THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH Carolina 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
JfaljUViu^L ufj j. 
 
THE EARTH TREMBLED 
 
 EDWARD P. ROE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "barriers BURNED AWAY," "OPENING A CHESTNUT 
 BURR," "HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY 
 
 1887 
 
Copyright, 18S7, 
 By DODD, mead, & COMPANY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Mary Wallingford i 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 Love's Agony 9 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 Uncle Sheba's Experience 15 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Mara 24 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Past and Future 31 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 "Pahnaship" 39 
 
 CHAPTER VIT. 
 Mara's Purpose 49 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Never Forget; Never Forgive 56 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 A New Solace , 66 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Miss Ainsley 73 
 
 603213 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. PACE 
 
 Two Questions 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 A '"Fabulation" '^9 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Captain Dodine 
 
 lOI 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 "All Girls Together" '09 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Two Little Bakers 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Honest Foes 131 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 Fireside Dramas i39 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 .■\ Fair Duellist 151 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 .\ Chivalrous Surprise 162 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 The Stranger Explains 169 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 Uncle Sheba Sat Upon 181 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 Young Houghton is Discussed 192 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 Tin \VARNrN(; 199 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. ^^^^ 
 
 "The Idea!" 208 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Feminine Friends . 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Ella's Crumb of Comfort 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 Recognized as Lover 234 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 "Heaven Speed You Then" 242 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 Consternation , 250 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 Tempests 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 " I Absolve You " 270 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 False S elf-Sacrifice 278 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 A Sure Test 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 " Bitterness Must be Cherished " 294 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 Noble Revenge 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 A Father's Frenzy 315 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Clouds Lii-iing 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 "Ves, Vilet" 336 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 The Earthquake 343 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 "God" 350 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 Scenes Never to be Forgotten 359 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 A Homeless City • • • • 373 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 "The Terror by Night" 385 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 Hope turned into Dread 395 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 A City Encamping 410 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 "On Jordan's Banks we Stan'" 4:10 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI I. 
 Lights and Shadows of a Night 432 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 Good urought out of Evil 444 
 
THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MARY WALLINGFORD. 
 
 AT the beginning of the Civil War there was a fine old 
 residence on Meeting Street in Charleston, South 
 Carolina, inhabited by a family almost as old as the State. 
 Its inheritor and owner, Orville Burgoyne, was a widower. 
 He had been much saddened in temperament since the 
 death of his wife, and had withdrawn as far as possible 
 from public affairs. His library and the past had secured a 
 stronger hold upon his interest and his thoughts than any 
 thing in the present, with one exception, his idohzed and 
 only child, Mary, named for her deceased mother. Any 
 book would be laid aside when she entered ; all gloom 
 banished from his eyes when she coaxed and caressed him. 
 
 She was in truth, one to be loved because so capable of 
 love herself. She conquered and ruled every one, not 
 through wilfulness or imperiousness, but by a gentle charm, 
 all her own, which disarmed opposition. 
 
 At first Mr. Burgoyne had paid little heed to the mutter- 
 ings which preceded the Civil War, beUeving them to be 
 but Chinese thunder, produced by ambitious politicians. 
 North and South. He was pre-occupied by the study of 
 an old system of philosophy which he fancied possessed 
 
2 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 more truth than many a more plausible and modem one. 
 Mary, with some fancy work in her hands, often watched 
 his deep abstraction in wondering awe, and occasionally 
 questioned him in regard to his thoughts and studies ; but 
 as his explanations were almost unintelligible, she settled 
 down to the complacent belief that her father was one of 
 the most learned men in the world. 
 
 At last swiftly culminating events aroused Mr. Burgoyne 
 from his abstraction and drove him from his retirement. 
 He accepted what he believed to be duty in profound 
 sorrow and regret. His own early associations and those 
 of his ancestors had been with the old flag and its fortunes ; 
 his relations to the political leaders of the South were too 
 slight to produce any share in the alienation and misunder- 
 standings which had been growing between the two great 
 sections of his country, and he certainly had not the slightest 
 sympathy with those who had fomented the ill-will for per- 
 sonal ends. Finally, however, he had found himself face to 
 face with the momentous certainty of a separation of his 
 State from the Union. For a time he was bewildered and 
 disturbed beyond measure ; for he was not a prompt man 
 of affairs, living keenly in the present, but one who had been 
 suddenly and rudely summoned from the academic groves 
 of the old philosophers to meet the burning, imperative 
 questions of the day — questions put with the passionate 
 earnestness of a people excited beyond measure. 
 
 It was this very element of popular feeling which finally 
 turned the scale in his decision. Apparently the entire 
 Southern people were unanimous in their determination " to 
 be free " and to separate themselves from their old political 
 relations. His pastor with all other friends of his own rank 
 confirmed this impression, and, as it was known that he 
 wavered, the best and strongest men of his acquaintance 
 argued the question with him. His daughter was early 
 
MARY WALLINGFORD. 3 
 
 carried away by the enthusiasm of her young companions, 
 but nevertheless she watched the conflict in her father's 
 mind with the deepest interest. She often saw him walk 
 the floor with unwonted tears in his eyes and almost agony 
 on his brow ; and when at last, he decided in accordance 
 with the prevailing sentiment of his State, the Act of Seces-'^ 
 sion and all that it involved became sacred in her thoughts. 
 
 She trembled and shrank when the phase of negotiation 
 passed away, and war was seen to be the one alternative 
 to submission. She never doubted or hesitated, however ; 
 neither did her father after his mind was once made up. 
 Every day the torrent of bitter feeling deepened and broad- 
 ened between them and the North, of which, practically, 
 they knew very little. Even such knowledge as they pos- 
 sessed had come through distorted mediums, and now 
 every thing was colored by the blackest prejudice. They 
 were led to believe and made to feel that not only their 
 possessions but their life and honor were at stake. In early 
 years Mr. Burgoyne had served with distinction in the war 
 with Mexico, and he therefore prompdy received a com- 
 mission. 
 
 The effect of her father's decision and action had been 
 deepened a hundred - fold by an event which occurred 
 soon afterwards. Among the thousands who thronged to 
 Charleston when Fort Sumter was attacked, was the son of 
 a wealthy planter residing in the interior of the State. This 
 young soldier's enthusiasm and devotion were much bruited 
 in the city, because, waiving wealth and rank, he had served 
 as a private. His fearlessness at Fort Moultrie enhanced 
 his reputation, and when the small garrison of heroes, com- 
 manded by Major Anderson, succumbed, Sidney Wallingford 
 found that he had been voted a hero himself, especially by 
 his fair compatriots with whom he had formerly danced 
 when visiting the town. 
 
4 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 The young fellow's head was not easily turned, however, 
 for when, at an evening gathering, a group was lauding 
 the great achievement he said disdainfully, " What ! thou- 
 sands against seventy? Despise the Yankees as we may, 
 the odds were too great. The only thing we can plume 
 ourselves upon is that we would have fought just the same 
 had the seventy been seven thousand. I think the fellows 
 did splendidly, if they were Yankees, yet what else could we 
 expect since their commander was a Southern man? Oh 
 no ! we must wait till the conditions are more even before 
 we can exult over our victories. I reckon we'll have them 
 all the same though." 
 
 Murmurs of approbation followed these remarks, but he 
 saw only the eloquent eyes of Mary Burgoyne, and, offering 
 her his arm, led her away. 
 
 The spring night was as warm as a June evening at the 
 North, and they joined the groups that were strolling under 
 the moonlight in the garden. 
 
 Sidney felt the young girl's hand tremble on his arm, and 
 he drew it closer to his side. She soon asked falteringly, 
 "Mr. Wallingford, do you think — will the conditions be- 
 come more even, as you suggested? Can it be that the 
 North will be so carried away by this abolition fanaticism 
 as to send armies and ships in the vain effort to subjugate 
 us?" 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Mary, for saying that it will be a ' vain 
 effort.' " 
 
 " Of course it will be, with such men as my father 
 and," — she suddenly hesitated. 
 
 "And who else?" he gently asked, trying to look into 
 her averted face. 
 
 "Oh — well," she stammered with a forced little laugh, 
 " thousands of brave fellows like you. You do not answer 
 my question. Are we to have any thing like a general war? 
 
MARY IVALLINGFORD. 5 
 
 Surely, there ought to be enough good, wise men on both 
 sides to settle the matter." 
 
 " The matter might be settled easily enough," he replied 
 lightly. " We know our rights, and shall firmly assert them. 
 If the Yankees yield, all well; if not, we'll make 'em." 
 
 " But making them may mean a great war? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, some serious scrimmages I reckon. We're 
 prepared, however, and will soon bring the North to its 
 senses." 
 
 " If any thing should happen to my father ! " she sighed. 
 
 He had led her beneath the shadow of a palmetto, and 
 now breathed into her ear, " Mary, dear Mary, how much 
 I'd give to hear you say in the same tone, ' If any thing 
 should happen to Sidney ' ! " She did not withdraw her 
 hand from his arm, and he again felt it tremble more than 
 before. " Mary," he continued earnestly, " I have asked 
 your father if I might speak to you, and he did not deny me 
 the privilege. Oh, Mary, you must have seen my love in 
 my eyes and heard it in my tones long since. Mary," he 
 concluded impetuously, " let me but feel that I am defend- 
 ing you as well as my State, and I can and will be a soldier 
 in very truth." 
 
 She suddenly turned and sobbed on his shoulder, "That's 
 what I fear, — I can hide my secret from you no longer — 
 that's what I fear. Those I love will be exposed to sudden 
 and terrible death. I am not brave at all." 
 
 "Shall I go home and plant cotton?" he asked, half 
 jestingly. 
 
 " No, no, a thousand times no," she cried passionately. 
 " Have I not seen the deep solemnity with which my father 
 accepted duty so foreign to his tastes and habits ? Can you 
 think I would wish you to shrink or fail — you who are so 
 strong and brave ? No, no, in very truth. Self must mean 
 only self-sacrifice until our sacred cause is won. Yet think 
 
6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 twice, Sidney, before you bind yourself to me. I fear I am 
 not so brave as other women appear to be in these times. 
 My heart shrinks unspeakably from war and bloodshed. 
 Although I shall not falter, I shall suffer agonies of dread. 
 I cannot let you go to danger with stern words and dry 
 eyes. I fear you'll find me too weak to be a soldier's wife." 
 
 He led her into deeper and shadier seclusion as he 
 asked, " Do you think I'll hesitate because you have a heart 
 in your bosom instead of a stone? No, my darling. We 
 must keep a brave aspect to the world, but my heart is as 
 tender towards you as yours towards me. What else in 
 God's universe could I dread more than harm to you? But 
 there is little cause to fear. The whole South will soon be 
 with us, foreign nations will recognize us as an independent 
 people and then we will dictate our own terms of peace ; 
 then you shall be my bride in this, our proud city by the 
 sea." 
 
 He kissed away her tears, and they strolled through the 
 shadowy walks until each had regained the composure essen- 
 tial in the bright drawing-rooms. 
 
 A commission with the rank of captain was speedily 
 offered young Wallingford. He accepted it, but said he 
 would return home and raise his own company. This 
 action was also applauded by his friends and the authorities. 
 Mary saw her father smile approvingly and proudly upon 
 her choice, and he became her ideal hero as well as lover. 
 
 He fulfilled his promises, and before many weeks passed, 
 re-entered Charleston with a hundred brave fellows, devoted 
 to him. The company was inco'rporated into one of the 
 many regiments forming, and Mr. Burgoyne assured his 
 daughter that the young captain was sure of promotion, and 
 would certainly make a thorough soldier. 
 
 Even in those early and lurid days a few things were 
 growing clear, and among them was the fact that the North 
 
MARY WALLINGFORD. 7 
 
 would not recognize the doctrine of State Rights, nor 
 peaceably accept the Act of Secession. Soldiers would be 
 needed, — how long no one knew, for the supreme question 
 of the day had passed from the hands of statesmen to those 
 of the soldier. The lack of mutual knowledge, the mis- 
 apprehension and the gross prejudices existing between the 
 two sections, would have been ludicrous had they not been 
 fraught with such long-continued woes. Southern papers 
 published such stuff as this : " The Northern soldiers are 
 men who prefer enlisting to starvation ; scurvy fellows 
 from the back slums of cities, with whom Falstaff would 
 not have marched through Coventry. Let them come 
 South, and we will put our negroes at the dirty work of 
 killing them. But they will not come South. Not a wretch 
 of them will live on this side of the border longer than it 
 will take us to reach the ground and drive them off." The 
 Northern press responded in kind : " No man of sense," 
 it was declared, " could for a moment doubt that this much- 
 ado-about-nothing would end in a month. The Northern 
 people are simply invincible. The rebels, a mere band of 
 ragamuffins, will fly like chaff before the wind on our ap- 
 proach." Thus the wretched farces of bluster continued on 
 either side until in blood, agony, and heartbreak, Americans 
 learned to know Americans. 
 
 President Lincoln, however, had called out seventy-five 
 thousand troops, and these men were not long in learning 
 that they could not walk over the South in three months. 
 The South also discovered that these same men could not be 
 terrified into abandoning the attempt. There were thought- 
 ful men on both sides who early began to recognize the 
 magnitude of the struggle upon which they had entered. 
 Among these was Major Burgoyne, and the presentiment 
 grew upon him that he would not see the end of the conflict. 
 When, therefore, impetuous young Wallingford urged that 
 
8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 he might call Mary his wife before he marched to distant 
 battle-fields, the father yielded, feeling that it might be well 
 for her to have another protector besides himself. The 
 union was solemnized in old St. Michael's Church, where 
 Mary's mother and grandmother had been married before 
 her ; a day or two of quiet and happiness was vouchsafed, 
 and then came the tidings of the first great battle of the war. 
 Charleston resounded with acclamations of triumph ; bells 
 sent out their merriest peals j cannon thundered from every 
 fort on the harbor, but Mary wept on her husband's breast. 
 Among the telegrams of victory had come an order for his 
 regiment to go North immediately. Not even a brief 
 honeymoon was permitted to her. 
 
LOVE'S AGONY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 love's agony. 
 
 As the exaggerated reports of a magnificent Confederate 
 victory at Bull Run continued to pour in, Major 
 Burgoyne shared for a time in the general elation, believing 
 that independence, recognition abroad, and peace had been 
 virtually secured. All the rant about Northern cowardice 
 appeared to be confirmed, and he eagerly waited for the 
 announcement that Washington had been captured by 
 Johnston's victorious army. 
 
 Instead, came the dismal tidings from his only sister that 
 her husband, Captain Hunter, had been killed in the battle 
 over which he had been rejoicing. Then for some myste- 
 rious reason the Southern army did not follow the Federals, 
 who had left the field in such utter rout and panic. It soon 
 appeared that the contending forces were occupying much 
 the same positions as before. News of the second great 
 uprising of the North followed closely, and presaged any 
 thing but a speedy termination of the conflict. Major 
 Burgoyne was not a Hotspur, and he grew thoughtful and 
 depressed in spirit, although he sedulously concealed the 
 fact from his associates. The shadow of coming events 
 began to fall upon him, and his daughter gradually divined 
 his lack of hopefulness. The days were already sad and full 
 of anxiety, for her husband was absent. He had scouted 
 the idea of the Yankees standing up before the impetuous 
 onset of the Southern soldiers, and his words had apparently 
 
10 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 proved true, yet even those Northern cowards had killed 
 one closely allied to her before they fled. Remembering, 
 therefore, her husband's headlong courage, what assurance 
 of his safety could she have although victory followed 
 victory? 
 
 Major Burgoyne urged his widowed sister to leave her 
 plantation in the charge of an overseer and make her home 
 with him. "You are too near the probable theatre of military 
 operations to be safe," he wrote, " and my mind cannot rest 
 till you are with us in this city which we are rapidly making 
 impregnable." The result was that she eventually became 
 a member of his family. Her stern, sad face added to the 
 young wife's depression, for the stricken woman had been 
 rendered intensely bitter by her loss. Mary was too gentle 
 in nature to hate readily, yet wrathful gleams would be 
 emitted at times even from her blue eyes, as her aunt 
 inveighed in her hard monotone against the " monstrous 
 wrong of the North." They saw their side with such down- 
 right sincerity and vividness that the offenders appeared to be 
 beyond the pale of humanity. Few men, even though the 
 frosts of many winters had cooled their blood and ripened 
 their judgment, could reason dispassionately in those days, 
 much less women, whose hearts were kept on a rack of tor- 
 ture by the loss of dear ones or the dread of such loss. 
 
 It is my purpose to dwell upon the war, its harrowing 
 scenes and intense animosities, only so far as may be essen- 
 tial to account for my characters and to explain subsequent 
 events. The roots of personality strike deep, and the tap- 
 root, heredity, runs back into the being of those who lived 
 and suffered before we were born. 
 
 Gentle Mary Burgoyne should have been part of a happier 
 day and generation. The bright hopes of a speedily con- 
 quered peace were dying away ; the foolish bluster on both 
 sides at the beginning of the war had ceased, and the truth 
 
LOVE'S AGONY. II 
 
 SO absurdly ignored at first, that Americans, North and South, 
 would fight with equal courage, was made clearer by every 
 battle. The heavy blows received by the South, however, 
 did not change her views as to the wisdom and righteousness 
 of her cause, and she continued to return blows at which 
 the armies of the North reeled, stunned and bleeding. 
 Mary was not permitted to exult very long, however, for the 
 terrible pressure was quickly renewed with an unwavering 
 pertinacity which created misgivings in the stoutest hearts. 
 The Federals had made a strong lodgement on the coast of 
 her own State, and were creeping nearer and nearer, often 
 repulsed yet still advancing as if impelled by the remorseless 
 principle of fate. 
 
 At last, in the afternoon of a day early in April, events 
 occurred never to be forgotten by those who witnessed them. 
 Admiral Dupont, with his armored ships attempted to reduce 
 Fort Sumter and capture the city. Thousands of specta- 
 tors watched the awful conflict ; Mary Wallingford and her 
 aunt, Mrs. Hunter, among them. The combined roar of the 
 guns exceeded all the thunder they had ever heard. About 
 three hundred Confederate cannon were concentrated on the 
 turreted monitors, and some of the commanders said that 
 *' shot struck the vessels as fast as the ticking of a watch." 
 It would seem that the ships which appeared so diminutive 
 in the distance must be annihilated, yet Mary with her 
 powerful glass, saw them creep nearer and nearer. It was 
 their shots, not those of her friends that she watched with 
 agonized absorption, for every tremendous bolt was directed 
 against the fort in which was her father. 
 
 The conflict was too unequal ; the bottom of the harbor 
 was known to be paved with torpedoes, and in less than an 
 hour Dupont withdrew his squadron in order to save it from 
 destruction. 
 
 In strong re-action from intense excitement, Mary's knees 
 
12 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 gave way, and she sank upon them in thankfulness to God. 
 Her aunt supported her to her room, gave restoratives, and 
 the daughter in deep anxiety waited for tidings from her 
 father. He did not come to her; he was brought, and 
 there settled down upon her young life a night of grief and 
 horror which no words can describe. While he was sighting 
 a gun, it had been struck by a shell from the fleet, and when 
 the smoke of the explosion cleared away he was seen among 
 the debris, a mangled and unconscious form. He was ten- 
 derly taken up, and after the conflict ended, conveyed to 
 his home. On the way thither he partially revived, but 
 reason was gone. His eyes were scorched and bhnded, his 
 hearing destroyed by the concussion, and but one lingering 
 thought survived in the wreck of his mind. In a plaintive 
 and almost child-like tone he continually uttered the words, 
 " I was only trying to defend my city and my home." 
 
 Hour after hour he repeated this sentence, deaf to his 
 child's entreaties for recognition and a farewell word. His 
 voice grew more and more feeble until he could only whisper 
 the sad refrain ; at last his lips moved but there was no 
 sound ; then he was still. 
 
 For a time it seemed as if Mary would soon follow him, 
 but her aunt, her white face tearless and stem, bade her 
 live for her husband and her unborn child. These sacred 
 motives eventually enabled her to rally, but her heart now 
 centred its love on her husband with an intensity which 
 made her friends tremble for her future. His visits had 
 been few and brief, and she lived upon his letters. When 
 they were delayed, her eyes had a hunted, agonized look 
 which even her stoical aunt could not endure. 
 
 One day about midsummer she found the stricken wife, 
 unconscious upon the floor with the daily paper in her 
 clenched hand. When at last the physician had brought 
 back feeble consciousness and again banished it by the 
 
LOVE'S AGONY. 1 3 
 
 essential opiate, Mrs. Hunter read the paragraph which, 
 like a bolt, had struck down her niece. It was from an 
 account of a battle in which the Confederates had been 
 worsted and were being driven from a certain vantage point. 
 "At this critical moment," ran the report, '' Col. Walling- 
 ford, with his thinned regiment, burst through the crowd of 
 fugitives rushing down the road, and struck the pursuing 
 enemy such a stinging blow as to check its advance. If the 
 heroic colonel and his little band could only have been 
 supported at this instant the position might have been 
 regained. As it was, they were simply overwhelmed as a 
 slight obstacle is swept away by a torrent. But few escaped ; 
 some were captured, while the colonel and the majority 
 were struck down, trampled upon and fairly obliterated as 
 the Northern horde of infantry and artillery swept forward 
 all the more impetuously. The check was of very great 
 advantage, however, for it gave our vastly out-numbered 
 troops more time to rally in a stronger position." . . . 
 
 This brief paragraph contained the substance of all that 
 was ever learned of the young husband, and his mangled 
 remains filled an unknown grave. His wife had received 
 the blow direct, and she never rallied. Week after week 
 she moaned and wept upon her bed when the physician 
 permitted consciousness. Even in the deep sleep produced 
 by opiates, she would shudder at the sound of Gilmore's 
 guns as they thundered against Forts Sumter and Wagner. 
 A faithful colored woman who had been a slave in the 
 family from infancy, watched unweariedly beside her, 
 giving place only to the stern-visaged aunt, whose touch 
 and words were gentle, but who had lost the power to dis- 
 guise the bitterness of her heart. She tried to waken 
 maternal instincts in the wife, but in vain, for there are 
 wounds of the spirit, like those of the body, which are 
 fatal. All efforts to induce the widow to leave the city, 
 
14 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 already within reach of the Federal guns, were unavaihng, 
 and she was the more readily permitted to have her own 
 way, because, in the physician's opinion, the attempt would 
 prove fatal. 
 
 Meanwhile her time was drawing near. One August 
 night she was dozing, and moaning in her sleep, when 
 suddenly there was a strange, demoniac shriek through the 
 air followed by an explosion which in the still night was 
 terrifically loud. The invalid started up and looked wildly 
 at her sable nurse who was trembling like a leaf. 
 
 " O Lawd hab mercy, Missus," she exclaimed. " Dem 
 Yankees shellin de town." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was instantly at the bedside. The faithful 
 doctor came hurriedly of his own accord, and employed all 
 his skill. 
 
 A few hours later Mrs. Hunter tried to say cheerily, 
 " Come, Mary, here is a fine little girl for you to love and 
 live for." 
 
 "Aunty," said the mother calmly, "I am dying. Let 
 me see my child and kiss her. Then put her next my 
 heart till it is cold." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter lifted her startled eyes to the physician, who 
 sadly nodded his head in acquiescence. In a few moments 
 more the broken heart found healing far beyond all human 
 passion and strife. 
 
 With hot, yet tearless eyes, and a face that appeared to 
 be chiselled from marble in its whiteness and rigidity, the 
 aunt took up the child. Her tone revealed the indescrib- 
 able intensity of her feelings as she said, "Thy name is 
 Mara — bitterness." 
 
UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE. 1 5 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE. 
 
 MANY years have elapsed since the events narrated in 
 the last chapter occurred, and the thread of story is 
 taken up again in the winter of 1886. In a small dweUing, 
 scarcely more than a cabin, and facing on an obscure alley 
 in Charleston, a rotund colored woman of uncertain age is 
 sitting by the fire with her husband. She is a well-known 
 character in the city, for she earns her bread by selling 
 cakes, fruits, and other light articles which may be vended 
 in the street with chances of profit. Although " Aun' 
 Sheba," as she was familiarly called, had received no train- 
 ing for mercantile pursuits, yet her native shrewdness had 
 enabled her to hit upon the principles of success, as may be 
 discovered by the reader as the story progresses. She had 
 always been so emphatically the master of the house and 
 the head of the family, that her husband went by the name 
 of " Uncle Sheba." It must be admitted that the wife 
 shared in the popular opinion of her husband. 
 
 When in an amiable mood, which, happily, was her usual 
 condition of mind, she addressed him as "Unc. ;" when 
 some of his many short-comings exhausted her good nature — 
 for Aun' Sheba had more good nature than patience — he 
 was severely characterized as " Mr. Buggone." Since they 
 had been brought up in Major Burgoyne's family, they felt 
 entitled to his surname, and by evolution it had become 
 " Buggone." Uncle Sheba's heart failed him when his wife 
 
1 6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 addressed him by this title, for he knew he was beyond the 
 dead line of safety. They dwelt alone in the cabin, their 
 several children, with one exception, having been scattered 
 they knew not where. Adjacent was another cabin, owned 
 by a son-in-law, named Kern Watson, who had married their 
 youngest daughter years before, and he was the pride of 
 Aun' Sheba's heart. Uncle Sheba felt that he was not 
 appreciated, or perhaps appreciated too well, by his son-in- 
 law, and their intercourse was rather formal. 
 
 On the evening in question, supper was over, but the table 
 had not yet been cleared. Uncle Sheba was a good deal of 
 an epicure, and, having left not a scrap of what his wife had 
 vouchsafed to him, was now enjoying his corn-cob pipe. 
 Aun' Sheba also liked a good square meal as much as any 
 one, and she had the additional satisfaction that she had 
 earned it. At this hour of the day she was usually very 
 tired, and was accustomed to take an hour's rest before put- 
 ting her living-room in order for the night. Although the 
 twilight often fell before she returned from her mercantile pur- 
 suits, she never intrusted Uncle Sheba with the task of getting 
 supper, and no housekeeper in the city kept her provisions 
 under lock and key more rigorously than did Aun' Sheba. 
 After repeated trials, she had come to a decision. " Mr. 
 Buggone," she had said in her sternest tones, '' you's wuss 
 dan poah white trash when you gets a chance at de cubbard. 
 Sence I can't trus' you nohow, I'se gwine to gib you a 
 'lowance. You a high ole Crischun, askin' for you'se daily 
 bread, an' den eatin' up 'nuff fer a week." 
 
 Uncle Sheba often complained that he was " skimped," 
 but his appearance did not indicate any meagreness in his 
 " 'lowance," and he had accepted his lot in this instance, as 
 in others, rather than lose the complacent consciousness 
 that he was provided for without much effort on his 
 nart. 
 
UNCLE SlIEB/rS EXPERIENCE. 1/ 
 
 Supper was Ann' Sheba's principal meal, and she practi- 
 cally dined at the fashionable hour of six. What she termed 
 her dinner was a very uncertain affair. Sometimes she 
 swallowed it hastily at " Ole Tobe's rasteran," as she termed 
 the eating-room kept by a white-wooled negro ; again she 
 would " happen in " on a church sister, when, in passing, 
 the odor of some cookery was appetizing. She always left, 
 however, some compensation from her basket, and so was 
 not unwelcome. Not seldom, also, a lady or a citizen who 
 knew her well and the family to which she had once be- 
 longed, would tell her to go to the kitchen. On such days 
 Aun' Sheba's appetite flagged at supper, a fact over which 
 her husband secretly rejoiced, since his allowance was almost 
 double. 
 
 She was now resting after the fatigues of the day, and the 
 effort to get and dispose of a very substantial supper, and 
 was puffing at her pipe in a meditative aspect. Evidently 
 something unusual was on her mind, and she at last ejacu- 
 lated, " I know dey'se poah." 
 
 " Who's? " languidly queried Uncle Sheba. 
 
 " Oh, you'd neber fin' out. Dey'd starve long o' you." 
 
 " I dunno who dey is. What 'casion I got to pervide for 
 dey?" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, Unc. ! You'se a great pervider. Somehow 
 or oder Fse got de notion dat you'se a 'sumer." 
 
 " I bress de Lawd my appetite ain't failin' in spite ob de 
 rheumatiz." 
 
 " If you rheumatiz was only in you jints, dere'd be a 
 comfort in keerin' fer you, Unc, but it's in you min'." 
 
 " You'll cotch it some day, an' den you know what 'tis. 
 But who's dey dat you got on you min' ? " 
 
 " Why, de young Missy and de ole Missus to be sho'." 
 
 " I don' see how dey can be poah. Dey mus' hab kep' 
 someting out all dey had." 
 
1 8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " So dey did, but it wan't much, an' I jus' b'lebe it's clar 
 dun gone ! " 
 
 " What ! de plantation in Virginny all gone? " 
 
 " How often I tole you, Unc, dat I heard ole Missus say 
 herself dat plantation was all trompl'd in de groun' an' 
 what was lef was took fer taxes." 
 
 " I forgits," remarked Uncle Sheba, his eyes growing 
 heavy in his lack of interest ; " but ole Marse Wallingford 
 mus' hab lef de widder ob his son someting," 
 
 " Now look heah, Unc, you'se haf asleep. You'se 'low- 
 ance too hebby dis ebenin'. How you forgit when I tell 
 you ober an' ober? You doan keer. Dat's de foot de 
 shoe's on. You know ole Marse Wallingford's plantation 
 was trompl'd in de groun' too, — not a stick or stone lef by 
 Sherman's sogers." 
 
 " Well, dey sole dere fine house on Meetin' Street, an' 
 dat mus' a brought a heap," protested Uncle Sheba, rousing 
 himself a little. 
 
 " Mighty little arter de mor'giges an' taxes was paid. 
 Didn't I help dem pack up what dey tink dey could sabe, 
 and see poah Missy Mara wrung her ban's as she gib up dis 
 ting an' dat ting till at las' she cry right out, ' Mought as 
 well gib up eberyting. Why don't dey kill us too, like dey 
 did all our folks ? ' You used to be so hot fer dat ole 
 Guv'ner Moses and say he was like de Moses in de Bible, — 
 dat he was raised up fer ter lead de culled people to de 
 promise' Ian'. You vote fer him, an' hurrah fer him, an' 
 whar's yer promise' Ian'? Little you know 'bout Scripter 
 when you say he secon' Moses. Don' want no more sich 
 Moseses in dis town. Dey wouldn't lebe a brick heah ef 
 dey could take dem off. He'n his tribe got away wid 'bout 
 all ole Missus' and young Missus' prop'ty in my 'pinion. 
 Anyhow I feels it in my bones dey's poah, an' I mus' try an' 
 fin' out. Dey's so proud dey'd starbe fore dey'd let on." 
 
UNCLE SIIEBA'S EXPERIENCE. 1 9 
 
 " 'Spose you does fin' out, what kin you do ? You gwine 
 ter buy back de big house fer dem? " 
 
 " I'se not de one ter talk big 'bout what I'se gwine ter 
 do," repUed Aun' Sheba, nodding her head portentously as 
 she knocked the ashes from her pipe and prepared for the 
 remaining tasks of the evening. 
 
 Her husband's self-interest took alarm at once, and he 
 began to hitch uneasily on his chair. At last he broke out. 
 " Now look heah, Aun' Sheba, you'se got suffin on you' min' 
 'bout dem white folks " — 
 
 " Dem white folks ! Who you talkin' 'bout?" 
 
 "Well, dey ain't none o' our flesh an' blood, and de 
 Bible say shuah dat dey dat don' pen'ide fer dere own flesh 
 an' blood am wuss dan a inferdel." 
 
 " Den I reckon you'se an inferdel, Mister Buggone," 
 retorted Aun' Sheba, severely. 
 
 " I'se not," retorted her husband, assuming much solem- 
 nity, " I'se a 'umble an' 'flicted sarbent ob de Lawd, an' it's 
 my duty to 'monstrate wid you. I know what's on you' 
 min'. You'se gwine ter do fer dem white folks when you 
 got all you kin do now." 
 
 " Mister Buggone, don' you call Missy Mara white folks 
 no mo'." 
 
 "Well, ain't she white folks? Didn't I slabe fer her 
 granpar yeahs an' yeahs, an' wat I got ter show fer 't? " 
 
 " You got no stripes on you back, an' you'd had plenty 
 ter show ef you'd wuked fer any oder man. I 'member all 
 about you slabin' an' how de good major use' to let you off. 
 You know, too, dat he war so took up wid his book dat you 
 could do foolishness right uner his nose. An' dar was my 
 poah young Missy Mary, who hadn't de heart to hurt a 
 skeeter. You s'pose I watch ober dat broken-hearted lam' 
 an' her little chile an' den heah 'em called white folks, as if 
 dey'se no 'count ter me ? How ofen dat poah dyin' lam' 
 
20 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 turn to mc in de middle ob de night an' say ter me, Sheba, 
 you will took keer on my chile ef it libe, an' I say to her 
 'fore de Lawd dat I would. An' I did too. Dat po' little 
 moderless and faderless chile lay on my bosom till I lubed 
 it fer hersef, and Missy Mara neber gwine to hab trubble 
 when I ain't dar." 
 
 Aun' Sheba's voice had been reaching a higher and 
 higher key under the influence of reminiscence and indig- 
 nation. Although her husband was in dire trepidation he 
 felt that this point was too serious to be yielded without a 
 desperate effort. He had been put on short allowance once 
 before when his wife had gone to help take care of Mara 
 in a severe illness, and now he had a presentiment that 
 Aun' Sheba would try to help support the girl and her great- 
 aunt as well as himself. Such an attempt threatened priva- 
 tions which were harrowing even to contemplate, and in a 
 sort of desperation he resolved once more to assert his 
 marital position. "Aun' Sheba," he began with much 
 dignity, " I'se been bery easy an' bendin' like ter you. I'se 
 gib you you'se own head dead agin de principles ob Scripter 
 which say dat de husban' am de head ob de wife " — 
 
 " Mister Buggone," interrupted Aun' Sheba in a passion 
 which was bursting all restraint, *' you'se wrestin' scripter to 
 you'se own 'struction. Ef you am de head ob dis fam'ly, 
 I'se gwine ter sit down an' fole my bans, an you can jes' git 
 out an' earn my libin' an' yours too. Git up dar now, an' 
 bring in de wood an' de kinlin' fer de mawnin', an' when 
 mawnin' come, you make de fiah. Arter breakfas' you 
 start right off ter work, and I'se sit on de do' step and talk 
 to de neighbos. You shall hab all de headin ob de house 
 you wants, but you can't hab de 'sition widout de 'sponsi- 
 bilities. I'se gwine now to take a res' an' be 'sported," and 
 the irate wife filled her pipe, sat down and smoked furiously. 
 
 Uncle Sheba was appalled at the result of his Scriptural 
 
UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE. 21 
 
 argument. He would like to be king by divine right 
 without any responsibilities. His one thought now was to 
 escape until the storm blew over and his wife's tolerant 
 good nature resumed its wonted sway. Shuffling cautiously 
 around to the door he remarked meekly as he held it ajar, 
 " I reckon I'll drap in at de prar-meetin', fer I tole brudder 
 Simpkins I'd gib dem a lif ' dis ebenin'." 
 
 His heart misgave him as he heard his wife bound up 
 and bolt the door after him, but he was a philosopher who 
 knew the value of time in remedying many of the ills of life. 
 It must be admitted that he could not get into the spirit of 
 the meeting, and Brother Simpkins remarked rather severely 
 at its close, "Mister Buggone, I'se feared you'se zeal am 
 languishin'." 
 
 Uncle Sheba's forebodings increased as he saw that his 
 house was dark, and he fell into something like panic 
 when he found that the door was still bolted. He knocked 
 gently at first, then louder and louder, adding to the uproar 
 by calls and expostulations. A light appeared in the adja- 
 cent cottage, and Kern Watson, his son-in-law, came out. 
 "Wat de matter now, Uncle Sheba?" he asked. "Does 
 yer wan' ter bring de perlice? You'se been takin' a drap 
 too much agin, I reckon." 
 
 " No, I'se only been to prar-meetin', and Aun' Sheba jes' 
 dun gone and bolt me out." 
 
 " Well, you'se been cuttin' up some shine, an' dat's a fac'. 
 Come in an' stop you noise. You can sleep on de lounge. 
 We don' want to pay ten dollahs in de mawnin to get you 
 out ob de caboose." 
 
 Uncle Sheba was glad to avail himself of this rather 
 equivocal hospitahty, and eagerly sought to win Kern's 
 sympathy by relating his grievance. His son-in-law leaned 
 against the chimney-side that he might, in his half-dressed 
 condition, enjoy the warmth of the coals covered with ashes 
 
22 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 on the hearth, and hstened. He was a tall, straight negro 
 of powerful build, and although his features were African, 
 they were not gross in character. The candle on the mantle 
 near him brought out his profile in fine silhouette, while his 
 quiet steady eyes indicated a nature not stirred by trifles. 
 
 " You'se a 'publican, Kern, an' you knows dat we culled 
 people got ter take keer ob ourselves." 
 
 "Yes, I'se a Repubhcan," said Kern, "but wat dat got 
 ter do wid dis matter? Is Aun' Sheba gwine ter take any 
 ob your money ? Ef she set her heart on helpin' her ole 
 Missus an' young Missy an' arn de money herself, whose 
 business is it but hers? I'se a Republican because I belebe 
 in people bein' free, wedder dey is white or black, but I 
 ain't one ob dem kin' ob Republicans dat look on white folks 
 as inemies. Wot we do widout dem, an' wat dey do widout 
 us? All talk ob one side agin de toder is fool talk. Ef 
 dere's any prosperity in dis Ian' we got ter pull tergedder. 
 You'se free. Uncle Sheba, an' dere ain't a man in Charleston 
 dat kin hender you from goin' to work termorrow." 
 
 " I reckon I'se try ter git a wink ob slepe, Kern," 
 responded Uncle Sheba plaintively. " My narbes been so 
 shook up dat my rheumatiz will be po'ful bad for a spell." 
 
 Kern knew the futility of further words, and also betook 
 himself to rest. 
 
 With x'\un' Sheba, policy had taken the place of passion. 
 Through a knot-hole in her cabin she had seen her husband 
 admitted to her son-in-law's dwelling, and so her mind was 
 at rest. " Unc," she muttered, " forgits his 'sper'ence at de 
 prar-meetin's bery easy, but he mus' have a 'sper'ence to- 
 night dat he won't forgit. I neber so riled in my bawn days. 
 Ef he tinks I can sit heah and see him go'mandizin' when 
 my honey lam' Mara hungry, he'll fin' out." 
 
 Before the dawn of the following day, Uncle Sheba had 
 had time for many second thoughts, and when his wife 
 
UNCLE SHEBA'S EXPERIENCE. 23 
 
 opened the door he brought in plenty of kindlings and 
 wood. Aun' Sheba accepted these marks of submission in 
 grim silence, resolving that peace and serenity should come 
 about gradually. She relented so far, however, as to give 
 him an extra slice of bacon for breakfast, at which token of 
 returning toleration Uncle Sheba took heart again. Having 
 curtly told him to clear the table, Aun' Sheba proceeded to 
 make from the finest of flour the dehcate cakes which she 
 always sold fresh and almost warm from her stove, and before 
 starting out on her vending tour of the streets, the store-room 
 was locked against the one burglar she feared. 
 
24 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON the same evening which witnessed Uncle Sheba's 
 false step and its temporarily disastrous results, Owen 
 Clancy sat brooding over his fire in his bachelor apartment. 
 If his sitting-room did not suggest wealth, it certainly indi- 
 cated refined and intellectual tastes and a fair degree of 
 prosperity. A few fine pictures were on the walls, an 
 unusually well selected library, although a small one, was in 
 a book-case, while upon the table lay several of the best 
 magazines and reviews of the period. Above the mantle 
 was suspended a cavalry sabre, its scabbard so dented as to 
 suggest that it had seen much and severe service. Young 
 Clancy's eyes were fixed upon it, and his revery was so deep 
 that a book fell from his hand to the floor without his notice. 
 His thoughts, however, were dwelling upon a young girl. 
 Strange that a deadly weapon should be allied to her in 
 association. Yet so it was. He never could look upon that 
 sabre which his father had used effectively throughout the 
 Civil War, without thinking of Mara Wallingford. Neither 
 this object nor any other was required to produce thoughts 
 of her, for he passed few waking hours in which she was not 
 present to his fancy. He loved her sincerely, and felt that 
 she knew it, and he also hoped that she concealed a deeper 
 regard for him than she would admit even to herself. 
 Indeed he almost beheved that if he could share fully with 
 her all the ideas and antipathies symbolized by the battered 
 
MARA. 25 
 
 scabbard before him, his course of love would run smoothly. 
 It was just at this point that the trouble between them arose. 
 She was looking back; he, forward. He could not enter 
 into her sad and bitter retrospection, feeling that this was 
 morbid and worse than useless. Remembering how cruelly 
 she and her kindred had suffered, he made great allowances 
 for her, and had often tried to soften the bitterness in her 
 heart by reminding her that he, too, had lost kindred and 
 property. By delicate efforts he had sought to show the 
 futility of clinging to a dead past, and a cause lost beyond 
 hope, but Mara would only become grave and silent when 
 such matters were touched upon. 
 
 Clancy had been North repeatedly on business, and had 
 never discovered a particle of hostihty towards him or his 
 section in the men with whom he dealt and associated. 
 They invited him to their homes ; he met the women of 
 their families, from whom he often received rather more 
 than courtesy, for his fine appearance and a certain courtli- 
 ness of manner, inherited from his aristocratic father, had 
 won a thinly veiled admiration of which he had been agree- 
 ably conscious. Since these people had no controversy 
 with him, how could he continue to cherish enmity and 
 prejudice against them ? His warm Southern nature revolted 
 at receiving hearty good will and not returning it in kind. 
 There was nothing of a " we-forgive-you " in the bearing of 
 his Northern acquaintances, nor was there any effusiveness 
 in cordiality with an evident design of reassuring him. He 
 was made to feel that he was guilty of an anachronism in 
 brooding over the war, that it had been forgotten except as 
 history, and that the present with its opportunities, and the 
 future with its promise, were the themes of thought. The 
 elements of life, energy, hopefulness with which he came in 
 contact had appealed to him powerfully, for they were 
 in harmony with his youth, ambition, yes, and his patriot- 
 
26 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 ism. •■'The South can never grow rich and strong by 
 sulking," he had often assured himself, " and since the old 
 dream is impossible, and we are to be one people, why 
 shouldn't we accept the fact and unite in mutual helpful- 
 ness?" 
 
 Reason, ambition, and policy prompted him to the di- 
 vergence of view and action which was alienating Mara. 
 " Imitation of her example and spirit would be political and 
 financial suicide on our part," he broke out. " I love her ; 
 and if she loved in the same degree, I would be more to 
 her than bitter memories. She would help me achieve a 
 happy future for us both. As it is, I am so pulled in differ- 
 ent ways that I'm half insane," and with contracted brow he 
 sprung up and paced the floor. 
 
 But he could not hold to this mood long, and soon his 
 face softened into an expression of anxiety and commisera- 
 tion. Resuming his chair his thoughts ran on, "She isn't 
 happy either. For some cause I reckon she suffers more 
 than I do. She looked pale to-day when I met her, and 
 her face was full of anxiety until she saw me, and then it 
 masked all feeling. She has worn that same cloak now for 
 three winters. Great Heaven ! if she should be in want, and 
 I not know it ! Yet what could I do if she were ? Why will 
 she be so proud and obdurate ? I beUeve that gaunt, white- 
 haired aunt has more to do with her course than her own 
 heart. Well, I can't sit here and think about it any longer. 
 If I see her something may become clearer, and I must see 
 her before I go North again." 
 
 Mara Wallingford's troubles and anxieties had indeed 
 been culminating of late. Almost her sole inheritance had 
 been sadness, trouble and enmity. Not only had her un- 
 happy mother's history been kept fresh in her memory by 
 her great-aunt, Mrs. Hunter, but the very blood that coursed 
 in her veins and the soul that looked out from her dark, 
 
MA/iA. 27 
 
 melancholy eyes had received from that mother character- 
 istics which it is of the province of this story to reveal. 
 To poor Mary Wallingford, the death of her father and of 
 her husband had been the unspeakable tragedy and wrong 
 which had destroyed her life ; and the long agony of the 
 mother had deprived her offspring of the natural and joy- 
 ous impulses of childhood and youth. If Mara had been 
 left to the care of a judicious guardian, — one who had 
 sought by all wholesome means to counteract inherited 
 tendencies, a more cheerful and hopeful life would have 
 been developed, but in this respect the girl had been most 
 unfortunate. The mind grows by what it feeds upon, and 
 Mrs. Hunter's spirit had become so imbittered by dwelling 
 upon her woes and losses that she was incapable of thinking 
 or speaking of much else. She had never been a woman of 
 warm, quick sympathies. She had seen little of the world, 
 and, in a measure, was incapable of seeing it, whatever 
 advantages she might have had. This would have been 
 true of her, no matter where her lot had been cast, for she 
 was a born conservative. What she had been brought up 
 to believe would always be true ; what she had been made 
 familiar with by early custom would always be right, and 
 any thing different would be viewed with disapproval or 
 intoleration. Too little allowance is often made for charac- 
 ters of this kind. We may regret rigidity and narrowness 
 all we please, but there should be some respect for down- 
 right sincerity and the inability to see both sides of a 
 question. 
 
 It often happens that if natures are narrow they are 
 correspondingly intense ; and this was true of Mrs. Hunter. 
 She idolized her husband dead, more perhaps than if he 
 had been living. Her brother and nephew were household 
 martyrs, and little Mara had been taught to revere their 
 memories as a devout Catholic pays homage to a patron 
 
28 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 saint. Between the widow and all that savored of the 
 North, the author of her woes, there was a great gulf, and 
 the changes wrought by the passing years had made no 
 impression, for she would not change. She simply shut her 
 eyes and closed her ears to whatever was not in accord with 
 her own implacable spirit. She grew cold towards those 
 who yielded to the kindly influences of peace and the heal- 
 ing balm of time ; she had bitter scorn for such as were led 
 by their interests to fraternize with the North and Northern 
 people. In her indiscrimination and prejudice they were all 
 typified by the unscrupulous adventurers who had made a 
 farce of government and legally robbed the South when 
 prostrate and bleeding after the War. She and her niece 
 had been taxed out of their home to sustain a rule they 
 loathed. Not a few women in Boston, in like circumstances, 
 would be equally bitter and equally incapable of taking the 
 broad views of an historian. 
 
 The influence of such a concentrated mind, warped 
 almost to the point of monomania, upon a child like Mara, 
 predisposed from birth to share in a similar spirit, can be 
 readily estimated. Peace and time, moreover, had not 
 brought the ameliorating tendencies of prosperity, but rather 
 a continuous and hopeless pressure of poverty. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter had been incapable of doing more than save 
 what she could out of the wreck of their fortunes. There 
 were no near relations, and those remaining, with most of 
 their friends and acquaintances who had not been alienated, 
 were struggling like themselves in straitened circumstances. 
 Yet out of this poverty, many open, generous hands would 
 have been stretched to the widow and her ward had they 
 permitted their want to be known. But they felt that they 
 would rather starve than do this, for they belonged to that 
 class which suff'ers in proud silence. Although they had 
 practised an economy that was so severe as to be detri- 
 
MARA. 29 
 
 mental to both health and character, tlieir principal had 
 melted away, and their jewelry and plate, with the excep- 
 tion of heirlooms that could not be sold without a sense of 
 sacrilege, had been quietly disposed of. The end of their 
 resources was near, and they knew not what to do. Mara 
 had tried to eke out their means by fancy-work, but she had 
 no great aptitude for such tasks, and her education was too 
 defective and old-fashioned for the equipment of a modern 
 teacher. She was well read, especially in the classics, yet 
 during the troubled years of her brief life she had not been 
 given the opportunity to acquire the solid, practical knowl- 
 edge which would enable her to instruct others. The exclu- 
 siveness and seclusion, so congenial to her aunt, had been 
 against her, and now reticence and a disposition to shrink 
 from the world had become a characteristic of her own. 
 
 She felt, however, that her heart, if not her will, was weak 
 towards Owen Clancy. In him had once centred the hope 
 of her life, and from him she now feared a wound that could 
 never heal. 
 
 She underrated his affection as he did hers. He felt 
 that she should throw off the incubus of the past for his 
 sake ; she believed that any depth of love on his part should 
 render impossible all intercourse with the North beyond 
 what was strictly necessary for the transaction of business. 
 In order to soften her prejudices, he had told her of his 
 social experiences in New York, and, as a result, had seen 
 her face harden against him. . . . She had no words of 
 bitter scorn such as her aunt had indulged in when learning 
 of the fact. She had only thought in sorrow that since he 
 was " capable of accepting hospitality from the people 
 who had murdered her kindred and blighted the South, 
 there was an impassable gulf between them." 
 
 Now, however, the imperative questions of bread and 
 shelter were uppermost. She believed that Clancy could 
 
30 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and would solve these questions at once if permitted, and it 
 was characteristic of her pride and what she regarded as her 
 loyalty, that she never once allowed herself to think of this 
 alternative. Yet what could she and her aunt do ? They 
 were in the pathetic position of gentlewomen compelled to 
 face the world with unskilled hands. This is bad enough af 
 best, but far worse when hands are half paralyzed by pride 
 and timidity as well as ignorance. The desperate truth, 
 however, stared them in the face. Do something they must, 
 and that speedily. 
 
 They were contemplating the future in a hopeless sort of 
 dread and perplexity on the evening when Aun' Sheba and 
 young Clancy's thoughts were drawn towards them in such 
 deep solicitude. This fact involves no mystery. The warm- 
 hearted colored woman had seen and heard little things 
 which suggested the truth, and the sympathetic lover had 
 seen the face of the young girl when she was off her guard. 
 Its expression had haunted him, and impelled him to see her 
 at once, although she had chilled his hopes of late. 
 
 When compelled to leave the old home, Mrs. Hunter had 
 taken the second floor of a small brick house located on a 
 side street. In spite of herself Mara's heart fluttered wildly 
 for a moment when the woman who occupied the first story 
 brought up Clancy's card. 
 
 "You can't see him to-night," said her aunt, frowning. 
 
 Mara hesitated a moment, and then said firmly, " Yes, I 
 will see him. Please ask him to come up." When they 
 were alone, she added in a low voice, " I shall see him once 
 more, probably for the last time socially. We cannot know 
 what changes are in store for us." 
 
 " Well, I won't see him," said Mrs. Hunter frigidly ; and 
 she left the room. 
 
PAST AND FUTURE. 3 1 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PAST AND FUTURE. 
 
 UNDER the impulses of his solicitude and affection 
 Clancy entered quickly, and took Mara's hand in such 
 a strong, warm grasp that the color would come into her pale 
 face. In spite of her peculiarities and seeming coldness, 
 she was a girl who could easily awaken a passionate love in 
 a warm, generous-hearted man like the one who looked into 
 her eyes with something like entreaty in his own. She had 
 a beauty peculiar to herself, and now a strange loveliness 
 which touched his very soul. The quick flush upon her 
 cheeks inspired hope, and a deep emotion, which she could 
 not wholly suppress, found momentary expression. Even 
 in that brief instant she was transfigured, for the woman 
 within her was revealed. As if conscious of a weakness 
 which seemed to her almost criminal, her face became rigid, 
 and she said formally, " Please be seated, Mr. Clancy." 
 
 " You must not speak to me in that way and in that tone," 
 he began impetuously, and then paused, for he was chilled 
 by her cold, questioning gaze. Her will was so strong, and 
 found such powerful expression in her dark, sad eyes, that 
 for a moment he was dumb and embarrassed. Then his 
 own high spirit rallied, and a purpose grew strong that she 
 should hear him, and hear the truth also. His gray eyes, 
 that had wavered for a moment, grew steady in their en- 
 counter with hers. 
 
 Seating himself on the opposite side of the table, he said 
 
32 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 quietly, " You think I have no right to speak to you in such 
 a way." 
 
 " I fear we think differently on many subjects, Mr. Clancy." 
 
 " Admitting that, would you like a man to be a weak echo 
 of yourself? " 
 
 " A man should not be weak in any respect. I do not 
 think it necessary, however, to raise the question of my likes 
 or dishkes." 
 
 " 1 must differ with you, Mara," he replied gravely. 
 
 "I agree with you now, fully, Mr. Clancy. We differ. 
 Had we not better change the subject ? " 
 
 " No, not unless you would be unfair. I am at a disad- 
 vantage. I am in your home. You are a lady, and therefore 
 can compel me to leave unsaid what I am bent on saying. 
 We have been friends, have we not? " 
 
 She bowed her acquiescence. 
 
 " Well," he continued a little bitterly, " I have one South- 
 ern trait left — frankness. You know I would speak in a 
 different character if permitted, if I received one particle 
 of encouragement." Then, with a sudden flush, he said 
 firmly, " I will speak as I feel. I only pay homage in telling 
 you what you must already know. I love you, and would 
 make you my wife." 
 
 Her face became very pale as she averted it, and replied 
 briefly, "You are mistaken, Mr. Clancy." 
 
 "Mara, I am not mistaken. Will you be fair enough to 
 listen to me ? We agree that we differ. Can we not also 
 agree that we differ conscientiously ? You cannot think me 
 false, even though you say I am mistaken. Hitherto you 
 have opposed to me a dead wall of silence. Though you 
 will not listen to me as a lover, you might both listen and 
 speak to me as a friend. That word would be hollow 
 indeed if estrangement could result from honest differences 
 of opinion." 
 
PAST AND FUTURE. 33 
 
 "It is far more than a difference of opinion." 
 " Let the difference be what it may, Mara," he answered 
 gently, resolving not to be baffled, " if you are so sure you 
 are right, you should at least be willing to accord to one 
 whom you once regarded as a friend the privilege of plead- 
 ing his cause. Truth and right do not intrench themselves 
 in repelling silence. That is the refuge of prejudice. If 
 you will hear my side of the question, I will listen with 
 the deepest interest to yours, and beUeve me you have a 
 powerful ally in my heart." 
 
 " Your head has gained such ascendency over your heart, 
 Mr. Clancy, that you cannot understand me. In some 
 women the strongest reasons for or against a thing proceed 
 from the latter organ." 
 
 " Is yours, then, so cold towards me ? " he asked sadly. 
 "It is not cold towards the memory of my murdered 
 parents," she replied with an ominous flash in her eyes. 
 
 Clancy looked at her in momentary surprise, then said 
 firmly, " My father eventually died from injuries received 
 in the war, but he was not murdered. He was wounded in 
 fair battle in which he struck as well as received blows." 
 
 Again there was a quick flush upon her pale face, but 
 now it was one of indignation as she said bitterly, " Fair 
 battle ! So you call it fair battle when men are overpowered 
 in defending their homes. If armed robbers broke into 
 your house, and you gave blows as well as received them, 
 would you not be murdered if it so happened that you 
 were killed? Why should we speak of these subjects 
 further? " And there was a trace of scorn in her tone. 
 
 His pride was touched, and he was all the more deter- 
 mined that he would be heard. "I can give you good 
 reason why we should speak further," he answered reso- 
 lutely yet quietly. " However strong your feeling may be, I 
 have too much respect for your intelligence and too much 
 
34 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 confidence in your courage to believe that you will weakly 
 shrink from hearing one who is as conscientious as yourself. 
 I cannot accept your illustration, and do not think the 
 instance you give is parallel. In the differences between 
 the North and the South, an appeal was made to the sword. 
 If I had been old enough I would have fought at my father's 
 side. But the question is now settled. No matter how we 
 feel about it, the North and the South must live together, 
 and it is not my nature to live in hate. Suppose I could — 
 suppose it were possible for all Southern men to feel as you 
 do and act in accordance with such bitter enmity, what 
 would be the result? It would be suicide. Our land 
 would become a desert. Capital and commerce would 
 leave our cities because there would be no security among 
 a people implacably hostile. Such a course would be more 
 destructive than invading armies. My business, the busi- 
 ness of the city, is largely with the North. If native 
 Southern men tried to transact it in a cold relentless spirit, 
 we should lose the chance to live, much less to do any thing 
 for our land. We have suffered too much from this course 
 already, and have allowed strangers, who care nothing for 
 us, to take much that might have been ours. I love the 
 South too well to advocate a course which would prove so 
 fatal. What is more, I cannot think it would be right. The 
 North of your imagination does not exist. I cannot hate 
 people who have no hate for me, but on the contrary abound 
 in honest, kindly feeling." 
 
 She had listened quietly with her face turned from him, 
 and now met his eyes with an inscrutable expression in 
 hers. " Have I not listened ? " she asked. 
 
 " But you have not answered," he urged, " you have not 
 even tried to show me wherein I am wrong." 
 
 The eyes whose sombre blackness had been like a veil 
 now flamed with the anger she had long repressed. " How 
 
PAST AND FUTURE. 35 
 
 little you understand me," she said passionately, "when you 
 think I can argue questions like these. You are virtually 
 asking what to me is sacrilege. I have listened to you 
 patiently, at what cost to my feelings you are incapable of 
 knowing. Do you think that I can forget that my grand- 
 father was mangled to death, and that his last words were, 
 ' I was only trying to defend my home ' ? Do you think I 
 can forget that my father was trampled into the very earth 
 by your Northern friends with whom you must fraternize as 
 well as trade? I will not speak of my martyred mother. 
 Her name and agony are too sacred to be named in a 
 political argument," and she uttered these last words with 
 intense bitterness. Then rising to end the interview, she 
 continued coldly in biting sarcasm, " Mr. Clancy, I have no 
 relations with the North. I do not deal in cotton, and 
 none of its fibre has found its way into my nature." 
 
 At these words he flushed hotly, sprung up, but by an 
 evident and powerful effort controlled himself, and sat down 
 again. 
 
 " How could you even imagine," she added, " that 
 words, arguments, political and financial consideration^: 
 would tempt me to be disloyal to the memory of my dead 
 kindred?" 
 
 " You are disloyal to them," he said firmly. 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 " Mara, I am indeed proving myself a friend because I 
 am such and more, and because you so greatly need a 
 friend. Your kindred had hearts in their breasts. Would 
 they doom you to the life upon which you are entering? 
 Can you not see that you are passing deeper and deeper 
 into the shadow of the past ? What good can it do them ? 
 Could they speak would they say, * We wish our sorrows to 
 blight your life ' ? You are not happy, you cannot be happy. 
 It is contrary to the law of God, it is impossible to human 
 
36 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 nature, that happiness and bitter, unrelenting enmity should 
 exist in the same heart. You are not only unhappy, but 
 you are in deep trouble of some kind. I saw that from 
 your face to-day before you saw me and could mask from a 
 friend its expression of deep anxiety. You shall hear the 
 truth from me which I fear you hear from no other, and 
 your harsh words shall not deter me from my resolute pur- 
 pose to be kind, to rescue you virtually from a condition 
 of mind that is so morbid, so unhealthful, that it will blight 
 your hfe. I cannot so MTong your father and mother as 
 even to imagine that it could be their wish to see your 
 beautiful young life grow more and more shadowed, to see 
 you struggling under burdens which strong, loving hands 
 would lift from you. Can you believe that they, happy in 
 heaven, can wish you no happiness on earth ? " 
 
 There was a grave, convincing earnestness in his tone, 
 and a truth in his words hard to resist. What she consid- 
 ered loyalty to her kindred had been like her religion, and 
 he had charged her with disloyalty, yes, and while he spoke 
 the thought would assert itself that her course might be a 
 wretched mistake. Although intrenched in prejudice, and 
 fortified against his words by the thought and feeling of her 
 life, she had been made to doubt her position and feel that 
 she might be a self-elected martyr. The assertion that she 
 was doing what would be contrary to the wishes of her 
 dead kindred pierced the very citadel of her opposition, 
 and tended to remove the one belief which had been the 
 sustaining rock beneath her feet. She knew she had been 
 severe with him, and she was touched by his forbearance, 
 his resolute purpose to befriend her. She remembered her 
 poverty, the almost desperate extremity in which she was, 
 and her heart upbraided her for refusing the hand held out 
 so loyally and persistently to her help>. She became con- 
 fused, torn, and over\vhelmed by conflicting emotions ; her 
 
PAST AND FUTURE. 37 
 
 lip quivered, and, bowing her head in her hands, she sobbed, 
 "You are breaking my heart." 
 
 In an instant he was on one knee at her side. " Mara," 
 he began gently, '-'if I wound it is only that I may heal. 
 Truly no girl in this city needs a friend as you do. For 
 some reason I feel this to be true in my very soul. Who in 
 God's universe would forbid you a loyal friend?" and he 
 tried to take her hand. 
 
 " I forbid you to be her friend," said a stern voice. 
 
 Springing up, Clancy encountered the gaze of a gaunt, 
 white-haired woman, with implacable enmity stamped upon 
 her thin visage. The young man's eyes darkened as they 
 steadily met those of Mrs. Hunter, and it was evident that 
 the forbearance he had manifested towards the girl he loved 
 would not be extended to her guardian. Still he controlled 
 himself, and waited till she should speak again. 
 
 "■ Mr. Clancy," she resumed after a moment, " Miss 
 Wallingford is my ward; I received her from her dying 
 mother, and so have rights which you must respect. I for- 
 bid your seeing her or speaking to her again." 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter," he replied, " permit me to tell you with 
 the utmost courtesy, that I shall not obey you. Only Mara 
 herself can forbid me from seeing her or speaking to her." 
 
 " What right have you, sir " — 
 
 " The best of rights, Mrs. Hunter, I love the girl ; you do 
 not. As remorselessly as a graven image you would sacri- 
 fice her on the altar of your hate." 
 
 "Mr. Clancy, you must not speak to my aunt in that 
 way. She has been devoted to me from my infancy." 
 
 " On the contrary, she has devoted you from infancy to 
 sadness, gloom, and bitter memories. She is developing 
 within you the very qualities most foreign to a woman's 
 heart. Instead of teaching you to enshrine the memory 
 of your kindred in tender, loving remembrance, she is 
 
38 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 forging that memory into a chain to restrain you from all 
 that IS natural to your years. She is teaching you to wreck 
 your life in fruitless opposition to the healing influences that 
 have followed peace. Madam, answer me, — the question 
 is plain and fair, — what can you hope to accomplish by 
 your enmity to me and to the principles of hope and prog- 
 ress which, in this instance, I represent, but the blighting 
 of this girl whom I love? " 
 
 "You are insolent, sir," cried Mrs. Hunter, trembling 
 with rage. 
 
 " No, madam, I am honest, and be the result to me what 
 it may, you shall both hear the truth to-night." 
 
 " This is our home," was the harsh response, " and you 
 are not a gentleman if you do not leave it instantly." 
 
 "I shall certainly do so. Mara, am I to see you and 
 speak to you no more? " 
 
 She had sunk into a chair, and again buried her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 He waited a moment, but she gave no sign. Then with 
 his eyes fixed on her he sadly and slowly left the apartment. 
 
 At last she sprung up with the faint cry, " Owen," but 
 her aunt stood between her and the door, and he was gone. 
 
PAHNASHiPr 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PAHNASHIP. 
 
 WHEN Mara realized that her lover had indeed gone, 
 that in fact he had been driven forth, and that she 
 had said not one word to pave'the way for a future meeting, 
 a sense of desolation she had never known before, over- 
 whelmed her. Hitherto she had been sustained by an 
 unfaltering belief that no other course than the one which 
 her aunt had inculcated was possible ; that, cost what it 
 might, and end as it might, it was her heritage. All now 
 was confused and in doubt. She had heard her lofty, self- 
 sacrificing purpose virtually characterized as vain and wrong. 
 She had idolized the memory of her father and mother, and 
 yet had been told that her course was the very one of which 
 they would not approve. The worst of it all was that it now 
 seemed true, for she could not believe that they would wish 
 her to be so utterly unhappy. In spite of her unworldliness 
 and lack of practical training, the strong common sense of 
 Clancy's question would recur, "What good will it do?" 
 She was not sacrificing her heart to sustain or further any 
 cause, and her heart now cried out against the wrong it was 
 receiving. These miserable thoughts rushed through her 
 mind and pressed so heavily upon all hope that she leaned 
 her arms upon the table, and, burying her face, sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Mara," said her aunt, severely, "I did not think you 
 could be so weak." 
 
 Until the storm of passionate grief passed, the young girl 
 
40 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 gave no heed to Mrs. Hunter's reproaches or expostulations. 
 At last she became quiet, as much from exhaustion as from 
 self-control, and said wearily, " You need worry no further 
 about Mr. Clancy. He will not come agam. If he has a 
 spark of pride or manhood left, he will never look at me 
 again," and a quick, heart-broken sob would rise at the 
 thought. 
 
 " I should hope you would not look at him again after his 
 insolence to me." 
 
 Mara did not reply. For the first time her confidence in 
 her aunt had been shaken, for she could not but feel that 
 Mrs. Hunter, in her judgment of Clancy, saw but one side 
 of the question. She did not approve of his stern arraign- 
 ment of her aunt, but she at least remembered his great 
 provocation, and that he had been impelled to his harsh 
 words by loyalty to her. 
 
 At last she said, " Aunty, I'm too worn out to think or 
 speak any more to-night. There is a limit to endurance, 
 and I've reached it." 
 
 "That's just where the trouble is," Mrs. Hunter tried to 
 say re-assuringly. " In the morning you will be your own 
 true, brave self again." 
 
 "What's the use of being brave; what can I be brave 
 for?" thought Mara in the solitude of her room. 
 
 Although her sleep was brief and troubled, she had time 
 to grow calm and collect her thoughts. While she would 
 not admit it to herself, Clancy's repeated assertions of his 
 love had a subtle and sustaining power. She could see no 
 light in the future, but her woman's heart would revert to 
 this truth as to a secret treasure. 
 
 In the morning after sitting for a time almost in silence 
 over their meagre breakfast, her aunt began, " Mara, I wish 
 you to realize the truth in regard to Mr. Clancy. It is one 
 of those things which must be nipped in the bud. There 
 
" FA HNASHIP. " 4 1 
 
 is only one ending to his path, and that is full acceptance 
 of Northern rule and Northern people. What is more, after 
 his words to me, I will never abide under the same roof with 
 him again." 
 
 . '' Aunty," said Mara sadly, "we have much else to think 
 about besides Mr. Clancy. How are we going to keep a 
 roof over our own heads? " 
 
 Compelled to face their dire need, Mrs. Hunter broke 
 out into bitter invective against those whom she regarded as 
 the cause of their poverty. 
 
 "Aunty," protested Mara, almost irritably, for her nerves 
 were sadly worn, "what good can such words do? We 
 must live, I suppose, and you must advise me." 
 
 " Mara, I am almost tempted to believe that you regret" — 
 
 " Aunty, you must fix your mind on the only question to 
 be considered. What are we to do ? You know our money 
 is almost gone." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter's only response was to stare blankly at her 
 niece. She could economize and be content with very little 
 as long as her habitual trains of thought were not interrupted 
 and she could maintain her proud seclusion. Accustomed 
 to remote plantation life, she knew little of the ways of the 
 modern world, and much less of the methods by which a 
 woman could obtain a livelihood from it. To the very 
 degree that she had lived in the memories and traditions of 
 the past, she had unfitted herself to understand the condi- 
 tions of present life or to cope with its requirements. Now 
 she was practically helpless. " We can't go and reveal our 
 situation to our friends," she began hesitatingly. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mara, " for most of them have all 
 they can do to sustain themselves, and I would rather starve 
 than live on the charity of those on whom we have no 
 claim." 
 
 " We might take less expensive rooms." 
 
42 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " What good would that do, Aunty ? If we can't earn 
 any thing, five dollars will be as hard to raise as ten." 
 
 " Oh, to think that people of the very best blood in the 
 State, who once had scores of slaves to work for them, should 
 be so wronged, robbed and reduced ! " 
 
 Mara heaved a long, weary sigh, and Clancy's words would 
 repeat themselves again and again. She saw how utterly 
 incapable her aunt was to render any assistance in their des- 
 perate straits. Even the stress of their present emergency 
 could not prevent her mind from vainly reverting to a past 
 that was gone forever. Again her confidence was more 
 severely shaken as she was compelled to doubt the wisdom 
 of their habits of seclusion and reticence, of living on from 
 year to year engrossed by memories, instead of adapting 
 themselves to a new order of things which they were power- 
 less to prevent. " Truly," she thought, " ray father and 
 mother never could have wished me to be in this situation 
 out of love for them. It is true I could never go to the 
 length that he does without great hypocrisy, and I do not 
 see the need of it. I can never forget the immense wrong 
 done to me and mine, but Aunty should have taught me 
 something more than indignation and hostility, however just 
 the causes for them may be." 
 
 While such was the tenor of her thoughts, she only said a 
 little bitterly, " Oh, that I knew how to do something ! My 
 old nurse, Aun' Sheba, is better off than we are." 
 
 "She belongs to us yet," said Mrs. Hunter, almost 
 fiercely. 
 
 " You could never make her or anyone else think so," 
 was the weary reply. " Well, now that I have thought of her, 
 I believe I could advise with her better than any one else." 
 
 " Advise with a slave ? O, Mara ! — • " 
 
 "Whom shall I advise with then?" And there was a 
 sharp ring in the girl's tone. 
 
" PAHNASHIPr 43 
 
 " Oh, any one, so that it be not Mr. Clancy," repUed her 
 aunt irritably. " Were it not that you so needed a protector, 
 I could wish that I were dead." 
 
 "Aunty," said Mara, gently, yet firmly, "we must give up 
 this hopeless, bitter kind of talk. I, at least, must do some- 
 thing to earn honest bread, and I am too depressed and sad 
 at heart to carry any useless burdens. Mr. Clancy said 
 much that was wrong last night, and there are matters 
 about which he and I can never agree, but surely he was 
 right in saying that my father and mother would not wish to 
 see me crushed body and soul. If I am to live, I must find 
 a way to live and yet keep my self-respect. I suppose the 
 natural way would be to go to those who knew my father 
 and grandfather ; but they would ask me what I could do. 
 What could I tell them ? It would seem almost like asking 
 charity." 
 
 " Of course it would," assented her aunt. 
 
 Then silence fell between them. 
 
 Before Mara could finish her morning duties and prepare 
 for the street, a heavy step was heard on the stairs, then a 
 knock at the door. Opening it, the young girl saw the very 
 object of her thoughts, for Aun' Sheba's ample form and 
 her great basket filled all the space. 
 
 " O, Aun' Sheba," cried the girl, a gleam of hope lighting 
 up her eyes, " I'm so glad to see you. I was just starting 
 for your cabin." 
 
 " Bress your heart, honey, Aun' Sheba'll alus be proud to 
 hab you come. My spec's, Missus," and she dropped her 
 basket and a courtesy before Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 " Aun' Sheba," said Mara, giving the kindly vender a chair, 
 " you are so much better off than we are. I was saying just 
 that to aunty this morning." 
 
 " Why, honey, I'se only a po' culled body, and you'se a 
 beauty like you moder, bress her po' deah heart." 
 
44 ^-^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Yes, Aun' Sheba, you were a blessing to her," said Mara 
 with moist eyes. *' How you watched over her and helped 
 to take care of me ! Perhaps you can help take care of me 
 again. For some reason, I can speak to you and tell you 
 our troubles easier than to any one else in the world." 
 
 " Dat's right, honey lam', dat's right. Who else you tell 
 your troubles to but Aun' Sheba? Didn't I comfort you on 
 dis bery bres time an' time agin when you was a little mite ? 
 Now you'se bigger and hab bigger troubles, I'se bigger 
 too," and Aunt Sheba shook with laughter like a great form 
 of jelly as she wiped her eyes with sympathy. 
 
 "Aun' Sheba," said Mara in a voice full of unconscious 
 pathos, " I don't know what to do, yet I must do something. 
 It seems to me that I could be almost happy if I were as 
 sure of earning my bread as you are." 
 
 " Now, doggone dat ar lazy husban' o' mine. But he got 
 his 'serts an'll git mo' ob dem ef he ain't keerful. I jes' felt 
 it in my bones las' night how 'twas wid you, an' I 'lowed how 
 I'd see you dis mawnin', an' den he began to go on as ef you 
 was nothin' but white folks stid ob my deah honey lam' dat 
 I nussed till you was like my own chile. But he won' do so 
 no mo'." 
 
 " O, Aun' Sheba, beheve me, I don't wish to interfere 
 with any of your duties to him," began Mara earnestly. 
 
 " Duty to him," exclaimed the colored woman with a 
 snort of indignation. " He mout tink a little 'bout his duty 
 to me. Doan you trubble 'bout him, for he's boun' to git 
 mo' dan his shar anyhow. Now I know de good Lawd put 
 it in my min' to come heah dis mawnin' case you was on my 
 min' las' night. You needn't tink you kin go hungry while 
 Aun' Sheba hab a crus'." 
 
 " I know what a big heart you've got, but that won't do, 
 Aun' Sheba. Can you think I would live idly on your hard- 
 earned money ? " 
 
" PA HNASHIPr 45 
 
 "Well, 'tis my money, an' I make mo' dan you tink, an' a 
 heap mo' dan I let Unc. know about. He'd be fer settin' 
 up his kerrige ef he knew," and she again laughed in hearty 
 self-complacency. "Why, honey, I can 'sport you an' 
 Missus widout pinchin', an' who gwine to know 'bout 
 it?" 
 
 " I'd know about it," said Mara rising and putting her 
 hand caressingly on the woman's shoulder, " yet I feel your 
 kindness in the very depths of my heart. Come, I have a 
 thought. Let me see what's in your basket." 
 
 " Ony cakes dis mawnin', honey. Help you's sef." 
 
 " Oh, how delicious they are," said Mara eating one, and 
 thoughtifuUy regarding her sable friend. "You beat me 
 making cakes, Aun' Sheba, and I thought I was good at 
 it." 
 
 " So you am. Missy, so you am, fer I taught you mysef." 
 
 "Aun' Sheba, suppose we go into partnership." 
 
 " Pahnaship ! " ejaculated Aun' Sheba in bewilderment. 
 
 " O, Mara ! " Mrs. Hunter expostulated indignantly. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it would be a very one-sided affair," 
 admitted the girl, blushing in a sort of honest shame. " You 
 are doing well without any help from me, and don't need 
 any. I'm very much like a man who wants to share in a 
 good business which has already been built up, but I don't 
 know how to do any thing else, and could at least learn 
 better every day, and — and — I thought — I must do some- 
 thing — I thought, perhaps, if I made the cakes and some 
 other things, and you sold them, Aun' Sheba, you wouldn't 
 have to work so hard, and — well, there might be enough 
 profit for us both." 
 
 " Now de Lawd bress you heart, honey, dar ain't no need 
 ob you bhsterin' you'se pretty face ober a fiah, bakin' cakes 
 an' sich. I kin " — 
 
 " No, no, Aun' Sheba, you can't, for I won't let you." 
 
46 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Mara," protested Mrs. Hunter severely, " do you realize 
 what you are saying? Suppose it became known that you 
 were in — in " — but the lady could not bring herself to 
 complete the humiliating sentence. 
 
 " Yis, honey. Missus am right. De idee ! Sech quality 
 as you in pahnaship wid ole Aun' Sheba ! " and she laughed 
 at the preposterous relationship. 
 
 " Perhaps it needn't be known," said Mara, daunted for a 
 moment. Then the necessities in the case drove her forward, 
 and, remembering that her aunt was unable to suggest or 
 even contemplate any thing practicable, she said resolutely, 
 " Let it be known. Others of our social rank are support- 
 ing themselves, and I'm too proud to be ashamed to do it 
 myself even in this humble way. What troubles me most 
 is that I'm making such a one-sided offer to Aun' Sheba. 
 She don't need my help at all, and I need hers so 
 much." 
 
 " Now see heah, honey, is you heart set on dis ting?" 
 
 " Yes, it is," replied Mara earnestly. " My heart was 
 like lead till you came, and it would be almost as light as 
 one of these cakes if I knew I could surely earn my living. 
 Oh, Aun' Sheba, you've had troubles, and you know what 
 sore troubles my poor mother had, but neither you nor she 
 ever knew the fear, the sickening dread which comes over 
 one when you don't know where your bread is to come from 
 or how you are to keep a roof over your head. Aunty, do 
 listen to reason. Making cake and other things for Aun' 
 Sheba to sell would not be half so humiliating as going to 
 people of my own station and revealing my ignorance, or 
 trying to do what I don't know how to do, knowing all the 
 time that I was only tolerated. My plan leaves me in seclu- 
 sion, and if any one thinks less of me they can leave me 
 alone. I don't want to make my way among strangers ; I 
 don't feel that I can. This plan enables us to stay together, 
 
" PA HNASHipr 47 
 
 Aunty, and you must know now that we can't drift any 
 longer." 
 
 While Mara was speaking Aun' Sheba's thrifty thoughts 
 had been busy. Her native shrewdness gave her a keen 
 insight into Mrs. Hunter's character, and she knew that the 
 widow's mind was so warped that she was practically as 
 helpless as a child. While, in her generous love for Mara 
 and from a certain loyalty to her old master's family, she 
 was willing temporarily to assume what would be a very 
 heavy burden, she was inwardly glad, as she grew accustomed 
 to the idea, that Mara was willing to do her share. Indeed 
 it would be a great relief if her basket could be filled for 
 her, and she said heartily, " Takes some time, honey, you 
 know, fer an idee to git into my tick head, but when it gits 
 dar it stick. Now you'se sensible, an' Missus'll see it soon. 
 You'se on de right track. Ob cose, I'd be proud ob pahna- 
 ship, an' it'll be a great eas'n up to me. Makes a mighty 
 long day, Missy, to git up in de mawnin' an' do my bakin' 
 an' den tromp, tromp, tromp. I could put in an hour or 
 two extra sleep, an' dat counts in a woman ob my age an' 
 heft. But, law sakes ! look at dat clock dar. I mus' be 
 gitten along. Set you deah little heart at res', honey. I'se 
 comin' back dis ebenin', an' we'se start in kin' ob easy like 
 so you hab a chance to larn and not get 'scouraged." 
 
 '' I can't approve of this plan at all," said Mrs. Hunter, 
 loftily, " I wash my hands of it." 
 
 " Now, now, Missus, you do jes' dat — wash you bans ob 
 it, but don' you 'fere wid Missy, kase it'll set her heart at 
 res* and keep a home fer you bof. We's gwine to make a 
 pile, honey, an' den de roses come back in you cheeks," 
 and nodding encouragingly, she departed, leaving more hope 
 and cheer behind her than Mara had known for many a 
 month. 
 
 To escape the complaining of her aunt, Mara shut herself 
 
48 THE EARTif TREMBLED. 
 
 in her room and thought long and deeply. The conclusion 
 was, "The gulf between us has grown wider and deeper. 
 When Mr. Clancy learns how I have sought independence 
 without his aid " — but she only finished the sentence by a 
 sad, bitter smile. 
 
MARA'S PURPOSE. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MARA S PURPOSE. 
 
 " A TEBER had sech luck in all my bawn days," solilo- 
 IM quized Aun' Sheba as she saw the bottom of her bas- 
 ket early in the day. " All my cus'mers kin' o' smiUn' like 
 de sunshine. Only Marse Clancy grumpy. He go by me 
 like a brack cloud. I'se got a big grudge aginst dat ar young 
 man. He use to be bery sweet on Missy. He mus' be 
 taken wid some Norvern gal, and dat's 'nuff fer me. Ef he 
 lebe ray honey lam' now she so po', dar's a bad streak in 
 his blood and he don' 'long to us any mo.' I wouldn't be 
 s'prised ef dey hadn't had a squar meal fer a fortnight. I 
 can make blebe dat I wants to take my dinner 'long o' dem 
 to sabe time, an' den dey'll hab a dinner wat'll make Missy 
 real peart 'fore she gin to work," and full of her kindly 
 intentions she bought a juicy steak, some vegetables, a 
 quantity of the finest flour, sugar, coffee, and some spices. 
 
 Mara had slipped out and invested the greater part of 
 her diminished hoard in the materials essential to her new 
 undertaking. Not the least among them, as she regarded 
 it, was an account book. When, therefore, Aun' Sheba 
 bustled in between one and two o'clock, she found some 
 bulky bundles on the kitchen table over which Mrs. Hunter 
 had already groaned aloud. 
 
 "Law sakes, honey, what all dese?" the colored aunty 
 asked. 
 
 "They are my start in trade," replied Mara, smiling. 
 
50 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Den you's gwine to hab a mighty big start, fer I got lots 
 o' tings in dis basket." 
 
 " Why, Aun' Sheba ! Did you think I was going to let 
 you furnish the materials? " 
 
 " Ef you furnish de makin up ob de 'terials what mo' you 
 oughter do, I'd like ter know?" 
 
 "Aun' Sheba, I could cheat you out of your two black 
 eyes." 
 
 " Dey see mo' dan you tink. Missy," she replied nodding 
 sagaciously. 
 
 " Yes, I reckon they do, but my eyes must look after your 
 interests as well as my own. I am going to be an honest 
 partner. Do you see this book? " 
 
 " What dat ar got to do wid de pahnaship ? " 
 
 "You will see. It will prevent you from ever losing a 
 penny that belongs to you." 
 
 " Penny, indeed ! As if I'se gwine to stand on a penny ! " 
 
 " Well, I am. Little as I know about business, I am sure 
 it will be more satisfactory if careful accounts are kept, and 
 you must promise to tell me the whole truth about things. 
 That's the way partners do, you know, and every thing is 
 put down in black and white." 
 
 " Oh, go 'long wid you, honey, an' hab you own way. 
 All in my pahnaship go down in black, I 'spose, an' you'se in 
 white. How funny it all am ! " and the old woman sat 
 back in her chair and laughed in her joyous content. 
 
 " It is all a very humiliating farce to me," said Mrs. Hunter, 
 looking severely at the former property. 
 
 " Yas'm," said Aun' Sheba, suddenly becoming stolid as a 
 graven image. 
 
 " Aunty," said Mara firmly but gently, " the time has come 
 when I must act, for your sake as well as my own. Nothing 
 will prevent me from carrying out this plan, except its failure 
 to provide for Aun' Sheba as well as for ourselves." 
 
MARA'S PUR FOSE. 5 1 
 
 " Well, I wash my hands of it, and, if your course becomes 
 generally known, I shall have it understood that you acted 
 without my approval." And she rose and left the kitchen 
 with great dignity. 
 
 When the door closed upon her, Aun' Sheba again shook 
 in vast and silent mirth. 
 
 " Doan you trubble long o' Missus, honey," she said, nod- 
 ding encouragingly at Mara. " She jes' like one dat lib in 
 de dark an' can't see notin' right." Then in sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling she added, " You po' honey lam', doan you 
 see you'se got to take keer ob her jes' as ef she was a chile ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mara sadly, " I've been compelled to see it 
 at last." 
 
 " Now doan you be 'scouraged. 'Tween us we take keer 
 ob her, an' she be a heap betteh off eben ef she doan know 
 it. You hab no dinner yit? " 
 
 "We were just going to get it as you came." 
 
 " Well now, honey, I habn't had a bite nudder, an' Fse 
 gwine to take dinneh heah ef you'se willin'." 
 
 " Why surely, Aun' Sheba. It's httle we have, but you 
 know I'd share my last crust with you." 
 
 Again the guest was bubbling over with good-natured 
 merriment. " We ain't got to de las' crus' yit, an' I couldn't 
 make my dinneh on a crus' nohow. Bar's one ting I'se jes' 
 got to 'sist on in de pahnaship. I don't keer notin' 'bout 
 'count books and sich, but ef we'se gwine to make a fort'n 
 you got to hab a heap o' po'er in you'se arms. You got to 
 hab a strong back and feel peart all ober. Dis de ony ting 
 I 'sist on. Now how you gwine to be plump and strong? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm pretty strong, and I'll get stronger now that I 
 have hope, and see my way a little." 
 
 "Hope am bery good fer 'sert, honey, but we want 
 somep'n solider to start in on. You jes' set de table in de 
 oder room, an' I'll be de brack raben dat'U pervide. Now 
 
52 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 you must min' lease I'se doing 'cording to Scrip ter, an' we 
 neber hab no luck 'tall if we go agin Scripter." 
 
 " Very well," said Mara laughing, " you shall have your 
 own way. I see through all your talk, but I know you'll 
 feel bad if you can't carry out your purpose. You'll have a 
 better dinner, too." 
 
 " Yeh, yeh, she knows a heap moah'n me," thought Aun' 
 Sheba when alone, " but I know some tings too, bress her 
 lieart. I kin see dat her cheeks am pale and thin an' dat 
 her eyes am gettin' so big and brack dat her purty face am 
 like a little house wid big winders. She got quality blood 
 in her vein, shuah, but habn't got neah 'nuff. Heah's de 
 'terial wat gibs hope sometimes better'n preachin," and 
 she whipped out the steak and prepared it for the broiler. 
 Then she clapped some potatoes into the oven, threw together 
 the constituents of light biscuit, and put the coffee over the 
 fire. A natural born cook, she was deft and quick, and had 
 a substantial repast ready in an amazingly short time. Soon 
 it was smoking on the table, and then she said with a signifi- 
 cant little nod at Mara, "Now I'se gwine to wait on Missus 
 like ole times." 
 
 Mara understood her and did not protest, for she felt the 
 necessity of humoring her aunt, who quite thawed out at 
 the semblance of her former state. While the poor lady 
 enlarged on the thought that such should be the normal 
 condition of affairs, and would be if the world were not 
 wholly out of joint, she nevertheless dined so heartily as to 
 prove that she could still enjoy the good things of life if they 
 were provided without personal compromise on her part. 
 Mara made a silent note of this, and felt more strongly than 
 ever that her aunt's needs and not her words must control 
 her actions. After dinner she said, " Come, aunty, you have 
 had much to try your nerves of late, and there must be much 
 more not in harmony with your feelings. It can't be helped, 
 
MARA'S PURPOSE. 53 
 
 but I absolve you of all responsibility, and I know very well if 
 you had what was once your own, I would not have to raise 
 my hand. You see I am not seeking relief in the way that 
 is so utterly distasteful to you, and, when you come to think 
 this plan all over, you will admit that it is the one that would 
 attract the least attention, and involve the least change. 
 Now lie down and take a good rest this afternoon." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Hunter, with the air of one yielding a 
 great deal, " I will submit, even though I cannot approve, 
 on the one condition that you have nothing more to say to 
 Mr. Clancy." 
 
 A painful flush overspread Mara's features, and she re- 
 plied in a constrained voice, " You will have no occasion to 
 worry about Mr. Clancy. After " — then remembering that 
 Aun' Sheba was withm ear-shot, she concluded, "Mr. Clancy 
 will have nothing to say to me when he knows what is taking 
 place. When you have thought it over, you will see that my 
 plan makes me independent of every one." 
 
 " That is, if you succeed," remarked Mrs. Hunter, " and 
 it will be about the only thing to be said in its favor." 
 
 This degree of toleration obtained, Mara prepared to join 
 Aun' Sheba in the kitchen, with the purpose of giving her 
 whole thought and energy to the securing of an independ- 
 ence, now coveted more than ever. In spite of the influ- 
 ences and misapprehensions of her life which had tended to 
 separate her from Clancy, when she fully learned that he 
 was affiliating with those who dwelt as aliens in her thoughts, 
 she had been overborne by his words and the promptings of 
 her own heart. She was glad, indeed, that she had not 
 revealed what she now regarded as her weakness, feeling 
 that it would have complicated matters most seriously. 
 While she had been compelled to see the folly of seclusion 
 and inaction, the natural result of a morbid pride which 
 blinds as well as paralyzes, she was by no means ready to 
 
54 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 accept his views or go to his lengths. She would have 
 shared poverty with him gladly if he would continue to be 
 " a true Southerner," in other words, one who submitted in 
 cold and unrelenting protest to the new order of things. In 
 accepting this new order, and in availing himself of it to 
 advance his fortunes and those of his State as he also 
 claimed, he alienated her in spite of all his arguments, and 
 his avowed love. She felt that he should take the ground 
 with her that they had suffered too deeply, and had been 
 wronged too greatly, to ignore the past. They were a con- 
 quered people, but so were the Poles and Alsatians. Were 
 those subject races ready to take the hands that had struck 
 them and still held them in thraldom? Their indignant 
 enmity was patriotism, not hate. Now that the habitual 
 thoughts of her life had been given time to resume their 
 control, she felt all the more bitterly what seemed a hopeless 
 separation. The North had not only robbed her of kindred 
 and property, but was now taking her lover. She knew she 
 loved him, yet not for the sake of her love would she be 
 false to her deep-rooted feelings and convictions. If he had 
 seen how nearly she yielded to him, not to his views, the 
 previous evening, it would have been doubly hard to show 
 him in the end that she could never share in his life, unless 
 he adopted her attitude of passive submission to wliat could 
 not be helped. 
 
 Others might do as they pleased, but their dignity and 
 personal memories required this position, and, as she had 
 said to him, she could take no other course without hypoc- 
 risy, revolting alike to her feelings and sense of honor. His 
 strong words, however, combining with the circumstances of 
 her lot, had broken the spell of her aunt's influence, and 
 had planted in her mind the thought that any useless suffer- 
 ing on her part was not loyalty to the memory of her father 
 and mother. Her new impulse was to make the most and 
 
MARA'S PURPOSE. 55 
 
 best of her life as far as she could conscientiously • and the 
 hope would assert itself that if she were firm he would 
 eventually be won over to her position. " If he loves as 
 I do," she thought, " he will be. He, no doubt, is sincere, 
 but he has been beguiled into seeing things in the light of 
 his immediate interests. Love to me, if it is genuine, and 
 loyalty to the cause for which his father gave his life, should 
 lead him to the dignified submission of the conquered and 
 away from all association with the conquerors that can be 
 avoided. I'll prove to him," was her mental conclusion, 
 accompanied with a flash of her dark eyes, "that a girl 
 ignorant of the world and its ways, and with the help only 
 of a former slave, can earn her bread, and thus show him 
 how needless are his Northern allies," 
 
 Thoughts like these had been swiftly coursing through her 
 mind while dining, and therefore, when she joined Aun' 
 Sheba in the kitchen, she was ready to employ every faculty, 
 sharpened to the utmost, in the tasks before her. In that 
 humble arena, and by the prosaic method contemplated, she 
 would assert her unsubdued spirit, and maintain a consist- 
 ency which should not be marred, even at the bidding 
 of love, by an insincere acceptance of his views and 
 associations. 
 
56 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NEVER forget; NEVER FORGIVE. 
 
 WHILE Aun' Sheba finished her dinner Mara began 
 to open and put in their places the slender materials 
 which she had purchased as her first step towards self-sup- 
 port. The generous meal and especially the coffee combin- 
 ing with the strong incentive of her purpose gave elasticity 
 to her step and flushed her face slightly with color. The 
 old aunty watched her curiously and sympathetically as she 
 thought, " Bress her heart how purty she am, bendin' heah 
 an' dar Hke a willow an' lookin' de lady ebery inch while 
 she doin' kitchen work ! Quar pahner fer sech an ole 
 woman as me ter hab, but I dun declar dat her ban's, ef 
 dey am little, seem po'ful smart. Dey takes hole on tings 
 jes' as if dey'd coax 'em right along whar she wants dem ! " 
 Then she broke out, " Wot a fool dat Owen Clancy am ! " 
 
 Mara started and was suddenly busy in a distant part of 
 the room. " I reckon you are the only one that thinks so, 
 Aun' Sheba," she remarked quietly. 
 
 " Ef he could see you now he'd tink so hisself." 
 
 "Very likely," and there was a litde bitterness in Mara's 
 accent. 
 
 " De mo' fool he be den," said Aun' Sheba with an indig- 
 nant toss of her head. "Whar ud his eyes be ef he could 
 see you and not go down on his marrow-bones, I'd like to 
 know? Habn't I seen all de quality ob dis town? and dat 
 fer de new quality," with a snap of her fingers, " an you 
 
NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE. $7 
 
 take de shine off'n dem all eben in de kitchen. Law sakes, 
 what kin' ob blood dat man Clancy hab to lebe you kase 
 you po' ? Pears ter me de ole cun'l, his fader, ud be orful 
 figety in his coffin." 
 
 "Mr. Clancy has not left me because I am poor, Aun' 
 Sheba," said Mara gravely. " You do him great injustice. 
 We are not so good friends as we were simply because we 
 cannot agree on certain subjects. But I would rather you 
 would not talk about him to me or to any one else. Come 
 now, you must give me some lessons in your mystery of 
 making cakes that melt in one's mouth. Otherwise people 
 will say you are growing old and losing your high art." 
 
 " Dey better not tell me no sech lies. Law, Missy, you 
 is gwine ter beat me all holler wen onst you gits de hang ob 
 de work. You little white han's gib fancy teches dat ain't 
 in my big black han'. Arter all, tain't de han's; it's de 
 min'. Dere's my darter Mis Watson. Neber could lam 
 her much mo'n plain cookin'. Dere's a knack at dese tings 
 dat's bawn in one. It's wot you granpa used ter call genus, 
 an' you alius hab it, eben when you was a chile an' want ter 
 muss in de kitchen." 
 
 Thus full of reminiscence and philosophy eminently satis- 
 factory to her own mind, Aun' Sheba taught her apt and 
 eager pupil the secrets of her craft. Mara was up with the 
 dawn on the following day, and achieved fair success. Other 
 lessons followed, and it was not very long before the girl 
 passed beyond the imitative stage and began to reason upon 
 the principles involved in her work and then to experiment. 
 
 One day an old customer said to Aun' Sheba, " There's a 
 new hand at the bellows." 
 
 " Dunno not'n 'bout bellus. Aint de cakes right? " 
 
 " Well, then, you've got some new receipts." 
 
 " Like a'nuff I hab," said the vender warily. " De pint 
 am, howsumeber, isn't de cakes good ? " 
 
58 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Yes, they seem better every day, but they are not the 
 same every day. I reckon some one's coaching you." 
 
 " Law sakes, Massa, wo't you mean by coachin' me ? " 
 
 " Do you make the cakes? " was asked point-blank.- 
 
 " Now, Massa, you's gittin' too cur'us. Wot de Scripter 
 say? Ax no questions fer conscience sake," 
 
 *' Come, come, Aun' Sheba ; if you begin to wrest Scrip- 
 ture, I'll take pains to find you out." 
 
 She shuffled away in some trepidation and shook her head 
 over the problem of keepmg her relations with Mara secret.. 
 " Missy puttin' her min' in de cakes an' I didn't hab much 
 min' to put in an' folks know de dif'ence," she soliloquized. 
 Later on she was down among the cotton warehouses, and 
 finding herself weary and warm, stopped to rest in the shade 
 of a building. Suddenly Owen Clancy turned the corner. 
 His brow was contracted as if in deep and not agreeable 
 thought. 
 
 Aun' Sheba's lowered at him, for he seemed about to pass 
 her without noticing her. The moment he became aware of 
 her presence, however, he stopped and fixed upon her his 
 penetrating gray eyes. His gaze was so persistent and stern 
 that she was disconcerted, but she spoke with her accus- 
 tomed assurance, "You ain't gwine ter call de perlice, is 
 i^ou, Mars' Clancy?" and she placed her arms akimbo on 
 her hips. 
 
 This reference was shrewd, for it reminded him that his 
 grievance was purely personal and one that he could not 
 resent in her case, yet his heart was so ■ sore with the suspi- 
 cion that Mara was looking to this negress for help instead 
 of to himself, that for the time being he detested the woman. 
 Love is not a judicial quality, and rarely has patience with 
 those who interfere with its success. He had hoped that 
 eventually the pressure of poverty would turn Mara's 
 thoughts to him, especially as he had revealed so emphatically 
 
NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE. 59 
 
 his wish to help her disinterestedly as a friend even ; but 
 if his present fears were well grounded, he would have to 
 admit that her heart had grown utterly cold towards him. 
 
 *' Why should you think of the police, Aun' Sheba, unless 
 you have something on your mind?" he asked, coolly re- 
 moving the cover of the basket and helping himself. " You 
 didn't make these cakes. Did you steal them? " 
 
 " Marse Clancy, what you take me fer? " 
 
 "That depends on how honest your answers are." 
 
 " I ain't 'bliged ter answer 'tall." 
 
 " Oh, you're afraid then." 
 
 " No, I am't afeerd. Ef dey is stolen, you'se a 'ceivin' ob 
 stolen goods, fum de way dem cakes dis'pearin'." 
 
 " You're pert, Aun' Sheba." 
 
 "Ob co'sel'sepeart. Hab to be spry to arn a hbin' in 
 dese yer times, but I can do it fum dem dat's fren'ly and 
 not fum dem dat glower at me." 
 
 " Will you tell me if Miss Wallingford " — 
 
 " Marse Clancy, hab Miss Wallingford sent you word dat 
 she want you to know 'bout her 'fairs? " 
 
 " I understand," he said almost savagely, and throwing a 
 quarter into the basket he passed on. 
 
 There had been a tacit understanding at first that Mara's 
 part in Aun' Sheba's traffic should not be revealed. The 
 girl had not wholly shaken off the influence of her aunt's 
 opposition, and she shrunk with almost morbid dread from 
 being the subject of remark even among those of her own 
 class. The chief and controlling motive for secrecy, how- 
 ever, had been distrust, the fear that the undertaking would 
 not be successful. As the days had passed this fear had 
 been removed. Aun' Sheba did not come to make her 
 returns until after she had taken her supper in the evening, 
 and at about ten in the morning she reached Mara's home 
 by an unfrequented side street. There were those, however, 
 
6o THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 who had begun to notice the regularity of her visits and 
 among them was Owen Clancy. We have also seen that the 
 daintiness of the viands had caused surmises. 
 
 Mara had become pre-occupied with her success and with 
 plans for increasing it. At first Aun' Sheba had supple- 
 mented her attempts, and her plan had been entered on so 
 quietly and carried forward so smoothly that even Mrs. 
 Hunter was becoming reconciled to the scheme although 
 she tried to conceal the fact. It would be hard to find two 
 women more ignorant of the world, or more averse to being 
 known by it, yet from it the unsophisticated girl now hoped 
 to divert a little sustaining rill of currency without a ripple 
 of general comment until the hour should come when she 
 could reveal the truth to Clancy as a rebuke to his course 
 and as a suggestion that a man might do more and yet not 
 compromise himself. Full of these thoughts and hopes, her 
 life, if not happy, had at least ceased to stagnate and was 
 growing in zest and interest. 
 
 The day on which occurred the events just narrated was 
 destined to prove a fateful one. When Aun' Sheba came in 
 the evening it was soon evident that she had something on 
 her mind. She paid little heed to the accounts while Mara 
 was writing them down and explaining the margin of profit, 
 as the girl was always careful to do, for it satisfied her con- 
 science that her over loyal partner was prospering now as 
 truly as before. After every thing had been attended to 
 and the programme arranged for the morning, Aun' Sheba 
 still sat and fidgeted in her chair. Mara leaned back in 
 hers and looking across the kitchen table said, " Be honest 
 now. There's something you want to say." 
 
 " Don't want ter say it, but 'spose I ought." 
 
 " I reckon you had, Aun' Sheba." 
 
 The woman's native shrewdness had been sharpened by 
 the varied experience of her calling, and she had become 
 
NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE. 6l 
 
 convinced that the pohcy of secrecy would be a failure. 
 What would be Mara's course when compelled to face the 
 truth, was the question that troubled her. The kind soul 
 hoped that it would make no difference, and proposed to 
 use all her tact to induce the girl to continue her enterprise 
 openly, believing that this course would be best for several 
 reasons. She had the wit to know that Mara would yield 
 far more out of consideration for her than for any thought 
 of self, so she said as a masterpiece of strategy, " Marse 
 Clancy ax me to-day if I stole de cakes." 
 
 " What," cried Mara, flushing hotly. 
 
 " Jes dat — ef I stole de cakes ; an' anoder man say I was 
 gittin' new resects or dat somebody was coachin' me, what- 
 eber dat is. Den he put it right straight, ' Did you make 
 'em?'" 
 
 " O Aun' Sheba, I've thoughtlessly been causing trouble. 
 I should have continued to make the cakes just as you did, 
 and it was only to divert my mind that I tried other ways. 
 I won't do so any more." 
 
 " Dunno 'bout dat, honey." 
 
 " Indeed I will not when I promise you." 
 
 " I doesn't want any sech a promise. De folks like de 
 new-fangle' cakes betteh an' gwine back to de ole way 
 wouldn't do no good. It's all boun'ter come out dat I'se 
 sellin' fer you as well as fer me. Marse Clancy axed ef you 
 wasn't, leastways he 'gan to ax when I shut him up." 
 
 " How did you shut him up ? " said Mara breathing quickly. 
 
 *' By axin' him anoder question. Yah, yah, I'se Yankee 
 'nuff fer dat. I say, ' Hab Miss Wallingford sen' you word 
 dat she want you to know 'bout her 'fairs? " 
 
 " Didn't he say any thing after that? " 
 
 " Yes, he say * I understand,' an' I 'spect he do, fer he 
 drap a quarter in my basket an' look as if he was po'ful 
 mad as he walk away. He better min' his own business." 
 
62 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Mara understood Clancy and Ann' Sheba did not. The 
 young girl was troubled and perplexed, for she could not 
 but see in her lover's mind the effect of her step. She felt 
 that it was natural he should be hurt and even angered to 
 learn that, after all he had offered to do for her, she should 
 avail herself of Aun' Sheba's services instead of his. What 
 she feared most was that he Avould take it as final evidence 
 that she was hostile to him personally and not merely 
 estranged because he would not conform his views and life 
 to her own. Her secret and dearest purpose, that of teach- 
 ing him that he could live without compromise as she could, 
 might be defeated. What if the very act should lead to the 
 belief that she no longer wished to have any part in his 
 life ? A girl cannot feel the same towards a man who has 
 told her openly of his love, for such words break down the 
 barriers of maidenly reserve even in her own self-commun- 
 ings. Since he had spoken so plainly she could think more 
 plainly. She knew well how mistaken Aun' Sheba was in 
 iier judgment, but could not explain that Clancy felt he was 
 not only rejected as a lover but had been ignored even as a 
 helpful friend ; and her own love taught her to gauge the 
 bitterness of this apparent truth. 
 
 She soon became conscious that Aun' Sheba was watch- 
 ing her troubled face, and to hide her deeper thoughts she 
 said, " Yes, I suppose it is all bound to come out. Well, 
 let it. You shall not be misjudged." 
 
 *' Law sake, Missy, wot does I keer ! De ting dat trouble 
 me is dat you'se gwine to keer too much. I doan want you 
 to gib up and I doan want you to be flustered of you fin' 
 it's known. De pa'hnership, as you call 'im, been doin' 
 you a heap o' good. You'se min' been gettin' int'usted an' 
 you fo'gits you'se troubles. Dat's wot pleases me. Now 
 to my po' sense, folks is a heap betteh off, takin' keer ob 
 demselves, dan wen dey worry 'bout wat dis one say an' dat 
 
NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE. 6$ 
 
 one do. Dere is lots ob folks dat'U talk 'bout you a month 
 dat won't lif ' dere finger for you a minit. An' wat can dey 
 say, honey, dat'll harm you? You prouder'n all ob dem, 
 but you got dis km' ob pride. Ef de rent fall due you fight 
 agin eben you'se ole nuss payin' it. Talk's only breff, but 
 nn empty pocket mean an orful lot ob trouble to folks wlio 
 ain't willin' to take out ob dere pocket wat dey didn't put 
 dere." 
 
 "Yes, Aun' Sheba, I think it would be the worst kind 
 of trouble." 
 
 " I know it ud be fer you, but dar's Unc. He'd like his 
 pocket filled ebery day an' he wouldn't keer who filled it 
 ef he could spend. He'd say de Lawd pervided. Unc.'d 
 rather trust de Lawd dan work any day." 
 
 "I am afraid you are not very religious," said Mara 
 smiling. 
 
 "Well, I of'n wonder wedder I'se 'ligious or no," resumed 
 Aun' Sheba, introspectively. "Some sarmons and prars 
 seem like bread made out ob bran, de bigger de loaf de 
 wuss it is. Unc. says I'se very cole an backsliden, but I'd 
 be a heap colder ef I didn't keep up de wood-pile." 
 
 " And you help others keep up their wood-piles." 
 
 " Well, I reckon I does, but dere ain't much 'ligion in 
 dat. Dat's kin' ob human natur which de preacher say am 
 bad, bery bad stuff. De Lawd knows I say my prars sho't 
 so as to be up an' doin'. Anyhow I doan belebe he likes 
 ter be hollered at so, as dey do in our meetin' an' Unc. says 
 dat sech talk am 'phemous. But dat ain't heah nor dar. 
 We'se gwine right along, honey, ain't we? We'se gwine ter 
 min' our own business jes' as if we'se the bigges' pahners 
 in de town? " 
 
 " Yes, Aun' Sheba, you can say what you please hereafter, 
 and I want you to come and go openly. I should have 
 taken the stand before and saved you from coming out 
 
64 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 evenings. It has been far more on Aunty's account than 
 on my own." 
 
 " Well, honey, now my min's at res' an' I belebe we do 
 po'ful lot ob trade. Dat orful human natur gwine to come 
 in now an' I belebe dat folks who know you an' all 'bout 
 you'se family will help you, 'stid ob talkin' agin you. You 
 see. You knows I doan mean no disrespec' to ole Missus, 
 but she'd jes sit down an' starbe, tinkin' ob de good dinners 
 she orter hab, an' did hab in de ole times. All you'se folks 
 in hebin is a smilin' on you, honey. Dey is, fer I feels it 
 in my bones. You'se got de co'age ob you pa an' granpa 
 an' dey know, jes' as we knows, dat ole Missus take a heap 
 mo' comfort grumblin' dan in bein' hungry." 
 
 " O Aun' Sheba, do you truly think they know about my 
 present life?" the girl asked, with wet eyes. 
 
 " Dat's a bery deep question, honey, but it kin' a seem 
 reason 'ble ter me dat wen you gettin' on well an' wen you 
 doin' good to some po' soul de Lawd'll sen' an angel to tell 
 'em. Wen dey ain't hearin' notm' I spects dey's got to tink 
 as we does dat no news is good news." 
 
 The girl was deeply moved, for the vernacular of her old 
 nurse had been familiar from childhood and did not detract 
 from the sacred themes suggested. " Oh, that I could have 
 seen my father," she sighed. " Portraits are so unsatisfying. 
 Tell me again just how he looked." 
 
 " He'd be proud ob you, honey, an' you kin be proud ob 
 him. You hab his eyes, only you'se is bigger and ofn look 
 as if you'se sorrowin' way down in you soul. Sometimes, 
 eben wen you was a baby, you'd look so long an' fixed wid 
 you big sad eyes as if you seed it all an' know'd it all dat 
 I used to boo-hoo right out. Nuder times I'd be skeered, 
 fer you'd reach out you'se little arms as ef you seed you'se 
 moder an' wanted to go to her. De Lawd know bes' why 
 he let such folks die. She was like a passion vine creepin' 
 
NEVER FORGET; NEVER FORGIVE. 65 
 
 up de oak — all tender and clingin' an' lubin', wid tears in 
 her blue eyes ebin wen he pettin' her, an' he was tall an' 
 straight an' strong wid eyes dat laffed or flashed jes as de 
 'casion was. I kin see him now come marchin' down 
 Meetin' Street at de head ob his men, all raised hisself. He 
 walk straight as an arrow wid his sword flashin' in de sun- 
 shine an' a hundred men step tromp, tromp, arter him as ef 
 dey proud to follow. Missy Mary stood on de balc'ny 
 lookin' wid all her vi'let eyes an' wabin' her hank'chief. 
 Oh, how purty she look ! de roses in her cheek, her bref 
 comin' quick, bosom risin' an' fallin', an' she a tremblin' an' 
 alibe all ober wid excitement an' pride an' lub. Wen he 
 right afore de balc'ny his voice rung out like a trumpet, 
 ' Right 'bout, face. 'Sent arms.' I dun declar dat 'fore 
 we could wink dey was all in line frontin' us wid dere guns 
 held out. Den he s'lute her wid his sword an' she take a 
 red rose fum her bosom an' trow it to him an' he pick it up 
 an' put it to his lips ; den it was ' Right 'bout ! March ! ' an' 
 away dey went tromp, tromp, towa'ds de Bat'ry. I kin see 
 it all. I kin see it all. O, Lawd, Lawd, dey's all dead," and 
 she rocked back and forth, wiping her eyes with her apron. 
 
 Mara sprung up, her streaming tears dried by the hotness 
 of her indignation as she cried, " And I too can see him, 
 with his little band, dashing against almost an army and 
 then trodden in the soil he died to defend. No, no, Owen 
 Clancy, never ! " 
 
 "Ah," said a low stern voice, "that's the true spirit. Now 
 Mara you are your father's child. Never forget ; never for- 
 give," and they saw that Mrs. Hunter stood with them in 
 the dim kitchen. 
 
 " Dunno 'bout dat, Missus. Reckon de wah am ober, an' 
 what we gwine ter do wid de Lawd's prar ? Dar, dar, honey, 
 'pose you'se nerves. 'Taint bes' to tink too much ob de 
 ole times, an' I mustn't talk to you so no mo'." 
 
66 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW SOLACE. 
 
 ON her way home Aun' Sheba shook her head more 
 than once in perplexity and disapprobation over what 
 she had heard. She had the freedom of speech of an old 
 family servant who had never been harshly repressed even 
 when a slave, and now was added the fearlessness of a free 
 woman. Her affection for Mara was so strong that in her 
 ignorance she shared in some of the girl's prejudices against 
 the North, but not in her antipathy. The thought that 
 Clancy had waned in his regard or that he could even think 
 of a Northern girl after having " kep' company " with Mara, 
 had been exasperating, but now Aun' Sheba began to sus- 
 pect that the estrangement was not wholly his fault. " She 
 set agin him by his gwine Norf an' his habin' to do wid de 
 folks dat she an' ole Missus hates. Doan see why he is mad 
 at me 'bout it. Reckon he's mad anyhow an' can't speak 
 peac'ble to nobody. Well, I likes him a heap betteh in dat 
 view ob de case an' he kin glower at me all he please 'long 
 as he ain't 'sertin' young Missy case she is po'. Couldn't 
 Stan' dat no how. He's willin' an' she ain't, an' dat wat 
 she mean by sayin' * No, Owen Clancy, nebbeh.' She won't 
 lis'n to him kase he doan hate de Norf hke pizen. Now 
 dat is foolishness, an' she's sot up to it by de ole Missus. 
 De Norf does as well as it know how. To be sure, it ain't 
 quality like young Missy, but it buy de cotton an' it got de 
 po'r. Wat's mo', it gib me a chance to wuck fer mysef. I 
 
A ,VE]V SOLACE. 6/ 
 
 would do as much fer young Missy as eber. I'd wuck my 
 fingers off fer her but I hkes ter do it Hke white folks, kase 
 I lub her. She orten' be so hard on young Clancy. He 
 got his way ter make and dere'd be no good in his buttin' 
 his head agin a wall. Tings am as dey is, an' I'm glad dey 
 is as dey am. Dey's a long sight betteh fer cullud folks and 
 white folks too, ef dey's a min' ter pull wid de curren' sted 
 ob agin it. Massa Clancy's no fool. He know dis. He 
 los' his pa an' his prop'ty too, but he know betteh dan to go 
 on hatin' fereber. Dey can't spec' me to uphole dem in dis 
 fer it agin de Scripter an' my feelin's. Ole Missus bery 
 'ligious. She dun fergit wat de words mean she say ebry 
 Sunday. But den, wot de use ob callin' ole Missus to 
 'count. She neber could see ony her side ob de question. 
 It don make any dif 'ence to her how many widers dere is 
 in de Norf an' she hab jes dinged her 'pinions inter young 
 Missyeber sence she was bawn. I'se glad ter do fer dem 
 long as I hb, but I'se gwine ter speak my min' too." 
 
 With such surmises and self communings she reached 
 her home and found Uncle Sheb? asleep in his chair and 
 the fire out. She nodded at him ominously and muttered, 
 " I gib him anuder lesson." Slipping quietly into the bed- 
 room she bolted the door, and, unrelenting to all remon- 
 strances, left him to get through the night as well as he 
 could in his chair. The result justified the wisdom of the 
 means employed, for thereafter Uncle Sheba always had a 
 good fire when she returned. 
 
 Aun' Sheba had correctly interpreted the ellipsis suggested 
 by Mara's passionate utterance. The scenes called up by her 
 old nurse's words and rendered vivid by a strong imagina- 
 tion again presented themselves as an impassable barrier 
 between herself and her lover unless he should feel their 
 significance as she did. As a woman her heart was always 
 pleading for him, but when strongly excited by the story of 
 
68 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 the past her anger flamed that he should even imagine that 
 she would continue her regard for him. Indeed she won- 
 dered and was almost enraged at herself that she could 
 not at once blot out his image and dismiss him from her 
 thoughts when he was taking the course of all others most 
 repugnant to her. At such moments she could easily 
 believe that all was over between them, but with quiet per- 
 sistence her heart knew better, and preferred love to enmi- 
 ties and sad memories. 
 
 Moreover, passionate as had been her mood there was 
 a hard, homely common sense in her old nurse's words, 
 " Reckon de wah's ober an' wat you g^vine ter do wid de 
 Lawd's prar?" that quenched her fire like cold water. No 
 one can be in a false position, out of harmony with normal 
 laws and principles, without meeting spiritual jars. Mara 
 was too young and too intelhgent not to recognize the diffi- 
 culties in maintaining her position, but she believed sin- 
 cerely that the circumstances of her lot justified this 
 position and made it the only honorable one for her. 
 Northerners were to her what the Philistines were to the 
 ancient Hebrews, the hereditary foes from which she had 
 suffered the chief ills of her life. To compromise with 
 them was to compromise with evil, and therefore she was 
 always able to reason away the significance of all words like 
 those of Aun' Sheba, although for the moment they troubled 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter, however, had long since been incapable of 
 doubts or compunctions. She tolerated Aun' Sheba's out- 
 spokenness as she would that of a child or a slave babbling 
 of matters far above her comprehension. 
 
 The day marked a change in Mara's policy and action, 
 and these led to some very important experiences. A false 
 pride had at first prompted, or at least induced her to 
 acquiesce in secrecy ; now an honest pride led her to open- 
 
A NEW SOLACE. 69 
 
 ness in all her efforts to obtain a livelihood. She would 
 volunteer no information, but would simply go on in an 
 unhesitating manner, let the consequences be what they 
 might. 
 
 They soon began to take a surprisingly agreeable form, 
 for the quick warm sympathies of the Southern people were 
 touched. Here was a young girl, the representative of one 
 of the oldest and best families, seeking quietly and unos- 
 tentatiously to support herself and her aged aunt. There 
 had been scores of people who would have gladly offered her 
 assistance, but they had respected her reticence in regard to 
 her affairs as jealously as they guarded the condition of their 
 own. Frank in the extreme with each other in most respects, 
 there was an impoverished class in the city who would suffer 
 much rather than reveal pecuniary need or accept the slightest 
 approach to charity. Poverty was no reproach among these 
 families that had once enjoyed wealth in abundance. Indeed 
 it was rather like a badge of honor, for it indicated sacrifice 
 for the "lost cause " and an unreadiness for thrifty compacts 
 and dealings with those hostile to that cause. In the class to 
 which Mara belonged, therefore, she gained rather than lost 
 in social consideration, and especial pains were taken to 
 assure her of this fact. 
 
 Those in whose veins, even in Mrs. Hunter's estimation, 
 flowed the oldest and bluest blood, called more frequently 
 and spoke words of cheer and encouragement. That good 
 lady, in a rich but antiquated gown, received the guests and 
 was voluble in Mara's praises and in lamentation over the 
 wrongs of the past. The majority were-sympathetic listeners, 
 but all were glad that the girl could do and was willing to do 
 something more than complain. To their credit it should 
 be said that they were ready to do more than sympathize, 
 for even the most straitened found that they could spare 
 something for Mara's cake, and Aun' Sheba's basket began 
 
70 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 to be emptied more than once every day. Orders were 
 given also, and the young girl had all she could do to keep 
 up with the growing demand. 
 
 It was well for her that each day brought its regular work, 
 and its close found her too weary for the brooding so often 
 the bane of idleness. Yet, in spite of all that was encoura- 
 ging, the cheering words spoken to her, the elation of Aun' 
 Sheba and the excitement resulting from her humble pros- 
 perity, she was ever conscious of a dull ache at heart. 
 Clancy had gone North for an indefinite absence, and it 
 looked as if their separation were final. In vain she assured 
 herself that it was best that they should not meet again until 
 both were satisfied that their paths led apart. She knew 
 that she had hoped his path would come back to hers, — 
 that in secret she hoped this still, with a pathetic persistence 
 which defied all effort. She believed, however, that such 
 effort was her best resource, for he was again under the 
 influences she most feared and detested. At times she 
 reproached herself for having been too reserved, too proud 
 and passionate in her resentment at his course. He had 
 asked her to convince him of his error if she could, and she 
 had not only failed to make such effort, but also had denied 
 him the hope that would have been more than all argument. 
 Thus, at variance with her heart, she alternated between the 
 two extremes of anger at his course and regret and compunc- 
 tion at her own. As a rule, though, her resolute will enabled 
 her to concentrate her thoughts on daily occupations and 
 immediate interests, and it became her chief aim to so 
 occupy herself with these interests that no time should 
 be left for thoughts which now only tended to distress and 
 discourage. 
 
 Mara was a girl who consciously would be controlled by 
 a few simple motives rather than by impulses, circumstances 
 or the influence of others. We have seen that loyalty as 
 
A NEW SOLACE. Ji 
 
 she understood it, was her chief motive. Her love for 
 parents she had never seen was profound, and all relating 
 to them was sacred. To do what she believed would be 
 pleasing to them, what would now reflect honor upon their 
 memory, was her supreme duty. All other motives would be 
 dominated by this pre-eminent one and all action guided by 
 it. She felt that the effort to provide for her aunt, the one 
 remaining member of her family, and to enable her to spend 
 her remaining days in the congenial atmosphere of the past, 
 would certainly be in accord with her parents' wishes. Then 
 by natural sequence her sympathies went out to those whose 
 fortunes, like her own, had been wrecked by the changes 
 against which they could interpose only a helpless protest. 
 In various ways she learned of those of her own class who 
 had been disabled and impoverished, whose lives were 
 stripped of the embroidery of pleasant little gratifications 
 only permitted by a surplus of income. It gradually came 
 to be a cherished solace after the labors of the morning, to 
 carry to the sick and afflicted, dwelling in homes of faded 
 gentility like her own, some delicacy made by her own 
 hands. While these were received in the spirit in which 
 they were brought, the girl's lovely, sympathetic face was 
 far more welcome, and the orphan began to embody to those 
 of the old regime the cause for which they all had suffered 
 so much. Within this limited circle Mara was kindness and 
 gentleness itself, beyond it cold and unapproachable. Oc- 
 casionally some, with whom she had no sympathy, sought to 
 patronize her. They intimated that they were willing to buy 
 lavishly, but it was also evident that they wished their good 
 will appreciated and reciprocated in ways that excited the 
 girl's scorn. In spite of her poverty and homely work, it 
 was known that she was a favorite in the most aristocratic 
 circle in the city, and there are always those ready to seek 
 social recognition in many and devious ways. These push- 
 
72 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 ing people represented to Mara the Northern element and 
 leaven in the city, and she soon made it clear that there was 
 an invisible line beyond which they could not pass. Their 
 orders were either declined or scrupulously filled, if her 
 time permitted, but with a quiet tact which was inflexible 
 she warded off every approach which was not purely 
 commercial. 
 
MISS AINSLEY. /^ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MISS AINSLEY. 
 
 WHILE in New York, Owen Clancy had been kept 
 informed of the drift of those events in which he was 
 especially interested. While Mara's effort liad increased his 
 admiration for her, its success had still further discouraged 
 his hope. In his way he was as proud as she was. He had 
 committed himself to a totally different line of action, for in 
 his business relations he had been led into friendly relations 
 with many Northern people in both cities. He had accepted 
 and returned their hospitalities in kind as far as it was possi- 
 ble for a young bachelor of modest means. This courtesy 
 had been expected and accepted as a matter of course, and 
 to exchange it for cold, freezing politeness Hmited only to 
 matters of trade, would not only subject him to ridicule but 
 cut short his business career. Considerations supreme in 
 Mara's circle were ignored by the great world, and, having 
 once felt the impulses of the large currents of life, it would 
 be impossible for Clancy to withdraw into the httle sid'e 
 eddy wherein thought was ever turning back to no purpose. 
 Having clasped hands and broken bread with the men and 
 women of the North, he felt that he could not, and would 
 not stultify himself, even for the sake of his love, by any 
 change towards them. They would despise him not only as 
 a miracle of narrowness but also as an insincere man, whose 
 courtesy had been but business policy, easily dropped at the 
 bidding of some more pressing interest. 
 
74 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 His last interview with Mara had depressed him exceed- 
 ingly, for while it had increased his love it had also revealed 
 to him the radical divergence in their views and made it 
 more clear that he could only hope to win her love by the 
 sacrifice of self-respect. He must cease to be a thinking, 
 independent man, a part of his own day and generation, and 
 fix his thoughts upon the dead issues of the past. "The 
 idea," he would mutter, "of sitting down and listening to 
 Mrs. Hunter's inane and endless lament." He could not 
 conform to Mara's views without being guilty of hypocrisy 
 also, and she proved her narrowness by not recognizing this 
 truth. 
 
 After all, the point of view was chiefly the cause of the 
 trouble between them. She had ever dwelt in the shaded 
 valley; he had been on the mountain-top, and so had 
 secured a broad range of vision. He had come into con- 
 tact with the great forces which were making the future and 
 the men of the future, and he recognized that his own State 
 and his own people must be vitalized by these forces or else 
 be left far behind. And he represented a large and increas- 
 ing class in his native city. In birth and breeding he was 
 the peer of Mara or any of her aristocratic circle. He had 
 admission to the best society in the State, and, if looked 
 upon coldly by some, it was for the same reasons which 
 actuated the girl for whom he would gladly yield every 
 t?5ing except his principles and right of private judgment. 
 
 While he had many warm, sympathetic friends who felt 
 that the old should give way to the new, he yet ran against 
 the prejudices which Mara embodied so often that he began 
 to feel ill at ease in Charleston. 
 
 He thought of removing permanently to cosmopolitan 
 New York more than once during his absence North. If he 
 should be fully convinced after his return that Mara was lost 
 to him, unless he became a part of her implacable and 
 
MISS AINSLEY. 75 
 
 reactionary coterie, it might be better for his peace of mind 
 that he were far away. 
 
 One evening, before his departure home, he was invited 
 to dine with a gentleman who had large railroad interests in 
 the South. Mr. Ainsley was a widower, a man of wealth, 
 and absorbed in the pleasure of its increase. He had made 
 a business acquaintance with Clancy, and, finding him un- 
 usually intelligent and well informed in regard to Southern 
 matters, naturally wished to converse more at length with 
 him. The cordial invitation, the hearty welcome of the 
 Northern capitalist could scarcely fail in gratifying the young 
 Southerner, who keenly felt the importance of interesting 
 just such men as his host in the enterprises under considera- 
 tion. During the preHminary talk in the library of his pala- 
 tial home, Mr. Ainsley soon discovered that his guest was 
 not only well informed but frank and honest in statements, 
 giving the cons as well as the pros, in spite of an evident 
 desire to secure for the South all the advantages possible. 
 
 Before going to the dining-room, Miss Caroline, his host's 
 only daughter, entered the hbrary and was presented. 
 Clancy was fairly dazzled by her remarkable beauty. She 
 was a blonde of the unusual type characterized by dark eyes 
 and golden hair. Naturally, therefore, the first impression 
 of beauty was vivid, nor was it banished by closer observa- 
 tion. As she presided with ease and grace at her father's 
 table, Clancy found himself fascinated as he had never been 
 before by a stranger. 
 
 Although their table-talk lost its distinctively business 
 and statistical character, Mr. Ainsley still pursued his in- 
 quiries in a broad, general way, and the daughter also asked 
 questions in regard to life and society at the South which 
 indicated a personal interest on her part. 
 
 At last she said, " Papa thinks it quite possible that we 
 may spend some time in your region, and in that case we 
 
'j6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 should probably make Charleston our headquarters. I have 
 a friend, Mrs. Willoughby — do you know her? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; a charming lady. She resides on the 
 Battery." 
 
 " I'm glad you know her. I met her abroad, and we 
 becamd very fond of each other. She has often asked me 
 to visit her, but as I rarely leave Papa, the way has never 
 opened." 
 
 " My daughter is very good in accompanying me in my 
 various business expeditions," her father explained, " and 
 you know they do not often lead to fashionable watering- 
 places, nor can they always be adjusted to such seasons as I 
 could desire. I wish I could go to Charleston at an early 
 date, but in view of other interests, I cannot tell when I can 
 get away." 
 
 " When I do come, I shall make the most of my name 
 and insist on being regarded as a Carolinian," said Miss 
 Ainsley, laughing. 
 
 Clancy was pleased with the conceit and the delicate com- 
 pliment implied, but he was already impressed with the idea 
 that his hostess was the most cosmopolitan girl that he had 
 ever met. She piqued his curiosity, and he led her to talk of 
 her experiences abroad. Apparently she had been as much 
 at home in Europe as in America, and had been received 
 in the highest social circles everywhere. When after dinner 
 she played for him some brilliant, difficult classical music, 
 he began to regard her a perfect flower of metropolitan 
 culture. Yet she perplexed him. She revealed so much 
 about herself without the slightest hesitation, yet at the same 
 time, seemed to veil herself completely. He and her father 
 could broach no topic of conversation in which she could 
 not take an intelligent part. Matters of European policy 
 were touched upon, and she was at home in regard to them. 
 She smiled broadly when he tried to explain to her father 
 
MISS A INS LEY. 7/ 
 
 that patience would still be required with the South, but that 
 in time the two parts of the country would be more firmly 
 welded together than ever. " Such antipathies amuse me," 
 she said, " It is one side keeping up a quarrel which the 
 other has forgotten all about." 
 
 " The circumstances are different. Miss Ainsley," Clancy 
 replied. "The war cost me my father, my property, and 
 impoverished my State." 
 
 He could not tell whether her eyes expressed sympathy 
 or not, for they had beamed on him with a soft alluring fire 
 from the first, but her father spoke up warmly, " The North 
 has not forgotten, especially the older generation. We have 
 not suffered materially and have become absorbed in new 
 interests, but the heart of the North was wounded as truly 
 as that of the South. I wish to assure you, Mr. Clancy, how 
 deeply I sympathize with and honor your spirit of concilia- 
 tion. What is there for us all but to be Americans ? Believe 
 me, sir, such men as yourself are the strength and hope of 
 your section." 
 
 '^ I believe with you, Mr. Ainsley, that it has been settled 
 that we are to have but one destiny as a nation, but in justice 
 to my people I must say that our wounds were so deep and 
 the changes involved so vast that it is but reasonable we 
 should recover slowly. You may say that we committed 
 errors during the reconstruction period, yet they were errors 
 natural to a conquered people. In the censure we have 
 received from many quarters we have been almost denied 
 the right to our common human nature. Possibly the North, 
 in our position would not have acted very differently. But 
 the past is past, and the question is now, what is right and 
 wise ? I know that I represent a strong and growing senti- 
 ment which desires the unity and prosperity of the entire 
 country. I in turn, sir, can say that men like yourself, in 
 coming among us and investing their money do more than 
 
yS THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 all politicicans in increasing this sentiment. It proves that 
 you trust us ; and trust begets trust and good feeling. The 
 North, however, will always be mistaken if it expects us to 
 denounce our fathers or cease to honor the men who fought 
 and prayed for what they believed was right." 
 
 "Suppose, Mr. Clancy," Miss Ainsley asked, with mirthful 
 eyes, "that a party in the South had the power to array 
 your section against the North again, would you go with 
 your section ? " 
 
 " Oh, come, Carrie, it is scarcely fair to ask tests on 
 utterly improbable suppositions," said her father laughing, 
 yet he awaited Clancy's answer with interest. 
 
 " No," he said quietly, " not with the light I now possess. 
 I would have done so five years ago. Are Northern young 
 men so intrinsically wise and good that they are not influ- 
 enced by their traditions and immediate associations ? " 
 
 " Mr. Clancy, where are your eyes ? Go to the Delmo- 
 nico caf6 at noon to-morrow, and observe the flower of our 
 patrician youth taking their breakfast. You will see beings 
 who are intrinsically what they are." 
 
 " I fear we are rather even in this respect," said Clancy, 
 laughing. "You have your metropolitan dudes and mani- 
 kins, and we our rural ruffians, slaves of prejudice, who hate 
 progress, schools and immigration, as they do soap and 
 water. There is some consideration for our fellows, how- 
 ever, for they scarcely know any better, and many of their 
 characteristics are bred in the bone. It would almost seem 
 that the class you refer to are fools and nonentities from 
 choice." 
 
 " I fear not," she said lifting her eyebrows. " If I were 
 a medical student I should be tempted to kill one of 
 them — it wouldn't be murder — to see if he had a 
 brain." 
 
 " You think brain, then, is absolutely essential? " 
 
MISS A INS LEY. 79 
 
 " Yes, indeed. I could endure a man without a heart, but 
 not if he were a fool. If a man is not capable of thinking 
 himself into what is sensible he is a poor creature." 
 
 Clancy shrugged his shoulders in slight protest and soon 
 after took his leave, having first acquiesced in an appoint- 
 ment with Mr. Ainsley at his office in the morning. 
 
 On the way to his hotel and until late into the night, he 
 thought over his experiences of the evening. Did Miss 
 Ainsley intend to comphment him by suggesting that he 
 was thinking himself into what was sensible ? It was difficult 
 to tell what she intended as far as he was concerned. " She 
 could only have the most transient interest in such a stranger 
 as I am," he reasoned, "yet her eyes were like magnets. 
 They both fascinate and awaken misgivings. Perhaps they 
 are the means by which she discovers whether a man is a 
 fool or not ; if he speedily loses his head under their spells, 
 she mentally concludes, weighs and finds wanting. Probably 
 however, like hosts of pretty women, she simply enjoys using 
 her powers and seeing men succumb ; and men not fore- 
 armed and steeled as I am, might well hesitate to see her 
 often, for my impression is right strong that she has more 
 brain than heart. Yet she is a dazzling creature. Jove, what 
 a contrast to Mara ! Yet there is a nobility and womanly 
 sincerity in Mara's expression that I cannot discover in Miss 
 Ainsley's face. However wrong Mara may be, you are sure 
 she is sincere and that she would be true to her conscience 
 even if she put the whole North to the sword ; but this 
 brilliant girl — how much conscience and heart has she? 
 Back of all her culture and accomplishments there is a 
 woman ; yet what kind of a woman ? Well, the prospects are 
 that I may have a chance to find out when she comes South. 
 One thing is certain, she will not discover that I am a fool 
 by speedily kindling a vain sentiment. Yet I would like to 
 find her out, to discover the moral texture of her being. A 
 
80 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 girl like Miss Ainsley could more than fulfil a man's ideal 
 or else make his life a terror." 
 
 He called again just before his departure, and saw her 
 alone. As at first, she appeared to veil the woman in her 
 nature completely, while, at the same time, the mild light- 
 ning of her eyes played about him. 
 
 Although consciously on his guard he found himself fasci- 
 nated in spite of himself by her marvellous beauty, and his 
 curiosity piqued more than ever. He discovered that her 
 range of reading was wide, especially in modern European 
 literature, and he was charmed by her broad, liberal views. 
 Perhaps it was because he was singularly free from egotism 
 that he was so conscious of her fine reticence which took 
 the mask of apparent frankness. Most men would have 
 been flattered by her seeming interest in them and willing- 
 ness to listen to all they had to say about themselves. 
 According to Clancy's opinion, conversation should be an 
 equal interchange. He looked direct into Miss Ainsley's 
 eyes. They bewildered and perplexed him, for they ap- 
 peared to gather the rays of some light he did not under- 
 stand and focus them upon himself. He wished he could 
 see her in the society of other men and could learn more 
 of her antecedents so that he might better account for her, 
 but he went away feeling that she was more of an enigma 
 than ever. 
 
 The glamour of her perplexing personality was upon him 
 during much of his journey, but as he approached his 
 native city thoughts of Mara predominated. ^Vas she utterly 
 estranged, and was the secret of her coldness due to the 
 truth that he had never had any real hold upon her heart ? 
 If Mrs. Hunter had not so harshly interposed at the critical 
 moment of their last interview, he believed that he would 
 have discovered why it was she said he was " breaking her 
 heart." Was it because he charged her with disloyalty to 
 
MISS A INS LEY. 8 1 
 
 her kindred? Or had his own course which she felt was 
 separating them some part in her distress ? The fact that 
 she had been silent to his last appeal, that she had proved 
 his fears in regard to her poverty to be true, yet had sought 
 aid from such an unexpected source, rather than permit him 
 to endow her with his love and all that it involved, forced 
 him to the miserable conclusion that she had at least decided 
 against him. 
 
 But hope dies hard in a lover's breast. He longed to see 
 her again, yet how could he see her except in the presence 
 of others ? 
 
 He knew they soon would meet ; he was determined that 
 they should ; and possibly something in her involuntary 
 manner or expression might suggest that she had thought 
 of his words in his absence. 
 
 She had thought of his words as we know, but she had 
 also been given other food for reflection which the following 
 chapter will reveal. 
 
82 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TWO QUESTIONS. 
 
 IN the division of labor between Mara and her aunt, the 
 latter, with the assistance of their landlady's daughter, 
 tried to leaLve the young girl few tasks beyond that of filling 
 Aun' Sheba's basket. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was also expected to be ready to receive 
 callers, and excuse Mara during the morning hours. Under 
 the new order of things, more people dropped in than in 
 former times, for, as we have seen, it had become a kindly 
 fashion to show good will. The caller on a certain morning 
 in April was not wholly actuated by sympathy, for she had 
 news which she believed would be interesting if not alto- 
 gether agreeable. Clancy's attentions had not been unknowoi, 
 and he had at first suffered in the estimation of others as well 
 as of Aun' Sheba, because of his apparent neglect. The 
 impression, however, had been growing, that Mara had with- 
 drawn her favor on account of his friendly relations with 
 Northern people and his readiness to bury the past. The 
 morning visitor had not only learned of a new proof of 
 his objectionable tendencies, but also, — so do stories grow 
 as they travel, — that he was paying attention to a New 
 York belle and heiress. Mrs. Hunter was soon possessed of 
 these momentous rumors, and when at last, weary from her 
 morning labors, Mara sat down to their simple dinner, she 
 saw that her aunt was preternaturally solemn and dignified. 
 The girl expressed no curiosity, for she knew that whatever 
 
TWO QUESTIONS. 83 
 
 burdened her aunt's mind would soon be revealed with 
 endless detail and comment. 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Mrs. Hunter at last, "my impressions 
 concerning people are usually correct, and it is well for you 
 that they are. If it had not been for me you might have 
 become entangled in association with a man false and disloyal 
 in all respects. I say entangled in association, resulting 
 from a moment of weakness, for assuredly the instant you 
 gained self-possession and had time for thought, you would 
 have repudiated every thing. I saved you from the embar- 
 rassment of all this, and now you can realize how important 
 was the service I rendered. I have heard of the perform- 
 ances of Mr. Clancy at the North." 
 
 The hot flush on Mara's cheeks followed by pallor proved 
 that her indifference had been thoroughly banished, but she 
 only looked at her aunt like one ready for a blow. 
 
 "Yes," resumed Mrs. Hunter, "the story has come very 
 straight — straight from that young Mrs. Willoughby, who, 
 with her husband, seems as ready to forget and condone all 
 that the South has suffered as your devoted admirer himself. 
 Devoted indeed ! He is now paying his devotions at 
 another shrine. A Northern girl with her Northern gold is 
 the next and natural step in his career, and he said to her 
 point-blank that if the South again sought to regain her 
 Hberty, he would not help. He wasn't a Samson, but he 
 was not long in being shorn by a Northern DeUlah of what 
 little strength he had." 
 
 "How do you know that this is true?" asked Mara, rigid 
 with suppressed feeling. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Willoughby must talk if the heavens fell. It 
 seems that she met this Northern girl abroad, and that they 
 have become great friends. She has received a letter, and 
 it is quite probable that this girl will come here. It would 
 be just Hke her to follow up her new admirer. Mrs. Wil- 
 
84' THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 loughby is so hot in her advocacy of what she terms the 
 * New South,' that she must speak of every thing which 
 seems to favor her pestilential ideas. By birth she belongs 
 to the Old South and the only true South, and she tries to 
 keep in with it, but she is getting the cold shoulder from 
 more than one." 
 
 Mara said nothing, but her brow contracted. 
 
 " You take it very quietly," remarked her aunt severely. 
 
 " Yes," said Mara. 
 
 " Well, if I were in your place I would be on fire with 
 indignation." 
 
 " Perhaps I would be if I did not care very much," was 
 the girl's constrained answer. 
 
 " I do not see how you can care except as I do." 
 
 " You are you, aunty, and 1 am myself. People are not 
 all made exactly alike." 
 
 " But a girl should have some self-respect." 
 
 "Yes, aunty, and she should be respected. I am one 
 to show my self-respect by deeds, not words. You must 
 not lecture me any more now as if I were a child," and she 
 rose and left her almost untasted dinner. 
 
 A little thought soon satisfied Mrs. Hunter that the iron 
 had entered deep into the soul of her niece, and that 
 her deeds would be satisfactory. She therefore finished her 
 dinner complacently. 
 
 Mara felt that she had obtained a test which might justly 
 compel the giving up of her dream of love forever. She 
 was endowed with a simplicity and sincerity of mind which 
 prompted to definite actions and conclusions, rather than 
 to the tumultuous emotions of anger, jealousy and doubt. 
 She would not doubt; she would know. Either Clancy 
 had been misrepresented or he had not been, and he had 
 seemed so true and frank in his words to her that she would 
 not condemn him on the story of a gossip. From her point 
 
TWO QUESTIONS. 85 
 
 of view she concluded that if he had gone so far as to say to 
 a Northern girl that he would not join the South in an effort 
 to achieve independence, supposing such an attempt to be 
 made, then he had passed beyond the pale of even her 
 secret sympathy and regard, no matter what the girl might 
 become to him. She scarcely even hoped that there would 
 ever be a chance for him to make such a choice of sides as 
 his reputed words indicated, but he could contemplate the 
 possibility, and if he could even think, in such an imagined 
 exigency, of remaining aloof from the cause for which his 
 and her own father had died, then he would be dismissed 
 from her thoughts as utterly unworthy. 
 
 So she believed during the unhappy hours of the after- 
 noon which were robbed of all power to bring rest. She 
 determined, if it were possible, to hear the truth from his 
 own lips. She would subdue her heart by giving it proof 
 positive that he had either drifted or had been lured far 
 away. If this were true, — and she would not be influenced 
 by her aunt's bitter prejudice, — then it was all over between 
 them. If once so completely convinced that he did not 
 love her sufficiently to give up his Northern affiliations for 
 her sake, her very pride would cast out her own stubborn 
 love. 
 
 The opportunity to accomplish all she desired soon 
 occurred, for later she met him at a house where a few 
 guests had been invited to spend the evening. Social life 
 had ceased to divide sharply upon the opinions held by 
 different persons, and the question as to what guests should 
 be brought together had been decided by the hostess chiefly 
 on the ground of birth and former associations. On this 
 occasion when Clancy's eyes met those of Mara, he bowed, 
 and was about to cross the room in the hope of receiving 
 something like a welcome after his absence, but he was 
 repelled at once and chilled by her cold, slight bow, and her 
 
86 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 prompt return of attention to the gentleman with whom she 
 was conversing. 
 
 Clancy was so hurt and perturbed that he was capable 
 of but indifferent success in his efforts to maintain conversa- 
 tion with others. When supper was served he strayed into 
 the deserted library and made a pretence of looking at 
 some engravings. A dear and familiar voice brought a 
 sudden flush to his face, but the words, " Mr. Clancy, I wish 
 to speak with you," were spoken so coldly that he only turned 
 and bowed deferentially and then offered Mara a chair. 
 
 She paid no attention to this act, and hesitated a moment 
 in visible embarrassment before proceeding. 
 
 " Miss Wallingford," he began eagerly, " I have longed 
 and hoped" — 
 
 She checked him by a .gesture as she said, " Perhaps I 
 would better speak first. I have a question to ask. You 
 need not answer it of course if you do not wish to. I am 
 not conventional in seeking this brief interview. Indeed," 
 she added a little bitterly, " my life has ceased to be con- 
 ventional in any sense, and I have chosen to conform to a 
 few simple verities and necessities. As you once said to 
 me, you and I have been friends, and, if I can trust your 
 words, you have meant kindly by me " — 
 
 " Miss Wallingford, can you doubt my words," he began 
 in low, passionate utterance, " can you doubt what I mean 
 and have meant? You know I " — 
 
 Her brow had darkened with anger, and she interrupted 
 him, saying, "You surely cannot think I have sought this 
 interview in the expectation of listening to such words and 
 tones. I have come because I wish to be just, because I 
 will not think ill of you unless I must, because I wish you 
 to know where I stand immovably. If my friendship is 
 worth any thing you will seek it by deeds, not words. I 
 now only wish to ask if you said in effect, while North, that 
 
TWO QUESTIONS. 8/ 
 
 if the South should again engage in a struggle for freedom 
 you would not help? " 
 
 Clancy was astounded, and exclaimed, " Miss Wallingford, 
 can you even contemplate such a thing? " 
 
 Her face softened as she said, " I knew that you could 
 never have said any thing of the kind." 
 
 How tremendous was the temptation of that moment ! 
 He saw the whole truth instantaneously, that she was lost 
 to him unless he came unreservedly to her position. In 
 that brief moment her face had become an exquisite trans- 
 parency illumined with an assurance of hope. He had an 
 instinctive conviction that even if he admitted that he had 
 spoken the words, yet would add, " Mara, I am won at last 
 to accept your view of right and duty," all obstacles between 
 them would speedily melt away. 
 
 The temptation grappled his heart with all the power of 
 human love, and there was an instant of hesitation that was 
 human also, and then conscience and manhood asserted 
 themselves. With the dignity of conscious victory he said 
 gravely, " Miss Wallingford, I have ever treated your con- 
 victions with respect even when I differed with you most. 
 I have an equal right to my own convictions. I should be 
 but the shadow of a man if I had no beliefs of my own. 
 You misunderstand me. My first thought as you spoke was 
 surprise that you could even contemplate such a thing as 
 a renewed struggle between the North and the South." 
 
 " Certainly I could contemplate it, sir, though I can 
 scarcely hope for it." 
 
 " I trust not ; and even at the loss of what I value far 
 more than you can ever know, I will not be false to myself 
 nor to you. I did speak such words, and I must confirm 
 them now." 
 
 She bowed frigidly and was turning away when he said, 
 " I too, perhaps have the right to ask a question." 
 
88 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 She paused with averted face. " Can you not at least 
 respect a man who is as sincere as you are ? " 
 
 Again the vigilant Mrs. Hunter, uneasy that Mara and 
 Clancy were not within the range of her vision, appeared 
 upon the scene. She glared a moment at the young man, 
 and Mara left the room without answering him. 
 
'fabulation: 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A " 'fabulation." 
 
 IT had been Mara's belief, indeed almost her hope, that if 
 truth compelled Clancy to admit that he had spoken the 
 obnoxious words he would become to her as a " heathen man 
 and a publican." No matter how much she might suffer, 
 she had felt that such proof of utter lack of sympathy with 
 her and all the motives which should control him, would 
 simplify her course and render it much easier, for she had 
 thought that her whole nature would rise in arms against 
 him. It would end all compunction, quench hope and even 
 deal a fatal blow to love itself. She would not only see it 
 her duty to banish him from her thoughts, but had scarcely 
 thought it possible that he could continue to dwell in them. 
 The result had not justified her expectations, and she 
 was baffled, exasperated and torn by conflicting feelings. 
 Although he had admitted the words and confirmed them 
 to her very face, he had not allowed himself to be put in 
 a position which enabled her to turn coldly and contemptu- 
 ously away. Brief as had been the interview, he had made 
 it impossible for her to doubt two things ; first, that the 
 Northern girl was nothing to him and that he had not 
 spoken the words to win her favor, for he had come back 
 to herself with the same love in his eyes and the same 
 readiness to give it expression despite her coldness and 
 even harshness. No matter how bitterly she condemned 
 herself, this truth thrilled and warmed her very soul. In 
 
90 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 the second place, however mistaken he might be, he had 
 compelled her to believe him to be sincere, so loyal, indeed, 
 to his own sense of right that not even for her sake would 
 he yield. She could not doubt this as the eagerness of the 
 lover passed into the grave dignity and firmness of a self- 
 respecting man. Moreover, another truth had been thrust 
 upon her consciousness, — that she was more woman than 
 partisan. As he had stood before her, revealing his love 
 and constancy and at the same time asserting his right to 
 think and act in accordance with his own convictions, he 
 had appeared noble, handsome, manly ; her heart acknowl- 
 edged him master, and however vigilantly she might conceal 
 the fact, she could not deny it to herself. 
 
 Nevertheless, his course had simplified her action ; it had 
 decided her that all was over between them. The case was 
 hopeless now; for neither could yield without becoming 
 untrue to themselves, and there could be no happy union 
 in such radical diversity. The less often they met the better, 
 as he only made her course the harder to maintain and the 
 separation more painful than it had been before. 
 
 She might hide her unhappiness, but she could not banish 
 the resulting despondency and flagging strength. Her aunt 
 had half forced an explanation of the reason why she was 
 alone with Clancy, and, in hasty self-defence, she admitted a 
 resolve to know with certainty whether he had spoken the 
 words charged against him. When Mrs. Hunter learned 
 that he had acknowledged the truth of the story, she spoke 
 of him with redoubled bitterness, making it hard indeed for 
 Mara to listen, for her heart took his side almost passionately. 
 Unintentionally Mrs. Hunter proved herself the young man's 
 best ally, yet Mara outwardly was compelled to acquiesce, 
 for she herself had proved the enormity which was to end 
 every thing. Consistency, however, was torn to tatters one 
 day, and she said in sudden passion, " Aunty, never men- 
 
A '''FABULATION." 9 1 
 
 tion Mr. Clancy's name again. I demand this as my 
 right." 
 
 When Mara spoke in this manner Mrs. Hunter yielded. 
 Indeed she was not a little perplexed over the girl who had 
 been so passive and subservient. She was not a profound 
 reasoner upon any subject, nor could she understand how 
 one step, even though Mara had been driven to it by hard 
 necessity, led to many others. The girl had begun to assert 
 her individual life, and her nature, once awakened, was 
 proving a strong one. Deepening and widening experience 
 perplexed and troubled her unguided mind, and prepared 
 the way for doubtful experiments. 
 
 As before, Aun' Sheba was quick to discover that all was 
 not well with Mara, but believed that she, like herself, 
 was working beyond her strength. The old woman had a 
 bad cold and was feehng "rudder po'ly" one evening when 
 her minister came to pay a pastoral visit. 
 
 On so momentous an occasion as this, her son-in-law 
 Kern Watson and his wife and children were summoned ; a 
 few neighbors also dropped in as they often did, for Aun' 
 Sheba was better in their estimation than any newspaper in 
 town. Since the necessity for much baking had been re- 
 moved, she had hired out her stove in order to make more 
 room and to enjoy the genial fire of the hearth. So far from 
 being embarrassed because her head was tied up in red 
 flannel, she had the complacent consciousness that she was 
 the social centre of the group, an object of sympathy and 
 the respected patron of all present. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Birdsall, the minister, treated Aun' 
 Sheba with much consideration ; he justly regarded her as 
 one of the " pillars of the church," knowing well from long 
 experience that she abounded in liberality if not in long 
 prayers and contentions. He was a plain, sincere, positive 
 man who preached what he beheved to be the truth. If he 
 
92 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 was sometimes beyond it, beneath it or away from it alto- 
 gether, he was as serenely unconscious of the fact as were his 
 hearers. There was no agnosticism in his congregation, for 
 he laid down the law and the gospel in a way that dis- 
 couraged theological speculation. Nevertheless, among his 
 followers there were controversial spirits who never doubted 
 that they were right, however much they might question his 
 ecclesiastical methods and views. To many, freedom meant 
 the right to have their say, and, as is often true, those having 
 the least weighty matter on their minds were the most ready 
 to volunteer opinions and advice. Aun' Sheba was a doer, 
 not a talker, in her church relations. If she occasionally 
 dozed a little in her pew during the sermon, she was always 
 wide awake when the plate was passed around ; and if a 
 " brother " or a " sister" were sick she found time for a visit 
 nor did she go empty-handed. If it were a case of back- 
 sliding she had a homely way of talking sense to the delin- 
 quent that savored a litde of worldly wisdom. There were 
 not a few who shared in her doubt whether she was " 'ligious" 
 or not, but the Reverend Mr. Birdsall was not of these. He 
 would only have been too glad to have discovered more 
 religion like hers. 
 
 " Mis' Buggone," he said sympathetically, after Aun' 
 Sheba had given her symptoms with much detail, " in you 
 is a case whar de spirit is willin' but de flesh is weak. You'se 
 been a-goin' beyon' you strengt." 
 
 " Yes, Elder, dat is de gist ob de whole business," affirmed 
 Kern Watson. " Moder's tromped de streets wid her big 
 basket, till she is dun beat out. She's undertook mo'n her 
 share an' is 'sportin' too many people." 
 
 " Kern, you means well," said Aun' Sheba with dignity, 
 " but you mus' not 'fleet on young Missy. She am de las' 
 one in de worl' to let a body 'sport her while she fol' her 
 ban's. She's po'ly too, jes' kase she's workin' harder'n me." 
 
A ''' FAB UL AT/ON." 93 
 
 Uncle Sheba hitched uneasily in his chair, feeling that the 
 conversation rather reflected on him, and he was conscious 
 that old Tobe, keeper ot the " rasteran," was glaring at him. 
 •^ I reckin," he said, " dat de min'ster might offer a word 
 ob prar an' comfort fore he go." 
 
 " What pressin' business," asked his wife, severely, " hab 
 you got, Unc, dat you in sech a hurry fer de min'ster ter 
 go ? We aint into de shank ob de ebenin' yet, an' dar's no 
 'casion to talk 'bout folks goin'." 
 
 *' I dun said notin' 'bout folks goin'," complained Uncle 
 Sheba in an aggrieved tone, " I was ony a suggestin' wot 'ud 
 be 'propriate ter de 'casion fore dey go." 
 
 " Mr. Buggone is right, and prar is always 'propriate," 
 said Mr. Birdsall in order to preserve the serenity of the 
 occasion. " Before this little company breaks up we will sing 
 a hymn and hab a word ob prar. But we mus' use de right 
 means in dis worl' an' conform ter de inexc'^able law ob de 
 universe. Here's de law and dar's de gospel, and dey both 
 have dar place. If a brick blow off a chimley it alus falls 
 ter de groun'. Dat's one kin' ob law. Water runs down 
 hill, dat's much de same kin' ob law. If a man hangs roun' 
 a saloon an' wastes his time an' money, he's boun' to git 
 seedy an' ragged an' a bad name, an' his fam'ly gets po' an' 
 mis'ble ; dat's another kin' ob law, — no 'scapin' it. He's 
 jest as sure ter run down hill as de water. Den if we git a 
 cut or a bum or a bruise we hab pain ; dat's anuder kin' ob 
 law, an' we all know it's true. But dar's a heap ob good 
 people. Mis' Buggone, who think dey can run dis po' 
 machine ob a body in a way dat would wear out wrought- 
 iron, and den pray de good Lawd ter keep it strong and iled 
 and right up to the top-notch ob po'r. Now dat's against 
 both law and gospel, for eben He who took de big contrac' 
 ter save the worl' said ter his disciples, ' come ye yourselves 
 apart and rest a while.' I reckon dat's de law and de gospel 
 
94 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 for you, Mis' Buggone, about dis time." Nods of approval 
 were general, and Kern Watson gave the sense of the meet- 
 ing in his hearty way. 
 
 " 'Deed it am, Elder," he said. " You'se hit de nail squar 
 on de head. Own up, now, moder, dat you'se neber been 
 preached at mo' convincin'. Hi ! wot a book dat Bible 
 am ! It's got a word in season fer ebry 'casion." 
 
 " Well," said Aun' Sheba, meditatively, " I wants ter be 
 open ter de truf, an' I does own up, Kern, dat de Elder puts 
 it monstis peart an' bery conwincin'. But," she continued 
 argumentatively, laying the forefinger of her left hand on 
 the broad palm of her right, " dars gen'ly two sides to a 
 question. Dat's whar folks git trip up so of n — dey sees 
 ony one side. I've 'served dat it's po'ful easy fer folks ter 
 tell oder folks wat ter do and wat not ter do. No 'fence, 
 Elder. You been doin' you duty, but you'se been layin' 
 down rudder 'stended princ'ples. I know you'se got ter 
 preach broad an' ter lay down de truf fer de hull winyard, 
 but I wants ter know wat ter do wid my own little patch ob 
 ground. Now here's me and dar's my young Missy 'pendin' 
 on me." 
 
 "Dat's whar I jes' doesn't 'gree wid Aun' Sheba," put in 
 her husband as she paused a moment for breath. He felt 
 that public opinion was veering over to his side and might 
 be employed to enforce his views. " It is all bery well fer 
 one ter do all dey can 'sistently fer oders, but " — 
 
 *' Mr. Buggone," remarked Aun' Sheba sternly. 
 
 Uncle Sheba subsided, and she went on, "Dere's my 
 young Missy dat's pendin' on me, but she ain't pendin' in 
 de sense ob hangin' on me," and she paused and looked 
 impressively at Unc. " She's usin' her two little han's jest 
 as hard as she know how, an' a heap too hard. Wat's mo' 
 she's usin' dem to good puppus. I jes declar to you, Elder 
 an' frens, dat since she took hole, de business am rollin' up 
 
A '''FABULATION." 95 
 
 an' it gettin' too big fer both ob us. Dat's whar de shoe 
 pinches. I ain't loss notin'. I'se made a heap mo' by 
 doin' fer young Missy. In dis Tabulation, I doesn't want no 
 'flections on her, kase dey wouldn't be far. Now, Kern, 
 you'se right smart. You'se had my 'proval eber sence you 
 took a shine ter Sissy. Ud you belebe it, Elder and frens, 
 dat son-in-law ob mine offered ter 'sport me an' me do 
 nufifin but jes' help Sissy and look arter de chil'n. But dat 
 iiin't my way. I likes ter put my own money in my own 
 pocket an' I likes ter take it out agin, an' it jes' warm my 
 heart like a hick'ry fiah ter help dat honey lam' ob mine 
 dat I nussed. So you see. Elder, dat gen'l preachin' am like 
 meal. Folks has got ter take it an' make out ob it a little 
 hoe-cake fer dere selves. It's de same ole meal, but we's 
 got ter hab it in a shape dat 'plies ter our own inards, 
 sperital and bodily." 
 
 Again there were nods of assent and sounds of approval 
 which old Tobe put into words. "Aun' Sheba," he said, 
 " you puts you'se 'pinions monst'us peart, too. I'se an ole 
 man an' has had my shar ob 'sperence, an' I'se alus 'served 
 dat de hitch come in at de 'plyin' part. Dere's a sight ob 
 preachin' dat soun' as true an' straight as dat de sun an' 
 rain make de cotton grow, but when you git down to de 
 berry indewidooel cotton plant dere's ofen de debil to pay 
 in one shape or oder. Dere's a wum at de root or a wum 
 in de leaves, or dey's too much rain or too much sun, or de 
 sile's like a beef bone dat's been biled fer soup mo' dan's 
 reasonable. Now Aun' Sheba's de indewidooel cotton-plant 
 we's a-'siderin', an' I doan see how she's gwine to res' 
 a while any mo'n I kin. Ef I shet up my rasteran de busi- 
 ness gwine ter drap off ter some oder rasteran." 
 
 " But, bruder Tobe, isn't it better, even as you put it," 
 protested the minister, " dat Mis Buggone's business should 
 drop off an' yours too, dan dat you should drop off you- 
 
96 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 selves ? Howsumever, 1 see de force ob what you both say, 
 and we mus' try ter hit upon a golden mean. I reckon 
 dar's a way by which you can both keep your business and 
 yet keep youselves from goin' beyon' your 'bility. You are 
 both useful citizens and supporters ob de gospel, and I'm 
 concerned fer your welfare, bodily as well as sperital." 
 
 " Aun' Sheba," said her daughter, "you'se my moder an' 
 I ought ter be de fust one ter help ease you up. I just 
 dun declar dat you'se got ter take Vilet ter help you up. 
 I kin spar her, an' I will spar her. She's strong an' gwine 
 on twelve, an' de babies is gitten so dat dey ain't aroun' 
 under my feet all de time. Vilet's spry an' kin run here 'an 
 dar an' fill de orders. She'd ease you up right smart." 
 
 "Now, Sissy," said her husband, who always called her 
 by the old household name, " dat's bery sens'ble and child- 
 like in you to put yousef out fer you'se muder. I'd been 
 tinkin' 'bout Vilet, but I didn't like de suggestin ob her 
 leabin' you to do so much ob de work. But go ahead. 
 Sissy ; go ahead, Vilet, an' you'll fin' me easy goin' at meal 
 times." 
 
 "Come here, Vilet," said the minister. 
 
 The girl had been sitting on the floor at Aun' Sheba's 
 feet, listening quietly and intelligently to all that had been 
 said. She was tall for her age, and had the quiet steadfast- 
 ness of gaze that was characteristic of her father. He was 
 exceedingly fond and proud of her, for, with very little 
 schooling, she had learned to read and write. Even as a 
 child she had much of his patience and unselfishness, thus 
 making herself very useful at home. She looked unshrink- 
 ingly at the minister, but trembled slightly, for she felt all 
 eyes were upon her. 
 
 "Vilet," began Mr. Birdsall, "you are said to be a good 
 chile, an' I like the sens'ble, quiet way in which you stan' up 
 an' look me in de face. I reckon dar ain't much foolishness 
 
A "'FABULATION." 9/ 
 
 in you. Your fader and moder hab shown de right spirit, 
 de self-denying spirit dat de Lawd will bless. Can you say 
 the fifth commandment, chile ? " Vilet repeated it promptly. 
 
 " Dat's right. Now your fader an' moder are honahing 
 dar moder, an' you are goin' to hab a chance ter honah dem 
 an' your granma, too. You will hab temptations in de 
 streets ter be pert an' idle, ter stop an' talk to dis one and 
 ter answer back to dat one in a way you shouldn't. But if 
 you go along quiet an' steady, an' do what you're tole, an' be 
 car'ful 'bout de money an' de messages an' de orders an' so 
 forth, you will reflect honah on us all an' 'specially on all 
 your folks. You understan', Vilet? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 The minister put his hand on her head, and said solemnly, 
 " You have my blessin', Vilet." 
 
 She ducked a little courtesy, and again squatted at the 
 feet of Aun' Sheba, who, much affected, was wiping her 
 eyes with her apron, while Sissy's emotion was audible. 
 
 " Now, frens," resumed Mr. Birdsall, " this 'mergency of 
 Mis Buggone's health has been met in de right human and 
 Scriptural spirit. Frens and fam'ly hab gathered 'roun' de 
 'flicted one, an' hab paid dar respect ter her usefulness an' 
 value, an' hab shown her becomin' sympathy. Her own 
 fam'ly, as is also becomin', hab been first ter ease her up 
 accordin', first, to the law of primigeneshureship. I know 
 dat dis is a long word, but long words of en mean a heap, 
 an' dat's why dey are so long. Dat good little girl, Vilet, is 
 de oldes' granchile, an' she fulfils a great law in helpin' her 
 granma. Den it's accordin' to the gospel, for a loving an' 
 self-denyin' spirit has been shown. Mr. Watson has obeyed 
 de great law of matrimony. He has married into dis 
 fam'ly, an' he pulls with it an' for it instead ob against it 
 as we see too of en. De Lawd's blessin' will rest on dis 
 fam'ly." 
 
98 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I feels greatly comforted," said Aun' Sheba. " Dis 
 has been a bressed season an' a out-pourin'. I mos' feels 
 'ligious dis ebenin'. De chilen an' dis deah chile " (patting 
 Vi'let's head) " warm me up betteh'n flannel an' de fiah. 
 Elder, you'se a good shep'd ob de flock. You'se a lookin' 
 arter body an' soul. You'se got de eddication to talk big 
 words to us, an', now we'se free, we hab a right to big words, 
 no mattah how much dey mean. It's po'ful comfortin' ter 
 know we'se doin' 'cordin to de law an' de gospel." 
 
 " 'Pears ter me," said old Tobe, " dat Uncle Sheba might 
 hab a little law an' gospel 'plied ter him. He am one ob 
 de fam'ly. I'se a heap ol'er dan he be, an' I'se up wid de 
 sun an' I ony wish I could set when de sun sets. 'Pears 
 like he orter tote some ob de tings ez well ez his sHp ob 
 a gran-daughter," and old Tobe's wool seemed fairly to 
 bristle with indignation and antipathy. 
 
 " I've no doubt," began Mr. Birdsall, "but Mr. Buggone'll 
 emulate " — 
 
 " Elder," interrupted Aunt Sheba, with portentous solem- 
 nity, "dere's bobscure 'flictions in dis worl' dat can't be 
 'splained, an' de 'flictions ofen begin wen we say 'for 
 bettah or wusser.' You'se say youself in de pulpit dat de 
 gret an' bressed sinner, Paul, had a thorn in de flesh an' he 
 couldn't git rid ob it nohow, dat he jes' bar wid it an' go 
 'bout his business. Ole Tobe am ole, but he wasn't bawn 
 tired. Dere's men dat's po'ful weak in de jints ob de body, 
 yit dat doesn't hender dem from gittin' 'round, but wen de 
 weak feelin' gits inter de jints obde min' den dey's shuah to 
 be kinder hmpsy-slimpsy an' dey ain't no help fer it. Ez 
 I sez afore de 'fliction am bobscure. You see de feet an' 
 you see de han's, an' you tink dat dey kin go an' do like 
 oder han's an' feet, but dey doesn't an' dey can't. Dere 
 ain't no back-bone runnin' up troo de min' an' wen dere 
 ain't no back-bone in de min' de pusson jes flop down yere 
 
A '''FABULATION." 99 
 
 an' flop down dar whareber dere's a com'fo'ble place to flop. 
 Dere's 'flictions dat we kin pray agin an' pray out'n ob, an' 
 dere's oders we jes got ter bar, an' we gits so kinder used 
 to'm at las dat we'd be mo' mis'ble ef dey wuz tooken away. 
 We'se got to take de bittah wid de sweet, but, tank de 
 Lawd ! de sweet 'domemate in dis yere fam'ly. Now let's 
 hab some praise an' prar. Vilet, honey, sing de hymn 
 you'se moder lern you." 
 
 And in a somewhat shrill, yet penetrating, musical voice, 
 the girl sang, — 
 
 I'se a journeyin', I'se a journeyin', 
 
 An' de way am bery long ; 
 De road ain't known, de way ain't shown, 
 
 Yit I journeys wid a song. 
 
 Chorus: De journey, de journey, howeber rough de road, 
 It's a leadin', it's a leadin', to a hebinly abode. 
 
 I'se a travel in', I'se a travelin'. 
 
 From de cradle to de grave, 
 De road am rough and sho' a nuff, 
 
 De heart, hit mus' be brave. 
 
 I'se a wondrin', I'se a wondrin', 
 
 Wen de journey will be troo ; 
 But I goes along wid sigh an' song, 
 
 An' a cheery word fer you. 
 
 Kern Watson and his wife were gifted with those rich, 
 mellow, African voices made so familiar in plantation songs 
 and hymns. In the case of " Sissy " there was a pathetic, 
 contralto, minor quality in her tones, and the first time 
 young Watson heard her sing a spell was thrown round his 
 fancy which led to all the rest. The same might be said of 
 her, for when her husband, then a stranger, poured forth, in 
 one of their evening meetings, the great rich volume of his 
 
100 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 voice, she ceased to sing that she might listen with avidity. 
 It was not long after that before Kern mustered courage to 
 ask " Mis Buggone, mout I hab de pleasure ob 'companyin' 
 you home ? " Not many months elapsed before he accom- 
 panied her home to stay, with Aun' Sheba's full consent. 
 
 Other hymns followed in which Uncle Sheba took part 
 with much unction, for he wished to impress all present that 
 in spite of the " bobscure affliction" he "injied 'ligion " as 
 much as any of them. Mr. Birdsall offered a characteristic 
 prayer, and then Aun' Sheba nodded to Sissy who brought 
 out a large supply of cakes and apples. Some gossip among 
 the women and political discussion among the men occurred 
 while these were being disposed of, and then the litde 
 company broke up, leaving Aun' Sheba much improved in 
 health and spirits. 
 
CAPTAIN BOVINE. lOI 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CAPTAIN BODINE. 
 
 THE next day was warm and sunny, and Ann' Sheba 
 rising much refreshed, felt herself equal to her duties 
 in spite of her fears to the contrary. She took Vilet with 
 her to a shop, and there purchased a much smaller basket, 
 the weight of which when filled would not be burdensome 
 to the girl. Thus equipped she appeared before Mara at 
 the usual hour with her grandchild, and began complacently, 
 " Now honey lam' you'se gwine to hab two strings to you'se 
 bow. I sometimes feel ole an' stiff in my jints an' my heft 
 is kinder agin me in trompin'. Here's my grandaughter, an' 
 she's spry as a cricket. She kin run yere an' dar wid de 
 orders'n less dan no time, so you won't be kept kin' ob 
 scruged back an' down kase Fse slow an' hebby. You 
 see?" 
 
 "Yes, Aun' Sheba, and I am very glad to see. I have 
 been worrying about you, for it has seemed to me that you 
 were going beyond your strength, and yet I did not know 
 of any one to help you or whether you wanted any one." 
 
 " Now, honey, you jes' took de words out'n my mouth 
 'bout you. You'se lookin- po'ly, an' I'se drefifle 'feared 
 you'se gwine ter get beat out. You want help mo'n me, an* 
 I'se had it on my min' ter talk wid you." 
 
 "Oh, Aun' Sheba, I'm very well," protested Mara, yet 
 glad to think that her paleness and languor were ascribed 
 to fatigue. 
 
102 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Now see yere, honey, I'se got my blin' side, I know, 
 but it ain't towards you. I watch ober you too many yeahs 
 not to know wer you po'ly. You'se gwine beyon' you 
 strengt, too. Why can't you get some one ter he'p you an' 
 den we go along swimmin' ? " 
 
 " Well, I'll see. I reckon I'll be better soon, and I don't 
 care to do more than can be done in a quiet way." 
 
 The new arrangement on Aun' Sheba's side of the " pana'- 
 ship " soon began to work well. Vilet proved quick and 
 trustworthy, saving her grandmother many a weary step, and 
 Mara was compelled to see that the mutual income might be 
 greatly increased if she also had efficient help. She recog- 
 nized the truth that she was becoming worn, and she also 
 knew the cause to be that she worked without the spring of 
 hopefulness or even the quietness of a heart at rest. She 
 had almost decided to intrust Aun' Sheba with the task of 
 finding a suitable helper when she made two acquaintances 
 who were destined to become intimately associated with her 
 experiences. 
 
 One afternoon she felt so lonely, desolate and hopeless 
 that she felt she must go out of herself. The future was 
 taking on an aspect hard to face. Disposed to self-sacrifice 
 she was wretchedly conscious that there was nothing on 
 which she could bestow a devotion which could sustain 
 or inspire. There was no future to look forward to, no 
 cause to be furthered, no goal to be reached by brave, 
 patient effort. If she had lived at the time of the war she 
 would have loved scarcely less than her mother, but her 
 heart would have been almost equally divided between the 
 cause and those who fought and suffered for it. If her lot 
 had been cast in the North it would have been much the 
 same. The same patriotic motives would have kindled her 
 imagination and produced the most intense loyalty in thought 
 and action. She was endowed with a spirit which, had she 
 
CAPTAIN BODINE. IO3 
 
 lived in the past, might easily have led her into an effort 
 to restore some overthrown dynasty, and she would have so 
 idealized even a very questionable conspiracy as to render 
 it worthy, in her belief, of unstinted self-sacrifice. A girl of 
 her character would have faced the wild beasts of the Roman 
 amphitheatre for the sake of her faith, or she would have 
 intrigued against the Spanish Inquisition although hourly 
 conscious that she was exposing herself to its horrors. It was 
 this very tendency to give herself up wholly to some object 
 which she felt had a supreme claim upon her, that had en- 
 abled her to live so long upon the memories of the past. 
 The lost cause, for which her father had died, had been as 
 sacred to her as the old dream of freedom to a Pole, but 
 Clancy's question in regard to the old phase of her life, 
 "What good will it do?" combining with other circum- 
 stances, had awakened her to the futility of her course. 
 Denied the hope of any future achievement, lacking a 
 powerful motive to sacrifice herself and her love, her strong 
 nature chafed and tended to despondency at the thought 
 of a simple existence. It was not enough merely to earn a 
 living and live. She craved an inspiring object, an antidote 
 for her heartache, a consciousness that in giving up much 
 she also accomplished much. Yet the future stretched 
 away like an arid plain and she was depressed by the fore- 
 boding that every step carried her farther from all that 
 could give zest to life. She was, therefore, in a mood to 
 accept any thing which would relieve the dreary monotony. 
 
 On the afternoon in question she decided to call upon an 
 old lady who had lost nearly all her kindred and property. 
 " Surely," thought the girl, " she has nothing to look forward 
 to in this world but a few more straitened years, then death. 
 I wish I were as old as she." 
 
 Taking a little delicacy she started out to pay the visit, 
 hoping to gain an insight into the philosophy of patient 
 
I04 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 endurance. She veiled herself heavily, for she was ever 
 haunted by the fear of meeting Clancy on the street, and 
 that her tell-tale face might lead him to guess the cost of 
 her effort to avoid him. 
 
 An old colored woman showed the way into the parlor 
 while she went up to prepare her mistress for the call. 
 Reading by the window was a middle-aged gentleman who 
 bowed gravely and resumed his book. 
 
 He riveted Mara's attention instantly, for her first glance 
 revealed that he had lost his right leg and that crutches 
 leaned against the arm of his chair. He could not be other 
 than a veteran of the Confederate army, as it would be 
 strange indeed to find an ex-soldier of the North in that 
 abode. His strong, finely-cut side face, distinctly outlined 
 against the Hght, was towards her. It was marked by deep 
 lines as if the man had suffered and had passed through 
 memorable experiences. He wore no beard or whiskers, but 
 an iron-gray mustache gave a distinguished cast to a visage 
 whose habitual expression was rather cold and haughty. 
 
 Mara had time to note these characteristics before she 
 was summoned to Mrs. Bodine's apartment. Although the 
 day was mild, the old lady, wrapped in shawls, sat by an 
 open fire, and her wrinkled face lighted up with pleasure as 
 the girl came towards her. Indeed, there was something 
 like excitement in her manner as she kissed her guest and 
 said, " Bring your chair close, my dear, so I can see you 
 and hold your hand. I've something to tell you which I 
 reckon will interest you almost as much as it does me." 
 
 When Mara was seated in a low chair she resumed, " How 
 much you would look like your father, child, if your eyes 
 were bright and laughing instead of being so large and sad ! 
 Well, well, there has been enough to make all our eyes sad, 
 and you, poor child, have had more than enough. Yet you 
 are good and brave, my dear. So far from sitting down in 
 
CAPTAIN BODINE. IO5 
 
 helpless grieving, you are taking care of yourself and have 
 time to think of an old woman like me. Poor Mrs. Hunter ! 
 what would she do without you ? She, like so many of us, 
 has been blighted and stranded, and she would have been 
 worse off than I if it had not been for you, for I have a little 
 left, but oh, it is so little. Never did I wish it were more so 
 much as I do now. You must be patient with me, child. I 
 sit here so much alone that it is a godsend to have some one 
 to talk to, and you are the very one I wanted to see. I was 
 going to send for you, for I knew you would like to see my 
 guests. My cousin and his daughter are visiting me, and I 
 wish they could stay with me always. I knew you would 
 hke to meet Captain Bodine " — 
 
 " Captain Bodine ! " exclaimed Mara, " why, that is the 
 name of an officer who used to be in my father's regiment." 
 
 " He is the very same, my dear." 
 
 "Was that he in the parlor?" Mara asked, trembHng 
 with excitement. 
 
 " Yes, he and his daughter arrived only yesterday." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mara, " I've received letters from him, and 
 I've longed to see him for years. Can I not go down and 
 speak to him at once ? I surely do not need any introduc- 
 tion to the old friend of my father." 
 
 " No, my dear, no indeed. You need no formal introduc- 
 tion to any guest or relative of mine. Besides, he knows 
 you well and all about you, although he has never seen you 
 since you were a child. It would please him gready to have 
 you go down and speak to him at once, for he would know 
 that I would tell you about his being here, and he might 
 think you cold or formal if you delayed seeing him. I'm 
 glad you feel so, my dear, but you must come back and sit 
 with me a while before you go home. I'll ring for Hannah 
 and have a nice little feast while you are down stairs." 
 
 Mara scrupulously veiled her impatience until her kind, 
 
I06 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 garrulous friend was through, and then stole with swift, noise- 
 less tread to the parlor below. Standing in the doorway she 
 saw that the object of her quest was absorbed in his book. 
 " He is my ideal of the soldier of that day," she thought. 
 " How truly he represents us, with his sad, proud face and 
 mutilated body ! " In a sort of awe she hesitated a moment 
 and then said timidly, " Captain Bodine." 
 
 He looked up quickly, and seeing Mara's lustrous eyes 
 and flushed face divined instantly who she was. 
 
 "Is not this Miss Wallingford ? " he asked, his face ex- 
 pressing glad anticipation as he began to gather up his 
 crutches. 
 
 " Do not rise," cried Mara coming forward instandy with 
 outstretched hands. 
 
 But he was on his crutches, and said feelingly, " Heaven 
 forbid that I should receive the daughter of my old friend 
 with so litde respect." He took the girl's face into his 
 hands, and looked earnesdy into her eyes. "Yes," he re- 
 sumed gently, "you are Sidney Wallingford's child. God 
 bless you, my dear," and he kissed her lightly on the fore- 
 head. " You won't mind this from an old comrade of your 
 father," he said as he made her take his chair and sat down 
 near her. " We have been bereft of so much that what 
 remains has become very precious. I know all about you, 
 Mara." 
 
 Tears were in the girl's eyes as she replied falteringly, 
 " And I know of you, sir, and have longed to meet you. You 
 can scarcely know how much your words mean to me when 
 you say you were my father's comrade and friend. I knew 
 this, but it seems more real to me now, and I feel that 
 seeing you is coming as near as I can to seeing him." 
 
 " My poor child ! Would to God that he had lived, for 
 you would have been his pride and solace, as my daughter 
 is to me. When I saw you last you were a little black-eyed 
 
CAPTAIN BODINE. IO7 
 
 girl and happily did not understand your loss, although you 
 looked as if you did. I never thought so many years would 
 pass before I saw you again, but we have had to fight some 
 of our hardest battles since the war," and he sighed deeply. 
 
 "How soon can I meet your daughter?" Mara asked, 
 her eyes full of sympathy. 
 
 "■ Very soon. I urged her to take a walk on the Battery, 
 for she has not been very well of late. I said I knew all 
 about you, as I have been told of your loyalty and brave 
 efforts and your kindness to my aged cousin, but now that 
 I see you, I feel that I know very little. Your face is full 
 of stories, my dear child. You are young, and yet you look 
 as if the memories of the past had made you far older than 
 your years warrant. That is the trouble with us. We have 
 much more to look back upon than to look forward to. 
 Yet it should not be so with you." 
 
 " It can scarcely be otherwise," Mara answered sadly j 
 " you have touched the very core of our trouble, and I sup- 
 pose it is the trouble with us all who are so closely linked 
 with the past, — we have so little to look forward to. But 
 now that you can tell me about my father the past seems so 
 near and real that I do not wish to think about any thing 
 else." 
 
 Time sped rapidly as Captain Bodine recalled the scenes 
 and incidents of his life which were associated with his old 
 commander, and Mara listened with an absorbed, tearful 
 interest which touched him deeply. The proud, reserved 
 expression of his face had passed away utterly, and the girl 
 appreciated the change. His sympathy, the gentleness of 
 his tones and the profound respect which was blended with 
 his paternal manner made her feel that her father's friend 
 was already her friend in a very near and sacred sense. 
 While he was reserved about his own affairs and she also 
 was conscious of a secret of which she could never speak, 
 
108 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 they had so much in common that she felt that they could 
 talk for hours. But the old lady in the apartment above 
 grew impatient, and at last Hannah stood courtesying in the 
 door as she said, " Missus p'sent her compl'ments an' say 
 would be glad to see you." 
 
 "There, I've been selfish and thoughtless," said Captain 
 Bodine, " but I shall see you again, for it will give Ella and 
 me great pleasure to call upon you." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, we must meet often," Mara added earnestly. 
 " I hope you are going to make a long stay in Charleston." 
 
 '* I scarcely know," he replied, and again there was an 
 involuntary sigh ; " but I must keep vou no longer." 
 
ALL GIRLS together:' IOQ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ALL GIRLS TOGETHER. 
 
 " T'M not going to lose my visit altogether," said Mrs. 
 i Bodine, when Mara returned with an apology. " If 
 the captain has only one leg, he can get out and around 
 better than I can. Indeed it is wonderful how he does get 
 around. He is the spryest man on crutches I ever saw, 
 and you know, my dear, I've seen a good many. In that 
 dreadful war we were only too glad to get our men back, 
 what was left of them, and if an arm or a leg were missing 
 we welcomed them all the more, but we couldn't give much 
 more than a welcome. It was wreck and ruin on every 
 side. If we had our own the captain would be well off, as 
 you and I would be, but he is poor ; poorer than most of us. 
 In fact, he hasn't any thing. He wasn't one of those supple 
 jointed men who could conform to the times, and he wasn't 
 brought up to make his living by thrifty ways. But he did 
 his best, poor boy, he did his best. Would you like to hear 
 more about him?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed," Mara rephed, "you can't know how 
 deeply I am interested in him and his daughter. He was 
 my father's comrade in arms, his friend and follower. You 
 must pardon me for staying away so long, but when he 
 began talking of my fatlier I felt as if I could listen forever, 
 you know. I honor him all the more because he is poor." 
 
 "Yes, my dear, I know. Most of us are learning the 
 hard lessons of poverty. I call him a boy because it seems 
 
no THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 only the other day he was a boy and a handsome one, too. 
 He used to visit us here, and was so full of fun and frolic ! 
 But he has had enough to sober him, poor fellow. He was 
 scarcely more than a boy when the war began, but he was 
 among the first to enlist, and, like your father, he was a 
 private soldier at first. He soon received a commission in 
 the same regiment of which your father became colonel, 
 and no doubt would have reached a much higher rank if 
 he had not lost his leg. He met with this loss before your 
 brave father was killed, but I suppose he told you. 
 
 " Yes," faltered Mara, " he told me why he was not with 
 my father at the last." 
 
 " Yes, if he could he would have been with him and died 
 with him, and sometimes I almost think he wishes that such 
 had been his fate, he has suffered so much. During the 
 remainder of the war he had command of inland positions 
 which did not require marching, and he always made the 
 record of a brave, high-minded officer. After the war he 
 married a lovely girl, and tried to keep the old plantation ; 
 but his capital was gone, taxes were high, the negroes 
 wouldn't work, and I suppose he and his wife didn't know 
 how how to practise close economy, and so the place had to 
 be sold. It didn't bring enough to pay the mortgages. It 
 cut him to the quick to part with the old plantation on 
 which the family had lived for generations, but far worse 
 was soon to follow, for his wife died, and that nearly broke 
 his heart. Since that time he has lived in Georgia with his 
 only child, Ella, getting such occupation as he could, — 
 office work of various kinds, but I suppose his reserved, 
 gloomy ways rendered him unpopular ; and even our own 
 people, when it comes to business, prefer an active man who 
 has a ready word for every one. I conjecture much of this, 
 for he is not inclined to talk about himself. Poor as I am, 
 I'm glad they accepted my invitation, and I mean to do all 
 
''ALL GIRLS together:' III 
 
 in my power to get him employment here. I have a little 
 influence yet with some people, and perhaps a place can be 
 found or made for him. He and his daughter don't require 
 very much, and God knows I'd share my last crust with 
 them, and," she concluded with a little apologetic laugh, "it 
 is almost like sharing a crust." 
 
 " Oh, he will -get employment," cried Mara enthusiasti- 
 cally ; " his disabled condition in itself will plead eloquently 
 for him. How old is Ella? " 
 
 " She must be eighteen or thereabouts." 
 
 " I wonder if she wouldn't like to help me? " 
 
 "Help you? She'd be delighted. But then, my dear, 
 you must not be carried away by your generous feeling. 
 We're all proud of you because you have struck out so 
 bravely for yourself; but surely you have burdens enough 
 already." * 
 
 " Perhaps Ella can lighten my burden, and I hers ; but it 
 is very homely, humble work." 
 
 "You dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Bodine, with her 
 little chirruping laugh, " you are not a very homely, humble 
 doer of the work. I reckon there's no prouder girl in 
 town. But that's the way it is with the captain and all of 
 us in fact. The poorer we are, the prouder we are. Well, 
 well, our pride is about all we can keep in these times. You 
 need have no fear, however, that Ella will hesitate in help-« 
 ing you, except as she may very naturally think herself 
 incompetent, or that you are wronging yourself in trying to 
 help her." 
 
 " We'll see about it," Mara remarked thoughtfully ; " I 
 will invite her to spend a morning with me, and then she 
 cair obtain a practical idea of my work. She might not like 
 it at all, or she might like to do something else much better, 
 and so would be embarrassed if I asked her to help me, 
 disliking to refuse, and yet wishing to do so." 
 
112 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 "Ah, well," said Mrs. Bodine smiling; "we have some 
 right to think ourselves * quaHty ' still, as old Hannah calls 
 us. We are just as considerate of one another's feelings as 
 if we were all Royal Highnesses. Have it your o\vn way, 
 my dear, if you truly think Ella can be of service to you. I 
 reckon you need help, for you don't look as well as when 
 I saw you last." 
 
 " Yes," acquiesced Mara, " I think I do need help. Aun' 
 Sheba's granddaughter is assisting her, and a good deal 
 more could be sold if it were properly prepared. It would 
 be a great happiness if my need opened the way for Ella, 
 for I feel it would please my father as much as it would 
 please me if I could be of service to his old friend and his 
 daughter." 
 
 " I have heard, dear, that you are always trying to do 
 what you thought your father and mother would like." 
 
 " God forbid I should do otherwise," said the girl 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Well, perhaps they know all about it," said the old lady, 
 wiping a tear from her eye. " How close our troubles bring 
 us together. You are lonely for your parents, and I am 
 lonely for my husband and children." 
 
 " And yet you are braver and more cheerful than I," 
 responded Mara ; " I was so sad and discouraged over the 
 future this afternoon, that I came to you, thinking that you 
 might unconsciously teach me patience and courage. Truly 
 I was guided, for you face every thing like a soldier. Then 
 in meeting Captain Bodine, I seem to have been brought 
 nearer my father than ever before. I can't hear about him 
 without tears, yet I would turn from any pleasure in the 
 world to hear about him. What happiness if he had lived 
 and I could help him in some way ! " 
 
 " Well, my dear, we all have our own way of bearing our 
 burdens, and I often wonder whether I have done more 
 
"ALL GIRLS TOGETHERr II3 
 
 laughing or crying in my life. It has been one or the other 
 most of the time. I have always thanked the Lord that when 
 the pain or the trouble was not too severe, I could laugh, 
 and soon I know all tears will be wiped away. It's harder 
 for you, my dear ; it is harder for you than me. My voyage 
 has been long and stormy ; husband, sons, and the cause for 
 which they died all lost ; but I'm coming into the harbor. 
 You've got your voyage before you. But take courage. 
 Who knows but that your early days may be your darkest 
 days. They can't always be dark when you are so ready to 
 brighten the lives of others. There, I hear Ella's voice." 
 
 A moment later there was a knock at the door, and Ella 
 Bodine entered. We have all seen bright-hued flowers 
 growing in shaded places, and among cold, grim rocks. 
 Such brightness had the young girl who now appears upon 
 the scene of our story. One speedily felt that its cause was 
 not in externals, but that it resulted from inherent qualities. 
 As with Mara, there had been much in her young life sad 
 and hard to endure. She had not surmounted her trouble 
 by shallowness of soul or callousness, but rather by a 
 spiritual buoyancy which kept her above the dark waves, 
 and enabled her to enjoy all the sunshine vouchsafed. Yet, 
 unlike her father and Mara, she lived keenly in the present. 
 She sympathized truly and honestly with her father, and in a 
 large measure intelligently recognized the nature of the deep 
 shadows projected across his life from the past, but it was 
 her disposition to keep as near to him as possible and yet 
 remain just beyond the shadows. She possessed a whole- 
 some common sense which taught her that the shadows 
 were not hers and that they were not good for her father ; 
 so she was ever making inroads upon them, beguiling him 
 into a smile, surprising him into a laugh, — in brief, pre- 
 venting the shadows from deepening into that gloom which 
 is dangerous to bodily and spiritual health. She made 
 
114 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 his small earnings go a great way, and banished from his 
 life the sordidness of poverty. God outlines an angel in 
 many a woman's heart, and often privations and sorrow, more 
 surely than luxury, fill out the divine sketch. In the instance 
 of Ella Bodine the angelic was so sweetly and inextricably 
 interwoven with all that was human, that to mortal compre- 
 hension she was better than a wilderness of conventional 
 angels. She was depressed now under one of the few forms 
 of adversity that could cast her down. Her father was 
 out of employment, their slender income had ceased, and 
 they were dependent. She felt this cruel position all the 
 more because Mrs. Bodine out of her poverty gave her 
 hospitality so unstintedly and ungrudgingly. 
 
 To the sensitive, fine-natured girl it was like feeding upon 
 the life of another, and that other a generous friend. 
 
 During her walk a score of schemes to earn money had 
 presented themselves to her inexperienced mind, but her 
 hands had learned only how to eke out a small salary and to 
 minister to her father. She had come home resolute to do 
 something, but troubled because she knew not what to do. 
 
 She paused a moment on the threshold of Mrs. Bodine's 
 apartment, and looked questioningly at Mara, at the same 
 time half divining who she was. 
 
 " Come along, Ella," cried Mrs. Bodine, with a little joy- 
 ous laugh of anticipation, " and kiss one of your best friends 
 although you never saw her before." 
 
 "Is it Mara? " 
 
 Mara's smile and swift approach answered her question.. 
 In an instant the two girls were in each other's arms, theii 
 warm Southern hearts touched by the electric fire of sym- 
 pathy and mutual uncferstanding. Mrs. Bodine clapped 
 her little, thin hands and cried, " Oh, that's fine Southern 
 girls have not died out yet. Why, even my old withered 
 heart had one of the most delicious thrills it ever experi- 
 
"ALL GIRLS TOGETHER." - II5 
 
 enced. Now, my dears, come and sit beside me and get 
 acquainted." 
 
 '' Oh, I know you already, Mara Wallingford," said Ella 
 with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " And I am learning to know you, Ella. I know you 
 already well enough to love you." 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Mrs. Bodine, raising her hands in a 
 comic gesture, "I reckon the ice is broken between you." 
 They all laughed at this sally, and Mara was so cheered, her 
 nerves all tingling with excitement, that she could scarcely 
 believe herself to be the half- despairing girl of a few hours 
 before. " Now come," resumed Mrs. Bodine, " let us all be 
 girls together and have a good talk. At this rate I'll soon be 
 younger than either of you. I haven't had my share yet. 
 Do you believe it, Ella? Mara has been down stairs petting 
 your father for an hour." 
 
 " I wonder where he is. He wasn't in the parlor when I 
 came in." 
 
 " I reckon he followed your good example and went out 
 for a walk. I heard the door shut. Well, you girls make a 
 picture that it does my old eyes good to look at. Here's 
 Mara with her creamy white skin and eyes as lustrous now 
 as our Southern skies when full of stars, but sometimes, oh 
 so sad and dark. Dear child, I wish I could take the gloom 
 all out of them, for then I could think your heart was hght. 
 But I know how it is ; I know. Your mother gave you her 
 sad heart when she gave you life, but you have your father's 
 strength and courage, my dear, and you will never give up. 
 And here is Ella with complexion of roses and snow and 
 eyes like violets with the morning dew still on them, — for- 
 give an old woman's flowery speech, for that's the way we 
 used to talk when I was young, — yes, here is Ella, a little 
 peach blossom, yet brimming over with the wish to become a 
 big, luscious peach. Lor, Lor, — oh fie ! Am I saying naughty 
 
Il6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 words? But then, my dears, you know my husband was a 
 naval officer, and no man ever swore more piously than he. 
 Bad words never sounded bad to me when he spoke them, 
 — he was such a good Christian ! and he always treated me 
 as he expected to be treated when he was on deck. I reckon 
 that I and the Commodore are the only ones that ever 
 ordered him around," and the old lady cried and laughed at 
 the same time, while the faces of her young companions 
 were like flowers brightened by the sun while still wet with 
 dew. 
 
 " Let me see," continued the old lady, '' where was I 
 when I began to swear a little ; just a little, you know. It is 
 a sort of tribute to my husband, and so can't be very wicked. 
 Oh, I remember, I was thinking what fun it would have 
 been to chaperone you two girls at one of our grand balls 
 in the good old times. I would sail around like a great 
 ship of the line, convoying two of the trimmest little crafts 
 that ever floated, and all the pirates, I mean gallant young 
 men, my dears, would hover near, trying to cut you out right 
 under my guns, or nose, as land-lubbers would say. Well, 
 well, either of you could lead a score of them a chase before 
 you signed articles of unconditional surrender," and Mrs, 
 Bodine leaned back in her chair and laughed in her silvery 
 little bird-like twitter. The girls laughed with her, pleased 
 in spite of themselves with visions that, both in their nature 
 and by tradition, accorded with the young romantic period 
 of life. But memory speedily began to restore gravity to 
 Mara's face. Mrs. Bodine recognized this, and her own 
 face grew gentle and sorrowful. Laying a hand on each of 
 the girls' heads she resumed, " Do not think I am a frivolous 
 old woman because I run on so. I do not forget the present 
 any more than Mara, I see, cannot. Dear children, the 
 circumstances of your lot render you as burdened and, in 
 some ways, almost as old as I am. Ella can forget easier 
 
''ALL GLRLS TOGETHERP WJ 
 
 than you, Mara, but that is because God has put brightness 
 into her heart. Let us all face the truth together. I am 
 long past being an elegant matron. I am only a poor old 
 childless widow with but a few more days of feebleness and 
 suffering before me, yet I do not sigh in a bitter, murmuring 
 spirit. Old as I am, I am still God's little child, and some- 
 times I think this truth makes me as mirthful as a child. 
 When the pain is hardest to bear, when the past, oh, the 
 past — with all its immeasurable losses, begins to crush my 
 very soul, I turn my dim eyes upward and repeat to myself, 
 'There is a Heaven of eternal rest and joy,' and so I grow 
 serene in my waiting. I have always loved the bright, pleas- 
 ant things of this world, — it was my nature to do so, — 
 but He who bears the burdens and heartbreak of the whole 
 world has gently lifted my love up to Him. Didn't He have 
 compassion on the widow of Nain, and say to her, ' Weep 
 not'? My gallant husband, my brave boys and this poor 
 little widow are all in His hands, and I try to obey His gentle 
 command not to weep except sometimes when I can't help 
 it and He knows I can't." 
 
 The two girls with their heads in her lap were crying 
 softly from sympathy. With light, caressing touches to each 
 the old lady continued, " Ella, my dear, you are like me in 
 some respects. You too, love the bright pleasant things of 
 this world, and you are so divinely blessed with a buoyancy 
 of heart that you will make what is hard and humdrum 
 bright for yourself and others. You will embroider life with 
 sunshine if there is any sunshine at all. Like myself, you will 
 be able to smile and laugh whenever the pain is not too 
 severe, yet I fear it will be very hard sometimes. But, as 
 my husband would say, you are taut, trim and well ballasted, 
 and good for a long, safe voyage. You have obeyed the 
 Fifth Commandment, and its promise is yours. 
 
 " Mara, dear child, my heart, for some reason, aches for 
 
Il8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 you, I knew and loved your grandfather and your father 
 and mother. You were born into a heritage of bitterness 
 and sorrow, and I fear Mrs. Hunter, with all her good 
 qualities, was not so constituted as to be able to counteract 
 inherited tendencies. I wish I could have brought you up, 
 for then we could have cried or laughed together over what 
 happened. 
 
 "But you have learned to repress and to brood — two 
 dangerous habits. You want to do some great thing, and 
 alas ! there is seldom a great thing which we poor women 
 can do. You are not impelled by ambition or a desire for 
 notoriety, but by a sort of passion for self-sacrifice. 
 
 " If you had lived twenty odd years ago no soldier of the 
 South could have been braver or more devoted. You are 
 not satisfied with mere living and making the best of life 
 as it is, I don't know why, but I feel that there are depths 
 in your heart which no one understands. Be careful, dear 
 child, and be patient. Don't yield to some morbid idea 
 of duty, or be involved in some chimerical plan of an 
 achievement, 
 
 " Learn Ella's philosophy, and be as content with sunshine 
 and daily duty as possible. Ella will do this unconsciously, 
 my dear ; you will have to do it consciously, just as a sick 
 man seeks health. But you will both have to go forward 
 and meet woman's lot. I was once a young girl, fancy free, 
 like you. How much has happened since ! I now feel like 
 an old hen that would like to gather you both under her 
 wing in shelter from all trouble," and again her little laugh 
 chimed out while she wiped away the tears which sprang 
 from her motherly heart. 
 
 The thump of Captain Bodine's crutches was heard on 
 the stair. " Bring him in," said Mrs. Bodine, mopping her 
 eyes vigorously, 
 
 Ella ran to the door and admitted him, and then, with a 
 
''ALL GIRLS together:' 1 19 
 
 pretty custom she had, took away a crutch, and substituting 
 one of her own round shoulders supported him to a large 
 arm-chair. The low western sun flooded the room with 
 light. He looked questioningly at the dewy eyes of the 
 two girls and at the evidences of emotion which Mrs. Bodine 
 had not been fully able to remove, 
 
 "Well," said he, "what part am I to have in this mournful 
 occasion? " 
 
 Ella stood beside him with her arm about his neck, and 
 was about to speak, when Mrs. Bodine said quickly in her 
 piquant way, " You are to be chief mourner," 
 
 " A role for which I am peculiarly fitted," he replied 
 sadly, not catching her humor. 
 
 " Oh, papa, you don't understand," cried Ella, " we have 
 been having just a heavenly time." 
 
 He looked at Mara as she stood beside the old lady, and 
 his very soul was touched by the sympathy expressed for 
 him in her beautiful eyes. Standing there, enveloped in 
 sunshine, it seemed to him that no angel of God could 
 regard him more kindly. It was not pity, but rather honor, 
 affection and that deep commiseration of which but few 
 women are capable. He felt instinctively that she knew all 
 and that her woman's heart was suffering vicariously with him 
 and for him. The very air was electrical with deep human 
 feeling, and he, yielding to a strong impulse scarcely under- 
 stood, said earnestly, " God bless you, Mara Wallingford." 
 
 Sensible old Mrs. Bodine felt that it was time to come 
 back to every-day life, so she said promptly, " Yes, and He 
 is going to bless her, and bless us all. If there is any 
 mourning to be done on this occasion you must do it. We 
 three girls have been having a good talk, and are the better 
 for it. That's the demmed total, — oh, fie ! there I am at 
 it again. Well, Cousin Hugh, to take you into our entire 
 confidence, we have been facing things and have arrived 
 
I20 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 at several conclusions, one of which is, — now Ella, shut 
 your ears, — that you have one of the best daughters in the 
 world, and that she and Mara have quite broken the ice 
 between them and are going to be very good friends, and 
 I was saying how I would like to convoy two such girls in 
 one of our ball-rooms in the good old times, — oh, well, 
 we have just been having a long lingo as girls will when 
 they get together." 
 
 Captain Bodine was gifted with tact and a quick apprecia- 
 tion. He understood the old lady and her purpose. 
 
 " Cousin Sophy," he said, " you are just the same as 
 when, a boy, I used to visit you, — tears and smiles close 
 together. Well, I believe that Heaven comes down very 
 near when you three girls get together." 
 
 The old lady lay back in her chair and laughed heartily. 
 *' Oh, Ella, if you only knew what a mischievous boy your 
 father was once ! But, there, we have had enough of the 
 past and the future for one day. Mara, my dear, you must 
 stay and banquet with us. No, no, no, I won't hear any 
 excuse. When I once get on quarter-deck every one must 
 obey orders. Ella, direct Hannah to spread the festive 
 board. You and Mara can lend a hand, and you can put 
 on all we have in five minutes. To think that I should 
 have eaten that delicious jelly you brought, greedy old 
 cormorant that I am ! " 
 
 A few moments later Mara supported the old lady down 
 to the dining-room, and, though the viands were few and 
 meagre, the banqueters, to say the least, were not common- 
 place. Mara said nothing of her plan, but Ella was invited 
 to spend the following morning with her. In the late linger- 
 ing twilight Captain Bodine escorted the young girl home- 
 On the way thither they came plump upon Owen Clancy. 
 He glanced keenly from one to the other as he lifted his 
 hat. Mara's only response was a slight bow. 
 
TfFO LITTLE BAKERS. 121 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TWO LITTLE BAKERS. 
 
 "ARA led Captain Bodine up to their little parlor and 
 introduced him to Mrs. Hunter, who received him 
 most cordially, feeling that in him she recognized a con- 
 genial spirit. He treated her with the respect and old-time 
 courtesy which she said was " so truly Southern." Their 
 feelings and beliefs touched closely at several points, yet 
 they were very different in their essential characteristics. 
 Poor Mrs. Hunter had been limited by nature and education. 
 She could not help being narrow in all her views ; she was 
 scarcely less able to dismiss her intense, bitter prejudices. 
 She was quite incapable of reasoning herself into her mental 
 position ; it was simply the inevitable result of her circum- 
 stances, her lot and her own temperament. Captain Bodine 
 was a proud man, as proud towards himself as towards 
 others. The cause for which he and his kindred had suffered 
 and lost so much had been sacred, and therefore it ever 
 would be sacred. To change his views, to begin revising 
 his opinions, would be to stultify himself and to reflect dis- 
 honor on his comrades in arms who had perished. In the 
 very depths of his young, ardent spirit he had once devoted 
 himself to the South ; he had listened reverendy to prayers 
 from the pulpit that God would bless the Southern armies ; 
 he had never entered into battle without petitions to Heaven, 
 not that he might escape, but that the " Northern invader " 
 might be overcome ; his uniform had been stained with 
 
122 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 blood again and again as he held dying comrades in his 
 arms and spoke words of cheer. In his more Hmited way, 
 he had the spirit of " Stonewall " Jackson. It was impossible 
 for a man with his nature and with his memories to argue 
 the whole matter over coolly and recognize misleading errors. 
 'During his youth and early manhood his feehngs had been 
 so intense as to be volcanic, and that feeling, like lava, had 
 cooled off into its present unchangeable forms and sombre 
 hues. What was bitterness and almost spite in Mrs. Hunter 
 was a deep, abiding sorrow in his heart, a great dream un- 
 fulfilled, a cause, lofty because so idealized, in support of 
 which he often saw in fancy, when alone, spectral thousands 
 in gray, marching as he once had seen them in actual life. 
 That all had been in vain, was to him one of those myste- 
 rious providences to which he could only bow his head in 
 mournful resignation, in patient endurance. He had no 
 hate for the North, for he was broad enough in mind to 
 recognize that it saw the question from its own point of view, 
 and, as a soldier, he knew that its men had fought gallantly. 
 But the North's side of the question was not his side. He 
 had been conquered in arms but not convinced in spirit. 
 While he had respect and even admiration for many of his 
 old foes, and malice towards none, he still felt that there 
 was a bridgeless chasm between them, and, by the instincts 
 of his nature, he kept himself aloof. If he could perform 
 an act of kindness to a Northerner he would do so unhesi- 
 tatingly ; then he would turn away with the impulse of an 
 alien. He had no ambitious schemes or hopes for the 
 future ; he had buried the " lost cause " as he had buried 
 his wife, with a grief that was too deep for tears. He had 
 come to value Ufe only for Ella's sake, and he tried to do 
 his best from a soldier-like and Christian sense of duty, until 
 he too could join his old comrades in arms. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter could not comprehend such a man, and he 
 
TIVO LITTLE BAKERS. 1 23 
 
 gave to her but the casual, respectful sympathy which he 
 thought due to a gentlewoman who had lost much like so 
 many other thousands in the South. After a brief call he 
 hobbled away on his •■ crutches, forgetting Mrs. Hunter and, 
 indeed, almost every thing in the deep interest excited by 
 Mara, the daughter of his old friend. "Would to God," he 
 muttered, " that Sidney Wallingford could have lived and 
 seen that girl look at him as she looked at me to-day." 
 
 Soon after Captain Bodine's departure, Mara pleaded 
 fatigue and retired to her room, promising to answer her 
 aunt's many questions on the morrow. She was very sad 
 and discouraged with herself, and yet she had not the 
 despairing sense of the utter futihty of her life which had 
 oppressed her when she started out in the early afternoon. 
 
 She had become so absorbed and interested by the inci- 
 dents and experiences of her visit as to be almost happy. 
 Just as she had attained a condition of mind which had not 
 blessed her for months, she must meet Owen Clancy. With 
 a sort of inward rage and wonder, she asked herself, " Why 
 did my heart flutter so ? Why did every nerve in my body 
 tingle ? He is nothing to me and never can be, yet, when 
 he passed, a spirit from heaven could hardly have moved 
 me more. What is his mysterious power which I cannot 
 eradicate? Oh, oh, was not my hfe hard enough before? 
 Must I go on, hiding this bitter secret? fighting this hope- 
 less and seemingly endless fight? Well, well, thank God 
 for this day, after all. In Ella Bodine and her father I have 
 found friends who will occupy my thoughts and become 
 incentives which I did not possess before. Dear father, 
 my own dear, dead, soldier father, it would please you to 
 have me do something for your old friend." 
 
 The next morning was bright and sunny, and, after an 
 early breakfast, Mara was in the kitchen, with all the ingre- 
 dients of the dainties she so skilfully produced, spread out 
 
124 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 upon the tables. Ella had been asked to come early ; her 
 father had escorted her to Mara's residence, and then gone 
 away on an errand of his own. 
 
 The young girl was greeted with a warmth which made 
 her at home at once, and proved the experiences of the 
 previous afternoon were not the result of mood or passing 
 sentiment. There was a depth in Mara's eyes and a firmness 
 about her mouth and chin which did not indicate changing 
 and unreasoning " moods and tenses." In the clearer, 
 calmer thought of the morning all her kind purposes towards 
 Captain Bodine and Ella had been strengthened, and she 
 also believed more fully that by interesting herself in them 
 she would find the best antidote for her own trouble. 
 
 Ella had been welcomed by Mrs. Hunter, and now, as she 
 sat in the little sun-lighted kitchen, there was neither past 
 nor future to her. The present scene, with its simple, 
 homely details, was all absorbing. 
 
 It meant very much to the girl, for she saw how Mara 
 was achieving independence, and by work, too, which 
 housekeeping for her father enabled her to understand 
 better than any other. Mara's pulses were also quickened, 
 for she understood the eager, intelligent glances of her 
 friend. For a few moments, Ella, as company, felt compelled 
 to maintain the quiet position of spectator ; then overborne, 
 she sprung up exclaiming, " Oh, Mara, dear, do give me an 
 apron and let me help you. I'd have such a jolly forenoon ! " 
 
 " Why, certainly, Ella, if it would give you pleasure." 
 
 The article was produced, and, with a sigh of deep con- 
 tent, the girl tied it around a waist by no means waspish. 
 Then off came the little cuffs, and up the sleeves were rolled 
 to the shoulder. 
 
 " Ella, what lovely arms you have ! If I were a man I 
 should be distracted by such a pair of arms." 
 
 "Well," remarked the girl, looking at them complacently, 
 
TPFO LITLLE BAKERS. 125 
 
 " they'd be strong enough to help a man that I cared suffi- 
 ciently for to marry, but I haven't seen that man yet, and I 
 hope his lordship will keep his distance indefinitely, — till 
 I have more time to bother with him and his distractions." 
 
 " Is your time, then, so completely occupied? " 
 
 " It isn't occupied at all, and that's the plague of it. But 
 I reckon it soon will be," she added with an emphatic little 
 nod. " Papa shall learn that I can do something more for 
 him than cook, and your example has fired my ambition. 
 I'll ransack this town till I find something to do that will 
 bring money. Dear old Mrs. Bodine ! wasn't she perfectly 
 enchanting yesterday? Do you think I can be content to 
 hve in idleness on her slender means? No, indeed. I'd 
 buy a scrubbing-brush first. Oh, isn't this fun?" and the 
 flour was already up to her elbows. 
 
 " Oh, Ella, dear, I'd feel just as you do if I had a father 
 to work for," 
 
 " Now, Mara, don't talk so, or I'll put my floury arms 
 right about your neck and spoil this dough with a flood of 
 briny tears. See, the sun is shining and there is work to be 
 done. Let's be jolly, and we'll have our little weep after 
 sundown. Oh, Mara, dear, I wish I could make you as 
 light-hearted as I am. I used to think it was almost wicked 
 for me to be so light-hearted, but I don't think so any more, 
 for I know I've kept papa from going down into horrid 
 depths of gloom. And then this irrepressible spirit of fun 
 helps me over ever so many hard places." She sprung back 
 into the middle of the room, and, striking a serio-comic atti- 
 tude, continued, "Here I am in no end of trouble — for ine. 
 There is a grief preying on my vitals that would make a 
 poet's hair stand on end should he attempt to portray it. 
 Were there a lover around the corner, sighing like a fur- 
 nace, I would say to him 'Avaunt! My heart is broken, 
 and do you think I can bother with you ? I am at odds 
 
126 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 with fate. I am in the most deplorable position into which 
 any human being can sink. I have nothing to do. But 
 here is a weapon by which one girl has conquered destiny," 
 and she brandished the roller with which she had been 
 pressing out the dough, "and I, too, shall find a sword 
 which will cut all the pesky knots of this snarled-up old 
 world. Then when I have achieved complete and lofty vic- 
 tory and independence, as you have, dear, I may say to the 
 lover around the corner, ' Step this way, sir, I must con- 
 sider first whether you would be agreeable to papa, and 
 then whether you would be agreeable to me and then — 
 Oh, what a little fool I am, and so many cookies to make. 
 Please don't send me home. I will work now like a 
 beaver," and her round white arms grew tense as she rolled 
 with a vigor that would almost flatten brickbats. 
 
 Mara stood at one side watching her with eyes that grew 
 wonderfully lustrous as was ever the case when she was 
 pleased or excited. Then she stole up behind Ella, and, 
 putting her arm around her neck, looked into her eyes as 
 she asked, "Wouldn't you like to help me? " 
 
 " Of course I like to help you," said Ella, turning with 
 surprise upon her friend. 
 
 " Now, Ella, be frank with me. Say no if you feel no. 
 Wouldn't you like to help me all the time and earn money 
 in this way?" 
 
 A slow deep flush overspread Ella's face as she stood for 
 a moment with downcast eyes as if oppressed with a sense 
 of shame. Then she said humbly, "Forgive me, Mara. 
 I've been very thoughtless. I didn't think you would take 
 my ranting as an appeal to your generous heart. Believe 
 me, Mara, I was not hinting to you that I might share in 
 the little you are earning so bravely. As if you had not 
 burdens enough already." 
 
 Mara never once removed her eyes from the girl's ingenu- 
 
TWO LITTLE BAKERS. 12/ 
 
 ous face and permitted her to reveal the unselfishness and 
 sacred pride of her nature ; then she said gently and firmly, 
 " No, Ella, I did not misunderstand you a moment, and I 
 want you to understand me. In one sense we have been 
 acquainted always, yet we have loved each other from per- 
 sonal knowledge but a few short hours. We Southern girls 
 need no apologies for our swift intuitions, our quick, warm 
 feelings. I had this on my mind as soon as Mrs. Bodine 
 told me about your being here, and I had quite set my heart 
 upon it as soon as I saw you. Ella dear, I need help ; I 
 have more than I can do. There is business enough to 
 support us both, and I had almost concluded to ask Aun' 
 Sheba to get me a helper. But what a delight it would be 
 to work with you ! " 
 
 Ella's face had been brightening as if gathering all the 
 sunshine in the spring sky, and she was about to speak 
 eagerly when Mara stopped her by a gesture. " Wait," she 
 said, " I did not say any thing of this last evening because 
 I was not sure you would like the work. If you do not like 
 it, you must be frank to tell me so. If you do enter on it 
 you must let me manage all in business-like ways, for I fear 
 that you, like Aun' Sheba, will be inclined towards very 
 loose accounts. You must be willing to take what I feel 
 that you should have, and there must be no generous insub- 
 ordination. Now you have the exact truth." 
 
 Ella's lip was quivering and her eyes were filling with 
 gathering tears. With a little quaver in her voice she 
 struggled hard to give a mirthful conclusion to the affair. 
 " I accept the position, ma'am," she faltered, making a 
 courtesy, then rushed into her friend's arms and sobbed, 
 " Oh, Mara, Mara, you have lifted such a burden from my 
 heart ! I have had many troubles, but somehow it seemed 
 that I couldn't bear this one, though I tried hard to keep 
 the pain to myself, — papa and I being dependent. And 
 
128 THE EARTH -TREMBLED. 
 
 then to have the whole trouble banished by working with 
 you in just the kind of work I like ! Oh, Mara, darling, 
 how can I ever thank you enough? " 
 
 " Good Lawd, honey, hab you heerd on any ob you'se 
 folks dyin'?" and Aun' Sheba's awed face and ample form 
 filled the doorway, with Vilet's wondering little visage peep- 
 ing around behind her. 
 
 Ella sprung away, and, turning her back on the new 
 comers, mopped her face vigorously with her floury apron. 
 
 " No, Aun' Sheba," replied Mara, smiling through her 
 tears, for Ella's strong emotion had unsealed the fountain 
 of her eyes, " I've only followed your good advice and 
 secured just the kind of help I need, the daughter of my 
 father's dear old friendj Captain Bodine. I reckon you re- 
 member him." 
 
 " Well now, de Lawd be bressed ! " ejaculated Aun' Sheba, 
 sitting down with her great basket at her feet. " 'Member 
 him ? Reckon I does. I kin jes' see de han'som boy as 
 he march away wid you'se fader. An' his little Missy is 
 you'se helper?" and she looked curiously at Ella, who was 
 still seeking to gain self-control. 
 
 The girl wheeled around with a face wonderfully stained 
 and streaked with flour and tears, and, ducking just such a 
 courtesy as Vilet would have made, said to Aun' Sheba, 
 " Yes'm. I'm the new hand. I'm a baker by trade." 
 
 Aun' Sheba's appreciation of humor was instantaneous, 
 and she sat back in her chair which shook and groaned 
 under her merriment. " Can't fool dis culled pusson," she 
 began at last. " You tink we doesn't keep up wid de times, 
 but we does. I'se had a bery int'restin' season wid ole 
 Hannah, who lib wid Mis' Bodine, bress her heart ! She's 
 quality yere on arth an' she gwine ter be quality in Hebin. 
 I knows a heap 'bout you an' you'se pa. I knowd him 
 'fore you did. I'se seed him in de gran' ole house in 
 
TIVO LITTLE BAKERS. 1 29 
 
 Meetin' Street a dinin' agin an' agin wid Marse Wallingford 
 an' my deah Misse Mary, den a bride, an' de gran' ole 
 Major Buggone. Oh, Missy Mara, ef you could ony seen 
 de ole major, you'd a seen a genywine So' Car'liny gen'l'man 
 ob wat dey call de ole school. Reckon dey habn't any 
 betteh schools now. An' young Marse Sidney, dat's you'se 
 fader, Missy, and young Marse Hugh, dat's you'se fader, 
 Missy Ella, dey was han'som as picters an' dey drink toasts 
 ter Missy Mary an' compliment her an' she'd blush like a 
 red rose ; an' wen dey all 'bout ter march away Missy Mary 
 kiss Marse Hugh jes as ef he her own broder. Lor, Lor, 
 how it all come back ter me ! Ef de Lawd don' bress de 
 pa'na'ship twix' you two gyurls den I jes dun beat." 
 
 Regardless of flour the two little bakers stood before Aun' 
 Sheika with arms around each other while she indulged in 
 reminiscences, then Ella, dashing away the tears that were 
 gathering again, said brusquely, "The new hand will have 
 to be boss if we go on this way. Aun' Sheba, we haven't 
 got a blessed thing ready to put in your basket." 
 
 " Many ban's make light wuck," said the old woman 
 sententiously. " I come yere arly dis mawnin' to gib Missy 
 Mara a lif ' kase she's been lookin' po'ly an' I hab her on 
 my min' anxious-like. But now, wid a larfin', sunshiny 
 little ting like you aroun'. Missy Ella, she'll soon be as peart 
 as a cricket. Vilet, chile, jes wait on me an' han' me tings, 
 an' dese two baskets'U be filled in de quickest jiffy you eber 
 see." 
 
 And so it turned out. Aunt She"ba was a veteran in the 
 field. Flour, sugar and spices seemed to recognize her 
 power and to come together as if she conjured. The stove 
 was fed like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, and the girls* 
 faces suggested peonies as the cake grew light and brown. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter, having finished her morning duties, entered 
 at last and looked with doubtful, troubled eyes upon the 
 
130 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 scene. Ella and Aun' Sheba's mirthful talk ceased, while 
 little Vilet regarded the tall, gray-haired woman with awe. 
 
 " Well, times have changed," said the lady, with a sort 
 of groan. •' Our home has become little better than a bake- 
 shop." 
 
 "Well, Missus," repHed Aun' Sheba, with the graven- 
 image expression that she often assumed before Mrs. Hunter, 
 " I'se know'd of homes dat hab become wuss dan bake- 
 shops. Neber in my bawn days hab I heerd on an active, 
 prosp'rous baker starbin'. Jes' you try dis cooky right fum 
 de stove an' see ef it doan melt in you'se mouf." And so 
 Aun' Sheba stopped Mrs. Hunter's lamentations and clinched 
 her argument. 
 
HONEST FOES. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HONEST FOES. 
 
 CAPTAIN BODINE'S errand was characteristic of the 
 man. He had accepted his cousin's hospitality and 
 sympathy most gratefully, and his quick apprehension had 
 gathered from some of her words that she was bent on 
 moving her little segment of " heaven and earth," to secure 
 him employment. While perfectly ready to receive any 
 gracious benefactions from heaven, where he justly believed 
 that the good old lady's power centred chiefly, he shrunk 
 from her terrestrial efforts in his behalf, knowing that they 
 must be made with very few exceptions among those who 
 were straitened and burdened already. He did not want 
 a " place made " for him and to feel that other Southern 
 men were practising a severer self-denial in order to do so. 
 With a grim, set look on his face as if he were going into 
 battle, he halted down town to the counting-room of one 
 of the wealthiest merchants and shippers in the City. He 
 knew this man only by reputation, and his friends would 
 regard an application for employment to Mr. Houghton, as 
 extraordinary as it certainly would be futile in their belief. 
 Mr. Houghton was quite as bitter against the Soiith in 
 general and Charleston in particular as Mrs. Hunter in her 
 enmity of all that savored of the North ; and, as human 
 nature goes, they both had much reason, or rather cause, 
 for their sentiments. The experiences of many of that day 
 were not conducive to calm historical estimates or to " the 
 
32 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Iiarity that suffereth long and is kind." Mr. Houghton 
 as a New England man, and hated slavery almost as in- 
 ;nsely as it deserved to be hated. The trouble with him 
 ad been that he did not separate the " pecuHar institution " 
 idely enough from the men who had been taught by their 
 -thers, mothers and ministers to believe in it. He made 
 allowances for his Southern fellow-citizens, as many 
 F them would make none for him. With him, it was 
 Slave-driver ; " with them " Abolitionist ; " yet he revered 
 id they revered the great-hearted planter of Mount 
 ernon. 
 
 When the war came at last to teach its terrible, yet essen- 
 al lessons, Mr. Houghton's eldest son was among the first 
 ) exercise the courage of the convictions which had always 
 een instilled into his mind. The grim New-Englander saw 
 im depart with eyes that, although tearless, were full of 
 yony ; also of hatred of all that threatened to cost him 
 ) much. His worst fears were fulfilled, for his son was 
 rowned in a night attack on Fort Sumter, and, in his 
 ither's morbid fancy, still lay in the mud and ooze at the 
 ottom of Charleston harbor. 
 
 The region gained a strange fascination for the stricken 
 lan, and he at last resolved to five near his son's watery 
 rave and take from the very hands of those whom he 
 ?garded as his boy's murderers the business which they 
 light regard as theirs naturally. So he removed to Charles- 
 )n, and employed his capital almost as an instrument of 
 ivenge. He did not do this ostentatiously, or in any way 
 lat would thwart his purpose or his desire to accumulate 
 loney, but his aims had come to be very generally recog- 
 ized, and he received as much hate as he entertained. Yet 
 is wealth and business capacity made him a power in com- 
 lercial circles, and Southern men, who would no more 
 dmit him to their homes than they would an ogre, dealt 
 
HONEST FOES. 1 33 
 
 with him in a cool pohteness that was but the counterpart 
 of his grim civiUty. 
 
 Captain Bodine knew that Mr. Houghton employed much 
 help in his business. He knew that the work of many of 
 his employees must be largely mechanical, requiring little or 
 no intercourse with the master, and the veteran reasoned, 
 " I could give him honest work, and he in return, pay me 
 my salary, we personally not being under the slightest social 
 obligation to each other. I'd rather \vring money from his 
 hard fist than take it from the open hand of a too generous 
 friend. I could then get bread for Ella and myself on the 
 simple ground of services rendered." 
 
 He therefore entered the outer office and asked for Mr. 
 Houghton. A clerk said, " He is very busy, sir. Cannot 
 I attend to your matter? " 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Houghton personally." 
 
 "Will you send in your card, sir? " 
 
 Captain Bodine took one from his pocket and wrote upon 
 it, " I wish to see you briefly on a personal matter." A 
 moment later he was ushered into Mr. Houghton's presence, 
 who was writing rapidly at his desk. Bodine stood still, 
 balancing himself on his crutches while the merchant fin- 
 ished the sentence. He looked at the hard wrinkled face 
 and shock of white hair with the same steady composure 
 that he had often faced a battery, as yet silent, but charged 
 with fiery missiles. 
 
 At last Mr. Houghton looked up with an impatient word 
 upon his lip, but checked it as he saw the striking figure 
 before him. For an instant the two men looked steadily 
 into each other's eyes. Ever since the war. Captain Bodine 
 had dressed in gray, and Mr, Houghton knew instinctively 
 that his visitor was a Confederate veteran. Then the cap- 
 tain's mutilation caught his attention, and his very manhood 
 compelled him to rise and stiffly offer a chair. 
 
54 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " You wished to see me personally," he remarked coldly. 
 I must request you to be brief, for I rarely allow myself 
 ' be disturbed at this hour." 
 
 " I will be brief. I merely come to ask if you have 
 nployment for a tolerably rapid, accurate penman?" 
 
 " Do you refer to yourself? " Mr. Houghton asked, his 
 •ow darkening. 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 " Do you think this a sufficient excuse for interrupting me 
 : this hour?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Again there was a fixed look in each other's eyes, and 
 [r. Houghton, with his large knowledge of men and affairs, 
 icame more distinctly aware that he was not dealing with 
 1 ordinary character. He put his thought in words, for at 
 mes he could be very blunt, and he was conscious of an 
 icipient antagonism to Bodine. 
 
 " You think you are a Southern gentleman, my equal, or 
 Lther, my superior, and entitled to my respectful considera- 
 on at any hour of the day." 
 
 " I certainly think I am a Southern gentleman. I do not 
 »r a moment think I am entitled to any thing from you." 
 
 " Yet you come and ask a favor with as much dignity as if 
 Du represented the whole State of South Carolina." 
 
 " No, sir, I represent only myself, and I have asked no 
 vor. There are many in your employ. I. supposed your 
 ilations with them were those of business, not of favor." 
 
 " Well, sir," replied Mr. Houghton, coldly, " there are 
 [enty with whom I can enter into such relations without 
 uploying an enemy of my country." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, I will bring this interview to a close at 
 ace, and then you can settle the matter in a word. Your 
 Duntry will never receive any harm from me. I am one of 
 conquered people, and I have now no ambition other than 
 
HONEST FOES. 135 
 
 that of earning bread for my child and myself. You have 
 dealings with Southern men and ex-Confederate soldiers. 
 You buy from them and sell to them. I, as one of them, 
 ask nothing more than that you should buy my labor for 
 what it is worth to you in dollars and cents. Regard m 
 labor as a bale of cotton, and the case is simple enough." 
 
 The lava-crust over the crater of the old man's heart was 
 breaking up, for the interview was recalling all the associa- 
 tions which centred around the death of his son. Captain 
 Bodine evoked a strange mixture of antipathy and interest. 
 There was something in the man which compelled his 
 respect, and yet he seemed the embodiment of the spirit 
 which the New-Englander could neither understand nor 
 tolerate. His thought had travelled far beyond business, 
 and he looked at his visitor with a certain wrathful curiosity. 
 After a moment he said abruptly, " You fought through the 
 war, I suppose?" 
 
 "I fought till I was disabled, sir, but I tried to do a 
 soldier's duty to the close of the war." 
 
 " Duty ! " ejaculated Mr. Houghton, with an accent of 
 indescribable bitterness. " You would have killed my son 
 if you had met him?" 
 
 " Certainly, if I met him in fair fight and he did not kill 
 me first." 
 
 " There wasn't any fair fight at all," cried the old man 
 passionately. "It was an atrocious, wicked, causeless 
 rebellion," 
 
 The dark blood mounted to Captain Bodine's very bro\\ 
 but he controlled himself by a strong effort, and only said 
 calmly, " That is your opinion." 
 
 The veins fairly stood out on Mr. Houghton's flushed, 
 usually pallid, face. " Do you know," he almost hissed, 
 " that my boy lies at the bottom of your accursed harboy 
 yonder?" 
 
136 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I did not know it, sir. I do know that the sons of 
 Southern fathers and the fathers themselves He beside him." 
 
 "But what was the use of it all? Damn the whole 
 horrible crime ! What was the use of it all? " 
 
 A weaker, smaller-brained man than Bodine would have 
 retorted vehemently in kind and left the place, but the cap- 
 tain was now on his mettle and metaphorically in the field 
 again, with the foe before him. What is more, he respected 
 his enemy. This Northern man did not belong to the ex- 
 governor Moses type. He was outspoken and sincere to 
 the heart's core in his convictions, and moreover that heart 
 was bleeding in father-love, from a wound that could never 
 be stanched. Bodine resolved to put all passion under his 
 feet, to hold his ground with the coolness and tenacity of a 
 general in a battle, and attain his purpose without the slight- 
 est personal compromise. His indomitable pride led him to 
 feel that he would rather work for this honest, implacable 
 foe than for any man in the city, because their relations 
 would be so purely those of business, and to bring him 
 to terms now would be a triumph over which he could 
 inwardly rejoice. 
 
 " Mr. Houghton," he said gravely, " we have wandered 
 far from the topic which I at first introduced. Your refer- 
 ence to your son proves that you have a heart ; your man- 
 agement of business certifies to a large brain. I think our 
 conversation has made it clear that we are both men of 
 decided convictions and are not afraid to express them. If 
 you were a lesser man than you are, I would have shrugged 
 my shoulders contemptuously and left your ofiice long ago. 
 Yet I am your equal, and you know it, although I have 
 scarcely a penny in the world. I am also as honest as you 
 are, and I would work for you all the more scrupulously 
 because you detest me and all that I represent. I, on the 
 other hand, would not expect a single grain of allowance or 
 
HONEST FOES. 1 37 
 
 consideration, such as I might receive from a kindly dis- 
 posed employer. We would not compromise each other in 
 the slightest degree by entering into the relations of 
 employer and employed. I would obey your orders as a 
 soldier has learned to obey. Apart from business we should 
 be strangers. I knew we were hostile in our feelings, but I 
 had the impression — which I trust may be confirmed — 
 that you were not a commonplace enemy. The only ques- 
 tion between us is, * Will you buy my labor as you would 
 any other commodity in the Charleston market? ' " 
 
 Captain Bodine's words proved his keen appreciation of 
 character. The old man unconsciously possessed the spirit 
 of a soldier, and it had been evoked by the honest, uncom- 
 promising attitude of the Southerner. His emotion passed 
 away. His manner became as courteous as it was cold and 
 impassive. " You are right, sir," he said, " we are hostile 
 and will probably ever remain so, but you have put things in 
 a light which enables me to comply with your wishes, I 
 take you at your word, and will buy your labor as I would 
 any other article of value. I know enough of life to be 
 aware of the courtesy which occasionally exists between men 
 whose feelings and beliefs strongly conflict, yet I agree with 
 you, that apart from business, we can have little in common. 
 When can you come ? " 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " Are you willing to leave the question of compensation 
 open till I can learn what your services are actually worth? " 
 
 " I should prefer to have the question settled in that way." 
 
 Both men arose. " Good-morning, Captain Bodine," 
 said the merchant, bowing shghtly. " Good-morning, Mr. 
 Houghton," and the captain halted quietly back to Mrs. 
 Bodine's home of faded gentihty. 
 
 Mr. Houghton sat down at his desk and leaned his head 
 thoughtfully upon his hand. " I wouldn't have believed that 
 
138 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 I could have done this," he muttered. " If he had knuckled 
 to me one iota I would have shown him the door ; if he 
 hadn't been so crippled — if he hadn't been so downright 
 honest and brave — confound it ! he almost made me feel 
 both like killing him and taking him by the hand. Oh, 
 Herbert, my poor, lost boy, I don't wonder that you and 
 so many fine fellows had to die before such men were 
 conquered." 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. 1 39 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FIRESIDE DRAMAS. 
 
 ELLA was so overjoyed at her prospects when all had 
 been explained to her, that she insisted on Mara's 
 spending the evening at the Bodines' so that her father might 
 understand the whole arrangement. 
 
 When she returned, early in the afternoon, she found him, 
 as Mara had before, reading quietly at one of the parlor 
 windows. He looked up with not only glad welcome in his 
 eyes, but also with much genuine interest, for he was anxious 
 to learn what further impression Mara had made upon his 
 daughter. The man who had accepted patient endurance 
 as his lot, could scarcely comprehend the profound impres- 
 sion made upon him by the child of his old friend. He had 
 made no effort to analyze his feelings, not dreaming that 
 there was any reason why he should do this. To his mind 
 circumstances and the girl herself were sufficient to account 
 for the deepest sympathy. Then that look with which she 
 had regarded him on the previous evening — he could never 
 forget that while he lived. He therefore regarded Ella's 
 flushed, happy face, and said, "You seem to hesitate in 
 letting your experiences be known, but I reckon, from the 
 sparkle of your eyes, that you have had a good time." 
 
 " Oh, papa, I have had a good time, so much more than 
 a good time. I hesitate because I don't know just how or 
 where to begin — how to tell you all the good news. Dear 
 papa, you have had so many more troubles than I have^ and 
 
I40 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 some perhaps which you think I do not share in very deeply. 
 It was best for us both that I did not — too deeply. But 
 you have a trouble now in which I do share more than you 
 know, more than I wanted you to know. We were here 
 dependent on our dear old cousin who is so unselfish that 
 she would almost open her poor old veins for us. This was 
 too hard for either of us to endure very long, and I had 
 made up my mind that I would do something to relieve you 
 — that if Mara could earn money I could." 
 
 " My dear child, I appreciate your feelings, and you have 
 understood mine, but let me hasten to assure you that I have 
 found a way by which I can support you and myself also." 
 
 "You have? So soon? Oh, that is glorious. Tell me 
 all about it." 
 
 " No indeed. Not till I have your wonderful news, and 
 learn how you enjoyed your visit." 
 
 " No more visiting for me, or rather perpetual visiting. 
 Oh, papa, think what bliss ! I'm to help Mara, work with 
 Mara every day, and have a share in the profits." 
 
 The captain's face grew sad and almost stern. Ella 
 understood him instantly, and put her hand over his mouth 
 as he was about to speak. " Now, papa, don't you perform 
 the same little tragedy that I did. I know just how you feel 
 and what you are going to say. Mara had it in her mind 
 the moment she heard I was in town and " — 
 
 " Ella," interrupted her father firmly, " I do not often 
 cross you, but you must let me decide this question. Mara 
 is capable of any degree of self-sacrifice, of even something 
 like a noble deception in this case. No, this cannot be. 
 I would protect that girl even as I would you, and you both 
 need protection against your own generous impulses more 
 than all else." 
 
 In vain she tried to explain, and recounted minutely all 
 that had happened. The captain was so deeply touched 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. I4I 
 
 that his eyes grew dim with moisture. Again he exclaimed, 
 " Would to God Sidney Wallingford had lived, even though 
 poor and crippled as I am, that he might have worshipped 
 this noble-hearted, generous girl. She has indeed a rare 
 nature. She carried out her self-sacrificing purpose well, 
 but I understand her better than you do, my dear. With 
 all a woman's wit, tact and heart she deceived you and would 
 deceive us all. She would smile in triumph as she denied 
 herself for our sakes what she most needed. But, Ella, you 
 know we cannot let her do this." 
 
 The girl was staggered and in sore perplexity. Her 
 father's view was not pleasing to her ingenuous nature ; 
 there had been a sincerity in Mara's words and manner which 
 had been confirmed not only by circumstances, but also by 
 Aun' Sheba's hearty approval. " I shall be sorry if what 
 you think is true," she said sadly. "I don't wish to be 
 deceived, not even from such motives as you attribute to 
 Mara, and, of course, she could have no others if you are 
 right. But how can you be right ? There was such a verity 
 about it all. Why, papa, when at first I imagined that Mara 
 might have thought I had been hinting in my very foolish 
 talk that I wished what afterwards took place, I was so 
 overwhelmed with shame that I could hardly speak. If you 
 had seen how she reassured me, and heard her earnest words, 
 declaring she needed me — oh, if that was all deception, 
 even from the kindest and noblest motive, I should be 
 wounded to the heart, I could never be sure of Mara again 
 and scarcely of any one else. I can't think as you do. Let 
 us ask Cousin and see what she thinks." 
 
 The captain was now in perplexity himself, yet he held to 
 his first impression. " I admit," he said hesitatingly, " that 
 it was not the wisest course on Mara's part, yet often the 
 best people, especially when young, ardent, and a Httle 
 morbid, are led by the noblest motives to do what is unwise 
 
142 THE EARTH TREMBLEL 
 
 and scarcely right. Mara is not an ordinary girl, and cannot 
 be judged by common standards. Be assured, she would 
 die rather than deceive you to your harm, but a purpose to 
 do you good might confuse both her judgment and con- 
 science, especially if it involved self-sacrifice on her part. 
 You must not blame me if I wish to be more thoroughly 
 convinced. Yes, you can ask Cousin Sophy's opinion if 
 you wish." 
 
 *' Then come with me, papa, and state your case as 
 strongly as you can. I'd rather go hungry than go forward 
 another step if you are right." 
 
 The wise old lady, who could talk by the hour on most 
 occasions, listened to both sides of the question, and then 
 remarked with sphinx-like ambiguity, "Your father, Ella, 
 has obtained a remarkably correct idea of Mara's character. 
 You know I told her in your hearing that she had a passion 
 for self-sacrifice, and was prone to take a morbid sense of 
 duty. At the same time, I do not by any means say he is 
 right in this particular instance. Mara is coming this even- 
 ing, — let her satisfy you both in her own way. I have my 
 opinion, but would rather she would make the matter plain 
 to you." 
 
 The shrewd old lady, to whom the wheels of time often 
 seemed to move slowly, was bent on a bit of drama at her 
 own fireside, at the same time believing that a word, a tone, 
 or even a glance from the young girl herself would have 
 more power to banish the captain's doubts than any thing 
 she could say. "And yet," thought Mrs. Bodine, "Mara is 
 capable of just this very kind of dissimulation." 
 
 Evening in the South differs slightly from our late after- 
 noon, and the sun was scarcely below the horizon when 
 Mara arrived under the escort of Mrs. Hunter, who had 
 also been invited. Therefore Ella in her feverish impatience 
 had not long to wait. 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. I43 
 
 Mrs. Bodine's simple meal was over, and after having had 
 a fire lighted on the parlor hearth, she had ensconced her- 
 self in a low rocking-chair in readiness to receive her guests. 
 There was a sort of stately cordiality in the meeting between 
 her and Mrs. Hunter, quiet courtesy on the part of captain 
 Bodine towards all, while honest Ella could not banish a 
 slight constraint from her manner. Mara gradually became 
 conscious of this, and wondered at it. She also soon observed 
 that no reference was made to the compact of the morning, 
 and this perplexed her still more. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Bodine, having all the dramatis personcB 
 about her, was complacency embodied, and not averse to 
 taking a part in the little play herself. She managed at first 
 that the conversation should be general. She serenely in- 
 dulged in reminiscences which waked others from Mrs. 
 Hunter, and even the captain was beguiled into half-humor- 
 ous old-time anecdotes about some one they all knew. 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Mrs. Bodine, sighing, "that — oh, 
 good gracious ! what was I going to say ? Cousin Hugh, 
 you can remember that my most excellent husband accus- 
 tomed me to rather strong adjectives. Well, that hard- 
 hearted old wretch, Mr. Houghton, eventually got all the 
 property of the poor man we were talking about." 
 
 "Did he?" said the captain, quietly. "Well, I reckon 
 I'll get some of it back again." 
 
 " You ? I'd like to know how. He'd take your head off 
 at one bite if he could." 
 
 " I reckon he would ; he looked so inclined this morning. 
 I spent half an hour alone with him this morning, and am 
 going to work for him to-morrow." 
 
 The general exclamations amounted to a chorus, and Mrs. 
 Hunter, bridling, began formally and almost severely, " Par- 
 don me. Captain Bodine, I do not wish to be presuming or 
 officious, but I fear you have been absent from the city so 
 
144 ^-^^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 long that you are not aware of the general estimation in 
 which this Northern carpet-bagger is held." 
 
 " I certainly have had a chance to form my own opinion 
 of him, Mrs. Hunter, and I reckon that he and I will not 
 be any better friends than he and you would be." 
 
 " Friends," ejaculated the old lady, " I could annihilate 
 him. Oh, Captain Bodine, believe me, you have made a 
 mistake. What will be left of our past if the best and 
 bravest of our number strike hands with these vampires of 
 the North?" 
 
 *' I have not struck hands with him, nor do I ever expect 
 to." 
 
 " Hugh, Cousin Hugh," protested Mrs. Bodine, " I don't 
 understand this move at all." 
 
 " Papa," cried Ella, with her arms about his neck, " you 
 have done this for my sake, so do please give it up for my 
 sake. Some other way will be provided for us." 
 
 " Mara, are you, too, down on me ? " 
 
 " No, sir, never ; but I'll share my last crust with you if 
 you will have nothing to do with that man." 
 
 " I thought so, you brave, generous girl. That was like 
 your father, and reminds me of a bit of experience. We 
 were on a forced march, and the provision train had not 
 kept up. It was night, and we were too weary to hunt 
 around for a morsel. Wallingford (he was major then> 
 came to me and said, * Bodine, I've a hard tack and one 
 cup of coffee. We'll go halves,' and so we did. He was 
 so impolite as to take his half first. Do you know why? " 
 
 " I can guess," she replied with downcast brimming eyes. 
 
 " I reckon you can, — you of all others ; but he didn't 
 succeed. I turned on him in mock severity and remarked, 
 * Major Wallingford, I never thought you would try to over- 
 reach an old friend. See, you have scarcely taken over a 
 third of the coffee and hard tack.' He slapped me on the 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. I45 
 
 back and declared he would have me arrested for insubordi- 
 nate and disrespectful language. Considering what sleepy, 
 jaded men we were, we had a lot of fun over that meagre 
 banquet, but he had to yield even if he were my superior 
 I fear you are inclined to go halves just like your father." 
 
 " Well, Hugh," cried Mrs. Bodine impatiently, " even that 
 is better than your taking whatever this — this — I want an 
 adjective that is not too wicked." 
 
 " No matter. Cousin Sophy, we'll each supply one accord- 
 ing to our own degree of wickedness. A Yankee would say 
 * darned,' though, confound the fellows, they seem to learn 
 to fight and swear in equal degrees." 
 
 " I won't say ' darned,' " said the old lady, almost trem- 
 bling in her irritation and excitement, for she was being 
 treated to more of a drama than she had bargained for. 
 " It is a word I never heard my husband use. Bah ! all 
 words are inadequate. I say any thing is better than that 
 you should go to this old Houghton for what litde he may 
 choose to give you." 
 
 " Now, I appeal to you, Mara, — is this fair, four against 
 one?" 
 
 " But, dear Captain Bodine, you don't know how deeply 
 we feel about this." 
 
 "Ah, that is the charge our enemies bring against us. 
 \NQfeel, but don't reason, they say. We have much reason 
 to retort, ' You reason, but have no feeling and little compre- 
 hension for those that have.' Come, I will be serious now,' 
 and his expression became grave and firm. " Cousin Sophy, 
 Mr. Houghton will never give me a penny, nor would I take 
 a gift from him even if starving, yet I have a genuine respect 
 for the man. Let me, as a soldier, illustrate my course, and 
 then I will explain more fully. Suppose I was on a march 
 and was hungry. On one hand were ample provisions in the 
 camp of the enemy ; on the other a small farmhouse occu- 
 
146 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 pied by friends who had already been robbed of nearly all 
 they had. If I went to these friends they would, as Mara 
 has said, share their last crust. Do you not think it would 
 be more in accordance with the feelings of a man to make 
 a dash at the enemy's overflowing larder, and not only get 
 what I needed but also bring away something for my 
 impoverished friends? I reckon it would. I much prefer 
 spoiHng the Egyptians, cost me what it may. My dear child," 
 turning to Mara, "do you think I would take half your 
 cnist when I know you need the whole of it ? No, indeed. 
 Then you must remember that we got in the habit of living 
 off the enemy during the war. To drop all this figurative 
 talk, let me put the matter in plain English, as I did to Mr. 
 Houghton this morning. We had a pretty hot action, I can 
 tell you. There was no compromise in word or manner on 
 either side, but he listened to reason, and so will you. Pick 
 out your most blue-blooded, stanchest South Carolinians, in 
 the city, and they deal with Mr. Houghton. They sell to 
 him ; they buy of him, and there it all ends. I have no 
 cotton to sell, but I told him to regard my labor as a bale of 
 cotton and to buy it, if he so wished, at what it was worth. 
 I also told him that apart from our business relations we 
 would be strangers, so you see I am neither better nor 
 worse, practically, no different from other Charlestonians." 
 
 Mrs. Bodine leaned back in her chair, and laughed till the 
 tears came into her eyes. " I do declare," she gasped, 
 " God made men different from women, and I reckon He 
 knew what He was about. I surrender. Cousin Hugh. 
 Your argument has blown me out of the water. Spoil this 
 old Egyptian to your heart's content, only remember when 
 there are no Egyptians to spoil, if you don't come to your 
 friends you will have one savage old woman to deal with." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter shook her head dubiously. " I don't know 
 what to think of all this," she said. " It appears to me that 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. 14/ 
 
 it tends to break down the partition wall between us and 
 those from whom we have received wrongs which should 
 never be forgiven," ] 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Hunter," replied the captain, urbanely, 
 " the more the partition wall is broken down in one sense, 
 the better. Isn't it wiser for me to get money out of Mr. 
 Houghton than to sulk and starve ? I had to break through 
 the wall to get bread. Of course," he added quietly, " we 
 all understand one another. My military figures of speech 
 must not be pressed too far. I do not propose to knock 
 Mr. Houghton on the head, or even take the smallest possi- 
 ble advantage of him. On the contrary, because we are 
 hostile, I shall be over-scrupulous, if possible, to do his work 
 well. From him, as I told him, I expect not the slightest 
 allowance, consideration, or kindness." 
 
 "Oh," thought Mara, "how clearly he has put my own 
 thought and wish. Why could not Owen Clancy have earned 
 his own bread and mine by taking the course of this brave 
 Southern man? I have been shown to-night how noble, 
 how dignified and how easy it was. Why should he talk of 
 love when he will not see what is so reasonable in the action 
 of another?" 
 
 " Cousin Hugh, you said one thing which needs explana- 
 tion. You said you had a respect for this man Houghton, 
 who we all know has not a particle of good-will towards 
 us." 
 
 " Chiefly because he is such an honest enemy," Bodine 
 replied. " He makes hard bargains with our people when he 
 can, but have you ever heard of his cheating or doing any 
 thing underhand ? I learned a good deal about his busi- 
 ness character while in Georgia, and his course to-day cor- 
 responded with what I had been told. Moreover, his 
 feelings got the better of him, and he revealed in one 
 passionate sentence that his eldest son was killed, and, as 
 
148 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 he says, lies at the bottom of our harbor here. This fact 
 enabled me to stand better what I had to take from him," 
 and in answer to his cousin's questions he revealed the 
 substance of the interview. " I do this," he concluded, 
 " that you and other friends may better understand my 
 course. To-morrow Mr. Houghton becomes my employer, 
 and I shall owe a certain kind of loyalty. The more seldom 
 we mention his name thereafter, the better; and I shall 
 never speak of him except in terms of cold respect." 
 
 "Since you have told me about his son," said Mrs. 
 Bodine, " I won't avail myself of the privilege of freeing 
 my mind to-night, even if it will be my last chance, that is 
 when you are present. After all, why should I berate him ? 
 In one aspect he is to me a sort of ogre representing all 
 that is harsh, intolerant and cruel, rejoicing in his power to 
 drain the life-blood of a conquered and impoverished peo- 
 ple ; yet he rose before me as you spoke as a heart-broken 
 father, warped and made unnatural by pain, haunted by the 
 ghost of his son whom his arms cannot embrace. Sometimes 
 when thinking alone, the people of the world seem like a 
 lot of squabbling children, with only degrees of badness and 
 goodness between them. Children make no allowances for 
 each other. It is like or dislike, quick and manifested. It 
 is well there is a Heavenly Father over all who may lead 
 one and all of us to ' make up ' some day. I tell you what 
 it is, Hugh, we may all have to shake hands in Heaven." 
 
 " Like enough, Cousin Sophy. In matters pertaining to 
 Heaven you are a better authority than I am." 
 
 " For very good reason. Heaven is nearest those who 
 feel its need most. You may think I am a queer Christian, 
 and I sometimes think so myself, — hating some people as 
 near as I dare, and calling old Houghton a wretch. Don't 
 I know about his heartache? Who better than I? God 
 knows I would give his son back to him if I could. God 
 
FIRESIDE DRAMAS. 1 49 
 
 knows I can almost swear at him ; He knows also that if he 
 were brought into this house wounded I'd nurse him with 
 my feeble hand as I would you, Cousin Hugh, but I would 
 be apt to say when he got well" (and here came in her 
 little chirping laugh), 'Good sir, I have not the slightest 
 objection to your going back to Massachusetts, bag and 
 baggage.' By the way, he has another son who has not been 
 much in Charleston — being educated at the North, they 
 say. He must be a grown man now. I was told that when 
 here last he resented the fact bitterly that there was some 
 society in town which he could not enter." 
 
 " I reckon not," remarked Mrs. Hunter, grimly, and then 
 followed some desultory conversation between the two elder 
 ladies. 
 
 As was frequently his custom, — in common with men 
 whose past is more than their future promises to be, — the 
 captain had lapsed into a train of thought which took him far 
 away from present surroundings. He was roused by Mrs. 
 Hunter's preparations for departure, and looking suddenly 
 at Mara, saw that her eyes were filled with tears. He was 
 at her side instantly, and, taking her hand, asked gently, 
 "What troubles you, my child?" 
 
 With bowed head she rephed, "I understand you, Cap- 
 tain Bodine ; your words have made every thing clear to 
 me." 
 
 He still held her hand and thought a moment. " About 
 Ella's coming to you?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, I'm not one of the Egyptians, but I'd so set my 
 heart on it." 
 
 "Because oi your need, not Ella's?" again the captain 
 queried, while his grasp on her hand tightened. 
 
 " Oh, Captain Bodine, do you think I could deceive you 
 or a girl like Ella under any circumstances ? If she did not 
 come after to-day I feel that I should give up in despair 
 
I50 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 very, soon. I do need help, and just such help to body and 
 mind as she can give me." 
 
 " Forgive me, Mara. The little story I told about your 
 father explains why I feared. But we will say no more 
 about it. I would rather have Ella with you than with any 
 one else in the world." 
 
 "There," cried that buoyant young woman, "I knew I 
 was right. Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings you 
 old people are destined to learn wisdom." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Bodine, '* I've had more drama to-night 
 than I reckoned on, and I haven't been leading lady either. 
 Will the chief baker escort me to the dining-room? " 
 
 After cake and cream, the captain escorted Mrs. Hunter 
 and Mara home. He detained the latter at the door a 
 moment, and said gently, " Mara, shun the chief danger of 
 your life. Never be unfair to yourself." 
 
A FAIR DUELLIST. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A FAIR DUELLIST. 
 
 THE great hand of time which turns the kaleidoscope 
 of human affairs appeared to move slowly for a few 
 weeks, as far as the characters of my story are concerned. 
 The tsvo little bakers worked together daily, one abounding 
 in mirth and drollery, and the other cheered, or rather 
 beguiled from melancholy in spite of herself. Business 
 grew apace, not only because two girls who evoked general 
 sympathy were the principals of the firm, but also for the 
 reason that they put something of their own dainty natures 
 into their wares. Aun' Sheba trudged and perspired in 
 moderation, for the fleet-footed Vilet seemed to outrun 
 Mercury. Moreover, the " head-pahners," as Aun' Sheba 
 called them, insisted that their commercial travellers should 
 take the street-cars when long distances were involved. 
 
 Captain Bodine and Mr. Houghton maintained their 
 business relation in the characteristic manner indicated by 
 their first interview. The ex-Confederate was given some 
 routine work which kept him at a remote desk a certain 
 number of hours a day, and employer and employee rarely 
 met, and scarcely ever spoke to each other. The captain, 
 however, had no reason to complain of his salary, which was 
 paid weekly, and sufficed for his modest needs. So far 
 from being dependent on his large-hearted cousin, he and 
 Ella were enabled to contribute much to her material com- 
 fort, and immeasurably to her daily enjoyment. She and 
 
152 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Ella were in the sunshine again, and it was hard to say 
 which of the two talked the most genial nonsense. The old 
 lady had what is termed "a sweet tooth," and loved dain- 
 ties. The two girls, therefore, vied with each other in 
 evolving rare and harmless delicacies. 
 
 "Two Ariels are ministering to me," she said, "and 
 sometimes I feel so jolly that I would hke to share with that 
 old — I mean Mr. Houghton." 
 
 The girls never forgot, however, the depths beneath the 
 ripple and sparkle of the old lady's manner. 
 
 As spring verged into summer, Uncle Sheba yielded more 
 and more to the lassitude of the season. His "bobscure 
 'fliction " seemed to grow upon him, if it were possible to 
 note degrees in his malady, but Aun' Sheba said, " 'Long as 
 he is roun' like a log an' don' bodder me I is use' ter it." 
 He even began to neglect the " prar-meetin'," and old Tobe 
 told him to his face, "You'se back-slidin' fur as you kin 
 slide, inch or so," His son-in-law, Kern Watson, had won 
 such a good reputation for steadiness that he was taken into 
 the fire department. When off duty he was always with 
 " Sissy an' de chilen." 
 
 Outwardly there was but slight change in Owen Clancy. 
 He had never been inclined to make many intimate acquaint- 
 ances, and those who knew him best only noted that he 
 seemed more reserved about himself if possible, and that 
 he was unusually devoted to business. Yet he was much 
 spoken of in business circles, for it was known that he was 
 the chief correspondent of the wealthy Mr. Ainsley of New 
 York, who was making large investments in the South, 
 Among the progressive men of the city, no matter what 
 might be their political faith and association, the young man 
 was winning golden opinions, for it was clearly recognized 
 that he ever had the interest of his section at heart, that in 
 a straightforward, honorable manner he was making every 
 
A FAIR DUELLIST. 153 
 
 effort to enlist Northern capital in Southern enterprises. 
 He had withdrawn almost wholly from social life, and ladies 
 saw him but seldom in their drawing-rooms. When among 
 men, however, he talked earnestly and sagaciously on the 
 business topics of the hour. The evening usually found 
 him with book in hand in his bachelor apartment. 
 
 Beneath all this ordinary ebb and flow of daily life, 
 changes were taking place, old forces working silently, and 
 new ones entering in to complicate the problems of the 
 future. As unobtrusively as possible, Clancy kept himself 
 informed about Mara and all that related to her welfare. 
 By some malign fate, as she deemed it, she would unexpect- 
 edly hear of him, encounter him on the street, also, yet 
 rarely now, meet him at some small evening company. He 
 would permit no open estrangement, and always compelled 
 her to recognize him. One evening, to her astonishment 
 and momentary confusion he quietly took a seat by her side 
 and entered into conversation, as he might have done with 
 other ladies present. By neither tone nor glance did he 
 recognize any cause for estrangement between them, and 
 he talked so intelligently and agreeably as to compel her 
 admiration. His mask was perfect, and after an instant hers 
 was equally so, yet all the time she was as conscious of his 
 love as of her own. 
 
 He recognized the new element which the Bodines had 
 brought into her life, and with a lover's keen instinct began 
 to surmise what the captain might become to her. He was 
 not long in discovering the former relations of the veteran 
 to Col. Wallingford, and he justly believed that, as yet, 
 Mara's regard was largely the result of that old friendship 
 and an entire accordance in views. But he was not so sure 
 about Bodine, whom he knew but slightly and with whom 
 he had no sympathy. He had learned substantially the 
 ground on which the captain had taken employment from 
 
154 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Mr. Houghton, and as we know, he was bitterly hostile to 
 that whole line of policy. " It would eventually turn every 
 Southern man into a clerk," he muttered, "when it is our 
 patriotic duty to lead in business as in every thing else that 
 pertains to our section." Yet he knew, or at least believed, 
 that if he had taken the same course Mara might now be 
 his wife. 
 
 Sometimes, when reading, apparently, he would throw 
 down his book and say aloud in his solitude, "Bah, I'm 
 more loyal to the South than this sombre-faced veteran. 
 He would keep his State forever in his own crippled condi- 
 tion. No crutches for the South, I say ; no general clerk- 
 ship to the North, but an equal onward march, side by side, 
 to one national destiny. He thinks he is a martyr and may 
 very complacently let Mara think so too. Who has given 
 up the more? He a leg, and I my heart's love ! " 
 
 It has already been shown that Clancy touched the ex- 
 tremes of political and social life in the city. Some, of 
 whom Mrs. Hunter was an exasperated exponent, could be 
 cold towards him, but they could neither ignore nor despise 
 him. Those beginning to cast off the fetters of enmity 
 and prejudice, secretly admired him and were friendly. 
 While cordial in his relations, therefore, with Northern peo- 
 ple and Northern enterprises of the right stamp, he had not 
 so lost his hold on Mara's exclusive circle as to remain in 
 ignorance of what was transpiring within it, and he secretly 
 resolved that if Bodine sought to take the girl of his heart 
 from him, and, as he truly believed, from all chance of 
 true happiness herself, he would give as earnest a warning 
 as ever one soul gave to another. 
 
 In June he received a strong diversion to his thoughts. 
 Mr. Ainsley wrote him from New York, ir effect, that he with 
 his daughter would soon be in Charleston, — that his interests 
 in the South had become so large as to require personal 
 
A FAIR DUELLIST. 155 
 
 attention ; also that he had new enterprises in view. The 
 young man's interest and ambition were naturally kindled. 
 As Mara had taken the Bodines and their affairs as an anti- 
 dote for her trouble, he sought relief in the pre-occupation 
 which the Ainsleys might bring to his mind. Accordingly 
 he met father and daughter at the station and escorted them 
 to the hotel with some degree of pleasurable excitement. 
 
 Miss Ainsley made the same impression of remarkable 
 beauty and cosmopolitan culture as at first. There was a 
 refined, easy poise in her bearing. Indeed he almost fancied 
 that, to her mind, coming to Charleston was a sort of con- 
 descension, she had visited so many famous cities in the 
 world. She greeted him cordially, and to a vain man her 
 brilliant eyes would have expressed more than the mere 
 pleasure of seeing an old acquaintance again. 
 
 But few days elapsed before Mr. Ainsley was on the wing, 
 here and there where his interests called him, meantime 
 making the Charleston hotel his headquarters. Miss Ainsley's 
 friend, Mrs. Willoughby, carried off the daughter to her 
 pretty home on the Battery, where sea-breezes tempered the 
 Southern sun. Clancy aided the father satisfactorily in busi- 
 ness ways, and the daughter found him so agreeable socially, 
 as to manifest a wish to see him often. She interested him 
 as a " rara avis" which he felt that he would like to under- 
 stand better, and he would have been less than a man if not 
 fascinated by her beauty, accomplishments and intelligence. 
 Miss Ainsley could not fail to charm the eyes of sense as 
 well, and she was not chary of the secret that she had been 
 fashioned in one of Nature's finest moulds. The soft, warm 
 languor of the summer evenings was, to her, ample excuse 
 for revealing the glowing marble of her neck and bosom to 
 dark Southern eyes, and admirers began to gather like bees 
 to honey ready made. 
 
 Clancy had wished to see her deportment towards other 
 
156 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 young men, and now had the opportunity. The result 
 flattered him in spite of himself. To others she was court- 
 eous, affable and sublimely indifferent. When he approached 
 it seemed almost as if a film passed from her eyes, that she 
 awakened into a fuller life and became an enchantress in her 
 versatile powers. He responded with as fine a courtesy as 
 her own, although quite different, but there was a cool, steady 
 self-restraint in eyes and manner which piqued and charmea 
 her. 
 
 Clancy would be long in learning to understand Miss 
 Ainsley. He might never reach the secret of her life, and 
 certainly would not unless he bluntly asked her to marry 
 him — asked her so bluntly and persistently that all the wiles 
 of which woman is capable opened no avenue of escape. 
 She was an epicure of the finest type. If she had been 
 asked to a banquet on Mount Olympus, she would have 
 preferred to dine from the one dehcious dish of ambrosia 
 most to her taste and to sip only the choicest brand of 
 nectar. Profusion, even at a feast of the gods, would have 
 no charms for her. She had begun to see the world so 
 early and had seen so much of it that she had learned the 
 art of elimination to perfection. Sensuous to the last degree, 
 but not sensual, she had a cool self-control and a fineness of 
 taste which led her to choose but a few refined pleasures at 
 a time and then to enjoy them deliberately and until satiety 
 pointed to a new choice. Keen of intellect, she had studied 
 society and with almost the skill of a naturalist had recog- 
 nized the various types of men and women. This cool 
 observation had taught her much worldly wisdom. She saw 
 all about her, mere girls jaded with life already, faded young 
 women keeping up with the fashionable procession as fagged- 
 out soldiers drag themselves along in the rear of a column. 
 She had seen fresh young debutantes rush into the giddy 
 whirl to become pallid from the excess of one season. At 
 
A FAIR DUELLIST. 157 
 
 one time, she and other friends of hers had been exultant, 
 excited and distracted by their many admirers and suitors. 
 She soon wearied, however, of this indiscriminate slaughter, 
 and the devoted eager attentions, the manifest desires and 
 hopes of commonplace men, so far from kindUng a sense of 
 triumph and power, almost made her ill. She became like a 
 knight of the olden time who had hewn down inferiors until 
 he was sick of gore. 
 
 And so she gradually withdrew from the fashionable rout, 
 took time for reading and study and the perfection of her 
 accomphshments. She accepted merely such invitations as 
 were agreeable to her, smiling contemptuously at the idea 
 that in order to maintain position in society one must wear 
 herself out by rushing around to every thing \ and society 
 respected her all the more. It became a triumph to secure 
 her presence, but she only went where every thing would 
 accord with her taste and inclination. This was true of her 
 life abroad as well as at home. Conscious of her father's 
 wealth, and that, apart from an unexacting companionship 
 to him, she could do as she pleased, she proposed to make 
 the most of hfe as she estimated it. She would have all the 
 variety she wished, but she would take it leisurely. She 
 would not perpetrate the folly of gulping pleasures, still less 
 would she permit herself to fall tumultuously in love with 
 some ordinary man only to waken from a romantic dream to 
 discover how ordinary he was. 
 
 She was also too shrewd, indeed one may almost say too 
 wise, to think of an ambitious marriage. The man of mil- 
 lions or the man of rank or fame could never buy her unless 
 personally agreeable to her. Yet she was rarely without a 
 suitor, whom to a certain point she encouraged. Unless 
 a man possessed some real or fancied superiority which 
 pleased *or interested her, she was practically inaccessible to 
 him. She would be courtesy itself, yet by her strong will 
 
IS8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and tact would speedily make a gentleman understand, 
 " You have no claim upon me ; your wishes are nothing to 
 me." If he interested her, however, if she admired him 
 even slightly, she would give him what she might term 
 a chance. Then to her mind their relations became much 
 like a duel ; she at least would conquer him ; he might sub- 
 due her if he could j she would give him the opportunity, 
 and if he could find a weak place in her polished armor and 
 pierce her heart she would yield. The question was whether 
 she had a heart, and she was not altogether sure of this her- 
 self. On one thing, however, she was resolved — she would 
 not give up her liberty, ease and epicurean life for the duties, 
 obligations and probable sorrows of wifehood, unless she 
 met a man who had the power to make this course pref- 
 erable. 
 
 During Clancy's visit to New York in the winter, Mr. 
 Ainsley had spoken of him to his daughter in terms that 
 interested her before she even saw the young man, and the 
 moment the experienced woman of the world (for she was 
 a woman of the world, though but Uttle past her majority) 
 looked upon him she was still more interested, recognizing 
 at a glance the truth that whatever Clancy might be, he was 
 not commonplace. This explains why he was perplexed by 
 the intentness and soft fire of her eyes. If the way opened, 
 she was inclined to give him "a chance." It might cost 
 him dear, as it had others, but that was his affair. She felt 
 that he was highly honored and distinguished in being given 
 what she contemptuously denied to the great majority. The 
 way had opened. She was in Charleston, and now, this par- 
 ticular and lovely June evening found her on a balcony over- 
 looking the shining ripples of the bay, rechning in a cane 
 chair with her head leaning against a pillar and her eyes fixed 
 on him with all the dangerous fascination they possessed. 
 Some soft, white clinging material draped her form that was 
 
A FAIR DC/ELL/ST. 1 59 
 
 rendered more graceful than usual by her well- chosen atti- 
 tude. A spray from an ivy vine hung above her, and its 
 slightly moving shadow flickered on her throat and bosom. 
 She knew she was entrancingly beautiful ; so did he. He 
 felt that if he were an artist nothing was left to be desired. 
 As a man he was flattered with her preference and charmed 
 with her beauty. He did not and could not believe that he 
 had more than a passing interest in her mind as yet, and he 
 felt that she would never be more to him than a gifted lovely 
 friend, who could at one and the same time gratify his taste 
 and bestow fine intellectual companionship. They talked 
 freely with lapses of silence between them. These she 
 would occasionally break with little snatches of song from 
 some opera. Her familiarity with life abroad enabled her 
 to say much which supplemented his reading and which 
 interested him. So he was not averse to these interviews 
 and was conscious of no danger. 
 
 To her they had an increasing pleasure. She was 
 delighted that Clancy thawed so deliberately, that instead 
 of speedily verging towards sentiment he found more pleas- 
 ure in her intellectuality than in her outward beauty. So 
 many others to whom she had given a chance had quickly 
 lost both their heads and hearts, and she was beginning to 
 rejoice in the belief that it might require a summer's tactics 
 to beguile him of either. His gray eyes, which appeared 
 dark in the moonlight, were clearly regarding her with quiet 
 admiration, but instead of paying a compliment he would 
 broach some topic so interesting in itself that before she 
 knew it she was talking well and even brilliantly. 
 
 This present evening he did pay her a compliment, how- 
 ever, which delighted her. She had stated her view of a 
 subject, and he had replied, " I must differ with you most 
 decidedly, Miss Ainsley." Then he added with a little 
 apologetic laugh, "I could have made such a remark to 
 
l6o THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 very few ladies. I would have said, ' I beg your pardon, do 
 not think I am contradicting you, but possibly on further 
 reflection ' — In brief I would have gone through the whole 
 conventional circumlocution. You are a woman of mind, 
 and you put your views so strongly and clearly that I forget 
 every thing except your thought. Good reason why, your 
 thought is so interesting, all the more so because it is 
 your view, not mine, and because I do not agree with you. 
 Have I made sufficient apology?" 
 
 " You have done much more, Mr. Clancy, you have paid 
 me the only kind of a compliment that I enjoy. I am sick 
 of conventionalities, and as for ordinary compliments, I am 
 as satiated as one would be if the entire contents of Huyler's 
 candy-shop had been sent to him." 
 
 " Oh, I knew that much before I had seen you five min- 
 utes. The only question in my mind was whether you had 
 not been made ill mentally by them as one would be physi- 
 cally by the candy." 
 
 " In other words, whether I was a fool or not." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " No need of that rising inflection. If you were a fool I 
 would not be here." 
 
 " I reckon not, as you say in the South." 
 
 " Yet you value your beauty. Miss Ainsley." 
 
 " Indeed I do, very highly." 
 
 " And you know equally well that I admire it greatly, but 
 1 value your power of companionship more. Why should 
 not a man and woman entertain each other without compli- 
 ments, conventionalities and sentimentalities?" 
 
 "No reason in the world if they are capable of such 
 companionship. The trouble with so many is that they 
 tumble into these things, especially the last, as if they were 
 blind ditches in their path." 
 
A FAIR DUELLIST. l6l 
 
 "That is excellent. Do you regard love as a blind 
 ditch?" 
 
 "The deepest and worst of them all, judging from the 
 experiences of very many." 
 
 " I am inclined to agree with you," he answered very 
 quietly. 
 
 A few moments later he rose to take his leave. She gave 
 him her hand without rising, and said, " Good-night. I'm 
 not going to leave this lovely scene till I am sleepy. Come 
 again when you want companionship. Drop conventionality. 
 I would like a friend who would talk to me as men of brains 
 talk to men of brains, without circumlocution." 
 
 " Very well, then, I shall begin at once. You have a head 
 that ought to inspire an artist, but I like its furniture. I am 
 going to read up on our point of disagreement. If I actu- 
 ally prove you are wrong you must yield like a man." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 The smile on her lips still Hngered as she looked out upon 
 the moonlit waters, and she passed into a delicious revery. 
 At last she murmured, "Yes, he has a chance. I don't 
 know how it will end. I may yield to his argument, but as 
 to yielding to him, that is another affair. The best part of 
 it all is that he is so slow in yielding to me. Here, in this 
 out-of-the-way corner of the world, is a cup that I can at 
 least drain slowly." 
 
 Clancy sauntered up Meeting Street, his thoughts pre- 
 occupied with the interview. Then half a block in advance 
 two persons entered the thoroughfare, and he recognized 
 Captain Bodine and Mara. He crossed the street so as not 
 to meet them, and they passed in low, earnest conversation. 
 If Miss Ainsley had been in the farthest star, he would not 
 have cared. Every drop of his Southern blood was fired, 
 and, with clinched hands, he strode homeward, and passed 
 a sleepless night. 
 
l62 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A CHIVALROUS IMPULSE. 
 
 IT must be admitted that Clancy had some cause for his 
 perturbation. Captain Bodine was a middle-aged man, 
 who had had deep, if not wide experiences. He had come 
 to regard himself as saddened and way-worn, halting slowly 
 down the westward slope of life, away from the exaltations 
 of vanished joys, and the almost despairing grief of former 
 sorrows. 
 
 Memory kept both in sharp outline ; nevertheless they 
 were receding, as do hills and mountains which the traveller - 
 leaves behind him. The veteran had believed that he had 
 no future besides earning an honest living, and providing for 
 his beloved child. 
 
 The traveller — to employ again the figure — often jour- 
 neys forward in what promises to be a monotonous road. 
 He is not expecting any thing, nor is he looking fonvard to 
 any material change. Unawares he surmounts a little emin- 
 ence, and there opens a vista which kindles his dull eyes 
 with its beauty, and stirs his heavy heart with the suggestion 
 that he has not passed by and beyond all the best things of 
 hfe. 
 
 Mara's glance of profound and intelligent sympathy had 
 opened such a vista to Bodine's mental vision. It had been 
 enough then ; it had been enough since, in the main, that 
 she was the daughter of his old and dearest friend, and that 
 their thoughts, beliefs and sorrows were in such complete 
 
A CHIVALROUS IMPULSE. 1 63 
 
 accord. Mara had become his daughter's closest friend, as 
 well as co-laborer, and so he heard of her daily, and saw 
 her very often. All that he saw and heard confirmed and 
 deepened his first impressions. A companionship, wonder- 
 fully sweet and cheering, was growing between them. He 
 had not yet begun to analyze this, or to recognize whither 
 it was tending, while not a shadow of suspicion crossed her 
 mind. She only felt that she had found a friend who 
 diverted her thoughts, solaced all her trouble, and made tlie 
 past, to which she believed she belonged, more real, more 
 full of precious memories. The days in the main were 
 passing quietly and evenly for both, full of work and deeply 
 interesting thoughts, and the delightful re-unions around 
 the chair of the genial invalid, Mrs. Bodlne, increased in 
 number. 
 
 The old lady talked and acted as if she had emerged into 
 the warmest sunshine of prosperity, and only Ella could 
 surpass her in blitheness of spirit and comical speeches. 
 They caricatured each other, every one, every thing, yet 
 without a particle of malice. Even poor old Mrs. Hunter 
 sometimes had to relax her grim rigidity, and Bodine often 
 laughed with the hearty ring of his old campaigning days. 
 At times Mara was beguiled into the belief that she was 
 happy, that her deep wound was healing. The illusion 
 would last for days together; then something unexpected 
 would occur, and the love of her heart would reveal itself 
 in bitter outcry against its wrong. If she could only see 
 Clancy in some light which her veritable God-bestowed 
 conscience could condemn, she believed that her struggle 
 would be much easier ; but he always confronted her with 
 his earnest, steady eyes, which said, " I have as true a right 
 to think as I do, as you have to think differently. Not 
 even for your sake will I be false." Thus after days of 
 comparative peace, the tempest would again rage in her soul. 
 
1 64 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Buoyant, happy Ella felt now as if she could trip on 
 through life indefinitely ; but one summer morning she 
 tripped into a litde adventure which brought unwonted 
 expressions of perplexity into her fair face. She was return- 
 ing along the shady side of the street from her duties, her 
 face like a blush-rose from the heat, when she observed 
 coming towards her a young man who, from his garb and 
 bearing, caught her eyes. Pretty Ella knew she attracted 
 a great deal of attention from the opposite sex when she 
 appeared in the street, and she was not such a demure little 
 saint as to let a fine, manly figure pass without her observa- 
 tion, but her observance was quick, furtive, like the motion 
 of a bird's eye that looks you over before you are aware of 
 the bird's presence. No staring fellow ever met her blue 
 eyes in the street. On the present occasion the little 
 maiden said to herself, "There's a style of a man I haven't 
 seen, and he's evidently a Northerner, too. Well, he's not 
 bad ; indeed he is the best-looking Vandal, as Mrs. Hunter 
 would say — Oh, merciful Heaven ! that old woman will 
 be run over." 
 
 Her commentary had been interrupted by an express 
 wagon driven recklessly around the corner. Picking her 
 way slowly across the street was a plain, respectable looking 
 old woman, with a basket of parcels on her arm, and, at 
 the moment of Ella's cry, she was almost under the horse's 
 feet, paralyzed with terror. Her cry caught the young 
 man's attention. With a single bound, he was in the street, 
 his right hand and arm forcing the horse back on its 
 haunches, while with his left he gathered up the old woman. 
 Then by a powerful effort he threw the horse's head and 
 fore-quarters away from him with such force that the shafts 
 cracked. Bearing the woman to the sidewalk, he placed 
 her upon her feet, then went back, picked up her parcels 
 and placed them in her basket. Without waiting to hear 
 
A CHIVALROUS IMPULSE. l6$ 
 
 her thanks, he hfted his hat and was turning away as if all 
 had been a trifle, when he was confronted by the enraged 
 expressman pouring forth volleys of vituperation. With a 
 chivalric impulse the girl drew nearer the stranger, who 
 looked the bully steadily in the eyes while he kept his hands 
 in his pockets. The man made a gesture as if to strike. 
 Instantly the young fellow's left arm was up in the most 
 scientific attitude of self-defence. "Don't do that, you 
 fool," he said. "Are you too drunk not to see that I'm 
 strong? Clear out, or I'll have you arrested. If you touch 
 me, I'll knock you under the feet of your horse." 
 
 There was something in the athlete's bearing, and the way 
 he put up his left arm, which brought the expressman to his 
 senses, and he drew off swearing about the blanked " North- 
 erners, who acted as if they owned the city." 
 
 George Houghton — for we may as well give his name at 
 once — regarded the fellow contemptuously an instant, and 
 again turned to pursue his way regardless of the gathering 
 crowd. But his attention was at once arrested by a pair of 
 blue eyes which were so eloquent with admiration and ap- 
 proval, that he smiled and again lifted his hat. 
 
 "You are a gentleman," Ella breathed softly, the words 
 coming with scarcely any volition on her part. 
 
 A frown instantly darkened Houghton's face, and, with a 
 slight, stiff acknowledgment, he strode away. " Why the 
 deuce shouldn't I be a gentleman ! " he muttered. " The 
 very young girls of this town are taught to look upon North- 
 erners as boors. One has only to save an old woman from 
 being run over, face a blackguard, and the wondering expres- 
 sion is wrung from one of the blue-blooded scions, ' You're 
 a gendeman ! ' And she was blue-blooded. A fellow with 
 half an eye and in half an minute could see that. And I 
 suppose she thought that one of my ilk was no more capable 
 of such a deed than Toots or Uriah Heep. Bah ! " 
 
1 66 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Having thus relieved his mind, young Houghton's step 
 soon grew slower and slower. It was evident that a new 
 and different train of thought had begun in his mind. At 
 last, with characteristic force, he communed with himself: — 
 
 " Thin-skinned fool ! why didn't I look at the girl instead 
 of thinking of my blasted self and pride ! Why, that girl's 
 face will haunt me for many a day, whether I ever see her 
 again or not. I'm as bad as these Bourbons themselves in 
 my prejudice. Now I think of it she stood almost alone 
 at my side when others were keeping at a safer distance, 
 fearing a fight. Her look was one of simple, ingenuous 
 approval, — almost the expression of a child, and I acted 
 like a brute. That's the Old Harry with me, I act first and 
 think afterwards." 
 
 A few minutes later he was at the office, and writing 
 rapidly at his father's dictation. After a time Mr. Houghton 
 said, " Take these two letters to Bodine's desk, and tell him 
 to make copies. Then you can go, George. Your vacation 
 is too new for me to take so much of your time." 
 
 "See here, father," replied the young man, putting his 
 hand on the old gentleman's shoulder. " You've been here 
 all these years working like thunder to make money, and 
 I've been spending it like thunder. If you're going to keep 
 on working, I'm going to work with you ; if you'll knock 
 off and go on a lark with me, I'll guarantee that you'll be 
 ten years younger before fall." 
 
 The old man's face softened wonderfully. Indeed one 
 could scarcely imagine it was capable of such an expression. 
 
 " Ah George ! you don't, you can't know," he said, " yet 
 my heart is not so dead but that I feel and recognize the 
 spirit in which you speak. My place is here, right here, 
 and I should not be contented anywhere else. But you are 
 just from your studies. You didn't dazzle the faculty by 
 your performances. Perhaps they would say you were a 
 
A CHIVALROUS /AT PULSE. 1 6/ 
 
 little too much given to boating and that sort of thing. But 
 I am. satisfied that you have come home a man, and not a 
 blue-spectacled milk-sop. Help me out a little, and then 
 go off on your lark yourself and recuperate." 
 
 " Recuperate ! " and the young fellow made the office 
 ring with his laugh. " Feel of that muscle, old gentleman. 
 All the recuperation I need I can get a few hours before 
 and after sundown. I'll go now, however, for there's a 
 spanking breeze on the bay, and I'd like to make a run 
 around Fort Sumter." 
 
 "George, George, be prudent. You know that your 
 brother lies at the bottom of that accursed bay." 
 
 " There, father, there, he died doing his duty like a man, 
 and you mustn't grieve for him so. Good-by." 
 
 The old man looked wistfully after him a moment, then 
 turned his mind, like a strong motor power, to the compli- 
 cated machinery that was coining wealth. 
 
 George went to Bodine, whom he had never seen before, 
 and of whom he knew nothing, and began in his half-boyish 
 way, " Here, mine ancient, father wants — Beg your par- 
 don. Didn't know that you had lost a leg." 
 
 "What is it that Mr. Houghton wishes?" said the captain 
 coldly, and turning upon the young man a visage which 
 impressed him instantly. 
 
 " I beg your pardon again," said George. " My father 
 would like copies made of these letters ; " and he touched 
 his hat as he turned away. 
 
 "Thunder!" he muttered as he left the counting-house. 
 " I was told that I was a gentleman for a little trumpery 
 act in the street. That man tells you he is one by a single 
 glance from his sad, stern eyes. He is ant)ther of the blue- 
 bloods. Southerner to the backbone. How is it that he 
 is in the old gentleman's employ, I wonder? I supposed 
 father hated ex-Confederates, as the Devil does holy water. 
 
l68 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Bodine, Bodine. I must find out who he is* for he evi- 
 dently has a history." 
 
 He soon forgot all about Bodine in the pleasure of skil- 
 fully sailing his boat close to the wind. 
 
 Ella had pursued her way homeward with bowed head 
 and a confused sense of shame and resentment. " Suppose 
 I did speak to him, a stranger," she murmured, " was he so 
 dull, or so cold and utterly conventional as to make no 
 allowance for the circumstances? No matter, I've had a 
 lesson that I shall never forget. Hereafter he and his kind 
 may save all the old women in Charleston, and fight all the 
 bullies, and I won't even look at them. If he had had the 
 brains and blood of a frog even, he would have understood 
 me. And he did seem to understand at first, for he smiled 
 pleasantly and' Hfted his hat. Does he consider it an insult 
 to be told he is a gentleman? Perhaps he thought this fact 
 should be too apparent to be mentioned, or else he thought 
 it bold and unmaidenly to open my lips at all. A plague 
 on him for not being able to see the simple truth. No 
 Southerner would have been so stupid, or ready to think 
 evil." 
 
 Thus she communed with herself till she reached her own 
 room. After a little thought, she decided not to speak of 
 the adventure. She had an unusual share of common sense, 
 and knew that the affair would only give pain to her father 
 and cousin, and that its relation would serve no earthly good 
 to any one. 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 1 69 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 
 
 THERE are those who touch our life closely, and become 
 essentially a part of it ; there are many more who are 
 but casual and passing acquaintances, and yet these very 
 people often unconsciously become the most important fac- 
 tors in our destiny. Ella Bodine was soon to prove this 
 truth. It will of course be understood that her Hfe was 
 not so secluded and restricted that she practically had no 
 acquaintances beyond the characters of our story. Sensible 
 Mrs. Bodine had no intention that her pretty cousin should 
 be hidden behind the prejudices so powerful in those with 
 whom she was immediately associated. 
 
 "Cousin Hugh," she said, one day soon after Ella's 
 encounter with Houghton, " how was it with you when you 
 were a young fellow ? how was it with me when I was a girl ? 
 Do you suppose your daughter is made of different flesh 
 and blood ? She is so unselfish in nature and sunny in tem- 
 perament that you will never learn from her that she has 
 longings for society of her own age. We have no right to 
 keep her among our shadows. We belong to the past ; she 
 has a future, and should have the chance which is the right 
 of every young girl. You must not judge her by Mara, who 
 stands by herself, and is not a representative of any ordinary 
 type. She is as old as you are, and a great deal older than 
 I am. She has grown up among shadows and loves them. 
 Ella loves the sunshine, and should have all of it that we 
 
I/O THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 can give her. Now you must let her go out more. I will 
 choose her chaperons, and I reckon I know whom to choose. 
 If I do say it, I would like you to mention any one in 
 Charleston more competent. I know about the fathers and 
 mothers, the grandfathers and grandmothers, and the remote 
 ancestors of every one in Charleston who is any one." 
 
 " Cousin Sophy, I believe you are right. I have per- 
 mitted Ella to be too devoted to me, but we have lived such 
 a precarious life of late — indeed it has been the vital ques- 
 tion how we were to live at all. We are now very differently 
 situated. Yes, you are right. Ella should see something 
 of society, and enjoy some of its pleasures, and, as you say, 
 should have her chance." At these final words he sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 " I know what that sigh means," resumed the old lady. 
 " You would wish to keep Ella to yourself always — the 
 natural impulse of a father's heart. Yet if you allow this 
 impulse to control you, it will become selfishness of the 
 worst kind. I say again that every girl should have her 
 chance to see and be seen, and to make the most and best 
 of her life according to woman's natural destiny. You may 
 trust me, as I have said, to choose those who shall have the 
 care of Ella when she goes out. She has an invitation to 
 a little company at Mrs. Willoughby's, and a most discreet 
 friend has offered to chaperon her. We'll fix her out so that 
 she will appear as well as any one, and you know our claims 
 don't rest on expensiveness of dress. Mrs. Willoughby 
 comes of one of the oldest and best families in the State. 
 I know she is liberal, and affiliates with Northern people 
 more than I could wish, but they are all said to be of the 
 best class — and I suppose there is a best class among 'em. 
 Good Lor', Hugh ! we may feel and think as we please, 
 and can never change, but we can't keep back the rising 
 tide. Tf there are a few Northern neonle nresent Ella won't 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 171 
 
 be contaminated any more than you are by working among 
 Northern people. We have our strong prejudices — that's 
 what they are called — but we must not let them make us 
 ridiculous. Mrs. Willoughby says she's emancipated, and 
 that she'd have whom she pleased in her parlors. She has 
 been abroad so much, you know. Well, well, we'll consider 
 it settled." And so it was. 
 
 When Ella was informed of her cousin's plan in her 
 behalf she was half wild with delight. " I may consider 
 myself a debutante,'^ she said. " O cousin Sophy ! how 
 shall I behave?" 
 
 " Behave just as a bird flies," said the wise old lady. " If 
 you put on any airs, if you are not your own natural self, 
 I'll shake you when you come home." 
 
 The captain saw his child's pleasure, and felt anew the 
 truth of his cousin's words. Ella should be immured no 
 longer. Mara had been invited also, but declined, prefer- 
 ring to spend the evening with Mrs. Bodine. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby's company was not large, and had been 
 selected from various motives. We need mention but one 
 that had influenced her. Miss Ainsley had requested that 
 George Houghton should be invited. Her father and Mr. 
 Houghton had large business interests in common, and at 
 Mr. Ainsley's request the young man had called upon his 
 daughter. She was pleased with him, although she felt her- 
 self to be immeasurably older than he. Mrs. Willoughby 
 had also been favorably impressed by his fine appearance 
 and slightly brusque manner. 
 
 "Yes," said the astute Miss Ainsley, as they were talking 
 him over after his departure, " he's a big, handsome, finely 
 educated boy, who would walk through your Southern con- 
 ventionalities as if they were cobwebs, had he a chance." 
 
 " Delightful ! " cried Mrs. Willoughby. " If I can keep 
 my drawing-room free from insipidity, I am content. As to 
 
172 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 his walking through our conventionahties, as you term them, 
 let him try it. If he doesn't butt his head against some 
 rather solid walls, I'm mistaken. You don't half know what 
 a bold thing I am doing when I invite old Houghton's son ; 
 but then it is just this kind of social temerity that enchants 
 me, and he shall come. I only hope that some good people 
 won't rise up and shake off the dust of their feet." 
 
 " Don't worry ; you're a privileged character. Mr. 
 Clancy has told me all about it. He admires you immensely 
 because you are so untrammelled." 
 
 " He admires you a hundred-fold more. What are you 
 going to do with him ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I couldn't do any thing with him yet. 
 That's his charm. If I didn't know better, I should say he 
 was the coldest — he is not cold at all. The woman who 
 reaches his heart will find a lot of molten lava. I'm often 
 inclined to think it has been reached by some one else, and 
 that his remarkable poise results from a nature fore-armed, 
 or else chilled by a former experience. At any rate, there is 
 a fire smouldering in his nature, and when it breaks out it 
 won't be of the smoky, lurid sort that has so often made me 
 ill. There will be light and heat in plenty." 
 
 " Well, you're an odd girl, Caroline. You experiment with 
 men's hearts like an old alchemist, who puts all sorts of sub- 
 stances into his crucible in the hope of finding something 
 that will enrich him." 
 
 " And probably, like the old alchemist, I shall never find 
 any thing except what, to me, is dross." 
 
 Under Mrs. Robertson's wing Ella appeared, and met 
 with a very kindly reception. She had not Miss Ainsley's 
 admirable ease, but she possessed something far better. 
 There was a sweet girlish bloom in addition to her innately 
 refined manner and ingenuous loveliness of face, which made 
 even the experienced belle sigh that she had passed by that 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 1/3 
 
 phase forever. Yet shrewd Ella's eyes were as busy as they 
 were intelligent. She wondered at Miss Ainsley with min- 
 gled admiration and distrust, but she had received a suffi- 
 cient number of hints from Mrs. Bodine to understand her 
 hostess quite well. She saw Clancy enter, and Miss Ainsley's 
 welcome, and quickly observed that there was a sort of free- 
 masonry between them. Then some one appeared who 
 almost took away her breath. It was the stranger to whom 
 she had spoken so unexpectedly, even to herself. She saw 
 that Mr. Clancy, Miss Ainsley, and Mrs. Willoughby greeted 
 him cordially, but that many others appeared surprised and 
 displeased. Little time was given to note more, for the 
 stranger's eyes fell upon her. He instandy turned to his 
 hostess, and evidently asked for an introduction. With a 
 slight sparkle of mischief in her eyes, Mrs. Willoughby com- 
 plied, and Ella saw the stranger coming towards her as 
 straight and prompt as if he meant to carry her off bodily. 
 He seemed to ignore every one and every thing else in the 
 room, but she was too high-spirited to fall into a panic, or 
 even to be confused. Indeed she found herself growing 
 angry, and was resolving to give him a lesson, when his 
 name was mentioned. Then she was startled, and for an 
 instant confused. This was no other than the son of " that 
 old — Mr. Houghton," as Mrs. Bodine always mentioned 
 hiin, with a little cough of self-recovery as if she had been on 
 the perilous edge of saying something very unconventional. 
 His father was her father's employer, and the instinctive 
 desire to save her father from trouble led to hesitation in 
 her plan of rebuke and retaliation. Her petty resentment 
 should not lead to any unpleasant complications, and she 
 therefore merely bowed civilly. 
 
 Houghton repeated her name as if a victim of momentary 
 surprise himself, and then said with his direct gaze, " I wish 
 to ask ten thousand pardons." 
 
174 '^^E EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 "That is a great many. I shall have to think about 
 granting one." 
 
 " If I were you I wouldn't do it," was his next rather 
 brusque remark. 
 
 "That is your advice, then? " 
 
 " No, indeed. I'm not my own worst enemy. Miss 
 Bodine, circumlocution is not my forte. I had not walked 
 a block away from you the other day before I charged myself 
 with being a fool and a brute. It took just that long for me 
 to get it into my thick head what your manner and words 
 meant, and I've been in a rage with myself ever since." 
 
 "Well," she asked, looking down demurely, "what did 
 they mean? " 
 
 "They meant you were a brave girl, — that from a chiv- 
 alric impulse you had drawn near when even men stood 
 a little aloof, as if fearing that if the affair came to blows, 
 they might get a chance one themselves. Your face had 
 the frank expression of a child — how often in fancy I've 
 seen it since ! — the words came from your lips almost as 
 a child would speak them. Now that I see you again I 
 know how true my second thoughts were of you and of 
 myself. I deserve a whipping instead of your pardon." 
 
 There was a point yet to be cleared up in Ella's mind, 
 and she remarked coldly, " I do not see how you could 
 have had any other thoughts than what you term your 
 second thoughts." 
 
 " Nor do I, now ; and I suppose you can have no mercy 
 on a poor fellow who is often hasty and wrong-headed. I 
 will make a clean breast of it. I was charmed with your 
 expression when first aware of your presence, but when you 
 spoke you touched a sore spot. Miss Bodine, you would 
 not be ostracized at the North. You would be treated with 
 the courtesy and cordiality to which every one would see 
 you to be entitled. Practically I am ostracized here by the 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 1 75 
 
 class to which you belong. When you spoke I stalked 
 away like a sulky boy, muttering, ' Why shouldn't I be a 
 gentleman ? ' Even the girls in this town are taught to look 
 upon Northerners as boors. I had only to pick up an old 
 woman, and face a bully, when, as if in utter surprise that 
 one of my ilk should be so grandly heroic, I heard the 
 words, 'You are a gentleman.' You see it was my wretched 
 egotism that got me into the scrape. When I thought of 
 you, not myself, I saw the truth at once, and felt like going 
 back to the expressman and meekly asking him to give me 
 a drubbing." 
 
 All was clear to Ella now. Indeed there was a frankness 
 and sincerity about Houghton which left no suspicion of 
 dark corners and mental reservations. As his explanation 
 proceeded she began to laugh. " Well," she remarked, " I 
 had my first thoughts too. I said to myself, as I pursued 
 my way homeward, with burning cheeks, that you or any 
 one else might save all the old women in town, and fight all 
 the bullies, and that I would pass on my way without looking 
 to the right or left." 
 
 " Pardon me. Miss Bodine, you are mistaken. Your gen- 
 erous spirit would get the better of you again in two seconds. 
 Heaven grant, however, that next time you may have a gen- 
 tleman as your ally. For a few moments I ceased to be 
 one, and became an egotistical fool," 
 
 " You are too hard upon yourself. Since you interpret 
 me so kindly it would ill become me to " — 
 
 " Ella, my dear," said her chaperon, " let me present to 
 you Mr. Vandeveer." 
 
 Houghton gave her a bright, grateful glance, rose instantly, 
 and bowed himself away. 
 
 Mrs. Robertson had been on pins and needles over this 
 prolonged conference. There was something so resolute 
 about Houghton's manner, and he had placed his chah: so 
 
176 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 adroitly to bar approach to Ella, that the good lady was in 
 sore straits. Mrs. Willoughby saw her perplexity, and felt 
 not a little mischievous pleasure over it. She disappeared 
 that she might not be called upon to interfere. At last in 
 desperation Mrs. Robertson laid hold on Mr. Vandeveer, 
 and ended the ominous interview. 
 
 Ella gave rather lame attention to her new companion's 
 commonplaces ; then others were introduced, and the even- 
 ing was drifting away in the ordinary fashion. She soon 
 began to talk well in her own bright way, and had all the 
 attention a young debutante could desire, but she was always 
 conscious of Houghton's presence, and also aware that he 
 was quietly observant of her. She saw that he met with 
 very little cordiality, and that from but a few. Woman- like 
 she began to take his part in her thoughts, and to feel the 
 injustice shown him. She had an innate sense of fair play, 
 and she resented the manoeuvring of her chaperon to keep 
 him away from her. Yet she soon found herself enjoying 
 abundandy the conversation of such young men as met with 
 Mrs. Robertson's approval. This truth was apparent to that 
 lady's satisfaction, but the independent young woman was 
 not long in resolving that if she went into society she would 
 not go as a child in leading-strings, and she determined that 
 she would speak to Houghton again before the evening was 
 over, if the opportunity offered. He had at last disap- 
 peared, but she soon discovered that he was on the balcony 
 with Clancy and Miss Ainsley. Strolling past them with 
 her escort, she heard enough of their bright, merry talk to 
 wish that she had a part in it. It was her nature, however, 
 to avoid him until she could speak under the eye of her 
 chaperon, and she again entered the lighted drawing-room. 
 
 Houghton, meanwhile, had been doing some thinking 
 himself. The girl, whose blue eyes had looked at him so 
 annrovindv in the street, was takinc: a stronger hold on his 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 1/7 
 
 fancy every moment. The relaxation of her cold aspect into 
 mirthfulness, and an approach to kindness had enchanted 
 him ; while her ardent, honest, fearless nature appealed to 
 him powerfully. " She strikes me as a woman who would 
 stand by a fellow through thick and thin as long as he was 
 right," he thought, " and if my judgment is correct the 
 whole ex- Confederate army shan't keep me from getting 
 acquainted with her. Ah ! how I liked that severe look in 
 her eyes till she knew what my first thoughts were ! She 
 has blue blood of the right sort, and I'm sorely mistaken if 
 it doesn't feed a brain that can think for itself." 
 
 He also returned to the drawing-room, and was vigilant 
 for an opportunity. It soon occurred. Ella and her at- 
 tendant were chatting with Mrs. Willoughby a little apart 
 from the others. Houghton joined them instantly, and was 
 encouraged when both the ladies greeted him with a smile. 
 The attendant gentleman soon withdrew, the hostess re- 
 mained a few moments longer, and then Houghton and Ella 
 were alone. 
 
 "You may have observed," he said, "the penalty I pay 
 for being a Northerner." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " and I don't think it's fair." 
 " Miss Bodine, do you dare think for yourself? " 
 " I scarcely know how I can help doing so." 
 " That is just what I was thinking^out on the balcony." 
 " I thought you were charmed by that beautiful Miss 
 Ainsley." 
 
 " She has no eyes except for Clancy, and a fine fellow he 
 is too, — too good for her, I imagine. I can't make her 
 out." 
 
 " Neither can I." 
 
 " Oh, bother her ! I don't Uke feminine riddles. Miss 
 Bodine, there's a gentleman in my father's employ bearing 
 your name. Is he a relative ? " 
 
178 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " He is my father," she replied proudly. 
 
 " I should guess as much if your eyes were not so blue." 
 
 " I have my mother's eyes, I am told." 
 
 " Well, on that same day — you know — he told me that 
 he was a gentleman : can you guess how? " 
 
 " I would rather you should tell me." 
 
 " I was sent to him by my father with a message, and I 
 spoke rudely to him at first; not intentionally, but as a 
 harum-scarum young fellow might speak to an elderly man 
 under ordinary circumstances, I meaning nothing more than 
 friendly familiarity. I fear you won't understand, but with 
 you I can't help downright honesty." 
 
 " Yes, I understand. He was one of your father's clerks, 
 and you cared little what you said to him." 
 
 "Scarcely right, Miss Bodine. With all my faults, — and 
 they are legion, — I'm good-natured, and do not intentionally 
 hurt people's feelings. What a fine proof of that I gave you 
 in my insufferable stupidity ! " 
 
 " That's been explained and is past. Please don't refer to 
 it any more." 
 
 " Heaven knows I wish to forget it. Well, your father 
 turned to me from his writing. One look was enough. I 
 begged his pardon twice on the spot. That is the way he 
 told me he was a gentleman. It had been so born and 
 bred into him that, unless a fellow was an idiot, one glance 
 told the story." 
 
 Her face softened wonderfully as he spoke, and her eyes 
 grew lustrous with feeling, as she said, — 
 
 " You are not an idiot, Mr. Houghton. I am glad you so 
 quickly appreciated my father. He is more than a gentle- 
 man, he is a hero, and I idolize him." 
 
 " I should fancy it was a mutual idolatry," and his eyes 
 expressed an admiration of which the dullest girl would have 
 been conscious, and Ella was not dull at all. " I wish we 
 
THE STRANGER EXPLAINS. 1/9 
 
 could become acquainted," he added abruptly, and with 
 such hearty emphasis that her color deepened. 
 
 Before she could reply, her chaperon managed to sepa- 
 rate them again, and she saw him no more until, rather early 
 in the evening, she was bidding her hostess good-night. 
 Then she encountered such an eager, questioning, friendly 
 look, that she smiled involuntarily, and slightly bowed as 
 she turned away. Mrs. Robertson was so pre-occupied at 
 the moment that she did not witness this brief, subtile ex- 
 change of — what? Ella did not know, herself, but her 
 heart was wonderfully light, and there was a delicious sense 
 of exhilaration in all her veins. 
 
 As they were driving home, Mrs. Robertson began senten- 
 tiously, " Ella, in the main you behaved admirably. I don't 
 suppose any thing better could be expected of one so 
 unversed in society, especially Charleston society. You were 
 natural and refined in your deportment, and bore yourself as 
 became your ancestry. You will soon learn to make dis- 
 criminations. I had no idea that young Houghton would be 
 present, or I would have told you about him and his father. 
 Mrs. Willoughby is carrying things too far, even if many of 
 our people have consented to wink at much that we dis- 
 approve of. Houghton represents the most detested Northern 
 element among us. Of course you, in your inexperience, 
 felt that you must be polite to every man introduced to you, 
 and he talked with the volubility of which only a Yankee is 
 capable. It is scarcely possible that you will meet him any- 
 where except at Mrs. Willoughby's, and if you go there any 
 more you must learn the art of shaking off an objection- 
 able person speedily. Your meeting Houghton to-night was 
 purely accidental, and I reckon that after you have been out 
 a few times you will learn to choose your associates from 
 those only of wliom your father and cousin would approve. 
 Perhaps therefore you had better not say any thing about 
 
l8o THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 your meeting Houghton, unless you feel that you ought. No 
 harm has been done, and it would only displease your 
 father, and render him adverse to your going out hereafter." 
 
 The good lady was a little worried by the fear that her 
 reputation as a chaperon would be damaged, and, sincerely 
 believing that "no harm had been done," and that her 
 homily would remove all danger from the future, she coun- 
 selled as she thought wisely. Her heart was full of good 
 will towards the girl, and she was desirous that nothing 
 should prevent her from enjoying society in her interpreta- 
 tion of the word. 
 
 Ella thanked her warmly for her kindness and advice, but 
 she was in deep perplexity, for she had never concealed any 
 thing from her father before. Her lightness of heart was 
 already gone, and there were tears in her eyes before she 
 slept. 
 
UNCLE SIIEBA SAT UPON. l8l 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPON. 
 
 OLD TOBE, keeper of the " rasteran," may have been 
 right in saying that Uncle Sheba had backsHdden as 
 far as he could slide, remembering the limitations of a life 
 like his, but circumstances had recently occurred which 
 brought his church relations to a crisis. Tobe was the 
 opposite pole in character to Uncle Sheba. There was an 
 energy about the old caterer which defied age and summer 
 heat. Even his white wool always seemed bristling aggres- 
 sively and controversially. His fiery spirit influenced his 
 commonest acts. Wlien he boiled potatoes his customers 
 were wont to say " he made 'em bile like de debil." 
 
 He carried his energy into his religion, one of his favorite 
 exhortations in the prayer-meeting being, " Ef you smners 
 wants to 'scape you'se got to git up an' git." During the 
 preaching service he took a high seat in the synagogue, and 
 if any one in the range of his vision appeared drowsy he 
 would turn round and glare till the offender roused into 
 consciousness. The children and young people stood in 
 awe of him, and there was a perfect oasis of good behavior 
 surrounding his pew. Once some irreverent young men 
 thought it would be a joke to pretend to " conviction ob 
 sin," and to seek religious counsel of old Tobe, but they 
 came away scared half out of their wits, one of them 
 declaring that he smelt brimstone a week afterwards. 
 The Rev. Mr. Birdsall felt that he had a strong ally in 
 
1 82 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Tobe, but he often sighed over the old man's want of dis- 
 cretion. 
 
 Uncle Sheba was Tobe's bete noir, and he often inwardly 
 raged over "dat lazy niggah." " De time am comin' w'en 
 dat backslider got to be sot on," he would mutter, and this 
 seemed his one consolation. He could scarcely possess his 
 soul in patience in the hope of this day of retribution ; 
 " but I kin hole in till it come, fer it's gwine to come shuah," 
 he occasionally said to some congenial spirits. 
 
 Tobe had a very respectable following in the church both 
 as to numbers and character, for many looked upon his zeal 
 as heaven-inspired. At last there came a hot Sunday after- 
 noon which brought his hour and opportunity. Mr. Birdsall 
 was not only expounding, but also pounding the pulpit 
 cushion in order to waken some attention in his audience. 
 Old Tobe had been whirling from one side to the otlier, and 
 glaring hither and thither, till in desperation he got up and 
 began to nudge and pinch the delinquents. From one of 
 the back pews, however, there soon arose a sound which so 
 increased as to drown even Mr. Birdsall's stentorian voice. 
 Tobe tiptoed to the spot, and, in wrath that he deemed 
 righteous, blended with not a litde exultation, looked upon 
 Uncle Sheba. His head had fallen on his bosom, and from 
 his nose were proceeding sounds which would put to shame 
 a high-pressure engine. Aun' Sheba was shaking him on 
 one side and Kern Watson on the other. Audible snicker- 
 ing was general, but this soon gave way to alarm as Aun' 
 Sheba exclaimed aloud, " He's dun gwine an' got de popo- 
 plexy shuah." 
 
 " Carry him out," said old Tobe, in a whisper which 
 might have been heard in the street. 
 
 Two or three men sprang forward to aid, but Kern sternly 
 motioned them back, and, lifting Uncle Sheba's pordy form 
 
UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPON. 1 83 
 
 vestibule. Scores were about to follow, but Tobe, with his 
 wool bristling as never seen before, held up his hand impres- 
 sively, and in the same loud whisper, heard by all, remarked, 
 " It doan took de hull cong'ration to wait on one po' sinner. 
 Sabe yo'selves, brud'ren an' sisters. Sabe yo'selves, fer de 
 time am a comin' w'en you'se all will be toted out dis yere 
 temple ob de Lawd foot fo'most." 
 
 With this grewsome recollection forced upon their atten- 
 tion, the people sat down again, wide awake at last. Tobe 
 beckoned to three or four elderly men whom he knew he 
 could rely upon, and they gathered around Uncle Sheba. 
 His wife was slapping him on the back, and chafing his 
 hands, while Kern was splashing water in his face. The 
 unfortunate man began to sneeze, and manifest rather con- 
 vulsive signs of recovery. At last he blurted out, " Dar 
 now, dar now, Aun' Sheba, doan go on so. I'se gwine to 
 bring in de kinlins right smart." 
 
 " Bress de Lawd ! " exclaimed Aun' Sheba, " dat soun' 
 nat'rel. No popoplexy in dat ar kin' ob talk." 
 
 Tobe and his allies exchanged significant glances. Uncle 
 Sheba was brought to his senses sufficiently to be supported 
 home by his wife and son-in-law. He soon became aware 
 that he had committed an awful indiscretion, for Watson 
 looked stem, and there was a portentous solemnity in Aun' 
 Sheba's expression. He began to enter on excuses. "I 
 was jis' come ober by de heat," he said. " 'Tween de 
 heat an' de po'ful sarmon, I was jis' dat 'pressed dat de 
 sperit went out ob me." 
 
 " Mr. Buggone," replied his wife severely, " it was wat 
 went inter you, an' not wat wen' out ob you, dat made de 
 trouble. You jes' gormidized at dinnah. I'se gwine to cut 
 off you'se 'lowance one-half" 
 
 At this dire threat Uncle Sheba groaned aloud, feeling 
 that his sin had overtaken him swiftly indeed. His supper 
 
1 84 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 was meagre, and to his plaintive remarks Aim' Sheba made 
 no reply, but maintained an ominous silence until sleep 
 again brought the relief of oblivion. 
 
 After Uncle Sheba's departure, Tobe and the other pillars 
 of the church held a whispered conference in the vestibule, 
 and soon agreed upon their course. When the services were 
 over, they, with other sympathizers, waited upon the min- 
 ister. Mr. Birdsall was hot, tired, and incensed himself, and 
 so was in a mood to listen to their representations. 
 
 " Hit's time dis yere scan'el was r'moved," said Tobe sol- 
 emnly. " We mus' purge ourselves. Mr. Buggone should 
 be sot on, an' 'spended at de berry leas' ; an' ter make de 
 right 'pression on oders dat's gettin' weak in dere speritool 
 jints, I move we sot on Mr. Buggone's case to-morrer 
 ebenin'." 
 
 Mr. Birdsall was made to feel that it was his duty to 
 accede, but he already felt sorry for Aun' Sheba and the 
 Watsons, and had misgivings as to the result. 
 
 " Well," said he at last, " I'll agree to a prelim'nary con- 
 f'rence to-morrow evenin' at Mr. Buggone's house. Brud- 
 'ren, we must proceed in de sperit ob lub an' charity, an' do 
 our best to pluck a bran' from de burnin'." 
 
 In the morning he went around to prepare Aun' Sheba 
 for the ordeal, but she and Vilet had gone out upon their 
 mercantile pursuits, and Uncle Sheba also had disappeared. 
 To Sissy the direful intelligence was communicated. In 
 spite of all Mr. Birdsall's efforts to console, she was left sob- 
 bing and rocking back and forth in her chair. When Kern 
 came home, he heard the news with a rigid face. 
 
 '' Well," he said, " ef it's right, it's right. Ef I'd done 
 wrong I'd stan' up an' face wot come ob it." 
 
 Uncle Sheba knew when his wife would return, and was 
 ready to receive her in the meekest of moods. He had cut 
 an unusual quantity of wood and kindlings, but they failed 
 
UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPON: 1 85 
 
 to propitiate. Sissy soon called her mother to come over 
 to her cabin to hear of Mr. Birdsall's visit, and all that it 
 portended. Aun' Sheba listened in silence, and sat for a 
 long-time in deep thought, while Sissy and Vilet sobbed 
 (luietly. At last the old woman said firmly, '' Sissy, I wants 
 you and Kern ter be on han'. Vilet kin take keer ob de 
 chillun. Dis am gwine ter be a solemn 'casion, an' de Lawd 
 on'y knows wot's gwine ter come out ob it. Anyhow dis 
 fam'ly mus' stan' by one noder. My mind ain't clar jes' yit, 
 but'll git clar wen de 'mergency comes ; I jes' feel it in my 
 bones it'll git clar den." 
 
 There was such an awful solemnity in her aspect when she 
 returned, that Uncle Sheba was actually scared. It seemed 
 to him that her manner could not be more depressing if she 
 were making preparations for his funeral. His trepidation 
 was increased when he was told briefly and sternly to put 
 on his " Sunday-go-to- meetin's." 
 " Wot fer, Aun' Sheba ? " 
 
 « You'se know soon 'nuff. De Elder's gwine to call on 
 you dis ebenin'. Ef you'd had de popoplexy in arnest, 
 we'd made great 'lowance fer you, but wen you eat an' drink 
 till you mos' ready to bust, and den 'sturb de hull meetin' 
 by snortin' like a 'potamus, dar's got to be trouble, an' I'se 
 got to meet it." 
 
 Uncle Sheba did as he was directed, with the feeling that 
 the judgment day had come. 
 
 Meanwhile old Tobe had prepared his indictment, and 
 marshalled his forces for the occasion. At seven in the 
 evening he led them to the nearest comer, and waited for 
 Mr. Birdsall, who soon appeared. Led by him, they entered 
 Aun' Sheba's living-room in solemn procession. Although 
 the evening was warm, there was a fire on the hearth, for 
 she had said, " Dere's gwine ter be notin' wantin' to de 
 'casion." All the chairs had been brought in from Watson's 
 
1 86 riiE EARTH trembled. 
 
 cabin, and he and Sissy sat in the background. Uncle 
 Sheba had been placed on the farther side of the hearth, 
 and was fairly trembling with apprehension. He tried to 
 assume a pious, penitent air, but failed miserably. Aun' 
 Sheba made an imposing spectacle. 
 
 She had arrayed herself in her Sunday gown and had 
 wound a flaming turban about her head. Apparently she 
 was the most collected person present, except Kern Watson 
 who sat back in shadow, his face quiet and stern. As the 
 minister and committee entered she rose with dignity and 
 said, " Elder an' brud'ren, take cheers." 
 
 Then she sat down again, folded her hands and gazed 
 intently at the ceiling. 
 
 If old Tobe was not cool, as indeed he never was, he was 
 undaunted, and only waited for the minister to prepare the 
 way before he opened on Uncle Sheba. A few moments of 
 oppressive silence occurred, during which the culprit shook 
 as if he had an ague, but Aun' Sheba did not even wink. 
 Mr. Birdsall, regarding her portentous aspect with increased 
 misgiving, began at last in a mournful voice, " Mis Buggone, 
 dis is a very sorrowful 'casion. We are here not as you'se 
 enemies but as you'se fren's. Our duty is painful, 'stremely 
 so, but de brud'ren feel dat de time is come wen Mr. Bug- 
 gone mus' be made to see de error ob his ways, dat dere 
 mus' be no mo' precrastination. De honah ob de church 
 is japerdized. Neber-de-less he is a free-agent. De lamp 
 still holes out to burn " — 
 
 " An' de wilest sinner can return," interrupted Aun' Sheba, 
 nodding her head repeatedly. *'I unerstan'. You means 
 well, Elder." 
 
 Old Tobe could hold in no longer, and began excitedly, 
 " De question am weder de wile sinner's gwine ter return, or 
 wants ter return, or's got any return in 'im. Elder, I feels 
 ^er Mis Buggone an' her family, but dis yere ting's gwine 
 
UNCLE SHED A SAT UPON: 1 8/ 
 
 on long anuff. We'se been forebearin' an' long-sufferin' till 
 dere's a scan'el in de church. I'se tried wid all my might 
 ter keep de people awake an' listenin', an' I'se gettin' dun 
 beat out. Ef we wink at dis awful 'zample you mought as 
 well go to de grabe-yard an' preach. It ud be mo' com- 
 fable fer you, kase dey'd hear jus' as well, an' dey wouldn't 
 'sturbe de 'scorse by snorin' de roof off. Now I ask de 
 sense ob dis meetin'. Wen a member backslide so he do 
 notin' but eat an' sleep, oughtener he be sot on?" 
 
 There was audible approval from all of Tobe's followers, 
 and he was encouraged to go on. 
 
 " Ef Mr. Buggone mus' sleep mos' ob de time let him 
 sleep peac'ble in his own house, but de Scripter say, ' Wake 
 dem dat sleepest,' an' we say it's time Mr. Buggone woke 
 up. Any cullud pusson dat kin snore so po'ful as Mr. 
 Buggone needn't say he weakly an' po'ly. Hafe de poah 
 he put in his snore ud lif 'im right along in all good works, 
 week days an' Sundays. But I'se loss faith in 'im. He's 
 been 'spostulated an' 'monstrated with, an' 'zorted so often 
 dat he's hardened an' his conscience zeered wid a hot iron. 
 We'se jes' got to take sich sinners in han', or de paster-lot 
 won't hole de flock no mo'. I move we take steps to 'spend 
 Mr. Buggone." 
 
 " Secon' dat motion," said one of his followers promptly. 
 
 " Mr. an' Mis Buggone, have you nothin' to say?" asked 
 Mr. Birdsall sadly. 
 
 " Elder," began Uncle Sheba in his most plaintive tone, 
 " you know de heat yistidy was po'ful " — 
 
 " Mr, Buggone," interrupted his wife severely, " dis ain't 
 no 'casion fer beatin' round de bush an' creepin' troo knot- 
 holes. You knows de truf an' I knows de truf. No, Elder, 
 we'se got not'in ter say at jes' dis time." 
 
 "Den, Elder, you put de motion dat we take steps," said 
 Tobe promptly. 
 
1 88 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 With evident reluctance Mr. Birdsall did so, and the 
 affirmative was unanimously voted by the committee. 
 
 " I wants ter be 'spended too," said Aun' Sheba, still 
 gazing at the ceiling. 
 
 " Now, Mis Buggone, dere would be no right nor reason 
 in dat," the minister protested. 
 
 " Elder, I doesn't say you-uns ain't all right, an' I does 
 say you means well, but I'se de bes' jedge of my inard 
 speritool frame. Hit was neber jes' clar in my mind dat 
 I was 'ligious, an' now I know I ain't 'ligious, an' I wants 
 ter be 'spended." 
 
 " But it is clar in my mind dat you are religious, dat you'se 
 a good woman. Would to de good Lawd dat de church 
 was full ob Christians like you ! " 
 
 " I'se spoke my min'," persisted Aun' Sheba doggedly. 
 " Ole Tobe shall hab his way an' de church be purged." 
 
 " Elder," said Tobe, now quite carried away by zeal and 
 exultation, " p'raps Mis Buggone am de bes' jidge. Ef she 
 feel she ain't one ob de aninted ones " — 
 
 " Peace ! " commanded Mr. Birdsall, " never \vith my 
 consent shall any steps be taken to suspend Mis Buggone. 
 You forgits, Tobe, how easy it is to pull up de wheat wid 
 de tares." 
 
 " Den I 'spend myself," said Aun' Sheba, " an' I is 
 'spended. Now I gvvine ter 'fess de truf. I guve Mr. Bug- 
 gone an extra Sunday dinner yistidy. I was puff up wid 
 pride kase business was good, an' I bress de Lawd fer pros- 
 perin' me. Den like a fool I 'dulge myself and I 'dulge 
 Mr. Buggone. Ef he's ter be 'spended fer a snorin' sleep, 
 I oughter be 'spended fer a dozin' sleep, fer I 7ijas a dozin' ; 
 an' I feels it in my bones dat we bofe oughter be 'spended, 
 an' I is, no matter wot you does wid Mr. Buggone. Now, 
 Tobe, you hab had you'se say, an' Ise a-gwine to hab mine. 
 YoH'se got a heap ob zeal. You wouldn't lead de flock ; 
 
UNCLE SHEBA SAT UPON. 1 89 
 
 you'd dribe 'em, you'd chase 'em, you'd worry de bery 
 wool ofif ob dem. Whar you git you sperit fum ? You ain't 
 willin' ter wait till de jedgment day ; you'd hab a jedgment 
 ebery day in de week. You'se like dem 'siples dat was 
 allers wantin' ter call down fiah from Heben. Look out 
 you don't get scorched yo'self. I can't be 'ligious long o' 
 you, an' if you got 'ligion I habn't. Elder, you says de 
 Lawd Hbed yere on- dis yarth. I ony wish I'd libed in dem 
 days. I'd a cooked, an' washed, an' ironed, an' baked fer 
 Him an' all de 'siples. Den like anuff He'd say, ' Ole Aun' 
 Sheba, you means well, I won't be hard on you nor none 
 of you'se folks when de jedgment day comes.' But so much 
 happen since dat ar time wen He was yere dat I kinder got 
 mixed up. I reckon I jes' be 'spended, an' let Him put de 
 ole woman whar she belong wen de time comes." 
 
 There was pathos in her tones ; her stoicism had passed 
 away, and tears were streaming from her eyes, while Sissy 
 was sobbing audibly. The committee at first had been 
 aghast at the result of the meeting, and now their emotional 
 natures were being excited also. Old Tobe was discon- 
 certed, and still more so when Aun' Sheba suddenly rallied, 
 and, turning upon him, said with ominous nods, " Wen dat 
 day come, Old Tobe, you won't be de jedge." 
 
 Thus far Kern Watson had sat silent as a statue, but now 
 his strong feelings and religious instincts gained the mastery. 
 Lifting up his powerful mellow voice he sang : — 
 
 The people was a gatherin' from far and neah ; 
 
 Some come fer fishes an' some ter heah ; 
 
 But He fed dem all, an' He look so kin' 
 
 Dat dey followed, dey followed, an' none stay behin'. 
 
 But one got loss, an' he wandered far, 
 De night come dark, no moon, no star ; 
 De lions roared an' de storm rose high, 
 An' de po' loss one lie down ter die. 
 
190 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Den come a voice, an' de win's went down, 
 An' de lions grovel on de groun'. 
 An' de po' loss one am foun' an' sabed, 
 Fer de Shepherd ebery danger brabed. 
 
 These words, as sung by Kern, routed old Tobe com- 
 pletely ; he hung his head and had not a word to say. The 
 committee had beaten time with their feet, and began to 
 clap their hands softly. Then Mr. Birdsall, with kindly 
 energy, exhorted Uncle Sheba, who groaned aloud and said 
 " Amen " as if in the depths of penitence. A long prayer 
 followed which even moved old Tobe, for Aun' Sheba had 
 shaken his self-confidence terribly. The little company 
 broke up with hand-shaking all around, Tobe saying, " Sister 
 Buggone, I bears no ill-will. I'se gwine ter look inter my 
 speritool frame, an' ef I cotch de debil playin' hob wid me 
 he's gwine to be put out, hoof an' horns." 
 
 Aun' Sheba wrung her son-in-law's hand, as she said, 
 " You'se singin', Kern, kinder went to de right spot. Neber- 
 de-less I'se 'spended till I feels mo' shuah." 
 
 Sissy kissed her mother and father affectionately, and then 
 the old couple were left alone. Aun' Sheba gazed thought- 
 fully into the dying fire, but before long Uncle Sheba began 
 to hitch uneasily in his chair. Finally he mustered up cour- 
 age to say, " Aun' Sheba, dis am been bery po'ful 'casion, 
 bery tryin' to my narbes an' feelin's. Yet I feels kinder 
 good an' hopeful in my inards. Ef I wasn't jes' so dun 
 beat out I'd feel mo' good. P'raps now, 'siderin' all I'se 
 pass troo, you wouldn't min' gibin' me a bit ob dat cole 
 ham an' hoe-cake " — 
 
 " Mr. Buggone," began Aun' Sheba sternly, then she sud- 
 denly paused, threw her apron over her head and rocked 
 back and forth. 
 
 " Dar now, Aun' Sheba, dar now, doan go on so. I was 
 ony a sigestin' kase I feels po'ly, but I kin stan' it." 
 
UNCLE SI/EBA SAT UPOiV. I9I 
 
 " Pse no better dan old Tobe hisself," groaned Ami' 
 Sheba. " All on us is hard on some one, while a hopin' fer 
 marcy ourselves. Ef you'se hebin is in de cubud, go in 
 dar an' hep a sef," And she rose and opened the door of 
 the treasure-house. 
 
 " I'se jes' take a leetle bite, Aun' Sheba, jes a leetle com- 
 f tin bite, kase I'se been so sot on dat I feels bery weakly 
 an' gone-like." 
 
 Uncle Sheba was soon comforted and sleeping, but Aun' 
 Sheba still sat by the hearth until the last glowing embers 
 turned to ashes. " Yes," she muttered at last, " I'se 'spended 
 till I feels mo' shuah." 
 
192 TFIE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSED. 
 
 SLEEP and buoyancy of temperament enabled Ella to see 
 every thing in a very different light the following morn- 
 ing. " The idea of my taking what happened last night so 
 seriously ! " she said aloud while making her toilet. " As 
 Mrs. Robertson said, ' no harm has been done.' Of course 
 I shall tell papa and Cousin Sophy that I met and talked to 
 Mr. Houghton. What if I did ? He was introduced to me 
 just as the others were, and what do I care for him? He 
 was a very agreeable Vandal, and I'm glad to have had a 
 chance to see what Vandals are like. As with other buga- 
 boos they lose their terrors under close inspection." 
 
 At breakfast, therefore, she was merrier than usual, and 
 gave a graphic and humorous account of the company, ex- 
 patiating on the beauty and mystery of Miss Ainsley, her 
 preference for Clancy, and his apparent devotion to her. 
 
 " By the way," she said at last, " who do you think was 
 there? You can't guess, so I will tell you, — young Mr. 
 Houghton." 
 
 _ " What ! the son of that old — beg pardon. Cousin Hugh," 
 and Mrs. Bodine laughingly added, " It nearly slipped out 
 that time." 
 
 " I hope he was not presented to you, Ella," said her 
 father gravely. 
 
 " Well, he was, and by Mrs. Willoughby. I didn't talk 
 with him very much, but of course I had to be polite. 
 
YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSED. 
 
 193 
 
 When I first heard his name I felt that I should be polite 
 for your sake ; and I was rather sorry for him, too, because 
 so many evidently frowned on his presence." 
 
 '' You need not be polite to him again for my sake," said 
 her father decidedly. " I am under no obhgations to him 
 or his father, and this is a case into which policy cannot 
 enter. I do not blame you, however," he added, more 
 kindly, " for you acted from good impulses. Of course, as 
 you say, you must be polite to every one, but you have a 
 perfect right to be cold towards those who are unfriendly to 
 us, and with whom we can never have any part or lot. I 
 have been in Mr. Houghton's employ long enough to be 
 convinced more fully, if possible, that, while he is an honest 
 man, he has not a particle of sympathy with or for our peo- 
 ple. I told him from the start that there could be no social 
 relations between us. You must learn to avoid and shake 
 off people who are objectionable." 
 
 " Well," said Ella, laughing, " I won't have to shake off 
 people while under Mrs. Robertson's wing. She bore down 
 upon us, as Cousin Sophy would say, like a seventy-four 
 of the line. Dear papa, you know that Mr. Houghton is 
 nothing to me, but it scarcely seems fair that he should be 
 punished for the sins of his father." 
 
 " You need not punish him, my dear. Simply have noth- 
 ing to do with him. He is the last person in the world to 
 be regarded as an object of sympathy," and her father spoke 
 a little irritably. 
 
 Ella thought it wise to make no further reference to him. 
 "After all," she thought, "what does it matter? I'm glad 
 he had a chance to explain that disagreeable episode in the 
 street, and now I am practically done with him. I can at 
 least be civil, should we ever meet again, and there it will 
 end." 
 
 "Mrs. Willoughby is going too far," said Mrs. Bodine, 
 
194 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 musingly. " If she continues to invite such people she may 
 find that other invitations will be declined without regrets. 
 We haven't much left to us, but we can at least choose our 
 associates." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," said Ella lightly. " I did not invite 
 him to spend this evening with us," and kissing her father 
 and cousin good-by, she started for Mara's home. 
 
 Her thoughts were busy on the way, and they were chiefly 
 of a self-gratulatory character. The whole episode now 
 amused her gready, for she could not help agreeing with her 
 father that the great, strapping fellow was not an object of 
 sympathy. "He probably has a score of flames at the 
 North," she thought, " and wouldn't mind adding a little 
 Southern girl to the number, especially as she is a sort of 
 forbidden fruit to him. Well, he's not a bad fellow, if he 
 is that old blank's son, as Cousin Sophy always suggests. 
 Nevertheless, I don't think he's treated fairly, and I can't 
 keep up these old bitter feelings. What had he or I to do 
 with the war, I'd like to know? Well, well, I suppose it's 
 natural for those who went through it to feel as they do, but 
 I wish Mara wasn't so bound up in the past. It isn't fair to 
 him," she broke out again. " He said I wouldn't be ostra- 
 cized at the North. Bother ! it don't matter what he said. 
 As to our getting acquainted " — And she almost laughed 
 outright at the preposterous idea. 
 
 She and Mara were soon busy as usual, and as oppor- 
 tunity offered, she told her fellow-worker of the events of 
 the evening. Mara, with a languid interest, inquired about 
 those whom she knew, and how they appeared, and she 
 sometimes laughed aloud at Ella's droll descriptions. She 
 was even more emphatic in her disapproval of young Hough- 
 ton's presence than the captain or Mrs. Bodine had been. 
 " I shall never accept any invitation from Mrs. Willoughby 
 after this," she said firmly. 
 
YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSED. 1 95 
 
 "Well now, Mara," replied Ella with a little toss of her 
 head, " I can't share in that spirit. Mr. Houghton is a 
 gentleman, and I could meet him in society, chat with him, 
 and let it end there. We can't keep this thing up forever, 
 that is, we of the younger generation. Why should I hate 
 that big, good-natured fellow ? The very idea seems ridic- 
 ulous. I could laugh at him, and tease and satirize him 
 a little, but I could no more feel as you do towards 
 him, than I could cherish an enmity towards a sunflower. 
 Still, since father feels as he does, I shall have to cut 
 him as far as possible, should I ever meet him again, which 
 is not probable. I reckon that Mrs. Willoughby will be so 
 crushed that even she won't invite him any more." 
 
 " I should hope not, truly." 
 
 " Well, she has a Northern girl visiting her, and a very 
 remarkable looking girl she is." 
 
 " That is a different affair, although I do not approve of 
 it. Miss Ainsley is the daughter of a rich man who is 
 doing much for the South, and who feels kindly toward us, 
 while old Mr. Houghton detests us as heartily as we do him. 
 He is absorbing our business and taking it away from South- 
 ern men, and he exults over the fact. Miss Ainsley is cer- 
 tainly a very beautiful girl, for I've seen her. I suppose she 
 received much attention." Mara purposely turned her back 
 on Ella, and busied herself in the farther part of the 
 kitchen. She had heard rumors of Clancy's attention to 
 the fair Northerner, and she both dreaded and hoped to 
 have them verified. " Any thing," she sighed, " oh, any 
 thing which will break his hold upon my heart ! " 
 
 Unconsciously, Ella gave her more information than she 
 could well endure. " I reckon she did receive attention, 
 very concentrated attention, and that was all she cared for 
 evidently. She was rather languid until Mr. Clancy ap- 
 peared, and then she welcomed him with all her brilliant 
 
196 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 eyes. He looked as if he understood her perfectly, and 
 they spent most of the evening on the shadowy balcony 
 together. It is another case of the North conquering the 
 South ; but if I were a man, I'd think twice before surren- 
 dering to that girl. I had an instinctive distrust of her." 
 
 Mara felt that she was growing pale, and she immediately 
 busied herself about the stove until her face flamed with 
 the heat. 
 
 "You don't seem to take much interest in the afiair," 
 Ella remarked, as Mara continued silent. 
 
 " I never expect to make Miss Ainsley's acquaintance," 
 was the quiet reply, "and Mr. Clancy in my view has almost 
 ceased to be a Southerner." 
 
 "Well, I never met him before, and have only heard a 
 little about him from cousin Sophy, and that not in his favor. 
 He has a strong, intelligent face though, and a very resolute 
 look in his eyes." 
 
 " Yes," admitted Mara coldly, " I reckon he's one who 
 would have his own way without much regard for others." 
 
 " He may slip up for once. Miss Ainsley struck me as 
 a girl who would have her way, no matter how many hearts 
 she fractured." 
 
 Aun' Sheba and Vilet now entered, diverting Ella's 
 thoughts. The old woman sat down rather wearily, a look 
 of deep dejection on her face. 
 
 " Look here, Aun' Sheba," said the lively girl, " you're 
 not well, or else something is troubling you. You looked 
 down-hearted yesterday, and you look funereal now." 
 
 "We'se been sot on," said Aun' Sheba solemnly. 
 
 " ' Sot on ! ' good gracious ! Aun' Sheba, what do you 
 mean? " 
 
 " Well, dey sot on my ole man, an' husband an' wife am 
 one. Hit didn't turn out bad as I s'posed it would, bress 
 dat ar son-in-law ob mine, but I keeps a tinkin' it all ober, 
 
YOUNG HOUGHTON IS DISCUSSED. 1 97 
 
 an' I'se 'jected, I is ; an' dar's no use ob shoutin' glory 
 wen you doan feel glory." Then she told the whole story, 
 which kept Ella on pins and needles, for, while she felt 
 an honest sympathy for the poor soul, she had an almost 
 uncontrollable desire to laugh. 
 
 " Yes, Missy Mara," concluded Aun' Sheba pathetically, 
 " I'se 'spended, I 'spended myself, an' I'se gwine to stay 
 'spended till I feels mo' shuah." 
 
 "Suspended, Aun' Sheba ! " said Mara starting, suddenly 
 becoming conscious of present surroundings. 
 
 Aun' Sheba looked at her wonderingly, but voluble Ella 
 made it all right by saying, " No wonder Mara exclaimed. 
 The idea ! I wish I was half as good as you are." 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried Mara, striving to conceal her deep pre- 
 occupation, " that's the way with Aun' Sheba ; the better 
 she is, the worse she thinks she is. Do you mean to say that 
 your church people have suspended you? " 
 
 "No. I'se 'spended myself. Didn't I tole you ? " 
 
 " There, there. Aunty, I didn't understand. I believe in 
 you and always will." 
 
 " Well, honey, I reckon you'se ole nuss'll alers be de 
 same ter you wheder she'se 'ligious or no." 
 
 Both the girls now stood beside her, with a hand on either 
 shoulder, and Ella said heartily, " Now, Aun' Sheba, it is just 
 as you said, you're 'jected ; you've got the blues, and every 
 thing looks blue and out of shape to you. You can't see 
 the truth any more than if you were cross-eyed. I can 
 prove to you whether you're 'ligious or not. Vilet, ain't 
 your grandma a good Christian woman ? " 
 
 " 'Deed an' she is troo an' troo," said the child, who had 
 been a silent, yet deeply sympathetic listener. " Many's de 
 time she's sent me wid good tings to po' sick folks." 
 
 "There now," cried Ella. "Aun' Sheba, you've got to 
 believe the Bible. ' Out of the mouths of babes and suck- 
 
198 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 lings,' it says. You can't deceive a child. Vilet knows 
 better than you do." 
 
 "Shuah now, does you tink it's dataway?" and Ami' 
 Sheba looked up with hope in her eyes. 
 
 "Of course we think it's that way," said Ella. "Aun' 
 Sheba, you know a heap, as you say, about many things, 
 but you don't half know how good you are." 
 
 " I know how bad I is anyhow. I tells you I was in a 
 dozin' sleep." 
 
 "Well, I've been in a dozin' sleep many a time," said 
 Ella, " and I'm not going to be suspended by any one, not 
 even myself." 
 
 "Aun' Sheba," said Mara gently but firmly, "you know 
 I'm in earnest, and how much I love you for all your good- 
 ness ever since I was a helpless baby. You wouldn't say 
 hard, untrue things against any one else. You have no more 
 -right to be unjust to yourself. As Ella says, I wish I was as 
 good a Christian as you are." 
 
 " Now, Missy Mara, no mo' ob dat ar talk. I knows my 
 inard feelin's bes' ob any one. What Vilet say chirk me up 
 po'fuUy, kase she see me ebery day. I tell you what I'se 
 gwine ter do ; I'se gwine ter put myself on 'bation, and den 
 see wot come ob it. Now, honeys, I'se 'feered long nuff 
 wid business. You'se dun me good, honey lam's, an' de 
 Lawd bress you bofe. I'se tote de basket a heap pearter 
 fer dis yere talk. I feels a monst'us sight betteh. Wish 
 I could see you, honey, lookin' as plump as Missy Ella. 
 Dat do me mos' as much good as feelin' 'ligious." 
 
 Mara worried Mrs. Hunter over her pretence of making 
 a dinner, and then gladly sought the solitude of her own 
 room. At last she said with a bitter smile, " He has broken 
 the last shred that bound me." But as the hours passed in 
 tumultuous thoughts, her heart told her how vain were such 
 words. 
 
THE WARNING. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE WARNING. 
 
 CAPTAIN BODINE was halting serenely down into that 
 new vista in his life of which we have already spoken. 
 Every day both promise and fulfilment seemed richer than 
 he had ever imagined any future experience could be. He 
 was domiciled in a home exactly to his taste ; his cousm's 
 brave, cheerful spirit was infectious; the worry of financial 
 straits was over, and Ella was blooming and happy. These 
 favorable changes in themselves would have done much 
 towards banishing gloom and despondency; but another 
 element had entered into his existence which was as un- 
 expected as it was sweet. A deep, subtile exhilaration was 
 growing out of his companionship with Mara. Every long, 
 quiet talk that he enjoyed with her left a longing for another. 
 She was learning to regard him almost as a father, but he 
 did not think of her as he did of Ella. He loved Ella as 
 his child, but her buoyant spirit, her intense enjoyment of 
 the present, and her eager, hopeful eyes, fixed upon the 
 future, separated her from him. He did not wish it other- 
 wise in her case, for he hoped that there was a happy future 
 for her, and he rejoiced daily over the gladness in her face. 
 Mara, although so young, seemed of his own generation. 
 He often repeated to himself his cousin's words, " She is 
 as old as you are." She appeared to live in the past as 
 truly as himself. There was scarcely a subject on which 
 they were not in sympathy. He believed that Mrs. Bodme 
 
200 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 was right, and that Mara was essentially different from others 
 of her age. Indeed the impression grew upon him that the 
 mysterious principle of heredity had prepared her for the 
 companionship which apparently was valued as much by her 
 as by himself. During the many hours in which he was 
 alone, he thought the subject over in all its aspects, as he 
 supposed, and a hope, exquisitely alluring, began to take 
 form in his heart. 
 
 No man is without a certain amount of egotism and self- 
 love, and, although these were not characteristics of Bodine, 
 he could not help dwelling upon the truth that the remainder 
 of his life would be very different from what he had expected 
 could Mara be near to him. 
 
 Her eloquent look of sympathy so soon after they met 
 began to take the form of prophecy. At first it led him 
 to believe that she would receive a paternal, loving regard, 
 much the same as he gave to Ella ; but, as time passed, he 
 began to dwell upon the possibility of a closer tie. She 
 appeared to have no especial friends among young men, nor 
 indeed to care for any. Might not a strong, quiet affection 
 grow in each heart until they could become one in the 
 closest sense, e\en as they were now one in so many of 
 their thoughts and views? 
 
 It was natural tlat his deepening regard should tinge his 
 manner, yet Mara d.-eamed of nothing beyond the affection 
 which she was glad ;o receive from him. Vigilant eyes, 
 however, were following captain Bodine, and Clancy, with 
 a lover's jealous intuition, was guessing his rival's thoughts 
 and intentions more clearly every day. He did not adopt 
 any system of espionage, nor did he ask questions of any 
 one, but merely took occasion to walk on tlie Battery at an 
 hour when it was most frequented. Here he often saw 
 Mara and the veteran enjoying the cool sunset hour, and 
 sometimes he observed that Mara saw him. So far from 
 
THE IVAKiVIiVG. 201 
 
 shunning such observation, he not infrequently compelled 
 her recognition, which was always coldly bestowed upon her 
 part. 
 
 " It would seem that Mr. Clancy is more inclined to be 
 friendly than you are," Bodine remarked one evening. 
 
 " Before Mr. Clancy valued Northern friends more than 
 Southern ones we were friendly," was Mara's quiet reply. 
 She had schooled herself now into outward self-control, but 
 she chafed at his presence, and thought he happened to be 
 near her too frequently. Still it was ever will versus heart, 
 for the latter always acknowledged him as master. 
 
 He was satisfied that his impressions in regard to Bodine 
 were correct, and was impelled by his love to make an effort 
 to save her from drifting into relations which he believed 
 must inevitably destroy her chance for happiness. His 
 strong, keen mind had analyzed her every word, tone, and 
 varying expression, and he had become quite sure that her 
 bearing towards him was not the result of indifference, but 
 was rather due to pride, and a resolute purpose not to yield 
 to him unless he adopted her views. He also understood 
 her sufficiently well to dread lest a morbid sense of loyalty 
 to her father's memory might lead her to accept his friend 
 and old companion in arms. 
 
 "Her immediate associates would encourage the idea," 
 he thought, "and there are none to advise or warn her 
 except myself. She is morbid and unbalanced enough to 
 commit just such a fatal error. Her bringing up, and all 
 the influence of that warped Mrs. Hunter, would lead her to 
 sacrifice herself to the manes of her ancestors. Yet how 
 can I warn her — how can I reach her except I write ? I 
 wish to look into her eyes when I speak. I wish to plead 
 with her with all the power that I possibly possess. Great 
 Heaven ! if this that I fear should happen, what an awaken- 
 ing she might have when it was too late ! " 
 
202 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 At last he resolved on the simplest and most straight- 
 forward course, and wrote, — 
 
 Mara, — Will you grant me one more interview — the last, unless 
 you freely concede others. I have something important to say to you, 
 something that relates far more to your happiness than to my own. 
 In excuse for my request, I have nothing better to plead than my love 
 which you have rejected, and yet which entitles me to some consider- 
 ation. .1 think my motive is unselfish, — as unselfish as can be possi- 
 ble under the circumstances. You may treat me as you please, but 
 your welfare will always be dear to me. I shall not seek to change 
 your convictions, nor shall I plead for myself, for I know that all this 
 would be useless ; but I wish to see you face to face once more alone 
 in your own home. I must also request that Mrs. Hunter will not 
 interfere with our interview. You are not a child, and you know that 
 I am a gentleman, and that I am incapable of saying a word at vari- 
 ance with my profound respect for you. 
 
 Owen Clancy. 
 
 Mara was deeply agitated by this missive. Her first emo- 
 tion w^as that of anger, as much at herself as at him, — a 
 confused resentment that his words, his very handwriting, 
 should so move her, and that he should venture to write at 
 all. Had she not made it sufficiently plain that he had no 
 right to take, or, at least, to manifest any such interest in 
 her affairs? Were all her efforts futile to hide her love? 
 In spite of her habit of reserve and repression she had a 
 passionate heart, and this fact had been forced upon her by 
 vain and continuous struggles. Had he the penetration to 
 learn the truth? She could not tell, and this uncertainty 
 touched her pride to the very quick. After hours of 
 wavering purpose, impulses to ignore him and his request, 
 moments of tenderness in which will, pride, and every con- 
 sideration were almost overwhelmed, she at last arrived at 
 a fixed resolution. *' I will see him," she murmured. " He 
 has virtually told me that he will not give up what he terms 
 his principles for love. I shall not acknowledge my secret, 
 
THE WARNING. 20$ 
 
 but if he has discovered it, he shall learn that I also will not 
 give up my principles for love." 
 
 The next morning she quietly handed Clancy's note to 
 Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 " Shameful ! " ejaculated that lady. " Of course you will 
 pay no attention to him, or else write a curt refusal. I 
 insist on one course or the other." 
 
 Mara looked steadfastly at her aunt until the worthy lady 
 was somewhat disconcerted, and asked fretfully, " What do 
 you mean by that look, Mara? " 
 
 " Aunty, can't you realize that I am no longer a child, as 
 he says? " 
 
 " Well, but in a case like this " — 
 
 " In a case like this which concerns me so personally, I 
 must act according to my own judgment. You can be in 
 the adjoining room. Indeed I have no objection to your 
 hearing what is said, but I would rather you should not. 
 You have no occasion to fear. Mr. Clancy has alienated me 
 forever. I have no doubt that before the summer is over 
 he will be engaged to Miss Ainsley, if he is not already 
 engaged virtually. I have reasons for granting this final 
 interview which are personal — which my self-respect re- 
 quires, and, since they are personal, I need not mention 
 them. There shall be no want of respect and affection for 
 you, aunty, but you must reaUze that I have become an 
 independent woman, and I have the entire right to decide 
 certain questions for myself." 
 
 " Well, I wash my hands of it all," said Mrs. Hunter 
 coldly, "and since my strong convictions have no weight 
 with you, and you intend to act independently of me, of 
 course I shall not permit myself to hear a word of your 
 conversation." 
 
 "That will be the more dehcate and honorable course, 
 aunty." 
 
204 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Well, Mara, I only wish I need not be in the house at 
 the time." 
 
 "Aunty, that is the same as saying that your enmity 
 towards Mr. Clancy is greater than your love for me." 
 
 " But I don't see the use of this intensely disagreeable 
 interview. This is the only home I have." 
 
 "And the only home I have also, aunty." 
 
 " Oh, well, if you will, you will, I reckon." 
 
 "Yes, if I will, I willy and Mr. Clancy shall learn that 
 I have a will." 
 
 As Aun' Sheba was departing that morning, Mara followed 
 her into the hall-way, and, placing a note in her hand, said, 
 " Give that to Mr. Clancy and to no other. Say nothing 
 to him or to any one else. Do you understand, Aun' 
 Sheba?" 
 
 " I does, honey. Wen you talk dataway you'se heah an 
 eyster shoutin' 'fore Aun' Sheba speak." 
 
 Clancy only said, " Thank you," as he thrust a half-dollar 
 into the old woman's hand. 
 
 Aun' Sheba laid it on the desk, and remarked with great 
 dignity, " I does some tings widout money." 
 
 He paid no heed to her, but read eagerly, " Mr. Clancy, 
 — Come this evening. Mara Wallingford." 
 
 With a long breath he thought, " It will be my last chance. 
 I fear it will be useless, but at no future day shall she think 
 in bitterness of heart, ' He might have done more to save 
 me.' " 
 
 There was no sudden, involuntary illumination of her face 
 on this occasion when he entered her little parlor, and she 
 could not help noticing that his face was pale. She also 
 saw from his expression that his spirit was as high as hers ; 
 that there was not a trace of the lover, eager to plead 
 his cause. " He has pleaded successfully elsewhere," she 
 thought, and, in spite of all other conflicting feelings, she 
 
THE WARNING. 20$ 
 
 was curious to know what his motive could be in seeking 
 the interview. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mr. Clancy. Will j-ou sit down?" she 
 said coldly. 
 
 " Yes, Mara. Pardon me for calling you Mara. I am 
 beyond any affectation of formality with you, and you know 
 there is no lack of respect on my part." 
 
 She merely bowed and waited in silence. 
 
 " When you learn my motive for making my request, for 
 coming here to-night, you will probably resent it, but you 
 have taught me to expect little else except resentment from 
 you." 
 
 " Mr. Clancy, there is no cause for such language. Cer- 
 tainly I was quietly pursuing the even tenor of my way." 
 
 "Do you understand fully whither that way is leading? " 
 
 "Truly, Mr. Clancy, that is a singular question for you 
 to ask." 
 
 " I understand you, Mara. You mean that it is no affair 
 of mine." 
 
 He knew that her silence gave assent to this view, and he 
 answered as if she had spoken. 
 
 " Nevertheless you are mistaken. It is an affair of mine. 
 There could be no peace for me in the future if I failed you 
 now, for it seems to me I am the only true friend you have 
 in the world." 
 
 "Mr. Clancy," she said hotly, "we have differed so greatly 
 before that I might have been saved the pain of this inter- 
 view, but we never differed as we do at this moment. I 
 cannot listen to you any longer. It would be disloyalty to 
 those who a7'e true friends — friends that I love and honor." 
 
 " Do you love Captain Bodine ? " 
 
 " Certainly I do. He was my father's friend ; he is my 
 honored friend." 
 
 " Do you love Captain Bodine ? " 
 
206 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she asked angrily, flushing to her 
 very brow. 
 
 " Mara, be cahn. Listen to me as you value your life, as 
 you value your own soul. Do you think I would come here 
 for slight cause at such cost to us both? " 
 
 " I think you are strangely mistaken in coming here, and 
 using language which makes me doubt your sanity." 
 
 " Please do me the justice to note that there is nothing 
 wild in my manner, nor any excitement in my words." 
 
 "Noting this, I find it more difficult to explain your 
 course, or to pardon it." 
 
 " It is not necessary at present, that you should do either. 
 Please be patient a few minutes longer and my mission is 
 ended. I am not pleading for myself, but for you. Please 
 listen, or a time may come when in a bitterness beyond 
 words you may regret that you did not hear me. Thank 
 Heaven ! it is clear that I have not come too late. Captain 
 Bodine is more than your friend in his feelings ; he is your 
 lover, and you are so morbid, unfriended, unguided, that you 
 are capable of sacrificing yourself" — 
 
 " Hush ! you are wronging a man whom you are unworthy 
 to name. He has never dreamed of such love as you 
 suggest." 
 
 " I am right. Oh, I have learned too deeply in the school 
 of experience not to know. My warning may be of no avail, 
 but you shall not drift unawares into this thing, you shall not 
 enter into it, nor be persuaded into it from a false spirit of 
 self-sacrifice " — 
 
 " Mr. Clancy, I will not listen a moment longer to such 
 preposterous language. You are passing far beyond the 
 Hmits of my forbearance. If your conscience is burdened 
 on my account because I am so 'unfriended,' I absolve you 
 fully. You will and do know how to console yourself. Our 
 interview must end here and now. It were disloyalty for me 
 
THE WARNING. 20/ 
 
 to listen a moment longer. We are strangers from this day 
 forth, Mr. Clancy." And she rose flushed and trembling. 
 
 He also rose, and with an intent look which held her gaze, 
 said gently, " There is that which will speak although I am 
 banished." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 « Your heart." 
 
 "If it broke a thousand times I will not speak to you 
 again," she cried passionately. " Even if you were right it 
 would be ignoble to suggest such a thing. Truly your associ- 
 ations have led you far from the promise of your youth." 
 
 " I have not said that your heart would plead for me," he 
 replied sternly. " But it will plead against all that is un- 
 natural, contrary to your young girlhood, contrary to the true, 
 right instincts which God has created. You may seek to 
 stifle its voice, but you cannot. When you are alone it will 
 tell you, like the still small voice of God, that your obdurate 
 will is wrong, that your narrow prejudices and morbid mem- 
 ories are all wrong and vain ; — it will tell you that you 
 cannot become the wife of this man, who would sacrifice 
 you as a solace to his remaining years, without wrecking your 
 happiness for life. Farewell, Mara Wallingford. There is 
 one thing you can never forget — that I warned you." 
 
 He bowed low and departed immediately. 
 
208 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 "the idea !" 
 
 MARA was not the kind of girl that faints or goes into 
 hysterics. The spirit of her father was aroused to the 
 last degree. She felt that she had been arraigned and con- 
 demned by one who had no right to do either ; that all the 
 cherished traditions of her hfe had been trampled upon \ 
 that her father's loved companion-in-arms, and her dear 
 friend, had been insulted. Even wise, saintly Mrs. Bodine, 
 her genial counsellor, had been ignored. " Was there ever 
 such monstrous assumption ! " she cried, as she paced back 
 and forth with clinched hands. 
 
 She soon heard the step of Mrs. Hunter, and became 
 outwardly calm. 
 
 " Well? " said her aunt. 
 
 " He won't come again, nor shall I speak to him again. 
 Let these facts content you, aunty." 
 
 "That much at least is satisfactory," said Mrs. Hunter, 
 "but I think it was a wretched mistake to see him at 
 all." 
 
 " It was not a mistake, for he has revealed the depths into 
 which a man can sink who adopts his course. I have some 
 respect for an out-and-out Northerner, brought .up as such ; 
 ,but it does seem that when a man turns traitor, as it were, 
 he goes to greater lengths than those whose camp he joins. 
 He suspects those who are too noble for him to understand." 
 
 "Whom does Mr. Clancy suspect?" 
 
" THE IDEA ! " 209 
 
 " Oh, all of US. He came to advise me as an unprotected, 
 unfriended, unguided girl." 
 
 " Was there ever such impudence on the face of the 
 earth ! " 
 
 Mara sank exhausted into a chair in the inevitable re- 
 action from her strong excitement. 
 
 " Aunty, it is all over, and we shall not meet again except 
 as strangers. Never say a word of his coming, of this inter- 
 view, to any one. It is my affair, and I wish to forget it as 
 far as possible." 
 
 " You know I'm not a gossip, Mara, about family matters, 
 especially disagreeable matters. Well, perhaps it will turn 
 out for the best, since you have broken with him entirely. 
 It always made me angry that he should continue to speak 
 to you, and even sit down and talk to you at an evening 
 company, when you could not repulse him without arresting 
 the attention of every one." 
 
 " Good-night, aunty. All that is over." 
 
 " Mara, you must take an opiate to-night." 
 
 " Yes ; give me something to make me sleep, that will 
 bring oblivion for at least to-night. I must be ready for my 
 work in the morning. It won't take me long no7v to attain 
 self-control." 
 
 " Mara," cried Ella the next day, "you look positively ill. 
 I wish you could take a rest. Suppose we shut up shop for 
 a while, and hang out a sign, ' closed for repairs.' " 
 
 " No, Ella. I can stand it, if you can, till August, and 
 then we will take a month's rest. I wasn't very well last 
 night, but I have found a remedy which is going to help me, 
 and I shall be better." 
 
 Ella took the surface meaning of these words, and, being 
 pre-occupied with her own thoughts, remained, as well as 
 Mara, rather silent that morning. Although she assured her- 
 self more than once that George Houghton was " iwthing to 
 
2IO THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 her," she found herself thinking a great deal about him, and 
 what she termed "their droll experiences." Prone to take 
 a mirthful view of every thing, she often laughed over the 
 whole affair, and it grew rather than lost in interest with time. 
 It was the first real adventure of her girlhood, and he was the 
 first man who had retained more than a transient place in 
 her thoughts. Feeling that their acquaintance had come 
 about through no fault of hers, she was disposed to get all 
 the fun possible out of what had occurred. 
 
 The morning was warm, and she was working in charming 
 dishabille. Dressed in light summer costume, thrown open 
 at her throat, and with sleeves rolled to her shoulders, she 
 appeared a veritable Hebe. Her bright, golden, fluffy hair 
 was gathered carelessly into a Grecian knot, and her flushed 
 face received more than one flour-mark as she impatiently 
 brushed away the flies. 
 
 Seeing her smiling to herself so often, Mara envied her, 
 but made no comment. At last the girl broke into a ringing 
 laugh. 
 
 " What is amusing you so greatly? " Mara asked. 
 
 " I can't get over that party at Mrs. Willoughby's. It was 
 all so irresistibly comical. Cousin Sophy thinks she has a 
 genius for choosing chaperons, and so she has, but fate is 
 too strong for men and gods, not to mention saintly and 
 secluded old ladies. I had scarcely more than entered the 
 drawing-room, and taken my bearings, as cousin would 
 say, when the worst Vandal of the lot is marched up to me, 
 and I — green little girl — thought I must be polite to him 
 and every one else. When I think of it all, I see that my 
 chaperon was like a distressed hen with a duckling that 
 would go into the water. Without any effort of mine, that 
 great Goth, Mr. Houghton, submitted himself to my inspec- 
 tion, and instead of being horrified, I have been laughing at 
 him ever since. He struck me as an exceedingly harmless 
 
" THE IDEA !'' 211 
 
 creature, with large capabilities for blundering. He would 
 not step on a fly maliciously, yet poor Mrs. Robertson acted 
 as if I were near an ogre who might devour me at a mouth- 
 ful. How she did manoeuvre to keep that big fellow away 1 
 and what a homily she gave me on our way home ! It all 
 seems so absurd. I wish papa would not take such things 
 so seriously, for I can't see any harm in making sport of the 
 Philistines." 
 
 "Making sport for the Philistines — that is what your 
 father and what we all object to. This young Houghton 
 would very gladly amuse himself at your expense." 
 
 "I'd like to see him try it," said Ella defiantly. "I'd 
 turn the tables on him so quickly as to take away his 
 breath." 
 
 " O Ella ! why do you think about such people at all? " 
 
 " Because they amuse* me. What's the harm in thinking 
 about him in my jolly way ? There's nothing bad about him. 
 His worst crimes are, that he is comical and the son of his 
 father." 
 
 "How do you know there's nothing bad about him?" 
 
 " For the same reason that I distrust Miss Ainsley. Each 
 makes an impression which I believe is correct." 
 
 " Well, well, Ella," said Mara, a little impatiently, " laugh 
 it out and have done with him. For all our sakes, please 
 have nothing more to do with such people." 
 
 "I haven't sought 'such people,'" replied Ella, with a 
 shrug; "but I tell you, Mara, I'm not going through life 
 with my eyes shut, nor am I going to look through a pair^ 
 of blue spectacles. See here, sweetheart, what did God 
 give me eyes for ? What did he give me a brain for ? To 
 see through some one else's eyes ? to think with the brain 
 of another? No, indeed ; that's contrary to such reason and 
 common sense as I possess." 
 
 " You certainly will be guided by your father ? " 
 
212 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed, in all that pertains to his welfare and 
 happiness. I could die for him this minute, and would if it 
 were required. But there are things which I cannot do for 
 him or any one. I cannot ignore my own conscience and 
 sense of right. I cannot think his thoughts any more than 
 he can think mine. You dear, melancholy little goose, 
 don't you know that God never rolls two people into one, 
 even after they are married? They are, or should be, 
 one in a vital sense, yet they are different, independent 
 beings, and were made so. I'd like to know of any one 
 in this town more bent upon having her own way than 
 you." 
 
 Mara was silent, for Ella had a way of putting things 
 which disturbed her. 
 
 " Cousin Sophy," said Ella in the afternoon, " hasn't the 
 proper time come for me to mak§ my party call on Mrs. 
 Willoughby? You are my Mentor in all that relates to eti- 
 quette, and that giddy fraction of the world termed society." 
 
 " Well, yes," said the old lady, " I suppose it is time. In 
 the case of Mrs. Willoughby it will be litde more than a for- 
 mality, for she is an acquaintance you will not care to culti- 
 vate. You may be lucky enough to find her out, and then 
 your card will answer all the purposes of a caU." 
 
 " Oh, I know that much, cousin, if I am from the wilds 
 of the interior \ but if she is in, I suppose I should sit down 
 and talk about the weather a little while." 
 
 "■ Go along, you saucy puss. Tell her how shocked you 
 were to see old Houghton's son in her parlors." 
 
 " Well, I was at first. Bah ! cousin, he's a great big boy, 
 and doesn't know any more than I do about some things." 
 
 " Well added. Tell her, then, we have enough Southern 
 gendemen remaining, and there is no necessity of inviting 
 big Northern hobble-de-hoys." 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't mean that, cousin. Be fair now. He 
 
" THE IDEA / " 213 
 
 was gentlemanly enough, as much so as the rest of them, 
 but he was young and giddy, like myself, just as you used 
 to be and are now sometimes ; " and she stopped the old 
 lady's mouth with kisses, then ran to dress for the street. 
 
 The kitchen Hebe of the morning was soon metamor- 
 phosed into a very charmingly costumed young woman. 
 Even Miss Ainsley was compelled to recognize the lovely 
 and harmonious effect, although it did not bear the latest 
 brand of fashion, or represent costly expenditure. 
 
 Both she and Mrs. Willoughby were pleased as Ella 
 stepped lighdy into the back parlor, and the young girl con- 
 gratulated herself that she had come so opportunely, for 
 they were evidently expecting visits like her own. 
 
 One and another dropped in until Mrs. Willoughby was 
 entertaining three or four in the front parlor. Miss Ainsley 
 remained chatting with Ella, who felt that the Northern 
 girl's remarks were largely tentative, evincing a wish to draw 
 her out. Shrewd Ella soon began to generalize to such a 
 degree that Miss Ainsley thought, " You are no fool," and 
 had a growing respect for the " httle baker," as she had 
 termed the young girl. 
 
 Then Clancy appeared, and Ella was forgotten, but she 
 saw the same unmistakable welcome which from some 
 women would mean all that a lover could desire. Ella 
 thought that a sligiit expression of vexation crossed his brow 
 as he recognized in her Mara's partner and friend, but he 
 spoke to her politely and even cordially. Indeed, no one 
 could do otherwise, for her face would propitiate an ogre. 
 She thought there was a spice of recklessness in Clancy's 
 manner, and she heard him remark to Miss Ainsley that he 
 had come to say good-by for a short time. That young 
 woman led the way to the balcony and began to expostu- 
 late ; and then Ella's attention was riveted on a tall young 
 fellow, who was shaking hands with Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
214 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 '^ Good gracious ! " she thought, " what can I do if he 
 sees me ? How can I ' shake off and avoid ' in this back 
 parlor? I can't make a bolt for the front door or sneak out 
 of the back door ; I can't sit here like a graven image if he 
 comes " — 
 
 " Miss Bodine ! Well, I'm lucky for once in my ill-fated 
 life." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon," remarked Ella, turning from 
 the window, out of which she had apparently been gazing 
 with intense pre-occupation. " Good-afternoon, Mr. Hough- 
 ton." But he held out his hand with such imperative cor- 
 diality that she had to take it. Then he drew up a chair to 
 the corner of the sofa on which she sat and placed it in 
 a way that barred approach or egress. " Oh, shade of Mrs. 
 Hunter!" she groaned inwardly, "what can I do? I'm 
 fairly surrounded — all avenues of retreat cut off. I must 
 face the enemy and fight." 
 
 "I knew the chance would come for us to get acquainted," 
 said Houghton, settling himself complacently in the great 
 arm-chair, " but I had scarcely hoped for such a happy 
 opportunity as this so soon." 
 
 " I must go in a few minutes," she remarked demurely. 
 " I have been here some time." 
 
 " Miss Bodine, you are not capable of such cruelty. You 
 know it is very early yet." 
 
 " I thought you came to call on Mrs. Willoughby?" 
 
 " So I did, and I have called on her. See her talking 
 ancient history to those dowagers yonder. What a figure 
 I'd cut in that group." 
 
 She laughed outright, as much from nervous trepidation 
 as at the comical idea suggested, and was in an inward rage 
 that she did so, for she had intended to be so dignified and 
 cool as to depress and discourage the " objectionable per- 
 son " who hedged her in. 
 
" THE IDEA / " 215 
 
 " What a jolly, infectious laugh you have ! " he resumed. 
 " To be able to laugh well is a rare accomplishment. Some 
 snicker, others giggle, chuckle, cackle, make all sorts of 
 disagreeable noises, but a natural, merry, musical laugh — 
 Miss Bodine, I congratulate you, and myself also, that I 
 happened in this blessed afternoon to hear it. And that 
 terrible chaperon of yours isn't here either. How she 
 frowned on me the other evening as if I were a wolf in the 
 fold," and the young man broke into a clear ringing laugh 
 at the recollection. 
 
 Ella was laughing with him in spite of herself. Indeed 
 the more she tried to be grave and severe the more impos- 
 sible it became. 
 
 " Mr. Houghton," she managed to say at last, " will you 
 do me a favor?" 
 
 "Scores of them." 
 
 " Then stop making me laugh. I don't wish to laugh." 
 
 His face instantly assumed such portentous and awful 
 gravity that he set her off again to such a degree that the 
 dowagers in the other room looked at her rebukingly. It 
 was bad enough, they thought, that she should talk to old 
 Houghton's son at all, but to show such unbecoming levity 
 — well, it was not what they would " expect of a Bodine." 
 Ella saw their disapproval, and felt she was losing her self- 
 control. The warnings she had received against her com- 
 panion embarrassed her, and banished the power to be her 
 natural self. 
 
 " Please don't," she gasped, " or I shall go at once. I 
 asked a favor." 
 
 *' Pardon me. Miss Bodine," he now said in a tone and 
 manner which quieted her nerves at once. " I have blun- 
 dered again, but I was so happy to think that I had met 
 you here. I am not wholly a rattle-brain. What would 
 you like to talk about?" and he looked so kindly and 
 
2l6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 eager to please her that she cast down her eyes and con- 
 tracted her brow in deepest perplexity. 
 
 "Truly, Mr. Houghton, I should be on my way home- 
 ward, and you have so hedged me in that I cannot escape." 
 
 " Is running away from me escaping? " 
 
 " I don't like that phrase ' running away.' " 
 
 " Yet that is what you propose to do." 
 
 " Oh, no, I shall take my departure in a very composed 
 and dignified manner." 
 
 His face had the expression of almost boyish distress. 
 " You find on further thought that you cannot forgive me ? " 
 he asked sadly. 
 
 " Did I not say that was all explained and settled ? 
 Southern girls are not fickle or false to their word." And 
 she managed to assume an aspect of great dignity. " If 
 I do not shake him off in the next few minutes I'm lost," 
 she thought. 
 
 " I've offended you again," he said anxiously. 
 
 She took refuge in silence. 
 
 " Miss Bodine, I ask your pardon. You know I can't do 
 more than that, or, if I can, tell me what. I wish to please 
 you very much." 
 
 The girl was at her wit's end, for his ingenuous expression 
 emphasized the truth of his words. "There is no reason 
 why you should please me," she began coolly, and then knew 
 not how to proceed. 
 
 " Let us be frank with each other," he resumed earnestly. 
 " We are too young yet to indulge in society lies. When a 
 man apologizes at the North he is forgiven. I have been 
 told that Southerners are a generous, warm-hearted people. 
 In their cool treatment of me they counteract the chmate. 
 Are you, too, going to ostracize me ? " 
 
 " I fear I shall have to," she replied faintly. 
 
 " Of your own free will? " 
 
" THE IDEA / " 217 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 His heart gave a great throb of joy, but he had the sense 
 to conceal his gladness. He only said quietly, "Well, I'm 
 glad that you at least do not detest me." 
 
 " Why should I detest you, Mr. Houghton? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know why any one should. I have 
 never harmed any one in this town that I know of." 
 
 She knew not how to answer, for she could not reflect 
 upon his father. 
 
 *' I don't care about others, but your case." 
 
 "Truly, Mr. Houghton," she began hastily, " this is a large 
 city. A few impoverished Southern people are nothing to 
 you." 
 
 " I was not thinking of Southern people," he replied 
 gravely. " You said a moment since you saw no reason why 
 I should try to please you. Am I to blame if you have 
 inspired many reasons? I know you better than any girl in 
 the world. You revealed your very self in a moment of 
 danger to me as you thought. I saw that you were good 
 and brave — that you possess just the qualities that I most 
 respect and admire in a woman. Every moment I am with 
 you confirms this belief. Why should I not wish to please 
 you, to become your friend? I know I should be the better 
 in every respect if you were my friend." 
 
 She shook her head, but did not venture to look at him. 
 
 "You believe I am sincere, Miss Bodine. You cannot 
 think I am sentimental or flirtatious. I would no more do 
 you wrong, even in my thoughts, than I would think evil of 
 my dead mother. You are mirthful in your nature ; so am 
 I, but I do not think that either of us is shallow or silly. 
 If I am personally disagreeable, that ends ever}' thing, but 
 how can a man secure the esteem and friendly regard of a 
 woman, when he covets these supremely, unless he speaks 
 and reveals his feelings ? " 
 
21 8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " You are talking wildly, Mr. Houghton," said Ella, with 
 averted face. " We have scarcely more than met." 
 
 " You would lead me to think that you Southern people 
 are tenfold colder and more deliberate than we of the North. 
 You may not have thought of me since we met, but I have 
 thought of you constantly. I could not help it." 
 
 Ella felt that she must escape now as if for her life, and, 
 summoning all her faculties and resolution, she said, looking 
 him in the eyes, " I've no doubt, Mr. Houghton, you think 
 you are sincere in your words at this moment, but you may 
 soon wonder that you spoke such hasty words." 
 
 " In proving you mistaken, time will be my ally." 
 
 "You have asked me to be frank," she resumed. "In 
 justice to you and myself I feel that I must be so. I do not 
 share in the prejudices, if you prefer that word, of my father, 
 but I must be governed by his wishes. I trust that you will 
 not ask me to say more. Won't you please let me go now? 
 See, the last guests are leaving." 
 
 "Tell me one thing," he pleaded eagerly as he rose. " I 
 am not personally disagreeable to you? " 
 
 " The idea of my telling you any thing of the kind ! " and 
 there was a flash of mirthfulness in her face which left him 
 in a most tormenting state of uncertainty. A moment later 
 she had shaken hands with Mrs. Willoughby, and was gone. 
 
 He stood looking after her, half-dazed by his conflicting 
 feelings. Turning, Mrs. Willoughby saw and understood 
 him at once. She came to his side and said kindly, " Sit 
 down, Mr. Houghton, I've not had a chance to talk with 
 you yet." 
 
 With an involuntary sigh he complied. 
 
FEMININE FRIENDS. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 FEMININE FRIENDS. 
 
 MRS. WILLOUGHBY was a woman of the world, yet 
 in no bad sense. Indeed, beneath the veneer of 
 fashionable hfe she possessed much kindliness of nature. 
 She was capable of a good deal of cynicism towards those 
 who she said "ought to be able to take care of them- 
 selves," and in this category she placed Clancy and Miss 
 Ainsley. " I shall leave both to paddle their own canoes," 
 she had said to herself. 
 
 Looking kindly at Houghton, who seemed to have lost 
 his volubility, and waited for her to speak again, she thought, 
 " If this young fellow was infatuated with Caroline I'd warn 
 him quick enough." With the astuteness of a matron she 
 merely remarked, " You seem greatly pleased with my little 
 friend. Miss Bodine. You must not trifle with her, if she 
 is poor, for she comes of one of the best families in the 
 State." 
 
 " Trifle with Miss Bodine ! What do you take me for, 
 Mrs. Willoughby?" and he rose indignantly. 
 
 " There, now, sit down, my friend. I only said that so 
 you might reveal how sincere you are, and I won't use any 
 more diplomacy with you." 
 
 "I hope not," he replied laughing grimly. "You ought 
 to know, what I am fast finding out, that a young fellow, 
 like me, can no more understand a woman, unless she is 
 frank, than he can Choctaw." 
 
220 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby laughed heartily, and said, " I'll be frank 
 with you, if you will be so with me." 
 
 " Then tell me why I am treated by so many in your set 
 as if I had overrun the South with fire and sword?" 
 
 His first question proved that she could not be frank, for 
 in order to give an adequate explanation she would have to 
 reveal to him his father's animus and the hostility it evoked. 
 She temporized by saying, "I do not so treat you, and 
 surely Miss Bodine seemed to enjoy your conversation." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that. At any rate she said she 
 would have to ostracize me like the rest." 
 
 " She was kind in telling you that she would have to do 
 so. She certainly bears you no ill-will." 
 
 " She probably does not care enough about me yet to do 
 that. The worst of it is that I shall have no chance. Her 
 father objects to her having any thing to do with me, and 
 that blocks every thing. Even if I were capable of seeking 
 a clandestine acquaintance, she is not. She is a thoroughly 
 good girl ; she doesn't know how to be deceitful." 
 
 " I'm glad you appreciate her so truly." 
 
 " I'd be a donkey if I didn't," 
 
 " Well, don't be unwise in your future action." 
 
 "What action can I take?" and he looked at her almost 
 imploringly. A young man of his age is usually very ready 
 to make a confidant of a married woman older than himself, 
 yet young enough to sympathize with him in affairs of the 
 heart. Houghton instinctively felt that the case might 
 not be utterly hopeless if he could secure an ally in Mrs. 
 Willoughby, for he recognized her tact, and believed that 
 she was friendly. He promptly determined therefore to 
 seek and to take her advice. 
 
 She looked at him searchingly as she said, " Perhaps 
 it would be best not to take any action at all. If Miss 
 Bodine has made only a passing and pleasant impression. 
 
FEMININE FRIENDS. 221 
 
 and you merely desire to secure another agreeable acquaint- 
 ance you had better stop where you are. It will save you 
 much annoyance, and, what is of far more consequence, may 
 keep her from real trouble. As you suggest, you cannot 
 do any thing in an underhand way. If you attempted it, 
 you would lose her respect instantly, your own also. She 
 idolizes her father, and will not act contrary to his wishes. 
 Why not let the matter drop where it is? " 
 
 "Can't take any such advice as that," he replied, shaking 
 his head resolutely. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Oh, confound it ! Suppose some one, years ago, had 
 advised Mr. Willoughby in such style." 
 
 " Is it as serious as that? " 
 
 He passed his hand in perplexity over his brow, " Mrs. 
 Willoughby, he burst out, " I'm in deep water. ' I reckon,' 
 as you say here, you understand me better than I do myself. 
 I only know that I'd face all creation for the sake of that 
 girl, yet what you say about making her trouble, staggers me. 
 I'm in sore perplexity, and don't know what to do." 
 
 " Will you take my advice? " 
 
 "Yes, I will, as long as I believe you are my honest 
 friend, as long as I can." 
 
 "Well, you won't try to see Ella before you have con- 
 sulted me? " 
 
 " I promise that." 
 
 " Don't do any thing at present. Think the matter over 
 quietly and conscientiously. I'm sorry I must make one 
 other suggestion. I fear your father would be as much 
 opposed to all this as Captain Bodine himself." 
 
 " I think not. My father is not so stern as he seems. At 
 least he is not stern to me, and he has let me spend more 
 money than my neck's worth. I fancy he is well disposed 
 towards Captain Bodine, for he has given him employment. 
 
222 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 I asked the old gentleman about it one day, but he changed 
 the subject. He wouldn't have employed the captain, how- 
 ever, unless he was interested in him some way." 
 
 " Why wouldn't he?" 
 
 " Oh, well, he naturally prefers to have Northerners about 
 him." 
 
 " Will you permit me to be a little more frank than I have 
 been? " 
 
 " I supposed you were going to be altogether frank." 
 
 " For fear of hurting your feelings I have not been. Your 
 father is not friendly to us, and we reciprocate. This makes 
 it harder for you," 
 
 Houghton thought in silence for a few moments, and then 
 said, " You should make allowance for an old man, half 
 heart-broken by the death of his oldest son, drowned in the 
 bay there." 
 
 "I do j so would others, if he were not vindictive, if he 
 did not use his great financial strength against us." 
 
 " I don't think he does this, certainly not to my knowl- 
 edge. He only seeks to make all he can, like other 
 business men." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, you haven't been very much in Charles- 
 ton. Even your vacations have been spent mainly else- 
 where, I think, and your mind has been occupied with 
 your studies and athletics. You are more familiar with 
 Greek and Roman history than with ours, and you cannot 
 understand the feelings of persons like Captain Bodine and 
 his cousin, old Mrs. Bodine, who passed through the agony 
 of the war, and lost nearly every thing, — kindred, property, 
 and what they deem liberty. You cannot understand your 
 own father, who lost his son. You think of the present and 
 future." 
 
 Houghton again sighed deeply as he said, " I admit the 
 force of all you say. I certainly cannot feel as they do, nor 
 
FEMININE FRIENDS. ' 223 
 
 perhaps understand them." Then he added, " I wouldn't 
 if I could. Why should I tie the mill-stone of the past 
 about my neck? " 
 
 " You should not do so ; but you must make allowance 
 for those to whom that past is more than the present or 
 future can be." 
 
 " Why can't they forgive and forget, as far as possible, as 
 you do? " 
 
 " Because people are differendy constituted. Besides, 
 young man, I am not old enough to be your grandmother. 
 I was very young at the time of the war, and have not 
 suffered as have others," 
 
 " Grandmother, indeed ! I should think that Mr. Wil- 
 loughby would fall in love with you every day." 
 
 " The grand passion has a rather prominent place in your 
 thoughts just now. Some day you will be like Mr. ^Vil- 
 loughby, and cotton, stocks, or their equivalents, will take a 
 very large share of your thoughts." 
 
 "Well, that day hasn't come yet. Even the wise man 
 said there was a time for all things. How long must my 
 probation last before I can come back for more advice?" 
 
 " A week, at least." 
 
 " Phew ! " 
 
 " You must think it all over, as I said before, calmly and 
 conscientiously. I have tried to enable you to see the sub- 
 ject on all its sides, and I tell you again that you may find 
 just as much opposition from your father, as from Captain 
 Bodine. He may have very different plans for you. Ella 
 Bodine has nothing but her own good heart' to give you, j 
 supposing you were able to persuade her to give that 
 much." 
 
 "That much would enrich me forever." 
 
 " Your father wouldn't see it in that light. He may call 
 her that designing litde baker." 
 
224 ^^^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I hope he won't, for God's sake. I never said a hot 
 word to my father." 
 
 " Never do so, then. If you lose your temper, all is lost. 
 But we are anticipating. Sober, second thoughts may lead 
 you to save yourself and others a world of trouble." 
 
 " Oh ! I've had second thoughts before. Good-by. At 
 this hour, one week hence ; " and he shook hands heartily. 
 
 A moment later, he came rushing back from the hall, 
 exclaiming, " There ! See, what a blunderbuss I am ! I 
 forgot to thank you, which I do, with all my heart." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed the mature woman, as her guest finally 
 departed, " I'd take all his pains for the possibilities of his 
 joys." 
 
 Ella had not been mistaken in thinking that she detected 
 a trace of recklessness in Clancy's manner. He had been 
 compelled to believe that Mara was in truth lost to him \ 
 that her will and pride would prove stronger than her heart. 
 Indeed, he went so far as to believe that her heart, as far as 
 he was concerned, was not giving her very much trouble. 
 
 " I fear she has become so morbid and warped by the 
 malign influences that have surrounded her from infancy," 
 he had thought, " that she cannot love as I love. My best 
 hope now is, that when Bodine begins to show his game 
 more clearly, she will remember my words. It's horrible to 
 think that she may develop into a woman like Mrs. Hunter. 
 Until this evening, I have always believed there was a sweet, 
 womanly soul imprisoned in her bosom, but now I don't 
 know what to think. I'll go off to the mountains on the 
 pretence of a fishing excursion, and get my balance again." 
 
 The following morning had been spent in preparations, 
 and the afternoon, as we have seen, found him at Mrs. 
 Willoughby's. His sore heart and bitter mood were solaced 
 by Miss Ainsley's unmistakable welcome. He knew he did 
 not care for her in any deep and lasting sense, and he much 
 
FEMININE FRIENDS. 225 
 
 doubted whether her interest in him was greater than that 
 which she had bestowed upon others in the past. But she 
 diverted his thoughts, flattered the self-love which Mara had 
 wounded so ruthlessly, and above all fascinated him by her 
 peculiar beauty and intellectual brilliancy. 
 
 "Why are you going away?" she asked reproachfully, 
 when they were seated on the balcony. 
 
 " Oh, I've been working hard. I'm going off to the 
 mountains to fish and rest." 
 
 " I hope you'll catch cold, and come back again soon." 
 
 " What a disinterested friend ! " 
 
 "You are thinking only of yourself; why shouldn't I do 
 likewise ? " 
 
 " No, I'm thinking of you." 
 
 " Of course, at this minute. You'd be apt to think of a 
 lamp-post if you were looking at it." 
 
 " Please don't put out the sunshine with your brilliancy." 
 
 " Ironical too ! What is the matter to-day? " 
 
 " What penetration ! Reveal your intuitions. Have I 
 failed in business, or been crossed in love ? " 
 
 "The latter, I fancy." 
 
 " Well then, how can I better recover peace of mind and 
 serenity than by going a-fishing? You know what Izaak 
 Walton says " — 
 
 " Oh, spare me, please, that ancient worthy ! You are as 
 cold-blooded as any fish that you'll catch. If I find it 
 stupid in Charleston I'll go North." 
 
 " That threat shakes my very soul. I promise to come 
 back in a week or ten days." 
 
 " Or a month or so," she added, looking hurt. 
 
 "Come, my good friend," he said laughing. "We're too 
 good fellows, as you wished we should be, to pretend to any 
 forlornness over a parting of this kind. You will sleep as 
 sweetly and dreamlessly as if you had never seen Owen 
 
226 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Clancy, and I will write you a letter, such as a man would 
 write to a man, telling you of my adventures. If I don't 
 meet any I'll bring some about, — get shot by the moon- 
 lighters, save a mountain maid from drowning in a trout 
 pool, or fall into the embrace of a black bear." 
 
 " The mountain maid, you mean." 
 
 " Did I? Well, your penetration passes bounds." 
 
 " You may go, if you will write the letter. There must 
 be no dime-novel stories in it, no drawing on your imagina- 
 tion. It shall be your task to make interesting just what 
 you see and do." 
 
 "Please add the twelve labors of Hercules." 
 
 " No trifling. I'm in earnest, and put you on your mettle 
 in regard to that letter. Unless you do your best, your 
 friendship is all a pretence. And remember what you said 
 about its being a letter to a man. If you begin in a con- 
 ventional way, as if writing to a lady, I'll burn it without 
 reading." 
 
 "Agreed. Good -by, old fellow — beg pardon. Miss 
 Ainsley." 
 
 She laughed and said, " I like that ; good-by." And she 
 gave him a warm, soft hand, in a rather lingering clasp. 
 
 When he was gone she murmured softly, " Yes, he has a 
 chance." 
 
ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORT. 22/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Ella's crumb of comfort. 
 
 ELLA walked up Meeting Street in a frame of mind dif- 
 fering widely from the complacent mood in which she 
 sought Mrs. Willoughby's residence. The unexpected had 
 again happened, and to her it seemed so strange, so very 
 remarkable, that she should have met Mr. Houghton once 
 more without the slightest intention, or even expectation, on 
 her part, that she was perplexed and troubled. What did it 
 mean? 
 
 In matters purely personal, and related closely to our own 
 interests, we are prone to give almost a superstitious signifi- 
 cance to events which come about naturally enough. It was 
 not at all strange that Houghton should have been strongly 
 and agreeably impressed by Ella from the first ; and that he 
 should happen to call at the same hour that she did, would 
 have been regarded by her as a very ordinary coincidence, 
 had not the case been her own. Since it was her own, she 
 was almost awed by the portentous interview from which she 
 had just escaped. The inexperienced girl found her cher- 
 ished ideas in respect to young Houghton completely at fault. 
 She had sighed that she could not meet him without restraint 
 or embarrassment, for, as she had assured herself, " It would 
 be such fun." She had supposed that she could laugh at 
 him and with him indefinitely, — that he would be a source 
 of infinite jest and amusement. He had banished all these 
 illusions in a few brief moments. How could she make sport 
 
228 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 of a man who had coupled her name with that of his dead 
 mother ? His every glance, word, and tone expressed sin- 
 cere respect and admiration, and, she had to admit to her- 
 self, something more. She was so sincere herself, so unsullied, 
 so lacking in the callousness often resulting from much con- 
 tact with the world, that it seemed to her that it would be a 
 profanation henceforth to regard him as the butt of even the 
 innocent ridicule of which she was capable. Yet in all her 
 perplexity and trouble there was a confused exhilaration and 
 a glad sense of power. 
 
 " To thmk that I, little Ella Bodine, a baker by trade," 
 she thought, " should have inspired that big fellow to talk 
 as he did ! He is apology embodied, and seems far more 
 afraid of me than he was of that great bully on the street." 
 And she bent her head to conceal a laugh of exultation. 
 
 Then she remembered her father, and her face grew 
 troubled. " I shall have to tell him," she murmured, " and 
 then the old scene will be enacted over again. A plague on 
 that old shadow of the war ! If I were a man I'd fight it out 
 and then shake hands." 
 
 Soon after reaching home she heard her father's crutches 
 on the sidewalk, and ran dov%ai to meet him. In accordance 
 with her custom, she took away one crutch, and supported 
 him to a chair in the parlor. He kissed her fondly, and 
 remarked, " You look a little pale, Ella."' 
 
 " I feel pale, papa. I've something to tell you, and you 
 must listen patiently and sensibly. I've met Mr. Houghton 
 again." 
 
 The veteran's face darkened instantly, but he waited till 
 5he explained further. 
 
 "Now see how you begin to look," she resumed. "You 
 are judging me already. You can't be even fair to your o\mi 
 child." 
 
 " It would rather seem that you are judging me, Ella." 
 
ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORT. 229 
 
 " Oh, bother it all ! " she exclaimed. " I wish I could be 
 simple and natural in this affair, for I was so embarrassed 
 and constrained that I fear I acted like a fool. Well, I'll 
 tell you how it happened. After lunch I asked Cousin Sophy 
 if it was not time for me to make my party call on Mrs. 
 Willoughby, and she said it was. I found that Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby was expecting callers. We chatted a few minutes, 
 and then others came, Mr. Houghton among them. I no 
 more expected to meet him than I expected to meet you 
 there. After shaking hands with Mrs. Willoughby he came 
 to me in the back parlor instantly, and drew up a chair, so 
 that I could not escape unless I jumped over him. He 
 began with such funny speeches that I got laughing, as much 
 from nervousness as any thing else, for I'd been so warned 
 against him that I couldn't be myself." 
 
 "You shall not go to Mrs. Willoughby's again," said her 
 father decidedly. 
 
 "Now please listen till I'm all through. He soon saw 
 that I did not want to laugh, and stopped his nonsense. He 
 wanted to become acquainted, friendly, you know; and 
 finally I had to tell him that it couldn't be, — that I must 
 be governed by your wishes." 
 
 " Ah, that was my dear, good, sensible girl ! " 
 
 " No, papa, I don't feel sensible at all. On the contrary, 
 I have a mean, absurd feeling, — just as if I had gone to 
 Mrs. Willoughby's and slapped a child because it was a 
 Northern child." 
 
 He laughed at this remark, for she unconsciously gave the 
 hiipression that she had been more repellant than had actu- 
 ally been true. He soon checked himself, however, and said 
 gravely, " Ella, you take these things too seriously." 
 
 " No, papa, it seems to me that it is you and Cousin and 
 Mara who take these things too seriously. What harm has 
 that young fellow ever done any of us? " 
 
230 l^HE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " He could do me an immense deal of harm if you gave 
 him your thoughts, and became even friendly. I should be 
 exceedingly unhappy." 
 
 " Oh, well ! that isn't possible, — I mean, that we should 
 become friendly. I certainly won't permit him to speak 
 to me in the streets, although I spoke to him once in the 
 street. Oh, I'm going to tell you every thing now ! " and 
 she related the circumstances of her first meeting with 
 Houghton. 
 
 "All this is very painful to me," her father said, with 
 clouded brow. " But, as you say, it has come about without 
 intention on your part. I am glad you have told me every 
 thing, for now I can better guard you from future mischances. 
 My relations to this young man's father are such that it would 
 make it very disagreeable, indeed, positively unendurable, 
 if his son should seek your society. You should also 
 remember that Mr. Houghton would be as bitterly hostile 
 to any such course on his son's part as I am. Your pride, 
 apart from my wishes, should lead you to repel the shghtest 
 advance." 
 
 " I reckon your wishes will have the most influence, papa. 
 I have too strong a sense of justice to punish the son on 
 account of his father." 
 
 "You cannot separate them, Ella. Think of our own 
 relation. What touches one touches the other." 
 
 " Well, papa, it's all over, and I've told you every thing. 
 Since I'm not to go to Mrs. Willoughby's any more, there 
 is litde probability that I shall meet him again, except in 
 the street. If he bows to me, I shall return the courtesy 
 with quiet dignity, for he has acted like a gentleman towards 
 me, and, for the sake of my own self-respect, I must act 
 like a lady towards him. If he seeks to talk to me, I shall 
 fell him it is forbidden, and that will end it, for he is too 
 honorable to attempt any thing clandestine." 
 
ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORT. 23 1 
 
 " I'm not sure of that." 
 
 " I am, papa. He wouldn't be such an idiot, for he 
 understands me well enough to know what would be the 
 result of that kind of thing. But he isn't that kind of a 
 man," 
 
 " How should you know what kind of a man he is ? " 
 
 " Oh, Heaven has provided us poor women with intui- 
 tions ! " 
 
 " True, to a certain extent, but the rule is proved by an 
 awful lot of exceptions." 
 
 " Perhaps if they were studied out, inclinations rather 
 than intuitions were followed." 
 
 " Well, my dear, we won't discuss these vague questions. 
 Your duty is as simple and clear as mine is. Do as you 
 have promised, and all will be well. I must now dress for 
 dinner." And kissing her affectionately, he went up to his 
 room. 
 
 She took his seat, and looked vacantly out of the window, 
 with a vague dissatisfaction at heart. Unrecognized fully as 
 yet, the great law of nature, which brings to each a distinct 
 and separate existence, was beginning to operate. As she 
 had said to Mara, vital interests were looming up, new expe- 
 riences coming, of which she could no more think his 
 thoughts than he hers. 
 
 Her face was a little clouded when she sat down to dinner, 
 and she observed Mrs. Bodine looking at her keenly. In- 
 stinctively she sought to conceal her deeper feelings, and to 
 become her mirthful self. 
 
 " You have not told me about your call yet," the old lady 
 remarked. 
 
 " Well, I felt that papa should have the first recital. I 
 met again the son of that old — ahem ! — Mr. Houghton, 
 and I have begun to ostracize him." 
 
 "Ella," said her father, almost sternly, "do not speak in 
 
232 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 that way. Our feelings are strong, sincere, and well- 
 grounded." 
 
 "There, papa, I did not mean to reflect lightly upon 
 them. Indeed, I was not thinking of them, but of Mr. 
 Houghton." 
 
 " O Cousin Hugh ! let the child talk in her own natural 
 way. She wouldn't scratch one of your crutches with a pin, 
 much less hurt you." 
 
 " Forgive me, Ella," he said, " I misunderstood you." 
 
 " Yes, in the main, papa, but to be frank, I don't enjoy 
 this ostracizing business, and I hope I won't have any more 
 of it to do." 
 
 "There is no reason why you should. Cousin Sophy, 
 there should be people enough in Charleston for Ella to 
 visit without the chance of meeting Mr. Houghton, or any 
 of his ilk." 
 
 "So there are. I'll manage that. Well, Ella, how did 
 you set about ostracizmg young Houghton? " And the old 
 lady began to laugh. 
 
 " It's no laughing matter," said Ella, shaking her head 
 ruefully. " He was frank and polite and respectful as any 
 young gentleman would be under similar circumstances, and 
 he wanted to become better acquainted, call on me, I sup- 
 pose, and all that, but I had to tell him virtually that he was 
 an objectionable person." 
 
 " I would rather this subject should not be discussed any 
 further," said her father gravely. 
 
 " So would I," Ella added. " Papa and I have settled the 
 matter, and Mr. Houghton is to recede below the horizon." 
 
 The old lady thought that when Ella was alone with her 
 she would get all the details of the interview, but she was 
 mistaken. The girl not only grew more and more averse to 
 speaking of Houghton, but she also felt that what he had 
 said so frankly and sincerely to her was not a proper theme 
 
ELLA'S CRUMB OF COMFORT. 233 
 
 for gossip, even with kindly old Mrs. Bodine, and that a 
 certain degree of loyalty was due to him, as well as to her 
 father and cousin. 
 
 The captain had some writing on hand that night, and 
 Ella read aloud to her cousin till it was time to retire. 
 Apparently the evening passed uneventfully away ; yet few 
 recognize the eventful hours of their lives. A subtile and 
 mysterious change was taking place in the girl's nature which 
 in time she would recognize. More than once she mur- 
 mured, " How can I be hostile to him ? He said he could 
 no more do me wrong, even in his thoughts, than think evil 
 of his dead mother. He said he would be better if I were 
 his friend, and he is as good-hearted this minute as I am. 
 Yet I must treat him as if he were not fit to be spoken to. 
 Well, I reckon it will hurt me as much as it does him. 
 There's some comfort in that." 
 
234 "^HE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 RECOGNIZED AS LOVER. 
 
 IT was inevitable that Mara should pay the penalty of 
 being at variance with nature and her own heart. The 
 impulses of youth had been checked and restrained. In- 
 stead of looking forward, like Ella, she was turning ever 
 backward, and drawing her inspiration from the past, and a 
 dead, hopeless past, at that. It fell upon her like a shadow. 
 All its incentive tended towards negation, prompting her to 
 frown on changes, progress, and the hopefulness springing 
 up in many hearts. The old can hug their gloom in a sort 
 of complacent misanthropy ; the young cannot. If they are 
 unhappy they chafe, and feel in their deepest consciousness 
 that something is wrong. Mara laid the blame chiefly upon 
 Clancy, believing, that, if he had taken the course adopted 
 by Captain Bodine, she could have been happy with him in 
 an attic. His words, at their interview, were not the only 
 causes of her intense indignation and passion. Although 
 she was incensed to the last degree, that he should charge 
 Captain Bodine with such " preposterous " motives and 
 intentions, she was also aware that her fierce struggles with 
 her own heart, at the time, distracted and confused her. 
 She could not maintain the icy demeanor she had resolved 
 upon. 
 
 Left to herself, the long afternoon and evening of the 
 following day, she had time for many second thoughts. She 
 was compelled to face in solitude the hard problems of her 
 
RECOGNIZED AS LOVER. 235 
 
 life. Anger died out, and its support was lost. She had 
 driven away the only man she loved, or could ever love, 
 and she had used language which he could never forget, 
 or be expected to forgive. The more she thought of his 
 motive in seeking the interview, the more perplexed apd 
 troubled she became. As now in calmer mood she recalled 
 his words and manner, she could not delude herself with 
 the belief that he came only in his own behalf, or that he 
 was prompted by jealousy. She remembered the grim 
 frankness with which he said virtually, that he had nothing 
 to hope from her, not even tolerance. She almost writhed 
 under the fact that he had again compelled her to believe 
 that, however mistaken, he was sincere and straightforward, 
 that he truly thought that Bodine was lover rather than 
 friend. 
 
 She would not, could not imagine, that this was true, and 
 yet she groaned aloud, " He has destroyed my chief solace. 
 I was almost happy with my father's friend, and was coming 
 to think of him almost as a second father. Now, when with 
 him I shall have a miserable self-consciousness, and a dis- 
 position to interpret his words and manner in a way that 
 will do him hateful wrong. Oh, what is there for me to look 
 forward to? What is the use of living?" 
 
 These final words indicated one of Mara's chief needs. 
 She craved some motive, some powerful incentive, which 
 could both sustain and inspire. Mere existence, with its 
 ordinary pleasures and interests, did not satisfy her at all. 
 Clancy's former question in regard to her devotion to the 
 past and the dead, "What goodwill it do?" haunted her 
 like a spectre. He had again made the dreary truth more 
 clear, that there was nothing in the future to which she 
 could give the strong allegiance of her soul. She would 
 work for nothing, suffer for nothing, hope for nothing, except 
 her daily bread. As she said, the friendship of Bodine was 
 
236 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 but a solace, great indeed, but inadequate to the deep 
 requirements of a nature like hers. She knew she was 
 leading a dual Hfe, — cold, reserved, sternly self-restrained 
 outwardly, yet longing with passionate desire for the love 
 she had rejected, and, since that was impossible, for some- 
 thing else, to which she could consecrate her life, with the 
 feeling that it was worth the sacrifice. If she had been 
 brought up in the Roman Catholic religion, she might have 
 been led to the austere life of a nun. But, in her morbid 
 condition, she was incapable of understanding the whole- 
 some faith, the large, sweet liberty of those who remain 
 closely allied to humanity in the world, yet purifying and 
 saving it, by the sympathetic tenderness of Him who had 
 " compassion on the multitude." She had still much to 
 learn in the hard school of experience. 
 
 The next day, Ella was nothing like so voluble as usual. 
 Little frowns and moments of deep abstraction took the 
 place of the mirthful smiles of the day before. Neverthe- 
 less, her strong love for Mara led her to speak quite freely 
 of her experience during her call at Mrs. Willoughby's. As 
 Mara's closest friend, she felt that reticence was a kind of 
 disloyalty. It was also true that out of the abundance of 
 her heart she was prone to speak. At the same time, the 
 belief grew stronger hourly that she had a secret which she 
 had not revealed, and could not reveal to any one. The 
 more she thought over Houghton's words and manner, the 
 more sure she became that his interest in her was not 
 merely a passing fancy. Maidenly reserve, however, for- 
 bade even a hint of what might seem to others a conceited 
 and indelicate surmise. She therefore gave only the humor- 
 ous side of her meeting with Houghton again, and laughed 
 at Mara's vexation. So far from being afraid of her friend, 
 she rather enjoyed shocking her. At last she said, " There, 
 Mara, don't take it so to heart. Papa says I must ostracize 
 
RECOGNIZED AS LOVER. 237 
 
 him, and so Goth and Vandal he becomes, — the absurd 
 idea ! " 
 
 " Your father would not require you to do any thing 
 absurd." 
 
 " No, not what was absurd to him ; but he does not know 
 Mr. Houghton any more than you do. It's not only absurd, 
 but it's wrong, from my point of view." 
 
 " O Ella, I'm sorry you feel so different from the rest of 
 us." 
 
 " Why do you feel different from so many others, Mara ? 
 It isn't to please this or that one, or because you have been 
 told to think or to feel thus and so. You have your views 
 and convictions because you are Mara Wallingford, and not 
 some one else. Am I made of putty any more than you 
 are, sweetheart? " 
 
 Her words were like a stab to Mara, for the thought 
 flashed into her mind, •* I have required that Clancy should 
 be putty under my will." Ella, in her simple common-sense, 
 often made remarks which disturbed Mara's cherished belief 
 that she was right and Clancy all wrong. 
 
 As a very secondary matter of interest to her, Ella at last 
 began to speak of Clancy and Miss Ainsley. " If ever a 
 girl courted a man with her eyes that feminine riddle courts 
 Mr. Clancy. I don't think I ever could be so far gone as to 
 look at a man as she does at him, unless I was engaged." 
 
 " How does he look at her? " Mara asked with simulated 
 indifference. 
 
 " Oh, there's some freemasonry between them, probably 
 an engagement or an understanding ! She expostulated 
 against his going away as if she had the right. I don't 
 think he cares for her as I would wish a man to care for 
 me, for there was a humorous, half-reckless gleam in his 
 eyes. It may be all natural enough though," she added 
 musingly. " I don't believe Miss Ainsley could inspire an 
 
238 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 earnest, reverent love. A man wouldn't associate her in his 
 thoughts with his dead mother." 
 
 " What a strange expression ! What put it into your 
 mind? " 
 
 " Oh," replied Ella hastily, and flushing a little, " I've 
 been told that Mr. Clancy's parents are dead ! A plague 
 on them both, and all people that I can't understand, — I 
 don't mean the dead Clancys, but these two who are fooling 
 like enough. You should be able to interpret Clancy better 
 than I, for Cousin Sophy says you were once very good 
 friends." 
 
 " I cannot remain the friend of any one who is utterly 
 out of sympathy with all that I believe is right and dignified." 
 
 " Well, Mara, forgive me for saying it, but Mr. Clancy 
 may have had convictions also." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Mara coldly, " but there can be 
 no agreeable companionship between clashing minds." 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said Ella laughing ; " not if each 
 insists that both shall think exactly alike. It would be like 
 two engines meeting on the same track. They must both 
 back out, and go different ways." 
 
 " Well, I've backed out," Mara remarked almost sternly. 
 
 " That's like you, Mara dear. Well, well, I hope the war 
 will be over some day. By the way, papa told me to tell 
 you that he was busy last evening, but that he would call 
 this afternoon for a breathing with you on the Battery." 
 
 At the usual hour the veteran appeared. Mara's greet- 
 ing was outwardly the same ; nevertheless, Clancy's words 
 haunted her, and her old serene unconsciousness was gone. 
 Now that her faculties were on the alert, she soon began to 
 recognize subtile, unpremeditated indications of the light in 
 which Bodine had begun to regard her, and a sudden fear 
 and repugnance chilled her heart. " Was Clancy right after 
 all? " she began to ask herself in a sort of dread and pre- 
 
RECOGNIZED AS LOVER. 239 
 
 sentiment of trouble. Instinctively, and almost involuntarily, 
 she grew slightly reserved and distant in manner, ceasing 
 to meet his gaze in her former frank, affectionate way. 
 With quick discernment he appreciated the change, and 
 thought, " She is not ready yet, and, indeed, may never be 
 ready." His manner, too, began to change, as a cloud 
 gradually loses something of its warmth of color. Mara 
 was grateful, and in her thoughts paid homage to his tact 
 and deUcacy. 
 
 " Mara," he said, " has Ella told you of her experiences 
 at Mrs. Willoughby's ? " 
 
 "Yes, quite fully. I should think, however, from lier 
 words that you were more truly her confidant." 
 
 "Yes, she has acted very honorably, just as I should 
 expect she would, and yet I am anxious about her. I wish 
 she sympathized with us more fully in our desire to live 
 apart from those who are inseparable in our thoughts from 
 the memory of ' all our woes,' as Milton writes." 
 
 " I have often expressed just this regret to Ella ; but she 
 loves us all, and especially you, so dearly that I have no 
 anxiety about her action." 
 
 " No, Mara, not her action ; I can control that : but I 
 should be sorry indeed if she became interested in this 
 young man. There is often a perversity about the heart 
 not wholly amenable to reason." 
 
 Poor Mara thought she knew the truth of this remark if 
 any one did, nor could she help fancying that her companion 
 had himself in mind when he spoke. 
 
 " Young Houghton," he resumed, " is beginning to make 
 some rather shy, awkward advances, as if to secure my 
 favor, — a very futile endeavor as you can imagine. My 
 views are changing in respect to remaining in his father's 
 employ. The grasping old man would monopolize every 
 thing. I believe he would impoverish the entire South if 
 
240 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 he could, and I don't feel like remaining a part of his 
 infernal business-machine." 
 
 " I don't wonder you feel so ! " exclaimed Mara warmly. 
 " I don't like to think of your being there at all." 
 
 "That settles it then," said Bodine quietly. " It would 
 not be wise or honorable for me to act hastily. I must give 
 Mr. Houghton proper notification, but I shall at once begin 
 to seek other employment." 
 
 Mara was embarrassed and pained by such large defer- 
 ence to her views, and her spirits grew more and more 
 depressed with the conviction that Clancy was right. But 
 she had been given time to think, and soon believed that 
 her best, her only course, was to ignore that phase of the 
 captain's regard, and to teach him, with a delicacy equal 
 to his own, that it could never be accepted. 
 
 " Moreover," resumed Bodine, " apart from my duty to 
 Mr. Houghton, — and I must be more scrupulous towards 
 him than if he were my best friend, — I owe it to Ella and 
 my cousin not to give up the means of support, if I can 
 honorably help it, until I secure something else. Houghton 
 has held to our agreement both in spirit and letter, and I 
 cannot complain of him as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " I have confidence in your judgment, captain, and I 
 know you will always be guided by the most delicate sense 
 of honor." 
 
 " I hope so, Mara ; I shall try to be, but with the best 
 endeavor we often make mistakes. To tell the truth I am 
 more anxious about Ella than myself. This young Hough- 
 ton is, I fear, a rather hair-brained fellow. I've no doubt 
 that he is sincere and well-meaning enough as rich and 
 indulged young men of his class go, but he appears to me 
 to be impetuous, and inclined to be reckless in carrying out 
 his own wishes. Ella, in her inexperience, has formed far 
 too good an opinion of him." 
 
RECOGNIZED AS LOVER. 24 1 
 
 " Well, captain, I wouldn't worry about it. Ella is hon- 
 est as the sunshine. They have scarcely more than met, 
 and she will be guided by you. This episode will soon be 
 forgotten." 
 
 "Yes, I hope so; I think so. I shall count on your 
 influence, for she loves you dearly." 
 
 " I know," was the rather sad reply, " but Ella does not 
 think and feel as I do. I wish she could become interested 
 in some genuine Southern man." 
 
 " That will come in time, all too soon for me, I fear," he 
 said, with a sigh, " but I must accept the fact that my litde 
 bird is fledged, and may soon take flight. It will be a lonely 
 life when she is gone," 
 
 " She may not go far," Mara answered gently, " and she 
 may enrich you with a son, instead of depriving you of a 
 daughter." 
 
 He shook his head despondently, and soon afterwards 
 accompanied her to her home. She knew there was some- 
 thing like an appeal to her in his eyes as he pressed her 
 hand warmly in parting. By simply disturbing the blind 
 confidence in which she had accepted and loved her father's 
 friend, Clancy had given her sight. She saw the veteran in 
 a new character, and she was distressed and perplexed 
 beyond measure. Scarcely able, yet compelled to believe 
 the truth, she asked herself all the long night, " How can 
 I bear this new trouble ? " 
 
242 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 "heaven speed you then." 
 
 A UN' SHEBA and Vilet entered at the usual hour the 
 following day. The girls smiled and nodded in an 
 absent sort of way, and then the old woman thought they 
 seemed to forget all about her. She also observed that 
 they were not so forward with the work as customary ; and 
 she watched them wonderingly yet shrewdly. Suddenly she 
 sprung up, exclaiming, " Lor bress you. Missy Ella, dat de 
 secon' time you put aw-spice in dat ar dough." 
 
 Both the girls started nervously, and Ella began to laugh. 
 
 " Missy Mara, you fergits some cake in de oben from de 
 way it smell," and Aun' Sheba drew out cookies as black as 
 herself instead of a delicate brown. 
 
 Mara looked at them ruefully, and then said, " I must 
 make some more, that's all." 
 
 "Wot's de matter wid you bofe, honeys? " the old woman 
 asked kindly. 
 
 " Politics," Ella blurted out. 
 
 " Polytics ! No won'er you'se bofe off de handle. Dere's 
 been ony two times wen I couldn't stan' Unc. nohow. De 
 fust an' wust was wen he get polytics on de brain, an' belebed 
 dat ole guv'ner Moses was gwine ter lead de culud people to 
 a promis' Ian'. I alus tole him dat his Moses 'ud lead him 
 into a ditch, an' so he did. De secon' time was wen he got 
 sot on, but you knows all 'bout dat. You'se bofe too deep 
 fer me. How you git into polytics I doan see nohow." 
 
''HEAVEN SPEED YOU THENr 243 
 
 "There, Aun' Sheba, don't you mind Ella's nonsense. 
 We're no more into politics than you are." 
 
 " You'se inter sump'in den." 
 
 "Yes," said Ella, "we're still carrying on the war." 
 
 " Please don't talk so, Ella." 
 
 " O Mara ! I must have my nonsense. You've got the 
 ' storied past ' — that's how it's phrased, isn't it ? — to sustain 
 you, and I've only my nonsense." 
 
 " Well, puttin' in aw-spice double is nonsense, shuah nuff," 
 said Aun' Sheba, looking at the girl keenly. " Wot you want 
 spicin' so far all't once. Missy Ella? You peart, an' saucy as 
 eber. I ony wish I could see Missy Mara lookm' like you." 
 
 " You are getting old and blind, Aun' Sheba. I have a 
 secret sorrow gnawing at my 'inards,' as you term those 
 organs which keep people awake o' nights, gazing at the 
 moon." 
 
 " Yes, honey, Aun' Sheba gittin' bery ole an' bery blin', 
 but she see dat dere's sump'in out ob kilter wid de inards 
 ob you bofe. Well, well, I s'pose it's none ob de ole 
 woman's business." 
 
 " Aun' Sheba," cried Ella, with an exaggerated sigh, " if 
 you could mend matters I'd come to you quicker than to 
 any one else, you dear old soul ! Well now, to tell you the 
 honest truth, there isn't very much the matter with me, and 
 there's a certain doctor that's going to cure me just as sure 
 as this batter (holding up a spoonful) is going to be cake in 
 ten minutes." 
 
 "Who dat?" 
 
 " Doctor Time — oh, get out ! " At this instant an irate 
 bumble-bee darted in, and, Ella, in a spasmodic effort of 
 self-defence, threw the spoon at it, and both went flying out 
 of the window. The girl sat down half-crying, half-laughing 
 in her vexation, while Aun' Sheba shook with mirth in all 
 her ample proportions. 
 
244 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Dat ar cake's gwine to be dough for eber mo', Missy 
 Ella," she said. " I'se feerd you'se case am bery serus. 
 Yit I worries mo' 'bout Missy Mara. Heah now, honey, 
 you jes dun beat out. You sit down an' Missy Ella an' me'll 
 finish up in a jiffy. I reckon Missy Ella ony got a leetle 
 tantrum dis mawnin, but you'se been a wuckin' an' tinkin' 
 too hard dis long time." 
 
 " Yes, Aun' Sheba," cried Ella, " that's the trouble. Let's 
 you and I take the business out of her hands for a time, and 
 make her a silent partner." 
 
 "She too silent now. Bofe ob you gittin' ter be silent 
 par'ners. In de good ole times I'd heah you chatterin' as I 
 come up de stars, an' to-day you was bofe right smart ways 
 off from dis kitchen in you mins. Mum, mum, tinkin' deep, 
 bofe ob you. Eysters ud make a racket long ob you uns 
 dis mawnin'." 
 
 "There, Aun' Sheba," said Mara, kindly, "don't you 
 Avorry about us. This is July, and in August we'll take a 
 rest. You deserve and need it as much as either of us. 
 I'll get well and strong then, and you know it makes people 
 worse to tell them they don't look well and all that." 
 
 Aun' Sheba gave a sort of dissatisfied grunt, but she 
 helped the girls through with their tasks in her own deft 
 way, and departed with Vilet, who was always very quiet 
 and shy except when at home. 
 
 " Well," said Ella, giving herself a little shake, when they 
 were alone, " I'm going to get over my nonsense at once." 
 
 "What's troubhng you, Ella? " 
 
 " Oh, I hardly know myself. What's troubling you ? We 
 both seem out of sorts. Do let us be sensible and jolly. 
 Now if we both had a raging toothache we'd have some 
 excuse for melancholy. Good-by, dear, I'll be up with the 
 lark to-morrow, and we'll make a lark of our work ; " and 
 she started homeward, with her cherry lips sternly com- 
 
" HEAVEN SPEED YOU THE NT 245 
 
 pressed in her resolution to be her old mirthful self. In the 
 energy of her purpose she began to walk faster and faster. 
 "■ There now, Ella Bodine," she muttered, " since it's your 
 duty to ostracize and bake, ostracize and bake, and be done 
 with your ridiculous fancies." And she swiftly turned the 
 corner of a street, as if, under the inspiration of a great 
 purpose, she was entering upon a new and wiser course. 
 The result was, she nearly ran over George Houghton. 
 Looking up, she saw him standing, hat in hand, with a 
 broad, glad smile on his face. 
 
 " You almost equal that express-wagon," he said. " Are 
 you going for the doctor? " 
 
 Her mouth twitched nervously, but she managed to say, 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Houghton, I'm in haste," and on she 
 went. He saw her head go down. Was she laughing or 
 crying? The latter possibility brought him to her side 
 instantly. 
 
 "Are you in trouble?" he asked very kindly. "Isn't 
 there something — oh, I see you are laughing at me," and 
 his tones proved that his feelings were deeply hurt. 
 
 Her mirth ceased at once. " No, Mr. Houghton," she 
 replied, looking up at him with frank directness, " I was not 
 laughing dXyou, but I could not help laughing at what you 
 said. I'm in no trouble, nor shall I be if — if — well, you 
 know what I told you. We must be strangers, you know," 
 and she went on again as if her feet were winged. 
 
 " I don't know any thing of the kind," he muttered, as 
 he turned on his heel and slowly pursued his way to his 
 father's counting-rooms. Entering he paused an instant and 
 looked grimly at Bodine, whose head was bent over his 
 writing. " I'll tackle you next, old gentleman," was his 
 thought. 
 
 Punctually to a minute he called on Mrs. Willoughby 
 when the week had expired. She looked into his resolute 
 
246 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 face and surmised before he spoke that time and reflection 
 had not inchned him to a prudent withdrawal from a very 
 doubtlul suit. Nevertheless she said, " Well, you've had a 
 little time to think, and you probably see now that your 
 wisest course will be to give up this httle affair utterly." 
 
 " Pardon me, Mrs, Willoughby, I've had an age in which 
 to think, and it's not a httle affair to me. I did not quite 
 understand myself when I last saw you — it was all so new, 
 strange, and heavenly. But I understand myself now. 
 Ella Bodine shall be my wife unless she finally rejects me, 
 unless she herself makes me sure that it's of no use to try. 
 What's more, it will take years to prove this. As long as 
 she does not belong to another I'll never give up." 
 
 " She belongs to her father." 
 
 " No, not in this sense. She has the right of every 
 American girl to choose her husband." 
 
 " Do you mean to defy her father?" 
 
 " No, I mean to go to him like a gentleman, and ask per- 
 mission to pay my addresses to his daughter. I mean to do 
 this before I say one word of love to her." 
 
 " Since you are so resolved upon your course you do not 
 need any more advice from me." 
 
 " I don't mean that at all. Isn't this the right, honorable 
 course?" 
 
 " Oh, your royalty wishes me to applaud your decrees 
 and decisions," she said laughing. 
 
 "Now please don't be hard on me, Mrs. Willoughby. 
 I've followed your advice with all my might for a week." 
 
 "Done nothing with all your might?" 
 
 " Yes, and you couldn't have given me a harder task." 
 
 " Are you of age ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am. I'm twenty-two, however immature I may 
 seem to you." 
 
 " Miss Bodine is not of age." 
 
''HEAVEN SPEED YOU Til EN." 24/ 
 
 "Well, I'll wait till she is." 
 
 "Wouldn't that be better? Wait till she is of age, and 
 more capable of judging and acting for herself. Time may 
 soften her father's feelings, and your father's also, for, believe 
 me, you are going to have as much trouble at home as with 
 Captain Bodine, that is, supposing that Ella would listen to 
 your suit." 
 
 " And while I'm idly biting my nails through the creeping 
 years some level-headed Southerner will quiedy woo and 
 win her. I would deserve to lose her, should I take such 
 a course." 
 
 " You certainly would have to take that risk ; but perhaps 
 you will incur greater risks by too hasty action." 
 
 " Be sincere with me now, Mrs. Willoughby. I don't 
 believe you women like timid, pusillanimous men. How 
 could I appear otherwise to Miss Bodine if I should with- 
 draw, like a growling bear into winter quarters, there to 
 hibernate indefinitely? The period wouldn't be life to me, 
 scarcely tolerable existence. What could she know about 
 my motives and feelings ? I tell you my love is as sacred 
 as my faith in God. I'm proud of it, rather than ashamed. 
 I wish her to know it, no matter what the result may be, 
 and I don't care if all the world knows it, too." 
 
 "You mean to tell your father then ? " 
 
 " Certainly, at the proper time." 
 
 " Suppose you find him utterly opposed to it all ? " 
 
 " I do not think I shall ; not when he sees my happiness 
 is at stake. He may fume over it for a time, but when he 
 comes to know Ella she'll disarm him. Why, it's just as 
 clear to me as that I see you, that she could make the old 
 gentleman happier than he has been for over a quarter of 
 a century." 
 
 " My poor young friend ! I wish I could share in your 
 sanguine feelings." 
 
248 THE EARTH TREMBLED, 
 
 "Oh, I'm not so very sanguine about her, ^Vhat she 
 will do worries me far more than what the old people will 
 do." 
 
 " Well, you are right there. The old people are the out- 
 works, she the citadel, which you can never capture unless 
 she chooses to surrender." 
 
 " That's true, but I don't believe she ever would surrender 
 to a man who was afraid to approach even the outworks." 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby laughed softly as she admitted, " Perhaps 
 you are right." 
 
 " If I'm not, my whole manhood is at fault," he replied 
 earnestly. " Please tell me, haven't I decided on the right, 
 honorable course, — on what would seem honorable to Cap- 
 tain Bodine and to Ella also?" 
 
 "Yes, if you w///act now you can take no other." 
 
 "Well, won't you please approve of it?" 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, I'm not going to be timid and pusillani- 
 mous either. Since you are of age, and will take a perfectly 
 honorable course, I will stand by you as a friend. I will still 
 counsel you, if you so wish, for I fear that your troubles have 
 only begun." 
 
 " I thank you from my heart," he said, seizing her hand 
 and pressing it warmly. " I do need and wish your counsel, 
 for I have very little tact. I can sail a boat better than I 
 can manage an affair like this." 
 
 " Will you make me one solemn promise ? " 
 
 " Yes, if I can." 
 
 " Then pledge me your word that you will not lose your 
 temper with either Captain Bodine or .your father." 
 
 " Oh, I think I can easily do that," he said good-humor- 
 edly. 
 
 " You don't know, you can't imagine, how you may be 
 tried." 
 
 " Well, it's a sensible thing you ask, and I've sense enough 
 
''HEAVEN SPEED YOU TIIENr 249 
 
 to know it. I pledge you my word. If I break it, it will be 
 because I'm pushed beyond mortal endurance." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton," she said, almost sternly, " you must not 
 break it, no matter what is said or what happens. You would 
 jeopardize every thing if you did. You might lose Ella's 
 respect." 
 
 He drew a long breath. " You make me feel as if I were 
 going into a very doubtful battle," he said thoughtfully. 
 
 " It is a very doubtful batde. It certainly will be a hard, 
 and probably a long one, and you will lose it if you don't 
 keep cool." 
 
 " I can be very firm, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, as firm and decided as you please, as long as you 
 are quiet and gentlemanly in your words. Let me say one 
 thing more," she added, very gravely. " If you enter on 
 this affair, and then, in any kind of weakness or fickleness, 
 give it up, I shall despise you, and so will all in this city 
 who know about it. Count the cost. I'm too true a South- 
 erner to look at you again if you trifle with a Southern girl. 
 Your father will offer you great inducements to abandon this 
 folly, as he will term it." 
 
 He flushed deeply, but only said, in quiet emphasis, " If 
 I ever give up, except for reasons satisfactory to you, I shall 
 despise myself far more than you can despise me." 
 
 "And you give me your word that you will keep your 
 temper to the very end? " 
 
 " Yes, Heaven helping me, I will." 
 
 " Heaven speed you then, my friend." 
 
250 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 CONSTERNATION. 
 
 "\ /"OUNG Houghton was like a high-mettled steed, from 
 JL which the curb had been removed. His temperament, 
 even more than the impatience of youth, led him to chafe 
 at delay, and Ella appeared so lovely, so exactly to his mind, 
 that he had a nervous dread lest others should equally ap- 
 preciate her, and forestall his effort to secure her affection. 
 He resolved, therefore, that not an hour should be lost, and 
 so went directly back to his father's counting-rooms. 
 
 Bodine was writing as usual at his desk, and Houghton 
 looked at him with an apprehension thus far unknown in his 
 experience. But he did not hesitate. " Captain Bodine," 
 he said, with a little nervous tremor in his voice, " will you 
 be so kind as to grant me a private interview this evening?" 
 
 The veteran looked at him coldly as he asked, " May I 
 inquire, sir, your object in seeking this interview? " 
 
 " I will explain fully when we are alone. I cannot here, 
 but will merely say that my motives are honorable, as you 
 yourself will admit." 
 
 Bodine contracted his brows in painful thought for a 
 moment. " I may as well have it out with him at once," 
 was his conclusion. " Very well, sir, I will remain after the 
 office is closed," he said frigidly, then turned to his writing. 
 
 George went to his desk in his father's private room, and 
 there was a very grim, set look on his face also. " I under- 
 stand you, my future father-in-law," he murmured softly. 
 
CONSTERNA TION: 2 5 1 
 
 *' You think you are going to end this affair in lialf an hour. 
 We'll see." 
 
 The afternoon was very warm, and his father said kindly, 
 *' Come George, knock off for to-day. I'm going home and 
 shall try to get a nap before dinner." 
 
 " That's right, father ; do so by all means. I have an 
 engagement this evening, so please don't wait dinner for 
 me." His thought was, " If I'm to keep my temper I can't 
 tackle more than one the same day ; yet I don't believe my 
 father will be obdurate. If I succeed, the time will come 
 when he'll thank me with all his heart." 
 
 Mr. Houghton had no disposition to control his son in 
 small matters, and the young fellow came and went at his 
 own will. Thus far his frankness and general good behavior 
 had inspired confidence. His tastes had always inclined to 
 athletic, manly sports, and these are usually at variance with 
 dissipation of every kind. 
 
 The impatient youth had not long to wait. The clerks 
 soon departed, and the colored janitor entered on his labors. 
 Bodine remained writing quietly until George came and 
 said, '"Will you be so kind as to come to the private 
 office ? " 
 
 The veteran deliberately put his desk in order, and fol- 
 lowed the young man without a word. There was still an 
 abundance of light in which to see each other's faces, and 
 George observed that Bodine's expression boded ill. He 
 took a seat in silence, and looked at the flushed face of the 
 youth coldly and impassively. 
 
 " Captain Bodine," George began hesitatingly, " you can 
 make this interview very hard for me, and I fear you will do 
 so. Yet you are a gentleman, and I wish to act and speak 
 as becomes one also." 
 
 Bodine merely bowed slighdy. 
 
 " I will use no circumlocution. You have been a soldier, 
 
252 rilE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and so will naturally prefer directness. I wish your permis- 
 sion to pay my addresses to your daughter." 
 
 " I cannot grant it." 
 
 *' Please do not make so hasty a decision, sir. I fear that 
 you are greatly prejudiced against me, but " — 
 
 " No, sir," interrupted Bodine, " I am not prejudiced 
 against you at all. I have my own personal reasons for 
 taking the ground I do, and it is not necessary to discuss 
 them. I think our interview may as well end at once." 
 
 " Captain Bodine, you will admit that I have acted honor- 
 ably in this matter. Since your daughter told me that you 
 were averse to our acquaintance, I have made no effort to 
 see her." 
 
 " Certainly, sir, that was right and honorable. Any other 
 course would not have been so." 
 
 " It is my purpose to maintain a strictly honorable and 
 straightforward course in this suit." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you will pursue this suit con- 
 trary to my wishes ? " 
 
 *' Certainly. There is no law, human or divine, which 
 forbids a man from loving a good woman, and Miss Bodine 
 is good if any one is." 
 
 " How do you propose to carry on this suit? " the captain 
 asked sternly. 
 
 " I scarcely know yet, but in no underhand way. I must 
 ask you to infonn Miss Bodine of this interview." 
 
 "Suppose I decline to do this?" 
 
 "Then I shall make it known to her m}^elf." 
 
 " In other words, you defy me." 
 
 " Not at all, not in die sense in which you speak. I shall 
 take no action whatever without your knowledge." 
 
 "You must remember that my daughter is not of age." 
 
 " I do not dispute your right in the least to control her 
 action till she is, but I shall not take the risk of losing her 
 
COA'S TERN A TIOiV. 253 
 
 by timidity and delay. Others will appreciate her worth as 
 well as myself. I wish her to know that I love her, and 
 would make her my wife." 
 
 " You appear to think that this is all that is essential so 
 far as she is concerned, ' said Bodine, in bitter sarcasm. 
 
 " You do me wrong, sir," Houghton replied, flushing 
 hotly. " Even if you should give your full consent, I, better 
 than any one, know that my suit would be doubtful. But it 
 would be hopeless did I not reveal to her my feelings and 
 purposes." 
 
 " If she herself, then, informs you that it is hopeless, 
 that would end the matter?" 
 
 " Certainly, after years of patient effort to induce her to 
 think otherwise." 
 
 " I do not think you have shown any patience thus far, 
 sir. You have scarcely more than met her before you enter, 
 recklessly and selfishly, on a * suit,' as you term it, which can 
 only bring wretchedness to her and to those who have the 
 natural right to her allegiance and love." 
 
 "You do me wrong again, Captain Bodine. I am no more 
 reckless or selfish than any other man who would marry the 
 girl he loves. By reason of circumstances over which I had 
 no control I have met Miss Bodine, and she has inspired 
 a sacred love, such as her mother inspired in you. You 
 can find no serious fault with me personally, and I am not 
 responsible for others. I have my own hfe to make or mar, 
 and never to win Miss Bodine would mar it wofully. I am 
 an educated man and her equal socially, although she is 
 greatly my superior in other respects. I have the means 
 with which to support her in affiuence. I mean only good 
 towards her and you. This is neither selfishness nor reck- 
 lessness." 
 
 "Have you spoken to Mr. Houghton of your intentions?" 
 
 " Not yet, but I shall." 
 
254 'J^^I^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " You will find him as bitterly opposed to it all as I am." 
 
 " I think not. I shall be sorry beyond measure if you 
 are right, but it can make no difference." 
 
 "You will defy him also, then?" 
 
 "I object to the use of that word, Captain Bodine. In 
 availing myself of my inalienable rights I defy no one." 
 
 " Have I no rights in my own child ? Your purpose is to 
 rob me as ruthlessly as our homes were desolated years 
 since." 
 
 " I am not responsible for the past, any more than I am 
 for your prejudices against me. ISIy purpose is simple and 
 honorable, as much so as that of any other man who may 
 ask you for your daughter's hand." 
 
 "Mr. Houghton," said Bodine rising, "there is no use in 
 prolonging this painful and intensely disagreeable interview. 
 I said to your father in this office that our relations could 
 be only those of business. Even these shall soon cease. 
 I now understand you, sir. Of course the past is nothing 
 to you, and you are bent on obtaining what you imagine 
 you wish at the present moment, without any regard to 
 others. Let me tell you once for all there can be no alli- 
 ance between your house and mine. I would as soon bury 
 my daughter as see her married to you. I do find fault with 
 you personally. You are headlong and inconsiderate. You 
 would lay your hands on the best you can find in the South 
 just as your armies and politicians have done. But you pro- 
 ceed further at your peril — do you comprehend me ? — at 
 your peril," and the veteran's eyes gleamed fiercely. 
 
 " Captain Bodine," said George, also rising, " you cannot 
 make me lose my temper. I shall give you no just reason 
 for saying that I am headlong. I wish you could be more 
 calm and fair yourself. Before we part one point must be 
 settled. My request must be met in one way or the other. 
 If you will give me your word that you will repeat the pur- 
 
consternation: 255 
 
 port of what I have said to Miss Bodine, I will make no 
 effort to do so myself. However hostile you may be to me 
 I know that you are a man of honor, and I will trust you. 
 I merely wish Miss Bodine to know that I love her and am 
 willing to wait for her till I am gray." 
 
 " You wish me to tell her that you Avill wait and pray for 
 my death, and seek to lead her to do likewise," was the 
 angry reply. 
 
 " It is useless for me to protest against your unjust and 
 bitter words. The trust that I offer to repose in you entitles 
 me to better courtesy." 
 
 By a great effort Bodine regained self-control, and bal- 
 anced himself for a few moments on his crutches in deep 
 thought. At last he said, " I accept the trust, and will be 
 as fair to you as it is possible for an outraged father to 
 be. I forbid that you should have any communication with 
 my daughter whatever, and I shall forbid her to receive any 
 from you. What is more, you must take her answer as 
 final." 
 
 "I promise only this. Captain Bodine, that I shall take 
 no action without your knowledge. I shall trust you im- 
 plicidy in repeating the purport of this interview. The 
 moment that I looked into your face I recognized that you 
 were a gentleman, and I again apologize for my rude 
 remark before I knew who you were. Good-evening, sir." 
 
 Bodine bowed stiffly, and departed with many conflicting 
 emotions surging in his breast, none of them agreeable. 
 He scarcely knew whether he had acted wisely or not. 
 Indeed, the impression grew upon him that he had been 
 worsted in the encounter, that George, in making him his 
 messenger to Ella, had acted with singular astuteness. This 
 was true, but the young man's action was not the result of 
 the Yankee shrewdness with which the veteran was disposed 
 to credit him. A simple, straightforward course is usually 
 
256 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 the wisest one, and George instinctively knew that Ella 
 would appreciate such openness on his part. He was left 
 in a very anxious and perturbed condition, it is true, but in 
 his heart he again thanked Mrs. Willoughby for putting him 
 so sacredly on his guard against his hasty temper. 
 
 Absorbed in thought, he sat till the gloom of night gath- 
 ered in the office ; then the shuffling feet of the impatient 
 janitor aroused him. 
 
 Solacing the old man with a dollar, he went out hastily, 
 and walked a mile or two to work off his nervous excite- 
 ment, then sought a restaurant, muttering, " I haven't reached 
 the point of losing my appetite yet," 
 
 By the time Bodine reached home he was much calmer, 
 and disposed to take a much more hopeful view of the 
 affair. 
 
 He again concluded that after all it was best that he 
 should be the one to inform Ella, and thus keep the matter 
 entirely within his own hands. Believing her to be as yet 
 untouched by any thing that Houghton might have said 
 to her, he felt quite sure that he could readily induce her to 
 take the same attitude towards the objectionable suitor 
 which he proposed to maintain to the end. 
 
 He found her and his cousin very anxious about his late 
 return, — an anxiety not allayed by his grim, stern expression. 
 
 " I have been detained by an unpleasant interview," he 
 said. 
 
 " With that old " — 
 
 " No, not with Mr. Houghton, I will explain after 
 dinner." 
 
 With the swiftness of light, Ella surmised the truth, and 
 made but a very indifferent repast. Her father noted this, 
 and asked himself, "Could she have knomi of his pur- 
 pose?" Then he reproached himself inwardly for enter- 
 taining the thought. 
 
CONSTERNA TION. 2 $7 
 
 The meal was comparatively a silent one, and soon over ; 
 then they all went to Mrs. Bodine's room. 
 
 " I wish you to be present, Cousin Sophy," said the cap- 
 tain, " for I have a very disagreeable task to perform, and I 
 can scarcely trust myself to do it fairly. You must prompt 
 me if you think I do not. Ella, my dear and only child, I 
 trust that you will receive the message, which, in a sense, 
 I have been compelled to bring you, in the right spirit. I 
 feel sure that you will do so, and that your course now and 
 hereafter will continue to give me that same deep, glad 
 peace at heart which your fidehty to duty and your devotion 
 to me have always inspired. You have my happiness now 
 in your hands as never before ; but I do not fear that you 
 will fail me. The son of the man whom we all detest, and 
 whose employ I shall leave presently, has asked permission 
 to pay you his addresses." 
 
 She turned pale as he spoke so gravely, and trembled 
 visibly. 
 
 "Why do you tell me this, papa?" she faltered. "I 
 would rather not have known it." 
 
 " Because he requested me to tell you. Because he^^aid 
 he wished you to know that he loved you, and that if I aid 
 not tell you he would himself; " and he looked at her keenly. 
 
 "Then," cried Ella impetuously, "although I may never 
 speak to him again, I say he has acted honorably. I told 
 you that he was incapable of any thing clandestine." 
 
 " I trust that you never will speak to him again," said her 
 father, almost sternly. " I have forbidden him to have any 
 communication with you, and I certainly forbid your speak- 
 ing with him again." 
 
 " Father," said Ella gently, with tears in her eyes, " I do 
 not deserve that you should speak to me in that tone. I've 
 always tried to obey you." 
 
 " Forgive me, Ella, but I have been intensely annoyed by 
 
258 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 the interview inflicted upon me, and I cannot think of it, or 
 of his preposterous course, with patience. Moreover, par- 
 don me for saying it, you have shown a friendly interest in 
 him which it has been very painful to note." 
 
 " I've only tried to be fair to him, papa." 
 
 " Please try merely to forget him, Ella, — to think nothing 
 about him whatever." 
 
 " I shall try to obey you, papa ; but you are too old and 
 wise to tell me not to think. As well tell me not to breathe." 
 
 "Ella," began her father sternly, " can you mean" — 
 
 "Now, Hugh," interrupted his cousin, "be careful you 
 don't do more mischief than young Houghton can possibly 
 aocomplish. How men do bungle in these matters ! Hough- 
 ton hasn't bungled, though. His making you his messenger 
 strikes me as the shrewdest Yankee trick I ever heard of." 
 
 " I had the same impression on my way home," admitted 
 Bodine, irritably. 
 
 Ella felt that she owed no such deference to Mrs. Bodine 
 as she did to her father, and, with an ominous flash in her 
 eyes, said decidedly, "You are bungling. Cousin Sophy. 
 George Houghton is incapable of what you term a Yankee 
 trick. I will be pliant under all motives of love and duty to 
 my father, but you must not outrage my sense of justice. 
 You must remember that I have a conscience, as truly as 
 you- have." 
 
 " There, forgive me, Ella. You've seen the young fellow, 
 and I haven't. Cousin Hugh, remember that Ella has your 
 spirit, and the spirit of her ancestors. Show her what is 
 right and best, and she will do it." 
 
 Bodine looked at his daughter in deep perturbation. 
 Could that flushed, beautiful" woman be his little Ella? 
 With an indescribable pang he began to recognize that she 
 was becoming a woman, with an independent life of her 
 own. The greatness of the emergency calmed him, as all 
 
COiVS TERN A TION. 259 
 
 strong minds are quieted by great and impending danger. 
 " Ella," he said, gently and sadly, " I do not wish to treat 
 you as a litde, foolish girl, but as becomes your years. I 
 wish your conscience and reason to go with mine. You 
 know that your happiness is the chief desire of my life. 
 There could be no happiness for either of us in such a 
 misalliance. The father of this hasty youth will be as bit- 
 terly opposed to it all as I am. We belong to different camps, 
 and can never have any thing in common. You know my 
 motive in taking employment from him. I have thought 
 better of it, and shall now leave his office as soon as I can 
 honorably. I don't wish to outrage your sense of justice, 
 Ella, and I will mention one other essential point in the 
 interview. I told young Houghton that he must accept 
 your answer as final, and that he would proceed further at 
 his peril, and he said he would only take a final answer from 
 you after years of patient waiting and wooing. How he pro- 
 poses to do the latter I do not know, nor does he know him- 
 self. He did say, however, that he would take no action 
 without my knowledge. You see that I am trying to be just 
 to him." 
 
 " I would like to ask one question, papa. Did he use 
 any angry, disrespectful language towards you? " 
 
 Bodine winced under this question, but said plainly, " No, 
 he did not. He apologized for the third time for a hasty 
 remark he once made before he knew who I was. He said 
 that he recognized that I was a gentleman then, and that he 
 would trust me as such to deliver his message." 
 
 The girl drew a long breath as if a deep cause for anxiety 
 had been removed. 
 
 " Oh, come now. Cousin Hugh, you and Ella are taking 
 this matter too much to heart. Why, Lor bless you ! I had 
 nearly a dozen offers by the time I was Ella's age. There 
 is nothing tragic about this young fellow or his proceedings. 
 
260 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Indeed, I think with Ella, that he has done remarkably well, 
 wonderfully well, considering. Nine out of ten of his kind 
 wouldn't be so scrupulous. He has done neither you not 
 Ella any wrong, only paid you the highest compliment in his 
 power. Regard it as such, and let the matter end there. 
 He can't marry Ella out of hand any more than he can me." 
 
 At this the girl, seeing inevitably the comic side of every 
 thing, burst into a laugh. " Cousin Sophy," she cried, " you 
 surpass Solomon himself. Come, dear papa, let us try to be 
 sensible. Of course Mr. Houghton can't marry me without 
 your consent or mine." 
 
 " Then I may tell him that you will never give your con- 
 sent, — that what he terms his suit must end at once and 
 forever? " 
 
 She again became very pale, and did not answer imme- 
 diately. 
 
 " Ella, my only child, the hope and solace of my life, can 
 you hesitate ? " 
 
 With a rush of tears, she threw herself upon his neck, and 
 sobbed, " Tell him that I will never do any thing without 
 your consent." Then she fled to her own room. 
 
 The captain and Mrs. Bodine sat looking at each other 
 in consternation. 
 
TEMPESTS. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ON his return home George found his father reading 
 such of the Boston papers as most nearly reflected his 
 own views, and in which he had lost none of his early 
 interest. He had always looked upon himself somewhat in 
 the light of an exile, and it had been his purpose to return 
 to his native State ; but as time passed, a dread of its harsh 
 climate had begun to reconcile him to the thought of 
 ending his days in Charleston. All morbid tendencies 
 strengthen, if indulged. The desire, therefore, to remain 
 near the watery grave of his eldest son increased. Allied 
 to this motive was the pleasure of accumulating jnoney, the 
 excitement of business, and exultation over the fact that he 
 was taking tens of thousands from his enemies. As far as 
 possible he invested his capital at the North. The people 
 among whom he dwelt knew this, knew that, unhke Mr. 
 Ainsley, he was doing as little as possible to build up the 
 section from which he was drawing his wealth. 
 
 George, as yet, had not been inducted into the spirit or 
 •knowledge of his father's business methods, for the old man 
 had believed that the time for this had not come. More- 
 over, as the merchant became better acquainted with the 
 maturer character of his son, he became convinced that 
 George would not, indeed could not, carry on the business 
 as he had. There was a large, tolerant good nature about 
 the youth which would render it impossible for him to deal 
 
262 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 with any one in his father's spirit. He had not known his 
 elder brother, and was merely proud of his record as that 
 of a brave soldier who had died in the performance of duty. 
 George was like many of the combatants, both Union and 
 Confederate, capable of fighting each other to the death 
 during the war, but ready to shake hands after the battle 
 was over. 
 
 No one understood this disposition better than Mr. 
 Houghton, and he felt that the South was no place for 
 George. He wished his son to go back to Massachusetts, 
 where wealth and influence would open the way for a brilliant 
 career; and the old man already saw in imagination his 
 name famous in the old Commonwealth. 
 
 He had been thinking over this scheme on the present 
 evening, and his mind was full of it when George entered. 
 " Glad to see you so early," he said genially. " Had a good 
 dinner? Yes ; well then sit down awhile, for I wish to talk 
 to you. I've had a good nap, and so won't need to go to 
 bed very early. Well, my boy, you've reached that age 
 when you should take your bearings for your future career." 
 
 " Why, father, I've always expected to go into business 
 with you, and gradually relieve you of its burdens and 
 cares." 
 
 " No, George, that wouldn't be best ; that wouldn't suit 
 me at all. You are fitted for something better and larger. 
 You wouldn't carry on the business as I do, and that would 
 lead to differences between us. I couldn't stand that. The 
 iron entered into my soul before you were born. Your 
 brother had equal promise with yourself, and, to put it \-ery 
 mildly, I have no love for those who destroyed him. I do 
 business with them, but in much the same spirit that 
 Antonio dealt with the Jew on the Rialto. You would not 
 do this, nor could I expect you to. The accursed crime 
 of rebelUon has not smitten your soul as with lightning, nor 
 
 • 
 
TEMPESTS. 263 
 
 broken your heart. The young fall into the ways of those 
 with whom they live, and I wish you to have as little to 
 do with this Southern people as possible. There is no 
 career for you in this city, but in your native State you can 
 become almost what you please. If, for instance, with your 
 splendid health you entered upon the study of law and 
 mastered it, I have influence and wealth enough to advance 
 you rapidly, until by your own grip you can climb to the 
 top of the ladder. You can then eventually marry into one 
 of the best families in the State, and thus at the same time 
 secure happiness and double your chances of success." 
 
 George listened aghast as his father proceeded compla- 
 cently, and with a touch of enthusiasm rarely indulged. He 
 was sitting by an open window, at some distance from Mr. 
 Houghton, the darkness concealing his face. He now 
 began to reahze the truth of Mrs. Willoughby's belief and 
 Bodine's conviction, that he might find as much trouble at 
 home as elsewhere. It quickly became clear to him that 
 he must reveal the truth at once, but how to set about it he 
 scarcely knew, and he hesitated like one on the brink of icy 
 water. What he considered a bright thought struck him, 
 and he said, " Speaking of marrying, you never told me how 
 you came to marry mother." 
 
 " Oh ! " repUed the old man dreamily, " I was almost 
 brought up to marry her. She was the daughter of a near 
 neighbor and dear friend of my father's. Your mother and 
 I played together as children. I scarcely think we knew 
 when our mutual affection changed into love — it all came 
 about so gradually and naturally — and the union gave the 
 deepest satisfaction to both famihes. Ah ! George, George, 
 your brother's death shortened the life of your mother, and 
 left me very sad and lonely. I can never forgive this peo- 
 ple for the irreparable injuries they have done to me and 
 mine. I know you cannot feel as I do ; but love of country 
 
264 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and your affection for me should lead you to stand aloof 
 from those who are still animated by the old, diabolical 
 spirit which caused the death of such brave fellows as your 
 brother, and broke the hearts of such women as your 
 mother." 
 
 His son's distress was so deep that he buried his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 " I don't wonder that your feelings are touched by my 
 reminiscences, George," and the old man wiped tears from 
 his own eyes. 
 
 " O father ! " cried the son, springing up, and placing his 
 hand on the old man's shoulder, " I'm going to test your 
 love for me severely. You are right in saying I cannot feel 
 as you do. I did not know that you felt so strongly. I've 
 given my love to a Southern girl." 
 
 Moments of oppressive silence followed this announce- 
 ment, and the old man's face grew stern and rigid. 
 
 " Father, listen patiently," George began. " She is not to 
 blame for the past, nor am I. If you only knew how good 
 and noble and lovely she is " — 
 
 " Who is she ? What is her name ? " 
 
 " Ella Bodine." 
 
 " What ! A relative of that double-dyed rebel in my 
 office?" 
 
 "His daughter." 
 
 " George Houghton ! " and his father sprung up, and 
 confronted his son with a visage distorted by anger. Never 
 had the youth called forth a look like that, and he trembled 
 before the passion he had evoked. 
 
 " Father," he said entreatingly, " sit down. Do not look 
 at me so, do not speak to me till you are calm. Remember 
 I am your son." 
 
 The old man paced the room for a few moments in strong 
 agitation, for he had been wounded at his most vulnerable 
 
TEMPESTS. 265 
 
 point. The thought that his only son would ally himself 
 with those whom he so detested, and whom for years he had 
 sought to punish, almost maddened him. As we have seen 
 before, there was a slumbering volcano in this old man's 
 breast when adequate causes called it into action, and now 
 the deepest and strongest forces of his nature were awak- 
 ened. 
 
 At last he said in a constrained voice, " I hope you also 
 will remember that I am your father. It would appear that 
 you had forgotten the fact, when you made love to one 
 whom I never can call daughter." 
 
 " I have not made love to her yet. You " — 
 " Has she been making love to you then ? " 
 " Father, please don't speak in that way. There never 
 were harsh words between us before, and there must not be 
 now." 
 
 Again the dreadful silence fell between them, but it was 
 evident that Mr. Houghton was making a great effort for 
 self-control. 
 
 " You are right, George," he said at last. " I have never 
 spoken to you before as I have to-night, and, 1 hope to God, 
 I may never have cause to do so again. I have not been a 
 harsh father, nor have I inflicted my unhappiness on you. 
 I have given you large liberty, the best education that you 
 would take, and ample means with which to enjoy yourself. 
 I had expected that in return you would consult my wishes 
 in some vital matters, — as vital to your happiness as mine. 
 I never dreamed that such incredible folly as you have men- 
 tioned was possible. Your very birthright precluded the 
 idea. You said that you would have to test my love se- 
 verely. I shall not only have to test your love, but also 
 your reason, your common-sense, almost your sanity. What 
 is thought of a man who throws away every thing for a 
 pretty face?" 
 
266 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " That I shall never do, father. The beauty in Ella 
 Bodine's face is but the reflex of her character." 
 
 "That's what every enamoured fool has said from the 
 beginning of time," replied Mr. Houghton, in strong irrita- 
 tion, "What chance have you had to learn her character? 
 I know more about the girl and her connections than you 
 do. She works with that Wallingford girl, and that old fire- 
 eater, Mrs. Hunter, in the baking trade. She lives with her 
 cousin old Mrs, Bodine, who thinks of little else than what 
 she is pleased to consider her blue blood, forgetting that it 
 is not good, loyal, American blood. This little patch of a 
 State is more to her than the Union bequeathed to us by our 
 fathers. As to Bodine himself, if the South rose again, he'd 
 inarch away on his crutches with the rebellious army. Can 
 you soberly expect to live among such a set of people? 
 Can you expect me to fraternize with them, to stultify all 
 my life, to trample on my most sacred convictions, to be 
 disloyal to the memory of wife and son, who virtually per- 
 ished by the action of just such traitors?" and he laughed 
 in harsh, bitter protest, 
 
 George sat down, again buried his face in his hands, and 
 groaned aloud. 
 
 "You may well groan, young man, when you face the 
 truth which you have so strangely forgotten. But come, 
 I'm not one to yield weakly to any such monstrous absurdity. 
 You are young and strong, and should have a spirit equal to 
 your stature and muscle. You have not made love to this 
 girl, you say. Never do it. Steer as wide of her as you 
 would of a whirlpool, and all will soon be well. I won't 
 believe that a son of mine can be so wretchedly, miserably, 
 and contemptibly weak as to throw himself away in this 
 fashion." 
 
 George was silent and ovenvhelmed. His father's words 
 had opened an abyss at his feet. He loved the old man 
 
TEMPESTS. 267 
 
 tenderly and gratefully, and, under his burning, scathing 
 words, felt at the time that his course was black ingratitude. 
 Even if he could face the awful estrangement which he saw 
 must ensue, the thought of striking such a blow at his 
 father's hopes, affection and confidence made him shudder 
 in his very soul. It might be fatal even to a life already 
 held in the feeble grasp -of age. He could not speak. 
 
 At last Mr. Houghton resumed, very gravely, and yet not 
 unkindly, " You are not the first one of your age who has 
 been on the verge of an irreparable blunder. Thank God 
 it is not too late for you to retreat ! Do not let this word 
 jar upon you, for it often requires much higher courage 
 and manhood to retreat than to advance. To do the latter 
 in this case would be as foolhardy as it would be wrong and 
 disastrous to all concerned. It would be as fatal to me as 
 to you, for I could not long sur\-ive if I learned that I had 
 been leaning on such a broken reed. It would be fatal to 
 you, for I would not leave my money so you could enrich 
 these people. You would have nothing in the world but 
 the pretty face for which you sold your birthright. I will 
 say no more now, George. You will wake in the morning 
 a sane man, and my son. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night, father," George answered in a broken voice. 
 Then, when ajone, he added bitterly, " Wake ! When shall 
 I sleep again?" 
 
 The eastern horizon was tinged with light before, ex- 
 hausted by his fierce mental conflict, he sank into a respite 
 of oblivion. For a long time he wavered, love for his 
 father tugging at his heart with a restraining power far be- 
 yond that of words which virtually were threats. " He 
 could keep his money," the young fellow groaned, " if I 
 could only keep his affection and confidence, if I could 
 only be sure that I would not harm his life and health. I 
 could be happy in working as a day-laborer for her." 
 
268 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 At last he came to a decision. He had given both his 
 love and his word to Ella. She only could reject the one, 
 and absolve him from the other. 
 
 He was troubled to find that the forenoon had nearly- 
 passed when he awoke. Dressing hastily, he went down to 
 make inquiries for his father. 
 
 " Marse Houghton went to de sto' at de us'l time," said 
 the colored waiter. " He lef word not to 'sturb you, an' ter 
 hab you'se breakfus' ready." 
 
 George merely swallowed a cup of coffee, and then hast- 
 ened down town. Meanwhile, events had occurred at the 
 office which require attention. 
 
 A very few moments after Mr. Houghton entered his pri- 
 vate room he touched a bell. To the clerk who entered 
 he said, "Take this letter to Mr. Bodine." 
 
 The veteran's face was as rigid and stem with his purpose 
 as the employer was grim in his resolves ; but when the 
 captain read the curt note handed to him, his face grev/ dark 
 with passion. It ran as follows : — 
 
 " Mr. Bodine, — I have no further need of your services. 
 Enclosed find check for your wages to the end of the 
 month." 
 
 The captain sat still a few moments to regain self-control 
 then quietly put his desk in order. He nexfr halted to the 
 private office, and the two men looked steadily and un- 
 blenchingly into each other's eyes for a moment. Then the 
 Southerner began sternly, " That hair-brained son of yours, 
 has told you of the interview he forced upon me last night." 
 
 "This is my private office, sir," replied Mr. Houghton, 
 with equal sternness. " You have no right to enter it, or to 
 use such language." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I have the right. Were it not for the folly and 
 presumption of your headlong boy, I would have left your 
 employ quietly in a few days, and had nothing more to do 
 
TEMPESTS. 269 
 
 with you or yours. To save my daughter annoyance from 
 his silly sentimentality I was compelled to come into this 
 hated place wherein you concoct your schemes to suck dry 
 our Southern blood. He asked for permission to pay his 
 addresses to my daughter, and I forbade it. I told him 
 that he could only do so at his peril." 
 
 "You are certainly right, sir. I also have told him that 
 he would do so at his peril." 
 
 " I also told him that I would rather bury my daughter 
 than see her married to him," 
 
 " Truly, sir, I never imagined we could agree so perfectly 
 on any question," was Mr. Houghton's sarcastic reply. 
 " Can we not now part with this clear understanding ? I 
 have much to attend to this morning." 
 
 " I have but one word more, and then trust I am through 
 with his sentimentality and your insolence. Tell the boy 
 that my daughter says she will have nothing to do with him 
 without my consent. Now if there is even the trace of a 
 gendeman in his anatomy he will leave us alone. Good- 
 morning, sir." And tearing the check in two, he dropped 
 it on the floor and halted away. 
 
 Mr. Houghton coolly and contemptuously turned to his 
 writing till the door closed on Bodine, and then he smiled 
 and rubbed his hands in self-felicitation. "This is better 
 than I had hoped," he said. "I've often laughed at the 
 idiotic pride of these black-blooded, rather than blue- 
 blooded, fire-eaters, but I shall bless it hereafter. 
 
 " As you virtually say, you hardened old rebel, if George is 
 worth the powder to blow him up, he'll drop you all now as 
 if you had the plague. I've only to tell him what you and 
 your doll-daugkter have said." 
 
270 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 "l ABSOLVE YOU." 
 
 WHEN George reached the counting-rooms, he saw 
 that Bodine was not in his accustomed place. Sur- 
 mising the truth at once, he hastened to his father's room, 
 and asked almost sternly, — 
 
 " Where is Captain Bodine ? " 
 
 " I neither know nor care," was the cool reply. " He is 
 dismissed from my service." 
 
 " You have acted unjustly, sir," his son began hotly, " you 
 have punished him for my " — 
 
 "George," interrupted his father gravely, "remember 
 what you said about angry words between us." 
 
 The young man paced the office excitedly for a few 
 moments in silence and then sat down. 
 
 " That's right," resumed his father quietly. " I am glad 
 you are able to attain self-control, for you now require the 
 full possession of all your faculdes. Fortunately for both of 
 us, this man, Bodine, has said more than enough to end this 
 folly forever," and he began to repeat the conversation which 
 had taken place. 
 
 At a certain point George started, and, looking at his 
 father with a shocked expression, asked, " Did you mean, 
 sir, that you also would rather see me buried than married 
 to a good woman whom I love ? " 
 
 "That is your way of putting it," replied Mr, Hougliton, 
 somewhat disconcerted, for his son's tone and look smote him 
 
"/ ABSOLVE YOU." 2/1 
 
 sorely. " You will understand my feelings better wlien you 
 have heard that rebel's final words ; " and he repeated them, 
 ending with the sentences, " ' Tell the boy that my daughter 
 says she will have nothing to do with him without my con- 
 sent. Now if there is even the trace of a gentleman in his 
 anatomy he will leave us alone.' In this final remark I cer- 
 tainly do agree with him most emphatically," concluded the 
 old man sternly. " Any human being, possessing a particle 
 of self-respect, would prefer death to the humiliation and 
 dishonor of seeking to force himself on such people." 
 
 " I suppose you are right, sir, but I cannot help having 
 my own thoughts." 
 
 " Well, what are they ? " ' 
 
 " That the girl has met in her home the same harsh, ter- 
 rible opposition that 1 have found in mine." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, thank heaven ! Whether she needed it 
 or not she has evidently had the sense to take the whole- 
 some medicine. The probabilities are, however, that she 
 has laughed at the idea of receiving attentions so repugnant 
 to her father and to me." 
 
 " No doubt," said George wearily. " Very well, there is 
 a trace of a gentleman in my anatomy. I would like to 
 leave town for a while." 
 
 " A very sensible wish, George," said his father kindly. 
 " Go where you please, and take all the money you need. 
 When you have come to see this affair in its true light 
 come back to me. I will try to arrange my business so 
 that we can make a visit North together in the early 
 autumn." 
 
 "Very well, sir," and there was apathy in his tones. 
 After a moment he added, " Please give me some work this 
 morning." 
 
 " No, my boy. Go and make your preparations at once. 
 Divert your thoughts into new channels. Be a resolute man 
 
2/2 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 (or a few days, and then your own manhood will right you 
 as a boat is righted when keeled over by a sudden gust." 
 
 George was not long in forming the same plan which 
 Clancy had adopted. He would go to the mountains in the 
 interior, fish, hunt and tramp till the fever in his blood sub- 
 sided. He told his father of his purpose. 
 
 " All right, George. I only wish I were young and strong 
 enough to go with you. It will not be long before you will 
 see that I have had at heart only what was best for you." 
 
 "■ I hope so, father ; I truly do, for I have had a new, 
 strange experience. Even yet I can scarcely comprehend 
 that you and Mr. Bodine could speak to your children, and 
 ^dictate to them in matters relating to their happiness as you 
 both have done. It savors more of feudal times than of 
 this free age." 
 
 " In all times, George, the hasty passions and inconsid- 
 erate desires of the young, when permitted gratification, 
 have led to a lifetime of wretchedness. But we need not 
 refer to this matter again. Bodine's final words have settled 
 it for all time." 
 
 " It would certainly seem so," said young Houghton. 
 "Well, I will make my preparations to start to-morrow." 
 
 His first step was to go direct to INIrs. Willoughby, and 
 his dejected expression revealed to the lady that her antici- 
 pations of strong opposition were correct, 
 
 " I won't annoy you," she said, as George sat down and 
 looked at her with troubled eyes, " by that saying of com- 
 placently sagacious people, ' I told you so.' You may tell 
 me all if you wish." 
 
 "I do so wish, for I fear my way is blocked." And 
 he related all that had occurred. When he ended with 
 Bodine's final words she said thoughtfully, " Such language 
 as that, combined with Ella's message, does seem to end 
 the affair." 
 
"/ ABSOLVE VOU." 273 
 
 " Well, I know this much," he replied ruefully, " I am a 
 gentleman. No matter what it costs me I must continue 
 to be one." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Houghton, you have acted like a gentleman, 
 and, as you say, you must continue to do so. Let me con- 
 gratulate and thank you for keeping your temper." 
 , " I neady lost it when I learned that my father had dis- 
 charged Mr. Bodine." 
 
 " I understand how you felt then. You were sorely tried 
 as I feared. Have you any reason to think that Ella feels 
 in any such way as you do? " 
 
 "None at all. My best hope was, that with time and 
 opportunity, I could awaken like regard. While not at all 
 sanguine, I would have made every effort in my power to 
 win her respect and love. But now what can I do ? If I 
 take another step I must forfeit my father's love and confi- 
 dence, which is far more to me than his money. I have at 
 least brain and muscle enough to earn a living for us both. 
 I fear, however, that such a course would kill the old gentle- 
 man. I could meet this problem by simply waiting if Ella 
 cared for me, but she and her father have made it impossi- 
 ble to approach her again. She has said she would have 
 nothing to do with me without her father's consent, and he 
 has said that he would rather bury her than permit my 
 attentions." 
 
 "Well, my friend, I see how it is, and I absolve you 
 utterly. You can't go forward under the circumstances." 
 I " No, for she would now probably meet any effort on my 
 part with contempt, and agree with her father that a North- 
 ern man couldn't even appreciate words that were hke a 
 kick." 
 
 " Well, then, go to the mountains and forget all about it. 
 If Ella had set her heart upon you as you have on her, and 
 you both could be patiently constant, the future might have 
 
274 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 possibilities ; but if I were a man I would make no further 
 effort under the circumstances." 
 
 George went home with a heavy heart, and grimly entered 
 upon the first hard battle of his life. 
 
 Ella tried to be her old mirthful self when she came down 
 to breakfast that morning, and succeeded fairly well. In 
 spite of her father's bitter words and opposition he had 
 told her a truth that was like the sun in the sky. George 
 Houghton loved her, and he had revealed his love in no 
 underhand way. She was proud of him ; she exulted over 
 him, and, in the delicious pain of her own awakening heart, 
 she forgot nearly every thing except the fact that he loved 
 her. 
 
 Bodine was perplexed by her manner and not wholly re- 
 assured. When she had kissed him good-by for the day, he 
 said, " Cousin Sophy, perhaps our fears last night had little 
 foundation. Ella does not seem cast down this morning." 
 
 The old lady shook her head and only remarked, " I hope 
 it is not as serious as I feared." 
 
 " Why do you fear so greatly? " 
 
 "Suppose Ella does care for him more than we could 
 wish, the fact you told her last night that this young fellow 
 loves her, or thinks he does, would be very exhilarating. 
 Oh, I know a woman's heart. We're all alike." 
 
 "Curse him ! " muttered the captain. 
 
 " No, no, no, pray for your enemies. That's commanded, 
 but not that we should marry our daughters to them: Dear 
 Cousin Hugh, we must keep our common sense in this mat- 
 ter. This is probably Ella's first little love affair, and girls 
 as well as boys often have t^vo or three before they settle 
 down. Ella will soon get over it, if we ignore the whole 
 affair as far as possible. You have much to be thankful for 
 since neither of the young people is sly and underhanded. 
 Never fear. That old Houghton will set his boy down more 
 
"/ ABSOLVE Your 2/5 
 
 decidedly than you have Ella, and also send him out of 
 town probably. This cloud will sink below the horizon be- 
 fore we are many months older. Perhaps Ella will mope a 
 little for a time, but we must not notice it, and must make it 
 as cheerful for her as possible. Charleston men are begin- 
 ning to call on her, and she'll soon discover that there are 
 others in the world besides George Houghton." 
 
 But the veteran halted to his work sore-hearted and angry. 
 Strong-willed and decided as Mr. Houghton himself he 
 could not endure the truth that his daughter had looked 
 with favor on one so intensely disagreeable to him. He, 
 too, felt that such an alliance would stultify his life and all 
 his past, that it would bring him into contempt with those 
 whose respect he most valued. Young Houghton's coolness 
 and resolute purpose to ignore his opposition, together with 
 the fact that Ella was not indifferent, troubled him, and led 
 to the determination to take the strongest measures within 
 his power to prevent further compHcations. This resolve 
 accounted for his visit to Mr. Houghton's office and the 
 words he uttered there. His employer, however, had 
 aroused his anger to the last degree, and he returned home 
 in a rage. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine listened quietly to his recital of what had 
 occurred, and then said, with her irrepressible little laugh, 
 " Well, it was Greek meeting Greek. You both fired regu- 
 lar broadsiders. Cool off, Cousin Hugh. Don't you see 
 that all things are working for the best ? Your rupture with 
 old Houghton will only secure you greater favor with our 
 people, and Ella be cured all the sooner oi any weakness 
 towards that old curmudgeon's son." 
 
 "I should hope so," said her father most emphatically. 
 
 " Don't you be harsh to Ella. We can laugh her out of 
 this fancy much better than scold or threaten her out of it." 
 
 " I shall not do either," said Bodine gravely. " I shall 
 
2^6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 tell her the facts and then trust to her love, loyalty and good 
 sense. It has been no laughing matter to me." 
 
 Ella's cheerfulness and happiness grew apace all the 
 morning. " To think that I should have brought that great 
 Vandal to my feet so soon ! " she thought smiling to herself. 
 " Dear me ! Why can't people let bygones be bygones ? 
 Now if I could see him naturally what a chase I could lead 
 him ! If he thinks I'll put my two hands together and say, 
 ' Please, sir, don't exert yourself. The weather is too warm 
 for that. Behold thine handmaid/ he will be so mistaken 
 that he will make some poor dinners. I'd be bound to 
 keep him sighing like a furnace for a time. Well, well, I fear 
 we both will have to do a lot of sighing, but time and 
 patience see many changes. As Aun' Sheba says, he's on 
 ' 'bation,' and, if he holds out, our stern fathers may events 
 ually see that the best way to be happy themselves is to 
 make us happy. He thinks I'm a very frigid representative 
 of the Southern people. Wouldn't he dance a jig if he 
 knew? Well, speed thee on, old Father Time, and touch 
 softly obdurate hearts." Thus with the hopefulness of youth 
 she looked forward. 
 
 Mara regarded her with misgivings, but asked no ques- 
 tions. She also was sadly pre-occupied with her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 "Aun' Sheba," Ella said, as the old woman entered, " I 
 rather like this ' 'bation,' scheme of yours. I think of put- 
 ting myself on ' 'bation.' " 
 
 " Oh you go long, honey. Doan you make light ob serus 
 tings." 
 
 "I'm doing nothing of the kind Aun' Sheba. I've too 
 much respect for you." 
 
 "Oh well, honey, sich as you gits 'ligion jes as you did de 
 measles. It's kin ob bawn an' baptize inter yez wen you 
 doan know it. But I'se got to hab a po'ful conwiction ob 
 
"/ ABSOLVE YOU." 2// 
 
 sin fust, an' dats de trouble wid me. I says to myself, ' Aun' 
 Sheba, you'se a wile sinner. Why doan you cry an' groan, 
 an' hab a big conwiction ? Den you feel mo' shuah ; but 
 de conwiction won' come no how. Sted ob groanin' I gits 
 sleepy.'" 
 
 "Well, I think I've got a conwiction Aun' Sheba, and I'm 
 not a bit sleepy." 
 
 " 1 don' know what you dribin at. Bettah be keerful how 
 you talk, honey." 
 
 " I think so too, Ella." 
 
 " O Mara ! you take such ' lugubrious ' views, as I heard 
 some one say. There^ Aun' Sheba ! I'll sober down some 
 day." 
 
2/8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE. 
 
 ELLA was very much surprised to find her father reading 
 in the parlor when she returned home. " Why papa ! " 
 she cried, with misgivings of trouble, "are you not well?" 
 
 "I cannot say that I am, Ella, but my pain is mental 
 rather than physical. Mr. Houghton dismissed me with 
 insults from his service this morning." 
 
 Ella flushed scarlet. "Where was young Mr. Hough- 
 ton ? " she asked indignantly. 
 
 " Sent to Coventry, probably. He evidently did not dare 
 put in an appearance." 
 
 She sat down and drew a long breath. 
 
 " Ella," said her father very gravely, " I shall not treat 
 you as a child. You have compelled me to recognize that 
 you are no longer the little girl that had grown so gradually 
 and lovingly at my side." 
 
 " Papa," cried Ella, " I am not less lovingly at your side 
 to-day." 
 
 " I hope so. I shall believe it if, with the spirit which 
 becomes your birth, you do take your place at my side in 
 unrelenting hostility to these Houghtons who have heaped 
 insult upon us, the son by rash, headlong action which he 
 would soon regret, and the father by insufferable insolence. 
 Bujt you shall judge for yourself" And he began, as Mr. 
 Houghton had done, to repeat what had passed between 
 them. 
 
FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE. 279 
 
 At the same terrible words which had smitten George, 
 she also cried, " Papa, did you say you would rather bury 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes," said the veteran sternly, "and I would rather be 
 buried myself. You must remember that I am at heart a 
 soldier and not a trader. I could not survive dishonor to 
 you or myself; and any relation except that of enmity 
 to these Houghtons would humiliate me into the very mire. 
 What's more, Mr. Houghton feels in the same way about 
 his son. I am not one whit more averse than he is. He 
 virtually said that he would disinherit and cast out his son 
 should he continue to offend by seeking your hand. I, in 
 return, told him that if the sentimental boy had even the 
 trace of a gentleman in his anatomy he would leave us 
 alone. Now you can measure the gravity of the situation. 
 The name of our ancestors, the sacred cause for which I 
 and so many that I loved perilled and lost life, forbid that 
 I should take any other course. Turn from this folly and 
 all will be serene and happy soon. I can obtain a position 
 elsewhere. Surely, Ella, you are too true a Southern girl 
 to have given your heart unsought, unasked to your knowl- 
 edge till last night. Your very pride should rescue you 
 from such a slough as this." 
 
 The girl had turned pale and red as he spoke. Now she 
 rose and said falteringly, " Papa, I'm no hypocrite. As I 
 told you last night, I will do nothing whatever without your 
 consent." 
 
 " You will never have my consent even to speak to that 
 fellow." 
 
 "Very well then," she said quietly, "that ends it." 
 
 So apparently it did. Ella went to her room and for a 
 few moments indulged in a passion of grief. "Oh, t ) 
 think," she moaned, "that fathers can say to their childFcn 
 that they would rather bury them than give up the bitterne-- 
 
28o THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 of an old and useless enmity ! It is indeed all ended, for 
 he would never look at me again after papa's words." In a 
 few moments she added, " Mine also, mine also, for I said, 
 * Tell him I will do nothing without papa's consent.' Well, 
 I only hope he can get over it easier than I can." 
 
 She soon washed the traces of tears from her eyes and 
 muttered, " I won't show the white feather anyhow, even 
 if I haven't Aun' Sheba's comfort of being on ' 'bation.' " 
 And she marched down to dinner with the feeling of a sol- 
 dier who has a campaign rather than a single battle before 
 him. 
 
 There was a little stiffness at first ; but Mrs. Bodine, with 
 her fine tact, soon began to banish this, and the old lady was 
 pleased that Ella seconded her efforts so readily. Bodine 
 was a man and a straightforward soldier, honest in his views 
 and actions, however mistaken they might be. He had not 
 feminine quickness in outward self-recovery, and the waves 
 of his strong feeling could only subside gradually. He soon 
 began to congratulate himself, however, that his strong meas- 
 ures had led to a most fortunate escape, and he admitted 
 the truth of his cousin's words that young girls were subject 
 to sudden attacks of romantic sentiment before they were 
 fairly launched into society. 
 
 As the days passed these impressions were strengthened, 
 for Ella appeared merrier than ever before. Mrs. Bodine 
 kept pace with her nonsense which at times even verged on 
 audacity, and the veteran began to laugh as he had done 
 before the " Houghton episode," as he now characterized it 
 in his mind. Mrs. Bodine, however, began to observe little 
 things in Ella which troubled her. 
 
 On the morning following that of Bodine's dismissal, Mara 
 saw at once from Ella's expression that something unpleas- 
 ant had occurred. 
 
 " What has happened? " she asked anxiously. 
 
FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE. 281 
 
 " Oh, we've had an earthquake at our house," was the 
 somewhat bitter reply. Fondly as she loved Mara, Ella 
 stood in no awe of her whatever, and her heart was almost 
 bursting from the strong repression into which she knew she 
 must school herself for the sake of her father. 
 
 " Please, Ella, don't talk riddles." 
 
 "Well, papa and old Houghton have had a regular 
 pitched battle ; papa has been discharged, and is now a 
 gentleman of leisure." 
 
 " Shameful ! What earthly reason could that old 
 wretch " — 
 
 " I'm the earthly reason." 
 
 " Ella, don't tantalize me." 
 
 " Well, that misguided little boy, who must stand six feet 
 in his stockings, had the preposterous presumption — there's 
 alliteration for you, but nothing else is equal to the case — 
 to ask papa if he might pay his addresses to me. Isn't that 
 the conventional phrase ? At the bare thought both of our 
 papas went off like heavy columbiads, and we poor little 
 children have been blown into space." 
 
 " O Ella ! how can you speak so ! " cried Mara indignant- 
 ly. "The idea of associating your father with that man 
 Houghton in your thoughts ! It does indeed seem that no 
 one can have any thing to do with such Yankees as come to 
 this city " — 
 
 "There now, Mara," said Ella a little irritably, "I haven't 
 Aun' Sheba's grace of self-depreciation. I haven't been con- 
 jured into a monster by Northern associations, and I haven't 
 lost my common sense. I don't associate papa with old 
 Houghton, as no one should know better than you. No 
 daughter ever loved father more than I love papa. What's 
 more, I've given him a proof of it, which few daughters are 
 called upon to give. But I'm not a fool. The same facul- 
 ties which enable me to know that you are Mara Wallingford 
 
282 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 reveal to me with equal clearness that papa and Mr. Hough- 
 ton have acted in much the same way." 
 
 " Could you imagine for a moment that your father would 
 permit the attentions of that young Houghton?" 
 
 " Certainly I could imagine it. If papa had come to me 
 and said, * Ella, I have learned beyond doubt that Mr. 
 Houghton is sly, mean, unscrupulous, or dissipated,' I should 
 have dropped him as I would a hot poker. Instead of all 
 this the Vandal goes to papa like a gentleman, tells him the 
 truth, intrusts him with the message of his regard for me, and 
 promises that if papa will tell me he will not, — also prom- 
 ises that he will not make the slightest effort to win my favor 
 without papa's knowledge. Then he told his own father 
 about his designs upon the little baker. Then both of our 
 loving papas said in chorus of us silly children, ' We'll see 
 'em buried first.' " 
 
 "I don't wonder your father said so," Mara remarked 
 sternly. 
 
 "Well, /wonder, and I can't understand it," cried Ella, 
 bursting into a passion of tears. 
 
 "There now, Ella," Mara began soothingly, "you will 
 see all in the true light when you have had time to think it 
 over. Remember how old Houghton is looked upon in 
 this city. Consider his intense hostility to us." 
 
 " I've nothing to say for him," sobbed Ella. 
 
 "Well, it would be said that your father had permitted 
 you to marry the son of this rich old extortioner for the 
 sake of his money. Your action would throw discredit on 
 all your father's life and devotion to a cause " — 
 
 " Which is dead as Julius Caesar," Ella interrupted. 
 — "But which is as sacred to us," continued Mara very 
 gravely, "as the memory of our loved and honored 
 dead." 
 
 " I don't believe our loved and honored dead would wish 
 
FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE. 283 
 
 useless unhappiness to continue indefinitely. What earthly 
 good can ever result from this cherished bitterness and 
 enmity? O mamma, mamma ! I wish you had lived, for 
 you would have understood the love which forgives and 
 heals the wounds of the past." 
 
 " Ella, can you have given your love to this alien and 
 almost stranger? " 
 
 " I have at least given him my respect and admiration," 
 she replied, rising and wiping her eyes before resuming her 
 work. Suddenly she paused, and in a serio-comic attitude 
 she pointed with the roller as she said, " Mara, suppose you 
 insisted that that kitchen table was a cathedral, would it be a 
 cathedral to me ? No more so than that your indiscriminate 
 prejudices against Northern people are grand, heroic, or 
 based on truth. So there, now. I've got to unburden my 
 feelings somewhere ; although I expect sympathy from no 
 one. I believe in the angels' song of ' Peace on earth and 
 good will toward men.' " 
 
 " I fear your good will towards one man," said Mara, very 
 sadly, "is taking you out of sympathy with those who love 
 you, and who have the best and most natural right to your 
 love." 
 
 " See how mistaken you are ! I shall never be out of 
 sympathy with you, papa, or Cousin Sophy. But how can I 
 sympathize with some of your views when God has given 
 me a nature that revolts at them ? If you ever love a good 
 man, God and your own heart will teach you what a sacred 
 thing it is. What if I am poor, and lacking in graces and 
 accomplishments, I know I have an honest, loving nature. 
 Think of that old man Houghton condemning and threaten- 
 ing his son, as if he had committed a vile crime in his most 
 honorable intentions towards me ! Well, well, it's all over. 
 I've given my word to papa that I'll do nothing without his 
 consent, aild he'll see me buried before he'll give it. Don't 
 
284 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 you worry, I'm not going to pine and live on moonshine. 
 I'll prove that I'm a Bodine in my own way." 
 
 " Yes, Ella, you will, and eventually it will be in the right 
 way." 
 
 " Mara, what I have said is in confidence, and since I've 
 had my say I'd rather not talk about it any more." 
 
 Mara was glad enough to drop the subject, for Ella had 
 been saying things to which her own heart echoed most 
 uncomfortably. She and Mrs. Hunter accepted Mrs. 
 Bodine's invitation to dine that evening, and, in her sympa- 
 thy for Bodine, was kinder to him than ever, thus reviving 
 his hopes and deepening his feelings. 
 
 Time passed, bringing changes scarcely perceptible on 
 the surface, yet indicating to observant eyes concealed and 
 silent forces at work. And these were observant eyes j 
 Mrs. Bodine saw that Ella was masking feelings and memo- 
 ries to which no reference was made. Ella began to 
 observe that her father's demeanor towards Mara was not 
 the same as that by which he manifested his affection for 
 her. While she was glad for his sake, and hoped that Mara 
 would respond favorably, she had an increased sense of 
 injustice that he should seek happiness in a way forbidden 
 to her. The thought would arise, " I am not so much to 
 him after all." 
 
 One day, near the end of July, Ella, her father, Mrs. 
 Hunter and Mara, were on the Battery, sitting beneath the 
 shade of a live oak. The raised promenade, overlooking 
 the water, was not far away, and among the passers-by Mara 
 saw Clancy and Miss Ainsley approaching. Apparently 
 they were absorbed in each other, but, when opposite, 
 Clancy turned and looked her full in the face. She gave 
 no sign of recognition nor did he. That mutual and unob- 
 served encounter of their eyes set its seal on their last inter- 
 view. They were strangers. 
 
FALSE SELF-SACRIFICE. 285 
 
 "There goes a pair, billing and cooing," said Ella with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Mara, don't you feel well? " asked the captain anxiously. 
 " You look very pale." 
 
 " I felt the heat very much to-day," she repUed evasively. 
 '' I am longing for August and rest." 
 
 "O Mara! let us shut up shop at once," cried Ella. 
 " Papa is at leisure now and we can make little expeditions 
 down the bay, out to Summerville and elsewhere." 
 
 "No," Mara replied, "I would rather do just what we 
 agreed upon. It's only a few days now." 
 
 " You are as sot as the everlasting hills." 
 
 Mara was silent, and glad indeed that her quiet face gave 
 no hint of the tumult in her heart. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter's eyes were angrily following Clancy and Miss 
 Ainsley. " Well," she said with a scornful laugh, " that rene- 
 gade Southerner has found his proper match in that Yankee 
 coquette. I doubt whether he gets her though, if a man ever 
 does get a born flirt. When she's through with Charleston 
 she'll be through with him, if all I hear of her is true." 
 
 "Oh, you're mistaken, Mrs. Hunter," Ella answered. 
 " She fairly dotes on him, and if he don't marry her he's a 
 worse flirt than she is. Think of Mr. Clancy's blue blood. 
 She undoubtedly appreciates that." 
 
 " I'm inchned to think that he was a changeHng, and that 
 old Colonel Clancy's child was spirited away." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hunter, but I differ with you. 
 While I cannot share in many of Mr. Clancy's views and 
 afiiliations, he has the reputation of being sincere and 
 straightforward. Even his enemies must admit that he 
 seeks to make his friendliness to the North conducive to 
 Southern interests." 
 
 Mara's heart smote her that even Captain Bodine had 
 been fairer to Clancy than she had been. 
 
286 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Words rose to Ella's lips, but she repressed them, and 
 soon afterwards they returned to their respective homes. 
 
 Mara early retired to the solitude of her own room, for 
 that cold mutual glance on the Battery had suggested a new 
 thought not yet entertained. In her mental excitement it 
 promised to banish the dreary stagnation of her life. She 
 must have a motive, and if it involved the very self-sacrifice 
 that she had been warned against, so much the better. 
 
 " It would teach Owen Clancy how futile were his words," 
 she said to herself. " It would bring happiness to my 
 father's friend; it would become a powerful incentive in 
 my own life, and, above all, would compel me to banish 
 the thought of one to whom I have said I will never speak 
 again." 
 
 The more she dwelt upon this course, the more clear it 
 became in her warped judgment the one path of escape 
 from an aimless, hopeless existence fast becoming unen- 
 durable. She was not by any means wholly selfish in 
 reaching her decision, for thoughts of her own need did 
 not predominate. " If I cannot be happy myself," she 
 reasoned, " I can make Captain Bodine happy, for there 
 could not be a more devoted wife than I will become, if 
 he puts into words the language of his eyes. Ella has 
 already ceased to be in true sympathy with him in matters 
 that have made so much of the warp and woof of his life. 
 We two are one in these respects. I can and will cast out 
 all else if my motive is strong enough." 
 
A SURE TEST. 2Z7 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A SURE TEST. 
 
 CLANCY had gone to Nature to be calmed and healed, 
 but he had brought a spirit at variance with her teach- 
 ings. He soon recognized that he was neither receptive nor 
 docile. He chafed impatiently and angrily at Mara's ob- 
 duracy, which, nevertheless, only increased his love for her. 
 The deepest instincts of his nature made him feel that she 
 belonged to him, and he to her. The barrier between them 
 •" was so intangible that he was in a sort of rage that he could 
 not brush it aside. Reflection always brought him back to 
 the conviction that she did love him. Her passionate words, 
 " If my heart break a thousand times I will never speak to 
 you again," grew more and more significant. Odd fancies, 
 half-waking dreams about her, pursued him into the solitude 
 of the forest. She seemed like one -imprisoned ; he could 
 see, but could not reach and release her. Again she was 
 under a strange, malign spell, which some day might sud- 
 denly be broken, — broken all too late. 
 
 Then she would dwell in his thoughts as the victim of a 
 species of moral insanity which might pass away. At times 
 her dual life became so clear to him that he was almost im- 
 pelled to hasten back to the city, in the belief that he could 
 speak such strong, earnest words as would enable her to cast 
 aside her prejudices, and break away from the influences 
 which were darkening and misshaping her life. Then he 
 would despondently recall all that he had said and done, and 
 how futile had been his effort. 
 
288 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 He neither fished nor hunted, but passed the time either 
 in long tramps, or in sitting idly tormented by perturbed 
 thoughts. Believing that he had reached a crisis in his life, 
 it was his nature to come to some decision. He was essen- 
 tially a man of action, strong-willed and resolute. He de- 
 spised what he termed weakness, forgetting that the impulses 
 of strength often lead to error, for the reason that patience 
 and fortitude are lacking. 
 
 In facing the possibilities of the future, he began to yield 
 to the promptings of ambition, a trait which had no mean 
 place in his character. " If Mara denies her love, and sacri- 
 fices herself to Bodine," he reasoned, " what is there left for 
 me but to make the most of my life by attaining power and 
 influence ? I can only put pleasures and excitements in the 
 place of happiness. I won't go through life like a winged 
 bird." 
 
 When such thoughts were in the ascendant. Miss Ainsley 
 presented herself to his fancy, alluring, fascinating, beckon- 
 ing. She seemed the embodiment of that brilliant career 
 which he regarded as the best solace he could hope for. 
 Often, however, he would wake in the night, and, from his 
 forest bivouac, look up at the stars. Then a calm, deep 
 voice in his soul would tell him unmistakably that, even if 
 he attained every success that he craved, his heart would not 
 be in it, that he would always hide the melancholy of a 
 lifelong disappointment. All these misgivings and com- 
 punctions usually ended in the thought, " Caroline Ainsley 
 and all that she represents is the best I can hope for now. 
 She may be playing with me — I'm not sure. If she will 
 marry me, I can probably give her as true a regard as she 
 will bestow upon me. She is not a woman to love devotedly 
 and unselfishly, not counting the cost. I could not marry 
 such a woman, for I feel it would be base to take what I 
 could not return ; but I could marry her. I would do her no 
 
A SURE TEST. 289 
 
 wrong, for I could give to her all the affection to which she 
 is entitled, all that she would actually care for. If I am 
 mistaken, I am totally at fault in the impression which she 
 has made upon me, and I do not think that I am. I am 
 not in love with her, and therefore am not blind. She is not 
 in love with me. It has merely so happened that I have 
 proved agreeable to her, pleased, amused, and interested 
 her. Possibly I have led her to feel that we are so compan- 
 ionable that a Hfe journey together would be quite endurable. 
 My reason, all my instincts, assure me that this beautiful 
 girl has considered this question more than once before, — 
 that she is considering it now, coolly and deliberately. I am 
 being weighed in the balances of her mind, for I do not 
 think she has heart enough to enable that organ to have 
 much voice in the matter. Her views and beliefs are intel- 
 lectual. No strong, earnest feelings sway her. When have 
 her sympathies been touched in behalf of any one or any 
 cause ? O my rare beauty ! I am not blind. Selfishness is 
 the mainspring of your character ; but it is a selfishness so 
 refined, so rational and amenable to the laws of good taste, 
 that it can be calculated upon with almost mathematical 
 accuracy. You are no saint, but a saint might be beguiled 
 into faults which to you are impossible. You are a fit bride 
 for ambition, and would be its crown and glory." 
 
 Such was often the tenor of his thoughts, and ambition 
 suggested the many doors to advancement which such an 
 alliance would open. Mr. Ainsley was not only a man of 
 wealth, but also of large, liberal ideas. It certainly would 
 be a pleasure and a constant exhilaration to aid him in 
 carrying out his great enterprises. 
 
 Thus Clancy, as well as Mara, was led by disappointment 
 in his dearest hope of happiness to seek what next promised 
 best in his estimation to redeem life from a dreary monotony 
 of negations. He also resolved to have motives and incen- 
 
290 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 tives ; nor was his ambition purely selfish, for he purposed 
 to use whatever power, wealth and influence he might 
 obtain for the benefit of the people among whom he dwelt. 
 Hers, however, was the nobler motive, and the less selfish, 
 for it involved self-sacrifice, even though it was mistaken, 
 and could lead only to wrong action. It would cost him 
 nothing to carry out his large, beneficent purposes. Indeed, 
 they would add to his pleasures and enhance his reputation. 
 She Avas but a woman, and saw no other path of escape 
 from the conditions of her lot except the thorny one of 
 self-abnegation. 
 
 Alternately cast down, and fired by conflicting thoughts 
 and purposes, Clancy soon discovered that the woods was 
 no place for him, and he resolved to return to the city, there 
 to be guided by the circumstances of the next few weeks. 
 If it became clear that Mara had not been influenced by his 
 warning, but on the contrary was accepting Bodine's atten- 
 tions, then he would face the truth that she was lost to him 
 beyond hope. Without compunction he would turn to Miss 
 Ainsley, and, with all the wariness and penetration which he 
 could exercise, seek to discover how far she would go with 
 him in his fife campaign to achieve eminence. He was 
 glad, however, that he did not regard her as essential to his 
 plans and hopes. Indeed, he had the odd feeling that 
 even if she rejected him as a husband, he could shake hands 
 with her and say, " Very well, Ainsley, we can be good com- 
 rades just the same. We amuse and interest each other, 
 we mutually stimulate our mental faculties. Let it end 
 here." 
 
 In this mood he fulfilled his promise and wrote as 
 follows : — 
 
 My dear Ainsley, — Permit me to remind you of my existence 
 — if one can be said to exist in these wilds. An expedition of this 
 kind is a good thing for a fellow occasionally. It enables him to get 
 
A SURE TEST. 291 
 
 acquainted with himself, to indulge in egotism without being a nui- 
 sance. I have neither hunted, fished, nor studied the natives. I 
 have not seen a " mountain maid " whose embrace I would prefer to 
 that of a bear. I have merely tramped aimlessly about, meanwhile 
 learning that I am not adapted to communion with nature. At this 
 moment I should prefer smoking a cigar with you on the balcony to 
 looking at scenery which should inspire artist and poet. I am neither, 
 merely a man of affairs. Humanity interests me more than oaks, 
 however gigantic. You see I have no soul, no heart, no soaring 
 imagination. I am as matter-of-fact a fellow as you are. That's why 
 we get on so well together. We can chaff, spar, and run intellectual 
 tilts as ami'-ably as any two men in town. This proves you to be 
 quite exceptional — delightfully so. I'm not surprised, however, for, 
 as I have said to you, you are sated with the other kind of thmg. 
 How long will this fancy last? Now that you are so manly you 
 should not be fickle. You have not half comprehended the penalties 
 of your new role, for you may find that it involves a distressing frank- 
 ness. I think I had better close. Letter-writing pre-supposes literary 
 qualities which I do not possess. Men, unless sentimentally inclined, 
 or given to hobbies, rarely write long letters to each other. If unusu- 
 ally congenial they can talk together as long as women. I do not 
 know of a man in town who can equal you as good company ; and 
 with this fact in mind, I shall atone for a brief letter by putting in an 
 appearance at an early date. If you have had any flirtations in my 
 absence I shall expect all the details. You know I do not care for 
 such trivial amusements. In this material age, making the world 
 move in the way of business affords ample scope for my limited 
 faculties, while a chat with you is better than a game of chess in the 
 way of recreation, better than moping in the woods. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 CLANCY. 
 
 He had barely time to post the letter before the mail- 
 stage left the little hamlet in which it was written. He was 
 soon dissatisfied with himself and the missive, and regretted 
 having written it. Before an hour had passed he muttered, 
 " I never wrote such a letter to a woman before, and I won't 
 again. I put myself in the worst light, in fact was unjust to 
 myself. How differendy I would write to Mara ! Is it the 
 
292 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 difference in women which inevitably inspires different 
 thought and action ? At any rate, there is a touch of coarse- 
 ness in this mascuHne persiflage which grates. When 
 I return we must become friends as man and woman. I 
 wonder if she will feel as I do about it? " 
 
 Miss Ainsley was not satisfied with the letter at all, one 
 reason being that it revealed too much penetration on 
 Clancy's part. While she welcomed him with her old 
 cordiality she took him to task at once. 
 
 " This is a spurious letter," she said, holding it up. " You 
 would never write such an affair to a male friend. You be- 
 trayed a consciousness of my femininity in every line. You 
 preached to me and warned me with the same penful of ink. 
 You write as if you were a commonplace male cynic, and I 
 a woman who was trying to unsex herself by a lot of ridicu- 
 lous affectations. I wished a genial, jolly letter such as you 
 might write to an old college chum." 
 
 " Do you know the reason why I did not, rather could 
 not, write such a letter ? " 
 "No." 
 
 " Because you are not an old college chum." 
 " I was not aware that you were so tremendously sincere." 
 " I'm not tremendously sincere, — not tremendous in any 
 grand sense of the word, but I've learned that I can be 
 tremendously awkward in a false position. It is absurd of 
 you to fancy that I can think of you in any other light than 
 that of a beautiful woman, gifted with more than your share 
 of intellect. I prefer that our friendship should rest on this 
 obvious fact. We are too old ' to make believe ' as children 
 say. I came to this conclusion within an hour after I wrote 
 the letter." 
 
 " Oh, you dashed it off hastily, without giving it thought ! " 
 " I've given you two thoughts to your one," he replied, 
 laughing lightly. 
 
A SURE TEST. 293 
 
 " And none of them very complimentary judging from the 
 letter." And she impatiently tore it up. 
 "That's right. Put it out of existence." 
 " I almost wish I had kept it as documentary evidence 
 against you," she remarked. 
 
 " Oh, come ! Friends do not wish evidence against, but 
 for each other. I could remain away scarcely a week." 
 
 " From business, yes." 
 
 " Or from my most delightful recreation ; yes." 
 
 " You find me very amusing then." 
 
 " I do indeed, and interesting also. I am quite certain 
 that your society gives me far more pleasure than mine 
 affords you." 
 
 " Since I am relegated to woman's sphere I certainly shall 
 not protest against that belief. I am now under no bonds to 
 be distressingly frank." 
 
 "You never would have been any franker than you 
 wished to be. For the manifestation of that trait I shall 
 have to depend on something very different." 
 
 " And what may that be ? " 
 
 " Why, simply the quality of your friendship." 
 
 " I am satisfied that mine compares very favorably with 
 yours." 
 
 "In both instances neither of us can escape one sure 
 test." 
 
 "Indeed! What test?" 
 
 " That of time," he replied, smiling significantly. " Good- 
 by. I'm quite sure that your regard will survive till to-morrow 
 afternoon when we are to take a sail in the harbor, so JSIrs. 
 Willoughby has informed me." 
 
 Miss Ainsley gave a little complacent nod in his direction 
 as he disappeared, and thought, " Since you are so content 
 and agreeable as a friend merely, I'm half-inclined to keep 
 you as such, and marry some one else." 
 
294 ^-^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 "bitterness must be cherished." 
 
 To all appearance the long hot days of August were 
 passing very uneventfully to the characters of our 
 story. The cold look which Clancy received from Mara on 
 the Battery, together with the fact that Bodine appeared 
 more lover-like than ever, speedily satisfied him that his 
 best resource was the ambitious career which in his absence 
 he had accepted in the place of happiness. He therefore 
 gave himself up quite unreservedly to Miss Ainsley's fasci- 
 nations, and, with all the skill and energy he possessed, 
 seconded her father's business enterprises. Mr. Ainsley was 
 sometimes in town, and again absent, as his business inter- 
 ests required ; for he was one of those indefatigable men 
 who, with soldier-like energy and fearlessness, carry out their 
 plans, regardless of discomfort or danger. He recognized 
 the fact that Clancy was both capable and useful, and was 
 already inchned to make him one of his chief lieutenants in 
 the South. He understood the young man's relations to his 
 daughter perfectly, and was not at all averse to a union 
 between them. At the same time, he knew how problemati- 
 cal Caroline's action would be, and that it would be useless 
 for him to appear for or against the match. He was aware 
 of his daughter's attitude in regard to marriage, and also 
 convinced that she would take her own course. 
 
 It would seem that she was taking no course whatever at 
 present, but indolently and complacendy letting matters 
 
"BITTERNESS MUST BE CIIERISHEDr 295 
 
 drift. She sometimes smilingly thought, " I scarcely know 
 whether Mr. Clancy is friend or lover. I suppose I could 
 lead him to be more pronounced in either character if I 
 chose, but, since he is so agreeable as he is, I would be a 
 fool not to keep every thing in statu quo till I wish a change. 
 Life is too long to give up a pleasure before you are through 
 with it." 
 
 Clancy quietly studied her mood, and was in no greater 
 hurry than herself. Indeed,- both felt that they had arrived 
 at a comparatively clear mutual understanding, and so were 
 quite at their ease, she enjoying his society abundantly, and 
 he hers, as far as his bitter memories would permit. 
 
 Quick of apprehension, Bodine soon perceived a change 
 in Mara's attitude towards him, but was considerate in avail- 
 ing himself of such slight encouragement as she gave. He 
 had been taught by her manner that her first feeling on the 
 discovery of a warmer regard than she had expected was 
 that of repulsion. He now believed that she had thought 
 the matter over, and was learning that it might not be 
 impossible to regard him in a new and different light. Long 
 since the ardor of youth had passed, and he was disposed 
 to allow her time to become accustomed to the thought of 
 wifehood. In the mean time he put forth every effort to 
 prove himself companionable, in spite of their disparity 
 in age. It was not his delicate and thoughtful attentions, 
 however, which reconciled her to the future that she had 
 accepted, but rather the motives already revealed. Under 
 the influence of these, a certain species of mental excite- 
 ment had been evoked. She had not ceased to suffer, but 
 she had ceased merely to exist. 
 
 There was something now to look forward to, sacred duties 
 to anticipate, and a future which was not a blank. She 
 believed that in giving help and happiness to another she 
 would more surely trample on self, and make it the vantage 
 
296 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 ground for a greater devotion than that of most women 
 whose love is often partly self-love. In regarding her first 
 pure love and all its promptings as the phase of self to be 
 destroyed, she was committing her fatal error ; and of this 
 error, not only Clancy's words, but also her own heart, often 
 warned her. But she was not one to turn back, having once 
 resolved upon a course. 
 
 She had far too much delicacy and maidenly pride to 
 suggest consciously to Bodine the nature of her thoughts, 
 but she was willing that he should see that she no longer 
 shrank outwardly from his occasional manifestations of a 
 tenderer regard than he bestowed upon Ella. That some- 
 thing in her woman's nature beyond her control did shrink 
 and plead for escape, she knew well ; but to conquer this 
 Instinctive aversion was a part of the task which she had set 
 for herself. 
 
 Not only quick-witted Ella, but also Mrs. Bodine and Mrs. 
 Hunter, saw the drift of affairs, and gave their unhesitating 
 approval. Mrs. Hunter was glad, because it would destroy 
 Clancy's prospects forever, and prove a sort of triumph over 
 him. Then it was, as she assured Mara one day, "eminently 
 fitting. Your father and mother would both approve." 
 
 "That thought comes to me, too," calmly rejoined the 
 girl. " I hope they will — I think they will. But let us not 
 talk further till all is settled." 
 
 Mrs. Bodine believed the marriage would result well on 
 other grounds. "Cousin Hugh," she said one day when 
 they were alone, " you may shut me up if I am meddling, 
 but you are not thinking of Mara in the same way that you 
 did in the spring." 
 
 " I admit it, Cousin Sophy, and you need not shut up." 
 
 " Well, I reckon it will come about. On general princi- 
 ples I don't approve of such marriages, but I suppose there 
 are exceptions to most rules. As I have said to you before, 
 
''BITTERNESS MUST BE CHERISHED." 297 
 
 Mara is as old in her feelings as you are, and I think you 
 will be happier together than you would be apart. I never 
 understood Mara altogether : but of one thing I am certain, 
 she must have some strong motive, some thing or some per- 
 son for whom she can sacrifice herself ; and, being a woman, 
 she would have a good deal better time sacrificing herself 
 to a man than to any thing else ; " and the old lady chirped 
 her little complacent laugh. 
 
 "Rest assured," said the veteran, " I don't want any self- 
 sacrifice in Mara's case." 
 
 " Of course not ; nor do I. I wouldn't approve of any 
 actual self-sacrifice, but Mara will try to come as near it as 
 she can. I reckon she'd be more drawn towards a cripple 
 like you than the handsomest young fellow in town, on gen- 
 eral principles; and then she has been interested in you 
 from the first, because you, in a peculiar sense, represent 
 to her the past, which has been almost her only inheritance." 
 
 " I confess that I have indulged in the same thoughts 
 which you express. God grant that we both are right ! She 
 has become strangely dear to me. Once I could never have 
 imagined it at my time of life." 
 
 " Oh, the heart needn't grow old," was the laughing reply. 
 
 The captain's outlook was rendered more favorable by 
 the reception of a note which contained the offer of a better 
 position than that held in the employ of the detested Mr. 
 Houghton. When he investigated the matter he learned 
 that the offer came largely through the influence of Clancy, 
 and this last confirmed the veteran's impression that the 
 young man was using his influence and prosperity for the 
 benefit of the South. 
 
 To Mara it was a bitter ordeal to listen to Bodine's com- 
 placent explanation of the affair, and she was glad that she 
 was told in the dusky twilight, which concealed an expres- 
 , sion of pain even beyond her control. Words of passionate 
 
298 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 protest rose to her very lips, but she remembered in time 
 that they would involve revelations which would thwart her 
 purpose to make him happy at every cost to herself. If he 
 ever learned what Clancy had been to her, what he was at 
 this agonized moment, her vocation, if not gone, would be 
 impaired beyond remedy. Afterwards, in the solitude of 
 her own room, she accepted this bitter experience, as she 
 had resolved to accept all others, as a part of her lot. 
 
 In her morbidness she became Jesuitical. Her father's old 
 friend should be made as happy as it was in her power to 
 render him. Whatever interfered with this purpose should 
 be concealed or trampled upon. Of Clancy she said bitterly, 
 " If he thinks he has been magnanimous, how little he under- 
 stands me." 
 
 Clancy's motives had been somewhat mixed. He was 
 willing that her pride should be rebuked and wounded, and 
 he also wished her to know that he was above the petty 
 resentment of jealousy. 
 
 Poor Ella felt that she was becoming isolated ; an impres- 
 sion, however, which she would not have had were it not for 
 her recent experiences. Had her heart remained as light 
 and untouched as it was when we first met her, her pleasure 
 over her father's prospects would have been unalloyed. 
 Even now her satisfaction was deep and sincere, but it was 
 not in human nature to forget how summarily she had been 
 denied the happiness so sweet to those of her age. She felt, 
 however, that all were against her ; that even kind old Mrs. 
 Bodine '^vould not hsten patiently to her thoughts. So she 
 kept them to herself, and sought by forced mirthfulness 
 to disguise them. She talked and laughed with the young 
 men who called upon her, and they came in increasing num- 
 bers as inevitably as a flower attracts the bees. She was the 
 life of the " family excursions," as she characterized in her 
 thoughts those m which Mara and Mrs. Hunter had a part ; 
 
''BITTERNESS MUST BE CIIERISIIEDr 299 
 
 and she joined others of which her father approved, but 
 there was often trouble and sadness in her eyes, and her 
 cheeks and form were losing their roundness of outUne. Mrs, 
 Bodine was not deceived. She noted every thing silently, 
 and thought, " She is making a brave fight ; she must 
 make a brave fight. There is no other course for her. I 
 reckon she'll win it, as many a girl has before." 
 
 The old lady was thoughtful, kind, and very attentive. At 
 the same time, with the nicest tact, she infused a firmness 
 and spirit into her demeanor which made the girl feel that 
 her cousin had sympathy only with the effort to conquer or 
 forget. And she honestly made such effort, but was often 
 aghast at its futility. In her brusque way she said to her- 
 self, "What's the use of trying? It seems like a disease 
 which must run its course till old Father Time brings some 
 sort of a cure." 
 
 One day she went to see Aun' Sheba, and found the old 
 woman feeling poorly. 
 
 "Yes, honey," she said, "bein' lazy doan 'gree wid me 
 'tall. I doan see how Unc. stan's it all de yeah roun'." 
 
 " I hab de rheumatiz," Uncle Sheba remarked in the way 
 of explanation. 
 
 " Now, Unc, dat ar rheumatiz is like de scapegoat in de 
 Bible. You loads it up wid all you sins. We all hope dat 
 wen you got so sot on dat you'd turn ober a new leaf. How 
 you Stan' it sittin' roun' all day I doan see, no how. I'se 
 gettin' so heaby an' logy an' oncomf 'ble dat I'se gwine ter 
 take in washin' de rest ob de month." 
 
 " I'd be glad to go to work to-morrow, too," said Ella. 
 " I'd be glad of any thing to make the time pass." 
 
 "Why, honey, wot you want de time to pass quick fer? 
 You oughter be hke de hummin'-bird, gederin sweets all de 
 day." 
 
 " I feel more like a croaking raven." 
 
300 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " You'se quar, Missy Ella. You'se up an' you'se down, 
 an' you doan know why. Ole Hannah dat lib wid you says 
 dat you'se gittin' a lot ob beaux. Why, you eben make a 
 'pression on dat big, 'ansome Northern chap, ole Houghton's 
 son, wen you doan know it. More'n once he ax me which de 
 cakes you make, an' wen I tell him, he wanter buy dem all." 
 
 "That's very funny," Ella said, and there was the old 
 mirthful ring in her laugh. 
 
 "You know him?" Aun' Sheba asked quickly. 
 
 " I met him at Mrs. Willoughby's." 
 
 " Shuah now ! Dat counts fer it. Well, he'd gobble all 
 you'se cake if I'd let him, but I had oder cus'mers on my 
 min', an' he seem ter hab on'y you on his min'." 
 
 " You were very wise, Aun' Sheba. So much cake would 
 have made him ill," and she still laughed joyously. 
 
 " 'Pears to me you'se gittin' betteh. Missy Ella." 
 
 " Oh, you always make me laugh and hearten me up, Aun' 
 Sheba." 
 
 " Well, who'd a tink dat ar civil, nice spoken young man 
 was de son ob dat ole sinner Houghton. Reckon Missy 
 Mara doanhke you'se talkin' wid him at Mis Wil'by's." 
 
 " Of course not. He's a Northern Vandal you know." 
 
 " Dunno notin' 'bout Wandals. I jedge folks by wot dey is 
 deysefs. He couldn't help bein' bawn at de Norf. Long 
 as he 'habe himself, wot dat agin him? " 
 
 " Being born at the North is a crime, some people think." 
 
 "Yes, I know, but dat ar suttingly fool talk. Dat ain't de 
 trouble so much in dis case. It's cause he's dat ole 'tanker- 
 ous Houghton's son," 
 
 " He isn't to blame for that either," Ella answered hotly. 
 
 " Lor', Missy Ella ! how you stan' up fer 'im." 
 
 " I don't believe in injustice, Aun' Sheba," said Ella 
 quietly, conscious meanwhile that her cheeks were getting 
 very red. 
 
" BITTERNESS MUST BE CHERISHED:' 30I 
 
 " De heat am po'ful," Aun' Sheba remarked sententiously. 
 Then her plump form began to shake with mirth. " Dar 
 now, Missy Ella," she added, " de blin' ole woman kin see 
 as fur in de grin-stone as de next one. He'd stan' up fer 
 you too agin de hull work It shines right out in his 'ansome 
 face." 
 
 " How very blind you are, Aun' Sheba ! Why, he's not 
 fit to be spoken to, and I'm not to speak to him again as 
 long as I live. Good-by. Good-by, Uncle Sheba. I've 
 heard that sawing wood was the best cure for rheumatism 
 known ; " and she flitted out of the dusky cabin hke a trop- 
 ical bird. 
 
 Aun' Sheba still laughed to herself, and remarked, " Unc, 
 s'pose you try Missy Ella's cure?" 
 
 "Wot she know 'bout it?" growled Uncle Sheba, with an 
 injured aspect. " Wot de use ob sawin' wood all day wen de 
 town hot 'nuff now to roas' lobsters ? " 
 
 " Dat min's me, Unc. Why don' you took ter some sittin' 
 wuck like fishin' in de harbor ? You mought catch a lobster, 
 or some oder fish." 
 
 " De fish an' me 'ud bof be briled in dis yere sun 'fore we 
 got home." 
 
 " Dar, Unc, you wouldn't go to Heben 'less you was toted." 
 
 " Ob cose not. Doan de Bible say de angels gwine ter 
 tote us?" 
 
 " Well, I s'pose dey is. — Ef a body ony know'd weder it 
 ud be up or down." 
 
 "Dar now, Aun' Sheba, wot fer you talk so se'rus in 
 .Augst? Nex' winter we'se gwine ter hab a refreshin' from 
 on high." 
 
 " P'raps you won' lib till nex' winter, Unc." 
 
 Uncle Sheba began to hitch uneasily, and remarked, " I 
 doan see no use ob sech oncomf 'ble talk in de restin' time 
 ob de yeah." 
 
302 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Aun' Sheba soon forgot him in her unspoken thoughts of 
 Ella and young Houghton. 
 
 *- 1 begins ter unerstan' dat leetle gal now, an' all her 
 goins on — puttin' awspice in de cake twice, an' sayin' quar 
 tings. Well, well, I knows dey's all agin her, po' chile. 
 Wot foohshness it all am ! I once jam my han' in de do', — 
 s'pose I went on jamin' for eber. Der's no use ob der 
 lookin' glum at me, fer dat young man's gwine ter hab all 
 her cakes he wants. I won'er if Missy Mara got de same 
 'plaint as Missy Ella. She bery deep, an' won' let on, eben 
 ter her ole nuss. Pears ter me de cap'n's gittin' kin'er 
 lop-sided toward her, but I don' belibe dat'll wuck." 
 
 Ella was both gladdened and saddened by her visit. 
 Houghton's buying her cake was one of those little homely 
 facts on which love delights to dwell ; for the heart instinc- 
 tively knows that genuine love permeates the whole being, 
 prompting to thoughtfulness in small matters which indiffer- 
 ence overlooks. She could not but be glad that he had 
 seemed to have " on'y you on his min' ; " and then she 
 grieved that all which was coming about so naturally, like a 
 spring growth, should have been harshly smitten by the 
 black frost of prejudice and hate. 
 
 After an early dinner that evening her father asked her 
 kindly to go with him and Mara to the Battery ; but she 
 declined, saying she would rather keep Mrs. Bodine com- 
 pany. He did not urge her; and he had been so pre- 
 occupied by his thoughts as not to observe that she was 
 pale and dejected, in spite of her efforts to appear as 
 usual. 
 
 When alone Mrs. Bodine said, " You should have gone, 
 Ella. You need the fresh cool air from the water. Why 
 didn't you go? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said the girl, in assumed lightness of tone, " three 
 is sometimes a crowd." 
 
"BITTERNESS MUST BE CHERISHED:' 303 
 
 "You shouldn't feel that way, Ella. You would never 
 be a crowd." 
 
 "You are forgetting your old experiences, Cousin Sophy," 
 
 " No, I'm not. So you see whither affairs are tending? " 
 
 " O cousin ! Am I a bat? " 
 
 " I hope you are not averse." 
 
 " No, Cousin Sophy, I would do any thing, and suffer 
 much, to make papa happy. You know how I love Mara, 
 though we disagree on many points ; and if she and papa 
 would be happier — Oh ! why can't I be happy too? " and 
 she gave way to a tempest of sobs. 
 
 " We all wish you to be happy, Ella," said Mrs. Bodine 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Yes, in your own way," she replied brokenly. "What 
 happened before I was born must be considered first. If 
 love is sweet to papa at his age think what it is to me ? " 
 
 " You must not imagine, Ella dear, that we don't feel with 
 you and for you. I am proud of you as I watch your brave 
 fight in which you will conquer." 
 
 " Why should I conquer when my heart tells me that the 
 one I love is worthy of my love ? It hurts me, it wounds 
 my very soul, that he and I should be spoken to as if we 
 had committed a crime. How could my love be so sacred 
 and heavenly if it were wrong? Oh, how I hate, hate ! 
 There is nothing sojiateful as hate." 
 
 " But, Ella, you don't consider all " — 
 
 "There is no need of considering all, Cousin Sophy. 
 There are some things which stand out so clearly that all 
 else is insignificant. Mr. Houghton hates papa and me. 
 Does papa love him or his son? You know me, faulty, 
 foolish little girl that I am ; but think of that man raging at 
 his son because he dared to love me ! If George had 
 committed a crime his father would have spent a fortune 
 in defending him. To love me was worse than a crime. 
 
304 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 He would have been turned into the streets. Oh, it's all 
 so unjust, it's all the spawn of hate ! " 
 
 Mrs. Bodine was aghast at the intensity of the girl's feel- 
 ings, but could only say, " Well, Ella dear, since things are 
 as they are you must fight it out. Trust the experience of 
 an old woman. Marriages in the face of such bitter oppo- 
 sition are rarely happy." 
 
 " Yes, the bitterness must be sacredly cherished, whatever 
 else is lost. Oh, I know. Cousin Sophy, I know, I must 
 fight it out, if it takes my lifetime, and all the while know 
 that God would bless our love if hate hadn't blighted it." 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 NOBLE REVENGE. 
 
 GEORGE HOUGHTON took to the mountain solitudes 
 a better and purer spirit than Clancy, who was so ready- 
 to be consoled by ambition and the fascinations of a woman 
 incapable of evoking the best in his nature. The young 
 fellow did fish and hunt with tireless energy, and many a 
 humble cabin was stocked with provisions by his exertions. 
 Believing that not only Bodine, but also that Ella herself, 
 would have nothing to do with him, his affectionate nature 
 turned to his father. With a large charity he tried to forget 
 the stern words which had sorely wounded him, and only to 
 remember the influences on his father's life which had led 
 to their utterance. He recalled the abundant proofs of his 
 kindness and liberality ; and, now that his young dream was 
 over, he purposed to carry out the old man's schemes as 
 best he could. 
 
 He tired himself out through the long hot days, and slept 
 at night from exhaustion. The time thus passed until he 
 felt that he had the strength to return to the city, and act 
 as if Ella did not dwell there. He also thought of his 
 father's need of help, and regretted that he had remained 
 away so long. 
 
 The old man looked at him keenly when he returned, 
 seeing that the young face had grown older by years, and 
 that steadiness of purpose and resolution were in its every 
 bronzed line. 
 
306 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " It's all right, father," George replied to the questioning 
 glance. " I've come back to carry out your wishes." 
 
 " Ah, my boy ! now I know that you are made of the same 
 stuff as your brother. Well, you won't be sorry." 
 
 " I wish to leave this town, and I wish you would too. I 
 don't think it's good for you to be here." 
 
 '' I'll think of it, George. I have thought of it. I 
 shouldn't be muHsh since you are not." 
 
 " I'm glad you feel so about leaving, father. Go back 
 with me to your old congenial friends and surroundings. 
 I, for one, don't wish to stay where I am ostracized." 
 
 " Oh, curse the rebels ! I've punished them ! I've pun- 
 ished them well !" 
 
 " I don't wish to punish them ; but, since they will have 
 nothing to do with me, a decent self-respect leads me to go 
 where I can be treated according to my behavior." 
 
 " I know you can't feel as I do. All I ask is that you 
 have nothing to do with them." 
 
 For the next few days, regardless of the heat, George 
 toiled early and late in his father's office, incited by the hope 
 of soon taking the old man away on a visit to the more 
 bracing climate of the North. In the evenings he refreshed 
 himself by a long swim in the harbor, and by sailing his boat 
 over its waters. 
 
 One evening, while enjoying the latter favorite pastime in 
 the early twilight, it so happened that he caught sight, in a 
 passing boat, of a group which made his heart throb quickly. 
 In the stern sat Captain Bodine steering the vessel towards 
 the city. Ella was near him, and two ladies whom he did 
 not know. As a hunter his eyes were keen, and he was satis- 
 fied that he had not been recognized. He could not resist 
 the temptation to get a better view of Ella, and, drawing his 
 hat over his eyes, he began to manoeuvre his boat so as to 
 accomplish his purpose. 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 307 
 
 His little craft skimmed here and there so swiftly, as he 
 tacked, that Ella at last began to watch it with a pleased 
 yet languid interest, remarking, "That boat yonder tacks 
 about and sails as if it were alive." 
 
 " Yah, yah, so 'tis alibe," said the negro owner of the 
 craft which Bodine had hired for their excursion. " Young 
 Marse Houghton sail dat boat, an' he beats any duck dat 
 eber swum." 
 
 Ella's breath came quick, and she turned pale and red in 
 her conflicting feelings, for it was evident that Houghton 
 was purposely keeping near to them. She saw the frown 
 on her father's face, and that Mara's expression was grave. 
 Mrs. Hunter indignantly said, " He had better go on and 
 mind his own business. Why should old Houghton's son be 
 hovering around us like a hawk, I'd like to know? " 
 
 "The harbor is as free to him as to us," Ella answered 
 hotly. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter pursed her lips and looked unutterable 
 things at the girl, but she regarded neither the matron's 
 sour expression nor her father's stern glance, for her eyes 
 were fascinated and held by the vessel which sped along 
 the water like a white-winged gull. No one except Ella 
 and the colored man continued the observance of Hough- 
 ton. The girl was in a perverse mood, and watched until 
 her father rebukingly spoke her name ; then she turned away. 
 
 Meanwhile George gazed wistfully at one whom he be- 
 lieved that he might never see again ; for he and his father 
 were almost ready for their visit North, where the young 
 man was to remain. Then he saw her steady gaze in his 
 direction. Could she have recognized him ? Did she con- 
 tinue to watch him because of some faint interest? His 
 pulses quickened at the thought. After a few moments he 
 said bitterly, " Yes, she knows me at last, and turns away. 
 Very well, away go I, then." 
 
308 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 At this moment he caught a ghmpse of the western sky, 
 and his sailor instincts were alarmed. There was a single 
 dark cloud rising rapidly, portending not a storm, but 
 sudden, violent gusts. In the gathering gloom all thought 
 of vanishing was abandoned. No matter how Ella regarded 
 him, he would not be far away while there was a shadow of 
 danger to her. Examining his sail carefully he knew he 
 could drop it to the point of safety at a moment's notice. 
 
 The wind on which he had been sailing died out. Then 
 came litde puffs from the west. To catch these the colored 
 skipper of the captain's boat took the helm and tacked, 
 presenting a broad surface of sail to their force. Houghton 
 tacked also in the same direction, but with his eye on the 
 westward water, and his hand on the rope which would 
 bring down his sail with a run. He speedily had need of 
 this caution. There was a distant roar, the water shoreward 
 darkened, and then, as his sail came down and the prow 
 of his boat went round to the gust, he was enveloped in a 
 cloud of spray. At the same instant shrill screams of women 
 and the hoarse cries of men came from Bodine's vessel. 
 
 The fury of the first gust passed quickly. When the at- 
 mosphere cleared a little, Houghton saw that the mast of the 
 other craft had broken, and, with the sail, lay over on the 
 leeward side. He instantly knew that the occupants were 
 in imminent danger. Raising his sail as high as he dared, 
 he tacked towards them with such nice judgment that if he 
 kept on he would pass a little abaft of the disabled vessel, 
 
 "O Marse Houghton! come quick," yelled the negro. 
 " She'm won' float anoder minit ! " 
 
 " Bail, you lubber ! " 
 
 " Dun got notin to bail wid ! " 
 
 " As usual," growled Houghton. 
 
 All the rest were now silent. In his agonized apprehen- 
 sion for Mara and Ella, Bodine felt his heart beat as it had 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 309 
 
 never done in the bloodiest battle. His careless boatman 
 had not recognized the danger since the cloud was so com- 
 paratively small, and when he sought to lower the sail some- 
 thing was out of gear and it stuck. The gust struck it 
 fairly, and would have capsized the boat had not the mast 
 broken. As it was, the vessel so careened as to ship a 
 dangerous quantity of water, which was rapidly increased by 
 every wave that broke over the sides. 
 
 Mara and Mrs. Hunter were pallid indeed, but calm in 
 woman's patient fortitude, remembering, too, even in that 
 awful moment, that if they escaped they would owe their 
 lives to one whom they regarded with scorn and hostility. 
 Ella's hope buoyed her spirit, although she felt herself 
 sinking deeper every moment in the cold waters. With 
 love's confidence she believed that Houghton would be 
 equal to the emergency, and his swiftly coming sail was like 
 the white wings of an angel. Then for an instant she was 
 perplexed and troubled, for he seemed to be steering as if 
 to pass them, near, yet much too far. 
 
 " She'm sinkin', she'm goin' un'er," the negro yelled. 
 
 " Be ready, every one, to jump the moment I lay along- 
 side," Houghton shouted. Then he luffed sharply to the 
 wind, dropped his sail ; his light craft lost headway, and 
 glided alongside of the sinking boat. 
 
 " Now jump, all," he cried. 
 
 The women and negro did so and were safe, but the crip- 
 pled veteran failed, fell backwards, and would have dragged 
 Ella, who held his hand, with him, had not Houghton broken 
 her grasp. As quick as light he sprang into the vessel, now 
 down to the water's edge, and fairly flung the captain into 
 his own boat. As he did so the water-logged craft went 
 down, and he with it. Ella shrieked and called his name 
 imploringly. In the wild anguish of the moment she would 
 have jumped overboard after him had she not been restrained. 
 
310 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Patience," cried her father, " he will rise in a moment." 
 
 Houghton's little boat, now so heavily freighted, had al- 
 most gone under in the suction. The negro, rendered half 
 wild with terror, was bent only on saving his own life. He 
 was scarcely in the boat before he had the oars in the row- 
 locks, and began to pull for the shore. In their eager scan- 
 ning of the dark water, Bodine and the others did not notice 
 this at first, and when they did the negro was deaf to their 
 expostulations and threats. The captain tried to reach him 
 as he heaped maledictions on his head, but at that instant 
 another squall swooped down, enshrouding them in spray, 
 and nearly swamping their frail vessel. They sat silent and 
 trembling, expecting Houghton's fate, but the gust passed 
 finally, and the lights of the city gleamed out. 
 
 " Now put about, you coward," thundered Bodine. 
 
 " No, sah, neber," replied the negro ; " de boat swamp in 
 two minit if I put 'bout in dis sea." 
 
 The veteran began to crawl towards him to compel obedi- 
 ence. The man shouted, " Stop dat ar. Ef you comes 
 nigher I hit you wid'n oar. Bettah one drown dan we all 
 drown." 
 
 Ella gave a despairing cry, and found oblivion in a death- 
 like swoon. 
 
 " Truly, Captain Bodine," said Mrs. Hunter sternly, " you 
 must keep your senses. If the man is right, and we have 
 every reason to believe he is, you must not throw away all 
 our lives for the chance of saving one." 
 
 Then she, with Mara, gave all her attention to Ella. 
 
 The captain groaned aloud, " Would to God it had been 
 me instead of him ! " Between his harrowing solicitude for 
 Ella, and the awful belief that Houghton had given his life 
 for him, he passed moments which whitened his hair. 
 
 As they neared the landing the water grew stiller, and 
 their progress more rapid. Assured of safety, the negro 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 3II 
 
 began to reason and apologize. " Mus' be reas'n'ble, boss," 
 he said. " I dun declar ter you dat we'd all be at de bot- 
 tom, feedin' fishes, if I'd dun wot you ax. Been no use 
 nohow. Young Marse Houghton mus' got cotched in de 
 riggin' or he'd come up an' holler. I couldn't dibe a'ter 'im 
 in de dark, and in dat swashin' sea." 
 
 " Stop your cursed croaking. If you had known how to 
 manage your boat it wouldn't have happened." 
 
 " I dun my bes', boss. S'pose I want ter lose my boat 
 an' my hfe ? I'se jis' busted, an' I kin neber go out on de 
 harbor agin widout fearin' I see young Marse Houghton's 
 spook. I'se wus off dan you is, but I'se he'p you wen we 
 gits asho', if you ain't 'tankerous." 
 
 " Certainly you must help us," said Mrs. Hunter, decid- 
 edly. " You must get men and a carriage. Captain Bodine 
 has lost his crutches, and his daughter is in a swoon. If 
 you help us I will testify that you did the best you could 
 under the circumstances." 
 
 " All right, missus. I kin swar dat it ud been death to 
 hab dun any oder ting." 
 
 The carriage was brought, and men lifted into it the 
 unconscious girl and the almost equally helpless veteran. 
 Then one mounted the box with the driver and another ran 
 for a physician, who was directed to go to Mrs. Bodine's 
 residence. The negro carefully moored Houghton's boat, 
 feeling that there might be something propitiatory to the 
 dreaded ghost in this act. He then hastened to his humble 
 cabin, and filled the ears of his family and neighbors with 
 lamentations over the lost boat and lost man, and also with 
 self-gratulations that he was alive to tell the story. 
 
 On the way home, Mara took the stricken veteran's hand 
 and said, " Captain, you must bear up under this. In no 
 respect have you been to blame." 
 
 " Nevertheless/' he replied, and there was almost desper- 
 
312 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 ation in his tone, " I feel that it will prove the most terrible 
 misfortune of my life. Ella may never be herself again, and 
 I have wronged one to whom I can never make reparation 
 — a noble, generous boy who has taken a revenge like him- 
 self, but which is scorching my very soul." 
 
 " You are noble yourself, captain, or you wouldn't feel it 
 so keenly," was the gentle reply. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine, without waiting for explanations, peremp- 
 torily ordered that Ella should be carried to her room. The 
 veteran, using a second pair of crutches which he kept in 
 reserve, went to the adjoining apartment, buried his face 
 in his hands, and groaned audibly. He knew not how to 
 perform one imperative and pressing duty, that of relating 
 to Mr. Houghton what had happened. 
 
 Aware of what was on his mind, Mara came to him and 
 said, "I will go and tell his father." 
 
 " God bless you, Mara, for the offer. I would rather face 
 death than that old man, but it is my duty and I alone must 
 do it. Hard as it is, it is not so terrible as the thought that 
 the poor boy died for me and mine, and that I can never 
 make the acknowledgment which his heroic self-sacrifice 
 deserves. It would have been heroic in any man, but in him 
 whom I had treated with such bitter scorn and enmity — 
 How can I meet Ella's eyes again ! Oh, I fear, I fear all 
 this will destroy her ! " 
 
 " Courage, my friend," said Mara, putting her hand on 
 his shoulder. " Ella will live to comfort you." 
 
 " Mara, you will not fail me ? " 
 
 " No, I will not fail you." 
 
 He pressed her hand to his lips, and then she returned 
 to Ella. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter and old Hannah removed the poor girl's 
 wet garments and applied restoratives. The invalid, whose 
 strength and spirit rose with the emergency, directed their 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 313 
 
 efforts, meantime listening to the fragmentary explanations 
 which were possible at such a time. 
 
 " O just God ! " she exclaimed, " we are punished, terri- 
 bly punished for our thoughts and actions towards that poor 
 boy. Ella, dear child, was right after all, and we all wrong. 
 She might well love such a hero." 
 
 At last Ella gave signs of returning consciousness. Mrs. 
 Bodine hastened to the captain, and said, " Cousin Hugh, 
 Ella is reviving. You must control yourself. Every thing 
 depends on how we tide her over the next few hours." 
 
 The length of the swoon revealed the force of the blow 
 which the loving girl had received. Perhaps the long ob- 
 livion was nature's kindly effort to ward off the crushing 
 weight. Mrs. Bodine hung over her when she opened her 
 eyes with a dazed expression. "There, Ella dear," she said, 
 " don't worry. You'll soon be better. Take this," and she 
 gave the girl a little brandy and water. 
 
 The powerful stimulant acted speedily on an unvitiated 
 system, and with returning strength memory recalled what 
 had befallen the one she loved. From tears she passed to 
 passionate sobs, writhing and moaning, as if the agony of 
 her spirit had communicated itself to every fibre of her body. 
 
 " Oh, Ella, darling, don't," cried her father. " I cannot 
 endure this. He has conquered me utterly ; my prejudice 
 is turned into homage. We will all love and revere his 
 memory. Would to God it had been I instead of him ! " 
 
 "There, Hugh, thank God," said Mrs. Bodine, "that Ella 
 can weep. Such tears keep the heart from breaking." 
 
 The old lady was right. Expression of her anguish brought 
 alleviation, and there was also consolation in her father's 
 words. The physician came, and his remedies also had 
 their effect. 
 
 There was nothing morbid or unhealthful in Ella's nature. 
 With returning reason came also the influence of conscience 
 
314 'mE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and the sustaining power of a brave, unselfish spirit. Her 
 father had put himself in accord with her feelings, and her 
 heart began to go out towards him in tenderness and con- 
 sideration, and she said brokenly, " Papa, I will rally. I will 
 live for your sake, since you will let me love his memory." 
 
 "You cannot love it or honor it more than I shall," he 
 replied, in a voice choked with emotion. Then he took the 
 physician into the adjoining room, to consult how best they 
 might break the dreadful news to Mr. Houghton. 
 
 At this moment the front door burst open, and hasty, 
 uncertain steps were heard. 
 
A FATHER'S FRENZY. 315 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A father's frenzy. 
 
 MR. HOUGHTON knew that his son had gone out sail- 
 ing in the harbor, and, when the gusts swept over the 
 city, became very anxious about him. He was aware, how- 
 ever, of George's good seamanship, and tried to allay his 
 fears by thoughts of this nature. As time lapsed, anxiety 
 passed into alarm and dread foreboding. At last he sum- 
 moned his coachman, and determined to go to the place 
 where his son moored his boat. As he was about to prepare 
 himself for the street, there were two hasty rings of the door- 
 bell. He sank into a chair, overcome by the awful fear 
 which, for a moment, robbed him of strength. 
 
 Now it had so happened that one of his younger clerks 
 had been on the Battery when the rescued party reached it, 
 and he had gathered Httle more from the colored boatman 
 than that young Houghton had been drowned in saving 
 Bodine and the ladies with him. His first impulse was to 
 go to tell his employer, and he started to carry out this pur- 
 pose. On his way he remembered that, in horror over the 
 event, he had not stopped to ask fuller particulars, and he 
 turned back to question the negro more fully. When he 
 reached George's boat he found that the man had gone, and 
 that the small crowd which had gathered had dispersed. 
 With a heavy heart he again started for Mr. Houghton's resi- 
 dence, regretting sadly that it was his duty to communicate 
 the terrible news. His feelings increased to a nervous dread 
 
3l6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 by the time he reached Mr. Houghton's door. He feared 
 the stern old man, and beheved that he would always be 
 associated with the tragedy, and so become abhorrent in the 
 eyes of his employer. But, as the thing must be done, 
 the sooner it was over the better. 
 
 The colored waiter admitted the trembling form, and 
 exclaimed, " O Lawd ! what happen?" 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Houghton." 
 
 " Bring him up," shouted the old man hoarsely. " Well," 
 he gasped as the clerk entered. 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, I'm very sorry " — 
 
 " For God's sake, out with it ! " 
 
 " Well, sir, I fear Mr. George " — 
 
 " Drowned !" shrieked the father. 
 
 The young clerk was silent and appalled. 
 
 " Oh, curse that harbor ! Curse that harbor ! " the old 
 man groaned. 
 
 "Perhaps, sir," faltered the clerk, "Mr. Bodine can" — 
 
 " Bodine ! Bodine ! what in hell had he to do with it? " 
 
 " I could not learn the particulars beyond that Mr. George 
 was — was — in saving Mr. Bodine, his daughter, and two 
 other ladies" — 
 
 " Now may all the infernal powers blast that rebel ! " and 
 the old man rushed down the stairway. 
 
 The frightened clerk and waiter followed hastily, and 
 restrained him as he was opening the front door. 
 
 " Sir, dear sir, be patient " — 
 
 "Now, Marse Houghton, wot you gwine ter do?" cried 
 the negro. 
 
 " I'm going straight to that damned Bodine." 
 
 "Den, Marse Houghton, you mus ride. Sam's puttin' 
 de bosses to de kerrige dis minit." 
 
 Houghton instantly darted through the house and out to 
 the stable. " Haste ! " he thundered, " haste, you snail ! " 
 
A FATHER'S FRENZY. 317 
 
 The waiter helped Sam, and in a moment or two the 
 carriage rumbled away, the waiter on the box with the coach- 
 man, and the clerk inside with the frenzied father. 
 
 It was his steps which had startled Bodine and the 
 physician, and they opened the door facing the landing as 
 the old man came rushing up, crying hoarsely, " Where's 
 my boy?" 
 
 "Where I wish I was," replied Bodine gravely. 
 
 The doctor was a strong and decided man. A glance 
 showed him that Mr. Houghton was excited almost to the 
 point of insanity. Seizing his hand the doctor drew the old 
 man into the room, and with gentle force placed him in a 
 chair. Never for a moment, however, did Mr. Houghton 
 take his fiery eyes from Bodine, who, now that he was in 
 the stress of the emergency, maintained his sad composure 
 perfectly. Only a soldier whose nerves had been steeled in 
 battle could have looked upon the half-demented man so 
 quietly, for he presented a terrible spectacle. His white 
 hair was dishevelled, and his eyes had the ferocity of a 
 lioness robbed of her young. Foam gathered at his lips as 
 he began again : — 
 
 " Curse your ill-omened face ! Such men as you are 
 worse than a pestilence. As a rebel was there not enough 
 blood on your hands? He saved you, why couldn't you 
 do something to save him? " 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, I did try. I would have perilled even 
 the lives of women." 
 
 "You have virtually murdered him, sir. X>id you not 
 say that if he had the trace of a gentleman in his anatomy 
 he would leave you and yours alone ? He would rather 
 drown than go ashore with you." 
 
 Ella could not help hearing his loud, harsh words, and 
 her long, waihng cry was their echo. 
 
 At this instant Mrs. Bodine burst into the room, and her 
 
3l8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 slender form seemed to dilate until a consciousness of her 
 presence filled the apartment. Her face was more than 
 stern. It wore the commanding expression of a high-born 
 woman roused to the full extent of an unusually strong 
 nature. Her dark eyes had an overmastering fire, and her 
 withered cheeks were red with blood direct from her heart. 
 
 " Listen to me, sir," she said imperiously, " and stop your 
 raving. Do not forget for another instant that you are a 
 man, and that there are women in this house whom you are 
 wounding by your brutal words. You, yourself, in very truth 
 will commit murder, if you do not become sane. Did you 
 not hear that cry? fit response to language that is like a 
 bludgeon. How are you worse off than I, who have lost 
 husband, sons, all ? Have you not said to your boy as cruel 
 things as Captain Bodine has said ? This son of yours was 
 too noble, too generous, too lofty for either you or us to 
 understand in our damnable prejudices and blind hate. 
 Come with me," and, seizing his hand, she dragged him to 
 where Ella lay, white as death. "There," she resumed in 
 the same impetuous yet clear-cut tones, "is as pure and 
 good a girl as ever God created. Was loving her a crime ? 
 Go home, and ask God to forgive you, to take you where 
 your son is in His good time. That poor child is the real 
 victim. Unless you are mad indeed you will ask her for- 
 giveness, and go quietly away." * 
 
 The old man trembled like a leaf, swayed to and fro be- 
 tween his fierce conflicting emotions, and then left the house 
 as hastily as he had entered. As he did so, Ella called 
 after him feebly, but her voice was unheard. 
 
 The clerk and the colored waiter stood at the open door, 
 and received Mr. Houghton's tottering form. " Home," he 
 gasped. 
 
 In renewed dread they bore him to his carriage, wliich 
 Sam drove rapidly away. By, the time he reached his resi- 
 
A FATHER'S FRENZY. 3ig 
 
 dence he was in almost a fainting condition, and was carried 
 to his bed. The waiter, who also acted in the capacity of 
 valet at times, gave the old man stimulants, as he said to the 
 clerk, " Go for Dr. Devoe : Sam dribe you. Bring 'im wid 
 you quick." 
 
 The old man at last lay still, breathing heavily, and half- 
 consciously making an instinctive struggle for existence. 
 The shock of his passion and the weight of an immeasur- 
 able loss had been almost beyond endurance to a man of 
 his age and of his volcanic nature. His physician was soon 
 at his side, and, with some degree of success, put forth all 
 his skill to rally his exhausted patient. He at last succeeded 
 in producing a certain degree of lethargy, which, in benumb- 
 ing the brain, brought respite from mental agony. 
 
 The impression of Bodine and all the others with him 
 that young Houghton had been drowned was natural and 
 almost inevitable. They had seen him disappear beneath 
 the water, and that was the last that was seen or heard. 
 The boatman's explanation that the young man had become 
 entangled in the rigging of the sunken vessel seemed the 
 only way of accounting for the fact that he did not rise 
 again and strike out for his own boat. The words of Mr. 
 Houghton, recalling that final sentence of Bodine's, which 
 had destroyed George's hope and made him feel that he 
 could not approach Ella again, had greatly augmented the 
 veteran's distress. The thought, once lodged, could not be 
 banished that the youth, in his wounded pride, might have 
 silently chosen to brave every danger in order to prove that 
 he was a "gendeman," and that he would "leave them 
 alone," even at the cost of his life. This result of his 
 harsh words was crushing to Bodine, and to escape from its 
 intolerable weight he tried to entertain the hope that George 
 had found some way of attaining safety as yet unknown. 
 
 The young man had not been drowned, although he had 
 
320 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 had an exceedingly narrow escape. It was not the rigging 
 which so endangered his Hfe. As he rose towards the sur- 
 face his head struck the pole with which the negro was 
 accustomed to push his boat around in the shallow water, 
 and the blow was so stunning that he did no more than in- 
 stinctively cling to the object which had injured him. It sus- 
 tained his weight, but, in the wind-lashed waves and darkness, 
 he and his support were unseen. The tide was running out 
 swiftly, and he and the pole had been swept well astern, 
 while Bodine looked at the spot where they thought he had 
 sunk, — a point from which the negro's frantic oar-strokes 
 were rapidly taking them. 
 
 Gradually George's clouded senses cleared, and at last 
 he recalled all that had occurred ; far too late, however, for 
 his voice to be heard. He shouted two or three times, but 
 soon recognized that his cries were lost in the dashing 
 waves and howling wind. So far from giving way to panic, 
 he encouraged himself with the hope that his effort to rescue 
 Ella and those with her had not been in vain. Pointing 
 the pole towards the city lights, he tried to make progress 
 by striking out with his feet, but was soon convinced that 
 he was exhausting himself to little purpose, for both wind 
 and tide were against him. He therefore let himself float, 
 hoping to be picked up by some vessel, or, at the worst, to 
 land at Fort Sumter, which he deemed to be the nearest 
 point of safety. Before very long he heard the throbbing 
 of a steamer's engine, and soon her lights pierced the 
 gloom. To get near enough to make his condition known 
 without being run down, was now his aim. She seemed to 
 be coming directly towards him, and he thanked Heaven 
 that the wind was dying out so that his voice might be heard. 
 
 As soon as he thought the steamer was within hailing 
 distance he began to shout, " Ship ahoy ! " No heed was 
 given until the boat seemed to be almost upon him, and he 
 
A FATHER'S FRENZY. 321 
 
 swam, witli his pole, desperately to the left to avoid her. 
 Then inflating his lungs he shouted, " Help, if you are men 
 and not devils ! " 
 
 " Hallo there ! Man overboard ? " 
 
 " I should say so," thundered Houghton. " Slow up, and 
 throw me a rope." 
 
 The wheels were reversed at once. A man near the bow 
 seized a coil of rope and yelled, "Where are you?" 
 
 " Here ! " cried Houghton, splashing the water with his 
 hands. 
 
 The rope flew with a boatman's aim ; George grasped it, 
 and, with sailor-like dexterity, fastened the end around his 
 body under his arms. Then laying hold of it also with 
 his hands, he cried from the water almost under the wheel, 
 ''PuU." 
 
 In a moment or two he was on deck and besieged with 
 questions. " Boat swamped in the squall," he replied briefly. 
 " I kept afloat on a pole till you picked me up. There was 
 another boat that I am anxious about. I'll go up in the 
 pilot-house and keep a weather-eye open." 
 " Well, you're a cool one," said the captain. 
 "I've been in the water long enough to get cool. Would 
 you mind lending me an overcoat or some wrap?" And 
 he escaped from the gathering crowd to the pilot-house. 
 
 The vessel proved to be a little steamer which plied 
 between the islands down the harbor and the city. " That 
 was young Houghton," said one of the passengers. 
 
 " him ! " said another. " It's a pity he and his old 
 
 money-griper of a dad are not both at the bottom." 
 
 ^Vrapped in the captain's great-coat, George was as com- 
 fortable as his anxieties would permit. No sign of life was 
 upon the dark waters. When the boat made her landing, 
 he slipped out of his coat, leaped ashore, and, walking and 
 running alternately, soon reached his father's house. 
 
322 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Opening the door with his latch-key, he stumbled on 
 Jube, the waiter, who backed away from him with some- 
 thing like a yell of fear, beheving that his young master had 
 come back in ghostly guise. 
 
 " Shut up, you fool ! " said George sternly. " Don't you 
 know me?" 
 
 " O Lawd, Lawd ! you ain't a spook, Marse George? " 
 
 " I'll box your ears in a way that will convince you " — 
 
 At this moment Dr. Devoe came hastily from the sick- 
 room, and met George on the stairs. " Thank God ! " ex- 
 claimed the physician, " you have escaped. Caution, now, 
 caution. You must not show yourself to your father till I 
 give permission." 
 
 "Has he heard? Is he very ill?" George asked, in 
 deep anxiety. 
 
 " Yes, but he'll come through all right, now that you are 
 alive. I've had to stupefy him partially. He was told that 
 you had been drowned. Go change your clothes, and be 
 ready when I want you. How did you escape? " 
 
 " Picked up by the steamer ' Firefly.' Did they escape ? 
 — I mean Mr. Bodine and his party." 
 
 "Yes ; and, as far as I can make out, left you to drown." 
 
 When the physician returned Mr. Houghton roused a 
 litde, and asked, " What is the matter ? Is George ill ? " 
 
 " No, he's better." 
 
 The old man closed his eyes, and at last said dreamily, 
 "Yes, he's better, better off in heaven." 
 
 "Mr. Houghton," said the doctor kindly, "I've just 
 heard that a man was picked up by the steamer running 
 between the city and the islands. I don't give up hope 
 yet." 
 
 " Hope ! hope ! Do you mean to say there is hope?" 
 
 "I do. If you will be patient we will soon know. I 
 have taken steps to find out speedily." 
 
A FATHER'S FRENZY. 323 
 
 *' O God, be merciful ! I don't see how I -can long sur- 
 vive if he is dead," 
 
 Jube, satisfied that George was in the flesh, followed him 
 to his room, and aided him in exchanging his wet clothes 
 for dry ones, meanwhile answering the young man's rapid 
 questions. 
 
 Touched to the very soul by the account of his father's 
 frantic grief, George's thoughts centred on him, but he 
 asked, "What happened at Mr, Bodine's?" 
 
 "Dunno, Marse George. Marse Houghton run up de 
 stairs, an' dey took 'im in a room. Den I heerd loud 
 talkin', an soon he come runnin' out all kin ob gone like, an 
 he gasp, * Home,' We lif him in de kerrige, an Sam dribe 
 as if de debil was arter 'im. Den we gits de doctor 
 sudden." 
 
 Having dressed, George opened his desk and wrote : — 
 
 " Captain Bodine. 
 
 '' Sir, — It may relieve you of some natural anxiety to learn that 
 I escaped, and that I am well and at home. My father is very ill, 
 and absolute quiet of mind and body is essential. 
 
 "GEORGE HOUGHTON." 
 
 Then he addressed a line to the editor of the daily 
 paper : — 
 
 " Rumors of an accident in the harbor and of my being drowned 
 may reach you. This note is evidence that I am safe and well. I 
 will esteem it a favor if no mention is made of the affair." 
 
 Despatching Sam with these two missives, he held him- 
 self in readiness for the summons to his father's bedside. 
 
 Dr. Devoe, in his efforts to save his patient from any 
 more nervous shocks, administered another sedative, and 
 then talked quietly of the probability of George's escape. 
 
 The old man's mind was far from clear, and in his half 
 
324 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 dreamy state was inclined to believe what was said to him. 
 Then the physician pretended to hear the return of his 
 messenger, and went out for a few moments. When he 
 came back he saw Mr. Houghton's eyes dilating with fear 
 and hope. 
 
 "Take courage, my friend," he said. "Great joys are 
 dangerous as well as great sorrows. You must be calm for 
 your son's sake as well as for your own. He has escaped, 
 as I told you he might, and will see you when you feel 
 strong enough." 
 
 " Now, now ! " 
 
 A moment later the father's arms were about his boy. 
 With gentle, soothing words and endearing terms George 
 calmed the sobs of the aged man, whose stern eyes had 
 been so unaccustomed to tears. At last he slept, holding 
 his son's hand. 
 
 The clerk was dismissed with cordial thanks ; George and 
 the physician watched unweariedly, for the latter said that 
 every thing depended on the patient's condition when he 
 awoke. 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 CLOUDS LIFTING. 
 
 IN Mrs. Bodine's humbler home there was another patient 
 who also had found such respite as anodynes can bring. 
 Ella's fair face had become like the purest marble in its 
 whiteness, but the hot tears had ceased to flow, and the 
 bosom which had heaved convulsively with anguish was now 
 so still that the girl scarcely seemed to breathe at all. Cap- 
 tain Bodine, Mara, and old Hannah were the watchers. Mara 
 now, for the first time, observed how white the veteran's iron- 
 gray hair had become. He had grown old in a night, rather 
 in an hour. The strong lines of his face were graven deep ; 
 his troubled eyes were sunken, giving a peculiarly haggard 
 expression to his countenance. 
 
 Her heart was full of gentleness and sympathy towards 
 him, and of this he was assured from time to time by her 
 eloquent glances. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine was being cared for by Mrs. Hunter, for she 
 was ill in the re-action from her strong excitement and un- 
 wonted exertion. 
 
 But few hours had passed when there was a ring at the 
 door. All except Ella looked at each other with starded 
 eyes. What did this late summons portend ? Mara rose to 
 go to the door, but with a silent gesture the captain restrained 
 her and went down himself. 
 
 " Who is this from? " he asked, as he took the letter from 
 Sam. 
 
326 THE EARTH 7'KEMBLED. 
 
 " Fum young Marse Houghton. He ain't drownd no 
 mo'n I be." 
 
 " Thank God ! " ejaculated Bodine, with such fervor that 
 he was heard in the rooms above. 
 
 " Yes," said Sam, " I reckon He de one ter t'ank." Sam 
 had imbibed the impression that Bodine had left his young 
 master to drown. 
 
 "What is it?" whispered Mara over the banisters. 
 
 " Young Houghton escaped, after all. — Here, my man, is 
 a dollar. Wait a few minutes, for I may wish to send an 
 answer." 
 
 The gas was burning dimly in the parlor. Turning it up, 
 he read the brief missive, and recognized from its tone that 
 the young man still had in mind the veteran's former attitude 
 towards him. He sat down and wrote rapidly, — 
 
 " Mr. George Houghton. 
 
 " Honored Sir, — At this late hour, and with your coachman wait- 
 ing, I must be brief. My term, ' Honored Sir,' is no empty phrase, 
 for from the depths of my heart I do honor your heroic, generous risk 
 of life for me and mine ; and my sentiments are shared by the ladies 
 whom you rescued. I have been harsh and unjust to you, and I ask 
 your forgiveness. You have conquered my prejudice utterly. Do 
 not imagine that a Southern man and a Confederate soldier cannot 
 appreciate such noble magnanimity. 
 
 "Yours in eternal respect and gratitude, 
 
 "HUGH BODINE." 
 
 As he finished it Mara entered, and was astonished at his 
 appearance. The haggard face, seamed with suffering, that 
 she had looked upon but a few moments before, was transfig- 
 ured. Anguish of soul was no longer expressed, but rather 
 gladness, and the impress of those divine impulses which lead 
 men to acknowledge their wrong and to make reparation. In 
 the strong light his white hair was like a halo, and his lumi- 
 nous eyes revealed the good and the spiritual in the man, as 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 32/ 
 
 they are manifested only in the best and supreme moments 
 of life. 
 
 He handed Mara the letter. When she had read it she 
 looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes, and said, " It is what 
 I should have expected from you." 
 
 After dismissing Sam he returned to the parlor, and, tak- 
 ing the girl's hand again, began, " God bless you, Mara ! 
 You have stood by me, you have sustained me, in the most 
 terrible emergency of my life. There were features in this 
 ordeal which it seemed impossible for me to endure, which 
 I could not have endured but for your sympathy and the 
 justice you have done me in your thoughts. O Mara, do not 
 let me err again. You know I love you fondly, but your 
 happiness must be first, now and always. In my wish to 
 make you my wife, let me be sure that I am securing your 
 happiness even more than my own." 
 
 At that moment she was exalted by an enthusiasm felt to 
 be divine. In her deep sympathy her heart was tender 
 towards him. She had just seen him put his old proud 
 self under his feet, as he acknowledged heroic action in one 
 whom she had thought incapable of it. Could she fail this 
 loved and honored friend, when a wronged Northern boy 
 had counted his life as naught to save him ? 
 
 Never had her spirit of self-sacrifice so asserted itself 
 before. Indeed, it no longer seemed to be self-sacrifice, as 
 she gave him her hand, and said, " Life offers me nothing 
 better than to become your wife." 
 
 He drew her close to his breast, but at this touch of her 
 sacred person, something deep in her woman's nature shrunk 
 and protested. Even at that moment she was compelled 
 to learn that the heart is more potent than the mind, even 
 though it be kindled by the strongest and most unselfish 
 enthusiasm. Only the deep and subtile principle of love 
 could have given to that embrace unalloyed repose. Never- 
 
328 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 theless she had said what she behaved true, " Life had 
 nothing better for her." 
 
 As Ella still slept quietly, Bodine insisted that Mara 
 should retire, saying, " I and old Hannah can do all that is 
 required." 
 
 "But you need rest more than I," Mara protested. 
 
 " No. Gladness has banished sleep from my eyes, and I 
 must be at Ella's side when she wakes." 
 
 Mara was glad to obey, for no divine exhilaration had 
 come to her. She was not strong, and a re-action approach- 
 ing exhaustion was setting in. 
 
 In the dawn of the following day Ella began to stir 
 uneasily in her sleep, to moan and sigh. Vaguely the 
 unspent force of her grief was re-asserting itself, as the be- 
 numbing effects of anodynes passed from her brain. Her 
 father motioned Hannah to leave the apartment, and then 
 took Ella's hand. At last she opened her eyes, and looked 
 at him in a dazed, troubled way. " Oh ! " she moaned, 
 " I've had such dreadful dreams. Have I been ill? " 
 
 " Yes, Ella dear, very ill, but you are better now. The 
 worst is well over." 
 
 " Dear papa, have you been watching all night? " 
 
 "That's a very little thing to do, Ella darling." 
 
 She lay silent for a few moments, and then began to sob, 
 " Oh, I remember all now. He's dead, dead, dead." 
 
 " Ella," said her father gently, taking her hands from her 
 face, " I do not believe he is dead. There is a report that 
 he escaped, — that he was picked up by a steamer." 
 
 She sat up instantly, as if all her strength had returned, 
 and, with her blue eyes dilating through her tears, exclaimed, 
 " O papa, don't keep me on the rack of suspense ! Give 
 me life by telling me that he lives." 
 
 "Yes, Ella, he is alive. He has written to me, and I 
 have answered in the way that you would wish." 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 329 
 
 She threw her arms about his neck in an embrace that 
 was ahnost convulsive, and then sank back exhausted. 
 
 " Now, Ella darling, for all our sakes you must keep 
 quiet and composed ; " and he gave her a little of the strong 
 nourishment which the physician had ordered. 
 
 For a long time she lay still with a smile upon her hps. 
 In her feebleness one happy thought sufficed, " He is not 
 dead ! " 
 
 At last a faint color stole into her cheeks, and she asked, 
 "What did you write, papa?" 
 . He repeated his letter almost verbatim. 
 
 " That was enough, papa," she said with a sigh of rehef. 
 " It was very noble in you to write in that way." 
 
 " No, Ella, it was simple justice," 
 
 She gave him a smile which warmed his heart. After a 
 little while she again spoke. " Go and rest, papa. I feel 
 that I can sleep again. Oh, thank God ! thank God ! His 
 sun is rising on a new heaven and a new earth." 
 
 Kissing her fondly, her father halted away. Old Hannah 
 resumed her watch, but was soon relieved by Mara. 
 
 When George read Captain Bodine's letter the night grew 
 luminous about him. He had not expected any such ac- 
 knowledgment. With characteristic modesty he had under- 
 rated his own action, and he had not given Bodine credit 
 for the degree of manhood possessed by him. Indeed, he 
 had almost feared that both father and daughter might be 
 embarrassed and burdened by a sense of obligation, whose 
 only effect would be to make them miserable. Generous him- 
 self, he was deeply touched by the proud man's absolute sur- 
 render, and he at once appreciated the fine nature which 
 had been revealed by the letter. 
 
 " Now," he reasoned, " as far as her father is concerned, 
 the way is open for me to seek Ella's love by patient and 
 devoted attentions. I shall at last have the chance which 
 
330 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 was impossible when I could not approach her at all. After 
 this experience I believe that my own dear father will be 
 softened, and be led to see how much better are happiness 
 and content than ambitious schemes." 
 
 But Mr. Houghton was destined to disappoint his son. 
 He awoke very feeble in body, and not very clear in mind. 
 His one growing desire was to get away from Charleston. 
 " I don't ever wish to look on that accursed harbor again," 
 he repeated over and over. 
 
 " We must humor him in every way possible," Dr. Devoe 
 said to George, " and as soon as he is strong enough you 
 must take him North." 
 
 George's heart sank at these words, and at others which 
 his father constantly reiterated. 
 
 " I wish to get away from this city, George," he would 
 say feebly. " I will go anywhere, only to be away from this 
 town and its people. Oh, I've had such a warning ! This 
 is no place for you or me. Its people are aliens. They 
 destroyed one of my boys, and they have nearly cost you 
 your life, as well as your happiness and success in life. Oh, 
 that terrible old woman, with her tongue of fire ! She looked 
 and talked like an accusing fiend. I want to go away from 
 it all, and forget it all, — that such a place and people exist. 
 Help me get strong, doctor, and then George and I will go, 
 as Lot fled from Sodom." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Houghton," Dr. Devoe would answer, " all your 
 wishes shall be carried out ; " and this assurance would pacify 
 the old man for a time. 
 
 When alone with George the physician would add, " You 
 see how it is, my young friend. Your father is in such a 
 feeble, wavering state of mind and body that we must make 
 it all clear sailing for him. Even if he asks for what is 
 impossible, we must appear to gratify him. Any thing which 
 disturbs his mind will be injurious to his physical health." 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 331 
 
 George could not but admit the truth of the doctor's 
 words, and he manfully faced his duty, hoping that the 
 future still had possibilities. 
 
 After getting some much-needed sleep the day following 
 his escape, he wrote : — 
 
 " My dear Captain Bodine, — If I had known you better your letter 
 would not have been such an agreeable surprise. Please do me the 
 favor not to over-esthnate my effort for you and those with you, — an 
 effort which any man would have made. That it was successful, is as 
 much a cause for gratitude in my own case as in yours. Please pre- 
 sent my compliments to the ladies, and express my hope that they 
 suffered no ill effects from their hasty exchange of boats. I trust that 
 the stupid boatman, who was to blame for your disaster, will not 
 attempt to navigate any thing more complicated than a wheelbarrow 
 hereafter. I regret to say that my father is still very ill, and that his 
 physician enjoins the utmost care and quiet until he recovers from his 
 nervous shock. With much respect, I am 
 
 " Gratefully yours, 
 
 "GEORGE HOUGHTON." 
 
 When Ella's physician came the following day, he found 
 his patient so much better that he could not account for it 
 until he had heard the glad news. The healthful, elastic 
 nature of the girl rallied swiftly. George's second letter 
 was handed her to read, and she kept it. Being clever with 
 her pencil, she made a ludicrous caricature of the colored 
 boatman caught in a gale with a wheelbarrow. Her smile 
 was glad now, for hope grew stronger every moment. Her 
 right to love was now unquestioned, and even her proud 
 father and cousin had only words of respect and admiration 
 for the lover who, in a few brief moments, had vindicated 
 the manhood which she had recognized in the first moments 
 of their chance encounter. 
 
 She could not believe that Mr. Houghton would remain 
 obdurate when he r'ecovered sufficiently to think the matter 
 
332 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 over calmly. " Our papas," she thought, with a little sigh 
 and a smile, " have learned that burying their children is a 
 rather serious matter after all." 
 
 When two or three days passed, however, and no further 
 communication had been received from George, her father 
 thought it \vise to say a few words of caution. " Ella," he 
 began, " you are now strong enough to look at this matter 
 in all its bearings. Young Mr. Houghton probably finds 
 that his father is as adverse to his thoughts of you as ever. 
 He has himself also had time for many second thoughts, 
 and" — 
 
 "Papa," said the girl, with a reproachful glance, "you 
 have not yet learned to do George Houghton justice. At 
 the same time I wish neither you nor any one else to give 
 him the slightest hint of my feelings, nor to say any thing to 
 him of my illness and what occurred in the boat. He asked 
 permission to pay his addresses, and he's got to pay them, 
 principal and interest, if I wait till I am as gray as you are. 
 Dear papa, how you must have suffered ! To think that 
 one's hair should turn white so soon ! Haven't I got a 
 little gray, too? " 
 
 She looked at herself in the mirror, but the late afternoon 
 sun turned her light tresses, which she never could keep 
 smooth, into an aureole of gold. 
 
 Mr. Houghton rallied slowly, but grew calmer and more 
 rational with time. He wished to see his confidential clerk 
 on business, but Dr. Devoe said gently but firmly, " Not 
 yet." He began to permit, however, a daily written state- 
 ment from the office that all was going well. During this 
 convalescence George felt that he must take no middle 
 course. He resolved to have no further communication 
 with Captain Bodine, and not to do any thing which, if it 
 came to his father's knowledge, would retard his recovery. 
 One thing, however, he was resolved upon. In carrying 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 333 
 
 out his father's wishes he would draw the Hne at an ambi- 
 tious aUiance at the North. " Since I have conquered Cap- 
 tain Bodine," he muttered, with a little resolute nod of his 
 head, " I will subdue my own paternal ancestor ; then the 
 way will be open for a siege of the fair citadel, the peerless 
 little baker. No wonder her cakes seemed all sugar and 
 spice." Thus George often mused, complacently regardless 
 of the incongruous terms bestowed upon Ella in his thoughts. 
 
 Sometimes these reveries brought smiles to his face, and 
 more than once he started and flushed as he observed his 
 father looking at him searchingly yet wistfully. 
 
 Meanwhile he scarcely left the old man night or day. 
 He slept on a cot by his side, and at the slightest move- 
 ment was awake, and ready to anticipate wishes before they 
 could be spoken. On the last day of August his father was 
 well enough to be up and dressed most of the forenoon. 
 
 George began to read the beloved Boston papers, but 
 Mr. Houghton soon said, "That will do, I'm in no mood 
 for dog-day politics. Go off and amuse yourself, as long as 
 you don't go near the harbor." 
 
 " I've no wish to go out, father. ^Vllen the sun is low I'll 
 take a tramp of a mile or two." 
 
 " In a week or so more I think I'll be able to travel, 
 George." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " I fear you don't wish to leave Charleston." 
 
 " I wish to do what is best for your health." 
 
 Then a long silence followed, each busy with his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 At last Mr. Houghton said, " It's strange we've heard noth- 
 ing from those Bodines. They appear to accept their lives 
 from your hand as a matter of course ; " and the old man 
 watched the effect of these tentative words. 
 
 George flushed, but said gently, " Dear father, try to be 
 
334 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 just, even in your enmities. I have heard from Captain 
 Bodine, and " — 
 
 " What ! have you been corresponding with them, and all 
 that?" interrupted Mr. Houghton irritably. "Why didn't 
 you tell me?" 
 
 " I merely replied to Mr. Bodine's note the day after the 
 accident. Since then I have not heard from any of the 
 rescued party, nor have I made the slightest effort to do so. 
 Dr. Devoe said you required quiet of body and mind, and I 
 have not done any thing which would interfere with this." 
 
 "Thank you, my boy, thank you heartily. I shall owe 
 my life more to your faithful attendance than to Dr. Devoe." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that, whether it is true or not. 
 I wish you to live many years, and to take the rest to which 
 a long and laborious life entitles you. I will show you 
 Captain Bodine's letter if you wish." 
 
 " Well, let me see what the rebel has to say for himself." 
 
 " Humph ! " Mr. Houghton ejaculated, finishing the lettsr. 
 "What did you say in reply?" 
 
 George repeated the substance of his note. 
 
 " And nothing has passed between him, his daughter, or 
 you since?" 
 
 " Nothing whatever." 
 
 " I suppose by this time that little gust of passion, inspired 
 by the daughter's pretty face, has passed?" and he looked 
 at his son keenly. 
 
 " It would have passed, father, if it had been only a gust 
 of passion, and inspired merely by a pretty face." 
 
 " Humph ! Do you mean to say that you love her still? " 
 
 " I cannot control my heart, only my actions." 
 
 "You will give her up then, since it is my wish?" 
 
 " I cannot give up loving her, father. If I had drowned 
 and gone to another world I feel that I would have carried 
 my love with me." 
 
CLOUDS LIFTING. 335 
 
 There was another long silence, and then Mr. Houghton 
 said, " But you will control your action? " 
 
 " My action, father, shall be guided by most considerate 
 loyalty to you." 
 
 " But you will not promise never to marry her? " 
 
 " It is true, indeed, that I may never marry her, for I 
 have no reason whatever to think that she cares for me in 
 any such way as I do for her. As long as her father felt as 
 he did, I could not approach her. As long as you feel 
 as you do, I cannot seek her, but to give her up delib- 
 erately would be doing violence to the best in my nature. 
 I know my love is the same as that which you had for 
 mother, and God would punish a man who tried to put his 
 foot on such a love. I feel that it would keep me from the 
 evil of the world." 
 
 " The first thing you know, George, you will be wishing 
 that I am dead." 
 
 " No, father, no ! " his son cried impulsively. "You would 
 do me wicked wrong in thinking that. A foolish, guilty pas- 
 sion might probably lead to such thoughts, but not a pure, 
 honest love, which prompts to duty in every relation in life. 
 I can carry out your every plan for me without bolstering 
 myself by marrying wealth and position. My self-respect 
 revolts at the idea. A woman that I loved could aid me far 
 more than the wealthiest and highest bom in the land. I 
 believe that in time you will see these things as I cannot 
 help seeing them. Until then I can be patient. I cer- 
 tainly will not jeopardize your health by doing what is con- 
 trary to your wishes. Don't you think we had better drop 
 the subject for the present? " 
 
 "Yes, I think we had," said Mr. Houghton sadly, but 
 without any appearance of irritation. 
 
336 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 • CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 " YES, VILET." 
 
 WITH the exception of Aun' Sheba's household, the 
 final days of August were passing quietly and un- 
 eventfully to the other characters of our story. Little Vilet 
 had received something like a sunstroke, and she never 
 rallied. Day and night she lay on her cot, usually wakeful, 
 and always patient. It would seem that her vital forces 
 were sapped, for she grew steadily weaker and thinner. 
 Aun' Sheba did little else than wait on and watch her, 
 except when Kern was home. When ofif duty at the fire 
 department, he would permit no one else to do any thing 
 for his child but himself. The little girl preferred his 
 attendance even to that of her mother, and the strong man 
 would carry her up and down his little yard in the cool 
 night air by the hour, or rock her to sleep on his breast 
 when the sun was high. No touch was so gentle as his, or 
 so soothing. He would hush his great, mellow voice into 
 soft, melodious tones as he sung her favorite hymns, and 
 often her feeble treble would blend with his rich baritone. 
 He yearned over her with inexpressible tenderness, count- 
 ing the minutes when on duty till the hour came which 
 permitted his return. 
 
 In his agony of apprehension *' his flesh jes drap off 'n 
 him," as Aun' Sheba and his wife said. He slept little and 
 ate litde, but was always punctual at the engine-house to 
 the minute. 
 
"VES, viLETr 337 
 
 Mara and Ella visited the child daily, and tried to tempt 
 her failing appetite with delicacies. Sissy, Vilet's mother, 
 hovered about her child most of the time, when her house- 
 keeping duties and the care of the other children permitted, 
 but after all her chief solicitude centred in her husband. 
 She and Aun' Sheba often said, " Kern, ef de Lawd wants 
 her we mus jes gib her up. De Hebenly Fader hab de fust 
 right." 
 
 " I hab my feelins all de same," Kern would reply. " Ef 
 de Lawd put sech feehns in my heart I can't help it." 
 
 On the evening of the 31st of August, Vilet was very 
 feeble. The closeness and heat oppressed her. All, except 
 Uncle Sheba, made a poor pretence of supper. Nothing 
 affected his appetite, and, having cleared the table, he went 
 over to his own door-step and lighted his pipe. Before it 
 was finished he was dozing comfortably against the door- 
 case. Aun' Sheba, with a great sigh, lighted her pipe also, 
 and sat down on the Watson steps with her daughter that 
 they might breathe cooler air. Kern took up his little 
 daughter, and began to walk in the yard and sing as usual. 
 
 " Well," ejaculated Aun' Sheba, " Missy Mara's call yis- 
 tidy 'heve my min' po'ful. I'se couldn't tromp de streets 
 wid a basket now nohow. Missy Mara say she won' begin 
 bakin' till I'm ready. She look too po'ly to tink ob it 
 hersef. Lor ! what a narrow graze she an de res ob dem 
 hab ! No won'er she all broken up. Dat awful 'scape 
 keeps runnin ebin in my dreams. Bress de good Lawd dat 
 brung Marse Houghton right dar in time ! " 
 
 " Missy Ella an' Marse Houghton oughter hab dey own 
 way now, shuah," Sissy remarked. 
 
 " I reckon dey will," Aun' Sheba answered. " Missy Ella 
 look kin'er dat-a-way. Dey was all agin her 'fore de ax'dent, 
 but now I reckon dey's all cabed in, from what she says, 
 eben ef she ain't talkin' much. I 'specs ole man Houghton 
 
338 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 is de mos' sot ; " and then their anxious thoughts reverted 
 to the sick child. 
 
 " Daddy," said Vilet, when her father had finished a hymn, 
 " I wants ter talk wid you." 
 
 "Well, chile, wot you wants ter say? " 
 
 " I wants you ter let me go to Hebin, daddy." 
 
 "I doesn't feel dat I kin spar' you, Vilet," and she felt his 
 tears dropping on her cheeks. 
 
 " Yes, daddy, you kin, fer a httle while. I'se gittin' so-o 
 tired" and she sighed wearily, " an' you'se gittin' all worn 
 out too." 
 
 " No, deah chile, I'd ruder tote you all de res' ob my 
 bawn days. I couldn't stan' comin' home an' not fin' you 
 lookin' fer me nohow." 
 
 Vilet thought a while in silence and then said, " Daddy, 
 I'se keep a-lookin' fer you jes de same. I'se g\vine ter ax 
 de good Lawd ter gib me a little place on de wall near de 
 pearly gate, an' dar I'se watch an' wait till you come, an' 
 moder, an' granny all come. I kin watch bettah up dar, 
 fer I won' be so bery, bery tired. Won' you let me go ? 
 'Pears I couldn't go to Hebin widout you says, ' Yes, Vilet.' " 
 
 The man's powerful frame trembled like an aspen ; con- 
 vulsive sobs heaved his breast as he carried the child to the 
 farther comer of the yard. At last he buried his face in 
 her neck and whispered, " Yes, Vilet." 
 
 " Dat's good an' kin' ob you, daddy. You fin' me waitin' 
 and lookin' fer you, shuah." 
 
 Kern grew calm after his mighty struggle, and, in his 
 simple faith, believed that angels were around him, ready to 
 take his child when he should lay her down. He began 
 to sing again, and, a litde before nine o'clock, repaired to 
 his post of duty. 
 
 As the days passed without any further communication 
 from Houghton whatever, Ella's first glow of hope began to 
 
"y£s, viLETr 339 
 
 pale. She tried to banish all other thoughts except that Mr. 
 Houghton was very ill or as obdurate as ever. On the last 
 day of August, however, she heard a rumor that the invalid 
 was better, and that his son was soon to take him North. 
 'i1ien her faith began to falter. If George should go away 
 without seeing her, without a word or a line, what must she 
 tliink ? The tears would come at this possibility. She had 
 noted that her father and cousin had ceased to speak of him, 
 and that their bearing towards her was very gende, giving 
 her the impression of that deep yet delicate sympathy which 
 is felt for one destined to pass through a very painful ordeal. 
 
 On the evening of this miserable day she yielded, for the 
 first time, to great dejection, and was about to retire to her 
 room early when Mrs. Bodine said kindly, " Don't go away, 
 Ella. I feel strangely oppressed, as if I could scarcely 
 breathe." 
 
 " I feel oppressed too, Cousin Sophy." 
 
 " Yes, dear child, I know you are grieving. I wish I could 
 help you." 
 
 " O Cousin Sophy, it would be so much harder to bear 
 now ! He looked so grand as he loomed up in the gloom 
 of that terrible night ! His eyes seemed Uke living coals ; 
 his action was swift and decided, showing that his mind was 
 as clear as his courage was high. He seemed to take in 
 every thing at a glance, and in breaking my hold of papa's 
 hand he almost the same as saved my life twice. And then 
 his leap into the sinking boat, and the almost giant strength 
 with which he flung papa into his own ! — oh, I see it all so 
 often, and my heart always seems to go down with him when, 
 in fancy, I see him sink. It was all so heroic, so in accord 
 with my ideal of a man ! Why, Cousin Sophy, he was so 
 sensible about it all ! He did just the right thing and the 
 only thing that could be done, except that horrid sinking. 
 I can't help feeling that if he had got into the boat with us 
 
340 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 all would have come about right. Oh, that stupid, cowardly 
 negro boatman ! Well, well, somehow I fear to-night that 
 I've only been saved to suffer a heartache all my life." 
 
 " I hope not, Ella dear. I cannot think so. God rarely 
 permits to any life either unalloyed suffering or happiness." 
 
 " There, Cousin Sophy, I'm forgetting that you are suffer- 
 ing now. I'll put on my wrapper, and then fan you till 
 you get asleep." 
 
 The captain meantime was solacing himself with thoughts 
 of Mara, — thoughts not wholly devoid of anxiety, for she 
 appeared to be growing thin and losing strength in spite of 
 her assurances to the contrary. 
 
 Mr. Houghton had not been so well in the afternoon and 
 evening, and George did not leave him. As the evening 
 advanced the sultriness increased. Since his father seemed 
 quiet, and lay with his eyes closed, he installed Jube in his 
 place with the fan, and went out into the open air. He 
 found, with surprise, that he obtained scarcely any relief 
 from the extreme closeness which had oppressed him in- 
 doors. He threw off even the light coat he wore, and 
 walked up and down the gravel roadway in his shirt-sleeves 
 with the restlessness which great heat imparts to the full- 
 blooded and strong. Sam sat near the barn-door, smoking 
 his pipe. At last he said, " Marse George, 'spose I took 
 out de bosses an let dem stan in de open." 
 
 "What's the matter with them?" 
 
 " Dunno, 'less it's de po'ful heat. Dey's bery oneasy." 
 
 "All right. Tie them outside here." 
 
 At this moment the watch-dog gave a long, piteous howl, 
 and crept into his kennel. 
 
 " That's queer," George remarked, "What's the matter 
 with the dog?" 
 
 " Pears as ebery ting's gettin quar dis ebnin," Sam replied, 
 knocking the ashes from his pipe and rising. " You'se 
 
"VES, VILETr 341 
 
 pinter dar's been kin ob scrugin up agin me, an he neber 
 do dat befo'. Now he's right twixt you'se legs es if he was 
 feerd on someting." 
 
 George caressed the dog, and said, "What's up, old 
 fellow?" and then was perplexed that, instead of answering 
 him with wonted playfulness, the poor brute should begin 
 to whine and yelp. The horses came out as if escaping 
 from their stalls, but on reaching the door sniffed the air, 
 stopped, and seemed reluctant to go farther. 
 
 " Dey's eider gone crazy, or sump'n gwine ter happen," 
 Sam affirmed, looking up and around uneasily. 
 
 At this moment the pointer broke away from George's 
 caressing hand, and with a howl such as he had never been 
 heard to utter, slunk away and disappeared. 
 
 " I declare, Sam, I don't know what to make of it all. 
 The air is getting so hot and close that I can scarcely 
 breathe." 
 
 The horses now came out hastily, and began to snort and 
 whinny. Then they put their heads over Sam's shoulder, 
 with that instinct to seek human protection often noted in 
 domestic animals. 
 
 " Marse George, dey is sump'n gwine ter happen. See 
 dese bosses yere ; see ole Brune dar. He darsn't stay in de 
 ken'l an' he darsn't stay out. Heah how oder dogs is 
 howlin. Dey is sump'n gwine ter — O good Lawd ! what's 
 dat?" 
 
 George's nerves were healthy and strong, but his hair 
 rose on his head and his knees smote for a second as he 
 heard what seemed a low, ominous roar. Having a con- 
 fused impression that the sound came from the street he 
 rushed towards it, but by the time he reached the front of 
 the house the awful sound had grown into a thunder peal 
 which was in the earth beneath and the air above. Obey- 
 ing the impulse to reach his father, he sprung up the steps 
 
342 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and dashed through the open door. As he did so the sohd 
 mansion rocked Hke a skiff at sea ; the heavy portico under 
 which he had just passed fell with a terrific crash ; all lights 
 went out ; while he, stunned and bleeding from the falling 
 plaster, clung desperately to the banisters, still seeking to 
 reach his father. 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE, 343 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE. 
 
 OWEN CLANCY was also leading a dual life, and when, 
 at times, conscience compelled introspection, he was 
 ill at ease, for he could not fail to recognize that his sinister 
 side was gaining ascendancy. With a feeling bordering on 
 recklessness he banished compunctions, and yielded him- 
 self more completely to the inspiration of ambition and the 
 fascinations of Miss Ainsley. It had become evident that 
 Mara was either engaged to Bodine or soon would be, and 
 the thought embittered and hardened his nature. He gave 
 the day to business, and in the evening was rarely absent 
 from Miss Ainsley's side. 
 
 Mrs. Willoughby had invited a small whist party to meet 
 at her house on the evening of the 31st, and Clancy of course 
 was among the number. 
 
 Before sitting down to their games there was some desul- 
 tory conversation, of which young Houghton's exploit was 
 the principal theme. Mrs. Willoughby was enthusiastic in 
 his praise, and even the most prejudiced yielded assent to 
 her words. Equally strong in their commendation were Miss 
 Ainsley and Clancy, and the latter, who had called on Hough- 
 ton, explained how admirably he had managed his boat in 
 effecting the rescue, and related the incidents of his narrow 
 escape. Although there had been no published record of 
 the affair, the main particulars had become very generally 
 known, and the tide of public favor was turning rapidly to- 
 
344 ^-^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 wards Houghton, for the act was one that would especially 
 commend itself to a brave people. Of the secret and inner 
 history, known only to herself, Mrs. Willoughby did not 
 speak, and in all comment a sharp line of division was drawn 
 between George and his father. 
 
 Then conversation turned upon the slight earthquake 
 tremor which had been experienced in Charleston and Sum- 
 merville on the previous Friday. This phenomenon, scarcely 
 noticed at the time and awakening no especial alarm, had 
 been brought into greater prominence by the very serious 
 disturbances in Greece on the following day, August 29, 
 and some theories as to the causes were briefly and languidly 
 discussed. 
 
 Then Clancy remarked lightly, ''We had our share of 
 disaster in the last August's cyclone. Lightning doesn't 
 strike twice in the same place. The jar of Friday was 
 only a little sympathetic symptom in old mother Earth, who, 
 like other mothers and women in general, are said to be 
 subject to nervous attacks. Suppose we settle down to our 
 games." 
 
 " Nervous attacks in mother Earth and mother Eve's 
 daughters are serious affairs, I'd have you understand, Mr. 
 Clancy," laughed Mrs. Willoughby. 
 
 " And very mysterious," he added. " Who can account 
 for either?" 
 
 " There is no reason why they should be accounted for in 
 our case," Miss Ainsley remarked. "Woman should always 
 remain a mystery." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose she must so remain in her deepest 
 nature," he replied, sotto voce, " but is there any need for 
 small secrecies?" 
 
 " That question would have to be explained before I could 
 answer it. Will you deal? " 
 
 He was her partner. They played quietly for an hour, 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE. 345 
 
 and then the wife of the gentleman opposed to them rose 
 and said, '' The heat is so great I shall have to be excused ; " 
 and, with her husband, she bade Mrs. Willoughby good- 
 night. 
 
 Clancy and Miss Ainsley repaired to the balcony, the 
 latter taking her favorite seat, and leaning her head against 
 the ivy-entwined pillar. She knew the advantages of this 
 locality, for while she was hidden from the occupants of the 
 parlor, the light shone through the open French windows in 
 sufficient degree to reveal the graceful outlines of her per- 
 son, which was draped as scantily on that hot night as fashion 
 permitted. 
 
 " How stifling the air is ! " she remarked. "I'm glad to 
 escape from the lighted room, yet am surprised that we obtain 
 so little relief out here." 
 
 " It is strange," Clancy replied. " I scarcely remember 
 such a sultry evening. From what I've read I should be 
 inclined to think it was an earthquake atmosphere, or else 
 that it portended a storm." 
 
 " Now don't croak," she said. " The stars are shining, 
 and there is no sign of a storm. You have already proved 
 that an earthquake cannot occur. You know the old saying 
 about worry over what never happens. The true way to 
 enjoy life is to take the best you can get out of it each day 
 as it comes. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "A very embarrassing question if I should answer it 
 honestly," he replied, laughing. 
 
 "How so?" Never had the brilliant fire in her eyes 
 been so soft and alluring. She had detected a shght tremor 
 in his voice, and had seen an answering fire in his eyes. 
 Although conscious of a rising and delicious excitement i"n 
 her own veins, she believed from much experience that 
 in her perfect self-control she could prevent him from 
 saying too much. Even if he did overstep the Hberal 
 
346 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 bounds which she was willing to accord, she thought, "I 
 can rally him back into our old relations if I so wish." 
 
 What she did wish, she scarcely knew herself, and the 
 thought passed through her mind, " I may accept him after 
 all." 
 
 He shared her mood, with the exception that he had 
 decided long since to obtain her hand if she was disposed 
 to give it. To-night, more than ever, he felt the reckless- 
 ness which had been growing upon him, and was inclined 
 to follow her lead to the utmost, even warily to go beyond 
 such encouragement as he might receive. He therefore 
 replied vaguely, " One may wish the best in life, and not be 
 able to obtain it." 
 
 " I see nothing embarrassing in that commonplace re- 
 mark." 
 
 " There might be in its application." 
 
 " Possibly. Who knows to what one and one make two 
 might lead? — a murder, like enough." 
 
 " Sometimes one and one make one." 
 
 '' How odd ! Still more so, that you should indulge in 
 abstruse mathematics this hot night." 
 
 "That reminds me that a man is said to be merely a 
 vulgar fraction till he is married, when he is redeemed into 
 a whole number." 
 
 " If I were equal to it, I'd get a pencil, and preserve such 
 great nuggets of abstract truth." 
 
 " When you are so concretely and distractingly enchant- 
 ing, what other refuge is there for a man than the abstract? " 
 
 "Is the abstract a refuge?" she asked, looking dreamily 
 out over the dark waters of the harbor. " Perhaps it is. 
 It certainly suggests coolness which should be grateful 
 to-night." Then turning, and with a mirthful and provok- 
 ing gleam in her eyes, she remarked, " I should think this 
 weather would be just to your taste." 
 
THE EARTHQUAKE. 347 
 
 « Why SO ? " 
 
 " Oh, you have become enough of a Yankee to guess." 
 
 "Would you say that even this furnace-Uke air cannot 
 quicken my blood? " 
 
 " My friend, I do not believe that any thing could quicken 
 your pulse one beat." 
 
 "I'll demonstrate the contrary," he said, with a quick 
 flash in his eyes. " Put your finger on my pulse." 
 
 She laughingly did so. By a slight, quick movement he 
 clasped her hand, and it appeared to him that the passion 
 which he knew to be in his face was reflected in hers. She 
 did not withdraw her hand. For an instant there was a 
 subtile, swift interchange of thought. She saw he was about 
 to speak plainly, passionately; she felt herself yielding as 
 never before in all her experience. It was as if a wave of 
 emotion was lifting and sweeping her away. He held her 
 eyes ; a smile began to part her lips ; the thought came to 
 him that words were not essential, that she was giving her- 
 self to him through the agency of the brilliant eyes which at 
 the first had awakened his wondering surmises. He gently 
 drew her to her feet, and she did not resist. He bent 
 towards her that he might look deeper into her rosy face, 
 and felt her sweet breath coming quickly against his cheek. 
 Then, as his lips parted to speak, a low, deep sound far to 
 the south-east caught his attention.* Still clasping hands 
 they faced it. With awful rapidity it approached, increas- 
 ing, deepening, pervading the air to the sky, bellowing as 
 if from the centre of the earth, filling their ears with its 
 unutterable and penetrating power, and appalling their 
 hearts by its supernatural weirdness. They shrunk before 
 it down the balcony and through the window into the draw- 
 ing-room, cowering, trembling, speechless. 
 
 They were scarcely within the apartment before the large, 
 substantial mansion rocked as if it had been a cork, and the 
 
3 so THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 '' GOD." 
 
 HAD Mara's heart been hers to keep or to give when 
 she met Bodine, she could easily have learned to love 
 him for his own sake. Mrs. Bodine's impression was well 
 founded, that Mara, unlike most girls, was suited to such an 
 alliance. The trouble was, that, before Bodine became friend, 
 then lover, she had given to Clancy what she could not recall, 
 although she strove to do so with a will singularly resolute, 
 and from the strongest convictions of hopeless discord 
 between him and herself. With the purpose to make her 
 father's friend happy was also blended the powerful motive 
 to extricate herself. She had felt that she must tear up by 
 the roots the affection which had been growing for years 
 before she had recognized it, and at times, as we have 
 seen, thought it was yielding to the unrelenting grasp of her 
 will. Again, discouraged and appalled by its hold upon 
 every fibre of her being, she would recognize how futile 
 had been her efforts. She could not, like many others, 
 divert her thoughts and pre-occupy her mind by various 
 considerations apart from the truth that she had promised 
 to marry a man whom she did not love. Although so 
 warped, her nature was too simple, too concentrated, to 
 permit any weak drifting towards events. She believed 
 that her life had narrowed down to Bodine, and she had 
 decided to become his devoted wife at every cost to herself. 
 How great that cost would be she was learning sadly, day 
 
''Goor 351 
 
 by day and hour by hour. As we know, she had permitted 
 Bodine to learn her purpose at a time of excitement and 
 enthusiasm, — at a time when his profound distress touched 
 her deepest sympathies. She had also hoped, that, when 
 the irrevocable words had been spoken on each side, the 
 calm of fixed purpose and certainty would fall upon her 
 spirit. 
 
 She had been disappointed. She trembled with a strange 
 dread whenever she recalled the moment when Bodine 
 drew her to himself, conscious now of a truth, before 
 unknown, that there was something in her nature not 
 amenable to enthusiasm, spiritual exaltation, or her pas- 
 sion for self-sacrifice, — something that would not shrink 
 from death for his sake, yet which did shrink from his 
 kisses upon her lips. 
 
 Never had she suffered as during the last few days, for she 
 was being taught by the inexorable logic of facts and events. 
 In Ella's crystal nature she saw what her own love should be, 
 and might have been. She had witnessed the girl's wild 
 impulse to follow her lover to the depths of the harbor, and 
 her own heart gave swift interpretation. She was alive 
 because a Northern boy, deemed incapable of any thing 
 better than selfish, reckless love-making, had unhesitatingly 
 risked his hfe to save one who had spurned him. Even 
 Mrs. Hunter's prejudice had been compelled to yield, and 
 she to admit the young fellow's nobility, of which she was 
 a living proof. The wretched thought haunted Mara that 
 Owen Clancy, unblinded, had discovered for himself, what 
 had been forced upon her, that there were Northern people 
 with whom he could gladly affiliate. The shadow of death 
 had not been so dark and baleful as the shadow of the past 
 in which she so long had dwelt, for in the former there had 
 been light enough to reveal the folly and injustice of indis- 
 criminating prejudice and enmity. Worse than all these 
 
352 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 thoughts, piercing Hke shafts of Hght the darkness which 
 had obscured her judgment, was the truth, upon which she 
 could not reason, that she shrunk with an ever-increasing 
 dread from words and acts of love unprompted by her 
 heart. 
 
 Like a rock, however, amid all this chaos, — this breaking 
 up of the old which left nothing stable in its place, — re- 
 mained her purpose to go forward. On this evening which 
 was to witness a wilder chaos than that of her long-repressed 
 yet passionate heart, she had said sternly, " My word has 
 been passed, my honor is involved, and he shall never learn 
 that I have trembled and faltered." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter had retired, overcome by the heat, and, 
 believing that she could endure the sultriness better in the 
 little parlor, Mara had turned down the gas, and was sitting 
 by an open window. The city seemed singularly quiet. 
 The street on which she dwelt contained a large population, 
 yet the steps on the pavement were comparatively few. 
 Her own languor was general, and people sought refuge in 
 the seclusion and the undress permitted in their own homes. 
 
 In a vague, half-conscious way she wondered that a large 
 city could be so still at that hour. " Like myself," she mur- 
 mured, " it is half shrouded in gloom and gives but slight 
 hint of much that is hidden, that ever must be hidden. — I 
 wonder where he is to-night. Oh, I've no right to think of 
 him at all. Why can't I say, 'stop,' and end it? — this 
 miserable stealing away of my thoughts until will, like a 
 jailer, pursues and drags them back. Why should a presen- 
 timent of danger to him weigh down my spirit to-night? 
 What other peril can he be exposed to except that of mar- 
 rying a beauty and an heiress ? Ah ! peril enough, if his 
 heart shrinks like mine. Here, now, quit,'' and the word 
 came sharply and angrily in her self-condemnation. 
 
 Then in the silence began that distant groan of nature. 
 
''GODr 353 
 
 It was so distinct, so unlike any thing she had ever heard in 
 its horrible suggestion of all physical evil that she shrank 
 from the window overwhelmed by a nameless dread. In- 
 stinctively she turned up the gas, that she might not face 
 the terror in darkness. As she did so she thought of the 
 rush and roar of the last year's cyclone, but in the next 
 breath learned that this was something infinitely worse — 
 what, she was too confused and terrified to imagine. Then 
 she was thrown to the floor. Raising herself partially on a 
 chair she ^vitnessed an event which paralyzed her with hor- 
 ror. The wall towards the street, with its mirror, pictures, 
 windows, and all pertaining to it fell outward with a crash. 
 
 For a second all was still, as she looked into the darkness 
 which had swallowed up the front and sheltering side of her 
 home. Then immediately about her began a wail of human 
 anguish which grew in agonized intensity, gathering volume 
 far and near until it became like the death-cry of a city. 
 Unconsciously she was joining in it — that involuntary 
 "<?/^-A," that crescendo tidal wave of sound sweeping up- 
 ward from despairing humanity. Then this mighty and 
 bitter cry seemed to become articulate in the word " God." 
 With an instinct swift, inevitable, and irresistible as the 
 power that had shaken the city, the thought of God as 
 the only other power able to cope with the mysterious 
 destroyer, entered into all hearts and found expression. 
 
 Clouds of stifling, whitish-looking dust now came pouring 
 into the unprotected apartment, obscuring the street and 
 rendering dim even the familiar objects near the terrified 
 girl. For a few moments the nervous shock was so great 
 that Mara felt as if paralyzed. She remained lying on the 
 floor, half supporting herself by the chair, waiting in breath- 
 less expectation for she knew not what. The malign power 
 had been so vast, and its work so swift, that even her fearless 
 spirit was overwhelmed. 
 
354 ^-^^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 The shrieks, groans, and prayers, the hurrying steps in 
 the dust-clouded street at last forced upon her attention the 
 fact that all were seeking to escape from the buildings. 
 With difficulty she regained her feet and tottered to Mrs. 
 Hunter's room, but found, to her dismay, that she could not 
 open the door. She called and even shrieked, but there 
 was no answer. A sense of utter desolation and helpless- 
 ness overpowered her. Who could come to her aid? 
 Bodine could not. At such a time he would be almost 
 helpless himself, and there were women in his charge. 
 With a bitterness also akin to the death, which she momen- 
 tarily expected, she knew that her thoughts had flown to 
 Clancy and to no other human being at that hour. She was 
 learning what all others discovered in the stress of the 
 earthquake, that every thing not absolutely essential to life 
 and soul was swept away and almost forgotten. 
 
 To go into the street and get help seemed her only 
 resource, and she made her way down the stairs to where 
 had been the doorway. In vain she appealed to the flying 
 forms. Her cries were unheard in the awful din of shrieks, 
 prayers, groans, and calls of the separated to their friends. 
 The impression made was of a wild panic in which the 
 frenzied thought of flight, escape, predominated. 
 
 She was about to return in something like despair, feeling 
 that she could not leave her aunt, when she saw a tall form 
 rushing towards her. A second later she recognized Owen 
 Clancy leaping over the ruins of her home. With a cry, 
 she fell into his outstretched arms, faint, trembling, yet Avith 
 a sense of refuge, a thrill of exquisite joy before unknown 
 in all her life. 
 
 "Mara, dear Mara, you are not hurt?" he asked breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " No, oh, thank God, you have come ! " 
 
 Again there was the same ominous growl, deep in the 
 
"GO or 355 
 
 earth, which once heard could never be mistaken, never 
 forgotten. Lifting her up Clancy carried her swiftly from 
 beneath the shattered buildings to the middle of the street. 
 She clung to him almost convulsively as the earth again 
 swayed and trembled beneath them, and the awful moan 
 of nature swelled, then died away in the distance. There 
 was an instant of agonized, breathless suspense, then the 
 wail of the stricken city rose again with a deeper accent of 
 terror, a more passionate appeal to heaven, and the effort 
 to escape to the wider spaces was renewed in a more head- 
 long flight. 
 
 " Mara," said Clancy, " at this hour, when every thing 
 may be swept away in a moment, there is nothing left for 
 me but you and God. Will you trust me, and let me do 
 my very best to save you? " 
 
 " O Owen, Owen, God forgive me ! " She uttered the 
 words like a despairing cry, then buried her face upon his 
 breast. 
 
 With a dread greater than that inspired by the earth- 
 quake he thought, " Is it too late ? Can she have married 
 Bodine?" The anguish in her tone combined with her 
 action had revealed both her love and its hopelessness. He 
 said gently, yet firmly, "We must act now and quickly. 
 Where is Mrs. Hunter? " 
 
 Mara had apparently become speechless from grief. 
 Without a word she turned swiftly, and taking his hand 
 led him towards the ruined building. 
 
 " No, stay here. It will not be safe for you to enter," 
 and pushing her gently back he ran up the exposed stair- 
 way, into the parlor, noticing with dismay the general wreck 
 and the danger Mara had run. 
 
 He found that Mara had followed him. " Oh, why will 
 you come?" he exclaimed in deep anxiety. "Where is 
 she? We must get away from all this." 
 
356 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 The sobbing girl could only point to Mrs. Hunter's door. 
 Clancy tried it, but found it jammed, as were so many 
 others that night, adding to the terror of imprisoned in- 
 mates. With strength doubled by excitement he put his 
 shoulder against the barrier and burst it open. A ghastly 
 spectacle met their eyes. Mrs. Hunter lay senseless on her 
 bed in her night-robe, which was stained with blood. She 
 had evidently risen to a sitting posture on the first alarm, 
 and then had been stunned and cut by the hurhng of some 
 heavy object against her head and neck, the shattered 
 mantel-clock on the bed beside her showing how the injury 
 had been done. 
 
 Mara's overwhelming distress ceased its expression at 
 this new horror as she gasped, "Can she be dead?" 
 
 "This is no place to discover," Clancy rephed, rolling 
 the poor woman's form in a blanket. "Mara, dear, we 
 must get away from this house. It may come down any 
 moment. Snatch up wraps, clothing, all you can lay your 
 hands upon, and come." 
 
 Already he was staggering away with Mrs. Hunter in his 
 arms. In a moment Mara did his bidding and followed. 
 Slowly and with difficulty he made his way down the totter- 
 ing, broken stairway, then across the prostrate wall to the 
 centre of the street, now almost deserted. He looked anx- 
 iously around, calculating that no building, if it fell, could 
 reach them at that point, then laid his heavy burden down, 
 and stood panting and recovering from his exertion. 
 
 " I think we shall be as safe here as anywhere until we 
 can reach one of the squares. Put your hand, Mara, over 
 Mrs. Hunter's heart, and see if it is beating," 
 
 " Yes, faintly." 
 
 " Have you stimulants in the house ? Can you tell me 
 where to find them? " 
 
 " You shall not go back there : I will go." And, as if 
 
"GODr 357 
 
 endowed with sudden access of strength, she sprung away. 
 Putting his coat under Mrs. Hunter's head for a pillow 
 he followed instantly. "Now why do you come?" she 
 protested. 
 
 " Because I would rather die with you, Mara, than live 
 safely without you." 
 
 " Oh, for God's sake don't speak that way ! " she replied 
 with a sob. " Here, I have it. Come away, quick." 
 
 As she hastily sought to cross the ruins in the street she 
 missed her footing, and would have fallen had not his ready 
 arm encircled her and borne her to Mrs. Hunter's side. 
 
 "Would to God I had heeded your warning, Owen," she 
 moaned, as she sought to give her aunt some of the brandy, 
 while he chafed the poor woman's wrists. 
 
 " You are not married to Bodine ? " he asked, springing 
 to his feet. 
 
 "No, but I am pledged to him. I cannot break faith 
 and live. You must be my protector in a double sense, 
 protecting me against myself. As you are a Southern 
 gentleman, help and shield me." 
 
 " You ask what is next to impossible, Mara. I can only 
 do my best for you." 
 
 " Oh, how I have wronged you ! " 
 
 " Not so greatly as I have wronged myself. I will tell 
 you all some other time." 
 
 " No, Owen, no. We must keep apart. We must, we 
 must indeed. Oh, oh, it would have been better that I had 
 died ! You must harden your face and heart against me, — 
 that is the only way to help me now." 
 
 " Never shall I harden my heart against you. Whatever 
 comes I shall be your loyal friend." 
 
 " Oh the cruelty of my fate, — to wrong two such men ! " 
 
 " Bress de Lawd ! I'se fown you ; " and Aun' Sheba stood 
 before them, panting and abounding in grateful ejaculations. 
 
358 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 "Aun' Sheba ! " cried Mara, throwing herself into the 
 arms of her old nurse. " To think that you should come 
 to me through all these dangers ! " 
 
 " Wot else I do, honey lam ? You tink you kin be in 
 trouble an' I ain't dar? Marse Clancy, my 'specs. Once 
 1 tinks you a far-wedder frien', but I takes it back. Lawd, 
 Lawd ! is de ole missus dun gone ? " 
 
 " No, Aun' Sheba," said Clancy. " Help us revive her, 
 and then help me carry her to a place of greater safety. 
 You come like an angel of light." 
 
 " I'se rudder hebby an' brack fer'n angel, but, like de 
 angels, we'se all got ter do a heap ob totin' ter-night." 
 
SCENES AEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 359 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 
 
 WHEN George Houghton reached his father's room 
 he heard Jube fairly howUng in the darkness, and 
 the old man groaning heavily. 
 
 " Father," cried the young man, " you are not hurt? " 
 
 " O George, thank God, you have again escaped ! This 
 is an earthquake, isn't it?" 
 
 " It must be, and I must take you out to some open 
 space at once. Jube, shut up, and keep your senses. If 
 you don't help me I'll break your bones." 
 
 Groping about he found a match and lighted a candle. 
 
 "O George, you are hurt. Your face is covered with 
 blood ! " cried Mr. Houghton. 
 
 " Slight cuts only. Come, father, there may be another 
 shock, and it will not be safe to dress you here. Let me 
 wrap you in blankets, and then Jube and I will carry you 
 to Marion Square. I will come back for your clothes." 
 
 This they proceeded to do, Mr. Houghton meanwhile 
 protesting, " No, George, you shall not come back." Then 
 he asked a moment or two later, " Why do you take me 
 out at the side door?" 
 
 " It will be safer," George replied, not wishing to explain 
 that the pillared and massive portico was in ruins. 
 
 As they passed the front of the house, however, Jube 
 groaned, " O Lawd ! de porch dun smashed ! " 
 
 "This is awful, my boy!" ejaculated Mr. Houghton. 
 " Oh, this dreadful city ! this dreadful city ! " 
 
360 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 "The worst is over, I think. Brace up, Jube. If you 
 are so anxious to save your hfe, step hvely." 
 
 "Jes heah de people holler," cried Jube, trembling so he 
 could scarcely keep his hold, and he gave a loud, sympa- 
 thetic yell himself. 
 
 " Stop that," said George sternly. " O Dr. Devoe, I am 
 so glad to see you," he added, as the physician came run- 
 ning up. " You are a godsend." 
 
 "I was passing near," explained the physician, "and, being 
 a bachelor, can think of my patients first. Jube, if you yell 
 again I'll cuff you. Be a man now and we'll all soon be 
 safe." 
 
 They joined the throngs which were gathering on the 
 square, and Mr. Houghton was tenderly placed upon the 
 grass. " Doctor, you and Jube will stay with him while I 
 get articles for his comfort ; " and before his father could 
 again interpose George was off at full speed. 
 
 " He will come out all right," said Dr. Devoe soothingly. 
 " Never fear for George." 
 
 But when the second roll of subterranean thunder was 
 heard, and the cries and lamentations of the people were 
 redoubled, the old man wrung his hands and groaned, " Oh, 
 why did you let him go ? " After the quiver passed he sat 
 up and strained his eyes in the direction from which he 
 hoped again to see his son. The house was not far away, 
 and George soon appeared staggering under a mattress, 
 with bedding, clothing, and other articles essential to the 
 comfort and safety of his father. Jube, under the doctor's 
 assurances, was beginning to rally from his terror, and 
 between them they speedily made the old man comfort- 
 able. 
 
 As George was arranging the pillows his father said, 
 " God forgive me for being so obdurate, my boy. I know 
 where your thoughts are. Go and help her if you can." 
 
SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. $6 1 
 
 With heartfelt murmured thanks the young man kissed 
 his father, and bounded away. 
 
 Ella Bodine and her father were truly in sore trouble. 
 A few minutes before ten, Mrs. Bodine's dehcate and en- 
 feebled organization succumbed to the heat and closeness 
 of the air, and she suddenly swooned. Ella in alarm sum- 
 moned her father and old Hannah, and all were engaged 
 in applying restoratives when they too were appalled by the 
 hideous sound which gave such brief and terrible warning 
 of the disaster. The veteran, who sat by the bedside, 
 chafing his cousin's wrists with spirits, barely had time to 
 get on his crutches when he was thrown violently to the 
 floor, while Ella, with a wild cry, fell across the bed. Then, 
 in expectation of instant death, they listened with an awe 
 too great for expression to the infernal uproar, the crash of 
 falling objects, the groaning and grinding of the swaying 
 house, and above all to the voice of the deep, subterranean 
 power which appeared to be rending the earth. 
 
 Most fortunately the gas was not extinguished, and when 
 it was still again, Ella rushed to her father, and exclaimed 
 as she helped him up, " O papa, what is this? " 
 
 " De Jedgmen Day," said a quivering voice. 
 
 Bodine's face was very white, but his iron nerves did not 
 give way. "Ella," he said firmly, "you must keep calm 
 and do as I say. It is an earthquake. Since the house 
 stands we may hope to revive Cousin Sophy before taking 
 her to the street. Come, Hannah, get up and do your 
 best." 
 
 From her sitting posture on the floor, the old woman only 
 answered in a low terrified monotone, " De Jedgmen Day." 
 
 " O papa, she's just crazed, and we must do every thing 
 ourselves ; " and, Ella, with trembling hands and stifled sobs, 
 began to aid her father. 
 
 " Oh, hear those awful cries in the street," she said after 
 
362 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 a moment. " Don't you think we should try to take cousin 
 out?" 
 
 " If I were not so helpless ! " Bodine groaned. " Hannah, 
 wake up and help." 
 
 " De Jedgmen Day," was the only response. 
 
 " There is no use to look to her, papa. I'm strong. See, 
 I can lift cousin, she is so light." 
 
 " No, Ella, it might injure you for life. If we could only 
 partially revive her, and she could help you a little — 
 There may not be another shock." 
 
 They worked on, growing more assured as the house 
 remained quiet. Hannah was evidently crazed for the time 
 being, for, deaf to all expostulations, she would not move, 
 and kept repeating the terrible refrain. 
 
 "O God ! " said Bodine in tones of the deepest distress, 
 " to think that I cannot go to Mara ! " 
 
 " Well, papa, you can't help it. Your duty is here. May 
 God pity and save us all ! " 
 
 At last the ominous rumble began again in the distance. 
 Ella gave her father a startled look, and saw confirmation of 
 her fear in his face. Old Hannah started up exclaiming, 
 " De Lawd is comin' now shuah. I'se gwine ter meet Him," 
 and she rushed away. 
 
 With another wild cry Ella lifted the form of her cousin 
 in her arms, and, with a strength created by the emergency, 
 staggered down the stairs to the door. Then a man saw 
 and relieved her of her burden. Bodine with difficulty tried 
 to follow, but could not during the brief shock. When all 
 was still again he threw the bedding over his shoulder, went 
 down and speedily checked Ella's wild cries that he should 
 not delay. 
 
 The street was comparatively wide ; the houses were not 
 high, and they found themselves in the midst of a group 
 of refugees like themselves, — mothers sobbing over their 
 
SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 363 
 
 babes, men caring for sick and fainting wives, and children 
 standing by feeble and aged parents. Family servants 
 crouched on the pavement beside their employers, and con- 
 tinually gave utterance to ejaculatory prayers which found 
 sympathetic echoes in the stoutest hearts. Many were 
 coming and going. The place seemed a partial refuge, yet 
 the proximity of houses led one group after another to seek 
 the open squares. In many instances rare fortitude and 
 calmness were displayed. Here, as elsewhere throughout 
 the city, frail women, more often than strong men, were 
 patient and resigned in their Christian faith. 
 
 Ella supported Mrs. Bodine's head upon her lap, and 
 others now aided in the effort to bring back consciousness. 
 Fortunately, however, for the poor lady, she knew not what 
 was passing. 
 
 Suddenly the group parted to make way for a hatless, 
 coadess man, whose face was terribly disfigured with blood 
 and dust. Nevertheless Ella recognized him with the glad 
 cry, " Mr. Houghton ! " 
 
 " Thank Heaven you are safe ! " he gasped, panting heav- 
 ily ; and he gave his hand to Mr. Bodine. 
 
 " But you are injured," said the captain, in deep solicitude. 
 
 " No, nothing worth mentioning ; merely cut and bruised. 
 I came as soon as I had fixed my father safe in the square. 
 I thought you might need help." 
 
 " Mr, Houghton, you are overwhelming us " — 
 
 " Please don't think and talk that way. God knows, a 
 man should give help where it is most needed at such a time. 
 This is Mrs. Bodine ? " 
 
 " Yes, she fainted before the first shock. We have been 
 unable to revive her. At the last shock my daughter carried 
 her down." 
 
 "Miss Bodine!" exclaimed George in surprise and ad- 
 miration. 
 
364 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 She gave him a swift glance through her tears, and then, 
 dropping her eyes, resumed her efforts to revive her 
 cousin. 
 
 "You may well exclaim," said her father. " How she did 
 it I do not know. Excitement gave strength, I suppose," 
 
 " Every thing these kind friends and I can do for her 
 seems useless," Ella faltered. 
 
 " Let me get my wind a litth," said George eagerly, " and 
 I will carry her to the square, where my father is. A good 
 physician is with him." 
 
 At this instant came a third and severer shock than the 
 last, and with it the new terror which sickened the bravest. 
 "O God," cried Ella, "will there be no respite?" Then 
 observing for the first time the pillars of light and smoke 
 rising at different points, she cried in still deeper fear, " O 
 papa, can those be volcanic fires? " 
 
 "No, no, my child." 
 
 " I saw a fire kindling in a deserted house as I came," 
 George added excitedly. "Truly, Captain Bodine, this is 
 no place for your family ; or," turning to the groups near, 
 " for you either, friends. Ah, see ! there is a house almost 
 opposite beginning to burn. Come ; " and without further 
 hesitation he lifted Mrs. Bodine and strode away. 
 
 Not only Ella and her father followed, but also the others, 
 those who were the strongest supporting the feeble and 
 injured. 
 
 They had gone but litde way before Bodine said, " Ella, 
 I must go and see if Mara has escaped. I cannot seek 
 safety myself unless assured that she is safe." 
 
 " O papa, it will be almost suicide for you to go through 
 these streets alone." 
 
 " Ella, there are some things so much worse than death. 
 If you and cousin were alone I would not leave you, but 
 with a strong helper and a physician in prospect I must go. 
 
SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 365 
 
 How could I look Mara in the face again if I made no 
 effort in her behalf? Explain to Mr. Houghton." 
 
 He dropped behind, then turned up a side street and 
 carefully yet quickly halted over and around the impediments 
 strewn in the way. 
 
 Aware of the danger of delay, George went forward with 
 a rapid stride. " Can you keep up? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," Ella replied. 
 
 " We must get by and beyond these higher buildings. I 
 have the horrible dread that they may fall on you any 
 moment." 
 
 "You never seem to think of yourself, Mr. Houghton." 
 
 " I must now," he said after a moment or two. " Here 
 is a comer at which we can rest, for there are no high build- 
 ings near ; " and he sank on the ground with Mrs. Bodine 
 still in his arms. 
 
 " Oh, you are kiUing yourself! " she cried in deep distress. 
 
 " Not at all, only resting. Where is your father? " 
 
 Ella explained and revealed her fears. 
 
 " I will go to his aid and Miss Wallingford's as soon as you 
 and Mrs. Bodine are safe." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, how can I " — 
 
 " By giving me the privilege of serving you, and by not 
 making me miserable from seeing you burdened with a sense 
 of obligation," he said quickly. "That is the one thing I 
 have feared, — that you would be unhappy because it has 
 been my good fortune, — oh, well, you understand." 
 
 She did, better than he, for his swift coming to her aid 
 had banished all doubt of him. 
 
 "Please understand, then, that I gratefully and gladly 
 accept your chivalrous help. Have I not seen it given to 
 the old and feeble before ? Oh these heart-rending cries ! 
 It seems to me that they will haunt me forever." 
 
 " Please support Mrs. Bodine a moment. That is a 
 
366 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 woman's scream just beyond us. She is evidently injured, 
 and probably held fast in the ruins." 
 
 He ran to the spot, and found that a woman had been 
 prostrated and partially buried by the bricks of a falling 
 chimney. She had been unconscious for a time, but now, 
 reviving, her agonized shrieks rose above the other cries. 
 George spoke soothingly to her as he threw the bricks to 
 right and left. She was evidently suffering the extremity 
 of pain, for she again screamed and moaned in the most 
 heart-rending way, although George lifted her as carefully as 
 possible. Laying her down beside Mrs. Bodine he began in 
 distressed perplexity, " What shall we do now ? We cannot 
 leave her here." 
 
 At this moment a group of negroes approached. One 
 was carrying a little girl whom Ella immediately recognized 
 as Vilet. Then she saw Sissy, the mother, carrying her 
 youngest, and weeping hysterically, while the other children 
 clung to her skirts. Uncle Sheba brought up the rear, fairly 
 howling in his terror. The man carrying the child was Mr. 
 Birdsall, who had called with old Tobe just before the first 
 shock. The gray-wooled negro was walking beside his 
 minister, uttering petitions and self-accusations. Old Tobe 
 was comparatively alone in the world, without kith or kin. 
 Mr. Birdsall, feeling that he owed almost an equal duty to 
 his flock, had only stipulated that he should stop at his 
 home for his wife and children. Happily they were un- 
 harmed, and were able to follow unaided ; and so, like a 
 good shepherd, he still carried the weakest of his lambs. 
 
 Ella called to them, and they paused. George, ever 
 prompt in action, saw that old Tobe and Uncle Sheba were 
 able to do more than use their lungs, and he sprung forward 
 to press them into his service. Tobe readily yielded, but 
 Uncle Sheba would do nothing but howl. In his impa- 
 tience George struck him a sharp blow across the mouth, 
 
SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. l6y 
 
 exclaiming, "Stop your infernal noise. If you are strong 
 enough to yell that way you can do something better. Stop, 
 I say, or I'll be worse than two earthquakes ; " and he shook 
 Uncle Sheba's howl into staccato and tremolo notes. 
 
 "Dere am no use foolin wid dat niggah," said old 
 Tobe. 
 
 " Howl, then, if you will, but help you shall ; " and taking 
 him by his shoulder, George pushed him beside Tobe, made 
 the two form a chair with their hands, and put the woman 
 into it, with her arms about the neck of each. 
 
 Taking up Mrs. Bodine he again went forward. The 
 miserable little procession followed, Uncle Sheba mechanic- 
 ally doing his part, at the same time continuing to make 
 night hideous by the full use of a pair of lungs in which 
 was no rheumatic weakness. Motion caused the wretched 
 woman renewed agony, and her shrieks mingled with his 
 stentorian cries. 
 
 " Oh, this is horrible ! " Ella said at George's side. 
 
 " It is indeed. Miss Bodine ; yet how glad I am that you 
 have not been injured ! " 
 
 " Oh, oh, I fear so greatly that my cousin will not live 
 through this dreadful night; and my father, too, is facing 
 unknown dangers ! " 
 
 " This is an awful ill wind. Miss Bodine, but the fact that 
 I can help you and yours gives me a deeper satisfaction 
 than you can imagine." 
 
 She could not trust herself to answer, therefore was silent, 
 and his thought was, " I must go slower on that tack, and 
 not so close to the wind." The forlorn company eventually 
 reached the square, and made their way to the place where 
 George had left his father. As the old man saw his son, 
 and comprehended his mission of mercy as well as love, he 
 murmured, " God forgive me that it should require an 
 earthquake to teach how much better is his spirit than 
 
368 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 mine," and his heart grew as tender as a mother's towards 
 his boy. 
 
 Dr. Devoe, who was attending another patient not far 
 away, came up hastily and eased the poor creature out of 
 the negroes' hands to the ground. 
 
 He gave her some of the wine George had brought for 
 his father, saying as he did so, "Try to be calm, now, 
 madam. I am a physician, and will do all I can for you." 
 
 Mr. Houghton promptly sent Jube to the doctor with one 
 of his pillows and part of his bedding, so the woman was 
 made as comfortable as her condition permitted. 
 
 George laid Mrs. Bodine on the grass, and then with the 
 scanty bedding Ella had carried, aided in making a resting- 
 place not far from his father. He next lifted Mrs. Bodine's 
 head into the girl's lap, and was about to turn his attention 
 to Uncle Sheba, but was anticipated. Two men had taken 
 him by the shoulders, one of them saying, " If you don't 
 keep still we'll tie you under the nearest building and leave 
 you there," and they began to march him off. At this dire 
 threat Uncle Sheba collapsed and fell to the ground, where 
 he was left. 
 
 Dr. Devoe divided his attention between the fatally in- 
 jured woman and Mrs. Bodine, who under his remedies and 
 the efforts of George and Ella soon revived. Mr. Hough- 
 ton looked with wonder, pity, and some embarrassment at 
 the small, frail form, and the white, thin face of one whom 
 he had characterized as " that terrible old woman." She 
 seemed scarcely a shadow of what she had been on that 
 former night, more terrible even than this one to the then 
 stricken father. Now the son whom he had thought dead 
 had carried her to his side, and was bending over her. 
 
 "Well, well," he muttered, "the ways of God are above 
 and beyond me. I give up, I give up." 
 
 Then his eyes rested on Ella. He saw a face which even 
 
SCENES NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN. 369 
 
 the dust of the streets could not so begrime as to hide its 
 sweetness or its tenderness, as, with deep soHcitude, she 
 bent over her cousin. A conflagration raging near now 
 began to flame so high that its hght flickered on the girl's 
 face, etherealizing its beauty, and turning her fluffy hair to 
 gold. She became like a vision to the old man, 'angelic, 
 yet human in her natural sympathy. The thought would 
 come, " I have fought like a demon to keep that face from 
 bending over me in my feebleness and age. Truly God's 
 ways are best." 
 
 Ella had only glanced at his pale, rugged face with awe 
 and dread, and then had given all her thoughts to her 
 cousin. 
 
 As the latter began to regain consciousness, she motioned 
 George away, and with Dr. Devoe, sought to complete the 
 work of restoration. To dazed looks and confused ques- 
 tions she replied merely with soothing words until the doctor 
 said kindly, but firmly, " Mrs. Bodine, you are now safe, 
 and as comfortable as we can make you. Do not try to 
 comprehend what has happened. There are so many worse 
 off who need attention " — 
 
 " There, there, doctor," Mrs. Bodine interrupted, with a 
 flash of her old spirit, " no matter what's happened. I 
 thank you for your attention. Please give it now to 
 others." 
 
 " Doctor," said George, " I fear the little colored girl 
 who came in with us is dying." They went to the spot 
 where Sissy was pillowing Vilet's head against her breast. 
 The physician made a brief examination, and heard how a 
 brick had fallen on the child as they were getting her out, 
 then said, " I'm sorry I can do nothing but alleviate her 
 pain a litde." 
 
 Turning away promptly he began, " See here, Houghton, 
 I must go to the nearest drug- store and help myself if no 
 
370 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 one's there. Will you come with me ? I shall need a lot 
 of things, more than I can carry." 
 
 " I can't," George replied, " but here is the man that will, 
 I think ; " and he roused old Tobe who sat quietly near with 
 his head buried in his hands. 
 
 " Sartin. I do wot I kin while de can'el hole out to 
 bum," Tobe assented rising. 
 
 " That's right, my man, and you'll help other candles to 
 hold out." 
 
 " Doctor, understand me," explained George, " I must go 
 and search for Captain Bodine, who is wandering on crutches 
 about the city," and he hastened to say a word to his father. 
 
 Ella saw him kneel by the old man, and then rise after a 
 moment or two with such gladness in his face that even the 
 blood and dust stains could not disguise it. Little wonder, 
 for Mr. Houghton had said, " I'm conquered, George. I 
 give all up, — all my ambitious dreams about you. What 
 dreams they now seem ! This awful earthquake has shaken 
 away every thing except life, and the love which makes life 
 worth any thing. I've seen the girl, and I don't blame you. 
 Go ahead." 
 
 " Oh, thanks, thanks. You'll never be sorry ; but father, 
 please don't say any thing to her about — about — Well, 
 she don't know, and I must woo before I can hope to win." 
 
 "You needn't worry about me. I'm old enough to be 
 wary," and the old man could not repress a grim smile. 
 Then he added, " George, for mercy's sake, try to get the 
 blood and dust off your face, and find a coat. You look as 
 if you had been through a prize-fight." 
 
 George explained the quest he was about to enter upon, 
 and promised caution. Then he approached Ella. " Miss 
 Bodine," he said, " I will now search for your father till I 
 find him." 
 
 Again the girl could not trust herself to speak, but tears 
 
SCE.VES NEVER TO BE FORGO 7' JEN. 3/1 
 
 came into her eyes as she gave him her hand. He pressed 
 it so hard as to leave a dehcious ache, and hastened 
 away. 
 
 "Good Lor! who was that awful-looking man?" Mrs. 
 Bodine asked Ella. 
 
 "George Houghton. He carried you from home here." 
 
 " Lor ! Lor ! Saved my life as well as yours and Cousin 
 Hugh's? " 
 
 " Yes, and now he's going to help papa and Mara." 
 
 " Well, well, we'll have to forgive him for being born 
 North. Is that old " — 
 
 Ella stopped her mouth with a kiss, and whispered. That 
 is his father. Don't let us look at him. In fact, I'm afraid 
 to — at least while he is so ill." 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Mrs. Bodine, "if this earthquake does 
 not cure him of his cussedness, I hope the Lord will take 
 him to heaven." 
 
 " He did not prevent George from coming to me, nor his 
 going to papa's aid. He was kind, too, to that poor woman 
 yonder. Oh, I'm so sorry for her, and I wish I could do 
 something." 
 
 " Perhaps you can. Go and see." 
 
 " I've nothing to put under your head, cousin." 
 
 " I'll put patience under it. That, I reckon, is all I have 
 left now. Go, Ella, dear, I can't bear to hear her moan. 
 I'm in no pain, and that wine has quite heartened me." 
 
 Ella did as she was bidden. That Mr. Houghton was 
 observant was quickly proved, for he said to Jube, " Take 
 this pillow to that lady yonder. If she declines, say you 
 have your orders, and leave it." 
 
 Mrs. Bodine raised herself on her elbow and protested. 
 
 " Madam," said Mr. Houghton, " do not deny a helpless 
 man the privilege of doing a little for the comfort of others 
 at a time like this." 
 
372 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " But you have none left for yourself, sir," Mrs. Bodine 
 replied. 
 
 " Madam, you can understand what a satisfaction that 
 will be to me under the circumstances." 
 
 Mrs. Bodine yielded and admitted to herself that she was 
 much more comfortable. " I reckon the earthquake is do- 
 ing him good," she thought, "and that the Lord better keep 
 him here a while longer." 
 
 "Can't you hft me up a httle?" gasped the injured 
 woman to Ella. " Oh, how I suffer, suffer! " 
 
 Ella sat, down beside her, and gently shifted the pillow 
 so that it came under the wounded back, while the weary 
 head rested against her bosom. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the poor creature, " that's easier. I reckon 
 I won't have to suffer much longer." 
 
 Ella spoke soothingly and gently. Mr. Houghton, who 
 could only hear the sweet tenderness of her tones, wiped 
 tears from his eyes as he again murmured, " God forgive 
 me, blind, obstinate old fool that I've been ! " 
 
 The adjacent flames now lit up the entire scene, throwing 
 their baleful light on such an assemblage as had never before 
 gathered in this New World. 
 
 The convulsion which threatened to raze every home in 
 the city had certainly brought the people down to the same 
 level. Both white and colored citizens were mingled to- 
 gether on the square in a swiftly created democracy. Char- 
 acter, the noble qualities of the soul, without regard to color 
 or previous condition, now only gave distinction. 
 
A HOMELESS CITY. 373 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 A HOMELESS CITY. 
 
 THE efforts of Clancy and Mara combined with the 
 vigorous and sensible ministrations of Aun' Sheba at 
 last brought consciousness to Mrs. Hunter. Tearing up a 
 Imen sheet they stanched and bound up her wounds, arid 
 then Clancy said, " We must get her to one of the squares 
 and under a physician's care as soon as possible." 
 
 " My folks is gwine to Mar'on Squar, an' dar I promise 
 ter come," said Aun' Sheba. " It's 'bout as nigh as any ob 
 dem." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter looked at Clancy, and shrunk from him 
 visibly. He said quickly, " Surely, Mrs. Hunter, all enmi- 
 ties should be forgotten at this time, or at least put aside. 
 We should leave this narrow side-street at once." 
 
 "Aunty," said Mara gently, "Mr. Clancy has saved us 
 both from destruction. For my sake and Aun' Sheba's as 
 well as your own, you must let him do all in his power." 
 
 The earthly, yet unearthly, rumble of another shock put 
 an end to further hesitation. It would be long before the 
 terror inspired by this phenomenon would cease to be over- 
 whelming. 
 
 Aun' Sheba lifted her arms imploringly to heaven, while 
 the vivid consciousness of the direst peril known brought 
 Mara and Clancy together again in an embrace that was the 
 natural expression of the feeling that, if die they must, they 
 would die together. With such black ruin about them, 
 
374 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 caused by one shock, the fear could not be combated that 
 the next might end every thing. 
 
 When the convulsion passed, Clancy and Aun' Sheta 
 immediately formed a chair with their hands, and Mara 
 helped Mrs. Hunter, now ready enough to escape by any 
 means, to avail herself of it. They made their way with 
 difficulty over the debris to King Street. Here they were 
 obliged to pause and rest. No rest, however, did Clancy 
 obtain, for a momentary glance revealed one of the awful 
 phases of the disaster. Three or four doors above them, 
 houses were burning from overturned and exploded lamps. 
 Some of the shop-keepers were frantically endeavoring to 
 save a few of their goods, often, in their excitement, carrying 
 out the strangest and most valueless articles. Clancy's brief 
 glance gave no heed to such efforts, but before he could 
 turn away, a woman with a child in her arms came rushing 
 from one of the burning houses. Her dress had touched 
 the fire, and was beginning to burn. Clancy caught one 
 of the blankets from Mara, and with it extinguished the 
 flames, while Mara took the infant. The instant the babe 
 was out of her arms the mother tried to break away and rush 
 back, shrieking, " There's another ! there's another child ! " 
 
 "Where?" cried Clancy, restraining her. 
 
 " In the front room there." 
 
 " Stay here, then," and he darted through the doorway, 
 out of which the smoke was pouring as from a chimney. 
 
 Mara and the mother looked after him in breathless and 
 agonized suspense. The flames had burst suddenly into 
 the apartment, and through the windows they could see him 
 enter, snatch up the child, and disappear. But he did not 
 come out of the street door as soon as they expected. 
 They could endure waiting no longer. Both dashed into 
 the smoke-clouded passage-way, and stumbled against Clancy 
 where he had sunk down within a few steps of safety. 
 
A HOMELESS CITY. 375 
 
 The mother seized her child, while Mara, with a strength 
 given by her heart, dragged the strangling man to the open 
 air. By this time Aun' Sheba was at her side, and between 
 them they carried him to the spot where Mrs. Hunter lay. 
 Now that he could breathe he soon recovered; Mara's 
 tender and imploring words being potent indeed in rallying 
 him. His exposure to heat and smoke had been terrible, 
 but fortunately very brief. 'He was soon on his feet, ex- 
 claiming, " We must go on to Meeting Street, for there we 
 shall have a better chance." 
 
 Thither they made their way with other fugitives, Clancy 
 and Aun' Sheba carrying Mrs. Hunter as before, Mara fol- 
 lowing with the infant, and close beside her the grateful 
 mother with the other child. 
 
 Having reached a somewhat open space in the wider 
 thoroughfare, the young man became satisfied that another 
 mode of transportation must be found. Mrs. Hunter was 
 too heavy for the primitive method adopted in the emer- 
 gency. Aun' Sheba took the injured woman's head upon 
 her lap while he rested and looked about for something like 
 an army stretcher. Among the ruins he found one of the 
 long wooden shutters which a jeweller had placed against 
 his window hours before. Watches and gems gleamed in 
 the light of kindling fires, and were within easy reach, but 
 the most unscrupulous of thieves were honest that night. 
 Clancy carried the shutter to Mrs. Hunter's side, and then 
 watched for some man whom he could persuade into his 
 service. 
 
 The great thoroughfare was full of fugitives, and soon 
 among them the mother recognized a man of her acquaint- 
 ance, who took charge of her and the children. The 
 majority, like Clancy, had been delayed by efforts in behalf 
 of the sick or injured, and already had their hands full. 
 Others were so dazed and horror-stricken that they moved 
 
376 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 about aimlessly, or sat upon the pavement, moaning and 
 lamenting in despairing accents. It would appear as if the 
 emergency developed the strength and the weakness of every 
 mind. Some were evidently crazed. As Mara stood beside 
 Mrs. Hunter to prevent the crowd from trampling upon her, 
 she saw a half-dressed man, breaking his way through the 
 throng. The maniac stopped before her, and for a moment 
 fixed upon her wild, blood-shot eyes, then placed an infant 
 in her arms, and with a yell bounded away. Mara, horror- 
 stricken, saw that the child was dead, and that its neck was 
 evidently broken. Clancy came up immediately, and taking 
 the infant laid it down out of the central path, for all kept 
 to the middle of the street. 
 
 As he did so, he heard his name called by a voice he 
 knew too well. The feeling it inspired compelled him again 
 to recognize how false he had been to himself and also to 
 Miss Ainsley, Her summons now brought the feeling that he 
 too, like Mara, was bound, and he went instantly to her side. 
 
 " Ah, you deserted me ! " she said bitterly. 
 
 He silently pointed to Mrs. Hunter, who presented so 
 sad a spectacle that even the exacting girl had no further 
 words of reproach, but she glanced keenly at Mara. 
 
 " We feared a tidal wave," Mr, Willoughby explained, 
 " and so decided to seek the upper portion of the city." 
 
 "Mrs. Willoughby, if you are able to walk," said Clancy, 
 " your husband must aid me and Aun' Sheba in carrying 
 Mrs. Hunter, who is very badly injured." 
 
 "Oh, now that the first terrible shock to my nerves is 
 over, I am as well able to take care of myself as any of 
 you," replied the spirited little woman. 
 
 "That's like you!" exclaimed Clancy heartily. Then 
 turning, he said with emphasis, " Miss Ainsley, you see that 
 a man's first duty to-night is to the injured and utterly 
 helpless." 
 
A HOMELESS CITY. ^JJ 
 
 " Forgive me," she replied in tones meant for his ear only, 
 " I did not know you owed so much to Mrs. Hunter and 
 her niece." 
 
 " I shall owe my ser\'ices to every injured man and woman 
 until all are rescued," was his quiet reply. Then he helped 
 Mr, Willoughby place Mrs. Hunter on the improvised sup- 
 port, and between them they bore her onward, the others 
 following. 
 
 Their progress was necessarily slow, for the street was 
 encumbered not only with fugitives like themselves, but 
 also with tangled telegraph-wires and all sorts of other 
 impediments. Once they had to cower tremblingly under 
 a tall building while a fire-engine thundered by, threatening 
 to bring down upon them the shattered walls. As they 
 resumed their slow and painful march Bodine met them, his 
 glad, out-spoken greeting to Mara filling her heart with new 
 grief and dismay, while it allayed the jealousy and bitterness 
 of Miss Ainsley's wounded pride. 
 
 The Northern girl had heard the report that Mara and 
 the veteran were engaged, and here was confirmation. Mara 
 inquired eagerly after Mrs. Bodine and Ella, then took her 
 place at the captain's side, while Clancy moved on with set 
 teeth and a desperate rallying of his physical powers, which 
 he knew to be failing. 
 
 Now that Ella was in the square, young Houghton was 
 not so impetuous as to ignore the claims of nature or to be 
 regardless of his outward appearance. He again returned 
 to his home, and saw Sam kneeling and praying aloud near 
 the bam, with the two horses standing beside him. 
 
 " Sam, go to the square," he shouted. 
 
 " Can't lebe dese hosses. Dey's bofe lookin' ter me, an' 
 I'se prayin fer dem an us all." 
 
 " No matter about the horses. The house is too near." 
 Then he ventured into the butler's pantry, cleansed his face 
 
378 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 and the cuts and bruises about his head, snatched some 
 food, and hastened away. He believed he had a hard night's 
 work before him, and that he must maintain his strength. 
 He had not gone very far down Meeting Street before he 
 met the group accompanying Mrs. Hunter. With a glad cry 
 he welcomed Mrs. Willoughby, and was about to take her 
 hand when Clancy said, " Houghton, for God's sake, quick ! " 
 
 George caught the end of the litter while Clancy reeled 
 backward and would have fallen had not Mara, with a cry 
 she could not repress, caught him in her arms and sunk with 
 him to the pavement. He gasped a moment or two, then his 
 eyes closed ; he became still and looked as if dead. 
 
 Again the supremely dreaded subterranean rumble was 
 heard. Mr. Willoughby shouted wildly, " Forward, quick ! 
 We can't stay here under these buildings." He and Hough- 
 ton went on with a rush, the rest following with loud cries, 
 Miss Ainsley's piercing scream ringing out above all. She 
 did not even look back at her prostrate suitor. 
 
 Mara paid no heed to the passing shock, but with eyes 
 full of anguish looked upon the white face in her lap. 
 
 "Mara," said the deep voice of Bodine after the awful 
 sound had passed. She started violently and began to 
 tremble. 
 
 " Mara, go with the others. I will stay with Mr. Clancy." 
 
 She shook her head, but was speechless. 
 
 He stood beside her, his face full of deep and perplexed 
 trouble. 
 
 At last she said hoarsely, "You go and bring aid. He 
 saved aunty and me, and I cannot leave him." 
 
 At this moment Aun' Sheba came running back, exclaim- 
 ing, " Good Lawd forgib me dat I should leab my honey 
 lam' ! My narbes all shook out ob jint like de houses, an' 
 my legs run away wid me, dog gone 'em ! Day's brung me 
 back howsomeber. Now, Missy Mara, gib him ter me j " 
 
A HOMELESS CITY. 379 
 
 and taking him under the arms she dragged him by the 
 adjacent tall buildings. " Missy," she added, sinking down 
 with her burden, " go on ter de squar wid Marse Bodine, an' 
 tell dat ar young Houghton ter come quick, 'fore my legs 
 run away wid me agin," 
 
 "Both of you go to the square," commanded Bodine in 
 the tone he would have used on the battle-field. " I will 
 stay. There shall be no useless risk of hfe." 
 
 Mara lifted her dark eyes to his face. Even at that 
 moment he knew he should never forget their expression. 
 " My friend," she said in low, agonized tones, " he may be 
 dying, he may be dead. I can not, will not leave him." 
 
 " No, he ain't dead," said Aun' Sheba, with her hand over 
 Clancy's heart, "but seems purty nigh it. Him jes gone 
 beyon his strengt. Ole missus po'ful heby ef she ain't fat 
 like me. Tank de Lawd, I hasn't ter be toted ter-night. 
 No one but Kern ud tote me. Po' Kern ! him heart jes 
 break wen he know." 
 
 Bodine stood guard silent and grim while Mara mechan- 
 ically chafed one of Clancy's hands. She was now far 
 beyond tears, far beyond any thing except the anguish de- 
 picted in her face. In a confused way she felt that the 
 terrible events of the night and her own heart had over- 
 powered her ; and, with a half-despairing recklessness, she 
 merely lived from moment to moment. 
 
 The earthquake had ceased to have personal terrors for 
 Bodine. He had faced death too often. Nevertheless a 
 great fear oppressed him as he looked down upon the girl 
 he loved. 
 
 The square was not far away; Houghton and Mr. Wil- 
 loughby came hastening back, and Clancy was soon added 
 to the group of sufferers under Dr. Devoe's care. 
 
 To Miss Ainsley's general disgust at a city in which she 
 had been treated to such a rude and miserable experience, 
 
380 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 was added a little self-disgust that she had rushed away and 
 left Clancy to his fate. She tried to satisfy herself by think- 
 ing that he had acted in much the same way towards her, 
 but it would not answer. Mrs. Hunter's blood-stained face, 
 rendered tenfold more ghasdy by the light of the flames, was 
 too strong refutation, and the fact that Mara had remained 
 with Clancy had its sting. She saw Ella and many others 
 ministering to the injured and feeble, and felt that she must 
 redeem her character. When the unconscious man was 
 brought in, therefore, she hastened forward to receive and 
 in a measure claim him. 
 
 Although mentally comparing her conduct with that of 
 Mara, Houghton and Mr. Willoughby thought it was all 
 right, put Clancy in her charge, and began to follow Dr. 
 Devoe's directions. Mara gave the girl a look which brought 
 a blush to her face, and then devoted herself to her aunt. 
 
 Captain Bodine's first act was to speak gently and encour- 
 agingly to his daughter and cousin, congratulating the latter 
 on her recovery. 
 
 "Yes, Hugh," said the old lady, " I'm safe, safer than I've 
 been at other times in my life. This is but one more storm, 
 and it is only driving me nearer the harbor. You look 
 dreadfully ; you're worn out." 
 
 " More by anxiety than exertion. It is awful to be so 
 helpless at such a time." 
 
 " Sit down here on the grass beside me. I want to talk. 
 I may not have much more chance in this world, but feel 
 sure that I shall do my share in the next. O Hugh, Hugh, 
 we've all been shaken hke naughty children, and some of us 
 may be the better and the wiser for it. If Ella and that 
 gallant knight of hers survive, how happy they will be ! It 
 makes me happy even to think of it, though for aught we 
 know the earth may open and swallow us all within the next 
 five minutes." 
 
A I/O ME LESS CITY. 38 1 
 
 " Yes, the dear child ! Thank God for her sake ! " 
 
 " For your own too. There is Mara safe also. Poor Mrs. 
 Hunter ! she looks death-like to me. You look awfully too. 
 I never saw you so pale and haggard." 
 
 " Cap'n Bodine, Marse Houghton send you dis," said Jube 
 at his elbow, proffering a glass of wine. 
 
 The captain turned his startled eyes upon his old em- 
 ployer, who lay just out of earshot of their low tones. 
 
 "Take it, Hugh," said his cousin earnestly. "Drink to 
 the death of hate. He and I have made up." 
 
 The veteran hesitated, and a spasm, as if from a wrench 
 of pain, passed over his face. Then he took the glass, and 
 said coldly, " I drink to your recovery, sir." 
 
 " I thank you," was Mr. Houghton's response. 
 
 " A very fair beginning, Hugh, for a man," his cousin 
 resumed. "You might as well give up at once, though. 
 Every thing is going to be shaken down that shouldn't stand." 
 
 Ominous words to the veteran, for he felt that his dream 
 of happiness was faUing in ruins. 
 
 By the natural force of circumstances the several charac- 
 ters of our story had been brought comparatively near to- 
 gether, yet were separated into httle groups. Dr. Devoe 
 passed from one to the other as his services were needed, 
 nor were they confined to those known to us. He simply 
 made a little open space beside Mr. Houghton his head- 
 quarters, where he left his remedies under the charge of the 
 invahd, Jube, and old Tobe. Other physicians had joined 
 him and were indefatigable in the work of relief. Some 
 of the city clergy were also in the square, speaking words of 
 Christian faith and hope, which never before had seemed so 
 precious. 
 
 To Clancy Dr. Devoe gave a good deal of attention. 
 Not only was his hair singed, but his neck and hands were 
 badly burned, and his swoon was so obstinate as to indicate 
 
382* THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 great exhaustion. This could scarcely be other\vise, for he 
 possessed no such physique as young Houghton had de- 
 veloped. Moreover he had passed through a mental strain 
 and excitement which no one could comprehend except 
 Mara, and she but partially. Houghton had put his coat 
 under the head of the unconscious man, and was doing his 
 best for him. So also was Miss Ainsley now. She had 
 purposely turned her back on Mara, and her face was 
 towards the adjacent conflagration, which distinctly lighted 
 up her face and form, transforming her into a vision of 
 marvellous beauty. Her long hair had fallen in a golden 
 veil over her bare shoulders and neck ; her dark eyes were 
 lustrous with excitement and full of solicitude. When at 
 last Clancy opened his eyes his first impression was that an 
 angel was ministering to him in a light too brilliant to be 
 earthly. He recognized Miss Ainsley's voice, however, and 
 when he had taken some of the wine which the doctor 
 pressed to his lips, all that had happened came back to 
 him. George now returned in sohcitude to his father, also 
 designing to take a litde much-needed rest, while the 
 doctor gave his attention to other patients. With returning 
 consciousness Clancy was overpowered by a deep sense of 
 gratitude to this beautiful creature, and also by a strong 
 feeling of compunction that he had sought the regard which 
 she now seemed to bestow unstintedly. " Like Mara, " he 
 thought, " there is nothing left for me but to fulfil obliga- 
 tions from which I cannot honorably withdraw." 
 
 " You are indeed kind and devoted," he said feebly. " I 
 fear I have made a good deal of trouble." 
 
 " No, Mr. Clancy, you have gone beyond your strength. 
 In fact, we are all distracted and half beside ourselves. 
 Won't you let me take your head into my lap? If I am 
 caring for you I can better endure these awful scenes." 
 And she made the change. 
 
A HOMELESS CITY 383 
 
 " I hope you will forgive me for leaving you so abruptly 
 on the Battery. Mrs. Hunter and Miss Wallingford really 
 had no one to look to." 
 
 " Captain Bodine evidently thinks Miss Wallingford should 
 look to him." 
 
 " In such an emergency he would be even more helpless 
 than she." 
 
 " Oh, well, I hope the worst is now over for us all, and 
 that we can soon get away from this awful town." 
 
 He gave no answer. Miss Ainsley knew that her father 
 was not far distant, and that he would come for her by the 
 first train which could reach the city. Accustomed all her 
 life to look at every thing from the central point of self, 
 she now, in the greater sense of safety, began to give some 
 thought to the future. Her first conscious decision was to 
 try to be as brave as possible, and so leave a good impres- 
 sion. The second was to get away from the city at once, 
 and she hoped she might never see it again. If Clancy 
 would go with her, if he would even eventually join her at 
 the North, she believed that she could marry him, so 
 favorable was the impression that he had made, but she felt 
 that she was making a great concession, which he must duly 
 appreciate. At present the one consuming wish was to 
 escape, to get away from scenes which to her were horrible 
 in the last degree. 
 
 In truth only a brave spirit could witness what was taking 
 place on every side, or maintain fortitude under the over- 
 whelming impression of personal danger, — an impression 
 which soon banished the partial sense of security felt after 
 reaching the square. The extent of the terror inspired by 
 the earthquake can best be measured by the fact that 
 although columns of smoke and fire, consuming homes and 
 threatening to lay the city in ashes, were rising at several 
 points, they were scarcely heeded. The roar of adjacent 
 
384 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 flames could even be heard by the vast concourse, but ears 
 were strained to detect that more terrible roar that seemed 
 to come from unknown depths beneath the ocean and the 
 land, and to threaten a fate as awful and mysterious as 
 itself. Even many of the white population could not help 
 sharing in some degree the general belief among the negroes 
 that the end of all things was at hand. The nervous shock 
 sustained by all prepared the way for the wildest fears and 
 conjectures. As in the instance of a bloody battle, those 
 were the best off who were the most occupied. 
 
 Thousands, however, sat and waited in sickening appre- 
 hension, fearing some new horror with every passing moment. 
 There was a sound of weeping throughout the square, while 
 above this monotone rose groans, cries, hysterical screams, 
 loud petitions for mercy, and snatches of hymns. The emo- 
 tional negroes left no moments of silence. The majority 
 of the white people had become comparatively calm. They 
 talked in low tones, encouraging and soothing one another ; 
 the lips of even those who seldom looked heavenward now 
 often moved in silent prayer ; fathers, on whose brows rested 
 a heavy load of care, tried to cheer their trembling famihes ; 
 and mothers clasped their sobbing children in their arms, 
 with the feeling that even death should not part them. 
 
 Over all this array of pallid, haggard faces, shone the 
 flames of the still unquenched conflagration. 
 
THE TERROR BY NIGHTr 385 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE TERROR BY NIGHT. 
 
 WHEN Aun' Sheba saw that Mara, Mrs. Hunter, and 
 Clancy were among friends, with a physician in at- 
 tendance, she sat down by her daughter Sissy, and took Httle 
 Vilet in her lap. 
 
 "I kin'er feel," she said, "dat ef de yearth is gwine ter 
 swaller us, I'se like ter go down wid dis chile. Vilet shuah 
 to go up ag'in, an' p'raps de Lawd ud say, ' You kin come 
 too, Aun' Sheba.' " 
 
 The sound of her voice so far restored Uncle Sheba to 
 his normal condition, that Jie was able to creep on his hands 
 and knees to a position just behind his wife, where he 
 crouched as if she were a sort of general protection. 
 
 Vilet, roused at her grandmother's voice, looked around, 
 and then asked in her plaintive voice, " Whar's daddy?" 
 
 " He's hep'n' put'n' out de fiahs, deah chile." 
 
 " My bref gittin' bery sho't, granny. I can't stay dis side 
 ob de riber much longer ; I wants ter see daddy 'fore I go." 
 
 " Po' chile and po' Kern," groaned Aun' Sheba. " We 
 doesn't know whar he be, an' I'se 'feerd he couldn't lebe off 
 puttin' out de fiahs." 
 
 From time to time Vilet wailed, " Daddy, come, come 
 quick. I'se gwine fas, an' I wants to see you onst mo'." 
 
 Captain Bodine heard the cry, and, having rested himself 
 a little, came to Aun' Sheba and asked, " Do you know, 
 where Kern is?" 
 
386 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I doan, Marse Cap'n, but he mought be at dis nighest 
 fiah." 
 
 "I'll see," said the veteran, halting away with the feeling 
 that he must do something to divert his torturing thoughts. 
 
 Watson was soon pointed out to him, where with stern 
 and quiet face he was carrying out his orders. When told 
 that Vilet was near and calling for him, the veins came out 
 on his forehead, and for a moment he was irresolute. Then 
 he cried, " No, sah, I can't go. Fo' de Lawd, ef she die 
 an' we all die I won't lebe my duty." 
 
 " You're a man," said Bodine, clapping him on the shoul- 
 der, " I will arrange this." 
 
 He went direct to Kern's superior officer and briefly told 
 him the circumstances, then added, " I know these people. 
 ^^'atson deserves consideration. I will take his place. I 
 can hold the hose as well as he, and will stand as near the 
 fire as he does if you will order hnn to go to his dying child 
 for a few minutes." 
 
 " In that case I can comply," said the officer. " Watson 
 has behaved splendidly, and he'll come back soon." 
 
 The first thing Kern knew, the hose was taken from his 
 hand, and he ordered to go and return within ten minutes. 
 He hesitated. " Obey orders," was the stern command. 
 Then he rushed away. 
 
 The plaintive cry, " Daddy, daddy," guided him, and 
 Vilet was in his arms. 
 
 " Chile, deah chile ! " was all he could say as he kissed 
 the thin face again and again. 
 
 " Now my min's at res'," said the little girl, with a sigh 
 of ineffable content. " You 'member, daddy, — you says — 
 'Yes, Vilet.' — I'se a-goin', daddy. De angels — is all 
 ready — to tote me to Heben. I kin jes' heah dere wings 
 
 — rustlin' roun' me. I was jes' waitin', — an' hol'n back 
 
 — ter see you onst mo'. Good-by, modcr — granny." 
 
" THE TERROR BY NIGHTr ^Zy 
 
 Then she feebly wound her little arms about Kern's neck 
 and whispered, " Good-by, daddy, fer jes' a lil while. I'se 
 wait neah de gate fer you sliuah.^'' 
 
 It would seem that she put all her remaining strength into 
 this effort, for her head fell over on his shoulder ; she quiv- 
 ered a moment, then was still. Kern could not repress one 
 deep groan. He looked for a moment of agony mto his 
 child's face, kissed it, then placing her in Aun' Sheba's lap, 
 departed as swiftly as he came. Sissy was so overcome as 
 to be helpless. 
 
 " Your time wasn't up," said the veteran. 
 
 " Her time was up, Cap'n Bodine," Kern managed to 
 reply, his face rigid with repressed emotion. " She die in 
 my arms. God bless yo' fer you'se feelins fer a po' man." 
 
 " Watson, I do feel for you and with you. Our hearts 
 are all breaking to-night. Take care of yourself. You have 
 a wife and children still to live for." x^nd Bodine halted 
 back and seated himself by his cousin. 
 
 Alas ! for thousands the words of Bodine were only too 
 true. As they contemplated what had happened and what 
 might occur at any moment, they felt that heavy, crushing 
 pain, unlike all others, which gathers at the heart, over- 
 whelming the spirit and threatening physical dissolution at 
 one and the same time. 
 
 Yet such is the power of human affection and Christian 
 faith, that they won many triumphs, even during that night 
 of horrors. In Ella and the dying woman, whose head she 
 pillowed on her breast, were examples of both. The girl's 
 heart was indeed pitiful and sympathetic, and the poor crea- 
 ture knew that it was, for in broken, gasping words she told 
 her brief, pathetic story, so like that of many other women 
 in the South, Once she was a happy girl at home on a 
 small plantation, but father, brothers, and lover had all per- 
 ished in the war. Home and mother had since been lost. 
 
388 THE EARTH TRE-^IBLED. 
 
 and she was fighting out life's long, weary battle when this 
 final disaster brought the end. "Yes, kind lady, I reckon 
 I'm dying : I hope so. I couldn't take care of myself any 
 longer, and I'd rather join those who have gone on before 
 me than trust to the charity of this world. I am very 
 weary, very heavy laden, and I'd rather go to Him who said, 
 '■ Come to Me.' If you can stay with me a little longer — 
 I don't fear, but it's very sweet to have human kindness and 
 company down into the dark valley." 
 
 Her words proved true. She evidendy perished from 
 internal injuries, for she soon ceased to gasp, and her head 
 lay still against the bosom of the sobbing girl. 
 
 Dr. Devoe was present during the last moments, then 
 gently reheved Ella from her lifeless burden, and supported 
 her to her father on whose shoulder she shed those natural 
 tears which soon bring relief to the hearts of the young. 
 George Houghton and Jube carried the body to the place 
 set apart for the dead. Then George returned to his father's 
 side, but looked wistfully at Ella with an unspeakable longing 
 to comfort her. 
 
 " I don't wonder, my boy," said Mr. Houghton, interpret- 
 ing his thoughts. " Go and speak to her." 
 
 George approached timidly, and said, " Miss Bodine." 
 
 She started, raised her head, and began to wipe her eyes. 
 
 "I — I — Well, I don't know what to say to make you 
 understand how my father and I have sympathized with your 
 brave — Well, you were so kind and patient with that poor 
 woman. I wish I could do something for you, and I will," 
 and he hastened away. 
 
 She called, " I don't need any thing, Mr. Houghton. In- 
 deed I do not. It would only distress me " — But he was 
 out of hearing. " Oh," she moaned again on her fother's 
 shoulder, "why will he take risks?" 
 
 It was evident that Mr. Houghton shared her anxiety, for 
 
 i 
 
''THE TERROR BY NIGHT:' 389 
 
 he divined his son's purpose, and looked with troubled face 
 for his return. He soon came back carrying another mat- 
 tress, pillows and blankets. Sam, compelled to leave the 
 horses, followed with a basket of provisions. Ella was 
 clothed in little besides a light wrapper, and had shivered 
 more than once in the night air. George tried to induce 
 her and Mrs. Bodine to, accept of the mattress, but they 
 asked as a favor that it might be placed under Mrs. Hunter. 
 He readily complied, saying he would get another for them. 
 
 At this moment came the ominous groan of the severe 
 shock which occurred at about half -past two o'clock 
 Wednesday morning. T© the terrified people it was like 
 the growl of some ravening beast rushing upon them, and a 
 long wailing cry blended with the horrible roar as it swept 
 under and over them, then died away in the north-west. 
 
 " O Mr. Houghton," sobbed Ella when her voice could 
 be heard, " please don't go away — please don't go near a 
 building again." 
 
 " George," added his father, almost sternly, '' not with my 
 consent will you leave me again till we learn more definitely 
 what our fate is to be. If you were in the house when this 
 shock occurred, you might have perished. It is no longer a 
 question of more or less comfort." 
 
 " I reckon not," said Mrs. Bodine. " It's a question of 
 ever seeing the sun rise again. We may as well speak out 
 what is in our minds, and get ready for a city not made with 
 hands." 
 
 " I wish we were all as ready to go as you are. Cousin 
 Sophy," Ella whispered. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I've more property in that city than in 
 this wrecked town, and ' where your treasure is, there will 
 your heart be also.' " Then she added, " You'll be spared, 
 dear child. You and your knight will see many happy years. 
 God bless you both." 
 
390 thp: earth trembled. 
 
 " O cousin ! it is such a comfort, even at this awful time, 
 to see him, to know he is near, to think he came for — for 
 us !" 
 
 " For you, dear Httle goose. He'd face earthquakes, vol- 
 canoes, tornadoes, cyclones, and even his father before this 
 well-deserved shaking converted him, for your sake." 
 
 " Cousin," whispered the girl, " I'm so glad. Is it wrong 
 to be glad at such a time? " 
 
 " Wrong to be glad when God loves you and a good man 
 loves you ? I reckon not. All the quakes that ever shook 
 this crazy old earth are bagatelles compared with such facts." 
 
 " O cousin, you are such a tower of strength and com- 
 fort ! " 
 
 " I'm a leaning tower," replied the old lady, whose vein 
 of humor ran through all her thoughts, " but I'm leaning on 
 what won't fail me. Nestle down by my side, dear child. 
 You are shivering, and this extra blanket will do us both 
 good. Now be comfortable, and believe with me that noth- 
 ing in the universe can or will harm you." 
 
 " Poor Mara ! " Ella sighed. 
 
 " Yes, I've been watching and grieving over her. I never 
 saw any face more expressive of suffering than hers. I don't 
 understand her unless — unless — well, time will show, that 
 is, if there is much more time for me." 
 
 " O cousin, we never could spare you ! " 
 
 " That is what I used to think about my husband, but he 
 always went when sailing orders came, and I survived. I 
 feel to-night as if he and the boys were just waiting off shore, 
 if this tossing and pitching earth can be called shore, for 
 me to join them." 
 
 Captain Bodine sat through the shock without moving a 
 muscle. His eyes rested wistfully on Mara. With an inde- 
 scribable pang he saw that in the supreme moment of general 
 terror her eyes turned not to him but to Clancy, and that 
 
''THE TERROR BY NTGHTr 39 1 
 
 she made a half involuntary movement as if to go to him. 
 The glance, the act, combined with what had gone before, 
 were too significant, and Bodine buried his face in his hands 
 that she might not see his trouble. She knew it all the 
 more surely, yet felt how powerless she was to console him. 
 
 " Oh, my blind, blind folly ! " she groaned inwardly. "If 
 I had been true to my heart, I might be caring for Owen 
 instead of that woman who left him to die, and my father's 
 friend acting like a father towards us both. I wanted to be 
 so heroic and self-sacrificing, and I've only sacrificed those 
 I love most." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was so fully under the influence of anodynes 
 as not to be cognizant of what was taking place, and Bodine, 
 soldier-like, was not long in reaching his decision. Rising, 
 he went aside with Dr. Devoe, and said, " Miss Wallingford 
 is keeping up from the sheer force of will. Nothing but 
 your command can induce her to yield and take such rest 
 as can be obtained here. I do not think you can interpose 
 too soon. I will watch Mrs. Hunter." 
 
 Mara had indeed reached the hmit of endurance, and 
 the physician quickly detected the fact. He took her by the 
 hand and arm, and gently raised her to her feet as he said, 
 " I am autocrat here. Even kings and generals must obey 
 their doctor. So I shall ask no permission to place you 
 beside Mrs. Bodine. She and rest can do you more good 
 than I can. Captain Bodine and I will look after Mrs. 
 Hunter." 
 
 Mara gave the veteran a grateful glance and yielded. 
 Then she buried her face in Mrs. Bodine's neck, and was 
 silent until she slept from physical exhaustion. 
 
 Miss Ainsley, with multitudes of others, yielded to her 
 terror at the passing of the midnight earthquake. She 
 shrieked and half rose in her wild impulse to fly. Then 
 apparently forgetting Clancy she piteously begged Dr. Devoe 
 
392 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 to give her something that would certainly bring oblivion 
 for a few hours at least. He good-naturedly complied. 
 When the opiate began to take effect she was placed on the 
 mattress beside Mrs. Hunter, and was soon in stupor. 
 Clancy had so far recovered that he was able to sit up, and 
 he felt that he should watch beside the girl who he believed 
 had been so devoted to him in his unconsciousness. 
 
 Dr. Devoe in excuse for Miss Ainsley said, " We can't 
 make too much allowance to-night for every one. Many 
 strong men are utterly overcome and nauseated by these 
 shocks. No wonder women cannot face them." 
 
 " I think Miss Ainsley has borne up wonderfully," Clancy 
 replied. 
 
 " Oh, yes, as well as the average. It's a question of 
 nerves with the majority." 
 
 Clancy sat down and looked with pity at the beautiful 
 face and dishevelled hair. " Poor girl ! " he thought, " she 
 did her best by me. Indeed, I had scarcely thought her 
 capable of such devotion. By all that's honorable I'm 
 bound to her now. Well, eventually I can give her a truer 
 affection, for she has ceased to be merely a part of an ambi- 
 tious scheme. By our own acts Mara and I are separated, 
 and, however deep our grief may be, it must be hidden 
 from all." 
 
 Thus he and Captain Bodine sat on either side of the 
 pallet, each immersed in painful thought, oblivious of the 
 strange scenes enacted all around them. They did not 
 feel then that they could speak to each other. 
 
 The veteran was perplexed, and his proud spirit also 
 labored under a deep sense of wrong. It was evident that 
 he had been deceived by Mara, and that all along she had 
 loved the man so near to him, loved him better than her 
 own life. Why had she concealed the fact? Why had 
 she been so cold and harsh towards Clancy himself until 
 
" THE TERROR B Y NIGHTr 393 
 
 the awful events of the night and peril to life had over- 
 powered her reserve and revealed her heart? He could 
 think of no other explanation than that afforded by the un- 
 conscious girl over whom Clancy watched. He had heard 
 of the young man's devotion to Miss Ainsley, and, from what 
 he had seen, believed that they were affianced. He was 
 too just and large in his judgment to think Mara's course 
 towards him was due to pique and wounded pride, and he 
 was not long in arriving at a very fair explanation of her 
 motives and action. Keenly intelligent and mature in 
 years he was beyond the period of passionate and incon- 
 siderate resentment. Moreover his love for the orphan girl 
 was so true, and the memory of her father and mother so 
 dear to him, that he was able to rise nobly above mere self, 
 and resolve to become the most loyal of friends, a protector 
 against her very self. "Now I think of it," he mused, 
 " she has never said she loved me, although she permitted 
 me to think she did. Even when I declared my love she 
 only said, ' Life offers me nothing better than to be your 
 wife.' That no doubt was true as she meant it, for she then 
 thought this man here was lost to her. She did not wel- 
 come my love when she first recognized it, but soon her 
 spirit of self-sacrifice came in, and she reasoned that since 
 she could not be happy in herself, she would make me 
 happy. From the very first I believed that this spirit could 
 lead her to deception for the sake of others, and I have not 
 been sufficiently on my guard against it. Yet how could I 
 suspect this Clancy, whom she so repelled and contemned, 
 and who was devoting himself to another woman ? Perhaps 
 she partially deceived herself as well as me. The affection 
 probably struck root years since when she and Clancy were 
 friends. He outgrew it ; she has not, as she has learned 
 to-night, if not before. He went to her aid because he was 
 friendly in spite of her apparent bitterness towards him. 
 
394 ^^^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 which perhaps he understood better than I. Possibly Mrs. 
 Hunter may have broken their relations, for there is no 
 doubt about her feelings. Well, time must unravel the 
 snarl. It would now seem that he is devoted to this girl 
 here, and she to him as far as she can be to any one. What 
 he will think when he learns that she ran shrieking away 
 and left him, while Mara, reckless of life itself, stood by 
 him to the last, I cannot know. If he loves her he will for- 
 give her, for no man can blame a woman for succumbing to 
 the terror of this night. Possibly at some distant day Mara 
 may still think that life offers her nothing better than to be 
 my wife ; but she shall be free, free as air, and know, too, 
 that I know all." 
 
 Thus Bodine communed with himself after a habit learned 
 long ago in the presence of danger. 
 
 Clancy also was confronted by possible results of his 
 action, the fear of which enabled his cool, resolute nature 
 to rise above all other fear. He resolved to go at once to 
 Aun' Sheba, and caution her against speaking of the scenes 
 in which she, with Mara, and himself had taken part. 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 395 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 
 
 CLANCY was giiided by the voice of Ann' Sheba, the 
 wailing of Sissy, and the groans and unearthly sounds to 
 which Uncle Sheba was giving utterance. The adjacent fire 
 was so far subdued that only a red glow in the sky above 
 marked the spot. The stars shone in calm, mocking seren- 
 ity on the wide scene of human distress and fear. " Alas," 
 he thought, " what atoms we are ; and what an atom is this 
 earth itself ! It would seem that faith is the simplest, yet 
 mightiest effort of the mind at such a time," and he paused 
 till Aun' Sheba should be more free to listen to him. 
 
 Mr. Birdsall, with his youngest child in his arms, had been 
 exhorting those of his people near him, but his words had 
 been of little effect in quieting Sissy and Uncle Sheba. The 
 latter had concluded that he would not wait till the coming 
 winter before again " 'speriencin 'ligion," and his uncouth 
 appeals to Heaven were but the abject expression of animal 
 fear. Aun' Sheba had lost her patience with both him and 
 her daughter, and was expostulating vigorously. " I'se asham 
 on you. Sissy," she said. " Wot good de 'ligion you 'fess do 
 you, I'd like ter know? Ain't Vilet in Hebin? Ain't you 
 got de bes husban bawn ? Ain't de oder chil'n heah ? Now 
 ef you'se 'ligion any good 'tall, be quiet an tankful dat you 
 bettah off dan hun'erds. Unc, you kin pray all you wants, 
 but ef you specs de Lawd ter listen you'se got ter pray like a 
 man an not like a hog dat wants his dinnah. You'se 'sturbin 
 
39^ THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 everybody wuss dan you did wen you got sot on. I won 
 hab it said my folks made a rumpus in dis time ob trouble. 
 You'se got ter min me, Mr. Buggone, or I'se hab you took 
 out de squar." 
 
 Uncle Sheba was never so far gone in his fears, but that 
 he shrunk from facing any thing worse, and so he subsided 
 into low inarticulate groans. Sissy was not so tractable, for 
 her weeping was largely nervous and hysterical. She had an 
 affectionate, emotional nature, but was far from being gifted 
 with the strength of mind and character possessed by her 
 mother and husband. 
 
 " Aun' Sheba," said Clancy kindly, " your daughter needs 
 something to quiet her nerves. I will bring it to her." He 
 soon returned with medicine from the doctor, and under its 
 influence the bereaved mother became calmer and wept 
 sofdy by her dead child. 
 
 Clancy drew Aun' Sheba a little apart so that others could 
 not hear, even if any were disposed to listen at this time of 
 intense pre-occupation. "You have been a friend indeed 
 to-night," he said. " I must ask another proof of your good 
 will. The earthquake has brought trouble enough, but I 
 fear that Mara and I have brought greater trouble upon our- 
 selves. Probably you've seen enough to explain what I 
 mean." 
 
 " I'se seen a heap, Marse Clancy." 
 
 " Well, you are Mara's old nurse. She loves and trusts 
 you. She is engaged to Captain Bodine." 
 
 " She ain't mar'ed to 'im." 
 
 " She feels herself bound, and has said that if I was a 
 true Southern gentleman I would not interfere. This is 
 bad enough, but there's worse still. I thought she was lost 
 to me — you know about it, I reckon." 
 
 " Yes, I knows now. I was a blin ole fool an tink it was 
 wuckin' so hard dat made her po'ly." 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 397 
 
 " Oh, we have both made such fatal mistakes ! I, like a 
 fool, when I believed she would never speak to me again, 
 entangled myself also. Now, Aun' Sheba, what I wish is 
 that you say nothing to any one of what you have seen and 
 heard. We've got to do what's honorable at every cost to 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Dus wot's hon'ble mean dat Missy Mara got ter mar'y 
 Marse Bodine an you de limpsey slimpsey one wot say you 
 'serted her? " 
 
 " Nothing else seems to be left for us." 
 
 " 'Pears ter me, Marse Clancy, you an Missy Mara gittin 
 orful muxed up in wot's hon'ble. I'se ony got wot folks 
 calls hoss-sense, but its dead agin you bofe. Take you now. 
 Fust you got ter tell de gal lies, den lies to her fader an de 
 minister wot jines you, an de hull worl. Missy Mara ud hab 
 ter lie like de debil, too, an you bofe go on lyin 'miscuously. 
 Anyhow, you'se hab ter act out de lies ef you didn't say 'em. 
 'Ud dat be hon'ble wen all de time you'se yearnin fer each 
 oder?" 
 
 " O Aun' Sheba, it's hard enough without such words as 
 yours ! " 
 
 " Ob corse it's hard. It orter be, fer it's agin de Lawd 
 an natur. Marse Clancy, took keer wot you do, an wot 
 you let Missy Mara do. My 'sperience teach me a heap. 
 'Spose I doan' know de dif ence 'tween Unc. dar an a man 
 like Kern? I was young an foolish onct, an mar'ed Unc. 
 kase he was good lookin den, an mo' kase he ax me. Well, 
 I'se made de bes on it, an I'se gwine ter make de bes 
 on it ; but if de yearth crack right open heah, as like 'nuff 
 'twill 'fo' mawnin, I'd jump right down in de crack 'fo' 
 I'd do it ober ag'in. You'se on de safe side ob de crack 
 yit, so be keerful. I knows woman folks soon as I claps 
 my eyes on dem. Missy Mara quar in her notions 'bout de 
 Norf, — she was brung up to 'em — but dere's nuff woman 
 
398 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 in my honey lam' to make a tousan ob dis yere limpsey 
 slimpsey one." 
 
 Clancy clinched his hands in mental distress as he 
 listened to the hard sense and unerring judgment of the 
 sagacious old woman. 
 
 " I'm in terrible perplexity," he said, " for there is so 
 m.uch truth in your words. How can I escape the con- 
 sequences of my own acts ? Think how Miss Ainsley stood 
 by me in my unconsciousness ! When I revived " — 
 
 *' Dar now, Marse Clancy, you'se been fooled. She stood 
 by hersef. De fac am, she didn't stan 'tall, but run like a 
 deer, hollerin fer all she's wuth. Wen you swoonded, Missy 
 Mara cotch you in her arms. I eben run away, an lef my 
 honey lam' mysef, but I come back sudden, an dar she 
 was a hol'n you head in her lap right uner a big bildin dat 
 ud a squashed her. I drag you pass dat, an den Marse 
 Bodine jes ordered me an Missy to go to de squar. He 
 spoke stern an strong as if we his sogers. An Missy Mara 
 look 'im in de eyes an say, you — dat's you, Marse Clancy — • 
 may be dead, or you may be dyin, an dat she can't leab 
 you an she won leab you. She got de grit ob true lub, 
 an dere'll neber be any runin away in her heart. Wot you 
 an Marse Bodine gwine ter do 'bout sich lub as dat? 'Fo' 
 de Lawd my honey lam' die ef you an Marse Bodine 'sist 
 on bein so orful hon'ble. She aint one dem kin' dat takes 
 a husban like dey takes a breakfas kase its ready." 
 
 Clancy was so profoundly moved by what he heard that 
 he turned away to hide his emotion. After a moment he 
 said, " You have been true and faithful, Aun' Sheba. You 
 won't be sorry. Please do as I have asked." And he 
 hastened away. 
 
 " Reckon I put a spoke in dat hon'ble bizness," Aun' 
 Sheba soliloquized. "Like 'nuff I put anoder in. Doan 
 cotch me hep'n along any sich foolishness. I gibs no 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 399 
 
 promise, an I'se gwine ter make my honey lam' happy spite 
 hersef." Tlien she took one of her grandchildren, and 
 soothed it to sleep. 
 
 The slow hours dragged wearily on ; the majority of the 
 white people quieted down to patient, yet fearful waiting ; 
 crying children, one after another, dropped off to sleep ; 
 parents and friends watched over them and one another, 
 conversing in low tones or praying silently for the Divine 
 mercy, never before felt to be so essential. The negroes 
 were more demonstrative, and their loud prayers and singing 
 of hymns continued without abatement or hinderance. The 
 expressions of some were so extravagant and uncouth as to 
 grate harshly on all natures possessing any refinement ; but 
 when such men as Mr. Birdsall exhorted or prayed, there 
 were but few among the whites who did not listen reverently, 
 and in their hearts acknowledge the substantial truth of the 
 words spoken and their need of the petitions offered. 
 
 Clancy went back to his watch. Few men in the city 
 were more troubled and perplexed than he, for he had not 
 the calmness resulting from a definite purpose as was true 
 of Bodine. 
 
 Unmovedly the two men remained at their posts of duty 
 awaiting the day or what might happen before the dawn. 
 George lay down beside his father, and soon slept from 
 fatigue, while Mr. Houghton, now so softened and chastened, 
 vowed to make him happy. 
 
 Ella watched her father in deep solicitude, feeling vaguely 
 that his trouble was not caused wholly by the general reasons 
 for distress. At last she stole to his side, and laid her head 
 upon his shoulder. The act comforted and sustained him 
 more than she knew at the time, for he was not a demon- 
 strative man. He only kissed her tenderly and bade her 
 return to her cousin, with whom she kept up a whispered 
 and fragmentary conversation. Mrs. Willoughby sat beside 
 
400 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 her husband, her head pillowed against his breast as they 
 waited for the day. 
 
 A breeze sprang up, and the freshness of the morning 
 was in it. Would the sun ever rise again ? Was not Nature 
 so out of joint that nothing familiar could be looked for 
 any more ? The terrors of the long night inspired morbid 
 thoughts, which come too readily in darkness. 
 
 At the appointed time, however, there was a glow in the 
 east, which steadily deepened in color. Truly, to the weary, 
 haggard, shivering, half-clad watchers, the sun was an angel 
 of hght that morning ; and never did fire-worshippers greet 
 his rise with a deeper feehng of gratitude and gladness. 
 
 There was a general stir in the strange bivouac, an in- 
 creased murmur of voices. The hymns of the negroes 
 gradually ceased ; and people, singly or in groups, began 
 to leave the square for their homes, in order to clothe them- 
 selves more fully, and to discover what was left to them in 
 the general wreck. 
 
 There had been no shock since the convulsion at half- 
 past two o'clock, the fact inspiring general confidence that 
 the worst was over. Hope grew stronger with the blessed 
 light, and fear vanished with the darkness. 
 
 Mr. Houghton touched his son, who immediately awoke, 
 meditating deeds of hospitality. " Father," he said, " our 
 house is near. Cannot I, with the aid of Jube and Sam, 
 get our friends some breakfast? " 
 
 " Yes, George, and extend the invitation from me." 
 
 " O father ! I'm so grateful that you are giving me this 
 chance to — to " — 
 
 " You shall have all the chance you wish. In fact, I'm 
 rather inclined to see what I can do myself. I may need 
 a good deal of nursing." And the old man's face was 
 lighted up with a kindly smile, which made his son positively 
 happy. 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 4OI 
 
 Approaching Bodine, he asked, " Do you think it will be 
 safe for the invahds to leave the square?" 
 
 "I scarcely think so," was the reply. "At least, not until 
 more time passes without disturbance. From what I've 
 read of earthquakes, our houses may be unsafe for days to 
 come." 
 
 " Well, the first thing to be done is to see that you all 
 have some breakfast. Fortunately, our house is not far ; 
 and, although our women-servants have fled, I have two 
 men who will stand by me. The fact is, my hunting expe- 
 ditions have made me a fairly good cook myself. My father 
 cordially extends the invitation that all my friends here 
 breakfast with us." 
 
 " I will join in your labors, Houghton," said Clancy, 
 promptly. " Having no home, I gratefully accept your 
 father's invitation." 
 
 " We're all shipwrecked on a desert island," added Mrs. 
 Bodine cheerily to George. " You appear to be one of the 
 friendly natives, and I put myself under your protection." 
 
 " Our custom here is," replied the young fellow in like 
 vein, " that, after we have taken salt together, we become 
 fast friends." 
 
 " Bring on the salt, then," she answered laughing, while 
 Ella's smile seemed to the young fellow more vivifying than 
 the first level rays of the sun. Mara, Mrs. Hunter, and 
 Miss Ainsley were still sleeping, as also was Dr. Devoe. 
 
 " Houghton," called Mr. Willoughby, " won't you enroll 
 me as one of your cooks or waiters? " 
 
 " No," replied George, " I must leave you and Captain 
 Bodine in charge of camp." 
 
 "Too many cooks spile de brof," said Aun' Sheba, rising 
 from Mara's side where she had been watching for the last 
 hour. " Marse Houghton, you bery fine cook fer de woods, 
 I spec, but I reckon I kin gib a HI extra tech to de doin's." 
 
402 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Ah, Aun' Sheba, if you'll come, you shall be chief cook, 
 and I, for one, promise to obey. Mrs. Willoughby, I'm so 
 very glad that I can now return a litde of your kindness." 
 
 " I take back what I said about absolving you," she 
 whispered. 
 
 "You'd better. If I don't make the most of my chance 
 now my name is not George Houghton. Of course I sha'n't 
 say any thing while these troubles last. You understand, I 
 don't wish any thing to happen which would embarrass her, 
 or make it hard to accept what I can do for her and hers ; 
 but when the right time comes," and he nodded significantly. 
 
 "You are on the right tack as you boatmen say," she 
 whispered laughing. 
 
 "See here, Houghton," remarked jolly Mr. Willoughby, 
 " earthquakes and secret conferences with my wife are more 
 than a fellow can stand at one and the same time." 
 
 "You shall soon have consolation," said George, hasten- 
 ing away, followed by Clancy, Aun' Sheba, Jube, and Sam. 
 When the last-named worthy appeared near Mr. Houghton's 
 barn the horses whinnied and the two dogs barked joyously. 
 
 "Mr. Clancy," said George, handing him his pocket-book, 
 " since you have kindly offered to aid, please take Jube and 
 visit the nearest butcher's-shop and bakery. I suggest that 
 you lay in a large supply, for we don't know what may 
 happen. Please get eggs, canned delicacies, any thing you 
 think best. Don't spare money. Help yourself, if owners 
 are absent. I will honor all your I O U's." 
 
 " All right, Houghton ; but remember that I'm an active 
 partner in this catering business. Fortunately I don't need 
 to go to the bank for money." 
 
 Aun' Sheba exclaimed over the evidences of disaster along 
 the street, but when she saw what a wreck Mr. Houghton's 
 massive portico had become she lifted her hands in dis- 
 may. 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. 403 
 
 "That don't trouble me," said George, "since I'm not 
 under it. I passed beneath a second or two before it fell." 
 
 " De Lawd be praised ! Pears ter me He know wot He 
 'bout, an is gwine ter bring down pride ez well ez piazzers." 
 
 " It looks that way, Aun' Sheba. Here, Sam, make the 
 kitchen fire before you do any thing else. Now we must 
 rummage and see what we can find." 
 
 Aun' Sheba took possession of the kitchen, and with broom, 
 mop, and cloths, soon brought order out of chaos, Sam 
 found that although the chimney had lost its top, it fortu- 
 nately drew, and the fire in the range speedily proved all 
 that could be desired. George ravaged the store-closet until 
 Aun' Sheba said, " Nuff heah already ter feed de squar." 
 
 Then he went up and looked about the poor wrecked 
 home, meanwhile setting Sam to dusting chairs and carrying 
 them to the square. Then a table, crockery, knives, forks, 
 spoons, napkins, etc., were despatched. 
 
 Clancy and Jube found that the proprietors of some of 
 the shops were plucking up courage to enter them and re- 
 sume trade, and so they eventually returned well laden with 
 provisions. Then Jube was sent with wash-basins, water and 
 towels for ablutions. Meantime George and Clancy took 
 a hasty bath and exchanged their ruined clothing for clean 
 apparel. 
 
 " Houghton, you are a godsend to us all," exclaimed his 
 friend. 
 
 " I suppose the whole affair is a godsend," was the reply, 
 " any\vay, I'm getting my satisfaction out of it this morning." 
 
 As sprightly Mrs. Willoughby saw the appliances for their 
 comfort following one after another she said to Ella, " We 
 may as well make believe that it is a picnic." 
 
 Ella smiled and replied, " I'm better dressed for breakfast 
 than you are, for I have on a wrapper, and you are in a low- 
 necked evening costume." 
 
404 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I feel as if I could eat a breakfast all the same. What 
 creatures these mortals be ! A little while ago I was in the 
 depths of misery, and now I'm hungry and kind of happy." 
 
 "Oh, you are," said her husband, "when you may have 
 to take in washing for a living, while I shovel brick and 
 mortar." 
 
 " No indeed," cried his wife, "I'll join the firm of Wall- 
 ingford and Bodine, and you can help Aun' Sheba peddle 
 cakes." 
 
 "That's right, children," said Mrs. Bodine, "that's the 
 true brave Southern spirit. We are all born soldiers, seamen 
 rather, since the land has been as freakish as the waves. 
 Now mind, I'll send the first one below who shows the white 
 feather." 
 
 Mr. Houghton lay apart from this group ; and, while he 
 felt his isolation, knew that he was to blame for it. They 
 also felt the awkwardness of their situation, not knowing how 
 far he was willing or able to converse with them. Mr. Will- 
 oughby was about to break the ice, but Ella forestalled him. 
 " Mr. Houghton," she said, timidly approaching, " is there 
 any thing we can do for you ? We are all so grateful." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Bodine. Forget and forgive," 
 
 " There seems very little now to forgive, and we do not 
 wish to forget your kindness." 
 
 " Good Lor ! " whispered Mrs. Bodine to Mrs. Willough- 
 by, " I couldn't have turned a neater sentence myself." 
 
 "Well, Miss Bodine," resumed Mr. Houghton, " I sup- 
 pose we shall have to let bygones be bygones. Now that 
 sunshine and brightness have come, we should not recall 
 any thing painful. I trust that the worst is over, but our 
 courage may yet be sorely tried. I will esteem it a very 
 great favor if you and your friends will accept without reluct- 
 ance what my son can do for your comfort." 
 
 Ella could not repress a little laugh of pleasure as she 
 
HOPE TUAWED EYTO DREAD. 405 
 
 replied, " It is too late now to affect any reluctance. We 
 owe him so much that we might as well owe him more." 
 Then, ever practical, she arranged a screen to shade his face 
 from the sun's rays. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby now came up and spoke in a friendly 
 way of the probable effects of the disaster upon the city, 
 and so the touch of mutual kindness began to make them 
 kin. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter commenced to moan and toss, and this awak- 
 ened Miss Ainsley, who looked around wonderingly. Mrs. 
 Willoughby in low tones recalled what had happened, and ex- 
 plained the present aspect of affairs. Mrs. Bodine performed 
 the same office for Mara, who also had been aroused by the 
 voices near. The girl's habit of self-control served her in 
 good stead, and she immediately rose, gave her hand to 
 Bodine in greeting, and then knelt beside her aunt. Seeing 
 Mara so near, Miss Ainsley quickly rose also, and moved away 
 in instinctive antipathy. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was feverish and evidently very ill. She was 
 unable to comprehend what was taking place, but recognized 
 Mara, whose soothing touch and words alone had the power 
 of quieting her. 
 
 Ella bathed Mrs. Bodine's face and hands, and enabled 
 her to make " the ghost of a toilet " as the old lady said. 
 Then Ella whispered, " I wish I could do as much for Mr. 
 Houghton." 
 
 " I dare you to do it," said Mrs. Bodine, with a mirthful 
 gleam in her eyes. 
 
 Ella caught her spirit, and without hesitation, although 
 blushing like a rose, went to Mr. Houghton, and asked, 
 " Will you please let me bathe your hands and face also? " 
 
 " Why, Miss Bodine, I should not expect such kindness 
 from you. I can wait till my son returns." 
 
 " He is doing so much that he will be tired. It would 
 
406 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 give me pleasure if you will permit it. In waiting on my 
 cousin I've learned to be not a very awkward nurse." 
 
 " Well, Miss Bodine, I am learning that even earthquakes 
 can bring pleasant compensations. You shall have your own 
 way. Yes, you are a good nurse, and a brave and patient 
 one. Your kindness to that poor creature who died in your 
 arms touched my heart." 
 
 "And mine too, Mr. Houghton. She told me a very 
 pitiful story." 
 
 " You shall tell it to me some time, my dear." 
 
 Her heart thrilled as he gently spoke these words, while 
 George, striding up with a great platter of steak, almost 
 dropped it as he saw the girl waiting on his father as if filial 
 relations were already established. The old man enjoyed 
 his look of pleased Avonder, and, when he had a chance, 
 whispered, " I'm getting ahead of you, my boy, I don't want 
 your clumsy hands or Jube's around me any more." Mrs. 
 Bodine put her head under the blanket and shook with silent 
 laughter. 
 
 Ella was very shy of the young man, however. He could 
 not catch her eye, nor get a chance to speak to her except 
 in the presence of her father, Mrs. Bodine, or some one 
 else. But he possessed his soul in patience, and did his 
 best to be a genial host. Clancy, Jube, and Sam followed 
 with the coffee and various comestibles. Miss Ainsley was 
 a little effusive in her greeting of the man whom she had 
 deserted in the street, and again had left to pass the night 
 as he could, while she sought oblivion. His response was 
 grave, kind, yet not altogether re-assuring. He certainly 
 indulged in no lover-like glances ; and he went direct to 
 Mara, and inquired gently after Mrs. Hunter. She replied 
 quietly, without looking up. It was evident that the sound 
 of his voice distressed the injured woman, who was barely 
 conscious enough to have vague memories of the past. 
 
HOPE TURNED INTO DREAD. AOJ 
 
 Weary Dr. Devoe was wakened, while George gave Mrs. 
 Willoughby his arm, and gallantly placed her behind the 
 coffee-urn. Even Captain Bodine assumed a measure of 
 cheerfulness during breakfast. When newsboys came gal- 
 loping up with the morning paper, Mr. Willoughby rose and 
 waved his hat, joining in the general hurrah which rose from 
 all parts of the square. Every one warmly appreciated the 
 heroism displayed in gathering news and printing a journal 
 during the past night. Next to the vivifying light and the 
 apparent cessation of the shocks, nothing did more to 
 restore confidence than the appearance of the familiar 
 paper. 
 
 *' Old Charleston is alive yet," cried Mr. Willoughby; 
 "and if the rest of us have half the pluck shown in that 
 printing-house, we'll soon restore every thing." 
 
 " Give me a paper," said Mrs. Bodine. '■'■ I'd rather have 
 it than my breakfast." 
 
 " You shall have both," replied Ella, bringing a little tray 
 to her side. 
 
 " Ah, Cousin Hugh, you veterans never did any thing 
 braver. Own up." 
 
 " I do, most sincerely and heartily." 
 
 Clancy read the journal aloud ; and the coffee grew cold 
 as all listened breathlessly to a chapter in the city's history 
 never to be forgotten. Mr. Houghton was so absorbed that 
 he suddenly became conscious that Ella was beside him 
 with the daintiest of breakfasts. " You are spoiling me for 
 any other nurse," he said. 
 
 " It is a relief at such a time to care for those who are 
 ill and feeble," she replied gently. " If we have to stay 
 here, I hope you will let me wait on you ; but I trust that 
 we can all soon go to our homes." 
 
 " I have my doubts. Now give me the pleasure of seeing 
 you make a good meal." 
 
408 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Mr. Clancy," cried Mrs. Willoughby, " in the general 
 chaos women may obtain their just pre-eminence. I shall 
 take the lead by ordering you to lay down that paper, so 
 that you and others may have a hot breakfast." 
 
 Mara could be induced to take nothing beyond a cup of 
 coffee. In spite of the sunshine and the general re-action 
 into hopefulness and courage, she felt that black chaos was 
 coming into her hfe. Her aunt and natural protector 
 was very ill. After the events of the night she shrunk in- 
 expressibly from her former relations to Bodine. Indeed, it 
 seemed impossible to continue them. Yet she asked herself 
 again and again, " What else is there for me ? " He was 
 very kind, but the expression of his face was inscrutable. 
 Moreover, there was Miss Ainsley acting. as if Clancy were 
 her own natural property, and he unable to dispute her 
 claims. It appeared to her that poor stricken Mrs. Hunter 
 was her only refuge, and she resolved to remain close by 
 the invalid's side. 
 
 With the coming of the day Uncle Sheba's most poignant 
 fears had gradually subsided. He kept his eyes on his wife, 
 feeling that any good that he might hope for in this world 
 would come though her. Indeed the impression was grow- 
 ing that the greatest immediate good to be obtained from 
 any world was a breakfast ; and when Aun' Sheba went with 
 George to his home, Unc. also followed at a discreet dis- 
 tance. The result was that his wife again had to put him 
 on a " 'lowance," or little would have been left in Mr. 
 Houghton's kitchen. He surreptitiously stuffed a few eata- 
 bles into his pocket, and then went out to smoke his pipe. 
 
 Breakfast was at last over at the square. Mr. Willoughby 
 rose and said to his wife, " I will go to the house, and get 
 more suitable costumes for you and Carrie. Houghton will 
 loan you a dressing-room at his house, for the streets can 
 be scarcely suitable for you to traverse yet. I'll bring a 
 
HOPE TURNED IX TO DREAD. 409 
 
 carriage for you, however, as soon as it is possible. Serious 
 danger is now over, I hope." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the words when, as if in mockery, 
 far in the south-east was heard again the sound which 
 appalled the stoutest hearts. On it came, as if a lightning 
 express-train were thundering down upon them. They saw 
 the tops of distant trees nod and sway as if agitated l.)y a 
 gale ; men, women, and children rushing again, with loud 
 cries, from their homes ; then it seemed as if some sul)ter- 
 ranean monster was tearing its way through the earth. 
 
 The moment the paralysis of terror passed, Miss Ainsley 
 threw herself shrieking upon Clancy, who was compelled to 
 support and soothe her. Mara covered her face with her 
 hands, trembled violently, but uttered no sound. Ella could 
 not repress a cry, as she hid her face upon her father's 
 breast, a cry echoed by Mrs. Willoughby as she and her 
 husband clung together. George knelt, holding the hand 
 of his father, who looked at his son with the feeling that, if 
 the end had come, his boy should be the last object on 
 which his eyes rested. Mrs. Bodine was as composed as 
 the veteran himself, and simply looked heavenward. There 
 was something so terrific in the immeasurable power of the 
 convulsion, so suggestive of immediate and awful death, that 
 few indeed could maintain any degree of fortitude. 
 
 There was one, however, a few rods away, who scarcely 
 noticed the shock. Kern Watson, at last released from 
 duty, sat on the ground, with his face buried in the neck of 
 his dead child. He did not raise his head, and trembled 
 only as the quivering earth agitated his form. 
 
410 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 A CITY ENCAMPING. 
 
 THE earthquake which occurred at 8.25 Wednesday 
 morning had a disastrous effect, although it was r^ so 
 severe as to injure materially the buildings already so shat- 
 tered. It nipped hope and growing confidence in the bud. 
 Multitudes had left the square for their homes, a large pro- 
 portion with the immediate purpose of obtaining more 
 clothing. Many would have been comparatively naked were 
 it not for enveloping blankets and the loan of articles of 
 apparel from the more fortunate. With the confidence 
 which the morning and the continued quiet of the earth 
 inspired there had been a general movement from the 
 square. Some hastily dressed themselves, snatched up bed- 
 ding and food, and returned to the open spaces immedi- 
 ately ; others breakfasted at home, and some had the heart 
 to begin the task of putting their houses in order. The 
 shock drove them forth again with all their fears renewed 
 and increased, for the homes, which in many cases had 
 been a refuge for generations, were now looked upon as 
 death-traps, threatening to mangle and torture as well as 
 destroy. The love of gain, the instinct to preserve prop- 
 erty, was also obliterated. Merchants deserted their shops 
 and warehouses. Banks were unopened, except for the gaps 
 rent by the earthquake. The city was full of food, yet 
 people went hungry, not daring to enter the places where it 
 was stored. After a second and general flight to the square. 
 
A CITY ENCAMPIXC. 411 
 
 the question in all hearts, "What next?" paralyzed with 
 its dread suggestion. 
 
 The fear among the educated had become definite and 
 rational. Not that they could explain the earthquake or 
 its causes, but the sad experiences of other regions were 
 known to them. These experiences, however, had varied so 
 greatly in their horrors as to leave a wide margin of terrible 
 possibilities. A tidal wave might roll in, for the city was 
 scarcely more than nine feet above the sea. The earth 
 niight open in great and ingulfing fissures. The tremen- 
 dous forces beneath them might seek a volcanic outlet. 
 These were all dire thoughts, and were brought home to the 
 consciousness the more vividly because the awful phenom- 
 ena continued in the serene light of day. The nightmare 
 aspect of what had occurred in darkness passed away, and 
 the coolest and most learned found themselves confronted 
 by dangers which they could not gauge or explain. Nor 
 could the end be foreseen. If such considerations weighed 
 down the spirits of the most intelligent men, imagine the 
 fears of frail, nervous women, of the children, the wild 
 panic of the superstitious negroes to whom science explained 
 nothing. To their excited minds the earthquake was due 
 directly either to the action of a malignant, personal devil, 
 or of an angry God. While many of the poor ignorant 
 creatures inevitably indulged in what was justly termed 
 " religious orgies," the great majority were well behaved and 
 patient, finding in their simple faith unspeakable comfort 
 and support. 
 
 One fact, however, was clear to all : that the place of 
 immediate and greatest danger was near or beneath any 
 thing which might be prostrated by the recurring shocks. 
 
 Another feature in Wednesday's experience was very 
 depressing. The city was completely isolated from the rest 
 of the world. All telegraph-wires were down, all railroads 
 
412 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 leading into the city had been rendered impassable. For 
 many hours those without who had friends and relatives in 
 Charleston were kept in dreadful suspense. From adjacent 
 cities reports of the catastrophe were flashed continuously, 
 but in regard to Charleston there was an ominous lack of 
 information, and the fear was very general that the city by 
 the sea had sunk beneath the waves. 
 
 Mr. Ainsley shared in this horrible dread. He telegraphed 
 repeatedly from an inland town, and took the lirst train 
 despatched towards the city. His daughter was right in 
 believing that he would reach her at the earUest possible 
 moment. 
 
 She was gready demoralized by the shock which dissi- 
 pated her impression of comparative safety ; and when she 
 realized that the city was utterly cut off from the outside 
 world, that it was impossible to know when her father could 
 arrive, she gave way to selfish fear and the deepest dejec- 
 tion. With embarrassing pertinacity she insisted that Clancy 
 should remain near her. Even to the others it was apparent 
 that fear, rather than affection, led her to desire his presence 
 so earnestly. He had once wondered what kind of a woman 
 was masked by her culture and a reserve so perfect that it 
 had seemed frankness. The veneer now was stripped off. 
 After her own fashion, she was almost as abject in her terror 
 as Uncle Sheba who had run howling back to the square, 
 leaving the wife who had fed him to her fate. In her lack 
 of honest sympathy for others, and indisposidon to exert 
 herself in their behalf, Miss Ainsley quite equalled the self- 
 ish old negro. The conventional world in which she had 
 shone to such advantage had passed away. Her very per- 
 fection in form and feature made defects in character more 
 glaring, for she was seen to be a fair yet broken promise. 
 
 How sweetly the noble qualities of Ella and Mara were 
 revealed by comparison ! They had been taught in the 
 
A CITY LNCAMFINC. 413 
 
 school of adversity. From childhood they had learned to 
 think of others first rather than of themselves. Miss Ains- 
 ley would have been resplendent and at ease in a royal 
 drawing-room ; these two girls maintained womanly fortitude 
 and gave themselves up to unselfish devotion in the presence 
 of a mysterious power which would level an emperor's 
 palace as readily as a negro's cabin. 
 
 Clancy saw the difference, — no one more clearly, — and 
 his very soul recoiled from the woman he had purposed to 
 marry. He patiently bore with her as long as he could 
 after the • shock, and then joined Mr. Willoughby, George, 
 Bodine, and Dr. Devoe, who were consulting at Mr. Hough- 
 ton's bedside. In his shame and distress he did not venture 
 even to glance at Mara. 
 
 As the stress of the emergency increased Mr. Houghton's 
 mind had grown clear and decided ; his old resolute, busi- 
 ness habits asserted themselves, and from his low couch he 
 practically became the leader in their council. " From 
 what we know of other and like disturbances," he said, " it 
 is impossible to foresee when these shocks will end, or how 
 soon a refuge can be sought in regions exempt from our 
 dangers. Now that I am established in this square near my 
 home I intend to remain here for the present. I cordially 
 ask you all to share my fortunes. My son will spare no ex- 
 pense or effort, that can be made in safety, for our general 
 comfort." Then he added before them all, " Captain 
 Bodine, I have done you much wrong and discourtesy. I 
 apologize. You have invalid and injured ladies in your 
 charge. Their claims are sacred and imperative. I will 
 esteem it a favor if you will permit my son to do what he 
 can for their comfort and protection." 
 
 Bodine at once came forward, and giving Mr. Houghton 
 his hand, replied, " You and your son are teaching me that 
 I have done you both much greater wrong. I think I shall 
 
414 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 have to surrender as I did once before, but I am glad that 
 it is to kindness rather than to force in this instance." 
 
 " Here's the true remedy for our differences," cried Mr. 
 Willoughby. "Let the North and South get acquainted, 
 and all will be well. But come, we must act, and act 
 promptly." 
 
 " Yes," replied George, " for the square is filling up again, 
 and we should keep as much space here as possible. I 
 have a small tent which I will put up at once for Mrs. 
 Bodine and Mrs. Hunter. Then I'll rig an awning for my 
 father, and help the rest of you in whatever you decide 
 upon." 
 
 "George," said his father anxiously, "let your visits to 
 the house be as brief as possible." 
 
 Clancy offered to assist George in meeting the immediate 
 need of shelter from the sun, and Dr. Devoe gave the morn- 
 ing to the care of his many patients. Mr. Willoughby said 
 that he must first go to his home for clothing and to look 
 after matters, but that he would soon return. Bodine was 
 asked to mount guard and prevent, as far as possible, the 
 fugitives from encroaching on the needed space. This 
 proved no easy task. Old Tobe, after having received some 
 breakfast, maintained his watch over the medical stores, 
 while Aun' Sheba, who had followed her husband as fast as 
 her limited powers of travelling permitted, cleared away the 
 remnants of the breakfast for her family, George assuring 
 her that he would soon make all comfortable provision for 
 her and them. 
 
 With Clancy and the two colored men he repaired to his 
 home, as the wrecked venture to a ship which may break 
 up at any moment, in order to secure what was absolutely 
 essential. A tent was soon pitched for the invalids ; a 
 shelter of quilts suspended over and around his father, and 
 a large carpet jerked from the floor formed an awning for 
 
A CITY ENCAMPIJVG. 415 
 
 the ladies. Part of this awning was partitioned off so as to 
 give tiiem all the privacy possible under the circumstances, 
 and the remainder was enclosed on three sides, but left open 
 towards the east. 
 
 " I'm not going to be sent to the hospital," said Mrs. 
 Bodine. " I'd rather sit up and direct Ella how to trans- 
 form this outer habitation into a drawing-room." 
 
 Then George brought her and his father easy-chairs. 
 Rugs were spread on the grass, and the rude shelter be- 
 came positively mviting. Ella and Mrs. Willoughby made 
 themselves so useful that at last Miss Ainsley so far recov- 
 ered from her panic as to assist. She detested Mara, and 
 Mrs. Hunter's ghastly face and white hair embodied to her 
 mind the terror of which all were in dread. The bright 
 sunshine and homely work were suggestive of rural pleas- 
 ures rather than of dire necessity, and helped, for the time, 
 to retire the spectre of danger to the background. The 
 coming and going of many acquaintances and friends also 
 helped to rally her spirits, and incite her to the semblance 
 of courage. Mrs. Willoughby, Mrs. Bodine, and Mara had 
 stanch friends who sought them out the moment compara- 
 tive safety had been secured for their nearer dependents. 
 The demands of our story require nothing more than the 
 brief statement that there was a general disposition on the 
 part of the people to think of and care for all who had 
 claims upon them. Even in the dreadful hours immediately 
 following the first shock, much unselfish heroism was dis- 
 played ; and during the weary days and nights which fol- 
 lowed, men and women vied with each other in their 
 attentions to those who most needed care. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine, Mrs. Willoughby, and the captain had sev- 
 eral whispered conferences with those who felt surprise at 
 associations with Mr. Houghton, and there was a quick, 
 generous response to the old man's kindness. Some who 
 
41 6 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 would not have looked at him the day before noAv went 
 and spoke to him gratefully and sympathetically, while for 
 George only cordiality and admiration were manifested. He 
 was not a little uneasy over the profuse attentions and offers 
 of help which Ella received from several young men. To 
 his jealous eyes she appeared unnecessarily gracious, and 
 more ready to talk with them than with him ; but he could 
 not discover that she had an especial favorite among them. 
 Indeed, she managed in their case as in his that Mrs. 
 W'illoughby, Miss Ainsley, or some one else should share in 
 the conversation. 
 
 At last Bodine said to George, " I will now go to Mrs. 
 Hunter's rooms and to Mrs. Bodine's residence, and obtain 
 what is most essential. Can you spare one of your servants 
 to carry what I cannot?" 
 
 " Certainly, and I will go with you myself. Clancy and 
 Sam can continue operations here." 
 
 " George," said his father, " as soon as the absolute neces- 
 sity for entering buildings is over, I wish you to keep away 
 from them." 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 Ella added, " Remember, Mr. Houghton, that is a prom- 
 ise. Please let the words 'absolute necessity' have their 
 full meaning ; " and her face was so full of solicitude that 
 he said, " I promise you also." 
 
 With a smile and flush she turned to her father whisper- 
 ing the tenderest cautions and emphasizing the truth that 
 but few things were essential, some of which she mentioned. 
 Jube had become like a faithful spaniel, the spirit of his 
 young master re-assuring him so as to feel his only safety 
 lay in obedience. 
 
 As George and Bodine went down the street they were 
 saddened by the evidences of disaster on every side. Even 
 Meeting Street was still so obstructed as to be almost 
 
A CI TV ENCAMPING. 417 
 
 impassable for vehicles, and in some places the ruins were 
 still being searched for the dead. When they reached Mrs. 
 Hunter's home Bodine groaned inwardly, " How the poor 
 girl must have suffered ! " He added aloud, " The mental 
 distress caused by my helplessness during the last few hours, 
 Mr. Houghton, has been much harder to bear than the 
 wound which cost me my leg and the suffering which fol- 
 lowed." 
 
 " My dear captain," replied George, "your courage and 
 clear head make you far less helpless than hundreds who 
 only use their legs to run with. Let me enter this shell of 
 a house alone." 
 
 " That would be a sad commentary on your remark." 
 
 They speedily obtained what they deemed essential, and 
 turned off the gas which was still burning. It was evident that 
 no one had entered the house since its occupants had left it. 
 Mrs. Bodine's residence was comparatively uninjured, and 
 when leaving it the captain was able to lock the outer door. 
 
 On their way back to the square George stammered, 
 " Captain Bodine, it may be very bad taste to speak of such 
 a matter now, but we do not know what an hour will bring 
 forth. I would like to have some understanding with you. 
 Beyond that there may be no need of any thing further 
 being said until all these troubles are over. I — I — well, 
 can I venture to make my former request ? Your daughter 
 has my happiness wholly in her hands. I do not intend to 
 embarrass her by a word until she is again in her own home, 
 but I wish to know that my hopes and efforts to win her 
 regard have your sanction." 
 
 " How does your father feel about this ? " Bodine asked 
 gravely. 
 
 " He has given his full and cordial approval. Now that 
 he has seen Miss Bodine she has won him completely." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, I owe to you her life which I value 
 
41 8 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 more than my own. You know we are lacking in every- 
 thing except pride and good name." 
 
 " My dear sir," interrupted George earnestly, " God has 
 endowed your daughter as man could not. You know I 
 love and honor her for herself and always shall." 
 
 " You are right," said the father proudly, " and you are 
 so truly a man, as well as a gentleman, that you estimate 
 my penniless daughter at her intrinsic worth. As far as my 
 approval and good wishes are concerned you have them." 
 
 Ella thought that George's face was wonderfully radiant 
 when he appeared. As soon as she could get a word alone 
 with her father, she asked, " What have you been saying to 
 Mr. Houghton?" 
 
 " I have only answered his second request that he might 
 pay you his addresses." 
 
 " O papa ! what a tantalizing answer ! What did he say, 
 and what did you say, word for word ? Surely you didn't 
 tell " — 
 
 " I only gave my consent, not yours. You are at perfect 
 liberty to reject him," was the smiling reply. 
 
 " That is well as far as it goes, but I wish to know every 
 word." 
 
 Her father's heart was too heavy to permit continuance in 
 a playful vein, and he told her substantially what had been 
 said. " Well," she concluded, with a complacent litde nod, 
 " I think I'll let him pay his addresses a while longer. The 
 absurd fellow to go and idealize me so ! Time will cure 
 such folly, however. Papa, there's something troubling you 
 besides the earthquake." 
 
 " Yes, Ella, and you must help me, — you and Cousin 
 Sophy." Then he told her how he thought matters stood 
 between Mara and Clancy, checked her first indignant words, 
 explained and insisted until she promised that she and Mrs. 
 Bodine would shield Mara, and act as if she were as free as 
 
A CITY ENCAMPING. 419 
 
 she had ever been. " It will all come about yet, papa," Ella 
 whispered, " for Mr. Clancy has evidently committed him- 
 self to Miss Ainsley, although now I reckon he regrets it." 
 
 " Well, Ella dear, redouble your kindness and gentleness 
 to Mara, and let matters over which we have no control take 
 their course." 
 
 Clancy had not been idle during the morning, finding in 
 constant occupation, and even in the incurring of risks, a 
 relief to his perturbed thoughts. He and Sam procured 
 a small cooking-stove, and also set up the cross-sticks of a 
 gypsy camp before the open side of the awning. Aun' 
 Sheba was placed in charge of the provisions, a responsi- 
 bility in which Uncle Sheba wished to share, but she said 
 severely, " Mr. Buggone, you'se dun git yer lowance wid 
 Sissy an' de chil'n." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby at last returned on an express-wagon, 
 well loaded with articles which would add much comfort in 
 the enforced picnic. His face was sad and troubled as he 
 greeted his wife. 
 
 " O Jennie," he said, " our pretty home is such a wreck ! " 
 
 " No matter, Hal, since you are safe and sound," was her 
 cheery reply. " Come, girls, we can now dress for dinner. 
 I feel like a fool in this light silk." 
 
 They all eventually re-appeared in costumes more suitable 
 for camping. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine was also enabled to exchange her blanket 
 wrapper for the one she was accustomed to wear at home. 
 With almost the zest of a girl she appreciated the pictur- 
 esque elements of their experiences ; and her high spirits 
 and courage were infectious. With the aid of Sam and 
 Jube, Aun' Sheba entered vigorously on preparations for 
 dinner; a breeze with passing clouds tempered the sun's 
 hot rays ; and hope again began to cheer as time passed 
 without further disturbance. 
 
420 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 "on Jordan's banks we stan'." 
 
 A UN' SHEBAhad succeeded fairly well with the dinner, 
 considering the materials and the appliances available. 
 No one, however, was disposed to epicurean fastidiousness. 
 The situation was gravely discussed, and the experiences of 
 friends related. Dr. Devoe gave cheering assurances that 
 injury to life and limb had been far less than might have 
 been expected. " The first shock could scarcely have come 
 at a better time," he said. " If it had happened when the 
 streets were full of people, one shudders to think of the 
 number that would have been killed or maimed. The fact 
 is, the great majority of casualties appear to have occurred 
 as people were leaving their houses." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter received much attention from him, and she 
 continued so ill that ]\Iara did not leave her. Bodine became 
 convinced that a chance to speak with Mara in private might 
 not be obtained very speedily, and therefore, with kindly 
 consideration for her feelings, resolved to write that after- 
 noon. He had nothing at hand better than pencil and 
 note-book. He wrote, — 
 
 My dear Mara, — You have so many sorrows and anxieties now 
 that I cannot wait longer in my effort to relieve you of one of them. 
 You should have been more frank with me ; yet, so far from re- 
 proaching you, I only remember that you are the daughter of my 
 dearest friend, and that you need me as protector and father rather 
 than as lover. I appreciate your motive to sacrifice yourself for my 
 
"ON JORDAN'S BANK'S IVE STAN\'' 42 1 
 
 sake. Perhaps you will remember that I have warned you against 
 this noble impulse of self-sacrifice — a tendency, however, which may 
 be carried much too far. You utterly misjudge me if you think I 
 would consciously accept any such sacrifice on your part. As far as 
 I am concerned you are free from any obligation whatever, except 
 that of trusting me, and coming to m.e as Ella does, as nearly as you 
 can. You need a stanch and faitMul protector against yourself, and 
 such will be, 
 
 HUGH BODINE. 
 
 Ella carried this missive into the little tent set apart 
 for Mrs. Hunter. When Mara read the note she hid it 
 in her bosom, and buried her face in her hands. Ella 
 tried to soothe her, assuring her that she knew how it had 
 all come about, and that it would make no difference in her 
 love. 
 
 " O Ella ! " Mara sobbed, " my pride needed humbhng, 
 and I am overwhelmed in very truth. I thought I was 
 superior to you, and that my course was so heroic. The 
 result is I have wronged and made unhappy your father, the 
 man I honor most in all the world. Oh, I feel now that it 
 would have been better if I had been buried under the 
 ruins." 
 
 " Mara," said Ella firmly, " this is a time when we must 
 make the best of every thing — when we should not waste 
 our strength in grieving over what cannot be helped. Papa 
 has explained every thing to me, and you will only wound 
 him further if you do not comply with his wishes. He is 
 very resolute ; and, in a matter of this kind, you could not 
 move him a hair's breadth. Please do just what he asks 
 now, and let time make future duty clearer." 
 
 Bodine was not astray in thinking that his note would 
 relieve Mara's mind. Sad and humiliated as she was, his 
 words had taken her from a false position, and would 
 enable her to give him the filial love and homage with 
 which her heart overflowed. Even if Clancy escaped from 
 
422 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 his entanglement, which she much doubted, she felt that 
 both should pay the penalty of their errors in long pro- 
 bation. 
 
 As the afternoon wore away Mrs. Willoughby and ]\Irs. 
 Bodine took some much needed rest. Clancy went down 
 town to look after his own affairs. Mr. Houghton had a 
 consultation with his confidential man of business, at which 
 George was present. Then the young fellow busied himself 
 in perfecting the camp appointments and securing more 
 provisions. 
 
 Kern Watson and his family, Aun' Sheba and her hus- 
 band, with old Tobe and a few friends and neighbors, knelt 
 around the remains of little Vilet as Mr. Birdsall offered a 
 prayer. Bodine, Ella, and George, with his two servants, 
 were also present. Then the minister and a few others 
 helped the stricken father to bury his child. After the 
 brief service the captain told Ella that she must go and rest 
 till he called her. 
 
 George ventured to walk back with the tearful girl and 
 to say, " Miss Bodine, you seem to have a hand to help 
 and a heart to feel with every one." 
 
 "I should be callous indeed," she replied, "if I did not 
 grieve at the death of that little girl. She aided in my effort 
 to earn a livelihood, I saw her daily, and no one could 
 help becoming fond of her, she was so good, and gentle, and 
 quiet. Her poor father — how I pity him ! The mute 
 anguish in his face was overpowering. He is the most 
 quiet, but he grieves the most, and will never get over it." 
 
 "I think you are right. Miss Bodine. I don't believe 
 your intuitions would often lead you astray." 
 
 " I am very matter-of-fact," Ella replied. 
 
 " If I admit that, I must also add that one would htive to 
 do his level best to furnish the kind of facts you would 
 approve of." 
 
" ON JORDAN'S BANK'S WE STAN\" 423 
 
 "And I must also add, Mr. Houghton, that you are fur- 
 nishing them in plenty. I can never try to thank you, for I 
 shouldn't know where to begin, or when to leave off." 
 
 " Please leave off now. O Miss Bodine ! I am so grate- 
 ful for your kindness to my father, and he is just as pleased 
 as I am," 
 
 "Ah ! I've at last caught you in a bit of selfishness," she 
 said with a piquant smile. " You would keep the privilege 
 of thanking people while denying it to me;" and she 
 vanished before he could reply. 
 
 " Oh ! " he groaned inwardly, " if any of these Southern 
 fellows carry her off, I'm done for." 
 
 Miss Ainsley spent a very wretched afternoon. Clancy 
 was away, Mrs. Willoughby Avorn out, and she was left 
 chiefly to her own resources, which were meagre indeed 
 under the circumstances. Instead of forgetting self in be- 
 half of those less fortunate, she brooded over what she 
 deemed neglect. Mr. Willoughby talked to her for a time 
 after dinner, and then busied himself in helping others pro- 
 vide shelter against the coming night; loaning here and 
 there some of the articles which he had brought from his 
 home. Throughout the day multitudes had been making 
 preparations to spend the night in the squares, vacant lots, 
 and in spacious yards. Few had been so forehanded as 
 George Houghton, who had the advantage of abundant 
 means, and good, fearless help in his efforts. By this time, 
 however, the square was well covered by almost every variety 
 of hastily improvised shelters, and the rays of the late after- 
 noon sun brought out rainbow hues, strange and picturesque 
 effects, so diverse were the materials employed and the 
 ingenuity in construction which had been exercised. 
 
 Clancy had been almost reckless in his disposition to 
 enter buildings, a risk which few others would incur on that 
 day. He returned after four o'clock with a large supply of 
 
424 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 provisions, which he beheved might be difficult to obtain 
 should the shocks continue with greater violence. So far 
 from observing that he was pale from exhaustion, Miss 
 Ainsley was inclined to be reproachful that he had remained 
 away so long. He listened wearily for a time, then an- 
 swered, " I did not think that I could be especially useful 
 here. Men, like soldiers, must do what must be done. I 
 have taken pains to learn in your behalf that telegraphic and 
 railroad communication will soon be re-established, and I 
 have arranged, as soon as a despatch can be sent, to have 
 one forwarded to your father's last address, assuring him that 
 you are safe." 
 
 " My father is not at the place of his last address. If he 
 is alive, he is trying to reach me, and he will not leave me 
 till he has taken me utterly away from all this horror and 
 danger. I hope you are ready to leave Charleston now." 
 
 " Leave my native city in its present plight ! Why, Miss 
 Ainsley, that would be almost like running away and leaving 
 my mother." 
 
 "Are brick and mortar more to you than I am? " 
 
 "Bricks and mortar do not make Charleston, but the 
 people with whom I have always lived. I will certainly 
 take you to a place of safety, if your father cannot ; but my 
 duty is here. I would not only lose the respect of every 
 one, but also my own self-respect, if I did not cast in my 
 lot with this people until every vestige of ruin has disap- 
 peared." 
 
 " I'm sure I never wish to see the place again," she 
 replied sullenly. 
 
 " It would be unjust for me to expect that you should feel 
 as I do about it ; but 1 am a citizen, and you yourself would 
 eventually despise me were I not faithful to my obligations." 
 
 This method of putting the case silenced her for the time. 
 She knew that he had ascribed to her a higher conception 
 
" ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAN':' 425 
 
 of duty than she possessed, and she beUeved that he was 
 also aware of the fact. Since she had gone so far with him 
 she now wished him to be a bhnd, unquestioning lover, 
 wholly devoted and ready to fly with her at the first oppor- 
 tunity. The very quahties which they had mutually admired 
 were now seen on their seamy side. Her cosmopolitan 
 spirit which led her to sigh, " Anywhere so it be not Charles- 
 ton," was now at war with his feeling of almost passionate 
 commiseration for his stricken birthplace ; while she in turn 
 found his unyielding nature and keen perceptions which had 
 afforded such pleasure in overcoming and meeting were now 
 not at all to her wishes. She had yielded to him as never 
 before to any one, and was intensely chagrined that he was 
 not wholly subservient to her. If he should not become so 
 she could never think of him without humiliation. He had 
 seen her undisguised in all her weakness. She had thrown 
 herself into his arms and implored his protection almost as 
 unreservedly as Mrs. Willoughby had clung to her husband. 
 She had also left him when he was helpless, and again when 
 he was ill and weak. What she required now, therefore, 
 was a blind idolatry ; and so many had offered this that she 
 felt entitled to it, even though there should be no such 
 devotion on her part. If, in any sense, he should be critic 
 as well as lover, he could make her exceedingly uncom- 
 fortable ; and she had a growing perception that he was 
 comparing her with others, that there was a lack of warmth 
 in his words and manner, which even the circumstances 
 could not extenuate. She resolved, therefore, to teach him 
 that she would tolerate nothing half-way in his conduct. 
 She was sitting on a chair while he reclined at her feet, and 
 she determined that he should be at her feet in a sense 
 which had large meanings to her. So she rose and said 
 coldly, " Mr. Clancy, you seem to have so many obligations 
 that I scarcely know where I come in." 
 
426 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Then she went towards the awning, intending to withdraw 
 herself from his society until he should become sufficiently 
 humble. He rose in strong irritation, too weary even to be 
 patient. At this instant the shock which occurred at 5.16 
 passed over the city. In a second all her purposes van- 
 ished ; her abject terror returned, and she threw herself on 
 his breast, and sobbing, buried her face on his shoulder. 
 Mrs. Willoughby also fled to her husband. As Mrs. Hunter 
 had seemed quieter Aun' Sheba had been watching in the 
 place of Mara, who had sought a little rest beneath the awn- 
 ing. She now came hastily out, but Clancy would not 
 encounter her eyes. Indeed, his false position overwhelmed 
 him with increasing shame and confusion. He resolved in 
 a sort of desperation to meet Miss Ainsley's requirements as 
 far as possible until she was safe in her father's hands, and 
 then to become free. If he had known how Mara's position 
 enabled her to interpret his own he would have been more 
 resigned. 
 
 The shock which occurred so late in the day was a sad 
 preparation for the night, to which all looked forward with 
 unspeakable dread. Such little confidence or cheerfulness 
 as had been maintained was dissipated ; weariness and 
 deferred relief increased the general dejection ; only the 
 bravest could maintain their fortitude. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine's courage was due to a faith and a tempera- 
 ment which did not fail her. The veteran remained quiet 
 and steady, with soldier-like endurance, but Ella was be- 
 coming exhausted. She had had very htde sleep for a long 
 time, and had passed through strong excitement. Indeed, 
 all her powers had been taxed severely. While she had 
 more physical and moral courage than most girls of her age 
 possess, she, like the great majority, suffered much from fear 
 at the recurrence of the shocks. As night came on she 
 yielded to the general depression. 
 
"ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAN'r 427 
 
 Aun' Sheba also had almost reached the limits of her 
 powers, a fact she could not help showing as she set about 
 preparations for supper. George instantly noted this. He 
 had secured some rest the night before, and possessed great 
 capabilities of endurance combined with an unusually fear- 
 less spirit. He also believed that this was his hour and 
 opportunity, and that he could do more to win Ella's favor 
 that night by brave cheerful effort than by any amount of 
 love-making afterwards. He little dreamed how completely 
 won she was already. Her plan of receiving his " ad- 
 dresses " indefinitely had already lost its charms. She now 
 simply longed to lean her weary head upon his shoulder and 
 be petted and comforted a little. Unaware that the citadel 
 could be had at any time for the asking, George began his 
 sapping and mining operations with great vigor. He made. 
 Aun' Sheba sit down and give directions for supper,- which 
 he and his two colored men carried out. Mrs. Bodine was 
 the only one who would jest with him, and he had a word 
 of banter with her; and a cheery word for every one as 
 occasion permitted. 
 
 " Bravo, George ! " said Dr. Devoe, as they at last sat 
 down to supper. " We vote you the Mark Tapley of this 
 occasion. I'm so used up that I've only energy enough to 
 drink a cup of coffee." 
 
 Ella was about to wait on Mr, Houghton as before, but 
 George intercepted her, saying, "You are too tired." 
 
 " I would rather," she urged with downcast eyes. She 
 bore the tray to the invalid, who looked at her very kindly, 
 as he said, "You are worn out, my dear." 
 
 "Please don't speak that way," she faltered. "I'm just 
 that silly and tired, that I can't stand any thing." 
 
 " You brave, noble girl ! What haven't you stood and en- 
 dured for the last few hours and weeks ! I have a very guilty 
 conscience, Miss Bodine, and you only can absolve me." 
 
428 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " No one must be kind to me to-night, or I shall break 
 down utterly ; " and dashing a tear away, she hastily with- 
 drew. 
 
 George heaped her plate ; but when he saw that she 
 would touch nothing but her coffee, he looked at her with 
 such deep solicitude in his face that she sprung up and fled 
 to the sheltering awning, leaving him perplexed and troubled 
 indeed. All were too well bred to make any remark upon 
 this little side scene. At her post of observation by the fire, 
 and although her eyes were full of tears, tributes to little 
 Vilet, Aun' Sheba shook for a moment with suppressed 
 laughter. Motherly Mrs. Bodine soon followed Ella, and 
 taking her in her arms, said soothingly, " There, now, child, 
 have a good cry, and you'll feel better. I wish to the Lord, 
 though, that all the world had as little to cry about as you, 
 my dear," 
 
 " That's what provokes me so, cousin. It's so silly and 
 weak." 
 
 " Oh, well, Ella, you're done beat out, as Aun' Sheba 
 says ; and that's the only trouble — that and the blindness 
 of yonder great boy, who expects to court 5'ou for months 
 before venturing to stammer some incoherent nonsense. 
 Now, a Southern man " — 
 
 " Cousin Sophy, I won't listen to such words," said Ella, 
 the hot blood coming into her pale face. " He isn't a 
 great boy; he's the bravest man I ever heard of. Now, 
 when every one is giving out, he is only the braver and 
 stronger. If he is absurd enough to be afraid of me — 
 Well, you are the last one to speak so." 
 
 " There, there, child ; this is my way of feeling your 
 pulse and giving a little tonic," said Mrs. Bodine, laughing. 
 " You have indications of strong vitality, as the doctor would 
 say. Bless the big Vandal ! If I were a girl, I'd set my 
 cap at him myself." 
 
" ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAN':' 429 
 
 " O Cousin Sophy ! Aren't you ashamed to work me up 
 so ? Well, that is the last glimmer of spunk that I can show 
 to-night." 
 
 " If I could only manage to give him a hint of your weak 
 and defenceless condition " — 
 
 " Cousin Sophy, if you do any thing of the kind " — and 
 she almost sprung to her feet. 
 
 The old lady pulled her back, stopped her mouth with 
 kisses, as she said, " I won't tease you any more to-night." 
 In a few moments she had soothed the girl to sleep. 
 
 George and Clancy now took full charge of the camp ; 
 for the members of their party, both white and black, were 
 so exhausted and depressed as to be unequal to much exer- 
 tion. Clancy seemed possessed by a sort of feverish rest- 
 lessness. If he had been soothed and quieted when he 
 returned in the afternoon, he would have passed the danger 
 point unharmed ; but his jaded body and mind had been 
 stung into renewed action, and now he was fast losing the 
 power to rest. Outraged Nature was beginning to take her 
 revenge, but no one except Bodine observed the fact. 
 Again putting self under his feet, he took Clancy aside, and 
 said, "Pardon an old soldier, but experience in the field 
 has taught me when a man must stop. Dr. Devoe is ex- 
 hausted and asleep, or I would send him to you. So take 
 honest advice from me. If you don't quiet your nerves and 
 sleep, you'll have trouble." 
 
 Clancy, in grateful surprise, thanked him warmly, and said 
 he would rest later on. His hope was that Miss Ainsley 
 would retire, for in his present condition he felt that her 
 voluble expressions of fear and general dissatisfaction would 
 be intolerable. At this juncture some one came and said 
 that a friend of his in another part of the square was ill and 
 wished to see him. He explained and excused himself to 
 Miss Ainsley, who replied only by a cold, reproachful glance. 
 
430 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 The light of day faded ; the stars shone cahnly above the 
 strange scene, where lamps and candles flickered dim and 
 pale, like the hopes of those who had lighted them. The 
 murmur of conversation was lost in the loud singing of 
 hymns, prayers and exhortations on the part of the negroes. 
 
 Mr. Birdsall had gathered many of his flock about him, 
 and was conducting a religious service in a fairly orderly 
 manner. Both he and his people yielded somewhat to the 
 intense excitement of the occasion, but it was his intention 
 that the religious exercises should cease at a reasonable 
 hour. 
 
 Kern, Sissy, and Aun' Sheba were sitting silently near 
 him, and at last the minister said, " Bruder Watson, you an' 
 your wife will feel bettah if you express you'se feelin's, an' 
 sing awhile. I reckon, if I say you an' you' wife will sing, 
 they will be mo' quiet." 
 
 Kern assented to any thing like a call of duty, and Mr. 
 Birdsall resumed, " Fren's, in closin' de meetin' fer dis 
 ebenin', Bruder an' Sista Watson will sing a hymn togeder ; 
 an' we, respectin' dere berebement, will listen. Dey have 
 been gready offlicted, for de Lawd has taken from dem de 
 lam* of dere bosoms, I ask you all now to listen to de ex- 
 pression of dere faith in dis night ob sorrow. Den we mus' 
 remembah dat de sick an' weak are in dis squar, and gib 
 dem a- chance to res'." 
 
 Kern lifted up his magnificent voice charged with the 
 pent-up feeling of his heart, and his wife joined him with 
 her rich, powerful contralto. 
 
 " On Jordan's banks we stan', 
 An Jordan's stream roll by ; 
 No bridge de Avatahs span, 
 De flood am risin high. 
 Heah it foam an' roar, de dark flood tide, 
 How shel we cross to de oder side .'' 
 
"ON JORDAN'S BANKS WE STAN\" 431 
 
 De riber deep an strong, 
 
 De wabes am bery cole ; 
 We see it rush along, 
 
 But who can venture bole ? 
 Heah it foam an* roar, etc. 
 
 A little chile step down ; 
 It go in de riber deep. 
 Kin little feet touch groun' 
 
 Whar mountain billows sweep ? 
 Heah dem foam an roar, etc. 
 
 Dere comes a flash ob light, 
 
 Ober de cole dark wabes ; 
 
 Dere come de angels' flight — 
 
 See shinin' bans dat sabe. 
 
 From de watah's foam, de dark flood tide, 
 
 Fer de Lawd hab seen from de oder side. 
 
 Heah music swellin gran' ; 
 
 Yes, songs of welcome ring, 
 White wings de riber span 
 De little chile to bring. 
 Den let ole Jordan roar, de dark flood tide ; 
 We'se borne across to de oder side." 
 
 The melodious duet rose and fell in great waves of sound, 
 silencing all other voices. Contrary to Mr. Birdsall's expec- 
 tations, religious fervor was only increased, and hoping to 
 control it he asked Kern and Sissy to lead in several familiar 
 hymns. The negroes throughout the square promptly re- 
 sponded, while not a few of the white refugees joined their 
 voices to the mighty diapason of sound, which often swelled 
 into grand harmonies. 
 
 Kern soon afterwards went on duty for the night; Mr. 
 Birdsall confined himself to quiet ministrations to his own 
 people, and the leadership of the rehgious exercises fell into 
 less judicious hands. 
 
432 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 
 
 A UN' SHEBA, with a devotion which quite equalled 
 that to her own offspring, returned to Mara with the 
 intention of watching Mrs. Hunter while the girl slept. 
 She found Mrs. Bodine sitting with Mara, but the old col- 
 ored woman was received with a warmth of welcome and 
 sympathy which put her at ease at once. Mrs. Hunter had 
 sunk into a kind of stupor rendering her unconscious of 
 what was passing, and therefore they conversed in low 
 tones. 
 
 " I reckon we need have no secrets from Aun' Sheba," 
 said Mrs. Bodine. 
 
 " No," answered Mara, taking her old mammy's hand. 
 " If ever a motherless girl had a true friend I have one in 
 Aun' Sheba." 
 
 "Yes, honey, you'se right dar, an' I hopes you git right on 
 some Oder tings. I put a spoke in de hon'ble business an' 
 I'se ready to put mo' in." She then briefly related her 
 interview with Clancy and concluded, " Missy Mara, fo' de 
 Lawd, wot kin you do but mar'y Marse Clancy arter wot 
 happen wen he come fer you an' ole missus ? " 
 
 Mara made no reply, but sat with her face buried in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Aun' Sheba, this matter is all settled and settled honor- 
 ably, too, as far as it can be. Captain Bodine has released 
 Mara in words of the utmost kindness." 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 433 
 
 "Well, now, he am quality!" ejaculated Aun' Sheba in 
 hearty appreciation. 
 
 " But," sobbed Mara, " it just breaks my heart " — 
 " No, honey lam', it won' break you heart, nor his nuther. 
 Doin' what's right an' nat'ral an 'cordin to de Lawd doan 
 break no hearts. It's de oder ting wot dus in de long run, 
 an' mar'in' gen'ly means a long run. You'd hab ter begin 
 by lyin' 'miscuously, as I tole Marse Clancy, an no good 
 ud come ob dat." 
 
 "Well, it is all settled as far as Mara is concerned," said 
 Mrs. Bodine with a little laugh, " and there need be no 
 'miscuous lying. How Mr. Clancy will get out of his 
 scrape remains to be seen." 
 
 " Well, I tells you how he git out. I'se kep an eye on 
 dat limpsey slimpsey runaway as well as on de pots an kit- 
 tles, an she's gwine ter run away agin from dis yere town 
 jes as soon as de way open. Dat'll be de las you see ob 
 her." 
 
 "She's had a hard time of it, poor thing," said Mrs. 
 Bodine charitably, "and we can't expect her to feel about 
 Charleston as we do. The question is, will Mr. Clancy feel 
 obliged to follow her eventually?" 
 " I tink he's 'bliged not ter." 
 
 "Well, Aun' Sheba, I'm glad you have such strong 
 religious ideas of marriage." 
 
 " I'se feerd I ain't bery 'ligious 'bout any ting. I put 
 myself on 'bation while ago, but I kin'er forgits 'bout dat 
 'bation, I hab so much to tink ob." 
 
 Mrs. Bodine began to laugh as she said, " I thought you 
 were a sensible woman, Aun' Sheba." 
 
 " Yes, I know. I did tole Marse Clancy dat I hab hoss- 
 sense." 
 
 "Then you were lying 'miscuously." 
 "How dat, missus?" 
 
434 ^-^^ EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Why, Aun' Sheba, do you think you have been hiding 
 your light under a bushel basket all this time ? Old Han- 
 nah — poor old Hannah ! I wonder what has become of 
 her — she and Mara have told me how you do for the sick 
 and poor. Don't you know that the Bible says, ' Inasmuch 
 as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my breth- 
 ren ye have done it unto me ' ? You've sent me nice things 
 more than once. I'm 'one of the least of these.' You 
 don't do these things to be seen of men." 
 
 " No, nor I doesn't do it kase I specs ter git anoder 
 string to my harp bime-by. I does it kase I'se kin'er sorry 
 fer de po' critters." 
 
 " Exactly. That is why He fed the hungry and healed 
 the sick. He was sorry for them. Come, Aun' Sheba, 
 don't be foolish any more." 
 
 "I feels it kin'er sumptious ter be so shuah." 
 
 "Now, Aun' Sheba, you are doing wrong," said Mrs. 
 Bodme gravely and earnestly. "The Lord has been very 
 patient with you — more so than I would be. If I had 
 made you promises and you kept saying, ' I don't feel sure 
 about them,' I'd give you a piece of my mind." 
 
 " Lor, missus, how you puts it ! Is it dataway ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, den, I jes takes myse'f off 'bation. I'se gwine ter 
 hang onter de promises. Lawd, Lawd, missus, I s'posed I'd 
 hab ter groan so dey heah me all ober de squar fo' I could 
 be 'ligious." 
 
 " Oh, dear, hear it now ! Such groaning makes every 
 one else groan. The voice that God hears is the wish of 
 the heart and not a hullabaloo. How shall we get through 
 the night if this keeps up? If you'll help me to my quar- 
 ters I'll try to get what rest I can." 
 
 When Aun' Sheba returned, Mara insisted on her lying 
 down till she was called. '' I shall do something in this 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 435 
 
 time of trouble except make trouble," said the girl reso- 
 lutely, and she would take no denial. 
 
 Clancy found that his friend needed much attention, 
 which he gave until warned by his own symptoms that he 
 must see a physician. He found George lying on a blanket 
 by a small fire, and that all the others were either sleeping 
 or resting. " I declare I hate to waken Dr. Devoe," he 
 said, " but I feel as if I were going to be ill." 
 
 George felt the hand of his friend, and sprung up, saying, 
 " I'll waken Dr. Devoe with or without your leave." 
 
 After a brief examination the physician said, — 
 
 " Why did you not come to me before ? " 
 
 Clancy explained that he had been caring for a sick 
 friend, to which the doctor replied testily, — 
 
 " I don't believe he was half so ill as you are. Well, 
 you must obey me now as long as you are rational, and I 
 fear that won't be very long." And he promptly placed 
 Clancy under the open part of the awning, which was the 
 sleeping-room for the men by night, and general living-room 
 by day. Having given his patient a remedy, he returned 
 and said, " Here you are, too, Houghton, up and around. 
 Do you wish to break down also? " 
 
 "You forget, doctor, that I had some sleep last night. 
 Feel my pulse." 
 
 " Slightly febrile, but then I know what's the matter 
 with you. If I were not so old and bald-headed I'd cut 
 out a slow coach like you. I'm half a mind to try it as it 
 is." 
 
 "Go ahead, doctor. You'll be only one more. How 
 many are there now, do you suppose ? " 
 
 " I know how many there should be after what I've seen. 
 But bah ! you Northern young chaps lay siege to a girl at 
 such long range that she surrenders to some other fellow 
 before you find it out." 
 
436 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " Would you have me call her now, shake her awake, and 
 propose?" asked George irritably. 
 
 " No, I'd have you fight shy and give me a chance. There, 
 you are too far gone for a jest. What are you up for? " 
 
 " Because I'm not sleepy, for one thing, and I think 
 some one should be on guard. What's more, I don't like 
 the way those negroes are performing. They seem to be 
 going wild." 
 
 " Yes, and they are doing a lot of harm to the sick and 
 feeble. If they don't stop at midnight I'll find out whether 
 there's any law in this city. I say, Houghton, since you are 
 going to sit up, give Clancy this medicine every half hour, 
 and call me at twelve." He then wrapped himself in a 
 blanket and was asleep in a minute. 
 
 If George had been wide awake before, the doctor's rail- 
 ery so increased his impatience and worry that for a time 
 he paced up and down before the fire. Was he faint-hearted 
 in wooing Ella? Suppose some bold Southerner should 
 forestall him? The thought was torture; yet it seemed un- 
 generous and unkind to seek her openly while she was in a 
 sense his guest and dependent upon him. "Well," he 
 growled at last, " I won't do it. When she first spoke to 
 me she said I was a gentleman, and I'll be hanged if I don't 
 remain one and take my chances." 
 
 He threw himself down again by the fire with his back to 
 the awning. Before very long he heard a light step. Turn- 
 ing hastily he saw Ella's startled face by the light of the fire. 
 
 " O Mr. Houghton ! is it you ? Pardon me for disturb- 
 ing you," and she was about to retreat. 
 
 He was on his feet instantly and said, " You will only dis- 
 turb me by going away, that is -^ I mean if you are not 
 tired and sleepy." 
 
 " There is such a dreadful noise I can't sleep any more," 
 she replied, hesitating a moment. 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 437 
 
 "Suppose — you might help me watch a Uttle while then," 
 he stammered. 
 
 " I'll watch if you will rest." 
 
 "Certainly;" and he brought her a chair and then re- 
 clined near her feet. 
 
 " But I meant that you should sleep." 
 
 " I only promised to rest." 
 
 " But you need sleep if any one does. I've had a good 
 nap and feel much better. How late is it? " 
 
 " Nearly eleven, and time for Clancy's medicine." When 
 he returned he told her about Clancy. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " she said sympathetically. 
 
 " Clancy seems to have trouble on his mind. We all 
 have enough, but he more than his share." 
 
 " I should think you would be worried out of your senses 
 with so many people to think about and care for. No 
 wonder you can't sleep." 
 
 " Thoughts of people do not keep me awake, and I am 
 glad to say my father's resting quietly. He and your father 
 are born soldiers." 
 
 " Your father's to blame for my making a fool of myself 
 at the supper-table. He spoke so kindly and sympatheti- 
 cally, and I was so tired and silly that I couldn't stand any 
 thing. Then you looked reproachfully at me because I 
 couldn't eat all you sent — enough to make Uncle Sheba ill." 
 
 " Now, Miss Bodine, I didn't look at you reproachfully." 
 
 " Who's that snoring over there? " 
 
 " Dr. Devoe. My facial muscles must have been shaken 
 out of shape to have given you so false an impression. 
 Anyhow, I seem to have driven you away, and I've been 
 miserable ever since." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Houghton ! The idea of letting a tired girl's 
 weakness disturb you ! You will soon be as ill as Mr. 
 Clancy." 
 
438 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " I'm only stating a fact." 
 
 " Well, facts are very queer nowadays. I suppose we 
 shouldn't be surprised at any thing." 
 
 " Yet you are a continual surprise to me, Miss Bodine. 
 Do you think I've forgotten any thing since you carried 
 Mrs. Bodine out of her tottering house?" 
 
 " O Mr. Houghton ! my memory goes further back than 
 that. I can see a tall man leap into a sinking boat and — 
 and — oh, why did you sink with it ? My father's agony 
 over the thought that you had died for him turned his hair 
 white." 
 
 " I couldn't help sinking. Miss Bodine. If it hadn't been 
 for that blasted pole — Well, perhaps it saved all our lives, 
 for my boat was over-loaded as it was. But don't think 
 about that affair. It might have turned out worse." 
 
 " It might indeed. If you knew how we all felt when we 
 thought you were drowned ! " 
 
 " Well, I thank God that I happened to be near." 
 
 " Happened ! You seemed to have a presentiment of 
 evil, and kept near." 
 
 " I was facing a certainty of evil then, Miss Bodine. I 
 expected to go North in a few days, and feared I might not 
 see you again. There, I shouldn't speak so now. My 
 memory goes back further than yours. I remember a blue- 
 eyed stranger who drew near to me when I was facing a 
 street bully, as if she meditated becoming my protector. I 
 saw a noble woman's soul in those clear eyes, and she said 
 ' I was a gentleman.' I must remember her words now with 
 might and main. All that I ask is that you won't let any 
 one else — that you will give me a chance when in your own 
 home. Your father has " — 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, is it not time for Mr. Clancy's medi- 
 cine?" 
 
 " Yes, and past time," he replied ruefully. 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 439 
 
 When he returned she said demurely, " I think I can 
 promise what you ask. Now surely, since your mind is at 
 rest, you can sleep. I will watch." 
 
 " I'm too happy to sleep." 
 
 " How absurd ! " 
 
 " Oh, the shock this morning did not disturb me half so 
 much as to see those fellows around with their devouring 
 eyes." 
 
 " Mr. Houghton, don't you think that if we asked them, 
 those colored people would be less loud ? It must be dread- 
 ful for those who are sick, and there are so many." 
 
 "They will be brutal indeed if they don't yield to 
 you," and he led the way to the nearest centre of disturb- 
 ance. 
 
 " Oh, see ! Mr. Houghton, there's our old Hannah." 
 
 He saw an old woman swaying back and forth, her lips 
 moving spasmodically, but uttering no sound. The crowd 
 watched her in a sort of breathless suspense. Suddenly she 
 burst out with the hymn, " O Raslin' Jacob ! let me go," and 
 the throng joined in the mighty refrain. The women swayed 
 to and fro violendy, all going together in a sort of rhythmic 
 motion, meandme clapping their hands in an ecstasy of 
 emotion. A man dropped to the earth " converted." He 
 yelled rather than prayed for mercy, then suddenly swooned 
 and became rigid as a corpse. Others, both men and women, 
 were prostrated also ; and to bring as many as possible into 
 this helpless condition appeared to be the general object as 
 far as any purpose was manifested. The crowd seemed to 
 regard poor, demented Hannah as inspired, for a space was 
 kept clear before her. When she began to sway in her weird 
 fashion, and her face to twitch, she was the priestess and the 
 oracle. The hymn she began was taken up first by two self- 
 appointed exhorters, then by all. 
 
 "■ O Hannah ! " cried Ella, when her voice could be heard. 
 
440 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 " do stop and come away. You are harming the sick and 
 the injured." 
 
 The old woman started, and on seeing the girl rushed for- 
 ward, crying, " Down on you knees. Now you chance. Pray 
 bruders, pray sistahs. De quakes neber stop till a white man 
 or woman converted — converted till dere proud heads in 
 de bery dus'," — and she sought to force Ella on her knees. 
 
 In a moment Ella was surrounded by the worshippers, 
 whose groans, shouts, prayers and ejaculations created 
 Pandemonium. The girl was terrified, but George encircled 
 her with his arm, and thundered, " Give way. I'll brain the 
 first man who stops us." 
 
 Awed for an instant they yielded to George's vigorous 
 push out and away, and then returned to their former wild 
 indulgence of religious frenzy. 
 
 For several paces after their escape he seemed to forget 
 that his arm was still around Ella, nor did she remind him. 
 Suddenly he removed it, saying, " Pardon me. Miss Bodine, 
 I am that enraged with those lunatics that I'd like to give 
 them something to howl about." 
 
 " Please be calm, Mr. Houghton," said Ella genUy. " I'm 
 not afraid now, and should not have been afraid at all. I 
 know these people better than you do. They wouldn't have 
 harmed us, and I fear they don't know any better. It's only 
 their looks, tones, and words that seem blasphemous, that 
 are frightful. It was I who took you there and I should 
 have known better." 
 
 " O Ella ! — beg pardon — Miss Bodine, what a savage a 
 man would be if you couldn't manage him ! " 
 
 "Then promise you won't go near those people any more." 
 
 " You are too brave a girl to ask that when you learn that 
 Dr. Devoe is going to tackle them with the police if they 
 don't quiet down by midnight." 
 
 They spoke in low tones as he again held her hand, while 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 44 1 
 
 they picked their way among the extemporized shelters and 
 uneasy refugees in the square. As they approached their 
 own quarters she faltered, " I'm not very brave to-night, and 
 I have long since learned that you are only too brave." 
 
 He paused, still retaining her hand as he said, "What 
 a strange scene this is ! How wild and unearthly those 
 sounds now seem ! How odd it all is — our homes yonder 
 deserted and we here under the stars. It's stranger than 
 any dream I ever had, yet if it were a dream I would not 
 wish to wake with you " — 
 
 "Mr. Houghton, what's that, that, that?'' 
 
 Far off in the southeast there were sounds like faint explo- 
 sions which grew rapidly louder. Instinctively he drew her 
 nearer, and saw her face grow white even in the faint radi- 
 ance of the stars. 
 
 " Oh ! " she gasped shuddering as the deep roar of the 
 coming earthquake began. Then his arm drew her close, 
 and she hid her face on his breast. 
 
 " Ella," he said solemnly, " I love you, God knows ff these 
 words were my last I would still say I love you." 
 
 The mighty roar gradually deepened, and with it blended 
 the cry of thousands ; the earth quivered and swayed, 
 then the thunder passed on, accompanied by sounds like the 
 distant crash of falling buildings. 
 
 George kissed the bowed head and whispered, "There, 
 it's over and we are safe." 
 
 " O thank God ! you were with me ! " she sobbed. 
 
 "May I not be with you always, Ella?" 
 
 " God grant it ! O George, George, I would have leaped 
 after you into the water if they had not held me. How 
 could I do without you now?" 
 
 " Come, my brave little wife, come with me to my father 
 and re-assure him." 
 
 " George," cried Mr. Houghton. 
 
442 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 "We are here," he answered, drawing aside the screen. 
 
 "We?" 
 
 " Yes, Ella and I. That last shock has rather hastened 
 matters." 
 
 " Ella, my dear child ! Truly God is bringing good out 
 of evil ; " and he took the girl into his arms. Then he 
 added, "You'll forgive me and be my own dear daughter?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Houghton. You'll find I am rich in love if 
 nothing else." . 
 
 " Ah ! Ella dear, the world seems going to pieces, and my 
 wealth with it, but love only grows more real and more 
 precious." 
 
 " My father's calling me ; " and kissing him a hasty 
 good-by she vanished. 
 
 Miss Ainsley again ran shrieking out, calling upon Clancy, 
 but Dr. Devoe met her and drew her away from his mutter- 
 ing, half-conscious patient. When she became sufficiently 
 quiet he told her that Clancy was dangerously ill, and that 
 nothing must be said or done to excite him. This seemed 
 to her only another proof of general disaster, and, in almost 
 abject tones, she begged, " O doctor, make me sleep till — 
 my father will surely come to-morrow, and then I can get 
 away." 
 
 Her entreaty was so loud that even Mara could not help 
 hearing her. The physician rather contemptuously thought 
 that it would be better for all if she were quiet, and gave 
 the anodyne. So far from feeling sympathy for Clancy she 
 was almost vindictive towards him for having failed her. 
 
 Fear, uncontrolled, becomes one of the most debasing of 
 the emotions. It can lead to panic even among soldiers 
 with arms in their hands ; sailors will trample on women 
 and children in their blind rush for the boats ; men will even 
 deny their convictions, their faith, and cringe to brutal 
 power ; crimes the most vile are committed from fear, and 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF A NIGHT. 443 
 
 fear had virtually obliterated womanhood in Miss Ainsley's 
 soul. She was in a mood to accept any conditions for the 
 assurance of safety, and she gave not a thought to any one 
 or any thing that offered no help. With the roar of the 
 earthquake still in her ears, and in the dark midnight she 
 knew there was no help, no way of escape, and so with the 
 \ impulse of the shipwrecked who break into the spirit room 
 she besought the opiate which could at least bring oblivion. 
 Her eyes, which could be so beautiful, had the wild, hunted 
 look of an animal, and her form, usually grace itself, writhed 
 into distortions. Her demoralization under the long-con- 
 tinued terror was complete, and all were glad when she 
 became unconscious and could be hidden from sight. As 
 Aun' Sheba made her way to her own household she 
 grunted, " A lun'tic out ob a 'sylem wouldn' mar'y dat gal if 
 he seed wot I seed." 
 
444 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL. 
 
 '^T^HERE were brave spirits and Heaven-sustained souls 
 X in the little camp which falls under our immediate 
 observation ; and outward calm was soon restored, yet it 
 was long before any one could sleep again. Although she 
 had trembled like a leaf, Mara had not left her watch by 
 Mrs. Hunter, nor had Aun' Sheba till some moments after 
 the shock. Then Mrs. Bodine joined the girl with soothing 
 and re-assuring words. She did not tell Mara, however, of 
 Clancy's illness, feeling that no additional burden should be 
 imposed until it was necessary. Mr. and Mrs. Willoughby 
 sat together by the fire; so also did Ella, with her head 
 upon her father's breast, as she told of the great joy which 
 robbed the night of so much of its terror. Old Tobe, with 
 Sam and Jube, crouched on the opposite side of the low, 
 flickering blaze, which lighted up in odd effect the white 
 wool and wrinkled visage of the aged negro. In some 
 respects he and Mr. Houghton were alike. The scenes they 
 were passing through toned down their fiery, domineering 
 spirits into resignation and fortitude. 
 
 George was restless, strong and inspired rather than awed 
 by the recent events. He knew that Ella's eyes followed 
 him as he came and went from his father's bedside, waited 
 on Clancy, and made himself useful in other ways. A man 
 would be craven indeed who could not be brave imder such 
 circumstances. 
 
GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL. 445 
 
 Beyond his camp, scenes impossible to describe were 
 taking place. White clergymen were going from group to 
 group, and from shelter to shelter, speaking words of cheer 
 and hope. Physicians were busy among those who needed 
 physical aid; husbands soothing wives, and parents their 
 sobbing children. 
 
 On the edge of the square near the street the groans and 
 cries of a woman began to draw the restless people who 
 always run to any point of disturbance. 
 
 "George," shouted Dr. Devoe. The young man re- 
 sponded promptly. " Keep this crowd away — the vulgar 
 wretches ! " 
 
 A woman of refinement and wealth, who with her hus- 
 band had clung to their adjacent home until the last shock 
 occurred, was in the throes of child-birth. 
 
 No one could stand a moment before the young man's 
 words and aspect, and in a few moments he secured all the 
 privacy possible. 
 
 Eventually he bore the almost swooning mother to the 
 inner room under the awning, where a bed had been made 
 for her, while Mrs. Bodine and Mrs. Willoughby cared for 
 the child. The husband was so prostrated by anxiety for 
 his wife as to be almost helpless himself. 
 
 Among a certain class of the negroes, to religious excite- 
 ment was added the wild terror of the earthquake, and they 
 were simply becoming frantic in their actions and expres- 
 sions. George, Dr. Devoe, Mr. Willoughby and some 
 others went to the large group of which old Hannah and 
 two great burly exhorters were the inspiration. They com- 
 manded and implored them to be more quiet, but received 
 only insolent replies. 
 
 " We'se savin' de city which de wickedness ob you white 
 folks is 'stroyin'," one of the shepherds shouted ; " an' we'se 
 gwine to cry loud and mighty till mawnin'." 
 
446 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 At this moment, George espied Uncle Sheba, who cer- 
 tainly appeared, in the general craze, to have a sense of his 
 besetting sin ; for he was yelling at the top of his lungs, 
 "I'se gwine ter wuck in de mawnin'." 
 
 Suddenly there burst through the crowd an apparition 
 before which he quailed ; his jaw dropped and his howl 
 degenerated into a groan. Aun' Sheba had heard and rec- 
 ognized his voice, and she went through the throng like a 
 puffing tug through driftwood. " Mister Buggone," she said, 
 with the sternness of fate, " ef yer doan stop yer noise 
 you'se 'lowance stop heah and now. Yer'U hab ter wuck 
 shuah or starbe, fer if yer doan come wid me now yer neber 
 come agin." 
 
 Uncle Sheba went away with her, meek as a lamb. 
 
 The others were too frenzied even to notice this little 
 scene. George, Mr. Willoughby, and some others were with 
 difficulty restrained by the cooler Dr. Devoe. " Go with me 
 to the station-house," he said. " In behalf of my patients 
 I will demand that this nuisance be abated." 
 
 The officer on duty returned with them, backed by a 
 resolute body of men. The two exhorters were told to take 
 their choice between silence and the station-house. There 
 is usually a good deal of selfish method in such leaders' 
 madness, and they sullenly retired. Poor, demented Hannah 
 was bundled away, and comparative quiet restored through 
 the square. 
 
 The weary hours dragged on ; the uneasy earth caused 
 no further alarms that night. At last the dawn was again 
 greeted with thankfulness beyond words. 
 
 There was no paper that morning, for compositors and 
 pressmen could not be induced to work, and at first there 
 was a feeling of great uncertainty and depression. 
 
 Mrs. Bodine's spirit was again like a cork on the surface. 
 At breakfast she remarked, "We had an awful time last 
 
GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL. 447 
 
 night, but here we are still alive, and able to take some 
 nourishment. I expect the Northern papers will say that 
 this wicked and rebellious old city is getting its deserts ; but 
 we shall soon have help and cheer from our Southern 
 friends." 
 
 "I think you will find yourself mistaken, Mrs. Bodine, 
 about the North," said George. 
 
 " O you ! " cried the old lady laughing, " you look at the 
 South through a pair of blue eyes. I reckon we shall have 
 to send you and Ella North as missionaries." 
 
 George in his pride and happiness could not keep his 
 secret, and had been congratulated with honest heartiness. 
 He therefore responded gayly, " When I take Ella North 
 even earthquakes won't keep young fellows from coming 
 here to see if any more like her are left." 
 
 Again Ella remarked, nodding significantly, "Time will 
 cure him. Cousin Sophy." 
 
 Nevertheless the illness of Mrs. Hunter and Clancy, and 
 the precarious condition of the young mother, cast a gloom 
 over the little party. Clancy's pulse indicated great exhaus- 
 tion, and he only recognized people when he was spoken 
 to. Dr. Devoe prohibited any one from going near him 
 except himself and George. Miss Ainsley uttered no pro- 
 test at this. She truly felt that after the events of the night 
 all was over between them. In a sort of sullen shame she 
 said little and longed only for the hour which would bring 
 her father and escape. 
 
 Mr. Ainsley arrived during the morning, and George 
 entertained him hospitably. His daughter clung to him 
 imploring him to take her away at the first possible moment. 
 He was much distressed at Clancy's condition, and offered 
 to take him North also ; but Dr. Devoe said authoritatively, 
 " He is too ill to be moved or even spoken to." Mrs. 
 Willoughby and her husband were determined that Miss 
 
448 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Ainsley should not give her father a false impression, and 
 spoke freely of Clancy's great exertions. " Yes," added 
 Dr. Devoe, " I feel guilty myself. He should have been 
 taken in hand yesterday afternoon and compelled to be 
 quiet in mind and body, but I had so many to look after, 
 and he seemed the embodiment of energy and fearlessness. 
 Well, it's too late now, and we must do the best we can for 
 him." 
 
 That day Mr. Ainsley and his daughter left the city. She 
 gave vivid descriptions of the catastrophe at the North, but 
 her friends remarked upon her fine reserve and modesty in 
 speaking of her personal experiences. Her faukless veneer 
 was soon restored, and we suppose she is pursuing her 
 career of getting the most and best out of life after a fash- 
 ion which has too many imitators. 
 
 Poor Mara's name was significant of her experience of 
 that day and others which followed. In the morning she 
 learned of Clancy's illness, and it was eventually found that 
 her voice and touch had a soothing effect possessed by no 
 other. 
 
 We have followed our characters through the climax of 
 their experiences, and need only to suggest what further 
 happened. They, with others, realized more fully the con- 
 ditions of their lot and the extent of the disaster. 
 
 With an ever increasing courage and fortitude the people 
 faced the situation, and resolved to build anew the fortunes 
 of their city. Communication with the outside world per- 
 mitted messages of sympathy and far more. In the Sunday 
 morning issue of the News and Courier the following signifi- 
 cant editorial appeared : " There is no break in the broad 
 line of brotherly love throughout the United States. All 
 hearts in this mighty country throb in unison. In the 
 North as in the South, in the West as in the East, there is a 
 sincere sorrow at the calamity which has befallen Charleston, 
 
GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL. 449 
 
 and there is shining evidence of a beneficent desire to give 
 the suffering people the assistance of both act and word." 
 
 Boston, the former headquarters of the aboUtionists, and 
 the veterans of the Grand Army vied with Southern cities 
 and ex-Confederates in a spontaneous outpouring of sympa- 
 thy and help. The hearts of a proud people were at last 
 subdued, but it was by hands stretched out in fraternal love 
 and not to strike. 
 
 In the city squares and other places of refuge there still 
 continued sad and awful experiences, one of which was 
 graphically described by the city editor of the journal 
 already quoted. 
 
 At nearly midnight on Friday there had been a cessation 
 in the shocks for about twenty-four hours, and the people 
 were resting quietly. Then came a convulsion second only 
 in severity to the first one which had wrought such wide- 
 spread ruin. " It had scarcely died away," to quote from 
 the account referred to, " before there rose through the still 
 night air in the direction of the public squares and parks 
 the now familiar but still terrible cries of thousands of 
 wailing voices, united in one vast chorus, expressive only 
 of the utmost human misery. For a while this sound was 
 heard above all other sounds, suggesting vividly to the mind 
 what has been told by survivors of the scene that follows 
 the sinking of a great ship at sea, when its living freight is 
 left struggling with the waves; and this impression was 
 heightened to the distant auditor by the gradual diminution 
 in the volume of the cries, as though voice after voice were 
 being silenced, as life after life were quenched beneath the 
 tossing waves." 
 
 Dr. Devoe advised Mr. Houghton to leave the city, but 
 he said, " No, I shall remain with my children ; I shall 
 share in the fortunes of the city which is henceforth to be 
 my home." 
 
450 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter did not long survive, but she became quiet 
 and rational before her end. To Mara's imploring words 
 she replied calmly, " No, my time is near ; and I feel that 
 it is best. I belong to the old order of things, and have 
 lingered too long already. I may have been mistaken in 
 my feelings, and wrong in my enmities, but I had great prov- 
 ocation. Now I forgive as I hope to be forgiven. God 
 grant, dear child, that you may have brighter days." 
 
 A sad little company followed her to the cemetery, and as 
 they laid her to rest, they also spread over her memory the 
 mantle of a broad, loving charity. 
 
 For a time it seemed as if brighter days could never come 
 to Mara, for Clancy's life flickered like the light of an 
 expiring candle. At last the fever broke and he became 
 rational, the pure, open air conducing to his recovery. He 
 was very weak and his convalescence was slow, measuring 
 the mental and physical strain through which he had passed. 
 Never had a poor mortal more faithful watchers, never was 
 life wooed back from the dark shore by more devoted love. 
 " Live, live," was ever the language of Mara's eyes, and 
 happiness gave him the power to live. 
 
 Captain Bodine carried out both the letter and spirit of 
 his note. While he was very gentle, he was also very firm 
 with Mara, expressing only paternal affection and also ex- 
 erting paternal authority. At proper times he told her to 
 go and rest in tones which she obeyed. 
 
 One day when Clancy was able to sit up a little, he took 
 iier aside and said, " Mara, you and Mr. Clancy are in one 
 sense comparatively alone in the world, although you have 
 many stanch friends. His health, almost his life, requires 
 the faithful, watchful care which you can best give, and 
 which you are entided to give. It is his wish and mine, 
 also Cousin Sophy's, that you should be married at once." 
 
 Again she gave him that luminous look which he so well 
 
GOOD BROUGHT OUT OF EVIL. 45 I 
 
 remembered — an expression so full of homage, affection 
 and sympathy that for the first time tears came into his 
 eyes. "There, my child," he said, " you have repaid me, 
 you have compensated me for every thing. There is no 
 need of words," — and he turned hastily away. 
 
 When the sun was near the horizon Mara was married, 
 not in old St. Michael's, as her mother had been, but in the 
 large tent which of late had sheltered her lover. Her pastor 
 employed the old sacred words to which her mother had 
 responded ; and Captain Bodine, with the impress of calm, 
 victorious manhood on his brow, gave her away in the pres- 
 ence of the little group of those who knew her best and 
 loved her most. We may well believe from that time forth 
 her gentleness and happiness would change the meaning of 
 her name. 
 
 At last all ventured back to their homes. Mr. Houghton 
 was so averse to parting with Ella that he equalled George 
 in his impatience for the marriage. Aun' Sheba, who super- 
 vised preparations for the wedding breakfast, declared, " It 
 am jes jolly ter see old Marse Houghton. As fer Missus 
 Bodine, it pears as if she'd go off de han'l." 
 
 Then father and son took the blue-eyed bride to tlie 
 North on a visit, in what George characterized as a " sort of 
 triumphal procession." 
 
 The cabins of Aun' Sheba and Kern Watson were re- 
 stored to a condition better than their former state, but 
 Uncle Sheba discovered that the good old times of his wife's 
 easy tolerance were gone. She put the case plainly, " Mr. 
 Buggone, de Bible says dat dem dat doesn't wuck mus'n't 
 eat, an' I'se gwine ter stick ter de Bible troo tick an' tin. 
 You'se able to wuck as I be, an' you'se 'lowance now 
 'pends on you'se wuck." 
 
 We have already seen that Uncle Sheba was one of those 
 philosophers who always submit to the inevitable. 
 
452 THE EARTH TREMBLED. 
 
 Late one September night the moonbeams shone under 
 the moss-draped branches of a live oak in a cemetery. 
 They brought out in snowy whiteness a small headstone on 
 which were engraved the words, " Yes, Vilet." Sitting by 
 the grave and leaning his head against the stone was Kern 
 Watson, but his calm, strong face was turned heavenward 
 where his little girl waited for him " shuah." 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Wilmer 
 931