- 
 rybody hastened td inspect her, sound her. 
 label her; mothers to comj)are her with their 
 own daughters; daughters to dis(;over how 
 much they had to apprehend in the charms of 
 the new rival; sons to satisly themselves with 
 regard to the truth of the rumors concerning 
 her beauty ; all with curiosity stamped on 
 their countenances; all with dubiety written 
 there at the conclusion of their visit. l*er- 
 fectly self-possess(Ml, studiedly polite, attentive 
 to all the punctilios of etiquette, jKjIished and 
 irreproachable in <leportment, but cold, reti- 
 eent, grave, indulging in no familiarities, and 
 allowing none; fa.scinating by \w\' extraordi- 
 nary beauty and gr.ice. but tacitly impressing 
 upon all, " Thus far, £iid no farther." Having 
 lost her aunt two years before her return, the 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 71 
 
 duties of hostess devolved upon Iier, and she 
 dispensed the hospitalities of her home witli 
 an easy though stately eleirnnce, surpvising in 
 one so inexperienced. No positive charge 
 eouhl be preferred against her by the inquisi- 
 torial circle ; even Mrs. Judge Harris, the self- 
 constituted, but universally acknowledged, au- 
 tocrat of beau munde in W , accorded her 
 
 a species of negative excellence, and confess- 
 ed herself baffled, and unable to pronounce a 
 verdict. An enigma to her own father, it was 
 not wonderful that strangei's knit their brows 
 in striving to analyze her character, and ere 
 long the cooing of carrier-pigeons became au- 
 dible : " Her motiier had been very eccentric ; 
 even before her death it was whispered that 
 insanity hung threateningly over her; strange 
 things were told of her, and, doubtless, Irene 
 inherited her peculiarities." Nature furnishes 
 some seeds with downy wings to insure distri- 
 bution, and envy, and malice, and probably 
 very innocent and mfld-intentioncd gossip, 
 soon provided this report with remarkable fa- 
 cilities for progress. It chanced that Dr. Ar- 
 nold was absent for some weeks after her 
 arrival, and no sooner had he returned than 
 he sought his quondam praltge'c. Entering 
 unannounced, he paused suddenly as he caught 
 sight of her standing before the fire, with 
 Paragon at her feet. She lifted her head and 
 came to meet him, holding out both hands, 
 with a warm, bright smile. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Arnold ! I am so glad to see you 
 once more. It was neither friendly nor hos- 
 pitable to go off just as I came home, after 
 long years of absence. I am so very glad to 
 see you." 
 
 He held her hands, and gazed at her like 
 one in a dream of mingled pain and pleasure, 
 and when he spoke his voice was unsteady. 
 
 '• You can not possibly be as glad to see me 
 as I am to have you back. But I can't realize 
 that this 1!-. indeed, you, my pet — the Irene I 
 j)art(!d witli rather more than four \(%\vs ago. 
 Child, what is it ? What have you done to 
 yourself? I called yon queen in your infan- 
 cy, when you clung to my finger and tottered I 
 across the floor to creep into my arms, but i 
 ten-fold more approjiriatc does the title seem ! 
 now. You arc not the same Irene who usvd 
 to toil up my office steps^, and climb upon the j 
 t;ille.s(r chair to examine the skeletons in my 
 casi's — the snakes and li/.ards in my jars. Oh, j 
 child! what a marvellous, what a gloridus i 
 beauty you have grown to be." 
 
 "Take care; you will spoil her, Arnold. 
 l^on't you know, you old <ynic, that women 
 can't .'^tand such flattery as'yours ?" laughed j 
 Mr. Huntingdon. ^ I 
 
 •' I am glad you like nic, Doctor; I am glad | 
 that you think I havi- improved ; and, since I 
 vou think so, I am obliged to you for express- 
 ing your opinion of me s^ kindly. I wish I 
 could return your complimonts, but my con- 
 flci^fcfa.vctoes any such proceeding. You look 
 
 jaded — over-worked. What is the reason that 
 you have grown so gray and haggard ? Wc 
 will enter into a couipact to renew the old life ; 
 you shall treat me exactly as you used to do, 
 and I shall come to you as formerly, and inter- 
 rupt loJjors that seem too heavy. Sit down, 
 and talk to me. I want to hear your voice ; it 
 is pleasant to my ears, makes music in my 
 heart, calls up the by-gone. You have ado}>t- 
 ed a stick in my absence ; I don't like the in- 
 novation ; it hurts me to think that you need 
 it. 1 must take care of you, I see, and per- 
 suade you to relincpiisli it entirely." 
 
 '' Arnold, I verily believe she was more anx- 
 ious to see you than evervboiLy else in W — — 
 except old Nellie, her nur.se." 
 
 She did not contradict him, and the three 
 sat conversing for more than an hour ; then 
 other visitors came, and she withdrew to tlie 
 parlor. The doctor had examined her close- 
 ly all the while ; had noted every word, action, 
 expression ; and a troubled, abstracted look 
 came into his face when she left them. 
 " Huntingdon, what is it ? What is it?" 
 " What is ^yhat ? I don't understand you." 
 " What has so changed that child ? I want 
 to know what ails her ?" 
 
 " Nothing, that I know of Y'ou know she 
 was always rather singular." 
 
 " Yes, but it was a dilferent sort of singu- 
 j larity. She is too still, and whitx', and cold, 
 I and stately. I told you it was a wretched 
 I piece of business to send a nature like hers, so 
 I dlfFercnt from everybody's else, off among 
 j utter sti-angers ; to shut up that queer, frev., 
 J unlam;-d young thing, in a boarding-school flyr 
 I four years, with hundreds of miles between 
 j her and the few things she loved. She re- 
 I quired very peculiar and skTlful treatmenl, 
 j and. instead, you ])ut hor off where she petri- 
 1 fied! I knew it would never answer, and I told 
 j you so. You wanted to break her obstinacy, 
 ; did you ? She comes back marble. I tell you 
 now I know her better than you do, though 
 you are her father, and you may as well give, 
 up at once that chronic hallucination of^' rul- 
 ing, conquering her.' *She is like steel — coid, 
 fii-m, brittle ; she will break; snap asunder; 
 butbeml! — never! nev^-r! Huntingdon, 1 love 
 that child ; I have a right to love her; slie hav 
 bern very dear to me from her babyhood, and 
 it would go hard with me to know that anv . 
 sorrow darkened her life. Don't allow yovrJ^ 
 old plans and views to influence you ao^im 
 Let Irene be happy in her own way. Didj 
 ever see a contented-looking eagle in,^^ilt 
 cage ? Did you 
 in a paddock, a 
 jungles ?■' 
 
 :Mr. Hunting: 
 the unpalatabi 
 " You certai 
 has inherits 
 wonls ; coul 
 *' I mean 
 
 native 
 
 mo\ «»d uil^^ilTi^ pondering 
 .vice. 
 
 n"t mean to say that she 
 
 He crushed back the 
 
 sh the apprehension, too ? 
 
 at, if she were my child, I 
 
It 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 woulil be piiiJcd b_v hor, Instead of striving to 
 cut her cii.irarter to fit the totally difTorent 
 pnttern of my own." 
 
 Hti put on hi'' hat, thrust hi'^ hands into his 
 po'.kols, ptood for some second* frowning so 
 heavily that the shaggy eyebrows met and 
 pi^rtially concealed the cavernoni eyes, then 
 noddi'd to the master of the house, and sought 
 hm bujiiy. From that day Irene vras con- 
 scious of a keener and more constant scrutiny 
 on her father's part — a <:easelcss surveillance, 
 silent, but rigiil — that soon grew intolerable. 
 No matter how she employed her time, or 
 whither slic went, he seemed thoroughly cog- 
 nizant of the details of her life ; ami where she 
 least c.\]T*(ted interruption or dictation; his 
 liand. firm though penile, ])ointed the way, 
 and his voice calmly hut inflexibly directed, 
 llcr affection hail been in no degree alienated i 
 by their long separation, and, tlirough its sway, | 
 she suSniilted for a time; but Huntingdon! 
 blood ill brooked restraint, and, ere long, hers 
 became feverish, necessitating release. As in 
 all tyrannical natures, his exactions grew upon : 
 her compliance. Siic was allowed no margin i 
 for the exercise of judgment or inclination:! 
 her associates were selected, thru.st upon her; I 
 her oecuj)ation« de.cidcd without reference to 
 her wisiies. From the heartless, frivolous 
 routine marked out, she shrank in disgust ; ] 
 and. piuiful as was the alternative, she pre- 
 jiared for the cla<h which soon became inevi- 
 table. He wished her to be happy, but in his 
 own way, in accordance with his views and 
 aims, and, knowing the utter antagonism ofi 
 taste and feeling wlii( h unfortunately existed, 
 she determined to resist. Ooverned less by 
 impulse than sober second thought and sound ] 
 rciasoniiig, it was not until after long and pa- 
 tient tl -lib -ration that she finally resolved \ 
 u|)on her future course, and steadily main- 
 tained it. She felt most keenly that it was a 
 painful, a lamentable resolution, but none the 
 less a nec/'ssity ; and, having once determined, 
 slic went forward with a fixedness of purpose 
 characteristic of her family. It was the begin- 
 ning of a life-long contest, and, to one who 
 understood Leonard Huntingdon's disposition, 
 ot!"ered a dreary pros[)ect. 
 
 ' From verbal difTcrences she. habitually ab- 
 9tain»-d; opinions which she knew to be dis- 
 agreeable to him she carefully avoided giving 
 )i expression to in h'rt< presence; and, while I 
 
 '•'llways studiously thoughtful of his comfort, 
 
 jjrescrved a resjjectful deport uicnt, al- 
 
 hcrself no hastv or defiant words. 
 
 pomp and e 
 lin aristoc 
 amp' 
 
 indulge, MfliUu^ngdoi 
 in ])rincely sf^HrTand whe 
 oifered. His dinni>rs, su 
 ties were known far and 
 don Hill became provcr 
 throuijLout the state. S 
 
 ny, and imbued 
 
 ions, which an 
 
 rmltted him to 
 
 lalned company 
 
 anopjjortunity 
 
 and card-par- 
 
 nd Iluntlng- 
 
 r iiospitality 
 
 were feted, 
 
 and it was a rare occurrence for father and 
 daughter to dine quietly together. Fortu- 
 nately for Irene, the servants were admirably 
 trained; and though this round of company 
 imposed a weightofresjionsibilitles oppressive 
 to one so inexperienced, she applied herself 
 diligently to domestic; economy, and soon be- 
 camo familiarized with its details. Her father 
 had been very anxious to provide her with a 
 skilful hou^ekeej)er, to relieve her of the caro 
 and tedious minutia of such matters ; bub she 
 refused to accept one, avowing her belief that 
 it was the imperative duty of every woman to 
 superintend and inspect the management of 
 her domeslle affalro. Consequently, from tho 
 first wi'ck of her return, she made it a ride to 
 spend an hour after breakfast in her»Hning- 
 room pantry, determining and arranging the 
 details of the day. 
 
 The situation of the house commanded an 
 extensive and beautiful prospect, and tho an- 
 cient trees that over-sh.adowcd it imjiarted a 
 venerable and imposing aspect. The building 
 was of brick, overcast to represent granite, 
 and along three sides ran a wide gallery, sup- 
 ])orted by lofty circidar j)illars, crowned Avkh 
 unusually heavy capitals. Tho main body 
 consisted of two stories, wjfh a hall in the 
 centre, and thr^;e roonjs on cither side ; wliile 
 two long single-storied wings stretched out 
 right and left, one a blUiard-room, the othor a 
 green-house. 
 
 The |)arlors and library occupied one side, 
 the first opening Into tLe green-house ; the 
 dining-room and smoking-ioom were corrc- 
 .spondingly situnted to the lillllard-salonn. The 
 frescoed ceilings were too lo\y to suit modern 
 Ideas; the windows were large, and nearly 
 Mjuare ; t!io facings, sills, and doors all of cedar, 
 dark as mahogany with age, and j>olIshcd as 
 rosewood. The tall mantle -pieces were of 
 fluted Egyptian black marble, and along tho 
 freshly-tinted -walls the elaborate arabe.sipio 
 moulding or cornice hung heavy and threat- 
 ening. A broatl easy flight of white niarblo 
 steps led up to the rii hly-carvcd front door, 
 with its massive silver knocker bearing the 
 name of Huntingdon in old-fashioned Italian 
 (diaraclers ; and in the arched niches, on either 
 side of this door, stood two statues, biought 
 from Europe by Mr. Huntingdon's father, 
 and supposed to represent certain Roman 
 pemtes. 
 
 From the hall on the second floor, a narro>g, 
 si>iral, iron stairway ascended to a circular 
 ol).<ervatory on the roof, with a row of small 
 columns corresponding with those below, and 
 a tessellated floor of alternating white and 
 variegated squares of marble. Originally tlio 
 observatory hi\d*been crowned by a heavy 
 pagoda-shaped roof, but reciyitly this had 
 been removed and a covering of glass substi- 
 tuted, which, like diat of hoL-houses, could bo 
 raised and lov/erW at pleasure, by means of 
 ropes and pullevs. Two generatious haiLem- 
 
MAC ART A. 
 
 78 
 
 bellislied tliis house, and the modern win^js 
 formin!; tlie cross had been erected witliin 
 Irene's rei:olIt'.ctio:i. In expectation of her 
 return, an entirely now set of furniture had 
 been selected in New York,' and arranged 
 Homo weeks before her arrival — costly carpets, 
 splendid mirrors, plush and broi'atel sofas, rich 
 china, and every luxury which wealth and 
 fastidious taste could suj)ply. The jrrounds in 
 front, embracing several acr-es, were enclosed 
 by a brick wall, and at the foot of the hill, at 
 the entrance of the long avenue of elms, stood 
 a tall arched iron gate. A smoothly-sliaven 
 terrace of Bi-rmuda grass ran round the house, 
 and tiie broad carriage-way swept up to a 
 mound oj)posite the door, sniniountcd by the 
 bronze figure of a croiicliing dog. On one 
 wdc of the avenue a beautiful lawn, studded 
 with clumps of trees, extended to the wall; on 
 the other serpentine walks, borderetl with low j 
 hedges, carvi'd ilower-beds of divei'se shapes; 
 and here delicate trellis-work supported rare 
 creepers, and airy, elegant arbors and summer- 
 houses were overgrown with vities of rank 
 luxuriance. Everything about the parterre, 
 li-om the, well-swept gravel walks to the care- 
 iullj-'clippcd hedges, betokened constant at- 
 tention and lavish expenditure. But the 
 crowning glory of the i>lacc was its wealth of 
 trees — tlie ancient avenue of Hiighty elms, 
 arching grandly to the skj' like the groined 
 nave of some vast cathedral ; the circlet of 
 sentinel pojwars towering around the house, 
 nnd old as its foundations ; the long, undula- 
 ting line of venerable willows waving at the 
 foot of the lawn, over the sinuous little brook 
 that rippled on its way to the creek ; and, be- 
 yond the mansion, clothing the sides of a 
 ttecpcr hill, a sombre background of murmur- 
 ing, solemn, immemorial pines. Such was 
 Irene's home — stately and elegant — kept so 
 thoroughly repaired that, in its cheerfulness, 
 its age was I'orgotton. 
 
 Tiie soeiely of W was considered 
 
 remarkably fine. There was quite an aggre- 
 f^ation of wealth and refinement; gentlemen, 
 M'hose ])lanfations were situated in adja'^ent 
 Bounties, resided here, v.ith their families; 
 W)me, who spent their winters on the seaboard, 
 resorted here for the summer ; its bar was said 
 to possess more talent than any other in the 
 state; its schools claimed to be ui^i^passed ; 
 it boasted of a concert- hall, a l^-nm, a 
 Uandsome court-house, a commodious, well- 
 built jail, and lialf-a-cUzen as fine churches, 
 Its any country town could desire. I would 
 lain avoid the term, if possible, but no .syno- 
 
 uyra exists — W was, indi.sputajiyk an 
 
 /' aristocratic "' place. itw 
 
 Thus, after more than fotJ^ycars aWcnce, 
 tiio sununens of which liad been spent in travel 
 among the beautiful mountain scenery of the 
 North, tlie young heiress r^urned to the liomc 
 of her childhood. Standa^ on the verge of 
 she put the early garlanded years 
 
 m 
 
 behind her and looked into the solemn temple 
 of womanhood, with its che(pici-ed pavement 
 of light and shadow; ha storied prizes, gilded 
 architraves, and fretted shrines, whore white- 
 robed bands of devotees enter with uncertain' 
 step, all eager, tremliling Mj/^lor, soon to be- 
 come clear-eyed, sad-eyed Iy>oj^!a'., through 
 the unerrin<T, mystical, sacred initiation of tho 
 only true hierophant — Time. 
 
 From her few early school associates she 
 had become completely estranged ; and the 
 renewal of thinr ac(|uaintance*now soon con- 
 vinced her that the utter want of congeniality 
 in character and habits of life prcchuhjd th« 
 possibility of any warm frienflships between 
 them. For several months after her return 
 slie patiently, hopefully, faithfully studied the 
 dispositions of the member.'-, of various f;i*nllie8 
 with whom she foresaw that she wouhl b<i 
 thrown, by her father's wishes, into intimate 
 relationship, and satisfied herself that, amovjg 
 all these, there was not one, save Dr. Arnold, 
 whose counsel, a.ssistancc, or sympathy she felt 
 any inclination to claim. Human nature at 
 least is, beyond all cavil, cosuionolltan in its 
 characteristics, (barring a few ethnologic limi- 
 tations) ; and a given number of men and 
 ■wonfen similarly circumstanced in Chili, Eng- 
 land, Madagascar, Utah, or Uurmah would, 
 doubtless, yield a like cpiota of moral and in- 
 tellectual idiosyncrasies. In fine, AV 
 
 was not in any respect peculiar, or, asacora- 
 nmnity, specially afllictcd with heart lessness, 
 frivolity, br^ilnlei'sness, or mammonism ; the 
 avoran;e was fair, reputable, in all respects. 
 But, nicontrovertibiy, the girl who came to 
 spend her life among these people was totally 
 dissimilar in criteria of a<.tion, thought, and 
 feeling. I'o the stereotyped conventional 
 stanilard of fashionable life she had nevur 
 yielded allegiance; and now stood (not in tiro 
 St. Simon, Fourier, Owen, or Leroux sense) 
 aso;;ial free-thinker. For a season she allowed 
 herself to be whirled on by the current of 
 dinners, parties, and jilcnics; but soon her 
 sedate, contemplative temperament revolted 
 from the irksome round, and givadually she 
 outlined and pursued a different course, giving 
 to her gay companions just what courtesy ro- 
 (julred, no more. 
 
 Hugh had prolonged his stay in Europe 
 beyond the period originally designated ; and, 
 instead of arriving in time to acconi])any hij 
 uncle and cou.sin home, he did not sail for some^ 
 months after their return. At length, 
 ever, h-tters were recelvcfl announei 
 presence In Ne\f York, and fixing 
 when his relativusfl^ht expect hiui. 
 
 The carria; 
 pot, a scrra 
 
 JER XVI. 
 
 been despatched to the de- 
 ~ at the end of the avoaue 
 
MAC ARIA. 
 
 waiting! to throw open the pato. Air. Hunting- 
 don walked up and down the wide colonnadts 
 and Irene sal before thi- fire in her own room, 
 holdin;r in one palm the fla.shiii;r betrothal ring, 
 whieh she had been forceil to wear since her 
 return from New York. She had looked into 
 the rooms to see that all was brijrht and eheer- 
 ful, had looped hack the cnrtain.N in Ihe ajtart- 
 nient ))re])ared for Hu<rh, had filled the vases 
 with flowers that he preferred in his boyhood, 
 and now listened for his approach with com- 
 plex emotions. The sole companion of her in- 
 fancy, slie would have hailed his arrival with 
 tinmixcd joy, but for the peculiar relationsliif» 
 in which she now stood to him. The few 
 yeai*s of partial jieace had passed: she knew 
 that the hour drew near when the lonp-dread- 
 od stTujr^de must he;rin, and, hopeless of avert- 
 ing it. quietly waited for the storm to break. 
 Droppinjr the rinji in her jewelry box, she 
 turned the key. and just then her fathers 
 voice rang through the house. 
 
 "Irene! the carriage is cominji up the 
 avenue." 
 
 She went slowly down stairs, followed by 
 Parkgon, and joined her father at the door. 
 His searching look discovered nothing i^ tlu; 
 serene face ; the carriage stopped, and he has- 
 tened to meet his nephew. 
 
 " Come at last, eh ! Welcome home, my dear 
 boy." 
 
 The young man turned from his uncle, 
 {•prang up the steps, then paused, and the 
 oousins looked at each other. 
 
 '' Well, Hugh I I am very glad to see you 
 once more." 
 
 She held out her hands, and he saw at 
 a glance that her fingers were unfettered. 
 Seizing them warmly, he bent forward, but she 
 drew back coldly, and he exclaimed f 
 
 *' Irene ! I claim a warmer welcome." 
 
 She made a haughty, repellent gesture, and 
 moved forward a few stcii^s, to greet the stran- 
 ger who aceomjjanied him. 
 
 " My daughter, this is your uncle, Erie Mitch- 
 ell, who has not seen vou since you were a 
 baby." 
 
 The party entered the house, and, seated 
 beside him, Irene gazed with mingled emo- 
 tions of pain and pleasure upon her mother's 
 only brotiier. He w^s about thirty, but look- 
 ed older, from life-long suH'erinif; had u.sed 
 crutches from the time he was five years of 
 having been hopelcFsly crippled by a fall 
 ng his infancy. His features were sharj), 
 heeks wore the sallow hue of, habitual ill 
 heanb. and his fine gra\^\-es were somewhat 
 sunkc^ Restinrr hisxuH«Les urraiiist the sofa. 
 
 hel 
 
 at his n 
 
 fair flaxeii-hai 
 
 held out to be kissed 
 
 Philadelphia to be treat? 
 
 soon after he heard of himf\ 
 
 ig and earnestly 
 
 remembered a 
 
 the nurse had 
 
 he was sent to 
 
 lis lameness; 
 
 'h death, and 
 
 ۥ 
 
 then his tutor took him to Kurope, to command 
 the best medical advici^ of the old world. 
 
 " From the faint recollection which I have 
 of your mother, I think you strongly resemble 
 her," he .said, at last, in a fond, gentle tone. 
 
 " I don't know about that. Erie. She is far 
 more of a Huntingdon than a Mitchell. She 
 has many of the traits of your family, but in ' 
 appearance she certainly belongs to my side 
 of the house. She very often reminds me of 
 Hugh's mother. 
 
 Conversation turned upon the misfortune of 
 the<-ripple ; he spoke freely of the unsuccess- 
 ful experiments made by eminent physicians ; 
 of the hopelessness of his case; ami Irene was 
 particularly impressed by the calmness and 
 patience with which he seemed to have re- 
 signed himself to this great afilietion. She 
 could detect no tr;i'-e of com))laining bitter- 
 ness, or, what was still more to be deplored, 
 the irritable, nervous (]uerulousness so oIUmi 
 observed in persons of his situation. She found 
 Iiim a rij)e scholar, a ju'ofound archicologist. 
 and philosophic observer of his age and gene- 
 ration ; and, deeply interested in his (juiet, low- 
 toned talk, she felt irresistibly drawn toward 
 him, careless of passing hours and of Hugh's 
 ill-concealed impatience of manner. As they 
 rose from the tea-table her cousin said, laugh- 
 ingly : 
 
 " I protest agaiust monopoly. I have not 
 been able to say three words to my lady-cou;- 
 in." 
 
 " I yield the floor, from necessity. My long 
 journey has unfitted me for this evening, and 
 1 must bid you all an early good-night." 
 
 " Can I do anything for you, uncle ?" 
 
 "No, thank you, Irene; 1 have a servan( 
 who thoroughly uaderstands taking care of 
 me. Go talk to Hugh, who has been wishing 
 me among the antii)odes." 
 
 He shook hands with her, smiled kindly, and 
 Mr. Huntingdon assisted him to his room. 
 
 " Irene, come into the library, and let me 
 have a cigar." 
 
 " How tenacious your bad habits are, Hugh." 
 
 " Smoking belongs to no such category. My 
 habits are certainly (juite as tenacious as my 
 coiKsin's antijiathies." 
 
 He seleetiil a cigar, lighted it, and drawini; 
 a chair j^r hers, threw himself into it with 
 an expr^sPon of great satisfaction. " It is de- 
 lightfulHo get back home, and sec you again, 
 Irene. I ielt som(^ rcgna at quitting Paris, 
 but the sight of your due more than comiJen- 
 sates me." 
 
 She was looking very earnestly at him, not- 
 ingvljtlc alteration in his appearance, and for 
 a inobient his-tyes drooped before hers. Sh<- 
 saw that the years had been spent, not in 
 study, but in a giddy round of pleasure and 
 di.ssipation, yet the bright, frank, genial e.x- 
 pre.ssion of boyl^d still lingered, and she . 
 could not deny tMk he had grown uu a ver\- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 liamlsomo man. Slic knew that he. was capa- 
 ble ofsiiddeii, spasmodic impulses of {renerosity, 
 but saw that selfishness remained the gr^jat 
 f^ubstratum of his character, and hor keen 
 feeling; of disappointment showed her now how 
 much she had hoped to find him changed in 
 this respect. 
 
 " Irene, T had a rifiht to expect a warmer 
 ■welcome than you deigned to give me." 
 
 " Ilugli, remember that we have ceased to 
 be children. AVhen yon learn to regard me 
 simply as your cousin, and are satisfied with a 
 cousin's welcome, then, and not until then, 
 /shall you receive it. l^et childish whims pass 
 with the years that have sejiarated us; rake up 
 no germs of contention to mar this first even- 
 ing of your return. Br reasonable, and now 
 tell me how }ou have employed yourself since 
 we parted ; what have you seen ? what have 
 you gleaned ?" 
 
 He flushed angrily, hut the imperturbable 
 face controlled him, even against his will, and, 
 muttering something which she thought sound- 
 ed very much like an oath, he smoked for some 
 seconds in silence. Without noticing his sul- 
 lenness, she made some inquiries concerning 
 bis sojouin in Paris, and insensibly he found 
 lu'mself drawn into a narration of his course 
 of life. She listened with apparent interest, 
 making occasion.al good-humored comments, 
 and bringing him back to the subject when- 
 ever he attempted a detour toward the topic 
 so extremely distasteful to her. 
 
 The clock struck eleven ; she rose, and said : 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Hugh, for kecjiing you 
 up so late. I ought to have known that you 
 were fatigued by raili-oad travel, and required 
 sleep. You know the way to your room ; it is 
 the same j-ou occupied before you went to col- 
 lege. Good-night: I hope you will rest well." 
 
 She held out her hand carelessly; he took it 
 eagerl}', and holding it up to the light said, in 
 a disap|)ointed tone : 
 
 " Irene, where is my ring ? Why are yon 
 not wearing it V"' 
 
 " It is in my jewelry box. As I gave you 
 my reasons for not wearing it, when you oflcr- 
 ed it to me, it is not necessary to repeat them 
 BOW. Ciood-night, Hugh ; go dream of some- 
 thing more agreeable than our old childish 
 quarrels.'' She witiidrcw her fingers, and left 
 lum. I 
 
 -Vs she entered her own room and closed the 
 door, she was surprised (o find her nni-se sit- 
 ting before the fire, with her chin in her hands, 
 and her keen black eyes fixed on the coals. 
 
 "Aunt Xellie, what are you sitting up so 
 rate for? You will have aiKjf her spell of rhou- 
 tnatism, tramping about this time of night." 
 
 " I have been in to see Mass' Erie, blessed 
 lamb that he always was, and always will l>e. 
 He is so changed I n»'v«>r would have known 
 him; he was a weak little white-faced cripple 
 when I first saw him, twenty years ago. It 
 M'rms like there is a curse on your family any- 
 
 how, both sides. They died off, and have been 
 killed ofl\ on your mother's side, till Mass' Eric 
 is the only one left of all the Mitchells, and, as 
 for master's family, you and Hugh are the two 
 last. You know some families run out, and I 
 don't think master ought to try to overturn tlm 
 Lord's plans. Queen, let things take their 
 course." 
 
 " Who has put all this into your head ?" 
 
 " Nobody put it into my head ! I should 
 like to know where my eyes have been these 
 many years ? I haven't been so near I'lind all 
 my life. Don't you suppose I know what m.Ts- 
 ter 's been after since you were eighteen 
 months old ? Wasn't I standing by the bed 
 when Hugh's mother died, and did n't 1 hear 
 master promise her that, when yon were grown, 
 you and Hugh sh.ould marry? Don't I know 
 how vour poor dying mother cried, and wrung 
 her hands, and said " Harm would come of it all, 
 and she hoped you would die while you were 
 a baby ?" She had found out what Hunting- 
 don temper was. Poor blessed saint ! what 
 a life she did lead between Miss Margaret and 
 Miss Isabella ! It is no use to shut your eyes 
 to it, Queen. You might just as well look at 
 it at once. It is a sin for near kin like you 
 and Hugh to marry, and you ought to sot your 
 face against it. He is just his mother over 
 again, and you will see trouble, as sure as your 
 name is Irene, if you don't take a staiid. Oh I 
 they are managing people ! and the Lord have 
 mercy on folks they don"t like, for it is n't in 
 Huntingdon blood to forgive o« to forget any- 
 thing. I am so thankful your uncle Eric has 
 come he will help to s)%nd between you and 
 trouble. Ah! it is coming, Ciueen ! it's com- 
 ing ! You did n'ji see how your father frowned 
 wiien you would n"t let Hugh kiss you ? I was 
 looking through the window, and saw it all. I 
 have n't had one hour's peace since I lireamed 
 of seeing you and your mother together. (.)h, 
 my baby ! my baby ! there is trouble and sor- 
 row ihickening for you ; I know it. I have 
 had a warning of it." 
 
 She inclined her head on one side, and 
 rocked herself to and fro, much as did early 
 Pelasgic Dodonides in announcing oracular 
 decrees. 
 
 " You need not grieve about it; I want no- 
 body to stand between me and troul)le. "Be- 
 side, Nellie, you must remember that, in all my 
 father docs, he inteiid.s and desires to promote' 
 my welfare, and to make me happy." 
 
 " Did he send you otf to that boarding-school 
 for yoftr happiness? You were very hajipy 
 there, wern't ^u ? It is no use to try to 
 blindfold me ; j^iq^ve lived a little too long. 
 Oh, my baby I your while, white face, and big 
 sorrowful blue eyes follow me day and night ! 
 I knew how it would be when you were born. 
 You came into .this world among awful signs! 
 The sun was eclipsed ! ehiikeiis went to roost, 
 as if night had come ; and I saw stars in the 
 8ky at two o'clock in the day ! Oh ! I thouglit,^ 
 
MAC ARIA. 
 
 snre cnoui'h, ju(l;jment-(lay liad come at last; 
 and wln-n tht v put ynu in my anus I trembled 
 80 I could lianlly stand. May (Jod liave mer- 
 ry on yon, Queen ! ' 
 
 She sliuddi.'rcd for a moment, an if in the 
 prc8<;ncR of som?. dread evil, and, rislnp, 
 ■wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and 
 left the room. 
 
 In-ne looked after her rotrcatinir form, smil- 
 iiij: at the supTstitious turn her thoun;hts ha<l 
 taken, then dismissin;; the subject, she fell 
 •sleep, thinkinpr of her nncle. 
 
 A week p iss>'d, varied by fow incidents of 
 interest; thu new-comers became thoroughly 
 domesticated — thf. old routine was re-e.stab- 
 lished. IIu;jli seemed arny and careless — liunt- 
 iujr, rlsitinj, renewin;x boyish acquaintances, 
 and wliiliiijr away the time as inclination 
 prompted. He had had a Ion;j conversation 
 with hii8 uncle, and the result was that, for the 
 present, no allusion was made to the future. 
 In Irene's presence the subject was tempora- 
 rily tabooed. Slie knew that the project was 
 not relinquished, was only veiled till a conve- 
 nient season, and, pivinj to the momentary 
 Inll its full value, she acquiesced, findinp; in 
 Krlc's society cnjoymf^nt and resources alto- 
 j»e.thcr unexpected. Instinctively they seemed 
 to compndiend each other's character, and 
 while both were taciturn and undemonstra- 
 tive, a warm afTection sprang up between 
 them. 
 
 On Sunday morning, as the family group 
 •fit around the breakfast- table waiting for 
 Hugh, who lingered, as usual, over his second 
 (^p of chocolate, M:^ Mitchell sudilcnly laid 
 down the fork with which he had been dcs rib- 
 ing a .series of gcodictricry figures on the 
 fine damask, and said : " I met a youn^ man 
 in Brussels who interested me extremely, and 
 in connection with whom I venture the pre- 
 diction that, if he lives, he will occuj)y a con- 
 ipioious position in the aflalrs of his country. 
 He is, or was. Secretary of Mr. Cam[)bell, our 
 
 minister to , and they wore both on a 
 
 visit to Brussels when I met them. His name 
 is Aubrey, and he told me that he lived here. 
 His talents are of tlie first order ; his ambition 
 nnbounded, I should judge; and his patient, 
 laborious application certainly surpasses any- 
 tliing I have ever seen. It happened that a 
 friend of mine, from London, was prosecuting 
 €»ertain researches among the MS. archives at 
 Brussels, and here, immersed in study, he says 
 he found the s<',Tctary, who completely dis- 
 tanced him in lii.vinvestigations.aiid then, with 
 unexpected generosity, pilaced his notes at my 
 friend's disposal. His iodusWy is almost in- 
 oredible. Conversing with Campbell concern- 
 ing him, I learned that he was apro/c/yc of the 
 minister, who spoke of his future in singularly 
 sanguine terms. He lell him some time since 
 to embark in the practice of law. Do yo"u 
 know him, IIuntiiif;don ?" 
 f^ •• No, sir I but I know that his father was 
 
 sentenced to the gallows, and only saved him- 
 self from it by cutting his miserable throat, 
 and (dieatinj the law." 
 
 Tiie master of the house thrust back hit 
 ehaii' violently, crushing one of Paragon's in- 
 nocent paws as he crouched on the carpet, 
 and overturning a glass, which shivered into 
 a dozen fragments at his feet. 
 
 Irene understood the. scowl on his brow, but 
 only she possessed the clew, an<l, Iazil\' sipping 
 his chocolate, Hugh added: "I. recollect him 
 very well as a boy; he always had a bookish 
 look, ami I met him one day on the boulevard 
 at Paris. He was talking to an (tHache of th» 
 American Legation as I came up, and took 
 no more notice of mc than if I had been one 
 of the paving-stones. I could not avoid ad- 
 miring the cool sublimity of his manner, and 
 as I had snubbed him at .«chool loner <a_'o, I put 
 otit my hand, and said : " Howdy-do, Aubrey ; 
 pray, when did you cross the water?" II« 
 bowed as frigidly as Czar Nicholas, and, with- 
 out noticing my hand, answered: 'Good- 
 morning, Mr. Seymour; I have been in Knrop* 
 two years," and walked on. The day after I 
 pot home I met him goiiiu up the court-hou»« 
 steps, and looked him full in the face; he ju»t 
 inclined his head, and paS'^cd me. Confound 
 it ! he 's as prouil as If he had tbuml a patent 
 of nobility in digging among IJelgic inchives." 
 
 "Nature furnished him wit!i one, many 
 years since," replied Eric. 
 
 " Yes; and his coat-of-arms should be jack- 
 ketch and a gallows !" sneered Mr. Hunting- 
 don. 
 
 Looking at his watch, he said, as if wi<hin|» 
 to cut the conversation short: 
 
 " Irene, if you intend to go to church to- 
 day, it is time that you had your bonnet on. 
 Hugh, what will you do with yourself? Cr« 
 witli Erie and your cousin ?' 
 
 •' No, I rather think I shall stay at hoin« 
 with you. After European cathedrals, our 
 American churches seem excessively jjlain." 
 Irene went to her room, pondering the con- 
 versation. She thought it remarkable that, as 
 long as she had been at home, she lia<l never 
 seen Russell, even on the street. 
 
 Unlocking her wriling-desk, she took out a 
 tiny note which had accompanied a (dicck for 
 two hunilrcd dollars, and had reacijcd dier a 
 few months Before she left lioanliiiL'-'Jchool. 
 The firm, round, manly hand ran as lollows: 
 
 " Willi gratitude beyond all expression for 
 the favor conferred on my mother and myself, 
 soaie years since, I now return to Miss llun- 
 tingilon the money whi<di I have ever reganl- 
 cd as a friendly loan. IIo]iiiig that the future 
 will aflbrd me some opportunity of proving 
 my appreciation of her great kindness, 
 " I remain, most res])cctrully, 
 " Her obliged friend, 
 
 " 11u.''si:li. AuiutRT. 
 
 " Nkw York, September bth." . 
 
MACARTA. 
 
 77 
 
 She was conscious of a feeling of regret 
 tliat the money liiul been returned; it was 
 pleasant to retlcct on the fact that she had 
 laid liim undi'r obligation; now it all seemed 
 enncelled. She relocked the desk, and, draw- 
 ing on lier gloves, joined her uncle at the cai"- 
 riage. Her lather accompanied her so rarely 
 that she scarcely missed him, antl during the 
 ride, as Erie seemed abstracted, she leaned 
 back, and her thouglits onc&more reverted to 
 the unibrttinate topic of the breakfasl-table. 
 Arriving at church later than was her wont, 
 fche found the family pew occupied by stran- 
 gers, and crossed the aisle to share a friend's, 
 but at that instant a tall form rose in Mr. 
 C'fcmpbell's long vacant pew, stepped into the 
 aisle, and held open the door. She drew back 
 to sufler her uncle to limp in and lay aside 
 his crutches, saw him give his hand to tlie 
 stranger, and, sweeping her veil aside .as slie 
 entered, she saw Russell (juletly resume his 
 scat at tiie end of the pew.. 
 
 Startled beyond measurt\ she looked at him 
 intently, and almost wondered that she re- 
 cognized him, he had changed so materially 
 since the day on which she stood with him 
 before his mother's gate. Meantime the serv- 
 ice connneuced, she gave her hymn-book to 
 her uncle, and at the same moment Russell 
 found the place, and handed her one of 
 two which lay near him. As she received it 
 their eyes met, looked fixedly into each other, 
 and she held out her hand. lie took it, she 
 felt lijs fingers tremble as tiiey dropped hers, 
 and then both faces bent over tlie books. 
 When they knelt side by side, and the heavy 
 folds of her elegant dress swept against him, it 
 seemed a feverish dream to her ; she could not 
 realize that, at last, they had met again, and 
 her heart beat so fiercely that she pressed her 
 hand upon it, dreading lest he should hear its 
 luud [inisations. Lowering her veil, she drew 
 her cosily velvet drapery about her and lean- 
 ed ba<!k ; and the' anthem was chanted, tiie 
 solenm organ -tones hushed themselv.'s, the 
 minister stood up in tiie pulpit, and his dull 
 tones fell on her ear and hi ain meaningless as 
 the dry patter of dying leaves in an autumn 
 wind. The outline of that tall, broad-shoul- 
 dered, magniticently- turned figure, replete 
 with vigorous muscular strength ; the massive, 
 finely-formed head, ea>ily, gracefully poised, 
 like that of a statue ; above all, the olivt-pale, 
 proud face, unshaded by beard, with regular 
 teaturcs sharply yet beautifully cut, like those 
 in tliR rare gems which Benvenuto Cellini left 
 the world, greeted her now, turn which way 
 bhe wofild. The coat was buttoned to the 
 tliroat, the strong arms were crossed over the 
 deep chest, the piercing black eyes raised and 
 fastened on the pulpit. It has been well said : 
 '• The eyes indicate the antiquity of the soul, 
 oi* through how many forms it ha.<? already as- 
 cended." If i<o, his seemed brimful of dcsiiny, 
 and aons old, in that ouc long unveiliii<r look 
 
 which they hjd exchanged ; deep, sparkling, 
 and yet indescribably melancholy, something 
 in the expression vividly recalling the Deatric« 
 Cenci ; then all analogy was batlled. Electra 
 knew wherein consisted their wonderful chanu, 
 and because she put these eyes on canvas 
 connoisseurs studied and applauded her work. 
 Now face and figure, cold and unrelenting, 
 stamped themselves on Irene's memory as in- 
 delibly as those which laborious, patient lapi- 
 daries carve on coral or cornelian. The dis- 
 course was ended, the diapason of the organ 
 swelled tlirough the lofty church, priestly 
 hands hovered like white doves over the con- 
 gregation, di-smissing all with blessing. Onca 
 more Irene swept back the rich lace veil, fully 
 exposing her face ; onca more her eyes looked 
 into those of the man who politely held th& 
 pew door open ; both bowed with stately grace, 
 and she walked down the aisle. She heanl 
 Russell talking to her uncle just behind her, 
 lieanl Uie iiupiiries concerniiur his health, the 
 expression of pleasure at meeting again, tho 
 ho[)e which Erie uttered that he should sc« 
 
 him frequently during his stay in W . 
 
 Without even a glance over her shoulder, she 
 
 proceeded to the carriage, where her uncle 
 
 soon joined her, taking the front seat instea^d 
 
 pf sharing the back one, as is customary. Hcj 
 
 scrutinized his niece's countenance, but it 
 
 baflled him, as on the first night of his arrival ; 
 
 the serene, colorless face showed not the 
 
 slightest sjmptom of emotion of any kind. 
 
 I Neitlier spoke till they approached the cottage 
 
 i on the road-side, then she extended her hand 
 
 j and said, indilferently : 
 
 I '* Your European acquaintance, the quon- 
 1 dam secretary, formerly lived in that little 
 i three-roomed house hid among the vine« 
 ■ yonder." 
 
 j " When I spoke of him this morning, you did 
 I not mention having known him. 1 inferred 
 I from your manner that he wa.s a stranger to 
 1 you." 
 
 I " He is a stranger now. I knew him long 
 1 ago, when we were children, and met him to- 
 day for the first time in some years." 
 
 *' There is something peculiarly comm.and- 
 ingin his appearance, lln impresses me with 
 respect and involuntary admiration, such as 
 no man of his age ever excited before, and I 
 have travelled far and wide, and have seen th« 
 lordliest ol many lands." 
 
 " Years have greatly changed him. He is 
 less like his mother than when I knew him in 
 his boyhood." 
 
 '* lie is an orphan, I learned- from Camp- 
 bell." 
 '• Y'cs." 
 
 She pulled the check-cord, and, as the driTcr 
 stopped, she leaned out of thu window, point- 
 ing to a mossy tuft on the margin of the little 
 brook just at the loot of the hill. 
 
 " An<hcw, if you are not afraid to leave 
 your horses, get me that cluster of violets just 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 tliis side of tbe sweet-jnim tree. Tliev are the 
 very earliest I have seen." 
 
 He gathered them earefully ami placed them 
 in the daintily -plov»Ml, out -stretched iiand. 
 She bent ovdr them an instant, then divided 
 • the tiny bunch with lier uncle, saying: 
 '' Spring has opened its blue eyes at last." 
 
 .Siie met his searching pazo as calmly as tbe 
 flowerets, and as they now ncarcd the honse 
 he forlwireany further ailusion to the subject, 
 which he slirew<lly suspected engaged her 
 thoughts quite as fully a.s his own. 
 
 " Stay, child ; what object have you in vie v.' 
 in all this laborious investigation ?" 
 
 *' Are you sceptical of the possibility of a, 
 devotion to science merely for science-sake V 
 Do my womanly garments shut me out of t4ie 
 Holy of Holies, debar me eternally from sacred 
 arcana, think you 'i Uncle ilric, once for all, 
 it is not mv aim to — 
 
 -bri!s)i wilh oxtrcine floiinco 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 " Irene, it is pa.st midnight." I 
 
 She gave no intimation of having heard him. \ 
 
 " Irene, my child, it is one o'clock." ' 
 
 "Without looking up, she raised her hand 
 toward the clock on the mantle, and answered, ' 
 .•oldly : 
 
 " You need not sit up to tell me the time of j 
 niirht ; I have a clock here. Go to sleep, Uncle i 
 Eric." i 
 
 He rested his shoulder against the door- ; 
 facing, and, leaning on his crutches, watched i 
 her. I 
 
 She sat there just as he had seen her sever- j 
 al times before, with jier arms crossed on the \ 
 table, the large celestial globe drawn near, as- ] 
 Ironomical catalogues scattered about, an<l a 
 thick folio open before her. She wore a loose 
 wrapper, or robe dc chambre, of black velvet, 
 lined wilh crimson silk and girded with a heavy 
 cord and tassel. The sleeves were very full, i 
 atui fell away from the arms, exposing them j 
 from the dimpled elbows, and rendering tlioir j 
 pearly whiteness more apparent by contrast j 
 with the saljle hue of the velvet, while the I 
 broad round collar was pressed smoothly down, ! 
 revealing the polished turn of the throat. | 
 Tlie ivory comb lay on the table, and the un- 
 l)Ound hair, falling around her shoulders, s\vei)t 
 over the back of her chair and trailed on the j 
 (•arpet. A miracle of statuesque beauty was | 
 his queenly niece, yet he could not look at her I 
 without a vague feeling of awe, of painful ap- ! 
 prehension ; and, as he stood watching her mo- ' 
 tionlcss figure in its grand yet graceful pose, 
 he sighed involuntarily. Siie rose, shook back 
 her magnificent hair, and approached him. 
 Her eyes, so like deep, calm azure lakes, crossed 
 by no ripple, met his, and the clear, pure 
 voice echoed through the s^ill room. 
 
 " Uncle Eric, I wish you would not sit upon ; 
 my account; I do not like to be watched." 
 
 •' Irene, your father forbade, your studying 
 until this hour. You will accomplish nothing ' 
 but the ruin of your health." | 
 
 " How do you know that? Do statistics 
 prove astronomers short-lived ? Jlatjier the 
 contrary. I commend you to the contempla- 
 tion of their longevity. Good-night, uncle; 
 starry dreams to you." 
 
 The circlb of llie icieiicus," 
 
 1 take my heart, my intellect, my life, and 
 of!'erall upon the,,altar of its penetralia. You 
 men doubt women's credenti;ds for work like 
 mine ; l>ut this intellectual bigotry arid mo- 
 nopoly already trembles bt;fore the weight of 
 stern and positive results which jvomen lay 
 before you — data for your speculations — alms 
 for your calculation. In glorious attestation 
 of the truth of female capacity to grapple with 
 some of the most recondite probhnis of science 
 stand the names of llaroline Herschel, Mary 
 Somcrville, Maria Mitchell, Eumia \Villard, 
 Mrs Phelps, and the proud compliment paid 
 to Madame Lej)autcl)y Clairant and Lalande, 
 who, at the succcjsfid conclusion of their 
 gigantic computations, declared : 'The a.s.-^ist- 
 ance rendered by her was such that, without 
 her, we never should have dared to undertake 
 the enormous labor in which it was necessary 
 to calculate the distance of each of the two 
 nianets, Jupiter and Saturn, from the comet, 
 separately for every degree, for one htmdred 
 and fifty years.' Uncle Eric, reinemljcr — ' 
 
 -WlioKii riircs tlio pliifiue. 
 
 TIioiikU twico a woman, uliiill l>u c:tllud a looch; 
 
 AVIm ri^liti n liiinl'.i fiii:inci'», is cxcustvl 
 
 For taiichin^ ci)i)ii'^rs, though ht-r hands Ixt.wiiito.' "' 
 
 She took the volume sh« had been reading, 
 selected several eatalogues from tin- ina.ss, and, 
 lighting a small lamp, passed her uncle and 
 mounted the spiral staircase leading to the 
 observatory. He watched her tall form slowly 
 a.vcnding, an<l, in the flashing liglit of the 
 lamp she carried, her black dress and floating 
 hair seemed to belong to some veritable Ura- 
 nia — i.some ancient Egyptic l>erenice. Jie 
 heard her open the glass door of tlie observa- 
 tory, then the flame vanished, and the click of 
 th(! lock feil down the dark stairway as she 
 turned the key. With a lu-avy sigli the crip- 
 ])le returned to his room, there Id ponder the 
 singular character of the woman whom he had 
 just, left, and to dream that he saw her trans- 
 planted to the constellations, her blue eyes 
 brightening into stars, her waving hair braid- 
 ing it.ielf out into briliimt rushing comets. 
 The night was keen, still, and ch)udless, antl, 
 as Irene locked herself in, the chill from the 
 marble tiles crept through the carpet to her 
 slippered feet. In the centre of the apart- 
 ment rose a wooden shaft bearing a brass 
 plate, and to this a telescope was securely 
 fastened. Two chairs and an old-fashioned 
 
MACARTA. 
 
 7D 
 
 oaken table, with curious carved legs, compris- 
 ed the furniture. She looked at the small side- 
 rial clock, and finding that a quarter of an 
 iioiir must elapse bejbre s!ie could make the 
 dfTsired observation, drew a chair to the table 
 and seated herself. She took from the drawer 
 a number of loose papers, and prepared the 
 blank book for registering the observation ; 
 then laid before her a slate covered with 
 figures, and began to run over the calculation. 
 At the close of fifteen minutes she placed her- 
 self at the telescope, and waited patiently for 
 the appearance of a small star which gradu- 
 ally entered the field ; she noted the exact 
 moment and position, transferred the result 
 to the register, and after a time went back to 
 slate and figures. Cautiously she went over 
 tlie work, now and then having recourse to 
 pen and paper ; she reached the bottom of the 
 slate and turned it over, moving one finger 
 along the lines. The solution was wrong; a 
 mistake had been madesomewht-re; she press- 
 e<l her palm on her forehead, and thought 
 over the whole question ; then began again. 
 The work was tedious, the calculation subtle, 
 and she attached great importance to the re- 
 sult; the second examination was fruitless as 
 the first; time was wearing away; where could 
 the error be? Without hesitation she turned 
 back for the third time, and commenced at the 
 first, slowly, patiently threading the maze. 
 Suddenly she paused and smiled ; there was 
 the mistake, glaring enough, noW. She cor- 
 rected it, and working the sum through, found 
 tiic result perfectly accurate, according fully 
 with the tables of Leverrier by which she 
 was computing. She carefully transferred the 
 operation I'rom slate to paper, and, after num- 
 bering the problem with great particularity, 
 placed all in the drawer, and turned the key. 
 It was three o'clock ; she opened the door, 
 drew her chair out on the little gallery, and 
 sat down, looking toward the east. The air 
 was crisp but still, unswayed by current waifs; 
 no sound swept its crystal waves save the low, 
 monotonous distant thunder of the falls, and 
 the deep, cloudless blue ocean of space glowed 
 wijth its numberless argosii's of stellar worlds. 
 Constellations which, in the purple twilight, 
 stood sentinel at the horizon, had marched in 
 majesty to mid-heaven, taken ref'onnoissance 
 thence, and as solemnly passed the opposite 
 horizon to report to watchini: gazers in anoth- 
 er hemisphere. " Scouts stood upon every 
 headland, on every plain ;" merfilessly the in- 
 quisitorial eye of .science followed the heaven- 
 ly wanderers; there was no escape from the 
 eager, shH'pless police who kept vigil in every 
 <'lime and country; as well call on Bootes to 
 give o'er his care of Ursa-Major, as hopelessly 
 attempt to thrust him from the ken of Cyno- 
 sura. From her earliest recollection, and 
 especially from the hour of entering school, 
 astronomy and mathematics had exerted an 
 ovcr-mastd'ing influence upon Irene's mind. 
 
 The ordinary text -books only increased her 
 interest in the former science, and while in 
 .New York, with the aid of the professor of 
 astronomy, she had possessed herself of all the 
 most eminent works bearing upon the subject, 
 sendinij across the Atlantic for tables and 
 selenographic charts, which were not to be 
 procured in America. 
 
 Under singularly fiivorably auspices she had 
 pursued her studies perseveringly, methodi- 
 cally, and, despite her father's prohibition, 
 indofatigably. He had indulged, in earlier 
 years, a penchdnt for the same science, and 
 cheerfully facilitated her progress by rear- 
 ranging the observatory so as to allow full 
 play for her fine telescope ; but, though proud 
 of her proficiency, he objected most strenu- 
 ously to her devoting so large a share of her 
 time and attention to this study, and had posi- 
 tively interdicted all observations after twelve 
 o'clock. Most girls patronize certain branches 
 of investigation with fitful, spasmodic vehe- 
 mence, or periodic impulses of enthusiasm; 
 but Irene knew no intermission of interest, 
 she hurried over no details, and, when the 
 weather permitted, never failed to make her 
 niglitly visit to the observatory. She loved 
 her work as a painter his canvas, or the 
 sculptor the marble one day to enshrine his 
 cherished ideal; and she prosecuted it, not us 
 a mere pastime, not as a toy, but as a life-long 
 labor, for the labor's sake. To-night, as her 
 drooping palms nestled to each other, and her 
 eyes searched the vast jewelled dome above, 
 thought, unwearied as the theme it pondered, 
 flew back to the dim gray dawn of Time, 
 '• When tlie morning-stars sang together, and 
 all the sons of God shouted for jgy." In paji- 
 oramic vision she crossed the dusty desert of 
 centuries, and watched with CJialdean shep- 
 herds the ])ale, sickly light of waning moons 
 on Shinar's plains ; welcomed the gnomon 
 (first-born of the great family of astronomic 
 apparatus) ; toiled over and gloried in the 
 Zaros ; stood at the armillary sphere of Ju, in 
 the days of Confucius ; studied with Thalcs, 
 Anaximander, and Pythagoras ; entered the 
 sacred precincts of the school of Crotona, 
 hand in hand with Damo, tlie earliest woman 
 who bowed a devotee at the starry shrine, and, 
 with her, was initiated into its esoteric doc- 
 trines : j)uzzled with Meton over his lunar 
 cycle ; exulted in Ilipparchus* gigantic labor, 
 the first collection of tables, the earliest relia- 
 ble catalogues; walked through the Alexan- 
 drine school of sarans, misled by Ptolemy ; 
 and l)ent with Uiiegh Beigh over the charts 
 ^t Samarcand. In imagination she accompa- 
 nied Copernicus anrl Tycho-Brahc, and wrest- 
 led with Kepler in the Titanic struggle that 
 ended in the discovery of tlu; magnificent trin- 
 ity of astronomic laws f'ramed by the Divine 
 Architect when the first star threw its faint 
 shimmer through (he .«ilent wastes of space. 
 Kepler's three laws wefe an unceasing wonder 
 
80 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 and joy to Ler, and witli fond, womanly pride 
 fhe w:is wont to recur to a lontly oh.servatory 
 in Silfiia, wlurf, before Newton rose upon the 
 world, one of ht*r own st-x, Maria Cunitz, 
 launciied upon the stormy sea of scientific 
 literature tLe " Urania Propitia." The Con- 
 gress of Liliciithal possessed far more of inter- 
 est for Iter than any wliich ever sat in august 
 council over tb(r f.ito of nation!", and the names 
 of Herychel, IJessel, Arpelamlf r, Struve, Ara- 
 
 fo, lA'\*errier, and Maedlrr were saered as 
 'er?ian lelrjin. From the ''Almagest" of 
 Ptolemy, and the " Com(?tographie ot Pingrt?, 
 to tlie " Mecanique CY-lestc," ^'lle had searched 
 and toiled; and now the suhlimc and almost 
 bewildering speculations of Maedler held her 
 upell-bound. The delicate, subtle, beautil'ul 
 problem of parallax had heretofore exerted 
 the ftrongest fajK-ination over her; but this 
 magiiifieent hypothesis of a "central sun," 
 from the monarch ot" computations at Dorpat, 
 gcized upon her imagination with painful tena- 
 city. Frqni the hour when Kepler stretched 
 out his curious fingers, feeling for the shape of 
 planetary orbitn, or Leverrier groped through 
 abysses of darkness for tiie unknown Nep- 
 tune, which a sceptical world declared existed 
 only in his m.ithematical calculationSj^ no such 
 daring or stupjndous speculation had been 
 breathed as tliis which Maedler threw down 
 from his Russian observatory. Night after 
 night she gazed upon the pleiades,' singling 
 out Alcyone, the brilliant central sun of the 
 mighty astral system, whose light met her 
 eager eyes after the long travel of five hundred 
 and thirty-seven years; and, following in tbe 
 footsteps of the great speculator, she tried to 
 
 fjra«p the result, that the period of one revo- 
 ution of our sun and systeiu around that glit- 
 tering centre was eighteen million two hun- 
 dre<I tliousand years. 
 
 The stony lips of geology asserled that our 
 globe was {^rowing old, thousands of genera- 
 tions had fallen asleej) in the bosom of niolher 
 earth, the ashes of centuries had gathcretl 
 U])on tiie pa-t, wt-re creepingover the presi-nt ; 
 and yet, in the face of catacombs, ami nuim- 
 mies, and niould<;riiig monuments, chiselled in 
 tlie infancy of the human race, mathematics 
 unrolled her figured scroll, and proclaimed 
 that Time had but begun; that chiliasms must 
 elapse, that leons on aions must ^oll away, be- 
 fore the first revolution of tlie starry universe 
 could be completed about its far-ofi" aleyon 
 centre. What mattered human lal)ors, what 
 need of trophies of human gtMiius, of national 
 
 f;randeur, or individual glory ? Eighteen mil- 
 ions of years would level all in one huge, 
 common, shapeless ruin. In comparison with 
 the mighty mechanism of the astral system, 
 the solar seemed a mere tiny cluster of jewels 
 set in some infinite abyss ; the sun shrank into 
 insignificance, the moon waned, the planets 
 became little gleaming points of light, such as 
 Ler diamond riu" threw off when held under 
 
 i gas-chandeliers. Perish the microcosm in the 
 limitless macrocosm, an<l sink tlic feeble earthly 
 'segregate in the boundless, rushing, choral ag- 
 tgregation! She was oppressed by the stu- 
 I pendous nature of the prolilem ; human reason 
 ! and imagination raeled under the vastness of 
 the subject which tliey essayed tx) contemplata 
 and nu'asure; an<l to-night, as she pondered in 
 silent awe the gigantic, overwhelming laws of 
 (Jod's great Coo/i"--, by .^ome subile association 
 ; there flashed upon h'-r memory tlie sybiilic in- 
 scription on the Temple of Neith at Sais: " I 
 : am all that has been, all that is, all that will 
 be. No mortal has ever raisid the veil which 
 j conceals me; and the fruil I have proiluccd it 
 I the sun." Had Maedler, with telo<copio in- 
 sight, climbed by mathematical laddei-s to tint 
 starry adyta of nature, anil triumphantly rai.-fvl 
 I the mystic veil V With a teeling of adoration 
 ; which no language could ailequately convey 
 i she gazed upon nebula;, and suns, and systems ; 
 ! and with the, solemn rellectiou that some, lik« 
 ! Cassiopeia's lost jewel, mij:ht be perishing, 
 wrapped in the last conflagration, while their 
 I light, still journe^eil to her, she recJiileil tho 
 ! feverish yet sublime vision of the great (Jer- 
 I man dreamer: "Once we issued ^utldenly 
 I from the middle of thickest I'.ight into an 
 ' aurora borealis — the herald of an expiring 
 I world — anil we fouml, throughout this cycle of 
 ! solar systems, that a day of judgment had 
 ■ indeed arrived. The suns had .^-ickened, and 
 . the planets were heaving, rocking, yawning 
 in convulsions; the subterraneous waters of' 
 I the great deeps were breaking up, and light- 
 j nings that were ten diameters of a world in 
 'length ran along from zenith to nadir; and. 
 here anil there, where asun should lifivi»been, 
 ! we saw, instead, through the misty vapor, a 
 I gloomy, ashy-lcaden corpse of a solar body, 
 that sucked in flames from the perishing world, 
 
 ' but gave out neither light nor heat 
 
 I Then came eternities of twilight that re- 
 I vealed but were not revealed; on tiio right 
 I hand and on the left towered mighty con- 
 stellations, that by self-repetitions and an- 
 swers from alar, that by counter-positions 
 built uj) triumphal gates, whose architrave.-, 
 whose archways — horizontal, upright — rested, 
 rose at altitude by spans — that seetlied ghostly 
 from infinitude. ^Vithout measure were the 
 architraves, j)ast nuudjcr were the archways, 
 beyond memory the gates. Sufldenly, as thus 
 we rode from infinite to infinite, and tilted 
 over abyssnial worlds, a mighty cry arose, that 
 systems more mysterious, that worlds more 
 billowy, other heights and other depths, were 
 coming, were nearing, were at hand. Then 
 the angel threw up his glorious hands to the 
 heaven of heavens, saying : ' Knd is there nona 
 to the universe of (iod. Lo ! also, thero is no 
 beginning.' " 
 
 Among the mysteries of the Crotona school 
 the Samian sage had taught the "music of tho 
 spheres," and to-night Irene dwelt upon tho 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 81 
 
 thought of that grand choir of innumerable 
 ■worlds, that mighty orchestra of starry systems, 
 
 " Whtre, through the lon?;-(Jrawn aislo and frett»d vault, 
 The pealfng anthem swells tho note of praise " 
 
 unceasingly to the Lord of glory, till her firm 
 lips relaxed, and the immortal words of Shaks- 
 peare fell slowly from them : 
 
 " Look how the floor of hoavpn 
 Id thick inlaid with patin''S of bright Rold ; 
 There 's not tho smallest orb which thou behold'st, 
 But. in his motion like an augel sings, 
 Still qiiiring to the young-eyed cluniibinis. 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 15ut whilst this muddy vestsre of decAy 
 Doth grossly close it iti, we can uot hoar it." 
 
 That the myriad members of the shining 
 archipelago were peopled with orders of intel- 
 ligent beings, differing from our race even as 
 the planets differ in magnitude and physical 
 structure, she, entertained not a doubt; and as 
 feeble fancy struggled to grasp and com- 
 prehend the ultimate destiny of the countless 
 hosts of immortal creatures, to which our 
 earthly races, with their distinct, unalterable 
 tyjies, stood hut as one small family circle 
 amid clustering worlds, her wearied brain and 
 human heart bowed humbly, reverentlj'', Wor- 
 shippingly before the God of Revelation, who 
 can "bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or 
 loose the bands of Orion ; bring forth Mazza- 
 roth in his season, and guide Arcturus with 
 his sons." Kneeling there, with the twinkling 
 light of stars upon her up-turned face, she 
 prayed earnestly for strength, and grace, and 
 guidance from on High, that she might so live 
 and govern herself that, when the season of 
 earthly probation ended, she could /earlessly 
 pass to her eternal home, and joyfully meet 
 the awful face of Jehovah. 
 
 The night was almost spent; she knew from 
 the "celestial clock-work" that Day blushed 
 ju.st beyond the horizon ; that, ere long, silver- 
 gray fingers would steal up the quiet sky, 
 parting the sable curtains ; and, taking the 
 lamp, she hung the observatory key upon her 
 girdle, and glided noiselessly' down the stair- 
 way to her own apartment. 
 
 Paragon slept on tho threshold, and raised 
 his head to greet her ; she stooped, stroked his 
 silky cars, and closed the door, shutting him 
 out. Fifteen minutes later she, too, was sleep- 
 ing soinidly; and an hour and a half afterward, 
 followed by that faithful guardian " dweller 
 of the thre^old " she swept down the steps, 
 and, amid the matin chant ©f forest birds, 
 mounted Erebus, and dashed off at full gallop 
 for the customary ride. No matter wliat oc- 
 curred to prevent her sleeping, she invariably 
 rode before breakfast^ whon the weather per- 
 mitted ; and as her midnight labors loft few 
 hours' for repose, she generally retired to her 
 room immediately after dinner and indulged 
 in tho luxury of a two hours nap. Such was 
 a portion of the regimon she had prescribed for 
 6 
 
 herself on her return from school, and which 
 she suffered only the 'inclemency of the 
 weather to iufrinoje. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 " Surely, uncle Eric, there is room enough 
 in, this large, airj'^ house of ours to accommo- 
 date my mother's brother ? I thought it was 
 fully settled that you were to reside with us. 
 There is no good reason why you shotild not. 
 Obviousl_v, we have a better claim upon you 
 than anybody else ; why doom yourself to the 
 loneliness of a separate household ? Recon- 
 sider the matter." 
 
 " No, Irene ; it is better that I should have a 
 quiet little home of my own, free from the in- 
 evitable restraint incident to residing under 
 the roof of another. My recluse nature and 
 haljits unfit me for the gay young associates 
 Avho throng this house, making carnival-time of 
 all seasons." 
 
 " I will change the library, and give you two 
 rooms on this floor, to avoid stair-steps ; I will 
 build you a wall of partition, and have your 
 doors and windows hermetically sealed against 
 intrusion. No sound of billiard-ball, or danc- 
 ing feet, or noisy laughter shall invade your 
 sanctuary. Not St. Simeon, of isolated memo- 
 ry, could desire more complete seclusion and 
 solitude than that with which I shall indulge 
 you." 
 
 " It is advisable that I should go." 
 
 " I appreciate neither the expediency nor 
 necessity." 
 
 " Like all other crusty, self-indulgent bache- 
 lor!, I have many whims, which I certainly do 
 not expect people to bear patiently." 
 
 " You are neitiier crusty nor self-indulgent, 
 that I have discovered ; as for your whims, I 
 have large charity, and will humor them." 
 
 " Irene, I want a house of my own, to which 
 I can feel privileged to invite such guests, such 
 companions, as I deem congenial, irrespective 
 of the fuiti of would-be social autocrats, and 
 the social ostracism of certain cliques." 
 
 She was silent a moment, but met his keen 
 look without the slightest embarra^ssment, and 
 yet wlion she spoke he knew, from her eyes 
 and voice, that she fidly comprehended his 
 moaning. 
 
 " Of course, it is a matter which you must 
 determine for yourself. You arc the best judge 
 of what conduces to your happiness ; but I am 
 sorry, very sorry, uncde Eric, that, in order to 
 promote it, you fe^jl it necessary to remove 
 liom our domestic circle. I shall miss you 
 painfully." 
 
 "Pardon me, but I doubt the last clause. 
 You lean on no one «uffieiently to note the 
 absence of their support." 
 
 " Do you recognize no difference between 
 a parasitic clinging and an affectionate friend- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 8hi 
 
 ip, ii valued companionship based on con- i 
 
 nial tastes and svinnathius .''" 
 
 '• Unnucjitionably, I admit and appreciate 
 the distmction ; but you <lo not m(!ft me full- 
 eyed, oj)en-baniled, on this common platform 
 of congeniality:, strengthened as it is, or should 
 be, bv near relationship. You confront mc 
 always with your emotional nature mail-clad, 
 and make our intercourse a mere intellectual 
 fpncing-match. Now, mark you, I have no 
 wish to force your confidence ; that is a curious 
 and complex lock, which onlv the golden key of 
 
 ferfect love and trust should ever open ; and 
 simply desire to say that your constitutional 
 reticence or habitual reserve precludes the 
 ' ho])P of my renderintr you cither assistance or 
 sympathv by my continued presence." 
 ' " llncle Eric, it arises from no want of trust 
 in you, but in the consciousness that only I can 
 help myself I have more than once heard 
 you quote Wallenstein ; have you so soon for- 
 gotten his words : 
 
 "Permit her own will. 
 For there »rp idrrowK. 
 Whejo. of nocetsity. the »oul must be 
 Ttd I'wn »iipi>"rl. A si roiift "heart will rely 
 On il» own strength iiloue.'' 
 
 " But. my dear girl, you certainly are no 
 Thckla V" . . / . 
 
 Was there prescience in his question, and 
 a quick recognition of it in the quiver which 
 ran across her lips and e^-elids ? 
 
 " The fates forbid that I should ever be !" 
 
 " Irene,-in the name and memory of your 
 mother, promise mo one thinp : that if sorrows 
 assail you, and a third party can bear aught 
 on his shoulders, you will call upon me." 
 
 " A most improbable conjunction of circum- 
 stances; but, in such emergency, I promise to 
 afllict you with a summons to the rescue. 
 Uncle Eric, I think J shall never gall any 
 shoulilers but my own with the burdens which 
 God may sec fit to lay on them in the coming 
 years." 
 
 He looked pained, puzzled, and irresolute ; 
 but she smiled, and swept her fingers over the 
 bars of her bird-cage, toying with -its golden- 
 throated inmate. 
 
 " Have you any engagement for this morn- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " None, sir. What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " If vou fed disjHjsed, I should bo glad to 
 have v'ou accompany me to town ; I want 
 your assistance ia selecting a set of china for 
 Inv new home. Will you go ?" 
 
 "a shadow drifted over the colorless tranquil 
 face, as siie said, sadly: 
 
 " Uncle Eric, is it utterly useless for me to 
 attempt to persuade you to relinquish this pro- 
 ject, and remain with us V" 
 
 *' Utterly useless, my dear child." 
 
 " I will get my bonnet, and join you at the 
 carriage." . , , 
 
 Very near the cottage formerly occupied by 
 :Mv3. Aubrey stood a small brick houue, par- 
 
 tially concealed by poplar and sycamore trees, 
 and surrounded by a neat, well-arranged flow- 
 er garden. This was the place selected and 
 piirchascd^by the cripple for his future home. 
 Mr. Huntmgdon had opiposed the whole pro- 
 ceeding, and invited his brother-in-law to reside 
 with him ; but beneath the cordial surface* 
 the guest felt that other .sentiment* rolled deep 
 and strong. He had little in common with 
 his sister's husband, and only a warm and in- 
 creasing .ifiection for his niece now induced 
 
 him to settle in W . Some necessary 
 
 repairs had been made, some requisite an-auge- 
 mcnts completed reganling servants, and to- 
 day the finishing touclu-M were given to the 
 snug little bachelor establishment. When it 
 was a]>parent that no arguments would avail 
 to alter the decision, Irene ceased to speak of 
 it, and busied herself in various undertakings 
 to promote her unde'.s coinlbrt. She mmle 
 pretty white curtains for his library windows. 
 Knitted bright-colored worsted lamp-mats, and 
 hemmed and marked the contents of the linen- 
 closet. The dining-room pantry she took 
 under her special charge, and at the expiration 
 of ten days, when the master took formal pos- 
 session, she acfcompanied him, and enjoyed tho 
 pleased surprise with whieh he received her 
 donation of cakes, preserves, catchups, pickles, 
 etc., etc., neatly stowed away on the spotless 
 shelves. 
 
 " I shall make a weekly pilgrimage to this 
 same pantry, and take an inventory of ita eon- 
 tents. I intend to take good care of you, 
 though you have moved off, DIogenes-like." 
 
 She ste])})ed forward, and arranged some 
 glass jars which stood rather irregularly. 
 
 "How prim and old-maidish you are!" 
 laughed her uncle. 
 
 " I never could bear to see things scattered 
 In that helter-skelter style ; I like bottles.jars, 
 plates, ami dishes drilled into straight lines, 
 not leaning in and out, in that broken-rank 
 fashjsn. I am not given to boast ing^but I will 
 say that no housekeeper can show a nicer, 
 neater pantr)- than my own." 
 
 " What have you in that basket?" 
 
 " Flowers from the green-house. Come into 
 the library, and let me dress your new vases." 
 
 He followed her into the next room, and 
 watched her as she leisurely and tastefully 
 disposed her (lowers ; now searching the basket 
 for a sprig of ever-green, an<l now bending 
 obstinate stems to make still' clusters leai^ 
 lovingly to each other. Placing the vases on 
 tho mantle, she stcppitd back to inspect the 
 effect, and said, grayeLv : 
 • " How l)(!autiful they are ! Let me always 
 dress your vases, uncle. Women have a knack 
 of intertwining .stems and grouping colors; our 
 fingers v.ere ordained for all such embroidery 
 on the coarse gray serge of stern, practical 
 every-day life. You men are more at homo 
 with state papers, machine-shops, navies, 
 armies, political aconomy, and agricultiu*al 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 83 
 
 chemistry than with fragile azaleas and 
 golden-dusted lilies. Before he could reply 
 she turned, and asked : 
 
 " What do those large square boxes in the 
 hall contain ?" 
 
 " Books which I gathered in Europe and 
 selected in New York; among them many 
 rare old volumes, which you have never seen. 
 Come down next Monday, and help me to 
 number and shelve them ; afterward, we will 
 read them together. Lay aside your bonnet, 
 and spend the evening with me." 
 
 •' No, I must go back ; Hugh sent me word 
 that he would bring company to tea." 
 
 He took her hand, and drew heu close to his 
 chair, saying, gently : 
 
 " Ah, Irene ! I wish I could keep you al- 
 ways. You would be happier here, in this little 
 unpretending home of mine, than presiding as 
 mistress over that great palatial house on the 
 hill yonder." 
 
 " There you mistake me most entirely. I 
 love, better than any other place on earth, my 
 stately, elegant, beautiful home. Not Fon- 
 taineblcau, Windsor, Potsdam ; not tfcie vine- 
 yards of Shiraz, or the gardens of Damascus, 
 could win me from it. I love every tree, every 
 creeper, every foot of ground from the front 
 gate to the brink of the creek. If you sup- 
 pose that I am not happy there, you err 
 egregiously." 
 
 " My intuitions rarely deceive me." 
 
 " At least, uncle Eric, they play you false in 
 this instance. Why, sir, I would not give my 
 
 frand old avenue of primeval elms for St. 
 'eter's nave. Your intuitions are full of cob- 
 webs ; have them well swept and dusted before 
 I see you Monday. Good night, uncle; I must 
 really go. If you find we have forgotten any- 
 thing, send Willis up for it." 
 
 He kissed her fingers tenderly, and, takinf^ 
 her basket, she left him alone in his new honift. 
 
 A few weeks passed without incident ; Hugh 
 wont to New Orleans to visit friends, aind 
 Mr. Huntingdon was frequently absent at the 
 plantation. 
 
 One day he expressed the desire that Judge 
 Harris' family should dine with him, and ad- 
 ded several gentlemen, " to make the party 
 rnerry." Irene promptly issued the invita- 
 tions, suppressing the reluctance which filled 
 her heart; for the young people were not fa- 
 vorites, and she dreaded Charlie's set speeches 
 and admiring glances, not less than his mother's 
 endless disquisitions on fashion and the pedi- 
 gree of all the best families of W and 
 
 its vicinage. Grace had grown up very pretty, 
 highly accomplished, even-tempered, gentle- 
 hearted, but full of her mother's fashionable 
 notions, and, withal, rather weak and frivo- 
 lous. She and Irene were constantly thrown 
 into each other's society, but no warmth of, 
 feeling existed on either side. Grace could 
 not comprehend her companion's character, 
 ?«>d Iren« wearied of her gay, heedless chit- 
 
 chat." As the latter anticipated, the day proved 
 very tiresome ; the usual complement of music 
 was contributed by Grace, the expected quan- 
 tity of flattering nothings gracefully uttered 
 by her brother, the customary amount of exe- 
 crable puns handed around the circle for 
 patronage, and Irene gave the signal for din- 
 ner. Mr. Huntingdon prided himself on his 
 fine wines, and, after the decanters had circu- 
 lated freely, the gentlemen grew garrulous as 
 market-women. 
 
 Irene was gravely discussing the tariff ques- 
 tion with Mr. Herbert BlackwcU (whom Mrs. ^ 
 Harris pronounced the most promising young 
 lawyer of her acquaintance), and politely 
 listening to his stereotyped reasoning, when ' 
 a scrap of conversation at the opposite end of 
 the table attracted her attention. 
 
 " Huntingdon, my dear fellow, I tell you I 
 never made a mistake in my life, when read- 
 ing people's minds ; and if Aubrey has not 
 
 the finest legal intellect in W , I will 
 
 throw up my judgeship. You have seen ^ 
 Campbell, I suppose ? He returned last week, 
 and, by the way, I half-expected to meet him 
 to-day; well, I was talking to him about Au- 
 brey, and he laughed his droll, chuckling 
 laugh, snapped his bony fingers in my face, 
 and said : 
 
 "Aye! aye, Harris! let him alone; hands 
 off! and I will wager my new office against 
 your old one that he steps into your honor's 
 shoes. Now you know perfectly well that 
 Campbell has no more enthusiasm than a 
 brick wall, or a roll of red tape ; but he is as 
 proud of the young man as if he were his 
 son. Do you know that he has taken him into 
 partnership ? 
 
 *' Pshaw 1 he will never commit such a faux 
 pax." 
 
 "But he has; I read the notice in this 
 morning's paper. Pass the madeira. The 
 fact is, we must not allow our old prejudices to 
 make us unjust. I know Aubrey has struggled 
 hard ; he had much to contend ." 
 
 " Hang Campbell and the partnership ! 
 He will find that he has played the fool, be- ' 
 fore he gets rid of his precious pet. Miss 
 Grace, do let me fill your glass? Mv youn»T 
 prude there at the head of the table just nip's 
 hers as if she feared it was poisoned. Mrs. 
 ILirris, you have no sherry ; permit me." 
 
 "The young man's antecedent* are most 
 disgraceful, Mr. Huntingdon, and I told the 
 judge last night that I was surprised at Mr. 
 Campbell's infatuation," chimed in Mrs. Har- 
 ris over her golden sherrv. 
 
 " Whose antecedents, mother ?" 
 
 " My dear, we were speaking of Russell 
 Aubrej', and the stigma on his name and 
 character," 
 
 "Oh, yes! His father was sentenced to 
 be hung, I believe, and committed suicide iu 
 prison. But what a splendid, dark-looking 
 man he is ! Docidedly the most superb figure 
 
84 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 f 
 
 and eyes in W 
 
 school-girl : -will oros? the street to avoid meet- 
 ing a body. WRen be finds that he can not 
 
 Shy, thouch ! shy as a I like cups, and tinted as no Sevres china ever 
 I will be. Urging Erebus into the thicket, 
 ' Irene broke as many clusters as she could 
 i conveniently carrv; dragged a long tangled 
 j wreath of late jasmijie from its seclusion, fast- 
 ' ened jt across the pommel of the saddle, and 
 ' turned her horse's head homeward. The siffht 
 
 dodge you, he gives you the full benefit of his 
 magn-icont eyes, and bows as haughtily as 
 Great Mogul Maria Henderson goes into 
 
 raptures over his figure." ^ 
 
 Witli head slightly inclined, and eyes fixe<l of these ivy cups recalled the memory of her 
 
 on Mr. Blai'kwell's iiue, Irene had heard 'all 
 that passed, and as the gentleman paused in 
 liis harangue to drain his glass, she rose and 
 led the way to the parlors. The gentlemen 
 adjourned to the smoking-room, and in a short 
 time Mrs. Harris ordered her carriage, plpa<l- 
 ins an engagement with Grace's mantua- 
 maker as an excuse for leaving so early. With 
 a feeling of infinite relief the hostess accom- 
 panied them to the door, saw the carriage 
 descend the avenue, and, desiring one of the 
 servants to have Erebus saddled at once, slic 
 went to her room aiid changed the rich dinner- 
 dress for her riding-habit. As she sprang into 
 the saddle, and gathered up the reins, her 
 fathfr called from the open window, whence 
 issued curling wn^hs of blue smoke : 
 
 " AVhere now, Irene ?" 
 
 " I am going to vide ; it threatened rain this 
 morning, and 1 was afraid to venture." 
 
 He said something, but without hearing she 
 rode off, and was soon out of sight, leaving the 
 town to the left, ^vnd taking the road that 
 wound along tlie river-bank — the same where, 
 
 aunt Margaret; they had been her favorite 
 flowers, and, as thought now took another 
 channel, she directed her way to the grave- 
 vard. She always rode rapiiUy, and, ere long, 
 Erebus' feet drew sparks from the rocky road 
 hading np the hill-side to the cemetery gate. 
 Dismounting, she fastened the reins to one of 
 the iron spikes, and, gathering the folds of her 
 habit over her arm, carried her flowers to the 
 family-bur>-ing ground. It was a large square 
 lot, enclosed by a handsome railing and tall 
 gate, bearing the name of " Huntingdon " in 
 silver letters. As she approached, she was 
 surprised to find a low brick wall and beauti- 
 ful new marble monument close to her father's 
 lot, and occupying a space which had been 
 filled with gra.ss and weeds a few weeks pre- 
 vious. While she paused, wondering whose 
 was the new monument, and resolved to ex- 
 amine it, a tall form stepped from behind the 
 column, and stood, with folded arms, looking 
 down at the grave. There was no mistaking 
 face or figure; evidently he was unaware of 
 her presence, though she was near enough to"** 
 
 years before, she had cantered with Grace, i mark the stern sorrow written on his countu- 
 Hugh, and Charlie. It was a windless, sunny j nance. She glided forward and opened the 
 April afternoon ; trees were freshly robed in i heavy gate of her own enclosure ; witli diffi- 
 new-boru fringy foliage, green and "[listeningM culty she pushed it ajar, and v/ith a sudden, 
 long grassy slopes looked like crinkled velvet, | sharp, clanging report it swung back, and tho 
 starred with delicate pale blue houstonias ; I bolt slid to its rusty place. He lifted his eyes 
 wandering woodbine trailed its coral trumpets ; then, and .saw her 6tandiug.a few yards from 
 in and out of grass and tangled shrubs, and ! him ; the rich soft folds of the Maria Louise 
 Jate wood azaleas loaded the air with their ' blue riding- dress trailed along the ground; 
 
 delicious, into.Kicating p«rfume. Irene felt un- 
 wontedly depressed; tlie day had wearied her; 
 she shook the reins, and the beautiful horse 
 sprang on in a quick gallop. For a mile far- 
 ther they dashed along the river bank, and 
 then reining him up, she leaned forward and 
 <lrew a long, <leep breath. The scene was 
 surpassingly (piiet and beautiful ; on either 
 side wooded hills came down, herd-like, to the 
 edge of the stream to lave their thirsty sides, 
 and listen to the continual .'^olemn- monotone 
 of the foaming falls: here a small flock of slieep 
 browsed on the young waving grass, and there 
 contented-looljiug cow.s, with glossy satin skins, 
 saunl(!red homeward, taking the road with as 
 much precision as their Swiss sisters to the 
 tune of Ranz dex Vackes ; the broad river 
 sweeping down its rocky pavement, and, over 
 all, a mellow April sky of intense 'blue, with 
 whiifs of creamy vapoi", sinuous as floss silk. 
 Close to the m.irgin of the river grew a luxu^ 
 riant mass of ivy, and now the daiic shining 
 foliage was ilecked with tiny rosy buds, and 
 well-blown waxen petals, crimped into fairy- 
 
 the blue velvet hat, with its long drooping 
 j plume, had become loosened by tho exercise, 
 I and, sli])ping back, left fully exposed the daz- 
 j zling white face and golden glory of waving 
 I hair. She bowed, he returned the silent token 
 I of recognition, and she moved forward to her 
 I aunt's tomb, wreathintr it with the fiowers 
 ; which Miss Margaret had loved .so well. The 
 I sun was low, leaning upon the purple crest of 
 a distant hill ; the yellow light flashed over the 
 forest, of marble pillars, and their cold polish- 
 ed surfaces gave back the waning glare, 
 throwing it oil" contemptuously, as if sunshine 
 were a mockery in that silent city of the de4il. 
 Sombre sacred guardian cedars 'extended 
 their arms lovingly over the marble couches 
 of fair young sleepers in God's Acre, and 
 venerable willows wept over many a stela, 
 whose inscription lichen-footed Time had ef- 
 faced. Here slept two generations of the 
 Huntingdons, and the last scion of the pr«ud 
 old hou.se stood up among the hoarded bones 
 of her ancestry, glancing round at the mos.'s- , 
 stained costly mausoleums, and noting the 
 
MACARIA. 85 
 
 \ 
 
 fact that tlie crowded lot had room for but 
 two more narrow beds — two more silent citi- 
 zens — her father and herself. It was a reflec- 
 tion which she had little inclination to linger 
 over, and, retaining a beautiful cluster of ivy 
 and jasmine, she left the enclosure, keeping 
 her eyes fixed on the ground. 
 
 As she passed the new lot the gate swung 
 open, and Russell stood before her. 
 
 "Good evening, j\Iiss Huntingdon." 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Aubrey." 
 
 The jiame sountled strange and harsh as she 
 uttered it, and involuntarily she paused and 
 held out her hand. He accepted it ; for an in- 
 stant the cold fingerf Iay»iu his warm palm, 
 and as she withdrew them he said, in the rich 
 mellow voice which she had heard in the 
 church : 
 
 " Allow me to show you my mother's monu- 
 ment." 
 
 He held the gate open, and she entered and 
 stood at his side. Tbe monument was beautiful 
 in its severe simplicity — a pure, faultless shaft, 
 crowned with a delicately -chiselled wreath of 
 
 f)oppy leaves, and bearing these words in gilt 
 otters : " Sacred to the memory of m}- mother, 
 Amy Aubrey." Just below, in JDlacic charac- 
 ters, ^^ Resurgam ;" and, underneath the whole, 
 on a finely-lluted scroll, the inscription of St. 
 Gilgen. After a silence of some moments 
 Russell pointed to the singular and solemn 
 words, and said, as if speaking rather to liimself 
 than to her : 
 
 " I want to say always, with Paul Flemming, 
 * I will be strong, and therefore I placed here 
 the inscription which proved an evangel to 
 him, that when I come to my mother's gravo 
 I may be strengthened, not melted, by the 
 thronjiinsr of bitter memories." 
 
 "I doubt the success of your mission; 
 
 W has little to tempt aii artist liko your 
 
 cousin. Be kind enough to tender her my 
 love, and best wishes for the realization of her 
 artistic dreams." 
 
 They had reached the gate where Erebus 
 waited", when Russell took off his.hat reverent- 
 ly, and pointed to the western sky all " aflame." 
 Masses of purple, scarlet, gold, amber, and 
 pure pale opaline green blended in one mag- 
 nificent conflagration ; and toward the zenith 
 tortuous feathery braids and dashes of blood- 
 retl cirri, gleaming through the mild balmy 
 air like coral reefs in some breezeless oriental 
 sea. 
 
 " No soft, neutral, sober ' Graiae' , there," 
 said Irene, lifting her hand to the glowing 
 cloud-panorama. 
 
 lie took up the quotation promptly, and 
 ad(k-(l : 
 
 " ' The Angel of the Sea ' is abroad on his 
 immemorial mission, the soft wings droop still 
 with <lew, and the shadows of their plumes 
 falter on the hill; strange laughings and.glit- 
 terings of silver streamlets, born suddenly, and 
 twined about the mossy heights 'in trickling 
 tinsel, answering to them as they wave. Tho 
 coiled locks of ' hundred-headed Typhou ' leave 
 no menace yonder." 
 
 He paused, .and turning suddenly, with a 
 piercing look at his companion, continued : 
 
 " Miss Huntingdon, ' on what anvils and 
 wheels is the vapor pointed, twisted, ham- 
 mered, whirled as the potter's clay ? By what 
 hands is the incense of. the sea built up into 
 domes of marble V " , 
 
 " I seerfhat you follow assiditously the beck 
 of Nature's last anointed hierophant, and go 
 in and out with the seer, fljiren among the cheru- 
 
 She looked up as he spoke, and the melan- bim and seraphim of his metropolitan cathe- 
 
 choly splendor of the deep eyes stirred her 
 heart as nothing had ever done before. 
 
 " I have a few flowers left ; let me lay them 
 as an aifectionate tribute, an *■ in memoriam' 
 on y6ur mother's tomb — for the olden tiftie, the 
 cottage days, are as fresh in my recollection as 
 in yours." 
 
 She held out the woodland boutjuet ; he took 
 it, and strewed the blossoms along the broad 
 base of the shaft, reserving only a small clus- 
 ter of the rosy china cups. Both were silei)t; 
 but, as she turned to go, a sudden gust blew 
 her hat from her head, the loosened comb fell 
 upon the grass, and down, came the heavy 
 masses of hair. She twisted them hastily into 
 a coil, fastened them securely, and received 
 her hat from him, with a cool 
 
 dral, witli its 'gates of rock, paven\ents of 
 cloud, cnoirs of stream, altars of snow, and 
 vaults of purple, traversed by the continual 
 stars.' " 
 
 "Yes; I am a reverent student and warm 
 admirci* of John Ruskin. I learned to love 
 him first through the recommendations of my 
 cousin ; then lor his gorgeous, unapproachable 
 word-painting." 
 
 While they talked, the brilliant pageant 
 faded, the coral banks paled to snowy lines, as 
 if the blue waves of air were foam-crested, and 
 in the valley below rose the dusky outline of 
 dark-haired, wan-browed, gray-clad twilight, 
 stcalinjj her " sober hvery" over the" flushed 
 and fretted bosom of the murmuring river. 
 
 " You have a lonjj walk to town," said 
 
 " Thank you, sir; when did you hear from. Irene, as Russell arranged her horse's reins. 
 
 Electra ?" 
 
 ♦ They walked on to the cemetery gate, and 
 he answered : 
 
 " I have heard nothing for some weeks. 
 Have you any message ? I am going to New 
 York in a few days, to try to pei-suadtt her to 
 return to W with me." 
 
 " I shall not find it Ion;;. It is a fine piece 
 of road, and the stars will be up to light it." 
 
 He held out his hand to assist her ; she 
 sprang easily to the saddle, then leaned toward 
 him, every <>tatue-like curve and niouhling of 
 her proud ivory face statnping themselves on 
 bis recollection, as she spoke. 
 
8« MACARIA 
 
 I 
 
 •' Be 80 pood as to hand me my glove ; I [ do you ? Presently you will hear your fath- 
 dropped it at your feet as I mounted. Than^ er's voice 80undin<j like a brass trumpet down 
 Good-evening, Mr. AuVirey ; take my I stairs, if you ar'n't ready. There ! John 
 ■ ' ' ' ■■ rincrs that bell as if he had the dead to raise !'» 
 " That will do, aunt Nellie, only give me a 
 handkerchief." 
 
 She went down, and met her father at the 
 
 best wishes on vour journey and '\t» mi.ssion.' 
 
 " Good-by, Miss Huntingilon." He raised 
 
 his hat, and, as she whi-eled off, the magnetic 
 
 handuome face followed, haunted her. Erebus 
 
 was impatient, out of humor, and flew up the ; dining-room door. 
 
 Comi.', Queen ; we are waiting for you." 
 He looked at her fondly, took her hand, and 
 drew her to the tilile ; and, in after years, she 
 recalled this occasion with mournful pleasure 
 as the last on which he had ever given her his 
 pet name. 
 
 '* . . . Theru Mb fntal dnyi, Indeed, 
 In which tliB fibrmii y'ari have taken' root y 
 So ileoply. tlml tliey quiTi-r to their tups 
 Whene'er yuu itir the Uuhl ufiuch a day." 
 
 next Steep hill a.s if he, too, were haunted. 
 Glancing back as she reached the summit, 
 Irene *aw the erect, stern, solitary figure at 
 the extremity of the wooded vista, and in 
 that mystical dim light he looked a colo.''sal 
 avenging Viking. | 
 
 Once more, as in childhood, she heard the j 
 whirr of the loom of destiny ; and tornight, ! 
 catching sight of the ParcaB fingers, she knew 
 that along the silver warp of her life ran dark 
 alien threads, interwc^iiving all in one shape- 
 less, tangled web. 
 
 On through gathering gloom dashed horse 
 and rider, over the little gurgling stream, 
 through the gate, up the dark, ray less avenue 
 to tlie door-step. The billiard-room was a 
 blaze of light, and the cheerful sound of min- 
 gled voices came out at the open window, to 
 tell that the genlleuieii liad not yet finished 
 their game. Pausing in the hall, Irene lis- 
 tened an instant to distinguish the voices, then 
 ascended the long, easy 8tair»case. The lamp 
 threw a mellow radiance on the steps, and as 
 she reached the landing Hugh caught her in 
 his arms, and kissed her warmly. Startled by 
 his unexpected appearance, she recoiled a 
 step or two and asked, rather haughtily : 
 
 " "When did you get home V" 
 
 " Only a few moments after you left the 
 house. Do change your dre.«3 tjuickly, and 
 como down. I have a thousand things to say." I stars, she never stretches my brains the hun- 
 
 Slie waited to hear no more, but disengaged i dredtli part of an inch to comprehend her «le- 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " Come out on the colonnade; the air is de- 
 licious." As he spoke, Hugh drew his cousin's 
 arm through his, and led the way from the tea- 
 table. 
 
 " You had company to dine to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes; if I had known that you were coming 
 home to-day, I would have postponed the in- 
 vitation till to-morrow. Grace expressed much 
 disappointment at your absence." 
 
 "ludeedl Of course I am duly grateful. 
 AVhat a pretty, sweet little creature she is I 
 So sprightly, so vivacious, so winning ; so 
 charmingly ignorant of 'Almacantar ' and 
 'Azimuth,' and all such learned stupidity. 
 Unlike some royal personages of my actpiain- 
 tance, who are for ever soaring among the 
 
 herself and went to her room. 
 
 " Now, child ! why will you do so ? What 
 makes you stay out so late, and then come 
 thundering back like a hurricane ? 
 did like that horse's great big saucy, shining, 
 deviliah eyes. I tell Andrew constantly I wisli 
 he would manage to break his legs while he 
 is jumping over all the Icnces on the place. 
 You scare me nearly to death about your rid- 
 ing; I tell' you, beauty, that black satan will 
 break your neck Vet. Your grandfather was 
 flung from just su(di a looking brute, and 
 dragged till he was dead ; and some day that 
 everlasting long hair of yours will drag you to 
 your grave. Here it is now, all streaming 
 down your back ; yes — just as I expected — 
 not a blessed hair-pin left in it ; done galloped 
 'em all clean out. You will ride yourself mto 
 eternity. Sit down, and let me comb it out; 
 it is all in a tangle, like ravelled yellow silk." 
 
 Nellie looked cloudy, moody, and her mis- 
 tress offered no resistan<'e to her directions. 
 
 " Mas' Hugh 's come." 
 
 "Y'es; I know it." 
 
 " But you don't know supper is ahnost ready, 
 
 liglitfid prattle. Like Dickens' ' Dora,' she 
 
 regards any attempt to rejison with her as a 
 
 greater insult than downright scolding. Your 
 
 I never | holemn worshipper was also present, I belie,Vb?" 
 
 " To whom do you allude V" 
 
 " Your tedious, tiresome, pertinacious shad- 
 ow, Herbert Blackwell, of course ! Do you 
 know ith.-U I rletest that man most cordially V" 
 
 " For what reason V" 
 
 " I really do not feel in the mood to enume- 
 rate all his pec^cadilloes and disagreeable traits ; 
 but it is supremely ridiculous to see the way in 
 which he hovers round you, like one of those 
 large black moths about the hall lamp." 
 
 " Conie, come, Hugii ! Mr. Blackwell is a 
 man whom I respect and esteem, and you shall 
 not make him a target for your merriment." 
 
 " Oh, doubtless I my czarina! and, as a re- 
 ward jbr your consideration, he would fain 
 confer on you his distinguished hand and 
 forlune. It' is quite a respectable farce to 
 watch him watching you." 
 
 " 1 wiah you had a tithe of his industry and 
 perseverance. Did it ever occur to you that 
 life is given for nobler purposes and loftier as- 
 
MACARIA 
 
 S7 
 
 pirations than hunting, fishing, horse-racing, 
 gambling, and similar modes of murdering 
 time which you habitually patronize ?" 
 
 " You are too young to play the role of 
 Mentor,, and those rare red lips of yours were 
 never meant for homilizing. Irene, how long 
 do you intend to keep me in painful suspense ?" 
 
 " I am not aware that I have in any degree 
 kept you in suspense." 
 
 "At all events you know that you torture 
 me with cool, deliberate cruelty." 
 
 " I deny your charge most solemnly." 
 
 " My dear Irie, let us understand each other 
 fully, for ." 
 
 " Nay, Hugh — bn honest ; there is no mis- 
 apprehension whatever. We thoroughly un- 
 derstand each other already." 
 
 " You sIkiII not evade me ; I have been pa- 
 tient, and the time has come when we must 
 talk of our future. Irene, dearest, be gener- 
 ous, and tell me when will you give me, irre- 
 vocably, this hand whidh has been promised 
 to me from your infancy ?" 
 
 He took the hand and carried it to his lips, 
 but she forcibly withdrew it, and, disengaging 
 her arm, said, emphatically : 
 
 " Never, Hugh. Never." 
 
 " How can you trifle with me, Irene? If 
 you could realize how impatient I am for the 
 happy day when I shall call you my wife, you 
 would be serious, and fix an early period for 
 our marriage." 
 
 " Hugh, why will you aflect to misconceive 
 my meaning ? I am sei-ious ; I have pondered, 
 long and well, a matter involving your life- 
 long happiness and mine, and I tell you, mest 
 solemnly, that I will never be your wife." 
 
 " Oh, Irene ! your promise ! your sacred 
 promise !" 
 
 "1 never gave it! On the contrary, I have 
 never failed to show you that my whole nature 
 rebelled against the most unnatural relation 
 forced upon me. I can not, shall not, hold 
 myself bound by the promise of another made 
 when I was an unconscious infant. I know 
 the family compact, sealed by my father's 
 word, at your motlier's death-bed, making 
 two little irresponsible children parties to a 
 thoroughly selfish, ignoble contract, which is 
 revolting to me. Your future and mine were 
 adumbrated fiom ray cradle, and that which i 
 only we could legitimately decide was usurped • 
 and predetermined. You have known, for j 
 years, that I loathed the licartless betrothal 
 and ignored its restrictions; my unalterable 
 determination was very apparent when you 
 returned from Europe. You were ke\)t in no 
 pn>p('nse ; you understood me then as fully as 
 now ; and it is ungenerous, umnanly, to press 
 a suit which you can not fail to know is ex- 
 tremely disagreeable to me." 
 
 " My dear Irene, have you, then, nolovo for 
 me? 1 have hoped and believed that you 
 hid your love behind your cold mask of proud j 
 
 silence. You must, you do love me, my beau- 
 tiful cousin !" , 
 
 " You do not believe your own words ; you 
 are obliged to know better. I love you as 
 iuy cousin, love you somewhat as I love undo 
 Eric, love you as the sole young relative left 
 to me, as the only companion of my lonely 
 childhood ; but other love than this I never 
 had, never can have for you. Hugh, my 
 cousin, look' fearlessly at the unvarnished 
 truth ; neither you nor I have one spark of 
 that affection which alone can sanction mar- 
 riage. We are utterly unlike in thought, 
 taste, feeling, habits of life, and aspirations ; 
 I have no sympathy with yotir pursuits, you 
 are inv^ariably afllicted with ennui at the bare 
 suggestion of mine. Nature stamped us with 
 relentless antagonisms of character ; I bow to 
 her decree, rather than to man's word. Danto 
 painted no purgatory dark enough to suit tho 
 wretchedness tliat would result from such an 
 unhol}" union as ours Avould be. Think of it, 
 Hugh; a loveless marriage ; a mere moneyed 
 partncrsliip; a sort of legal contract; the only 
 true union being of bank stock, railroad 
 shares, and broad plantations." She leaned 
 against one of the pillars with her arm? folded, ' 
 and a cold, merciless smile curling the beauti- 
 ful mouth. 
 
 " Indeed, you wrong me ! my worshipped 
 cousin. You are dearer to me than every- 
 thing else on earth. I have loved you, and 
 you only, from my boyhood ; you have been a 
 lovely idol from earliest recollection !" 
 
 " You are mistaken, most entirely mistaken ; 
 I am not to be deceived, neither can you 
 hoodwink yourself. You like me, you love 
 me, in the same quiet way that I love you ; 
 you admire me, perhaps, more than any one 
 you change to know just now; you are par- 
 tial to my b(!aut3', *'^^^ from long habit, have 
 come to regard me as your proi)erty, much in 
 the same light as that in which you look upon 
 your costly diamond buttons, or your high- 
 S]iirited horses, or rare imported pointers. Af- 
 ter a fashion you like me, Hugh ; I know you 
 do ; and, my cousin, it would be most lamenta- 
 ble and unnatural if you had not some affec- 
 tion for me ; but love such as a man should 
 have for the woman whom he makes his life- 
 companion, and calls by the sacred name of 
 wif<', you have not one atom* of I do not 
 wisli to wound you, but I must talk to you as 
 any reasonable woman would on a question 
 of such'great importanee ; for I hold it no light 
 thing for two souls to burden themselves with 
 vows which neither can possibly perform. 
 Hugh, I abhor shams I and I tell you now 
 that I never will be a party to that which 
 others have arranged without my consent." 
 
 " Ah 1 I see how matters stand. Having 
 disposed of your heart, and lavished your love 
 elsewhere, you shrink from fulfilling the sa- 
 cred obligations that make you mine. I little 
 
83 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 dreamed that you were bo Busceptible, else I 
 had not left you feeling so secure. Sly uncle 
 lias not proved the faithful jruardian I be- 
 lieved him when I entrusted my tre;isure, my 
 affianced bride to his care." 
 
 Bitter disappointment flaslicd in his face 
 and quivered in his voice, renderinjj him reck- 
 less of consequences. But tliouuli he gazed 
 fiercely at her as he uttered the taunt, it 
 jiroduced not the- faintest visible effect; the 
 cloudless chi.selled face still wore its quiet smile 
 of mild irony, and the low clear voice pre- 
 served its sweetness. 
 
 ^ " You do my iather rank injustice, IIu<Th. 
 Not Ladon was more fiiithful or tireless than 
 he has been." 
 
 " He can not deny that the treasure has 
 been stolen, nevertlieless !" 
 
 " He probably can and will deny that the 
 golden treasure luis been snatched from his 
 ^aiardianship. Another Atlas or a second 
 Hercules would be needed for such a theft." 
 
 The application stung him; he crimsoned, 
 
 which he was 
 
 k'ith a degre 
 probably u 
 
 unconscious at the 
 
 and retorted with a (Jesri't^e of bitterness of 
 
 which h 
 
 moment 
 
 " You, at least, dare not deny my charge, 
 my truthful, constant Jimicee !" ' 
 
 " Either you over-estimate my supposed 
 ofTencc.orunder-rate my courage; there are 
 few honorable things which I dare not do." 
 
 " Confess, then, who stands between your 
 heart and mine. I have a right to ask ; I will 
 know." 
 
 " You furget yourself, my cousin. Your right 
 is obviously a debatable question; we will waive 
 it, if you please. I have told you already, and 
 now I repeat it for the last time, I will not go 
 •vith you to the altar, because neither of us 
 has proper affection for the other to warrant 
 such a union ; because it would be an infamous 
 pecuniary contract, revelling to every true 
 boul. I do not want your estate, and you 
 should be content with your ample fortune 
 witliout coveting my inheritance, or consent- 
 ing to sell your manhood to manimon. I 
 Avould not suit you for a wife ; go find some 
 more eongetiial spirit, some gentle, clinging 
 girl, who will live only in your love and make 
 sou forget all vise in her presence. I have 
 no fancy for the Gehenna our married life 
 v.ould inevitably prove. Hencefortli there is 
 no margin for misappi'ehension ; understand 
 that we meet in future as cousins, only as 
 cousins, acknowledging no other relationship, 
 no other tie save tllat, of consanguinity; for 
 I do not hrisitatc to snap the links that were 
 lorged in my babyhood, to annul the unright- 
 eous betrothal of other hands. Hugh, cherish 
 no animosity against me ; I merit none. Be- 
 cause we can not be more, shall we be less 
 than friends?" 
 
 She held out her hand, but he was too 
 angry to accept it, and asked, haughtily : 
 
 '' Shall I break this pleasant piece of infor- 
 
 mation to my,uncl« ? Or do you feel quite 
 equal to the task of blighting all his long- 
 cherished hopes, as well as mine V" 
 
 " I leave it in your hands; consult your dis- 
 cretion, or your pleasure ; to me it matters 
 little. Remember my earnest request, that 
 you bear me no malice in the coming years, 
 (jood-night, my cousin." 
 
 She turned to leave him, but he caught her 
 dress, and exclaimed, with more tenderness 
 than he had ever manifested before : 
 
 " Oh, Irene I do not reject me utterly ! I 
 can not relinquish you. Give me one more 
 year to prove my love ; to win yours. If your 
 proud heart is still your own, may I, not hope 
 to obtain it, by ." 
 
 " No, Hugh I no. As well hope to Inspire 
 aflfection in yonder mute marble guardians. 
 Forgive me if I pain you, but I must be can- 
 did at every hazard." She pointed to the 
 statues near the door, and went through the 
 green -house to the library, thence to the 
 observatory, expecting, ere long, to be joined 
 b)' her father. Gradually the^ house became 
 quiet, and, oppressed with the painful sense of 
 coming trouble, she sought her own room just 
 a<j the clock struck twelve. Pausing to count 
 the strokes, she .saw a light gleaming through 
 the key-hole of her father's door, opposite her 
 own, and heard the sound of low but earnest 
 conversation mingled with ^le restless tramp 
 of pacing feet. She was powerfully tempted 
 to cross the passage, knock, and have the 
 ordeal ended then and there ; but second 
 thought whispered, " To-morrow will soon bo 
 here ; be patient." She entered her room, 
 and, wearied by the events of the day, fell 
 asleep, dreaming of the new lot in the ceme- 
 tery, and the lonely, joyless man who haunt- 
 ed it. 
 
 As she adjusted her riding-habit the follow- 
 ing morning, and suflered Andrew to arrange 
 her stirrup, the latter said, good-humoredly : 
 
 *' So, Mas' Hugh got the start of you? It 
 is n't often he beats you." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " He started a while ago, and, if he drives as 
 he {jcnerally does, he will get to his plailtation 
 in time for dinner." 
 
 " Did fathtr go, too?" 
 
 " No ma'ni ; bnlv Mas' Hugh, in his own 
 
 Jn the quiet, leafy laboratory of nature 
 there is an elixir of strength for those wise 
 enough to seek it ; and its subtle, volatile 
 properties continually come to the relief of 
 wearied, over -taxed brains, and aching, op- 
 jjressed hearts. The human frame, because of 
 its keen susceptibility to impressions from the 
 external world, and its curious adaptation 
 thereunto, becomes, like the strings of an 
 ylColian iiarp, attuned perfectly to the breath 
 that sweeps it, and is by turns the exponent 
 of stormy passitn or holy resignation^ Thus 
 from the cool serenity, the dewy sparkb, and 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 89 
 
 delicate perfume of the early morning, Irene 
 derived a renewal of strength suQh as no 
 purely human aid could have furnish^. She 
 remembered now the sibyllic words of the 
 young minister: " You, too, must tread the wine- 
 press alone," and felt that the garments of her 
 soul were taking the dye, the purple stain of 
 the wine of trial. Doubtless he had alluded 
 to a different ordeal, but she knew that all the 
 future of her earthly existence was to receive 
 its changeless hue from this day, and she could 
 entertain but a modicum of doubt as to what 
 that hue would prove. Returning from her 
 ride, she stood a moment on the front step, 
 looking down the avenue. The bermuda ter- 
 race blazed in the sun-light like a jewelled 
 coronal, the billowy sea of foliage, crested by 
 dewy drops', flashed and dripped as the soft air 
 stirred the ancient trees, the hedges were all 
 alive with birds and butterflies, the rich aroma 
 of brilliant and countless flowers, the graceful 
 curl of smoke wreathing up from the valley 
 beyond, the measured musical tinkle of bells 
 as the cows slowly descended the distant hills, 
 and, over all, like God's mantling mercy, a 
 summer sky — 
 
 " As blun as Aaron's priestly robe appeared 
 To Aaron, when be took it oU" to dio." 
 
 Involuntarily she stretched out her arms to 
 the bending heavens and her lips niOvcd, but 
 no sound escaped to tell what petition went 
 forth to the All -Father. She went to her 
 room, changed her dress, and joined her father 
 at the breakfast-table. Half-concealed be- 
 hind Ills paper, he took no notice, of her quiet 
 " good-morning," seeming absorbed in an edi- 
 torial. The silent meal ended, he said, as they 
 left the table : 
 
 " I want to see you in the library." 
 She follo||^d him without comment ; he 
 locked the door, threw open the blinds, and 
 drew two chairs to the window, scatinn; him- 
 self immediately in front of her. For a mo- 
 ment he eyed her eann-stly, as if measuring 
 her strength ; and she saw the peculiar sparkle 
 in his falcon eye, which, like the first lurid 
 flash in a darkened sky, betokened tempests. 
 " Irene, I was very much astonished to learn 
 the result of an interview between Hugh and 
 yourself; I can scarcoly believe tlwit you were 
 in earnest, and feel disposed to attribute your 
 foolish words to some trifling motive of girlish 
 coquetry or momentary pique. You have 
 long been perfectly well aware that you and 
 your cousin were destined for each other; that 
 I .solemnly promised the marriage should take 
 ])la(:e as soon as you were of age ; that all my 
 plans and hopes for you centered in this one 
 engagement. , I have not, pressed the matter 
 on your attention of late, because I knew von 
 had sense enouf;ii to appreciate your position, 
 •and because I believed you would be guided 
 by iny wishep in this important aflTair. You 
 a« no longer a child ; I treat you aa a reason- 
 
 able woman, and 'now I tell you candidly it is 
 the one wish of my heart to see you Hugh's 
 wife." 
 
 He paused, but she made no answer, and, 
 faking one of her hands, he continued : 
 
 "My daughter, I can not believe that you, 
 on whom I have lavished so much love and 
 tenderness, can deliberately refuse to accede 
 to my wishes, can disappoint my dearest hopes. 
 Of course, in all that I do or counsel, I am 
 actuated only by a desire to promote your 
 happiness. My dear child, I have a right to 
 direct you, and surely your alTefition for your 
 only parent will induce you to yield to his 
 wishes." 
 
 ' He tightened his clasp of her cold hand, 
 and leaned toward her. 
 
 " Father, my happiness will not be promot- 
 ed by this marriage, and if you are actuated 
 solely bythis motive, allow me to remain just 
 as I am. I should be most miserable as Hugh's 
 wife ; most utterly miserable." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " For reasons which I gave him last night, 
 and which it is hardly necessary for me to reca- 
 pitulate, as he doubtless repeated them to you." 
 
 " Let me hear them, if you please." 
 
 " Our characters are totally dissimilar; our 
 tastes and opinions wide as the poles asunder; 
 our natures could not possibly harmonize; 
 and, more than all, we do not love each other 
 as people should who stand at the altar and 
 ask GckI's blessing on their marriage. I sup- 
 pose, sir, that Hugh tells you he 1ovp.s me ; 
 perhaps he likes me better than any one else 
 beside himself, but the deep, holy affection 
 which he ought to feel for the woman whom 
 he calls his wife, has no existence in his heart. 
 It will prove a mere temporary disappoint- 
 ment, nothing seriously touching his happi- 
 ness ; for, I assure you, that is not in my 
 keeping." 
 
 " Ana if I answer that I know the con- 
 trary to be true V" 
 
 "Father, i should still adhere to my own 
 opinion; and, even were I disposed to accept 
 vour view of it, my own fei iings would stand 
 I'.n everlasting banier to our union. I do not 
 love Hugh, and — I must tell you, sir, that I 
 think it wrong for cousins to marry." 
 
 " You talk like a silly child ; I thought you 
 had more sense. Your objections I have list- 
 ened to; thpy are imaginary and trifling; and 
 I ask you, as a father has a right to ask his 
 child, to waive these ridiculous notions, and 
 grant the only request I have ever made of 
 you. Tell me, my daughter, that you will 
 eonsent to accept your cousin, and thereby 
 make me happy." 
 
 He stooped and kissed hor forehead, watch- 
 ing her countenance eagerly. , - 
 
 " Oh, father ! do not ask this of me ! Jfcy- 
 thing el!>e I anything eli^e." 
 
 " Answer me, my darling child ; give mo 
 your promise." 
 
9* 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 His hold was painful, and an angry pant 
 mingled with the pleading tones. She raised 
 her head and said, slowly : 
 
 "My lather, I can not." 
 
 Ha threw her hand from him, and tpraiig 
 up. 
 
 " Ingrate ! do you mean to sa}- that you will 
 not fulfil a sacred engagement V — that you 
 will break an oath given to tlie dead V 
 
 " I do not hold myself bound by the oaths 
 of Unother, tliough he were twice my father. 
 1 am responsible for no acts but my own. Ko 
 one has tlie rijht to lay bis hand on an uncon- 
 scious inf.int, slumbering in her cradle, and 
 coolly determine, lor all time, her destiny. 
 You have the right to guide me, to say what I 
 shall not do with your consent, but I am a 
 free-born American, thank God ! I did not 
 draw my breath in Circassia, to be bartered 
 lor gold by my fatiier. I, only, can give my- 
 self away. AVhy should you Avish to force this 
 marriage on me '/ Father, do you think that 
 a woman has no voice in a matter involving 
 her happiness lor life ? Is one of God's holy 
 •acraments to become a mere pecuniary trans- 
 action y — only a legal transfer of real estate 
 and c«tton bales V Oh, my father ! would you 
 make yourself and your child parties *o so 
 ignoble, so loathsome a proceeding V" 
 
 " Oh I I suspected that your cursed obsti- 
 nacy would meet mc here, as well as elsewhere 
 in y»ur life. You have been a source of trou- 
 ble and t^rrow from j'our bii-th ; but the time 
 has come to end all this. I will not be trilled 
 with ; 1 tri«d to reason with you, to inlluence 
 you through your afl'ection, but it s«ems you 
 have none. If I resort to other measures now, 
 you have only yoursell to tliank. Irene, there 
 can be peace betv/ecn us, but upon one condi- 
 tion ; 1 have set ray heart on seeing you 
 Hugh's wife ; nothing less will satisfy me. I 
 warn you, as you value your own happiness, 
 not to til wart me ; it is no trivial risk tnat you 
 run. I tell you now, I wilrtnake you snlltr 
 bcverely if you dare to disobey me in Vliis mat- 
 ter. You know that I never menace idly, and 
 if you refuse to hear reason,! will utterly dis- 
 inherit you, tliougli you are my only child. 
 I'ouder it well. You have been raised in 
 luxury, and taught to believe yourself one of 
 the wealthiest heiresses in the state ; contrast 
 your present position, your elegant home, your 
 I'uslidious tastes gratified to the utmost; con- 
 trast all this, I say, with poverty — imagine 
 yourself left in the world without one cent ! 
 Think of jt ! think of it! My wealth is my 
 own, mark you, and I will give it to whom I 
 please, irrespective of all claims of custom. 
 Now the aUernative is fully before you, and 
 on your own head be the conseciuences. Will 
 yau arcede tp my wishes, as any dutiful child 
 Bn||^ld, or will you deliberately incur my ever- 
 lasting disj)lea3urp 'i Will you marry Hugh V" 
 
 Both rose, and stood conli-ontingeach •ther; 
 bis face burning with wrath, every feature 
 
 quivering with passion ; hers white and rigid 
 as a statue's, with only a blue cord-like cres-' 
 cent between the arching brows to index her 
 emotion. Steadily the large violet eyes looked 
 into those that regarded her so angrily ; there 
 was no drooping of the long tsilken fringes ; 
 no moisture dimming their depths ; then they 
 were raised slowly, as if to the throne of God, 
 registaring som« vow, and, pressing hei;.hands 
 over her heart, she said, solemnly : 
 
 " Father, I will not marry Hugh, so help 
 me (jod !" 
 
 Silence fell between them for Beveral mo- 
 ments; something in that fixed, calm face of 
 his child awed him, but it waj temporary, and, 
 with a bitter laugh, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, very well ! Your poverty be upon 
 your own head in coming years, when the 
 grave closes over m«. At my death ^ye.ry 
 cent of my property passes to Hugh, and with 
 it my name, and between you and me, as an 
 impassable gulf, lies my everlasting displeas- 
 ure. Understand that, thoun;h we live here 
 in one house, as father and child, I do not, and 
 will not, forgive you. You have defied me ; 
 now eat the bitter fruit of your disobedi- 
 ence." 
 
 " I have no desire to question the disposition 
 
 of your wealth ; if you prefer to give it to my 
 
 cousin, I am willing, perfectly willing. I 
 
 woulil rather beg my bread from door to door, 
 
 I proud though I am ; I would sooner soil my 
 
 ! Huntingdon hands by washing or cooking, 
 
 ; than soil my soul witii perjury, or sell myself 
 
 I for gold. It is true, I love elegance and luxury; 
 
 I I enjoy wealth as well as most people do, I 
 
 1 suppose; but poverty does not frighten me half 
 
 \ so much fts a loveless marriage. Give Hugh 
 
 your fortune, it you wish, but, father ! father ! 
 
 j let there be %o estrangement between you 
 
 \ and me. I can bear everything but yourdis- 
 
 j pleasure ; I dread nothing so mu(;h as the loss 
 
 i ©f your love. Oh, father ! forgive a disap- 
 
 ' i)oi!ilinent which my conscience woujtl not 
 
 ])erinit me to avert. Forgive the pain which, 
 
 God knows, I would not have caused you, if I 
 
 could have avoided it without compromising 
 
 I)rincii)le. Oil, my fiUher ! my father ! let not 
 
 dollars and cents stand between you and your 
 
 only child. I ask nothing now liut yoiu" love." 
 
 1 She drew nearer, but he waved her ofl" and 
 
 i s:iid, with a sneering laugh : 
 
 ! " Away with all such cant! I gave you the 
 
 1 choice, and you made your selection with your 
 
 I eyes fully open. Accejit poverty as your 
 
 I doom, and with it my eternal displeasure. I 
 
 intend to make younuller for your obstinacy. 
 
 j You sliall find, to your 8orrow,That I am not to 
 
 be trilled with, or my name is not Leonard 
 
 I Huntingdon. Now go your own way, and 
 
 find what a thorny path you have made 
 
 for yourself." , 
 
 lie pointed to the door as he had done, years 
 before, when the boarding-school decree went 
 forthj.jHMl without remenstranee she left him. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 91 
 
 and sat down on the steps of tlie green-Louse. 
 Soon after, the sound of his buggy wheels told 
 her that he had gone to town, and, leaning 
 her cheek on' her hand, she recalled the pain- 
 ful conversation from first to last. That he 
 meant all he had threatened, and more, she did 
 not question -for an instant, and, thinking of 
 her future, she felt sick at heart. But with 
 the shame and sorrow came, also, a thrill of 
 joy ; she had burst the fetters ; she was free. 
 Wounded affection bled freely, but brain and 
 conscience exulted in the result- She could 
 not reproach herself ; she resolved not to re- 
 proach her father, even in tUought. Hers 
 was not a disposition to vent its griefs and 
 troubles in tears ; these had come to her re- 
 lief but three or lour times in the course of a 
 life, and on this occasion she felt as little in- 
 clination to cry as to repine idly over what 
 could not be rectified. Her painful reverie 
 was interrupted by the click of approaching 
 crutches, and she rose to meet her uncle. 
 
 " Do not get up, Irene ; I will sit here beside 
 yoQ. My child, look at me — are you sick?" 
 
 " No, uncle Eric ; what put that absurd no- 
 tion into your head ? I rode past ycJur door 
 two hours ago, and was powerfully tempted to 
 •top and breakfast with your bachelorship." 
 
 He regarded her anxiously, noting the sin- 
 gular crescent on her pale forehead, and con- 
 necting it with the scowling face of his brother- 
 in-law, which had passed him on the avenue. 
 He knew that something very unusual had 
 excited the calm, inflexible woman till the hot 
 blood swelled that vein, bjit he forebore all 
 question. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, uncle Eric ?" 
 
 " Only of a line in a poem which I was 
 reading last night. Shall I quote it for you V 
 
 " ' A still Medusa, with mild milky brows 
 AH curdled .'" 
 
 She looked in his face, smiled, and passed 
 her hand over her forehead, hiding the blue 
 cord. I 
 
 " Ah ! a gentle way of reading me a lecture 
 on ill-temper. I lay no claim to saintship, you 
 know, and when I am out of humor my face 
 won't play the hypocrite. I am no Griselda ; 
 obviously none of mj name can ever expect 
 canonization on that score. Come to the con- 
 servatory ; the lemons are in full bloom, and 
 Marvellously sweet. Put your hand on my 
 shoulder, and come down slowly." 
 
 " Where is Hugh V I thought he came home 
 yesterday ?" 
 
 " He started to his plantation at daylig^it. 
 Take care, sir ; these flags are slippery with 
 dew ; your crutches are unsafe." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " To -whit — to-whoo !" Muniii stretched 
 his broad gray wings, aod, quitting the maniiti- 
 
 piece, perched upon the top of the easel, 
 gazing down at the solitary artist, and utter- 
 ing all the while a subdued melancholy note 
 of complaint, as if to, attract her attention. 
 She looked up, and held out her hand, coax- 
 ingl.r- 
 
 ." Munin ! Munin ! what do you want ? You 
 haunt- me like my shadow. Poor pat, true to 
 your name, you pine for your master." 
 
 The ruffled plumes smoothed themselves, 
 the plaint was hushed. He fluttered to h^r 
 shoulder, received her soft, caressing touches 
 with evident satisfaction, nestled his beak in 
 her shining hair, and, then, as if soothed and 
 contented, flitted to the open window, lle- 
 sumingher brush, Electra leaned forward and 
 continued her work. " Lnhorare est orare ;'* 
 if so, no more ardent devotee ever bowed at 
 the shrine of toil, bearing sacrificial offerings. 
 Thoughts, hopes, aspirations, memories, all 
 centered in the chosen profession ; to its prose- 
 cution she brought the strength and energy of 
 an indomitablewill, the rich ;ind varied re- 
 sources (fi a* well-stored, brilliant intellect. It 
 was evident that she labored con tunore, and 
 now the expectation of approaching triumph 
 lent additional cagernevss to her manner. The 
 fingers trembled, the eyes sparkled unwonted- 
 ly, a deeper, richer crimson glowed on tho 
 smooth cheeks, and the lips parted and closed 
 unconsciously. The tantahziiig dreams of 
 childhood, beautiful but evanescent, had 
 gradually embodied themselves in a palpable, 
 tangible, glorious reality ; and the radiant, wo- 
 man exulted in the knowledge that she had 
 but to put forth her hand and grasp it. The 
 patient work of twelve months drew to a close : • 
 the study of years bore its first fruit ; the last 
 delicate yet quivering tou<;h was given ; she 
 threw down pal-^tte and brush, and, stepping 
 back, surveyed the canvas. The Exhibitign 
 would open within two days, and this was to 
 be her contribuJaon. A sad-eyed Cassandra, 
 with pallid, present, woe-struck features — an 
 over -mastering face, wherein the flickering 
 light of divination struggled feebly with the 
 human horror of the To-Come, whose hideous 
 mysteries were known only to the royal 
 prophetess. In mute and stern despair it 
 looked out from the canvas, a curious, anoma- 
 lous thing — cut adrift from human help, bereft, 
 of aid from heaven — yet, in its doomed isola- 
 tion, scorning to ask the sym{)athy whiah its 
 extraordinary loveliness extorted from all who 
 saw it. The artist's pride in this, her first fin- 
 ished creation, might well be pardoHcd, for 
 she was fully conscious that the cloud - region 
 of a painful novitiate lay far beneath her ; " 
 that henceforth she should never miss tho 
 pressure of Ion? -coveted chaplcts from her 
 brow; that she should bask In the warm, fructi- 
 fying rays of public favor; and measure'es.'J 
 exultation flashed in her beautiful eyes. The 
 torch of Genius burned brightly, as, buoyant 
 and eager, she took bor place in the great 
 
92 
 
 MACUMA- 
 
 lampadrome of life ; but would it endure till i 
 the end ? Would it lio:ht up the goal standing 
 upon the termlnui of Tiine ,:' 
 
 The door opened, and Russell came into the 
 studio. She was tiot expecting him ; his sud- 
 den appearance gave her no time to adjust 
 the chilling mask of prido, ajid all her uncon- 
 trolled affection found eloquent language in 
 the joyful face. 
 
 " Rus3cU ! my own dear Russell !" 
 
 He drew his arm around her and kissed her ^ 
 flushed cheek, and each looked at the other, i 
 wondering at the chaages which years had I 
 wrought. j 
 
 "Electra, you have cartainly improved , 
 more than any one I ever knew. You look I 
 the impersonation of perfect health ; it is! 
 needless to ask how you are." And again his , 
 lips touched the beaming face pressed against 
 his shoulder. Her arms stole tremblingly ; 
 around his neck, past indifference was for- j 
 gotten in the joy of his presence, and she ] 
 murmured : 
 
 " I thought I should not see you before I 
 left America. 1 can not tell you what a 
 
 ! pleasure this surprise is to me. , Oli, Russell ! ' 
 [ longed inexpressibly to be with you once | 
 more. Thank you, a thousand times, for i 
 coming to me at last." ' 
 
 " Dixl you suppose that I intended t6 let 
 you put the Atlantic between us without 
 making an effort to see you a^ain ? Were 
 you unjust enough to believe that I had for- 
 gott-cn the only relative whom I love '? My 
 dear little skeptic, I have come to prove my 
 affection, and put yours to the test." 
 
 He pressed her closer to his heart, but sud- 
 denly she shrank from him,iinclasped his arm, 
 and, wheeling two chairs to the window, said, 
 hurriedly : 
 
 " Sit down, and let me look at you. Yon 
 have grown so tall and commanding that I am 
 half-afraid of my own cousin. Y'ou are less 
 like aunt Amy than formerly." 
 
 "Allow me to look at your painting first, 
 for it will soon be too dark to examine if,. 
 This is the Cassandra of which you wrote 
 me." 
 
 He stood before it for some moments in 
 silence, and she watched him with breathless 
 eagerness — for his opinion was of more value to 
 her than that of all the dUeLlanti and connoii- 
 seurs who would soon inspect it. Gradually 
 his dark, cold feca kindled, and she had her 
 reward. v 
 
 " It is a masterly creation ; a thing of Tvon- 
 derful and imperishable beauty ; it is a great 
 success — as such the world will receive it — and 
 hundreds will proclaim your triumph. I am 
 proud of it, and doubly proud of you." 
 
 He held out his hand, and, as she put her 
 fingers in his, her head drooped, and hot tears 
 blinded her. Praise from the lips she loved 
 best stirred her womanly heart as tiie jipplause 
 of the public could never do; and, in after 
 
 years, when grief and loneliness oppressed 
 her, these precious words rang sweet and sil- 
 very through the darkened cliambers of hfer 
 soul, working miracles of comfort infinitely 
 beyond the potent spell of Indian 0-U-AI, or 
 niy.-;tic Agla. Without perceiving her emotion 
 he continued, with his eyes fixed on the pic- 
 ture : 
 
 " Some day you must make me a copy, and 
 I will hang it over the desk in my office, 
 where I can feast my eyes on its rare loveli- 
 ness and my ears with your praises, from all 
 who see it. How long have you been at work 
 upon it V" • 
 
 " I can't recall the time when it first took 
 hold of my imagination ; it paced by my side 
 when I was a child, brooded ov-cr me in my 
 troubled dreams, looked out from the pomp of 
 summer clouds and the dripping drab skies of 
 winter, iloated on snow-flakes, and flashed in 
 thunder-storms ; but I outlined it about a year 
 ago. For my ICxhibition picture, I wavered 
 long between this and an unfinished Antig- 
 one ; but finally decided in favor of Cas- 
 sandra." 
 
 "And selected wisely. While in Europe I 
 saw, in a private house, an exquisite head of 
 the ^ Erythrccan Sybil,' which somewhat re- 
 sembles your painting. The position is almost 
 identical — the nose, mouth, and chin very 
 similar ; but the glory of this Cassandra is the 
 supernatural eyes, brimful of prescience. . It 
 might allord matter for curious speculation, 
 however, and some time we will trace the subtle 
 law of association of ideas by which two 
 artists, separated by the Atlantic, and by cen- 
 turies, clianced, under totally different cir-- 
 cumstances, tg portray similarly the two dis- 
 tinct prophetesses who both foretold the doom _' 
 ol" Troy." 
 
 " If 6uch is the case, the world will be very 
 sceptical of the coincidence. I did not even 
 know tliat there was an ^ Erythrccan Sybil,' 
 nnich less a picture of her ; so much for igno- 
 rance ! The critics who knew that I did not 
 paiut your portrait, simply because it was well 
 dooe, will swear that I stole the whole of my 
 Cassandra," answered Electra, perplexed and 
 troubled. 
 
 ^' You need not look so rueful, and plough 
 your forehead with that heavy frown. In all 
 probability 1 am the only person in New York 
 who has seen the other picture ; and, granting 
 tlie contrary^ tlie resemblance might not bo 
 detected. If j^ou suffer it to annoy you I shall 
 be sorry that I mentioned it. Yet, I doubt not, 
 the withering charge of plagiarism has often 
 be(!n hurled in the face of an honest worker, 
 (juitc as unjustly as it would be in your case. 
 Very startling coincidences sometimes occur 
 most innocently ; but carjjing envy is a thrifty 
 plant, and flourishes on an astonishingly small 
 amount of soil." 
 
 '^ Who painted that Sibyl ?" 
 
 " It is not known positively. Travelling 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 93 
 
 through the northern part of France, I was 
 detained some hours at a A'illage, and employ- 
 ed the delay in rambling about the suburbs. 
 Following a winding road it brought me to the 
 enclosure of a chateau, and I leaned on the 
 fence and admired the parterre, whioh was 
 uncommonly pretty. The owner happened 
 to be among his llower-beds, saw mc, and, with 
 genuine French politeness and urbanity, in- 
 sisted that I should enter and rest myself 
 while he gathered me a bouquet of mignonette 
 and pinks. The afternoon was warm, and I 
 asked for a glass of water. He took me into 
 the house, and on the parlor Avail hung, this 
 picture. It riveted my attention, and flattered, 
 doubtless, by my evident admiration, he gave 
 me its history. His father had found it at a 
 picture-shop in Germany, I forget now exactly 
 where, and bought it for a Dolce, but doubted 
 its genuineness ; and my host, who seemed 
 thoroughly au fait in Art matters, asserted 
 that it belonged to a much earlier school. 
 That is all that I or the owner know of it ; so 
 dismiss the subject from your mind." 
 
 " I shall not, I promise you. Give me minute 
 directions, and 1 will hunt up chateau, migno- 
 nette, gentlemanly proprietor, Sibyl, and all. 
 AVho knows but metempsychosis may be true 
 after, all, and that the painter's soul possesses 
 me bodily, striving to portray the archetype 
 which haunted him in the last stage of exist- 
 ence ? According to Vaughan, the Portuguese 
 have a superstition that the soul of a man who 
 has died leaving some duty unfulfilled, or 
 promised work unfinished, is frequently known* 
 to enter into another person, and, dislodging 
 for a time the rightl'ul soul-occupant, impel 
 him unconsciously to complete what was lack- 
 ing," A 
 
 " You are growing positiTely paganish, 
 
 Electra, from constant association with the 
 
 • dead deities of classic ages, and I must reclaim 
 
 you. Come, sit down, and tell me something 
 
 t of yonr life since the deatli of your friend, 
 
 Mr. Clifton." I 
 
 " Dill you receive my last letter, giving an , 
 account of Mrs. Clifton's death ?" j 
 
 " Yes; just as I stepped upon the platform I 
 of the cars it was handed to me. I had heard \ 
 nothing from you for so long, that I thought 
 it was time.' to look after you." 
 
 " You had started, then, before you knew 
 that I was going to Europe ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He could not understand the instantaneous 
 change which came over her countenance — 
 the illumination, followed as suddenly by 
 a smile, half compassionate, half bitter. She 
 pre.sred one hand to her heart, and said : j 
 
 " Mrs. Clifton never .seemed to realize her 
 eon's death, thougli, after paralysis took place. 
 
 and she became .'speechless, I thought she re- 
 cove<H?d her rai-mory in some degree. She 
 survived him just four months, and, doubtless, 
 was saved muvh grief by her unconsciousness I mc. You can continue your art-studies, if you 
 
 of what had occurred. Poor old lady ! she 
 suffered little for a year past, and died, T hope, 
 without pain. I have the consolation of know- 
 ing that I did all that could be done to promote 
 her comfort. Russell, I would not live here 
 for any consideration ; nothing but a sense of 
 duty has detained me this long. I promised 
 him that I would not forsake his mother. 
 But you can have no adequate conception of 
 the feeling of desolation which comes over mo 
 when I sit here during theloiig evenings. He 
 seems Avatching me from picture-frames and 
 pedestals; his face, bss pleading, patient, wan 
 face, haunts mc perpetually. And yet I tried 
 to make him happy ; God knows I did my 
 duty." 
 
 She sprang up, and paced the room for some 
 moments, with her hands behind her, and 
 tears glittering on her cheeks. Pausing at 
 last on the rug, she pointed to a large square 
 object closely shrouded, and added : 
 
 " Yonder stands his last picture, unfinished. 
 The day he died he put a few feeble strokes 
 upon it, and bequeathed the completion of 
 the task to me. For several years he worked 
 occasionally on it, but much remains to be 
 dona. It is the ' Death of Socrates.' I have 
 not even looked at it since that night ; I do n,ot 
 intend to touch it. until after I visit Italy; I 
 doubt whether mjf.;hand will ever be steady 
 enough to give the last strokes. Oh, Russell ! 
 the olden time, the cottage days seem far, far 
 off to me now!" 
 
 Leaning against the mantle-piece, she drop- 
 ped her head on her hand, but Avhen he ap- 
 paoached and stood at the opposite corner he 
 saw that the tears had dried. 
 
 " i\ either of us has had a sunny life, Electra ; 
 both have had numerous obstacles to contend 
 with ; both have very bitter memories. Orig- 
 inally there was a certain parallelism in our 
 characters, but with our growth grew the di- 
 vergence. You have preserved the nobler 
 part of your nature better than I ; for my years 
 1 am far older than you ; none of the bright- 
 ness of iwj boyhood seems to linger about me. 
 Contact with the Avorld is aij indurating proc- 
 ess ; I really did not know how hard I had 
 grown, until I felt my heart soften at sight of 
 you. I need you to keep the kindly charities 
 and gentle amenities of life before me, and, 
 therefore, I have come for you. But for my 
 poverty I never would have given you up so 
 long; I felt that it would be for your' advan- 
 tage, in more than one respect, to remain with 
 Mr. Clifton until I had acquired my profes- 
 sion. I knew that you would enjoy privileges 
 here which I could not give you in my 
 straightened circumstances. Things have 
 changed; Mr. Campbell has admitted me to 
 partnership ; my success I consider an estab- 
 Jiihed fact. Give up, for a sfe.isou, this project- 
 ed tour of Europe ;.wait till I can go with you, 
 till I can take you ; go back to W with 
 
94 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 •wish it ; you can prosecute them tliere as well 
 as here. You are ambitious, Eleclra ; ?o am I, 
 let us work together." 
 
 She raised her head and looked up at the 
 powerful, nobly-proportionod form, the grand, 
 Kingly face, calm and colorless, the large, 
 searcliinp black eyes, within whose baffling 
 depths lay all the mysteries of mesmerism, 
 and a spasm of pain seized her own features. 
 She shadod her orow, and answered: 
 
 "No, Russell; I ceuld not entertain that 
 thought an instant." 
 
 " Are you too proud to accept a honio from 
 me ?" 
 
 " Not too proud, exactly; but, as long as I 
 have health, I mean to make a support. I 
 will not burden you." 
 
 " What bunglers you women are at logic ! 
 The thought of living on my charity affrights 
 you, and jet you fly from me to the cold chari- 
 tv of the world — for what else is fleeting, fickle 
 'public favor — fitful public patronage or 
 praise ?" 
 
 " Full value received for benefit rendered, 
 is not charity ; beside, Russell, you, too, seek 
 and subsist upon this same fickle public 
 favor." 
 
 " Partially, I grant you ; but T cround my 
 claims far deeper than yop ; I strike down, 
 taking root in the substratum of selfishness. 
 Interest, individual interest, is the outpost of 
 which I am paid to be the sentinel; stern ne- 
 cessity is my guardian ang<'l, compelling all 
 men to see that my wages are inviolate. I 
 stand in the great brain-market place, and 
 deal with mankind in the normal, every-day 
 manifestations of avarice, selfishness, or hate ; 
 profit and loss the theme — dollars or blood 
 the currency. M. Quet-^det, one of the m«st 
 eminent statisticians of Europe, has proved 
 that, in a given population, a given number of 
 crimes will annually be committed ; so you see 
 that, in this market, also, production keeps pace 
 with- consumption, and legal counsel is necessi- 
 tated. On the contrary, you address yourself 
 to a class of emotions fluctuating and short- 
 lived — common to comparatively few — involv- 
 ing no questions of utility — luxuries, not ne- 
 cessities. Yours is a profession of contingen- 
 cies ; not so mine ; for injustice, duplicity, 
 theft, are every-day, settled certainties. A 
 man will give me one half of his cstat',! to save 
 the ot,hcr, which the chicane of his neighbor 
 threatens." 
 
 " And if that villainous, avaricious neighbor 
 had emi)laycd you half an hour before the in- 
 jured man sought to engage your services?" 
 
 " Why, then, the lawyer next in his estima- 
 tion gets tlie case, and it is resolved into a 
 simple question of his superior adroitn^s, 
 acumen, and industry, or mine. The world is 
 hard upon lawyers, its faithful servants, and 
 holds them up as moral monsters to the very 
 children whose mouths their labor fills with 
 bread. An errdneons and most unjust im- 
 
 ' prcssion prevails that a lawyer of ability. 
 
 filus extensive practice, equals Bacon, Jefl"rie!fi, 
 mp«y, or some other abnormal disgrace to 
 jurisprudence; whereas, the sole object of the 
 institution of law is to sacure right, justice, 
 and truth. You arc opening your lips to ask 
 if the last is not often wilfully suppressed ? 
 Ilcmember that even the Twelve found a 
 Judas among their number, and the provision 
 ! of counsel is to elicit truth, and all the truth, 
 I on both sides. I bring testimony in defence 
 j of all that is susceptible of proof in my client's 
 favor, and it is the business of the opposite 
 I counsel to do likewise; if he neglects his duty, 
 or, through lack »( intellect, luffers me to gain 
 j the case, even against real justice, am I culpa- 
 i ble ? I did my duty ; he Jailed to defen<l his 
 ' cause, however righteous, and on his shoulders 
 rest the turpitude." 
 
 j "Ah, Rus.sell I you have taken a diploma in 
 I the school of sophistry." 
 
 [ " I am content that you should think so, 
 1 since a recent great historian has decided that 
 the Sophists were a sadly maligned sect, and, 
 instead of becoming a synonyme of reproach, 
 merited the everlasting gratitude of mankind, 
 I as the tireless public teachers of Greece — the 
 walking-school system of Athens in her impe- 
 rial, palmy days." 
 
 " I never will believe that ! I wish to 
 heaven archajologists would let the dust of 
 Athens rest, instead of ploughing it up peri- 
 odically with the sacrilegious shares of new- 
 fangled theories." 
 
 "And thereby exhuming the mouldering 
 bones of some of your favorite divinities, I 
 suppose? The literary philhellenism of the 
 present age, and especially its philologic ten- 
 dency, is last hunting the cjassic spectres of 
 the heroic times into primeval shade. Old- 
 fogyism in literature is considered, I believe, 
 ([uite as unpardonable as in politics. Take 
 care how you handle the Sophists, for I hold 
 that tlicy (lifTercd in but one respect from your / 
 hero, Socrates." 
 
 " You shall not insult his memory by any 
 such disgraceful association," interrupted hit . 
 cousin. 
 
 "And that difference," he continued, with- 
 out heeding her, " consists in the fact that 
 they taught for money, while he scorned to 
 accept remuneration. Sydney Smith main- 
 tains that ' Socrates invented common sense 
 two thousand years ago, as Ceres invented the 
 plough, and Bacchus intoxication.' I should 
 receive the diclum more readily if he had 
 pocketed the honest wages of his talents, in- 
 stead of deluding himself with the belief that 
 he was the heaven-appointed regenerator of 
 Athens, and making his labors purely eleemo- 
 synary, to the possible detriment of his family. 
 VVho knows but that, after all, Xantippe de- 
 served a place in martyrology, having been 
 driven to paroxysms of rage and desperation 
 by an empty purse, or wretehad household 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 95 
 
 derangements, victimized by her husband'* 
 cosmopolitan mission ; for it is a notorious fact 
 that men who essay to manage the opinions of 
 the world invariably neglect their domestic 
 afiairs, and allow them to run to ruin." 
 
 " f'ive years ago you would not have said 
 that, Russell, and I think it questionable 
 whether you believe it all now. I hold my 
 profession a nobler one than yours, and dispute 
 your predicate that it involves no utility. 
 Whatever tends to exalt, to purify, to ennoble, 
 is surely useful ; and aesthetics, properly di- 
 rected, is one of the most powerful engines of 
 civilization. See what it Avrought for Athens." 
 
 " You mistake effect for cause'. jJThc free- 
 dom of Athens was the lever which^ised it to 
 such a pitch of glory ; as a sequence, the arts 
 flourished and beauty was apotheosized. When 
 freedom perished the arts received their death- 
 blow, and, impotent to preserve the prosperity 
 of the city, shed a lingering halo around its 
 melancholy but majestic ruin.s. • That aesthet- 
 ics and utility are synonymes, is an axiom 
 which might find acceptation in ' Bensalem ;' 
 but in tliis intensely practical, mechanical 
 epoch of human history, and this money-mak- 
 ing quarter of the globe, you must educate 
 the masses up to an entirely different level, 
 before you can expect them to receive it." 
 
 " And, so far as my feeble influence extends, 
 or my limited ability will permit, I purpose to 
 become such a teacher. Do not laugh at me, 
 Russell, I beg of you." 
 
 " I smile at the beautiful dream, rather than 
 the enthusiastic dreamer. So, doubtless, 
 dreamed Phidias, Praxiteles, and the Rhdian 
 Trio, and only a few time-corroded blocks of 
 marble remain in attestation. Cui bono?" 
 
 " Yours and mine ! — for dead nations, and 
 for generations yet unborn, who shall gaze 
 upon their noble and imperishable monuments. 
 You are worse than Goth or Vandal, if you 
 can ignore their softening, spiritualizing influ- 
 ence — for even they, rude and untutored, 
 bowed before their immortal beauty. What 
 has come over you, Russell, hardening your 
 nature, and sealing the sources of genial, genu- 
 ine appreciation ?" 
 
 " The icy.breath of experience, the crystaliz- 
 ing touch of years. You must not be sio se- 
 vere upon me, I^lpctra ; many a time, since we 
 parted,! have left my desk to watch a gorgeous 
 sunset, and for a few minutes fancy myself 
 once more leaning on the garden-gate of my 
 early home. I love beauty, but I subordinate 
 it to the practical utilities of life. 1 have little 
 time for aesthetic musings; I live among dis- 
 enchanting common -place realities. It is 
 ■woman's province and prerogative to gath- 
 er up the links of beauty, and bind them 
 as a p.arland round her home ; to fill it with 
 the fragrance of deW)' flowers, the golden 
 light of western skies, the low soothing strains 
 of music, which can chant all care to r«8t ; 
 which will drewn the clink of dollars and 
 
 cents, and lead a man's thoughts to purer, 
 loftier themes. Ah ! there is no apocah'pse 
 of joy and peace like a happy home, where a 
 woman of elegance and refinement goes to and 
 fro. This recalls the object of my visit. You 
 say, truly, that full value received for benefit 
 rendered is not charity ; apply your princi- 
 ple, come to W , share my future, and 
 
 what fortune I may find assigned me. I have 
 bought the cottage, and intend to build a 
 handsome house there some day, where you, 
 and Mr. Campbell, and I can live peacefully. 
 You shall twme your aesthetic fancies all 
 about it, i<\ make it picturesque enough to suit 
 your fastidious artistic taste. Come, and savo 
 me from what you consider my worse than 
 vaiidalian proclivities. I came here simply 
 and solely in the hope of prevailing on you to 
 return with me. I make this request, not be- 
 cause I think it will be expected of me, but for 
 more selfish reasons — because it is a matter 
 resting very near my heart." 
 " Oh, Russell ! you tempt mc." 
 " I wish to do so. My bloed beats in your 
 veins; you are the only relative I value, and 
 were you Indeed my sister, I should scarcely 
 love you more. With all a brother's interest, 
 why should I not claim a brother's right to 
 keep you with me, at least until you find your 
 Pylades, and give him a higher claim before 
 God and man ? Elcctra, were I your brother 
 you would require no persuasion ; why hesitate 
 now ?" 
 
 She clasped her hands behind her, as if for 
 support in some fiery ordeal, and, gathering up 
 her strength, spoke rapidly, like one who fears 
 that resolution will fail before some necessary 
 sentence is pronounced. 
 
 " You are very kind and generous, Russell, 
 and for all that you have offered me I thank 
 you from the depths of a full heart. The 
 consciousness of your continued interest and 
 aflbotion is inexpressibly precious: but my dis- 
 position is too much like your own to suffer 
 me to sit down in idleness, while there is so 
 much to be done in the world. I, too, want 
 to earn a noble reputation, which will surviva 
 long a(ter I have been gathered to my fathers ; 
 I want to accomplish some work, looking upon 
 wliich, my fellow - creatures will proclaim: 
 'That woman has not lived in vain; the world 
 is better and happier because she came and 
 labored in it.' I want ray name carved, not 
 on monumontal marble only, but upon the 
 living, throbbing heart of my age! — stamped 
 indftilblyon the generation in which mv lot is 
 cast. Perhaps I am too sanguine of success ; 
 j a grievous disappointment may await all my 
 I ambitious hopes, but failure will come from 
 want of gtnius, not Lvk of perjsevering, pa- 
 i tient toil. Upon the threshold of my career, 
 I facing the loneliness of coming years, I resign 
 i that hope with wl;ich, like a golden thread, 
 j Bicst women embroider their future. I dedi- 
 1 cate myself, my life, unreservftdiy to Art." 
 
95 
 
 MAC1.RIA. 
 
 " Yon beliere that you will be happier 
 among the marble and canvas of Italy than iu 
 W with liie?" 
 
 " Yes ; I shall be better Ralisflod there. All 
 my life it has gleamed afar off, a ;rlorious laad 
 of promise to my eaf;er, lonuiiii; spirit. From I 
 childhood I iiave cherished the hope of reach- | 
 infj it, and the fruition is near at hand. Italy ! I 
 bright Alma Mater of the art to which I con- 
 secrate my years. Do you wonder that, like 
 a lonely child, I stretch out my arms toward I 
 it ? Yet my stay therij will be but for a sea- ; 
 son. I go to complete my studies, to make 
 myself a more perfect instrument for my noble 
 work, and then I shall come home — come, not 
 to New York, but to my own dear native 
 
 South, to W ,t}ial 1 may labor under the 
 
 8ha<low of its lofty pines, and within hearin;^ 
 of it-s murmurinir river — <learcr to me than 
 classi<i Arno, or immortal Tiber. I wrote you 
 that Mr. Clifton had left me a legacy, which, 
 judii'iously invested, will defray my expensrs 
 in Europe, where living is cheaper than in 
 this country. Mr. Young has taken charge of 
 the money for me, and has kindly olVered to 
 attend to my remittauces. Aunt Ruth's 
 friends, the liichardsons, consented to wait 
 for me until after the opening of the Exhibi- 
 tion of the Aeademy of Design, and one week 
 from to-morrow we expect to sail." 
 
 " What do you know oCthe family ?" 
 
 " Nothing, except that the lady, who is an 
 old friend of my aunt, is threatened with con- 
 sumption, and has been advised to spend a 
 year or two in Florence. Aunt Ruth took me 
 to see her the other day ; she seems intelligent 
 and agreeable, and, I dare say, 1 shall find her 
 kind and pleasant enough." 
 
 " Since such is the progranniie you have 
 marked out, I trust that no disappointments 
 await you, and that all your bright dreams ' 
 may be realized. But, if it should prove 
 otherwise, and yeu grow weary of your art, 
 sick of isolation, and satiated with Italy, re- J 
 member that I shall welcome you homo, and 
 gladly shai(t with you all that I possess. You ' 
 arc embarking in an experiment which thous- ! 
 ands have tried before you, aii<l wrecketl 
 happiness upon ; but I have-no rigiit to control ' 
 your future, and certainly no dij.sire to discour- , 
 age you. At all events. 1 hope our separation ' 
 will be brief." : 
 
 A short silence followed, broken at last by i 
 Electra, who watched him keenly as she i 
 spoke : 
 
 " Tell me something about Irene. Of course, i 
 
 in a small town like W , you must see 
 
 her frequently." 
 
 " By no means. I think I have seen her , 
 bjit three times since her childhood — once] 
 riding with her father, then accidentally at 
 church, and again, a few evenings before I 
 left, at the graveyard, where she was dressing 
 a tombstone with flowers. There we ex- 
 changed a few words for the first time, and 
 
 thi> reminds mo that I am bearer of a message 
 yet undelivered. She inquired after you, and 
 desired me to tender you her love and bert 
 wishes." 
 
 lie neither started nor changed color at 
 the mention of Irene's name, but sffaightened 
 himself, and buttoned to the throat the black 
 coat, which, from the warmth of the roam, h« 
 had partially loosened. 
 
 " Is she not a great belle ?" 
 
 " I presume few women have been more ad- 
 mired than she is. I hear much of her beauty, 
 and the sensation which it creates wherever 
 she goes; but the number of her suitors ia 
 probably bmited, from the fact that it is gener- 
 ally kno\vn she is engaged to her cousin, young 
 Seymour." 
 
 " I can not believe that she loves 'him." 
 
 "Oh! that is not necessary to latter-day 
 matrimonial contracts; it is an obsolete clause, 
 not essential to legality, and utterly ignored. 
 She is bound, hand and foot, and her father 
 will immolate her on the altar of money." 
 
 He smiled bitterly, and crossed his arras 
 over his* chest. * 
 
 " You mistake her character, Russell. I 
 know her better, and I tell you there is none 
 of the Iphigenia in her nature." 
 
 '' At least I tlo not mistake her father's, and 
 I pity the .woman whose fate rests in his iron 
 grasp." 
 
 " She holds hers in her own hands, small 
 rnd white though they are ; and, so surely as 
 the stars shine above us, she will marry only 
 where she loves. She has all the will which 
 h;vs rendered the name of her family prover- 
 bial. I have her here in crayons ; tell me what 
 you think of the likeness." 
 
 Siie took down a portfolio af»d selected the 
 head of her quondam playmate, holding it 
 under the gas-ligiit, and still scrutinizing her 
 cousin's countenance. He took it, and looked 
 gravely, earnestly, at the lovely features. 
 
 " It scarcely does her iustice ; I doubt wheth- 
 er any portrait ever will. Beside, the expres- 
 sion of lier face has changed materially since 
 this was sketched. There is a harder dutline 
 now about her mouth, less of dreaminess in 
 the eyes, more of cold hauteur in the whole 
 face. ' If you desire it, I can, in one lino of 
 I'ennyson, photograph her proud beauty, as I 
 saw her mounted on her favorite horse, the 
 week that I letl home :" 
 
 " Faultily fauItloM, ioily regular, splendidly null 1" 
 
 lie laid the drawing back in the opeh port- 
 folio, crossed the room, and took up his hat. 
 
 " Where are you going, Russell V Can't you 
 spend the evening with me at aunt Ruth's?"', 
 
 " No, thank you ; I must go. There is to be 
 a great political meeting at Tammany Hall to- 
 night, and I am particularly an.xious to attend." 
 
 " What! are you, too, engaged in watching 
 the fermentation of the political vat ?" 
 
 " Yc»; I am most deeply interested; no true 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 97 
 
 lover of his country can fail to be so at this 
 juncture." - 
 
 " IIow long will you be in New York ?' 
 
 " Since 1 can not persuade you to return 
 ■with me, my stay here will be shortened. One 
 ©f our courts meets soon, and, though Mr. 
 Campbell will be there to attend to the cases, 
 1 want, if possible, to be present. 1 shall return 
 day alter to-morrow. And now good-night; I 
 will see you early in the morning." 
 
 The door closed behind him, and she remain- 
 ed standing lor some time just as he lett her. 
 Slowly tiie folded hands shrank from each 
 other, and dropped nerveless to her side ; the 
 bright glow in her cheeks, the dash of crimson 
 on her lips, faded from both ; the whole fa(;e 
 relaxeil into an expression of hopeless agony. 
 Lonely as JMoses when he calmly climbed Nebo 
 to die, she bowed herself a despairing victim 
 upon the grim, flint-fronted altar ot Necessity. 
 
 Curiously subtle and indomitable is woman's 
 heart, so often the jest of the llippant and 
 unthinking — the sneer of the unscrupulously 
 calculating, or mercilessly cynical. It bad long 
 been no secret to this woman that she occu- 
 pied the third place in her cousin's allections — 
 was but a dweller of the vestibule. Her pride 
 had been tortured, her vanity sorely, wounded ; 
 yet, to-night, purified troin all dross, love rose 
 invincible, triumphant, from the cvucible of 
 long and severe trial — sublime in its isolation, 
 asking, expecting no return — 
 
 " Sslf-girded with torn strips of bope." 
 
 Such is the love of a true woman. God 
 help all such, in this degenerate world of ours, 
 80 cursed with shams and counterleits. 
 
 liaising her tearless, shadowy eyes to the 
 woeful face of her Cassandra, Electra extended 
 her arms, and murmured : 
 
 " Alone henceforth I a pilgrim in foreign 
 lands ! a solitary worker among strangers. So 
 be itl 1 am strong enough to work aione. So 
 be it !" 
 
 The (laming sword of the Angel of Destiny 
 waved her Irom the Eden of her girlish day- 
 dreams, and by its fiery gleam she read the 
 dim, dun futuire ; saw all — 
 
 *'The long mechanic pacing* tn ^nd fro, 
 XIm Mt gru; life, and apatli«Uc «nd." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 "Don't you know that even granite mill- 
 stones finally grind themselves into impalpable 
 powder? Vou give yourself no rest, Aubrey, 
 and human machinery wears rapidly." 
 " But if the powder ground be golden ?" 
 " The dust is but dust still, despite itji glitter, 
 and fills men's eyes and dims their vision like 
 7 
 
 an)' other dust ; ending of^on in a moral oph- 
 thalmia past cure. 
 
 " The plague of Rold strikes far and near, 
 And deep and strong it outers. 
 This purple chimar which we M'ear, 
 
 M«!ves madder than tlie c'litimr's; 
 Onr th-Miiflits grow blank, our words grow str.'xnge, 
 
 We cheer the piile gold-diggers-, 
 Each soul is worth so nmoli on "Change, 
 And marked, lilce sheep, with figures. ' 
 
 Bo pitifnl, OOod!" 
 
 " T should reallj' dislike to think that you 
 had become a confirmed, inveterate chrysolo 
 gist. Take time, Aubrey ! take time ; yon 
 are over-worked, and make months press u{X>n 
 your brow more heavily than years on most 
 men's. After all, my dear fellow, as Emerson 
 says, 'Politics is a deleterious profession, like 
 some poisonous handicrafts.' I sometimes feel 
 like drawing a long breath for you; it wearies 
 me to look at you — you are such a concentrated 
 extract of work ! work ! Simply for this 
 reason, I sent for you to come and take a cup 
 of tea with me." 
 
 . "I have been too much engaged of late to 
 spare an evening to merely social claim's. A 
 man whose life rests at his feet, to be lifted t-o 
 some fitting pedestal, has little leisure for the 
 luxury of friendly visiting." 
 
 The two were in Eric Mitchell's pleasant 
 library. Russell sat in an arm-chair, and this 
 master of the house reclined on a lounge 
 drawn near the hearth. The mellow glow of 
 the lamp, the flash and crackle of the fire, tho 
 careless, lazy posture of the invaliif, alhbti- 
 tokened quiet comfort, save the dark fixed 
 face, and erect restless figure of the guest. 
 
 "But, Aubrey, a man who has already 
 achieved so much should be content to rest a 
 whihi, and move more slowly." 
 
 " That depends altogether ou the nature aiid 
 distance of his goal." 
 
 "And that goal is — what?" 
 
 "Men call it by a variety of names, hoping 
 to escape Lucifer's fate by adroitly cloaking 
 Lucifer's infirmity." 
 
 "Yes; and whenever I look at you toiling 
 so ceaselessly, climbing so surely to eminence, 
 1 am forcibly reminded of Macaulay's fine pas- 
 sage on the hollowness of political life : 'A 
 pursuit from which, at most, they can only ex- 
 pect, by relinquishing liberal studies and 
 social pleasures, by passing nights without 
 sleep and summers without one glimpse tjf 
 the beauty of n.ature, they may attain that la- 
 boriou.s, that inviiiious, that closely-watched 
 slavery which is mocked with the name of 
 power.' You have not asked my opinioa of 
 your speech." 
 
 " I was not aware that you heard it." 
 
 " Of course not, but I read it ; and, let me 
 tell you, it was a great speech, a masterly ar- 
 gument, that will make a lasting impression 
 upon the people. It has greatly changed the 
 Totc of this county already." 
 
 " You mistake appearances; the seed fell iu 
 
9S 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 good soil, but party spirit came, as fowls ol* the 
 air, and devoured tliciu." 
 
 ''At any rate, it produced a profound ira- 
 p.cssion on public ojunion, and ilartled some 
 Oi our political patriarchs." 
 
 "No, a mere transitory eflcct; tliey have 
 folded their amis and gone to sleep again. I 
 a:u, of course, gratified by your favorable ap- 
 preciation of my elfort, b.'it'l tlitlcr with you 
 as to its result. TIk^ plough -share of naked 
 truth must thoroughly sub-.soil the mind of the 
 Southern states before the future of the coun- 
 l.-y is realized in' any degree; as yet. the 
 surface lias been but slightly grazud. The 
 hydra-headed foe of democracy is slowly but 
 certainly coiling around our American eagle, 
 and will crush it, if not seared promptly. But, 
 Mr. Mit«hell, the 'llaming brands' are not 
 rccwly." 
 
 *' To what hydra do you allude ?" 
 
 " Dema"'ogism, of course. Clcon was the 
 prototype of a numerous class; the school is 
 flourishing vigorously at t!ie North, and no 
 longer a stranger hcie. The people must root 
 it out speedily, or the days of our national 
 existerice are numbered." 
 
 " History proves it an invariable concomi- 
 tant of (leniixraoy ; rather a rank olT-shoot 
 from than antai:oiiistie to it." 
 
 " You confound the use and abuse of a sys- 
 tem. Civilization is, indisputably, a blessing to 
 our race, yet an abuse of tiie very imprdve- 
 meiits and discoveries that constitute its glory, 
 entails incalculable sorrow, and swells criminal 
 Btalistics. Tiie inarch of medical science has 
 induceil the administering of deadly poisons 
 with tlie h^jipiest results, when skilluUy di- 
 rected; yet it sometimes happens that fatal 
 effects follow an over-dose. Powerful politi- 
 cal levers should be handled judiciou.sly — not 
 thrown into the clutches of ignorant empirics." 
 
 " Universal sudragc is not your holjjby, 
 then V" 
 
 " On the contrary, I hold, with one of the 
 most brilliant statesmen this country over pro- 
 duced, that ' it' is the (ireek horse introduced 
 into the citadel of American liberties and sov- 
 ereignty. ' " 
 
 " On my honor, T am astounded at hearing 
 you (juote and eutlorse a tliclum of Hamilton. 
 The milleunium can't be far oil", when Demo- 
 crats seek illustration from Federalism !" 
 
 " liigotry in politics is as indefensible as in 
 religion or science. Truth is a sworn foe to 
 monopolists; is the exclusive right of no one 
 organization or party that ever wa.xed and 
 • waned. J ara a deinocr,it ; I believe 'u\ liberal, 
 enlarged, but not universal suffrage ; it is a 
 precious boon, and should b«! hedged about 
 with cautious restrictions. The creation of 
 the ephori was a sort of compromise measure, 
 a concession to .ijjpease the people of Sparta, 
 and, as an e-vtcnsion of the elective franchise, 
 was most deplorable in its results. Universal 
 suffrage always recalls to my mind the pithy 
 
 criticism of Anacharsis, the Scythian philoso- 
 pher, on the Soloiiian cotle, which lodged too 
 much power in the hands of the people : 
 ' Wise men debate, but fools decide.' Mr. 
 Mitchell, it matters little whether we have 
 fue or one hundred million tyrants, if our 
 rights are trampled ; it is a mere (juestion of 
 t;l^le whether you call the despot Czar, Dic- 
 tator, or Ballot-box. The mas.ses are .electri- 
 cal, and valuable prinii[)le8 of government 
 should be kept beyond the reach of e.\plo- 
 sion." 
 
 "And, except in a powerful centralization, 
 where could you pl.ace them for safety V" 
 
 " They are already deposited in the consti- 
 tution. 1 would, in order to secure them, ex- 
 tend our naturalization laws so as to restrict 
 the foreign vote, limit the riuht of suffrage by 
 affixing a property (pialificati<Mi, make the ten- 
 ure of our judiciary oflices for life or good 
 behavior, and lengthen the term of ailmiiiis- 
 traliou of our chief" magistrate, thereby dimin- 
 ishing the fre<iuency of po[)ular elections, 
 which, in oflering jiremiums tor deinagogisiu, 
 has been a prolilio cayse of mischief. In e.x- 
 anuning the statistii's of the Northern and 
 Western states rtjcently, and noting the dan- 
 gerous results of the crude foreign vote, 1 was 
 forcibly reminded of a passage in Burke's 
 ' llellections on the French Revolution:' 
 'Those who attempt to level, never equalize. 
 In all societies, (.onsistin'g of various descrip- 
 tions of citizens, some descrij)tion uuist be 
 uppermost. The, leveller.s, therefore, only 
 change and pervert the natural order of 
 things; they load the erlifice of ."(ociety by set- 
 ting up in the air what the solidity of the 
 structure reipiires to be on the ground.' The 
 day is not far distant, I fear, when Furopean 
 paupers, utterly ignorant of our institutions, 
 will delennine who shall sit in the ])residen- 
 tial chair, an<l how far the constitution shall 
 be observed. These are grave truths, which 
 the enlightened body of the American people 
 should jionder well; but, instead, they are 
 .made mere catch -words for party purposes, 
 and serve only to induce a new scramble for 
 office. It rc(juires no extraordinary prescience 
 to predict that the great fundamental princi- 
 |)les of this government will soon become a 
 simple question of arithmetic — will .lie at the 
 merry of an unscrupulous majority. The 
 .surging waves of Northern faction and fanati- 
 cism already break ominously against our time- 
 honored constitutional dykes, and if the South 
 would strengthen her bulwarks there is no 
 time to be «lept or wrangled away." 
 
 As he spoke, Ilussell's eyes fell upon a large 
 oval vase on the mantle-piece filled with rare 
 c^iotica, whose graceful tendrils were tastefully 
 disposed into a perfumed fringe. Rising, he 
 looked carefully at the brilliant hues, and said, 
 as he bent to inhale their fragrance: 
 
 " Where do you g*H(w such flowers at this 
 season ?" 
 
Macaria. 
 
 90 
 
 " Irene brings them almost every day from 
 the green-house on the hill. She takes a pe- 
 culiar pleasure in arranging them in my vases. 
 I think she stood a haft-hour yesterday twin- 
 ing and bending those stems the way she 
 wanted tiiem to hang. They are so brittle 
 that I snap the blossoms off, but in her hands 
 they seem pliable enough." 
 
 Russell withdrew the fingers which had 
 wandered caressingly amid the delicate leaves, 
 and; reseating himself, took a book from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Mr. Mitchell, I dare say you recollect a | 
 discussiou which we had, some months ago, re- j 
 garding the Homeric unity question ? Since 
 that tiuie I have been looking into Payne 
 Knight's views on the subject, and am ~morc 
 than ever convinced that the German theory 
 is incorrect. I will read a porfion oi' his argu- 
 ment, and leave the book lor you to examine 
 at your leisure." 
 
 "By all means! But I thought yOur red- 
 tape gyves kept you from arclipcologie re- 
 searches'.''" 
 
 "It is true they do bind me tighter than I 
 sometimes i-elish ; but we are all in bondage, 
 more or less, and, since one must submit to 
 tyranny, 1 prefer a stern master." lie drew 
 his chair nearer the lamp, ami began to read 
 aloud. Nearly a halt-hour passed tlius, when 
 the library door was opened hastily, and Irene 
 came in, dressed magnificently in party cos- 
 tume. She stood a moment, irresolute and 
 surprised, with her eyes fixed on Russell's, 
 then both bowed silently, and she came to the 
 fire. 
 
 " How are you, uncle Eric ? You look 
 flushed, feverish." She laid her cold pearly 
 hand on his forehead, and stood at his side. 
 
 " Tolerably comfortable, thanks to Mr. Au- 
 brey, who has m,ad(', me almost forget my 
 headache. You will be fashionably late at the 
 party to-night." 
 
 " Yes ! as usual ; but for a better reason than 
 because 1 wish to be fasiiionable. I wanted 
 to know how you were, and, as father was not 
 quite ready, I came in advance, and sent the 
 carriage l)ack for him and Hugh. I was not 
 aware that you Avere in Mr. Aubrey's hands 
 for the evening. You were reading, I believe; 
 pardon my intrusion, and do not let me inter- 
 rupt you." 
 
 " Sit down, Irene; here, child, where I can 
 look at you. We can both bear such an in- 
 tcrrnpiion." 
 
 Russ<'ll closed the volume, but kept his 
 finger in the Icares, an<l his fascinated eyes 
 went hack to the face and form of the heiress. 
 The dress was of heavy blue !<ilk, with an 
 orer-skirt and bertha of rich white lace, looped 
 with bunches of violets and geranium leaves. 
 The rippling hair was drawn smoothly over 
 the pure brow, and coiled at the back of the 
 head under a bine and silver netting, from 
 which fuchsias of turquoise and pearl hung 
 
 low on ' the polished neck. The arms and 
 shoulders gleamed like ivory as the lamp-light 
 glowed over her; and, save the firm, delicate 
 crim.«on lips, there was no stain of color in the 
 cold but superbly beautiful face. It was the 
 first time they had met since that evening at 
 the cemetery, many months before. Lifting 
 her splendid violet eyes, she met his gaze an 
 instant, and, tapping the book, Russell asked, 
 with (piiet nonchalance : 
 
 " Where do you stand. Miss Huntingdon, in 
 this ve.\ed Wolfian controversy con<'t!rning 
 the authorship of the Iliad and Odyssey V" 
 
 " I would render unto Cajsar the things 
 that are Caesar's." 
 
 " Equivocal, of course ! — a woman's answer," 
 lauglieit her uncle. 
 
 " Explicitly, then, I believe that, as Scott 
 
 absorbed the crude minstrelsy of Si'otland, and 
 
 reproduced national songs and legends under 
 
 a fairer, sweeter form, so Homer, grand old 
 
 blind eclectic, gathered the fragmentary 
 
 I myths of heroic ages, and, clothing them with 
 
 I the melody of wandering Greek rhapsodists, 
 
 I gave to the world his wonderl'td epic — the first 
 
 and last specimen of composite poetic archi- 
 
 ; tecture." 
 
 " You ascribe the Odyssey, then, to a dificr- 
 I ent author and a later period V" aeked Mr. 
 1 Mitchell. 
 
 i " I am too little versed in philology to de- 
 ! termine so grave a question. My acquaintance 
 ' with Greek is limited, and I am not compe- 
 tent to the task of considering all the evidence 
 ] in favor of the identity of authorship." 
 
 She put on her white cashmere cloak, and 
 stood still a moment, listening. 
 
 " Good-night, uncle Eric ; the carriage is 
 coming. I believe I should know the tramp 
 of those horses amid a regiment of cavalry." 
 
 " Why neecl you hurry olV? Let your father 
 come in." 
 
 " I will spare him that trouble. Good- 
 night, Mr. Aubrey. ' 
 
 She turned to leave the room, but, in gath- 
 ering her cloak around her, dropped her fan. 
 Russell stooped to pick it up, and, as he re- 
 stored it, there hands met. His brow flushed, 
 but not even the pale pearly glow of a sea- 
 shell crept to her cheek. Again she raised 
 her eyes to his, and a haughty, dazzling smile 
 flashed over her face as she inclined her bead. 
 *' Thank you, sir." 
 
 There was a brief silence, broken by Eric, 
 when the sound of the carriage had died 
 away. 
 
 " Irene is the only perfectly beautiful wom- 
 I an I ever saw; and yet, Aubrey, it makes mo 
 sad to watch her countenance!." 
 I '• Whe^ievcr I see her 1 can not avoid 
 I recalling an old Scandinavian myth, she 
 I realizes so fully my ideal Mnna, standing at 
 the portals of Valhalla, ofli'ering apples ol ir^jr 
 , mortality." 
 I He returned at once to his book and read 
 
100 
 
 MACAIUA. 
 
 several pages, occasionally pausinjr to call 
 attention to some jpecial passage ; finally he 
 rose, and took his hat. 
 
 " It is early yet, Aubrey ; don't po." 
 
 '' Thank you ; I must fulfill another engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " A "word before you leave; will you be a 
 candiilate for the le^jislature '!" 
 
 " Yes ; I was waited upon by a committee 
 to-day, and my name will be Announced to- 
 morrow. Good-nrjrht." 
 
 Slowly he walked back to town, and, once 
 upon the main street, took a new pair of gloves 
 from his pokct, fitted them carefully, and 
 directed his steps to the ele;rant residence, 
 whose approach was -well niixli blocked up 
 with cairiaires. This was the second time 
 that he had been invited by the Hendersons, 
 and he had almost determined to decline as 
 formerly, but something in Irene's chill man- 
 ner changed his resolution. He knew, from 
 various circumstances, that the social edict 
 against him was being Revoked in fashionable 
 circles ; that because he had risen without its 
 permission, aid, or countenance, and in defiance 
 of its sneers, the world was beginning to court 
 him. A gloomy scowl .sat on his stern lips as 
 he mounted the steps of the mansion from 
 which his meek and suflering mother had 
 bortu! bundles of plain work, or delicate masses 
 of enjbroidery, for the mother and daughter 
 who j)assed her in the street with a supercilious 
 stare. Beau-m<inde suddenly awoke to the 
 recollection that, "after all, Mrs. Aubrey be- 
 longed to one of the wealthiest and first 
 families in the state." At first Russell had 
 proudly repelled all overtures, but grailually 
 he was possessed by a desire to rule in the 
 Very circle which had so long excluded his 
 family. Most fully he appreciated his position 
 and the motives wliich actuated the social 
 
 autocrats of W ; he was no longer the 
 
 poor disgraced clerk, but the talented young 
 lawyer, and prospective heirof I\Ir. Campbell's 
 wealth. Bitterly, bitterly came memories of 
 early trial, and now the haughtiness of Irene's 
 manner stung him as nothing else could pos- 
 Hibly have done. He was at a loss to compre- 
 hen<l this change in one who had dared so 
 much in order to assist his family, and proud 
 <lefiance arose in his heart. It was ten o'clock ; 
 the ftte was at its height; the sound of music, 
 the shimmer of jewels, and rustle of costly 
 filks mingled with the hum of conver.sation 
 and the tread of dancing feet as Russell de- 
 posited hat and over-coat in the dressing-room 
 and entered the blazing ])arlora. The qua- 
 drille had just ended, and gay groups chattered 
 in the centre of the room ; among these, Maria 
 Henderson, leaning on Hugh's aruj, and (Jrace 
 'Harris, who had been dancing with Louis 
 nenders<m. As Russell crossed the floor to 
 speak to the host and hostess all eyes turned 
 upon him, and a suddeaiiush fell on the merry 
 dancers. 
 
 " Coaxed at last within the pale of civiliza- 
 tion ! how did you contrive it, Louis?" asked 
 Maria. 
 
 "Oh ! he declined when I invited him; but 
 I believe father saw him afterward and renewed 
 the r«'(juest. Do observe him talking to moth- 
 er ; he is as polished as if he had spent bil lilii 
 at court." 
 
 "He is a man whom I never fancied; but 
 that two hours speech of his was certainly th« 
 finest etlbrt .1 ever listened to. Caesar's am- 
 bition was moderate in compari>on with 
 Aubrey's; and, somehow, even against mj 
 will, I can't help admiring him, he is so coolly 
 independent," said Hugh, eyeing hiui curi- 
 ously. 
 
 " 1 heard father say that the Democrats in- 
 tend to send him to the legislature next term, 
 and the oi)j)osition are botliered to match him 
 fully. By the way, they speak of Mr. Hun- 
 tingdon for their candidate. But here comes 
 your hero. Miss Maria."' As he spoke, Charlie 
 Harris drew back a few steps, and sutlered 
 Russell to speak to the young lady of th« 
 house. Irene stood not far off, talking to tha 
 Governor of the state, who chanced to be on 
 
 a brief visit to W , and (juite near her 
 
 Judge Harris and her father were in tarnest 
 conversation. Astonished at the sudden ap- 
 parition, her eyes followed him as he bowed 
 to the members ot the central group ; and, as 
 she heard the deep rich voice above the buzz of 
 small talk, she w,uted to see if he would notice 
 
 her. Soon Governor G gave her his arm 
 
 for a promenade, and she found herself, era 
 long, very near Maria, who was approaching 
 with Russell. He was saying something, at- 
 whieh she laughed delightedly ; just then hia 
 eye fell on Irene; there was no token of re- 
 cognition on the part of either; but the Gov- 
 ernor, in passing, put out his hand to shako 
 Russell's, and asked for Mr. Campbell. Again 
 iMul again I hey met during the ensuing hour, 
 but no greeting was exchanged ; then he di»- 
 apjjcared. As Irene leaned against the win- 
 dow-lrame in the crowded supper-room she 
 heard Charlie Harris gaily bantering Maria on 
 the events of" the evening. 
 
 " What have you done with Aubrey ? I 
 will chalhnge him before to-morrow morning 
 fur cutting me out of uij schott ache with hif, 
 prosy chat." 
 
 " Oh 1 he left a half-hour ago ; excused 
 himself to mother, on the plea of starting off to 
 court at daybreak. He is perfectly fascinat- 
 ing; don't you think so, Grace? Such eyes 
 and lips 1 and such a forehead 1" 
 
 " Don't appeal to me for corroboration, I 
 beg of you, Maria, for you really gave nobody 
 else aa opportunity of judging. Take a 
 friendly hint, and do not betray your admira- 
 tion so publicly," answered the friend, pouting 
 her pretty childish lip. 
 
 " 1 see clearly that the remainder of us may 
 a« well go hang ourselves at once for any fu- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 101 
 
 tnre favor we can expect, since My Lord 
 Aubrey condescends to enter the, lists. IV|iss 
 Irene, 1 have not heard you rhapsodizing yet 
 about the new sensation." 
 
 "I rarely rhapsodize about anythiiisj, sir." 
 
 " To whom does be allude," asked Governor 
 G , good-humoredly." 
 
 " To Mr. Aubrey, who is no stran p:er to you, 
 I believe." 
 
 •' Ah ! Campbell's partner. I have had 
 some correspondence' with him recently, and 
 when I met him at his office yestei-day I was 
 no longer surprised at the tone of his letters. 
 His intellect is one of the keenest in the state ; 
 his logical and analytical powers are of the 
 rarest order. I shall watch his career wifli 
 great interest. Campbell may justly be proud 
 of him/' 
 
 If she had felt any inclination to reply, the 
 expression of her father's face discouraged her. 
 He had joined them in time to hear the tJbv- 
 ernor's eulogium, and she saw a sneer distort 
 his features as he listened. During the drive 
 homeward, Mr. Huntingdon suddenly inter- 
 rupted a strain of Hugh's nonsense 'by ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 " People have certainly lost common-sense ! 
 Their memory is not as long as my little 
 finger." 
 
 " What is the matter, sir ? With what re- 
 •cnt proof of imbecility have they favored 
 you ?" 
 
 " The idea of that upstart wheedling this 
 •ommunity is utterly preposterous. His im- 
 pudence is absolutely astounding. I am as- 
 tonished that Henderson should give him 
 eountenance !" 
 
 "The world has strange criteria to deter- 
 mine its verdicts. His father was sentenced 
 to be hung for committing murder ; and mv 
 uncle, Clement Huntingdon, who deliberately 
 shot a man dead in a duel, was received in 
 social circles as coi-dially as if his hands were 
 rot blood-stained. There was more of pallia- 
 tion in the first case (one of man-slaughter), 
 for it was the hasty, accidental work of a 
 moment of passion ; in the last a cool, pre- 
 meditated taking of human lifti. But the 
 sensitive, fastidious world called one brutal 
 and disgraceful, and the other 'honorable 
 eatisfaction,' in whieh gentlemen could indulge 
 •with impunity by crossing state lines. (J lem- 
 pora ! O mores .'" 
 
 As Irene uttered these words, she invol- 
 untarily erushed her bouquet and threw it 
 from her, while Hugh cxpcetiid' an exj)loKion 
 of wrath on the part of his uncle. He merely 
 muttered an oath, however, and smokiMl his 
 cigar in sullen silence, leaving the cpusins to 
 discuss the events of the party during the re- 
 mainder of the ride. 
 
 Ome more^ in his own room, at the quiet 
 boarding-house, Kus,«ell lighted the gas-burner 
 over a small disk, and sat down to a ma-ss of 
 papers. The apartment was cold ; the fire had 
 
 long since died out ; the heartli looked ashy and 
 desolate. There was nothing home-like or cosy 
 in the aspect of the room; tlie man lived at 
 his ofiice, and this was but a place to pass the 
 bri(^f unconscious hours of sleep. He had no 
 home-life, no social existence ; was fast becom- 
 ing callous, impervious to the gentler emotions 
 and kindly sympathies which domestic ties 
 foster and develop. No womanly touch lell 
 pleasant traces here, as in Eric's home ; no 
 graceful, luxurious trifles met the eye ; all 
 things were cold and prim and formal. He 
 had no kiiidred and few friends, but unbound- 
 ed aspiration stood in lieu of both. Fortu- 
 nately tor him, his great ph3'sica! strength 
 enabled him to pursue a course of study which 
 men of feebler constitution could never have 
 endured. On the desk lay several volumes, 
 carefull}' annotated for future reference — 
 Ilicardo, Malthas, iSa_y, and .Smith. To these 
 he turned, and busied himself in transferring 
 such excerpts as suited his purpose to an un- 
 finished MS. designed for future legislntive 
 service. The brilliant smile which lighted his 
 face an hour before, imparting an irresistible 
 charm, had wholly faded, leaving the features 
 to their wonted grave immobility — the accus- 
 tomed non-committalism of the business man 6f 
 the world. The measured tones of the watch- 
 man on the town-tower recalled him, finally, 
 from the cold realm of political economy ; he 
 closed the books, took of!" his watch, and 
 wound it up. It Avanted but three hours to 
 dawn ; but he heeded it not; the sight of the 
 massive old watch brought vividly back the 
 boyish days of sorrow, and he sat tliinking of 
 that niorniu^r of shame, when Irene canu' close 
 to him, nestling her soft little hand in his, and 
 from some long-silent, dark, chill chamber of 
 memory leajied sweet, silvery, childish echoes: 
 " Oil, Russell ! if I could only help you !" 
 With an involuntary sigh he arose, and, 
 walking to the chimney, leaned bis elbow on 
 tiie- mantle. 'But it would not answer; the 
 faint, delicious perfume of violets seemed to 
 steal up from the gray ashes on the hearth, 
 and the passionless, peerles3-4'ace of a queenly 
 woman followed him from the haunts of lash- 
 ion. The golden-haired dream of his early 
 youth had lost none of her former witeliery; 
 she only shared the mastery of his heart 
 with stern, unrelaxing ambition, and the gtdf 
 which divided them only enhanced the, depth, 
 the holiness of his love for her. Since hi« 
 ret\irn from Europe he had accustomed him- 
 self to think of her as Hugh's wife ; but he 
 found it daily more difficult to realize that 
 she could willingly give her hand to her heed- 
 less, self-indulgi-nt cousin ; and now the alter- 
 ation in her manner toward him perplexed 
 and grieved him. Did she suspect the truth, 
 and fear that he might presume on her charity, 
 in by- gone years'/ To his proud spirit this 
 was a sufiirestion singularly insulting, and he 
 had resolved to show her in future that he 
 
102 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 claimed not even a nod of recojrnition. In- 
 «li*ad of avoiding Ikt aa formorly, he would 
 ■eek occasions to (.xliibit an indifTiTencc whioh 
 lie little thought that her womanly heart would 
 ri^rlitly interpret. He h;wl found it more dif- 
 ficult than he. supj>6sed, to keep his att<.-ntion 
 e'laineil to Maria s and Grace's ^ay nonsense ; 
 to prevent his oyes from wan<krin^ to the face 
 whose ima;:e was enshrined in his lonely heart; 
 and now, witii loniplex ft'eliii;:s of tend'jrness 
 and an-jry defiancf, he sougiit his jiillow for a 
 short rf.s[)ito beforO the. journey that waited 
 but for daylijrht. 
 
 F(ir a low weeks all W was astir with 
 
 interest in the imj)etiding election ; newspaper 
 eoluMins teemed with caustic articles, and 
 Ilunlinjiflou and Aubrey clubs vilified each 
 other with the usual acrimony of such occa- 
 sious. Mr. Campbell's influence was extensive, 
 but the IIuntin;;don supporters wpre power- 
 ful, and the i-esult seemed doubtful tintil the 
 week previous to tiie election, wiien Russell, 
 wlio had as yet taken noai.-tive part, ac<'epted 
 tSe challenjre of his o])ponent to a public dis- 
 cussion. The meetin;i was held in front of 
 the court-house, the massive stone steps scrv- 
 iufj as a temporary rostrum. The night was 
 dark and cloudy, but hujxe bonfires, blazinjij 
 barrels of pitch, threw a lurid glare over the 
 broad Rlreet, now conVerted into a surging sea 
 of human hea<ls. 
 
 Surrounded by a committee of select friends, 
 Mr. Hunlingdou sat, confident of success; and 
 whin the hiss of rockets ceased, he came for- 
 ward and adiiressed the assembly in an hour's 
 bpeech. As a warm and rather prominent 
 politician, he was habituated to the task, and 
 bursts of ajiplause from his own party fre- 
 (juently attested the elfuct of his easy, grace- 
 ful style, and punirent irony. Blinded by 
 j)ersotial hat:-, and liunied on by the excite- 
 ment of the iiour, he neglected the cautious 
 policy wiiich had hitherto been observed, and 
 finally laun<lit;<l into a fierce philippic against 
 l.is antagonist — holding up for derision the 
 uieiancholy fate of his father, ami sneeringly 
 •ienouncing the " audacious pretensions of a 
 jiolitical neophyte. ' 
 
 (iroans and hisses greeted this unexpected 
 peroration, and many of his own friends bit 
 tli'-ir lips, and l)ent their brows in angry sur- 
 jirise, as he took his seat amid an uproar 
 which would have been resjiectable even in 
 the days of the builders of I{al)el. Russell 
 was sitting on tlu^ upper step, with his head 
 leaning on his hand, and his eyes fixeil on the 
 mass ol" u[i-turned, eager faces, iisU-ning pati- 
 ently to the lengthy a(ldi\!SS, expecting just 
 what he was destined to hear. At the men- 
 tion of his family mislbrtunes lie lifted his 
 head, rose, and, advancing a few steps, took off 
 his hat, and .stood confronting the speaker in 
 full view of the excited crowd. And there 
 the red light, flaring over bis features, showed 
 
 a calm, stern, self-reliant man, who felt that 
 he had nothing to blush for in the past or to 
 dread in future. When the tirade ended, 
 when the tumult ceased and silence fi'll upon 
 the audience, he turned and fixed his deep, 
 glowing eyes full on the face of his opponent 
 for one moment, smiling haughtily; then, as 
 Mr. Huntingdon quailed before his withering 
 gaze, he crossed his arms over his chest, ana 
 addressed the meeting. 
 
 He came, he said, to discus? quesUons of 
 grave import to the state, not the pedigree or 
 antecedents of his antagonist, with which, he 
 supposed, the public had no concern. He 
 could not condescend to the level of the gen- 
 tleman ; was not a proficient, not his ecjual in 
 slang phrases, or gross, vulgar vituperation, 
 an<l scorned to farther insult the good taste of 
 his hearers by acquainting them with the con- 
 temptible motives of individual hatred which 
 had induced his opponent to tbrget what the 
 rules of good breeding and etiquette impi-ra- 
 tively demanded. He would not continue to 
 disgrace the occasion by any refutation of the 
 exceedingly irrelevant portion of the preced- 
 ing harangue, which related to purely personal 
 nmtters, and was unworthy of notice, but 
 asked the attention of his hearers, for a few 
 moments, while he analyzed the ])Iatl'orm of 
 his jiarty. Briefly he stated the is.sucs divid- 
 ing the i)eople of the state; warned the oppo- 
 sition of the probable results of thrir policy, 
 if triumphant; ami, with resistless elo(pience, 
 pleaded for a firm maintenance of the princi- 
 ples of his own party. He was, he averred, 
 no alarmist, but he proclaimed that the people 
 slept upon the thin heaving crust of a volcano, 
 which would inevitably soon burst forth; and 
 the period was raj)idly a])proaching when the 
 Southern states, unless united and on the 
 alert, would lie bound at the feet of an inso- 
 lent and raj)aciuns Northern faction. He de- 
 mainied that, tftrough the legislatures, the 
 states should api)eal to Congress for certain 
 restrictions and guarantees, which, if denied, 
 would justify extreme measures on tiie ])art of 
 the people. The man's marvellous magnetism 
 was never more triiunphanily attested; the 
 mass, who had listened in pro(()und silence to 
 every syllable which ])asse(l his lips, now vent- 
 ed their entiiusiasm in prolonged and vocifer- 
 ous a])plausc, and vehement cries of " (Jo on! 
 go on I" The entire absence of stereotyped 
 rliodomontadf! rendered his words peculiarly 
 impressive, as he gave them utterance with no 
 visible token of enthusiasm. He did not lash 
 the pa>;sions of the populace into a passing 
 phrensy, but eO'ectually stirred the great deep 
 of sober feeling and sound sense. With his 
 elegant, graxieful delivery, and polished, spark- 
 ling diction, he stood, as it were, on some lofty 
 oool pedestal, and pointed ui\erringly to com- 
 ing events, whose shadows had not yet reached 
 them, of which they had not dreamed before, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 108 
 
 and it was not wonderful that the handsome 
 young speaker became an Idol to be worship- 
 ped ofav ofT. 
 
 As he descended the steps and disappeared 
 amid the shouts of the crowd, Judge Hairis 
 turned to Mr. Huntingdon and said, with ill- 
 concealed annoyance : 
 
 " You have lost your election by your con- 
 founded imprudence." 
 
 " That remains to be seen, sir," was the 
 petulant rejoinder. 
 
 " It is a foregone conclusion," muttered Dr. 
 Arnold, buttoning his over-coat, and looking 
 around for his cane. 
 
 " I have sworn a solemn oath that I will 
 trample the upstart out of existence, at least 
 politically !" 
 
 " As well try to trample on the stars yon- 
 der ! Your speech ruined you, T am afraid !" 
 
 The judge "^Valked ofl', pondering a heavy 
 bet which he had relative to the result. 
 
 By sunrise on tlie day of the election the 
 roads leading to town were crowded with vot- 
 ere making their way to the polls. The 
 drinking-saloons were full to overflowing ; the 
 side -walks thronged with reeling groups as 
 the da)- advanced. Because the Huntingdon 
 side bribed fj-cely, the Aubrey partisans felt 
 that they must, from necessity, follow the dis- 
 graceful prc('ed#t. Not a ladj' showed her 
 face upon the street; drinking, wrangling, 
 fighting was the order of the day. Windows 
 were smashed, buggies overturned, and the 
 
 [lolice exercised to the utmost. Accompanied 
 )y a few friends, Mr. Huntingdon rode from 
 }ioll to poll, encouraging his suppoi'ters, and 
 drawing heavily ujjou his purse, while Russell 
 remained quietly in his office, well assured of 
 the result. At five o'clock, Vhen the town 
 polls closed, Russell's votes showed a majority 
 of two hundred and forty -four. Couriers 
 came in constantly from country precincts, 
 with equally favorable accounts, and at ten 
 o'cloi'k it was a.scertained, beyond doubt, that 
 he was elected. Ir*ne and her uncle rode 
 down to learn the (ruth, and, not knowin'^ 
 where to fiiul Mr. Huntingdon, stopped the 
 carriage at the corner of the main street, and 
 waited a few mom^'nts. Very soon a rocket 
 ythizzvd through the air, a band of music 
 •truck up before Ru.ssell's office, afid a number 
 of his adiiereiits insisted that he should show 
 himself on the balcony. A crowd immediately 
 collected opposite, cheering the successfid can- 
 didate, and calling for a speech. He came 
 out, and, in a few hapjiy, dignified words, 
 thanked them for the lionor conferred, and 
 pledged himself to guard most faithfullv the 
 interests counnitted to his keeping. After the 
 noisy constituents had retired, he stood talking 
 to some friends, when he chanced to recognize 
 the fiery horses across the street. The car- 
 riage-top was thrown back, and bV the neigh- 
 boring gais-iight he saw Irenes white face 
 turned toward him, then the horses sprang 
 
 off. Mr. Campbell noticed, without under- 
 standing, the sudden start, and bitter though 
 trium[)hant 'smile th^t crossed his face in the 
 midst of .pleasant gratulations. 
 
 " Go home, Andrew. I know now Avhat T. 
 ■came to learn." 
 
 Irene sank back and folded her mantle 
 closer around her. 
 
 ■ " Is master elected ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Your father's speech, last week, was most 
 unfortunate In every ret^pect," said her uuide, 
 who felt indignant and mortified at the course 
 pursurd by his brother-in-law. 
 
 " We will not discuss it, if you please, uncle 
 Eric, as It is entire!}" useless now." 
 
 " Don't you think tliat Aubrey deserves to 
 succeed ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Her dreary tone disconcerted him, and he 
 ofiered no farther comment, little suspecting 
 that her hands were pressed hard against her 
 heart, and that her voiceless sorrow was : 
 " Henceforth we must be still more estranged; 
 a wider gulf, from this night, divides us." 
 
 The din, the tumult of the day, had hushed 
 itsell", and deep silence brooded over the sleep- 
 ing town, when, by the light of the newly-riscn 
 moou, Russell leaned upon the little gate and 
 gazed on the neglected cottage, overgrown 
 with vines and crumbling to ruin. A sweet;, 
 resigned face smiled at him once more I'roni 
 the clustering tendrils that festooned the 
 broken window, where. In other years, his 
 mother had been wont to sit at work, watch- 
 ing for his return ; and, in this hour of his first 
 triumph, as he sought the hallowed spot, a;ul 
 thought of her long martyrdom, recollection 
 rolled its troubled waves over liis throbbing, 
 exultant heart, until the proud head drooped 
 on the folded arms, and tears fell upon the 
 mouldering gate. 
 
 "Oh, mother I mother! if you could have 
 lived to see this day — to share my victory I" 
 
 "Gtiost-liku I pared roiiml tlio Iiaiiiits of my cliililliood, 
 Kartli 6voint«l a desert I whs luiuii.l to traverse, 
 SeeUiiig to find tlie old ramiliar faces. 
 
 * » * « « e • 
 
 All, all arc gone, the old familiar faces !" 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 The Icy breath of winter, the mihl wander- 
 ing airu of spring, the luxurious Inisstz-unus- 
 fnire murmurs of summer, and the solemn 
 moan of autumn, hail followed each other in 
 rafiid succession. Two years rolled on, s.'ained 
 with the tears of many, ringing with the songs 
 and laughter of a forttmate few. The ])ath9 
 of some had wiilened into sunny pasturts, 
 flower- starred, Cridavana meadows; otlurs 
 had grown narrower still, choked with the 
 dchris of dead hopes, which the tiile of time 
 drifted from the far-ofT glittering peaks of 
 
lOi 
 
 MACAIUA. 
 
 carl)- aspirations. The. witchery of Southern j 
 
 sjjriiie again envplop-d W , and Irene 
 
 stood on the lawn survuving the '•pret'neryi 
 <>' the out-door world " that surroundi-d her. 
 I'eafh and plum orchards on tlie slope of! 
 a neighboriiiij hill wore their festal robes of, 
 jjroniisc, and as the loiterinji breeze stole j 
 down to the valley, they showered rosy per- i 
 liimed shelln. tiny avant cowirrs of abundant \ 
 fruitaire- Tlie air was re<loli-nt with delicate 
 dLstillaiions from a thousand flowery laborato- 
 ries, stately magnolias rustled their polished 
 sbimmering leaves, long-haired acacias trailed 
 their fringy shadows over the young wavering 
 gra«s-blades ; and, far above the soft green 
 wildcrnefcs of tangled willows, regal pines 
 epread out their wind-harps, glittering in the 
 ^unshine like sjiiculaj of silver. A delicious 
 laugor brooded in the atmosphere, the distant 
 narrow valleys wore full of purple haze ; be- 
 yond and above the town, that nestled so 
 jjeacefully along the river banks, the marble 
 lingers of the cemetery gleamed white and 
 <uld ; and afar ofl', and over all, was heard the 
 rueasured music of factory bells, chanting a 
 hymn to sacred and eternal Labor. With her 
 brown straw hat in one hand and a willow- 
 basket filled with flowers in the other, Irene 
 leaned against the glossy trunk of an ancient 
 •wild-cherry tree, and looked in dreamy ab- 
 straction' down the longshadowy vista of vener- 
 able elms. Paragon lay panting on the grass 
 at her feet, now and then snapjjing playfully 
 at the tame pigeons who had iolPoued their 
 mistress out upon the lawn, fluttering and 
 cooing' continually around her; and a few 
 yards off a golden pheasant and two peaco;'ks 
 sunned their gorgeous plumage on the smooth- 
 ly-cut hedges/ 
 
 " . . . . Some faces show 
 Tho laiit atrt of .-I trHK^'ly ia their roi^ard, 
 Thuiigli Iho first sctiies be wiiutiii); ;" 
 
 and in this woman's sad but intensely calm 
 countenance a joyless Ike found silent history. 
 The pale forehead bore not a single line, tlie 
 ijuiet mouth no ripple marks traced by rolling 
 years ; but the imperial eyes, coldly blue as 
 tlie lonely ice-gin M:irjelen-See, revealed, in 
 tkeir melancholy crystal depUis, the drearv 
 isolation of soul with which she had been 
 cuised from infan<y. Iler face was an ivory 
 tablet inseiibed with hieroglyphics which no 
 social, friendl}' Chanipollion iiadyetdeciphered. 
 Satiated.with universal homage, wtsary of the 
 frivolity of tlie gay circle surrounding her, and 
 debarred from all hope of alfectionate, sympa- 
 thetic intercourse with her father, her real lifo 
 was apart from the world iji which report said 
 that she ruled supreme. She wandered in 
 the primeval temples of nature, and ministered, 
 a solitary priestess, at the silent, blazing shrine 
 of Astronomy. The soft folds of her white 
 luuslin dress stirred now and then, and the 
 blue ribbons that looped ba-k her braided 
 hair fluttered like mimic pennons- in the 
 
 breeze ; but the clematis bells which clustered 
 around her cameo pin were unshaken by the 
 •low pulsations of her sad heart. She felt that 
 her lite was passing rapitlly, unimproved, and 
 aimless; she knew that her years, instead of 
 being fragrant with the mellow fruita;:e of 
 pood deeds, were tedious antl joyleis, and that 
 the gaunt, numbing hand oi' ennui was closing 
 upon her. The elasticity of spuits, the 
 buoyancv of youth had given place to aspeciei 
 of stoical mute apathy; a mental and morzd 
 paralysis was stealing over her. 
 
 The slamming of the pomlerous iron irate 
 attracted her attentirtn, and she saw a carriage 
 ascending the avenue. As it reached a point 
 opposite to the spot where she stood it halted, 
 the door was thrown open, and a ceutleman 
 stepped out, and approached her. The form 
 was not familiar, and the straw hat partially 
 vifiled the features, but he paused beibrc hUr, 
 and said, with a genial smile : 
 
 " Don't you know me V" 
 
 " Oh, liarvey ! My brother ! My great 
 guardian angel !"' 
 
 A glad light kindled in her face, and she 
 stretched out her han<ls with the eagerness of 
 a delighted child. Time had pressed heavily 
 upon him; wrinkles were conspicuous about 
 the corners of his eyes and mouth, and the 
 black hair had become asteuL-gray. He was 
 
 not 
 
 "A little Huuburiit bj the jhu-o of life," 
 
 but weather-beaten by its storms ; and, in lieu 
 of the idiosyncratic placidity of former days, a 
 certain restlessness of exjjression betokened 
 internal disquiet. Holding her hands, he 
 drew her nearer to him, scrutinized her 
 features, and a look of keen sorrow crosseil his 
 own as he said, almost inaudibly: 
 
 "I feared as much! I leared as much I 
 The shadow has spread." 
 
 "You kept Punic faith with me, sir; you 
 promised to write, and failed. I sent you one 
 letter, but it was never ^^swered." 
 
 " Through no fault ol.inine, Irene; I never 
 ixH'cived it, believe inc. True, I expected to 
 write to you frequently when I parted with 
 you, but subsetjuiintly determined that it 
 would be best not to do so. Attribute my 
 silence, however, to every other cause than 
 want of remembrance.' 
 
 " Your letters would have been a great stay 
 and comfort to me." 
 
 "Precisely for that reason I sent none. I 
 knew that you must rely upon yourself; that 
 I could not properly judge of the circumstances 
 which surrounded and influenced you. One, 
 at least, of my promises has 'been faithfully 
 fulfilled : I have prayed for you as oflen as 
 for myself in all these years of separation." 
 
 " God only knows how I have wanted, how I 
 have needed you, to guide and strengthen me." 
 
 She raised the two hands that still held 
 hers, and bowed her forehead upon them. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 lOS 
 
 " You had a better friend, dear child, al- 
 ways near you, who would have given surer 
 s:uidanoe and borne all your burdens. What 
 i most dreaded has come to pass. You have 
 forgotten your God." 
 ■ "No ! indeed, no ! but He has forsaken me." 
 
 " Come and sit down here, and tell me what 
 the trouble is." 
 
 He led her to a circular seat surrounding a 
 Yeuerable oak, and placed himself where he 
 could command a full view of her face. 
 
 "Mr. Young, you must have had a hard life 
 out" west; you have grown old so fast since I 
 eaw you. But you have been doing good, and 
 that is sufficient recompense." 
 
 "I have, of course, endured some hardships 
 inseparable from such a long sojourn on the 
 frontier, but my labors have been so successful 
 that I forget everything in my great reward. 
 Many a fair June day I have wished that you 
 could see my congregation, as we stood up to 
 sing in a cool shady grove of beech or hack- 
 berry, offering our orisons in ' God's first tem- 
 ples.' No brick and mortar walls, but pave- 
 ments of Gods own living green, and dome of 
 blue, and choir of sinless, consecrated birds. 
 My little log cabin in the far West is very 
 dear to me, for around it cluster some of the 
 moit precious reminiscences of my life. The 
 greatest of my unsatisfied wants was that of 
 congenial companionship. I betook myself to 
 gardening in self-defence, and finer annuals 
 you never saw than those which I raised on 
 my hill-side. My borders I made of migno- 
 nette, and tiie rusty front of my cabin I draped 
 with beautiful festoons of convolvulus. My 
 hermitage was pleasant enough, though humble 
 ^indeed)" 
 
 " Tell me the secret of your quiet content- 
 ment. By what spell do you invoke the 
 atmosphere of liappy serenity that constantly 
 surrounds you ?" 
 
 " It is neither occult nor cabalistic ; vou will 
 find it contained in the few words of Paul: 
 ' Be ye steadfast, unmoveable, alwavs abound- 
 ing in tlie work of the Lord; forasmuch as ye 
 know tliat your labor is not in vain in tlie 
 Lord.' Tliere is nothing recondite in this 
 injunction ; all may comprehend and practice 
 iCk' 
 
 " It may seem so to you, who dispense peace 
 «nd blessings wherever you move ; but to me, 
 alone and useless, cut off from such a sjiherc 
 of laber, it might a^ well be locked up in Par- 
 fee. I thought once that CJod created every 
 human being for .some particular work — some 
 special mission. That, in order that the vast 
 social machinery of the world migiit move har-^ 
 moniously, each had hi? or her allotted duties, 
 in accordance with thi- grtat fundamental law 
 of economy — 'division of labor.' But, like 
 many other youthful theories, I have been 
 eomnelled to part with thip, also." 
 
 " Rather hold faet to it, for tke precious 
 truth it is. Do you not find, oi> reflection, 
 
 that the disarrangement, the confusion in this 
 same socia*^ mill proves that some of the hu- 
 man cogs are broken, or out of place, or not 
 rendering their part ? I am older than you, 
 and have travelled farther, and I have yet to 
 see the New Atlantis, where every member of 
 society discharges fully the duties assigned. 
 
 "• X might gny, in a world fiiU of lipa that lack bread. 
 And of souls that laclc lijht. thorc are months to l>e fod, 
 Tlicrc are wounds to be healed, there is work to bo doue, 
 And life can withhold love and duty from none ! ' " 
 
 " Irene, ' why stand ye here all the day idle ?* 
 Why wait afar off to orlt*an, where you should 
 be a busy reaper in God's whitening harvest- 
 fields? — closing your ears to the eager cry, 
 ' The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are 
 few!'" 
 
 A wintry smile flitted over her lips, and she 
 shook her head. 
 
 " Ah, sir ! long ago I marked out a different 
 programme ; but my hands are tied. I am led 
 along another path ; I can do nothing now." 
 
 " You owe allegiance first to your INIaker. 
 What stands between you and your work? 
 Ireno, tell me what is this dark cloud that 
 shuts out sunshine from your heart, and throws 
 such a chill shadow over your face ?" 
 
 He diew down the hand with which she 
 shaded her eyes, and bent his head till the 
 gray locks touched her cheek. She did not 
 shrink away, but looked at him steadily, and 
 answered : 
 
 " It is a cloud that enveloped me from the 
 hour of my birth, and grows denser each year; 
 I can neither escape from nor dissipate it. It 
 will not break in storms and clear away; but, 
 perchance, as I go down to my tomb the sil- 
 ver liiu'ng may show itself The sun was 
 eclipsed when I first opened my eyes in this 
 world, and my future was faithfully adumbrat- 
 ed. I am not superstitious, but I can not ba 
 blind to the striking analogy — the sombre sym- 
 bolism." 
 
 Ilis grave face was painfully convulsed as he 
 listened to her, and it was with difhi'ulty that 
 he restrained himself from drawing the head to 
 his shoulder, and revealing all the depth and 
 strength of love which had so long ruled his 
 heart and s<addencd his life. But he merely 
 enclosed her hand in both his with a gentl* 
 pressuru, and said : 
 
 " Carry out your metaphor, and at least yon 
 must admit that, though the sun was eclipsed, 
 stars come out to light you." 
 
 " But, at best, one shivers and gropes through 
 the cold light of stars, and mint; have all set in 
 a clouded sky. You only are left to me ; you 
 shine on me still, undimmed, all the brighter 
 for my gloom. Oh ! if I could have you al- 
 ways. But as well stretch out my hands te ^ 
 clutch the moon." 
 
 He started, and looked at her wistfully, but 
 the utter passionlessness of her face and man- 
 ner showed him all too plainly the nature of 
 her feelings and ner ignorance of his owu. 
 
106 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 "Irene, yon deal in similies and vajiue pen- 
 eralitl'»8. Has absence shaken your conficlcncc 
 in me ? Be frank ; tell nic what tliis hnuntin;; 
 trouhle is, and let me help yon to exorcise it." 
 
 " You ean not. All the Teraphim of the 
 East would not avail. Let it suflVe that, 
 many years since, I displeased my father in a 
 triflinp matter ; and, a.s I prow oMer. my views 
 and \vi>ln s conflict^'d with his. 1 disappointed 
 a darlinjj plan which he hail lonp cherished. 
 and we arc cstranped. We live here, father 
 and daunhtcr, in lu.xury; we give and co to 
 partie,s and dinners ; before the world we keep 
 up the semblance of affection and {rood feel- 
 ing; but he can not, will not, forijive me. I 
 have ceased to ask or to expect it; the only 
 possible, condition of reconcdiation is on«' to 
 •which I can liever consent ; and, for more than 
 two years, he has scarcely spoken to me ex- 
 cept when compelled to do so. I pass my davs 
 in a monotonous round, wisliinp for to-morrow. 
 and my nights yonder, among the stars. I 
 have little money to dispense in charity; I 
 dress richly, but the materials are selected by 
 my father, who will have my clothing of tlie 
 costliefe't fabrics, to suit his elegant and fastidi- 
 ous taste. Though an only cliild, and pre- 
 emptive heiress of one of tiie finest estates at 
 the South, I Iiave not a dime in the world which 
 I can call my own, except a small sum whi<h 
 he voluntarily allows me per annum. Mark 
 you, I do not complain of my father — for, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, I could change this un- 
 natural po.sifio!i of affairs in my home; I only 
 mention some stern facts to prove to you that 
 my hands are tied. It was once the fondest 
 desire of my life to expend the fortune tha\ 
 •I supposed Itelonged to me in alleviating suf- 
 , JJEring and want, and making people hapj)y 
 aroun<l me; but, like other dewy sparkles of 
 childhood, this hojie vanished as the heat and 
 strife of life overtook me." 
 
 Slie spoke in a low, nioasured tone, unshaken 
 by c.molion, and the expression of dreary ab- 
 straction showed that she had long accustomed 
 herself to this contemplation of In^r lot. Tln^ 
 minister was iU;cply moved as he watched her 
 beautiful calm features, so hushed in their joy- 
 lessness, and he passed his hand across his eyes 
 to wipe away the moistun; that so unwofitedly 
 dimmed them. lie pressed her lingers to his 
 lips, and said, encouragingly : 
 
 ''Lift UiyHiiir up ! u)i, thou ofindileni'il fnro! 
 Ceaiio IroDi tliy iiif;tiin«. draw from out tliy heart 
 Thr joyful ligiit of faith." 
 
 "You a.sked me onc-e to be your brother; 
 my dear child, let me prove myself such now ; 
 let mc say that, perhaps, it is your duty to 
 yield obedience to your father's wishes, since 
 this deplorable alil;nation results from your 
 refusal. You never can be happy, standing 
 in this unnatural relation to an only parent. 
 Because it is i)aiiiful, and involves a sacrifice 
 on your part, should you consider it any the 
 
 less your duty ? Has he not a right to expect 
 that his wishes .should guide you ?" 
 
 She rose instantly, and, withdrawing her 
 hands, folded them together and replied, with 
 an indescribable mingling of hauteur and sor- 
 row: 
 
 " Has he a right to give my hand to a man 
 whom I do not love V Ha,s he a right to <lrag 
 mc to the altar, and force me to swear to ' love 
 and honor' one whom I can not even respect? 
 Could you stand by and see your father doom 
 your sister to such a miserable fate? I would 
 • onsent to die for my father to- morrow, if 
 thereby I might make him hapi)y ; but I can 
 not endure to live, ami bring upon myself the 
 curse of a loveless marriage ; and, God is my 
 witness, I never, will I" 
 
 Her eyes gleamed like blue steel, and the 
 stern, gem-like features vividly reminded him 
 of a medal of the noble ^ledu.^a which he ha^ 
 frccjuently examined an<l admired whilft in 
 Rome. In that brief flash he saw, with aston* 
 ishment, that beneath the studieilly calm 
 exterior lay an iron will, and a rigidness of 
 purpose, which he had never conjectured be- 
 longed to her character. 
 
 " Forgive me, Irene ; I retract my wonls. 
 Ignorant of the nature of the demand, I should 
 not have presumed to counsel you. Keep 
 true to the instincts of your own heart, and 
 you will never go far astray in the path of 
 duty. May God bless and comfort you ! Oth- 
 er friends can lend you no assistance in these 
 peculiar circumstam-cs." 
 
 He could not trust himself to say more, for 
 feelings too painful for utterance stirred the 
 depths of his soul. 
 
 For some moments silence reigned ; then, 
 standing before him, Irene said, with touching 
 pathos : 
 
 " My friend, I am so -desolate ! so lonely ! I 
 am drifting down the current of life aimless, 
 hopeless, usele.ss ! What shall I do with my 
 future? I beliove I am slowly ])etrifying ; I 
 neither suffer nor enjoy as formerly ; my foel- 
 , ings are deadened ; I am growing callous, 
 indifferent to everything. 1 am fast losing 
 sympathy for the .sorrows of others, swallowed 
 up in self, oblivious of the noble aspirations 
 i wiiich spanned the early years like a bow 
 of promist^. I am cut off from companionship ; 
 have no friend, save an uncle, to whom I lould 
 1 y)Ut out my hand for support. People talk of 
 I the desolation of \Vestern wiMs aTid Kastern 
 I deserts; but, oh ! God knows there is no isola- 
 tion comparable to that of a woman who walks 
 I daily thi-oni;li halls of wealth and gay salons, 
 I knowing that no human being 'inderstands or 
 : truly sympathises with' her. My prophet! as 
 ! you long ago foretold, I am 'treading the wine- 
 
 fress alone.' Once more I ask you, what shall 
 do with my life ?" 
 I " (Jive it to God." 
 
 " Ah ! there is neither grace nor virtue in 
 I Necessity. Ho will not accept the worthless 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 107 
 
 thing thrown at His feet as a dernier resort. 
 Once it was my choice, but tlie pure, clear- 
 eyed faith of my childhood shook hands with 
 me when you left me in New York." 
 
 For a short while he struggled with himself, 
 Btriving to overcome the uncontjuorable im- 
 pulse wliich suddenly prompted him, and his 
 face grew pallid as hers as he walked hastily 
 across the smooth grass and came back to her. 
 Her countenance was lifted toward tlie neigh- 
 boring liill, her thoughts evidently far away, 
 when he paused before her, and said, unsteadi- 
 ly : 
 
 "Irene, my beloved! give yourself to me. 
 Go with me into God's vineyard; let us work 
 togetiier, and consecrate our lives to His ser- 
 vice." 
 
 The mesmeric eyes gazed into his, full of 
 wonder, and the rich ruby tint (led from her 
 lips as she pondered his words in unfeigned 
 astonishment, and, shaking her regal head, an- 
 swered, slowly : 
 
 " Harvey, I am not worthy. I want your 
 counsel, not your pity." 
 
 '• Pity ! you mistake me. If you have been 
 ignorant so long, know now that I have loved 
 you from the evening you first sat in my study 
 looking over my foreign sketches. You were 
 then a child, but I was a man, and I knew all 
 that you h;id so suddenly become to me. Be- 
 cause of this great disparity in years, and 
 because I dared not hope that one sb tenderlj- 
 nurtured could ever brave the hardships of 
 my projected life, I determined to quit New 
 York earlier than I had anticipated, and to 
 bury a foolish memory in the trackless forests of 
 the far West. I ought to have known the fallacy 
 of my expectation ; I have proved it since. 
 Your face tbllowed me ; your eyes met mine 
 at every turn ; your glittering hair swept 
 on every breeze that touched my cheek. I j 
 battled with the image, but it would not avail; j 
 I resolved not to write to you, but found that ] 
 the dearest part of my letters from home 
 consisted of tiie casual allusions which they 
 contained to you. Then came tidings from ; 
 Louisa that you were probably married — had 
 long been engaged to your cousin ; and, though 
 it wrung my iieart to thi«ik of you as the wFfe 
 of anotiier, I schooled myself to hope that, for 
 your sake, it might be true. But years passed ; 
 no confirmation reached me; and the yearnin" 
 to look on your <lear face once more took pos- 
 session of me. My mother wrote, urging me 
 to visit her this summer, and I came out of my 
 way to hear of alid to see you. Tlic world 
 sneers at the possibility of such love as mine, 
 and I doubt not that it is very rare amon<r 
 men; but, through all the dreary separation'^ 
 I have tlioiigiit of you as constantly, and fond- 
 ly, and tenderly as when I first met you in my 
 father's house. Irene, you are younfr, and 
 singularly bcautidd, and I am a gray-haired 
 man, much, much older than yourself; but, if 
 you live a thousand years, you will never find 
 
 such affection as I offer you now. There is 
 nothing on earth which would make me so hap- 
 ])y as the possession of your love. You are the 
 only woman I have ever seen whom I even 
 wished to call my wife — the only woman who, 
 I felt, could -lend new charm to life, and make 
 my quiet hearth happier by her presence. 
 Irene, will you share my future ? Can you 
 give me what I ask ?" 
 
 The temptation was powerful — the future he 
 held out enticing inthied. The strong, holy, 
 manly love, the noble heart and head to gv.ide 
 her, the firm, tender hand to support her, the 
 <:onstanf, consefiial, and delightful comj)anion- 
 ship — all this passed swiftly through her mind; 
 but, crushing all in its grasp, came the memory 
 of one whom she rareVy met, but who held 
 undisputed sway over her proud heart. 
 
 Drawing close to the minister, she laid her 
 hands on his shoulder, and, looking reverently 
 up into his fine face, said, in her peculiarly 
 sweet clear voice : 
 
 " The knowledge of your priceless, unmerited 
 love makes me proud beyond degree ; but I 
 would not mock you by the miserable and only 
 return I could make you — the affection of a 
 devoted sister. I would gla<lly, thankfully go 
 with you to your Western home, and redeem 
 my past by my future — but, as your wife, I 
 could not ; and, without the protection of your 
 honored name, it would not be permitted mc 
 to accompany you. I look up to you as to no 
 otlrer human being ; I revere and love you, 
 Harvey ; and, oh ! I wish that I could pass my 
 life> at your side, cheered by your smile, doing 
 some good in the world. That I do not love 
 you as you wish, is my great misfortune; for 
 I appreciate most fully the noble privilege 
 you have tendered me. 1 do not say what I 
 earnestly wish could happen, that you )v-ill 
 find some one else who can make you happy, 
 because I feel that no woman whom I linvc 
 ever met is worthy of being your wife. Uut 
 I trust that the pain I may give you now will 
 soon pass away, afid that, in -time, you w'll 
 forget one who is utterly undeserving of tlic 
 honor you have conferred on her to-d;iy. 
 Oh, Harvey ! do not, I beg of yon, let one 
 thought of me ever di.Hjuiet your noble, gen- 
 erous heart." 
 
 A shiver crept over her still face, and she 
 drooped her pale forehead. She felt two tears 
 fall uj)on hir hair, and in silence he bent 
 down and kissed her softly, tenderly, as one 
 kisses a sleeping babe. 
 
 "Oh, Harvey! do not let it grieve you, 
 dear friend !" 
 
 He smiled sadly, as if not daring to trust 
 himself in words; then, after a moment, laying 
 his hands upon her head, in the baptism of a 
 deathless love, he gently and solemnly blessed 
 her. When his fingers were removed she 
 raised her eyes, but he had gone ; she saw 
 only the retreating form through the green 
 arches of the grand old avenue. 
 
lOS 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 ' Unlike are wo. unlike. O princely heart ! 
 L'ltlike our uiiei and uur dritiiiirR. 
 Our minidterinK tw* anpeli l<H.>k lurprlso 
 Ou ('MC another, ai thry itrike atliwart 
 Their wiii;;^ in paKsiiiR. . .i. . . . * 
 Tlie rhrisiii ia ou tliiiie liaaJ— on mine the dew. 
 And dvatli mu»t di;; thu level ulioie tUeaoacrea." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Says D'Alcmljcrt : '• The industry of men is 
 now so far exhaustiMl in canvassinjr for places, 
 that none is left for fulfilling the duties of 
 them;" and tho history of our covernment 
 furnishes a melancholy parallel. 1'he regular 
 quadrennial stonn had swept over the nation ; 
 caucuses had been held and platforms fiercely 
 fought for, to be kicked away, plank by plank, 
 when they no longer served as scalTolding by 
 •which to chnib to oflicc. Buchanan was 
 elect<.'J, but destined to exemplify, during his 
 administration, tlie truth of Tacitus' words : 
 "lie was regarded as greater than a private 
 man whilst he remained in privacy, and would 
 Lave been deemed worthy of governing if he 
 had never governed." The heat of the can- 
 vass cooled, peoj^le settled down once more to 
 a condition of lethargic indilference — bought 
 and sold, sowed and reaped, as usual — little 
 realizing that the temporary lull, the perfect 
 calm, was treacherous as the glassy green ex- 
 panse of waters which, it is said, sometimes 
 coTtys the location of the all-destroying niicl- 
 strom of Moskoe. Having taken an active 
 and prominent part in the presidential cam- 
 
 J)aign, and m'^de frequent speeches, .llussidl 
 bund himself again opposed by Mr. Hunting- 
 don, who was ecjually indefatigable during 
 J.he e.xciling contest. The old feud received, 
 possible, additional acrimony, and there 
 no bounds to the maledictions heajied 
 Jn the young and impertui'bable legislator 
 \y his virulent antagonist. Many predicted a 
 luel or a street rencounter ; but weeks |)ass('d, 
 and though, in casual meetings, Mr. Hunting- 
 don's glare of hate was always answered by a 
 mocking smile of cold disdain, the cloud floated 
 ofl'witiiout breaking into bloody showers. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell's health had failed so rapidly, 
 as winter apjiroachal, that Dr. Arnold per- 
 Bua<led him to try the eflicac-y of a sea-voyage, 
 and he had accordingly sailed from New Or- 
 leans in a vessel buund for Genoa. Irene 
 begged the privilege of accompanying him, 
 but her father peremptorily refused.; and she 
 8aw her uncle depart, and superintended the 
 closing of his house, with silent sorrow, and the 
 feeling of one who knows that the niglit is 
 decjtcning around her. In the course of the 
 political cataclysm much chad' came to the 
 •urface, and whirled along with portentous 
 alacrity ; gossip seemed to have received a new 
 uupetus, and among the most imj)ortant on- 
 dils was that of Irene's speedy marriage to 
 ber cousin. Ilundred-tongued rumor was 
 
 busy, too, with the mysterious fact that RusdeU 
 ha<.l placed a handsome iron railing around 
 the humblte home of his boyhood ; liad removed 
 the little three -roomed crumbling dwelling, 
 ai>d planted shade-trees. Much curio>ity was 
 excited, and the. only plausil)le solution at 
 which the kindly inquiring public arrived was, 
 that he intended to marry somfbody. But 
 whom '? He occasionally visited at Judge 
 Harris' and Mr. Henderson's, and, as he hatl 
 been seen last at the house of the former, by a 
 species of not very ab.xtrusc i"»tiocination it 
 was finally decided, and ])roumlgat('d as a 
 social edict, that the talented young lawyer 
 would soon claim (Iracc's hand at the altar. 
 In less than twenty-four hours all of fiishion- 
 
 able W : — had discussed the young lady's 
 
 brilliant future, and were ready to tender 
 their congratulations to tlic ambitious man, 
 who was utterly unconsiiousof the commotion 
 which his individual plans and actions hud 
 induced. This in.satiable m;iiiia for obtaining 
 information, about other people's affairs^ and 
 purposes, this riiliculous and contcmptibl* 
 tittle -t;vttle, this news-mongering, scandal- 
 pedlaring proclivity, characteristic of cities, 
 towns, villages, and even coimtry neighbor- 
 hoods, should certainly have been included by 
 the Massachusetts sfcr in his catalogue of 
 "social inflictions which the magistrate can not 
 cure or defend you from, and which mtist b« 
 intrusted to the restraining force of custoA, 
 and proverbs, and familiar rules of behavior 
 impressed on young ])eople in their school 
 days;" and I trust 1 may be allowed the ad- 
 ditional suggestion, "by mothers arouml th« 
 hearthstone." But, unfbrtanately, the ailmir- 
 able adage ^^il funt allernlre le boiteujc" findu 
 no aceeptition in beau mowle. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of Christmas day 
 Irene went into the green-house to gather a 
 bompiet for an invalid friend in town, and had 
 almost accomplished her errand when tlm . 
 crash and whir of wheels drew her to the win- 
 dow that looked out upon the lawn. Her 
 father had gone to the ])lantation early that 
 morning, and she had scarcely time tocoiiject- 
 nre whom the visitor would prove, when 
 Hugh's loud voice rang through the house, 
 and, soon after, he came clattering in, with 
 the end of his pantaloons crammed into his 
 boots and his whip trailing aloiig in true boy- 
 ish fashion. As he throw down his hat, scat- 
 tering the petals of a snowy camelia, and drew 
 near his couisin, she saw that his face was deep- 
 ly flushed, and his eyes somewhat bloodshot. 
 
 "Hugh! what are you doing liere? Father 
 expected you to overtake him at Crescent 
 Bend; you said last night that you would start 
 by fiv(! o'clock." 
 
 " Merry Christmas, mybeauty ! I have come 
 for my Christmas gift. Give it to me, like th« 
 queen you are." 
 
 He stooped, as if to kijp her, but she shran'c 
 back instantly, and said, gravely : 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 1&9 
 
 " You ouglit not to make promises whicli 
 
 ' you have no idea of keepinjr ; father will be 
 
 annoyed, and wonder very much what has 
 
 * happened. He was anxious that you should 
 
 . go with him." 
 
 " Oh ! confound the plantation ! I wish it 
 would sink ! Of all other days none but Christ- 
 mas will suit himto tramp down tiicre through 
 mud and mire. The fact is, I did not go to 
 sleep till four o'clock, and nobody ought to 
 be unchri.^tian enough to expect me to wake 
 up in an hour. You may be quiet, though, for 
 I am on my way now to that paradise of black 
 * mud. I only stopped to get a glimpse of you, 
 my Sappho ! my Corinna ! so don't homilize, 
 I psay you." 
 
 " Better wait till daylight, Hugh ; you know 
 the state of the roads and Condition of the 
 bridges. It will be safer, and an economy of 
 time, to defer it till morning, since you have 
 made it so late." 
 
 " No ; I must go to-night, for I have an en- 
 
 fagemcnt to ride with Maria Henderson, and 
 can't get back in time if I wait till to-mor- 
 row morning. I want to start back day after 
 to-morrow. As for time. Wildfire will make 
 it ohe better for the darkness ; he is as much 
 afraid of night and shailows as if he had a 
 conscience, and had maltreated it, master- 
 like. I shall convince him that all Tam 
 O'Shanter's witches are in full pursuit, and his 
 matchless heels his only salvation." 
 
 A shade of apprehensieu settled on her face, 
 and, placing the bouquet in a basket, she 
 turned to her cousin, saying : 
 
 "Indeed, you can not be insane enough to 
 drive that horse such a night as this weather 
 threatens. \{ go you will, in the face of a 
 coming rain, leave Wildfire here, and drive 
 one of the carriagt-horsea instead. I shall be 
 uneasy if you start with that vicious, unman- 
 ageable incarnation of lightning. Let me 
 ring the bell and direct Andrew to make the 
 change." 
 
 She stepped into the parlor adjoining, and 
 FaiJ her fingers on the bell -cord, but he 
 snatched up the hand and kissed it several 
 times. 
 
 " No I I '11 be hanged if I don't drive my own 
 pearl of Arabia 1 I can manage him .well 
 aiiough ; and, beside, what do you care whether 
 he breaks my neck or not { Without coju- 
 punction you broke my heart, which is much 
 the greater catastrophe." 
 
 '• Come into the library ; you don't know 
 what you are saying." 
 
 She tlrew him into the room, where a warm 
 fire burned cheerfully, and made him sit down. 
 
 " Where did you go last night when you left 
 here 'i Tell me." 
 
 " To Harry Neal's ; a party of us were in- 
 vited tli(pre to drink egg-nog, and, of course, 
 found something stronger afterward. Then 
 
 wc had a game or so of poker, and , the 
 
 graDd^na/< is, that I have had a deuced head- 
 
 ache all day. Ah, my sweet saint ! how 
 shocked you are, to be sure!' Now, don't 
 lecture, or I shall be off like a flash." 
 
 W'ithout answering, she rang the bell and 
 quietly looped back the heavy crimson cuiv 
 tains. 
 
 " What is that for ? Have you sent for 
 John or old Nellie to carry me up stairs, lika 
 other bad boys sent to bed in disgrace, with- 
 out even the cold comfort of supper V 
 
 " Hush, Hugh ! hush." 
 
 Turning to John, who opened the door and 
 looked in, she said : 
 
 " Tell William to make some strong coffe« 
 as soon as possible. Mas' Hugh has a head- 
 ache, and wants some before he leaves." 
 
 " Thank you, my angel ! my unapproachable 
 Peri ! Ugh ! how Cold it is. Pardon me, but 
 I really must warm my feet." 
 
 He threw thvra carelessly on the fender of 
 the grate. 
 
 " Shall I get you a pair of slippers ?" 
 
 " Could not afford the luxury; positively 
 have not the time to'indulge myself. 
 
 With a prolonged yawn he laid his head 
 back and closed his eyes. An expression of 
 disgust was discernible in his companion's 
 countenance, but it passed like the shadow of 
 a summer cloud, and she sat down at the 
 opposite side of the fire-place, with her eyes 
 bei^t upon the hearth, and the long silky 
 lashes sweeping her cheeks. A silence of some 
 minutes ensued; finally Hugh rapped start- 
 lingly on his boot with the ivory handle of 
 his whip, and exclaimed : 
 
 " A Quaker-meeting is no part of my pro- , 
 gramme ! What the mischief are you thinking 
 about ? — looking as solemn as an archbishop 
 in canonicals !" 
 
 " Do you really want to know what I am 
 thinking of?" 
 
 " Of course I do, if it is not something as 
 supernal and far off as the stars, which you 
 have taken under your special protection and 
 patronage." 
 
 " I was thinking of a passage which I read 
 yesterday, and wishing that it could be 
 framed and hung up in every dwelling. 
 Emerson say*: ' Goethe said well, ' nobody 
 should be rich but those who understand it.* 
 They should own "who can administor, not 
 they who hoard and conceal ; not they who, 
 the greater proprietors they are, are only the 
 greater beggars; but they whose work carvct 
 out work for more, opens a path for all. For 
 he is the rich man in whom the people are 
 rich, and he is the poor man In whom the 
 people are poor ; and how^ to give all accesa 
 to the master-pieces of art and nature, is the 
 problem of civilization.' Weighed in this 
 balance, how many of our millionaires, think 
 you, would find Bclshazzar'i warning traced * 
 on thrir walls '/" 
 
 " All of which, I suppose, I am to interpret 
 into a polite circumlocutory way of telling me 
 
110 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 a wortliloss spcndtlirifV, squander-. 
 a fortune which I don't de'Scrve, 
 
 that I am 
 ing away 
 
 and a disgrace to my fair cousinly Lady 
 IJountiful ? When do you contemplate 
 mounting a pedestal, marble image that you 
 are, folding those incomparable hand:) of 
 yours, and encouraging idolatry ? I promise 
 vou I Khali fall down and worship most irre- 
 proachably. But seriously, Irene, if you do 
 not admire my style of living, why don't you 
 take me in hand, as is your privilege, and 
 make me a model of strait-laced propriety ?" 
 
 " You might, witli very great advantage to 
 vourself, take a little common-sense in hand. 
 Of course, Hugh, you are your own master, but 
 it fre<piently pains me to see you throwing 
 away vour life and privileges so recklessly. 
 You might do a vast amount of good with 
 your money, if you felt disposed to employ it 
 benevolently and judiciously." 
 
 " Well, whose fault is it '? I offered to 
 make you my banJver, and let you dispense 
 charities for both of us, and you snatched 
 back your dainty fingers in hauglity refusal. 
 If I play Prodigal to the end of the chapter, 
 you are responsible for it." 
 
 " liegging your pardon, sir, I am no scape- 
 goat for any of your short-comings. Shoulder 
 your own pe(,cadilloes, if you please. But 
 here comes your coffee. Put the waiter on 
 the table, John, and tell Andrew to take Mas' 
 Hugh's buggy." 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind ! but send some- 
 body to open that everlasting gate, which 
 would not have disgraced ancient Thebes. 
 Are you classical, John 'i Be off, and see 
 about it; I must start in five minutes." 
 
 " Hugh, bi4 reasonable for once in your life ; 
 you are not in a proper condition to drive 
 that horse. For my sake, at least, be persuuJ- 
 (•(1 to wait till morning. Will you not remaia, 
 lo oblige me ?" 
 
 " Oil, hang my condition ! I tell you T must 
 lid I will go, if all the stars fall and judg- 
 Mieiit day overtakes me on the road. What 
 splendid coffee you always have ! The most 
 fastidious of bashaws could not find it in his 
 Moorish heart to complain." 
 
 He put on his hat^ buttoned liis costly fur 
 coat, and, nourishing his whip, came .close to 
 his cousin. 
 
 " Good-by, beauty. I hate to leave you ; upon 
 my word 1 do; but duty before pleasure, my 
 heavenly-eyed monitress. I have not had my 
 Christmas present yet, and have it I will." 
 
 " On one condition, Hugh: that you drive 
 cautiously and moderately, instead of thun- 
 dering down hills and over bridges like some 
 eTCjH'css train behind time. Will you promiseV" 
 
 "To be sure I will! everything in the 
 Avorld; and am ready to swear it, if you are 
 sceptical." 
 
 '• Well then, good-by, Hugh, and take c?ire 
 of 3"ourself." * 
 
 She allowed him to press his hot lips to hers, 
 
 I and, accompanying him to the door, saw him 
 I juinji into the frail open-topjied buggy. Wild- 
 lire jilunged and sprang oil" in his usual style, 
 and, with a crack of the whip and wave of his 
 I hat, Hugh was fairly start<'d. 
 I Seven hours later Irene sat alone at the 
 ' library table, absorbed in writing an article on 
 Laplace's Nebular Theory for the scientific 
 journal to which she oi'casionally contributed 
 over the signature of " Sabajan." Several 
 books, with close ''marginalias," werescatterctl 
 around, and the " iMe(ani(iue Celeste*' and a 
 volume of " Cosmos" lay open before her. The 
 servants had gone to rest; the house w;i> 
 very still, the silence unbroken save by th 
 moan of the wintl and the melancholy tapping 
 of the poplar branches against the outside. 
 The sky was black, gloomy as Malbolge; and, 
 instead of a hard, pattering rain, a fine, cold 
 mist drizzled noiselessly down the jcmes. 
 Wrapped in her work, Irene wrote on rapidiv 
 till tlie clock struirk twelve. She counted the 
 strokes, saw that there remained but one pao^o 
 uncopied, and concluded to finish the MS. 
 At last she affixed her nom de plume, numbered 
 the pages, and folded the whole for transmis- 
 sion. The fire was still bright; and, witli no 
 inclination to go to sleep, she replaced the 
 books on their resjiective shelves, turned up 
 the wick of the lamj), and sat down close to the 
 grate to warm her stilfene<l fingers. Oraduall v 
 lier thoughts wandered from the completed 
 task to other themes of scarcely less interest. 
 The w«ek previous she had aecomjKiiiie<l 
 Hugh to an operatic concert given by the 
 Paiodi troupe, and had been astonished to 
 find Uussell seateil on the bench in front of 
 her. He so rarely showed himself on such 
 occasions, that his appearance elicited some 
 comment. They liad met I'requently since the 
 evening at Mr. Mitchell's, but lie pertiiui'-iously 
 cavoided recognizing her; and, on this par- 
 ticular night, though he came during an inter- 
 lude to speak to Grace Harris, who sat on the 
 same row of seats with Irene, he never oi\ce 
 dire(;ted his eyes toward the latter. This 
 studied neglect, she felt assured, was not the 
 result of the bitter animosity existing between 
 her father and himself; an<l though it puzzled 
 her for a while, she began finally to suspect 
 the true nature of his feelings, and, with wom- 
 an's rarely erring instincts, laid her linger on 
 the real motive which prompted him.- The 
 report of his engagement to Grace had reached 
 her some days .before, and now it recurred to 
 her mind like a haunting spectre. She did 
 not believe for an instant that he was attached 
 to the pretty, joyous girl whom rumor gave 
 him ; but she was w-tdl aware that he was am- 
 bitious of high social position, and feared tliat 
 ho might possibly, from selfish, ignoble reasons, 
 seek an alliance with Judge Harris' only 
 daughter, knowing that the family Avas one of 
 the wealthiest and most aristocratic in the 
 state. She recollected, with unutterable scorn, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 Ill 
 
 the frequent sneers at hia blind motlier, in 
 / which Grace, Charlie, and even Mrs. Harris 
 had indulged in the season of trial' and ad- 
 ■ versity ; and, pondering all that she had silently 
 - endured because of her sympathy with him 
 and his mother, a feeling of bitterness, hereto- 
 fore unknown, rose in her heart. True, im- 
 passable barriers divided them; but she could 
 not endure the thought of Iiis wedding another 
 — it tortured her beyOnd all expression. With 
 a suffocating sensation she unfastened the 
 cameo pin that held her robe de chamhre at 
 the throat, and threw back the collar. Taking 
 out her con\b, she shook down her hair, 
 gathered, it up in her hands, and tossed it over 
 the back of her chair, whence it fell tjO the 
 tloor, coiling there in glittering rings. Life 
 had seemed dreary enough betbre ; but^with 
 this apprehension added, it appeai-ed insup- 
 portable, and she was conscious of a degree of 
 wretchedness never dreamed of or realized 
 heretofor(!. Not even a sigh escaj»ed her ; she 
 was one of a few women who permit no ex- 
 ternal evidences of suffering, but lock it secure- 
 ly in tlieir own proud hearts, and in silence 
 and loneliness go down into the "ghoul-haunt- 
 ed," darkened chambers to brood over it, as 
 did the Portuguese monarch the mouhlering 
 remains of his murdered wife. The painful 
 reverie migiit, perhaps, have lasted till the 
 pallid dawn looked in with tearful eyes at the 
 window, but Paragon, who was sleeping on 
 the rug at her feet, started up and growled. 
 She raised her head and listened, but only the 
 ticking of the clock was audible, and tlie wail- 
 ing of the wind through the leafless poplars. 
 
 " Down, Paragon ! hush, sir!" 
 
 She patted his head soothingly, and he sank 
 back a few seconds in quiet, then sprang up 
 with a loud bark. This time she lieard an 
 indistinct sound of steps in the hall, and 
 thought : " Nellie sees my light through the 
 window, and is coming to coax me up stairs." 
 Something stumbled near the threshold, a 
 liand struck tlie knob as if in hunting for it, 
 the door opened softly, and, muflled in his 
 heavy cloak, holding his hat in one hand, Rus- 
 sell Aubrey stood in the room. Neither spoke, 
 but he looked at her with such mournful earn- 
 estness, such eager yet grieved compassion, 
 that she read some terrible disaster in his eyes. 
 The years of estrangei^ient, all that had pass- 
 ed since their childhood, was forgotten ; studied 
 conventionalities fell away at sight of him 
 standing; there, for the first time, in her home. 
 She crossed the room with a quick, uncertain 
 step, anil put out her hands toward him — 
 vague, horrible apprehension blanching the 
 beautiful lips, which asksd, shiveringly: 
 , " What is it, Russell V what is it '<" 
 
 He took the cold littie hands tremblingly in 
 his, and endeavored to draw her back to the 
 hearth, but she repeated : 
 
 " What has happened ? Is it father, or 
 Hugh V" 
 
 " Your father is well, I believe ; I passed 
 him on the road }*esterday. Sit down, Miss 
 Huntingdon ; you look pale and faint." 
 
 Her fingers closed tightly over 1^||| he saw 
 an ashen hue settle on her face, and, in an un- 
 naturally calm, low tone, she asked : 
 
 " Is Hugh dead ? Oh, my God ! why don't 
 ydu speak, Russell ?" 
 
 " He did not suffer much; his death was too 
 sudden." 
 
 Her face had such a stony look that he 
 would have passed his arm around her, but 
 could not disengage his hand; she seemed to 
 cling to it as if for strength. 
 
 " Won't you let me carry you to your room, 
 or call a servant ? You are not able to stand." 
 
 She neither heeded nor heard him. 
 
 " Was it tiiat horse ; or how was it ?" 
 
 " One of the bridges had been swept away 
 by the freshet,, and, in trying to cross, he 
 missed the ford. The horse must have been 
 frightened and unmanageable, the buggy was 
 overturned in the creek, and your cousin, 
 stunned by the fall, drowned instantly; life 
 was just extinct when I reached liim." 
 
 Something like a moan escaped her, as she 
 listened. 
 
 " Was anything done ?" 
 
 " We tried every means of resuscitation, 
 but they were entirely ineffectual." 
 
 She relaxed her clasp of his fingers, and 
 moved toward the door. , 
 
 " Where are you going, Miss Huntingdon ? 
 Indeed you must sit down." 
 
 "Russell, you have brought him home; 
 where is he V" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she walked 
 down the hall, and paused suddenly ;U, sight of 
 the still form resting on a gray travelling- 
 blanket, with a lantern at its head, and an 
 elderly man, a stranger, sitting near, keeping 
 watch. Russell came to her side, and, draw- 
 ing his arm around her, made her lean upon 
 him. He felt the long, long lingering shudder ,• .„ 
 which shook the eleirant, queenly figure ; then 
 she slipped down beside the rigid sleeker, and 
 smoothed back from the fair brow the drip- 
 pling curling auburn hair. : 
 
 " Hugh, my cousin ! my playmate ! Snatch- 
 ed away in an hour from the life you loved so 
 well. Ah ! the curse of our house has fallen 
 upon you. It is but the beginning of the end. 
 Only two of us are left, and we, too, shall soon 
 ^e caught up to join you." 
 
 She kissed the icy lips which a few hours 
 betbre had pressed hers so warmly, and, rising, 
 walked up and down the long hall. Russdl 
 leaned against the wall, with liis arms crossed 
 over his chest and his head bent low, %vaiting 
 for her to speak again. But, calm and tear- 
 less, she walked on and on, in profound si- 
 lence, till he grew restless at ihe/ttrange sound 
 of her hair trailing along the oil-cloth, and 
 once more approacfied her. 
 
 " Are you entirely alone ?" 
 
112 
 
 MACARIA 
 
 *' Yes, except the servants. Oh, Ilussoll ! i 
 how am I to break this to my lather? lie } 
 loves thaL^boy better thaft everything else ; I 
 infinitely wJter than he ever loved me. IIow 1 
 ihall I tell him that Hugh is dead — dead '<" \ 
 
 " A messenger has already gone to inform 1 
 him of what lias happened, and this distress- \ 
 ing task will not be yours. Herbert Blaek- j 
 well and I were riding together, on our return [ 
 
 from T , when we reached the lord where ' 
 
 the disaster oceurred. Finding that all our \ 
 efibri8 to resuscitate wqre useless, he turnetl i 
 back, and went to your father's plantation to <. 
 break the sad intelligence to him." | 
 
 His soothing, tender tone touched some 
 chord deep in her strange nature, and lAished j 
 tears gathered lor the lirst time in her eyes. i 
 
 " As you have no friend near enough to call 
 npon at present, 1 will, if you detire it, wake 
 the servants, remain, and Uo all that is neces- 
 sary until morning." 
 
 " If you please, ilussell; I shall thank you 
 very much." 
 
 As her glance fell upon her cousin's gleam- 
 ing face, h^ lip fluttered, and she turned \ 
 away and sat down on one of the sofas in the i 
 parlor, dropping her face in her hands. A | 
 little while alter, the light -of a candle stream- j 
 ed in, and Kussell came with a cushion from 
 the library lounge, and his warm cloak. He ; 
 wrapped the latur carefully about the droop- ! 
 ing lorm, and would have placed her head on i 
 the silkeA pillow, but she silently resisted with- 
 out looking up, and he left her. It was a vigil ; 
 which she never Ibrgot; the slow hours crush- ' 
 ed her as they rolled, the very atmosphere . 
 seemed filled with the curse which brooded 
 inexorably over the ancient-house, and when, i 
 at last, the eastern sky blanched, and the wan I 
 forehead of the day lifted itself sadly up, it i 
 •cemed, indeed, as if — 
 
 "The dim red murn had died, faor Journey done, , 
 
 And with duud lip« smilud ut tliu t» ili^i't I'lain, 
 
 Ulill'-rullllU tlCI'Oltlt lUU lUl'H^llUld Ul llili kllU, 
 
 iHuvur tu rise ii^ain." 
 
 Shaking ofl" her covering, Irene passed into | 
 the greeti-house, and broke clusters of jasmine I 
 and .spicy geraniuiu leaves, and, thus engaged, 
 her glance fell upon the daahed cameiia pet- 
 als which Hugh had ruined so recklessly the , 
 previous evening. They seemed fitting sym- 
 bols, as they lay iu withering heaps, ol the • 
 exuberant life so suddenly cut short — the gay, i 
 throbbing heart so unexpectedly utilled. ^ 
 
 " * • • Life itrtick iliarp ou death, 
 Makes awful ligLituiug." 
 
 And she lelt a keen pang at sight of hi« cam- 
 bric handkerchief, which had been dropped 
 unconsciously between two branching luch- 
 8ias. As she stooped and picke4 it up, his 
 name stared at her, and the soft folds gave out 
 the powerful breath of bergamot, of which he 
 was particularly fond. She turned away from 
 the wealth of beauty that mocked her sorrow, 
 and walked on to the library. 
 
 The fire had died out cntiroly, the curtains 
 were drawn back to let in the day, on the library 
 table the startling glare of white linen showed 
 the outlines of the cold young sleeper, and 
 liu.ssell slowly jwiced the Hoor, his arms crossocl, 
 as was their habit, and his powerful form un- 
 weariedly erect. She stood by the table, half- 
 irresolute, then folded down the sheet, and 
 exposed the handsome, untroubled face. Sh« 
 studied it loni; and ijiiietly, and with no burst 
 of emotion laid her tlowcrs against his cheek 
 and mouth, and scattered the geraniums over 
 his pulseless heart. 
 
 " i begged him not to start yesterday, and 
 he answered that he wotild go, if the stars fell 
 and judgment day overtook hiin. Sometimes 
 we arc prophets unawares. His star has set — 
 his d;^' has risen! Have mercy on his soul! 
 oh, my (iod !" 
 
 The voice was low and even, but wonder- 
 fully sweet, and in the solemn morning light 
 her face showed itself gray and bloodless ; no 
 stain of color on the still lips, only the blue 
 cord standing out between the brows, sure 
 signet of a deep distress which found no vent. 
 Russell felt a crushing weight litled from his 
 heart; he saw that she had *' loved her cousin, 
 cousinly — no more;" and his face llushed when 
 she looked across the table at-liim, with grate- 
 ful but indescribably melancholy eyes, which 
 had never been closed during that night of 
 horror. 
 
 " I have come to relieve you, Russell, from 
 your friendly watch. Few would have act- 
 ed as you have done, and for all your generous 
 kindness to poor Hugh 1 thank you most earn- 
 estly, as well for my father as myself. Tha 
 day may come, perhaps, when I shall be able 
 to prove my gratitude, and the sincerity of 
 ray friend.ship, which has never wavered since 
 we were children together. Until that day, 
 farewell, Russell ; but believe that I rejoice to 
 hear of your successes." 
 
 She held out her hand, and, as he took it in 
 his, which trembled violently, he felt, even 
 then, that there was no (juiver in the icy 
 white fingers, and that his name rippled over 
 her lips as calmly as that of the dead ha<i dona 
 just belbre. She endured his long, searching 
 gaze, like any other I^fiobe, and he dropped 
 the little pearly hand and quitted the room. 
 She heard his i|uick step ring changes down 
 the long hall and stony steps, and, when all 
 was still again, she knelt beside the table, and 
 crossing her arms over it, bowed her fao« upon 
 them. Now and then the servants looked in, 
 but crept away awed, closing the door stealthi- 
 ly ; and as the day advanced, and the news ot 
 what had happened flew through the town, 
 friends came to oH'er as."!istance and condolcnce- 
 But none dared disturb or address the kneel- 
 ing figure, veiled by waving hair, and giving 
 no more sign of life than the form before her. 
 At ten o'clock Mr. Huntingdon returned, and, 
 with his hat drawn over his eyes, went straight 
 
MACABJA. 
 
 118 
 
 to tbe library. lie kissed the face of the dead 
 , passionate!}', and his sob and violent burst of 
 Borrow told his child of his arrival. She lift- 
 ed her rigid face, and extended her arms, 
 pleadinLrly. 
 
 " Fatlier ! father ! here, at least, you -will 
 forgive me !" 
 
 He turned from her sternly, and answered, 
 with bitter emphasis : 
 
 *'I will not! But for you, he would have 
 been diflerent, and this would never have 
 happened." 
 
 " Father, I have asked for love and pardon 
 for the last time. Perhaps, when you stand 
 over my dead body, you may remember that 
 you had a child who had a right to your affec- 
 tion. God knows, if it were possible, I would 
 pladlj- lay my weary head down to rest, here 
 on Hugh's bier, and give him back to your 
 arms. Life is not so sweet to me that I would 
 not yield it up to-day without a murmur." 
 
 She bent down and kissed her cousin, and, 
 with a hard, bitter expression in her coun- 
 tenance, went up to her own room, locking 
 out Paragon and old Nellie, who followed 
 cautiousl}' at her heels. 
 
 *' For tbo drill of tbn Muker is dark, an Isis hid by the 
 Tail. 
 Who knowK the ways of the world, how God will bring 
 tb«m «bout ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Where are you going. Irene ?" 
 
 *' Only to the Factory-row." 
 
 " For what, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " To 8ce Bessie Davis, who has been very 
 ill." 
 
 •' Fiddle-stick ! I want the carriage myself. 
 I promised to send down to the hotel for Judge 
 Peterson, who is coming to spend the night 
 here." 
 
 '• Of course, father, if you want Andrew, I 
 do notr wish to interfere with your arrange- 
 ments. I did not know that you intended to 
 use the carriage. John, tell Andrew to drive 
 the horses back to the stable-yard until called 
 for, and have Erebus saddled at once. Un- 
 pack that flat basket I left on the pantry-sheU, 
 and put the things into one with a handle, that 
 I can carry in my hand. The egg-basket will 
 do very well ; it has a cover." 
 
 She went to h^ room, changed her dress 
 for her riding - habit, and came down to the 
 front door, wliere her father sat smoking. 
 
 " What arc you going to do with that bas- 
 ket? Erebus won't sulfcr you to carry it." 
 
 *' Yes, sir; he will suffer just what I please 
 to take. I hare a bottle of wine, some jelly, 
 and some light bread, for poor Mrs. Davis.' 
 
 " What sort of wine ?" 
 
 *' Not your high-priced sherry or port, but 
 m pint bottle of madeira. Tighten that girth 
 for me, Andrew, if you please ; the saddle turn- 
 ed the last time 1 rode." 
 8 
 
 "I'll bet that you will let that basket fall 
 before you get to the gate, and lose every drop 
 in it. It is all nonsense ! sheer nonsense !" 
 
 She made no reply, but mounted the beau- 
 tiful spirited animal, who arched his neck and 
 curveted at sight of the basket. Patting his 
 mane soothingly, she hung the basket securely 
 on the pommel of the saddle, and rode off. 
 
 " lie is wilder to-day than he was whea I 
 first bought him; he will break her neck yet, 
 I have n't a doubt," muttyred Mr. Huntingdon, 
 looking after her. 
 
 " No he won't, master ; she can tame kjra 
 down any minute. Last week she wanted to 
 ride, but he had got out into the creek pas- 
 ture, ami I could n't catch him. I raced him 
 for a half- hour up and down, and could n't 
 come near him; I tried him with corn and fod- 
 der, but he ran like a deer. I give it up, sir, 
 and told Miss Irene he was in one of his tan- 
 trums, and I could do nothing with him. She 
 just put on her hat and walked over to the 
 pasture, and the minute he saw her coming he 
 neighed two or three times, and, before I co«ld 
 get to her, she had her hand on his mane, pat- 
 tmg him, and he was rubbing his head against 
 her. Miss Irene can tame anything in this 
 world, she has such a steady, conquering look 
 in her eyes." 
 
 Such were Andrew's reassuring words, as, 
 with his hat on the back of his head, and both 
 hands thrust into his deep pockets, he stood 
 watching his young mistress, until a turn in 
 the road obscured both horse and rider, thea 
 walked back to the stable. 
 
 It was a cold afternoon in November — 
 
 "And Autumn, laying here nnd thoro 
 A tiory fingur on the loaves," 
 
 had kindled her forest conflagration. Golden 
 maples and amber-hued cherrie-s, crimson dog- 
 woods and scarlet oaks shook out their flame- 
 foliage and waved their glowing boughs, all 
 dashed and speckled, flecked and rimmed with 
 orange and blood, ghastly green, and tawny 
 brown. Tiie hectic spot burned everywhere, 
 save on the solemn sombre pines that lifted 
 themselves defiantly far above the fevered re- 
 gion of decay. Royal clusters of golden-rod 
 were blackened and seared by the lijis of an 
 early Irost, and pallid starry asters shivered 
 and dropped their faded petals as the wind 
 bowed iheir fragile heads. The smoky atmos- 
 phere, which had hung all day in purple folds 
 around the distant hills, took a golden haze as 
 the sun sank rapidly ; and to Irene's gaze 
 river and wood-land, hill-side and valley, were 
 brimmed with that weird " light which never 
 was on sea or land." Her almost " Brahmin i- 
 cal " love of nature had grown with her years, 
 but a holier element mingled with her adora- 
 tion now; she looked beyond the material vyil 
 of beauty, and bowed reverently before the 
 indwelling Spiritual Presence. Only duriu;: 
 thcs« silent hours of communion aflbrded by 
 
114 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 her solitary riiles was the shadow lifted from 
 her heart, and at ?uch times immemorial Cy- 
 bele's iiiifrrs, soft and warm, touclied the still 
 tace, and the icy lines melted. Sin^e Husjh's 
 deatli, nearly a year before, fhe had become a 
 recluse, availing herself of her mourning 
 dross to derlinc all social engagements, and 
 during these months a narrow path opened 
 before her feet, she became a member of the 
 church which she had aitiMided frpui infancy, 
 and her hands closed firmly over her life-work. 
 The ballling Sphinx that had so long vexed 
 her sat no more at the cross-roads of her ex- ' 
 irt<*nce; she found an CEdipus in the far more I 
 than cabalistic words : 
 
 "Thy palh i* i>l.xin And straight, that light ii given. 
 Ouwanl ill faitb ! and Uave the rent tu heHVeli." 
 
 Sorrow and want hung out their signs 
 
 among the poor of W , and here, silently, 
 
 but niethoihcally, she had become, not a niin- 
 iatering angel certainly, but a generous bene- 
 factrchs, a noble, sympathetic friend — a coun- 
 •ellor whose strong gooil sense rendered her 
 advice and guidance valuable, indeed. By a 
 system of rigid economy she was enabled to 
 set apart a small portion of money, which she 
 gave judiciously, superintending its invest- 
 ment; kind, hopeful wonls she scattered like 
 sunshine over every threshold; and here and 
 there, where she detected smouldering aspira- 
 tion, or incipient appreciation of learning, she 
 fanned the spark with some suitable volume 
 from her own library, which, in more than one 
 instance, became the germ, the spring of " a 
 joy for ever." Frequently her father threw 
 obstacles in her way, sneering all the while at 
 her " sanctimonious freaks." Sometimes she 
 affected not to notice the impediments, some- 
 times frankly acknowledged their magnitude, 
 and climbed right over them, on to her work. 
 Among the factory operatives she found the 
 gi-ealest newl of ameliorating touches of every 
 .• kind. Improvident, illiterate, in some cases 
 almost brutalized, she occasionally found her- 
 self puzzled as to the proper plan to pursue; 
 but her womanly heart, like the hidden jew- 
 elled levers of a watch, guided the womanly 
 hands unerringly. 
 
 This evening, as she approached the row of 
 low white-washed houses, a crowd of children 
 swarmed out, as usual, to stare at her. Slie 
 rode up to a door-step where a boy of some 
 fourteen years sat sunning himself, with an 
 open book on his knee and a pair of crutches 
 bcbitle him. At sight oi her a bright smile 
 broke over his sickly face, and he tried to 
 rise. 
 
 " Good-evening, Philip ; don't get up. How 
 are you to-day V" 
 
 " Better, I thank you, ma'm ; but viry stiff 
 
 " The stiffness will pass off gradually, I 
 hope. I see you have not finished your book 
 yet; how do you like it V" 
 
 " Oh ! I could bear to be a cripple always, 
 if I had plenty like it to read." • 
 
 " You need not be a cripple^ but there are 
 plenty more, just as good and better, which 
 you shall have in time. Do you thit-k you 
 could hold my horse for me a little whde? I ^ 
 can't find a suitable place to tie him. He M 
 gentle enough if you will only hold the reins." 
 
 "Certainly, ma'm; I shall be glad to hold 
 him as long as you like." 
 
 She dismounted, and, taking her basket, 
 placed the bridle in the boy's hand, saying en- 
 couragingly, as Erebus put up his ears and 
 looked vicious : 
 
 " Don't be afraid of him. Speak to him 
 quietly if he gets restless, and if you can't 
 keep him -in order, call me; I am going in next 
 dour." 
 
 He smiled assent, wrapped the bridle round 
 his wrist, and returned eagerly to his trcnsurti, 
 Sininis' " Life of Nathaniel Green," while 
 Irene passed into the adjoining house, ^omo 
 sick-roomS are inviting, from the costly di.splaj 
 of marble, rosewood, velvet, and silver, from 
 the tasteful arrangement of books and flowers, 
 from the air of delicacy and atlectionate con- 
 sideration which pervades them. But those 
 where poverty stands grim and gaunt on the 
 hearth are rarely enticing, and to this dreary 
 class belonged the room whore Bessie Davis 
 had sulVered for months, watching the sands of 
 lite run low, and the shadow of death growing 
 longer across the threshold day by day. The 
 dust and lint of the cotton-room had choked 
 the springs of life, and on her hollow cheeks 
 glowed the autograph of consuniptit>n. She 
 stretched out her wasted hand, and .said : 
 
 "Ah, Miss Irene! I heard your voice out- 
 side, and it was pleasant to my ears as the 
 sound of the bell when work-hours arc over. 
 I am always glad to see your face, but this 
 .evening I was longing for you, hoj)ing and 
 praying that you would come. I am in 
 trouble." 
 
 " About what, Mrs. Davis ? Nothing seri- 
 ous, I hope ; tell me." 
 
 " I don't know how serious it is going to bo. 
 Johnnie is sick in the next room, taken yes 
 terday; and, about noon to-day, Susan had to 
 knock off work and come home. Hester is the 
 only one left, and you know she is but a baby 
 to work. I don't like to complain of my lot, 
 God knows, but it seems hard if we are all to 
 be taken down." 
 
 " I hope they will not be sick long. What 
 is the matter with Johnnie ?" 
 
 " Dear knows! I am sure I don't; he com- 
 plains of the headache and has fever, and 
 Susan here seems ailing the same way. She 
 is as stupid as can be — sleeps all the time. My 
 children have had measles, and whooping- 
 cough, and chicken-pox, and scarlet fever, and 
 I can't imagine what they are trying to catch 
 now. I hear that there is a deal of sickness 
 showing itself in the row." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 Hi 
 
 " Have you sent for the doctor ?" asked 
 Irene, walking around to tlie other side of the 
 bed, and examining Susan's pulse. 
 
 " Yes, I sent Hester; but she said he told 
 her lie was too busy to eome." 
 
 " Why did you not apply to some other 
 physician ?" 
 
 " Because Dr. Brandon has always attended 
 me, and, as I sent for him first, 1 did n't know 
 whether any other doctor would like to come. 
 You know some of them have very curious 
 notions about their dignity." 
 
 " And sometimes, while they pause to dis- 
 cuss etiquette, humanity suffers. Susan, let 
 me see your tongue. Who else is sick in the 
 row, Mrs. Davis V" 
 
 " Three of Tom Brown's children, two of 
 Dick Spencer's, and Lucy Hall, and Mary 
 Moorliead- Miss Irene, will you be good 
 enough to give me a drink of water ? Hester 
 has gone to try to find some wood, and I can't 
 reach the pitcher. " 
 
 " 1 brought you some jelly ; would you like 
 a little now, or shall I put it away in the 
 closet ? " 
 
 " Thank you ; I will save it for my Johnnie, 
 he is so fond of sweet things; and, poor child ! 
 he sees 'em so seldom now-a-day." 
 
 " There is enough for you and Johnnie too. 
 Eat this, while 1 look after him, and see 
 whether he ought to have any this evening.'' 
 
 She placed a saucer filled with the tempt- 
 ing amber- hued delicacy on the little pine 
 table be.side the bed, and went into the next 
 room. The boy, who looked about seven or 
 eight years old, lay on a pallet in one corner, 
 restless and fretful, his cheeks burning, and 
 his large brown eyes sparkling with fever. 
 
 " J-hnnie, boy !. what is the matter ? Tell 
 me wliat hurts you V" 
 
 " My liead aches so badly," and tears came 
 to the beautiful childish eyes. 
 
 " It feels hot. Would you like to have it 
 bathed in cold water':*" 
 
 " If you please, ma'm. I have been calling 
 Ucttie, and she won't hear." 
 
 " Because she has gone out. Let me see if 
 I can't do it just as well as Hettie." 
 
 She hunted about the room for a cloth, but, 
 finding nothing suitable, took her cambric 
 handkerchief, and, after laving his forehead 
 gently for ten or fifteen minutes, laid the wet 
 Iblds upon it, and asked, smilingly : 
 
 " Does n't that feel pleasant "r"' 
 
 "Ever BO nice, ma'm — if 1 had some to 
 drink." 
 
 She put the dripping gourd to his parched 
 lips, and, after shaking up his pillow and 
 ■Ixaigiitcning the covering of his pallet, she 
 promised to see him again soon, and returned 
 to his mother. 
 
 " How does he appear to be, Miss Irene ? 
 I had him moved out of this room because he 
 •aid my coughing hurt his head, and his con- 
 tinual fretting worried me. I am so weak 
 
 now, God help me !" and she covered her eyes 
 with one hand. 
 
 " He has somfe fever, Mrs. Davis, but not 
 more than Susan. I will ask Dr. Arnold to 
 come and see them this evening. This change 
 in the weather is very well calculated to make 
 sickness. Are you entirely out of wood ?" 
 
 " Very nearly, ma'm, a few sticks left." 
 
 " When Hester comes, keep her at home. 
 I will send you some wood. And now, how 
 are you ?" 
 
 " My cough is not quite so bad ; the pectoral 
 holds it a little in check ; but I had another 
 hemorrhage last night, and I atn growing 
 weaker every day. Oh, Miss Irene ! what 
 will become of my poor little children when I 
 am gone? That is such an agonizing thought." 
 She sobbed as she spoke. 
 
 " Do not let that grieve you now. I promise 
 you that your children shall be taken care of. 
 I will send a servant down to stay here to- 
 night, and perhaps some of the women in the 
 row will be willing to come in occasionally 
 and help Hester till Susan gets able to cook. 
 I left, two loaves of bread in the closet, and 
 will send more in the morning, which Hester 
 can toast. I shall go by town, and send Dr. 
 Arnold out" 
 
 " I would rather have Dr. Brandon, if you 
 please." 
 
 ^i Why ?" 
 
 " I have always heard that Dr. Arnold wa« 
 so gruff and unfeeling, that I am afraid of him. 
 I hate to be snapped up when I ask a ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " That is a great mistake, Mrs. Davis. Peo- 
 ple do him injustice. He has one of the kindest, 
 warmest hearts I ever knew, though sometimes 
 he is rather abrupt iii his manner, if you 
 prefer it, however, I will see your doctor. 
 Good-by; I will coma again to-morrow." 
 
 As she took her bridle from Philip's hand, 
 the boy looked up at her with an expression 
 bordering on adoration. 
 
 " Thank you, Philip ; how did he behave ?** 
 
 " Not very well ; but he is beautiful enough 
 to make up for his wildness." 
 
 " That is bad doctrine ; beauty never should 
 e'xcuse bad behavior. Is your mother at 
 home V" 
 
 " No, ma'm." 
 
 " When she comes, ask her I say please to 
 step in now and then, and overlook things for 
 Mrs. Davis; Susan is^ick. Philip, if it is not 
 asking too much of you, Johnnie would liko 
 for you to sit by him till his little sister comes 
 home, and wet that cloth which I lefl on h'la 
 j head. Will you ?" 
 
 " Indeed I will ; I am very glad you told me. 
 I Certainly I will." 
 
 " I thought 10. Don't talk to him ; let him 
 I sleep if he will. Good-by." 
 
 She went first to a wood-yard on the river, 
 ; and left an order for a cord of wood to be sent 
 ' immediately to No. 13, Factory -row; then took 
 
lie 
 
 UACARIJL 
 
 tbe street leadin;r to Dr. Branflon's office. A 
 norvant sat on the step wliisllinrj merrily, 
 and, in answer to her question, lie informed 
 her that his master had just left town, to be 
 absent two days. Slic rode on for a few 
 pquares, doubling her veil in the hope of 
 shrouding her features, and stopped once 
 more in front of the door where stood Dr. 
 Aruoid's bugnry." 
 
 " Cyrus, is the doctor in his office ?" 
 
 " V»iS, Mis.« Irene." 
 
 " Hold my horse for me." 
 
 She gathered the folds of lier riding-habit 
 over lit T arm, and wont up stairs. Leaning 
 far bark in his chair, with his feet on the fender 
 of the grate, sat Dr. Arnold, watching tjie 
 blue timoke of liis meerschaum curl lazily in 
 faint wrcallis over his head; and as she enter- 
 ed, a look of pleasant surprise camo instantly 
 into his cold, clear eyes. 
 
 " Bless me I Irene, 1 am glad to see you. It 
 is many a day since you have shown your face 
 here; sit down. Now, then, what is to pay '/ 
 You are in trouble, of course ; you never think 
 of me except when you are. Has old Nellie 
 treated herself to another spdl of rheumatism, 
 or Paragon broke his leg, or small-pox broke 
 out aiivwherc; or, worse than all, have the 
 hawks taken to catching your pigeons?" 
 
 " None of these catastrophes has overtaken 
 me ; but I come, as usual, to ai!c a favor. If you 
 please, I want you to go up to the Factory-row 
 this evening. Airs. Davis, No. 13, has two 
 children very sick, I am afraid. I don't like 
 the appearance of their tongues." 
 
 " lluuiph ! what do you know about tongues, 
 I should like to be inibrmed V" 
 
 "How to use my own, sir, at leaut, when 
 there is a necessity for it. They are what you 
 medical savans call typhoid tongues ; and from 
 what 1 ht-ard to-day, 1 am afraid there will be 
 a distressing amount of sickness among the 
 operatives. Of course you will go, .sir?" 
 
 " How' do you know that so well ? Perhaps 
 I will, and perhaps I won't. Nobody ever looks 
 after me, or cares about the condition of my 
 health; I don't see why I must adopt tli*; 
 whole human race. See here, my child ! do 
 not let me hear of you at the How again soon ; 
 it is no place for you, my lily. Ten to One it 
 is some low, miserable typhuH fever showing 
 itselt, and i will take care of your precious 
 * pets only on condition that you keep away, so 
 that 1 shall not be hauyted with the dread ot 
 having you, also, on my hands. If I lay eyes 
 on you at the row, 1 swear I will write to 
 I./eonard to chain you up at home. Do you 
 LearV" 
 
 " I shall come every day, I promise you 
 that" 
 
 *' Oh ! you are ambitious of martyrdom I But 
 typhus fever is not the style, Queen. Ihere 
 ie neither eclat nor glory in such a death." 
 
 A sad smile curved her mouth, aa she an- 
 rwered, slowly : 
 
 I *' Indeed you wrong me, Doe-tor. I am not 
 ' ready to die ; 1 am not fit for eternity ; my 
 work has but begun." 
 
 *' Why do you think so, my dear child ? 
 ' What sin have vou ever committed ?" 
 I " Sins of omission, sir, foot up as heavily as 
 ' those of commission." ' 
 
 i '• Don't tread upon my Antinoniianistic toes, 
 if you please ! they are tender. Whereiq 
 have you failed to do your duty ?" 
 
 " Goil, and my own soul, only sit in assix* 
 upon my derelictions." 
 
 " Irene, I have watched you for years with 
 hungry, eager eyes; and of late I have follow- 
 ed you in your rounds among the poor. You 
 are inaugurating a new system ; the fashion is, 
 to organize societies, I'ame in print as oflicer, 
 president, treasurer, as the case may 1*1% and 
 l)la<.ard the members and purposes of iKe or- 
 ganization. Left hand industriously puffi 
 what right hand doeth. Is it not so ? One of 
 your own sex, the greatest, strongest, noblest 
 of your learned women singers, pithily t«lU 
 you: 
 
 " Tlioic '» too much abstract willing, purposing, 
 In this poor world. We tnlk by njiijn'gatc*, 
 
 And think by iiystcnii If wu piiij at all, 
 
 AVo pmy no longer for our daily bn-ad, 
 
 But next centenary's harvests. If we gire, 
 
 Our c\ip of water is not tendered till 
 
 Vfo lay down pipes and found a company 
 
 With branches. A woman can not do tlio thing sh« oogbl, 
 
 Wliich means wliatyver perfect thing ilitcau, 
 
 In life, in art, in science, but she ftwu'S 
 
 To let the perfect action take her part 
 
 And rest tliiTo : she must proro what alio can do 
 
 Jlofore she does it — pnile of woman's riglits, 
 
 Of woman's miitsion, woman's function, till 
 
 The men (who arc prating, too, on their side) cry— 
 
 • A woman's function plainly is — to talk. 
 
 Poor Bonis, they are very reasonably Taxed! 
 
 Thoy can not lienr eacli otber speak. ' " 
 
 " I tell you, Quocn, I have watched these a»- 
 sociations all my life; I am getting old now, 
 
 i ancl I am as completely nauseated with their 
 cant and phariseeism aa Macaulay was with 
 that of the sewnteenth century Puritans. 
 Sclf-glorifKation has a deal of influence over 
 our modern Dorcases." 
 
 " I think, sir, that you are unjust in some 
 instances; your cynical leiiies distort thtt 
 facts. Judiciously- conducted charitable so 
 
 , cieties greatly facilitate matters, by system- 
 atizing the work and inducing punctuality. 
 I grant that the evil.i you speak of are much 
 to be deprecated ; and, to complete your own 
 lengthy quotation : 
 
 " I 'd whisper — Soft, my sister I not a word I 
 l!y speaking we proife only we can speak: 
 Whicli he, the man hero, never doubted. What 
 lie doubts is, whether wo can do the thing 
 With dt<eut grace, we 'j% not yet done at all: 
 Now doitl" 
 
 " Doctor, I wish you were more of an optim- 
 ist." 
 
 He took one of her bands, spread out the 
 ivory fingers on his broad palm, and said, in a 
 lower tone: 
 
 " My Chaldean priestess, who says that I am 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 IIT 
 
 not as orthodox on optimism as Leibnitz him- 
 self? Don't you know that I am a sort of 
 latter-day troglodyte, very rarely airing my 
 pet creeds for the benefit of the public ? 
 That was a wise law of Solon's which declared 
 ' every man infamous who, in seditious or civil 
 dissensions of the state, remained neuter, and 
 refused to side with either party ;' but I do not 
 regard it as expedient, or incumbent upon me, 
 to advertise my individual status on all ethical 
 schisms. What is it to the public whether I 
 endorse * Candide ' or Leibnitz's ' Theodi- 
 cea?'" 
 
 " One thiitg I certainly do know, with great 
 regi'et, that your seeming austerity, your 
 roughness of manner, renders you very un- 
 
 Eopular ; whereas, you shoulil be universally 
 eloved." 
 
 " Really ! have I become a bugbear in my 
 old age ?" 
 
 " Not that exactly, sir ; but I wish, if it were 
 possible, that you would not mask your really 
 kind, generous, sympathizing heart by such 
 repellent, abrupt conduct in sick-rooms, where 
 people expect gentleness and consideration on 
 the part of a physician. • I know you are often 
 annoyed by senseless and ridiculous ques- 
 tions; but I wish, for your own sake, that you 
 could be a little more patient with poor, weak 
 human nature." 
 
 " Child, I am not gregarious ; never was. I 
 •ouch my hat to the world, and it is welcome 
 to think just what it chooses of me." 
 
 " -No, sir ; far from touching your hat, you 
 stand aloof, scowling at your race, smiling 
 gfrimlj' at the struggling, drowning men and 
 women around you, as if we were not all one 
 great family, designed by God to assist and 
 ftheer each other. Every man — " 
 
 " Pardon me. Queen ; but I am not one of 
 tiiose deluded, selt-complacent human beings 
 who actually lay the 'flattering unction' to 
 their souls that they were sfent into this world 
 for some particular purpose — some special mis- 
 rion. I want you distinctly to understand, 
 child, that I don't consider mysfclf appointed 
 to any work but that of attending to my own 
 aflairs and taking care of myself." 
 
 " Then you admit yourself a marred, imper- 
 fect block, rejected by the Divine Architect as 
 nnwortliy of a place in the grand social tem- 
 ple. God clothed you wfth human affections 
 and sympathies that, in accordance with the 
 fundamental law of social existence, you might 
 extend a helping hand to your fellow-crea- 
 tures." 
 
 He moved restlessly, and his gray shaggy 
 brows met in a heavy frown. 
 
 "I believe, Irene, I am entirely innocent of 
 any agrarian or socialistic tendency." 
 
 " And so. I trust, am L But, sir, because I 
 abhor Brook-Plfirjn, I will not take refuge in 
 liie cave of Trophonius." 
 
 He looked up at her with one of his steely, 
 probing glances, then the brows unbent, and 
 
 the drew her hand caressingly across his 
 cheek. 
 
 " Well, child, we won't quarrel over my 
 bearishness. If you will keep that hard, frozen 
 look away from your lisps, and smHe now and 
 then as you used to do in your childhood 
 when I held you on my knee, I will promise to 
 try and unearth myself, to seal up my gnoma 
 habitation, and.,. buy me a tub which I can 
 drag after me into the sunlight. Is it a 
 bargain ?" 
 
 " That is problematical. Doctor. But it is 
 getting late, and I wish, if you please, you 
 would go at once to the Row." 
 
 " Stop ! if any good is accomplished among 
 those semi-savages up yonder, who is to have 
 the credit.? Tell me that." 
 
 •' God 'shall have the thanks; you all the 
 credit as the worthy instrument, and I as 
 much of the gratification as I can steal from 
 you. Are you satisfied with your wages, my 
 honored Shylock ? Good-niglit." 
 
 " Humph ! it is strange what a hold that 
 queer, motherless child took upon my heart in 
 her babyhood, and tightens as she grows older. 
 
 'Th;\t Ronls are dangerous tilings to carry straight' 
 Through all the gpilt xaltpetre of the world,' 
 
 who will question ? Not I, surely ; and yet I 
 know that girl will take hers safely to the 
 terminus of time, pure, with no smut or smell 
 of gunpowder. A pearl before swine 1 But, I 
 swear, untrampled to the end." 
 
 He shook the ashes from his pipe, put it 
 away behind the clock, and went down to hij 
 buggy. Before breakfast the following morn- 
 ing, while Irene was in the poultry -yard feed- 
 ing her chickens and pigeons, pheasants and 
 peafowls, she received a note from Dr. Arnold 
 Containing these few scrawling words : 
 
 " If you do not feel quite ready for the day 
 of judgment, avoid the Row as you would tho 
 plagues of Egypt. I found no less than six 
 developed cases of rank typhus. 
 '•Yours, 
 
 " Hiram Ahnold." 
 
 She put the note in her pocket, and, while 
 the pigeons fluttered and perilled on her 
 shoulders and arms, cooing and j)ecking at her 
 fingers, she stood mu?ing-^ calculating tho 
 chances of contagion and death if ^iie persisted. 
 Raising her eyes to the calm blue sky, the 
 perplexed look passed from her countenance, * 
 and, fully decided regarding her cour^^e, she 
 went in to breakfast. Mr. Hunting<lon was 
 goincr to a neighboring county with Judge 
 Petenson, to transact some business connected 
 with Hugh's estate, and, as the buggy came to 
 the door, he a»ked, carelessly : \ 
 
 "What did Cyrus want?" 
 
 " He came to bring me a note from thd 
 doctor, concerning some sick people whom I 
 asked him to sec." 
 
 Oh — ! John, put my ovrr-coat in the 
 buggy. Come, Judge, I am ready." 
 
118 
 
 MACAIUA- 
 
 As he made no inquiry aboul tbe sickj sbe 
 voJuntoered no explanation, and lie bade her 
 goo<l-by with manifest cold indifforonce. She 
 could not avoid confrratulatinji herself that, 
 since he must take this journey soon, he had 
 ■eleetcd tlie present occasion to be absent, 
 for she was well aware that he would violently 
 oppose her wishes in the matter of the liow. 
 When Dr. Arnold met her, late in the after- 
 noon of the same day, at little Johnnie's side, 
 his surprise and chagrin found vent, first in^a 
 scries of oaths, then, scowlinji at her like some 
 thunder-cloud with the electricity expended, 
 he said : 
 
 " Do you consider me a stark idiot, or a 
 shallow quack ?" 
 
 " Neither, sir, I assure you." 
 
 "Then, if I know anything about my business, 
 I wrote you the truth this morning, and you 
 treat my advice with cool contempt. You vex 
 me beyond all endurance ! Do jou want to 
 throw yourself into the jaws of death V" 
 
 " Ko, sir; far from it; but I had incurred 
 the risk before I was aware that there was 
 any. Beside, I really do not think I shall take 
 the fever. 1 believe a good resolution is a 
 powerful preventive, and that, you know, I 
 have." 
 
 "The deuce you have! you obstinate, un- 
 governable piece of marble ! Look here, 
 Irene, I shall go straight to your father and let 
 him know the facts. It is my duty, and I mean 
 to do it." 
 
 " I don't think you will, for he started to 
 B county this morning. And now, Doc- 
 tor, you may just as well quit scolding me, for 
 I have made up my mind to nurse Johnnie, 
 come what will." 
 
 " Yes ! I will warrant you have ! and you 
 may as well go make up your shroud, too — for 
 you will want it, I am thinking." 
 
 " Well, my life, at least, is my own, even if 
 it should prove the price." 
 
 " Oh ! is it, indeed ? What has become of 
 that pretty doctrine you preached to mc 
 yesterday ? I thought you belonged to the 
 ■whole human fraternity ? Your life yours, 
 indeed !" 
 
 " You forget. Doctor ; ' greater love hath no 
 man than this, that he lay down his life for his 
 friends.'" 
 
 She slipped her hand into his, and looked 
 up, smiling and calm, into his harsh, swarthy 
 face. 
 
 " My child, you made a mistake ; your life 
 belongs to me, for I saved it in your infancy. 
 I cradled you in my arnis^ lest death should 
 snatch you. I have a better right to you than 
 anybody else in this world. I don't want to 
 see you die ; I wish to go first." 
 
 " I know what I owe you, Doctor; but I am 
 not going to die, and you have scolded mc 
 enough for one time. Do make peace." 
 
 " Remember, I warned you, and you would 
 not heed." 
 
 From that hour she kept faithful vigil in No. 
 13 — passing continually from one bedside to 
 another. Susan's attack proved comparative- 
 ly light, and she was soon pronounced conva- 
 lescent ; but little Johnnie was desperately ill, 
 and for several nights Irene sat at his pillow, 
 fearing that every hour would be his last. 
 While his delirium was at its height, Hester 
 was taken violently, and on the morning when 
 Irene felt that her labor was not in vain and 
 that the boy would get well, his little sister, 
 whom she had nursed quite as assiduously, 
 grew rapidly worse, and died at noon. As is 
 frequently observed in such diseases, tliis 
 increased in virulence with every new case. 
 It spread with astonishing celerity through the 
 Rou". baffling the ertbrts of the best jiliisicians 
 
 in W ; and finally, the day after ^e»- 
 
 ter's death, as Irene sat trying to comfort the 
 poor mother, a neighbor cnme in, e.vilaiming: 
 
 "Oh, Miss Irene! Philip Martin is down, 
 too. He caught the fever irom his mother, 
 and his father says w^on't you please come 
 over ?" 
 
 S|ie went promptly, though so wearied she 
 could scarcely stand, and took a seat by the 
 bed where tossed the poor boy in whom she 
 had taken such an interest, since the accident 
 which crushed his leg in the machinery, and 
 rendered him a temporary cripple. 
 
 " He has been talking about you constantly, 
 Miss Irene, and calling tor you. Philip, my 
 son, here fs Miss Irene." 
 
 He smiled and turne<l, but there was no 
 recognition in the hot eyes, and after an instant 
 he muttered on incoherently. 
 
 "You must go home. Miss Huntingdon; 
 you are worn out. His father can watch him 
 till his mother gets stronger," said Dr. Bran- 
 don, who was fully acquainted with her unre- 
 mitting attendance at the next house. 
 
 "No, I must stay with Philip; perhaps lie 
 will know me when he wakes." 
 
 A hope doomed to disajipointmcnt, for Ytn 
 raved for four days and nights, calling fran- 
 tically for the serene, sad woman who sat at 
 his ])illow, ben<ling over him and laying her 
 cold hand on his scorched brow. On the fifth 
 day, being free from fever and utterly prostrat- 
 ed, he seemed sinking rapidly ; but she kept 
 her fingers on his pulsi!, and, without waitinjj 
 for the doctor's advice, administered powerful 
 stimulants. So i)assed two hours ot painful 
 anxiety; then Philip opened his eyes languidly, 
 and looked at her. 
 
 " Philip, do you know me ?" 
 
 " Yes — Miss Irene." 
 
 She sank back as if some strong supporting 
 hand had suddenly been withdrawn from her; 
 and, ob.serving that she looked ghastly, Mr- 
 Martin hastily brought her a glass of water. 
 Just then Dr. Brandon entered, and examined 
 his patient with evident surprise. 
 
 " What have you done to him. Miss Ilunc- 
 tincdon ?" 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 119 
 
 "Since daJ'Ught I have been giving hiin 
 ammonia and brandy ; hiiS pulse was so feeble 
 and thready I thought he needed it, ajid I was 
 afraid to wait for yoa." 
 
 " Right ! and you saved his life by it. I 
 «ould not get here any earlier, and if you had 
 delayed it until I came it would probably 
 Jiave been too late. You may call him your 
 patient after this." 
 
 She waited no longer, but staggered to the 
 door; and Andrew, seeing how faint she was, 
 came to meet lier, and led her to the carriage. 
 The ten days of watching had told upon her; 
 and when she reached home, and Nellie brought 
 her wrapper and unlae'od her shoes, she fell 
 back on her lounge in a heavy, death-like 
 deep. Mr., Huntingdon had been expected 
 two days before, but failed to arrive at the 
 time designated ; and, having her fears fully 
 aroused, Nellie despatched a messenger lor 
 Dr. Arnold. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 •'Do you see any change, Hiram ?" 
 
 " None for the better." 
 
 Mr. Huntingdon dropped his bead on his 
 hand again,*and Dr. Arnold resumed his slow 
 walk up and down the carpet. The blue 
 damask curtains had been looped back from 
 the western window, and the broad band of 
 yellow belting in the sky threw a mellow liglit 
 over the bed where lay the unconscious heiress 
 of the grand old Hill. Fever rouged the polish- 
 ed checks usually ])ure as alabaster, and touched 
 the parted lips with deeper scarlet, lending a 
 brilliant and almost unearthly beauty to the 
 sculptured features. Her hair, partially escap- 
 ing from confinement, straggled in crumpled 
 rings and folds across the pillow, a mass of 
 golden netting ; and the sparkling eyes wan- 
 dered from one object to another as if in 
 anxious search. The disease had assumed a 
 difTercnt type, and, instead of raving paro-xysma, 
 her illness was characterized by a silent, 
 wakeful unconsciousness, while opiates pro- 
 duced only the eifect of increasing her rest- 
 lessness. A week had passed thus — during 
 which time she had recognized no one, and 
 thougli numerous lady friends came to offer 
 assistance, all were refused permission to see 
 her. Mr. Huntingdon was utterly ignorant of 
 the duties of a nurse; and though he haunted 
 the room like an unlift,ing shadow, Dr. Arnold 
 and Nellie took entire cli;irge of the patient. 
 The former was unremitting in \m care, sitting 
 beside the pillow through the^long winter 
 nights, and snatching a few hours sleep during 
 the day. Watching her now, as he walked to 
 and fro, he noticed tliat her eyes followed him 
 earnestly, and he paused at the bedside and 
 leaned over her. 
 
 "Irene, what do you want? Does my 
 walking annoy you V 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Won't you shut your eyes, my darling, 
 and try ft) go to sleep V" 
 
 The deep brilliant eyes only looked into 
 his with mocking intentncss. * He put his 
 fingers on the lids and pressed them gently 
 down, but she struggled, and turned away her 
 face. Her hands crept constantly along the 
 snowy quilt as if seeking for something, aad 
 taking them both he folded them in his and 
 pressed them to his lips, while tears, which he 
 did not attempt to restrain, fell over them. 
 
 " You don't think slie is any worse, do you?" 
 asked the father, hu.skily. 
 
 " I don't know anything, except that she 
 can't lay this way much longer." 
 
 His harsh voice faltered and his stern mouth 
 trembled. He laid the hands back, went to 
 the window, and stood there till the room grew 
 dusky and the lamp was brought in. As 
 Nellie closed the door after her. the doctor 
 came to the hearth, and said, sharply : 
 
 " I would not be in your place for John Ja- 
 cob Aster's* fortune." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " I mean that, if you have any conscience 
 left, you must suffer the pains of purgatory for 
 the manner in which you have persecuted 
 that chihl." 
 
 " In all that I have ever done I have looked 
 only to her good, to her ultimate happiness. I 
 know that she — ." 
 
 "Hush, Leonard! hush! You know very 
 well that you have been down on your knees 
 before the Golden Calf ever since that girl 
 opened her eyes in this plagued world of 
 trouble! You are no more fit to be a father" 
 than I am to be a saint ! You have tyrannized 
 and fretted ker poor innocent soul nearly out 
 of her ever since she was big enough to crawl. 
 Why the d — 1 could not you let the child 
 have a little peace ? I told you how it would 
 end ; but oh, no 1 you could see nothing btit 
 the gilt face of your bellowing god! You 
 tormented her so about Hugh, that anybody 
 else would have hated the poor fellow. Mind 
 you, she never opened her lips to me with 
 reference to that matter in her life ; she would 
 have been gibbeted first. But I am not Idind 
 entirely ; I knew what was going on ; I knew 
 that the proud, sensitive bird w;vs hunted, 
 and could find no spot to rest upon. There 
 are ninety-nine chances to one tiiat slie has 
 come to her rest at last. You will I'eol pleas- 
 antly when you see her in her shroud." 
 
 His hard face worked painfully, and tears 
 glided down the wrinkled cheek and Kid 
 themselves in his gray beard. Mr. Hunting- 
 don was much agitated, but an angry flush 
 crossed his brow as he answered, hastily : 
 
 " I am the best judge of my family matters. 
 You are unjust and severe. Of course, I love 
 my child better than anybody else." 
 
 *' Heaven preserve her from sueli love as 
 you have lavished on her! She is very dear 
 
Vi* 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 to me. I nndcrstand her cliararter; you 
 either can not or will not. She is the only 
 th'mg in this world that I do really love. I 
 iiave fonrllcd hor fiom tlie time when she was 
 a week old, and it hurts me to see her suffer 
 as she has done ever sime you posted her off 
 aiijonp; strangers in New York. It will go 
 hard with me to lay her ilown, in all her love- 
 liness, in tlic grave. My pet, my violet-eyed 
 darling !" ' 
 
 He shaded his face and swallowed a sob. 
 .\nd for some moments neither spoke. After a 
 while liie doctor buttoned up his coat and took 
 hi.s hat. 
 
 " I am going down to my office to get a dif- 
 ferent pri'scription. I will be back soon." 
 
 " Mrs. Harris ami Mrs. Clark said that they 
 woald sit up to-night. Iliram, you must be 
 worn out, losing so much sleep." 
 
 '• Tell Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Clark to go to 
 Kgrpt ! Do you suppose I want two such 
 gossip-hawks perched over my dove? I am 
 geing to sit up myself. Give Irene a spoonful 
 of that mixture in the small vial at seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 Contrary to his phlegmatic habit, the doctor 
 had taken counsel of his fears until he was 
 completely unnerved, and he went home more 
 than usually surly and snappish. As he 
 entered his ollice, Russell ailvanced to meet 
 him from the window, whence, for nearly an 
 hour, lie had been watching for his arrival. 
 
 '• Good-evening, Doctor." 
 
 " What do you want ?' 
 
 " How h M"i.>9 Huntingdon ?" 
 
 " What is Mis3 Huntingdon to you ?" 
 
 " Siie was one of my mother's best friends, 
 thougli only a little girl at the time." 
 
 " And you love her for your mother's sake, 
 I suppose ? Truly filial." 
 
 " For that matter, she is beautiful enough to 
 be very easily loved for her own .sake, judging 
 from the number of her devoted admirers. 
 But I certainly am very grateful for her kiud- 
 nosa to my mother, years ago." 
 
 " And well you may be, Aubrey I She paid 
 dearly for her friendly interest in your famdy." 
 
 " In what respect, sir ?" 
 
 " In niore respects than I choose to recapit- 
 ulate. Did you ever know where she got the 
 two hundred dollars which she gave your 
 mother?" 
 
 '• I presume she took it from her own purse." 
 
 " She borrowed it from me, and paid me 
 back gradually in the money that her father 
 ^ave her, from time to time, while she was at 
 boarding-school. Cyrus ! you stupid I bring 
 mo sonic co/Tce." 
 
 " How is she to-night ? Rumors are so un- 
 reliable, that I came to you to find out the 
 trutli." 
 
 " She is going to die, I am afraid." 
 
 A sudden pallor overspread Russell's face, 
 bnt he .sat erect and motionles.s, and, fastening 
 liis keen eyes upon him, th« doctor added : 
 
 " She is abbut to be transplanted to a bottsr 
 world, if there is such a place. She is too 
 good and pure for this cursed, pestiferoM 
 earth." 
 
 " Is the case so utterly hopeless ? I can 
 not, I will not, believe it !" came indittinctljr 
 from the young man's bloodless lips. 
 
 " I tell you I know better! She stands on 
 a hair stretched across her grave. If I don'l 
 succeed to-night in makinf; her sleep (which 
 I have been trying to accomplish for two days), 
 she can't po.s-sibly live. And what is thac 
 whole confounded crew of factory savages in 
 comparison- with her precious life ?" 
 
 " Is it true that her illness is attributable t« 
 nursing those people ?" 
 
 " Yes. 1) — 1 take the Row ! I wish the river 
 would swallow it up." 
 
 " Is she conscious ?" 
 
 " Heaven only knows ; I don't. She lies 
 with her eyes wide open, looking at every- 
 thing as if she were searching for something 
 which she had lost, but never speaks, and un- 
 derstands nothing, except to swallow the metl- 
 icine when I put the spoon to her lips." 
 
 " If I could only see her !" exclaimed Rus- 
 sell, and an expression of such intense agony 
 settled on his features, usually so inflexible, 
 that his companion was startled and astonish- 
 ed. The doctor regarded him a moment with 
 perplexity ^nd compassion mingled in his own 
 lace; then light broke upon him, and, rising, 
 he laid his hand heavily on Russell's shoulder. 
 
 " Of course, Aubrey, you don't visit at that 
 house ?" 
 
 " Of course not."' 
 
 " Do you meet her often ?" 
 
 " I have not seen her for nearly a year. 
 Not since the nij^ht in which Hu^rh Seymour 
 Yas drowned. 
 
 lie rose, and turned away to screen his 
 countenance from the scrutiny to which it waj 
 subjected, for the painful shock baflled all hi» 
 efforts at self-control, and he felt that his face 
 would betray him. 
 
 " Where are you going, Aubrey ?" 
 
 " Back to my ollice." 
 
 " Is there any message which you would 
 like for me to deliver to her, if she should rc»- 
 cover her consciousness ? You may trust me, 
 young man." % 
 
 "Thank you; I have no message to send. I 
 merely called to ask after her. I trust she 
 will yet recover. Good-night." 
 
 He walked on rapiiUy till he reached th« 
 door of his ofiice. The gas was burning 
 brightly over his desk, and red-tape and legal- 
 ^•ap beckone^ him in ; but fathomless blufl 
 eyes, calm as mid-ocean, looked up at him, 
 and, without entering, he turned, and wcnfc 
 through the cold and darkness to the ceme- 
 tery, to his mother's tomb. She had been his 
 comfort in boyisli sorrows, and habit wa« 
 strong; he went to her grave for it still. 
 
 When Russell left him, Dr. Arnold took 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 121 
 
 from liis pocket the only solace ho had ever 
 known — Iks meerschaum. While he smoked, 
 and mixed some powders in a marble mortar, 
 memory industriously ran back, rakinj ami<] 
 bhe ashes of the by-gone for here a word and 
 there a look, to eke out the Ariadne thread 
 whicli his imagination was spinning. The 
 possibility of an attachment between Irene 
 »nd the blind widow's son had never occurred 
 to him before; but that Russell's unmistak- 
 able emotion could be referable simply to grat- 
 itude to his mother's benefactress, was an 
 tixplanation of which he was disposed to be 
 very sceptical. If this surmise should prove 
 florrect, what Were Irene's feelings toward the 
 popular young politician ? Here he was ab- 
 solutely without data; he could recall nothing 
 to assist him ; but, comprehending the bitter 
 animosity existing between the lawyer and 
 her father, he sighed involuntarily, knowing 
 the hopelessness of any such attachment on 
 either or both sides. Determined to satisfy 
 himself of the truth at the earliest opportuni- 
 ty, he carefully weiahed out the powder and 
 rode back to the Hill. He could perceive no 
 change, unless it were a heightening of the 
 oarmine on cheeks and lips, and an increased 
 twitching of the fingers, which hunted so per- 
 tinaciously about the bed-clothes. 
 
 " That everlasting picking, picking at every- 
 thing, is such an awful bad sign^' said poor 
 Nellie, who was crying bitterly ac the foot, of 
 the bed, and she covered her face with her 
 apron to shut out the sight. 
 ' " You ' pick ' yourself olT to bed, Nellie ! I 
 don't want you snubbing and groaning around, 
 day and night." 
 
 " I am afraid to leave her a minute. I am 
 afraid when my poor baby shwts her eyes she 
 never will open 'em again till she opens 'em in 
 heaven." 
 
 " Oil, go along to sleep ! you eternal old 
 •tupid. I will wake you up, I tell you, if she 
 gets worse." 
 
 He mixed one of the powders and stooped 
 down. 
 
 *' Irene — Irene, take this for me, won't you, 
 dear V" 
 
 She gave no intimation of having heard him 
 till he placed the wineglass to her mouth and 
 raised her head tenderly ; then she swallowed 
 \he contents mechanically. At the expiration 
 of an hour he repeated the dose, and at ten 
 o'clock, while he sat watching-her intently, he 
 •aw the eyelids begin to droop, the long silky 
 Ift-shf^s quivered and touched her cheeks. When 
 he listened to her breathing, and knew that at 
 last she slept, his gray heail sank on his chest, 
 and he niurniured, inaudihly, "thank God!" 
 Patient as a woman, he kept his place at her 
 dde, fearing to move lest he should wake her ; 
 the dreary hours of night wore away; morning 
 (Mme, gloriously bright, and still she slept. 
 The flush had laded, leaving her wan as death, 
 oud the little hands wore now at rest. She 
 
 looked like the figures which all have seen on 
 cenotaphs, and anxiously and often th(^ doctor 
 felt the slow pulse, that seemed weary of itj 
 mission. He kept the room quiet and main- 
 tained his faithful watch, refusmg to leave her 
 for a moment. Twelve o'clock rolled round, 
 and It appeared, indeed, as if Nellie's prognos- 
 tication would prove true, the sleeper was so 
 motionless. At three o'clock the doctor count- 
 ed the pulse, and, reassured, threw his head 
 back against the velvet lining of ■the chair, and 
 shut his aching eyes. Before five minutes had 
 elapsed he heard a faint sweet voice say, 
 " Paragon." Springing to his feet, he saw 
 her put out her hand to pat the head of her 
 favorite, who could not be kept out of the 
 room," and howled so intolerably when they 
 chained him that they were forced to set him 
 free. Now he stood with his paws on the pil- 
 low and his face close to hers, whining witk 
 delight. Tears of joy almost blinded the doc- 
 tor as he pushed Paragon aside, and said, 
 eagerly : 
 
 " Irene, one dog is as good as another ! Yoa 
 know Paragon; do you know me, Qieen?" 
 
 " Certainly — I know you, Doctor." 
 
 " God bless you, beauty ! You have n't 
 known me for a week." , 
 
 " I am so thirsty — please give me some wa- 
 ter." 
 
 He lifted her head and she drank eagerly, 
 till he checked her. 
 
 " There — we have n't all turned hvdropath- 
 ists since you were taken sick. Nellie! Isay, 
 Nellie ! you AVitch of Endor ! bring some wlno- 
 whey here. Irene, how do you feel, cliild '(" 
 
 " Very tired and feeble, sir. My head is 
 confused. Where is father?" 
 
 " Here I am, ray daughter." 
 
 He bent down with trembling lips and 
 kissed her, for the first time since the day of 
 their estrangement, nearly three years before. 
 She put her arms feebly around his neck, and 
 as he held hor to his heart she felt a tear drop 
 on her forehead. 
 
 " Father, have you forgiven me ?" 
 
 He cither could not or would not answer, 
 but kissed her again Avarmly ; and, as he dis- 
 engaged her arms and left the room, she felt 
 assured that, at last, she had been forgiven- 
 She took, the whey silently, and, artcr soma 
 moments, said : 
 
 " Doctor, have you been sitting by mo a 
 long time ?" 
 
 " I rather think I have ! — losing my sleep for 
 nearly ten days, you unconscionable youug 
 heathen." 
 
 " Have I been so ill as to require that? I 
 have a dim recollection of going on a long 
 journey, and of your being by my side all the 
 way." 
 
 " Well, I hope you travelled to your entire 
 satisfaction, and fouml what you wanted — for 
 you were fceRng about, as if hunting for 
 something, the whole titue. Oh! I am 90 
 
122 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 thankful that you know me once more. Child, 
 you Lave cost me a deal of sorrow. Now be 
 quiiit, and po to slfop airain; at lo.ist don't 
 talk to Nellie or Paraxon. I shall take a 
 nap on the sof:\ in the library. " 
 
 She reiraincd her strcnirth ver)- slowly, and 
 many da}? elapsed before she was able to 
 leave her room. One bright sunjiy morning 
 she sat before (be open window, looking down 
 on the lawn where the pigeons flashed in and 
 out of the hcilges, and now and then glanc- 
 ing at till* lioiKjuet of choice hot-house flow- 
 ers intlie vase beside her. lu her lap lay a 
 letter iii.<t received from Harvey Young — a 
 letter full of fond remembrance, grave counsel, 
 and gcnile encouragement — and the unbent 
 lines about her mouth showed that hennind 
 •was troiibU-d. 
 
 The doctor came In and drew up a chair. 
 
 " I should like to know who gave you leave 
 to ride yesterday ?" 
 
 " Father tiiought that T was well enough, 
 and the carrlaire was close and warm. I hope, 
 Bir, that I shall not be on your ihands much 
 longer." 
 
 «' Wliat did r tell you ? Next time don't be 
 80 hard-headid, when you arc advised by older 
 and wi^jfr persons. I trust you are quite sat- 
 isfied with the result of your eleemosynary 
 performances at the Row." 
 
 " Far from it. Doctor. I am fully acclimat- 
 ed now, and have nothing to fear in future. 
 I am very sorry, sir, that I caused you all so 
 much trouble and an.xietv; 1 did not believe 
 tl^at 1 sliould take the fever. If Pliilip had 
 not been so ill I should have come out safely ; 
 but, I suppose, my uneasiness about him un- 
 nerved me in some waj' — for, when I saw that 
 he would got well, allmy strength left rac in 
 an instant. IIow is he, sir ?" 
 
 "Oh! the young dog is as well as ever; 
 limps around now without his crutches. Comes 
 to my office every day to ask after his blessed 
 Lady Bountiful.'' 
 
 Leaning forward carelessly, but so as to 
 command a full view of her face, he added : 
 
 "You stirred up quite an excitement in 
 town, and introduced me generally to society. 
 Peoi)Ie, who never inflicted themselves on me 
 before, thought it was incumbent on them to 
 hang around my door to make incpiiries con- 
 cerning my fair pal icnt. One night I found 
 even that statue of bronze and steel, Russell 
 Aubrey, waiting at my ofliee to find out wheth- 
 er you really intended translation." 
 
 A change certainly passed swiftly over 
 her countenance ; but it was inexplicable, in- 
 describable; an anomalous lightening of the 
 eye and darkening of the brow. Before he 
 could analyze it, lier features resumed their 
 ■wonted serenity, and he found her voice un- 
 fluttered, 
 
 "I was not aware that "I had so many 
 frien4s; it is a pleasant discovery, and almo.st 
 compensates for the pain of illness. Take 
 
 care, Doctor ! You arc tilting n»y flowers out 
 of their vase." 
 
 " Confound the flowers, Queen ! They art 
 always in the way. It Is a great pity there is 
 suth Theban-brother afl'ection between your 
 fiithcr and Aubrey. lie hac any amount of 
 fine feeling hid away under that dark. Jesuit- 
 ical, non-committal {avc of his. H<; has not 
 forgotten your intirest in his mother, and 
 when 1 told^ him that I thought you had do- 
 termlneil to take your departure from this 
 world he seemed really hurt about it. I al- 
 ways liked the boy, but I think he is a hercti* 
 in politics." 
 
 Looking steadily at him as he spoke, sIm 
 smiled coldly, and answered : 
 
 " It is ver}' apparent that, this fierceness of 
 party spirit, this bitter political animosity, \i 
 driving the ship of state on the rock of ruin. 
 The foamy lips of the breaker;! are just ahead, 
 but you men will not open your eyes to tb« 
 danger." 
 
 " Better get some of you wise women to 
 julot us, I dare say !" sneered her companion, 
 provoked at her unsatisfactory manner and 
 inflexible features. 
 
 " It is not Qur calling, Doctor ; but I jjromlw 
 you, if the experiment were tried, that yon 
 would find no Palinurus among us. We hava 
 no desire to thrust ourselves into the forum, 
 like Roman women 'storming at the Oppian 
 Law and crushing Cato;' still less to imitata 
 Ilortensia, and confronting august Triumviri 
 in the market-place, harangue.against the tax, 
 however unjust. Practically, women should 
 have as little to do with jiolitics as men with 
 darning stockings or malving pufl-paste ; but" 
 we should be unworthy of the high social .'tlatuf 
 which your chivalry accords us weie w« 
 iudifl'erent to the conduct of public afl'airs. 
 
 ' ^fnn for tlie field, mid Mroiiimi Tor tlie Iiearth ; 
 Muu for tlio sword, and for tlio tu-edlp hlio : 
 Mnii Willi (lie liciid, mid woman vritli tiiu liuart : 
 Man to comiaaud, and ^YonInn to obey,* 
 
 Such is the judicious arrangement of nature — 
 a wise and happy one, indubitably. We bow 
 before it, and have no wish to trench on your 
 prerogatives; but we do protest against your 
 sleeping on your posts, or lulling yourselves 
 with (ircums of scifi.sh ambition when Scylla 
 and Charybdisgrin destruction on either side." 
 
 "Phew — Queen! who told you all that? 
 Has Aubrey indoctrinated you in his 'fire-eat^ 
 ing,' schismatic princij)les V What platform 
 do you projiose to mount ?" 
 
 " None, sir, but that of the constitnt'on — 
 ignoring both Whig and Democratic addition.^ 
 which make it top-heavy. I don't lik« 
 latter-day political carpentering. I want to 
 see Nestors in the councils of my country, no* 
 nerveless imbeciles or worthless, desperate 
 political gamesters." 
 
 " You rabid little Jacobin I Don't you think 
 that, Portia-like, you might, completely tranu- 
 mogrlfy yourself, and get into Congress and 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 133 
 
 Cabin(?t lontr enough to write ^ Mene, mene' 
 on tlioir walls V" 
 
 " Tlit'v would have no Daniel there, even if 
 I should, wliich is no business of mine. Doc- 
 tor, I claim to be no politician ; a tliousand 
 J ears will scarcely produce another De Stael. 
 am simply a true lover of my country — 
 anxious in view of its stormy, troubled future." 
 
 "Aubrey has not proselyted you, then, alter 
 all ? ' 
 
 She had unlocked her ■writing-desk, and, 
 •without seeming to hear his last words, handed 
 him a letter. 
 
 " Here is a letter from uncle Eric, which I 
 received yesterday. It contains a message 
 for you about some medical books and 
 journals." 
 
 He muttered something indistinctly, put the 
 letter in his pocket, and took her hand. 
 
 " Irene — what is the matter, dear child ? 
 Your pulse is entirely too quick." 
 
 " That is nothing new, Doctor. Father 
 insists that I sliall drink port-wine, and it does 
 not suit me — keeps my head aching con- 
 tinually." 
 
 " Try porter instead." 
 
 She shook her head wearily. 
 
 " I need nothing, sir, but to be let alone." 
 
 He smoothed back her hair and said, 
 hastily : 
 
 "You will never get what you need. • Oh, 
 ckild ! whv won't you trust me V" 
 
 "Why— Doctor! I do." 
 
 " Hush ! don't tell me that ! I know better. 
 You steel that white face of yours, and lock 
 your confidence from the old man who loves 
 you aliov e all other things." 
 
 She drew down his hand from her head and 
 leaned her coM cheek upon it. 
 
 " You misunderstand me, sir ; I repose the 
 most perfect confidence in you. If 1 were in 
 trouble, and wanted help or a favor of any 
 kind, I would apply to you sooner than to any 
 other human being — for you have always been 
 more patient with my whims than even my 
 own father — and I should be w^orse than an 
 iugrale if I had not the most complete trust in 
 you. ]\Iy dear, kind friend, what have I done 
 to fret you V" 
 
 Ue did not reply, but searched her coun- 
 tenance sorrowfully. 
 
 " Doctor, tell me one thing. You nursed 
 ioe constantly while I was unconscious, and I 
 want to know whether I said anything durjjg 
 my dcliriiun that surprised or annoyed you." 
 
 " No ; tiie trouble was that you sealed your 
 lips hermetically. Are you afraid now that 
 you divulged scime secret which I may betray V" 
 
 " I am not afraid of your bc<traying any- 
 thing — never had such a tliouglK. When do 
 you think that I may take a horse -back ride 
 with impunity V I am so tired of the house." 
 
 " Not for a week, at least. You must be 
 prudent, Irene, for you are not strong-yet, by 
 a great deal." 
 
 " I wanted to talk to you, this morning, 
 about something very near my heart ; but yon 
 are going." 
 
 " I can wait, my child. "What is it ?" 
 
 " To-morrow will do as well. I want yon 
 to aid me in getting a bill passed by the legis- 
 lature, appropriating a school fund for this 
 county. Perhaps you can obtain IMr. Aubrey's 
 influence with the members of the lower 
 house." 
 
 " Perhaps I '11 go to the North Pole to cool a 
 glass of amontillado for your majesty ! I *ll be 
 hanged if I have anything to do with it! 
 "Whv the deuce can't you ask Mr. Aubrey 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Because, in the first place, you know 
 very well that I never see him, and I could not 
 ask him, even if I should meet him ; and, beside, 
 I do not wish to be known at all in the afl'air. 
 It is not a woman's business to put forward 
 legislative bills." 
 
 "■Indeed I Then why are you meddling 
 with other people's business ?" 
 
 " Our legislators seem to have forgotten one 
 grand- and good maxim of Lycurgus : ' Chiir 
 dren are the property of the state, to whom 
 alone their education should be intrusted.' 
 They have forgotten that our poor require 
 educating, and I simply desire some of their 
 constituents to call their attention to the over- 
 sight. Doctor, I know you will do it." 
 
 " I will fii-st see my.self floundering like 
 Pharaoh! I '11 rake out nobody's chesnuts! 
 Not even yours, child ! Put down that win- 
 dow ; the air is too chilly. You are as cold a« 
 an iceberg and as blue as a gentian." 
 
 The doctor had scarcely taken his departure 
 when Nellie's turbaned head showed itself at 
 the door. 
 
 " That factory -boy, Philip, is down stairs ; 
 he brought back a book, and wants to see you. 
 He seems in trouble ; but you don't feel like 
 being bothered to-day, do you ?" 
 
 " Did he ask to see me V" 
 ■ '"Not exactly; but showed very plainly 1m 
 wanted to see you." 
 
 " Let him come up." 
 
 As he entered, she rose and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 " Good-morning, Philip ; I am glad you are 
 well enough to be out again." 
 
 He looked at her revi-rently, and, as he no- 
 ticed the change her illness had wrought, bis 
 lips quivered and his eyes filled. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Irene ! I am so glad you are bet- 
 ter. I prayed for you all the time while yon 
 were ,^o very ill." 
 
 " Thank you. Sit down, and tell me about 
 the sick." 
 
 " They are all better, I bcUcvo, ma'm, ex- 
 ce))t Mrs. Davis. She was wishing yesterday 
 that she could sec you again." 
 
 " I shall go there in a day or two. You are 
 walking pretty well without your crutches. 
 Have you resumed your work ?" 
 
124 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " I shall bcfrin apain to-morrow." 
 
 "It need not interfere with your studiM. 
 The nijrhts are very lonfr now, and you can 
 Mccompli«h a great deal if you feel disposed 
 to do FO." 
 
 He did not answnr immediately, and, observ- 
 ing the rloud on his countenance, she. a(Med : 
 
 "Philip, wliat is the matter? You look 
 troubled ; ran I do anything; for you V" 
 
 A deep flush mantlcil his sillow cheek, and, 
 droopina his head as if in humiliation, he said, 
 passionatfly : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Irene I You are the only friend 
 I have. I am so mortified I can hardly look 
 anyboiiy in the face. Father is drinking again 
 worse than ever, and is so violent that mother 
 won't .stay at home ; she has gone across the 
 river for a few days. I have done all I could, 
 but I can't influence him." 
 
 " Where is he now V" 
 
 "The police put him in the guard-house 
 last night for creating a disturbance. I sup- 
 pose, wiien the IMayor holds court, he will be 
 fined and turned out. Miss Irene, I feel like 
 nimping into the river and drowning myself, 
 ft is so horrible to be ashamed of my own 
 father !" 
 
 lie droppffi his face in his hands, and she 
 saw that he trembled violently. 
 
 " You must struggle against such feelings, 
 Philip; tl,pugh it is '-crtainly very mortifyin;; 
 .to know that your father has been arrested. 
 If you conduct yourself properly, people will 
 respect you all the more because of your mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 " No, Miss Irene ! they are always holding 
 H up "to me. Hard as I try to do right, they 
 are continually sneering at me, and sometimes 
 it makes me almost desperate." 
 
 " That is uiijust and ungenerous. No one, 
 who has any refinement or goodness of heart, 
 will be guilty of such behavior. 1 do not 
 know positively that I can assist you, but I 
 tliink it possible I can obtain a situation for 
 your father as carpenter on a plantatwri in 
 the country, if he will promise to abstai^jjj'iom. 
 drinking. I have heard that he was a very 
 good mechanic, and in the country he would 
 not meet with .such constant temptation. Do 
 you suppose that he will be willing to leave 
 town ?" 
 
 ♦' Oh, yes, ma'm ! I think so ; he is generally 
 Tery repentant when he gets sober. If yovi 
 please, ^liss Irene, I should be so glad if you 
 would talk to him, and persuade him to take 
 the pledge before he starts. I believe he 
 would join the Temperance society if you ask- 
 ed him to do it. Oh I then I should have some 
 heart to work." 
 
 " You and your mother must try to influtnce 
 him, and in a few days I will talk to him. In' 
 the meantinic I will see about the situation, 
 which is a very desirable one. I am very sorry, 
 Philip, that this trouble has occurred again ; I 
 know that it is very painful, but you must en- 
 
 deavor to be patient and hopeful, and to bear 
 up bravely. Brighter days will soon come, I 
 trust." 
 ■ He took his cap from flie carpet, rose, ami 
 lookc<l at her with swimming eyes. 
 
 " Oh, ^Ii.ss Irene 1 I wish I could tell you all 
 I feel. I thank you more than I can ever ex- 
 press, and so does mother." 
 
 " You have finished your book, I see; don't 
 you want another? Nellie will show you tha 
 library, and on the lower book-sheU', on the 
 right-hand side of the door, you will find a 
 large volume in leather binding — ' Plutarch.' 
 Take it with you, and read it carefully. Good- 
 by. I shall come down to the Row to-morrow 
 or ne.xt day." 
 
 As she heard his halting step descend the 
 stairs she leaned back wearily in her chair, 
 and, closing her eyes, these words crept almoa* 
 inaudibly over her pale lips: 
 
 " But go to I tliy lovo 
 
 6lmll oliant itsi^lf. its own bestitinle". 
 After it« own lire-working. A cliilil's kiss 
 Set on tliy sighing lips, sbiiU ninkc tlif e kI.1(I ; 
 A poor man Berved liy time, shall n> "ke tln'B rich; 
 A Kick man helped b; tlice, shall mnke thue strong" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Well, Irene, what is vour decision about 
 the party at Mrs. Churchhill's to-night ?" 
 
 "I will go with you, father, if it is a matter 
 of so much interest to you; though, as I told, 
 you yesterday, I should prefer declining tlui 
 invitation as i'ar as I am concerned." 
 
 " It is full time for you to go into society 
 again. You have moped at home loivg enough." 
 
 " ' Mopcil ' is scarcely the right word, father." 
 
 " It matters little what you call it, the fact 
 is the same. You have tfliut yourself in till 
 you have grown to look like a totally ditferent 
 woman. Indeed, Irene, I wont permit it any 
 longer ; you must como out into the world 
 once more. I am sick of your black looks ; 
 let me see you in colors to-night." 
 
 " Will not pure white content you, father?" 
 
 "No; I am tired of it; wear something 
 bright." 
 
 Mr. Huntingdon smoked his after-breakfast 
 cigar half- reclined on the upper step, and 
 Irene walked up and down the wide colon- 
 nade, enjoying the cool, dewy, fragrant Juns 
 d^, whose sun was rapidly moimting in heaT- 
 en. Tiie air was of that peculiar stillness 
 found oidy in southern summer mornings, but 
 now and then its holy calm was rippled by the 
 contented ringing whistle of a partridge far 
 down among the grassy orchard -depths, and 
 by the peaceful chime of doves cooing soft and 
 low, one to another, in the thickest shadows of 
 the dripping grove. True summer sounds — 
 sure concomitants of June. Frail, foam-like 
 cloud-navies in line-of-battle, as if piloted by 
 dubious, treacherous winds, sailed lazily across 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 lU 
 
 the 6e» of intense blue, starino; down covet- 
 ously at a ripening field of flashing wheat, 
 which bowed and wavered in a long billowy 
 Bweep and swell as the mild June breeze stole 
 over it ; and on a nefghboring hill-side, where 
 siekles had been busy a few days before, the 
 royal yellow shocks stood thick and tall in 
 crowded ranks, like golden gods of Plenty. 
 
 Ah I rare June day, impearled and purpled, 
 fi^eshly glowing from the robing hands of Deity, 
 serenely regal on her southern throne as^She- 
 ba's brown (pieen. 
 
 " Irene, sit here on the step, wliere I can see 
 you without twisting iiiy head olf of my should- 
 ers. Now, then — what is the matter with 
 you ?■' 
 
 "Nothing unusual, father." 
 
 " Don't evade me. AVJiy can't you look and 
 act like other girls of your age ? ' 
 
 " Probably because I feel differently. But 
 to what do you allude ? In what respect have 
 I displeased you V" 
 
 "Oh! in a thousand. You never would 
 look at things in their proper light. Why did 
 you treat \V illiam Bainbridge so coldly yester- 
 day evening V Yo« know very well that he 
 came liere expressly to see you." 
 
 " And, for tiiat reason, sir, I felt it ray duty 
 to receive tiie visit coolly." 
 
 " You disappointed alt my plans for you 
 once; but let mc tell you, if you are not a 
 down-right simpleton, you will accept the offer 
 William Bainbridge came here to make. You 
 are aware of the warm friendship which has 
 always existed between the governor and my- 
 self, and his son is considered the finest match 
 in the state. If you live a thousand years 
 you will never have a better offer, or another 
 aa good ; and I do hope, my daughter, that you 
 will not be insane enough to reject him." , 
 
 " Father, why are you so anxious to get rid 
 of your only child V ' 
 
 " I am not ; but you must marry some time, 
 ttnd I know very well such an opportunity as 
 this will not recur." 
 
 " Don't you think, sir, that you and I could 
 live always happily here without planting a 
 stranger at our fireside? Father, let us un- 
 derstand each other fully. I speak deliberately 
 and solemnly — I shall never marry." 
 
 Mr. Huntingdon started up lioin bis indo- 
 lent posture and surveyed his daughter 
 keenly. 
 
 Her spotless muslin morning-dress swept 
 down the marble steps, its wide sleeves falling 
 away from the rounded dazzling arms, and a 
 black cord and tassel girding the waist. The 
 geranium leaves fastened at her throat were 
 unstirred aii the silver-dusted lilies sleeping, 
 lotos-like, oa some lonely tarn ; and thti dewy 
 Lamarque roses twined in her coiled hair 
 glittered and kindled into faii>t opaline flushes 
 as the sunshine quivered into their creamy 
 hearts. One hand held a steel ring, to which 
 half-a-dozea keys were attached — the other 
 
 toyed unconsciously with the heavy tassel, 
 and the hushed fixe.Q., Avith its deep holy eyes, 
 was lifted to meet her father's. 
 
 " Nonsense, Irene ! I have heard fifty 
 women say that same thing, and have danced 
 at their weddings six months later." 
 
 " I do not doubt it. But, father, no ono will 
 ever dance at mine." 
 
 "And, pray, why have n't you as good a right 
 to marry and be happy as olher women ?" 
 
 " The abstract right, and the will to use it, 
 are ditlcrcnt, father ; and, as regards happiness, 
 I love my own beautiful home too well to 
 desire to change it for any other. Let me b« 
 quiet here — I ask no more." 
 
 " But, Irene, I can't be expected to lire 
 always, even Avere my ^society suilicient for 
 you, wjtfch is not true." 
 
 " Dwrh yields allegiance to no decree of 
 man. I may find Hugh in another world 
 before you are called to quit this." 
 
 Her father shuddered, and smoked silently 
 for severaTOeconds; then the crash of wheels 
 on the shelled avenue startled both. 
 
 " Here comes Bainbridge now. I promised 
 him that you would play a game of billiards 
 with him this morning. For heaven's sake, 
 Irene ! be reasonable for once in your life; let 
 me hear no more such stuff as you have been 
 talking, but treat the man civilly, and giv<i 
 him wliat he will ask." 
 
 The handsome suitor came up the steps 
 rather dubiously, as if fearful of his welcome ; 
 and the heiress rose composedly and received 
 him with graceful, polished, imperturbable re- 
 serve. A lew months before, in compliance with 
 her father's earnest request, she had accompaiM- 
 ed him to the capital of the state, and during this 
 brief visit met and completely fascinated Mr. 
 Bainbridge, whose attentions were suscejitible 
 of but one interpretation. He was a year her 
 senior — a chivalric, agreeable, gay young man, 
 who had grown up without selecting a pro- 
 fession, knowing that his ample fortune would 
 more than suflice for his maintenance. Ho 
 was the only sou of the governor ; his charac- 
 ter was unimpeachable, his nature magnani- 
 mous, and many of his impulses were truly 
 noble — but his intellect was far inferior to 
 hers. He could no more comprehend her 
 than some Iong-»inurned Assyrian scroll, for 
 which the cipher key is wanting; and in th« 
 midst of his devotion she was conscious of uo 
 feeling save that of utter indilfercjice, some- 
 times wa.\ing into impatience at his freqi\eut 
 visits. She had studiously avoided encourag- 
 ing his attentions, but he either could not or 
 would not interpret her cold reticence. 
 
 The morning was spent over the billiard- 
 table, and at last, foiled by her skilful guiding 
 of the fragmentary conversation, Mr. Bain- 
 bridge having been refused the honor of 
 escorting her to the party, took his leave, ox- 
 pressing the hope that in a few hours bo should 
 see her again. 
 
12G 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 " Well?" said Mr. Huntingdon, seating him- 
 self at the luncheon-table. 
 
 " Well, father; wc played till I was heartilj 
 tired." 
 
 " But the result of tlie visit, Irene ?" 
 
 " Tlie result was that I heat him three games 
 oat of five. John, where is the elaret ? You 
 have forgotten it; here arc the keys." 
 
 •'Pshaw! I mean, did Bainbridge come to 
 the point." 
 
 " i took most of the points from him." 
 
 " Confound your quibbling 1 Did you ac- 
 cept him V" 
 
 *' I am happy to be able to tell you, sir, that ; 
 he did not atlord nie an opportunity." 
 
 " Then I will be sworn it was your fault — 
 not his !" 
 
 A short silence ensued : Irene sat, s^mingly 
 abstracted, di[)ping her slender hj^ in a 
 ruby-colored bohcuiian finger-bowl. Present- 
 ly John returned ; she took the bottle from 
 him, and, filling her fathers glass, said, 
 earnestly: 
 
 "Father, I have a favor to ask at your 
 hands; are you in a mood for concessions y" 
 
 "'TliHt depends — ,' as (iuy Darrell says. 
 What is it? Do you want a new collar for 
 Paragon, or a bran new pigeon -bo.\ twice 
 khe size of the old one? Something un- 
 reasonable, I will warrant. You never want 
 what you ought to have. Speak out, my 
 bleached gentile P>sther 1" 
 
 "I d'o want another pigeon -box badly, but 
 that is not to be asked for to-day. Father, 
 will you give me that large beautiful vacant 
 lot, witii the old willow tree, on the corner of 
 Pine street and Huntingdon avenue, opposite 
 the court-house ?" 
 
 ♦' Upon my word ! I must say you are very 
 modest in your refiuest 1 What the deuce do 
 rou want with it?" 
 
 ' " I know that I am asking a good deal, sir ; 
 but 1 want it as a site for an orphan asylum. 
 Will you give it to me ?" 
 
 " IS'o ! 1 'U be hanged if I do ! Are you 
 going entirely deranged ! What business have 
 you with asylums, I should like to know? 
 Put all of thiit ridiculous stuff out of your head. 
 Here is something for which I sent to Europe. 
 Eric selected it in Paris, and it arrived yes- 
 terday. Wear it to-night." 
 
 He drew a velvet case from his pocket and 
 laid it before her. Touching the spring, the lid 
 flew open, and on the blue satin lining lay the 
 blazing coils of a magnificent diamond neck- 
 lace and bracelets. 
 
 " How beautiful ! how spcndidly beautiful I" 
 
 She bent over the. flashing mass in silent 
 admiration for some time, e.xamining the deli- 
 cate setting, then looked up at her lather. 
 
 " What did they cost?" 
 
 " Why do you want to know that ?" 
 
 *' I am pardonably curious on the subject." 
 
 "Well, then, I was silly enough to give 
 seven thousand dollars for them." 
 
 "And what is the value of that lot I asked 
 for ?" 
 
 " Five thousand dollars." 
 
 " Father, these diamonds are the finest I 
 ever saw. They are superbly beautiful ; a 
 t|ueen might be proud of thein, and 1 thank 
 you most earnestly for such a gorgeous 
 present; but, if you will not be oflended, I will 
 be candid with you — I would a thousand times 
 rather have the lot than the jewels." 
 
 The expression of blank astonishment with 
 whiih these words were received woulil have 
 been ludicrous but for the ominous thickening 
 of his brows. 
 
 " Father, do not feel hurt with me, or at- 
 tribute my conduct to any want of gratitude 
 for your indulgent kindness. If I love the 
 smiles of happy children more than the 
 radiance of these costly gems, and would 
 rather wear in my heart the contented faces 
 of well-cared-for orphans than on my neck 
 these glitering diamonds, may I not at least 
 utter my preference without oflending you? 
 When I think of the better use to which this 
 money might be applied, the incalculable good 
 it would effect, I shrink from hoarding it up 
 on my person to dazzle the eyes of my associ- 
 ates, to incite some to intimate the lavish 
 expenditure, and to awaken in others envious 
 discontent at their inability to cover them- 
 selves with similar splendor The result of 
 such an example on our society would be like 
 dropping a pebble into some crystal lakelet 
 sleeping in evening sunshine ; the wavering 
 ring would widen till the entire glassy surface 
 was shivered into spinning circles and dashed 
 on the rocky shore beyond. Father, forgive 
 me, if I have said anything disagreeable to 
 you. I shall be grieved indeed if, on the 
 occasion of your too generous indulgence, any 
 dissension arise between us. Tell me that 
 you are not angry with me." 
 
 She laid her fingers on his arm, but ho 
 shook ott" the touch, and, scowling sullenly, 
 snatched th'b velvet case from her hand and 
 stamped out of the room — slamming the door 
 so violently that the glasses on the table rang 
 out a tinkling chime, and the red wine in the 
 bottle danced a saraband. 
 
 He went to town,, and she met him no more 
 till she was ikttired lor the party. Standing 
 before the mirror in her own room she 
 arranged the flowers in her hair, aiid, when 
 the leaves were disposed to suit her fastidious 
 taste, she took up a pearl set which he had 
 given her years before, intending to wear it. 
 But just then raising her eyes, she saw her 
 father's image reflected in the glass. Without 
 turning she put up her arms, and laying her 
 head back on his shoulder said, eagerly : 
 
 " My dear, dear father, do let us be recon- 
 ciled." 
 
 Clouds and moodiness melted from his hand- 
 some features as he bent over her an instant, 
 kissing her fondly ; then his hands passed 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 127 
 
 swiftly over lier neck, an icy shower fell upon 
 it, and slie was clothed with light. 
 
 " My beautiful child, wear your diamonds 
 as a seal of peace. I can't let you have the 
 Pine street lot — I want it for a diflerent 
 purpose ; but I will give you three acres on 
 the edge of town, near the depot, for your 
 a.syluni whim. It is a better location every 
 way for your project." 
 
 *' Thank you, father. Oh 1 thank you, more 
 than words can express." 
 
 She turned her lips to one of the hands still 
 lingering on her shoulder. 
 
 " Irene, look at yourself. Diana of Ephesus ! 
 what a blaze of glory !" 
 
 " Father, it would not require much stretch 
 of imagination to believe that, by some deseen- 
 dental metempsychosis, I had become an ex- 
 humed member of the sacred gnomides, torn 
 ruthlessly from my sisterhood in t'erro do 
 Frio or the cold dreary caverns of the Aga- 
 thyrsi." 
 
 " The metamorphosis is not sufficiently com- 
 plete without your bracelets. Put them on 
 and come liowu ; the carriage is ready. Where 
 is your bouquet-holder ? Give it to me ; I will 
 fasten the tl'owers in, while you draw on your 
 gloves.' 
 
 Two days before, the marriage of Charles 
 Harris and Maria Henderson had been cele- 
 brated with considerable pomp, and the party 
 to-night was given in honor of the event by 
 Mrs. Churchhill, a widowed sister of Judge 
 Harris. She had spent several years in Pans, 
 superintending the education of a daughter, 
 whom she had recently brought home to reside 
 
 near her uncle, and dazzle all W with 
 
 her accomplishments. 
 
 At ten o'clock there stood beneath the gas- 
 lights in her elegant parlor a human fleshy 
 antithesis, upon which all eyes were riveted — 
 Salome Churchhill — a dark imperious beauty, 
 of the Cleopatra type, with very full crimson 
 lips, passionate or pouting as occasion demand- 
 ed; brilliant black eyes that, like August days, 
 burned, dcvvless and unclouded, a steady blaze ; 
 thick shining black hair elaborately curled, 
 and a rich tropical complexioi , clear and 
 glowing as the warm blood that pulsed through 
 her rounded graceful form. She wore a fleecy 
 fabric, topaz-^-olored, with black lace trim- 
 mings ; yellow roses gemmed her hair, and 
 topaz and ruby ornaments clasped her throat 
 and arms. An Eastern queen she looked, 
 exacting universal homa;Te, and full of fiery 
 jealousy whenever her eyes fell upon one who 
 stood just opposite. A statuesque face, pure 
 and calm as any ever cut trom Pentelic 
 quarry, and cold as its dews — the delicately- 
 carved features borrowing no color from the 
 glare around her, the polished shoulders and 
 perfect arms gleaming frigidly in the rainbow- 
 light of her diamonds, and the bronze hair 
 caught up by a pearl comb, with here and 
 there a cluster of clematis bells drooping 
 
 toward her neck. Irene's dress was an airy 
 blue tulle, flounced to the waist, and without 
 trimming save the violet and clematis clusters. 
 Never had her rare beauty been more resplen- 
 dent — more dazzlingly chilly ; it seemed the 
 glitter of an arctic iceberg lit by some low 
 midnight sun, and, turn whither she would, fas- 
 cinated groups followed her steps. Salome's 
 reputation as a brilliant belle had become 
 extended since Irene's long seclusion, yet 
 to-night, on the re-appearance of the latter, it 
 was apparent to even the most obtuse that 
 she resumed her sway — the matchless 
 cynosura' of that social system. Fully con- 
 scious of the intense admiration she e.xcited, 
 she moved slowly from room to room, smiling 
 once or twice when she' met her lather's 
 proud look ot fond triumph fixed upon her. 
 
 Leaning against the window 1o rest, while 
 Charles Harris went in search of a gla-ss of 
 water, she heard her name pronounced by 
 some one on the gallecy. 
 
 " They say Irene Huntingdon is positively 
 going to marry Bainbridgc. Splendid match 
 both sides. Won't she shine at the governor's 
 mansion "? I wonder if she really grieved 
 much lor Seymour? How perfectly lovely 
 she is ; and Huntingdon is so proud of her. 
 By the way, Is'eal, have you heard the last 
 gossij) y" 
 
 " About whom ? I have been away a month, 
 you nmst remember, and am behind the times. 
 Do tell me." 
 
 " AVell, the very latest report is that, after 
 all, Aubrey never fancied Grace Harris, as 
 the quidnuncs asserted — never addressed her, 
 or anybody else — but is now sure enough about 
 to bear off belle Salome, the new prize, right 
 in the face of twenty rivals. I should really 
 like to hear of something which that man could 
 not do, if he set himself to work in earnest. I 
 wonder whether it ever recurs to him that he 
 once stood behind Jacob Watson's counter ?' 
 
 "But Aubrey js not here to-nisjht. Does 
 not afl'ect parties, I believe V" 
 
 " Rarely shows himself; but you mistako ; 
 he came in not twenty minutes ago, and you 
 should have seen what I saw — the rare-ripe red 
 deepen on Salome's cheeks wheh he ^poke to 
 her." 
 
 Irene moved away from the window, and 
 soon after was about to accompany Charlie Zo 
 the hall, when Air. Bainbridge came up and 
 claimed her hand for the cotillon Ibnning in 
 the next room. As they took their places oa 
 the floor, she saw that Salome and Russell 
 would be vis-a-vis. With an eifort she raised 
 her eyes to those of the man whom she had 
 seen last at Hugh's bier ; he drooped his head 
 very slightly, she inclined hers; then the band 
 smote tla-ir instruments, violin and piano, and 
 the crash of music filled the house. 
 
 Irene moved mechanically tlirough the airy 
 mazes of the dance, giving apparent attention 
 to the low-toned, hall'- whispered observation! 
 
 iM 
 
128 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 of her devoted partner, but straining ber ear 
 to catc'li the mellow voice which uttered such 
 gracolul fascinating nothings to Salome. Sev- 
 eral times in the course of the cotillon UusseU'ij 
 hand clasped hers, but even then he avoided 
 looking at her, and seemed engrossed in con- 
 versation with liis gay partner. Once Irene 
 looked up steadily, and as she noted the 
 expression with which he regarded his com- 
 panion she wondered no longer at the rumor 
 she had heard, and acknowledged to herselt' 
 that they were, indeed, a handsome couj)le. 
 Dr. Ariiuld, whom Mrs. Chiirclihill had coaxed 
 into "hhowing himself," had curiously watched 
 this meeting, and observing Russell's marked 
 attentions, puzzled over the question : " Does 
 he really care lor that fire -fly, or is he only 
 trying to make Irene jealous V" lie looked 
 long and earnestly at both, then sighed heavi- 
 ly. What did thai haughty blue-rol)ed woman 
 know of jealousy y How absurd such a sug- 
 gestion seemed when she turned her smiling 
 passionless face full upon him. The dance 
 ended ; Irene found herself seated on a sola at 
 the window of the deserted library, and Kus- 
 sell and Salome walked slowly up and down 
 the vui-anda in front of it. Mr. Bainbridgc 
 had manieuvred lor this opportunity, and, seat- 
 ed beside Irene, he eagerly and eloquently | 
 pleaded his cause, assuring her of a devotion 
 which should know no diminution, and cmpha- 
 Bizing the. fact that he had possessed himself 
 of her lather's sanction. 
 
 She made no attempt to interrupt him, but 
 sat erect and motionless, with one hand par- 
 tially siiit'lding her face, and the other pressed 
 hard against her heart, where a dull continual 
 pain was gnawing. Every few minutes Russell 
 passed the window, his noble head bent down 
 to the beautiful companion on his arm. Irene 
 could see the outline of his features distinctly, 
 and her soul sickened as she watched him and 
 reasoned concerning the future. He would 
 probably many somebody, and why not Sa- 
 lome V She could not expect him to remain 
 • ingle always, and ho could never be more 
 than a stranger to her. Alter his marriage, 
 ' what a blank her life would be; to love hnn 
 etill would be sinful. She moved her fingers 
 slightly and looked fixedly at the handsome 
 man beside her, entreating her to give him the 
 privilege of making her life happy. For an 
 instant she wavered. The world held nothing 
 for her but dreariness at best; she was weary 
 of alienation and contention; why not accede 
 to her father's wishes, and thus repair the 
 grievous disappointment of other days? Wil- 
 liam Bainbridgc loved her, and perhaps if she 
 were his wife the sanctity of her vows might 
 strengthen her in tearing another image from 
 her heart. She took her future in the palm of 
 her hand, and pondered. At this moment the 
 couple on the veranda paused in front of the 
 window, to allow the promenading crowd to 
 pass, and Russell looked in, with a brilliant 
 
 smile on his countenance. It seemed to mock 
 her, with a "Marry him if you dare!" Th« 
 two passed on into the parlors, and closing her 
 eyes a moment, as if shutting out some hideoui 
 vjjion, Irene briefly, but firmly and irrevoca- 
 bly, deulined the flattering oiler; and riidng, 
 left him with his disappointment. She looked 
 about tor Dr. Arnold, but he had disappeared ; , 
 her father was deep in a game of euchre. ; and 
 as she crossed the hall she was surprised to sew 
 I'hiiip leaning against the door -facing, aD<i 
 j)eering curiously ii\to the parlors. 
 "I'hilip. what are you doing here?" 
 " Oh, Miss Irene! I have been hunting for 
 you ever so long. Mrs. Davis is dying, and 
 Susan sent me after you. I went to your 
 house two hours ago, and they said you wer« 
 here. I ran back and told mother you could 
 not come. But Mrs. Davis worried so, they 
 sent me here. She says she .won't die in peac^ 
 unless she sees you. She wrung her hands, 
 and asked me if you would not have tima 
 enough to go to parties when she was in her 
 grave V Will you come, ma'm V" 
 
 " Of course. Philip, find Andrew and th« 
 carriage, and I will meet you at the sido door 
 in five minutes." " 
 
 Slie went to the dressing-room, asked for 
 pencil and paper, and wrote a few lines, which 
 she directed the servant to hand immediately 
 to her father — found her shawl, and stcjle down 
 to the side door. She saw the dim outline of a 
 form sitting on the step, in the shadow of clus- 
 tering vines, and asked : 
 
 " Is that you, Thilip V I am ready." 
 The figure rose, came forward into the light, 
 hut in hand, and both started visibly. 
 
 " I'ardon me, Mr. Aubrey. 1 mistook you 
 in the darkness for ar.other." 
 Here IMiilip ran up Xho steps. 
 " Miss Irene, Andrew says he can't get to 
 the side gate for the carriag^es. lie is at tht) 
 front entrance." 
 
 " Can I assist you. Miss Huntingdon '?" 
 " Tliank you ; no." 
 " May.l ask if you are ill ?" 
 " Kot in the least — but I am suddenly called 
 away." ^, 
 
 She passed him, and accompanied Philip to 
 the carriage. A few minutes rapid driving 
 brought them to the Row, and, diiectin^ An- 
 drew to return and wait lor her father, Irene 
 entered the low small chamber where a human 
 soul was pluming itself for its final flight home. 
 The dying woman knew her even then in th« 
 fierce throes of dissolution, and the sunken 
 eyes beamed as she bent over the pillow. 
 
 *' God bless you ! 1 knew you would come. 
 My children — what will become of them ? 
 Will you take care of them ? Tell me quick." 
 " Put your mind at rest, Mrs. Davis. I 
 will see that your children are well cared for 
 in every respect." 
 
 "Promise me!" gasped the poor sufferer, 
 j clutching the jewelled arm. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 12* 
 
 " I do promise you most solemnly that I will 
 watch over tliem constantly. They shall 
 never want so long as I live. Will you not 
 believe mc;, and calm yourself?" 
 
 A ghastly smile trembled over the distorted 
 features, and she bowed her bead in assent. 
 Irene jjoured some cordial into a glass and put 
 it to her lips, but she refused the drauglit, and, 
 joining her emaciated hands, muttered, halt- 
 inaudibly : 
 
 " Pray for me once more. Oh 1 pray for 
 me, my. best friend." 
 
 Kneeling on the bare floor in the midst of a 
 Bobbing group. Irene prayed long and earnest- 
 ly, and gradually, as her sweet voice rolled 
 through the room, a peaceful look settled on 
 the d}ing mother's face. At last the petition 
 ended and silence reigned, broken only by the 
 nmothered sobs of Susan and little Johnnie, 
 who clung to Irene's hand and buried his face 
 in her dress as she still knelt at the bedside. 
 
 "Airs. Davis, don't you feel that you will 
 •oon be at rest with God V" 
 
 " Yes — I am going home happy — happy." 
 
 She closed her eyes and whispered: 
 
 '* Sing my — hymn — once — more." 
 
 Making a great effort to crush her own 
 feelings, Irene sang the simple but touching 
 words of '•Home Again," and though her voice 
 faltered now and then, she sang it through — 
 knowing, from the expression ol' the suflerer's 
 lace, that the spirit was passing to its endless 
 rest. 
 
 It was a strange scene. The poverty of the 
 room — the emaiiated form, with sharp, set 
 features — the magnificently beautiful woman 
 kneeling th«re in her costly festal robes, with 
 the light of the tallow candle flickering over 
 her diamonds, setting her neck and arms on 
 fire — ^^and the weeping girl and wailing curly- 
 haired boy, whose tearful face was hidden in 
 the full llounces of blue tulle. " Passing 
 strange," thought the proud man of the world, 
 who had followed her from the scenes of fes- 
 tivity, and now stood in the door-way listening, 
 with hu»hed breath, to the prayer she had put 
 up, to the words of the hymn she had sung so 
 •orrowfully, and gazing in silent adoration 
 upon the face and form of the kneeling 
 vTOiuan. Now one of the beautiful arms stole 
 around the trembling child who clung to her 
 so tenaciously, and she gently lifted the chest- 
 But curls Irom his flushed face. 
 
 " Don't sob so, Johnnie. Your mother is in 
 heaven, where there is no sorrow, or sickness, 
 or trouble. She will be very happy there; 
 and if you are aS good and patient as she was, 
 Tou will meet her in heaven wken God calls 
 jou to die." 
 
 " Oh 1 is she dead ? Miss Irene, is my 
 mother dead V" 
 
 " M}- dear little boy, she has gone to our 
 Father in heaven, who will make her happier 
 tixin she could possibly be in this world." 
 
 A pasjiionattt burst of sorrow followed the 
 
 discovery of the melancholy truth, and rising 
 from the floor Irene seated herself on a chair, 
 taking the child on her lap, and soothing his 
 violent grief. Too young to realize his loss, he 
 was easily comforted, and after a time grew 
 quiet. She directed Su.san to take him into 
 the nt^xt room and jiut him on his pallet ; and 
 when she had exchanged a few wprds with 
 Pliilip's mother about the disposition of the 
 rigid sleeper, she turned to quit the apartment, 
 and saw Russell standing on the threshold. 
 Had the dead mother suddenly stepped before 
 her she would scarcely have b^eu more as- 
 toni.shed and startled. 
 
 lie e.\tended one hand, and hastily taking 
 hers, drew her to the door of the narrow dark 
 hall, where the newly-risen moon shone in. 
 
 " Come out of this charnel-house into th« 
 pure air once move. Do not shrink back — 
 trust yourself with me this once, at least." 
 
 The brick walls of the factory rose a hundred 
 yards oif in full view of the Row, and leading 
 her along the river bank he placed her on one 
 of the mas.'^ive stone steps of the building. 
 
 " What brought you here to-night, Mr. 
 Aubrey V" 
 
 "An unpardonable curiosity concerning 
 your sudden di'parture — an unconquerable de- 
 sire to speak to you once more.". 
 
 " You witnessed a melancholy scene." 
 
 " Yes — melancholy indeed ; but not half 80 
 sad as one which memory held before me while 
 I watched yonder jiale corpse grow rigid. 
 The veil of the past was rent, aud I stood 
 again over my own dead mother. For me 
 there is no Lethe. In memorlam creeps in 
 sombre characters over all that I look upon." 
 
 A waning June moon, in its last quarter, 
 struggled feebly up the eastern sky, "hounded 
 by a lew dim stars," and the spectral light fell 
 like a dying smile upon the silent scene — the 
 broad swift river Hashing below, champing 
 with foamy lips on the rocky bit that barroi^ 
 its current, and breaking into shimmering 
 silver cataracts as it leaped triumphantly over 
 a gray ledge of granite and thundered down 
 into the basin lieyond, churning itself into 
 diamond spray, that wreathed and Huttered in 
 gleaming thread.s like a bridal veil streaming 
 on some mild ilay breeze. The shining s\idSia 
 of water gave back the ghastly liglit as huge 
 mirrors might, and from the dark depths of 
 foliage on the opposite bank and the lolly 
 aisles of pine-elad hills stretching I'ar westward 
 and overtopping all, the deep solemn monulone 
 of the everlasting fall echoed and re-echoed, 
 chanting to the quiet night a sacred " in cetlo 
 quies." 
 
 Standing with uncovered bead in the weird 
 light, Russell's piercing eyes were fixed on his 
 companion. 
 
 " You do not know why I came here, Miss 
 Huntingdon V" 
 
 '• You told me why." 
 
 " No. But you shall know. I came here 
 
130 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 overmastered br «ome ' Iiirp of the Perverse,' 
 led by an irresistible desire to see you alone, 
 to look at you, to tell you wLat I have almost 
 sworn should never pass my lijis — what you 
 may consider unmanly weakness — nay, insani- 
 ty, on my part. We arc face to face at last, 
 man and woman, with the golden bars of con- 
 ventionalitv and worldly distinction snapped 
 asunder. I am no lonijer the man whom 
 society would fain flatter, in atonement for 
 past injustice ; and I choose to forjjet, for the 
 time, that you are the daughter of my bitterest 
 deadly foe — my persistent persecutor. I re- 
 member nothing now but the crowned days 
 of our childhood, the rosy dawn of my man- 
 hood, where your golden head .shone my Morn- 
 ing Star. I hurl away all barriers, and remember 
 only the one dream of my life — my deathless, 
 unwavering love for you. Oh, Irene ! Irene ! 
 ■why have you locked that rigid cold face of 
 yours against me ? In the hallowed days of 
 eld you nestled your dear hands into mine, 
 and pressed your curls against my cheek, and 
 g.ire me comfort in your pure, warm, girli.^ii 
 affection ; how can you snatch your frozen 
 fingers from mine now, as though my touch 
 ■were contamination ? -Be yourself once more 
 — give me one drop from the old o^'er-llowing 
 fountain. I am a lonely man ; and my proud 
 bitter heart hungers for one of your gentle 
 words, one of your sweet, priceless smiles. 
 Irene, look at me ! Give it to me !" 
 
 He sat down on the step' at her feet, and 
 raised his dark magnetic face, glowing with 
 the love which had so long burned undimmed, 
 his lofty full Ibrehead wearing a strange flush. 
 
 She dared not meet his eye, and drooped 
 her head On her palms, shrinking from the 
 scorching furnace of trial, whose red jaws 
 yawned to receive her. He waited a moment, 
 and bis low, mellow voice rose to a stormy 
 key. 
 
 "Irene, you are kind and merciful to the 
 poor wretches in the Row. Poverty — nay, 
 criite, does not frighttm away your compassion 
 for th«ni ; why are you hard and cruelly 
 haughty only to me V" 
 
 " lou do not need my sympathy, Mr. 
 Aubrey, and congratulations on your great 
 fucce.ss would not come gracefully from my 
 lips. Most unfortunate fibstacles long since 
 rendered' all intercourse between us impossi- 
 ble, still ni_v feeling for you has undergoin; no 
 change. 1 am, I assure you, still your friend." 
 
 It cost her a powerful cflbrt to utter these 
 words, and her voice took a metalli<; tone 
 utterly foreign to it. Her heart writ^ied and 
 bled and moaned in the gripe qf her steely 
 purpose, but she endured all calmly — relaxing 
 jiot one jot of her bitter resolution. 
 
 '• My fritnd ! Mockery ! God defend ma 
 from luch henceforth. Irene. I looked at you 
 to-night in all your wonderful, incomparable 
 loToline.ss, as you hung upon the arm of your 
 acknowledged lover, and the possibility of 
 
 j your becoming that man's wife ab.solutely 
 maddened me. I felt that I could never 
 
 j endure that horrible reality, and I resolved to 
 
 ; know the truth. Other lips deceive, but 
 
 I yours never can. Tell me, have you promised 
 your hand to Bainbridge V Will you ever 
 
 I give it to him V" 
 
 " Such questions. Mr. Aubrey, you liare no 
 
 ' right to propound." 
 
 i " Right I does my worshi[)ping love give me 
 no right to relieve myuell from torture, if pos- 
 sible ? Oh ! relentless, beautiful idul, that 
 you are ! I have cheated myi^elf with a 
 licavenly dream — have hugged to my soul the 
 hope that, after all, I was more to you than 
 you designed to show — that far down in your 
 proud heart you, too, cherished memories of 
 other days. Irene, you loved me once — nay," 
 don't deny it I You need not blush for tha 
 early folly which, it seems, you have interred 
 so deepl}' ; and though you scorn to meet me 
 even as an ecjual, I know, I feel, that I am 
 wgrthy of your love — that I comprehend your 
 strange nature as no one else ever will — that, 
 had such a privilege been accorded me, I could 
 have kindled your heart, and made yon 
 supremely happy. Cursed barriers have 
 
 I divided us always ; -fate denied me my right. 
 
 I I have sutTered many things; but does it not 
 
 I argue, at least, in favor of my love, that it has 
 
 I survived all tlie trials to which your father's 
 hate has subjected meV To-night I could 
 forgive him all I all! if I knew that he had not 
 so successfully hardened, closed your heart 
 against me. My soul is full of bitterness 
 which would move you, if one trait of your 
 
 i cirlish nature remained. But you are not my 
 Irene ! The world's queen, the dazzling idol 
 of the ball-room, is not my blue-eyed, angelic 
 Irene of old! I will intrude upon you no 
 longer. Try at least not to despite me for my 
 folly ; I will crush it; and if you deign to re- 
 member me at all m future, tliink of a man 
 who laughs at his own idiotcy, and strives to 
 forget that he ever believed there lived on« 
 woman who would be true to her own heart, 
 even though the heavens fell and the world 
 passed away !" 
 
 Up rose ])artially, but her hand fell quickly 
 
 i upon his shoulder, and the bowed face lifted 
 
 i itself, stainless as starry jasmines bathed in 
 
 1 equatorial dews. 
 
 " Mr. Aubrey, you are too severe upon 
 
 j yourself, and v«ry unjust to me. The circum- 
 stances which conspired to alienate us were 
 far beyond my control ; I regret them as sin- 
 cerely as you possibly can, but as unavailingly. 
 If I have individually occasioned you sorrow 
 
 I or disappointment, God knows it was no fault 
 of mine I We stand on the opposite shores of 
 
 ! a dark, bridgeless gulf; but before wo turn 
 away to be henceforth strangers, I stretch ©ut 
 my hand to you in friendly farewell — deeply 
 regretting the pain which I may have inno- 
 ceutlj- caused you, and asking y^our forgiveness. 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 131 
 
 Mr. Aubrey, remember me as I was, not as I 
 am. Gooc^-by, my frieud. M;iy God bless 
 you in coi'iing years, and crown your life with 
 the haj)piatiss you merit, is the earnest prayer 
 of my heart." 
 
 . The rare blue cord on her brow told how 
 fiercely the lava -flood surged under its icy 
 bands, and the blanched lip matched her 
 cheek in colorlessness ; save these tokens of 
 anguish, no other was visible. 
 
 Kussell drew down the hand from his 
 shoulder, and folded it in both his own. 
 
 '* Irene, are we to walk dillerent paths 
 henceforth — utter strangers ? Is such your 
 willV" 
 
 '• Such is the necessity, which must be as 
 apparent to you as to me. Do not doubt my 
 friendship, Mr. Aubrey ; but doubt the pro- 
 priety of my parading it before the world." 
 
 He bent his cheek down on her cold hand, 
 then raised it to his lips once, twice — laid it 
 back on her lap, and, ^kiug his hat, walked 
 away toward town. 
 
 Two blithe crickets chirped merrily some- 
 where in the brick pavement round the door ; 
 a solitary mocking-bird, perched on the limb of 
 a neighboring chma-tree, warbled his «weot 
 varied notes as if in answer; the mellow 
 diapason of the falls rose soothingly over all, 
 and the blue-robed woman sat still as the stone 
 steps of the factory, watching the vanishing 
 dying sparkles of a crystal draught of joy 
 which fate had rudely dashed at her feet, 
 sternly denying the parched eager lips. 
 
 For some time she remained just as Russell 
 had left her, then the white arms and drj- eyes 
 were raised to the midnight sky. 
 
 " My God ! my God ! strengthen me in my 
 desolation !"' 
 
 She put back the folds of hair that, damp 
 with dew, clung to her gleaming temples, and 
 recrossing the wide road or street, entered 
 the chamber of death. Low - spoken words 
 crept to and fro between Mrs. Martin and two 
 middle-aged, sad-faced women of the Kow, who 
 Bat around the candle on the little pine table, 
 clipping and scalloping a jaconet shroud. As 
 Irene approached the scissors rested, and all 
 looked up. 
 
 " Where is Philip, Mrs. Martin ? I shall 
 ask him to walk home with me, and not wait for 
 the carriage." 
 
 "I expect he is aslecf. Miss Irene — but I 
 will wake him." 
 
 "You need not; I think 1 hear wheels. 
 Yea ; they are coming for me. Mrs. Martin, 
 1 will see you about Susan and Johnnie to- 
 morrow or next day ; meantime, I leave them 
 in your care. Good-ni^ljt." 
 
 " What a white angt^ she is ! — almost as 
 pale as the poor creature on the bed yonder, 
 i'catch my breath som«timea when she looks 
 like she did just now." 
 
 All three sighed simmltaiueously, and the 
 dull click, click, began again. 
 
 It was rtot the carriage which Irene met at 
 the door, but Dr. Arnold's buggy. 
 
 " Irene, are you ready to go home ?" 
 
 " Y\'S. Mrs. Davi.? is dead." 
 
 ''As I was leaving Mrs. Churchhill's your 
 father told me where you were, and I thought 
 I would come after you. Put on your shawl 
 and jump in. Y'ou are in a pretty plight, 
 truly, to stand over a death-bed ! ' Vanity of 
 vanities ! all is vanity !' Here, let me wrap 
 that gauze cloud around your head. Now 
 then !" 
 
 The top of the buggy had been lowered, and 
 as they rode homeward she leaned her head 
 back, turning her face to the sickly moonlight. 
 
 " Irene, did Aubrey come u]) here with 
 you ?" 
 
 '' No, sir. He was at the Row for a while, 
 however. Y'^ou must have met him returnin<T." 
 
 " I dill ; what did he want here ?*! 
 
 " You must ask him, if you are curious. It 
 is no business of either yours or mine to watch 
 his movements." 
 
 " I wonder he was able to tear himself from 
 that brown Sybil, Salome. What a splendid 
 dark pair they will be some day, when be 
 makes her Mrs. Aubrey !" 
 
 Surgeon -like, he was pressing his finger 
 heavily on the wound, but no flinching could 
 be detected — no moan of pain ; and he was 
 startled by a singular short, quick laugh, which 
 sounded to his ear like the sudden snapping 
 of a musical string. It was the first time he 
 had heard her laugh since her return from 
 New York. 
 
 " Sage of Sinope ! how lung since your 
 transmigration into a latter-day uc ws-nionger V" 
 
 "News-monger be hanged! It is a trans- 
 parent fact tiiat Aubrey intends to marry the 
 daughter of Herodias. Don't you believe it, 
 Irene V" 
 
 "Doctor, I believe I have dropped my 
 bouquet -holder. I am sorry to give you so 
 much trouble, but uncle Eric bought it for me 
 in Geneva, and I should dislike to lose it. Give 
 me the reins. Y'^onder it is, in the sand — I see 
 its glitter." 
 
 Fulminating inaudible plagues on the chased 
 silver toy, the doctor picked it up and placed' 
 it in her hand. 
 
 " Drop yourself out next, won't you, when 
 you have another question to dodge ?" 
 
 "What is the matter? Who has fretted 
 you, sir V W^erc you cheated out of your 
 suj)per by coming after me V" 
 
 " You fret me beyond all patience — slipping 
 everlastingly through my finders. Child, 
 answer me one thing truly : arc you going to 
 mar]^ Bainbridge, as everybody believes, and 
 as Jvconard led me to suppose ?" 
 
 " No, Dr. Arnold ; 1 shall never marry Mr. 
 Bainbridge." 
 
 " If he does not suit your fastidious taste, 
 pray who will, Queen ?" 
 
 " You might, perhaps, if you were thirty- 
 
132 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 five years younger, and a trifle less surly. 
 Doctor, tome in, and let uie give you a ghtss of 
 wine ; it is very late, and you miibt be tired." 
 
 '* .No — but I will light my pipo at the hall- 
 lamp." 
 
 They went into the house, and as he filled 
 and lighted his pipe his cavernous eyes ran 
 curiously over her. 
 
 " llow you have blazed to-night? Your 
 diamond.s are superb." 
 
 " Yes, .sir." 
 
 " Cio to .sleep at once, child. You look as if 
 you had seen a ghost. What has knotted up 
 your forehead in that style V" 
 
 *' 1 have looked upon a melancholy death 
 t«-niglit, and have seen two helpless children 
 orpiiaiicd. Come an<i see nie soon ; I want to 
 consult, you about an orphan-asylum ibr which 
 father has given me a lot. Good-night, sir ; I 
 am Very much obliged to you for your kindness 
 in bringing me home. Kobody else is half so 
 considerate and tiioughtlul." 
 
 In iier own room she took off the jewels, 
 withered violets, and moist tulle — and, drawir.g 
 on her (Ire.-si^ig-gown, went up to the observa- 
 tory, and sat down on the threshold of one of 
 the glass doors looking i-astward. 
 
 "Think of a man who laughs at his own 
 idiotcy, and strives to forget that he ever 
 believed there lived one woman who would be 
 true to her own heart, thoiigl\ the heavens 
 fell and the world passed away !" 
 
 These words of scorn were the burning 
 ahares over which her bare feei trod, and his 
 bitter accents wailed up and down her lonely 
 heart, mournful as the ceaseless cry of " El 
 Alma Penliila" in moonless, breezeless Ama- 
 Bonian solitudes. Through the remainder of 
 that cloudless night she wrestled silently — not 
 likethe Jewish patriarch, with angels — butwitii 
 Desjjair, grim as Geryon. At last, when the 
 «ky lluslied rosily, like an opal smitten with 
 light, and holy Resignation — the blessing born 
 only of great trial like hers — shed its heavenly 
 chrism over the worn and weary, bruised and 
 bleeding spirit, she gathered up the mangled 
 hopes that might have gladdened, and gilded, 
 and glorified her earthly career, and pressing 
 llic ruins to her heart, laid herself meekly 
 down, oll'ering all upon the God-built altar of 
 Filial Obedience. 
 
 In the 
 
 * . . . early morninp, ■vrlien th« ulr 
 Was delicate with sorae iaat iitnrrj touub," 
 
 fthc opened the door of her father's room and 
 approached the bed. The noise wakened 
 liim, and, raising himself on his elbow, he 
 looked wonderingly at her. 
 
 " What is the matter, Irene? You look as 
 if you had not closed your eyes." 
 
 " Father, you took me in your arms last 
 night, and kissed me as you have not done 
 before for years ; but I feared that when Mr. 
 Baiubridge told you what passed between us 
 
 at Mrs. Churchhill's, you would igain close 
 your heart against me. Do not ! >Ji, do not I 
 Because I prefer to remain at hom. with you 
 rather than accept his brilli^Tnt otl «r, ought 
 you to love me less ? I have spent a sorrow- 
 ful, a wretched night, and, like a weary child, 
 I have come to you to find rest for my heart. 
 Oh, lather ! my father ! do not cast me off 
 again ! Whom have I in the world but you '/ 
 liy the memory of my sainted mother I ask — 
 I claim your love !" 
 
 " You are a strange girl, Irene; I never did 
 understand you. But I tlon't want to drive 
 you from me, if you prefer to live here single. 
 There shall be peace between ns, my dear 
 d.iiigiiter." He leaned forward and laid his 
 hand caressingly on her hc.id, as siie knelt at 
 his bedside pleading with uplilted arms. 
 
 " And her f;iro is lily-rloi\r. 
 L'ly •liii|><-d ami droppeil in duty 
 I'o tlu! law of itc own ln<nuty. 
 And II ri>i'clie;ul, fiir itni sHinlly, 
 M'hifli two blue eyes nnciersliiue. 
 Lilce uieelc prayfrs befure a (hiiae.* 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The treacherous four years lull was broken 
 at last by the mutter of the storm which was 
 so soon to sweep over the nation, prostrating 
 all interests, and bearing desolation to almo«t 
 every hearthstone in our once happy, smiling 
 land of constitutional freedom. Sleepless 
 watchmen on the tower of Southern Rights — 
 faithlnl gnanirans, like William Jj. Yancey, 
 who had stood Ibr years in advance of public 
 ojiinion, lifting tlieir warning voices far abova 
 tiie howling waves of popular i'a'tion and 
 party strife, pointing to the only path of safe- 
 ty — now discerned the cloud u|)on the hori- 
 zon, and at the selection of delegates to tho 
 Charleston Convention hedged our cause with 
 cautious resolutions. Among the number ap- 
 pointed was Russell Aubrey ; and during the 
 tem[)estuous debates which ushered in the war 
 of IJSGl his earnest, eloquent pleadings on tho 
 (juestion of a platform rang through his state^ 
 louciii^g the master-chonl that thrilled re- 
 sponsive in the great heart of the people- 
 When demagogism triumphed in tliat conven- 
 tion, and the Democratic party was rent intb 
 hopeless fragments, Russell returned, to stump 
 the state in favor of the only candidate whom 
 he believed the South could trust with her lib- 
 erties ; and during the arduous campaign that 
 ensued, he gathered fresh laurels and won a 
 brilliant reputation. Aside from individual 
 ambitious j)rojects, the purest pal riolisui nerv- 
 ed him to his ceaseless labors. He was deeply 
 impressed with the vital consequenc(!s of the 
 impending election ; and as the conviction 
 forced itself upon his mind that, through the 
 demoralization of the Northern wing of De- 
 mocracy, Lincoln would be elected, he «n- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 133 
 
 deavored to prepare the masses for that final 
 separation w-'nch he foresaw was inevitable. 
 Durinp that Ove niontiis campaign faction, 
 fanaticism, ileinagogisra, held higli revel — ran 
 riot t'.roui:!i the land. Seward cantered to- 
 ward Wasliington on the hobby labelled Eman- 
 cipation, dragging Lincoln at his heels; and 
 Breckinridge, our noble standard-bearer, with 
 the coii.stiiution in his hand, pressed on to save 
 the sacred precincts of the capitol from pollu- 
 tion. The gauntlet had been thrown down by 
 the South at Charleston and Baltimore : " The 
 election of a sectional president Avill be the 
 BJgnal for separation." The North sneered at 
 the threat, derided the possibility, and in fran- 
 tic defiance the die was cast. The 6th of 
 November dawned upon a vast populous em- 
 pire, rich in every resource, capalde of the 
 acme of human greatness and prosperity, 
 claiming to be the guardian of peaceful liberty. 
 It set upon a nation rent in twain, between 
 whose sections j-awned a bottomless, bridgeless 
 gulf, where the shining pillars of the temple 
 of Concord had stood ibr eighty years; and a 
 grating sound of horror shuddered through the 
 land as the brazen, blood -clotted doors of 
 Janus flung themselves suddenly wide apart. 
 Lincoln was elected. Abolitionism, so long 
 adroitly cloaked, was triumphantly clad in 
 robes of state — shameless now, and hideous ; 
 and while the North looked upon the loathsome 
 face of its political Mokanna, the South pre- 
 pared for resistance. 
 
 No surer indication of th^ purpose of the 
 Southern people could have been furnished, 
 than the temper in which the news was re- 
 ceived. No noisy outbursts, e.xpcnding resolve 
 in empty words — no surface excitement — but 
 a Jtorn calm gloom, set lips, heavj* bent brows, 
 appropriate in men who realized that they had 
 a revolution on their hands; not indignation 
 meetings, with fruitless resolutions — that they 
 •tood as body-guard for the liberty of the Re- 
 public, and would preserve the trust at all 
 hazards. Jt would seem that, for a time at 
 least, partf animosities would have been crush- 
 ed ; but, like the Eiunenides of Orestes, they 
 merely slept for a moment, starting up woll- 
 ish ami implacable as ever; and even here, in 
 many instances, the old acrimony of feeling 
 showed itself Bitter dilTercnces sprung up at 
 the very threshold on the tno'/u<! operandi of 
 Southern release from Yankee-Egyptic bond- 
 age. Separate " state action" or "co-opera- 
 tion" divided the people, mafly of whom were 
 earnestly impressed by the necessity and ex- 
 pediency of deliberate, concerted, simultane- 
 ous action on the part of all the Southern 
 states, while oth«TS vehemently advocated this 
 latter course solely because the former plan 
 was advanced and supported by their old op- 
 ponents. In this new issue, as if fate persist- 
 ently fanned the flame of hate between Mr. 
 IlantlngdQn and llusscll Aubrey, they were 
 again opposed as candidates for the State Con- 
 
 vention. Ah ! will the ghost of Faction ever 
 be laid in this our republican land ? Shall 
 this insatiate immemorial political Fenrii f©r 
 ever prey upon the people? 
 
 W was once more convulsed, and 
 
 strenuous efforts were made by botii sides. 
 Russell was indefatigable in his labors for 
 prompt, immediate state action, proclaiming 
 liis belief that co-operation was impracticable 
 before secession ; and it was now that his re- 
 searches in the dusty regions of statistics came 
 admirably into play, as he built up his argu- 
 ments on solid foundations of indisputable 
 calcuhition. 
 
 For tiie first time in her life Irene openlj 
 confronted her father's wrath on political 
 grounds. She realized the imminence of the 
 danger, dreaded the siren song of co-oi)Pra- 
 tion, and dauntlessly discussed the matter with- 
 out hesitation. The contest was close and 
 heaU'd, and resulted somewhat singularly in 
 the election of a mi.xed ticket — two Secessioiv- 
 ists being returned, and one Co operationist, 
 Mr. Huntingdon, owing to personal popularity. 
 
 While the entire South was girding for the 
 contest. South Carolina, ever the avant courier 
 in the march of freedom, seceded ; and if 
 doubt had existed before, it vanished now from 
 every mind — for all felt that the gallant state 
 must be sustained. Soon after, Russell and 
 Mr. Huntingdon stood face to face on the floor 
 of their own state convention, and wrestled 
 desperately. The latter headed the opposi- 
 tion, and so contumacious did it prove that, 
 for some days, the fate of the state lay in dan • 
 gerous equilibrium. Finally, the vigilance of 
 the Secessionists prevailed, and, late in the 
 aflernoon of a winter day, the ordinance was 
 signed. 
 
 Electricity flashed the decree to every por- 
 tion of the state, and the thunder of artillery 
 and blaze of countless illuminations told that 
 the people gratefully and joyfully accepted 
 
 the verdict. W was vociferous ; and as 
 
 Irene gazed from the colonnade on the distant 
 but brilliant rows of lights flaming along the 
 streets, she regretted that respect for her fa- 
 ther's feelings kept the windows of her own 
 home dark and cheerless. 
 
 Revolution is no laggard, but swift- winged 
 as Hermes; and in quick succession seven sov-- 
 ereign states, in virtue of the inherent rights 
 of a people acknowledging allegiance only to 
 the fundamental doctrine that all just govern- 
 ments rest on the consent of the governed, 
 organized a provisional government, sprang, 
 Pallas-like, upon the political arena, and claim- 
 ed an important role in the grand drama of 
 the nineteenth century. It was not to be 
 expected that a man of ^Ir. Huntingdon's 
 known acerbity of temper would yield grace- 
 fully to a defeat agaiu.st which he had struggled 
 FO earnestly, and he submitted with character- 
 istic sullcnness. 
 
 Great contrariety of opinion prevailed con- 
 
134 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 corning the course of tlie Fedoral povem- 
 mont — many deluding themselves with the 
 bi'lief th;it the separation would be peaceful. 
 But Russell had itated his conviction at" the 
 time of Lincoln's election, that no bfoodless 
 revolution of rqual magnitude had yet been 
 eflTectcu, and that we must prepare to pay 
 the invariable sacrificial dues which liberty 
 inexorably demands. 
 
 .So firm was this belief, that he applied him- 
 self to the study of military tactics, in antici- 
 pation of ent'Tin*; the army ; and many a mid- 
 night found him l>endinG; over Ilardec, Mahan, 
 (Jilhim. Jomini, an<l Army Regulations. 
 
 The 12th and 1.3th of April were days of 
 unexampled excitement throu[rhout the South- 
 ern states. The discharge of the first pun 
 from Fort Moultrie crushed the last lingering 
 vestipes of " Unionism," and welded the entire 
 Confederacy in one huge homogeneous mass of 
 stubborn resistance to despotism. With the 
 explosion of the first shell aimed by General 
 I'eauregard against Fort Sumter burst the frail 
 painted bubble of "Reconstruction," which 
 had danced alluringly upon the dark surging 
 
 billows of revolution. W was almost 
 
 wild with anxiety; and in the afternoon of 
 the second day of the bombardment, as Irene 
 watched the avenue, she saw her father driving 
 rapidly homeward. Descending the steps, she 
 met him at the buggy. 
 
 " Beauregard has taken Sumter. Anderson 
 furrenderet] unconditionally. No lives lo»t." 
 
 "ThaidcGod!" 
 
 They sat down on the steps, and a monjent 
 after the roar of guns shook the atmosphere, 
 and cheer after cheer wont up the evening slcy. 
 
 " Act I, of a long and bloody civil war," 
 said Mr. Huntingdon, gravely. 
 
 '* Perhaps so, father ; but it was forced upon 
 us. We left no honorable means untried to 
 prevent it, and now it must be accepted as the 
 least of two evils. Political bondage — worse 
 than Russian serfdom — or armed resistance; no 
 other alternative, turn it which way you will ; 
 and the Southern people are not of stuff to 
 deliberate a* to choice in such an issue. God 
 is witness that we have earnestly endeavored 
 to avert hostilities — that the blood of this war 
 rest! upon the government at Washington; 
 our hands are stainless." ^ 
 
 " I believe you are right, and-to-day I have 
 come to a determination which will doubtless 
 surprise you." 
 
 He paused, and eyed her a moment. 
 
 " No, father ; I am not surprised that you 
 have <letermined to do your duty." 
 
 " How, Irene ? What do you suppose that 
 it is ?" 
 
 " To use Nelson's words, the Confederacy 
 'expects thst every man will do his duty;' 
 and you are going into the army." 
 
 " Who told you that V" 
 
 " My own heart, father ; which telU me what 
 I should do were 1 in your place." 
 
 " Well, I have written to ^yiontpomcry, to 
 Clapham, to tender my services. Wo» were at 
 West Point together; I served under him at 
 Contreras and Chapultepec, and he will no 
 doubt press matters through promptly. The 
 fact is, I could not possibly stay at nome now. 
 My blood has been at boiling heat since yester- 
 day morning, when I read Beauregard's first 
 de^spatch." 
 
 " Did you specify any branch of the ser- 
 vice ?" 
 
 "Yes; told him I preferreil artillery. What 
 is the matter V Your lips are as white as cotton. 
 Courage failing you already, at thought of 
 grape, sh^dl. and cani.ster?" 
 
 A long shiver crept over her, and she shield- 
 ed her face with iicr hands. When she met 
 his eagle eye .again her voice was unsteady. 
 
 " Oh, father I if I were only a man, that I 
 might go with you — stand by you under all 
 circumstances. Could n't you take me any- 
 how ? Surely a daughter may follow her 
 father, even on the battle-field V" 
 
 He laughed lightly, and ^wcpt his fingers 
 over her head. 
 
 " Could n't you learn a little common-sense, 
 if you were to try ? Do you suppose I want 
 all this gold braid of yours streaming in my 
 face wliile I am getting my guns into posiuoii/ 
 A pretty figure you would cut in the midst of 
 my battery! Really, though, Irene, I do not 
 believe that you would Aineh before all the 
 cannon of Borodino. My blood beats at your 
 heart, and it has never yet shown a cowardly 
 drop. If you ^v1»re a boy, I swear you would 
 not disgrace my name in any conflict. By tho 
 way, what shall I do with you? It won't do 
 to leave you here all alone." 
 
 " Why not, father ? Home is certainly tho 
 proper place for me, if you can not take tru) 
 with you." 
 
 " What! with nobody but the servants?" 
 
 " They will take better care of me than 
 anybody else. Nellie, and Andrew, anil John 
 are the only guardians I want in your absence. 
 They have watched over me all my lit'e, and 
 they will do it to the end. Give yourself no 
 troiil)le, sir, on my account." 
 
 " I 3ui)[)ose your uncle Krw. will be hon>o 
 before long; he can stay hore till I come 
 back — or — till the troubles are over. In the 
 meantime, you could be with the Harrises, or 
 Hendersons, or Mrs. Churchhill." 
 
 " No, sir ; I can stay here, which is infinitely 
 preferable on many accounts. I will, with 
 your permission, invite Mrs. Campbell to shut 
 up tlie parsonage in her husband's absence, 
 and "remain with me till uncle Eric returns. 
 I have no doubt that .she will be glad to make 
 the change. Do you approve the plan ?" 
 
 "Yes. That arrangement will answer for 
 tho present, and Arnold will be here to tako 
 tare of you." 
 
 At tho close of a week a telegraphic des- 
 patch was received,, informing Mr. Huntingdon 
 
MACAKIA. 
 
 135 
 
 of his appointment as major in the provisional 
 array of the Confederacy, and containing an 
 order to report immediately for duty. 
 
 Some days of delay were consumed in 
 necessary preparations for an indefinite ab- 
 sence. Sundry papers were drawn up by 
 Judge Harris — an old will was destroyed, a 
 new one made — and explicit directions were 
 reiterated to the overseer at the plantation. 
 More reticent than ever, Irene busied herself 
 in devising and arranging various little com- 
 forts for her father, when he should be de- 
 barred from the luxuries of home. No traces 
 of tears were ever visible on her grave, com- 
 posed face ; but several times, on coming sud- 
 denly into the room, he found that her work 
 had faHen into her lap, and that her head was 
 bowed down on her arms. Once he dis- 
 tinguished low pleading words of prayer. 
 She loved him with a devotion very rarely 
 found between father and child, and this sep- 
 aration cost her hours of silent agony, which 
 even her father could not fully appreciate. 
 
 Having completed his arrangements, and 
 ordered the carriage to be in readiness at day- 
 light next morning to convey him to the depot, 
 he bade her good -night much as usual, and 
 retired to his own room. 
 
 But thought was too busy to admit of sleep, 
 lie turned restlessly on his pillow, rose, and 
 smoked a second cigar, and returned, to find 
 himself more wakeful than ever. The clock 
 down stairs in the library struck one ; his door 
 opened softly, and, by the dim moonlight 
 struggling through the window, he saw Irene 
 glide to his bedside. 
 
 " Why don't you go to sleep, Irene V" 
 
 " Because I can't. I am too miserable." 
 
 Her voice was dry, but broken, faltering. 
 
 •' I never knew you to be nervous before ; I 
 thought you scorned nerves ? Here, my 
 daughter — take this pillow, and lie down by 
 me." 
 
 She put her arm about his neck, drawing 
 his face close to hers, and he felt her lips 
 ([uiver as tliey touched his cheek. 
 
 " Father, when you know exactly where you 
 ;*rc to be stationed, won't you let me come and 
 stay somewhere in the vicinity, where I can be 
 with you if you should be wounded ? Do 
 promise me this ; it will be the only comfort I 
 can have." 
 
 " The neighborhood of an army would not be 
 a pleasant place for you ; bcside,'you could do 
 me no good even if I were hurt. I shall have 
 a surgeon to attend to all such work much 
 better than your inexpcriented hands could 
 I>ossibly do it. I am surprised at you, Irene ; 
 upon my word, I am. I thought you wanted 
 me to go into service promptly ?" 
 
 " So I do, father. I think that every man 
 in the Confederacy who ran leave his family 
 should be in our army ; but a stern seifte of 
 tlut.y does not prevent people from sutTering 
 at separation and thought ol danger. I should 
 
 be unworthy of ray country if I were .selfish 
 enough to want to keep you from its defence ; 
 and yet I were unworthy of my father if I 
 could see you leave home, under such circum- 
 stances, without great grief Oh ! if I could 
 only go with you ! But to have to stay here, 
 useless and inactive !" 
 
 " Yes — it is bad to be obliged to leave yoii 
 behind, but it can't be helped. I should feel 
 much better satisfied if )'ou were married, and 
 had somebody to take care of you in case any- 
 thing happens to me. It is your own fault that 
 you are not ; I never could understand what 
 possessed you to discard Bainbridge. Still, 
 that is past, and I suppose irreparable, and 
 now you must abide by your own choice." 
 
 " I am satisfied with my choice ; have no 
 regrets on any score, save that of your de- 
 parture. But, father, the future is dark and 
 uncertain ; and I feel that I want an assurance 
 of your entire reconciliation and affection bo- 
 fore you go. I came here to say to you that I 
 deeply regret all the unfcwtunate circumstancea 
 of my life which caused you to treat me so 
 coldly for a season — that if in anything I have 
 ever seemed obstinate or undutiful, it was not 
 because I failed in love for you, but from an 
 unhappy difference of opinion as to my duty 
 under very trying circumstances. Father, ray 
 heart ached very bitterly under your estrange- 
 ment — the very memory is unutterably painful. 
 I want your full, free forgiveness now, for all 
 the trouble I hare ever occasioned you. Oh, 
 father ! give it to mc 1" 
 
 He drew her close to him, and kissed her 
 twice. 
 
 " You have my forgiveness, my daughter — 
 though I must tell you that your treatment of 
 poor Hugh has been a continual source of 
 sorrow and keen disappointment to me. I 
 never can forget your disobedience in that 
 matter. I do not believe you will ever be 
 happy, you have such a strange disposition ; 
 but since you took matters so completely in 
 your own hands, you have only yourself to 
 reproach. Irene, I very oftftn wonder whether 
 vou have any heart — for it seems to me that if 
 you have, it would have been won by the de- 
 votion which has been lavished on you more 
 than once. You are the only woman I ever 
 knew who appeared utterly incapable of lovo ; 
 and I sometimes wonder what will become of 
 you when I am dead." 
 
 " God will protect me. I look continually 
 to his guardianship. Father, do not be offend- 
 ed if I bog yoa most earnestly to give some 
 thought to Him who has blessed you so abun- 
 dantly in the privileges of this world, and to 
 prepare for that future into which you may be 
 ushered, at any moment, from the battle-field. 
 You have never allowed me to speak to you on 
 this subject; but oh, my dear father ! it is too 
 solemn a question to be put aside any longer. 
 If you would only pray for yourself, my mind 
 would be eased of such a weight of anxiety and 
 
izt 
 
 MICARIA. 
 
 apprcLension. Oh ! that the spirit of my 
 mother may join in my prayera before the 
 Throne in your behalf." 
 
 IIu unclaspi'd her arm and turned his face 
 »way. savin;:, tolilly : 
 
 " Do you c onsidiT it your privilt^pc to tell 
 me that I am so wicked tliere is no hope for me 
 in the next world, if llierc be one V" 
 
 "No! no I father! but if i? enjoined, as the 
 duty of even tlie purest and iioliest, to acknowl- 
 edge their dependence on God, and to supplicate 
 His mercy and direction. It i.s true, I [iray con- 
 stantly for you, but that i."( a duty wliich our 
 Maker re(juire8 every indi\idual to perform 
 for himself. Do not be di.^pleased, fatlier ; if it 
 were anything; les.s than your eternal hap- 
 piness. I should not presume to question your 
 conduct. I can only hope and tru;-t that your 
 life will be sparecl, an<l that some day you will,, 
 without offence, suffer me to talk to you of 
 what deeply concerns my peace of mind. I 
 won't keep you awake any longer, as you have 
 a tedious journey before you. Good-night, 
 ray dear father." 
 
 She kissed him tenderly and left him, closing 
 the door softly behind her. 
 
 A spectral crescent moon flickered in the 
 sky, and stars still burned in the violet East, 
 when the carriage drove to the door, and Irene 
 followed her fatlicr to the steps. 
 
 Even in that dim, uncertain gray light he 
 fould see that her face was rigid and haggard, 
 and tears filled his cold brilliant eyes as he 
 folde(l her to his heart. 
 
 "Good -by, iJeauty. Cheer up, my brave 
 child ! and look on the bright side. After all, 
 I may come back a brigadier -genoral, and 
 make you one of my gtaft oHicers! You shall 
 be my adjutant, and light up my office with 
 your golden head. Take care of your.self till 
 Eric comes, and write to me often. Good-by, 
 my dear, my darling daughter." 
 
 She trembled convulsively, pressing her lips 
 repeatedly to his. 
 
 " Oil, may God bless you, my father, and 
 bring you safely back to me ! " " 
 
 lie unwound her arms, put her gently aside, 
 and steppe<l into the carriage. 
 
 William, the cook, who was to accompany 
 him, stood sobbing near the door, and now 
 advan<iiig, grasped her hand. 
 
 " Good by, Miss Irene. May the Lord pro- 
 tect you all till we coine back !" 
 
 " WiHiani, I look to you to take care of 
 father, and let me know at once if anything 
 happens." 
 
 " I will. Miss Irene. I promise you I will 
 take goo(f care of master, and telegraph you if 
 he is hurt." 
 
 He wrung her hand, the carriage rolled 
 rapi<lly away, and the sorrow-stricken, tearless 
 woman sat down on the steps and dropped her 
 head in her hands. Old Nellie drew near, 
 wiping her eyes, and essaying comfort. 
 
 '* Don't fret go, child. When trouble comet 
 
 it will be time enough to gricTe over It. Mas- 
 ter was in the Mejtican war, and never had a 
 scratch ; and maybe he will be as lu;ky thii 
 time. Don't harden your face in that flinty 
 way. You never would cry like other chil- 
 dren, but just set yourself slrriight up, for all 
 the world like one of the stone figures .standing 
 ovi-r your gran<llatliei's gravfe. Try to coin* 
 and lake a nap; I know* you have n't shut 
 your eyes this night." 
 
 " No — I can't sleep. Go in, Nellie, and 
 leave me to myself." 
 
 The shrill scream of the locomotive ranj 
 through the still, dewy air, and between two 
 neigliboring hills the long train of ears dashed 
 on, leaving a fiery track of sparks as it disap- 
 peared around a curve. Oppressed with a 
 horrible dread, against which she struggled in 
 vain, Irene remained alone, and was only 
 aroused from her painful r«verie by the low 
 musical cooing of the pigeons, already astic. 
 As they fluttered and nestled about, she, ex- 
 tended her arms, and catching two of th« 
 gentlest to her heart, murmured, mournfully : 
 
 " Come, messengers of peace ! bring in« 
 resignation. Teach me patience and faith." 
 
 The empty carriage came slowly up tlw 
 avenue, as if returning from a funeral, and 
 passed to the stable-yard ; birds chirped, twit- 
 tered, sang in the wavering, glistening tree- 
 tops ; the sun flashed up in conijucring splen- 
 dor, and the glory of the spring day broke, upon 
 the world. 
 
 "'Ttvday thou i^irdpnt up thy luins thyiiflf. 
 And fjiM'iit wlicii" thou wMiiliCjt: pioaiMitly 
 Olhrm sh.tll ^ird thrc' giiiil the Lord, ' to go 
 Where thou would'it not.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 To those who reside at th»3 convulsed throb- 
 bing heart of a great revolution, a lifetime 
 seems compressed info the eomjiass of days 
 and weeks, and men ami women are conscioug 
 of growing prematurely ol<l wliih- watching 
 the rushing, thundering tram|) of events, por- 
 tentous with the fate of nations. W 
 
 presented the appearance of a military camik, 
 rather than the peaceful manufacturing town 
 of yore. Every vacant lot was converted into 
 a parade-ground — aiul the dash of cavalry, 
 the low, sullen rumbling of artillery, and the 
 slow, steady tread of infantry, echoed through 
 its wide, liainlsome streets. Elag-staifs wera 
 erected from public buildings, ])rivate resi- 
 dences, and at the most fre(piented corners, 
 and from these, floated banners of all sizes, 
 tosising prouilly to the balmy breeze the new- 
 born ensign of freedom — around which clus- 
 tered tiie hopes of a people who felt that upon 
 them, and iliem only, now devolved the sacred 
 dutv'of proving to the world the capa<ity of a 
 nation lor self-government. In view of the 
 iniquitous and impossible task which it bad 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 lar 
 
 insanely sot itself to accomplisli, tlic povern- 
 ment at Wasliinfrton bad swept aside all con- 
 Btitutional forms, in order to free its hands for 
 th« work of blood — liad ultimated in eomplete 
 despotism. The press was tliorou^lily muz- 
 zled — freedom of speech was erased from the 
 list of Anirriean privili'q:es ; the crowded cells 
 of Bastile Lafayette, Mc Henry, and AVarren 
 wailed out to the civilized world that habeas 
 eorpns was no more; and, terror- striidcen at 
 the hideous fiL'iire of Absolutism carved by the 
 (running finders of Lincoln and Seward, nnd 
 get up for worship at \Vashinirton, Lil)erty fled 
 from her jiolhiteci fane, and soui^lit shelter and 
 •hrine on the banner of the Confederacy, in 
 the dauntless, devoted hearts of its uncon- 
 querable patriots. Fondly and proudly was 
 the divinity guarded. Smilin<; flowery val- 
 leys ran^ with pieans that rose high above the 
 din of deadly strife — and ruir2;ed, lonely hills 
 and purple mountains lifted themselves to the 
 God of battle, like huge smoking altars red with 
 the noble blood of slaughtered heroes. Loath- 
 ing and detestation succeeded the old aflVrction 
 for the Federal government, and "Union" 
 became everywhere the synonyme of political 
 duplicity, despotism, and the utter abrogation 
 of ail that had once constituted American 
 freedom, and rendered the republic, in earlier 
 years, the civil Pharos of Christendom. The 
 Confederacy realize<l that the hour had arrived 
 when the historic Sphinx must find an CEdipus, 
 or Democratic Republican Liberty would be 
 devoured, swept away, with the debris of 
 other dead systems. Lifting their eyes to God 
 for blessing, the men of the South girded on 
 their swords and resolved, calmly and solemnly, 
 to prove that QSdipus— to read, and for ever set 
 at rest the Iiaunting, ve.xing riddle. Another 
 adjective than " .Spartan " must fleck with 
 glory tlie pages of future historians, for all the 
 Rteru resolution ami self-abnegation of Rome 
 and^Laccdaemon had entered the souls of 
 Southern women. Mothers closed their lips 
 firmly to repress a wail of sorrow as they 
 buckled on the swords of their first-born, and 
 •ent them forth with a "God-speed!" to 
 battle for the right ; fond wives silently pack- 
 ed their husl)antls knapsacks, with hands that 
 knew no faltering; and sisters, with tearless 
 eyes, bent by the light of midnight lamps over 
 canteens which their thoughtful care covered 
 for brothers who were to start to the scene of 
 action on the morrow. A nation of laboring, 
 nimble - fingered, prayerful - hearted, brave- 
 •pirited women, and chivalrie, high-souled, 
 heroic men, who had never learned tljat 
 Americans conM live and not be free. Grant 
 ns our reward, oh God I the independence 
 of the land we hold so di«ar. 
 
 W gave her young men liberally ; 
 
 company after company was erpiipped, fur- 
 nished with ample funds by the munificence of 
 citizens who nmained, and sent forward to 
 Virginia, to mak« their breasts a shield for 
 
 the proud old " Mother of Presidents." Th« 
 battle of Bethel was legnrdod as part of an 
 overture to the opera of Blood, yclcjit " Sub- 
 jugation," and people, watched in silence for 
 the crimson curtain to rise upon the banks of 
 the Potomac. Russell 'Aubrey hail succeeded 
 in raisinii a fine fiill company for the war, as 
 contra-distinguished from twelve months vol- 
 unteers ; and to properly drill and disciplins 
 it, he bent all the energy of his character. It 
 was made the nucleiis of a new regiment, re- 
 cruits gathered rapidly, and when the regi- 
 ment organized, preparatory to starting for 
 Virginia, he was elected colwtiel, with 
 Herbert Blackwell for lieutenant -colonel, 
 and Charles Harris was appointed adjutant. 
 They were temporarily encamped on the com- 
 mon between the railroad depot and Mr. 
 Huntingdon's residence, and from the observa- 
 tory or colonnade Irene could look down on 
 the gleaming tents and the flag-staif that 
 stood before the oflicers quarters. ReveVla 
 startled her at dawn, and tnlton regularly 
 warned her of the shortness of summer nights. 
 As the fiery carriage-horses would not brook 
 the sight of the encampment, she discarded 
 them for a time, and when compelled to leav<» 
 home rode Erebus, at no slight risk of her 
 lifi' — for he evinced the greatest rcpugnauco 
 to the sound of drum or fife. 
 
 One afternoon she went over to the Ro\f, 
 and thence to the factory. A new company 
 had been named in honor of her father; uni- 
 forms and haversacks were to be furnished, 
 ami Mr. Huntingdon had intrusted her with 
 the commission. Selecting tlie cloth and ac- 
 complishing her errand, she 7-eturned by war 
 of the orphan -asylum, whose brick walls 
 were rapidly rising under her supervision. 
 One of the workmen took her horse, and sh» 
 went over the building, talking to the princi- 
 pal ml'chanic about some additional closet* 
 which she desired to have inserted. Dr. 
 Arnold chanced to be passing, but saw 
 Erebus at the gate, stopped, and came in. 
 
 '• I was just going up to the Hill to see you, 
 Queen — glad I am saved the trouI)lc. Here, 
 sit down a minute ; I will clear these shavings 
 away. When did you hear from Leonard?" 
 
 " I had a letter jesterday. He was well, 
 and on outpost <luty near Manassas." 
 
 " Well, I shall join him very soon." 
 
 " Sir ?" 
 
 " I say I shall join him very soon ; don't yon 
 believe it ? Why should n't I serve my coun- 
 try as well as younger men ? The fact is, I 
 am going as surgeon of Aubrey's regiment. 
 It wouM never do to have tli^ handsomo 
 colonel maiqied for life, through the awkward- 
 ness of a new-fledged M. D. Miss Salom« 
 would spoil her superb eyes with crying — 
 which catastrophe would, doubtles?, distress 
 him more than the loss of a limb — eh, Irene V" 
 
 She looked, at bim, betraying neither »u»- 
 prise nor regret. 
 
ISS 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " When will you leave W- 
 
 " Day after to- morrow morninp ; can't get 
 transportation any sooner. Aubrey has re- 
 ••eived orders to ruport at once to (lencral 
 Beaurcpnrd. Child, have you been sick ?" 
 
 " No, sir. [ am p;lad you are coin;; with the 
 repiment ; very gl.id. Evi-ry ^ooil surgeon in 
 the Confcderary khtiuld hasten to the front 
 lino of our armies. Since you leave home, I 
 fiOi particularly ;:Iad that you are going to 
 Manassas, where you can be near father.' 
 
 " Humph ! Do you suppose that I am a 
 patent life-preserver against minie balls and 
 grapo-shot /" 
 
 " I know you will do all that skill and affec- 
 tion can suggest, and I shall feel much bctttT 
 satisfied." 
 
 He mused a moment, watching her fur- 
 tively. 
 
 " I suppose you have heard of the perform- 
 ance for to-morrow ?" 
 
 " No, sir. To what do you allude ?" 
 
 " The daughter of Ilerodias is preparing to 
 dance." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Doctor." 
 
 " Oh, don't you, indeed ? Well, then, she 
 intends to present a splendid regimental flag 
 with her own brown hands ; and aj Aubrey is 
 to receive it, the regiment will mai'ch to Mrs. 
 ChurchhiH'!*, where the speeches will be de- 
 livered. ^Vill you attend ?" 
 ' " Scarcely, I presume, as I am not invited. 
 I knew th.it Salome was having an elegant 
 flag made, but was not aware that to-morrow 
 was appointed for the ceremony of presenta- 
 tion." 
 
 '* Who will look after you when I am gone ? 
 You are the only tie I iiave hero. I. can't 
 bear to leave you." 
 
 " I dare say I shall get on very well ; an<l, 
 beside, you, of course, must go and do your 
 duty, no matter what happens." 
 
 " But you will be so lonely and isolated till 
 pjric comes." 
 
 She nmiled suddenly, strangely, yet with no 
 tinge of bitterness. 
 
 " That is nothing new. 1 have been solitary 
 all my life." 
 
 " And it is your own fault. You mi;;ht have 
 married like other pcojjle, and been happier." 
 
 "You are mi.takcn in asiuming that I am 
 not happy in my home." 
 
 " Hush, Irene ! hush ! I know the signs of 
 true happiness, if I don't possess it myself. 
 You never murmur; oh, no! — you are too 
 protid I You don't droop like some poor, 
 weak, sickly souls; oh, no! — you are too stately 
 and regal. You will live and die a model of 
 reticent chill propriety ; and when you are 
 in your shroud your placid, treacherous face 
 will bear no witness that you were cheated out 
 «£ your rights Tn this world." 
 
 Again she smiled, and laid her hand on his. 
 
 " What a pity you mistook your forte in 
 early life ; with such a fertile imagination, not 
 
 physic, but fiction, was yonr calling. When 
 will you come to see me ? I want you to take 
 a parcel to father for me ; and then I want to 
 have a long talk." 
 
 " I know what the long talk amounts to. 
 You need not hold out any such rosy-cheeked 
 apples of Sodom as a bait. I am coming, of 
 course, after the llag ceremonies, where I am 
 expected. At one o'clock I will be at tb« 
 Hill — pcrhj^pg earlier. Where now '.■"' 
 
 " I must go by Mrs. Haker's, to see about 
 giving out some sewing for the ' Huntingdon 
 Rifles.' I can't do it all at home, and several 
 families here require work. I shall expect 
 you at one o'clock — shall have lunch ready for 
 you. By the way, Doctor, is there anything I 
 can do for you in the sewing line ? It would 
 give me genuine pleasure to make something 
 for you, if you will only tell me what you need- 
 Think over your wants." 
 
 Slie had caught up her reins, but pauses], 
 looking at him. He averted his head ijuickly. 
 
 " I will tell you to-monow. (lOfxl-evening." 
 
 Turning from the town, she took a narrow 
 sandy road leading among low, irregular hills, 
 and after passing a thicket of sweet-gum, bay, 
 and poplar, that bordered a clear, bj-awling, 
 rocky-bosomed stream wliich ran across the 
 ro^d, she rode up to a three-roomed log-house. 
 Two small children, with anomalous bluish- 
 white hair, were ])laying marliles in the pa^ 
 sage, and a boy, apparently ten years of age, 
 was seated on the ground, whistling " Dixie " 
 and making sjilit baskets, such as are gener- 
 ally used on i)lantations for picking cotton. 
 He threw down his work and ran to open tbo 
 gate, which was tied with a piece of rope. 
 
 '• How do you do, Hanson ? Is your mother 
 at home V" 
 
 " Yes, ma'm." 
 
 She gave him her bridle and entered tl*e 
 house, in one of the rooms of wliich she fbund 
 a tall, muscular, powerful - lookin'^ w»an 
 kneeling on the floor, and eii'^aged in entting 
 out work trom a roll of striped cloth. Putting 
 her grayish hair behind her ears, she paused, 
 lookud up, and, with scissors in hand, said, 
 bluntly : 
 
 " Be seated. Miss Irene. I have n't time, or 
 I would get up. Lucinda, bring some watvr- 
 fresh from the spring, ami if your grandmother 
 is awake, tell her Miss Irene is here." 
 
 " I see you have not. finished your contract, 
 Mrs. Baker." ""' 
 
 " Very nearly, ma'm. I will finish off and 
 send in the last lot of these, haversacks by 
 twelve o'clock to-morrow. Tlie captain was 
 out to-day to hurry me up ; said the regiment 
 had orders to leave day after to-morrow. 1 
 gave him my word he should have them by 
 noon, and that is something I nc^ver break." 
 
 " Have you heard from your'husband sine* 
 I saw you y" 
 
 Again the busy scissors paused. 
 
 " Not a word. But my boy, Robert, has 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 1S9 
 
 had a terriblo spoil of fever in Lynchburor. I 
 received a few lines from the doctor of the 
 hospital yesterday. Thank God I he was bet- 
 ter when the letter was written. His. father 
 knows nothinn; of it. I can't find out exactly 
 where Mr. Baker's company is. They are do- 
 ing good service, I hope, somewhere — making 
 their mark on the Union wret<;hes in the Vir- 
 ginia valley. I want to hear that my husband 
 had a hand in burning Wheeling." 
 
 *' I believe you told me that you were from 
 Virginia." 
 
 " Yes, raa'm ; but not from that part of it, I 
 want you to understand. I was born in 
 Amelia, thank my stars ! and that is as true as 
 steel." 
 
 " It must be a great trial to you to have 
 your husband and son so far off, and yet sepa- 
 rated." 
 
 " Of course I hate to have them away, and 
 times are hard for such a family as mine, with 
 little means of support; but I don't grieve. 
 Every man has to do his duty now, and every 
 woman, too. I told Stephen I thought I could 
 take care of the children and myself— .that I 
 would rather live on acorns, than that he 
 should not serve his country when it needed 
 him : and I told Robert, when I fixed him off, 
 that I never would die contented if he and his 
 father did not both do something to distinguish 
 themselves in this war. I am a poor woman. 
 Miss Irene, but no soul loves the Confederacy 
 better than I do, or will work harder for it. 
 I have no money to lend our government, but 
 I give my husband and my child — and two 
 better soldiers no state can show." 
 
 " You have done your part nobly, and I 
 trust both your dear ones will be spared, and 
 brought safely back to you. How is your 
 mother to-day ?" 
 
 " Very feeble, I was up nearly all night 
 with her. She had one of her bad spells. 
 Have some water ; it is sweet and cold." 
 
 " Do you want any more work this week ?" 
 
 " Yes. ma'm; I should like some after to-mor- 
 row. Do you know where I can get any ?" 
 
 " I can give you seventy -five flannel over- 
 shirts, and the same number of haversacks; 
 but you could scarcely finish them all in tinie, 
 and I thought I would send you the shirts, 
 wid let Mrs. Pritchard fake the haversacks." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to get them. You 
 are not raising a company yourself, Miss 
 Irene V" 
 
 " Oh, no ! but there is a new company 
 named 'Huntingdon Rifles' for my father, and 
 he wishes to give them everything they need. 
 When can you come in to see me about cut- 
 ting out the shirts V" 
 
 " Day after to-morrow morning, quite early, 
 if it will suit you." 
 
 " That will suit me very well. Here is that 
 remedy for asthma, which I mentioned to 
 you once before. If you will try it f\ithfully, 
 
 I have no doubt it will at least relieve your ' 
 mother of much suffering. If you can't find 
 the ingredients here, let me know, and I can 
 get them from the plantation." 
 
 As the kneeling figure received the slip of 
 paper she rose, and tears gathered in the largo 
 clear gray eyes. 
 
 " Thank you. Miss Irene ; it is very good of 
 you to remember my poor old mother so con- 
 stantly. I am afraid nothing will ever do her 
 much good; but I am grateful to you, and will 
 try your remedy faithfully. I want to thank 
 you, too, for the good you have done Hanson ; 
 I never saw a boy so changed. He is up by 
 daylight Sunday mornings, getting all things 
 in trim, so that he can be off to Sabbath- 
 school. I have always tried to teach my chil- 
 dren to be honest and upright, but I am afraid 
 I did not do my duty fully ; I am afraid they 
 were neglected in some respects, till you began 
 with them in Sabbath-school." 
 
 " Your children all learn very readily, but 
 Hanson is particularly bright. I am very 
 glad to have him in my class ; he is one of my 
 best pupils." 
 
 As she went homeward a sha<low fell upon 
 her face — a shadow darker than that cast by ■ 
 the black plume in her riding-hat — and once 
 or twice her lips writhed from their ordinary 
 curves of beauty. Nearing the encamjiment 
 she lowered her veil, but saw that dress-ptirade 
 had been dismissed, and as she shook tho 
 reins and Erebus quickened his gallop, sho 
 found herself face to face with the colonel, 
 who had just mounted his horse and was 
 riding toward town. She looked at him, and 
 bowed; but, in passing, he kept his eyes fixed 
 on the road before him', and in the duskiness 
 his face seemed colder and more inflexible than- 
 ever. Such had been the manner of their 
 occasional meetings since the interview at the 
 factory, and she was not stirprised that thi:*, 
 her first greeting, was disregarded. The 
 public believed that an engagement existed 
 between him and Salome, and the attentions 
 heaped upon him by the family of the latter 
 certainly gave color to the report. But Irene 
 was not deceived ; she had learned to under- 
 stand his nature, and knew that his bitterness 
 of feeling and studied avoirlance of herself be- 
 tokened that the old affection had not been 
 crushed. Struggling with the dictates of her 
 heart, and a sense of the respect duo to her 
 father's feeling?, she passed a sleepless night 
 j in pacing the gallery of the observatory. It 
 was a vigil of almost intolerable perplexity 
 and anguish. Under all its painful aspects 
 j .she patiently weighed the matter, and at ?un- 
 I rise next morning, throwing open the blinds of 
 her room, she drew her rose- wood desk to tb« 
 window, and wrote thcss words : 
 " Col. AunuF.Y : 
 
 '* Before you leave W , allow me to 
 
 see you for a few moments. If your dcpar- 
 
U9 
 
 MACAKIA. 
 
 ture is positively fixed for to-morrow, come to 
 me tliis afternoon; at any hour whicb may 
 be most conM-nii-nt. 
 
 " IU'sj)CTt fully, 
 
 " Irkxk IIuntixgdox. 
 
 " Ilntitiiifjflon IIlll,Junf, 1861." 
 
 As tlif r<'^inii;iit prepared to march to Mrf. 
 CLunhliili's n-sidi'iice, tlie note was riH-eived 
 from Aiidrow'ii hands. Roturnina his sword to 
 its scaliJ'anl, the eoloncl read the paper twice, 
 .three time-^ — a Iieavy frown <:at.hered on his 
 foreheail, his swarthy cheek fuxHl, and, thrust- 
 injr the note into his pocket, he turned toward 
 hilt replnient, saying hastily to the servant : 
 
 " You need not wait. No answer is ex- 
 pected." ' 
 
 At tiic breakfast-table Irene opened a hasty 
 missive from Salome, inviting; her to be pres- 
 ent at the presentation of the flaj;, and be<:- 
 pnp a few elioice flowers for the occasion. 
 Smiling quietly, she filled the accompanying 
 basket with some of the rarest treasures of tlie 
 green - house, added a bowl of raspberries 
 which the gardener had just brought in, and 
 •ent all, with a brief line excusing herself from 
 attending. 
 
 The morning was .«pont in writing to her 
 father, preparing a parcel for him, and in su- 
 perintending the making of a large quantity 
 of blackberry jelly and cordial for the use of 
 the hospitals. 
 
 About noon Dr. Arnold came, and found her 
 engaged in .sealing up a number of the jars, 
 all neatly labelled. The day was warm ; she 
 bad puslicd back her hair from her brow, as 
 she bent over her work ; the full sleeves were 
 pinned up above the elbow, and she wore a 
 white check-muslin apron to protect her dress 
 from the resin and beeswax. 
 
 " In the name of Medea and her Colcbian 
 caldron ! what are you about, Irene ?" 
 
 *' Fi.xing a box of hospital stores for you to 
 take with you." 
 
 " Fixing ! you Yankee ! crucify that word ! 
 I detest it. Say arranging, getting up, putting 
 in order, aggregating, conglomerating, or what 
 vou will, but save my ears from 'fixing!' 
 IIow do I know that all that trash was n't 
 boiled in a brass kettle, and is not rank poi- 
 son ?" 
 
 "Because I always use a porcelain kettle, 
 sir. Here is a glass; try some of my 'trash.' 
 lam determined to receive you 'cordially.'" 
 
 "Take my advice, Queen, and never at- 
 tempt another pun so long as life and reason 
 •arc spared to you. It is an execrable, heath- 
 enish, uncivil practice, which slioiihl be tal>oo- 
 ed in all well-regulated respectabK; families. 
 As a clasF, your punsters are a desperate, 
 vinegar - souled set. Old Samuel Jolmson 
 treated the worKl to a remarkably correct es- 
 timate of the whole sorry tribe. Just a hall- 
 glass more. You have spilled a drop on your 
 immaculate apron. Well, your pun and your 
 cordial are about on a par; not exactly either — 
 
 for one has too much spice, and the other nona 
 at all."' 
 
 " Well, then, Fadladoen. I will reconsider, 
 and send the box to a Richmond hospital." 
 
 " No; give it to me. The poor fellows who 
 are to use it may not be so fastiilious. IIow 
 much longer do you inti-nd to sit here? I di«l 
 not come to make my visit to the ])antry." 
 
 " I have finished, sir. Let mc wash my 
 hands, and I will give you some lunch in tl>« 
 diiiiniT-room." 
 
 " No ; I lunched with the Israelites. S.ilotn* 
 was brilliant as a Rrazilian firi'tly, and pre- 
 sented her banner quite gracefully. Aubrey 
 looked splendidly in his uiiifoi in ; was superbly 
 happy in his speech — always is. IMadam did 
 the honors inimitably, and. in fine — give mo 
 that fan on the table — everything was decid- 
 e<lly coninir il faut. You were expected, an<l 
 you ought to have gone; it lookeil spiteful to 
 stay away. I should absolutely like to see you 
 subjected to 212'' Fahrenheit, in order to 
 mark the result. Here I am almost suflboating 
 with the heat, which would be respectable in 
 Soudan, and you sit there bolt upright, look- 
 ing as cool as a west wind in March. Beauty, 
 you should get yourself patented as a social 
 refrigerator, " Warranted proof against the 
 dog-days." What rigmarole do you want m«i 
 to repeat to Leonard r" 
 
 " I have sent a parcel and a letter to your 
 buggy. Please hand them to father, and tell 
 him that I am well." 
 
 " And what is to become of my conscienwi 
 in the meantime ?" 
 
 " Doctor, I might answer in the words of 
 Raphael to the Prefect of Alexandria : ' What 
 will become of it in any case, my most excel- 
 lent lord •"" 
 
 " Humph, child ! I am not such a repro- 
 bate, after all. But I am thankful I am not 
 as some pharisecs I know." 
 
 Sho looked up in his harsh face to read its 
 meaning. He leaneil forward, seized her 
 haiid!i, and said, hurriedly : 
 
 " Don't look so much like one of your own 
 pigeons might, if you had coaxed it to come 
 to you, aiid then slapped it off. , When I say 
 bitter things, you may be sure you are the last 
 ner.-on in my thoughts. Straighten that bent 
 lip; I did not allude to you, my starry priest- 
 ess. I meant all that noisy crew dowa towa, 
 who — ." 
 
 " Let them rest; neither you nor I have any 
 interest in them. I wish, il' you please, when 
 you get to Manassa, that you would persuad* 
 father to allow me to come, at least, as far aa 
 Richmond. Y'^ou have some influence with 
 him ; will you use it In my favor V" 
 
 " You aic better off at home ; you could 
 possibly do no good." 
 
 " Still I want to go. Remember, my father 
 is all I have in this world." 
 
 " And what have you elsewhere, Irene ?^ 
 
 " My mother, my Saviour, and my God." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 141 
 
 " Are you, then, so very anxious to go to 
 Vjrginia V" lie repeated, after a pause. 
 
 •'I am. 1 want to be near father." 
 
 '"Well, I will see wliat I can do with him. 
 If I fail, recoilett that he is not proverbial for 
 pliability. Look here — are you nervous ? 
 Your fiiijicrs twitch, and so do your eyelids 
 occasionally, and your pulse is twenty beats too 
 quick." 
 
 " 1 believe I am rather nervous to-day." 
 
 ♦' Why so ?" 
 
 "I did not sleep last night; that is one 
 •ause, I suppose." 
 
 "And the reason why you did not sleep? 
 Be honest with mo." 
 
 "My tliouglits, sir, were very painful. Do 
 you wonder at it, in the present state of the 
 oountry ?" 
 
 " Irene, answer me one question, dear child : 
 what does the future contain lor you ? AVhat 
 hope have you V — what do you live lor ?" 
 
 " I have much to be gratelul for — much that 
 makes me happy ; and I hope to do some good 
 in the world while I live. I want to be use- 
 ful^ — to feel that I have gladdened some hearts, 
 strengthened some desponding spirits, cairied 
 balm to some hearth-stones, shed some happi- 
 ness on the paths of those who walk near me 
 through life. There are seasons when 1 regret 
 my incapacity to accomplish more ; but at such 
 times, when disposed to lament the limited 
 sphere of woman's influence, I am reminded 
 of Pascal's grand definition : ' A spliere of 
 which the centre is everywhere, the cireuni- 
 fei'enee nowhere;' and 1 feel encouraged to 
 hope that, alter all, woman s circle of action 
 will prove as sublime and extended. Doctor, 
 remember : 
 
 ~ No stream from its aonrce 
 
 Plows Bciiward, luiw luiidy goevor its course, 
 liiit wliat Humc liinij iii gliiijiiened. No sUtr ever rose 
 And But. witliuiit inlliieiice suuiewliei.e. Wliu knows 
 Wluit e.ii til iirfiis tnim eurtb's lowest crmituiv? No life 
 Can bv piiru in its imiporje and strong in its stiifo. 
 And all Jil« not bo jiuier and stronger tLertby." 
 
 " But who pointed your aims, and taught 
 you these theories?" 
 
 " The emptiness of -my former life. — the in- 
 .^atiable yearning for solid, unalloyed happiness. 
 1 enjoy society, and cling to many social tics ; 
 but these alone could not content me. 1 love 
 the world better, lor striving to be of some little 
 use to it, and i should be pained to have any- 
 body believe that 1 have grown misanthropic 
 or cynical, simply because i sometimes tire of a 
 ronnd of gayeiy, and endeavor to employ uiy 
 time usefully, and for the benefit of my race. 
 1 felt the pressure of the iron signet which the 
 Creator set to his high commissions for life-long 
 human labor, and, breaking the spell of inertia 
 that bound me, 1 have, in part, my reward. 
 
 * Oet IcBT* to woi'k 
 
 In tliii world, 't is tUo best yuu grt at all ; 
 
 yor Oud, in ciirsinf;. give* us belter gifts 
 
 Titan men in beiuMictiun. (iod siiys 'sweat 
 
 Fur rorche«as ;' uk-u si*/ ' crowns ;' and so we are rrowned, 
 
 Ay, gnshed by some tormenting circle ofsteel 
 
 Which snaps with a secret spring. Get work; gat work ; 
 
 Be sure t is better than what you work to get.' 
 
 God knows we do little enough for each other 
 in this whirl of selfishness and grasping after 
 gain." 
 
 " Have you, then, fully resolved to remain 
 single V" ' 
 
 " Why do you ask me that, Dr. Arnold '?" 
 
 " Because you are dear to me, Queen ; and 
 I should like to see you happily married before 
 I am laid away in my grave." 
 
 " You will never see it. Be sure I shall live 
 and die Irene Huntingdon." 
 
 " What has induced you to doom yourself 
 to a ." 
 
 "Ask me no more, Doctor. If I am content 
 with my lot, who else has the right t» 
 question V" 
 
 lie looked into that fair chiselled face, and 
 wondered whether she could be truly "coi>- 
 tent ;" and the purity and peace in her deep 
 calm eyes baffled him sorely. She rose, and 
 laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Dr. Arnold, promise me that, if there i.<< a 
 battle, and father .should be hurt, you will tele- 
 grajih me at once. Do not hesitate — let m« 
 know the truth immediately. Will you V" 
 
 " I promise!" 
 
 "And now, sir, what can I make or havo 
 made for you, which will conduce to your 
 comfort?" 
 
 " Have you any old linen left about tho 
 house, that could be useful among th« 
 wounded ?" 
 
 " 1 have sent off a good deal, but have some 
 left. Jn what form do you want it ? As lint, 
 or bandages V" 
 
 " Neither; pac# it just as it is, and send it 
 on by express. I can't carry the world on my 
 shoulders." 
 
 "Anything else ?" 
 
 " Write to the overseer's wife to sow all tho 
 mustard -seed see can lay her hands on, and 
 save ail the sage she can. And, Irene, be sure 
 to send me every drop of honey you can Spare. 
 That is all, I believe. Jf I think of anything 
 else, I will write you." 
 
 " Will you take Cyrus with you?" 
 
 " Of course. What guarantee have I that 
 some villainous stray shell or shot may not 
 ricochet, and shave my head off? I shall take 
 him along to drag me off the field, in any such 
 emergency ; for if I am not a Christian myself, 
 1 want to be buried by Chrislian people — not 
 by those puritanical golden-calf worshippers, 
 of higher-law ' notoriety." 
 
 "1 trust that, ill the exercise of your pro- 
 fessional duties, you will be in no danger. 
 Surgeons are rarely hurt, I believe." 
 
 "Not so sure of that. Spherical-case or 
 grape-shot have very little respect for scientific 
 proficiency or venerable old age. One thing 
 IS certain, however — if anything happens to 
 mo, Cyrus will bring me home ; and 1 want a 
 
142 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 quiet place near your lot in the cemetery, 
 ■where your hands, Queen, will sometimes be 
 about my grave. Ah, child ! I have lived a 
 lonely, savage sort of life, and spent little love 
 on the world, or the people about me. I have 
 had neither wife, nor children, nor sist<*r in my 
 Lome, to humanize me ; but you have always 
 had a large share of my heart, and even Leon- 
 ard can hardly love you better than I do. 
 Think of me sometimes, Queen, and write to 
 me freel}-. No eyes but mine will ever see 
 your letters." 
 
 He stood with his hands on her shoulders, 
 speaking falteringly ; and, unable to reply 
 immediately, she turned her lips to the large 
 brawny hand which had caressed her for 
 twenty -five years. 
 
 Making a great effort, she said, pleadingly : 
 
 " Dr. Arnold, when 1 pray tbr father, I 
 always include you in my petitions. Do you 
 never intend to pray for yourself?" 
 
 " I should not know how to begin now, my 
 child." 
 
 •' Words always come with will. Postpone 
 it no longer. (Jh, Doctor 1 I beg of you to 
 begin at once." 
 
 Her lasljes were heavy with unshed tears, as 
 the looked up in his face. 
 
 " I have laiih in your prayers, Queen, but 
 not in my own. Fray for me always, dear 
 child. God bless you ! my comfort, my light, 
 in a dark, troubled world of sin." 
 
 He stooped, kissed her forehead, and hurried 
 out to his buggy. 
 
 She could not realize that he would be ex- 
 posed to such imminent danger as many others 
 — and, having concluded her packing and de- 
 spatched the box to the depi^, she wrote a few 
 hues to a well known boot- seller, and sent 
 Andrew to the store. An hour after he 
 returned, bringing a package of small, but 
 elegantly bound bibles. From among the 
 number she selected one of beautil'ul, clear 
 ■tyj)e, and taking it to iier room, locked herself 
 in to escape all intrusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The summer day was near its death when 
 Col. Aubrey rode up the stately avenue, 
 whose cool green arches were slowly filling 
 with shadows. Fastening his .spirited horse to 
 the iron- post, he ascended the marble steps, 
 and Johu received his card, and ushered him 
 into the liont parlor. The rich lace curtains 
 were caught back from the wide windows to 
 admit the air, and the whole room was flooded 
 with Aibtle into.x.icating perfume, from nu- 
 mci-ous elegant vases ol rare flowers, which 
 crowned mantle, elagere, and centre-table. 
 On a small j>apier-mache stand drawn before 
 one of the windows stood an exquisite cut- 
 gljiss bowl, fringed at the edge with geranium 
 
 leaves, and filled with pcrfef't goMcn-hearted 
 water-lilies, whose snowy petals spread them- 
 selves regally, breathing incense. The proud 
 and moody visitor regardeil them a moment, 
 then his piercing eye ran around the room, and 
 rested upon a large oral picture on the oppo- 
 site wall. This portrait of Irene had been 
 painted soon after she kft school, and repre- 
 sented only the face and bust rising out of a 
 luminous purplish mist — a face which might 
 have served fur Guido's Aurora. Clad in the 
 handsome glittering uniform, which showed 
 his<iobly-proportionod and powerful figure so 
 advantageously, the oflicer stood, hat in hand, 
 tlie long sable plume drooping toward the 
 floor; and, as he scanned the portrait, his lips 
 moved, and these words crept inaudibly, mut- 
 teringly, over them ; 
 
 "Rcholil lier tliere, 
 As I beheld her ere the knew my hcurt: 
 M.v first, lust liive; tba idul of my yiiilli. 
 The ilai'lin^ of my uiuiihDuJ, ilixt, hIiu \ 
 Kow Ihc Uii.'Bt blessed memory of mine nge." 
 
 .'.'.The frown on his face deepened almost to a 
 scowl, indescribably stern ; he turned abruptly 
 away, and looked through the oj)en window 
 out upon the lawn, where flashes of sunshine 
 and dusky shadows struggled for mastery. 
 The next moment Irene stood at the door ; he 
 turned his head, and they were face to face 
 once more. 
 
 Her dress was of swiss muslin, revealing her 
 dazzlins shoulders and every dimple and 
 eurve of her arms. The glittering bronze 
 hair was looped and fastened with blue rib- 
 bons, and from the heavy folds her fa^'oritu 
 clematis bells hung quivering with every 
 motion, and matching, in depth of hue, the 
 violets that clustered on her bosom. The 
 crystal calmness of the countenance was 
 broken at last ; a new strange light brimmed 
 the unfathomable eyes, and broke in radiant 
 ripples round the matchless mouth. On the 
 white brow, with its marble-liko gleam, " pure 
 lilies of eternal peace " seemed resting, as 
 
 '* ShcUx>ko<l down ou him from tlie \rholo 
 Lunc'ly length of a life. Tburo worv iii\<l nightt and day*. 
 There were long inouthi and years, in thul haartHieracb- 
 ing gftno." 
 
 Never had her extraordinary beauty to 
 stirred his heart; a faint (lusli tinged his cheek, 
 but he bowed frigidly, and haughtily his word* 
 broke the silence. 
 
 " You sent for me. Miss Huntingdon, and I 
 obeyed your command. Nothing less would 
 have brought me to your i)resence." 
 
 She crossed the room and stood before him, 
 holding out both hands, while her scarlet lips 
 fluttered perceptibly. Instead of receiving 
 the hands he drew back a step, and crossed 
 his arms proudly over his chost. She raised 
 her fascinating eyes to his, folded her palms 
 together, and, pressing them to her heart, said, 
 slowly and distinctly : 
 
 " I heard that you wero ordered to Virginia, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 143 
 
 to the post of clanger ; and knowing to what 
 risks j'ou will be exposed, I wished to sec you 
 at least once more in this world. Perhaps the 
 step I am taking may be condemned by some, 
 as a deviation from tlic delicacy of ray sex — I 
 trust I am not wanting in proper appreciation 
 of what is due to my own self-respect — but the 
 feelings which I have crushed back so long, 
 now demand utterance. Russoll, I have de- 
 termined to break the seal of many years 
 silence — to roll away the stone from the sepul- 
 chre — to tell you all. I feel that you and I 
 must understand each other before we part 
 for all time, and, therefore, I sent for you." 
 
 She paused, drooping her head, unable to 
 meet his searching steady black eyes riveted 
 upon hers; and, drawing his tall athletic figure 
 to its utmost height, he asked, defiantly : 
 
 " You sent for me through compassionate 
 compunctions, then — intending, at the close, to 
 be magnanimous, and, in lieu of disdain, tell 
 me that you pity me ?" 
 
 " Pity you ? No, Russell ; I do not pity 
 you." 
 
 "It is well. 1 neither deserve nor desire 
 it." 
 
 " What motive do you suppose prompted 
 me to send for you on the eve of your depart- 
 ure ?" 
 
 " I am utterly at a loss to conjecture. I 
 once thought you too generous to wish to 
 inflict pain unnecessarily on anyone ; but God 
 knows this interview is inexpressibly painful 
 to me." 
 
 A numbing suspicion crossed her mind, 
 blanching lip and cheek to the hue of death, 
 and hardening her into the old statue-like ex- 
 pression. Had he, indeed, ceased to love her ? 
 Had Salome finally won her place in his 
 heart? He saw, without comprehending, the 
 instantaneous change which swept over her 
 features, and regarded her with mingled im- 
 patience and perplexity. 
 
 " If such be the truth. Col. Aubrey, the 
 interview is ended." 
 
 lie bowed, and turned partially away, but 
 paused irresolute, chained by that electrical 
 
 t)ale face, which no man, woman, or child ever 
 ooked at without emotion. 
 
 " Before we part, probably for ever, I should 
 like to know wliy 3'ou «ent for me." 
 
 " Do you remember that, one year ago to- 
 night, we sat on the steps of the Factory, and 
 you told me of the feehng you had cherished 
 for me froiH your boyhood ? ' 
 
 " It was a meeting too fraught with pain 
 and mortification to be soon forgott«n." 
 
 " I believe you thought me cold, heartless, 
 and unfeeling then V" 
 
 *' Tiiere was no room to doubt it. Your 
 haughty coldness carried its own interpreta- 
 tion." 
 
 " Because I knew that such was the harsh 
 opinion you had cnttrtained for twelve 
 months, I sought this opportaaitj to relieve 
 
 myself of an unjust imputation. If peace had 
 been preserved, and you had always remained 
 quietly here, 1 should never have undeceived 
 you — for the same imperative reasons, the sam« 
 stern necessity, which kept me silent on th« 
 nicht to which I allude, would have sealed my 
 lililithrough life. But all things are changed ; 
 you are going into the very jaws of death, 
 with what result no human foresight can pre- 
 dict ; and now, after long suflV ring, I feel that 
 I have earned and may claim the right to 
 speak to you of that which I have always eo*- 
 pectcd to bury with me in my grave." 
 
 Again her crowned head bowed itself. 
 
 Past bitterness and wounded pride were in- 
 stantly forgotten ; hope kindled in his dark, 
 stern face a beauty that rarely dwelt there, 
 and, throwing down his hat, he stepped for- 
 ward and took her folded hands in his strong 
 grasp. 
 
 "Irene, do you intend me to understand — 
 are you willing that I shall believe that, after 
 all, I have an interest in your heart — that I am 
 more to you than you ever before deigned to 
 let me know ? If it, indeed, be so, oh ! giva 
 me the unmistakable assurance." 
 
 Her lips moved ; he stooped his haughtj 
 head to catch the low, fluttering words. 
 
 "You said that night: 'I conld forgiva 
 your father all ! all ! if I knew that he had 
 not so successfully hardened, closed your heart 
 against me.' Forgive him, Russell. You never 
 can know ajl that you have been to me from 
 my childhood. Only God, who sees my heart, 
 knows what suffering our long alienation hait 
 cost nie." 
 
 An instant he wavered, his strong frame 
 quivered, and then he caught her exultingly 
 in his arms, resting her head upon his bosom, 
 leaning his swarthy hot cheek on hers, cold 
 and transparent as alabaster. 
 
 " At last I realize the one dream of my life! 
 I hold you to my heart, acknowledged all my 
 own ! Who shall dare dispute the right your 
 lips have given me ? Hatred is powerless now ; 
 none shall come between ms and my own. 
 Oh, Irene ! my beautiful darling ! not all my 
 ambitious hopes, not all the future holds, not 
 time, nor eternity, could purchase the proud, 
 inexpressible joy of this assurance. I hav« 
 toiled and struggled, I have suOered in si- 
 lence ; I have triumphed and risen in a world 
 that sometimes stung my fiery heart almost to 
 madness; and I have exulted, I have gloried, 
 in my hard-earned success. But ambition 
 dims, and my laurels wither, in comparison 
 with the precious, priceless consciousness of 
 your love. I said ambition ,^hall content me — 
 shall usurp the pedoital where, long ago, I 
 lifted a fair girlish image ; but the old worship 
 followed, haunted mo continually. 1 looked 
 up from MS. speeches to find your incompara- 
 ble magnetic eyes before me; and now, in tha 
 midst of bitterness and loneliness, I have mv 
 great reward. God bless you, Irene 1 for this 
 
U4 
 
 MACAKIA. 
 
 one hour of pcrffct happiness In a cold and | 
 jojless life. If, wliiii disappointed and baffled 
 by your habitual poli.-hed reserve. I have saiil 
 or done Iiarsh, unjust ibintis, ^?llit•h wounded 
 ;ou, forgive ine — renifniberinj; only luy love, 
 and my torturing dread lii.it you would beeome 
 iiainbridge's wife. Oh! that was the ^st 
 horrible apprehension that ever 2>osse8sed 
 me." 
 
 " Instead of cherishing your affection for 
 me, you siru;i;.'li'd against it with ail the ener- 
 gy of your rhuracter. I havf. seen, for some 
 ume, that you were striving to crush it out — 
 to forgtt nie. entirely." 
 
 "1 do not deny it; and certainly you ought 
 not to blame nic. You kept me at a distance 
 with your chilling, yet graceful, fascinating 
 hauleur. I ha<l nothing to hope — everything 
 to .sullcr. 1 diligently set to work to expel 
 you utterly from my thoughts; and, I tell you 
 candidly, 1 endeavored to love another, who 
 was brilliant, and witty, and universally ad- 
 mired. IJut her fitlul, stormy, exacting tem- 
 perament was too much like ray own to suit 
 me. 1 tried laitlifully to become attached to 
 her, intending to make her \}\y wife, but I 
 lailed bignully. My heart clung stubbornly to 
 its old worship; my restless, liery spirit could 
 find no re|tfse, no iiappiness, save in the puri- 
 ty, the prolound marviUous calm of your na- 
 ture, i'ou became the syifonyme of peace, 
 re^t; and, because you gave me no friendly 
 word or glance, locking your passionless face 
 against me, I grew savage toward you. Did 
 you believe that 1 would marry (Salome V" 
 
 " No ! I had faith that, despite your angry 
 efforts, your heart would be true to me." 
 
 " Why did you inflict so much pain on us 
 both, when a word would have explained all V 
 When the assurance you have given me to-day 
 would have sweetened the past years of trial/" 
 
 "Because 1 knew it would not have that 
 effect. 1 am constitutionally more patient 
 than you, and yet, willi all my ellbrts to be 
 resigned to what could not be remedied, and 
 to bear my sorrow witii fortitude, 1 found my- 
 .<telf disposed to repine ; and, because 1 was so' 
 pure ol your allection to — 
 
 " Crjr to the wiude, oh, God ! it might hate been." 
 
 A belief of my indifference steeled you 
 against me — nerved you to endurance. But a 
 knowledge of the truth would have increased 
 your acrimony of feeling toward him whom 
 you regarded as the chief obstacle, and this, 
 at ajl hazards, 1 was resolved to avoid, lius- 
 ■ttll, I knew that our relations could never bo 
 changed; that the barriers, lor which neither 
 you nor 1 are responsible in any degree, were 
 insurmountable; and that, in this world, we 
 must walk widely-diverging paths, exchanging 
 few words of sympathy. Because 1 realized 
 »o fully the neccs.Miy ol estrangement, 1 should 
 never have ac<iuainled you with my own feel- 
 ings, had 1 not known that a long, and per- 
 
 haps final, separation now stretches before us. 
 In the gainful course which duty imposed on 
 me, I have striven to promote your ultimato 
 happiness, rather than my own." 
 
 '• Irene, how can you persuade yourself that 
 it is your duty to obey an unjust and tyranni- 
 cal decree, which sacrifices the happiness of 
 two to the unreasonable vindictiveneas of 
 one ?" 
 
 "Remember that you are speaking of my 
 father, and tlo not make me regret that I hav« 
 seen you in his house." 
 
 " You must not expect of me more for- 
 bearance than my nature is capable of. I 
 have lost too much ihrougli his injustice to 
 bear my injuries coolly. 1 was never a meek 
 man, and strife and trial have not sweetened 
 my temper. If you love me, and the belief is 
 too precious to me to be (jucstioncd now, I 
 hold it your duty to me and to \o«irown heart 
 to give yourself to me, to gild our future with 
 the happiness of which the i)ast has been 
 cheated. Y'our father has no right to bind 
 ^our life a sacrifice upon the altar of his ira- 
 j)lacable hate ; nor have you a right to doom 
 yourself and me to life-long sorrow, because of 
 an ancient leud, which neither of us had any 
 ageiuy in effecting." 
 
 " iHity, because inflexible and involving 
 great pain, is not thereibre less imperative. 
 Kussell, have you forgotten Chelonis .'" 
 
 lie tightened his clas^jing arm?, and ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 " Ah, Irene ! I would willingly go into 
 exile, with you for my Chelonis. I'erisii am- 
 bition ! live only such a future. But you 
 remember nothing but Chelonis' filial obliga^ 
 tions, lorgetting all she owed, and all she nobly 
 gave, Cieombrotus. If you would lay your 
 Lands in mine, and give me his right, oh ! 
 what a glory would crown the coming years! 
 Irene, before it is too late, have mercy on us 
 both.". 
 
 blie lifted her head from his shoulder, and 
 looked uj) pleadingly in hisjluslied, eager faco. 
 
 " Kussell, do not urge me; it is useless. Spare 
 me the pain of repeated refusals, and be satis- 
 lied witii what 1 have given yon. Believe 
 that my heart is, and ever will be, yours en- 
 tirely, though i\jy hand you can never claim. 
 1 know what 1 owe my lather, ami 1 will pay 
 to the last iota; and I know as well whatlowo 
 myself, and, therefore, 1 shall live true to my 
 lir»t aud only love, and die Irene Huntingdon. 
 More than this you have no right to ask — I 
 no ri;;ht to grant. Be patient, Kussell ; b« 
 generous." 
 
 " Patient ! patient I I am but human/' 
 
 ♦' Kisu above the human ; remember that, at 
 best, life is short, and that after a little while 
 eternity will stretch its holy circles belbro our 
 leet. Such is my hope. I look down the 
 lonely, silent vista of my coming years, whose, 
 niches are filled, not with joy, but quiet res- 
 ignation — and I see beyond the calm shores of 
 
MACARIA. 145 
 
 Rest, where, I'f faittful here, you and I may I "Ah ! but the wages are hollow. My am- 
 clasp hands for ever ! To me this is no dim, bition has aheady been gratified to s^oine k-x- 
 shadowy, oceasional comfort, but a fixed, firm, | tent, and in the very flush of iriuuinli I sat 
 priceless trust." .,,,,. ! ^o*^" ^« ^'^t its Iruit, and smiled gnmly over 
 
 bhe iult the deep, rapid throbbing of his i its dust and ashes." 
 heart, as he held her to his bosom ; and a dark I - Because self-aggrandizement was then the 
 cloud ot sorrow settled on his features, while sole aim. liut a liolier, a more disinterested 
 he listened to her low, sweet, steady voice, unselfish ambition to serve only God Truth' 
 He kissed her twice, and said, huskily : I .- ■.. • . . •> ". -^uia, 
 
 " Do you intend to send me from you ? To 
 meet me henceforth as a stranger r"' 
 
 " Circumstances, which I can not control, 
 make it necessary.' 
 
 "At least you will let me hear, from you 
 sometimes? You will give me the privilege 
 of writing to you ?" 
 
 " Iini)ossible, Russell ; do not ask that of me." 
 " Oh, Irene ! you are cruel ! Why withhold 
 that melancholy comlbrt from me V" 
 
 I' Simply lor the reason that it would una- 
 voidably prove a SQurce of pain to both. I 
 judge you by myself A correspondence 
 would keep your mind constantly harassed on 
 a subject which time will inevitably soften, 
 mellow ; and the expectation of letters from 
 you would induce a feverish excitement and 
 impatience in my own heart, which 1 wish to 
 escape. It would feed useless regrets, and be 
 productive only of harm. I want neither 
 your usefulness in life nor mine impaired bj 
 
 and Country, will insure a blessed conscious- 
 ness of well -spent years and consecrated 
 talents, comlbrting beyond all else that earth 
 can give." 
 
 He shook his head sadly; placing his palm 
 under her chin, and tenderly raising the lace, 
 in order to scan it fully. 
 
 " Irene, oblige me in what may seem a trifle ; 
 unfasten your hair and let it iali around you, 
 as 1 have seen it once or twice in your lile." 
 
 She took out her comb, untied the ribbons, 
 and, passing her fingei-s through the bands, 
 shook them down till they touclied the floor. 
 
 He passed his hand caressingly over the 
 glossy waves, and smiled proudly. 
 
 " How often I have lunged to lav my fingers 
 on these rippling lolds, as they flashed around 
 you so, or were coiled into a crown about your 
 head. With what a glory they iuviist you ! 
 Your picture there upon the wall seems lighted 
 with the golden gleam. Irene, give me a 
 
 . , . . 1- -., likeness of yourseh as you stand now. or. if vou 
 
 continual weak repining. If I can patiently prefer it, have a smaller one pho o. a /ned 
 bear a great sea ot silence between us hence- ! to-morrow from that portrait, and st^ul it to 
 
 forth, you certainly should be stronger ; should 
 appreciate my motives, without suspecting any 
 
 me by express. 1 shall be detained in Rich- 
 mond several days, and it will reach me .sately, 
 
 d minution ol aflection on my part. If your Do not, I beg of you, reluse me this It .. the 
 Ide IS spared 1 shal anxiously watch your { only consolauon i can have, and God knows it 
 career, rejoicing in all your honors, and your is httle enough ! Oh, Irene ' thmk o mv 
 nob e use ol the talent, which God gave you loneliness, an3 grant this la" Vc.,ue ^" ^ 
 
 loi the benefit ol your race and the advance- j His, lar«e bntliant eyes were lull x,f tears 
 men of truth. .No matter how the world may the first siie had ever seen dmi then llTl- 
 l^Tn ;o'ulr-"'r 'T' 'S'^^' supposition, I and, moved by the grief which so tran to fi^ed 
 tell jou solemnly absence has no power over his lineaments, she answered, hastily 
 a true woman's heart. Her afiection will " Ul course, if you desire it so ea.nes.iv 
 triumph over separation over silence, over though it wer J muJh beUe"r that v^uhrnoth' 
 death ! over eTerytliing but loss of confidence; ing to remind you of me." ^ 
 
 over all but discovered uuworthiness in its : •• U ill you have it taken to-morrow ?" 
 object. It can bid defiance to obstacles, to | " Yes." morrow / 
 
 adverse late so long as trust remains intact, | She covered her face with her han.l • fn. 
 
 ;l am not as noble as you think me ; my ! Z:^he.-t 1" tlnrn^ci^' ^^ 'Zlv t 
 ambition is not as unselfish as you suppose. , face down to hers. ' ^'' ^" 
 
 ;; yL mistake your nature. Your intellect ^ ^^^i::^\::^Z:nlitrar;;:^llS^ 
 and temperament stamp you one of the few ' you can confront Kterni rw Lut a , ,h 
 who receive ht le impression from extraneous apprehension, h you mu/t yZlTuu y<^rf^ 
 influences; and it is because of this stern, ob- for ireedom 1 w;*nt tK. ^ "^ ^ ^ "^ 
 
 .tinate in<i,v.duality of character, that 1 hope j hleTonrt^vour final homTir ""' ^""^ 
 an extended sphere of usefulness for you,^f God; Tat ou wait lie Tr m ■ "^f T^' 
 )-o.i survive th,« war. Our country will de- when my TrkTs do.ra .d I t-. i ' 
 mand your .services, and I shall be proud and ' weary >head u, reK w fi ' '■ *^ ""^ 
 
 hai.p3 ni the knowledge that you arJfa.th.uUy ! Tnd p Tid a bW T '" T' 
 
 rte='^"''""^'>- ^'-^-^-° ^'^ ^-- «' ^ -^f -^ ip^/al'n^l-'l^Swn:^'' i:"th^^ 
 io 'realization of your ambitious dreams, I know 
 
,46 MACARIA. 
 
 that you liavo pivcn no tliouglit to tlu-sii ihiiips; 
 and it war* rhiviW my anxiety to impross upon 
 yon tluir iuiportanci-., tlit-ir vital necesj^ity, 
 wliirli in.luoiJ nn- to suml lor vou. Your 
 h.tnl, biltir lieart must l.e soln-ULd; you must 
 try to ovLTioine your vin<liilivLMii'&<; to cherish 
 mijif oliarlty and forgive mss lowanl some wlio 
 have tliwarli-d )0U. Sometimes, in watching 
 your <:loomy, stern faee, 1 liave almost de- 
 spaired that you would ever feul otherwise; 
 and many a ni^iiit I iiavc^. prayt-d fervuntly 
 that vou'mi;rht be influenled to make some 
 nn-pjuation lor futurity. Oh. Russell I I can 
 bu bravo, and stron;:, and patient; I can bear 
 to see } our dear face no more in this world ; 
 1 can '•iiv^i you up to our country, and not 
 piuriMur that you liied defending her liberties 
 —.i!' f have the couvif.tion that, in that noble 
 death, you found t'u' ^ate of heaven- that I 
 shall meet vou auaiu when my God calls me 
 home. Think of this when you have me lor 
 tJie K-mptations of cauip-lilc, and <ro forth to 
 ■cenes ot slriie and horror. Think of it by day 
 ar.d ni;rht, strivinjr to subdue your heart ni 
 aeconlanre with '.he precepts of Clirist : to eX- 
 ert a rcstr;unin<:, pnritying inlluence over your 
 comi.-iajid ; and remember, oh, remember, Rus- 
 sell ! tlial this is the only hope I have to cheer 
 ine. Will you proiuise to read the bible I give 
 you now~lo pray constantly lor yourseli V 
 Will you promise to meet me beydnd the 
 crave V" , , i 
 
 His black locks lay upon hi;r forehead :is lie 
 struggled for composure, and, after a moment, 
 he answered, soleniiiLy: 
 
 " 1 will try, my darjing." 1 
 
 She put into his hand l!i'; Lible, which she had 
 carefully marked, and w hich bore on the blank 
 leaf, in' her handwriting: "Colonel Russell 
 Aubrey, with th(; life -long prayers of his best ; 
 friend." i 
 
 The shadow fled from her countenance, ; 
 which grew radiant as some fleecy vapor sud- | 
 deiily sniltlen with a blaze of sunlight, and 
 clear and sweeter than chiming bells her voice j 
 rang through the room. 
 
 " Thank (iod ! lor that promise. J shall 
 lean my heart upon it till the last pulsaticns 
 *re stilled in my collin. And now 1 will keep 
 you no longer from your regiment. I know 
 that you have many d'ulies there to claim your 
 time. Turn your face toward the window; I 
 •want to look at, it, to be able to keep its 
 expression always befoic me." 
 
 She put up her waxen hand, brushed the 
 hair from his pale, dome-like brow, and gazed 
 earnestly at the noble features, which even tiie 
 .most fastidious could find no cause to carp at. 
 " Of obi, when Euryslhens threatened 
 Athens, Macaria, in ord.r to save the city and 
 the land from invasion and subjugation, will- 
 ingly devoted herself a sacrifice upon the alUr 
 of" the gods. Ah, Russell ! that were an easy 
 task, in comparison with the olU-ring I am called 
 upon to make. 1 can not, like Macaria, by 
 
 self-immolation, redeem my country; from 
 that great privilege I am debarred; but I yield 
 up more than she ever pos.-^essed. 1 give my 
 all on earth — my father and yourself— to our 
 ' beloved and sulTering country. My God I 
 accept the sacrifice, .Mid crown the South a 
 sovereign, independent nation ! (Jladly, un- 
 shrinkingly, would I meot a <lealh so sublime; 
 but to s<|r\ive the loss of those dearer far than 
 my life, to live and endure such desolation — 
 nh I my lot, and that of tliou.samls of -ny coun- 
 ' try-women, is infinitely more bitter than the 
 
 Idle of Macaria 1" 
 ' She smothered a moan, and her head sank 
 ! on his shoulder; but lifting it instantly, with 
 j !ier fathoudess allecliou beaming in hor f»c«, 
 
 she. .-idded: 
 
 I " To the mercy and guidance of Almighty 
 
 (jod I commit you, dear Russell — trusting all 
 
 ' things in His hands. May He shield you fron\ 
 
 [ sullei ing, strengthen you in the hour of trial. 
 
 ' and reunite us eternally in His kingdom, is, 
 
 and ever shall be, my constant prayer. Gocd- 
 
 by, Russell ! Do your duty nobly; win death- 
 
 ! less glory on the battle-field, in (iefcnee of our 
 
 ' sacred cause ; and remember that your laurels 
 
 will be very precious to my lonely heart." 
 
 ' . He folded her in his arms, and ki.ssed her 
 
 ! repeatedly; but, disengaging herself, she put 
 
 him gently aside; and, snatching up his hat, he 
 
 '• left 'the room. He reache<l \m horse, then 
 
 j paused, and returned to the parlor. 
 
 ' The sun had set, but. waves of rich orange 
 
 ! light rolled through the window, and broke 
 
 ; over the white figure kneeling there, half- 
 
 I veiled by curling hair. The cliu,ped hand* 
 
 were uprii'te<l,and the colorless face was thrown 
 
 back in silent sU|)plication. He watch(.ul the 
 
 wonderful loveliness of tace and form, till hi« 
 
 pride was utterly melted; and, sinking on hi» 
 
 ' knees, he threw one arm around her waist, 
 
 exclaiming : 
 ' "Oh, Irene! you have conquered! With 
 God's grace 1 will so spend the residue of my 
 life as'^to merit your love, and the hope of 
 reunion beyond the grave." 
 
 She laid her iiand lightly on his bowed head 
 as he knelt beside her, and, in a voii;e that 
 knew no faltering, breathed out a teiveut 
 prayer, full of pathos and sublime in faith— 
 invoking blessings upon him— life-long guar- 
 dianship, and final salvation through Christ- 
 The jMdtition ended, she rose, smiling through 
 i the mist that gathered over her eyes, and be 
 
 said : j % • i r c t 
 
 " 1 came back to ask something which 1 feel 
 
 ' that you will not refuse me. Eleclra will prob- 
 
 1 ably soon come home, and she may be left alone 
 
 in the world. Will you sometimes go to her 
 ' for my sake, and give her your friendship." 
 ' " I will, Russell, for her sake, as well as for 
 \ yours. She shall be the only sister I have ever 
 
 known,' , 
 
 She drew his hand to her lips, but he caught 
 ! it away, and pressed a last kiss upon them. 
 
MAC ARIA. 
 
 14,7 
 
 " Good-by, my own darling ! my I'lfe-angel !" ! 
 
 She heard liis step across the hall ; a inoiuent ■ 
 after, the tramp of his horse, as he galloped 
 [lown the avenue, and .she knew that the one 
 happy hour of lier life had passed — that the '■ 
 rent sepulchre of silence must be resealed. I 
 
 Pressing her hands over her desolate heart, 
 she murnmred, sadly : i 
 
 " Thy will, not mine, oh. Father ! Give me ' 
 Btrongth to do my work ; enable me to be faith 
 ful even to the- bitter end." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Strange heroie parallelisms startle the grave, 
 reflecting student of history, and propound the 
 inquiry : Is the Buckle theory of immutable 
 cycles correct ? Is the throbbing, surging 
 world of human emotions and passions but. a 
 mere arithmetical problem, to be solved through 
 the erudition and astuteness of a Quetelet or 
 Hassel, by an iniallible statistical rule -of - 
 three ? lias the relentless Necessity of Comte 
 erected its huge mill on this continent, to 
 grimly grind out the annual ijuantity of patriot- 
 ism, tyranny, noble seli-abnegation, or Mach- 
 iavelism, in the prescribed, invariable ratio of 
 " Sociology V" is it that times make men and 
 women, through dire necessity of individual 
 or national salvation, or will it be urged that 
 Bublnue records of the past fire the soul to 
 emulation and duplication of ancient heroism? 
 JJuvus sum nan (Edipus. In 17t*l, when com- 
 pelled to raise the siege of Ninety - Six, it 
 became very important that General Greene 
 ehould conmiunicaie with Sumter. The inter- 
 vening country was, however, so filled with 
 British and Tories, and such dangers attended 
 tiie mission, that no one could be found willing 
 to undertake it. In this emergency, when even 
 our patriots of the first Revolution shrank back, 
 Ennly Geiger, only eighteen years of age, vol- 
 unteered to make the liazardous attempt/, and 
 receive<l from G««eral Greene a letter, and 
 verbal me^sagcs, which he was extremely de- 
 eiroiis should reach their destination. Mount- 
 ing a switl horse, she pertormed a portion of 
 the journey in safety ; but was ultimately 
 arrested by two Tories, who suspected that she 
 might be rendering important, though elan- 
 destine, service to "the rebels." Swiftly aitd 
 unoiiserved she swallowed the written despatch, 
 and, baffled in their expectation of finding sus- 
 picious documents, they allowed her to proceed. 
 Sumt<.r*3 camp was salely reached, the mes- 
 sages were delivered, Geu. Greene's army was 
 reinforced, and soon became .strong enough to 
 assume the otlensive. Rawdon was forced to 
 retreat, and Greene subsequently met and 
 vaiujuished the British army at .^-utaw Springs. 
 Was not Emily Geiger's slender womanly hand 
 instrumental m preparing for that battle, the 
 results of which freed the Carohnas ? 
 
 In July, 18G1, when the North, blinded by 
 avarice and hate, rang with the cry of " On to 
 Richmond," our Confederate Army of the 
 Potomac was divided between Manassa and 
 Winchester, watching at both points the glit- 
 tering coils of the Union boa-constrictor, which 
 writhed in its eiforts to crush the last sanctuary 
 of freedom. The stringency evinced alonjr 
 the Federal lines prevented the transmissioB 
 of despatches by the Secessionists of IMaryland, 
 and for a time Generals Beauregard and John- 
 ston were kept in ignorance of the movements 
 of the enemy. Patterson hung dark and low- 
 ering around Winchester, threatening daily | 
 descent; while the main column of the grand 
 army under McDowell proceeded from W'asb- 
 ington, confident in the expectation of over- 
 whelming the small army stationed at Manassa. 
 The friends of liberty who were compelled t« 
 remain in the desecrated old capital appre- 
 ciated the urgent necessity of acquainting 
 General Beauregard with the' designs of M«- 
 Duwell, and the arch-aj)ostate, Scott; but all 
 channels of egress seemed sealed ; all roads 
 leading across the Potomac were vigilantly 
 guarded, to keep the great secret safely ; and 
 painful apprehensions were indulged lor the 
 late of the Confederate army. But Ihe Pro- 
 methean spark of patriotic devotion burned la 
 the hearts of Secession women; anil, resolved ' 
 to dare all things in a cause so holy, a youajg 
 lady of VV^asliington, strong in heroic faith, 
 offered to encounter any perils, and pledged 
 her life to give Gen. Beauregard the necessary 
 intonnation. Carefully concealing a letter in 
 the twist of her luxuriant hair, which would 
 escj^pe detection even should she be searched,.__ 
 she disguised herself effectually, and, under the 
 mask of a market-woman, drove a cart through 
 Washington, across the Potomac, and deceived 
 the guard by .selling vegetables and milk as she 
 proceeded. Once beyond Federal lines, and 
 in liiendly neighborhood, it was but a few 
 minutes work to "off ye lendings," and s**- 
 cure a horse and riding-habiu With a courage 
 and rapidity which must ever command the 
 admiration of a brave people, she rode at hard 
 gallop that burning July atlenioon to Fairfax 
 Court-house, and telegraphrd to Gen. Beaure- 
 gard, tiien at Manassa's Junction, the inteUi- 
 gence she had risked so much to convey. 
 Availing himself promptly of thir facts, be 
 dashed tiiem along electric wires to Richmond, 
 and to General Johnston ; anil thus, through 
 womanly devotion, a timely junction of tbc 
 two armies was effected, ere McDowell's ban- 
 [ ners flouted the skies of Bull Run. 
 
 Cartliagenian women gave their black lockfl 
 I to sti ing their country's bows and furnish cord- 
 age lor Its .shipping ; and tiiu glossy tresses ^f 
 an American woman veiled a few mystic 
 ciphers more potent in (ieneral Beauregard's 
 hands than Talmudish Shcmhamphor>uth. 
 I lier mission accomplished, tbe dauntU»w 
 I courier turned her hone's bead, and, doubtlcas, 
 
148 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 ynth an exuUin?. thankful lu-art returned in 
 triumph. to Washinjrton. Wlu-n our nationa 
 k-wels are made up, will not a jirateful and 
 ailmiring country sot her name bftween those 
 of Beauregard and Johnston in the revolution- 
 wv diadem, and let the three blaze through 
 coraii.fr a-ef, bafllinp the mlst^s of tune— the 
 Constellation of Mana^sa? The artillery duel , 
 of the 18th of July ended disastrously (or the 
 advanee guard of tl*c FederaLj— a temporary 
 check was given. , i I 
 
 All things SL'emed in abeyance; dun, sul- | 
 phurous clouds of Fmoke lifu-l themselves from 
 \ liie dewy copse that fringed Bull Run, floating I 
 alowly to the distant purple crests of the Bhie 
 Rid.re, whi'^h gazed solemnly down -on the 
 wooded Coliseum, where gladiatorial host-s were 
 soon to pour out their blood in the hideous 
 orgies hold by loathsome Fanaticism— guarded 
 B\^Federal bayonets, and canopied by the Stars 
 alid StripeF. During the silent watches of 
 Saturday night — 
 
 « S'owlT com-js a hiiiiBiy people, as a lion creopinR nigbT, 
 Gltu'i-fl ni '-"0 that nodii and winks bdiiiul anlowly-dying 
 lire." 
 
 A pure Sabbath morning kindled on the 
 distant hill-tops wearing heavenly credentials 
 of rest and 6::nctity on its pearly forehead- 
 credentials which the passions of mankind 
 could not pause to recognize; and with llie 
 eolden glow ol' summer sunshine came the 
 U-amp of infantry, the clatter of cavalry, the j 
 Bullen growl of artillery. Major Huntingdon j 
 had been temporarily assij'ned to a regiment ^ 
 of infantry after leaving Richmond, and was ] 
 posted on' the right of General Beauregard's , 
 lines, commanding one of the lower fprds. 
 Two miles higher up the stream, in a diiterent j 
 brigade, Colonel Aubrey's regiment guarded ; 
 another of tlie numerous crossings. As the 
 day advanced, and the continual roar of ean- 
 xion toward Stone- Bridge and Siullcy's Pord j 
 indicated that the demonstrationson McLean s, , 
 Blackford'8, and aiilchell's fords were mere ^ 
 feinl,s to hold our right and centre, the truth ^ 
 flashed on General Beauregard that the main 
 column was hurled against Evans' little band 
 on the extreme left. Hour after hour passed, 
 and the thunder deepened on the Warrenton 
 road; then.the (ieneral learned, with unutter- 
 ai>'e cha<yr!n, that bis order for an advance on 
 Centreville bad miscarried, that a brilliant 
 plan had been frustrated, and that new com- 
 binations and dispositions must now be resort- 
 ed to The regiment to which Major liunt- 
 in-don was attached wa.s ordered to the support 
 of^the left wing, and reached the distant jjosi- 
 tlon in an almost incredibly short time, while 
 t%vo regimcfnts of the brigade to which Colonel 
 ■ Aubrey belonged were sent forward to the 
 game point as a reserve. 
 
 Like incarnations of victory, Beauregard 
 Rod Johnston swept to tlie front, where the 
 conflict was most deadly ; everywhere, at sight 
 of them, our thin ranks dashed forward, and 
 
 were mowed down by the fire of Rickett's and 
 Grilfin's batteries, wliich crowned the jiosition 
 they were so eager to regain. At halt'-past 
 two o'clock the awful contest was at its height; 
 the rattle of musketry, the ceaseless whistle of 
 rille-balls, the deateiiing boom of artillery, the 
 hurtling hail of shot, and exj)losion of shell, 
 dense volumes of smoke shrouding the com- 
 batants, and clouds of dust boiling up on all 
 sides, l*nt unutterable horror to a scene which, 
 I to colci, dispassionate observers, might have 
 I seemed sublime. As the vastly superior num- 
 i bcrs of the Federals forced our'stubboni bands 
 I to give back slowly, an order came from Gencr- 
 I al Beauregard for the right of his line, except 
 I the reserves, to advance, and recover the long 
 'and desperately -disputed plateau. With a 
 I shout, the shattered lines sprang upon the toe 
 I and forced them temporarily back. Major 
 1 Huntingdon's hor.se was shot under him ; he 
 ! disengaged himself and marched on foot, wav- 
 I ing his sword and littering words ol encour- 
 agement. He had j)roceeded but a few yards 
 wTien a urape-shot entered his side, tearing its 
 way through his body, and he fell where the 
 dead lay thickest. For a time the enemy re- 
 tired, but heavy reinforcements pressed in, and 
 they returned, reoccupying the old ground. 
 Not a moment w;is to be lost; General Beaure- 
 <ravd ordered forward his reserves for a second 
 elfort, and, with magnificent eifect, led the 
 char'Te in person, 'llien Russell Aubrey first 
 came actively upon the field. At the-word of 
 command bedashed forward with his si)!cn(lid 
 re"iment, and, high above all, towered liis^ 
 po'\verfiil form, wit b the long black plume of 
 his hat drifting upon the wind, as he led his 
 admiring men. 
 
 As he pressed on, with thin nestnl dilated, 
 and eyes thai burned like those of a tiger seiz- 
 I ing his prey, he saw, just in his path, leaning 
 on his elbow, covered with blood and smeareii 
 ! with dust, the crushed, writhing Ibrm of hi« 
 i bitterest enemy. His horse's hoofs were al- 
 ' most upon him; he reined him back an instant, 
 I and glared down at his old foe. It was only 
 I Ibr an instant; and as Major Huntingdon look- 
 ed on the stalwart figure and at the advancing 
 regiment, life -long hatred and jealousy were 
 I Ibrgotten- patriotism throttled all the past in 
 I her^grasp — he feebly threw up his !iainl, cheer- 
 I ed faintly, and, with his eyes on Russell's, 
 I smiled gr'imlv, saying, with evident dilh<ult.y : 
 I " Beat the'm back, Aubrey ! Give them the 
 bayonet!" 
 
 The shock was awful— beggaring language. 
 ■ On, on, they swept, while ceaseless cheers 
 mingled with the cannonade; the ground was 
 recovered, to be captured no more. The Fed- 
 erals were driven back across the turnpike, 
 and now dark masses of reinforcements de- 
 bouched on the plain, and inarched toward our 
 left. Was it Grouchy or Blucher ? borne 
 moments of painful suspense ensued, while 
 General Beauregard strained his eyes to de- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 119 
 
 cipher the advancing banner. Red and white 
 and blue, certainly; but was it the ensign of 
 Despotism or of Liberty ? Nearer and nearer 
 came the rushing column, and lo ! upon the 
 breew? streamed, triumphant as the Labarum 
 of Constantine, tlie Stars and Bars. Kirl)y 
 Smitli and Elzey — God be praised ! The day 
 was won, and Victory nestled proudly among 
 the folds of our new-born banner. One more 
 • harge along our whole line, and the hireling 
 hordes of oppression fled, panic-stricken. Rus- 
 sell iiad received a painful wound from a 
 nlinie ball, which entered his shoulder and 
 rangt'<l down toward the elbow, but he main- 
 tained his position, and led his regiment a mile 
 in the pursuit. When it became evident that 
 the retreat was a complete rout, he resigned 
 the command to Lieutenant- Colonel Black- 
 well, and rode back to the battle-field. Hid- 
 eous was the spectacle presented — dead and 
 dying, friend and foe, huddled in indiscrimi- 
 nate ruin, weltering in blood, and shivering in 
 the agonies of dissolution; blackened headless 
 trunks and fragments of limbs — ghastly sights 
 and sounds of woe, filling the scene of combat. 
 Such were the first fruits of the bigotry and 
 fanatical hate of New England, aided by the 
 unprincipled demagogism of the West; such 
 were the wages of Abolitionism, guided by 
 Lincoln and Seward — the latter-day Sejanus; 
 such the results of " higher-law," canting, pu- 
 ritanical hypocrisy. 
 
 Picking his way to avoid trampling the 
 dead, Russell saw Major Huntingdon at a 
 little distance, trying to drag himself toward a 
 neighboring tree. The memory of his injuries 
 crowded up — the memory of all that he had 
 endured and lost through that man's preju- 
 \ dice — the sorrow tjiat might have been averted 
 from his blind mother — and his vindictive 
 spirit rebelled at the thought of rendering him 
 aid. But as he paused and struggled against 
 his better nature, Irene's holy face, as he saw 
 it last, lifted in prayer for him, rose, angel-like, 
 above ail that mass of death and horrors. 
 The sufiierer was Irene's father ; she was 
 hundreds of miles away ; Russell set his lips 
 firmly, and, riding up to the ])rostrate figure, 
 dismounted. E.xhausted by his eflTorts, Major 
 Huntingdon had fallen baik in the dust, and 
 an expression of intolerable agony distorted 
 his features as Russell stooped over him, and 
 asked, in a voice meant to be gentle : 
 
 " Can I do anything for you V Could you 
 sit up, if I placed you on my horse V" 
 
 The wounded man s<owled a.s he recognized 
 the voice and face, and turned hia bead par- 
 tially away, muttering: 
 
 " What brought you here ?" 
 
 " There has never been any love between 
 us, ]\lajor Huntingdon ; but we are fighting in 
 the same cause for the first time in our lives. 
 You are, barlly woimded, ami, as a fcllow- 
 soldit r, I should be glad to relieve your suffer- 
 ing.s, if possible. Once more, for humanity's 
 
 sake, I ask, can you ride my horse to the rear, 
 if I asiiist you to mount V" 
 
 " No. But, for God's sake, give me some 
 water I" 
 
 Russell knelt, raised the head, and unbuck- 
 ling his canteen, put it to his lips, using his 
 own v/ounded arm with some difSculty. HalT 
 of the* cotitents was eagerly swallowed, and 
 the remainder Russell poured .slowly on the 
 gaping ghastly wound in his side. The proud 
 man eyed him steadily till the last cool drop 
 was exhausted, and said, sullenly : 
 
 " You owe me no kindness, Aubrey. I hate 
 you, and you know it. But you have heaped 
 coals of fire on my iicad. You are more gener- 
 ous than I thought you. Thank you, Aubrey; 
 lay me under that tree yonder, and let me 
 die." 
 
 " I will try to find a surgeon. Who belongs 
 to your regiment ?" 
 
 '■ Somebody whom I never saw till last 
 week. I won't have him hacking about me. 
 Leave me in peace." 
 
 " Do you know anything of your servant? 
 I saw him as I came on the field." 
 
 " Poor William ! he followed me ^o closely 
 that he was shot through the head. He is 
 lying three hundred yards to the left, yoiuler. 
 Poor fellow ! he was faithful to the last." 
 
 A tear dimmed the master's «agle eye as he 
 muLtered, rather than spoke, these words. 
 
 " Then I will find Dr. Arnold at once, and 
 send him to you." 
 
 It was no easy matter, on that crowded, cow- 
 fused Aceldama, and the afternoon was well 
 nigh spent before Russell, faint and weary, 
 descried Dr. Arnold busily using his instru- 
 ments in a group of wounded. He rode up, 
 and, having procured a drink of water and 
 refilled his canteen, approached the surgeon. 
 
 " Doctor, where is your horse ? 1 want 
 you." 
 
 /'Ho, Cyrus! bring him up. What is the 
 matter, Aubrey ? You are hurt." 
 
 " Nothing gerinu.s, I think. But Major 
 Huntingdon is desperately wounded — mor- 
 tally, I am afraid. See what you can do for 
 him.' 
 
 " You must be mistaken ! I have asked r»- 
 peatcdly for Leonard, and they told me he 
 was in hot pur.'suit, and unhurt. I hope to 
 heaven you are mistaken I" 
 
 " Impossible ; I tell you I litleil him out oFa 
 pool of his own blood. Come; I will show yoa 
 the way." 
 
 At a hard gallop they cros.^ed the interven- 
 ing woods, and without difficulty Russell 
 found the spot where the mangled form lay 
 still. He had swooned, with his face turned 
 up to the bky, and the ghastline-ss of death 
 had settled on his strongly-marked, handsome 
 features. 
 
 " (rod pity Irene 1" said the doctor, am he 
 bent down and examined the horrid wound, 
 striving to press ^the red lip.s together. 
 
150 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 The pain CJiused from handlincr I'im rousf'd 
 tiie brave spirit to consciousness, niid opening 
 liis eyes, lie looked around wonderiii^Iy. 
 
 '• Well, Hiram I it is all over with rae, old 
 fellow." 
 
 *' I hone not, Leon.ird ; can't you turn a lit- 
 tle, and let me fei-l for the ball ?" 
 
 " It is of no uje ; I am torn all to jiiecos. 
 Take me out of this dirt, on the fresh grass 
 •mewhore." 
 
 " I must first extract the ball. Aubrey, can 
 yoululp me raise liim a little V" 
 
 Admiiiisteiing .^ome ciiloroform, he .soon 
 sacceeded in taking out the ball, and, with 
 Kussell's assistance,' passed a bandage round 
 ifae body. 
 
 " There is no chance for me, Hiram ; I know 
 that. I Ivave few minutes to live. Some 
 water." 
 
 Russell put a cup to his white lips, and call- 
 ing in the assistance of Cyrus, who had followed 
 liis master, they carried him several yards 
 farther, and made him comlbitable, while or- 
 ders were dcspatolied for an ambulance. 
 
 " It. will come afu-r my corpse. Hiram, sec 
 that I am sent home at once. I don't want 
 my bones mixed here witli other people's ; 
 and it will be some comfort to Irene to know 
 Uiat I am buried in sight of home. I could 
 aot rest in a ditcii here. I want to bo laid in 
 uiy own vault. Will you see to it '/" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Hiram, c;cme nearer, where I can see you 
 batter. Rreak the news gently to Irene. Tell 
 Rer I did my duty; that will be her only com- 
 Ibrt, and best. Tell her I lell in the thickest 
 of the battle, with my face to Washington ; 
 that I died gloriously, as a Huntingdon and a 
 wldier should. Tell her I sent her my bless- 
 ing, ray love, and a last kiss." 
 
 He [)aused, and tears glided over his wan 
 cheeks as the picture of his far-off home rose 
 tamptingly belbre him. 
 
 " She is a brave child; she will bear it, for 
 the sake of the cause I died in. Take care of 
 Ler, Arnold; tell Eric I leave her to his guar- 
 efiauship. Harris ha,s my will. My jioor lonely 
 child! it is bitter to leave her. My Queen! 
 my golden-haired, bi-.autiful Irene!" 
 
 He raised his hand feebly, and covered his 
 face. 
 
 " Don't let it trouble you, Leonard. You 
 know how I love her ; I promise you I will 
 watch over her as long as 1 live." 
 
 " I believe you. But if I could see her once 
 mc^^e, to ask her not to remember my harsh- 
 ness — long ago. You must tell her for me ; she 
 will understand. Oh ! 1 — ." 
 
 A horrible convulsion seized him at this 
 moment, and so intense was the agony that a 
 groan burst through his set teeth, and he strug- 
 ^ed to rise. Russell knelt down and rested 
 2ie haughty head against his shoulder, wiping 
 «ff the cold drops tl'.at. beaded the pallid brow. 
 After a little while, lifting his eyes to the face 
 
 bending over him, Major Huntingdon gazed 
 into the melancholy black eyes, and said, al- 
 most in a whisper : 
 
 " I little thought I should ever owe you 
 thanks. Aubrey, forgive me all my hate; you 
 can afford to do so now. I am not a brute ; I 
 know magnanimity when I see it. Perhaps I 
 was wrong to visit Amy's sins on you; but 
 I could not forgive her. Aubrey, it was natural 
 that I should hate Amy's son." . 
 
 Again the spasm shook his lacerated- frame, 
 and twenty minutes al'icr his lierce, relentles* 
 spirit was released from torture; the proud, 
 ambitious, dauntless man was with his God. 
 
 Dr. Arnold closed the eyes with trembling 
 finger.s, and covered his face with his hands to 
 hide the tears that he could not repress. 
 
 " A braver man never died tor freedom. He 
 
 i cheered me on, as my regiment charged over 
 the spot where he lay," said Russell, looking 
 down at the stiffening form. 
 
 " He had his faults, lijce the rest of us, and 
 his were stern ones;' but, for all that, I was 
 attached to him. He had some princely traits. 
 I would rather take my place there beside him, 
 than have to break this to Iint-ne. Poor deso- 
 late child ! what an awl'ul shock for her ! She 
 
 , loves him with a devotion which 1 have rarely 
 seen equalled. God only knows how she wilr 
 bear it. ll' I were not so needed here, I would 
 go to her to-morrow." 
 
 •* Perhaps you can be spared." 
 •' No ; it wouhl not be right to leave so much 
 suffering behind." 
 
 ' He turned to Cyrus, and gave directnoni 
 about bringing the body into camp, to his own 
 tent; and the two mounted and rode slowly 
 
 i back. 
 
 For some moments silence reigned ; then 
 Dv. .\rnold said, suddenly: 
 
 i " I am glad you were kind to him, Aubrer. 
 
 j It will be some consolation to that purt; soul in 
 
 W , who has mourned over and suHcred 
 
 for his violent animosity. It was very gener- 
 
 ; ous, Russell." 
 
 ' " Save your commendation for a better occa- 
 
 '• .-ion ; I do not merit ii now. I liad, and have, 
 
 , as little magnanimit/ as my old enemy, and 
 
 j what I did was through no generous oblivion 
 
 I of the past." 
 
 I Glancing at him as these words were uttered 
 glo(jmily, the doctor noticed his faint, wearied 
 appearance, and led the way to his temporary 
 
 I hospital. 
 
 ] " Come in, and let me see your arm. Tcour 
 sleeve is full of blood." 
 
 An examination discovered a painful flesh- 
 
 j wound — the minie ball having glanced from 
 
 j the shoulder and passed out through the upper 
 part of the arm. In removing the coat to dress 
 
 j the wound, the doctor exclaimed : 
 
 I " Here is a bullet-hole in the breast, which 
 
 I must have just missed your heart! Was it a 
 
 j spent-ball V" 
 
 I A peculiar smile disclosed Russell's faultless 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 151 
 
 teeth an instant, but he merely took the coat, 
 laid it over his unitijared arm, and ans\ver«^d : 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about, spent-bails — 
 finish yotir job. I must look after my wound- 
 ed." " > ■* 
 
 As soon as the bandajes were adjusted he 
 walked away, and took from the inside pocket 
 ©f the coat a heavy t^quarc! nioroi;co case con- 
 taining Irene's ambrotype. When the coat 
 was buttoned, as on that day, it rested over his 
 heart; and during the second desperate charge 
 of General Beauregard's lines liissell felt a 
 •ndden thump, and. above all the roar of that 
 scene of carnage, heard the shivering of the 
 glass which covered tln^ likeness. Ttie morocco 
 was torn and indented, but the ball was turned 
 aside harmless, and now, as he touched the 
 spring, the fragments of glass fell at his feet. 
 It was evident that his towering form had ren- 
 dered him a conspicuous target ; some accurate 
 marksman had aimed at his heart, and the 
 ambrotype -case had preserved his life. He 
 l^ked at the uninjured. ra(li:int face till, a 
 mist dimmed his eyes; nobler aspirations, purer 
 aims possessed him, and, bending his knees, he 
 bowed his f'oreliead on the case and reverently 
 thanked God for his deliverance. With a 
 countenance pale from physical suffering, but 
 beaming with triumphant joy for the Nation's 
 first great viitory, he went out among the dead 
 and dying, striving to relieve the wounded, and 
 to find tiie members of his own command. 
 Passing from group to group, he heard a feeble, 
 fluttering voice pronounce his name, and saw 
 one of his men sitting against a tree, mortally 
 wounded bv a fra<j;raent of shell. 
 
 «' Well, Colonel, I followed that black feather 
 of yours as long as I could. 1 am glad I had 
 one good chance at the cowardly villains 
 before I got hurt. We 've thrashed them 
 awfully, and I am willing to die now." 
 
 " I hope you are not so badly hurt. Cheer 
 uj), Martin ; I will bring a doctor to dress your 
 leg, and we will soon have you on < rutches." 
 
 " No. Colonel ; the doctor has seen it, and 
 sdys there is nothing to be done for me. I 
 knew it before ; everybody ft-els when death 
 strikes them. Dr. .\rnold gave me sometking 
 that has eased me of my pain, but he can't save 
 me. Colonel, they sa\ my i:aptain is killed ; and, 
 as I may not see any of our comp.itiy boys, I 
 wish you would write to my poor wife, and tell 
 her all about it. I have n'l treated her as well 
 as I ought ; but a wife forgivirs everything, and 
 ihe will grieve for me, though I did act like a 
 brute whiMi I was drinking. She will be proud 
 to know that I fought well for my country, and 
 died a faithful Confederate soldier; and so will 
 my boy, my Tliilip, who wanted to come with 
 me. Tell Margaret to send him to take my 
 place just as soon as he is old enough. The 
 boy will revenge me; he has a noble spirit. 
 And, Colonel, be sure to tell her to tel! .Miss 
 Jrene that I kept my promise, to her — that 1 
 have not touched a drop of liquor since the day 
 
 she talked to me before T went out to build 
 Mr. Huntingdon's gin-house. God bless her 
 sweet, pure soul ! 1 believe she saved nie from 
 a drunkard's grave, to fill that of a brave 
 soldi(;r. I know she will never let my Mar- 
 garet suffer, as long as she lives." 
 
 "Is there anything else I can do for yoa, 
 Martin ?" 
 
 " Nothing else, unless I could get a blanket, 
 or something, to put under my head. I am 
 getting very weak." 
 
 " Leavens, pick up one of those knapsacks 
 scattered aiiout, and bring a blanket. T prom- 
 ise you, Martin; I will write to your wife; and 
 when I go home, if I outlive this war. I will see 
 that slit! is taken care of I am sorry to lose 
 I you, my brave fellow. You were one of the 
 ' best sergeants in the regiment. But remem- 
 ber that you have helped to win a great 
 battle, and your countrv will not forget hor 
 , faithful sons who fell at Manassa." 
 I " Goiid-by, Colonel ; I sliould like to follow 
 you to Washington. You have been kind to 
 us all, and I hope you will be spared to our 
 regiment. God bless you. Colonel Aubrey, 
 wherever you go."' 
 
 RiKssell changed him from his constrained 
 i posture to a more comfortable one, rested his 
 I head on a knapsack and blaidtet, jilaced his 
 j own citnteen beside him, and, with a long, hard 
 I gripe of hands, and faltering " God bless you!** 
 I the soldiers parted. The day of horrors was 
 ' shuddering to its close; glazing ey»>s were 
 I turned for the last time to the sun wliirh set in 
 j the fiery West; the din and roar (^f the pursuit 
 died away in the distance ; lowering clouds 
 I draped the sky; the groans and wails of the 
 ! wounded rose mournfully on the reeking air; 
 I and night and a drizzling rain came down on 
 ! the blanched corpses on the torn, trampled, 
 I crimson plain of Manassa. 
 
 ■■Ih:itc tlie (hoai^fiil hollow bohuiil tlm little wood. 
 j Its lips ill tho fipid aliovp nve dablilfil with blooil-rerl hnath, 
 I The ri'd-iibhcd liuljtes drip with ii gileiit li"iror of blood. 
 
 And Kclio thoro. wli.itevcr is asked her. anitwurs -DetttU I'" 
 
 I But all of intolerable torture centred not there, 
 
 j awful as was the scene. Throughout the 
 
 j length and breadth of the Confederacy tele- 
 
 ' graphic despatches tyld that the battle was 
 
 ! raging; and an army wf women .spent that 21st 
 
 , ujion their knees, in agonizing prayer for 
 
 I husbands and sons who wrestled for their 
 
 j liirthright on the far-olf field of blood. (Jray- 
 
 I haired pastors and curly -headed tdiildren 
 
 ■ alike besought the (Jod of Justice to ble.ss the 
 
 Right, to deliver our gallant bantl of patriots 
 
 from the in?olent hordes sent to destroy us; 
 
 ' and to that vast trembling volume of ju'ayer 
 
 which ascended from early morning from the 
 
 altars of the South, God lent his ear, and 
 
 answered. 
 
 1 The p(»ople. of W were subjected to 
 
 I painfid suspense as hour after hour crept by, 
 I and a dense crowd collected in fron: ot the 
 ; telegraph office, whence floated an ominous 
 
1^2 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 red fla{». Andrew waited on horst-baek to [ 
 carry to Irene the latest intelli|j:encc. and ; 
 during the entire afternoon she paced the 
 coloiinadf, with her eyes fixed on tlie winding 
 road. At li;iir-|)ast five o'clock tlie solemn 
 stillness of the sultry day was .siuldenly broken | 
 by a will!, prolonged siiout from the town ; 
 cheer after (iieer was canght up by the hill.s, 
 echoed among the purple vallevs, and finally : 
 lost in the roar of the river. Andrew gailopi-d 
 U]) rtii- avenue with an extra, yet damp from 
 the printing-press, containing the Joyful tidings 
 that McDowell's army had been completely | 
 routed, and was being pursued toward Ale.x- j 
 andria. Meagre was tiu! account — our heroes, | 
 Bee and Bartow, had fallen. No other details i 
 were given, but the premonition, " Heavy loss 
 on our side," sent a thrill of horror to every j 
 womanly heart, dreading to learn the price of i 
 victory. Irene's white face flashed as she read , 
 the despatch, and raising her hands, exclaimed: ; 
 " Oh, thank Clod ! thank God !" | 
 
 " Shall 1 go back to the office ?" , 
 
 ** Yes ; I shall certainly get a despatch from ] 
 father sometime to-night. Go back, and Wait 
 for it. Tell Mr. Rogers, the operator, wiiat you 1 
 came for, and ask him I say please to let you have i 
 it as soon as it arrives. And, Andrew, bring ! 
 me any other news that may come before my j 
 despatch." 
 
 Te<liously time wore on ; the shadows on the 
 lawn and terrace grew long(;r and thinner; 
 the birds deserted the hedges ; the pigeons 
 forsook the colonnade and steps ; Paragon, 
 tired of walking alter Irene, fell asleep on the 
 rug ; and the slow, drowsy tinkle of cow-bells 
 died away among the hills. 
 
 Far ofi" to tlie east the blue was hidden by 
 gray thunderous masses of rain -cloud, now 
 and then veined by li^ditning ; and as Irene 
 watched their jagged, gi'ote.sque outlines, they 
 took the form of battling hosts. Cavalry 
 Bwept down on the fiaidcs, huge forms heaved 
 along the centre, and the lurid furrows y^lough- 
 ing the whole from time to time, seemed Indeed 
 death-dealing flashes of artillery. She recalled 
 the phantom cloud-battle in tin; Netherlandisly 
 vision, and shuddered involuntarily as, in im- 
 agination, she 
 
 •" Ileaiil tlic licavens fill witli slioutiiig, and there rained a 
 
 glia.itly (lew 
 Prom tlienatiout! airy navies grappling in the central blue." 
 
 Gradually the distant storm drifted southward, 
 the retreat passed the horizon, a red sunset 
 faded in the west; rose and amber and orange 
 were quenched, and sober blue, with starry 
 lights, was over all. How the serene regal 
 beauty of that summer night mocked the 
 tumultuous throbbing, the wild jov, and 
 great exultation of the national heart! Mother 
 Earth industriously' weaves and hangs about 
 the world her radiant lovely tapestries, pitiless 
 of man's wails and requiems, <leaf to his paans. 
 Irene had earnestly endeavored to commit her 
 
 father and Russell to the merciful care and 
 protection of God, and to rest in faith, ban- 
 ishing apprehension ; but a horrible presenti- 
 ment, whirh would not "down" at her bidding, 
 kept her nerves strung to their utmost tension. 
 As the night advaneetl, her face grew haggard 
 and the wan lips fluttered ceaselessly. Rus- 
 sell she regardeii as already dead to her in this 
 world, but for her father she wre.stled des- 
 perately in sj)irit. Mrs. Campbell joined her, 
 uttering ho[ieful. encouraging words, and 
 Nellie came out, with a cup of tea on a waiter. 
 
 " Plea.sc drink your tea, just to plca.se me. 
 Queen. I can't bear to look at you. In all 
 your life I never saw you worry so. Do sit 
 down and rest ; you have walked fifty miles 
 since morning." 
 
 " Take it away, Nellie. I don't want it." 
 
 " But, child, it will be time enough to fret 
 when you know Mas' Leonard is hurt. Don't 
 run to meet trouble ; it will face you soon 
 enough. If you won't take the tea, for pity's 
 sake let me get you a ghxss of wine.' ^ 
 
 " No ; I tell you I can't swallow anything. 
 If you want to help me, pray for father." 
 
 She resumed her walk, with her eyes strain- 
 ed in the direction of the town. 
 
 Thus pa.ssed thiee more miserable hours; 
 then the clang of tln^ iron gate at the toot of 
 the avenue fell on her aching ear ; the tramp 
 of horses hoofs and roll of wheels came up 
 the gravelled walk. 
 
 •' Bad news I they are coming to break it 
 to me ! " said she hoarsely, and, pressing her 
 hands together, she leaned heavily against 
 one of the guardian statues whiidi had stood 
 so long before the door, like ancient Herma 
 at Athens. \Vas the image indeed [)rescient ? 
 It tilt.ed from its pedestal, and fell with a crash, 
 breaking into fragments. The omen chilled 
 her, and she stood still, with the light from 
 the hall -lamp streaming over her. The car- 
 riag<' stoppiid; Judge Harris and his wife came 
 up the steps, followed slowly by Andrew, 
 who.se hat was slouched over his eyes. As 
 they approached, Irene put out her hand* 
 wisliuUy. 
 
 . "iVe have won a glorious victory, Irene, 
 but many of our noble soldiers are wound- 
 ed. 1 knew you would be anxious, and w« 
 came — ." 
 
 " Is my father killed '?" 
 
 " Your father was wounded. He led a 
 spleniiid charge." 
 
 "Wounded! No 1 he is killed! Andrew, 
 tell me the truth — is father dead ?" 
 
 The faithful negro could no longer repress 
 his grief, and sobbed convulsively, unable to 
 reply. 
 
 " Oh, my God! I knew it! I knew it!" she 
 gasped. 
 
 The gleaming arms were thrown up de- 
 spairingly, and a low, dreary cry wailed 
 tliroujih the stately old man.sion as the or- 
 phan turned her eyes upon Nellie and Au- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 153 
 
 drew — the devoted two who had petted her 
 from chililhood. 
 
 Judge Harris led lier into the library, and 
 his weeping wife endeavored to ofTer consola- 
 tion, but she stood rigid and tearless, holding 
 out her liand for the despatch. Finally they 
 gave it to her, and she read : 
 
 "Charles T. Harris: 
 
 " Huntingdon was desperately wounded at 
 three o'clock to-day, in making a charge. He 
 died two hours ago. I was with him. The 
 
 body leaves to-morrow for W .- 
 
 "Hiram Arnold." 
 
 The paper fell from her fingers; with a dry 
 sob she turned from them, and threw herself 
 on the sotii, witli her face of woe to the wall. 
 So passed the night. 
 
 Four days after, a number of Major Hunt- 
 ingdon's friends waited at the depot to receive 
 the body. The train had been detained; it 
 was nine o'clock at night when the cars arriv- 
 ed, and the coflin was placed in a hearse and 
 e.-^corted to the Hill. By Judge Harris' direc- 
 tion it was carried into the parlor, and placed 
 on the table draped for the purpose; and when 
 arrangements had been made for the funeral 
 on the morrow, lie dismissed all but a few who 
 were to remain during the night. 
 
 Irene sat at her window up-stairs, looking 
 ©ut upon the sombre soughing pines that rose 
 like a cloud against the starry sky, while Grace 
 and Salome walked about the room, crying 
 spasmodically, and trying to utter something 
 comforting to the still figure, which might 
 have been of ivory or granite, for any visible 
 sign of animation. After a time, wlien the 
 bustle . had ceased, when the carriages had 
 withdrawn, and the hurried tread of many 
 feet had subsided, Irene rose, and said : 
 
 " Grace, tell your father I wish to see him." 
 
 Judge Harris came promptly. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged to you for all your 
 kindness. Please take tlie gentlemen into the 
 dining-room or library, if you will stay, and do 
 not allow any of them to return to the parlor; 
 I shall sit there to-night, and need uo one." 
 
 " Oh, my child ! impossible. " It would not 
 be proper. You are not able."' 
 
 "I know what I am able to do, and what I 
 have resolved to do. Be good enough to re- 
 move those gentlemen at once." 
 
 Something in her face startled him; perhajis 
 its frightful, tearless immobility, and lie silently 
 complied. 
 
 When all was quiet, she crossed the passage, 
 entered the dra|)cd room, and, locking the 
 door, was alone with her dead. The coffin 
 Rtood in the centre of the floor, and upon it 
 lay tlu» sword and plumed hat. She looked 
 down on the lid when- the name was inscribed, 
 an<l kissed the cimracters; ami, as all her iso- 
 lation and orphanage rushed upon her, she 
 
 laid her head on the table, calling mournfully 
 upon the manly sleeper for comfort and for- 
 giveness. 
 
 When morning broke fully. Judge Harris 
 knocked softly at the door. No answer. Ha 
 rapped loudly, trying the bolt. All within wa« 
 silent as the grave. He hurried round to lh« 
 green -house, threw up the sash, pushe<l open 
 the door, and entered, full of undcfinable alarm. 
 The wax candles on the table and mantlt* 
 had just expired ; the smoke from one was still 
 creeping, thread-like, to the ceiling. A whit^ 
 form knelt on the fjoor, with clasped hands 
 and bowed head, resting against the coflin. 
 
 " Irene ' Irene !" 
 
 She did not stir. 
 
 He looped back the curtains to admit tha 
 light, and bending down, lifted the head. 
 The face was chill and colorless as death, the 
 eyes were closed, and a slender stream of 
 blood oozed slowly over the lips, and dripped 
 upon the linen shroudings of the table. Sh(* 
 had fainted from the hemorrhage, and, taking 
 her in his arms, hfe carried her up to her owu 
 room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX€. 
 
 " I i'.tend to trust you with important de- 
 spatches. Miss Grey — for I have great confi- 
 dence in female ingenuity, as well as fcm:\lc he- 
 roism. The meekest of you women are miniature 
 Granvelles; nature made you a race of schem- 
 ers. Pardon me if I ask, how you propose 
 to conceal the despatches ? It is no easy 
 matter now to run the blockade of a Southern 
 port, especially on the Gulf; and yon must 
 guard against being picked up by the Philis- 
 tines." 
 
 " I am fully aware of all the risk attending 
 my trip ; but if you witt give me the papers, 
 prepared as I directed in my note from Paris, 
 I will pledge my life that they shall reach 
 Richmond safely. If I am captured and car- 
 ried North, I have friends who will assist mo 
 in procuring a passport to the South, and 
 little delay will occur. If I am searched, I 
 can bid them defiance. Give me the de- 
 spatches, and I will show you how I intend to 
 take them." 
 
 Electra opened her trunk, took out a largo 
 port-tblio, and .selected from the drawings on« 
 in ci5iyons representing the heads of Michael 
 Angelo's Fates. Spreading it out. face down- 
 ward, on the table, she laid the closdy-writteo 
 tissue paper of despatches smoothly on th« 
 back of the thin pasfeboard ; then fitted a 
 square piece of oil-silk on the tissue missive, 
 an<l having, with a small brush, coated the 
 silk with paste, covered the whole with a piece 
 of thick drawing-paper, the edges of which 
 were carefully glue«l to those of the paste- 
 board. Taking a hot iron from the grate, sho 
 passed it repeatedly over the paper, till all 
 
154 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 was §mooth ami 'Irv ; then in fhfi centre wrote, 
 witli a ptMH-il : •• Mic-h.-icl Ansdo's Fafe^, \n the 
 Pit'i PiiUiM'. Co|>i.-(l May 8th, I80I." From 
 % list offi^iuros ill a small note-book she added 
 the iliinen«ioiis of t lie picture, and, underneath 
 a11, .1 line from lOiiripides. 
 
 ll«'r cy.'S s|iatklfd as she bi'nt over her 
 work, and at li-iiirth, liftinir it for inspection, 
 $ht' exilaimt'd. tritimphantly : • 
 
 " Tlii-ri', sir ! I can bafHt; even the Paris 
 (it'tcciivf. niMiii less the lynx-eyed emissaries 
 of Lin -oln, S w ird, & Co. Are yon satisGed V 
 Ex.imini- it with your own hands." 
 
 '■ Perfectly sati^fied, my dear youni» lady. 
 But snp[iose they should seize your trunk ? 
 Confix -aiiaM i> the cry all over the North." 
 
 "Finding no:hin;j suspiciou-i or 'contra- 
 band ' about mc, e.xcept my Southern birth 
 and symj)Hthi>'s, they would scarcely take pos- 
 •PssioM of tiie nceisary tools of my profession. 
 I have no U-at, sir; the paper is fated to i^ach 
 its d''stinatioii." 
 
 '• Arc your other despatches sealed up pic- 
 V-orialiy ?" • 
 
 Hhc lau;;h('d heartily. 
 
 "Of cour.se not. We women are too 
 •hrewd to hazard all upon one die." 
 
 •• Well — well I You see that we trust impor- 
 tant data to your ciiuninjr finders. You leave 
 London to-morrow for Sout.hampton : will 
 asVivc ju-t in time for the steamer. Good-by, 
 Miss Grey.. •Wlieii I fret back to the Confcd- 
 enicy I shall certainly find you out. I want 
 you to paint the portraits of my wife and chil- 
 dren. From the enviable reputation you have 
 already acipiired, I am proud to claim you for 
 my country-woman. God bless you, and lead 
 you safely home. Good-by, Mr. Mitchell. 
 Take care of her, and let me hear from you on 
 yo<ir arrival.' 
 
 From the hour when tidinnrs of the fall of 
 Sumter reached Eurc/^e, Electra had resolved 
 to cut short the studies which she had pursued 
 •0 vif^orously since her removal to Florence, 
 and return to tlic South. But the tide of 
 travel set toward, not from, European shores, 
 and it was not until after repeated attempts 
 to find some one homeward-bound,, that she 
 learned of Eric Mitcliell's presence in Paris, 
 
 •nd his intention ol soon returning to W . 
 
 She wrote at once, requesting his permission 
 to place herself uinler his care. It was cordi- 
 ally accorded ; and, bidding adieu to Italy, she 
 joined him without delay, despite the plead- 
 ings of Mr., Mrs. Young, and Jjouisa, who had 
 recently arrived at Florence, and sincerely 
 mourned a separation under such painful cir- 
 e^lmstance8. 
 
 Erie was detained in Paris' by a severe 
 atta'dc of the old disease, but finally reached 
 London — whence, having compkited their 
 arrangements, they set olf for Southampton, 
 and took passage in the Trent, which was 
 destined sulisequenlly to play a prominent 
 part in the taugled rule of Diplomacy, and to 
 
 furnish the most utterly humiliating of many 
 chapters of the pusillanimity, sycophancy, and 
 degradation of the Federal government. 
 
 The voyage proved plo.isawt and prosperous; 
 and, once at Havana, Eric anxiously sought 
 an opportunity of testing thi! vaunted 
 efhcicncy of the blockade. Unfortunately, 
 two steamers had started the- week previous, 
 one to New Orleans, the other to Charleston ; 
 only sailing vessels were to be found, and 
 about the movements of these impenetrabU 
 mystery seemed wrapped. On the afternoon 
 of the third day after their arrival, Eric, 
 wearied with the morning's (Vuilless inquiry, 
 was resting on the sofa at t!ie hotel, whIU 
 El >ctra watched the tide of passers-by, when 
 Willis, Eric's servant, came In quickly, and 
 walked up to the sofa. 
 
 " Master, Captain Wright is here. I asked 
 him to come and see you, and he is waiting 
 down stairs." 
 
 " Captain Wright ?" 
 
 *• Yes, sir ; the captain you liked so much at 
 Smyrna — the one who gave you that pipe, sir." 
 
 "Oil, I remember ! Yes — yes; ami he is here? 
 Well, show him up." 
 
 " Master, from the way he watches th« 
 clouds, I believe he is about to run out. 
 Maybe he can take us ?" 
 
 '* Willis is invaluable to you, Mr. Mitchell," 
 said Electra, as the negro left the room. 
 
 " Me is, indeed. He is eyes, ears, crutches, 
 everything to mo, ami never forgets anything 
 or anybody. He has travclleil over half the 
 world with me, — could desert me, and be fre« 
 at any moment he felt inclined to do so — but 
 is as f lithful now as the day on which I firat 
 left home with him." 
 
 "Ah, Captain ! this is an unexpected pleas* 
 ure. I am lieartily slad to see you. Miss 
 Grey — Captain Wright. Take a ^eat." 
 
 The ca])tain looked about thirty, possibly 
 older; wore a gray suit and broad straw hat, 
 and, when the latter was tossed on the floor, 
 .showed a handsome, frank, beaming face, with 
 large, clear, smiling blue eyes, whose steady 
 light nothing human coulil dim.^ His glossy 
 reddish-brawn hair was thrust back from a 
 fbrtdiead vdiite and smooth as a woman's, but 
 tlnrlower portion of the face was efTectually 
 bronzed by exposure to the vicissitudes of 
 climate and weather; and Electra noticed a 
 peculiar nervous restlessness of manner, as 
 though he were habitually on the watch. 
 
 " I am astonished to see you in Havana, 
 Mitchell. Wh(-re did you come from ?" 
 
 "Just from Paris, where bad health drov« 
 me, after I bade you good-by at Smyrna. 
 What are you doing here?" 
 
 " I suppose you have heard of our great 
 victory at Manassa?" 
 
 " Yes, and am rejoiced beyond all ex- 
 pression, but feel anxious to see a full list 
 of our loss. I had a brother - in - law in that 
 ensra^fement." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 155 
 
 " His name?" 
 
 *' Huntingflon — Major Huntington, of 
 W , in ." 
 
 " I have seen no mention of his name in the 
 papers, but our loss in olTniers was very heavy. 
 We can ill afford to spare Bee, Bartow, and 
 Fisher ; and I want the war carried on till 
 we burn every public buildin;; in Washington, 
 and raise a monument to our dead on the site 
 of the Capitol. We owe this debt, and we 
 must pay it." 
 
 *' Have you a vessel here, Captain ?" 
 
 " Of course I have ! Don't you suppose 
 that I would b(nn the army if I could not serve 
 my country better by carryinir in arms and 
 ammunition ? I have already made two suc- 
 oessful trips with my schooiier — ran in, despite 
 the blockatlers. I am negotiatinij for a stcam- 
 ar, but until I can get one ready I intend to 
 •ail on." 
 
 " When did you arrive here last?" 
 
 " About ten days ago. They chased me for 
 nearly fifteen miles, but I stole out of sight be- 
 fore morning." 
 
 " When do \ ou expect to leave here ?" 
 
 The captain darted a swift, searching glance 
 at Electra, rose, and closed the door, saying, 
 with a light laugh : 
 
 " Take care, man ! You are not exactly 
 aeer-lmnting or crab-catching in a free 
 • ■ountry ! Mind that, and talk softly. I am 
 watched here ;• the Federal agents all know 
 me, and there are several Federal vessels 
 in port. When do I expect to leave ? Well, 
 to-night, if the weather thickens up, as T think 
 it will, and there is evident sign of a storm. 
 Most sailors wait for fair weather ; we block- 
 »de-runners for foul." 
 
 " Oh, Captain ! do take us with you ?" said 
 Electra, eagerly. 
 
 •' What ! In a rickety schooner, in the teeth 
 of a gale ? Besides, Miss, I am taking a cargo 
 of powder this trip, and if I am hard pressed 
 I shall blow up vessel and all, rather than 
 Buffer it to fall into Yankee clutches. You 
 would not relish going up to heaven after the 
 fashion of^Bocket, would you ?" 
 
 " I amfl^illing, sir, to risk everything you 
 threatep^ather than wait here indefinitely." 
 
 " Calrt you take u.s, Wright — Miss Grey, 
 Willis, and myself? We are very impatient to 
 get ?K>me." 
 
 " But I have no accommodations for passen- 
 gers. I should be ashamed to ask Miss Grey 
 aboanl my little egg-shell — everything is so 
 .mall and comfortless. I have not lost all my 
 politeness and chivalry, if I am a rough-looking 
 Confeilerate .sailor. I assure you I have every 
 disposition to oblige you, but really it would 
 not be right to subject a lady to such a trip as 
 I may have before me." 
 
 '' But, CajJtain, if, with all these facts star- 
 ing m<' iu the face, I appeal to your chivalry, 
 »nd beg you to allow me to undergo the hard- 
 •hips incident to the trip, in preference to un- 
 
 certain delay here. If I prefer to vnn the 
 gantlet in your schooner, you surely will not re- 
 fuse me ?" « 
 
 " Really, Miss, T don't know what to ^ay. 
 I thought I would frighten you out of the no- 
 tion — for, to tell you the truth,! am alway> so 
 much more an.xious when I have ladii's' live* 
 in my hands. I pledge you my word 1 \\oidd 
 sooner run afoul of a Federal frigate than seo 
 you sutTer for want of anything. I can't even 
 set a table half the time." 
 
 "But I suppose, sir, we could contrive to 
 live a few days without eating at a regular ta- 
 ble. I will take some cheese rAd crackers 
 and fruit along in a basket, if that will casw 
 your mind. Do waivoyour .scruples, and 'on- 
 sent to take cliarge of us." 
 
 " I add ray ])rayers to hers. Writrht, do 
 take us. We shall not mind nrivation-t or 
 inconvenience. 
 
 "Well, then, .understan<l distinctly that, if 
 anything happens, _vou are not to blame me. 
 If the young lady gets sea-sick, or fi-ccklcd, or' 
 suu-burnt, or starved to death, or blown uji. or 
 drowned, or, worse than all, if the Yankee 
 thie\es by the way-side take her as a prize, 
 it will be no fault of miuv*. whatever, an<l I tell 
 you now I shall not lay it on my conscience." 
 
 " 'Raw-head and bloody bones' never friLrht- 
 ened me, even when I was a little child, sir : so 
 you may recon(;ile yourself to the prospect of 
 having us as compnqnnns ile ooijfirfe." 
 
 "Suppose a small hand-to-hand fight forms 
 a part of the programme ?" 
 
 " In that case, I have a splendid brace of pis- 
 tols, which were given to me before I lefk 
 Europe." 
 
 " Do you know how to handle them ?" 
 
 " Moderately well. I will practice as wc go 
 along, by making a target of one of your small 
 ropes." 
 
 " I see you are incorrigible ; and I suppose I 
 must let you go with me, hongrc mnlffre." 
 
 " Bnnrfrc let it be, by all means. I am in- 
 expressibly impatient to get home." 
 
 " Wright, to what port are you bound ?" 
 
 " Ah ! that is more than I can tell you. The 
 winds must decide it. I can't try the Caroli- 
 na* again this trip; they are watching for me 
 too cdosely there. New Orleans is ralhi'r a 
 longer run than I care io make, and I shall 
 keep my eyes on .\])alachicola ami Atobile." 
 
 " What object have you in starting to-night;, 
 particularly in the face of a gale?" 
 
 Again the captain's eye swept roun<l the 
 room, to guard against any doors that mighl 
 be ajar. > 
 
 " As I told you before, I am watched here. 
 The Federals have a distinguished regard for 
 me, and I have to elude su.'^picion, as well as 
 run well, when I do get ofut. Two hours ago 
 i Federal ar«ied steamer, whic h has been 
 coiling here, weighed anchor, and ha? protia- 
 bly left the harbor, to cruise between this 
 place and Key West. As they passed, one of 
 
15fi 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 tlic crew yelled out to me tliat they would 
 wait oubjide, and catth me certainly this time; 
 tb;tt I had made my last* jaunt to Dixie, etc. 
 I have carefully put out the impression that I 
 need some repairs, which can not be finished 
 this week ; and have told one or two. confi- 
 dentially, that I lould not leave until tlie ar- 
 rival of a certain carpo from Sassau, wliicli is 
 due tn-niorrow. That Puritanical craft which 
 stcirted oil" at noon does not expect me for 
 several days, and to-ftight I shall rub my 
 fiuLMTS ami sail out ri<zht in her wake. Ha! 
 ha! hiiw fl!e\ wiil howl ! What f;nashinjr of 
 teeth tlicrc ^il! be, when tlu-y hear of me in a 
 Confederate port ? And now about your 
 baL'irafie. Have everytliincr ready ; I will show 
 Willis I he riirlit wliarf, and at dark he must 
 brinj: the trunks down : I will be on the watch, 
 and send a boat asliore. About sunset you 
 and Miss Grey can come aboard, as if for a 
 mt-re vi.-it. I mu-^t go and make what little 
 preparation I can for your comfort." , 
 
 Nothine occurred to frustrate the plan ; Eric 
 and Electra were cordially received, and at 
 dusk Willis and the ba{r;raire arrived punctu- 
 ally. The schooner was lyinjr some distance 
 from the wharf all sails down, and ap[)arent- 
 ly contemplating no movement. With dark- 
 nes.i came a brisk, stiffeninfr wind, and clouds 
 ehuttinj: out even dim star-li^ht. At ten 
 o'clock, all thinc's beinfj in readiness, the cap- j 
 tain went on ilr<k ; very soon after the glim- 
 merin«:f li<_dits of the city, then the frowning | 
 walls of Moro, were left behind, and the i 
 " Di.xie " took her way silently and swiftly i 
 seaward. j 
 
 About two o'clock, being unable to sleep ; 
 from the rockinp of the vessel. Electra, know- 
 ing that Eric was still on deck, crept up the 
 ■teps in the darkness, for the lights had been 
 extinguished. The captain was passing, but 
 paused, saying, in a whisper: 
 
 *• Is that you, Miss Grey? Come this way, 
 and 1 will show you something." 
 
 He grasped her hand, led her to the bow, 
 where P'ric wa-^ sitting on a coil of rope, and, 
 pointing straightforward, added, in the same 
 «uj)pressed tone : 
 
 " Look right ahead — you see a light ? The 
 Philistines are upon us! Look well, and you 
 will see a dark, irregular moving mass; that is 
 the steaniA- of which I told you. Tiiey have 
 found out at last that tliere is going to be all 
 sorts of a gale, and as they can't ride it like 
 my snug, dainty little egg-shell, they are put- 
 ting ba'k with all possible speed. Twenty 
 minutes ago they were bearing down on me; 
 now, you see that they will pass to our left. 
 What a pity they don't know their neighbors!" 
 
 " D© you think that they will not see youV" 
 
 " Certaiidy ! with sails down, ami liglits 
 out, there is notliing to be seiMi on such a night 
 as this. .There! don't you hear her paddles?" 
 
 "No;' I hear nothing but the roar of the 
 wind and water." 
 
 '* Ah ! that is because your ears arc not 
 trained like mine. Great Neptune I how abe 
 labors already ! Now ! be silent." 
 
 On came the steamer, whieh Electr.Vs un- 
 trained eyes, almost blinded by spray, could 
 liarely discern ; and her Iw'art beat like a muf- 
 fled drum as it drew nearer and nearer. Once 
 she 'heard a low, chu'klinix laugh of satisfac- 
 tion escape the captain: then, with startling 
 distinctness, the ringing of a bell was born« 
 from the steanxx's dc<k. 
 
 " Four bells — two o'clock. How chaurined 
 they will be to-morrow, when they find out 
 they passe<l me without paying their respects." 
 whis[)ered the captain. 
 
 Gradually the ves.sel receded, the dark masa 
 grew indislini.'t, the light ilickereil, and was 
 soon lost to view, and the s<juiid of the labor- 
 ing machinery was drowned in the roar of the. 
 waves. 
 
 " Hurrah ! for the ' Di.xie!' Strike a light 
 below, Hutchinson, and get some glas.ses. We 
 must have a little champagne in honor of this 
 performance. Come down. Miss Grey, and 
 you too, Mitchell ; the w.itcr is beginning to 
 break very near your feet. Oh ! but you must 
 t<ake .some wine. Miss Grey. I can't have you 
 looking like a ghost when I land you on Con- 
 federate soil. Peo|)le will swear I starved 
 you, and nothing humiliates im- half so much 
 as an iiiii)utation on my hospitality. Hero 's 
 tp the CV)nfederacy ! and to our Heauregard 
 and Jolinston ! CJod bless thcin i)oth !" 
 
 Ele( tra drank the wine; and, before he went 
 back on deck, the captain made a comfbrtablt 
 place for her on the sofa in the little cabin. 
 The storm increased until it blew a perfect 
 hurricane, and the schooner rolled and creak- 
 ed, now and then shivering in every limber. 
 It was Mtterly impossible to sleep, anil Eric, 
 who was suffering from a headache, passed u 
 mi.serable night. In the white sickly dawn 
 the captain looked in again, and Electtra 
 thought that no ray of sunshine could be nior« . 
 radiant or cheering than his joyous noble, face. 
 
 ** Good -morning. I wonder iiL I look a« 
 much like a drenched lily as j^^ do, Miss 
 Grey y Doubtless, much more likelBflrenched 
 sunflower, you think. Were you aUl^icd all 
 night V" 
 
 " No, sir; I knew that we were not in the 
 hands of Palinurus." 
 
 "Oh! thank you for your confidence! 1 
 will tell my wife of that, if I live to see her 
 again. I certainly did not fall overboard, 
 which was lucky — for, though I rather pridu 
 myself on my proficiency as a swimmer, I am 
 very sceptical concerning the mythologic thre« 
 days performance. Mitchell, I hope a good 
 cup of hot coffee will set your head straight." 
 
 "How is the storm? Any abatement?" 
 asked Eric. 
 
 " Not a whit yet ; but the wind ha.! veered 
 a little, .and I tliink that by twelve o'clock it 
 will break away." 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 157 
 
 " Captain, can I go on deck for a little 
 wliilc V" 
 
 " Whew! My dear young lady, you would 
 not be able to fatch your broatli again i'ov a 
 hnlf'-Iioiir. You could npt stand a moment; 
 spray and wind would blind you, and the 
 wavi;s would take you overboard — wash you 
 away." 
 
 " But I want to see a genuine violent storm 
 at sea. I shall probably never have another 
 opjiortunity." 
 
 " I will answer for the genuineness of this 
 specimen, if you really want to look out. 
 Wrap a shawl round your shoulders ; give me 
 your hand ; step up ; look for yourself. No 
 counterfeit — take my word for that. Squally 
 enough, is n't it V" 
 
 A wild howling wa,«;te of waters leaped and 
 rolled like leaden mountains against a wan 
 drab sky, where dun smoke -colored clouds 
 ti-ailed sullenly before the wind. Foara-crown- 
 ed walls towered on either side the schooner, 
 leaned over as if to meet and crush it, and 
 broke in wreaths, of spray about the deck, 
 while ghastly sheet-lightning glimmered cease- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Old Father Neptune must be in a tearing 
 rage with his pretty Amphitrite, to churn up 
 all this commotion. Don't you think you have 
 seen enough, Miss Grey ? You are getting 
 wet." 
 
 He saw her face flush and her eyes sparkle 
 Btrangely. 
 
 " If I could only paint this sea ! If I could 
 only put that roll and sweep of Avaves yonder 
 upon canvas ! I couhl ailord to die young. 
 Oh ! for the brush of Clarkson Stanlield lor 
 one hour I to fix that sea — 'where it gathers 
 itself into a huge billow, fronting the blast like 
 an angry brow, corrugated in agony and rage.' 
 My father was a sailor, and 1 think I must 
 have inherited my love of the sea from him." 
 
 " Where is he now V" 
 
 " Dead — long ago — before I was born. His 
 ship, the "Electra," went down with all on 
 board." 
 
 "And your mother?" 
 
 " Named me for the wreck, and followed 
 my lather Vrhen I was four months old." 
 
 As swirls of spray dashed in her lace, 
 
 " llur eyes liad louk.t like jirlsoDed birJs.' 
 
 " Captain, I have read somewhere of a Dutch 
 painter who, in his passionate longing to por- 
 tray accurately such scenes as this, had himself 
 lashed to the deck of a vessel during a terrific 
 gale, where he could study and note the pe- 
 culiar aspects, so (lillicult to render correctly. 
 I am tempted t» follow his example. Doubt- 
 less you cfuld furnish a rope lor such a 
 purpose." ^ 
 
 "Not even a bit of twine. Come down 
 instantly, Miss Grey. I can't afford the lux- 
 ury of a physician on board ; and if you 
 should be so unfortunate as to catch a catarrh 
 
 or spell of pneumonia by this piece of impru- 
 dence, 1 should be distressed to death, and 
 frightened out of my wits. Come down, at 
 once." f 
 
 About noon the fury of the gale- subsided, 
 the sun looked out through riftsin the scudding 
 clouds, and toward night -fields of quiet blue 
 were once more visit)le. By next mornmg the 
 weather had cleared up, with a brisk westerly 
 wind; but the sea slill roiled lieavdy;'and 
 Eric, unable to bear the moiion, kept below, 
 loth to trust himself on his feet. Electra 
 strove to while away the tedious time by read- 
 ing aloud to him ; but many a yearning look 
 was cast toward the deck, an<l finally she left 
 him with a few books, and ran up to tlie open 
 air. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day after 
 leaving Havana, she was silting on a bulialo- 
 robe stretched near the stern, watching th« 
 waves and graceful curls of toani that marked 
 the st'hooner's path, and forgetful lor a season 
 of the fifth volume of "Aiodern Painters," 
 which lay open beside her. The wind had 
 blown back lier straw hat, and her short black 
 hair Huttered about a face fully exposed to 
 view. 
 
 The captain had been tuning a guitar for 
 some moments, and now drew near, tlirowing 
 himself down on the bull'alo-robe. 
 
 " What are you staring at so solemnly ? 
 Tell me what you are thinking of." 
 
 " If you are really curious, you are welcome 
 to know. 1 was only watching the wake of 
 the vessel, and thinking of mat beautiful 
 simile of Coleridge in the ' Frieiul :' • Human 
 experience, like the stern -lights of a ship at 
 sea, illumines only the path we have passed 
 over.' " 
 
 Her clear olive cheeks burned, and her 
 great shadowy elfish eyes kindled, as was their 
 wont when her feelings were deeply stirred. 
 
 "1 believe you are an artist, Aliss Grey y" 
 
 " 1 am trying to become one, sir. Before 
 we leave you, i want you to e.vaiuine some of 
 my sketches, and select the one which you like 
 best. It will afford me great pleasure to paint 
 it for you, as a feeble token of my gratitude and 
 appreciation of your kiuduess." 
 
 *• Thank you. 1 hope the day is not distant 
 when 1 shall have my wife with me once more, 
 and then 1 shall beg you to paint her portrait 
 lor me." 
 
 " Where is she ?'* 
 
 " At our home in Maryland." 
 
 " Are you a Mary lander, Captain." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but that is no place for true men 
 now. Nothing cau be accomplished there at j 
 this juncture, and those who are true to the < 
 Constitution and the South have joined the Con- 1 
 leUeraLc service in one form or another. Wo 
 shall have to hang that infamous traitor. Hicks, 
 before we can tree the state ; and it is because 
 1 appreciate the lamentable scarcily of armii 
 and ammunition, that I am engaged in mjr 
 
158 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 prcs'Ut Imsiness. If I arm ten tliousaml men, ' 
 It Will i)(j bolter for our <:lorioiis caiiiie tlian if [ 
 I liHixiled a musket myself. Poor, ilown-trod- ] 
 dcii, liHii(i< ulled, humiliateil Maiyhuul ! Miss ; 
 Giry,y«)u liave jjrouably not heard our favorite ' 
 new .-Jn;^, •Maryland, niy Maryland?' I com- 
 fort mysciCby sinj:ftig it now and tlien, while ! 
 huiiiJreds ol miles ol stormy sea toss between ; 
 me and my home. Would you like to iiear it?" j 
 
 " By all means, la Europe I, of eoursc, | 
 beard nollMug." j 
 
 IK- strui k a few full rieh chords, and sang i 
 the fiirring yyord.-:, as only a true Marylander ! 
 can, who feels all the wrongs and ignominy of ' 
 bis .-tate. j 
 
 ^Ii> tine eyes were full of tears as he began 
 the ia>t piophetic verse ; and when it was ■ 
 conciiuii il, he iprang up and repeated, trium- j 
 phamly : 
 
 - flic biB»tIn.'»— »lic biirnB: Sh« "11 cornel she '11 come! 
 Muiyliiinl; M\ MiuyUuil!" 
 
 " Jl such be the feeling of her sons, Captain, 
 ■he will .soon 'gird her beauteous limbs with 
 steul," aud a.s a state come out proudly i'rom 
 aniii: the Abomination of Desolation. The 
 Ulu^!c is peculiarly adapted to the burden of 
 the nolile thought^, and invests them with 
 extraoiumary j)0wcr and pathos. The won- 
 deiiul utlect ot national lyrics in such stormy 
 timirs as these, e.\enipliiics the truth of the 
 adiiiiiiii.ir remark, wliicli I have seen very 
 feiii iluu.-.:y applied to lieranger, but which 
 was 111.'-; (pjotcd, 1 believe, by l^letcher of bal- 
 touii ; • li a man were permitted to make all 
 the iKth.nl.s he need not care who should make 
 tbe i.i>*a of a naiiou.' Oh! what a suuset ! 
 I uen 1 .^.iw anything from Fiesole comparable 
 to tii>u.. " 
 
 The .sun had gone down below the water- 
 line. From the zenith, eastward, the sky was 
 violet-hacd; in the west, light cloud -liakes 
 hiul gJiLiiered in fleecy masses and semi- spiral 
 whill^ ; roiue burned lik.e dashes of vermilion 
 in lain-p of beryl or chrysopruse, others, in 
 purpii; pomj)., fringed their edges with gold; 
 enowy u.ounlaiu ranges wttrt. tipped with fire, 
 pill.uiu cathedrals with domes of silver; and, 
 beiicatii i^ll, glared a liquid sea of rippling 
 llame. A sky which only Kuskin could- de- 
 Bcribi , or turner paint. 
 
 •' 1 lie West is an altar, where earth daily 
 gaLiiei> up her garlauded beauty in sacrificial 
 oir< riiij; to God. Agamemnon-like, she gives 
 her loveliest." 
 
 Tlust; words seemed to pass the girl's lips un- 
 con.-ciously, as she leaned forward with hands 
 claspL-d oil her lap ; and smiling at the breath- 
 less eagerness ot her fa(;e, and the to him 
 incomiJielieiisible enthusiasm she evinced, the 
 captain ^aid ; 
 
 " if you are so very fond of such things, I 
 wisii you coula see a midnight sky in the 
 tropi i.-^, as 1 have seeu it, sailing between Rio 
 Janeiro and Baltimore. 1 believe 1 have not 
 
 miK'h sentiment in my nature, but maar a 
 night I have lain awake on deck, looking up 
 at tlie stars that glowed, burned — 1 hardly 
 know how to express it — like great diamonds 
 elu>tered on black vtdvet. There are splendid 
 constellations there, which you have never 
 seen. \Vhen we win intlependence anil peace, 
 I intend to have a fine steamship of my own, 
 and then I shall ask you to make a voyage 
 with me as far as Uruguay. I will show yon 
 sc-nery in Brazil that will put you on your 
 knees in adoration." 
 
 " I shall accept the invitation wben peace is 
 made. Captain Wright, have y.ou any cbil- 
 drtrn ?" 
 
 " Yes — two ; a son and daughter ; the eldest 
 five years old." 
 
 *' Then train them up to love sun.sets, stars, 
 flowers, clouds of all kinds. We are creatures 
 of education, and I hold it the imperative duty 
 of p<'\rents to teach their children to appreciate 
 the beautiful things in this world, which God 
 has given to gild iife with. There is grief and 
 gloom enough at best ; and so much innocent 
 ex(jnisite joy may be extracted from a thousand 
 sources, that it seenis philosophic, as well hk 
 a sacn-d duty, to leap the great harvest of 
 happiness which calls to us from a proper 
 appreciation of Beauty. 1 do not mean learned 
 di>(juisitions, or tedious, scientific terminol- 
 ogy. A child can admire, love an aster or 
 a magnolia, without underslaiiding botany ; 
 may watch lor and ilelight in sucli a sky as 
 that, without classil"\ing the clouds, or desig- 
 nating the gorgeous tiiila in genuine artistic 
 phraseology ; may clap its little hands, and 
 shout with joy, in looking at the stars, without 
 knowing Orion from Ursa Major. I have often 
 been laughed at, and requested not to talk 
 nonsense, when 1 have expressed these views; 
 have been sneered at as an enthusiast ; but 
 the longer 1 live the more earnest becomes 
 my conviction of the truth of my opinion. 
 Tiie usetui, the material necessities of life, 
 require little study; our comfort involves at- 
 j tention to them ; but the more ideal sources of 
 I peace and enjo_\ment demand care and culti- 
 ' vatioii. J am an orj.dian ; 1 had no paivntal 
 hand to guide my thoughts and asj)iratioiis to 
 I the beautiful, ill all ita protean jihases ; my lilli 
 has not been spent in the most flowery paths ; 
 ' b>it because, as a lonely chiUI, I learned to 
 j derive pleasure from communion with Nature 
 and An, 1 have seasons of rapturou.-? enjoy- 
 ment which all California could not purcliase. 
 The us«ful, the practical, and the beautiful are 
 I not opposed — arc even united — if people would 
 only open their eyes to the trutti. 1 am uo 
 morbid sentimentalist or dreaming enthusiast; 
 if nature intended mc lor such, a cold, matter- 
 of-fact world has cheated me out of my birth- 
 right. 1 live, sustain myself by my art, as you 
 by your sailor's craft; it feeds and clothes my 
 ■ body as well as my mind. But 1 can't bear 
 [ to walk through a graud metropolitan cathe- 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 Up 
 
 ■ dralof wonflcrfiil and vanedlovelincss, and see 
 the endless caravan of men and women tramp- 
 ing along its glorious aisles, looking neither 
 to right nor left, oblivious of surrounding 
 «plendors, gazing stolidly down at the bag of 
 coins in their hands, or the bales of cotton, or 
 hogslieads of sugar or tobacjo, they are rolling 
 before them. I long to lay my hand on their 
 shoulders, to stay their hurrying steps, and 
 whisper, gently : ' Fellow-pilgrims, brothers. 
 Bisters, look up at the glories that canopy you. 
 Bend your knees one instant before yonder 
 shrineji of Beauty.' Oh ! esthetics is a heav- 
 enly ladder, where, like Jacob's angels, pure 
 thoughts and holy aspirations come from and 
 go to God. Whatever tends to elevate and 
 ennoble the soul is surely useful ; and love of 
 beauty is a mighty educational engine, which 
 all may handle if they will. Captain, sow the 
 soed> of appreciation early in your children's 
 hearts, and they will thank you when you are 
 an old silver-haired man." 
 
 Across that rosy sea tripped magic memo- 
 ries. The sailor's heart found its distant ha- 
 Yen in the joylul, tender welcome of his blue- 
 eyed wife — the lisjiing, birdish tone of his fair- 
 browed, curly-headed chihb-en, stretching their 
 little dimpled arms to clasp his neck; and to 
 the artist -woman came melancholy thoughts 
 of by-gone years, shrouded in crumbling gar- 
 lands — of hopes and feverish aspirations that 
 had found their graves — of her future cheer-. 
 less life, her lonely destiny. 
 
 For some time both were silent; then the 
 captain roused himself from his dream of home, 
 aud, passing his iiand over his eyes, said : 
 
 " Well, Miss Grey, I shall place you on Con- 
 federate soil to-morrow, God willing.'' 
 
 " Then you are going to Mobile ?" 
 
 " Yes; I shall try hard to get in there early 
 in the morning. You will know your i'ate be- 
 fore many l.ours." 
 
 " Do } ou regard this trial as particularly 
 hazardous ? " ^ 
 
 " Of course ; the blockading squadrons grow 
 more elficient and expert every day, and some 
 danger necessarily attends every trial. Mo- 
 bile ought to be pretty well guarded by this 
 time." 
 
 Tiie wind wa.s favorable, and the schooner 
 ploughed its way swiftly through the autumn 
 night. The captain did not ilose his eyes; 
 and just about daylight Electra and Eric, 
 aroused by a sudden running to and fro, rose, 
 and simultaneously made their appearance on 
 deck. 
 ,' •' U'hat is the matter, Wright?" 
 
 " Matter ! why, look ahead, my dear fel- 
 low, and see where we are. Yonder is Sand 
 Iiland light-house, and a little to the right is 
 Fort Morgan. But the fleet to the left is 
 hardly six mile^ off, and it will be a tight race 
 ii I get in." 
 
 Ihere was but a glimmering light rimming 
 the East, where two or three stars burned with 
 
 indescribable brilliance and boauty, and in 
 the gray haze and wreatlis of mist which 
 curled up over the white-capped waves Elec- 
 tra could distinguish nothing. Tiie air wan 
 chill, and she said, with a slight, shiver: 
 
 " I can't see any light-house." 
 
 " There is, of course, no light there, thes« 
 war-times, but you see that tall wiiite tower, 
 don't you '? There, look through my glass. 
 Tiiat low dark obje(;t yondcj* is the outline 
 of the fort; you will see it more distinctly 
 after a little. Now, look rig lit where my 
 finger points ; that is the fiag-srafl. Look up 
 over head — 1 have hoisted our (la;.', and pretty 
 soon it will be a target for those dogs. Hal 
 Mitchell! Hutchinson! they see us! There 
 is some movement among ilu-m. They are 
 getting ready to cut us off tliis side «f th« 
 Swash channel ! We shall .see." 
 
 lie had crowded on all sail, and the littl* 
 vessel dashed through the ligiit fog as if con- 
 scious of her danger, and resolved to sustain 
 herself gallantly. Day broke fully, sea and 
 sky took the rich orange tint v.iin-li only au- 
 tumn mornings give, and in this i:low a-Feder- 
 al frigate and sloop slipped irom their moor- 
 ings, and bore down threateningly on th« 
 graceful bounding schooner. 
 
 "But for the fog, which puzzled me about 
 three o'clock, I should ha\e luu by unseen, 
 and they would never have known it till I 
 was safe in Navy cove. We will beat titem, 
 though, as it is, by about twenty minutes. 
 An hour ago I was afraid I sliouid have to 
 beach her. Are you gettinu: tngiitcued, Mis« 
 Grey*?" ' 
 
 " Oh, no ! I would not havi: missed this for 
 any consideration. How rapidly the Federal 
 vessels move. They are gaining on us. ' 
 
 Her curling hair, damp with unsi, clustered 
 around her forehead ; she Irad wrapped a scar- 
 let crape shawl about her shoulder.^, and stood, 
 with her red lips apart and trembling, watch- 
 ing the exciting race. 
 
 " Look at the frigate ! " 
 
 There was a flash at her bow, a curl of 
 white smoke rolled up, then a heavy roar, 
 and a thirty -two pounder rounil shot fell 
 about a hundred yards to the right of the 
 vessel. 
 
 A yell of defiance rent the air from the crew 
 of the "Dixie' — hats were waved — and, 
 snatching off her shawl, Electra shook its bright 
 folds to the stiffening breeze, while her hot 
 cheeks matched them in depth of color. 
 
 Another and another shot was fired in quick 
 succession, and «o accurate had they become, 
 that the last whizzed through the rigging, cut- 
 ting one of the small ropes. 
 
 " Humph ! tlK-y are getting saucy," said thp 
 captain, looking up coolly, wli-.n the yells of 
 his crew ceased for a moment — and, with a 
 humorous twinkle in his fine eyes, he added : 
 
 " Better go below,JVli»s Grey ; they might 
 clip one of your curls next tune. The Tan- 
 
leo 
 
 MACAIUA. 
 
 d.vls gee you, I dare say, and your red flag added earnest persuasion, and, with some re- 
 stin^'9 their Yankee pride a little." I luitaiice, the artist finally eonsented. They 
 
 " Do you suppose they ean distinguish ' were prepareil for the silent, solemn aspect 
 me ?" j ol tKe house, and for the inourniiiii-dressoi the 
 
 " CertaiHly. Throujrh my glass I can see I orphan; but not for the profound calm, the 
 the gunners at work, and, of course, they see i melancholy, tearless composure with vhich 
 vou. Should not be surprised if they aimed ' she received them. Mental 'and physical 
 specially at \ou. That is the style of New I sutFcring had sadly changed her. 1 lie oval 
 hngland chivalry." I face was thinner, and her form had lost its 
 
 \Vl,iz — whiz; both sloop and frigate were | roundness, but the countenance retained its 
 firing now in good earnest, and one shell ex- singular loveliness, and the mesmeric splendor 
 plodcd a few yards from the side of the little of the large eyes seemed enhanced. Of "her 
 vcsael, tossing' the loam and water over the father she did not speak, but gave her nnde a 
 ''roup on deck. I written statement of all the facta which sh« 
 
 " They tliink you have hardly washed your ' had been able to gather concerning the cir- 
 face \cl, Aliss (jrey, and are courteously ; cumstances of his death ; and thus a tacit com- 
 anxious lo perlorm the operation lor you. l pact was formed to make no reference to the 
 iiut the game is up. Look yonder ! Hurrah painful subject 
 for Di.\ie ! and Fort Morgan !" 
 
 '•Jfrom Ihe dim lUg-stnil" l).vtierv bclluvrad a gun," 
 
 The boom of a columbiad from the fort 
 
 shook the air like thunder, and gave to the 
 b!ocka<lers the unmistakable a.ssurance, " Thus 
 lar, and no farther.' 
 
 As she accompanied Elcctra to the room 
 prepared for her, on the night of her arrival, 
 the latter asked, with ill-concealed einotion : 
 
 " Irene, can you tell me any tiling about 
 Russell y I am very anxious to hear some- 
 thing of him. ' 
 
 Irene placed the silver lamp on the table, 
 
 The schooner strained on its way; a few and, standing in its glow, answered, (piietly : 
 shot fell behind, and soon, under the 'frowning "He was wounded in the arm at Manassa, 
 bastions ot the fort, whence the Confederate j but retains command of his regiment, and is 
 banner Ih^ated so proudly on the balmy Gulf I doing very well. Dr. Arnold is the regnyen* 
 
 ■ ' tal surgeon, and in otue of his letters to me he 
 
 breeze, spreading its free ibids like an tegis, 
 the gallant little vessel passed up the channel, 
 and came to anchor in Mobile bay, amid 
 the bailouts of crew and garrison, and welcomed 
 by a salute ol five guns. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Immediately after her arrival in Mobile, 
 ICIectra prepared to Ibrward her despatches by 
 CapLani W'ngnt, wliose business called him to 
 Uichmond belore his return to Cuba; and an 
 examiucftion of them piovctl that the expedi- 
 ent rwsorted to was perfectly successful. By 
 moistening the edges ol the drawing-paper, 
 the tissue missive was drawn out uninjured, 
 and, to Eric's surprise, she removed the 
 «;arelully-slitched blue silk wliich lined the tops 
 of her travelling gauntlets, and extracted 
 similar despatclies, all of which were at once 
 transmitted to the seat of government. 
 \Vhile waiting tor a boat, they heard the paiu- 
 liil tidings of Major lluniingdon's death, 
 which increased Eric's impatience to reach 
 
 W . Tlie remainder ot the journey was 1 well after your fntiguin_ 
 
 sad, and lour days alter leaving the Ciulf City ' get up early. I will send your breakfast 
 
 the lights of W and roar of the Falls ; to your room, whenever you wish it." 
 
 simultaneously greeted the spent travellers. \ She turned away, but the artist stepped bc- 
 ilaving telegraphed of his safe arrival, the '■ fore her and caught up both her hands, 
 carriage was wailing at the depot, and, "Oh, Irene ! it grieves me to see you look- 
 Andrew handed to Electra a note from his ing so. Talk to ine about your great pent-up 
 mistress, requesting hei; to come at once to her sorrows, and it will relieve you." 
 house, instead of going to the hotel. Eric "My sorrows cannot be talked away. 
 
 mentioned that your cousin's wound was not 
 serious." 
 
 " I am going to him immediately.*" 
 
 " Unfortunately, you will not be allowed to 
 do so. The woundeil were removed to Uich- 
 mond as promptly as jjossible, but your cousin 
 remained at Manassa, where ladies are not 
 permitted." 
 
 " Tlun I will write to him to meet me in 
 Richmond." 
 
 Irene made no reply, and, watching her all 
 the wliili', Electra asked : 
 
 " When did you see him last V How did be 
 look V" 
 
 " The day before he started to Richmond. 
 He was very well, I believe, but looked 
 harassed and paler than usual. He is so ro- 
 bust, however, that 1 think you need enter- 
 tain no ajiprehension concerning his health." 
 
 The inllcxible features, the low, clear, firm 
 voice were puzzling, and Electra's brow 
 thickened and darkened as she thought : 
 
 " Her father is dead now ; there is ho obsta-f 
 cle remaining. She must love him, and yet 
 sbo gives no sign of interest." 
 
 Good-nigla, Electra ; I hope you will sleep 
 journey. Do not 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 161 
 
 Graves never pive jDack their dead. Good- 
 nig^lit, my dear Electra." 
 
 Etectra looked at her sadly, wistfully ; and, 
 suddenly tlirowing her ar;ns about the queen- 
 ly figure, kissed lier white eold iheck. Jrene 
 returned the caress, withdrew from the 
 embraee, and ])assed to her own room. 
 
 Jealous women are rarely generous toward 
 their rivals, and Klcetra's exacting, moody 
 character rendered it peculiarly difiicult for 
 her to stifle her feelings. She would most 
 certainly have cordially hated any other wom- 
 an who stood between her and her cousin's 
 heart ; but before the nobility, the loftiness, 
 the cool purity of Irene's soul, her own rest- 
 less spirit bowed down with emotion.i nearly 
 akin to adoration. The solemn serenity of 
 that pale brow awed and soothed the fevered, 
 tumultuous nature of the artist; and she had 
 schooled herself to look upon her as Russell's 
 future wife — with a pang of pain, it is true, but 
 certainly with no touch of bitterness. She 
 could endure that he should love so devotedly 
 one w!io ministered at the shrine of Christian 
 charity, and whose hands threw down, wher- 
 ever she moved, the blesj^ed largess of peace, 
 contentment, and plenty. Tliey stood in 
 strange relationship, these two women. One 
 ignorant of the ab>orbing love of the other for 
 the man to whom she had given her heart 
 long years ago ; and that other conscious of 
 an undying affection, which she silently 
 inurued in her own bosom. 
 
 T\^odays later, they sat together before one 
 of the parlor windows. PZlectra was engaged 
 in tearing oil" and rolling bandages, while 
 Irene slowly scraped lint from a, quantity of 
 olil linen, which filled a basket at her side. 
 Neither had spoken (or some time ; the sadness 
 of their orcupation called up gloomy thoughts ; 
 but finally I'>lectra laid down a roll of cloth, 
 and, interlacing her slight fingers, said : 
 
 " Irene, as you sit there you remind me of 
 the 'Cameo Bracelet.' You have seen it, of 
 course V" 
 
 "Yes; it is one of the finest imaginative 
 creations I have ever read; and I can not 
 divest myself of the apprehension that it ad- 
 umbrates the fate of New Orleans." 
 
 Electra watched the motion of her compan- 
 ion's fingers, and in a rich, musical voice re- 
 peated the words, beginning : 
 
 " Pho '6 •ifting lint for the brriTe who bled, 
 Anil 1 watrh horfiiigem float iukJ flow, 
 Ovfr tin- linen, as, thrrail by thread, 
 II [lakes tu hrr lap like aiiuw." 
 
 •' Irene, the women of the South must exeN 
 ci.se an important influence in determining 
 our national destiny ; and because I felt this so 
 fully, 1 hurried home to^hare the perils, and 
 privations, and trials of my txiuntrywomen. It 
 seems to me that no. true son or daughter can 
 linger in Europe now, with the broad ocean 
 surging between them and the bloody soil of 
 their native land. It is not my privilege to 
 11 
 
 enter the army, and wield a sword or musket; 
 but I am going to true womanly work — into 
 the crowded hospitals, to watch faithfully over 
 sick and wounded." 
 
 " I ap[)rove your plan, think it your duty, 
 and wish that 1 couUl start to Richmond with 
 you to-morrow — for I believe that in this way 
 we may save valuable lives. You should, as 
 you have said, go on at once ; you have noth- 
 ing to keep you ; your work is waiting for yon 
 there. But my position is different ; I have 
 many things to arrange here before I can join 
 you. I want to see the looms at work on the 
 plantation ; and am going down next week 
 with uncle Eric, to consult with the overseer 
 about several changes which I desire made 
 concerning the negroes. When all this is ac- 
 complished, J, top, shall come into the hospi- 
 tals." 
 
 " About what time may I expect you ?" 
 
 " Not until you see me ; but at the earliest 
 practicable day." 
 
 " Your uncle objects very strenuously to 
 such a plan, does he not?" 
 
 '' He will acquiesce at the proper time. 
 Take care I you are making your bandages too 
 wide." 
 
 " A long dark vista stretches before the 
 Confederacy. I can not, like many persons, 
 feel sanguine of a speedy termination of the 
 war." 
 
 " Yes — a vista lined with the bloody graves 
 of her best sons; but beyond glimmers Free- 
 dom — Independence. In that light we shall 
 walk without stumbling. Deprived of liberty 
 we can not exist, and its price was fixed when 
 the foundations of time were laid," I believe 
 the termination of the war to be contingent 
 only on the method of its prosecution. Agath- 
 ocles, with thirteen thousand men, established 
 a brilliant precedent, which Scipio followed so 
 successfully in the second Punic war ; and 
 when our own able generals are permitted to 
 emulate those illustrious leaders of antiquity, 
 then, and I fear not until then, shall we be 
 able to dictate terms of peace." 
 
 " Your devotion, then, is unshaken, even by 
 your sorrows." 
 
 " Unsiiaken ! Does the precious blood of a 
 sacrifice unsettle the holy foundations of the 
 altar V" 
 
 " But, Irene,, if you could have foreseen all 
 that Secession has cost you V" 
 
 The mourner raised her eyes from the snowy 
 heap of lint, and answered, with impressive 
 earnestness and pathos : 
 
 " Could I have foreseen the spirit which 
 actuates the North — the diabolical hate and 
 ficndishness which it's people have manifested — 
 and had 1 known that resistance would have 
 cost the lives of all in the Confederacy, I 
 should have urged Secession as the only door 
 of escape from political bondage Rather 
 would 1 hare men, women, and children fill 
 one wide, common grave, than live iu subjec- 
 
102 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 tion to, or connection with, a peojile so de- 
 praved, unscrupulous, and (Jodless. Electra, 
 national, like individual life, which is not no- 
 ble, free, and honorable, is not worth the liv- 
 ing. A people who can survive their liberty, 
 are beneath contempt; and to-day, desolate 
 tliOUfih I am. I would sooner take my place by 
 my lather'* side, than recall him to -Jive a sub- 
 j«Mt of the despotic ;rovcrnnient at \Vashin;.j- 
 ton. Even when I believed the friendl}- pro- 
 fessions of thousands at the North — when I 
 believed in the existence of a powerful con- 
 stitutional and conservative party — I was, from 
 the bej:inning, a Secessionist; and now that 
 the mask of political cant is stripped from 
 them, I am more than ever eonvinceil of the 
 t'orreotness of my views, and the ab;?olute ne- 
 ciissity of the step we took. The ultimate 
 result can never affect the question of the 
 ri^'ht and propriety of Secession, though it 
 iiKiy demonstrate the deplorable consequences 
 <>l' our proL-rastiuation. In attestation of the 
 necessity of separation, stand the countless 
 graves of our dear and gallant dead. I look 
 to a just God to avenge them, and deliver us." 
 " But do you still cling to a belief in the 
 possibility of llepublican forms of governmentV 
 This is a question which constantly disquiets 
 
 "My faith in that ])0s.sibility' is unshaken. 
 Entire self-abnegation I certainly expected, 
 hoped for, on the part of our people ; and I 
 still feel assured that the great masses are 
 cjyiable of patriotism as sublime as the w6rld 
 ever witnessed, and that our noble armies have 
 had no equal in the history of our race. 
 Nevertheless, it is apparent to those who 
 ponder the aspect of public alTairs that dom- 
 agogifim crawls along its customary xinuous 
 patli, with serpent- eyes fastened on self-ag- 
 grandizement. The pure ore of our country 
 will be found in the ranks of our armies; and 
 the few scheming politicians, plotting for 
 position, for oHices of emolument in civil or 
 military departments, will prove the dross in 
 ill" revolutionary crucible. I have no apjire- 
 iu'iision for our future as long as demagogism 
 and nepotism can be kept down; for out of 
 these grow innumerable evils — not the least of 
 which is the intrusting of important j)osts to 
 the hands of men who have none of the re- 
 quisites, save their relationship to, or possession 
 of. the favor of those in authority. If the 
 nation will but mark the unworthy sons whose 
 gras|)iiig, selfish ambition will not even be re- 
 strained in hours of direst peril to the cause, 
 and brand them with Mene, Mene, we shall 
 yet teach the world that self-government is 
 feasible." 
 
 " But in Europe, where the subject is eagerly 
 canvassed, the impression obtains that, in the 
 great fundamental principle of our govern- 
 ment, will be found the germ of its dissolution. 
 This war is wanted to establish the right of 
 Secession, and the doctrine that 'all just gov- 
 
 crnmonts rest on the consent of the governed.' 
 Vv'ith such a precedent, it would be worse 
 than stultification to object to the secession of 
 any state or states now constituting the Con- 
 fiilcracy, who at a future day may chooso to 
 withdraw from the present compa -t. Grant- 
 ing our independence, which Europe regards 
 as a foregone conclusion, what assurance have 
 you (say they, gloating, in anticipation, over 
 the j)rospect) that, so soon as the common 
 dangers of war, which for a time cemented 
 you so closely, are over, entire disintegration 
 will not ensue, and all your boasts end in some 
 dozen anarchical pseudo-republics, like those of 
 .South America and Mexico ? Irene, I con- 
 fess I have a haunting horror of the inllueuce 
 of demagogues on our future. You know Sir 
 Robert Walpole once said : ' Patriots are very 
 easily raised. You have but to refuse an un- 
 reasonable request, and up springs a patriot.' 
 I am afraid that disaj)pointed puliticiaus will 
 sow seeds of dissension among us."' 
 
 " That is an evil which our legislators must 
 guard against, by timely provision. We are 
 now, thank God ! a thoroughly homogeneous 
 people, with no antagonistic systems of labor, 
 necessitating contlicting interests. As states, 
 we are completely identified in commerce and 
 agriculture, and no dillerences need arise. 
 Purified from all connection with the North, 
 and with no vestige ol" the mischievous ele- 
 ment of I^ew England Puritanism, which, like 
 other poisonous Mycelium, sj)riiigs up pertina- 
 ciously where even a shred is permitted, we can 
 be a prosperous and noble people. Rather 
 than witness our national corruption through 
 the thousand infiuences which have so olten 
 degraded people of vast wealth, I would gladly 
 welcome the iron currency and frugal public 
 tables of Lycurgus. One possible souile of 
 evil has occurred to me. Unless our j)lanter3 
 everywhere become good agricultural cliemists, 
 and by a moderate outlay renew their lands 
 every year, the planting interest will gradually 
 dril't westward, in pursuit of Iresh fertile fields, 
 and thus leave such of the more eastern states 
 as possess great advantciges in the water line 
 to engage in manufactures of various kinds. 
 That negro labor is by no means so profitable 
 in factory as field, seems well established ; and 
 if this condition of all'airs i* allowed and en- 
 couragcil, contrariety of interests will soon 
 show itself, and demagogues will climb into 
 place by clamoring lor 'protection.' Heaven 
 
 S reserve us from following the example of 
 ew England and Pennsylvania ! But if free- 
 trade is declared, and our ports are thrown 
 open to all the markets of the world, except 
 Lincolndom, the evil will be arrested. True, 
 Europe has no love for the Confederacy, aud 
 we certainly have as little for trans- Atlantic' 
 nations — but the rigid laws of political econo- 
 my forge links of amity. If our existence as a 
 Republic depends upon the perpetuity of the 
 institution of slavery, then, it seems to me, that 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 163 
 
 tlie'aim of our legislators should be to render 
 us par excellence an agricultural people — and, 
 with the exception of" great national arsenals 
 and workshops, to discourage home manufac- 
 tories. I hope, too, for an amendment of our 
 constitution, which shall render the n)embers 
 of the cabinet, and all our foreign ministers, 
 subject entirely to the appointment of Qon- 
 gress, and the tenure of the latter class of 
 officials for life or good behavior, instead of 
 being selected by the President, as heretofore, 
 for four or six years. To the disgraceful hunt 
 for office is to be attributed much of the 
 acrimony of party feeling which characterizes 
 presidential campaigns. When our Presidents 
 are selected and supported solely for their in- 
 trinsic ability and nobility of soul, instead of 
 for the places they will confer on their party, 
 we shall begin t© seek out our Cincinnatus and 
 Aratus, and the premium for demagogism 
 will be lost. But we have statesmen among 
 us who must see all these evils, and doubtless 
 they will arrest them in time. We are paying 
 too high a price for our freedom to have it 
 stolen from us in future by unscrupulous 
 political gamesters, who would sacrifice a val- 
 uable principle of government in order to 
 secure a foreign ajipointment." 
 
 " 1 can not avoid feeling sceptical of the 
 public virtue, when seasons of prosj)erity and 
 great wealth succeed these years of trial ; and 
 of late, in casting the Iioroscope of our young 
 Confederacy, I hafe frequently recalled that 
 fine passage in Montagu's 'Reflections on the 
 Rise and Fall of Republics:' ' Greece, once the 
 nurse of arts and sciences, the fruitful mother 
 of philosophers, law -givers, and heroes, now 
 lies prostrate under the iron yoke of ignorance 
 
 and barbarism Carthage, once 
 
 the mighty sovereign of the ocean, and the 
 centre of universal commerce, which poured 
 the riches of all nations into her lap, now 
 puzzles the inquisitive traveller in his re- 
 searches atjter even the vestiges of her ruins. 
 And Rome, the misti-ess of the 
 universe, which once contained whatever was 
 esteemed great or brilliant in human nat«re, 
 is now sunk into the ignoble seat of whatever 
 
 is esteemed mean and infamous 
 
 Should Faction again predominate and succeed 
 in its destructive views, and the dastardly 
 maxims of luxury and effeminacy universally 
 
 I )rcvail amongst us, .... such, too, will 
 >e the fate of Britain ;' and I may add of the 
 Confederacy — for where arc the safeguards of 
 its public purity ?" 
 
 Electra had finished the bandages, and was 
 walking slowly before the windows, and, with- 
 out looking up from the lint, which she was 
 tying into small packages, Irene answered : 
 
 " The safeguards will be found in the moth- 
 ers, wives, and sisters of our land." 
 
 "Ah! but their hands arc tied; and they 
 walk but a short, narrow path, from hearth- 
 stone to threshold, and back again. They 
 
 have, I know, tverj' inclination to exert a re- 
 straining influence, but no power to utilize it. 
 Sometimes I almost fear that the fabled Norse 
 Jlitf/naroh is darkening over this cotitincnt. 
 The monsters, Midgard- Serpent, Fenris, and 
 all, have certainly been unloosed at the 
 North." 
 
 ',' Electra, though we arc very properly de- 
 barred from the ' tented field,' I have entire 
 confidence that the cause of our country may 
 be advanced, and its good promoted, througli 
 the agency of its daughters ; for, out of the 
 dim historic past come words of encourage- 
 ment. Have you forgotten that, when S])arta 
 forsook the stern and sublime fiimplicity other 
 ancient manners, Kin^j Agis found himself 
 unable to accomplish his scheme of redeeming 
 his degenerate country from avarice and cor- 
 ruption, until the ladies of Sparta gave their 
 consent and support to the plan of reform ? 
 Southern women have no desire to usurp leg- 
 islative ruins ; their approj)riate work consists 
 in moulding the manners and morals of the 
 nation ; in checking the wild excesses of fash- 
 ionable life, and the dangerous spirit of ex- 
 travagance ; of reckless expenditure in dress, 
 furniture, and equipage, which threatened ru- 
 inous results before the declaration of hostili- 
 ties. Noble wives, who properly appreciate 
 the responsibility of their position, should 
 sternly rebuke and frown down the disgrace- 
 ful idea, which seems to be gainir.g ground 
 and favor in our cities, that married women 
 may, with impunity, seek attentions and ad- 
 miration abroad. IVIarried belles and married 
 beaux are not harmless, nor should they be 
 tolerated in really good society. Women who 
 so far forget their duties to their homes and 
 husbands, and the respect due to public opin- 
 ion, as to habitually seek for happiness in the 
 mad whirl of so-called fashionable life, ignor- 
 ing household obligations, should be driven 
 from well-bred, refined circles, to hide their 
 degradation at the firesides they have dis- 
 graced. That* wives should constantly endeav- 
 or to cultivate social graces, and render them- 
 selves as fascinating as possible, I hold their 
 sacred duty ; but beauty should be preserved, 
 and accomplishments perfected, to bind their 
 husband's h«arts more closely, to make their 
 homes attractive, instead of being constantly 
 paraded before the world for the unholy pur- 
 pose of securing the attentions and adulation 
 of other gentlemen. I do not desire to see 
 married women recluses; on the contrary, I 
 believe that society has imperative claims upon 
 them, which should be promptly met, and 
 faithfully and gracefully discharged. But 
 those degraded wives, who are never seen with 
 their husbands when tht-y can avoid it — who 
 are never happy unless riding or walking with 
 Btrangerf, or receivine their attentions at thea- 
 tres, concerts, or parties — are a disgrace iff the 
 nation, which they are gradually demoralizing 
 and corrupting. From the infiuence of these 
 
164 
 
 IIACARIJL. 
 
 few deluded weak libels on our sex, may God 
 prct^erve our n^c and country ! They are ut- 
 terly unworthy the noble work wliich calls 
 loudly to every true Southern woman. States- 
 men are trained up around the mother's arm- 
 cbair, and she can imbue the boy with lofty 
 Rentiments, and inspire him with aims which, 
 years henre, shall lead him in congressional 
 halls to adhere to principles, to advance the 
 Truth — tlioujih, thereby, votes for the next 
 election fall away, like stricken leaves in 
 autumn. What time has the married bolle for 
 this holy hearthstone mi><sion V The con.scien- 
 tious, devoted, and patriotic Christian woman 
 of a nation are the safeguards of its liberties 
 and purity." 
 
 " All ]ierfectly true, and very encouraging 
 in the abstract; but, Irene, how many women 
 do you suppose sit down and ponder their in- 
 dividual responsibility V" 
 
 " Electra, my friend, are you sure that you 
 do V Your profession will give you vast influ- 
 eiK-e in forming public taste, and I hope much 
 from its judicious use. Be careful that you 
 select only the highest, purest ty()es to offer 
 to your countrymen and women, when Peace 
 enables us to turn our attention to the great 
 work of building up a noble school of Southern 
 Art. We want no feeble, sickly sentimentality, 
 nor yet the sombre austerity which seems to 
 pervaile your mind, judging from the works 
 you have shown me." 
 
 A slight (juiver crossed the mobile features 
 of the artist as she bit her full lip, and asked : 
 
 " Wiiat would you pronounce the distin- 
 guishing characteristic of my works ? I saw, 
 yesterday, that you were not fully satisfied." 
 
 " A morbid melancholy, which you seem to 
 have fostered tenderly, instead of crushing 
 vigorously, A disposition to dwell upon the 
 stern and gloomy aspects of the physical 
 world, and to ' *ensify and reproduce abnor- 
 mal and unhapp^ ohases of character. Your 
 breezy, sunshiny, j 'vous moods you have kept 
 under lock and key while in your studio." 
 
 "You are right; but I merely dipped my 
 brush in the colors of my own life, and if my 
 work ib gray, and sad, and shadowy, it is no 
 fault of mine. One who sits at her easel, 
 listening ever to 
 
 "Thn low rootslcpi of oRcb coming III,"' 
 
 should be pardoned if her canvas clows not 
 with gala occasions, and radiant faces that 
 have never looked beyond the glittering con- 
 fines of Aladdin's palace. Remember, the 
 ' lines ' did not fall to me ' in pleasant places,' 
 and it is not strange that I sometimes paint 
 desert, barren scenes, without grapes of Eshcol 
 or Tokay. Irene, 
 
 "... LoiiK grooii Uayi, 
 Worn bare of graKs :iii(J sunsliine — long calm nighU 
 I'luni vliich llic Bilken hIcuJ)n were fretted out — 
 Bo witnt!.ss for me, witli uo amnteur'a 
 Jr^ovorent La.it(< and buiy idleuosa 
 1 've Bet wj'SBlf to Art 1" 
 
 *' I admit thff truth of your criticism, and I 
 have struggled against the spirit which hovers 
 with clouding wings over all that I do ; but 
 the shadow has not lifted — God knows wheth- 
 er it ever will. Do you recollect, among those 
 fine illustrations of Poe's works which we ex- 
 amined yesterday, the dim spectral head and 
 sable pinions brooding mournfully over * The 
 City in the SeaV* Ah I its darkening coun- 
 terpart flits over me. You have finished your 
 work ; come to my room for a few minutes." 
 
 They went up stain-^ together ; and as Elec- 
 tra unlocked and bent over a large scjuarc 
 trunk, her companion noticed a pecufiar curl 
 about the lines of the mouth, and a heavy 
 scowl on the broad brow. 
 
 " I want to show you the only bright, shin- 
 ing face I ever painted." 
 
 She unwrapped an oval portrait, placed it 
 on the mantle-piece, and, stepping back, fixed 
 her g'azo on Irene. She saw a tremor cross 
 the cpiiet mouth, and for some seconds the sail 
 eyes dwelt upon the picture as if fascinated. 
 
 " It must have been a macnifiient portrait 
 of your cousin, years ago; but he has changed 
 materially since it was painted. II« looks 
 much older, sterner, now." 
 
 " Would you have recognized it under any 
 circumstances V" 
 
 *' Yes — anywhere ; if I had stumbled over 
 it in the dusty crypts of Lu.xor, or the icy . 
 wastes of Siberia. 1 hare never seen but one 
 head that resembled that, or eyes that were 
 in any degree comparable." 
 
 " Irene, I value this portrait above every- 
 thing elso save the original ; and, as I may be 
 called to pass through various perils, I want 
 you to takt! care of it for me until I come 
 
 back to W . It is a prc<-ious trust, 
 
 which I would be willing to leave in no hands 
 but yours." 
 
 " Tou forget that, before long, I, too, shall 
 go to Virginia." 
 
 " Then pack it away carefully among your 
 old family pictures, where it will be secure. I 
 left my large and best paintings in Italy, with 
 aunt Uutli, who promised to preserve and 
 send tiicm to mo as soon as the blockade 
 should be raised." 
 
 " What are Mr. Young's views concerning 
 this war ?" 
 
 " He utterly abhors the party who inau- 
 gurated it, and the principles upon which it 
 is waged. Says he will not return to Ameri- 
 ca, at least for the present ; and as soon as 
 he can convert his property into money, in- 
 tends to move to the South. He opposed and 
 regretted Secession until he saw the spirit of 
 the Lincoln dynasty, and from that time he 
 acknowledged that all hope of Union or re- 
 construction was lost. Have you heard any- 
 thing from Harvey since the troubles be- 
 gan V" 
 
 " It is more than a year since I received a 
 line from him. He was then still in the West, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 165 
 
 but made no allusion to the condition of the 
 fountvy." 
 
 "Irene, I hope to see Russell soon. You 
 were once dear friends ; have > ou any mes- 
 sage for him — any word of kind remem- 
 brance?" 
 
 One of Irene's hands glided to her side, but 
 she answered, compose<lly : 
 
 " He knows that ho always has my best 
 wishes ; but will expect no message." 
 
 On the following day Electra started to 
 Richmond, taking with her a largo supply of 
 
 hospital stores, which the ladies of W 
 
 had contributed. 
 
 Eric hud proposed to his niece the expe- 
 diency of selling the Hill, and becoming an 
 inmate of his snug, tasteful, bachelor home ; but 
 she firmly refused to consent to this plan ; 
 said that she would spend her life in the house 
 of her birth ; and it was finally arranged that 
 her uncle should reserve such of the furniture 
 as he valued particularly, and offer the residue 
 for sale, with the pretty cottage, to which he 
 was warmly attached. During the remainder 
 of autumn Irene was constantly engaged in 
 superintending work for the soldiers, in pro- 
 viding for several poor families in whom she 
 was nuich interested, and in frequent visits to 
 the plantation, where she found more than 
 enough to occupy her mind ; and Eric often 
 wondered at the admirabl« system and punc- 
 tuality she displayed — at the grave composure 
 with which she discharged her daily duties, 
 and the invariable reticence she observed 
 with regard to her past life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXHL 
 
 "Did you ring, Mas' Eric ?" 
 
 " Yes. Has Irene come home ?" 
 
 " Not yet, sir." 
 
 " Bring some more wood." 
 
 Owing to the scarcity of coal, thegrate had 
 been rcmoveil, and massive brass andirons sub- 
 stituted. John piled them with oak wood, 
 swept the hearth, and retired. It was a cold 
 evening; there had been sleet the night 
 before ; the treei were glittering with icicles ; 
 but in the afternoon the sky cleared, and a 
 sharp north-wester promised good leather. 
 Eric drew the sofa nearer the blazing fire, and 
 laid himself down to rest — waiting impatiently 
 for the return of his niece, who had been 
 absent since dinner. The library looked 
 cheerful, comfortable, luxurious. Irene's pret- 
 ty work -basket sat on the littl»mosaic table, 
 close to the hearth ; and by its side lay a vol- 
 ume of Tennyson open at " Locksley Hall," 
 with a halC-finished clove which she had been 
 knitting that morning resting on the page. 
 Upon the low mantle-piece stood two ruby- 
 c()lored bulb - glasses containing purple hya- 
 cinths in full bloom; between them a fluted 
 
 crystal vase of perfect white camellias from the 
 green-house ; and in a rich bohemian goblet 
 three early golden croeuses looked out irom a 
 mass of geranium leaves. Bronze buyts of 
 Kepler, Herschel, and La Place crowned the. 
 heavy carved bookcases; the soft silvery 
 glow of the lamp fell upon the form of the 
 cripple, wrapped in a warm plaid dressing- 
 gown, and showed the thin, sharply-cut visage 
 of Paragon, who had curled himself lazily on 
 the velvet rug. The room was very still, save 
 the sound of the crackling fire and the chirp- 
 ing of the canary, whose cage had been placed 
 on one of the broad window-sills. Alter a 
 time, the door opened .and the mistress came in. 
 
 " Irene ! you must be nearly frozen. What 
 kept you out so late?"- 
 
 " I had more than usual to attend to at the 
 As^'lnm this afternoon." 
 
 " What was the matter?" 
 
 " We have a new Matron, and I was particu- 
 larly anxious that she should start right in on« 
 or two respects. I waited, too, in order to see 
 the children at supper, and satisfy myself about 
 the cooking." 
 
 " How many orphans are there in the Asy- 
 lum ?" 
 
 " Thirty-four. I admitted two this evening — 
 children of one of our soldiers, who died from 
 a wound received at Leesburg." 
 
 " Poor little things ! I am afraid you will find 
 numbers of similar instances before this war 
 is at an end." 
 
 '• We will try to find room for all such cases. 
 The building will accommodate one hundred." 
 
 " You must be very cold ; I will make John 
 bring you a glass of wine." 
 
 " Ko, sir ; I do not need it. My shawl was 
 thick and warm." 
 
 Resting his elbow on the silken cushions, 
 her uncle leaned forward so as to see her 
 countenance distinctly. She had put out one. 
 hand on the shining head of her dog, who now 
 sat clo.se to her chair, gazing solemnly into tha 
 red coals; and her posture, as she rested far 
 back against the morocco lining, betokened 
 weariness. By contrast with the thick folds 
 of her bombazine dress the face gleamed sin- 
 gularly white, and the curling brown lashes 
 made fringy shadows on the polished cheeks. 
 
 " Irene." 
 
 She turned her head slightly, and raised her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Did you receive a letter which I sent to 
 your room ?" J 
 
 " Yes, sir. It was from Dr. Arnold." \ 
 
 " He has established himself in Richmond." 
 
 " Yes, sir; his recent attack of riieumatisra 
 uufilted him for service in the field." 
 
 •' I had a letter from Colonel Aubrey to-day. 
 He wants to buy my house." 
 
 She made no comment, and her eyes droop- 
 ed again to the perusal of the strange shapes 
 which danced and flickered on the burnished 
 andirons. 
 
166 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " What use do you suppose he haS for it ?" 
 
 " I cannot ima;;inc, unlesa he intends it as a 
 home for Electra." 
 
 " What a witch you are. at guessinp; that is 
 exactly iL He says, in this letter, that he may 
 not survive the war, and wishes to liave the 
 assurance that his cousin is conifortahly pro- 
 Tided for bofore he goes into another battle. 
 Ilis olTer is liberal, and I shall accept it." 
 
 " Well, I am glad she will own it — for I hare 
 •ften heard her speak of those old poplar trees 
 in the front yard. She has always admired 
 the place." 
 
 " I trust Aubrey will come ba«k safely, 
 marry some woman worthy of his heart and 
 intellect, and live there happily himself. Do 
 you believe the current report that he is en- 
 gaged to Salome?" 
 
 *' No, sir. 
 
 " Why not ? She is certainly a brilliant 
 girl, and an undoubted beauty." 
 
 " Such a temperament as hers would scarce- 
 ly suit him, I think." 
 
 " But people often select their opposites." 
 
 " And for that reason I suspect that she 
 would not make him liappy. ^^■ hat a glowing 
 beauty she is? As I went to the Asylum I 
 saw her riding with some gentlemen, and I 
 felt as if I could warm my fingers by holding 
 them near her burning cheeks. Such com- 
 plexions as hers are very rare at the South." 
 
 " I shoulil not wonder if Russell married 
 her, after all." 
 
 lie hoped for some change of countenance 
 implying concern, but no shadow hovered over 
 the lair face. There was no uneasy movement 
 of the dimpled hand which lay on Paragon's 
 head, nor could he detect the faintest indica- 
 tion of interest. At this juncture the tea 
 bell summoned them to the dining-room, and 
 slie allowed her uncle no opportunity' of re- 
 newing the conversation. When the meal 
 was concluded, and they had returned to the 
 library, Irene, drew her table and basket near 
 the lamp, and resumed her knitting. The 
 invalid frowned, and asked, impatiently: 
 
 " Can't you buy as many of those coarse 
 things as you want, without toiling night and 
 day?' 
 
 " In the first place, I do not toil ; knitting is 
 purely mechanical, very easy, and I like it. 
 In the second j)lacc, I can not buy them, and 
 our max need them when they are standing 
 guard. It is cold work holding a musket in 
 th«! o'j)en air, such weather as this." 
 
 lie looked annoyed, and dived deeper among 
 his cushions. 
 
 " Don't you feel as well as usual this evening, 
 uncle Erie V" 
 
 "Oh! I am well enough — but I hate the 
 everlasting motion of those steel needles." 
 
 She rolled up the glov«, put it in her basket, 
 and rose. 
 
 " Shall I read to you ? Or, how would you 
 like a game of chess ?" 
 
 " I do not expect you to humor my whims. 
 Above all things, my child, I dread the thought 
 of beceming troublesome to you." 
 
 " You can never be that, uncle Erie ; and I 
 shall always be glad if you will tell me how I 
 can make your time pass more pleivsantly. I 
 know this house must seem gloomy enough at 
 best. Let us try a game of chess ; we have 
 not played since you came from Europe." 
 
 She brought the board, and they sat down to 
 the most quiet and absorbing of all games. 
 Both played well, and when Eric was finally 
 van<piished, he was surprised to find, from the 
 han(is of the clock, that the game had lasted 
 nearly two hours. As she carefully rej)laccd 
 the ivory combatants in their box, Irene said : 
 
 " Uncle, you know that I have long desired 
 and intended to go to Richmond, but various 
 circumstanqes combined to keep me at home. 
 I felt that I had duties here which must first be 
 discharged; now the time has come when I 
 can accomplish my long-cherished plan. Dr. 
 Arnold has taken charge of the hospital in 
 Richmond which was established with the 
 
 money we sent from W for the relief 
 
 of our regiments. Mrs. Campbell is about to 
 be installed as Matron, and I have to-day 
 decided to join them. In his l^etter received 
 this afternoon he orders me not to come, but I 
 know that he will give me a ward when he 
 finds me at his elbow. I am aware that you 
 havd always opposed this project, but I hope, 
 sir, that you will waive your objections, and go 
 on with me next week." 
 
 "It is a strange and unreasonable freak, 
 which, I must say, I do not approve of There 
 are plenty of nurses to be hired, who have 
 more experieni-e, and are every way far more 
 suitable for such positions." 
 
 " Uncle, the men "in our armies arc not 
 hired to fight our battles ; and the least the 
 women of the land can do is to nurse them 
 when sick or wounded. The call is impera- 
 tive. Mothers and wives are, in most in- 
 stances, kept at home; but I have nothing to 
 bind me here. I have no ties to prevent me from 
 giving my services in the only way in which I 
 can aid the cause for which my father died. 
 I feci it a sacred duty ; and, uiule Eric, it is 
 useless to argue the matter. I am determined 
 to go at once. Will you accompany me V" 
 
 " You will kill yourself." 
 
 " I could not die in a better cause." 
 
 " Is life so worthless, that you would rashly 
 throw it away ?" 
 
 " By no mi!Hns. I am able to endure what 
 I undertake." 
 
 " Does not one querulous invalid cripple 
 BUiTiciently exei'cise your patience ?" 
 
 " No, sir. Beside, I can take care of you in 
 Richmond, as well as of others, who need 
 me much more." 
 
 " What do you propose to do with the 
 house, meantime V" 
 
 "I shall send the horses to the plantation, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 1C7 
 
 ami take Andrew with me; he is an admirable 
 nurse. Martlia, also, whom I have tested on 
 -geveral occasions, can assist me greatly in the 
 hospital. The other servants I shall leave 
 here. John and Nellie will keep things in 
 order. I have endeavored to foresee and re- 
 move all obstacles to my departure." 
 
 " Ah ! but you have been so delicately 
 nurtured, and the burden you would take 
 upon yourself is so onerous." 
 
 »' I have counted the cost." 
 
 She laid her hand frently on his whiten- 
 ing hair, and added, pleadinj^ly : 
 
 " Do not oppose me, uni-lc Eric. I want 
 your sanction in all that I do. There arc only 
 two of us left ; go with nic as my adviser — pro- 
 tector. I could not be happy if you were 
 not with me." 
 
 His eyes filled instantly ; and, drawing her 
 close to him^he exclaimed, tremulously : 
 
 " ISly dear Irene ! there is nothing I would 
 not do to make you happy. Happy, I fear 
 you never will be. Ah ! don't smilu and con- 
 tradict me ; I know the dilference between 
 happiness and resignation. Patience, uncom- 
 plaining endurance, never yet stole the gar- 
 ments of Joy. 1 will go with you to Virginia, 
 or anvwhcre else that you wish." 
 
 " Thank you, uncle Eric. I will try to 
 make you forget the comforts of home, and 
 give you no reason to regret that you sacrificed 
 your wishes and judgment to mine. I must' 
 not keep you up any later." 
 
 She rang for Willis, and, taking a taper 
 from the stand, proceeded to liglit the small 
 lamp which had been placed in readiness 
 on the table. With its use her uncle had 
 long been familiar. 
 
 " You, surely, are not going up to that ice- 
 house such a night as this ? That marble 
 floor will freeze you !" 
 
 " I shall not stay 'long. It is the first cjear 
 night we have had for more than a week, and 
 I ("an not lose such an opportunity. The 
 nebula in Orion will show splendidly, and, 
 
 'Tho I'loindn rising; tlirouicli tlie nu'llow shade, 
 (jlitter like a Bwann of flre-flios tangled in u silver 
 braid.' " 
 
 " W^iiat a devotee you are ! What a bigot 
 you would have been five hundred years 
 ago ! What a tireless RosicTuciau you would 
 have made ! What an indefatigable traveller 
 after mythic Sangraal ! You very often re- 
 mind me of an aphorism of Emergon : ' No 
 man is (juite sane ; each has a vein of folly 
 in his composition, a slight determination of 
 blood to the head, to make sure of holding him 
 hard to some one point Vhich Mature has 
 taken to heart.' " 
 
 " I am no more insane than Emerson is or- 
 thodfJK or infallible, and a mild form of 
 Sabeism ought to be tolerated even in this 
 age, when it is used as a glittering ladder to 
 God, to purity, and to peace. Here I am con- 
 tinually oppressed with a sense of desolation ; 
 
 as I walk these silent rooms. Father' ! Fa- 
 ther! is the cry of my lonely soul. But yon- 
 der I forget my loss. In the observatory mj- 
 griefs slip from me, as did Christian's burdi ii. 
 I remember only the immeasurable heights 
 and depths, the infinitude, the grandeur, and 
 the glory of the universe — and there, as no- 
 where else, I can bow mj'self down, and say, 
 humbly and truly, ' Not my will, oh, God 1 
 but thine!* Good-night, uncle Eric. Willis, 
 shut Paragon in his house before you go to 
 sleep." 
 
 She wrapped a heavy blai-k shawl around 
 her shoulders, and, taking the lamp, went up 
 to the observatory. 
 
 The Army of the Potomac had fillen back 
 to Yorktown when Irene reached Richmond ; 
 and the preparations which were being made 
 for the reception of the wounded gave molau- 
 choly premonition of impending battles. 
 
 Ur. Arnold had beeu^ intrusted with tlic 
 supervision of several hospitals, but gave 
 special attention to one /established with 
 the funds contributed by the citizens of 
 
 W — , and thither Irene repaired on the 
 
 day of her arrival. 
 
 In reply to her inquiries, she was directed to 
 a small room, and found the physician seated 
 at a table, examining a bundle of papers. lit: 
 saw only a form darkening the door- way, 
 and, without lookyig up, called out, gruffly : 
 
 " Well, wliat is it '? What do you want '?"' 
 
 " A word of welcome." 
 
 He sprang to his feet instantly, holding out 
 both hands. 
 
 " Dear child ! Queen ! Goil bless you ! 
 How are you ? Pale as a cloud, and thin as u 
 shadow. What the deuce are you doing here '? 
 I ordered you to stay at home, did n't I ?" 
 
 He had caught her hands eagerly to his lips, 
 and held them like a vice. 
 
 " Home was too dreary. I wanted to see 
 you, to be with you once more, to work In re 
 in 3'.our sight, by your direction. Don't s. olii 
 and growl at me for coming. Give me a mor- 
 sel of affection ; oh, Doctor! I am hungry! 
 hungry and desolate." 
 
 She lifted her sorrow - stricken face to his, 
 
 I and felt his tears fall thick on her silky hair. 
 
 I " Dear child ! I knew how it would be. I 
 
 ' wanted to go to you, but I could not. Irene, 
 
 ! don't look so dreary and hopeless; it Avring.s 
 
 I my heart to see that expression on your mouth. 
 
 ! You know I am glad to have you, my treaMuo, 
 
 my beloved child. You know that you arc tlic 
 
 j very light of my life. Growl at you. Queen ! 
 
 I will sec myself hanged first ! Sit down hero 
 
 by mc. Where is Erie ?" 
 
 " He was much fatigued, and I left him at 
 
 the hotel." 
 
 j " You have been ill a long time, Irene, an 1 
 
 have kept it from me. That was not right ; 
 
 you should have been honest in your letters. 
 
 I A pretty figure you will cut nursing sick folks ! 
 
 . Work in my sight, indeed ! If you say work 
 
1«8 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 to me again, I will clap you into a lunatic- 
 asvlum, and keep you there till tlio war is over. 
 Turn your fa<'e to tlic li;.'!it." 
 
 " 1 am well enough in body ; it is my mind 
 only that is ill at ease ; my heart only that is 
 sick — son-ly sick. Here I shall find employ- 
 ment, and, I trust, partial for-xiMlulncM. Put 
 me to work at once ; that will be my best medi- 
 cine." 
 " "And you really missed me, Queen ?" 
 
 " Yes, inoxprepsibly ; I felt my need of you 
 
 ntinually. You must know how I cling to 
 you now." 
 
 A;iain he drew her little hands to his jrramte 
 mouth, and seemed to muse for a moment. 
 
 " Doctor, how is Klectra ?" 
 
 "Very well — that is, as well as such an 
 anomalous, volcanic torriil chara('ter ou^ht to 
 be. At fir:«t she puzzled me (and that, is an 
 insult I find it hard to for;;ive), but finally I 
 found the clew. She is indefatipjable and as- 
 tonishin<Tly faithful as a nurse; does all her duty, 
 and more, which is saying a pood deal — for 
 I am a hard task -master. Are n't you afraid 
 that I will work you more unmercifully than a 
 Yankee factory -child, or a Cornwall miner? 
 See here. Queen ; what do you suppose 
 brought Electra to Richmond V" 
 
 "A desire to render some service to the sick 
 and suffering, and also to be comparatively 
 near her cousin." 
 
 " Precisely ; only the last should be first, 
 and the first last. Russell is a perverse, un- 
 grateful dog." 
 
 As he expected, she glanced up at him, but 
 'refrained from comment. 
 
 " Yes, Irene — he is a soulless scamp. Here 
 is his cousin entirely devoted to him, loving 
 him above everything else in this world, and 
 yet he has not even paid her a visit, except in 
 passing through to Yorktown with his com- 
 mand. He might be a happy man, if lie would 
 but open his eyes and see what is as plain as 
 the nose on my fa(;e — which, you vaiut admit, 
 rcfjuires no microscope. She is a gifted 
 woman, and would suit him exactly — even 
 better than my salamander, Salome." 
 
 A startled, incredulous expression came into 
 Irene's large eyes, and gradually a look of 
 keen pain settled on her features. 
 
 "Aha! did that idea never occur to you 
 tie fore ?" 
 
 *; Never, sir; and you must be mistaken." 
 
 " Why, child ? The fact is patent. You 
 women profess to be so (juick - wittcd, too, in 
 such matters — I am amazed at your obtuseness. 
 She idolizes Aubrey." 
 
 " It is scarcely strange that she should ; she 
 has no other relatives near her, and it is nat- 
 ural that she should love her cousin." 
 
 " I tell you I know what I say ! .she will 
 never love anybody else as she loves Aubrey. 
 Hcsidci what is it to you whether he marries 
 her or not V" 
 
 " I feel attached to her, and want to see h«r 
 happy." 
 
 "As Russell's wife?" 
 
 " No, sir. The marriage of cousins wafl 
 alwavs revolting to me." 
 
 She dill not flinch from his glittering gray 
 eye, and her grieved look deepened. 
 
 " Is she here ? Can I see her ?" 
 
 " She is not in this building, but I will 
 inform her of your arrival. I have become 
 much interested in her. She is a brilliant, 
 erratic creature, and has a soul ! which can 
 not safi'lv be predicated of all the sex, nowa- 
 day. Where are yo<i goina ?" 
 
 " Back to uncle Eric. Will you put me in 
 the same hospital with Klectra and Mrs. 
 Campbell ?" 
 
 "I will put you in a strait -jacket ! I 
 promise you that." 
 
 Klectra was agree.ably surprised at the un- 
 usual warmth witli which Irene reccivi-d her, 
 some hours later ; but little suspected why the 
 lips lingered in their pressure of hers, or 
 understood the wistful tenderness of the eyei 
 which dwelt so fondly on her face. The icy 
 wall of reserve had sud<lenly melted, as if in 
 the breath of an August noon, and dripped 
 silently down among things long jiast. Rus- 
 st^H's name was casually mentioned more than 
 once, anil Klectra fell asleep that night wholly 
 unconscious that the torn and crumpled pages 
 of her heart had been thoroughly jierused by 
 the woman from whom she w;us most anxioui 
 to conceal the truth. 
 
 Hiving enLraged a suite of rooms near the 
 hospital, a few <lays sulliced for preliminary 
 arr'ang'-ments, ami Irene was iiiistallcd in a 
 ward of the building tn which she had request- 
 ed Dr. Aniolil to appoint her. 
 
 Thus, by diflVrent, by devious thorny paths, 
 two .sorrow in ir women emerged upon the broad 
 highway of Duty, and, clasping hands, press- 
 eil forward to the divinely- appointed goal — 
 Womanly Usefulness. 
 
 Only those who have faithfull}* ministered 
 in a ho.<j)ital, can fully appreciate the onerous 
 nature of the buriens thus assumed — can 
 realize the crushing anxiety, the sleepless 
 apprehension, the ceaseless tension of brain 
 and nerve, the gnawing intolerable sickness 
 and aching of heart over suffcririgs which 
 no human skill can assuage ; and the silent 
 blisterinj^ tears which are shed over corpses of 
 men whose families kneel in far distant homes, 
 praying fiod's mercy on ilear ones lying at 
 that inoineiit stark and cold on hospital cota 
 with strangers' hands about the loved limbs. 
 Ah ! within these mournful penetralia ai"e jier- 
 ]ietually recnrriii;j scenes of wot% of resigna- 
 tion, and of sutilime endurance, transi-ending 
 in patlios aught that fiction ever painted ; and 
 as the Nation's martyrs drop swiftly down into 
 nameless billowy graves, that fret the ([uiet 
 green surface of our broad and sunny land, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 169 
 
 the bleeding tendrils of a Nation'o sympathy 
 trail athwart the rude head-stones, and from 
 stern lips come the prophecy : 
 
 " Let t)iom slumber! 
 
 No IiiiiK of Eg.Tpt in n pyi-amiil 
 
 Is safer from oiilivioii, tlimiKli be number 
 
 Full SfVpnty crremcnts fur a roverliii. 
 
 These Dciid be .seeds of life, and sh.ill encumber 
 
 The Slid heart of tlic l;ind until it loose 
 
 The (dammy cbnia and lot out the spring growth 
 
 In beatific i;reen throupch every bruise. 
 
 BIiicli grave our nationality has pieced 
 
 ny its own maicstic breadth, and fortified 
 
 And pinin-d it deeper to the soil. Forlorn 
 
 Of thanks, be therefore, no one of these graven!" 
 
 Day by day, week after -week, those tireless 
 women - watcliers walked the painful round 
 from patient to patient, administering food 
 and medicine to diseased bodies, and words of 
 hope and encouragement to souls, who shrank 
 r.ot from the glare, and roar, and carnage of 
 battle — hut shivered and cowered before the 
 darling images which deathless memory called 
 from the peaceful, happy Past- It was not 
 wonderful that the home-sick sufferers regard- 
 ed them with emotions which trenched on 
 adoration, or that often, when the pale thin 
 faces liglitcil with a smile of joy at their ap- 
 proach, Irene and Electra felt that they had a 
 priceless reward. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 "Mother, I did not flinch ! They shot the 
 flag out of my hand, and I bathed it with my 
 blood when I full on it. Here is the staff" — I 
 held on to the very last. Don't you see it, 
 mother, all smeared and clotted with blood ?" 
 
 Having with <lelirium, a light-haired, slender 
 boy of seventeen summers struggled to rise 
 Irom his cot, and, grasping a corner of the 
 calico (juilt, stretched it toward Irtr:ie, who 
 .sat a few yards off, spreading a blister. Lay- 
 ing aside the ointment, she approached, and 
 took the extended hand. 
 
 " Yc.s, Willie, I gee it; and I know you did 
 your duty I will take care of the staff for 
 you; now go to sleep." 
 
 " I can't sleep; the din of the cannon wakes 
 ,mc. I want to go hon>e. Mother, why don't 
 you carry me to my own room, my own bed, 
 where I can see Harry, and iiear Jessie sing V 
 Help me to my feet, mother ; I promised to 
 make a new flag- staff." 
 
 His fair smooth checks were flushed with 
 fever from the wound received at the battle 
 of Seven Pines, ami his beautiful dilated eves 
 gleamed unnaturally, as he gazed appealintrly 
 at tlie tall form standiu'j at his pillow — an ele- 
 gant, (jueenly form, clad in mourninfj vest- 
 ments, with spotless linen cuffs and collar and 
 white mu>lin aj»ron. 
 
 She pla(!ed hei' pearly hand on hit Lot brow, 
 and bent tenderly over him. 
 
 "Not to-night, Willie. When you are 
 
 stronger I will carry you to Harry and Jessie. 
 Now you must try to sleep." 
 
 " You '11 stay by me, mother, if I shut my 
 eyes V" 
 
 " Yes. I will not leave you." 
 
 He' smiled contentedly; and while her cold 
 fintrers wandered soothingly over his forehead, 
 the long lashes fell u|)on his cheeks, and in 
 delirious dreaming he muttered on of the con- 
 flict and incidents of carnage. From his en- 
 trance into the hospital he had fancied her his 
 mother, and she fostered the only illusion 
 which could gild the fleeting hours of his 
 young life. His deeds of daring had won 
 honorable mention from the brigade com- 
 mander, and Irene had written to his mother, 
 in a distant state, detailing the circumstances, 
 and urging her to hasten to him. But to-night 
 the symptoms showed thct, ere the dawning of 
 another day, the brave spirit would desert its 
 boyish prison. 
 
 " Give me some water, please." 
 
 The feeble voice came from an adjoining 
 cot, where lay an emaciated, wrinkled old 
 man, with gray hair straying over the pillows 
 that propped him into an aImo;7t upright pos- 
 ture. She put the glass to his trembling lips, 
 and, as he drained it, tears trickled down the 
 furrowed face. 
 
 " What distresses you, Mr. Wheeler ? Tell 
 me, won't you ?" 
 
 " I am about to die, and I long so for the 
 face of my wife. If I could have seen her 
 again, it would not seem so hard. It if easy 
 to die on the battle-field, and I expected that 
 when I left home; but to sicken and die in a 
 hospital, away from my family and my com- 
 rades — oh ! this is bitter ! bitter ! You hare 
 been kind to me— ^as gentle and good as mv 
 own daughter Mary could have been — and, if 
 you please, I would like to send soiiic mes- 
 sages to my people at home. You have Avritten 
 for me once — will you do it again — and for the 
 last time V" 
 
 " Certainly, just as often as you like." 
 
 She gave him a powerful stimulant ; brought 
 her port-folio to the side of th« cot, and wrote 
 at his dictation. 
 
 " Tell my wife I had hoped and prayed to 
 be spared to get home once more, but it w»i 
 n't the will of God, and I trust she will try to 
 bear up like a Christian. I am not afraid to 
 die; I have done my duty to my God and to 
 my country ; and though my heart clings to 
 my dear ones, way down in Mississippi, I know 
 I am going home to rest. Tell her she must 
 not grieve for our brave boy, Joe; he died as a 
 Confederate soldier should. I buried him 
 where he fell, and wc will soon meet where 
 battles anil separation are unknown. I want 
 Mary an<l her children to live at home, and if 
 Edward lives through the war, he will jirovide 
 for all. I want my watch given to my oldest 
 grand.Hon, Calvin, as soon as he '\3 of age. I 
 send my love to all, and especially to my poor 
 
170 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 •ister Emily. I send a kiss to Mary and her ; 
 thiMron, and to my dear, dear wife, whom I . 
 hope to meet soon in heaven. Miy God bless ' 
 and preserve them all, for Ji-sus Christ's 
 »ake." 
 
 His voice was weak and unsteady, and his 
 breathin<r rnpiil, short, labored. i 
 
 As she folded the. letter and cIosimI the : 
 port -folio the surpeon entered, and went 
 slowly from patient to patient — speaking 
 gently to siome, and A-elmi; cautiously at: 
 the wrists of others who slept. At the \ 
 two last cots he lingered long, and his 
 benevolent fare saddened as he noted the 
 change that a few hours hail wrought. ' 
 
 " Dr. Whitmore, I have been giving Mr. 
 Whet liT strong egiinog this afternoon.'* 
 
 " All perfectly rigiit, and let him have 
 the annnoni^ as often as his pulse indicates 
 need of it." i 
 
 He sighed heavily, and she followed him in- ; 
 to the ^lassage. i 
 
 " After all, Miss Huntingdon, we shall 
 lose them both. I had such strong hope of 
 young Walton yesterday ; but it is of no use ; 
 he will not live till morning. Poor fellow ! i 
 It is too bad ! too bad !" i 
 
 " Can we do nothing more ?'" j 
 
 "Nothing. I have racked my brain, ex- 
 hausted tny remedie.":. Wiieeler, too, is sink- ' 
 ing very rapidly, and you must stimulate him I 
 constantly. Tiiese tyidioid - pneumonia eases j 
 are disheartening, liy the way, you are 
 over - ta.xiug your strength. Let me send 
 Martha down here to relieve you to-night. 
 For forty -eight hours you have not closed 
 your eyes. Take some rest to - night ; your 
 presence can do no good now." 
 
 " I prefer to remain ; how are the cases up- j 
 •tairsV" 
 
 "Doing finely, except Moorhouse ; and Ii 
 have strong faith in his constitution. I .shall sit i 
 up with liim t(j- night, to watch the effect of 
 the veratrum. God bless you, ^liss Irene ! 
 you liave a melancholy watch before you." > 
 
 As she returned to her post, Andrew came 
 in with a pitcher of ice -water; and after 
 creeping across the room several times, ar- i 
 ranging tlie covering on the cots, he unrolled i 
 his blankets on the floor, and laid himself! 
 down to sleep, within reach of liis mistress' 
 hand. 
 
 It was a long, low, rather narrow roouj, i 
 lined witli rows of cots, which stretched on j 
 either side to the door, now left ojien to admit i 
 free circulation of air. A muflled clock tick- 
 ed on the mantle-piece. Two soldiers, who i 
 ha<l been permitted to visit their sick com- 
 rades, slumbered heavily — one witli head, 
 droope(l on his chest, the other with chair 
 tilted against the window-facing, and dark- 
 bearded face thrown back. Tlie cjuivering 
 flame of the candle gleamed fitfully along the 
 line of features — some youthful, almost chihl- 
 ish ; others bearing the impress of accumula- 
 
 ted years ; some crimsoned with fever, others 
 wan and glistening with the dew of exhaus- 
 tion ; here a forehea<l bent and lowering, as 
 in fancy the sleeper lived over the clash and 
 shock of battle ; and there a tremulous smile, 
 lighting the stern maidy mouth, as the 
 dreamer heanl again the welcome bay of 
 watch-dog on the door-step at home, and saw 
 once more the lored forms of wife and 
 children springing joyfully from the cheery 
 fireside, to meet his outstretched arms. A 
 few tossed restlessly, and frequent incoherent 
 mutterings wandered, waif-like, up and down 
 the room, sometimes rousing Amlrew, who 
 once or twice lifted his head to listen, and 
 then sank back to slumber. 
 
 Before a small pine table, where stood 
 numerous vials, Irene ilrew her chair, ami, 
 leaning forward, opened her poiket- bible, 
 and rested her head on Iier hand. 
 
 She heard tlie painful breathing of the ofd 
 man, who hail fallen into a lieavy stupor, and 
 as she sat reading her hand stole to Ins feeble 
 pulse, pausing to count its fluttering. Twice 
 she rose, adnunistered the stimulants, and re- 
 newed the bottles at his teet, the mustard on his 
 wasted wrists. Taking the skeleton hand 
 in hers, she chafed it vigorously ; but sixty- 
 three years had worn away the bonds of llesh, 
 and the soul was near its exodus. Sorrow- 
 fully she watched the sharpening features, 
 which five weeks of nursing had rentlered 
 singularly familiar; and as she thought of the 
 aged wife to be widowed, and the daughter 
 orphaned, memories of her own father's 
 kisses stirred the great deeps of her spirit, 
 and tears gathered in her calm eyes. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! They will never get to 
 Richmond! Johnston is down there — and 
 Longstreet is there — and our regiment is 
 there ! Johnston is between them and llich- 
 mond — ha ! ha !" 
 
 The -Tounded bay started up, twirling one 
 arm as -f in the act of cheering, anil then 
 fell back, groaning with pain which th 
 violent elFoi't cost him. 
 
 Irene stoo;ted over him, and, .softly un- 
 buttoning Iiis .shirt-collar, reni'jved the hot 
 bloody cloths from his lacerated shoulder, 
 and re|)laced them with fresh folds of linen, 
 cold an! drippin.L'. She poured out a glass of 
 water ami lilted his head, but he frowned, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " I won't have it in a tumbler. Mother, 
 
 make Harry bring me a gourdful fresh from 
 
 j the spring. I say — send Huddi.- lor some." 
 
 I She humored the whim, walked out of the 
 
 room, and i>aused in the passage. As she did 
 
 I so, a dark form gliiled unperceiveil into a 
 
 dim corner, and when she re-entered the 
 
 I room with the gourd of water the figure 
 
 I passed through the tall -door out into the 
 
 night. 
 
 " Here is your gourd, Willie, fresh and, 
 cold." 
 
MACARI^L 
 
 171 
 
 He swallowed the draught eagerly, and liis 
 handsome face wore a touching expression 
 as he •^miled, and whispered : 
 
 " Hush ! Jessie is singing under the old 
 magnolia down by the spring. Listen ! 
 ' Fairy Biille !' We used to sing that in camp ; 
 but nobody sings like Jessie. So sweet ! so 
 sweet !" 
 
 He set. hi3 teeth hard, and shuddered 
 violently; and talcing his fingers in hers, she 
 found them clenched. 
 
 " Andrew !" 
 
 " Here I am, Miss Irene." 
 
 " Go up -stairs and ask the doctor to come 
 here." 
 
 The surgeon came promptly. 
 
 " I am afraid he is going into convtilsions. 
 What sliall I do for him ?" 
 
 "Yes — just what I have been trying to 
 guard against. I fear nolhing will do any 
 good ; hut you might try that mixture which 
 acted like a charm on Lcavans." 
 
 " Hc're is the bottle ; how much sliall I give ?" 
 
 " A spoonful every half-hour while the con- 
 vulsions last. If he can swallow it, it can't 
 possibly do any harm, and may ease his suffer- 
 ing. Poor fellow ! may the vengeance of a 
 righteous God seek out his murderer ! I would 
 stay here with you, Miss Huntingdon, if I 
 could render any service. As it is, I am more 
 needed up-stairs." 
 
 The paroxysms were short, but so severe 
 that occasionally she rccjuired Andrew's assist- 
 ance to hold the sufferer on his cot, and as 
 they grew less frequent, she saw that his 
 strength failed rapidly. Finally he fell into a 
 troubled sleep, with one hand clutching her 
 arm. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed thus, and the nurse 
 knelt softly beside her charge, and prayed long 
 and fervently that the soul of the young mar- 
 tyr might find its home with God, and that his 
 far-oil' mourning mother-might be strengthened 
 to bear this heavy burden oi woe. There, in 
 the shadow of Death, the woman's spirit soared 
 far from sin and sorrow, from the stormy shores 
 of Time, and Iield holy communion with her 
 Maker — pleading for aid, for grace, and resig- 
 nation through the remaining yean of her 
 eartlily pilgrimage. 
 
 As she knelt with her face up-turned, a soft 
 warm palm wa.s laid upon her forejiead, and a 
 low, sweet, manly voice pronounced in bene- 
 diction : 
 
 " May the Lord bless you, Irene, and abun- 
 dantly answer all your prayers." 
 
 Slie rose ijuickly, and put out her disengaged 
 hand. 
 
 " Oh, Harvey ! dear friend ! Thank God, 
 I have found you once more." 
 
 He lifted the candle and held it near her 
 face, scanning tlie sculptured features; then 
 stooped and kissed her white cheek. 
 
 " I felt tliat I could not be mistaken. I 
 heard our soldiers blessing a pale woman in 
 
 black, with large eyes bluer than summer skifes, 
 and hair that shone like rays of a setting-sun ; 
 and I knew the silent, gentle, tireless watcher, 
 before they told her name. For many years 
 I have prayed that you might becom<' an in- 
 strument of good to your fellow-creatures, and 
 to-night I rejoice to find you, at last, an earnest 
 coworker." 
 
 " Where have you been this lon<; time, 
 Harvey ? And how is it that you wear a 
 Confederate uniform?" 
 
 " I am chaplain in a Texas regiment, and 
 have been with the army from the beginning 
 of these days of blood. At first it was a pain- 
 ful step for me ; my affections, my associations, 
 the hallowed reminiscences of my boyhood, 
 all linked my heart with New York. My rela- 
 tives and friends were theic, and I knew not 
 how many of them I might meet among the 
 war -wolves that hung in hungry herds along 
 the borders of the South. Moreover, I loved 
 and revered the Union — had been taught to 
 regard it as the synonyme of national pros- 
 perity. Secession I opposed and regretted at 
 the time as unwise ; but to the dogma of con- 
 solidated government I could yield no obedi- 
 ence ; and when every sacred constitutional 
 barrier had been swept away by Lincoln — when 
 habeas coi-pus was abolished, and freedom of 
 speech and press denied — when the Washing-^ 
 ton conclave essayed to coerc« frcem('n,.to 
 ' crush Secession ' through the agency of sword 
 and cannon — then I swore allegiance to the 
 ' Seven States,' where all of republican liberty 
 remained. The fierce and unholy spirit of the 
 North appalled and disgusted me. I felt that 
 I could have no connection with a people who 
 madly plunged into fratricidal war, who goad- 
 ed their soldiers to rapine, to the massacre of 
 women and children, and who left no means 
 I untried to inflict upon the Cotton- States all 
 [ the unparalleled horrors of a servile insurrec- 
 I tion. The billows of innocent blood which 
 their fury shed, surged between us, as an ever- 
 I lasting gulf. As Ruth to Naomi, so I turned 
 fondly to the fair free land of my adoption and 
 j her devoted sons: 'Thy people shall be my 
 \ people, and thy God my God. Where thou 
 : diest I will die, and there will I be buried.' 
 Though I look upon my mother's face no more 
 , in this world, and for ever resign the consola- 
 tion of my father's blessing and my sister's 
 i smile, I shall never .see New York again. My 
 i step has passed away from the homestead — 
 I my sha<low from the dear old hearthstone. 
 j Henceforth my home is with the South; my 
 hopes and destiny hers ; her sorrows and 
 strupiiles mine." 
 ' liis white, scholarly hands* were sunburnt 
 now; his bronzed comple.xion, an<l long, tin- 
 trimmed hair and beard gave a grim, grizzled 
 j aspect to the noble face; and the worn and 
 i faded uniform showed an acquaintance with 
 the positive hardships and exposure of an ac- 
 tive campaign. 
 
172 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 •*I expected nothinc; less from you, my' 
 brother. I felt that our holy eause must claim 
 rour sympatliy and su[)port; an-l I am prouil, 
 and inexpresiihiy ha]>py, to fiml you in our j 
 matclJi'S5 and di-votf(l army. You wore dear 
 to me before; but, ah, Harvey! how much 
 deaor now in th»-se dark days of trial, which 
 you have voluntarily chosen to share, wiUi a 
 youu'^, brave, Rtrn^ijling Xifion !*' i 
 
 His eyes dwelt Upon her face a.'' she looked 
 jrladly at him, and .over her wavin;; hair liis 
 lian<ls passed tenderly, as they had <lone long; 
 years Ix-fore, when she was an invalid in his ' 
 father's hoUse. • 
 
 " You have Found your work, and learned 
 contentment in usefuhiess, since that Spring 
 day on which we talked together, in the shadow , 
 <^r tiie wild-i'herry tree. Irene, the peaceful 
 lo.jk of your childhood has come back to your 
 face." 
 
 "Yes, thanks to your puidanee, T have found 
 eniploymeiu for head and hands ; but my heart 
 is not concpiered. I have yet to learn patient, 
 perfect re.signation." I 
 
 " You ought to be grateful and happy for 
 the pood you are accomplisliiiig every day. I 
 liear much of the influence you exert here; 
 your name i.s constantly on the lips of many a ; 
 convalescent; and in the dead of niglit. in the I 
 deep hush of camp, I have listened to a fervent, | 
 tearful petition ascending to the Throne of 
 rjrace from an elderly man, wlio told me he 
 had not prayed since his childhood, till you 
 knelt beside his cot hero and asked Ood to 
 spare his life to his country and his family. 
 Does not such blessed fruitage content you ?" 
 
 " You overrate my services. I try to do 
 my duty ; but such eases as these two before 
 UB discourage me — bow down mv heart." 
 
 " 1 accept the estimate of those of your 
 countrymen over whom you have watchud, 
 and prayed, and toiled. True, it is very mel- 
 ancholy to lose any; but, in suih a mass, we 
 must not expect to save all. With my face 
 presseil against the window-pane, 1 have been 
 watching you for more than an hour — ever 
 since Col. Aubrey came out — and I know all 
 the sadness of the circumstances that surVound 
 you ; how painful it is for you to see those two 
 men die." 
 
 " Col. Aubrey ? He has not been here." 
 
 " Yes ; I passed him on the steps ; we rode 
 up together from camp. He came on sj)ecial 
 business, and returns at daylight; but I shall 
 remain several days, and hope to be with you 
 as much as the nature of your eiip;>g<'ments 
 
 will permit, ^ubrey is from W ; you 
 
 know him, of course ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know him " 
 
 He saw a shade of regret drift over her 
 countenance, and added: 
 
 " I have many tilings to say to you, and 
 much to learn concerning your past; but this 
 is not the tiiue or place for such interchange 
 of thought and feelinjj. To-morrow we will 
 
 talk; to-night I could not repress my impa- 
 tience to see you, though but for a lew 
 moments." 
 
 They had conversed in low, smothered tonej", 
 and now, gently unclasping young Walton's 
 fingers, which slill grasped her arm, Iren« 
 went ba<k to the old man's pillow and bent 
 over the ghastly face, where the cIhII of death 
 harl already srttled. 
 
 " Keel how thready and feeble the pylse is; 
 a few more throbs, and the heart will bo 
 stilled. It is hard, hard to see him <lie. atlcr 
 all my care and watching. Five Ions; weeks 
 I have nursed him, ;»nd now this is the end. 
 Harvey, pray for the departing soul, that, 
 thro.igh Christ, his .salvation may be sure." 
 
 The chaplain bowed his head, but no sound 
 broke the sad silence ; and some niDments 
 after Irene laid her ivory fingers on the lids, 
 and pressed them down over the glazed eyes. 
 ," He is at rest. » Whoso'ver bclievetli in 
 me .shall never die,' saith the Lord. He be- 
 lieved, and that comforts me. I have t tlked 
 and read much to him liuring his illness, and 
 found that he had no fear of eternity. An- 
 other patriot gone — another soul to bear wit nesj 
 In-fore God against our oppressors and murder- 
 ers." 
 
 She drew the sheet over the face of th« 
 dead, and beckoning to the two soldiers who 
 now stood near, silent and awe-struck, they 
 took up the cot, and bore it into a small room 
 adjoining. 
 
 " All, Irene ! how harrowing such fre([uent 
 spectacles must be. I should think this posi- 
 tion would be almost intolerable to one of 
 your keen synipathies."* 
 
 " How harrowing, only God knows." 
 
 She drew a chair near young Walton, and, 
 seating herself, continued: 
 
 " It wotihl be intolerable, but for the con- 
 viction that I sometimes save lives— lives pre- 
 cious to friends and country. Hird as that 
 case may seem, this is sadder still. That old 
 man had but few years Icil at best ; this boy 
 stands on the verge of manhood, with the fair 
 green meadows of life stretching dewy and 
 untrodden before him, enamelled with hope, 
 and bininded by shining peaks, which bis 
 brave, auiliitious sjiiiit panted to scale. A 
 mothers pride and ^olace, a sister's joy, one «{ 
 a Nation's treasured guardians, stricken down 
 in his first battle — bathing his country's rid- 
 dled banner in his warm young blood. How 
 long — how long will Almighty God williliold 
 his vengeance from the wolfish hordes who 
 are baltening upon the blood of freemen ? 
 Harvey, if there bo not a long and awful re- 
 tribution for that Cain-cursed race of New 
 England, there is neither justice nor truih in 
 higii heaven. I have become strangely at- 
 tached to this l)oy. He mistakes me for hit 
 mother, follows me eagerly with his eyes, (-lings 
 to my dross, fondles my hands. Around his 
 neck is suspended a locket containing her 
 
MAC ARIA. 
 
 ITS 
 
 miniature ; and yesterday, when I dressed his 
 Avouini, he felt for it — showed ine how he 
 kisje(l it before going into battle — believing 
 that it would prove a talisman. Wliat harm 
 could befall, with his mother's face over his 
 heart V Only a private in the ranks. No 
 stars and bars to deck liis homespun jacket — 
 BO ollii'ial pomp and glittering paraphernalia 
 to please his youthful fancy — none ot the gor- 
 geous accessories which gild the 'stern profes- 
 sion,' like jewels on a corpse — no badge of 
 distinction, save his ghastly death - wound. 
 The tenderly nurtured darling of Southern 
 parents, cheert'ul in the midst of unparalleled 
 hardships, content with meagre rations, which 
 his mgiocs at home would .scornfully reject, 
 gtanding dreary watch in snow and sleet and 
 rain, with memoiies of luxury anil fireside 
 joys tempting him from his gloomy, solitary 
 post — .springing to meet the columns of the toe 
 at though the Nation's fate depended upon his 
 individual valor, and asking but a grave on 
 the soil he died defending. Only a private in 
 the ranks! Oh, to this consecrated legion, 
 •tretching like a wall of flesh along the bor- 
 ders of our land, what a measureless debt we 
 owe 1 When Independence is obtained, and 
 white-robed Peace spreads her stainless hands 
 in blessing over us, let history proclaim, and 
 let our people reverently remember, that to 
 the uncomplaining fortitude and sublime de- 
 votion ol the private soldiers of the Confeder- 
 acy, not less than to the genius of our 
 generals and the heroism of our subordinate 
 oflicers, we are indebted lor Freedom. 
 
 She laid her head close to the bo3''s mouth 
 to listen to his low breathing, and the minister 
 saw her tcai's fall on his pillow and gleam on 
 his auburn locks. The delirium seemed to 
 have given place to the-dreamless sleep of ex- 
 haustion, and folding one of her hands around 
 his fingers, with the other she softly stroked 
 the silky hair from his fair smooth forehead. 
 
 " Irene, will my presenc« here aid or com- 
 fort you? If so, 1 will remain till morning." 
 
 "No; you can do no good. It is midnight 
 now, and you must be wearied with your long 
 ride. You can not help me here, but to-mor- 
 row I shall want you to go with, me to the 
 cemetery. I wi»h his family to have the sad 
 consolation of knowing that a minister knelt 
 ftt his grave, when we laid the youiig patriot 
 in his last resting-place, (ioo'l-by, my broth- 
 er, till then. Electra is in the next I'oom ; will 
 you go in and speak to her i" 
 
 " No ; I will see her early in the morning." 
 
 lie left her to keep alone her solemn 
 vigil ; and through the remaining hours of that 
 starry June night she stirred not from the 
 narrow cot — kept her fingers on the sulferer's 
 fleeting pulse — her eyes on his whitening 
 face. About three o'clock he moaned, strug- 
 gled slightly, and looked intently at her. She 
 gare him some brandy, and found that he 
 swallowed with great difficulty. 
 
 " Willie, are you in pain ?" 
 
 " Is it you, mother — and are we at homo?" 
 he asked, indistinctly. 
 
 " You are going home, Willie ; you will 
 soon be there." 
 
 " I have not said my prayers to-night. 
 Mother, hold my mu?ket a munutc." 
 
 He put out his arm as if to consign it to her 
 care, and folded his hands together. 
 
 " Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed 
 be thy name ." His voice sank to a whis- 
 per, inaudible for some seconds ; then he 
 paused, as if confused ; a troubled look crossed 
 his fcaturps, the hazelvyes filkid, and the hands 
 fell powerless on his chest. Laying Inn" hand 
 on his brow, Irene slowly repeated a favorite 
 psalin which had seemed to haunt his mind two 
 days before — that psalm of promise : " The 
 Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want." 
 Whether he understood it now she never 
 knew, but his fingers crept caressingly to her 
 face, feebly stroking her cheek while sha 
 spoke, and when she concluded he seemed 
 tryinu; to recall something. 
 
 , "Jessie knows it all; 1 don't ." Then 
 
 iame, indistinctly, snatches of the infant prayer 
 which had been taught him at his truckle-bed 
 in the nursery. 
 
 After a short silence he shivered, and 
 murmured : 
 
 '• Corporal of the guard ! post number 
 nine! Mother, it is cold standing guard 
 to-night, but the relief will soon be round. 
 Standing guard mother ." 
 
 His eyes wandered around the dim room, 
 then slowly closed, as he fell into the sleep that 
 knew no earthly waking. 
 
 A sick man a few yards off asked for some 
 water, and as Irene received the tumbler from 
 his hand he said, under his breath : 
 
 " He is worse to-night, is n't he, raa'm ?" 
 
 " Y'es. How is that pain in your side ? I 
 must put a blister on it if it grows more .severe." 
 
 " It does not trouble me as much as it 
 did about dark. How is my fever V" 
 
 " Not so high by fifteen beats. Y''ou will be 
 able to take quinine at seven o'clock." 
 
 She snuffed the candle and resumed her 
 seat, and again silence reigned — silence 
 broken only by the deep breathing of the 
 patients and the sudden jingle of the vials on 
 the table, as a hungry mouse ran among them, 
 to nibble at the open jar of simple cerate. 
 
 The air grew chilly as a light mist gath- 
 ered along the James, and finally the rumble 
 of wheels on the paved streets tolil that people 
 wen; beginning to stir in the sleeping city. 
 
 Slowly a half-hour rolled away ; Irene could 
 bandy feel the faint pulsations at Willie 
 Walton's wrist, and as she put her ear to hit 
 lips a long, last shuddering sigh escaped him — 
 the battle of life was ended. Willie's Relief 
 had come. The young sentinel passed to bis 
 Eternal Rest. 
 
 " The i>ickal •« off duty for eTor." 
 
174 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 Tears dropped on the still face as the nurse 
 cut several loiks of curling hair that clustered 
 around the bovish temples, and took from the 
 motionless heart the loved picture which had 
 been so often and so tenderly kissed in the 
 fitftil lipht of cauip-fires. Irene covered the 
 noble head, the fair, handsome features, with 
 her handkerchief, and, waking Andrew, 
 pointed to the boily — left her own ward, and 
 entered one beyond the passage. 
 
 It was smaller, but similar in arrange- 
 ment to the room where she had passed tho 
 night. A candle was sputtering in its socket, 
 and the cold, misty, wliite dawn stared in at 
 the eastern window upon rows' of cots and 
 uncpiiet, muttering sleepers. There, in the 
 centre of the room, witli her head bowed on 
 the table, sat, or ratlicr leaned, Eiectra, 
 slumbering soundly, with her scarlet shs^wl 
 gathered about her slioulilers — her watch 
 grasped in one hand, and the other holding 
 a volume oj)en at " lIisperid-yEgle." 
 
 Irene lilted the black curls that partially 
 veiled the flushed cheek, and whispered: 
 
 " Electra, wake up ! I am going home." 
 
 " Is it liglit ye.t, out of doors? Ah, yes — I 
 see ! I have been asleep exactly tifleen 
 minut<'S — gave the last dose of medicne at 
 four o'clock. Ilow are those two men V I am 
 almost afraid to ask." 
 
 '•D.-ad. Willie lived till daylight. Both 
 dead." 
 
 " Oh ! how sad ! how discouraging ! I 
 went to your door twice and looked in, 
 but once you were praying, and the last time 
 you had your face down on Willie's pillow, 
 and as I could do nothing, I came back. 
 Dr. Whitmore told me they would die, and it 
 only made me sufler to look at what I 
 could not relieve. I am thankful my cases 
 are all doing well ; tlial new prescrij)t.ion has 
 acted magically on Mr. lladly yonder, who 
 has pneumonia. Just feel his skin — soft 
 and j)leasant as a child's." 
 
 "1 have some directions to leave with 
 Martha, about giving quinine, before the doc- 
 tor comes down, and then I shall go home. 
 Are you ready V" 
 
 " Yes. I have a singular feeling about my 
 temples, and an oi)i)re.ssion when I talk — 
 should n't wonder if I Jiave caught cold." 
 
 "Klcctra, did you see Harvey last night i('" 
 
 *' No. Where did he come I'rom ?" 
 
 •' II(^ is chajjiain in a regiment near 
 llichmond, and said he would see us both this 
 morning. Was Ru.ssell here last nigiit'r'" 
 
 •' Kussell V No. Why do you ask 'i Is he 
 in th*' city ? Have you seen him V" 
 
 She ro.se ([uickly, laid her hand on Irene'.'', 
 and looked searchingly at her. 
 
 " 1 have not seen him, but your cousin 
 Harvey mentioned that Col. Aubrey came up 
 with him, on some very important errand, and 
 had but a few hours to remain. I will get my 
 shawl, and join you in live minutes. Electra, 
 
 you must stay at home and rest for a day 
 or two ; you are feverish, and worn out 
 with constant watching." 
 
 I CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " It is a mercy that .<<he is deliriotis; other- 
 1 wise her unavoidable excitement and an.\iety 
 j would probably provo fatal. She is very ill, of 
 : course; but, with careful nursing, I think you 
 have little to apprehend. Above all things, 
 Irene, sulfer nobody to bolt into that room 
 with the news — keep her as <juiet as pos- 
 sible. I have perfect confidence in "W hit- 
 nioro's skill; he will do all that I<ould, though 
 1 would not leave her if 1 did not I'eel it 
 ' my duty to hurry to the battle-field, t^ueen, 
 you look weary ; but it is not btrange, alter all 
 that you have jjassed through." 
 I " Doctor, when will you start ?" 
 I " In^twcnty minutes." 
 
 " Has any intelligence been received this 
 ' morning?" 
 
 "Nothing but confirmation of last night's 
 
 news. Hill holds Mechanicsville, and ihu 
 
 enemy have fallen back in the direction of 
 
 1 Powhite Swamp. A general advance all 
 
 I along our lines will be made to-day, and 
 
 I I must be oil". What is the matter? Surely 
 
 I you arc not getting frightened." 
 
 } " Frightened — Dr. Arnold ? No. I have 
 
 I no fears about the safety of Richmond ; 
 
 ! defeat is not written in Lee's lexicon ; but I 
 
 ; shudder in view of the precious human 
 
 hecatombs to be immolated on yonder hills 
 
 ' belbre McClellan is driven back. No doubt 
 
 of victory disijuiets me, but the thought of its 
 
 awful price." 
 
 She shaded her face, and shuddered. 
 " Cheer uj), child. We may make quicker 
 work of il lUan you seem to imagine. Uut 
 suppose reverses should overtake us, what 
 would you do ?" 
 
 " I shall remain here ks long as a man 
 or woman is left to attend to the wounded ; 
 and if — which (jlod forbid ! — our army should 
 be Ibricd back by overwhelming numbers, I 
 rejoice to know tiiat the spirit of * Edinburg 
 Atler Eldiidcii ' will be fouml in Richmond. 
 Northern banners shall never Haunt over our 
 capital, tainting tho atmosphere we breathe ; 
 in such dire emergency the people are re- 
 solved, and we will chant the grand words 
 of Aytoun, as we gather round our mag- 
 nificent nalional pyre:. 
 
 • 'T wore belter that in liorjr tlame tlie root's iiliciutd thiiii. 
 
 diT down, 
 Thnn X.\\*X tliu Toot of foreigD fo« iboulJ tranit>le in th« 
 
 tiiwii ! 
 
 Tliougli tliv rnnipnrts ruck beneath lu, and the walla 
 
 go cr;whing d»wn, 
 TliotiKb t»e ruix' of cunflogration bellow o'er the linking 
 
 town ; 
 Tlicro il Yst one place of shelter, whore the fooman 
 
 oaMU«t cuuie, 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 175 
 
 Wlicic tlip summons never sounded, of tlio trumpet or tbe 
 
 ilniiii. 
 There sliall wo find rest and refuge, ■\V4th oUr denr 
 
 (ic|i]utril brave ; 
 And tlio aslies of tUo city bo our universal gravol' 
 
 " I repeat it, Doctor — not tbe fate of Rich- 
 mond troublos me — for I have not a shadow of 
 doubt that God will give us victory — but the 
 thought of the lives to be yielded up in its de- 
 fence. As a nation, vre shall rejoice ; but, ah ! 
 the desolation hovering over thousands of hap- 
 py houie-circles, ready to swoop down, darken- 
 ing peaceful hearthstones for all time. What 
 a burden of wailing woe this day will bear to 
 the ears of a pitying God." 
 • " True, it is an awful reflection ; but we have 
 counted the cost, and it will not do to repine. 
 Extermination, rather than submission to their 
 infamous tyranny. Hampden's immortal 
 motto has become our own : ' Vestigia nulla 
 relrorsum .'" But 1 must go, Queen. I wish 
 
 you were safely back in VV , away from 
 
 these horrors that so sicken your soul. Child, 
 take care of yourself. Have you anything 
 more to say ? Talk fast." 
 
 " I directed Andi'ew to give Cyrus a small 
 box of cordials, which 1 received yesterday 
 from home. You may find use for it." 
 
 She paused, and iier whole face quivered 
 as she laid her clasped hands on his arm. 
 
 " Well — what is it? Dear child, what moves 
 you so V" 
 
 " Doctor, promise me that if Colonel Aubrey 
 is mortally wounded you will send instantly 
 for me. I must see him once more."' 
 
 Her head went down on her hands, and she 
 trembled as white asters do in an early autumn 
 gale. Compassionately the old man drew one 
 arm arou'.id her. 
 
 " After all, then, you do care for him — 
 despite your life -long reserve and apparent 
 indiU'erence ? 1 have suspected as much, sev- 
 eral times, but that imperturbable sphinx-face 
 of yours always baflled me. My child, you 
 need not droop your heail; he is worthy of your 
 love ; he is the only man I know whom I would \ 
 gladly see you marry. Irene, look up — tell '. 
 me — did Leonard know this? Conscious of, 
 your affection for Aubrey, did he doom you to 
 your lonely lot ?" , 
 
 " No. My father died in ignorance of what 
 would have pained and mortified himieyond 
 measure. Knowing him ai well m ^ou do, 
 can you suppose that I would ever have allow- j 
 e«l him to sus[iect the truth V I rc»lizeil my \ 
 duty, and fulfilled it; that is the only consola- 
 tion I have left. It never caused him one 
 throb of regret, or furnished food for bitter 
 reflection ; and the debt of respect I owe to 
 his n:emory ihall be as faithfully dinchargcd. 
 If Colonel Aubrey livei to enjoy the inde- 
 pendenoe for which he is fighting — if he 
 should be spared to become a useful, valued [ 
 member of society — one of the pure and able 
 statesmen whom his country will require when 
 these dark dayi of strife are ended — I can 
 
 be content; though separated from him, and 
 watching his brilliant career afar off. But if 
 he must give his life for that which he holds 
 dearer still, I ask the privilege of seeing him 
 again, of being with him in his last moments. 
 Tliis consolation the brave spirit of my father 
 would not withhold from me, were communion 
 allowed between living and dead ; this none 
 can have the right to deny me." 
 
 " If such be your stern and melancholy 
 resolution, what happiness can the future con- 
 tain V" 
 
 " My future holds the hope of promoting 
 God's glory, and of contributing, as far as one 
 feeble woman can, to the happineiis and weal 
 of her fellow-creatures. I cheat myself with 
 no delusive dreams; I know that my way is, 
 and ever must be,' lonely ; but, ])uttiiig my 
 trust in Ilim who never yet withheld strength 
 and guidance in the hour of need, I say to 
 myself" : 
 
 '"0, pusinaniinous neart, be comforted — 
 ' And like :i cheerful traveller, tiikc the ro:nl, 
 Siuging beside the hvdgo.'" 
 
 The doctor gathered up lier hands in his, 
 and said, coaxingly : 
 
 "May I tell Aubrey all this? it will, at 
 least, comfort him in some degree." 
 
 "No; you must tell him nothing. I know 
 what is best for him, and for me." 
 
 " Oh, child ! what harm could come of it?" 
 ■ " Ask me no more; but give me the promise 
 to send a mcisenger, if he should be severely, 
 dangerously wounded." 
 
 '• I promise that you shall know all as early 
 as possible. If you receive no tidings, be- 
 lieve that he is uninjured. As yet, his regi- 
 ment has not moved forward, but I know not 
 how soon it may. Heaven preserve you ! my 
 precious child." 
 
 He pressed a kiss on the drooped head, 
 and left her to resume her watch in the dark- 
 ened room where Electra had been ill with 
 typhoid - fever for nearly three weeks. It 
 was thought that she contracted the disease 
 in the crowded hospital; and when delirium 
 ensued, Irene temporarily relincjuished her 
 ward to other nurses, and remained at the 
 boarding-house, in attendance on her friend. 
 It was a season of unexampled anxiety, yet 
 all was singularly quiet in the beleaguered 
 city. Throughout the Confederacy hushed 
 expectancy reigned. Gallant Vicksljurg's 
 batteries barred the Mississippi; Beauregard 
 and Price, lion-hcarte<l idols of the West, held 
 the Federal army in Corinth at bay ; Stone- 
 wall Jackson — synonyme of victory — after 
 sweeping like a whirlwind through the Val- 
 ley, and scattering the columns that stealthi- 
 ly crept southward, had arrived at Richmond 
 at the aj)poiiited time. A greater tiian Scr- 
 rurier, at a grander than Castiglione, he gave 
 the signal to begin ; and as a sheet of flame 
 flashe^ along the sombre forests of Cliifka- 
 bomirly the nation held its breath, and 
 
176 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 •wat' hed the deatli-p^rapple of bannored armies 
 around its proutl youii^ capital. Tliaiik (Jo<l ! 
 we liad no cravens there to jeopardize our 
 cause; the historii; cyele had revolveil, and 
 heroic a;;('s dawned again. Neither ancient, 
 inedia*v:il, nor modern lore can furnish a 
 parallel tor the appaling panorama of blood 
 and fire which stretched from Mechanicsville 
 to Westover — for the brilliant Seven Days 
 conflict, w^hich converted twenty-si.\ miles of 
 ■wamp and forest into a vast necropolis. 
 
 Duriiii: Friday the wounded camo slowly 
 in, an<i at lour in the afternoon the roar of 
 artillery tol«l tliat the Battle of Gaineii' Mill 
 was raL'iii'^; ihat the enemy were fi^xhting 
 desperately, behind entrenchments which none 
 but Con(c(leruUi soldiers could successfully 
 have assaulted. Until eight at night the 
 houses trembled at every rejmrt of cannon, 
 and then McCK-Uan's prand army, crippled 
 and bleeding, diaggetl itself away, under cover 
 •f darkness, to the south bank of the Chicka- 
 hominy. Saturday saw a temporary lull in 
 the iron storm; but the wounded continued to 
 arrive, and the devoted women of the city rose 
 from their knees to minister to the needs of 
 these numerous gutferers. Sunday found our 
 troops f'-ciing about the swamps for the re- 
 treating (be; and once more, late in the after- 
 noon, distant thunder resounded from the 
 •everely- contested field of Savage's Station, 
 whence the enemy again retreated. 
 
 On Sabbath morning Irene learned that 
 Russell's command had joined in the pursuit; 
 and during that day and night, as the conflict 
 drifted farther southward, and details became 
 necessarily more naeagre, her anxiety increas- 
 ed. Continually hcrlips. moved in prayer, as 
 she glided from Electra's silent room to aid in 
 dressing the wounds of those who had been 
 disabled for further participation in the strife; 
 and, as Monday passed without the receipt of 
 tidings from Dr. Arnold, she indulged the hope 
 that this day would end the series of butcher- 
 ies, and tliat Russell would escape uninjured. 
 During Tuesday morning Electra seemed to 
 have recovered her consciousness, but in the 
 afternoon she relapsed into incoherent mut- 
 tering of "Cuyp," " Correggio," " Titian's 
 Bella," and " my best, great picture left in 
 Florence." 
 
 Irene was sitting at her bedside, rolling 
 bandages, when the sudden, far-distant, dull 
 boom of cannon, followed ,by the (pTHk rat- 
 tling of the window-panes, gave intimation 
 that the long contest was fiercely renewed. 
 Proj)hciic dread seized her; the liideous To- 
 Come scowled at her in the ilistance ; and, as 
 the roll of clitji dropped from her fingers, she 
 covered her eyes to shut out the vision of 
 horror. The long evening hours crcjjt by in 
 mournful procession — trooping phantom-shad- 
 ows filled the room — night fell at last, an un- 
 heeded flag of truce — and people stood in their 
 doors, at their windows, many clustered on the 
 
 pavements, listening in solemn silence to the 
 fiend-like roar of the fifty j)ieces of artillery 
 that, like a fiery crescent, crowned Malvern 
 Hill. A cotirier had arrived with intelligene« 
 that here the enemy's forces were vory strong- 
 ly posted, wore making desperate resistance; 
 and, though no doubt of the result was enter- 
 tained, human nature groaned over the car- 
 nage. 
 
 At ten o'clock, having given a potion, and 
 renewed the t'olds of wet linen 6n Kleetra'i 
 head, Irene stole back to the win<low, and, 
 turning the shutters, looked down the street. 
 Here and thcr? an anxious group huddled on 
 the corners, with ears strained to catch every 
 sound, and, while she watched, a horseman 
 clattered at hard gallop over the paving-stones, 
 reined up at the <loor of the boaniing-house, 
 swunii himself to the sidewalk, and an instant 
 after the sharp clang of the bell rang sUirtliilg- 
 ly through the still mansion. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! It has come at last!" 
 Irene groaned, and l-'aned h.eavily against 
 the window -facing; and (juick steps came «p 
 the stairway — Martha entered, and held out 
 a slip of paper. 
 
 " .Miss Irene, Cyrus has just brought this." 
 Her mislii's.s' ii-y fiuirors clutched it, and 
 she read : 
 
 " Come at once. Aubrey is badly wounde«l. 
 Cyrus will show the way. 
 
 "HiKAM Arnold." 
 
 " You are going to faint, Miss Irene I Drink 
 some of this cordial !" 
 
 •' No. Tell Antlrcw to go after the carriage 
 as quick as possible, and have it brought hei"* 
 imme<liately ; and ask uncle Eric to come to 
 my room at once." 
 
 Irene went to her own apartment, which 
 adjoined Electra's, put on her bonnet and veil, 
 and, though the night was warm, wrapped a 
 shawl about her. 
 
 Mr. .Mitchell entered soon after, and started 
 at sight (if his niece's face. 
 
 " Irene, what does this mean ? Where are 
 you going -at this hour ':'" 
 
 "To tl«e battle-field!— to Malvern Hill. 
 Colonel Aubrey is mortally wounded, and I 
 must see him. Will you go with me V Oh, 
 uncle Eric ! if you have any mercy in your 
 soul, ask me no questions now ! only go with 
 me." 
 
 '• Of course, mv dear child, I will go with 
 you, if it is possi\)le to procure a carriage of 
 any kind. I will see — ." 
 
 " I have had one engaged fof three days. 
 Martha, stay with Electra till I come back; 
 leave her on no account. If you notice any 
 change, send for Dr. Whitmore. Here is my 
 watch ; count her pulse carefully, and as long 
 as it is over one hundred, give her, every two 
 hours, a spoonful of the medicine in that 
 square vial on the table. I trust to you, Mar- 
 tha, to take care of her. If she should be 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 177 
 
 rational, and ask for mo, tell lier nothing aljout 
 the battles, and say I have gone to see a sick 
 man, and 'will be^ back soon. Come, uncle 
 Eric." 
 
 They entered the close carriage which she 
 had ordered reserved for her, and she called 
 Cyrus to the door. 
 
 " Did you see Colonel Aubrey after he was 
 wounded V" 
 
 " I only had a glimpse of him, as they 
 brought him in. Miss Irene, he was shot in 
 the breast." 
 
 "You know the way; ride^ outside; and, 
 Cyrus, drive as fast as possible." , 
 
 The night was gloomy and specfX'^l as Sheol, 
 and the wind sobbed a viiserere through the 
 sombre forest* that bordered the road, which 
 was now crowded with vehicles of aU descrip- 
 tions Ijastening to and ivturning from the field 
 of action. Under ordinary circumstances, 
 ■ with no obstacles intervening, it was a long 
 ride ; and to Irene the wat.«eemed intermina- 
 ble. During the fir?t houi' Ater silence reign- 
 ed within the carriage, anvl then, as the driver 
 paused to allow an ambulance to pass, Eric 
 put his hand on his aiece's arm and said, ten- 
 derly : ^ ^ 
 
 " Irene, why did you deceire me so long ? 
 Why could you not trust your uncle's love V" 
 
 She shrank farther back in one corner, and 
 answered with a voice which he could scarcely 
 recognize as hers. 
 
 " If you love me, spare me all questions 
 now." 
 
 By .the glimmer -of the carriage -lamps she 
 could see the wagons going to and fro, some 
 filled with empty coffins, some with mangled 
 sulfcrcrs. Now and then weary, spentsoldiers 
 sat on the roadside, or struggled on toward 
 the city which thoy had saved, with their arms 
 in slings, or hands bound up, or bloody band- 
 ages across their stern faces. Afi^er another 
 hour, when the increasing number of men 
 showed .proximity to the scene of danger, 
 Cyrus turne<l away from the beaten track, 
 and soon the flash of lights and hum of voices 
 told that they were near the place of destina- 
 tion. The carriage stopped, and Cyrus came 
 to the door. • 
 
 " We are at the lines, and I can't drive any 
 nearer. If you will wait, I will go and find 
 Master." 
 
 It was one o'clock ; and as they waited, men 
 passed and repassed with blazing torches, some 
 bearing wounded men, whose groans rose above 
 the confusion. The cannonading had long 
 since ceased, and Eric called to a group of 
 soldiers belonging to the Infirmary corps. 
 
 " What is the last news from the front ? 
 Have the enemy fAJlen back ?" 
 
 " Not yet ; but they are getting ready to run 
 again, as usual. By daylight they will be out of 
 sight, and we shall be all day to-morrow hunt- 
 ing tfaem up. Their style is to fight about 
 three hours, and run the balance of the 
 12 
 
 twenty-four. They take to the swamps like 
 all other such miserable varments." 
 
 The delay seemed intolerably long, and for • 
 the first time an audible moan escaped Irene 
 just as Cyrus came back accompanied by a 
 muffled figure. 
 
 " Irene, my child." 
 
 She leaned out till her face nearly touched 
 Dr. Arnold's. 
 
 " Only tell me that he is alive, and I can 
 bear all else." 
 
 " He is alive, and sleeping just now. Can 
 you control yourself if I take you to him V" 
 
 " Yes; you need not fear that I will disturb 
 him. Let me go to him." 
 
 He gave her his arm, and led her through the 
 drizzling rain for some distance — avoiding, as 
 much as possible, the groups of wounded, 
 where surgeons were at their sad work. Fi- 
 nally, before a small tent, he paused, and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Nerve yourself, dear child." 
 
 " Is there no nope ?' 
 
 She swept aside her long mourning veil, and 
 gazed imploringly into his face. 
 
 Tears filled his eyes, and, hastily avertin<»^ 
 his head, he raised the curtain of the tent and 
 drew her inside. 
 
 A candle burned dimly in one corner, and 
 there, on a pallet of straw, over which a blan- 
 ket had been thrown, lay the powerful form of 
 the dauntless leader, whose deeds of desperate ' 
 daring had so electrified his worshippin"- com- 
 mand but a few hours before. The noble 
 head was pillowed on a knapsack ; one hand 
 pressed his heart, while the other drooped 
 nerveless at his side, and the breast of his 
 coat was saturated with the blood, which at 
 intervals oozed through the bandages and 
 dripped upon the straw. The tent was silent 
 as a cemetery, and not a sound passed Ipene's 
 white fixed lips as she bent down and looked 
 upon the loved face, strangely beautiful in its 
 pallid repose. The shadowy wings of the 
 bitter By - gone hovered no longer over the 
 features, darkening their chisellefl perfection; 
 a tranquil half-smile parted the lips, and un- 
 bent the lines between the finely-arched black 
 brows. 
 
 Sinking softly on the floor of the tent, Irene 
 rested her chin on her folded hands, and 
 calmly watched the deep sleep. So passed 
 three-quarters of an hour; then, as Dr. Arnold 
 cautiously put his fingers ou the pulse, the 
 suflTerer opened his eyes. 
 
 Irene was partially in the shade, but, as she 
 leaned forward, a sudden, bewildered smile 
 lighted his countenance; he started up, and 
 extended one arm. I 
 
 •' Irene ! My darling ! Do I dream, or ar« 
 you indeed with me V" 
 
 " I have come to nurse you, Russell ; but if 
 you do not calm yourself, the doctor will send 
 me away." 
 
 She took the outstretched hand in both 
 
178 
 
 MAC ARIA. 
 
 hers, and pressed her lips repeatedly'upon it, 
 « " Come closo to me. I am helplcus now, 
 and «an not po to you." 
 
 She lealed herself on the.cd;;e of the straw, ^ 
 laid lier shawl in her lap, and liCtin;; his head, 
 rertttd it on the soft wftollen folds. Dr. Arnold 
 removed the warm cloth soaked with blood, 
 placed a cold, drippinjf (owcl on the sjaping 
 wound, and, after tii^Iiti'iiing the bandages to 
 check the hemorrhage, passed out of the lent, 
 Uaviiiij the two al<>n«. • 
 
 " Oh, Irene I this is a joy I never hoped for. 
 I went at night to the hospital in Richmond, 
 just to get a glimpse of you — to feast my 
 eyes with another sight of your dear, dear 
 face I I watclied 'you ministering like an 
 anjjel to sick and wonudiMl soldiers, and I en- 
 vied them the touih of your hand — the sound 
 of your voice. 1 little expected to die in your 
 arms. This reconcile* me to my falc ; this 
 uomjiensafes for all !" , 
 
 Her fingers tenderly smoothed the black 
 locks that clunff to his templ#s, and bending 
 down, she kissed his forehead. His uninjured 
 arm stole uj) around her neck, drew her lace to 
 his, and his lips pressed hers again and again. 
 
 " Dear Russell, you must be quiet, or you 
 will e.thaust yourself. Try to sleep — it will 
 nffresh, strengthen you." 
 
 " Nothing will strengthen me. I have but 
 a short time to live ; shall I sleep away the op- 
 portunity of my last earthly communion with 
 you, my life- long idol V Oh, Irene 1 my 
 beautiful treasure ! this proof of your love 
 sweetens death itself. There have been hours 
 (even since we parted a year ago), when I 
 reproached you for the sorrow and pain you 
 Bternly meted out to me, and to yourself. 
 When I said bitterly, {/she lovfed me as slve 
 should, she would level all barriers — she would 
 lay hj-r hands in mine — glorify my name by 
 taking it as my wife, and thus defy and cancel 
 the past. I was selfish in my love ; I wanted 
 you in my home ; I longed for the soft' touch 
 of your fingersyfor your proud, dazzling smile 
 of wtilcome when the day's work was ended; 
 for the privilege of drawing 3'ou to my heart, 
 and listening to your whispei-ed words of en- 
 couragement and fond congratulation on my 
 Buccesses. I knew that this couKl never be ; 
 th^ your veneration for your father's memory 
 w^ild separate us in future, as in the past ; 
 that my pleadingi would not shake your un- 
 fortunate and erroneous resolution ; and it was 
 hard to. give up the dearest hope that ever 
 brightened a lonely man's life. Now I know, 
 1 feel, that your love is strong, deathless as 
 my own, though l«^ig locked deep in your 
 heart. I know it by the anguish in your i'ace, 
 by the quiver of your mouth, by your pres- 
 ence in this place of horrors. God comfort 
 and bless you, my own darling! — my brave, 
 patient, faithful Irene I" 
 
 lie smiled triumphantly, and drew her hand 
 caressingly across his cheek. 
 
 "Russell, it is useless now to dwell upon 
 our sorrowful past; what sulferinir our separa- 
 tion has cost me, none but my (Jod can ever 
 know. To His hands I commit my destiny, 
 and ' He docth all things well.' in a little 
 while you will'leave me, and then — oh ! then, 
 I shall be utterly desolate indued ! But I can 
 bear loneliness — I can walk my dreary earth- 
 ly path uncomplainingly, I can give you up 
 for the sake of my country, if I have th« 
 blessed as.suranee that you have only ha>tened 
 home before me, waiting for m* there — that, 
 saved through Christ, we shall soon meet in 
 Heaven, and spend Kternity together. Oh, 
 Russell! CA'\ you give me this consolation, 
 without which my future will be dark indeed? 
 Have you kept your promise, to live so that 
 you could at last meet the eyes of yoiir (Jod in 
 peace V ' 
 
 " I have. I have struggled against th« 
 faults of my charj^^ter ; I have earnestly en- 
 deavored to eruslv ^he vindictive feelings of 
 ifiy heart; and I V*y6 conscientiously tried to 
 do my duty to my fVllow-crealures, to my com- 
 mand, and my country. I have rea^ the biblo 
 you gave mo; and, dearest, in praying for you, 
 I have learned to pray for myself. Through 
 Jesus, I hav(i a sure hope of happiness beyond 
 the grave. There, though separated in lil;% 
 you and I shall be united by death. 0!i. 
 Irene ! but (or your earnest piety this precious 
 anticipation might never have been mine. 
 But for you, I would have forgotten my moth- 
 er's precepts and my mother's prayers. 
 Through your intluence L shall soon join her, 
 where the fierce waves of earthly trial can 
 lash my proud soul no more." 
 
 " Thank God ! Oh, Russell ! this takes 
 away the intolerable bitterness of parting ; 
 this will support lue in coming years. I can 
 brave all things in future." 
 
 She saw that a paroxysm of pain had seized 
 him. His brow wrinkled, ami he bit his lips 
 hard, to suppress a groan. Just at this mo- 
 ment Dr. Arnold re-entered, and immediately 
 gave him another potion of morphine. 
 
 t' Aubrey, you must be cpiiet, if you would 
 not siioite'ii your life."' 
 
 He silently endured his sufTering for some 
 moments, and, raising his eyes again to Ircne'sj 
 «aid, in a tone of exhaustion : 
 
 ." It is sellish to make you witness my 
 torture ; but I could not bear to have you 
 leave me. There is something I want to .say 
 while I have strength left. How isElecfraV" 
 
 " Partially delirious still, but the doctor 
 thinks she will recover. What shall I tell her 
 for you V" 
 
 " That I loved and remembered her in my 
 dying hour. Kiss her for me, and tell h'er I 
 fell where the dead lay thickest, in a desper- 
 ate charge on the enemy's batteries — that 
 none can claim a nobler, prouder death thau 
 mine — that the name of Aubrey is once more 
 glorified — rebaptised with my blood upon th^ 
 
MAC ARIA. 
 
 i; 
 
 battle-field. Irene, she is alone/i t^^c world ; 
 watch over and love her, for my^ke. Dactor, 
 give me sonic water." 
 
 As the hemorrhajje inere^^l despite their, 
 efforts to staunch itVhe becaAi- rapidly weak- 
 er, and soon after, with o/ lia»il locked in 
 
 Irem^'s, he fell asleep. 
 She sat motionless, 
 
 littering no sound, kee 
 his upturned counten 
 noiselessly in and ou 
 mercy ; occasionallv 
 soldiers softly liftc 
 gazed sadly, fondl 
 
 portinj; his head, 
 
 her eyes fixed on 
 
 Dr. Arnold went 
 
 1 various errands of 
 
 ious, weather-beaten 
 
 le curtain of the tent, 
 
 the prostrate figure of 
 
 the beloved oon/a" J«r, and turned away 
 
 ftilcntlv, with J^'s trickling down their 
 
 bronzed faces, /nlowly the night waned, and 
 
 the shrill tone/^*^ reveille told that another 
 
 day had riseiy'^'*ore the murky sky brighten- 
 ed. Hundr/**! '^bo had sprung up at that 
 
 call twenty/""' hours ago, now lay stiffening 
 
 in their "cfii sleeping their last sleep, where 
 
 neither d^ sound of fife and drum, nor the 
 
 battle-ci/o^f'omrades, would ever rouse them 
 
 from tl^i" fi"'"^' ^6st before Malvern Hill — 
 
 orer Vich winds wailed a requiem, and trail- 
 
 in<T tl^PP'"? clouds settled like a pall. 
 
 Tie bustle and stir of camp increased as 
 
 pre/v' ations were made to follow the foe, who 
 
 }ia/ again taken up the line of retreat; but 
 
 TOfliin the tent unbroken silence reigned. It 
 
 (4is apparent that Russell was siuking fast, 
 (nd at eight o'clock he awoke, looked uneasily 
 ''around him, and said-, feebly : 
 " What is going ou in front ?" 
 "McClellan has evacuated Malvern Hill, 
 and is in full retreat toward his gunboats," 
 answered the doctor. 
 
 " Then'there will be no more fighting. My 
 shattered regiment will rest for a season. 
 Podr fellows ! they did their duty nobly yes- 
 terday. Tell my men for me that I am ine.x- 1 
 pressibly proud of their bravery and their ! 
 daring, and that though my heart clings fond- i 
 
 ly to my gallant regiment, I glory in the death | was the idol of my childhood ! and girlhood ! 
 I die — knowing that my soldiers will avenge ^ and womanhood ! Oh ! pray for mc — that I 
 
 across them. Dr. Arnold put his band over 
 the heart — no pulsation greeted him; and 
 tui'ning away, the old man covered his face 
 with his handkerchief. 
 
 " Russell, speak to me once more." 
 There was no sound — no motion. She knew 
 then that the. soldier's .spirit had soared to the 
 shores of Everlasting Peace, and that not until 
 she joined him there would the loved tones 
 again make music in her heart. She tightened 
 her :arms around the still form, and nestled 
 her cheek closer to his, now growing cold. 
 No burst of grief escaped her, to tell of agony 
 and despair: 
 
 " But like a statue solid set. 
 Anil moulded in colossal calm," 
 
 she sat, mute and resigned, at the foot of 
 the Red Dripping Altar of Patriofism, whore 
 lay, in tallowed Sacrifice, her noble, darling 
 Dead. 
 
 In the morning light her face looked rigid, 
 pallid as his, and the tearless but indescrib- 
 ably mournful eyes were riveted on his placid, 
 handsome features. Eric and Harvey Young 
 stood in one corner of the tent, wining away 
 tears which would not be restrained ; and 
 •finally Dr. Arnold Htooped and said, faltcr- 
 ingly : _ " 
 
 " My dear child, come with me now." 
 
 She did not seem to hear him, and he re- 
 peated his words, trying, at the same time, 
 to unwind her arms. 
 
 She yielded, and with her own hands 
 smoothed out and cut a lock of hair that 
 Ivaved over his gleaming forehead. 
 
 Leaning over him, she kissed the icy lips; 
 then rose, and, clasping her hands, murmured : 
 
 " Farewell, my own brave Russell !" 
 
 The minister approached, and stood before 
 her. Sh'e lifted her wan dry face, and, as she 
 put out her arms to him, a wintry smile flitted 
 over the mouth that had seemed frozen. 
 
 " Harvey ! Harvey ! he was my all ! He 
 
 me. Give my love to one and all, and tell 
 them, when next they go into battle, to re- 
 member him who led their last charge. I 
 should like to have seen the end of the strug- 
 gle — but Thy will, oh, my God ! not mine.'" 
 lie lifted his eyeg toward Heaven, and 
 
 may be patient and stroug in my great 
 desolation." « 
 
 * * • * « 
 
 , Electra's speedy convalescence repaid the 
 care bestowed upon her ; and one afternoon, 
 ten days after quiet had again settled around 
 
 for some moments his lips moved inaudibly in j tbe Confederate capital, nhe insisted on being 
 pr^jyer. Gradually a trantpiil expression [ allowed to lit up later than usual, protesting 
 
 settled on his features, and as his eyes closed 
 again he murinured, faintly : 
 
 "Irene — riarling — rai.se me a little." 
 
 They lifted him, and rested bis head against 
 ^r shoulder. 
 '.-" Irene!" 
 
 •* I am here, Russell ; ray arms arc around 
 yon." 
 
 She laid her check on his, and listened 
 to catch the words; but none came. The lipa 
 parted once, and a soft fluttering breath ewept i back the artist's shining hair. 
 
 that she woufd no longer be regarded as an in- 
 valid. 
 
 " Irene, stand in the light, where I can see 
 you fully. How Avorn and weary you look I 
 I suspect I am regaining my health at the 
 exp^n.se of yours." 
 
 " No ; I am as well in body as I could 
 desire ; but, no doubt, ray anxiety has left its 
 traces on my countenance." 
 
 She leaned over.Electra's chair, afid Stroked 
 
180 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 " I wish you would l&t me see the papers. 
 My eyes are stronp enough now, and I want 
 to know exactly what has taken place every- 
 where during my sickness. It seems to me 
 impossible that General Lee's army can face 
 McClellan's much longer without bringing on 
 a battle, and I am so anxious about Russell. 
 If he should be hurt, of course I must go to 
 him. It is very strange that he has not writ- 
 ten. Are you sure no letters came for me V" 
 , . " There are no letters, I am sure ; but I 
 have a message for you. I have seen him 
 once since you were taken sick." 
 
 " Ah ! what is it ? He heard that I was ill, 
 and came to see me, I suppose. When was 
 he here?" 
 
 Irene bent down and kissed her companion 
 tremulously, saying, slowly : 
 
 '* He desired me to kiss yoii fpr him. Elec- 
 tra, I have not told you before, because I 
 feared the effect upon you in your weak state ; 
 but there have been desperate battles around 
 Richmond during your illness, and the Feder- 
 als have been defeated — driven back to James 
 river." 
 
 " Was Russell wounded ? Yes — I under- 
 stand it all now ! Where is he ? Oh ! tell 
 me ! that I may go to him." 
 
 She sprang up. bu^a death-like pallor over- 
 spread her face, and she tottered to the "open 
 window. 
 
 • Irene followed the thin figure, and, putting 
 her arms about her, made her lean against 
 her. 
 
 " H» was wounded on the last day, and I 
 went to see him ; you were then delirious." 
 
 "Let me go at once-! I will not disturb 
 Urn; I will control myself I Only let me see 
 him to-day I" 
 
 " Electra, you can not see him. He has 
 gone to his God ; but in his dying hour he 
 spoke of youfondly, senb love, and — ." 
 
 The form reeled, drooped, shivered, and fell 
 back insensible in Irene's arms. 
 
 So heavy was tlie swoon, that it seemed as 
 if her spirit had ll«d to join her cousin's in 
 endless union ; but at length consciousness re- 
 ■ turned, and witli it came the woful realization 
 of her loss. A long, low wail rose and fell 
 upon the aii-, like the cry from lips of feeble, 
 suil'ering, helj)less children, and her head sank 
 upon the shoulder of the sad -faced nurse, 
 whose grief could find no expression in sobs, or 
 moans, or tears. 
 
 " Dead ! dead ! and I shall see his dear 
 face no more ! Oh ! why did you not let me 
 die, too V What 's my wretched life worth 
 now V One jtrave might have held us both 1 
 My noble, ])eerless Russell ! the light of my 
 solitary life I OK, God ! be merciful ! take me 
 with my idol ! Take me now !" 
 
 Very tenderly and caressingly Irene en- 
 deavored to soothe her — detailed the circum- 
 stances of. her cousin's death, and pointed her 
 dcspairing^ soul to a final reunion. 
 
 I Bui no hft appeared in the artist's black 
 I sky of sorrow; gi^e had not vet learned that, in 
 I drawing near the hand that holds the rod. the 
 I blow is lightened; and she bitterly demanded 
 j of her Maker tc be leleaaed from the burden 
 of life. 
 
 " Llectra, hush vour passionate cries! crush 
 back your rebellous words. Your Beart 
 knows no depth cf agony which mine has 
 not sounded; and vet, in this season of 
 anguish, when Russel is taken from us both, 
 I look upon his grave, tnd feel that, 
 
 lim gtroiiR. 
 
 Knowing ye are not lost for »>. amuni; 
 
 The bills, with last year's tbriis,. God keens a iiicho 
 
 In Iluavcn. to hold our idols: ai| albeit 
 
 ■III! bnike them to our fnces. and'enied 
 
 That iiur close kisses should impa^ their white 
 
 I know we shall behold them raisq couipk-te 
 
 The dust swept from their bonufy — ^.toriKod 
 
 New MemuoDS, singing in the great V>d-ligbt I " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 The sunlight of a warm spring d.v fl;\shed 
 through the open window, ayd mau .rolden 
 arabes(jue tracery on the walls and jirtraits 
 of the parlor at Iliftitingdon Hill. Th. cost- 
 ly crimson damask curtains had long jjnce 
 been cut into shirts for the soldiers, and trans- 
 ported to the Army of Tennessee, and^ir 
 and sunshine entered unimpeded. Eleci-a 
 sat before her canvas in this room, absorbel 
 in the design which now engaged every 
 thought. The witchery of her profession had 
 woven its spell about her banishing for a time 
 the spectral Past. 
 
 The extension of the Conscription statute 
 had, several months before, deprived Irene of 
 a valued and trusty overseer ; and to satisfy 
 herself concerning the character of his succes- 
 sor, and the condition of affairs at home, she 
 and her uncle had returned to W , bring- 
 ing Electra with them. 
 
 Irene stood on the colonnade, leaning over 
 the back of ICrlc Mitchell's arm-chair, drop- 
 l)ing t;ruml)s for the pigeons that cooed and 
 scrambled at her feet, and looking dreamify 
 down the avenue at the baml of orj)!ians ^/ho 
 had just ])aid her a visit, and were returning 
 to the asylum, convoyed by the matron. 
 
 "What cDutented-looking, merry little chil- 
 dren those are," said her uncle, watching the 
 small figures diminish as they threaded the 
 avenue. 
 
 " Yes ; they are as happy as orphans possi- 
 bly can be. I love to look into their smiling, 
 rosy faces, and feel their dimpled hands steal 
 timidly into mine. But, uncle. Dr. Arnold 
 has finished his nap, and is waiting for you." 
 
 She gave him her arm to the library -door, 
 saw him seated comfortably at the table, 
 where the doctor was examining a mass of 
 papers, then joined Electra in the parlor. 
 
 '■ What progress are you making, Electra?" 
 
MACARIA. 
 
 181 
 
 ery little. I can't work well to-day. 
 in says that no artist has fully grasped or 
 red his subject who can not.quit one por- 
 of" it at any moment, and proceed to the 
 pletion of some other part. Doubtless he 
 orrect ; but I am so haunted by those blue 
 a that I can paint nothing cIsq. this after- 
 n. Do you recognize them? Yours, Irene, 
 rgive me ; but I can find no others, in im- 
 jination or in lile, that so fully express seren- 
 Aly work has taken marvellous hold 
 on me; sleeping or waking, it follows, pos- 
 fisses me. I shall not hurry myself; I intend 
 nat the execution shall be ecjual to my ideal — 
 ind that ideal entirely worthy of the theme. I 
 \ want to lay my " Modern Macaria" as the 
 '/first ofl'ering of Southern Art, upon my coun- 
 /try's altar, as a nucleus around jvhich nobler 
 ''and grander pictures, from the hands of my 
 countrymen and women, shall cluster. In 
 sunny climes like ours, my glorious Art liad 
 its birth, its novitiate, its apotheosis ; and who 
 dare say that future ages shall not find Art- 
 students from all nations pressing, like pil- 
 grims, to the Perfected School of the Southern 
 States ? Ancient republics oflered premiums, 
 and saw the acme of the arts ; why not our 
 Confederate republic, when days of national 
 prosperity dawn upon ns V If the legisla- 
 ture of*!ach state would annually purchase, 
 for the embellishment of the galleries and 
 grounds of its capital, the best picture or 
 statue produced within its borders during the 
 twelvemonths, a generous emulatioa would 
 be encouraged. Our marble- hearted land 
 will furnish materials, which Southern genius 
 can mould into monuments of imperishable 
 beauty. This war furnishes instances of he- 
 roism before which all other records pale, 
 and our Poets, Sculptors, and Painters have 
 only to look around them for subjects which 
 Greek or Italian Art would glorify and im- 
 mortalize. 
 
 '" I do distrust the poofwho discerns 
 No cliariicter or glory in his times, 
 And trundles hack his soul five hundred years.' " 
 
 * " Our resources are inexhaustible, our capa- 
 bilities as a people unlimited, and we retjuire 
 ' only the fostering influences which Cosmo De 
 Medici and Xiccolo Niccoli exerted in Flor- 
 ence, to call into action energies and latent 
 talents of which wc are, as yet, scarcely con- 
 scious. Such patrons o^ Aj*t ^d Literature I 
 hope to find in the planters of the Confedera- 
 cy. They have wealth, leisure, and evcrv re- 
 (}uisite adjunct, and upon them, as a class, 
 must devolve this labor of love — the accom- 
 plishment of an American Renaissance — fhe 
 development of the slumbering genius of our 
 land. IJurke has remarked: 'Nobility is a 
 graceful ornament to the civiforder ; it is the 
 ('orinthian capital of polished society." Cer- 
 tainly Southern planters possess all the de- 
 ments of this higiiest order of social architec- 
 
 ture, and upon their correct appreciation ot 
 the grave responsibility attending their wealth 
 and influence depends, in great degree, our 
 emancipation from the gross utilitarianism 
 which has hitherto characterized us, and our 
 progress in refinement and ajsthetic culture. 
 As We are distinct, socially and politically, 
 from other nations, so let us be, intellectually 
 and artistically. The world has turned its 
 back upon us in our grapple with tyranny; 
 and, in the hour of our triumph, let us not for- 
 get that, as we won Independence without aid 
 or sympathy, so we can maintain it in all de- 
 partments." 
 
 " Electra, in order to effect this ' consum- 
 mation devoutly to be wished,' it is necessary 
 that the primary branches of Art should be 
 popularized, and thrown open to the masses. 
 Mill contends, in his Political Economy, that 
 the remuneration of the peculiar emj)loyments 
 of women is always far below that of employ- 
 ments of equal skill carried on by niQn, and 
 he finds an explanation in the fact that they 
 are overstocked. Hence, in improving the 
 condition of women, it is advisable to give 
 them the readiest access to independent in- 
 dustrial pursuits, and extend the circle of 
 their appropriate occupations. Our Revolu- 
 tion has beggaiy thousands, and deprived 
 many of their natural providers ; numbers 
 of women in the Confederacy will be thrown 
 entirely upon their own resources for main- 
 tenance. AH can not be mantua- makers, 
 milliners, or school-teachers; and in order to 
 open for them new avenues of support, T have 
 
 determined to establish, in W , a School 
 
 of Design for women — similar in plan, though 
 moif extensive, than that founded some years 
 ago by Mrs. Peter, of Philadelphia. The up- 
 per portion of the bViilding will be arranged 
 for drawing classes, wood - engraving, and the 
 various branches of Design ; and the lower, 
 corresponding in size and general appearance, 
 I intend for a circulating library for our 
 county. Over that School of Design I 
 want you to preside ; your talents, your educa- 
 tion, your devotion to, your Art fit you pecw- 
 .liarly for the position. The salary shall be 
 such as to compensate you for yoyr .services ; 
 and, when calmer days dawn upon us, we 
 may be able t« secure some very valuable 
 lecturers among our gentlemen - artists. I 
 have a large lot on the corner of Pine street 
 and Huntingdon avenue, opposite the court- 
 house, which will be a fine location for it, and 
 I wish to appropriate it to this purpose. 
 While you are adorning the interior of the 
 building, the walls of which are to contain 
 frescoes of some of the most impressive scenes 
 of our Revolution, I will embellish the grounds 
 in front, and make them my special charge. 
 I understand the cultivation of flowers, though 
 the gift of painting them is denied me. Yes- 
 terday I Fold my diamonds for a much larger 
 amount than I supposed they would command, 
 
182 
 
 MACARIA. 
 
 find this sum, added to other funds now at mj 
 dii^posal, will enable me to accomplish the 
 scheme. Dr. Arnold and uncle Lric cor- 
 dially approve my ])lan, will aid me very 
 liberally, and a? soon as lran(|uillity is restored 
 1 shall succeed in erectinj;; the building^ with- 
 out applying to any one else for assistance. 
 When your picture is finished, I wish you 
 to make me a copy to be hung up in our 
 School of Design, that the students may be 
 constantly reminded of tiie debt of gratitude 
 we owe our armies. How life-like your figures 
 grow ; I can almost .see the nuiver of that wife's 
 white lips and hear the dismal howling of 
 the dead man's dog." 
 
 The canvas, which she leaned forward to 
 insjject more closely, contained an allegorical 
 design representing, in the foreground, two 
 female ^gures. One stern, yet noble-featured, 
 crowned with stars — triumph and exultation 
 flashing in the luminous eyes ; Indep<indence, 
 crimson-mantled, grasping the Confederate 
 Banner of the Cross, whose victorious folds 
 Rtreanjcd above a captured battery, where 
 a Federal flag trailed in the dust. At her 
 side stood white -robed, angelic Peace, with 
 one hand over the touchhole of the cannon 
 against wh'u.'h she leaned, and the other ex- 
 tended in benediction. Vividly the faces 
 contrasted — one all athrob with national pride, 
 beaming with brilliant destiny ; the other 
 wonderfully serene and holy. In the distance, 
 gleaming in the evening light which streamed 
 from the West, tents dotted a hill -side; and, 
 intermediate ber^veen Peace and tlie glittering 
 tents, stretched, a torn, stained battle - fiefd, 
 over which the roar and rush of conflict had 
 just swept, leaving mangled heaps of de^l in 
 attestation of its fury. Among the trampled, 
 bloody sheaves oi wheat, an aged, infirm 
 Niobe- mother bent in- tearless anguish, 
 pressing her hand upon the pulseless heart of 
 a handsome boy of si.xteen summers, whose 
 yellow locks were dabbled from his death 
 wound. A few steps farther, a lotcly young 
 Wife, kneeling beside tbc stalwart, rigid Conn 
 of her Husband, whose icy fingers still clutched 
 his broken sword, lifted her woful, ashen face 
 to Heaven in mute despair, while the fair- 
 browed infant on the ground beside her 
 dipped its little snowy, dlm])led feet in a pool of 
 its father's blood, and, with tears of terror still 
 glistening on its chi;eks, laughed at the scarlet 
 coloring. Just beyond these mourners, a girl 
 of surpassing beauty, whose black hair floated 
 like a sable oanner on the breeze, clasped her 
 roundiid arms about her dead patriot Lover, 
 and kept her sad vigil in voiceless agony — 
 with all of Sjjarta's stern stoicism in her blanch- 
 ed, stony countenance. And, last of the strick- 
 en groups, a faithful dog, crouching close to the 
 corpse of an olil silver-haired man, threw back 
 his head and howled in desolation. Neither 
 blue shadows, nor wreathing, rosy mists, nor 
 golden haze of sunset glory, softened the 
 
 sacrificial scene, which showed its gr^^- 
 tures strangely solemn in the weird, ,,^ 
 crepusiular light. 
 
 " How many months do you suppose iH 
 Require to complete it ?" asked Irene. ^^ 
 interest in the picture was scarcely in)i 
 to that of its creator. 
 
 " If I work steadily upon it, I can soon n^ 
 it ; but if I go with you to a Tennessee hosp^ 
 I must, of course, leave it here until the p 
 ends. After all, Irene, the joy of success C| 
 not eiiual that which attends the pati, 
 working. Perhaps it is because ' anticipat \ 
 is the purest part of pleasure.' I love i \ 
 work ; no man or woman ever loved it bettc 
 and yet there is a painful feeling of "isolatio, 
 of loneliness, which steals over me sometime 
 and chills all my enthusiasm. It is so mourn- 
 ful to know that, when the labor is ended, and 
 a new chaplet encircles my brow, I shall have 
 no one but you to whom I can turn for sympa- 
 thy in my triumph. If I feel this so keenly 
 now, how shall I bear it when the glow of life 
 fades into sober twilight shadows, and ago 
 
 creeps upon me ? 
 
 " '0 ni.T God I my God ! 
 suiiienio AvOst, wlio iw solo return 
 Korull ttie cosmic womler ul'Thy work, 
 DcinaiKiest of us j».sl a wonl — a nnmo. 
 ' Mr fatliur!' — tIio\i liiist kiiowle<lp;p — only tliou, 
 I lluw dreary 't is for woiihmi to sit still 
 
 nil winter nights liy solitary (ires. 
 And lifiir tlio nutiuns praising theui far off, 
 Too far !'" 
 
 She threw down her brush and palette, and, 
 turning toward her comi)anion, leaned her 
 purplish head against her. 
 
 '* Elcctra, it is very true that single women 
 have trials for Avhich a thouixhtltiss, happy 
 world has little sympathy. But lonely lives 
 are not necessarily joyless ; they should be, of 
 all others, most useful. The head of a hoirse- 
 hold, a wife and mother, is occupied with 
 family cares and afl'ections — can find little 
 time for considering the comtbrt, or contribut- 
 ing to the enjoyment of any beyond theliome- 
 eivcle. Doubtless she is happier, far happier, 
 tiian the unmarried woman; but to tlie last 
 belongs tlie ])rivilege of carrying light anj^ 
 blessings to many firesides — of being the friend 
 and helper of hundreds; and because she be-, 
 longs exclusively to no one, her hi'art expands 
 to all her sullering fellow -creatures. In 
 my childiiood I always thought of Old -Maids 
 with a sensation of contempt and repulsion ; 
 now I regard those among them who preserve 
 their natures from cynicism and querulousness, 
 and prove themselves .social evangels of mercy, 
 as an unciowned host of martyrs. Klec^ra, 
 rc'member other words of the same vigorous, 
 gifted womfin whom you so often cjuote : 
 
 '"And HJnci' we ueedH must hunger — bettor, for miui'ii 
 love, , 
 
 Than God's truth ! bettor, for eonipnnion sweat, 
 Than ^I'-^it convictions! lot us bear out woiglits, 
 rreferrinjc dreary hearths to desert souls 1' 
 
 " Remember that the woman who dares to 
 
MACARTA. 
 
 183 
 
 live alone, and be sneered at, is braver, and 
 nobler, and butter than she who esi'apes both 
 in a loveless marvia<re. It is true that j-ou and 
 I are very lonely, and yet our future holds 
 much that is briglit. You have tlie profession 
 you love so well, and our new School of Design, 
 to engage your thoughts; and I a thousand 
 claims on my time and attention. I have 
 uncle Eric to take cai'e of and to love ; and Dr. 
 Arnolil, wlio is growiHg quite infirm, has 
 promised me tliat, as soon as he can be spared 
 from the hospitals, he will make his honte with 
 us. When this storm of war has spent itself, 
 your uncle's family will return from Europe 
 anJ reside here with you. Harvey, too, will 
 
 come to W to live — will probably take 
 
 charge of Mr. Campbell's church — and we shall 
 have the pleasure and benefit of his constant 
 counsel. If I could see you a member of that 
 church I should be better satisfied — and you 
 would be hap])icr." 
 
 " I woulil join to-morrow, if thereby I could 
 acquire your sublime faith, and strength, and 
 resignation. Oh, Irene ! my friend and com- 
 forter ! I want to live dillerently in future. 
 Once I was wedded to life and my Art-*— pre- 
 eminence in my profession, fame, was all that 
 I cared to attain ; now I desire to spend my 
 remaining years so that I may meet Klissell 
 beyond the grave. His death broke the ties 
 that bound me to this world ; I live now in 
 hope of reunion in (xod's eternal kingdom. I 
 have been selfish, and careless, and complain- 
 ing ; but, oh ! I want to do my whole duty 
 henceforth. Irene, my calm, sweet, patient 
 guide, teach me to be more like you." 
 
 " Electra, take Christ for your model, in- 
 stead of an erring human being like youi-self, 
 constantly falling short of her owii duty. 
 AVith Harvey to direct us, we ought fo accom- 
 plish a worlcl of good, here in sight of Russell's 
 grave. Chc'r up ! God's great vineyard 
 stretches before us, calling for laborers. Hand 
 in hand, we will go in and work till evening 
 shades close over us; then liftu.p,in tokenofour 
 faithfulness, rich ripe clusters of purple fruit- 
 Rgc. You and I haTe much to do, during 
 these daysof gloom and national trial — for upon 
 the purity, the devotion, and the patriotism of 
 the^vomcn of our land, not less than upon the 
 .heroism of our armies, depends our national 
 salvation. To jealously guard our homes and 
 social circles from the inroads of corru[)tion, 
 to keep the fires of patriotism burning ui)on 
 the altars of the South, to sustain and en- 
 
 courage those who are wrestling along the 
 border for our birthright of freedom, is the 
 consecrated work to which we are called; and 
 beyond this bloody baptism open vistas of life- 
 long usefulness, when the reign of wronfr and 
 tyranny is ended, when the roar of battle, the. 
 blast of bugle, and beat of drum is hushed 
 among our hills,' and Peace ! blessed Peace ! ' 
 again makes her abode in our smiling, flowery 
 valleys. Hasten the hour, oh I my God ! 
 when her white wings shall hover over lis 
 once more !" 
 
 The eyes of the artist went back to the 
 .stainless robes and seraphic far-e of her pictured 
 Peace in the loved- "Modern IMacaria," and, as 
 she resumed her work, her brow cleared, the 
 countenance kindled as in days of yore, bitter 
 memories hushed their moans and fell asleep 
 at the wizard touch of her j)rofcssion, and the 
 stormy, stricken soul found balm and rest in 
 Heaven-appointed Labor. 
 
 Standing at the back of Electra's chair, 
 with one hand resting on her .s]ioulder, Irene 
 rciised her holy violet eyes, and looked through 
 the window toward the cemetery, ;where glit- 
 tered a tall marble shaft which the citizens of 
 W ha<l erected over the last quiet rest- 
 ing-place of Russell Aubrey. Sands of Time 
 w«re drifting stealthily around the crumbling 
 idols of the morning of life, levelling and ten- 
 dei'ly shrouding the Past, but sorrow left its 
 softening shadow on the orphan's countenance, 
 and laid its chastening finger about the lips 
 which meel^- murmured: "Thy will be 
 done." The rays of the setting sun gilded her 
 mourning -dress, gleamed in the white roses 
 that breathed their perfume in her rippling 
 hair, and lingered like a benediction on the 
 placid, pure face of the lonely woman who had 
 survived every earthly hope; ami who, calmly 
 fronting her Altars of Sacrifice, here dedicated 
 herself anew to the hallowed work of pro- 
 moting the happiness and gladdening, the 
 paths of all who journeyed with her down 
 the chequered aisles of Time. 
 
 " RiBe. woman, rise! 
 To thy peculiar and liest altituiioa 
 of (loiiiK goriil and <if endurinj; ill. 
 Of comforting for ill, and teaching good, 
 And rcconcilinf; all that ill and good 
 Unto the patience of a constant hope. 
 
 Henceforward, rise. aHpire, 
 
 To all thefcalms and magnanimitiei^, 
 The lofty 118PS and the nolile cndH. 
 The Bsnctiticd devotion and full work. 
 To which thou art elect for evernidrei" 
 
 THE END, 
 
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